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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bfada05 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #60651 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60651) diff --git a/old/60651-8.txt b/old/60651-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6ce55f6..0000000 --- a/old/60651-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,15202 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dr. Wainright's Patient, by Edmund Yates - -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: Dr. Wainright's Patient - A Novel - -Author: Edmund Yates - -Release Date: November 8, 2019 [EBook #60651] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. WAINRIGHT'S PATIENT *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by Google Books - - - - - - - - - - -DR. WAINWRIGHT'S PATIENT. - -A Novel - - - - -By EDMUND YATES - -AUTHOR OF "BLACK SHEEP." - - - - - - - -"Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, -Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, -Raze out the written troubles of the brain, -And with some sweet oblivious antidote -Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff -Which weighs upon the heart?" - - SHAKESPEARE. - - - - - -LONDON -GEORGE RUTLEDGE AND SONS -BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL -NEW YORK: 416 BROOME STREET -1878 - - - - - - ------------------------------------------------- - -EDMUND YATES'S NOVELS - - -RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. -KISSING THE ROD. -A ROCK AHEAD. -BLACK SHEEP. -A RIGHTED WRONG. -THE YELLOW FLAG. -THE IMPENDING SWORD. -A WAITING RACE. -BROKEN TO HARNESS. -TWO BY TRICKS. -A SILENT WITNESS. -NOBODY'S FORTUNE. -DR. WAINWRIGHT'S PATIENT. -WRECKED IN PORT. - ------------------------------------------------ - -CONTENTS. - -CHAP. - -I. Captain Derinzy's Retreat. -II. A Visitor Expected. -III. During Office-hours. -IV. After Office-hours. -V. Family Politics. -VI. Mrs. Stothard. -VII. Friends In Council. -VIII. Corridor No. 4. -IX. Dear Annette. -X. Madame Clarisse. -XI. Behind the Scenes. -XII. A Conquest. -XIII. Another Conquest. -XIV. Paul at Home. -XV. On the Alert. -XVI. The Colonel's Correspondent. -XVII. Well Met. -XVIII. Soundings. -XIX. Two in Pursuit. -XX. Farther Soundings. -XXI. Father and Son. -XXII. L'homme Propose. -XXIII. Poor Paul. -XXIV. George's Determination. -XXV. Warned. -XYXVI. Am Rhein. -XXVII. Patrician and Proletary. -XXVIII. Daisy's Letter. -XXXIX. Relenting. -XXX. Daisy's Recantation. -XXXI. Suspense. -XXXII. Madame Vaughan. -XXXIII. Certainty. - - - - - - -DR. WAINWRIGHT'S PATIENT. - - - - -CHAPTER I. -CAPTAIN DERINZY'S RETREAT. - - -Beachborough, where, in obedience to the strident voice of the railway -porter--voice combining the hardness of the Dorset with the drawl of -the Devon dialect--you, if you be so disposed, "Change for Sandington -Cove and Waverley," is a very different place from what it was even -ten years ago. To be sure the sea is there, and the beach, and the -fishing-luggers with the red sails; but in everything else what -changes! Now there is, as has been said, a railway-station, a forlorn -little oasis of white planking in a desert of sandy heath, inhabited -by a clerk--a London young man, who "went too fast" in the metropolis, -and has been relegated to Beachborough as a good healthy place where -there is no chance of temptation--and a porter, a native of the place, -a muscular person great at wrestling, who is always inviting the male -passers-by of his acquaintance to "come on," and supplying them, on -their doing so, with a very ugly throw known as a "back-fall." There -are not many passers-by, for the newly-formed road leads to no where in -particular, and those who tramp through its winter slush, or struggle -through its summer dust, are generally either tradesmen of the place -anxious about overdue parcels, or servants, sent to make inquiries -about the trains, from some of the houses on the Esplanade. - -The Esplanade! Heavens! if old Miss Gollop, who lived at the Baths, -and who used to supply very hot water and very damp towels, and the -greatest number of draughts ever known to be got together into one -small room, to the half-dozen county families to whom Beachborough -was then known as a watering-place--if old Miss Gollop could revisit -the glimpses of the moon, and by its light look upon the Esplanade, -it would, I am certain, be impossible for that worthy old lady to -recognise it as Mussared's Meadow, where she picked cowslips and -sucked sorrel when she was a girl, and which was utterly untainted by -the merest suspicion of brick and mortar when she died twenty years -ago. She would not recognise it any more than in The Dingo Arms--that -great white-faced establishment, with its suites of apartments, its -coffee-room, wine-office, private bar, and great range of stabling, -patronised by, and in its _sanctum sanctorum_ bearing an heraldic -emblazonment of the arms of, Sir Hercules Dingo Dingo, Bart., bloody -hand, four-quartered shield and all--she would have recognised The -Hoy, a tiny "public" where they used to sell the hardest beer and -the most stomach-ache-provoking cider, and which in her day was -the best tavern in the village. The white-faced terrace has sprung -up in Mussared's Meadow; the Esplanade in front of it is a seawall -and a delightful promenade for the Misses Gimp's young ladies, who -are the admiration of Dingo Terrace, and who have deadly rivals in -Madame de Flahault's _demoiselles_, whose piano-playing is at once -the delight and the curse of Powler Square; the cliffs, once so gaunt -and barren and forlorn, are dotted over with cottages and villakins, -all green porch and plate-glass windows; the old barn-like church -has had a fresh tower put on to him, and a fresh minister--one with -his ecclesiastical millinery of the newest cut, and up to the latest -thing in genuflexions--put into him; there is a Roman Catholic chapel -close to the old Wesleyan meeting-house; and they have modernised -and spoiled the picturesque tower where Captain Derinzy wore away a -portion of his days. Great improvements, no doubt. Pavement and gas, -and two policemen, and a railway, and a ritualistic incumbent, and -shops with plate-glass windows, where you can get Holloway's pills and -Horniman's teas, and all the things without which no gentleman's table -is complete. But the events of my story happened ten years ago, when -the inhabitants of Beachborough--shopkeepers, fisher-people, villagers, -and lace-makers--were like one family, and loved and hated and reviled -and back-bit each other as the members of one family only can. - -We shall get a little insight into the village politics if we drop in -for a few minutes at Mrs. Powler's long one-storied, thatched-roof -cottage, standing by itself in the middle of the little High Street. -Mrs. Powler is a rich and childless old widow, Powler deceased having -done a little in the vending of home-manufactured lace, and a great -deal in the importing, duty-free, of French lace and brandy. It was -Powler's run when Bill Gollop, the black sheep of the Gollop family, -was shot by the revenue-officer down by Wastewater Hole, a matter which -Powler is scarcely thought to have compromised by giving a new organ -to Bedminster church. However, he has been dead some years, and his -widow is very rich and tolerably hospitable; and her little thatched -cottage--she never lived in any other house--is the centre and focus of -Beachborough gossip. - -It is just about Mrs. Powler's supper-time, which is very early in -the summer, and she has guests to supper. There is no linen in all -Beachborough so white as Mrs. Powler's, no such real silver plate, no -such good china or glass. The Beachborough glass generally consists of -fat thick goblets on one stump-leg, or dumpy heavy wineglasses with -a pattern known as "the pretty" halfway up their middle, which, like -the decanters, are heavy and squat, and require a strong wrist to lift -them. But Mrs. Powler had thin, blown, delicate glasses, and elegant -goblets with curling snakes for their handles, and drinking-cups in -amber and green colours, all of which were understood to have come -from "abroad," and were prized by her and respected by her neighbours -accordingly. There never was a bad lobster known in Beachborough; and -it is probable that Mrs. Powler's were no better than her neighbours', -but she certainly had a wondrous knack of showing them off to the best -advantage, setting-off the milk-white of the inside and the deepred of -the shell with layers of crisp curling parsley, as a modern belle sets -off her complexion with artfully-arranged bits of tulle and blonde. Nor -was her boiled beef to be matched within ten miles round. "I du 'low -that other passons' biled beef to Mrs. Fowler's is sallt as brine and -soft as butter," Mrs. Jupp would confess; and Mrs. Jupp was a notable -housewife, and what the vulgar call "nuts" on her own cooking. There -is a splendid proof of it on the table now, cold and firm and solid. -Mr. Jupp has just helped himself to a slice, and it is his muttered -praise that has called forth the tribute of general admiration from -his better-half. Mr. Hallibut, the fish-factor and lace-dealer from -Bedminster, is still occupied with the lobster; for he has a ten-mile -drive home before him, and any fear of indigestion he laughs to scorn, -knowing how he can "settle" that demon with two or three raw "nips" and -one or two steaming tumblers of some of that famous brandy which the -deceased Powler imported duty-free from abroad, and a bottle of which -is always to be found for special friends in the old oak _armoire_, -which stands under the Lord's-Prayer sampler which Mrs. Powler worked -when she was a little girl. - -Mrs. Powler is in the place of honour opposite the window. A little -woman, with a dark-skinned deeply-lined face, and small sparkling black -eyes, the fire in which remains undimmed by the seventy years through -which they have looked upon the world, though their sight is somewhat -failing. She wears a fierce black front, and a closely-fitting white -lace cap over it, and an open raspberry-tart-like miniature of her -deceased lord--a rather black and steelly-looking daguerreotype--gleams -on her chest. Mrs. Powler likes her drinks, as she does not scruple to -confess, and has been sipping from a small silver tankard of cider. - -"Who was that just went passt the windor, Jupp?" she said, after a -short period of tankard abstraction. "My eyes isn't what they was, and -I du 'low I couldn't see, though I'm settin' right oppo-site like." - -"Heart alive!" struck in Mrs. Jupp, after a moment's silence, and -seeing it was perfectly impossible her better-half could sufficiently -masticate the piece of cold beef on which he was engaged in anything -like time for a reply--"heart alive! to hear you talk of your eyes, -Mrs. Powler! Why, there's many a young gal would give anythin' for such -a pair in her head, either for show or for use, either!" - -"I should think so," said Mr. Jupp, who had by this time cleared -his mouth and moistened his palate with the contents of the -cider-tankard--"I should think so!" and Mr. Jupp, who was of a -convivial turn, began to troll, "Eyes black--as sloes, and--bo-o-oo-som -rounded----" - -"Mr. Jupp," interrupted Mrs. Jupp, a tall, thin, horse-faced woman, -with projecting buck-teeth, and three little sausage curls of iron-gray -hair flattened down on either side her forehead, "reck'lect where you -are, if you please, and keep your ditties to yourself." - -"Well, niver mind my eyes," said Mrs. Powler; she desired to make -peace, but she was a rich woman and in her own house, and consequently -spoke in a dictatorial way--"niver mind my eyes, nor anything else for -the matter of that, but tell who it was that went passt." - -"It was the Captain, my dear madam, the Captain," replied Mr. Jupp, -freshly attacking the cold beef, and consoling himself for his snubbing -with his supper. "You had no great loss in not seeing him, ma'am: it -was only the Captain." - -"What! Prinsy, Drinsy, what's his name?" said Mr. Hallibut, taking a -clean plate, and delicately clearing his lips and fingers from lobster -remains on the corner of the tablecloth. "I'll trouble you, Jupp!--Is -he still here?" - -"His name's Derinzy, Mr. Hollybut," said Mrs. Jupp--"De-rin-zy; it's -a French name." Mrs. Jupp had been a lady's-maid once on a time, and -prided herself on her manners and education. - -"And mine's Hallibut, and not Hollybut, Mrs. Jupp," said the -fish-factor jocosely; "and I'll trouble J-u double p--which I take it -is an English name--for some of the inside fat--next the marrer-bone -there!" - -"Dear heart!" interrupted Mrs. Powler, feeling her position as hostess -and richest of the company was being made scarcely sufficient of; "how -you do jangle, all of you! Not but what," added the old lady, with -singular inconsequence--"not but what I'm no scholard, and don't see -the use of French names, while English is good enough for me." - -"Ah, but some things is better French, as you and I, and one or two -more of us could tell," said jocose Mr. Hallibut, feeling it was time -for a "nip," and availing himself of the turn in the conversation to -point with his elbow to the cellaret, where the special brandy was kept. - -"Well, help yourself, and put the bottle on the table," said the -old lady, somewhat mollified. "Ah, that was among the spoils of the -brave, in the good old times when men was men!" she added, in a -half-melancholy tone. She was accustomed to think and speak of her -deceased husband as though he had been the boldest of buccaneers, the -Captain Kyd of the Dorsetshire coast; whereas he, in his lifetime, was -a worthy man in a Welsh wig, who never went to sea, or was present at -the "running" of a keg. - -"And so the Captain's still here," pursued Hallibut; "living in the -same house, and doing much the same as usual, I suppose?" - -"Jist exactly the same," replied Mr. Jupp. "Wandering about the -village, molloncholly-like, and cussin' all creation." - -"Mr. Jupp," broke in his better-half, "reck'lect where you are, if you -please, and keep your profane swearin' to yourself." - -"I wonder he don't go away," suggested Hallibut. - -"He can't," said Mrs. Jupp solemnly. - -"What! do you mean to say he's been running in debt here in -Beachborough, or over in Bedminster?" - -"He don't owe a brass farthing in either place," asserted Mrs. Powler; -"if anybody ought to know, I ought;" and to do her justice she ought, -for no one heard scandal sooner, or disseminated it more readily. - -"Perhaps he hadn't the chance," said Mr. Jupp, stretching out his hand -towards the tumbler. - -"Mr. Jupp," said his wife, "what cause have you to say that? Was you -ever kept waiting for the money for the meal or malt account? Is the -rent paid regular for the bit of pastureland for Miss Annette's cow? -Well, then, reck'lect where you are, if you please, and who you're -speaking of." - -"Well, but if he hates the place and cusses--I mean, does what Jupp -said he did just now--what does he stop here for? Why don't he go away? -He must have some reason." - -"Of course he has, Mr. Hallibut," said Mrs. Jupp, with an air of -dignity. - -"Got the name all right this time, Mrs. Jupp; here's your health," said -the jolly man, sipping his tumbler. "Well, what's the reason?" - -"It's because of Miss Annette--she that we was speaking of just now." - -"Oh, ah!" said Mr. Hallibut; "she's his daughter, isn't she?" - -"Niece," said Mrs. Jupp. - -"Oh!" said Mr. Hallibut doubtfully. - -"You and I have seen the world, Hallibut," broke in Mr. Jupp, who had -been paying his attentions to the French brandy. "We've heard of nieces -before--priests' nieces and such-like, who----" - -"Mr. Jupp, _will_ you reck'lect where you are, _if_ you please?--what -I was goin' to say when thus interrupted, Mr. Hallibut, was, that -it's on account of his niece Miss Annette that Captain Derinzy remains -in this place. She's a dreadful in-val-lid, is Miss Annette, and this -Dorsetsheer air suits her better than any other part of England. As to -her not bein' his niece----" - -"La, la, du be quiet, Harriet!" interrupted Mrs. Powler, who saw that -unless she asserted herself with a dash she would be quite forgotten; -"this everlastin' click-clackin', I du 'low it goes threw my head like -a hot knife threw a pat of fresh butter. Av' course Miss Netty's the -Captain's niece; Oh, I don't mind you men--special you, Jupp, sittin' -grinnin' there like the mischief! I've lived long in the world, and -in different sort of society from this; and I know what you mean fast -enough, and I'm not one to pretend I don't, or to be squeamish about -it." - -This was a hard hit at Mrs. Jupp, who took it accordingly, and said: - -"Well, but, Mrs. Powler, if Jupp were not brought up sudden, as it -were----" - -"Like enough, my dear, like enough; but when you're as old as I -am, you'll find it's very hard to have to give up chat for fear of -these kind of things, unless indeed there's young girls present, and -then--well, of course!" said Mrs. Powler, with a sigh. "But, Lord, -you're all wrong about why Captain Derinzy stops at Beachborough." - -"Do you know why it is, Mrs. Powler?" asked Mr. Hallibut, feigning -intense interest, under cover of which he mixed himself a second -tumbler of brandy-and-water. - -"Well, I think I do," said the old lady. - -"Tell us, by all means," said the fish-factor, looking at his hostess -very hard, and dropping two lumps of sugar into his tumbler. - -"Well, Harriet's right so far--there's no doubt about Miss Annette -being the Captain's niece; at least, there's no question of her being -his daughter, as you two owdacious men--and, Jupp, you ought to know -better, having been churchwarden, and your name in gold letters in -front of the organ-loft, on account of the church being warmed by the -hot pipes, which only made a steam and a smell, and no heat at all--as -you two owdacious men hinted at. Lor' bless you, you don't know Mrs. -Derinzy." - -"That's what I tell 'em, Mrs. Powler," chorused Mrs. Jupp; "they don't -know the Captain's wife. Why, she's as proud as proud; and he daren't -say his soul's his own, let alone introducin' anyone into the house -that she didn't know all about, or wish to have there." - -"But still you don't know what makes them stay here," said Mrs. Powler, -not at all influenced by her friend's partisanship, and determined to -press her point home upon her audience. - -"Well, if it isn't Miss Netty's illness, I don't," said Mrs. Jupp -slowly, and with manifest reluctance at having to acknowledge herself -beaten. - -"Then I'll tell you," said the old lady triumphantly, smoothing her -dress, looking slowly round, and pausing before she spoke. "You know -Mrs. Stothard?" - -"Miss Annette's servant--yes," said Mrs. Jupp. - -"Servant--pouf!" said Mrs. Powler, snapping her fingers, and thereby -awaking Mr. Jupp, who had just dropped asleep, and was dreaming that he -was in his mill, and dared not stretch out his legs for fear of getting -them entangled in the machinery. "Who ever saw her do any servant's -work; did you?" - -"N-no; I can't say I ever did," replied Mrs. Jupp; "but then, I have -never been to the house." - -"What does that matter?" asked the old lady, rather illogically; "no -one ever did. No one ever saw her do a stroke of servant's work in the -house: mend clothes, wash linen, darn stockings, make beds. Dear heart -alive! she's no servant." - -"What is she then?" asked Mrs. Jupp eagerly. - -"A poor relation!" hissed Mrs. Powler, bending over the table; "a poor -relation, my dear, of either his or hers, with something about her that -prevents them shaking her off, and obliges them to keep her quiet." - -"Do you think so--_really_ think so?" - -"I'm sure of it, my dear--certain sure." - -"Lord, I remember," said Mrs. Jupp, with a sudden affectation of a -mincing manner, and a lofty carriage of her head; "I remember once -seeing something of the sort at the play-house: but then the poor -relation was a man, a man who always went about in a large cloak, and -appeared in places where he was least expected and most unwelcome. It -was in Covent Garden Theatre." - -"Covent Garden Theatre," said Jupp, suddenly waking up. "I remember, in -the saloon----" - -"Mr. Jupp, reck'lect where you are, _if_ you please, and spare the -company your reminiscences." - -Here Mr. Hallibut, who, finding himself bored by the conversation about -people of whom he knew nothing, had quietly betaken himself to drink, -and had got through three tumblers of brandy-and-water unobserved, -remarked that, as he had a long drive before him, he thought it was -time for him to go; and, after making his adieux, departed to find the -ostler at The Hoy, who had his rough old pony in charge. Mrs. Jupp put -on her bonnet, and after a word of promise to look in next morning and -hear the remainder of her hostess's suspicions about Mrs. Stothard, -roused up Mr. Jupp, who, balancing himself on frail and trembling -legs, which he still believed to be endangered by the proximity of his -mill's machinery, staggered out into the open air, where he was bid to -reck'lect himself _if_ he pleased, and to walk steadily, so that the -coastguard then passing might not see he was drunk. - - - - -CHAPTER II. -A VISITOR EXPECTED. - - -It was indeed Captain Derinzy who had passed up the village street. -It is needless to say that he had not heard anything of the comments -which his appearance had evoked; but had he heard them, they would not -have made the smallest difference to him. He was essentially a man of -the world, and on persons of his class these things have very little -effect. A is irretrievably involved; B has outwritten himself; C is -much too intimate with Mrs. D; while D is ruining that wretched young -E at _écarté_--so at least say Y and Z; but the earlier letters of -the alphabet do not care much about it. They know that the world must -be always full of shaves and _cancans_, and, like men versed in the -great art of living, they know they must have their share of them, and -know how to take them. Captain Derinzy passed up the village street -without bestowing one single thought upon that street's inhabitants, -or indeed upon anything or anybody within a hundred miles of -Beachborough. He looked utterly incongruous to the place, and he felt -utterly incongruous to it, and if he were recalled to the fact of its -existence, or of his existence in it, by his accidentally slipping over -one of the round knobbly stones which supplied the place of a footway, -or having to step across one of the wide self-made sluices which, -coming from the cottages, discharged themselves into the common kennel, -all he did was to wish it heartily at the devil; an aspiration which he -uttered in good round rich tones, and without any heed to the feelings -of such lookers-on as might be present. - -See him now, as he steps off the knobbly pavement and strikes across -the road, making for the greensward of the cliff, and unconsciously -becoming bathed in a halo of sunset glory in his progress. A thin man, -of fifty years of age, of middle height, with a neat trim figure, -and one of his legs rather lame, with a spare, sallow, fleshless -face, high cheek-boned, lantern-jawed, bright black eyes, straight -nose, thin lips, not overshadowed, but outlined rather, by a very -small crisp black moustache. His hair is blue-black in tint and wiry -in substance, so much at least of it as can be seen under a rather -heavy brown sombrero hat, which he wears perched on one side of his -head in rather a jaunty manner. His dress, a suit of some light-gray -material, is well cut, and perfectly adapted for the man and the place; -and his boots are excellently made, and fit his small natty feet to -perfection. His ungloved hands are lithe and brown; in one of them he -carries a crook-headed cane, with which--a noticeable peculiarity--he -fences and makes passes at such posts and palings as he encounters on -his way. That he was a gentleman born and bred you could have little -doubt; little doubt from his carriage of himself, and an indescribable, -unmistakable something, that he was, or had been, a military man; no -doubt at all that he was entirely out of place in Beachborough, and -that he was bored out of his existence. - -Captain Derinzy passed the little road, which was ankle-deep in white -sandy dust, save where the overflowings of the kennel had worked -it into thick flaky mud, hopped nimbly, albeit lamely, over the -objectionable parts, and when he reached the other side, and stood -upon the short crisp turf leading up to the cliff, looked at the soles -of his boots, shook his head, and swore aloud. Considerably relieved -by this proceeding, he made his way slowly and gently up the ascent, -pausing here and there, less from want of breath than from sheer -absolute boredom. Rambling quietly on in his own easy-going fashion, -now fencing at a handrail, now making a one, two, three sword-exercise -cut, and finally demolishing a sprouting field-flower, he took some -time to reach the top of the cliff. When there he looked carefully -about him for a clean dry spot, and, having found one, dropped gently -down at full length, and comfortably reclining his head on his arm, -looked round him. - -It was high-tide below, and the calmest and softest of silver summer -seas was breaking in the gentlest ripple on the beach, and against -the base of the high chalk cliff whereon he lay. The entrance to the -little bay was marked by a light line of foam-crested breakers, beyond -which lay a broad stretch of heaving ocean; but the bay itself was -"oily calm," its breast dotted here and there with fishing-luggers -outward-bound for the night's service, their big tan sails gleaming -lightly and picturesquely in the red beams of the setting sun. Faintly, -very faintly, from below rose the cries of the boatmen--hoarse -monotonous calls, which had accompanied such and such acts of labour -for centuries, and had been taught by sire to son, and practised from -time immemorial. But the silence around the man outstretched on the -cliffs top was unbroken save by the occasional cry of the seafowl, -wheeling round and round above his head, and swooping down into their -habitation holes, with which the chalk-face was honeycombed. As he lay -there idly watching, the sun, a great blood-red globe of fire, sank -into the sea, leaving behind it a halo of light, in which the strips of -puff-cloud hovering over the horizon--here light, thin, and vaporous, -there heavy, dense, and opaque--assumed eccentric outlines, and -deadened to one gorgeous depth of purple. There were very few men who -would have been insensible to the loveliness of the surroundings--very -few but would have been impressed under such circumstances with a sense -of the beauty of Nature and the beneficence of Providence. Captain -Derinzy was one of these few. He saw it all, marked it all, looked at -it leisurely and critically through half-shut eyes, as though scanning -some clever picture or some scene at the theatre. Then, quietly -dropping his head back upon his hand, he gave a prolonged yawn, and -said quietly to himself, "Oh, dam!" - -"Oh, dam!" Sun and sea and sky, purple clouds, foam-crested -breakwaters, tan sails sunset-gilded, yohoing boatmen, nest-seeking -curlews, hoary cliff. "Oh, dam!" But that was not all. Lazily lying at -full length, lazily picking blades of grass, lazily nibbling them, and -lazily spitting them from his mouth, he said in a quaintly querulous -tone: - -"Beastly place! How I hate it! Beastly sea, and all that kind of thing; -and those fellows going away in their beastly boats, smelling of -fish and oil and grease, and beastliness, and wearing greasy woollen -nightcaps, and smoking beastly strong tobacco in their foul pipes; and -then people draw them, and write about them, and call them romantic, -and all such cussed twaddle! Why the deuce ain't they clean and -neat, and why don't they dance about, and sing like those fellows in -_Masaniello_? And--Oh Lord! _Masaniello_! I didn't think I should even -have remembered the name of anything decent in this infernal place! -What's the time now?" looking at his watch. "Nearly eight. Gad! fancy -having had a little dinner at the Windham, or, better still, at the -Coventry, where they say that fellow--what's his name?--Francatelli, -is so good, and then dropping down to the Opera to hear Cruvelli -and Lablache, or the new house which Poyntz wrote me about--Covent -Garden--where Grisi and Mario and the lot have gone! Fancy my never -having seen the new house! Dammy! I shall become a regular fogey if I -stop in this infernal hole much longer. And not as if I were stopping -for myself either! If I'd been shaking a loose leg, and had outrun -the constable, or anything of that sort, I can understand a fellow -being compelled to pull up and live quiet for a bit; though there's -Boulogne, which is much handier to town, and much jollier with the -_établissement_, and plenty of _écarté_, and all that sort of thing, -to go on with. But _this_! Pooh! that's the dam folly of a man's -marrying what they call a superior woman! I suppose Gertrude's all -right; I suppose it will come off all straight; but I don't see the -particular pull for me when it does come off. Here am I wastin' the -best years of my life--and just at a time when I haven't got too many -of 'em to waste, by Jove!--just that another fellow may stand in for -a good thing. To be sure, he's my son, and there's fatherly feelings, -and all that sort of thing; but he's never done anything for me, and I -think it's rather hard he don't come and take a little of this infernal -dreariness on his own shoulders. I shall have to cut away--I know I -shall; I can't stand it much longer. I shall have to tell Gertrude--and -I never can do that, and I haven't got the pluck to cut away without -telling her, and I know she won't even let me go to old Dingo's for -the shooting in the autumn. What an ass I was ever to let myself be -swindled into coming into this beastly place! and how confoundedly I -hate it! Oh, dam! Oh, dam!" - -As he concluded he raised himself lightly to his feet, and commenced -his descent of the hill as easily and jauntily as he had ascended -it. His lame leg troubled him a little, and once when he trod on a -rolling stone and nearly fell, he stopped and smiled pleasantly at the -erring foot, and shook his cane facetiously over it. As he entered the -village, he muttered to himself: "Good heavens! _du monde_, how very -interesting!" For the hours of toil were over, and the shopkeepers -and the wives of the fishermen, and such of the fisher-boys as had -not gone to sea that evening, were standing at their doors and -gossiping, or playing in the street. The lace-making girls were there -too--very pretty girls for the most part, with big black eyes and -swarthy complexions and thick blue-black hair; their birthright these -advantages, for in the old days one of the home-flying ships of the -Spanish Armada had been wrecked on the Beachborough coast, and the -saved mariners had intermarried with the village women, and transmitted -their swarthy comeliness to their posterity. As the Captain passed by, -hats were lifted and curtsies dropped, courtesy which he duly returned -by touching his sombrero with his forefinger in the military style to -the men, and by God-blessing the women and chin-chucking the girls with -great heartiness. - -So on till he arrived at his own house, where he opened the door from -the outside, and entering the handsome old dining-room, was surprised -to see the table laid for four persons. - -"Hallo! what's this?" he said to a woman at the other end of the room -with her back towards him. "Who is coming to dinner, Mrs. Stothard?" - -"Have you forgotten?" said the woman addressed, without turning her -head. "Dr. Wainwright." - -"Oh, ah!" growled Captain Derinzy, in a subdued key. "Where's Annette?" - -"In her own room." - -"Why don't she come down?" - -"Because she's heard Dr. Wainwright is expected, and has turned sulky, -and won't move." - -"Oh, dam!" said Captain Derinzy. - - - - -CHAPTER III. -DURING OFFICE-HOURS. - - -The "Office of H.M. Stannaries" is in a small back street in the -neighbourhood of Whitehall. What H.M. Stannaries were was known to but -very few of the initiated, and to no "externs" at all. Old Mr. Bult, -who, from time immemorial had been the chief-clerk of the office, -would, on being interrogated as to the meaning of the word or the -duties of his position, take a large pinch of snuff, blow the scattered -grains off his beautifully got-up shirt-frill, stare his querist -straight in the face, and tell him that "there were certain matters -of a departmental character, concerning which it was not considered -advisable to involve oneself in communication with the public at -large." The younger men were equally reticent. To those who tried to -pump them, they replied that they "wrote things, you know; letters, -and those kind of things," and "kept accounts." What of? Why, of the -Stannaries, of course. But what were the Stannaries? Ah, that was going -into a matter of detail which they did not feel themselves justified -in explaining. Their ribald friends used to say that the men in the -Stannaries Office could not tell you what they had to do, because -they did nothing at all, or that they did so little that they were -sworn to secrecy on receiving their appointments, lest any inquisitive -Radical member, burning to distinguish himself before his constituents -in the cause of Civil Service reform--a bray with which the dullest -donkey can make himself heard--should rise in the House, and demand an -inquiry, or a Parliamentary Commission, or some of those other dreadful -inquisitions so loathsome to the official mind. - -However, no matter what work was or was not done there, the Stannaries -Office was a fact, and a fact for which the nation paid, and according -to the entries in the Civil Service estimates, paid pretty handsomely. -For there was a Lord Commissioner of Stannaries, at two thousand -a-year, and a secretary at one thousand, and a private secretary -at three hundred, and four-and-twenty clerks at salaries ranging -from one to eight hundred, besides messengers and office-keepers. -It was a well-thought-of office to; the men engaged in it went into -good society, and were recognised as brother officials by the lofty -bureaucrats of the Treasury and the Foreign Office--great creatures, -who looked upon Somerset House and the Post Office as tenanted by -the sons of peers' butlers, and who regarded the Custom House as a -damp place somewhere on the Thames, where amphibious persons known as -"tide-waiters" searched passengers' baggage. But it was by no means -_infra dig_. to know men in the Stannaries; and that department of -the public service annually contributed a by no means small share -of the best dancers and amateur performers of the day. "Only give -us gentlemen," Mr. Branwhite, the secretary, would say in his first -official interview with a newly-appointed Lord Commissioner--for the -patronage of his office was vested in the Lord Commissioner of the -Stannaries, who was a political functionary, and came in and went out -with the Government--"only give us gentlemen; that's all I ask. We -don't require much brains in this place, and that's the truth; but we -do want birth and breeding." And on these points Mr. Branwhite, who -was the son of an auctioneer at Penrith, and who combined the grace -of Dr. Johnson with the geniality of Dr. Abernethy, was inexorable. -The cry was echoed everywhere throughout the office. "Let's have -gentlemen, for God's sake!" little Fitzbinkie, the private secretary, -would say, adding, with a look of as much horror as he could throw -into his eyeglass--you never saw his eyes--"there was a fellow here -the other day, came to see my lord. Worthington--you've heard about -him--wonderful fellow at the Admiralty, great gun at figures, and -organisation, and that kind of thing; reformed the navy almost, and so -on; and--give you my honour--he had on a brown shooting-jacket, and -a black-silk waistcoat, give you my word! Frightful, eh? Let's have -gentlemen, at any price." - -And the prayer of these great creatures was, to a large extent, -answered. Most of the men in the Stannaries Office were -pleasant, agreeable, sufficiently educated, well-dressed, and -gentlemanly-mannered. Within the previous few years there had been a -Scotch and an Irish Lord Commissioner, and each of them had left traces -of his patronage in the office: the first in the importation of two or -three grave men, who, not finding work enough to do, filled up their -leisure by reading statistics, or working out mathematical problems; -the last, by the appointment of half-a-dozen roistering blades, who -did very little of the work there was to do, and required the help -of a Maunders' "Treasury of Knowledge," subscribed for amongst them, -to enable them to do what they did; but who were such good riders -and such first-rate convivialists that they were found in mounts and -supper-parties for two-thirds of the year. The Irish element was, -however, decidedly unpopular with Mr. Branwhite, the secretary, a -cold-blooded, fish-like man, dry and tasteless, like a human captain's -biscuit, who had no animal spirits himself, and consequently hated -them in others. He was a long, thin, melancholy-looking fiddle-faced -sort of a man, who tried to hide his want of manner under an assumed -_brusquerie_ and bluntness of speech. He had been originally brought -up as a barrister, and owed his present appointment to the fact of -his having a very pretty wife, who attracted the senile attentions -and won the flagging heart of the Earl of Lechmere, who happened to -be Lord Commissioner of the Stannaries when Sir Francis Pongo died, -after forty years' tenure of the secretaryship. Lord Lechmere having, -when he called at Mrs. Branwhite's pretty villa in the Old Brompton -lanes, been frequently embarrassed by the presence of Mr. Branwhite, -that gentleman's barristerial practice being not sufficient to take him -often to the single chamber which he rented in Quality Court, Chancery -Lane, thought this a favourable opportunity to improve the Branwhite -finances, in this instance at least without cost to himself, and of -assuring himself of Mr. Branwhite's necessitated absence from the Old -Brompton villa during certain periods of the day. Hence Mr. Branwhite's -appointment as secretary to H.M. Stannaries. There was a row about it, -of course. Why did not the promotion "go in the office"? That is what -the Stannaries men wanted to know, and what they threatened to get -several members of Parliament to inquire of the Financial Secretary to -the Treasury, who replied on Stannaries matters in the Lower House. -_The Official Chronicle_, that erudite and uncompromising advocate -of the Government service, came out with a series of letters signed -"Eraser," "Half-margin," and "Nunquam Dormio;" and a leader in which -Lord Lechmere was compared to King David, and Mr. Branwhite to Uriah -the Hittite, the parallel in the latter case being heightened by the -writer's suggestion that each had been selected "for a very warm -berth." But the authorities cared neither for official remonstrances -nor press sarcasms. They had their answer to the question why the -promotion did not go in the office. Who was the next in rotation? -Mr. Bult, the chief-clerk. Was Mr. Bult competent in any way for the -secretaryship? Would the gentlemen of the Stannaries Office like to -see their department represented by Mr. Bult? Certainly not. Very -well, then, as it was impossible, after Mr. Bult's lengthened service, -during which his character had been stainless, to pass him by, and -place any of his juniors over his head, the only course was to seek for -Sir Francis's successor in some gentleman unconnected with the place. -This was the way in which Mr. Branwhite obtained his appointment. Lord -Lechmere's party went out of office soon after, and Lord Lechmere -himself has been dead for years; but Mr. Branwhite held on through the -_régimes_ of the Duke of M'Tavish and Viscount Ballyscran, and was -all-powerful as ever now while Lord Polhill of Pollington was Lord -Commissioner. What was thought of him, and, indeed, what was thought -and said pretty plainly about most official persons and topics, we -shall learn by looking into a large room on the ground-floor of the -office known as the Principal Registrar's Room. - -The Principal Registrar's Room must by no means be confounded with the -Registry, which was a very different, and not a very choice place, -where junior clerks got their hands into Stannaries work by stamping -papers and covering their fingers with printers'-ink. The Principal -Registrar's Room was appropriated to the Principal Registrar, and three -of the best-looking assistants he could get hold of. The gentleman -seated at the writing-table in the centre of the room, and reading -_The Morning Post_, is the Principal Registrar, Mr. Courtney. He sits -habitually with his back to the light, so that you cannot see his -features very distinctly--sufficiently, however, to make out that he is -an old, in reality, a very old man, made up for a young one. He must -have been of fair complexion and good-looking at one time, for his -capitally-made wig is red in colour, and though his perfectly-shaven -cheeks are mottled and pulpy, his features are well-cut and -aristocratic. His throat, exposed to view through his turn-down collar, -is old and wrinkled, reminding one of a fowl's neck; and his hands are -soft and seemingly boneless. So much as can be seen of his legs under -the table reminds one of Punch's legs, exhibited by that "godless old -rebel" in front of his show: the knees knock together, and the feet -turn inwards towards each other with helpless imbecility. The only -time that Mr. Courtney exhibits any great signs of vitality is in the -evening at the Portland Club, where he plays an admirable game of -whist, and where his hand is always heavily backed. Though he confesses -to being "an old fellow," and quotes "_Me, nec foemina nec puer_," with -a deprecating shrug of the shoulders, he likes to hear the adventures -of his young companions, and is by no means inconveniently straitlaced -in his ideas. He has a comic horror of any "low fellows," or men who do -not go into what he calls "sassiety;" he regards the Scotch division -of the office as "stoopid," and contemplates the horsiness and loud -tone of the Irish with great disfavour. He has, he thinks, a very good -set of "boys" under him just now, and is proportionately pleasant and -good-tempered. Let us look at his "boys." - -That good-looking young man at the desk in the farthest window is Paul -Derinzy, only son of our friend the Captain, resident at Beachborough. -The likeness to his father is seen in his thin straight-cut features, -small lithe figure, and blue-black hair. The beard movement had just -been instituted in Government offices, and Paul Derinzy follows it so -far as to have grown a thick black moustache and a small pointed beard, -both very becoming to his sallow complexion and Velasquez type of face. -He is about five-and-twenty years of age, and has an air of birth and -breeding which finds him peculiar favour in his Chief's eyes. - -In his drooping eyelids, in his _pose_, in his outstretched arms, and -head lying lazily on one side, there was an expression of languor that -argued but ill for the amount of work to be gotten out him in any -way, and which proclaimed Mr. Paul Derinzy to be one of that popular -regiment, "The Queen's Hard Bargains." But what of that? He certainly -did his office credit by his appearance; there was very seldom much -work to be done, and when there was, Paul was so popular that no one -would refuse to undertake his share. That man opposite, for instance, -loved Paul as his brother, and would have done anything for him. - -The man opposite is George Wainwright. He is four or five years -older than Paul, and of considerably longer standing in the office. -In personal appearance he differs very much from his friend. George -Wainwright stands six feet in height, is squarely and strongly built, -has a mass of fair hair curling almost on to his shoulders, and wears a -soft, thick, fair beard. His hands are very large and very white, with -big blue veins standing out on them, and his broad wrists show immense -power. His eyes are large and prominent, hazel in colour, and soft in -expression; he has a rather long and thick nose, and a large mouth, -with fresh white teeth showing when he smiles. He is smiling now, at -some remark made by the third assistant to the Principal Registrar, Mr. -Dunlop, commonly called "Billy Dunlop," a pleasant fellow, remarkable -for two things, imperturbable good-humour, and never letting anyone -know where he lived. - -"What are you two fellows grinning at?" asks Paul Derinzy, lazily -lifting his head and looking across at them. - -"I'm grinning at Billy's last night's adventures," replies George -Wainwright. "He went to the Opera, and supped at Dubourg's." - -"Horrible profligate! Alone?" - -"So likely!" says Billy Dunlop. "All right, though; I mean, quite -correct. Only Mick O'Dwyer with me." - -"Mick O'Dwyer at the Opera!" says Paul in astonishment. "Why, he always -swears he has no dress-clothes." - -"No more he has; but I lent him some of mine--a second suit I keep -for first nights of Jullien's Concerts, and other places where it is -sure to be crammed and stivy. They fitted Mick stunningly, and he -looked lovely in them; but he couldn't get my boots on, and he had to -go in his own. There were lots of our fellows there, and they looked -astonished to see Mick clothed and in his right mind; and at the back -of the pit, just by the meat-screen there, you know, we met Lannigan, -the M.P. for some Irish place, who's Mick's cousin. He didn't recognise -him at first; then when Mick spoke he looked him carefully all over, -and said: 'You're lovely, Mick!' Then his eyes fell on the boots; -he turned to me with a face of horror, and muttered: 'Ah Billy, the -brogues spoil the lot!'" - -The two other men laughed so loudly at this story that Mr. Courtney -looked up from his newspaper, and requested to know what was the -joke. When he heard it he smiled, at the same time shaking his head -deprecatingly, and saying: - -"For my part, I confess I cannot stand Mr. O'Dwyer. He is a perfect -Goth." - -"Ah Chief, that's really because you don't know him," said Wainwright. -"He's really an excellent fellow; isn't he, Billy?" - -"If Mick had only a little money he would be charming," said Dunlop; -"but he hasn't any. He's of some use to me, however; I've had no -occasion to consult the calendar since Mick's been here. He borrows -half-a-crown of me every day, and five shillings on saints'-days, -and----" - -"Hold on a minute, Billy," said Paul Derinzy; "if you lent Mick your -clothes, you must have taken him home--to where you live, I mean; so -that somebody has found out your den at last. What did you do? swear -Mick to secrecy?" - -"Better than that, sir; I brought the clothes down here, and made Mick -put 'em on in his own room. No, sir, none of you have yet struck on my -trail. Far in a wild, unknown to public view, From youth to age Mr. -William Dunlop grew." - -"Haven't you boys solved that mystery yet?" asked Mr. Courtney smiling, -and showing a set of teeth that did the dentist credit. - -"Not yet, Chief; we very nearly had it out last week," replied Paul. - -"When was that?" - -"After that jolly little dinner you gave us down at Greenwich. You -drove home, you know; we came up by rail. I suppose Quartermaine's -champagne had worked the charm; but the lord of William's bosom -certainly sat very lightly on its throne, and he was, in fact, what the -wicked call 'tight.' At the London Bridge Station I hailed a hansom, -and Billy got in with me, saying I could set him down. Knowing that -Billy is popularly supposed to reside in a cellar in Short's Gardens, -Drury Lane, I told the driver to take us a short cut to that pleasant -locality. Billy fell asleep, but woke up just as we arrived in Drury -Lane, looked round him, shouted: 'This will do!' stopped the cab, and -jumped out. Now, I thought, I've got him! I told the cabman to drive -slowly on, and I stepped out and dodged behind a lamp. But Billy was -too much for me: in the early dawn I saw him looking straight at me, -smiting his nose with his forefinger, and muttering defiantly: 'No, you -don't!' So eventually I left him." - -"Of course you did. No, no, Chief; William is not likely to fall a -prey to such small deer. He will dissipate this mystery on one great -occasion." - -"And that will be----?" - -"When he gets his promotion. When the edict is promulgated, elevating -William to the senior class, he will bid you all welcome to a most -choice, elegant, and, not to put too fine a point on it, classical -repast, prepared in his own home." - -"Well, if we're to wait till then, you'll enjoy your classic home, or -whatever you call it, for a long time unencumbered with our society," -said Derinzy. "Who's to have the next vacancy--Barlow's vacancy, I -mean; who's to have it, Chief?" - -"My dear boy," said Mr. Courtney, with a shoulder-shrug, "you are aware -that I can scarcely be considered _au mieux_ with the powers that -be--meaning Mrs. Branwhite--and consequently I am not likely to be -taken into confidence in such matters. But I understand, I have heard, -quite _par hazard_," and the old gentleman waved his double glasses -daintily in the air as he pronounced the French phrase, "that Mr. -Dickson is the selected--person." - -"D--n Mr. Dickson!" said Paul Derinzy. - -"Hear, hear!" said Mr. Dunlop; "my sentiments entirely, well and -forcibly put. A job, sir, a beastly job. 'John Branwhite, Jobmaster,' -ought to be written on the Secretary's door; 'neat flies' over -deserving people's heads, and 'experienced drivers;' those scoundrels -that he employs to spy, and sneak, and keep the fellows up to their -work. No, sir, no chance for my being put up; as the party in the -Psalms remarks, 'promotion cometh neither from the east nor from the -west.'" - -"No, Billy, from the south-west this time," said Paul Derinzy. -"Dickson's people have been having Branwhite and his wife to dine in -Belgrave Square; and our sweet Scratchetary was so delighted with Lady -Selina, and so fascinated by the swell surroundings, that he has been -grovelling ever since: hence Dickson's lift." - -"I have noticed," said Mr. Courtney, standing up and looking around -him with that benevolent expression which he always assumed when about -to give utterance to an intensely-unpleasant remark, "I have noticed -that when a--point of fact, a cad--tries to get into sassiety on which -he has no claim for admission, he invariably selects the wrong people. -What you just said, my dear Paul, bears out my argument entirely. This -man Branwhite--worthy person, official position, and that kind of -thing; no more knowledge of decent people than a Hottentot--struggles -to get into sassiety, and who does he get to introduce him? Dickson, -brewer-man, malt and hops and drugs, and blue boards with 'Entire,' -and that kind of thing. Worthy person in his way, and married Lady -Selina Walkinshaw, sister of Lord Barclay; but as to sassiety--very -third-rate, God bless my soul, very third-rate indeed!" - -"Well, I don't know any swells," said Billy Dunlop, "and I don't think -I want to. From what I've seen of 'em, they're scarcely so convivial -as they might be. Not in the drinking line; I don't mean that--they're -all there; but in the talking. And talking of talking, Mr. Wainwright, -we've not had the pleasure of hearing your charming voice for the last -quarter of an hour. Has it come off at last?" - -"Has what come off, Billy?" asked George Wainwright. - -"The amputation. Has our father the eminent, &c, at last performed the -operation and cut off our tongue? and is it then in a choice vial, -neatly preserved in spirits-of-wine, covered over with a bit of a -kid-glove, tied down with packthread, and placed on a shelf between a -stethoscope and a volume of 'Quain's Anatomy': is that it?" - -"Funny dog!" said George Wainwright, looking across at him. "I often -wonder why you stop here, Billy, at two-forty, rising to three-eighty -by annual increments of ten, when there's such a splendid future -awaiting you in the ring. That mug of yours is worth a pound a-week -alone; and then those charming witticisms, so new, so fresh, so -eminently humorous----" - -"Will you shut up?" - -"How they would fetch the threepenny gallery! Why don't I talk? I do -sometimes in your absence; but when you're here, I feel like one of -'those meaner beauties of the night, which poorly satisfy our eyes;' -and when you begin I ask myself: 'What are you when the moon shall -rise?'" - -"Shut up, will you? not merely your mouth, but your inkstand, -blotting-book, and all the rest of the paraphernalia by which you wring -an existence out of a too-easily-satisfied Government. You seem to have -forgotten it's Saturday." - -"By Jove, so it is!" said George Wainwright. - -"Yes, sir," continued Mr. Dunlop; "like that party in Shakespeare, who -drew a dial from his poke, and said it was just ten, and in an hour -it would be eleven, I've just looked at my watch and find that in ten -minutes it will be one o'clock, at which hour, by express permission -of her Majesty's Ministers, signed and sealed at a Cabinet Council, of -which Mr. Arthur Helps was clerk, the gentlemen of H.M. Stannaries are -permitted on Saturdays to--to cut it. That is the reason, odd as it may -seem, why I like Saturday afternoon. Mr. Tennyson, I believe, knew some -parties who found out a place where it was always Saturday afternoon. -Mr. W. Dunlop presents his compliments to the Laureate, and would be -obliged for an introduction to the said place and parties." - -"And what are you going to do with yourself to-day, Billy?" - -"I am going, sir, if I may so express myself without an appearance of -undue vanity, where Glory waits me. But I am prepared to promise, if -it will afford any gentleman the smallest amount of satisfaction, that -when Fame elates me, I will at once take the opportunity of thinking of -THEE!" - -"And where is Glory at the present moment on the look-out for you, -William?" - -"Glory, sir, in the person of Mr. Kemp, the Izaak Walton of the day, -will be found awaiting me in a large punt, moored on the silver bosom -of the Thames, off the pleasant village of Teddington, a vessel -containing, item two rods, item groundbait and worms for fishing, item -a stone-jar of--water! A most virtuous and modest way of spending the -afternoon, isn't it? I wish I could think it was going to be spent -equally profitably by all!" and Billy Dunlop made a comic grimace in -the direction of Paul Derinzy, and then assuming a face of intense -gravity, took his hat off a peg, nodded, and vanished. - -"Well, goodbye, my dear boys," said Mr. Courtney, coming out from -behind the partition where the washing-stand was placed--it was a point -of honour among the men to ignore his performance of his toilette--with -his wig tightly fixed on and poodled up under his glossy hat, with his -close-fitting lavender gloves, and with a flower in the button-hole -of his coat; "_au revoir_ on Monday. I'm going down to dear Lord -Lumbsden's little place at Marlow to blow this confounded dust out of -me, and to get a little ozone into me, to keep me up till I get away -to Scotland. _Au revoir_!" and the old boy kissed his fingertips, and -shambled away. - -"What are you going to do this afternoon, old man?" asked George -Wainwright, pulling off his coat preparatory to a wash, of Paul -Derinzy, who had been sitting silent for the last ten minutes, now -nervously plucking at his moustache, now referring to his watch, and -evidently in a highly nervous state. - -"I don't know exactly, George," Paul replied, without looking up at his -friend. "I haven't quite made up my mind." - -"Going to play tennis?" - -"No, I think not." - -"Going down to the Oval, to have an hour or two with the professionals? -Good day to-day, and the ground's in clipping order." - -"No, I think not." - -"Well, then, look here. Come along with me: we'll go for a spin as far -as Hendon; come back and dine at Jack Straw's Castle at Hampstead, -where the man has some wonderfully-good dry sherry, which he bought the -other day at a sale up there; and then walk quietly in at night. What -do you say?" - -"No, I think not to-day, old fellow." - -"Oh, all right," said George Wainwright, after an instant's pause; "I'm -sorry I spoke." - -"Don't be angry, George, old boy! You know I'm never so jolly as when -I'm with you, and that there's no man on earth I care for like you," -said Paul, earnestly; "but I've half-promised myself for this -afternoon, and until I hear--and I expect to hear every moment--I don't -know whether I'm free or not." - -"All right, Paul. I daresay I bore you sometimes, old man. I often -think I do. But, you know, I'm five or six years older than you, and I -was the first fellow you knew when you came into the service, through -your people being acquainted with mine, and so I've a natural interest -in you. Besides, you're a young swell in your way, and it does good -to me to hear you talk and mark your freshness, and your--well, your -youth. After thirty, a London man hasn't much of either." - -"At it again, are you, George? Why don't you keep a property tub on the -premises? You can't do your old Diogenes business effectively without -it. Or do you want no tub so long as you have me for your butt? Sold -you there, I think. You intended to say that yourself." - -"Mr. Derinzy," said George Wainwright gravely, "you must indeed have -lost every particle of respect for me when you could imagine that I -would have descended to a low verbal jest of that nature. Well, since -you won't come, I'll----" - -"I never said I wouldn't yet, though I can't expect you to wait any -longer for my decision. I----" - -At that moment a messenger entered the room with a letter in his hand. - -"For you, sir," he said to Mr. Derinzy; "the boy wouldn't wait to know -if there was an answer." - -"All right!" said Paul, opening it hurriedly, with a flushed face. - -It had an outer and an inner envelope, both sealed. - -"And I may be like the boy, I suppose," said George Wainwright, eyeing -his friend with a curiously mixed expression of interest and pity; "I -needn't wait to know if there's an answer." - -"No, dear old George; I can't come with you this afternoon," replied -Paul; and then he looked at the letter again. - -It was very short; only one line: - - -"At the usual place, at three to-day.--DAISY." - - - - -CHAPTER IV. -AFTER OFFICE-HOURS. - - -Paul Derinzy was left alone in the Principal Registrar's Room, and -silence reigned in H.M. Stannaries Office. Snow does not melt away -more speedily under the influence of the bright spring sun than do the -clerks of that admirable department under the sound of one o'clock on -a Saturday afternoon. Within ten minutes the place was deserted, the -gentlemen had all cleared out, the messengers had closed up desks and -lockers, despatched papers, and bolted, and the place was left to Mr. -Derinzy and the office-keeper. The latter went to the door with the -last departing messenger, looked up the street and down the street, -and with something of the soreness of a man who knew he was imprisoned -for at least thirty-six hours, said he thought they were going to have -some rain; an idea which the messenger--who had an engagement to take -the young lady with whom he was keeping company to Gravesend on the -Sunday--indignantly pooh-poohed. Not to be put down by this sort of -thing, the office-keeper declared that rain was wanted by the country, -to which the messenger replied that he thought of himself more than -the country; and as the country had done without it for three weeks, -it might hold over without much bother till Monday, he should think; -and nodded, and went his way. The office-messenger kicked the door -viciously to, and proceeded to make his round of the various rooms to -see that everything was in order, and to turn the key in each door -after his inspection. When he came to the Principal Registrar's Room he -went in as usual, but finding Mr. Derinzy there performing on his head -with two hairbrushes, he begged pardon and retreated, wondering what -the deuce possessed anyone to stop in the Office of H.M. Stannaries -when he had the chance of leaving it and going anywhere else. A cynical -fellow this office-keeper, only to be humanised by his release on -Monday morning. - -Mr. Paul Derinzy was in no special hurry, he had plenty of time before -him, and he had his toilette to attend to; a business which, though -he was no set dandy, he never scamped. He was very particular about -the exact parting of his hair, the polish of his nails, and the set -of his necktie; and between each act of dressing he went back to his -writing-table, and re-read the little note lying upon, it. Once or -twice he took the little note up, and whispered "darling!" to it, and -kissed it before he put it down again. Poor Paul! he was evidently -very hard hit, and just at the time of life, too, when these wounds -fester and rankle so confoundedly. Your _ci-devant jeune homme_, your -middle-aged gallant, _viveur, coureur des dames_, takes a love-affair -as easily as his dinner: if it goes well, all right; if it comes to -grief, equally all right; the sooner it is over the better he likes it. -The great cynical philosopher of the age, whose cynicism it is now the -fashion to deny--as though he could help it, or would have been in the -least ashamed of it--in one of his ballads calls upon all his coevals -of forty to declare: - - Did not the fairest of the fair - Common grow, and wearisome, ere - Ever a month had passed away? - - -Middle-aged man has other aims, other resources, other objects. -The "court, camp, grove, the vessel and the mart," fame, business, -ambition--all of these have claims upon his time, claims which he is -compelled to recognise in their proper season; and, worst of all, -he has recovered from the attacks of the "cruel madness of love," a -youthful disorder, seldom or never taken in middle life; the glamour -which steeped all surrounding objects in roseate hues no longer exists, -and it is impossible to get up any spurious imitations of it. Time -has taught him common sense; he has made friends of the mammon of -unrighteousness; and instead of wandering about the grounds begging -Maud to come out to him, and singing rapturous nonsense to the flowers, -he is indoors dining with the Tory squires. But the young have but one -idea in the world. They are entirely of opinion, with Mr. Coleridge's -hero, that all thoughts, "all passions, all delights that stir this -mortal frame," are "ministers of love," and "feed his sacred flame." -Perpetually to play at that sweet game of lips, to alternate between -the heights of hope and the depths of despair, to pine for a glance -and to be made happy by a word, to have no care for anything else, -to ignore the friends in whose society you have hitherto found such -delight, to shut your eyes knowingly, wilfully, and resolutely to the -sight of everything but one object, and to fall down and persistently -adore that object in the face of censure, contempt, and obloquy, is -granted to but few men over thirty years of age. Let them not be -ashamed of the weakness, rather let them congratulate themselves on its -possession: it will give a zest and flavour to their middle life which -but few enjoy. - -Paul Derinzy, however, was just at that period of his life when -everything is rose-coloured. He was even young enough to enjoy looking -at himself in the glass, which is indeed a proof of youth; for there -is no face or no company a man so soon gets sick of as his own. But -Paul stood before the little glass behind the washing-screen settling -his hat, and gazing at himself very complacently, even going so far -as to fetch another little glass from his drawer, and by aid of the -two ascertaining that his back parting was perfectly straight. As he -replaced the glass, he took out a yellow rosebud, carefully wrapped in -wool, cleared it from its envelope, and sticking it in his buttonhole, -took his departure. - -Paul looked up at the Horse-Guards clock as he passed by, and finding -that he had plenty of time to spare, walked slowly up Whitehall. The -muslin-cravated, fresh-coloured, country gentlemen at the Union Club, -and the dyed and grizzled veterans at the Senior United, looked out -of the window at the young man as he passed, and envied him his youth -and his health and his good looks. He strolled up Waterloo Place -just as the insurance-offices with which that district abounds were -being closed for the half-holiday, and the insurance-clerks, young -gentlemen who, for the most part, mould themselves in dress and manners -upon Government officials, took mental notes of Paul's clothes, and -determined to have them closely imitated so soon as the state of their -salaries permitted. Quite unconscious of this sincerest flattery, Paul -continued his walk, striking across into Piccadilly, and lounging -leisurely along until he came to the Green Park, which he entered, -and sat down for a few minutes. It was the dull time of the day--when -the lower half of society was at dinner, and the upper half at -luncheon--and there was scarcely anyone about. After a short rest, Paul -looked at his watch, and muttering to himself, "She can't have started -yet; I may just as well have the satisfaction of letting my eyes rest -on her as she walks to the Gardens," he rose, and turned his steps back -again. He turned up Bond Street, and off through Conduit Street into -George Street, Hanover Square, and there, just by St. George's Church, -he stopped. - -Not to the church, however, was his attention directed, but to the -house immediately opposite to it. A big, red-faced, old-fashioned -house, fresh painted and pointed, with plate-glass windows in its lower -stories, and bronzed knockers, and shining bell-pulls, looking like a -portly dowager endeavouring to assume modern airs and graces. Carriages -kept driving up, and depositing old and young ladies, and the door, on -which was an enormous brass plate with "Madame Clarisse," in letters -nearly half a foot long, was perpetually being flung open by a page -with a very shiny face, produced by a judicious combination of yellow -soap and friction--a page who, in his morning-jacket ruled with red -lines, looked like a page of an account-book. Paul Derinzy knew many of -these carriage-brought people--for Madame Clarisse was the fashionable -milliner of London, and had none but the very greatest of fine ladies -in her _clientčle_--and many of them knew him; but on the present -occasion he carefully shrouded himself from observation behind one of -the pillars of the church portico. There he remained in an agony of -impatience, fidgeting about, looking at his watch, glaring up at the -bright-faced house, and anathematising the customers, until the clock -in the church-tower above him chimed the half-hour past two. Then he -became more fidgety than ever. Before, he had taken short turns up and -down the street, always returning sharply to the same spot, and looking -round as though he had expected some remarkable alteration to have -taken place during his ten seconds' absence; now, he stood behind the -pillar, never attempting to move from the spot, but constantly peering -across the way at Madame Clarisse's great hall-door. - -Within five minutes of the chiming of the clock, the great hall-door -was opened so quietly that it was perfectly apparent the demonstrative -page was not behind it. A young woman, simply and elegantly dressed -in a tight-fitting black silk gown, and a small straw bonnet trimmed -with green ribbon, with a black lace shawl thrown loosely across her -shoulders and hanging down behind, after a French fashion then in -vogue, passed out, closing the door softly behind her, and started off -in the direction of the Park. Then Paul Derinzy left his hiding-place, -and, at a discreet distance, followed in pursuit. - -There must have been something very odd or very attractive in the -personal appearance of this young woman, for she undoubtedly attracted -a vast deal of attention as she passed through the streets. It would -require something special, one would imagine, to intervene between -a man and the toothache; and yet a gentleman seated in a dentist's -ante-room in George Street, with a face swollen to twice its natural -size, and all out of drawing, and vainly endeavouring to solace -himself, and to forget the coming wrench, with the pleasant pages of a -ten-years'-old _Bentleys Miscellany_, flung the book aside as he saw -the girl go by, and crammed himself into a corner of the window to look -after her retreating figure. Two sporting gentlemen standing at the -freshly-sanded door of Limmer's Hotel, smoking cigars, and muttering -to each other in whispers of forthcoming "events," suspended their -conversation and exchanged a rapid wink as she flitted by them. The -old boys sunning themselves in Bond Street, pottering into Ebers' for -their stalls, or pricing fish at Groves's, were very much fluttered by -the girl's transient appearance among them. The little head was carried -very erect, and there must have been something in the expression of the -face which daunted the veterans, and prevented them from addressing -her. One or two gave chase, but soon found out that the gouty feet -so neatly incased in varnished boots had no chance with this modern -Atalanta, who sailed away without a check, looking neither to the right -nor to the left. Nor were men her only admirers; ladies sitting in -their carriages at shop-doors would look at her half in wonderment, -half in admiration, and whisper to each other: "What a pretty girl!" -and these compliments pleased her immensely, and brought the colour to -her face, adding to her beauty. - -She crossed into the Park through Grosvenor Gate, and taking the -path that lay immediately in front of her, went straight ahead about -half-way between the Serpentine and the Bayswater Road, then through -the little iron gate into Kensington Gardens, and across the turf -for some distance until she came in sight of a little avenue of -trees, through which glimmered the shining waters of the Round Pond, -backed by the rubicund face of stout old Kensington Palace. Then she -slackened her pace a little, and began to look around her. There were -but few, very few people near: two or three valetudinarians sunning -themselves on such of the benches as were in sufficient repair; a -few children playing about while their nursemaids joined forces and -abused their employers; a shabby-genteel man eating a sandwich of -roll-and-sausage--obviously his dinner--in a shamefaced way, and -drinking short gulps out of a tin flask under the shadow of his hat; -and a vagabond dog or two, delighted at having escaped the vigilance -of the park-keeper, and snapping, yelping, and performing acrobatic -feats of tumbling, out of what were literally pure animal spirits. -Valetudinarians, children, nursemaids, and dogs were evidently not what -the girl had come to see, for she stopped, struck the stick-handle of -her open parasol against her shoulder, and murmured, "How provoking!" -Just at that instant Paul Derinzy, who had been following her tolerably -closely, touched her arm. She started, wheeled swiftly round, and her -eyes brightened and the flush rose in her cheeks as she cried: - -"Oh, Mr. Douglas!" - -"'Mr. Douglas,' Daisy!" said Paul Derinzy, with uplifted eyebrows; -"'and why this courtesy,' as we say in Sir Walter Scott?" - -"I mean Paul," said the girl; "but you startled me so, I scarcely knew -what I said." - -"Ah, 'Paul' is much better. The idea of your calling me anything else!" - -"I don't know, I rather think you're 'Mr. Douglas' just now. You're -always 'Mr. Douglas,' recollect, when I'm at all displeased with you, -and I've lots of things for you to explain to-day." - -"Fire away, child! Let's turn out of the path first, in amongst these -trees. So--that is better. Now then, what is the first?--by Jove, pet, -how stunning you look to-day!" - -A vulgar but expressive term, and one in general acceptance ten years -ago. One, too, by no means inexpressive of the girl's beauty, for she -was beautiful, and in a style that was then uncommon. She had red hair. -Nowadays red hair is by no means uncommon; it may be seen hanging in -bunches in the _coiffeurs'_ shops, and, with black roots, on the heads -of most of the Dryads of the Wood. Ten years ago, to have red hair was -to be subjected to chaff by the street-boys, to be called "carrots" -by the vulgar, and to be pitied silently by the polite. Red hair -_au naturel_ was almost unknown--it was greased, and pomatumed, and -cosmetiqued, and flattened into _bandeaux_, and twisted into ringlets, -and deepened and darkened and disguised in every possible shape and -way; it was "auburn," it was "chestnut," it was anything but red. -This girl had red hair, and hated it, but was too proud to attempt to -disguise it. So she wore it in a thick dry mass, heavy and crisp, and -low on the forehead, and it suited her dead-white skin, creamy white, -showing the rising blood on the smallest provocation, and her thin -cheeks, and her pointed chin, and her gray eyes, and her long, but -slightly impertinent, nose. No wonder people in the street turned round -and stared at her; they had been educated up to the raven locks, and -the short straight noses, and the rounded chin style of beauty, formed -on the true classical model, and they could not understand this kind of -thing except in a picture of Mr. Dante Rossetti, or young Mr. Millais, -or some of those other new-fangled artists who, they supposed, were -clever, but who were decidedly "odd." - -There was no doubt about her beauty, though, and none about her style. -So Paul Derinzy thought, as he looked her up and down on saying the -last-recorded words, and marked her tall, _svelte_, lissom figure; her -neatly-shod, neatly-gloved feet and hands; her light walk, so free and -yet so stately; and the simple elegance of her dress. - -"You are a stunner, pet, and I adore you! There, having delivered -myself of those mild observations, I will suffer you to proceed. You -had a lot of things to say to me? Fire away!" - -"In the first place, why were you not here to meet me, Mr. Douglas?" - -"Again that detestable formality! Daisy, I swear, if you call me that -again, I'll kiss you,--_coram publico, en plein air_, here before -everybody; and that child, who will not take its eyes off us, will -swallow the hoopstick it is now sucking, and its death will lie at your -door." - -"No, but seriously--where have you been?" - -"You want to know? Well, then, I don't mind telling you that I've -followed you every foot of the way from George Street. Ah, you may well -blush, young woman! I was the heartbroken witness of your flirtation -with those youths in Bond Street." - -"Horrid old things! No, but, Paul, did you really follow me from -Madame's? Were you there to see me come out?" - -"My child, I was there for three mortal quarters of an hour before you -came out." - -"That was very nice of you; _bien gentil_, as Mdlle. Augustine says. I -wish you knew Mdlle. Augustine, she's a very great friend of Madame's." - -"I wish I was Mdlle. Augustine. I say, Daisy, doesn't Madame Clarisse -want a male hand in the business--something in the light-porter line? -I'm sure it would suit me better than that beastly office." - -"What office, Paul?" - -"Why, my office, darling; where I go every day. Do you mean to say I -didn't tell you about that, Daisy?" - -"Certainly not; you've told me nothing about yourself." - -"Well, you see, I've known you so short a time, and seen so little of -you. Oh yes, I go to an office." - -"Do you mean to say you're a clerk?" - -"Well, yes--not to put too fine a point upon it, I suppose I am." - -"What! a lawyer's clerk?" - -"No, no! D--n it all, Daisy, not as bad as that, nothing of the kind. -Government office, Civil servant of the Crown, and all that kind of -thing, don't you understand? Her Majesty's Stannaries--one of the -principal departments of the State." - -"And do you go there every day, Mr.--I mean, Paul?" - -"Well, I'm supposed to, my darling; point of fact, I do go -there--generally." - -"Why don't you let me write to you there?" - -"Write to me there! at the office! My dear child, there are the most -stringent rules of the service against it. Any man in the office -receiving a letter from a lady at the office would be--would be had up -before the House of Commons, and very probably committed to the Tower!" - -"What a curious thing! I thought you had nothing to do." - -"Nothing to do! My darling Daisy, no galley-slave who tugs at the -what-d'ye-call-em--oar--works harder than I do, as, indeed, Lord -Palmerston has often acknowledged." - -"And you're well paid for it? I mean, you get lots of money?" asked the -girl, looking straight up into his face. - -"Ye-yes, child. Yes, statecraft is tolerably well remunerated. Besides, -men in my position have generally something else to live upon, some -private means, some allowances from their people." - -"Their people? Oh, you mean their families. Yes, that must be very -nice. Have you any--any people?" - -"Yes, Daisy, my father and mother are both alive." - -"They don't live with you in Hanover Street?" - -"Oh no; they live down in the country, a long way off--down in the West -of England." - -"And they're rich, I suppose?" - -"Yes, they're very fairly off." - -"And how many brothers and sisters have you, Paul?" - -"None, darling; I am the only child; the entire hopes of the family are -centred in this charming creature. Have you finished your questions, -you inquisitive puss?" - -"Quite. Did it sound inquisitive? I daresay it did; I daresay my -foolish chatter was boring you." - -"My pet Daisy, I'd sooner hear what you call your foolish chatter than -anything in the world--much sooner than Tamberlik's _ut de poitrine_, -that all the musical people are raving about just now. See, darling, -let us sit down here. Take off your glove--this right glove. No? what -nonsense! I may kiss your hand; there's no one looking but that fat -child in the brown-holland knickerbockers, and if he doesn't turn his -eyes away, I'll make a face at him, and frighten him into convulsions. -There; now tell me about yourself." - -"About myself? I've nothing to tell, Paul, except that we're horribly -busy, and Madame plagues our lives out." - -"Had you any difficulty in getting out to-day? You thought you would -have when last I saw you." - -"Dreadful difficulty; Madame fussed and fumed, and declared that she -could not possibly let me go; but I insisted; and as the customers like -me, and always ask for me, I suppose I am too valuable for her to say -much." - -"By the way, Daisy, do any men ever come to your place--with the women, -I mean?" - -"Sometimes; the husbands or the brothers of the ladies." - -"Exactly. I suppose they don't--I mean, I suppose you don't--what a -fool I am! No matter. Are you going back there this evening?" - -"Yes, Madame would not let me come until I promised to be back by six -to see the parcels off. Madame's going to the Opera to-night, and -she'll be dressing at the time, and she must have somebody there she -can depend upon." - -"And you are the somebody, Daisy? How deuced nice to be able to -reckon upon finding you anywhere when one wanted you! No, I say; no -one can see my arm, it's quite covered by your shawl, and it fits so -beautifully round your waist, just as if you had been measured for it -at Madame Clarisse's. Well, and what time will you be free?" - -"Between eight and nine, I suppose; nearer nine." - -"May I meet you when you come away, Daisy? Will you come with me to the -theatre?" - -"No, Paul; you know perfectly well that I will not. You know it is not -of the slightest use proposing such things to me." - -"Yes, I know it's of no use; I wish it were; it would be so jolly, -and--then you'll go straight back to South Molton Street?" - -"Yes; to my garret!" and she laughed, rather a hard laugh, as she said -these words. - -"Don't say that, Daisy; I hate to hear you say that word." - -"It's the right word, Paul, horrid or not. However, I shall get out of -it some day, I suppose." - -"How?" asked Paul, withdrawing his arm from her waist, and looking -fixedly at her. - -"How should I know?" said the girl, with the same hard laugh. "Feet -foremost, perhaps, in my coffin. Somehow, at all events." - -"You're in a curious mood to-day, Daisy." - -"Am I? You'll see me in many curious moods, if we continue to know each -other long, Paul--which I very much doubt, by the way." - -"Daisy, what makes you say that? You've not seen anyone--you've not -heard--I mean, you don't intend to break with me, Daisy?" - -"There is nothing to break, my poor Paul!" - -"Whose fault is that? Whose fault is it that you remain in what you -call your garret? Whose fault is it that you are compelled to obey -Madame Clarisse, and to dance attendance on her infernal customers? -Not mine, you must allow that. You know what is the dearest wish of my -heart--you know how often I have proposed that----" - -"Stop, sir," said Daisy, laying her ungloved hand upon his mouth; "you -know how often I have forbidden you to touch upon that subject, and -now you dare to disobey merely because I was foolish enough to be off -my guard for a moment, and to let some grumbling escape my lips. No, -no, Paul, let us be sensible; it is very well as it is. We enjoy these -stolen meetings; at least, I do----" - -"And you think I don't, I suppose? Oh no, certainly not!" - -"You very rude bear, why do you interrupt me? I don't think anything -of the sort. I know you enjoy them too. Then why should we bother -ourselves about the future?" - -"No; but you don't understand, Daisy. It seems so deuced hard for me to -have to see you for such a short time, and then for you to have to go -away, and----" - -"Don't you think it is quite as hard for me?" - -"But then I'm so fond of you, don't you know! I love you so much, -Daisy." - -"And do you imagine I don't care for you? I don't say how much, but I -know it must be more than a little." - -"How do you know that, darling?" - -"Because my love for you has conquered my pride, Paul. That shows me -at once, without anything else, that I must love you. Do you think if -I didn't care for you that I would consent to all this subterfuge and -mystery which always surrounds us? Do you imagine that I have no eyes -and no perception? Do you think I don't notice that you have chosen -this place for our meeting because it is quite quiet and secluded? That -when anyone having the least appearance of belonging to your world -comes near us, you are in an agony, and turn your head aside, or cover -your face with your hand, lest you should be recognised? Do you think I -haven't noticed all this? And do you think I don't know that all these -precautions are taken, and all this fear is undergone, because you are -walking with _me?_" - -"My darling Daisy----" - -"It's my own fault, Paul. Understand, I quite allow that. I am not in -your rank of life. I am Madame Clarisse's show-woman; and I ought to -look for my lovers amongst Messrs. Lewis and Allenby's young drapers, -or the assistants at Godfrey and Cooke's, the chemists. They would -be very proud to be seen with me, and would probably take me out on -Sundays, along the Hammersmith Road in a four-wheel chaise. However, I -hate chemists and drapers and four-wheel chaises, and prefer walking in -this gloomy grove with you, Paul." - -"You're a queer child," said Paul, with a sigh of relief at the subject -being, as he thought, ended, and with a gratified smile at the pleasant -words Daisy had last spoken. - -"Yes," she said; "queer enough, Heaven knows! I suppose my dislike to -those kind of people is because I was decently born and educated; and I -can't forget that even now, when I'm only a milliner's shop-girl. But -with all my queerness, I was right in what I said, wasn't I, Paul?" - -"Why, my darling, it's a question, don't you see. I don't care for -myself; I should be only too proud for people to think that I--that -a girl like you would be about with me, and that kind of thing; but -it's one's people, don't you know, and all that infernal cant and -conventionality." - -"Exactly. Now let us take a turn up and down the gloomy grove, and talk -about something else." - -She rose as she spoke, and passed her arm through his, and they began -slowly pacing up and down among the trees. The "something else" which -formed the subject of their talk it is not very difficult to divine, -and though apparently deeply interesting to them, it would not be worth -transcription. It was the old, old subject, which retains its glamour -in all countries and in all places, and which was as entrancing in that -bit of cockney paradise, with the smoke-discoloured trees waving above -them, and the dirty sheep nibbling near them, as it was to OEnone on -Ida, or to Desdemona in Venice. - -So they strolled about, trying endless variations of the same tune, -until it became time for Daisy to think of returning to her place of -business. Paul, after a little inward struggle with himself, proposed -to walk with her as far as the Marble Arch; there would be no one in -that part of the Park, he thought, of whom he need have the slightest -fear; and Daisy appearing to be delighted, they started off. Just -before they reached the end of the turf by the Marble Arch they stopped -to say adieux. These apparently took a long time to get over, for -Daisy's delicate little glove was retained in Paul's grasp, her face -was upturned, and he was looking into it with love and passion in his -eyes. So that they neither of them observed a tall gentleman who had -just entered the gates, and was striking across the Park when his eyes -fell upon them, and who honoured them, not with a mere cursory glance, -but with an intense and a prolonged stare. This gentleman was George -Wainwright. - - - - -CHAPTER V. -FAMILY POLITICS. - - -"Was I a-dreamin', or did my Ann really tell me that somebody'd come -down late last night in a po'-shay and driven to the Tower?" asked -Mrs. Powler, the morning after her little supper-party, of Mrs. Jupp, -who, whenever she could find a minute to spare from the troubles of -housekeeping, was in the habit of "dropping-in" to gossip with her -older and less active neighbour. - -"You weren't dreamin', dear; at least, I should say not, unless you -have dreams like them chief butlers and bakers, and other cur'ous -pipple in the Bible one reads of, which had their dreams 'terpreted. -It's quite true--not that it's made more so by your Ann having said it; -for a more shameful little liar there don't talk in this parish!" said -Mrs. Jupp, getting very red in the face. - -"You never took kindly to that gell, Mrs. Jupp," said the old lady -placidly--she was far too rich to get in a rage--"you never took kindly -to that gell from the first, when I took her out of charity, owin' to -her father's being throwed out of work on account of Jupp's cousin -stoppin' payment." - -Though said in Mrs. Fowler's calmest tones, and without a change of -expression on the speaker's childish old face, this was meant to be a -hard hit, and was received as such by Mrs. Jupp. - -"I don't know nothin' 'bout stoppin' payment, nor Jupp's cousins," said -that lady, with a redundancy of negatives and a very shrill voice; "my -own fam'ly has always paid their way, and Jupp has a 'count at the -Devon Bank, where his writin' is as good as gold, and will be so long -as I live. But I _du_ know that I've never liked that gell Ann Bradshaw -since she told a passil o' lies about my Joey and the hen-roost!" - -"Well, well, never mind Ann Bradshaw," said Mrs. Powler, who had had -vast experience of Mrs. Jupp's powers of boredom in connection with the -subject of her Joey and the hen-roost; "never mind about the gell; I -allays kip her out o' your way, and I must ha' been main thoughtless -when I let her name slip out just now before you. So someone did come -in a po'-shay last night, then, and did drive to the Tower? Do you know -who it was?" - -"Not of my own knowledge," replied Mrs. Jupp in a softened voice--it -would never have done to have quarrelled with Mrs. Powler, from -whom she derived much present benefit, and from whom she expected a -legacy--"but Groper, who was up there this morning wi' the sallt water -for the Captain's bath, says it's the Doctor." - -"Lor', now!" said Mrs. Powler, lifting up her hands in astonishment; -"I can't fancy why passons go messin' wi' sallt water, and baths, and -such-like. They must be main dirty, one would think, to take such a lot -o' washin'. I'm sure Powler and I never did such redick'lous nonsense, -and we was always well thought of, I believe. Lor', now, I've bin and -forgotten who you said it was come down. Who was it, Harriet?" - -"The Doctor from London--Wheelwright, or some such name; he that comes -down three or four times a-year just to look at Mrs. Derinzy." - -"He must be a cliver doctor, I du 'low, if his lookin' at her is enough -to do her good," said Mrs. Powler, who was extremely literal in all -things; "not but what she's that bad, poor soul, that anything must be -a comfort to her." - -"Did you ever hear tell what was ezackly the matter wi' the Captain's -lady, Mrs. Powler?" asked Mrs. Jupp mysteriously. - -"Innards," said the old lady in a hollow voice, laying her hand on the -big mother-o'-pearl buckle by which her broad sash was kept together. - -"Ah, but what sort of innards?" demanded Mrs. Jupp, who was by no means -to be put off with a general answer on such an important subject. - -"That I dunno," said Mrs. Powler, unwillingly confessing her ignorance. -"Dr. Barton attends her in a or'nary way, but I niver heerd him say." - -"It must be one of them obstinit diseases as we women has," said Mrs. -Jupp, "as though--not to fly in the face of Providence--but as though -child-bearin' wasn't enough to have us let off all the rest!" - -"She niver takes no med'cine," said Mrs. Powler, who firmly believed -in the virtues of the Pharmacopoeia, and whose pride it was that -the deceased Powler, in his last illness, had swallowed "quarts and -quarts." "I know that from that fair-haired young chap that mixes -Barton's drugs,--his mother was a kind o' c'nexion o' Fowler's, and I -had 'im up to tea a Sunday week, and asked him." - -"Well, I'd like very much to know what is the matter wi' Mrs. Derinzy," -said Mrs. Jupp, harking back. "I ha' my own idea on the subjick; but -I'd like to know for sure." - -"If you're so cur'ous, you'd better ask Dr. Barton. He's just gone -passt the window, and I 'spose he'll look in;" and almost before -Mrs. Powler had finished her sentence there came a soft rap at the -room-door, the handle was gently turned, and Dr. Barton presented -himself. - -He was a short, thickset, strongly-built man of about fifty-five, with -close curly gray hair, bright eyes, mottled complexion, large hooked -nose. He was dressed in a black cut-away coat, stained buff waistcoat, -drab riding-breeches, and top-boots. He had a way of laying his head on -one side, and altogether reminded one irresistibly of Punch. - -"_Good_-morning, ladies," said the doctor, in a squeaky, throaty little -voice, which tended to heighten the resemblance; "I seem to ha' dropped -in just in the nick o' time, by the looks of ye. Mayhap you were -talking about me. Mrs. Jupp, you don't mean to say that----" and the -little man whispered the conclusion of the sentence behind his hat to -Mrs. Jupp, while he privately winked at Mrs. Powler. - -"Get 'long wi' ye, du!" said Mrs. Jupp, her face suffused with crimson. - -"I niver see such a man in all my born days," said old Mrs. Powler, -with whom the doctor was a special favourite, laughing until the tears -made watercourses of her wrinkles, and were genially irrigating her -face. "No; no such luck, I tell her." - -"Well, as to luck, that all a matter o' taste," said Mrs. Jupp; "we -were talking about something quite different to that." - -"What was it?" asked the doctor. - -"'Bout Mrs. D'rinzy's health Harriet was asking," explained Mrs. Powler. - -"A-h!" said the doctor, shaking his head, and looking very solemn. - -"Is she so bad as all that?" asked Mrs. Jupp, who was visibly impressed -by the medico's pantomime. - -"Great sufferer, great sufferer!" said the little man, with a -repetition of the head-shake. - -"Well, but she gets about; comes down into t' village, and such-like," -argued Mrs. Powler. - -"Oh yes; no reason why she shouldn't; more she gets about, indeed, the -better," said the doctor. - -"It's innards, I suppose?" asked Mrs. Jupp, whose craving for -particulars of Mrs. Derinzy's disorder was yet unsatisfied. - -"Well, partially, partially," said the doctor, slowly rubbing the side -of his nose with the handle of his riding-whip; "it's a complication, a -mixture, which it would be difficult to get an unprofessional person to -understand." - -"Talkin' o' that, Barton," said Mrs. Powler, "I s'pose you know the -London doctor came down last night?" - -"Dr. Wainwright? Oh yes; I was up at the Tower just now to meet him. -As I'm left in charge of Mrs. Derinzy, we always have a consultation -whenever he comes down." - -"I s'pose he's a raal cliver man, this Wheelwright, or they wouldn't -have him come all this way to see her," said Mrs. Powler. - -"Clever!" echoed the doctor; "the very first man of the day; the very -first!" - -"Then why wasn't he sent for to see Sir Herc'les when he was laid up -that bad last spring?" asked Mrs. Jupp; "there was another one come -down from London then." - -"That was quite a different case, my dear madam. Sir Hercules Dingo -was laid up with gout; Mrs. Derinzy's complaint is not gout; and Dr. -Wainwright is the first man of the day in--well, in such cases as Mrs. -Derinzy's." - -No more specific information than this could Mrs. Jupp obtain from the -doctor, who was "that close when he liked," as his friends said of him, -that even the blandishments of Mrs. Barton failed to extract any of his -professional secrets. So Mrs. Jupp gave it up in despair, and began -talking on general topics. Be sure the conversation did not progress -far without the Derinzys again cropping up in it. They were staple -subjects of discussion in Beachborough, and the most preposterous -stories regarding them and their origin, whence and why they came to -the remote Devonshire village, and the reason for their enforced stay -there, obtained, if not credence, at least circulation. What their real -history was, I now propose to tell. - -Five-and-twenty years before the date of this story, the firm of -Derinzy and Sons was well known and highly esteemed in the City -of London. They were supposed to have been originally of Polish -extraction, and their name to have been Derinski; but it had been -painted up as Derinzy for years on the door-posts of their warehouse in -Gough Square, Fleet Street, and it was so spelt on all the invoices, -bill-heads, and other commercial literature of the firm. Warehouses, -invoices, and bill-heads? Yes, despite their Polish extraction and -distinguished name, the Derinzys were neither more nor less than -furriers--wholesale, and on a large scale, it was true, but still -furriers. Their business was enormous, and their profits immense. The -old father, Peter Derinzy, who had founded the firm, and whose business -talent and industry were the main causes of its success, had given up -active attendance, and was beginning to take life leisurely. He came -down twice a week, perhaps, in a handsome carriage-and-pair, to Gough -Square, just glanced over the books, and occasionally looked at some -samples of skins, on which his opinion--still the most reliable in -the whole trade--was requested by his son, and then went back to his -mansion at Muswell Hill, where his connection with business was unknown -or ignored, and where he was Squire Derinzy, dwelling in luxury, and -passing his time in the superintendence of his graperies and pineries, -his forcing-houses and his farm. - -The affairs of the house did not suffer by the old gentleman's absence. -In his eldest son Paul, on whom the command devolved in his father's -absence, the senior partner had a representative possessing all the -experience and tact which he had gained, combined with the youth and -energy which he had lost. Men of high standing in the City of London, -many years his seniors, were glad to know Paul Derinzy, eager to -ask his advice, and, what is quite a different matter, frequently -not unwilling to take it in regard to the great speculations of the -day. The merchants from the North of Europe with whom he transacted -business--and to all of whom he spoke in their own language, without -the slightest betrayal of foreign accent or lack of idiom--looked upon -him as an absolute wonder, more especially when contrasted with his -own countrymen, who for the most part spoke nothing but English, and -little of that beyond oaths, and spread his renown far and wide. He -was a tall, high-shouldered, big-boned man, prematurely bald, and, -being very short-sighted, wore a large pair of spectacles, which -impelled his younger brother Alexis, then fresh from school, and just -received into the counting-house, to be initiated into the mysteries -of trade preparatory to being made a partner, to call him "Gig-lamps." -Paul Derinzy was not a good-tempered man, and at any time would have -disliked this impertinence; but addressed to him as it was, before the -clerks, it nettled him exceedingly. He forbade its repetition under -pain of summary punishment, and when it was repeated, being a big -strong man, he caught his younger brother by the collar, dragged him -out of the counting-house to a secluded part of the warehouse, and then -and there thrashed him to his heart's content. It was, perhaps, this -summary treatment, combined with a dislike for desk-work and indoor -confinement, that induced Master Alexis to resign his clerical stool -and to suggest to his father the propriety of purchasing for him a -commission in the army. Old Derinzy was by no means disposed to act -upon this idea, but his wife, who worshipped and spoiled her youngest -son, urged it very strongly; and as Paul, who was of course consulted, -recommended it as by far the best thing that could be done for his -brother, the old gentleman at last gave way, and in a very short time -young Alexis was gazetted as cornet in a hussar regiment then on its -way home from India, and joined the depot at Canterbury. - -After that little episode, Paul Derinzy took small heed of his -brother's proceedings, or, indeed, of anything save his business, in -which he seemed to be entirely absorbed. He was there early and late, -taking his dinner at a tavern, and retiring to chambers in Chancery -Lane, where he read philosophical treatises and abstruse foreign -philosophical works until bedtime. He had no intimate friends, and -never went into society. Even after his mother's death, when he spent -most of his leisure time, such as it was, at Muswell Hill, with his -father, then become very old and feeble, he shrank from meeting the -neighbours, and was looked upon as an oddity and a recluse. In the -fulness of time old Peter Derinzy died, leaving, it was said, upwards -of a hundred thousand pounds. By his will he bequeathed twenty thousand -pounds to his second son, Captain Alexis Derinzy, while the whole -of the rest of his fortune went to his son Paul, who was left sole -executor. - -Captain Alexis Derinzy made use of very strong language when he learned -the exact amount of the legacy bequeathed to him by his father's will. -He had been always given to understand, he said, that the governor -was a hundred-thousand-pound man, and he thought it deuced hard that -he shouldn't have had at least a third of what was left, specially -considering that he was a married man with a family, whereas that -money-grubbing old tradesman, his elder brother, had nobody but himself -to look after. The statement of Captain Derinzy's marriage was so far -correct. About two years previous to his father's death, the Captain -being at the time, like another captain famed in song, "in country -quarters," had made the acquaintance of a young lady, the daughter -of a clever, ne'er-do-weel, pot-walloping artist, who, when sober, -did odd bits of portrait-painting, and, among other jobs, had painted -correct likenesses of Captain Derinzy's two chargers. Captain Derinzy's -courtship of the artist's daughter, unlike that of his prototype in -verse, was carried on with the strictest decorum, not, one is bound -to say, from any fault of the Captain's, who wished and intended to -assimilate it to scores of other such affairs which he had had under -what he considered similar circumstances. But the truth was that he -had never met anyone like Miss Gertrude Skrymshire before. A pretty -woman, delicate-looking, and thoroughly feminine, she was far more of -an old soldier than the Captain, with all his barrack training and his -country-garrison experience. Years before, when she was a mere child of -fourteen, she had made up her mind, after experience of her father's -career and prospects, that Bohemianism, for a woman at least, was a -most undesirable state, and she had determined that she would marry -either for wealth or position; the latter preferable, she thought, as -the former might be afterwards attainable by her own ready wit and -cleverness; while if she married a _bon bourgeois_, she must be content -to remain in Bloomsbury, Bedfordshire, or wherever she might be placed, -and must abandon all hope of rising. When Captain Derinzy first came -fluttering round her, she saw the means to her end, and determined to -profit thereby. She was a very pretty young woman of her style, red -and white, with black eyes and flattened black hair, altogether very -like those Dutch dolls fashionable at that period, who were made of -shiny composition down to their busts, but then diverged abruptly into -calico and sawdust. She had a trim waist and a neat ankle, and what -is called nowadays a very "fetching" style, and she made desperate -havoc with Captain Derinzy's heart; so much so, that when she declined -with scorn to listen to any of the eccentric--to say the least of -them--propositions which he made to her, and forbade him her presence -for daring to make them, he, after staying away one day, during which -he was intensely wretched, and would have taken to drinking but that he -had tried it before without effect, and would have drowned himself but -that he did not want to die, came down and made an open declaration of -his love to Gertrude, and a formal proposal for her hand to Skrymshire -_pčre_. - -Alick Derinzy had had Luck for his friend several times in his life; he -had "pulled off" some good things in sweepstakes, and been fortunate in -his speculations on "events;" but he never made such a _coup_ as when -he took Gertrude Skrymshire for his wife. She undertook the _ménage_ -at once, sold off his unnecessary horses, and paid off outstanding -ticks; made him get an invitation for himself and her to Muswell Hill, -and spent a week there, during which she ingratiated herself with the -old gentleman, and specially with Paul; speedily took the reins of -government into her hands, and drove her husband skilfully, without -ever letting him feel the bit. When his father died, and Alick was for -crying out at the smallness of his legacy, Gertrude stopped his mouth, -pointing out that they had a sufficiency to live on, to which the sale -of her husband's commission would add; that they could go and live in -a small house in a good suburb of town, where they could make it very -comfortable for Paul, who would doubtless see a good deal of them, -and who, as he was never likely to marry, would most probably leave -his enormous fortune to _their_ Paul, their only son, who, of course -without any definite views, had been named after his uncle. - -It was a notable scheme, well-planned and well-executed, but it failed. -Alick sold out, and they took a pleasant little house at Brompton, -a suburb then not much known, and principally inhabited, as now, by -actors and authors; and they furnished it charmingly, and Gertrude -herself went down in her deep mourning into the City, and penetrated -to Paul's sanctum in Gough Square, and insisted on his coming to stay -a day or two with them, and gained his promise that he would come. On -her return she said she had found Paul very much altered, but when -her husband asked her in what manner, she could not explain herself. -Alick himself explained it in his own peculiar barrack-room and -billiard-table phraseology, after he had seen his brother, expressing -his opinion that that worthy was "going off his head, by G--!" - -No doubt Paul Derinzy was a changed man. It was not that he looked -much older than his years--that he had always done; but his skin was -discoloured, his eyes lustreless, his head bowed, his spirit gone. He -said himself that twenty years' incessant labour without any holiday -had told upon him, and that he was determined at last to take some -rest. He should start immediately with Herr Schadow, one of their -largest customers, for Berlin and St. Petersburg, and should probably -be away for some months. Dockress, who had been brought up from boyhood -in Gough Square, and who knew every trick and turn of the trade, would -manage the business during his absence, and he should go away perfectly -satisfied that things would go on just as smoothly as if he were there -to overlook them. - -Paul Derinzy carried out his intention. He went away to the Continent -with Herr Schadow, and Mr. Dockress took charge of the business in -Gough Square. He heard several times from his principal within the -next few weeks, letters dated from various places, their contents -always relating to business. Mrs. Alick had also several letters -from her brother-in-law, but to her he wrote on different topics. He -seemed to be in wonderful spirits, wrote long descriptions of the -places he had visited, and humorous accounts of people he had met; -said he felt himself quite a different man, that he had just begun to -enjoy life, and looked upon all his earlier years as completely lost -to him. He loathed the very name of business, he said, and hated the -mere idea of coming back to England. He should certainly go as far -as St. Petersburg, and prolong his stay abroad as long as he felt -amused by it. He arrived in St. Petersburg. Dockress heard of him from -there relative to consignment of some special skins which he had been -lucky enough to get hold of, and which his old business instinct, -not to be so easily shaken off as he imagined, prompted him to buy. -Mrs. Alick also heard from him a fortnight later; he described the -place as delightful, the society as charming, said he was "going out -a good deal," and was thoroughly enjoying himself. Then nothing was -heard of him for weeks by the family in the pretty little house at -Brompton, and Mrs. Alick became full of wonderment as to his movements. -Dockress could have given her some information. It is true that he had -had no letters from his chief, but a nephew of Schadow's, who was a -clerk in the Gough Square house, had had a hint dropped to him by his -uncle that it was not improbable that the head of the house would, -on his return, which would be soon, bring with him a wife, as he was -supposed to be very much in love with a young French lady, a governess -in a distinguished Russian family where he visited. Schadow junior -communicated this intelligence to Dockress junior, who sat at the same -desk with him, who communicated it to Dockress senior, who whistled, -and, as soon as his son was out of hearing, muttered aloud that it was -"a rum go." - -"Rum" as it was, though, it was true. A short time afterwards Dockress -received official intimation of the fact, and the same post brought the -news to Mrs. Alick. Paul's note to his sister-in-law was very short. -It simply said that she and Alexis would probably be surprised to hear -that he was about to be married to Mdlle. Delille, a young French lady, -whom he had met in society at St. Petersburg. They were to be married -at once, and would shortly after set out for England, not, however, -with the intention of remaining there. He infinitely preferred living -abroad, so that he should merely return for the purpose of settling his -business, and should then retire to the Continent for the rest of his -life. - -Alick Derinzy gave a great guffaw as his wife read out this epistle to -him, and chaffed her in his ponderous way, referring to the counting of -chickens before they were hatched, and the hallooing before you were -out of the wood, and other apposite proverbs. - -"That's rather a bust-up for your scheme, Gertrude," he said with -a loud laugh, "old Paul going to marry; and he's just one of those -fellows that have a large family late in life; and a neat chance for -_our_ Paul's coming in for any of the old boy's money. That game is -u-p, Mrs. Derinzy." - -But Mrs. Derinzy, though she looked serious at the news which the -letter contained, and shook her head at her husband's speech, said -there was no knowing what Time had in store for them, and they must -wait and see. - -They waited, and in due course they saw--Paul's wife, Mrs. Derinzy: -a pretty, slight, fragile little woman, with large black eyes, -olive complexion, and odd restless ways. Mrs. Alick set her down as -"thoroughly French;" Alick spoke of her as a "rum little party;" -but they neither of them saw much of her. Paul brought her to dine -two or three times, and the women called upon each other, but the -newly-married pair were so thoroughly occupied with theatre-goings, and -opera-visitings and society-frequenting, that it was with the greatest -difficulty they could be induced to find a free night during the month -they stayed in town. London did not seem capable of producing enough -pleasure or excitement for Paul Derinzy. He was like a boy in the -ardour of his yearning for fresh amusement, he entered into everything -with wild delight, and seemed as though he should never tire of taking -his pretty little wife about, and what Alexis called "showing her off." - -During that month the great house of Derinzy and Sons ceased to -exist, and in the next issue of the great red book, the _Post-Office -Directory_, the name which had been so respected and so highly thought -of was not to be found. Certainly Paul Derinzy retained a share in its -fortunes, but he sold the largest part of the business to Dockress and -Schadow, whose friends came forth nobly to help them in the purchase, -and it was under their joint names that the house was in future -conducted. - -Then Paul and his wife went away, and were only occasionally heard of. -It had been their intention to travel about, and they were apparently -carrying it out, for Paul's letters to Mrs. Alick, with whom he still -corresponded, were dated from various places, and he could only give -her vague addresses where to reply. They were passing the winter at -Florence, when he wrote to his sister-in-law that a little daughter -had been born to them, but that his wife had been in great peril, for -some time her life had been despaired of, and even then, at the time -of writing, she was seriously ill. Alick Derinzy guffawed again at -this news, remarking that their Paul's nose was out of joint now, and -no mistake. Their Paul, then a stalwart boy of four years old, who -was playing about the room at the time, exclaimed, "No, my nose all -right!" at the same time grasping that organ with his chubby hand; -and Mrs. Derinzy checked her husband's unseemly mirth, and remarked -that since his brother had married, it was more to their interest that -his child should be a girl than a boy. There was an interval of six -months before another letter arrived to say that Mrs. Paul remained -very ill, that her constitution had received a shock which it was -doubtful whether it would ever recover, but that the little girl was -thriving well. Paul added that he was in treaty for a place on the Lake -of Geneva of which he had heard, and that if it suited him the family -would most probably settle down there. After another six months Mrs. -Alick heard from her brother-in-law that they had settled on the Swiss -lake, with a repetition of the statement that his wife was helplessly -ill, and the little girl thriving apace. During the four succeeding -years very nearly the same news reached the Alick Derinzys at the -same intervals--Paul was still located in the Swiss chateau, his wife -remained in the same state of illness, and his little girl still throve. - -"No chance for our Paul," said Alexis Derinzy disconsolately. - -"Our Paul" was growing into a fine boy, and his father gave himself -much mental exercitation as to whether he could "stand the racket" of -educating him at Eton or Harrow. - -One evening a cab drove up to the door, and a gentleman alighted and -asked for Mrs. Derinzy. Alick was, according to his usual practice, -at the club, enjoying that pleasant hour's gossip so dear to married -gentlemen who are kept rather tightly in hand at home, and which they -relinquish with such looks of envy at the happy bachelors or more -courageous Benedicks whom they leave behind. But Mrs. Alick was in her -very pretty little boudoir, into which she desired the stranger might -be shown. - -He came in; a man who had probably been tall, but was now bent double, -walking with a stick, and then making but slow progress; a man with -snow-white hair and long beard of the same hue, wrapped from head to -foot in a huge fur coat of foreign make. Mrs. Derinzy saw that he was a -gentleman, but did not recognise him. It was not until he advanced to -her and mentioned his name that she knew him for her brother-in-law, -Paul. She received him very warmly, and he seemed touched and -gratified, so far as lay in him. Where were his wife and his little -daughter? she asked. They were--over there, in Switzerland, he said -with an effort. He was alone, then, in London? He must come and stay -with them. No; he had been in London three or four days. He came over -on some special business, and he was about to return to the Continent -the next day, but he did not like to go without having seen her. He -fidgeted about while he stopped, and seemed nervously anxious to be -off; but Mrs. Alick, with a woman's tact, began to ask him questions -about his child, and he quieted down, and spoke of her with rapture. -She was the joy of his soul, he said, the one bright ray in his life, -of which, indeed, he spoke in very melancholy terms. Alick came home -from his club in due course, and was as surprised as his wife had -been at the alteration in Paul's appearance, and took so little pains -to disguise his impressions, that Paul himself made allusion to his -white hair and his bowed back, and said he had had trouble enough to -have broken a much younger and stronger man. He did not say what the -trouble was, and they did not like to ask him. Alick had thought it -was pecuniary worry; that his brother had "dropped his money," as he -phrased it. Mrs. Alick saw no reason to ascribe it to any such source. -But she noticed that her brother-in-law said very little about his -wife, and she felt certain that the marriage which had promised so -brilliantly had turned out a disappointment, and that the shadow which -darkened his life was of home creation. - -Paul Derinzy bade adieu to his brother and his sister-in-law that -night, and they never saw him again. About a month afterwards he -wrote from Switzerland that his wife was dead, that he should give -up the château on the lake, and travel for a time, taking the child -with him. Ten years passed away, during which news of the travellers -came but rarely to the residents in Brompton, who, indeed, thought -but little of them. The ex-captain of dragoons had settled down into -a quiet, whist-playing, military-club-frequenting fogey; Mrs. Derinzy -managed him with as much tact as usual, and with rather a slacker rein; -and young Paul, now eighteen years old, was just appointed to the -Stannaries Office, when an event occurred which entirely changed the -aspect of affairs. This was the elder Paul Derinzy's death, which was -communicated to his brother by a telegram from Pau, where it happened. -By this telegram Alick was bidden to come to Pau instantly, to take -charge of Miss Derinzy, and to be present at the reading of the will. -Alick went to Pau, and his wife went with him. They found Annette -Derinzy--a tall girl of fourteen, "a little too foreign, and good deal -too forward," Mrs. Derinzy pronounced her--prostrated with grief at her -recent loss. And they were present at the reading of the will, under -which they found themselves constituted guardians of the said Annette -Derinzy, who inherited all her father's property, with the exception -of a thousand a-year, which was to be paid to them for their trouble -during their lives, and five thousand pounds legacy to their son Paul -at his father's death. Their authority over Annette was to cease when -she came of age at twenty-one, but up to that time they had the power -of veto on any marriage engagement she might contract, and any defiance -on her part was to be punished by the loss of her fortune, which was to -be divided amongst certain charities duly set forth in the will. - -"Only five thou. for our poor boy, and that not till we're dead! and -Paul must have left over eighty thousand!" said Captain Derinzy to his -wife, when they were in their own room at the hotel after the will had -been read. - -"Our Paul shall have the eighty thousand," said Mrs. Derinzy in reply. - -"The devil he shall!" said the Captain. "Who will give it him?" - -"The guardians of his wife!" said Mrs. Derinzy. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. -MRS. STOTHARD. - - -Mrs. Powler and Mrs. Jupp were by no means the only persons in -Beachborough to whom Mrs. Stothard's position in the household at the -Tower afforded subject-matter for gossip. It may be safely asserted -that there never was a tea-drinking, followed--as was usually the -case among the better classes in that hospitable neighbourhood--by -a consumption of alcohol "hot with," at which Mrs. Stothard was not -served up as a toothsome morsel, and forthwith torn into shreds, if -not by the teeth, at least by the tongues of the assembled company. To -those simple minds, all social standing was fixed and unalterable--one -must either be mistress or servant; the lines of demarcation were -strongly defined; they knew of no softening gradations; and they could -not understand Mrs. Stothard. "She hev' her dinner by herself, and -her own teapot allays brought to her own room--leastways, 'cept when -she do fetch it herself, Miss Annette bein' sleepy or out of sorts, -and not likin' to be disturbed by the servants." Such was the report -which Nancy Wickstead, who had gone to live as nursemaid up at the -Tower soon after the arrival of the family, brought down about this -redoubtable woman. The villagers only knew her by report, by crumbs -and fragments of rumours dropped by Nancy Wickstead when she came down -among her old familiars for an "evening out," or by the tradesmen who -called at the house, and who drew largely on their own imagination for -the stories which they told. They had only caught fleeting glimpses of -Mrs. Stothard as she passed along the corridor or crossed from room to -room, but even those cursory glances entitled them to swagger before -their fellow-villagers who had never seen her at all--never. Many of -them tried to think they had, and after renewed descriptions of her -firmly believed that they had; but it was all an exercitation of their -imagination, for they never went to the Tower, and Mrs. Stothard never -left it--never, under any pretence. In the two years during which the -family had resided at the Tower, Mrs. Stothard had never passed through -the entrance-gate. She took exercise sometimes in the grounds; even -that but rarely; but she never left them. Young Dobbs, the grocer, -a bright spirit, once took it into his head to chaff about her with -the servants, to ask who was the "female hermit," and what duties she -performed in the house; a flight of fancy not very humorous in itself, -and unfortunate in its result. The next day Mrs. Derinzy called on -Dobbs senior, asked him for his bill, paid it, and removed the family -custom to Sandwith of Bedminster. - -Once seen, a woman not easily to be forgotten, from her physical -appearance. About eight-and-forty years of age, tall and very strongly -built, with broad shoulders and big wrists, knuckles both of wrists -and hands very prominent, great frontal development, but low forehead, -a penthouse for deep-set gray eyes. Light hair, thin, dull, and -colourless; thin and colourless cheeks; thin lips, closing tightly over -rows of small, gleaming dog's-teeth; big, square, massive jaw; cold, -taciturn, and watchful, with eyes and ears of wonderful quickness, wits -always ready, hands always active and strong. She came to Mrs. Derinzy -on Dr. Wainwright's recommendation as "exactly the person to suit her," -and she fulfilled her mission most exactly. What that mission was we -shall learn; what her previous career had been we will state. - -She was the only daughter of one Robert Hall, a verger of Canterbury -Cathedral, a clever, drunken dog, whose vergership was in constant -peril, but who contrived to hoodwink the cathedral dignitaries as a -general rule, and who on special occasions of outbreak invariably -found some influential friend to plead his cause. He was a bookbinder -as well as a verger, and in his trade showed not merely skilful -manipulation, but rare taste, taste which was apparently inherited -by his daughter Martha, who, at seventeen years of age, had produced -some illuminated work which was pronounced by the _cognoscenti_ in -such matters to be very superior indeed. The cathedral dignitaries -patronised Martha Hall's illuminations, and displayed them in their -drawing-rooms at those pleasant evening gatherings, so decorous and so -dull, and where the bearers of the sword mingle with the wearers of the -gown, yawn away a couple of hours in looking over photograph-albums -and listening to sonatas, and after a sandwich and a glass of sherry, -lounge away to begin the night with devilled biscuits, billiards, -and brandy-and-soda-water. The military, to whom these illuminations -were thus introduced, thought it would be the "correct thing" to buy -some of them; they would look "deuced well" in their rooms; so that -the front parlour of the verger's little house in the precincts was -speedily re-echoing to clanking sabres and jingling spurs, the owners -of which were none the less ready to come again because the originator -and vendor of the wares was a "doosid nice girl, don't you know?--not -exactly pretty, but something doosid nice about her!" Martha Hall's -handiwork was seen everywhere in barracks, and "many a holy text -around she strewed," and had them hung up in subalterns' rooms between -portraits of Mdlle. Joliejambe and the Blisworth Bruiser. - -The sabres clanked so often and the spurs jingled so much in the -verger's front parlour, that the neighbours--instigated, perhaps, -less by their friendly feelings and their virtue than their -jealousy--thought it time to speak to Robert Hall about it, and to ask -him if he knew what he was doing, and what seed he was sowing, to be -reaped in shame and disgrace. Wybrow, the mourning jeweller--who made -very tasty little designs of yews and willows out of dead people's -hair--declared that his shop was never so full as his neighbour's; but -then either the officers had no dead relations, or did not care for -such melancholy _souvenirs_. Heelball, who had compiled a neat little -handbook of the cathedral, and who furnished anyone who wanted them -with "rubbings" of the crusaders' tombs, declared that the "milingtary" -never patronised him; "perhaps," he added, "because I ain't young -and pretty," therein decidedly speaking the truth, as he was sixty -and deformed. Stothard, the tombstone sculptor, said nothing. He was -supposed to be madly in love with Martha Hall, and it was noticed -that when the young officers went clanking by his yard he took up his -heaviest mallet and punished the stone under treatment fearfully. The -hints and remonstrances had but little effect on Robert Hall. Not that -he was careless about his daughter. "Happy-go-lucky" in other matters, -he would have resented deeply any slight or insult offered to her. But -he knew her better than anyone else, knew her passionless, calculating, -ambitious nature, and had every confidence in it. - -That confidence was not misplaced. Martha was polite to all who visited -her as customers; talked and joked with them within bounds, displayed -her handiwork, and sold it to the best advantage; taking care always to -have ready money before she parted with it ("Can't think how she does -it, 'pon my soul I can't!" was the cry in barracks. "Screwed two quid -out of me for this d--d thing, down on the nail, by Jove! First thing -I've had in the place that hasn't been chalked up, give you my word!") -but never allowed any approach to undue familiarity. She was declared -by her military customers to be "capital fun;" but it was perfectly -understood amongst them that she "wouldn't stand any nonsense." So the -shop was filled, and her trade throve, and her enemies and neighbours, -however much they might hint and whisper in her detraction, had nothing -tangible to narrate against her. - -While Martha Hall's popularity was at its fullest height, there -came to the depot of the hussar regiment--to which he had just been -gazetted as cornet--a young gentleman of prepossessing appearance, -pleasant manners, good position, and apparently plenty of money. He -was well received by his brother officers, and after being introduced -to the various delights which Canterbury affords, he was in due course -taken to Martha Hall's shop, and presented to the young lady therein -presiding. It was evident to his companions that the susceptibilities -of their new comrade were very keenly aroused at the sight of Miss -Hall; and it was no less palpable to Miss Hall herself. She laughingly -told her father that night that she had made a fresh conquest; and her -father grinned, advised her to set to work on some new texts, with -which she could "stick" the new-comer, and repeated his never-failing -assertion of thorough confidence in her. - -The new-comer, whose name was Derinzy, quickly showed that he was not -merely influenced by first impressions. He visited the shop constantly, -he bought all the illuminations that Martha Hall could produce; and -within a very short time he not merely fell violently in love with -her, but told her so; and told her that if she would accept him, he -would go to her father, and propose to marry her. To such a suggestion -from any other of the score of officers in the habit of frequenting -the shop, Martha Hall would have replied by a laugh, or, had it been -pressed, by a declaration that she was flattered by the compliment, -but that she knew the difference between their stations in life was -an insuperable barrier, &c. But she said nothing of this kind to -Alexis Derinzy. Why? Because she was in love with him. Perhaps her -natural keenness of perception had enabled her to judge between the -"spooniness" springing from a desire to bridge-over _ennui_, and to -fill up the wearisome hours of a garrison life, which prompted the -advances of her other admirers, and the unmistakable passion which -this boy betrayed. Perhaps she admired his fair, picturesque face, and -well-cut features, and slight form in contradistinction to the more -robust and athletic proportions of the other youth then resident in -barracks. Perhaps the rumours of the wealth of the Derinzys had reached -those calm cloisters, and Martha might have thought that the fact that -they were themselves in trade might induce them to overlook what to the -scion of any noble house would be an undoubted _mésalliance_. No one -knew, for Martha, reticent in everything, was scarcely likely to gossip -of her love-affairs; but the fact remained the same, and she loved him. -She told him as much, at the same moment that she suggested that the -consideration of the marriage question should be deferred for a few -months, until he was of age. Mr. Derinzy agreed to this, as he would -have agreed to anything his heart's charmer proposed, but stipulated -that Martha should consider herself as engaged to him, and that the -flirtations with "the other fellows" should be at once discontinued. -Martha consented, and acted up both to the spirit and the letter of the -agreement; but flirtation with Martha Hall had become such a habit with -the officers quartered at Canterbury that it could not be given up all -of a sudden; no matter how little the maiden might respond, the gallant -youths still frequented the shop, and still paid their court in their -usual clumsy but unmistakably marked manner. Alexis Derinzy, worried at -this, and also feeling it uncommonly hard that he should not be able to -boast of having secured the heart and the proximate chance of the hand -of the most sought-after girl in Canterbury, mentioned his engagement, -in the strictest confidence, to three or four of his brother officers, -who, under the same seal, mentioned it to three or four more. Thus it -happened that in a few days the story came to the ears of the adjutant -of the depôt, who was a great friend of the Derinzy family, and at -whose instigation it was that Alexis had been placed in the army. - -Captain Branscombe was still a young man, but he had had ripe -experience of life, and he knew that it would be as truly useless, -under the circumstances, to reason with the love-stricken cornet, as -to make application anywhere but to the highest domestic authorities. -To these, therefore, he represented the state of affairs--the result -of his representation being that Mr. Paul Derinzy, the elder brother -of the cornet, came down to Canterbury by the coach the next day, -and straightway sought an interview with the Dean. Then Robert Hall -was summoned to the diaconal presence, out of which he came swearing -strange oaths, and looking very flushed and fierce. Later in the -afternoon he was waited upon at his own house in the precincts by Mr. -Paul Derinzy, who had a very stormy ten minutes with Martha, and then -made his way to the barracks. Mr. Paul Derinzy remained in Canterbury -for two days, during every hour of which, save those which he passed in -bed, he was actively employed. The results of the mission did credit -to his diplomatic talents. Alexis Derinzy sent in an application -for sick leave, which being promptly granted, he quitted Canterbury -without seeing Martha Hall, though he tried hard to do so; and did not -rejoin until the regiment, safely arrived from India, was quartered -at Hounslow. When Mr. Paul Derinzy was staying in Canterbury, it had -been noticed by the neighbours that he had called once or twice on -Stothard the stonemason, who has already been described as having -been madly in love with Martha Hall; and Stothard had returned the -visit at Paul's hotel. In the course of a few weeks after the "London -gentleman's" departure, Stothard announced that he had inherited a -legacy of a couple of hundred pounds from an old aunt. No one had ever -heard any previous mention of this relative, nor did Stothard enter -into any particulars whatever; he did not go to her funeral, and the -only mourning he assumed was a crape band to his Sunday beaver. But -there was no mistake about the two hundred pounds; that sum was paid -in to his credit at the County Bank by their London agent, and he took -the pass-book up with him when he went to Robert Hall's to propose for -Martha. Folks said he was a fool for his pains; the kindest remarked -that she would never stoop to him; the unkindest expressed their -contempt for anybody as could take anybody else's leaving. But despite -of both, Martha Hall accepted Stothard the stonemason, and they were -married. - -You must not think that all this little drama had been enacted without -its due effect on one of the principal performers. You must not think -that Martha Hall had lost Alexis Derinzy without fierce heartburning -and deep regret, and intense hatred for those who robbed her of him. -She knew that it was not the boy's own fault, she guessed what kind -of pressure had been brought to bear upon him; but she thought he -ought to have made a better fight of it. She had loved him, and if -he had only been true to her and to their joint cause, they might -have been triumphant. In a few months he would have been of age, and -then he could have gone up and seen his mother--he was always her -favourite--and she would have persuaded his father, and all would have -been straight. He always said he hated his brother Paul--how, then, -had he suffered himself to be persuaded by him? Ah, other influences -must have been brought to bear by Paul Derinzy! Paul Derinzy--how she -hated him! She would register that name in her heart; and if ever she -came across his path, let him look to himself. When Stothard came -with his proposal, she made her acceptance of him conditional on his -leaving Canterbury. The money which he had inherited, and the little -sum which she had saved, would enable them to commence business afresh -somewhere else--say, in London; but she must leave Canterbury. She -could not stand the neighbours' looks and remarks, or, what was worse, -their pity, any longer. She must go, she said; she was sick of the -place. Robert Hall indorsed his daughter's desire; he was becoming -more and more confirmed in his selfishness, and wanted to be allowed -to drink himself to death without any ridiculous remonstrances. -Stothard agreed--he would have agreed to anything then--and they were -married; and Stothard bought a business in a London suburb, and for a -time--during which time a daughter was born to them--they flourished. - -For a time only; then Stothard took to drinking, and late hours; his -hand lost its cunning; his customers dropped off one by one; the -garnered money had long since been spent, and things looked bad. -Stothard drank harder than before, had delirium tremens, and died. His -widow could not go back to her old home, for her father had carried -out his intention, and drank himself to death very soon after her -marriage; and she was too proud to made her appearance among her old -acquaintances under her adverse circumstances. As luck would have -it, the doctor who had attended her husband, and who had been much -struck by the manner in which she had nursed him in his delirium, was -physician to a great hospital. He proposed to Mrs. Stothard that she -should become a professional nurse, offering her his patronage and -recommendation. She agreed, and at once commenced practice in the -hospital; but she soon became famous among the physicians and surgeons, -and they were anxious to secure her for their private patients, -where her services would be well paid. In a few years she had gotten -together quite a large connection, and she was in constant demand. The -money which she received she applied to giving her daughter a good -education. They met but seldom, Mrs. Stothard being so much engaged; -but she perceived in her daughter early signs of worldly wisdom, and a -disposition to make use of her fellow-creatures, which gladdened her -mother's soured spirit. She should be no weak fool, as her mother had -been; she should not be made a puppet to be set up and knocked down at -a rich man's caprice; she was sharp, she promised to be pretty, and she -should be well-educated. Then, thoroughly warned as to what men were, -she should be placed in some good commercial position, and left to see -whether she could not contrive to make a rich and respectable marriage -for herself. - -One day when Mrs. Stothard was at St. Vitus's Hospital, where she -was now regarded as a great personage, and where, when she paid an -occasional visit, she was taken into the stewards' room, and regaled -with the best port wine, Dr. Wainwright--who, though not attached to -St. Vitus's, had a very great reputation in London, and was considered -the leading man in his line--looked into the room. Seeing Mrs. -Stothard, he entered, told her he had come expressly, learning she was -there, and that he wanted to know if she would undertake a permanent -situation. He entered into detail as to the case, mentioned the -remuneration, which was very large, and stated that he knew no one who -would be so satisfactory in the position; and added: "Indeed, 'if we do -not get Mrs. Stothard, I don't know what we shall do,' were the last -words I uttered to Mrs. Derinzy." - -Mrs. Stothard, albeit a calm and composed woman in general, literally -jumped. A quarter of a century rolled up like a mist, and she saw -herself selling illuminated scrolls in the little shop in the precincts -of Canterbury, and the slim, handsome little cornet leaning over the -counter, and devouring her with his bright black eyes. - -"What name did you say, sir?" she asked when she recovered herself. - -"Derinzy. Odd name, isn't it? De-rin-zy. The lady's husband is a -retired military man, and the family consists of themselves and the -young lady I was speaking of just now," said the doctor. - -"Is she their daughter?" asked Mrs. Stothard. - -"Oh no; they have no daughter, only a son, who lives in London. -This young lady is their niece, daughter of--why, God bless my -soul! you must have heard of him--Mr. Paul Derinzy, the merchant, -the millionaire, who died some time ago. Ah! I forgot, though; -millionaires--real ones, I mean--are not much in your line," added Dr. -Wainwright, with a laugh. "You see plenty who fancy that----" - -"Oh, and so Mr. Paul Derinzy is dead," interrupted Mrs. Stothard; -"and this young lady is his daughter? I think, Dr. Wainwright, I must -decline the situation." - -Decline the situation! Dr. Wainwright had never heard of such a thing, -never in the whole course of his professional experience. Decline -the situation! Had Mrs. Stothard understood him correctly about the -terms? Yes! And she talked of declining the situation after that! And -for a permanency, too. And he had thought it would have been exactly -the thing to suit her. Well, if she would not accept, she must not -decline--at once, that was to say. She must think over it; she must -indeed. - -She did; and accepted it. Partly out of a desire for revenge. She had -a long, long pondering over the past; and all the bitterness of bygone -years had revived in her heart. She thought that something--luck she -called it (she was little given to ascribe things to Providence)--had -placed her enemies in her hands, and that she might use her power over -the man who had given her up, and over the daughter of the man who -had compelled him to do so. Partly for money. The salary proposed was -very large, and her daughter's education was expensive, and the girl -would soon have to be apprenticed to a house of business where a heavy -premium must be paid. So she accepted. There was no doubt about her -getting the place. Dr. Wainwright's recommendation was all-sufficient, -and Mrs. Derinzy was only too anxious to secure her services. Captain -Derinzy had forgotten all about Stothard the stonemason, and the two -hundred pounds which had been paid to him, even if he ever knew of -the transaction. He did not recognise the name, and for the first few -minutes after he saw her he did not recognise in the hard-featured, -cold, impassive, middle-aged woman his bright boyish love of so many -years before. When he did recognise her he started, and seemed as -though he would have spoken; but she made him a slight sign, and he -waited for an opportunity of their being alone. When that came, it -was Mrs. Stothard who spoke. She told him there was no necessity -for ever referring to the past, it was all forgotten by them both; -they would never be brought in contact; she knew the position she -held in his house, and she should fulfil it; it was better on all -accounts that Mrs. Derinzy should be kept in ignorance of their former -acquaintance--did he not think so? He did; and as he left her he -grinned quietly. - -"What the doose did she think?" he said to himself. "Gad! not likely -that I should want to renew the acquaintance of an old horse-godmother -like that. What a pretty gal she was, too! and how changed! by George, -so that her own mother wouldn't know her! Wonder whether I'm as much -changed as all that? Often look in the glass and wonder. Different in a -man: he don't wear a cap, and that kind of thing; and my hair's lasted -wonderful, considerin'. Martha Hall, eh? and those dam things--text -things--that she used to paint in those colours--got some of 'em still, -I think, somewhere in my old bullock-trunk; saw 'em the other day. -Martha Hall!--Oh Lord!" - -So Mrs. Stothard accepted office with the Derinzys, and was with them -when, shortly afterwards, they gave up the house at Brompton where they -had lived so long, and removed to Beachborough. The change affected -Mrs. Stothard but very little; it mattered scarcely at all to her -where she was, her time was very much employed in her duties, and -what little leisure she found she passed in reading, or in writing to -her daughter. She knew perfectly well that she was the subject of an -immense amount of curiosity in Beachborough village, and of talk at the -village tea-tables; but it did not trouble her one whit. She knew that -she was said to be a poor relation of the Derinzy family, and she did -not discourage the idea. Thinking over the past, and what might have -been, she found a kind of grim humour in the combination which suited -her thoroughly. They might say what they liked, she thought, so long as -her money was regularly paid, and so long as she found herself able to -carry out the one scheme of her life--that of making a good marriage -for her daughter Fanny. - -Fanny then, under the name of Miss Stafford, was apprenticed to -Madame Clarisse, the great court milliner, in London, and lived, when -she was at home--and that was not often, poor child! for she slaved -like a horse--in one little room in a house in South Molton Street, -a lodging-house kept by an old sister-nurse of Mrs. Stothard's at -St. Vitus's, a most respectable motherly woman, who would look after -Fanny, and would at once let her mother know if there was "anything -wrong." Not that there was any chance of that. Fanny Stafford acted -up too strictly to her mother's teaching, and remembered too well the -doctrine which had been inculcated in her girlhood, ever to make that -mistake. She had been told that to marry a man considerably above her -in pecuniary and social position was her mission in life; to that -end she might use all her charms, all her arts; but that end must be -marriage--nothing less. This she understood, and daily experience -made her more and more impressed with the wisdom of her mother's -determination. She had not much heart, she thought; she did not think -she had any passion; and she knew that she had keen discrimination and -accurate perception of character; so she thought she ought to succeed. -Mrs. Stothard was acquainted with the peculiarities of her daughter's -character, and thought so too. - -At the very time when Captain Derinzy was lying stretched out on the -headland overlooking Beachborough Bay, and making those cynical remarks -on the place and its population, Mrs. Stothard was preparing to read a -letter from her daughter Fanny. It had arrived in the morning; but Mrs. -Stothard had been very busy all day, and it was not until the evening -that she found time to read it. Her occupation had confined her to -the house, so that now, being for a few minutes free, she was glad to -escape into the grounds. She chose that portion of the flower-garden -which was farthest removed from the side of the house which she -principally inhabited; and as she paced up and down the soft turf path -between two rows of espaliers, she took the letter from her pocket and -commenced to read it. It was written in a small delicate hand, and Mrs. -Stothard had to hold it close to her eyes in the fading light. She read -as follows: - -"London, Sunday. - -"MY DEAR MOTHER,--You will have been expecting to hear from me for -some time, and, indeed, you ought to have had a letter, but the truth -is I am so tired and sleepy when I get back here that I am glad to -go straight to bed. We are just now in the height of the season, and -are so busy that I scarcely ever have time to sit down. I told you, -I think, that I was likely to be in the showroom this season. I was -right. Madame asked me if I should like to be there, and when I said -'Yes,' she seemed pleased; and I have been there since April. I think -I have made myself even more useful than she expected; for many of -the customers know me now, and ask to see me in preference to Madame -herself. I suppose she does not quite like that, but it is not my -fault. I know I am neat and handy, and that there is no one in the -house with so much education or so much manner, and these are both -points which are noticed by customers. Nevertheless, I think I am -winning my way into Madame's good graces; for when she goes out--and -she is now out a great deal, at the French plays, at the Opera, and in -private society; you have no notion what an immense amount of reception -goes on amongst the French _coiffeurs_ and _modistes_ in London--she -invariably leaves me to see the parcels sent off and the business of -the day wound up. She has no forewoman, as I have told you, and I think -I might aspire to that important post with reasonable hope of success -if I wished it, but I don't. - -"No, dear mother; it would give me no pleasure to have my name on as -big a brass plate as Madame Clarisse's, on as handsome a door in as -eligible a situation. I should derive no satisfaction even if I could -combine her connection with Madame Augustine's, her great rival. -(Augustine's _clientčle_ is richer than ours, I think, but we have -by far the _best_ people.) I long sometimes, when I see a wretched -old creature nodding under a wreath when she ought to be concealing -her bald pate or her gray hairs under an honest mob-cap, or when I am -helping a stout middle-aged matron to struggle into a gown of a style -and pattern suitable for her youngest daughter, to throw all my chances -of success in business to the winds, and tell the people then under -my hands plainly and openly what I think of them. I cannot stand--or -rather I could not, were it for a permanence; I can well enough for -a time--this wretched ko-tooing existence, this perpetual grinning -and curtsying and false-compliment paying, this utter abnegation of -one's own opinion, one's own feelings, one's own self! You must not be -surprised at these expressions, dear mother, recollecting how you have -had me brought up, and how you yourself have always inculcated in me a -strong desire to better my position, and by a good marriage to raise -myself into a class superior to this. - -"Mother, I think I'm going to do it. I think that I have a chance of -freeing myself from this servitude, which is galling to me, and of -winning a station in life such as you yourself would be proud to see -me holding. You remember how you used to talk to me about this when I -was much younger, and how I used then to laugh at your earnestness, and -tell you your hopes and aspirations were but dreams? I declare now I -think there is some chance of their being realised. - -"Now you are all impatience, and dying to know all I have to tell! I -can see you--I suppose you are not much changed since we last parted; -I often wonder--I can see you skimming over the paper in your eager -anxiety to get at the details. I will not keep you in suspense, dear -mother--here they are! A month ago, I was returning to Mrs. Gillott's -late at night. We had been hard at work until nearly twelve o'clock, -getting out a large wedding order, and Madame thought it important -enough to superintend the packing and sending out of the various -things. I had remained till the last, and the church-clock opposite -struck twelve as the door closed behind me. The streets were almost -deserted; but I had not gone far before I perceived that a man was -following me. I could not make out what kind of a man he was, as he -persistently kept in the shade, walking at first on the opposite side -of the way, then crossing behind me, but ever constantly following. -I knew this from the sound of his footsteps, which echoed in the -stillness of the night. When I crossed Bond Street he came abreast of -me, and then I saw that he was a common man in his working dress. I was -frightened then, I confess. You don't know what they are sometimes, -mother, these working men. I would sooner meet any gentleman, however -loose, any what they call 'gent,' than some of those! It isn't their -conduct, it's what they say! They seem to delight in using the most -awful language, the foulest terms, to unprotected girls; merely, -apparently, for the sake of insulting them. This man was a bad specimen -of his class. There was no one near, and he stepped up to my side after -we had crossed Bond Street, and said to me things--I don't know what, -for I hurried on without looking towards him. I knew well enough what -he said next, he took care that there should be no mistake about that, -for he prefaced his remark with a short laugh of scorn and defiance, -and then--he made his speech. I was not surprised; no girl compelled to -walk alone in London, and especially at night, could be surprised at -anything that might be said to her; but I was disgusted and frightened, -and tried to run. The man ran by my side--I saw then that he was -drunk--and tried to catch hold of me. I was in a dreadful fright, and -I suppose I looked so, for a gentleman who was coming out of the hotel -at the corner of South Molton Street stepped hurriedly out, and said, -'I beg your pardon--is this person annoying you?' Before I could reply, -the man said something--too horrible--about me and himself, and the -next moment he was lying in the road; the gentleman had taken him by -the collar and flung him there. He got up, and rushed at the gentleman; -but by this time a policeman who had seen it all crossed the street, -and made him go away. Then the gentleman took off his hat, and begged -leave to see me to my door. I allowed him to do so--it was foolish, I -know, mother, but I was all unnerved, and scarcely knew what I did; -and when we arrived at Mrs. Gillott's I thanked him, and bade him -Goodnight. He took off his hat again, and left me at once. - -"He found out who I was--how, I don't know--for next day I had a polite -note, hoping I had quite recovered from my alarm, expressed in the most -gentlemanly manner, and signed 'Paul Douglas.' I have met him several -times since, always in the street, and have walked and talked with -him. He is always most polite and respectful, but of course professes -himself to be madly in love. Yesterday, for the first time, I found -out who he is. He has an appointment in a Government office, the -'Stannaries' they call it, and his family live somewhere in the West of -England. They are evidently well off, and he, Paul, is what they call a -'swell.' Very good-looking, slight and dark, about five-and-twenty, and -always beautifully dressed. - -"You don't fear me, mother? You have sufficient reliance on me to know -that I would never discredit your training. You will want to know -whether I am in love with this young man. I think I am--so far. And you -need not be afraid. He vows--everything, of course; but he is too much -of a gentleman, in the first place, to offer to insult me, and in the -second--well, to speak plainly, he knows it would be of no use. Is this -the chance that you taught me to look for? I think it is. But we shall -soon know. Meanwhile believe in the thorough discretion of your loving -daughter FANNY." - - -Up and down the soft turf path paced Mrs. Stothard in the glorious -summer evening, with the open letter in her hand, deep in cogitation. -Her head was bent upon her breast, and occasionally raised as she -referred to the paper. Suddenly a light gleamed in her face; she -hurriedly re-perused the letter, folding it so as only to make herself -thorough mistress of a certain portion of its contents, and then she -smiled a hard grim smile, and said to herself in a hard bitter voice: - -"Of course, of course! What an idiot I was not to see it at once! -The mention of the Stannaries Office might have convinced me, if all -my senses had not been blunted by my wretched work in this wretched -place! Douglas, indeed! Paul Douglas is Paul Derinzy; slight, dark, -handsome--none but he! Family in the West of England, too--no doubt of -it! And in love with my Fan! Oh, my dear friends, I'll spoil your game -yet! I'm so blind. Quiet and seclusion for dear Annette's health; no -other reason, oh no! Not to keep her out of the way of fortune-hunters, -and save her up for our son, oh dear no! That shall never be! Our son -shall marry my Fan! What is it? 'The sins of the fathers shall be -visited on the children.' I never believed much in that sort of thing; -but in this instance it really looks as though there were something in -it." - - - - -CHAPTER VII. -FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. - - -Those persons to whom London is a home--a place to be lived in all -the year round, save on the occasion of the two months' holiday, when -one rushes off to the North, or to the sea, or to the Continent, -returning with a renewed stock of health, and a pleasurable sense of -having enjoyed yourself, but with a still more pleasurable sense of -being back again in town--are very much amused at a notion prevalent -amongst many worthy people who arrive at their own or at a hired house -in the month of March, stay there till the end of the month of June, -and go away fancying that they know London. Know London! A lifetime's -earnest devotion does not suffice for that study, and those people -who talk thus have not even the merest smattering of its topography. -Their London used to be bounded on the west by the Knightsbridge -Barracks--even now they acknowledge nothing beyond Princes Terrace. -On the south-west they have penetrated as far as Onslow Square; the -territory beyond that might be full of tiger-lairs and hiding-places -for dragons, for all they know about it. Of the suburbs, beyond such -knowledge as they derive from an occasional visit to the Star and -Garter at Richmond, they know absolutely nothing. They do not know, and -it would not make the smallest difference to them if they did, that if, -instead of cantering up and down that ghastly, treeless, sun-scorched -mile of gravel, the Row, they chose to turn their horses' heads -north-westward, they could find shade in the green Willesden lanes -and air on the breezy Hendon heights. They do not know that within a -very short distance of Hyde Park there are shady lanes half hidden -in greenery, dotted here and there with quaint old-fashioned houses -standing in the midst of large grounds--some with gardens sloping -away towards the river; others with enormous trees overhanging them, -blotting out all view or vista; and others again with such an expanse -of what the auctioneers are pleased to term "park-like grounds" visible -from their windows, that you would have no idea of the immediate -proximity of London, save for the never-varying presence of the -smoke-wreath hanging over the horizon, and the never-ceasing, save on -Sundays, dull rumble of distant traffic, which grinds on the ear like -the monotonous surging of the waves upon the shore. - -In one of these metropolitan suburbs, no matter which, stood and stands -the house which at the period of our story was George Wainwright's -home, the residence of his father, Dr. Wainwright. It was a big, long, -rambling, red-faced old house, with an enormous number of rooms, -some large and some small, standing in the midst of a large garden. -Tradition said that it had been a favourite residence of Cromwell's; -but it was generally believed, and the belief was not ill-founded, -that it had been given by the Lord Protector to the husband of his -favourite daughter, and that he himself had frequently been in the -habit of staying there. At the end of the first quarter of the present -century it had a very different occupant from the grim old Ironsides -leader, being rented by the Countess Delia Crusca, the wittiest, the -most beautiful, the most extravagant, the most fascinating woman of her -day. Old Knaves of Clubs still _raffolent_ about the Delia Crusca, her -eyes and her poems, her bust and her repartees. She had a husband?--Oh -yes! the Count Delia Crusca, ex-officer of Bersaglieri and one of the -first naturalists of his day, corresponding member of all the principal -European societies, and perfectly devoted to his favourite pursuit; so -devoted, that he was invariably away in some distant foreign country, -engaged in hunting for specimens. The Countess was an Englishwoman, -daughter of Captain Ramus, half-pay, educated at a convent in Paris, -under the guidance of her maternal aunt, Miss Coghlan, of Letterkenney -in Ireland. Immediately on issuing from the convent she eloped with -Count Della Crusca, whose acquaintance she had made in a casual manner -in the _coupé_ of one of the diligences belonging to Messrs. Lafitte, -Caillard et Cie. A very short time served to prove to them that they -had no tastes in common. Madame la Comtesse did not care for natural -history, which the Count loved, and she did care for England, which the -Count loathed. So he went his way, in pursuit of specimens, and she -went hers to England. She arrived in London, and Marston Moor House -being to let, she took it. - -Some of us are yet alive who recollect the little saccharine poems, the -plaintive little sonnets, the--well, yes, to speak the truth--the washy -three-volume novels which were composed in that sturdy old building -and dated thence. Sturdy outside, but lovely within. Such furniture: -white satin and gold, black satin and red trimming; such pictures, and -statues, and busts; such looking-glasses let into the walls at every -conceivable place; such hanging baskets and ormolu clocks, and Dresden -and Sčvres china; such Chinese fans, and Indian screens, and Turkish -yataghans and Malay creeses; such books--at least, such bindings; such -a satinwood desk, at which the Countess penned her inspirations; such a -solemn-sounding library clock, which had belonged to Marie Antoinette; -such lion-skins and leopard-skins for rugs; such despatch-boxes with -the Della Cruscan coronet and cipher; such waste-paper baskets always -littered with proof-sheets! The garden! never was anything seen like -that! It was not much more than half an acre, but Smiff, the great -landscape gardener, made it look more like a square mile. Delightfully -rustic and English here, quaintly Dutch there, Italian terraced a -little lower down, small avenue, vista broken by the fountain; might be -a thousand miles away from London, so everyone said. Everyone said so, -because everyone came there. Who was everyone? Well, the Grand-Duke of -Schweinerei was someone, at all events. Ex-Grand-Duke, I should have -said, recollecting that some years before, the people of Schweinerei, -although by no means a strait-laced people, grew so disgusted at the -"goings-on" of their reigning potentate, that they rose in revolt, and -incontinently kicked him out. Then he came to England, where he has -remained ever since, dwelling in a big house, and occupying his spare -time with fighting newspapers for libelling him in a very blackguard -and un-English manner. His highness is an elderly, short, fat man, -with admirably-fitting wig and whiskers of the Tyrian purple. He has -dull bleary eyes, pendulous cheeks, and a great fat double chin. He -is covered all over with diamonds: his studs are diamonds; he wears -a butterfly diamond brooch on the knot of his white cravat; his -waistcoat-buttons are diamonds; his sleeve-links are diamonds; and he -resembles the old woman of Banbury Cross in having (diamond) rings on -his fingers, and probably, for all the historian knows to the contrary, -on his toes. - -Who else came there? A tall, thin, dark man, with a long face like a -sheep's head, a full dull eye, a long nose, a very long upper lip, -arid a retreating chin. Prince Bernadotte of the Lipari Isles, also -an exile, but one who has since been recalled to his kingdom. Nobody -thought much of Prince Bernadotte in those days. He lived in cheap -chambers in London, and used to play billiards with _coiffeurs_ and -_agents de change_ and _commis voyageurs_ from the hotels in Leicester -Square; and who went into a very little English society, where he -always sat silent and reserved, and where they thought very little of -him. He must have been marvellously misunderstood then, or must have -grown into quite a different kind of man when he sat smoking his cigar -with his feet on the fender in the Elysée, and to all inquiries made -but the one reply, "_Qu'on exécute mes orders!_"--those "ordres" being -fulfilled in the massacre of the Boulevards. - -Who else? _Savans_, philosophers, barristers, poets, newspaper-writers, -novelists, caricaturists, eminent physicians and surgeons, fiddlers, -foreigners, anybody who had done anything which had given him the -merest temporary notoriety was welcome, so long as he came at the time. -And they never failed to do that. The society was so delightful, the -welcome was so warm, the eating and drinking were so good, that there -was never any chance of an invitation to Marston Moor House being -refused. Thither came Fermez, the opera _impresario_, driving down -a couple of lords in his phaeton; and Tom Gilks, the scene-painter -of Covent Garden, who arrived per omnibus; and Whiston, who had just -written that tremendous pamphlet on the religious controversy of -the day; and Rupert Robinson, who had sat up all the previous night -to finish his burlesque, and who was so enchanted with the personal -appearance of the Grand-Duke of Schweinerei, that he wanted to carry -him off bodily--rings, diamonds, wig, whiskers, and all--to Madame -Tussaud's Exhibition. Dinners and balls, conversazioni and fętes--with -the garden illuminated with Italian lamps, and supper served in -extemporised pavilions--two royal dukes, in addition to standard -celebrities, and foreign princes in town for the season--without end. - - -Vain transitory splendour! could not all Retain the tott'ring mansion -from its fall? - - -Apparently not. One morning the servants at Marston Moor House got -up, to find their mistress had risen before them, or rather had not -been to bed at all, having decamped during the night with the plate -and all the portable valuables, and left an enormous army of creditors -behind her. There was weeping and wailing round the neighbourhood for -months; but tears and outcries did not pay the defrauded tradespeople, -and they never had any money. Nobody ever knew who received the money -realised by the sale of the furniture, &c, though that ought to have -been something considerable, for there never was a sale so tremendously -attended, or at which things fetched such high prices. All the ladies -of high rank who combined frightful stupidity with rigid virtue, and -who would as soon have thought of walking into Tophet as of crossing -Madame Della Crusca's threshold, rushed to Marston Moor House so soon -as its proprietress had fled, and bought eagerly at the sale. The large -looking-glass which formed the back of the alcove in which Madame -Delia Crusca's bed was placed now figures in the boudoir, or, as it -is generally called, the work-room, of the Countess of Textborough, -and is scarcely so happy in its reflections as in former days. The -satinwood desk fell to the nod of Mrs. Quisby, who used to follow the -Queen's hounds in a deep-pink jacket and a short skirt, and who now -holds forth on Sunday afternoons at the infant schools in Badger's -Buildings, Mayfair, and is especially hard on the Scarlet Woman. Many -of the old _habitués_ attended, and bought well-remembered scraps for -_souvenirs_. Finally everything, down to the kitchen pots and pans, the -stable buckets and the gardeners' implements, were cleared off, and a -big painted board frowned in the great courtyard, informing the British -public that that eligible mansion was to let. - -Not for long did that black-and-white board blossom in that flinty -soil. Within three weeks of the sale a rumour ran through London -that an _al-fresco_ place of entertainment on a magnificent scale -was about to be opened on what had been the Della-Cruscan property, -and that Wuff, the great Wuff, the most enterprising man of his day, -was at the back of it. Straightway the board was pulled down, and an -army of painters, and decorators, and plumbers, and builders, and -Irish gentlemen in flannel jackets, and Italian gentlemen in slouch -wideawakes and paint-stained gaberdines, took possession of the place. -Big rooms were converted into supper and dining-rooms, and small rooms -into _cabinets particuliers_; a row of supper-boxes on the old Vauxhall -pattern sprang up in the grounds, which, moreover, were tastefully -planted with gas-lamps, with plaster-of-Paris statues, with two or -three sham fountains, and with grottos made of slag and shiny-faced -bricks. Then, on an Easter Monday, the place was opened with a ballet, -with dancing on the circular platform, with Signor Simioso's performing -monkeys, and with a grand display of fireworks. Very good, all this; -but somehow it didn't draw. The great Wuff did all he could; sent an -enormous power of legs into the ballet; engaged the most excruciatingly -funny comic singers, put silver rosettes into the button-holes and -silver-gilt wands into the hands of all the masters of the ceremonies -on the circular platform; and had Guffino il Diavolo flying from the -top of the pasteboard Leaning Tower of Pisa into the canvas Lake of -Geneva, down a wire, with a squib in his cap, and one in each of his -heels--and yet the public would not come. The great Wuff tried it for -two seasons, and then gave it up in despair. - -Up went the black-and-white board again; to be taken down at the -bidding of Mrs. Trimmer, who, having a very good boarding-school for -young ladies at Highgate, thought she might increase her connection -by establishing herself in a more eligible neighbourhood. The board -had been up so long, that the proprietor of the house was willing, -not merely to take a reduced rent, but to pull up the gas-lamps, and -pull down the supper-boxes, and restore the garden, not indeed to its -original state of beauty, but to decency and order. The rooms were -repapered (it must be owned that Wuff's taste in decoration had been -loud), and the name of the house changed from Marston Moor to Cornelia. -Then Mrs. Trimmer took possession, and brought her young friends with -her, and they throve and multiplied exceedingly; and all went well -until Mrs. Trimmer died, and there was no one to carry on the business; -and the board went up, and remained up longer than ever. - -No one knew exactly when or how the house was taken again. The -proprietor, hoping to get another school-keeper for a tenant, the -house being too large for ordinary domestic purposes, had bought Mrs. -Trimmer's furniture--the iron bedsteads and school fittings--for a -song, and had placed an old woman in charge. One day this old woman put -her luggage, consisting of a blue bundle, and herself into a cab, and -went away. A few carpenters had arrived from town in the morning, and -had occupied themselves in fitting iron bars to the interior of some of -the windows. During the greater portion of that night carriages were -heard rolling up the lane in which the back entrance to the house was -situated, and the next day smoke was seen issuing from the chimneys; -a big brass plate with the name of "Dr. Bulph" was screwed on to the -iron gates of the carriage-drive, and two or three strong-built men -were noticed going in and out of the premises. Gradually it became -known that Dr. Bulph was a physician celebrated for his treatment of -the insane, a "mad-doctor," as the neighbours called him; and women and -children used to skurry past the old red garden-walls as though they -thought the inmates were climbing over to get at them. But the house -was so thoroughly well-conducted, so quietly and with such excellent -discipline, that people soon thought nothing of it, any more than of -any other of the big mansions in the neighbourhood; and when Dr. Bulph -retired, and Dr. Wainwright succeeded him, the door-plate had actually -been changed for some days before the neighbours noticed it. - -Dr. Wainwright made many changes in the establishment. He was a man of -great fame for several specialities, and was constantly being called -away to patients in the country. He considerably enlarged the old -house, and brought to it a better and wealthier class of patients, who -were attended, under his supervision, by two resident surgeons. Dr. -Wainwright did not live in the house. In addition to his practice he -worked very hard with his pen, contributing largely to the principal -medical Scientific reviews and journals, and corresponding with -many continental _savans_. For all this work he required solitude -and silence; and, as he was a widower, he was able to enjoy both in -a set of chambers in the Albany, where he could go in and out as -he liked, and where no unwelcome visitor could get at him. He had -consulting-rooms in Grosvenor Square; and when in town, was to be found -there between ten and one; but after those hours it was impossible to -know where to catch him. - -But George Wainwright lived at the old house, or rather in an -outbuilding in the grounds, sole remainder of Mr. Wuff's erections; -which had been converted to his use, and which yielded him a large, -high-roofed, roomy studio, and a capital bedroom, both on the ground -floor. The studio was no misnomer for the living-room; for, in addition -to his Civil-Service work, George followed art with deep and earnest -devotion, and was known and recognised as one of the best amateurs of -the day. Men whose names stood very high in the art-world were his -friends; and on winter nights the studio would be filled with members -of that pleasant Bohemian society, discussing their craft and its -members and such cognate subjects. George was a great reader also, and -had a goodly store of books littering the tables or ranged on common -shelves, disputing possession of the walls with choice bits of his -friends' painting or half-finished attempts of his own. In the middle -of the room stood a quaintly-carved old black-oak desk, ink-blotted and -penknife-hacked, with some pages of manuscript and some slips of proof -lying on it--for George, who had been educated in Germany, was in the -habit of contributing essays on abstruse questions of German philosophy -and metaphysics to a monthly review of very portentous weight--and in -the corner was a cabinet piano, covered with loose leaves of music, -scraps from oratorios, _studenten-lieder_, bits of Bach and Glück, -glees of Purcell and Arne, and even ballads by Claribel. Some of -George's painter friends had formed themselves into a singing-club and -sang very sweetly; and the greatest treat that could be offered to -the inmates of the house was these fellows' musical performances. The -young swells of the Stannaries Office wondered why George Wainwright -was never seen at casino, singing and supper-houses, or other of those -resorts which they specially affected. They looked upon him as somewhat -of a fogey, and could not understand what a bright, genial, jolly -fellow like Paul Derinzy could see to like in him. He was kind and -good-natured and all that, they owned, as indeed they had often proved -by loans of "sovs" and "fivers," when the end of the quarter had left -them dry; but he was an uncomfortable sort of chap, they said, and was -always by himself. - -He was by himself the evening of the day after that on which he had -seen Paul Derinzy walking with Daisy in Kensington Gardens. He had -had a light dinner at his club, and thence walked straight away -home, where, on his arrival at his den, he had lit a big pipe and -thrown himself into an easy-chair, and sat watching the blue smoke -curling above his head, and pondering over the present and the future -of his friend. George Wainwright had a stronger feeling than mere -liking for Paul; there was a touch of romance in the regard which the -good-looking, bright, easy-going young man had aroused in his steady, -sober, practical senior. George was too much a man of the world to -thrill with horror because he had seen his friend in the company of a -pretty girl, and come across what was evidently a lovers' meeting. But -his knowledge of Paul's character was large and well-founded; in the -mere glance which he had got of the pair as they stood together in the -act of saying adieu, he had caught an expression in his friend's face -which intuitively led him to feel that the woman who could call up such -a look of intense earnest devotion was no mere passing light-o'-love; -and as George thought over the scene, and reproduced it, time after -time, from the storehouse of his memory, he puffed fiercer blasts from -his pipe, and shook his head in an unsettled, not to say desponding -manner. - -While he was thus occupied he heard steps on the gravel-walk outside, -then a tap at the door. Opening it, Paul Derinzy stood before him. - -"Just the man I was thinking about, and come exactly in the nick of -time! _Alma quies optata, veni!_ Not that you can be called _alma -quies_, you restless bird of the night! What's the matter? what are you -making signs about?" asked George. - -"That idiot, Billy Dunlop, is with me," replied Paul, grinning; "he -is doing some of his pantomime nonsense outside;" and, indeed, George -Wainwright, peering out in the darkness, could make out a stout figure -approaching with cautious gestures, which, when it emerged into the -lamplight, proved to be Mr. Dunlop. - -"Hallo, Billy! what are you at? Come in, man; light a pipe, and be -happy." - -But Mr. Dunlop, true to his character of comic man, did not enter the -room quietly, but came in with a little rush, and then, his knees -knocking together in simulated abject terror, asked: - -"Am I safe? Can none of them get at me?" - -"None of whom?" - -"None of the patients. I was in such a fright coming up that garden, I -could scarcely speak. I thought I saw eyes behind every laurestinus; -and--I suppose the staff of keepers is adequate, in case any of 'em -_should_ prove rampagious?" - -"Oh yes, it's all right. Have you never been here before?" - -"Never, sir; and I don't think, provided I get safe away this time, -that I'm ever likely to come again." - -"You're complimentary; but now you are here, sit down and have a drink. -Spirits there in that stand, soda-water here in the window-seat, ice in -that refrigerator by the door. Or stay, let me make you the new Yankee -drink that has just come up--a cobbler. There are plenty of straws -somewhere about." - -"I should think so," said Billy, in a stage-whisper to Paul. "He gets -'em out of the patients' heads. Lunatics always stick straws in their -heads, vide the drama _passim_. I say, Wainwright, while you're mixing -the grog, may I run out and have a look at the night-watch?" - -"The what?" asked George, raising his head. - -"The night-watch, you know;" and Mr. Dunlop sat down at the piano, -squared his elbows, contorted his face, and with much ludicrous -exaggeration burst forth: - - -"Hush-sh-sh-sh! 'tis the NIGHT-WATCH!! he gy-ards my lonely cell! - - -"Now don't you say that he doesn't, you know, because I've Mr. Henry -Russell's authority that he does. So produce your night-watch!" - -"Don't make such a row, Billy!" cried Paul; "there's no night-watch, or -anything else of the sort." - -"What! do you mean to say that I did not see her dancing in the hall? -that I am not cold, bitter cold? that his glimmering lamp no more I -see? and that no, no, by hav-vens, I am not ma-a-ad?" With these words, -uttered in the wildest tones, Mr. Dunlop cast himself at full length -on the sofa, whence arising immediately with a placid countenance, he -said: "Gentlemen, if you wish thus to uproot and destroy the tenderest -associations of childhood, I shall be happy, when I have finished my -drink, to wish you a good-evening, and return home." - -"I can't think what the deuce you came for," said Paul, with a smile. -"He looked in at the club where I was dining, hoping to meet you, and -where I heard you had been and gone, and asked me whether I wasn't -going to evening service. When I told him 'yes,' he said he would come -with me; and all the way along he has done nothing but growl at the -pace I was walking, and the length of the way." - -"Don't mind me, Mr. Wainwright," said Billy, politely; "pray let the -gentleman go on. I am not the Stannaries Stag, sir, and I never laid -claim to the title; consequently it's no degradation to me to avow that -I can't keep on heeling and toeing it at the rate of seven miles an -hour for long. As it happens, I have a friend in the neighbourhood, a -fisherman, who has managed to combine a snack-bend with a Kirby hook -in a manner which he assures me--pardon me, dear sirs, those imbecile -grins remind me that I am speaking to men who don't know a stone-fly -from a gentle; that I have been throwing my--I needn't finish the -sentence. I have finished the drink. Mr. Wainwright, have the goodness -to see me off the premises, and, in the words of the distraught -Ophelia--to whom, by-the-way, I daresay your talented father would have -been called in, had he happened to live in Denmark at the time--'let -out the maid who'--goodnight!" - -When George Wainwright returned, alone, he found Paul, who had lighted -a cigar, walking up and down the room, his hands plunged in his -pockets, his chin down upon his chest. George went up to him, and -putting his hand affectionately on his shoulder, said: - -"What brought you down here to-night, young 'un? The last rats must -have deserted the sinking ship of Fashion and Season when you clear out -of it to come down to Diogenes in his tub. Not but that I'm delighted -to see you; all I want to know is why?" - -"I was nervous and restless, George; a little tired of fools and -frippery, and--and myself. I wanted you to blow a little of the ozone -of common sense into me, you know!" - -"Oh yes, I know," said George Wainwright; but he uttered the words in -such deep solemn tones that Paul turned upon him suddenly, saying: - -"You know? Well, what do you know?" - -"I know why you could not play tennis, or come to the Oval, or walk to -Hendon with me yesterday afternoon." - -"The deuce you do! And why?" - -"For a very sufficient reason to a young fellow of five-and-twenty!" -said George, with a rather melancholy grin. "Look here, Paul; I don't -think you'll imagine I'm a spy, or a meddling, impertinent busybody, -and I'm sure you'll believe it was by the merest accident that I was -crossing Kensington Gardens last evening, and there saw a friend of -mine in deep conversation with a very handsome young lady." - -"The deuce you did!" cried Paul, turning very red. "What then?" - -"Ah!" said George, filling his pipe, "that's exactly the point--what -then?" - -"What a provoking old beggar you are! Why do you echo me? Why don't you -go on?" - -"It's for you to go on, my boy! What are your relations--or what are -they to be--with this handsome girl?" - -"She is handsome, is she not?" - -"Beautiful!" - -"'Gad! she must be to strike fire out of an old flint like you, -George!" cried Paul. "What are my relations with her? Strictly proper, -I give you my word." - -"And you intend to marry her?" - -"How the man jumps at an idea! Well, no; I don't know at all that I -intend that." - -"Not the--the other thing, Paul? No; you're, to say the least of it, -too much of a gentleman. You don't intend that." - -"I don't intend anything, I tell you. Can't a man talk to a pretty girl -without 'intention'?" - -"I don't know, Paul. I'm quite incompetent to pronounce any opinion -on such matters; only--only see here: I look on you as on a younger -brother, and, prompted by my regard for you, I may say many things -which you may dislike." - -"Well, say away, old George; you won't offend me." - -"Well, then, if this is a good honest girl, and you don't intend to -marry her, you ought not to be meeting her, and walking with her, and -leading her to believe that she will attain to a position through you -which she never would otherwise; and if she isn't an honest girl you -ought never to have spoken to her." - -Paul Derinzy laughed, the quiet easy chuckle of a man of the world, as -he replied to his simple senior: - -"She _is_ a good, honest girl, no doubt of that. But suppose the -question of marriage had never risen between us, and she still liked -to meet me and to walk with me, what then? In the gravel paths of -Kensington Gardens, Pamela herself might have strolled with Captain -Lovelace himself without fear. Why should not I with--with this young -lady?" - -"Because, though you don't know it, you're deceiving yourself and -deceiving her; because the whole thing is incongruous and won't fit, -however you may try to make it do so; because it's wrong, however much -you may slur it over. Look here, Paul; suppose, just for the sake of -argument, that you wanted to marry this girl--you're as weak as water, -and there's no accounting for what you might wish--you know your people -would oppose it in the very strongest way, and----" - -"Oh, if I chose it, my 'people,' as you call them, must have it, or -leave it alone, which would be quite immaterial to me." - -"Yes, yes, no doubt; but still----" - -"Look here, George; let's bring this question to a practical issue. -I'm ten times more a man of the world than you, though you are an old -fogey, and clever and sensible and all that. What you are aiming it is -that I must give up this girl. Well, then, shortly, I won't!" - -"And why won't you?" - -"For a reason you can't understand, you old mole, burrowed down here -under your paintings, and your fugues, and your dreary old German -philosophers--because I love her; because I think of her from morning -till night, and from night till morning again; because her bright -face and her gay creamy skin come between me and those beastly old -minutes and memoranda that we have to write at the shop; and when I'm -lying awake in Hanover Street, or even sitting surrounded by a lot of -gabbling idiots in the smoking-room of the club, I can see her gray -eyes looking at me, and----" - -"Oh Lord!" said George Wainwright, with a piteous smile; "I had no idea -I'd let myself in for this!" - -"You have, my dear old George, and for a lot more at a future time. -Just now I came out to you because I was horribly restless, and Billy -fastened himself on to me at the club, and I could not shake him off. -But I want to talk to you about it seriously, George--seriously, you -understand!" - -"Whenever you like, Paul; but I expect you'll only get one scrap of -advice out of me, repeated, as I fear, _ad nauseam_." - -"And that is?" - -"Give her up! give her up! give her up! Cato's powers of iteration in -the _delenda est Carthago_ business will prove weak as compared to mine -in this." - -"You'll find me stubborn, George." - -"Buffon gives stubbornness as a characteristic of your class, Paul. -Goodnight, old man." - -"Goodnight, God bless you! To-morrow as per usual, I suppose?" and he -was gone. - -Alone once more, George Wainwright threw himself again into the -easy-chair and renewed his pipe; but he shook his head more than ever, -and when he did speak, it was only to mutter to himself: "Worse than I -thought! Don't see the way out of that. Must look into this, and take -care that Paul does not make a fool of himself." - -When the clock struck midnight he rose, yawned, stretched, and seemed -more than half inclined to turn towards his cosy bedroom, which opened -from the studio; but he shook himself together, and saying, "Poor dear, -she would not sleep if I did not say goodnight to her, I suppose!" lit -a lamp, and took his way across the garden to the house. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. -CORRIDOR NO. 4. - - -Across the garden, and through an iron gate which he unlocked, and -which itself formed part of a railing shutting off one wing of the -house from the rest and from the grounds, George Wainwright walked; -then up a short flight of steps, topped by a heavy door, which he -also unlocked with a master key which he took from his pocket, and -which closed behind him with a heavy clang; through a short stone -passage, in a room leading off which, immediately inside the door--a -bright, snug, cheerful little room, with a handful of fire alight in -the grate, and the gas burning brightly over the mantelpiece, and a -tea-tray and appurtenances brightly shining on the table--was a young -woman--handsome, black-eyed, and rosy-cheeked, tall, strongly built, -and neatly dressed in a close-fitting dark-gray gown--who started up at -the sound of the approaching footsteps, and presented herself at the -door. - -"You on duty, Miss Marshall?" said George, with a smile and a bow. - -"Yes, Mr. George, it's my night-turn again; comes round quicker than -one thinks for, or than one hopes for, indeed! Going to see your -sweetheart as usual, Mr. George?" - -"Yes; I don't often miss; never, indeed, when I'm at home." - -"Ah, if all other men were as thoughtful and as kind and as true to -their sweethearts as you are to yours, there would be less need for -these sort of houses in the world, Mr. George," said the young woman, -with a somewhat scornful toss of her head. - -"Come, come, Miss Marshall," cried George, laughingly, "you've no -occasion to talk in that manner, I'm sure. Besides, I might retort, -and say that if all women were as kind and as loving and as pleased to -see their sweethearts as mine is to see me, if they remained true to -them for as many years as mine has remained true to me, if they were -as patient and as quiet--yes, and I think as silent--as mine is, they -would have a greater chance of retaining men's affections." - -"Poor dear Madame!" said Miss Marshall. "Ah, you don't see many like -her!" - -"I never saw one," said George. "But she will be keeping awake on the -chance of my coming to say goodnight to her." - -And with another smile and bow he passed on. - -First down another and a longer stone passage, the doors leading from -either side of which were wide open, showing bathrooms, kitchens, and -other domestic penetralia; then up a flight of stairs to a landing -covered with cocoa-nut matting, and giving on to a long corridor, -on the stone-coloured wall of which was painted in large black -letters, "Corridor No. 4." Closed doors here--doors of dormitories, -where the inmates were shut in for the night: some tossing on their -dream-haunted pillows; some haply--God knows--enjoying a mental rest -as soft and sweet as the slumber which enchained them, borne away to -the bygone days, when they thought and felt and knew, ere the brain was -distraught, and the memory snapped, and the mind either warped or void. -All was perfectly quiet as George passed along, stopping at length -before a door which was closed but not locked, and at which he tapped -lightly. Lightly, but with a sound which was quickly heard, for a soft -voice cried immediately "_Entrez!_" and he opened the door, and went in. - -It was a pretty little room, considerably too lofty for its breadth--a -long narrow slip of a place, which some people with pleasant -development of mortuary tendencies might have rendered unpleasantly -like a grave. But it was tricked out with a pretty wall-paper, all -rosebuds and green leaves; some good photographs of foreign scenery -were framed on the walls; a wooden Swiss peasant with a clock-face let -into the centre of his waistcoat, and its works ticking and running and -whirring away in the centre of his anatomy, stood on the mantelpiece; -the fireplace was filled up with bright-gilded shavings; and the bed, -instead of being the mere ordinary iron stump bedstead to be found in -other dormitories of the house, was gay with white hangings, and blue -bows tastefully disposed here and there. - -On it lay a woman, who had risen on her elbow at George's knock, and -who remained in the same attitude, awaiting his approach. A woman of -small stature evidently, and delicately made, with small well-cut -features and small bones. Her hair, as snow-white as the cap under -which it was looped up, contrasted oddly with the deep ruddy bronze -of her complexion; such bronze as, travelling south, you first begin -to notice among the Lyonnaises, and afterwards find so common along -the shores of the Mediterranean. But Time, though he had changed the -colour of her locks--and to be so very white now, they must necessarily -have been raven black before--had failed in dimming the lustre of her -marvellous eyes; they remained large, and dark, and appealing, as they -must have been in earliest youth. Full of liquid love and kindliness -were they too, as they beamed a welcome to George, a welcome seconded -by her outstretched hand, which rested on his head as he bent down -beside her. - -"You are late, George," she said, with the faintest foreign accent; -"but I had not given you up." - -"No, _maman_, you know better than that; you know that whenever I am -at home I never think of going to bed without saying goodnight to -_maman_. But I am late, dear; I have had friends sitting with me, and -they have only just gone." - -"Friends, eh? Ah, that must be odd to see friends. And you took -them for a _promenade_ on the Lac, and you---- _Ah, bah! quelle -enfantillage!_ your friends were men, of course. Some of those who sing -so sweetly sometimes? No! but still men? Ah, no one else has ever come -here." - -"No one else, _maman?_" - -"See, George, come closer. _She_ has not come?" - -"No, _maman_," said the young man, rising, and regarding her with a -look of genuine affection and pity. "No, _maman_, not yet." - -"Ah, not yet--always not yet," she said, letting her elbow relax, and -falling back in the bed--"always not yet!" And she covered her face -with her hands, removing them after a few minutes to say: "But she will -come? she will come?" - -"Oh yes, dear, let us trust so," said George, quietly. - -She looked at him, first earnestly, then wistfully, for several -minutes; then she dried the tears which, unseen by him, almost unknown -to her, had been trickling down her face, and said in a trembling -voice: "Goodnight, my boy." - -"Goodnight, _maman_. God bless you!" - -And he bent over her, and kissed her forehead. - -"_Dieu me bénisse!_" she said, with a half-smile. "In time, George, -when _she_ comes back! Meantime, _Dieu te bénisse_, my son!" - -He bent his head again, and she encircled it with her arms, brushed -each of his cheeks with her lips, and kissed his hand; then murmuring, -"Goodnight," sank back on her pillow. - -George took up his lamp, and crept silently from the room, and down -the corridor, down the stairs, and towards the outer door. As he -passed Miss Marshall's room he looked in, and saw her, bright, brisk, -and cheerful, sitting at her needlework, an epitome of neatness and -propriety. George could not refrain from stopping in his progress, and -saying: - -"You don't look much like a 'keeper,' Miss Marshall. I had a friend -with me to-night, who laughingly asked me to show him the night-watch -of such places as these, of whom he had read in songs and novels. I -think he would have been rather astonished if I had brought him across -the garden and introduced him to you." - -"Oh, they're not much 'count, those kind of trash, I think, Mr. -George," said Miss Marshall, who was eminently practical. "I read about -'em often enough when I was a nursery-governess, and before I came into -the profession. I daresay he expected to see a man with big whiskers, -with a sword and a brace of pistols in his belt, and perhaps two big -dogs following him up and down the passages! At least, I know that -used to be my idea. You found Madame Vaughan all well and quiet and -comfortable, Mr. George? And left her so, no doubt?" - -"Oh yes. She was just the same as usual, poor dear." - -"Oh, poor dear, indeed! If they were all like her, one need not grumble -about one's life here. There never was such a sweet creature. I'm sure -if one-half of the sane women, the sensible creatures who expect one to -possess all the cardinal virtues and to look after four of their brats -for sixteen pounds a-year, were anything like as nice, or as sensible, -or as sane, for the matter of that, as Madame Vaughan, the world would -be a much nicer place to live in. She expected you, I suppose, sir?" - -George Wainwright knew perfectly that Miss Marshall was, as the phrase -is, "making conversation;" that she cared little about the patient -whose state she was discussing; cared probably less about him. But -he knew also that in the discharge of her duty she had to sit up all -night, until relieved by one of the day-nurses at six o'clock in the -morning; that she naturally enough grasped at any chance of making -a portion, however small, of this time pass more pleasantly, with -somebody to look at and somebody's voice to listen to. And she was a -pretty girl and a good girl, and he was not particularly tired and was -particularly good-natured; so he thought he would stop and chat with -her for a few minutes. - -"Oh yes, she expected me," he said; "so I should have been horribly -sorry if I had neglected to go to her. One must be selfish indeed to -deny anyone so much pleasure when it can be afforded by merely stepping -across the garden." - -"Did she speak of the usual subject, sir?" - -"The child? Oh, yes; asked if anyone had come, as usual; and when I -answered her, felt sure that her child would come speedily." - -"I suppose there's no foundation for that idea of hers?" - -"That the child will come, or, indeed, so far as we know, that she ever -had a child, is, I imagine, the merest hallucination. At all events, -from the number of years she has been here, her child, if she ever had -one, must be a tolerably well-grown young lady, and not likely to be -recognisable by, or to recognise her, poor thing!" - -"Yes, indeed, Mr. George; and it's odd that of all our ladies, with the -exception of poor Mrs. Stoneycroft, who, I imagine, is just kept here -out of the Doctor's kindness and charity, Madame is the only one who -never has any friends come to see her." - -"She has outlived all her friends; that is to say, she has outlived -their recollection of her. Nothing so easily forgotten as the trace -of people we once knew, but who can no longer be of use to us, or -administer to our vanity, our pleasure, or our amusement. I was at -a cemetery the other day, and saw there an enormous and magnificent -tombstone which a man had ordered to be erected over his wife; but -before the order had been executed the man had married again, declined -to pay for his extravagance in mortuary sculpture, and contented -himself with a simple headstone. And the gardener told me that it is -very seldom that the floral graves are kept up beyond the first twelve -months. So it is not likely that in this, which, to such poor creatures -as Madame Vaughan, is not much better than a living tomb, the occupants -should be held in any long remembrance." - -"I'm sure it's very kind of the Doctor to take such care of these poor -creatures, Mr. George; more especially when he's not paid for it." - -"That is not the case with Madame Vaughan. I think--in fact, I'm -sure--she was one of the patients of my father's predecessor, and was -made over to him on the transfer of the business; but though she has -no friends to come and see her, the sum for her maintenance here is -regularly discharged by a firm of solicitors who have money in trust -for the purpose, and by whom it has been paid from the first." - -"And is there nothing known of her history, Mr. George; who were her -friends, or where she came from?" - -"Nothing now. Dr. Bulph, I suppose, had some sort of information; but -he was an odd man, and so long as his half-yearly bills were paid, did -not trouble himself much further, I fancy." - -"Lord, what a life!" said Miss Marshall, casting a sidelong glance at -the little looking-glass over the mantelpiece, and smoothing her hair. -"And it will end here, I suppose? The Doctor does not think she will -ever be cured, Mr. George?" - -"No, indeed!" said George, shaking his head. "And if she were, what -would become of her? She has been here for nearly twenty years, and the -outer world would be as strange and as impossible to her as it was to -the released prisoner of the Bastille, who prayed to be taken back to -his dungeon." - -"Ah well, I should pray to be taken to my grave," said the practical -Miss Marshall, "if I thought no one cared for me----" - -"Ah, now you're talking of an impossibility, Miss Marshall," said -George, rising. "If ever I have a necessity to expose the absurdity of -that saying which advances the necessity for 'beauty sleep,' I shall -bring you forward as my example; for you're never in bed by midnight, -and are often up all night; and yet I should like to see anyone who -could rival you in briskness or freshness. Goodnight, Miss Marshall." - -"Goodnight, Mr. George." - -As he rose, shook hands, and taking up his lamp made his way across the -garden, the nurse looked after him with a pleased expression, and said -to herself: - -"What a nice young man that is!--so pleasant and kind! Nice-looking -too, though a trifle old-fashioned and heavy; not like--ah, well, never -mind. But much too good to mope away his life in this wretched old -place, anyhow." - -And when George reached his rooms he smiled to himself, and said: - -"Well, if that little talk, and those little compliments, have the -result of making Miss Marshall show any extra amount of kindness to my -poor _maman_, my time will not have been ill bestowed." - -George Wainwright was tolerably correct in all he had said regarding -Madame Vaughan, though he had but an imperfect knowledge of her -history. At the time when her mental malady first rendered it necessary -that she should be placed under restraint, the private lunatic asylums -of England were in a very different condition from what they are -now. They were for the most part held by low-born ignorant men, who -derived their entire livelihood from the sums of money paid for the -maintenance of the unfortunate wretches confided to their charge, and -whose gains were consequently greater in proportion to the manner in -which they ignored or refused the requirements of their inmates. A -person calling himself a physician, and perhaps in possession of some -purchased degree, hired at a small stipend and non-resident, looked in -occasionally, asked a few questions, and signed certificates destined -to hoodwink official eyes, which in those days never saw too clearly -at the best of times. But the staff of keepers, male and female, was -always numerous and efficient. Those were the merry days of the iron -collar and the broad leather bastinado, of the gag and the cold bath, -of the irons and the whipping-post. They did not care much about what -the Lunacy Commissioners did, or wrote, or exacted, in those days, -and each man did what he thought best for himself. The date of the -Commissioners' visits, which then were few and far between, were -accurately known long beforehand; the "medical attendant" was on the -spot; the patients, such as were visible, were tricked up into a proper -state of cleanliness and order; and the others were duly hidden away -until the authorities had departed. The licensing was a farce, only -to be exceeded in absurdity by the other regulations; and villany, -blackguardism, brutality, and chicanery reigned supreme. - -For two years after Madame Vaughan was first received into the -asylum--God help us!--as it was called, the outer world was mercifully -a blank to her. She arrived in a settled state of stupor, in which -she remained, cowering in a corner of the room which she shared with -other afflicted creatures, but taking no heed of them, of the antics -which they played, of the yells and shrieks which they uttered, of the -fantastic illusions of which they were the victims, of the punishment -which their conduct brought upon them. Her face covered by her hands, -her poor body ever rocking to and fro, there she remained for ever in -the one spot until nightfall, when she crept to the miserable couch -allotted to her, and curling herself up as an animal in its slumber, -was unheard, almost unseen, until the next day. The wretched food which -they gave her, coarse in quality and meagre in quantity, she ate in -silence; in silence she bore the spoken ribaldry, and the practical -jokes which in the first few weeks after her admission the guardians -of the establishment, and indeed the great proprietor himself, amused -themselves by heaping upon her; so that in a little time she was found -incapable of administering to their amusement, and was suffered to -remain unmolested. - -At the end of the time mentioned, a change took place in the condition -of the patient under the following circumstances. One of the nurses had -had her married sister and niece to visit her; and after tea, by way of -a cheerful amusement, the visitors were conducted through the female -ward. The child, a little girl of five or six years old, frightened -out of her life, hung back as she entered the gloomy room, where women -in every stage of mania, some fierce and shrieking, some silent and -moody, were collected. But her aunt, the nurse, laughed at the child's -fears; and the mother, who through the hospitality of their entertainer -had, after the clearing away of the tea-equipage, been provided with -a beverage which both cheered and inebriated, bade the girl not to be -a fool; and on her still hanging back and evincing an intention of -bursting into tears, administered to her a severe thump on the back, -which had the effect of causing the little one to break forth at once -into a howl. - -From the first instant of the child's entrance into the room, Madame -Vaughan had roused herself from her usual attitude. The sound of the -child's pattering feet seemed to act on her with electrical influence. -She raised her head from out her hands; she sat up erect, bright, -observant. The corner in which she sat was dark, and no one was in the -habit of taking any notice of her. So she sat, watching the shrinking -child. She heard the mocking laugh with which the nurse sneered at the -little one's terror, she heard the harsh tones in which the mother chid -the child, and saw the blow which followed on the words. Then she made -two springs forward, and the next minute had the woman on the ground, -and was grappling at her throat. The attendants sprang upon her, -released the woman from her grasp, and led her shrieking to her cell. - -"My child, my child! why did she strike my child?" were the words which -she screamed forth; almost the first which those in the asylum had ever -heard her utter; so, at least, the nurse told the proprietor, who, with -other assistants, male as well as female, was speedily on the spot. - -"She used to sit as quiet as quiet, never opening her mouth, as you -know very well, sir," said the woman, "and was sittin' just as usual, -so far as I know, when my sister here, as I was showing round, fetched -her little gal a smack on the head because she wouldn't come on; and -then Vaughan springs at her like a wild-beast, and wanted to tear the -life out of her, she did, a murderin' wretch!" - -"Had she ever said anything about a child before?" asked the proprietor. - -"Never said nothing about anybody, and certingly nothing about a -child," replied the nurse. - -"And it was because she saw this child struck that she burst out, and -she's hollerin' about the child now--is that it?" - -"Jest so, sir," replied the nurse, looking at a mark of teeth on her -hand, and shaking her head viciously in the direction in which the -patient had been led away. - -"That's it, Agar," said the proprietor; "I thought we should get at -it some day. Couldn't get anything out of the cove I first saw, and -the lawyers were as tight as wax. 'You'll get your money,' they says. -'We're responsible for that,' they says, 'and that ought to be enough -for you.' They wouldn't let on, any of 'em, what it was that had upset -her at first; but I knew it would come out sooner or later, and it's -come out now, though. She's gone off her head grievin' after a kid, and -no two ways about it." - -"Ah!" said Mr. Agar, who was a man of few words; "shouldn't wonder. -Question is, what's to be done with her now? Mustn't be allowed to kick -up these wagaries, you know; we shall have the neighbours complainin' -again. Screamed and yelled and bit and fisted away like a good un, she -did. We ain't had such a rumpus since the Tiger's time." - -"She must be taught manners," said the proprietor, significantly. "Tell -your missus to look after her. This woman," indicating the nurse with -his elbow, "ain't any good when it comes to a rough and tumble, and I'm -doubtful if Vaughan won't give us some trouble yet." - -So Madame Vaughan was delivered over to the tender mercies of Mrs. -Agar, and underwent some of the tortures which she had seen inflicted -upon others. She was punished cruelly for her outbreak; but that done, -there was an end of it. The proprietor was wrong in his surmise that -she would give them further trouble. She lapsed back into her old -silent state, cowering in her old corner, rocking to and fro after -her old fashion; and thus she remained, when the proprietor, having -made sufficient money, and having had several hints that certain -malpractices of his, if further indulged in, would probably bring him -to the Old Bailey, handed over his business to Dr. Bulph. - -It was during Dr. Bulph's time that the poor lady had a severe bodily -illness, during which she was sedulously attended by Dr. Bulph -himself--a clever, hard man of the world, not unkind, but probably -prompted in his attention to his patient by the feeling that it would -be unwise to let a regularly-paid income of three hundred pounds a-year -slip through his fingers if a little trouble on his part could save -it. When she became convalescent, her mental condition seemed to have -altered. Instead of being dull and moping, she was bright and restless, -ever asking about her child, who, as it seemed to her poor distraught -fancy, had been with her just before her illness. Dr. Bulph had had -some idea, that when her bodily ailment left her, there was a chance -that her mind might have become at last clearer; but he shook his head -when he saw these new symptoms. Her child, her child! what had been -done with it? Why had they taken it away? Why was it kept from her? -That was the constant, incessant burden of her cry, sometimes asked -almost calmly, sometimes with piteous wailings or fierce denunciations -of their cruelty. Nothing satisfied her, nothing appeased her. Madame -Vaughan's case was evidently a very bad one indeed: and when Dr. Bulph -took Dr. Wainwright, who was about purchasing his business, the round -of his establishment, he pointed Madame Vaughan out to him, and said: -"That will be a noisy one, I'm afraid, until the end." - -The doctor was wrong in his prophecy. Dr. Wainwright, with as much -skill and far more _savoir faire_ than his predecessor, adopted very -different tactics. Although since the departure of the first proprietor -of the asylum no cruelty had been inflicted on the patients, all of -them who were at all intractable or difficult to govern had been -kept in restraint. The first thing that Dr. Wainwright did, when he -took possession, was to give them an amount of liberty which they -had not previously enjoyed. Poor Madame Vaughan, falling into one of -her shrieking-fits of "My child! where's my child?" was surprised on -looking up to see the tall figure of the new doctor in the open doorway -of her room; and her screams died away as she looked at his handsome -smiling face, and heard his voice say in soft tones: "Where is she? -Come, let us look for her." Then he took her gently by the arm and -led her into the garden, round which they walked together. The new -sense of liberty, the air blowing on her cheeks, the fresh smell of -the flowers--these unaccustomed delights had a wonderful influence on -the poor sufferer. For a time, at least, she forgot the main burden -of her misery in the delight she experienced in dwelling on them; and -thenceforward, though she recurred constantly, daily indeed, to her one -theme of sorrow, it was never with the poignant bitterness of former -times. She grew attached to the doctor, whose quiet interested manner -suited her wonderfully, and formed a singular attachment for George, -then a young man just entering on his office duties, looking forward -to his coming with a sweet motherly tenderness, which he seemed to -reciprocate in a most filial manner. - -From that time forward Madame Vaughan's lot, as far as her melancholy -condition permitted, was a happy one. No acute return of mania ever -supervened; she remained in a state of harmless quiet; and save for her -invariable expectation of the arrival of her child, a hope which she -never failed to indulge in, it would have been impossible to think that -the quiet, well-dressed, white-haired lady, who tended the flowers, -and settled the ornaments of her little room, or paced regularly up -and down the garden, sometimes alone, sometimes conversing with Dr. -Wainwright, or leaning reliantly on George's arm, was the inmate of a -lunatic asylum, and had gone through such tempestuous scenes as fall to -her lot in the early days of her residence there. The "noisy one" had -indeed come to be the gentlest member of that strange household; and -one of the greatest annoyances which Dr. Wainwright ever experienced -was when one of the members of the lawyers' firm who paid the annual -stipend for the poor lady's care happened to call with the cheque, and -on the doctor's wishing him to witness the comparative happy state to -which the patient had arrived, said shortly that "he had enough to do -in his business with people who were only sane enough to prevent their -being shut up, and that he didn't want to have anything to do with -those who were a stage further advanced in the disease." - - -On the morning after the events recorded in the beginning of this -chapter, George Wainwright found a small pencil-note placed on the huge -can of cold water which was brought to him for his bath. Opening it, he -read: - - -"DEAR MR. GEORGE,--Madame hopes she shall see you before you go into -town this morning. She has something special to say to you. I have told -her I was sure you would not fail her.--Yours, L. MARSHALL." - - -In compliance with this wish, George presented himself immediately -after breakfast at Madame Vaughan's room. He found her ready dressed, -and anxiously expecting him. - -"Why, _maman_," he commenced, "already up and doing! Your bright -activity is an actual reproach to a sluggard like myself. But I heard -you wanted me, and I'm here." - -"Would you mind taking a turn in the garden, George?" she asked. "The -morning looks very fine, and I've something to say to you that I think -should be said in the sunlight and among the flowers." - -"Something pleasant, then, I argue from that," he said. "And you know -I'd do a great deal more than give up a few minutes from my dry dull -old office to be of any pleasant use to you; besides, work is slack -just now--it always is at this time of the year--and I can easily be -spared. Come, let us walk." - -She threw a shawl over her head and shoulders with, as George could -not help remarking, all the innate grace and ease of a Frenchwoman, -took his arm, and descended the stairs into the garden. It was indeed -a lovely morning, just at that time when Summer makes her last -determined fight before gracefully surrendering to Autumn. The turf -was yet green and soft, though somewhat faded here and there by the -sun's long-continued power, and the air was mild; but the paths were -already flecked with leaves, and ruddy tints were visible on the -extreme outer foliage of the trees. When they arrived in the grounds, -they found several of the patients already there; some chattering to -each other, others walking moodily apart. Many of them seemed to treat -Madame Vaughan with marked deference, and exhibited that deference in -immediately clearing out of the way, and leaving her and her companion -unmolested in their walk. - -After a few turns up and down, George said: - -"Well, _maman_, and the special business?" - -"Ah yes, George, I had forgotten," said Madame, pressing her hand to -her head. "I dreamed about _her_ last night, George--about my child." - -"Not an uncommon dream for you, surely, _maman?_" said George kindly. -"What you are always thinking of by day will most probably not desert -your mind at night." - -"No, not at all uncommon; but I have never dreamed of her as I dreamed -last night. George, she is coming; you will see her very soon." - -"I! But you, _maman_--you will see her too?" - -"I am not so sure of that, George. She was all dim and indistinct in my -dream. I think I shall be dead, George; but you will see her; I shall -have the comfort of knowing that, and--and of knowing that you will -love her, George." - -"Why, _maman_, of course I shall love her, for your sake." - -"No, George; for her own. You will love her for her own sake, and you -will marry her, my son." - -"_Maman, maman!_" said George, taking her hand, and looking up into her -face with a loving smile. "But how do you know that she will consent? -You forget I am an old bachelor, and----" - -"You will marry her, George," said Madame, her face clouding over at -once. "And yet--and yet she is but an infant, poor child!" - -"There, there, _maman_ darling----" - -"No, no; don't attempt to get out of it. And yet I saw it all--you and -she at St. Peter's after Tenebrae, and I--and----" - -"Now this is a question for my father to be consulted on," said George. -"He is the only man who could help us in this difficulty, and he's away -in the country, you know. We must wait till he comes back;" and he drew -her quietly towards the house. - - -"Poor dear _maman!_" said George Wainwright to himself, as he stood -waiting for the omnibus which was to bear him into town. "What a -strange idea! Not so far wrong, though! A phantom evolved from a -diseased brain, a nothing. A creature without existence is the only -wife I'm ever likely to have! I only wish young Paul was as heart-free, -and as likely to remain so." - - - - -CHAPTER IX. -DEAR ANNETTE. - - -It was a noticeable fact, that though the Beachborough folk were, as -they would themselves have expressed it, "main curous" about Mrs. -Stothard and her position in the Derinzy household, none of them -devoted much time to speculating about Miss Annette, or Miss Netty as -she was generally called by them. That she was a "dreadful in-vallid" -all knew; that she was sometimes confined to the house for weeks -together when labouring under a severe attack of her illness--which -was ascribed by some to nerves, by some to weakness, and by others to -a curious disorder known as "ricketts"--was also well known. It was -understood, moreover, that she did not like her indisposition alluded -to; and consequently, when she occasionally appeared in the village, -accompanied by her aunt Mrs. Derinzy, it was a point of politeness -on the part of the villagers to ignore the fact of their not having -seen her for weeks past and the cause of her absence, and to entertain -her with gossip about Bessy Fairlight's levity, Giles Croggin's -drunkenness, Farmer Hawkers' harvest-home, or such kindred topics. No -one ever mentioned illness or doctors before Miss Netty; if they had, -Mrs. Derinzy, a woman of strong mind and, when necessary, sharp tongue, -would speedily have cut in and changed the conversation. - -But although the Beachborough people saw little of Annette Derinzy, -that little they liked. Amongst simple folk of this kind a person -labouring under illness, more especially chronic illness--not any of -your common fevers or anything low of that kind, which nearly everybody -has had in their time, and which are for the most part curable by -very simple remedies--but mysterious illness, which "comes on when -you don't expect it," as though most disorders were heralded and the -exact time of their arrival announced by infallible symptoms, and which -lasts for weeks together--such a person takes brevet rank with their -acquaintance, and is looked up to with the greatest respect. Moreover, -Miss Netty had a very pleasant way with her, being always courteous and -friendly, sometimes, indeed, a little too friendly; for she would want -to go into the fishermen's cottages, and into the lacemakers' rooms, -and would ask questions which were not very pertinent, or indeed very -wise; until she was brought up very short by her aunt, who would take -her by the elbow, and haul her away with scant ceremony. And another -great thing in her favour was, that she was very pretty. - -Ah, well-meaning, kindly people, who endeavour to cheer your ugly -children by repeating the scores of old adages with which the stupidity -of our forefathers has enriched our language, telling them that "beauty -is only skin deep," that "it is better to be good than beautiful," that -"handsome is that handsome does," and a variety of other maxims of the -same kind--when will you be honest, and confess that a pretty face is -almost the best dowry a young girl can have? It gains her admirers -always, and very frequently it gains her friends; it makes easy and -pleasant her path in life, and saves her from the bitterest distress, -the deepest laceration which can be inflicted on the female heart, -in the feeling that she is despised of men, which, being translated, -means that she is neglected, while others are appreciated. Miss Netty -was pretty decidedly, but she was in that almost incredible position -of being unaware of the fact. Save her own family and the people in -the village, she saw no one; and though the gossips were inclined not -to be reticent of their admiration even in the presence of its object, -they were always restrained by a wholesome dread of the wrath of -Mrs. Derinzy, which on more than one occasion had been evoked by the -compliments paid to her niece. - -It was the more extraordinary that such persons as Mrs. Powler and Mrs. -Jupp should have admired Annette, as her style was by no means such as -generally finds favour with persons in their station in life. Great -black staring eyes, snub noses, firm round red cheeks, bright red lips, -and jet-black hair, well bandolined and greased so as to lie flat on -the head, or corkscrewed into thin ringlets, generally make up their -standard of beauty. Country people have a great opinion of strength of -limb and firmness of flesh; and "she be _that_ hard," was one of the -most delicate tributes which a Beachborough swain could pay. In the -agricultural districts those womanly qualities of tenderness, softness, -and delicacy, which are so prized amongst more refined circles, are -rather held at a discount; they are regarded by the rustic mind as on -a level with piano-playing and Berlin-wool working--good enough as -extras, but not to be compared with the homely talents of milking and -stocking-darning. Personal appearance is regarded in much the same way, -elegance of form being less thought of than strength, and a large arm -obtaining much more admiration than a small hand. Annette was a tall, -but a slight and decidedly delicate-looking girl. - -"It isn't after her uncle she takes," Mrs. Powler would say; "a little -giggling, flibberty-gibbet of a man, that might be blowed away in a -pouf!" - -"Well, mum," said little Ann Bradshaw, the "gell" who was specially -retained for Mrs. Powler's service, and who, as jackal, purveyed all -the gossip on which, after due preparation, her mistress lived--"well, -mum, I du 'low Miss Netty's well enow to look at, but nothing like the -Captain, who sure-_ly_ is a main handsome man!" - -"Eh, dear heart, did one ever hear the like!" cried Mrs. Powler. -"Here's chits and chicks like this talkin' about main handsome men! -Why, Ann, you was niver in Exeter, or you'd have seen a waxy image just -like the Captain, wi' his black hair and his straight nose, and his -blue chin, in the barber's shop-window. Handsome, indeed!" said the old -lady, with a recollection of the deceased Mr. Fowler's rotund face; -"he's but a poor show; a mere skellinton of a chap!" - -"Well, mum, it can't be said that Miss Netty favours her aunt Mrs. -D'rinzy neither," said Ann, who, seeing her mistress was disposed for -a chat, saw her way to at least postponing the execution of a very -portentous and elaborate job of darning which had sat heavy on her soul -for some days past. "Mrs. D'rinzy is that slight and slim and gen-teel -in her make, which Miss Netty do not follow after." - -"Slight, and slim, and genteel make!" repeated Mrs. Powler with much -indignation, and a downward glance at her own pursy proportions; "ah, -straight up and down like a thrashin'-floor door, if that's what ye -mean! Lord love us, here's a gal as I took out of charity, and saved -from goin' to the workis, a givin' her 'pinions 'bout figgers, and -shapes, and makes, and the like, as though she was a milliner, or a -middiff! Well, well, on'y to think!" - -"I didn't mean no harm, mum, I'm sure," said the worldly-ise -handmaiden, "and I don't think much of Mrs. D'rinzy, nor indeed of the -Captain neither, since Nancy Bell--as you know is housemaid up at the -Tower--told me how she'd found the stick-stuff which he du make his -eyebrows of--black, and grease, and muck." - -"No?" exclaimed the old lady, her good temper returning at the chance -of hearing some spicy retailable talk. "Du he do that? Do'ee tell, Ann!" - -Thus invited, Miss Bradshaw launched out into an elaborate story, -rendered more elaborate by her anti-darning proclivities, of the -mysteries of Captain Derinzy's toilet, as she had learned them from -Miss Bell. Mrs. Powler encouraged her to prattle on this point for a -long time; and when she had finished, asked her whether Nancy Bell had -mentioned anything about the general way of living at the Tower, more -especially as Miss Netty and Mrs. Stothard were concerned. - -"Not that anything she says isn't as full of lies as a sieve's full of -holes," said the old lady. "I mind the time"--a terrible old lady this, -with an unexampled memory for bad things against people--"I mind the -time when she was quite a little gell, and went and told the vicar a -passil o' lies about her uncle, Ned Richards the blacksmith. And the -vicar put Ned into his sermin the next Sunday, and preached at un, and -everybody knowed who was meant; and Ned stood up in church, and gev -it to the vicar back again; and Ned was had up for brawlin', as they -called it, and there was a fine to-do, and all through Nancy Bell. But -what does she say of Miss Netty, Ann? Are they kind to her like up -there?" - -"Oh, yes, mum; Nancy thinks so, leastwise. But no one sees Miss Netty -often, mum." - -"No one sees her?" - -"Only Mrs. Stothard, mum. She and Mrs. Stothard has their rooms away -from the rest, mum, lest they should disturb the Captain when Miss -Netty's ill, mum; and no one sees her but Mrs. Stothard then." - -"Ah," said Mrs. Powler, "David or Solomon, or one of 'em, I don't -rightly remember which, were not far off when he said that the bread of -dependence was bitter, and these great folk don't bake it no more sweet -than others for their poor relations, it seems. So they take the board -and lodgin' out of Mrs. Stothard by makin' her a nuss, eh, Ann?" - -"They du indeed, mum. I du 'low that's why we niver see Mrs. Stothard -in the village, being so taken up with Miss Netty, and a nasty temper, -not caring to throw a word at a dog, likewise." - -"How does Nancy think they git on betwixt themselves?" - -"What, the Captain and Mrs. D'rinzy? Oh, they git on all right; -leastwise, she's master, Nance says. The Captain isn't much 'count in -his own house; but Mrs. D. niver let him see it, bless you; and he du -bluster and rave sometimes, Nance say, when he's put out, and thinks -she can't hear him." - -"What puts 'im out, Ann? He hev an easy life of it, sure-ly: nothin' to -do but to kick up his heels about the place." - -"That's just it, missus. He wants something more to du. He du hate the -place like pison, Nance have heerd 'im say, and ask Mrs. D'rinzy, wi' -awful language, what they was waitin' and wastin' their lives here for." - -"And what did she say then?" - -"Allays the same. 'You know,' says she, 'you know what we're waitin' -for; and it'll come, it'll come sure as sure.' 'Wouldn't it come just -the same, or easier rather, if we was out of this, up in London, or -somewheres?' the Captain says once. 'No,' says Mrs. D., 'it wouldn't. -When we've got the prize under lock and key,' she says, 'we know where -to look for it, and who to send for it; but when it's open to the -world, there's no knowin' who may run off with it,' she says." - -"A prize!" said the old lady, looking very much astonished--"got a -prize under lock and key? Why, what could she mean by that? You hain't -heerd in the village o' anything hevin' been found up at the Tower, hev -you, Ann?" - -Ann, leaning against the door, withdrew one foot from the floor, and -slowly rubbed it up and down her other leg--a gymnastic performance she -was in the habit of going through when she taxed her powers of memory. -It failed, however, to have any result in the present instance; and -Ann was compelled to confess that she had never heard of anything in -particular being found at the Tower. She did this with more reluctance, -as she foresaw the speedy termination of the gossip, and her consequent -relegation to her darning duties. - -But Mrs. Powler, who had been much struck with the conversation -overheard by Nancy Bell, and repeated to her by her own handmaiden, sat -pondering over the words for some time, allowing Ann to remain in the -room, and at last bade her go round and ask Mrs. Jupp to step in for a -few minutes. When Mrs. Jupp arrived, Mrs. Powler made Ann repeat her -story; and when she concluded, the old lady bade her stand away out of -earshot, and said to Mrs. Jupp in a hollow whisper: - -"What do you think of that?" - -"Of what?" asked Mrs. Jupp, in an equally ghostly tone. - -"'Bout the prize? Do you think, Harriet, that it can be any of Fowler's -'runs'? They used to hide 'em in the first place as come handy, when -the excisers was after 'em; and I've been wondering whether they might -ha' stowed away some kegs, or bales, or things, in the lower garden, or -thereabouts, and these D'rinzys ha' found 'em. I wonder whether I could -claim 'em, Harriet?" said the old lady earnestly. "He left everything -he had in the world to his beloved wife, Powler did." - -Mrs. Jupp, who had been receiving these last words with many sniffs, -denoting her content for her friend's notions, waited patiently until -Mrs. Powler had finished, and then said: - -"I don't think you need trouble yourself about that. It isn't about -runs, or kegs, or bales, or anything of that kind, that Mrs. Derinzy -meant, if so be she said anything of the kind, which I main doubt; -Nancy Bell and your Ann being regular Anias and Sapphira for lying, or -the man as was turned into a white leopard by the prophet for saying he -hadn't asked the young man for a change of clothes." - -"Du let alone naggin' and girdin' at my Ann for once, Harriet!" -interrupted Mrs. Powler. "Let's s'pose Mrs. D'rinzy said it; there's no -harm in s'posin', you know. What did she mean 'bout the prize?" - -"Mean? What could she mean but Miss Netty?" - -"Miss Netty! prize!" cried Mrs. Powler, to whom the combination of -these words was hopelessly embarrassing. "Ah, well, I'm becomin' a -moithered old 'ooman, I suppose?" - -"No, no, dear," said Mrs. Jupp, who never liked to see the old lady -put out. "I'm sure there's they as are twenty years younger would like -to be able to see as far into a milestone as you can. Only you don't -know about this, because you don't get out much now, and you don't know -what's goin' on up at the Tower, save from Ann and suchlike. Now my -ideer is, that Miss Netty has come into a fortin'." - -"No!" cried the old lady. - -"Yes," said Mrs. Jupp, nodding her head violently. "Yes, I think she -have, and that's what her aunt meant about a prize, I take it. For -don't you see, we've asked, all of us, often enough, what kept them -livin' down here. 'Tain't that they come down for the shootin', or the -yachtin', or that, jest at one season, like Sir 'Erc'les, though he -was bred and born down here, and it's his fam'ly place. But there they -stick, summer and winter, spring and autumn, never movin', though the -Captain's a-wearyin' hisself to death; and there's no call for Mrs. -Derinzy to stop here neither." - -"Not for her health?" - -"Not a bit of it! Between you and me, I think there's a -consp---- However, I'll tell you more about that when I know more; -meantime, I think Mrs. Derinzy's all right, and I don't think it's for -health Miss Annette is kept here." - -"The Dorsetsheer air----" Mrs. Powler began; but seeing an incredulous -smile on her friend's face, she broke off shortly, and said: "Well, -then, what does keep 'em down here?" - -"The fortin' that we was speakin' of; the prize that Nancy Bell heard -Mrs. D. tell off. Don't you see, my dear? Suppose what I think is -right--they've got the poor thing down here in their own hands, to do -jest what they like wi'; nobody to say, with your leave, or by your -leave; cooped up there wi' them two old people and that termagant Mrs. -Stothard. Now if she was away in London, or Exeter, or any other large -place o' that sort, why o' course there'd be young men sweetheartin' -her--for she's a main pratty gell, though slouchin', and not one to -show herself off--and she'd be gettin' married, and her money would -go away from them to her husband. That's what Mrs. D. meant about the -prize bein' 'open to the world,' and people 'runnin' off with it,' and -that like." - -Mrs. Powler sat speechless for a few moments, looking at her friend -with her sharp little black eyes, and going over what had just been -told her in her mind. Her faculties began to be somewhat dimmed by age, -and she required time for intellectual digestion. Mrs. Jupp knew her -friend's habit, and remained silent likewise, thoughtfully rubbing the -side of her nose with a knitting-needle which she had produced from her -pocket. At length the old lady said: - -"I du 'low you're right, Harriet, though I niver give you credit for so -much sharpness before." - -And Mrs. Jupp had many pleasant teas, and many succulent suppers, and -much pleasant gossip, on the strength of her perspicacity in the matter -of the great Derinzy mystery. - -Strange to say, the woman's idea was not very far away from the truth. -When Mrs. Derinzy told her husband that their son Paul should have a -fortune of eighty thousand pounds, which he should receive from his -wife's trustees, she made up her mind from that moment to carry her -intention into execution, come what might. The girl was so young, that -there was plenty of time for the elaboration of her plans--two or -three years hence it would do to work out the scheme in detail; all -that was necessary to see after was, that so soon as the girl arrived -at an impressible age, she should be taken to some very quiet place, -where she could see very few people, and that at that time Paul should -be thrown in her way, and the result left to favouring chance. Mrs. -Derinzy was doubtful whether anything ought to be said to Paul about -it; but the Captain spoke up strongly, and declared that any attempt to -dispose of "the young man by private contract" would certainly result -in prejudicing him against his cousin, and that it would be much better -if he were left to "shake a loose leg" for a time, as it would render -him much more docile and biddable when they spoke to him afterwards. -Mrs. Derinzy, violently objurgating such language on the part of her -husband, yet comprehended the soundness of his advice; and Paul, who -saw very little of Annette on the occasion of his holidays from school, -and then only thought of her as a little orphan cousin to whom his -parents acted as guardians, was left to take up his appointment at -the Stannaries Office, without having the least idea that, like Mr. -Swiveller, "a young lady, who had not only great personal attractions, -but great wealth, was at that moment growing up for him." - -The young lady who furnished forth all this feast of gossip to the -good folks of Beachborough--gossip not so completely unlike the sort -of thing which goes on in larger places, and is practised by more -important communities--had not the least suspicion that she was an -object of curiosity and discussion to her humble neighbours. She knew -little of them--that is to say, of the less-poor class among the -poor--for to the lowest and most suffering part of the community she -was generous with the desultory kindness of an untaught girl; and she -had no notion that she differed in circumstances or disposition from -other people sufficiently to excite curiosity or induce discussion. -Few girls of Annette Derinzy's age, in her position in life, are so -ignorant of the world, so completely without the means of instituting -comparisons in social matters, or unravelling social problems, as she -was. The conventional schoolgirl of real life, though perhaps not the -ritualistic innocent of the _Daisy-Chain_ literature, could have beaten -Annette Derinzy hollow in comprehension of human aims and motives, and -in knowledge of the desirabilities of life. She was passably content -with herself and her surroundings, and had not yet been moved by any -stronger feeling than irritation, caused by her aunt's troublesome -over-solicitude for her health and Mrs. Stothard's watchfulness. - -She was not, she believed, so strong as most girls of her age, who -lived in comfort, and had nothing to trouble them; but she felt sure -the care, the restrictions she had to undergo, were unwarranted by her -health; and she sometimes got so far on the path of worldly wisdom as -to suspect that her aunt made a great fuss with her, in order to get -the credit of self-sacrifice and superlative duty-doing. Annette's -perspicacity did not extend to defining the individuals in the narrow -and ultra-quiet society of Beachborough, among whom, as Captain Derinzy -would have said, they "vegetated," who were to be deluded into giving -Mrs. Derinzy a better character than she deserved. Like "the ugly -duck," who scrambled through the hedge, and found himself in the wide, -wide world, the most insignificant change of position would, to Annette -Derinzy, have implied infinite possibilities of enlightenment; but at -present she was very securely on the near side of the hedge, and almost -ignorant that there was a far side. - -The young lady of whom Mrs. Derinzy invariably spoke as "dear Annette," -even when she was most annoyed with or about her, as though she had -set this formula as a rule and a reminder for herself, was a very -pretty girl, belonging to a type of beauty which is rather commonly to -be found associated with delicate health. She was rather tall, very -slight, with slender hands, and a transparently fair complexion. Her -features were not very regular, and but for the deep, dark eyes, and -the remarkably sweet, though somewhat rare, smile which lighted them -up, she would hardly have been pronounced handsome by casual observers. -But she was very handsome, as all would have been ready to acknowledge -afterwards who had noticed the extreme refinement of her general -appearance and the gracefulness of her figure. Her beauty was marred -by no trace of ill-health beyond the uncertainty of the colour--which -sometimes tinted her cheeks brightly enough, but at others faded into -a waxen paleness--and the occasional restlessness of her movements. -Annette was not very striking at first sight; she was one of those -women who do not become less interesting by observation, but who rather -continue to occupy, to interest, perhaps a little to perplex, the -observer. She was graceful, she was even elegant in appearance, but -she was not gentle-looking. The dark eyes had no fiery expression, and -the well-shaped mouth, not foolishly small or unpleasantly compressed, -had decided sweetness in the full fresh lips; and yet the last thing -any accurate noter of physiognomy would have said of Miss Derinzy was, -that she looked gentle. Impatience, impulse, whether for good or ill to -be determined by circumstances--these were plainly to be read in her -face. And one more indication was there--not, it may be, legible to -indifferent eyes, but which, had there been any to study the girl with -the clear-sightedness of affection, would have made itself plain in all -its present meaning and future menace--the vacuity of an unoccupied, -inactive heart. Annette Derinzy loved no living human being. She knew -neither love nor grief, the true civilising influences which need to -be exercised in each individual instance, if the human creature is -to be elevated above primitive conditions. She had no recollection -of her parents, and therefore no standard by which to measure the -tenderness which she might covet as a possession, or deplore as a -loss--by whose depth and endurance she might test the shallowness and -the insufficiency of the conventional observance shown to her by the -interested relatives who furnished all her life was destined to know -of natural love and care. She had no brother or sister, or familiar -girlish friendships, nor had she ever displayed an inclination to -contract any of those lesser ties with which genial and sensitive -natures endeavour to supplement their deprivation of the greater. -Either she was of a reserved, uncommunicative temperament, or she had -been so steadily restricted from the society of other young people, -that the habit of depending entirely upon herself had been effectually -formed; for Annette never complained of the seclusion in which the -family lived, and in some cases received with a sufficiently ill grace -intelligence that it was about to be broken in upon. - -Like most ill-tempered persons, Mrs. Derinzy had a keen perception of -faults of temper, and no toleration for them. She declared that of -all things she hated selfishness and sulk most; and the recipients of -the sentiments were apt to think she had all the justification of it -which an intimate knowledge of the vices in question could supply. -She accused "dear Annette" at times of both, not altogether unjustly -perhaps, but yet not with strict justice. If she was selfish, it was -because her life was narrow; its horizon was close upon her; no large -interests occupied it, no external responsibility laid its claims upon -Annette. There did not exist anyone to whom she could feel herself -indispensable, or even "a comfort;" and though she was surrounded with -external care and consideration to what she held to be a superfluous -and unreasonable extent, her native shrewdness led her to distinguish -with unerring accuracy between this perfunctory and organised -observance and the spontaneous affectionate guardianship, without -effort on the one side or constraint upon the other, which the natural -relationship of parent and child secures. She did not love her aunt -Mrs. Derinzy, and she positively disliked the Captain, who reciprocated -the sentiment; as was not unnatural, seeing that he was paying the -price of success in his schemes against her peace and happiness by the -unmitigated _ennui_ produced by his life at Beachborough. For what -there really was of fine and noble, of amiable and elevated, in the -character of Annette Derinzy, her own nature was accountable, and in -no degree her training, associations, and surroundings. She had none -of the enthusiasm and fancy of girlhood about her--the atmosphere -of calculation, worldliness, and discontent in which she lived was -too decidedly and fatally unfavourable to their growth--but she did -not substitute for them any evil propensities or unworthy ambitions, -and her chief faults were those of temper. She was undeniably sulky; -her aunt did not traduce her on that point, though she did not fitly -understand the origin of the defect, or make any kind or charitable -allowance for its manifestation. Anger rarely took the form of passion -with Annette; but when aroused, it was very difficult to allay, and -her resentment was not easy to eradicate. The individual in the family -whom she disliked most--her uncle--was that one who least often excited -the girl's temper. She kept clear of him, away from him, as much as -she could, and usually regarded him with a degree of contempt which -seemed to act as a safeguard to her anger. But the internal life of -the house, as shared by the three women, Mrs. Derinzy, her niece, and -Mrs. Stothard, was sometimes far from peaceful. Annette was possessed -of much better feelings than might have been expected, her antecedents -and her present circumstances considered; and she was sometimes -successfully appealed to to forego her own will and submit to Mrs. -Derinzy's, by a representation of the delicacy of that lady's health, -and the ill effect which opposition and the sudden estrangement of her -niece would have upon her. Many quarrels were made up in this way, and -not the less readily that Annette was curious about the condition of -Mrs. Derinzy's health. She never exactly understood the nature of her -illness--which did not seem to the girl to interfere with her pursuing -the ordinary routine of a lady's life in a secluded country place, and -admitted of all the moderate and mildly-flavoured diversions which -such conditions of existence could bestow--but which was kept in view -constantly by the patient herself and Mrs. Stothard, pleaded in support -of the impossibility of any change in the mode of life of the Derinzy -family, and substantiated by the periodic visits of Dr. Wainwright. -Annette was wholly unconscious that while her own illness was the -subject of village gossip, comment, and speculation, no one outside -had any notion that Mrs. Derinzy was a chronic sufferer, requiring the -expensive and solicitous care of a physician of eminence from London, -who was well known in Beachborough to be such, and who was generally -supposed to come to see the young lady. She would have been greatly -angered had she suspected the existence of such an equivoque; for among -the strongest of her feelings were a repugnance to knowing herself to -be discussed, and an intense dislike to Dr. Wainwright. - -Annette's conduct towards the confidential physician, who was said to -be so clever in the treatment of disease, and especially of disease -of the nondescript, or at least not described, kind from which Mrs. -Derinzy suffered, had frequently been such as to justify her aunt's -displeasure, and deserve her reprobation as ill-tempered and ill-bred. -His appearance at Beachborough was invariably a signal for Annette's -exhibiting herself in her least attractive light, and generally for -open revolt against Mrs. Derinzy's wishes and authority. The girl -would contrive to get out of the house unnoticed, and remain away for -hours; or she would pretend illness and go to bed, and lie there quite -silent and refusing food, until she was convinced, by the entrance -of Dr. Wainwright into her room, and his accosting her with the calm -imperturbable authority of a physician, that the very worst way in -which to avoid seeing a doctor was by pretending to be ill. Or she -would make her appearance just in time to sit down at dinner, and -having returned his greeting with the utmost curtness and reluctance, -maintain obstinate silence throughout the meal, and retire immediately -on its conclusion. All remonstrances had failed to induce her to behave -better in this respect, and even Dr. Wainwright's skilful quizzing of -her for this peculiarity--which he told her was very unfashionable, -because he was quite a favourite with the ladies--had no effect. She -either could not or would not say why she disliked Dr. Wainwright, but -she had no hesitation in acknowledging that she did dislike him. - -Mrs. Stothard's position in the Derinzy household, however anomalous -in the sight of outsiders, was such as to make her perfectly aware -of the relations of each of its members to the others, while there -was something in her own relation to each respectively unknown to, -uncomprehended by, them. She ruled them all in a quiet unobtrusive -way, whose absolutism was as complete as it was unmarked, unmarred -by any tyranny of manner. We have seen how Captain Derinzy and she -were affected towards each other, and this narrative will have -to deal with her manipulation of Mrs. Derinzy's "scheme." As for -Annette, she seemed to be Mrs. Stothard's chief object in life, as she -certainly constituted her principal occupation in every day. But not -ostentatiously or oppressively so. If Annette had been called upon -to say which of her three associates was least displeasing to her, -which she least frequently wished away, she would have replied, "Mrs. -Stothard;" but she did not love even her. With Mrs. Stothard, Annette -seldom quarrelled; but a visit from Dr. Wainwright always furnished the -occasion for one of their rare disagreements; so that when the elder -woman came to tell the girl of his arrival one afternoon, while she was -lying down to rest after a long ramble, she knew she was bringing her -very unwelcome news. - -Annette had been restless of late. She was not ill, and there were no -symptoms of suffering in her appearance; but she had taken one of her -fits of mental weariness, for which her life offered no irrational -excuse, and, as her habit was, she had resorted, as a means of wearing -it off, to severe bodily exercise, walking such distances as secured -her against the danger of a companion, and yet never succeeding in -being as tired as she wished to be. - -"I should like to sleep for a week, a month, a year," she would say, -"and wake up in some new world, with nothing and nobody in it I had -ever seen before, and everything one thinks and says and does quite -different." - -But when Annette was weariest of mind, and tried to be weariest of -body, she slept less, and her temper was at its worst. So Mrs. Stothard -found her, when she urged her to get up and dress nicely for dinner, -because Dr. Wainwright had arrived, more than usually recalcitrant. - -"I shan't," said the girl, tossing her handsome arms over her head as -she lay at full length upon a sofa in her dressing-room, and ruffling -her dark hair with her wilful hands; "I shan't. I detest him; you know -I detest him. What is he always watching me, and trying to catch my -eye, for? He's a bad cruel man, and he comes here for no good. What's -the matter with my aunt? She was very well on Monday." - -"I don't know indeed, Miss Annette; the old complaint, I suppose." - -"The old complaint! _what_ old complaint? It's all nonsense, in my -belief, and he persuades her she's ill for a purpose of his own. At all -events, let him see _her_ and be done with it; _I shan't_ go down to -dinner." - -"Oh yes, you will," said Mrs. Stothard, who had been quietly laying out -Annette's dress, pouring hot water into a basin, and disposing combs -and brushes on the toilet-table, "Oh yes, you will. You'll never be -so foolish as to make a quarrel with your uncle and aunt about such a -thing as that, and have the servants talking of it. Come, my dear, get -up; you've no time to spare." - -She looked steadily at the girl as she spoke, and put one hand under -her shoulder, raising her from the pillow. Annette shrunk from her for -a moment with a look partly cowed, partly of avoidance; the next she -let her feet down to the floor, and stood up passively, but with her -sullenest expression of face. - -"Where's Mary?" she said. - -"Busy with Mrs. Derinzy. She has been very poorly this afternoon. I'll -help you to dress." - -She did so silently; and Annette did not speak, but, like a froward -child, twitched herself about, and made her task as troublesome as -possible--a manoeuvre which Mrs. Stothard quietly ignored. - -"Where is the odious man?" she asked suddenly, when she stood dressed -for dinner before her toilet-glass, into which she did not look. - -"In the drawing-room with the Captain; you had better join them." - -"No, I won't, not till the bell rings. I'll keep out of his way as long -as I can. I'm neither Dr. Wainwright's friend nor Dr. Wainwright's -patient." - - - - -CHAPTER X. -MADAME CLARISSE. - - -Mrs. Stothard had been lucky in getting her daughter into such an -unexceptionable establishment as that presided over by Madame Clarisse; -at least, so everybody said who spoke to her on the subject, and, as we -well know, what everybody says must be right. It does not detract from -the truth of the assertion when it is confessed that very few people -knew anything about Mrs. Stothard or her daughter; but the fact remains -the same. Madame Clarisse was decidedly the milliner most in vogue -during her day with the best--that is to say, the most clothes-wearing -and most _cachet_-giving--section of London society; and any young -woman who had the luck to learn her experience in such a school, and, -after a few years, had the money to set up in business for herself, -might consider her fortune as good as made. - -No doubt that Madame Clarisse's position was not ungrudgingly yielded -up to her, was not achieved, in fact, without an enormous amount of -work, and worry, and industry, and self-negation on her part; without a -proportionate quantity of jealousy and heart-burning, and envy, hatred, -malice, and all uncharitableness, on the part of those engaged in the -same occupation. Even in the very heyday of her success, when her -workwomen were sitting up for forty-eight hours at a stretch (Madame -Clarisse lived, it must be recollected, before the passing of any -ridiculous Acts of Parliament limiting the hours for women's labour); -when the carriages were in double rows before her door; and when, after -a drawing-room or a court-ball, the columns of the fashionable journals -were seething with repetitions of her name--there were some people who -said that they preferred the Misses Block, and roundly asserted that -the Misses Block's "cut" was better than Madame Clarisse's. The Misses -Block were attenuated old maids, who lived in Edwards Street, Portman -Square, in a house which was as old-fashioned as, Madame Clarisse used -to declare, were its occupiers, and who had suddenly blossomed from -the steady county connection which their mother bequeathed to them -into a whirl of fashionable patronage, notwithstanding that they were -"_bętes--Dieu, comme elles sont bętes!_" according to their lively -rival's account. - -Madame Clarisse was not _bęte_. If she had been, she would never -have made the fame or the money which she enjoyed, and which were -entirely the result of her own tact, and talent, and industry. No -mother had ever left her a snug business with a county connection. All -that she recollected of a mother was a snuffy old person with a silk -handkerchief tied round her head, who used to live on a fifth floor -in a little street debouching from the Cannebičre in Marseilles, and -who used to whack her little daughter with a long flat bit of wood -when she cried from hunger or other causes. When this mother died, -which she was good enough to do at a sufficiently early period of the -girl's life, Clarisse was taken in hand by her uncle, an _épicier_ -and ship-chandler, who apprenticed her to a milliner in the town, and -was kind to her in his odd way. The girl was sharp and appreciative, -ready with her needle, readier with her tongue--she had a knack of -conciliating obstreperous customers whose orders had been unduly -delayed in a manner that delighted her mistress, a plain, blunt, stupid -woman--readiest of all with her eyes. Not as regards _oeillades_, -though that was a kind of sharpshooting in which she was not unskilled, -but in the use of her eyes for business purposes. Mademoiselle Clarisse -looked on and listened, and learned the world. No one came in or went -out of the work-room or the showroom without being diligently studied -and appraised by those sharp eyes and that quick brain. It was from her -appreciation of the English character, as learned in the milliner's -shop at Marseilles, that Mademoiselle Clarisse determined on seeking -her fortune in our favoured land, should the opportunity ever present -itself. Marseilles has a population of resident English--ship-owners, -ship-captains, naval men connected with the great Peninsular and -Oriental Company, many of whose vessels ply from that port--and these -worthy people have for the most part wives and daughters, whose -principal consolation in their banishment from England is that they -are enabled to dress themselves in the French fashion, and at a much -cheaper rate than they could were they at home. There is no gainsaying -that the prices charged by the Marseilles milliner, even to the English -ladies, were less than those which they would have been liable to in -their native land; but these prices, which were willingly paid, were -still so much in excess of those charged to the townspeople, that -Mademoiselle Clarisse clearly saw that a country which produced people -at once so rich and so simple was the place for her future action. - -She was a clear-headed young woman, with simple tastes and an innate -propensity for saving money; so that when her apprenticeship expired -she had a sum laid by--small indeed, but still something--with which -she determined to try her fortune in England. She had picked up a -little of the language, and had obtained a few introductions to -compatriots living in London; so that when she arrived, she was not -wholly friendless or utterly dependent. Mademoiselle Anatole--born -in Lyons, but long resident in London--wanted a partner; and after a -very sharp wrangle, conducted by the ladies on each side with great -skill and diplomacy, a portion of Mademoiselle Clarisse's savings was -transferred to her countrywoman, and a limp and ill-printed circular -informed Mademoiselle Anatole's patronesses that she had just received -into partnership the celebrated Mademoiselle Clarisse from Paris, and -that they hoped henceforth, etc. - -Mademoiselle Anatole lived on the first floor of an old house in the -Bloomsbury district, which had once been a fashionable mansion, but -which was now let out in lodgings. Under the French milliner, a German -importer of pipes and pictures and Bohemian glass had his rooms, -and his name, "Korb," shone out truculently from the street-door -jamb, towering above the milliner's more modest announcement of her -residence. The entire neighbourhood had a foreign and Bohemian flavour. -In an otherwise modest and British-looking house, Malmédie Frčres -announced in black-and-gold letters, much too slim and upright, that -they kept an hotel "Ŕ la Boule d'Or." From the open windows in the -summer-time poured forth, mixed with clouds of tobacco-smoke, waitings -and roarings of the human voice, and poundings and grindings of pianos. -The artists-colourmen had the street on their books (keeping it there -as little as possible), canvases and millboards were perpetually -arriving at one or other of the houses where the windows looking -northward were run up into the next floor, and bearded men smoking -short pipes pervaded the neighbourhood night and day. - -Even the very house in which the milliners lived was not free from the -Bohemian taint. On the second floor, immediately above the _magasin -des modes_, and immediately under the private rooms of Mesdames -Anatole and Clarisse, lived Mr. Rupert Robinson. Shortly after her -arrival Mademoiselle Clarisse met on the stairs several times a -middle-sized, middle-aged, jolly-looking gentleman, with bright -roguish eyes and a light-brown beard, who bowed as he passed by, -and gave her the inside of the staircase with much politeness, and -with a "Pardon, ma'amselle," in a very good accent. Asked who this -could be, Mademoiselle Anatole responded that it was probably "_ce_ -Robinson:" asked what was _ce_ Robinson, Madamoiselle Anatole further -replied that he was "_feuilletoniste, littérateur--je ne sais quoi!_" -And Mademoiselle Anatole was not far out in her guess, to which she -had probably been assisted by the constant sight of a grimy-faced -printer's-boy peacefully slumbering on a stool specially placed for his -accommodation outside Robinson's door. Those were the early days of -cheap periodicals, and there were few newspaper-offices or publishers' -shops where Mr. Rupert Robinson was unknown or where he was not -welcome. He was a bright, genial, jolly fellow, with an inexhaustible -stock of animal spirits and good-humour, with a keen appreciation of -the ludicrous, and a singular power of hunting-out and levelling lance -at small social shams and inflated humbugs of the day; and though he -would not have used a bludgeon, and could not have wielded a cutlass, -yet he made excellent practice with his foil, and when he chose, as it -happened sometimes, to break the button off and set to work in earnest, -his adversary always bore the marks of the bout. Generally, however, -he kept clear of anything like heavy work, for which his temperament -unsuited him, and confined himself to light literature, at which he -was one of the smartest hands of the day; and, in addition to his -journalistic and periodical work, he was one of the pillars of the -Parthenon Theatre. - -Those who only know the Parthenon in its present days--when it -occasionally remains shut for months, to open for a few nights with -"Herr Eselkopfs celebrated impersonation of the 'Jew whom Shakespeare -drew,'" _vide_ public advertisement and, published criticism from -_Berwick-on-Tweed Argus_; when it alternates between opera and -burlesque or tragedy and breakdowns, but is always dirty, and dingy, -and mouldy-smelling, and bankrupt-looking--can have little idea of -what it was in the days of which we are writing, when Mr. and Mrs. -Momus were its lessees, and when there was more fun to be found -within its walls than in any other place in London, even of treble -its size. The chiefs of that merry company are both dead; the belles -whose bright eyes enthralled us then are portly matrons now, renewing -their former beauty in their daughters; the walking gentlemen have -walked off entirely or lapsed into heavy fathers; and the authors, who -were constantly lounging in the greenroom, and convulsing actors and -actresses with their audacious chaff, are some dead, and all who are -left sobered and steadied and aged. But all were young, and jolly, -and witty, and daring in those days; and foremost amongst them was -Mr. Rupert Robinson, who was then just beginning to write burlesques -in a style which his successors have spoiled and written out, and was -dramatising popular nursery stories, and filling them with the jokes, -allusions, and parodies of the day. - -Although Mr. Rupert Robinson had been for some time domiciled under the -same roof as Mademoiselle Anatole, he had made no attempt to cultivate -the acquaintance of that lady, who was in truth a very long, very thin, -very flat, very melancholy person, who had not merely _les larmes dans -sa voix_, but seemed to be thoroughly saturated with misery. But soon -after Mademoiselle Clarisse was added to the firm, the "littery gent," -as Mrs. Mogg the landlady was accustomed to call her second-floor -lodger, contrived to get up a bowing acquaintance, which soon ripened -into speaking, and afterwards into much greater intimacy. Mademoiselle -Anatole at first disapproved of the _camaraderie_ thus established; but -she was mollified by the judicious presentation of unlimited orders -for the theatres and the opera, and by other kindness which had more -satisfactory and more enduring results; for Mr. Rupert Robinson, being -of a convivial nature, was in the habit of frequently giving what he -called "jolly little suppers" to certain select ladies of the _corps -de ballet_ of the Parthenon; cheery little meals, where the male -portion of the company was contributed by the Household Brigade, the -Legislature, the Bar, and the Press, and where the comestibles were the -succulent oyster opened in the room and eaten fresh from the operating -knife, the creamy lobster, and hot potato handed from the block-tin -repository presided over by a peripatetic provider known to the guests -as "Tatur Khan." In his early youth Rupert had been a medical student -at the Hôtel Dieu in Paris, and he strove, not unsuccessfully, to imbue -these little parties with a spirit of the _vie de Bohčme_ which rules -the denizens of the Latin Quarter. The viands were very good and very -cheap, and though there was plenty of fun and laughter, there was no -license. - -Soon after the establishment of his acquaintance with Clarisse, Rupert -invited her and her partner to one of these banquets, and she soon -became popular with the set who were admitted to them. Mademoiselle -Anatole they did not think much of; indeed, Miss Bella Montmorency, -one of the four leading _coryphées_ who at that time were creating -such a sensation in the ballet of _Mustapha_ at the T.R.D.L, said all -the use that that thin Frenchwoman could be made of was to replace the -skeleton, a relic of Rupert's old surgical life, which he sometimes -brought out of its box and seated at the table, crowned with flowers. -But with Clarisse they were very different. She was bright and cheery, -sang a pretty little song, and laughed a merry little ringing laugh at -all the jokes, whether she understood them or not; and the ballet-girls -liked her very much, and invited her to come and see them, and tried to -help her in the world. They could not do much in that way themselves, -for they made their own dresses of course, and when they had a present -of a black-silk gown or a shawl, had no chance of recommending any -particular vendor; but when they saw that the Frenchwomen were really -excellent in their business, they spoke about them in the theatre so -loudly, that the rumours of their proficiency reached the ears of Mrs. -Lannigan and Miss Calverley, the two "leading ladies" of the theatre, -and incited their curiosity. The crimson-slashed jackets and the lovely -diaphanous nether garments, the Polish lancer-caps and the red boots -with brass heels, which these ladies wore in the burlesques, were -provided by the management and prepared by Miss Hirst, the wardrobe -woman, a crushed creature with a pock-marked face and a wall-eye, -who always had the bosom of her gown studded with pins, and her hair -streaked with fluffy ends of thread. But when phases of modern life -were to be represented, the ladies chose to find their own dresses; and -hearing of the excellent "cut" and "fit" of Mademoiselles Anatole and -Clarisse, were persuaded to give those young women a trial. The result -was favourable, recommendation followed on recommendation, and the firm -had as much work as it could possibly get through. - -It was about this period of her life that Mademoiselle Clarisse, in -her visits to the theatre, made the acquaintance of M. Pierre. It was -not to be doubted that M. Pierre, as well as Mademoiselles Anatole and -Clarisse, was in possession of a legitimate surname in addition to the -_nom de baptęme_ by which he was commonly known; but, following the -custom of those of his class, he had suffered it to lapse on coming to -England, and though known as "_ce cher_ Lélong" by his compatriots, -called himself to his customers M. Pierre, and was so called by -them. M. Pierre was a _coiffeur_ by profession--unfortunately, as -he thought; for he lived at a time when that profession was rather -at a discount. In his early youth, when the great ladies wore their -own hair dressed in the most elaborate fashion, the _coiffeur_ was a -necessary adjunct to every well-regulated establishment. Had he lived -until now, when the great ladies wear other persons' hair dressed in -the most preposterous manner, he would have found plenty to do, and -would probably have invented various washes, which would have ruined -the health of thousands of silly women and made the fortune of their -concocter. But when M. Pierre was in the prime of his life, elaborate -hair-dressing went out of fashion, and the simplicity of knots, bands, -and ringlets, which could be intrusted to the maid or even executed by -the fair fingers of the wearer, came in its stead. This was an awful -blow to M. Pierre, whose experience was thus restricted to members of -the theatrical profession, or to the occasional preparation of wigs -and headdresses for a fancy ball; but he had saved a little money, -and being a long-headed calculating man, he arranged to invest and -reinvest it to great advantage. At the time that he was introduced -to Mademoiselle Clarisse he was an elderly man, but he had lost none -of his shrewdness and _savoir faire_. He saw at a glance that his -countrywoman was not merely perfect mistress of her art, but generally -a clever woman of the world; and after a little time he proposed to her -that they should club their means and hunt the rich English in couples. -He pointed out to her that his connection formerly lay among the very -highest and best classes, many of whom recollected him, and would be -glad to give anyone a turn on his recommendation; that he, as a man, -had a much greater chance of buying merchandise good and cheap than any -woman; finally, that he had capital, without which she could never do -anything great, which he would put into the business. - -Mademoiselle Clarisse took a week to think over all that Pierre had -said to her before coming to any decision. Her ambition had increased -with her success, and she had long since ceased to think very highly of -the patronage of the theatrical ladies, to obtain which at one time she -would have made any sacrifice. For some time she had been in business -on her own account; Mademoiselle Anatole, so soon as she realised a -sufficiency, having retired to Lyons, there to weep and grizzle and -sniff, and make herself as uncomfortable and unpleasant-looking as the -vast majority of French old maids. And Clarisse was fully aware of -M. Pierre's talent, and believed in his fortune; and verging towards -middle age, and having lost sight of Rupert Robinson, and others for -whom she had had her _caprices_ after him, and having lost her zest -for rollicking suppers and fun of that kind, thought she could not -do better than settle herself in life, and accordingly accepted M. -Pierre's proposal. - -She soon found she had done rightly. Many of her husband's old -patronesses consented to give her a trial for his sake, and were -so pleased that they recommended her to all their friends. The -establishment in George Street was then first opened, and M. Pierre not -only did all he promised but a great deal more. For, being always a -man of great taste, he turned his attention to the devising of special -articles of millinery, then employed his manual dexterity in carrying -out his ideas; and not suffering in any way from a sense of the -ridiculous, he might be seen hour after hour in his sanctum, with his -glasses on his nose and an embroidered skull-cap on his head, singing -away some pastoral _chanson_ or drinking couplet, while his nimble -fingers were busily engaged in stitching at a novel kind of headdress -or in sketching out a design for an artistic bonnet. He was proud of -his wife's appearance and pleased with her industry and success, and -he enjoyed his married life very much for a couple of years, making -a point of going to St. James's Street on drawing-room days, and to -the Opera on great nights, to admire the results of his handiwork, -but otherwise living very domestically and quietly; and then he died, -leaving all his worldly possessions to his widow. - -The success which had attended Madame Clarisse during her husband's -lifetime continued after his death, and there was scarcely a house in -the millinery business holding a higher reputation than hers. It was -this reputation which induced Mrs. Stothard, ordinarily so quiet and -self-contained, to make a great effort to get her daughter engaged -as a member of Madame Clarisse's staff. Many young women of Daisy's -position in life would have eagerly accepted such a chance; "From -Madame Clarisse's," figuring on a brass door-plate in the future, being -an excellent recommendation and an almost certain augury of success. -The Frenchwoman was perfectly cognisant of this, and required a large -premium with her apprentices. That once paid, the girls were turned -into the workroom and left to "take it out" as best they might; unless, -indeed, one of them showed exceptional talent and skill--qualities -which were immediately recognised by their employer. - -Daisy's promotion had, however, not been due to her possession of -either of these qualities. She had one, a much rarer, which influenced -her removal from the work-room to the showroom, and which led Madame -Clarisse and all her customers to take notice of the girl--and that was -the exceptional style of her beauty. Ladies young and old would call -Madame to them, and in undertones ask her who was the "young person" -with that wonderful complexion and that excellent manner. Was she -not some one who--they meant to say--not born in that class of life, -don't you know; so very bred-looking and _distinguée_, and that sort -of thing? Some women would have been jealous of such compliments paid -to their assistants, but Madame was far above anything of that kind. -She used to bow and to invent any little nonsense as it occurred to -her at the moment, enough to satisfy the querists without leading them -to pursue their inquiries, and then would dismiss the subject from -her thoughts. The girl was _asses gentille_, neat, and even elegant -in her appearance, and of good address; looked well in the street, -wore pretty gloves, Madame had noticed, in contradistinction to most -Anglaises--"_qui sont ordinairement gantées comme les chats bottes_," -as she would say with a shrug of horror--and walked well--in Madame's -mind another unusual accomplishment in an Englishwoman. Altogether she -was a credit to the establishment; and Madame began to take a little -more notice of her, talk more confidentially of business matters to -her, and leave her in charge of affairs when pleasure engagements, of -which she had a great many, summoned her away. Under these different -circumstances the girl became a different being in her employer's -eyes. Hitherto Madame Clarisse had only seen her as a quiet impassive -young woman doing her duty in the showroom; but when she came to know -her, and to see how every feeling was reflected in her face--how the -gray eyes could flash and the colour would rush into the pale cheek, -heightened in its brilliancy by the creamy whiteness surrounding -it--she allowed to herself that "Fanfan," as she now called her, was -lovely indeed. - -And then Madame Clarisse began to have new notions about Fanfan. The -French milliner was not an exceptionally good woman, nor, indeed, ever -thought of arrogating to herself the title. In the days of her youth -she had not permitted any straitlaced notions of morality to interfere -with her pleasures; and in her comfortable middle age she never -neglected an opportunity of gratifying the two passions by which she -was most swayed--money-making and good living. She cared very little as -to what her young women might do during the few spare hours of their -leisure; but it was a necessity of her business, that the assistants -in the showroom should be presentable persons and of a certain staid -demeanour. Fanfan's manners were admirably suited for her place--cold, -respectful, and intelligent; but when Madame had discovered the -existence of the volcano beneath the icy exterior, had learned, as she -did quietly and dexterously, that, with all the good schooling she had -gone through, and the restraint which she had brought to bear upon -herself, the girl was full of feeling and passion, and that there was -"a great deal of human nature" in her, she took a special and peculiar -interest in Fanfan's future. - -"To make herself a _modiste_ here in London without money is -impossible," she mused. "To set up in Brighton or Tonbridge, to marry -an _épicier_ or an _employé_--ah, my faith, she is too good for that! -Is it that Madame Lobbia, that little dame, _mince_, and like to a -white rabbit, who flies to and from Saint Jean's Woot at the great trot -with her beautiful horses, and wears diamonds in full day; is it that -Mdlle. Victorine, _feu écuyčre_ at Franconi's, who leads Milor Milliken -such a dance, throws his money to the winds, and laughs to his nose; is -it that they are to be mentioned with Fanfan? And there are other Jews, -merchants of diamonds, than M. Lobbia, and other milors as rich and as -silly as Milor Milliken. Forward, my Fanfan! why this dull life to you? -For me, do you ask, why I give myself so much trouble? Hold, I know -nothing! In watching the progress of others one renews one's own youth, -and to _exploiter_ so much grace and beauty would be interesting, and -might be remunerative. _Et du reste_----" and Madame Clarisse paused -for a moment, reflecting; then shrugged her shoulders slightly, and -said, "_du reste, ŕ la guerre comme ŕ la guerre!_" - -But whatever Madame's notions on the subject might have been, she kept -them strictly to herself, never making any difference in her manner -towards Daisy, save, perhaps, in being a little kinder and showing a -little increased confidence in her. It was not until the evening after -the day on which Fanny Stothard had written to her mother that Madame -made any regular approach to familiarity with her assistant. They had -had a long and busy and tiring day, for the end of the season was -coming on, as it always does, with a rush, and people had neglected -ordering their autumn clothes, as they always do, until the last, and -the showrooms had been crammed for six hours with an impatient crowd, -every component member of which desired to be served at once. Madame -had given up any _réunions_ for that evening, and had taken her fair -share of the work and supervised everything, remaining in the showroom -until all the girls, except Daisy, had gone. Then she walked up to -Daisy, and put one hand on the girl's shoulder, tapping her cheek with -the other, and saying: - -"_Enfin_, Mademoiselle Fanfan, this dreadful day has come to an end at -last. You look worn and fatigued, my child. It's lucky that the end of -the season is close at hand, or you would what you call 'knock-up,' -without fail." - -"Oh, I shall do very well, Madame, thank you," replied Daisy, a little -coldly; "a night's rest will quite set me up again." - -"Oh, but you must have something before your night's rest, Fanfan. You -are _triste_ and tired; I see it in your eyes. You want a--_tiens!_ -what is it that little _farceur_, the advocate Chose, calls it?--a peg. -Ha, ha! that is it! You want a sherry peg or a glass of champagne. -We will go up to my room, and have some Lyons _saucisson_ and some -champagne." - -At any other time Daisy would have declined this invitation; but partly -because she really felt low and hipped and overwrought, and imagined -that the wine would restore her, partly because she was afraid of -appearing ungracious to her employer, whose increased kindness to her -of late she had noticed, she now said she should be delighted, and -followed Madame up the stairs. - -Such a cosy little sitting-room was Madame's--low-ceilinged and -odd-shaped, like an ordinary _entresol_ carried up a story; with -French furniture in red velvet, with the walls covered with engravings -and nicknacks and Danton's statuettes, and the tables littered "with -scrofulous French novels" in their yellow paper covers. The room was -lit by one large window and a half, the other half giving light to -Madame's bedroom, which led out by a door, through which, when open, -as it usually was, glimpses could be obtained of the end of a brass -bedstead apparently dressed up in blue muslin. There was a cloth on the -table, and Madame bustled about, and, assisted by her little French -maid--the page-boy retired home after customers' hours--soon produced -some sausage and the remains of a Strasbourg pie, bread, butter, -and _fromage de Brie_, and from the cellar (which was a cupboard on -the landing with a patent lock, where Madame kept a small stock of -remarkably good wine) a bottle of champagne. - -Daisy could not eat very much, she was over-tired for that; but the -wine did her good, and she talked much more freely than was her wont. - -Madame Clarisse was delighted with her; a certain bitterness in the -girl's tone being specially appreciated by the Frenchwoman. After some -little talk she said to her: - -"You still live in the same apartment, Fanfan?" - -"Yes, Madame--in the same garret." - -"Garret!" echoed Madame Clarisse. "_Eh bien_, what does it matter? -Garret or palace, it makes little difference when one is young. - - 'Bravant le monde, et les sots et les sages, - Sans avenir, fier de mon printemps, - Leste et joyeux je montais six étages-- - Dans un grenier qu'on est bien ŕ vingt ans.'" - - -And as she trolled out the verse in a rich voice, Madame's eyes looked -very wicked, and she chinked her glass against her companion's. - -"Perhaps it is because I only live on the third story--though there's -nothing above it--but I certainly never feel _leste_ or _joyeuse_," -said the girl. - -"No?" said Madame interrogatively. "That's a sad thing to say. And yet -you have youth and beauty, Fanfan." - -"Youth and beauty!" cried the girl. "If I have them, what good are they -to me? Can they drag me out of this life of slavery, take me from that -wretched garret, give me gowns and jewels, and horses, and carriages, -and a position in life?" - -Daisy was full of excitement; the tones of her voice were thrilling, -her eyes sparkled, and her cheeks were flushed. Madame Clarisse eyed -her curiously. - -"Yes," she said, after a minute's pause; "they can do all this, -and"--taking Daisy's hand--"some day, Fanfan, perhaps they may." - -"Perhaps they may," said Daisy. - -She was thinking of the chance of her marrying Paul Derinzy, whom she -knew as Mr. Douglas. But Madame Clarisse did not know Mr. Derinzy, so -she was not thinking of Daisy's marrying him--or anybody else, as it -happened. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. -BEHIND THE SCENES. - - -When Mrs. Stothard said, "Oh yes, you will!" as comment upon Annette -Derinzy's outspoken declaration that she would not go down to dinner, -she probably knew that she had grounds for the assertion. At all -events, the result proved her to be right. The dinner-bell clanged out, -pealing through the crazy tumble-down Tower, and awaking all the echoes -lying in wait in that ramshackle building; and ere the reverberation -of the noise had ceased, the door of Miss Derinzy's bedroom was wide -open. Annette's back had been turned to it, and when she wheeled round, -her attention attracted by the current of air which rushed in and -disarranged a muslin scarf which she wore round her shoulders, she saw -that Mrs. Stothard was busily engaged at a chest of drawers standing -in a somewhat remote corner of the room. Annette was silent, but she -glanced stealthily and shiftily out of the corners of her eyes. Mrs. -Stothard still remained immersed in her occupation. The girl shifted -uneasily from one foot to the other, hesitating, dallying; then shook -herself together, as it were, and seeing she was still unnoticed, with -a low chuckle silently and swiftly passed through the doorway and -descended the stairs. - -In seaside places such as Beachborough the evenings in late summer are -chilly. There was a handful of fire in the dining-room grate, and while -Miss Annette was sulking upstairs, and deliberating whether she should -or should not come down, Captain Derinzy was standing on the rug with -his back to the grate, and from that post of vantage was haranguing his -wife and his guest--Dr. Wainwright--in his own peculiar way. When he -was alone with his wife the Captain was silent and submissive; when a -third person was present, and he knew that a curtain-lecture was the -worst he had to dread, he was loquacious and imperative. - -"And again I say to you, Wainwright," said he, in continuance of some -previous conversation, "she's got to that pitch now that she isn't to -be borne. I can stand a good deal--no man more so; they used to say, -when I was on the Committee of the Windham, that I had a--a--what was -it?--judicial mind; that was what they called it, a judicial mind--but -I can't stand this girl and her tempers, and so something must be done; -and there's an end of it, Wainwright!" - -There are some men who are never called by any but their -christian-names, and those often familiarly abbreviated, by their most -promiscuous acquaintance. There are others in whose appearance and -manners something forbids their interlocutors ever dispensing with -their courtesy titles. Dr. Wainwright, one would have said, undoubtedly -belonged to the latter class. He was a tall man, standing over six -feet in height, with a high bald forehead, large features, square jaw, -and deep piercing gray eyes. His manners were placidly courtly, his -naturally sonorous voice was skilfully modulated, and there was an -unmistakable air of latent strength about him, a sort of consciousness -of the possession of certain power, you could not tell what. He might -have been a duke, or a philosopher in easy circumstances, or a "man in -authority, having servants under him." Quiet, dignified, and bland, -he held his own amongst all sorts and conditions of men, and with -the exception of two or three intimates of a quarter of a century's -standing, Captain Derinzy was probably the only person living who would -have thought of calling him "Wainwright." The Doctor winced a little at -the repetition of the familiarity, but beyond that took no notice of it. - -"My dear Captain Derinzy," said he, after a moment's pause, "I can -perfectly appreciate your feelings. I have not the least doubt that -Miss Derinzy's unfortunate illness is the source of great annoyance to -you. Still, if you are indisposed to run certain risks, which, as I -have explained to Mrs. Derinzy----" - -"I thought by this time, Dr. Wainwright," interrupted the lady, "you -would have seen the utter futility of paying the least attention to -anything which Captain Derinzy may say!" - -"My love!" murmured the Captain. - -"He is as fully impressed as any of us," continued Mrs. Derinzy, -without taking the least notice of her husband, "with the necessity of -our pursuing the course we have agreed upon; but he has a passion for -hearing his own voice; and as he knows that I never listen to him, he -is only too glad to find someone who will." - -"No, no! Look here, Wainwright," said the Captain. "It's all very well, -you know, but Mrs. Derinzy don't put the thing quite fairly. She's a -woman, you know, and it's natural for women to be dull and left alone, -and all that; but a man's a different thing. He requires----" - -Captain Derinzy did not finish his sentence as to a man's requirements, -for Dr. Wainwright's quick ear had caught the sound of an approaching -footstep, and he held up his hand and raised his eyebrows in warning, -only in time to stop his voluble host as the door opened and Annette -appeared. - -As she entered the room Dr. Wainwright immediately faced her. There -was no mistaking his figure and presence, even if she had not expected -to find him there. Nevertheless, her first idea was to close the door -and run away. But she would scarcely have had the opportunity of doing -this, however much she might have wished it; for the Doctor at once -stepped across the room, and had taken her hand in his, and was bowing -over it in his old-fashioned courtly way, almost before she was aware -of it. - -"There is no occasion to ask after your health, Miss Annette," he said -in his soft pleasant tone. "One has only to look at you to have one's -pleasantest hopes confirmed. You and the Dorsetshire air do credit to -each other." - -"I am quite well," said Annette shortly, taking her hand from his. - -"Here's dinner!" said the Captain. "You see, we don't make a stranger -of you, Wainwright--at least, Mrs. Derinzy doesn't. There's a dam -prejudice in this house against using the drawing-room; so we sit -stiving in this infernal place, 'parlour, and kitchen, and all,' -and---- Where will you sit?" - -Sentence abruptly concluded in consequence of unmistakable -manifestations of his wife's being unable to put up with him any longer. - -"Thank you, Captain Derinzy, I'll sit over here, if you please," said -the Doctor, with an extra dash of stiffness in his manner; "opposite -Miss Annette; and, if you'll permit me, I will move these flowers a -little on one side, that I may get a better view of her." - -"Why do you always stare at me?" said Annette, with a defiant air. - -"Do I stare?" asked Dr. Wainwright. "If I do, I am exceedingly rude, -and ought to know better. But haven't you used the wrong word, my dear -young lady? I look at you, perhaps; but I hope I don't stare." - -"Looking and staring are all the same. I hate to be looked at!" - -"You are the very first girl I ever heard give utterance to that -sentiment," said the Doctor cheerily; "and you'll soon outgrow such -ideas." - -"I daresay we shall hear no more of them after her cousin Paul has been -staying with us," said Mrs. Derinzy. "We expect Paul soon now, Doctor." - -"I have heard a good deal of Mr. Paul from my son, who is in the same -office with him. They seem to be great allies, and George speaks in the -highest terms of Mr. Paul." - -"Is your son's name George?" asked Annette. - -"Yes." - -"Your own name is not George?" - -"No; mine is Philip." - -"I'm glad it is not the same as your son's." - -The Doctor and Mrs. Derinzy exchanged glances, and were silent; but -Captain Derinzy, who all his life had been notorious for his obtuseness -in taking a hint, said: - -"Why, what a ridick'lous thing you are sayin', Annette! Why are you -glad the Doctor's son's name's not the same as his? What on earth -difference could it make to you?" - -"It could not make any difference to me," said the girl quietly; "only, -I don't know why, I think I should wish to like Dr. Wainwright's son, -and--and----" - -"And the less he is like his father the greater the chance of your -doing so; isn't that it, Miss Annette?" asked the Doctor, with his -pleasant smile. - -"Yes," said Annette, looking him straight in the face, "you're quite -right; that is it." - -This blunt communication was received by those who heard it after very -different fashions. Mrs. Derinzy knit her brows, and, after looking -savagely at her niece, shrugged her shoulders at the Doctor, as much as -to say, "What could you expect?" Captain Derinzy laid down his knife -and fork, and muttered, "Oh, dam!" apparently in confidence to his -plate. The Doctor alone maintained his equanimity unimpaired. There was -a pause--considering the tremendous character of the last remark--a -very short pause--and then he said: - -"Now, there's an instance of the injustice which is done by your -sex, Mrs. Derinzy, to ours. Miss Netty--with an honesty which is -_impayable_, and which, if there were a little more of it in polite -society, would go far to the explosion of what Mr. Carlyle calls 'shams -and wind-bags'--says she doesn't like me. She gives no reason, you -observe; so that I am relegated to the same position as another member -of our profession--Dr. Fell--who also was misliked, and equally without -reason alleged." - -"I could tell you the reasons for my disliking you," said Annette. - -It was extraordinary, the change which had come over her face. The -cheeks were full-blooded, the eyes suffused and starting from her head, -the hair pushed back, the whole look fierce and defiant. - -"Could you?" said the Doctor; then, after looking up at her, adding -very quickly, "Ah, but you must not. I don't want to hear a list of -my shortcomings, or a catalogue of my faults. I'm too old to make up -for the one or get rid of the other; and---- Mrs. Derinzy, I must -congratulate you on your cook. It is rare indeed, in what I may be -pardoned in calling these out-of-the-way regions, that one comes across -anything like this _filet de sole_." - -He turned his face towards his hostess as he said these words, and -spoke in her direction, but he scarcely moved his eyes from direct -contemplation of Annette. The girl's face, with the same flush on it, -was looking down, and she seemed to be working nervously with her -hands, rapidly intertwining and then separating them, under the table. - -Captain Derinzy, at the Doctor's last remark, had given vent to a -very curious sound, half-sigh of self-commiseration, half a grunt of -contempt. He had not learned much in the half-century during which he -had adorned life--his natural gifts had been small, and he had not -taken much trouble to improve upon them--but one thing he had arrived -at, and that was an appreciation of good cooking. He not merely knew -the difference between good and bad dishes--in itself by no means a -common acquirement--but he had a knowledge of the arcana of the art, -and great high-priests whose temples were the kitchens of London clubs -had taken his opinion on the merits of various _plats_. - -"Well," he said, after a moment, "that's a funny thing! I know you, -Wainwright. You're not the kind of fellow to go in for politeness, -and all that kind of thing--I mean, of course, flummery, you know, -and all that--and yet you say we've got a good cook, and this is -nice _filet de sole_! Why, there are fellows used to tell you about -doctors, you know--'Oh yes, it's all very fine,' they used to say, -'for doctors to tell you not to eat this, and not to drink that, and -all the time they're regular _gourmets_, don't you know!' Well, I -think that's all stuff, for my part. They may know all very well about -broth and beef-tea, and all that sort of beastliness that they give -people when they're getting better; but I only knew one of 'em that -ever knew anything really about cooking, and he was an old fellow -who'd been out in India, and was a C.B., or something of that sort; -and he told the cook at Windham how to make a curry--peculiar kind of -thing, quite different from what you get mostly--that was delicious, by -Jove! As for this stuff," continued the Captain, taking up a portion -of the lauded filet on the end of his fork, and eyeing it with great -disgust, "it's dry and tough and leathery, and tastes like badly-baked -flannel-waistcoat, by Jove!" - -During this speech Dr. Wainwright, although his polite attention to -it had been obvious, had scarcely removed his glance from Annette. -It remained on her as he said, turning his face in the Captain's -direction, and laughing heartily: - -"I never tasted badly-baked flannel-waistcoat, Captain Derinzy, and -I still stand up for the excellence of the _filet_. However, I'm not -going to be led into giving any opinion whether we're good judges of -good living, or rather whether we exemplify the well-known exceptions -which prove rules by not practising what we preach. But one thing can't -be denied--that we hear of very curious stories about fancies in eating -and drinking. I heard of one only the other day, of an old gentleman -who had had the same breakfast for thirty years; and what do you think, -Mrs. Derinzy, were its component parts?" - -Mrs. Derinzy, also curiously observant of Annette, roused from her -quiet watchfulness, and gave herself up to guessing. Tea, coffee, -milk, cream, porridge, toast, ham, eggs, she suggested; while claret, -brandy-and-soda, anchovy, devilled anything, and bitter beer in a -tankard, were proposed by her husband. The Doctor shook his head at all -these items, grimly saying: - -"What should you say to Irish stew and hot whisky-and-water?" - -"Heavens!" cried Mrs. Derinzy. - -"For breakfast?" asked the Captain. - -"For breakfast; and eaten in bed every day for thirty years!" - -"Oh, dam!" said the Captain. "If you hadn't told the story, Wainwright, -I shouldn't have believed it. Of course, if you say so, it is so; but -the fellow must have been off his head--mad!" - -Before he had uttered the last word Mrs. Derinzy, who seemed to have an -idea of what was coming, had stretched out her hand towards her husband -in warning, while even Dr. Wainwright moved uncomfortably on his chair. -Had Annette heard it? Little doubt of that. She looked up slyly, very -slyly, with a half-stealthy, half-searching glance at the Doctor; then -raising her head, glared defiantly at her aunt, as though marking -whether she were affected by the suggestion. She looked long and -earnestly, then finding that Mrs. Derinzy's attention was concentrated -on her, she withdrew her glance, and relapsed into her former stolid -condition. - -So the dinner progressed--pleasantly to Captain Derinzy, as a break -in the monotony of his life. Not merely did Mrs. Derinzy, who, in her -capacity of housekeeper, kept the keys of the cellar and exercised a -rigorous economy in that department--not merely did she increase both -the quality and quantity of the wine supplied to the table, but she -refrained from joining in the conversation more than was absolutely -demanded of her by politeness, and consequently the Captain was able -to direct it into those channels which most delighted him. It is -needless to say that those channels ran with small-talk and fashionable -gossip, and petty details of that London life which he had once so -thoroughly enjoyed, and from which he was now so unwillingly exiled. -The Captain found his interlocutor perfectly able to converse on these -his favourite topics. One might have thought that Dr. Wainwright had -nothing better to do than to flutter from club to mess-room, and from -mess-room to boudoir, so well was he up in the _chronique scandaleuse_ -of the day, adapting his phraseology, his voice, and manner to the -fashion of the times. The Captain was delighted; great names, once -familiar in his mouth as household words, but the mention of which -he had not heard for ages, were once more ringing in his ears; the -conversation seemed to possess the old smoking-room and barrack flavour -so dear to him once, so dead to him of late; and while under its spell, -his manner renewed its ancient swagger and his voice its old roll. He -yet asked himself how the man whom he had hitherto only known as the -sober sedate physician could have recalled such sentiments or borne so -essential a part in their discussion. - -At length the Doctor's anecdotes commenced to flag, and the Doctor -himself was obviously seeking for an opportunity of breaking off the -conversation. Mrs. Derinzy, who had been apparently dropping off to -sleep, roused up with the declining voices, and catching a peculiar -expression in the Doctor's face, was on the alert in an instant. That -peculiar expression was a glance towards Annette, accompanied by a -significant elevation of the eyebrows, following immediately upon which -Dr. Wainwright said: - -"And now I must drop this charming conversation which we have had, my -dear Captain Derinzy, and, falling back into my professional character, -must declare that it is time for us to adjourn.--Beauty sleep, my dear -Miss Netty"--walking quickly round and laying his hand lightly on her -shoulder--lightly, though she quivered under the touch, and rose at -once from her seat--"beauty sleep is not to be had after twelve, they -tell us; and though you don't require it, and though you said you -didn't like to be looked at--oh, Miss Netty!--yet I think we're all of -us sufficiently tired to wish for it to-night. So goodnight! You don't -mind shaking hands with me, though you were cruel enough to say you -disliked me; goodnight.--Goodnight, Mrs. Derinzy; you feel stronger -to-night? Let me feel your pulse for one moment." Then in a rapid -undertone to her, "Do you go with her, while I speak a word to Mrs. -Stothard. Don't leave till she returns." Again aloud, "Goodnight." - -The Captain was making a final foray among the decanters as Mrs. -Derinzy and Annette, closely followed by Dr. Wainwright, passed out -of the door, immediately on the other side of which Mrs. Stothard -was standing. She was about to follow the ladies, but a sign from -the Doctor arrested her, and she let them pass on, remaining behind -with him. He said but very few words to her, and those in a muttered -undertone, but she understood them apparently, nodded her reply, and -hurried away upstairs. - -"Now, Miss Derinzy, get to bed; do you hear? This is the last time I -shall speak to you; next time I shall _make_ you." - -The tone in which these words are said is very unlike Mrs. Stothard's -usual tone; but it is Mrs. Stothard's voice and it is Mrs. Stothard -herself--equipped in a tight linen jacket fitting her closely -and without any superfluity of material, and a short clinging -petticoat--who is standing by the bed on which Annette is seated. - -"Come, do you hear me?" she repeats, taking the girl by the shoulder; -"undress now, and get into bed. We're ever so late as it is." - -But the girl sits stolidly gazing before her, and never moving a muscle. - -Then Mrs. Stothard bends down and looks into her face--looks long and -earnestly, the girl never flinching the while--and comes back to her -upright position, with her cheeks a little paler and her mouth a little -more set. - -"The doctor was right," she mutters between her teeth; "there's one -coming on to-night, and a bad one, too, I fancy." - -She goes to a drawer, takes out some article, and lays it on the bed -hard by. The girl shoots a stealthy glance out from under her eyelids, -sees what is done, sees what is fetched, and drops her eyes again on to -the floor. - -"You won't! you've heard me, you know, Annette! You won't undress! -Come, then, you shall!" - -Mrs. Stothard, bending over the girl, undoes the top button of her -dress, the second button, the third. The fourth is not so easily -undone, and Mrs. Stothard shifts her position, comes round, and kneels -in front of her. Then, with a low long howl, more like that of a beast -at bay than a human creature, the girl dashes at her throat and bears -her to the ground. A bad time for the nurse, this. The attack is so -sudden, that for one moment she is overpowered; the next her presence -of mind returns, and with it her strength of wrist. Her hands are wound -in the girl's long hair then floating down her back; she tears at it -with all her force, until the distorted face, which had been glaring -into hers, is wrenched backward, and under torture the hand-grip on her -throat is relaxed. Then she slips herself from underneath her foe and -closes with her. They are both on the ground, locked in each other's -arms, and struggling furiously, what is more wonderful silently, for, -save their deep breathing, neither emits a sound, when the door opens -softly and Dr. Wainwright enters. Annette's face is towards him: her -eyes meet his, and the wild rage dies out of them, to be succeeded by -a glance of fear and horror; and her grasp relaxes and her arms fall -helplessly by her sides, and she moans in a low voice. - -"It is here again! Oh my God, it is here again!" - -"And only here just in time, apparently, Mrs. Stothard," says the -doctor, helping the nurse to rise. "This is a very bad attack. Just -assist me to put this on her," he added, taking the _camisole de force_ -from off the bed, and putting it over Annette's head as she sat rigid -on the floor; "and keep it on all night, please. A very bad attack -indeed." - -"Bad attack!" said Mrs. Stothard; "I'm glad you've seen it, Dr. -Wainwright. You never would believe me before. But I've often told -you, in all your practice you've got no worse case than that she-devil -there. And yet these fools here think she will be cured!" - -"Strong language, strong language, Mrs. Stothard," said the doctor -deprecatingly. "But I don't think you're far out in what you say; I -don't, indeed!" - - - - -CHAPTER XII. -A CONQUEST. - - -It is the end of August, and society has gone out of town. Sporting -people have gone to Goodwood; and the Lawn, at the period of our story, -as yet uninvaded by objectionable persons, promises to present, as it -hitherto has always presented, a _parterre_ of aristocratic beauty. -There is no "limited mail" in these days; but they could tell you at -Euston Square of seats for the North booked many days in advance. And -there are no Cook's tourists; and yet it would seem impossible that -the boats leaving Dover twice a day for the great continental routes -_vid_ Calais and Ostend, could possibly carry more passengers. That -was before the contemptible German system of _battues_ was allowed -among us, when _dreib-jagds_ were almost unknown in England, and when -a day's shooting meant exercise, trouble, and skill, not warm corners -and wholesale slaughter; but Purdays and Lancasters, though mere -muzzle-loaders, did their work, and Grant's gaiters were to be found on -most of the right sort throughout the English counties. - -The physicians and the great surgeons have struck work--it is no -good remaining in a place where there are no patients--and having -delegated their practice _pro tem_. to some less fortunate brother--who -devoutly prays that chance may bring some rich or celebrated person -unexpectedly to town, then and there to be stricken with illness, and -left in his, the substitute's, hands--they are away shooting in the -Highlands, swarming up Swiss mountains, lounging at German Brunnen, -but never losing the soft placid manner and the dulcet tone which seem -to imbue their every speech and action with a certain professional -air, as though they were saying, "Hum! ha! ye-es, certainly; show me -the tongue, please--ah!" and wherever they may be, the scent of the -hospital is over them still. - -Passing through Edinburgh, on his way to his shooting in Aberdeenshire, -Mr. Fleem, President of the College of Surgeons, gives up a week of his -hard-earned holiday to the society of Sir Annis Thettick, the great -Scotch operator, and the pair indulge in many a sanguinary colloquy; -little Dr. Payne leaves Mrs. Payne to be escorted up and down the -_allées_ of Baden-Baden by trim-waisted Prussian and Austrian officers, -or by such of her compatriot acquaintances as she may find there (all -of whom are too glad to pay court to so charming a woman), while he -is closeted with Herr Doctor Von Glauber, Hof-Arzt to his Effulgency -the reigning Duke of Schweinerei, with whom he exchanges the most -confidential communications, resulting on both sides in a belief that -the real knowledge of either of them is extremely limited. - -In those charming courts and groves dedicated to the study and practice -of the law there is also tranquillity, not to say stagnation, for the -long vacation has commenced, and the Law is out of town. - -Read the fact in the closed courts of Westminster Hall--in the Hall -itself, no longer filled with the anxious faces of suitors, the flying -forms of bewigged barristers, or fragrant with the sprinkled snuff of -agitated attorneys, but now given up to marchings and counter-marchings -of newly-fledged volunteers, who--it is the first year of the -movement--are longing to be taking martial exercise in the wilds of -Wimbledon or on the plains of Putney, but, deterred by the rain, are -fain to put up with the large area of Westminster Hall, and to undergo -the torture of the professional drill-sergeant before the eyes of a -gaping and a grinning audience. - -Read the fact in the closed oaks of every set of chambers, each door -bearing its coffin-plate-like announcement that messages and parcels -are to be left at the porter's lodge; in the sounds of revelry that -proceed from the attorneys' offices, where the scrubs left in town -are amusing themselves with effervescing drinks and negro minstrelsy, -oblivious of executors, and administrators, and hereditaments; while -the "chief" is at Bognor with his wife and children, the "Chancery" is -geologising at Staffa, and the "Common-law" is living up at Laleham -Ferry, and washing off all reminiscence of John Doe and Richard Roe in -daily matutinal plunges off the bar at Penton Hook. - -All the members of the Bar, great and small, are away. Heaven -alone knows where the Great Seal may be hidden, but it is certain -that the keeper of it and the Sovereign's conscience--a tall, -straggling-whiskered, gray-haired gentleman--has been seen, with a -wideawake hat on his head and a gun in his hand, "potting" rabbits on -a Wiltshire common, and has been pointed out seated in a dog-cart at -a little railway-station as the "Lar' Chance'lar" to the wondering -bumpkins, who fully expected to see him in full-bottomed wig and -gold-fringed robes, and who were consequently wofully disappointed, -and thought his lordship of but "little 'count." Tocsin, the great -gladiator, who wrestles with his professional opponents and flings them -heavily, cross-buttocks the jury, and has been known, metaphorically, -to give that peculiar British blow known as "one" to the judge -himself--Tocsin, whose arrival at the Old Bailey (never appearing -there unless specially retained) arouses interest in the languid -ushers and door-porters, used up with constant criminal details, but -sure of some excitement when Tocsin leads--Tocsin is at Broadstairs, -swimming and walking with his boys during the day, and of an evening -very much interested, and not unfrequently affected to tears, by the -Minerva-Press novels, obtained from the little library, which he reads -aloud to his wife. Mr. Serjeant Slink, leader at the Parliamentary Bar, -whose professional life is passed in denouncing the aristocracy of -this country as stifling all freedom of political opinion by threats -or bribery, is staying with the Duke and Duchess of Potiphar at their -villa on the Lake of Como; and Mr. Moss, of Thavies Inn, 'cutest and -cleverest of criminal attorneys, is at Venice, occupying the moments -which his _valet de place_ allows him to have to himself in working out -the outline of the defence in a case of gigantic fraud, the trial of -which is coming off next sessions, in his room at Danieli's Hotel. - -Lethargy and languor in the public offices, where the chiefs are -away on leave, and the juniors left in town appear, from the medical -certificates they are sending in, to be suffering from every kind of -mortal illness, and where the "immediate attention" promised to your -communication becomes more vague and shadowy than ever; in merchants' -establishments, where the clerks, finding it impossible to get -"regularly away," compromise the matter by taking lodgings at Gravesend -or in up-the-river villages, and running to and fro daily; in large -shops, where the assistants bless the early-closing movement, and bound -away on Saturday afternoon with an agility which argues well for their -jumping many other things besides counters. - -George Street, Hanover Square, is much too distinguished a quarter not -to suffer under the general depression. There has not been a marriage -at the church for six weeks; the rector is away at the Lakes; and the -clerk has modified his responses, and is saving his voice until the -return of those to whom it is worth his while to address himself. -The beadle has laid by his gorgeous uniform, on week-days wears -mufti, and on Sundays comes out in a kind of compromise, alternately -airing the hat and the coat, but never appearing in both together. -The pew-openers' untipped palms are grimier than ever, the regular -congregation are absent, no strangers ask for seats, and the dust on -the pews is an inch thick. No horsey-looking men, chewing toothpicks, -and spitting refreshingly around, garnish the portals of Limmer's; the -silver sand sprinkled over the doorsteps as usual is untrodden, save -by the pumps of the one waiter, who knows no one is likely to come; -and as weary as ever was Mariana in her moated grange, he lounges to -the door, yawns, and lounges back, to cover his head with his napkin -for fly-diverting purposes, and seeks refuge in sleep. The dentist is -out of town; and the dentist's man has exchanged his striped jacket -and his black trousers for a heather suit, specially recommended by -the tailor for deer-stalking or grouse-shooting, clad in which, he -sits during the daytime in the dining-room reading _Bell's Life_, and -at night, after delicately scenting himself with camphor procured from -his master's drug-drawers, proceeds to some garden of public resort. -The paper patterns, marked with mysterious numbers, and inscribed with -the names of dukes and marquises, which hang in the shop of Stecknadel -the tailor, have a thick coating of dust; for the noble customers whose -fair proportions they represent have not had them in requisition for -weeks past. Stecknadel is away at Boppard on the Rhine, where he has a -very pretty _terre_, to which, if he could only get in his debts, he -would retire, and some day become Baron Stecknadel, and live peacefully -and prosperously for the rest of his life. - -Equally, of course, the headless dummies in Madame Clarisse's -showrooms are stripped of the fairy-like fabrics which cover them -during the season, and stand up showing all their wire anatomy, or -lie about in corners, unheeded. Madame is at Dieppe, and Daisy reigns -temporarily in her stead. The staff is very much reduced, for there -is little or nothing to do; and Daisy is enabled, very much to Paul -Derinzy's delight, to get out much earlier and much more frequently -than she could in the season, and the walks in Kensington Gardens -occur pretty constantly, and are much prolonged. Daisy is glad of this -too; for not only does her liking for Paul increase, but she knows he -is very soon going away for his holiday, "down to his people in the -West," and the idea of parting with him is not pleasant to her, and -she likes to see as much of him as possible. Daisy has noticed that, -with the absence of the great world from London, Paul has grown much -bolder: he walks with her without showing any of that dreadful feeling -of restraint which at one time galled her so much, is never fearful -of being observed, and has more than once asked to be allowed to take -her to dinner, to the theatre, or to some public gardens. This request -Daisy has always steadily refused, and their meetings are confined to -Kensington Gardens as heretofore, though she has permitted him to see -her home to the corner of her street on several occasions. - -One hot dusty afternoon Daisy is looking out of the showroom window -into the deserted street--deserted save by a vagabond dog, with his -tongue lolling out of his mouth, who is furtively gliding about from -one bit of shade to another, and hopelessly sniffing at those places -where he remembers puddles used to be in the bygone time, but where, -alas, there are none now--when she hears steps upon the stairs, and -turning round, recognises Miss Orpington, one of their best customers. -With Miss Orpington is her father, Colonel Orpington; and looking at -them as they enter the room, Daisy thinks within herself that a more -stylish-looking father and daughter could scarcely be found in England. -Both are tall, and slim, and upright; both have regular features, with -the same half-haughty, half-weary expression; both have small hands and -feet. Miss Orpington is going to be married to a Yorkshire baronet with -money. She has been staying in the same house with him in Scotland, -and is on her way to a house in Kent, where he is invited. She has -stopped a day or two in London on her way through to get "some gowns -and things." She is always wanting gowns and things, and spends a very -large sum of money yearly. - -Colonel Orpington does not very much mind how much she spends. Through -his wife, who was the daughter of his family solicitor, and who died -in childbirth a year after their marriage, he had a very large income, -every farthing of which he carefully spent. He had nothing to do with -the turf; hunted but little, and when he did, generally found other -men to mount him; never joined in the afternoon rubbers at the club, -and only interested himself in them to the extent of an occasional -small bet; kept a good but small stud; had no permanent country place; -and during the season entertained well, but neither frequently nor -lavishly, and yet managed to get through eight thousand a year. - -How? Well, the Colonel had his tastes. Though turned fifty years of -age, he had not run to flesh; his figure was yet trim and elegant, and -his face handsome and eminently "bred"-looking. His hair was still -jet-black; and though his moustache, long, sweeping, and carefully -trained, was unmistakably grizzled, the colour rather added to the -picturesqueness of his appearance. And the Colonel liked to be thought -handsome, and elegant, and picturesque; for he was devoted to the sex, -and had but little care in life beyond how best to please her who for -the time being was the object of his devotion. - -And yet Colonel Orpington was never seen in any suspicious _solitude -ŕ deux_, nor even in the loose-talking, easy-going society in which -he mixed was his name ever coupled with any woman's. Old comrades -and contemporaries might be seen lurking at the back of shady little -boxes on the pit-tier of the theatre, and addressing a presumed form -in the corner facing the stage, of which nothing could be seen but a -white gleaming arm, a fan, and an opera-glass; but when the Colonel -patronised the drama, which was very seldom, he always went with a -party among whom were his daughter and his sister, who kept house for -him. Sons of old comrades, and other young men with whom he had a -casual acquaintance, might lounge across the rails of the Row to speak -to the "strange women" on horseback who were just beginning to put in -an appearance there; but the Colonel, when he passed them, whether -Miss Orpington were with him or not, was always looking straight -before him between his horse's ears, and never showed the slightest -recognition of their presence. Nor, though living in days when to love -your neighbour's wife was a rule pretty generally followed, was Colonel -Orpington's name ever mixed up with any of those society intrigues the -ignoring of which in public, and the discussion of which in private, -affords so much delight to well-bred people. Of good appearance, of -perfect manners, and with a voice and address which were singularly -insinuating, the Colonel might have availed himself of many _bonnes -fortunes_ which would not have fallen in the way of men younger and -less discreet; but he purposely neglected the opportunities offered, -and, while being the intimate and trusted companion of many of his -friends' wives, sisters, and daughters, was the lover of none. - -And yet he was devoted to the sex, and spent a great deal of money! -Yes, and was very frequently absent from his family. Amongst the -property which the Colonel inherited from his wife were some -slate-quarries and lead-mines in South Wales, which seemed to require -a vast amount of personal supervision. If he looked after the rest of -his estate with equal fidelity, he must have been a pattern landlord; -for he would leave town in the height of the season, or give up any -pleasant engagement, when he received one of these summonses. When Miss -Orpington was a child, she used to tease her father about "dose 'orrid -quarry-mines;" but it was noticed that after she had put away childish -things, amongst which might be enumerated innocence, she never referred -to the subject. Nobody ever did palpably refer to it, though there was -a good deal of sniggering about it in the Colonel's clubs, and Bobus, -known as Badger Bobus from his low sporting tastes, was asked out to -dinner for a fortnight on the strength of his having said that he -couldn't make out how old Orpington always went into South Wales by the -Great Northern Railway. - -Miss Orpington languidly expresses her pleasure at seeing Daisy. - -"You are so fresh, Miss Stafford, and all that kind of thing. Of course -I know Madame Clarisse's taste is excellent; but I confess I like a -younger person's ideas." - -Daisy bows, and says nothing, but applies herself to showing her wares, -which the young lady turns over and discourses upon. Colonel Orpington, -standing by and caressing his grizzled moustache, says nothing also. -Nothing aloud, at least; only someone standing very close might have -seen him draw in his breath, and mutter behind his hand, - -"Jove! Clarisse was right." - -Miss Orpington is large in her notions of autumn costume, and Daisy -shows her a vast number of "pretty things" which she would like to -order, but is somewhat checked by the paternal presence, in itself a -novelty in her negotiations with her milliner. But, deferring to the -paternal presence, as to "Should she?" and "Did he think she might?" -and receiving nothing but favourable replies, she gives her fancy -scope, and makes such of the workwomen as were always retained think -that the season had suddenly and capriciously recommenced. - -What had induced the Colonel to accompany his daughter? He never had -done so before, and on this occasion he says nothing, never looks at -the things exhibited, or the patterns after which they are to be made. -What does he look at? Miss Orpington knows, perhaps, when, following -the earnest gaze of his eyes, she makes a little _moue_, and slightly -shrugs her shoulders, taking no further notice until they are in the -street; then she says: - -"Do you think that girl pretty, papa?" - -The Colonel is in an abstracted state, and pauses for a minute before -he replies, - -"What girl, Constance?" - -"We have not seen so many that you need ask," says Miss Orpington, with -a melancholy glance at the deserted streets; "the girl who attended to -me just now, at Clarisse's." - -"I was thinking of something else at the time, and really did not -notice her particularly, my dear," says the Colonel, "but she appeared -to me to be a very respectable young person." - -Miss Orpington gives her little shoulder-shrug, and looks round -curiously at her father; but he is staring straight before him, and -they walk on without speaking further, until just as they are passing -Limmer's, when he says, half to himself, "That fellow will do!" and -then to her, - -"I want to send a message to the club, Constance. If you'll walk -quietly on, I'll overtake you in an instant. Hi! here!" - -The man to whom he calls, and who is hanging about the doorway of the -hotel, is one of those Mercuries who have now been superseded by the -Commissionaires, but who in those days were the principal media for -good and evil communication in the metropolis. In the season this -fellow wears a dingy red jacket like the cover of an old _Post Office -Directory_; but in the dead time of year he discards his gaiety of -apparel, and dons a seedy long drab waistcoat with black sleeves. He -crosses the road at once at the Colonel's call, and stands on the kerb, -touching his broken hat, and waiting for his orders. - -"Look here," says the Colonel, as soon as his daughter is out of -earshot; "go up to Clarisse's--the milliner's, you know, opposite the -church--ask to see the young woman who just attended to Miss Orpington, -and tell her you have been sent to say she must be certain to send the -things at the time promised. Take notice of her, so that you will know -her again; then wait about until she comes out, follow her, see whom -she speaks to and where she goes, and come to Batt's Hotel in Dover -Street and ask for Colonel Orpington. You understand?" - -"Right you are, Colonel!" says the man, pocketing the half-crown which -the Colonel hands to him; then he touches his shabby hat again, and -starts off. - -"Left her walking up and down in Kensington Gardens among the trees -near the keeper's cottage, did he?" says Colonel Orpington to himself -as he strikes into the Park about five o'clock, and hurries off in -the direction indicated. "Had not spoken to anyone, but seemed as -if she were waiting for somebody, eh? Plainly an assignation! So my -young friend is not so innocent as Clarisse would have me believe. -What a fool she was to think it, and what a fool I was to believe her! -However, I may as well see it through, for the girl is marvellously -pretty, and has a something about her which is extraordinarily -attractive--even to me!" - -As he nears the place to which he has been directed, he slackens his -speed, and looks round him from time to time. The first touch of autumn -has fallen on the grand old trees, and occasionally some leaves come -circling down noiselessly on to the brown turf. Away at the end of yon -vista a slight mist is rising, noticing which the Colonel prudently -buttons his coat over his chest and shudders slightly. Half-a-dozen -children are romping about, rolling among the leaves that have already -fallen, and shrieking with delight; but the Colonel takes no heed of -them. Just then the figures of a man and woman walking very slowly -come in sight. The Colonel looks at them for a moment, using his natty -double-eyeglass for the purpose; then stands quietly behind one of the -large elm-trees watching the pair as they pass. Her arm is through his, -on which she is leaning heavily; their faces are turned towards each -other, each wearing a grave earnest expression. As they pass the tree -behind which the Colonel stands, their faces approach, and their lips -meet for an instant, then they walk on as before. - -The Colonel drops the natty double-eyeglass from his nose, and replaces -it in his waistcoat-pocket. As he turns to walk away, he says to -himself: - -"Not a very pleasant position that! However, I've learned what I wanted -to know. The girl has a lover, as one might have expected. I think -I know the man too. To be sure! we elected him at the Beaufort the -other day--Derinzy, son of the man who put the Jew under the pump at -Hounslow. A good-looking youngster too, and in some Government office, -I think. Well, I suppose it will be the old story--youth against -cheque-book. But in this case, from the young lady's general style, I -think I should back the latter!" - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. -ANOTHER CONQUEST. - - -Town was at its dreariest; the little people in Camden Town and -Hackney had followed the great people in Belgravia and Tyburnia, by -going away; only they went to Southend or Margate instead of Scotland -or Biarritz. It was the last possible time of the year at which one -would imagine festivity could take place; and yet from the aspect of -No. 20, Adalbert Crescent, Navarino Road, Dalston, it was evident that -festivity was intended. The general servant of the establishment had -washed the upper half of her face, and hooked the lower half of her -gown--an extraordinary occurrence which meant something. The fishmonger -had sent in a lobster, and half a newspaper--folded in cornucopia -fashion--full of shrimps; the ŕ-la-mode-beef house had been ransacked -for the least-stony piece of cold meat which it possessed; and from -the greengrocer had been obtained a perfect grove of salad and cress. -Looking at these preparations, Miss Augusta Manby might well feel -within herself a certain sentiment of pride, and a consciousness that -Adalbert Crescent was equal to the occasion. - -Miss Augusta Manby had been a workwoman at Madame Clarisse's; but -she had long left that patrician establishment, and started on her -own account. The name of her late employer figured under her own on -the brass plate which adorned her door; and this recommendation, and -her own talent in reducing bulging waists, and "fitting" generally -obstinate figures, had procured for her a vast amount of patronage in -the clerk-inhabited district where she had pitched her tent. - -In the fulness of delight at her success, Miss Manby had taken -advantage of the occasion of her birthday to summon her friends to -rejoice with her at a little festive gathering, and the advent of those -friends she was then awaiting. - -"I think it will all do very well," she said to herself, after -surveying the preparations; "and I am sure it ought to go off nicely. I -should have been afraid to ask Fanny Stafford if Bella Merton and her -brother had not been coming; but she has quite West End manners, and -he is very nice-looking and very well-behaved. It's a pity I could not -avoid asking Gus; but he would have been sure to have heard of it; and -then, if he had been left out, there would have been a pretty to-do." - -A ring at the bell stopped Miss Manby's soliloquy, and she rushed to -the glass to "put herself tidy," as she phrased it. There was no need -for this performance in Miss Manby's case, as the glass reflected a -pretty little face of the snub-nose, black-eyes, white-teeth, and -oiled-hair order, and a very pretty little figure, which the owner took -care should be well, though not expensively, got up. - -The arrivals were Miss Bella Merton--a young lady who officiated as -clerk at Mr. Kammerer's, the photographer's in Regent Street, kept the -appointment ledger, entered the number of copies ordered, and received -the money from the sitters--and her brother, a book-keeper in Repp and -Rumfitt's drapery establishment. - -"So good of you, Bella dear, to be the first!" said Miss Manby, -welcoming a tall dashing-looking young woman, who darted into the room -after the half-cleansed servant had broken down in announcing "Miss -Merting."--"And you too, Mr. John; I scarcely thought you would have -taken the trouble to come from the West End to this outlandish place." - -Mr. John, as she called him, who was a tall well-built young man, -dressed in a black frock coat, waistcoat, and trousers, relieved by an -alarmingly vivid-blue necktie, merely bowed his acknowledgments; but -his sister, who had thrown off a coquettish little black-silk cloak, -and what was known amongst her friends as a "duck of a bonnet," and who -was then smoothing her hair before the one-foot-square looking-glass -over the chimney-piece, said: - -"My dear Augusta, what nonsense it is! we should be thankful to escape -from that hot dusty town to this--well, really, this rural retreat. And -as for coming early, there's nothing doing now at the West, so that one -can leave when one likes." - -Miss Augusta Manby then took upon herself to remark that that was one -compensation for her exile from the realms of fashion. All seasons, she -remarked, were the same at Dalston, where people had new clothes when -the old ones were worn out, and never studied times or seasons. - -"And now tell me, dear, who are coming?" said Bella Merton, while her -brother John sat in the window-seat, and tried to derive a gleam of -satisfaction from the inspection of the fashion-plates in _La Belle -Assemblée_; "of course that dear delightful old Gus--and who else?" - -"I have asked Fanny Stafford, and she has promised to come." - -"No! that is fun!" said Bella Merton, laughing. - -"And Mr. Burgess----" - -"No! that's better still!" said Bella, laughing more heartily: "what! -_our_ Mr. Burgess?" - -"Of course. Did he not tell you?" - -"Not one single word, dear. But of course I understand why!" and the -young lady relapsed into fits of merriment. - -"You have all the joke to yourself at present, Bella," said John -Merton, looking up from his fashion-book. - -"And you won't have any of it, so far as I can see, during any part of -the evening, my poor old John!" said his sister. - -"I'm sorry I can't understand your West End wit, Bella dear," said -their hostess, with some asperity. - -"You will see it all in a minute," said Bella, striving to compose her -countenance. "Burgess has been raving-mad in love with Fanny Stafford, -whom he has only seen for an instant, ever since Mr. Kammerer gave him -her photograph to tint. My brother John, here, of course fell over head -and ears directly he saw her; and there's another man of a different -kind, with no end of money and position and all that, about whom I must -say nothing. So much for Fanny Stafford. But what's to become of you -and me, Augusta? There's nobody left for us but old Gus." - -"What's that you are saying about old Gus?" said a fat jolly voice, -belonging to a fat jolly man, of about forty years of age, who entered -the room at the moment. - -This was Augustus Manby, the hostess's brother, a tea-taster attached -to an establishment in Mincing Lane--a convivial soul, and a thorough -vulgarian. - -"Saying!" said Bella Merton, whose two hands he was wringing, after -having given his sister a smacking kiss; "that we should have no one -but you to flirt with, all the other men would be absorbed by Fanny -Stafford." - -"Well, they are welcome so far as I am concerned," said plain-spoken -Gus. "She's a nice girl, Fanny; but I don't like them red, and I do -like more of them; and that's the fact." - -"Hush! do be quiet," said his sister, as the bell sounded again; and -the next minute Fanny Stothard entered the room. - -She looked so lovely, that Gus almost audibly recalled his opinion. -The exercise had given a colour to her cheeks and a brilliancy to her -eyes. Her dress fitted her to perfection, and there was an indefinable -something about her which stamped her superiority to those among whom -she then was. She was warmly welcomed by all, and had scarcely gone -through their greetings when Mr. Burgess joined and completed the -little party. - -Mr. Burgess was a small consumptive-looking young man, principally -remarkable for the length of his hair and the smallness of his cravat. -Believing in his destiny as an "arteeste," he had originally entered -as a student at the Royal Academy; but after severe objurgations from -the authorities there, had subsided into colouring pictures for the -photographers, by which he realised a decent income. He entered the -room with a bound suggestive of hope and joy; but on seeing Fanny he -sighed deeply, and abandoned himself to misery. - -Then they all bustled about, and the cloth was laid, and the provisions -produced, and the half-cleansed servant appeared periodically, -staggering under large pewter vessels containing malt liquor; and the -gentlemen pressed the ladies to eat and to drink; and the ladies would -not be persuaded without a great deal of pressing on the gentlemen's -part; and so the meal was gone through with much giggling and laughter, -but without any regular talk. - -That began when the hostess had fetched from a cupboard, where -they were imbedded in layers of brown-paper patterns and bygone -fashion-books, and watched over by an armless papier-mâchč idol, two -bottles of spirits; and when the gentlemen had brewed themselves mighty -jorums of grog, and helped the ladies to delicate wine-glasses of the -same beverage. And thus it commenced: - -"Things must be dull with you now at Clarisse's, Fanny dear?" said the -hostess. - -"Dull!" said Fanny: "I never knew anything like it. I don't mean -written orders from the country, of course; but we only had one -customer in our place the whole of last week." - -"What will you bet me, Fanny," said Bella Merton, "that I don't tell -you that customer's name?" - -"Why, how can you possibly know it? She----" - -"I don't speak of a she! I mean a he," said Bella, laughing. - -"Hes ain't milliners' customers," said Mr. Burgess, with a titter. - -"Ain't they?" said John Merton, with a savage expression on his -good-looking face; "but they are sometimes, worse luck!" - -"My customer, at all events, was a lady," said Fanny, rather -disapproving of this turn of the conversation. - -"Yes; but she was accompanied by a gentleman," said Bella, still -laughing; "and, as John says, gentlemen have no right in milliners' -showrooms." - -"I suppose that even Mr. John Merton would not object to a father's -accompanying his daughter to a milliner's showroom?" said Fanny, -beginning to be piqued. - -"Mr. John Merton merely spoke generally, Miss Stafford," said John, -with a bow. "He would not have taken the liberty to apply his -observation to any particular case." - -"This is perfectly delicious!" cried Bella Merton, clapping her hands. -"I knew I should soon set you all by the ears. But we have wandered -from my original proposition. Can I, or can I not, tell you the name -of the gentleman who came with his daughter, as you say, to your place -last week?" - -"I daresay you can," said Fanny Stothard, "though how you gained your -information it would be impossible for me to say." - -"Don't tell her, Miss Stafford," said John Merton; "don't help her in -the least degree. It's scarcely a fair subject of conversation; at -least, it's one which I'm sure has no interest for me." - -"Was he a nice cross old dear?" said his sister; "and didn't he like to -hear about the fine gentleman that admired Fanny?" - -John Merton looked so black at this remark, that Mr. Burgess thought it -best to cut into the conversation. So he said: - -"But you haven't yet told us the name of the gentleman. Miss Merton." - -"Haven't I?" said Bella; "well, I'll be as good as my word. Colonel -Orpington. Am I right, Fanny?" - -"I daresay you are. Miss Orpington's father came with her. What his -title may be I haven't the least idea." - -"But he knows what your title is, dear, and accords it to you quite -publicly." - -"And what title does he give Miss Stafford, pray?" asked John Merton, -angrily. - -"That of the prettiest girl in London!" - -"I never heard a swell go so near the truth," growled John, half -pleased and half annoyed. - -"Don't you think it is almost time for you to speak a little more -plainly, Bella?" asked Fanny. "How do you know this Colonel Orpington, -and what has he been saying about me?" - -"_This_ Colonel Orpington, indeed!" cried Miss Merton. "My dear, -_this_ Colonel Orpington is simply one of the best men of the day, -extremely rich, and--well, you know--one of those nice fellows who are -liked by everybody. He came into our place the other day, and when -I looked up from my desk in the front room, where I was writing a -private letter--for I had nothing else to do--I saw him; and I thought -to myself, 'I know you, Colonel Orpington! I've seen you about often. -So you've come for a sitting, have you? Won't Mr. Kammerer be wild -to think you should have come when he was out of town!' However, he -came straight towards me; and he took off his hat, like a gentleman as -he is, and he said, 'There is a portrait in a frame outside the door -which strikes me as a wonderful example of photography, of which I am -a connoisseur.' I knew what he meant at once, bless you; but I said, -'You mean the gentleman in the skull-cap and the long beard--Professor -Gilks?' He muttered something about Professor Gilks--I daren't say -what--but then said No; he meant the coloured female head--was it -for sale? I told him I could not answer him without referring to Mr. -Kammerer, who was at Ramsgate. The Colonel begged me to telegraph -to him, and he would call next day. He did call next day, took the -photograph, and paid twenty guineas for it, which was a good thing for -Mr. Kammerer." - -"Very likely," burst in John Merton; "but a bad thing for art, and -decency, and----" - -"Don't distress yourself, John! Very likely it was all you say; but, -you see, Mr. Kammerer is not here for you to pitch into, and Fanny -couldn't help her portrait being bought by an admirer. Oh, he was an -admirer, Fanny; for when I tied it up for him, he said out, 'It's -lovely, but it doesn't do justice to the original.' And when I asked -him did he know the original, he said he thought he had had that -honour. And so it's no good your bursting into virtuous indignation." - -Her brother shrugged his shoulders and was silent; but Fanny Stothard -said: - -"Don't you think this joke has gone far enough? Augusta and Mr. Burgess -here are sitting in wild astonishment, as well they may be. Let us -change the conversation for the few minutes before we break up." - -Late that night Fanny Stothard sat on the side of her bed in her room -in South Molton Street, her hands clasped behind her head, her body -gently swaying to and fro as she pondered over all she had heard that -evening. On the table lay a letter from Paul Derinzy. It was the second -she had had, and he had not been away from London five days. The first -she had torn at eagerly and devoured its contents at once; this lay -unopened. - -"Very rich, that woman said," she muttered, "and a great man in his -way. Fancy his buying the portrait, and after only seeing me once! That -was very nice of him. Not in the least old-looking, and everybody likes -him, Bella said. What a funny thing his recognising that photograph, -and---- How horrible the journey home was to-night, and what detestable -people in the omnibus!--such pushing and tramping on one's feet, and--I -had no idea of that! I thought he looked hard at me once or twice, but -I never imagined that he took any particular notice. Colonel Orpington! -I shall look out his name in the _Court Guide_ to-morrow, when I get to -George Street, and see all about him. Had the honour of knowing me, he -told Bella Merton! Ugh! how sick I am of this room, and how wearied of -this life! Ah well, Paul's letter will keep till to-morrow; I'm sure I -know what it's about. That was really very nice about the portrait! I -wonder when Colonel Orpington will come back to town?" - -Then she frowned a little as she said, "What could have made that young -man, Bella's brother, so disagreeable about all that? He couldn't -possibly--and yet I don't know. He looked so earnestly at me, and spoke -so strongly about that business of the portrait, that I have half an -idea he resented it on my behalf. What impertinence! And yet he meant -merely to show his regard for me. How dreadfully in earnest he seemed! -And Paul too! I shall have a difficulty in managing them all, I see -that clearly." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. -PAUL AT HOME. - - -It does not matter much to George Wainwright whether London is empty -or full. His books, his work, and his healthful play go on just the -same in winter and summer, in spring and autumn. He only knows it is -the season by the fact of seeing more people in the streets, more -horses and carriages in the Park across which he strides to his home; -and when other men go away on leave, he remains at the office without -the least desire to change the regular habits of his life. He has a -splendid constitution, perfectly sound, and unimpaired by excess of any -description; can do any amount of work without its having any influence -on him; and never had need to go away "on medical certificate," as is -the case with so many of his brethren at the Stannaries Office. - -There is a decidedly autumnal touch in the air as it plays round George -Wainwright, striding across the Park this October morning. There is -sunshine, but it is thin and veneered, and very unlike the glorious -summer article; looks as if it had lost strength in its struggle with -the fog which preceded it, and as though it would make but a poor fight -against the mist which would come creeping up early in the afternoon. -But few leaves remain on the trees, and they are yellow and veinous, -and swirl dismally round and round in their descent to the moist earth, -where their already fallen comrades are being swept into heaps, and -pressed down into barrows, and wheeled away by the gardeners. The -ordinarily calm waters of the Serpentine are lashed into miniature -waves, and the pleasure-boats have vanished from its surface, as have -the carriages from the Drive and the horses from the Row. Only one -solitary equestrian stands out like a speck in the distance; for it is -Long Vacation still, and the judges and the barristers, those unvarying -early riders and constant examples of the apparently insurmountable -difficulty of combining legal lore with graceful equitation, have not -yet returned to town. - -Ten o'clock strikes from the Horse Guards clock as George walks under -the archway, and makes his way across to the little back street -where the Stannaries Office is situated. Always punctual, he is more -particular than ever just now, for all the others of any standing are -away; and George was perfectly aware, from long experience, that if -someone responsible was not there to look after the junior clerks, -those young gentlemen would not come at all. As it was, he finds -himself the first arrival, and has changed his coat and rung for his -letters, for even the messengers get lax and careless at this time of -year--when the door opens and Mr. Dunlop enters, bringing with him a -very strong flavour of fresh tobacco, and not stopping short in the -popular melody which he is humming to say good-day until he has arrived -at the end of the verse. - -"'And he cut his throat with a pane of glass, and stabbed his donkey -ar-ter!'" sings Mr. Dunlop, very much prolonging the last note. "That's -what I call an impressive ending to a tragic ballad!--Goodmorning, Mr. -Wainwright! I'm glad to see you here in good time for once, sir, at all -events." - -"Billy, Billy, if you were here a little earlier yourself, you wouldn't -be pitched into so constantly." - -"Perhaps not, sir, though 'pitched into' is scarcely a phrase to apply -to a gentleman in Her Majesty's Civil Service. However, my position -is humble, and I must demean myself accordingly. I am a norphan, sir, -a norphan, and have no swell parents to stay with in the country like -Mr. Derinzy, whose remarkably illegible and insignificant handwriting I -recognise on this letter which Hicks has brought in for you." - -"Paul's hand, by Jove!" says George, "and this other one is Courtney's, -the chief's." - -George opens the smaller letter, and emits a short whistle as he -glances through its contents. The whistle and the expression of -George's face are not lost upon Billy Dunlop, who says: - -"Dear old person going to make it three months' leave, this year, -instead of two? or perhaps not coming back at all, but sends address -where his salary will find him?" - -"On the contrary, he's coming back at once; he will be on duty -to-morrow." - -"By Jove! and he's not been away six weeks yet. The poet was right, -sir. 'He stabbed his donkey arter!' There was nothing else left for him -to do." - -"But," says George, laughing, "he says he thinks he shall go away to -Brighton in November, and advises me, if I want any leave, to take it -now, that I may be back when he goes." - -"What an inexpressible old ruffian! What does he say about my leave?" - -"Not a word. What could he say, Billy? You've had all your leave ages -ago." - -Mr. Dunlop, who has retired into the sanctuary behind the -washing-screen, makes a rapid reappearance at these words, and says -hurriedly: - -"I thought so. I thought that that pleasant month of March would be -the only portion of the year allotted to me for recreation. March, -by George! Why, Ettrick, Teviotdale, and all the rest of them put -together, are not worth speaking about. It seems a year ago. I can only -recollect it because it was so beastly cold I was obliged to spend -nearly all the time in bed. That's a nice way for a man to enjoy his -holiday! While you fellows are cutting about, and---- Hollo! what's the -matter with G.W.? He looks as if he were rapidly preparing himself for -his father's asylum. Some bad news from P.D., I suppose." - -These last remarks of Mr. Dunlop's are based upon his observation of -George Wainwright's face, the expression of which is set and serious. - -"Hold on with your chaff for a minute, Billy," he says, looking up. -"Paul is writing on business, and I want just to get hold of it as I go -along." - -So Mr. Dunlop thinks he will do a little official work; and having -selected a sheet of foolscap with "Office of H.M. Stannaries" -lithographed on it, fills in the date in a very bold and flowing hand -(the gentlemen of the Stannaries Office always boasted that they were -not "mere clerks," and that their penmanship "didn't matter"), then -takes out his penknife, and begins adjusting the toilet of his nails. - -Meanwhile George Wainwright plods his way with difficulty through -Paul's letter where the writing is so small and the lines so close -together, and his brows become more contracted and his face more set -and stern as he proceeds. This is what he reads: - -"_The Tower, Beachborough_. - -"DEAR OLD MAN,--I have so much writing at that confounded shop--don't -grin, now: I can see your cynical old under-lip shooting out at the -statement--that I thought I'd give my pen a holiday as well as myself; -and indeed I should not favour you with a sight of that 'bowld fist' -which so disgusts that old beast Branwhite--saw his name in the _Post_ -as having been present at the Inverness gathering, hanging on to swells -as usual--if there had not been absolute occasion. - -"By Jove? what a tremendously long sentence that is! Rather -broken-backed and weak in the knees too, eh? Don't seem to hang well -together? Rather a 'solution of continuity,' as they call it, isn't -there? Never mind, you'll understand what I mean. You see, my dear old -George, I don't know whether it is because I'm bored by being in the -country--and a fellow who is accustomed to town life must necessarily -hate everything else, and find it all horribly slow and dreary--but the -fact is, that instead of my leave doing me good, and setting me up, and -all that kind of thing, I find myself utterly depressed and wretched, -and nothing like half so well or so jolly as when I came down here. - -"I thought I should go out boating and swimming and riding, and -generally larking; and instead of that I find myself sitting grizzling -over my pipe, and wondering what on earth I'm to do until evening, and -how I shall get through the time after dark until I can go to bed. - -"You would go blazing away at your old books, or your writing, or your -music; but I'm not in that line, old boy. I haven't got what people -call 'resources'--in any way, by Jove! tin, or anything else. I want to -be amused, and I don't get it here, and that's all about it. - -"You see, the truth is--and what's the good of having a fellow for your -pal, if you can't speak the truth to him, and what people in the play -call 'unbosom yourself,' and so on?--the truth is, our household here -is most infernally dull. I hadn't seen any of them for so long, that -they all came upon me like novelties; and they're so deuced original, -that they would be most interesting studies, if they did not happen -to be one's own people, don't you see, and that takes all the humour -out of the performance. There's my governor, for instance, is the most -wonderful party! If he were anybody else's governor he'd be quite good -fun enough for me to render the place sufficiently agreeable. I don't -think I should want any greater amusement than seeing him go yawning -about the house and through the village, bored out of his life, and -wishing everything at the devil. He seemed to pluck up a bit when I -first came down, and wanted to know all the news about town, and talked -about this fellow and that fellow--I knew the names well enough, and -had met a good many of the people; but when we came to compare notes, -I found that the governor was inquiring about the fathers of the -fellows I knew--fellows with the same names, you understand; and when I -explained this to him, and told him that most of his pals were dead or -gone under, don't you know, and that their sons reigned in their stead, -he cut up rather rough, and said he didn't know what the world was -coming to, and that young men weren't half as well brought-up nowadays -as they were in his time. Funny idea that, wasn't it? As though we -could help these old swells going under! Fact is--I don't like to -confess it, and would not to anybody but you, George--but since the -governor has got off the main line of life they have shunted him into -the siding for fogeydom, and there's not much chance of his coming out -again. - -"I find a great change in my mother too. I've spoken to you so often -about all these domesticities, that I don't mind gossiping to you now. -It's an immense relief to me. I feel if I had not someone to confide -in, I should blow up. Well, you know, my mother was always the best -man in our household, and managed everything according to her own -will; but then she had a certain tact and _savoir faire_, a way of -ruling us all that no one could find fault with; and though we grumbled -inwardly, we never took each other into confidence, or combined against -the despotism. I find that's all altered now. Either she has lost -tact, or we have lost patience--a little of both, perhaps; but, at all -events, her attempts at rule and dictation are very palpable and very -pronounced, and our ripeness for revolt is no longer concealed. In -point of fact, the one thing which the governor and I have in common is -our impatience of the female thrall, and if ever we combine, it will be -to pass the Salic law. - -"And apropos of that--rather neatly expressed, I find that is--there is -another female pretender to power--my cousin Annette; you have heard me -speak of her as a ward of my people's, and resident with them. She has -grown into a fine young woman, though her manners are decidedly odd. -I suppose this is country breeding: said as much to the governor, who -made a very odd face and changed the subject. Whether he thought it -the height of impudence in me to suppose that anyone who had had the -advantage of studying him daily could have country manners, or whether -there was any other reason, I don't know. - -"One thing there can be no doubt of, and that is, that I am always -being thrown _tęte-ŕ,-tęte_ with this young woman, principally, as -I imagine, by my mother's connivance. This might have been amusing -under other circumstances, for, as I said before, she is remarkably -personable and nice--not in my line, but still a very fine young woman; -but, situated as I am, I do not avail myself in the slightest degree of -the opportunities offered. - -"Nor, I am bound to say, does Annette. She sits silent, and sometimes -actually sullen. She is a most extraordinary girl, George; I can't make -her out a bit. Sometimes she won't speak for hours, sometimes won't -even come down amongst us, and---- There is something deuced odd in all -this! I wish I had your clear old head here to scrutinise matters with -me, and help me in forming a judgment on them. - -"You know what I refer to just above, about 'under other -circumstances?' Certain interview in Kensington Gardens, with certain -party that you happened to witness. Don't you recollect? Oh Lord, -George, if you knew what an utterly gone 'coon I am in that quarter, -you would pity me. No, you wouldn't! What's the use of talking to such -a dried-up old file as you about such things? I don't believe you were -ever in love in your life, ever felt the smallest twinge of what those -stupid fools the poets call the 'gentle passion.' Gentle, by Jove! it's -anything but gentle with me--upsets me frightfully, takes away all my -sleep, and worries me out of my life. I swear to you, that now I am -separated from her, I don't know how to live without her, and wonder -how I ever got on before I knew her. When I think I'm far away from -everybody, on the cliffs or down by the sea, I find myself holloing out -aloud, and stamping my foot, for sheer rage at the thought that so much -more time must go by before I can see her again. I told you it was a -strong case, George, when you spoke to me about it; but I had no idea -then that it was so strong as it is, or that my happiness was half so -much bound up in her." - - -There was a space here, and the conclusion of the letter, from the -appearance of the ink, had evidently been written at a different time. - -"I left off there, George, thinking I might have something else to say -to you later; and so I have, but of a very different kind from what I -imagined. - -"I have had a tremendous scene with my mother. She has given up -hinting, and spoken out plainly at last. It appears that her whole -soul is set upon my marrying my cousin Annette. This is the whole and -sole reason of their living out of town, and of the poor governor -being expatriated from the Pall Mall pavement and the gossip he loves -so well. It appears that Annette is an heiress--in rather a large -way too, will have no end of money--and that my poor dear mother, -determined to secure her for me, has been hiding down here in this -horrible seclusion, in order that the girl may form no 'detrimental' -acquaintance of youths who might be likely to cut me out! Not very -flattering to me, is it? But still it was well meant, poor soul! - -"Now, you know, George, this won't do at all. If I entered into this -plan for a moment, I should have to give up that other little affair at -once; _and nothing earthly would make me do that!_ Besides, I do not -care for Annette; and as to her money, that would be deuced little good -to me, if However, one goes with the other, so we needn't say any more -about it. - -"Of course, I fought off at once--pleaded Annette's bad state of -health--she is ill, often keeps her room, and has to have a nurse -entirely given up to her--said we were both very young, and asked for -time--but all no good. My mother was very strong on the subject; and -the governor, who sees a chance of his jailership being put an end to, -and of his getting back to haunts of civilisation, backed her up with -all his might, which is not much, poor old boy! - -"So all I could do was to say that I never did anything without your -advice, and to suggest that you should be asked down here at once. My -mother wouldn't have it at first, until I said she feared you were a -gay young dog, who would make running with Annette to my detriment; -and then I told her what a quiet, solemn, old-fashioned old touch you -really were, and then she consented. So, dear old man, you're booked -and in for it. I really do want your counsel awfully, though I only -thought of making you a scapegoat when I first suggested your visit. -But now I am looking forward to it with the greatest anxiety from day -to day. Come at once. You can easily arrange about your leave--come, -and help me in this fix. _But recollect, don't attempt to break off the -acquaintance between me and that young lady, for that would be utterly -useless!_ God bless you. Come at once. - - "Yours ever, P.D." - - -George Wainwright reads this letter through twice attentively, and the -frown deepens on his forehead. Then he folds it up and places it in his -breast-pocket, and remains for ten minutes, slowly stroking his beard -with his hand, and pondering the while. Then he looks up, and says: - -"Billy, I'm thinking of taking the chief's advice, and going for a -little leave." - -"Oh, certainly," says Mr. Dunlop; "don't mind me, I beg. Leave the -whole work of the department on my shoulders, pray. You'll find I'm -equal to the occasion, sir; and perhaps in some future time, when -I have 'made by force my merit known'--when the Right Honourable -William Dunlop is First Lord of the Treasury, has clutched the golden -keys, and shaped the whisper of the Throne into saying in the ear of -the Chancellor of the Exchequer, 'Put W. D. on the pension list for -ten thou.'--I may thank you for having given me the opportunity of -distinguishing myself!" - - - - -CHAPTER XV. -ON THE ALERT. - - -"Well, George, old man, how are you? No need to ask, though. You're -looking as fresh as a daisy, and that after a couple of hundred miles -of rail, a long drive in a dog-cart, and a family dinner with people -who were strangers to you! And after all that, you're up and out by -nine o'clock. I told my people you were the most wonderful fellow in -the world, and now I think they'd believe it." - -"I haven't done anything yet to assert any claim to such a character, -at all events, Paul. I'm always an early riser, and most certainly I -wasn't going to loaf away a splendid morning like this between the -sheets. Where are the ladies and the Captain?" - -"My mother is generally occupied with domestic matters in the morning, -and Annette never shows till later in the day. If the governor had -had his will, he would have liked to be with us now. He was immensely -fetched by you last night, and jabbered away as I have not heard him -for years. But a little of the governor goes a long way; and I told him -we had business to talk over this morning; so he's off on his own hook -somewhere, poor old boy." - -"I don't think you appreciate your father quite sufficiently, Master -Paul. He made himself remarkably agreeable last night; and there was a -kind of _Pelham_ and _Tremaine_ flavour about his conversation which -was particularly refreshing in this back-slapping, slangy age." - -"And Annette--what did you think of her?" - -"I was very much struck with her appearance. I'm not much of a judge in -such matters, but surely she is very pretty." - -"Ya-as," said Paul with a half-conquering air, caressing his moustache; -"ya-as, she is pretty. What did you think of her--of her altogether, -you know?" - -"I thought her manner very charming. A little timid and nervous, as -was natural on being introduced to a stranger. Well, even more than -timid: a little weary, as though scarcely recovered from some illness -or excitement." - -"Ah, that was her illness. She had a bout of it the very day I sent off -my letter to you." - -"Well, she gave me that idea. But what on earth did you mean, young -fellow, by telling me in that letter that your cousin was dull and -_distraite_? I never saw anyone more interested or more interesting; -and what she said about Wordsworth's sonnets and his poem of 'Ruth' was -really admirably thought out and excellently put." - -"Exactly. And yet you demur at my calling you the most wonderful fellow -in the world! Why, my dear old George, you are the first person in all -our experience of her that has ever yet made Annette talk." - -"Perhaps because I am the first person who has listened to her." - -"Not at all! We've all of us tried it. The governor's not much, to be -sure, and those who don't care to hear perpetually about the Tamburini -row, and D'Orsay, and Gore House, and 'glorious Jack Reeve at the -Adelphi, sir!' and those kind of interesting anecdotes, soon get -bored. And I'm not much, and not often here. But my mother, as you'll -soon find out, is a clever woman, capital talker, and all that; and -so far as I can learn, Miss Netty has hitherto utterly refused to be -interested and amused even by that most fascinating of men to the sex, -your father." - -"My father! Why, where did he ever see Miss Derinzy?" - -"Here, in this very house. Ay, you may well look astonished! It appears -that my people knew your father in early years, before he took up his -present specialty, and that he attended my mother, who has never had -anything like decent health. She grew so accustomed to him that she -would never see anyone else; and Dr. Wainwright has been good enough, -since they have been here, to come down two or three times a year, and -look after her." - -"And he has seen Miss Derinzy?" - -"Oh yes; unprofessionally, of course--at dinner, and that kind of -thing--and, as I understand, has gone in to make himself very agreeable -to Annette, but has never succeeded. On the contrary." - -"On the contrary?" - -"Well, they tell me that she has always snubbed him tremendously; and -that must have been a frightful blow to such a society swell as your -governor--diner-out, and _raconteur_, and all that kind of thing. Fact -of the matter is, she has a deuced bad provincial style about her." - -"Upon my honour I can't see it, can't allow it, even though, as you -say, she did snub my father." - -"Of course not, you old muff! Antony, no doubt, thought Cleopatra's -manners charming; though the 'dull cold-blooded Caesar' who wouldn't be -hooked in, and the other gents whom Antony cut out, had not a good word -for her. However, look here; this scheme won't do at all. Don't you see -that?" - -"What scheme?" - -"Now, 'pon my word, I call this nice! I fire guns for help, ring an -alarm-bell for aid, and when the aid comes I have to explain my case! -Don't you recollect what I told you about my mother's plan for my -marrying Annette?" - -"Oh--yes," said George Wainwright slowly, "I recollect now." - -"That's deuced kind of you. So you must see it would never do." - -"It would not do?" - -"No, of course it wouldn't! What a fellow you are, George!" said Paul, -almost testily. "The girl does not suit me in the smallest degree, -and--and there's another one that does." - -"Ah, I had forgotten about that." - -"My good fellow, you seem to have left your wits behind you at the -office for Billy Dunlop to take care of. What the deuce are you mooning -about?" - -"Nothing; I was only a little confused for the moment. And you are -still over head and ears in that quarter, my poor Paul?" - -"By Jove, you may well say that!" - -"You correspond, of course, during your absence?" - -"I've heard from her once or twice." - -"And you carry the letters there," touching his friend's breast-pocket. -"Ah, I heard a responsive crackling of paper, my poor old Paul." - -"Oh, it's all deuced fine for you to talk about 'my poor old Paul,' and -all that, but you don't know the party, or even you would be warmed -into something like life!" - -"Hem!" growled Wainwright, "I don't know about that; though, as you -say, I am a little more exacting in my requirements than you. Does she -spell Paul with a 'w,' or with a little 'p'?" - -"She spells and writes like a lady as she is. What an ass I am to get -into a rage! Look here, George, I can't stand this much longer. I must -get back to her. It's no good my fooling my time away down here. My -mother has brought me down to propose for Annette, and I shall have to -tell her perfectly plainly that it can't be done." - -"That's why you sent for me," said George Wainwright; "to tell me that -you had fully made up your mind in the matter on which you brought me -down here to consult me, eh?" - -"No, not at all. I wanted to consult you, my dear old man, my best and -dearest of old boys; but, you see, the scenes have shifted a little -since I wrote. I've seen more of Annette, and seen more plainly that -she does not like me, and I don't care for her; and I've had a letter -from town which makes me think that the sooner I am back with Daisy, -the better." - -"With Daisy? that's her name, is it?" - -"That's her pet name with me, and---- What, mooning again, eh?" - -"No, I wasn't. I was merely thinking about---- Who was that elderly -woman who came to the drawing-room door last night and told Miss -Derinzy it was bed-time?" - -"Oh, that was Annette's servant, who is specially devoted to her--Mrs. -Stothard." - -"Mrs. Stothard--Miss Derinzy's maid?" - -"Well, maid, and nurse, and general attendant. Poor Annette, as I -wrote you, is very delicate, and requires constant watching. I should -not wonder if the excitement of last night and all your insinuating -charming talk, you old rascal, were to have a bad effect, and make her -lay up." - -"Poor young lady, I sincerely hope not. When did you say my father was -here last?" - -"I _didn't_ say any time; but I believe a few weeks ago. Now let us -take a turn, and try and find the governor." - -"By all means. I--I suppose Miss Derinzy is not down vet?" - -"Villain! you would add to the mischief you caused last night. No. -Down! no; not likely to be for hours! Come." - - -About the time that this conversation was going on in the little -breakfast-room, Mrs. Stothard might have been seen leaving the suite -of apartments which she and her young mistress occupied, all the doors -of which she carefully closed behind her, and making her way to Mrs. -Derinzy's room. Arrived there, she gave a short knock--by no means a -humble petitioning rap, but a sort of knock which said, "I only do -this kind of thing because I am obliged"--and, following close on the -sound of her knuckles, entered. - -As Mrs. Stothard had previously noticed--for nothing escaped her--Mrs. -Derinzy for the last few days had been very much "out o' sorts," in the -language of the villagers. Those humble souls anticipated the immediate -advent of another attack, and Mrs. Powler had even suggested to Dr. -Barton that the "man in Lunnon," as she called Dr. Wainwright, should -be sent for. But when the little village medico presented himself at -the Tower with the view of making a few preliminary inquiries, he only -saw Mrs. Stothard, who told him, with an amount of grimness and acidity -unusual even in her, that his services were not required. - -The fact was, that Mrs. Derinzy, though to a certain extent a -strong-minded woman, had confined herself for many years to diplomacy; -and while plotting and scheming, had forgotten the actual art of war -as practised by her in early days. Now, when the time had arrived for -her to descend again into the arena, her courage failed her. It was -now that Paul should be induced--forced, if necessary--to take up that -position to the preparation of which for him the best years of his -mother's life had been devoted, and at this very moment Mrs. Derinzy -felt herself unequal to the task. The fact is, she had been winding -herself up for the struggle, and was now rapidly running down before it -commenced, although--perhaps because--she had her suspicions as to the -result. - -"How do you find yourself this morning?" asked Mrs. Stothard, in a loud -unsympathetic voice. - -"Not at all well, Martha. You might guess that from finding me still in -my room at this time; but the fact is, I had scarcely the energy to get -up this morning." - -"Tired out by the wild dissipation of having a fresh face to look at, a -fresh tongue to listen to, last night, I suppose." - -"You mean Mr. Wainwright? He certainly is a most agreeable man." - -"You are not the only person this morning suffering from his charms," -said Mrs. Stothard, with a sniff of depreciation as she pronounced the -last words. - -"What do you mean? How is Annette? What kind of a night did she have?" - -"Bad enough. Oh no, nothing violent, but bad enough for all that. I -don't think I ever saw her so excited, so pleasantly excited, before. -I could not persuade her to go to bed; and she coaxed me to let her -sit up while she talked to me of your visitor. He was so handsome, so -charming, so intelligent, she had never seen anyone like him." - -"He made himself very agreeable," said Mrs. Derinzy shortly. She was -alarmed at the account of these raptures on Annette's part, which boded -no good to her favourite project. - -"If she were a responsible being, I should say she was in love," -said Mrs. Stothard. "Not that anyone is responsible, under those -circumstances," she added: a dim remembrance of a cathedral yard, a -pile of illuminated drawings, and a cornet in the cavalry, seen through -a long vista of intervening years, gave her voice a flat and hollow -sound. - -"In love! stuff! She sees so few new faces that she's amused for the -time, that's all. She will have forgotten the man by this morning." - -"She _hasn't_ forgotten him, though you do say 'stuff!' She had a -very restless night, tossing and talking in her sleep and laughing to -herself. And this morning, directly she woke, she asked me if George -Wainwright was still here; and when I told her yes, laughed and kissed -my cheek, and fell asleep again quite satisfied." - -"_George_ Wainwright, eh?" said Mrs. Derinzy. "She has lost no time in -picking up his name." - -"She loses no time in picking up anything that interests her. And this -Mr. George Wainwright is clever, you say?" - -"Very clever, so Paul says; and so he seems." - -"And he has come down here on a visit, just to see Mr. Paul?" - -"Exactly. Mr. Paul thinks there is nobody like him, and consults him in -everything." - -"And yet, knowing this," said Mrs. Stothard, drawing nearer and -dropping her voice, "you have this man here, and don't seem to see any -danger in his coming." - -"What do you mean, Martha? I don't comprehend you," said Mrs. Derinzy, -showing in her pallid cheeks and wandering hands how she had been taken -aback by the suddenness of the question. - -"Oh yes, you understand me perfectly, and as you have only chosen to -give me half-confidences, I can't speak any plainer. But this I will -say, that if you still wish to throw dust in your son's eyes as regards -what is the matter with Annette, you have acted with extraordinary -folly in permitting this man to come down here. He is no shallow flimsy -youth like Mr. Paul--you will excuse my speaking out; it is necessary -in such matters--but a clever, shrewd, long-headed man of the world, -and one, above all, who is constantly brought into contact with cases -such as Annette's. He will see what is the matter with her in the -course of the next interview they have, even if he has not discovered -it at once, or at all events the first time she has an attack, and--he -will tell his friend." - -"They must be kept apart; he must not see her any more." - -"Pshaw! that would excite suspicion--his, Paul's, every one's. No; -we must think it out quietly, and see what can be done for the best. -Meantime, Annette's state is greatly in our favour. She is wonderfully -good-tempered and docile, and if she does not get too much excited, we -may yet pass it off all well." - - -"Let her console herself with that idea," said Mrs. Stothard, when she -found herself alone in her own room, "if she is weak enough to find -consolation in it. Nothing will hide the truth from this man. I saw -that in the mere momentary glance I had of him last night. He will -detect Annette's madness, and will tax his father with the knowledge -of it; and the Doctor, hard though he is, won't be able to deceive his -son. And then up blows our fine Derinzy castle into the air! Won't it -blow up without that? Wait a minute, and let us just see how matters -stand--in regard to _my_ plans and _my_ future, I mean, not theirs. - -"Paul is still madly in love with Fanny. Since he has been here, he has -had two letters from her, addressed to him at the 'Lion,' under his -assumed name of 'Douglas.' I saw them when they fell from his pocket, -as he changed his coat in the hall the other day. So far, so good. -Then--this man Wainwright finds out that Annette is mad, and tells -Paul. Of course the young fellow declares off at once, only too glad to -do so, and Mrs. Derinzy's of the marriage are at an end. - -"Would Paul marry Fanny then? If left to himself he would; but -Wainwright, who they say has such immense influence over him, would -never permit it; would persuade him that he was disgracing himself, -talk about unequal alliances, and all that. - -"A dangerous man to have for an enemy! What is to be done? How is he -to be won over? Suppose--suppose he were to take a fancy to the girl -himself, mad as she is--such things have been, and she is certainly -fascinated with him--and I were to prove their friend! How would that -work out? I think something might be made of it." - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. -THE COLONEL'S CORRESPONDENT. - - -The pleasant house in Kent at which Colonel Orpington and his daughter -are staying is filled with agreeable company. Not merely young men who -are out shooting all day in the thick steaming coverts well preserved -with pheasants; not merely young women who are in the habit of carrying -on perpetual flirtation with the afore-named young men in language -intelligible to themselves alone, who look upon the Colonel as rather -a fogey, and who, as he confesses himself, bore him immensely, and are -very much deteriorated from the youth of his time; but several people -of his own age--club-hunting men who began life when he did, and have -pursued it much after the same fashion; and ladies who take interest in -all the talk and scandal and reminiscences of bygone years. - -The house is situated at such a little distance from town--some sixty -miles or so--that it is traversed in very little more than an hour -by the express train, which (the owner of the house is a director -of the railway) can be always stopped by signal at the very small -station nearest to it; so that the company is constantly changing, and -receiving fresh accessions, the coming guests being welcomed, and the -parting guests being speeded, after the ordinary recipe. - -But throughout the changes, Colonel Orpington and his daughter are -among the company who stay on; both of them are voted excellent -company, for the nights are beginning to grow long now, and the -dinner-hour has been fixed at seven instead of eight; and there is a -great talk of and preparation for certain amateur theatricals, of which -the Colonel, who is an old hand at such matters, is stage-manager and -principal director, and in which Miss Orpington is to take a leading -part. Much astonishment has been privately exhibited by certain of the -assembled people that that restlessness which generally characterised -"old O.," as he was familiarly termed amongst them, seemed to have -abated during his visit to Harbledown Hall; more especially has a calm -come over those horribly troublesome slate-quarries and lead-mines in -South Wales, which usually took the Colonel so frequently away from his -daughter and his friends. The matter is discussed in the smoking-room -late at night, long after the well-preserved Colonel has retired to his -rest; and Badger Bobus, who is come down to stay at Harbledown on the -first breath of there being any possibility of club-hunting, thinks -that he ought to keep up the reputation which he acquired by his famous -saying on the subject; but the Muse is unpropitious, and all that Bobus -can find to remark is, that "it is deuced extraordinary." - -The long interval which has now elapsed since her father found it -necessary to relieve her of his presence does not seem to have had much -effect upon Miss Orpington. Truth to tell, whether her revered parent -is or is not with her has now become a matter of very small moment with -that lady; and when her hostess congratulates herself in supposing that -her house must indeed be attractive when that dear Colonel consents -to remain there as a fixed star, Miss Orpington merely shrugs her -shoulders slightly and expresses no further acquiescence. - -Life has gone on in all this Arcadian simplicity for full five -weeks, when the appearance of the Colonel at the breakfast-table, -blue frock-coated and stiff-collared, instead of in the usual easy -garb adopted by him in the country of a morning, shows some intended -change in his proceedings. The wags of the household, Badger Bobus -and his set, are absent from the breakfast-table; for there was a -heavy billiard-match on the night before, and they were yet sleeping -off its effects. Nevertheless the change in the Colonel's costume is -not unobserved; but before a delicately-contrived question can be put -to extract its meaning, the Colonel himself announces that he has to -go to town for a day, and may possibly be prevented from returning -that night. Modified expressions of horror from the young ladies -and gentlemen about to act in the amateur theatricals, then close -impending--fears that everything will go wrong during the manager's -absence, and profound distrust of themselves without his suggestions -and experience. The Colonel takes these compliments very coolly--is -pretty nearly certain to be back that night; and his absence will -give them a chance of striking-out any new lights which may occur to -them, and which can be tendered for his acceptance on his return. Miss -Orpington, when appealed to to persuade her father not to be longer -away than is absolutely necessary, meets the matter with her usual -shoulder-shrug, and a calm declaration that in those matters she never -interferes, and papa always pleases himself. - -The Yorkshire baronet with money to whom she is engaged, and who does -not put in appearance until after the Colonel's announcement has been -made (he was one of the most interested in the billiard-match, and ran -Badger Bobus very hard at the last), is really delighted at the news. -He and the Colonel get on very well together--they are on the best of -terms both as regards present and prospective arrangements; but there -is, as Sir George Hawker remarks, something about the "old boy" which -did not "G" with his, Sir George's, notions of perfect comfort. - -Before the last of the dissipated ones has dropped-in to the dry bacon -and leathery toast, the remnants of the haddocks, and the _débris_ -of the breakfast, the Colonel is driving a dogcart to the station, -where the signal for the express to stop is already flying. The -equanimity which the old warrior has sustained in the presence of his -friends deserts him a little now when there is no one near him save a -stolid-faced groom who is gazing vacantly over the adjacent country. -His annoyance does not vent itself on the horse--he is too good a whip -for that--but he "pishes!" and "pshaws!" and is very short and sharp -with the groom demanding orders as he leaves his master at the station; -and when he has been sucked-up, as it were, into the train, which -is again thundering on its townward way, he takes a letter from his -pocket, and daintily adjusting his natty double-eyeglass on his nose, -reads it through and through. - -"This is the infernal nuisance of having to make women allies in -matters of this kind," says he softly to himself, laying down the -letter and looking out of the window. "They are always doing too much -or too little; anything like a _juste milieu_ seems to be utterly -impossible to them; and I cannot make out from this girl's rodomontade -nonsense whether she has not just overstepped her instructions, and -so spoiled what promised to be a remarkably pretty little plot. And -yet it was the only thing I could do, and she was the only available -person. It was a thousand pities that Clarisse was away from town at -the moment; for she is not merely thoroughly trustworthy, but always -has her wits about her." - -When the train arrives in London, the Colonel calls a cab, and is -driven to the Beaufort Club, which is still empty and deserted, and -where he asks the porter whether certain members, whom he names, had -been there lately. Among these names is that of Mr. Derinzy; and on -being answered in the negative, he brightens up a little and pursues -his way. This time the cabman is directed to drive to the Temple; and -at the Temple gates he stops and deposits his fare. - -There are symptoms of renewing life among the lawyers, for term-time -is coming on. As the Colonel steps down Middle Temple Lane, he passes -by long ladders, and has to skip out of the way of the shower of -whitewash and water which the painters, standing on them, scatter -refreshingly about. It is for Selden Buildings that Colonel Orpington -is making; and, arrived in that quiet little nook, where the hum of -the many-footed passing up and down Fleet Street sounds only like the -distant roar of the sea, he stops before the doorway of No. 5, and -after a rapid glance upwards, to assure himself that he is right, -enters the house, and climbs the dingy staircase. The clerks in the -attorney's office on the ground-floor seem to be in full swing; but the -oak on the first-floor, guarding the chambers where Tocsin, Q.C., gets -himself in training for gladiatorial practice, is closed, Tocsin being -still away. Arrived at the second-floor, the Colonel pauses to take -breath, the ascent having been a little steep. There are two doors, -one on either hand, and both are closed. After a moment's breathing -space, the Colonel turns to the one on the right, which bears the name -of "Mr. John Wilson," and after a short glance round, to see that he -is unobserved--it was scarcely worth the trouble, for he was most -certain there would be none there to see him--he takes a neat little -Bramah-key from his pocket, opens the oak, and entering, closes it -carefully behind him. There is nothing in the little hall but a stone -filter and a couple of empty champagne bottles. So the Colonel does -not linger there, but quickly passing through, opens the door in front -of him, and finds himself in a large room dimly lit, by reason of -the window-blinds being all pulled down. When these are raised--and -to raise them is the Colonel's first proceeding--he looks round him -with a shiver, lights a fire, which is already laid in the grate, and -carelessly glances round the apartment. Not like a lawyer's rooms -these; not like the office of a hardworking attorney, the chambers of -a hard-reading, many-brief-getting barrister; not like the chambers of -Tocsin, Q.C.--even though Tocsin notoriously goes in for luxury, and -affects to be a swell; no litter of many papers here, no big bundles -of briefs, no great sheets of parchment, no tin boxes painted with -resonant names (in most cases as fictitious as the drawers of Mr. Bob -Sawyer's chemist-shop), no legal library bound in calf, no wig-box, -no stuff-gown refreshingly dusted with powder hanging up behind the -door. Elegant furniture, more like that found in a Mayfair drawing-room -than in the purlieus of the Temple: long looking-glasses from floor to -ceiling, velvet-covered mantelpiece, china gimcrackery placed here and -there, easy-chairs and sofa; no writing-table, but a little davenport -of old black oak, a round dining-table capable of seating six persons, -a heavy sideboard also in black oak, and a dumb-waiter. Heavy cloth -curtains, relieved by an embroidered border, cover the windows; and on -the walls are proofs after Landseer. Thick dust is over all; and as the -fire is slow in lighting, the Colonel shivers again as he gives it a -vicious poke, and says to himself: - -"'Gad! there is a horrible air of banquet-halls deserted, and all that -kind of thing, about the place! It must be more than three months -since anyone was in it. When was the last time, by-the-way? Oh, when -I gave Grenville and Brown and Harriet that supper after the picnic." -The fire struggles up a little, but the Colonel still shivers. "I wish -I had told that old woman who attends to this place that Mr. Wilson -was likely to be here for an hour or two to-day, and wanted his fire -lit. I hope my young friend will be punctual. It is better down at -Harbledown than at this dreary place; and it wouldn't do for me to -show in town--not that there is anybody here to see me, I suppose. -Young Derinzy away still--that is good hearing; but what could she have -meant by 'things not looking very straight?' Always so confoundedly -enigmatical and mysterious in her writing. Perhaps she will be more -explicit when we meet face to face." Then, looking at his watch, "Let -me see--just two; and I have not time to get any luncheon anywhere; -that is to say, if she comes at the hour which I telegraphed to her." - -The fire is burning bravely now, and the Colonel is bending over it, -rejoicing in its warmth, when he hears a slight tinkling of a bell. He -looks up and listens. - -"'Gad! I forgot I had closed the oak," he says. "I come here so seldom, -that the ways of these places are still strange to me." (Tinkle again.) -"That must be my young friend." - -He rises leisurely, crosses the hall, and opens the door, and is -confronted by a tall young woman, rather flashily dressed, who lifts -her veil, and reveals the features of Miss Bella Merton, the clerk at -Mr. Kammerer's, the photographer. - -"Is Mr. Wilson in, sir?" asked the young lady, with a demure glance. - -"He is," said the Colonel; "and delighted to welcome you to his -rooms. Come in, my dear young lady; there is no necessity for either -of us acting a part now. You are very punctual, and in matters of -business--and ours is entirely a matter of business--that is a very -excellent sign." - -He led her into the room, pulled an arm-chair opposite the fire, and -handed her to it. - -"I scarcely know whether I am doing right in coming here, Colonel -Orpington," said Bella Merton--"by myself, you know, and alone with a -gentleman," she added, as if in reply to his wondering look. - -"I mentioned just now that there was no necessity for any nonsense -between us, Miss Merton," said the Colonel quietly, "and that we are -engaged on what is purely a matter of business. Let us understand -each other exactly. You are my agent, my paid agent--I don't wish to -hurt your feelings, but in business frankness is everything--to make -inquiries and act for me in a certain matter, and you have come here -to make me your report. There is no mystery about it so far as you are -concerned, except that you are to know me in it as Mr. Wilson; but you -will find, my dear Miss Merton, as you grow older, that in many of -the most important business transactions in the world the name of the -principal is not allowed to transpire. Do I make myself clear?" - -Miss Merton, though still young, has plenty of _savoir faire_. She -takes her cue at once; lays aside her giggling, demure, and blushing -friskiness, and comes to the point. - -"Perfectly, Mr. Wilson," she replied. "I received your telegram, and am -here obedient to it." - -"That is very right, very prompt, and very much to the purpose," says -the Colonel. "I ask you to meet me here, because in your note received -this morning you seem to intimate that things were not going quite as -comfortable as I could wish with our young friend--Fanny, I think you -call her. Is not that her name?" - -"Yes; Fanny Stafford." - -"Very well, then; in future we will always speak of her as Fanny, or -Miss Stafford, as occasion may require. Will you be good enough now to -enter into farther particulars?" - -"Well, you see, Mr. Wilson"--and the girl cannot help smiling as she -repeats his name, for Colonel Orpington looks so utterly unlike any -possible Mr. Wilson--"Fanny has grown dull and out of sorts lately; and -I cannot help thinking, from some words she has occasionally dropped, -that she is anxious to leave Madame Clarisse, and settle herself in -life." - -"I don't know that I should prove any obstacle to that," says the -Colonel; "it would depend, of course, on the manner in which she -proposed to settle herself." - -"Of course," says the girl, looking at him keenly; "that is just it; -and, if I may be excused for saying so, I don't think hers was in your -way." - -"Very likely not. Please understand you are to say everything and -anything that comes into your head and you think relates to the -business we have in hand. I imagine, from the hint in your letter, that -the gentleman of whom we have spoken, Mr. ----, how do you call him?" - -"Mr. Douglas--Paul Douglas." - -"Ay, Mr. Douglas--had come to town. On inquiry, I find this is not the -case." - -"No, but she hears from him constantly; and though she never shows -me his letters, I can gather from what she says that there has been -something in the last one or two of them which has upset her very much." - -"You have not the least idea what this something may be? Do you imagine -he proposes to break with her?" - -"On the contrary, I think she discovers that his love for her is -even deeper than she imagined, and I think that her conscience is -reproaching her a little in regard to him." - -The Colonel looks up astonished. - -"Who can have benefited by any lapse or waywardness of which these -conscience-stings can be the result?" he asks. "Not I for one." - -"I don't think anyone is benefited by them, Colonel Orpington," -says the girl, with a shadow on her face; "I am sure no one has in -the way you suggested. What I mean is this, that Fanny is naturally -discontented with her position, and anxious for riches, and fine -clothes, and a pretty home, and all that. Since I have talked to her -about you and the strong admiration you have for her, and your coming -after her photograph and giving Mr. Kammerer the heavy price he asked -for it, and constantly speaking to me about her, she has grown more -discontented still, I fancy; and we women can generally read each -others minds and guess at each other's ideas, principally from the fact -that we are all made use of and played upon in the same way, I imagine. -I fancy that Fanny thinks that she has not acted quite fairly towards -Paul Douglas since his absence; that all this talk about you has -lessened her regard for him, and led her to picture to herself -another future than that which she contemplated when he went away, -and---- Well, I have rather an idea that there is another disturbing -element in the matter." - -"'Gad!" says the Colonel, stroking his moustache thoughtfully, "there -seems to be quite enough complication as it is. What is it now?" - -"I fancy that a young man in her own station of life, bright, active, -and industrious, and likely to make a very good position for himself in -that station out of which he would never want to move--for he is proud -of it, and thoroughly self-reliant--is deeply smitten with Fanny, and -that she knows it." - -The Colonel looks up relieved. - -"I wouldn't give much for this young man's chance, pattern of all the -virtues though he may be. I don't think he is much in Miss Stafford's -line." - -"Perhaps not," says Bella Merton, "nor do I think he would be likely -to succeed, if Fanny had not several sides to her character. At all -events, whether he succeeds or not, the knowledge that he cares -for her, and that he is ready to open a new career for her, has an -irritating and upsetting effect upon her just now." - -The Colonel lit a cigar during the progress of this dialogue, and sat -smoking it thoughtfully. - -"Do you happen to know whether Madame Clarisse is in town?" he asks her -after a few minutes' pause. - -"I think I heard Fanny say that she came back from Paris last week," -replies Miss Merton; "yes, I am sure she did; for I recollect Fanny -telling me Madame had said that she might have a holiday, and I wanted -her to come away with me to get a change somewhere." - -"Quite right of you to throw yourself as much with her as possible; -but don't take her away just yet. You have given me most admirable -aid, Miss Merton, and have managed this affair with a delicacy and -discretion which do you infinite credit, and which I shall never -forget. Will you add to your favour?" - -"Willingly if I can, Colonel--I mean Mr. Wilson," says Bella, with a -blush. "How is it to be done?" - -"By getting yourself a dress, or mantle, or something of that new brown -colour which has just come into fashion, about which all the ladies are -raving, and which I am sure would become you admirably, and by wearing -it the next time I have the pleasure of receiving a visit from you," -says the Colonel, pressing a bank-note into his visitor's hand. "And -now goodbye. Not a word of thanks; I told you at the beginning this was -a mere matter of business; I am merely carrying out my words." - -"You wish me still to see Fanny, and to let you know anything that may -transpire?" asks Bella. - -"Certainly; though perhaps I may soon---- However, never mind; write -always to the same address, and keep me well informed." - -Miss Merton goes tripping through the Temple, in great delight at the -crisp little contents of her purse that she has just received from the -Colonel, and commanding great tribute of admiration from the attorneys' -clerks who catch glimpses of her through the grimy windows behind which -they are working; and Colonel Orpington, _alias_ Mr. John Wilson, sits -with his feet before him on the fender, smoking slowly, and cogitating -over all he has heard. - -It is dusk in the Temple precincts, though still bright light outside, -before he rises from his chair, flings the but-end of his last cigar -into the fire, and says to himself: - -"Yes, I think that I must now appear on the scene myself, and see how -the land lies with my own eyes. I wonder whether young Derinzy has -been playing this recent game from forethought or by accident. Deuced -clever move of his if he intended it; but I rather think it was all a -chance; such knowledge of life does not come to one until after a great -deal of experience, and he is a mere boy as yet. I don't think much -of what my young friend just now said about the tradesman, artisan, -or whatever the fellow may happen to be, though she seemed to have a -notion that he would prove dangerous. However, it will all work out in -time, I suppose. I won't stop in town to-night, now there is nothing -to be done; the house in Hill Street is all upset, and I will go back -to my comfortable quarters at Harbledown, and give those acting people -the benefit of my society. John Orpington," he says, looking at himself -in the glass over the mantelpiece, "you have come to a time of life -when rest is absolutely necessary for you, and you have got too much -good sense to ignore the fact; and as to Miss Fanny Stafford, well--_la -nuit forte conseil_--I will sleep upon all I have heard, and make up my -mind to-morrow morning." And so little excited or flurried is Colonel -Orpington by the events of the day, that when the down express is -stopped by signal at the little station, the guard, previously charged -to look out for him, finds the Colonel deep in slumber over his evening -newspaper. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. -WELL MET. - - -In her light and volatile way, Miss Bella Merton had made what was by -no means a wrong estimate of Daisy's state of mind; more especially -right was she in her conjecture that Paul Derinzy's absence had had -the effect of showing to Daisy the true state of her feelings towards -him, and that she found her heart much more complicated than she -had believed. She had been accustomed to those walks in Kensington -Gardens, which had become of almost daily occurrence, and she missed -them dreadfully. She had been accustomed to the soft words, the -tender speeches, to the little pettings and fondlings and delicate -attentions which her lover was always paying to her, and in her -solitude she hungered after them. True, his letters were all that a -girl in her position could desire--full of the kindest phrases and most -affectionate reminiscences, full of delight at the past and of hope for -the future; only, after all, they were but letters, and Daisy wearied -of his absence and longed for his return. - -In the dull dead season of the year, when everything was weary and -melancholy, when business was at such a standstill, that she had not -even the excitement of her work to carry off her thoughts in another -direction, the girl pondered over her lot, and the end of each period -of reflection found her heartily sick of it. How long was it to -endure? Was this daily slavery to go on for ever? Was she still to -live in a garret, to emerge from thence in the early morning to the -dull routine of business, to go through the daily toil of showing her -employer's wares to the listless customers, of enduring all their -vapid impertinences and senseless remarks, to superintend making up -the boxes and the sending-off of the parcels, and to return again to -the cheerless garret, weary, dispirited, and dead-beat? So that slight -glimpse of the promised land which had been accorded to her when she -first made up her mind that she would bring Paul's attentions to a -definite end, that marriage never to be perfectly realised while he -was with her, while she was in the daily habit of meeting him and -listening to his impassioned words, that future which she had depicted -to herself, seemed now perfectly possible of realisation, although -Paul had, as she was compelled to allow to herself, never held out -definite hopes of marrying her, but contented himself by dwelling on -the impossibility of any decadence in his love, or of his being able to -pass his life away from her. - -But since his absence in the country, these pleasant visions had -gradually faded and grown colourless. Thinking over the past, Daisy -was compelled to allow to herself that, though their acquaintance now -extended over some months, the great end to which she was looking -forward seemed as far off as ever. Who were those people of his, as he -called them? this family of whom he apparently stood in such awe? and -even if their consent were obtained, would Paul have courage enough to -fly in the face of the world by marrying a girl in a station of life -inferior to his own? The moral cowardice on this point she was aware -of; his weakness she knew. She had seen it in his avoidance of public -places when in her company, and the constant fright of detection which -he laboured under. She had taxed him with it, and he could not deny -it, but laughed it off as best he might. He even in laughing it off -had confessed that he stood in wholesome terror of Mrs. Grundy and all -the remarks which she and her compeers might make. Was this a feeling -likely to be effaced by time? She thought not. The older he grew the -less likely was he to care to defy the world's opinion, unsustained as -he would be by the first fierce strength of that love which alone could -spur him on to what was, in his eyes, a deed of such daring. - -And Daisy was in this position, that, however much she might seem to -talk and laugh with Bella Merton, she could not take that young person, -nor indeed any person of her own age, into her confidence. All the -counsel and advice which she had to rely on must come from her mother -alone, and Mrs. Stothard's advice was like herself, grim and very hard -and very worldly. From the first she had seemed much pleased with -Daisy's account of her relations with Paul. She had urged her daughter -to persevere in the course on which she had decided, and to lose no -opportunity for making the young man declare himself, so that they -might have some legal hold upon him. All this was to be done cautiously -and without hurry, so long as he continued as attached as he then -seemed to be. Daisy was cautioned against doing anything which might -alarm him; it was only if she perceived that he was relaxing in his -attentions that she was at once to endeavour to bring him to book. - -And though Daisy was fully aware that her more recent letters to her -mother, written since Paul's absence, had been influenced by the -dulness which that event had caused her, and were, in truth, anything -but reassuring productions, Mrs. Stothard's had never lost heart. They -were cheerful and hopeful; bade her daughter not to give way, as she -felt certain that all would be right in the end; and were full of a -spirit of gaiety which was little characteristic of the writer. - -And there were two other influences at work which tended to disturb -Daisy's peace of mind. Her acquaintance, Bella Merton, though -sufficiently social and volatile, had a singular knack of persistence -in carrying through any plan on which she might be engaged; and since -the subject was first mentioned at the little party in Augusta Manby's -rooms, she had taken advantage of every opportunity of being in -Daisy's company, to enlarge to her on Colonel Orpington's position and -generosity, and of the extraordinary admiration which he had professed -for Fanny's portrait and herself. - -These remarks were listened to by Daisy at first with unconcern, and -their perpetual iteration would probably have disgusted her, had not -Miss Merton been endowed with an unusual amount of feminine tact, and -thus enabled to serve them up in a manner which she thought would -be peculiarly palatable to her friend; so that Daisy found herself -not merely constantly listening to stories of Colonel Orpington when -she was in Miss Merton's company, but thinking a great deal of that -distinguished individual when she was alone. She had taken very little -notice of him on the day when he called in George Street with his -daughter, and could only recollect of his personal appearance that -it was gentlemanly and distinguished-looking; but she remembered -having noticed the keen way in which he looked at her, and one glance -of unmistakable admiration which he levelled at her as he followed -his daughter from the room. And he was very rich, was he? and very -generous--very generous? Why was Bella Merton always harping on his -generosity? why was she always talking in a vague way of hoping some -day to be able to introduce him formally? - -To Daisy there could be no misunderstanding about the purpose of -such an introduction, the girl thought, with flaming cheek; and the -recollection of Paul's delicacy came across her, and she felt enraged -with herself at ever having permitted Bella Merton to talk to her in -that fashion. And yet--and yet what was the remainder of her life to -be, Paul making no sign? She knew perfectly well that that little -tea-party in Dalston might, in another way, take rank as an epoch in -her life. She knew perfectly well that John Merton, who had always -admired her, that night had yielded up his heart, and she would not -have been surprised any day at receiving an offer of his hand. Was -that to be the end of it? Was she to pull down the image of Paul which -she worshipped so fondly, and erect that of homely John Merton in -its place? Was she to continue in very much the same style of life -which she was then leading, merely exchanging her garret for a room a -little less high, a little better furnished, but probably in a less -desirable part of the town? Was she to remain as a drudge--not indeed -to Madame Clarisse or any other employer, for she knew John Merton -was too high-spirited to think of allowing her to help towards their -mutual maintenance by her own labour--but still as a drudge in domestic -duties, in slavery for children and household, never to rise in the -social scale, never to know anything of those luxuries which she so -longed for? It was a bitter, bitter trial, and the more Daisy thought -it over--and the question was constantly present in her mind--the less -chance did she see of bringing it to a satisfactory conclusion. - -Although the professional people whose duties required their attendance -in town were beginning to come back, and bringing with them, of -course, their wives and families, the majority of Madame Clarisse's -more happily placed-customers yet remained in their country houses, -and there was still very little business doing at the establishment -in George Street. There were frequently times in the day when Daisy -had nothing to do, and she would take advantage of her leisure to go -out and get a breath of the bleak autumnal air. Madame Clarisse never -objected to these little excursions; indeed, encouraged them. For on -her return from France, she had noticed that her favourite Fanfan's -cheeks were looking very pale, and that her manner was listless and -dispirited, and that she plainly wanted a change. Madame was at first -disposed to insist on Fanfan's going away for a time to the country -or the seaside, and recruiting herself amid fresh scenes. But a -communication which she received about that period altered her views; -and she consequently contented herself by giving her assistant as many -hours' leisure as she conveniently could, taking care that this leisure -was fragmentary, and never to be enjoyed for longer than one afternoon -at a time. - -Daisy had an odd delight, when thus enabled to absent herself from -her duties, in visiting the old spot in Kensington Gardens, which had -been the scene of her walks with Paul. They had selected it on account -of its seclusion, but now there were fewer people there than ever; it -was too damp and cold any longer to be used as a place of recreation -by the children who formerly frequented it for its quietude and its -shade; and an occasional workman hurrying across the Park, or a keeper, -finding his occupation gone in the absence of the boys, gazing wearily -down the long vistas at the end of which the thick white fog was -already beginning to steam, were the only human creatures whom Daisy -encountered. - -She was astonished, therefore, one day on arriving at the end of the -well-known avenue, and turning to retrace her steps, to find herself -face to face with a gentleman who must evidently have made his approach -under cover of the trees, and who was close to her before she had heard -his footfall. - -She recognised him in an instant--Colonel Orpington. - -"I must ask your pardon for intruding on you, Miss Stafford," said the -Colonel, raising his hat, "and more especially for having come upon you -so suddenly, and caused, as I am afraid I see by your startled looks, -some annoyance; but though I have never had the pleasure of a personal -introduction, we have met before, and I believe you know who I am." - -His manner was perfectly easy and gentlemanly, but thoroughly -respectful withal; and though, as he had noticed, Daisy's first impulse -was to turn aside and leave him without a word, a moment's reflection -caused her to bow and say: - -"I believe I recognise Colonel Orpington." - -"Exactly; and in Colonel Orpington you see an unfortunate man who is -compelled, from what the begging-letter writers call in their flowery -language, 'circumstances over which he has no control,' to remain in -London at this horribly dismal time of year." - -Daisy was silent, but she smiled; and the Colonel proceeded: - -"I wandered into the Park and strolled up the Row, where there were -only three men, who were apparently endeavouring to see which could -hold on to their horses longest; and I was comparing the ghastliness -of to-day with the glory of last season--I need not quote to you, I am -sure, my dear Miss Stafford, that charming notion about a 'sorrow's -crown of sorrows,' which Mr. Tennyson so cleverly copied from Mr. -Dante, who thought of it first--when at the far end by the Serpentine -Bridge I got a glimpse of a form which I thought I recognised, and -which, if I may say so, has never been absent from my mind since I -first saw it. I made bold to follow it; and just now, on your turning -round, I found I was right in my conjectures. It was you.". - -He paused; but Daisy did not smile now, merely bowed stiffly, and moved -as though she would proceed. The Colonel moved at the same time. - -"I hope you are not annoyed at my freedom, Miss Stafford," said he. -"Believe me, at the smallest hint from you, I will rid you of my -presence this instant; but it does seem rather ridiculous that two -persons who, I think we are not flattering in saying, are calculated -to amuse one another at a time and in a place where they are as much -alone as the grand old gardener and his wife were in Paradise, should -avoid each other in an eminently British manner, simply because -conventionality does not recognise their meeting." - -This time Daisy smiled, almost laughed, as she said: "You will readily -understand, Colonel Orpington, that the rules of society have no great -hold upon me, who have never been in any position to be bound by them; -and I haven't the least objection to your walking part of the way with -me on my return to my employer's, if it at all pleases or amuses you to -do so." - -"It would give me the very greatest pleasure," said the Colonel; and -they walked on together. - -As Daisy looked up for an instant at the face of her companion and -thought of Paul, she could not help wondering at the contrast between -the two men: he with whom she had been in the habit of walking up and -down that avenue was always so thoroughly in earnest, his head bent -down in fond solicitude towards her, his eyes seeking hers, every -tone of his voice, every movement of his hands showing how deeply -interested he was in that one subject on which alone they talked; while -her present companion, though probably fully double Paul's age, walked -along gaily and blithely, his head erect, and his voice and manner as -light as his conversation. - -"This is really charming," said the Colonel. "I had not the least idea -of so pleasant an interview in my dull, dreary day. There is literally -not one soul in London of my acquaintance, except yourself, Miss -Stafford; and do you know, on reflection, I am rather glad of it." - -"Indeed! And why, Colonel Orpington?" - -"Because, don't you know, they say that people who in the whirl of the -season might be constantly coming into momentary contact, and then -carried away off somewhere else, never have the slightest opportunity -of really becoming acquainted with each other; whereas, when people -are thrown together at this time of year and this kind of way, there -is a chance of their discovering each other's best qualities, and thus -establishing an intimacy." - -Daisy laughed again--this time a rather hard, bitter laugh. - -"You forget, Colonel Orpington, you are talking to me now as though I -am one whom you are likely to meet in the whirl of the season, one with -whom you are likely to become on intimate terms." - -The Colonel looked grave. "I am thinking that you have the manners, the -appearance, and the education of a lady, Miss Stafford; you could have -nothing more," said he quietly. "And now, where are you bound for?" - -"I am going back to my employer's in George Street." - -"Ah, Madame Clarisse's, where I had first the pleasure of seeing you. -And does that still go on, Miss Stafford, every day.--that same work in -which I saw you engaged?" - -"Exactly the same, day after day," said Daisy, with a little sigh; "a -little less of it now, a little more of it another time, but always the -same." - -"'Gad, it must be dull," said the Colonel, pulling down the corners -of his mouth, "having to show a lot of gowns and things to pert young -misses and horrible old women, and listen to their wretched jargon. -Don't you sometimes feel inclined to tell them plainly what frights -they are, and how the fault, when they find fault, is not in the -thing--cap, ribbon, shawl, or whatever it may be--which they are trying -on, but in themselves?" - -"Madame Clarisse would scarcely thank me for that, I think," said -Daisy; "and I should rather repent my own folly when I found myself -without employment, and without recommendation necessary for getting -it." - -"Yes, of course, you are right," said the Colonel, "it would not do; -but the temptation must be awfully strong. I was thinking after I left -Clarisse's the other day, how astonished the hideous creatures who go -there must be when they find that the things which look so charming on -you when you were showing them off, so entirely lost their charm when -sent home to the persons who have purchased them. Like a fairy tale, -by Jove!" As he said this, Colonel Orpington cast a momentary glance -at his companion to see what effect his remarks had produced, and -was pleased to find that Daisy looked gratified. The next moment her -countenance clouded as she said: - -"It is not a very ennobling position, that of being an animated block -for showing the effect of milliner's wares, but I suppose there are -worse in the world." - -"Of course there are, my dear Miss Stafford; many worse, and a great -many better. It would be a dreary look-out, though, if you had no -brighter future in store for you." - -"It is a dreary look-out, then," said the girl, almost solemnly. - -"Don't say that," said the Colonel, moving a little closer towards her, -and slightly lowering his voice; "you mustn't talk in that manner; you -are depressed by the dull time, and the day, and this charming fog -which is now rising steadily around us. You don't imagine, I suppose, -that the rest of your life is to be spent at Madame Clarisse's?" - -"At Madame Clarisse's, or Madame Augustine's, or Madame somebody -else's, I suppose," said Daisy. - -"But have you no idea of setting-up in business for yourself?" asked -the Colonel. "It would not be any great position, but at all events it -would be better than this. At any time, I imagine, it is more pleasant -to drive than be driven." - -"I have never thought of it," said the girl; "the chance is so very -remote, it does not do to look forward. I find it is better to go on -simply from day to day, taking it all as it comes," said Daisy, with a -short laugh. - -"Now, my dear Miss Stafford, you really must not speak in that way. -I must take advantage of my being, unfortunately, a great deal older -than you, and having seen a great deal more of the world, to give -you a little advice, and to talk seriously to you. You are far too -young, and, permit me to add, far too beautiful, to hold such gloomy -and desponding views. From the little I have already had the pleasure -of seeing of you, I should say you were eminently calculated by the -charm--well, the charm of your appearance--for there is no denying -that with us ordinary denizens of the world, who are not philosophers, -a charming appearance goes a long way--and of your manners, you are -eminently calculated to make friends who would only be delighted at an -opportunity of serving you." - -"Such has not been my experience at present," said the girl. "I am -afraid that your desire to be polite has led you into error, Colonel -Orpington; I find no such friends as you describe." - -"I was mistaken," said the Colonel; "I thought there must be at least -one person who would have done anything for you." - -As he said these words, he looked sharply at her; and though Daisy's -eyes were downcast, she noticed the glance, and felt that she blushed -under it. - -"However, be that as it may," said the Colonel, "it will be my care to -see that you are unable to make that assertion henceforth. Believe me, -that this day you have made a friend whose greatest delight will be in -forwarding your every wish." - -He dropped his voice as he said these words, and let his hand for an -instant rest lightly on hers. - -"You are very kind," she said, "and I know I ought to be very -grateful--I ought." - -"You ought not to say another word, Miss Stafford," said the Colonel. -"When you are a little older and a little more experienced, you will -know that there is nothing more foolish than to be too ready with your -gratitude. Wait and see what comes. Think over what I have said, and -settle in your own mind in what way I can be of service to you; and -don't be angry with me for saying that you must not be afraid to take -me literally at my word. Fortune, who is so hard upon many excellent -and deserving people, has been especially kind to me, who don't deserve -anything at all, and I have much more money than I can spend upon -myself. Think over all I have said, and let me look forward to the -pleasure of seeing you in the same spot again to-morrow afternoon. Now -I will intrude upon you no longer. Goodbye." - -He touched her hand, took off his hat, and before Daisy could speak a -word, he had left her, and was retracing his steps across the Park. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. -SOUNDINGS. - - -Captain Derinzy did not experience so much satisfaction as he had -anticipated from Mr. George Wainwright's visit to the Tower. On the -first night of his arrival, his guest had listened to him with the -greatest patience and apparent delight. The Captain had told all -his old stories, repeated his _bon mots_--which were very brilliant -some dozen years before, but had lost a little of their glitter and -piquancy--and had aired the two subjects on which he was strongest--his -delight in London life, and his disgust at the place in which he was -then compelled to vegetate--to his own entire satisfaction. - -He had hoped for frequent renewals of these pleasant confabulations -during George Wainwright's stay; but the next morning Paul told his -father that he and his friend had matters of business to talk over; and -although George seemed willing, and even anxious, to give up portions -of his time occasionally to his host, he was so much in requisition -by Paul, by Annette, and even by Mrs. Stothard, that the poor Captain -found himself left as much as usual to his own devices, and wandered -about the beach and the cliffs, cursing his fate and his exile as -loudly as ever. But while he was thus excluded from the general -councils, a series of explanations seemed to be going on among the -other members of the household. - -"I want to speak to you, Martha," said Mrs. Derinzy, on the afternoon -of the day after the conversation last recorded had taken place. "I -have been thinking over what you said this morning, and I want you to -be more explicit about it." - -"About what portion of it?" asked Mrs. Stothard. - -"Well, about all; but more particularly what you said about my only -having chosen to give you half confidences. What did you mean by that?" - -"Exactly what I said. You're a clever woman, Mrs. Derinzy, but you -have made a great mistake in imagining that you could make me a -fellow-conspirator with you in a plot----" - -"Conspirator! plot!" cried Mrs. Derinzy, interrupting. - -"Exactly. A fellow-conspirator in a plot," said Mrs. Stothard -calmly--"I use the words advisedly--and yet only tell me a portion of -your intentions." - -"Will you be good enough to explain yourself, Mrs. Stothard?" said -Mrs. Derinzy, seating herself, and thereby asserting her superiority -in the only way possible over her servant, who knew so much, and was -apparently inclined to make a dangerous use of her knowledge. - -"Certainly," said Mrs. Stothard. "I am the only person in this place, -besides you and your husband, who knows that your niece Annette Derinzy -is subject to fits of lunacy. I say who _knows_ it; it may be suspected -more or less, though I don't think it is much. But I know it. The -fact is kept sedulously by you from all who are likely to be brought -in contact save the one physician who attends, and his visits are -accounted for by a pretext that you, and not Annette, are his patient. -If that is not a plot in which we are fellow-conspirators, I should -like to know what is." - -"Go on," said Mrs. Derinzy, in a low voice. - -"I am going on," said Mrs. Stothard, pitilessly. "The reason for your -concealing the fact that this girl is an occasional lunatic is, that -she is the heiress of a very large fortune, and that since the day on -which you first heard of her inheritance you determined that she should -marry your only son. For my discovery of this portion of the plot, I am -not indebted to you. It was the work entirely of my own observation. -You can say whether I am right in my conjecture or not." - -"Suppose you are, what then?" - -"Suppose I am! What is the use of beating about the bush in this absurd -way any longer? You know I am right. Now that you see the difficulty of -blinding your son any longer to his cousin's condition, and that he is -not weak enough to have been played upon to any extent, had it not been -for the influence which this newly-arrived friend has over him, you -find that you require my aid, and want my advice." - -Perhaps for the first time in her long scheming anxious life, Mrs. -Derinzy felt herself thoroughly prostrate. She hid her face in her -hands, and when she raised it, tears were streaming down her cheeks. -She made no further attempt at concealment of her feelings, but -murmured piteously, "What are we to do Martha--what are we to do?" - -Mrs. Stothard's hard face softened for a moment as she stepped towards -her, and touched her gently with her hand. - -"What are you to do!" she cried. "Not to give way like this, and throw -up all chance of winning the battle after so long and desperate a -fight. Let us think it over quietly, see exactly how matters stand, and -determine what can be done for the best." - -"He must never know it, Martha--he must never know it!" murmured Mrs. -Derinzy. - -"Who must never know what?" asked Mrs. Stothard, shortly. - -"Paul must never know that Annette is mad. If he finds it out, of -course all hope of his marrying her is at an end. And what will he -think of me for having deceived him?--of me, his mother, who did it all -for his good." - -"You must be rational, or it will be impossible to decide upon -anything," said Mrs. Stothard, who had relapsed into her grim state. -"As to Paul's not knowing, that is sheer nonsense. I told you long ago, -it was very unadvisable to have him down here at all. But he is not -very observant, and with proper care might have been easily gulled. -The girl was getting better, too--that is to say, there was a longer -interval between her attacks, and the matter might possibly have been -arranged. Now that Mr. George Wainwright has seen her, and is an inmate -of the same house with her, that hope is entirely at an end." - -"You think so, Martha?" - -"I am certain of it." - -"Then all my self-sacrifice, all my anxieties and schemings have been -thrown away, and I have no further care for life," said Mrs. Derinzy, -again bursting into tears. - -"You are relapsing into silliness again. Suppose Paul were told of his -cousin's illness, do you think he would definitely refuse to marry her?" - -"Instantly and for ever," said Mrs. Derinzy. - -"What! if the fact were notified by George Wainwright, who at the same -time hinted that though Annette had been insane, her disease was much -decreased in violence and frequency during the last few years, and in -the next few might possibly cease altogether? Would Paul, hearing all -this, and urged on by you, give up his notion of the fortune he would -enjoy with his wife--Paul, who is, as I have heard say, so fond of -pleasure and enjoyment, so imbued with a passion for spending money?" - -She paused, and Mrs. Derinzy looked at her in astonishment, then said: - -"Paul is weak and frivolous, but is no fool; he will not believe it." - -"Not if it is told him by his friend who has such influence over him, -and on whose integrity he relies so thoroughly?--not if it is told him -by Dr. Wainwright's son?" - -"He might if it were told him by Dr. Wainwright himself," said Mrs. -Derinzy, hesitating. - -"And don't you think that George Wainwright has sufficient influence -with his father to make him do as he wishes?" asked Mrs. Stothard. - -"Has anyone sufficient influence with George Wainwright to make him -help in our scheme?" - -"Time will show," said Mrs. Stothard. "Now that we understand each -other, I think you had better leave this affair wholly in my hands. You -know me well enough to be certain that I shall do my best to serve you." - -"That was the best way to settle it," said Mrs. Stothard to herself as -she walked towards her own room. "It was necessary to face it out--it -would have been impossible to make her believe that Paul could have -been kept in ignorance of the secret. And yet she is weak enough to -think a man like George Wainwright would suffer himself to take part -in such a wretched scheme as this, and compromise his own honour and -his friend's happiness! However, it will amuse her, and give me time -to mature my own plans. I rather think the notion that I hit on this -morning will be the best one to work out after all; the best one, that -is to say, for all I care--for Fanny and myself. Ah, who is this coming -in from the garden? 'Tis Mr. Wainwright. I wonder what he thinks of -me; his look last night was anything but flattering; now we shall see. -Goodmorning, sir." - -"Goodmorning to you, nurse; how is your charge this morning?" - -"My charge? Oh, you mean Miss Annette. She's very well indeed; I think -she seems to have benefited very much by the change which the arrival -of company has brought to the house." - -"Company! Mr. Paul can scarcely be considered company in his own home, -and I fear I am not much company." - -"It doesn't sound very flattering, Mr. Wainwright; but the mere sight -of a fresh face does us good in this dull place. I always tell Mrs. -Derinzy that my young lady wants rousing; and I am sure I am right, for -it is a long time since I have seen her look so bright as she does this -morning." - -"I am sure you are not sufficiently selfish as to keep all her -brightness to yourself, nurse," said George; "but I do not think Miss -Derinzy has yet left her room." - -"I am going to her now," said Mrs. Stothard, "to persuade her to take -a turn in the grounds before luncheon; if I may say you will accompany -her, Mr. Wainwright, I am sure she will come at once." - -"You may say that I will do so with the very greatest pleasure," said -George; and then, after Mrs. Stothard had left him, "A clever woman -that, and, if my ideas are correct, just the sort of person for that -place. What a wonderful position for them all down here, and how -extraordinarily well the secret has been preserved! The girl has a -singular charm about her, and yet Paul will be delighted at getting--as -I have very little doubt he will get--his release. Fancy wishing to be -released from---- What can have made that woman so civil to me this -morning? I thought I came down here for quiet, and I find that I must -not move or speak without previously exercising the most tremendous -caution. Ah, here is Miss Annette; how pretty and fresh she looks!" - -She did look wonderfully pretty in her tight-fitting violet-cashmere -dress, made high round her throat, with a small neat white collar and -cuffs, and with a violet ribbon in her hair. Her eyes were bright, -and her manner was frank and free as she walked straight up to George -Wainwright, and holding out her hand, gave him goodmorning. - -"Goodmorning, Miss Derinzy," said George; "you are late in coming -among us. I was just asking your servant what had become of you." - -"My servant! Oh, you mean Mrs. Stothard. Have you been talking to that -horrid woman? What has she been saying to you? - -"You mustn't call her a horrid woman; she has been speaking very nicely -of you, and said she would send you to take a turn in the grounds with -me; so I don't think her a horrid woman, of course." - -"She is a horrid woman, all the same," said Annette, "and I hate her; -though I shall like taking a turn in the grounds with you. Let us come -out at once. What a lovely morning!" - -"Yes," said George, as they stood on the steps, "but not lovely enough -for you to come out without a hat; the air is anything but warm." - -"It strikes cold to you Londoners," said Annette, laughing; and as she -laughed, her eyes sparkled and her colour came, and George could not -help thinking how remarkably pretty she looked; "but I do not feel it -one bit too fresh; I hate having anything on my head." - -"Do you never wear a hat?" - -"Only when I go into the village with Mrs. Derinzy, never here in the -grounds. I hate anything that weighs on my head or gives me any sense -of oppression there; always when I feel my head hot I think I am going -to be ill." - -"Ay, I was sorry to hear that you were so frequently an invalid," said -George. - -"Yes," said the girl, "I often think the house, instead of the Tower, -should be called the Hospital. Mrs. Derinzy, you know, is very often -ill; so ill sometimes, that Dr. Wainwright has to come from London to -see her." - -"So I have heard," said George. "Do you know my father?" - -"I have seen him very often when he has been down here to visit my -aunt." - -"He has never attended you, I suppose, Miss Derinzy?" asked George, -looking at her closely. - -"Dr. Wainwright attend me! Oh dear, no," said Annette; "there was never -any occasion for his doing so." - -"Like most unselfish people, you make light of your own troubles," said -George, "and exaggerate those of other people." - -"No, indeed," said Annette; "my ailments are trifles compared with -those of Mrs. Derinzy." - -"How do you feel when you are ill?" asked George. - -"What a curious man you are? what curious questions you ask! Why do you -take any interest in me and my ailments?" - -"In you, because--well, I can only say that I find you very -interesting," said George, with a smile; "and in your illness because -I am a doctor's son, you know, and understand something of a doctor's -work." - -"Well, I can scarcely call mine illnesses," said the girl; "for such -as they are, I and Mrs. Stothard--the woman you were just talking -to--manage them between us. I feel a sort of heavy burning sensation -in my brain, a buzzing in my ears, and a dimness of sight, and then I -faint away, and I know of nothing that happens, how the time goes by, -or what is said or done around me, until I come to myself, and feel, -oh, so horribly weak and tired!" - -"I told you you spoke too lightly of your own ailments, Miss Derinzy," -said George, with an earnest, passionate look; "and this account of -what you suffer seems to give me the idea that you require more skilled -treatment than can be afforded by Mrs. Stothard, kind though she may -be." - -"I didn't say she was kind," said the girl sullenly; "I hate her!" - -"Has my father never prescribed for you in one of these attacks?" - -"Never; and never shall!" - -"I hope you don't hate him too?" asked George with a smile. - -"I--I don't like him." - -"May I ask why not?" - -"I--I can't tell; but his prescribing for me would be of no use, he -could do me no good." - -"How can you tell that?" - -"Because he has happened to come down here by chance to see my aunt -when I have been ill, and of course if he could have cured me, they -would have asked him to do so." - -"Of course," said George. He looked at her steadily, but could glean -nothing from the expression on her face, and he changed the subject. -"You haven't seen Paul this morning?" - -"No, I see very little of him. Before he came down, my aunt talked -so much to me about his visit, and said he was so amusing and so -delightful, and that I should be so much pleased with him." - -"Well?" - -"Now you are asking me questions again. I intended to make you tell me -all about London and what the people do there; and we have been out -here for half an hour, and talked about nothing but myself. What did -you mean by 'Well'?" she added laughing. - -George laughed too. - -"I meant, and you found all Mrs. Derinzy's anticipations realised?" - -"Not the least in the world. I don't find my cousin amusing, and I am -sure he doesn't talk much; he walks about smoking a pipe and smoothing -his moustache with his fingers; and whenever one speaks to him, his -thoughts seem to be a long way off, and he has to call them back before -he answers you. I told my aunt he was like those people you read of in -books, who are in love." - -"What did she say to that?" - -"She smiled, and said she had noticed the same since Paul had been down -here, and that very likely that might be the reason." - -"You must not be hard on Paul," said George Wainwright, at the same -time frowning slightly; "if you knew him as well as I do, you would -think him the best fellow in the world." - -"I find that that is what is always said of people whom I don't care -about," said Annette, quietly. - -"My father, for instance," said George, with a laugh, "and Mrs. -Stothard." - -"Of Dr. Wainwright, certainly," said Annette. "My aunt and uncle are -never tired of proclaiming his praises; and my aunt has reasons, for -I believe it is to his skill that my aunt owes her life; but I never -heard anyone say anything good of Mrs. Stothard." - -"Poor Mrs. Stothard," said George. "She will most likely---- Ah, here -is the Captain." - -The gentleman strolling up the little white path which led over the -cliff to the sea was indeed Captain Derinzy, limping along and slashing -at the bushes with his cane in his usual military manner. He looked -very much astonished at seeing Annette walking with his guest, and did -not disguise his surprise. - -"Hallo!" he said, "you out here! Seldom you come out into the open air, -isn't it?--Be much better for her if she came out oftener, wouldn't -it, Wainwright? This is the stuff that they talk about in this country -life. Why, in London a girl goes out and rides in the Row twice a-day, -and walks and rides in Bond Street, and all that kind of thing, and -get's plenty of exercise, don't you know? Whereas in the country it is -so infernally dirty, and the roads are all so shamefully bad, and there -are such a set of roughs about--tramps and that kind of people--that -girls don't like going out; and yet they tell you that the country is -more healthy than London! All dam stuff!" - -"Well, Miss Derinzy's looks certainly do credit to the country, though -I regret to hear that they are not thoroughly to be relied on. She has -been telling me she suffers a great deal from illness." - -"Oh, has she?" said the Captain, looking up nervously; "the deuce she -has! Look here, Netty, don't you think you had better go in and dress -yourself for dinner, and that kind of thing? It is quite cold now, -and you haven't got any hat, and your aunt might make a row--I mean, -mightn't like it, you know. Run in, there's a good girl; we shall all -be in soon.-- Don't you go, Wainwright; I want to show you a view from -the top of that hill--the Beacon Hill, they call it; it's about the -only thing worth seeing in the whole infernal place." - -When Captain Derinzy went in to dress for dinner, he said to his wife: - -"It is a deuced good thing that I am a long-headed fellow and have -my wits about me, and all that kind of thing. I found this young -Wainwright walking with Annette, and he told me she had been telling -him about her illness and all that. So I thought it best to separate -'em at once; and I sent her off into the house, and took him away to -the Beacon Hill, though he seemed to me to be wanting to go after her -all the time." - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. -TWO IN PURSUIT. - - -The festivities of Harbledown Hall were at an end, the amateur -theatricals had been given--to the great delight of those performing -in them, and to the excessive misery of those witnessing them--on two -successive nights: the first to the invited neighbouring gentry, the -second to the tenantry and servants. The guests were dispersed to -various other country houses, and among them Miss Orpington and her -father had taken their departure; but not to the same destination: the -young lady, under the chaperonage of her aunt, was going to stay with -some people, the head of whose family was an eminent tea-broker in the -City, who, some years before, would not have been received into what -is called society, but who was now so enormously rich that society -found it could not possibly do without him. Society dined with him and -danced with him at his house in Hyde Park Gardens, invited his wife -and his daughter to all sorts of entertainments during the season, -voted his two ugly dumpy sons the pleasantest fellows in Europe, and -went regularly to stay with him during the autumn at his most charming -country place at Brookside near Hastings. - -As an acknowledgment of all these kindnesses the tea-broker had caused -himself to be put into Parliament, and took his place with tolerable -punctuality amongst the conscript fathers, never failing in obedience -to the suggestions of the whip of his party, and, when he was not in -the smoking-room, sleeping the sleep of the righteous on the back -benches of the House. - -The party at Brookside promised this year to be a particularly -agreeable one; and as Miss Orpington had arranged for an introduction -with the Yorkshire baronet with money, and that gentleman saw his way -to unlimited sport during the day and unlimited flirtation during the -evening, they agreed to console themselves even for the absence of the -young lady's papa. - -For Colonel Orpington was not going to Brookside. His daughter, as he -said, had her aunt to look after her, and her intended to amuse her; -and though there was nothing to be said against Skegby--that being the -name of the tea-broker--who was a very good fellow, a self-made man, -honour to British commerce, and that kind of thing, and was received -everywhere, yet there were some people going to Brookside that the -Colonel didn't care about meeting; and so, as the house in Hill Street -was ready, he should go and take up his quarters there for a time--at -all events until he had occasion to inspect the works and quarries in -South Wales. - -All his friends being still away from London, it was natural that -the Colonel should seek for consolation in the resources of that new -acquaintance which he had so recently made. He had met Fanny Stafford -several times in the Park, and she had so far relaxed from her rigid -formality as to accept two or three little dinners from him, as good -as his taste could command and Verrey could supply, at which Madame -Clarisse was always present. - -That worthy lady's interest in her assistant seemed to have increased -very much since her return from Paris. She was always insisting on -Fanny's taking half-holidays, giving up work now and again, and coming -into her private rooms for a meal and a chat; and in that chat, which -was entirely one-sided and carried on solely by Madame Clarisse, the -theme was always the same--the misery of work and poverty, the glory of -idleness and riches, the folly, the worse than folly, almost crime, of -those who spend their life in toil, and neglect to clutch the golden -opportunity which comes to most all of us when we are young, and comes -but once. - -With these remarks--which might have seemed sententious in anyone else, -but which Madame Clarisse put so aptly and so deftly, with such quaint -illustrations, sounding quainter still in the broken English with which -she interlarded her discourse, as to render it amusing--was often -mixed a series of running comments on Colonel Orpington, which were -laudatory, but in which the praise was laid on with a very skilful hand. - -It is due to the Colonel to say that he left all mention of himself, -whether laudatory or otherwise, to Madame Clarisse, and this was one of -the greatest reasons for which Daisy liked him. - -Beyond referring occasionally to his originally expressed desire to -see the girl removed into some better position than that which she -then occupied, and his readiness to help her in the achievement of -such a position, Colonel Orpington never seemed to have any object -in his never-failing pursuit of the girl's acquaintance beyond the -perfectly legitimate one of amusing himself and her, and making the -time pass pleasantly for them both. He was always gay, always cheerful, -always full of good-humoured talk and anecdote, but at the same time -always strictly respectful and well-bred in his conversation and in -his manner. He treated the milliner's assistant with as much courtesy -as he would bestow upon a duchess; and it was only in his occasional -colloquies with Madame Clarisse that he permitted himself the use of -phrases which but few of his compatriots would have understood, and -which even in France would have been more easily intelligible in the -Rue de Bréda than in the Faubourg St. Germain. - -And what were Daisy's feelings towards Colonel Orpington? Did she -really love or care for him? Not one whit. - -Had she forgotten Paul and all their long walks and talks, all the -devotion which he had proffered her, all her acknowledgments of regard -for him? Had his image faded out of her heart during his absence, and -was it there replaced by another and less worthy one? Not the least -in the world; only that the absence of her lover had given the girl -breathing space, as it were, to look around her, and to estimate her -present position and her future chances at their actual value. And when -thus seriously estimated, she found that the devotion which Paul had -proffered her was, to her thinking, not worth very much; it was not -sufficient to induce him to pledge himself to marry her: it was not -sufficient to induce him boldly to defy the opinion of the world, and -break off those shackles of family and society by which he was bound -hand and foot; it was only sufficient for him to give up a certain -portion of his time to be passed in her company, which was after all a -sufficiently selfish pleasure, as it pleased him as much as it did her. -And then, after all, what was to be the result? - -In the early days of their acquaintance, before he knew the character -of the girl he had to deal with, Paul had given certain hints which -Daisy had rigidly ignored, or when compelled to hear them, had -forbidden to be repeated; but since then they had been going on in -a vague purposeless way; and though the boy-and-girl attachment, -the stolen meetings, the letters, and the knowledge that they loved -each other, were in themselves sufficient, and would last for ever, -due consideration gave Daisy no clue to the probable result of that -connection. And yet she loved Paul; had no idea how much she loved him -until she was thinking over what her future, what a portion of her -future at least, might be if passed with somebody else. - -If passed with somebody else? There could be no doubt about what was -intended, though he had never said a word, or given the slightest hint. -The conversation of her employer--who, as Daisy was clear-headed and -keen-witted enough to see, was in the Colonel's confidence--was full of -subtle meaning. No need for the Frenchwoman to enlarge to Daisy on what -she meant by the golden opportunity; no need for her to dwell upon the -comforts and luxuries which were easily procurable by her--the dresses -and equipages, the pomps and vanities which so many wasted their lives -in endeavouring to obtain, and which might be hers at once. - -Hers; and with them what? A life of shame, a career such as she had -regarded always with loathing and horror; such as she had told her -mother that, whatever temptation might assail her, she had sufficient -courage and strength of mind to avoid. And such a life, not with -a young lover, the warmth of whose passion, whatever might be its -depth, it was impossible to deny, but with a man no longer young, who -pretended to no sentiment for her beyond admiration, and who, polished, -courteous, and gentlemanly as he was, would probably look upon her as -any other appanage of his wealth and position, and care for her no more. - -And yet, and yet were they to go on for ever--the long days of -drudgery, the nights in the cheerless garret, the weary existence -with the one ray of hope which illumined it, the love for Paul, soon -necessarily to be quenched for ever? She could not bear to think of -that. Should she give it up, fling all to the winds, tell her lover on -his return, which she was now daily expecting, that she could stand it -no longer; bid him take her and do with her as he willed--marry her -or not, as he chose, but let her feel that there was something worth -living for, some bond of union which, legal or illegal, lessened the -hard exigences of daily life, and took something of the grimness off -the aspect of the world? - -She was mad! Was that to be the end of all her cultivated coldness -and self-restraint? Had she quietly, if not cheerfully, accepted the -wretched life which she had been leading so long, with the one aim of -establishing for herself a position, and was she now going to undo -all that she had so patiently planned and so weariedly carried out in -one moment of headstrong passion? Was the position which she hoped to -acquire, for which she had so earnestly striven, to prove to be that -of a poor man's mistress, where everything would have been lost and -nothing gained? Nothing gained! Nothing? not Paul's love? No, she had -that now; and she was quite sufficient woman of the world to know that -in the chance of such a contingency as she had contemplated, she might -not be long in losing it. - -As the time for Paul Derinzy's return approached, Daisy became more -and more unsettled. It would seem as though Colonel Orpington had been -made aware of the speedily anticipated reappearance on the scene of one -who might be considered his rival; and, indeed, Miss Bella Merton had -been several times recently to Mr. Wilson's chambers in the Temple, and -held long conversations with the occupant thereof. As he was more than -usually assiduous in his attentions to Fanny, she, Madame Clarisse, had -accompanied them once or twice to the theatre; and on one occasion, -when the Frenchwoman had declared that Fanfan was dying for fresh -air--it was one morning after the girl had passed a sleepless night -in thinking over all the difficulties that beset her future, and she -looked very pale and weary-eyed----the Colonel had placed his brougham -at the disposal of the ladies, and insisted on their driving down in -it to Richmond, whither he proceeded on horseback, and had luncheon -provided for them on arrival at the hotel. - -More assiduous, but not more particular beyond telling her laughingly -one day that he should speedily ask her for an interview, at which he -should ask her consent to a little project that he intended to carry -out, the Colonel's conversation was of his usual ordinary light kind; -but Madame Clarisse's hints were more subtle than ever, and Daisy could -not fail to have some notion of what the project to be proposed at the -suggested interview might be. - -One Sunday morning--Paul was to come up from Devonshire that night, and -had written her a wild letter full of rhapsodical delight at the idea -of seeing her again the next day--Daisy was seated in her room. - -Her little well-worn writing-desk was open, the paper was before -her, the pen lay ready to her hand; but the girl was leaning back in -her chair, and wondering how much or how little of the actual state -of affairs she ought to describe in the letter to her mother which -she was then about to write; for it had come to that, that there was -concealment between them. Of her acquaintance with Colonel Orpington, -Daisy had breathed never a word; while on her side Mrs. Stothard had -carefully concealed the fact, that she was an inmate of the house which -was the home of her daughter's lover, where at the time he was actually -staying. - -Daisy was roused from her deliberation by a rap at the door, and by the -immediate entrance of Mrs. Gillot, her landlady, who told her that a -gentleman wished to see her. - -It was come at last then, this interview at which all was to be decided! - -Daisy felt her face flush, and knew that Mrs. Gillot remarked it. - -"A gentleman!" she repeated. - -"Ay, a gentleman," said the worthy woman; "and one of the right sort -too, or you may depend upon it I wouldn't have had him shown into my -front parlour, where he now is. Not but what you can take care of -yourself, Miss Fanny, and I trust you to give any jackanapes a regular -good setting-down, with your quiet look, and your calm voice, and your -none-of-your-impudence manner; but this is a gentleman, and when I -showed him into the parlour, I told him I was sure you would see him." - -"I will come directly, Mrs. Gillot." - -She rose, took a hasty glance in the little scrap of looking-glass, and -descended the stairs. - -Her heart beat highly as she laid her hand upon the parlour-door. -It resumed its normal rate or pulsation as the door opened beneath -her touch, and she saw, standing before her on the hearth-rug, the -unexpected figure of John Merton. - -Something in her face when she first recognised him, something in the -tone of her voice, some note of surprise and disappointment when she -bade him goodmorning, must have betrayed itself, for he said hurriedly: - -"You did not expect to see me, Miss Stafford." - -"I confess I did not; but of course I am very glad. I--I hope Bella is -quite well?" - -"Bella is very well, I believe." - -"Have you brought me some message from her?" - -"No, indeed. She does not even know I was coming here." - -There was a pause, then he said: - -"I suppose you do not think I have taken a liberty in calling on you, -Miss Stafford?" - -"Oh dear, no! I have known you so long, and your sister is such an -intimate acquaintance of mine, that I could not be anything of that -sort. What makes you ask?" - -"Well, you looked so--so surprised at seeing me." - -"I was surprised at seeing anyone. No one ever comes here after me." - -"No?" said John Merton, interrogatively, and his face seemed to -brighten as he said it. - -"No," said Daisy; "and my landlady must have been as much astonished as -I am. You must have made a very favourable impression on her to obtain -admittance." - -"Mrs. Gillot is a very old friend of mine," said John Merton. "She has -known me since I was a boy; but I should not have presumed upon that -acquaintance to ask for you, nor indeed, Miss Stafford, should I have -ventured to come here at all, if I had not something very particular to -say to you." - -"Very particular to say to me!" - -"To say to you something so special and particular, that your answer to -it may change the course of my whole life. I must ask you to listen to -me, Miss Stafford. I won't keep you a minute longer than I can help." - -Daisy bowed her head in acquiescence. She had taken a seat, but he -remained standing before her, half leaning over towards her, with one -hand on the table. - -Poor John Merton! The girl's eyes rested on that hand, with its great -thick red fingers and coarse knuckles and clumsy wrist; and then they -travelled up the shiny sleeve of his black coat, and over his blue silk -gold-sprigged tie to his good-looking face shining with soap, and his -jet-black hair glistening with grease. And then she dropped her eyes, -and inwardly shuddered, comparing them with the hands and features of -two other people of her acquaintance. - -"You said just now," said John Merton, in rather a husky voice, "that -you were not annoyed at my calling upon you, because you had known me -so long, and because you were so intimate with my sister. I think I -might allege those two reasons as the cause of my being here now. All -the time I have known you I have had but one feeling towards you, and -all that I have heard my sister say of you--and she seems never to be -talking of anybody else--has deepened and concentrated that feeling. -What that feeling is," continued John, "I don't think I need try to -explain. I don't think I could if I tried, unless--unless I were to say -that I would lay down my life to save you from an ache or a pain, that -I worship the very ground you tread on, and that I look upon you like -an angel from heaven!" - -His voice shook as he said these words; but the fervour which possessed -him lit up his features; and as Daisy stole an upward glance at him, -and saw his pleading eyes and working mouth, she forgot the homeliness -of his appearance, and wondered how her most recent thoughts about him -had ever found a place in her mind. - -He caught something of her feeling, and said quickly, "You are not -angry with me?" - -She shook her head in dissent. - -"You mustn't be that," he said, "whatever answer you may give me. I -know how inferior I am to you in every possible way. I know, I can't -help knowing, I could not help hearing even at that girl's the other -evening, the last time we met, how you were noticed and admired by -people in a very different position from mine: have known this and -borne it all, and never spoken--shouldn't have spoken now, but that -there is come a chance in my life which I must either accept or -relinquish, and I want you to decide it for me." - -"You want me to decide it!" - -"You, and you alone can do it. This is how it comes about, Miss -Stafford. You know I am what they call a 'counterjumper,'" said -he, with a little bitter laugh; "but I know, that though it is a -distinction without a difference, I suppose, to those who are not -in the trade, I am one of the first hands with perhaps the largest -silk-mercers in London, and I have been taken frequently abroad by -one of the firm when he has gone to buy goods in a foreign market. I -must have pleased them, I suppose, for now they are going to set up an -agency in Lyons; and they have offered it to me, and I shall take it if -you will come with me as my wife." - -He paused, and Daisy was silent. - -After a minute, he said hurriedly: - -"You don't speak. It is not a bad thing pecuniarily. They would make -it about three hundred a year, I think, and I should get very good -introductions, and it would be like beginning life again for both -of us. I thought it would be a good chance of shaking off any old -associations; and as the position would be tolerable, it would be only -me--myself, I mean--that you would have to put up with, and---- You -don't speak still! I haven't offended you?" - -She looked up at him. Her face was very pale, and her hands fluttered -nervously before her; but there was no break in her voice as she said: - -"Offended me! You have done me the greatest honour in your power, and -you talk about offence! You must not ask me for an answer now; I cannot -give it; the whole thing has been so sudden. I will think it over, -and write to you in a day or two at most. Meantime, I think it would -be advisable for both our sakes that you should not speak of what has -occurred, even to your sister." - -"Of course not," he said; "anything you wish. And you tell me that I -may hope?" - -"I did not quite say that," she said with a smile. "I told you you must -wait for my reply. You shall have it very soon. Now, goodbye." - -She held out her hand to him, and he took it in his own--which again -looked horribly red and common, she thought--then he just touched it -with his lips, and he was gone. - -"Another element, a third element in the confusion," said Daisy to -herself as she reascended the stairs to her room; "but one not so -difficult to deal with as the others." - - - - -CHAPTER XX. -FARTHER SOUNDINGS. - - -It was not likely that a man of George Wainwright's intelligence -and habits of observation could remain long domesticated in a -household like that of the Derinzys', without speedily reading the -characteristics of its various members. - -In a very little time after his arrival, the young man--whose manners -were so quiet and sedate as to lead Captain Derinzy to hint to his wife -that he thought Wainwright rather a muff--had reckoned up his host -and knew exactly the amount of vanity, silliness, and ignorance which -so largely swayed the estimable gentleman; had gauged Mrs. Derinzy's -scheming worldliness, knew why it originated and at what it aimed; had -thoroughly solved the problem, so difficult to all others, of Mrs. -Stothard's position in the house; and knew exactly the character of the -malady under which Annette was suffering. - -He ought to have known more about Annette than about anybody else, -for nine-tenths of his time--all, indeed, that he could spare from -the somewhat assiduous attentions of his host--were given to her. He -walked with her, made long explorations of the neighbouring cliffs, -long expeditions inland among the lovely Devonshire lanes, lovelier -still with the fiery hue of autumn, and even induced her to join him -and Paul in sundry boat-excursions, where, well wrapped up in rugs and -tarpaulins, she lay on the flush-deck of the little fishing-smack, half -frightened, half filled with childlike glee at her novel experience. - -Paul had often laughed and said to their common associates, "When old -George is caught, you may depend upon it, it will be a very desperate -case." - -And "old George" was caught now, Paul thought, and thought rightly: -the delicacy, the good nature, the sweet womanly graces of the girl -showing ever and anon between her sufferings--for during George's stay -at Beachborough, Annette had been free from any regular attack, yet -from time to time there were threatenings of the coming storm which -were perfectly perceptible to his experienced eye--nay, perhaps the -very fact of the malady under which she laboured, and the position in -which she was placed, had had strong influence over George Wainwright's -honest heart. As for Paul, he was so thoroughly astonished at the -change which had taken place in his cousin since George's arrival, -and at the wonderful pains and trouble which George himself took to -interest and amuse Annette, that this wonderment entirely filled so -much of his time as was not devoted to thinking of Daisy. He wondered -and pondered, and at last the conviction grew strong upon him, that -George must be in love. - -At first he laughed at the idea. The sober, steady, almost grave man, -who had such large experience of life, and who yet had managed to steer -clear, so far as Paul knew, of anything like a flirtation. Flirtation, -indeed, would be the last thing to which his friend would stoop, "when -old George is caught." Something, perhaps, also--"for pride attends us -still"--was due to the fact that Annette always showed the greatest -desire for his company, and undisguised delight at his attention and -admiration. Never in the course of her previous life had the girl -met with anyone who seemed so completely to comprehend her, whose -talk she could so readily understand, whose manner was so completely -fascinating, and yet somehow always commanded her respect. She despised -her uncle, she disliked her aunt, and hated Mrs. Stothard though she -feared her; but in the slow and painful workings of that brain she felt -that if at those--those dreadful times when semi-blankness fell upon -her, and her perception of all that was going on was dim, and obscure, -and confused--if at such a time George Wainwright were to order her -to do anything in opposition to the promptings of that devil, which -on those occasions possessed her, she felt she should be powerless to -disobey him. - -"I can't make it out, George; upon my soul, I can't," said Paul, as -they were walking along the edge of the cliffs one morning smoking -their pipes after breakfast. - -"What is it that puzzles your great brain, and that prompts to such -strong utterances?" asked George, laughing. - -"You know perfectly well what I mean. You needn't try to be deceitful -in your old age," said Paul; "for deceit is a thing which I don't think -you would easily learn, and at all events does not go well with hair -which is turning white at the temples, and a beard which is beginning -to grizzle, Mr. Wainwright. You know perfectly well that I am alluding -to the attentions which you are paying to my cousin, Miss Derinzy. And -I should be glad to know, sir," continued Paul, vainly endeavouring to -suppress the broad grin which was spreading over his face, "I should -be glad to know, sir, how you reconcile your conduct with your notions -of honour, knowing, as you perfectly well do, that that lady is my -affianced bride." - -"Don't be an ass, Paul," said George, smiling in his turn. "I dispute -both your assertions, especially the last. The lady is nothing of the -kind." - -"No, poor dear child, that she certainly isn't. And I think on the -whole that it is a very good thing that my affections are engaged in -another quarter; for I am perfectly sure that, however much I might -have wished it, Annette would never have had anything to say to me. I -endeavoured to make my mother understand that, when she first talked to -me on the subject when you first came down here; but she seemed to look -upon Annette's wishes as having very little to do with the matter." - -"Mrs. Derinzy's state of health possibly makes her take an exceptional -view of affairs," said George, looking hard at his friend. - -"Well, I declare I don't know about her state of health," said -Paul. "I confess that, beyond a little peevishness, which is partly -constitutional, I suppose, and partly brought on by having lived so -many years with the governor--good old fellow the governor, but an -awful nuisance to have to be with constantly--I don't see that there -is much the matter with my mother. Have you ever heard your father say -anything about her illness, George?" - -"My father is remarkably reticent in professional matters," said -George. "I have never heard him speak about any illness in this house." - -"Oh, of course, it was only about my mother that he could say -anything," said Paul; "for the governor never has anything the matter -with him, except a touch of sciatica now and then in his game leg; and -Annette's seems to be--you know--one of those chronic cases which never -come to much, and which no doctor can ever do any good to." - -"I suppose you won't be sorry to get back to town, Master Paul?" - -"I suppose you will be sorry to leave here, Master George? No; indeed, -I am rather glad the end of my leave is coming on; no intended bad -compliment to you, old fellow; your stay here has been the greatest -delight to me; but the fact is, I am getting rather anxious about that -young person in London, and shall be very glad to see her again." - -George looked up at him with a comical face. - -"You don't mean to say that since Theseus's departure, Ariadne has----" - -"I mean to say nothing of the sort," said Paul, turning very red. -"Daisy is the best girl in the world; but I don't know, somehow I don't -think her letters have been quite as jolly lately--the last two, I -mean; there is something in them which I can't exactly make out, and -there is not something in them which I have generally found there; so -that after all, as I said before, I shall be glad when I get back." - -"Has Mrs. Derinzy said anything more to you on the subject which -you wrote to me about?" asked George, with a very bad attempt at -indifference. - -"No," said Paul; "she has begun it once or twice, but something has -always intervened." - -"Have you any idea that she has given up her intention of getting you -to marry Miss Annette?" - -"I fear not; I fear that her intention remains just the same, and -that I shall have an immense deal of trouble in combating it. You -see, events have changed since your arrival here, my dear George. -But speaking dispassionately together, I don't see what line I can -take with my mother in declining to propose for Annette, except the -straightforward one that I won't do it. It seems highly ridiculous -for a man in a government office, and with only the reversion of a -sufficiently snug, but certainly not overwhelming, income in prospect, -to refuse the chance of an enormous fortune, and the hand of a very -pretty girl, who, as Mr. Swiveller says, has been expressly growing up -for me." - -"Yes," said George, reflectively, "I quite see what you mean; it will -be a difficult task. But you intend to carry it through?" - -"Most decidedly. Nothing would induce me to break with--with that young -person in London; and if she were to break with me, God knows it would -half kill me. I don't think I could solace myself by taking a wife with -a lot of money, even if I could be such a ruffian as to attempt it." - -So from this and fifty other conversations of a similar nature--for -the theme was one which always engrossed his mind, and was constantly -rising to his tongue--George Wainwright knew that there would be no -obstacle to his love for Annette so far as Paul Derinzy was concerned. -That young man had no care for his cousin even without the knowledge -of the dreadful secret, which must be known to him some day, and the -revelation of which would inevitably settle his resolution to decline a -compliance with his mother's prayer. - -That dreadful secret, always up-rearing its ghastly form in the path -which otherwise was so smooth and so straight for George Wainwright's -happiness! All his cogitations came to one invariable result--there -could be no other explanation of it all. The illness which she -herself could not explain, which came upon her from time to time, and -during which she sank away from ordinary into mere blank existence, -emerging therefrom with no knowledge of what she had gone through; the -mysterious woman, half nurse, half keeper, who watched so constantly -and so grimly over her? the manner in which all questions touching -upon the girl's illness were shirked by every member of the household; -the delusion so assiduously kept up, under which Mrs. Derinzy and not -her niece was made to appear as the sufferer; above all, the constant -visits of his father--all these proved to George that the disorder -under which Annette Derinzy laboured was insanity, and nothing else. - -And the more he thought of it, the more terrified was he at the idea. -Familiarity with mental disease, intercourse with those labouring under -it, had by no means softened its terrors to George Wainwright. True, he -had no physical fear in connection with the mere vulgar fright which is -usually felt with "mad people." He had no experience of that; but he -had seen so much of the gradual growth of the disorder; had so often -marked the helpless, hopeless state into which those suffering under it -fell--silently indeed, but surely--that he had come to regard it with -greater terror than the fiercest fever or the deadliest plague. - -And now, when for the first time in his life he had fixed his -affections on a girl who seemed likely to return his passion, and who -in every other way was calculated to form the charm of his home and -the happiness of his fireside, he had to acknowledge to himself that -she was afflicted with this dreadful malady. It was impossible to -palter with the question; he had tried to do so a thousand times; but -his strong common sense would not be juggled with. And there the dread -fact remained--the girl he loved was frequently liable to attacks of -insanity. He must face that, look at it steadily, and see what could be -done. Could she be cured? - -Ah! how well he knew the futility of such a hope! How many instances -had he seen in his father's house of patients whose disease was not of -nearly such long standing as Annette's, had indeed only just begun, -and who were in a few days, or weeks, or months at the farthest, to be -restored, with all their faculties calmed and renewed, to their anxious -friends!--and how many of them remained there now, or had been removed -to other asylums, in the hope that change might effect that restoration -which skill and science had failed in bringing about! - -The last day of their stay had arrived, and on the morrow George was -to accompany his friend back to London. The Captain was out for his -usual ramble, Paul was closeted with his mother, and George was sitting -in the little room which, owing to the few books possessed by the -family gathered together in it, was dignified by the name of a "study," -and which overlooked a splendid view of the bay. He was standing at -the window, gazing out over the broad expanse of water, thinking how -strangely the usually calm-flowing current of his life had been vexed -and ruffled since his arrival there, wondering what steps he could -take towards the solution of the difficulty under which he laboured, -and what would be the final end of it all, when he heard a door close -gently behind him, and looking round, saw Annette by his side. - -"I am so glad I've found you, Mr. George," she said, looking up at him -frankly, and putting out her hand (she always called him "Mr. George" -now; she had told him she hated to use his surname, it reminded her -of disagreeable things), "I am so glad I've found you. Mrs. Stothard -reminded me that it was your last day here, and said I ought to make -the most of it." - -"Mrs. Stothard said that?" asked George, with uplifted eyebrows; "I -would sooner it had been your own idea, Miss Annette." - -"The truth is, I think I am a little vexed at the notion of your -going," said the girl. - -"Come, that is much better," said George, with a smile. - -"No, no, I mean what I say; I am very, very sorry that you are going -away." As she said this her voice, apparently involuntarily, dropped -into a soft caressing tone, and her eyes were fixed on him with an -earnest expression of regard. - -"It is very pleasing to me to be able to know that my presence or -absence causes you any emotion," said George. - -"I have been so happy since you have been here," said the girl; "you -are so different from anybody else I have ever met before. You seem to -understand me so much better than any one else, to take so much more -interest in me, and to be so much more intelligible yourself; your -manner is different from that of other people; and there is something -in the tone of your voice which I cannot explain, but which perfectly -thrills me." - -"I declare you will make me vain, Annette." - -"That would be impossible; you could not be vain, Mr. George--you are -far too sensible and good. It is singular to see how wonderfully well I -have been since you have been here. On the morning after your arrival -I felt as though I were going to have one of my wretched attacks, and -Mrs. Stothard said it was because I had talked too much, and been too -much excited the previous evening. But it passed off; and though I -don't think I have ever talked so much to anyone in my life before, and -certainly was never so interested in anyone's conversation, there has -been no recurrence of it, and I have been perfectly well." - -The bright look had passed away from George's face, and he was -regarding her now with earnest eyes. - -"If I thought that had actually been accomplished by my presence, I -should be happy indeed; more happy in expectation of the future than in -thinking over the past." - -"In expectation of the future!" repeated the girl, pondering over the -words. "Oh yes, surely; you are going away now, but you will come again -to walk with me, and to talk with me; and you are only going away for a -time. How strange I never thought of this before." - -As she said these words she crept closer to him; and he, bending down, -took her small white hand between his, and looked into her face with a -long gaze of deep compassion and great love. - -"Yes, Annette," he said, "I will come again, and I hope before very -long. You must understand that this time, these past few weeks, have -been quite as happy to me as you say they have been to you; that if -you have found me different from anyone you have ever known, I, in my -turn, have never seen anyone like you--anyone in whom I could take such -interest, for whom I could do so much." - -He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly, and at that -moment the door opened, and Paul entered hurriedly. He gave a short low -whistle as he marked the group before him, then advancing hurriedly, he -said: - -"George, it is all over, my boy; the storm we have been expecting -so long has burst at last. My mother and I have just had a very bad -quarter of an hour together." - -During the foregoing conversation Mrs. Stothard, sitting in her room, -heard the sound of the spring-bell which was suspended over her bed; -the handle of this bell was in Mrs. Derinzy's apartments, and it -was only used under exceptional circumstances, such as at times of -Annette's illness, or when Mrs. Derinzy required instant communication -with the nurse. - -Mrs. Stothard heard the sound, but seemed in no way greatly influenced -thereby; she looked up very calmly, saying to herself, "I suppose some -climax has arrived; the departure of this young man was sure to bring -it about. She has been fidgety lately, I have noticed, at the constant -attention Mr. Wainwright has paid to Annette, and at the evident -delight with which the girl has received the attentions. That bids -fair to go exactly as I could have wished it. But there is some hitch -in the other arrangement, I fear, from the little I could overhear of -what he said to his friend the other day about Fanny; it must have been -about Fanny, although he called her by some other name which I couldn't -catch. He seemed nervously anxious about her, and appears to think that -his absence from town has weakened her affection for him. That ought -not to be, and that is not at all like Fanny's tactics; though there -is something wrong, I fear, for I have not heard from her for some -time, and her last letter was scarcely satisfactory. Yes, yes," she -added impatiently, as the bell sounded again, "I am coming. It seems -impossible for you, Mrs. Derinzy, to bear the burden of your trouble -alone, even for five minutes." - -When she entered the room, she found Mrs. Derinzy lying on the sofa -with her head buried in the pillow; she was moaning and sobbing -hysterically, and rocking her body to and fro. - -"Are you ill?" asked Mrs. Stothard, calmly, as she took up her position -at the end of the sofa, and surveyed her mistress without any apparent -emotion. - -"Yes, very ill, very ill indeed--half broken and crushed," cried Mrs. -Derinzy. "It is too hard, Martha, it is too hard to have to go through -what I have suffered, and to have all one's hopes blighted by the -wilfulness of one for whom I have toiled and slaved so hard and so -long." - -"You mean Mr. Paul," said Mrs. Stothard. "I suppose that, -notwithstanding my strong advice to the contrary, you have persisted in -your determination, and asked him, before leaving to return to London, -to give his answer about your project?" - -"Yes," sobbed Mrs. Derinzy, "I have. I had him in here just now, and -I went over it all again. I told him how, when I first heard of that -ridiculous will which his uncle Paul had made, I determined that the -fortune which ought to have been left to my boy, should become his -somehow or other; how I had decided upon the marriage with Annette; how -for all these years I had worked to compass it and bring it about: and -how, now the time had arrived when the marriage ought to take place----" - -"You didn't tell him anything about Annette's illness?" asked Mrs. -Stothard, interrupting. - -"Of course not, Martha," said Mrs. Derinzy, raising her head and -looking angrily at the nurse; "how could you ask such a ridiculous -question?" - -"It is no matter, he will know it soon enough," said Mrs. Stothard, -quietly. "Well, he refused?" - -"He did," said Mrs. Derinzy, again bursting into tears, "like a wicked -and ungrateful boy as he is; he refused decidedly." - -"Did he give any reason?" asked Mrs. Stothard. - -"He said that he had other views and intentions," said Mrs. Derinzy. -"He talked in a grand theatrical kind of way about some passion that he -had for somebody, and his heart, and a vast amount of nonsense of that -kind." - -"He is in love with somebody else, then?" asked Mrs. Stothard, looking -hard at her mistress. - -"So I gather from what he said; but I wouldn't listen to him for a -moment on that subject. I told him I would get his father to speak to -him, and that I myself would speak to his friend Mr. Wainwright, who -appears to me never to leave Annette's side." - -"So much the better for the chance of carrying out your wishes," said -Mrs. Stothard, grimly. "That is to a certain extent my doing; I knew -that Mr. Wainwright would be appealed to in this matter, and I thought -it advisable that he should have just as much influence with Annette as -he has with Paul; not that I think you can in the least rely upon his -recommending his friend to fall in with your views." - -"You don't think he will?" - -"I don't, indeed. Though he has given no sign, I should be very much -astonished if he don't completely master the mystery of the girl's -illness; and if so, it is not likely he would recommend this scheme -to his friend without showing him exactly the details of the bargain -proposed." - -"Bargain, indeed, Martha!" - -"It is a bargain and nothing else, as you know very well, and you and I -may as well call things by their plain names. What do you propose to do -now?" - -"I told Paul I would give him a couple of months in which to think it -over finally; at the end of that time we shall go to town for a few -weeks, for I really believe Captain Derinzy will go out of his mind -if we have not some change, and there will be no danger now in taking -Annette with us. Then Paul will have had ample time to discuss it with -Mr. Wainwright, and on his decision will of course depend how our -future lives are to be passed." - -"If Mr. Paul is still obstinate, you think there will be no further -occasion to keep Miss Annette in seclusion?" asked Mrs. Stothard. - -"Miss Annette will be nothing to me, then," said Mrs. Derinzy, "except -that if she marries anyone else without Captain Derinzy's consent, she -loses all her fortune; and I will take care that that consent is not -very easily given." - -"That is a new element in the affair," said Mrs. Stothard to herself, -as she walked back to her room; "but not one which is likely to prove -an impediment to my friend the philosopher here." - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. -FATHER AND SON. - - -Notwithstanding there was a most excellent understanding between George -Wainwright and his father, and as much affection as usually subsists -between men similarly related, they saw very little of each other, -although inhabiting, as it were, the same house. They had scarcely any -tastes or pursuits in common. When not engaged in actual practice, in -study, or communicating the result of that study to the world, Dr. -Wainwright liked to enjoy his life, and did enjoy it in a perfectly -reputable manner, but very thoroughly. He read the last new novel, and -went to the last new play of which people in society were talking; -he dined, out with tolerable frequency; and took care never to miss -putting in an appearance at certain _salons_, where the announcement of -his name was heard with satisfaction, and at which the announcement of -his presence in the next morning's newspaper was calculated to do him -service. - -The Doctor had the highest respect and a very deep regard for his son, -whose acquirements he did not undervalue, but with whose tastes he -could not sympathise; so it was that they comparatively very seldom -met; and though on the occasions of their meeting there was always -great cordiality on both sides, the relations between them were more -those of friends than of kinsmen, more especially such nearly allied -kinsmen as parent and child. - -On the second evening after his return from Beachborough, George -Wainwright dined at his club, and instead of going home as was almost -his invariable custom, turned up St. James's Street with the intention -of proceeding to his father's rooms in the Albany. - -It was a dull muggy November night, and George shuddered as he made -his way through the streets and walked into the hospitable arcade, at -the door of which the gold-laced porter stood in astonishment at the -unfamiliar apparition of Dr. Wainwright's son. - -"The Doctor's in, and alone, sir, I think," said he, in reply to -George's inquiry. "The same rooms, however--3 in Z; he has not moved -since you were last here." - -George nodded, and passed on. On his arrival at his father's rooms, -which were on the first-floor, he found the oak sported; but he knew -that this really meant nothing, it being the Doctor's habit to show -"out," as it were, against any chance callers; while, if he were -within, the initiated could always obtain admission by a peculiar -knock. This knock George gave at once, and speedily heard the sound -of someone moving within. Presently the doors were opened and Dr. -Wainwright appeared on the threshold; he held a reading-lamp in his -hand, which he raised above his head as he peered into the face of his -visitor. - -"George!" he cried, after an instant's scrutiny, "this is a surprise. -Come in, my dear boy. How damp you are, and what a wretched night! Come -in and make yourself comfortable." - -"I am not disturbing you, father. I hope?" said George, as he followed -the Doctor into the room. "As usual, you are in the thick of it, I -see," he continued, while pointing to a pile of books, some open, some -closed, with special passages marked in them by pieces of paper hanging -out of the edges, and to a mass of manuscript on the Doctor's blotting -pad. - -"Not a bit, my dear boy, not a bit," said the Doctor; "I was merely -demolishing old Dilsworth's preposterous theories as regards puerperal -insanity. By-the-way, you should look at his pamphlet, George; you -know quite sufficient of the subject to comprehend in an instant what -an idiot he makes of himself; indeed, I should be quite glad to escape -from his unsound premises and ridiculous conclusions into the region of -common sense." - -"You are looking very well," said George; "your hard work does not seem -to do you any harm." - -"No, indeed, my dear boy; the harder I work, the better I feel, I -think; but I take a little more relaxation than I did, and I like to -have things comfortable about me." - -The Doctor gave a careless glance round the room as he spoke. He -certainly had things comfortable there: the paper was a dark green; all -the furniture was in black oak--not Wardour Street, nor manufactured in -the desolate region of the Curtain Road in Shoreditch, but real black -oak, the spoil of country mansions whose owners had gone to grief, and -labourers' cottages, the tenants of which did not know the value of -their possession, and were not proof against the blandishments of the -Hebrew emissary, who was so flattering with his tongue and so ready -with his cash. On the walls hung a large painting of a nude figure by -Etty, supported on either side by a glowing landscape by Turner and -a breezy sea-scape by Stanfield. A noble old bookcase stood in one -corner of the room, filled with literature of all kinds--for the Doctor -was an omnivorous reader, and could have passed an examination as to -the characters and qualities of the three leading serials of the day, -as well as in the secular and professional volumes which filled his -lower shelves; while at the other end of the room a huge sideboard was -covered with glass, from heavy _moyen-âge_ Bohemian to the thinnest and -lightest productions of the modern blower's art. - -"What will you take?" asked the Doctor. "Like myself, you are not much -of a drinker, I know; but, like myself, you understand and appreciate -a little of what is really excellent. Now, on that sideboard there are -sherry, claret, and brandy, for all of which I can vouch. A little -of the latter with some iced water?--the refrigerator is outside. -Nothing? Ah, I forgot, you are dying for your smoke after dinner. Smoke -away here, my boy; no one ever comes to these chambers who would be -frightened at the anti-professional odour; and as for me, I rather like -the smell of a pipe, and especially delight in seeing your enjoyment of -it; so fire away." - -George lit his pipe, and both the men pulled their easy-chairs in front -of the fire. There was an undeniable likeness between them in feature -as well as in figure, though the elder man was so much more _soigné_, -so much better got-up, so much better preserved than the younger. - -"I have been away for some time," said George, after a few puffs at his -pipe; "as perhaps you know." - -"Oh yes, I found it out very soon after your departure, from the -desolation which seemed to have fallen upon the house down yonder. -Nurses and patients joined in one chorus of regret; and as for poor old -Madame Vaughan, she seemed actually to forget the loss of the child -she has been bewailing for so many years in her intense sorrow at your -departure." - -"Poor dear _maman_!" said George, with a smile; "I feared she would -miss me and my nightly visits very much. It's so long since I went -away that I imagine I was regarded as a permanent fixture in the -establishment." - -"I confess I looked upon you in that light very much myself, George," -said the Doctor, "and after your departure felt what Mr. Browning calls -the 'conscience prick and memory smart' at not having previously asked -why and where you were going. It is rather late to pretend any interest -now you have returned, but still I would ask where you have been and -why you went." - -"I have been staying with some people who are friends of yours down in -the west." - -"Down in the west you have been staying?" said the Doctor. "Whom do I -know down in the west? Penruddock--Bulteel--Holdsworth?" - -"Not so far west as where those people you have just named live," said -George. "I have been staying with the Derinzys." - -"The Derinzys!" - -And the Doctor's eyebrows went up into his large forehead, and his -usually calm face expressed intense astonishment. - -After a few minutes' pause, he said: - -"Ah, I forgot. Young Derinzy is a colleague of yours, and a chum, I -think I have heard you say." - -"Yes; it was on his invitation I went down to stay with his people. He -was there on leave himself at the time." - -"Ah!" said the Doctor, who had recovered his equanimity. "And what did -you think of his people, as you call them?" - -"They were very pleasant, kind, and unaffected, and thoroughly -hospitable," said George. "Mrs. Derinzy is said to be in bad health. -I understand that you have been occasionally summoned down there on -consultation, sir?" - -He looked hard at his father; but the Doctor's face was unmoved. - -"Yes," he said quietly, "I remember having been down there once or -twice." - -"To visit Mrs. Derinzy?" - -"I was sent for to visit Mrs. Derinzy." - -George paused for a moment, then he said: - -"I saw a good deal of a young lady who seems to be domesticated -there--a niece of the family, as I understand--Miss Annette." - -"Ah, indeed! You saw a good deal of Miss Annette? And what did you -think of her?" - -"I thought her charming. You have seen her?" - -"Oh yes, I have seen her frequently." - -"And what is your impression?" - -"The same as yours; Miss Annette is very charming." - -The two men formed a curious contrast. George had laid by his pipe -and was leaning over an arm of his chair, looking eagerly and -scrutinisingly in his father's face; the Doctor lay back at his length, -his comfortable dressing-gown wrapped around him, his slippered feet on -the fender, his eyes fixed on the fire, while he gently tapped the palm -of one hand with an ivory paper-knife which he held in the other. - -"Father," said George Wainwright, suddenly rising and standing on the -rug before the fire, "I want to talk to you about Annette Derinzy." - -"My dear George," said the Doctor, without changing his position, "I -shall be very happy to talk to you about any inmate of that house; -always respecting professional confidences recollect, George." - -"You must hear me to the end first, sir, and then you will see what -confidences you choose to give to, and what to withhold from, me. -Whatever may be your decision I shall, of course, cheerfully abide by; -but it is rather an important matter, as you will find before I have -finished, and I look to you for assistance and advice in it." - -There was such an earnestness in the tone in which George spoke these -last words, that the Doctor raised himself from his lounging position -and regarded his son with astonishment. - -"My dear boy," said he, putting out his hands and grasping his son's -warmly, "you may depend on having both to the utmost extent of my -power. We don't see much of each other, and we don't make much parade -of parental and filial affection; but I don't think we like each other -the less for that; and I know that I am very proud of you, and only too -delighted to have any opportunity--you give me very few--of being of -service to you. Now speak." - -"You never told me you knew the Derinzys, father." - -"My dear boy, I don't suppose I have ever mentioned the names of -one-third of the persons whom I know professionally in your hearing." - -"But you knew Paul was my friend." - -"Exactly," said the Doctor, with a smile, "and in my knowledge of that -fact you might perhaps find the reason of my silence." - -"Ah!" said George, "of course I see now; it is no use beating about the -bush any longer; I must come to it at last, and may as well do so at -once. You will tell me, won't you? Is Annette Derinzy mad?" - -The Doctor was not the least disturbed by the question, nor by the -excited manner--so different from George's usual calm--in which it was -put. He looked up steadily as he replied: - -"Yes; I should say decidedly yes, in the broad and general acceptation -of the word; for people are called mad who are occasionally subjects of -mental hallucination, and at other times are remarkably clear-sighted -and keen-witted, Miss Derinzy is one of these." - -"Have you attended her?" - -"For some years." - -"And she has always been subject to these attacks?" - -"Ever since I knew her. I was, of course, at first called in to her on -account of them." - -"Your attendance on Mrs. Derinzy has been merely a pretext?" - -"Exactly; a pretext invented by the family and not by me." - -"Have you any reason for imagining why this pretext was made?" - -"They wished to keep everyone in ignorance of Miss Derinzy's state, and -asked me to procure a trustworthy person whom I could recommend as her -nurse----" - -"Ah, Mrs. Stothard?" - -"Exactly; Mrs. Stothard--you have made her acquaintance too?--and to -visit the young lady from time to time." - -"And you were asked to keep the fact of your visits from me?" - -"Certainly. The Derinzys were aware that you were in the same office -with their son, and were most desirous that his cousin's state should -be concealed from him, above all others. Why, I never thought proper to -inquire." - -"I know the reason," said George, with half a sigh. "Do you think that -this dreadful disease under which Miss Derinzy suffers is progressing -or decreasing?" - -"I am scarcely in a position to say," said the Doctor. "Were she in -London, or in any place easy of access, I should be better able to -judge; but now I only visit her periodically, and even that by no means -regularly, merely when I have a day or two which I can steal, so that I -cannot judge of the increase or decrease, or of the extent of delirium. -However, the last time I was there--yes, the last time--I happened to -be present when one of the attacks supervened, and it was very strong, -very strong indeed." - -There was another pause, and then the Doctor said lightly: - -"I think I may put you into the 'box' now, George, and ask you a few -questions. You saw a great deal of Miss Derinzy, you say?" - -"Yes; we were together every day." - -"And you deduced your opinion of her mental state from your observation -of her?" - -"Not entirely." - -"Of course you got no hint from any of the family, not even from -Captain Derinzy himself, who is sufficiently stupid and garrulous?" -said the Doctor, with a recollection of his last visit to Beachborough, -and the familiarity under which he had writhed. - -"No, from none of them; and certainly not from Miss Derinzy's manner, -which, though unusually artless and childlike, decidedly bore no trace -of insanity." - -"But, my dear boy, you must have had your suspicions, or you would not -have asked me the questions so plainly. How did these suspicions arise?" - -"From Annette's description of her illness--of her symptoms at the time -of attack, the blank which fell upon her, and her sensations on her -recovery; from the mere fact of Mrs. Stothard's presence there--itself -sufficient evidence to any one accustomed to persons of Mrs. Stothard's -class--and from words and hints which Mrs. Stothard--whether -with or without intention, I have never yet been able to -determine--occasionally let drop; from other facts which accidentally -came to my knowledge, but of which I think you are ignorant, and which -I think it is not important that you should know." - -"For a superficial observer you have made a remarkable diagnosis -of the case, George," said the Doctor, regarding his son with calm -appreciation; "it is a thousand pities you did not take to the -profession." - -"Thank God, I didn't," said the son; "even as it is I have seen enough -of it--or, at least, I should have said 'Thank God' two months ago; -now, I almost wish I had." - -"You would like to have taken up this case?" - -"I should." - -"You would like to have cured your friend's cousin?" - -"I should indeed." - -"My dear George," said the Doctor, with a smile, "I think, as I just -said, it is a great pity that you did not take up the profession. -You have a certain talent, and great powers of reading the human -mind, but you are given to desultory studies and pursuits; and your -picture-painting, piano-playing, and German philosophy, all charming -as they are, would have led you away from the one study on which a man -in our profession must concentrate his every thought. I don't think, -my dear George, that you would have been a better--well, what common -people call a better 'mad doctor' than your father; I don't think the -'old man' would have been beaten by the 'boy' in this instance." - -"I am sure not, sir; I never thought that for an instant: it was not -that which prompted me to say what I did. Do I understand from your -last remark that Miss Derinzy's disease is beyond your cure?" - -"In my opinion, beyond any one's cure, my dear George." - -"God help me!" And George groaned and covered his face with his hands. - -The Doctor sprang to his feet, and stepping across to where George sat, -laid his hand tenderly on his head. - -"My dear boy," said he, "my dear George, what does all this mean?" - -"Nothing, father," said George, raising his head, and shaking himself -together, as it were, "nothing, father--nothing, at least, which should -lead a man to make a fool of himself; but your last words were rather a -shock to me, for I love Annette Derinzy, and I had hoped----" - -"You love Annette Derinzy! You, whom we have all laughed at so long for -your celibate notions, to have fallen in love now, and with Annette -Derinzy! My poor boy, this is a bad business--a very bad business, -indeed. I don't see what is to be done to comfort you." - -"Nor I, father, nor I. You distinctly say there is no hope of her cure?" - -"Speaking so far as I can judge, there is none. If she were under -my special care for a certain number of weeks, so that I saw her -daily--Bah! I am talking as I might do to the friends of a patient. -To you, my dear George, I say it would be of no use. It is a horrible -verdict, but a true one--she can never be cured." - -George was silent for a minute; then he said: - -"Would there be any use in having a consultation?" - -"My dear boy, not the slightest in the world. I will meet anyone that -could be named. If this were a professional case, I should insist on a -consultation, and the family apothecary would probably call in this old -fool whose pamphlet I am just reviewing--Dilsworth, I mean, or Tokely, -or Whittaker, or one of them; but I don't mind saying to my own son, -that I am perfectly certain I know more than any of these men of my -peculiar subject, and that, except for the mere sake of differing, they -always in such consultations take their cue from me." - -Another pause; then George said, his face suddenly lighting up: - -"One moment, sir. I have some sort of recollection, when I was a -student at Bonn, hearing of some German doctor who had achieved a -marvellous reputation for having effected certain cures in insane cases -which had been given up by everyone else." - -"You mean old Hildebrand of Derrendorf," said the Doctor. "Yes, he was -really a wonderful man, and did some extraordinary things. I never met -him; but his cases were reported in the medical journals here, and made -a great sensation at the time; but that is ten or twelve years ago, and -I recollect hearing since that he had retired from practice. I should -think by this time he must be dead." - -"Then there is no hope," said George, sadly. - -"I fear none," said his father. "If Hildebrand were alive, there would -be no chance of his undertaking the case; for if I recollect rightly, -he had always determined on retiring from the profession as soon as -he had amassed a certain amount of money, which would enable him to -pursue his studies in quiet. He was an eccentric genius too--one -of the rough-and-ready school, they said, and particularly harsh -and unpleasant in his manners. I recollect there was a joke that he -frightened people into their wits, as other patients were frightened -out of theirs by their doctors; so that he would scarcely do for Miss -Annette, even if we could command his services. By-the-way, of course -there was no seizure while you were in the house?" - -"Nothing of the kind. She was, as I said, perfectly calm and tranquil, -and wonderfully artless and childlike." - -"Yes; she remains the ruin of what would have been a most charming -creature. That 'little rift within the lute,' as Tennyson has it, has -marred all the melody. By-the-way, you said you knew the reason of Mrs. -Derinzy's having impressed upon me the necessity of silence in regard -to my visits there. What was it?" - -"There is no secret in it now. Mrs. Derinzy always intended that her -son Paul should marry his cousin." - -"I see it all! An heiress, is she not, to an enormous property? A very -good thing for her son." - -"Ah! that was why, ever since symptoms of the girl's mental malady -first began to develop themselves, the boy was kept away at school, -even during the holidays, on some pretence or another; and why, since -he has been at the Stannaries Office, he has, up to this time, always -gone abroad or to stay with some friends on his leave of absence." - -"Exactly. The secret has been well kept from him. And do you mean to -say he does not know it now?" - -"At this moment he hasn't the least idea of it." - -"Then your friend is also your rival, my poor George?" - -"No, indeed. Paul does not care in the least for Annette, and he is -deeply pledged in another quarter. It was with a view of aiding him in -extricating himself from the engagement which his mother was pressing -upon him that he asked me down to the Tower." - -"As neat a complication as could possibly be," said the Doctor. - -"There is only one person whose way out seems to me tolerably clear," -said George, "and that is Paul. See here, father; I am neither of an -age nor of a temperament to rave about my love, or to make much purple -demonstration about anything. I shall not yet give up the idea that -Annette Derinzy can be cured of the mental disease under which she -suffers; and in saying this, I do not doubt your talent nor the truth -of what you have said to me; but I have a kind of inward feeling that -something will eventually be done to bring her right, and that I shall -be the means of its accomplishment. I would not take this upon myself -unless my position were duly authorised. I need not tell you--I am your -son--that nothing would induce me to move in the matter, if my doing so -involved the least breach of loyalty to Paul, the least breach of faith -to his father or mother; but before I take a single step, I shall get -from him a repetition of his decision, already twice or thrice given, -in declining to become a suitor for Annette's hand; and armed with -this, I shall seek an interview with his father and mother, and explain -his position and my own." - -"And then?" said the Doctor, with a grave face. - -"And then, _qui vivra verra_." - -"Well, George," said his father, laying his hand affectionately again -on his son's head, "you know I wish you God speed. You have plenty of -talent and endurance and pluck; and, Heaven knows, you will have need -of them all." - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. -L'HOMME PROPOSE. - - -One morning in the early winter, Colonel Orpington walked into the -Beaufort Club, and taking his letters from the hall-porter as he -passed, entered the coffee-room and took possession of the table which -for many years he had been accustomed to regard as almost his own. - -There was no occasion for him to order any breakfast, so well were his -ways known in that establishment, of which he was not merely one of the -oldest, but one of the most conspicuous of the members. The officers of -the household, from Riboulet the _chef_ and Woodman the house-steward -down to the smallest page-boys, all held the Colonel in very wholesome -reverence; and amongst the twelve hundred members on the books, the -behests of none were more speedily obeyed than his. - -While the repast was preparing, Colonel Orpington glanced over the -envelopes of the letters which he had taken from the porter and -laid on the table in military order before him. They are many and -various: heavy official-looking letters, thin-papered missives from -the Continent, and two or three delicate little notes. The Colonel -selects one of these last, which is addressed in an obviously foreign -hand, though bearing a London post-mark; the others are put aside; the -dainty double-eyeglasses are brought from their hiding-place inside his -waistcoat and adjusted across his nose, and he falls to the perusal -of the little note. A difficult hand to read apparently, for the -Colonel, though somewhat careful of showing any symptoms of loss of -sight to the more youthful members of the club then present, by whom -he has a certain suspicion he is looked upon as a fogey, has to hold -it in various lights and twist it up and down before he can master -its contents. When he has mastered them they do not appear to be of a -particularly reassuring character; for the Colonel shakes his head, -utters a short low whistle, and is stroking his chin with his hand, as -though deep in thought, when the advanced guard of his breakfast makes -its appearance. - -"'Coming back at once,'" says the Colonel to himself; "at least, so -far as I can make out Clarisse's confoundedly cramped handwriting. -'Coming back at once,' and from what she can make out from Fanny's -talk, not in the best of tempers either, and likely to bring matters -to an end; and Clarisse thinks I must declare myself at once. Well, I -don't see why not. - -"'Gad, it seems to me an extraordinary thing that I, who have been -under fire so many times in these kind of affairs, should have been -hesitating and hanging back and beating about the bush for so long with -this girl! To be sure, she is quite unlike many of the others; more -like a person in society, or rather, like what used to be society in -my time: what goes by that name now is a very different thing. There's -a sort of air of breeding about her, and a kind of _noli me tangere_ -sort of thing mixed up with all her attractiveness, that makes the -whole business a very different thing from the ordinary throwing the -handkerchief and being happy ever after. - -"Coming back, eh! My young friend Derinzy--member here, by-the-way; -letters had better go to one of the other clubs in future; it is best -to be on the safe side. Coming back, eh! And now what are--what parents -call--his 'intentions,' I wonder? Scarcely so 'strictly honourable' -as the middle-class father longs to hear professed by enamoured -aristocrats. If he meant marriage, he would certainly have proposed -before he left town, when, if all I learn is true, he was so wildly mad -about the girl he would not have left her to---- And yet, perhaps, that -is the very reason, though she said nothing, she has evidently been -pleased by the attentions which I have shown her; and this perhaps has -caused her to slack off in her correspondence with this young fellow, -or to influence its warmth, or something of that kind, and this may -have had the effect of bringing him to book. - -"If he were to declare off, how would that suit me? Impossible to say. -In the fit of rage and disgust with him, she might say yes to anything -I asked her; on the other hand, she might have a fit of remorse, and -think that it was all from having listened to the blandishments of this -serpent she lost a chance of enjoying a perpetual paradise with that -bureaucratic young Adam. - -"There is the other fellow, too--the young man 'in her own station of -life'--shopkeeper, mechanic, whatever he is. Clarisse seems to have -some notion that he is coming to the fore, though I don't think there -is any chance for him. The girl's tastes lie obviously in quite a -different line, and I am by no means certain that his being in the race -is a bad thing for me. However, it's plainly time that something must -be done; and now, how to do it?" - -He threw down his napkin before him as he spoke and rose from the -table. The young men who had been breakfasting near him, though perhaps -they might have thought him a fogey, yet envied the undeniable position -he held in society; envied him, above all, the perfect freshness and -good health and the evident appetite with which he had just consumed -his meal, while they were listlessly playing with highly-spiced -condiments, or endeavouring to quench the flame excited by the previous -night's dissipation with effervescing drinks. Sir Coke Only, the -great railway contractor and millionaire, whose neighbouring table -was covered with prospectuses and letters on blue paper, propounding -schemes in which thousands were involved, envied the Colonel that -consummate air of good breeding which he, the millionaire, knew he -could never acquire, and that happy idleness which never seemed in -store for him. The perfectly-appointed brougham, with its bit-champing, -foam-tossing gray horse, stood at the club-door, waiting to whirl the -man of business into the City, where he would be unceasingly occupied -till dusk; "while that feller," as Sir Coke remarked to himself, "will -be lunching with marchionesses and dropping into the five o'clock tea -with duchesses, and taking it as easy as though he were as rich as -Rothschild." - -Perhaps the Colonel knew of the envy which he excited; he was -certainly not disturbed, and perhaps even pleased, by it. He sauntered -quietly into the waiting-room, walked to the window, and stood gazing -unconsciously at the black little London sparrows hopping about in the -black little bit of ground which was metropolitan for a garden, and -lay between the club and Carlton House Terrace, while he collected his -thoughts. Then he sat down at a table and wrote as follows: - - -"Beaufort Club, Tuesday. - -"DEAR MISS STAFFORD,--The opportunity which I have been so long waiting -for has at length arrived, and I think I see my way to the fulfilment -of the promise made to you in the beginning of our acquaintance. - -"If you will be at my lawyer's chambers, No. 5, Seldon Buildings, -Temple, at two o'clock this afternoon, he--Mr. John Wilson is his -name--will enter into further particulars with you. I shall hear from -him how he has progressed, and you will see me very shortly.--Very -sincerely yours, - -"JOHN ORPINGTON. - -"P.S.--I have no doubt that Madame Clarisse will be able to spare you -on your mentioning that you have business. You need not particularise -its nature." - - -Then he wrote another letter consisting of one line: - -"All right; let her go.--J.O." - - -He addressed these respectively to Miss Fanny Stafford and Madame -Clarisse, and despatched them to their destination. - -It was with no particular excess of pleasure that Daisy received and -perused the first-written of these epistles. To be sure, at the first -glance over the words her face flushed and her eyes brightened; but the -next few minutes her heart sank within her with that undefined sense -of impending evil of which we are all of us so frequently conscious. -The thought of Paul's immediate return had been weighing upon her for -some days; she had been uncertain how to treat him. She could not help -acknowledging to herself that her feelings towards him had undergone -a certain amount of alteration during his absence. She was unwilling -that that alteration should be noticed by him, and yet could not avoid -a lurking suspicion that she must have betrayed it in her letters. She -gathered this from the tone of his replies, more especially from his -last communication, in which he announced his speedy arrival in town. -Of course she had not breathed to him one word of her acquaintance with -Colonel Orpington; there was no occasion why she should have done so, -she argued to herself; the two men would never be brought in contact. -And yet it would be impossible for her to renew the intimacy which had -previously existed with Paul, without his becoming aware that she had -other calls upon her time, and insisted upon being made acquainted with -their nature; and then, when he found it out, the fact of her having -concealed this newly-formed friendship from him would tell very badly -against her. It would have been very much better that she should have -mentioned it, giving some sufficiently satisfactory account of its -origin, and passing over it lightly as though it were of no moment. She -could have done this in regard to the meeting with John Merton and its -subsequent results--not that she had ever said anything of that to her -lover, by-the-way--without, she was sure, exciting Paul's suspicion; -but this was a different matter. In his last letter Paul had proposed -to meet her on what would now be the next afternoon, and by that time -she must have made up her mind fully as to the course she intended to -pursue. The interview to which she was then proceeding might perhaps -have an important effect upon her resolution. And as she thought of -that interview her heart sank again, and her face became very grave -and thoughtful; so grave and thoughtful did she look as she hurried -along one of the dull streets in the neighbourhood of Russell Square, -that a man to whom she was well known, and by whom every expression of -her face was treasured, scarcely knew her, as, coming in the opposite -direction, he encountered and passed by her. She did not notice him; -but he turned, and in the next instant was by her side. She looked up; -it was John Merton. - -"You were walking at such a pace and looking so earnest, Miss -Stafford," said he, after the first ordinary salutations, "that I -scarcely recognised you. You are going into the City. May I walk part -of the way with you? I am so glad to see you; I have been longing so -anxiously to hear from you." - -This was an awkward _rencontre_. Daisy had quite sufficient mental -excitement with the interview to which she was proceeding. She had -not calculated upon this addition to it, and answered him vaguely and -unsatisfactorily. - -"I have been very much occupied of late," said she. "The winter season -is now coming upon us, you see, and I have scarcely any time to myself." - -"It would have taken very little time to write yes or no," said poor -John; "and if you knew the importance I attach to the receipt of one of -those two words from you, I think you would have endeavoured to let me -know my fate. Will you let me offer you my arm?" - -"No--no, thanks," said Daisy, drawing back. - -"You--you don't like to be seen with me, perhaps, in the street?" asked -John, with a bitter tone in his voice. - -"No, not that at all; only people don't take arms nowadays, don't you -know?" - -"Don't they?" said John, still bitterly. "I beg your pardon; you must -excuse my want of breeding. I don't mix except among people in my own -station. I--I didn't mean that," he added hurriedly, as he saw her face -flush; "I didn't mean anything to offend you; but I have scarcely been -myself, I think, for the last few days." - -"You have done no harm," said Daisy, gently, pitying the look of misery -on his face. - -"Have I done any good?" he asked; "you cannot fail to understand me. If -you knew how I suffer, you would keep me no longer in suspense." - -"I did not pretend to misunderstand you," said the girl. "You are -waiting for my answer to the proposition you made to me when you called -at my lodging the other day." - -"I am." - -"You have placed me--unwillingly, I know--in a very painful position," -said Daisy; "for it is really painful to me to have to say or do -anything which I feel would give you pain." - -"Don't say any more," he said in a hoarse voice; "I can guess your -meaning perfectly. Don't say any more." - -"But, Mr. Merton, you must hear me--you must understand----" - -"I do understand that you say 'no' to what I asked you; that you reject -my suit--I believe that is the proper society phrase! I don't want to -know," continued he, with a sudden outburst of passion, "of the esteem -in which you hold me, and the recollection which you will always have -of the delicacy of my behaviour towards you. I know the rubbish with -which it is always thought necessary to gild the pill in similar cases; -but I'd rather be without it." - -"You are becoming incoherent, and I can scarcely follow you," said -Daisy, setting her lips and looking very stony. "I don't think I was -going to say anything of the kind that you seem to have anticipated. -I don't see that I have laid myself open to rudeness because I have -been compelled to tell you it didn't suit me to marry you; and as to -our being friends hereafter, I really don't think that there is the -remotest chance of such a thing." - -"I must again beg your pardon, Miss Stafford," said John, taking off -his hat--he was quite calm now--"and I will take care that I don't -commit myself in any similar ridiculous manner. I am perfectly aware -that our lines in life lie very wide apart, and after the decision -which you have arrived at and just communicated to me, I can only be -glad that it is so; and though we are not to be friends, you say, I -shall always have the deepest regard for you. You cannot prevent that, -even if you would; and I only trust that some day I may have the chance -of proving the continuance of that regard by being able to serve you." - -He stopped, bowed, and was striding rapidly away back on the way they -had traversed, before Daisy could speak to him. - -"More quickly over than I had anticipated," she thought to herself, -"and less painful too. I expected at one time there would have been a -scene. His face lights up wonderfully when he is in earnest, and if his -figure and manner were only as good, he might do. I wonder whether I -could put up with him if neither of those two other men had been upon -the cards; perhaps so, in a foreign place, such as he talked of going -to, where one could have made one's own world and one's own society, -and broken with all the old associations. How dreadful his boots were, -by-the-way! I don't think it would have been possible to have passed -one's life recognised as belonging to such feet and boots." - -By this time she had reached Middle Temple Lane, down which she was -proceeding, to the great admiration of the barristers' and attorneys' -clerks who were flitting about that sombre neighbourhood. After a -little difficulty and a great deal of inquiry she found the Seldon -Buildings; and arriving at the second floor, and knocking at the portal -inscribed Mr. John Wilson, she rather started when the door was opened -to her by Colonel Orpington. - -"Pray step in, my dear Miss Stafford," said the Colonel. "You are -surprised, I see, to see me here instead of my legal adviser; but the -fact is, that gentleman has been called out of town, and as I find he -is not likely to return, I thought it best to take his place and make -the proposition in my own person." - -Daisy was not, nor did she feign to be, astonished. She entered the -room and seated herself in an arm-chair, towards which the Colonel -motioned her. He sat down opposite to her, and without any preliminary -observations, at once dashed into his subject. - -"I don't think there is any occasion for me to inform you, my dear Miss -Stafford," he commenced, "that I have the very greatest admiration for -you. All women known intuitively when they are admired without having -the sentiment duly expressed to them in set phrases; and though I have -carefully avoided saying or doing any of those ridiculous things which -are said and done in novels and plays, but never in real life, except -by people who bring actions of breach of promise against each other, -you can have had very little doubt of the high appreciation of you -which I entertain." - -Daisy bowed. The trembling of her lip showed that she was a little -nervous--no other sign. - -"Well," continued the Colonel, "this admiration and appreciation -naturally induced me to think what I could do to better your position, -and at the same time to see more of you myself. Your life is not a -particularly lively one--in fact, there is no doubt it is deuced hard -work, and very little relaxation. You are not meant for this kind -of thing. You like books, and flowers, and birds, and all sorts of -elegant surroundings. You are so handsome--pardon the reference, but I -am talking in a most perfectly business manner--that it is a thorough -shame to see you lacking all those et ceteras which are such a help -and set-off to beauty; and you are wearing away the very flower of -your youth in what is nothing more nor less than sordid drudgery. At -one time I thought--as I believe I mentioned to you--of purchasing -some business, such as that in which you are now engaged, and putting -you at the head--making yourself, in point of fact, and placing you -in the position occupied by Madame Clarisse. But after a good deal of -reflection I have come to the conclusion, and I think you will agree, -that there would not be much good in such a project. You see, though -you would be your own mistress, and would not be obliged to get up so -early or to work so late, you would still be engaged in exactly the -same kind of employment; you would be at the mercy of the caprices of -horrible old women and insolent young girls, and would have to fetch -and carry, and kotoo, and eat humble-pie, and all the rest of it, -very much as you do at present. And I am perfectly certain, my dear -Fanny,"--she gave a little start, which had not passed unnoticed; -it was the first time he had called her so--"I am perfectly certain -that this is not your _métier_. You are a lady in looks--there is -no higher-bred-looking woman goes to Court, by Jove!--in education, -in manner, and in taste; you are not meant for contact with the -shopocracy, and it wouldn't suit you; and to tell you the truth, I -am sufficiently selfish to have thought how it would suit me, and I -confess I don't see it at all." - -He looked hard at her as he said this, and she returned his glance. Her -colour rose, and her lips trembled visibly. - -"I am perfectly candid with you, my dear child," said the Colonel, -drawing his chair a little closer to her, and leaning with his elbow on -the table so as to bring his face nearer to her--"I am perfectly candid -in avowing a certain amount of selfishness in this matter. I admire you -very much indeed, and the natural result is, a desire to see as much of -you as is consistent with my duties to society; and this shopkeeping -project wouldn't help me at all. I want you to have all your time to -yourself--a perpetual leisure, to be employed according to your own -devices. I wish you to have the prettiest home that can be found, with -pictures, and books, and flowers, and such-like. I wish you to have -your carriage, and a riding-horse, if you would like one, and a maid to -attend to you, and a proper allowance for dress and all that kind of -thing. You look incredulous, Fanny, and as though I were inventing a -romance. It is perfectly practicable and possible, my dear child, and -it shall all be done for you if you will only like me just a little." - -He bent forward and took her hand, and looked up eagerly into her face. - -She suffered her hand to remain in his grasp, and gazed at him quite -steadily as she said in hard tones: - -"It sounds like a fairy-tale; but it is in fact a mere businesslike -proposition skilfully veiled. You wish me to be your mistress." - -Colonel Orpington was not staggered either by the tone or the words, -but smiled quietly, still holding her hand as he said: - -"I told you I admired your appreciation and quickness, though I wish -to Heaven you had not used that horrible word. I never had a mistress -in my life. I always associate the term with a dreadful person with -painted cheeks and blackened eyelids, and a very low-necked dress. I -can't conceive any object more utterly revolting." - -"I am sorry you dislike the term," said Daisy, "but I conclude I -expressed your meaning." - -"It would be better put thus," said the Colonel: "I wish you to let -me be your lover, and show my regard by attending to your comfort and -happiness. That seems to me rather neatly put." - -Daisy could not help smiling as she said: - -"It is certainly less startling in that shape." - -"My dear child," said the Colonel, releasing her hand, and standing -upright on the hearth-rug before her, "it conveys exactly what I meant -to say. A young man would rave and stamp, and swear he had never loved -anyone before, and would never love anyone again. I can't say the -first, by Jove!" said the Colonel with a grin; "and I could not take -upon myself to swear to the last, we are such creatures of chance and -circumstances. But it wouldn't matter to you, for by that time you -would probably be tired of me, and I should take care to have secured -your independence; but at all events I should be very kind to you, and -you would have pretty well your own way." - -There was a pause, after which the Colonel said: - -"You are silent, Fanny; what do you say?" - -"You cannot expect me," said Fanny, rising from her chair, "to give a -decided 'Yes' or 'No' to this proposition of yours, however delicately -you may have veiled it. You see I am as candid with you as you were -with me. You have had no shrieks of horror, no exclamations of startled -propriety, and I conclude you did not expect them; but it is a matter -which I must think over, and let you know the result." - -"Exactly what I expected from your common sense, my dear child. My -appreciation of you is higher than ever. When shall I hear?" - -"If I don't write to you before, I will be here this day week at this -time." - -"So be it," said the Colonel, and he led her to the door. As she -passed, he touched her forehead with his lips, and so they parted. - -"I suppose I ought to be in a whirl of terror, fright, and shame," said -Daisy to herself, as she walked towards the West; "but I feel none of -these sensations. It is a matter which will require a great deal of -thinking about, and must have very careful attention." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. -POOR PAUL. - - -It is eleven o'clock in the morning on the first day of Paul's return -to work, and business in the Principal Registrar's room at H.M. -Stannaries is in full swing. - -Mr. Courtney has just arrived, and is seated before the -brightly-burning fire--the old gentleman used to harass the souls of -the messengers in reference to this fire--reading _The Morning Post_. -He looks much better for his holiday, and is wigged, and curled, and -buckled, and girthed, and generally got up as much as ever. - -George Wainwright is seated at his desk, with several sheets of -manuscript before him, which he is scoring through with a pencil, and -annotating marginally; from time to time uttering contemptuous grunts -of "Pshaw!" and "Stuff!" and "No nominative case," greatly to the -disgust of Mr. Billy Dunlop, who is the author of the work in course of -supervision. - -Mr. Dunlop, whose commencement of his official duties consists hitherto -in his having made one large blot on a sheet of foolscap, and newly -nibbed a quill pen, whistles softly to himself as he regards the work -of demolition going on, and mutters in an undertone, "Ursa Major is -going it this morning. I shall have all that infernal _précis_ to write -over again." - -And Paul Derinzy is seated at his desk, but he has not even attempted -the pretext of doing any work. - -His chin is resting on his hands, and he is gazing straight before him, -looking across at George, but not seeing him in the least, for his -thoughts are busily engaged elsewhere. George Wainwright is the first -to speak. - -"I can't compliment you on your effort, my dear Billy," said he -laughing, and looking across to Mr. Dunlop. "I don't think I have come -across a production in which there was such an entire absence of sense, -grammar, and cohesion as this _précis_ of yours, which you have made of -the Falmouth collector's report." - -"All right, sir," said Mr. Dunlop. "Cut away by all means, don't mind -me; sharpen your great wit, and make me the block. What says the -poet? 'Great wit to madness often is allied;' and as that is all in -your line, fire away." - -"What is that you are saying, my dear George?" said Mr. Courtney, -looking up from his newspaper. "Our good friend Dunlop been -unsuccessful in his praiseworthy attempt?" - -"So far as I can see, sir, from the manner in which my dear George's -pencil has been at work, our good friend Dunlop seems to have gone -a regular mucker with his praiseworthy attempt," said Mr. Dunlop; -"and had I any doubt upon the subject, my dear George is good enough -to express his opinion of my humble endeavours with a frankness and -outspoken candour which do him credit." - -"Here, catch hold!" cried George, grinning as he twisted the sheets -together, and throwing them across to Billy. "Copy my corrections -exactly, and we shall be able to drag you into the first class, and get -you your promotion as the reward of merit before you are seventy years -old. Fire away, Billy; get on with it at once." - -Mr. Dunlop took the papers, placed them before him, and dipped his pen -in the ink; but before writing, he looked up with a serio-comic air, -and said, "May I be permitted to ask, sir, why the work in this room -is to be entirely confined to one of the junior clerks; and why the -other, a gentleman who has the advantage of having just returned from -the country, where he has enjoyed fresh air, and no doubt exercise, and -freedom from that official labour which is the curse of fallen man--why -this gentleman is permitted to sit staring vacantly before him, folding -his hands like the celebrated slothful person immortalised by Dr. -Watts?" - -This remark was unheard by Paul; but when Mr. Courtney addressed him, -he started and looked up. - -"Yes, by-the-way, my dear boy," said the old gentleman, "I, as well -as our friend Dunlop, have remarked that you seem scarcely to have -benefited by your holiday; there is a kind of want of tone about you, -I notice. Your people's place is in Dorsetshire, is it not? Relaxing, -eh, and that kind of thing? House full of company, no doubt; shooting -all day; billiards, private theatricals, flirtations, and that kind of -thing. Doesn't do, my dear boy! doesn't do for men like us, who are all -the rest of the year engaged in official drudgery; doesn't do, depend -upon it." - -And here Mr. Courtney laid down _The Morning Post_, and proceeded to -commence his private correspondence. - -"Oh, I'm all right, Chief," said Paul; "a little tired after my -journey, perhaps--that's all; a little too smoke-dried by old George -over there, for we got a carriage to ourselves, and I think his pipe -was blazing all the way to town." Then turning to Dunlop, "I'll walk -into the work presently, Billy, and you'll be able to take some leave, -if you want any." - -"No, thank you, old man," said Billy Dunlop; "I don't want to be away -till just after Christmas. Within the month following that festive day, -the number of persons engaged in trade who have a small amount to make -up by a given period is extraordinary; and I feel it my duty to go -into the country about that time, in order that no one may indulge any -delusive hopes of pecuniary assistance from me." - -After a few minutes George Wainwright stepped across to Paul's desk, -and leaning over it, said in a low voice, "What's the matter? Nothing -fresh since your arrival?" - -"No, nothing at all," said Paul, in the same tone. "I found a note -from her at the club, saying that she would meet me this afternoon, -and expressed surprise at my having imagined that there had been any -decrease in the warmth of her feelings for me, that's all." - -"And what makes you so horribly downcast?" - -"I cannot tell; I have a sense of oppression over me which I find it -impossible to shake off. I had an idea that the mere fact of my return -to London, the knowledge that I was so much nearer to her, would have -dispersed it; but this morning it seems worse than ever. I think some -of it is due to a certain feeling of remorse which I felt on parting -with my mother yesterday; she seemed so horribly grieved about the -failure of that other business, you know." - -"I think you may acquit yourself entirely on that score," said George, -looking earnestly at his friend, "as I shall probably be able to prove -to you before long." - -"What do you mean?" said Paul, in astonishment; "how can you know -anything about it?" - -"Impossible for me to say just now," replied George; "control your -curiosity for yet a short time longer, and you shall know. Meanwhile -you may depend on what I have said to you. I only wish you were as well -out of this other affair." - -No more was said on the subject, and Paul worked on as best he might, -impervious to the sarcasms which his occasional fits of musing evoked -from Mr. Dunlop. - -Soon after two o'clock he closed his blotting-book, and asked the -Chief's leave to go away; alleging with a laugh that he had scarcely -got acclimatised to the place, and that he must slide into his work by -degrees. - -Good-natured Mr. Courtney of course assented, and after the performance -of a rapid toilet, Paul hurried away. - -The depression under which he laboured still continued in its fullest -force, and he could not help contrasting his present feelings with -those which animated him in the first days of his acquaintance with -Daisy. Then all was bright and roseate; now all was dull and dark. His -ideas as to the future were indeed no more definite then than they were -now; but the haze which hung over it then and shrouded it from his view -was a light summer mist; not so now--a dense gloomy fog. And she was -changed; he feared there could be no doubt of that. In a few minutes he -should be able to ascertain whether there was any foundation for his -suspicions; in the meantime he indulged them to the fullest extent. The -tone of her letters had certainly altered. The letters themselves were -written as though she were preoccupied at the time, and read like mere -perfunctory performances, executed under a sense of duty, and finished -with a sigh of relief. - -What should have changed her? Most men would have supposed at once, -on finding an alteration in the tone and manner of the woman they -love, that she had been receiving attentions in some other quarter. -Paul hesitated to do this; not that he was not aware of the power of -Daisy's beauty and attractiveness, nor entirely because of his faith in -her, but principally because they had gone on for a certain number of -months together, during all which time she must have had innumerable -chances of throwing him over and behaving falsely to him had she been -so disposed; while all the time she had kept true to him. - -_Les absents ont toujours tort_, says the proverb. Could that have been -the reason? What woman was to be trusted? How mad it was of him to -leave her for so long! It was only in order to satisfy his mother, and -to show her how impossible it was for him to comply with this project -which she had so long cherished for his future, that he had consented -to go down to Devonshire. By-the-way, what was that that George had -hinted at? "There need be no remorse on his part," George had said -about the refusal to fulfil his mother's wishes in regard to marrying -Annette. What could he have meant? Was it possible that his friend had -really been taken with the girl? He had some notion of the kind down at -Beachborough, but had dismissed it from his mind as unworthy serious -consideration. Now there really seemed to be some foundation for the -notion, and Annette certainly cared for him. Fancy them married! How -jolly it would be! What a capital husband George would make, and what -a pleasant house it would be to go to! Fancy "old George" tremendously -rich, with a lot of money, going in to give swell parties, and all that -kind of thing! No, he could not fancy that; whatever income he had, -George would always remain the same glorious, simple-minded, honest, -splendid fellow that he was now. - -Poor old _mater!_ how awfully she seemed to take his decision to -heart! She said this had been her pet project for so many years, and -it was hard to see it overthrown at last. George wouldn't do as well, -you suppose? No; it was for her own boy, her own darling, the _spes -gregis_, that she wanted the wealth and the position; as though that -would be the least value, if there were not happiness. His mother -didn't seem to understand that, and how could he have any happiness -without Daisy? Oh, confound it! there, he had run off that track of -thought for a few minutes, and had a small respite; and now he was on -it again, and as miserable as ever. - -Turning over these thoughts in his mind, Paul Derinzy hurried through -the streets and across the Park, and speedily reached the well-known -place of meeting. It was a sharp bright day in the early winter. The -leaves were off the trees now, and there was an uninterrupted view for -many hundred yards. Paul gazed eagerly about him, but could see nothing -of Daisy. Usually, to the discredit of his gallantry, she had been -first to arrive; now she was not there, although the time for meeting -was past; and Paul took it as a bad omen, and his heart sank within him. - -He took two or three turns up and down the dreary avenue, and at length -Daisy appeared in sight. He hurried to meet her, and as she approached -him he could not help being struck with her marvellous beauty. - -Paul would have sworn, had he been asked--but her face was ever present -to him during the time of his absence--that he felt that he must have -forgotten it, or she must have wonderfully improved, so astonished was -he at her appearance. She had been walking fast, and a splendid colour -glowed in her cheeks. Her eyes were unusually bright too; her dress, -which was always neat and in excellent taste, seemed to Paul to be -made of some richer and softer material than she was in the habit of -wearing. She smiled pleasantly at him as he neared her, and all his -gloom for a time melted away. - -"My own, my darling!" that was all he said, as he took both her hands -in his, and looked down lovingly into her eyes. - -"I am a little late, Paul, I am afraid," said Daisy; "but Madame had -something particular to be done, and as she has been very good in -giving me holidays lately, I did not like to pass the work which she -wished me to do to anyone else." - -"Never mind, pet; you are here at last, and I am in heaven," said Paul. -"How splendidly handsome you look, Daisy! What have you been doing?" - -"Nothing, that I know of, in particular," said the girl, "beyond having -a little less work and a little more fresh air. Rest and exercise have -been my sole cosmetics." - -"Holidays and fresh air, eh, miss?" said Paul, smiling rather grimly; -"and you never could get an hour to come out with me, Daisy!" - -"Because it was in the height of the season, when our work was -incessant from morning till night, that you were good enough to ask me, -Mr. Douglas," said Daisy, making a little _moue_. - -"And when I am away you find time to go out." - -"Exactly," said Daisy. "There, isn't this delicious? You were away on a -holiday yourself, and I believe you are actually annoyed because during -your highness's absence I managed to enjoy myself." - -"No, no, Daisy; you mustn't accuse me of that," said Paul; "I am not so -selfish as all that! However, never mind. Tell me now all you have been -doing." - -"No; do you first tell me how you have been enjoying yourself. Were -'your people,' as you call them, very glad to see you; and did they -make much of you, as in duty bound?" - -There was, whether intentionally or not, a slight inflection of sarcasm -in her tone which jarred upon Paul's nerves. - -"They were very glad to see me, and made much of me in the only way -parents can do," said he quietly. "I often think how foolishly, -worse than foolishly, we behave while we have them with us, and only -recognise our proper duty to them when it is too late." - -"Ye-es," said Daisy, struggling to repress a yawn. She was thinking of -something else very different from filial duty, and was beginning to be -bored. - -"You do not seem to enter into those sentiments," said Paul; "but that -is because you have no parents." - -"Perhaps so," said the girl; "but even if I had, I scarcely think I -should be tempted to gush; gushing is very much out of my line." - -Paul looked at her strangely. He had never heard her so hard, so cold, -so sardonic before. - -"No," he said, after a moment's pause; "you generally manage to have a -wonderful control of your feelings; it only needed one to look through -your recent letters to prove that." - -"What was the matter with my letters?" said Daisy, looking up at him so -bewitchingly at that moment that all Paul's anger vanished. - -"The matter with them! Nothing, my darling, except that I thought they -were a little cold; but perhaps that was my fault." - -"How do you mean your fault?" - -"Perhaps I ought not to have gone away, to have left you for so long." - -"My dear Paul, what are you thinking of? What possible claim have I on -you, that you should deprive yourself of a holiday and give up visiting -your friends on my account?" - -"What claim have you! The claim of being dearer to me than any person -in the world; the claim of being the one creature for whom I care -beyond all others. Can there be a greater claim than this?" - -She looked at him quietly and almost pityingly as she said: - -"I thought you would have given up all this romantic nonsense, Paul; I -thought you would have come back infinitely more rational and practical -than you were when you left." - -"I suppose that is what you pride yourself on having become," -said Paul, with a dash of bitterness in his tone; "'rational' and -'practical,' and 'romantic nonsense!' You didn't call it by that name -when we used to walk in this place but a very few weeks ago." - -"It was different then," said Daisy, looking round with a shudder. - -"It was, indeed," said Paul. "There is something gone besides leaves -from the trees." - -"And what is that?" asked Daisy, provokingly. - -"Love from you and hope from me," said Paul. Then, with a sudden access -of passion: "Oh, my darling!" he cried, "my own love, Daisy, why are -you behaving thus to me? For the last few days I have felt certain that -something was impending. I have had a dull, dead weight on my spirits. -I attributed it to the difference in the tone of your letters, but I -thought that would all be dispelled when we met. I had no idea it would -be as bad as this." - -The girl looked up at him steadily, but seemed to be rather angered -than touched at this sudden outburst. - -"My dear Paul," said she, "I am again compelled to ask you to be at -least rational. What could you have expected would have been the end of -our acquaintance?" - -"The end!" cried Paul. "I--I never thought about that; I never thought -that there would be an end." - -"Exactly," said Daisy; "and yet you wonder at my accusing you of want -of practicality. Let us go through this matter quietly. You seek and -make my acquaintance; you appear to admire me very much, and ask for -opportunities of meeting me; these opportunities you have, and you -then profess to be deeply in love with me. All this is very nice; we -walk and talk like young people in the old story-books. But there is -a strong spice of worldliness mixed up with the simplicity of both of -us: all the time that you are talking and saying your sweetest things -you are in a desperate fright lest any of your acquaintances shall see -you. I am perfectly keen enough to notice this; and when I tax you with -it, you confess it sheepishly, and as good as tell me that it would -be impossible for you, on account of your family, to enter into any -lasting alliance with a milliner's assistant. Now, what on earth do you -propose to yourself, my dear Paul, or did you propose, when you came -here to meet me just now? You have had plenty of time to think over -this affair down in the country, and have, I suppose, arrived at some -intention; or did you possibly suppose that we could go on mooning away -our lives as we have done during the past six months?" - -She stopped; and Paul, finding she expected some reply, said -hesitatingly: - -"I--I thought it would go on just the same." - -"You are a very child, my dear Paul," said Daisy, "not to see that such -a thing is impossible. If, before you left town, you had spoken at all -distinctly as regards the future, if you had asked me to marry you--not -now, I don't say immediately, but in the course of a certain given -time--matters would have stood very differently." - -"You say if I _had_ asked you," said Paul, with an appealing glance at -her. "Suppose I were to ask you now?" - -"It would be too late," said Daisy, with a short laugh. Then, suddenly -changing her tone, she cried, "Do you imagine that, in what I have just -said, I was spelling for you to make me an offer? Do you imagine that I -would so demean myself? Do you think that I have no pride? I can tell -you, I should feel I was doing quite as great an honour to your family -by coming into it as they could possibly do to me by receiving me into -it. Do you imagine that I was not merely going calmly to wait until it -pleased your highness to throw the handkerchief in my direction, but -that I was actually making signs to attract your attention to my eager -desire for preferment?" - -"Daisy, Daisy," interrupted Paul, "what are you saying?" - -"Simply the truth; I am speaking out what we both of us know to be -true. There is no good shilly-shallying any longer this way, Paul -Douglas; we are neither of us so very childlike, we are both of us out -of our teens, and we live in a world where Strephon and Daphne will -find themselves horribly out of place." - -There was a pause for a few moments, and then Paul said in a low voice: - -"You must pardon me, Daisy, if I don't answer you straight at once and -to the purpose. It is rather a facer for a fellow who has gone away and -left a girl, as he imagines, very much attached to him, and certainly -most loving and affectionate in her words and manner, to find her, on -his return, perfectly changed, and talking about being practical and -rational, and that kind of thing. I daresay I was a fool; I daresay -you thought I was giving myself airs when I talked about my family, -and kept in this secluded part of the Park in order that we might not -run the risk of meeting anybody I knew. God knows I didn't intend so, -child; God knows I would have done nothing that I thought could have -wounded your feelings in the very slightest degree. You say that if -I had spoken to you before I left town about marrying you, matters -would have stood differently. The truth is, until I went out of town, -until I was far away from you and knew I was beyond your reach, until -I felt that never-ceasing want of your society and companionship, that -ever-present desire to hear your voice and take your hand and look into -your darling eyes, I did not know how much I was in love with you. I -know it now, Daisy, I feel it all now, and the idea of having to pass -the remainder of my life without you drives me mad. You won't let it -come to this, Daisy--oh, my own darling one, you won't let it come to -this!" - -His voice trembled as he spoke these last words, and he was strangely -agitated. There was real pity, and perhaps a little look of love, in -Daisy's eyes, but she only said: - -"My dear Paul, sooner or later it must come to this. Even were there -no other reasons, it would be impossible for me to accept an offer of -marriage which it might be truly said I have literally wrung from you. -If you love me very much--there, you need not protest; we will allow -that to pass, and take it for granted that you do--you are desperately -spooney upon me, as the phrase is, Paul; but how long will you continue -in that state? and when the first force of your passion is spent and -past, you will find yourself tied to a wife who, as you will not fail -to say to yourself--you don't think so now, but there is no doubt about -it--insisted on your marrying her." - -"I should not have been cad enough to think any such thing!" cried Paul. - -"You would always be too much of a gentleman to say it, I know," said -Daisy, "but you could not help thinking it; and the mere knowledge that -you thought it would distress me beyond measure. No, Paul, it would not -do; depend upon it, it would not do." - -"Do you mean to tell me, then," said Paul, in a trembling voice, "that -you have finally decided in this matter?" - -"I have." - -"And your decision is----" - -"That it will be better for us to say goodbye, and part as friends." - -"And you--you will not marry me, Daisy?" - -"Under the circumstances I cannot, Paul. What I might have done, had -the proposal been made at a different time and in a different way, I -cannot tell; but coming as it has, it is impossible." - -"And do you think I am weak enough not to see through all this?" -cried Paul furiously. "Do you think I am so slow of hearing or so -uninterested in what you say that I did not catch the words, 'even if -there were not other reasons,' when you first began to explain why you -could not accept my offer; and do you think it is not palpable to me at -once what those 'other reasons' are? You have been playing the false -during my absence; your woman's vanity is so great that, knowing me as -you do, being fully aware of the love, passion, call it what you will, -that I had for you, you couldn't even remain content with that during -the few weeks I was away, but must get some fresh admirer to minister -to it!" - -"Paul--Mr. Douglas!" cried Daisy. - -"I will speak--I will be heard! This is the last chance I shall have, -and I will avail myself of it. You have wrecked my life and destroyed -all my hopes, and yet you think that I am to make no protest against -all that you have done! All the time that I was away I was wearing you -in my heart, checking off with delight the death of each day which -brought nearer the hour of my return to you; and now I have returned to -find you sneer at those relations between us which made me so happy, -and bidding me be practical, rational; bidding me, in point of fact, -though not in words, abjure all my love and give you up contentedly, -see you go to someone else. It is too hard, it is too hard, Daisy! You -cannot force this upon me." - -He seized her hand and looked imploringly into her eyes. - -The girl made no attempt to withdraw her hand, it remained passively -within his; but his passionate manner met no response in her glance, -and the tones of her voice were calm and unbroken as she said: - -"I see now, more than ever, how right I was in my determination. I -accused you of being childish, and you have proved yourself so, far -more thoroughly than I had anticipated. Seeing the chance of your toy -being taken away from you, you consent to do what before you would -never have thought of, in order to secure it. You scold, and abuse, and -beg, and implore in the same breath: almost in the same sentence you -declare your love for me and insult me; a continuance of such a state -of things would be impossible. We had better shake hands and part." - -During this speech she had withdrawn her hand, but at the close she -offered it to him again. - -Paul Derinzy, however, drew himself up; for an instant he seemed as -though about to speak to her, but it was evident he doubted his power -of self-command, his eyes filled with tears, and his under-lip trembled -visibly. Then with a strong effort he recovered himself, took off his -hat, and making a formal bow, hurried away. - -"It would never have done," said Daisy, looking after him. Then, as she -started on her homeward walk, she said, "It would have been neither -one thing nor the other; a kind of genteel poverty. Unrecognised by -his relations, he would soon have sickened of that kind of life, and -I should have been left to my own devices, to mope and pine at home -or amuse myself abroad; in either case, a very undesirable mode of -life. My vanity Paul talked about, that could not live without another -admirer! Poor fellow, he wasn't right there. It wasn't vanity; it was -a craving for luxury and position that first led me to listen to this -man. I have to give him my answer by the end of the week. I don't think -there is much doubt as to what it will be." - -A loud cry interrupted her thoughts just at this moment, and looking -up, she saw a carriage, drawn by a pair of splendid horses, turning -into the street that she was about to cross. The coachman and footman -sitting on the box called out to warn her of her danger, and as she -sprang back, they looked at her and laughed insolently. A woman, -handsome and young, and splendidly dressed in sables, lay back in the -barouche, and looked at the girl, who was covered with a mud-shower -whirling from the wheels, with a glance half of pity, half of contempt. - -Daisy's face was ablaze in an instant. - -"I have been a poverty-stricken drudge long enough," she said. "Now I -will ride in my own carriage, and stop all chance of insults such as -these." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. -GEORGE'S DETERMINATION. - - -Paul Derinzy's was not the only perturbed spirit in the Principal -Registrar's room of the Stannaries Office. To his own extreme -astonishment, George Wainwright found that his equable spirits and calm -philosophic temperament had entirely deserted him, and that he had -become silent, moody, and, he was afraid, sometimes irritable. He knew -perfectly the cause of this change, and did not attempt to disguise -it from himself. He knew that he was suffering from that malady which -sooner or later attacks us all, and which, like many other maladies, is -more safely got over and disposed of when it comes upon us in youth. -That period had passed with George Wainwright. He shook his head rather -grimly as he surveyed in the glass the brown crisp hair, already -beginning to be sprinkled with gray, and the lines round the mouth and -eyes, which seemed to have increased at such a confoundedly quick rate -lately; and he did not attempt to fight with the malady. He seemed to -confess that he could make no head against it, and that his best plan -was to succumb to its force, and let it do with him as it would. - -"It has come to me somewhat late in life, and I suppose it is the -worse on that account," said honest old George to himself; "but I see -plainly there is no use in attempting to resist it, and that mine may -be looked upon as a settled case. Strange, too, how it has all come -about that my going down into Devonshire to rescue Paul from a scrape -should have been the cause of my falling into one myself, and into a -far more helpless one than that out of which he wanted my help. He has, -at all events, the resources of hope. Time may soften the parental -anger; and even if it does not, he can afford to set it at defiance, so -far as Annette is concerned; while as for Daisy, as he calls her, if -he chooses to ignore conventionality, and what the world will think, -and Mrs. Grundy will say--and it doesn't seem to me to be a very hard -task to do that, though harder perhaps for a dashing young fellow like -him than a middle-aged hermit like myself--he may marry the girl, and, -like the people in the story-books, live happy ever after. But my -look-out is very different. I have examined mine own heart. God knows, -with as much strict search as I could bring to bear upon it, and I -feel that, so far as Annette is concerned, I am irretrievably---- And -I never thought I could love anyone at all in this kind of way. I am -perfectly certain that I shall never love anyone else; and therein lies -the utter hopelessness of the case. I buoy myself up with the belief -that this darling child is, I may almost say, attached to me--that she -feels for me what in another person would be affection and attachment. -She says that I understand her better than anyone else; and that -she is happier in my society than in that of any other person. What -more could the wisest among us say to show their preference? And yet -the hopelessness, the utter hopelessness! That conversation with my -father has left no doubt on my mind that he, at all events, regards -her malady as incurable; and though the fact of my comprehending her -so thoroughly might possibly have some good effect upon her disease, -and at all events would tend to mitigate and soften her affliction, -any thought of marriage with her would be impossible. Even I myself, -who am regarded, I know, by these lads at the office as a kind of -social iconoclast, stand aghast at the idea, and at once acknowledge -my terror of Mrs. Grundy's remark. And yet it seems so hard to give -her up. My life, which was such a happy one, in its quiet, and what -might almost be called its solitude, seems to attend me no more. I am -restless and uneasy; I find no solace in my books or my work, and have -even neglected poor _maman_, so occupied are my thoughts with this one -subject. I cannot shake it off, I cannot rid myself of its influence. -It is ever present on my mind, and unless something happens to effect a -radical change in my state, I shall knock myself up and be ill. I feel -that coming upon me to a certainty. A good sharp travel is the only -thing which would be of any use: the remedy experienced by the man of -whom my father is so fond of talking--who found relief from the utter -prostration and misery which he underwent at the death of his only son -by the intense study of mathematics--would not help me one atom. I -cannot apply my mind--or what I call my mind--to anything just now. The -figure of this girl comes between me and the paper; her voice is always -ringing in my ears; her constrained eager regard, gradually melting -into quiet confidence, is ever before me: and, in fact, I begin to feel -myself a thorough specimen of an old fool hopelessly in love." - -George Wainwright judged no man harshly but himself. When he appeared -at the bar of his own tribunal, he conducted the cross-examination with -Spartan sternness; and this was the result--he saw the impossibility of -fighting against the passion which had obtained such mastery over him; -and he had almost made up his mind to seek safety in flight--to plead -ill-health, and to go away from England on some prolonged travel--when -an incident occurred which altered his determination. - -One morning he was sitting at his desk at the Stannaries Office, -mechanically opening his correspondence and arranging the papers -before him--as usual he had been the first to arrive, and none of his -colleagues were present--when Paul Derinzy entered the room. George -noticed with regret that his friend's appearance had altered very -much for the worse during the last few days. His face looked wan and -peaked, his usual sallow complexion had changed to a dead-white, and -the expression of his eyes was dull and lustreless. There never was -much power of work in Paul; but there had been next to nothing lately. -George had noticed him sitting at his desk, his eyes bent vacantly on -the paper before him, his thoughts evidently very far away. Since their -return, there has not been very much interchange of confidence between -them; but George knows perfectly well that matters are not going quite -straight in Paul's relations with Daisy, and that the lad is spiritless -and miserable in consequence. George Wainwright's great heart would at -any time have compassionated his friend's position; but under present -circumstances he was especially able to appreciate and sympathise with -the position. - -"At it as usual, George," said Paul, after the first curt salutation. -"How you have the heart to stick to this confounded grind in the way -you do, quite beats me. I begin to loathe the place, and the papers, -and all the infernal lot." And with an indignant sweep of his arm he -cleared a space in front of him, and resting his face on his hands, sat -contemplating his friend. - -"Begin to loathe, my dear Paul?" said George, with a slight smile; "I -thought you had progressed pretty well long ago in your hatred to the -state of life to which you have been called. Yes, I am grinding away as -usual, and indeed have put a little extra power on just now." - -"What!" said Paul, with a look of disgust at a large array of tape-tied -official documents neatly spread out before his friend; "are those -infernal papers heavier than ever?" - -"No, not that," said George; "there seems to be about the usual number -of them; but I want to make a clearance, and not to leave the slightest -arrear when I go away." - -"Go away!" repeated Paul. "What do you mean? You have only just -returned; you don't mean to say you are going away again?" - -"That is really delicious," said George; "you, who have had your full -six weeks' leave, turn round and fling my poor little fortnight in my -teeth. Yes, I actually purpose taking the remainder of my holiday; a -great crime, no doubt, but one which must be excused under special -circumstances. I am a little overworked, and not a little out of sorts; -and I find I must get away at once." - -"Not at once," said Paul, with a half-comic look at his friend; "I -don't think I would go away just now, if I were you." - -"Why not?" asked George. - -"Because you might miss seeing some people for whom you have, as I -believe, a great regard," said Paul, with the same quaint expression. - -"And they are----" - -"My people. If the fashionable chronicler took any notice of them, he -would probably report: 'We understand that Captain and Mrs. Derinzy, -accompanied by their niece Miss Annette Derinzy, will shortly arrive at -94, Queen Anne Street, Cavendish Square, from their marine residence, -The Tower, Beachborough, Dorsetshire.'" - -"You are chaffing, I suppose," said George, who had laid down his -paper, and was looking up eagerly. - -"Not the least in the world; I never was more serious in my life." - -"Do you mean to say that they are coming to town, then?" - -"I do, indeed. I had a letter from my mother this morning; in it she -says that she requires change; but by what I gather from the context, -I have a strong notion that the corruption of good manners by evil -communications has taken place. Which, being interpreted, means this: -that since you and I were down there, and fanned the governor's -reminiscences of London and his previous life into a flame, he has -grown so unbearable, that my mother has been forced to knock under -to him, and intends bringing him up, to let him have the slightest -suspicion of a fling." - -"Exactly," said George; "I daresay you are right." - -"And there is another view of the question, in which I fancy I am -right too. It has long struck me that my mother's reason for keeping -Annette in such strict seclusion, carrying her away to that ghastly -place down there, and never letting anyone see her, was that she might -be kept from all temptation in the shape of other young men, and grow -up solely and entirely for me, my behoof and purposes. It seems to me -tolerably plain now, that since our visit down there my mother sees -that this notable plan is knocked on the head; as there is no chance -of my marrying my cousin, the necessity for keeping her in seclusion -no longer exists; and therefore she is to be brought to London, and -allowed, to a certain extent, to mix in society; and I think I know -someone, old man," continued Paul, looking with a kindly smile towards -his friend, "who will not be displeased at that result, however it may -have been brought about." - -He was surprised to see George Wainwright turn suddenly pale, and to -mark the tremulous tones of voice, as he said: - -"You are a good fellow, Paul, and my own dear friend, to whom I can -talk with all perfect frankness and honesty. I have never mentioned -this matter to you before, never offered you my confidence on the -subject, although I guessed from your manner once or twice, while down -at The Tower, that you had some idea of my attachment to your cousin. -I am sure I need not tell you, who know me so well, that, so long as -there was the remotest chance of any alliance between you and her, -even though it had been what, in the jargon of the world, is called a -marriage of convenience, and not one in which on either side affection -is supposed to have a part, I should never have dreamed of interposing -any obstacle, or of even allowing myself to entertain any strong -feeling towards her. I say that boldly now, for I think at that time I -could have exercised sufficient self-restraint, had there been occasion -for it, though now, God knows, my affection for her is quite beyond my -control." - -He paused for a moment, and Paul took advantage of the opportunity -to rise from his seat, and walking round the desk, to lay his hand -affectionately on his friend's broad shoulders. - -"Of course, I know that, old man; of course, I know that you are the -soul of honour and truth, and that you would have eaten your heart -quietly, and never said a word. But there is no occasion for all that -now, thank Heaven! I am in a nice mess with my business; but there's no -reason why you shouldn't be happy." - -"My dear Paul, any future for me and Annette together is impossible." - -"What utter rubbish! I am perfectly confident of my own power of -squaring my mother, and bringing her to see the thing in a proper -light, now that she knows that there is no chance with me; and the -governor's sure to follow as a matter of course; or supposing they -remained obstinate, and refuse to give their consent, Annette loses -her fortune, that's all. You've got quite enough to keep her in amply -sufficient style; and for the matter of that, some time or other the -money must come to me, and you and she should have as much of it as -you liked--all of it, if you wanted it. Money's no good to me, poor -miserable beggar that I am." - -"It is not a question of money, Paul, or of Mrs. Derinzy's consent; -there's something very far worse behind--something which I discovered -when we were down at Beachborough together, and which I have hitherto -kept back from you, partly because the revelation of it could do no -good, and partly because I had a certain delicacy in telling you -of what must, I fear, deprive certain persons of a portion of the -estimation in which they have hitherto held me." - -"Go on," said Paul quickly; "I haven't the least idea of what you mean." - -"There was another reason," said George, "for keeping your cousin -secluded in the country besides that which you have named. I had some -faint glimmering of it when I first arrived at The Tower, and I heard -of your mother's illness and my father's periodical visits. Before I -left, I took means to verify my suspicions; and since I returned to -town, I have had an opportunity of confirming them. Beyond question or -doubt, your cousin Annette is the victim of a mental disorder. Paul, -she is--that I, above all men, should have to tell you!--she is mad!" - -"Good God!" cried Paul Derinzy, starting to his feet, "you are mad -yourself to talk so!--Whose authority have you for this statement?" - -"The best of all," said George Wainwright, sadly. "The authority of the -physician in attendance upon her--the authority is my own father. This -comes to supplement my own experience and my own observation. There is -no doubt about it, Paul; would to God there was!" - -"And my mother--she must have known all this--she could not possibly -have been ignorant of it!" cried Paul. - -George Wainwright was silent. - -"And she would have let me marry Annette without any revelation of the -mystery, for the sake of that wretched money; she would have embittered -my future, and rendered the rest of my life hopeless and miserable. -What a shameful conspiracy! What a base and wicked plot!" - -"Hush, Paul!" said George Wainwright, laying his hand on his arm; -"recollect of whom you are speaking." - -"It is that that makes it all the worse," cried Paul. "To think that -she, my mother, should have been so besotted by the hope of greed as to -shut her eyes to all the misery which she was heaping up in store for -me. It is too horrible to think of. What a narrow chance I had! What a -providential escape!" - -"Yes," said George, in a low voice, "you have escaped." - -There was something in his friend's tone which touched Paul's heart at -once. - -"What a selfish brute I am," he cried, "to have been thinking of myself -and to have forgotten you! How much worse it is for you than for me! -My dear George, I never cared for Annette, and set my affections -elsewhere; so that beyond the pity which I naturally feel for her, and -the shock which I have experienced in learning that my mother could -have been so short-sighted and so culpable, there is nothing to touch -me in the matter. But you--you loved her for herself; you won her; for -I never saw her take to or be interested in anyone so much before; and -now you have to give her up." - -George's face was buried in his hands. He groaned heavily, but he said -nothing. - -"Is there no hope?" asked Paul; "no hope of any cure? Is she -irrecoverably insane?" - -"My father seems to say so," said George, looking up. "I had a long -interview with him the other day; told him the whole story, and -confided to him all my feelings. He was kindness itself; but he gave me -no hope." - -"But, good heavens, it seems so wonderful! Here one sees her walking -about, and talking in an ordinary manner, and yet you tell me that she -is mad!" - -"We only have seen her at her best times, my dear Paul. No one has seen -her at her worst, except perhaps my father and Mrs. Stothard. These -intermittent fits are, they tell me, a very bad sign. The chance were -better, if the illness were more constant and protracted." - -"It is too horrible!" cried Paul again. "George, what will you do?" - -"Bear it, my boy," said his friend; "bear it as I have done things -before now, and get on as best I can. I thought of going away, to -endeavour in change by the excitement of travel to get rid of the -thoughts which are now constantly occupying my mind, and I hope to -return in a healthier state. But what you have just told me has altered -my plan. The notion of seeing her once again, and speedily, has taken -possession of me, and I confess I am not strong enough to fight against -it. When do they come up to town?" - -"At once, I believe. My mother says the governor's temper is -unbearable, and that her only hope of any peace and comfort lies in -bringing him to London. You will remain to see them?" - -"Yes. As I said before, I cannot resist the temptation." - -"Perhaps there may be hope even yet," said Paul. "Every one noticed how -much better she was in health and spirits when in your society." - -"I fear that improvement will not be permanent," said George, shaking -his head sadly. "There was but one chance, and we seem to have lost -even that." - -"What was it?" asked Paul. - -"Well, there was a German doctor named Hildebrand, who lived at -Dorrendorf, who achieved a wonderful reputation for his treatment in -cases of mania. Even my father--who had had long disputations and -polemical controversies with him, carried on in the medical journals of -Berlin and London--allowed that he had performed some wonderful cures, -although the means by which the end was arrived at were, he professed -to consider, unprofessional and undignified." - -"Well, why don't we get this old fellow to come over and see Annette -at once? Dr. Wainwright wouldn't stand upon ceremony now that he knows -the real state of the case; and money's no object, you know, George; we -could stand any amount among us, if we could only get poor Annette put -right." - -"You may be sure I have thought of that," said George. "I spoke to my -father about it, and know he would be delighted to aid in any way in -getting old Hildebrand's advice, even though the method to be employed -should be contrary to his ideas. But the old man has retired from -practice for some time, and nothing can be heard of him. I have sent -to some of my correspondents in Germany; but from the answers I have -received, I am led to believe that he is dead." - -"That is bad news, indeed," said Paul. "The intelligence about poor -Annette has come upon me so suddenly, that I seem scarcely able to -comprehend it." - -"Your never having seen her under one of these attacks, and having only -a recollection of her as being always bright and cheerful, would tend -to prevent the realisation," said George. "I too always strive to think -of her under her most cheerful aspect. God knows I would not willingly -see her under any other." - -"It is a deuced bad look-out, there's no denying," said Paul; then -added gloomily, "everything seems to be going to the bad just now." - -"I have been so wrapped-up in my own troubles that I have forgotten -yours, Paul," said George. "Tell me, how are matters getting on between -you and your young friend? Not very brilliantly, I fear, by your tone." - -"Brilliantly! No, anything but that. Infernal, I should say," said -Paul. "I can't make her out; she seems perfectly changed since my -absence from London. I am sure something must have happened; but I -don't know what it is." - -"You recollect my hint to you at Beachborough about Theseus and -Ariadne? You burst out into a rage then; what do you think now?" - -"I don't know what to think," said Paul, "though it looks something -like it, I am bound to confess." - -"Then why don't you be a man, and break off the whole business at once?" - -"Now, I like that," said Paul; "I really like that suggestion from a -man who has been talking as you have been talking to me. Do you think -you could?" - -"No, I am sure I could not," said George. "It is the old story: giving -advice is the easiest thing in the world; following it the most -difficult. I----" - -"Hullo! here's Billy." - -It was indeed Mr. Dunlop, who entered the room at the moment, and stood -in the doorway regarding the two friends, who were leaning over the -desk together, with a comical aspect. - -"A very pretty picture indeed," said Mr. Dunlop. "'The Misers,' by -Rembrandt, I think, or some other elderly parties of an obscure age. -Whence this thusness? Do I intrude? If so, I am perfectly ready to -withdraw. No one can ever say that W.D. forced himself into his office -at times when his presence was not required there." - -"Come in, and don't be an idiot, Billy," said Paul. "George and I were -just talking over some private matters; but we have finished now." - -"Private matters!" said Mr. Dunlop. "And by the look of you they must -have been what the dramatist calls of 'serious import.' Confide in me. -Come, rest on this bosom, my own stricken Deer-inzy. William is ready -to give you advice, assistance, anything, indeed--except money. Of -that latter article he is generally scarce; and Mr. Michael O'Dwyer -has recently borrowed of him the attenuated remains of his quarterly -stipend." - -"No, Billy; thanks all the same; I don't think you can be of much use -to either of us just now," said George, with a smile. "If you really -are serious in what you said just now about money, you can have what -you want from me." - -"Thanks, generous stranger," said Billy. "You are like the rich uncle, -who, from his purse containing notes to exactly double the amount--a -favourite character in dramatic fiction, but one whom I have never yet -had the pleasure of meeting in private life. No, I shall get on very -well until the Chancellor of the Exchequer shells out." - -And then Mr. Courtney came in, followed shortly by one or two other -men, and the conversation dropped. - -Paul Derinzy had rightly divined the reason of his mother's -determination to come to London for a time. The Captain's -long-conceived disgust at the dulness of Beachborough had wrought him -into such a state of insubordination, that even his wife's authority -was no longer sufficient for his control. Mrs. Derinzy saw plainly -that some immediate steps must be taken; the Captain must go to London -to see his old friends and his old haunts, and to enjoy himself once -more after his former fashion. It would be unadvisable to let him go -alone; and as Mrs. Derinzy had the good sense to see that her favourite -project regarding the marriage of Paul and Annette was finally knocked -on the head, there was no longer so much reason for keeping the girl -in the seclusion of the country; and the head of the family therefore -determined that they should all proceed to London together. - -Principally for George's sake, for he had not much care of his own in -the matter, Paul made no opposition to the proposed arrangement. He -had perfectly made up his mind that the presence of his family in town -should make no alteration in his own manner of life; he would not be -bound to them in any way, and would consider himself just as free as he -was previously to their arrival. George would have an opportunity of -seeing Annette, which would be good gained for him, poor old fellow; -and as for himself, he seemed to care little about what became of him; -his every thought was centred and bound up in Daisy. If she treated him -well, he should be thoroughly happy; if she threw him over, as indeed -it looked somewhat likely she would, well, he should go to the bad at -once, and there would be an end of it. - - -In due course of time the family arrived at the furnished house which -had been taken for them in Queen Anne Street, and Paul and George went -together to call there. The Captain was not at home; he had already -begun to taste the sweets of liberty; had gone to the club, of which -he still remained a supernumerary member; had already accepted several -dinner engagements; was proposing to himself pleasure parties _galore_ -But they found Mrs. Derinzy, and after a short interview with her, -Annette entered the room. She seemed already to have benefited by the -change. Both George and Paul thought her looking unusually pretty and -cheerful, and the blush which mounted to her cheeks when she saw and -recognised the former, was as gratifying to him who had caused it, as -it was astonishing to Mrs. Derinzy. Before they took their leave, the -young men had arranged to dine there two days hence, when Mrs. Derinzy -said the Captain should be present, and she would allow him to bring -some of his old friends to meet them. - -George, however, was not destined to be one of the guests at that -dinner. When Paul arrived at the office the next morning, he found a -note from his friend, couched in these terms: - - -"DEAR P.,--Rather an odd thing occurred last night. Some men were -down here at my den, and among them Wraxall, who has just returned -from a long tour on the Continent. He brought some sketch-books, and -in glancing over them I was much struck with the extraordinary head -of an old man. On my pointing it out to Wraxall, he told me it was -drawn from life, and was indeed a portrait of an old German named -Hildebrand. He had been celebrated as a 'mad doctor' in his day, and -he was now resident at Mayence. Wraxall had seen him only ten days -ago. Recollecting our last conversation when Hildebrand's name was -mentioned, you will not be surprised to hear that I leave by this -morning's tidal train for Brussels and the Rhine. - -"Make my excuses to the Chief, and tell him I am taking the remainder -of my leave. You shall hear, of course, as soon as I have anything to -say. God bless you, my dear boy. I cannot help feeling that there is -yet a gleam of hope. - - "Yours ever, - - "G.W." - - -"A gleam of hope," said Paul, as he finished the perusal of this note. -"I hope so, indeed, my dear old man; but it is but a gleam, after all." - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. -WARNED. - - -Paul Derinzy had indeed little reason to be satisfied with the -treatment which he was experiencing at Daisy's hands; for though there -had been nothing approaching to a final rupture between them, the -new views of life which had opened upon her since her acquaintance -with Colonel Orpington had afforded her a vast amount of matter for -reflection. Of course the idea of the position which the Colonel had -offered to her was by no means new to the girl's mind. Unhappily, too, -the existence of such a position is unknown to a very small minority -of innocents; and according to the present constitution of society, -such a status is, it is to be feared, regarded by young women in -Daisy's walk of life as one rather to be envied than shunned. But up to -this time--perhaps partly owing to the severe training which she had -received, which had had the effect of making her regard propriety as a -sound commercial investment rather than as a duty to her conscience, -partly to a real affection which she felt for Paul--she had resolutely -refused to entertain any such ideas. - -What had changed her? Not any diminution in the affection between -her and her lover--not on his part, at least; for no man who did not -worship her with all the depth of passion possible in his nature -could have suffered so acutely as he did. Had she ceased to love him? -No, she thought not; she could scarcely tell--the position was so -unsatisfactory; that was all she could say to herself in thinking the -matter over. She had not the least doubt that Paul would willingly make -her such an offer as that which she had received from the Colonel; but -then their circumstances were so different. Though Paul was undoubtedly -a gentleman well connected, he was decidedly not rich, she knew that, -or he would never have been content to remain in this office which he -talked about; and to be rich, free from care, to have command of money -and servants and dresses and carriages, that was what her mind was -bent on just now. Then Paul would marry her too if she were to press -it, she knew that; but what would be the benefit by their marriage? -He would gain no more money; she would gain merely the name of a -position. She would not be received into his society; and he, finding -she was ignored, would either break with his own people and cleave to -her, when he would be sulky and bored, always regarding her as the bar -to his assumption of his proper status in society; or would give her -up, and lead his life among his friends, merely treating her as his -housekeeper, and his home as a place to return to when there was no -other house to visit. - -It would be dull and dreary either way with Paul, the latter condition -worse than the former, for then she would be tied, and the bonds would -be more difficult to break. And yet she could not bring herself to an -open rupture with her lover. He was so kind, so attentive, so delicate, -and above all, so passionately devoted to her. It must come, she -thought; it would come some time or other, but not just yet. The evil -day should be delayed as long as possible. And she had given no answer -to Colonel Orpington. She did not mind about that; he was a man of the -world, and would not expect one immediately. He would ascribe her delay -either to modesty or calculation; under the sway of which of the two he -might imagine her to be deliberating was quite indifferent to her. - -To only one out of the three men who proposed to pay her their -addresses had she conveyed her decision: that one was John Merton. -There would be no more trouble with him, she thought. He could not -misunderstand her words, and, above all, her manner, during that -conversation in the street on her way to the chambers in the Temple. -She knew he had not misunderstood it by the abrupt way in which he had -taken his departure. Daisy felt a mild kind of pain at having hurt John -Merton's feelings, as the details of that interview recurred to her. -But, after all, it was better at an end. It was perfectly impossible -that she could have led the life which he offered her. In company -with him it would have been very respectable and very dull: in her -then state of mind, Daisy considered that respectability and dulness -generally went together. There would have been a bare sufficiency to -live upon at first, and they would have had to have been supported by -the hope of thriving on the inevitable progress of honesty, industry, -and that kind of twaddle, which she had heard enunciated from pulpits, -and seen set forth in the pages of cheap popular periodicals, in which, -contrary to her experience of the world, the virtuous people got on -wonderfully, besides being preternaturally clean in the woodcuts, while -those who drank beer, and abstained from Sunday-afternoon service, were -necessarily dirty and poverty-stricken. - -It was not in her lodgings in South Molton Street that Daisy sat -cogitating over these eventful circumstances, and deliberating as to -her future. Madame Clarisse had gone away on business to Paris, and -before she left she had requested her assistant to instal herself in -the private rooms of the establishment in George Street. - -"You will be better there, Fanfan, my child, than in the _mansarde_ -where you have been so long. There are certain people--you know who I -mean; I need not mention their names--who, I think, would particularly -wish it, and it is as well for us to oblige them, particularly when at -the same time we do a good thing for ourselves; besides, it is good -for the business that I should leave you in charge of it. I will not -disguise from you, my dear child, that I do not think of continuing in -commerce very much longer. I have had enough of it myself; and though -I thought there might be a chance of my giving it up to someone who -would comprehend the delicate nuances of the details with which I have -surrounded it, and the care and trouble which I have expended upon -it, it shall not go to Augustine, or to any of those others who have -copied me and my ways over here in this _pays barbare_. I shall find -someone in Paris who would like to come and _exploiter_ her youth and -her talent, and also, my faith! her money, amongst the _jeunes meess_ -and the robust dames of England; and as for myself, when that is done, -Fanfan, I shall be free, and then _vogue la galčre_. Perhaps in those -days to come, Fanfan, you will not mind seeing an old friend, who will -not be so old but she will understand the life, and how to lead it." -And here Madame Clarisse kissed her fingers and waved them in the air -with an eminently-suggestive French gesture. "And you will give her -a seat in your carriage, and tell her of all the conquests you are -making." - -And then Madame Clarisse gave Daisy's ear a little pinch, and laughed -shrilly, and betook herself to the cold fowl and half bottle of very -excellent Bordeaux which constituted her luncheon. - -So Madame Clarisse went to Paris, and Daisy was installed in her place. -And it was in the cosy little low-ceilinged room that she was seated, -gazing at, but certainly not seeing, the furniture in red velvet, the -engravings, the nicknacks, and the statuettes by Danton, that all these -reflections on the past, and speculations upon the future, passed -through her mind. - -She had had a busy day, and was feeling rather fatigued, and thought -she might refresh herself with a nap before she went through the -business accounts and wrote to Madame a statement of what had occurred, -as was her regular nightly practice, when a knock came to the door, and -the shiny-faced page, entering quickly, announced that a gentleman was -below and wished to see her. - -"He has grown impatient," Daisy thought, "and is anxious for his -answer. I scarcely expected that of him. However, I suppose it is -rather a compliment than otherwise. He must have heard from Madame that -I was here. You can show the gentleman up, James." - -When the page had gone, Daisy ran into the back room and passed a brush -over her hair, and just gave her face one touch with the powder puff -which Madame Clarisse had left behind on her toilet-table, and returned -into the sitting-room to confront, not Colonel Orpington, as she had -expected, but John Merton. - -Daisy started, and did not attempt to conceal her displeasure. - -"I have ventured once again to call upon you, Miss Stafford," said -John; "but I had better commence by saying that this time I have not -come on my own business." - -"That at all events is good hearing, Mr. Merton," said Daisy, coldly. - -"Exactly," said John. "I expected you to speak of it in that way. You -may depend upon it you will never be further troubled, so far as I am -concerned." - -"To what, then, do I owe this----" - -"Intrusion, you were going to say," interrupted he. "It is an -intrusion, I suppose, so far as it is unasked and decidedly unwelcome." - -"You speak bluntly, Mr. Merton." - -"I speak strongly because I feel strongly, Miss Stafford." - -"Perhaps you will be good enough to speak intelligibly at the same -time," said Daisy. "You have enlarged upon what you have been pleased -to call your unwelcome intrusion; but you have not explained the reason -of it." - -"You are right," said John. "I will proceed to do so at once. I am -afraid I shall be a little lengthy, but that is unavoidable." - -Daisy bowed, and tapped her foot impatiently. She felt that there was -something horribly irritating in the calmness of this man's manner. - -"I must begin at the beginning," said John, "and in doing so I must -allude to matters which I have just promised should not again be -mentioned by me. However, it is a necessity, and I will touch upon them -as lightly as possible. You know that, ever since I first made your -acquaintance through my sister, I took the greatest interest in you, -and ended by being hopelessly in love with you." - -Daisy bowed very coldly. - -"I daresay it was very ridiculous, and I know you consider it highly -presumptuous, though I am bound to confess I do not see any reason why -I should have not felt an honest love for you, and should not have -mentioned it to you. We are both members of the same class in society; -and if it suited them in other ways, there was no reason why the -milliner's first hand and the draper's assistant should not have been -married." - -He said these last words quietly; but there was a certain amount of -bitterness in his tone, and Daisy flushed angrily as she heard them. -She was about to speak, but refrained, and merely motioned him to -proceed. - -"However, that could not be," said John Merton in continuance. "The -right of acceptance or rejection remained entirely with you, and you -decided upon the latter." - -He paused for a moment, and then said in a lower tone: - -"If I had not been the besotted fool that I am, I should have accepted -my dismissal as it was given--coolly, definitely, and without the -slightest remorse; but, unfortunately, I am weak enough not to be -able to take things in this way. I had too much at stake--my future -happiness was too deeply involved--to permit of my bowing to my fate, -and endeavouring to forget what had been the one sole excitement of -many months in some new study or pursuit." - -He paused again, as though expecting her to speak. But she was silent, -and he continued: - -"My sister, who was the cause of our first introduction, has been since -the medium through which I have ascertained all my information about -you. She was very chatty at first, and never was tired of talking to -me of what you did and said, and where you went, and enlarging on the -dulness of the life which you pursued. She little thought, I imagine, -what intense interest I took in her voluble prattle. She thought me too -much immersed in my own affairs to take any real heed of what she was -saying, and imagined that I merely induced her to go on in order to -distract my mind from graver subjects, and to fill up what would have -been the tedium of my enforced leisure. It was not until the occasion -of the little tea-party at that young lady's---- I see you smile; but -from me the appellation is correct." - -"I beg your pardon, I did not smile, Mr. Merton," said Daisy, almost -savagely; "I am listening to you at your request. I am in no smiling -humour; and I must beg you to make this interview as brief as possible." - -"It was on the occasion of the tea-party at Miss Manby's then," -continued John Merton, "that I think Bella saw for the first time that -all my queries about you had been put with deliberate intention, and -had a definite aim. Previously to that she had once or twice joked me -in her light way about my admiration of you, but nothing more; but you -may recollect--I do perfectly--that on that night she took delight in -teasing me about that portrait which Mr. Kammerer had taken of you, and -about the man--I beg your pardon, the gentleman--who came to the place -and insisted upon buying it." - -John stopped here, and looked at her so pointedly that Daisy could not -restrain the rising blush in her cheek. She said quietly: - -"I do recollect it perfectly." - -"Of course you do; no woman ever forgets any occasion on which she sees -a man piqued or jealous at her preference of another." - -"There was no question of preference in the matter," said Daisy. "I -knew nothing about the gentleman who wished to purchase the portrait; -I had only seen him once; and there can be no great crime, even in the -category of sins proscribed by the severe doctrine which I presume you -hold, and which, at all events, you teach, in a girl's finding pleasure -at admiration bestowed upon her." - -"I must get back to my facts," said John Merton, quietly. "I suppose -I showed that I was annoyed that night, and from my annoyance Bella -judged that I was in earnest about you. We don't meet very often, and -we have very little in common, for she is younger than I am, and does -not take quite the same view of the world that I do--she has not seen -so much of it, poor girl; and for a long time you were not mentioned -between us. During all the time that I was in suspense, before I had -made up my mind to express my feelings to you, and ask you to be my -wife, and after that in the short period before I met you walking in -the street, we seemed mutually to avoid any mention of your name. It -seemed to me too sacred to be bandied about with such jests and light -talk as Bella would probably have used concerning it; and she seemed to -understand my feeling and to humour it. At all events, during that time -nothing was said about you; but since then--since I heard from your own -lips what was equivalent to my dismissal--we have frequently reverted -to the theme. You will understand, please, that in mentioning what I -am going to tell you, I am by no means endeavouring to harrow your -feelings, or to work upon your compassion; it simply comes in as part -of what I have to say; and I must say it." - -John might have spared himself this digression, for Daisy was in -no melting mood, and sat listening, half-sternly contemptuous, -half-savagely irate. All the notice she took of these remarks was to -give a very slight bow. - -"I was completely upset by your decision," John continued; "and though -I ought never to have expected anything else, that came so suddenly -upon me, the pleasing path in dreamland was so abruptly ended, the -visions which I had indulged were so ruthlessly chased away----" - -Here Daisy tapped her foot very impatiently. John started, and said, "I -beg your pardon," so comically, that Daisy could scarcely refrain from -smiling. - -"I mean, it was all over so quickly that I took it to heart like a -fool, and became moping and low. I sent for Bella then, and got her -to come and see me constantly in the evening, when our work for the -day was over; and I began again to talk to her about you, not telling -her anything about what had happened, but talking just as I used in -the old days, only a little more passionately perhaps; for my usual -quiet nature was aroused at the thought of the way in which you had -treated me, and at the idea of what might have been--what might be yet, -I suppose I thought to myself; for one night I told Bella all about -my coming to you in South Molton Street, the declaration that I made, -and the way in which you received it. Then I told her of that horrible -interview, when we met in the street, and when you treated me as though -I had been a servant. She was naturally angry about this, and talked -the usual stuff which people do in such cases, advising me not to think -of you any more; that you could not appreciate my worth; that there -were plenty of other women who--you know the style of condolence on -such occasions. I seemed to agree with her; and I suppose I actually -did so for some little time; but then the what-might-be feeling took -possession of me, and I began idiotically to buoy myself up with a -hope that you might have spoken hurriedly and without thought, that I -might have been proud and hasty; and, in fact, that there might yet be -a chance of future happiness for me. Bella must have discovered this -almost as soon as I felt it; for she seemed to discourage my questions -about you, and my evident inclination to forget what had passed, and -to endeavour to renew my acquaintance with you. She was very quiet and -kind at first--she was kind throughout, I suppose I ought to say; but -when she found that my feverish longing to see you again was coming -to a height, that I was bent upon imploring you to reconsider your -determination, she spoke openly to me, and told me what I would sooner -have died than have heard." - -Daisy looked up quickly and angrily at him. - -"And what," she said scornfully, "may this wonderful communication have -been?" - -"I suppose you do not know Bella's share in all that has taken place, -or you would not ask the question," said John. - -"I am not aware that Bella Merton has any share in anything that -concerns me," said Daisy. "It is useless speaking any further in -riddles. You promised you would speak out; hitherto you have done so, -and you must continue to the end." - -"I will," said John Merton; "I came to do it, and I will carry it -through at whatever pain it may be for me to speak, for you to hear. My -sister Bella, then, has informed me that a man--one of those whom you -call gentlemen, but from whom I withhold the name--has ventured to make -dishonourable proposals to you; in plain terms, to ask you to live with -him as his mistress." - -"Mr. Merton!" cried Daisy, in a wild access of rage, "how dare----" - -"Pardon me," said John, raising his hand; "we decided, if you -recollect, that we should go through this matter to the end. You will -not deny the accusation, I know, for you are too proud to stoop to -any such mean subterfuge; and even if you did, I could not believe -you, for I have the confession of one whom this scoundrel has made an -accomplice. You see it is not entirely on your account that I have to -bring this man to book, Miss Stafford," said John, who had turned very -white, and whose hands were clenching nervously. "He has debased my -sister into becoming a participator of his wretched work, a tool to -help him to his miserable end. All the time that Bella was intimate -with you, she was, unknown to you, fetching and carrying between you -and this man, feeding your vanity with accounts of his admiration, -giving him information as to your movements, playing the wretched part -of half go-between, half spy." - -"You know that I knew nothing of this!" Daisy broke out. - -"Perfectly," said John Merton; "but that only makes it the worse for -her. However, it is not of her I came to speak, but of you." - -"I think you may spare yourself the trouble," said Daisy, looking -steadily at him; "you have no position giving you the slightest claim -to interfere with me or my actions, and in forming conjectures, in -coming to conclusions about my future movements, you have already taken -a most unwarrantable liberty. I desire that you say no more, and leave -me at once." - -"Ah, for God's sake, no!" cried John Merton, in a tone so shrill and -startling that it went to Daisy's heart--"Ah, for God's sake, no! Give -up this outside crust of stoicism and conventionality, and let me plead -to the woman that you really are. Have you for an instant thought of -what you are doing? I know that you have temporised without giving any -answer. Bella told me that; but have you thought how even this delay -may compromise you? Are you, so lovely as you are, so bright and clever -and graceful, going to sacrifice your whole life, to place all those -charms at the mercy of a man who will use them while he chooses, and -fling them away when he is tired? I don't want to preach; I only want -to put matters plainly before you. Suppose you consent to this infernal -proposal which has been made to you. The man is old; he has not even -the excuse of a mad passion, which is deaf to the calls of conscience, -or even to the common feelings of humanity. He has not that excuse; he -is old, and jaded, and fickle; the life which he is leading requires -constantly new excitement; and after a little time your novelty will -have passed away, and you will be thrown aside to shift for yourself. -Could your high spirit brook that? Could you bear to see yourself -pointed at as deserted, or, worse than all, find yourself compelled to -become subject to some venal bargain--Oh God, it is too horrible to -think of!" - -"I will not bear this from anyone; certainly not from you. What right -have you to interfere?" - -"What right have I to interfere! The right of having loved you with -all my whole soul and strength; the right of one whose future has been -bittered by your refusal to share it with him. I don't pine," he cried, -"about a broken heart; I can bear to contemplate the lonely life which -I shall have to lead; I could bear"--and the words here came very -slowly through his set teeth--"to see you happily married to a man who -appreciated and loved you, as I should have delighted in doing; but -I will not stand patiently by to see the woman I have loved held up -to the world's scorn, or deliberately dragged down to the depths of -infamy." - -He spoke so strongly and so earnestly, his rude eloquence came -evidently from the depths of his troubled heart, that even Daisy's -stubborn pride seemed a little touched. - -"I know you mean this kindly towards me, Mr. Merton," she said, in -a low voice; "and I fear I have shown myself scarcely sufficiently -grateful, or even civil, to you; but, believe me, I appreciate your -motives, and I thank you for coming here. Now you must go." - -"You will not send me away without assurance that this cruel thing -shall not be; that you will say No to this horrible proposal, and never -give it another moment's thought. Ah, do not think I am pleading for -myself; do not think I am cherishing any vain hope that, this once -put aside, I may come forward again and urge my suit. It is not so, -I swear. I have accepted my fate, and shall--well, shall struggle on -somehow, I daresay. It is for you, and you alone, that I am interested. -Let me go away with the assurance that you are saved. Ah, Fanny, it is -not much I ask you. Let me go away with that." - -"It would be easy for me to give you that assurance, and then to do as -I pleased," said Daisy; "but you have shown yourself so true a friend -that I will not deceive you." - -"And you will give me the assurance?" - -"No; I did not, I cannot, say that." - -"Then I will get it," cried John, "from Colonel Orpington." - -Daisy started. It was the first time the name had been mentioned during -the interview. - -"You see I know him, and know where to find him. I will make him -promise me to give up this pursuit." - -The tone in which he spoke had worked a wonderful and immediate change -in Daisy's feelings. - -"Make him!" she cried. "You will not find the gentleman of whom you -speak so easily forced to compliance with your desires." - -"I did not mean to force him," said John; "I----" - -"If it were not for the fear of compromising my name," said Daisy, -now thoroughly roused, her eyes flashing, and her lip trembling, "he -would hand you over to the police. We have had enough of this folly," -she said, stamping her foot; "and as it is impossible to get you to go -away, I must retire and leave you." - -As she spoke she rose from her seat, and giving him a very slight bow, -she passed into the bedroom, the door of which she closed behind her. - -John Merton waited for a moment, then turned on his heel, and silently -left the house. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. -AM RHEIN. - - -George Wainwright found that early winter had already descended upon -Germany. When he arrived at Cologne the last tourist had long since -passed through that pleasant old city. The large hotels were shut up; -the _valets de place_ and cathedral touters had melted away, only to -reappear with the advent of summer; all the vendors of the Eau had shut -up their shops, and disappeared to more lively places, to spend the -money which they had acquired during the season; and even in the second -and third rate hotels the large _salons_ were closed, and but the -smaller apartments were kept open for the reception of such commercial -gentlemen as the exigences of business kept upon the road. - -This did not matter much to George Wainwright, who was as careless of -luxuries as most men, and who, as an old traveller, had comfortable -head-quarters on which he could depend in most leading cities in -Europe. It was at the Brusseler Hof that George put up when he was in -Cologne, and, no matter what the season, he was sure to find the cosy -little second-rate inn full of business, and to experience a hearty -welcome from stout old Schuhmacher the landlord. - -It was not so long since his last visit but that he was remembered; -and on his arrival, was placed close up at his old host's right hand -at the little _table d'hôte_, consisting then solely of the host's -family and a few neighbouring burghers, who habitually dined there -all the year round. There was a good deal of quiet solemn chaff at -the idea of an Englishman daring to put in an appearance on the Rhine -border between the months of October and May, and a certain amount of -ponderous solicitude expressed in many polysyllabic words was exhibited -as to the reason of his journey. But George took care to keep this to -himself, passing it off in the best way he could, and merely informing -his querists that he was going as far as Mainz. - -Then he heard that ice had fallen in the river, that the steam-boat -traffic was quite suspended, and that he would have to travel in the -_eilwagen_, which he learned to his cost on the morrow was a humorous -name for a wretched conveyance something like a _diligence_, without -an _intérieur_ or a _banquette_, which crawled along at the rate of -between five and six miles an hour, and the company in which was -anything but desirable. - -George slept at Coblenz that night, and the next day made his way to -Mainz, where he at once proceeded to an old inn situate in one of the -back streets of the town, and bearing the sign Zum Karpfen, which was -the head-quarters of the artistic body who nightly held high jinks in -the _kneipe_ there. - -By numerous members of this brotherhood--young men fantastically -dressed, with long hair and quaintly-cut beards, and pipes of every -kind and shape pendent from their mouths--George was received with very -great enthusiasm. Some of them had been his fellow-students at the -University; all of them had heard of him and his learning, and his love -for German songs and traditions and student-life. And high revelry was -held that night in honour of his arrival; and _ohms_ of beer were voted -by acclamation and speedily drunk; and speeches were made, and songs -were sung, and George was kissed and embraced by full two-thirds of the -company present. - -The next morning he was up betimes, and paid an early visit at the -Hofapotheke or Court-laboratory of the town, the manager of which -would, as he was informed, be able to give him Dr. Hildebrand's -address. The manager, who was a very little man, with large protruding -eyes covered with great horn spectacles, and very large flap ears, and -who looked so like an owl that George almost expected him to hop on to -the counter, was very polite but extremely reticent. - -"Oh yes; he had the pleasure of the Herr Doctor's acquaintance. Who -was there in the great world to whom the berühmter Herr Doctor was not -known? It was in Dorrendorf that this so justly celebrated man formerly -resided had. Was it not true? But where did he reside now? Ah, that was -something quite otherwise. Was the Mr. Englishman who spoke the German -language with so excellent an accent--was he perhaps of the medical -profession?" - -"No; but his father. And perhaps the courteous manager of the Court -laboratory might know the name of Wainwright." - -"Vainrayte!" The courteous manager knew it perfectly. He had read the -even so clever treatises on the subject of "Mania and Mental Diseases," -which that so justly renowned physician had written. And the Mr. -Englishman was the son of the Doctor von Vainrayte! There would be no -difficulty then in letting him know the address of Dr. Hildebrand. - -And after further interchange of bows and courtesies, George took his -departure, bearing with him the old physician's address. - -Dr. Hildebrand lived some distance from the town, in a little -road fringed on either side by detached villas standing in their -trim gardens, the road itself turning out of a noble _allée_ of -chestnut-trees, which forms one of the principal outlets of the town. -All the gardens were neatly kept, and all the houses seemed clean and -trim and orderly; but George remarked that the Doctor's house and -garden seemed the neatest of all. He was almost afraid to stand on the -doorstep as he rang the bell, lest he should sully its whiteness; and, -indeed, the old woman who opened the door immediately looked at the -prints of his boots with great disfavour. - -She answered his question of whether the Doctor were at home by -another, asking him what was his business; and was evidently inclined -to be disagreeable at first, but softened in her manner when George -told her that he had come all the way from England in order to see her -master. - -She smiled at this, and condescended to admit him, not without a -parting glance at the muddy footprints, and without enjoining him to -rub his feet on the square scraper standing inside the hall which did -duty for a mat. Then she ushered him into a small and meanly-furnished -dining-room, which, like every other apartment in the house, smelt very -strongly of tobacco, and there left him. - -George could not help smiling to himself as he looked round the room, -the furniture and appointments of which recalled to him such pleasant -memories of his German student days. There on the little sideboard was -the coarse whity-brown cloth, so different from English table-linen, -rolled up and waiting for use. There was the battered red japanned -bread-tray, containing the half-dozen white _brodchens_, the lump of -_sauerbrod_, and the thin slices of _schwarzbrod_. There were the -three large cruets, so constantly required for salad-mixing purposes, -and the blunt black-handled knives and forks. On the wall was a print -from Horace Vernet's ghastly illustration of Bürger's Lenore, showing -the swift death-ride, the maiden lying in fainting terror across the -horse's neck, borne in the arms of the corpse, whose upraised visor -shows its hideous features. - -There were also two or three portraits of eminent German physicians and -surgeons. On the table lay folded copies of the _Cologne Gazette_ and -the _Augsburg Zeitung_; and each corner of the room was garnished with -a spittoon. - -George had just time to take observation of these things, when the door -opened, and the old woman entering, begged him to follow her, as her -master would see him. - -Down a long passage and across a small garden, not trim or neat by any -means--more of a yard, indeed--in which linen that had been washed -was hanging out to dry, and so to the Doctor's study--a large room -surrounded with bookcases crammed and overflowing. Books piled in -the middle of the floor in miscellaneous heaps; Pelions on Ossas of -books in the corners having overcharged themselves, and shot their -contents all over the neighbouring space. A large eight-day clock in -a heavy open case ticking solemnly on one side of the fireplace, the -niche on the other side being occupied by a suspended skeleton. On -the mantelpiece bottles of anatomical preparations, polished bones, -and cases of instruments; in the middle of the room an enormous -old-fashioned writing-table, littered with papers and books on which -the dust had thickly accumulated. Seated at it, busily engaged in -writing, and scarcely looking up as they entered the room, was Dr. -Hildebrand, one of the greatest men of science of his day. - -A tall man, standing over six feet in height, of strange aspect, -rendered still more strange by the contrast between his soft -silver-white air, brushed back from his forehead and hanging down -over his coat-collar, and the sable hue of an enormous pair of bushy -bristly eyebrows, which stuck out like pent-houses, and from under -which his keen black eyes looked forth. His features were coarse and -rugged, his nose large and thick, his mouth long and ill-shaped, his -jaw square, and his chin enormous. He was dressed in a long gray, -greasy dressing-gown, an old black waistcoat and black trousers, and -had frayed worked slippers on his feet. He was smoking a long pipe, the -painted porcelain bowl of which hung far below his knees; and from its -depths, in the influence of the excitement as he wrote, he kept drawing -up and emitting short thick puffs of smoke, in which he was enshrouded. - -After a short space of time, during which George sat motionless, the -old gentleman came to the end of the passage which he was writing; and, -looking up for inspiration or what not, perceived his visitor. - -He looked at him sharply from under his heavy brows, and then, in a -harsh voice, and with but scant show of courtesy, said: - -"Gefällig?" (What is your pleasure?) - -George, speaking in German, began to inform the old gentleman that he -had travelled a very long way for the purpose of seeing and consulting -him. His fame had reached England, where---- - -"You are von England out?" interrupted the Doctor. - -"I am." - -"And yet you speak die Cherman speech so slippery!" said the old -gentleman. "So to me is it mit the English, it is to me equal; but as -I hef not the praxis had, if it is so bleasant to you, we will the -English langvitch dalk." - -"With the greatest pleasure," said George. "I was mentioning to you, -Herr Doctor, that your great fame and renown had brought me from -England for the purpose of consulting you on one of those cases which -you have made your special study, and one in which I am particularly -interested." - -"Zo!" said the Doctor, emitting a long puff of smoke, "aber ist es -ihnen nicht bekannt--I mean, is it not know to you dass I ze praxis -have gave up? Dass I vill no more the curatives inspect, but vill me -zum studiren leave?" - -"I have heard so, Herr Doctor; but I thought that perhaps under -peculiar circumstances you might make an exception." - -"Und die peguliar circonstances is----?" - -"I thought perhaps that when I told you of the case, a young girl" - -"Ah, bah!" interrupted the old gentleman, with a short and angry puff. -"It is nothing vorths; dass young kirls und dummerei! Dass geht mit mir -nicht mehr. I am one old man now and" then turning suddenly, "she is -your Schwester, vat?" - -"No; at present she is nothing to me, though if she were well, I should -hope to make her my wife." - -"Your vaife! Ah, ha! you are verlobt, vat you call engachement, vat? -And she is----?" touching his forehead. "Ach, du lieber Gott! dass ist -aber schwer. Und so fine a young man! How do you call? Vat is your -name, eh?" - -"You have heard it before, I think," said George. "My name is -Wainwright." - -"Vainwraet!" screamed the old gentleman; "was von Vainwraet dass -der _Tarkened Maind_, der _Seclusion, is it koot or bat?_ der _Non -Restraint in Lunacie_, und so weiter? der Doctor Vainwraet, are you mit -ihm verwandt, are you of him relatived?" - -"I am Dr. Wainwright's son," said George. - -"His sohn! was der sohn of Vainwraet, der berühmter Doctor Vainwraet, -was von die Pedlams, und die Lukes und Hanvell Hash--Hatch, vot you -call; is dass shaining licht, so hell and so klar, dass his sohn should -komm to Chermany to consult _.me_, one such humble man, is to me -honourable indeed." - -George readily detected a very strong accent of scorn running through -this speech, and the bow with which the old gentleman concluded it -was one of mock humility. He scarcely knew how to reply; but after a -moment's pause he said, "I thought, sir, you would know my father's -name." - -"His name is mir sehr wohl bekannt, ver veil bequaint with him," -said the Doctor with a grin, "and mit his praxis nevertheless, -notwithstanding, likewise," he added, nodding his head with great -delight as he uttered each of the last three words. "Tell to me, your -father has he seen your braut, dass mädchen, die young dame?" - -"Yes, he has seen her several times." - -"And what says he of her?" - -George shrugged his shoulders, and shook his head despairingly. "He -says he can do her no good--that her case is incurable." - -"Which is two tifferent brobositions, of which I cannot tubidade about -the fairst, though the second may not be founded on fact," said the -Doctor. "No, my young chentleman, I am combassionate and sorrow for -you, but I cannot preak my rule. I hef retaired myself to studiren, and -will inspect no more curatives; and as to your father, der berühmter -Vainwraet, it is not for him I preak my rule! He is an shamposter, see -you, an shamposter!" The puffs from the pipe came very thick and very -rapidly. "An shamposter, sir, mit his dreadises and his bamphlets, -and his lecturings delivered before the Collegiums drum und herum! -He laugh at my ice-theory in his vat you call Physikalische Zeitung, -_Lancer--Lancet!_ He make chokes at my institute in Dorrendorf, vat? -He is a shamposter, dieser Vainwraet, and to the devil mit him and his -sohn, and die ganze geschichte!" - -The old gentleman waved his hand as he spoke, as if he were really -consigning his visitor to the dread limbo which he had named, reseated -himself at his desk, from which he had risen in his rage, and began -writing and smoking furiously. - -What was to be done? George made an attempt at renewing the -conversation, but the Doctor only waved his arm impatiently, and cried -"Fort!" in shrill accents. - -So George Wainwright came away despondingly. His last chance of getting -Annette restored to health had failed, and his outlook on life was very -blank indeed. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. -PATRICIAN AND PROLETARY. - - -It was deep mid-winter, and Colonel Orpington was at home at his -house in Hill Street, Berkeley Square. Miss Orpington was at home -too, temporarily. She had just come up from one of the charming -country-houses where she and her chaperone had been spending Christmas, -and in a week's time she was about to rush off to another charming -country-house, where she would meet the same people, and they would all -do the same things, and thoroughly enjoy themselves. This forthcoming -one is the last visit she will pay before her marriage. Early in the -ensuing spring the Yorkshire baronet with money is to claim Miss -Orpington for his own; meantime the interval between the two visits is -spent by the young lady in shopping and visiting during the day, and -making her father take her to the theatre at night. - -Colonel Orpington accepts the position with his usual complacency. He -has lived long enough in the world to allow very few things indeed to -ruffle him. Even the fact of his not having had any answer from Fanny -Stafford does not annoy him. - -"A younger man," he says to himself, "would fret and fume, and get in -a deuce of a stew. What would be the good of that? It would not make -the answer come any quicker, and it would not have any effect upon the -girl's decision when she had made up her mind to send it. I am not at -all sure that this delay is not rather good than otherwise. My heart -does not beat quite so quickly as it did five-and-twenty years since, -nor does the blood tingle in my veins to such an extent as at that -period, and I can afford to wait. And even if the young lady should -make up her mind to decline my proposition, I should certainly not -commit suicide, though I confess I hope she may accept it for more -reasons than one. - -"I expect that this house will be deuced dull after Emily marries. -I should have to get a clergyman's widow, or somebody of that kind, -to come and be housekeeper. That would be horribly dull, and I don't -see why I should have all the expense of keeping this place up. All -the people I want to entertain I could have at the club; and if it -is necessary for me to give a couple of ladies' dinners during the -season--well, they can be done at Greenwich or Richmond, by Hart or -Ellis, at less expense and without any trouble. I think I should have -chambers in Piccadilly, or somewhere thereabouts; and then that other -little arrangement would suit me admirably, provided the Paradise which -I propose to establish was situated within an easy drive of town. - -"I shall have to lay out a new line of life for myself, I think. I -confess I don't see my way to what Emily said the other night about my -being constantly with them. She is a very nice girl, and Hawker's a -good fellow in his way; but his place is a deuced long way off, and I -am getting a little too old to like to be 'braced', as they call it, by -that infernally keen air that sweeps over the Yorkshire moors. Besides, -they'll be having children, and that kind of thing; and it would be -a confounded nuisance to have to be called 'Grandpapa!' Ridiculous -position for a man of my appearance! So that, except when they are in -town, and one can go to dinner, or to her box at the opera, or that -kind of thing, I don't expect I shall see much of them. Grandpapa! by -Jove, that would be positively awful!" - -And the Colonel rises from his seat, and looks at himself in the glass, -and poodles his hair, and strokes his moustache, and is eminently -satisfied with his appearance. - -It is in the breakfast-room that the Colonel makes these remarks to -himself. Miss Orpington has not yet come down. She has announced by her -maid that she has a headache, she supposes from the close atmosphere -of the theatre the previous evening, and is taking her breakfast in -bed. The Colonel has finished his meal, and is wondering what he will -do with himself. He strolls to the window, and looks into the street, -which is thick with slush. There has been a little snow early in the -morning, and it has melted, as snow does nine times out of ten in -London, and has been left to lie where it melted, as it always is in -London, and the result is a universal pool of slush and mud, a couple -of inches deep. The Colonel shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders, -and turns away. He had some notion of going for a ride, but he doesn't -see the fun of being splashed up to his eyes, and of having to hold -damp and slippery reins with aching fingers. So he thinks he will -stroll down to the club and look through the papers, and have a chat -with anybody who may be available. - -At that moment Miss Orpington enters the room. She walks up to -her parent, who is standing on the hearthrug, and turning her -head, presents to him the lobe of her ear. The Colonel bestows an -affectionate embrace on this portion of his daughter's anatomy, and -inquires after her headache. - -He is reassured at hearing it is better. Then Miss Orpington inquires, -"Who is the person in the hall?" - -"Person in the hall!" The Colonel has not the smallest idea. - -"There is a person in the hall," Miss Orpington avers. "A -tradesman-looking person--bootmaker, or something of that kind, she -should think from his appearance." - -Then the Colonel gives a little start, and remembers that something had -been said to him about half an hour ago about somebody wishing to see -him. - -The bell is rung, and inquiries are made from the servant about the -person in the hall. - -A mysterious stranger, who declines to give his name, but is extremely -anxious to see Colonel Orpington, and will take no refusal. Had been -waiting there half an hour, and seemed inclined to wait on. - -Miss Orpington says, "How very odd!" The Colonel raises his eyebrows, -and ejaculates, "Deuced!" then tells the servant to show the mysterious -person into the library; and after the lapse of a few minutes he -himself proceeds thither. - -On entering the room Colonel Orpington perceives the stranger to be a -tall, good-looking young man belonging to the middle-classes, and with -a curious expression on his face which reminds the Colonel of someone -of his acquaintance whom he cannot immediately recollect. The man, who -is standing, bows at the Colonel's entrance, but declines to take the -seat to which he is motioned. - -"You wish to speak to me, I believe?" said the Colonel, stiffly. - -He had committed a stretch of courtesy by inviting a young man -obviously in the commercial interest to take a seat, and was somewhat -outraged at finding his civility not appreciated. - -"You are Colonel Orpington?" said the visitor. - -"I am. I understand you decline to give your name." - -"For the present, yes. When you have heard my business, if you do not -by that time guess who I am, I shall be happy to tell you." - -"Deuced polite of you, I'm sure," said the Colonel with a grin. -"Perhaps you'll tell me what your business is. Some account to be -settled, I suppose? If so, I am not in the habit of discussing such -matters. If the money is due, you can have it and go." - -"There is an account to be settled," said the visitor; "but it is not -of the nature that you suppose." - -He spoke very quietly but very earnestly; so earnestly that the Colonel -leaned forward in his seat and looked at him with an attention which he -had hitherto not bestowed upon him. - -"Is this a plant?" said the wily old warrior to himself. "My friend -here looks very much of the outraged-brother order; but I have had -nothing of that kind on hand for years." Then aloud, "What is your -business, then?" - -"I have come here, Colonel Orpington, to appeal to your feelings as a -gentleman and a man of honour." - -"Monstrous good of you to take the trouble, I'm sure," said the -Colonel, with the old grin. - -"Hear me out first, and then say what you please," said the visitor. -"Depend upon it, I should not have come here on the chance of -submitting myself to miscomprehension and indignity, if I had not some -adequate motive." - -Again the Colonel noticed the likeness to someone in this man's face, -and again he failed to trace it to its original. - -"There is no need to make a long story of what I have to say; it -can be very shortly told. You will understand me at once, Colonel -Orpington, when I tell you that my name is Merton, and that I am the -brother of a young woman with whom you have been for some time past in -communication." - -"It is the outraged-brother business, after all," said the Colonel -to himself. "This man has found his sister was in the habit of -occasionally coming to chambers; perhaps has learned that I -occasionally give her money; and he jumps at once to a wrong -conclusion." - -Then looked up and said, "Well, sir!" - -"You have made my sister a tool for a most dishonourable purpose. You -have caused her to aid you in a plot against one of her own sex, her -friend, and situated much as she might have been herself." - -"By Jove," muttered the Colonel beneath his breath, "I was wrong; he is -on the other tack!" - -"I do not presume to understand how you had the audacity----" - -"Sir!" cried the Colonel. - -"I repeat the word--the audacity to attempt to induce my sister to -become a spy, and something worse than a spy! You must have had greater -powers of perception than I gave you credit for to comprehend that you -could offer her such a post, and that she would accept it. Of her part -in the transaction I have nothing to say, nor indeed of yours so far as -she is concerned." - -"That being the case, Mr.---- Mr.--I beg your pardon--Merton, perhaps -we had better bring this interview to an end," said the Colonel, -rising to his feet. "I am not going to pick words with you as to the -expression which you have chosen to apply to the commission which your -sister executed for me. She executed and was paid for it, and there's -an end of it." - -"Not yet," said John Merton. "You don't imagine that I should come -here, in the present day, when all these things are taken for granted, -to endeavour to wring your conscience by proving to you that you -tempted a young girl to do a dishonest, disloyal, and dishonourable -act? You don't imagine I am quixotic enough to think that even if you -listen to me patiently, what I said to you would have one grain of -effect a moment after the door had closed upon me? You don't think I -am a missionary from the lower classes come to prate to the upper of -decency and honour?" - -He spoke in a loud high key, his eyes were flashing, and his whole face -was lit up with excitement. - -"What my sister did for you is done and ended so far as she is -concerned, and I will not give you the excuse for a smile by telling -you that she is sorry for it now, and sees her conduct in a light in -which she did not before perceive it. You _do_ smile, and I know why: -you think it is easy to profess repentance when the deed has been -done and the reward paid. You paid to my sister at various times sums -amounting to thirty pounds. In this envelope," laying one on the table, -"are three ten-pound notes. So far, Colonel Orpington, we are quits." - -The Colonel sat still, with his eyes intently fixed on his visitor. As -he remained silent, John Merton proceeded: - -"I wish the other matter could be as easily settled. But in this I meet -you on even terms; in the other I come as a suppliant." - -The Colonel's face became a little more hard, and he sat a little more -erectly in his chair, as he heard these last words. - -"Through my sister's aid, directly or indirectly, you made the -acquaintance of Miss Stafford. Well," he continued, as he noticed -a motion of protest on the Colonel's part, "you may not actually -have made her acquaintance--that, I believe, commenced at the place -where she was employed--but it was through my sister's aid that you -knew of her, that you learned all about her, and that you found out -she was likely to swallow the gilded bait by which even now you are -endeavouring to secure her. When a man in your position pays attention -to a girl in hers, it can be but with one meaning and intention. -Whether Miss Stafford knew that or not, during these last few months in -which you have been constantly hanging about her, I cannot say: but she -knows it now; for you yourself have placed it before her in language -impossible to be misunderstood." - -"Look here, sir!" cried the Colonel, starting forward. - -"Wait and hear me, sir," said John Merton; "you must, you shall! I -told you I was prepared to submit to indignity, to endure your sneers -and sarcasms. I would not have put myself in the way of them for my -sister's sake; but I would for Fanny Stafford." - -"Ah, ha!" said the Colonel to himself, "a lover instead of brother; -greater virtuous indignation, infinitely more savage, but with less -claim to show it." - -"I have known her," continued John Merton, "for some years, and it is -not too much to say that I have loved her all the time." - -"Exactly," said the Colonel complacently. - -"I told you I was prepared for sneers," said John; "I shall not shrink -from avowing to you even that mine has been a hopeless passion; that, -after bearing it a long, long time in silence, I took courage to speak -to Miss Stafford, and received a definite and unmistakable dismissal. -You will glory in that avowal, because you will think it increases the -chances that the answer for which you are waiting will be a favourable -one. I know you are waiting for such an answer. You see I know all." - -"You seem to be devilish well posted up," growled the Colonel, -"certainly." - -"I don't think that her rejection of me would influence Miss Stafford -one way or the other in this matter; I put myself entirely out of the -question. Though her answer will have a certain effect on my future -life, I by no means come here as a desponding lover to implore any -leniency towards himself from his rival----" - -"I should think not," observed the Colonel parenthetically. - -"The leniency I would implore must be exercised towards her. I come to -you, not as a Christian man to show you the sin you contemplate, and -to implore you to avoid its commission; for I have not the right to do -so, nor would it be of the least avail; I know that perfectly. I simply -come to ask you to spare her, just to spare her." - -"Not a bad idea, Mr. Merton," said the Colonel, with his baleful grin. -"You are the young warrior who rescues the damsel from the giant's -castle, and in gratitude the damsel--though she did not care for him -before--of course bestows her hand on him, and they live happy ever -after." - -"No, by my solemn soul, no! In all human probability I shall never -set eyes upon Miss Stafford again; but I should like to know that -some honest man's home was cheered by her presence, some honest man's -children called her mother, although such happiness is not in store for -me." - -"Look here, Mr. Merton," said the Colonel. "I have let you run on to a -certain length without interrupting you, because you explained at once -that you wished to talk off straight away. But I think now I must pull -you up, if you please. You have made out a very pretty story, hanging -well together, and that kind of thing; and I have not contradicted you -because I am not in the habit of lying, and I don't choose to stoop -even to what is called prevarication. So, supposing we take all this -for granted, I say to you, 'Why don't you speak to the young lady -herself? The matter rests with her; it is she who has to decide it.' I -shall not appear in George Street with a band of freebooters to carry -her off, nor will she be seized upon by any men in black masks as she -walks home to her lodgings. This is the latter half of the nineteenth -century, when such actions are not common. A simple Yes or No is all -she has to say, and the affair is entirely in her hands." - -"I told you at once that I did not deny your perspicacity in reading -character. You showed it in your selection of my sister as your agent; -you show it further in your selection of Miss Stafford"--here John -Merton's voice sank to a whisper, and he spoke through his teeth--"to -be what you propose to make her. You know that you have exactly gauged -the mind and temperament of this girl; that, strong-minded in some -things, she is weak in others; vain, too sensitive and too refined -for the people with whom she is brought into contact, and longing for -luxuries which, while they are denied to her, she sees other people -enjoy." - -"I must reciprocate your compliment about the knowledge of character, -Mr. Merton," said the Colonel; "your description of Miss Stafford -appears to me quite exact." - -"Knowing this, you know equally well," continued John Merton, "that she -is the style of person to be caught by the temptations which you have -thought fit to offer her; you know perfectly well that her hesitation -in deciding on your proposition is simply caused by the small remnants -of the influence of proper bringing-up and self-respect struggling with -her wishes and inclinations." - -"If Miss Stafford's wishes and inclinations prompt her to do what I -am asking her to do, I really cannot see why I should be expected to -consent to thwart them and upset my own plans." - -"Colonel Orpington," said John Merton, sternly, "I have told you that -I would not pretend to thrust the religious side of this question -upon you; and in return I have a right to call upon you to drop this -society jargon, and let us talk this matter out as men. I will make -this concession to your vanity: I will tell you I fully believe that -Miss Stafford's future fate is in your hands; that if you choose to -persist in the offer which you have made to her, or rather if you do -not actually withdraw it, she will become something so degraded that I, -who love her so, would sooner see her dead." - -"Look here, my good sir," interrupted the Colonel, impatiently; "you -were good enough to talk about my using 'society's jargon;' I must -trouble you to drop the language of the penny romances. What the deuce -do you mean by 'something so degraded?' If Miss Stafford accepts my -propositions, she will have everything she wants." - -"Will she?" said John Merton, quickly. "Will she have your name? or, -even supposing she makes use of it, will she have any lawful right to -do so? Will she have the companionship of honest women, the friendship -of honest men?" - -"She will have, what is a deuced sight better, the envy of pretty -women, and the companionship of pleasant fellows," said the Colonel. - -"You meet my earnestness with flippancy," said John Merton. "I know -Fanny Stafford, and, with all her vanity and all her love of luxury, -I know that after a time the life would be insupportable to her. Her -proud spirit would never brook the stares which would greet her, and -the whisperings which would follow her progress. No amount of money at -her command would make up to her for that." - -"I still think that this is a matter for Miss Stafford's decision," -said the Colonel. "You really cannot expect me to place before her all -the disadvantages of my own offer in the strong light in which you -review them." - -John Merton paused a moment; then he said: - -"I will not take up more than five minutes more of your time, Colonel -Orpington, but I should like just to discuss this question perhaps -rather more from your point of view. What I have hitherto mentioned, -you say concerns Miss Stafford; but now about yourself. Supposing -events to follow as you have proposed----" - -"As I have every expectation they will," said the Colonel, pleasantly -smiling. - -"You have a right to that expectation," said John. "Well, supposing -they so fall out, you are too much a man of the world to expect that -your--well, what you are pleased to call your love for Miss Stafford -will last for ever." - -"It will be uncommonly unlike any other love if it did," said the -Colonel. - -"Exactly; it will run its course and die out, as similar passions have, -I should imagine, expired in previous years. What do you propose to do -then?" - -"I decline to anticipate such a state of affairs," said the Colonel; -"sufficient for the day-----" - -"Exactly," said John Merton; "only in this case the evil once done -would be sufficient for the rest of your days on earth. Do you imagine -that a girl of Fanny Stafford's proud temperament would condescend to -accept anything at your hands, when she knew that your feelings for -her had died out, and that you were probably spreading for another -woman exactly the same nets into which she had been entrapped? I know -her well enough to be certain that under such circumstances she would -refuse, not merely to be supported by you, but even to see you. What -would become of her then? She would take to suicide, the usual resort -of her class." - -"Most likely she would take to suicide," said the Colonel. - -"If she did," said John Merton, very sternly, taking a step in advance, -and bringing down his hand upon the table at which the Colonel was -sitting, "I don't suppose her death would lie heavily upon your soul; -but I would make you answer for it, so help me God!" - -"By George, do you threaten me, sir?" said the Colonel, springing to -his feet. The next instant he sank easily back into his chair, saying, -"Pshaw! the thing is too preposterous; you don't imagine I could fight -_you?_" - -"I had no such idea, Colonel Orpington; but what I threatened just now -I would carry out. If this girl becomes your victim, and if that result -which I have just foreshadowed, and which seems to me inevitable, -should ensue, I will take care that your name is dragged before the -public as the girl's seducer and the cause of her ruin. These are not -very moral times, but the gay Lothario stamp of man is rather laughed -at nowadays, especially when he has not the excuse of youth for his -folly; and when mixed up with his folly there are such awkward episodes -as desertion and suicide, people no longer laugh at him, they cut him. -The newspapers write articles about him; and his friends, who are doing -the same thing themselves, but do not labour under the disadvantage of -being found out, shake their heads and are compelled to give him up. -From all I have heard of you, Colonel Orpington, you are far too fond -of society and too great a favourite in it to risk being treated in -such a manner for such a temporary amusement." - -"If you have heard anything of me, sir," said the Colonel, rising in a -rage, "you may have heard that I never brook confounded impertinence, -and I'm d--d if I stand it any longer! I will trouble you to leave -this house at once, and never let me set eyes on you again," he added, -ringing the bell. - -"I trust I shall never have occasion to come across you, Colonel -Orpington," said John Merton firmly; "whether I do or not entirely -rests upon yourself. Depend upon it, that I shall hold to everything I -have said, and that I shall not shrink from carrying out what I have -fully made up my mind to do on account of any menaces." - -He bowed slightly to the Colonel, turned round, and slowly walked from -the room. - -Left to himself, the Colonel took to pacing up and down the library -with great strides. He was evidently labouring under great annoyance; -he bit his lips and tossed his head in the air, and muttered to himself -as he walked up and down. - -"That fellow struck the right note at last," he said. "Insolent brute! -All that palaver about honest man's fireside, and children calling her -mother, and that kind of thing, one has heard a thousand times; but if -all happened as he prophesied--and I confess it is the usual ending to -such things--and he made a row as he threatened, it would be deuced -unpleasant. He is right about the Lothario business being over; and -more than right about people grinning at you when you are mixed up in -such matters at fifty years of age. And if it were to come to what -he suggested, death and that kind of thing, there would probably be -a great row. Those infernal newspaper paragraphs about the heartless -seducer--they don't like those things at the Court or the Horse Guards; -and then one would have to run the gauntlet of the clubs and that kind -of thing. By Jove, it's worth considering whether the game is worth the -candle, after all!" - -At that moment Miss Orpington entered. - -"Who was that person, papa?" said she. "I thought I heard you speak -quite angrily to him." - -"Very likely, my dear," said the Colonel; "he was a very impertinent -and unmannerly person from--from those confoundedly troublesome -slate-quarries and lead-mines in South Wales." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. -DAISY'S LETTER. - - -Left to himself, without George Wainwright to listen to his complaints, -to afford him consolation, or even to do him good by the administration -of the rough tonic of his advice, Paul Derinzy had a very bad time of -it. His attendance at the office was exceedingly irregular; and when he -was there he was so preoccupied and _distrait_, that he would not look -after his work; which accordingly, there being no George Wainwright -to stay after hours and pull it up, went hopelessly into arrears. The -good old chief, Mr. Courtney, always inclined to be kind and indulgent, -and more especially disposed to civility since he had been to dine -with Paul's people in Queen Anne Street (where he found the Captain "a -devilish gentleman-like fellow, sir; far superior to the men of the -present day, with a remarkable fund of anecdote"), had his patience and -his temper very much tried by his young friend's peculiar proceedings; -and between the two other occupants of the principal registrar's room, -Mr. William Dunlop's life was pretty nearly harried out of him. - -"If the arrival of my people in town were to render me as wretched as -the arrival of P.D.'s people has rendered P.D.," observed Mr. Dunlop, -in confidence to a brother-clerk, "I should begin to think it was not -a bad thing being a norphan. I have often thought, Simmons, that I -could have done the young-heir business in doublet and trunk-hose--no, -that is, the spirit-stirring song of the 'Old English Gentleman'--the -young-heir business, smiling from the top of the steps on the assembled -tenantry, vide Frith, R.A., his picture of 'Coming of Age,' to be had -cheap as an Art Union print. But if to become moped and melancholy, to -decline to go odd man for b. and s., and to tell people who propose the -speculation to 'go to the devil'--if that is to be the result of having -people and being heir to a property in Dorsetshire, my notion is, that -I would sooner serve her Majesty at two-forty, rising to three-fifty at -yearly increments of twenty, and be free!" - -There was no doubt that there were grounds for Mr. Dunlop's complaints. -Paul not merely did not attend to his work, but his manner, which, -from its brightness and courtesy, had in the old days won him troops -of friends and rendered him everywhere sought for and popular, was now -morose and forbidding. He seemed to be aware of this, and consequently -went very little into society. To Queen Anne Street he only went when -he was absolutely obliged; that is to say, when he felt that he could -not decently remain away any longer; but even then his visits were -very short, and his mother found him absent and preoccupied. He had, -however, taken sufficient notice of what was passing around him to -remark the maidenly delicacy, imbued with true feminine tact, with -which Annette asked news of George Wainwright, and the hard struggle -which she made to conceal her disbelief of the stories which he, Paul, -invented to account for his friend's absence. - -He had not seen Daisy for the last fortnight. When last they met it was -arranged that they should meet as usual in the course of a few days. -But two days after, Paul received a little note from her, saying that, -owing to Madame Clarisse's absence, her trouble and responsibility were -so great that she could not possibly leave the business to take care -of itself for ever so short a time. She would let him know as soon as -the possible slackness of work permitted her to make an appointment for -meeting him in the gardens, and she was his affectionate D. - -Paul did not like the tone of this letter. It was certainly much -cooler than that of any of the little notes--there were but very few -of them--which he had received from Daisy since the commencement of -their acquaintance. He did not believe in the excuse one bit. Even in -the height of the season she had always managed to get out and see him -for a few minutes once or twice a week. Then, as to Madame Clarisse's -absence and Daisy's consequent responsibility, did not the very fact of -her being at the head of affairs prove that she was her own mistress, -and able to dispose of her own time as she pleased? - -There was something at the bottom of it all, Paul thought, which he -had not yet fathomed. There was a change in her; that could not be -denied--a strange inexplicable change. The girl he met on his return -from the country, and who came to him listlessly, with an evident air -of preoccupation, which she endeavoured to hide, and with an assumed -air of pleasure at his return, which was so ill-assumed as to be very -easily seen through, was a totally different being from the loving, -teasing, half-coy, half-wayward girl whom he had left behind him. - -Paul set himself to work to trace the commencement of this change, and -after long cogitation decided that it must have been worked during his -absence. What caused it, then? Certainly it arose from no fault of -his. He could not charge himself in the slightest degree with neglect -of her. He had written to her constantly, freely, and lovingly. He had -gone away protesting against his enforced absence; his letters had been -filled with joyous expectation of renewed delight at meeting her again; -and when he had met her, the warmth of his passion for her, so far -from being diminished one jot, had increased and expanded. So that the -alteration of their position towards each other which had so evidently -come about was her doing, and not his. - -In his self-examination, Paul went through all the different phases -of the feeling by which he had been actuated towards this girl. He -recalled to himself how that at first, dazzled and captivated by her -beauty, he had only thought of making her acquaintance, without the -idea of any definite end; how that end had in his mind soon taken a -form which, though not unnatural in a young man carelessly brought up, -and living the loose life which he then led, he now blushed to recall. -He recollected the grave displeasure quietly but firmly expressed by -Daisy when she saw, as she very speedily did, the position which he -proposed for her. And then his mind dwelt on that delicious period when -there was no question of what might happen in the future, when they -enjoyed and lived in the present, and it was sufficient and all in all -to them. - -That was the state in which they were when they parted; what was -their condition now? Daisy's manner was cold and preoccupied; all the -brightness and light, all pretty ways and affectionate regards which -she had displayed for him during the summer, seemed to have died out -with the summer's heat, and Paul felt that he stood to her in a far -more distant position than that which he had occupied at the very -commencement of their acquaintance. - -He had his hold to establish on her then, to be sure, but he was not -without hope or encouragement. Now he had neither to cheer him, and -the work was all to be done again. Good God, what did she require of -him! He would willingly brave the open frowns and whispered hints of -society, of which he had at one time stood in such mortal fear, and -would be only too delighted to make her his wife. She knew this. Since -his return he had plainly told her so; but the declaration had not -merely failed in obtaining a definite answer from her, but had made no -difference in her manner towards him. He had argued with her, scolded -her, tasked her with the change, and implored her to let him know the -reason of it; but he had obtained no satisfactory reply. - -"It was his fancy," she said; "she was exactly the same as when they -had parted. The life which he had been leading at home had evidently -had a very bad effect upon him. She had always feared his return to -'his people,' of whom he thought so much, and with whom he was so -afraid of bringing her into contact." - -Good heavens, why twit him with that past and bygone folly! Had he not -offered to set these people at defiance, and make her his wife?--could -he do more? - -She replied very quietly that she did not want any family rupture on -her account, and that as to the question of their marriage, there was -no necessity for any hurry in that matter; and indeed they had very -much better wait until they had proved that they were more thoroughly -suitable to each other. - -And then Paul Derinzy chafed against his chain, and longed to break it, -but dared not. He complained bitterly enough of her bad treatment of -him, but he loved her too dearly to renounce the chance of bringing her -into a better frame of mind, and restoring to himself the darling Daisy -of his passionate worship. - -He had no one in whom he could confide, no one whose advice he could -seek, in this crisis of his life. George Wainwright was away; and to -whom else could he turn? Although he and his mother were in their way -very fond of each other, there had never been any kind of confidence -between them--certainly not that confidence which would have enabled -him to lay bare his heart before her, and ask for her counsel and -consolation. Mrs. Derinzy was essentially a worldly woman, and Paul -knew perfectly that she would scout the idea of his marrying, as she -considered, beneath him; and instead of pouring balm into his wounded -spirit, would, after her fashion, try to cicatrise the hurt by telling -him that he had had a fortunate escape from an unworthy alliance. His -father, long trained in habits of obedience, would have repeated his -wife's opinion. Had he been allowed to give his own, it would have -been flavoured with that worldly wisdom of which he was so proud, and -would probably have been to the effect that, however one treated young -persons in that position of life, one certainly did not marry them, and -that he could not possibly imagine any son of his doing anything so -infernally stupid. - -Those who had known Paul Derinzy as the light-hearted, light-headed -young man of society, enjoying himself in every possible way, -extracting the greatest amount of pleasure out of every hour of his -life, and allowing no sense of responsibility to weigh upon him, would -hardly have recognised him in the pale, care-worn man with hollow -cheeks who might be seen occasionally eating his solitary dinner at the -club, but who never joined the gay circle in the smoking-room, or was -to be found in any of those haunts of pleasure which formerly he had -so assiduously frequented. With Daisy always in his mind, he had an -irresistible inclination to moon about those places where he had been -in the habit of seeing her. - -In the dusk of the evening he would walk for hours up and down George -Street, in front of Madame Clarisse's house, sometimes fancying he -recognised Daisy's reflection on the window-blind, and then being half -tempted to rush across and seek admission to her at any cost. And he -would go down to the spot in Kensington Gardens--now a blank desert of -misery--and wander up and down, picturing to himself the delightful -summer lounging there, and recalling every item of the conversation -which had then been held. - -One day, one Saturday half-holiday, Paul, who had not heard from George -Wainwright for some days, had been up to the Doctor's establishment -to inquire whether any news had been received of his friend, and -having been replied to in the negative, he was listlessly returning to -town, when the old fascination came upon him, and he struck up past -Kensington Palace with the intention of lingering for a few moments -in the familiar spot. He was idling along, chewing the cud of a fancy -which was far more bitter than sweet, when his desultory footsteps came -to a halt as he caught sight of a couple in front of him. - -A man and woman walking side by side in conversation. Their backs were -towards him, but he recognised Daisy in an instant. The man was tall -and of a good figure, and looked like a gentleman, but Paul could not -see his face. His first impulse was to rush towards them, but better -sense prevailed. His was not the nature to play the spy; so, with a -smothered groan, he turned upon his heel, and slowly retraced his steps. - -There was an end of it, then. At last he had comprehended the full -extent of his misery. All that he had feared had come to pass, and -more. She had thrown him over, and he had seen her walking with another -man in the very place which up to that time had been rendered sacred to -him by the recollection of their meetings there. - -There was an end of it; but he would let her know that he was fully -aware of the extent of her treachery and baseness. He would go to the -club at once, and write to her, telling her all he had seen. He would -not reproach her--he thought he would leave that to her own conscience; -he would only--he did not know what he would do; his legs seemed to -give way beneath him, his head was whirling round, and he felt as -though he should fall prostrate to the ground. - -When he reached the Park gates--and how he reached them he never -knew--he called a cab and drove to the club. He was hurrying through -the hall, when the porter stopped him and handed to him a letter. -It was from Daisy. Paul's heart beat high as the well-known writing -met his view. He took it with him to the writing-room, which was -fortunately empty, and sitting himself at the writing-table, laid the -letter before him. He was uncertain whether he would open it or not. -Whatever it might contain would be unable to do away with the fact -which he had so recently witnessed with his own eyes. - -No excuse could possibly explain away the disloyalty with which she -had treated him. It would be better, he thought, to return the letter -unopened. But then there might be something in it which in future time -he might regret not to have seen; some possible palliation of her -offence, some expression of regret or softening explanation of the -circumstances under which she had betrayed him. And then Paul opened -the letter, and read as follows: - -"MY DEAR PAUL,--I do not think you will be surprised at what I am about -to tell you; and I try to hope that you will not be very much annoyed -at it. I knew that it must come very shortly, and I have endeavoured as -far as I could to prepare you for the news. - -"The pleasant life which we have been leading for the last few months, -Paul--and I do not pretend to disguise my knowledge that it has been -pleasant to you, any more than I shrink from acknowledging that it has -been most delightful to me--has come to an end, and we must never meet -again. This should be no tragic ending: there should be no shriek of -woe or exclamations of remorse, or mutual taunts and invectives. It -is played out, that is all; it has run down, and come naturally to a -full-stop, and there is no use in attempting to set it going again. - -"I can understand your being horribly enraged when you first read this, -and using all sorts of strong language about me, and vowing vengeance -against me. But this will not last; your better sense will come to -your aid; in a very little time you will thank me for having released -you from obligations the fulfilment of which would have brought misery -on your life, and will thank me for having been the first to put an -end to an action which was very pleasant for the time it lasted, but -which would have been very hopeless in the future. For my part, I don't -reproach you, Paul, Heaven knows; I should be an ingrate if I did. - -"You have always treated me with the tenderest regard, and only very -lately you have done me the highest honour which a man can do a woman, -in asking her to become his wife. Don't think I treat this offer -lightly, Paul; don't think I am not keenly alive to its value, as -showing the affection, if nothing else, which you have, or rather must -have had, for me. Do not think that it has been without a struggle that -I have made up my mind to act as I am now doing, to write the letter -which you now read. - -"But suppose I had said Yes, Paul; you know as well as I do the -exact position which I should have occupied, and the effect which my -occupancy of that position would have had on your future life. It was -not--I do not say this with any intention of wounding you--it was not -until you clearly found you could get me on no other terms that you -made me this offer; and though probably you will not allow it even to -yourself, you must know as well as I do, that after a while you would -find yourself tied to a wife who was unsuited to you in many ways, and -by marrying whom you had alienated your family from you, and disgraced -yourself in the opinion of that world which you now profess to despise, -but of whose verdict you really stand in the greatest awe. - -"And then, Paul, it would be one of two things: either you would hold -to me with a dogged defiance, which is not part of your real nature, -but which, under the circumstances, you would cultivate, feeling -yourself to be a martyr, and taking care to let me know that you felt -it--you will deny all this, Paul, but I know you better than yourself; -or you would feel me to be a clog upon you, and leave me for the -society in which you could forget that, for the mere indulgence of a -passing passion, you had laid upon yourself a burden for life. - -"What but misery could come out of either of these two results? Under -both of them we should hate each other; for I confess I should not -be grateful to you for the enforced companionship which the former -presupposes; and under the latter I should not merely hate you, but -in all probability should do something which would bring dishonour on -your name. You see, I speak frankly, Paul; but I do so for the best. -If you had been equally frank with me, I could have told you long -since, at the commencement of our acquaintance, of something which -would have prevented our ever being more to each other than the merest -acquaintances. You told me your name was Paul Douglas; you disguised -from me that it was Paul Derinzy. Had I known that, I would have then -let you into a secret; I would have told you that I too had in a -similar manner been deceiving you by passing under the name of Fanny -Stafford, whereas my real name is Fanny Stothard. - -"Does not that revelation show you what is to come, Paul? Do you not -already comprehend that I am the daughter of a woman who holds a menial -position in your father's house, and that this fact would render wider -yet the chasm which yawns between our respective classes in society? -You do not imagine that your mother would care to recognise in her -son's wife the daughter of her servant, or that I should particularly -like to become a member of a family in which my cousin's waiting-woman -is my own mother. - -"I ascertained this fact in sufficient time to have made it, if I had -so chosen, the ground for putting an end to our intimacy, and my reason -for writing this letter; but I preferred not to do so, Paul. I have -put the matter plainly, straightforwardly, and frankly; and I will not -condescend to ride off on a quibble, or to pretend that I have been -influenced by your want of confidence in withholding your name. You -will see--not now, perhaps, but in a very little time--that I have -acted for the best, and will be thankful to me for the course which I -have taken. - -"And recollect, Paul, the breach between us must be final--it must be -a clean cut; and you must not think, even after it has been made, that -there are any frayed and jagged points left which are capable, at some -time or another, of being reunited. We have seen each other for the -last time; we have parted for ever. There must be no question of any -interview or adieu; we are neither of us of such angelic tempers that -we could expect to meet without reproaches and high words; and I, at -all events, should be glad in the future to recall the last loving look -in your eyes, and the last earnest pressure of your hand. - -"And that mention of the future reminds me, this letter is the last -communication you will receive from me; and when you have finished -reading it, you must look upon me as someone dead and passed away. If -by chance you ever meet me in the street, you must look upon me as the -ghost of someone whom you once knew, and forbear to speak to me. It -will not be very difficult to imagine this; for, God knows, I shall -be no more like the Fanny Stafford whom you have known than the Fanny -Derinzy you would have made me. No matter what I am, no matter what I -may become, you will have ceased to have any pretext for inquiring into -my state; and I distinctly forbid your attempting to interfere with me -in the slightest degree. Does that sound harsh, Paul? I do not mean it -so; I swear I do not mean it so. If you knew--but you do not, and never -shall. You are hot and impetuous and weak; I am cool and clear-brained -and strong-minded: you look only at the present; I think for the -future. You will repeat all this bitterly, saying that I am right, and -that my conduct plainly shows I know exactly how to describe myself; I -know you will, I can almost hear you say it. I half wish I could hear -you say anything, so that I could listen to your dear voice once again; -but that could never be. - -"Goodbye, Paul! At some future time, not very long hence, when all -this has blown over, and you are in love with, and perhaps married to, -someone else, you will acknowledge I was right, and think sometimes -not unkindly of me. But I shall never think of you again. Once more, -goodbye, Paul! I should like to say, God bless you! if I thought such -a prayer from me would be of any use." - -Paul Derinzy read this letter through twice, and folded it up and -placed it in his pocket. Ten minutes afterwards the writing-room bell -rang violently, and the servant, on answering was surprised to find an -old gentleman kneeling on the floor, and bending over the prostrate -body of Mr. Derinzy, whose face was very white, whose neck-cloth was -untied, and who the old gentleman said was in a fit. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. -RELENTING. - - -When George Wainwright left the presence of the strange old German -doctor, upon whom he had looked with an almost awful anxiety, a -half-superstitious hope, it was with an acute sense of disappointment, -such as had rarely stung the young man's ordinarily placid and -well-disciplined mind. He had the profoundest respect for his father's -opinion, the most implicit reliance on his father's judgment; and from -the sentence which pronounced the case of Annette hopeless, except -under those conditions whose fulfilment he now found it impossible to -procure, he never thought of appealing. His father--of whose science -in theory, of whose skill in practice, his own experience had offered -him innumerable instances--had told him, with genuine concern and with -true sympathy, rather than the more formal paternal manner it was the -doctor's custom to exhibit towards his son, that this one only hope -existed, this solitary chance presented itself. He had caught at the -hope; he had endeavoured to reduce the chance to practice; and he had -failed. - -There was bitterness, there was agony, in the conviction, such as had -never fallen to the lot of George Wainwright before, though life had -brought him some of those experiences which Mr. Dunlop was wont to -designate as "twisters" too. But then so much depends on the direction, -the strength, and the duration of the "twist," and there are some so -easily gotten over. - -This, however, was not one of them; and George's heart was sorely -wrung. The pain was directed cunningly, and strongly applied, and -as for its duration--well, George believed, as we all believe when -suffering is very keen and very fresh, that it was going to be -everlasting. It couldn't be otherwise, indeed, in the sense in which -"everlasting" applies itself to this mortal individual life; for did -it not mean that the woman he loved, the one woman he really loved -and longed for, was doomed for her term of terrestrial existence to -the saddest of all destinies, which included utter separation from -him? While they both lived, if that fiat should remain unaltered, how -should his sorrow be less than everlasting? If it be true that there -are certain kinds of trouble, and sharp trouble too, to which men and -women do become accustomed, of a surety this was not one of them, -but trouble of a vital kind, full of murmuring, of wretchedness, and -regret. So long as they both should live--he a sane man, loving this -periodically-insane woman as he loved her, with a strong passionate -attachment, by no means deficient in the conservative element of -intellectual attraction--whence should the alleviation come? - -George Wainwright liked pain as little as most men like it; and as he -turned his face towards England, discomfited and utterly downcast, -he felt, with a sardonic morbidity of feeling, that he would not -be disinclined now to exchange his capacity of suffering and his -steadiness of disposition for the _volage_ fickleness which he was -accustomed to despise in many of his associates. If he could get -over it, it would be much better for him, and no worse for her, he -thought; but the next true and fine impulse of his nature rebuked the -foregoing, and made him prize the sentiments which had come to ennoble -his life, to check its selfishness and dissipate its ennui, though -by the substitution of pain. And for her? He had seen so plainly, -so unmistakably the difference in Annette, the new element of hope, -anticipation, and enjoyment which her affection for him had brought -into her hitherto darkened life, that the utmost exertion of his common -sense failed to make him believe she would be the better for the -complete severance between them which reason dictated to him ought to -be the upshot of the failure of his enterprise. - -"It is better to have loved," he repeated to himself, as he sat -moodily in the railway-carriage on his return journey, unheeding alike -the trimly-cultivated country through which he was passing, and the -profusion of flimsy literature, journalistic and other, with which the -cushions were strewn--"it is better to have loved----" And then he -thought, "She is not _lost_. She lives, and I can see her. I may cheer -and alleviate her life, though it may never be blessed with union. -When the dark days come, they will be less dark to her, because when -she emerges into light again, it will be to find me; and at her best -and brightest--ah, how good and bright that is!--she will be happier -and better because of me. Good God! am I so weak and so selfish that -I cannot accept what there is in this of blessing, without pining for -that which can never be?" - -Thus, striving manfully with his bitter disappointment, and -strengthening himself with earnest and manly resolutions, George -Wainwright returned to England. Perhaps the sharpest pang he felt, -sharper even than that with which he had heard Dr. Hildebrand's -decided refusal and had obeyed his peremptory dismissal, was caused -by the momentary shrinking from the sight of Annette, which made -itself felt as he approached the place of her abode. At first there -had been wild, reckless longing to see her, longing in which love was -intensified by pity and sharpened by grief; then came this instinctive -dread and lingering. He had left her with so much hope, so much -energy, such strong conviction; he was returning with none of these. -He was returning to look in the dear face so often overhung with the -mysterious fitful veil of insanity, and to be forced to feel that it -could never be given to mortal hand to lift that veil, and to throw it -aside for ever. And though his first impulse had been to hasten back to -England with all possible speed, when he arrived in London he lingered -and hesitated about announcing himself at the residence of the Derinzys. - -Should he go to his father's chambers at the Albany in the first -instance, and tell him how his hopes had collapsed?--not because, as -Dr. Wainwright had supposed, the eccentric and famous German savant -was dead, but because the rampant vitality of professional jealousy -had utterly closed his heart to George's pleadings, and even obscured -the ambition to make one cure more, which, to the joy of many a heart, -has been found too strong to be resisted by more than one celebrated -physician _en retraite_. Yes, he would see his father in the first -instance; it would give him nerve. Indeed, he ought to do so for -another reason. - -He must henceforth be doubly careful in his dealings with Annette; he -who--it would be absurd to disguise his knowledge of the fact--had -assumed greater importance in her life than any other being, who -noted and managed her, and swayed her temper and her fancies as -no one beside; and this was exactly the conjuncture in which the -advice, the guidance, of the physician charged with her case would -be indispensable. George would obtain it and obey it to the utmost. -Supposing his father, in the interest of his patient and his son, -were to pronounce that under the circumstances it would be advisable -that the young people should not meet, could George undertake to obey -the behests of the physician or the counsel of the father? This was a -difficult question. In such a case he would appeal promptly to that -excellent understanding, that taken-for-granted equality which had -subsisted between him and Dr. Wainwright, and put it to him that he was -prepared to sacrifice himself for the welfare of the girl, and to lend -to her blighted life all the alleviation which his friendship and his -society could afford, while strictly guarding himself from the avowal -of any warmer feeling. - -Assisted by these resolutions, and perhaps not quite unconscious that -he would have been slow to credit any other person who might have -formed them with the courage to maintain them, George Wainwright -presented himself before his father. The Doctor received him kindly, -and listened to the account of his fruitless journey without any -evidence of surprise. - -"I am glad the old man is still living," said Dr. Wainwright, when -George had finished his story; "but sorry to find he is not so great -a man as I had believed him to be. No great man allows a personal -feeling, prejudice, or pique to interfere with his theories or hamper -his actions. The idea of his declining such a case because _I_ had been -unsuccessful with the patient! Why, that ought, even according to his -own distorted notions, to be the strongest reason for his going at it -with a will. However," and the "mad doctor" laughed a low laugh and -rubbed his hands gently together, "there are queer freaks and cranks of -the human mind to be seen outside of lunatic asylums." - -George was a little impatient of his father's attention being rather -given to Dr. Hildebrand than to his feelings under the circumstances, -and he recalled it by the abrupt question: - -"What is to be done now?" - -"Nothing," replied Dr. Wainwright; "nothing in the sense of cure, -nothing additional in the way of treatment." - -"May I--may I safely continue to see her?" - -The son knew well how thoroughly, under the habitual professional -composure of his manner, the father comprehended and felt the deep -importance of the reply he was about to make. - -"The question of safety," he said, "mainly concerns _you_. Do you think -you would do wisely in continuing to seek the society of this poor -girl, feeling as you do towards her, and knowing she cannot be your -wife?" - -"My dear father," replied George with deliberation, "I do not think, -I do not say it would be wise; I only say it is one of those foolish -things which are inevitable. Put me aside in the matter, and tell me -only about _her_." - -"Then," said the Doctor, "I have no hesitation in saying I do not -think you can harm her. Your society cheers and amuses her. In her -state there is little danger of the awakening of any deep and permanent -feeling. Should such a danger arise, I should be sure to perceive and -prevent it." - -After a long conversation, the father and son parted. Dr. Wainwright -felt considerable regret that George's feelings should be thus -involved; but he reasoned upon the case, according to his lights -and convictions, and did not exaggerate its importance, believing -that his son was not the sort of man to make himself perfectly -uncomfortable about any woman whom it was quite impossible he should -marry. He thought about the whole party after his son had left him--of -Annette with liking and compassion; of George with affection, and a -recognition of the difference which existed between his own mind and -his son's; and of the Derinzys with supreme contempt. Perhaps, in the -long list of his friends and patients, there were not to be found -two individuals whom Dr. Wainwright--a man not given to venerating -his fellow-creatures--more thoroughly despised than Captain and Mrs. -Derinzy. And then he turned to his books again, and forgot them. - -From his father's chambers in the Albany, George Wainwright went -direct to the Derinzys' house. Mrs. Derinzy was at home, as was Miss -Annette; but Mr. Wainwright could not on this occasion have the -pleasure of seeing the Captain. So far, everything was propitious to -that gentleman's wishes; and he entered the small back drawing-room, -which no one but a house-agent or an upholsterer would have called -a boudoir, where. Annette was usually to be found, lounging near a -flower-crowded balcony, with the feeling of joy at seeing her again -decidedly predominant. He was philosophic, but he was something more -than a philosopher; and this afflicted girl had become inexpressibly -dear to him, had inspired him with a love in which selfishness had a -strangely small share. - -Annette was in her usual place, and she rose to meet George with an -expression of simple unaffected pleasure. Mrs. Derinzy, who was also -in the room, greeted him with cold politeness. She was not so foolish -as to persist in believing she could have carried her design to a -successful issue in any case; but she vas quite sufficiently unjust to -resent George's influence over Annette, though she knew it had never -been employed against her, and though she felt a malicious satisfaction -in contemplating the hopelessness of the affair. - -"If anyone would marry an insane woman, knowing all about her, it -certainly would not be a mad doctor's son," thought Mrs. Derinzy, and -was pleased to feel that other people's plans had to "gang a-gley" as -completely as her own. - -George took Mrs. Derinzy's manner very calmly and contentedly. He did -not care about Mrs. Derinzy or her manner. He was thinking of Annette, -and reading the indications of health, or the opposite, in her pleased -agitated face. - -"Where have you been, and why have you stayed away so long?" was the -first address to George; and she could hardly have selected one more -embarrassing. But he got out of the difficulty by the plea which is -satisfactory to every woman except one's wife--possibly because she -alone can estimate its real value--the plea that "business" had taken -him on a flying tour to Germany. He entertained her with an account of -his travels, and had at least the satisfaction of seeing her brighten -up into more than her customary intelligence, and assume an expression -of happiness which had been singularly wanting in her sweet young face -when he had first seen it, and which he believed he was the only person -who had ever summoned up. It was not difficult for George, sitting -near the handsome girl, so bright and so gentle for him alone, in the -pleasant hush of the refined-looking room, to persuade himself that -such a state of things would satisfy him, and be the very best possible -for her. It was not difficult for him to forget that the Derinzys -were not habitual inhabitants of London; and that if his relations -with Annette were destined to assume no more definite form, he could -have no valid excuse for presenting himself at Beachborough without -the invitation which Mrs. Derinzy's demeanour afforded him no hope of -obtaining. - -But George's delusive content was not destined to be lasting. At -a break in the conversation, which, with the slightest possible -assistance from Mrs. Derinzy, he was carrying on with Annette, he asked -the elder lady for news of Paul, adding that he had not written to his -friend during his absence, and had not yet had time to apprise him of -his return. - -"We have seen hardly anything of Paul of late," said Mrs. Derinzy in a -tone of strong displeasure. "My residence in London has not procured me -much of the society of my son; and since you left town, I cannot say we -know anything about him." - -"This looks badly," thought George. "With all his determination to -resist his mother, Paul would not neglect her if things were not going -ill with him. I must see to him." - -That visit was memorable, and in more ways than one. It was the last -which George Wainwright made to Mrs. Derinzy in the character of a mere -friendly acquaintance, and it confirmed him in his belief, as full of -fear as of hope, that Annette loved him. - -His absence had not been of long duration, but it sent him back with -renewed zest to his painting, his books, and his music, and there was a -strong need within him of a little rest and seclusion. He felt he must -"think it out;" not in foreign scenes or amid distractions, but thus, -amid his actual present surroundings, in the very place where he should -have to "live it down." So it came to pass that he did not forthwith go -in search of Paul, but contented himself with writing him a note and -bidding him come to him--a summons which, to George's surprise, his -friend neither responded to nor obeyed. His leave had not expired, and -a few days of the solitude his soul loved were within his reach. - -Beyond his customary evening visit to Madame Vaughan--in whose -appearance he noted a change which aroused in him apprehensions shared -by her attendants and the resident doctor, but whose intelligence was -even more than usually bright and sympathetic, though her delusion -remained unchanged--George Wainwright went nowhere and saw no one for -three days. At the end of that time his seclusion was interrupted by an -unexpected visitor. - -It was his father. And his father had so manifestly something important -to communicate, that George, whose sensitive temperament had one -feminine tendency, that which renders a man readily apprehensive of ill -news, started up and said: - -"There is something wrong! Miss Derinzy----" - -"Sit down, George, and keep quiet," said the Doctor kindly, regarding -his son's impetuosity with a good-natured critical amusement. "There's -nothing in the least wrong with Miss Derinzy; and though a rather -surprising event has happened, it is not at all of an unpleasant -nature--indeed, quite the reverse. You have made a conquest, a most -valuable conquest, my dear boy." - -"Who is she?" said George, with a not very successful smile. "Have you -come to propose to me on the part of a humpy heiress?" - -"Not in the least. There is no she in the case. You have made a -conquest of old Hildebrand, and its extent and validity are tolerably -clearly proved, I think, considering that he has gotten rid of an -antipathy of long standing, surmounted a deeply-rooted prejudice. He -has actually written to me--to me, the man who, in his capacity of -doctor and savant, he holds in abhorrence, who, I am sure, he sincerely -believes to be a quack and an impostor. He has written me a most -friendly original letter, a curiosity of literature even in German; but -he thought proper to air his English, and the production took me nearly -an hour to read." - -Dr. Wainwright took a letter out of his pocket as he was speaking--a -big square letter, a sheet of coarse-grained, thin, blue paper, -sealed with a blotch of brown wax, and directed in a most crabbed and -unmanageable hand, the address having been subsequently sprinkled, with -unnecessary profusion, with glittering sticky sand. George glanced at -the document with anxious eyes. - -"I don't intend to inflict the reading of it on you," continued the -Doctor. "I can tell you its contents in a few words. Dr. Hildebrand -consents to undertake the treatment of Miss Derinzy on your account, -provided the young lady be formally confided to his care by her -relatives, on my authorisation; that I state in writing and with the -utmost distinctness all the particulars and the duration of the case, -and acknowledge that it surpasses my ability to cure it. In addition, -I am to undertake to publish in one of the medical journals an account -of the case--supposing Miss Derinzy to be cured, of which Hildebrand -writes as a certainty--and give him all the credit." - -George had punctuated his father's calm speech with various -exclamations, of which the Doctor had not taken any notice; but now he -said: - -"My dear father, this is a wonderful occurrence; but you could not -consent to such conditions." - -"Indeed! and why not? Do you think I ought to be as foolish and as -egotistical as that incomparably sagacious and skilful Deutscher, whose -conduct I reprobated so severely, and whom you apparently expect me to -imitate? No, George; professional etiquette isn't a bad thing in its -way, but it should not be permitted to override common sense, humanity, -and one's simple duty. If some small bullying of me, if some ludicrous -shrill crowing over me, enter into the scheme of this odd-tempered -sage, so be it. He shall make the experiment; and if he succeed, nobody -except yourself will be more heartily rejoiced than the doctor who -failed." - -George shook hands with his father silently, and there was a brief -pause. Dr. Wainwright resumed: - -"This queer old fellow assigns the very great impression which you -produced upon him as the cause of his change of mind. You are a fine -fellow, it appears; a young man of high tone and of worthy sentiments, -a young man devoid of the narrowness and coldness of the self-seeking -and gold-loving English nation. A pang, it seems, entered the breast -of the learned Deutscher when he reflected that on an impulse--whose -righteousness he defends, without the smallest consideration that his -observations are addressed to me--he refused to extend the blessing of -his unequalled service and unfailing skill to an afflicted young lady -of whose amiability it was impossible for him any doubt to entertain, -considering that she was by so superior a young man beloved. Under the -influence of this pang of conscience, stimulated no doubt by the wish -to achieve a great success at my expense, Hildebrand begs to be put -in communication with you, and with the friends of the so interesting -young lady, and promises all I have already told you. And now, we must -act on this without any delay. A little management will be necessary as -regards the affectionate relatives of Miss Derinzy." - -George was a little surprised at his father's tone. It was the first -time he had departed so far from his habitual reticence in anything -connected with professional matters. But a double motive was now -influencing the Doctor: interest of a genuine nature in his son's -love-affair, and the true anxiety for the result of a scientific -experiment which is inseparable from real knowledge and skill. The -family politics of the Derinzys were to be henceforth openly discussed -between Dr. Wainwright and his son. - -"You do not suppose they will make any objection? They can have no wish -but for her recovery." - -"I should have said that her recovery would not have concerned or -interested them particularly a short time ago," said Dr. Wainwright -calmly. "When they were not yet aware that their plan for marrying -their niece to their son could not be carried into effect--the money in -Paul's possession, and their own claims upon it amply satisfied, as of -course they would have been--I don't think the Captain, at all events, -would have concerned himself much further about the condition of his -daughter-in-law, or cared whether Paul's wife were mad or sane. But all -this is completely changed now, by Paul's refusal to marry his cousin. -The girl's restoration to perfect sanity is the sole chance for the -Derinzys getting hold of any portion of her property, by testamentary -disposition or otherwise; as on her coming of age, the circumstances -must, of course, be legally investigated." - -"Would not Captain Derinzy be Annette's natural heir in the event of -her death?" asked George. - -"No," replied the Doctor. "I see you are surprised; and I must let you -into a family secret of the Derinzys in order to explain this to you. -They have some reason for believing, for fearing, that Miss Derinzy's -mother is living. At another time I will tell you as much as I know of -the story; for the present this is enough to make you understand the -pressure which can be brought to bear, in order to induce Captain and -Mrs. Derinzy to follow out the instructions I mean to give them." - -"I understand," said George. "And now tell me what you intend to -advise. I suppose I am not to appear in this at all?" - -"Not at present, certainly. I should not fancy the Captain and Mrs. -Derinzy knowing anything about your flight in search of old Hildebrand. -It is preferable that I should gravely and authoritatively declare -their niece to require the care of this eminent physician, of whose -competence I am thoroughly assured; and I shall direct that Miss -Derinzy be placed under his charge as authoritatively, but also in as -matter-of-course a fashion, as if it were merely a case of 'the mixture -as before.' There is no better way of managing people than of steadily -ignoring the fact that any management is requisite, and also that -remonstrance is possible. I shall adopt that course, and I answer for -my success. Miss Derinzy shall be under Dr. Hildebrand's care in a week -from this time; and I trust the experiment will be successful." - -"Are you going there now?" - -"I am going there at once." - -"I should like to go with you--not into the house, you know--so as to -know as soon as possible." - -"Very well; come along, then. You can sit in the carriage, while I go -in and see my patient. Be quick; we can discuss details on our way." - -Two minutes more saw George Wainwright seated beside his father in one -of the least pretentious and best-appointed broughams in London, to the -displacement of sundry books and pamphlets, the indefatigable Doctor's -inseparable companions. - -"You are acquainted with Mrs. Stothard, I presume," said the Doctor, -"and aware of her true position in the family: partly nurse, partly -companion, partly keeper to my patient." - -George winced as his father completed this sentence, but unperceived. - -"Yes," he replied, "I do know her: a disagreeable, designing, -unpleasant person--strong-minded decidedly." - -"Strong-bodied too; and needing to be so sometimes, I am sorry to say." - -George winced again. - -"I shall give my directions to _her_. She must accompany Miss Derinzy. -She is faithful to the girl's interest; and would be a cool and -deliberate opponent of the Derinzys if there were any occasion for open -opposition, which there will not be." - -"She is of a strange, concentrated nature," said George. "I don't think -she loves Annette." - -"Oh dear no; I should say not," rejoined the Doctor. "I fancy she does -not love anybody--not even herself much--and cares for nothing in the -world beyond her interests; but she is wise enough to know they will be -best served by her fulfilment of her duty, and practical enough to act -on the knowledge--not an invariable combination. She has behaved well -in Miss Derinzy's case; and she may always be relied upon to do what I -tell her." - -"Should no one else accompany Annette?" - -"Well, yes; I think I shall send one of our own people--Collis is -a capital fellow, as good as any courier at travelling, and can be -trusted not to talk when he comes back. Yes, I'll send Collis," said -the Doctor, in a tone of decision. - -George approved of this. Collis was an ally of his. Collis was a -special favourite with Madame Vaughan; and in his occasional absences, -George always left him with a kind of additional charge of corridor No. -4. - -"That seems a first-rate arrangement, sir," said he; "I hope you may -find you can carry it out in all particulars." - -Dr. Wainwright did not reply; he merely smiled. He was accustomed to -carry out his arrangements in all particulars. They were nearing their -destination. - -"I wonder how Annette will take it: whether she will object--will -dislike it very much?" George said uneasily. - -His father turned towards him, and at the same minute half rose, for -they had arrived at the door of the Derinzys' house. - -"She will take it very well, she will not object," he said -impressively; "for I am going to try an experiment on my own part. I -mean to tell her the whole truth about herself." - -He stepped out of the carriage and went into the house. - -During Dr. Wainwright's absence, George recalled every incident of his -interview with Dr. Hildebrand with mingled solicitude and amusement. -The caprice and inconsistency of the old man were, on the one hand, -alarming; but they were, as George felt, counterbalanced by a certain -conviction of ability, of knowledge, an entire and cheerful confidence -in his skill, which he irresistibly inspired. If, indeed, it should -be well-founded confidence; if incidentally Annette should owe her -restoration to perfect mental health to the man who loved her; if the -result of this should be their marriage under circumstances which -should no longer involve a defiance of prudence--then George felt that -he should acknowledge there was more use in living, more good and -happiness in this mortal life, than he had hitherto been inclined to -believe in. - -He glanced occasionally up at the windows; not that he expected to see -Annette, who invariably occupied the back drawing-room. - -Presently the white-muslin blinds were stirred, and Dr. Wainwright -appeared at one of the windows, and in the opposite angle Captain -Derinzy, who, to judge by the expression of his countenance, was, -if not pronouncing his favourite ejaculation, "Oh, damn!" at least -thinking it. It was quite plain the conference was not pleasant; and -George could see his father's face set and stern. After a few minutes -the speakers moved away from the window; and then a quarter of an hour -elapsed, during which George found patient waiting very difficult. -At the end of that time Dr. Wainwright reappeared, and got into the -carriage. - -"Well," questioned George, "what did Captain Derinzy say?" - -"Never mind what Captain Derinzy said. He is a fool, as well as one or -two other things I could name, if it were worth while. But it isn't. -He must do as he is bid; and that is all we need care about. I have -seen Mrs. Derinzy and Mrs. Stothard, and settled it all with them. Miss -Derinzy will be ready to start in three days from the present." - -"You did not see Annette?" - -"No, of course not. My interview with her will not be an affair of -twenty minutes. I shall see her early to-morrow morning, and make it -all right. And now, my dear boy, I am going to set you down. I have -given as much time to the _affaire_ Derinzy as I can spare at present. -I shall write to Hildebrand to-night, and you had better write to him -too, in your best German and most sentimental style. Goodbye for the -present." - -Dr. Wainwright pulled the check-string, the carriage stopped, and -George was deposited at a street-corner. His father was immersed in a -pamphlet before he was out of sight. - -George saw Annette once, by special permission of Dr. Wainwright, -during the three days which sufficed for her preparations. He had been -strictly enjoined to avoid all agitating topics of conversation, and -was not supposed by Annette to be acquainted with the facts of the -case, or the nature of the interview which had taken place as arranged -by Dr. Wainwright. While studiously obeying his father's injunctions, -George watched Annette narrowly as he cautiously spoke of the Doctor, -towards whom she had never displayed the smallest liking or confidence, -and he perceived that the disclosures which had been made to her had -already produced a salutary effect. There was less versatility in her -manner, and more cheerfulness, and she spoke voluntarily and with -grateful appreciation, although vaguely, of Dr. Wainwright. She alluded -freely to her projected journey; and it was rather hard for George -to conceal that he had some previous knowledge on the subject. Her -manner, modest and artless as it was, could not fail to be interpreted -favourably to himself by the least vain of men; and when the moment -of parting came, it needed his strong sense of the all-importance -of discretion to enable him to restrain his emotion, to conceal his -consciousness of the impending crisis. When the interview was over, and -George had taken leave of Annette, when he went away with the memory of -a sweet, tranquil, _sane_ smile, as the last look on her face, he was -glad. - -No mention had been made by Mrs. Derinzy of her son, by Annette -of her cousin, and George had been so absorbed in the interest of -this strange and exciting turn of affairs, that he had not thought -of his friend. But when he had, from a point of view whence he was -not visible, watched the departure of Miss Derinzy, Mrs. Stothard, -and Annette's maid, under the charge and escort of the trustworthy -and carefully-instructed Collis, as he turned slowly away from the -railway-station when the tidal-train had rushed out of sight, he said -to himself: - -"Now I must go and look after Paul." - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. -DAISY'S RECANTATION. - - -There was no doubt about it, Paul was very ill indeed. The doctor, when -he came, pronounced the young man to be in a very critical state, and -gave it as his opinion that an attack of brain-fever was impending. -This confidence was given to George, for whom Paul's landlady had sent -at once, immediately on her lodger being brought home. The doctor--who -was no other than little Doctor Prater, the well-known West-End -physician, who is looked upon, and not without reason, as the medical -_ami des artistes_--took George aside, and probably without knowing -it, put to him as regards Paul the same question which Doctor Turton -asked Oliver Goldsmith, "Whether there was anything on his mind?" The -response was pretty much the same in both cases. George shook his head -and shrugged his shoulders, and admitted that his friend had been -"rather upset lately." - -"Ah, my dear sir," said the little doctor, "not my wish to pry into -these matters; man of the world, see so much of this sort of thing -in the pursuance of a large practice, could tell at once that our -poor friend had some mental shock. Lady, I suppose? Ah well, must not -inquire; generally is at his time of life; later, digestion impaired, -bank broken; but in youth generally a lady. I am afraid he is going -to be very bad; at present _agrotat animo magis quam corpore_, as the -Latin poet says; but he will be very bad, I have not the least doubt." - -"It's a bad business," said George dolefully, "a very bad business. He -ought to be nursed, of course; and though I have heard him speak of the -woman of the house as kind and attentive and all that, I don't know -that one could expect her to give her time to attend to a sick man." - -"Our young friend will require a good deal of attention, my dear sir," -said the little doctor; "for night-work, at all events, he must have -some professional person. What did you say our young friend's name was? -Mr. Derinzy. Ah, the name is familiar to me as--yes, to be sure, great -house in the City, millionaire and that kind of thing; and your name, -my dear sir?" - -"My name is Wainwright," said George, smiling in spite of himself at -the little man's volubility. - -"Wainwright! not son of---- My dear sir, I am glad to make your -acquaintance; one of the brightest ornaments of our profession; any -care that I should have bestowed on this interesting case will be -redoubled now that I know that our poor young friend here is a friend -of yours. You will kindly take care that these prescriptions are made -up at Balsam and Balmelow's, if you please; must have the best of drugs -in these cases, and no other house is so much to be depended upon. Now -I must run away; I will look in again in the evening; and during my -absence I will make arrangements for the night-nurse. The attendance -in the daytime I must look to you to provide. Good-day, my dear sir." -And wringing George's hand warmly, the little man trotted off, jumped -into his brougham, and was driven away to inspect, prescribe for, and -chatter with a dozen other cases within the next few hours. - -George sat down by the bedside and bent over its occupant, who was -tossing restlessly from side to side, gazing about him with vacant -eyes, and muttering and moaning in his delirium. What were the words, -incoherent and broken, issuing from his parched lips? "My darling, my -darling, stay by me now--no more horrible parting--never again that -scornful look! Daisy, say you did not mean it when you wrote; say there -is no one else--to-morrow, darling, in the old place--come and tell me -your mind--my wife, my darling!" - -These words were uttered with such intensity of earnestness--and -although Paul's glance was never settled, his eyes roving here and -there as he tossed and flung about his arms on the bed, there was such -a piteous look in his face--that George Wainwright's emotion overcame -him, and two big tears rolled down his cheeks. - -"This will never do," said he, brushing them hastily; "it is as I -thought, and that little doctor was right in his random hit. This -affair with the girl has assumed proportions which I never suspected. -Poor dear Paul used to make it out bad enough; but I had no notion that -it had come to any crisis, or indeed, if it had, that he would suffer -from it in this way. Now what is to be done? I think the first thing -will be to see this young lady, and bring her to her bearings. If she -has thrown Paul over, as I half suspect she has, I must let her know -the consequences of her work, and see whether she persists in abiding -by her determination. It may be only some lovers' quarrel; Paul is a -mere boy in these matters, and hotheaded enough to take _au sérieux_ -what may have been only the result of pique or woman's whim; in that -case, when she finds the effect that her quarrel has had upon him, -she will probably repent, and her penitence will aid in bringing him -round. On the other hand, if she still continues obdurate, one may be -able to point out to him the fact that he is eminently well rid of so -heartless a person. Not but what my little experience in such matters," -said George with a sigh, "teaches me that lovers are uncommonly hard to -convince of whatever they do not wish to believe." - -In pursuance of this determination George Wainwright, so soon as he had -installed the landlady in Paul's apartment as temporary nurse, started -off in search of Daisy. He had listened to so many of poor Paul's -confidences that he knew where the girl was to be found, and made his -way straight to George Street. - -Madame Clarisse was still away, and Daisy continued her occupancy of -the little furnished rooms, into which George was ushered on inquiring -for Miss Stafford. The rooms were empty on George's entrance, and he -walked round them, examining the various articles of furniture and -decoration with very contemptuous glances. Presently Daisy entered, -and George stood transfixed in admiration. She looked magnificently -handsome; the announcement of the name of her visitor had brought a -bright flush into her cheek, and anticipating a stormy interview, she -had come prepared to do battle with all the strength at her command, -and accordingly assumed a cold and haughty air which became her -immensely. - -The transient glimpses which George had had of her that day in -Kensington Gardens, though it had given him a general notion of her -style, had by no means prepared him for the sight of such rare beauty. -He was so taken aback that he allowed her to speak first. - -"Mr. Wainwright, I believe?" said Daisy with a slight inclination of -her head. - -"That's my name," said George, coming to himself. - -"The servant told me that you asked for me, that you wished to see me; -I am Miss Stafford." - -"The servant explained my wishes correctly," said George; "I have come -to see you, Miss Stafford, on a very important and, I grieve to add, a -very unpleasant matter." - -Daisy looked at him steadily. "Will you be seated?" she said, motioning -him to a chair, at the same time taking one herself. - -"I have come to you," said George, bending forward and speaking in a -low and earnest tone of voice, "on behalf of Mr. Paul Derinzy. Not that -I am sent by him; I have come of my own accord. You may be aware, Miss -Stafford, that I am Mr. Derinzy's intimate friend, and possess his -confidence in no common degree." - -"I have heard Mr. Derinzy frequently mention your name, and always with -the greatest regard," said she. - -"If we were merely going to speak the jargon of the world, Miss -Stafford, I might say that I could return the compliment," said George. -"However, what I wish you to know is, that in his confidence with me -Paul Derinzy had spoken openly and frankly of his affection for you, -and, indeed, made me acquainted with all the varieties of his doubts, -fears, and other phases of his attachment." - -Daisy bowed again very coldly. - -"You and Paul are both very young, Miss Stafford," continued George, -"and I have the misfortune of being much older than either of you. -This, however, has its advantage perhaps, in enabling me to speak -more frankly and impartially than I otherwise could. You must not be -annoyed at whatever I find it necessary to say, Miss Stafford; for the -situation is a very grave one, and more than you can at present imagine -depends upon the decision at which you may arrive." - -"Pray go on, Mr. Wainwright," said Daisy; "you will find me thoroughly -attentive to all you have to say." - -"I must be querist as well as pleader, and introduce some -cross-examination into my speech, I am afraid," said George; "but -you may depend on my neither saying nor asking anything more than is -absolutely necessary. And in the first place let me tell you, what -indeed you already know, that this boy loves you with all the ardour -of a very affectionate disposition. I don't know whether you set much -store by that, Miss Stafford; I do know that young ladies of the -present day indulge in so many flirtations, and see so many shams and -counterfeits of the passion, that they are scarcely able to recognise -real love when they see it, and hardly ever able to appreciate it. But -it is a thing that, when once obtained, should not be lightly let go; -and indeed, Owen Meredith thinks quite right--you read poetry, I know, -Miss Stafford; I recollect Paul having told me so--when he says: - - Beauty is easy enough to win, - But one isn't loved every day." - - -"I presume it was not to quote from Owen Meredith that you wished to -see me, Mr. Wainwright," said Daisy, looking up at him quietly. - -George stared at her for a moment, but was not one bit disconcerted. - -"No," he said, "it was not; but I am in the habit of using quotation -when I think it illustrates my meaning, and those lines struck me as -being rather apt. However, we come back to the fact that Paul Derinzy -was, and I believe is, very much in love with you. From what he gave me -to understand, I believe I am right in saying that that passion was at -one time returned. I believe--I wish to touch as lightly as possible -on unpleasant matters--I believe that recently there has been some -interruption of the pleasant relation which existed between you--an -interruption emanating from you--and that Paul has consequently been -very much out of spirits. Am I right?" - -"You are very frank and candid with me, Mr. Wainwright," said Daisy, -"and I will endeavour to answer you in the same manner. I perfectly -admit that the position which Mr. Derinzy and I occupy towards each -other is changed, and changed by my desire." - -"You will not think me impertinent or exacting--you certainly will not -when you know all I have to tell you--if I ask what was the reason for -that change?" - -Daisy's face flushed for an instant, then she said: - -"A woman's reason--because I wished it." - -George nodded as though he perfectly comprehended her; but he gazed at -her all the time. - -"May I ask, has this altered state of feeling come to a head? has there -been any open and decisive rupture between you lately?" - -"If you are not sufficiently in Mr. Derinzy's confidence to have that -information from him, I scarcely think you ought to ask it of me," said -Daisy. - -"Unfortunately, Mr. Derinzy, is not at present in a position to answer -me." - -"Not in a position to---- What do you mean?" asked Daisy, leaning -forward. - -"I will tell you before I go," said George. "In the meantime, perhaps -you will kindly reply to me." - -"There has been no actual quarrel between us," said the girl--"that -is to say, no personal quarrel; but----" and she spoke with so much -hesitation, that George instantly said: - -"But you have taken some decisive action." - -Daisy was silent. - -"You have told him that all must be over between you; that you would -not see him again, or something to that effect." - -"I--I wrote him a letter conveying that decision," said Daisy slowly. - -"And you addressed to him----" - -"As usual, at his club." - -"By Jove, that's it!" said George, springing up. "Now, Miss Stafford, -let me tell you the effect of that letter. Paul Derinzy was picked up -from the floor of the club-library in a fit!" - -"Good God!" cried Daisy. - -"One moment," continued George, holding up his hands. "He was carried -home insensible, and now lies between life and death. He is delirious -and knows no one, but lies tossing to and fro on his bed, ever -muttering your name, ever recalling scenes which have been passed in -your company. When I saw him in this state, when I heard those groans, -and recognised them as the utterances of the mental agony which he was -suffering, I thought it my duty to come to you. Understand, I make -no _ad misericordiam_ appeal. There is no question of my throwing -myself on your feelings, and imploring you to have pity on this boy. -I imagine that, even with all his passion for and devotion to you, -he is far too proud for that, and would disclaim my act so soon as -he knew of it. But, loving him as I do, I come to you and say, 'This -is your work.' What steps you should take, if any, it is for you to -determine. I say nothing, advise nothing, hint nothing, save this: -if what you wrote in that letter to Paul was final and decisive, the -result of due reflection, the conviction that you could not be happy -with him, then stand by it and hold to it; for if you were to give way -merely for compassion's sake, his state would be even worse than it is -now. But if you spoke truth to me at the beginning of this interview, -if your dismissal of Paul was, as you described it, a woman's whim, -conceived without adequate reason, and carried out in mere wantonness, -I say to you, that if this boy dies--and his state even now is most -critical--his death will lie at your door." - -Daisy had been listening with bent head and averted eyes. All evidence -of her having heard what George had said lay in a nervous fluttering -motion of her hand, involuntary and beyond her control. When George -ceased, she looked up, and said in a hard, dry voice: - -"What will you have me do?" - -"I told you at first that I would give you no advice, that I would make -no suggestion as to the line of conduct you should pursue. That must -be left entirely to the promptings of your heart, and--excuse me, Miss -Stafford, I am sadly old-fashioned, and still believe in the existence -of such things--your conscience." - -"Is he--is he so very ill?" asked Daisy in a trembling voice. - -"He is very dangerously ill," said George; "he could not be worse. But -understand, I don't urge this to influence your decision, nor must you -let it weigh with you. Your action in this matter must be the result -of calm deliberation and self-examination. To act on an impulse which -you will repent of when the excitement is over, is worse than to leave -matters where they are." - -"He--he is delirious, you say?" asked Daisy; "he does not recognise -anyone?" - -"No, he is quite delirious," said George. "He will have to be carefully -attended, and I am now going to see after a nurse. So," he added, -rising from his chair, "having discharged my duty, I will now proceed -on my way. I am sorry, Miss Stafford, that on my first visit to you I -should have been the bearer of what, to me at least, is such sad news." - -Then he bowed in his old-fashioned way, and took his departure. - -After George left her, Daisy dropped back into the chair which she had -occupied during his visit, and sat gazing vacantly into the fire. - -Calm deliberation and self-examination! Those were what that strange -earnest-looking man, Mr. Wainwright, had said he left her to. In the -state of anxiety and excitement in which she found herself, the one was -impossible, and she shrank from the other. Self-examination--what would -that show her? A girl, first winning, then trifling with the affections -of a warmhearted young fellow, who worshipped her and was ready to -sacrifice everything in life for her. And the same girl, hitherto so -proud in her virtue and her self-command, paltering and chaffering for -her honour with a man, the best thing which could be said about whom -was, that he had spoken plainly and made no secret of his intentions. -Ah, good heavens, in what a miserable state of mental blindness and -self-deception had she been living during the past few weeks! on -the brink of what a moral precipice had she been idly straying with -careless feet! Thinking of these things, Daisy buried her face in her -hands, and sought relief in a flood of tears. Then, suddenly springing -up, she cried: - -"It is not too late! Thank God for that! Not too late to undo all that -my wickedness has brought about. Not too late to prove my devotion to -him. Mr. Wainwright said he was going to see after a nurse. There shall -be no occasion for that. When my darling Paul comes to himself, he -shall find his nurse installed at his pillow." - -Very long odds against Colonel Orpington's chance now! - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. -SUSPENSE. - - -George Wainwright was by no means unconscious that he had done anything -but a friendly act towards the Derinzys, by making himself accessory -to the reconciliation which he foresaw as the inevitable result of the -meeting between Paul and Daisy. He quite understood that he should -be regarded in the light of an enemy by Paul's father and mother; -and that, should circumstances turn out so happily as to lead to an -avowal of his feelings towards Annette, he would have laid himself -open to the imputation of the meanest of motives, in encouraging his -friend to a step which should at once remove him from rivalry for -the lady's hand and competition for her fortune. The attainment of -Annette's majority would set her free from the guardianship of her -uncle; but if her infirmity of mind continued--and it would then be her -relatives' interest to prove the fact which it had been their interest -to conceal--it would be a curious question how Captain Derinzy would -act. George held a very decided opinion of Annette's uncle, and he felt -very little doubt that the "old scoundrel," as he designated him in -his meditations, would take measures to prove the girl's insanity in -order to bar her from marriage or the testamentary disposition of her -property. If anyone else had been her legal heir, George felt that, -if the hope of her restoration failed, it would have been possible to -make terms, at least to secure secrecy; but not in the case of Captain -Derinzy, especially under the circumstances which he felt were now -shaping themselves into form. Greed, spite, revenge, and exasperation -would all combine to inspire the Captain with a determination, in which -George had no doubt he would be warmly supported by Mrs. Derinzy, to do -his worst with the least possible delay. - -But George, beyond feeling that they required consideration and -cautious handling, cared little for these things. If the experiment -undertaken by Dr. Hildebrand should happily prove successful, he would -do his best to make Annette love him and become his wife; and then -they might dispute her fortune as they liked--he should have enough -for both. If the experiment were destined to fail, he could not see -that the Derinzys would have much to complain of. They would not like -their son's marrying a milliner, of course; but as it was quite clear -they could not make him marry Annette, it did not materially affect the -chief object of their amiable and conscientious scheme. At all events, -no pondering over it on George's part, no resolution he could come to, -would avail to shorten the period of suspense, to alter the fact that -the crisis of his life must shortly be encountered. - -George had contented himself with a written communication to Mrs. -Derinzy, in which he informed her of Paul's illness, and expressed -his conviction that his life depended upon the judicious action of -all around him at the present crisis. He did not overestimate Mrs. -Derinzy's tenderness towards her son; but he was not prepared, when -he went to Paul's rooms on the following day, to find that she had -contented herself with inquiring for him, ascertaining that proper -arrangements had been made for his being carefully nursed, and -announcing her intention of calling upon the doctor. - -Paul was not in a condition to know anything about her proceedings. -When he appeared to be conscious, he named only Daisy and George, and -these intervals were rare and brief. They alternated with long periods -of stupor; and then it would not have been difficult, looking at the -sick man's face, to believe that all care and concern of his with life -were over for ever. - -It was from Daisy George learned that Mrs. Derinzy had been at her -son's lodgings, and he allowed her to perceive how much her account of -the incident surprised and displeased him. - -On arriving at Paul's rooms, George found Daisy sitting quietly beside -the bed, the sick man's hand in one of hers, while the fingers of the -other, freshly dipped in a fragrant cooling essence, lay lightly on -his hot wan forehead, on whose sunken temples pain had set its mark. -Her dress, of a soft material incapable of whisking or rustling, her -hair smoothly packed away, her ringless hands, her noiseless movements, -her composed, steady, alert face, formed a business-like realisation -of the ideal of a sick-nurse, which impressed the practised eye of -George reassuringly, and at the same time conveyed to him a sense of -association which he did not at the moment clearly trace out. When he -thought of it afterwards, he put it down to a general resemblance to -the women employed at his father's asylum. - -Daisy's beauty was not in a style which George Wainwright particularly -admired, and the girl had never attracted him much. He had regarded -her with pity and consideration at first, when he had feared that -Paul was behaving so badly to her. He had regarded her with anger -and dislike when he discovered that she was behaving badly to Paul. -Both these phases of feeling had passed away now, and Daisy presented -herself to George's mind in a different and far more attractive light. -In this pale quiet woman there was nothing meretricious, nothing -flaunting; not the least touch of vulgarity marred the calm propriety -of her demeanour. George felt assured that he was seeing her in a -light which promised for the future, should the marriage which he was -forced to hope for, for his friend's sake, be the result of the present -complication. - -She did not rise when he entered the room, she did not alter her -attitude, and there was not a shade of embarrassment in her manner. In -reply to his salutation she merely bent her head, and spoke in the low -distinct tone, as soothing to an invalid as a whisper is distracting. - -"There is not much change," she said; "it is not yet to be expected." - -George looked at Paul closely and silently. - -"I expected to have found his mother here," he said. "I wrote and told -her of his illness." - -"But you did not tell her I was here?" - -"No," said George in surprise, "I did not think it necessary. I -concluded she would see you here, and learn from your own lips, and -your presence, the service you are doing Paul." - -The sick man moaned slightly, and she dexterously shifted his head upon -the pillow before she answered, with a dim dubious smile: - -"I believe Mrs. Derinzy is a very well-bred person, quite a woman of -the world. She would hardly commit herself to an interview with me." - -The girl's proud eyes fixed themselves upon George's face, as she said -these few words, without any embarrassment. - -"I--I beg your pardon," stammered George; "I ought to have seen Mrs. -Derinzy, and prepared her--I mean told her. I shrank from seeing her, -from a personal motive, and--and I fear thoughtlessly sacrificed you, -in some measure, to this reluctance. I wonder she could go away without -seeing her son." - -"Do you? I do not. The standard of the actions of a woman of the world -may not be comprehensible to you, Mr. Wainwright; but we outsiders, yet -on-lookers, understand it well enough." - -She glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf, softly withdrew her -hand from Paul's, and administered medicine to him, he, seemingly -unconscious, moaning heavily the while. - -"I shall see Mrs. Derinzy," said George, "and explain to her. Forgive -me, Miss Stafford, pray forgive me, if I express myself awkwardly; I -really feel quite astray and at a loss. Things have changed so much -since I last talked with you, though that was only yesterday. I shall -have to give Mrs. Derinzy not only an explanation of the past and the -present, but some notion of what is to be expected in the future. Do -not think me impertinent, do not think me unfeeling, but I must, for -your own sake, in order to place you in the position it is right, it -is due to you, that you should occupy in the estimation of Paul's -mother--I must ask you, what do you purpose--what do you intend the -future shall mean for you and him?" - -Daisy did not reply, until George began to feel impatient of her -silence. Her hand again lay on Paul's forehead, her brow was overcast -and knitted; she was thinking deeply. At length she said: - -"Explain the past as you please, Mr. Wainwright--as Paul has told it -to you, I make no doubt--truly, honestly, as a gentleman, as a man of -honour should; relate the present as you know it to be--the story of -our interview, and of the step I have taken in consequence of it; but -of the future, say nothing." - -"Nothing!" repeated George, in a tone of remonstrance--"nothing! Will -that suffice for her, for you, or for _him?_" He pointed to Paul. "Do -you not know the hope, the confidence, to which your presence here, the -noble act you have done in coming to him in this terrible extremity, -must give rise? Do you not feel that this is decisive, that henceforth -every consideration must be abandoned by each of you, for the life -which must be lived together?" - -It passed swiftly through Daisy's mind that if ever Paul had so -pleaded his own cause, with so much conviction, so much force, so much -earnestness--if ever he had made her understand the worth of true love, -the false _allures_ of all beside--she would not have listened to -prudence and the narrow suggestions of her worldly wisdom, but would -have listened to him. It passed through her mind that this was a strong -man, one who would love well and worthily, and whose wife would be -honoured among women, whatever her origin. But she answered him coldly, -though his words were utterly persuasive. - -"I cannot tell you to answer for the future, Mr. Wainwright. That -question cannot be answered until it has been asked by Paul. If he -lives, he will ask it; if he dies, Mrs. Derinzy will not require to -know anything about me." - -"Be it so," said George emphatically. "I shall go there at once, and -see you again this evening. Goodbye, Miss Stafford, and God bless you! -You are doing the right thing now, at all events." - -Again she simply bent her head without speaking, and without turning -her eyes from the sick man's face. George left the room with a -noiseless step. When he had reached the stair-foot, Daisy covered her -face with her hands, and rocked herself upon her chair, in an agony of -self-upbraiding. - -"If he lives, he will ask me," she murmured in her torturing thoughts. -"Yes, he will ask me; and I--I who a little while ago was unfit to be -his wife only because of the difference in our rank--what shall I say? -Far other my unfitness now--the unfitness of one who has deliberately -entertained the project of degradation. Am I, who have chaffered with -that vile old man about the terms on which I might be induced to become -his mistress, fit to be that trusting boy's wife? Oh mother, mother! -this is the result of your calculation, your worldly instructions! Yet -no; why should I blame _her?_ It is the outcome of my life, of the sort -of thing I have seen and known since my childhood. Oh, my God! my God! -how foolish, how mad, how wicked I have been!" - - -Mrs. Derinzy was at home. George was ushered into the back -drawing-room, and permitted to indulge himself in solitude with the -contemplation of Annette's unoccupied place, her piano, her work-box, -and her own especial book of photographs, for some time. He looked at -these things with pangs of mingled hope and fear, and their influence -was to do away with the embarrassment and uneasiness he had felt on -entering the house. After all, what did anything really matter to him -which did not concern Annette and his relations with her? - -When at length Mrs. Derinzy appeared, George saw that she was alarmed -and angry. The former sentiment he was enabled to allay, the latter he -was prepared to meet--prepared by courage on his friend's account, and -indifference on his own. - -"I am happy to tell you," he began at once, "that there is satisfactory -progress in Paul's case. He is going on safely. I have little doubt he -will soon be out of danger; indeed, the doctor has said plainly that, -unless in the case of increase of symptoms, he is confident of the -result. You need not be alarmed, Mrs. Derinzy; I assure you the case is -favourable." - -"I have heard the doctor's opinion of the case, Mr. Wainwright," -replied Mrs. Derinzy with cold displeasure, "and I am not unduly -alarmed. But I am not unnaturally astonished to find myself excluded -from my son in his illness, and by you, the son of one of the oldest -and best friends I have in the world. I cannot believe you have any -explanation to offer which I can listen to, for your conduct in -bringing a--a person whom I cannot meet to take my place at my son's -side." - -"I am not surprised at your tone, Mrs. Derinzy," replied George, -"though I might be pardoned for wondering how you contrive to hold me -guilty in the matter of Paul's supposed offence." - -"_Supposed_ offence, Mr. Wainwright! You adopt the flippant and -unbecoming fashion in these matters! I hold it more than a _supposed_ -offence that I should find a person installed in my son's lodgings, -with the knowledge of my son's friend, whose presence renders mine -impossible." - -"We will let the phrase pass, Mrs. Derinzy, and come to the facts. Are -you sure you are really acquainted with the character and position of -the lady in question?" - -"_Character_ and _position_ of the _lady_ in question!" echoed Mrs. -Derinzy, in an accent of spiteful contempt. "I should think there -was little doubt about _them_; the facts speak pretty plainly for -themselves." - -"I assure you, nevertheless, and in spite of appearances, the -facts do not speak the truth if they impugn the respectability of -Miss Stafford--that is the young lady's name." Mrs. Derinzy bowed -scornfully. "I can give you an ample and trustworthy assurance on this -point, for I am acquainted--I was made acquainted by Paul himself--with -every particular of their intimacy, until within a few weeks of the -event which led to his illness; and the remainder I have learned partly -from inquiries elsewhere, but chiefly from Miss Stafford herself. If -you will listen to me, Mrs. Derinzy, I will tell you Miss Stafford's -history, so far as I know it, and the whole truth respecting her -position with regard to your son. And in order that what I have to say -may be more convincing, may have more weight with you, let me tell -you in the first place that I never spoke a word to Miss Stafford -until yesterday, when I went to her in my fear and trouble about Paul, -feeling convinced that from _her_ only could any real assistance be -procured." - -"Go on," said Mrs. Derinzy, with sullen resignation. "This is a -pleasant hearing for a mother; but it is our fate, I suppose. Tell me -what you have to tell." - -George obeyed her. He recapitulated all that had passed between -himself and Paul on the subject of Daisy, from the time when he had -accidentally witnessed their meeting in Kensington Gardens, to the -last conversation he had held with Paul before he went to Germany. She -listened, still sullen, but with interest, until he told her what was -Daisy's position in life; and then she interrupted him with the comment -for which he had been prepared. - -"A milliner's girl! Truly Paul has a gentlemanly taste! And I am to -believe _she_ had scruples and _made_ difficulties?" - -"You are," returned George, gravely; "for it is true. I do not -sympathise with your notions of caste, Mrs. Derinzy--I think I have -known more bad men and unscrupulous women of gentle than of plebeian -blood--but I understand them. Miss Stafford _had_ scruples, scruples -which Paul failed to vanquish--more shame to him for trying--and -she made difficulties which he could not surmount. The last and -gravest--that which threw him into the fever in which he is now -striving and battling for life--was her refusal, her point-blank, -uncompromising, positive refusal, to marry him!" - -"To marry him!" exclaimed Mrs. Derinzy, starting up from her chair -in very undignified surprise and anger. "My son propose to _marry_ a -milliner's girl! I won't believe it!" - -"You had no difficulty in believing, on no evidence at all, that he -had seduced her," continued George, quietly. "Now I can assume the -latter is utterly false; the former is distinctly true. You had better -be careful how you act towards this young lady, Mrs. Derinzy, for your -son loves her--loves her well enough to have been unworldly, and manly -enough to implore her to become his wife, and to be stricken well-nigh -to death by her refusal, and the sentence of final separation between -them pronounced by her. When your son fell down at his club in the fit -from which it seemed at first probable he would never rally, he was -struck down by a letter from Miss Stafford, in which she told him he -should see her no more." - -"What was her reason? Did she not care for him?" asked Mrs. Derinzy, -almost in a whisper. She was subdued by the earnestness of George's -manner, and some womanly feelings, which, though tepid, still had a -place in her worldly scheming nature, were touched. - -It was fortunate for the zeal and sincerity of George's advocacy of the -cause of the loves of Paul and Daisy, that he was entirely ignorant of -the Orpington episode. He had no actual acquaintance with the other -motives which had influenced Miss Stafford to reject Paul's proposal of -marriage, or the arguments with which she enforced them. - -He had a general idea of the ground she had taken up throughout--the -ground of their social inequality, the inadequacy of means, and the -inevitable grief to which a marriage contracted under those grave -disadvantages must come; and he had, on the whole, approved her -views, until he had beheld their practical effect. He detailed to -Mrs. Derinzy his conviction concerning Miss Stafford's reasons, and -stoutly maintained that those reasons were quite consistent with a -disinterested attachment to Paul, and with a sound and elevated sense -of self-respect. To this view of the subject Paul's mother was entirely -indifferent. When it was made plain to her--as it was with irresistible -clearness, which not even the obstinacy of an illiberal woman sitting -in judgment on a social inferior could resist--that Miss Stafford's -character was unblemished, in the ordinary sense of the phrase, she -was obliged to shift her ground; and thenceforth her anxiety was to -be convinced that Daisy had really refused to marry her son, and to -be assured that she was likely to maintain her resolution. In her -solicitude on this point, Mrs. Derinzy was even ready to praise Miss -Stafford. - -It was most wise of her; it showed an unusual degree of sense and -judgment in one so young, and necessarily so ignorant of the world; and -really it was impossible to praise such good taste too highly. Mrs. -Derinzy could assure Miss Stafford, from her own observation, which she -had had many opportunities of confirming, that these unequal marriages -never "did." They always resulted in misery to the wife. When the -husband outlived the first infatuation, and began to find society and -old habits essential to his comfort, society would not have the wife, -and she could not fit in with the old habits; and then came impatience -and disgust, and all the rest of it. Oh no, such marriages never "did;" -and Mrs. Derinzy was delighted to learn--delighted for the girl's -own sake; for Mr. Wainwright's narrative had inspired her with quite -an interest in this deserving young person--that she had acted with -so much judgment and discretion. She really deserved to prosper, and -Mrs. Derinzy was quite ready to wish her, after the most disinterested -fashion, the utmost amount of good fortune which should not involve her -marriage with Paul. - -But this was precisely the contingency towards which it was George's -object to direct her thoughts. Notwithstanding the ambiguity with which -Daisy had spoken, he believed that she would be ready to sacrifice -all her pride, and to lay aside all her misgivings, when, the great -relief of Paul's being out of immediate danger realised, she should be -convinced that his health and his peace must alike depend on her; and -when that time should have come, much would depend upon his mother. -Happily, George had judgment as well as zeal, and contented himself on -this occasion with convincing Mrs. Derinzy, not only that there was no -contamination to be dreaded in the presence of the "young person" under -whose watchful care her son was struggling back to life, but that she -owed it to Daisy to show, by immediately visiting Paul, and recognising -her properly, that she was willing to undo the compromising impression -which her refusal to enter Paul's room had produced. Those were two -great points to gain in one interview; and when he had gained them, -with the addition of having his offer to escort Mrs. Derinzy to Paul's -lodgings accepted, he bethought himself, for positively the first time, -of the Captain. - -Was he at home? was he much alarmed? George asked. - -The Captain was not at home; was out of town for a couple of days, in -fact; had gone to some races, Mrs. Derinzy did not remember where; she -knew so little about things of that kind, all the racing places were -pretty much alike to her. - -George politely suggested that the Captain's absence was fortunate; he -would not have much suspense to suffer; there was every reason to hope -all danger would be at an end before his return. - -To which Mrs. Derinzy replied with some sharpness that Captain Derinzy -was not endowed with susceptible nerves, and that he was not easily -alarmed by any illness except his own. - -They went out together, and George took leave of Mrs. Derinzy at -the door of Paul's lodgings, having ascertained that the doctor had -again seen the patient, and pronounced that there was no change to be -expected in his condition for some time. He lingered for a moment until -Mrs. Derinzy had begun to ascend the stairs under convoy of a maid, and -then he turned away, hoping for favourable results from this strange -and momentous meeting between Daisy and Paul's mother; and glad on his -own account that a rupture between himself and the Derinzys, which his -interference had appeared to render imminent, was at least postponed. - -There was no characteristic of Daisy's more pronounced than her -self-control. When the maid gently opened the door of the sick-room, -and whispered the words "Mrs. Derinzy," she understood all that had -taken place, and was equal to the emergency. She disengaged her hand -from Paul's unconscious clasp, and rose. Standing in an attitude of -simple easy dignity by her son's bedside, Paul's mother saw her first, -and felt, though she was not a bright woman in general, an instant -conviction that George's story was perfectly true, and that there was -nothing about this remarkable-looking "young person," whose handsome -face was absolutely strange to her, and yet suggested, as it had done -in George's case, an inexpressible association. - -Their respective salutations were polite but formal. Daisy spoke first. - -"Will you take this chair?" she said, indicating her own. "You will be -able to see him better from that side. I am happy to say he is going on -favourably." - -"Thank you, thank you," returned Mrs. Derinzy, in a fidgety whisper; -and she took the proposed place. - -Then came a silence, interrupted only by an occasional faint moan -from Paul. The presence of Mrs. Derinzy did not deter Daisy from -the punctual fulfilment of her self-imposed duties; and as the -mother watched her diligent ministering to the invalid, watched -it helplessly--for Mrs. Derinzy was a perfectly useless person in -a sick-room--she could maintain this reserve no longer, and broke -through it by anxious questions, to which the other replied with ready -respectful self-possession. - -If poor Paul could only have known that, in the first interview between -his mother and his love--an interview on which he had often nervously -speculated--Daisy had appeared to greater advantage, had looked -handsomer, softer, more charming, more graceful, more ladylike than she -had ever appeared in her life before! But many days were to pass away -before Paul was to know anything of surrounding things or persons; his -mind was away in a mysterious region of semi-consciousness, of pain, -of unreality. He was assiduously cared for by Daisy and George, by the -doctor and the nurse. Even Dr. Wainwright himself superintended the -case, and indorsed the mode of treatment of the humbler practitioner. -His mother came to see him every day, and a good understanding existed -between her and Daisy, though no direct reference to Daisy's relations -with Paul had been made. - -The Captain had shown a decent solicitude about his son; but it is to -be feared he rather enjoyed the state of affairs than otherwise as soon -as positive danger to Paul's life was no longer to be apprehended. It -implied so much of the freedom he loved, no surveillance, no domestic -restraints, no regular hours; it was a delicious renewal of the liberty -of his bachelor days. - -There is no need to dwell farther on this portion of the story. After -many weeks Paul was pronounced convalescent; and then, by the advice -of Dr. Wainwright, whose interest had been gradually awakened in the -case, and who had come to like Paul, Daisy abandoned her post. It was -determined that the invalid should travel for awhile, and arranged that -George should accompany him. Dr. Wainwright undertook to induce him to -acquiesce, and to reconcile him to the absence of Daisy. - -He was too weak to resist, he felt an inner consciousness of his -unfitness to bear emotion, which rendered him passively obedient, and -he was too happy to be exacting or rebellious. He trusted the future; -he felt, in a vague way, that things would go well with him. And on the -day fixed for the departure of himself and George on their excursion, -he received a little note from Daisy, which sent him on his way -rejoicing. It contained only these words: - - -"DEAREST PAUL,--George would have brought me to say goodbye to you; -but I could not bear it. You know I hate showing my feelings to anyone -but you, and we could not have been alone. Come home soon--no, don't; -stay away until you are quite well and strong; and don't forget, for -one minute of all the time, - - "DAISY." - - -"I think you are a humbug," said George Wainwright to Paul as they -landed at Calais, and Paul declared his inclination to have everything -that could be procured to eat immediately; "you don't look a bit like a -sick man." - -"I'm sure I don't feel like one," returned Paul; "and it's great -nonsense your father sending me away like this. But I am not going to -complain or rebel; I mean implicitly to obey him----" - -"And Daisy," interrupted George. - -"And Daisy, of course." - -The two young men enjoyed their tour, Paul very much more than George, -as was natural. Paul's affairs were promising, though he did not see -his way very clearly to the fulfilment of the promise. But he was full -of hope and the gladsome spirits of returning health. There was as yet -no rift in the cloud which overhung George's prospects, and he wearied -sometimes of the monotony of anxiety and deferred hope. - -Dr. Wainwright communicated punctually to his son such information as -reached him from Mayence. He had not expected regular intelligence -from Dr. Hildebrand, and had told George he must not expect any such -concessions from the scientific old oddity, who had already done him -exceptional grace. A formal report from Mrs. Stothard of the general -health and spirits of Annette reached the Doctor at the appointed -periods, but conveyed little real information. Such as they were, -George hailed the arrival of these documents with eagerness, and Paul -had the grace to assume a deeper interest in them than he really felt. - -"By-the-bye," he said to George one evening, as they were resting after -a day of laborious mountain-walking, "I don't think I ever told you -about Mrs. Stothard, did I?" - -"You never told me anything particular about Mrs. Stothard," replied -George. "What is it?" - -"Why, she's Daisy's mother!" - -"Daisy's mother!" repeated George in astonishment. "Now I know what -the likeness was that struck me; of course, it was just the steady -business-like look I have seen Mrs. Stothard give at Annette." - -Before the companions had started on the expedition arranged for the -following day, the English mail arrived. George got his letters at the -inn-door. One was from his father. He glanced over it, and ran up to -Paul's room, breathless, and with a very pale face. - -"Paul," he said, "there's a letter from my father. Such wonderful news! -He says he will not tell me any particulars till we meet; but Dr. -Hildebrand is sending Annette home at once, and--and she is perfectly -well! Hildebrand says he has never had a more complete, a more thorough -success." - -Paul shook his friend's hand warmly, and eagerly congratulated him, -adding with great promptitude: - -"I'm all right also, you know; and so, old fellow, we'll start for -England to-night." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. -MADAME VAUGHAN. - - -Captain and Mrs. Derinzy had not yet returned to the uncongenial -seclusion of Beachborough. The Captain, who, since he had been coerced, -by Dr. Wainwright's strong representation that he might find it -uncomfortable if he refused, into permitting the experiment proposed by -Hildebrand, had been unusually tractable, was not, it will be readily -believed, eager to leave London. As things were looking at present--and -he was aware they had assumed a very ugly complexion--there was a -decidedly unpleasant uncertainty about the prospect of his getting back -again to his favourite resorts, which quickened his appreciation of the -wisdom of remaining in London as long as he could contrive to do so, -and getting as much pleasure as possible out of the time. - -Mrs. Derinzy considered that it was proper to await Annette's return -in town; there would be so many things to settle when she came back; -and if they really were to be finally defeated in all their plans, if -Paul's folly and obstinacy were to defeat the marriage project, and -Annette's restoration to health render her attainment of her majority -a real acquisition of power, not a mere form, they would be better in -London than elsewhere. Annette might or might not settle an annuity -worth having upon them, if the power to manage her own affairs should -accrue to her; but if they did not voluntarily abandon it, she could -hardly do otherwise than invite them to continue to share her home. -The accounts which Mrs. Derinzy had received from Mrs. Stothard were -facsimiles of those which had been forwarded to Dr. Wainwright, and in -their contents Mrs. Derinzy discerned defeat. - -She was not a wicked, she was only a weak and selfish, woman; and -though that combination has worked as much woe as the more positive -evil, it is only fair to credit her with the palliation. No one could -have been more genuinely shocked than Mrs. Derinzy, if she had been -plainly told that she _feared_ Annette's recovery, that she _hoped_ -for her continued infirmity of mind. She would have repudiated such an -idea with vehemence and sincerity; but she would have been infinitely -puzzled to define the distinction between the feeling of which she -firmly believed herself incapable, and the feeling which she did, -beyond dispute, entertain. If Annette could have been perfectly sane, -but at the same time utterly passive in her hands; if she could have -been thoroughly competent to manage her own affairs; and at the same -time quite incapable of ever desiring to understand or interfere -with them, that would have been charming. Mrs. Derinzy thought it -unreasonable that so easy a state of things should not be immediately -called into existence. At this particular period of her life she -regarded herself as an ill-used individual, whose husband, son, and -niece, separately and in combination, were in act to "worry her to -death." - -It might have been all so comfortable and safe and prosperous--so -nice for them, so well for Paul, so pleasant for poor dear Annette -herself--if it had not been for that odious Miss Stafford in the first -place, and afterwards for that meddling German doctor. But Paul was -most to blame; indeed, if the marriage had come off, it would have -been for every reason best that Annette should be restored to perfect -sanity; this "pother" was his doing chiefly. She was very angry with -Paul--angry with him, that is to say, when he had recovered, when -the danger that the sun of his life might go down upon her wrath was -at an end, when he was abroad gaining health and strength, enjoying -himself, and carrying on a voluminous correspondence with Daisy; while -she had to lament the discomfiture of her designs, and put up with the -Captain's discontent and temper. - -On the whole, Captain and Mrs. Derinzy were very ill at ease, feeling -like a pair of discomfited conspirators, which indeed they were, and -experiencing a humiliating sense of having had the guidance of affairs -taken out of their hands suddenly, noiselessly, dexterously, and -irresistibly. Thenceforward the Captain would complain of "that d--d -authoritative way of Wainwright's," and Mrs. Derinzy admit that she -"had never quite understood the Doctor;" and they were drawn nearer -together by the discomfiture than they had been by any success or -vexation for many years. - -Annette was coming home--the day and hour of her arrival were fixed; -and Mrs. Derinzy had heard from her son that he intended to return -immediately. Something must be settled now. The explanation, which must -inevitably be encountered, had better be brought on at once. It had -occurred to Mrs. Derinzy as a cunning device of immense merit to call -on Daisy, and, availing herself of Paul's absence, address herself to -the girl's disinterestedness and generosity, and secure her promise -that she would refuse Paul should he again ask her to marry him. No -consideration that one refusal on Daisy's part had already almost cost -Paul his life interfered with his mother's sage resolution. "He will -have gotten over it," she believed, because she desired to believe so. - -In pursuance of this brilliant idea, Mrs. Derinzy called on Madame -Clarisse, and condescendingly inquired if she could see Miss Stafford. - -But she could not. Madame Clarisse benignly explained that Miss -Stafford, who had not been quite strong lately, had applied for a short -vacation, and gone to the country, to the farmhouse of a relative. -Madame Clarisse could give Mrs. Derinzy the address; but that lady, who -did not calculate on an epistolary victory, declined, and went away, -leaving the astute _modiste_ to wonder what her business with Miss -Stafford might be, and to make a very "near" guess at the facts. - -There was no help for it; Paul must come back, and she must fight the -battle single-handed. She wished that meddling George Wainwright would -have remained away a little longer. He had not behaved so badly as she -had been inclined to believe at first in that matter of Paul's illness -and Miss Stafford, but they could manage their affairs quite as well -without him. - -On the morning of the day fixed for Annette's return, Dr. Wainwright -visited Mrs. Derinzy, and gave her sundry injunctions as to composure, -and the avoidance of fuss and excitement, in her reception of the -convalescent. The effect of the lesson was, as the Doctor intended -it should be, to rouse Mrs. Derinzy up into the exhibition of some -kindness and warmth of feeling towards the girl, who had for a long -period known nothing more than an indifferent imitation of a home. The -effort to seem kind and affectionate bore its fruits in inspiring Mrs. -Derinzy with more of the feelings she strove to imitate than she had -ever yet experienced, and her heart fairly melted into true kindliness. -She forgot her interested scheming, she did not even remember Annette's -money, when she saw Annette herself, the picture of health, and of -natural girlish happiness. - -The most convincing proof, to Mrs. Derinzy's mind, that the restoration -of Annette was real and complete, was furnished by the alteration -in Mrs. Stothard's manner. As soon as she could see her alone, Mrs. -Derinzy had asked Mrs. Stothard her opinion of the case. The answer was -quickly and decisively given: - -"The German doctor is the queerest man I ever saw, and I'm far from -sure that he is not mad himself; but he has cured Miss Annette, and -sent her home as sane as you and I." - -Every word, look, and gesture of Mrs. Stothard's confirmed this -statement. There was no longer any of the steady unrelaxing vigilance, -the set watch upon the girl, the calmly authoritative or soothingly -coaxing tone which she had been used to maintain. There was no longer -the half-servant demeanour, the personal waiting on Annette which had -puzzled more than one of the very few persons who had ever had an -opportunity of speculating on Mrs. Stothard's real position in the -Derinzy household. - -Every trace of this manner had vanished. Mrs. Stothard was Annette's -companion, and nothing more. She formally, though without explanation, -assumed this position, whose functions she fulfilled as perfectly as -she had fulfilled the more painful and onerous duties of her former -station. It is probable that she and Dr. Wainwright had come to an -understanding, but if so, no third party was the wiser. - -Dr. Wainwright, who was perfectly satisfied of Annette's convalescence, -was a little curious as to how she would receive him, and on his part -assumed a friendly, almost paternal, manner in which there was no trace -of his old relation of physician. But Annette, seizing an opportunity -of speaking to him alone, referred openly to her former malady, and -in the warmest terms thanked him for all his solicitude and care. Her -ready frankness conveyed to the Doctor the last best assurance of her -complete recovery, and he met her expressions of gratitude with prompt -kindness. He left his former patient on this first occasion of their -meeting with an earnest wish for the success of his son in the suit he -had no doubt George would immediately urge. "If the case had been any -other," Dr. Wainwright thought, as he made his way out of the house -without seeing either Captain or Mrs. Derinzy, "I might not feel so -disinterestedly pleased that another has succeeded where I have for -some time despaired of success, but I cannot grudge Hildebrand his -triumph, when it is to secure George's happiness, as I do believe it -will, for this girl is a fine creature." - -Dr. Wainwright had stipulated, in writing to his son, that he was not -to see Annette until after he had had an opportunity of forming his -own judgment upon her state; and he had accepted it as understood, -that if the cure were not complete, George would not ask Annette to -marry him. When he had made his visit to her, with the results already -recorded, he wrote to George, who had arrived in England that morning, -in the following terms, characteristic of the writer, and eminently -satisfactory to the recipient: - - -"MY DEAR GEORGE,--I have seen Miss Derinzy. Hildebrand has kept his -promise, and beaten me, to our mutual satisfaction. Go and visit -her as soon as you please, and you have _my_ consent, if you can -gain the lady's, to turn my patient into my daughter, as soon as you -like.--Yours ever, - - G.W." - - -"That's glorious!" said Paul, who had gone home with George on their -arrival. "I am as glad for her sake as for yours, and for yours as -for hers, and I can't say fairer than that, can I? Annette is a dear -girl, and I am quite sure she likes you. I know something of the -symptoms, George, my boy! The governor and my mother will be furious, -of course, and I should not wonder if they declare your father and you -are in a conspiracy against them for your own purposes. However, if -they proclaim such a plot as that, they must include me in it. I say, -George, suppose Annette and I did a bit of the old romance business, -and solemnly repudiated each other; 'unalterably never yours,' and that -kind of thing, you know?" - -George smiled but dimly, and answered his friend's pleasantries only -vaguely. He had not the assurance and certainty with which Paul -accredited him. In the great change which had befallen Annette, in the -new hope and happiness of her life, he might not have the large share -of which his friend believed him confident. He had a true gentleman's -diffidence towards the woman he loved, and no assurance at second hand -could render him secure. He had awaited his father's message with keen -anxiety, and now that it had come, and was so full of goodness, he was -feverishly impatient to learn his fate. The time had come, the time -which had seemed so hopelessly far off had drawn near with wonderful -celerity, and he was to know his destiny--he was to - - put it to the touch, - To win or lose it all. - - -He read his father's letter again--"as soon as you like. I will see -her to-day, I will ask her to-day," he said to himself. "There is no -risk to her, or my father would not have said this." Then he said to -Paul: - -"You will come with me, won't you?" - -"Of a surety that will I," answered Paul; "and I will tackle the -governor and my mother--you may be sure there's plenty ready for me -on the score of Daisy--and leave you to welcome Annette home _en -tęte-ŕ-tęte_." - -Just as the friends were leaving the house, a servant came in search of -George, and stopped him. George asked him with pardonable impatience -what he wanted, and the man replied, that Madame Vaughan had been very -ill during the night, and the nurse had sent to Mr. George to tell him -that she desired to see him at his earliest convenience. George asked -the man several particulars about his poor friend, and expressed his -readiness to go and see Madame Vaughan immediately; but this act of -self-denial was not exacted of him. - -"She's asleep just now, sir," said the man, "and the nurse would not -like to disturb her, she has had such a bad night; but I was not to let -you leave the house without telling you, sir." - - * * * * * - -Many a less brave man has gone to a battle with a stouter heart than -that with which George Wainwright entered the Derinzy mansion, and was -ushered into the room where Annette, her aunt, and Mrs. Stothard were -assembled. The young lady was seated at the piano; the sounds of music -had reached the visitors as they ascended the stairs; and on their -entrance she rose. Paul went into the room first. She received her -cousin with a smile, and his friend, who followed him closely, with a -deep, burning, lasting blush, perceived by Paul, George, and one other. -This observer was Mrs. Stothard, who, having performed her share in the -general civilities, withdrew, with a meaning and well-satisfied smile -in her clear gray eyes, and on her calm, determined, authoritative -mouth. - -"So," she thought, "I was right. I suspected before we left town, and -now I know. Well, so long as my Fanny comes by her fair share, I am -content; and she shall come by it, or I will know why. Old Hildebrand -is a very clever man, and so is Dr. Wainwright, and they have both done -wonders in this case, but I believe Mr. George is the true healer. I -hold to the old proverb, 'Love is the best physician.'" - - * * * * * - -When Paul Derinzy and his mother returned to the small drawing-room, -whence George Wainwright's friend and accomplice had drawn Mrs. Derinzy -within a very few minutes of their arrival, they found Annette in -tears, and her companion in a state of quite unmistakable excitement -and agitation. The first glance which Mrs. Derinzy directed towards the -girl enlightened her as to the cause of the emotion she was evincing; -and by that ray of illumination was dispersed the little feeble hope -of ever carrying her laboriously-constructed design into effect, which -had survived her conversation with Paul. It was surprising--or rather -it would have been surprising to anyone who did not know how obstinate -woman can be in declining to acknowledge a defeat--that her favourite -delusion could have survived the brief but momentous and decisive -conversation she had just had with her son; who had positively declared -his intention of marrying Daisy, if by any persuasion she could be -induced to accept him, and as distinctly his determination _not_ to -marry Annette, if she should prove as willing as her cousin was justly -convinced she was unwilling to have him. She had controlled her temper -wonderfully; her feelings were a little softened by the first sight of -Paul restored to health; and she re-entered the drawing-room determined -to believe that all was not yet completely lost. The sweet delusion -fled at the sight of the faces of the lovers. - -"What does this mean?" demanded the angry lady. - -George started up from his place--quite unconventionally close to -Annette--and was beginning to speak, when Paul interrupted him. - -"It means capital news, mother.--George, I wish you joy.--It means the -best thing possible for all parties. The best fellow in England is -going to marry the nicest girl in Europe.--Isn't it so, George?--Isn't -it so, Annette?--Come, mother, you must not look glum over it; it's -on my account you do so, I know; but I declare before witnesses my -conviction that Annette would not have married me, and that nothing in -the world should have induced me to marry Annette." - -"Though I am the nicest girl in Europe, eh, Paul?" asked Annette, -looking at him through her joyful tears, with a shy archness which was -an entirely new expression in her face. - -"Yes," said Paul, bestowing upon his cousin, for the first time in -his life, an unceremonious hug; "but then I'm not the best fellow in -England." - -"Am I to understand, Mr. Wainwright," began Mrs. Derinzy with an -assumption of dignity much impaired by the reality of her anger, "that -you and Miss Derinzy are engaged?" - -"Yes, madam," said George, and he took Annette's hand in his. "Miss -Derinzy has promised to become my wife, and she and I both hope for -your sanction, and that of Captain Derinzy." - -"It will be entirely a matter for the lawyers, sir. Until Miss -Derinzy is of age, no arrangement of the kind can possibly receive -our sanction, for reasons with which I have no doubt you are well -acquainted. After that time, it will be a question for the lawyers -whether Miss Derinzy can contract any engagements." - -It was a cruel speech, and Paul felt equally hurt and ashamed of it. -George's face glowed with anger; but Annette did not seem in the least -hurt by it. She smiled very sweetly, laid her hand caressingly on Mrs. -Derinzy's shoulder, and said: - -"Dear aunt, I hope the lawyers will not be hard on me. I shall only ask -them to do two things for me--to let me marry George, and to let me -give half my money to you and Paul." - -"If she is in earnest," thought Mrs. Derinzy, seizing on the idea with -lightning rapidity, "this is unlooked-for compensation for the defeat -of our plans, and I trust the lawyers will let her have her own way; -but if I were one or all of them, I should regard the notion for one -thing as strong proof that she is not cured, and for another that she -has bitten George and made him as mad as herself." - -But Mrs. Derinzy was very careful to conceal the effect which Annette's -generous unguarded proposition had produced upon her. She answered her -gently and without effusion, that this was a matter of which women -could not judge, and in which she would not interfere. It must be -referred in the first place to Captain Derinzy. She then took a cold -and formal leave of George Wainwright, and left the room. - -George, Paul, and Annette looked at one another rather blankly for the -space of a few moments, and then Paul said: - -"Never mind; it's all right. All that about the money is bosh, you -know, George. I'm not going to rob Annette because my friend is going -to marry her. But the discussion will keep, and we are mutually a -nuisance just now." - -He was out of the room in a moment; the next they heard him bang the -front door cheerfully, and go off whistling down the street. - -It is only with one portion of the conversation which ensued on Paul's -departure, which the reader can reproduce according to his taste or -his memory, that this story has any concern. Annette spoke of her -position, in every aspect with perfect unreserve to her future husband, -and she told him, without anger or vindictiveness, but with a clear -and sensible conviction, that, if the bribe of half her fortune did -not suffice to buy him off, she was sure they would experience active -enmity from the Captain, who would resist to the utmost the deprivation -of his power as her legal heir over her property, and would leave -no effort unmade to dispute her restoration to sanity. She proposed -that George should inform his father of their engagement and of her -apprehensions, and then that he should call on Messrs. Hamber and -Clarke, her father's former solicitors, and ascertain precisely the -amount and conditions of her property; and armed with these sanctions, -that he should demand an interview with Captain Derinzy, who was just -then fortunately absent from home. - -Annette's maid had twice presented herself with an intimation that it -was time Miss Derinzy should dress for dinner, before the interview -of the lovers came to an end. But at length George took leave of his -affianced bride, and turned his steps at once towards the Albany. - -Dr. Wainwright listened to his son's story with grave interest and not -a little amusement. - -"They will take the money," he said, when George had concluded his -recital of the morning's events. "It is too much, too liberal; but -I suppose she must have her own way. You won't have any trouble, I -am pretty sure. Derinzy is a fool in some respects, but in others he -is only a knave, and he won't venture to try to retain his power by -disputing Miss Derinzy's sanity, in the teeth of my testimony; he -will keep the substance, depend on it, and not grasp at the shadow. -And so Miss Derinzy's solicitors are Hamber and Clarke? It's an odd -coincidence," added the Doctor musingly. - -"Why?" - -"Because they are concerned in another case in which we are both -interested. Your poor friend Madame Vaughan's case, George. It is -through them her annuity is paid, and I must say they are capital -men of business, so far as punctual payments and keeping a secret -faithfully are concerned." - -"That _is_ an odd coincidence indeed. You know them, then? Would you -have any objection to call on them with me?" - -"Not the least. I can make time to-morrow morning. They have always -been very civil to me." - -On the following day, the two gentlemen took their way to the offices -of Messrs. Hamber and Clarke, and were without delay admitted to an -audience with the head of the firm, a polite, impressive gentleman, who -heard George's statement of his business in silence, which he broke -only to repudiate with decided eagerness the association of the firm in -any way with Captain Derinzy. They had acted for Miss Derinzy's father -in a confidential capacity for many years, but their trust, with one -exception specially provided for during Mr. Derinzy's lifetime, had -passed into other hands on Captain Derinzy's assuming the guardianship -of his orphan niece. - -This intelligence was grateful rather than otherwise to Paul. If -Messrs. Hamber and Clarke had been Captain Derinzy's solicitors, they -would probably have declined to afford him any information unsanctioned -by their client; but as things were Mr. Hamber furnished him with full -particulars. Acting on Annette's instructions, George informed her -father's old friend of all they had to wish and to fear, and told him -what were Annette's designs, supposing she secured the full personal -control of her property. He was prepared to find these designs treated -as extravagant by a man of business, but also prepared to disregard his -opinion. - -"Derinzy would never venture to fight it out," said the lawyer; "though -if he did, he must be beaten on your father's evidence. There's no -question Miss Derinzy could make far better terms. I understand you, -sir," turning to Dr. Wainwright, "that you are entirely confident of -the cure?" - -"Certainly," replied the Doctor; "there's no doubt about it. Nothing -can be clearer." - -"Then that's conclusive," said Mr. Hamber, "unless, indeed--to be sure, -there's the hereditary taint." - -"Hereditary taint! What do you mean?" asked Dr. Wainwright. "None of -the Derinzy family that I could hear of were ever mad; I investigated -that point closely, when Miss Derinzy first became my patient." - -Mr. Hamber looked vexed with himself, as a man does who has said too -much, or at all events has said more than he intended. He hesitated, -kept a brief silence, and then, taking a resolution, spoke: - -"I think, Dr. Wainwright, you will give us credit for discretion, -so far as you know us. I am of opinion that discretion, like every -quality, may be carried too far. Up to the present it has been our -duty to be silent concerning one particular of our relations with -the late Mrs. Derinzy, but at this point it seems to me our duty to -speak--confidentially, you will understand--to you and your son. Your -object and our wish is to benefit Miss Derinzy, and I think it would -not be fair to her, and therefore, of course, contrary to her father's -wishes, that you should remain ignorant of a fact, the knowledge of -which may modify your proceedings, and alter your judgment." - -"Certainly, you are quite right. We must be perfectly informed to act -efficiently," said Dr. Wainwright, who had felt much compassion for -the miserable anxiety displayed in George's countenance during the -long-winded exordium of Mr. Hamber. - -"Then, sir," said the lawyer solemnly, "it is my painful duty to tell -you that Miss Derinzy's mother is living and is mad." - -"Good God, how horrible!" exclaimed George. - -"Horrible indeed. She was a Frenchwoman, and she became deranged from a -shock, after her child's birth. I suppose the treatment of the insane -was not wise in those days, for she never recovered; and her husband's -horror of the possible effect on the child made him morbidly anxious -to put her out of sight and recollection. It was a bad business, not -intentionally cruel, I am sure, but ill-judged, and she had much to -suffer, I've no doubt. A sum was invested and placed in our keeping, -and the payments are made by us. The poor woman has been very quiet and -happy for a long time, for which I have frequently had your word, Dr. -Wainwright." - -"My word!" exclaimed the Doctor, on whom a light was breaking. - -"Yes, indeed. I am speaking of Madame Vaughan." - -"Of Madame Vaughan!" cried George, in a choking voice, quite unmanned -by this revelation. "Ah, father, then it is no delusion, after all; the -child--the child she is always pining for is my Annette." - -"Even so," said Dr. Wainwright, and laid his hand on his son's arm -impressively. "I don't wonder this discovery should affect you -painfully. But cheer up, George. Remember, this pining for her child -is the only trace of insanity your poor friend has exhibited for -years--has ever exhibited, indeed, within my knowledge. Now we know -this supposed delusion is no delusion at all, but a truth; and I don't -entertain the smallest doubt that Annette's mother is as sane as you or -I." - - - - -CHAPTER THE LAST. -CERTAINTY. - - -Mr. Hamber's opinion was justified by the result--the Derinzys did not -fight. The character of the Captain has been sketched in these pages -to very little purpose, if the reader does not guess with the utmost -readiness that he was entirely indifferent concerning his son's future, -when he had been once and for all thoroughly informed what was the -best he had to expect and calculate upon for his own. In the interview -which had taken place between the Captain and Dr. Wainwright, prior to -Annette's journey to Germany, he had tried to bully the Doctor, with -such utter failure that he bore a salutary remembrance of his defeat -with him to the family council, convened a few days after the visit -made by Dr. Wainwright and his son to Messrs. Hamber and Clarke's -office. - -The subjects to be discussed on this solemn and set occasion were -two--the intended marriage of George Wainwright and Annette Derinzy, -and the "state of things "--which fine distinction in terms had -been cleverly invented by Mrs. Derinzy--between Paul and Daisy. The -combination had come about on this wise: - -When Paul left his mother's house, on the occasion when he had so -gallantly helped his friend and his cousin out of their little -difficulty, he went straight away to the village in Berkshire where -Daisy was staying with an old friend; and having fully explained to -her the present position of affairs, entreated her to permit him to -announce to his parents that their marriage was immovably fixed. Paul -found Daisy looking very handsome, very elegant, and very sweet--if -there had existed a corner of his heart yet uninvaded by her power, -she must inevitably have taken possession of it; but she was changed, -changed in manner, and, as he found when he came to talk to her, in -mind too. - -The self-deception in which the girl had indulged; the false estimates -she had made of life, its responsibilities, and its real prizes; the -sudden shock of the discovery of her great error, which had come to her -with her first glance at Paul's fever-stricken face; the awful danger -from which she had been snatched, a danger confronted with hardihood -it filled her with shame to remember--these things had wrought the -change. Paul did not question or speculate upon its origin, but he felt -its presence with a keen sweet conviction, priceless to him. Daisy -had learned to love him; she would not deliberate now with cold pride -upon the pros and cons of a life to be shared with him; she would not -speculate upon the chances of his repenting, and the certainty of his -family being ashamed of her, as she had done, making him feel that the -canker of worldliness had fastened upon her beautiful youth. Paul was -a careless fellow enough, and as free from anything like heroism or -enthusiasm as the most practical-minded of his friends could possibly -have desired; but he was young, honest, and very much in love; and it -was an unspeakable relief to him to find that the genuine fervour of -his feelings and his hopes was no longer to be checked by caution or -disdain on Daisy's part. She was not gushing, and she was not silly--no -combination of fate could have made Fanny Stothard either--but she was -"pure womanly," and the sweet undefined humility in her manner--of -whose origin Paul must remain for ever ignorant--set the last touch of -captivation to her charms. - -"You did not see my mother, then, to explain anything to her?" -said Daisy, when Paul had told her the story of events, but with -one important omission; he had said nothing of Annette's generous -proposition. - -"No," replied Paul; "I thought it better to wait until I had seen you. -But I shall go to her immediately, and ask her consent." - -"Poor mother!" said Daisy, with a sigh, "she is of a gloomy designing -turn of mind; and I am sure she always had some scheme in her head -about Miss Derinzy, and never intended she should marry you. But that -her daughter should marry Miss Derinzy's cousin----" - -"And have half Miss Derinzy's fortune, if Annette gets her own way -about it!" interrupted Paul. - -"Half Miss Derinzy's! What are you talking about?" asked Daisy, in -utter surprise. - -"There now, my darling, you must forgive me. I could not resist the -temptation of seeing and hearing from yourself that you were not afraid -to marry a poor fellow like me--not afraid to go in for squalls with -a pilot whom you care enough for, not to mind very much whether he is -particularly calculated to weather the storm. It is so awfully jolly -to convict you of reckless imprudence! I really could not resist it; -and so I didn't tell you. We shan't be poor, and we shan't get into -storms--not that kind, anyhow. Annette and George are going to share -with us, Daisy. They have got an unreasonable kind of notion, which -they regard as sound sense, that I ought to be largely compensated -for the loss of a young lady whom no earthly inducement would have -persuaded me to marry, and the deprivation of a fortune to which I had -not the smallest claim. Very well, I'm agreeable. Of course taking half -is all nonsense; but if they will make us comfortable, and square it -with the governor, I don't see why--do you, darling?" - -"No, I don't," returned Daisy promptly. "If I wanted to flatter you, -Paul, and get credit of high-flying sentiment, I should talk nonsense -about love, and poverty, and independence; but I _don't_, not only -because it would not exactly fit in with my former line of opinion, -but because I don't mean to be anything but sensible and _true_. Your -friend and your cousin wish to insure your happiness, and they very -wisely think the first step is to secure you from poverty. I can give -you everything else you want, but I can't give you money. Very well, -then, I am glad that they can, and will." - -Paul returned to town on the following day, and had an interview with -Mrs. Stothard. It was satisfactory; but she made two stipulations. One, -that the fact of Fanny's being her daughter should be communicated to -Captain and Mrs. Derinzy by herself; and the other, that she should -not be expected to reside with Daisy. Paul had no objection to an -unhesitating acquiescence in the latter request. He did not wish for -any third person in his home, and he had always been a little afraid -of Mrs. Stothard--a sentiment which, he felt convinced, would increase -when that lady should have become his mother-in-law. He did not dare -to ask what she intended to do; but he felt a secret curiosity as to -whether she and his mother, whose relations had puzzled him for so -long, would continue to reside together. On this occasion Paul did not -see Mrs. Derinzy. - -His next visit was to George Wainwright, who told him of the discovery -which had been made relative to Madame Vaughan, of which Annette was -still in ignorance. - -"Our best plan--yours as well as mine--is to leave everything to my -father. He is a wonderful man, Paul. I never half appreciated him till -now--not his kind-heartedness, and his energy, and his sympathy, you -know. If he were a lover in difficulties himself, he could not be more -anxious about all this affair, and I don't only mean for me. You have -no idea how much impressed he was by Daisy when you were ill, and how -he liked and addressed her. Of course it is a delicate business to tell -Madame Vaughan that he has found out his mistake, and that her delusion -is no delusion; and equally, of course, it is subjecting Annette to a -severe test, in her newly-recovered state, to tell her that her mother -is living; and their meeting will be a tremendous trial for both. But -then, as my father said, if it turns out well--and he has not the least -fear of it--it will be just the most satisfactory test which could -possibly have been applied--one, indeed, beyond anything we ever could -have looked for turning up." - -"What has your father done?" asked Paul, pardonably anxious to come to -the discussion of his own share in the situation. - -"He has seen Mrs. Derinzy, and arranged a solemn meeting of all parties -concerned for Thursday next, when your father will have to make up -his mind whether he means to fight or to give in; and in the face of -the fact that Annette's mother is living and perfectly sane, and that -Annette is close upon her majority, I do not think there will be much -difficulty; and when he has fought my battle, the Doctor intends to -fight yours; and neither will there be much trouble there, I prophesy, -for Annette will not settle money on you unless you marry Daisy. I have -told our ambassador that you are willing. Did I go beyond the truth, -Paul?" - -Too much affected to speak, the younger man turned abruptly away. - -It has been already said that the Derinzys did not fight. The family -council was a trying ordeal for everyone concerned; but the consummate -tact, the masterly _savoir faire_ of Dr. Wainwright, carried all -parties, himself included, through the difficulties of the position. -Even Captain Derinzy was not visited by a suspicion of his motives: -even that gentleman, whose naturally base proclivities might easily on -this occasion have been quickened by the sympathetic consideration that -he had ineffectually endeavoured to do that very thing, did not venture -to suggest that this was a plan of the Doctor's to marry his son to an -heiress. - -Annette had been on terms of distant civility only with Mrs. Derinzy -since the _éclaircissement_, and no allusion to what had passed had -been made between her and Mrs. Stothard. She was sitting alone, and in -a state of considerable trepidation, listening to the reverberation of -the men's voices in the library, when Mrs. Stothard entered the room, -and addressed her with a very unusual appearance of agitation. In her -hand she held a letter: it was from her daughter. - -"My dear," she said, "I have something to tell you, and I mean to tell -it without any roundabout ways or preparation, which I have always -considered nonsense. You have made a noble offer, I understand, to Paul -Derinzy, in order to enable him to marry the girl he loves. But you -have no notion who that girl is." - -"Yes, I have; she is a Miss Stafford--a very charming person, and most -devotedly attached to Paul. She nursed him through that dreadful fever; -and my aunt has had to acknowledge that there is nothing against her, -except that she is not rich--not quite what people call a lady. She has -been forewoman to some great milliner, I believe--like dear beautiful -Kate Nickleby, you know," said Annette, to whom the matchless creations -of the Master were the friends, the associations, the illustrations of -her every-day life. - -"Yes, yes, you know so much; I am aware of that," said Mrs. Stothard. -"But what you do not know, Annette, is, that this Miss Stafford is my -daughter, Fanny Stothard, and that by the nobleness of your conduct -to her you have won my best affection, have utterly disarmed me--not -towards you, but towards others--and turned the enemy of the Derinzys -into the friend of all whom you care for." - -"The enemy of the Derinzys!" repeated Annette, who had been looking at -her in blank amazement, hardly taking in the meaning of what she said. - -"Yes, their enemy; their enemy for a reason which I need not explain, -which, indeed, I could not to you, but a well-founded one, believe -me. I knew their designs about you, and held them in check all along, -and played a counter-game of my own, while they were playing their -unsuccessful cards; and had the end come as I expected, I should have -defeated and exposed them, and had my revenge; but another end has -come, a widely different end, thank God, and your noble conduct to my -child--your upholding of the obscure, unknown, friendless girl, who -had no claim upon you except the claim so seldom allowed, of womanly -sympathy, and your kindly touch of nature--has softened my heart and -changed my purpose, and henceforth I shall hold you and her equally -dear." - -"Oh, Mrs. Stothard, how could you live without her?--how could you bear -to part with her?" - -"Because we were poor; we could not afford the luxury of a common home. -You have no practical experience of such things, my dear; but they -exist; and they warp one's nature sometimes. I believe my nature was -warped, Annette; but you--your patience, your sweetness, your nobleness -and generosity--have set it right again." - -"And your daughter Fanny is really, really Paul's Daisy?" Annette said, -with a dreamy and surprised delight in her eyes and her voice. "How -delighted Paul will be to hear it, and my George!" - -"They know it already," said Mrs. Stothard; "but I begged that I might -be allowed to tell you myself." - -"When is she coming? Have you told her to come at once? May I go and -fetch her? Where is she? Never mind Aunt Derinzy, Mrs. Stothard; she -will not find fault now; and, besides, the house is _mine_." - -To do Annette justice, she rarely showed any remembrance of her -heiress-ship--never, unless the rights or the interests of another were -in question. - -"She will be in London to-morrow; and if all goes right, she will come -to see you." - -"No, no, that will not do!" cried Annette impatiently. "She shall -not come to see me; she shall come to live here, to be like myself -in everything, and she shall be my sister. I never had a mother or a -sister, you know," continued the girl pleadingly; "and I have very, -_very_ seldom in all my life been able to do anything exactly as I -wished. You won't oppose me in that; I know you will let me have my -own way, won't you? My George is Paul's dearest friend, you know; and -Paul's Daisy shall be mine, though she is so handsome and so clever. I -_feel_ she will love me, and--and--we shall never part until I go to -George's home, and she goes to Paul's; and we shall be married on the -same day." - -When George Wainwright, with the full sanction of the subjugated -Captain, and congratulations as suave as she could bring herself to -make them on the part of Mrs. Derinzy, sought Annette's presence, in -order to tell her to what an entirely satisfactory conclusion the -family council had come, he found Annette on her knees beside Mrs. -Stothard, her smiling face upturned to the features which had lost all -their sternness, and the grave, ordinarily inflexible woman weeping -tears of gladness. - - - * * * * * - - -Dr. Wainwright found himself about this time in an unusual position; -and though he liked it very much, and was conscious that he fulfilled -all the duties which it entailed to perfection, he had no desire to -prolong its responsibilities. The docility of the Derinzys was not to -be surpassed; and the grave elderly physician became the referee of -two pairs of lovers, who looked to him as a beneficent genius, whose -judgment was equal to his generosity. This was pleasant, but it cost -trouble and time; and though the Doctor did not grudge the one, of the -other he had none to spare, and he was not sorry when the time fixed -for the double wedding arrived. Annette had had her way and her wish; -Daisy had come to remain in the house with her; and even the sensitive -girl, to whom congenial companionship and love of her kind were so -strange, could not fail to be content with the affection she inspired -in the so-differently-reared young woman, for whom her good breeding, -her refined, her perfect ladyism, had an indescribable and attaching -charm. - -The Doctor's cases were near their dispersion. All the arrangements -had been made, including one whereby Captain and Mrs. Derinzy were to -be comfortably bestowed in foreign parts. Annette had not yet learned -the truth about her mother, with Madame Vaughan's concurrence. Dr. -Wainwright had made the strange communication to her; and he received -the proof of the correctness of his belief in her perfect sanity in the -reasonable motherly solicitude which she exhibited, the willingness to -wait, to put off the so-long-deferred happiness of seeing her child, -rather than risk the least injury to Annette's health. There must be no -surprises, Dr. Wainwright had said; no _scenes_, if such could possibly -be avoided; and she understood and acquiesced at once. The news had -been to her like a recall from the borders of death. She had rallied -almost into health; her dark eyes were full of bright content, and the -wistful look had left her face. How keenly Dr. Wainwright felt the -extent and importance of the error he had been led into by accepting -the fiat of his predecessor upon the "case" of Madame Vaughan, when -he found the poor prisoner of so many years perfectly tolerant of the -error, and gently grateful for her secluded life! - -"I have been as happy as it was possible for me to be without my -child," she said; "and George has been like a son to me. All has been -well." - -It was the night before the double wedding, which was to be a very -quiet affair. The brides were inspecting their bridal dresses, -displayed upon Annette's bed. They formed a pretty picture, amid the -shiny white, the graceful flowers, the suggestive trifles of ornament -and luxury around. Daisy was incomparably the handsomer; but her -newly-found health and happiness had much beautified Annette. - -"Mamma has told us what she is going to do at last," said Daisy. "She -has settled it all with Dr. Wainwright, and her mind is quite made up. -It seems Miss Marshall, the lady superintendent of the Doctor's asylum, -is going to be married to the resident doctor, and resigns her post. -Mamma is going to take it; she likes the work" (Daisy spoke quickly, -and with her eyes averted from Annette), "and Dr. Wainwright thinks she -will be invaluable to him. So she is to go there to-morrow afternoon. I -don't _quite_ like it; but she is determined, and the omnipotent doctor -well pleased." - -"It is an occupation in which she will be happy and most useful," said -Annette; and she kissed her friend gravely. "I _know_ how fitted for it -she is. It would be well for all the afflicted ones, if such care and -judgment as hers might always come to their aid." - -The conversation of the two girls was interrupted at this point, -perhaps to their mutual relief, by the entrance of a servant who -brought Daisy a letter. She did not recognise the hand. It was not -Paul's; whom, indeed, she had parted with just an hour before. She -glanced first at the signature; it was "John Merton." The brief letter -contained these words: - - -"I have heard the news of your good fortune, and of your intended -marriage, and I can bear to write and congratulate you on both. From -what I could not have endured I have been preserved; and you?--few -have such a rescue to remember with gratitude. If I intrude its memory -ungracefully on such an occasion, forgive me; it is because I would -make you realise thankfully that three lives have been saved. As the -wife of another, a happier and worthier man, as the mother of his -children, I can think of you with resignation for myself, and the -rejoicing of a true and unselfish love for you; and though I do not -think I shall ever love any woman in all my life again, I can wish you -joy, and say from my heart, God bless you!" - -Daisy stood with the letter in her hand, pale and thoughtful, tears -shining in her brilliant eyes. - -"There's nothing wrong, is there, dear?" asked Annette softly. - -"Nothing; it is only a greeting from an old friend." After a pause, -she said thoughtfully: "It is good to have had such knowledge of life -as I have had--I mean for one like me--knowledge which would have done -_you_ nothing but harm, and made you wretched; good to have the means -of measuring one's happiness by what one has escaped." - -Soon after, and with Daisy's grave manner unaltered, the girls parted -for the night. - - - * * * * * - - -On the heights above the broad stream formed by the confluence of the -Rhone and the Saone there are many beautiful villa residences, whose -classic architecture harmonises well with the associations with the -ancient Roman rule, which invest the spot with a charm even beyond -its picturesqueness. From the lofty-pillared façade, and deep cool -porticos, terraced gardens, thick set with trees of southern growth, -descend to the verge of the height, arrested there by crenulated walls, -overgrown with a glorious tangle of roses and laurels, of jasmine and -clematis and passion-flower--the luxuries of our northern clime, but -common there. - -The long ranges of windows in the front of these scattered mansions -look out upon the dim distant Alps; those to the back upon the -vineyards of the Lyonnais, and the rich and spacious plains of -Dauphine". The scene retains the historic interest of the past in the -midst of the refined and cultivated beauty of the present. Amid this -beauty George Wainwright and his wife were to make their home; and -thither they turned their steps within a week after their marriage. -They had travelled by carriage-road from Dijon, George taking pleasure -in pointing out to his wife the scenes, which were all familiar to -him--all equally novel and delightful to her. - -"I am getting anxious about our villa," he said, when only a few miles -lay between them and their destination. "I had a general notion of what -they are like, but I never saw this one. Mathieu is a capital man of -business, however; and I think, if it be ever safe to do a thing of the -kind through an agent, we are safe in this instance." - -"I am certain to like it, George; you need not fear that; and I shall -soon get over the strangeness of having to look after my own affairs. -Only fancy the happiness of settling down in my first home with you! -The servants will be a difficulty; they won't understand _my_ French, -I'm afraid." - -"What would you say, Annette, if you found a most competent housekeeper -there already--a lady whom my father has known for many years, and -has selected and sent out in advance, to have everything ready for -you--what would you say?" - -"That it is like the wisdom and kindness of your father. But you seem -to imply that this lady came from London. Why did I not see her there? -Would it not have been better that we should have been acquainted in -the first instance?" - -"No, my darling; my father thought not. He had good reason. We are -rapidly approaching our home, my own wife" (George encircled her with -his arms as he spoke), "and I have something to tell you which you -could not have borne until now. It is joyful news, Annette. Can you -bear to hear it from me?" - -She looked at him fearlessly, with a candid trusting gaze, which -touched him keenly. - -"I can bear any news, good or ill, which is told me by you; which I am -to hear held in your arms, George." - -"You remember my telling you about my dear old friend, Madame -Vaughan--_Maman_, as she loved that I should call her?--and how you -wanted to be taken to see her, and my father said No?" - -"I remember," said Annette. "Is she the lady, George? Is she quite -well? I shall be so glad if it is so--if this is the delightful -surprise you have had in store for me." - -"She is the lady, darling; but there is more than this to tell you. Do -you remember that _Maman_ had a delusion, as we thought it; was always -wearying and pining for a child, complaining that she had been robbed -of her, but patiently declaring her belief that she should see her -again in this world?" - -"I remember," said Annette, still keeping her fixed earnest gaze upon -her husband. "Has it turned out that this was no delusion? Has she -really a child? has the child been found?" - -"The child is living; her child has been found, and I am taking her -home to her." George Wainwright pressed his wife closely to his breast, -and spoke the remainder of the sentence in a whisper: - -"You are that child, my Annette. Oh, be calm and strong, for the sake -of the husband's love which brings you to a mother's." - - * * * * * - -"Letters from England!" exclaimed Annette on a fine spring day in the -early new year, starting up from the terrace, on which she had been -sitting with her mother, to meet George, who was coming leisurely from -the house with a bundle of papers in his hand. - -"Yes, letters from England; and lots of them. Here's your share; I'll -talk to _Maman_ while you read them." - -Annette crammed all the letters but one into the pocket of her smart -little apron, and walked slowly to and fro reading the exception, while -George took her place beside Madame Vaughan. - -But they did not talk; they were both looking at Annette. She had read -one letter and begun another before either spoke. Then George said: - -"My father is so delighted with my report, he declares he will come to -Lyons himself, in the autumn. Well, what is it?" to Annette, who ran up -to them laughing. - -"Oh George, such fun! There's such a charming letter from Daisy. -The 'season' has begun; and she is going out tremendously; and she -says--but you shall read it all by-and-by--that the fine ladies are -very civil, and have not the faintest notion that she is in the secrets -of their 'get-up,' and tried on their bonnets and fripperies only last -year. And Paul is 'no end of a good fellow'--he shouldn't teach Daisy -slang like that, should he, George? And they are so happy, and they -will come to us at the end of the season. I'm so glad. I don't know -anything about the season; I've an idea it's an awful nuisance." - -"I have an idea you had better read your letters, and not keep _Maman_ -waiting for her drive," said George gaily. - -She flitted off again, and George returned to the subject of his -father's letter. - -"He reminds me how he doubted her recovery on account of the -uncongenial, interested _borné_ atmosphere of her home, and its dearth -of affection and geniality. He is never wrong, _Maman_, never. In -Annette's case, the natural remedy, home, love, healthy occupation, -children--or, let us not be presumptuous, say the prospect of -them--have been successful. The only sentimental aphorism I ever heard -my father use is the truest--'Love is the best physician.' He is always -right, _Maman_." - -"Almost always," replied Madame Vaughan. "He has been perfectly right -in this instance; and, indeed, the only mistake I ever knew him to make -was in my case, when I was Dr. Wainwright's Patient." - - - - -THE END. - - - - ------------------------------------------------- -CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS. - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dr. Wainright's Patient, by Edmund Yates - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/60651-8.zip b/old/60651-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index d1d2fb3..0000000 --- a/old/60651-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/60651-h.zip b/old/60651-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index f1292e7..0000000 --- a/old/60651-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/60651-h/60651-h.htm b/old/60651-h/60651-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 2857900..0000000 --- a/old/60651-h/60651-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,15335 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> -<html> -<head> -<title>DR. WAINWRIGHT'S PATIENT</title> -<meta name="subtitle" content="A Novel."> - -<meta name="Author" content="Edmund Yates"> -<meta name="Publisher" content="George Routledge and Sons"> -<meta name="Date" content="1878"> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1"> -<style type="text/css"> -body {margin-left:10%; - margin-right:10%; background-color:#FFFFFF;} - -p {text-indent:1em; text-align: justify;} - -p.right {text-align:right; margin-right:20%;} -p.center {text-align: center;} -p.continue {text-indent: 0in; margin-top:9pt;} - -h1,h2,h3,h4,h5 {text-align: center;} - -span.sc {font-variant: small-caps; font-size:110%;} - -hr.W10 {width:10%; color:black; margin-top:0pt; margin-bottom:0pt} -hr.W20 {width:20%; color:black; margin-top:12pt; margin-bottom:12pt} -hr.W50 {width:50%; color:black;} -hr.W90 {width:90%; color:black;} - -p.hang1 {margin-left:3em; text-indent:-3em;} -p.hang2 {margin-left:3em; text-indent:0em;} - - -.t0 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:0em; margin-right:0em;} -.t1 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:1em; margin-right:0em;} -.t2 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:2em; margin-right:0em;} -.t3 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:3em; margin-right:0em;} -.t4 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:4em; margin-right:0em;} -.t5 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:5em; margin-right:0em;} -</style> -</head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dr. Wainright's Patient, by Edmund Yates - -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: Dr. Wainright's Patient - A Novel - -Author: Edmund Yates - -Release Date: November 8, 2019 [EBook #60651] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. WAINRIGHT'S PATIENT *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by Google Books - - - - - -</pre> - -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h2>DR. WAINWRIGHT'S PATIENT.</h2> - -<h4>A Novel</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br><h5>By</h5> -<h4>EDMUND YATES</h4> - -<h5>AUTHOR OF "BLACK SHEEP."</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<div style="margin-left:5%"> -<p class="continue">"Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,<br> -Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,<br> -Raze out the written troubles of the brain,<br> -And with some sweet oblivious antidote<br> -Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff<br> -Which weighs upon the heart?"</p> -<p style="text-indent:50%">SHAKESPEARE.</p> -</div> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4>LONDON<br> -GEORGE RUTLEDGE AND SONS<br> -<span style="font-size:smaller">BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL<br> -NEW YORK: 416 BROOME STREET<br> -1878</span></h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<hr class="W90"> - -<h4>EDMUND YATES'S NOVELS</h4> - -<div style="margin-left:10%"> -<p class="continue">RUNNING THE GAUNTLET.<br> -KISSING THE ROD.<br> -A ROCK AHEAD.<br> -BLACK SHEEP.<br> -A RIGHTED WRONG.<br> -THE YELLOW FLAG.<br> -THE IMPENDING SWORD.<br> -A WAITING RACE.<br> -BROKEN TO HARNESS.<br> -TWO BY TRICKS.<br> -A SILENT WITNESS.<br> -NOBODY'S FORTUNE.<br> -DR. WAINWRIGHT'S PATIENT.<br> -WRECKED IN PORT.</p> -</div> -<hr class="W90"> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<table cellpadding="10" style="width:90%; margin-left:5%; font-weight:bold"> -<colgroup> -<col style="width:30%; vertical-align:top; text-align:right"> -<col style="width:70%; vertical-align:top; text-align:left"> -</colgroup> -<tr> -<td colspan="2"><h4>CONTENTS.</h4></td> -</tr><tr> -<td>CHAP.</td> -<td> </td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_01" href="#div1_01">I.</a></td> -<td>Captain Derinzy's Retreat</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_02" href="#div1_02">II.</a></td> -<td>A Visitor Expected.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_03" href="#div1_03">III.</a></td> -<td>During Office-hours.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_04" href="#div1_04">IV.</a></td> -<td>After Office-hours.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_05" href="#div1_05">V.</a></td> -<td>Family Politics.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_06" href="#div1_06">VI.</a></td> -<td>Mrs. Stothard.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_07" href="#div1_07">VII.</a></td> -<td>Friends In Council.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_08" href="#div1_08">VIII.</a></td> -<td>Corridor No. 4.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_09" href="#div1_09">IX.</a></td> -<td>Dear Annette.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_10" href="#div1_10">X.</a></td> -<td>Madame Clarisse.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_11" href="#div1_11">XI.</a></td> -<td>Behind the Scenes.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_12" href="#div1_12">XII.</a></td> -<td>A Conquest.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_13" href="#div1_13">XIII.</a></td> -<td>Another Conquest.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_14" href="#div1_14">XIV.</a></td> -<td>Paul at Home.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_15" href="#div1_15">XV.</a></td> -<td>On the Alert.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_16" href="#div1_16">XVI.</a></td> -<td>The Colonel's Correspondent.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_17" href="#div1_17">XVII.</a></td> -<td>Well Met.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_18" href="#div1_18">XVIII.</a></td> -<td>Soundings.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_19" href="#div1_19">XIX.</a></td> -<td>Two in Pursuit.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_20" href="#div1_20">XX.</a></td> -<td>Farther Soundings.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_21" href="#div1_21">XXI.</a></td> -<td>Father and Son.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_22" href="#div1_22">XXII.</a></td> -<td>L'homme Propose.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_23" href="#div1_23">XXIII.</a></td> -<td>Poor Paul.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_24" href="#div1_24">XXIV.</a></td> -<td>George's Determination.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_25" href="#div1_25">XXV.</a></td> -<td>Warned.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_26" href="#div1_26">XXVI.</a></td> -<td>Am Rhein.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_27" href="#div1_27">XXVII.</a></td> -<td>Patrician and Proletary.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_28" href="#div1_28">XXVIII.</a></td> -<td>Daisy's Letter.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_29" href="#div1_29">XXXIX.</a></td> -<td>Relenting.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_30" href="#div1_30">XXX.</a></td> -<td>Daisy's Recantation.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_31" href="#div1_31">XXXI.</a></td> -<td>Suspense.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_32" href="#div1_32">XXXII.</a></td> -<td>Madame Vaughan.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_33" href="#div1_33">XXXIII.</a></td> -<td>Certainty.</td> -</tr></table> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h3>DR. WAINWRIGHT'S PATIENT.</h3> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_01" href="#div1Ref_01">CHAPTER I.</a></h4> -<h5>CAPTAIN DERINZY'S RETREAT.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>Beachborough, where, in obedience to the strident voice of the railway -porter--voice combining the hardness of the Dorset with the drawl of -the Devon dialect--you, if you be so disposed, "Change for Sandington -Cove and Waverley," is a very different place from what it was even -ten years ago. To be sure the sea is there, and the beach, and the -fishing-luggers with the red sails; but in everything else what -changes! Now there is, as has been said, a railway-station, a forlorn -little oasis of white planking in a desert of sandy heath, inhabited -by a clerk--a London young man, who "went too fast" in the metropolis, -and has been relegated to Beachborough as a good healthy place where -there is no chance of temptation--and a porter, a native of the place, -a muscular person great at wrestling, who is always inviting the male -passers-by of his acquaintance to "come on," and supplying them, on -their doing so, with a very ugly throw known as a "back-fall." There -are not many passers-by, for the newly-formed road leads to no where in -particular, and those who tramp through its winter slush, or struggle -through its summer dust, are generally either tradesmen of the place -anxious about overdue parcels, or servants, sent to make inquiries -about the trains, from some of the houses on the Esplanade.</p> - -<p>The Esplanade! Heavens! if old Miss Gollop, who lived at the Baths, -and who used to supply very hot water and very damp towels, and the -greatest number of draughts ever known to be got together into one -small room, to the half-dozen county families to whom Beachborough -was then known as a watering-place--if old Miss Gollop could revisit -the glimpses of the moon, and by its light look upon the Esplanade, -it would, I am certain, be impossible for that worthy old lady to -recognise it as Mussared's Meadow, where she picked cowslips and -sucked sorrel when she was a girl, and which was utterly untainted by -the merest suspicion of brick and mortar when she died twenty years -ago. She would not recognise it any more than in The Dingo Arms--that -great white-faced establishment, with its suites of apartments, its -coffee-room, wine-office, private bar, and great range of stabling, -patronised by, and in its <i>sanctum sanctorum</i> bearing an heraldic -emblazonment of the arms of, Sir Hercules Dingo Dingo, Bart., bloody -hand, four-quartered shield and all--she would have recognised The -Hoy, a tiny "public" where they used to sell the hardest beer and -the most stomach-ache-provoking cider, and which in her day was -the best tavern in the village. The white-faced terrace has sprung -up in Mussared's Meadow; the Esplanade in front of it is a seawall -and a delightful promenade for the Misses Gimp's young ladies, who -are the admiration of Dingo Terrace, and who have deadly rivals in -Madame de Flahault's <i>demoiselles</i>, whose piano-playing is at once -the delight and the curse of Powler Square; the cliffs, once so gaunt -and barren and forlorn, are dotted over with cottages and villakins, -all green porch and plate-glass windows; the old barn-like church -has had a fresh tower put on to him, and a fresh minister--one with -his ecclesiastical millinery of the newest cut, and up to the latest -thing in genuflexions--put into him; there is a Roman Catholic chapel -close to the old Wesleyan meeting-house; and they have modernised -and spoiled the picturesque tower where Captain Derinzy wore away a -portion of his days. Great improvements, no doubt. Pavement and gas, -and two policemen, and a railway, and a ritualistic incumbent, and -shops with plate-glass windows, where you can get Holloway's pills and -Horniman's teas, and all the things without which no gentleman's table -is complete. But the events of my story happened ten years ago, when -the inhabitants of Beachborough--shopkeepers, fisher-people, villagers, -and lace-makers--were like one family, and loved and hated and reviled -and back-bit each other as the members of one family only can.</p> - -<p>We shall get a little insight into the village politics if we drop in -for a few minutes at Mrs. Powler's long one-storied, thatched-roof -cottage, standing by itself in the middle of the little High Street. -Mrs. Powler is a rich and childless old widow, Powler deceased having -done a little in the vending of home-manufactured lace, and a great -deal in the importing, duty-free, of French lace and brandy. It was -Powler's run when Bill Gollop, the black sheep of the Gollop family, -was shot by the revenue-officer down by Wastewater Hole, a matter which -Powler is scarcely thought to have compromised by giving a new organ -to Bedminster church. However, he has been dead some years, and his -widow is very rich and tolerably hospitable; and her little thatched -cottage--she never lived in any other house--is the centre and focus of -Beachborough gossip.</p> - -<p>It is just about Mrs. Powler's supper-time, which is very early in -the summer, and she has guests to supper. There is no linen in all -Beachborough so white as Mrs. Powler's, no such real silver plate, no -such good china or glass. The Beachborough glass generally consists of -fat thick goblets on one stump-leg, or dumpy heavy wineglasses with -a pattern known as "the pretty" halfway up their middle, which, like -the decanters, are heavy and squat, and require a strong wrist to lift -them. But Mrs. Powler had thin, blown, delicate glasses, and elegant -goblets with curling snakes for their handles, and drinking-cups in -amber and green colours, all of which were understood to have come -from "abroad," and were prized by her and respected by her neighbours -accordingly. There never was a bad lobster known in Beachborough; and -it is probable that Mrs. Powler's were no better than her neighbours', -but she certainly had a wondrous knack of showing them off to the best -advantage, setting-off the milk-white of the inside and the deepred of -the shell with layers of crisp curling parsley, as a modern belle sets -off her complexion with artfully-arranged bits of tulle and blonde. Nor -was her boiled beef to be matched within ten miles round. "I du 'low -that other passons' biled beef to Mrs. Fowler's is sallt as brine and -soft as butter," Mrs. Jupp would confess; and Mrs. Jupp was a notable -housewife, and what the vulgar call "nuts" on her own cooking. There -is a splendid proof of it on the table now, cold and firm and solid. -Mr. Jupp has just helped himself to a slice, and it is his muttered -praise that has called forth the tribute of general admiration from -his better-half. Mr. Hallibut, the fish-factor and lace-dealer from -Bedminster, is still occupied with the lobster; for he has a ten-mile -drive home before him, and any fear of indigestion he laughs to scorn, -knowing how he can "settle" that demon with two or three raw "nips" and -one or two steaming tumblers of some of that famous brandy which the -deceased Powler imported duty-free from abroad, and a bottle of which -is always to be found for special friends in the old oak <i>armoire</i>, -which stands under the Lord's-Prayer sampler which Mrs. Powler worked -when she was a little girl.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Powler is in the place of honour opposite the window. A little -woman, with a dark-skinned deeply-lined face, and small sparkling black -eyes, the fire in which remains undimmed by the seventy years through -which they have looked upon the world, though their sight is somewhat -failing. She wears a fierce black front, and a closely-fitting white -lace cap over it, and an open raspberry-tart-like miniature of her -deceased lord--a rather black and steelly-looking daguerreotype--gleams -on her chest. Mrs. Powler likes her drinks, as she does not scruple to -confess, and has been sipping from a small silver tankard of cider.</p> - -<p>"Who was that just went passt the windor, Jupp?" she said, after a -short period of tankard abstraction. "My eyes isn't what they was, and -I du 'low I couldn't see, though I'm settin' right oppo-site like."</p> - -<p>"Heart alive!" struck in Mrs. Jupp, after a moment's silence, and -seeing it was perfectly impossible her better-half could sufficiently -masticate the piece of cold beef on which he was engaged in anything -like time for a reply--"heart alive! to hear you talk of your eyes, -Mrs. Powler! Why, there's many a young gal would give anythin' for such -a pair in her head, either for show or for use, either!"</p> - -<p>"I should think so," said Mr. Jupp, who had by this time cleared -his mouth and moistened his palate with the contents of the -cider-tankard--"I should think so!" and Mr. Jupp, who was of a -convivial turn, began to troll, "Eyes black--as sloes, and--bo-o-oo-som -rounded----"</p> - -<p>"Mr. Jupp," interrupted Mrs. Jupp, a tall, thin, horse-faced woman, -with projecting buck-teeth, and three little sausage curls of iron-gray -hair flattened down on either side her forehead, "reck'lect where you -are, if you please, and keep your ditties to yourself."</p> - -<p>"Well, niver mind my eyes," said Mrs. Powler; she desired to make -peace, but she was a rich woman and in her own house, and consequently -spoke in a dictatorial way--"niver mind my eyes, nor anything else for -the matter of that, but tell who it was that went passt."</p> - -<p>"It was the Captain, my dear madam, the Captain," replied Mr. Jupp, -freshly attacking the cold beef, and consoling himself for his snubbing -with his supper. "You had no great loss in not seeing him, ma'am: it -was only the Captain."</p> - -<p>"What! Prinsy, Drinsy, what's his name?" said Mr. Hallibut, taking a -clean plate, and delicately clearing his lips and fingers from lobster -remains on the corner of the tablecloth. "I'll trouble you, Jupp!--Is -he still here?"</p> - -<p>"His name's Derinzy, Mr. Hollybut," said Mrs. Jupp--"De-rin-zy; it's -a French name." Mrs. Jupp had been a lady's-maid once on a time, and -prided herself on her manners and education.</p> - -<p>"And mine's Hallibut, and not Hollybut, Mrs. Jupp," said the -fish-factor jocosely; "and I'll trouble J-u double p--which I take it -is an English name--for some of the inside fat--next the marrer-bone -there!"</p> - -<p>"Dear heart!" interrupted Mrs. Powler, feeling her position as hostess -and richest of the company was being made scarcely sufficient of; "how -you do jangle, all of you! Not but what," added the old lady, with -singular inconsequence--"not but what I'm no scholard, and don't see -the use of French names, while English is good enough for me."</p> - -<p>"Ah, but some things is better French, as you and I, and one or two -more of us could tell," said jocose Mr. Hallibut, feeling it was time -for a "nip," and availing himself of the turn in the conversation to -point with his elbow to the cellaret, where the special brandy was kept.</p> - -<p>"Well, help yourself, and put the bottle on the table," said the -old lady, somewhat mollified. "Ah, that was among the spoils of the -brave, in the good old times when men was men!" she added, in a -half-melancholy tone. She was accustomed to think and speak of her -deceased husband as though he had been the boldest of buccaneers, the -Captain Kyd of the Dorsetshire coast; whereas he, in his lifetime, was -a worthy man in a Welsh wig, who never went to sea, or was present at -the "running" of a keg.</p> - -<p>"And so the Captain's still here," pursued Hallibut; "living in the -same house, and doing much the same as usual, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"Jist exactly the same," replied Mr. Jupp. "Wandering about the -village, molloncholly-like, and cussin' all creation."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Jupp," broke in his better-half, "reck'lect where you are, if you -please, and keep your profane swearin' to yourself."</p> - -<p>"I wonder he don't go away," suggested Hallibut.</p> - -<p>"He can't," said Mrs. Jupp solemnly.</p> - -<p>"What! do you mean to say he's been running in debt here in -Beachborough, or over in Bedminster?"</p> - -<p>"He don't owe a brass farthing in either place," asserted Mrs. Powler; -"if anybody ought to know, I ought;" and to do her justice she ought, -for no one heard scandal sooner, or disseminated it more readily.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps he hadn't the chance," said Mr. Jupp, stretching out his hand -towards the tumbler.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Jupp," said his wife, "what cause have you to say that? Was you -ever kept waiting for the money for the meal or malt account? Is the -rent paid regular for the bit of pastureland for Miss Annette's cow? -Well, then, reck'lect where you are, if you please, and who you're -speaking of."</p> - -<p>"Well, but if he hates the place and cusses--I mean, does what Jupp -said he did just now--what does he stop here for? Why don't he go away? -He must have some reason."</p> - -<p>"Of course he has, Mr. Hallibut," said Mrs. Jupp, with an air of -dignity.</p> - -<p>"Got the name all right this time, Mrs. Jupp; here's your health," said -the jolly man, sipping his tumbler. "Well, what's the reason?"</p> - -<p>"It's because of Miss Annette--she that we was speaking of just now."</p> - -<p>"Oh, ah!" said Mr. Hallibut; "she's his daughter, isn't she?"</p> - -<p>"Niece," said Mrs. Jupp.</p> - -<p>"Oh!" said Mr. Hallibut doubtfully.</p> - -<p>"You and I have seen the world, Hallibut," broke in Mr. Jupp, who had -been paying his attentions to the French brandy. "We've heard of nieces -before--priests' nieces and such-like, who----"</p> - -<p>"Mr. Jupp, <i>will</i> you reck'lect where you are, <i>if</i> you please?--what -I was goin' to say when thus interrupted, Mr. Hallibut, was, that -it's on account of his niece Miss Annette that Captain Derinzy remains -in this place. She's a dreadful in-val-lid, is Miss Annette, and this -Dorsetsheer air suits her better than any other part of England. As to -her not bein' his niece----"</p> - -<p>"La, la, du be quiet, Harriet!" interrupted Mrs. Powler, who saw that -unless she asserted herself with a dash she would be quite forgotten; -"this everlastin' click-clackin', I du 'low it goes threw my head like -a hot knife threw a pat of fresh butter. Av' course Miss Netty's the -Captain's niece; Oh, I don't mind you men--special you, Jupp, sittin' -grinnin' there like the mischief! I've lived long in the world, and -in different sort of society from this; and I know what you mean fast -enough, and I'm not one to pretend I don't, or to be squeamish about -it."</p> - -<p>This was a hard hit at Mrs. Jupp, who took it accordingly, and said:</p> - -<p>"Well, but, Mrs. Powler, if Jupp were not brought up sudden, as it -were----"</p> - -<p>"Like enough, my dear, like enough; but when you're as old as I -am, you'll find it's very hard to have to give up chat for fear of -these kind of things, unless indeed there's young girls present, and -then--well, of course!" said Mrs. Powler, with a sigh. "But, Lord, -you're all wrong about why Captain Derinzy stops at Beachborough."</p> - -<p>"Do you know why it is, Mrs. Powler?" asked Mr. Hallibut, feigning -intense interest, under cover of which he mixed himself a second -tumbler of brandy-and-water.</p> - -<p>"Well, I think I do," said the old lady.</p> - -<p>"Tell us, by all means," said the fish-factor, looking at his hostess -very hard, and dropping two lumps of sugar into his tumbler.</p> - -<p>"Well, Harriet's right so far--there's no doubt about Miss Annette -being the Captain's niece; at least, there's no question of her being -his daughter, as you two owdacious men--and, Jupp, you ought to know -better, having been churchwarden, and your name in gold letters in -front of the organ-loft, on account of the church being warmed by the -hot pipes, which only made a steam and a smell, and no heat at all--as -you two owdacious men hinted at. Lor' bless you, you don't know Mrs. -Derinzy."</p> - -<p>"That's what I tell 'em, Mrs. Powler," chorused Mrs. Jupp; "they don't -know the Captain's wife. Why, she's as proud as proud; and he daren't -say his soul's his own, let alone introducin' anyone into the house -that she didn't know all about, or wish to have there."</p> - -<p>"But still you don't know what makes them stay here," said Mrs. Powler, -not at all influenced by her friend's partisanship, and determined to -press her point home upon her audience.</p> - -<p>"Well, if it isn't Miss Netty's illness, I don't," said Mrs. Jupp -slowly, and with manifest reluctance at having to acknowledge herself -beaten.</p> - -<p>"Then I'll tell you," said the old lady triumphantly, smoothing her -dress, looking slowly round, and pausing before she spoke. "You know -Mrs. Stothard?"</p> - -<p>"Miss Annette's servant--yes," said Mrs. Jupp.</p> - -<p>"Servant--pouf!" said Mrs. Powler, snapping her fingers, and thereby -awaking Mr. Jupp, who had just dropped asleep, and was dreaming that he -was in his mill, and dared not stretch out his legs for fear of getting -them entangled in the machinery. "Who ever saw her do any servant's -work; did you?"</p> - -<p>"N-no; I can't say I ever did," replied Mrs. Jupp; "but then, I have -never been to the house."</p> - -<p>"What does that matter?" asked the old lady, rather illogically; "no -one ever did. No one ever saw her do a stroke of servant's work in the -house: mend clothes, wash linen, darn stockings, make beds. Dear heart -alive! she's no servant."</p> - -<p>"What is she then?" asked Mrs. Jupp eagerly.</p> - -<p>"A poor relation!" hissed Mrs. Powler, bending over the table; "a poor -relation, my dear, of either his or hers, with something about her that -prevents them shaking her off, and obliges them to keep her quiet."</p> - -<p>"Do you think so--<i>really</i> think so?"</p> - -<p>"I'm sure of it, my dear--certain sure."</p> - -<p>"Lord, I remember," said Mrs. Jupp, with a sudden affectation of a -mincing manner, and a lofty carriage of her head; "I remember once -seeing something of the sort at the play-house: but then the poor -relation was a man, a man who always went about in a large cloak, and -appeared in places where he was least expected and most unwelcome. It -was in Covent Garden Theatre."</p> - -<p>"Covent Garden Theatre," said Jupp, suddenly waking up. "I remember, in -the saloon----"</p> - -<p>"Mr. Jupp, reck'lect where you are, <i>if</i> you please, and spare the -company your reminiscences."</p> - -<p>Here Mr. Hallibut, who, finding himself bored by the conversation about -people of whom he knew nothing, had quietly betaken himself to drink, -and had got through three tumblers of brandy-and-water unobserved, -remarked that, as he had a long drive before him, he thought it was -time for him to go; and, after making his adieux, departed to find the -ostler at The Hoy, who had his rough old pony in charge. Mrs. Jupp put -on her bonnet, and after a word of promise to look in next morning and -hear the remainder of her hostess's suspicions about Mrs. Stothard, -roused up Mr. Jupp, who, balancing himself on frail and trembling -legs, which he still believed to be endangered by the proximity of his -mill's machinery, staggered out into the open air, where he was bid to -reck'lect himself <i>if</i> he pleased, and to walk steadily, so that the -coastguard then passing might not see he was drunk.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_02" href="#div1Ref_02">CHAPTER II</a></h4> -<h5>A VISITOR EXPECTED.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>It was indeed Captain Derinzy who had passed up the village street. -It is needless to say that he had not heard anything of the comments -which his appearance had evoked; but had he heard them, they would not -have made the smallest difference to him. He was essentially a man of -the world, and on persons of his class these things have very little -effect. A is irretrievably involved; B has outwritten himself; C is -much too intimate with Mrs. D; while D is ruining that wretched young -E at <i>écarté</i>--so at least say Y and Z; but the earlier letters of -the alphabet do not care much about it. They know that the world must -be always full of shaves and <i>cancans</i>, and, like men versed in the -great art of living, they know they must have their share of them, and -know how to take them. Captain Derinzy passed up the village street -without bestowing one single thought upon that street's inhabitants, -or indeed upon anything or anybody within a hundred miles of -Beachborough. He looked utterly incongruous to the place, and he felt -utterly incongruous to it, and if he were recalled to the fact of its -existence, or of his existence in it, by his accidentally slipping over -one of the round knobbly stones which supplied the place of a footway, -or having to step across one of the wide self-made sluices which, -coming from the cottages, discharged themselves into the common kennel, -all he did was to wish it heartily at the devil; an aspiration which he -uttered in good round rich tones, and without any heed to the feelings -of such lookers-on as might be present.</p> - -<p>See him now, as he steps off the knobbly pavement and strikes across -the road, making for the greensward of the cliff, and unconsciously -becoming bathed in a halo of sunset glory in his progress. A thin man, -of fifty years of age, of middle height, with a neat trim figure, -and one of his legs rather lame, with a spare, sallow, fleshless -face, high cheek-boned, lantern-jawed, bright black eyes, straight -nose, thin lips, not overshadowed, but outlined rather, by a very -small crisp black moustache. His hair is blue-black in tint and wiry -in substance, so much at least of it as can be seen under a rather -heavy brown sombrero hat, which he wears perched on one side of his -head in rather a jaunty manner. His dress, a suit of some light-gray -material, is well cut, and perfectly adapted for the man and the place; -and his boots are excellently made, and fit his small natty feet to -perfection. His ungloved hands are lithe and brown; in one of them he -carries a crook-headed cane, with which--a noticeable peculiarity--he -fences and makes passes at such posts and palings as he encounters on -his way. That he was a gentleman born and bred you could have little -doubt; little doubt from his carriage of himself, and an indescribable, -unmistakable something, that he was, or had been, a military man; no -doubt at all that he was entirely out of place in Beachborough, and -that he was bored out of his existence.</p> - -<p>Captain Derinzy passed the little road, which was ankle-deep in white -sandy dust, save where the overflowings of the kennel had worked -it into thick flaky mud, hopped nimbly, albeit lamely, over the -objectionable parts, and when he reached the other side, and stood -upon the short crisp turf leading up to the cliff, looked at the soles -of his boots, shook his head, and swore aloud. Considerably relieved -by this proceeding, he made his way slowly and gently up the ascent, -pausing here and there, less from want of breath than from sheer -absolute boredom. Rambling quietly on in his own easy-going fashion, -now fencing at a handrail, now making a one, two, three sword-exercise -cut, and finally demolishing a sprouting field-flower, he took some -time to reach the top of the cliff. When there he looked carefully -about him for a clean dry spot, and, having found one, dropped gently -down at full length, and comfortably reclining his head on his arm, -looked round him.</p> - -<p>It was high-tide below, and the calmest and softest of silver summer -seas was breaking in the gentlest ripple on the beach, and against -the base of the high chalk cliff whereon he lay. The entrance to the -little bay was marked by a light line of foam-crested breakers, beyond -which lay a broad stretch of heaving ocean; but the bay itself was -"oily calm," its breast dotted here and there with fishing-luggers -outward-bound for the night's service, their big tan sails gleaming -lightly and picturesquely in the red beams of the setting sun. Faintly, -very faintly, from below rose the cries of the boatmen--hoarse -monotonous calls, which had accompanied such and such acts of labour -for centuries, and had been taught by sire to son, and practised from -time immemorial. But the silence around the man outstretched on the -cliffs top was unbroken save by the occasional cry of the seafowl, -wheeling round and round above his head, and swooping down into their -habitation holes, with which the chalk-face was honeycombed. As he lay -there idly watching, the sun, a great blood-red globe of fire, sank -into the sea, leaving behind it a halo of light, in which the strips of -puff-cloud hovering over the horizon--here light, thin, and vaporous, -there heavy, dense, and opaque--assumed eccentric outlines, and -deadened to one gorgeous depth of purple. There were very few men who -would have been insensible to the loveliness of the surroundings--very -few but would have been impressed under such circumstances with a sense -of the beauty of Nature and the beneficence of Providence. Captain -Derinzy was one of these few. He saw it all, marked it all, looked at -it leisurely and critically through half-shut eyes, as though scanning -some clever picture or some scene at the theatre. Then, quietly -dropping his head back upon his hand, he gave a prolonged yawn, and -said quietly to himself, "Oh, dam!"</p> - -<p>"Oh, dam!" Sun and sea and sky, purple clouds, foam-crested -breakwaters, tan sails sunset-gilded, yohoing boatmen, nest-seeking -curlews, hoary cliff. "Oh, dam!" But that was not all. Lazily lying at -full length, lazily picking blades of grass, lazily nibbling them, and -lazily spitting them from his mouth, he said in a quaintly querulous -tone:</p> - -<p>"Beastly place! How I hate it! Beastly sea, and all that kind of thing; -and those fellows going away in their beastly boats, smelling of -fish and oil and grease, and beastliness, and wearing greasy woollen -nightcaps, and smoking beastly strong tobacco in their foul pipes; and -then people draw them, and write about them, and call them romantic, -and all such cussed twaddle! Why the deuce ain't they clean and -neat, and why don't they dance about, and sing like those fellows in -<i>Masaniello</i>? And--Oh Lord! <i>Masaniello</i>! I didn't think I should even -have remembered the name of anything decent in this infernal place! -What's the time now?" looking at his watch. "Nearly eight. Gad! fancy -having had a little dinner at the Windham, or, better still, at the -Coventry, where they say that fellow--what's his name?--Francatelli, -is so good, and then dropping down to the Opera to hear Cruvelli -and Lablache, or the new house which Poyntz wrote me about--Covent -Garden--where Grisi and Mario and the lot have gone! Fancy my never -having seen the new house! Dammy! I shall become a regular fogey if I -stop in this infernal hole much longer. And not as if I were stopping -for myself either! If I'd been shaking a loose leg, and had outrun -the constable, or anything of that sort, I can understand a fellow -being compelled to pull up and live quiet for a bit; though there's -Boulogne, which is much handier to town, and much jollier with the -<i>établissement</i>, and plenty of <i>écarté</i>, and all that sort of thing, -to go on with. But <i>this</i>! Pooh! that's the dam folly of a man's -marrying what they call a superior woman! I suppose Gertrude's all -right; I suppose it will come off all straight; but I don't see the -particular pull for me when it does come off. Here am I wastin' the -best years of my life--and just at a time when I haven't got too many -of 'em to waste, by Jove!--just that another fellow may stand in for -a good thing. To be sure, he's my son, and there's fatherly feelings, -and all that sort of thing; but he's never done anything for me, and I -think it's rather hard he don't come and take a little of this infernal -dreariness on his own shoulders. I shall have to cut away--I know I -shall; I can't stand it much longer. I shall have to tell Gertrude--and -I never can do that, and I haven't got the pluck to cut away without -telling her, and I know she won't even let me go to old Dingo's for -the shooting in the autumn. What an ass I was ever to let myself be -swindled into coming into this beastly place! and how confoundedly I -hate it! Oh, dam! Oh, dam!"</p> - -<p>As he concluded he raised himself lightly to his feet, and commenced -his descent of the hill as easily and jauntily as he had ascended -it. His lame leg troubled him a little, and once when he trod on a -rolling stone and nearly fell, he stopped and smiled pleasantly at the -erring foot, and shook his cane facetiously over it. As he entered the -village, he muttered to himself: "Good heavens! <i>du monde</i>, how very -interesting!" For the hours of toil were over, and the shopkeepers -and the wives of the fishermen, and such of the fisher-boys as had -not gone to sea that evening, were standing at their doors and -gossiping, or playing in the street. The lace-making girls were there -too--very pretty girls for the most part, with big black eyes and -swarthy complexions and thick blue-black hair; their birthright these -advantages, for in the old days one of the home-flying ships of the -Spanish Armada had been wrecked on the Beachborough coast, and the -saved mariners had intermarried with the village women, and transmitted -their swarthy comeliness to their posterity. As the Captain passed by, -hats were lifted and curtsies dropped, courtesy which he duly returned -by touching his sombrero with his forefinger in the military style to -the men, and by God-blessing the women and chin-chucking the girls with -great heartiness.</p> - -<p>So on till he arrived at his own house, where he opened the door from -the outside, and entering the handsome old dining-room, was surprised -to see the table laid for four persons.</p> - -<p>"Hallo! what's this?" he said to a woman at the other end of the room -with her back towards him. "Who is coming to dinner, Mrs. Stothard?"</p> - -<p>"Have you forgotten?" said the woman addressed, without turning her -head. "Dr. Wainwright."</p> - -<p>"Oh, ah!" growled Captain Derinzy, in a subdued key. "Where's Annette?"</p> - -<p>"In her own room."</p> - -<p>"Why don't she come down?"</p> - -<p>"Because she's heard Dr. Wainwright is expected, and has turned sulky, -and won't move."</p> - -<p>"Oh, dam!" said Captain Derinzy.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_03" href="#div1Ref_03">CHAPTER III.</a></h4> -<h5>DURING OFFICE-HOURS.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>The "Office of H.M. Stannaries" is in a small back street in the -neighbourhood of Whitehall. What H.M. Stannaries were was known to but -very few of the initiated, and to no "externs" at all. Old Mr. Bult, -who, from time immemorial had been the chief-clerk of the office, -would, on being interrogated as to the meaning of the word or the -duties of his position, take a large pinch of snuff, blow the scattered -grains off his beautifully got-up shirt-frill, stare his querist -straight in the face, and tell him that "there were certain matters -of a departmental character, concerning which it was not considered -advisable to involve oneself in communication with the public at -large." The younger men were equally reticent. To those who tried to -pump them, they replied that they "wrote things, you know; letters, -and those kind of things," and "kept accounts." What of? Why, of the -Stannaries, of course. But what were the Stannaries? Ah, that was going -into a matter of detail which they did not feel themselves justified -in explaining. Their ribald friends used to say that the men in the -Stannaries Office could not tell you what they had to do, because -they did nothing at all, or that they did so little that they were -sworn to secrecy on receiving their appointments, lest any inquisitive -Radical member, burning to distinguish himself before his constituents -in the cause of Civil Service reform--a bray with which the dullest -donkey can make himself heard--should rise in the House, and demand an -inquiry, or a Parliamentary Commission, or some of those other dreadful -inquisitions so loathsome to the official mind.</p> - -<p>However, no matter what work was or was not done there, the Stannaries -Office was a fact, and a fact for which the nation paid, and according -to the entries in the Civil Service estimates, paid pretty handsomely. -For there was a Lord Commissioner of Stannaries, at two thousand -a-year, and a secretary at one thousand, and a private secretary -at three hundred, and four-and-twenty clerks at salaries ranging -from one to eight hundred, besides messengers and office-keepers. -It was a well-thought-of office to; the men engaged in it went into -good society, and were recognised as brother officials by the lofty -bureaucrats of the Treasury and the Foreign Office--great creatures, -who looked upon Somerset House and the Post Office as tenanted by -the sons of peers' butlers, and who regarded the Custom House as a -damp place somewhere on the Thames, where amphibious persons known as -"tide-waiters" searched passengers' baggage. But it was by no means -<i>infra dig</i>. to know men in the Stannaries; and that department of -the public service annually contributed a by no means small share -of the best dancers and amateur performers of the day. "Only give -us gentlemen," Mr. Branwhite, the secretary, would say in his first -official interview with a newly-appointed Lord Commissioner--for the -patronage of his office was vested in the Lord Commissioner of the -Stannaries, who was a political functionary, and came in and went out -with the Government--"only give us gentlemen; that's all I ask. We -don't require much brains in this place, and that's the truth; but we -do want birth and breeding." And on these points Mr. Branwhite, who -was the son of an auctioneer at Penrith, and who combined the grace -of Dr. Johnson with the geniality of Dr. Abernethy, was inexorable. -The cry was echoed everywhere throughout the office. "Let's have -gentlemen, for God's sake!" little Fitzbinkie, the private secretary, -would say, adding, with a look of as much horror as he could throw -into his eyeglass--you never saw his eyes--"there was a fellow here -the other day, came to see my lord. Worthington--you've heard about -him--wonderful fellow at the Admiralty, great gun at figures, and -organisation, and that kind of thing; reformed the navy almost, and so -on; and--give you my honour--he had on a brown shooting-jacket, and -a black-silk waistcoat, give you my word! Frightful, eh? Let's have -gentlemen, at any price."</p> - -<p>And the prayer of these great creatures was, to a large extent, -answered. Most of the men in the Stannaries Office were -pleasant, agreeable, sufficiently educated, well-dressed, and -gentlemanly-mannered. Within the previous few years there had been a -Scotch and an Irish Lord Commissioner, and each of them had left traces -of his patronage in the office: the first in the importation of two or -three grave men, who, not finding work enough to do, filled up their -leisure by reading statistics, or working out mathematical problems; -the last, by the appointment of half-a-dozen roistering blades, who -did very little of the work there was to do, and required the help -of a Maunders' "Treasury of Knowledge," subscribed for amongst them, -to enable them to do what they did; but who were such good riders -and such first-rate convivialists that they were found in mounts and -supper-parties for two-thirds of the year. The Irish element was, -however, decidedly unpopular with Mr. Branwhite, the secretary, a -cold-blooded, fish-like man, dry and tasteless, like a human captain's -biscuit, who had no animal spirits himself, and consequently hated -them in others. He was a long, thin, melancholy-looking fiddle-faced -sort of a man, who tried to hide his want of manner under an assumed -<i>brusquerie</i> and bluntness of speech. He had been originally brought -up as a barrister, and owed his present appointment to the fact of -his having a very pretty wife, who attracted the senile attentions -and won the flagging heart of the Earl of Lechmere, who happened to -be Lord Commissioner of the Stannaries when Sir Francis Pongo died, -after forty years' tenure of the secretaryship. Lord Lechmere having, -when he called at Mrs. Branwhite's pretty villa in the Old Brompton -lanes, been frequently embarrassed by the presence of Mr. Branwhite, -that gentleman's barristerial practice being not sufficient to take him -often to the single chamber which he rented in Quality Court, Chancery -Lane, thought this a favourable opportunity to improve the Branwhite -finances, in this instance at least without cost to himself, and of -assuring himself of Mr. Branwhite's necessitated absence from the Old -Brompton villa during certain periods of the day. Hence Mr. Branwhite's -appointment as secretary to H.M. Stannaries. There was a row about it, -of course. Why did not the promotion "go in the office"? That is what -the Stannaries men wanted to know, and what they threatened to get -several members of Parliament to inquire of the Financial Secretary to -the Treasury, who replied on Stannaries matters in the Lower House. -<i>The Official Chronicle</i>, that erudite and uncompromising advocate -of the Government service, came out with a series of letters signed -"Eraser," "Half-margin," and "Nunquam Dormio;" and a leader in which -Lord Lechmere was compared to King David, and Mr. Branwhite to Uriah -the Hittite, the parallel in the latter case being heightened by the -writer's suggestion that each had been selected "for a very warm -berth." But the authorities cared neither for official remonstrances -nor press sarcasms. They had their answer to the question why the -promotion did not go in the office. Who was the next in rotation? -Mr. Bult, the chief-clerk. Was Mr. Bult competent in any way for the -secretaryship? Would the gentlemen of the Stannaries Office like to -see their department represented by Mr. Bult? Certainly not. Very -well, then, as it was impossible, after Mr. Bult's lengthened service, -during which his character had been stainless, to pass him by, and -place any of his juniors over his head, the only course was to seek for -Sir Francis's successor in some gentleman unconnected with the place. -This was the way in which Mr. Branwhite obtained his appointment. Lord -Lechmere's party went out of office soon after, and Lord Lechmere -himself has been dead for years; but Mr. Branwhite held on through the -<i>régimes</i> of the Duke of M'Tavish and Viscount Ballyscran, and was -all-powerful as ever now while Lord Polhill of Pollington was Lord -Commissioner. What was thought of him, and, indeed, what was thought -and said pretty plainly about most official persons and topics, we -shall learn by looking into a large room on the ground-floor of the -office known as the Principal Registrar's Room.</p> - -<p>The Principal Registrar's Room must by no means be confounded with the -Registry, which was a very different, and not a very choice place, -where junior clerks got their hands into Stannaries work by stamping -papers and covering their fingers with printers'-ink. The Principal -Registrar's Room was appropriated to the Principal Registrar, and three -of the best-looking assistants he could get hold of. The gentleman -seated at the writing-table in the centre of the room, and reading -<i>The Morning Post</i>, is the Principal Registrar, Mr. Courtney. He sits -habitually with his back to the light, so that you cannot see his -features very distinctly--sufficiently, however, to make out that he is -an old, in reality, a very old man, made up for a young one. He must -have been of fair complexion and good-looking at one time, for his -capitally-made wig is red in colour, and though his perfectly-shaven -cheeks are mottled and pulpy, his features are well-cut and -aristocratic. His throat, exposed to view through his turn-down collar, -is old and wrinkled, reminding one of a fowl's neck; and his hands are -soft and seemingly boneless. So much as can be seen of his legs under -the table reminds one of Punch's legs, exhibited by that "godless old -rebel" in front of his show: the knees knock together, and the feet -turn inwards towards each other with helpless imbecility. The only -time that Mr. Courtney exhibits any great signs of vitality is in the -evening at the Portland Club, where he plays an admirable game of -whist, and where his hand is always heavily backed. Though he confesses -to being "an old fellow," and quotes "<i>Me, nec foemina nec puer</i>," with -a deprecating shrug of the shoulders, he likes to hear the adventures -of his young companions, and is by no means inconveniently straitlaced -in his ideas. He has a comic horror of any "low fellows," or men who do -not go into what he calls "sassiety;" he regards the Scotch division -of the office as "stoopid," and contemplates the horsiness and loud -tone of the Irish with great disfavour. He has, he thinks, a very good -set of "boys" under him just now, and is proportionately pleasant and -good-tempered. Let us look at his "boys."</p> - -<p>That good-looking young man at the desk in the farthest window is Paul -Derinzy, only son of our friend the Captain, resident at Beachborough. -The likeness to his father is seen in his thin straight-cut features, -small lithe figure, and blue-black hair. The beard movement had just -been instituted in Government offices, and Paul Derinzy follows it so -far as to have grown a thick black moustache and a small pointed beard, -both very becoming to his sallow complexion and Velasquez type of face. -He is about five-and-twenty years of age, and has an air of birth and -breeding which finds him peculiar favour in his Chief's eyes.</p> - -<p>In his drooping eyelids, in his <i>pose</i>, in his outstretched arms, and -head lying lazily on one side, there was an expression of languor that -argued but ill for the amount of work to be gotten out him in any -way, and which proclaimed Mr. Paul Derinzy to be one of that popular -regiment, "The Queen's Hard Bargains." But what of that? He certainly -did his office credit by his appearance; there was very seldom much -work to be done, and when there was, Paul was so popular that no one -would refuse to undertake his share. That man opposite, for instance, -loved Paul as his brother, and would have done anything for him.</p> - -<p>The man opposite is George Wainwright. He is four or five years -older than Paul, and of considerably longer standing in the office. -In personal appearance he differs very much from his friend. George -Wainwright stands six feet in height, is squarely and strongly built, -has a mass of fair hair curling almost on to his shoulders, and wears a -soft, thick, fair beard. His hands are very large and very white, with -big blue veins standing out on them, and his broad wrists show immense -power. His eyes are large and prominent, hazel in colour, and soft in -expression; he has a rather long and thick nose, and a large mouth, -with fresh white teeth showing when he smiles. He is smiling now, at -some remark made by the third assistant to the Principal Registrar, Mr. -Dunlop, commonly called "Billy Dunlop," a pleasant fellow, remarkable -for two things, imperturbable good-humour, and never letting anyone -know where he lived.</p> - -<p>"What are you two fellows grinning at?" asks Paul Derinzy, lazily -lifting his head and looking across at them.</p> - -<p>"I'm grinning at Billy's last night's adventures," replies George -Wainwright. "He went to the Opera, and supped at Dubourg's."</p> - -<p>"Horrible profligate! Alone?"</p> - -<p>"So likely!" says Billy Dunlop. "All right, though; I mean, quite -correct. Only Mick O'Dwyer with me."</p> - -<p>"Mick O'Dwyer at the Opera!" says Paul in astonishment. "Why, he always -swears he has no dress-clothes."</p> - -<p>"No more he has; but I lent him some of mine--a second suit I keep -for first nights of Jullien's Concerts, and other places where it is -sure to be crammed and stivy. They fitted Mick stunningly, and he -looked lovely in them; but he couldn't get my boots on, and he had to -go in his own. There were lots of our fellows there, and they looked -astonished to see Mick clothed and in his right mind; and at the back -of the pit, just by the meat-screen there, you know, we met Lannigan, -the M.P. for some Irish place, who's Mick's cousin. He didn't recognise -him at first; then when Mick spoke he looked him carefully all over, -and said: 'You're lovely, Mick!' Then his eyes fell on the boots; -he turned to me with a face of horror, and muttered: 'Ah Billy, the -brogues spoil the lot!'"</p> - -<p>The two other men laughed so loudly at this story that Mr. Courtney -looked up from his newspaper, and requested to know what was the -joke. When he heard it he smiled, at the same time shaking his head -deprecatingly, and saying:</p> - -<p>"For my part, I confess I cannot stand Mr. O'Dwyer. He is a perfect -Goth."</p> - -<p>"Ah Chief, that's really because you don't know him," said Wainwright. -"He's really an excellent fellow; isn't he, Billy?"</p> - -<p>"If Mick had only a little money he would be charming," said Dunlop; -"but he hasn't any. He's of some use to me, however; I've had no -occasion to consult the calendar since Mick's been here. He borrows -half-a-crown of me every day, and five shillings on saints'-days, -and----"</p> - -<p>"Hold on a minute, Billy," said Paul Derinzy; "if you lent Mick your -clothes, you must have taken him home--to where you live, I mean; so -that somebody has found out your den at last. What did you do? swear -Mick to secrecy?"</p> - -<p>"Better than that, sir; I brought the clothes down here, and made Mick -put 'em on in his own room. No, sir, none of you have yet struck on my -trail. Far in a wild, unknown to public view, From youth to age Mr. -William Dunlop grew."</p> - -<p>"Haven't you boys solved that mystery yet?" asked Mr. Courtney smiling, -and showing a set of teeth that did the dentist credit.</p> - -<p>"Not yet, Chief; we very nearly had it out last week," replied Paul.</p> - -<p>"When was that?"</p> - -<p>"After that jolly little dinner you gave us down at Greenwich. You -drove home, you know; we came up by rail. I suppose Quartermaine's -champagne had worked the charm; but the lord of William's bosom -certainly sat very lightly on its throne, and he was, in fact, what the -wicked call 'tight.' At the London Bridge Station I hailed a hansom, -and Billy got in with me, saying I could set him down. Knowing that -Billy is popularly supposed to reside in a cellar in Short's Gardens, -Drury Lane, I told the driver to take us a short cut to that pleasant -locality. Billy fell asleep, but woke up just as we arrived in Drury -Lane, looked round him, shouted: 'This will do!' stopped the cab, and -jumped out. Now, I thought, I've got him! I told the cabman to drive -slowly on, and I stepped out and dodged behind a lamp. But Billy was -too much for me: in the early dawn I saw him looking straight at me, -smiting his nose with his forefinger, and muttering defiantly: 'No, you -don't!' So eventually I left him."</p> - -<p>"Of course you did. No, no, Chief; William is not likely to fall a -prey to such small deer. He will dissipate this mystery on one great -occasion."</p> - -<p>"And that will be----?"</p> - -<p>"When he gets his promotion. When the edict is promulgated, elevating -William to the senior class, he will bid you all welcome to a most -choice, elegant, and, not to put too fine a point on it, classical -repast, prepared in his own home."</p> - -<p>"Well, if we're to wait till then, you'll enjoy your classic home, or -whatever you call it, for a long time unencumbered with our society," -said Derinzy. "Who's to have the next vacancy--Barlow's vacancy, I -mean; who's to have it, Chief?"</p> - -<p>"My dear boy," said Mr. Courtney, with a shoulder-shrug, "you are aware -that I can scarcely be considered <i>au mieux</i> with the powers that -be--meaning Mrs. Branwhite--and consequently I am not likely to be -taken into confidence in such matters. But I understand, I have heard, -quite <i>par hazard</i>," and the old gentleman waved his double glasses -daintily in the air as he pronounced the French phrase, "that Mr. -Dickson is the selected--person."</p> - -<p>"D--n Mr. Dickson!" said Paul Derinzy.</p> - -<p>"Hear, hear!" said Mr. Dunlop; "my sentiments entirely, well and -forcibly put. A job, sir, a beastly job. 'John Branwhite, Jobmaster,' -ought to be written on the Secretary's door; 'neat flies' over -deserving people's heads, and 'experienced drivers;' those scoundrels -that he employs to spy, and sneak, and keep the fellows up to their -work. No, sir, no chance for my being put up; as the party in the -Psalms remarks, 'promotion cometh neither from the east nor from the -west.'"</p> - -<p>"No, Billy, from the south-west this time," said Paul Derinzy. -"Dickson's people have been having Branwhite and his wife to dine in -Belgrave Square; and our sweet Scratchetary was so delighted with Lady -Selina, and so fascinated by the swell surroundings, that he has been -grovelling ever since: hence Dickson's lift."</p> - -<p>"I have noticed," said Mr. Courtney, standing up and looking around -him with that benevolent expression which he always assumed when about -to give utterance to an intensely-unpleasant remark, "I have noticed -that when a--point of fact, a cad--tries to get into sassiety on which -he has no claim for admission, he invariably selects the wrong people. -What you just said, my dear Paul, bears out my argument entirely. This -man Branwhite--worthy person, official position, and that kind of -thing; no more knowledge of decent people than a Hottentot--struggles -to get into sassiety, and who does he get to introduce him? Dickson, -brewer-man, malt and hops and drugs, and blue boards with 'Entire,' -and that kind of thing. Worthy person in his way, and married Lady -Selina Walkinshaw, sister of Lord Barclay; but as to sassiety--very -third-rate, God bless my soul, very third-rate indeed!"</p> - -<p>"Well, I don't know any swells," said Billy Dunlop, "and I don't think -I want to. From what I've seen of 'em, they're scarcely so convivial -as they might be. Not in the drinking line; I don't mean that--they're -all there; but in the talking. And talking of talking, Mr. Wainwright, -we've not had the pleasure of hearing your charming voice for the last -quarter of an hour. Has it come off at last?"</p> - -<p>"Has what come off, Billy?" asked George Wainwright.</p> - -<p>"The amputation. Has our father the eminent, &c, at last performed the -operation and cut off our tongue? and is it then in a choice vial, -neatly preserved in spirits-of-wine, covered over with a bit of a -kid-glove, tied down with packthread, and placed on a shelf between a -stethoscope and a volume of 'Quain's Anatomy': is that it?"</p> - -<p>"Funny dog!" said George Wainwright, looking across at him. "I often -wonder why you stop here, Billy, at two-forty, rising to three-eighty -by annual increments of ten, when there's such a splendid future -awaiting you in the ring. That mug of yours is worth a pound a-week -alone; and then those charming witticisms, so new, so fresh, so -eminently humorous----"</p> - -<p>"Will you shut up?"</p> - -<p>"How they would fetch the threepenny gallery! Why don't I talk? I do -sometimes in your absence; but when you're here, I feel like one of -'those meaner beauties of the night, which poorly satisfy our eyes;' -and when you begin I ask myself: 'What are you when the moon shall -rise?'"</p> - -<p>"Shut up, will you? not merely your mouth, but your inkstand, -blotting-book, and all the rest of the paraphernalia by which you wring -an existence out of a too-easily-satisfied Government. You seem to have -forgotten it's Saturday."</p> - -<p>"By Jove, so it is!" said George Wainwright.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir," continued Mr. Dunlop; "like that party in Shakespeare, who -drew a dial from his poke, and said it was just ten, and in an hour -it would be eleven, I've just looked at my watch and find that in ten -minutes it will be one o'clock, at which hour, by express permission -of her Majesty's Ministers, signed and sealed at a Cabinet Council, of -which Mr. Arthur Helps was clerk, the gentlemen of H.M. Stannaries are -permitted on Saturdays to--to cut it. That is the reason, odd as it may -seem, why I like Saturday afternoon. Mr. Tennyson, I believe, knew some -parties who found out a place where it was always Saturday afternoon. -Mr. W. Dunlop presents his compliments to the Laureate, and would be -obliged for an introduction to the said place and parties."</p> - -<p>"And what are you going to do with yourself to-day, Billy?"</p> - -<p>"I am going, sir, if I may so express myself without an appearance of -undue vanity, where Glory waits me. But I am prepared to promise, if -it will afford any gentleman the smallest amount of satisfaction, that -when Fame elates me, I will at once take the opportunity of thinking of -THEE!"</p> - -<p>"And where is Glory at the present moment on the look-out for you, -William?"</p> - -<p>"Glory, sir, in the person of Mr. Kemp, the Izaak Walton of the day, -will be found awaiting me in a large punt, moored on the silver bosom -of the Thames, off the pleasant village of Teddington, a vessel -containing, item two rods, item groundbait and worms for fishing, item -a stone-jar of--water! A most virtuous and modest way of spending the -afternoon, isn't it? I wish I could think it was going to be spent -equally profitably by all!" and Billy Dunlop made a comic grimace in -the direction of Paul Derinzy, and then assuming a face of intense -gravity, took his hat off a peg, nodded, and vanished.</p> - -<p>"Well, goodbye, my dear boys," said Mr. Courtney, coming out from -behind the partition where the washing-stand was placed--it was a point -of honour among the men to ignore his performance of his toilette--with -his wig tightly fixed on and poodled up under his glossy hat, with his -close-fitting lavender gloves, and with a flower in the button-hole -of his coat; "<i>au revoir</i> on Monday. I'm going down to dear Lord -Lumbsden's little place at Marlow to blow this confounded dust out of -me, and to get a little ozone into me, to keep me up till I get away -to Scotland. <i>Au revoir</i>!" and the old boy kissed his fingertips, and -shambled away.</p> - -<p>"What are you going to do this afternoon, old man?" asked George -Wainwright, pulling off his coat preparatory to a wash, of Paul -Derinzy, who had been sitting silent for the last ten minutes, now -nervously plucking at his moustache, now referring to his watch, and -evidently in a highly nervous state.</p> - -<p>"I don't know exactly, George," Paul replied, without looking up at his -friend. "I haven't quite made up my mind."</p> - -<p>"Going to play tennis?"</p> - -<p>"No, I think not."</p> - -<p>"Going down to the Oval, to have an hour or two with the professionals? -Good day to-day, and the ground's in clipping order."</p> - -<p>"No, I think not."</p> - -<p>"Well, then, look here. Come along with me: we'll go for a spin as far -as Hendon; come back and dine at Jack Straw's Castle at Hampstead, -where the man has some wonderfully-good dry sherry, which he bought the -other day at a sale up there; and then walk quietly in at night. What -do you say?"</p> - -<p>"No, I think not to-day, old fellow."</p> - -<p>"Oh, all right," said George Wainwright, after an instant's pause; "I'm -sorry I spoke."</p> - -<p>"Don't be angry, George, old boy! You know I'm never so jolly as when -I'm with you, and that there's no man on earth I care for like you," -said Paul, earnestly; "but I've half-promised myself for this -afternoon, and until I hear--and I expect to hear every moment--I don't -know whether I'm free or not."</p> - -<p>"All right, Paul. I daresay I bore you sometimes, old man. I often -think I do. But, you know, I'm five or six years older than you, and I -was the first fellow you knew when you came into the service, through -your people being acquainted with mine, and so I've a natural interest -in you. Besides, you're a young swell in your way, and it does good -to me to hear you talk and mark your freshness, and your--well, your -youth. After thirty, a London man hasn't much of either."</p> - -<p>"At it again, are you, George? Why don't you keep a property tub on the -premises? You can't do your old Diogenes business effectively without -it. Or do you want no tub so long as you have me for your butt? Sold -you there, I think. You intended to say that yourself."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Derinzy," said George Wainwright gravely, "you must indeed have -lost every particle of respect for me when you could imagine that I -would have descended to a low verbal jest of that nature. Well, since -you won't come, I'll----"</p> - -<p>"I never said I wouldn't yet, though I can't expect you to wait any -longer for my decision. I----"</p> - -<p>At that moment a messenger entered the room with a letter in his hand.</p> - -<p>"For you, sir," he said to Mr. Derinzy; "the boy wouldn't wait to know -if there was an answer."</p> - -<p>"All right!" said Paul, opening it hurriedly, with a flushed face.</p> - -<p>It had an outer and an inner envelope, both sealed.</p> - -<p>"And I may be like the boy, I suppose," said George Wainwright, eyeing -his friend with a curiously mixed expression of interest and pity; "I -needn't wait to know if there's an answer."</p> - -<p>"No, dear old George; I can't come with you this afternoon," replied -Paul; and then he looked at the letter again.</p> - -<p>It was very short; only one line:</p> - - -<p>"At the usual place, at three to-day.--DAISY."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_04" href="#div1Ref_04">CHAPTER IV.</a></h4> -<h5>AFTER OFFICE-HOURS.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>Paul Derinzy was left alone in the Principal Registrar's Room, and -silence reigned in H.M. Stannaries Office. Snow does not melt away -more speedily under the influence of the bright spring sun than do the -clerks of that admirable department under the sound of one o'clock on -a Saturday afternoon. Within ten minutes the place was deserted, the -gentlemen had all cleared out, the messengers had closed up desks and -lockers, despatched papers, and bolted, and the place was left to Mr. -Derinzy and the office-keeper. The latter went to the door with the -last departing messenger, looked up the street and down the street, -and with something of the soreness of a man who knew he was imprisoned -for at least thirty-six hours, said he thought they were going to have -some rain; an idea which the messenger--who had an engagement to take -the young lady with whom he was keeping company to Gravesend on the -Sunday--indignantly pooh-poohed. Not to be put down by this sort of -thing, the office-keeper declared that rain was wanted by the country, -to which the messenger replied that he thought of himself more than -the country; and as the country had done without it for three weeks, -it might hold over without much bother till Monday, he should think; -and nodded, and went his way. The office-messenger kicked the door -viciously to, and proceeded to make his round of the various rooms to -see that everything was in order, and to turn the key in each door -after his inspection. When he came to the Principal Registrar's Room he -went in as usual, but finding Mr. Derinzy there performing on his head -with two hairbrushes, he begged pardon and retreated, wondering what -the deuce possessed anyone to stop in the Office of H.M. Stannaries -when he had the chance of leaving it and going anywhere else. A cynical -fellow this office-keeper, only to be humanised by his release on -Monday morning.</p> - -<p>Mr. Paul Derinzy was in no special hurry, he had plenty of time before -him, and he had his toilette to attend to; a business which, though -he was no set dandy, he never scamped. He was very particular about -the exact parting of his hair, the polish of his nails, and the set -of his necktie; and between each act of dressing he went back to his -writing-table, and re-read the little note lying upon, it. Once or -twice he took the little note up, and whispered "darling!" to it, and -kissed it before he put it down again. Poor Paul! he was evidently -very hard hit, and just at the time of life, too, when these wounds -fester and rankle so confoundedly. Your <i>ci-devant jeune homme</i>, your -middle-aged gallant, <i>viveur, coureur des dames</i>, takes a love-affair -as easily as his dinner: if it goes well, all right; if it comes to -grief, equally all right; the sooner it is over the better he likes it. -The great cynical philosopher of the age, whose cynicism it is now the -fashion to deny--as though he could help it, or would have been in the -least ashamed of it--in one of his ballads calls upon all his coevals -of forty to declare:</p> -<div style="margin-left:10%"> -<p class="continue">Did not the fairest of the fair -Common grow, and wearisome, ere - /Ever a month had passed away?</p> -</div> - -<p class="continue">Middle-aged man has other aims, other resources, other objects. -The "court, camp, grove, the vessel and the mart," fame, business, -ambition--all of these have claims upon his time, claims which he is -compelled to recognise in their proper season; and, worst of all, -he has recovered from the attacks of the "cruel madness of love," a -youthful disorder, seldom or never taken in middle life; the glamour -which steeped all surrounding objects in roseate hues no longer exists, -and it is impossible to get up any spurious imitations of it. Time -has taught him common sense; he has made friends of the mammon of -unrighteousness; and instead of wandering about the grounds begging -Maud to come out to him, and singing rapturous nonsense to the flowers, -he is indoors dining with the Tory squires. But the young have but one -idea in the world. They are entirely of opinion, with Mr. Coleridge's -hero, that all thoughts, "all passions, all delights that stir this -mortal frame," are "ministers of love," and "feed his sacred flame." -Perpetually to play at that sweet game of lips, to alternate between -the heights of hope and the depths of despair, to pine for a glance -and to be made happy by a word, to have no care for anything else, -to ignore the friends in whose society you have hitherto found such -delight, to shut your eyes knowingly, wilfully, and resolutely to the -sight of everything but one object, and to fall down and persistently -adore that object in the face of censure, contempt, and obloquy, is -granted to but few men over thirty years of age. Let them not be -ashamed of the weakness, rather let them congratulate themselves on its -possession: it will give a zest and flavour to their middle life which -but few enjoy.</p> - -<p>Paul Derinzy, however, was just at that period of his life when -everything is rose-coloured. He was even young enough to enjoy looking -at himself in the glass, which is indeed a proof of youth; for there -is no face or no company a man so soon gets sick of as his own. But -Paul stood before the little glass behind the washing-screen settling -his hat, and gazing at himself very complacently, even going so far -as to fetch another little glass from his drawer, and by aid of the -two ascertaining that his back parting was perfectly straight. As he -replaced the glass, he took out a yellow rosebud, carefully wrapped in -wool, cleared it from its envelope, and sticking it in his buttonhole, -took his departure.</p> - -<p>Paul looked up at the Horse-Guards clock as he passed by, and finding -that he had plenty of time to spare, walked slowly up Whitehall. The -muslin-cravated, fresh-coloured, country gentlemen at the Union Club, -and the dyed and grizzled veterans at the Senior United, looked out -of the window at the young man as he passed, and envied him his youth -and his health and his good looks. He strolled up Waterloo Place -just as the insurance-offices with which that district abounds were -being closed for the half-holiday, and the insurance-clerks, young -gentlemen who, for the most part, mould themselves in dress and manners -upon Government officials, took mental notes of Paul's clothes, and -determined to have them closely imitated so soon as the state of their -salaries permitted. Quite unconscious of this sincerest flattery, Paul -continued his walk, striking across into Piccadilly, and lounging -leisurely along until he came to the Green Park, which he entered, -and sat down for a few minutes. It was the dull time of the day--when -the lower half of society was at dinner, and the upper half at -luncheon--and there was scarcely anyone about. After a short rest, Paul -looked at his watch, and muttering to himself, "She can't have started -yet; I may just as well have the satisfaction of letting my eyes rest -on her as she walks to the Gardens," he rose, and turned his steps back -again. He turned up Bond Street, and off through Conduit Street into -George Street, Hanover Square, and there, just by St. George's Church, -he stopped.</p> - -<p>Not to the church, however, was his attention directed, but to the -house immediately opposite to it. A big, red-faced, old-fashioned -house, fresh painted and pointed, with plate-glass windows in its lower -stories, and bronzed knockers, and shining bell-pulls, looking like a -portly dowager endeavouring to assume modern airs and graces. Carriages -kept driving up, and depositing old and young ladies, and the door, on -which was an enormous brass plate with "Madame Clarisse," in letters -nearly half a foot long, was perpetually being flung open by a page -with a very shiny face, produced by a judicious combination of yellow -soap and friction--a page who, in his morning-jacket ruled with red -lines, looked like a page of an account-book. Paul Derinzy knew many of -these carriage-brought people--for Madame Clarisse was the fashionable -milliner of London, and had none but the very greatest of fine ladies -in her <i>clientčle</i>--and many of them knew him; but on the present -occasion he carefully shrouded himself from observation behind one of -the pillars of the church portico. There he remained in an agony of -impatience, fidgeting about, looking at his watch, glaring up at the -bright-faced house, and anathematising the customers, until the clock -in the church-tower above him chimed the half-hour past two. Then he -became more fidgety than ever. Before, he had taken short turns up and -down the street, always returning sharply to the same spot, and looking -round as though he had expected some remarkable alteration to have -taken place during his ten seconds' absence; now, he stood behind the -pillar, never attempting to move from the spot, but constantly peering -across the way at Madame Clarisse's great hall-door.</p> - -<p>Within five minutes of the chiming of the clock, the great hall-door -was opened so quietly that it was perfectly apparent the demonstrative -page was not behind it. A young woman, simply and elegantly dressed -in a tight-fitting black silk gown, and a small straw bonnet trimmed -with green ribbon, with a black lace shawl thrown loosely across her -shoulders and hanging down behind, after a French fashion then in -vogue, passed out, closing the door softly behind her, and started off -in the direction of the Park. Then Paul Derinzy left his hiding-place, -and, at a discreet distance, followed in pursuit.</p> - -<p>There must have been something very odd or very attractive in the -personal appearance of this young woman, for she undoubtedly attracted -a vast deal of attention as she passed through the streets. It would -require something special, one would imagine, to intervene between -a man and the toothache; and yet a gentleman seated in a dentist's -ante-room in George Street, with a face swollen to twice its natural -size, and all out of drawing, and vainly endeavouring to solace -himself, and to forget the coming wrench, with the pleasant pages of a -ten-years'-old <i>Bentleys Miscellany</i>, flung the book aside as he saw -the girl go by, and crammed himself into a corner of the window to look -after her retreating figure. Two sporting gentlemen standing at the -freshly-sanded door of Limmer's Hotel, smoking cigars, and muttering -to each other in whispers of forthcoming "events," suspended their -conversation and exchanged a rapid wink as she flitted by them. The -old boys sunning themselves in Bond Street, pottering into Ebers' for -their stalls, or pricing fish at Groves's, were very much fluttered by -the girl's transient appearance among them. The little head was carried -very erect, and there must have been something in the expression of the -face which daunted the veterans, and prevented them from addressing -her. One or two gave chase, but soon found out that the gouty feet -so neatly incased in varnished boots had no chance with this modern -Atalanta, who sailed away without a check, looking neither to the right -nor to the left. Nor were men her only admirers; ladies sitting in -their carriages at shop-doors would look at her half in wonderment, -half in admiration, and whisper to each other: "What a pretty girl!" -and these compliments pleased her immensely, and brought the colour to -her face, adding to her beauty.</p> - -<p>She crossed into the Park through Grosvenor Gate, and taking the -path that lay immediately in front of her, went straight ahead about -half-way between the Serpentine and the Bayswater Road, then through -the little iron gate into Kensington Gardens, and across the turf -for some distance until she came in sight of a little avenue of -trees, through which glimmered the shining waters of the Round Pond, -backed by the rubicund face of stout old Kensington Palace. Then she -slackened her pace a little, and began to look around her. There were -but few, very few people near: two or three valetudinarians sunning -themselves on such of the benches as were in sufficient repair; a -few children playing about while their nursemaids joined forces and -abused their employers; a shabby-genteel man eating a sandwich of -roll-and-sausage--obviously his dinner--in a shamefaced way, and -drinking short gulps out of a tin flask under the shadow of his hat; -and a vagabond dog or two, delighted at having escaped the vigilance -of the park-keeper, and snapping, yelping, and performing acrobatic -feats of tumbling, out of what were literally pure animal spirits. -Valetudinarians, children, nursemaids, and dogs were evidently not what -the girl had come to see, for she stopped, struck the stick-handle of -her open parasol against her shoulder, and murmured, "How provoking!" -Just at that instant Paul Derinzy, who had been following her tolerably -closely, touched her arm. She started, wheeled swiftly round, and her -eyes brightened and the flush rose in her cheeks as she cried:</p> - -<p>"Oh, Mr. Douglas!"</p> - -<p>"'Mr. Douglas,' Daisy!" said Paul Derinzy, with uplifted eyebrows; -"'and why this courtesy,' as we say in Sir Walter Scott?"</p> - -<p>"I mean Paul," said the girl; "but you startled me so, I scarcely knew -what I said."</p> - -<p>"Ah, 'Paul' is much better. The idea of your calling me anything else!"</p> - -<p>"I don't know, I rather think you're 'Mr. Douglas' just now. You're -always 'Mr. Douglas,' recollect, when I'm at all displeased with you, -and I've lots of things for you to explain to-day."</p> - -<p>"Fire away, child! Let's turn out of the path first, in amongst these -trees. So--that is better. Now then, what is the first?--by Jove, pet, -how stunning you look to-day!"</p> - -<p>A vulgar but expressive term, and one in general acceptance ten years -ago. One, too, by no means inexpressive of the girl's beauty, for she -was beautiful, and in a style that was then uncommon. She had red hair. -Nowadays red hair is by no means uncommon; it may be seen hanging in -bunches in the <i>coiffeurs'</i> shops, and, with black roots, on the heads -of most of the Dryads of the Wood. Ten years ago, to have red hair was -to be subjected to chaff by the street-boys, to be called "carrots" -by the vulgar, and to be pitied silently by the polite. Red hair -<i>au naturel</i> was almost unknown--it was greased, and pomatumed, and -cosmetiqued, and flattened into <i>bandeaux</i>, and twisted into ringlets, -and deepened and darkened and disguised in every possible shape and -way; it was "auburn," it was "chestnut," it was anything but red. -This girl had red hair, and hated it, but was too proud to attempt to -disguise it. So she wore it in a thick dry mass, heavy and crisp, and -low on the forehead, and it suited her dead-white skin, creamy white, -showing the rising blood on the smallest provocation, and her thin -cheeks, and her pointed chin, and her gray eyes, and her long, but -slightly impertinent, nose. No wonder people in the street turned round -and stared at her; they had been educated up to the raven locks, and -the short straight noses, and the rounded chin style of beauty, formed -on the true classical model, and they could not understand this kind of -thing except in a picture of Mr. Dante Rossetti, or young Mr. Millais, -or some of those other new-fangled artists who, they supposed, were -clever, but who were decidedly "odd."</p> - -<p>There was no doubt about her beauty, though, and none about her style. -So Paul Derinzy thought, as he looked her up and down on saying the -last-recorded words, and marked her tall, <i>svelte</i>, lissom figure; her -neatly-shod, neatly-gloved feet and hands; her light walk, so free and -yet so stately; and the simple elegance of her dress.</p> - -<p>"You are a stunner, pet, and I adore you! There, having delivered -myself of those mild observations, I will suffer you to proceed. You -had a lot of things to say to me? Fire away!"</p> - -<p>"In the first place, why were you not here to meet me, Mr. Douglas?"</p> - -<p>"Again that detestable formality! Daisy, I swear, if you call me that -again, I'll kiss you,--<i>coram publico, en plein air</i>, here before -everybody; and that child, who will not take its eyes off us, will -swallow the hoopstick it is now sucking, and its death will lie at your -door."</p> - -<p>"No, but seriously--where have you been?"</p> - -<p>"You want to know? Well, then, I don't mind telling you that I've -followed you every foot of the way from George Street. Ah, you may well -blush, young woman! I was the heartbroken witness of your flirtation -with those youths in Bond Street."</p> - -<p>"Horrid old things! No, but, Paul, did you really follow me from -Madame's? Were you there to see me come out?"</p> - -<p>"My child, I was there for three mortal quarters of an hour before you -came out."</p> - -<p>"That was very nice of you; <i>bien gentil</i>, as Mdlle. Augustine says. I -wish you knew Mdlle. Augustine, she's a very great friend of Madame's."</p> - -<p>"I wish I was Mdlle. Augustine. I say, Daisy, doesn't Madame Clarisse -want a male hand in the business--something in the light-porter line? -I'm sure it would suit me better than that beastly office."</p> - -<p>"What office, Paul?"</p> - -<p>"Why, my office, darling; where I go every day. Do you mean to say I -didn't tell you about that, Daisy?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly not; you've told me nothing about yourself."</p> - -<p>"Well, you see, I've known you so short a time, and seen so little of -you. Oh yes, I go to an office."</p> - -<p>"Do you mean to say you're a clerk?"</p> - -<p>"Well, yes--not to put too fine a point upon it, I suppose I am."</p> - -<p>"What! a lawyer's clerk?"</p> - -<p>"No, no! D--n it all, Daisy, not as bad as that, nothing of the kind. -Government office, Civil servant of the Crown, and all that kind of -thing, don't you understand? Her Majesty's Stannaries--one of the -principal departments of the State."</p> - -<p>"And do you go there every day, Mr.--I mean, Paul?"</p> - -<p>"Well, I'm supposed to, my darling; point of fact, I do go -there--generally."</p> - -<p>"Why don't you let me write to you there?"</p> - -<p>"Write to me there! at the office! My dear child, there are the most -stringent rules of the service against it. Any man in the office -receiving a letter from a lady at the office would be--would be had up -before the House of Commons, and very probably committed to the Tower!"</p> - -<p>"What a curious thing! I thought you had nothing to do."</p> - -<p>"Nothing to do! My darling Daisy, no galley-slave who tugs at the -what-d'ye-call-em--oar--works harder than I do, as, indeed, Lord -Palmerston has often acknowledged."</p> - -<p>"And you're well paid for it? I mean, you get lots of money?" asked the -girl, looking straight up into his face.</p> - -<p>"Ye-yes, child. Yes, statecraft is tolerably well remunerated. Besides, -men in my position have generally something else to live upon, some -private means, some allowances from their people."</p> - -<p>"Their people? Oh, you mean their families. Yes, that must be very -nice. Have you any--any people?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Daisy, my father and mother are both alive."</p> - -<p>"They don't live with you in Hanover Street?"</p> - -<p>"Oh no; they live down in the country, a long way off--down in the West -of England."</p> - -<p>"And they're rich, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, they're very fairly off."</p> - -<p>"And how many brothers and sisters have you, Paul?"</p> - -<p>"None, darling; I am the only child; the entire hopes of the family are -centred in this charming creature. Have you finished your questions, -you inquisitive puss?"</p> - -<p>"Quite. Did it sound inquisitive? I daresay it did; I daresay my -foolish chatter was boring you."</p> - -<p>"My pet Daisy, I'd sooner hear what you call your foolish chatter than -anything in the world--much sooner than Tamberlik's <i>ut de poitrine</i>, -that all the musical people are raving about just now. See, darling, -let us sit down here. Take off your glove--this right glove. No? what -nonsense! I may kiss your hand; there's no one looking but that fat -child in the brown-holland knickerbockers, and if he doesn't turn his -eyes away, I'll make a face at him, and frighten him into convulsions. -There; now tell me about yourself."</p> - -<p>"About myself? I've nothing to tell, Paul, except that we're horribly -busy, and Madame plagues our lives out."</p> - -<p>"Had you any difficulty in getting out to-day? You thought you would -have when last I saw you."</p> - -<p>"Dreadful difficulty; Madame fussed and fumed, and declared that she -could not possibly let me go; but I insisted; and as the customers like -me, and always ask for me, I suppose I am too valuable for her to say -much."</p> - -<p>"By the way, Daisy, do any men ever come to your place--with the women, -I mean?"</p> - -<p>"Sometimes; the husbands or the brothers of the ladies."</p> - -<p>"Exactly. I suppose they don't--I mean, I suppose you don't--what a -fool I am! No matter. Are you going back there this evening?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Madame would not let me come until I promised to be back by six -to see the parcels off. Madame's going to the Opera to-night, and -she'll be dressing at the time, and she must have somebody there she -can depend upon."</p> - -<p>"And you are the somebody, Daisy? How deuced nice to be able to -reckon upon finding you anywhere when one wanted you! No, I say; no -one can see my arm, it's quite covered by your shawl, and it fits so -beautifully round your waist, just as if you had been measured for it -at Madame Clarisse's. Well, and what time will you be free?"</p> - -<p>"Between eight and nine, I suppose; nearer nine."</p> - -<p>"May I meet you when you come away, Daisy? Will you come with me to the -theatre?"</p> - -<p>"No, Paul; you know perfectly well that I will not. You know it is not -of the slightest use proposing such things to me."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I know it's of no use; I wish it were; it would be so jolly, -and--then you'll go straight back to South Molton Street?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; to my garret!" and she laughed, rather a hard laugh, as she said -these words.</p> - -<p>"Don't say that, Daisy; I hate to hear you say that word."</p> - -<p>"It's the right word, Paul, horrid or not. However, I shall get out of -it some day, I suppose."</p> - -<p>"How?" asked Paul, withdrawing his arm from her waist, and looking -fixedly at her.</p> - -<p>"How should I know?" said the girl, with the same hard laugh. "Feet -foremost, perhaps, in my coffin. Somehow, at all events."</p> - -<p>"You're in a curious mood to-day, Daisy."</p> - -<p>"Am I? You'll see me in many curious moods, if we continue to know each -other long, Paul--which I very much doubt, by the way."</p> - -<p>"Daisy, what makes you say that? You've not seen anyone--you've not -heard--I mean, you don't intend to break with me, Daisy?"</p> - -<p>"There is nothing to break, my poor Paul!"</p> - -<p>"Whose fault is that? Whose fault is it that you remain in what you -call your garret? Whose fault is it that you are compelled to obey -Madame Clarisse, and to dance attendance on her infernal customers? -Not mine, you must allow that. You know what is the dearest wish of my -heart--you know how often I have proposed that----"</p> - -<p>"Stop, sir," said Daisy, laying her ungloved hand upon his mouth; "you -know how often I have forbidden you to touch upon that subject, and -now you dare to disobey merely because I was foolish enough to be off -my guard for a moment, and to let some grumbling escape my lips. No, -no, Paul, let us be sensible; it is very well as it is. We enjoy these -stolen meetings; at least, I do----"</p> - -<p>"And you think I don't, I suppose? Oh no, certainly not!"</p> - -<p>"You very rude bear, why do you interrupt me? I don't think anything -of the sort. I know you enjoy them too. Then why should we bother -ourselves about the future?"</p> - -<p>"No; but you don't understand, Daisy. It seems so deuced hard for me to -have to see you for such a short time, and then for you to have to go -away, and----"</p> - -<p>"Don't you think it is quite as hard for me?"</p> - -<p>"But then I'm so fond of you, don't you know! I love you so much, -Daisy."</p> - -<p>"And do you imagine I don't care for you? I don't say how much, but I -know it must be more than a little."</p> - -<p>"How do you know that, darling?"</p> - -<p>"Because my love for you has conquered my pride, Paul. That shows me -at once, without anything else, that I must love you. Do you think if -I didn't care for you that I would consent to all this subterfuge and -mystery which always surrounds us? Do you imagine that I have no eyes -and no perception? Do you think I don't notice that you have chosen -this place for our meeting because it is quite quiet and secluded? That -when anyone having the least appearance of belonging to your world -comes near us, you are in an agony, and turn your head aside, or cover -your face with your hand, lest you should be recognised? Do you think I -haven't noticed all this? And do you think I don't know that all these -precautions are taken, and all this fear is undergone, because you are -walking with <i>me?</i>"</p> - -<p>"My darling Daisy----"</p> - -<p>"It's my own fault, Paul. Understand, I quite allow that. I am not in -your rank of life. I am Madame Clarisse's show-woman; and I ought to -look for my lovers amongst Messrs. Lewis and Allenby's young drapers, -or the assistants at Godfrey and Cooke's, the chemists. They would -be very proud to be seen with me, and would probably take me out on -Sundays, along the Hammersmith Road in a four-wheel chaise. However, I -hate chemists and drapers and four-wheel chaises, and prefer walking in -this gloomy grove with you, Paul."</p> - -<p>"You're a queer child," said Paul, with a sigh of relief at the subject -being, as he thought, ended, and with a gratified smile at the pleasant -words Daisy had last spoken.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said; "queer enough, Heaven knows! I suppose my dislike to -those kind of people is because I was decently born and educated; and I -can't forget that even now, when I'm only a milliner's shop-girl. But -with all my queerness, I was right in what I said, wasn't I, Paul?"</p> - -<p>"Why, my darling, it's a question, don't you see. I don't care for -myself; I should be only too proud for people to think that I--that -a girl like you would be about with me, and that kind of thing; but -it's one's people, don't you know, and all that infernal cant and -conventionality."</p> - -<p>"Exactly. Now let us take a turn up and down the gloomy grove, and talk -about something else."</p> - -<p>She rose as she spoke, and passed her arm through his, and they began -slowly pacing up and down among the trees. The "something else" which -formed the subject of their talk it is not very difficult to divine, -and though apparently deeply interesting to them, it would not be worth -transcription. It was the old, old subject, which retains its glamour -in all countries and in all places, and which was as entrancing in that -bit of cockney paradise, with the smoke-discoloured trees waving above -them, and the dirty sheep nibbling near them, as it was to OEnone on -Ida, or to Desdemona in Venice.</p> - -<p>So they strolled about, trying endless variations of the same tune, -until it became time for Daisy to think of returning to her place of -business. Paul, after a little inward struggle with himself, proposed -to walk with her as far as the Marble Arch; there would be no one in -that part of the Park, he thought, of whom he need have the slightest -fear; and Daisy appearing to be delighted, they started off. Just -before they reached the end of the turf by the Marble Arch they stopped -to say adieux. These apparently took a long time to get over, for -Daisy's delicate little glove was retained in Paul's grasp, her face -was upturned, and he was looking into it with love and passion in his -eyes. So that they neither of them observed a tall gentleman who had -just entered the gates, and was striking across the Park when his eyes -fell upon them, and who honoured them, not with a mere cursory glance, -but with an intense and a prolonged stare. This gentleman was George -Wainwright.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_05" href="#div1Ref_05">CHAPTER V.</a></h4> -<h5>FAMILY POLITICS.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>"Was I a-dreamin', or did my Ann really tell me that somebody'd come -down late last night in a po'-shay and driven to the Tower?" asked -Mrs. Powler, the morning after her little supper-party, of Mrs. Jupp, -who, whenever she could find a minute to spare from the troubles of -housekeeping, was in the habit of "dropping-in" to gossip with her -older and less active neighbour.</p> - -<p>"You weren't dreamin', dear; at least, I should say not, unless you -have dreams like them chief butlers and bakers, and other cur'ous -pipple in the Bible one reads of, which had their dreams 'terpreted. -It's quite true--not that it's made more so by your Ann having said it; -for a more shameful little liar there don't talk in this parish!" said -Mrs. Jupp, getting very red in the face.</p> - -<p>"You never took kindly to that gell, Mrs. Jupp," said the old lady -placidly--she was far too rich to get in a rage--"you never took kindly -to that gell from the first, when I took her out of charity, owin' to -her father's being throwed out of work on account of Jupp's cousin -stoppin' payment."</p> - -<p>Though said in Mrs. Fowler's calmest tones, and without a change of -expression on the speaker's childish old face, this was meant to be a -hard hit, and was received as such by Mrs. Jupp.</p> - -<p>"I don't know nothin' 'bout stoppin' payment, nor Jupp's cousins," said -that lady, with a redundancy of negatives and a very shrill voice; "my -own fam'ly has always paid their way, and Jupp has a 'count at the -Devon Bank, where his writin' is as good as gold, and will be so long -as I live. But I <i>du</i> know that I've never liked that gell Ann Bradshaw -since she told a passil o' lies about my Joey and the hen-roost!"</p> - -<p>"Well, well, never mind Ann Bradshaw," said Mrs. Powler, who had had -vast experience of Mrs. Jupp's powers of boredom in connection with the -subject of her Joey and the hen-roost; "never mind about the gell; I -allays kip her out o' your way, and I must ha' been main thoughtless -when I let her name slip out just now before you. So someone did come -in a po'-shay last night, then, and did drive to the Tower? Do you know -who it was?"</p> - -<p>"Not of my own knowledge," replied Mrs. Jupp in a softened voice--it -would never have done to have quarrelled with Mrs. Powler, from -whom she derived much present benefit, and from whom she expected a -legacy--"but Groper, who was up there this morning wi' the sallt water -for the Captain's bath, says it's the Doctor."</p> - -<p>"Lor', now!" said Mrs. Powler, lifting up her hands in astonishment; -"I can't fancy why passons go messin' wi' sallt water, and baths, and -such-like. They must be main dirty, one would think, to take such a lot -o' washin'. I'm sure Powler and I never did such redick'lous nonsense, -and we was always well thought of, I believe. Lor', now, I've bin and -forgotten who you said it was come down. Who was it, Harriet?"</p> - -<p>"The Doctor from London--Wheelwright, or some such name; he that comes -down three or four times a-year just to look at Mrs. Derinzy."</p> - -<p>"He must be a cliver doctor, I du 'low, if his lookin' at her is enough -to do her good," said Mrs. Powler, who was extremely literal in all -things; "not but what she's that bad, poor soul, that anything must be -a comfort to her."</p> - -<p>"Did you ever hear tell what was ezackly the matter wi' the Captain's -lady, Mrs. Powler?" asked Mrs. Jupp mysteriously.</p> - -<p>"Innards," said the old lady in a hollow voice, laying her hand on the -big mother-o'-pearl buckle by which her broad sash was kept together.</p> - -<p>"Ah, but what sort of innards?" demanded Mrs. Jupp, who was by no means -to be put off with a general answer on such an important subject.</p> - -<p>"That I dunno," said Mrs. Powler, unwillingly confessing her ignorance. -"Dr. Barton attends her in a or'nary way, but I niver heerd him say."</p> - -<p>"It must be one of them obstinit diseases as we women has," said Mrs. -Jupp, "as though--not to fly in the face of Providence--but as though -child-bearin' wasn't enough to have us let off all the rest!"</p> - -<p>"She niver takes no med'cine," said Mrs. Powler, who firmly believed -in the virtues of the Pharmacopoeia, and whose pride it was that -the deceased Powler, in his last illness, had swallowed "quarts and -quarts." "I know that from that fair-haired young chap that mixes -Barton's drugs,--his mother was a kind o' c'nexion o' Fowler's, and I -had 'im up to tea a Sunday week, and asked him."</p> - -<p>"Well, I'd like very much to know what is the matter wi' Mrs. Derinzy," -said Mrs. Jupp, harking back. "I ha' my own idea on the subjick; but -I'd like to know for sure."</p> - -<p>"If you're so cur'ous, you'd better ask Dr. Barton. He's just gone -passt the window, and I 'spose he'll look in;" and almost before -Mrs. Powler had finished her sentence there came a soft rap at the -room-door, the handle was gently turned, and Dr. Barton presented -himself.</p> - -<p>He was a short, thickset, strongly-built man of about fifty-five, with -close curly gray hair, bright eyes, mottled complexion, large hooked -nose. He was dressed in a black cut-away coat, stained buff waistcoat, -drab riding-breeches, and top-boots. He had a way of laying his head on -one side, and altogether reminded one irresistibly of Punch.</p> - -<p>"<i>Good</i>-morning, ladies," said the doctor, in a squeaky, throaty little -voice, which tended to heighten the resemblance; "I seem to ha' dropped -in just in the nick o' time, by the looks of ye. Mayhap you were -talking about me. Mrs. Jupp, you don't mean to say that----" and the -little man whispered the conclusion of the sentence behind his hat to -Mrs. Jupp, while he privately winked at Mrs. Powler.</p> - -<p>"Get 'long wi' ye, du!" said Mrs. Jupp, her face suffused with crimson.</p> - -<p>"I niver see such a man in all my born days," said old Mrs. Powler, -with whom the doctor was a special favourite, laughing until the tears -made watercourses of her wrinkles, and were genially irrigating her -face. "No; no such luck, I tell her."</p> - -<p>"Well, as to luck, that all a matter o' taste," said Mrs. Jupp; "we -were talking about something quite different to that."</p> - -<p>"What was it?" asked the doctor.</p> - -<p>"'Bout Mrs. D'rinzy's health Harriet was asking," explained Mrs. Powler.</p> - -<p>"A-h!" said the doctor, shaking his head, and looking very solemn.</p> - -<p>"Is she so bad as all that?" asked Mrs. Jupp, who was visibly impressed -by the medico's pantomime.</p> - -<p>"Great sufferer, great sufferer!" said the little man, with a -repetition of the head-shake.</p> - -<p>"Well, but she gets about; comes down into t' village, and such-like," -argued Mrs. Powler.</p> - -<p>"Oh yes; no reason why she shouldn't; more she gets about, indeed, the -better," said the doctor.</p> - -<p>"It's innards, I suppose?" asked Mrs. Jupp, whose craving for -particulars of Mrs. Derinzy's disorder was yet unsatisfied.</p> - -<p>"Well, partially, partially," said the doctor, slowly rubbing the side -of his nose with the handle of his riding-whip; "it's a complication, a -mixture, which it would be difficult to get an unprofessional person to -understand."</p> - -<p>"Talkin' o' that, Barton," said Mrs. Powler, "I s'pose you know the -London doctor came down last night?"</p> - -<p>"Dr. Wainwright? Oh yes; I was up at the Tower just now to meet him. -As I'm left in charge of Mrs. Derinzy, we always have a consultation -whenever he comes down."</p> - -<p>"I s'pose he's a raal cliver man, this Wheelwright, or they wouldn't -have him come all this way to see her," said Mrs. Powler.</p> - -<p>"Clever!" echoed the doctor; "the very first man of the day; the very -first!"</p> - -<p>"Then why wasn't he sent for to see Sir Herc'les when he was laid up -that bad last spring?" asked Mrs. Jupp; "there was another one come -down from London then."</p> - -<p>"That was quite a different case, my dear madam. Sir Hercules Dingo -was laid up with gout; Mrs. Derinzy's complaint is not gout; and Dr. -Wainwright is the first man of the day in--well, in such cases as Mrs. -Derinzy's."</p> - -<p>No more specific information than this could Mrs. Jupp obtain from the -doctor, who was "that close when he liked," as his friends said of him, -that even the blandishments of Mrs. Barton failed to extract any of his -professional secrets. So Mrs. Jupp gave it up in despair, and began -talking on general topics. Be sure the conversation did not progress -far without the Derinzys again cropping up in it. They were staple -subjects of discussion in Beachborough, and the most preposterous -stories regarding them and their origin, whence and why they came to -the remote Devonshire village, and the reason for their enforced stay -there, obtained, if not credence, at least circulation. What their real -history was, I now propose to tell.</p> - -<p>Five-and-twenty years before the date of this story, the firm of -Derinzy and Sons was well known and highly esteemed in the City -of London. They were supposed to have been originally of Polish -extraction, and their name to have been Derinski; but it had been -painted up as Derinzy for years on the door-posts of their warehouse in -Gough Square, Fleet Street, and it was so spelt on all the invoices, -bill-heads, and other commercial literature of the firm. Warehouses, -invoices, and bill-heads? Yes, despite their Polish extraction and -distinguished name, the Derinzys were neither more nor less than -furriers--wholesale, and on a large scale, it was true, but still -furriers. Their business was enormous, and their profits immense. The -old father, Peter Derinzy, who had founded the firm, and whose business -talent and industry were the main causes of its success, had given up -active attendance, and was beginning to take life leisurely. He came -down twice a week, perhaps, in a handsome carriage-and-pair, to Gough -Square, just glanced over the books, and occasionally looked at some -samples of skins, on which his opinion--still the most reliable in -the whole trade--was requested by his son, and then went back to his -mansion at Muswell Hill, where his connection with business was unknown -or ignored, and where he was Squire Derinzy, dwelling in luxury, and -passing his time in the superintendence of his graperies and pineries, -his forcing-houses and his farm.</p> - -<p>The affairs of the house did not suffer by the old gentleman's absence. -In his eldest son Paul, on whom the command devolved in his father's -absence, the senior partner had a representative possessing all the -experience and tact which he had gained, combined with the youth and -energy which he had lost. Men of high standing in the City of London, -many years his seniors, were glad to know Paul Derinzy, eager to -ask his advice, and, what is quite a different matter, frequently -not unwilling to take it in regard to the great speculations of the -day. The merchants from the North of Europe with whom he transacted -business--and to all of whom he spoke in their own language, without -the slightest betrayal of foreign accent or lack of idiom--looked upon -him as an absolute wonder, more especially when contrasted with his -own countrymen, who for the most part spoke nothing but English, and -little of that beyond oaths, and spread his renown far and wide. He -was a tall, high-shouldered, big-boned man, prematurely bald, and, -being very short-sighted, wore a large pair of spectacles, which -impelled his younger brother Alexis, then fresh from school, and just -received into the counting-house, to be initiated into the mysteries -of trade preparatory to being made a partner, to call him "Gig-lamps." -Paul Derinzy was not a good-tempered man, and at any time would have -disliked this impertinence; but addressed to him as it was, before the -clerks, it nettled him exceedingly. He forbade its repetition under -pain of summary punishment, and when it was repeated, being a big -strong man, he caught his younger brother by the collar, dragged him -out of the counting-house to a secluded part of the warehouse, and then -and there thrashed him to his heart's content. It was, perhaps, this -summary treatment, combined with a dislike for desk-work and indoor -confinement, that induced Master Alexis to resign his clerical stool -and to suggest to his father the propriety of purchasing for him a -commission in the army. Old Derinzy was by no means disposed to act -upon this idea, but his wife, who worshipped and spoiled her youngest -son, urged it very strongly; and as Paul, who was of course consulted, -recommended it as by far the best thing that could be done for his -brother, the old gentleman at last gave way, and in a very short time -young Alexis was gazetted as cornet in a hussar regiment then on its -way home from India, and joined the depot at Canterbury.</p> - -<p>After that little episode, Paul Derinzy took small heed of his -brother's proceedings, or, indeed, of anything save his business, in -which he seemed to be entirely absorbed. He was there early and late, -taking his dinner at a tavern, and retiring to chambers in Chancery -Lane, where he read philosophical treatises and abstruse foreign -philosophical works until bedtime. He had no intimate friends, and -never went into society. Even after his mother's death, when he spent -most of his leisure time, such as it was, at Muswell Hill, with his -father, then become very old and feeble, he shrank from meeting the -neighbours, and was looked upon as an oddity and a recluse. In the -fulness of time old Peter Derinzy died, leaving, it was said, upwards -of a hundred thousand pounds. By his will he bequeathed twenty thousand -pounds to his second son, Captain Alexis Derinzy, while the whole -of the rest of his fortune went to his son Paul, who was left sole -executor.</p> - -<p>Captain Alexis Derinzy made use of very strong language when he learned -the exact amount of the legacy bequeathed to him by his father's will. -He had been always given to understand, he said, that the governor -was a hundred-thousand-pound man, and he thought it deuced hard that -he shouldn't have had at least a third of what was left, specially -considering that he was a married man with a family, whereas that -money-grubbing old tradesman, his elder brother, had nobody but himself -to look after. The statement of Captain Derinzy's marriage was so far -correct. About two years previous to his father's death, the Captain -being at the time, like another captain famed in song, "in country -quarters," had made the acquaintance of a young lady, the daughter -of a clever, ne'er-do-weel, pot-walloping artist, who, when sober, -did odd bits of portrait-painting, and, among other jobs, had painted -correct likenesses of Captain Derinzy's two chargers. Captain Derinzy's -courtship of the artist's daughter, unlike that of his prototype in -verse, was carried on with the strictest decorum, not, one is bound -to say, from any fault of the Captain's, who wished and intended to -assimilate it to scores of other such affairs which he had had under -what he considered similar circumstances. But the truth was that he -had never met anyone like Miss Gertrude Skrymshire before. A pretty -woman, delicate-looking, and thoroughly feminine, she was far more of -an old soldier than the Captain, with all his barrack training and his -country-garrison experience. Years before, when she was a mere child of -fourteen, she had made up her mind, after experience of her father's -career and prospects, that Bohemianism, for a woman at least, was a -most undesirable state, and she had determined that she would marry -either for wealth or position; the latter preferable, she thought, as -the former might be afterwards attainable by her own ready wit and -cleverness; while if she married a <i>bon bourgeois</i>, she must be content -to remain in Bloomsbury, Bedfordshire, or wherever she might be placed, -and must abandon all hope of rising. When Captain Derinzy first came -fluttering round her, she saw the means to her end, and determined to -profit thereby. She was a very pretty young woman of her style, red -and white, with black eyes and flattened black hair, altogether very -like those Dutch dolls fashionable at that period, who were made of -shiny composition down to their busts, but then diverged abruptly into -calico and sawdust. She had a trim waist and a neat ankle, and what -is called nowadays a very "fetching" style, and she made desperate -havoc with Captain Derinzy's heart; so much so, that when she declined -with scorn to listen to any of the eccentric--to say the least of -them--propositions which he made to her, and forbade him her presence -for daring to make them, he, after staying away one day, during which -he was intensely wretched, and would have taken to drinking but that he -had tried it before without effect, and would have drowned himself but -that he did not want to die, came down and made an open declaration of -his love to Gertrude, and a formal proposal for her hand to Skrymshire -<i>pčre</i>.</p> - -<p>Alick Derinzy had had Luck for his friend several times in his life; he -had "pulled off" some good things in sweepstakes, and been fortunate in -his speculations on "events;" but he never made such a <i>coup</i> as when -he took Gertrude Skrymshire for his wife. She undertook the <i>ménage</i> -at once, sold off his unnecessary horses, and paid off outstanding -ticks; made him get an invitation for himself and her to Muswell Hill, -and spent a week there, during which she ingratiated herself with the -old gentleman, and specially with Paul; speedily took the reins of -government into her hands, and drove her husband skilfully, without -ever letting him feel the bit. When his father died, and Alick was for -crying out at the smallness of his legacy, Gertrude stopped his mouth, -pointing out that they had a sufficiency to live on, to which the sale -of her husband's commission would add; that they could go and live in -a small house in a good suburb of town, where they could make it very -comfortable for Paul, who would doubtless see a good deal of them, -and who, as he was never likely to marry, would most probably leave -his enormous fortune to <i>their</i> Paul, their only son, who, of course -without any definite views, had been named after his uncle.</p> - -<p>It was a notable scheme, well-planned and well-executed, but it failed. -Alick sold out, and they took a pleasant little house at Brompton, -a suburb then not much known, and principally inhabited, as now, by -actors and authors; and they furnished it charmingly, and Gertrude -herself went down in her deep mourning into the City, and penetrated -to Paul's sanctum in Gough Square, and insisted on his coming to stay -a day or two with them, and gained his promise that he would come. On -her return she said she had found Paul very much altered, but when -her husband asked her in what manner, she could not explain herself. -Alick himself explained it in his own peculiar barrack-room and -billiard-table phraseology, after he had seen his brother, expressing -his opinion that that worthy was "going off his head, by G--!"</p> - -<p>No doubt Paul Derinzy was a changed man. It was not that he looked -much older than his years--that he had always done; but his skin was -discoloured, his eyes lustreless, his head bowed, his spirit gone. He -said himself that twenty years' incessant labour without any holiday -had told upon him, and that he was determined at last to take some -rest. He should start immediately with Herr Schadow, one of their -largest customers, for Berlin and St. Petersburg, and should probably -be away for some months. Dockress, who had been brought up from boyhood -in Gough Square, and who knew every trick and turn of the trade, would -manage the business during his absence, and he should go away perfectly -satisfied that things would go on just as smoothly as if he were there -to overlook them.</p> - -<p>Paul Derinzy carried out his intention. He went away to the Continent -with Herr Schadow, and Mr. Dockress took charge of the business in -Gough Square. He heard several times from his principal within the -next few weeks, letters dated from various places, their contents -always relating to business. Mrs. Alick had also several letters -from her brother-in-law, but to her he wrote on different topics. He -seemed to be in wonderful spirits, wrote long descriptions of the -places he had visited, and humorous accounts of people he had met; -said he felt himself quite a different man, that he had just begun to -enjoy life, and looked upon all his earlier years as completely lost -to him. He loathed the very name of business, he said, and hated the -mere idea of coming back to England. He should certainly go as far -as St. Petersburg, and prolong his stay abroad as long as he felt -amused by it. He arrived in St. Petersburg. Dockress heard of him from -there relative to consignment of some special skins which he had been -lucky enough to get hold of, and which his old business instinct, -not to be so easily shaken off as he imagined, prompted him to buy. -Mrs. Alick also heard from him a fortnight later; he described the -place as delightful, the society as charming, said he was "going out -a good deal," and was thoroughly enjoying himself. Then nothing was -heard of him for weeks by the family in the pretty little house at -Brompton, and Mrs. Alick became full of wonderment as to his movements. -Dockress could have given her some information. It is true that he had -had no letters from his chief, but a nephew of Schadow's, who was a -clerk in the Gough Square house, had had a hint dropped to him by his -uncle that it was not improbable that the head of the house would, -on his return, which would be soon, bring with him a wife, as he was -supposed to be very much in love with a young French lady, a governess -in a distinguished Russian family where he visited. Schadow junior -communicated this intelligence to Dockress junior, who sat at the same -desk with him, who communicated it to Dockress senior, who whistled, -and, as soon as his son was out of hearing, muttered aloud that it was -"a rum go."</p> - -<p>"Rum" as it was, though, it was true. A short time afterwards Dockress -received official intimation of the fact, and the same post brought the -news to Mrs. Alick. Paul's note to his sister-in-law was very short. -It simply said that she and Alexis would probably be surprised to hear -that he was about to be married to Mdlle. Delille, a young French lady, -whom he had met in society at St. Petersburg. They were to be married -at once, and would shortly after set out for England, not, however, -with the intention of remaining there. He infinitely preferred living -abroad, so that he should merely return for the purpose of settling his -business, and should then retire to the Continent for the rest of his -life.</p> - -<p>Alick Derinzy gave a great guffaw as his wife read out this epistle to -him, and chaffed her in his ponderous way, referring to the counting of -chickens before they were hatched, and the hallooing before you were -out of the wood, and other apposite proverbs.</p> - -<p>"That's rather a bust-up for your scheme, Gertrude," he said with -a loud laugh, "old Paul going to marry; and he's just one of those -fellows that have a large family late in life; and a neat chance for -<i>our</i> Paul's coming in for any of the old boy's money. That game is -u-p, Mrs. Derinzy."</p> - -<p>But Mrs. Derinzy, though she looked serious at the news which the -letter contained, and shook her head at her husband's speech, said -there was no knowing what Time had in store for them, and they must -wait and see.</p> - -<p>They waited, and in due course they saw--Paul's wife, Mrs. Derinzy: -a pretty, slight, fragile little woman, with large black eyes, -olive complexion, and odd restless ways. Mrs. Alick set her down as -"thoroughly French;" Alick spoke of her as a "rum little party;" -but they neither of them saw much of her. Paul brought her to dine -two or three times, and the women called upon each other, but the -newly-married pair were so thoroughly occupied with theatre-goings, and -opera-visitings and society-frequenting, that it was with the greatest -difficulty they could be induced to find a free night during the month -they stayed in town. London did not seem capable of producing enough -pleasure or excitement for Paul Derinzy. He was like a boy in the -ardour of his yearning for fresh amusement, he entered into everything -with wild delight, and seemed as though he should never tire of taking -his pretty little wife about, and what Alexis called "showing her off."</p> - -<p>During that month the great house of Derinzy and Sons ceased to -exist, and in the next issue of the great red book, the <i>Post-Office -Directory</i>, the name which had been so respected and so highly thought -of was not to be found. Certainly Paul Derinzy retained a share in its -fortunes, but he sold the largest part of the business to Dockress and -Schadow, whose friends came forth nobly to help them in the purchase, -and it was under their joint names that the house was in future -conducted.</p> - -<p>Then Paul and his wife went away, and were only occasionally heard of. -It had been their intention to travel about, and they were apparently -carrying it out, for Paul's letters to Mrs. Alick, with whom he still -corresponded, were dated from various places, and he could only give -her vague addresses where to reply. They were passing the winter at -Florence, when he wrote to his sister-in-law that a little daughter -had been born to them, but that his wife had been in great peril, for -some time her life had been despaired of, and even then, at the time -of writing, she was seriously ill. Alick Derinzy guffawed again at -this news, remarking that their Paul's nose was out of joint now, and -no mistake. Their Paul, then a stalwart boy of four years old, who -was playing about the room at the time, exclaimed, "No, my nose all -right!" at the same time grasping that organ with his chubby hand; -and Mrs. Derinzy checked her husband's unseemly mirth, and remarked -that since his brother had married, it was more to their interest that -his child should be a girl than a boy. There was an interval of six -months before another letter arrived to say that Mrs. Paul remained -very ill, that her constitution had received a shock which it was -doubtful whether it would ever recover, but that the little girl was -thriving well. Paul added that he was in treaty for a place on the Lake -of Geneva of which he had heard, and that if it suited him the family -would most probably settle down there. After another six months Mrs. -Alick heard from her brother-in-law that they had settled on the Swiss -lake, with a repetition of the statement that his wife was helplessly -ill, and the little girl thriving apace. During the four succeeding -years very nearly the same news reached the Alick Derinzys at the -same intervals--Paul was still located in the Swiss chateau, his wife -remained in the same state of illness, and his little girl still throve.</p> - -<p>"No chance for our Paul," said Alexis Derinzy disconsolately.</p> - -<p>"Our Paul" was growing into a fine boy, and his father gave himself -much mental exercitation as to whether he could "stand the racket" of -educating him at Eton or Harrow.</p> - -<p>One evening a cab drove up to the door, and a gentleman alighted and -asked for Mrs. Derinzy. Alick was, according to his usual practice, -at the club, enjoying that pleasant hour's gossip so dear to married -gentlemen who are kept rather tightly in hand at home, and which they -relinquish with such looks of envy at the happy bachelors or more -courageous Benedicks whom they leave behind. But Mrs. Alick was in her -very pretty little boudoir, into which she desired the stranger might -be shown.</p> - -<p>He came in; a man who had probably been tall, but was now bent double, -walking with a stick, and then making but slow progress; a man with -snow-white hair and long beard of the same hue, wrapped from head to -foot in a huge fur coat of foreign make. Mrs. Derinzy saw that he was a -gentleman, but did not recognise him. It was not until he advanced to -her and mentioned his name that she knew him for her brother-in-law, -Paul. She received him very warmly, and he seemed touched and -gratified, so far as lay in him. Where were his wife and his little -daughter? she asked. They were--over there, in Switzerland, he said -with an effort. He was alone, then, in London? He must come and stay -with them. No; he had been in London three or four days. He came over -on some special business, and he was about to return to the Continent -the next day, but he did not like to go without having seen her. He -fidgeted about while he stopped, and seemed nervously anxious to be -off; but Mrs. Alick, with a woman's tact, began to ask him questions -about his child, and he quieted down, and spoke of her with rapture. -She was the joy of his soul, he said, the one bright ray in his life, -of which, indeed, he spoke in very melancholy terms. Alick came home -from his club in due course, and was as surprised as his wife had -been at the alteration in Paul's appearance, and took so little pains -to disguise his impressions, that Paul himself made allusion to his -white hair and his bowed back, and said he had had trouble enough to -have broken a much younger and stronger man. He did not say what the -trouble was, and they did not like to ask him. Alick had thought it -was pecuniary worry; that his brother had "dropped his money," as he -phrased it. Mrs. Alick saw no reason to ascribe it to any such source. -But she noticed that her brother-in-law said very little about his -wife, and she felt certain that the marriage which had promised so -brilliantly had turned out a disappointment, and that the shadow which -darkened his life was of home creation.</p> - -<p>Paul Derinzy bade adieu to his brother and his sister-in-law that -night, and they never saw him again. About a month afterwards he -wrote from Switzerland that his wife was dead, that he should give -up the château on the lake, and travel for a time, taking the child -with him. Ten years passed away, during which news of the travellers -came but rarely to the residents in Brompton, who, indeed, thought -but little of them. The ex-captain of dragoons had settled down into -a quiet, whist-playing, military-club-frequenting fogey; Mrs. Derinzy -managed him with as much tact as usual, and with rather a slacker rein; -and young Paul, now eighteen years old, was just appointed to the -Stannaries Office, when an event occurred which entirely changed the -aspect of affairs. This was the elder Paul Derinzy's death, which was -communicated to his brother by a telegram from Pau, where it happened. -By this telegram Alick was bidden to come to Pau instantly, to take -charge of Miss Derinzy, and to be present at the reading of the will. -Alick went to Pau, and his wife went with him. They found Annette -Derinzy--a tall girl of fourteen, "a little too foreign, and good deal -too forward," Mrs. Derinzy pronounced her--prostrated with grief at her -recent loss. And they were present at the reading of the will, under -which they found themselves constituted guardians of the said Annette -Derinzy, who inherited all her father's property, with the exception -of a thousand a-year, which was to be paid to them for their trouble -during their lives, and five thousand pounds legacy to their son Paul -at his father's death. Their authority over Annette was to cease when -she came of age at twenty-one, but up to that time they had the power -of veto on any marriage engagement she might contract, and any defiance -on her part was to be punished by the loss of her fortune, which was to -be divided amongst certain charities duly set forth in the will.</p> - -<p>"Only five thou. for our poor boy, and that not till we're dead! and -Paul must have left over eighty thousand!" said Captain Derinzy to his -wife, when they were in their own room at the hotel after the will had -been read.</p> - -<p>"Our Paul shall have the eighty thousand," said Mrs. Derinzy in reply.</p> - -<p>"The devil he shall!" said the Captain. "Who will give it him?"</p> - -<p>"The guardians of his wife!" said Mrs. Derinzy.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_06" href="#div1Ref_06">CHAPTER VI.</a></h4> -<h5>MRS. STOTHARD.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>Mrs. Powler and Mrs. Jupp were by no means the only persons in -Beachborough to whom Mrs. Stothard's position in the household at the -Tower afforded subject-matter for gossip. It may be safely asserted -that there never was a tea-drinking, followed--as was usually the -case among the better classes in that hospitable neighbourhood--by -a consumption of alcohol "hot with," at which Mrs. Stothard was not -served up as a toothsome morsel, and forthwith torn into shreds, if -not by the teeth, at least by the tongues of the assembled company. To -those simple minds, all social standing was fixed and unalterable--one -must either be mistress or servant; the lines of demarcation were -strongly defined; they knew of no softening gradations; and they could -not understand Mrs. Stothard. "She hev' her dinner by herself, and -her own teapot allays brought to her own room--leastways, 'cept when -she do fetch it herself, Miss Annette bein' sleepy or out of sorts, -and not likin' to be disturbed by the servants." Such was the report -which Nancy Wickstead, who had gone to live as nursemaid up at the -Tower soon after the arrival of the family, brought down about this -redoubtable woman. The villagers only knew her by report, by crumbs -and fragments of rumours dropped by Nancy Wickstead when she came down -among her old familiars for an "evening out," or by the tradesmen who -called at the house, and who drew largely on their own imagination for -the stories which they told. They had only caught fleeting glimpses of -Mrs. Stothard as she passed along the corridor or crossed from room to -room, but even those cursory glances entitled them to swagger before -their fellow-villagers who had never seen her at all--never. Many of -them tried to think they had, and after renewed descriptions of her -firmly believed that they had; but it was all an exercitation of their -imagination, for they never went to the Tower, and Mrs. Stothard never -left it--never, under any pretence. In the two years during which the -family had resided at the Tower, Mrs. Stothard had never passed through -the entrance-gate. She took exercise sometimes in the grounds; even -that but rarely; but she never left them. Young Dobbs, the grocer, -a bright spirit, once took it into his head to chaff about her with -the servants, to ask who was the "female hermit," and what duties she -performed in the house; a flight of fancy not very humorous in itself, -and unfortunate in its result. The next day Mrs. Derinzy called on -Dobbs senior, asked him for his bill, paid it, and removed the family -custom to Sandwith of Bedminster.</p> - -<p>Once seen, a woman not easily to be forgotten, from her physical -appearance. About eight-and-forty years of age, tall and very strongly -built, with broad shoulders and big wrists, knuckles both of wrists -and hands very prominent, great frontal development, but low forehead, -a penthouse for deep-set gray eyes. Light hair, thin, dull, and -colourless; thin and colourless cheeks; thin lips, closing tightly over -rows of small, gleaming dog's-teeth; big, square, massive jaw; cold, -taciturn, and watchful, with eyes and ears of wonderful quickness, wits -always ready, hands always active and strong. She came to Mrs. Derinzy -on Dr. Wainwright's recommendation as "exactly the person to suit her," -and she fulfilled her mission most exactly. What that mission was we -shall learn; what her previous career had been we will state.</p> - -<p>She was the only daughter of one Robert Hall, a verger of Canterbury -Cathedral, a clever, drunken dog, whose vergership was in constant -peril, but who contrived to hoodwink the cathedral dignitaries as a -general rule, and who on special occasions of outbreak invariably -found some influential friend to plead his cause. He was a bookbinder -as well as a verger, and in his trade showed not merely skilful -manipulation, but rare taste, taste which was apparently inherited -by his daughter Martha, who, at seventeen years of age, had produced -some illuminated work which was pronounced by the <i>cognoscenti</i> in -such matters to be very superior indeed. The cathedral dignitaries -patronised Martha Hall's illuminations, and displayed them in their -drawing-rooms at those pleasant evening gatherings, so decorous and so -dull, and where the bearers of the sword mingle with the wearers of the -gown, yawn away a couple of hours in looking over photograph-albums -and listening to sonatas, and after a sandwich and a glass of sherry, -lounge away to begin the night with devilled biscuits, billiards, -and brandy-and-soda-water. The military, to whom these illuminations -were thus introduced, thought it would be the "correct thing" to buy -some of them; they would look "deuced well" in their rooms; so that -the front parlour of the verger's little house in the precincts was -speedily re-echoing to clanking sabres and jingling spurs, the owners -of which were none the less ready to come again because the originator -and vendor of the wares was a "doosid nice girl, don't you know?--not -exactly pretty, but something doosid nice about her!" Martha Hall's -handiwork was seen everywhere in barracks, and "many a holy text -around she strewed," and had them hung up in subalterns' rooms between -portraits of Mdlle. Joliejambe and the Blisworth Bruiser.</p> - -<p>The sabres clanked so often and the spurs jingled so much in the -verger's front parlour, that the neighbours--instigated, perhaps, -less by their friendly feelings and their virtue than their -jealousy--thought it time to speak to Robert Hall about it, and to ask -him if he knew what he was doing, and what seed he was sowing, to be -reaped in shame and disgrace. Wybrow, the mourning jeweller--who made -very tasty little designs of yews and willows out of dead people's -hair--declared that his shop was never so full as his neighbour's; but -then either the officers had no dead relations, or did not care for -such melancholy <i>souvenirs</i>. Heelball, who had compiled a neat little -handbook of the cathedral, and who furnished anyone who wanted them -with "rubbings" of the crusaders' tombs, declared that the "milingtary" -never patronised him; "perhaps," he added, "because I ain't young -and pretty," therein decidedly speaking the truth, as he was sixty -and deformed. Stothard, the tombstone sculptor, said nothing. He was -supposed to be madly in love with Martha Hall, and it was noticed -that when the young officers went clanking by his yard he took up his -heaviest mallet and punished the stone under treatment fearfully. The -hints and remonstrances had but little effect on Robert Hall. Not that -he was careless about his daughter. "Happy-go-lucky" in other matters, -he would have resented deeply any slight or insult offered to her. But -he knew her better than anyone else, knew her passionless, calculating, -ambitious nature, and had every confidence in it.</p> - -<p>That confidence was not misplaced. Martha was polite to all who visited -her as customers; talked and joked with them within bounds, displayed -her handiwork, and sold it to the best advantage; taking care always to -have ready money before she parted with it ("Can't think how she does -it, 'pon my soul I can't!" was the cry in barracks. "Screwed two quid -out of me for this d--d thing, down on the nail, by Jove! First thing -I've had in the place that hasn't been chalked up, give you my word!") -but never allowed any approach to undue familiarity. She was declared -by her military customers to be "capital fun;" but it was perfectly -understood amongst them that she "wouldn't stand any nonsense." So the -shop was filled, and her trade throve, and her enemies and neighbours, -however much they might hint and whisper in her detraction, had nothing -tangible to narrate against her.</p> - -<p>While Martha Hall's popularity was at its fullest height, there -came to the depot of the hussar regiment--to which he had just been -gazetted as cornet--a young gentleman of prepossessing appearance, -pleasant manners, good position, and apparently plenty of money. He -was well received by his brother officers, and after being introduced -to the various delights which Canterbury affords, he was in due course -taken to Martha Hall's shop, and presented to the young lady therein -presiding. It was evident to his companions that the susceptibilities -of their new comrade were very keenly aroused at the sight of Miss -Hall; and it was no less palpable to Miss Hall herself. She laughingly -told her father that night that she had made a fresh conquest; and her -father grinned, advised her to set to work on some new texts, with -which she could "stick" the new-comer, and repeated his never-failing -assertion of thorough confidence in her.</p> - -<p>The new-comer, whose name was Derinzy, quickly showed that he was not -merely influenced by first impressions. He visited the shop constantly, -he bought all the illuminations that Martha Hall could produce; and -within a very short time he not merely fell violently in love with -her, but told her so; and told her that if she would accept him, he -would go to her father, and propose to marry her. To such a suggestion -from any other of the score of officers in the habit of frequenting -the shop, Martha Hall would have replied by a laugh, or, had it been -pressed, by a declaration that she was flattered by the compliment, -but that she knew the difference between their stations in life was -an insuperable barrier, &c. But she said nothing of this kind to -Alexis Derinzy. Why? Because she was in love with him. Perhaps her -natural keenness of perception had enabled her to judge between the -"spooniness" springing from a desire to bridge-over <i>ennui</i>, and to -fill up the wearisome hours of a garrison life, which prompted the -advances of her other admirers, and the unmistakable passion which -this boy betrayed. Perhaps she admired his fair, picturesque face, and -well-cut features, and slight form in contradistinction to the more -robust and athletic proportions of the other youth then resident in -barracks. Perhaps the rumours of the wealth of the Derinzys had reached -those calm cloisters, and Martha might have thought that the fact that -they were themselves in trade might induce them to overlook what to the -scion of any noble house would be an undoubted <i>mésalliance</i>. No one -knew, for Martha, reticent in everything, was scarcely likely to gossip -of her love-affairs; but the fact remained the same, and she loved him. -She told him as much, at the same moment that she suggested that the -consideration of the marriage question should be deferred for a few -months, until he was of age. Mr. Derinzy agreed to this, as he would -have agreed to anything his heart's charmer proposed, but stipulated -that Martha should consider herself as engaged to him, and that the -flirtations with "the other fellows" should be at once discontinued. -Martha consented, and acted up both to the spirit and the letter of the -agreement; but flirtation with Martha Hall had become such a habit with -the officers quartered at Canterbury that it could not be given up all -of a sudden; no matter how little the maiden might respond, the gallant -youths still frequented the shop, and still paid their court in their -usual clumsy but unmistakably marked manner. Alexis Derinzy, worried at -this, and also feeling it uncommonly hard that he should not be able to -boast of having secured the heart and the proximate chance of the hand -of the most sought-after girl in Canterbury, mentioned his engagement, -in the strictest confidence, to three or four of his brother officers, -who, under the same seal, mentioned it to three or four more. Thus it -happened that in a few days the story came to the ears of the adjutant -of the depôt, who was a great friend of the Derinzy family, and at -whose instigation it was that Alexis had been placed in the army.</p> - -<p>Captain Branscombe was still a young man, but he had had ripe -experience of life, and he knew that it would be as truly useless, -under the circumstances, to reason with the love-stricken cornet, as -to make application anywhere but to the highest domestic authorities. -To these, therefore, he represented the state of affairs--the result -of his representation being that Mr. Paul Derinzy, the elder brother -of the cornet, came down to Canterbury by the coach the next day, -and straightway sought an interview with the Dean. Then Robert Hall -was summoned to the diaconal presence, out of which he came swearing -strange oaths, and looking very flushed and fierce. Later in the -afternoon he was waited upon at his own house in the precincts by Mr. -Paul Derinzy, who had a very stormy ten minutes with Martha, and then -made his way to the barracks. Mr. Paul Derinzy remained in Canterbury -for two days, during every hour of which, save those which he passed in -bed, he was actively employed. The results of the mission did credit -to his diplomatic talents. Alexis Derinzy sent in an application -for sick leave, which being promptly granted, he quitted Canterbury -without seeing Martha Hall, though he tried hard to do so; and did not -rejoin until the regiment, safely arrived from India, was quartered -at Hounslow. When Mr. Paul Derinzy was staying in Canterbury, it had -been noticed by the neighbours that he had called once or twice on -Stothard the stonemason, who has already been described as having -been madly in love with Martha Hall; and Stothard had returned the -visit at Paul's hotel. In the course of a few weeks after the "London -gentleman's" departure, Stothard announced that he had inherited a -legacy of a couple of hundred pounds from an old aunt. No one had ever -heard any previous mention of this relative, nor did Stothard enter -into any particulars whatever; he did not go to her funeral, and the -only mourning he assumed was a crape band to his Sunday beaver. But -there was no mistake about the two hundred pounds; that sum was paid -in to his credit at the County Bank by their London agent, and he took -the pass-book up with him when he went to Robert Hall's to propose for -Martha. Folks said he was a fool for his pains; the kindest remarked -that she would never stoop to him; the unkindest expressed their -contempt for anybody as could take anybody else's leaving. But despite -of both, Martha Hall accepted Stothard the stonemason, and they were -married.</p> - -<p>You must not think that all this little drama had been enacted without -its due effect on one of the principal performers. You must not think -that Martha Hall had lost Alexis Derinzy without fierce heartburning -and deep regret, and intense hatred for those who robbed her of him. -She knew that it was not the boy's own fault, she guessed what kind -of pressure had been brought to bear upon him; but she thought he -ought to have made a better fight of it. She had loved him, and if -he had only been true to her and to their joint cause, they might -have been triumphant. In a few months he would have been of age, and -then he could have gone up and seen his mother--he was always her -favourite--and she would have persuaded his father, and all would have -been straight. He always said he hated his brother Paul--how, then, -had he suffered himself to be persuaded by him? Ah, other influences -must have been brought to bear by Paul Derinzy! Paul Derinzy--how she -hated him! She would register that name in her heart; and if ever she -came across his path, let him look to himself. When Stothard came -with his proposal, she made her acceptance of him conditional on his -leaving Canterbury. The money which he had inherited, and the little -sum which she had saved, would enable them to commence business afresh -somewhere else--say, in London; but she must leave Canterbury. She -could not stand the neighbours' looks and remarks, or, what was worse, -their pity, any longer. She must go, she said; she was sick of the -place. Robert Hall indorsed his daughter's desire; he was becoming -more and more confirmed in his selfishness, and wanted to be allowed -to drink himself to death without any ridiculous remonstrances. -Stothard agreed--he would have agreed to anything then--and they were -married; and Stothard bought a business in a London suburb, and for a -time--during which time a daughter was born to them--they flourished.</p> - -<p>For a time only; then Stothard took to drinking, and late hours; his -hand lost its cunning; his customers dropped off one by one; the -garnered money had long since been spent, and things looked bad. -Stothard drank harder than before, had delirium tremens, and died. His -widow could not go back to her old home, for her father had carried -out his intention, and drank himself to death very soon after her -marriage; and she was too proud to made her appearance among her old -acquaintances under her adverse circumstances. As luck would have -it, the doctor who had attended her husband, and who had been much -struck by the manner in which she had nursed him in his delirium, was -physician to a great hospital. He proposed to Mrs. Stothard that she -should become a professional nurse, offering her his patronage and -recommendation. She agreed, and at once commenced practice in the -hospital; but she soon became famous among the physicians and surgeons, -and they were anxious to secure her for their private patients, -where her services would be well paid. In a few years she had gotten -together quite a large connection, and she was in constant demand. The -money which she received she applied to giving her daughter a good -education. They met but seldom, Mrs. Stothard being so much engaged; -but she perceived in her daughter early signs of worldly wisdom, and a -disposition to make use of her fellow-creatures, which gladdened her -mother's soured spirit. She should be no weak fool, as her mother had -been; she should not be made a puppet to be set up and knocked down at -a rich man's caprice; she was sharp, she promised to be pretty, and she -should be well-educated. Then, thoroughly warned as to what men were, -she should be placed in some good commercial position, and left to see -whether she could not contrive to make a rich and respectable marriage -for herself.</p> - -<p>One day when Mrs. Stothard was at St. Vitus's Hospital, where she -was now regarded as a great personage, and where, when she paid an -occasional visit, she was taken into the stewards' room, and regaled -with the best port wine, Dr. Wainwright--who, though not attached to -St. Vitus's, had a very great reputation in London, and was considered -the leading man in his line--looked into the room. Seeing Mrs. -Stothard, he entered, told her he had come expressly, learning she was -there, and that he wanted to know if she would undertake a permanent -situation. He entered into detail as to the case, mentioned the -remuneration, which was very large, and stated that he knew no one who -would be so satisfactory in the position; and added: "Indeed, 'if we do -not get Mrs. Stothard, I don't know what we shall do,' were the last -words I uttered to Mrs. Derinzy."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Stothard, albeit a calm and composed woman in general, literally -jumped. A quarter of a century rolled up like a mist, and she saw -herself selling illuminated scrolls in the little shop in the precincts -of Canterbury, and the slim, handsome little cornet leaning over the -counter, and devouring her with his bright black eyes.</p> - -<p>"What name did you say, sir?" she asked when she recovered herself.</p> - -<p>"Derinzy. Odd name, isn't it? De-rin-zy. The lady's husband is a -retired military man, and the family consists of themselves and the -young lady I was speaking of just now," said the doctor.</p> - -<p>"Is she their daughter?" asked Mrs. Stothard.</p> - -<p>"Oh no; they have no daughter, only a son, who lives in London. -This young lady is their niece, daughter of--why, God bless my -soul! you must have heard of him--Mr. Paul Derinzy, the merchant, -the millionaire, who died some time ago. Ah! I forgot, though; -millionaires--real ones, I mean--are not much in your line," added Dr. -Wainwright, with a laugh. "You see plenty who fancy that----"</p> - -<p>"Oh, and so Mr. Paul Derinzy is dead," interrupted Mrs. Stothard; -"and this young lady is his daughter? I think, Dr. Wainwright, I must -decline the situation."</p> - -<p>Decline the situation! Dr. Wainwright had never heard of such a thing, -never in the whole course of his professional experience. Decline -the situation! Had Mrs. Stothard understood him correctly about the -terms? Yes! And she talked of declining the situation after that! And -for a permanency, too. And he had thought it would have been exactly -the thing to suit her. Well, if she would not accept, she must not -decline--at once, that was to say. She must think over it; she must -indeed.</p> - -<p>She did; and accepted it. Partly out of a desire for revenge. She had -a long, long pondering over the past; and all the bitterness of bygone -years had revived in her heart. She thought that something--luck she -called it (she was little given to ascribe things to Providence)--had -placed her enemies in her hands, and that she might use her power over -the man who had given her up, and over the daughter of the man who -had compelled him to do so. Partly for money. The salary proposed was -very large, and her daughter's education was expensive, and the girl -would soon have to be apprenticed to a house of business where a heavy -premium must be paid. So she accepted. There was no doubt about her -getting the place. Dr. Wainwright's recommendation was all-sufficient, -and Mrs. Derinzy was only too anxious to secure her services. Captain -Derinzy had forgotten all about Stothard the stonemason, and the two -hundred pounds which had been paid to him, even if he ever knew of -the transaction. He did not recognise the name, and for the first few -minutes after he saw her he did not recognise in the hard-featured, -cold, impassive, middle-aged woman his bright boyish love of so many -years before. When he did recognise her he started, and seemed as -though he would have spoken; but she made him a slight sign, and he -waited for an opportunity of their being alone. When that came, it -was Mrs. Stothard who spoke. She told him there was no necessity -for ever referring to the past, it was all forgotten by them both; -they would never be brought in contact; she knew the position she -held in his house, and she should fulfil it; it was better on all -accounts that Mrs. Derinzy should be kept in ignorance of their former -acquaintance--did he not think so? He did; and as he left her he -grinned quietly.</p> - -<p>"What the doose did she think?" he said to himself. "Gad! not likely -that I should want to renew the acquaintance of an old horse-godmother -like that. What a pretty gal she was, too! and how changed! by George, -so that her own mother wouldn't know her! Wonder whether I'm as much -changed as all that? Often look in the glass and wonder. Different in a -man: he don't wear a cap, and that kind of thing; and my hair's lasted -wonderful, considerin'. Martha Hall, eh? and those dam things--text -things--that she used to paint in those colours--got some of 'em still, -I think, somewhere in my old bullock-trunk; saw 'em the other day. -Martha Hall!--Oh Lord!"</p> - -<p>So Mrs. Stothard accepted office with the Derinzys, and was with them -when, shortly afterwards, they gave up the house at Brompton where they -had lived so long, and removed to Beachborough. The change affected -Mrs. Stothard but very little; it mattered scarcely at all to her -where she was, her time was very much employed in her duties, and -what little leisure she found she passed in reading, or in writing to -her daughter. She knew perfectly well that she was the subject of an -immense amount of curiosity in Beachborough village, and of talk at the -village tea-tables; but it did not trouble her one whit. She knew that -she was said to be a poor relation of the Derinzy family, and she did -not discourage the idea. Thinking over the past, and what might have -been, she found a kind of grim humour in the combination which suited -her thoroughly. They might say what they liked, she thought, so long as -her money was regularly paid, and so long as she found herself able to -carry out the one scheme of her life--that of making a good marriage -for her daughter Fanny.</p> - -<p>Fanny then, under the name of Miss Stafford, was apprenticed to -Madame Clarisse, the great court milliner, in London, and lived, when -she was at home--and that was not often, poor child! for she slaved -like a horse--in one little room in a house in South Molton Street, -a lodging-house kept by an old sister-nurse of Mrs. Stothard's at -St. Vitus's, a most respectable motherly woman, who would look after -Fanny, and would at once let her mother know if there was "anything -wrong." Not that there was any chance of that. Fanny Stafford acted -up too strictly to her mother's teaching, and remembered too well the -doctrine which had been inculcated in her girlhood, ever to make that -mistake. She had been told that to marry a man considerably above her -in pecuniary and social position was her mission in life; to that -end she might use all her charms, all her arts; but that end must be -marriage--nothing less. This she understood, and daily experience -made her more and more impressed with the wisdom of her mother's -determination. She had not much heart, she thought; she did not think -she had any passion; and she knew that she had keen discrimination and -accurate perception of character; so she thought she ought to succeed. -Mrs. Stothard was acquainted with the peculiarities of her daughter's -character, and thought so too.</p> - -<p>At the very time when Captain Derinzy was lying stretched out on the -headland overlooking Beachborough Bay, and making those cynical remarks -on the place and its population, Mrs. Stothard was preparing to read a -letter from her daughter Fanny. It had arrived in the morning; but Mrs. -Stothard had been very busy all day, and it was not until the evening -that she found time to read it. Her occupation had confined her to -the house, so that now, being for a few minutes free, she was glad to -escape into the grounds. She chose that portion of the flower-garden -which was farthest removed from the side of the house which she -principally inhabited; and as she paced up and down the soft turf path -between two rows of espaliers, she took the letter from her pocket and -commenced to read it. It was written in a small delicate hand, and Mrs. -Stothard had to hold it close to her eyes in the fading light. She read -as follows:</p> - -<p style="text-indent:60%">"London, Sunday.</p> - -<p>MY DEAR MOTHER,--You will have been expecting to hear from me for -some time, and, indeed, you ought to have had a letter, but the truth -is I am so tired and sleepy when I get back here that I am glad to -go straight to bed. We are just now in the height of the season, and -are so busy that I scarcely ever have time to sit down. I told you, -I think, that I was likely to be in the showroom this season. I was -right. Madame asked me if I should like to be there, and when I said -'Yes,' she seemed pleased; and I have been there since April. I think -I have made myself even more useful than she expected; for many of -the customers know me now, and ask to see me in preference to Madame -herself. I suppose she does not quite like that, but it is not my -fault. I know I am neat and handy, and that there is no one in the -house with so much education or so much manner, and these are both -points which are noticed by customers. Nevertheless, I think I am -winning my way into Madame's good graces; for when she goes out--and -she is now out a great deal, at the French plays, at the Opera, and in -private society; you have no notion what an immense amount of reception -goes on amongst the French <i>coiffeurs</i> and <i>modistes</i> in London--she -invariably leaves me to see the parcels sent off and the business of -the day wound up. She has no forewoman, as I have told you, and I think -I might aspire to that important post with reasonable hope of success -if I wished it, but I don't.</p> - -<p>"No, dear mother; it would give me no pleasure to have my name on as -big a brass plate as Madame Clarisse's, on as handsome a door in as -eligible a situation. I should derive no satisfaction even if I could -combine her connection with Madame Augustine's, her great rival. -(Augustine's <i>clientčle</i> is richer than ours, I think, but we have -by far the <i>best</i> people.) I long sometimes, when I see a wretched -old creature nodding under a wreath when she ought to be concealing -her bald pate or her gray hairs under an honest mob-cap, or when I am -helping a stout middle-aged matron to struggle into a gown of a style -and pattern suitable for her youngest daughter, to throw all my chances -of success in business to the winds, and tell the people then under -my hands plainly and openly what I think of them. I cannot stand--or -rather I could not, were it for a permanence; I can well enough for -a time--this wretched ko-tooing existence, this perpetual grinning -and curtsying and false-compliment paying, this utter abnegation of -one's own opinion, one's own feelings, one's own self! You must not be -surprised at these expressions, dear mother, recollecting how you have -had me brought up, and how you yourself have always inculcated in me a -strong desire to better my position, and by a good marriage to raise -myself into a class superior to this.</p> - -<p>"Mother, I think I'm going to do it. I think that I have a chance of -freeing myself from this servitude, which is galling to me, and of -winning a station in life such as you yourself would be proud to see -me holding. You remember how you used to talk to me about this when I -was much younger, and how I used then to laugh at your earnestness, and -tell you your hopes and aspirations were but dreams? I declare now I -think there is some chance of their being realised.</p> - -<p>"Now you are all impatience, and dying to know all I have to tell! I -can see you--I suppose you are not much changed since we last parted; -I often wonder--I can see you skimming over the paper in your eager -anxiety to get at the details. I will not keep you in suspense, dear -mother--here they are! A month ago, I was returning to Mrs. Gillott's -late at night. We had been hard at work until nearly twelve o'clock, -getting out a large wedding order, and Madame thought it important -enough to superintend the packing and sending out of the various -things. I had remained till the last, and the church-clock opposite -struck twelve as the door closed behind me. The streets were almost -deserted; but I had not gone far before I perceived that a man was -following me. I could not make out what kind of a man he was, as he -persistently kept in the shade, walking at first on the opposite side -of the way, then crossing behind me, but ever constantly following. -I knew this from the sound of his footsteps, which echoed in the -stillness of the night. When I crossed Bond Street he came abreast of -me, and then I saw that he was a common man in his working dress. I was -frightened then, I confess. You don't know what they are sometimes, -mother, these working men. I would sooner meet any gentleman, however -loose, any what they call 'gent,' than some of those! It isn't their -conduct, it's what they say! They seem to delight in using the most -awful language, the foulest terms, to unprotected girls; merely, -apparently, for the sake of insulting them. This man was a bad specimen -of his class. There was no one near, and he stepped up to my side after -we had crossed Bond Street, and said to me things--I don't know what, -for I hurried on without looking towards him. I knew well enough what -he said next, he took care that there should be no mistake about that, -for he prefaced his remark with a short laugh of scorn and defiance, -and then--he made his speech. I was not surprised; no girl compelled to -walk alone in London, and especially at night, could be surprised at -anything that might be said to her; but I was disgusted and frightened, -and tried to run. The man ran by my side--I saw then that he was -drunk--and tried to catch hold of me. I was in a dreadful fright, and -I suppose I looked so, for a gentleman who was coming out of the hotel -at the corner of South Molton Street stepped hurriedly out, and said, -'I beg your pardon--is this person annoying you?' Before I could reply, -the man said something--too horrible--about me and himself, and the -next moment he was lying in the road; the gentleman had taken him by -the collar and flung him there. He got up, and rushed at the gentleman; -but by this time a policeman who had seen it all crossed the street, -and made him go away. Then the gentleman took off his hat, and begged -leave to see me to my door. I allowed him to do so--it was foolish, I -know, mother, but I was all unnerved, and scarcely knew what I did; -and when we arrived at Mrs. Gillott's I thanked him, and bade him -Goodnight. He took off his hat again, and left me at once.</p> - -<p>"He found out who I was--how, I don't know--for next day I had a polite -note, hoping I had quite recovered from my alarm, expressed in the most -gentlemanly manner, and signed 'Paul Douglas.' I have met him several -times since, always in the street, and have walked and talked with -him. He is always most polite and respectful, but of course professes -himself to be madly in love. Yesterday, for the first time, I found -out who he is. He has an appointment in a Government office, the -'Stannaries' they call it, and his family live somewhere in the West of -England. They are evidently well off, and he, Paul, is what they call a -'swell.' Very good-looking, slight and dark, about five-and-twenty, and -always beautifully dressed.</p> - -<p>"You don't fear me, mother? You have sufficient reliance on me to know -that I would never discredit your training. You will want to know -whether I am in love with this young man. I think I am--so far. And you -need not be afraid. He vows--everything, of course; but he is too much -of a gentleman, in the first place, to offer to insult me, and in the -second--well, to speak plainly, he knows it would be of no use. Is this -the chance that you taught me to look for? I think it is. But we shall -soon know. Meanwhile believe in the thorough discretion of your loving -daughter</p> - -<p style="text-indent:60%">FANNY."</p> - - -<p>Up and down the soft turf path paced Mrs. Stothard in the glorious -summer evening, with the open letter in her hand, deep in cogitation. -Her head was bent upon her breast, and occasionally raised as she -referred to the paper. Suddenly a light gleamed in her face; she -hurriedly re-perused the letter, folding it so as only to make herself -thorough mistress of a certain portion of its contents, and then she -smiled a hard grim smile, and said to herself in a hard bitter voice:</p> - -<p>"Of course, of course! What an idiot I was not to see it at once! -The mention of the Stannaries Office might have convinced me, if all -my senses had not been blunted by my wretched work in this wretched -place! Douglas, indeed! Paul Douglas is Paul Derinzy; slight, dark, -handsome--none but he! Family in the West of England, too--no doubt of -it! And in love with my Fan! Oh, my dear friends, I'll spoil your game -yet! I'm so blind. Quiet and seclusion for dear Annette's health; no -other reason, oh no! Not to keep her out of the way of fortune-hunters, -and save her up for our son, oh dear no! That shall never be! Our son -shall marry my Fan! What is it? 'The sins of the fathers shall be -visited on the children.' I never believed much in that sort of thing; -but in this instance it really looks as though there were something in -it."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_07" href="#div1Ref_07">CHAPTER VII.</a></h4> -<h5>FRIENDS IN COUNCIL.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>Those persons to whom London is a home--a place to be lived in all -the year round, save on the occasion of the two months' holiday, when -one rushes off to the North, or to the sea, or to the Continent, -returning with a renewed stock of health, and a pleasurable sense of -having enjoyed yourself, but with a still more pleasurable sense of -being back again in town--are very much amused at a notion prevalent -amongst many worthy people who arrive at their own or at a hired house -in the month of March, stay there till the end of the month of June, -and go away fancying that they know London. Know London! A lifetime's -earnest devotion does not suffice for that study, and those people -who talk thus have not even the merest smattering of its topography. -Their London used to be bounded on the west by the Knightsbridge -Barracks--even now they acknowledge nothing beyond Princes Terrace. -On the south-west they have penetrated as far as Onslow Square; the -territory beyond that might be full of tiger-lairs and hiding-places -for dragons, for all they know about it. Of the suburbs, beyond such -knowledge as they derive from an occasional visit to the Star and -Garter at Richmond, they know absolutely nothing. They do not know, and -it would not make the smallest difference to them if they did, that if, -instead of cantering up and down that ghastly, treeless, sun-scorched -mile of gravel, the Row, they chose to turn their horses' heads -north-westward, they could find shade in the green Willesden lanes -and air on the breezy Hendon heights. They do not know that within a -very short distance of Hyde Park there are shady lanes half hidden -in greenery, dotted here and there with quaint old-fashioned houses -standing in the midst of large grounds--some with gardens sloping -away towards the river; others with enormous trees overhanging them, -blotting out all view or vista; and others again with such an expanse -of what the auctioneers are pleased to term "park-like grounds" visible -from their windows, that you would have no idea of the immediate -proximity of London, save for the never-varying presence of the -smoke-wreath hanging over the horizon, and the never-ceasing, save on -Sundays, dull rumble of distant traffic, which grinds on the ear like -the monotonous surging of the waves upon the shore.</p> - -<p>In one of these metropolitan suburbs, no matter which, stood and stands -the house which at the period of our story was George Wainwright's -home, the residence of his father, Dr. Wainwright. It was a big, long, -rambling, red-faced old house, with an enormous number of rooms, -some large and some small, standing in the midst of a large garden. -Tradition said that it had been a favourite residence of Cromwell's; -but it was generally believed, and the belief was not ill-founded, -that it had been given by the Lord Protector to the husband of his -favourite daughter, and that he himself had frequently been in the -habit of staying there. At the end of the first quarter of the present -century it had a very different occupant from the grim old Ironsides -leader, being rented by the Countess Delia Crusca, the wittiest, the -most beautiful, the most extravagant, the most fascinating woman of her -day. Old Knaves of Clubs still <i>raffolent</i> about the Delia Crusca, her -eyes and her poems, her bust and her repartees. She had a husband?--Oh -yes! the Count Delia Crusca, ex-officer of Bersaglieri and one of the -first naturalists of his day, corresponding member of all the principal -European societies, and perfectly devoted to his favourite pursuit; so -devoted, that he was invariably away in some distant foreign country, -engaged in hunting for specimens. The Countess was an Englishwoman, -daughter of Captain Ramus, half-pay, educated at a convent in Paris, -under the guidance of her maternal aunt, Miss Coghlan, of Letterkenney -in Ireland. Immediately on issuing from the convent she eloped with -Count Della Crusca, whose acquaintance she had made in a casual manner -in the <i>coupé</i> of one of the diligences belonging to Messrs. Lafitte, -Caillard et Cie. A very short time served to prove to them that they -had no tastes in common. Madame la Comtesse did not care for natural -history, which the Count loved, and she did care for England, which the -Count loathed. So he went his way, in pursuit of specimens, and she -went hers to England. She arrived in London, and Marston Moor House -being to let, she took it.</p> - -<p>Some of us are yet alive who recollect the little saccharine poems, the -plaintive little sonnets, the--well, yes, to speak the truth--the washy -three-volume novels which were composed in that sturdy old building -and dated thence. Sturdy outside, but lovely within. Such furniture: -white satin and gold, black satin and red trimming; such pictures, and -statues, and busts; such looking-glasses let into the walls at every -conceivable place; such hanging baskets and ormolu clocks, and Dresden -and Sčvres china; such Chinese fans, and Indian screens, and Turkish -yataghans and Malay creeses; such books--at least, such bindings; such -a satinwood desk, at which the Countess penned her inspirations; such a -solemn-sounding library clock, which had belonged to Marie Antoinette; -such lion-skins and leopard-skins for rugs; such despatch-boxes with -the Della Cruscan coronet and cipher; such waste-paper baskets always -littered with proof-sheets! The garden! never was anything seen like -that! It was not much more than half an acre, but Smiff, the great -landscape gardener, made it look more like a square mile. Delightfully -rustic and English here, quaintly Dutch there, Italian terraced a -little lower down, small avenue, vista broken by the fountain; might be -a thousand miles away from London, so everyone said. Everyone said so, -because everyone came there. Who was everyone? Well, the Grand-Duke of -Schweinerei was someone, at all events. Ex-Grand-Duke, I should have -said, recollecting that some years before, the people of Schweinerei, -although by no means a strait-laced people, grew so disgusted at the -"goings-on" of their reigning potentate, that they rose in revolt, and -incontinently kicked him out. Then he came to England, where he has -remained ever since, dwelling in a big house, and occupying his spare -time with fighting newspapers for libelling him in a very blackguard -and un-English manner. His highness is an elderly, short, fat man, -with admirably-fitting wig and whiskers of the Tyrian purple. He has -dull bleary eyes, pendulous cheeks, and a great fat double chin. He -is covered all over with diamonds: his studs are diamonds; he wears -a butterfly diamond brooch on the knot of his white cravat; his -waistcoat-buttons are diamonds; his sleeve-links are diamonds; and he -resembles the old woman of Banbury Cross in having (diamond) rings on -his fingers, and probably, for all the historian knows to the contrary, -on his toes.</p> - -<p>Who else came there? A tall, thin, dark man, with a long face like a -sheep's head, a full dull eye, a long nose, a very long upper lip, -arid a retreating chin. Prince Bernadotte of the Lipari Isles, also -an exile, but one who has since been recalled to his kingdom. Nobody -thought much of Prince Bernadotte in those days. He lived in cheap -chambers in London, and used to play billiards with <i>coiffeurs</i> and -<i>agents de change</i> and <i>commis voyageurs</i> from the hotels in Leicester -Square; and who went into a very little English society, where he -always sat silent and reserved, and where they thought very little of -him. He must have been marvellously misunderstood then, or must have -grown into quite a different kind of man when he sat smoking his cigar -with his feet on the fender in the Elysée, and to all inquiries made -but the one reply, "<i>Qu'on exécute mes orders!</i>"--those "ordres" being -fulfilled in the massacre of the Boulevards.</p> - -<p>Who else? <i>Savans</i>, philosophers, barristers, poets, newspaper-writers, -novelists, caricaturists, eminent physicians and surgeons, fiddlers, -foreigners, anybody who had done anything which had given him the -merest temporary notoriety was welcome, so long as he came at the time. -And they never failed to do that. The society was so delightful, the -welcome was so warm, the eating and drinking were so good, that there -was never any chance of an invitation to Marston Moor House being -refused. Thither came Fermez, the opera <i>impresario</i>, driving down -a couple of lords in his phaeton; and Tom Gilks, the scene-painter -of Covent Garden, who arrived per omnibus; and Whiston, who had just -written that tremendous pamphlet on the religious controversy of -the day; and Rupert Robinson, who had sat up all the previous night -to finish his burlesque, and who was so enchanted with the personal -appearance of the Grand-Duke of Schweinerei, that he wanted to carry -him off bodily--rings, diamonds, wig, whiskers, and all--to Madame -Tussaud's Exhibition. Dinners and balls, conversazioni and fętes--with -the garden illuminated with Italian lamps, and supper served in -extemporised pavilions--two royal dukes, in addition to standard -celebrities, and foreign princes in town for the season--without end.</p> - -<div style="margin-left:5%; font-size:smaller"> -<p class="continue">Vain transitory splendour! could not all -Retain the tott'ring mansion from its fall?</p> -</div> - -<p class="continue">Apparently not. One morning the servants at Marston Moor House got -up, to find their mistress had risen before them, or rather had not -been to bed at all, having decamped during the night with the plate -and all the portable valuables, and left an enormous army of creditors -behind her. There was weeping and wailing round the neighbourhood for -months; but tears and outcries did not pay the defrauded tradespeople, -and they never had any money. Nobody ever knew who received the money -realised by the sale of the furniture, &c, though that ought to have -been something considerable, for there never was a sale so tremendously -attended, or at which things fetched such high prices. All the ladies -of high rank who combined frightful stupidity with rigid virtue, and -who would as soon have thought of walking into Tophet as of crossing -Madame Della Crusca's threshold, rushed to Marston Moor House so soon -as its proprietress had fled, and bought eagerly at the sale. The large -looking-glass which formed the back of the alcove in which Madame -Delia Crusca's bed was placed now figures in the boudoir, or, as it -is generally called, the work-room, of the Countess of Textborough, -and is scarcely so happy in its reflections as in former days. The -satinwood desk fell to the nod of Mrs. Quisby, who used to follow the -Queen's hounds in a deep-pink jacket and a short skirt, and who now -holds forth on Sunday afternoons at the infant schools in Badger's -Buildings, Mayfair, and is especially hard on the Scarlet Woman. Many -of the old <i>habitués</i> attended, and bought well-remembered scraps for -<i>souvenirs</i>. Finally everything, down to the kitchen pots and pans, the -stable buckets and the gardeners' implements, were cleared off, and a -big painted board frowned in the great courtyard, informing the British -public that that eligible mansion was to let.</p> - -<p>Not for long did that black-and-white board blossom in that flinty -soil. Within three weeks of the sale a rumour ran through London -that an <i>al-fresco</i> place of entertainment on a magnificent scale -was about to be opened on what had been the Della-Cruscan property, -and that Wuff, the great Wuff, the most enterprising man of his day, -was at the back of it. Straightway the board was pulled down, and an -army of painters, and decorators, and plumbers, and builders, and -Irish gentlemen in flannel jackets, and Italian gentlemen in slouch -wideawakes and paint-stained gaberdines, took possession of the place. -Big rooms were converted into supper and dining-rooms, and small rooms -into <i>cabinets particuliers</i>; a row of supper-boxes on the old Vauxhall -pattern sprang up in the grounds, which, moreover, were tastefully -planted with gas-lamps, with plaster-of-Paris statues, with two or -three sham fountains, and with grottos made of slag and shiny-faced -bricks. Then, on an Easter Monday, the place was opened with a ballet, -with dancing on the circular platform, with Signor Simioso's performing -monkeys, and with a grand display of fireworks. Very good, all this; -but somehow it didn't draw. The great Wuff did all he could; sent an -enormous power of legs into the ballet; engaged the most excruciatingly -funny comic singers, put silver rosettes into the button-holes and -silver-gilt wands into the hands of all the masters of the ceremonies -on the circular platform; and had Guffino il Diavolo flying from the -top of the pasteboard Leaning Tower of Pisa into the canvas Lake of -Geneva, down a wire, with a squib in his cap, and one in each of his -heels--and yet the public would not come. The great Wuff tried it for -two seasons, and then gave it up in despair.</p> - -<p>Up went the black-and-white board again; to be taken down at the -bidding of Mrs. Trimmer, who, having a very good boarding-school for -young ladies at Highgate, thought she might increase her connection -by establishing herself in a more eligible neighbourhood. The board -had been up so long, that the proprietor of the house was willing, -not merely to take a reduced rent, but to pull up the gas-lamps, and -pull down the supper-boxes, and restore the garden, not indeed to its -original state of beauty, but to decency and order. The rooms were -repapered (it must be owned that Wuff's taste in decoration had been -loud), and the name of the house changed from Marston Moor to Cornelia. -Then Mrs. Trimmer took possession, and brought her young friends with -her, and they throve and multiplied exceedingly; and all went well -until Mrs. Trimmer died, and there was no one to carry on the business; -and the board went up, and remained up longer than ever.</p> - -<p>No one knew exactly when or how the house was taken again. The -proprietor, hoping to get another school-keeper for a tenant, the -house being too large for ordinary domestic purposes, had bought Mrs. -Trimmer's furniture--the iron bedsteads and school fittings--for a -song, and had placed an old woman in charge. One day this old woman put -her luggage, consisting of a blue bundle, and herself into a cab, and -went away. A few carpenters had arrived from town in the morning, and -had occupied themselves in fitting iron bars to the interior of some of -the windows. During the greater portion of that night carriages were -heard rolling up the lane in which the back entrance to the house was -situated, and the next day smoke was seen issuing from the chimneys; -a big brass plate with the name of "Dr. Bulph" was screwed on to the -iron gates of the carriage-drive, and two or three strong-built men -were noticed going in and out of the premises. Gradually it became -known that Dr. Bulph was a physician celebrated for his treatment of -the insane, a "mad-doctor," as the neighbours called him; and women and -children used to skurry past the old red garden-walls as though they -thought the inmates were climbing over to get at them. But the house -was so thoroughly well-conducted, so quietly and with such excellent -discipline, that people soon thought nothing of it, any more than of -any other of the big mansions in the neighbourhood; and when Dr. Bulph -retired, and Dr. Wainwright succeeded him, the door-plate had actually -been changed for some days before the neighbours noticed it.</p> - -<p>Dr. Wainwright made many changes in the establishment. He was a man of -great fame for several specialities, and was constantly being called -away to patients in the country. He considerably enlarged the old -house, and brought to it a better and wealthier class of patients, who -were attended, under his supervision, by two resident surgeons. Dr. -Wainwright did not live in the house. In addition to his practice he -worked very hard with his pen, contributing largely to the principal -medical Scientific reviews and journals, and corresponding with -many continental <i>savans</i>. For all this work he required solitude -and silence; and, as he was a widower, he was able to enjoy both in -a set of chambers in the Albany, where he could go in and out as -he liked, and where no unwelcome visitor could get at him. He had -consulting-rooms in Grosvenor Square; and when in town, was to be found -there between ten and one; but after those hours it was impossible to -know where to catch him.</p> - -<p>But George Wainwright lived at the old house, or rather in an -outbuilding in the grounds, sole remainder of Mr. Wuff's erections; -which had been converted to his use, and which yielded him a large, -high-roofed, roomy studio, and a capital bedroom, both on the ground -floor. The studio was no misnomer for the living-room; for, in addition -to his Civil-Service work, George followed art with deep and earnest -devotion, and was known and recognised as one of the best amateurs of -the day. Men whose names stood very high in the art-world were his -friends; and on winter nights the studio would be filled with members -of that pleasant Bohemian society, discussing their craft and its -members and such cognate subjects. George was a great reader also, and -had a goodly store of books littering the tables or ranged on common -shelves, disputing possession of the walls with choice bits of his -friends' painting or half-finished attempts of his own. In the middle -of the room stood a quaintly-carved old black-oak desk, ink-blotted and -penknife-hacked, with some pages of manuscript and some slips of proof -lying on it--for George, who had been educated in Germany, was in the -habit of contributing essays on abstruse questions of German philosophy -and metaphysics to a monthly review of very portentous weight--and in -the corner was a cabinet piano, covered with loose leaves of music, -scraps from oratorios, <i>studenten-lieder</i>, bits of Bach and Glück, -glees of Purcell and Arne, and even ballads by Claribel. Some of -George's painter friends had formed themselves into a singing-club and -sang very sweetly; and the greatest treat that could be offered to -the inmates of the house was these fellows' musical performances. The -young swells of the Stannaries Office wondered why George Wainwright -was never seen at casino, singing and supper-houses, or other of those -resorts which they specially affected. They looked upon him as somewhat -of a fogey, and could not understand what a bright, genial, jolly -fellow like Paul Derinzy could see to like in him. He was kind and -good-natured and all that, they owned, as indeed they had often proved -by loans of "sovs" and "fivers," when the end of the quarter had left -them dry; but he was an uncomfortable sort of chap, they said, and was -always by himself.</p> - -<p>He was by himself the evening of the day after that on which he had -seen Paul Derinzy walking with Daisy in Kensington Gardens. He had -had a light dinner at his club, and thence walked straight away -home, where, on his arrival at his den, he had lit a big pipe and -thrown himself into an easy-chair, and sat watching the blue smoke -curling above his head, and pondering over the present and the future -of his friend. George Wainwright had a stronger feeling than mere -liking for Paul; there was a touch of romance in the regard which the -good-looking, bright, easy-going young man had aroused in his steady, -sober, practical senior. George was too much a man of the world to -thrill with horror because he had seen his friend in the company of a -pretty girl, and come across what was evidently a lovers' meeting. But -his knowledge of Paul's character was large and well-founded; in the -mere glance which he had got of the pair as they stood together in the -act of saying adieu, he had caught an expression in his friend's face -which intuitively led him to feel that the woman who could call up such -a look of intense earnest devotion was no mere passing light-o'-love; -and as George thought over the scene, and reproduced it, time after -time, from the storehouse of his memory, he puffed fiercer blasts from -his pipe, and shook his head in an unsettled, not to say desponding -manner.</p> - -<p>While he was thus occupied he heard steps on the gravel-walk outside, -then a tap at the door. Opening it, Paul Derinzy stood before him.</p> - -<p>"Just the man I was thinking about, and come exactly in the nick of -time! <i>Alma quies optata, veni!</i> Not that you can be called <i>alma -quies</i>, you restless bird of the night! What's the matter? what are you -making signs about?" asked George.</p> - -<p>"That idiot, Billy Dunlop, is with me," replied Paul, grinning; "he -is doing some of his pantomime nonsense outside;" and, indeed, George -Wainwright, peering out in the darkness, could make out a stout figure -approaching with cautious gestures, which, when it emerged into the -lamplight, proved to be Mr. Dunlop.</p> - -<p>"Hallo, Billy! what are you at? Come in, man; light a pipe, and be -happy."</p> - -<p>But Mr. Dunlop, true to his character of comic man, did not enter the -room quietly, but came in with a little rush, and then, his knees -knocking together in simulated abject terror, asked:</p> - -<p>"Am I safe? Can none of them get at me?"</p> - -<p>"None of whom?"</p> - -<p>"None of the patients. I was in such a fright coming up that garden, I -could scarcely speak. I thought I saw eyes behind every laurestinus; -and--I suppose the staff of keepers is adequate, in case any of 'em -<i>should</i> prove rampagious?"</p> - -<p>"Oh yes, it's all right. Have you never been here before?"</p> - -<p>"Never, sir; and I don't think, provided I get safe away this time, -that I'm ever likely to come again."</p> - -<p>"You're complimentary; but now you are here, sit down and have a drink. -Spirits there in that stand, soda-water here in the window-seat, ice in -that refrigerator by the door. Or stay, let me make you the new Yankee -drink that has just come up--a cobbler. There are plenty of straws -somewhere about."</p> - -<p>"I should think so," said Billy, in a stage-whisper to Paul. "He gets -'em out of the patients' heads. Lunatics always stick straws in their -heads, vide the drama <i>passim</i>. I say, Wainwright, while you're mixing -the grog, may I run out and have a look at the night-watch?"</p> - -<p>"The what?" asked George, raising his head.</p> - -<p>"The night-watch, you know;" and Mr. Dunlop sat down at the piano, -squared his elbows, contorted his face, and with much ludicrous -exaggeration burst forth:</p> - -<p style="font-size:smaller">"Hush-sh-sh-sh! 'tis the NIGHT-WATCH!! he gy-ards my lonely cell!</p> - - -<p class="continue" style="font-size:smaller">"Now don't you say that he doesn't, you know, because I've Mr. Henry -Russell's authority that he does. So produce your night-watch!"</p> - -<p>"Don't make such a row, Billy!" cried Paul; "there's no night-watch, or -anything else of the sort."</p> - -<p>"What! do you mean to say that I did not see her dancing in the hall? -that I am not cold, bitter cold? that his glimmering lamp no more I -see? and that no, no, by hav-vens, I am not ma-a-ad?" With these words, -uttered in the wildest tones, Mr. Dunlop cast himself at full length -on the sofa, whence arising immediately with a placid countenance, he -said: "Gentlemen, if you wish thus to uproot and destroy the tenderest -associations of childhood, I shall be happy, when I have finished my -drink, to wish you a good-evening, and return home."</p> - -<p>"I can't think what the deuce you came for," said Paul, with a smile. -"He looked in at the club where I was dining, hoping to meet you, and -where I heard you had been and gone, and asked me whether I wasn't -going to evening service. When I told him 'yes,' he said he would come -with me; and all the way along he has done nothing but growl at the -pace I was walking, and the length of the way."</p> - -<p>"Don't mind me, Mr. Wainwright," said Billy, politely; "pray let the -gentleman go on. I am not the Stannaries Stag, sir, and I never laid -claim to the title; consequently it's no degradation to me to avow that -I can't keep on heeling and toeing it at the rate of seven miles an -hour for long. As it happens, I have a friend in the neighbourhood, a -fisherman, who has managed to combine a snack-bend with a Kirby hook -in a manner which he assures me--pardon me, dear sirs, those imbecile -grins remind me that I am speaking to men who don't know a stone-fly -from a gentle; that I have been throwing my--I needn't finish the -sentence. I have finished the drink. Mr. Wainwright, have the goodness -to see me off the premises, and, in the words of the distraught -Ophelia--to whom, by-the-way, I daresay your talented father would have -been called in, had he happened to live in Denmark at the time--'let -out the maid who'--goodnight!"</p> - -<p>When George Wainwright returned, alone, he found Paul, who had lighted -a cigar, walking up and down the room, his hands plunged in his -pockets, his chin down upon his chest. George went up to him, and -putting his hand affectionately on his shoulder, said:</p> - -<p>"What brought you down here to-night, young 'un? The last rats must -have deserted the sinking ship of Fashion and Season when you clear out -of it to come down to Diogenes in his tub. Not but that I'm delighted -to see you; all I want to know is why?"</p> - -<p>"I was nervous and restless, George; a little tired of fools and -frippery, and--and myself. I wanted you to blow a little of the ozone -of common sense into me, you know!"</p> - -<p>"Oh yes, I know," said George Wainwright; but he uttered the words in -such deep solemn tones that Paul turned upon him suddenly, saying:</p> - -<p>"You know? Well, what do you know?"</p> - -<p>"I know why you could not play tennis, or come to the Oval, or walk to -Hendon with me yesterday afternoon."</p> - -<p>"The deuce you do! And why?"</p> - -<p>"For a very sufficient reason to a young fellow of five-and-twenty!" -said George, with a rather melancholy grin. "Look here, Paul; I don't -think you'll imagine I'm a spy, or a meddling, impertinent busybody, -and I'm sure you'll believe it was by the merest accident that I was -crossing Kensington Gardens last evening, and there saw a friend of -mine in deep conversation with a very handsome young lady."</p> - -<p>"The deuce you did!" cried Paul, turning very red. "What then?"</p> - -<p>"Ah!" said George, filling his pipe, "that's exactly the point--what -then?"</p> - -<p>"What a provoking old beggar you are! Why do you echo me? Why don't you -go on?"</p> - -<p>"It's for you to go on, my boy! What are your relations--or what are -they to be--with this handsome girl?"</p> - -<p>"She is handsome, is she not?"</p> - -<p>"Beautiful!"</p> - -<p>"'Gad! she must be to strike fire out of an old flint like you, -George!" cried Paul. "What are my relations with her? Strictly proper, -I give you my word."</p> - -<p>"And you intend to marry her?"</p> - -<p>"How the man jumps at an idea! Well, no; I don't know at all that I -intend that."</p> - -<p>"Not the--the other thing, Paul? No; you're, to say the least of it, -too much of a gentleman. You don't intend that."</p> - -<p>"I don't intend anything, I tell you. Can't a man talk to a pretty girl -without 'intention'?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know, Paul. I'm quite incompetent to pronounce any opinion -on such matters; only--only see here: I look on you as on a younger -brother, and, prompted by my regard for you, I may say many things -which you may dislike."</p> - -<p>"Well, say away, old George; you won't offend me."</p> - -<p>"Well, then, if this is a good honest girl, and you don't intend to -marry her, you ought not to be meeting her, and walking with her, and -leading her to believe that she will attain to a position through you -which she never would otherwise; and if she isn't an honest girl you -ought never to have spoken to her."</p> - -<p>Paul Derinzy laughed, the quiet easy chuckle of a man of the world, as -he replied to his simple senior:</p> - -<p>"She <i>is</i> a good, honest girl, no doubt of that. But suppose the -question of marriage had never risen between us, and she still liked -to meet me and to walk with me, what then? In the gravel paths of -Kensington Gardens, Pamela herself might have strolled with Captain -Lovelace himself without fear. Why should not I with--with this young -lady?"</p> - -<p>"Because, though you don't know it, you're deceiving yourself and -deceiving her; because the whole thing is incongruous and won't fit, -however you may try to make it do so; because it's wrong, however much -you may slur it over. Look here, Paul; suppose, just for the sake of -argument, that you wanted to marry this girl--you're as weak as water, -and there's no accounting for what you might wish--you know your people -would oppose it in the very strongest way, and----"</p> - -<p>"Oh, if I chose it, my 'people,' as you call them, must have it, or -leave it alone, which would be quite immaterial to me."</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes, no doubt; but still----"</p> - -<p>"Look here, George; let's bring this question to a practical issue. -I'm ten times more a man of the world than you, though you are an old -fogey, and clever and sensible and all that. What you are aiming it is -that I must give up this girl. Well, then, shortly, I won't!"</p> - -<p>"And why won't you?"</p> - -<p>"For a reason you can't understand, you old mole, burrowed down here -under your paintings, and your fugues, and your dreary old German -philosophers--because I love her; because I think of her from morning -till night, and from night till morning again; because her bright -face and her gay creamy skin come between me and those beastly old -minutes and memoranda that we have to write at the shop; and when I'm -lying awake in Hanover Street, or even sitting surrounded by a lot of -gabbling idiots in the smoking-room of the club, I can see her gray -eyes looking at me, and----"</p> - -<p>"Oh Lord!" said George Wainwright, with a piteous smile; "I had no idea -I'd let myself in for this!"</p> - -<p>"You have, my dear old George, and for a lot more at a future time. -Just now I came out to you because I was horribly restless, and Billy -fastened himself on to me at the club, and I could not shake him off. -But I want to talk to you about it seriously, George--seriously, you -understand!"</p> - -<p>"Whenever you like, Paul; but I expect you'll only get one scrap of -advice out of me, repeated, as I fear, <i>ad nauseam</i>."</p> - -<p>"And that is?"</p> - -<p>"Give her up! give her up! give her up! Cato's powers of iteration in -the <i>delenda est Carthago</i> business will prove weak as compared to mine -in this."</p> - -<p>"You'll find me stubborn, George."</p> - -<p>"Buffon gives stubbornness as a characteristic of your class, Paul. -Goodnight, old man."</p> - -<p>"Goodnight, God bless you! To-morrow as per usual, I suppose?" and he -was gone.</p> - -<p>Alone once more, George Wainwright threw himself again into the -easy-chair and renewed his pipe; but he shook his head more than ever, -and when he did speak, it was only to mutter to himself: "Worse than I -thought! Don't see the way out of that. Must look into this, and take -care that Paul does not make a fool of himself."</p> - -<p>When the clock struck midnight he rose, yawned, stretched, and seemed -more than half inclined to turn towards his cosy bedroom, which opened -from the studio; but he shook himself together, and saying, "Poor dear, -she would not sleep if I did not say goodnight to her, I suppose!" lit -a lamp, and took his way across the garden to the house.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_08" href="#div1Ref_08">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h4> -<h5>CORRIDOR NO. 4.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>Across the garden, and through an iron gate which he unlocked, and -which itself formed part of a railing shutting off one wing of the -house from the rest and from the grounds, George Wainwright walked; -then up a short flight of steps, topped by a heavy door, which he -also unlocked with a master key which he took from his pocket, and -which closed behind him with a heavy clang; through a short stone -passage, in a room leading off which, immediately inside the door--a -bright, snug, cheerful little room, with a handful of fire alight in -the grate, and the gas burning brightly over the mantelpiece, and a -tea-tray and appurtenances brightly shining on the table--was a young -woman--handsome, black-eyed, and rosy-cheeked, tall, strongly built, -and neatly dressed in a close-fitting dark-gray gown--who started up at -the sound of the approaching footsteps, and presented herself at the -door.</p> - -<p>"You on duty, Miss Marshall?" said George, with a smile and a bow.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Mr. George, it's my night-turn again; comes round quicker than -one thinks for, or than one hopes for, indeed! Going to see your -sweetheart as usual, Mr. George?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; I don't often miss; never, indeed, when I'm at home."</p> - -<p>"Ah, if all other men were as thoughtful and as kind and as true to -their sweethearts as you are to yours, there would be less need for -these sort of houses in the world, Mr. George," said the young woman, -with a somewhat scornful toss of her head.</p> - -<p>"Come, come, Miss Marshall," cried George, laughingly, "you've no -occasion to talk in that manner, I'm sure. Besides, I might retort, -and say that if all women were as kind and as loving and as pleased to -see their sweethearts as mine is to see me, if they remained true to -them for as many years as mine has remained true to me, if they were -as patient and as quiet--yes, and I think as silent--as mine is, they -would have a greater chance of retaining men's affections."</p> - -<p>"Poor dear Madame!" said Miss Marshall. "Ah, you don't see many like -her!"</p> - -<p>"I never saw one," said George. "But she will be keeping awake on the -chance of my coming to say goodnight to her."</p> - -<p>And with another smile and bow he passed on.</p> - -<p>First down another and a longer stone passage, the doors leading from -either side of which were wide open, showing bathrooms, kitchens, and -other domestic penetralia; then up a flight of stairs to a landing -covered with cocoa-nut matting, and giving on to a long corridor, -on the stone-coloured wall of which was painted in large black -letters, "Corridor No. 4." Closed doors here--doors of dormitories, -where the inmates were shut in for the night: some tossing on their -dream-haunted pillows; some haply--God knows--enjoying a mental rest -as soft and sweet as the slumber which enchained them, borne away to -the bygone days, when they thought and felt and knew, ere the brain was -distraught, and the memory snapped, and the mind either warped or void. -All was perfectly quiet as George passed along, stopping at length -before a door which was closed but not locked, and at which he tapped -lightly. Lightly, but with a sound which was quickly heard, for a soft -voice cried immediately "<i>Entrez!</i>" and he opened the door, and went in.</p> - -<p>It was a pretty little room, considerably too lofty for its breadth--a -long narrow slip of a place, which some people with pleasant -development of mortuary tendencies might have rendered unpleasantly -like a grave. But it was tricked out with a pretty wall-paper, all -rosebuds and green leaves; some good photographs of foreign scenery -were framed on the walls; a wooden Swiss peasant with a clock-face let -into the centre of his waistcoat, and its works ticking and running and -whirring away in the centre of his anatomy, stood on the mantelpiece; -the fireplace was filled up with bright-gilded shavings; and the bed, -instead of being the mere ordinary iron stump bedstead to be found in -other dormitories of the house, was gay with white hangings, and blue -bows tastefully disposed here and there.</p> - -<p>On it lay a woman, who had risen on her elbow at George's knock, and -who remained in the same attitude, awaiting his approach. A woman of -small stature evidently, and delicately made, with small well-cut -features and small bones. Her hair, as snow-white as the cap under -which it was looped up, contrasted oddly with the deep ruddy bronze -of her complexion; such bronze as, travelling south, you first begin -to notice among the Lyonnaises, and afterwards find so common along -the shores of the Mediterranean. But Time, though he had changed the -colour of her locks--and to be so very white now, they must necessarily -have been raven black before--had failed in dimming the lustre of her -marvellous eyes; they remained large, and dark, and appealing, as they -must have been in earliest youth. Full of liquid love and kindliness -were they too, as they beamed a welcome to George, a welcome seconded -by her outstretched hand, which rested on his head as he bent down -beside her.</p> - -<p>"You are late, George," she said, with the faintest foreign accent; -"but I had not given you up."</p> - -<p>"No, <i>maman</i>, you know better than that; you know that whenever I am -at home I never think of going to bed without saying goodnight to -<i>maman</i>. But I am late, dear; I have had friends sitting with me, and -they have only just gone."</p> - -<p>"Friends, eh? Ah, that must be odd to see friends. And you took -them for a <i>promenade</i> on the Lac, and you---- <i>Ah, bah! quelle -enfantillage!</i> your friends were men, of course. Some of those who sing -so sweetly sometimes? No! but still men? Ah, no one else has ever come -here."</p> - -<p>"No one else, <i>maman?</i>"</p> - -<p>"See, George, come closer. <i>She</i> has not come?"</p> - -<p>"No, <i>maman</i>," said the young man, rising, and regarding her with a -look of genuine affection and pity. "No, <i>maman</i>, not yet."</p> - -<p>"Ah, not yet--always not yet," she said, letting her elbow relax, and -falling back in the bed--"always not yet!" And she covered her face -with her hands, removing them after a few minutes to say: "But she will -come? she will come?"</p> - -<p>"Oh yes, dear, let us trust so," said George, quietly.</p> - -<p>She looked at him, first earnestly, then wistfully, for several -minutes; then she dried the tears which, unseen by him, almost unknown -to her, had been trickling down her face, and said in a trembling -voice: "Goodnight, my boy."</p> - -<p>"Goodnight, <i>maman</i>. God bless you!"</p> - -<p>And he bent over her, and kissed her forehead.</p> - -<p>"<i>Dieu me bénisse!</i>" she said, with a half-smile. "In time, George, -when <i>she</i> comes back! Meantime, <i>Dieu te bénisse</i>, my son!"</p> - -<p>He bent his head again, and she encircled it with her arms, brushed -each of his cheeks with her lips, and kissed his hand; then murmuring, -"Goodnight," sank back on her pillow.</p> - -<p>George took up his lamp, and crept silently from the room, and down -the corridor, down the stairs, and towards the outer door. As he -passed Miss Marshall's room he looked in, and saw her, bright, brisk, -and cheerful, sitting at her needlework, an epitome of neatness and -propriety. George could not refrain from stopping in his progress, and -saying:</p> - -<p>"You don't look much like a 'keeper,' Miss Marshall. I had a friend -with me to-night, who laughingly asked me to show him the night-watch -of such places as these, of whom he had read in songs and novels. I -think he would have been rather astonished if I had brought him across -the garden and introduced him to you."</p> - -<p>"Oh, they're not much 'count, those kind of trash, I think, Mr. -George," said Miss Marshall, who was eminently practical. "I read about -'em often enough when I was a nursery-governess, and before I came into -the profession. I daresay he expected to see a man with big whiskers, -with a sword and a brace of pistols in his belt, and perhaps two big -dogs following him up and down the passages! At least, I know that -used to be my idea. You found Madame Vaughan all well and quiet and -comfortable, Mr. George? And left her so, no doubt?"</p> - -<p>"Oh yes. She was just the same as usual, poor dear."</p> - -<p>"Oh, poor dear, indeed! If they were all like her, one need not grumble -about one's life here. There never was such a sweet creature. I'm sure -if one-half of the sane women, the sensible creatures who expect one to -possess all the cardinal virtues and to look after four of their brats -for sixteen pounds a-year, were anything like as nice, or as sensible, -or as sane, for the matter of that, as Madame Vaughan, the world would -be a much nicer place to live in. She expected you, I suppose, sir?"</p> - -<p>George Wainwright knew perfectly that Miss Marshall was, as the phrase -is, "making conversation;" that she cared little about the patient -whose state she was discussing; cared probably less about him. But -he knew also that in the discharge of her duty she had to sit up all -night, until relieved by one of the day-nurses at six o'clock in the -morning; that she naturally enough grasped at any chance of making -a portion, however small, of this time pass more pleasantly, with -somebody to look at and somebody's voice to listen to. And she was a -pretty girl and a good girl, and he was not particularly tired and was -particularly good-natured; so he thought he would stop and chat with -her for a few minutes.</p> - -<p>"Oh yes, she expected me," he said; "so I should have been horribly -sorry if I had neglected to go to her. One must be selfish indeed to -deny anyone so much pleasure when it can be afforded by merely stepping -across the garden."</p> - -<p>"Did she speak of the usual subject, sir?"</p> - -<p>"The child? Oh, yes; asked if anyone had come, as usual; and when I -answered her, felt sure that her child would come speedily."</p> - -<p>"I suppose there's no foundation for that idea of hers?"</p> - -<p>"That the child will come, or, indeed, so far as we know, that she ever -had a child, is, I imagine, the merest hallucination. At all events, -from the number of years she has been here, her child, if she ever had -one, must be a tolerably well-grown young lady, and not likely to be -recognisable by, or to recognise her, poor thing!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, indeed, Mr. George; and it's odd that of all our ladies, with the -exception of poor Mrs. Stoneycroft, who, I imagine, is just kept here -out of the Doctor's kindness and charity, Madame is the only one who -never has any friends come to see her."</p> - -<p>"She has outlived all her friends; that is to say, she has outlived -their recollection of her. Nothing so easily forgotten as the trace -of people we once knew, but who can no longer be of use to us, or -administer to our vanity, our pleasure, or our amusement. I was at -a cemetery the other day, and saw there an enormous and magnificent -tombstone which a man had ordered to be erected over his wife; but -before the order had been executed the man had married again, declined -to pay for his extravagance in mortuary sculpture, and contented -himself with a simple headstone. And the gardener told me that it is -very seldom that the floral graves are kept up beyond the first twelve -months. So it is not likely that in this, which, to such poor creatures -as Madame Vaughan, is not much better than a living tomb, the occupants -should be held in any long remembrance."</p> - -<p>"I'm sure it's very kind of the Doctor to take such care of these poor -creatures, Mr. George; more especially when he's not paid for it."</p> - -<p>"That is not the case with Madame Vaughan. I think--in fact, I'm -sure--she was one of the patients of my father's predecessor, and was -made over to him on the transfer of the business; but though she has -no friends to come and see her, the sum for her maintenance here is -regularly discharged by a firm of solicitors who have money in trust -for the purpose, and by whom it has been paid from the first."</p> - -<p>"And is there nothing known of her history, Mr. George; who were her -friends, or where she came from?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing now. Dr. Bulph, I suppose, had some sort of information; but -he was an odd man, and so long as his half-yearly bills were paid, did -not trouble himself much further, I fancy."</p> - -<p>"Lord, what a life!" said Miss Marshall, casting a sidelong glance at -the little looking-glass over the mantelpiece, and smoothing her hair. -"And it will end here, I suppose? The Doctor does not think she will -ever be cured, Mr. George?"</p> - -<p>"No, indeed!" said George, shaking his head. "And if she were, what -would become of her? She has been here for nearly twenty years, and the -outer world would be as strange and as impossible to her as it was to -the released prisoner of the Bastille, who prayed to be taken back to -his dungeon."</p> - -<p>"Ah well, I should pray to be taken to my grave," said the practical -Miss Marshall, "if I thought no one cared for me----"</p> - -<p>"Ah, now you're talking of an impossibility, Miss Marshall," said -George, rising. "If ever I have a necessity to expose the absurdity of -that saying which advances the necessity for 'beauty sleep,' I shall -bring you forward as my example; for you're never in bed by midnight, -and are often up all night; and yet I should like to see anyone who -could rival you in briskness or freshness. Goodnight, Miss Marshall."</p> - -<p>"Goodnight, Mr. George."</p> - -<p>As he rose, shook hands, and taking up his lamp made his way across the -garden, the nurse looked after him with a pleased expression, and said -to herself:</p> - -<p>"What a nice young man that is!--so pleasant and kind! Nice-looking -too, though a trifle old-fashioned and heavy; not like--ah, well, never -mind. But much too good to mope away his life in this wretched old -place, anyhow."</p> - -<p>And when George reached his rooms he smiled to himself, and said:</p> - -<p>"Well, if that little talk, and those little compliments, have the -result of making Miss Marshall show any extra amount of kindness to my -poor <i>maman</i>, my time will not have been ill bestowed."</p> - -<p>George Wainwright was tolerably correct in all he had said regarding -Madame Vaughan, though he had but an imperfect knowledge of her -history. At the time when her mental malady first rendered it necessary -that she should be placed under restraint, the private lunatic asylums -of England were in a very different condition from what they are -now. They were for the most part held by low-born ignorant men, who -derived their entire livelihood from the sums of money paid for the -maintenance of the unfortunate wretches confided to their charge, and -whose gains were consequently greater in proportion to the manner in -which they ignored or refused the requirements of their inmates. A -person calling himself a physician, and perhaps in possession of some -purchased degree, hired at a small stipend and non-resident, looked in -occasionally, asked a few questions, and signed certificates destined -to hoodwink official eyes, which in those days never saw too clearly -at the best of times. But the staff of keepers, male and female, was -always numerous and efficient. Those were the merry days of the iron -collar and the broad leather bastinado, of the gag and the cold bath, -of the irons and the whipping-post. They did not care much about what -the Lunacy Commissioners did, or wrote, or exacted, in those days, -and each man did what he thought best for himself. The date of the -Commissioners' visits, which then were few and far between, were -accurately known long beforehand; the "medical attendant" was on the -spot; the patients, such as were visible, were tricked up into a proper -state of cleanliness and order; and the others were duly hidden away -until the authorities had departed. The licensing was a farce, only -to be exceeded in absurdity by the other regulations; and villany, -blackguardism, brutality, and chicanery reigned supreme.</p> - -<p>For two years after Madame Vaughan was first received into the -asylum--God help us!--as it was called, the outer world was mercifully -a blank to her. She arrived in a settled state of stupor, in which -she remained, cowering in a corner of the room which she shared with -other afflicted creatures, but taking no heed of them, of the antics -which they played, of the yells and shrieks which they uttered, of the -fantastic illusions of which they were the victims, of the punishment -which their conduct brought upon them. Her face covered by her hands, -her poor body ever rocking to and fro, there she remained for ever in -the one spot until nightfall, when she crept to the miserable couch -allotted to her, and curling herself up as an animal in its slumber, -was unheard, almost unseen, until the next day. The wretched food which -they gave her, coarse in quality and meagre in quantity, she ate in -silence; in silence she bore the spoken ribaldry, and the practical -jokes which in the first few weeks after her admission the guardians -of the establishment, and indeed the great proprietor himself, amused -themselves by heaping upon her; so that in a little time she was found -incapable of administering to their amusement, and was suffered to -remain unmolested.</p> - -<p>At the end of the time mentioned, a change took place in the condition -of the patient under the following circumstances. One of the nurses had -had her married sister and niece to visit her; and after tea, by way of -a cheerful amusement, the visitors were conducted through the female -ward. The child, a little girl of five or six years old, frightened -out of her life, hung back as she entered the gloomy room, where women -in every stage of mania, some fierce and shrieking, some silent and -moody, were collected. But her aunt, the nurse, laughed at the child's -fears; and the mother, who through the hospitality of their entertainer -had, after the clearing away of the tea-equipage, been provided with -a beverage which both cheered and inebriated, bade the girl not to be -a fool; and on her still hanging back and evincing an intention of -bursting into tears, administered to her a severe thump on the back, -which had the effect of causing the little one to break forth at once -into a howl.</p> - -<p>From the first instant of the child's entrance into the room, Madame -Vaughan had roused herself from her usual attitude. The sound of the -child's pattering feet seemed to act on her with electrical influence. -She raised her head from out her hands; she sat up erect, bright, -observant. The corner in which she sat was dark, and no one was in the -habit of taking any notice of her. So she sat, watching the shrinking -child. She heard the mocking laugh with which the nurse sneered at the -little one's terror, she heard the harsh tones in which the mother chid -the child, and saw the blow which followed on the words. Then she made -two springs forward, and the next minute had the woman on the ground, -and was grappling at her throat. The attendants sprang upon her, -released the woman from her grasp, and led her shrieking to her cell.</p> - -<p>"My child, my child! why did she strike my child?" were the words which -she screamed forth; almost the first which those in the asylum had ever -heard her utter; so, at least, the nurse told the proprietor, who, with -other assistants, male as well as female, was speedily on the spot.</p> - -<p>"She used to sit as quiet as quiet, never opening her mouth, as you -know very well, sir," said the woman, "and was sittin' just as usual, -so far as I know, when my sister here, as I was showing round, fetched -her little gal a smack on the head because she wouldn't come on; and -then Vaughan springs at her like a wild-beast, and wanted to tear the -life out of her, she did, a murderin' wretch!"</p> - -<p>"Had she ever said anything about a child before?" asked the proprietor.</p> - -<p>"Never said nothing about anybody, and certingly nothing about a -child," replied the nurse.</p> - -<p>"And it was because she saw this child struck that she burst out, and -she's hollerin' about the child now--is that it?"</p> - -<p>"Jest so, sir," replied the nurse, looking at a mark of teeth on her -hand, and shaking her head viciously in the direction in which the -patient had been led away.</p> - -<p>"That's it, Agar," said the proprietor; "I thought we should get at -it some day. Couldn't get anything out of the cove I first saw, and -the lawyers were as tight as wax. 'You'll get your money,' they says. -'We're responsible for that,' they says, 'and that ought to be enough -for you.' They wouldn't let on, any of 'em, what it was that had upset -her at first; but I knew it would come out sooner or later, and it's -come out now, though. She's gone off her head grievin' after a kid, and -no two ways about it."</p> - -<p>"Ah!" said Mr. Agar, who was a man of few words; "shouldn't wonder. -Question is, what's to be done with her now? Mustn't be allowed to kick -up these wagaries, you know; we shall have the neighbours complainin' -again. Screamed and yelled and bit and fisted away like a good un, she -did. We ain't had such a rumpus since the Tiger's time."</p> - -<p>"She must be taught manners," said the proprietor, significantly. "Tell -your missus to look after her. This woman," indicating the nurse with -his elbow, "ain't any good when it comes to a rough and tumble, and I'm -doubtful if Vaughan won't give us some trouble yet."</p> - -<p>So Madame Vaughan was delivered over to the tender mercies of Mrs. -Agar, and underwent some of the tortures which she had seen inflicted -upon others. She was punished cruelly for her outbreak; but that done, -there was an end of it. The proprietor was wrong in his surmise that -she would give them further trouble. She lapsed back into her old -silent state, cowering in her old corner, rocking to and fro after -her old fashion; and thus she remained, when the proprietor, having -made sufficient money, and having had several hints that certain -malpractices of his, if further indulged in, would probably bring him -to the Old Bailey, handed over his business to Dr. Bulph.</p> - -<p>It was during Dr. Bulph's time that the poor lady had a severe bodily -illness, during which she was sedulously attended by Dr. Bulph -himself--a clever, hard man of the world, not unkind, but probably -prompted in his attention to his patient by the feeling that it would -be unwise to let a regularly-paid income of three hundred pounds a-year -slip through his fingers if a little trouble on his part could save -it. When she became convalescent, her mental condition seemed to have -altered. Instead of being dull and moping, she was bright and restless, -ever asking about her child, who, as it seemed to her poor distraught -fancy, had been with her just before her illness. Dr. Bulph had had -some idea, that when her bodily ailment left her, there was a chance -that her mind might have become at last clearer; but he shook his head -when he saw these new symptoms. Her child, her child! what had been -done with it? Why had they taken it away? Why was it kept from her? -That was the constant, incessant burden of her cry, sometimes asked -almost calmly, sometimes with piteous wailings or fierce denunciations -of their cruelty. Nothing satisfied her, nothing appeased her. Madame -Vaughan's case was evidently a very bad one indeed: and when Dr. Bulph -took Dr. Wainwright, who was about purchasing his business, the round -of his establishment, he pointed Madame Vaughan out to him, and said: -"That will be a noisy one, I'm afraid, until the end."</p> - -<p>The doctor was wrong in his prophecy. Dr. Wainwright, with as much -skill and far more <i>savoir faire</i> than his predecessor, adopted very -different tactics. Although since the departure of the first proprietor -of the asylum no cruelty had been inflicted on the patients, all of -them who were at all intractable or difficult to govern had been -kept in restraint. The first thing that Dr. Wainwright did, when he -took possession, was to give them an amount of liberty which they -had not previously enjoyed. Poor Madame Vaughan, falling into one of -her shrieking-fits of "My child! where's my child?" was surprised on -looking up to see the tall figure of the new doctor in the open doorway -of her room; and her screams died away as she looked at his handsome -smiling face, and heard his voice say in soft tones: "Where is she? -Come, let us look for her." Then he took her gently by the arm and -led her into the garden, round which they walked together. The new -sense of liberty, the air blowing on her cheeks, the fresh smell of -the flowers--these unaccustomed delights had a wonderful influence on -the poor sufferer. For a time, at least, she forgot the main burden -of her misery in the delight she experienced in dwelling on them; and -thenceforward, though she recurred constantly, daily indeed, to her one -theme of sorrow, it was never with the poignant bitterness of former -times. She grew attached to the doctor, whose quiet interested manner -suited her wonderfully, and formed a singular attachment for George, -then a young man just entering on his office duties, looking forward -to his coming with a sweet motherly tenderness, which he seemed to -reciprocate in a most filial manner.</p> - -<p>From that time forward Madame Vaughan's lot, as far as her melancholy -condition permitted, was a happy one. No acute return of mania ever -supervened; she remained in a state of harmless quiet; and save for her -invariable expectation of the arrival of her child, a hope which she -never failed to indulge in, it would have been impossible to think that -the quiet, well-dressed, white-haired lady, who tended the flowers, -and settled the ornaments of her little room, or paced regularly up -and down the garden, sometimes alone, sometimes conversing with Dr. -Wainwright, or leaning reliantly on George's arm, was the inmate of a -lunatic asylum, and had gone through such tempestuous scenes as fall to -her lot in the early days of her residence there. The "noisy one" had -indeed come to be the gentlest member of that strange household; and -one of the greatest annoyances which Dr. Wainwright ever experienced -was when one of the members of the lawyers' firm who paid the annual -stipend for the poor lady's care happened to call with the cheque, and -on the doctor's wishing him to witness the comparative happy state to -which the patient had arrived, said shortly that "he had enough to do -in his business with people who were only sane enough to prevent their -being shut up, and that he didn't want to have anything to do with -those who were a stage further advanced in the disease."</p> - - -<p>On the morning after the events recorded in the beginning of this -chapter, George Wainwright found a small pencil-note placed on the huge -can of cold water which was brought to him for his bath. Opening it, he -read:</p> - - -<p>"DEAR MR. GEORGE,--Madame hopes she shall see you before you go into -town this morning. She has something special to say to you. I have told -her I was sure you would not fail her.--Yours, L. MARSHALL."</p> - - -<p>In compliance with this wish, George presented himself immediately -after breakfast at Madame Vaughan's room. He found her ready dressed, -and anxiously expecting him.</p> - -<p>"Why, <i>maman</i>," he commenced, "already up and doing! Your bright -activity is an actual reproach to a sluggard like myself. But I heard -you wanted me, and I'm here."</p> - -<p>"Would you mind taking a turn in the garden, George?" she asked. "The -morning looks very fine, and I've something to say to you that I think -should be said in the sunlight and among the flowers."</p> - -<p>"Something pleasant, then, I argue from that," he said. "And you know -I'd do a great deal more than give up a few minutes from my dry dull -old office to be of any pleasant use to you; besides, work is slack -just now--it always is at this time of the year--and I can easily be -spared. Come, let us walk."</p> - -<p>She threw a shawl over her head and shoulders with, as George could -not help remarking, all the innate grace and ease of a Frenchwoman, -took his arm, and descended the stairs into the garden. It was indeed -a lovely morning, just at that time when Summer makes her last -determined fight before gracefully surrendering to Autumn. The turf -was yet green and soft, though somewhat faded here and there by the -sun's long-continued power, and the air was mild; but the paths were -already flecked with leaves, and ruddy tints were visible on the -extreme outer foliage of the trees. When they arrived in the grounds, -they found several of the patients already there; some chattering to -each other, others walking moodily apart. Many of them seemed to treat -Madame Vaughan with marked deference, and exhibited that deference in -immediately clearing out of the way, and leaving her and her companion -unmolested in their walk.</p> - -<p>After a few turns up and down, George said:</p> - -<p>"Well, <i>maman</i>, and the special business?"</p> - -<p>"Ah yes, George, I had forgotten," said Madame, pressing her hand to -her head. "I dreamed about <i>her</i> last night, George--about my child."</p> - -<p>"Not an uncommon dream for you, surely, <i>maman?</i>" said George kindly. -"What you are always thinking of by day will most probably not desert -your mind at night."</p> - -<p>"No, not at all uncommon; but I have never dreamed of her as I dreamed -last night. George, she is coming; you will see her very soon."</p> - -<p>"I! But you, <i>maman</i>--you will see her too?"</p> - -<p>"I am not so sure of that, George. She was all dim and indistinct in my -dream. I think I shall be dead, George; but you will see her; I shall -have the comfort of knowing that, and--and of knowing that you will -love her, George."</p> - -<p>"Why, <i>maman</i>, of course I shall love her, for your sake."</p> - -<p>"No, George; for her own. You will love her for her own sake, and you -will marry her, my son."</p> - -<p>"<i>Maman, maman!</i>" said George, taking her hand, and looking up into her -face with a loving smile. "But how do you know that she will consent? -You forget I am an old bachelor, and----"</p> - -<p>"You will marry her, George," said Madame, her face clouding over at -once. "And yet--and yet she is but an infant, poor child!"</p> - -<p>"There, there, <i>maman</i> darling----"</p> - -<p>"No, no; don't attempt to get out of it. And yet I saw it all--you and -she at St. Peter's after Tenebrae, and I--and----"</p> - -<p>"Now this is a question for my father to be consulted on," said George. -"He is the only man who could help us in this difficulty, and he's away -in the country, you know. We must wait till he comes back;" and he drew -her quietly towards the house.</p> - - -<p>"Poor dear <i>maman!</i>" said George Wainwright to himself, as he stood -waiting for the omnibus which was to bear him into town. "What a -strange idea! Not so far wrong, though! A phantom evolved from a -diseased brain, a nothing. A creature without existence is the only -wife I'm ever likely to have! I only wish young Paul was as heart-free, -and as likely to remain so."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_09" href="#div1Ref_09">CHAPTER IX.</a></h4> -<h5>DEAR ANNETTE.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>It was a noticeable fact, that though the Beachborough folk were, as -they would themselves have expressed it, "main curous" about Mrs. -Stothard and her position in the Derinzy household, none of them -devoted much time to speculating about Miss Annette, or Miss Netty as -she was generally called by them. That she was a "dreadful in-vallid" -all knew; that she was sometimes confined to the house for weeks -together when labouring under a severe attack of her illness--which -was ascribed by some to nerves, by some to weakness, and by others to -a curious disorder known as "ricketts"--was also well known. It was -understood, moreover, that she did not like her indisposition alluded -to; and consequently, when she occasionally appeared in the village, -accompanied by her aunt Mrs. Derinzy, it was a point of politeness -on the part of the villagers to ignore the fact of their not having -seen her for weeks past and the cause of her absence, and to entertain -her with gossip about Bessy Fairlight's levity, Giles Croggin's -drunkenness, Farmer Hawkers' harvest-home, or such kindred topics. No -one ever mentioned illness or doctors before Miss Netty; if they had, -Mrs. Derinzy, a woman of strong mind and, when necessary, sharp tongue, -would speedily have cut in and changed the conversation.</p> - -<p>But although the Beachborough people saw little of Annette Derinzy, -that little they liked. Amongst simple folk of this kind a person -labouring under illness, more especially chronic illness--not any of -your common fevers or anything low of that kind, which nearly everybody -has had in their time, and which are for the most part curable by -very simple remedies--but mysterious illness, which "comes on when -you don't expect it," as though most disorders were heralded and the -exact time of their arrival announced by infallible symptoms, and which -lasts for weeks together--such a person takes brevet rank with their -acquaintance, and is looked up to with the greatest respect. Moreover, -Miss Netty had a very pleasant way with her, being always courteous and -friendly, sometimes, indeed, a little too friendly; for she would want -to go into the fishermen's cottages, and into the lacemakers' rooms, -and would ask questions which were not very pertinent, or indeed very -wise; until she was brought up very short by her aunt, who would take -her by the elbow, and haul her away with scant ceremony. And another -great thing in her favour was, that she was very pretty.</p> - -<p>Ah, well-meaning, kindly people, who endeavour to cheer your ugly -children by repeating the scores of old adages with which the stupidity -of our forefathers has enriched our language, telling them that "beauty -is only skin deep," that "it is better to be good than beautiful," that -"handsome is that handsome does," and a variety of other maxims of the -same kind--when will you be honest, and confess that a pretty face is -almost the best dowry a young girl can have? It gains her admirers -always, and very frequently it gains her friends; it makes easy and -pleasant her path in life, and saves her from the bitterest distress, -the deepest laceration which can be inflicted on the female heart, -in the feeling that she is despised of men, which, being translated, -means that she is neglected, while others are appreciated. Miss Netty -was pretty decidedly, but she was in that almost incredible position -of being unaware of the fact. Save her own family and the people in -the village, she saw no one; and though the gossips were inclined not -to be reticent of their admiration even in the presence of its object, -they were always restrained by a wholesome dread of the wrath of -Mrs. Derinzy, which on more than one occasion had been evoked by the -compliments paid to her niece.</p> - -<p>It was the more extraordinary that such persons as Mrs. Powler and Mrs. -Jupp should have admired Annette, as her style was by no means such as -generally finds favour with persons in their station in life. Great -black staring eyes, snub noses, firm round red cheeks, bright red lips, -and jet-black hair, well bandolined and greased so as to lie flat on -the head, or corkscrewed into thin ringlets, generally make up their -standard of beauty. Country people have a great opinion of strength of -limb and firmness of flesh; and "she be <i>that</i> hard," was one of the -most delicate tributes which a Beachborough swain could pay. In the -agricultural districts those womanly qualities of tenderness, softness, -and delicacy, which are so prized amongst more refined circles, are -rather held at a discount; they are regarded by the rustic mind as on -a level with piano-playing and Berlin-wool working--good enough as -extras, but not to be compared with the homely talents of milking and -stocking-darning. Personal appearance is regarded in much the same way, -elegance of form being less thought of than strength, and a large arm -obtaining much more admiration than a small hand. Annette was a tall, -but a slight and decidedly delicate-looking girl.</p> - -<p>"It isn't after her uncle she takes," Mrs. Powler would say; "a little -giggling, flibberty-gibbet of a man, that might be blowed away in a -pouf!"</p> - -<p>"Well, mum," said little Ann Bradshaw, the "gell" who was specially -retained for Mrs. Powler's service, and who, as jackal, purveyed all -the gossip on which, after due preparation, her mistress lived--"well, -mum, I du 'low Miss Netty's well enow to look at, but nothing like the -Captain, who sure-<i>ly</i> is a main handsome man!"</p> - -<p>"Eh, dear heart, did one ever hear the like!" cried Mrs. Powler. -"Here's chits and chicks like this talkin' about main handsome men! -Why, Ann, you was niver in Exeter, or you'd have seen a waxy image just -like the Captain, wi' his black hair and his straight nose, and his -blue chin, in the barber's shop-window. Handsome, indeed!" said the old -lady, with a recollection of the deceased Mr. Fowler's rotund face; -"he's but a poor show; a mere skellinton of a chap!"</p> - -<p>"Well, mum, it can't be said that Miss Netty favours her aunt Mrs. -D'rinzy neither," said Ann, who, seeing her mistress was disposed for -a chat, saw her way to at least postponing the execution of a very -portentous and elaborate job of darning which had sat heavy on her soul -for some days past. "Mrs. D'rinzy is that slight and slim and gen-teel -in her make, which Miss Netty do not follow after."</p> - -<p>"Slight, and slim, and genteel make!" repeated Mrs. Powler with much -indignation, and a downward glance at her own pursy proportions; "ah, -straight up and down like a thrashin'-floor door, if that's what ye -mean! Lord love us, here's a gal as I took out of charity, and saved -from goin' to the workis, a givin' her 'pinions 'bout figgers, and -shapes, and makes, and the like, as though she was a milliner, or a -middiff! Well, well, on'y to think!"</p> - -<p>"I didn't mean no harm, mum, I'm sure," said the worldly-ise -handmaiden, "and I don't think much of Mrs. D'rinzy, nor indeed of the -Captain neither, since Nancy Bell--as you know is housemaid up at the -Tower--told me how she'd found the stick-stuff which he du make his -eyebrows of--black, and grease, and muck."</p> - -<p>"No?" exclaimed the old lady, her good temper returning at the chance -of hearing some spicy retailable talk. "Du he do that? Do'ee tell, Ann!"</p> - -<p>Thus invited, Miss Bradshaw launched out into an elaborate story, -rendered more elaborate by her anti-darning proclivities, of the -mysteries of Captain Derinzy's toilet, as she had learned them from -Miss Bell. Mrs. Powler encouraged her to prattle on this point for a -long time; and when she had finished, asked her whether Nancy Bell had -mentioned anything about the general way of living at the Tower, more -especially as Miss Netty and Mrs. Stothard were concerned.</p> - -<p>"Not that anything she says isn't as full of lies as a sieve's full of -holes," said the old lady. "I mind the time"--a terrible old lady this, -with an unexampled memory for bad things against people--"I mind the -time when she was quite a little gell, and went and told the vicar a -passil o' lies about her uncle, Ned Richards the blacksmith. And the -vicar put Ned into his sermin the next Sunday, and preached at un, and -everybody knowed who was meant; and Ned stood up in church, and gev -it to the vicar back again; and Ned was had up for brawlin', as they -called it, and there was a fine to-do, and all through Nancy Bell. But -what does she say of Miss Netty, Ann? Are they kind to her like up -there?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, mum; Nancy thinks so, leastwise. But no one sees Miss Netty -often, mum."</p> - -<p>"No one sees her?"</p> - -<p>"Only Mrs. Stothard, mum. She and Mrs. Stothard has their rooms away -from the rest, mum, lest they should disturb the Captain when Miss -Netty's ill, mum; and no one sees her but Mrs. Stothard then."</p> - -<p>"Ah," said Mrs. Powler, "David or Solomon, or one of 'em, I don't -rightly remember which, were not far off when he said that the bread of -dependence was bitter, and these great folk don't bake it no more sweet -than others for their poor relations, it seems. So they take the board -and lodgin' out of Mrs. Stothard by makin' her a nuss, eh, Ann?"</p> - -<p>"They du indeed, mum. I du 'low that's why we niver see Mrs. Stothard -in the village, being so taken up with Miss Netty, and a nasty temper, -not caring to throw a word at a dog, likewise."</p> - -<p>"How does Nancy think they git on betwixt themselves?"</p> - -<p>"What, the Captain and Mrs. D'rinzy? Oh, they git on all right; -leastwise, she's master, Nance says. The Captain isn't much 'count in -his own house; but Mrs. D. niver let him see it, bless you; and he du -bluster and rave sometimes, Nance say, when he's put out, and thinks -she can't hear him."</p> - -<p>"What puts 'im out, Ann? He hev an easy life of it, sure-ly: nothin' to -do but to kick up his heels about the place."</p> - -<p>"That's just it, missus. He wants something more to du. He du hate the -place like pison, Nance have heerd 'im say, and ask Mrs. D'rinzy, wi' -awful language, what they was waitin' and wastin' their lives here for."</p> - -<p>"And what did she say then?"</p> - -<p>"Allays the same. 'You know,' says she, 'you know what we're waitin' -for; and it'll come, it'll come sure as sure.' 'Wouldn't it come just -the same, or easier rather, if we was out of this, up in London, or -somewheres?' the Captain says once. 'No,' says Mrs. D., 'it wouldn't. -When we've got the prize under lock and key,' she says, 'we know where -to look for it, and who to send for it; but when it's open to the -world, there's no knowin' who may run off with it,' she says."</p> - -<p>"A prize!" said the old lady, looking very much astonished--"got a -prize under lock and key? Why, what could she mean by that? You hain't -heerd in the village o' anything hevin' been found up at the Tower, hev -you, Ann?"</p> - -<p>Ann, leaning against the door, withdrew one foot from the floor, and -slowly rubbed it up and down her other leg--a gymnastic performance she -was in the habit of going through when she taxed her powers of memory. -It failed, however, to have any result in the present instance; and -Ann was compelled to confess that she had never heard of anything in -particular being found at the Tower. She did this with more reluctance, -as she foresaw the speedy termination of the gossip, and her consequent -relegation to her darning duties.</p> - -<p>But Mrs. Powler, who had been much struck with the conversation -overheard by Nancy Bell, and repeated to her by her own handmaiden, sat -pondering over the words for some time, allowing Ann to remain in the -room, and at last bade her go round and ask Mrs. Jupp to step in for a -few minutes. When Mrs. Jupp arrived, Mrs. Powler made Ann repeat her -story; and when she concluded, the old lady bade her stand away out of -earshot, and said to Mrs. Jupp in a hollow whisper:</p> - -<p>"What do you think of that?"</p> - -<p>"Of what?" asked Mrs. Jupp, in an equally ghostly tone.</p> - -<p>"'Bout the prize? Do you think, Harriet, that it can be any of Fowler's -'runs'? They used to hide 'em in the first place as come handy, when -the excisers was after 'em; and I've been wondering whether they might -ha' stowed away some kegs, or bales, or things, in the lower garden, or -thereabouts, and these D'rinzys ha' found 'em. I wonder whether I could -claim 'em, Harriet?" said the old lady earnestly. "He left everything -he had in the world to his beloved wife, Powler did."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Jupp, who had been receiving these last words with many sniffs, -denoting her content for her friend's notions, waited patiently until -Mrs. Powler had finished, and then said:</p> - -<p>"I don't think you need trouble yourself about that. It isn't about -runs, or kegs, or bales, or anything of that kind, that Mrs. Derinzy -meant, if so be she said anything of the kind, which I main doubt; -Nancy Bell and your Ann being regular Anias and Sapphira for lying, or -the man as was turned into a white leopard by the prophet for saying he -hadn't asked the young man for a change of clothes."</p> - -<p>"Du let alone naggin' and girdin' at my Ann for once, Harriet!" -interrupted Mrs. Powler. "Let's s'pose Mrs. D'rinzy said it; there's no -harm in s'posin', you know. What did she mean 'bout the prize?"</p> - -<p>"Mean? What could she mean but Miss Netty?"</p> - -<p>"Miss Netty! prize!" cried Mrs. Powler, to whom the combination of -these words was hopelessly embarrassing. "Ah, well, I'm becomin' a -moithered old 'ooman, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"No, no, dear," said Mrs. Jupp, who never liked to see the old lady -put out. "I'm sure there's they as are twenty years younger would like -to be able to see as far into a milestone as you can. Only you don't -know about this, because you don't get out much now, and you don't know -what's goin' on up at the Tower, save from Ann and suchlike. Now my -ideer is, that Miss Netty has come into a fortin'."</p> - -<p>"No!" cried the old lady.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Mrs. Jupp, nodding her head violently. "Yes, I think she -have, and that's what her aunt meant about a prize, I take it. For -don't you see, we've asked, all of us, often enough, what kept them -livin' down here. 'Tain't that they come down for the shootin', or the -yachtin', or that, jest at one season, like Sir 'Erc'les, though he -was bred and born down here, and it's his fam'ly place. But there they -stick, summer and winter, spring and autumn, never movin', though the -Captain's a-wearyin' hisself to death; and there's no call for Mrs. -Derinzy to stop here neither."</p> - -<p>"Not for her health?"</p> - -<p>"Not a bit of it! Between you and me, I think there's a -consp---- However, I'll tell you more about that when I know more; -meantime, I think Mrs. Derinzy's all right, and I don't think it's for -health Miss Annette is kept here."</p> - -<p>"The Dorsetsheer air----" Mrs. Powler began; but seeing an incredulous -smile on her friend's face, she broke off shortly, and said: "Well, -then, what does keep 'em down here?"</p> - -<p>"The fortin' that we was speakin' of; the prize that Nancy Bell heard -Mrs. D. tell off. Don't you see, my dear? Suppose what I think is -right--they've got the poor thing down here in their own hands, to do -jest what they like wi'; nobody to say, with your leave, or by your -leave; cooped up there wi' them two old people and that termagant Mrs. -Stothard. Now if she was away in London, or Exeter, or any other large -place o' that sort, why o' course there'd be young men sweetheartin' -her--for she's a main pratty gell, though slouchin', and not one to -show herself off--and she'd be gettin' married, and her money would -go away from them to her husband. That's what Mrs. D. meant about the -prize bein' 'open to the world,' and people 'runnin' off with it,' and -that like."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Powler sat speechless for a few moments, looking at her friend -with her sharp little black eyes, and going over what had just been -told her in her mind. Her faculties began to be somewhat dimmed by age, -and she required time for intellectual digestion. Mrs. Jupp knew her -friend's habit, and remained silent likewise, thoughtfully rubbing the -side of her nose with a knitting-needle which she had produced from her -pocket. At length the old lady said:</p> - -<p>"I du 'low you're right, Harriet, though I niver give you credit for so -much sharpness before."</p> - -<p>And Mrs. Jupp had many pleasant teas, and many succulent suppers, and -much pleasant gossip, on the strength of her perspicacity in the matter -of the great Derinzy mystery.</p> - -<p>Strange to say, the woman's idea was not very far away from the truth. -When Mrs. Derinzy told her husband that their son Paul should have a -fortune of eighty thousand pounds, which he should receive from his -wife's trustees, she made up her mind from that moment to carry her -intention into execution, come what might. The girl was so young, that -there was plenty of time for the elaboration of her plans--two or -three years hence it would do to work out the scheme in detail; all -that was necessary to see after was, that so soon as the girl arrived -at an impressible age, she should be taken to some very quiet place, -where she could see very few people, and that at that time Paul should -be thrown in her way, and the result left to favouring chance. Mrs. -Derinzy was doubtful whether anything ought to be said to Paul about -it; but the Captain spoke up strongly, and declared that any attempt to -dispose of "the young man by private contract" would certainly result -in prejudicing him against his cousin, and that it would be much better -if he were left to "shake a loose leg" for a time, as it would render -him much more docile and biddable when they spoke to him afterwards. -Mrs. Derinzy, violently objurgating such language on the part of her -husband, yet comprehended the soundness of his advice; and Paul, who -saw very little of Annette on the occasion of his holidays from school, -and then only thought of her as a little orphan cousin to whom his -parents acted as guardians, was left to take up his appointment at -the Stannaries Office, without having the least idea that, like Mr. -Swiveller, "a young lady, who had not only great personal attractions, -but great wealth, was at that moment growing up for him."</p> - -<p>The young lady who furnished forth all this feast of gossip to the -good folks of Beachborough--gossip not so completely unlike the sort -of thing which goes on in larger places, and is practised by more -important communities--had not the least suspicion that she was an -object of curiosity and discussion to her humble neighbours. She knew -little of them--that is to say, of the less-poor class among the -poor--for to the lowest and most suffering part of the community she -was generous with the desultory kindness of an untaught girl; and she -had no notion that she differed in circumstances or disposition from -other people sufficiently to excite curiosity or induce discussion. -Few girls of Annette Derinzy's age, in her position in life, are so -ignorant of the world, so completely without the means of instituting -comparisons in social matters, or unravelling social problems, as she -was. The conventional schoolgirl of real life, though perhaps not the -ritualistic innocent of the <i>Daisy-Chain</i> literature, could have beaten -Annette Derinzy hollow in comprehension of human aims and motives, and -in knowledge of the desirabilities of life. She was passably content -with herself and her surroundings, and had not yet been moved by any -stronger feeling than irritation, caused by her aunt's troublesome -over-solicitude for her health and Mrs. Stothard's watchfulness.</p> - -<p>She was not, she believed, so strong as most girls of her age, who -lived in comfort, and had nothing to trouble them; but she felt sure -the care, the restrictions she had to undergo, were unwarranted by her -health; and she sometimes got so far on the path of worldly wisdom as -to suspect that her aunt made a great fuss with her, in order to get -the credit of self-sacrifice and superlative duty-doing. Annette's -perspicacity did not extend to defining the individuals in the narrow -and ultra-quiet society of Beachborough, among whom, as Captain Derinzy -would have said, they "vegetated," who were to be deluded into giving -Mrs. Derinzy a better character than she deserved. Like "the ugly -duck," who scrambled through the hedge, and found himself in the wide, -wide world, the most insignificant change of position would, to Annette -Derinzy, have implied infinite possibilities of enlightenment; but at -present she was very securely on the near side of the hedge, and almost -ignorant that there was a far side.</p> - -<p>The young lady of whom Mrs. Derinzy invariably spoke as "dear Annette," -even when she was most annoyed with or about her, as though she had -set this formula as a rule and a reminder for herself, was a very -pretty girl, belonging to a type of beauty which is rather commonly to -be found associated with delicate health. She was rather tall, very -slight, with slender hands, and a transparently fair complexion. Her -features were not very regular, and but for the deep, dark eyes, and -the remarkably sweet, though somewhat rare, smile which lighted them -up, she would hardly have been pronounced handsome by casual observers. -But she was very handsome, as all would have been ready to acknowledge -afterwards who had noticed the extreme refinement of her general -appearance and the gracefulness of her figure. Her beauty was marred -by no trace of ill-health beyond the uncertainty of the colour--which -sometimes tinted her cheeks brightly enough, but at others faded into -a waxen paleness--and the occasional restlessness of her movements. -Annette was not very striking at first sight; she was one of those -women who do not become less interesting by observation, but who rather -continue to occupy, to interest, perhaps a little to perplex, the -observer. She was graceful, she was even elegant in appearance, but -she was not gentle-looking. The dark eyes had no fiery expression, and -the well-shaped mouth, not foolishly small or unpleasantly compressed, -had decided sweetness in the full fresh lips; and yet the last thing -any accurate noter of physiognomy would have said of Miss Derinzy was, -that she looked gentle. Impatience, impulse, whether for good or ill to -be determined by circumstances--these were plainly to be read in her -face. And one more indication was there--not, it may be, legible to -indifferent eyes, but which, had there been any to study the girl with -the clear-sightedness of affection, would have made itself plain in all -its present meaning and future menace--the vacuity of an unoccupied, -inactive heart. Annette Derinzy loved no living human being. She knew -neither love nor grief, the true civilising influences which need to -be exercised in each individual instance, if the human creature is -to be elevated above primitive conditions. She had no recollection -of her parents, and therefore no standard by which to measure the -tenderness which she might covet as a possession, or deplore as a -loss--by whose depth and endurance she might test the shallowness and -the insufficiency of the conventional observance shown to her by the -interested relatives who furnished all her life was destined to know -of natural love and care. She had no brother or sister, or familiar -girlish friendships, nor had she ever displayed an inclination to -contract any of those lesser ties with which genial and sensitive -natures endeavour to supplement their deprivation of the greater. -Either she was of a reserved, uncommunicative temperament, or she had -been so steadily restricted from the society of other young people, -that the habit of depending entirely upon herself had been effectually -formed; for Annette never complained of the seclusion in which the -family lived, and in some cases received with a sufficiently ill grace -intelligence that it was about to be broken in upon.</p> - -<p>Like most ill-tempered persons, Mrs. Derinzy had a keen perception of -faults of temper, and no toleration for them. She declared that of -all things she hated selfishness and sulk most; and the recipients of -the sentiments were apt to think she had all the justification of it -which an intimate knowledge of the vices in question could supply. -She accused "dear Annette" at times of both, not altogether unjustly -perhaps, but yet not with strict justice. If she was selfish, it was -because her life was narrow; its horizon was close upon her; no large -interests occupied it, no external responsibility laid its claims upon -Annette. There did not exist anyone to whom she could feel herself -indispensable, or even "a comfort;" and though she was surrounded with -external care and consideration to what she held to be a superfluous -and unreasonable extent, her native shrewdness led her to distinguish -with unerring accuracy between this perfunctory and organised -observance and the spontaneous affectionate guardianship, without -effort on the one side or constraint upon the other, which the natural -relationship of parent and child secures. She did not love her aunt -Mrs. Derinzy, and she positively disliked the Captain, who reciprocated -the sentiment; as was not unnatural, seeing that he was paying the -price of success in his schemes against her peace and happiness by the -unmitigated <i>ennui</i> produced by his life at Beachborough. For what -there really was of fine and noble, of amiable and elevated, in the -character of Annette Derinzy, her own nature was accountable, and in -no degree her training, associations, and surroundings. She had none -of the enthusiasm and fancy of girlhood about her--the atmosphere -of calculation, worldliness, and discontent in which she lived was -too decidedly and fatally unfavourable to their growth--but she did -not substitute for them any evil propensities or unworthy ambitions, -and her chief faults were those of temper. She was undeniably sulky; -her aunt did not traduce her on that point, though she did not fitly -understand the origin of the defect, or make any kind or charitable -allowance for its manifestation. Anger rarely took the form of passion -with Annette; but when aroused, it was very difficult to allay, and -her resentment was not easy to eradicate. The individual in the family -whom she disliked most--her uncle--was that one who least often excited -the girl's temper. She kept clear of him, away from him, as much as -she could, and usually regarded him with a degree of contempt which -seemed to act as a safeguard to her anger. But the internal life of -the house, as shared by the three women, Mrs. Derinzy, her niece, and -Mrs. Stothard, was sometimes far from peaceful. Annette was possessed -of much better feelings than might have been expected, her antecedents -and her present circumstances considered; and she was sometimes -successfully appealed to to forego her own will and submit to Mrs. -Derinzy's, by a representation of the delicacy of that lady's health, -and the ill effect which opposition and the sudden estrangement of her -niece would have upon her. Many quarrels were made up in this way, and -not the less readily that Annette was curious about the condition of -Mrs. Derinzy's health. She never exactly understood the nature of her -illness--which did not seem to the girl to interfere with her pursuing -the ordinary routine of a lady's life in a secluded country place, and -admitted of all the moderate and mildly-flavoured diversions which -such conditions of existence could bestow--but which was kept in view -constantly by the patient herself and Mrs. Stothard, pleaded in support -of the impossibility of any change in the mode of life of the Derinzy -family, and substantiated by the periodic visits of Dr. Wainwright. -Annette was wholly unconscious that while her own illness was the -subject of village gossip, comment, and speculation, no one outside -had any notion that Mrs. Derinzy was a chronic sufferer, requiring the -expensive and solicitous care of a physician of eminence from London, -who was well known in Beachborough to be such, and who was generally -supposed to come to see the young lady. She would have been greatly -angered had she suspected the existence of such an equivoque; for among -the strongest of her feelings were a repugnance to knowing herself to -be discussed, and an intense dislike to Dr. Wainwright.</p> - -<p>Annette's conduct towards the confidential physician, who was said to -be so clever in the treatment of disease, and especially of disease -of the nondescript, or at least not described, kind from which Mrs. -Derinzy suffered, had frequently been such as to justify her aunt's -displeasure, and deserve her reprobation as ill-tempered and ill-bred. -His appearance at Beachborough was invariably a signal for Annette's -exhibiting herself in her least attractive light, and generally for -open revolt against Mrs. Derinzy's wishes and authority. The girl -would contrive to get out of the house unnoticed, and remain away for -hours; or she would pretend illness and go to bed, and lie there quite -silent and refusing food, until she was convinced, by the entrance -of Dr. Wainwright into her room, and his accosting her with the calm -imperturbable authority of a physician, that the very worst way in -which to avoid seeing a doctor was by pretending to be ill. Or she -would make her appearance just in time to sit down at dinner, and -having returned his greeting with the utmost curtness and reluctance, -maintain obstinate silence throughout the meal, and retire immediately -on its conclusion. All remonstrances had failed to induce her to behave -better in this respect, and even Dr. Wainwright's skilful quizzing of -her for this peculiarity--which he told her was very unfashionable, -because he was quite a favourite with the ladies--had no effect. She -either could not or would not say why she disliked Dr. Wainwright, but -she had no hesitation in acknowledging that she did dislike him.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Stothard's position in the Derinzy household, however anomalous -in the sight of outsiders, was such as to make her perfectly aware -of the relations of each of its members to the others, while there -was something in her own relation to each respectively unknown to, -uncomprehended by, them. She ruled them all in a quiet unobtrusive -way, whose absolutism was as complete as it was unmarked, unmarred -by any tyranny of manner. We have seen how Captain Derinzy and she -were affected towards each other, and this narrative will have -to deal with her manipulation of Mrs. Derinzy's "scheme." As for -Annette, she seemed to be Mrs. Stothard's chief object in life, as she -certainly constituted her principal occupation in every day. But not -ostentatiously or oppressively so. If Annette had been called upon -to say which of her three associates was least displeasing to her, -which she least frequently wished away, she would have replied, "Mrs. -Stothard;" but she did not love even her. With Mrs. Stothard, Annette -seldom quarrelled; but a visit from Dr. Wainwright always furnished the -occasion for one of their rare disagreements; so that when the elder -woman came to tell the girl of his arrival one afternoon, while she was -lying down to rest after a long ramble, she knew she was bringing her -very unwelcome news.</p> - -<p>Annette had been restless of late. She was not ill, and there were no -symptoms of suffering in her appearance; but she had taken one of her -fits of mental weariness, for which her life offered no irrational -excuse, and, as her habit was, she had resorted, as a means of wearing -it off, to severe bodily exercise, walking such distances as secured -her against the danger of a companion, and yet never succeeding in -being as tired as she wished to be.</p> - -<p>"I should like to sleep for a week, a month, a year," she would say, -"and wake up in some new world, with nothing and nobody in it I had -ever seen before, and everything one thinks and says and does quite -different."</p> - -<p>But when Annette was weariest of mind, and tried to be weariest of -body, she slept less, and her temper was at its worst. So Mrs. Stothard -found her, when she urged her to get up and dress nicely for dinner, -because Dr. Wainwright had arrived, more than usually recalcitrant.</p> - -<p>"I shan't," said the girl, tossing her handsome arms over her head as -she lay at full length upon a sofa in her dressing-room, and ruffling -her dark hair with her wilful hands; "I shan't. I detest him; you know -I detest him. What is he always watching me, and trying to catch my -eye, for? He's a bad cruel man, and he comes here for no good. What's -the matter with my aunt? She was very well on Monday."</p> - -<p>"I don't know indeed, Miss Annette; the old complaint, I suppose."</p> - -<p>"The old complaint! <i>what</i> old complaint? It's all nonsense, in my -belief, and he persuades her she's ill for a purpose of his own. At all -events, let him see <i>her</i> and be done with it; <i>I shan't</i> go down to -dinner."</p> - -<p>"Oh yes, you will," said Mrs. Stothard, who had been quietly laying out -Annette's dress, pouring hot water into a basin, and disposing combs -and brushes on the toilet-table, "Oh yes, you will. You'll never be -so foolish as to make a quarrel with your uncle and aunt about such a -thing as that, and have the servants talking of it. Come, my dear, get -up; you've no time to spare."</p> - -<p>She looked steadily at the girl as she spoke, and put one hand under -her shoulder, raising her from the pillow. Annette shrunk from her for -a moment with a look partly cowed, partly of avoidance; the next she -let her feet down to the floor, and stood up passively, but with her -sullenest expression of face.</p> - -<p>"Where's Mary?" she said.</p> - -<p>"Busy with Mrs. Derinzy. She has been very poorly this afternoon. I'll -help you to dress."</p> - -<p>She did so silently; and Annette did not speak, but, like a froward -child, twitched herself about, and made her task as troublesome as -possible--a manoeuvre which Mrs. Stothard quietly ignored.</p> - -<p>"Where is the odious man?" she asked suddenly, when she stood dressed -for dinner before her toilet-glass, into which she did not look.</p> - -<p>"In the drawing-room with the Captain; you had better join them."</p> - -<p>"No, I won't, not till the bell rings. I'll keep out of his way as long -as I can. I'm neither Dr. Wainwright's friend nor Dr. Wainwright's -patient."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_10" href="#div1Ref_10">CHAPTER X.</a></h4> -<h5>MADAME CLARISSE.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>Mrs. Stothard had been lucky in getting her daughter into such an -unexceptionable establishment as that presided over by Madame Clarisse; -at least, so everybody said who spoke to her on the subject, and, as we -well know, what everybody says must be right. It does not detract from -the truth of the assertion when it is confessed that very few people -knew anything about Mrs. Stothard or her daughter; but the fact remains -the same. Madame Clarisse was decidedly the milliner most in vogue -during her day with the best--that is to say, the most clothes-wearing -and most <i>cachet</i>-giving--section of London society; and any young -woman who had the luck to learn her experience in such a school, and, -after a few years, had the money to set up in business for herself, -might consider her fortune as good as made.</p> - -<p>No doubt that Madame Clarisse's position was not ungrudgingly yielded -up to her, was not achieved, in fact, without an enormous amount of -work, and worry, and industry, and self-negation on her part; without a -proportionate quantity of jealousy and heart-burning, and envy, hatred, -malice, and all uncharitableness, on the part of those engaged in the -same occupation. Even in the very heyday of her success, when her -workwomen were sitting up for forty-eight hours at a stretch (Madame -Clarisse lived, it must be recollected, before the passing of any -ridiculous Acts of Parliament limiting the hours for women's labour); -when the carriages were in double rows before her door; and when, after -a drawing-room or a court-ball, the columns of the fashionable journals -were seething with repetitions of her name--there were some people who -said that they preferred the Misses Block, and roundly asserted that -the Misses Block's "cut" was better than Madame Clarisse's. The Misses -Block were attenuated old maids, who lived in Edwards Street, Portman -Square, in a house which was as old-fashioned as, Madame Clarisse used -to declare, were its occupiers, and who had suddenly blossomed from -the steady county connection which their mother bequeathed to them -into a whirl of fashionable patronage, notwithstanding that they were -"<i>bętes--Dieu, comme elles sont bętes!</i>" according to their lively -rival's account.</p> - -<p>Madame Clarisse was not <i>bęte</i>. If she had been, she would never -have made the fame or the money which she enjoyed, and which were -entirely the result of her own tact, and talent, and industry. No -mother had ever left her a snug business with a county connection. All -that she recollected of a mother was a snuffy old person with a silk -handkerchief tied round her head, who used to live on a fifth floor -in a little street debouching from the Cannebičre in Marseilles, and -who used to whack her little daughter with a long flat bit of wood -when she cried from hunger or other causes. When this mother died, -which she was good enough to do at a sufficiently early period of the -girl's life, Clarisse was taken in hand by her uncle, an <i>épicier</i> -and ship-chandler, who apprenticed her to a milliner in the town, and -was kind to her in his odd way. The girl was sharp and appreciative, -ready with her needle, readier with her tongue--she had a knack of -conciliating obstreperous customers whose orders had been unduly -delayed in a manner that delighted her mistress, a plain, blunt, stupid -woman--readiest of all with her eyes. Not as regards <i>oeillades</i>, -though that was a kind of sharpshooting in which she was not unskilled, -but in the use of her eyes for business purposes. Mademoiselle Clarisse -looked on and listened, and learned the world. No one came in or went -out of the work-room or the showroom without being diligently studied -and appraised by those sharp eyes and that quick brain. It was from her -appreciation of the English character, as learned in the milliner's -shop at Marseilles, that Mademoiselle Clarisse determined on seeking -her fortune in our favoured land, should the opportunity ever present -itself. Marseilles has a population of resident English--ship-owners, -ship-captains, naval men connected with the great Peninsular and -Oriental Company, many of whose vessels ply from that port--and these -worthy people have for the most part wives and daughters, whose -principal consolation in their banishment from England is that they -are enabled to dress themselves in the French fashion, and at a much -cheaper rate than they could were they at home. There is no gainsaying -that the prices charged by the Marseilles milliner, even to the English -ladies, were less than those which they would have been liable to in -their native land; but these prices, which were willingly paid, were -still so much in excess of those charged to the townspeople, that -Mademoiselle Clarisse clearly saw that a country which produced people -at once so rich and so simple was the place for her future action.</p> - -<p>She was a clear-headed young woman, with simple tastes and an innate -propensity for saving money; so that when her apprenticeship expired -she had a sum laid by--small indeed, but still something--with which -she determined to try her fortune in England. She had picked up a -little of the language, and had obtained a few introductions to -compatriots living in London; so that when she arrived, she was not -wholly friendless or utterly dependent. Mademoiselle Anatole--born -in Lyons, but long resident in London--wanted a partner; and after a -very sharp wrangle, conducted by the ladies on each side with great -skill and diplomacy, a portion of Mademoiselle Clarisse's savings was -transferred to her countrywoman, and a limp and ill-printed circular -informed Mademoiselle Anatole's patronesses that she had just received -into partnership the celebrated Mademoiselle Clarisse from Paris, and -that they hoped henceforth, etc.</p> - -<p>Mademoiselle Anatole lived on the first floor of an old house in the -Bloomsbury district, which had once been a fashionable mansion, but -which was now let out in lodgings. Under the French milliner, a German -importer of pipes and pictures and Bohemian glass had his rooms, -and his name, "Korb," shone out truculently from the street-door -jamb, towering above the milliner's more modest announcement of her -residence. The entire neighbourhood had a foreign and Bohemian flavour. -In an otherwise modest and British-looking house, Malmédie Frčres -announced in black-and-gold letters, much too slim and upright, that -they kept an hotel "Ŕ la Boule d'Or." From the open windows in the -summer-time poured forth, mixed with clouds of tobacco-smoke, waitings -and roarings of the human voice, and poundings and grindings of pianos. -The artists-colourmen had the street on their books (keeping it there -as little as possible), canvases and millboards were perpetually -arriving at one or other of the houses where the windows looking -northward were run up into the next floor, and bearded men smoking -short pipes pervaded the neighbourhood night and day.</p> - -<p>Even the very house in which the milliners lived was not free from the -Bohemian taint. On the second floor, immediately above the <i>magasin -des modes</i>, and immediately under the private rooms of Mesdames -Anatole and Clarisse, lived Mr. Rupert Robinson. Shortly after her -arrival Mademoiselle Clarisse met on the stairs several times a -middle-sized, middle-aged, jolly-looking gentleman, with bright -roguish eyes and a light-brown beard, who bowed as he passed by, -and gave her the inside of the staircase with much politeness, and -with a "Pardon, ma'amselle," in a very good accent. Asked who this -could be, Mademoiselle Anatole responded that it was probably "<i>ce</i> -Robinson:" asked what was <i>ce</i> Robinson, Madamoiselle Anatole further -replied that he was "<i>feuilletoniste, littérateur--je ne sais quoi!</i>" -And Mademoiselle Anatole was not far out in her guess, to which she -had probably been assisted by the constant sight of a grimy-faced -printer's-boy peacefully slumbering on a stool specially placed for his -accommodation outside Robinson's door. Those were the early days of -cheap periodicals, and there were few newspaper-offices or publishers' -shops where Mr. Rupert Robinson was unknown or where he was not -welcome. He was a bright, genial, jolly fellow, with an inexhaustible -stock of animal spirits and good-humour, with a keen appreciation of -the ludicrous, and a singular power of hunting-out and levelling lance -at small social shams and inflated humbugs of the day; and though he -would not have used a bludgeon, and could not have wielded a cutlass, -yet he made excellent practice with his foil, and when he chose, as it -happened sometimes, to break the button off and set to work in earnest, -his adversary always bore the marks of the bout. Generally, however, -he kept clear of anything like heavy work, for which his temperament -unsuited him, and confined himself to light literature, at which he -was one of the smartest hands of the day; and, in addition to his -journalistic and periodical work, he was one of the pillars of the -Parthenon Theatre.</p> - -<p>Those who only know the Parthenon in its present days--when it -occasionally remains shut for months, to open for a few nights with -"Herr Eselkopfs celebrated impersonation of the 'Jew whom Shakespeare -drew,'" <i>vide</i> public advertisement and, published criticism from -<i>Berwick-on-Tweed Argus</i>; when it alternates between opera and -burlesque or tragedy and breakdowns, but is always dirty, and dingy, -and mouldy-smelling, and bankrupt-looking--can have little idea of -what it was in the days of which we are writing, when Mr. and Mrs. -Momus were its lessees, and when there was more fun to be found -within its walls than in any other place in London, even of treble -its size. The chiefs of that merry company are both dead; the belles -whose bright eyes enthralled us then are portly matrons now, renewing -their former beauty in their daughters; the walking gentlemen have -walked off entirely or lapsed into heavy fathers; and the authors, who -were constantly lounging in the greenroom, and convulsing actors and -actresses with their audacious chaff, are some dead, and all who are -left sobered and steadied and aged. But all were young, and jolly, -and witty, and daring in those days; and foremost amongst them was -Mr. Rupert Robinson, who was then just beginning to write burlesques -in a style which his successors have spoiled and written out, and was -dramatising popular nursery stories, and filling them with the jokes, -allusions, and parodies of the day.</p> - -<p>Although Mr. Rupert Robinson had been for some time domiciled under the -same roof as Mademoiselle Anatole, he had made no attempt to cultivate -the acquaintance of that lady, who was in truth a very long, very thin, -very flat, very melancholy person, who had not merely <i>les larmes dans -sa voix</i>, but seemed to be thoroughly saturated with misery. But soon -after Mademoiselle Clarisse was added to the firm, the "littery gent," -as Mrs. Mogg the landlady was accustomed to call her second-floor -lodger, contrived to get up a bowing acquaintance, which soon ripened -into speaking, and afterwards into much greater intimacy. Mademoiselle -Anatole at first disapproved of the <i>camaraderie</i> thus established; but -she was mollified by the judicious presentation of unlimited orders -for the theatres and the opera, and by other kindness which had more -satisfactory and more enduring results; for Mr. Rupert Robinson, being -of a convivial nature, was in the habit of frequently giving what he -called "jolly little suppers" to certain select ladies of the <i>corps -de ballet</i> of the Parthenon; cheery little meals, where the male -portion of the company was contributed by the Household Brigade, the -Legislature, the Bar, and the Press, and where the comestibles were the -succulent oyster opened in the room and eaten fresh from the operating -knife, the creamy lobster, and hot potato handed from the block-tin -repository presided over by a peripatetic provider known to the guests -as "Tatur Khan." In his early youth Rupert had been a medical student -at the Hôtel Dieu in Paris, and he strove, not unsuccessfully, to imbue -these little parties with a spirit of the <i>vie de Bohčme</i> which rules -the denizens of the Latin Quarter. The viands were very good and very -cheap, and though there was plenty of fun and laughter, there was no -license.</p> - -<p>Soon after the establishment of his acquaintance with Clarisse, Rupert -invited her and her partner to one of these banquets, and she soon -became popular with the set who were admitted to them. Mademoiselle -Anatole they did not think much of; indeed, Miss Bella Montmorency, -one of the four leading <i>coryphées</i> who at that time were creating -such a sensation in the ballet of <i>Mustapha</i> at the T.R.D.L, said all -the use that that thin Frenchwoman could be made of was to replace the -skeleton, a relic of Rupert's old surgical life, which he sometimes -brought out of its box and seated at the table, crowned with flowers. -But with Clarisse they were very different. She was bright and cheery, -sang a pretty little song, and laughed a merry little ringing laugh at -all the jokes, whether she understood them or not; and the ballet-girls -liked her very much, and invited her to come and see them, and tried to -help her in the world. They could not do much in that way themselves, -for they made their own dresses of course, and when they had a present -of a black-silk gown or a shawl, had no chance of recommending any -particular vendor; but when they saw that the Frenchwomen were really -excellent in their business, they spoke about them in the theatre so -loudly, that the rumours of their proficiency reached the ears of Mrs. -Lannigan and Miss Calverley, the two "leading ladies" of the theatre, -and incited their curiosity. The crimson-slashed jackets and the lovely -diaphanous nether garments, the Polish lancer-caps and the red boots -with brass heels, which these ladies wore in the burlesques, were -provided by the management and prepared by Miss Hirst, the wardrobe -woman, a crushed creature with a pock-marked face and a wall-eye, -who always had the bosom of her gown studded with pins, and her hair -streaked with fluffy ends of thread. But when phases of modern life -were to be represented, the ladies chose to find their own dresses; and -hearing of the excellent "cut" and "fit" of Mademoiselles Anatole and -Clarisse, were persuaded to give those young women a trial. The result -was favourable, recommendation followed on recommendation, and the firm -had as much work as it could possibly get through.</p> - -<p>It was about this period of her life that Mademoiselle Clarisse, in -her visits to the theatre, made the acquaintance of M. Pierre. It was -not to be doubted that M. Pierre, as well as Mademoiselles Anatole and -Clarisse, was in possession of a legitimate surname in addition to the -<i>nom de baptęme</i> by which he was commonly known; but, following the -custom of those of his class, he had suffered it to lapse on coming to -England, and though known as "<i>ce cher</i> Lélong" by his compatriots, -called himself to his customers M. Pierre, and was so called by -them. M. Pierre was a <i>coiffeur</i> by profession--unfortunately, as -he thought; for he lived at a time when that profession was rather -at a discount. In his early youth, when the great ladies wore their -own hair dressed in the most elaborate fashion, the <i>coiffeur</i> was a -necessary adjunct to every well-regulated establishment. Had he lived -until now, when the great ladies wear other persons' hair dressed in -the most preposterous manner, he would have found plenty to do, and -would probably have invented various washes, which would have ruined -the health of thousands of silly women and made the fortune of their -concocter. But when M. Pierre was in the prime of his life, elaborate -hair-dressing went out of fashion, and the simplicity of knots, bands, -and ringlets, which could be intrusted to the maid or even executed by -the fair fingers of the wearer, came in its stead. This was an awful -blow to M. Pierre, whose experience was thus restricted to members of -the theatrical profession, or to the occasional preparation of wigs -and headdresses for a fancy ball; but he had saved a little money, -and being a long-headed calculating man, he arranged to invest and -reinvest it to great advantage. At the time that he was introduced -to Mademoiselle Clarisse he was an elderly man, but he had lost none -of his shrewdness and <i>savoir faire</i>. He saw at a glance that his -countrywoman was not merely perfect mistress of her art, but generally -a clever woman of the world; and after a little time he proposed to her -that they should club their means and hunt the rich English in couples. -He pointed out to her that his connection formerly lay among the very -highest and best classes, many of whom recollected him, and would be -glad to give anyone a turn on his recommendation; that he, as a man, -had a much greater chance of buying merchandise good and cheap than any -woman; finally, that he had capital, without which she could never do -anything great, which he would put into the business.</p> - -<p>Mademoiselle Clarisse took a week to think over all that Pierre had -said to her before coming to any decision. Her ambition had increased -with her success, and she had long since ceased to think very highly of -the patronage of the theatrical ladies, to obtain which at one time she -would have made any sacrifice. For some time she had been in business -on her own account; Mademoiselle Anatole, so soon as she realised a -sufficiency, having retired to Lyons, there to weep and grizzle and -sniff, and make herself as uncomfortable and unpleasant-looking as the -vast majority of French old maids. And Clarisse was fully aware of -M. Pierre's talent, and believed in his fortune; and verging towards -middle age, and having lost sight of Rupert Robinson, and others for -whom she had had her <i>caprices</i> after him, and having lost her zest -for rollicking suppers and fun of that kind, thought she could not -do better than settle herself in life, and accordingly accepted M. -Pierre's proposal.</p> - -<p>She soon found she had done rightly. Many of her husband's old -patronesses consented to give her a trial for his sake, and were -so pleased that they recommended her to all their friends. The -establishment in George Street was then first opened, and M. Pierre not -only did all he promised but a great deal more. For, being always a -man of great taste, he turned his attention to the devising of special -articles of millinery, then employed his manual dexterity in carrying -out his ideas; and not suffering in any way from a sense of the -ridiculous, he might be seen hour after hour in his sanctum, with his -glasses on his nose and an embroidered skull-cap on his head, singing -away some pastoral <i>chanson</i> or drinking couplet, while his nimble -fingers were busily engaged in stitching at a novel kind of headdress -or in sketching out a design for an artistic bonnet. He was proud of -his wife's appearance and pleased with her industry and success, and -he enjoyed his married life very much for a couple of years, making -a point of going to St. James's Street on drawing-room days, and to -the Opera on great nights, to admire the results of his handiwork, -but otherwise living very domestically and quietly; and then he died, -leaving all his worldly possessions to his widow.</p> - -<p>The success which had attended Madame Clarisse during her husband's -lifetime continued after his death, and there was scarcely a house in -the millinery business holding a higher reputation than hers. It was -this reputation which induced Mrs. Stothard, ordinarily so quiet and -self-contained, to make a great effort to get her daughter engaged -as a member of Madame Clarisse's staff. Many young women of Daisy's -position in life would have eagerly accepted such a chance; "From -Madame Clarisse's," figuring on a brass door-plate in the future, being -an excellent recommendation and an almost certain augury of success. -The Frenchwoman was perfectly cognisant of this, and required a large -premium with her apprentices. That once paid, the girls were turned -into the workroom and left to "take it out" as best they might; unless, -indeed, one of them showed exceptional talent and skill--qualities -which were immediately recognised by their employer.</p> - -<p>Daisy's promotion had, however, not been due to her possession of -either of these qualities. She had one, a much rarer, which influenced -her removal from the work-room to the showroom, and which led Madame -Clarisse and all her customers to take notice of the girl--and that was -the exceptional style of her beauty. Ladies young and old would call -Madame to them, and in undertones ask her who was the "young person" -with that wonderful complexion and that excellent manner. Was she -not some one who--they meant to say--not born in that class of life, -don't you know; so very bred-looking and <i>distinguée</i>, and that sort -of thing? Some women would have been jealous of such compliments paid -to their assistants, but Madame was far above anything of that kind. -She used to bow and to invent any little nonsense as it occurred to -her at the moment, enough to satisfy the querists without leading them -to pursue their inquiries, and then would dismiss the subject from -her thoughts. The girl was <i>asses gentille</i>, neat, and even elegant -in her appearance, and of good address; looked well in the street, -wore pretty gloves, Madame had noticed, in contradistinction to most -Anglaises--"<i>qui sont ordinairement gantées comme les chats bottes</i>," -as she would say with a shrug of horror--and walked well--in Madame's -mind another unusual accomplishment in an Englishwoman. Altogether she -was a credit to the establishment; and Madame began to take a little -more notice of her, talk more confidentially of business matters to -her, and leave her in charge of affairs when pleasure engagements, of -which she had a great many, summoned her away. Under these different -circumstances the girl became a different being in her employer's -eyes. Hitherto Madame Clarisse had only seen her as a quiet impassive -young woman doing her duty in the showroom; but when she came to know -her, and to see how every feeling was reflected in her face--how the -gray eyes could flash and the colour would rush into the pale cheek, -heightened in its brilliancy by the creamy whiteness surrounding -it--she allowed to herself that "Fanfan," as she now called her, was -lovely indeed.</p> - -<p>And then Madame Clarisse began to have new notions about Fanfan. The -French milliner was not an exceptionally good woman, nor, indeed, ever -thought of arrogating to herself the title. In the days of her youth -she had not permitted any straitlaced notions of morality to interfere -with her pleasures; and in her comfortable middle age she never -neglected an opportunity of gratifying the two passions by which she -was most swayed--money-making and good living. She cared very little as -to what her young women might do during the few spare hours of their -leisure; but it was a necessity of her business, that the assistants -in the showroom should be presentable persons and of a certain staid -demeanour. Fanfan's manners were admirably suited for her place--cold, -respectful, and intelligent; but when Madame had discovered the -existence of the volcano beneath the icy exterior, had learned, as she -did quietly and dexterously, that, with all the good schooling she had -gone through, and the restraint which she had brought to bear upon -herself, the girl was full of feeling and passion, and that there was -"a great deal of human nature" in her, she took a special and peculiar -interest in Fanfan's future.</p> - -<p>"To make herself a <i>modiste</i> here in London without money is -impossible," she mused. "To set up in Brighton or Tonbridge, to marry -an <i>épicier</i> or an <i>employé</i>--ah, my faith, she is too good for that! -Is it that Madame Lobbia, that little dame, <i>mince</i>, and like to a -white rabbit, who flies to and from Saint Jean's Woot at the great trot -with her beautiful horses, and wears diamonds in full day; is it that -Mdlle. Victorine, <i>feu écuyčre</i> at Franconi's, who leads Milor Milliken -such a dance, throws his money to the winds, and laughs to his nose; is -it that they are to be mentioned with Fanfan? And there are other Jews, -merchants of diamonds, than M. Lobbia, and other milors as rich and as -silly as Milor Milliken. Forward, my Fanfan! why this dull life to you? -For me, do you ask, why I give myself so much trouble? Hold, I know -nothing! In watching the progress of others one renews one's own youth, -and to <i>exploiter</i> so much grace and beauty would be interesting, and -might be remunerative. <i>Et du reste</i>----" and Madame Clarisse paused -for a moment, reflecting; then shrugged her shoulders slightly, and -said, "<i>du reste, ŕ la guerre comme ŕ la guerre!</i>"</p> - -<p>But whatever Madame's notions on the subject might have been, she kept -them strictly to herself, never making any difference in her manner -towards Daisy, save, perhaps, in being a little kinder and showing a -little increased confidence in her. It was not until the evening after -the day on which Fanny Stothard had written to her mother that Madame -made any regular approach to familiarity with her assistant. They had -had a long and busy and tiring day, for the end of the season was -coming on, as it always does, with a rush, and people had neglected -ordering their autumn clothes, as they always do, until the last, and -the showrooms had been crammed for six hours with an impatient crowd, -every component member of which desired to be served at once. Madame -had given up any <i>réunions</i> for that evening, and had taken her fair -share of the work and supervised everything, remaining in the showroom -until all the girls, except Daisy, had gone. Then she walked up to -Daisy, and put one hand on the girl's shoulder, tapping her cheek with -the other, and saying:</p> - -<p>"<i>Enfin</i>, Mademoiselle Fanfan, this dreadful day has come to an end at -last. You look worn and fatigued, my child. It's lucky that the end of -the season is close at hand, or you would what you call 'knock-up,' -without fail."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I shall do very well, Madame, thank you," replied Daisy, a little -coldly; "a night's rest will quite set me up again."</p> - -<p>"Oh, but you must have something before your night's rest, Fanfan. You -are <i>triste</i> and tired; I see it in your eyes. You want a--<i>tiens!</i> -what is it that little <i>farceur</i>, the advocate Chose, calls it?--a peg. -Ha, ha! that is it! You want a sherry peg or a glass of champagne. -We will go up to my room, and have some Lyons <i>saucisson</i> and some -champagne."</p> - -<p>At any other time Daisy would have declined this invitation; but partly -because she really felt low and hipped and overwrought, and imagined -that the wine would restore her, partly because she was afraid of -appearing ungracious to her employer, whose increased kindness to her -of late she had noticed, she now said she should be delighted, and -followed Madame up the stairs.</p> - -<p>Such a cosy little sitting-room was Madame's--low-ceilinged and -odd-shaped, like an ordinary <i>entresol</i> carried up a story; with -French furniture in red velvet, with the walls covered with engravings -and nicknacks and Danton's statuettes, and the tables littered "with -scrofulous French novels" in their yellow paper covers. The room was -lit by one large window and a half, the other half giving light to -Madame's bedroom, which led out by a door, through which, when open, -as it usually was, glimpses could be obtained of the end of a brass -bedstead apparently dressed up in blue muslin. There was a cloth on the -table, and Madame bustled about, and, assisted by her little French -maid--the page-boy retired home after customers' hours--soon produced -some sausage and the remains of a Strasbourg pie, bread, butter, -and <i>fromage de Brie</i>, and from the cellar (which was a cupboard on -the landing with a patent lock, where Madame kept a small stock of -remarkably good wine) a bottle of champagne.</p> - -<p>Daisy could not eat very much, she was over-tired for that; but the -wine did her good, and she talked much more freely than was her wont.</p> - -<p>Madame Clarisse was delighted with her; a certain bitterness in the -girl's tone being specially appreciated by the Frenchwoman. After some -little talk she said to her:</p> - -<p>"You still live in the same apartment, Fanfan?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Madame--in the same garret."</p> - -<p>"Garret!" echoed Madame Clarisse. "<i>Eh bien</i>, what does it matter? -Garret or palace, it makes little difference when one is young.</p> -<div style="margin-left:10%; font-size:smaller"> -<p class="t0" style="text-indent:-10px">'Bravant le monde, et les sots et les sages,</p> -<p class="t1">Sans avenir, fier de mon printemps,</p> -<p class="t0">Leste et joyeux je montais six étages--</p> -<p class="t1">Dans un grenier qu'on est bien ŕ vingt ans.'"</p> -</div> - -<p class="continue">And as she trolled out the verse in a rich voice, Madame's eyes looked -very wicked, and she chinked her glass against her companion's.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps it is because I only live on the third story--though there's -nothing above it--but I certainly never feel <i>leste</i> or <i>joyeuse</i>," -said the girl.</p> - -<p>"No?" said Madame interrogatively. "That's a sad thing to say. And yet -you have youth and beauty, Fanfan."</p> - -<p>"Youth and beauty!" cried the girl. "If I have them, what good are they -to me? Can they drag me out of this life of slavery, take me from that -wretched garret, give me gowns and jewels, and horses, and carriages, -and a position in life?"</p> - -<p>Daisy was full of excitement; the tones of her voice were thrilling, -her eyes sparkled, and her cheeks were flushed. Madame Clarisse eyed -her curiously.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said, after a minute's pause; "they can do all this, -and"--taking Daisy's hand--"some day, Fanfan, perhaps they may."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps they may," said Daisy.</p> - -<p>She was thinking of the chance of her marrying Paul Derinzy, whom she -knew as Mr. Douglas. But Madame Clarisse did not know Mr. Derinzy, so -she was not thinking of Daisy's marrying him--or anybody else, as it -happened.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_11" href="#div1Ref_11">CHAPTER XI.</a></h4> -<h5>BEHIND THE SCENES.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>When Mrs. Stothard said, "Oh yes, you will!" as comment upon Annette -Derinzy's outspoken declaration that she would not go down to dinner, -she probably knew that she had grounds for the assertion. At all -events, the result proved her to be right. The dinner-bell clanged out, -pealing through the crazy tumble-down Tower, and awaking all the echoes -lying in wait in that ramshackle building; and ere the reverberation -of the noise had ceased, the door of Miss Derinzy's bedroom was wide -open. Annette's back had been turned to it, and when she wheeled round, -her attention attracted by the current of air which rushed in and -disarranged a muslin scarf which she wore round her shoulders, she saw -that Mrs. Stothard was busily engaged at a chest of drawers standing -in a somewhat remote corner of the room. Annette was silent, but she -glanced stealthily and shiftily out of the corners of her eyes. Mrs. -Stothard still remained immersed in her occupation. The girl shifted -uneasily from one foot to the other, hesitating, dallying; then shook -herself together, as it were, and seeing she was still unnoticed, with -a low chuckle silently and swiftly passed through the doorway and -descended the stairs.</p> - -<p>In seaside places such as Beachborough the evenings in late summer are -chilly. There was a handful of fire in the dining-room grate, and while -Miss Annette was sulking upstairs, and deliberating whether she should -or should not come down, Captain Derinzy was standing on the rug with -his back to the grate, and from that post of vantage was haranguing his -wife and his guest--Dr. Wainwright--in his own peculiar way. When he -was alone with his wife the Captain was silent and submissive; when a -third person was present, and he knew that a curtain-lecture was the -worst he had to dread, he was loquacious and imperative.</p> - -<p>"And again I say to you, Wainwright," said he, in continuance of some -previous conversation, "she's got to that pitch now that she isn't to -be borne. I can stand a good deal--no man more so; they used to say, -when I was on the Committee of the Windham, that I had a--a--what was -it?--judicial mind; that was what they called it, a judicial mind--but -I can't stand this girl and her tempers, and so something must be done; -and there's an end of it, Wainwright!"</p> - -<p>There are some men who are never called by any but their -christian-names, and those often familiarly abbreviated, by their most -promiscuous acquaintance. There are others in whose appearance and -manners something forbids their interlocutors ever dispensing with -their courtesy titles. Dr. Wainwright, one would have said, undoubtedly -belonged to the latter class. He was a tall man, standing over six -feet in height, with a high bald forehead, large features, square jaw, -and deep piercing gray eyes. His manners were placidly courtly, his -naturally sonorous voice was skilfully modulated, and there was an -unmistakable air of latent strength about him, a sort of consciousness -of the possession of certain power, you could not tell what. He might -have been a duke, or a philosopher in easy circumstances, or a "man in -authority, having servants under him." Quiet, dignified, and bland, -he held his own amongst all sorts and conditions of men, and with -the exception of two or three intimates of a quarter of a century's -standing, Captain Derinzy was probably the only person living who would -have thought of calling him "Wainwright." The Doctor winced a little at -the repetition of the familiarity, but beyond that took no notice of it.</p> - -<p>"My dear Captain Derinzy," said he, after a moment's pause, "I can -perfectly appreciate your feelings. I have not the least doubt that -Miss Derinzy's unfortunate illness is the source of great annoyance to -you. Still, if you are indisposed to run certain risks, which, as I -have explained to Mrs. Derinzy----"</p> - -<p>"I thought by this time, Dr. Wainwright," interrupted the lady, "you -would have seen the utter futility of paying the least attention to -anything which Captain Derinzy may say!"</p> - -<p>"My love!" murmured the Captain.</p> - -<p>"He is as fully impressed as any of us," continued Mrs. Derinzy, -without taking the least notice of her husband, "with the necessity of -our pursuing the course we have agreed upon; but he has a passion for -hearing his own voice; and as he knows that I never listen to him, he -is only too glad to find someone who will."</p> - -<p>"No, no! Look here, Wainwright," said the Captain. "It's all very well, -you know, but Mrs. Derinzy don't put the thing quite fairly. She's a -woman, you know, and it's natural for women to be dull and left alone, -and all that; but a man's a different thing. He requires----"</p> - -<p>Captain Derinzy did not finish his sentence as to a man's requirements, -for Dr. Wainwright's quick ear had caught the sound of an approaching -footstep, and he held up his hand and raised his eyebrows in warning, -only in time to stop his voluble host as the door opened and Annette -appeared.</p> - -<p>As she entered the room Dr. Wainwright immediately faced her. There -was no mistaking his figure and presence, even if she had not expected -to find him there. Nevertheless, her first idea was to close the door -and run away. But she would scarcely have had the opportunity of doing -this, however much she might have wished it; for the Doctor at once -stepped across the room, and had taken her hand in his, and was bowing -over it in his old-fashioned courtly way, almost before she was aware -of it.</p> - -<p>"There is no occasion to ask after your health, Miss Annette," he said -in his soft pleasant tone. "One has only to look at you to have one's -pleasantest hopes confirmed. You and the Dorsetshire air do credit to -each other."</p> - -<p>"I am quite well," said Annette shortly, taking her hand from his.</p> - -<p>"Here's dinner!" said the Captain. "You see, we don't make a stranger -of you, Wainwright--at least, Mrs. Derinzy doesn't. There's a dam -prejudice in this house against using the drawing-room; so we sit -stiving in this infernal place, 'parlour, and kitchen, and all,' -and---- Where will you sit?"</p> - -<p>Sentence abruptly concluded in consequence of unmistakable -manifestations of his wife's being unable to put up with him any longer.</p> - -<p>"Thank you, Captain Derinzy, I'll sit over here, if you please," said -the Doctor, with an extra dash of stiffness in his manner; "opposite -Miss Annette; and, if you'll permit me, I will move these flowers a -little on one side, that I may get a better view of her."</p> - -<p>"Why do you always stare at me?" said Annette, with a defiant air.</p> - -<p>"Do I stare?" asked Dr. Wainwright. "If I do, I am exceedingly rude, -and ought to know better. But haven't you used the wrong word, my dear -young lady? I look at you, perhaps; but I hope I don't stare."</p> - -<p>"Looking and staring are all the same. I hate to be looked at!"</p> - -<p>"You are the very first girl I ever heard give utterance to that -sentiment," said the Doctor cheerily; "and you'll soon outgrow such -ideas."</p> - -<p>"I daresay we shall hear no more of them after her cousin Paul has been -staying with us," said Mrs. Derinzy. "We expect Paul soon now, Doctor."</p> - -<p>"I have heard a good deal of Mr. Paul from my son, who is in the same -office with him. They seem to be great allies, and George speaks in the -highest terms of Mr. Paul."</p> - -<p>"Is your son's name George?" asked Annette.</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Your own name is not George?"</p> - -<p>"No; mine is Philip."</p> - -<p>"I'm glad it is not the same as your son's."</p> - -<p>The Doctor and Mrs. Derinzy exchanged glances, and were silent; but -Captain Derinzy, who all his life had been notorious for his obtuseness -in taking a hint, said:</p> - -<p>"Why, what a ridick'lous thing you are sayin', Annette! Why are you -glad the Doctor's son's name's not the same as his? What on earth -difference could it make to you?"</p> - -<p>"It could not make any difference to me," said the girl quietly; "only, -I don't know why, I think I should wish to like Dr. Wainwright's son, -and--and----"</p> - -<p>"And the less he is like his father the greater the chance of your -doing so; isn't that it, Miss Annette?" asked the Doctor, with his -pleasant smile.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Annette, looking him straight in the face, "you're quite -right; that is it."</p> - -<p>This blunt communication was received by those who heard it after very -different fashions. Mrs. Derinzy knit her brows, and, after looking -savagely at her niece, shrugged her shoulders at the Doctor, as much as -to say, "What could you expect?" Captain Derinzy laid down his knife -and fork, and muttered, "Oh, dam!" apparently in confidence to his -plate. The Doctor alone maintained his equanimity unimpaired. There was -a pause--considering the tremendous character of the last remark--a -very short pause--and then he said:</p> - -<p>"Now, there's an instance of the injustice which is done by your -sex, Mrs. Derinzy, to ours. Miss Netty--with an honesty which is -<i>impayable</i>, and which, if there were a little more of it in polite -society, would go far to the explosion of what Mr. Carlyle calls 'shams -and wind-bags'--says she doesn't like me. She gives no reason, you -observe; so that I am relegated to the same position as another member -of our profession--Dr. Fell--who also was misliked, and equally without -reason alleged."</p> - -<p>"I could tell you the reasons for my disliking you," said Annette.</p> - -<p>It was extraordinary, the change which had come over her face. The -cheeks were full-blooded, the eyes suffused and starting from her head, -the hair pushed back, the whole look fierce and defiant.</p> - -<p>"Could you?" said the Doctor; then, after looking up at her, adding -very quickly, "Ah, but you must not. I don't want to hear a list of -my shortcomings, or a catalogue of my faults. I'm too old to make up -for the one or get rid of the other; and---- Mrs. Derinzy, I must -congratulate you on your cook. It is rare indeed, in what I may be -pardoned in calling these out-of-the-way regions, that one comes across -anything like this <i>filet de sole</i>."</p> - -<p>He turned his face towards his hostess as he said these words, and -spoke in her direction, but he scarcely moved his eyes from direct -contemplation of Annette. The girl's face, with the same flush on it, -was looking down, and she seemed to be working nervously with her -hands, rapidly intertwining and then separating them, under the table.</p> - -<p>Captain Derinzy, at the Doctor's last remark, had given vent to a -very curious sound, half-sigh of self-commiseration, half a grunt of -contempt. He had not learned much in the half-century during which he -had adorned life--his natural gifts had been small, and he had not -taken much trouble to improve upon them--but one thing he had arrived -at, and that was an appreciation of good cooking. He not merely knew -the difference between good and bad dishes--in itself by no means a -common acquirement--but he had a knowledge of the arcana of the art, -and great high-priests whose temples were the kitchens of London clubs -had taken his opinion on the merits of various <i>plats</i>.</p> - -<p>"Well," he said, after a moment, "that's a funny thing! I know you, -Wainwright. You're not the kind of fellow to go in for politeness, -and all that kind of thing--I mean, of course, flummery, you know, -and all that--and yet you say we've got a good cook, and this is -nice <i>filet de sole</i>! Why, there are fellows used to tell you about -doctors, you know--'Oh yes, it's all very fine,' they used to say, -'for doctors to tell you not to eat this, and not to drink that, and -all the time they're regular <i>gourmets</i>, don't you know!' Well, I -think that's all stuff, for my part. They may know all very well about -broth and beef-tea, and all that sort of beastliness that they give -people when they're getting better; but I only knew one of 'em that -ever knew anything really about cooking, and he was an old fellow -who'd been out in India, and was a C.B., or something of that sort; -and he told the cook at Windham how to make a curry--peculiar kind of -thing, quite different from what you get mostly--that was delicious, by -Jove! As for this stuff," continued the Captain, taking up a portion -of the lauded filet on the end of his fork, and eyeing it with great -disgust, "it's dry and tough and leathery, and tastes like badly-baked -flannel-waistcoat, by Jove!"</p> - -<p>During this speech Dr. Wainwright, although his polite attention to -it had been obvious, had scarcely removed his glance from Annette. -It remained on her as he said, turning his face in the Captain's -direction, and laughing heartily:</p> - -<p>"I never tasted badly-baked flannel-waistcoat, Captain Derinzy, and -I still stand up for the excellence of the <i>filet</i>. However, I'm not -going to be led into giving any opinion whether we're good judges of -good living, or rather whether we exemplify the well-known exceptions -which prove rules by not practising what we preach. But one thing can't -be denied--that we hear of very curious stories about fancies in eating -and drinking. I heard of one only the other day, of an old gentleman -who had had the same breakfast for thirty years; and what do you think, -Mrs. Derinzy, were its component parts?"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Derinzy, also curiously observant of Annette, roused from her -quiet watchfulness, and gave herself up to guessing. Tea, coffee, -milk, cream, porridge, toast, ham, eggs, she suggested; while claret, -brandy-and-soda, anchovy, devilled anything, and bitter beer in a -tankard, were proposed by her husband. The Doctor shook his head at all -these items, grimly saying:</p> - -<p>"What should you say to Irish stew and hot whisky-and-water?"</p> - -<p>"Heavens!" cried Mrs. Derinzy.</p> - -<p>"For breakfast?" asked the Captain.</p> - -<p>"For breakfast; and eaten in bed every day for thirty years!"</p> - -<p>"Oh, dam!" said the Captain. "If you hadn't told the story, Wainwright, -I shouldn't have believed it. Of course, if you say so, it is so; but -the fellow must have been off his head--mad!"</p> - -<p>Before he had uttered the last word Mrs. Derinzy, who seemed to have an -idea of what was coming, had stretched out her hand towards her husband -in warning, while even Dr. Wainwright moved uncomfortably on his chair. -Had Annette heard it? Little doubt of that. She looked up slyly, very -slyly, with a half-stealthy, half-searching glance at the Doctor; then -raising her head, glared defiantly at her aunt, as though marking -whether she were affected by the suggestion. She looked long and -earnestly, then finding that Mrs. Derinzy's attention was concentrated -on her, she withdrew her glance, and relapsed into her former stolid -condition.</p> - -<p>So the dinner progressed--pleasantly to Captain Derinzy, as a break -in the monotony of his life. Not merely did Mrs. Derinzy, who, in her -capacity of housekeeper, kept the keys of the cellar and exercised a -rigorous economy in that department--not merely did she increase both -the quality and quantity of the wine supplied to the table, but she -refrained from joining in the conversation more than was absolutely -demanded of her by politeness, and consequently the Captain was able -to direct it into those channels which most delighted him. It is -needless to say that those channels ran with small-talk and fashionable -gossip, and petty details of that London life which he had once so -thoroughly enjoyed, and from which he was now so unwillingly exiled. -The Captain found his interlocutor perfectly able to converse on these -his favourite topics. One might have thought that Dr. Wainwright had -nothing better to do than to flutter from club to mess-room, and from -mess-room to boudoir, so well was he up in the <i>chronique scandaleuse</i> -of the day, adapting his phraseology, his voice, and manner to the -fashion of the times. The Captain was delighted; great names, once -familiar in his mouth as household words, but the mention of which -he had not heard for ages, were once more ringing in his ears; the -conversation seemed to possess the old smoking-room and barrack flavour -so dear to him once, so dead to him of late; and while under its spell, -his manner renewed its ancient swagger and his voice its old roll. He -yet asked himself how the man whom he had hitherto only known as the -sober sedate physician could have recalled such sentiments or borne so -essential a part in their discussion.</p> - -<p>At length the Doctor's anecdotes commenced to flag, and the Doctor -himself was obviously seeking for an opportunity of breaking off the -conversation. Mrs. Derinzy, who had been apparently dropping off to -sleep, roused up with the declining voices, and catching a peculiar -expression in the Doctor's face, was on the alert in an instant. That -peculiar expression was a glance towards Annette, accompanied by a -significant elevation of the eyebrows, following immediately upon which -Dr. Wainwright said:</p> - -<p>"And now I must drop this charming conversation which we have had, my -dear Captain Derinzy, and, falling back into my professional character, -must declare that it is time for us to adjourn.--Beauty sleep, my dear -Miss Netty"--walking quickly round and laying his hand lightly on her -shoulder--lightly, though she quivered under the touch, and rose at -once from her seat--"beauty sleep is not to be had after twelve, they -tell us; and though you don't require it, and though you said you -didn't like to be looked at--oh, Miss Netty!--yet I think we're all of -us sufficiently tired to wish for it to-night. So goodnight! You don't -mind shaking hands with me, though you were cruel enough to say you -disliked me; goodnight.--Goodnight, Mrs. Derinzy; you feel stronger -to-night? Let me feel your pulse for one moment." Then in a rapid -undertone to her, "Do you go with her, while I speak a word to Mrs. -Stothard. Don't leave till she returns." Again aloud, "Goodnight."</p> - -<p>The Captain was making a final foray among the decanters as Mrs. -Derinzy and Annette, closely followed by Dr. Wainwright, passed out -of the door, immediately on the other side of which Mrs. Stothard -was standing. She was about to follow the ladies, but a sign from -the Doctor arrested her, and she let them pass on, remaining behind -with him. He said but very few words to her, and those in a muttered -undertone, but she understood them apparently, nodded her reply, and -hurried away upstairs.</p> - -<p>"Now, Miss Derinzy, get to bed; do you hear? This is the last time I -shall speak to you; next time I shall <i>make</i> you."</p> - -<p>The tone in which these words are said is very unlike Mrs. Stothard's -usual tone; but it is Mrs. Stothard's voice and it is Mrs. Stothard -herself--equipped in a tight linen jacket fitting her closely -and without any superfluity of material, and a short clinging -petticoat--who is standing by the bed on which Annette is seated.</p> - -<p>"Come, do you hear me?" she repeats, taking the girl by the shoulder; -"undress now, and get into bed. We're ever so late as it is."</p> - -<p>But the girl sits stolidly gazing before her, and never moving a muscle.</p> - -<p>Then Mrs. Stothard bends down and looks into her face--looks long and -earnestly, the girl never flinching the while--and comes back to her -upright position, with her cheeks a little paler and her mouth a little -more set.</p> - -<p>"The doctor was right," she mutters between her teeth; "there's one -coming on to-night, and a bad one, too, I fancy."</p> - -<p>She goes to a drawer, takes out some article, and lays it on the bed -hard by. The girl shoots a stealthy glance out from under her eyelids, -sees what is done, sees what is fetched, and drops her eyes again on to -the floor.</p> - -<p>"You won't! you've heard me, you know, Annette! You won't undress! -Come, then, you shall!"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Stothard, bending over the girl, undoes the top button of her -dress, the second button, the third. The fourth is not so easily -undone, and Mrs. Stothard shifts her position, comes round, and kneels -in front of her. Then, with a low long howl, more like that of a beast -at bay than a human creature, the girl dashes at her throat and bears -her to the ground. A bad time for the nurse, this. The attack is so -sudden, that for one moment she is overpowered; the next her presence -of mind returns, and with it her strength of wrist. Her hands are wound -in the girl's long hair then floating down her back; she tears at it -with all her force, until the distorted face, which had been glaring -into hers, is wrenched backward, and under torture the hand-grip on her -throat is relaxed. Then she slips herself from underneath her foe and -closes with her. They are both on the ground, locked in each other's -arms, and struggling furiously, what is more wonderful silently, for, -save their deep breathing, neither emits a sound, when the door opens -softly and Dr. Wainwright enters. Annette's face is towards him: her -eyes meet his, and the wild rage dies out of them, to be succeeded by -a glance of fear and horror; and her grasp relaxes and her arms fall -helplessly by her sides, and she moans in a low voice.</p> - -<p>"It is here again! Oh my God, it is here again!"</p> - -<p>"And only here just in time, apparently, Mrs. Stothard," says the -doctor, helping the nurse to rise. "This is a very bad attack. Just -assist me to put this on her," he added, taking the <i>camisole de force</i> -from off the bed, and putting it over Annette's head as she sat rigid -on the floor; "and keep it on all night, please. A very bad attack -indeed."</p> - -<p>"Bad attack!" said Mrs. Stothard; "I'm glad you've seen it, Dr. -Wainwright. You never would believe me before. But I've often told -you, in all your practice you've got no worse case than that she-devil -there. And yet these fools here think she will be cured!"</p> - -<p>"Strong language, strong language, Mrs. Stothard," said the doctor -deprecatingly. "But I don't think you're far out in what you say; I -don't, indeed!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_12" href="#div1Ref_12">CHAPTER XII.</a></h4> -<h5>A CONQUEST.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>It is the end of August, and society has gone out of town. Sporting -people have gone to Goodwood; and the Lawn, at the period of our story, -as yet uninvaded by objectionable persons, promises to present, as it -hitherto has always presented, a <i>parterre</i> of aristocratic beauty. -There is no "limited mail" in these days; but they could tell you at -Euston Square of seats for the North booked many days in advance. And -there are no Cook's tourists; and yet it would seem impossible that -the boats leaving Dover twice a day for the great continental routes -<i>vid</i> Calais and Ostend, could possibly carry more passengers. That -was before the contemptible German system of <i>battues</i> was allowed -among us, when <i>dreib-jagds</i> were almost unknown in England, and when -a day's shooting meant exercise, trouble, and skill, not warm corners -and wholesale slaughter; but Purdays and Lancasters, though mere -muzzle-loaders, did their work, and Grant's gaiters were to be found on -most of the right sort throughout the English counties.</p> - -<p>The physicians and the great surgeons have struck work--it is no -good remaining in a place where there are no patients--and having -delegated their practice <i>pro tem</i>. to some less fortunate brother--who -devoutly prays that chance may bring some rich or celebrated person -unexpectedly to town, then and there to be stricken with illness, and -left in his, the substitute's, hands--they are away shooting in the -Highlands, swarming up Swiss mountains, lounging at German Brunnen, -but never losing the soft placid manner and the dulcet tone which seem -to imbue their every speech and action with a certain professional -air, as though they were saying, "Hum! ha! ye-es, certainly; show me -the tongue, please--ah!" and wherever they may be, the scent of the -hospital is over them still.</p> - -<p>Passing through Edinburgh, on his way to his shooting in Aberdeenshire, -Mr. Fleem, President of the College of Surgeons, gives up a week of his -hard-earned holiday to the society of Sir Annis Thettick, the great -Scotch operator, and the pair indulge in many a sanguinary colloquy; -little Dr. Payne leaves Mrs. Payne to be escorted up and down the -<i>allées</i> of Baden-Baden by trim-waisted Prussian and Austrian officers, -or by such of her compatriot acquaintances as she may find there (all -of whom are too glad to pay court to so charming a woman), while he -is closeted with Herr Doctor Von Glauber, Hof-Arzt to his Effulgency -the reigning Duke of Schweinerei, with whom he exchanges the most -confidential communications, resulting on both sides in a belief that -the real knowledge of either of them is extremely limited.</p> - -<p>In those charming courts and groves dedicated to the study and practice -of the law there is also tranquillity, not to say stagnation, for the -long vacation has commenced, and the Law is out of town.</p> - -<p>Read the fact in the closed courts of Westminster Hall--in the Hall -itself, no longer filled with the anxious faces of suitors, the flying -forms of bewigged barristers, or fragrant with the sprinkled snuff of -agitated attorneys, but now given up to marchings and counter-marchings -of newly-fledged volunteers, who--it is the first year of the -movement--are longing to be taking martial exercise in the wilds of -Wimbledon or on the plains of Putney, but, deterred by the rain, are -fain to put up with the large area of Westminster Hall, and to undergo -the torture of the professional drill-sergeant before the eyes of a -gaping and a grinning audience.</p> - -<p>Read the fact in the closed oaks of every set of chambers, each door -bearing its coffin-plate-like announcement that messages and parcels -are to be left at the porter's lodge; in the sounds of revelry that -proceed from the attorneys' offices, where the scrubs left in town -are amusing themselves with effervescing drinks and negro minstrelsy, -oblivious of executors, and administrators, and hereditaments; while -the "chief" is at Bognor with his wife and children, the "Chancery" is -geologising at Staffa, and the "Common-law" is living up at Laleham -Ferry, and washing off all reminiscence of John Doe and Richard Roe in -daily matutinal plunges off the bar at Penton Hook.</p> - -<p>All the members of the Bar, great and small, are away. Heaven -alone knows where the Great Seal may be hidden, but it is certain -that the keeper of it and the Sovereign's conscience--a tall, -straggling-whiskered, gray-haired gentleman--has been seen, with a -wideawake hat on his head and a gun in his hand, "potting" rabbits on -a Wiltshire common, and has been pointed out seated in a dog-cart at -a little railway-station as the "Lar' Chance'lar" to the wondering -bumpkins, who fully expected to see him in full-bottomed wig and -gold-fringed robes, and who were consequently wofully disappointed, -and thought his lordship of but "little 'count." Tocsin, the great -gladiator, who wrestles with his professional opponents and flings them -heavily, cross-buttocks the jury, and has been known, metaphorically, -to give that peculiar British blow known as "one" to the judge -himself--Tocsin, whose arrival at the Old Bailey (never appearing -there unless specially retained) arouses interest in the languid -ushers and door-porters, used up with constant criminal details, but -sure of some excitement when Tocsin leads--Tocsin is at Broadstairs, -swimming and walking with his boys during the day, and of an evening -very much interested, and not unfrequently affected to tears, by the -Minerva-Press novels, obtained from the little library, which he reads -aloud to his wife. Mr. Serjeant Slink, leader at the Parliamentary Bar, -whose professional life is passed in denouncing the aristocracy of -this country as stifling all freedom of political opinion by threats -or bribery, is staying with the Duke and Duchess of Potiphar at their -villa on the Lake of Como; and Mr. Moss, of Thavies Inn, 'cutest and -cleverest of criminal attorneys, is at Venice, occupying the moments -which his <i>valet de place</i> allows him to have to himself in working out -the outline of the defence in a case of gigantic fraud, the trial of -which is coming off next sessions, in his room at Danieli's Hotel.</p> - -<p>Lethargy and languor in the public offices, where the chiefs are -away on leave, and the juniors left in town appear, from the medical -certificates they are sending in, to be suffering from every kind of -mortal illness, and where the "immediate attention" promised to your -communication becomes more vague and shadowy than ever; in merchants' -establishments, where the clerks, finding it impossible to get -"regularly away," compromise the matter by taking lodgings at Gravesend -or in up-the-river villages, and running to and fro daily; in large -shops, where the assistants bless the early-closing movement, and bound -away on Saturday afternoon with an agility which argues well for their -jumping many other things besides counters.</p> - -<p>George Street, Hanover Square, is much too distinguished a quarter not -to suffer under the general depression. There has not been a marriage -at the church for six weeks; the rector is away at the Lakes; and the -clerk has modified his responses, and is saving his voice until the -return of those to whom it is worth his while to address himself. -The beadle has laid by his gorgeous uniform, on week-days wears -mufti, and on Sundays comes out in a kind of compromise, alternately -airing the hat and the coat, but never appearing in both together. -The pew-openers' untipped palms are grimier than ever, the regular -congregation are absent, no strangers ask for seats, and the dust on -the pews is an inch thick. No horsey-looking men, chewing toothpicks, -and spitting refreshingly around, garnish the portals of Limmer's; the -silver sand sprinkled over the doorsteps as usual is untrodden, save -by the pumps of the one waiter, who knows no one is likely to come; -and as weary as ever was Mariana in her moated grange, he lounges to -the door, yawns, and lounges back, to cover his head with his napkin -for fly-diverting purposes, and seeks refuge in sleep. The dentist is -out of town; and the dentist's man has exchanged his striped jacket -and his black trousers for a heather suit, specially recommended by -the tailor for deer-stalking or grouse-shooting, clad in which, he -sits during the daytime in the dining-room reading <i>Bell's Life</i>, and -at night, after delicately scenting himself with camphor procured from -his master's drug-drawers, proceeds to some garden of public resort. -The paper patterns, marked with mysterious numbers, and inscribed with -the names of dukes and marquises, which hang in the shop of Stecknadel -the tailor, have a thick coating of dust; for the noble customers whose -fair proportions they represent have not had them in requisition for -weeks past. Stecknadel is away at Boppard on the Rhine, where he has a -very pretty <i>terre</i>, to which, if he could only get in his debts, he -would retire, and some day become Baron Stecknadel, and live peacefully -and prosperously for the rest of his life.</p> - -<p>Equally, of course, the headless dummies in Madame Clarisse's -showrooms are stripped of the fairy-like fabrics which cover them -during the season, and stand up showing all their wire anatomy, or -lie about in corners, unheeded. Madame is at Dieppe, and Daisy reigns -temporarily in her stead. The staff is very much reduced, for there -is little or nothing to do; and Daisy is enabled, very much to Paul -Derinzy's delight, to get out much earlier and much more frequently -than she could in the season, and the walks in Kensington Gardens -occur pretty constantly, and are much prolonged. Daisy is glad of this -too; for not only does her liking for Paul increase, but she knows he -is very soon going away for his holiday, "down to his people in the -West," and the idea of parting with him is not pleasant to her, and -she likes to see as much of him as possible. Daisy has noticed that, -with the absence of the great world from London, Paul has grown much -bolder: he walks with her without showing any of that dreadful feeling -of restraint which at one time galled her so much, is never fearful -of being observed, and has more than once asked to be allowed to take -her to dinner, to the theatre, or to some public gardens. This request -Daisy has always steadily refused, and their meetings are confined to -Kensington Gardens as heretofore, though she has permitted him to see -her home to the corner of her street on several occasions.</p> - -<p>One hot dusty afternoon Daisy is looking out of the showroom window -into the deserted street--deserted save by a vagabond dog, with his -tongue lolling out of his mouth, who is furtively gliding about from -one bit of shade to another, and hopelessly sniffing at those places -where he remembers puddles used to be in the bygone time, but where, -alas, there are none now--when she hears steps upon the stairs, and -turning round, recognises Miss Orpington, one of their best customers. -With Miss Orpington is her father, Colonel Orpington; and looking at -them as they enter the room, Daisy thinks within herself that a more -stylish-looking father and daughter could scarcely be found in England. -Both are tall, and slim, and upright; both have regular features, with -the same half-haughty, half-weary expression; both have small hands and -feet. Miss Orpington is going to be married to a Yorkshire baronet with -money. She has been staying in the same house with him in Scotland, -and is on her way to a house in Kent, where he is invited. She has -stopped a day or two in London on her way through to get "some gowns -and things." She is always wanting gowns and things, and spends a very -large sum of money yearly.</p> - -<p>Colonel Orpington does not very much mind how much she spends. Through -his wife, who was the daughter of his family solicitor, and who died -in childbirth a year after their marriage, he had a very large income, -every farthing of which he carefully spent. He had nothing to do with -the turf; hunted but little, and when he did, generally found other -men to mount him; never joined in the afternoon rubbers at the club, -and only interested himself in them to the extent of an occasional -small bet; kept a good but small stud; had no permanent country place; -and during the season entertained well, but neither frequently nor -lavishly, and yet managed to get through eight thousand a year.</p> - -<p>How? Well, the Colonel had his tastes. Though turned fifty years of -age, he had not run to flesh; his figure was yet trim and elegant, and -his face handsome and eminently "bred"-looking. His hair was still -jet-black; and though his moustache, long, sweeping, and carefully -trained, was unmistakably grizzled, the colour rather added to the -picturesqueness of his appearance. And the Colonel liked to be thought -handsome, and elegant, and picturesque; for he was devoted to the sex, -and had but little care in life beyond how best to please her who for -the time being was the object of his devotion.</p> - -<p>And yet Colonel Orpington was never seen in any suspicious <i>solitude -ŕ deux</i>, nor even in the loose-talking, easy-going society in which -he mixed was his name ever coupled with any woman's. Old comrades -and contemporaries might be seen lurking at the back of shady little -boxes on the pit-tier of the theatre, and addressing a presumed form -in the corner facing the stage, of which nothing could be seen but a -white gleaming arm, a fan, and an opera-glass; but when the Colonel -patronised the drama, which was very seldom, he always went with a -party among whom were his daughter and his sister, who kept house for -him. Sons of old comrades, and other young men with whom he had a -casual acquaintance, might lounge across the rails of the Row to speak -to the "strange women" on horseback who were just beginning to put in -an appearance there; but the Colonel, when he passed them, whether -Miss Orpington were with him or not, was always looking straight -before him between his horse's ears, and never showed the slightest -recognition of their presence. Nor, though living in days when to love -your neighbour's wife was a rule pretty generally followed, was Colonel -Orpington's name ever mixed up with any of those society intrigues the -ignoring of which in public, and the discussion of which in private, -affords so much delight to well-bred people. Of good appearance, of -perfect manners, and with a voice and address which were singularly -insinuating, the Colonel might have availed himself of many <i>bonnes -fortunes</i> which would not have fallen in the way of men younger and -less discreet; but he purposely neglected the opportunities offered, -and, while being the intimate and trusted companion of many of his -friends' wives, sisters, and daughters, was the lover of none.</p> - -<p>And yet he was devoted to the sex, and spent a great deal of money! -Yes, and was very frequently absent from his family. Amongst the -property which the Colonel inherited from his wife were some -slate-quarries and lead-mines in South Wales, which seemed to require -a vast amount of personal supervision. If he looked after the rest of -his estate with equal fidelity, he must have been a pattern landlord; -for he would leave town in the height of the season, or give up any -pleasant engagement, when he received one of these summonses. When Miss -Orpington was a child, she used to tease her father about "dose 'orrid -quarry-mines;" but it was noticed that after she had put away childish -things, amongst which might be enumerated innocence, she never referred -to the subject. Nobody ever did palpably refer to it, though there was -a good deal of sniggering about it in the Colonel's clubs, and Bobus, -known as Badger Bobus from his low sporting tastes, was asked out to -dinner for a fortnight on the strength of his having said that he -couldn't make out how old Orpington always went into South Wales by the -Great Northern Railway.</p> - -<p>Miss Orpington languidly expresses her pleasure at seeing Daisy.</p> - -<p>"You are so fresh, Miss Stafford, and all that kind of thing. Of course -I know Madame Clarisse's taste is excellent; but I confess I like a -younger person's ideas."</p> - -<p>Daisy bows, and says nothing, but applies herself to showing her wares, -which the young lady turns over and discourses upon. Colonel Orpington, -standing by and caressing his grizzled moustache, says nothing also. -Nothing aloud, at least; only someone standing very close might have -seen him draw in his breath, and mutter behind his hand,</p> - -<p>"Jove! Clarisse was right."</p> - -<p>Miss Orpington is large in her notions of autumn costume, and Daisy -shows her a vast number of "pretty things" which she would like to -order, but is somewhat checked by the paternal presence, in itself a -novelty in her negotiations with her milliner. But, deferring to the -paternal presence, as to "Should she?" and "Did he think she might?" -and receiving nothing but favourable replies, she gives her fancy -scope, and makes such of the workwomen as were always retained think -that the season had suddenly and capriciously recommenced.</p> - -<p>What had induced the Colonel to accompany his daughter? He never had -done so before, and on this occasion he says nothing, never looks at -the things exhibited, or the patterns after which they are to be made. -What does he look at? Miss Orpington knows, perhaps, when, following -the earnest gaze of his eyes, she makes a little <i>moue</i>, and slightly -shrugs her shoulders, taking no further notice until they are in the -street; then she says:</p> - -<p>"Do you think that girl pretty, papa?"</p> - -<p>The Colonel is in an abstracted state, and pauses for a minute before -he replies,</p> - -<p>"What girl, Constance?"</p> - -<p>"We have not seen so many that you need ask," says Miss Orpington, with -a melancholy glance at the deserted streets; "the girl who attended to -me just now, at Clarisse's."</p> - -<p>"I was thinking of something else at the time, and really did not -notice her particularly, my dear," says the Colonel, "but she appeared -to me to be a very respectable young person."</p> - -<p>Miss Orpington gives her little shoulder-shrug, and looks round -curiously at her father; but he is staring straight before him, and -they walk on without speaking further, until just as they are passing -Limmer's, when he says, half to himself, "That fellow will do!" and -then to her,</p> - -<p>"I want to send a message to the club, Constance. If you'll walk -quietly on, I'll overtake you in an instant. Hi! here!"</p> - -<p>The man to whom he calls, and who is hanging about the doorway of the -hotel, is one of those Mercuries who have now been superseded by the -Commissionaires, but who in those days were the principal media for -good and evil communication in the metropolis. In the season this -fellow wears a dingy red jacket like the cover of an old <i>Post Office -Directory</i>; but in the dead time of year he discards his gaiety of -apparel, and dons a seedy long drab waistcoat with black sleeves. He -crosses the road at once at the Colonel's call, and stands on the kerb, -touching his broken hat, and waiting for his orders.</p> - -<p>"Look here," says the Colonel, as soon as his daughter is out of -earshot; "go up to Clarisse's--the milliner's, you know, opposite the -church--ask to see the young woman who just attended to Miss Orpington, -and tell her you have been sent to say she must be certain to send the -things at the time promised. Take notice of her, so that you will know -her again; then wait about until she comes out, follow her, see whom -she speaks to and where she goes, and come to Batt's Hotel in Dover -Street and ask for Colonel Orpington. You understand?"</p> - -<p>"Right you are, Colonel!" says the man, pocketing the half-crown which -the Colonel hands to him; then he touches his shabby hat again, and -starts off.</p> - -<p>"Left her walking up and down in Kensington Gardens among the trees -near the keeper's cottage, did he?" says Colonel Orpington to himself -as he strikes into the Park about five o'clock, and hurries off in -the direction indicated. "Had not spoken to anyone, but seemed as -if she were waiting for somebody, eh? Plainly an assignation! So my -young friend is not so innocent as Clarisse would have me believe. -What a fool she was to think it, and what a fool I was to believe her! -However, I may as well see it through, for the girl is marvellously -pretty, and has a something about her which is extraordinarily -attractive--even to me!"</p> - -<p>As he nears the place to which he has been directed, he slackens his -speed, and looks round him from time to time. The first touch of autumn -has fallen on the grand old trees, and occasionally some leaves come -circling down noiselessly on to the brown turf. Away at the end of yon -vista a slight mist is rising, noticing which the Colonel prudently -buttons his coat over his chest and shudders slightly. Half-a-dozen -children are romping about, rolling among the leaves that have already -fallen, and shrieking with delight; but the Colonel takes no heed of -them. Just then the figures of a man and woman walking very slowly -come in sight. The Colonel looks at them for a moment, using his natty -double-eyeglass for the purpose; then stands quietly behind one of the -large elm-trees watching the pair as they pass. Her arm is through his, -on which she is leaning heavily; their faces are turned towards each -other, each wearing a grave earnest expression. As they pass the tree -behind which the Colonel stands, their faces approach, and their lips -meet for an instant, then they walk on as before.</p> - -<p>The Colonel drops the natty double-eyeglass from his nose, and replaces -it in his waistcoat-pocket. As he turns to walk away, he says to -himself:</p> - -<p>"Not a very pleasant position that! However, I've learned what I wanted -to know. The girl has a lover, as one might have expected. I think -I know the man too. To be sure! we elected him at the Beaufort the -other day--Derinzy, son of the man who put the Jew under the pump at -Hounslow. A good-looking youngster too, and in some Government office, -I think. Well, I suppose it will be the old story--youth against -cheque-book. But in this case, from the young lady's general style, I -think I should back the latter!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_13" href="#div1Ref_13">CHAPTER XIII.</a></h4> -<h5>ANOTHER CONQUEST.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>Town was at its dreariest; the little people in Camden Town and -Hackney had followed the great people in Belgravia and Tyburnia, by -going away; only they went to Southend or Margate instead of Scotland -or Biarritz. It was the last possible time of the year at which one -would imagine festivity could take place; and yet from the aspect of -No. 20, Adalbert Crescent, Navarino Road, Dalston, it was evident that -festivity was intended. The general servant of the establishment had -washed the upper half of her face, and hooked the lower half of her -gown--an extraordinary occurrence which meant something. The fishmonger -had sent in a lobster, and half a newspaper--folded in cornucopia -fashion--full of shrimps; the ŕ-la-mode-beef house had been ransacked -for the least-stony piece of cold meat which it possessed; and from -the greengrocer had been obtained a perfect grove of salad and cress. -Looking at these preparations, Miss Augusta Manby might well feel -within herself a certain sentiment of pride, and a consciousness that -Adalbert Crescent was equal to the occasion.</p> - -<p>Miss Augusta Manby had been a workwoman at Madame Clarisse's; but -she had long left that patrician establishment, and started on her -own account. The name of her late employer figured under her own on -the brass plate which adorned her door; and this recommendation, and -her own talent in reducing bulging waists, and "fitting" generally -obstinate figures, had procured for her a vast amount of patronage in -the clerk-inhabited district where she had pitched her tent.</p> - -<p>In the fulness of delight at her success, Miss Manby had taken -advantage of the occasion of her birthday to summon her friends to -rejoice with her at a little festive gathering, and the advent of those -friends she was then awaiting.</p> - -<p>"I think it will all do very well," she said to herself, after -surveying the preparations; "and I am sure it ought to go off nicely. I -should have been afraid to ask Fanny Stafford if Bella Merton and her -brother had not been coming; but she has quite West End manners, and -he is very nice-looking and very well-behaved. It's a pity I could not -avoid asking Gus; but he would have been sure to have heard of it; and -then, if he had been left out, there would have been a pretty to-do."</p> - -<p>A ring at the bell stopped Miss Manby's soliloquy, and she rushed to -the glass to "put herself tidy," as she phrased it. There was no need -for this performance in Miss Manby's case, as the glass reflected a -pretty little face of the snub-nose, black-eyes, white-teeth, and -oiled-hair order, and a very pretty little figure, which the owner took -care should be well, though not expensively, got up.</p> - -<p>The arrivals were Miss Bella Merton--a young lady who officiated as -clerk at Mr. Kammerer's, the photographer's in Regent Street, kept the -appointment ledger, entered the number of copies ordered, and received -the money from the sitters--and her brother, a book-keeper in Repp and -Rumfitt's drapery establishment.</p> - -<p>"So good of you, Bella dear, to be the first!" said Miss Manby, -welcoming a tall dashing-looking young woman, who darted into the room -after the half-cleansed servant had broken down in announcing "Miss -Merting."--"And you too, Mr. John; I scarcely thought you would have -taken the trouble to come from the West End to this outlandish place."</p> - -<p>Mr. John, as she called him, who was a tall well-built young man, -dressed in a black frock coat, waistcoat, and trousers, relieved by an -alarmingly vivid-blue necktie, merely bowed his acknowledgments; but -his sister, who had thrown off a coquettish little black-silk cloak, -and what was known amongst her friends as a "duck of a bonnet," and who -was then smoothing her hair before the one-foot-square looking-glass -over the chimney-piece, said:</p> - -<p>"My dear Augusta, what nonsense it is! we should be thankful to escape -from that hot dusty town to this--well, really, this rural retreat. And -as for coming early, there's nothing doing now at the West, so that one -can leave when one likes."</p> - -<p>Miss Augusta Manby then took upon herself to remark that that was one -compensation for her exile from the realms of fashion. All seasons, she -remarked, were the same at Dalston, where people had new clothes when -the old ones were worn out, and never studied times or seasons.</p> - -<p>"And now tell me, dear, who are coming?" said Bella Merton, while her -brother John sat in the window-seat, and tried to derive a gleam of -satisfaction from the inspection of the fashion-plates in <i>La Belle -Assemblée</i>; "of course that dear delightful old Gus--and who else?"</p> - -<p>"I have asked Fanny Stafford, and she has promised to come."</p> - -<p>"No! that is fun!" said Bella Merton, laughing.</p> - -<p>"And Mr. Burgess----"</p> - -<p>"No! that's better still!" said Bella, laughing more heartily: "what! -<i>our</i> Mr. Burgess?"</p> - -<p>"Of course. Did he not tell you?"</p> - -<p>"Not one single word, dear. But of course I understand why!" and the -young lady relapsed into fits of merriment.</p> - -<p>"You have all the joke to yourself at present, Bella," said John -Merton, looking up from his fashion-book.</p> - -<p>"And you won't have any of it, so far as I can see, during any part of -the evening, my poor old John!" said his sister.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry I can't understand your West End wit, Bella dear," said -their hostess, with some asperity.</p> - -<p>"You will see it all in a minute," said Bella, striving to compose her -countenance. "Burgess has been raving-mad in love with Fanny Stafford, -whom he has only seen for an instant, ever since Mr. Kammerer gave him -her photograph to tint. My brother John, here, of course fell over head -and ears directly he saw her; and there's another man of a different -kind, with no end of money and position and all that, about whom I must -say nothing. So much for Fanny Stafford. But what's to become of you -and me, Augusta? There's nobody left for us but old Gus."</p> - -<p>"What's that you are saying about old Gus?" said a fat jolly voice, -belonging to a fat jolly man, of about forty years of age, who entered -the room at the moment.</p> - -<p>This was Augustus Manby, the hostess's brother, a tea-taster attached -to an establishment in Mincing Lane--a convivial soul, and a thorough -vulgarian.</p> - -<p>"Saying!" said Bella Merton, whose two hands he was wringing, after -having given his sister a smacking kiss; "that we should have no one -but you to flirt with, all the other men would be absorbed by Fanny -Stafford."</p> - -<p>"Well, they are welcome so far as I am concerned," said plain-spoken -Gus. "She's a nice girl, Fanny; but I don't like them red, and I do -like more of them; and that's the fact."</p> - -<p>"Hush! do be quiet," said his sister, as the bell sounded again; and -the next minute Fanny Stothard entered the room.</p> - -<p>She looked so lovely, that Gus almost audibly recalled his opinion. -The exercise had given a colour to her cheeks and a brilliancy to her -eyes. Her dress fitted her to perfection, and there was an indefinable -something about her which stamped her superiority to those among whom -she then was. She was warmly welcomed by all, and had scarcely gone -through their greetings when Mr. Burgess joined and completed the -little party.</p> - -<p>Mr. Burgess was a small consumptive-looking young man, principally -remarkable for the length of his hair and the smallness of his cravat. -Believing in his destiny as an "arteeste," he had originally entered -as a student at the Royal Academy; but after severe objurgations from -the authorities there, had subsided into colouring pictures for the -photographers, by which he realised a decent income. He entered the -room with a bound suggestive of hope and joy; but on seeing Fanny he -sighed deeply, and abandoned himself to misery.</p> - -<p>Then they all bustled about, and the cloth was laid, and the provisions -produced, and the half-cleansed servant appeared periodically, -staggering under large pewter vessels containing malt liquor; and the -gentlemen pressed the ladies to eat and to drink; and the ladies would -not be persuaded without a great deal of pressing on the gentlemen's -part; and so the meal was gone through with much giggling and laughter, -but without any regular talk.</p> - -<p>That began when the hostess had fetched from a cupboard, where -they were imbedded in layers of brown-paper patterns and bygone -fashion-books, and watched over by an armless papier-mâchč idol, two -bottles of spirits; and when the gentlemen had brewed themselves mighty -jorums of grog, and helped the ladies to delicate wine-glasses of the -same beverage. And thus it commenced:</p> - -<p>"Things must be dull with you now at Clarisse's, Fanny dear?" said the -hostess.</p> - -<p>"Dull!" said Fanny: "I never knew anything like it. I don't mean -written orders from the country, of course; but we only had one -customer in our place the whole of last week."</p> - -<p>"What will you bet me, Fanny," said Bella Merton, "that I don't tell -you that customer's name?"</p> - -<p>"Why, how can you possibly know it? She----"</p> - -<p>"I don't speak of a she! I mean a he," said Bella, laughing.</p> - -<p>"Hes ain't milliners' customers," said Mr. Burgess, with a titter.</p> - -<p>"Ain't they?" said John Merton, with a savage expression on his -good-looking face; "but they are sometimes, worse luck!"</p> - -<p>"My customer, at all events, was a lady," said Fanny, rather -disapproving of this turn of the conversation.</p> - -<p>"Yes; but she was accompanied by a gentleman," said Bella, still -laughing; "and, as John says, gentlemen have no right in milliners' -showrooms."</p> - -<p>"I suppose that even Mr. John Merton would not object to a father's -accompanying his daughter to a milliner's showroom?" said Fanny, -beginning to be piqued.</p> - -<p>"Mr. John Merton merely spoke generally, Miss Stafford," said John, -with a bow. "He would not have taken the liberty to apply his -observation to any particular case."</p> - -<p>"This is perfectly delicious!" cried Bella Merton, clapping her hands. -"I knew I should soon set you all by the ears. But we have wandered -from my original proposition. Can I, or can I not, tell you the name -of the gentleman who came with his daughter, as you say, to your place -last week?"</p> - -<p>"I daresay you can," said Fanny Stothard, "though how you gained your -information it would be impossible for me to say."</p> - -<p>"Don't tell her, Miss Stafford," said John Merton; "don't help her in -the least degree. It's scarcely a fair subject of conversation; at -least, it's one which I'm sure has no interest for me."</p> - -<p>"Was he a nice cross old dear?" said his sister; "and didn't he like to -hear about the fine gentleman that admired Fanny?"</p> - -<p>John Merton looked so black at this remark, that Mr. Burgess thought it -best to cut into the conversation. So he said:</p> - -<p>"But you haven't yet told us the name of the gentleman. Miss Merton."</p> - -<p>"Haven't I?" said Bella; "well, I'll be as good as my word. Colonel -Orpington. Am I right, Fanny?"</p> - -<p>"I daresay you are. Miss Orpington's father came with her. What his -title may be I haven't the least idea."</p> - -<p>"But he knows what your title is, dear, and accords it to you quite -publicly."</p> - -<p>"And what title does he give Miss Stafford, pray?" asked John Merton, -angrily.</p> - -<p>"That of the prettiest girl in London!"</p> - -<p>"I never heard a swell go so near the truth," growled John, half -pleased and half annoyed.</p> - -<p>"Don't you think it is almost time for you to speak a little more -plainly, Bella?" asked Fanny. "How do you know this Colonel Orpington, -and what has he been saying about me?"</p> - -<p>"<i>This</i> Colonel Orpington, indeed!" cried Miss Merton. "My dear, -<i>this</i> Colonel Orpington is simply one of the best men of the day, -extremely rich, and--well, you know--one of those nice fellows who are -liked by everybody. He came into our place the other day, and when -I looked up from my desk in the front room, where I was writing a -private letter--for I had nothing else to do--I saw him; and I thought -to myself, 'I know you, Colonel Orpington! I've seen you about often. -So you've come for a sitting, have you? Won't Mr. Kammerer be wild -to think you should have come when he was out of town!' However, he -came straight towards me; and he took off his hat, like a gentleman as -he is, and he said, 'There is a portrait in a frame outside the door -which strikes me as a wonderful example of photography, of which I am -a connoisseur.' I knew what he meant at once, bless you; but I said, -'You mean the gentleman in the skull-cap and the long beard--Professor -Gilks?' He muttered something about Professor Gilks--I daren't say -what--but then said No; he meant the coloured female head--was it -for sale? I told him I could not answer him without referring to Mr. -Kammerer, who was at Ramsgate. The Colonel begged me to telegraph -to him, and he would call next day. He did call next day, took the -photograph, and paid twenty guineas for it, which was a good thing for -Mr. Kammerer."</p> - -<p>"Very likely," burst in John Merton; "but a bad thing for art, and -decency, and----"</p> - -<p>"Don't distress yourself, John! Very likely it was all you say; but, -you see, Mr. Kammerer is not here for you to pitch into, and Fanny -couldn't help her portrait being bought by an admirer. Oh, he was an -admirer, Fanny; for when I tied it up for him, he said out, 'It's -lovely, but it doesn't do justice to the original.' And when I asked -him did he know the original, he said he thought he had had that -honour. And so it's no good your bursting into virtuous indignation."</p> - -<p>Her brother shrugged his shoulders and was silent; but Fanny Stothard -said:</p> - -<p>"Don't you think this joke has gone far enough? Augusta and Mr. Burgess -here are sitting in wild astonishment, as well they may be. Let us -change the conversation for the few minutes before we break up."</p> - -<p>Late that night Fanny Stothard sat on the side of her bed in her room -in South Molton Street, her hands clasped behind her head, her body -gently swaying to and fro as she pondered over all she had heard that -evening. On the table lay a letter from Paul Derinzy. It was the second -she had had, and he had not been away from London five days. The first -she had torn at eagerly and devoured its contents at once; this lay -unopened.</p> - -<p>"Very rich, that woman said," she muttered, "and a great man in his -way. Fancy his buying the portrait, and after only seeing me once! That -was very nice of him. Not in the least old-looking, and everybody likes -him, Bella said. What a funny thing his recognising that photograph, -and---- How horrible the journey home was to-night, and what detestable -people in the omnibus!--such pushing and tramping on one's feet, and--I -had no idea of that! I thought he looked hard at me once or twice, but -I never imagined that he took any particular notice. Colonel Orpington! -I shall look out his name in the <i>Court Guide</i> to-morrow, when I get to -George Street, and see all about him. Had the honour of knowing me, he -told Bella Merton! Ugh! how sick I am of this room, and how wearied of -this life! Ah well, Paul's letter will keep till to-morrow; I'm sure I -know what it's about. That was really very nice about the portrait! I -wonder when Colonel Orpington will come back to town?"</p> - -<p>Then she frowned a little as she said, "What could have made that young -man, Bella's brother, so disagreeable about all that? He couldn't -possibly--and yet I don't know. He looked so earnestly at me, and spoke -so strongly about that business of the portrait, that I have half an -idea he resented it on my behalf. What impertinence! And yet he meant -merely to show his regard for me. How dreadfully in earnest he seemed! -And Paul too! I shall have a difficulty in managing them all, I see -that clearly."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_14" href="#div1Ref_14">CHAPTER XIV.</a></h4> -<h5>PAUL AT HOME.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>It does not matter much to George Wainwright whether London is empty -or full. His books, his work, and his healthful play go on just the -same in winter and summer, in spring and autumn. He only knows it is -the season by the fact of seeing more people in the streets, more -horses and carriages in the Park across which he strides to his home; -and when other men go away on leave, he remains at the office without -the least desire to change the regular habits of his life. He has a -splendid constitution, perfectly sound, and unimpaired by excess of any -description; can do any amount of work without its having any influence -on him; and never had need to go away "on medical certificate," as is -the case with so many of his brethren at the Stannaries Office.</p> - -<p>There is a decidedly autumnal touch in the air as it plays round George -Wainwright, striding across the Park this October morning. There is -sunshine, but it is thin and veneered, and very unlike the glorious -summer article; looks as if it had lost strength in its struggle with -the fog which preceded it, and as though it would make but a poor fight -against the mist which would come creeping up early in the afternoon. -But few leaves remain on the trees, and they are yellow and veinous, -and swirl dismally round and round in their descent to the moist earth, -where their already fallen comrades are being swept into heaps, and -pressed down into barrows, and wheeled away by the gardeners. The -ordinarily calm waters of the Serpentine are lashed into miniature -waves, and the pleasure-boats have vanished from its surface, as have -the carriages from the Drive and the horses from the Row. Only one -solitary equestrian stands out like a speck in the distance; for it is -Long Vacation still, and the judges and the barristers, those unvarying -early riders and constant examples of the apparently insurmountable -difficulty of combining legal lore with graceful equitation, have not -yet returned to town.</p> - -<p>Ten o'clock strikes from the Horse Guards clock as George walks under -the archway, and makes his way across to the little back street -where the Stannaries Office is situated. Always punctual, he is more -particular than ever just now, for all the others of any standing are -away; and George was perfectly aware, from long experience, that if -someone responsible was not there to look after the junior clerks, -those young gentlemen would not come at all. As it was, he finds -himself the first arrival, and has changed his coat and rung for his -letters, for even the messengers get lax and careless at this time of -year--when the door opens and Mr. Dunlop enters, bringing with him a -very strong flavour of fresh tobacco, and not stopping short in the -popular melody which he is humming to say good-day until he has arrived -at the end of the verse.</p> - -<p>"'And he cut his throat with a pane of glass, and stabbed his donkey -ar-ter!'" sings Mr. Dunlop, very much prolonging the last note. "That's -what I call an impressive ending to a tragic ballad!--Goodmorning, Mr. -Wainwright! I'm glad to see you here in good time for once, sir, at all -events."</p> - -<p>"Billy, Billy, if you were here a little earlier yourself, you wouldn't -be pitched into so constantly."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps not, sir, though 'pitched into' is scarcely a phrase to apply -to a gentleman in Her Majesty's Civil Service. However, my position -is humble, and I must demean myself accordingly. I am a norphan, sir, -a norphan, and have no swell parents to stay with in the country like -Mr. Derinzy, whose remarkably illegible and insignificant handwriting I -recognise on this letter which Hicks has brought in for you."</p> - -<p>"Paul's hand, by Jove!" says George, "and this other one is Courtney's, -the chief's."</p> - -<p>George opens the smaller letter, and emits a short whistle as he -glances through its contents. The whistle and the expression of -George's face are not lost upon Billy Dunlop, who says:</p> - -<p>"Dear old person going to make it three months' leave, this year, -instead of two? or perhaps not coming back at all, but sends address -where his salary will find him?"</p> - -<p>"On the contrary, he's coming back at once; he will be on duty -to-morrow."</p> - -<p>"By Jove! and he's not been away six weeks yet. The poet was right, -sir. 'He stabbed his donkey arter!' There was nothing else left for him -to do."</p> - -<p>"But," says George, laughing, "he says he thinks he shall go away to -Brighton in November, and advises me, if I want any leave, to take it -now, that I may be back when he goes."</p> - -<p>"What an inexpressible old ruffian! What does he say about my leave?"</p> - -<p>"Not a word. What could he say, Billy? You've had all your leave ages -ago."</p> - -<p>Mr. Dunlop, who has retired into the sanctuary behind the -washing-screen, makes a rapid reappearance at these words, and says -hurriedly:</p> - -<p>"I thought so. I thought that that pleasant month of March would be -the only portion of the year allotted to me for recreation. March, -by George! Why, Ettrick, Teviotdale, and all the rest of them put -together, are not worth speaking about. It seems a year ago. I can only -recollect it because it was so beastly cold I was obliged to spend -nearly all the time in bed. That's a nice way for a man to enjoy his -holiday! While you fellows are cutting about, and---- Hollo! what's the -matter with G.W.? He looks as if he were rapidly preparing himself for -his father's asylum. Some bad news from P.D., I suppose."</p> - -<p>These last remarks of Mr. Dunlop's are based upon his observation of -George Wainwright's face, the expression of which is set and serious.</p> - -<p>"Hold on with your chaff for a minute, Billy," he says, looking up. -"Paul is writing on business, and I want just to get hold of it as I go -along."</p> - -<p>So Mr. Dunlop thinks he will do a little official work; and having -selected a sheet of foolscap with "Office of H.M. Stannaries" -lithographed on it, fills in the date in a very bold and flowing hand -(the gentlemen of the Stannaries Office always boasted that they were -not "mere clerks," and that their penmanship "didn't matter"), then -takes out his penknife, and begins adjusting the toilet of his nails.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile George Wainwright plods his way with difficulty through -Paul's letter where the writing is so small and the lines so close -together, and his brows become more contracted and his face more set -and stern as he proceeds. This is what he reads:</p> - -<p>"<i>The Tower, Beachborough</i>.</p> - -<p>"DEAR OLD MAN,--I have so much writing at that confounded shop--don't -grin, now: I can see your cynical old under-lip shooting out at the -statement--that I thought I'd give my pen a holiday as well as myself; -and indeed I should not favour you with a sight of that 'bowld fist' -which so disgusts that old beast Branwhite--saw his name in the <i>Post</i> -as having been present at the Inverness gathering, hanging on to swells -as usual--if there had not been absolute occasion.</p> - -<p>"By Jove? what a tremendously long sentence that is! Rather -broken-backed and weak in the knees too, eh? Don't seem to hang well -together? Rather a 'solution of continuity,' as they call it, isn't -there? Never mind, you'll understand what I mean. You see, my dear old -George, I don't know whether it is because I'm bored by being in the -country--and a fellow who is accustomed to town life must necessarily -hate everything else, and find it all horribly slow and dreary--but the -fact is, that instead of my leave doing me good, and setting me up, and -all that kind of thing, I find myself utterly depressed and wretched, -and nothing like half so well or so jolly as when I came down here.</p> - -<p>"I thought I should go out boating and swimming and riding, and -generally larking; and instead of that I find myself sitting grizzling -over my pipe, and wondering what on earth I'm to do until evening, and -how I shall get through the time after dark until I can go to bed.</p> - -<p>"You would go blazing away at your old books, or your writing, or your -music; but I'm not in that line, old boy. I haven't got what people -call 'resources'--in any way, by Jove! tin, or anything else. I want to -be amused, and I don't get it here, and that's all about it.</p> - -<p>"You see, the truth is--and what's the good of having a fellow for your -pal, if you can't speak the truth to him, and what people in the play -call 'unbosom yourself,' and so on?--the truth is, our household here -is most infernally dull. I hadn't seen any of them for so long, that -they all came upon me like novelties; and they're so deuced original, -that they would be most interesting studies, if they did not happen -to be one's own people, don't you see, and that takes all the humour -out of the performance. There's my governor, for instance, is the most -wonderful party! If he were anybody else's governor he'd be quite good -fun enough for me to render the place sufficiently agreeable. I don't -think I should want any greater amusement than seeing him go yawning -about the house and through the village, bored out of his life, and -wishing everything at the devil. He seemed to pluck up a bit when I -first came down, and wanted to know all the news about town, and talked -about this fellow and that fellow--I knew the names well enough, and -had met a good many of the people; but when we came to compare notes, -I found that the governor was inquiring about the fathers of the -fellows I knew--fellows with the same names, you understand; and when I -explained this to him, and told him that most of his pals were dead or -gone under, don't you know, and that their sons reigned in their stead, -he cut up rather rough, and said he didn't know what the world was -coming to, and that young men weren't half as well brought-up nowadays -as they were in his time. Funny idea that, wasn't it? As though we -could help these old swells going under! Fact is--I don't like to -confess it, and would not to anybody but you, George--but since the -governor has got off the main line of life they have shunted him into -the siding for fogeydom, and there's not much chance of his coming out -again.</p> - -<p>"I find a great change in my mother too. I've spoken to you so often -about all these domesticities, that I don't mind gossiping to you now. -It's an immense relief to me. I feel if I had not someone to confide -in, I should blow up. Well, you know, my mother was always the best -man in our household, and managed everything according to her own -will; but then she had a certain tact and <i>savoir faire</i>, a way of -ruling us all that no one could find fault with; and though we grumbled -inwardly, we never took each other into confidence, or combined against -the despotism. I find that's all altered now. Either she has lost -tact, or we have lost patience--a little of both, perhaps; but, at all -events, her attempts at rule and dictation are very palpable and very -pronounced, and our ripeness for revolt is no longer concealed. In -point of fact, the one thing which the governor and I have in common is -our impatience of the female thrall, and if ever we combine, it will be -to pass the Salic law.</p> - -<p>"And apropos of that--rather neatly expressed, I find that is--there is -another female pretender to power--my cousin Annette; you have heard me -speak of her as a ward of my people's, and resident with them. She has -grown into a fine young woman, though her manners are decidedly odd. -I suppose this is country breeding: said as much to the governor, who -made a very odd face and changed the subject. Whether he thought it -the height of impudence in me to suppose that anyone who had had the -advantage of studying him daily could have country manners, or whether -there was any other reason, I don't know.</p> - -<p>"One thing there can be no doubt of, and that is, that I am always -being thrown <i>tęte-ŕ,-tęte</i> with this young woman, principally, as -I imagine, by my mother's connivance. This might have been amusing -under other circumstances, for, as I said before, she is remarkably -personable and nice--not in my line, but still a very fine young woman; -but, situated as I am, I do not avail myself in the slightest degree of -the opportunities offered.</p> - -<p>"Nor, I am bound to say, does Annette. She sits silent, and sometimes -actually sullen. She is a most extraordinary girl, George; I can't make -her out a bit. Sometimes she won't speak for hours, sometimes won't -even come down amongst us, and---- There is something deuced odd in all -this! I wish I had your clear old head here to scrutinise matters with -me, and help me in forming a judgment on them.</p> - -<p>"You know what I refer to just above, about 'under other -circumstances?' Certain interview in Kensington Gardens, with certain -party that you happened to witness. Don't you recollect? Oh Lord, -George, if you knew what an utterly gone 'coon I am in that quarter, -you would pity me. No, you wouldn't! What's the use of talking to such -a dried-up old file as you about such things? I don't believe you were -ever in love in your life, ever felt the smallest twinge of what those -stupid fools the poets call the 'gentle passion.' Gentle, by Jove! it's -anything but gentle with me--upsets me frightfully, takes away all my -sleep, and worries me out of my life. I swear to you, that now I am -separated from her, I don't know how to live without her, and wonder -how I ever got on before I knew her. When I think I'm far away from -everybody, on the cliffs or down by the sea, I find myself holloing out -aloud, and stamping my foot, for sheer rage at the thought that so much -more time must go by before I can see her again. I told you it was a -strong case, George, when you spoke to me about it; but I had no idea -then that it was so strong as it is, or that my happiness was half so -much bound up in her."</p> - - -<p>There was a space here, and the conclusion of the letter, from the -appearance of the ink, had evidently been written at a different time.</p> - -<p>"I left off there, George, thinking I might have something else to say -to you later; and so I have, but of a very different kind from what I -imagined.</p> - -<p>"I have had a tremendous scene with my mother. She has given up -hinting, and spoken out plainly at last. It appears that her whole -soul is set upon my marrying my cousin Annette. This is the whole and -sole reason of their living out of town, and of the poor governor -being expatriated from the Pall Mall pavement and the gossip he loves -so well. It appears that Annette is an heiress--in rather a large -way too, will have no end of money--and that my poor dear mother, -determined to secure her for me, has been hiding down here in this -horrible seclusion, in order that the girl may form no 'detrimental' -acquaintance of youths who might be likely to cut me out! Not very -flattering to me, is it? But still it was well meant, poor soul!</p> - -<p>"Now, you know, George, this won't do at all. If I entered into this -plan for a moment, I should have to give up that other little affair at -once; <i>and nothing earthly would make me do that!</i> Besides, I do not -care for Annette; and as to her money, that would be deuced little good -to me, if However, one goes with the other, so we needn't say any more -about it.</p> - -<p>"Of course, I fought off at once--pleaded Annette's bad state of -health--she is ill, often keeps her room, and has to have a nurse -entirely given up to her--said we were both very young, and asked for -time--but all no good. My mother was very strong on the subject; and -the governor, who sees a chance of his jailership being put an end to, -and of his getting back to haunts of civilisation, backed her up with -all his might, which is not much, poor old boy!</p> - -<p>"So all I could do was to say that I never did anything without your -advice, and to suggest that you should be asked down here at once. My -mother wouldn't have it at first, until I said she feared you were a -gay young dog, who would make running with Annette to my detriment; -and then I told her what a quiet, solemn, old-fashioned old touch you -really were, and then she consented. So, dear old man, you're booked -and in for it. I really do want your counsel awfully, though I only -thought of making you a scapegoat when I first suggested your visit. -But now I am looking forward to it with the greatest anxiety from day -to day. Come at once. You can easily arrange about your leave--come, -and help me in this fix. <i>But recollect, don't attempt to break off the -acquaintance between me and that young lady, for that would be utterly -useless!</i> God bless you. Come at once.</p> - -<p style=":text-indent:50%">"Yours ever, P.D."</p> - - -<p>George Wainwright reads this letter through twice attentively, and the -frown deepens on his forehead. Then he folds it up and places it in his -breast-pocket, and remains for ten minutes, slowly stroking his beard -with his hand, and pondering the while. Then he looks up, and says:</p> - -<p>"Billy, I'm thinking of taking the chief's advice, and going for a -little leave."</p> - -<p>"Oh, certainly," says Mr. Dunlop; "don't mind me, I beg. Leave the -whole work of the department on my shoulders, pray. You'll find I'm -equal to the occasion, sir; and perhaps in some future time, when -I have 'made by force my merit known'--when the Right Honourable -William Dunlop is First Lord of the Treasury, has clutched the golden -keys, and shaped the whisper of the Throne into saying in the ear of -the Chancellor of the Exchequer, 'Put W. D. on the pension list for -ten thou.'--I may thank you for having given me the opportunity of -distinguishing myself!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_15" href="#div1Ref_15">CHAPTER XV.</a></h4> -<h5>ON THE ALERT.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>"Well, George, old man, how are you? No need to ask, though. You're -looking as fresh as a daisy, and that after a couple of hundred miles -of rail, a long drive in a dog-cart, and a family dinner with people -who were strangers to you! And after all that, you're up and out by -nine o'clock. I told my people you were the most wonderful fellow in -the world, and now I think they'd believe it."</p> - -<p>"I haven't done anything yet to assert any claim to such a character, -at all events, Paul. I'm always an early riser, and most certainly I -wasn't going to loaf away a splendid morning like this between the -sheets. Where are the ladies and the Captain?"</p> - -<p>"My mother is generally occupied with domestic matters in the morning, -and Annette never shows till later in the day. If the governor had -had his will, he would have liked to be with us now. He was immensely -fetched by you last night, and jabbered away as I have not heard him -for years. But a little of the governor goes a long way; and I told him -we had business to talk over this morning; so he's off on his own hook -somewhere, poor old boy."</p> - -<p>"I don't think you appreciate your father quite sufficiently, Master -Paul. He made himself remarkably agreeable last night; and there was a -kind of <i>Pelham</i> and <i>Tremaine</i> flavour about his conversation which -was particularly refreshing in this back-slapping, slangy age."</p> - -<p>"And Annette--what did you think of her?"</p> - -<p>"I was very much struck with her appearance. I'm not much of a judge in -such matters, but surely she is very pretty."</p> - -<p>"Ya-as," said Paul with a half-conquering air, caressing his moustache; -"ya-as, she is pretty. What did you think of her--of her altogether, -you know?"</p> - -<p>"I thought her manner very charming. A little timid and nervous, as -was natural on being introduced to a stranger. Well, even more than -timid: a little weary, as though scarcely recovered from some illness -or excitement."</p> - -<p>"Ah, that was her illness. She had a bout of it the very day I sent off -my letter to you."</p> - -<p>"Well, she gave me that idea. But what on earth did you mean, young -fellow, by telling me in that letter that your cousin was dull and -<i>distraite</i>? I never saw anyone more interested or more interesting; -and what she said about Wordsworth's sonnets and his poem of 'Ruth' was -really admirably thought out and excellently put."</p> - -<p>"Exactly. And yet you demur at my calling you the most wonderful fellow -in the world! Why, my dear old George, you are the first person in all -our experience of her that has ever yet made Annette talk."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps because I am the first person who has listened to her."</p> - -<p>"Not at all! We've all of us tried it. The governor's not much, to be -sure, and those who don't care to hear perpetually about the Tamburini -row, and D'Orsay, and Gore House, and 'glorious Jack Reeve at the -Adelphi, sir!' and those kind of interesting anecdotes, soon get -bored. And I'm not much, and not often here. But my mother, as you'll -soon find out, is a clever woman, capital talker, and all that; and -so far as I can learn, Miss Netty has hitherto utterly refused to be -interested and amused even by that most fascinating of men to the sex, -your father."</p> - -<p>"My father! Why, where did he ever see Miss Derinzy?"</p> - -<p>"Here, in this very house. Ay, you may well look astonished! It appears -that my people knew your father in early years, before he took up his -present specialty, and that he attended my mother, who has never had -anything like decent health. She grew so accustomed to him that she -would never see anyone else; and Dr. Wainwright has been good enough, -since they have been here, to come down two or three times a year, and -look after her."</p> - -<p>"And he has seen Miss Derinzy?"</p> - -<p>"Oh yes; unprofessionally, of course--at dinner, and that kind of -thing--and, as I understand, has gone in to make himself very agreeable -to Annette, but has never succeeded. On the contrary."</p> - -<p>"On the contrary?"</p> - -<p>"Well, they tell me that she has always snubbed him tremendously; and -that must have been a frightful blow to such a society swell as your -governor--diner-out, and <i>raconteur</i>, and all that kind of thing. Fact -of the matter is, she has a deuced bad provincial style about her."</p> - -<p>"Upon my honour I can't see it, can't allow it, even though, as you -say, she did snub my father."</p> - -<p>"Of course not, you old muff! Antony, no doubt, thought Cleopatra's -manners charming; though the 'dull cold-blooded Caesar' who wouldn't be -hooked in, and the other gents whom Antony cut out, had not a good word -for her. However, look here; this scheme won't do at all. Don't you see -that?"</p> - -<p>"What scheme?"</p> - -<p>"Now, 'pon my word, I call this nice! I fire guns for help, ring an -alarm-bell for aid, and when the aid comes I have to explain my case! -Don't you recollect what I told you about my mother's plan for my -marrying Annette?"</p> - -<p>"Oh--yes," said George Wainwright slowly, "I recollect now."</p> - -<p>"That's deuced kind of you. So you must see it would never do."</p> - -<p>"It would not do?"</p> - -<p>"No, of course it wouldn't! What a fellow you are, George!" said Paul, -almost testily. "The girl does not suit me in the smallest degree, -and--and there's another one that does."</p> - -<p>"Ah, I had forgotten about that."</p> - -<p>"My good fellow, you seem to have left your wits behind you at the -office for Billy Dunlop to take care of. What the deuce are you mooning -about?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing; I was only a little confused for the moment. And you are -still over head and ears in that quarter, my poor Paul?"</p> - -<p>"By Jove, you may well say that!"</p> - -<p>"You correspond, of course, during your absence?"</p> - -<p>"I've heard from her once or twice."</p> - -<p>"And you carry the letters there," touching his friend's breast-pocket. -"Ah, I heard a responsive crackling of paper, my poor old Paul."</p> - -<p>"Oh, it's all deuced fine for you to talk about 'my poor old Paul,' and -all that, but you don't know the party, or even you would be warmed -into something like life!"</p> - -<p>"Hem!" growled Wainwright, "I don't know about that; though, as you -say, I am a little more exacting in my requirements than you. Does she -spell Paul with a 'w,' or with a little 'p'?"</p> - -<p>"She spells and writes like a lady as she is. What an ass I am to get -into a rage! Look here, George, I can't stand this much longer. I must -get back to her. It's no good my fooling my time away down here. My -mother has brought me down to propose for Annette, and I shall have to -tell her perfectly plainly that it can't be done."</p> - -<p>"That's why you sent for me," said George Wainwright; "to tell me that -you had fully made up your mind in the matter on which you brought me -down here to consult me, eh?"</p> - -<p>"No, not at all. I wanted to consult you, my dear old man, my best and -dearest of old boys; but, you see, the scenes have shifted a little -since I wrote. I've seen more of Annette, and seen more plainly that -she does not like me, and I don't care for her; and I've had a letter -from town which makes me think that the sooner I am back with Daisy, -the better."</p> - -<p>"With Daisy? that's her name, is it?"</p> - -<p>"That's her pet name with me, and---- What, mooning again, eh?"</p> - -<p>"No, I wasn't. I was merely thinking about---- Who was that elderly -woman who came to the drawing-room door last night and told Miss -Derinzy it was bed-time?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, that was Annette's servant, who is specially devoted to her--Mrs. -Stothard."</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Stothard--Miss Derinzy's maid?"</p> - -<p>"Well, maid, and nurse, and general attendant. Poor Annette, as I -wrote you, is very delicate, and requires constant watching. I should -not wonder if the excitement of last night and all your insinuating -charming talk, you old rascal, were to have a bad effect, and make her -lay up."</p> - -<p>"Poor young lady, I sincerely hope not. When did you say my father was -here last?"</p> - -<p>"I <i>didn't</i> say any time; but I believe a few weeks ago. Now let us -take a turn, and try and find the governor."</p> - -<p>"By all means. I--I suppose Miss Derinzy is not down vet?"</p> - -<p>"Villain! you would add to the mischief you caused last night. No. -Down! no; not likely to be for hours! Come."</p> - - -<p>About the time that this conversation was going on in the little -breakfast-room, Mrs. Stothard might have been seen leaving the suite -of apartments which she and her young mistress occupied, all the doors -of which she carefully closed behind her, and making her way to Mrs. -Derinzy's room. Arrived there, she gave a short knock--by no means a -humble petitioning rap, but a sort of knock which said, "I only do -this kind of thing because I am obliged"--and, following close on the -sound of her knuckles, entered.</p> - -<p>As Mrs. Stothard had previously noticed--for nothing escaped her--Mrs. -Derinzy for the last few days had been very much "out o' sorts," in the -language of the villagers. Those humble souls anticipated the immediate -advent of another attack, and Mrs. Powler had even suggested to Dr. -Barton that the "man in Lunnon," as she called Dr. Wainwright, should -be sent for. But when the little village medico presented himself at -the Tower with the view of making a few preliminary inquiries, he only -saw Mrs. Stothard, who told him, with an amount of grimness and acidity -unusual even in her, that his services were not required.</p> - -<p>The fact was, that Mrs. Derinzy, though to a certain extent a -strong-minded woman, had confined herself for many years to diplomacy; -and while plotting and scheming, had forgotten the actual art of war -as practised by her in early days. Now, when the time had arrived for -her to descend again into the arena, her courage failed her. It was -now that Paul should be induced--forced, if necessary--to take up that -position to the preparation of which for him the best years of his -mother's life had been devoted, and at this very moment Mrs. Derinzy -felt herself unequal to the task. The fact is, she had been winding -herself up for the struggle, and was now rapidly running down before it -commenced, although--perhaps because--she had her suspicions as to the -result.</p> - -<p>"How do you find yourself this morning?" asked Mrs. Stothard, in a loud -unsympathetic voice.</p> - -<p>"Not at all well, Martha. You might guess that from finding me still in -my room at this time; but the fact is, I had scarcely the energy to get -up this morning."</p> - -<p>"Tired out by the wild dissipation of having a fresh face to look at, a -fresh tongue to listen to, last night, I suppose."</p> - -<p>"You mean Mr. Wainwright? He certainly is a most agreeable man."</p> - -<p>"You are not the only person this morning suffering from his charms," -said Mrs. Stothard, with a sniff of depreciation as she pronounced the -last words.</p> - -<p>"What do you mean? How is Annette? What kind of a night did she have?"</p> - -<p>"Bad enough. Oh no, nothing violent, but bad enough for all that. I -don't think I ever saw her so excited, so pleasantly excited, before. -I could not persuade her to go to bed; and she coaxed me to let her -sit up while she talked to me of your visitor. He was so handsome, so -charming, so intelligent, she had never seen anyone like him."</p> - -<p>"He made himself very agreeable," said Mrs. Derinzy shortly. She was -alarmed at the account of these raptures on Annette's part, which boded -no good to her favourite project.</p> - -<p>"If she were a responsible being, I should say she was in love," -said Mrs. Stothard. "Not that anyone is responsible, under those -circumstances," she added: a dim remembrance of a cathedral yard, a -pile of illuminated drawings, and a cornet in the cavalry, seen through -a long vista of intervening years, gave her voice a flat and hollow -sound.</p> - -<p>"In love! stuff! She sees so few new faces that she's amused for the -time, that's all. She will have forgotten the man by this morning."</p> - -<p>"She <i>hasn't</i> forgotten him, though you do say 'stuff!' She had a -very restless night, tossing and talking in her sleep and laughing to -herself. And this morning, directly she woke, she asked me if George -Wainwright was still here; and when I told her yes, laughed and kissed -my cheek, and fell asleep again quite satisfied."</p> - -<p>"<i>George</i> Wainwright, eh?" said Mrs. Derinzy. "She has lost no time in -picking up his name."</p> - -<p>"She loses no time in picking up anything that interests her. And this -Mr. George Wainwright is clever, you say?"</p> - -<p>"Very clever, so Paul says; and so he seems."</p> - -<p>"And he has come down here on a visit, just to see Mr. Paul?"</p> - -<p>"Exactly. Mr. Paul thinks there is nobody like him, and consults him in -everything."</p> - -<p>"And yet, knowing this," said Mrs. Stothard, drawing nearer and -dropping her voice, "you have this man here, and don't seem to see any -danger in his coming."</p> - -<p>"What do you mean, Martha? I don't comprehend you," said Mrs. Derinzy, -showing in her pallid cheeks and wandering hands how she had been taken -aback by the suddenness of the question.</p> - -<p>"Oh yes, you understand me perfectly, and as you have only chosen to -give me half-confidences, I can't speak any plainer. But this I will -say, that if you still wish to throw dust in your son's eyes as regards -what is the matter with Annette, you have acted with extraordinary -folly in permitting this man to come down here. He is no shallow flimsy -youth like Mr. Paul--you will excuse my speaking out; it is necessary -in such matters--but a clever, shrewd, long-headed man of the world, -and one, above all, who is constantly brought into contact with cases -such as Annette's. He will see what is the matter with her in the -course of the next interview they have, even if he has not discovered -it at once, or at all events the first time she has an attack, and--he -will tell his friend."</p> - -<p>"They must be kept apart; he must not see her any more."</p> - -<p>"Pshaw! that would excite suspicion--his, Paul's, every one's. No; -we must think it out quietly, and see what can be done for the best. -Meantime, Annette's state is greatly in our favour. She is wonderfully -good-tempered and docile, and if she does not get too much excited, we -may yet pass it off all well."</p> - - -<p>"Let her console herself with that idea," said Mrs. Stothard, when she -found herself alone in her own room, "if she is weak enough to find -consolation in it. Nothing will hide the truth from this man. I saw -that in the mere momentary glance I had of him last night. He will -detect Annette's madness, and will tax his father with the knowledge -of it; and the Doctor, hard though he is, won't be able to deceive his -son. And then up blows our fine Derinzy castle into the air! Won't it -blow up without that? Wait a minute, and let us just see how matters -stand--in regard to <i>my</i> plans and <i>my</i> future, I mean, not theirs.</p> - -<p>"Paul is still madly in love with Fanny. Since he has been here, he has -had two letters from her, addressed to him at the 'Lion,' under his -assumed name of 'Douglas.' I saw them when they fell from his pocket, -as he changed his coat in the hall the other day. So far, so good. -Then--this man Wainwright finds out that Annette is mad, and tells -Paul. Of course the young fellow declares off at once, only too glad to -do so, and Mrs. Derinzy's of the marriage are at an end.</p> - -<p>"Would Paul marry Fanny then? If left to himself he would; but -Wainwright, who they say has such immense influence over him, would -never permit it; would persuade him that he was disgracing himself, -talk about unequal alliances, and all that.</p> - -<p>"A dangerous man to have for an enemy! What is to be done? How is he -to be won over? Suppose--suppose he were to take a fancy to the girl -himself, mad as she is--such things have been, and she is certainly -fascinated with him--and I were to prove their friend! How would that -work out? I think something might be made of it."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_16" href="#div1Ref_16">CHAPTER XVI.</a></h4> -<h5>THE COLONEL'S CORRESPONDENT.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>The pleasant house in Kent at which Colonel Orpington and his daughter -are staying is filled with agreeable company. Not merely young men who -are out shooting all day in the thick steaming coverts well preserved -with pheasants; not merely young women who are in the habit of carrying -on perpetual flirtation with the afore-named young men in language -intelligible to themselves alone, who look upon the Colonel as rather -a fogey, and who, as he confesses himself, bore him immensely, and are -very much deteriorated from the youth of his time; but several people -of his own age--club-hunting men who began life when he did, and have -pursued it much after the same fashion; and ladies who take interest in -all the talk and scandal and reminiscences of bygone years.</p> - -<p>The house is situated at such a little distance from town--some sixty -miles or so--that it is traversed in very little more than an hour -by the express train, which (the owner of the house is a director -of the railway) can be always stopped by signal at the very small -station nearest to it; so that the company is constantly changing, and -receiving fresh accessions, the coming guests being welcomed, and the -parting guests being speeded, after the ordinary recipe.</p> - -<p>But throughout the changes, Colonel Orpington and his daughter are -among the company who stay on; both of them are voted excellent -company, for the nights are beginning to grow long now, and the -dinner-hour has been fixed at seven instead of eight; and there is a -great talk of and preparation for certain amateur theatricals, of which -the Colonel, who is an old hand at such matters, is stage-manager and -principal director, and in which Miss Orpington is to take a leading -part. Much astonishment has been privately exhibited by certain of the -assembled people that that restlessness which generally characterised -"old O.," as he was familiarly termed amongst them, seemed to have -abated during his visit to Harbledown Hall; more especially has a calm -come over those horribly troublesome slate-quarries and lead-mines in -South Wales, which usually took the Colonel so frequently away from his -daughter and his friends. The matter is discussed in the smoking-room -late at night, long after the well-preserved Colonel has retired to his -rest; and Badger Bobus, who is come down to stay at Harbledown on the -first breath of there being any possibility of club-hunting, thinks -that he ought to keep up the reputation which he acquired by his famous -saying on the subject; but the Muse is unpropitious, and all that Bobus -can find to remark is, that "it is deuced extraordinary."</p> - -<p>The long interval which has now elapsed since her father found it -necessary to relieve her of his presence does not seem to have had much -effect upon Miss Orpington. Truth to tell, whether her revered parent -is or is not with her has now become a matter of very small moment with -that lady; and when her hostess congratulates herself in supposing that -her house must indeed be attractive when that dear Colonel consents -to remain there as a fixed star, Miss Orpington merely shrugs her -shoulders slightly and expresses no further acquiescence.</p> - -<p>Life has gone on in all this Arcadian simplicity for full five -weeks, when the appearance of the Colonel at the breakfast-table, -blue frock-coated and stiff-collared, instead of in the usual easy -garb adopted by him in the country of a morning, shows some intended -change in his proceedings. The wags of the household, Badger Bobus -and his set, are absent from the breakfast-table; for there was a -heavy billiard-match on the night before, and they were yet sleeping -off its effects. Nevertheless the change in the Colonel's costume is -not unobserved; but before a delicately-contrived question can be put -to extract its meaning, the Colonel himself announces that he has to -go to town for a day, and may possibly be prevented from returning -that night. Modified expressions of horror from the young ladies -and gentlemen about to act in the amateur theatricals, then close -impending--fears that everything will go wrong during the manager's -absence, and profound distrust of themselves without his suggestions -and experience. The Colonel takes these compliments very coolly--is -pretty nearly certain to be back that night; and his absence will -give them a chance of striking-out any new lights which may occur to -them, and which can be tendered for his acceptance on his return. Miss -Orpington, when appealed to to persuade her father not to be longer -away than is absolutely necessary, meets the matter with her usual -shoulder-shrug, and a calm declaration that in those matters she never -interferes, and papa always pleases himself.</p> - -<p>The Yorkshire baronet with money to whom she is engaged, and who does -not put in appearance until after the Colonel's announcement has been -made (he was one of the most interested in the billiard-match, and ran -Badger Bobus very hard at the last), is really delighted at the news. -He and the Colonel get on very well together--they are on the best of -terms both as regards present and prospective arrangements; but there -is, as Sir George Hawker remarks, something about the "old boy" which -did not "G" with his, Sir George's, notions of perfect comfort.</p> - -<p>Before the last of the dissipated ones has dropped-in to the dry bacon -and leathery toast, the remnants of the haddocks, and the <i>débris</i> -of the breakfast, the Colonel is driving a dogcart to the station, -where the signal for the express to stop is already flying. The -equanimity which the old warrior has sustained in the presence of his -friends deserts him a little now when there is no one near him save a -stolid-faced groom who is gazing vacantly over the adjacent country. -His annoyance does not vent itself on the horse--he is too good a whip -for that--but he "pishes!" and "pshaws!" and is very short and sharp -with the groom demanding orders as he leaves his master at the station; -and when he has been sucked-up, as it were, into the train, which -is again thundering on its townward way, he takes a letter from his -pocket, and daintily adjusting his natty double-eyeglass on his nose, -reads it through and through.</p> - -<p>"This is the infernal nuisance of having to make women allies in -matters of this kind," says he softly to himself, laying down the -letter and looking out of the window. "They are always doing too much -or too little; anything like a <i>juste milieu</i> seems to be utterly -impossible to them; and I cannot make out from this girl's rodomontade -nonsense whether she has not just overstepped her instructions, and -so spoiled what promised to be a remarkably pretty little plot. And -yet it was the only thing I could do, and she was the only available -person. It was a thousand pities that Clarisse was away from town at -the moment; for she is not merely thoroughly trustworthy, but always -has her wits about her."</p> - -<p>When the train arrives in London, the Colonel calls a cab, and is -driven to the Beaufort Club, which is still empty and deserted, and -where he asks the porter whether certain members, whom he names, had -been there lately. Among these names is that of Mr. Derinzy; and on -being answered in the negative, he brightens up a little and pursues -his way. This time the cabman is directed to drive to the Temple; and -at the Temple gates he stops and deposits his fare.</p> - -<p>There are symptoms of renewing life among the lawyers, for term-time -is coming on. As the Colonel steps down Middle Temple Lane, he passes -by long ladders, and has to skip out of the way of the shower of -whitewash and water which the painters, standing on them, scatter -refreshingly about. It is for Selden Buildings that Colonel Orpington -is making; and, arrived in that quiet little nook, where the hum of -the many-footed passing up and down Fleet Street sounds only like the -distant roar of the sea, he stops before the doorway of No. 5, and -after a rapid glance upwards, to assure himself that he is right, -enters the house, and climbs the dingy staircase. The clerks in the -attorney's office on the ground-floor seem to be in full swing; but the -oak on the first-floor, guarding the chambers where Tocsin, Q.C., gets -himself in training for gladiatorial practice, is closed, Tocsin being -still away. Arrived at the second-floor, the Colonel pauses to take -breath, the ascent having been a little steep. There are two doors, -one on either hand, and both are closed. After a moment's breathing -space, the Colonel turns to the one on the right, which bears the name -of "Mr. John Wilson," and after a short glance round, to see that he -is unobserved--it was scarcely worth the trouble, for he was most -certain there would be none there to see him--he takes a neat little -Bramah-key from his pocket, opens the oak, and entering, closes it -carefully behind him. There is nothing in the little hall but a stone -filter and a couple of empty champagne bottles. So the Colonel does -not linger there, but quickly passing through, opens the door in front -of him, and finds himself in a large room dimly lit, by reason of -the window-blinds being all pulled down. When these are raised--and -to raise them is the Colonel's first proceeding--he looks round him -with a shiver, lights a fire, which is already laid in the grate, and -carelessly glances round the apartment. Not like a lawyer's rooms -these; not like the office of a hardworking attorney, the chambers of -a hard-reading, many-brief-getting barrister; not like the chambers of -Tocsin, Q.C.--even though Tocsin notoriously goes in for luxury, and -affects to be a swell; no litter of many papers here, no big bundles -of briefs, no great sheets of parchment, no tin boxes painted with -resonant names (in most cases as fictitious as the drawers of Mr. Bob -Sawyer's chemist-shop), no legal library bound in calf, no wig-box, -no stuff-gown refreshingly dusted with powder hanging up behind the -door. Elegant furniture, more like that found in a Mayfair drawing-room -than in the purlieus of the Temple: long looking-glasses from floor to -ceiling, velvet-covered mantelpiece, china gimcrackery placed here and -there, easy-chairs and sofa; no writing-table, but a little davenport -of old black oak, a round dining-table capable of seating six persons, -a heavy sideboard also in black oak, and a dumb-waiter. Heavy cloth -curtains, relieved by an embroidered border, cover the windows; and on -the walls are proofs after Landseer. Thick dust is over all; and as the -fire is slow in lighting, the Colonel shivers again as he gives it a -vicious poke, and says to himself:</p> - -<p>"'Gad! there is a horrible air of banquet-halls deserted, and all that -kind of thing, about the place! It must be more than three months -since anyone was in it. When was the last time, by-the-way? Oh, when -I gave Grenville and Brown and Harriet that supper after the picnic." -The fire struggles up a little, but the Colonel still shivers. "I wish -I had told that old woman who attends to this place that Mr. Wilson -was likely to be here for an hour or two to-day, and wanted his fire -lit. I hope my young friend will be punctual. It is better down at -Harbledown than at this dreary place; and it wouldn't do for me to -show in town--not that there is anybody here to see me, I suppose. -Young Derinzy away still--that is good hearing; but what could she have -meant by 'things not looking very straight?' Always so confoundedly -enigmatical and mysterious in her writing. Perhaps she will be more -explicit when we meet face to face." Then, looking at his watch, "Let -me see--just two; and I have not time to get any luncheon anywhere; -that is to say, if she comes at the hour which I telegraphed to her."</p> - -<p>The fire is burning bravely now, and the Colonel is bending over it, -rejoicing in its warmth, when he hears a slight tinkling of a bell. He -looks up and listens.</p> - -<p>"'Gad! I forgot I had closed the oak," he says. "I come here so seldom, -that the ways of these places are still strange to me." (Tinkle again.) -"That must be my young friend."</p> - -<p>He rises leisurely, crosses the hall, and opens the door, and is -confronted by a tall young woman, rather flashily dressed, who lifts -her veil, and reveals the features of Miss Bella Merton, the clerk at -Mr. Kammerer's, the photographer.</p> - -<p>"Is Mr. Wilson in, sir?" asked the young lady, with a demure glance.</p> - -<p>"He is," said the Colonel; "and delighted to welcome you to his -rooms. Come in, my dear young lady; there is no necessity for either -of us acting a part now. You are very punctual, and in matters of -business--and ours is entirely a matter of business--that is a very -excellent sign."</p> - -<p>He led her into the room, pulled an arm-chair opposite the fire, and -handed her to it.</p> - -<p>"I scarcely know whether I am doing right in coming here, Colonel -Orpington," said Bella Merton--"by myself, you know, and alone with a -gentleman," she added, as if in reply to his wondering look.</p> - -<p>"I mentioned just now that there was no necessity for any nonsense -between us, Miss Merton," said the Colonel quietly, "and that we are -engaged on what is purely a matter of business. Let us understand -each other exactly. You are my agent, my paid agent--I don't wish to -hurt your feelings, but in business frankness is everything--to make -inquiries and act for me in a certain matter, and you have come here -to make me your report. There is no mystery about it so far as you are -concerned, except that you are to know me in it as Mr. Wilson; but you -will find, my dear Miss Merton, as you grow older, that in many of -the most important business transactions in the world the name of the -principal is not allowed to transpire. Do I make myself clear?"</p> - -<p>Miss Merton, though still young, has plenty of <i>savoir faire</i>. She -takes her cue at once; lays aside her giggling, demure, and blushing -friskiness, and comes to the point.</p> - -<p>"Perfectly, Mr. Wilson," she replied. "I received your telegram, and am -here obedient to it."</p> - -<p>"That is very right, very prompt, and very much to the purpose," says -the Colonel. "I ask you to meet me here, because in your note received -this morning you seem to intimate that things were not going quite as -comfortable as I could wish with our young friend--Fanny, I think you -call her. Is not that her name?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; Fanny Stafford."</p> - -<p>"Very well, then; in future we will always speak of her as Fanny, or -Miss Stafford, as occasion may require. Will you be good enough now to -enter into farther particulars?"</p> - -<p>"Well, you see, Mr. Wilson"--and the girl cannot help smiling as she -repeats his name, for Colonel Orpington looks so utterly unlike any -possible Mr. Wilson--"Fanny has grown dull and out of sorts lately; and -I cannot help thinking, from some words she has occasionally dropped, -that she is anxious to leave Madame Clarisse, and settle herself in -life."</p> - -<p>"I don't know that I should prove any obstacle to that," says the -Colonel; "it would depend, of course, on the manner in which she -proposed to settle herself."</p> - -<p>"Of course," says the girl, looking at him keenly; "that is just it; -and, if I may be excused for saying so, I don't think hers was in your -way."</p> - -<p>"Very likely not. Please understand you are to say everything and -anything that comes into your head and you think relates to the -business we have in hand. I imagine, from the hint in your letter, that -the gentleman of whom we have spoken, Mr. ----, how do you call him?"</p> - -<p>"Mr. Douglas--Paul Douglas."</p> - -<p>"Ay, Mr. Douglas--had come to town. On inquiry, I find this is not the -case."</p> - -<p>"No, but she hears from him constantly; and though she never shows -me his letters, I can gather from what she says that there has been -something in the last one or two of them which has upset her very much."</p> - -<p>"You have not the least idea what this something may be? Do you imagine -he proposes to break with her?"</p> - -<p>"On the contrary, I think she discovers that his love for her is -even deeper than she imagined, and I think that her conscience is -reproaching her a little in regard to him."</p> - -<p>The Colonel looks up astonished.</p> - -<p>"Who can have benefited by any lapse or waywardness of which these -conscience-stings can be the result?" he asks. "Not I for one."</p> - -<p>"I don't think anyone is benefited by them, Colonel Orpington," -says the girl, with a shadow on her face; "I am sure no one has in -the way you suggested. What I mean is this, that Fanny is naturally -discontented with her position, and anxious for riches, and fine -clothes, and a pretty home, and all that. Since I have talked to her -about you and the strong admiration you have for her, and your coming -after her photograph and giving Mr. Kammerer the heavy price he asked -for it, and constantly speaking to me about her, she has grown more -discontented still, I fancy; and we women can generally read each -others minds and guess at each other's ideas, principally from the fact -that we are all made use of and played upon in the same way, I imagine. -I fancy that Fanny thinks that she has not acted quite fairly towards -Paul Douglas since his absence; that all this talk about you has -lessened her regard for him, and led her to picture to herself -another future than that which she contemplated when he went away, -and---- Well, I have rather an idea that there is another disturbing -element in the matter."</p> - -<p>"'Gad!" says the Colonel, stroking his moustache thoughtfully, "there -seems to be quite enough complication as it is. What is it now?"</p> - -<p>"I fancy that a young man in her own station of life, bright, active, -and industrious, and likely to make a very good position for himself in -that station out of which he would never want to move--for he is proud -of it, and thoroughly self-reliant--is deeply smitten with Fanny, and -that she knows it."</p> - -<p>The Colonel looks up relieved.</p> - -<p>"I wouldn't give much for this young man's chance, pattern of all the -virtues though he may be. I don't think he is much in Miss Stafford's -line."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps not," says Bella Merton, "nor do I think he would be likely -to succeed, if Fanny had not several sides to her character. At all -events, whether he succeeds or not, the knowledge that he cares -for her, and that he is ready to open a new career for her, has an -irritating and upsetting effect upon her just now."</p> - -<p>The Colonel lit a cigar during the progress of this dialogue, and sat -smoking it thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>"Do you happen to know whether Madame Clarisse is in town?" he asks her -after a few minutes' pause.</p> - -<p>"I think I heard Fanny say that she came back from Paris last week," -replies Miss Merton; "yes, I am sure she did; for I recollect Fanny -telling me Madame had said that she might have a holiday, and I wanted -her to come away with me to get a change somewhere."</p> - -<p>"Quite right of you to throw yourself as much with her as possible; -but don't take her away just yet. You have given me most admirable -aid, Miss Merton, and have managed this affair with a delicacy and -discretion which do you infinite credit, and which I shall never -forget. Will you add to your favour?"</p> - -<p>"Willingly if I can, Colonel--I mean Mr. Wilson," says Bella, with a -blush. "How is it to be done?"</p> - -<p>"By getting yourself a dress, or mantle, or something of that new brown -colour which has just come into fashion, about which all the ladies are -raving, and which I am sure would become you admirably, and by wearing -it the next time I have the pleasure of receiving a visit from you," -says the Colonel, pressing a bank-note into his visitor's hand. "And -now goodbye. Not a word of thanks; I told you at the beginning this was -a mere matter of business; I am merely carrying out my words."</p> - -<p>"You wish me still to see Fanny, and to let you know anything that may -transpire?" asks Bella.</p> - -<p>"Certainly; though perhaps I may soon---- However, never mind; write -always to the same address, and keep me well informed."</p> - -<p>Miss Merton goes tripping through the Temple, in great delight at the -crisp little contents of her purse that she has just received from the -Colonel, and commanding great tribute of admiration from the attorneys' -clerks who catch glimpses of her through the grimy windows behind which -they are working; and Colonel Orpington, <i>alias</i> Mr. John Wilson, sits -with his feet before him on the fender, smoking slowly, and cogitating -over all he has heard.</p> - -<p>It is dusk in the Temple precincts, though still bright light outside, -before he rises from his chair, flings the but-end of his last cigar -into the fire, and says to himself:</p> - -<p>"Yes, I think that I must now appear on the scene myself, and see how -the land lies with my own eyes. I wonder whether young Derinzy has -been playing this recent game from forethought or by accident. Deuced -clever move of his if he intended it; but I rather think it was all a -chance; such knowledge of life does not come to one until after a great -deal of experience, and he is a mere boy as yet. I don't think much -of what my young friend just now said about the tradesman, artisan, -or whatever the fellow may happen to be, though she seemed to have a -notion that he would prove dangerous. However, it will all work out in -time, I suppose. I won't stop in town to-night, now there is nothing -to be done; the house in Hill Street is all upset, and I will go back -to my comfortable quarters at Harbledown, and give those acting people -the benefit of my society. John Orpington," he says, looking at himself -in the glass over the mantelpiece, "you have come to a time of life -when rest is absolutely necessary for you, and you have got too much -good sense to ignore the fact; and as to Miss Fanny Stafford, well--<i>la -nuit forte conseil</i>--I will sleep upon all I have heard, and make up my -mind to-morrow morning." And so little excited or flurried is Colonel -Orpington by the events of the day, that when the down express is -stopped by signal at the little station, the guard, previously charged -to look out for him, finds the Colonel deep in slumber over his evening -newspaper.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_17" href="#div1Ref_17">CHAPTER XVII.</a></h4> -<h5>WELL MET.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>In her light and volatile way, Miss Bella Merton had made what was by -no means a wrong estimate of Daisy's state of mind; more especially -right was she in her conjecture that Paul Derinzy's absence had had -the effect of showing to Daisy the true state of her feelings towards -him, and that she found her heart much more complicated than she -had believed. She had been accustomed to those walks in Kensington -Gardens, which had become of almost daily occurrence, and she missed -them dreadfully. She had been accustomed to the soft words, the -tender speeches, to the little pettings and fondlings and delicate -attentions which her lover was always paying to her, and in her -solitude she hungered after them. True, his letters were all that a -girl in her position could desire--full of the kindest phrases and most -affectionate reminiscences, full of delight at the past and of hope for -the future; only, after all, they were but letters, and Daisy wearied -of his absence and longed for his return.</p> - -<p>In the dull dead season of the year, when everything was weary and -melancholy, when business was at such a standstill, that she had not -even the excitement of her work to carry off her thoughts in another -direction, the girl pondered over her lot, and the end of each period -of reflection found her heartily sick of it. How long was it to -endure? Was this daily slavery to go on for ever? Was she still to -live in a garret, to emerge from thence in the early morning to the -dull routine of business, to go through the daily toil of showing her -employer's wares to the listless customers, of enduring all their -vapid impertinences and senseless remarks, to superintend making up -the boxes and the sending-off of the parcels, and to return again to -the cheerless garret, weary, dispirited, and dead-beat? So that slight -glimpse of the promised land which had been accorded to her when she -first made up her mind that she would bring Paul's attentions to a -definite end, that marriage never to be perfectly realised while he -was with her, while she was in the daily habit of meeting him and -listening to his impassioned words, that future which she had depicted -to herself, seemed now perfectly possible of realisation, although -Paul had, as she was compelled to allow to herself, never held out -definite hopes of marrying her, but contented himself by dwelling on -the impossibility of any decadence in his love, or of his being able to -pass his life away from her.</p> - -<p>But since his absence in the country, these pleasant visions had -gradually faded and grown colourless. Thinking over the past, Daisy -was compelled to allow to herself that, though their acquaintance now -extended over some months, the great end to which she was looking -forward seemed as far off as ever. Who were those people of his, as he -called them? this family of whom he apparently stood in such awe? and -even if their consent were obtained, would Paul have courage enough to -fly in the face of the world by marrying a girl in a station of life -inferior to his own? The moral cowardice on this point she was aware -of; his weakness she knew. She had seen it in his avoidance of public -places when in her company, and the constant fright of detection which -he laboured under. She had taxed him with it, and he could not deny -it, but laughed it off as best he might. He even in laughing it off -had confessed that he stood in wholesome terror of Mrs. Grundy and all -the remarks which she and her compeers might make. Was this a feeling -likely to be effaced by time? She thought not. The older he grew the -less likely was he to care to defy the world's opinion, unsustained as -he would be by the first fierce strength of that love which alone could -spur him on to what was, in his eyes, a deed of such daring.</p> - -<p>And Daisy was in this position, that, however much she might seem to -talk and laugh with Bella Merton, she could not take that young person, -nor indeed any person of her own age, into her confidence. All the -counsel and advice which she had to rely on must come from her mother -alone, and Mrs. Stothard's advice was like herself, grim and very hard -and very worldly. From the first she had seemed much pleased with -Daisy's account of her relations with Paul. She had urged her daughter -to persevere in the course on which she had decided, and to lose no -opportunity for making the young man declare himself, so that they -might have some legal hold upon him. All this was to be done cautiously -and without hurry, so long as he continued as attached as he then -seemed to be. Daisy was cautioned against doing anything which might -alarm him; it was only if she perceived that he was relaxing in his -attentions that she was at once to endeavour to bring him to book.</p> - -<p>And though Daisy was fully aware that her more recent letters to her -mother, written since Paul's absence, had been influenced by the -dulness which that event had caused her, and were, in truth, anything -but reassuring productions, Mrs. Stothard's had never lost heart. They -were cheerful and hopeful; bade her daughter not to give way, as she -felt certain that all would be right in the end; and were full of a -spirit of gaiety which was little characteristic of the writer.</p> - -<p>And there were two other influences at work which tended to disturb -Daisy's peace of mind. Her acquaintance, Bella Merton, though -sufficiently social and volatile, had a singular knack of persistence -in carrying through any plan on which she might be engaged; and since -the subject was first mentioned at the little party in Augusta Manby's -rooms, she had taken advantage of every opportunity of being in -Daisy's company, to enlarge to her on Colonel Orpington's position and -generosity, and of the extraordinary admiration which he had professed -for Fanny's portrait and herself.</p> - -<p>These remarks were listened to by Daisy at first with unconcern, and -their perpetual iteration would probably have disgusted her, had not -Miss Merton been endowed with an unusual amount of feminine tact, and -thus enabled to serve them up in a manner which she thought would -be peculiarly palatable to her friend; so that Daisy found herself -not merely constantly listening to stories of Colonel Orpington when -she was in Miss Merton's company, but thinking a great deal of that -distinguished individual when she was alone. She had taken very little -notice of him on the day when he called in George Street with his -daughter, and could only recollect of his personal appearance that -it was gentlemanly and distinguished-looking; but she remembered -having noticed the keen way in which he looked at her, and one glance -of unmistakable admiration which he levelled at her as he followed -his daughter from the room. And he was very rich, was he? and very -generous--very generous? Why was Bella Merton always harping on his -generosity? why was she always talking in a vague way of hoping some -day to be able to introduce him formally?</p> - -<p>To Daisy there could be no misunderstanding about the purpose of -such an introduction, the girl thought, with flaming cheek; and the -recollection of Paul's delicacy came across her, and she felt enraged -with herself at ever having permitted Bella Merton to talk to her in -that fashion. And yet--and yet what was the remainder of her life to -be, Paul making no sign? She knew perfectly well that that little -tea-party in Dalston might, in another way, take rank as an epoch in -her life. She knew perfectly well that John Merton, who had always -admired her, that night had yielded up his heart, and she would not -have been surprised any day at receiving an offer of his hand. Was -that to be the end of it? Was she to pull down the image of Paul which -she worshipped so fondly, and erect that of homely John Merton in -its place? Was she to continue in very much the same style of life -which she was then leading, merely exchanging her garret for a room a -little less high, a little better furnished, but probably in a less -desirable part of the town? Was she to remain as a drudge--not indeed -to Madame Clarisse or any other employer, for she knew John Merton -was too high-spirited to think of allowing her to help towards their -mutual maintenance by her own labour--but still as a drudge in domestic -duties, in slavery for children and household, never to rise in the -social scale, never to know anything of those luxuries which she so -longed for? It was a bitter, bitter trial, and the more Daisy thought -it over--and the question was constantly present in her mind--the less -chance did she see of bringing it to a satisfactory conclusion.</p> - -<p>Although the professional people whose duties required their attendance -in town were beginning to come back, and bringing with them, of -course, their wives and families, the majority of Madame Clarisse's -more happily placed-customers yet remained in their country houses, -and there was still very little business doing at the establishment -in George Street. There were frequently times in the day when Daisy -had nothing to do, and she would take advantage of her leisure to go -out and get a breath of the bleak autumnal air. Madame Clarisse never -objected to these little excursions; indeed, encouraged them. For on -her return from France, she had noticed that her favourite Fanfan's -cheeks were looking very pale, and that her manner was listless and -dispirited, and that she plainly wanted a change. Madame was at first -disposed to insist on Fanfan's going away for a time to the country -or the seaside, and recruiting herself amid fresh scenes. But a -communication which she received about that period altered her views; -and she consequently contented herself by giving her assistant as many -hours' leisure as she conveniently could, taking care that this leisure -was fragmentary, and never to be enjoyed for longer than one afternoon -at a time.</p> - -<p>Daisy had an odd delight, when thus enabled to absent herself from -her duties, in visiting the old spot in Kensington Gardens, which had -been the scene of her walks with Paul. They had selected it on account -of its seclusion, but now there were fewer people there than ever; it -was too damp and cold any longer to be used as a place of recreation -by the children who formerly frequented it for its quietude and its -shade; and an occasional workman hurrying across the Park, or a keeper, -finding his occupation gone in the absence of the boys, gazing wearily -down the long vistas at the end of which the thick white fog was -already beginning to steam, were the only human creatures whom Daisy -encountered.</p> - -<p>She was astonished, therefore, one day on arriving at the end of the -well-known avenue, and turning to retrace her steps, to find herself -face to face with a gentleman who must evidently have made his approach -under cover of the trees, and who was close to her before she had heard -his footfall.</p> - -<p>She recognised him in an instant--Colonel Orpington.</p> - -<p>"I must ask your pardon for intruding on you, Miss Stafford," said the -Colonel, raising his hat, "and more especially for having come upon you -so suddenly, and caused, as I am afraid I see by your startled looks, -some annoyance; but though I have never had the pleasure of a personal -introduction, we have met before, and I believe you know who I am."</p> - -<p>His manner was perfectly easy and gentlemanly, but thoroughly -respectful withal; and though, as he had noticed, Daisy's first impulse -was to turn aside and leave him without a word, a moment's reflection -caused her to bow and say:</p> - -<p>"I believe I recognise Colonel Orpington."</p> - -<p>"Exactly; and in Colonel Orpington you see an unfortunate man who is -compelled, from what the begging-letter writers call in their flowery -language, 'circumstances over which he has no control,' to remain in -London at this horribly dismal time of year."</p> - -<p>Daisy was silent, but she smiled; and the Colonel proceeded:</p> - -<p>"I wandered into the Park and strolled up the Row, where there were -only three men, who were apparently endeavouring to see which could -hold on to their horses longest; and I was comparing the ghastliness -of to-day with the glory of last season--I need not quote to you, I am -sure, my dear Miss Stafford, that charming notion about a 'sorrow's -crown of sorrows,' which Mr. Tennyson so cleverly copied from Mr. -Dante, who thought of it first--when at the far end by the Serpentine -Bridge I got a glimpse of a form which I thought I recognised, and -which, if I may say so, has never been absent from my mind since I -first saw it. I made bold to follow it; and just now, on your turning -round, I found I was right in my conjectures. It was you.".</p> - -<p>He paused; but Daisy did not smile now, merely bowed stiffly, and moved -as though she would proceed. The Colonel moved at the same time.</p> - -<p>"I hope you are not annoyed at my freedom, Miss Stafford," said he. -"Believe me, at the smallest hint from you, I will rid you of my -presence this instant; but it does seem rather ridiculous that two -persons who, I think we are not flattering in saying, are calculated -to amuse one another at a time and in a place where they are as much -alone as the grand old gardener and his wife were in Paradise, should -avoid each other in an eminently British manner, simply because -conventionality does not recognise their meeting."</p> - -<p>This time Daisy smiled, almost laughed, as she said: "You will readily -understand, Colonel Orpington, that the rules of society have no great -hold upon me, who have never been in any position to be bound by them; -and I haven't the least objection to your walking part of the way with -me on my return to my employer's, if it at all pleases or amuses you to -do so."</p> - -<p>"It would give me the very greatest pleasure," said the Colonel; and -they walked on together.</p> - -<p>As Daisy looked up for an instant at the face of her companion and -thought of Paul, she could not help wondering at the contrast between -the two men: he with whom she had been in the habit of walking up and -down that avenue was always so thoroughly in earnest, his head bent -down in fond solicitude towards her, his eyes seeking hers, every -tone of his voice, every movement of his hands showing how deeply -interested he was in that one subject on which alone they talked; while -her present companion, though probably fully double Paul's age, walked -along gaily and blithely, his head erect, and his voice and manner as -light as his conversation.</p> - -<p>"This is really charming," said the Colonel. "I had not the least idea -of so pleasant an interview in my dull, dreary day. There is literally -not one soul in London of my acquaintance, except yourself, Miss -Stafford; and do you know, on reflection, I am rather glad of it."</p> - -<p>"Indeed! And why, Colonel Orpington?"</p> - -<p>"Because, don't you know, they say that people who in the whirl of the -season might be constantly coming into momentary contact, and then -carried away off somewhere else, never have the slightest opportunity -of really becoming acquainted with each other; whereas, when people -are thrown together at this time of year and this kind of way, there -is a chance of their discovering each other's best qualities, and thus -establishing an intimacy."</p> - -<p>Daisy laughed again--this time a rather hard, bitter laugh.</p> - -<p>"You forget, Colonel Orpington, you are talking to me now as though I -am one whom you are likely to meet in the whirl of the season, one with -whom you are likely to become on intimate terms."</p> - -<p>The Colonel looked grave. "I am thinking that you have the manners, the -appearance, and the education of a lady, Miss Stafford; you could have -nothing more," said he quietly. "And now, where are you bound for?"</p> - -<p>"I am going back to my employer's in George Street."</p> - -<p>"Ah, Madame Clarisse's, where I had first the pleasure of seeing you. -And does that still go on, Miss Stafford, every day.--that same work in -which I saw you engaged?"</p> - -<p>"Exactly the same, day after day," said Daisy, with a little sigh; "a -little less of it now, a little more of it another time, but always the -same."</p> - -<p>"'Gad, it must be dull," said the Colonel, pulling down the corners -of his mouth, "having to show a lot of gowns and things to pert young -misses and horrible old women, and listen to their wretched jargon. -Don't you sometimes feel inclined to tell them plainly what frights -they are, and how the fault, when they find fault, is not in the -thing--cap, ribbon, shawl, or whatever it may be--which they are trying -on, but in themselves?"</p> - -<p>"Madame Clarisse would scarcely thank me for that, I think," said -Daisy; "and I should rather repent my own folly when I found myself -without employment, and without recommendation necessary for getting -it."</p> - -<p>"Yes, of course, you are right," said the Colonel, "it would not do; -but the temptation must be awfully strong. I was thinking after I left -Clarisse's the other day, how astonished the hideous creatures who go -there must be when they find that the things which look so charming on -you when you were showing them off, so entirely lost their charm when -sent home to the persons who have purchased them. Like a fairy tale, -by Jove!" As he said this, Colonel Orpington cast a momentary glance -at his companion to see what effect his remarks had produced, and -was pleased to find that Daisy looked gratified. The next moment her -countenance clouded as she said:</p> - -<p>"It is not a very ennobling position, that of being an animated block -for showing the effect of milliner's wares, but I suppose there are -worse in the world."</p> - -<p>"Of course there are, my dear Miss Stafford; many worse, and a great -many better. It would be a dreary look-out, though, if you had no -brighter future in store for you."</p> - -<p>"It is a dreary look-out, then," said the girl, almost solemnly.</p> - -<p>"Don't say that," said the Colonel, moving a little closer towards her, -and slightly lowering his voice; "you mustn't talk in that manner; you -are depressed by the dull time, and the day, and this charming fog -which is now rising steadily around us. You don't imagine, I suppose, -that the rest of your life is to be spent at Madame Clarisse's?"</p> - -<p>"At Madame Clarisse's, or Madame Augustine's, or Madame somebody -else's, I suppose," said Daisy.</p> - -<p>"But have you no idea of setting-up in business for yourself?" asked -the Colonel. "It would not be any great position, but at all events it -would be better than this. At any time, I imagine, it is more pleasant -to drive than be driven."</p> - -<p>"I have never thought of it," said the girl; "the chance is so very -remote, it does not do to look forward. I find it is better to go on -simply from day to day, taking it all as it comes," said Daisy, with a -short laugh.</p> - -<p>"Now, my dear Miss Stafford, you really must not speak in that way. -I must take advantage of my being, unfortunately, a great deal older -than you, and having seen a great deal more of the world, to give -you a little advice, and to talk seriously to you. You are far too -young, and, permit me to add, far too beautiful, to hold such gloomy -and desponding views. From the little I have already had the pleasure -of seeing of you, I should say you were eminently calculated by the -charm--well, the charm of your appearance--for there is no denying -that with us ordinary denizens of the world, who are not philosophers, -a charming appearance goes a long way--and of your manners, you are -eminently calculated to make friends who would only be delighted at an -opportunity of serving you."</p> - -<p>"Such has not been my experience at present," said the girl. "I am -afraid that your desire to be polite has led you into error, Colonel -Orpington; I find no such friends as you describe."</p> - -<p>"I was mistaken," said the Colonel; "I thought there must be at least -one person who would have done anything for you."</p> - -<p>As he said these words, he looked sharply at her; and though Daisy's -eyes were downcast, she noticed the glance, and felt that she blushed -under it.</p> - -<p>"However, be that as it may," said the Colonel, "it will be my care to -see that you are unable to make that assertion henceforth. Believe me, -that this day you have made a friend whose greatest delight will be in -forwarding your every wish."</p> - -<p>He dropped his voice as he said these words, and let his hand for an -instant rest lightly on hers.</p> - -<p>"You are very kind," she said, "and I know I ought to be very -grateful--I ought."</p> - -<p>"You ought not to say another word, Miss Stafford," said the Colonel. -"When you are a little older and a little more experienced, you will -know that there is nothing more foolish than to be too ready with your -gratitude. Wait and see what comes. Think over what I have said, and -settle in your own mind in what way I can be of service to you; and -don't be angry with me for saying that you must not be afraid to take -me literally at my word. Fortune, who is so hard upon many excellent -and deserving people, has been especially kind to me, who don't deserve -anything at all, and I have much more money than I can spend upon -myself. Think over all I have said, and let me look forward to the -pleasure of seeing you in the same spot again to-morrow afternoon. Now -I will intrude upon you no longer. Goodbye."</p> - -<p>He touched her hand, took off his hat, and before Daisy could speak a -word, he had left her, and was retracing his steps across the Park.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_18" href="#div1Ref_18">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></h4> -<h5>SOUNDINGS.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>Captain Derinzy did not experience so much satisfaction as he had -anticipated from Mr. George Wainwright's visit to the Tower. On the -first night of his arrival, his guest had listened to him with the -greatest patience and apparent delight. The Captain had told all -his old stories, repeated his <i>bon mots</i>--which were very brilliant -some dozen years before, but had lost a little of their glitter and -piquancy--and had aired the two subjects on which he was strongest--his -delight in London life, and his disgust at the place in which he was -then compelled to vegetate--to his own entire satisfaction.</p> - -<p>He had hoped for frequent renewals of these pleasant confabulations -during George Wainwright's stay; but the next morning Paul told his -father that he and his friend had matters of business to talk over; and -although George seemed willing, and even anxious, to give up portions -of his time occasionally to his host, he was so much in requisition -by Paul, by Annette, and even by Mrs. Stothard, that the poor Captain -found himself left as much as usual to his own devices, and wandered -about the beach and the cliffs, cursing his fate and his exile as -loudly as ever. But while he was thus excluded from the general -councils, a series of explanations seemed to be going on among the -other members of the household.</p> - -<p>"I want to speak to you, Martha," said Mrs. Derinzy, on the afternoon -of the day after the conversation last recorded had taken place. "I -have been thinking over what you said this morning, and I want you to -be more explicit about it."</p> - -<p>"About what portion of it?" asked Mrs. Stothard.</p> - -<p>"Well, about all; but more particularly what you said about my only -having chosen to give you half confidences. What did you mean by that?"</p> - -<p>"Exactly what I said. You're a clever woman, Mrs. Derinzy, but you -have made a great mistake in imagining that you could make me a -fellow-conspirator with you in a plot----"</p> - -<p>"Conspirator! plot!" cried Mrs. Derinzy, interrupting.</p> - -<p>"Exactly. A fellow-conspirator in a plot," said Mrs. Stothard -calmly--"I use the words advisedly--and yet only tell me a portion of -your intentions."</p> - -<p>"Will you be good enough to explain yourself, Mrs. Stothard?" said -Mrs. Derinzy, seating herself, and thereby asserting her superiority -in the only way possible over her servant, who knew so much, and was -apparently inclined to make a dangerous use of her knowledge.</p> - -<p>"Certainly," said Mrs. Stothard. "I am the only person in this place, -besides you and your husband, who knows that your niece Annette Derinzy -is subject to fits of lunacy. I say who <i>knows</i> it; it may be suspected -more or less, though I don't think it is much. But I know it. The -fact is kept sedulously by you from all who are likely to be brought -in contact save the one physician who attends, and his visits are -accounted for by a pretext that you, and not Annette, are his patient. -If that is not a plot in which we are fellow-conspirators, I should -like to know what is."</p> - -<p>"Go on," said Mrs. Derinzy, in a low voice.</p> - -<p>"I am going on," said Mrs. Stothard, pitilessly. "The reason for your -concealing the fact that this girl is an occasional lunatic is, that -she is the heiress of a very large fortune, and that since the day on -which you first heard of her inheritance you determined that she should -marry your only son. For my discovery of this portion of the plot, I am -not indebted to you. It was the work entirely of my own observation. -You can say whether I am right in my conjecture or not."</p> - -<p>"Suppose you are, what then?"</p> - -<p>"Suppose I am! What is the use of beating about the bush in this absurd -way any longer? You know I am right. Now that you see the difficulty of -blinding your son any longer to his cousin's condition, and that he is -not weak enough to have been played upon to any extent, had it not been -for the influence which this newly-arrived friend has over him, you -find that you require my aid, and want my advice."</p> - -<p>Perhaps for the first time in her long scheming anxious life, Mrs. -Derinzy felt herself thoroughly prostrate. She hid her face in her -hands, and when she raised it, tears were streaming down her cheeks. -She made no further attempt at concealment of her feelings, but -murmured piteously, "What are we to do Martha--what are we to do?"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Stothard's hard face softened for a moment as she stepped towards -her, and touched her gently with her hand.</p> - -<p>"What are you to do!" she cried. "Not to give way like this, and throw -up all chance of winning the battle after so long and desperate a -fight. Let us think it over quietly, see exactly how matters stand, and -determine what can be done for the best."</p> - -<p>"He must never know it, Martha--he must never know it!" murmured Mrs. -Derinzy.</p> - -<p>"Who must never know what?" asked Mrs. Stothard, shortly.</p> - -<p>"Paul must never know that Annette is mad. If he finds it out, of -course all hope of his marrying her is at an end. And what will he -think of me for having deceived him?--of me, his mother, who did it all -for his good."</p> - -<p>"You must be rational, or it will be impossible to decide upon -anything," said Mrs. Stothard, who had relapsed into her grim state. -"As to Paul's not knowing, that is sheer nonsense. I told you long ago, -it was very unadvisable to have him down here at all. But he is not -very observant, and with proper care might have been easily gulled. -The girl was getting better, too--that is to say, there was a longer -interval between her attacks, and the matter might possibly have been -arranged. Now that Mr. George Wainwright has seen her, and is an inmate -of the same house with her, that hope is entirely at an end."</p> - -<p>"You think so, Martha?"</p> - -<p>"I am certain of it."</p> - -<p>"Then all my self-sacrifice, all my anxieties and schemings have been -thrown away, and I have no further care for life," said Mrs. Derinzy, -again bursting into tears.</p> - -<p>"You are relapsing into silliness again. Suppose Paul were told of his -cousin's illness, do you think he would definitely refuse to marry her?"</p> - -<p>"Instantly and for ever," said Mrs. Derinzy.</p> - -<p>"What! if the fact were notified by George Wainwright, who at the same -time hinted that though Annette had been insane, her disease was much -decreased in violence and frequency during the last few years, and in -the next few might possibly cease altogether? Would Paul, hearing all -this, and urged on by you, give up his notion of the fortune he would -enjoy with his wife--Paul, who is, as I have heard say, so fond of -pleasure and enjoyment, so imbued with a passion for spending money?"</p> - -<p>She paused, and Mrs. Derinzy looked at her in astonishment, then said:</p> - -<p>"Paul is weak and frivolous, but is no fool; he will not believe it."</p> - -<p>"Not if it is told him by his friend who has such influence over him, -and on whose integrity he relies so thoroughly?--not if it is told him -by Dr. Wainwright's son?"</p> - -<p>"He might if it were told him by Dr. Wainwright himself," said Mrs. -Derinzy, hesitating.</p> - -<p>"And don't you think that George Wainwright has sufficient influence -with his father to make him do as he wishes?" asked Mrs. Stothard.</p> - -<p>"Has anyone sufficient influence with George Wainwright to make him -help in our scheme?"</p> - -<p>"Time will show," said Mrs. Stothard. "Now that we understand each -other, I think you had better leave this affair wholly in my hands. You -know me well enough to be certain that I shall do my best to serve you."</p> - -<p>"That was the best way to settle it," said Mrs. Stothard to herself as -she walked towards her own room. "It was necessary to face it out--it -would have been impossible to make her believe that Paul could have -been kept in ignorance of the secret. And yet she is weak enough to -think a man like George Wainwright would suffer himself to take part -in such a wretched scheme as this, and compromise his own honour and -his friend's happiness! However, it will amuse her, and give me time -to mature my own plans. I rather think the notion that I hit on this -morning will be the best one to work out after all; the best one, that -is to say, for all I care--for Fanny and myself. Ah, who is this coming -in from the garden? 'Tis Mr. Wainwright. I wonder what he thinks of -me; his look last night was anything but flattering; now we shall see. -Goodmorning, sir."</p> - -<p>"Goodmorning to you, nurse; how is your charge this morning?"</p> - -<p>"My charge? Oh, you mean Miss Annette. She's very well indeed; I think -she seems to have benefited very much by the change which the arrival -of company has brought to the house."</p> - -<p>"Company! Mr. Paul can scarcely be considered company in his own home, -and I fear I am not much company."</p> - -<p>"It doesn't sound very flattering, Mr. Wainwright; but the mere sight -of a fresh face does us good in this dull place. I always tell Mrs. -Derinzy that my young lady wants rousing; and I am sure I am right, for -it is a long time since I have seen her look so bright as she does this -morning."</p> - -<p>"I am sure you are not sufficiently selfish as to keep all her -brightness to yourself, nurse," said George; "but I do not think Miss -Derinzy has yet left her room."</p> - -<p>"I am going to her now," said Mrs. Stothard, "to persuade her to take -a turn in the grounds before luncheon; if I may say you will accompany -her, Mr. Wainwright, I am sure she will come at once."</p> - -<p>"You may say that I will do so with the very greatest pleasure," said -George; and then, after Mrs. Stothard had left him, "A clever woman -that, and, if my ideas are correct, just the sort of person for that -place. What a wonderful position for them all down here, and how -extraordinarily well the secret has been preserved! The girl has a -singular charm about her, and yet Paul will be delighted at getting--as -I have very little doubt he will get--his release. Fancy wishing to be -released from---- What can have made that woman so civil to me this -morning? I thought I came down here for quiet, and I find that I must -not move or speak without previously exercising the most tremendous -caution. Ah, here is Miss Annette; how pretty and fresh she looks!"</p> - -<p>She did look wonderfully pretty in her tight-fitting violet-cashmere -dress, made high round her throat, with a small neat white collar and -cuffs, and with a violet ribbon in her hair. Her eyes were bright, -and her manner was frank and free as she walked straight up to George -Wainwright, and holding out her hand, gave him goodmorning.</p> - -<p>"Goodmorning, Miss Derinzy," said George; "you are late in coming -among us. I was just asking your servant what had become of you."</p> - -<p>"My servant! Oh, you mean Mrs. Stothard. Have you been talking to that -horrid woman? What has she been saying to you?</p> - -<p>"You mustn't call her a horrid woman; she has been speaking very nicely -of you, and said she would send you to take a turn in the grounds with -me; so I don't think her a horrid woman, of course."</p> - -<p>"She is a horrid woman, all the same," said Annette, "and I hate her; -though I shall like taking a turn in the grounds with you. Let us come -out at once. What a lovely morning!"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said George, as they stood on the steps, "but not lovely enough -for you to come out without a hat; the air is anything but warm."</p> - -<p>"It strikes cold to you Londoners," said Annette, laughing; and as she -laughed, her eyes sparkled and her colour came, and George could not -help thinking how remarkably pretty she looked; "but I do not feel it -one bit too fresh; I hate having anything on my head."</p> - -<p>"Do you never wear a hat?"</p> - -<p>"Only when I go into the village with Mrs. Derinzy, never here in the -grounds. I hate anything that weighs on my head or gives me any sense -of oppression there; always when I feel my head hot I think I am going -to be ill."</p> - -<p>"Ay, I was sorry to hear that you were so frequently an invalid," said -George.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said the girl, "I often think the house, instead of the Tower, -should be called the Hospital. Mrs. Derinzy, you know, is very often -ill; so ill sometimes, that Dr. Wainwright has to come from London to -see her."</p> - -<p>"So I have heard," said George. "Do you know my father?"</p> - -<p>"I have seen him very often when he has been down here to visit my -aunt."</p> - -<p>"He has never attended you, I suppose, Miss Derinzy?" asked George, -looking at her closely.</p> - -<p>"Dr. Wainwright attend me! Oh dear, no," said Annette; "there was never -any occasion for his doing so."</p> - -<p>"Like most unselfish people, you make light of your own troubles," said -George, "and exaggerate those of other people."</p> - -<p>"No, indeed," said Annette; "my ailments are trifles compared with -those of Mrs. Derinzy."</p> - -<p>"How do you feel when you are ill?" asked George.</p> - -<p>"What a curious man you are? what curious questions you ask! Why do you -take any interest in me and my ailments?"</p> - -<p>"In you, because--well, I can only say that I find you very -interesting," said George, with a smile; "and in your illness because -I am a doctor's son, you know, and understand something of a doctor's -work."</p> - -<p>"Well, I can scarcely call mine illnesses," said the girl; "for such -as they are, I and Mrs. Stothard--the woman you were just talking -to--manage them between us. I feel a sort of heavy burning sensation -in my brain, a buzzing in my ears, and a dimness of sight, and then I -faint away, and I know of nothing that happens, how the time goes by, -or what is said or done around me, until I come to myself, and feel, -oh, so horribly weak and tired!"</p> - -<p>"I told you you spoke too lightly of your own ailments, Miss Derinzy," -said George, with an earnest, passionate look; "and this account of -what you suffer seems to give me the idea that you require more skilled -treatment than can be afforded by Mrs. Stothard, kind though she may -be."</p> - -<p>"I didn't say she was kind," said the girl sullenly; "I hate her!"</p> - -<p>"Has my father never prescribed for you in one of these attacks?"</p> - -<p>"Never; and never shall!"</p> - -<p>"I hope you don't hate him too?" asked George with a smile.</p> - -<p>"I--I don't like him."</p> - -<p>"May I ask why not?"</p> - -<p>"I--I can't tell; but his prescribing for me would be of no use, he -could do me no good."</p> - -<p>"How can you tell that?"</p> - -<p>"Because he has happened to come down here by chance to see my aunt -when I have been ill, and of course if he could have cured me, they -would have asked him to do so."</p> - -<p>"Of course," said George. He looked at her steadily, but could glean -nothing from the expression on her face, and he changed the subject. -"You haven't seen Paul this morning?"</p> - -<p>"No, I see very little of him. Before he came down, my aunt talked -so much to me about his visit, and said he was so amusing and so -delightful, and that I should be so much pleased with him."</p> - -<p>"Well?"</p> - -<p>"Now you are asking me questions again. I intended to make you tell me -all about London and what the people do there; and we have been out -here for half an hour, and talked about nothing but myself. What did -you mean by 'Well'?" she added laughing.</p> - -<p>George laughed too.</p> - -<p>"I meant, and you found all Mrs. Derinzy's anticipations realised?"</p> - -<p>"Not the least in the world. I don't find my cousin amusing, and I am -sure he doesn't talk much; he walks about smoking a pipe and smoothing -his moustache with his fingers; and whenever one speaks to him, his -thoughts seem to be a long way off, and he has to call them back before -he answers you. I told my aunt he was like those people you read of in -books, who are in love."</p> - -<p>"What did she say to that?"</p> - -<p>"She smiled, and said she had noticed the same since Paul had been down -here, and that very likely that might be the reason."</p> - -<p>"You must not be hard on Paul," said George Wainwright, at the same -time frowning slightly; "if you knew him as well as I do, you would -think him the best fellow in the world."</p> - -<p>"I find that that is what is always said of people whom I don't care -about," said Annette, quietly.</p> - -<p>"My father, for instance," said George, with a laugh, "and Mrs. -Stothard."</p> - -<p>"Of Dr. Wainwright, certainly," said Annette. "My aunt and uncle are -never tired of proclaiming his praises; and my aunt has reasons, for -I believe it is to his skill that my aunt owes her life; but I never -heard anyone say anything good of Mrs. Stothard."</p> - -<p>"Poor Mrs. Stothard," said George. "She will most likely---- Ah, here -is the Captain."</p> - -<p>The gentleman strolling up the little white path which led over the -cliff to the sea was indeed Captain Derinzy, limping along and slashing -at the bushes with his cane in his usual military manner. He looked -very much astonished at seeing Annette walking with his guest, and did -not disguise his surprise.</p> - -<p>"Hallo!" he said, "you out here! Seldom you come out into the open air, -isn't it?--Be much better for her if she came out oftener, wouldn't -it, Wainwright? This is the stuff that they talk about in this country -life. Why, in London a girl goes out and rides in the Row twice a-day, -and walks and rides in Bond Street, and all that kind of thing, and -get's plenty of exercise, don't you know? Whereas in the country it is -so infernally dirty, and the roads are all so shamefully bad, and there -are such a set of roughs about--tramps and that kind of people--that -girls don't like going out; and yet they tell you that the country is -more healthy than London! All dam stuff!"</p> - -<p>"Well, Miss Derinzy's looks certainly do credit to the country, though -I regret to hear that they are not thoroughly to be relied on. She has -been telling me she suffers a great deal from illness."</p> - -<p>"Oh, has she?" said the Captain, looking up nervously; "the deuce she -has! Look here, Netty, don't you think you had better go in and dress -yourself for dinner, and that kind of thing? It is quite cold now, -and you haven't got any hat, and your aunt might make a row--I mean, -mightn't like it, you know. Run in, there's a good girl; we shall all -be in soon.-- Don't you go, Wainwright; I want to show you a view from -the top of that hill--the Beacon Hill, they call it; it's about the -only thing worth seeing in the whole infernal place."</p> - -<p>When Captain Derinzy went in to dress for dinner, he said to his wife:</p> - -<p>"It is a deuced good thing that I am a long-headed fellow and have -my wits about me, and all that kind of thing. I found this young -Wainwright walking with Annette, and he told me she had been telling -him about her illness and all that. So I thought it best to separate -'em at once; and I sent her off into the house, and took him away to -the Beacon Hill, though he seemed to me to be wanting to go after her -all the time."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_19" href="#div1Ref_19">CHAPTER XIX.</a></h4> -<h5>TWO IN PURSUIT.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>The festivities of Harbledown Hall were at an end, the amateur -theatricals had been given--to the great delight of those performing -in them, and to the excessive misery of those witnessing them--on two -successive nights: the first to the invited neighbouring gentry, the -second to the tenantry and servants. The guests were dispersed to -various other country houses, and among them Miss Orpington and her -father had taken their departure; but not to the same destination: the -young lady, under the chaperonage of her aunt, was going to stay with -some people, the head of whose family was an eminent tea-broker in the -City, who, some years before, would not have been received into what -is called society, but who was now so enormously rich that society -found it could not possibly do without him. Society dined with him and -danced with him at his house in Hyde Park Gardens, invited his wife -and his daughter to all sorts of entertainments during the season, -voted his two ugly dumpy sons the pleasantest fellows in Europe, and -went regularly to stay with him during the autumn at his most charming -country place at Brookside near Hastings.</p> - -<p>As an acknowledgment of all these kindnesses the tea-broker had caused -himself to be put into Parliament, and took his place with tolerable -punctuality amongst the conscript fathers, never failing in obedience -to the suggestions of the whip of his party, and, when he was not in -the smoking-room, sleeping the sleep of the righteous on the back -benches of the House.</p> - -<p>The party at Brookside promised this year to be a particularly -agreeable one; and as Miss Orpington had arranged for an introduction -with the Yorkshire baronet with money, and that gentleman saw his way -to unlimited sport during the day and unlimited flirtation during the -evening, they agreed to console themselves even for the absence of the -young lady's papa.</p> - -<p>For Colonel Orpington was not going to Brookside. His daughter, as he -said, had her aunt to look after her, and her intended to amuse her; -and though there was nothing to be said against Skegby--that being the -name of the tea-broker--who was a very good fellow, a self-made man, -honour to British commerce, and that kind of thing, and was received -everywhere, yet there were some people going to Brookside that the -Colonel didn't care about meeting; and so, as the house in Hill Street -was ready, he should go and take up his quarters there for a time--at -all events until he had occasion to inspect the works and quarries in -South Wales.</p> - -<p>All his friends being still away from London, it was natural that -the Colonel should seek for consolation in the resources of that new -acquaintance which he had so recently made. He had met Fanny Stafford -several times in the Park, and she had so far relaxed from her rigid -formality as to accept two or three little dinners from him, as good -as his taste could command and Verrey could supply, at which Madame -Clarisse was always present.</p> - -<p>That worthy lady's interest in her assistant seemed to have increased -very much since her return from Paris. She was always insisting on -Fanny's taking half-holidays, giving up work now and again, and coming -into her private rooms for a meal and a chat; and in that chat, which -was entirely one-sided and carried on solely by Madame Clarisse, the -theme was always the same--the misery of work and poverty, the glory of -idleness and riches, the folly, the worse than folly, almost crime, of -those who spend their life in toil, and neglect to clutch the golden -opportunity which comes to most all of us when we are young, and comes -but once.</p> - -<p>With these remarks--which might have seemed sententious in anyone else, -but which Madame Clarisse put so aptly and so deftly, with such quaint -illustrations, sounding quainter still in the broken English with which -she interlarded her discourse, as to render it amusing--was often -mixed a series of running comments on Colonel Orpington, which were -laudatory, but in which the praise was laid on with a very skilful hand.</p> - -<p>It is due to the Colonel to say that he left all mention of himself, -whether laudatory or otherwise, to Madame Clarisse, and this was one of -the greatest reasons for which Daisy liked him.</p> - -<p>Beyond referring occasionally to his originally expressed desire to -see the girl removed into some better position than that which she -then occupied, and his readiness to help her in the achievement of -such a position, Colonel Orpington never seemed to have any object -in his never-failing pursuit of the girl's acquaintance beyond the -perfectly legitimate one of amusing himself and her, and making the -time pass pleasantly for them both. He was always gay, always cheerful, -always full of good-humoured talk and anecdote, but at the same time -always strictly respectful and well-bred in his conversation and in -his manner. He treated the milliner's assistant with as much courtesy -as he would bestow upon a duchess; and it was only in his occasional -colloquies with Madame Clarisse that he permitted himself the use of -phrases which but few of his compatriots would have understood, and -which even in France would have been more easily intelligible in the -Rue de Bréda than in the Faubourg St. Germain.</p> - -<p>And what were Daisy's feelings towards Colonel Orpington? Did she -really love or care for him? Not one whit.</p> - -<p>Had she forgotten Paul and all their long walks and talks, all the -devotion which he had proffered her, all her acknowledgments of regard -for him? Had his image faded out of her heart during his absence, and -was it there replaced by another and less worthy one? Not the least -in the world; only that the absence of her lover had given the girl -breathing space, as it were, to look around her, and to estimate her -present position and her future chances at their actual value. And when -thus seriously estimated, she found that the devotion which Paul had -proffered her was, to her thinking, not worth very much; it was not -sufficient to induce him to pledge himself to marry her: it was not -sufficient to induce him boldly to defy the opinion of the world, and -break off those shackles of family and society by which he was bound -hand and foot; it was only sufficient for him to give up a certain -portion of his time to be passed in her company, which was after all a -sufficiently selfish pleasure, as it pleased him as much as it did her. -And then, after all, what was to be the result?</p> - -<p>In the early days of their acquaintance, before he knew the character -of the girl he had to deal with, Paul had given certain hints which -Daisy had rigidly ignored, or when compelled to hear them, had -forbidden to be repeated; but since then they had been going on in -a vague purposeless way; and though the boy-and-girl attachment, -the stolen meetings, the letters, and the knowledge that they loved -each other, were in themselves sufficient, and would last for ever, -due consideration gave Daisy no clue to the probable result of that -connection. And yet she loved Paul; had no idea how much she loved him -until she was thinking over what her future, what a portion of her -future at least, might be if passed with somebody else.</p> - -<p>If passed with somebody else? There could be no doubt about what was -intended, though he had never said a word, or given the slightest hint. -The conversation of her employer--who, as Daisy was clear-headed and -keen-witted enough to see, was in the Colonel's confidence--was full of -subtle meaning. No need for the Frenchwoman to enlarge to Daisy on what -she meant by the golden opportunity; no need for her to dwell upon the -comforts and luxuries which were easily procurable by her--the dresses -and equipages, the pomps and vanities which so many wasted their lives -in endeavouring to obtain, and which might be hers at once.</p> - -<p>Hers; and with them what? A life of shame, a career such as she had -regarded always with loathing and horror; such as she had told her -mother that, whatever temptation might assail her, she had sufficient -courage and strength of mind to avoid. And such a life, not with -a young lover, the warmth of whose passion, whatever might be its -depth, it was impossible to deny, but with a man no longer young, who -pretended to no sentiment for her beyond admiration, and who, polished, -courteous, and gentlemanly as he was, would probably look upon her as -any other appanage of his wealth and position, and care for her no more.</p> - -<p>And yet, and yet were they to go on for ever--the long days of -drudgery, the nights in the cheerless garret, the weary existence -with the one ray of hope which illumined it, the love for Paul, soon -necessarily to be quenched for ever? She could not bear to think of -that. Should she give it up, fling all to the winds, tell her lover on -his return, which she was now daily expecting, that she could stand it -no longer; bid him take her and do with her as he willed--marry her -or not, as he chose, but let her feel that there was something worth -living for, some bond of union which, legal or illegal, lessened the -hard exigences of daily life, and took something of the grimness off -the aspect of the world?</p> - -<p>She was mad! Was that to be the end of all her cultivated coldness -and self-restraint? Had she quietly, if not cheerfully, accepted the -wretched life which she had been leading so long, with the one aim of -establishing for herself a position, and was she now going to undo -all that she had so patiently planned and so weariedly carried out in -one moment of headstrong passion? Was the position which she hoped to -acquire, for which she had so earnestly striven, to prove to be that -of a poor man's mistress, where everything would have been lost and -nothing gained? Nothing gained! Nothing? not Paul's love? No, she had -that now; and she was quite sufficient woman of the world to know that -in the chance of such a contingency as she had contemplated, she might -not be long in losing it.</p> - -<p>As the time for Paul Derinzy's return approached, Daisy became more -and more unsettled. It would seem as though Colonel Orpington had been -made aware of the speedily anticipated reappearance on the scene of one -who might be considered his rival; and, indeed, Miss Bella Merton had -been several times recently to Mr. Wilson's chambers in the Temple, and -held long conversations with the occupant thereof. As he was more than -usually assiduous in his attentions to Fanny, she, Madame Clarisse, had -accompanied them once or twice to the theatre; and on one occasion, -when the Frenchwoman had declared that Fanfan was dying for fresh -air--it was one morning after the girl had passed a sleepless night -in thinking over all the difficulties that beset her future, and she -looked very pale and weary-eyed----the Colonel had placed his brougham -at the disposal of the ladies, and insisted on their driving down in -it to Richmond, whither he proceeded on horseback, and had luncheon -provided for them on arrival at the hotel.</p> - -<p>More assiduous, but not more particular beyond telling her laughingly -one day that he should speedily ask her for an interview, at which he -should ask her consent to a little project that he intended to carry -out, the Colonel's conversation was of his usual ordinary light kind; -but Madame Clarisse's hints were more subtle than ever, and Daisy could -not fail to have some notion of what the project to be proposed at the -suggested interview might be.</p> - -<p>One Sunday morning--Paul was to come up from Devonshire that night, and -had written her a wild letter full of rhapsodical delight at the idea -of seeing her again the next day--Daisy was seated in her room.</p> - -<p>Her little well-worn writing-desk was open, the paper was before -her, the pen lay ready to her hand; but the girl was leaning back in -her chair, and wondering how much or how little of the actual state -of affairs she ought to describe in the letter to her mother which -she was then about to write; for it had come to that, that there was -concealment between them. Of her acquaintance with Colonel Orpington, -Daisy had breathed never a word; while on her side Mrs. Stothard had -carefully concealed the fact, that she was an inmate of the house which -was the home of her daughter's lover, where at the time he was actually -staying.</p> - -<p>Daisy was roused from her deliberation by a rap at the door, and by the -immediate entrance of Mrs. Gillot, her landlady, who told her that a -gentleman wished to see her.</p> - -<p>It was come at last then, this interview at which all was to be decided!</p> - -<p>Daisy felt her face flush, and knew that Mrs. Gillot remarked it.</p> - -<p>"A gentleman!" she repeated.</p> - -<p>"Ay, a gentleman," said the worthy woman; "and one of the right sort -too, or you may depend upon it I wouldn't have had him shown into my -front parlour, where he now is. Not but what you can take care of -yourself, Miss Fanny, and I trust you to give any jackanapes a regular -good setting-down, with your quiet look, and your calm voice, and your -none-of-your-impudence manner; but this is a gentleman, and when I -showed him into the parlour, I told him I was sure you would see him."</p> - -<p>"I will come directly, Mrs. Gillot."</p> - -<p>She rose, took a hasty glance in the little scrap of looking-glass, and -descended the stairs.</p> - -<p>Her heart beat highly as she laid her hand upon the parlour-door. -It resumed its normal rate or pulsation as the door opened beneath -her touch, and she saw, standing before her on the hearth-rug, the -unexpected figure of John Merton.</p> - -<p>Something in her face when she first recognised him, something in the -tone of her voice, some note of surprise and disappointment when she -bade him goodmorning, must have betrayed itself, for he said hurriedly:</p> - -<p>"You did not expect to see me, Miss Stafford."</p> - -<p>"I confess I did not; but of course I am very glad. I--I hope Bella is -quite well?"</p> - -<p>"Bella is very well, I believe."</p> - -<p>"Have you brought me some message from her?"</p> - -<p>"No, indeed. She does not even know I was coming here."</p> - -<p>There was a pause, then he said:</p> - -<p>"I suppose you do not think I have taken a liberty in calling on you, -Miss Stafford?"</p> - -<p>"Oh dear, no! I have known you so long, and your sister is such an -intimate acquaintance of mine, that I could not be anything of that -sort. What makes you ask?"</p> - -<p>"Well, you looked so--so surprised at seeing me."</p> - -<p>"I was surprised at seeing anyone. No one ever comes here after me."</p> - -<p>"No?" said John Merton, interrogatively, and his face seemed to -brighten as he said it.</p> - -<p>"No," said Daisy; "and my landlady must have been as much astonished as -I am. You must have made a very favourable impression on her to obtain -admittance."</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Gillot is a very old friend of mine," said John Merton. "She has -known me since I was a boy; but I should not have presumed upon that -acquaintance to ask for you, nor indeed, Miss Stafford, should I have -ventured to come here at all, if I had not something very particular to -say to you."</p> - -<p>"Very particular to say to me!"</p> - -<p>"To say to you something so special and particular, that your answer to -it may change the course of my whole life. I must ask you to listen to -me, Miss Stafford. I won't keep you a minute longer than I can help."</p> - -<p>Daisy bowed her head in acquiescence. She had taken a seat, but he -remained standing before her, half leaning over towards her, with one -hand on the table.</p> - -<p>Poor John Merton! The girl's eyes rested on that hand, with its great -thick red fingers and coarse knuckles and clumsy wrist; and then they -travelled up the shiny sleeve of his black coat, and over his blue silk -gold-sprigged tie to his good-looking face shining with soap, and his -jet-black hair glistening with grease. And then she dropped her eyes, -and inwardly shuddered, comparing them with the hands and features of -two other people of her acquaintance.</p> - -<p>"You said just now," said John Merton, in rather a husky voice, "that -you were not annoyed at my calling upon you, because you had known me -so long, and because you were so intimate with my sister. I think I -might allege those two reasons as the cause of my being here now. All -the time I have known you I have had but one feeling towards you, and -all that I have heard my sister say of you--and she seems never to be -talking of anybody else--has deepened and concentrated that feeling. -What that feeling is," continued John, "I don't think I need try to -explain. I don't think I could if I tried, unless--unless I were to say -that I would lay down my life to save you from an ache or a pain, that -I worship the very ground you tread on, and that I look upon you like -an angel from heaven!"</p> - -<p>His voice shook as he said these words; but the fervour which possessed -him lit up his features; and as Daisy stole an upward glance at him, -and saw his pleading eyes and working mouth, she forgot the homeliness -of his appearance, and wondered how her most recent thoughts about him -had ever found a place in her mind.</p> - -<p>He caught something of her feeling, and said quickly, "You are not -angry with me?"</p> - -<p>She shook her head in dissent.</p> - -<p>"You mustn't be that," he said, "whatever answer you may give me. I -know how inferior I am to you in every possible way. I know, I can't -help knowing, I could not help hearing even at that girl's the other -evening, the last time we met, how you were noticed and admired by -people in a very different position from mine: have known this and -borne it all, and never spoken--shouldn't have spoken now, but that -there is come a chance in my life which I must either accept or -relinquish, and I want you to decide it for me."</p> - -<p>"You want me to decide it!"</p> - -<p>"You, and you alone can do it. This is how it comes about, Miss -Stafford. You know I am what they call a 'counterjumper,'" said -he, with a little bitter laugh; "but I know, that though it is a -distinction without a difference, I suppose, to those who are not -in the trade, I am one of the first hands with perhaps the largest -silk-mercers in London, and I have been taken frequently abroad by -one of the firm when he has gone to buy goods in a foreign market. I -must have pleased them, I suppose, for now they are going to set up an -agency in Lyons; and they have offered it to me, and I shall take it if -you will come with me as my wife."</p> - -<p>He paused, and Daisy was silent.</p> - -<p>After a minute, he said hurriedly:</p> - -<p>"You don't speak. It is not a bad thing pecuniarily. They would make -it about three hundred a year, I think, and I should get very good -introductions, and it would be like beginning life again for both -of us. I thought it would be a good chance of shaking off any old -associations; and as the position would be tolerable, it would be only -me--myself, I mean--that you would have to put up with, and---- You -don't speak still! I haven't offended you?"</p> - -<p>She looked up at him. Her face was very pale, and her hands fluttered -nervously before her; but there was no break in her voice as she said:</p> - -<p>"Offended me! You have done me the greatest honour in your power, and -you talk about offence! You must not ask me for an answer now; I cannot -give it; the whole thing has been so sudden. I will think it over, -and write to you in a day or two at most. Meantime, I think it would -be advisable for both our sakes that you should not speak of what has -occurred, even to your sister."</p> - -<p>"Of course not," he said; "anything you wish. And you tell me that I -may hope?"</p> - -<p>"I did not quite say that," she said with a smile. "I told you you must -wait for my reply. You shall have it very soon. Now, goodbye."</p> - -<p>She held out her hand to him, and he took it in his own--which again -looked horribly red and common, she thought--then he just touched it -with his lips, and he was gone.</p> - -<p>"Another element, a third element in the confusion," said Daisy to -herself as she reascended the stairs to her room; "but one not so -difficult to deal with as the others."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_20" href="#div1Ref_20">CHAPTER XX.</a></h4> -<h5>FARTHER SOUNDINGS.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>It was not likely that a man of George Wainwright's intelligence -and habits of observation could remain long domesticated in a -household like that of the Derinzys', without speedily reading the -characteristics of its various members.</p> - -<p>In a very little time after his arrival, the young man--whose manners -were so quiet and sedate as to lead Captain Derinzy to hint to his wife -that he thought Wainwright rather a muff--had reckoned up his host -and knew exactly the amount of vanity, silliness, and ignorance which -so largely swayed the estimable gentleman; had gauged Mrs. Derinzy's -scheming worldliness, knew why it originated and at what it aimed; had -thoroughly solved the problem, so difficult to all others, of Mrs. -Stothard's position in the house; and knew exactly the character of the -malady under which Annette was suffering.</p> - -<p>He ought to have known more about Annette than about anybody else, -for nine-tenths of his time--all, indeed, that he could spare from -the somewhat assiduous attentions of his host--were given to her. He -walked with her, made long explorations of the neighbouring cliffs, -long expeditions inland among the lovely Devonshire lanes, lovelier -still with the fiery hue of autumn, and even induced her to join him -and Paul in sundry boat-excursions, where, well wrapped up in rugs and -tarpaulins, she lay on the flush-deck of the little fishing-smack, half -frightened, half filled with childlike glee at her novel experience.</p> - -<p>Paul had often laughed and said to their common associates, "When old -George is caught, you may depend upon it, it will be a very desperate -case."</p> - -<p>And "old George" was caught now, Paul thought, and thought rightly: -the delicacy, the good nature, the sweet womanly graces of the girl -showing ever and anon between her sufferings--for during George's stay -at Beachborough, Annette had been free from any regular attack, yet -from time to time there were threatenings of the coming storm which -were perfectly perceptible to his experienced eye--nay, perhaps the -very fact of the malady under which she laboured, and the position in -which she was placed, had had strong influence over George Wainwright's -honest heart. As for Paul, he was so thoroughly astonished at the -change which had taken place in his cousin since George's arrival, -and at the wonderful pains and trouble which George himself took to -interest and amuse Annette, that this wonderment entirely filled so -much of his time as was not devoted to thinking of Daisy. He wondered -and pondered, and at last the conviction grew strong upon him, that -George must be in love.</p> - -<p>At first he laughed at the idea. The sober, steady, almost grave man, -who had such large experience of life, and who yet had managed to steer -clear, so far as Paul knew, of anything like a flirtation. Flirtation, -indeed, would be the last thing to which his friend would stoop, "when -old George is caught." Something, perhaps, also--"for pride attends us -still"--was due to the fact that Annette always showed the greatest -desire for his company, and undisguised delight at his attention and -admiration. Never in the course of her previous life had the girl -met with anyone who seemed so completely to comprehend her, whose -talk she could so readily understand, whose manner was so completely -fascinating, and yet somehow always commanded her respect. She despised -her uncle, she disliked her aunt, and hated Mrs. Stothard though she -feared her; but in the slow and painful workings of that brain she felt -that if at those--those dreadful times when semi-blankness fell upon -her, and her perception of all that was going on was dim, and obscure, -and confused--if at such a time George Wainwright were to order her -to do anything in opposition to the promptings of that devil, which -on those occasions possessed her, she felt she should be powerless to -disobey him.</p> - -<p>"I can't make it out, George; upon my soul, I can't," said Paul, as -they were walking along the edge of the cliffs one morning smoking -their pipes after breakfast.</p> - -<p>"What is it that puzzles your great brain, and that prompts to such -strong utterances?" asked George, laughing.</p> - -<p>"You know perfectly well what I mean. You needn't try to be deceitful -in your old age," said Paul; "for deceit is a thing which I don't think -you would easily learn, and at all events does not go well with hair -which is turning white at the temples, and a beard which is beginning -to grizzle, Mr. Wainwright. You know perfectly well that I am alluding -to the attentions which you are paying to my cousin, Miss Derinzy. And -I should be glad to know, sir," continued Paul, vainly endeavouring to -suppress the broad grin which was spreading over his face, "I should -be glad to know, sir, how you reconcile your conduct with your notions -of honour, knowing, as you perfectly well do, that that lady is my -affianced bride."</p> - -<p>"Don't be an ass, Paul," said George, smiling in his turn. "I dispute -both your assertions, especially the last. The lady is nothing of the -kind."</p> - -<p>"No, poor dear child, that she certainly isn't. And I think on the -whole that it is a very good thing that my affections are engaged in -another quarter; for I am perfectly sure that, however much I might -have wished it, Annette would never have had anything to say to me. I -endeavoured to make my mother understand that, when she first talked to -me on the subject when you first came down here; but she seemed to look -upon Annette's wishes as having very little to do with the matter."</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Derinzy's state of health possibly makes her take an exceptional -view of affairs," said George, looking hard at his friend.</p> - -<p>"Well, I declare I don't know about her state of health," said -Paul. "I confess that, beyond a little peevishness, which is partly -constitutional, I suppose, and partly brought on by having lived so -many years with the governor--good old fellow the governor, but an -awful nuisance to have to be with constantly--I don't see that there -is much the matter with my mother. Have you ever heard your father say -anything about her illness, George?"</p> - -<p>"My father is remarkably reticent in professional matters," said -George. "I have never heard him speak about any illness in this house."</p> - -<p>"Oh, of course, it was only about my mother that he could say -anything," said Paul; "for the governor never has anything the matter -with him, except a touch of sciatica now and then in his game leg; and -Annette's seems to be--you know--one of those chronic cases which never -come to much, and which no doctor can ever do any good to."</p> - -<p>"I suppose you won't be sorry to get back to town, Master Paul?"</p> - -<p>"I suppose you will be sorry to leave here, Master George? No; indeed, -I am rather glad the end of my leave is coming on; no intended bad -compliment to you, old fellow; your stay here has been the greatest -delight to me; but the fact is, I am getting rather anxious about that -young person in London, and shall be very glad to see her again."</p> - -<p>George looked up at him with a comical face.</p> - -<p>"You don't mean to say that since Theseus's departure, Ariadne has----"</p> - -<p>"I mean to say nothing of the sort," said Paul, turning very red. -"Daisy is the best girl in the world; but I don't know, somehow I don't -think her letters have been quite as jolly lately--the last two, I -mean; there is something in them which I can't exactly make out, and -there is not something in them which I have generally found there; so -that after all, as I said before, I shall be glad when I get back."</p> - -<p>"Has Mrs. Derinzy said anything more to you on the subject which -you wrote to me about?" asked George, with a very bad attempt at -indifference.</p> - -<p>"No," said Paul; "she has begun it once or twice, but something has -always intervened."</p> - -<p>"Have you any idea that she has given up her intention of getting you -to marry Miss Annette?"</p> - -<p>"I fear not; I fear that her intention remains just the same, and -that I shall have an immense deal of trouble in combating it. You -see, events have changed since your arrival here, my dear George. -But speaking dispassionately together, I don't see what line I can -take with my mother in declining to propose for Annette, except the -straightforward one that I won't do it. It seems highly ridiculous -for a man in a government office, and with only the reversion of a -sufficiently snug, but certainly not overwhelming, income in prospect, -to refuse the chance of an enormous fortune, and the hand of a very -pretty girl, who, as Mr. Swiveller says, has been expressly growing up -for me."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said George, reflectively, "I quite see what you mean; it will -be a difficult task. But you intend to carry it through?"</p> - -<p>"Most decidedly. Nothing would induce me to break with--with that young -person in London; and if she were to break with me, God knows it would -half kill me. I don't think I could solace myself by taking a wife with -a lot of money, even if I could be such a ruffian as to attempt it."</p> - -<p>So from this and fifty other conversations of a similar nature--for -the theme was one which always engrossed his mind, and was constantly -rising to his tongue--George Wainwright knew that there would be no -obstacle to his love for Annette so far as Paul Derinzy was concerned. -That young man had no care for his cousin even without the knowledge -of the dreadful secret, which must be known to him some day, and the -revelation of which would inevitably settle his resolution to decline a -compliance with his mother's prayer.</p> - -<p>That dreadful secret, always up-rearing its ghastly form in the path -which otherwise was so smooth and so straight for George Wainwright's -happiness! All his cogitations came to one invariable result--there -could be no other explanation of it all. The illness which she -herself could not explain, which came upon her from time to time, and -during which she sank away from ordinary into mere blank existence, -emerging therefrom with no knowledge of what she had gone through; the -mysterious woman, half nurse, half keeper, who watched so constantly -and so grimly over her? the manner in which all questions touching -upon the girl's illness were shirked by every member of the household; -the delusion so assiduously kept up, under which Mrs. Derinzy and not -her niece was made to appear as the sufferer; above all, the constant -visits of his father--all these proved to George that the disorder -under which Annette Derinzy laboured was insanity, and nothing else.</p> - -<p>And the more he thought of it, the more terrified was he at the idea. -Familiarity with mental disease, intercourse with those labouring under -it, had by no means softened its terrors to George Wainwright. True, he -had no physical fear in connection with the mere vulgar fright which is -usually felt with "mad people." He had no experience of that; but he -had seen so much of the gradual growth of the disorder; had so often -marked the helpless, hopeless state into which those suffering under it -fell--silently indeed, but surely--that he had come to regard it with -greater terror than the fiercest fever or the deadliest plague.</p> - -<p>And now, when for the first time in his life he had fixed his -affections on a girl who seemed likely to return his passion, and who -in every other way was calculated to form the charm of his home and -the happiness of his fireside, he had to acknowledge to himself that -she was afflicted with this dreadful malady. It was impossible to -palter with the question; he had tried to do so a thousand times; but -his strong common sense would not be juggled with. And there the dread -fact remained--the girl he loved was frequently liable to attacks of -insanity. He must face that, look at it steadily, and see what could be -done. Could she be cured?</p> - -<p>Ah! how well he knew the futility of such a hope! How many instances -had he seen in his father's house of patients whose disease was not of -nearly such long standing as Annette's, had indeed only just begun, -and who were in a few days, or weeks, or months at the farthest, to be -restored, with all their faculties calmed and renewed, to their anxious -friends!--and how many of them remained there now, or had been removed -to other asylums, in the hope that change might effect that restoration -which skill and science had failed in bringing about!</p> - -<p>The last day of their stay had arrived, and on the morrow George was -to accompany his friend back to London. The Captain was out for his -usual ramble, Paul was closeted with his mother, and George was sitting -in the little room which, owing to the few books possessed by the -family gathered together in it, was dignified by the name of a "study," -and which overlooked a splendid view of the bay. He was standing at -the window, gazing out over the broad expanse of water, thinking how -strangely the usually calm-flowing current of his life had been vexed -and ruffled since his arrival there, wondering what steps he could -take towards the solution of the difficulty under which he laboured, -and what would be the final end of it all, when he heard a door close -gently behind him, and looking round, saw Annette by his side.</p> - -<p>"I am so glad I've found you, Mr. George," she said, looking up at him -frankly, and putting out her hand (she always called him "Mr. George" -now; she had told him she hated to use his surname, it reminded her -of disagreeable things), "I am so glad I've found you. Mrs. Stothard -reminded me that it was your last day here, and said I ought to make -the most of it."</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Stothard said that?" asked George, with uplifted eyebrows; "I -would sooner it had been your own idea, Miss Annette."</p> - -<p>"The truth is, I think I am a little vexed at the notion of your -going," said the girl.</p> - -<p>"Come, that is much better," said George, with a smile.</p> - -<p>"No, no, I mean what I say; I am very, very sorry that you are going -away." As she said this her voice, apparently involuntarily, dropped -into a soft caressing tone, and her eyes were fixed on him with an -earnest expression of regard.</p> - -<p>"It is very pleasing to me to be able to know that my presence or -absence causes you any emotion," said George.</p> - -<p>"I have been so happy since you have been here," said the girl; "you -are so different from anybody else I have ever met before. You seem to -understand me so much better than any one else, to take so much more -interest in me, and to be so much more intelligible yourself; your -manner is different from that of other people; and there is something -in the tone of your voice which I cannot explain, but which perfectly -thrills me."</p> - -<p>"I declare you will make me vain, Annette."</p> - -<p>"That would be impossible; you could not be vain, Mr. George--you are -far too sensible and good. It is singular to see how wonderfully well I -have been since you have been here. On the morning after your arrival -I felt as though I were going to have one of my wretched attacks, and -Mrs. Stothard said it was because I had talked too much, and been too -much excited the previous evening. But it passed off; and though I -don't think I have ever talked so much to anyone in my life before, and -certainly was never so interested in anyone's conversation, there has -been no recurrence of it, and I have been perfectly well."</p> - -<p>The bright look had passed away from George's face, and he was -regarding her now with earnest eyes.</p> - -<p>"If I thought that had actually been accomplished by my presence, I -should be happy indeed; more happy in expectation of the future than in -thinking over the past."</p> - -<p>"In expectation of the future!" repeated the girl, pondering over the -words. "Oh yes, surely; you are going away now, but you will come again -to walk with me, and to talk with me; and you are only going away for a -time. How strange I never thought of this before."</p> - -<p>As she said these words she crept closer to him; and he, bending down, -took her small white hand between his, and looked into her face with a -long gaze of deep compassion and great love.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Annette," he said, "I will come again, and I hope before very -long. You must understand that this time, these past few weeks, have -been quite as happy to me as you say they have been to you; that if -you have found me different from anyone you have ever known, I, in my -turn, have never seen anyone like you--anyone in whom I could take such -interest, for whom I could do so much."</p> - -<p>He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly, and at that -moment the door opened, and Paul entered hurriedly. He gave a short low -whistle as he marked the group before him, then advancing hurriedly, he -said:</p> - -<p>"George, it is all over, my boy; the storm we have been expecting -so long has burst at last. My mother and I have just had a very bad -quarter of an hour together."</p> - -<p>During the foregoing conversation Mrs. Stothard, sitting in her room, -heard the sound of the spring-bell which was suspended over her bed; -the handle of this bell was in Mrs. Derinzy's apartments, and it -was only used under exceptional circumstances, such as at times of -Annette's illness, or when Mrs. Derinzy required instant communication -with the nurse.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Stothard heard the sound, but seemed in no way greatly influenced -thereby; she looked up very calmly, saying to herself, "I suppose some -climax has arrived; the departure of this young man was sure to bring -it about. She has been fidgety lately, I have noticed, at the constant -attention Mr. Wainwright has paid to Annette, and at the evident -delight with which the girl has received the attentions. That bids -fair to go exactly as I could have wished it. But there is some hitch -in the other arrangement, I fear, from the little I could overhear of -what he said to his friend the other day about Fanny; it must have been -about Fanny, although he called her by some other name which I couldn't -catch. He seemed nervously anxious about her, and appears to think that -his absence from town has weakened her affection for him. That ought -not to be, and that is not at all like Fanny's tactics; though there -is something wrong, I fear, for I have not heard from her for some -time, and her last letter was scarcely satisfactory. Yes, yes," she -added impatiently, as the bell sounded again, "I am coming. It seems -impossible for you, Mrs. Derinzy, to bear the burden of your trouble -alone, even for five minutes."</p> - -<p>When she entered the room, she found Mrs. Derinzy lying on the sofa -with her head buried in the pillow; she was moaning and sobbing -hysterically, and rocking her body to and fro.</p> - -<p>"Are you ill?" asked Mrs. Stothard, calmly, as she took up her position -at the end of the sofa, and surveyed her mistress without any apparent -emotion.</p> - -<p>"Yes, very ill, very ill indeed--half broken and crushed," cried Mrs. -Derinzy. "It is too hard, Martha, it is too hard to have to go through -what I have suffered, and to have all one's hopes blighted by the -wilfulness of one for whom I have toiled and slaved so hard and so -long."</p> - -<p>"You mean Mr. Paul," said Mrs. Stothard. "I suppose that, -notwithstanding my strong advice to the contrary, you have persisted in -your determination, and asked him, before leaving to return to London, -to give his answer about your project?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," sobbed Mrs. Derinzy, "I have. I had him in here just now, and -I went over it all again. I told him how, when I first heard of that -ridiculous will which his uncle Paul had made, I determined that the -fortune which ought to have been left to my boy, should become his -somehow or other; how I had decided upon the marriage with Annette; how -for all these years I had worked to compass it and bring it about: and -how, now the time had arrived when the marriage ought to take place----"</p> - -<p>"You didn't tell him anything about Annette's illness?" asked Mrs. -Stothard, interrupting.</p> - -<p>"Of course not, Martha," said Mrs. Derinzy, raising her head and -looking angrily at the nurse; "how could you ask such a ridiculous -question?"</p> - -<p>"It is no matter, he will know it soon enough," said Mrs. Stothard, -quietly. "Well, he refused?"</p> - -<p>"He did," said Mrs. Derinzy, again bursting into tears, "like a wicked -and ungrateful boy as he is; he refused decidedly."</p> - -<p>"Did he give any reason?" asked Mrs. Stothard.</p> - -<p>"He said that he had other views and intentions," said Mrs. Derinzy. -"He talked in a grand theatrical kind of way about some passion that he -had for somebody, and his heart, and a vast amount of nonsense of that -kind."</p> - -<p>"He is in love with somebody else, then?" asked Mrs. Stothard, looking -hard at her mistress.</p> - -<p>"So I gather from what he said; but I wouldn't listen to him for a -moment on that subject. I told him I would get his father to speak to -him, and that I myself would speak to his friend Mr. Wainwright, who -appears to me never to leave Annette's side."</p> - -<p>"So much the better for the chance of carrying out your wishes," said -Mrs. Stothard, grimly. "That is to a certain extent my doing; I knew -that Mr. Wainwright would be appealed to in this matter, and I thought -it advisable that he should have just as much influence with Annette as -he has with Paul; not that I think you can in the least rely upon his -recommending his friend to fall in with your views."</p> - -<p>"You don't think he will?"</p> - -<p>"I don't, indeed. Though he has given no sign, I should be very much -astonished if he don't completely master the mystery of the girl's -illness; and if so, it is not likely he would recommend this scheme -to his friend without showing him exactly the details of the bargain -proposed."</p> - -<p>"Bargain, indeed, Martha!"</p> - -<p>"It is a bargain and nothing else, as you know very well, and you and I -may as well call things by their plain names. What do you propose to do -now?"</p> - -<p>"I told Paul I would give him a couple of months in which to think it -over finally; at the end of that time we shall go to town for a few -weeks, for I really believe Captain Derinzy will go out of his mind -if we have not some change, and there will be no danger now in taking -Annette with us. Then Paul will have had ample time to discuss it with -Mr. Wainwright, and on his decision will of course depend how our -future lives are to be passed."</p> - -<p>"If Mr. Paul is still obstinate, you think there will be no further -occasion to keep Miss Annette in seclusion?" asked Mrs. Stothard.</p> - -<p>"Miss Annette will be nothing to me, then," said Mrs. Derinzy, "except -that if she marries anyone else without Captain Derinzy's consent, she -loses all her fortune; and I will take care that that consent is not -very easily given."</p> - -<p>"That is a new element in the affair," said Mrs. Stothard to herself, -as she walked back to her room; "but not one which is likely to prove -an impediment to my friend the philosopher here."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_21" href="#div1Ref_21">CHAPTER XXI.</a></h4> -<h5>FATHER AND SON.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>Notwithstanding there was a most excellent understanding between George -Wainwright and his father, and as much affection as usually subsists -between men similarly related, they saw very little of each other, -although inhabiting, as it were, the same house. They had scarcely any -tastes or pursuits in common. When not engaged in actual practice, in -study, or communicating the result of that study to the world, Dr. -Wainwright liked to enjoy his life, and did enjoy it in a perfectly -reputable manner, but very thoroughly. He read the last new novel, and -went to the last new play of which people in society were talking; -he dined, out with tolerable frequency; and took care never to miss -putting in an appearance at certain <i>salons</i>, where the announcement of -his name was heard with satisfaction, and at which the announcement of -his presence in the next morning's newspaper was calculated to do him -service.</p> - -<p>The Doctor had the highest respect and a very deep regard for his son, -whose acquirements he did not undervalue, but with whose tastes he -could not sympathise; so it was that they comparatively very seldom -met; and though on the occasions of their meeting there was always -great cordiality on both sides, the relations between them were more -those of friends than of kinsmen, more especially such nearly allied -kinsmen as parent and child.</p> - -<p>On the second evening after his return from Beachborough, George -Wainwright dined at his club, and instead of going home as was almost -his invariable custom, turned up St. James's Street with the intention -of proceeding to his father's rooms in the Albany.</p> - -<p>It was a dull muggy November night, and George shuddered as he made -his way through the streets and walked into the hospitable arcade, at -the door of which the gold-laced porter stood in astonishment at the -unfamiliar apparition of Dr. Wainwright's son.</p> - -<p>"The Doctor's in, and alone, sir, I think," said he, in reply to -George's inquiry. "The same rooms, however--3 in Z; he has not moved -since you were last here."</p> - -<p>George nodded, and passed on. On his arrival at his father's rooms, -which were on the first-floor, he found the oak sported; but he knew -that this really meant nothing, it being the Doctor's habit to show -"out," as it were, against any chance callers; while, if he were -within, the initiated could always obtain admission by a peculiar -knock. This knock George gave at once, and speedily heard the sound -of someone moving within. Presently the doors were opened and Dr. -Wainwright appeared on the threshold; he held a reading-lamp in his -hand, which he raised above his head as he peered into the face of his -visitor.</p> - -<p>"George!" he cried, after an instant's scrutiny, "this is a surprise. -Come in, my dear boy. How damp you are, and what a wretched night! Come -in and make yourself comfortable."</p> - -<p>"I am not disturbing you, father. I hope?" said George, as he followed -the Doctor into the room. "As usual, you are in the thick of it, I -see," he continued, while pointing to a pile of books, some open, some -closed, with special passages marked in them by pieces of paper hanging -out of the edges, and to a mass of manuscript on the Doctor's blotting -pad.</p> - -<p>"Not a bit, my dear boy, not a bit," said the Doctor; "I was merely -demolishing old Dilsworth's preposterous theories as regards puerperal -insanity. By-the-way, you should look at his pamphlet, George; you -know quite sufficient of the subject to comprehend in an instant what -an idiot he makes of himself; indeed, I should be quite glad to escape -from his unsound premises and ridiculous conclusions into the region of -common sense."</p> - -<p>"You are looking very well," said George; "your hard work does not seem -to do you any harm."</p> - -<p>"No, indeed, my dear boy; the harder I work, the better I feel, I -think; but I take a little more relaxation than I did, and I like to -have things comfortable about me."</p> - -<p>The Doctor gave a careless glance round the room as he spoke. He -certainly had things comfortable there: the paper was a dark green; all -the furniture was in black oak--not Wardour Street, nor manufactured in -the desolate region of the Curtain Road in Shoreditch, but real black -oak, the spoil of country mansions whose owners had gone to grief, and -labourers' cottages, the tenants of which did not know the value of -their possession, and were not proof against the blandishments of the -Hebrew emissary, who was so flattering with his tongue and so ready -with his cash. On the walls hung a large painting of a nude figure by -Etty, supported on either side by a glowing landscape by Turner and -a breezy sea-scape by Stanfield. A noble old bookcase stood in one -corner of the room, filled with literature of all kinds--for the Doctor -was an omnivorous reader, and could have passed an examination as to -the characters and qualities of the three leading serials of the day, -as well as in the secular and professional volumes which filled his -lower shelves; while at the other end of the room a huge sideboard was -covered with glass, from heavy <i>moyen-âge</i> Bohemian to the thinnest and -lightest productions of the modern blower's art.</p> - -<p>"What will you take?" asked the Doctor. "Like myself, you are not much -of a drinker, I know; but, like myself, you understand and appreciate -a little of what is really excellent. Now, on that sideboard there are -sherry, claret, and brandy, for all of which I can vouch. A little -of the latter with some iced water?--the refrigerator is outside. -Nothing? Ah, I forgot, you are dying for your smoke after dinner. Smoke -away here, my boy; no one ever comes to these chambers who would be -frightened at the anti-professional odour; and as for me, I rather like -the smell of a pipe, and especially delight in seeing your enjoyment of -it; so fire away."</p> - -<p>George lit his pipe, and both the men pulled their easy-chairs in front -of the fire. There was an undeniable likeness between them in feature -as well as in figure, though the elder man was so much more <i>soigné</i>, -so much better got-up, so much better preserved than the younger.</p> - -<p>"I have been away for some time," said George, after a few puffs at his -pipe; "as perhaps you know."</p> - -<p>"Oh yes, I found it out very soon after your departure, from the -desolation which seemed to have fallen upon the house down yonder. -Nurses and patients joined in one chorus of regret; and as for poor old -Madame Vaughan, she seemed actually to forget the loss of the child -she has been bewailing for so many years in her intense sorrow at your -departure."</p> - -<p>"Poor dear <i>maman</i>!" said George, with a smile; "I feared she would -miss me and my nightly visits very much. It's so long since I went -away that I imagine I was regarded as a permanent fixture in the -establishment."</p> - -<p>"I confess I looked upon you in that light very much myself, George," -said the Doctor, "and after your departure felt what Mr. Browning calls -the 'conscience prick and memory smart' at not having previously asked -why and where you were going. It is rather late to pretend any interest -now you have returned, but still I would ask where you have been and -why you went."</p> - -<p>"I have been staying with some people who are friends of yours down in -the west."</p> - -<p>"Down in the west you have been staying?" said the Doctor. "Whom do I -know down in the west? Penruddock--Bulteel--Holdsworth?"</p> - -<p>"Not so far west as where those people you have just named live," said -George. "I have been staying with the Derinzys."</p> - -<p>"The Derinzys!"</p> - -<p>And the Doctor's eyebrows went up into his large forehead, and his -usually calm face expressed intense astonishment.</p> - -<p>After a few minutes' pause, he said:</p> - -<p>"Ah, I forgot. Young Derinzy is a colleague of yours, and a chum, I -think I have heard you say."</p> - -<p>"Yes; it was on his invitation I went down to stay with his people. He -was there on leave himself at the time."</p> - -<p>"Ah!" said the Doctor, who had recovered his equanimity. "And what did -you think of his people, as you call them?"</p> - -<p>"They were very pleasant, kind, and unaffected, and thoroughly -hospitable," said George. "Mrs. Derinzy is said to be in bad health. -I understand that you have been occasionally summoned down there on -consultation, sir?"</p> - -<p>He looked hard at his father; but the Doctor's face was unmoved.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said quietly, "I remember having been down there once or -twice."</p> - -<p>"To visit Mrs. Derinzy?"</p> - -<p>"I was sent for to visit Mrs. Derinzy."</p> - -<p>George paused for a moment, then he said:</p> - -<p>"I saw a good deal of a young lady who seems to be domesticated -there--a niece of the family, as I understand--Miss Annette."</p> - -<p>"Ah, indeed! You saw a good deal of Miss Annette? And what did you -think of her?"</p> - -<p>"I thought her charming. You have seen her?"</p> - -<p>"Oh yes, I have seen her frequently."</p> - -<p>"And what is your impression?"</p> - -<p>"The same as yours; Miss Annette is very charming."</p> - -<p>The two men formed a curious contrast. George had laid by his pipe -and was leaning over an arm of his chair, looking eagerly and -scrutinisingly in his father's face; the Doctor lay back at his length, -his comfortable dressing-gown wrapped around him, his slippered feet on -the fender, his eyes fixed on the fire, while he gently tapped the palm -of one hand with an ivory paper-knife which he held in the other.</p> - -<p>"Father," said George Wainwright, suddenly rising and standing on the -rug before the fire, "I want to talk to you about Annette Derinzy."</p> - -<p>"My dear George," said the Doctor, without changing his position, "I -shall be very happy to talk to you about any inmate of that house; -always respecting professional confidences recollect, George."</p> - -<p>"You must hear me to the end first, sir, and then you will see what -confidences you choose to give to, and what to withhold from, me. -Whatever may be your decision I shall, of course, cheerfully abide by; -but it is rather an important matter, as you will find before I have -finished, and I look to you for assistance and advice in it."</p> - -<p>There was such an earnestness in the tone in which George spoke these -last words, that the Doctor raised himself from his lounging position -and regarded his son with astonishment.</p> - -<p>"My dear boy," said he, putting out his hands and grasping his son's -warmly, "you may depend on having both to the utmost extent of my -power. We don't see much of each other, and we don't make much parade -of parental and filial affection; but I don't think we like each other -the less for that; and I know that I am very proud of you, and only too -delighted to have any opportunity--you give me very few--of being of -service to you. Now speak."</p> - -<p>"You never told me you knew the Derinzys, father."</p> - -<p>"My dear boy, I don't suppose I have ever mentioned the names of -one-third of the persons whom I know professionally in your hearing."</p> - -<p>"But you knew Paul was my friend."</p> - -<p>"Exactly," said the Doctor, with a smile, "and in my knowledge of that -fact you might perhaps find the reason of my silence."</p> - -<p>"Ah!" said George, "of course I see now; it is no use beating about the -bush any longer; I must come to it at last, and may as well do so at -once. You will tell me, won't you? Is Annette Derinzy mad?"</p> - -<p>The Doctor was not the least disturbed by the question, nor by the -excited manner--so different from George's usual calm--in which it was -put. He looked up steadily as he replied:</p> - -<p>"Yes; I should say decidedly yes, in the broad and general acceptation -of the word; for people are called mad who are occasionally subjects of -mental hallucination, and at other times are remarkably clear-sighted -and keen-witted, Miss Derinzy is one of these."</p> - -<p>"Have you attended her?"</p> - -<p>"For some years."</p> - -<p>"And she has always been subject to these attacks?"</p> - -<p>"Ever since I knew her. I was, of course, at first called in to her on -account of them."</p> - -<p>"Your attendance on Mrs. Derinzy has been merely a pretext?"</p> - -<p>"Exactly; a pretext invented by the family and not by me."</p> - -<p>"Have you any reason for imagining why this pretext was made?"</p> - -<p>"They wished to keep everyone in ignorance of Miss Derinzy's state, and -asked me to procure a trustworthy person whom I could recommend as her -nurse----"</p> - -<p>"Ah, Mrs. Stothard?"</p> - -<p>"Exactly; Mrs. Stothard--you have made her acquaintance too?--and to -visit the young lady from time to time."</p> - -<p>"And you were asked to keep the fact of your visits from me?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly. The Derinzys were aware that you were in the same office -with their son, and were most desirous that his cousin's state should -be concealed from him, above all others. Why, I never thought proper to -inquire."</p> - -<p>"I know the reason," said George, with half a sigh. "Do you think that -this dreadful disease under which Miss Derinzy suffers is progressing -or decreasing?"</p> - -<p>"I am scarcely in a position to say," said the Doctor. "Were she in -London, or in any place easy of access, I should be better able to -judge; but now I only visit her periodically, and even that by no means -regularly, merely when I have a day or two which I can steal, so that I -cannot judge of the increase or decrease, or of the extent of delirium. -However, the last time I was there--yes, the last time--I happened to -be present when one of the attacks supervened, and it was very strong, -very strong indeed."</p> - -<p>There was another pause, and then the Doctor said lightly:</p> - -<p>"I think I may put you into the 'box' now, George, and ask you a few -questions. You saw a great deal of Miss Derinzy, you say?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; we were together every day."</p> - -<p>"And you deduced your opinion of her mental state from your observation -of her?"</p> - -<p>"Not entirely."</p> - -<p>"Of course you got no hint from any of the family, not even from -Captain Derinzy himself, who is sufficiently stupid and garrulous?" -said the Doctor, with a recollection of his last visit to Beachborough, -and the familiarity under which he had writhed.</p> - -<p>"No, from none of them; and certainly not from Miss Derinzy's manner, -which, though unusually artless and childlike, decidedly bore no trace -of insanity."</p> - -<p>"But, my dear boy, you must have had your suspicions, or you would not -have asked me the questions so plainly. How did these suspicions arise?"</p> - -<p>"From Annette's description of her illness--of her symptoms at the time -of attack, the blank which fell upon her, and her sensations on her -recovery; from the mere fact of Mrs. Stothard's presence there--itself -sufficient evidence to any one accustomed to persons of Mrs. Stothard's -class--and from words and hints which Mrs. Stothard--whether -with or without intention, I have never yet been able to -determine--occasionally let drop; from other facts which accidentally -came to my knowledge, but of which I think you are ignorant, and which -I think it is not important that you should know."</p> - -<p>"For a superficial observer you have made a remarkable diagnosis -of the case, George," said the Doctor, regarding his son with calm -appreciation; "it is a thousand pities you did not take to the -profession."</p> - -<p>"Thank God, I didn't," said the son; "even as it is I have seen enough -of it--or, at least, I should have said 'Thank God' two months ago; -now, I almost wish I had."</p> - -<p>"You would like to have taken up this case?"</p> - -<p>"I should."</p> - -<p>"You would like to have cured your friend's cousin?"</p> - -<p>"I should indeed."</p> - -<p>"My dear George," said the Doctor, with a smile, "I think, as I just -said, it is a great pity that you did not take up the profession. -You have a certain talent, and great powers of reading the human -mind, but you are given to desultory studies and pursuits; and your -picture-painting, piano-playing, and German philosophy, all charming -as they are, would have led you away from the one study on which a man -in our profession must concentrate his every thought. I don't think, -my dear George, that you would have been a better--well, what common -people call a better 'mad doctor' than your father; I don't think the -'old man' would have been beaten by the 'boy' in this instance."</p> - -<p>"I am sure not, sir; I never thought that for an instant: it was not -that which prompted me to say what I did. Do I understand from your -last remark that Miss Derinzy's disease is beyond your cure?"</p> - -<p>"In my opinion, beyond any one's cure, my dear George."</p> - -<p>"God help me!" And George groaned and covered his face with his hands.</p> - -<p>The Doctor sprang to his feet, and stepping across to where George sat, -laid his hand tenderly on his head.</p> - -<p>"My dear boy," said he, "my dear George, what does all this mean?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing, father," said George, raising his head, and shaking himself -together, as it were, "nothing, father--nothing, at least, which should -lead a man to make a fool of himself; but your last words were rather a -shock to me, for I love Annette Derinzy, and I had hoped----"</p> - -<p>"You love Annette Derinzy! You, whom we have all laughed at so long for -your celibate notions, to have fallen in love now, and with Annette -Derinzy! My poor boy, this is a bad business--a very bad business, -indeed. I don't see what is to be done to comfort you."</p> - -<p>"Nor I, father, nor I. You distinctly say there is no hope of her cure?"</p> - -<p>"Speaking so far as I can judge, there is none. If she were under -my special care for a certain number of weeks, so that I saw her -daily--Bah! I am talking as I might do to the friends of a patient. -To you, my dear George, I say it would be of no use. It is a horrible -verdict, but a true one--she can never be cured."</p> - -<p>George was silent for a minute; then he said:</p> - -<p>"Would there be any use in having a consultation?"</p> - -<p>"My dear boy, not the slightest in the world. I will meet anyone that -could be named. If this were a professional case, I should insist on a -consultation, and the family apothecary would probably call in this old -fool whose pamphlet I am just reviewing--Dilsworth, I mean, or Tokely, -or Whittaker, or one of them; but I don't mind saying to my own son, -that I am perfectly certain I know more than any of these men of my -peculiar subject, and that, except for the mere sake of differing, they -always in such consultations take their cue from me."</p> - -<p>Another pause; then George said, his face suddenly lighting up:</p> - -<p>"One moment, sir. I have some sort of recollection, when I was a -student at Bonn, hearing of some German doctor who had achieved a -marvellous reputation for having effected certain cures in insane cases -which had been given up by everyone else."</p> - -<p>"You mean old Hildebrand of Derrendorf," said the Doctor. "Yes, he was -really a wonderful man, and did some extraordinary things. I never met -him; but his cases were reported in the medical journals here, and made -a great sensation at the time; but that is ten or twelve years ago, and -I recollect hearing since that he had retired from practice. I should -think by this time he must be dead."</p> - -<p>"Then there is no hope," said George, sadly.</p> - -<p>"I fear none," said his father. "If Hildebrand were alive, there would -be no chance of his undertaking the case; for if I recollect rightly, -he had always determined on retiring from the profession as soon as -he had amassed a certain amount of money, which would enable him to -pursue his studies in quiet. He was an eccentric genius too--one -of the rough-and-ready school, they said, and particularly harsh -and unpleasant in his manners. I recollect there was a joke that he -frightened people into their wits, as other patients were frightened -out of theirs by their doctors; so that he would scarcely do for Miss -Annette, even if we could command his services. By-the-way, of course -there was no seizure while you were in the house?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing of the kind. She was, as I said, perfectly calm and tranquil, -and wonderfully artless and childlike."</p> - -<p>"Yes; she remains the ruin of what would have been a most charming -creature. That 'little rift within the lute,' as Tennyson has it, has -marred all the melody. By-the-way, you said you knew the reason of Mrs. -Derinzy's having impressed upon me the necessity of silence in regard -to my visits there. What was it?"</p> - -<p>"There is no secret in it now. Mrs. Derinzy always intended that her -son Paul should marry his cousin."</p> - -<p>"I see it all! An heiress, is she not, to an enormous property? A very -good thing for her son."</p> - -<p>"Ah! that was why, ever since symptoms of the girl's mental malady -first began to develop themselves, the boy was kept away at school, -even during the holidays, on some pretence or another; and why, since -he has been at the Stannaries Office, he has, up to this time, always -gone abroad or to stay with some friends on his leave of absence."</p> - -<p>"Exactly. The secret has been well kept from him. And do you mean to -say he does not know it now?"</p> - -<p>"At this moment he hasn't the least idea of it."</p> - -<p>"Then your friend is also your rival, my poor George?"</p> - -<p>"No, indeed. Paul does not care in the least for Annette, and he is -deeply pledged in another quarter. It was with a view of aiding him in -extricating himself from the engagement which his mother was pressing -upon him that he asked me down to the Tower."</p> - -<p>"As neat a complication as could possibly be," said the Doctor.</p> - -<p>"There is only one person whose way out seems to me tolerably clear," -said George, "and that is Paul. See here, father; I am neither of an -age nor of a temperament to rave about my love, or to make much purple -demonstration about anything. I shall not yet give up the idea that -Annette Derinzy can be cured of the mental disease under which she -suffers; and in saying this, I do not doubt your talent nor the truth -of what you have said to me; but I have a kind of inward feeling that -something will eventually be done to bring her right, and that I shall -be the means of its accomplishment. I would not take this upon myself -unless my position were duly authorised. I need not tell you--I am your -son--that nothing would induce me to move in the matter, if my doing so -involved the least breach of loyalty to Paul, the least breach of faith -to his father or mother; but before I take a single step, I shall get -from him a repetition of his decision, already twice or thrice given, -in declining to become a suitor for Annette's hand; and armed with -this, I shall seek an interview with his father and mother, and explain -his position and my own."</p> - -<p>"And then?" said the Doctor, with a grave face.</p> - -<p>"And then, <i>qui vivra verra</i>."</p> - -<p>"Well, George," said his father, laying his hand affectionately again -on his son's head, "you know I wish you God speed. You have plenty of -talent and endurance and pluck; and, Heaven knows, you will have need -of them all."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_22" href="#div1Ref_22">CHAPTER XXII.</a></h4> -<h5>L'HOMME PROPOSE.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>One morning in the early winter, Colonel Orpington walked into the -Beaufort Club, and taking his letters from the hall-porter as he -passed, entered the coffee-room and took possession of the table which -for many years he had been accustomed to regard as almost his own.</p> - -<p>There was no occasion for him to order any breakfast, so well were his -ways known in that establishment, of which he was not merely one of the -oldest, but one of the most conspicuous of the members. The officers of -the household, from Riboulet the <i>chef</i> and Woodman the house-steward -down to the smallest page-boys, all held the Colonel in very wholesome -reverence; and amongst the twelve hundred members on the books, the -behests of none were more speedily obeyed than his.</p> - -<p>While the repast was preparing, Colonel Orpington glanced over the -envelopes of the letters which he had taken from the porter and -laid on the table in military order before him. They are many and -various: heavy official-looking letters, thin-papered missives from -the Continent, and two or three delicate little notes. The Colonel -selects one of these last, which is addressed in an obviously foreign -hand, though bearing a London post-mark; the others are put aside; the -dainty double-eyeglasses are brought from their hiding-place inside his -waistcoat and adjusted across his nose, and he falls to the perusal -of the little note. A difficult hand to read apparently, for the -Colonel, though somewhat careful of showing any symptoms of loss of -sight to the more youthful members of the club then present, by whom -he has a certain suspicion he is looked upon as a fogey, has to hold -it in various lights and twist it up and down before he can master -its contents. When he has mastered them they do not appear to be of a -particularly reassuring character; for the Colonel shakes his head, -utters a short low whistle, and is stroking his chin with his hand, as -though deep in thought, when the advanced guard of his breakfast makes -its appearance.</p> - -<p>"'Coming back at once,'" says the Colonel to himself; "at least, so -far as I can make out Clarisse's confoundedly cramped handwriting. -'Coming back at once,' and from what she can make out from Fanny's -talk, not in the best of tempers either, and likely to bring matters -to an end; and Clarisse thinks I must declare myself at once. Well, I -don't see why not.</p> - -<p>"'Gad, it seems to me an extraordinary thing that I, who have been -under fire so many times in these kind of affairs, should have been -hesitating and hanging back and beating about the bush for so long with -this girl! To be sure, she is quite unlike many of the others; more -like a person in society, or rather, like what used to be society in -my time: what goes by that name now is a very different thing. There's -a sort of air of breeding about her, and a kind of <i>noli me tangere</i> -sort of thing mixed up with all her attractiveness, that makes the -whole business a very different thing from the ordinary throwing the -handkerchief and being happy ever after.</p> - -<p>"Coming back, eh! My young friend Derinzy--member here, by-the-way; -letters had better go to one of the other clubs in future; it is best -to be on the safe side. Coming back, eh! And now what are--what parents -call--his 'intentions,' I wonder? Scarcely so 'strictly honourable' -as the middle-class father longs to hear professed by enamoured -aristocrats. If he meant marriage, he would certainly have proposed -before he left town, when, if all I learn is true, he was so wildly mad -about the girl he would not have left her to---- And yet, perhaps, that -is the very reason, though she said nothing, she has evidently been -pleased by the attentions which I have shown her; and this perhaps has -caused her to slack off in her correspondence with this young fellow, -or to influence its warmth, or something of that kind, and this may -have had the effect of bringing him to book.</p> - -<p>"If he were to declare off, how would that suit me? Impossible to say. -In the fit of rage and disgust with him, she might say yes to anything -I asked her; on the other hand, she might have a fit of remorse, and -think that it was all from having listened to the blandishments of this -serpent she lost a chance of enjoying a perpetual paradise with that -bureaucratic young Adam.</p> - -<p>"There is the other fellow, too--the young man 'in her own station of -life'--shopkeeper, mechanic, whatever he is. Clarisse seems to have -some notion that he is coming to the fore, though I don't think there -is any chance for him. The girl's tastes lie obviously in quite a -different line, and I am by no means certain that his being in the race -is a bad thing for me. However, it's plainly time that something must -be done; and now, how to do it?"</p> - -<p>He threw down his napkin before him as he spoke and rose from the -table. The young men who had been breakfasting near him, though perhaps -they might have thought him a fogey, yet envied the undeniable position -he held in society; envied him, above all, the perfect freshness and -good health and the evident appetite with which he had just consumed -his meal, while they were listlessly playing with highly-spiced -condiments, or endeavouring to quench the flame excited by the previous -night's dissipation with effervescing drinks. Sir Coke Only, the -great railway contractor and millionaire, whose neighbouring table -was covered with prospectuses and letters on blue paper, propounding -schemes in which thousands were involved, envied the Colonel that -consummate air of good breeding which he, the millionaire, knew he -could never acquire, and that happy idleness which never seemed in -store for him. The perfectly-appointed brougham, with its bit-champing, -foam-tossing gray horse, stood at the club-door, waiting to whirl the -man of business into the City, where he would be unceasingly occupied -till dusk; "while that feller," as Sir Coke remarked to himself, "will -be lunching with marchionesses and dropping into the five o'clock tea -with duchesses, and taking it as easy as though he were as rich as -Rothschild."</p> - -<p>Perhaps the Colonel knew of the envy which he excited; he was -certainly not disturbed, and perhaps even pleased, by it. He sauntered -quietly into the waiting-room, walked to the window, and stood gazing -unconsciously at the black little London sparrows hopping about in the -black little bit of ground which was metropolitan for a garden, and -lay between the club and Carlton House Terrace, while he collected his -thoughts. Then he sat down at a table and wrote as follows:</p> - -<p style="text-indent:50%">"Beaufort Club, Tuesday.</p> - -<p>"DEAR MISS STAFFORD,--The opportunity which I have been so long waiting -for has at length arrived, and I think I see my way to the fulfilment -of the promise made to you in the beginning of our acquaintance.</p> - -<p>"If you will be at my lawyer's chambers, No. 5, Seldon Buildings, -Temple, at two o'clock this afternoon, he--Mr. John Wilson is his -name--will enter into further particulars with you. I shall hear from -him how he has progressed, and you will see me very shortly.--Very -sincerely yours,</p> - -<p style="text-indent:50%">"JOHN ORPINGTON.</p> - -<p>"P.S.--I have no doubt that Madame Clarisse will be able to spare you -on your mentioning that you have business. You need not particularise -its nature."</p> - -<p>Then he wrote another letter consisting of one line:</p> - -<p>"All right; let her go.--J.O."</p> - - -<p>He addressed these respectively to Miss Fanny Stafford and Madame -Clarisse, and despatched them to their destination.</p> - -<p>It was with no particular excess of pleasure that Daisy received and -perused the first-written of these epistles. To be sure, at the first -glance over the words her face flushed and her eyes brightened; but the -next few minutes her heart sank within her with that undefined sense -of impending evil of which we are all of us so frequently conscious. -The thought of Paul's immediate return had been weighing upon her for -some days; she had been uncertain how to treat him. She could not help -acknowledging to herself that her feelings towards him had undergone -a certain amount of alteration during his absence. She was unwilling -that that alteration should be noticed by him, and yet could not avoid -a lurking suspicion that she must have betrayed it in her letters. She -gathered this from the tone of his replies, more especially from his -last communication, in which he announced his speedy arrival in town. -Of course she had not breathed to him one word of her acquaintance with -Colonel Orpington; there was no occasion why she should have done so, -she argued to herself; the two men would never be brought in contact. -And yet it would be impossible for her to renew the intimacy which had -previously existed with Paul, without his becoming aware that she had -other calls upon her time, and insisted upon being made acquainted with -their nature; and then, when he found it out, the fact of her having -concealed this newly-formed friendship from him would tell very badly -against her. It would have been very much better that she should have -mentioned it, giving some sufficiently satisfactory account of its -origin, and passing over it lightly as though it were of no moment. She -could have done this in regard to the meeting with John Merton and its -subsequent results--not that she had ever said anything of that to her -lover, by-the-way--without, she was sure, exciting Paul's suspicion; -but this was a different matter. In his last letter Paul had proposed -to meet her on what would now be the next afternoon, and by that time -she must have made up her mind fully as to the course she intended to -pursue. The interview to which she was then proceeding might perhaps -have an important effect upon her resolution. And as she thought of -that interview her heart sank again, and her face became very grave -and thoughtful; so grave and thoughtful did she look as she hurried -along one of the dull streets in the neighbourhood of Russell Square, -that a man to whom she was well known, and by whom every expression of -her face was treasured, scarcely knew her, as, coming in the opposite -direction, he encountered and passed by her. She did not notice him; -but he turned, and in the next instant was by her side. She looked up; -it was John Merton.</p> - -<p>"You were walking at such a pace and looking so earnest, Miss -Stafford," said he, after the first ordinary salutations, "that I -scarcely recognised you. You are going into the City. May I walk part -of the way with you? I am so glad to see you; I have been longing so -anxiously to hear from you."</p> - -<p>This was an awkward <i>rencontre</i>. Daisy had quite sufficient mental -excitement with the interview to which she was proceeding. She had -not calculated upon this addition to it, and answered him vaguely and -unsatisfactorily.</p> - -<p>"I have been very much occupied of late," said she. "The winter season -is now coming upon us, you see, and I have scarcely any time to myself."</p> - -<p>"It would have taken very little time to write yes or no," said poor -John; "and if you knew the importance I attach to the receipt of one of -those two words from you, I think you would have endeavoured to let me -know my fate. Will you let me offer you my arm?"</p> - -<p>"No--no, thanks," said Daisy, drawing back.</p> - -<p>"You--you don't like to be seen with me, perhaps, in the street?" asked -John, with a bitter tone in his voice.</p> - -<p>"No, not that at all; only people don't take arms nowadays, don't you -know?"</p> - -<p>"Don't they?" said John, still bitterly. "I beg your pardon; you must -excuse my want of breeding. I don't mix except among people in my own -station. I--I didn't mean that," he added hurriedly, as he saw her face -flush; "I didn't mean anything to offend you; but I have scarcely been -myself, I think, for the last few days."</p> - -<p>"You have done no harm," said Daisy, gently, pitying the look of misery -on his face.</p> - -<p>"Have I done any good?" he asked; "you cannot fail to understand me. If -you knew how I suffer, you would keep me no longer in suspense."</p> - -<p>"I did not pretend to misunderstand you," said the girl. "You are -waiting for my answer to the proposition you made to me when you called -at my lodging the other day."</p> - -<p>"I am."</p> - -<p>"You have placed me--unwillingly, I know--in a very painful position," -said Daisy; "for it is really painful to me to have to say or do -anything which I feel would give you pain."</p> - -<p>"Don't say any more," he said in a hoarse voice; "I can guess your -meaning perfectly. Don't say any more."</p> - -<p>"But, Mr. Merton, you must hear me--you must understand----"</p> - -<p>"I do understand that you say 'no' to what I asked you; that you reject -my suit--I believe that is the proper society phrase! I don't want to -know," continued he, with a sudden outburst of passion, "of the esteem -in which you hold me, and the recollection which you will always have -of the delicacy of my behaviour towards you. I know the rubbish with -which it is always thought necessary to gild the pill in similar cases; -but I'd rather be without it."</p> - -<p>"You are becoming incoherent, and I can scarcely follow you," said -Daisy, setting her lips and looking very stony. "I don't think I was -going to say anything of the kind that you seem to have anticipated. -I don't see that I have laid myself open to rudeness because I have -been compelled to tell you it didn't suit me to marry you; and as to -our being friends hereafter, I really don't think that there is the -remotest chance of such a thing."</p> - -<p>"I must again beg your pardon, Miss Stafford," said John, taking off -his hat--he was quite calm now--"and I will take care that I don't -commit myself in any similar ridiculous manner. I am perfectly aware -that our lines in life lie very wide apart, and after the decision -which you have arrived at and just communicated to me, I can only be -glad that it is so; and though we are not to be friends, you say, I -shall always have the deepest regard for you. You cannot prevent that, -even if you would; and I only trust that some day I may have the chance -of proving the continuance of that regard by being able to serve you."</p> - -<p>He stopped, bowed, and was striding rapidly away back on the way they -had traversed, before Daisy could speak to him.</p> - -<p>"More quickly over than I had anticipated," she thought to herself, -"and less painful too. I expected at one time there would have been a -scene. His face lights up wonderfully when he is in earnest, and if his -figure and manner were only as good, he might do. I wonder whether I -could put up with him if neither of those two other men had been upon -the cards; perhaps so, in a foreign place, such as he talked of going -to, where one could have made one's own world and one's own society, -and broken with all the old associations. How dreadful his boots were, -by-the-way! I don't think it would have been possible to have passed -one's life recognised as belonging to such feet and boots."</p> - -<p>By this time she had reached Middle Temple Lane, down which she was -proceeding, to the great admiration of the barristers' and attorneys' -clerks who were flitting about that sombre neighbourhood. After a -little difficulty and a great deal of inquiry she found the Seldon -Buildings; and arriving at the second floor, and knocking at the portal -inscribed Mr. John Wilson, she rather started when the door was opened -to her by Colonel Orpington.</p> - -<p>"Pray step in, my dear Miss Stafford," said the Colonel. "You are -surprised, I see, to see me here instead of my legal adviser; but the -fact is, that gentleman has been called out of town, and as I find he -is not likely to return, I thought it best to take his place and make -the proposition in my own person."</p> - -<p>Daisy was not, nor did she feign to be, astonished. She entered the -room and seated herself in an arm-chair, towards which the Colonel -motioned her. He sat down opposite to her, and without any preliminary -observations, at once dashed into his subject.</p> - -<p>"I don't think there is any occasion for me to inform you, my dear Miss -Stafford," he commenced, "that I have the very greatest admiration for -you. All women known intuitively when they are admired without having -the sentiment duly expressed to them in set phrases; and though I have -carefully avoided saying or doing any of those ridiculous things which -are said and done in novels and plays, but never in real life, except -by people who bring actions of breach of promise against each other, -you can have had very little doubt of the high appreciation of you -which I entertain."</p> - -<p>Daisy bowed. The trembling of her lip showed that she was a little -nervous--no other sign.</p> - -<p>"Well," continued the Colonel, "this admiration and appreciation -naturally induced me to think what I could do to better your position, -and at the same time to see more of you myself. Your life is not a -particularly lively one--in fact, there is no doubt it is deuced hard -work, and very little relaxation. You are not meant for this kind -of thing. You like books, and flowers, and birds, and all sorts of -elegant surroundings. You are so handsome--pardon the reference, but I -am talking in a most perfectly business manner--that it is a thorough -shame to see you lacking all those et ceteras which are such a help -and set-off to beauty; and you are wearing away the very flower of -your youth in what is nothing more nor less than sordid drudgery. At -one time I thought--as I believe I mentioned to you--of purchasing -some business, such as that in which you are now engaged, and putting -you at the head--making yourself, in point of fact, and placing you -in the position occupied by Madame Clarisse. But after a good deal of -reflection I have come to the conclusion, and I think you will agree, -that there would not be much good in such a project. You see, though -you would be your own mistress, and would not be obliged to get up so -early or to work so late, you would still be engaged in exactly the -same kind of employment; you would be at the mercy of the caprices of -horrible old women and insolent young girls, and would have to fetch -and carry, and kotoo, and eat humble-pie, and all the rest of it, -very much as you do at present. And I am perfectly certain, my dear -Fanny,"--she gave a little start, which had not passed unnoticed; -it was the first time he had called her so--"I am perfectly certain -that this is not your <i>métier</i>. You are a lady in looks--there is -no higher-bred-looking woman goes to Court, by Jove!--in education, -in manner, and in taste; you are not meant for contact with the -shopocracy, and it wouldn't suit you; and to tell you the truth, I -am sufficiently selfish to have thought how it would suit me, and I -confess I don't see it at all."</p> - -<p>He looked hard at her as he said this, and she returned his glance. Her -colour rose, and her lips trembled visibly.</p> - -<p>"I am perfectly candid with you, my dear child," said the Colonel, -drawing his chair a little closer to her, and leaning with his elbow on -the table so as to bring his face nearer to her--"I am perfectly candid -in avowing a certain amount of selfishness in this matter. I admire you -very much indeed, and the natural result is, a desire to see as much of -you as is consistent with my duties to society; and this shopkeeping -project wouldn't help me at all. I want you to have all your time to -yourself--a perpetual leisure, to be employed according to your own -devices. I wish you to have the prettiest home that can be found, with -pictures, and books, and flowers, and such-like. I wish you to have -your carriage, and a riding-horse, if you would like one, and a maid to -attend to you, and a proper allowance for dress and all that kind of -thing. You look incredulous, Fanny, and as though I were inventing a -romance. It is perfectly practicable and possible, my dear child, and -it shall all be done for you if you will only like me just a little."</p> - -<p>He bent forward and took her hand, and looked up eagerly into her face.</p> - -<p>She suffered her hand to remain in his grasp, and gazed at him quite -steadily as she said in hard tones:</p> - -<p>"It sounds like a fairy-tale; but it is in fact a mere businesslike -proposition skilfully veiled. You wish me to be your mistress."</p> - -<p>Colonel Orpington was not staggered either by the tone or the words, -but smiled quietly, still holding her hand as he said:</p> - -<p>"I told you I admired your appreciation and quickness, though I wish -to Heaven you had not used that horrible word. I never had a mistress -in my life. I always associate the term with a dreadful person with -painted cheeks and blackened eyelids, and a very low-necked dress. I -can't conceive any object more utterly revolting."</p> - -<p>"I am sorry you dislike the term," said Daisy, "but I conclude I -expressed your meaning."</p> - -<p>"It would be better put thus," said the Colonel: "I wish you to let -me be your lover, and show my regard by attending to your comfort and -happiness. That seems to me rather neatly put."</p> - -<p>Daisy could not help smiling as she said:</p> - -<p>"It is certainly less startling in that shape."</p> - -<p>"My dear child," said the Colonel, releasing her hand, and standing -upright on the hearth-rug before her, "it conveys exactly what I meant -to say. A young man would rave and stamp, and swear he had never loved -anyone before, and would never love anyone again. I can't say the -first, by Jove!" said the Colonel with a grin; "and I could not take -upon myself to swear to the last, we are such creatures of chance and -circumstances. But it wouldn't matter to you, for by that time you -would probably be tired of me, and I should take care to have secured -your independence; but at all events I should be very kind to you, and -you would have pretty well your own way."</p> - -<p>There was a pause, after which the Colonel said:</p> - -<p>"You are silent, Fanny; what do you say?"</p> - -<p>"You cannot expect me," said Fanny, rising from her chair, "to give a -decided 'Yes' or 'No' to this proposition of yours, however delicately -you may have veiled it. You see I am as candid with you as you were -with me. You have had no shrieks of horror, no exclamations of startled -propriety, and I conclude you did not expect them; but it is a matter -which I must think over, and let you know the result."</p> - -<p>"Exactly what I expected from your common sense, my dear child. My -appreciation of you is higher than ever. When shall I hear?"</p> - -<p>"If I don't write to you before, I will be here this day week at this -time."</p> - -<p>"So be it," said the Colonel, and he led her to the door. As she -passed, he touched her forehead with his lips, and so they parted.</p> - -<p>"I suppose I ought to be in a whirl of terror, fright, and shame," said -Daisy to herself, as she walked towards the West; "but I feel none of -these sensations. It is a matter which will require a great deal of -thinking about, and must have very careful attention."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_23" href="#div1Ref_23">CHAPTER XXIII.</a></h4> -<h5>POOR PAUL.</h5> -<br> -<br>> -<p>It is eleven o'clock in the morning on the first day of Paul's return -to work, and business in the Principal Registrar's room at H.M. -Stannaries is in full swing.</p> - -<p>Mr. Courtney has just arrived, and is seated before the -brightly-burning fire--the old gentleman used to harass the souls of -the messengers in reference to this fire--reading <i>The Morning Post</i>. -He looks much better for his holiday, and is wigged, and curled, and -buckled, and girthed, and generally got up as much as ever.</p> - -<p>George Wainwright is seated at his desk, with several sheets of -manuscript before him, which he is scoring through with a pencil, and -annotating marginally; from time to time uttering contemptuous grunts -of "Pshaw!" and "Stuff!" and "No nominative case," greatly to the -disgust of Mr. Billy Dunlop, who is the author of the work in course of -supervision.</p> - -<p>Mr. Dunlop, whose commencement of his official duties consists hitherto -in his having made one large blot on a sheet of foolscap, and newly -nibbed a quill pen, whistles softly to himself as he regards the work -of demolition going on, and mutters in an undertone, "Ursa Major is -going it this morning. I shall have all that infernal <i>précis</i> to write -over again."</p> - -<p>And Paul Derinzy is seated at his desk, but he has not even attempted -the pretext of doing any work.</p> - -<p>His chin is resting on his hands, and he is gazing straight before him, -looking across at George, but not seeing him in the least, for his -thoughts are busily engaged elsewhere. George Wainwright is the first -to speak.</p> - -<p>"I can't compliment you on your effort, my dear Billy," said he -laughing, and looking across to Mr. Dunlop. "I don't think I have come -across a production in which there was such an entire absence of sense, -grammar, and cohesion as this <i>précis</i> of yours, which you have made of -the Falmouth collector's report."</p> - -<p>"All right, sir," said Mr. Dunlop. "Cut away by all means, don't mind -me; sharpen your great wit, and make me the block. What says the -poet? 'Great wit to madness often is allied;' and as that is all in -your line, fire away."</p> - -<p>"What is that you are saying, my dear George?" said Mr. Courtney, -looking up from his newspaper. "Our good friend Dunlop been -unsuccessful in his praiseworthy attempt?"</p> - -<p>"So far as I can see, sir, from the manner in which my dear George's -pencil has been at work, our good friend Dunlop seems to have gone -a regular mucker with his praiseworthy attempt," said Mr. Dunlop; -"and had I any doubt upon the subject, my dear George is good enough -to express his opinion of my humble endeavours with a frankness and -outspoken candour which do him credit."</p> - -<p>"Here, catch hold!" cried George, grinning as he twisted the sheets -together, and throwing them across to Billy. "Copy my corrections -exactly, and we shall be able to drag you into the first class, and get -you your promotion as the reward of merit before you are seventy years -old. Fire away, Billy; get on with it at once."</p> - -<p>Mr. Dunlop took the papers, placed them before him, and dipped his pen -in the ink; but before writing, he looked up with a serio-comic air, -and said, "May I be permitted to ask, sir, why the work in this room -is to be entirely confined to one of the junior clerks; and why the -other, a gentleman who has the advantage of having just returned from -the country, where he has enjoyed fresh air, and no doubt exercise, and -freedom from that official labour which is the curse of fallen man--why -this gentleman is permitted to sit staring vacantly before him, folding -his hands like the celebrated slothful person immortalised by Dr. -Watts?"</p> - -<p>This remark was unheard by Paul; but when Mr. Courtney addressed him, -he started and looked up.</p> - -<p>"Yes, by-the-way, my dear boy," said the old gentleman, "I, as well -as our friend Dunlop, have remarked that you seem scarcely to have -benefited by your holiday; there is a kind of want of tone about you, -I notice. Your people's place is in Dorsetshire, is it not? Relaxing, -eh, and that kind of thing? House full of company, no doubt; shooting -all day; billiards, private theatricals, flirtations, and that kind of -thing. Doesn't do, my dear boy! doesn't do for men like us, who are all -the rest of the year engaged in official drudgery; doesn't do, depend -upon it."</p> - -<p>And here Mr. Courtney laid down <i>The Morning Post</i>, and proceeded to -commence his private correspondence.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I'm all right, Chief," said Paul; "a little tired after my -journey, perhaps--that's all; a little too smoke-dried by old George -over there, for we got a carriage to ourselves, and I think his pipe -was blazing all the way to town." Then turning to Dunlop, "I'll walk -into the work presently, Billy, and you'll be able to take some leave, -if you want any."</p> - -<p>"No, thank you, old man," said Billy Dunlop; "I don't want to be away -till just after Christmas. Within the month following that festive day, -the number of persons engaged in trade who have a small amount to make -up by a given period is extraordinary; and I feel it my duty to go -into the country about that time, in order that no one may indulge any -delusive hopes of pecuniary assistance from me."</p> - -<p>After a few minutes George Wainwright stepped across to Paul's desk, -and leaning over it, said in a low voice, "What's the matter? Nothing -fresh since your arrival?"</p> - -<p>"No, nothing at all," said Paul, in the same tone. "I found a note -from her at the club, saying that she would meet me this afternoon, -and expressed surprise at my having imagined that there had been any -decrease in the warmth of her feelings for me, that's all."</p> - -<p>"And what makes you so horribly downcast?"</p> - -<p>"I cannot tell; I have a sense of oppression over me which I find it -impossible to shake off. I had an idea that the mere fact of my return -to London, the knowledge that I was so much nearer to her, would have -dispersed it; but this morning it seems worse than ever. I think some -of it is due to a certain feeling of remorse which I felt on parting -with my mother yesterday; she seemed so horribly grieved about the -failure of that other business, you know."</p> - -<p>"I think you may acquit yourself entirely on that score," said George, -looking earnestly at his friend, "as I shall probably be able to prove -to you before long."</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?" said Paul, in astonishment; "how can you know -anything about it?"</p> - -<p>"Impossible for me to say just now," replied George; "control your -curiosity for yet a short time longer, and you shall know. Meanwhile -you may depend on what I have said to you. I only wish you were as well -out of this other affair."</p> - -<p>No more was said on the subject, and Paul worked on as best he might, -impervious to the sarcasms which his occasional fits of musing evoked -from Mr. Dunlop.</p> - -<p>Soon after two o'clock he closed his blotting-book, and asked the -Chief's leave to go away; alleging with a laugh that he had scarcely -got acclimatised to the place, and that he must slide into his work by -degrees.</p> - -<p>Good-natured Mr. Courtney of course assented, and after the performance -of a rapid toilet, Paul hurried away.</p> - -<p>The depression under which he laboured still continued in its fullest -force, and he could not help contrasting his present feelings with -those which animated him in the first days of his acquaintance with -Daisy. Then all was bright and roseate; now all was dull and dark. His -ideas as to the future were indeed no more definite then than they were -now; but the haze which hung over it then and shrouded it from his view -was a light summer mist; not so now--a dense gloomy fog. And she was -changed; he feared there could be no doubt of that. In a few minutes he -should be able to ascertain whether there was any foundation for his -suspicions; in the meantime he indulged them to the fullest extent. The -tone of her letters had certainly altered. The letters themselves were -written as though she were preoccupied at the time, and read like mere -perfunctory performances, executed under a sense of duty, and finished -with a sigh of relief.</p> - -<p>What should have changed her? Most men would have supposed at once, -on finding an alteration in the tone and manner of the woman they -love, that she had been receiving attentions in some other quarter. -Paul hesitated to do this; not that he was not aware of the power of -Daisy's beauty and attractiveness, nor entirely because of his faith in -her, but principally because they had gone on for a certain number of -months together, during all which time she must have had innumerable -chances of throwing him over and behaving falsely to him had she been -so disposed; while all the time she had kept true to him.</p> - -<p><i>Les absents ont toujours tort</i>, says the proverb. Could that have been -the reason? What woman was to be trusted? How mad it was of him to -leave her for so long! It was only in order to satisfy his mother, and -to show her how impossible it was for him to comply with this project -which she had so long cherished for his future, that he had consented -to go down to Devonshire. By-the-way, what was that that George had -hinted at? "There need be no remorse on his part," George had said -about the refusal to fulfil his mother's wishes in regard to marrying -Annette. What could he have meant? Was it possible that his friend had -really been taken with the girl? He had some notion of the kind down at -Beachborough, but had dismissed it from his mind as unworthy serious -consideration. Now there really seemed to be some foundation for the -notion, and Annette certainly cared for him. Fancy them married! How -jolly it would be! What a capital husband George would make, and what -a pleasant house it would be to go to! Fancy "old George" tremendously -rich, with a lot of money, going in to give swell parties, and all that -kind of thing! No, he could not fancy that; whatever income he had, -George would always remain the same glorious, simple-minded, honest, -splendid fellow that he was now.</p> - -<p>Poor old <i>mater!</i> how awfully she seemed to take his decision to -heart! She said this had been her pet project for so many years, and -it was hard to see it overthrown at last. George wouldn't do as well, -you suppose? No; it was for her own boy, her own darling, the <i>spes -gregis</i>, that she wanted the wealth and the position; as though that -would be the least value, if there were not happiness. His mother -didn't seem to understand that, and how could he have any happiness -without Daisy? Oh, confound it! there, he had run off that track of -thought for a few minutes, and had a small respite; and now he was on -it again, and as miserable as ever.</p> - -<p>Turning over these thoughts in his mind, Paul Derinzy hurried through -the streets and across the Park, and speedily reached the well-known -place of meeting. It was a sharp bright day in the early winter. The -leaves were off the trees now, and there was an uninterrupted view for -many hundred yards. Paul gazed eagerly about him, but could see nothing -of Daisy. Usually, to the discredit of his gallantry, she had been -first to arrive; now she was not there, although the time for meeting -was past; and Paul took it as a bad omen, and his heart sank within him.</p> - -<p>He took two or three turns up and down the dreary avenue, and at length -Daisy appeared in sight. He hurried to meet her, and as she approached -him he could not help being struck with her marvellous beauty.</p> - -<p>Paul would have sworn, had he been asked--but her face was ever present -to him during the time of his absence--that he felt that he must have -forgotten it, or she must have wonderfully improved, so astonished was -he at her appearance. She had been walking fast, and a splendid colour -glowed in her cheeks. Her eyes were unusually bright too; her dress, -which was always neat and in excellent taste, seemed to Paul to be -made of some richer and softer material than she was in the habit of -wearing. She smiled pleasantly at him as he neared her, and all his -gloom for a time melted away.</p> - -<p>"My own, my darling!" that was all he said, as he took both her hands -in his, and looked down lovingly into her eyes.</p> - -<p>"I am a little late, Paul, I am afraid," said Daisy; "but Madame had -something particular to be done, and as she has been very good in -giving me holidays lately, I did not like to pass the work which she -wished me to do to anyone else."</p> - -<p>"Never mind, pet; you are here at last, and I am in heaven," said Paul. -"How splendidly handsome you look, Daisy! What have you been doing?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing, that I know of, in particular," said the girl, "beyond having -a little less work and a little more fresh air. Rest and exercise have -been my sole cosmetics."</p> - -<p>"Holidays and fresh air, eh, miss?" said Paul, smiling rather grimly; -"and you never could get an hour to come out with me, Daisy!"</p> - -<p>"Because it was in the height of the season, when our work was -incessant from morning till night, that you were good enough to ask me, -Mr. Douglas," said Daisy, making a little <i>moue</i>.</p> - -<p>"And when I am away you find time to go out."</p> - -<p>"Exactly," said Daisy. "There, isn't this delicious? You were away on a -holiday yourself, and I believe you are actually annoyed because during -your highness's absence I managed to enjoy myself."</p> - -<p>"No, no, Daisy; you mustn't accuse me of that," said Paul; "I am not so -selfish as all that! However, never mind. Tell me now all you have been -doing."</p> - -<p>"No; do you first tell me how you have been enjoying yourself. Were -'your people,' as you call them, very glad to see you; and did they -make much of you, as in duty bound?"</p> - -<p>There was, whether intentionally or not, a slight inflection of sarcasm -in her tone which jarred upon Paul's nerves.</p> - -<p>"They were very glad to see me, and made much of me in the only way -parents can do," said he quietly. "I often think how foolishly, -worse than foolishly, we behave while we have them with us, and only -recognise our proper duty to them when it is too late."</p> - -<p>"Ye-es," said Daisy, struggling to repress a yawn. She was thinking of -something else very different from filial duty, and was beginning to be -bored.</p> - -<p>"You do not seem to enter into those sentiments," said Paul; "but that -is because you have no parents."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps so," said the girl; "but even if I had, I scarcely think I -should be tempted to gush; gushing is very much out of my line."</p> - -<p>Paul looked at her strangely. He had never heard her so hard, so cold, -so sardonic before.</p> - -<p>"No," he said, after a moment's pause; "you generally manage to have a -wonderful control of your feelings; it only needed one to look through -your recent letters to prove that."</p> - -<p>"What was the matter with my letters?" said Daisy, looking up at him so -bewitchingly at that moment that all Paul's anger vanished.</p> - -<p>"The matter with them! Nothing, my darling, except that I thought they -were a little cold; but perhaps that was my fault."</p> - -<p>"How do you mean your fault?"</p> - -<p>"Perhaps I ought not to have gone away, to have left you for so long."</p> - -<p>"My dear Paul, what are you thinking of? What possible claim have I on -you, that you should deprive yourself of a holiday and give up visiting -your friends on my account?"</p> - -<p>"What claim have you! The claim of being dearer to me than any person -in the world; the claim of being the one creature for whom I care -beyond all others. Can there be a greater claim than this?"</p> - -<p>She looked at him quietly and almost pityingly as she said:</p> - -<p>"I thought you would have given up all this romantic nonsense, Paul; I -thought you would have come back infinitely more rational and practical -than you were when you left."</p> - -<p>"I suppose that is what you pride yourself on having become," -said Paul, with a dash of bitterness in his tone; "'rational' and -'practical,' and 'romantic nonsense!' You didn't call it by that name -when we used to walk in this place but a very few weeks ago."</p> - -<p>"It was different then," said Daisy, looking round with a shudder.</p> - -<p>"It was, indeed," said Paul. "There is something gone besides leaves -from the trees."</p> - -<p>"And what is that?" asked Daisy, provokingly.</p> - -<p>"Love from you and hope from me," said Paul. Then, with a sudden access -of passion: "Oh, my darling!" he cried, "my own love, Daisy, why are -you behaving thus to me? For the last few days I have felt certain that -something was impending. I have had a dull, dead weight on my spirits. -I attributed it to the difference in the tone of your letters, but I -thought that would all be dispelled when we met. I had no idea it would -be as bad as this."</p> - -<p>The girl looked up at him steadily, but seemed to be rather angered -than touched at this sudden outburst.</p> - -<p>"My dear Paul," said she, "I am again compelled to ask you to be at -least rational. What could you have expected would have been the end of -our acquaintance?"</p> - -<p>"The end!" cried Paul. "I--I never thought about that; I never thought -that there would be an end."</p> - -<p>"Exactly," said Daisy; "and yet you wonder at my accusing you of want -of practicality. Let us go through this matter quietly. You seek and -make my acquaintance; you appear to admire me very much, and ask for -opportunities of meeting me; these opportunities you have, and you -then profess to be deeply in love with me. All this is very nice; we -walk and talk like young people in the old story-books. But there is -a strong spice of worldliness mixed up with the simplicity of both of -us: all the time that you are talking and saying your sweetest things -you are in a desperate fright lest any of your acquaintances shall see -you. I am perfectly keen enough to notice this; and when I tax you with -it, you confess it sheepishly, and as good as tell me that it would -be impossible for you, on account of your family, to enter into any -lasting alliance with a milliner's assistant. Now, what on earth do you -propose to yourself, my dear Paul, or did you propose, when you came -here to meet me just now? You have had plenty of time to think over -this affair down in the country, and have, I suppose, arrived at some -intention; or did you possibly suppose that we could go on mooning away -our lives as we have done during the past six months?"</p> - -<p>She stopped; and Paul, finding she expected some reply, said -hesitatingly:</p> - -<p>"I--I thought it would go on just the same."</p> - -<p>"You are a very child, my dear Paul," said Daisy, "not to see that such -a thing is impossible. If, before you left town, you had spoken at all -distinctly as regards the future, if you had asked me to marry you--not -now, I don't say immediately, but in the course of a certain given -time--matters would have stood very differently."</p> - -<p>"You say if I <i>had</i> asked you," said Paul, with an appealing glance at -her. "Suppose I were to ask you now?"</p> - -<p>"It would be too late," said Daisy, with a short laugh. Then, suddenly -changing her tone, she cried, "Do you imagine that, in what I have just -said, I was spelling for you to make me an offer? Do you imagine that I -would so demean myself? Do you think that I have no pride? I can tell -you, I should feel I was doing quite as great an honour to your family -by coming into it as they could possibly do to me by receiving me into -it. Do you imagine that I was not merely going calmly to wait until it -pleased your highness to throw the handkerchief in my direction, but -that I was actually making signs to attract your attention to my eager -desire for preferment?"</p> - -<p>"Daisy, Daisy," interrupted Paul, "what are you saying?"</p> - -<p>"Simply the truth; I am speaking out what we both of us know to be -true. There is no good shilly-shallying any longer this way, Paul -Douglas; we are neither of us so very childlike, we are both of us out -of our teens, and we live in a world where Strephon and Daphne will -find themselves horribly out of place."</p> - -<p>There was a pause for a few moments, and then Paul said in a low voice:</p> - -<p>"You must pardon me, Daisy, if I don't answer you straight at once and -to the purpose. It is rather a facer for a fellow who has gone away and -left a girl, as he imagines, very much attached to him, and certainly -most loving and affectionate in her words and manner, to find her, on -his return, perfectly changed, and talking about being practical and -rational, and that kind of thing. I daresay I was a fool; I daresay -you thought I was giving myself airs when I talked about my family, -and kept in this secluded part of the Park in order that we might not -run the risk of meeting anybody I knew. God knows I didn't intend so, -child; God knows I would have done nothing that I thought could have -wounded your feelings in the very slightest degree. You say that if -I had spoken to you before I left town about marrying you, matters -would have stood differently. The truth is, until I went out of town, -until I was far away from you and knew I was beyond your reach, until -I felt that never-ceasing want of your society and companionship, that -ever-present desire to hear your voice and take your hand and look into -your darling eyes, I did not know how much I was in love with you. I -know it now, Daisy, I feel it all now, and the idea of having to pass -the remainder of my life without you drives me mad. You won't let it -come to this, Daisy--oh, my own darling one, you won't let it come to -this!"</p> - -<p>His voice trembled as he spoke these last words, and he was strangely -agitated. There was real pity, and perhaps a little look of love, in -Daisy's eyes, but she only said:</p> - -<p>"My dear Paul, sooner or later it must come to this. Even were there -no other reasons, it would be impossible for me to accept an offer of -marriage which it might be truly said I have literally wrung from you. -If you love me very much--there, you need not protest; we will allow -that to pass, and take it for granted that you do--you are desperately -spooney upon me, as the phrase is, Paul; but how long will you continue -in that state? and when the first force of your passion is spent and -past, you will find yourself tied to a wife who, as you will not fail -to say to yourself--you don't think so now, but there is no doubt about -it--insisted on your marrying her."</p> - -<p>"I should not have been cad enough to think any such thing!" cried Paul.</p> - -<p>"You would always be too much of a gentleman to say it, I know," said -Daisy, "but you could not help thinking it; and the mere knowledge that -you thought it would distress me beyond measure. No, Paul, it would not -do; depend upon it, it would not do."</p> - -<p>"Do you mean to tell me, then," said Paul, in a trembling voice, "that -you have finally decided in this matter?"</p> - -<p>"I have."</p> - -<p>"And your decision is----"</p> - -<p>"That it will be better for us to say goodbye, and part as friends."</p> - -<p>"And you--you will not marry me, Daisy?"</p> - -<p>"Under the circumstances I cannot, Paul. What I might have done, had -the proposal been made at a different time and in a different way, I -cannot tell; but coming as it has, it is impossible."</p> - -<p>"And do you think I am weak enough not to see through all this?" -cried Paul furiously. "Do you think I am so slow of hearing or so -uninterested in what you say that I did not catch the words, 'even if -there were not other reasons,' when you first began to explain why you -could not accept my offer; and do you think it is not palpable to me at -once what those 'other reasons' are? You have been playing the false -during my absence; your woman's vanity is so great that, knowing me as -you do, being fully aware of the love, passion, call it what you will, -that I had for you, you couldn't even remain content with that during -the few weeks I was away, but must get some fresh admirer to minister -to it!"</p> - -<p>"Paul--Mr. Douglas!" cried Daisy.</p> - -<p>"I will speak--I will be heard! This is the last chance I shall have, -and I will avail myself of it. You have wrecked my life and destroyed -all my hopes, and yet you think that I am to make no protest against -all that you have done! All the time that I was away I was wearing you -in my heart, checking off with delight the death of each day which -brought nearer the hour of my return to you; and now I have returned to -find you sneer at those relations between us which made me so happy, -and bidding me be practical, rational; bidding me, in point of fact, -though not in words, abjure all my love and give you up contentedly, -see you go to someone else. It is too hard, it is too hard, Daisy! You -cannot force this upon me."</p> - -<p>He seized her hand and looked imploringly into her eyes.</p> - -<p>The girl made no attempt to withdraw her hand, it remained passively -within his; but his passionate manner met no response in her glance, -and the tones of her voice were calm and unbroken as she said:</p> - -<p>"I see now, more than ever, how right I was in my determination. I -accused you of being childish, and you have proved yourself so, far -more thoroughly than I had anticipated. Seeing the chance of your toy -being taken away from you, you consent to do what before you would -never have thought of, in order to secure it. You scold, and abuse, and -beg, and implore in the same breath: almost in the same sentence you -declare your love for me and insult me; a continuance of such a state -of things would be impossible. We had better shake hands and part."</p> - -<p>During this speech she had withdrawn her hand, but at the close she -offered it to him again.</p> - -<p>Paul Derinzy, however, drew himself up; for an instant he seemed as -though about to speak to her, but it was evident he doubted his power -of self-command, his eyes filled with tears, and his under-lip trembled -visibly. Then with a strong effort he recovered himself, took off his -hat, and making a formal bow, hurried away.</p> - -<p>"It would never have done," said Daisy, looking after him. Then, as she -started on her homeward walk, she said, "It would have been neither -one thing nor the other; a kind of genteel poverty. Unrecognised by -his relations, he would soon have sickened of that kind of life, and -I should have been left to my own devices, to mope and pine at home -or amuse myself abroad; in either case, a very undesirable mode of -life. My vanity Paul talked about, that could not live without another -admirer! Poor fellow, he wasn't right there. It wasn't vanity; it was -a craving for luxury and position that first led me to listen to this -man. I have to give him my answer by the end of the week. I don't think -there is much doubt as to what it will be."</p> - -<p>A loud cry interrupted her thoughts just at this moment, and looking -up, she saw a carriage, drawn by a pair of splendid horses, turning -into the street that she was about to cross. The coachman and footman -sitting on the box called out to warn her of her danger, and as she -sprang back, they looked at her and laughed insolently. A woman, -handsome and young, and splendidly dressed in sables, lay back in the -barouche, and looked at the girl, who was covered with a mud-shower -whirling from the wheels, with a glance half of pity, half of contempt.</p> - -<p>Daisy's face was ablaze in an instant.</p> - -<p>"I have been a poverty-stricken drudge long enough," she said. "Now I -will ride in my own carriage, and stop all chance of insults such as -these."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_24" href="#div1Ref_24">CHAPTER XXIV.</a></h4> -<h5>GEORGE'S DETERMINATION.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>Paul Derinzy's was not the only perturbed spirit in the Principal -Registrar's room of the Stannaries Office. To his own extreme -astonishment, George Wainwright found that his equable spirits and calm -philosophic temperament had entirely deserted him, and that he had -become silent, moody, and, he was afraid, sometimes irritable. He knew -perfectly the cause of this change, and did not attempt to disguise -it from himself. He knew that he was suffering from that malady which -sooner or later attacks us all, and which, like many other maladies, is -more safely got over and disposed of when it comes upon us in youth. -That period had passed with George Wainwright. He shook his head rather -grimly as he surveyed in the glass the brown crisp hair, already -beginning to be sprinkled with gray, and the lines round the mouth and -eyes, which seemed to have increased at such a confoundedly quick rate -lately; and he did not attempt to fight with the malady. He seemed to -confess that he could make no head against it, and that his best plan -was to succumb to its force, and let it do with him as it would.</p> - -<p>"It has come to me somewhat late in life, and I suppose it is the -worse on that account," said honest old George to himself; "but I see -plainly there is no use in attempting to resist it, and that mine may -be looked upon as a settled case. Strange, too, how it has all come -about that my going down into Devonshire to rescue Paul from a scrape -should have been the cause of my falling into one myself, and into a -far more helpless one than that out of which he wanted my help. He has, -at all events, the resources of hope. Time may soften the parental -anger; and even if it does not, he can afford to set it at defiance, so -far as Annette is concerned; while as for Daisy, as he calls her, if -he chooses to ignore conventionality, and what the world will think, -and Mrs. Grundy will say--and it doesn't seem to me to be a very hard -task to do that, though harder perhaps for a dashing young fellow like -him than a middle-aged hermit like myself--he may marry the girl, and, -like the people in the story-books, live happy ever after. But my -look-out is very different. I have examined mine own heart. God knows, -with as much strict search as I could bring to bear upon it, and I -feel that, so far as Annette is concerned, I am irretrievably---- And -I never thought I could love anyone at all in this kind of way. I am -perfectly certain that I shall never love anyone else; and therein lies -the utter hopelessness of the case. I buoy myself up with the belief -that this darling child is, I may almost say, attached to me--that she -feels for me what in another person would be affection and attachment. -She says that I understand her better than anyone else; and that -she is happier in my society than in that of any other person. What -more could the wisest among us say to show their preference? And yet -the hopelessness, the utter hopelessness! That conversation with my -father has left no doubt on my mind that he, at all events, regards -her malady as incurable; and though the fact of my comprehending her -so thoroughly might possibly have some good effect upon her disease, -and at all events would tend to mitigate and soften her affliction, -any thought of marriage with her would be impossible. Even I myself, -who am regarded, I know, by these lads at the office as a kind of -social iconoclast, stand aghast at the idea, and at once acknowledge -my terror of Mrs. Grundy's remark. And yet it seems so hard to give -her up. My life, which was such a happy one, in its quiet, and what -might almost be called its solitude, seems to attend me no more. I am -restless and uneasy; I find no solace in my books or my work, and have -even neglected poor <i>maman</i>, so occupied are my thoughts with this one -subject. I cannot shake it off, I cannot rid myself of its influence. -It is ever present on my mind, and unless something happens to effect a -radical change in my state, I shall knock myself up and be ill. I feel -that coming upon me to a certainty. A good sharp travel is the only -thing which would be of any use: the remedy experienced by the man of -whom my father is so fond of talking--who found relief from the utter -prostration and misery which he underwent at the death of his only son -by the intense study of mathematics--would not help me one atom. I -cannot apply my mind--or what I call my mind--to anything just now. The -figure of this girl comes between me and the paper; her voice is always -ringing in my ears; her constrained eager regard, gradually melting -into quiet confidence, is ever before me: and, in fact, I begin to feel -myself a thorough specimen of an old fool hopelessly in love."</p> - -<p>George Wainwright judged no man harshly but himself. When he appeared -at the bar of his own tribunal, he conducted the cross-examination with -Spartan sternness; and this was the result--he saw the impossibility of -fighting against the passion which had obtained such mastery over him; -and he had almost made up his mind to seek safety in flight--to plead -ill-health, and to go away from England on some prolonged travel--when -an incident occurred which altered his determination.</p> - -<p>One morning he was sitting at his desk at the Stannaries Office, -mechanically opening his correspondence and arranging the papers -before him--as usual he had been the first to arrive, and none of his -colleagues were present--when Paul Derinzy entered the room. George -noticed with regret that his friend's appearance had altered very -much for the worse during the last few days. His face looked wan and -peaked, his usual sallow complexion had changed to a dead-white, and -the expression of his eyes was dull and lustreless. There never was -much power of work in Paul; but there had been next to nothing lately. -George had noticed him sitting at his desk, his eyes bent vacantly on -the paper before him, his thoughts evidently very far away. Since their -return, there has not been very much interchange of confidence between -them; but George knows perfectly well that matters are not going quite -straight in Paul's relations with Daisy, and that the lad is spiritless -and miserable in consequence. George Wainwright's great heart would at -any time have compassionated his friend's position; but under present -circumstances he was especially able to appreciate and sympathise with -the position.</p> - -<p>"At it as usual, George," said Paul, after the first curt salutation. -"How you have the heart to stick to this confounded grind in the way -you do, quite beats me. I begin to loathe the place, and the papers, -and all the infernal lot." And with an indignant sweep of his arm he -cleared a space in front of him, and resting his face on his hands, sat -contemplating his friend.</p> - -<p>"Begin to loathe, my dear Paul?" said George, with a slight smile; "I -thought you had progressed pretty well long ago in your hatred to the -state of life to which you have been called. Yes, I am grinding away as -usual, and indeed have put a little extra power on just now."</p> - -<p>"What!" said Paul, with a look of disgust at a large array of tape-tied -official documents neatly spread out before his friend; "are those -infernal papers heavier than ever?"</p> - -<p>"No, not that," said George; "there seems to be about the usual number -of them; but I want to make a clearance, and not to leave the slightest -arrear when I go away."</p> - -<p>"Go away!" repeated Paul. "What do you mean? You have only just -returned; you don't mean to say you are going away again?"</p> - -<p>"That is really delicious," said George; "you, who have had your full -six weeks' leave, turn round and fling my poor little fortnight in my -teeth. Yes, I actually purpose taking the remainder of my holiday; a -great crime, no doubt, but one which must be excused under special -circumstances. I am a little overworked, and not a little out of sorts; -and I find I must get away at once."</p> - -<p>"Not at once," said Paul, with a half-comic look at his friend; "I -don't think I would go away just now, if I were you."</p> - -<p>"Why not?" asked George.</p> - -<p>"Because you might miss seeing some people for whom you have, as I -believe, a great regard," said Paul, with the same quaint expression.</p> - -<p>"And they are----"</p> - -<p>"My people. If the fashionable chronicler took any notice of them, he -would probably report: 'We understand that Captain and Mrs. Derinzy, -accompanied by their niece Miss Annette Derinzy, will shortly arrive at -94, Queen Anne Street, Cavendish Square, from their marine residence, -The Tower, Beachborough, Dorsetshire.'"</p> - -<p>"You are chaffing, I suppose," said George, who had laid down his -paper, and was looking up eagerly.</p> - -<p>"Not the least in the world; I never was more serious in my life."</p> - -<p>"Do you mean to say that they are coming to town, then?"</p> - -<p>"I do, indeed. I had a letter from my mother this morning; in it she -says that she requires change; but by what I gather from the context, -I have a strong notion that the corruption of good manners by evil -communications has taken place. Which, being interpreted, means this: -that since you and I were down there, and fanned the governor's -reminiscences of London and his previous life into a flame, he has -grown so unbearable, that my mother has been forced to knock under -to him, and intends bringing him up, to let him have the slightest -suspicion of a fling."</p> - -<p>"Exactly," said George; "I daresay you are right."</p> - -<p>"And there is another view of the question, in which I fancy I am -right too. It has long struck me that my mother's reason for keeping -Annette in such strict seclusion, carrying her away to that ghastly -place down there, and never letting anyone see her, was that she might -be kept from all temptation in the shape of other young men, and grow -up solely and entirely for me, my behoof and purposes. It seems to me -tolerably plain now, that since our visit down there my mother sees -that this notable plan is knocked on the head; as there is no chance -of my marrying my cousin, the necessity for keeping her in seclusion -no longer exists; and therefore she is to be brought to London, and -allowed, to a certain extent, to mix in society; and I think I know -someone, old man," continued Paul, looking with a kindly smile towards -his friend, "who will not be displeased at that result, however it may -have been brought about."</p> - -<p>He was surprised to see George Wainwright turn suddenly pale, and to -mark the tremulous tones of voice, as he said:</p> - -<p>"You are a good fellow, Paul, and my own dear friend, to whom I can -talk with all perfect frankness and honesty. I have never mentioned -this matter to you before, never offered you my confidence on the -subject, although I guessed from your manner once or twice, while down -at The Tower, that you had some idea of my attachment to your cousin. -I am sure I need not tell you, who know me so well, that, so long as -there was the remotest chance of any alliance between you and her, -even though it had been what, in the jargon of the world, is called a -marriage of convenience, and not one in which on either side affection -is supposed to have a part, I should never have dreamed of interposing -any obstacle, or of even allowing myself to entertain any strong -feeling towards her. I say that boldly now, for I think at that time I -could have exercised sufficient self-restraint, had there been occasion -for it, though now, God knows, my affection for her is quite beyond my -control."</p> - -<p>He paused for a moment, and Paul took advantage of the opportunity -to rise from his seat, and walking round the desk, to lay his hand -affectionately on his friend's broad shoulders.</p> - -<p>"Of course, I know that, old man; of course, I know that you are the -soul of honour and truth, and that you would have eaten your heart -quietly, and never said a word. But there is no occasion for all that -now, thank Heaven! I am in a nice mess with my business; but there's no -reason why you shouldn't be happy."</p> - -<p>"My dear Paul, any future for me and Annette together is impossible."</p> - -<p>"What utter rubbish! I am perfectly confident of my own power of -squaring my mother, and bringing her to see the thing in a proper -light, now that she knows that there is no chance with me; and the -governor's sure to follow as a matter of course; or supposing they -remained obstinate, and refuse to give their consent, Annette loses -her fortune, that's all. You've got quite enough to keep her in amply -sufficient style; and for the matter of that, some time or other the -money must come to me, and you and she should have as much of it as -you liked--all of it, if you wanted it. Money's no good to me, poor -miserable beggar that I am."</p> - -<p>"It is not a question of money, Paul, or of Mrs. Derinzy's consent; -there's something very far worse behind--something which I discovered -when we were down at Beachborough together, and which I have hitherto -kept back from you, partly because the revelation of it could do no -good, and partly because I had a certain delicacy in telling you -of what must, I fear, deprive certain persons of a portion of the -estimation in which they have hitherto held me."</p> - -<p>"Go on," said Paul quickly; "I haven't the least idea of what you mean."</p> - -<p>"There was another reason," said George, "for keeping your cousin -secluded in the country besides that which you have named. I had some -faint glimmering of it when I first arrived at The Tower, and I heard -of your mother's illness and my father's periodical visits. Before I -left, I took means to verify my suspicions; and since I returned to -town, I have had an opportunity of confirming them. Beyond question or -doubt, your cousin Annette is the victim of a mental disorder. Paul, -she is--that I, above all men, should have to tell you!--she is mad!"</p> - -<p>"Good God!" cried Paul Derinzy, starting to his feet, "you are mad -yourself to talk so!--Whose authority have you for this statement?"</p> - -<p>"The best of all," said George Wainwright, sadly. "The authority of the -physician in attendance upon her--the authority is my own father. This -comes to supplement my own experience and my own observation. There is -no doubt about it, Paul; would to God there was!"</p> - -<p>"And my mother--she must have known all this--she could not possibly -have been ignorant of it!" cried Paul.</p> - -<p>George Wainwright was silent.</p> - -<p>"And she would have let me marry Annette without any revelation of the -mystery, for the sake of that wretched money; she would have embittered -my future, and rendered the rest of my life hopeless and miserable. -What a shameful conspiracy! What a base and wicked plot!"</p> - -<p>"Hush, Paul!" said George Wainwright, laying his hand on his arm; -"recollect of whom you are speaking."</p> - -<p>"It is that that makes it all the worse," cried Paul. "To think that -she, my mother, should have been so besotted by the hope of greed as to -shut her eyes to all the misery which she was heaping up in store for -me. It is too horrible to think of. What a narrow chance I had! What a -providential escape!"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said George, in a low voice, "you have escaped."</p> - -<p>There was something in his friend's tone which touched Paul's heart at -once.</p> - -<p>"What a selfish brute I am," he cried, "to have been thinking of myself -and to have forgotten you! How much worse it is for you than for me! -My dear George, I never cared for Annette, and set my affections -elsewhere; so that beyond the pity which I naturally feel for her, and -the shock which I have experienced in learning that my mother could -have been so short-sighted and so culpable, there is nothing to touch -me in the matter. But you--you loved her for herself; you won her; for -I never saw her take to or be interested in anyone so much before; and -now you have to give her up."</p> - -<p>George's face was buried in his hands. He groaned heavily, but he said -nothing.</p> - -<p>"Is there no hope?" asked Paul; "no hope of any cure? Is she -irrecoverably insane?"</p> - -<p>"My father seems to say so," said George, looking up. "I had a long -interview with him the other day; told him the whole story, and -confided to him all my feelings. He was kindness itself; but he gave me -no hope."</p> - -<p>"But, good heavens, it seems so wonderful! Here one sees her walking -about, and talking in an ordinary manner, and yet you tell me that she -is mad!"</p> - -<p>"We only have seen her at her best times, my dear Paul. No one has seen -her at her worst, except perhaps my father and Mrs. Stothard. These -intermittent fits are, they tell me, a very bad sign. The chance were -better, if the illness were more constant and protracted."</p> - -<p>"It is too horrible!" cried Paul again. "George, what will you do?"</p> - -<p>"Bear it, my boy," said his friend; "bear it as I have done things -before now, and get on as best I can. I thought of going away, to -endeavour in change by the excitement of travel to get rid of the -thoughts which are now constantly occupying my mind, and I hope to -return in a healthier state. But what you have just told me has altered -my plan. The notion of seeing her once again, and speedily, has taken -possession of me, and I confess I am not strong enough to fight against -it. When do they come up to town?"</p> - -<p>"At once, I believe. My mother says the governor's temper is -unbearable, and that her only hope of any peace and comfort lies in -bringing him to London. You will remain to see them?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. As I said before, I cannot resist the temptation."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps there may be hope even yet," said Paul. "Every one noticed how -much better she was in health and spirits when in your society."</p> - -<p>"I fear that improvement will not be permanent," said George, shaking -his head sadly. "There was but one chance, and we seem to have lost -even that."</p> - -<p>"What was it?" asked Paul.</p> - -<p>"Well, there was a German doctor named Hildebrand, who lived at -Dorrendorf, who achieved a wonderful reputation for his treatment in -cases of mania. Even my father--who had had long disputations and -polemical controversies with him, carried on in the medical journals of -Berlin and London--allowed that he had performed some wonderful cures, -although the means by which the end was arrived at were, he professed -to consider, unprofessional and undignified."</p> - -<p>"Well, why don't we get this old fellow to come over and see Annette -at once? Dr. Wainwright wouldn't stand upon ceremony now that he knows -the real state of the case; and money's no object, you know, George; we -could stand any amount among us, if we could only get poor Annette put -right."</p> - -<p>"You may be sure I have thought of that," said George. "I spoke to my -father about it, and know he would be delighted to aid in any way in -getting old Hildebrand's advice, even though the method to be employed -should be contrary to his ideas. But the old man has retired from -practice for some time, and nothing can be heard of him. I have sent -to some of my correspondents in Germany; but from the answers I have -received, I am led to believe that he is dead."</p> - -<p>"That is bad news, indeed," said Paul. "The intelligence about poor -Annette has come upon me so suddenly, that I seem scarcely able to -comprehend it."</p> - -<p>"Your never having seen her under one of these attacks, and having only -a recollection of her as being always bright and cheerful, would tend -to prevent the realisation," said George. "I too always strive to think -of her under her most cheerful aspect. God knows I would not willingly -see her under any other."</p> - -<p>"It is a deuced bad look-out, there's no denying," said Paul; then -added gloomily, "everything seems to be going to the bad just now."</p> - -<p>"I have been so wrapped-up in my own troubles that I have forgotten -yours, Paul," said George. "Tell me, how are matters getting on between -you and your young friend? Not very brilliantly, I fear, by your tone."</p> - -<p>"Brilliantly! No, anything but that. Infernal, I should say," said -Paul. "I can't make her out; she seems perfectly changed since my -absence from London. I am sure something must have happened; but I -don't know what it is."</p> - -<p>"You recollect my hint to you at Beachborough about Theseus and -Ariadne? You burst out into a rage then; what do you think now?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know what to think," said Paul, "though it looks something -like it, I am bound to confess."</p> - -<p>"Then why don't you be a man, and break off the whole business at once?"</p> - -<p>"Now, I like that," said Paul; "I really like that suggestion from a -man who has been talking as you have been talking to me. Do you think -you could?"</p> - -<p>"No, I am sure I could not," said George. "It is the old story: giving -advice is the easiest thing in the world; following it the most -difficult. I----"</p> - -<p>"Hullo! here's Billy."</p> - -<p>It was indeed Mr. Dunlop, who entered the room at the moment, and stood -in the doorway regarding the two friends, who were leaning over the -desk together, with a comical aspect.</p> - -<p>"A very pretty picture indeed," said Mr. Dunlop. "'The Misers,' by -Rembrandt, I think, or some other elderly parties of an obscure age. -Whence this thusness? Do I intrude? If so, I am perfectly ready to -withdraw. No one can ever say that W.D. forced himself into his office -at times when his presence was not required there."</p> - -<p>"Come in, and don't be an idiot, Billy," said Paul. "George and I were -just talking over some private matters; but we have finished now."</p> - -<p>"Private matters!" said Mr. Dunlop. "And by the look of you they must -have been what the dramatist calls of 'serious import.' Confide in me. -Come, rest on this bosom, my own stricken Deer-inzy. William is ready -to give you advice, assistance, anything, indeed--except money. Of -that latter article he is generally scarce; and Mr. Michael O'Dwyer -has recently borrowed of him the attenuated remains of his quarterly -stipend."</p> - -<p>"No, Billy; thanks all the same; I don't think you can be of much use -to either of us just now," said George, with a smile. "If you really -are serious in what you said just now about money, you can have what -you want from me."</p> - -<p>"Thanks, generous stranger," said Billy. "You are like the rich uncle, -who, from his purse containing notes to exactly double the amount--a -favourite character in dramatic fiction, but one whom I have never yet -had the pleasure of meeting in private life. No, I shall get on very -well until the Chancellor of the Exchequer shells out."</p> - -<p>And then Mr. Courtney came in, followed shortly by one or two other -men, and the conversation dropped.</p> - -<p>Paul Derinzy had rightly divined the reason of his mother's -determination to come to London for a time. The Captain's -long-conceived disgust at the dulness of Beachborough had wrought him -into such a state of insubordination, that even his wife's authority -was no longer sufficient for his control. Mrs. Derinzy saw plainly -that some immediate steps must be taken; the Captain must go to London -to see his old friends and his old haunts, and to enjoy himself once -more after his former fashion. It would be unadvisable to let him go -alone; and as Mrs. Derinzy had the good sense to see that her favourite -project regarding the marriage of Paul and Annette was finally knocked -on the head, there was no longer so much reason for keeping the girl -in the seclusion of the country; and the head of the family therefore -determined that they should all proceed to London together.</p> - -<p>Principally for George's sake, for he had not much care of his own in -the matter, Paul made no opposition to the proposed arrangement. He -had perfectly made up his mind that the presence of his family in town -should make no alteration in his own manner of life; he would not be -bound to them in any way, and would consider himself just as free as he -was previously to their arrival. George would have an opportunity of -seeing Annette, which would be good gained for him, poor old fellow; -and as for himself, he seemed to care little about what became of him; -his every thought was centred and bound up in Daisy. If she treated him -well, he should be thoroughly happy; if she threw him over, as indeed -it looked somewhat likely she would, well, he should go to the bad at -once, and there would be an end of it.</p> - - -<p>In due course of time the family arrived at the furnished house which -had been taken for them in Queen Anne Street, and Paul and George went -together to call there. The Captain was not at home; he had already -begun to taste the sweets of liberty; had gone to the club, of which -he still remained a supernumerary member; had already accepted several -dinner engagements; was proposing to himself pleasure parties <i>galore</i> -But they found Mrs. Derinzy, and after a short interview with her, -Annette entered the room. She seemed already to have benefited by the -change. Both George and Paul thought her looking unusually pretty and -cheerful, and the blush which mounted to her cheeks when she saw and -recognised the former, was as gratifying to him who had caused it, as -it was astonishing to Mrs. Derinzy. Before they took their leave, the -young men had arranged to dine there two days hence, when Mrs. Derinzy -said the Captain should be present, and she would allow him to bring -some of his old friends to meet them.</p> - -<p>George, however, was not destined to be one of the guests at that -dinner. When Paul arrived at the office the next morning, he found a -note from his friend, couched in these terms:</p> - - -<p>"DEAR P.,--Rather an odd thing occurred last night. Some men were -down here at my den, and among them Wraxall, who has just returned -from a long tour on the Continent. He brought some sketch-books, and -in glancing over them I was much struck with the extraordinary head -of an old man. On my pointing it out to Wraxall, he told me it was -drawn from life, and was indeed a portrait of an old German named -Hildebrand. He had been celebrated as a 'mad doctor' in his day, and -he was now resident at Mayence. Wraxall had seen him only ten days -ago. Recollecting our last conversation when Hildebrand's name was -mentioned, you will not be surprised to hear that I leave by this -morning's tidal train for Brussels and the Rhine.</p> - -<p>"Make my excuses to the Chief, and tell him I am taking the remainder -of my leave. You shall hear, of course, as soon as I have anything to -say. God bless you, my dear boy. I cannot help feeling that there is -yet a gleam of hope.</p> - -<p style="text-indent:50%">"Yours ever,</p> -<p style="text-indent:55%">"G.W."</p> - - -<p>"A gleam of hope," said Paul, as he finished the perusal of this note. -"I hope so, indeed, my dear old man; but it is but a gleam, after all."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_25" href="#div1Ref_25">CHAPTER XXV.</a></h4> -<h5>WARNED.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>Paul Derinzy had indeed little reason to be satisfied with the -treatment which he was experiencing at Daisy's hands; for though there -had been nothing approaching to a final rupture between them, the -new views of life which had opened upon her since her acquaintance -with Colonel Orpington had afforded her a vast amount of matter for -reflection. Of course the idea of the position which the Colonel had -offered to her was by no means new to the girl's mind. Unhappily, too, -the existence of such a position is unknown to a very small minority -of innocents; and according to the present constitution of society, -such a status is, it is to be feared, regarded by young women in -Daisy's walk of life as one rather to be envied than shunned. But up to -this time--perhaps partly owing to the severe training which she had -received, which had had the effect of making her regard propriety as a -sound commercial investment rather than as a duty to her conscience, -partly to a real affection which she felt for Paul--she had resolutely -refused to entertain any such ideas.</p> - -<p>What had changed her? Not any diminution in the affection between -her and her lover--not on his part, at least; for no man who did not -worship her with all the depth of passion possible in his nature -could have suffered so acutely as he did. Had she ceased to love him? -No, she thought not; she could scarcely tell--the position was so -unsatisfactory; that was all she could say to herself in thinking the -matter over. She had not the least doubt that Paul would willingly make -her such an offer as that which she had received from the Colonel; but -then their circumstances were so different. Though Paul was undoubtedly -a gentleman well connected, he was decidedly not rich, she knew that, -or he would never have been content to remain in this office which he -talked about; and to be rich, free from care, to have command of money -and servants and dresses and carriages, that was what her mind was -bent on just now. Then Paul would marry her too if she were to press -it, she knew that; but what would be the benefit by their marriage? -He would gain no more money; she would gain merely the name of a -position. She would not be received into his society; and he, finding -she was ignored, would either break with his own people and cleave to -her, when he would be sulky and bored, always regarding her as the bar -to his assumption of his proper status in society; or would give her -up, and lead his life among his friends, merely treating her as his -housekeeper, and his home as a place to return to when there was no -other house to visit.</p> - -<p>It would be dull and dreary either way with Paul, the latter condition -worse than the former, for then she would be tied, and the bonds would -be more difficult to break. And yet she could not bring herself to an -open rupture with her lover. He was so kind, so attentive, so delicate, -and above all, so passionately devoted to her. It must come, she -thought; it would come some time or other, but not just yet. The evil -day should be delayed as long as possible. And she had given no answer -to Colonel Orpington. She did not mind about that; he was a man of the -world, and would not expect one immediately. He would ascribe her delay -either to modesty or calculation; under the sway of which of the two he -might imagine her to be deliberating was quite indifferent to her.</p> - -<p>To only one out of the three men who proposed to pay her their -addresses had she conveyed her decision: that one was John Merton. -There would be no more trouble with him, she thought. He could not -misunderstand her words, and, above all, her manner, during that -conversation in the street on her way to the chambers in the Temple. -She knew he had not misunderstood it by the abrupt way in which he had -taken his departure. Daisy felt a mild kind of pain at having hurt John -Merton's feelings, as the details of that interview recurred to her. -But, after all, it was better at an end. It was perfectly impossible -that she could have led the life which he offered her. In company -with him it would have been very respectable and very dull: in her -then state of mind, Daisy considered that respectability and dulness -generally went together. There would have been a bare sufficiency to -live upon at first, and they would have had to have been supported by -the hope of thriving on the inevitable progress of honesty, industry, -and that kind of twaddle, which she had heard enunciated from pulpits, -and seen set forth in the pages of cheap popular periodicals, in which, -contrary to her experience of the world, the virtuous people got on -wonderfully, besides being preternaturally clean in the woodcuts, while -those who drank beer, and abstained from Sunday-afternoon service, were -necessarily dirty and poverty-stricken.</p> - -<p>It was not in her lodgings in South Molton Street that Daisy sat -cogitating over these eventful circumstances, and deliberating as to -her future. Madame Clarisse had gone away on business to Paris, and -before she left she had requested her assistant to instal herself in -the private rooms of the establishment in George Street.</p> - -<p>"You will be better there, Fanfan, my child, than in the <i>mansarde</i> -where you have been so long. There are certain people--you know who I -mean; I need not mention their names--who, I think, would particularly -wish it, and it is as well for us to oblige them, particularly when at -the same time we do a good thing for ourselves; besides, it is good -for the business that I should leave you in charge of it. I will not -disguise from you, my dear child, that I do not think of continuing in -commerce very much longer. I have had enough of it myself; and though -I thought there might be a chance of my giving it up to someone who -would comprehend the delicate nuances of the details with which I have -surrounded it, and the care and trouble which I have expended upon -it, it shall not go to Augustine, or to any of those others who have -copied me and my ways over here in this <i>pays barbare</i>. I shall find -someone in Paris who would like to come and <i>exploiter</i> her youth and -her talent, and also, my faith! her money, amongst the <i>jeunes meess</i> -and the robust dames of England; and as for myself, when that is done, -Fanfan, I shall be free, and then <i>vogue la galčre</i>. Perhaps in those -days to come, Fanfan, you will not mind seeing an old friend, who will -not be so old but she will understand the life, and how to lead it." -And here Madame Clarisse kissed her fingers and waved them in the air -with an eminently-suggestive French gesture. "And you will give her -a seat in your carriage, and tell her of all the conquests you are -making."</p> - -<p>And then Madame Clarisse gave Daisy's ear a little pinch, and laughed -shrilly, and betook herself to the cold fowl and half bottle of very -excellent Bordeaux which constituted her luncheon.</p> - -<p>So Madame Clarisse went to Paris, and Daisy was installed in her place. -And it was in the cosy little low-ceilinged room that she was seated, -gazing at, but certainly not seeing, the furniture in red velvet, the -engravings, the nicknacks, and the statuettes by Danton, that all these -reflections on the past, and speculations upon the future, passed -through her mind.</p> - -<p>She had had a busy day, and was feeling rather fatigued, and thought -she might refresh herself with a nap before she went through the -business accounts and wrote to Madame a statement of what had occurred, -as was her regular nightly practice, when a knock came to the door, and -the shiny-faced page, entering quickly, announced that a gentleman was -below and wished to see her.</p> - -<p>"He has grown impatient," Daisy thought, "and is anxious for his -answer. I scarcely expected that of him. However, I suppose it is -rather a compliment than otherwise. He must have heard from Madame that -I was here. You can show the gentleman up, James."</p> - -<p>When the page had gone, Daisy ran into the back room and passed a brush -over her hair, and just gave her face one touch with the powder puff -which Madame Clarisse had left behind on her toilet-table, and returned -into the sitting-room to confront, not Colonel Orpington, as she had -expected, but John Merton.</p> - -<p>Daisy started, and did not attempt to conceal her displeasure.</p> - -<p>"I have ventured once again to call upon you, Miss Stafford," said -John; "but I had better commence by saying that this time I have not -come on my own business."</p> - -<p>"That at all events is good hearing, Mr. Merton," said Daisy, coldly.</p> - -<p>"Exactly," said John. "I expected you to speak of it in that way. You -may depend upon it you will never be further troubled, so far as I am -concerned."</p> - -<p>"To what, then, do I owe this----"</p> - -<p>"Intrusion, you were going to say," interrupted he. "It is an -intrusion, I suppose, so far as it is unasked and decidedly unwelcome."</p> - -<p>"You speak bluntly, Mr. Merton."</p> - -<p>"I speak strongly because I feel strongly, Miss Stafford."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps you will be good enough to speak intelligibly at the same -time," said Daisy. "You have enlarged upon what you have been pleased -to call your unwelcome intrusion; but you have not explained the reason -of it."</p> - -<p>"You are right," said John. "I will proceed to do so at once. I am -afraid I shall be a little lengthy, but that is unavoidable."</p> - -<p>Daisy bowed, and tapped her foot impatiently. She felt that there was -something horribly irritating in the calmness of this man's manner.</p> - -<p>"I must begin at the beginning," said John, "and in doing so I must -allude to matters which I have just promised should not again be -mentioned by me. However, it is a necessity, and I will touch upon them -as lightly as possible. You know that, ever since I first made your -acquaintance through my sister, I took the greatest interest in you, -and ended by being hopelessly in love with you."</p> - -<p>Daisy bowed very coldly.</p> - -<p>"I daresay it was very ridiculous, and I know you consider it highly -presumptuous, though I am bound to confess I do not see any reason why -I should have not felt an honest love for you, and should not have -mentioned it to you. We are both members of the same class in society; -and if it suited them in other ways, there was no reason why the -milliner's first hand and the draper's assistant should not have been -married."</p> - -<p>He said these last words quietly; but there was a certain amount of -bitterness in his tone, and Daisy flushed angrily as she heard them. -She was about to speak, but refrained, and merely motioned him to -proceed.</p> - -<p>"However, that could not be," said John Merton in continuance. "The -right of acceptance or rejection remained entirely with you, and you -decided upon the latter."</p> - -<p>He paused for a moment, and then said in a lower tone:</p> - -<p>"If I had not been the besotted fool that I am, I should have accepted -my dismissal as it was given--coolly, definitely, and without the -slightest remorse; but, unfortunately, I am weak enough not to be -able to take things in this way. I had too much at stake--my future -happiness was too deeply involved--to permit of my bowing to my fate, -and endeavouring to forget what had been the one sole excitement of -many months in some new study or pursuit."</p> - -<p>He paused again, as though expecting her to speak. But she was silent, -and he continued:</p> - -<p>"My sister, who was the cause of our first introduction, has been since -the medium through which I have ascertained all my information about -you. She was very chatty at first, and never was tired of talking to -me of what you did and said, and where you went, and enlarging on the -dulness of the life which you pursued. She little thought, I imagine, -what intense interest I took in her voluble prattle. She thought me too -much immersed in my own affairs to take any real heed of what she was -saying, and imagined that I merely induced her to go on in order to -distract my mind from graver subjects, and to fill up what would have -been the tedium of my enforced leisure. It was not until the occasion -of the little tea-party at that young lady's---- I see you smile; but -from me the appellation is correct."</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon, I did not smile, Mr. Merton," said Daisy, almost -savagely; "I am listening to you at your request. I am in no smiling -humour; and I must beg you to make this interview as brief as possible."</p> - -<p>"It was on the occasion of the tea-party at Miss Manby's then," -continued John Merton, "that I think Bella saw for the first time that -all my queries about you had been put with deliberate intention, and -had a definite aim. Previously to that she had once or twice joked me -in her light way about my admiration of you, but nothing more; but you -may recollect--I do perfectly--that on that night she took delight in -teasing me about that portrait which Mr. Kammerer had taken of you, and -about the man--I beg your pardon, the gentleman--who came to the place -and insisted upon buying it."</p> - -<p>John stopped here, and looked at her so pointedly that Daisy could not -restrain the rising blush in her cheek. She said quietly:</p> - -<p>"I do recollect it perfectly."</p> - -<p>"Of course you do; no woman ever forgets any occasion on which she sees -a man piqued or jealous at her preference of another."</p> - -<p>"There was no question of preference in the matter," said Daisy. "I -knew nothing about the gentleman who wished to purchase the portrait; -I had only seen him once; and there can be no great crime, even in the -category of sins proscribed by the severe doctrine which I presume you -hold, and which, at all events, you teach, in a girl's finding pleasure -at admiration bestowed upon her."</p> - -<p>"I must get back to my facts," said John Merton, quietly. "I suppose -I showed that I was annoyed that night, and from my annoyance Bella -judged that I was in earnest about you. We don't meet very often, and -we have very little in common, for she is younger than I am, and does -not take quite the same view of the world that I do--she has not seen -so much of it, poor girl; and for a long time you were not mentioned -between us. During all the time that I was in suspense, before I had -made up my mind to express my feelings to you, and ask you to be my -wife, and after that in the short period before I met you walking in -the street, we seemed mutually to avoid any mention of your name. It -seemed to me too sacred to be bandied about with such jests and light -talk as Bella would probably have used concerning it; and she seemed to -understand my feeling and to humour it. At all events, during that time -nothing was said about you; but since then--since I heard from your own -lips what was equivalent to my dismissal--we have frequently reverted -to the theme. You will understand, please, that in mentioning what I -am going to tell you, I am by no means endeavouring to harrow your -feelings, or to work upon your compassion; it simply comes in as part -of what I have to say; and I must say it."</p> - -<p>John might have spared himself this digression, for Daisy was in -no melting mood, and sat listening, half-sternly contemptuous, -half-savagely irate. All the notice she took of these remarks was to -give a very slight bow.</p> - -<p>"I was completely upset by your decision," John continued; "and though -I ought never to have expected anything else, that came so suddenly -upon me, the pleasing path in dreamland was so abruptly ended, the -visions which I had indulged were so ruthlessly chased away----"</p> - -<p>Here Daisy tapped her foot very impatiently. John started, and said, "I -beg your pardon," so comically, that Daisy could scarcely refrain from -smiling.</p> - -<p>"I mean, it was all over so quickly that I took it to heart like a -fool, and became moping and low. I sent for Bella then, and got her -to come and see me constantly in the evening, when our work for the -day was over; and I began again to talk to her about you, not telling -her anything about what had happened, but talking just as I used in -the old days, only a little more passionately perhaps; for my usual -quiet nature was aroused at the thought of the way in which you had -treated me, and at the idea of what might have been--what might be yet, -I suppose I thought to myself; for one night I told Bella all about -my coming to you in South Molton Street, the declaration that I made, -and the way in which you received it. Then I told her of that horrible -interview, when we met in the street, and when you treated me as though -I had been a servant. She was naturally angry about this, and talked -the usual stuff which people do in such cases, advising me not to think -of you any more; that you could not appreciate my worth; that there -were plenty of other women who--you know the style of condolence on -such occasions. I seemed to agree with her; and I suppose I actually -did so for some little time; but then the what-might-be feeling took -possession of me, and I began idiotically to buoy myself up with a -hope that you might have spoken hurriedly and without thought, that I -might have been proud and hasty; and, in fact, that there might yet be -a chance of future happiness for me. Bella must have discovered this -almost as soon as I felt it; for she seemed to discourage my questions -about you, and my evident inclination to forget what had passed, and -to endeavour to renew my acquaintance with you. She was very quiet and -kind at first--she was kind throughout, I suppose I ought to say; but -when she found that my feverish longing to see you again was coming -to a height, that I was bent upon imploring you to reconsider your -determination, she spoke openly to me, and told me what I would sooner -have died than have heard."</p> - -<p>Daisy looked up quickly and angrily at him.</p> - -<p>"And what," she said scornfully, "may this wonderful communication have -been?"</p> - -<p>"I suppose you do not know Bella's share in all that has taken place, -or you would not ask the question," said John.</p> - -<p>"I am not aware that Bella Merton has any share in anything that -concerns me," said Daisy. "It is useless speaking any further in -riddles. You promised you would speak out; hitherto you have done so, -and you must continue to the end."</p> - -<p>"I will," said John Merton; "I came to do it, and I will carry it -through at whatever pain it may be for me to speak, for you to hear. My -sister Bella, then, has informed me that a man--one of those whom you -call gentlemen, but from whom I withhold the name--has ventured to make -dishonourable proposals to you; in plain terms, to ask you to live with -him as his mistress."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Merton!" cried Daisy, in a wild access of rage, "how dare----"</p> - -<p>"Pardon me," said John, raising his hand; "we decided, if you -recollect, that we should go through this matter to the end. You will -not deny the accusation, I know, for you are too proud to stoop to -any such mean subterfuge; and even if you did, I could not believe -you, for I have the confession of one whom this scoundrel has made an -accomplice. You see it is not entirely on your account that I have to -bring this man to book, Miss Stafford," said John, who had turned very -white, and whose hands were clenching nervously. "He has debased my -sister into becoming a participator of his wretched work, a tool to -help him to his miserable end. All the time that Bella was intimate -with you, she was, unknown to you, fetching and carrying between you -and this man, feeding your vanity with accounts of his admiration, -giving him information as to your movements, playing the wretched part -of half go-between, half spy."</p> - -<p>"You know that I knew nothing of this!" Daisy broke out.</p> - -<p>"Perfectly," said John Merton; "but that only makes it the worse for -her. However, it is not of her I came to speak, but of you."</p> - -<p>"I think you may spare yourself the trouble," said Daisy, looking -steadily at him; "you have no position giving you the slightest claim -to interfere with me or my actions, and in forming conjectures, in -coming to conclusions about my future movements, you have already taken -a most unwarrantable liberty. I desire that you say no more, and leave -me at once."</p> - -<p>"Ah, for God's sake, no!" cried John Merton, in a tone so shrill and -startling that it went to Daisy's heart--"Ah, for God's sake, no! Give -up this outside crust of stoicism and conventionality, and let me plead -to the woman that you really are. Have you for an instant thought of -what you are doing? I know that you have temporised without giving any -answer. Bella told me that; but have you thought how even this delay -may compromise you? Are you, so lovely as you are, so bright and clever -and graceful, going to sacrifice your whole life, to place all those -charms at the mercy of a man who will use them while he chooses, and -fling them away when he is tired? I don't want to preach; I only want -to put matters plainly before you. Suppose you consent to this infernal -proposal which has been made to you. The man is old; he has not even -the excuse of a mad passion, which is deaf to the calls of conscience, -or even to the common feelings of humanity. He has not that excuse; he -is old, and jaded, and fickle; the life which he is leading requires -constantly new excitement; and after a little time your novelty will -have passed away, and you will be thrown aside to shift for yourself. -Could your high spirit brook that? Could you bear to see yourself -pointed at as deserted, or, worse than all, find yourself compelled to -become subject to some venal bargain--Oh God, it is too horrible to -think of!"</p> - -<p>"I will not bear this from anyone; certainly not from you. What right -have you to interfere?"</p> - -<p>"What right have I to interfere! The right of having loved you with -all my whole soul and strength; the right of one whose future has been -bittered by your refusal to share it with him. I don't pine," he cried, -"about a broken heart; I can bear to contemplate the lonely life which -I shall have to lead; I could bear"--and the words here came very -slowly through his set teeth--"to see you happily married to a man who -appreciated and loved you, as I should have delighted in doing; but -I will not stand patiently by to see the woman I have loved held up -to the world's scorn, or deliberately dragged down to the depths of -infamy."</p> - -<p>He spoke so strongly and so earnestly, his rude eloquence came -evidently from the depths of his troubled heart, that even Daisy's -stubborn pride seemed a little touched.</p> - -<p>"I know you mean this kindly towards me, Mr. Merton," she said, in -a low voice; "and I fear I have shown myself scarcely sufficiently -grateful, or even civil, to you; but, believe me, I appreciate your -motives, and I thank you for coming here. Now you must go."</p> - -<p>"You will not send me away without assurance that this cruel thing -shall not be; that you will say No to this horrible proposal, and never -give it another moment's thought. Ah, do not think I am pleading for -myself; do not think I am cherishing any vain hope that, this once -put aside, I may come forward again and urge my suit. It is not so, -I swear. I have accepted my fate, and shall--well, shall struggle on -somehow, I daresay. It is for you, and you alone, that I am interested. -Let me go away with the assurance that you are saved. Ah, Fanny, it is -not much I ask you. Let me go away with that."</p> - -<p>"It would be easy for me to give you that assurance, and then to do as -I pleased," said Daisy; "but you have shown yourself so true a friend -that I will not deceive you."</p> - -<p>"And you will give me the assurance?"</p> - -<p>"No; I did not, I cannot, say that."</p> - -<p>"Then I will get it," cried John, "from Colonel Orpington."</p> - -<p>Daisy started. It was the first time the name had been mentioned during -the interview.</p> - -<p>"You see I know him, and know where to find him. I will make him -promise me to give up this pursuit."</p> - -<p>The tone in which he spoke had worked a wonderful and immediate change -in Daisy's feelings.</p> - -<p>"Make him!" she cried. "You will not find the gentleman of whom you -speak so easily forced to compliance with your desires."</p> - -<p>"I did not mean to force him," said John; "I----"</p> - -<p>"If it were not for the fear of compromising my name," said Daisy, -now thoroughly roused, her eyes flashing, and her lip trembling, "he -would hand you over to the police. We have had enough of this folly," -she said, stamping her foot; "and as it is impossible to get you to go -away, I must retire and leave you."</p> - -<p>As she spoke she rose from her seat, and giving him a very slight bow, -she passed into the bedroom, the door of which she closed behind her.</p> - -<p>John Merton waited for a moment, then turned on his heel, and silently -left the house.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_26" href="#div1Ref_26">CHAPTER XXVI.</a></h4> -<h5>AM RHEIN.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>George Wainwright found that early winter had already descended upon -Germany. When he arrived at Cologne the last tourist had long since -passed through that pleasant old city. The large hotels were shut up; -the <i>valets de place</i> and cathedral touters had melted away, only to -reappear with the advent of summer; all the vendors of the Eau had shut -up their shops, and disappeared to more lively places, to spend the -money which they had acquired during the season; and even in the second -and third rate hotels the large <i>salons</i> were closed, and but the -smaller apartments were kept open for the reception of such commercial -gentlemen as the exigences of business kept upon the road.</p> - -<p>This did not matter much to George Wainwright, who was as careless of -luxuries as most men, and who, as an old traveller, had comfortable -head-quarters on which he could depend in most leading cities in -Europe. It was at the Brusseler Hof that George put up when he was in -Cologne, and, no matter what the season, he was sure to find the cosy -little second-rate inn full of business, and to experience a hearty -welcome from stout old Schuhmacher the landlord.</p> - -<p>It was not so long since his last visit but that he was remembered; -and on his arrival, was placed close up at his old host's right hand -at the little <i>table d'hôte</i>, consisting then solely of the host's -family and a few neighbouring burghers, who habitually dined there -all the year round. There was a good deal of quiet solemn chaff at -the idea of an Englishman daring to put in an appearance on the Rhine -border between the months of October and May, and a certain amount of -ponderous solicitude expressed in many polysyllabic words was exhibited -as to the reason of his journey. But George took care to keep this to -himself, passing it off in the best way he could, and merely informing -his querists that he was going as far as Mainz.</p> - -<p>Then he heard that ice had fallen in the river, that the steam-boat -traffic was quite suspended, and that he would have to travel in the -<i>eilwagen</i>, which he learned to his cost on the morrow was a humorous -name for a wretched conveyance something like a <i>diligence</i>, without -an <i>intérieur</i> or a <i>banquette</i>, which crawled along at the rate of -between five and six miles an hour, and the company in which was -anything but desirable.</p> - -<p>George slept at Coblenz that night, and the next day made his way to -Mainz, where he at once proceeded to an old inn situate in one of the -back streets of the town, and bearing the sign Zum Karpfen, which was -the head-quarters of the artistic body who nightly held high jinks in -the <i>kneipe</i> there.</p> - -<p>By numerous members of this brotherhood--young men fantastically -dressed, with long hair and quaintly-cut beards, and pipes of every -kind and shape pendent from their mouths--George was received with very -great enthusiasm. Some of them had been his fellow-students at the -University; all of them had heard of him and his learning, and his love -for German songs and traditions and student-life. And high revelry was -held that night in honour of his arrival; and <i>ohms</i> of beer were voted -by acclamation and speedily drunk; and speeches were made, and songs -were sung, and George was kissed and embraced by full two-thirds of the -company present.</p> - -<p>The next morning he was up betimes, and paid an early visit at the -Hofapotheke or Court-laboratory of the town, the manager of which -would, as he was informed, be able to give him Dr. Hildebrand's -address. The manager, who was a very little man, with large protruding -eyes covered with great horn spectacles, and very large flap ears, and -who looked so like an owl that George almost expected him to hop on to -the counter, was very polite but extremely reticent.</p> - -<p>"Oh yes; he had the pleasure of the Herr Doctor's acquaintance. Who -was there in the great world to whom the berühmter Herr Doctor was not -known? It was in Dorrendorf that this so justly celebrated man formerly -resided had. Was it not true? But where did he reside now? Ah, that was -something quite otherwise. Was the Mr. Englishman who spoke the German -language with so excellent an accent--was he perhaps of the medical -profession?"</p> - -<p>"No; but his father. And perhaps the courteous manager of the Court -laboratory might know the name of Wainwright."</p> - -<p>"Vainrayte!" The courteous manager knew it perfectly. He had read the -even so clever treatises on the subject of "Mania and Mental Diseases," -which that so justly renowned physician had written. And the Mr. -Englishman was the son of the Doctor von Vainrayte! There would be no -difficulty then in letting him know the address of Dr. Hildebrand.</p> - -<p>And after further interchange of bows and courtesies, George took his -departure, bearing with him the old physician's address.</p> - -<p>Dr. Hildebrand lived some distance from the town, in a little -road fringed on either side by detached villas standing in their -trim gardens, the road itself turning out of a noble <i>allée</i> of -chestnut-trees, which forms one of the principal outlets of the town. -All the gardens were neatly kept, and all the houses seemed clean and -trim and orderly; but George remarked that the Doctor's house and -garden seemed the neatest of all. He was almost afraid to stand on the -doorstep as he rang the bell, lest he should sully its whiteness; and, -indeed, the old woman who opened the door immediately looked at the -prints of his boots with great disfavour.</p> - -<p>She answered his question of whether the Doctor were at home by -another, asking him what was his business; and was evidently inclined -to be disagreeable at first, but softened in her manner when George -told her that he had come all the way from England in order to see her -master.</p> - -<p>She smiled at this, and condescended to admit him, not without a -parting glance at the muddy footprints, and without enjoining him to -rub his feet on the square scraper standing inside the hall which did -duty for a mat. Then she ushered him into a small and meanly-furnished -dining-room, which, like every other apartment in the house, smelt very -strongly of tobacco, and there left him.</p> - -<p>George could not help smiling to himself as he looked round the room, -the furniture and appointments of which recalled to him such pleasant -memories of his German student days. There on the little sideboard was -the coarse whity-brown cloth, so different from English table-linen, -rolled up and waiting for use. There was the battered red japanned -bread-tray, containing the half-dozen white <i>brodchens</i>, the lump of -<i>sauerbrod</i>, and the thin slices of <i>schwarzbrod</i>. There were the -three large cruets, so constantly required for salad-mixing purposes, -and the blunt black-handled knives and forks. On the wall was a print -from Horace Vernet's ghastly illustration of Bürger's Lenore, showing -the swift death-ride, the maiden lying in fainting terror across the -horse's neck, borne in the arms of the corpse, whose upraised visor -shows its hideous features.</p> - -<p>There were also two or three portraits of eminent German physicians and -surgeons. On the table lay folded copies of the <i>Cologne Gazette</i> and -the <i>Augsburg Zeitung</i>; and each corner of the room was garnished with -a spittoon.</p> - -<p>George had just time to take observation of these things, when the door -opened, and the old woman entering, begged him to follow her, as her -master would see him.</p> - -<p>Down a long passage and across a small garden, not trim or neat by any -means--more of a yard, indeed--in which linen that had been washed -was hanging out to dry, and so to the Doctor's study--a large room -surrounded with bookcases crammed and overflowing. Books piled in -the middle of the floor in miscellaneous heaps; Pelions on Ossas of -books in the corners having overcharged themselves, and shot their -contents all over the neighbouring space. A large eight-day clock in -a heavy open case ticking solemnly on one side of the fireplace, the -niche on the other side being occupied by a suspended skeleton. On -the mantelpiece bottles of anatomical preparations, polished bones, -and cases of instruments; in the middle of the room an enormous -old-fashioned writing-table, littered with papers and books on which -the dust had thickly accumulated. Seated at it, busily engaged in -writing, and scarcely looking up as they entered the room, was Dr. -Hildebrand, one of the greatest men of science of his day.</p> - -<p>A tall man, standing over six feet in height, of strange aspect, -rendered still more strange by the contrast between his soft -silver-white air, brushed back from his forehead and hanging down -over his coat-collar, and the sable hue of an enormous pair of bushy -bristly eyebrows, which stuck out like pent-houses, and from under -which his keen black eyes looked forth. His features were coarse and -rugged, his nose large and thick, his mouth long and ill-shaped, his -jaw square, and his chin enormous. He was dressed in a long gray, -greasy dressing-gown, an old black waistcoat and black trousers, and -had frayed worked slippers on his feet. He was smoking a long pipe, the -painted porcelain bowl of which hung far below his knees; and from its -depths, in the influence of the excitement as he wrote, he kept drawing -up and emitting short thick puffs of smoke, in which he was enshrouded.</p> - -<p>After a short space of time, during which George sat motionless, the -old gentleman came to the end of the passage which he was writing; and, -looking up for inspiration or what not, perceived his visitor.</p> - -<p>He looked at him sharply from under his heavy brows, and then, in a -harsh voice, and with but scant show of courtesy, said:</p> - -<p>"Gefällig?" (What is your pleasure?)</p> - -<p>George, speaking in German, began to inform the old gentleman that he -had travelled a very long way for the purpose of seeing and consulting -him. His fame had reached England, where----</p> - -<p>"You are von England out?" interrupted the Doctor.</p> - -<p>"I am."</p> - -<p>"And yet you speak die Cherman speech so slippery!" said the old -gentleman. "So to me is it mit the English, it is to me equal; but as -I hef not the praxis had, if it is so bleasant to you, we will the -English langvitch dalk."</p> - -<p>"With the greatest pleasure," said George. "I was mentioning to you, -Herr Doctor, that your great fame and renown had brought me from -England for the purpose of consulting you on one of those cases which -you have made your special study, and one in which I am particularly -interested."</p> - -<p>"Zo!" said the Doctor, emitting a long puff of smoke, "aber ist es -ihnen nicht bekannt--I mean, is it not know to you dass I ze praxis -have gave up? Dass I vill no more the curatives inspect, but vill me -zum studiren leave?"</p> - -<p>"I have heard so, Herr Doctor; but I thought that perhaps under -peculiar circumstances you might make an exception."</p> - -<p>"Und die peguliar circonstances is----?"</p> - -<p>"I thought perhaps that when I told you of the case, a young girl"</p> - -<p>"Ah, bah!" interrupted the old gentleman, with a short and angry puff. -"It is nothing vorths; dass young kirls und dummerei! Dass geht mit mir -nicht mehr. I am one old man now and" then turning suddenly, "she is -your Schwester, vat?"</p> - -<p>"No; at present she is nothing to me, though if she were well, I should -hope to make her my wife."</p> - -<p>"Your vaife! Ah, ha! you are verlobt, vat you call engachement, vat? -And she is----?" touching his forehead. "Ach, du lieber Gott! dass ist -aber schwer. Und so fine a young man! How do you call? Vat is your -name, eh?"</p> - -<p>"You have heard it before, I think," said George. "My name is -Wainwright."</p> - -<p>"Vainwraet!" screamed the old gentleman; "was von Vainwraet dass -der <i>Tarkened Maind</i>, der <i>Seclusion, is it koot or bat?</i> der <i>Non -Restraint in Lunacie</i>, und so weiter? der Doctor Vainwraet, are you mit -ihm verwandt, are you of him relatived?"</p> - -<p>"I am Dr. Wainwright's son," said George.</p> - -<p>"His sohn! was der sohn of Vainwraet, der berühmter Doctor Vainwraet, -was von die Pedlams, und die Lukes und Hanvell Hash--Hatch, vot you -call; is dass shaining licht, so hell and so klar, dass his sohn should -komm to Chermany to consult <i>.me</i>, one such humble man, is to me -honourable indeed."</p> - -<p>George readily detected a very strong accent of scorn running through -this speech, and the bow with which the old gentleman concluded it -was one of mock humility. He scarcely knew how to reply; but after a -moment's pause he said, "I thought, sir, you would know my father's -name."</p> - -<p>"His name is mir sehr wohl bekannt, ver veil bequaint with him," -said the Doctor with a grin, "and mit his praxis nevertheless, -notwithstanding, likewise," he added, nodding his head with great -delight as he uttered each of the last three words. "Tell to me, your -father has he seen your braut, dass mädchen, die young dame?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, he has seen her several times."</p> - -<p>"And what says he of her?"</p> - -<p>George shrugged his shoulders, and shook his head despairingly. "He -says he can do her no good--that her case is incurable."</p> - -<p>"Which is two tifferent brobositions, of which I cannot tubidade about -the fairst, though the second may not be founded on fact," said the -Doctor. "No, my young chentleman, I am combassionate and sorrow for -you, but I cannot preak my rule. I hef retaired myself to studiren, and -will inspect no more curatives; and as to your father, der berühmter -Vainwraet, it is not for him I preak my rule! He is an shamposter, see -you, an shamposter!" The puffs from the pipe came very thick and very -rapidly. "An shamposter, sir, mit his dreadises and his bamphlets, -and his lecturings delivered before the Collegiums drum und herum! -He laugh at my ice-theory in his vat you call Physikalische Zeitung, -<i>Lancer--Lancet!</i> He make chokes at my institute in Dorrendorf, vat? -He is a shamposter, dieser Vainwraet, and to the devil mit him and his -sohn, and die ganze geschichte!"</p> - -<p>The old gentleman waved his hand as he spoke, as if he were really -consigning his visitor to the dread limbo which he had named, reseated -himself at his desk, from which he had risen in his rage, and began -writing and smoking furiously.</p> - -<p>What was to be done? George made an attempt at renewing the -conversation, but the Doctor only waved his arm impatiently, and cried -"Fort!" in shrill accents.</p> - -<p>So George Wainwright came away despondingly. His last chance of getting -Annette restored to health had failed, and his outlook on life was very -blank indeed.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_27" href="#div1Ref_27">CHAPTER XXVII.</a></h4> -<h5>PATRICIAN AND PROLETARY.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>It was deep mid-winter, and Colonel Orpington was at home at his -house in Hill Street, Berkeley Square. Miss Orpington was at home -too, temporarily. She had just come up from one of the charming -country-houses where she and her chaperone had been spending Christmas, -and in a week's time she was about to rush off to another charming -country-house, where she would meet the same people, and they would all -do the same things, and thoroughly enjoy themselves. This forthcoming -one is the last visit she will pay before her marriage. Early in the -ensuing spring the Yorkshire baronet with money is to claim Miss -Orpington for his own; meantime the interval between the two visits is -spent by the young lady in shopping and visiting during the day, and -making her father take her to the theatre at night.</p> - -<p>Colonel Orpington accepts the position with his usual complacency. He -has lived long enough in the world to allow very few things indeed to -ruffle him. Even the fact of his not having had any answer from Fanny -Stafford does not annoy him.</p> - -<p>"A younger man," he says to himself, "would fret and fume, and get in -a deuce of a stew. What would be the good of that? It would not make -the answer come any quicker, and it would not have any effect upon the -girl's decision when she had made up her mind to send it. I am not at -all sure that this delay is not rather good than otherwise. My heart -does not beat quite so quickly as it did five-and-twenty years since, -nor does the blood tingle in my veins to such an extent as at that -period, and I can afford to wait. And even if the young lady should -make up her mind to decline my proposition, I should certainly not -commit suicide, though I confess I hope she may accept it for more -reasons than one.</p> - -<p>"I expect that this house will be deuced dull after Emily marries. -I should have to get a clergyman's widow, or somebody of that kind, -to come and be housekeeper. That would be horribly dull, and I don't -see why I should have all the expense of keeping this place up. All -the people I want to entertain I could have at the club; and if it -is necessary for me to give a couple of ladies' dinners during the -season--well, they can be done at Greenwich or Richmond, by Hart or -Ellis, at less expense and without any trouble. I think I should have -chambers in Piccadilly, or somewhere thereabouts; and then that other -little arrangement would suit me admirably, provided the Paradise which -I propose to establish was situated within an easy drive of town.</p> - -<p>"I shall have to lay out a new line of life for myself, I think. I -confess I don't see my way to what Emily said the other night about my -being constantly with them. She is a very nice girl, and Hawker's a -good fellow in his way; but his place is a deuced long way off, and I -am getting a little too old to like to be 'braced', as they call it, by -that infernally keen air that sweeps over the Yorkshire moors. Besides, -they'll be having children, and that kind of thing; and it would be -a confounded nuisance to have to be called 'Grandpapa!' Ridiculous -position for a man of my appearance! So that, except when they are in -town, and one can go to dinner, or to her box at the opera, or that -kind of thing, I don't expect I shall see much of them. Grandpapa! by -Jove, that would be positively awful!"</p> - -<p>And the Colonel rises from his seat, and looks at himself in the glass, -and poodles his hair, and strokes his moustache, and is eminently -satisfied with his appearance.</p> - -<p>It is in the breakfast-room that the Colonel makes these remarks to -himself. Miss Orpington has not yet come down. She has announced by her -maid that she has a headache, she supposes from the close atmosphere -of the theatre the previous evening, and is taking her breakfast in -bed. The Colonel has finished his meal, and is wondering what he will -do with himself. He strolls to the window, and looks into the street, -which is thick with slush. There has been a little snow early in the -morning, and it has melted, as snow does nine times out of ten in -London, and has been left to lie where it melted, as it always is in -London, and the result is a universal pool of slush and mud, a couple -of inches deep. The Colonel shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders, -and turns away. He had some notion of going for a ride, but he doesn't -see the fun of being splashed up to his eyes, and of having to hold -damp and slippery reins with aching fingers. So he thinks he will -stroll down to the club and look through the papers, and have a chat -with anybody who may be available.</p> - -<p>At that moment Miss Orpington enters the room. She walks up to -her parent, who is standing on the hearthrug, and turning her -head, presents to him the lobe of her ear. The Colonel bestows an -affectionate embrace on this portion of his daughter's anatomy, and -inquires after her headache.</p> - -<p>He is reassured at hearing it is better. Then Miss Orpington inquires, -"Who is the person in the hall?"</p> - -<p>"Person in the hall!" The Colonel has not the smallest idea.</p> - -<p>"There is a person in the hall," Miss Orpington avers. "A -tradesman-looking person--bootmaker, or something of that kind, she -should think from his appearance."</p> - -<p>Then the Colonel gives a little start, and remembers that something had -been said to him about half an hour ago about somebody wishing to see -him.</p> - -<p>The bell is rung, and inquiries are made from the servant about the -person in the hall.</p> - -<p>A mysterious stranger, who declines to give his name, but is extremely -anxious to see Colonel Orpington, and will take no refusal. Had been -waiting there half an hour, and seemed inclined to wait on.</p> - -<p>Miss Orpington says, "How very odd!" The Colonel raises his eyebrows, -and ejaculates, "Deuced!" then tells the servant to show the mysterious -person into the library; and after the lapse of a few minutes he -himself proceeds thither.</p> - -<p>On entering the room Colonel Orpington perceives the stranger to be a -tall, good-looking young man belonging to the middle-classes, and with -a curious expression on his face which reminds the Colonel of someone -of his acquaintance whom he cannot immediately recollect. The man, who -is standing, bows at the Colonel's entrance, but declines to take the -seat to which he is motioned.</p> - -<p>"You wish to speak to me, I believe?" said the Colonel, stiffly.</p> - -<p>He had committed a stretch of courtesy by inviting a young man -obviously in the commercial interest to take a seat, and was somewhat -outraged at finding his civility not appreciated.</p> - -<p>"You are Colonel Orpington?" said the visitor.</p> - -<p>"I am. I understand you decline to give your name."</p> - -<p>"For the present, yes. When you have heard my business, if you do not -by that time guess who I am, I shall be happy to tell you."</p> - -<p>"Deuced polite of you, I'm sure," said the Colonel with a grin. -"Perhaps you'll tell me what your business is. Some account to be -settled, I suppose? If so, I am not in the habit of discussing such -matters. If the money is due, you can have it and go."</p> - -<p>"There is an account to be settled," said the visitor; "but it is not -of the nature that you suppose."</p> - -<p>He spoke very quietly but very earnestly; so earnestly that the Colonel -leaned forward in his seat and looked at him with an attention which he -had hitherto not bestowed upon him.</p> - -<p>"Is this a plant?" said the wily old warrior to himself. "My friend -here looks very much of the outraged-brother order; but I have had -nothing of that kind on hand for years." Then aloud, "What is your -business, then?"</p> - -<p>"I have come here, Colonel Orpington, to appeal to your feelings as a -gentleman and a man of honour."</p> - -<p>"Monstrous good of you to take the trouble, I'm sure," said the -Colonel, with the old grin.</p> - -<p>"Hear me out first, and then say what you please," said the visitor. -"Depend upon it, I should not have come here on the chance of -submitting myself to miscomprehension and indignity, if I had not some -adequate motive."</p> - -<p>Again the Colonel noticed the likeness to someone in this man's face, -and again he failed to trace it to its original.</p> - -<p>"There is no need to make a long story of what I have to say; it -can be very shortly told. You will understand me at once, Colonel -Orpington, when I tell you that my name is Merton, and that I am the -brother of a young woman with whom you have been for some time past in -communication."</p> - -<p>"It is the outraged-brother business, after all," said the Colonel -to himself. "This man has found his sister was in the habit of -occasionally coming to chambers; perhaps has learned that I -occasionally give her money; and he jumps at once to a wrong -conclusion."</p> - -<p>Then looked up and said, "Well, sir!"</p> - -<p>"You have made my sister a tool for a most dishonourable purpose. You -have caused her to aid you in a plot against one of her own sex, her -friend, and situated much as she might have been herself."</p> - -<p>"By Jove," muttered the Colonel beneath his breath, "I was wrong; he is -on the other tack!"</p> - -<p>"I do not presume to understand how you had the audacity----"</p> - -<p>"Sir!" cried the Colonel.</p> - -<p>"I repeat the word--the audacity to attempt to induce my sister to -become a spy, and something worse than a spy! You must have had greater -powers of perception than I gave you credit for to comprehend that you -could offer her such a post, and that she would accept it. Of her part -in the transaction I have nothing to say, nor indeed of yours so far as -she is concerned."</p> - -<p>"That being the case, Mr.---- Mr.--I beg your pardon--Merton, perhaps -we had better bring this interview to an end," said the Colonel, -rising to his feet. "I am not going to pick words with you as to the -expression which you have chosen to apply to the commission which your -sister executed for me. She executed and was paid for it, and there's -an end of it."</p> - -<p>"Not yet," said John Merton. "You don't imagine that I should come -here, in the present day, when all these things are taken for granted, -to endeavour to wring your conscience by proving to you that you -tempted a young girl to do a dishonest, disloyal, and dishonourable -act? You don't imagine I am quixotic enough to think that even if you -listen to me patiently, what I said to you would have one grain of -effect a moment after the door had closed upon me? You don't think I -am a missionary from the lower classes come to prate to the upper of -decency and honour?"</p> - -<p>He spoke in a loud high key, his eyes were flashing, and his whole face -was lit up with excitement.</p> - -<p>"What my sister did for you is done and ended so far as she is -concerned, and I will not give you the excuse for a smile by telling -you that she is sorry for it now, and sees her conduct in a light in -which she did not before perceive it. You <i>do</i> smile, and I know why: -you think it is easy to profess repentance when the deed has been -done and the reward paid. You paid to my sister at various times sums -amounting to thirty pounds. In this envelope," laying one on the table, -"are three ten-pound notes. So far, Colonel Orpington, we are quits."</p> - -<p>The Colonel sat still, with his eyes intently fixed on his visitor. As -he remained silent, John Merton proceeded:</p> - -<p>"I wish the other matter could be as easily settled. But in this I meet -you on even terms; in the other I come as a suppliant."</p> - -<p>The Colonel's face became a little more hard, and he sat a little more -erectly in his chair, as he heard these last words.</p> - -<p>"Through my sister's aid, directly or indirectly, you made the -acquaintance of Miss Stafford. Well," he continued, as he noticed -a motion of protest on the Colonel's part, "you may not actually -have made her acquaintance--that, I believe, commenced at the place -where she was employed--but it was through my sister's aid that you -knew of her, that you learned all about her, and that you found out -she was likely to swallow the gilded bait by which even now you are -endeavouring to secure her. When a man in your position pays attention -to a girl in hers, it can be but with one meaning and intention. -Whether Miss Stafford knew that or not, during these last few months in -which you have been constantly hanging about her, I cannot say: but she -knows it now; for you yourself have placed it before her in language -impossible to be misunderstood."</p> - -<p>"Look here, sir!" cried the Colonel, starting forward.</p> - -<p>"Wait and hear me, sir," said John Merton; "you must, you shall! I -told you I was prepared to submit to indignity, to endure your sneers -and sarcasms. I would not have put myself in the way of them for my -sister's sake; but I would for Fanny Stafford."</p> - -<p>"Ah, ha!" said the Colonel to himself, "a lover instead of brother; -greater virtuous indignation, infinitely more savage, but with less -claim to show it."</p> - -<p>"I have known her," continued John Merton, "for some years, and it is -not too much to say that I have loved her all the time."</p> - -<p>"Exactly," said the Colonel complacently.</p> - -<p>"I told you I was prepared for sneers," said John; "I shall not shrink -from avowing to you even that mine has been a hopeless passion; that, -after bearing it a long, long time in silence, I took courage to speak -to Miss Stafford, and received a definite and unmistakable dismissal. -You will glory in that avowal, because you will think it increases the -chances that the answer for which you are waiting will be a favourable -one. I know you are waiting for such an answer. You see I know all."</p> - -<p>"You seem to be devilish well posted up," growled the Colonel, -"certainly."</p> - -<p>"I don't think that her rejection of me would influence Miss Stafford -one way or the other in this matter; I put myself entirely out of the -question. Though her answer will have a certain effect on my future -life, I by no means come here as a desponding lover to implore any -leniency towards himself from his rival----"</p> - -<p>"I should think not," observed the Colonel parenthetically.</p> - -<p>"The leniency I would implore must be exercised towards her. I come to -you, not as a Christian man to show you the sin you contemplate, and -to implore you to avoid its commission; for I have not the right to do -so, nor would it be of the least avail; I know that perfectly. I simply -come to ask you to spare her, just to spare her."</p> - -<p>"Not a bad idea, Mr. Merton," said the Colonel, with his baleful grin. -"You are the young warrior who rescues the damsel from the giant's -castle, and in gratitude the damsel--though she did not care for him -before--of course bestows her hand on him, and they live happy ever -after."</p> - -<p>"No, by my solemn soul, no! In all human probability I shall never -set eyes upon Miss Stafford again; but I should like to know that -some honest man's home was cheered by her presence, some honest man's -children called her mother, although such happiness is not in store for -me."</p> - -<p>"Look here, Mr. Merton," said the Colonel. "I have let you run on to a -certain length without interrupting you, because you explained at once -that you wished to talk off straight away. But I think now I must pull -you up, if you please. You have made out a very pretty story, hanging -well together, and that kind of thing; and I have not contradicted you -because I am not in the habit of lying, and I don't choose to stoop -even to what is called prevarication. So, supposing we take all this -for granted, I say to you, 'Why don't you speak to the young lady -herself? The matter rests with her; it is she who has to decide it.' I -shall not appear in George Street with a band of freebooters to carry -her off, nor will she be seized upon by any men in black masks as she -walks home to her lodgings. This is the latter half of the nineteenth -century, when such actions are not common. A simple Yes or No is all -she has to say, and the affair is entirely in her hands."</p> - -<p>"I told you at once that I did not deny your perspicacity in reading -character. You showed it in your selection of my sister as your agent; -you show it further in your selection of Miss Stafford"--here John -Merton's voice sank to a whisper, and he spoke through his teeth--"to -be what you propose to make her. You know that you have exactly gauged -the mind and temperament of this girl; that, strong-minded in some -things, she is weak in others; vain, too sensitive and too refined -for the people with whom she is brought into contact, and longing for -luxuries which, while they are denied to her, she sees other people -enjoy."</p> - -<p>"I must reciprocate your compliment about the knowledge of character, -Mr. Merton," said the Colonel; "your description of Miss Stafford -appears to me quite exact."</p> - -<p>"Knowing this, you know equally well," continued John Merton, "that she -is the style of person to be caught by the temptations which you have -thought fit to offer her; you know perfectly well that her hesitation -in deciding on your proposition is simply caused by the small remnants -of the influence of proper bringing-up and self-respect struggling with -her wishes and inclinations."</p> - -<p>"If Miss Stafford's wishes and inclinations prompt her to do what I -am asking her to do, I really cannot see why I should be expected to -consent to thwart them and upset my own plans."</p> - -<p>"Colonel Orpington," said John Merton, sternly, "I have told you that -I would not pretend to thrust the religious side of this question -upon you; and in return I have a right to call upon you to drop this -society jargon, and let us talk this matter out as men. I will make -this concession to your vanity: I will tell you I fully believe that -Miss Stafford's future fate is in your hands; that if you choose to -persist in the offer which you have made to her, or rather if you do -not actually withdraw it, she will become something so degraded that I, -who love her so, would sooner see her dead."</p> - -<p>"Look here, my good sir," interrupted the Colonel, impatiently; "you -were good enough to talk about my using 'society's jargon;' I must -trouble you to drop the language of the penny romances. What the deuce -do you mean by 'something so degraded?' If Miss Stafford accepts my -propositions, she will have everything she wants."</p> - -<p>"Will she?" said John Merton, quickly. "Will she have your name? or, -even supposing she makes use of it, will she have any lawful right to -do so? Will she have the companionship of honest women, the friendship -of honest men?"</p> - -<p>"She will have, what is a deuced sight better, the envy of pretty -women, and the companionship of pleasant fellows," said the Colonel.</p> - -<p>"You meet my earnestness with flippancy," said John Merton. "I know -Fanny Stafford, and, with all her vanity and all her love of luxury, -I know that after a time the life would be insupportable to her. Her -proud spirit would never brook the stares which would greet her, and -the whisperings which would follow her progress. No amount of money at -her command would make up to her for that."</p> - -<p>"I still think that this is a matter for Miss Stafford's decision," -said the Colonel. "You really cannot expect me to place before her all -the disadvantages of my own offer in the strong light in which you -review them."</p> - -<p>John Merton paused a moment; then he said:</p> - -<p>"I will not take up more than five minutes more of your time, Colonel -Orpington, but I should like just to discuss this question perhaps -rather more from your point of view. What I have hitherto mentioned, -you say concerns Miss Stafford; but now about yourself. Supposing -events to follow as you have proposed----"</p> - -<p>"As I have every expectation they will," said the Colonel, pleasantly -smiling.</p> - -<p>"You have a right to that expectation," said John. "Well, supposing -they so fall out, you are too much a man of the world to expect that -your--well, what you are pleased to call your love for Miss Stafford -will last for ever."</p> - -<p>"It will be uncommonly unlike any other love if it did," said the -Colonel.</p> - -<p>"Exactly; it will run its course and die out, as similar passions have, -I should imagine, expired in previous years. What do you propose to do -then?"</p> - -<p>"I decline to anticipate such a state of affairs," said the Colonel; -"sufficient for the day-----"</p> - -<p>"Exactly," said John Merton; "only in this case the evil once done -would be sufficient for the rest of your days on earth. Do you imagine -that a girl of Fanny Stafford's proud temperament would condescend to -accept anything at your hands, when she knew that your feelings for -her had died out, and that you were probably spreading for another -woman exactly the same nets into which she had been entrapped? I know -her well enough to be certain that under such circumstances she would -refuse, not merely to be supported by you, but even to see you. What -would become of her then? She would take to suicide, the usual resort -of her class."</p> - -<p>"Most likely she would take to suicide," said the Colonel.</p> - -<p>"If she did," said John Merton, very sternly, taking a step in advance, -and bringing down his hand upon the table at which the Colonel was -sitting, "I don't suppose her death would lie heavily upon your soul; -but I would make you answer for it, so help me God!"</p> - -<p>"By George, do you threaten me, sir?" said the Colonel, springing to -his feet. The next instant he sank easily back into his chair, saying, -"Pshaw! the thing is too preposterous; you don't imagine I could fight -<i>you?</i>"</p> - -<p>"I had no such idea, Colonel Orpington; but what I threatened just now -I would carry out. If this girl becomes your victim, and if that result -which I have just foreshadowed, and which seems to me inevitable, -should ensue, I will take care that your name is dragged before the -public as the girl's seducer and the cause of her ruin. These are not -very moral times, but the gay Lothario stamp of man is rather laughed -at nowadays, especially when he has not the excuse of youth for his -folly; and when mixed up with his folly there are such awkward episodes -as desertion and suicide, people no longer laugh at him, they cut him. -The newspapers write articles about him; and his friends, who are doing -the same thing themselves, but do not labour under the disadvantage of -being found out, shake their heads and are compelled to give him up. -From all I have heard of you, Colonel Orpington, you are far too fond -of society and too great a favourite in it to risk being treated in -such a manner for such a temporary amusement."</p> - -<p>"If you have heard anything of me, sir," said the Colonel, rising in a -rage, "you may have heard that I never brook confounded impertinence, -and I'm d--d if I stand it any longer! I will trouble you to leave -this house at once, and never let me set eyes on you again," he added, -ringing the bell.</p> - -<p>"I trust I shall never have occasion to come across you, Colonel -Orpington," said John Merton firmly; "whether I do or not entirely -rests upon yourself. Depend upon it, that I shall hold to everything I -have said, and that I shall not shrink from carrying out what I have -fully made up my mind to do on account of any menaces."</p> - -<p>He bowed slightly to the Colonel, turned round, and slowly walked from -the room.</p> - -<p>Left to himself, the Colonel took to pacing up and down the library -with great strides. He was evidently labouring under great annoyance; -he bit his lips and tossed his head in the air, and muttered to himself -as he walked up and down.</p> - -<p>"That fellow struck the right note at last," he said. "Insolent brute! -All that palaver about honest man's fireside, and children calling her -mother, and that kind of thing, one has heard a thousand times; but if -all happened as he prophesied--and I confess it is the usual ending to -such things--and he made a row as he threatened, it would be deuced -unpleasant. He is right about the Lothario business being over; and -more than right about people grinning at you when you are mixed up in -such matters at fifty years of age. And if it were to come to what -he suggested, death and that kind of thing, there would probably be -a great row. Those infernal newspaper paragraphs about the heartless -seducer--they don't like those things at the Court or the Horse Guards; -and then one would have to run the gauntlet of the clubs and that kind -of thing. By Jove, it's worth considering whether the game is worth the -candle, after all!"</p> - -<p>At that moment Miss Orpington entered.</p> - -<p>"Who was that person, papa?" said she. "I thought I heard you speak -quite angrily to him."</p> - -<p>"Very likely, my dear," said the Colonel; "he was a very impertinent -and unmannerly person from--from those confoundedly troublesome -slate-quarries and lead-mines in South Wales."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_28" href="#div1Ref_28">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a></h4> -<h5>DAISY'S LETTER.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>Left to himself, without George Wainwright to listen to his complaints, -to afford him consolation, or even to do him good by the administration -of the rough tonic of his advice, Paul Derinzy had a very bad time of -it. His attendance at the office was exceedingly irregular; and when he -was there he was so preoccupied and <i>distrait</i>, that he would not look -after his work; which accordingly, there being no George Wainwright -to stay after hours and pull it up, went hopelessly into arrears. The -good old chief, Mr. Courtney, always inclined to be kind and indulgent, -and more especially disposed to civility since he had been to dine -with Paul's people in Queen Anne Street (where he found the Captain "a -devilish gentleman-like fellow, sir; far superior to the men of the -present day, with a remarkable fund of anecdote"), had his patience and -his temper very much tried by his young friend's peculiar proceedings; -and between the two other occupants of the principal registrar's room, -Mr. William Dunlop's life was pretty nearly harried out of him.</p> - -<p>"If the arrival of my people in town were to render me as wretched as -the arrival of P.D.'s people has rendered P.D.," observed Mr. Dunlop, -in confidence to a brother-clerk, "I should begin to think it was not -a bad thing being a norphan. I have often thought, Simmons, that I -could have done the young-heir business in doublet and trunk-hose--no, -that is, the spirit-stirring song of the 'Old English Gentleman'--the -young-heir business, smiling from the top of the steps on the assembled -tenantry, vide Frith, R.A., his picture of 'Coming of Age,' to be had -cheap as an Art Union print. But if to become moped and melancholy, to -decline to go odd man for b. and s., and to tell people who propose the -speculation to 'go to the devil'--if that is to be the result of having -people and being heir to a property in Dorsetshire, my notion is, that -I would sooner serve her Majesty at two-forty, rising to three-fifty at -yearly increments of twenty, and be free!"</p> - -<p>There was no doubt that there were grounds for Mr. Dunlop's complaints. -Paul not merely did not attend to his work, but his manner, which, -from its brightness and courtesy, had in the old days won him troops -of friends and rendered him everywhere sought for and popular, was now -morose and forbidding. He seemed to be aware of this, and consequently -went very little into society. To Queen Anne Street he only went when -he was absolutely obliged; that is to say, when he felt that he could -not decently remain away any longer; but even then his visits were -very short, and his mother found him absent and preoccupied. He had, -however, taken sufficient notice of what was passing around him to -remark the maidenly delicacy, imbued with true feminine tact, with -which Annette asked news of George Wainwright, and the hard struggle -which she made to conceal her disbelief of the stories which he, Paul, -invented to account for his friend's absence.</p> - -<p>He had not seen Daisy for the last fortnight. When last they met it was -arranged that they should meet as usual in the course of a few days. -But two days after, Paul received a little note from her, saying that, -owing to Madame Clarisse's absence, her trouble and responsibility were -so great that she could not possibly leave the business to take care -of itself for ever so short a time. She would let him know as soon as -the possible slackness of work permitted her to make an appointment for -meeting him in the gardens, and she was his affectionate D.</p> - -<p>Paul did not like the tone of this letter. It was certainly much -cooler than that of any of the little notes--there were but very few -of them--which he had received from Daisy since the commencement of -their acquaintance. He did not believe in the excuse one bit. Even in -the height of the season she had always managed to get out and see him -for a few minutes once or twice a week. Then, as to Madame Clarisse's -absence and Daisy's consequent responsibility, did not the very fact of -her being at the head of affairs prove that she was her own mistress, -and able to dispose of her own time as she pleased?</p> - -<p>There was something at the bottom of it all, Paul thought, which he -had not yet fathomed. There was a change in her; that could not be -denied--a strange inexplicable change. The girl he met on his return -from the country, and who came to him listlessly, with an evident air -of preoccupation, which she endeavoured to hide, and with an assumed -air of pleasure at his return, which was so ill-assumed as to be very -easily seen through, was a totally different being from the loving, -teasing, half-coy, half-wayward girl whom he had left behind him.</p> - -<p>Paul set himself to work to trace the commencement of this change, and -after long cogitation decided that it must have been worked during his -absence. What caused it, then? Certainly it arose from no fault of -his. He could not charge himself in the slightest degree with neglect -of her. He had written to her constantly, freely, and lovingly. He had -gone away protesting against his enforced absence; his letters had been -filled with joyous expectation of renewed delight at meeting her again; -and when he had met her, the warmth of his passion for her, so far -from being diminished one jot, had increased and expanded. So that the -alteration of their position towards each other which had so evidently -come about was her doing, and not his.</p> - -<p>In his self-examination, Paul went through all the different phases -of the feeling by which he had been actuated towards this girl. He -recalled to himself how that at first, dazzled and captivated by her -beauty, he had only thought of making her acquaintance, without the -idea of any definite end; how that end had in his mind soon taken a -form which, though not unnatural in a young man carelessly brought up, -and living the loose life which he then led, he now blushed to recall. -He recollected the grave displeasure quietly but firmly expressed by -Daisy when she saw, as she very speedily did, the position which he -proposed for her. And then his mind dwelt on that delicious period when -there was no question of what might happen in the future, when they -enjoyed and lived in the present, and it was sufficient and all in all -to them.</p> - -<p>That was the state in which they were when they parted; what was -their condition now? Daisy's manner was cold and preoccupied; all the -brightness and light, all pretty ways and affectionate regards which -she had displayed for him during the summer, seemed to have died out -with the summer's heat, and Paul felt that he stood to her in a far -more distant position than that which he had occupied at the very -commencement of their acquaintance.</p> - -<p>He had his hold to establish on her then, to be sure, but he was not -without hope or encouragement. Now he had neither to cheer him, and -the work was all to be done again. Good God, what did she require of -him! He would willingly brave the open frowns and whispered hints of -society, of which he had at one time stood in such mortal fear, and -would be only too delighted to make her his wife. She knew this. Since -his return he had plainly told her so; but the declaration had not -merely failed in obtaining a definite answer from her, but had made no -difference in her manner towards him. He had argued with her, scolded -her, tasked her with the change, and implored her to let him know the -reason of it; but he had obtained no satisfactory reply.</p> - -<p>"It was his fancy," she said; "she was exactly the same as when they -had parted. The life which he had been leading at home had evidently -had a very bad effect upon him. She had always feared his return to -'his people,' of whom he thought so much, and with whom he was so -afraid of bringing her into contact."</p> - -<p>Good heavens, why twit him with that past and bygone folly! Had he not -offered to set these people at defiance, and make her his wife?--could -he do more?</p> - -<p>She replied very quietly that she did not want any family rupture on -her account, and that as to the question of their marriage, there was -no necessity for any hurry in that matter; and indeed they had very -much better wait until they had proved that they were more thoroughly -suitable to each other.</p> - -<p>And then Paul Derinzy chafed against his chain, and longed to break it, -but dared not. He complained bitterly enough of her bad treatment of -him, but he loved her too dearly to renounce the chance of bringing her -into a better frame of mind, and restoring to himself the darling Daisy -of his passionate worship.</p> - -<p>He had no one in whom he could confide, no one whose advice he could -seek, in this crisis of his life. George Wainwright was away; and to -whom else could he turn? Although he and his mother were in their way -very fond of each other, there had never been any kind of confidence -between them--certainly not that confidence which would have enabled -him to lay bare his heart before her, and ask for her counsel and -consolation. Mrs. Derinzy was essentially a worldly woman, and Paul -knew perfectly that she would scout the idea of his marrying, as she -considered, beneath him; and instead of pouring balm into his wounded -spirit, would, after her fashion, try to cicatrise the hurt by telling -him that he had had a fortunate escape from an unworthy alliance. His -father, long trained in habits of obedience, would have repeated his -wife's opinion. Had he been allowed to give his own, it would have -been flavoured with that worldly wisdom of which he was so proud, and -would probably have been to the effect that, however one treated young -persons in that position of life, one certainly did not marry them, and -that he could not possibly imagine any son of his doing anything so -infernally stupid.</p> - -<p>Those who had known Paul Derinzy as the light-hearted, light-headed -young man of society, enjoying himself in every possible way, -extracting the greatest amount of pleasure out of every hour of his -life, and allowing no sense of responsibility to weigh upon him, would -hardly have recognised him in the pale, care-worn man with hollow -cheeks who might be seen occasionally eating his solitary dinner at the -club, but who never joined the gay circle in the smoking-room, or was -to be found in any of those haunts of pleasure which formerly he had -so assiduously frequented. With Daisy always in his mind, he had an -irresistible inclination to moon about those places where he had been -in the habit of seeing her.</p> - -<p>In the dusk of the evening he would walk for hours up and down George -Street, in front of Madame Clarisse's house, sometimes fancying he -recognised Daisy's reflection on the window-blind, and then being half -tempted to rush across and seek admission to her at any cost. And he -would go down to the spot in Kensington Gardens--now a blank desert of -misery--and wander up and down, picturing to himself the delightful -summer lounging there, and recalling every item of the conversation -which had then been held.</p> - -<p>One day, one Saturday half-holiday, Paul, who had not heard from George -Wainwright for some days, had been up to the Doctor's establishment -to inquire whether any news had been received of his friend, and -having been replied to in the negative, he was listlessly returning to -town, when the old fascination came upon him, and he struck up past -Kensington Palace with the intention of lingering for a few moments -in the familiar spot. He was idling along, chewing the cud of a fancy -which was far more bitter than sweet, when his desultory footsteps came -to a halt as he caught sight of a couple in front of him.</p> - -<p>A man and woman walking side by side in conversation. Their backs were -towards him, but he recognised Daisy in an instant. The man was tall -and of a good figure, and looked like a gentleman, but Paul could not -see his face. His first impulse was to rush towards them, but better -sense prevailed. His was not the nature to play the spy; so, with a -smothered groan, he turned upon his heel, and slowly retraced his steps.</p> - -<p>There was an end of it, then. At last he had comprehended the full -extent of his misery. All that he had feared had come to pass, and -more. She had thrown him over, and he had seen her walking with another -man in the very place which up to that time had been rendered sacred to -him by the recollection of their meetings there.</p> - -<p>There was an end of it; but he would let her know that he was fully -aware of the extent of her treachery and baseness. He would go to the -club at once, and write to her, telling her all he had seen. He would -not reproach her--he thought he would leave that to her own conscience; -he would only--he did not know what he would do; his legs seemed to -give way beneath him, his head was whirling round, and he felt as -though he should fall prostrate to the ground.</p> - -<p>When he reached the Park gates--and how he reached them he never -knew--he called a cab and drove to the club. He was hurrying through -the hall, when the porter stopped him and handed to him a letter. -It was from Daisy. Paul's heart beat high as the well-known writing -met his view. He took it with him to the writing-room, which was -fortunately empty, and sitting himself at the writing-table, laid the -letter before him. He was uncertain whether he would open it or not. -Whatever it might contain would be unable to do away with the fact -which he had so recently witnessed with his own eyes.</p> - -<p>No excuse could possibly explain away the disloyalty with which she -had treated him. It would be better, he thought, to return the letter -unopened. But then there might be something in it which in future time -he might regret not to have seen; some possible palliation of her -offence, some expression of regret or softening explanation of the -circumstances under which she had betrayed him. And then Paul opened -the letter, and read as follows:</p> - -<p>"MY DEAR PAUL,--I do not think you will be surprised at what I am about -to tell you; and I try to hope that you will not be very much annoyed -at it. I knew that it must come very shortly, and I have endeavoured as -far as I could to prepare you for the news.</p> - -<p>"The pleasant life which we have been leading for the last few months, -Paul--and I do not pretend to disguise my knowledge that it has been -pleasant to you, any more than I shrink from acknowledging that it has -been most delightful to me--has come to an end, and we must never meet -again. This should be no tragic ending: there should be no shriek of -woe or exclamations of remorse, or mutual taunts and invectives. It -is played out, that is all; it has run down, and come naturally to a -full-stop, and there is no use in attempting to set it going again.</p> - -<p>"I can understand your being horribly enraged when you first read this, -and using all sorts of strong language about me, and vowing vengeance -against me. But this will not last; your better sense will come to -your aid; in a very little time you will thank me for having released -you from obligations the fulfilment of which would have brought misery -on your life, and will thank me for having been the first to put an -end to an action which was very pleasant for the time it lasted, but -which would have been very hopeless in the future. For my part, I don't -reproach you, Paul, Heaven knows; I should be an ingrate if I did.</p> - -<p>"You have always treated me with the tenderest regard, and only very -lately you have done me the highest honour which a man can do a woman, -in asking her to become his wife. Don't think I treat this offer -lightly, Paul; don't think I am not keenly alive to its value, as -showing the affection, if nothing else, which you have, or rather must -have had, for me. Do not think that it has been without a struggle that -I have made up my mind to act as I am now doing, to write the letter -which you now read.</p> - -<p>"But suppose I had said Yes, Paul; you know as well as I do the -exact position which I should have occupied, and the effect which my -occupancy of that position would have had on your future life. It was -not--I do not say this with any intention of wounding you--it was not -until you clearly found you could get me on no other terms that you -made me this offer; and though probably you will not allow it even to -yourself, you must know as well as I do, that after a while you would -find yourself tied to a wife who was unsuited to you in many ways, and -by marrying whom you had alienated your family from you, and disgraced -yourself in the opinion of that world which you now profess to despise, -but of whose verdict you really stand in the greatest awe.</p> - -<p>"And then, Paul, it would be one of two things: either you would hold -to me with a dogged defiance, which is not part of your real nature, -but which, under the circumstances, you would cultivate, feeling -yourself to be a martyr, and taking care to let me know that you felt -it--you will deny all this, Paul, but I know you better than yourself; -or you would feel me to be a clog upon you, and leave me for the -society in which you could forget that, for the mere indulgence of a -passing passion, you had laid upon yourself a burden for life.</p> - -<p>"What but misery could come out of either of these two results? Under -both of them we should hate each other; for I confess I should not -be grateful to you for the enforced companionship which the former -presupposes; and under the latter I should not merely hate you, but -in all probability should do something which would bring dishonour on -your name. You see, I speak frankly, Paul; but I do so for the best. -If you had been equally frank with me, I could have told you long -since, at the commencement of our acquaintance, of something which -would have prevented our ever being more to each other than the merest -acquaintances. You told me your name was Paul Douglas; you disguised -from me that it was Paul Derinzy. Had I known that, I would have then -let you into a secret; I would have told you that I too had in a -similar manner been deceiving you by passing under the name of Fanny -Stafford, whereas my real name is Fanny Stothard.</p> - -<p>"Does not that revelation show you what is to come, Paul? Do you not -already comprehend that I am the daughter of a woman who holds a menial -position in your father's house, and that this fact would render wider -yet the chasm which yawns between our respective classes in society? -You do not imagine that your mother would care to recognise in her -son's wife the daughter of her servant, or that I should particularly -like to become a member of a family in which my cousin's waiting-woman -is my own mother.</p> - -<p>"I ascertained this fact in sufficient time to have made it, if I had -so chosen, the ground for putting an end to our intimacy, and my reason -for writing this letter; but I preferred not to do so, Paul. I have -put the matter plainly, straightforwardly, and frankly; and I will not -condescend to ride off on a quibble, or to pretend that I have been -influenced by your want of confidence in withholding your name. You -will see--not now, perhaps, but in a very little time--that I have -acted for the best, and will be thankful to me for the course which I -have taken.</p> - -<p>"And recollect, Paul, the breach between us must be final--it must be -a clean cut; and you must not think, even after it has been made, that -there are any frayed and jagged points left which are capable, at some -time or another, of being reunited. We have seen each other for the -last time; we have parted for ever. There must be no question of any -interview or adieu; we are neither of us of such angelic tempers that -we could expect to meet without reproaches and high words; and I, at -all events, should be glad in the future to recall the last loving look -in your eyes, and the last earnest pressure of your hand.</p> - -<p>"And that mention of the future reminds me, this letter is the last -communication you will receive from me; and when you have finished -reading it, you must look upon me as someone dead and passed away. If -by chance you ever meet me in the street, you must look upon me as the -ghost of someone whom you once knew, and forbear to speak to me. It -will not be very difficult to imagine this; for, God knows, I shall -be no more like the Fanny Stafford whom you have known than the Fanny -Derinzy you would have made me. No matter what I am, no matter what I -may become, you will have ceased to have any pretext for inquiring into -my state; and I distinctly forbid your attempting to interfere with me -in the slightest degree. Does that sound harsh, Paul? I do not mean it -so; I swear I do not mean it so. If you knew--but you do not, and never -shall. You are hot and impetuous and weak; I am cool and clear-brained -and strong-minded: you look only at the present; I think for the -future. You will repeat all this bitterly, saying that I am right, and -that my conduct plainly shows I know exactly how to describe myself; I -know you will, I can almost hear you say it. I half wish I could hear -you say anything, so that I could listen to your dear voice once again; -but that could never be.</p> - -<p>"Goodbye, Paul! At some future time, not very long hence, when all -this has blown over, and you are in love with, and perhaps married to, -someone else, you will acknowledge I was right, and think sometimes -not unkindly of me. But I shall never think of you again. Once more, -goodbye, Paul! I should like to say, God bless you! if I thought such -a prayer from me would be of any use."</p> - -<p>Paul Derinzy read this letter through twice, and folded it up and -placed it in his pocket. Ten minutes afterwards the writing-room bell -rang violently, and the servant, on answering was surprised to find an -old gentleman kneeling on the floor, and bending over the prostrate -body of Mr. Derinzy, whose face was very white, whose neck-cloth was -untied, and who the old gentleman said was in a fit.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_29" href="#div1Ref_29">CHAPTER XXIX.</a></h4> -<h5>RELENTING.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>When George Wainwright left the presence of the strange old German -doctor, upon whom he had looked with an almost awful anxiety, a -half-superstitious hope, it was with an acute sense of disappointment, -such as had rarely stung the young man's ordinarily placid and -well-disciplined mind. He had the profoundest respect for his father's -opinion, the most implicit reliance on his father's judgment; and from -the sentence which pronounced the case of Annette hopeless, except -under those conditions whose fulfilment he now found it impossible to -procure, he never thought of appealing. His father--of whose science -in theory, of whose skill in practice, his own experience had offered -him innumerable instances--had told him, with genuine concern and with -true sympathy, rather than the more formal paternal manner it was the -doctor's custom to exhibit towards his son, that this one only hope -existed, this solitary chance presented itself. He had caught at the -hope; he had endeavoured to reduce the chance to practice; and he had -failed.</p> - -<p>There was bitterness, there was agony, in the conviction, such as had -never fallen to the lot of George Wainwright before, though life had -brought him some of those experiences which Mr. Dunlop was wont to -designate as "twisters" too. But then so much depends on the direction, -the strength, and the duration of the "twist," and there are some so -easily gotten over.</p> - -<p>This, however, was not one of them; and George's heart was sorely -wrung. The pain was directed cunningly, and strongly applied, and -as for its duration--well, George believed, as we all believe when -suffering is very keen and very fresh, that it was going to be -everlasting. It couldn't be otherwise, indeed, in the sense in which -"everlasting" applies itself to this mortal individual life; for did -it not mean that the woman he loved, the one woman he really loved -and longed for, was doomed for her term of terrestrial existence to -the saddest of all destinies, which included utter separation from -him? While they both lived, if that fiat should remain unaltered, how -should his sorrow be less than everlasting? If it be true that there -are certain kinds of trouble, and sharp trouble too, to which men and -women do become accustomed, of a surety this was not one of them, -but trouble of a vital kind, full of murmuring, of wretchedness, and -regret. So long as they both should live--he a sane man, loving this -periodically-insane woman as he loved her, with a strong passionate -attachment, by no means deficient in the conservative element of -intellectual attraction--whence should the alleviation come?</p> - -<p>George Wainwright liked pain as little as most men like it; and as he -turned his face towards England, discomfited and utterly downcast, -he felt, with a sardonic morbidity of feeling, that he would not -be disinclined now to exchange his capacity of suffering and his -steadiness of disposition for the <i>volage</i> fickleness which he was -accustomed to despise in many of his associates. If he could get -over it, it would be much better for him, and no worse for her, he -thought; but the next true and fine impulse of his nature rebuked the -foregoing, and made him prize the sentiments which had come to ennoble -his life, to check its selfishness and dissipate its ennui, though -by the substitution of pain. And for her? He had seen so plainly, -so unmistakably the difference in Annette, the new element of hope, -anticipation, and enjoyment which her affection for him had brought -into her hitherto darkened life, that the utmost exertion of his common -sense failed to make him believe she would be the better for the -complete severance between them which reason dictated to him ought to -be the upshot of the failure of his enterprise.</p> - -<p>"It is better to have loved," he repeated to himself, as he sat -moodily in the railway-carriage on his return journey, unheeding alike -the trimly-cultivated country through which he was passing, and the -profusion of flimsy literature, journalistic and other, with which the -cushions were strewn--"it is better to have loved----" And then he -thought, "She is not <i>lost</i>. She lives, and I can see her. I may cheer -and alleviate her life, though it may never be blessed with union. -When the dark days come, they will be less dark to her, because when -she emerges into light again, it will be to find me; and at her best -and brightest--ah, how good and bright that is!--she will be happier -and better because of me. Good God! am I so weak and so selfish that -I cannot accept what there is in this of blessing, without pining for -that which can never be?"</p> - -<p>Thus, striving manfully with his bitter disappointment, and -strengthening himself with earnest and manly resolutions, George -Wainwright returned to England. Perhaps the sharpest pang he felt, -sharper even than that with which he had heard Dr. Hildebrand's -decided refusal and had obeyed his peremptory dismissal, was caused -by the momentary shrinking from the sight of Annette, which made -itself felt as he approached the place of her abode. At first there -had been wild, reckless longing to see her, longing in which love was -intensified by pity and sharpened by grief; then came this instinctive -dread and lingering. He had left her with so much hope, so much -energy, such strong conviction; he was returning with none of these. -He was returning to look in the dear face so often overhung with the -mysterious fitful veil of insanity, and to be forced to feel that it -could never be given to mortal hand to lift that veil, and to throw it -aside for ever. And though his first impulse had been to hasten back to -England with all possible speed, when he arrived in London he lingered -and hesitated about announcing himself at the residence of the Derinzys.</p> - -<p>Should he go to his father's chambers at the Albany in the first -instance, and tell him how his hopes had collapsed?--not because, as -Dr. Wainwright had supposed, the eccentric and famous German savant -was dead, but because the rampant vitality of professional jealousy -had utterly closed his heart to George's pleadings, and even obscured -the ambition to make one cure more, which, to the joy of many a heart, -has been found too strong to be resisted by more than one celebrated -physician <i>en retraite</i>. Yes, he would see his father in the first -instance; it would give him nerve. Indeed, he ought to do so for -another reason.</p> - -<p>He must henceforth be doubly careful in his dealings with Annette; he -who--it would be absurd to disguise his knowledge of the fact--had -assumed greater importance in her life than any other being, who -noted and managed her, and swayed her temper and her fancies as -no one beside; and this was exactly the conjuncture in which the -advice, the guidance, of the physician charged with her case would -be indispensable. George would obtain it and obey it to the utmost. -Supposing his father, in the interest of his patient and his son, -were to pronounce that under the circumstances it would be advisable -that the young people should not meet, could George undertake to obey -the behests of the physician or the counsel of the father? This was a -difficult question. In such a case he would appeal promptly to that -excellent understanding, that taken-for-granted equality which had -subsisted between him and Dr. Wainwright, and put it to him that he was -prepared to sacrifice himself for the welfare of the girl, and to lend -to her blighted life all the alleviation which his friendship and his -society could afford, while strictly guarding himself from the avowal -of any warmer feeling.</p> - -<p>Assisted by these resolutions, and perhaps not quite unconscious that -he would have been slow to credit any other person who might have -formed them with the courage to maintain them, George Wainwright -presented himself before his father. The Doctor received him kindly, -and listened to the account of his fruitless journey without any -evidence of surprise.</p> - -<p>"I am glad the old man is still living," said Dr. Wainwright, when -George had finished his story; "but sorry to find he is not so great -a man as I had believed him to be. No great man allows a personal -feeling, prejudice, or pique to interfere with his theories or hamper -his actions. The idea of his declining such a case because <i>I</i> had been -unsuccessful with the patient! Why, that ought, even according to his -own distorted notions, to be the strongest reason for his going at it -with a will. However," and the "mad doctor" laughed a low laugh and -rubbed his hands gently together, "there are queer freaks and cranks of -the human mind to be seen outside of lunatic asylums."</p> - -<p>George was a little impatient of his father's attention being rather -given to Dr. Hildebrand than to his feelings under the circumstances, -and he recalled it by the abrupt question:</p> - -<p>"What is to be done now?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing," replied Dr. Wainwright; "nothing in the sense of cure, -nothing additional in the way of treatment."</p> - -<p>"May I--may I safely continue to see her?"</p> - -<p>The son knew well how thoroughly, under the habitual professional -composure of his manner, the father comprehended and felt the deep -importance of the reply he was about to make.</p> - -<p>"The question of safety," he said, "mainly concerns <i>you</i>. Do you think -you would do wisely in continuing to seek the society of this poor -girl, feeling as you do towards her, and knowing she cannot be your -wife?"</p> - -<p>"My dear father," replied George with deliberation, "I do not think, -I do not say it would be wise; I only say it is one of those foolish -things which are inevitable. Put me aside in the matter, and tell me -only about <i>her</i>."</p> - -<p>"Then," said the Doctor, "I have no hesitation in saying I do not -think you can harm her. Your society cheers and amuses her. In her -state there is little danger of the awakening of any deep and permanent -feeling. Should such a danger arise, I should be sure to perceive and -prevent it."</p> - -<p>After a long conversation, the father and son parted. Dr. Wainwright -felt considerable regret that George's feelings should be thus -involved; but he reasoned upon the case, according to his lights -and convictions, and did not exaggerate its importance, believing -that his son was not the sort of man to make himself perfectly -uncomfortable about any woman whom it was quite impossible he should -marry. He thought about the whole party after his son had left him--of -Annette with liking and compassion; of George with affection, and a -recognition of the difference which existed between his own mind and -his son's; and of the Derinzys with supreme contempt. Perhaps, in the -long list of his friends and patients, there were not to be found -two individuals whom Dr. Wainwright--a man not given to venerating -his fellow-creatures--more thoroughly despised than Captain and Mrs. -Derinzy. And then he turned to his books again, and forgot them.</p> - -<p>From his father's chambers in the Albany, George Wainwright went -direct to the Derinzys' house. Mrs. Derinzy was at home, as was Miss -Annette; but Mr. Wainwright could not on this occasion have the -pleasure of seeing the Captain. So far, everything was propitious to -that gentleman's wishes; and he entered the small back drawing-room, -which no one but a house-agent or an upholsterer would have called -a boudoir, where. Annette was usually to be found, lounging near a -flower-crowded balcony, with the feeling of joy at seeing her again -decidedly predominant. He was philosophic, but he was something more -than a philosopher; and this afflicted girl had become inexpressibly -dear to him, had inspired him with a love in which selfishness had a -strangely small share.</p> - -<p>Annette was in her usual place, and she rose to meet George with an -expression of simple unaffected pleasure. Mrs. Derinzy, who was also -in the room, greeted him with cold politeness. She was not so foolish -as to persist in believing she could have carried her design to a -successful issue in any case; but she vas quite sufficiently unjust to -resent George's influence over Annette, though she knew it had never -been employed against her, and though she felt a malicious satisfaction -in contemplating the hopelessness of the affair.</p> - -<p>"If anyone would marry an insane woman, knowing all about her, it -certainly would not be a mad doctor's son," thought Mrs. Derinzy, and -was pleased to feel that other people's plans had to "gang a-gley" as -completely as her own.</p> - -<p>George took Mrs. Derinzy's manner very calmly and contentedly. He did -not care about Mrs. Derinzy or her manner. He was thinking of Annette, -and reading the indications of health, or the opposite, in her pleased -agitated face.</p> - -<p>"Where have you been, and why have you stayed away so long?" was the -first address to George; and she could hardly have selected one more -embarrassing. But he got out of the difficulty by the plea which is -satisfactory to every woman except one's wife--possibly because she -alone can estimate its real value--the plea that "business" had taken -him on a flying tour to Germany. He entertained her with an account of -his travels, and had at least the satisfaction of seeing her brighten -up into more than her customary intelligence, and assume an expression -of happiness which had been singularly wanting in her sweet young face -when he had first seen it, and which he believed he was the only person -who had ever summoned up. It was not difficult for George, sitting -near the handsome girl, so bright and so gentle for him alone, in the -pleasant hush of the refined-looking room, to persuade himself that -such a state of things would satisfy him, and be the very best possible -for her. It was not difficult for him to forget that the Derinzys -were not habitual inhabitants of London; and that if his relations -with Annette were destined to assume no more definite form, he could -have no valid excuse for presenting himself at Beachborough without -the invitation which Mrs. Derinzy's demeanour afforded him no hope of -obtaining.</p> - -<p>But George's delusive content was not destined to be lasting. At -a break in the conversation, which, with the slightest possible -assistance from Mrs. Derinzy, he was carrying on with Annette, he asked -the elder lady for news of Paul, adding that he had not written to his -friend during his absence, and had not yet had time to apprise him of -his return.</p> - -<p>"We have seen hardly anything of Paul of late," said Mrs. Derinzy in a -tone of strong displeasure. "My residence in London has not procured me -much of the society of my son; and since you left town, I cannot say we -know anything about him."</p> - -<p>"This looks badly," thought George. "With all his determination to -resist his mother, Paul would not neglect her if things were not going -ill with him. I must see to him."</p> - -<p>That visit was memorable, and in more ways than one. It was the last -which George Wainwright made to Mrs. Derinzy in the character of a mere -friendly acquaintance, and it confirmed him in his belief, as full of -fear as of hope, that Annette loved him.</p> - -<p>His absence had not been of long duration, but it sent him back with -renewed zest to his painting, his books, and his music, and there was a -strong need within him of a little rest and seclusion. He felt he must -"think it out;" not in foreign scenes or amid distractions, but thus, -amid his actual present surroundings, in the very place where he should -have to "live it down." So it came to pass that he did not forthwith go -in search of Paul, but contented himself with writing him a note and -bidding him come to him--a summons which, to George's surprise, his -friend neither responded to nor obeyed. His leave had not expired, and -a few days of the solitude his soul loved were within his reach.</p> - -<p>Beyond his customary evening visit to Madame Vaughan--in whose -appearance he noted a change which aroused in him apprehensions shared -by her attendants and the resident doctor, but whose intelligence was -even more than usually bright and sympathetic, though her delusion -remained unchanged--George Wainwright went nowhere and saw no one for -three days. At the end of that time his seclusion was interrupted by an -unexpected visitor.</p> - -<p>It was his father. And his father had so manifestly something important -to communicate, that George, whose sensitive temperament had one -feminine tendency, that which renders a man readily apprehensive of ill -news, started up and said:</p> - -<p>"There is something wrong! Miss Derinzy----"</p> - -<p>"Sit down, George, and keep quiet," said the Doctor kindly, regarding -his son's impetuosity with a good-natured critical amusement. "There's -nothing in the least wrong with Miss Derinzy; and though a rather -surprising event has happened, it is not at all of an unpleasant -nature--indeed, quite the reverse. You have made a conquest, a most -valuable conquest, my dear boy."</p> - -<p>"Who is she?" said George, with a not very successful smile. "Have you -come to propose to me on the part of a humpy heiress?"</p> - -<p>"Not in the least. There is no she in the case. You have made a -conquest of old Hildebrand, and its extent and validity are tolerably -clearly proved, I think, considering that he has gotten rid of an -antipathy of long standing, surmounted a deeply-rooted prejudice. He -has actually written to me--to me, the man who, in his capacity of -doctor and savant, he holds in abhorrence, who, I am sure, he sincerely -believes to be a quack and an impostor. He has written me a most -friendly original letter, a curiosity of literature even in German; but -he thought proper to air his English, and the production took me nearly -an hour to read."</p> - -<p>Dr. Wainwright took a letter out of his pocket as he was speaking--a -big square letter, a sheet of coarse-grained, thin, blue paper, -sealed with a blotch of brown wax, and directed in a most crabbed and -unmanageable hand, the address having been subsequently sprinkled, with -unnecessary profusion, with glittering sticky sand. George glanced at -the document with anxious eyes.</p> - -<p>"I don't intend to inflict the reading of it on you," continued the -Doctor. "I can tell you its contents in a few words. Dr. Hildebrand -consents to undertake the treatment of Miss Derinzy on your account, -provided the young lady be formally confided to his care by her -relatives, on my authorisation; that I state in writing and with the -utmost distinctness all the particulars and the duration of the case, -and acknowledge that it surpasses my ability to cure it. In addition, -I am to undertake to publish in one of the medical journals an account -of the case--supposing Miss Derinzy to be cured, of which Hildebrand -writes as a certainty--and give him all the credit."</p> - -<p>George had punctuated his father's calm speech with various -exclamations, of which the Doctor had not taken any notice; but now he -said:</p> - -<p>"My dear father, this is a wonderful occurrence; but you could not -consent to such conditions."</p> - -<p>"Indeed! and why not? Do you think I ought to be as foolish and as -egotistical as that incomparably sagacious and skilful Deutscher, whose -conduct I reprobated so severely, and whom you apparently expect me to -imitate? No, George; professional etiquette isn't a bad thing in its -way, but it should not be permitted to override common sense, humanity, -and one's simple duty. If some small bullying of me, if some ludicrous -shrill crowing over me, enter into the scheme of this odd-tempered -sage, so be it. He shall make the experiment; and if he succeed, nobody -except yourself will be more heartily rejoiced than the doctor who -failed."</p> - -<p>George shook hands with his father silently, and there was a brief -pause. Dr. Wainwright resumed:</p> - -<p>"This queer old fellow assigns the very great impression which you -produced upon him as the cause of his change of mind. You are a fine -fellow, it appears; a young man of high tone and of worthy sentiments, -a young man devoid of the narrowness and coldness of the self-seeking -and gold-loving English nation. A pang, it seems, entered the breast -of the learned Deutscher when he reflected that on an impulse--whose -righteousness he defends, without the smallest consideration that his -observations are addressed to me--he refused to extend the blessing of -his unequalled service and unfailing skill to an afflicted young lady -of whose amiability it was impossible for him any doubt to entertain, -considering that she was by so superior a young man beloved. Under the -influence of this pang of conscience, stimulated no doubt by the wish -to achieve a great success at my expense, Hildebrand begs to be put -in communication with you, and with the friends of the so interesting -young lady, and promises all I have already told you. And now, we must -act on this without any delay. A little management will be necessary as -regards the affectionate relatives of Miss Derinzy."</p> - -<p>George was a little surprised at his father's tone. It was the first -time he had departed so far from his habitual reticence in anything -connected with professional matters. But a double motive was now -influencing the Doctor: interest of a genuine nature in his son's -love-affair, and the true anxiety for the result of a scientific -experiment which is inseparable from real knowledge and skill. The -family politics of the Derinzys were to be henceforth openly discussed -between Dr. Wainwright and his son.</p> - -<p>"You do not suppose they will make any objection? They can have no wish -but for her recovery."</p> - -<p>"I should have said that her recovery would not have concerned or -interested them particularly a short time ago," said Dr. Wainwright -calmly. "When they were not yet aware that their plan for marrying -their niece to their son could not be carried into effect--the money in -Paul's possession, and their own claims upon it amply satisfied, as of -course they would have been--I don't think the Captain, at all events, -would have concerned himself much further about the condition of his -daughter-in-law, or cared whether Paul's wife were mad or sane. But all -this is completely changed now, by Paul's refusal to marry his cousin. -The girl's restoration to perfect sanity is the sole chance for the -Derinzys getting hold of any portion of her property, by testamentary -disposition or otherwise; as on her coming of age, the circumstances -must, of course, be legally investigated."</p> - -<p>"Would not Captain Derinzy be Annette's natural heir in the event of -her death?" asked George.</p> - -<p>"No," replied the Doctor. "I see you are surprised; and I must let you -into a family secret of the Derinzys in order to explain this to you. -They have some reason for believing, for fearing, that Miss Derinzy's -mother is living. At another time I will tell you as much as I know of -the story; for the present this is enough to make you understand the -pressure which can be brought to bear, in order to induce Captain and -Mrs. Derinzy to follow out the instructions I mean to give them."</p> - -<p>"I understand," said George. "And now tell me what you intend to -advise. I suppose I am not to appear in this at all?"</p> - -<p>"Not at present, certainly. I should not fancy the Captain and Mrs. -Derinzy knowing anything about your flight in search of old Hildebrand. -It is preferable that I should gravely and authoritatively declare -their niece to require the care of this eminent physician, of whose -competence I am thoroughly assured; and I shall direct that Miss -Derinzy be placed under his charge as authoritatively, but also in as -matter-of-course a fashion, as if it were merely a case of 'the mixture -as before.' There is no better way of managing people than of steadily -ignoring the fact that any management is requisite, and also that -remonstrance is possible. I shall adopt that course, and I answer for -my success. Miss Derinzy shall be under Dr. Hildebrand's care in a week -from this time; and I trust the experiment will be successful."</p> - -<p>"Are you going there now?"</p> - -<p>"I am going there at once."</p> - -<p>"I should like to go with you--not into the house, you know--so as to -know as soon as possible."</p> - -<p>"Very well; come along, then. You can sit in the carriage, while I go -in and see my patient. Be quick; we can discuss details on our way."</p> - -<p>Two minutes more saw George Wainwright seated beside his father in one -of the least pretentious and best-appointed broughams in London, to the -displacement of sundry books and pamphlets, the indefatigable Doctor's -inseparable companions.</p> - -<p>"You are acquainted with Mrs. Stothard, I presume," said the Doctor, -"and aware of her true position in the family: partly nurse, partly -companion, partly keeper to my patient."</p> - -<p>George winced as his father completed this sentence, but unperceived.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he replied, "I do know her: a disagreeable, designing, -unpleasant person--strong-minded decidedly."</p> - -<p>"Strong-bodied too; and needing to be so sometimes, I am sorry to say."</p> - -<p>George winced again.</p> - -<p>"I shall give my directions to <i>her</i>. She must accompany Miss Derinzy. -She is faithful to the girl's interest; and would be a cool and -deliberate opponent of the Derinzys if there were any occasion for open -opposition, which there will not be."</p> - -<p>"She is of a strange, concentrated nature," said George. "I don't think -she loves Annette."</p> - -<p>"Oh dear no; I should say not," rejoined the Doctor. "I fancy she does -not love anybody--not even herself much--and cares for nothing in the -world beyond her interests; but she is wise enough to know they will be -best served by her fulfilment of her duty, and practical enough to act -on the knowledge--not an invariable combination. She has behaved well -in Miss Derinzy's case; and she may always be relied upon to do what I -tell her."</p> - -<p>"Should no one else accompany Annette?"</p> - -<p>"Well, yes; I think I shall send one of our own people--Collis is -a capital fellow, as good as any courier at travelling, and can be -trusted not to talk when he comes back. Yes, I'll send Collis," said -the Doctor, in a tone of decision.</p> - -<p>George approved of this. Collis was an ally of his. Collis was a -special favourite with Madame Vaughan; and in his occasional absences, -George always left him with a kind of additional charge of corridor No. -4.</p> - -<p>"That seems a first-rate arrangement, sir," said he; "I hope you may -find you can carry it out in all particulars."</p> - -<p>Dr. Wainwright did not reply; he merely smiled. He was accustomed to -carry out his arrangements in all particulars. They were nearing their -destination.</p> - -<p>"I wonder how Annette will take it: whether she will object--will -dislike it very much?" George said uneasily.</p> - -<p>His father turned towards him, and at the same minute half rose, for -they had arrived at the door of the Derinzys' house.</p> - -<p>"She will take it very well, she will not object," he said -impressively; "for I am going to try an experiment on my own part. I -mean to tell her the whole truth about herself."</p> - -<p>He stepped out of the carriage and went into the house.</p> - -<p>During Dr. Wainwright's absence, George recalled every incident of his -interview with Dr. Hildebrand with mingled solicitude and amusement. -The caprice and inconsistency of the old man were, on the one hand, -alarming; but they were, as George felt, counterbalanced by a certain -conviction of ability, of knowledge, an entire and cheerful confidence -in his skill, which he irresistibly inspired. If, indeed, it should -be well-founded confidence; if incidentally Annette should owe her -restoration to perfect mental health to the man who loved her; if the -result of this should be their marriage under circumstances which -should no longer involve a defiance of prudence--then George felt that -he should acknowledge there was more use in living, more good and -happiness in this mortal life, than he had hitherto been inclined to -believe in.</p> - -<p>He glanced occasionally up at the windows; not that he expected to see -Annette, who invariably occupied the back drawing-room.</p> - -<p>Presently the white-muslin blinds were stirred, and Dr. Wainwright -appeared at one of the windows, and in the opposite angle Captain -Derinzy, who, to judge by the expression of his countenance, was, -if not pronouncing his favourite ejaculation, "Oh, damn!" at least -thinking it. It was quite plain the conference was not pleasant; and -George could see his father's face set and stern. After a few minutes -the speakers moved away from the window; and then a quarter of an hour -elapsed, during which George found patient waiting very difficult. -At the end of that time Dr. Wainwright reappeared, and got into the -carriage.</p> - -<p>"Well," questioned George, "what did Captain Derinzy say?"</p> - -<p>"Never mind what Captain Derinzy said. He is a fool, as well as one or -two other things I could name, if it were worth while. But it isn't. -He must do as he is bid; and that is all we need care about. I have -seen Mrs. Derinzy and Mrs. Stothard, and settled it all with them. Miss -Derinzy will be ready to start in three days from the present."</p> - -<p>"You did not see Annette?"</p> - -<p>"No, of course not. My interview with her will not be an affair of -twenty minutes. I shall see her early to-morrow morning, and make it -all right. And now, my dear boy, I am going to set you down. I have -given as much time to the <i>affaire</i> Derinzy as I can spare at present. -I shall write to Hildebrand to-night, and you had better write to him -too, in your best German and most sentimental style. Goodbye for the -present."</p> - -<p>Dr. Wainwright pulled the check-string, the carriage stopped, and -George was deposited at a street-corner. His father was immersed in a -pamphlet before he was out of sight.</p> - -<p>George saw Annette once, by special permission of Dr. Wainwright, -during the three days which sufficed for her preparations. He had been -strictly enjoined to avoid all agitating topics of conversation, and -was not supposed by Annette to be acquainted with the facts of the -case, or the nature of the interview which had taken place as arranged -by Dr. Wainwright. While studiously obeying his father's injunctions, -George watched Annette narrowly as he cautiously spoke of the Doctor, -towards whom she had never displayed the smallest liking or confidence, -and he perceived that the disclosures which had been made to her had -already produced a salutary effect. There was less versatility in her -manner, and more cheerfulness, and she spoke voluntarily and with -grateful appreciation, although vaguely, of Dr. Wainwright. She alluded -freely to her projected journey; and it was rather hard for George -to conceal that he had some previous knowledge on the subject. Her -manner, modest and artless as it was, could not fail to be interpreted -favourably to himself by the least vain of men; and when the moment -of parting came, it needed his strong sense of the all-importance -of discretion to enable him to restrain his emotion, to conceal his -consciousness of the impending crisis. When the interview was over, and -George had taken leave of Annette, when he went away with the memory of -a sweet, tranquil, <i>sane</i> smile, as the last look on her face, he was -glad.</p> - -<p>No mention had been made by Mrs. Derinzy of her son, by Annette -of her cousin, and George had been so absorbed in the interest of -this strange and exciting turn of affairs, that he had not thought -of his friend. But when he had, from a point of view whence he was -not visible, watched the departure of Miss Derinzy, Mrs. Stothard, -and Annette's maid, under the charge and escort of the trustworthy -and carefully-instructed Collis, as he turned slowly away from the -railway-station when the tidal-train had rushed out of sight, he said -to himself:</p> - -<p>"Now I must go and look after Paul."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_30" href="#div1Ref_30">CHAPTER XXX.</a></h4> -<h5>DAISY'S RECANTATION.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>There was no doubt about it, Paul was very ill indeed. The doctor, when -he came, pronounced the young man to be in a very critical state, and -gave it as his opinion that an attack of brain-fever was impending. -This confidence was given to George, for whom Paul's landlady had sent -at once, immediately on her lodger being brought home. The doctor--who -was no other than little Doctor Prater, the well-known West-End -physician, who is looked upon, and not without reason, as the medical -<i>ami des artistes</i>--took George aside, and probably without knowing -it, put to him as regards Paul the same question which Doctor Turton -asked Oliver Goldsmith, "Whether there was anything on his mind?" The -response was pretty much the same in both cases. George shook his head -and shrugged his shoulders, and admitted that his friend had been -"rather upset lately."</p> - -<p>"Ah, my dear sir," said the little doctor, "not my wish to pry into -these matters; man of the world, see so much of this sort of thing -in the pursuance of a large practice, could tell at once that our -poor friend had some mental shock. Lady, I suppose? Ah well, must not -inquire; generally is at his time of life; later, digestion impaired, -bank broken; but in youth generally a lady. I am afraid he is going -to be very bad; at present <i>agrotat animo magis quam corpore</i>, as the -Latin poet says; but he will be very bad, I have not the least doubt."</p> - -<p>"It's a bad business," said George dolefully, "a very bad business. He -ought to be nursed, of course; and though I have heard him speak of the -woman of the house as kind and attentive and all that, I don't know -that one could expect her to give her time to attend to a sick man."</p> - -<p>"Our young friend will require a good deal of attention, my dear sir," -said the little doctor; "for night-work, at all events, he must have -some professional person. What did you say our young friend's name was? -Mr. Derinzy. Ah, the name is familiar to me as--yes, to be sure, great -house in the City, millionaire and that kind of thing; and your name, -my dear sir?"</p> - -<p>"My name is Wainwright," said George, smiling in spite of himself at -the little man's volubility.</p> - -<p>"Wainwright! not son of---- My dear sir, I am glad to make your -acquaintance; one of the brightest ornaments of our profession; any -care that I should have bestowed on this interesting case will be -redoubled now that I know that our poor young friend here is a friend -of yours. You will kindly take care that these prescriptions are made -up at Balsam and Balmelow's, if you please; must have the best of drugs -in these cases, and no other house is so much to be depended upon. Now -I must run away; I will look in again in the evening; and during my -absence I will make arrangements for the night-nurse. The attendance -in the daytime I must look to you to provide. Good-day, my dear sir." -And wringing George's hand warmly, the little man trotted off, jumped -into his brougham, and was driven away to inspect, prescribe for, and -chatter with a dozen other cases within the next few hours.</p> - -<p>George sat down by the bedside and bent over its occupant, who was -tossing restlessly from side to side, gazing about him with vacant -eyes, and muttering and moaning in his delirium. What were the words, -incoherent and broken, issuing from his parched lips? "My darling, my -darling, stay by me now--no more horrible parting--never again that -scornful look! Daisy, say you did not mean it when you wrote; say there -is no one else--to-morrow, darling, in the old place--come and tell me -your mind--my wife, my darling!"</p> - -<p>These words were uttered with such intensity of earnestness--and -although Paul's glance was never settled, his eyes roving here and -there as he tossed and flung about his arms on the bed, there was such -a piteous look in his face--that George Wainwright's emotion overcame -him, and two big tears rolled down his cheeks.</p> - -<p>"This will never do," said he, brushing them hastily; "it is as I -thought, and that little doctor was right in his random hit. This -affair with the girl has assumed proportions which I never suspected. -Poor dear Paul used to make it out bad enough; but I had no notion that -it had come to any crisis, or indeed, if it had, that he would suffer -from it in this way. Now what is to be done? I think the first thing -will be to see this young lady, and bring her to her bearings. If she -has thrown Paul over, as I half suspect she has, I must let her know -the consequences of her work, and see whether she persists in abiding -by her determination. It may be only some lovers' quarrel; Paul is a -mere boy in these matters, and hotheaded enough to take <i>au sérieux</i> -what may have been only the result of pique or woman's whim; in that -case, when she finds the effect that her quarrel has had upon him, -she will probably repent, and her penitence will aid in bringing him -round. On the other hand, if she still continues obdurate, one may be -able to point out to him the fact that he is eminently well rid of so -heartless a person. Not but what my little experience in such matters," -said George with a sigh, "teaches me that lovers are uncommonly hard to -convince of whatever they do not wish to believe."</p> - -<p>In pursuance of this determination George Wainwright, so soon as he had -installed the landlady in Paul's apartment as temporary nurse, started -off in search of Daisy. He had listened to so many of poor Paul's -confidences that he knew where the girl was to be found, and made his -way straight to George Street.</p> - -<p>Madame Clarisse was still away, and Daisy continued her occupancy of -the little furnished rooms, into which George was ushered on inquiring -for Miss Stafford. The rooms were empty on George's entrance, and he -walked round them, examining the various articles of furniture and -decoration with very contemptuous glances. Presently Daisy entered, -and George stood transfixed in admiration. She looked magnificently -handsome; the announcement of the name of her visitor had brought a -bright flush into her cheek, and anticipating a stormy interview, she -had come prepared to do battle with all the strength at her command, -and accordingly assumed a cold and haughty air which became her -immensely.</p> - -<p>The transient glimpses which George had had of her that day in -Kensington Gardens, though it had given him a general notion of her -style, had by no means prepared him for the sight of such rare beauty. -He was so taken aback that he allowed her to speak first.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Wainwright, I believe?" said Daisy with a slight inclination of -her head.</p> - -<p>"That's my name," said George, coming to himself.</p> - -<p>"The servant told me that you asked for me, that you wished to see me; -I am Miss Stafford."</p> - -<p>"The servant explained my wishes correctly," said George; "I have come -to see you, Miss Stafford, on a very important and, I grieve to add, a -very unpleasant matter."</p> - -<p>Daisy looked at him steadily. "Will you be seated?" she said, motioning -him to a chair, at the same time taking one herself.</p> - -<p>"I have come to you," said George, bending forward and speaking in a -low and earnest tone of voice, "on behalf of Mr. Paul Derinzy. Not that -I am sent by him; I have come of my own accord. You may be aware, Miss -Stafford, that I am Mr. Derinzy's intimate friend, and possess his -confidence in no common degree."</p> - -<p>"I have heard Mr. Derinzy frequently mention your name, and always with -the greatest regard," said she.</p> - -<p>"If we were merely going to speak the jargon of the world, Miss -Stafford, I might say that I could return the compliment," said George. -"However, what I wish you to know is, that in his confidence with me -Paul Derinzy had spoken openly and frankly of his affection for you, -and, indeed, made me acquainted with all the varieties of his doubts, -fears, and other phases of his attachment."</p> - -<p>Daisy bowed again very coldly.</p> - -<p>"You and Paul are both very young, Miss Stafford," continued George, -"and I have the misfortune of being much older than either of you. -This, however, has its advantage perhaps, in enabling me to speak -more frankly and impartially than I otherwise could. You must not be -annoyed at whatever I find it necessary to say, Miss Stafford; for the -situation is a very grave one, and more than you can at present imagine -depends upon the decision at which you may arrive."</p> - -<p>"Pray go on, Mr. Wainwright," said Daisy; "you will find me thoroughly -attentive to all you have to say."</p> - -<p>"I must be querist as well as pleader, and introduce some -cross-examination into my speech, I am afraid," said George; "but -you may depend on my neither saying nor asking anything more than is -absolutely necessary. And in the first place let me tell you, what -indeed you already know, that this boy loves you with all the ardour -of a very affectionate disposition. I don't know whether you set much -store by that, Miss Stafford; I do know that young ladies of the -present day indulge in so many flirtations, and see so many shams and -counterfeits of the passion, that they are scarcely able to recognise -real love when they see it, and hardly ever able to appreciate it. But -it is a thing that, when once obtained, should not be lightly let go; -and indeed, Owen Meredith thinks quite right--you read poetry, I know, -Miss Stafford; I recollect Paul having told me so--when he says:</p> - -<pre> Beauty is easy enough to win, - But one isn't loved every day." -</pre> -<p class="continue">"I presume it was not to quote from Owen Meredith that you wished to -see me, Mr. Wainwright," said Daisy, looking up at him quietly.</p> - -<p>George stared at her for a moment, but was not one bit disconcerted.</p> - -<p>"No," he said, "it was not; but I am in the habit of using quotation -when I think it illustrates my meaning, and those lines struck me as -being rather apt. However, we come back to the fact that Paul Derinzy -was, and I believe is, very much in love with you. From what he gave me -to understand, I believe I am right in saying that that passion was at -one time returned. I believe--I wish to touch as lightly as possible -on unpleasant matters--I believe that recently there has been some -interruption of the pleasant relation which existed between you--an -interruption emanating from you--and that Paul has consequently been -very much out of spirits. Am I right?"</p> - -<p>"You are very frank and candid with me, Mr. Wainwright," said Daisy, -"and I will endeavour to answer you in the same manner. I perfectly -admit that the position which Mr. Derinzy and I occupy towards each -other is changed, and changed by my desire."</p> - -<p>"You will not think me impertinent or exacting--you certainly will not -when you know all I have to tell you--if I ask what was the reason for -that change?"</p> - -<p>Daisy's face flushed for an instant, then she said:</p> - -<p>"A woman's reason--because I wished it."</p> - -<p>George nodded as though he perfectly comprehended her; but he gazed at -her all the time.</p> - -<p>"May I ask, has this altered state of feeling come to a head? has there -been any open and decisive rupture between you lately?"</p> - -<p>"If you are not sufficiently in Mr. Derinzy's confidence to have that -information from him, I scarcely think you ought to ask it of me," said -Daisy.</p> - -<p>"Unfortunately, Mr. Derinzy, is not at present in a position to answer -me."</p> - -<p>"Not in a position to---- What do you mean?" asked Daisy, leaning -forward.</p> - -<p>"I will tell you before I go," said George. "In the meantime, perhaps -you will kindly reply to me."</p> - -<p>"There has been no actual quarrel between us," said the girl--"that -is to say, no personal quarrel; but----" and she spoke with so much -hesitation, that George instantly said:</p> - -<p>"But you have taken some decisive action."</p> - -<p>Daisy was silent.</p> - -<p>"You have told him that all must be over between you; that you would -not see him again, or something to that effect."</p> - -<p>"I--I wrote him a letter conveying that decision," said Daisy slowly.</p> - -<p>"And you addressed to him----"</p> - -<p>"As usual, at his club."</p> - -<p>"By Jove, that's it!" said George, springing up. "Now, Miss Stafford, -let me tell you the effect of that letter. Paul Derinzy was picked up -from the floor of the club-library in a fit!"</p> - -<p>"Good God!" cried Daisy.</p> - -<p>"One moment," continued George, holding up his hands. "He was carried -home insensible, and now lies between life and death. He is delirious -and knows no one, but lies tossing to and fro on his bed, ever -muttering your name, ever recalling scenes which have been passed in -your company. When I saw him in this state, when I heard those groans, -and recognised them as the utterances of the mental agony which he was -suffering, I thought it my duty to come to you. Understand, I make -no <i>ad misericordiam</i> appeal. There is no question of my throwing -myself on your feelings, and imploring you to have pity on this boy. -I imagine that, even with all his passion for and devotion to you, -he is far too proud for that, and would disclaim my act so soon as -he knew of it. But, loving him as I do, I come to you and say, 'This -is your work.' What steps you should take, if any, it is for you to -determine. I say nothing, advise nothing, hint nothing, save this: -if what you wrote in that letter to Paul was final and decisive, the -result of due reflection, the conviction that you could not be happy -with him, then stand by it and hold to it; for if you were to give way -merely for compassion's sake, his state would be even worse than it is -now. But if you spoke truth to me at the beginning of this interview, -if your dismissal of Paul was, as you described it, a woman's whim, -conceived without adequate reason, and carried out in mere wantonness, -I say to you, that if this boy dies--and his state even now is most -critical--his death will lie at your door."</p> - -<p>Daisy had been listening with bent head and averted eyes. All evidence -of her having heard what George had said lay in a nervous fluttering -motion of her hand, involuntary and beyond her control. When George -ceased, she looked up, and said in a hard, dry voice:</p> - -<p>"What will you have me do?"</p> - -<p>"I told you at first that I would give you no advice, that I would make -no suggestion as to the line of conduct you should pursue. That must -be left entirely to the promptings of your heart, and--excuse me, Miss -Stafford, I am sadly old-fashioned, and still believe in the existence -of such things--your conscience."</p> - -<p>"Is he--is he so very ill?" asked Daisy in a trembling voice.</p> - -<p>"He is very dangerously ill," said George; "he could not be worse. But -understand, I don't urge this to influence your decision, nor must you -let it weigh with you. Your action in this matter must be the result -of calm deliberation and self-examination. To act on an impulse which -you will repent of when the excitement is over, is worse than to leave -matters where they are."</p> - -<p>"He--he is delirious, you say?" asked Daisy; "he does not recognise -anyone?"</p> - -<p>"No, he is quite delirious," said George. "He will have to be carefully -attended, and I am now going to see after a nurse. So," he added, -rising from his chair, "having discharged my duty, I will now proceed -on my way. I am sorry, Miss Stafford, that on my first visit to you I -should have been the bearer of what, to me at least, is such sad news."</p> - -<p>Then he bowed in his old-fashioned way, and took his departure.</p> - -<p>After George left her, Daisy dropped back into the chair which she had -occupied during his visit, and sat gazing vacantly into the fire.</p> - -<p>Calm deliberation and self-examination! Those were what that strange -earnest-looking man, Mr. Wainwright, had said he left her to. In the -state of anxiety and excitement in which she found herself, the one was -impossible, and she shrank from the other. Self-examination--what would -that show her? A girl, first winning, then trifling with the affections -of a warmhearted young fellow, who worshipped her and was ready to -sacrifice everything in life for her. And the same girl, hitherto so -proud in her virtue and her self-command, paltering and chaffering for -her honour with a man, the best thing which could be said about whom -was, that he had spoken plainly and made no secret of his intentions. -Ah, good heavens, in what a miserable state of mental blindness and -self-deception had she been living during the past few weeks! on -the brink of what a moral precipice had she been idly straying with -careless feet! Thinking of these things, Daisy buried her face in her -hands, and sought relief in a flood of tears. Then, suddenly springing -up, she cried:</p> - -<p>"It is not too late! Thank God for that! Not too late to undo all that -my wickedness has brought about. Not too late to prove my devotion to -him. Mr. Wainwright said he was going to see after a nurse. There shall -be no occasion for that. When my darling Paul comes to himself, he -shall find his nurse installed at his pillow."</p> - -<p>Very long odds against Colonel Orpington's chance now!</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_31" href="#div1Ref_31">CHAPTER XXXI.</a></h4> -<h5>SUSPENSE.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>George Wainwright was by no means unconscious that he had done anything -but a friendly act towards the Derinzys, by making himself accessory -to the reconciliation which he foresaw as the inevitable result of the -meeting between Paul and Daisy. He quite understood that he should -be regarded in the light of an enemy by Paul's father and mother; -and that, should circumstances turn out so happily as to lead to an -avowal of his feelings towards Annette, he would have laid himself -open to the imputation of the meanest of motives, in encouraging his -friend to a step which should at once remove him from rivalry for -the lady's hand and competition for her fortune. The attainment of -Annette's majority would set her free from the guardianship of her -uncle; but if her infirmity of mind continued--and it would then be her -relatives' interest to prove the fact which it had been their interest -to conceal--it would be a curious question how Captain Derinzy would -act. George held a very decided opinion of Annette's uncle, and he felt -very little doubt that the "old scoundrel," as he designated him in -his meditations, would take measures to prove the girl's insanity in -order to bar her from marriage or the testamentary disposition of her -property. If anyone else had been her legal heir, George felt that, -if the hope of her restoration failed, it would have been possible to -make terms, at least to secure secrecy; but not in the case of Captain -Derinzy, especially under the circumstances which he felt were now -shaping themselves into form. Greed, spite, revenge, and exasperation -would all combine to inspire the Captain with a determination, in which -George had no doubt he would be warmly supported by Mrs. Derinzy, to do -his worst with the least possible delay.</p> - -<p>But George, beyond feeling that they required consideration and -cautious handling, cared little for these things. If the experiment -undertaken by Dr. Hildebrand should happily prove successful, he would -do his best to make Annette love him and become his wife; and then -they might dispute her fortune as they liked--he should have enough -for both. If the experiment were destined to fail, he could not see -that the Derinzys would have much to complain of. They would not like -their son's marrying a milliner, of course; but as it was quite clear -they could not make him marry Annette, it did not materially affect the -chief object of their amiable and conscientious scheme. At all events, -no pondering over it on George's part, no resolution he could come to, -would avail to shorten the period of suspense, to alter the fact that -the crisis of his life must shortly be encountered.</p> - -<p>George had contented himself with a written communication to Mrs. -Derinzy, in which he informed her of Paul's illness, and expressed -his conviction that his life depended upon the judicious action of -all around him at the present crisis. He did not overestimate Mrs. -Derinzy's tenderness towards her son; but he was not prepared, when -he went to Paul's rooms on the following day, to find that she had -contented herself with inquiring for him, ascertaining that proper -arrangements had been made for his being carefully nursed, and -announcing her intention of calling upon the doctor.</p> - -<p>Paul was not in a condition to know anything about her proceedings. -When he appeared to be conscious, he named only Daisy and George, and -these intervals were rare and brief. They alternated with long periods -of stupor; and then it would not have been difficult, looking at the -sick man's face, to believe that all care and concern of his with life -were over for ever.</p> - -<p>It was from Daisy George learned that Mrs. Derinzy had been at her -son's lodgings, and he allowed her to perceive how much her account of -the incident surprised and displeased him.</p> - -<p>On arriving at Paul's rooms, George found Daisy sitting quietly beside -the bed, the sick man's hand in one of hers, while the fingers of the -other, freshly dipped in a fragrant cooling essence, lay lightly on -his hot wan forehead, on whose sunken temples pain had set its mark. -Her dress, of a soft material incapable of whisking or rustling, her -hair smoothly packed away, her ringless hands, her noiseless movements, -her composed, steady, alert face, formed a business-like realisation -of the ideal of a sick-nurse, which impressed the practised eye of -George reassuringly, and at the same time conveyed to him a sense of -association which he did not at the moment clearly trace out. When he -thought of it afterwards, he put it down to a general resemblance to -the women employed at his father's asylum.</p> - -<p>Daisy's beauty was not in a style which George Wainwright particularly -admired, and the girl had never attracted him much. He had regarded -her with pity and consideration at first, when he had feared that -Paul was behaving so badly to her. He had regarded her with anger -and dislike when he discovered that she was behaving badly to Paul. -Both these phases of feeling had passed away now, and Daisy presented -herself to George's mind in a different and far more attractive light. -In this pale quiet woman there was nothing meretricious, nothing -flaunting; not the least touch of vulgarity marred the calm propriety -of her demeanour. George felt assured that he was seeing her in a -light which promised for the future, should the marriage which he was -forced to hope for, for his friend's sake, be the result of the present -complication.</p> - -<p>She did not rise when he entered the room, she did not alter her -attitude, and there was not a shade of embarrassment in her manner. In -reply to his salutation she merely bent her head, and spoke in the low -distinct tone, as soothing to an invalid as a whisper is distracting.</p> - -<p>"There is not much change," she said; "it is not yet to be expected."</p> - -<p>George looked at Paul closely and silently.</p> - -<p>"I expected to have found his mother here," he said. "I wrote and told -her of his illness."</p> - -<p>"But you did not tell her I was here?"</p> - -<p>"No," said George in surprise, "I did not think it necessary. I -concluded she would see you here, and learn from your own lips, and -your presence, the service you are doing Paul."</p> - -<p>The sick man moaned slightly, and she dexterously shifted his head upon -the pillow before she answered, with a dim dubious smile:</p> - -<p>"I believe Mrs. Derinzy is a very well-bred person, quite a woman of -the world. She would hardly commit herself to an interview with me."</p> - -<p>The girl's proud eyes fixed themselves upon George's face, as she said -these few words, without any embarrassment.</p> - -<p>"I--I beg your pardon," stammered George; "I ought to have seen Mrs. -Derinzy, and prepared her--I mean told her. I shrank from seeing her, -from a personal motive, and--and I fear thoughtlessly sacrificed you, -in some measure, to this reluctance. I wonder she could go away without -seeing her son."</p> - -<p>"Do you? I do not. The standard of the actions of a woman of the world -may not be comprehensible to you, Mr. Wainwright; but we outsiders, yet -on-lookers, understand it well enough."</p> - -<p>She glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf, softly withdrew her -hand from Paul's, and administered medicine to him, he, seemingly -unconscious, moaning heavily the while.</p> - -<p>"I shall see Mrs. Derinzy," said George, "and explain to her. Forgive -me, Miss Stafford, pray forgive me, if I express myself awkwardly; I -really feel quite astray and at a loss. Things have changed so much -since I last talked with you, though that was only yesterday. I shall -have to give Mrs. Derinzy not only an explanation of the past and the -present, but some notion of what is to be expected in the future. Do -not think me impertinent, do not think me unfeeling, but I must, for -your own sake, in order to place you in the position it is right, it -is due to you, that you should occupy in the estimation of Paul's -mother--I must ask you, what do you purpose--what do you intend the -future shall mean for you and him?"</p> - -<p>Daisy did not reply, until George began to feel impatient of her -silence. Her hand again lay on Paul's forehead, her brow was overcast -and knitted; she was thinking deeply. At length she said:</p> - -<p>"Explain the past as you please, Mr. Wainwright--as Paul has told it -to you, I make no doubt--truly, honestly, as a gentleman, as a man of -honour should; relate the present as you know it to be--the story of -our interview, and of the step I have taken in consequence of it; but -of the future, say nothing."</p> - -<p>"Nothing!" repeated George, in a tone of remonstrance--"nothing! Will -that suffice for her, for you, or for <i>him?</i>" He pointed to Paul. "Do -you not know the hope, the confidence, to which your presence here, the -noble act you have done in coming to him in this terrible extremity, -must give rise? Do you not feel that this is decisive, that henceforth -every consideration must be abandoned by each of you, for the life -which must be lived together?"</p> - -<p>It passed swiftly through Daisy's mind that if ever Paul had so -pleaded his own cause, with so much conviction, so much force, so much -earnestness--if ever he had made her understand the worth of true love, -the false <i>allures</i> of all beside--she would not have listened to -prudence and the narrow suggestions of her worldly wisdom, but would -have listened to him. It passed through her mind that this was a strong -man, one who would love well and worthily, and whose wife would be -honoured among women, whatever her origin. But she answered him coldly, -though his words were utterly persuasive.</p> - -<p>"I cannot tell you to answer for the future, Mr. Wainwright. That -question cannot be answered until it has been asked by Paul. If he -lives, he will ask it; if he dies, Mrs. Derinzy will not require to -know anything about me."</p> - -<p>"Be it so," said George emphatically. "I shall go there at once, and -see you again this evening. Goodbye, Miss Stafford, and God bless you! -You are doing the right thing now, at all events."</p> - -<p>Again she simply bent her head without speaking, and without turning -her eyes from the sick man's face. George left the room with a -noiseless step. When he had reached the stair-foot, Daisy covered her -face with her hands, and rocked herself upon her chair, in an agony of -self-upbraiding.</p> - -<p>"If he lives, he will ask me," she murmured in her torturing thoughts. -"Yes, he will ask me; and I--I who a little while ago was unfit to be -his wife only because of the difference in our rank--what shall I say? -Far other my unfitness now--the unfitness of one who has deliberately -entertained the project of degradation. Am I, who have chaffered with -that vile old man about the terms on which I might be induced to become -his mistress, fit to be that trusting boy's wife? Oh mother, mother! -this is the result of your calculation, your worldly instructions! Yet -no; why should I blame <i>her?</i> It is the outcome of my life, of the sort -of thing I have seen and known since my childhood. Oh, my God! my God! -how foolish, how mad, how wicked I have been!"</p> - - -<p>Mrs. Derinzy was at home. George was ushered into the back -drawing-room, and permitted to indulge himself in solitude with the -contemplation of Annette's unoccupied place, her piano, her work-box, -and her own especial book of photographs, for some time. He looked at -these things with pangs of mingled hope and fear, and their influence -was to do away with the embarrassment and uneasiness he had felt on -entering the house. After all, what did anything really matter to him -which did not concern Annette and his relations with her?</p> - -<p>When at length Mrs. Derinzy appeared, George saw that she was alarmed -and angry. The former sentiment he was enabled to allay, the latter he -was prepared to meet--prepared by courage on his friend's account, and -indifference on his own.</p> - -<p>"I am happy to tell you," he began at once, "that there is satisfactory -progress in Paul's case. He is going on safely. I have little doubt he -will soon be out of danger; indeed, the doctor has said plainly that, -unless in the case of increase of symptoms, he is confident of the -result. You need not be alarmed, Mrs. Derinzy; I assure you the case is -favourable."</p> - -<p>"I have heard the doctor's opinion of the case, Mr. Wainwright," -replied Mrs. Derinzy with cold displeasure, "and I am not unduly -alarmed. But I am not unnaturally astonished to find myself excluded -from my son in his illness, and by you, the son of one of the oldest -and best friends I have in the world. I cannot believe you have any -explanation to offer which I can listen to, for your conduct in -bringing a--a person whom I cannot meet to take my place at my son's -side."</p> - -<p>"I am not surprised at your tone, Mrs. Derinzy," replied George, -"though I might be pardoned for wondering how you contrive to hold me -guilty in the matter of Paul's supposed offence."</p> - -<p>"<i>Supposed</i> offence, Mr. Wainwright! You adopt the flippant and -unbecoming fashion in these matters! I hold it more than a <i>supposed</i> -offence that I should find a person installed in my son's lodgings, -with the knowledge of my son's friend, whose presence renders mine -impossible."</p> - -<p>"We will let the phrase pass, Mrs. Derinzy, and come to the facts. Are -you sure you are really acquainted with the character and position of -the lady in question?"</p> - -<p>"<i>Character</i> and <i>position</i> of the <i>lady</i> in question!" echoed Mrs. -Derinzy, in an accent of spiteful contempt. "I should think there -was little doubt about <i>them</i>; the facts speak pretty plainly for -themselves."</p> - -<p>"I assure you, nevertheless, and in spite of appearances, the -facts do not speak the truth if they impugn the respectability of -Miss Stafford--that is the young lady's name." Mrs. Derinzy bowed -scornfully. "I can give you an ample and trustworthy assurance on this -point, for I am acquainted--I was made acquainted by Paul himself--with -every particular of their intimacy, until within a few weeks of the -event which led to his illness; and the remainder I have learned partly -from inquiries elsewhere, but chiefly from Miss Stafford herself. If -you will listen to me, Mrs. Derinzy, I will tell you Miss Stafford's -history, so far as I know it, and the whole truth respecting her -position with regard to your son. And in order that what I have to say -may be more convincing, may have more weight with you, let me tell -you in the first place that I never spoke a word to Miss Stafford -until yesterday, when I went to her in my fear and trouble about Paul, -feeling convinced that from <i>her</i> only could any real assistance be -procured."</p> - -<p>"Go on," said Mrs. Derinzy, with sullen resignation. "This is a -pleasant hearing for a mother; but it is our fate, I suppose. Tell me -what you have to tell."</p> - -<p>George obeyed her. He recapitulated all that had passed between -himself and Paul on the subject of Daisy, from the time when he had -accidentally witnessed their meeting in Kensington Gardens, to the -last conversation he had held with Paul before he went to Germany. She -listened, still sullen, but with interest, until he told her what was -Daisy's position in life; and then she interrupted him with the comment -for which he had been prepared.</p> - -<p>"A milliner's girl! Truly Paul has a gentlemanly taste! And I am to -believe <i>she</i> had scruples and <i>made</i> difficulties?"</p> - -<p>"You are," returned George, gravely; "for it is true. I do not -sympathise with your notions of caste, Mrs. Derinzy--I think I have -known more bad men and unscrupulous women of gentle than of plebeian -blood--but I understand them. Miss Stafford <i>had</i> scruples, scruples -which Paul failed to vanquish--more shame to him for trying--and -she made difficulties which he could not surmount. The last and -gravest--that which threw him into the fever in which he is now -striving and battling for life--was her refusal, her point-blank, -uncompromising, positive refusal, to marry him!"</p> - -<p>"To marry him!" exclaimed Mrs. Derinzy, starting up from her chair -in very undignified surprise and anger. "My son propose to <i>marry</i> a -milliner's girl! I won't believe it!"</p> - -<p>"You had no difficulty in believing, on no evidence at all, that he -had seduced her," continued George, quietly. "Now I can assume the -latter is utterly false; the former is distinctly true. You had better -be careful how you act towards this young lady, Mrs. Derinzy, for your -son loves her--loves her well enough to have been unworldly, and manly -enough to implore her to become his wife, and to be stricken well-nigh -to death by her refusal, and the sentence of final separation between -them pronounced by her. When your son fell down at his club in the fit -from which it seemed at first probable he would never rally, he was -struck down by a letter from Miss Stafford, in which she told him he -should see her no more."</p> - -<p>"What was her reason? Did she not care for him?" asked Mrs. Derinzy, -almost in a whisper. She was subdued by the earnestness of George's -manner, and some womanly feelings, which, though tepid, still had a -place in her worldly scheming nature, were touched.</p> - -<p>It was fortunate for the zeal and sincerity of George's advocacy of the -cause of the loves of Paul and Daisy, that he was entirely ignorant of -the Orpington episode. He had no actual acquaintance with the other -motives which had influenced Miss Stafford to reject Paul's proposal of -marriage, or the arguments with which she enforced them.</p> - -<p>He had a general idea of the ground she had taken up throughout--the -ground of their social inequality, the inadequacy of means, and the -inevitable grief to which a marriage contracted under those grave -disadvantages must come; and he had, on the whole, approved her -views, until he had beheld their practical effect. He detailed to -Mrs. Derinzy his conviction concerning Miss Stafford's reasons, and -stoutly maintained that those reasons were quite consistent with a -disinterested attachment to Paul, and with a sound and elevated sense -of self-respect. To this view of the subject Paul's mother was entirely -indifferent. When it was made plain to her--as it was with irresistible -clearness, which not even the obstinacy of an illiberal woman sitting -in judgment on a social inferior could resist--that Miss Stafford's -character was unblemished, in the ordinary sense of the phrase, she -was obliged to shift her ground; and thenceforth her anxiety was to -be convinced that Daisy had really refused to marry her son, and to -be assured that she was likely to maintain her resolution. In her -solicitude on this point, Mrs. Derinzy was even ready to praise Miss -Stafford.</p> - -<p>It was most wise of her; it showed an unusual degree of sense and -judgment in one so young, and necessarily so ignorant of the world; and -really it was impossible to praise such good taste too highly. Mrs. -Derinzy could assure Miss Stafford, from her own observation, which she -had had many opportunities of confirming, that these unequal marriages -never "did." They always resulted in misery to the wife. When the -husband outlived the first infatuation, and began to find society and -old habits essential to his comfort, society would not have the wife, -and she could not fit in with the old habits; and then came impatience -and disgust, and all the rest of it. Oh no, such marriages never "did;" -and Mrs. Derinzy was delighted to learn--delighted for the girl's -own sake; for Mr. Wainwright's narrative had inspired her with quite -an interest in this deserving young person--that she had acted with -so much judgment and discretion. She really deserved to prosper, and -Mrs. Derinzy was quite ready to wish her, after the most disinterested -fashion, the utmost amount of good fortune which should not involve her -marriage with Paul.</p> - -<p>But this was precisely the contingency towards which it was George's -object to direct her thoughts. Notwithstanding the ambiguity with which -Daisy had spoken, he believed that she would be ready to sacrifice -all her pride, and to lay aside all her misgivings, when, the great -relief of Paul's being out of immediate danger realised, she should be -convinced that his health and his peace must alike depend on her; and -when that time should have come, much would depend upon his mother. -Happily, George had judgment as well as zeal, and contented himself on -this occasion with convincing Mrs. Derinzy, not only that there was no -contamination to be dreaded in the presence of the "young person" under -whose watchful care her son was struggling back to life, but that she -owed it to Daisy to show, by immediately visiting Paul, and recognising -her properly, that she was willing to undo the compromising impression -which her refusal to enter Paul's room had produced. Those were two -great points to gain in one interview; and when he had gained them, -with the addition of having his offer to escort Mrs. Derinzy to Paul's -lodgings accepted, he bethought himself, for positively the first time, -of the Captain.</p> - -<p>Was he at home? was he much alarmed? George asked.</p> - -<p>The Captain was not at home; was out of town for a couple of days, in -fact; had gone to some races, Mrs. Derinzy did not remember where; she -knew so little about things of that kind, all the racing places were -pretty much alike to her.</p> - -<p>George politely suggested that the Captain's absence was fortunate; he -would not have much suspense to suffer; there was every reason to hope -all danger would be at an end before his return.</p> - -<p>To which Mrs. Derinzy replied with some sharpness that Captain Derinzy -was not endowed with susceptible nerves, and that he was not easily -alarmed by any illness except his own.</p> - -<p>They went out together, and George took leave of Mrs. Derinzy at -the door of Paul's lodgings, having ascertained that the doctor had -again seen the patient, and pronounced that there was no change to be -expected in his condition for some time. He lingered for a moment until -Mrs. Derinzy had begun to ascend the stairs under convoy of a maid, and -then he turned away, hoping for favourable results from this strange -and momentous meeting between Daisy and Paul's mother; and glad on his -own account that a rupture between himself and the Derinzys, which his -interference had appeared to render imminent, was at least postponed.</p> - -<p>There was no characteristic of Daisy's more pronounced than her -self-control. When the maid gently opened the door of the sick-room, -and whispered the words "Mrs. Derinzy," she understood all that had -taken place, and was equal to the emergency. She disengaged her hand -from Paul's unconscious clasp, and rose. Standing in an attitude of -simple easy dignity by her son's bedside, Paul's mother saw her first, -and felt, though she was not a bright woman in general, an instant -conviction that George's story was perfectly true, and that there was -nothing about this remarkable-looking "young person," whose handsome -face was absolutely strange to her, and yet suggested, as it had done -in George's case, an inexpressible association.</p> - -<p>Their respective salutations were polite but formal. Daisy spoke first.</p> - -<p>"Will you take this chair?" she said, indicating her own. "You will be -able to see him better from that side. I am happy to say he is going on -favourably."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, thank you," returned Mrs. Derinzy, in a fidgety whisper; -and she took the proposed place.</p> - -<p>Then came a silence, interrupted only by an occasional faint moan -from Paul. The presence of Mrs. Derinzy did not deter Daisy from -the punctual fulfilment of her self-imposed duties; and as the -mother watched her diligent ministering to the invalid, watched -it helplessly--for Mrs. Derinzy was a perfectly useless person in -a sick-room--she could maintain this reserve no longer, and broke -through it by anxious questions, to which the other replied with ready -respectful self-possession.</p> - -<p>If poor Paul could only have known that, in the first interview between -his mother and his love--an interview on which he had often nervously -speculated--Daisy had appeared to greater advantage, had looked -handsomer, softer, more charming, more graceful, more ladylike than she -had ever appeared in her life before! But many days were to pass away -before Paul was to know anything of surrounding things or persons; his -mind was away in a mysterious region of semi-consciousness, of pain, -of unreality. He was assiduously cared for by Daisy and George, by the -doctor and the nurse. Even Dr. Wainwright himself superintended the -case, and indorsed the mode of treatment of the humbler practitioner. -His mother came to see him every day, and a good understanding existed -between her and Daisy, though no direct reference to Daisy's relations -with Paul had been made.</p> - -<p>The Captain had shown a decent solicitude about his son; but it is to -be feared he rather enjoyed the state of affairs than otherwise as soon -as positive danger to Paul's life was no longer to be apprehended. It -implied so much of the freedom he loved, no surveillance, no domestic -restraints, no regular hours; it was a delicious renewal of the liberty -of his bachelor days.</p> - -<p>There is no need to dwell farther on this portion of the story. After -many weeks Paul was pronounced convalescent; and then, by the advice -of Dr. Wainwright, whose interest had been gradually awakened in the -case, and who had come to like Paul, Daisy abandoned her post. It was -determined that the invalid should travel for awhile, and arranged that -George should accompany him. Dr. Wainwright undertook to induce him to -acquiesce, and to reconcile him to the absence of Daisy.</p> - -<p>He was too weak to resist, he felt an inner consciousness of his -unfitness to bear emotion, which rendered him passively obedient, and -he was too happy to be exacting or rebellious. He trusted the future; -he felt, in a vague way, that things would go well with him. And on the -day fixed for the departure of himself and George on their excursion, -he received a little note from Daisy, which sent him on his way -rejoicing. It contained only these words:</p> - - -<p>"DEAREST PAUL,--George would have brought me to say goodbye to you; -but I could not bear it. You know I hate showing my feelings to anyone -but you, and we could not have been alone. Come home soon--no, don't; -stay away until you are quite well and strong; and don't forget, for -one minute of all the time,</p> -<p style="text-indent:50%">"DAISY."</p> - - -<p>"I think you are a humbug," said George Wainwright to Paul as they -landed at Calais, and Paul declared his inclination to have everything -that could be procured to eat immediately; "you don't look a bit like a -sick man."</p> - -<p>"I'm sure I don't feel like one," returned Paul; "and it's great -nonsense your father sending me away like this. But I am not going to -complain or rebel; I mean implicitly to obey him----"</p> - -<p>"And Daisy," interrupted George.</p> - -<p>"And Daisy, of course."</p> - -<p>The two young men enjoyed their tour, Paul very much more than George, -as was natural. Paul's affairs were promising, though he did not see -his way very clearly to the fulfilment of the promise. But he was full -of hope and the gladsome spirits of returning health. There was as yet -no rift in the cloud which overhung George's prospects, and he wearied -sometimes of the monotony of anxiety and deferred hope.</p> - -<p>Dr. Wainwright communicated punctually to his son such information as -reached him from Mayence. He had not expected regular intelligence -from Dr. Hildebrand, and had told George he must not expect any such -concessions from the scientific old oddity, who had already done him -exceptional grace. A formal report from Mrs. Stothard of the general -health and spirits of Annette reached the Doctor at the appointed -periods, but conveyed little real information. Such as they were, -George hailed the arrival of these documents with eagerness, and Paul -had the grace to assume a deeper interest in them than he really felt.</p> - -<p>"By-the-bye," he said to George one evening, as they were resting after -a day of laborious mountain-walking, "I don't think I ever told you -about Mrs. Stothard, did I?"</p> - -<p>"You never told me anything particular about Mrs. Stothard," replied -George. "What is it?"</p> - -<p>"Why, she's Daisy's mother!"</p> - -<p>"Daisy's mother!" repeated George in astonishment. "Now I know what -the likeness was that struck me; of course, it was just the steady -business-like look I have seen Mrs. Stothard give at Annette."</p> - -<p>Before the companions had started on the expedition arranged for the -following day, the English mail arrived. George got his letters at the -inn-door. One was from his father. He glanced over it, and ran up to -Paul's room, breathless, and with a very pale face.</p> - -<p>"Paul," he said, "there's a letter from my father. Such wonderful news! -He says he will not tell me any particulars till we meet; but Dr. -Hildebrand is sending Annette home at once, and--and she is perfectly -well! Hildebrand says he has never had a more complete, a more thorough -success."</p> - -<p>Paul shook his friend's hand warmly, and eagerly congratulated him, -adding with great promptitude:</p> - -<p>"I'm all right also, you know; and so, old fellow, we'll start for -England to-night."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_32" href="#div1Ref_32">CHAPTER XXXII.</a></h4> -<h5>MADAME VAUGHAN.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>Captain and Mrs. Derinzy had not yet returned to the uncongenial -seclusion of Beachborough. The Captain, who, since he had been coerced, -by Dr. Wainwright's strong representation that he might find it -uncomfortable if he refused, into permitting the experiment proposed by -Hildebrand, had been unusually tractable, was not, it will be readily -believed, eager to leave London. As things were looking at present--and -he was aware they had assumed a very ugly complexion--there was a -decidedly unpleasant uncertainty about the prospect of his getting back -again to his favourite resorts, which quickened his appreciation of the -wisdom of remaining in London as long as he could contrive to do so, -and getting as much pleasure as possible out of the time.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Derinzy considered that it was proper to await Annette's return -in town; there would be so many things to settle when she came back; -and if they really were to be finally defeated in all their plans, if -Paul's folly and obstinacy were to defeat the marriage project, and -Annette's restoration to health render her attainment of her majority -a real acquisition of power, not a mere form, they would be better in -London than elsewhere. Annette might or might not settle an annuity -worth having upon them, if the power to manage her own affairs should -accrue to her; but if they did not voluntarily abandon it, she could -hardly do otherwise than invite them to continue to share her home. -The accounts which Mrs. Derinzy had received from Mrs. Stothard were -facsimiles of those which had been forwarded to Dr. Wainwright, and in -their contents Mrs. Derinzy discerned defeat.</p> - -<p>She was not a wicked, she was only a weak and selfish, woman; and -though that combination has worked as much woe as the more positive -evil, it is only fair to credit her with the palliation. No one could -have been more genuinely shocked than Mrs. Derinzy, if she had been -plainly told that she <i>feared</i> Annette's recovery, that she <i>hoped</i> -for her continued infirmity of mind. She would have repudiated such an -idea with vehemence and sincerity; but she would have been infinitely -puzzled to define the distinction between the feeling of which she -firmly believed herself incapable, and the feeling which she did, -beyond dispute, entertain. If Annette could have been perfectly sane, -but at the same time utterly passive in her hands; if she could have -been thoroughly competent to manage her own affairs; and at the same -time quite incapable of ever desiring to understand or interfere -with them, that would have been charming. Mrs. Derinzy thought it -unreasonable that so easy a state of things should not be immediately -called into existence. At this particular period of her life she -regarded herself as an ill-used individual, whose husband, son, and -niece, separately and in combination, were in act to "worry her to -death."</p> - -<p>It might have been all so comfortable and safe and prosperous--so -nice for them, so well for Paul, so pleasant for poor dear Annette -herself--if it had not been for that odious Miss Stafford in the first -place, and afterwards for that meddling German doctor. But Paul was -most to blame; indeed, if the marriage had come off, it would have -been for every reason best that Annette should be restored to perfect -sanity; this "pother" was his doing chiefly. She was very angry with -Paul--angry with him, that is to say, when he had recovered, when -the danger that the sun of his life might go down upon her wrath was -at an end, when he was abroad gaining health and strength, enjoying -himself, and carrying on a voluminous correspondence with Daisy; while -she had to lament the discomfiture of her designs, and put up with the -Captain's discontent and temper.</p> - -<p>On the whole, Captain and Mrs. Derinzy were very ill at ease, feeling -like a pair of discomfited conspirators, which indeed they were, and -experiencing a humiliating sense of having had the guidance of affairs -taken out of their hands suddenly, noiselessly, dexterously, and -irresistibly. Thenceforward the Captain would complain of "that d--d -authoritative way of Wainwright's," and Mrs. Derinzy admit that she -"had never quite understood the Doctor;" and they were drawn nearer -together by the discomfiture than they had been by any success or -vexation for many years.</p> - -<p>Annette was coming home--the day and hour of her arrival were fixed; -and Mrs. Derinzy had heard from her son that he intended to return -immediately. Something must be settled now. The explanation, which must -inevitably be encountered, had better be brought on at once. It had -occurred to Mrs. Derinzy as a cunning device of immense merit to call -on Daisy, and, availing herself of Paul's absence, address herself to -the girl's disinterestedness and generosity, and secure her promise -that she would refuse Paul should he again ask her to marry him. No -consideration that one refusal on Daisy's part had already almost cost -Paul his life interfered with his mother's sage resolution. "He will -have gotten over it," she believed, because she desired to believe so.</p> - -<p>In pursuance of this brilliant idea, Mrs. Derinzy called on Madame -Clarisse, and condescendingly inquired if she could see Miss Stafford.</p> - -<p>But she could not. Madame Clarisse benignly explained that Miss -Stafford, who had not been quite strong lately, had applied for a short -vacation, and gone to the country, to the farmhouse of a relative. -Madame Clarisse could give Mrs. Derinzy the address; but that lady, who -did not calculate on an epistolary victory, declined, and went away, -leaving the astute <i>modiste</i> to wonder what her business with Miss -Stafford might be, and to make a very "near" guess at the facts.</p> - -<p>There was no help for it; Paul must come back, and she must fight the -battle single-handed. She wished that meddling George Wainwright would -have remained away a little longer. He had not behaved so badly as she -had been inclined to believe at first in that matter of Paul's illness -and Miss Stafford, but they could manage their affairs quite as well -without him.</p> - -<p>On the morning of the day fixed for Annette's return, Dr. Wainwright -visited Mrs. Derinzy, and gave her sundry injunctions as to composure, -and the avoidance of fuss and excitement, in her reception of the -convalescent. The effect of the lesson was, as the Doctor intended -it should be, to rouse Mrs. Derinzy up into the exhibition of some -kindness and warmth of feeling towards the girl, who had for a long -period known nothing more than an indifferent imitation of a home. The -effort to seem kind and affectionate bore its fruits in inspiring Mrs. -Derinzy with more of the feelings she strove to imitate than she had -ever yet experienced, and her heart fairly melted into true kindliness. -She forgot her interested scheming, she did not even remember Annette's -money, when she saw Annette herself, the picture of health, and of -natural girlish happiness.</p> - -<p>The most convincing proof, to Mrs. Derinzy's mind, that the restoration -of Annette was real and complete, was furnished by the alteration -in Mrs. Stothard's manner. As soon as she could see her alone, Mrs. -Derinzy had asked Mrs. Stothard her opinion of the case. The answer was -quickly and decisively given:</p> - -<p>"The German doctor is the queerest man I ever saw, and I'm far from -sure that he is not mad himself; but he has cured Miss Annette, and -sent her home as sane as you and I."</p> - -<p>Every word, look, and gesture of Mrs. Stothard's confirmed this -statement. There was no longer any of the steady unrelaxing vigilance, -the set watch upon the girl, the calmly authoritative or soothingly -coaxing tone which she had been used to maintain. There was no longer -the half-servant demeanour, the personal waiting on Annette which had -puzzled more than one of the very few persons who had ever had an -opportunity of speculating on Mrs. Stothard's real position in the -Derinzy household.</p> - -<p>Every trace of this manner had vanished. Mrs. Stothard was Annette's -companion, and nothing more. She formally, though without explanation, -assumed this position, whose functions she fulfilled as perfectly as -she had fulfilled the more painful and onerous duties of her former -station. It is probable that she and Dr. Wainwright had come to an -understanding, but if so, no third party was the wiser.</p> - -<p>Dr. Wainwright, who was perfectly satisfied of Annette's convalescence, -was a little curious as to how she would receive him, and on his part -assumed a friendly, almost paternal, manner in which there was no trace -of his old relation of physician. But Annette, seizing an opportunity -of speaking to him alone, referred openly to her former malady, and -in the warmest terms thanked him for all his solicitude and care. Her -ready frankness conveyed to the Doctor the last best assurance of her -complete recovery, and he met her expressions of gratitude with prompt -kindness. He left his former patient on this first occasion of their -meeting with an earnest wish for the success of his son in the suit he -had no doubt George would immediately urge. "If the case had been any -other," Dr. Wainwright thought, as he made his way out of the house -without seeing either Captain or Mrs. Derinzy, "I might not feel so -disinterestedly pleased that another has succeeded where I have for -some time despaired of success, but I cannot grudge Hildebrand his -triumph, when it is to secure George's happiness, as I do believe it -will, for this girl is a fine creature."</p> - -<p>Dr. Wainwright had stipulated, in writing to his son, that he was not -to see Annette until after he had had an opportunity of forming his -own judgment upon her state; and he had accepted it as understood, -that if the cure were not complete, George would not ask Annette to -marry him. When he had made his visit to her, with the results already -recorded, he wrote to George, who had arrived in England that morning, -in the following terms, characteristic of the writer, and eminently -satisfactory to the recipient:</p> - - -<p>"MY DEAR GEORGE,--I have seen Miss Derinzy. Hildebrand has kept his -promise, and beaten me, to our mutual satisfaction. Go and visit -her as soon as you please, and you have <i>my</i> consent, if you can -gain the lady's, to turn my patient into my daughter, as soon as you -like.--Yours ever,</p> -<p style="text-indent:50%">G.W."</p> - - -<p>"That's glorious!" said Paul, who had gone home with George on their -arrival. "I am as glad for her sake as for yours, and for yours as -for hers, and I can't say fairer than that, can I? Annette is a dear -girl, and I am quite sure she likes you. I know something of the -symptoms, George, my boy! The governor and my mother will be furious, -of course, and I should not wonder if they declare your father and you -are in a conspiracy against them for your own purposes. However, if -they proclaim such a plot as that, they must include me in it. I say, -George, suppose Annette and I did a bit of the old romance business, -and solemnly repudiated each other; 'unalterably never yours,' and that -kind of thing, you know?"</p> - -<p>George smiled but dimly, and answered his friend's pleasantries only -vaguely. He had not the assurance and certainty with which Paul -accredited him. In the great change which had befallen Annette, in the -new hope and happiness of her life, he might not have the large share -of which his friend believed him confident. He had a true gentleman's -diffidence towards the woman he loved, and no assurance at second hand -could render him secure. He had awaited his father's message with keen -anxiety, and now that it had come, and was so full of goodness, he was -feverishly impatient to learn his fate. The time had come, the time -which had seemed so hopelessly far off had drawn near with wonderful -celerity, and he was to know his destiny--he was to</p> - -<pre> put it to the touch, - To win or lose it all. -</pre> - -<p>He read his father's letter again--"as soon as you like. I will see -her to-day, I will ask her to-day," he said to himself. "There is no -risk to her, or my father would not have said this." Then he said to -Paul:</p> - -<p>"You will come with me, won't you?"</p> - -<p>"Of a surety that will I," answered Paul; "and I will tackle the -governor and my mother--you may be sure there's plenty ready for me -on the score of Daisy--and leave you to welcome Annette home <i>en -tęte-ŕ-tęte</i>."</p> - -<p>Just as the friends were leaving the house, a servant came in search of -George, and stopped him. George asked him with pardonable impatience -what he wanted, and the man replied, that Madame Vaughan had been very -ill during the night, and the nurse had sent to Mr. George to tell him -that she desired to see him at his earliest convenience. George asked -the man several particulars about his poor friend, and expressed his -readiness to go and see Madame Vaughan immediately; but this act of -self-denial was not exacted of him.</p> - -<p>"She's asleep just now, sir," said the man, "and the nurse would not -like to disturb her, she has had such a bad night; but I was not to let -you leave the house without telling you, sir."</p> - -<p>* * * * *</p> - -<p>Many a less brave man has gone to a battle with a stouter heart than -that with which George Wainwright entered the Derinzy mansion, and was -ushered into the room where Annette, her aunt, and Mrs. Stothard were -assembled. The young lady was seated at the piano; the sounds of music -had reached the visitors as they ascended the stairs; and on their -entrance she rose. Paul went into the room first. She received her -cousin with a smile, and his friend, who followed him closely, with a -deep, burning, lasting blush, perceived by Paul, George, and one other. -This observer was Mrs. Stothard, who, having performed her share in the -general civilities, withdrew, with a meaning and well-satisfied smile -in her clear gray eyes, and on her calm, determined, authoritative -mouth.</p> - -<p>"So," she thought, "I was right. I suspected before we left town, and -now I know. Well, so long as my Fanny comes by her fair share, I am -content; and she shall come by it, or I will know why. Old Hildebrand -is a very clever man, and so is Dr. Wainwright, and they have both done -wonders in this case, but I believe Mr. George is the true healer. I -hold to the old proverb, 'Love is the best physician.'"</p> - -<p>* * * * *</p> - -<p>When Paul Derinzy and his mother returned to the small drawing-room, -whence George Wainwright's friend and accomplice had drawn Mrs. Derinzy -within a very few minutes of their arrival, they found Annette in -tears, and her companion in a state of quite unmistakable excitement -and agitation. The first glance which Mrs. Derinzy directed towards the -girl enlightened her as to the cause of the emotion she was evincing; -and by that ray of illumination was dispersed the little feeble hope -of ever carrying her laboriously-constructed design into effect, which -had survived her conversation with Paul. It was surprising--or rather -it would have been surprising to anyone who did not know how obstinate -woman can be in declining to acknowledge a defeat--that her favourite -delusion could have survived the brief but momentous and decisive -conversation she had just had with her son; who had positively declared -his intention of marrying Daisy, if by any persuasion she could be -induced to accept him, and as distinctly his determination <i>not</i> to -marry Annette, if she should prove as willing as her cousin was justly -convinced she was unwilling to have him. She had controlled her temper -wonderfully; her feelings were a little softened by the first sight of -Paul restored to health; and she re-entered the drawing-room determined -to believe that all was not yet completely lost. The sweet delusion -fled at the sight of the faces of the lovers.</p> - -<p>"What does this mean?" demanded the angry lady.</p> - -<p>George started up from his place--quite unconventionally close to -Annette--and was beginning to speak, when Paul interrupted him.</p> - -<p>"It means capital news, mother.--George, I wish you joy.--It means the -best thing possible for all parties. The best fellow in England is -going to marry the nicest girl in Europe.--Isn't it so, George?--Isn't -it so, Annette?--Come, mother, you must not look glum over it; it's -on my account you do so, I know; but I declare before witnesses my -conviction that Annette would not have married me, and that nothing in -the world should have induced me to marry Annette."</p> - -<p>"Though I am the nicest girl in Europe, eh, Paul?" asked Annette, -looking at him through her joyful tears, with a shy archness which was -an entirely new expression in her face.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Paul, bestowing upon his cousin, for the first time in -his life, an unceremonious hug; "but then I'm not the best fellow in -England."</p> - -<p>"Am I to understand, Mr. Wainwright," began Mrs. Derinzy with an -assumption of dignity much impaired by the reality of her anger, "that -you and Miss Derinzy are engaged?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, madam," said George, and he took Annette's hand in his. "Miss -Derinzy has promised to become my wife, and she and I both hope for -your sanction, and that of Captain Derinzy."</p> - -<p>"It will be entirely a matter for the lawyers, sir. Until Miss -Derinzy is of age, no arrangement of the kind can possibly receive -our sanction, for reasons with which I have no doubt you are well -acquainted. After that time, it will be a question for the lawyers -whether Miss Derinzy can contract any engagements."</p> - -<p>It was a cruel speech, and Paul felt equally hurt and ashamed of it. -George's face glowed with anger; but Annette did not seem in the least -hurt by it. She smiled very sweetly, laid her hand caressingly on Mrs. -Derinzy's shoulder, and said:</p> - -<p>"Dear aunt, I hope the lawyers will not be hard on me. I shall only ask -them to do two things for me--to let me marry George, and to let me -give half my money to you and Paul."</p> - -<p>"If she is in earnest," thought Mrs. Derinzy, seizing on the idea with -lightning rapidity, "this is unlooked-for compensation for the defeat -of our plans, and I trust the lawyers will let her have her own way; -but if I were one or all of them, I should regard the notion for one -thing as strong proof that she is not cured, and for another that she -has bitten George and made him as mad as herself."</p> - -<p>But Mrs. Derinzy was very careful to conceal the effect which Annette's -generous unguarded proposition had produced upon her. She answered her -gently and without effusion, that this was a matter of which women -could not judge, and in which she would not interfere. It must be -referred in the first place to Captain Derinzy. She then took a cold -and formal leave of George Wainwright, and left the room.</p> - -<p>George, Paul, and Annette looked at one another rather blankly for the -space of a few moments, and then Paul said:</p> - -<p>"Never mind; it's all right. All that about the money is bosh, you -know, George. I'm not going to rob Annette because my friend is going -to marry her. But the discussion will keep, and we are mutually a -nuisance just now."</p> - -<p>He was out of the room in a moment; the next they heard him bang the -front door cheerfully, and go off whistling down the street.</p> - -<p>It is only with one portion of the conversation which ensued on Paul's -departure, which the reader can reproduce according to his taste or -his memory, that this story has any concern. Annette spoke of her -position, in every aspect with perfect unreserve to her future husband, -and she told him, without anger or vindictiveness, but with a clear -and sensible conviction, that, if the bribe of half her fortune did -not suffice to buy him off, she was sure they would experience active -enmity from the Captain, who would resist to the utmost the deprivation -of his power as her legal heir over her property, and would leave -no effort unmade to dispute her restoration to sanity. She proposed -that George should inform his father of their engagement and of her -apprehensions, and then that he should call on Messrs. Hamber and -Clarke, her father's former solicitors, and ascertain precisely the -amount and conditions of her property; and armed with these sanctions, -that he should demand an interview with Captain Derinzy, who was just -then fortunately absent from home.</p> - -<p>Annette's maid had twice presented herself with an intimation that it -was time Miss Derinzy should dress for dinner, before the interview -of the lovers came to an end. But at length George took leave of his -affianced bride, and turned his steps at once towards the Albany.</p> - -<p>Dr. Wainwright listened to his son's story with grave interest and not -a little amusement.</p> - -<p>"They will take the money," he said, when George had concluded his -recital of the morning's events. "It is too much, too liberal; but -I suppose she must have her own way. You won't have any trouble, I -am pretty sure. Derinzy is a fool in some respects, but in others he -is only a knave, and he won't venture to try to retain his power by -disputing Miss Derinzy's sanity, in the teeth of my testimony; he -will keep the substance, depend on it, and not grasp at the shadow. -And so Miss Derinzy's solicitors are Hamber and Clarke? It's an odd -coincidence," added the Doctor musingly.</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>"Because they are concerned in another case in which we are both -interested. Your poor friend Madame Vaughan's case, George. It is -through them her annuity is paid, and I must say they are capital -men of business, so far as punctual payments and keeping a secret -faithfully are concerned."</p> - -<p>"That <i>is</i> an odd coincidence indeed. You know them, then? Would you -have any objection to call on them with me?"</p> - -<p>"Not the least. I can make time to-morrow morning. They have always -been very civil to me."</p> - -<p>On the following day, the two gentlemen took their way to the offices -of Messrs. Hamber and Clarke, and were without delay admitted to an -audience with the head of the firm, a polite, impressive gentleman, who -heard George's statement of his business in silence, which he broke -only to repudiate with decided eagerness the association of the firm in -any way with Captain Derinzy. They had acted for Miss Derinzy's father -in a confidential capacity for many years, but their trust, with one -exception specially provided for during Mr. Derinzy's lifetime, had -passed into other hands on Captain Derinzy's assuming the guardianship -of his orphan niece.</p> - -<p>This intelligence was grateful rather than otherwise to Paul. If -Messrs. Hamber and Clarke had been Captain Derinzy's solicitors, they -would probably have declined to afford him any information unsanctioned -by their client; but as things were Mr. Hamber furnished him with full -particulars. Acting on Annette's instructions, George informed her -father's old friend of all they had to wish and to fear, and told him -what were Annette's designs, supposing she secured the full personal -control of her property. He was prepared to find these designs treated -as extravagant by a man of business, but also prepared to disregard his -opinion.</p> - -<p>"Derinzy would never venture to fight it out," said the lawyer; "though -if he did, he must be beaten on your father's evidence. There's no -question Miss Derinzy could make far better terms. I understand you, -sir," turning to Dr. Wainwright, "that you are entirely confident of -the cure?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly," replied the Doctor; "there's no doubt about it. Nothing -can be clearer."</p> - -<p>"Then that's conclusive," said Mr. Hamber, "unless, indeed--to be sure, -there's the hereditary taint."</p> - -<p>"Hereditary taint! What do you mean?" asked Dr. Wainwright. "None of -the Derinzy family that I could hear of were ever mad; I investigated -that point closely, when Miss Derinzy first became my patient."</p> - -<p>Mr. Hamber looked vexed with himself, as a man does who has said too -much, or at all events has said more than he intended. He hesitated, -kept a brief silence, and then, taking a resolution, spoke:</p> - -<p>"I think, Dr. Wainwright, you will give us credit for discretion, -so far as you know us. I am of opinion that discretion, like every -quality, may be carried too far. Up to the present it has been our -duty to be silent concerning one particular of our relations with -the late Mrs. Derinzy, but at this point it seems to me our duty to -speak--confidentially, you will understand--to you and your son. Your -object and our wish is to benefit Miss Derinzy, and I think it would -not be fair to her, and therefore, of course, contrary to her father's -wishes, that you should remain ignorant of a fact, the knowledge of -which may modify your proceedings, and alter your judgment."</p> - -<p>"Certainly, you are quite right. We must be perfectly informed to act -efficiently," said Dr. Wainwright, who had felt much compassion for -the miserable anxiety displayed in George's countenance during the -long-winded exordium of Mr. Hamber.</p> - -<p>"Then, sir," said the lawyer solemnly, "it is my painful duty to tell -you that Miss Derinzy's mother is living and is mad."</p> - -<p>"Good God, how horrible!" exclaimed George.</p> - -<p>"Horrible indeed. She was a Frenchwoman, and she became deranged from a -shock, after her child's birth. I suppose the treatment of the insane -was not wise in those days, for she never recovered; and her husband's -horror of the possible effect on the child made him morbidly anxious -to put her out of sight and recollection. It was a bad business, not -intentionally cruel, I am sure, but ill-judged, and she had much to -suffer, I've no doubt. A sum was invested and placed in our keeping, -and the payments are made by us. The poor woman has been very quiet and -happy for a long time, for which I have frequently had your word, Dr. -Wainwright."</p> - -<p>"My word!" exclaimed the Doctor, on whom a light was breaking.</p> - -<p>"Yes, indeed. I am speaking of Madame Vaughan."</p> - -<p>"Of Madame Vaughan!" cried George, in a choking voice, quite unmanned -by this revelation. "Ah, father, then it is no delusion, after all; the -child--the child she is always pining for is my Annette."</p> - -<p>"Even so," said Dr. Wainwright, and laid his hand on his son's arm -impressively. "I don't wonder this discovery should affect you -painfully. But cheer up, George. Remember, this pining for her child -is the only trace of insanity your poor friend has exhibited for -years--has ever exhibited, indeed, within my knowledge. Now we know -this supposed delusion is no delusion at all, but a truth; and I don't -entertain the smallest doubt that Annette's mother is as sane as you or -I."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_33" href="#div1Ref_33">CHAPTER THE LAST.</a></h4> -<h5>CERTAINTY.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>Mr. Hamber's opinion was justified by the result--the Derinzys did not -fight. The character of the Captain has been sketched in these pages -to very little purpose, if the reader does not guess with the utmost -readiness that he was entirely indifferent concerning his son's future, -when he had been once and for all thoroughly informed what was the -best he had to expect and calculate upon for his own. In the interview -which had taken place between the Captain and Dr. Wainwright, prior to -Annette's journey to Germany, he had tried to bully the Doctor, with -such utter failure that he bore a salutary remembrance of his defeat -with him to the family council, convened a few days after the visit -made by Dr. Wainwright and his son to Messrs. Hamber and Clarke's -office.</p> - -<p>The subjects to be discussed on this solemn and set occasion were -two--the intended marriage of George Wainwright and Annette Derinzy, -and the "state of things "--which fine distinction in terms had -been cleverly invented by Mrs. Derinzy--between Paul and Daisy. The -combination had come about on this wise:</p> - -<p>When Paul left his mother's house, on the occasion when he had so -gallantly helped his friend and his cousin out of their little -difficulty, he went straight away to the village in Berkshire where -Daisy was staying with an old friend; and having fully explained to -her the present position of affairs, entreated her to permit him to -announce to his parents that their marriage was immovably fixed. Paul -found Daisy looking very handsome, very elegant, and very sweet--if -there had existed a corner of his heart yet uninvaded by her power, -she must inevitably have taken possession of it; but she was changed, -changed in manner, and, as he found when he came to talk to her, in -mind too.</p> - -<p>The self-deception in which the girl had indulged; the false estimates -she had made of life, its responsibilities, and its real prizes; the -sudden shock of the discovery of her great error, which had come to her -with her first glance at Paul's fever-stricken face; the awful danger -from which she had been snatched, a danger confronted with hardihood -it filled her with shame to remember--these things had wrought the -change. Paul did not question or speculate upon its origin, but he felt -its presence with a keen sweet conviction, priceless to him. Daisy -had learned to love him; she would not deliberate now with cold pride -upon the pros and cons of a life to be shared with him; she would not -speculate upon the chances of his repenting, and the certainty of his -family being ashamed of her, as she had done, making him feel that the -canker of worldliness had fastened upon her beautiful youth. Paul was -a careless fellow enough, and as free from anything like heroism or -enthusiasm as the most practical-minded of his friends could possibly -have desired; but he was young, honest, and very much in love; and it -was an unspeakable relief to him to find that the genuine fervour of -his feelings and his hopes was no longer to be checked by caution or -disdain on Daisy's part. She was not gushing, and she was not silly--no -combination of fate could have made Fanny Stothard either--but she was -"pure womanly," and the sweet undefined humility in her manner--of -whose origin Paul must remain for ever ignorant--set the last touch of -captivation to her charms.</p> - -<p>"You did not see my mother, then, to explain anything to her?" -said Daisy, when Paul had told her the story of events, but with -one important omission; he had said nothing of Annette's generous -proposition.</p> - -<p>"No," replied Paul; "I thought it better to wait until I had seen you. -But I shall go to her immediately, and ask her consent."</p> - -<p>"Poor mother!" said Daisy, with a sigh, "she is of a gloomy designing -turn of mind; and I am sure she always had some scheme in her head -about Miss Derinzy, and never intended she should marry you. But that -her daughter should marry Miss Derinzy's cousin----"</p> - -<p>"And have half Miss Derinzy's fortune, if Annette gets her own way -about it!" interrupted Paul.</p> - -<p>"Half Miss Derinzy's! What are you talking about?" asked Daisy, in -utter surprise.</p> - -<p>"There now, my darling, you must forgive me. I could not resist the -temptation of seeing and hearing from yourself that you were not afraid -to marry a poor fellow like me--not afraid to go in for squalls with -a pilot whom you care enough for, not to mind very much whether he is -particularly calculated to weather the storm. It is so awfully jolly -to convict you of reckless imprudence! I really could not resist it; -and so I didn't tell you. We shan't be poor, and we shan't get into -storms--not that kind, anyhow. Annette and George are going to share -with us, Daisy. They have got an unreasonable kind of notion, which -they regard as sound sense, that I ought to be largely compensated -for the loss of a young lady whom no earthly inducement would have -persuaded me to marry, and the deprivation of a fortune to which I had -not the smallest claim. Very well, I'm agreeable. Of course taking half -is all nonsense; but if they will make us comfortable, and square it -with the governor, I don't see why--do you, darling?"</p> - -<p>"No, I don't," returned Daisy promptly. "If I wanted to flatter you, -Paul, and get credit of high-flying sentiment, I should talk nonsense -about love, and poverty, and independence; but I <i>don't</i>, not only -because it would not exactly fit in with my former line of opinion, -but because I don't mean to be anything but sensible and <i>true</i>. Your -friend and your cousin wish to insure your happiness, and they very -wisely think the first step is to secure you from poverty. I can give -you everything else you want, but I can't give you money. Very well, -then, I am glad that they can, and will."</p> - -<p>Paul returned to town on the following day, and had an interview with -Mrs. Stothard. It was satisfactory; but she made two stipulations. One, -that the fact of Fanny's being her daughter should be communicated to -Captain and Mrs. Derinzy by herself; and the other, that she should -not be expected to reside with Daisy. Paul had no objection to an -unhesitating acquiescence in the latter request. He did not wish for -any third person in his home, and he had always been a little afraid -of Mrs. Stothard--a sentiment which, he felt convinced, would increase -when that lady should have become his mother-in-law. He did not dare -to ask what she intended to do; but he felt a secret curiosity as to -whether she and his mother, whose relations had puzzled him for so -long, would continue to reside together. On this occasion Paul did not -see Mrs. Derinzy.</p> - -<p>His next visit was to George Wainwright, who told him of the discovery -which had been made relative to Madame Vaughan, of which Annette was -still in ignorance.</p> - -<p>"Our best plan--yours as well as mine--is to leave everything to my -father. He is a wonderful man, Paul. I never half appreciated him till -now--not his kind-heartedness, and his energy, and his sympathy, you -know. If he were a lover in difficulties himself, he could not be more -anxious about all this affair, and I don't only mean for me. You have -no idea how much impressed he was by Daisy when you were ill, and how -he liked and addressed her. Of course it is a delicate business to tell -Madame Vaughan that he has found out his mistake, and that her delusion -is no delusion; and equally, of course, it is subjecting Annette to a -severe test, in her newly-recovered state, to tell her that her mother -is living; and their meeting will be a tremendous trial for both. But -then, as my father said, if it turns out well--and he has not the least -fear of it--it will be just the most satisfactory test which could -possibly have been applied--one, indeed, beyond anything we ever could -have looked for turning up."</p> - -<p>"What has your father done?" asked Paul, pardonably anxious to come to -the discussion of his own share in the situation.</p> - -<p>"He has seen Mrs. Derinzy, and arranged a solemn meeting of all parties -concerned for Thursday next, when your father will have to make up -his mind whether he means to fight or to give in; and in the face of -the fact that Annette's mother is living and perfectly sane, and that -Annette is close upon her majority, I do not think there will be much -difficulty; and when he has fought my battle, the Doctor intends to -fight yours; and neither will there be much trouble there, I prophesy, -for Annette will not settle money on you unless you marry Daisy. I have -told our ambassador that you are willing. Did I go beyond the truth, -Paul?"</p> - -<p>Too much affected to speak, the younger man turned abruptly away.</p> - -<p>It has been already said that the Derinzys did not fight. The family -council was a trying ordeal for everyone concerned; but the consummate -tact, the masterly <i>savoir faire</i> of Dr. Wainwright, carried all -parties, himself included, through the difficulties of the position. -Even Captain Derinzy was not visited by a suspicion of his motives: -even that gentleman, whose naturally base proclivities might easily on -this occasion have been quickened by the sympathetic consideration that -he had ineffectually endeavoured to do that very thing, did not venture -to suggest that this was a plan of the Doctor's to marry his son to an -heiress.</p> - -<p>Annette had been on terms of distant civility only with Mrs. Derinzy -since the <i>éclaircissement</i>, and no allusion to what had passed had -been made between her and Mrs. Stothard. She was sitting alone, and in -a state of considerable trepidation, listening to the reverberation of -the men's voices in the library, when Mrs. Stothard entered the room, -and addressed her with a very unusual appearance of agitation. In her -hand she held a letter: it was from her daughter.</p> - -<p>"My dear," she said, "I have something to tell you, and I mean to tell -it without any roundabout ways or preparation, which I have always -considered nonsense. You have made a noble offer, I understand, to Paul -Derinzy, in order to enable him to marry the girl he loves. But you -have no notion who that girl is."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I have; she is a Miss Stafford--a very charming person, and most -devotedly attached to Paul. She nursed him through that dreadful fever; -and my aunt has had to acknowledge that there is nothing against her, -except that she is not rich--not quite what people call a lady. She has -been forewoman to some great milliner, I believe--like dear beautiful -Kate Nickleby, you know," said Annette, to whom the matchless creations -of the Master were the friends, the associations, the illustrations of -her every-day life.</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes, you know so much; I am aware of that," said Mrs. Stothard. -"But what you do not know, Annette, is, that this Miss Stafford is my -daughter, Fanny Stothard, and that by the nobleness of your conduct -to her you have won my best affection, have utterly disarmed me--not -towards you, but towards others--and turned the enemy of the Derinzys -into the friend of all whom you care for."</p> - -<p>"The enemy of the Derinzys!" repeated Annette, who had been looking at -her in blank amazement, hardly taking in the meaning of what she said.</p> - -<p>"Yes, their enemy; their enemy for a reason which I need not explain, -which, indeed, I could not to you, but a well-founded one, believe -me. I knew their designs about you, and held them in check all along, -and played a counter-game of my own, while they were playing their -unsuccessful cards; and had the end come as I expected, I should have -defeated and exposed them, and had my revenge; but another end has -come, a widely different end, thank God, and your noble conduct to my -child--your upholding of the obscure, unknown, friendless girl, who -had no claim upon you except the claim so seldom allowed, of womanly -sympathy, and your kindly touch of nature--has softened my heart and -changed my purpose, and henceforth I shall hold you and her equally -dear."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Mrs. Stothard, how could you live without her?--how could you bear -to part with her?"</p> - -<p>"Because we were poor; we could not afford the luxury of a common home. -You have no practical experience of such things, my dear; but they -exist; and they warp one's nature sometimes. I believe my nature was -warped, Annette; but you--your patience, your sweetness, your nobleness -and generosity--have set it right again."</p> - -<p>"And your daughter Fanny is really, really Paul's Daisy?" Annette said, -with a dreamy and surprised delight in her eyes and her voice. "How -delighted Paul will be to hear it, and my George!"</p> - -<p>"They know it already," said Mrs. Stothard; "but I begged that I might -be allowed to tell you myself."</p> - -<p>"When is she coming? Have you told her to come at once? May I go and -fetch her? Where is she? Never mind Aunt Derinzy, Mrs. Stothard; she -will not find fault now; and, besides, the house is <i>mine</i>."</p> - -<p>To do Annette justice, she rarely showed any remembrance of her -heiress-ship--never, unless the rights or the interests of another were -in question.</p> - -<p>"She will be in London to-morrow; and if all goes right, she will come -to see you."</p> - -<p>"No, no, that will not do!" cried Annette impatiently. "She shall -not come to see me; she shall come to live here, to be like myself -in everything, and she shall be my sister. I never had a mother or a -sister, you know," continued the girl pleadingly; "and I have very, -<i>very</i> seldom in all my life been able to do anything exactly as I -wished. You won't oppose me in that; I know you will let me have my -own way, won't you? My George is Paul's dearest friend, you know; and -Paul's Daisy shall be mine, though she is so handsome and so clever. I -<i>feel</i> she will love me, and--and--we shall never part until I go to -George's home, and she goes to Paul's; and we shall be married on the -same day."</p> - -<p>When George Wainwright, with the full sanction of the subjugated -Captain, and congratulations as suave as she could bring herself to -make them on the part of Mrs. Derinzy, sought Annette's presence, in -order to tell her to what an entirely satisfactory conclusion the -family council had come, he found Annette on her knees beside Mrs. -Stothard, her smiling face upturned to the features which had lost all -their sternness, and the grave, ordinarily inflexible woman weeping -tears of gladness.</p> - -<p class="center" style="letter-spacing:1em">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Dr. Wainwright found himself about this time in an unusual position; -and though he liked it very much, and was conscious that he fulfilled -all the duties which it entailed to perfection, he had no desire to -prolong its responsibilities. The docility of the Derinzys was not to -be surpassed; and the grave elderly physician became the referee of -two pairs of lovers, who looked to him as a beneficent genius, whose -judgment was equal to his generosity. This was pleasant, but it cost -trouble and time; and though the Doctor did not grudge the one, of the -other he had none to spare, and he was not sorry when the time fixed -for the double wedding arrived. Annette had had her way and her wish; -Daisy had come to remain in the house with her; and even the sensitive -girl, to whom congenial companionship and love of her kind were so -strange, could not fail to be content with the affection she inspired -in the so-differently-reared young woman, for whom her good breeding, -her refined, her perfect ladyism, had an indescribable and attaching -charm.</p> - -<p>The Doctor's cases were near their dispersion. All the arrangements -had been made, including one whereby Captain and Mrs. Derinzy were to -be comfortably bestowed in foreign parts. Annette had not yet learned -the truth about her mother, with Madame Vaughan's concurrence. Dr. -Wainwright had made the strange communication to her; and he received -the proof of the correctness of his belief in her perfect sanity in the -reasonable motherly solicitude which she exhibited, the willingness to -wait, to put off the so-long-deferred happiness of seeing her child, -rather than risk the least injury to Annette's health. There must be no -surprises, Dr. Wainwright had said; no <i>scenes</i>, if such could possibly -be avoided; and she understood and acquiesced at once. The news had -been to her like a recall from the borders of death. She had rallied -almost into health; her dark eyes were full of bright content, and the -wistful look had left her face. How keenly Dr. Wainwright felt the -extent and importance of the error he had been led into by accepting -the fiat of his predecessor upon the "case" of Madame Vaughan, when -he found the poor prisoner of so many years perfectly tolerant of the -error, and gently grateful for her secluded life!</p> - -<p>"I have been as happy as it was possible for me to be without my -child," she said; "and George has been like a son to me. All has been -well."</p> - -<p>It was the night before the double wedding, which was to be a very -quiet affair. The brides were inspecting their bridal dresses, -displayed upon Annette's bed. They formed a pretty picture, amid the -shiny white, the graceful flowers, the suggestive trifles of ornament -and luxury around. Daisy was incomparably the handsomer; but her -newly-found health and happiness had much beautified Annette.</p> - -<p>"Mamma has told us what she is going to do at last," said Daisy. "She -has settled it all with Dr. Wainwright, and her mind is quite made up. -It seems Miss Marshall, the lady superintendent of the Doctor's asylum, -is going to be married to the resident doctor, and resigns her post. -Mamma is going to take it; she likes the work" (Daisy spoke quickly, -and with her eyes averted from Annette), "and Dr. Wainwright thinks she -will be invaluable to him. So she is to go there to-morrow afternoon. I -don't <i>quite</i> like it; but she is determined, and the omnipotent doctor -well pleased."</p> - -<p>"It is an occupation in which she will be happy and most useful," said -Annette; and she kissed her friend gravely. "I <i>know</i> how fitted for it -she is. It would be well for all the afflicted ones, if such care and -judgment as hers might always come to their aid."</p> - -<p>The conversation of the two girls was interrupted at this point, -perhaps to their mutual relief, by the entrance of a servant who -brought Daisy a letter. She did not recognise the hand. It was not -Paul's; whom, indeed, she had parted with just an hour before. She -glanced first at the signature; it was "John Merton." The brief letter -contained these words:</p> - - -<p>"I have heard the news of your good fortune, and of your intended -marriage, and I can bear to write and congratulate you on both. From -what I could not have endured I have been preserved; and you?--few -have such a rescue to remember with gratitude. If I intrude its memory -ungracefully on such an occasion, forgive me; it is because I would -make you realise thankfully that three lives have been saved. As the -wife of another, a happier and worthier man, as the mother of his -children, I can think of you with resignation for myself, and the -rejoicing of a true and unselfish love for you; and though I do not -think I shall ever love any woman in all my life again, I can wish you -joy, and say from my heart, God bless you!"</p> - -<p>Daisy stood with the letter in her hand, pale and thoughtful, tears -shining in her brilliant eyes.</p> - -<p>"There's nothing wrong, is there, dear?" asked Annette softly.</p> - -<p>"Nothing; it is only a greeting from an old friend." After a pause, -she said thoughtfully: "It is good to have had such knowledge of life -as I have had--I mean for one like me--knowledge which would have done -<i>you</i> nothing but harm, and made you wretched; good to have the means -of measuring one's happiness by what one has escaped."</p> - -<p>Soon after, and with Daisy's grave manner unaltered, the girls parted -for the night.</p> - -<p class="center" style="letter-spacing:1em">* * * * *</p> - -<p>On the heights above the broad stream formed by the confluence of the -Rhone and the Saone there are many beautiful villa residences, whose -classic architecture harmonises well with the associations with the -ancient Roman rule, which invest the spot with a charm even beyond -its picturesqueness. From the lofty-pillared façade, and deep cool -porticos, terraced gardens, thick set with trees of southern growth, -descend to the verge of the height, arrested there by crenulated walls, -overgrown with a glorious tangle of roses and laurels, of jasmine and -clematis and passion-flower--the luxuries of our northern clime, but -common there.</p> - -<p>The long ranges of windows in the front of these scattered mansions -look out upon the dim distant Alps; those to the back upon the -vineyards of the Lyonnais, and the rich and spacious plains of -Dauphine". The scene retains the historic interest of the past in the -midst of the refined and cultivated beauty of the present. Amid this -beauty George Wainwright and his wife were to make their home; and -thither they turned their steps within a week after their marriage. -They had travelled by carriage-road from Dijon, George taking pleasure -in pointing out to his wife the scenes, which were all familiar to -him--all equally novel and delightful to her.</p> - -<p>"I am getting anxious about our villa," he said, when only a few miles -lay between them and their destination. "I had a general notion of what -they are like, but I never saw this one. Mathieu is a capital man of -business, however; and I think, if it be ever safe to do a thing of the -kind through an agent, we are safe in this instance."</p> - -<p>"I am certain to like it, George; you need not fear that; and I shall -soon get over the strangeness of having to look after my own affairs. -Only fancy the happiness of settling down in my first home with you! -The servants will be a difficulty; they won't understand <i>my</i> French, -I'm afraid."</p> - -<p>"What would you say, Annette, if you found a most competent housekeeper -there already--a lady whom my father has known for many years, and -has selected and sent out in advance, to have everything ready for -you--what would you say?"</p> - -<p>"That it is like the wisdom and kindness of your father. But you seem -to imply that this lady came from London. Why did I not see her there? -Would it not have been better that we should have been acquainted in -the first instance?"</p> - -<p>"No, my darling; my father thought not. He had good reason. We are -rapidly approaching our home, my own wife" (George encircled her with -his arms as he spoke), "and I have something to tell you which you -could not have borne until now. It is joyful news, Annette. Can you -bear to hear it from me?"</p> - -<p>She looked at him fearlessly, with a candid trusting gaze, which -touched him keenly.</p> - -<p>"I can bear any news, good or ill, which is told me by you; which I am -to hear held in your arms, George."</p> - -<p>"You remember my telling you about my dear old friend, Madame -Vaughan--<i>Maman</i>, as she loved that I should call her?--and how you -wanted to be taken to see her, and my father said No?"</p> - -<p>"I remember," said Annette. "Is she the lady, George? Is she quite -well? I shall be so glad if it is so--if this is the delightful -surprise you have had in store for me."</p> - -<p>"She is the lady, darling; but there is more than this to tell you. Do -you remember that <i>Maman</i> had a delusion, as we thought it; was always -wearying and pining for a child, complaining that she had been robbed -of her, but patiently declaring her belief that she should see her -again in this world?"</p> - -<p>"I remember," said Annette, still keeping her fixed earnest gaze upon -her husband. "Has it turned out that this was no delusion? Has she -really a child? has the child been found?"</p> - -<p>"The child is living; her child has been found, and I am taking her -home to her." George Wainwright pressed his wife closely to his breast, -and spoke the remainder of the sentence in a whisper:</p> - -<p>"You are that child, my Annette. Oh, be calm and strong, for the sake -of the husband's love which brings you to a mother's."</p> - -<p>* * * * *</p> - -<p>"Letters from England!" exclaimed Annette on a fine spring day in the -early new year, starting up from the terrace, on which she had been -sitting with her mother, to meet George, who was coming leisurely from -the house with a bundle of papers in his hand.</p> - -<p>"Yes, letters from England; and lots of them. Here's your share; I'll -talk to <i>Maman</i> while you read them."</p> - -<p>Annette crammed all the letters but one into the pocket of her smart -little apron, and walked slowly to and fro reading the exception, while -George took her place beside Madame Vaughan.</p> - -<p>But they did not talk; they were both looking at Annette. She had read -one letter and begun another before either spoke. Then George said:</p> - -<p>"My father is so delighted with my report, he declares he will come to -Lyons himself, in the autumn. Well, what is it?" to Annette, who ran up -to them laughing.</p> - -<p>"Oh George, such fun! There's such a charming letter from Daisy. -The 'season' has begun; and she is going out tremendously; and she -says--but you shall read it all by-and-by--that the fine ladies are -very civil, and have not the faintest notion that she is in the secrets -of their 'get-up,' and tried on their bonnets and fripperies only last -year. And Paul is 'no end of a good fellow'--he shouldn't teach Daisy -slang like that, should he, George? And they are so happy, and they -will come to us at the end of the season. I'm so glad. I don't know -anything about the season; I've an idea it's an awful nuisance."</p> - -<p>"I have an idea you had better read your letters, and not keep <i>Maman</i> -waiting for her drive," said George gaily.</p> - -<p>She flitted off again, and George returned to the subject of his -father's letter.</p> - -<p>"He reminds me how he doubted her recovery on account of the -uncongenial, interested <i>borné</i> atmosphere of her home, and its dearth -of affection and geniality. He is never wrong, <i>Maman</i>, never. In -Annette's case, the natural remedy, home, love, healthy occupation, -children--or, let us not be presumptuous, say the prospect of -them--have been successful. The only sentimental aphorism I ever heard -my father use is the truest--'Love is the best physician.' He is always -right, <i>Maman</i>."</p> - -<p>"Almost always," replied Madame Vaughan. "He has been perfectly right -in this instance; and, indeed, the only mistake I ever knew him to make -was in my case, when I was Dr. Wainwright's Patient."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4>THE END.</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<hr class="W90"> -<h5>CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dr. Wainright's Patient, by Edmund Yates - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - - -</pre> - -</body> -</html> - - - diff --git a/old/60651.txt b/old/60651.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4236fb2..0000000 --- a/old/60651.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,15202 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dr. Wainright's Patient, by Edmund Yates - -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: Dr. Wainright's Patient - A Novel - -Author: Edmund Yates - -Release Date: November 8, 2019 [EBook #60651] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. WAINRIGHT'S PATIENT *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by Google Books - - - - - - - - - - -DR. WAINWRIGHT'S PATIENT. - -A Novel - - - - -By EDMUND YATES - -AUTHOR OF "BLACK SHEEP." - - - - - - - -"Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, -Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, -Raze out the written troubles of the brain, -And with some sweet oblivious antidote -Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff -Which weighs upon the heart?" - - SHAKESPEARE. - - - - - -LONDON -GEORGE RUTLEDGE AND SONS -BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL -NEW YORK: 416 BROOME STREET -1878 - - - - - - ------------------------------------------------- - -EDMUND YATES'S NOVELS - - -RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. -KISSING THE ROD. -A ROCK AHEAD. -BLACK SHEEP. -A RIGHTED WRONG. -THE YELLOW FLAG. -THE IMPENDING SWORD. -A WAITING RACE. -BROKEN TO HARNESS. -TWO BY TRICKS. -A SILENT WITNESS. -NOBODY'S FORTUNE. -DR. WAINWRIGHT'S PATIENT. -WRECKED IN PORT. - ------------------------------------------------ - -CONTENTS. - -CHAP. - -I. Captain Derinzy's Retreat. -II. A Visitor Expected. -III. During Office-hours. -IV. After Office-hours. -V. Family Politics. -VI. Mrs. Stothard. -VII. Friends In Council. -VIII. Corridor No. 4. -IX. Dear Annette. -X. Madame Clarisse. -XI. Behind the Scenes. -XII. A Conquest. -XIII. Another Conquest. -XIV. Paul at Home. -XV. On the Alert. -XVI. The Colonel's Correspondent. -XVII. Well Met. -XVIII. Soundings. -XIX. Two in Pursuit. -XX. Farther Soundings. -XXI. Father and Son. -XXII. L'homme Propose. -XXIII. Poor Paul. -XXIV. George's Determination. -XXV. Warned. -XYXVI. Am Rhein. -XXVII. Patrician and Proletary. -XXVIII. Daisy's Letter. -XXXIX. Relenting. -XXX. Daisy's Recantation. -XXXI. Suspense. -XXXII. Madame Vaughan. -XXXIII. Certainty. - - - - - - -DR. WAINWRIGHT'S PATIENT. - - - - -CHAPTER I. -CAPTAIN DERINZY'S RETREAT. - - -Beachborough, where, in obedience to the strident voice of the railway -porter--voice combining the hardness of the Dorset with the drawl of -the Devon dialect--you, if you be so disposed, "Change for Sandington -Cove and Waverley," is a very different place from what it was even -ten years ago. To be sure the sea is there, and the beach, and the -fishing-luggers with the red sails; but in everything else what -changes! Now there is, as has been said, a railway-station, a forlorn -little oasis of white planking in a desert of sandy heath, inhabited -by a clerk--a London young man, who "went too fast" in the metropolis, -and has been relegated to Beachborough as a good healthy place where -there is no chance of temptation--and a porter, a native of the place, -a muscular person great at wrestling, who is always inviting the male -passers-by of his acquaintance to "come on," and supplying them, on -their doing so, with a very ugly throw known as a "back-fall." There -are not many passers-by, for the newly-formed road leads to no where in -particular, and those who tramp through its winter slush, or struggle -through its summer dust, are generally either tradesmen of the place -anxious about overdue parcels, or servants, sent to make inquiries -about the trains, from some of the houses on the Esplanade. - -The Esplanade! Heavens! if old Miss Gollop, who lived at the Baths, -and who used to supply very hot water and very damp towels, and the -greatest number of draughts ever known to be got together into one -small room, to the half-dozen county families to whom Beachborough -was then known as a watering-place--if old Miss Gollop could revisit -the glimpses of the moon, and by its light look upon the Esplanade, -it would, I am certain, be impossible for that worthy old lady to -recognise it as Mussared's Meadow, where she picked cowslips and -sucked sorrel when she was a girl, and which was utterly untainted by -the merest suspicion of brick and mortar when she died twenty years -ago. She would not recognise it any more than in The Dingo Arms--that -great white-faced establishment, with its suites of apartments, its -coffee-room, wine-office, private bar, and great range of stabling, -patronised by, and in its _sanctum sanctorum_ bearing an heraldic -emblazonment of the arms of, Sir Hercules Dingo Dingo, Bart., bloody -hand, four-quartered shield and all--she would have recognised The -Hoy, a tiny "public" where they used to sell the hardest beer and -the most stomach-ache-provoking cider, and which in her day was -the best tavern in the village. The white-faced terrace has sprung -up in Mussared's Meadow; the Esplanade in front of it is a seawall -and a delightful promenade for the Misses Gimp's young ladies, who -are the admiration of Dingo Terrace, and who have deadly rivals in -Madame de Flahault's _demoiselles_, whose piano-playing is at once -the delight and the curse of Powler Square; the cliffs, once so gaunt -and barren and forlorn, are dotted over with cottages and villakins, -all green porch and plate-glass windows; the old barn-like church -has had a fresh tower put on to him, and a fresh minister--one with -his ecclesiastical millinery of the newest cut, and up to the latest -thing in genuflexions--put into him; there is a Roman Catholic chapel -close to the old Wesleyan meeting-house; and they have modernised -and spoiled the picturesque tower where Captain Derinzy wore away a -portion of his days. Great improvements, no doubt. Pavement and gas, -and two policemen, and a railway, and a ritualistic incumbent, and -shops with plate-glass windows, where you can get Holloway's pills and -Horniman's teas, and all the things without which no gentleman's table -is complete. But the events of my story happened ten years ago, when -the inhabitants of Beachborough--shopkeepers, fisher-people, villagers, -and lace-makers--were like one family, and loved and hated and reviled -and back-bit each other as the members of one family only can. - -We shall get a little insight into the village politics if we drop in -for a few minutes at Mrs. Powler's long one-storied, thatched-roof -cottage, standing by itself in the middle of the little High Street. -Mrs. Powler is a rich and childless old widow, Powler deceased having -done a little in the vending of home-manufactured lace, and a great -deal in the importing, duty-free, of French lace and brandy. It was -Powler's run when Bill Gollop, the black sheep of the Gollop family, -was shot by the revenue-officer down by Wastewater Hole, a matter which -Powler is scarcely thought to have compromised by giving a new organ -to Bedminster church. However, he has been dead some years, and his -widow is very rich and tolerably hospitable; and her little thatched -cottage--she never lived in any other house--is the centre and focus of -Beachborough gossip. - -It is just about Mrs. Powler's supper-time, which is very early in -the summer, and she has guests to supper. There is no linen in all -Beachborough so white as Mrs. Powler's, no such real silver plate, no -such good china or glass. The Beachborough glass generally consists of -fat thick goblets on one stump-leg, or dumpy heavy wineglasses with -a pattern known as "the pretty" halfway up their middle, which, like -the decanters, are heavy and squat, and require a strong wrist to lift -them. But Mrs. Powler had thin, blown, delicate glasses, and elegant -goblets with curling snakes for their handles, and drinking-cups in -amber and green colours, all of which were understood to have come -from "abroad," and were prized by her and respected by her neighbours -accordingly. There never was a bad lobster known in Beachborough; and -it is probable that Mrs. Powler's were no better than her neighbours', -but she certainly had a wondrous knack of showing them off to the best -advantage, setting-off the milk-white of the inside and the deepred of -the shell with layers of crisp curling parsley, as a modern belle sets -off her complexion with artfully-arranged bits of tulle and blonde. Nor -was her boiled beef to be matched within ten miles round. "I du 'low -that other passons' biled beef to Mrs. Fowler's is sallt as brine and -soft as butter," Mrs. Jupp would confess; and Mrs. Jupp was a notable -housewife, and what the vulgar call "nuts" on her own cooking. There -is a splendid proof of it on the table now, cold and firm and solid. -Mr. Jupp has just helped himself to a slice, and it is his muttered -praise that has called forth the tribute of general admiration from -his better-half. Mr. Hallibut, the fish-factor and lace-dealer from -Bedminster, is still occupied with the lobster; for he has a ten-mile -drive home before him, and any fear of indigestion he laughs to scorn, -knowing how he can "settle" that demon with two or three raw "nips" and -one or two steaming tumblers of some of that famous brandy which the -deceased Powler imported duty-free from abroad, and a bottle of which -is always to be found for special friends in the old oak _armoire_, -which stands under the Lord's-Prayer sampler which Mrs. Powler worked -when she was a little girl. - -Mrs. Powler is in the place of honour opposite the window. A little -woman, with a dark-skinned deeply-lined face, and small sparkling black -eyes, the fire in which remains undimmed by the seventy years through -which they have looked upon the world, though their sight is somewhat -failing. She wears a fierce black front, and a closely-fitting white -lace cap over it, and an open raspberry-tart-like miniature of her -deceased lord--a rather black and steelly-looking daguerreotype--gleams -on her chest. Mrs. Powler likes her drinks, as she does not scruple to -confess, and has been sipping from a small silver tankard of cider. - -"Who was that just went passt the windor, Jupp?" she said, after a -short period of tankard abstraction. "My eyes isn't what they was, and -I du 'low I couldn't see, though I'm settin' right oppo-site like." - -"Heart alive!" struck in Mrs. Jupp, after a moment's silence, and -seeing it was perfectly impossible her better-half could sufficiently -masticate the piece of cold beef on which he was engaged in anything -like time for a reply--"heart alive! to hear you talk of your eyes, -Mrs. Powler! Why, there's many a young gal would give anythin' for such -a pair in her head, either for show or for use, either!" - -"I should think so," said Mr. Jupp, who had by this time cleared -his mouth and moistened his palate with the contents of the -cider-tankard--"I should think so!" and Mr. Jupp, who was of a -convivial turn, began to troll, "Eyes black--as sloes, and--bo-o-oo-som -rounded----" - -"Mr. Jupp," interrupted Mrs. Jupp, a tall, thin, horse-faced woman, -with projecting buck-teeth, and three little sausage curls of iron-gray -hair flattened down on either side her forehead, "reck'lect where you -are, if you please, and keep your ditties to yourself." - -"Well, niver mind my eyes," said Mrs. Powler; she desired to make -peace, but she was a rich woman and in her own house, and consequently -spoke in a dictatorial way--"niver mind my eyes, nor anything else for -the matter of that, but tell who it was that went passt." - -"It was the Captain, my dear madam, the Captain," replied Mr. Jupp, -freshly attacking the cold beef, and consoling himself for his snubbing -with his supper. "You had no great loss in not seeing him, ma'am: it -was only the Captain." - -"What! Prinsy, Drinsy, what's his name?" said Mr. Hallibut, taking a -clean plate, and delicately clearing his lips and fingers from lobster -remains on the corner of the tablecloth. "I'll trouble you, Jupp!--Is -he still here?" - -"His name's Derinzy, Mr. Hollybut," said Mrs. Jupp--"De-rin-zy; it's -a French name." Mrs. Jupp had been a lady's-maid once on a time, and -prided herself on her manners and education. - -"And mine's Hallibut, and not Hollybut, Mrs. Jupp," said the -fish-factor jocosely; "and I'll trouble J-u double p--which I take it -is an English name--for some of the inside fat--next the marrer-bone -there!" - -"Dear heart!" interrupted Mrs. Powler, feeling her position as hostess -and richest of the company was being made scarcely sufficient of; "how -you do jangle, all of you! Not but what," added the old lady, with -singular inconsequence--"not but what I'm no scholard, and don't see -the use of French names, while English is good enough for me." - -"Ah, but some things is better French, as you and I, and one or two -more of us could tell," said jocose Mr. Hallibut, feeling it was time -for a "nip," and availing himself of the turn in the conversation to -point with his elbow to the cellaret, where the special brandy was kept. - -"Well, help yourself, and put the bottle on the table," said the -old lady, somewhat mollified. "Ah, that was among the spoils of the -brave, in the good old times when men was men!" she added, in a -half-melancholy tone. She was accustomed to think and speak of her -deceased husband as though he had been the boldest of buccaneers, the -Captain Kyd of the Dorsetshire coast; whereas he, in his lifetime, was -a worthy man in a Welsh wig, who never went to sea, or was present at -the "running" of a keg. - -"And so the Captain's still here," pursued Hallibut; "living in the -same house, and doing much the same as usual, I suppose?" - -"Jist exactly the same," replied Mr. Jupp. "Wandering about the -village, molloncholly-like, and cussin' all creation." - -"Mr. Jupp," broke in his better-half, "reck'lect where you are, if you -please, and keep your profane swearin' to yourself." - -"I wonder he don't go away," suggested Hallibut. - -"He can't," said Mrs. Jupp solemnly. - -"What! do you mean to say he's been running in debt here in -Beachborough, or over in Bedminster?" - -"He don't owe a brass farthing in either place," asserted Mrs. Powler; -"if anybody ought to know, I ought;" and to do her justice she ought, -for no one heard scandal sooner, or disseminated it more readily. - -"Perhaps he hadn't the chance," said Mr. Jupp, stretching out his hand -towards the tumbler. - -"Mr. Jupp," said his wife, "what cause have you to say that? Was you -ever kept waiting for the money for the meal or malt account? Is the -rent paid regular for the bit of pastureland for Miss Annette's cow? -Well, then, reck'lect where you are, if you please, and who you're -speaking of." - -"Well, but if he hates the place and cusses--I mean, does what Jupp -said he did just now--what does he stop here for? Why don't he go away? -He must have some reason." - -"Of course he has, Mr. Hallibut," said Mrs. Jupp, with an air of -dignity. - -"Got the name all right this time, Mrs. Jupp; here's your health," said -the jolly man, sipping his tumbler. "Well, what's the reason?" - -"It's because of Miss Annette--she that we was speaking of just now." - -"Oh, ah!" said Mr. Hallibut; "she's his daughter, isn't she?" - -"Niece," said Mrs. Jupp. - -"Oh!" said Mr. Hallibut doubtfully. - -"You and I have seen the world, Hallibut," broke in Mr. Jupp, who had -been paying his attentions to the French brandy. "We've heard of nieces -before--priests' nieces and such-like, who----" - -"Mr. Jupp, _will_ you reck'lect where you are, _if_ you please?--what -I was goin' to say when thus interrupted, Mr. Hallibut, was, that -it's on account of his niece Miss Annette that Captain Derinzy remains -in this place. She's a dreadful in-val-lid, is Miss Annette, and this -Dorsetsheer air suits her better than any other part of England. As to -her not bein' his niece----" - -"La, la, du be quiet, Harriet!" interrupted Mrs. Powler, who saw that -unless she asserted herself with a dash she would be quite forgotten; -"this everlastin' click-clackin', I du 'low it goes threw my head like -a hot knife threw a pat of fresh butter. Av' course Miss Netty's the -Captain's niece; Oh, I don't mind you men--special you, Jupp, sittin' -grinnin' there like the mischief! I've lived long in the world, and -in different sort of society from this; and I know what you mean fast -enough, and I'm not one to pretend I don't, or to be squeamish about -it." - -This was a hard hit at Mrs. Jupp, who took it accordingly, and said: - -"Well, but, Mrs. Powler, if Jupp were not brought up sudden, as it -were----" - -"Like enough, my dear, like enough; but when you're as old as I -am, you'll find it's very hard to have to give up chat for fear of -these kind of things, unless indeed there's young girls present, and -then--well, of course!" said Mrs. Powler, with a sigh. "But, Lord, -you're all wrong about why Captain Derinzy stops at Beachborough." - -"Do you know why it is, Mrs. Powler?" asked Mr. Hallibut, feigning -intense interest, under cover of which he mixed himself a second -tumbler of brandy-and-water. - -"Well, I think I do," said the old lady. - -"Tell us, by all means," said the fish-factor, looking at his hostess -very hard, and dropping two lumps of sugar into his tumbler. - -"Well, Harriet's right so far--there's no doubt about Miss Annette -being the Captain's niece; at least, there's no question of her being -his daughter, as you two owdacious men--and, Jupp, you ought to know -better, having been churchwarden, and your name in gold letters in -front of the organ-loft, on account of the church being warmed by the -hot pipes, which only made a steam and a smell, and no heat at all--as -you two owdacious men hinted at. Lor' bless you, you don't know Mrs. -Derinzy." - -"That's what I tell 'em, Mrs. Powler," chorused Mrs. Jupp; "they don't -know the Captain's wife. Why, she's as proud as proud; and he daren't -say his soul's his own, let alone introducin' anyone into the house -that she didn't know all about, or wish to have there." - -"But still you don't know what makes them stay here," said Mrs. Powler, -not at all influenced by her friend's partisanship, and determined to -press her point home upon her audience. - -"Well, if it isn't Miss Netty's illness, I don't," said Mrs. Jupp -slowly, and with manifest reluctance at having to acknowledge herself -beaten. - -"Then I'll tell you," said the old lady triumphantly, smoothing her -dress, looking slowly round, and pausing before she spoke. "You know -Mrs. Stothard?" - -"Miss Annette's servant--yes," said Mrs. Jupp. - -"Servant--pouf!" said Mrs. Powler, snapping her fingers, and thereby -awaking Mr. Jupp, who had just dropped asleep, and was dreaming that he -was in his mill, and dared not stretch out his legs for fear of getting -them entangled in the machinery. "Who ever saw her do any servant's -work; did you?" - -"N-no; I can't say I ever did," replied Mrs. Jupp; "but then, I have -never been to the house." - -"What does that matter?" asked the old lady, rather illogically; "no -one ever did. No one ever saw her do a stroke of servant's work in the -house: mend clothes, wash linen, darn stockings, make beds. Dear heart -alive! she's no servant." - -"What is she then?" asked Mrs. Jupp eagerly. - -"A poor relation!" hissed Mrs. Powler, bending over the table; "a poor -relation, my dear, of either his or hers, with something about her that -prevents them shaking her off, and obliges them to keep her quiet." - -"Do you think so--_really_ think so?" - -"I'm sure of it, my dear--certain sure." - -"Lord, I remember," said Mrs. Jupp, with a sudden affectation of a -mincing manner, and a lofty carriage of her head; "I remember once -seeing something of the sort at the play-house: but then the poor -relation was a man, a man who always went about in a large cloak, and -appeared in places where he was least expected and most unwelcome. It -was in Covent Garden Theatre." - -"Covent Garden Theatre," said Jupp, suddenly waking up. "I remember, in -the saloon----" - -"Mr. Jupp, reck'lect where you are, _if_ you please, and spare the -company your reminiscences." - -Here Mr. Hallibut, who, finding himself bored by the conversation about -people of whom he knew nothing, had quietly betaken himself to drink, -and had got through three tumblers of brandy-and-water unobserved, -remarked that, as he had a long drive before him, he thought it was -time for him to go; and, after making his adieux, departed to find the -ostler at The Hoy, who had his rough old pony in charge. Mrs. Jupp put -on her bonnet, and after a word of promise to look in next morning and -hear the remainder of her hostess's suspicions about Mrs. Stothard, -roused up Mr. Jupp, who, balancing himself on frail and trembling -legs, which he still believed to be endangered by the proximity of his -mill's machinery, staggered out into the open air, where he was bid to -reck'lect himself _if_ he pleased, and to walk steadily, so that the -coastguard then passing might not see he was drunk. - - - - -CHAPTER II. -A VISITOR EXPECTED. - - -It was indeed Captain Derinzy who had passed up the village street. -It is needless to say that he had not heard anything of the comments -which his appearance had evoked; but had he heard them, they would not -have made the smallest difference to him. He was essentially a man of -the world, and on persons of his class these things have very little -effect. A is irretrievably involved; B has outwritten himself; C is -much too intimate with Mrs. D; while D is ruining that wretched young -E at _ecarte_--so at least say Y and Z; but the earlier letters of -the alphabet do not care much about it. They know that the world must -be always full of shaves and _cancans_, and, like men versed in the -great art of living, they know they must have their share of them, and -know how to take them. Captain Derinzy passed up the village street -without bestowing one single thought upon that street's inhabitants, -or indeed upon anything or anybody within a hundred miles of -Beachborough. He looked utterly incongruous to the place, and he felt -utterly incongruous to it, and if he were recalled to the fact of its -existence, or of his existence in it, by his accidentally slipping over -one of the round knobbly stones which supplied the place of a footway, -or having to step across one of the wide self-made sluices which, -coming from the cottages, discharged themselves into the common kennel, -all he did was to wish it heartily at the devil; an aspiration which he -uttered in good round rich tones, and without any heed to the feelings -of such lookers-on as might be present. - -See him now, as he steps off the knobbly pavement and strikes across -the road, making for the greensward of the cliff, and unconsciously -becoming bathed in a halo of sunset glory in his progress. A thin man, -of fifty years of age, of middle height, with a neat trim figure, -and one of his legs rather lame, with a spare, sallow, fleshless -face, high cheek-boned, lantern-jawed, bright black eyes, straight -nose, thin lips, not overshadowed, but outlined rather, by a very -small crisp black moustache. His hair is blue-black in tint and wiry -in substance, so much at least of it as can be seen under a rather -heavy brown sombrero hat, which he wears perched on one side of his -head in rather a jaunty manner. His dress, a suit of some light-gray -material, is well cut, and perfectly adapted for the man and the place; -and his boots are excellently made, and fit his small natty feet to -perfection. His ungloved hands are lithe and brown; in one of them he -carries a crook-headed cane, with which--a noticeable peculiarity--he -fences and makes passes at such posts and palings as he encounters on -his way. That he was a gentleman born and bred you could have little -doubt; little doubt from his carriage of himself, and an indescribable, -unmistakable something, that he was, or had been, a military man; no -doubt at all that he was entirely out of place in Beachborough, and -that he was bored out of his existence. - -Captain Derinzy passed the little road, which was ankle-deep in white -sandy dust, save where the overflowings of the kennel had worked -it into thick flaky mud, hopped nimbly, albeit lamely, over the -objectionable parts, and when he reached the other side, and stood -upon the short crisp turf leading up to the cliff, looked at the soles -of his boots, shook his head, and swore aloud. Considerably relieved -by this proceeding, he made his way slowly and gently up the ascent, -pausing here and there, less from want of breath than from sheer -absolute boredom. Rambling quietly on in his own easy-going fashion, -now fencing at a handrail, now making a one, two, three sword-exercise -cut, and finally demolishing a sprouting field-flower, he took some -time to reach the top of the cliff. When there he looked carefully -about him for a clean dry spot, and, having found one, dropped gently -down at full length, and comfortably reclining his head on his arm, -looked round him. - -It was high-tide below, and the calmest and softest of silver summer -seas was breaking in the gentlest ripple on the beach, and against -the base of the high chalk cliff whereon he lay. The entrance to the -little bay was marked by a light line of foam-crested breakers, beyond -which lay a broad stretch of heaving ocean; but the bay itself was -"oily calm," its breast dotted here and there with fishing-luggers -outward-bound for the night's service, their big tan sails gleaming -lightly and picturesquely in the red beams of the setting sun. Faintly, -very faintly, from below rose the cries of the boatmen--hoarse -monotonous calls, which had accompanied such and such acts of labour -for centuries, and had been taught by sire to son, and practised from -time immemorial. But the silence around the man outstretched on the -cliffs top was unbroken save by the occasional cry of the seafowl, -wheeling round and round above his head, and swooping down into their -habitation holes, with which the chalk-face was honeycombed. As he lay -there idly watching, the sun, a great blood-red globe of fire, sank -into the sea, leaving behind it a halo of light, in which the strips of -puff-cloud hovering over the horizon--here light, thin, and vaporous, -there heavy, dense, and opaque--assumed eccentric outlines, and -deadened to one gorgeous depth of purple. There were very few men who -would have been insensible to the loveliness of the surroundings--very -few but would have been impressed under such circumstances with a sense -of the beauty of Nature and the beneficence of Providence. Captain -Derinzy was one of these few. He saw it all, marked it all, looked at -it leisurely and critically through half-shut eyes, as though scanning -some clever picture or some scene at the theatre. Then, quietly -dropping his head back upon his hand, he gave a prolonged yawn, and -said quietly to himself, "Oh, dam!" - -"Oh, dam!" Sun and sea and sky, purple clouds, foam-crested -breakwaters, tan sails sunset-gilded, yohoing boatmen, nest-seeking -curlews, hoary cliff. "Oh, dam!" But that was not all. Lazily lying at -full length, lazily picking blades of grass, lazily nibbling them, and -lazily spitting them from his mouth, he said in a quaintly querulous -tone: - -"Beastly place! How I hate it! Beastly sea, and all that kind of thing; -and those fellows going away in their beastly boats, smelling of -fish and oil and grease, and beastliness, and wearing greasy woollen -nightcaps, and smoking beastly strong tobacco in their foul pipes; and -then people draw them, and write about them, and call them romantic, -and all such cussed twaddle! Why the deuce ain't they clean and -neat, and why don't they dance about, and sing like those fellows in -_Masaniello_? And--Oh Lord! _Masaniello_! I didn't think I should even -have remembered the name of anything decent in this infernal place! -What's the time now?" looking at his watch. "Nearly eight. Gad! fancy -having had a little dinner at the Windham, or, better still, at the -Coventry, where they say that fellow--what's his name?--Francatelli, -is so good, and then dropping down to the Opera to hear Cruvelli -and Lablache, or the new house which Poyntz wrote me about--Covent -Garden--where Grisi and Mario and the lot have gone! Fancy my never -having seen the new house! Dammy! I shall become a regular fogey if I -stop in this infernal hole much longer. And not as if I were stopping -for myself either! If I'd been shaking a loose leg, and had outrun -the constable, or anything of that sort, I can understand a fellow -being compelled to pull up and live quiet for a bit; though there's -Boulogne, which is much handier to town, and much jollier with the -_etablissement_, and plenty of _ecarte_, and all that sort of thing, -to go on with. But _this_! Pooh! that's the dam folly of a man's -marrying what they call a superior woman! I suppose Gertrude's all -right; I suppose it will come off all straight; but I don't see the -particular pull for me when it does come off. Here am I wastin' the -best years of my life--and just at a time when I haven't got too many -of 'em to waste, by Jove!--just that another fellow may stand in for -a good thing. To be sure, he's my son, and there's fatherly feelings, -and all that sort of thing; but he's never done anything for me, and I -think it's rather hard he don't come and take a little of this infernal -dreariness on his own shoulders. I shall have to cut away--I know I -shall; I can't stand it much longer. I shall have to tell Gertrude--and -I never can do that, and I haven't got the pluck to cut away without -telling her, and I know she won't even let me go to old Dingo's for -the shooting in the autumn. What an ass I was ever to let myself be -swindled into coming into this beastly place! and how confoundedly I -hate it! Oh, dam! Oh, dam!" - -As he concluded he raised himself lightly to his feet, and commenced -his descent of the hill as easily and jauntily as he had ascended -it. His lame leg troubled him a little, and once when he trod on a -rolling stone and nearly fell, he stopped and smiled pleasantly at the -erring foot, and shook his cane facetiously over it. As he entered the -village, he muttered to himself: "Good heavens! _du monde_, how very -interesting!" For the hours of toil were over, and the shopkeepers -and the wives of the fishermen, and such of the fisher-boys as had -not gone to sea that evening, were standing at their doors and -gossiping, or playing in the street. The lace-making girls were there -too--very pretty girls for the most part, with big black eyes and -swarthy complexions and thick blue-black hair; their birthright these -advantages, for in the old days one of the home-flying ships of the -Spanish Armada had been wrecked on the Beachborough coast, and the -saved mariners had intermarried with the village women, and transmitted -their swarthy comeliness to their posterity. As the Captain passed by, -hats were lifted and curtsies dropped, courtesy which he duly returned -by touching his sombrero with his forefinger in the military style to -the men, and by God-blessing the women and chin-chucking the girls with -great heartiness. - -So on till he arrived at his own house, where he opened the door from -the outside, and entering the handsome old dining-room, was surprised -to see the table laid for four persons. - -"Hallo! what's this?" he said to a woman at the other end of the room -with her back towards him. "Who is coming to dinner, Mrs. Stothard?" - -"Have you forgotten?" said the woman addressed, without turning her -head. "Dr. Wainwright." - -"Oh, ah!" growled Captain Derinzy, in a subdued key. "Where's Annette?" - -"In her own room." - -"Why don't she come down?" - -"Because she's heard Dr. Wainwright is expected, and has turned sulky, -and won't move." - -"Oh, dam!" said Captain Derinzy. - - - - -CHAPTER III. -DURING OFFICE-HOURS. - - -The "Office of H.M. Stannaries" is in a small back street in the -neighbourhood of Whitehall. What H.M. Stannaries were was known to but -very few of the initiated, and to no "externs" at all. Old Mr. Bult, -who, from time immemorial had been the chief-clerk of the office, -would, on being interrogated as to the meaning of the word or the -duties of his position, take a large pinch of snuff, blow the scattered -grains off his beautifully got-up shirt-frill, stare his querist -straight in the face, and tell him that "there were certain matters -of a departmental character, concerning which it was not considered -advisable to involve oneself in communication with the public at -large." The younger men were equally reticent. To those who tried to -pump them, they replied that they "wrote things, you know; letters, -and those kind of things," and "kept accounts." What of? Why, of the -Stannaries, of course. But what were the Stannaries? Ah, that was going -into a matter of detail which they did not feel themselves justified -in explaining. Their ribald friends used to say that the men in the -Stannaries Office could not tell you what they had to do, because -they did nothing at all, or that they did so little that they were -sworn to secrecy on receiving their appointments, lest any inquisitive -Radical member, burning to distinguish himself before his constituents -in the cause of Civil Service reform--a bray with which the dullest -donkey can make himself heard--should rise in the House, and demand an -inquiry, or a Parliamentary Commission, or some of those other dreadful -inquisitions so loathsome to the official mind. - -However, no matter what work was or was not done there, the Stannaries -Office was a fact, and a fact for which the nation paid, and according -to the entries in the Civil Service estimates, paid pretty handsomely. -For there was a Lord Commissioner of Stannaries, at two thousand -a-year, and a secretary at one thousand, and a private secretary -at three hundred, and four-and-twenty clerks at salaries ranging -from one to eight hundred, besides messengers and office-keepers. -It was a well-thought-of office to; the men engaged in it went into -good society, and were recognised as brother officials by the lofty -bureaucrats of the Treasury and the Foreign Office--great creatures, -who looked upon Somerset House and the Post Office as tenanted by -the sons of peers' butlers, and who regarded the Custom House as a -damp place somewhere on the Thames, where amphibious persons known as -"tide-waiters" searched passengers' baggage. But it was by no means -_infra dig_. to know men in the Stannaries; and that department of -the public service annually contributed a by no means small share -of the best dancers and amateur performers of the day. "Only give -us gentlemen," Mr. Branwhite, the secretary, would say in his first -official interview with a newly-appointed Lord Commissioner--for the -patronage of his office was vested in the Lord Commissioner of the -Stannaries, who was a political functionary, and came in and went out -with the Government--"only give us gentlemen; that's all I ask. We -don't require much brains in this place, and that's the truth; but we -do want birth and breeding." And on these points Mr. Branwhite, who -was the son of an auctioneer at Penrith, and who combined the grace -of Dr. Johnson with the geniality of Dr. Abernethy, was inexorable. -The cry was echoed everywhere throughout the office. "Let's have -gentlemen, for God's sake!" little Fitzbinkie, the private secretary, -would say, adding, with a look of as much horror as he could throw -into his eyeglass--you never saw his eyes--"there was a fellow here -the other day, came to see my lord. Worthington--you've heard about -him--wonderful fellow at the Admiralty, great gun at figures, and -organisation, and that kind of thing; reformed the navy almost, and so -on; and--give you my honour--he had on a brown shooting-jacket, and -a black-silk waistcoat, give you my word! Frightful, eh? Let's have -gentlemen, at any price." - -And the prayer of these great creatures was, to a large extent, -answered. Most of the men in the Stannaries Office were -pleasant, agreeable, sufficiently educated, well-dressed, and -gentlemanly-mannered. Within the previous few years there had been a -Scotch and an Irish Lord Commissioner, and each of them had left traces -of his patronage in the office: the first in the importation of two or -three grave men, who, not finding work enough to do, filled up their -leisure by reading statistics, or working out mathematical problems; -the last, by the appointment of half-a-dozen roistering blades, who -did very little of the work there was to do, and required the help -of a Maunders' "Treasury of Knowledge," subscribed for amongst them, -to enable them to do what they did; but who were such good riders -and such first-rate convivialists that they were found in mounts and -supper-parties for two-thirds of the year. The Irish element was, -however, decidedly unpopular with Mr. Branwhite, the secretary, a -cold-blooded, fish-like man, dry and tasteless, like a human captain's -biscuit, who had no animal spirits himself, and consequently hated -them in others. He was a long, thin, melancholy-looking fiddle-faced -sort of a man, who tried to hide his want of manner under an assumed -_brusquerie_ and bluntness of speech. He had been originally brought -up as a barrister, and owed his present appointment to the fact of -his having a very pretty wife, who attracted the senile attentions -and won the flagging heart of the Earl of Lechmere, who happened to -be Lord Commissioner of the Stannaries when Sir Francis Pongo died, -after forty years' tenure of the secretaryship. Lord Lechmere having, -when he called at Mrs. Branwhite's pretty villa in the Old Brompton -lanes, been frequently embarrassed by the presence of Mr. Branwhite, -that gentleman's barristerial practice being not sufficient to take him -often to the single chamber which he rented in Quality Court, Chancery -Lane, thought this a favourable opportunity to improve the Branwhite -finances, in this instance at least without cost to himself, and of -assuring himself of Mr. Branwhite's necessitated absence from the Old -Brompton villa during certain periods of the day. Hence Mr. Branwhite's -appointment as secretary to H.M. Stannaries. There was a row about it, -of course. Why did not the promotion "go in the office"? That is what -the Stannaries men wanted to know, and what they threatened to get -several members of Parliament to inquire of the Financial Secretary to -the Treasury, who replied on Stannaries matters in the Lower House. -_The Official Chronicle_, that erudite and uncompromising advocate -of the Government service, came out with a series of letters signed -"Eraser," "Half-margin," and "Nunquam Dormio;" and a leader in which -Lord Lechmere was compared to King David, and Mr. Branwhite to Uriah -the Hittite, the parallel in the latter case being heightened by the -writer's suggestion that each had been selected "for a very warm -berth." But the authorities cared neither for official remonstrances -nor press sarcasms. They had their answer to the question why the -promotion did not go in the office. Who was the next in rotation? -Mr. Bult, the chief-clerk. Was Mr. Bult competent in any way for the -secretaryship? Would the gentlemen of the Stannaries Office like to -see their department represented by Mr. Bult? Certainly not. Very -well, then, as it was impossible, after Mr. Bult's lengthened service, -during which his character had been stainless, to pass him by, and -place any of his juniors over his head, the only course was to seek for -Sir Francis's successor in some gentleman unconnected with the place. -This was the way in which Mr. Branwhite obtained his appointment. Lord -Lechmere's party went out of office soon after, and Lord Lechmere -himself has been dead for years; but Mr. Branwhite held on through the -_regimes_ of the Duke of M'Tavish and Viscount Ballyscran, and was -all-powerful as ever now while Lord Polhill of Pollington was Lord -Commissioner. What was thought of him, and, indeed, what was thought -and said pretty plainly about most official persons and topics, we -shall learn by looking into a large room on the ground-floor of the -office known as the Principal Registrar's Room. - -The Principal Registrar's Room must by no means be confounded with the -Registry, which was a very different, and not a very choice place, -where junior clerks got their hands into Stannaries work by stamping -papers and covering their fingers with printers'-ink. The Principal -Registrar's Room was appropriated to the Principal Registrar, and three -of the best-looking assistants he could get hold of. The gentleman -seated at the writing-table in the centre of the room, and reading -_The Morning Post_, is the Principal Registrar, Mr. Courtney. He sits -habitually with his back to the light, so that you cannot see his -features very distinctly--sufficiently, however, to make out that he is -an old, in reality, a very old man, made up for a young one. He must -have been of fair complexion and good-looking at one time, for his -capitally-made wig is red in colour, and though his perfectly-shaven -cheeks are mottled and pulpy, his features are well-cut and -aristocratic. His throat, exposed to view through his turn-down collar, -is old and wrinkled, reminding one of a fowl's neck; and his hands are -soft and seemingly boneless. So much as can be seen of his legs under -the table reminds one of Punch's legs, exhibited by that "godless old -rebel" in front of his show: the knees knock together, and the feet -turn inwards towards each other with helpless imbecility. The only -time that Mr. Courtney exhibits any great signs of vitality is in the -evening at the Portland Club, where he plays an admirable game of -whist, and where his hand is always heavily backed. Though he confesses -to being "an old fellow," and quotes "_Me, nec foemina nec puer_," with -a deprecating shrug of the shoulders, he likes to hear the adventures -of his young companions, and is by no means inconveniently straitlaced -in his ideas. He has a comic horror of any "low fellows," or men who do -not go into what he calls "sassiety;" he regards the Scotch division -of the office as "stoopid," and contemplates the horsiness and loud -tone of the Irish with great disfavour. He has, he thinks, a very good -set of "boys" under him just now, and is proportionately pleasant and -good-tempered. Let us look at his "boys." - -That good-looking young man at the desk in the farthest window is Paul -Derinzy, only son of our friend the Captain, resident at Beachborough. -The likeness to his father is seen in his thin straight-cut features, -small lithe figure, and blue-black hair. The beard movement had just -been instituted in Government offices, and Paul Derinzy follows it so -far as to have grown a thick black moustache and a small pointed beard, -both very becoming to his sallow complexion and Velasquez type of face. -He is about five-and-twenty years of age, and has an air of birth and -breeding which finds him peculiar favour in his Chief's eyes. - -In his drooping eyelids, in his _pose_, in his outstretched arms, and -head lying lazily on one side, there was an expression of languor that -argued but ill for the amount of work to be gotten out him in any -way, and which proclaimed Mr. Paul Derinzy to be one of that popular -regiment, "The Queen's Hard Bargains." But what of that? He certainly -did his office credit by his appearance; there was very seldom much -work to be done, and when there was, Paul was so popular that no one -would refuse to undertake his share. That man opposite, for instance, -loved Paul as his brother, and would have done anything for him. - -The man opposite is George Wainwright. He is four or five years -older than Paul, and of considerably longer standing in the office. -In personal appearance he differs very much from his friend. George -Wainwright stands six feet in height, is squarely and strongly built, -has a mass of fair hair curling almost on to his shoulders, and wears a -soft, thick, fair beard. His hands are very large and very white, with -big blue veins standing out on them, and his broad wrists show immense -power. His eyes are large and prominent, hazel in colour, and soft in -expression; he has a rather long and thick nose, and a large mouth, -with fresh white teeth showing when he smiles. He is smiling now, at -some remark made by the third assistant to the Principal Registrar, Mr. -Dunlop, commonly called "Billy Dunlop," a pleasant fellow, remarkable -for two things, imperturbable good-humour, and never letting anyone -know where he lived. - -"What are you two fellows grinning at?" asks Paul Derinzy, lazily -lifting his head and looking across at them. - -"I'm grinning at Billy's last night's adventures," replies George -Wainwright. "He went to the Opera, and supped at Dubourg's." - -"Horrible profligate! Alone?" - -"So likely!" says Billy Dunlop. "All right, though; I mean, quite -correct. Only Mick O'Dwyer with me." - -"Mick O'Dwyer at the Opera!" says Paul in astonishment. "Why, he always -swears he has no dress-clothes." - -"No more he has; but I lent him some of mine--a second suit I keep -for first nights of Jullien's Concerts, and other places where it is -sure to be crammed and stivy. They fitted Mick stunningly, and he -looked lovely in them; but he couldn't get my boots on, and he had to -go in his own. There were lots of our fellows there, and they looked -astonished to see Mick clothed and in his right mind; and at the back -of the pit, just by the meat-screen there, you know, we met Lannigan, -the M.P. for some Irish place, who's Mick's cousin. He didn't recognise -him at first; then when Mick spoke he looked him carefully all over, -and said: 'You're lovely, Mick!' Then his eyes fell on the boots; -he turned to me with a face of horror, and muttered: 'Ah Billy, the -brogues spoil the lot!'" - -The two other men laughed so loudly at this story that Mr. Courtney -looked up from his newspaper, and requested to know what was the -joke. When he heard it he smiled, at the same time shaking his head -deprecatingly, and saying: - -"For my part, I confess I cannot stand Mr. O'Dwyer. He is a perfect -Goth." - -"Ah Chief, that's really because you don't know him," said Wainwright. -"He's really an excellent fellow; isn't he, Billy?" - -"If Mick had only a little money he would be charming," said Dunlop; -"but he hasn't any. He's of some use to me, however; I've had no -occasion to consult the calendar since Mick's been here. He borrows -half-a-crown of me every day, and five shillings on saints'-days, -and----" - -"Hold on a minute, Billy," said Paul Derinzy; "if you lent Mick your -clothes, you must have taken him home--to where you live, I mean; so -that somebody has found out your den at last. What did you do? swear -Mick to secrecy?" - -"Better than that, sir; I brought the clothes down here, and made Mick -put 'em on in his own room. No, sir, none of you have yet struck on my -trail. Far in a wild, unknown to public view, From youth to age Mr. -William Dunlop grew." - -"Haven't you boys solved that mystery yet?" asked Mr. Courtney smiling, -and showing a set of teeth that did the dentist credit. - -"Not yet, Chief; we very nearly had it out last week," replied Paul. - -"When was that?" - -"After that jolly little dinner you gave us down at Greenwich. You -drove home, you know; we came up by rail. I suppose Quartermaine's -champagne had worked the charm; but the lord of William's bosom -certainly sat very lightly on its throne, and he was, in fact, what the -wicked call 'tight.' At the London Bridge Station I hailed a hansom, -and Billy got in with me, saying I could set him down. Knowing that -Billy is popularly supposed to reside in a cellar in Short's Gardens, -Drury Lane, I told the driver to take us a short cut to that pleasant -locality. Billy fell asleep, but woke up just as we arrived in Drury -Lane, looked round him, shouted: 'This will do!' stopped the cab, and -jumped out. Now, I thought, I've got him! I told the cabman to drive -slowly on, and I stepped out and dodged behind a lamp. But Billy was -too much for me: in the early dawn I saw him looking straight at me, -smiting his nose with his forefinger, and muttering defiantly: 'No, you -don't!' So eventually I left him." - -"Of course you did. No, no, Chief; William is not likely to fall a -prey to such small deer. He will dissipate this mystery on one great -occasion." - -"And that will be----?" - -"When he gets his promotion. When the edict is promulgated, elevating -William to the senior class, he will bid you all welcome to a most -choice, elegant, and, not to put too fine a point on it, classical -repast, prepared in his own home." - -"Well, if we're to wait till then, you'll enjoy your classic home, or -whatever you call it, for a long time unencumbered with our society," -said Derinzy. "Who's to have the next vacancy--Barlow's vacancy, I -mean; who's to have it, Chief?" - -"My dear boy," said Mr. Courtney, with a shoulder-shrug, "you are aware -that I can scarcely be considered _au mieux_ with the powers that -be--meaning Mrs. Branwhite--and consequently I am not likely to be -taken into confidence in such matters. But I understand, I have heard, -quite _par hazard_," and the old gentleman waved his double glasses -daintily in the air as he pronounced the French phrase, "that Mr. -Dickson is the selected--person." - -"D--n Mr. Dickson!" said Paul Derinzy. - -"Hear, hear!" said Mr. Dunlop; "my sentiments entirely, well and -forcibly put. A job, sir, a beastly job. 'John Branwhite, Jobmaster,' -ought to be written on the Secretary's door; 'neat flies' over -deserving people's heads, and 'experienced drivers;' those scoundrels -that he employs to spy, and sneak, and keep the fellows up to their -work. No, sir, no chance for my being put up; as the party in the -Psalms remarks, 'promotion cometh neither from the east nor from the -west.'" - -"No, Billy, from the south-west this time," said Paul Derinzy. -"Dickson's people have been having Branwhite and his wife to dine in -Belgrave Square; and our sweet Scratchetary was so delighted with Lady -Selina, and so fascinated by the swell surroundings, that he has been -grovelling ever since: hence Dickson's lift." - -"I have noticed," said Mr. Courtney, standing up and looking around -him with that benevolent expression which he always assumed when about -to give utterance to an intensely-unpleasant remark, "I have noticed -that when a--point of fact, a cad--tries to get into sassiety on which -he has no claim for admission, he invariably selects the wrong people. -What you just said, my dear Paul, bears out my argument entirely. This -man Branwhite--worthy person, official position, and that kind of -thing; no more knowledge of decent people than a Hottentot--struggles -to get into sassiety, and who does he get to introduce him? Dickson, -brewer-man, malt and hops and drugs, and blue boards with 'Entire,' -and that kind of thing. Worthy person in his way, and married Lady -Selina Walkinshaw, sister of Lord Barclay; but as to sassiety--very -third-rate, God bless my soul, very third-rate indeed!" - -"Well, I don't know any swells," said Billy Dunlop, "and I don't think -I want to. From what I've seen of 'em, they're scarcely so convivial -as they might be. Not in the drinking line; I don't mean that--they're -all there; but in the talking. And talking of talking, Mr. Wainwright, -we've not had the pleasure of hearing your charming voice for the last -quarter of an hour. Has it come off at last?" - -"Has what come off, Billy?" asked George Wainwright. - -"The amputation. Has our father the eminent, &c, at last performed the -operation and cut off our tongue? and is it then in a choice vial, -neatly preserved in spirits-of-wine, covered over with a bit of a -kid-glove, tied down with packthread, and placed on a shelf between a -stethoscope and a volume of 'Quain's Anatomy': is that it?" - -"Funny dog!" said George Wainwright, looking across at him. "I often -wonder why you stop here, Billy, at two-forty, rising to three-eighty -by annual increments of ten, when there's such a splendid future -awaiting you in the ring. That mug of yours is worth a pound a-week -alone; and then those charming witticisms, so new, so fresh, so -eminently humorous----" - -"Will you shut up?" - -"How they would fetch the threepenny gallery! Why don't I talk? I do -sometimes in your absence; but when you're here, I feel like one of -'those meaner beauties of the night, which poorly satisfy our eyes;' -and when you begin I ask myself: 'What are you when the moon shall -rise?'" - -"Shut up, will you? not merely your mouth, but your inkstand, -blotting-book, and all the rest of the paraphernalia by which you wring -an existence out of a too-easily-satisfied Government. You seem to have -forgotten it's Saturday." - -"By Jove, so it is!" said George Wainwright. - -"Yes, sir," continued Mr. Dunlop; "like that party in Shakespeare, who -drew a dial from his poke, and said it was just ten, and in an hour -it would be eleven, I've just looked at my watch and find that in ten -minutes it will be one o'clock, at which hour, by express permission -of her Majesty's Ministers, signed and sealed at a Cabinet Council, of -which Mr. Arthur Helps was clerk, the gentlemen of H.M. Stannaries are -permitted on Saturdays to--to cut it. That is the reason, odd as it may -seem, why I like Saturday afternoon. Mr. Tennyson, I believe, knew some -parties who found out a place where it was always Saturday afternoon. -Mr. W. Dunlop presents his compliments to the Laureate, and would be -obliged for an introduction to the said place and parties." - -"And what are you going to do with yourself to-day, Billy?" - -"I am going, sir, if I may so express myself without an appearance of -undue vanity, where Glory waits me. But I am prepared to promise, if -it will afford any gentleman the smallest amount of satisfaction, that -when Fame elates me, I will at once take the opportunity of thinking of -THEE!" - -"And where is Glory at the present moment on the look-out for you, -William?" - -"Glory, sir, in the person of Mr. Kemp, the Izaak Walton of the day, -will be found awaiting me in a large punt, moored on the silver bosom -of the Thames, off the pleasant village of Teddington, a vessel -containing, item two rods, item groundbait and worms for fishing, item -a stone-jar of--water! A most virtuous and modest way of spending the -afternoon, isn't it? I wish I could think it was going to be spent -equally profitably by all!" and Billy Dunlop made a comic grimace in -the direction of Paul Derinzy, and then assuming a face of intense -gravity, took his hat off a peg, nodded, and vanished. - -"Well, goodbye, my dear boys," said Mr. Courtney, coming out from -behind the partition where the washing-stand was placed--it was a point -of honour among the men to ignore his performance of his toilette--with -his wig tightly fixed on and poodled up under his glossy hat, with his -close-fitting lavender gloves, and with a flower in the button-hole -of his coat; "_au revoir_ on Monday. I'm going down to dear Lord -Lumbsden's little place at Marlow to blow this confounded dust out of -me, and to get a little ozone into me, to keep me up till I get away -to Scotland. _Au revoir_!" and the old boy kissed his fingertips, and -shambled away. - -"What are you going to do this afternoon, old man?" asked George -Wainwright, pulling off his coat preparatory to a wash, of Paul -Derinzy, who had been sitting silent for the last ten minutes, now -nervously plucking at his moustache, now referring to his watch, and -evidently in a highly nervous state. - -"I don't know exactly, George," Paul replied, without looking up at his -friend. "I haven't quite made up my mind." - -"Going to play tennis?" - -"No, I think not." - -"Going down to the Oval, to have an hour or two with the professionals? -Good day to-day, and the ground's in clipping order." - -"No, I think not." - -"Well, then, look here. Come along with me: we'll go for a spin as far -as Hendon; come back and dine at Jack Straw's Castle at Hampstead, -where the man has some wonderfully-good dry sherry, which he bought the -other day at a sale up there; and then walk quietly in at night. What -do you say?" - -"No, I think not to-day, old fellow." - -"Oh, all right," said George Wainwright, after an instant's pause; "I'm -sorry I spoke." - -"Don't be angry, George, old boy! You know I'm never so jolly as when -I'm with you, and that there's no man on earth I care for like you," -said Paul, earnestly; "but I've half-promised myself for this -afternoon, and until I hear--and I expect to hear every moment--I don't -know whether I'm free or not." - -"All right, Paul. I daresay I bore you sometimes, old man. I often -think I do. But, you know, I'm five or six years older than you, and I -was the first fellow you knew when you came into the service, through -your people being acquainted with mine, and so I've a natural interest -in you. Besides, you're a young swell in your way, and it does good -to me to hear you talk and mark your freshness, and your--well, your -youth. After thirty, a London man hasn't much of either." - -"At it again, are you, George? Why don't you keep a property tub on the -premises? You can't do your old Diogenes business effectively without -it. Or do you want no tub so long as you have me for your butt? Sold -you there, I think. You intended to say that yourself." - -"Mr. Derinzy," said George Wainwright gravely, "you must indeed have -lost every particle of respect for me when you could imagine that I -would have descended to a low verbal jest of that nature. Well, since -you won't come, I'll----" - -"I never said I wouldn't yet, though I can't expect you to wait any -longer for my decision. I----" - -At that moment a messenger entered the room with a letter in his hand. - -"For you, sir," he said to Mr. Derinzy; "the boy wouldn't wait to know -if there was an answer." - -"All right!" said Paul, opening it hurriedly, with a flushed face. - -It had an outer and an inner envelope, both sealed. - -"And I may be like the boy, I suppose," said George Wainwright, eyeing -his friend with a curiously mixed expression of interest and pity; "I -needn't wait to know if there's an answer." - -"No, dear old George; I can't come with you this afternoon," replied -Paul; and then he looked at the letter again. - -It was very short; only one line: - - -"At the usual place, at three to-day.--DAISY." - - - - -CHAPTER IV. -AFTER OFFICE-HOURS. - - -Paul Derinzy was left alone in the Principal Registrar's Room, and -silence reigned in H.M. Stannaries Office. Snow does not melt away -more speedily under the influence of the bright spring sun than do the -clerks of that admirable department under the sound of one o'clock on -a Saturday afternoon. Within ten minutes the place was deserted, the -gentlemen had all cleared out, the messengers had closed up desks and -lockers, despatched papers, and bolted, and the place was left to Mr. -Derinzy and the office-keeper. The latter went to the door with the -last departing messenger, looked up the street and down the street, -and with something of the soreness of a man who knew he was imprisoned -for at least thirty-six hours, said he thought they were going to have -some rain; an idea which the messenger--who had an engagement to take -the young lady with whom he was keeping company to Gravesend on the -Sunday--indignantly pooh-poohed. Not to be put down by this sort of -thing, the office-keeper declared that rain was wanted by the country, -to which the messenger replied that he thought of himself more than -the country; and as the country had done without it for three weeks, -it might hold over without much bother till Monday, he should think; -and nodded, and went his way. The office-messenger kicked the door -viciously to, and proceeded to make his round of the various rooms to -see that everything was in order, and to turn the key in each door -after his inspection. When he came to the Principal Registrar's Room he -went in as usual, but finding Mr. Derinzy there performing on his head -with two hairbrushes, he begged pardon and retreated, wondering what -the deuce possessed anyone to stop in the Office of H.M. Stannaries -when he had the chance of leaving it and going anywhere else. A cynical -fellow this office-keeper, only to be humanised by his release on -Monday morning. - -Mr. Paul Derinzy was in no special hurry, he had plenty of time before -him, and he had his toilette to attend to; a business which, though -he was no set dandy, he never scamped. He was very particular about -the exact parting of his hair, the polish of his nails, and the set -of his necktie; and between each act of dressing he went back to his -writing-table, and re-read the little note lying upon, it. Once or -twice he took the little note up, and whispered "darling!" to it, and -kissed it before he put it down again. Poor Paul! he was evidently -very hard hit, and just at the time of life, too, when these wounds -fester and rankle so confoundedly. Your _ci-devant jeune homme_, your -middle-aged gallant, _viveur, coureur des dames_, takes a love-affair -as easily as his dinner: if it goes well, all right; if it comes to -grief, equally all right; the sooner it is over the better he likes it. -The great cynical philosopher of the age, whose cynicism it is now the -fashion to deny--as though he could help it, or would have been in the -least ashamed of it--in one of his ballads calls upon all his coevals -of forty to declare: - - Did not the fairest of the fair - Common grow, and wearisome, ere - Ever a month had passed away? - - -Middle-aged man has other aims, other resources, other objects. -The "court, camp, grove, the vessel and the mart," fame, business, -ambition--all of these have claims upon his time, claims which he is -compelled to recognise in their proper season; and, worst of all, -he has recovered from the attacks of the "cruel madness of love," a -youthful disorder, seldom or never taken in middle life; the glamour -which steeped all surrounding objects in roseate hues no longer exists, -and it is impossible to get up any spurious imitations of it. Time -has taught him common sense; he has made friends of the mammon of -unrighteousness; and instead of wandering about the grounds begging -Maud to come out to him, and singing rapturous nonsense to the flowers, -he is indoors dining with the Tory squires. But the young have but one -idea in the world. They are entirely of opinion, with Mr. Coleridge's -hero, that all thoughts, "all passions, all delights that stir this -mortal frame," are "ministers of love," and "feed his sacred flame." -Perpetually to play at that sweet game of lips, to alternate between -the heights of hope and the depths of despair, to pine for a glance -and to be made happy by a word, to have no care for anything else, -to ignore the friends in whose society you have hitherto found such -delight, to shut your eyes knowingly, wilfully, and resolutely to the -sight of everything but one object, and to fall down and persistently -adore that object in the face of censure, contempt, and obloquy, is -granted to but few men over thirty years of age. Let them not be -ashamed of the weakness, rather let them congratulate themselves on its -possession: it will give a zest and flavour to their middle life which -but few enjoy. - -Paul Derinzy, however, was just at that period of his life when -everything is rose-coloured. He was even young enough to enjoy looking -at himself in the glass, which is indeed a proof of youth; for there -is no face or no company a man so soon gets sick of as his own. But -Paul stood before the little glass behind the washing-screen settling -his hat, and gazing at himself very complacently, even going so far -as to fetch another little glass from his drawer, and by aid of the -two ascertaining that his back parting was perfectly straight. As he -replaced the glass, he took out a yellow rosebud, carefully wrapped in -wool, cleared it from its envelope, and sticking it in his buttonhole, -took his departure. - -Paul looked up at the Horse-Guards clock as he passed by, and finding -that he had plenty of time to spare, walked slowly up Whitehall. The -muslin-cravated, fresh-coloured, country gentlemen at the Union Club, -and the dyed and grizzled veterans at the Senior United, looked out -of the window at the young man as he passed, and envied him his youth -and his health and his good looks. He strolled up Waterloo Place -just as the insurance-offices with which that district abounds were -being closed for the half-holiday, and the insurance-clerks, young -gentlemen who, for the most part, mould themselves in dress and manners -upon Government officials, took mental notes of Paul's clothes, and -determined to have them closely imitated so soon as the state of their -salaries permitted. Quite unconscious of this sincerest flattery, Paul -continued his walk, striking across into Piccadilly, and lounging -leisurely along until he came to the Green Park, which he entered, -and sat down for a few minutes. It was the dull time of the day--when -the lower half of society was at dinner, and the upper half at -luncheon--and there was scarcely anyone about. After a short rest, Paul -looked at his watch, and muttering to himself, "She can't have started -yet; I may just as well have the satisfaction of letting my eyes rest -on her as she walks to the Gardens," he rose, and turned his steps back -again. He turned up Bond Street, and off through Conduit Street into -George Street, Hanover Square, and there, just by St. George's Church, -he stopped. - -Not to the church, however, was his attention directed, but to the -house immediately opposite to it. A big, red-faced, old-fashioned -house, fresh painted and pointed, with plate-glass windows in its lower -stories, and bronzed knockers, and shining bell-pulls, looking like a -portly dowager endeavouring to assume modern airs and graces. Carriages -kept driving up, and depositing old and young ladies, and the door, on -which was an enormous brass plate with "Madame Clarisse," in letters -nearly half a foot long, was perpetually being flung open by a page -with a very shiny face, produced by a judicious combination of yellow -soap and friction--a page who, in his morning-jacket ruled with red -lines, looked like a page of an account-book. Paul Derinzy knew many of -these carriage-brought people--for Madame Clarisse was the fashionable -milliner of London, and had none but the very greatest of fine ladies -in her _clientele_--and many of them knew him; but on the present -occasion he carefully shrouded himself from observation behind one of -the pillars of the church portico. There he remained in an agony of -impatience, fidgeting about, looking at his watch, glaring up at the -bright-faced house, and anathematising the customers, until the clock -in the church-tower above him chimed the half-hour past two. Then he -became more fidgety than ever. Before, he had taken short turns up and -down the street, always returning sharply to the same spot, and looking -round as though he had expected some remarkable alteration to have -taken place during his ten seconds' absence; now, he stood behind the -pillar, never attempting to move from the spot, but constantly peering -across the way at Madame Clarisse's great hall-door. - -Within five minutes of the chiming of the clock, the great hall-door -was opened so quietly that it was perfectly apparent the demonstrative -page was not behind it. A young woman, simply and elegantly dressed -in a tight-fitting black silk gown, and a small straw bonnet trimmed -with green ribbon, with a black lace shawl thrown loosely across her -shoulders and hanging down behind, after a French fashion then in -vogue, passed out, closing the door softly behind her, and started off -in the direction of the Park. Then Paul Derinzy left his hiding-place, -and, at a discreet distance, followed in pursuit. - -There must have been something very odd or very attractive in the -personal appearance of this young woman, for she undoubtedly attracted -a vast deal of attention as she passed through the streets. It would -require something special, one would imagine, to intervene between -a man and the toothache; and yet a gentleman seated in a dentist's -ante-room in George Street, with a face swollen to twice its natural -size, and all out of drawing, and vainly endeavouring to solace -himself, and to forget the coming wrench, with the pleasant pages of a -ten-years'-old _Bentleys Miscellany_, flung the book aside as he saw -the girl go by, and crammed himself into a corner of the window to look -after her retreating figure. Two sporting gentlemen standing at the -freshly-sanded door of Limmer's Hotel, smoking cigars, and muttering -to each other in whispers of forthcoming "events," suspended their -conversation and exchanged a rapid wink as she flitted by them. The -old boys sunning themselves in Bond Street, pottering into Ebers' for -their stalls, or pricing fish at Groves's, were very much fluttered by -the girl's transient appearance among them. The little head was carried -very erect, and there must have been something in the expression of the -face which daunted the veterans, and prevented them from addressing -her. One or two gave chase, but soon found out that the gouty feet -so neatly incased in varnished boots had no chance with this modern -Atalanta, who sailed away without a check, looking neither to the right -nor to the left. Nor were men her only admirers; ladies sitting in -their carriages at shop-doors would look at her half in wonderment, -half in admiration, and whisper to each other: "What a pretty girl!" -and these compliments pleased her immensely, and brought the colour to -her face, adding to her beauty. - -She crossed into the Park through Grosvenor Gate, and taking the -path that lay immediately in front of her, went straight ahead about -half-way between the Serpentine and the Bayswater Road, then through -the little iron gate into Kensington Gardens, and across the turf -for some distance until she came in sight of a little avenue of -trees, through which glimmered the shining waters of the Round Pond, -backed by the rubicund face of stout old Kensington Palace. Then she -slackened her pace a little, and began to look around her. There were -but few, very few people near: two or three valetudinarians sunning -themselves on such of the benches as were in sufficient repair; a -few children playing about while their nursemaids joined forces and -abused their employers; a shabby-genteel man eating a sandwich of -roll-and-sausage--obviously his dinner--in a shamefaced way, and -drinking short gulps out of a tin flask under the shadow of his hat; -and a vagabond dog or two, delighted at having escaped the vigilance -of the park-keeper, and snapping, yelping, and performing acrobatic -feats of tumbling, out of what were literally pure animal spirits. -Valetudinarians, children, nursemaids, and dogs were evidently not what -the girl had come to see, for she stopped, struck the stick-handle of -her open parasol against her shoulder, and murmured, "How provoking!" -Just at that instant Paul Derinzy, who had been following her tolerably -closely, touched her arm. She started, wheeled swiftly round, and her -eyes brightened and the flush rose in her cheeks as she cried: - -"Oh, Mr. Douglas!" - -"'Mr. Douglas,' Daisy!" said Paul Derinzy, with uplifted eyebrows; -"'and why this courtesy,' as we say in Sir Walter Scott?" - -"I mean Paul," said the girl; "but you startled me so, I scarcely knew -what I said." - -"Ah, 'Paul' is much better. The idea of your calling me anything else!" - -"I don't know, I rather think you're 'Mr. Douglas' just now. You're -always 'Mr. Douglas,' recollect, when I'm at all displeased with you, -and I've lots of things for you to explain to-day." - -"Fire away, child! Let's turn out of the path first, in amongst these -trees. So--that is better. Now then, what is the first?--by Jove, pet, -how stunning you look to-day!" - -A vulgar but expressive term, and one in general acceptance ten years -ago. One, too, by no means inexpressive of the girl's beauty, for she -was beautiful, and in a style that was then uncommon. She had red hair. -Nowadays red hair is by no means uncommon; it may be seen hanging in -bunches in the _coiffeurs'_ shops, and, with black roots, on the heads -of most of the Dryads of the Wood. Ten years ago, to have red hair was -to be subjected to chaff by the street-boys, to be called "carrots" -by the vulgar, and to be pitied silently by the polite. Red hair -_au naturel_ was almost unknown--it was greased, and pomatumed, and -cosmetiqued, and flattened into _bandeaux_, and twisted into ringlets, -and deepened and darkened and disguised in every possible shape and -way; it was "auburn," it was "chestnut," it was anything but red. -This girl had red hair, and hated it, but was too proud to attempt to -disguise it. So she wore it in a thick dry mass, heavy and crisp, and -low on the forehead, and it suited her dead-white skin, creamy white, -showing the rising blood on the smallest provocation, and her thin -cheeks, and her pointed chin, and her gray eyes, and her long, but -slightly impertinent, nose. No wonder people in the street turned round -and stared at her; they had been educated up to the raven locks, and -the short straight noses, and the rounded chin style of beauty, formed -on the true classical model, and they could not understand this kind of -thing except in a picture of Mr. Dante Rossetti, or young Mr. Millais, -or some of those other new-fangled artists who, they supposed, were -clever, but who were decidedly "odd." - -There was no doubt about her beauty, though, and none about her style. -So Paul Derinzy thought, as he looked her up and down on saying the -last-recorded words, and marked her tall, _svelte_, lissom figure; her -neatly-shod, neatly-gloved feet and hands; her light walk, so free and -yet so stately; and the simple elegance of her dress. - -"You are a stunner, pet, and I adore you! There, having delivered -myself of those mild observations, I will suffer you to proceed. You -had a lot of things to say to me? Fire away!" - -"In the first place, why were you not here to meet me, Mr. Douglas?" - -"Again that detestable formality! Daisy, I swear, if you call me that -again, I'll kiss you,--_coram publico, en plein air_, here before -everybody; and that child, who will not take its eyes off us, will -swallow the hoopstick it is now sucking, and its death will lie at your -door." - -"No, but seriously--where have you been?" - -"You want to know? Well, then, I don't mind telling you that I've -followed you every foot of the way from George Street. Ah, you may well -blush, young woman! I was the heartbroken witness of your flirtation -with those youths in Bond Street." - -"Horrid old things! No, but, Paul, did you really follow me from -Madame's? Were you there to see me come out?" - -"My child, I was there for three mortal quarters of an hour before you -came out." - -"That was very nice of you; _bien gentil_, as Mdlle. Augustine says. I -wish you knew Mdlle. Augustine, she's a very great friend of Madame's." - -"I wish I was Mdlle. Augustine. I say, Daisy, doesn't Madame Clarisse -want a male hand in the business--something in the light-porter line? -I'm sure it would suit me better than that beastly office." - -"What office, Paul?" - -"Why, my office, darling; where I go every day. Do you mean to say I -didn't tell you about that, Daisy?" - -"Certainly not; you've told me nothing about yourself." - -"Well, you see, I've known you so short a time, and seen so little of -you. Oh yes, I go to an office." - -"Do you mean to say you're a clerk?" - -"Well, yes--not to put too fine a point upon it, I suppose I am." - -"What! a lawyer's clerk?" - -"No, no! D--n it all, Daisy, not as bad as that, nothing of the kind. -Government office, Civil servant of the Crown, and all that kind of -thing, don't you understand? Her Majesty's Stannaries--one of the -principal departments of the State." - -"And do you go there every day, Mr.--I mean, Paul?" - -"Well, I'm supposed to, my darling; point of fact, I do go -there--generally." - -"Why don't you let me write to you there?" - -"Write to me there! at the office! My dear child, there are the most -stringent rules of the service against it. Any man in the office -receiving a letter from a lady at the office would be--would be had up -before the House of Commons, and very probably committed to the Tower!" - -"What a curious thing! I thought you had nothing to do." - -"Nothing to do! My darling Daisy, no galley-slave who tugs at the -what-d'ye-call-em--oar--works harder than I do, as, indeed, Lord -Palmerston has often acknowledged." - -"And you're well paid for it? I mean, you get lots of money?" asked the -girl, looking straight up into his face. - -"Ye-yes, child. Yes, statecraft is tolerably well remunerated. Besides, -men in my position have generally something else to live upon, some -private means, some allowances from their people." - -"Their people? Oh, you mean their families. Yes, that must be very -nice. Have you any--any people?" - -"Yes, Daisy, my father and mother are both alive." - -"They don't live with you in Hanover Street?" - -"Oh no; they live down in the country, a long way off--down in the West -of England." - -"And they're rich, I suppose?" - -"Yes, they're very fairly off." - -"And how many brothers and sisters have you, Paul?" - -"None, darling; I am the only child; the entire hopes of the family are -centred in this charming creature. Have you finished your questions, -you inquisitive puss?" - -"Quite. Did it sound inquisitive? I daresay it did; I daresay my -foolish chatter was boring you." - -"My pet Daisy, I'd sooner hear what you call your foolish chatter than -anything in the world--much sooner than Tamberlik's _ut de poitrine_, -that all the musical people are raving about just now. See, darling, -let us sit down here. Take off your glove--this right glove. No? what -nonsense! I may kiss your hand; there's no one looking but that fat -child in the brown-holland knickerbockers, and if he doesn't turn his -eyes away, I'll make a face at him, and frighten him into convulsions. -There; now tell me about yourself." - -"About myself? I've nothing to tell, Paul, except that we're horribly -busy, and Madame plagues our lives out." - -"Had you any difficulty in getting out to-day? You thought you would -have when last I saw you." - -"Dreadful difficulty; Madame fussed and fumed, and declared that she -could not possibly let me go; but I insisted; and as the customers like -me, and always ask for me, I suppose I am too valuable for her to say -much." - -"By the way, Daisy, do any men ever come to your place--with the women, -I mean?" - -"Sometimes; the husbands or the brothers of the ladies." - -"Exactly. I suppose they don't--I mean, I suppose you don't--what a -fool I am! No matter. Are you going back there this evening?" - -"Yes, Madame would not let me come until I promised to be back by six -to see the parcels off. Madame's going to the Opera to-night, and -she'll be dressing at the time, and she must have somebody there she -can depend upon." - -"And you are the somebody, Daisy? How deuced nice to be able to -reckon upon finding you anywhere when one wanted you! No, I say; no -one can see my arm, it's quite covered by your shawl, and it fits so -beautifully round your waist, just as if you had been measured for it -at Madame Clarisse's. Well, and what time will you be free?" - -"Between eight and nine, I suppose; nearer nine." - -"May I meet you when you come away, Daisy? Will you come with me to the -theatre?" - -"No, Paul; you know perfectly well that I will not. You know it is not -of the slightest use proposing such things to me." - -"Yes, I know it's of no use; I wish it were; it would be so jolly, -and--then you'll go straight back to South Molton Street?" - -"Yes; to my garret!" and she laughed, rather a hard laugh, as she said -these words. - -"Don't say that, Daisy; I hate to hear you say that word." - -"It's the right word, Paul, horrid or not. However, I shall get out of -it some day, I suppose." - -"How?" asked Paul, withdrawing his arm from her waist, and looking -fixedly at her. - -"How should I know?" said the girl, with the same hard laugh. "Feet -foremost, perhaps, in my coffin. Somehow, at all events." - -"You're in a curious mood to-day, Daisy." - -"Am I? You'll see me in many curious moods, if we continue to know each -other long, Paul--which I very much doubt, by the way." - -"Daisy, what makes you say that? You've not seen anyone--you've not -heard--I mean, you don't intend to break with me, Daisy?" - -"There is nothing to break, my poor Paul!" - -"Whose fault is that? Whose fault is it that you remain in what you -call your garret? Whose fault is it that you are compelled to obey -Madame Clarisse, and to dance attendance on her infernal customers? -Not mine, you must allow that. You know what is the dearest wish of my -heart--you know how often I have proposed that----" - -"Stop, sir," said Daisy, laying her ungloved hand upon his mouth; "you -know how often I have forbidden you to touch upon that subject, and -now you dare to disobey merely because I was foolish enough to be off -my guard for a moment, and to let some grumbling escape my lips. No, -no, Paul, let us be sensible; it is very well as it is. We enjoy these -stolen meetings; at least, I do----" - -"And you think I don't, I suppose? Oh no, certainly not!" - -"You very rude bear, why do you interrupt me? I don't think anything -of the sort. I know you enjoy them too. Then why should we bother -ourselves about the future?" - -"No; but you don't understand, Daisy. It seems so deuced hard for me to -have to see you for such a short time, and then for you to have to go -away, and----" - -"Don't you think it is quite as hard for me?" - -"But then I'm so fond of you, don't you know! I love you so much, -Daisy." - -"And do you imagine I don't care for you? I don't say how much, but I -know it must be more than a little." - -"How do you know that, darling?" - -"Because my love for you has conquered my pride, Paul. That shows me -at once, without anything else, that I must love you. Do you think if -I didn't care for you that I would consent to all this subterfuge and -mystery which always surrounds us? Do you imagine that I have no eyes -and no perception? Do you think I don't notice that you have chosen -this place for our meeting because it is quite quiet and secluded? That -when anyone having the least appearance of belonging to your world -comes near us, you are in an agony, and turn your head aside, or cover -your face with your hand, lest you should be recognised? Do you think I -haven't noticed all this? And do you think I don't know that all these -precautions are taken, and all this fear is undergone, because you are -walking with _me?_" - -"My darling Daisy----" - -"It's my own fault, Paul. Understand, I quite allow that. I am not in -your rank of life. I am Madame Clarisse's show-woman; and I ought to -look for my lovers amongst Messrs. Lewis and Allenby's young drapers, -or the assistants at Godfrey and Cooke's, the chemists. They would -be very proud to be seen with me, and would probably take me out on -Sundays, along the Hammersmith Road in a four-wheel chaise. However, I -hate chemists and drapers and four-wheel chaises, and prefer walking in -this gloomy grove with you, Paul." - -"You're a queer child," said Paul, with a sigh of relief at the subject -being, as he thought, ended, and with a gratified smile at the pleasant -words Daisy had last spoken. - -"Yes," she said; "queer enough, Heaven knows! I suppose my dislike to -those kind of people is because I was decently born and educated; and I -can't forget that even now, when I'm only a milliner's shop-girl. But -with all my queerness, I was right in what I said, wasn't I, Paul?" - -"Why, my darling, it's a question, don't you see. I don't care for -myself; I should be only too proud for people to think that I--that -a girl like you would be about with me, and that kind of thing; but -it's one's people, don't you know, and all that infernal cant and -conventionality." - -"Exactly. Now let us take a turn up and down the gloomy grove, and talk -about something else." - -She rose as she spoke, and passed her arm through his, and they began -slowly pacing up and down among the trees. The "something else" which -formed the subject of their talk it is not very difficult to divine, -and though apparently deeply interesting to them, it would not be worth -transcription. It was the old, old subject, which retains its glamour -in all countries and in all places, and which was as entrancing in that -bit of cockney paradise, with the smoke-discoloured trees waving above -them, and the dirty sheep nibbling near them, as it was to OEnone on -Ida, or to Desdemona in Venice. - -So they strolled about, trying endless variations of the same tune, -until it became time for Daisy to think of returning to her place of -business. Paul, after a little inward struggle with himself, proposed -to walk with her as far as the Marble Arch; there would be no one in -that part of the Park, he thought, of whom he need have the slightest -fear; and Daisy appearing to be delighted, they started off. Just -before they reached the end of the turf by the Marble Arch they stopped -to say adieux. These apparently took a long time to get over, for -Daisy's delicate little glove was retained in Paul's grasp, her face -was upturned, and he was looking into it with love and passion in his -eyes. So that they neither of them observed a tall gentleman who had -just entered the gates, and was striking across the Park when his eyes -fell upon them, and who honoured them, not with a mere cursory glance, -but with an intense and a prolonged stare. This gentleman was George -Wainwright. - - - - -CHAPTER V. -FAMILY POLITICS. - - -"Was I a-dreamin', or did my Ann really tell me that somebody'd come -down late last night in a po'-shay and driven to the Tower?" asked -Mrs. Powler, the morning after her little supper-party, of Mrs. Jupp, -who, whenever she could find a minute to spare from the troubles of -housekeeping, was in the habit of "dropping-in" to gossip with her -older and less active neighbour. - -"You weren't dreamin', dear; at least, I should say not, unless you -have dreams like them chief butlers and bakers, and other cur'ous -pipple in the Bible one reads of, which had their dreams 'terpreted. -It's quite true--not that it's made more so by your Ann having said it; -for a more shameful little liar there don't talk in this parish!" said -Mrs. Jupp, getting very red in the face. - -"You never took kindly to that gell, Mrs. Jupp," said the old lady -placidly--she was far too rich to get in a rage--"you never took kindly -to that gell from the first, when I took her out of charity, owin' to -her father's being throwed out of work on account of Jupp's cousin -stoppin' payment." - -Though said in Mrs. Fowler's calmest tones, and without a change of -expression on the speaker's childish old face, this was meant to be a -hard hit, and was received as such by Mrs. Jupp. - -"I don't know nothin' 'bout stoppin' payment, nor Jupp's cousins," said -that lady, with a redundancy of negatives and a very shrill voice; "my -own fam'ly has always paid their way, and Jupp has a 'count at the -Devon Bank, where his writin' is as good as gold, and will be so long -as I live. But I _du_ know that I've never liked that gell Ann Bradshaw -since she told a passil o' lies about my Joey and the hen-roost!" - -"Well, well, never mind Ann Bradshaw," said Mrs. Powler, who had had -vast experience of Mrs. Jupp's powers of boredom in connection with the -subject of her Joey and the hen-roost; "never mind about the gell; I -allays kip her out o' your way, and I must ha' been main thoughtless -when I let her name slip out just now before you. So someone did come -in a po'-shay last night, then, and did drive to the Tower? Do you know -who it was?" - -"Not of my own knowledge," replied Mrs. Jupp in a softened voice--it -would never have done to have quarrelled with Mrs. Powler, from -whom she derived much present benefit, and from whom she expected a -legacy--"but Groper, who was up there this morning wi' the sallt water -for the Captain's bath, says it's the Doctor." - -"Lor', now!" said Mrs. Powler, lifting up her hands in astonishment; -"I can't fancy why passons go messin' wi' sallt water, and baths, and -such-like. They must be main dirty, one would think, to take such a lot -o' washin'. I'm sure Powler and I never did such redick'lous nonsense, -and we was always well thought of, I believe. Lor', now, I've bin and -forgotten who you said it was come down. Who was it, Harriet?" - -"The Doctor from London--Wheelwright, or some such name; he that comes -down three or four times a-year just to look at Mrs. Derinzy." - -"He must be a cliver doctor, I du 'low, if his lookin' at her is enough -to do her good," said Mrs. Powler, who was extremely literal in all -things; "not but what she's that bad, poor soul, that anything must be -a comfort to her." - -"Did you ever hear tell what was ezackly the matter wi' the Captain's -lady, Mrs. Powler?" asked Mrs. Jupp mysteriously. - -"Innards," said the old lady in a hollow voice, laying her hand on the -big mother-o'-pearl buckle by which her broad sash was kept together. - -"Ah, but what sort of innards?" demanded Mrs. Jupp, who was by no means -to be put off with a general answer on such an important subject. - -"That I dunno," said Mrs. Powler, unwillingly confessing her ignorance. -"Dr. Barton attends her in a or'nary way, but I niver heerd him say." - -"It must be one of them obstinit diseases as we women has," said Mrs. -Jupp, "as though--not to fly in the face of Providence--but as though -child-bearin' wasn't enough to have us let off all the rest!" - -"She niver takes no med'cine," said Mrs. Powler, who firmly believed -in the virtues of the Pharmacopoeia, and whose pride it was that -the deceased Powler, in his last illness, had swallowed "quarts and -quarts." "I know that from that fair-haired young chap that mixes -Barton's drugs,--his mother was a kind o' c'nexion o' Fowler's, and I -had 'im up to tea a Sunday week, and asked him." - -"Well, I'd like very much to know what is the matter wi' Mrs. Derinzy," -said Mrs. Jupp, harking back. "I ha' my own idea on the subjick; but -I'd like to know for sure." - -"If you're so cur'ous, you'd better ask Dr. Barton. He's just gone -passt the window, and I 'spose he'll look in;" and almost before -Mrs. Powler had finished her sentence there came a soft rap at the -room-door, the handle was gently turned, and Dr. Barton presented -himself. - -He was a short, thickset, strongly-built man of about fifty-five, with -close curly gray hair, bright eyes, mottled complexion, large hooked -nose. He was dressed in a black cut-away coat, stained buff waistcoat, -drab riding-breeches, and top-boots. He had a way of laying his head on -one side, and altogether reminded one irresistibly of Punch. - -"_Good_-morning, ladies," said the doctor, in a squeaky, throaty little -voice, which tended to heighten the resemblance; "I seem to ha' dropped -in just in the nick o' time, by the looks of ye. Mayhap you were -talking about me. Mrs. Jupp, you don't mean to say that----" and the -little man whispered the conclusion of the sentence behind his hat to -Mrs. Jupp, while he privately winked at Mrs. Powler. - -"Get 'long wi' ye, du!" said Mrs. Jupp, her face suffused with crimson. - -"I niver see such a man in all my born days," said old Mrs. Powler, -with whom the doctor was a special favourite, laughing until the tears -made watercourses of her wrinkles, and were genially irrigating her -face. "No; no such luck, I tell her." - -"Well, as to luck, that all a matter o' taste," said Mrs. Jupp; "we -were talking about something quite different to that." - -"What was it?" asked the doctor. - -"'Bout Mrs. D'rinzy's health Harriet was asking," explained Mrs. Powler. - -"A-h!" said the doctor, shaking his head, and looking very solemn. - -"Is she so bad as all that?" asked Mrs. Jupp, who was visibly impressed -by the medico's pantomime. - -"Great sufferer, great sufferer!" said the little man, with a -repetition of the head-shake. - -"Well, but she gets about; comes down into t' village, and such-like," -argued Mrs. Powler. - -"Oh yes; no reason why she shouldn't; more she gets about, indeed, the -better," said the doctor. - -"It's innards, I suppose?" asked Mrs. Jupp, whose craving for -particulars of Mrs. Derinzy's disorder was yet unsatisfied. - -"Well, partially, partially," said the doctor, slowly rubbing the side -of his nose with the handle of his riding-whip; "it's a complication, a -mixture, which it would be difficult to get an unprofessional person to -understand." - -"Talkin' o' that, Barton," said Mrs. Powler, "I s'pose you know the -London doctor came down last night?" - -"Dr. Wainwright? Oh yes; I was up at the Tower just now to meet him. -As I'm left in charge of Mrs. Derinzy, we always have a consultation -whenever he comes down." - -"I s'pose he's a raal cliver man, this Wheelwright, or they wouldn't -have him come all this way to see her," said Mrs. Powler. - -"Clever!" echoed the doctor; "the very first man of the day; the very -first!" - -"Then why wasn't he sent for to see Sir Herc'les when he was laid up -that bad last spring?" asked Mrs. Jupp; "there was another one come -down from London then." - -"That was quite a different case, my dear madam. Sir Hercules Dingo -was laid up with gout; Mrs. Derinzy's complaint is not gout; and Dr. -Wainwright is the first man of the day in--well, in such cases as Mrs. -Derinzy's." - -No more specific information than this could Mrs. Jupp obtain from the -doctor, who was "that close when he liked," as his friends said of him, -that even the blandishments of Mrs. Barton failed to extract any of his -professional secrets. So Mrs. Jupp gave it up in despair, and began -talking on general topics. Be sure the conversation did not progress -far without the Derinzys again cropping up in it. They were staple -subjects of discussion in Beachborough, and the most preposterous -stories regarding them and their origin, whence and why they came to -the remote Devonshire village, and the reason for their enforced stay -there, obtained, if not credence, at least circulation. What their real -history was, I now propose to tell. - -Five-and-twenty years before the date of this story, the firm of -Derinzy and Sons was well known and highly esteemed in the City -of London. They were supposed to have been originally of Polish -extraction, and their name to have been Derinski; but it had been -painted up as Derinzy for years on the door-posts of their warehouse in -Gough Square, Fleet Street, and it was so spelt on all the invoices, -bill-heads, and other commercial literature of the firm. Warehouses, -invoices, and bill-heads? Yes, despite their Polish extraction and -distinguished name, the Derinzys were neither more nor less than -furriers--wholesale, and on a large scale, it was true, but still -furriers. Their business was enormous, and their profits immense. The -old father, Peter Derinzy, who had founded the firm, and whose business -talent and industry were the main causes of its success, had given up -active attendance, and was beginning to take life leisurely. He came -down twice a week, perhaps, in a handsome carriage-and-pair, to Gough -Square, just glanced over the books, and occasionally looked at some -samples of skins, on which his opinion--still the most reliable in -the whole trade--was requested by his son, and then went back to his -mansion at Muswell Hill, where his connection with business was unknown -or ignored, and where he was Squire Derinzy, dwelling in luxury, and -passing his time in the superintendence of his graperies and pineries, -his forcing-houses and his farm. - -The affairs of the house did not suffer by the old gentleman's absence. -In his eldest son Paul, on whom the command devolved in his father's -absence, the senior partner had a representative possessing all the -experience and tact which he had gained, combined with the youth and -energy which he had lost. Men of high standing in the City of London, -many years his seniors, were glad to know Paul Derinzy, eager to -ask his advice, and, what is quite a different matter, frequently -not unwilling to take it in regard to the great speculations of the -day. The merchants from the North of Europe with whom he transacted -business--and to all of whom he spoke in their own language, without -the slightest betrayal of foreign accent or lack of idiom--looked upon -him as an absolute wonder, more especially when contrasted with his -own countrymen, who for the most part spoke nothing but English, and -little of that beyond oaths, and spread his renown far and wide. He -was a tall, high-shouldered, big-boned man, prematurely bald, and, -being very short-sighted, wore a large pair of spectacles, which -impelled his younger brother Alexis, then fresh from school, and just -received into the counting-house, to be initiated into the mysteries -of trade preparatory to being made a partner, to call him "Gig-lamps." -Paul Derinzy was not a good-tempered man, and at any time would have -disliked this impertinence; but addressed to him as it was, before the -clerks, it nettled him exceedingly. He forbade its repetition under -pain of summary punishment, and when it was repeated, being a big -strong man, he caught his younger brother by the collar, dragged him -out of the counting-house to a secluded part of the warehouse, and then -and there thrashed him to his heart's content. It was, perhaps, this -summary treatment, combined with a dislike for desk-work and indoor -confinement, that induced Master Alexis to resign his clerical stool -and to suggest to his father the propriety of purchasing for him a -commission in the army. Old Derinzy was by no means disposed to act -upon this idea, but his wife, who worshipped and spoiled her youngest -son, urged it very strongly; and as Paul, who was of course consulted, -recommended it as by far the best thing that could be done for his -brother, the old gentleman at last gave way, and in a very short time -young Alexis was gazetted as cornet in a hussar regiment then on its -way home from India, and joined the depot at Canterbury. - -After that little episode, Paul Derinzy took small heed of his -brother's proceedings, or, indeed, of anything save his business, in -which he seemed to be entirely absorbed. He was there early and late, -taking his dinner at a tavern, and retiring to chambers in Chancery -Lane, where he read philosophical treatises and abstruse foreign -philosophical works until bedtime. He had no intimate friends, and -never went into society. Even after his mother's death, when he spent -most of his leisure time, such as it was, at Muswell Hill, with his -father, then become very old and feeble, he shrank from meeting the -neighbours, and was looked upon as an oddity and a recluse. In the -fulness of time old Peter Derinzy died, leaving, it was said, upwards -of a hundred thousand pounds. By his will he bequeathed twenty thousand -pounds to his second son, Captain Alexis Derinzy, while the whole -of the rest of his fortune went to his son Paul, who was left sole -executor. - -Captain Alexis Derinzy made use of very strong language when he learned -the exact amount of the legacy bequeathed to him by his father's will. -He had been always given to understand, he said, that the governor -was a hundred-thousand-pound man, and he thought it deuced hard that -he shouldn't have had at least a third of what was left, specially -considering that he was a married man with a family, whereas that -money-grubbing old tradesman, his elder brother, had nobody but himself -to look after. The statement of Captain Derinzy's marriage was so far -correct. About two years previous to his father's death, the Captain -being at the time, like another captain famed in song, "in country -quarters," had made the acquaintance of a young lady, the daughter -of a clever, ne'er-do-weel, pot-walloping artist, who, when sober, -did odd bits of portrait-painting, and, among other jobs, had painted -correct likenesses of Captain Derinzy's two chargers. Captain Derinzy's -courtship of the artist's daughter, unlike that of his prototype in -verse, was carried on with the strictest decorum, not, one is bound -to say, from any fault of the Captain's, who wished and intended to -assimilate it to scores of other such affairs which he had had under -what he considered similar circumstances. But the truth was that he -had never met anyone like Miss Gertrude Skrymshire before. A pretty -woman, delicate-looking, and thoroughly feminine, she was far more of -an old soldier than the Captain, with all his barrack training and his -country-garrison experience. Years before, when she was a mere child of -fourteen, she had made up her mind, after experience of her father's -career and prospects, that Bohemianism, for a woman at least, was a -most undesirable state, and she had determined that she would marry -either for wealth or position; the latter preferable, she thought, as -the former might be afterwards attainable by her own ready wit and -cleverness; while if she married a _bon bourgeois_, she must be content -to remain in Bloomsbury, Bedfordshire, or wherever she might be placed, -and must abandon all hope of rising. When Captain Derinzy first came -fluttering round her, she saw the means to her end, and determined to -profit thereby. She was a very pretty young woman of her style, red -and white, with black eyes and flattened black hair, altogether very -like those Dutch dolls fashionable at that period, who were made of -shiny composition down to their busts, but then diverged abruptly into -calico and sawdust. She had a trim waist and a neat ankle, and what -is called nowadays a very "fetching" style, and she made desperate -havoc with Captain Derinzy's heart; so much so, that when she declined -with scorn to listen to any of the eccentric--to say the least of -them--propositions which he made to her, and forbade him her presence -for daring to make them, he, after staying away one day, during which -he was intensely wretched, and would have taken to drinking but that he -had tried it before without effect, and would have drowned himself but -that he did not want to die, came down and made an open declaration of -his love to Gertrude, and a formal proposal for her hand to Skrymshire -_pere_. - -Alick Derinzy had had Luck for his friend several times in his life; he -had "pulled off" some good things in sweepstakes, and been fortunate in -his speculations on "events;" but he never made such a _coup_ as when -he took Gertrude Skrymshire for his wife. She undertook the _menage_ -at once, sold off his unnecessary horses, and paid off outstanding -ticks; made him get an invitation for himself and her to Muswell Hill, -and spent a week there, during which she ingratiated herself with the -old gentleman, and specially with Paul; speedily took the reins of -government into her hands, and drove her husband skilfully, without -ever letting him feel the bit. When his father died, and Alick was for -crying out at the smallness of his legacy, Gertrude stopped his mouth, -pointing out that they had a sufficiency to live on, to which the sale -of her husband's commission would add; that they could go and live in -a small house in a good suburb of town, where they could make it very -comfortable for Paul, who would doubtless see a good deal of them, -and who, as he was never likely to marry, would most probably leave -his enormous fortune to _their_ Paul, their only son, who, of course -without any definite views, had been named after his uncle. - -It was a notable scheme, well-planned and well-executed, but it failed. -Alick sold out, and they took a pleasant little house at Brompton, -a suburb then not much known, and principally inhabited, as now, by -actors and authors; and they furnished it charmingly, and Gertrude -herself went down in her deep mourning into the City, and penetrated -to Paul's sanctum in Gough Square, and insisted on his coming to stay -a day or two with them, and gained his promise that he would come. On -her return she said she had found Paul very much altered, but when -her husband asked her in what manner, she could not explain herself. -Alick himself explained it in his own peculiar barrack-room and -billiard-table phraseology, after he had seen his brother, expressing -his opinion that that worthy was "going off his head, by G--!" - -No doubt Paul Derinzy was a changed man. It was not that he looked -much older than his years--that he had always done; but his skin was -discoloured, his eyes lustreless, his head bowed, his spirit gone. He -said himself that twenty years' incessant labour without any holiday -had told upon him, and that he was determined at last to take some -rest. He should start immediately with Herr Schadow, one of their -largest customers, for Berlin and St. Petersburg, and should probably -be away for some months. Dockress, who had been brought up from boyhood -in Gough Square, and who knew every trick and turn of the trade, would -manage the business during his absence, and he should go away perfectly -satisfied that things would go on just as smoothly as if he were there -to overlook them. - -Paul Derinzy carried out his intention. He went away to the Continent -with Herr Schadow, and Mr. Dockress took charge of the business in -Gough Square. He heard several times from his principal within the -next few weeks, letters dated from various places, their contents -always relating to business. Mrs. Alick had also several letters -from her brother-in-law, but to her he wrote on different topics. He -seemed to be in wonderful spirits, wrote long descriptions of the -places he had visited, and humorous accounts of people he had met; -said he felt himself quite a different man, that he had just begun to -enjoy life, and looked upon all his earlier years as completely lost -to him. He loathed the very name of business, he said, and hated the -mere idea of coming back to England. He should certainly go as far -as St. Petersburg, and prolong his stay abroad as long as he felt -amused by it. He arrived in St. Petersburg. Dockress heard of him from -there relative to consignment of some special skins which he had been -lucky enough to get hold of, and which his old business instinct, -not to be so easily shaken off as he imagined, prompted him to buy. -Mrs. Alick also heard from him a fortnight later; he described the -place as delightful, the society as charming, said he was "going out -a good deal," and was thoroughly enjoying himself. Then nothing was -heard of him for weeks by the family in the pretty little house at -Brompton, and Mrs. Alick became full of wonderment as to his movements. -Dockress could have given her some information. It is true that he had -had no letters from his chief, but a nephew of Schadow's, who was a -clerk in the Gough Square house, had had a hint dropped to him by his -uncle that it was not improbable that the head of the house would, -on his return, which would be soon, bring with him a wife, as he was -supposed to be very much in love with a young French lady, a governess -in a distinguished Russian family where he visited. Schadow junior -communicated this intelligence to Dockress junior, who sat at the same -desk with him, who communicated it to Dockress senior, who whistled, -and, as soon as his son was out of hearing, muttered aloud that it was -"a rum go." - -"Rum" as it was, though, it was true. A short time afterwards Dockress -received official intimation of the fact, and the same post brought the -news to Mrs. Alick. Paul's note to his sister-in-law was very short. -It simply said that she and Alexis would probably be surprised to hear -that he was about to be married to Mdlle. Delille, a young French lady, -whom he had met in society at St. Petersburg. They were to be married -at once, and would shortly after set out for England, not, however, -with the intention of remaining there. He infinitely preferred living -abroad, so that he should merely return for the purpose of settling his -business, and should then retire to the Continent for the rest of his -life. - -Alick Derinzy gave a great guffaw as his wife read out this epistle to -him, and chaffed her in his ponderous way, referring to the counting of -chickens before they were hatched, and the hallooing before you were -out of the wood, and other apposite proverbs. - -"That's rather a bust-up for your scheme, Gertrude," he said with -a loud laugh, "old Paul going to marry; and he's just one of those -fellows that have a large family late in life; and a neat chance for -_our_ Paul's coming in for any of the old boy's money. That game is -u-p, Mrs. Derinzy." - -But Mrs. Derinzy, though she looked serious at the news which the -letter contained, and shook her head at her husband's speech, said -there was no knowing what Time had in store for them, and they must -wait and see. - -They waited, and in due course they saw--Paul's wife, Mrs. Derinzy: -a pretty, slight, fragile little woman, with large black eyes, -olive complexion, and odd restless ways. Mrs. Alick set her down as -"thoroughly French;" Alick spoke of her as a "rum little party;" -but they neither of them saw much of her. Paul brought her to dine -two or three times, and the women called upon each other, but the -newly-married pair were so thoroughly occupied with theatre-goings, and -opera-visitings and society-frequenting, that it was with the greatest -difficulty they could be induced to find a free night during the month -they stayed in town. London did not seem capable of producing enough -pleasure or excitement for Paul Derinzy. He was like a boy in the -ardour of his yearning for fresh amusement, he entered into everything -with wild delight, and seemed as though he should never tire of taking -his pretty little wife about, and what Alexis called "showing her off." - -During that month the great house of Derinzy and Sons ceased to -exist, and in the next issue of the great red book, the _Post-Office -Directory_, the name which had been so respected and so highly thought -of was not to be found. Certainly Paul Derinzy retained a share in its -fortunes, but he sold the largest part of the business to Dockress and -Schadow, whose friends came forth nobly to help them in the purchase, -and it was under their joint names that the house was in future -conducted. - -Then Paul and his wife went away, and were only occasionally heard of. -It had been their intention to travel about, and they were apparently -carrying it out, for Paul's letters to Mrs. Alick, with whom he still -corresponded, were dated from various places, and he could only give -her vague addresses where to reply. They were passing the winter at -Florence, when he wrote to his sister-in-law that a little daughter -had been born to them, but that his wife had been in great peril, for -some time her life had been despaired of, and even then, at the time -of writing, she was seriously ill. Alick Derinzy guffawed again at -this news, remarking that their Paul's nose was out of joint now, and -no mistake. Their Paul, then a stalwart boy of four years old, who -was playing about the room at the time, exclaimed, "No, my nose all -right!" at the same time grasping that organ with his chubby hand; -and Mrs. Derinzy checked her husband's unseemly mirth, and remarked -that since his brother had married, it was more to their interest that -his child should be a girl than a boy. There was an interval of six -months before another letter arrived to say that Mrs. Paul remained -very ill, that her constitution had received a shock which it was -doubtful whether it would ever recover, but that the little girl was -thriving well. Paul added that he was in treaty for a place on the Lake -of Geneva of which he had heard, and that if it suited him the family -would most probably settle down there. After another six months Mrs. -Alick heard from her brother-in-law that they had settled on the Swiss -lake, with a repetition of the statement that his wife was helplessly -ill, and the little girl thriving apace. During the four succeeding -years very nearly the same news reached the Alick Derinzys at the -same intervals--Paul was still located in the Swiss chateau, his wife -remained in the same state of illness, and his little girl still throve. - -"No chance for our Paul," said Alexis Derinzy disconsolately. - -"Our Paul" was growing into a fine boy, and his father gave himself -much mental exercitation as to whether he could "stand the racket" of -educating him at Eton or Harrow. - -One evening a cab drove up to the door, and a gentleman alighted and -asked for Mrs. Derinzy. Alick was, according to his usual practice, -at the club, enjoying that pleasant hour's gossip so dear to married -gentlemen who are kept rather tightly in hand at home, and which they -relinquish with such looks of envy at the happy bachelors or more -courageous Benedicks whom they leave behind. But Mrs. Alick was in her -very pretty little boudoir, into which she desired the stranger might -be shown. - -He came in; a man who had probably been tall, but was now bent double, -walking with a stick, and then making but slow progress; a man with -snow-white hair and long beard of the same hue, wrapped from head to -foot in a huge fur coat of foreign make. Mrs. Derinzy saw that he was a -gentleman, but did not recognise him. It was not until he advanced to -her and mentioned his name that she knew him for her brother-in-law, -Paul. She received him very warmly, and he seemed touched and -gratified, so far as lay in him. Where were his wife and his little -daughter? she asked. They were--over there, in Switzerland, he said -with an effort. He was alone, then, in London? He must come and stay -with them. No; he had been in London three or four days. He came over -on some special business, and he was about to return to the Continent -the next day, but he did not like to go without having seen her. He -fidgeted about while he stopped, and seemed nervously anxious to be -off; but Mrs. Alick, with a woman's tact, began to ask him questions -about his child, and he quieted down, and spoke of her with rapture. -She was the joy of his soul, he said, the one bright ray in his life, -of which, indeed, he spoke in very melancholy terms. Alick came home -from his club in due course, and was as surprised as his wife had -been at the alteration in Paul's appearance, and took so little pains -to disguise his impressions, that Paul himself made allusion to his -white hair and his bowed back, and said he had had trouble enough to -have broken a much younger and stronger man. He did not say what the -trouble was, and they did not like to ask him. Alick had thought it -was pecuniary worry; that his brother had "dropped his money," as he -phrased it. Mrs. Alick saw no reason to ascribe it to any such source. -But she noticed that her brother-in-law said very little about his -wife, and she felt certain that the marriage which had promised so -brilliantly had turned out a disappointment, and that the shadow which -darkened his life was of home creation. - -Paul Derinzy bade adieu to his brother and his sister-in-law that -night, and they never saw him again. About a month afterwards he -wrote from Switzerland that his wife was dead, that he should give -up the chateau on the lake, and travel for a time, taking the child -with him. Ten years passed away, during which news of the travellers -came but rarely to the residents in Brompton, who, indeed, thought -but little of them. The ex-captain of dragoons had settled down into -a quiet, whist-playing, military-club-frequenting fogey; Mrs. Derinzy -managed him with as much tact as usual, and with rather a slacker rein; -and young Paul, now eighteen years old, was just appointed to the -Stannaries Office, when an event occurred which entirely changed the -aspect of affairs. This was the elder Paul Derinzy's death, which was -communicated to his brother by a telegram from Pau, where it happened. -By this telegram Alick was bidden to come to Pau instantly, to take -charge of Miss Derinzy, and to be present at the reading of the will. -Alick went to Pau, and his wife went with him. They found Annette -Derinzy--a tall girl of fourteen, "a little too foreign, and good deal -too forward," Mrs. Derinzy pronounced her--prostrated with grief at her -recent loss. And they were present at the reading of the will, under -which they found themselves constituted guardians of the said Annette -Derinzy, who inherited all her father's property, with the exception -of a thousand a-year, which was to be paid to them for their trouble -during their lives, and five thousand pounds legacy to their son Paul -at his father's death. Their authority over Annette was to cease when -she came of age at twenty-one, but up to that time they had the power -of veto on any marriage engagement she might contract, and any defiance -on her part was to be punished by the loss of her fortune, which was to -be divided amongst certain charities duly set forth in the will. - -"Only five thou. for our poor boy, and that not till we're dead! and -Paul must have left over eighty thousand!" said Captain Derinzy to his -wife, when they were in their own room at the hotel after the will had -been read. - -"Our Paul shall have the eighty thousand," said Mrs. Derinzy in reply. - -"The devil he shall!" said the Captain. "Who will give it him?" - -"The guardians of his wife!" said Mrs. Derinzy. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. -MRS. STOTHARD. - - -Mrs. Powler and Mrs. Jupp were by no means the only persons in -Beachborough to whom Mrs. Stothard's position in the household at the -Tower afforded subject-matter for gossip. It may be safely asserted -that there never was a tea-drinking, followed--as was usually the -case among the better classes in that hospitable neighbourhood--by -a consumption of alcohol "hot with," at which Mrs. Stothard was not -served up as a toothsome morsel, and forthwith torn into shreds, if -not by the teeth, at least by the tongues of the assembled company. To -those simple minds, all social standing was fixed and unalterable--one -must either be mistress or servant; the lines of demarcation were -strongly defined; they knew of no softening gradations; and they could -not understand Mrs. Stothard. "She hev' her dinner by herself, and -her own teapot allays brought to her own room--leastways, 'cept when -she do fetch it herself, Miss Annette bein' sleepy or out of sorts, -and not likin' to be disturbed by the servants." Such was the report -which Nancy Wickstead, who had gone to live as nursemaid up at the -Tower soon after the arrival of the family, brought down about this -redoubtable woman. The villagers only knew her by report, by crumbs -and fragments of rumours dropped by Nancy Wickstead when she came down -among her old familiars for an "evening out," or by the tradesmen who -called at the house, and who drew largely on their own imagination for -the stories which they told. They had only caught fleeting glimpses of -Mrs. Stothard as she passed along the corridor or crossed from room to -room, but even those cursory glances entitled them to swagger before -their fellow-villagers who had never seen her at all--never. Many of -them tried to think they had, and after renewed descriptions of her -firmly believed that they had; but it was all an exercitation of their -imagination, for they never went to the Tower, and Mrs. Stothard never -left it--never, under any pretence. In the two years during which the -family had resided at the Tower, Mrs. Stothard had never passed through -the entrance-gate. She took exercise sometimes in the grounds; even -that but rarely; but she never left them. Young Dobbs, the grocer, -a bright spirit, once took it into his head to chaff about her with -the servants, to ask who was the "female hermit," and what duties she -performed in the house; a flight of fancy not very humorous in itself, -and unfortunate in its result. The next day Mrs. Derinzy called on -Dobbs senior, asked him for his bill, paid it, and removed the family -custom to Sandwith of Bedminster. - -Once seen, a woman not easily to be forgotten, from her physical -appearance. About eight-and-forty years of age, tall and very strongly -built, with broad shoulders and big wrists, knuckles both of wrists -and hands very prominent, great frontal development, but low forehead, -a penthouse for deep-set gray eyes. Light hair, thin, dull, and -colourless; thin and colourless cheeks; thin lips, closing tightly over -rows of small, gleaming dog's-teeth; big, square, massive jaw; cold, -taciturn, and watchful, with eyes and ears of wonderful quickness, wits -always ready, hands always active and strong. She came to Mrs. Derinzy -on Dr. Wainwright's recommendation as "exactly the person to suit her," -and she fulfilled her mission most exactly. What that mission was we -shall learn; what her previous career had been we will state. - -She was the only daughter of one Robert Hall, a verger of Canterbury -Cathedral, a clever, drunken dog, whose vergership was in constant -peril, but who contrived to hoodwink the cathedral dignitaries as a -general rule, and who on special occasions of outbreak invariably -found some influential friend to plead his cause. He was a bookbinder -as well as a verger, and in his trade showed not merely skilful -manipulation, but rare taste, taste which was apparently inherited -by his daughter Martha, who, at seventeen years of age, had produced -some illuminated work which was pronounced by the _cognoscenti_ in -such matters to be very superior indeed. The cathedral dignitaries -patronised Martha Hall's illuminations, and displayed them in their -drawing-rooms at those pleasant evening gatherings, so decorous and so -dull, and where the bearers of the sword mingle with the wearers of the -gown, yawn away a couple of hours in looking over photograph-albums -and listening to sonatas, and after a sandwich and a glass of sherry, -lounge away to begin the night with devilled biscuits, billiards, -and brandy-and-soda-water. The military, to whom these illuminations -were thus introduced, thought it would be the "correct thing" to buy -some of them; they would look "deuced well" in their rooms; so that -the front parlour of the verger's little house in the precincts was -speedily re-echoing to clanking sabres and jingling spurs, the owners -of which were none the less ready to come again because the originator -and vendor of the wares was a "doosid nice girl, don't you know?--not -exactly pretty, but something doosid nice about her!" Martha Hall's -handiwork was seen everywhere in barracks, and "many a holy text -around she strewed," and had them hung up in subalterns' rooms between -portraits of Mdlle. Joliejambe and the Blisworth Bruiser. - -The sabres clanked so often and the spurs jingled so much in the -verger's front parlour, that the neighbours--instigated, perhaps, -less by their friendly feelings and their virtue than their -jealousy--thought it time to speak to Robert Hall about it, and to ask -him if he knew what he was doing, and what seed he was sowing, to be -reaped in shame and disgrace. Wybrow, the mourning jeweller--who made -very tasty little designs of yews and willows out of dead people's -hair--declared that his shop was never so full as his neighbour's; but -then either the officers had no dead relations, or did not care for -such melancholy _souvenirs_. Heelball, who had compiled a neat little -handbook of the cathedral, and who furnished anyone who wanted them -with "rubbings" of the crusaders' tombs, declared that the "milingtary" -never patronised him; "perhaps," he added, "because I ain't young -and pretty," therein decidedly speaking the truth, as he was sixty -and deformed. Stothard, the tombstone sculptor, said nothing. He was -supposed to be madly in love with Martha Hall, and it was noticed -that when the young officers went clanking by his yard he took up his -heaviest mallet and punished the stone under treatment fearfully. The -hints and remonstrances had but little effect on Robert Hall. Not that -he was careless about his daughter. "Happy-go-lucky" in other matters, -he would have resented deeply any slight or insult offered to her. But -he knew her better than anyone else, knew her passionless, calculating, -ambitious nature, and had every confidence in it. - -That confidence was not misplaced. Martha was polite to all who visited -her as customers; talked and joked with them within bounds, displayed -her handiwork, and sold it to the best advantage; taking care always to -have ready money before she parted with it ("Can't think how she does -it, 'pon my soul I can't!" was the cry in barracks. "Screwed two quid -out of me for this d--d thing, down on the nail, by Jove! First thing -I've had in the place that hasn't been chalked up, give you my word!") -but never allowed any approach to undue familiarity. She was declared -by her military customers to be "capital fun;" but it was perfectly -understood amongst them that she "wouldn't stand any nonsense." So the -shop was filled, and her trade throve, and her enemies and neighbours, -however much they might hint and whisper in her detraction, had nothing -tangible to narrate against her. - -While Martha Hall's popularity was at its fullest height, there -came to the depot of the hussar regiment--to which he had just been -gazetted as cornet--a young gentleman of prepossessing appearance, -pleasant manners, good position, and apparently plenty of money. He -was well received by his brother officers, and after being introduced -to the various delights which Canterbury affords, he was in due course -taken to Martha Hall's shop, and presented to the young lady therein -presiding. It was evident to his companions that the susceptibilities -of their new comrade were very keenly aroused at the sight of Miss -Hall; and it was no less palpable to Miss Hall herself. She laughingly -told her father that night that she had made a fresh conquest; and her -father grinned, advised her to set to work on some new texts, with -which she could "stick" the new-comer, and repeated his never-failing -assertion of thorough confidence in her. - -The new-comer, whose name was Derinzy, quickly showed that he was not -merely influenced by first impressions. He visited the shop constantly, -he bought all the illuminations that Martha Hall could produce; and -within a very short time he not merely fell violently in love with -her, but told her so; and told her that if she would accept him, he -would go to her father, and propose to marry her. To such a suggestion -from any other of the score of officers in the habit of frequenting -the shop, Martha Hall would have replied by a laugh, or, had it been -pressed, by a declaration that she was flattered by the compliment, -but that she knew the difference between their stations in life was -an insuperable barrier, &c. But she said nothing of this kind to -Alexis Derinzy. Why? Because she was in love with him. Perhaps her -natural keenness of perception had enabled her to judge between the -"spooniness" springing from a desire to bridge-over _ennui_, and to -fill up the wearisome hours of a garrison life, which prompted the -advances of her other admirers, and the unmistakable passion which -this boy betrayed. Perhaps she admired his fair, picturesque face, and -well-cut features, and slight form in contradistinction to the more -robust and athletic proportions of the other youth then resident in -barracks. Perhaps the rumours of the wealth of the Derinzys had reached -those calm cloisters, and Martha might have thought that the fact that -they were themselves in trade might induce them to overlook what to the -scion of any noble house would be an undoubted _mesalliance_. No one -knew, for Martha, reticent in everything, was scarcely likely to gossip -of her love-affairs; but the fact remained the same, and she loved him. -She told him as much, at the same moment that she suggested that the -consideration of the marriage question should be deferred for a few -months, until he was of age. Mr. Derinzy agreed to this, as he would -have agreed to anything his heart's charmer proposed, but stipulated -that Martha should consider herself as engaged to him, and that the -flirtations with "the other fellows" should be at once discontinued. -Martha consented, and acted up both to the spirit and the letter of the -agreement; but flirtation with Martha Hall had become such a habit with -the officers quartered at Canterbury that it could not be given up all -of a sudden; no matter how little the maiden might respond, the gallant -youths still frequented the shop, and still paid their court in their -usual clumsy but unmistakably marked manner. Alexis Derinzy, worried at -this, and also feeling it uncommonly hard that he should not be able to -boast of having secured the heart and the proximate chance of the hand -of the most sought-after girl in Canterbury, mentioned his engagement, -in the strictest confidence, to three or four of his brother officers, -who, under the same seal, mentioned it to three or four more. Thus it -happened that in a few days the story came to the ears of the adjutant -of the depot, who was a great friend of the Derinzy family, and at -whose instigation it was that Alexis had been placed in the army. - -Captain Branscombe was still a young man, but he had had ripe -experience of life, and he knew that it would be as truly useless, -under the circumstances, to reason with the love-stricken cornet, as -to make application anywhere but to the highest domestic authorities. -To these, therefore, he represented the state of affairs--the result -of his representation being that Mr. Paul Derinzy, the elder brother -of the cornet, came down to Canterbury by the coach the next day, -and straightway sought an interview with the Dean. Then Robert Hall -was summoned to the diaconal presence, out of which he came swearing -strange oaths, and looking very flushed and fierce. Later in the -afternoon he was waited upon at his own house in the precincts by Mr. -Paul Derinzy, who had a very stormy ten minutes with Martha, and then -made his way to the barracks. Mr. Paul Derinzy remained in Canterbury -for two days, during every hour of which, save those which he passed in -bed, he was actively employed. The results of the mission did credit -to his diplomatic talents. Alexis Derinzy sent in an application -for sick leave, which being promptly granted, he quitted Canterbury -without seeing Martha Hall, though he tried hard to do so; and did not -rejoin until the regiment, safely arrived from India, was quartered -at Hounslow. When Mr. Paul Derinzy was staying in Canterbury, it had -been noticed by the neighbours that he had called once or twice on -Stothard the stonemason, who has already been described as having -been madly in love with Martha Hall; and Stothard had returned the -visit at Paul's hotel. In the course of a few weeks after the "London -gentleman's" departure, Stothard announced that he had inherited a -legacy of a couple of hundred pounds from an old aunt. No one had ever -heard any previous mention of this relative, nor did Stothard enter -into any particulars whatever; he did not go to her funeral, and the -only mourning he assumed was a crape band to his Sunday beaver. But -there was no mistake about the two hundred pounds; that sum was paid -in to his credit at the County Bank by their London agent, and he took -the pass-book up with him when he went to Robert Hall's to propose for -Martha. Folks said he was a fool for his pains; the kindest remarked -that she would never stoop to him; the unkindest expressed their -contempt for anybody as could take anybody else's leaving. But despite -of both, Martha Hall accepted Stothard the stonemason, and they were -married. - -You must not think that all this little drama had been enacted without -its due effect on one of the principal performers. You must not think -that Martha Hall had lost Alexis Derinzy without fierce heartburning -and deep regret, and intense hatred for those who robbed her of him. -She knew that it was not the boy's own fault, she guessed what kind -of pressure had been brought to bear upon him; but she thought he -ought to have made a better fight of it. She had loved him, and if -he had only been true to her and to their joint cause, they might -have been triumphant. In a few months he would have been of age, and -then he could have gone up and seen his mother--he was always her -favourite--and she would have persuaded his father, and all would have -been straight. He always said he hated his brother Paul--how, then, -had he suffered himself to be persuaded by him? Ah, other influences -must have been brought to bear by Paul Derinzy! Paul Derinzy--how she -hated him! She would register that name in her heart; and if ever she -came across his path, let him look to himself. When Stothard came -with his proposal, she made her acceptance of him conditional on his -leaving Canterbury. The money which he had inherited, and the little -sum which she had saved, would enable them to commence business afresh -somewhere else--say, in London; but she must leave Canterbury. She -could not stand the neighbours' looks and remarks, or, what was worse, -their pity, any longer. She must go, she said; she was sick of the -place. Robert Hall indorsed his daughter's desire; he was becoming -more and more confirmed in his selfishness, and wanted to be allowed -to drink himself to death without any ridiculous remonstrances. -Stothard agreed--he would have agreed to anything then--and they were -married; and Stothard bought a business in a London suburb, and for a -time--during which time a daughter was born to them--they flourished. - -For a time only; then Stothard took to drinking, and late hours; his -hand lost its cunning; his customers dropped off one by one; the -garnered money had long since been spent, and things looked bad. -Stothard drank harder than before, had delirium tremens, and died. His -widow could not go back to her old home, for her father had carried -out his intention, and drank himself to death very soon after her -marriage; and she was too proud to made her appearance among her old -acquaintances under her adverse circumstances. As luck would have -it, the doctor who had attended her husband, and who had been much -struck by the manner in which she had nursed him in his delirium, was -physician to a great hospital. He proposed to Mrs. Stothard that she -should become a professional nurse, offering her his patronage and -recommendation. She agreed, and at once commenced practice in the -hospital; but she soon became famous among the physicians and surgeons, -and they were anxious to secure her for their private patients, -where her services would be well paid. In a few years she had gotten -together quite a large connection, and she was in constant demand. The -money which she received she applied to giving her daughter a good -education. They met but seldom, Mrs. Stothard being so much engaged; -but she perceived in her daughter early signs of worldly wisdom, and a -disposition to make use of her fellow-creatures, which gladdened her -mother's soured spirit. She should be no weak fool, as her mother had -been; she should not be made a puppet to be set up and knocked down at -a rich man's caprice; she was sharp, she promised to be pretty, and she -should be well-educated. Then, thoroughly warned as to what men were, -she should be placed in some good commercial position, and left to see -whether she could not contrive to make a rich and respectable marriage -for herself. - -One day when Mrs. Stothard was at St. Vitus's Hospital, where she -was now regarded as a great personage, and where, when she paid an -occasional visit, she was taken into the stewards' room, and regaled -with the best port wine, Dr. Wainwright--who, though not attached to -St. Vitus's, had a very great reputation in London, and was considered -the leading man in his line--looked into the room. Seeing Mrs. -Stothard, he entered, told her he had come expressly, learning she was -there, and that he wanted to know if she would undertake a permanent -situation. He entered into detail as to the case, mentioned the -remuneration, which was very large, and stated that he knew no one who -would be so satisfactory in the position; and added: "Indeed, 'if we do -not get Mrs. Stothard, I don't know what we shall do,' were the last -words I uttered to Mrs. Derinzy." - -Mrs. Stothard, albeit a calm and composed woman in general, literally -jumped. A quarter of a century rolled up like a mist, and she saw -herself selling illuminated scrolls in the little shop in the precincts -of Canterbury, and the slim, handsome little cornet leaning over the -counter, and devouring her with his bright black eyes. - -"What name did you say, sir?" she asked when she recovered herself. - -"Derinzy. Odd name, isn't it? De-rin-zy. The lady's husband is a -retired military man, and the family consists of themselves and the -young lady I was speaking of just now," said the doctor. - -"Is she their daughter?" asked Mrs. Stothard. - -"Oh no; they have no daughter, only a son, who lives in London. -This young lady is their niece, daughter of--why, God bless my -soul! you must have heard of him--Mr. Paul Derinzy, the merchant, -the millionaire, who died some time ago. Ah! I forgot, though; -millionaires--real ones, I mean--are not much in your line," added Dr. -Wainwright, with a laugh. "You see plenty who fancy that----" - -"Oh, and so Mr. Paul Derinzy is dead," interrupted Mrs. Stothard; -"and this young lady is his daughter? I think, Dr. Wainwright, I must -decline the situation." - -Decline the situation! Dr. Wainwright had never heard of such a thing, -never in the whole course of his professional experience. Decline -the situation! Had Mrs. Stothard understood him correctly about the -terms? Yes! And she talked of declining the situation after that! And -for a permanency, too. And he had thought it would have been exactly -the thing to suit her. Well, if she would not accept, she must not -decline--at once, that was to say. She must think over it; she must -indeed. - -She did; and accepted it. Partly out of a desire for revenge. She had -a long, long pondering over the past; and all the bitterness of bygone -years had revived in her heart. She thought that something--luck she -called it (she was little given to ascribe things to Providence)--had -placed her enemies in her hands, and that she might use her power over -the man who had given her up, and over the daughter of the man who -had compelled him to do so. Partly for money. The salary proposed was -very large, and her daughter's education was expensive, and the girl -would soon have to be apprenticed to a house of business where a heavy -premium must be paid. So she accepted. There was no doubt about her -getting the place. Dr. Wainwright's recommendation was all-sufficient, -and Mrs. Derinzy was only too anxious to secure her services. Captain -Derinzy had forgotten all about Stothard the stonemason, and the two -hundred pounds which had been paid to him, even if he ever knew of -the transaction. He did not recognise the name, and for the first few -minutes after he saw her he did not recognise in the hard-featured, -cold, impassive, middle-aged woman his bright boyish love of so many -years before. When he did recognise her he started, and seemed as -though he would have spoken; but she made him a slight sign, and he -waited for an opportunity of their being alone. When that came, it -was Mrs. Stothard who spoke. She told him there was no necessity -for ever referring to the past, it was all forgotten by them both; -they would never be brought in contact; she knew the position she -held in his house, and she should fulfil it; it was better on all -accounts that Mrs. Derinzy should be kept in ignorance of their former -acquaintance--did he not think so? He did; and as he left her he -grinned quietly. - -"What the doose did she think?" he said to himself. "Gad! not likely -that I should want to renew the acquaintance of an old horse-godmother -like that. What a pretty gal she was, too! and how changed! by George, -so that her own mother wouldn't know her! Wonder whether I'm as much -changed as all that? Often look in the glass and wonder. Different in a -man: he don't wear a cap, and that kind of thing; and my hair's lasted -wonderful, considerin'. Martha Hall, eh? and those dam things--text -things--that she used to paint in those colours--got some of 'em still, -I think, somewhere in my old bullock-trunk; saw 'em the other day. -Martha Hall!--Oh Lord!" - -So Mrs. Stothard accepted office with the Derinzys, and was with them -when, shortly afterwards, they gave up the house at Brompton where they -had lived so long, and removed to Beachborough. The change affected -Mrs. Stothard but very little; it mattered scarcely at all to her -where she was, her time was very much employed in her duties, and -what little leisure she found she passed in reading, or in writing to -her daughter. She knew perfectly well that she was the subject of an -immense amount of curiosity in Beachborough village, and of talk at the -village tea-tables; but it did not trouble her one whit. She knew that -she was said to be a poor relation of the Derinzy family, and she did -not discourage the idea. Thinking over the past, and what might have -been, she found a kind of grim humour in the combination which suited -her thoroughly. They might say what they liked, she thought, so long as -her money was regularly paid, and so long as she found herself able to -carry out the one scheme of her life--that of making a good marriage -for her daughter Fanny. - -Fanny then, under the name of Miss Stafford, was apprenticed to -Madame Clarisse, the great court milliner, in London, and lived, when -she was at home--and that was not often, poor child! for she slaved -like a horse--in one little room in a house in South Molton Street, -a lodging-house kept by an old sister-nurse of Mrs. Stothard's at -St. Vitus's, a most respectable motherly woman, who would look after -Fanny, and would at once let her mother know if there was "anything -wrong." Not that there was any chance of that. Fanny Stafford acted -up too strictly to her mother's teaching, and remembered too well the -doctrine which had been inculcated in her girlhood, ever to make that -mistake. She had been told that to marry a man considerably above her -in pecuniary and social position was her mission in life; to that -end she might use all her charms, all her arts; but that end must be -marriage--nothing less. This she understood, and daily experience -made her more and more impressed with the wisdom of her mother's -determination. She had not much heart, she thought; she did not think -she had any passion; and she knew that she had keen discrimination and -accurate perception of character; so she thought she ought to succeed. -Mrs. Stothard was acquainted with the peculiarities of her daughter's -character, and thought so too. - -At the very time when Captain Derinzy was lying stretched out on the -headland overlooking Beachborough Bay, and making those cynical remarks -on the place and its population, Mrs. Stothard was preparing to read a -letter from her daughter Fanny. It had arrived in the morning; but Mrs. -Stothard had been very busy all day, and it was not until the evening -that she found time to read it. Her occupation had confined her to -the house, so that now, being for a few minutes free, she was glad to -escape into the grounds. She chose that portion of the flower-garden -which was farthest removed from the side of the house which she -principally inhabited; and as she paced up and down the soft turf path -between two rows of espaliers, she took the letter from her pocket and -commenced to read it. It was written in a small delicate hand, and Mrs. -Stothard had to hold it close to her eyes in the fading light. She read -as follows: - -"London, Sunday. - -"MY DEAR MOTHER,--You will have been expecting to hear from me for -some time, and, indeed, you ought to have had a letter, but the truth -is I am so tired and sleepy when I get back here that I am glad to -go straight to bed. We are just now in the height of the season, and -are so busy that I scarcely ever have time to sit down. I told you, -I think, that I was likely to be in the showroom this season. I was -right. Madame asked me if I should like to be there, and when I said -'Yes,' she seemed pleased; and I have been there since April. I think -I have made myself even more useful than she expected; for many of -the customers know me now, and ask to see me in preference to Madame -herself. I suppose she does not quite like that, but it is not my -fault. I know I am neat and handy, and that there is no one in the -house with so much education or so much manner, and these are both -points which are noticed by customers. Nevertheless, I think I am -winning my way into Madame's good graces; for when she goes out--and -she is now out a great deal, at the French plays, at the Opera, and in -private society; you have no notion what an immense amount of reception -goes on amongst the French _coiffeurs_ and _modistes_ in London--she -invariably leaves me to see the parcels sent off and the business of -the day wound up. She has no forewoman, as I have told you, and I think -I might aspire to that important post with reasonable hope of success -if I wished it, but I don't. - -"No, dear mother; it would give me no pleasure to have my name on as -big a brass plate as Madame Clarisse's, on as handsome a door in as -eligible a situation. I should derive no satisfaction even if I could -combine her connection with Madame Augustine's, her great rival. -(Augustine's _clientele_ is richer than ours, I think, but we have -by far the _best_ people.) I long sometimes, when I see a wretched -old creature nodding under a wreath when she ought to be concealing -her bald pate or her gray hairs under an honest mob-cap, or when I am -helping a stout middle-aged matron to struggle into a gown of a style -and pattern suitable for her youngest daughter, to throw all my chances -of success in business to the winds, and tell the people then under -my hands plainly and openly what I think of them. I cannot stand--or -rather I could not, were it for a permanence; I can well enough for -a time--this wretched ko-tooing existence, this perpetual grinning -and curtsying and false-compliment paying, this utter abnegation of -one's own opinion, one's own feelings, one's own self! You must not be -surprised at these expressions, dear mother, recollecting how you have -had me brought up, and how you yourself have always inculcated in me a -strong desire to better my position, and by a good marriage to raise -myself into a class superior to this. - -"Mother, I think I'm going to do it. I think that I have a chance of -freeing myself from this servitude, which is galling to me, and of -winning a station in life such as you yourself would be proud to see -me holding. You remember how you used to talk to me about this when I -was much younger, and how I used then to laugh at your earnestness, and -tell you your hopes and aspirations were but dreams? I declare now I -think there is some chance of their being realised. - -"Now you are all impatience, and dying to know all I have to tell! I -can see you--I suppose you are not much changed since we last parted; -I often wonder--I can see you skimming over the paper in your eager -anxiety to get at the details. I will not keep you in suspense, dear -mother--here they are! A month ago, I was returning to Mrs. Gillott's -late at night. We had been hard at work until nearly twelve o'clock, -getting out a large wedding order, and Madame thought it important -enough to superintend the packing and sending out of the various -things. I had remained till the last, and the church-clock opposite -struck twelve as the door closed behind me. The streets were almost -deserted; but I had not gone far before I perceived that a man was -following me. I could not make out what kind of a man he was, as he -persistently kept in the shade, walking at first on the opposite side -of the way, then crossing behind me, but ever constantly following. -I knew this from the sound of his footsteps, which echoed in the -stillness of the night. When I crossed Bond Street he came abreast of -me, and then I saw that he was a common man in his working dress. I was -frightened then, I confess. You don't know what they are sometimes, -mother, these working men. I would sooner meet any gentleman, however -loose, any what they call 'gent,' than some of those! It isn't their -conduct, it's what they say! They seem to delight in using the most -awful language, the foulest terms, to unprotected girls; merely, -apparently, for the sake of insulting them. This man was a bad specimen -of his class. There was no one near, and he stepped up to my side after -we had crossed Bond Street, and said to me things--I don't know what, -for I hurried on without looking towards him. I knew well enough what -he said next, he took care that there should be no mistake about that, -for he prefaced his remark with a short laugh of scorn and defiance, -and then--he made his speech. I was not surprised; no girl compelled to -walk alone in London, and especially at night, could be surprised at -anything that might be said to her; but I was disgusted and frightened, -and tried to run. The man ran by my side--I saw then that he was -drunk--and tried to catch hold of me. I was in a dreadful fright, and -I suppose I looked so, for a gentleman who was coming out of the hotel -at the corner of South Molton Street stepped hurriedly out, and said, -'I beg your pardon--is this person annoying you?' Before I could reply, -the man said something--too horrible--about me and himself, and the -next moment he was lying in the road; the gentleman had taken him by -the collar and flung him there. He got up, and rushed at the gentleman; -but by this time a policeman who had seen it all crossed the street, -and made him go away. Then the gentleman took off his hat, and begged -leave to see me to my door. I allowed him to do so--it was foolish, I -know, mother, but I was all unnerved, and scarcely knew what I did; -and when we arrived at Mrs. Gillott's I thanked him, and bade him -Goodnight. He took off his hat again, and left me at once. - -"He found out who I was--how, I don't know--for next day I had a polite -note, hoping I had quite recovered from my alarm, expressed in the most -gentlemanly manner, and signed 'Paul Douglas.' I have met him several -times since, always in the street, and have walked and talked with -him. He is always most polite and respectful, but of course professes -himself to be madly in love. Yesterday, for the first time, I found -out who he is. He has an appointment in a Government office, the -'Stannaries' they call it, and his family live somewhere in the West of -England. They are evidently well off, and he, Paul, is what they call a -'swell.' Very good-looking, slight and dark, about five-and-twenty, and -always beautifully dressed. - -"You don't fear me, mother? You have sufficient reliance on me to know -that I would never discredit your training. You will want to know -whether I am in love with this young man. I think I am--so far. And you -need not be afraid. He vows--everything, of course; but he is too much -of a gentleman, in the first place, to offer to insult me, and in the -second--well, to speak plainly, he knows it would be of no use. Is this -the chance that you taught me to look for? I think it is. But we shall -soon know. Meanwhile believe in the thorough discretion of your loving -daughter FANNY." - - -Up and down the soft turf path paced Mrs. Stothard in the glorious -summer evening, with the open letter in her hand, deep in cogitation. -Her head was bent upon her breast, and occasionally raised as she -referred to the paper. Suddenly a light gleamed in her face; she -hurriedly re-perused the letter, folding it so as only to make herself -thorough mistress of a certain portion of its contents, and then she -smiled a hard grim smile, and said to herself in a hard bitter voice: - -"Of course, of course! What an idiot I was not to see it at once! -The mention of the Stannaries Office might have convinced me, if all -my senses had not been blunted by my wretched work in this wretched -place! Douglas, indeed! Paul Douglas is Paul Derinzy; slight, dark, -handsome--none but he! Family in the West of England, too--no doubt of -it! And in love with my Fan! Oh, my dear friends, I'll spoil your game -yet! I'm so blind. Quiet and seclusion for dear Annette's health; no -other reason, oh no! Not to keep her out of the way of fortune-hunters, -and save her up for our son, oh dear no! That shall never be! Our son -shall marry my Fan! What is it? 'The sins of the fathers shall be -visited on the children.' I never believed much in that sort of thing; -but in this instance it really looks as though there were something in -it." - - - - -CHAPTER VII. -FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. - - -Those persons to whom London is a home--a place to be lived in all -the year round, save on the occasion of the two months' holiday, when -one rushes off to the North, or to the sea, or to the Continent, -returning with a renewed stock of health, and a pleasurable sense of -having enjoyed yourself, but with a still more pleasurable sense of -being back again in town--are very much amused at a notion prevalent -amongst many worthy people who arrive at their own or at a hired house -in the month of March, stay there till the end of the month of June, -and go away fancying that they know London. Know London! A lifetime's -earnest devotion does not suffice for that study, and those people -who talk thus have not even the merest smattering of its topography. -Their London used to be bounded on the west by the Knightsbridge -Barracks--even now they acknowledge nothing beyond Princes Terrace. -On the south-west they have penetrated as far as Onslow Square; the -territory beyond that might be full of tiger-lairs and hiding-places -for dragons, for all they know about it. Of the suburbs, beyond such -knowledge as they derive from an occasional visit to the Star and -Garter at Richmond, they know absolutely nothing. They do not know, and -it would not make the smallest difference to them if they did, that if, -instead of cantering up and down that ghastly, treeless, sun-scorched -mile of gravel, the Row, they chose to turn their horses' heads -north-westward, they could find shade in the green Willesden lanes -and air on the breezy Hendon heights. They do not know that within a -very short distance of Hyde Park there are shady lanes half hidden -in greenery, dotted here and there with quaint old-fashioned houses -standing in the midst of large grounds--some with gardens sloping -away towards the river; others with enormous trees overhanging them, -blotting out all view or vista; and others again with such an expanse -of what the auctioneers are pleased to term "park-like grounds" visible -from their windows, that you would have no idea of the immediate -proximity of London, save for the never-varying presence of the -smoke-wreath hanging over the horizon, and the never-ceasing, save on -Sundays, dull rumble of distant traffic, which grinds on the ear like -the monotonous surging of the waves upon the shore. - -In one of these metropolitan suburbs, no matter which, stood and stands -the house which at the period of our story was George Wainwright's -home, the residence of his father, Dr. Wainwright. It was a big, long, -rambling, red-faced old house, with an enormous number of rooms, -some large and some small, standing in the midst of a large garden. -Tradition said that it had been a favourite residence of Cromwell's; -but it was generally believed, and the belief was not ill-founded, -that it had been given by the Lord Protector to the husband of his -favourite daughter, and that he himself had frequently been in the -habit of staying there. At the end of the first quarter of the present -century it had a very different occupant from the grim old Ironsides -leader, being rented by the Countess Delia Crusca, the wittiest, the -most beautiful, the most extravagant, the most fascinating woman of her -day. Old Knaves of Clubs still _raffolent_ about the Delia Crusca, her -eyes and her poems, her bust and her repartees. She had a husband?--Oh -yes! the Count Delia Crusca, ex-officer of Bersaglieri and one of the -first naturalists of his day, corresponding member of all the principal -European societies, and perfectly devoted to his favourite pursuit; so -devoted, that he was invariably away in some distant foreign country, -engaged in hunting for specimens. The Countess was an Englishwoman, -daughter of Captain Ramus, half-pay, educated at a convent in Paris, -under the guidance of her maternal aunt, Miss Coghlan, of Letterkenney -in Ireland. Immediately on issuing from the convent she eloped with -Count Della Crusca, whose acquaintance she had made in a casual manner -in the _coupe_ of one of the diligences belonging to Messrs. Lafitte, -Caillard et Cie. A very short time served to prove to them that they -had no tastes in common. Madame la Comtesse did not care for natural -history, which the Count loved, and she did care for England, which the -Count loathed. So he went his way, in pursuit of specimens, and she -went hers to England. She arrived in London, and Marston Moor House -being to let, she took it. - -Some of us are yet alive who recollect the little saccharine poems, the -plaintive little sonnets, the--well, yes, to speak the truth--the washy -three-volume novels which were composed in that sturdy old building -and dated thence. Sturdy outside, but lovely within. Such furniture: -white satin and gold, black satin and red trimming; such pictures, and -statues, and busts; such looking-glasses let into the walls at every -conceivable place; such hanging baskets and ormolu clocks, and Dresden -and Sevres china; such Chinese fans, and Indian screens, and Turkish -yataghans and Malay creeses; such books--at least, such bindings; such -a satinwood desk, at which the Countess penned her inspirations; such a -solemn-sounding library clock, which had belonged to Marie Antoinette; -such lion-skins and leopard-skins for rugs; such despatch-boxes with -the Della Cruscan coronet and cipher; such waste-paper baskets always -littered with proof-sheets! The garden! never was anything seen like -that! It was not much more than half an acre, but Smiff, the great -landscape gardener, made it look more like a square mile. Delightfully -rustic and English here, quaintly Dutch there, Italian terraced a -little lower down, small avenue, vista broken by the fountain; might be -a thousand miles away from London, so everyone said. Everyone said so, -because everyone came there. Who was everyone? Well, the Grand-Duke of -Schweinerei was someone, at all events. Ex-Grand-Duke, I should have -said, recollecting that some years before, the people of Schweinerei, -although by no means a strait-laced people, grew so disgusted at the -"goings-on" of their reigning potentate, that they rose in revolt, and -incontinently kicked him out. Then he came to England, where he has -remained ever since, dwelling in a big house, and occupying his spare -time with fighting newspapers for libelling him in a very blackguard -and un-English manner. His highness is an elderly, short, fat man, -with admirably-fitting wig and whiskers of the Tyrian purple. He has -dull bleary eyes, pendulous cheeks, and a great fat double chin. He -is covered all over with diamonds: his studs are diamonds; he wears -a butterfly diamond brooch on the knot of his white cravat; his -waistcoat-buttons are diamonds; his sleeve-links are diamonds; and he -resembles the old woman of Banbury Cross in having (diamond) rings on -his fingers, and probably, for all the historian knows to the contrary, -on his toes. - -Who else came there? A tall, thin, dark man, with a long face like a -sheep's head, a full dull eye, a long nose, a very long upper lip, -arid a retreating chin. Prince Bernadotte of the Lipari Isles, also -an exile, but one who has since been recalled to his kingdom. Nobody -thought much of Prince Bernadotte in those days. He lived in cheap -chambers in London, and used to play billiards with _coiffeurs_ and -_agents de change_ and _commis voyageurs_ from the hotels in Leicester -Square; and who went into a very little English society, where he -always sat silent and reserved, and where they thought very little of -him. He must have been marvellously misunderstood then, or must have -grown into quite a different kind of man when he sat smoking his cigar -with his feet on the fender in the Elysee, and to all inquiries made -but the one reply, "_Qu'on execute mes orders!_"--those "ordres" being -fulfilled in the massacre of the Boulevards. - -Who else? _Savans_, philosophers, barristers, poets, newspaper-writers, -novelists, caricaturists, eminent physicians and surgeons, fiddlers, -foreigners, anybody who had done anything which had given him the -merest temporary notoriety was welcome, so long as he came at the time. -And they never failed to do that. The society was so delightful, the -welcome was so warm, the eating and drinking were so good, that there -was never any chance of an invitation to Marston Moor House being -refused. Thither came Fermez, the opera _impresario_, driving down -a couple of lords in his phaeton; and Tom Gilks, the scene-painter -of Covent Garden, who arrived per omnibus; and Whiston, who had just -written that tremendous pamphlet on the religious controversy of -the day; and Rupert Robinson, who had sat up all the previous night -to finish his burlesque, and who was so enchanted with the personal -appearance of the Grand-Duke of Schweinerei, that he wanted to carry -him off bodily--rings, diamonds, wig, whiskers, and all--to Madame -Tussaud's Exhibition. Dinners and balls, conversazioni and fetes--with -the garden illuminated with Italian lamps, and supper served in -extemporised pavilions--two royal dukes, in addition to standard -celebrities, and foreign princes in town for the season--without end. - - -Vain transitory splendour! could not all Retain the tott'ring mansion -from its fall? - - -Apparently not. One morning the servants at Marston Moor House got -up, to find their mistress had risen before them, or rather had not -been to bed at all, having decamped during the night with the plate -and all the portable valuables, and left an enormous army of creditors -behind her. There was weeping and wailing round the neighbourhood for -months; but tears and outcries did not pay the defrauded tradespeople, -and they never had any money. Nobody ever knew who received the money -realised by the sale of the furniture, &c, though that ought to have -been something considerable, for there never was a sale so tremendously -attended, or at which things fetched such high prices. All the ladies -of high rank who combined frightful stupidity with rigid virtue, and -who would as soon have thought of walking into Tophet as of crossing -Madame Della Crusca's threshold, rushed to Marston Moor House so soon -as its proprietress had fled, and bought eagerly at the sale. The large -looking-glass which formed the back of the alcove in which Madame -Delia Crusca's bed was placed now figures in the boudoir, or, as it -is generally called, the work-room, of the Countess of Textborough, -and is scarcely so happy in its reflections as in former days. The -satinwood desk fell to the nod of Mrs. Quisby, who used to follow the -Queen's hounds in a deep-pink jacket and a short skirt, and who now -holds forth on Sunday afternoons at the infant schools in Badger's -Buildings, Mayfair, and is especially hard on the Scarlet Woman. Many -of the old _habitues_ attended, and bought well-remembered scraps for -_souvenirs_. Finally everything, down to the kitchen pots and pans, the -stable buckets and the gardeners' implements, were cleared off, and a -big painted board frowned in the great courtyard, informing the British -public that that eligible mansion was to let. - -Not for long did that black-and-white board blossom in that flinty -soil. Within three weeks of the sale a rumour ran through London -that an _al-fresco_ place of entertainment on a magnificent scale -was about to be opened on what had been the Della-Cruscan property, -and that Wuff, the great Wuff, the most enterprising man of his day, -was at the back of it. Straightway the board was pulled down, and an -army of painters, and decorators, and plumbers, and builders, and -Irish gentlemen in flannel jackets, and Italian gentlemen in slouch -wideawakes and paint-stained gaberdines, took possession of the place. -Big rooms were converted into supper and dining-rooms, and small rooms -into _cabinets particuliers_; a row of supper-boxes on the old Vauxhall -pattern sprang up in the grounds, which, moreover, were tastefully -planted with gas-lamps, with plaster-of-Paris statues, with two or -three sham fountains, and with grottos made of slag and shiny-faced -bricks. Then, on an Easter Monday, the place was opened with a ballet, -with dancing on the circular platform, with Signor Simioso's performing -monkeys, and with a grand display of fireworks. Very good, all this; -but somehow it didn't draw. The great Wuff did all he could; sent an -enormous power of legs into the ballet; engaged the most excruciatingly -funny comic singers, put silver rosettes into the button-holes and -silver-gilt wands into the hands of all the masters of the ceremonies -on the circular platform; and had Guffino il Diavolo flying from the -top of the pasteboard Leaning Tower of Pisa into the canvas Lake of -Geneva, down a wire, with a squib in his cap, and one in each of his -heels--and yet the public would not come. The great Wuff tried it for -two seasons, and then gave it up in despair. - -Up went the black-and-white board again; to be taken down at the -bidding of Mrs. Trimmer, who, having a very good boarding-school for -young ladies at Highgate, thought she might increase her connection -by establishing herself in a more eligible neighbourhood. The board -had been up so long, that the proprietor of the house was willing, -not merely to take a reduced rent, but to pull up the gas-lamps, and -pull down the supper-boxes, and restore the garden, not indeed to its -original state of beauty, but to decency and order. The rooms were -repapered (it must be owned that Wuff's taste in decoration had been -loud), and the name of the house changed from Marston Moor to Cornelia. -Then Mrs. Trimmer took possession, and brought her young friends with -her, and they throve and multiplied exceedingly; and all went well -until Mrs. Trimmer died, and there was no one to carry on the business; -and the board went up, and remained up longer than ever. - -No one knew exactly when or how the house was taken again. The -proprietor, hoping to get another school-keeper for a tenant, the -house being too large for ordinary domestic purposes, had bought Mrs. -Trimmer's furniture--the iron bedsteads and school fittings--for a -song, and had placed an old woman in charge. One day this old woman put -her luggage, consisting of a blue bundle, and herself into a cab, and -went away. A few carpenters had arrived from town in the morning, and -had occupied themselves in fitting iron bars to the interior of some of -the windows. During the greater portion of that night carriages were -heard rolling up the lane in which the back entrance to the house was -situated, and the next day smoke was seen issuing from the chimneys; -a big brass plate with the name of "Dr. Bulph" was screwed on to the -iron gates of the carriage-drive, and two or three strong-built men -were noticed going in and out of the premises. Gradually it became -known that Dr. Bulph was a physician celebrated for his treatment of -the insane, a "mad-doctor," as the neighbours called him; and women and -children used to skurry past the old red garden-walls as though they -thought the inmates were climbing over to get at them. But the house -was so thoroughly well-conducted, so quietly and with such excellent -discipline, that people soon thought nothing of it, any more than of -any other of the big mansions in the neighbourhood; and when Dr. Bulph -retired, and Dr. Wainwright succeeded him, the door-plate had actually -been changed for some days before the neighbours noticed it. - -Dr. Wainwright made many changes in the establishment. He was a man of -great fame for several specialities, and was constantly being called -away to patients in the country. He considerably enlarged the old -house, and brought to it a better and wealthier class of patients, who -were attended, under his supervision, by two resident surgeons. Dr. -Wainwright did not live in the house. In addition to his practice he -worked very hard with his pen, contributing largely to the principal -medical Scientific reviews and journals, and corresponding with -many continental _savans_. For all this work he required solitude -and silence; and, as he was a widower, he was able to enjoy both in -a set of chambers in the Albany, where he could go in and out as -he liked, and where no unwelcome visitor could get at him. He had -consulting-rooms in Grosvenor Square; and when in town, was to be found -there between ten and one; but after those hours it was impossible to -know where to catch him. - -But George Wainwright lived at the old house, or rather in an -outbuilding in the grounds, sole remainder of Mr. Wuff's erections; -which had been converted to his use, and which yielded him a large, -high-roofed, roomy studio, and a capital bedroom, both on the ground -floor. The studio was no misnomer for the living-room; for, in addition -to his Civil-Service work, George followed art with deep and earnest -devotion, and was known and recognised as one of the best amateurs of -the day. Men whose names stood very high in the art-world were his -friends; and on winter nights the studio would be filled with members -of that pleasant Bohemian society, discussing their craft and its -members and such cognate subjects. George was a great reader also, and -had a goodly store of books littering the tables or ranged on common -shelves, disputing possession of the walls with choice bits of his -friends' painting or half-finished attempts of his own. In the middle -of the room stood a quaintly-carved old black-oak desk, ink-blotted and -penknife-hacked, with some pages of manuscript and some slips of proof -lying on it--for George, who had been educated in Germany, was in the -habit of contributing essays on abstruse questions of German philosophy -and metaphysics to a monthly review of very portentous weight--and in -the corner was a cabinet piano, covered with loose leaves of music, -scraps from oratorios, _studenten-lieder_, bits of Bach and Glueck, -glees of Purcell and Arne, and even ballads by Claribel. Some of -George's painter friends had formed themselves into a singing-club and -sang very sweetly; and the greatest treat that could be offered to -the inmates of the house was these fellows' musical performances. The -young swells of the Stannaries Office wondered why George Wainwright -was never seen at casino, singing and supper-houses, or other of those -resorts which they specially affected. They looked upon him as somewhat -of a fogey, and could not understand what a bright, genial, jolly -fellow like Paul Derinzy could see to like in him. He was kind and -good-natured and all that, they owned, as indeed they had often proved -by loans of "sovs" and "fivers," when the end of the quarter had left -them dry; but he was an uncomfortable sort of chap, they said, and was -always by himself. - -He was by himself the evening of the day after that on which he had -seen Paul Derinzy walking with Daisy in Kensington Gardens. He had -had a light dinner at his club, and thence walked straight away -home, where, on his arrival at his den, he had lit a big pipe and -thrown himself into an easy-chair, and sat watching the blue smoke -curling above his head, and pondering over the present and the future -of his friend. George Wainwright had a stronger feeling than mere -liking for Paul; there was a touch of romance in the regard which the -good-looking, bright, easy-going young man had aroused in his steady, -sober, practical senior. George was too much a man of the world to -thrill with horror because he had seen his friend in the company of a -pretty girl, and come across what was evidently a lovers' meeting. But -his knowledge of Paul's character was large and well-founded; in the -mere glance which he had got of the pair as they stood together in the -act of saying adieu, he had caught an expression in his friend's face -which intuitively led him to feel that the woman who could call up such -a look of intense earnest devotion was no mere passing light-o'-love; -and as George thought over the scene, and reproduced it, time after -time, from the storehouse of his memory, he puffed fiercer blasts from -his pipe, and shook his head in an unsettled, not to say desponding -manner. - -While he was thus occupied he heard steps on the gravel-walk outside, -then a tap at the door. Opening it, Paul Derinzy stood before him. - -"Just the man I was thinking about, and come exactly in the nick of -time! _Alma quies optata, veni!_ Not that you can be called _alma -quies_, you restless bird of the night! What's the matter? what are you -making signs about?" asked George. - -"That idiot, Billy Dunlop, is with me," replied Paul, grinning; "he -is doing some of his pantomime nonsense outside;" and, indeed, George -Wainwright, peering out in the darkness, could make out a stout figure -approaching with cautious gestures, which, when it emerged into the -lamplight, proved to be Mr. Dunlop. - -"Hallo, Billy! what are you at? Come in, man; light a pipe, and be -happy." - -But Mr. Dunlop, true to his character of comic man, did not enter the -room quietly, but came in with a little rush, and then, his knees -knocking together in simulated abject terror, asked: - -"Am I safe? Can none of them get at me?" - -"None of whom?" - -"None of the patients. I was in such a fright coming up that garden, I -could scarcely speak. I thought I saw eyes behind every laurestinus; -and--I suppose the staff of keepers is adequate, in case any of 'em -_should_ prove rampagious?" - -"Oh yes, it's all right. Have you never been here before?" - -"Never, sir; and I don't think, provided I get safe away this time, -that I'm ever likely to come again." - -"You're complimentary; but now you are here, sit down and have a drink. -Spirits there in that stand, soda-water here in the window-seat, ice in -that refrigerator by the door. Or stay, let me make you the new Yankee -drink that has just come up--a cobbler. There are plenty of straws -somewhere about." - -"I should think so," said Billy, in a stage-whisper to Paul. "He gets -'em out of the patients' heads. Lunatics always stick straws in their -heads, vide the drama _passim_. I say, Wainwright, while you're mixing -the grog, may I run out and have a look at the night-watch?" - -"The what?" asked George, raising his head. - -"The night-watch, you know;" and Mr. Dunlop sat down at the piano, -squared his elbows, contorted his face, and with much ludicrous -exaggeration burst forth: - - -"Hush-sh-sh-sh! 'tis the NIGHT-WATCH!! he gy-ards my lonely cell! - - -"Now don't you say that he doesn't, you know, because I've Mr. Henry -Russell's authority that he does. So produce your night-watch!" - -"Don't make such a row, Billy!" cried Paul; "there's no night-watch, or -anything else of the sort." - -"What! do you mean to say that I did not see her dancing in the hall? -that I am not cold, bitter cold? that his glimmering lamp no more I -see? and that no, no, by hav-vens, I am not ma-a-ad?" With these words, -uttered in the wildest tones, Mr. Dunlop cast himself at full length -on the sofa, whence arising immediately with a placid countenance, he -said: "Gentlemen, if you wish thus to uproot and destroy the tenderest -associations of childhood, I shall be happy, when I have finished my -drink, to wish you a good-evening, and return home." - -"I can't think what the deuce you came for," said Paul, with a smile. -"He looked in at the club where I was dining, hoping to meet you, and -where I heard you had been and gone, and asked me whether I wasn't -going to evening service. When I told him 'yes,' he said he would come -with me; and all the way along he has done nothing but growl at the -pace I was walking, and the length of the way." - -"Don't mind me, Mr. Wainwright," said Billy, politely; "pray let the -gentleman go on. I am not the Stannaries Stag, sir, and I never laid -claim to the title; consequently it's no degradation to me to avow that -I can't keep on heeling and toeing it at the rate of seven miles an -hour for long. As it happens, I have a friend in the neighbourhood, a -fisherman, who has managed to combine a snack-bend with a Kirby hook -in a manner which he assures me--pardon me, dear sirs, those imbecile -grins remind me that I am speaking to men who don't know a stone-fly -from a gentle; that I have been throwing my--I needn't finish the -sentence. I have finished the drink. Mr. Wainwright, have the goodness -to see me off the premises, and, in the words of the distraught -Ophelia--to whom, by-the-way, I daresay your talented father would have -been called in, had he happened to live in Denmark at the time--'let -out the maid who'--goodnight!" - -When George Wainwright returned, alone, he found Paul, who had lighted -a cigar, walking up and down the room, his hands plunged in his -pockets, his chin down upon his chest. George went up to him, and -putting his hand affectionately on his shoulder, said: - -"What brought you down here to-night, young 'un? The last rats must -have deserted the sinking ship of Fashion and Season when you clear out -of it to come down to Diogenes in his tub. Not but that I'm delighted -to see you; all I want to know is why?" - -"I was nervous and restless, George; a little tired of fools and -frippery, and--and myself. I wanted you to blow a little of the ozone -of common sense into me, you know!" - -"Oh yes, I know," said George Wainwright; but he uttered the words in -such deep solemn tones that Paul turned upon him suddenly, saying: - -"You know? Well, what do you know?" - -"I know why you could not play tennis, or come to the Oval, or walk to -Hendon with me yesterday afternoon." - -"The deuce you do! And why?" - -"For a very sufficient reason to a young fellow of five-and-twenty!" -said George, with a rather melancholy grin. "Look here, Paul; I don't -think you'll imagine I'm a spy, or a meddling, impertinent busybody, -and I'm sure you'll believe it was by the merest accident that I was -crossing Kensington Gardens last evening, and there saw a friend of -mine in deep conversation with a very handsome young lady." - -"The deuce you did!" cried Paul, turning very red. "What then?" - -"Ah!" said George, filling his pipe, "that's exactly the point--what -then?" - -"What a provoking old beggar you are! Why do you echo me? Why don't you -go on?" - -"It's for you to go on, my boy! What are your relations--or what are -they to be--with this handsome girl?" - -"She is handsome, is she not?" - -"Beautiful!" - -"'Gad! she must be to strike fire out of an old flint like you, -George!" cried Paul. "What are my relations with her? Strictly proper, -I give you my word." - -"And you intend to marry her?" - -"How the man jumps at an idea! Well, no; I don't know at all that I -intend that." - -"Not the--the other thing, Paul? No; you're, to say the least of it, -too much of a gentleman. You don't intend that." - -"I don't intend anything, I tell you. Can't a man talk to a pretty girl -without 'intention'?" - -"I don't know, Paul. I'm quite incompetent to pronounce any opinion -on such matters; only--only see here: I look on you as on a younger -brother, and, prompted by my regard for you, I may say many things -which you may dislike." - -"Well, say away, old George; you won't offend me." - -"Well, then, if this is a good honest girl, and you don't intend to -marry her, you ought not to be meeting her, and walking with her, and -leading her to believe that she will attain to a position through you -which she never would otherwise; and if she isn't an honest girl you -ought never to have spoken to her." - -Paul Derinzy laughed, the quiet easy chuckle of a man of the world, as -he replied to his simple senior: - -"She _is_ a good, honest girl, no doubt of that. But suppose the -question of marriage had never risen between us, and she still liked -to meet me and to walk with me, what then? In the gravel paths of -Kensington Gardens, Pamela herself might have strolled with Captain -Lovelace himself without fear. Why should not I with--with this young -lady?" - -"Because, though you don't know it, you're deceiving yourself and -deceiving her; because the whole thing is incongruous and won't fit, -however you may try to make it do so; because it's wrong, however much -you may slur it over. Look here, Paul; suppose, just for the sake of -argument, that you wanted to marry this girl--you're as weak as water, -and there's no accounting for what you might wish--you know your people -would oppose it in the very strongest way, and----" - -"Oh, if I chose it, my 'people,' as you call them, must have it, or -leave it alone, which would be quite immaterial to me." - -"Yes, yes, no doubt; but still----" - -"Look here, George; let's bring this question to a practical issue. -I'm ten times more a man of the world than you, though you are an old -fogey, and clever and sensible and all that. What you are aiming it is -that I must give up this girl. Well, then, shortly, I won't!" - -"And why won't you?" - -"For a reason you can't understand, you old mole, burrowed down here -under your paintings, and your fugues, and your dreary old German -philosophers--because I love her; because I think of her from morning -till night, and from night till morning again; because her bright -face and her gay creamy skin come between me and those beastly old -minutes and memoranda that we have to write at the shop; and when I'm -lying awake in Hanover Street, or even sitting surrounded by a lot of -gabbling idiots in the smoking-room of the club, I can see her gray -eyes looking at me, and----" - -"Oh Lord!" said George Wainwright, with a piteous smile; "I had no idea -I'd let myself in for this!" - -"You have, my dear old George, and for a lot more at a future time. -Just now I came out to you because I was horribly restless, and Billy -fastened himself on to me at the club, and I could not shake him off. -But I want to talk to you about it seriously, George--seriously, you -understand!" - -"Whenever you like, Paul; but I expect you'll only get one scrap of -advice out of me, repeated, as I fear, _ad nauseam_." - -"And that is?" - -"Give her up! give her up! give her up! Cato's powers of iteration in -the _delenda est Carthago_ business will prove weak as compared to mine -in this." - -"You'll find me stubborn, George." - -"Buffon gives stubbornness as a characteristic of your class, Paul. -Goodnight, old man." - -"Goodnight, God bless you! To-morrow as per usual, I suppose?" and he -was gone. - -Alone once more, George Wainwright threw himself again into the -easy-chair and renewed his pipe; but he shook his head more than ever, -and when he did speak, it was only to mutter to himself: "Worse than I -thought! Don't see the way out of that. Must look into this, and take -care that Paul does not make a fool of himself." - -When the clock struck midnight he rose, yawned, stretched, and seemed -more than half inclined to turn towards his cosy bedroom, which opened -from the studio; but he shook himself together, and saying, "Poor dear, -she would not sleep if I did not say goodnight to her, I suppose!" lit -a lamp, and took his way across the garden to the house. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. -CORRIDOR NO. 4. - - -Across the garden, and through an iron gate which he unlocked, and -which itself formed part of a railing shutting off one wing of the -house from the rest and from the grounds, George Wainwright walked; -then up a short flight of steps, topped by a heavy door, which he -also unlocked with a master key which he took from his pocket, and -which closed behind him with a heavy clang; through a short stone -passage, in a room leading off which, immediately inside the door--a -bright, snug, cheerful little room, with a handful of fire alight in -the grate, and the gas burning brightly over the mantelpiece, and a -tea-tray and appurtenances brightly shining on the table--was a young -woman--handsome, black-eyed, and rosy-cheeked, tall, strongly built, -and neatly dressed in a close-fitting dark-gray gown--who started up at -the sound of the approaching footsteps, and presented herself at the -door. - -"You on duty, Miss Marshall?" said George, with a smile and a bow. - -"Yes, Mr. George, it's my night-turn again; comes round quicker than -one thinks for, or than one hopes for, indeed! Going to see your -sweetheart as usual, Mr. George?" - -"Yes; I don't often miss; never, indeed, when I'm at home." - -"Ah, if all other men were as thoughtful and as kind and as true to -their sweethearts as you are to yours, there would be less need for -these sort of houses in the world, Mr. George," said the young woman, -with a somewhat scornful toss of her head. - -"Come, come, Miss Marshall," cried George, laughingly, "you've no -occasion to talk in that manner, I'm sure. Besides, I might retort, -and say that if all women were as kind and as loving and as pleased to -see their sweethearts as mine is to see me, if they remained true to -them for as many years as mine has remained true to me, if they were -as patient and as quiet--yes, and I think as silent--as mine is, they -would have a greater chance of retaining men's affections." - -"Poor dear Madame!" said Miss Marshall. "Ah, you don't see many like -her!" - -"I never saw one," said George. "But she will be keeping awake on the -chance of my coming to say goodnight to her." - -And with another smile and bow he passed on. - -First down another and a longer stone passage, the doors leading from -either side of which were wide open, showing bathrooms, kitchens, and -other domestic penetralia; then up a flight of stairs to a landing -covered with cocoa-nut matting, and giving on to a long corridor, -on the stone-coloured wall of which was painted in large black -letters, "Corridor No. 4." Closed doors here--doors of dormitories, -where the inmates were shut in for the night: some tossing on their -dream-haunted pillows; some haply--God knows--enjoying a mental rest -as soft and sweet as the slumber which enchained them, borne away to -the bygone days, when they thought and felt and knew, ere the brain was -distraught, and the memory snapped, and the mind either warped or void. -All was perfectly quiet as George passed along, stopping at length -before a door which was closed but not locked, and at which he tapped -lightly. Lightly, but with a sound which was quickly heard, for a soft -voice cried immediately "_Entrez!_" and he opened the door, and went in. - -It was a pretty little room, considerably too lofty for its breadth--a -long narrow slip of a place, which some people with pleasant -development of mortuary tendencies might have rendered unpleasantly -like a grave. But it was tricked out with a pretty wall-paper, all -rosebuds and green leaves; some good photographs of foreign scenery -were framed on the walls; a wooden Swiss peasant with a clock-face let -into the centre of his waistcoat, and its works ticking and running and -whirring away in the centre of his anatomy, stood on the mantelpiece; -the fireplace was filled up with bright-gilded shavings; and the bed, -instead of being the mere ordinary iron stump bedstead to be found in -other dormitories of the house, was gay with white hangings, and blue -bows tastefully disposed here and there. - -On it lay a woman, who had risen on her elbow at George's knock, and -who remained in the same attitude, awaiting his approach. A woman of -small stature evidently, and delicately made, with small well-cut -features and small bones. Her hair, as snow-white as the cap under -which it was looped up, contrasted oddly with the deep ruddy bronze -of her complexion; such bronze as, travelling south, you first begin -to notice among the Lyonnaises, and afterwards find so common along -the shores of the Mediterranean. But Time, though he had changed the -colour of her locks--and to be so very white now, they must necessarily -have been raven black before--had failed in dimming the lustre of her -marvellous eyes; they remained large, and dark, and appealing, as they -must have been in earliest youth. Full of liquid love and kindliness -were they too, as they beamed a welcome to George, a welcome seconded -by her outstretched hand, which rested on his head as he bent down -beside her. - -"You are late, George," she said, with the faintest foreign accent; -"but I had not given you up." - -"No, _maman_, you know better than that; you know that whenever I am -at home I never think of going to bed without saying goodnight to -_maman_. But I am late, dear; I have had friends sitting with me, and -they have only just gone." - -"Friends, eh? Ah, that must be odd to see friends. And you took -them for a _promenade_ on the Lac, and you---- _Ah, bah! quelle -enfantillage!_ your friends were men, of course. Some of those who sing -so sweetly sometimes? No! but still men? Ah, no one else has ever come -here." - -"No one else, _maman?_" - -"See, George, come closer. _She_ has not come?" - -"No, _maman_," said the young man, rising, and regarding her with a -look of genuine affection and pity. "No, _maman_, not yet." - -"Ah, not yet--always not yet," she said, letting her elbow relax, and -falling back in the bed--"always not yet!" And she covered her face -with her hands, removing them after a few minutes to say: "But she will -come? she will come?" - -"Oh yes, dear, let us trust so," said George, quietly. - -She looked at him, first earnestly, then wistfully, for several -minutes; then she dried the tears which, unseen by him, almost unknown -to her, had been trickling down her face, and said in a trembling -voice: "Goodnight, my boy." - -"Goodnight, _maman_. God bless you!" - -And he bent over her, and kissed her forehead. - -"_Dieu me benisse!_" she said, with a half-smile. "In time, George, -when _she_ comes back! Meantime, _Dieu te benisse_, my son!" - -He bent his head again, and she encircled it with her arms, brushed -each of his cheeks with her lips, and kissed his hand; then murmuring, -"Goodnight," sank back on her pillow. - -George took up his lamp, and crept silently from the room, and down -the corridor, down the stairs, and towards the outer door. As he -passed Miss Marshall's room he looked in, and saw her, bright, brisk, -and cheerful, sitting at her needlework, an epitome of neatness and -propriety. George could not refrain from stopping in his progress, and -saying: - -"You don't look much like a 'keeper,' Miss Marshall. I had a friend -with me to-night, who laughingly asked me to show him the night-watch -of such places as these, of whom he had read in songs and novels. I -think he would have been rather astonished if I had brought him across -the garden and introduced him to you." - -"Oh, they're not much 'count, those kind of trash, I think, Mr. -George," said Miss Marshall, who was eminently practical. "I read about -'em often enough when I was a nursery-governess, and before I came into -the profession. I daresay he expected to see a man with big whiskers, -with a sword and a brace of pistols in his belt, and perhaps two big -dogs following him up and down the passages! At least, I know that -used to be my idea. You found Madame Vaughan all well and quiet and -comfortable, Mr. George? And left her so, no doubt?" - -"Oh yes. She was just the same as usual, poor dear." - -"Oh, poor dear, indeed! If they were all like her, one need not grumble -about one's life here. There never was such a sweet creature. I'm sure -if one-half of the sane women, the sensible creatures who expect one to -possess all the cardinal virtues and to look after four of their brats -for sixteen pounds a-year, were anything like as nice, or as sensible, -or as sane, for the matter of that, as Madame Vaughan, the world would -be a much nicer place to live in. She expected you, I suppose, sir?" - -George Wainwright knew perfectly that Miss Marshall was, as the phrase -is, "making conversation;" that she cared little about the patient -whose state she was discussing; cared probably less about him. But -he knew also that in the discharge of her duty she had to sit up all -night, until relieved by one of the day-nurses at six o'clock in the -morning; that she naturally enough grasped at any chance of making -a portion, however small, of this time pass more pleasantly, with -somebody to look at and somebody's voice to listen to. And she was a -pretty girl and a good girl, and he was not particularly tired and was -particularly good-natured; so he thought he would stop and chat with -her for a few minutes. - -"Oh yes, she expected me," he said; "so I should have been horribly -sorry if I had neglected to go to her. One must be selfish indeed to -deny anyone so much pleasure when it can be afforded by merely stepping -across the garden." - -"Did she speak of the usual subject, sir?" - -"The child? Oh, yes; asked if anyone had come, as usual; and when I -answered her, felt sure that her child would come speedily." - -"I suppose there's no foundation for that idea of hers?" - -"That the child will come, or, indeed, so far as we know, that she ever -had a child, is, I imagine, the merest hallucination. At all events, -from the number of years she has been here, her child, if she ever had -one, must be a tolerably well-grown young lady, and not likely to be -recognisable by, or to recognise her, poor thing!" - -"Yes, indeed, Mr. George; and it's odd that of all our ladies, with the -exception of poor Mrs. Stoneycroft, who, I imagine, is just kept here -out of the Doctor's kindness and charity, Madame is the only one who -never has any friends come to see her." - -"She has outlived all her friends; that is to say, she has outlived -their recollection of her. Nothing so easily forgotten as the trace -of people we once knew, but who can no longer be of use to us, or -administer to our vanity, our pleasure, or our amusement. I was at -a cemetery the other day, and saw there an enormous and magnificent -tombstone which a man had ordered to be erected over his wife; but -before the order had been executed the man had married again, declined -to pay for his extravagance in mortuary sculpture, and contented -himself with a simple headstone. And the gardener told me that it is -very seldom that the floral graves are kept up beyond the first twelve -months. So it is not likely that in this, which, to such poor creatures -as Madame Vaughan, is not much better than a living tomb, the occupants -should be held in any long remembrance." - -"I'm sure it's very kind of the Doctor to take such care of these poor -creatures, Mr. George; more especially when he's not paid for it." - -"That is not the case with Madame Vaughan. I think--in fact, I'm -sure--she was one of the patients of my father's predecessor, and was -made over to him on the transfer of the business; but though she has -no friends to come and see her, the sum for her maintenance here is -regularly discharged by a firm of solicitors who have money in trust -for the purpose, and by whom it has been paid from the first." - -"And is there nothing known of her history, Mr. George; who were her -friends, or where she came from?" - -"Nothing now. Dr. Bulph, I suppose, had some sort of information; but -he was an odd man, and so long as his half-yearly bills were paid, did -not trouble himself much further, I fancy." - -"Lord, what a life!" said Miss Marshall, casting a sidelong glance at -the little looking-glass over the mantelpiece, and smoothing her hair. -"And it will end here, I suppose? The Doctor does not think she will -ever be cured, Mr. George?" - -"No, indeed!" said George, shaking his head. "And if she were, what -would become of her? She has been here for nearly twenty years, and the -outer world would be as strange and as impossible to her as it was to -the released prisoner of the Bastille, who prayed to be taken back to -his dungeon." - -"Ah well, I should pray to be taken to my grave," said the practical -Miss Marshall, "if I thought no one cared for me----" - -"Ah, now you're talking of an impossibility, Miss Marshall," said -George, rising. "If ever I have a necessity to expose the absurdity of -that saying which advances the necessity for 'beauty sleep,' I shall -bring you forward as my example; for you're never in bed by midnight, -and are often up all night; and yet I should like to see anyone who -could rival you in briskness or freshness. Goodnight, Miss Marshall." - -"Goodnight, Mr. George." - -As he rose, shook hands, and taking up his lamp made his way across the -garden, the nurse looked after him with a pleased expression, and said -to herself: - -"What a nice young man that is!--so pleasant and kind! Nice-looking -too, though a trifle old-fashioned and heavy; not like--ah, well, never -mind. But much too good to mope away his life in this wretched old -place, anyhow." - -And when George reached his rooms he smiled to himself, and said: - -"Well, if that little talk, and those little compliments, have the -result of making Miss Marshall show any extra amount of kindness to my -poor _maman_, my time will not have been ill bestowed." - -George Wainwright was tolerably correct in all he had said regarding -Madame Vaughan, though he had but an imperfect knowledge of her -history. At the time when her mental malady first rendered it necessary -that she should be placed under restraint, the private lunatic asylums -of England were in a very different condition from what they are -now. They were for the most part held by low-born ignorant men, who -derived their entire livelihood from the sums of money paid for the -maintenance of the unfortunate wretches confided to their charge, and -whose gains were consequently greater in proportion to the manner in -which they ignored or refused the requirements of their inmates. A -person calling himself a physician, and perhaps in possession of some -purchased degree, hired at a small stipend and non-resident, looked in -occasionally, asked a few questions, and signed certificates destined -to hoodwink official eyes, which in those days never saw too clearly -at the best of times. But the staff of keepers, male and female, was -always numerous and efficient. Those were the merry days of the iron -collar and the broad leather bastinado, of the gag and the cold bath, -of the irons and the whipping-post. They did not care much about what -the Lunacy Commissioners did, or wrote, or exacted, in those days, -and each man did what he thought best for himself. The date of the -Commissioners' visits, which then were few and far between, were -accurately known long beforehand; the "medical attendant" was on the -spot; the patients, such as were visible, were tricked up into a proper -state of cleanliness and order; and the others were duly hidden away -until the authorities had departed. The licensing was a farce, only -to be exceeded in absurdity by the other regulations; and villany, -blackguardism, brutality, and chicanery reigned supreme. - -For two years after Madame Vaughan was first received into the -asylum--God help us!--as it was called, the outer world was mercifully -a blank to her. She arrived in a settled state of stupor, in which -she remained, cowering in a corner of the room which she shared with -other afflicted creatures, but taking no heed of them, of the antics -which they played, of the yells and shrieks which they uttered, of the -fantastic illusions of which they were the victims, of the punishment -which their conduct brought upon them. Her face covered by her hands, -her poor body ever rocking to and fro, there she remained for ever in -the one spot until nightfall, when she crept to the miserable couch -allotted to her, and curling herself up as an animal in its slumber, -was unheard, almost unseen, until the next day. The wretched food which -they gave her, coarse in quality and meagre in quantity, she ate in -silence; in silence she bore the spoken ribaldry, and the practical -jokes which in the first few weeks after her admission the guardians -of the establishment, and indeed the great proprietor himself, amused -themselves by heaping upon her; so that in a little time she was found -incapable of administering to their amusement, and was suffered to -remain unmolested. - -At the end of the time mentioned, a change took place in the condition -of the patient under the following circumstances. One of the nurses had -had her married sister and niece to visit her; and after tea, by way of -a cheerful amusement, the visitors were conducted through the female -ward. The child, a little girl of five or six years old, frightened -out of her life, hung back as she entered the gloomy room, where women -in every stage of mania, some fierce and shrieking, some silent and -moody, were collected. But her aunt, the nurse, laughed at the child's -fears; and the mother, who through the hospitality of their entertainer -had, after the clearing away of the tea-equipage, been provided with -a beverage which both cheered and inebriated, bade the girl not to be -a fool; and on her still hanging back and evincing an intention of -bursting into tears, administered to her a severe thump on the back, -which had the effect of causing the little one to break forth at once -into a howl. - -From the first instant of the child's entrance into the room, Madame -Vaughan had roused herself from her usual attitude. The sound of the -child's pattering feet seemed to act on her with electrical influence. -She raised her head from out her hands; she sat up erect, bright, -observant. The corner in which she sat was dark, and no one was in the -habit of taking any notice of her. So she sat, watching the shrinking -child. She heard the mocking laugh with which the nurse sneered at the -little one's terror, she heard the harsh tones in which the mother chid -the child, and saw the blow which followed on the words. Then she made -two springs forward, and the next minute had the woman on the ground, -and was grappling at her throat. The attendants sprang upon her, -released the woman from her grasp, and led her shrieking to her cell. - -"My child, my child! why did she strike my child?" were the words which -she screamed forth; almost the first which those in the asylum had ever -heard her utter; so, at least, the nurse told the proprietor, who, with -other assistants, male as well as female, was speedily on the spot. - -"She used to sit as quiet as quiet, never opening her mouth, as you -know very well, sir," said the woman, "and was sittin' just as usual, -so far as I know, when my sister here, as I was showing round, fetched -her little gal a smack on the head because she wouldn't come on; and -then Vaughan springs at her like a wild-beast, and wanted to tear the -life out of her, she did, a murderin' wretch!" - -"Had she ever said anything about a child before?" asked the proprietor. - -"Never said nothing about anybody, and certingly nothing about a -child," replied the nurse. - -"And it was because she saw this child struck that she burst out, and -she's hollerin' about the child now--is that it?" - -"Jest so, sir," replied the nurse, looking at a mark of teeth on her -hand, and shaking her head viciously in the direction in which the -patient had been led away. - -"That's it, Agar," said the proprietor; "I thought we should get at -it some day. Couldn't get anything out of the cove I first saw, and -the lawyers were as tight as wax. 'You'll get your money,' they says. -'We're responsible for that,' they says, 'and that ought to be enough -for you.' They wouldn't let on, any of 'em, what it was that had upset -her at first; but I knew it would come out sooner or later, and it's -come out now, though. She's gone off her head grievin' after a kid, and -no two ways about it." - -"Ah!" said Mr. Agar, who was a man of few words; "shouldn't wonder. -Question is, what's to be done with her now? Mustn't be allowed to kick -up these wagaries, you know; we shall have the neighbours complainin' -again. Screamed and yelled and bit and fisted away like a good un, she -did. We ain't had such a rumpus since the Tiger's time." - -"She must be taught manners," said the proprietor, significantly. "Tell -your missus to look after her. This woman," indicating the nurse with -his elbow, "ain't any good when it comes to a rough and tumble, and I'm -doubtful if Vaughan won't give us some trouble yet." - -So Madame Vaughan was delivered over to the tender mercies of Mrs. -Agar, and underwent some of the tortures which she had seen inflicted -upon others. She was punished cruelly for her outbreak; but that done, -there was an end of it. The proprietor was wrong in his surmise that -she would give them further trouble. She lapsed back into her old -silent state, cowering in her old corner, rocking to and fro after -her old fashion; and thus she remained, when the proprietor, having -made sufficient money, and having had several hints that certain -malpractices of his, if further indulged in, would probably bring him -to the Old Bailey, handed over his business to Dr. Bulph. - -It was during Dr. Bulph's time that the poor lady had a severe bodily -illness, during which she was sedulously attended by Dr. Bulph -himself--a clever, hard man of the world, not unkind, but probably -prompted in his attention to his patient by the feeling that it would -be unwise to let a regularly-paid income of three hundred pounds a-year -slip through his fingers if a little trouble on his part could save -it. When she became convalescent, her mental condition seemed to have -altered. Instead of being dull and moping, she was bright and restless, -ever asking about her child, who, as it seemed to her poor distraught -fancy, had been with her just before her illness. Dr. Bulph had had -some idea, that when her bodily ailment left her, there was a chance -that her mind might have become at last clearer; but he shook his head -when he saw these new symptoms. Her child, her child! what had been -done with it? Why had they taken it away? Why was it kept from her? -That was the constant, incessant burden of her cry, sometimes asked -almost calmly, sometimes with piteous wailings or fierce denunciations -of their cruelty. Nothing satisfied her, nothing appeased her. Madame -Vaughan's case was evidently a very bad one indeed: and when Dr. Bulph -took Dr. Wainwright, who was about purchasing his business, the round -of his establishment, he pointed Madame Vaughan out to him, and said: -"That will be a noisy one, I'm afraid, until the end." - -The doctor was wrong in his prophecy. Dr. Wainwright, with as much -skill and far more _savoir faire_ than his predecessor, adopted very -different tactics. Although since the departure of the first proprietor -of the asylum no cruelty had been inflicted on the patients, all of -them who were at all intractable or difficult to govern had been -kept in restraint. The first thing that Dr. Wainwright did, when he -took possession, was to give them an amount of liberty which they -had not previously enjoyed. Poor Madame Vaughan, falling into one of -her shrieking-fits of "My child! where's my child?" was surprised on -looking up to see the tall figure of the new doctor in the open doorway -of her room; and her screams died away as she looked at his handsome -smiling face, and heard his voice say in soft tones: "Where is she? -Come, let us look for her." Then he took her gently by the arm and -led her into the garden, round which they walked together. The new -sense of liberty, the air blowing on her cheeks, the fresh smell of -the flowers--these unaccustomed delights had a wonderful influence on -the poor sufferer. For a time, at least, she forgot the main burden -of her misery in the delight she experienced in dwelling on them; and -thenceforward, though she recurred constantly, daily indeed, to her one -theme of sorrow, it was never with the poignant bitterness of former -times. She grew attached to the doctor, whose quiet interested manner -suited her wonderfully, and formed a singular attachment for George, -then a young man just entering on his office duties, looking forward -to his coming with a sweet motherly tenderness, which he seemed to -reciprocate in a most filial manner. - -From that time forward Madame Vaughan's lot, as far as her melancholy -condition permitted, was a happy one. No acute return of mania ever -supervened; she remained in a state of harmless quiet; and save for her -invariable expectation of the arrival of her child, a hope which she -never failed to indulge in, it would have been impossible to think that -the quiet, well-dressed, white-haired lady, who tended the flowers, -and settled the ornaments of her little room, or paced regularly up -and down the garden, sometimes alone, sometimes conversing with Dr. -Wainwright, or leaning reliantly on George's arm, was the inmate of a -lunatic asylum, and had gone through such tempestuous scenes as fall to -her lot in the early days of her residence there. The "noisy one" had -indeed come to be the gentlest member of that strange household; and -one of the greatest annoyances which Dr. Wainwright ever experienced -was when one of the members of the lawyers' firm who paid the annual -stipend for the poor lady's care happened to call with the cheque, and -on the doctor's wishing him to witness the comparative happy state to -which the patient had arrived, said shortly that "he had enough to do -in his business with people who were only sane enough to prevent their -being shut up, and that he didn't want to have anything to do with -those who were a stage further advanced in the disease." - - -On the morning after the events recorded in the beginning of this -chapter, George Wainwright found a small pencil-note placed on the huge -can of cold water which was brought to him for his bath. Opening it, he -read: - - -"DEAR MR. GEORGE,--Madame hopes she shall see you before you go into -town this morning. She has something special to say to you. I have told -her I was sure you would not fail her.--Yours, L. MARSHALL." - - -In compliance with this wish, George presented himself immediately -after breakfast at Madame Vaughan's room. He found her ready dressed, -and anxiously expecting him. - -"Why, _maman_," he commenced, "already up and doing! Your bright -activity is an actual reproach to a sluggard like myself. But I heard -you wanted me, and I'm here." - -"Would you mind taking a turn in the garden, George?" she asked. "The -morning looks very fine, and I've something to say to you that I think -should be said in the sunlight and among the flowers." - -"Something pleasant, then, I argue from that," he said. "And you know -I'd do a great deal more than give up a few minutes from my dry dull -old office to be of any pleasant use to you; besides, work is slack -just now--it always is at this time of the year--and I can easily be -spared. Come, let us walk." - -She threw a shawl over her head and shoulders with, as George could -not help remarking, all the innate grace and ease of a Frenchwoman, -took his arm, and descended the stairs into the garden. It was indeed -a lovely morning, just at that time when Summer makes her last -determined fight before gracefully surrendering to Autumn. The turf -was yet green and soft, though somewhat faded here and there by the -sun's long-continued power, and the air was mild; but the paths were -already flecked with leaves, and ruddy tints were visible on the -extreme outer foliage of the trees. When they arrived in the grounds, -they found several of the patients already there; some chattering to -each other, others walking moodily apart. Many of them seemed to treat -Madame Vaughan with marked deference, and exhibited that deference in -immediately clearing out of the way, and leaving her and her companion -unmolested in their walk. - -After a few turns up and down, George said: - -"Well, _maman_, and the special business?" - -"Ah yes, George, I had forgotten," said Madame, pressing her hand to -her head. "I dreamed about _her_ last night, George--about my child." - -"Not an uncommon dream for you, surely, _maman?_" said George kindly. -"What you are always thinking of by day will most probably not desert -your mind at night." - -"No, not at all uncommon; but I have never dreamed of her as I dreamed -last night. George, she is coming; you will see her very soon." - -"I! But you, _maman_--you will see her too?" - -"I am not so sure of that, George. She was all dim and indistinct in my -dream. I think I shall be dead, George; but you will see her; I shall -have the comfort of knowing that, and--and of knowing that you will -love her, George." - -"Why, _maman_, of course I shall love her, for your sake." - -"No, George; for her own. You will love her for her own sake, and you -will marry her, my son." - -"_Maman, maman!_" said George, taking her hand, and looking up into her -face with a loving smile. "But how do you know that she will consent? -You forget I am an old bachelor, and----" - -"You will marry her, George," said Madame, her face clouding over at -once. "And yet--and yet she is but an infant, poor child!" - -"There, there, _maman_ darling----" - -"No, no; don't attempt to get out of it. And yet I saw it all--you and -she at St. Peter's after Tenebrae, and I--and----" - -"Now this is a question for my father to be consulted on," said George. -"He is the only man who could help us in this difficulty, and he's away -in the country, you know. We must wait till he comes back;" and he drew -her quietly towards the house. - - -"Poor dear _maman!_" said George Wainwright to himself, as he stood -waiting for the omnibus which was to bear him into town. "What a -strange idea! Not so far wrong, though! A phantom evolved from a -diseased brain, a nothing. A creature without existence is the only -wife I'm ever likely to have! I only wish young Paul was as heart-free, -and as likely to remain so." - - - - -CHAPTER IX. -DEAR ANNETTE. - - -It was a noticeable fact, that though the Beachborough folk were, as -they would themselves have expressed it, "main curous" about Mrs. -Stothard and her position in the Derinzy household, none of them -devoted much time to speculating about Miss Annette, or Miss Netty as -she was generally called by them. That she was a "dreadful in-vallid" -all knew; that she was sometimes confined to the house for weeks -together when labouring under a severe attack of her illness--which -was ascribed by some to nerves, by some to weakness, and by others to -a curious disorder known as "ricketts"--was also well known. It was -understood, moreover, that she did not like her indisposition alluded -to; and consequently, when she occasionally appeared in the village, -accompanied by her aunt Mrs. Derinzy, it was a point of politeness -on the part of the villagers to ignore the fact of their not having -seen her for weeks past and the cause of her absence, and to entertain -her with gossip about Bessy Fairlight's levity, Giles Croggin's -drunkenness, Farmer Hawkers' harvest-home, or such kindred topics. No -one ever mentioned illness or doctors before Miss Netty; if they had, -Mrs. Derinzy, a woman of strong mind and, when necessary, sharp tongue, -would speedily have cut in and changed the conversation. - -But although the Beachborough people saw little of Annette Derinzy, -that little they liked. Amongst simple folk of this kind a person -labouring under illness, more especially chronic illness--not any of -your common fevers or anything low of that kind, which nearly everybody -has had in their time, and which are for the most part curable by -very simple remedies--but mysterious illness, which "comes on when -you don't expect it," as though most disorders were heralded and the -exact time of their arrival announced by infallible symptoms, and which -lasts for weeks together--such a person takes brevet rank with their -acquaintance, and is looked up to with the greatest respect. Moreover, -Miss Netty had a very pleasant way with her, being always courteous and -friendly, sometimes, indeed, a little too friendly; for she would want -to go into the fishermen's cottages, and into the lacemakers' rooms, -and would ask questions which were not very pertinent, or indeed very -wise; until she was brought up very short by her aunt, who would take -her by the elbow, and haul her away with scant ceremony. And another -great thing in her favour was, that she was very pretty. - -Ah, well-meaning, kindly people, who endeavour to cheer your ugly -children by repeating the scores of old adages with which the stupidity -of our forefathers has enriched our language, telling them that "beauty -is only skin deep," that "it is better to be good than beautiful," that -"handsome is that handsome does," and a variety of other maxims of the -same kind--when will you be honest, and confess that a pretty face is -almost the best dowry a young girl can have? It gains her admirers -always, and very frequently it gains her friends; it makes easy and -pleasant her path in life, and saves her from the bitterest distress, -the deepest laceration which can be inflicted on the female heart, -in the feeling that she is despised of men, which, being translated, -means that she is neglected, while others are appreciated. Miss Netty -was pretty decidedly, but she was in that almost incredible position -of being unaware of the fact. Save her own family and the people in -the village, she saw no one; and though the gossips were inclined not -to be reticent of their admiration even in the presence of its object, -they were always restrained by a wholesome dread of the wrath of -Mrs. Derinzy, which on more than one occasion had been evoked by the -compliments paid to her niece. - -It was the more extraordinary that such persons as Mrs. Powler and Mrs. -Jupp should have admired Annette, as her style was by no means such as -generally finds favour with persons in their station in life. Great -black staring eyes, snub noses, firm round red cheeks, bright red lips, -and jet-black hair, well bandolined and greased so as to lie flat on -the head, or corkscrewed into thin ringlets, generally make up their -standard of beauty. Country people have a great opinion of strength of -limb and firmness of flesh; and "she be _that_ hard," was one of the -most delicate tributes which a Beachborough swain could pay. In the -agricultural districts those womanly qualities of tenderness, softness, -and delicacy, which are so prized amongst more refined circles, are -rather held at a discount; they are regarded by the rustic mind as on -a level with piano-playing and Berlin-wool working--good enough as -extras, but not to be compared with the homely talents of milking and -stocking-darning. Personal appearance is regarded in much the same way, -elegance of form being less thought of than strength, and a large arm -obtaining much more admiration than a small hand. Annette was a tall, -but a slight and decidedly delicate-looking girl. - -"It isn't after her uncle she takes," Mrs. Powler would say; "a little -giggling, flibberty-gibbet of a man, that might be blowed away in a -pouf!" - -"Well, mum," said little Ann Bradshaw, the "gell" who was specially -retained for Mrs. Powler's service, and who, as jackal, purveyed all -the gossip on which, after due preparation, her mistress lived--"well, -mum, I du 'low Miss Netty's well enow to look at, but nothing like the -Captain, who sure-_ly_ is a main handsome man!" - -"Eh, dear heart, did one ever hear the like!" cried Mrs. Powler. -"Here's chits and chicks like this talkin' about main handsome men! -Why, Ann, you was niver in Exeter, or you'd have seen a waxy image just -like the Captain, wi' his black hair and his straight nose, and his -blue chin, in the barber's shop-window. Handsome, indeed!" said the old -lady, with a recollection of the deceased Mr. Fowler's rotund face; -"he's but a poor show; a mere skellinton of a chap!" - -"Well, mum, it can't be said that Miss Netty favours her aunt Mrs. -D'rinzy neither," said Ann, who, seeing her mistress was disposed for -a chat, saw her way to at least postponing the execution of a very -portentous and elaborate job of darning which had sat heavy on her soul -for some days past. "Mrs. D'rinzy is that slight and slim and gen-teel -in her make, which Miss Netty do not follow after." - -"Slight, and slim, and genteel make!" repeated Mrs. Powler with much -indignation, and a downward glance at her own pursy proportions; "ah, -straight up and down like a thrashin'-floor door, if that's what ye -mean! Lord love us, here's a gal as I took out of charity, and saved -from goin' to the workis, a givin' her 'pinions 'bout figgers, and -shapes, and makes, and the like, as though she was a milliner, or a -middiff! Well, well, on'y to think!" - -"I didn't mean no harm, mum, I'm sure," said the worldly-ise -handmaiden, "and I don't think much of Mrs. D'rinzy, nor indeed of the -Captain neither, since Nancy Bell--as you know is housemaid up at the -Tower--told me how she'd found the stick-stuff which he du make his -eyebrows of--black, and grease, and muck." - -"No?" exclaimed the old lady, her good temper returning at the chance -of hearing some spicy retailable talk. "Du he do that? Do'ee tell, Ann!" - -Thus invited, Miss Bradshaw launched out into an elaborate story, -rendered more elaborate by her anti-darning proclivities, of the -mysteries of Captain Derinzy's toilet, as she had learned them from -Miss Bell. Mrs. Powler encouraged her to prattle on this point for a -long time; and when she had finished, asked her whether Nancy Bell had -mentioned anything about the general way of living at the Tower, more -especially as Miss Netty and Mrs. Stothard were concerned. - -"Not that anything she says isn't as full of lies as a sieve's full of -holes," said the old lady. "I mind the time"--a terrible old lady this, -with an unexampled memory for bad things against people--"I mind the -time when she was quite a little gell, and went and told the vicar a -passil o' lies about her uncle, Ned Richards the blacksmith. And the -vicar put Ned into his sermin the next Sunday, and preached at un, and -everybody knowed who was meant; and Ned stood up in church, and gev -it to the vicar back again; and Ned was had up for brawlin', as they -called it, and there was a fine to-do, and all through Nancy Bell. But -what does she say of Miss Netty, Ann? Are they kind to her like up -there?" - -"Oh, yes, mum; Nancy thinks so, leastwise. But no one sees Miss Netty -often, mum." - -"No one sees her?" - -"Only Mrs. Stothard, mum. She and Mrs. Stothard has their rooms away -from the rest, mum, lest they should disturb the Captain when Miss -Netty's ill, mum; and no one sees her but Mrs. Stothard then." - -"Ah," said Mrs. Powler, "David or Solomon, or one of 'em, I don't -rightly remember which, were not far off when he said that the bread of -dependence was bitter, and these great folk don't bake it no more sweet -than others for their poor relations, it seems. So they take the board -and lodgin' out of Mrs. Stothard by makin' her a nuss, eh, Ann?" - -"They du indeed, mum. I du 'low that's why we niver see Mrs. Stothard -in the village, being so taken up with Miss Netty, and a nasty temper, -not caring to throw a word at a dog, likewise." - -"How does Nancy think they git on betwixt themselves?" - -"What, the Captain and Mrs. D'rinzy? Oh, they git on all right; -leastwise, she's master, Nance says. The Captain isn't much 'count in -his own house; but Mrs. D. niver let him see it, bless you; and he du -bluster and rave sometimes, Nance say, when he's put out, and thinks -she can't hear him." - -"What puts 'im out, Ann? He hev an easy life of it, sure-ly: nothin' to -do but to kick up his heels about the place." - -"That's just it, missus. He wants something more to du. He du hate the -place like pison, Nance have heerd 'im say, and ask Mrs. D'rinzy, wi' -awful language, what they was waitin' and wastin' their lives here for." - -"And what did she say then?" - -"Allays the same. 'You know,' says she, 'you know what we're waitin' -for; and it'll come, it'll come sure as sure.' 'Wouldn't it come just -the same, or easier rather, if we was out of this, up in London, or -somewheres?' the Captain says once. 'No,' says Mrs. D., 'it wouldn't. -When we've got the prize under lock and key,' she says, 'we know where -to look for it, and who to send for it; but when it's open to the -world, there's no knowin' who may run off with it,' she says." - -"A prize!" said the old lady, looking very much astonished--"got a -prize under lock and key? Why, what could she mean by that? You hain't -heerd in the village o' anything hevin' been found up at the Tower, hev -you, Ann?" - -Ann, leaning against the door, withdrew one foot from the floor, and -slowly rubbed it up and down her other leg--a gymnastic performance she -was in the habit of going through when she taxed her powers of memory. -It failed, however, to have any result in the present instance; and -Ann was compelled to confess that she had never heard of anything in -particular being found at the Tower. She did this with more reluctance, -as she foresaw the speedy termination of the gossip, and her consequent -relegation to her darning duties. - -But Mrs. Powler, who had been much struck with the conversation -overheard by Nancy Bell, and repeated to her by her own handmaiden, sat -pondering over the words for some time, allowing Ann to remain in the -room, and at last bade her go round and ask Mrs. Jupp to step in for a -few minutes. When Mrs. Jupp arrived, Mrs. Powler made Ann repeat her -story; and when she concluded, the old lady bade her stand away out of -earshot, and said to Mrs. Jupp in a hollow whisper: - -"What do you think of that?" - -"Of what?" asked Mrs. Jupp, in an equally ghostly tone. - -"'Bout the prize? Do you think, Harriet, that it can be any of Fowler's -'runs'? They used to hide 'em in the first place as come handy, when -the excisers was after 'em; and I've been wondering whether they might -ha' stowed away some kegs, or bales, or things, in the lower garden, or -thereabouts, and these D'rinzys ha' found 'em. I wonder whether I could -claim 'em, Harriet?" said the old lady earnestly. "He left everything -he had in the world to his beloved wife, Powler did." - -Mrs. Jupp, who had been receiving these last words with many sniffs, -denoting her content for her friend's notions, waited patiently until -Mrs. Powler had finished, and then said: - -"I don't think you need trouble yourself about that. It isn't about -runs, or kegs, or bales, or anything of that kind, that Mrs. Derinzy -meant, if so be she said anything of the kind, which I main doubt; -Nancy Bell and your Ann being regular Anias and Sapphira for lying, or -the man as was turned into a white leopard by the prophet for saying he -hadn't asked the young man for a change of clothes." - -"Du let alone naggin' and girdin' at my Ann for once, Harriet!" -interrupted Mrs. Powler. "Let's s'pose Mrs. D'rinzy said it; there's no -harm in s'posin', you know. What did she mean 'bout the prize?" - -"Mean? What could she mean but Miss Netty?" - -"Miss Netty! prize!" cried Mrs. Powler, to whom the combination of -these words was hopelessly embarrassing. "Ah, well, I'm becomin' a -moithered old 'ooman, I suppose?" - -"No, no, dear," said Mrs. Jupp, who never liked to see the old lady -put out. "I'm sure there's they as are twenty years younger would like -to be able to see as far into a milestone as you can. Only you don't -know about this, because you don't get out much now, and you don't know -what's goin' on up at the Tower, save from Ann and suchlike. Now my -ideer is, that Miss Netty has come into a fortin'." - -"No!" cried the old lady. - -"Yes," said Mrs. Jupp, nodding her head violently. "Yes, I think she -have, and that's what her aunt meant about a prize, I take it. For -don't you see, we've asked, all of us, often enough, what kept them -livin' down here. 'Tain't that they come down for the shootin', or the -yachtin', or that, jest at one season, like Sir 'Erc'les, though he -was bred and born down here, and it's his fam'ly place. But there they -stick, summer and winter, spring and autumn, never movin', though the -Captain's a-wearyin' hisself to death; and there's no call for Mrs. -Derinzy to stop here neither." - -"Not for her health?" - -"Not a bit of it! Between you and me, I think there's a -consp---- However, I'll tell you more about that when I know more; -meantime, I think Mrs. Derinzy's all right, and I don't think it's for -health Miss Annette is kept here." - -"The Dorsetsheer air----" Mrs. Powler began; but seeing an incredulous -smile on her friend's face, she broke off shortly, and said: "Well, -then, what does keep 'em down here?" - -"The fortin' that we was speakin' of; the prize that Nancy Bell heard -Mrs. D. tell off. Don't you see, my dear? Suppose what I think is -right--they've got the poor thing down here in their own hands, to do -jest what they like wi'; nobody to say, with your leave, or by your -leave; cooped up there wi' them two old people and that termagant Mrs. -Stothard. Now if she was away in London, or Exeter, or any other large -place o' that sort, why o' course there'd be young men sweetheartin' -her--for she's a main pratty gell, though slouchin', and not one to -show herself off--and she'd be gettin' married, and her money would -go away from them to her husband. That's what Mrs. D. meant about the -prize bein' 'open to the world,' and people 'runnin' off with it,' and -that like." - -Mrs. Powler sat speechless for a few moments, looking at her friend -with her sharp little black eyes, and going over what had just been -told her in her mind. Her faculties began to be somewhat dimmed by age, -and she required time for intellectual digestion. Mrs. Jupp knew her -friend's habit, and remained silent likewise, thoughtfully rubbing the -side of her nose with a knitting-needle which she had produced from her -pocket. At length the old lady said: - -"I du 'low you're right, Harriet, though I niver give you credit for so -much sharpness before." - -And Mrs. Jupp had many pleasant teas, and many succulent suppers, and -much pleasant gossip, on the strength of her perspicacity in the matter -of the great Derinzy mystery. - -Strange to say, the woman's idea was not very far away from the truth. -When Mrs. Derinzy told her husband that their son Paul should have a -fortune of eighty thousand pounds, which he should receive from his -wife's trustees, she made up her mind from that moment to carry her -intention into execution, come what might. The girl was so young, that -there was plenty of time for the elaboration of her plans--two or -three years hence it would do to work out the scheme in detail; all -that was necessary to see after was, that so soon as the girl arrived -at an impressible age, she should be taken to some very quiet place, -where she could see very few people, and that at that time Paul should -be thrown in her way, and the result left to favouring chance. Mrs. -Derinzy was doubtful whether anything ought to be said to Paul about -it; but the Captain spoke up strongly, and declared that any attempt to -dispose of "the young man by private contract" would certainly result -in prejudicing him against his cousin, and that it would be much better -if he were left to "shake a loose leg" for a time, as it would render -him much more docile and biddable when they spoke to him afterwards. -Mrs. Derinzy, violently objurgating such language on the part of her -husband, yet comprehended the soundness of his advice; and Paul, who -saw very little of Annette on the occasion of his holidays from school, -and then only thought of her as a little orphan cousin to whom his -parents acted as guardians, was left to take up his appointment at -the Stannaries Office, without having the least idea that, like Mr. -Swiveller, "a young lady, who had not only great personal attractions, -but great wealth, was at that moment growing up for him." - -The young lady who furnished forth all this feast of gossip to the -good folks of Beachborough--gossip not so completely unlike the sort -of thing which goes on in larger places, and is practised by more -important communities--had not the least suspicion that she was an -object of curiosity and discussion to her humble neighbours. She knew -little of them--that is to say, of the less-poor class among the -poor--for to the lowest and most suffering part of the community she -was generous with the desultory kindness of an untaught girl; and she -had no notion that she differed in circumstances or disposition from -other people sufficiently to excite curiosity or induce discussion. -Few girls of Annette Derinzy's age, in her position in life, are so -ignorant of the world, so completely without the means of instituting -comparisons in social matters, or unravelling social problems, as she -was. The conventional schoolgirl of real life, though perhaps not the -ritualistic innocent of the _Daisy-Chain_ literature, could have beaten -Annette Derinzy hollow in comprehension of human aims and motives, and -in knowledge of the desirabilities of life. She was passably content -with herself and her surroundings, and had not yet been moved by any -stronger feeling than irritation, caused by her aunt's troublesome -over-solicitude for her health and Mrs. Stothard's watchfulness. - -She was not, she believed, so strong as most girls of her age, who -lived in comfort, and had nothing to trouble them; but she felt sure -the care, the restrictions she had to undergo, were unwarranted by her -health; and she sometimes got so far on the path of worldly wisdom as -to suspect that her aunt made a great fuss with her, in order to get -the credit of self-sacrifice and superlative duty-doing. Annette's -perspicacity did not extend to defining the individuals in the narrow -and ultra-quiet society of Beachborough, among whom, as Captain Derinzy -would have said, they "vegetated," who were to be deluded into giving -Mrs. Derinzy a better character than she deserved. Like "the ugly -duck," who scrambled through the hedge, and found himself in the wide, -wide world, the most insignificant change of position would, to Annette -Derinzy, have implied infinite possibilities of enlightenment; but at -present she was very securely on the near side of the hedge, and almost -ignorant that there was a far side. - -The young lady of whom Mrs. Derinzy invariably spoke as "dear Annette," -even when she was most annoyed with or about her, as though she had -set this formula as a rule and a reminder for herself, was a very -pretty girl, belonging to a type of beauty which is rather commonly to -be found associated with delicate health. She was rather tall, very -slight, with slender hands, and a transparently fair complexion. Her -features were not very regular, and but for the deep, dark eyes, and -the remarkably sweet, though somewhat rare, smile which lighted them -up, she would hardly have been pronounced handsome by casual observers. -But she was very handsome, as all would have been ready to acknowledge -afterwards who had noticed the extreme refinement of her general -appearance and the gracefulness of her figure. Her beauty was marred -by no trace of ill-health beyond the uncertainty of the colour--which -sometimes tinted her cheeks brightly enough, but at others faded into -a waxen paleness--and the occasional restlessness of her movements. -Annette was not very striking at first sight; she was one of those -women who do not become less interesting by observation, but who rather -continue to occupy, to interest, perhaps a little to perplex, the -observer. She was graceful, she was even elegant in appearance, but -she was not gentle-looking. The dark eyes had no fiery expression, and -the well-shaped mouth, not foolishly small or unpleasantly compressed, -had decided sweetness in the full fresh lips; and yet the last thing -any accurate noter of physiognomy would have said of Miss Derinzy was, -that she looked gentle. Impatience, impulse, whether for good or ill to -be determined by circumstances--these were plainly to be read in her -face. And one more indication was there--not, it may be, legible to -indifferent eyes, but which, had there been any to study the girl with -the clear-sightedness of affection, would have made itself plain in all -its present meaning and future menace--the vacuity of an unoccupied, -inactive heart. Annette Derinzy loved no living human being. She knew -neither love nor grief, the true civilising influences which need to -be exercised in each individual instance, if the human creature is -to be elevated above primitive conditions. She had no recollection -of her parents, and therefore no standard by which to measure the -tenderness which she might covet as a possession, or deplore as a -loss--by whose depth and endurance she might test the shallowness and -the insufficiency of the conventional observance shown to her by the -interested relatives who furnished all her life was destined to know -of natural love and care. She had no brother or sister, or familiar -girlish friendships, nor had she ever displayed an inclination to -contract any of those lesser ties with which genial and sensitive -natures endeavour to supplement their deprivation of the greater. -Either she was of a reserved, uncommunicative temperament, or she had -been so steadily restricted from the society of other young people, -that the habit of depending entirely upon herself had been effectually -formed; for Annette never complained of the seclusion in which the -family lived, and in some cases received with a sufficiently ill grace -intelligence that it was about to be broken in upon. - -Like most ill-tempered persons, Mrs. Derinzy had a keen perception of -faults of temper, and no toleration for them. She declared that of -all things she hated selfishness and sulk most; and the recipients of -the sentiments were apt to think she had all the justification of it -which an intimate knowledge of the vices in question could supply. -She accused "dear Annette" at times of both, not altogether unjustly -perhaps, but yet not with strict justice. If she was selfish, it was -because her life was narrow; its horizon was close upon her; no large -interests occupied it, no external responsibility laid its claims upon -Annette. There did not exist anyone to whom she could feel herself -indispensable, or even "a comfort;" and though she was surrounded with -external care and consideration to what she held to be a superfluous -and unreasonable extent, her native shrewdness led her to distinguish -with unerring accuracy between this perfunctory and organised -observance and the spontaneous affectionate guardianship, without -effort on the one side or constraint upon the other, which the natural -relationship of parent and child secures. She did not love her aunt -Mrs. Derinzy, and she positively disliked the Captain, who reciprocated -the sentiment; as was not unnatural, seeing that he was paying the -price of success in his schemes against her peace and happiness by the -unmitigated _ennui_ produced by his life at Beachborough. For what -there really was of fine and noble, of amiable and elevated, in the -character of Annette Derinzy, her own nature was accountable, and in -no degree her training, associations, and surroundings. She had none -of the enthusiasm and fancy of girlhood about her--the atmosphere -of calculation, worldliness, and discontent in which she lived was -too decidedly and fatally unfavourable to their growth--but she did -not substitute for them any evil propensities or unworthy ambitions, -and her chief faults were those of temper. She was undeniably sulky; -her aunt did not traduce her on that point, though she did not fitly -understand the origin of the defect, or make any kind or charitable -allowance for its manifestation. Anger rarely took the form of passion -with Annette; but when aroused, it was very difficult to allay, and -her resentment was not easy to eradicate. The individual in the family -whom she disliked most--her uncle--was that one who least often excited -the girl's temper. She kept clear of him, away from him, as much as -she could, and usually regarded him with a degree of contempt which -seemed to act as a safeguard to her anger. But the internal life of -the house, as shared by the three women, Mrs. Derinzy, her niece, and -Mrs. Stothard, was sometimes far from peaceful. Annette was possessed -of much better feelings than might have been expected, her antecedents -and her present circumstances considered; and she was sometimes -successfully appealed to to forego her own will and submit to Mrs. -Derinzy's, by a representation of the delicacy of that lady's health, -and the ill effect which opposition and the sudden estrangement of her -niece would have upon her. Many quarrels were made up in this way, and -not the less readily that Annette was curious about the condition of -Mrs. Derinzy's health. She never exactly understood the nature of her -illness--which did not seem to the girl to interfere with her pursuing -the ordinary routine of a lady's life in a secluded country place, and -admitted of all the moderate and mildly-flavoured diversions which -such conditions of existence could bestow--but which was kept in view -constantly by the patient herself and Mrs. Stothard, pleaded in support -of the impossibility of any change in the mode of life of the Derinzy -family, and substantiated by the periodic visits of Dr. Wainwright. -Annette was wholly unconscious that while her own illness was the -subject of village gossip, comment, and speculation, no one outside -had any notion that Mrs. Derinzy was a chronic sufferer, requiring the -expensive and solicitous care of a physician of eminence from London, -who was well known in Beachborough to be such, and who was generally -supposed to come to see the young lady. She would have been greatly -angered had she suspected the existence of such an equivoque; for among -the strongest of her feelings were a repugnance to knowing herself to -be discussed, and an intense dislike to Dr. Wainwright. - -Annette's conduct towards the confidential physician, who was said to -be so clever in the treatment of disease, and especially of disease -of the nondescript, or at least not described, kind from which Mrs. -Derinzy suffered, had frequently been such as to justify her aunt's -displeasure, and deserve her reprobation as ill-tempered and ill-bred. -His appearance at Beachborough was invariably a signal for Annette's -exhibiting herself in her least attractive light, and generally for -open revolt against Mrs. Derinzy's wishes and authority. The girl -would contrive to get out of the house unnoticed, and remain away for -hours; or she would pretend illness and go to bed, and lie there quite -silent and refusing food, until she was convinced, by the entrance -of Dr. Wainwright into her room, and his accosting her with the calm -imperturbable authority of a physician, that the very worst way in -which to avoid seeing a doctor was by pretending to be ill. Or she -would make her appearance just in time to sit down at dinner, and -having returned his greeting with the utmost curtness and reluctance, -maintain obstinate silence throughout the meal, and retire immediately -on its conclusion. All remonstrances had failed to induce her to behave -better in this respect, and even Dr. Wainwright's skilful quizzing of -her for this peculiarity--which he told her was very unfashionable, -because he was quite a favourite with the ladies--had no effect. She -either could not or would not say why she disliked Dr. Wainwright, but -she had no hesitation in acknowledging that she did dislike him. - -Mrs. Stothard's position in the Derinzy household, however anomalous -in the sight of outsiders, was such as to make her perfectly aware -of the relations of each of its members to the others, while there -was something in her own relation to each respectively unknown to, -uncomprehended by, them. She ruled them all in a quiet unobtrusive -way, whose absolutism was as complete as it was unmarked, unmarred -by any tyranny of manner. We have seen how Captain Derinzy and she -were affected towards each other, and this narrative will have -to deal with her manipulation of Mrs. Derinzy's "scheme." As for -Annette, she seemed to be Mrs. Stothard's chief object in life, as she -certainly constituted her principal occupation in every day. But not -ostentatiously or oppressively so. If Annette had been called upon -to say which of her three associates was least displeasing to her, -which she least frequently wished away, she would have replied, "Mrs. -Stothard;" but she did not love even her. With Mrs. Stothard, Annette -seldom quarrelled; but a visit from Dr. Wainwright always furnished the -occasion for one of their rare disagreements; so that when the elder -woman came to tell the girl of his arrival one afternoon, while she was -lying down to rest after a long ramble, she knew she was bringing her -very unwelcome news. - -Annette had been restless of late. She was not ill, and there were no -symptoms of suffering in her appearance; but she had taken one of her -fits of mental weariness, for which her life offered no irrational -excuse, and, as her habit was, she had resorted, as a means of wearing -it off, to severe bodily exercise, walking such distances as secured -her against the danger of a companion, and yet never succeeding in -being as tired as she wished to be. - -"I should like to sleep for a week, a month, a year," she would say, -"and wake up in some new world, with nothing and nobody in it I had -ever seen before, and everything one thinks and says and does quite -different." - -But when Annette was weariest of mind, and tried to be weariest of -body, she slept less, and her temper was at its worst. So Mrs. Stothard -found her, when she urged her to get up and dress nicely for dinner, -because Dr. Wainwright had arrived, more than usually recalcitrant. - -"I shan't," said the girl, tossing her handsome arms over her head as -she lay at full length upon a sofa in her dressing-room, and ruffling -her dark hair with her wilful hands; "I shan't. I detest him; you know -I detest him. What is he always watching me, and trying to catch my -eye, for? He's a bad cruel man, and he comes here for no good. What's -the matter with my aunt? She was very well on Monday." - -"I don't know indeed, Miss Annette; the old complaint, I suppose." - -"The old complaint! _what_ old complaint? It's all nonsense, in my -belief, and he persuades her she's ill for a purpose of his own. At all -events, let him see _her_ and be done with it; _I shan't_ go down to -dinner." - -"Oh yes, you will," said Mrs. Stothard, who had been quietly laying out -Annette's dress, pouring hot water into a basin, and disposing combs -and brushes on the toilet-table, "Oh yes, you will. You'll never be -so foolish as to make a quarrel with your uncle and aunt about such a -thing as that, and have the servants talking of it. Come, my dear, get -up; you've no time to spare." - -She looked steadily at the girl as she spoke, and put one hand under -her shoulder, raising her from the pillow. Annette shrunk from her for -a moment with a look partly cowed, partly of avoidance; the next she -let her feet down to the floor, and stood up passively, but with her -sullenest expression of face. - -"Where's Mary?" she said. - -"Busy with Mrs. Derinzy. She has been very poorly this afternoon. I'll -help you to dress." - -She did so silently; and Annette did not speak, but, like a froward -child, twitched herself about, and made her task as troublesome as -possible--a manoeuvre which Mrs. Stothard quietly ignored. - -"Where is the odious man?" she asked suddenly, when she stood dressed -for dinner before her toilet-glass, into which she did not look. - -"In the drawing-room with the Captain; you had better join them." - -"No, I won't, not till the bell rings. I'll keep out of his way as long -as I can. I'm neither Dr. Wainwright's friend nor Dr. Wainwright's -patient." - - - - -CHAPTER X. -MADAME CLARISSE. - - -Mrs. Stothard had been lucky in getting her daughter into such an -unexceptionable establishment as that presided over by Madame Clarisse; -at least, so everybody said who spoke to her on the subject, and, as we -well know, what everybody says must be right. It does not detract from -the truth of the assertion when it is confessed that very few people -knew anything about Mrs. Stothard or her daughter; but the fact remains -the same. Madame Clarisse was decidedly the milliner most in vogue -during her day with the best--that is to say, the most clothes-wearing -and most _cachet_-giving--section of London society; and any young -woman who had the luck to learn her experience in such a school, and, -after a few years, had the money to set up in business for herself, -might consider her fortune as good as made. - -No doubt that Madame Clarisse's position was not ungrudgingly yielded -up to her, was not achieved, in fact, without an enormous amount of -work, and worry, and industry, and self-negation on her part; without a -proportionate quantity of jealousy and heart-burning, and envy, hatred, -malice, and all uncharitableness, on the part of those engaged in the -same occupation. Even in the very heyday of her success, when her -workwomen were sitting up for forty-eight hours at a stretch (Madame -Clarisse lived, it must be recollected, before the passing of any -ridiculous Acts of Parliament limiting the hours for women's labour); -when the carriages were in double rows before her door; and when, after -a drawing-room or a court-ball, the columns of the fashionable journals -were seething with repetitions of her name--there were some people who -said that they preferred the Misses Block, and roundly asserted that -the Misses Block's "cut" was better than Madame Clarisse's. The Misses -Block were attenuated old maids, who lived in Edwards Street, Portman -Square, in a house which was as old-fashioned as, Madame Clarisse used -to declare, were its occupiers, and who had suddenly blossomed from -the steady county connection which their mother bequeathed to them -into a whirl of fashionable patronage, notwithstanding that they were -"_betes--Dieu, comme elles sont betes!_" according to their lively -rival's account. - -Madame Clarisse was not _bete_. If she had been, she would never -have made the fame or the money which she enjoyed, and which were -entirely the result of her own tact, and talent, and industry. No -mother had ever left her a snug business with a county connection. All -that she recollected of a mother was a snuffy old person with a silk -handkerchief tied round her head, who used to live on a fifth floor -in a little street debouching from the Cannebiere in Marseilles, and -who used to whack her little daughter with a long flat bit of wood -when she cried from hunger or other causes. When this mother died, -which she was good enough to do at a sufficiently early period of the -girl's life, Clarisse was taken in hand by her uncle, an _epicier_ -and ship-chandler, who apprenticed her to a milliner in the town, and -was kind to her in his odd way. The girl was sharp and appreciative, -ready with her needle, readier with her tongue--she had a knack of -conciliating obstreperous customers whose orders had been unduly -delayed in a manner that delighted her mistress, a plain, blunt, stupid -woman--readiest of all with her eyes. Not as regards _oeillades_, -though that was a kind of sharpshooting in which she was not unskilled, -but in the use of her eyes for business purposes. Mademoiselle Clarisse -looked on and listened, and learned the world. No one came in or went -out of the work-room or the showroom without being diligently studied -and appraised by those sharp eyes and that quick brain. It was from her -appreciation of the English character, as learned in the milliner's -shop at Marseilles, that Mademoiselle Clarisse determined on seeking -her fortune in our favoured land, should the opportunity ever present -itself. Marseilles has a population of resident English--ship-owners, -ship-captains, naval men connected with the great Peninsular and -Oriental Company, many of whose vessels ply from that port--and these -worthy people have for the most part wives and daughters, whose -principal consolation in their banishment from England is that they -are enabled to dress themselves in the French fashion, and at a much -cheaper rate than they could were they at home. There is no gainsaying -that the prices charged by the Marseilles milliner, even to the English -ladies, were less than those which they would have been liable to in -their native land; but these prices, which were willingly paid, were -still so much in excess of those charged to the townspeople, that -Mademoiselle Clarisse clearly saw that a country which produced people -at once so rich and so simple was the place for her future action. - -She was a clear-headed young woman, with simple tastes and an innate -propensity for saving money; so that when her apprenticeship expired -she had a sum laid by--small indeed, but still something--with which -she determined to try her fortune in England. She had picked up a -little of the language, and had obtained a few introductions to -compatriots living in London; so that when she arrived, she was not -wholly friendless or utterly dependent. Mademoiselle Anatole--born -in Lyons, but long resident in London--wanted a partner; and after a -very sharp wrangle, conducted by the ladies on each side with great -skill and diplomacy, a portion of Mademoiselle Clarisse's savings was -transferred to her countrywoman, and a limp and ill-printed circular -informed Mademoiselle Anatole's patronesses that she had just received -into partnership the celebrated Mademoiselle Clarisse from Paris, and -that they hoped henceforth, etc. - -Mademoiselle Anatole lived on the first floor of an old house in the -Bloomsbury district, which had once been a fashionable mansion, but -which was now let out in lodgings. Under the French milliner, a German -importer of pipes and pictures and Bohemian glass had his rooms, -and his name, "Korb," shone out truculently from the street-door -jamb, towering above the milliner's more modest announcement of her -residence. The entire neighbourhood had a foreign and Bohemian flavour. -In an otherwise modest and British-looking house, Malmedie Freres -announced in black-and-gold letters, much too slim and upright, that -they kept an hotel "A la Boule d'Or." From the open windows in the -summer-time poured forth, mixed with clouds of tobacco-smoke, waitings -and roarings of the human voice, and poundings and grindings of pianos. -The artists-colourmen had the street on their books (keeping it there -as little as possible), canvases and millboards were perpetually -arriving at one or other of the houses where the windows looking -northward were run up into the next floor, and bearded men smoking -short pipes pervaded the neighbourhood night and day. - -Even the very house in which the milliners lived was not free from the -Bohemian taint. On the second floor, immediately above the _magasin -des modes_, and immediately under the private rooms of Mesdames -Anatole and Clarisse, lived Mr. Rupert Robinson. Shortly after her -arrival Mademoiselle Clarisse met on the stairs several times a -middle-sized, middle-aged, jolly-looking gentleman, with bright -roguish eyes and a light-brown beard, who bowed as he passed by, -and gave her the inside of the staircase with much politeness, and -with a "Pardon, ma'amselle," in a very good accent. Asked who this -could be, Mademoiselle Anatole responded that it was probably "_ce_ -Robinson:" asked what was _ce_ Robinson, Madamoiselle Anatole further -replied that he was "_feuilletoniste, litterateur--je ne sais quoi!_" -And Mademoiselle Anatole was not far out in her guess, to which she -had probably been assisted by the constant sight of a grimy-faced -printer's-boy peacefully slumbering on a stool specially placed for his -accommodation outside Robinson's door. Those were the early days of -cheap periodicals, and there were few newspaper-offices or publishers' -shops where Mr. Rupert Robinson was unknown or where he was not -welcome. He was a bright, genial, jolly fellow, with an inexhaustible -stock of animal spirits and good-humour, with a keen appreciation of -the ludicrous, and a singular power of hunting-out and levelling lance -at small social shams and inflated humbugs of the day; and though he -would not have used a bludgeon, and could not have wielded a cutlass, -yet he made excellent practice with his foil, and when he chose, as it -happened sometimes, to break the button off and set to work in earnest, -his adversary always bore the marks of the bout. Generally, however, -he kept clear of anything like heavy work, for which his temperament -unsuited him, and confined himself to light literature, at which he -was one of the smartest hands of the day; and, in addition to his -journalistic and periodical work, he was one of the pillars of the -Parthenon Theatre. - -Those who only know the Parthenon in its present days--when it -occasionally remains shut for months, to open for a few nights with -"Herr Eselkopfs celebrated impersonation of the 'Jew whom Shakespeare -drew,'" _vide_ public advertisement and, published criticism from -_Berwick-on-Tweed Argus_; when it alternates between opera and -burlesque or tragedy and breakdowns, but is always dirty, and dingy, -and mouldy-smelling, and bankrupt-looking--can have little idea of -what it was in the days of which we are writing, when Mr. and Mrs. -Momus were its lessees, and when there was more fun to be found -within its walls than in any other place in London, even of treble -its size. The chiefs of that merry company are both dead; the belles -whose bright eyes enthralled us then are portly matrons now, renewing -their former beauty in their daughters; the walking gentlemen have -walked off entirely or lapsed into heavy fathers; and the authors, who -were constantly lounging in the greenroom, and convulsing actors and -actresses with their audacious chaff, are some dead, and all who are -left sobered and steadied and aged. But all were young, and jolly, -and witty, and daring in those days; and foremost amongst them was -Mr. Rupert Robinson, who was then just beginning to write burlesques -in a style which his successors have spoiled and written out, and was -dramatising popular nursery stories, and filling them with the jokes, -allusions, and parodies of the day. - -Although Mr. Rupert Robinson had been for some time domiciled under the -same roof as Mademoiselle Anatole, he had made no attempt to cultivate -the acquaintance of that lady, who was in truth a very long, very thin, -very flat, very melancholy person, who had not merely _les larmes dans -sa voix_, but seemed to be thoroughly saturated with misery. But soon -after Mademoiselle Clarisse was added to the firm, the "littery gent," -as Mrs. Mogg the landlady was accustomed to call her second-floor -lodger, contrived to get up a bowing acquaintance, which soon ripened -into speaking, and afterwards into much greater intimacy. Mademoiselle -Anatole at first disapproved of the _camaraderie_ thus established; but -she was mollified by the judicious presentation of unlimited orders -for the theatres and the opera, and by other kindness which had more -satisfactory and more enduring results; for Mr. Rupert Robinson, being -of a convivial nature, was in the habit of frequently giving what he -called "jolly little suppers" to certain select ladies of the _corps -de ballet_ of the Parthenon; cheery little meals, where the male -portion of the company was contributed by the Household Brigade, the -Legislature, the Bar, and the Press, and where the comestibles were the -succulent oyster opened in the room and eaten fresh from the operating -knife, the creamy lobster, and hot potato handed from the block-tin -repository presided over by a peripatetic provider known to the guests -as "Tatur Khan." In his early youth Rupert had been a medical student -at the Hotel Dieu in Paris, and he strove, not unsuccessfully, to imbue -these little parties with a spirit of the _vie de Boheme_ which rules -the denizens of the Latin Quarter. The viands were very good and very -cheap, and though there was plenty of fun and laughter, there was no -license. - -Soon after the establishment of his acquaintance with Clarisse, Rupert -invited her and her partner to one of these banquets, and she soon -became popular with the set who were admitted to them. Mademoiselle -Anatole they did not think much of; indeed, Miss Bella Montmorency, -one of the four leading _coryphees_ who at that time were creating -such a sensation in the ballet of _Mustapha_ at the T.R.D.L, said all -the use that that thin Frenchwoman could be made of was to replace the -skeleton, a relic of Rupert's old surgical life, which he sometimes -brought out of its box and seated at the table, crowned with flowers. -But with Clarisse they were very different. She was bright and cheery, -sang a pretty little song, and laughed a merry little ringing laugh at -all the jokes, whether she understood them or not; and the ballet-girls -liked her very much, and invited her to come and see them, and tried to -help her in the world. They could not do much in that way themselves, -for they made their own dresses of course, and when they had a present -of a black-silk gown or a shawl, had no chance of recommending any -particular vendor; but when they saw that the Frenchwomen were really -excellent in their business, they spoke about them in the theatre so -loudly, that the rumours of their proficiency reached the ears of Mrs. -Lannigan and Miss Calverley, the two "leading ladies" of the theatre, -and incited their curiosity. The crimson-slashed jackets and the lovely -diaphanous nether garments, the Polish lancer-caps and the red boots -with brass heels, which these ladies wore in the burlesques, were -provided by the management and prepared by Miss Hirst, the wardrobe -woman, a crushed creature with a pock-marked face and a wall-eye, -who always had the bosom of her gown studded with pins, and her hair -streaked with fluffy ends of thread. But when phases of modern life -were to be represented, the ladies chose to find their own dresses; and -hearing of the excellent "cut" and "fit" of Mademoiselles Anatole and -Clarisse, were persuaded to give those young women a trial. The result -was favourable, recommendation followed on recommendation, and the firm -had as much work as it could possibly get through. - -It was about this period of her life that Mademoiselle Clarisse, in -her visits to the theatre, made the acquaintance of M. Pierre. It was -not to be doubted that M. Pierre, as well as Mademoiselles Anatole and -Clarisse, was in possession of a legitimate surname in addition to the -_nom de bapteme_ by which he was commonly known; but, following the -custom of those of his class, he had suffered it to lapse on coming to -England, and though known as "_ce cher_ Lelong" by his compatriots, -called himself to his customers M. Pierre, and was so called by -them. M. Pierre was a _coiffeur_ by profession--unfortunately, as -he thought; for he lived at a time when that profession was rather -at a discount. In his early youth, when the great ladies wore their -own hair dressed in the most elaborate fashion, the _coiffeur_ was a -necessary adjunct to every well-regulated establishment. Had he lived -until now, when the great ladies wear other persons' hair dressed in -the most preposterous manner, he would have found plenty to do, and -would probably have invented various washes, which would have ruined -the health of thousands of silly women and made the fortune of their -concocter. But when M. Pierre was in the prime of his life, elaborate -hair-dressing went out of fashion, and the simplicity of knots, bands, -and ringlets, which could be intrusted to the maid or even executed by -the fair fingers of the wearer, came in its stead. This was an awful -blow to M. Pierre, whose experience was thus restricted to members of -the theatrical profession, or to the occasional preparation of wigs -and headdresses for a fancy ball; but he had saved a little money, -and being a long-headed calculating man, he arranged to invest and -reinvest it to great advantage. At the time that he was introduced -to Mademoiselle Clarisse he was an elderly man, but he had lost none -of his shrewdness and _savoir faire_. He saw at a glance that his -countrywoman was not merely perfect mistress of her art, but generally -a clever woman of the world; and after a little time he proposed to her -that they should club their means and hunt the rich English in couples. -He pointed out to her that his connection formerly lay among the very -highest and best classes, many of whom recollected him, and would be -glad to give anyone a turn on his recommendation; that he, as a man, -had a much greater chance of buying merchandise good and cheap than any -woman; finally, that he had capital, without which she could never do -anything great, which he would put into the business. - -Mademoiselle Clarisse took a week to think over all that Pierre had -said to her before coming to any decision. Her ambition had increased -with her success, and she had long since ceased to think very highly of -the patronage of the theatrical ladies, to obtain which at one time she -would have made any sacrifice. For some time she had been in business -on her own account; Mademoiselle Anatole, so soon as she realised a -sufficiency, having retired to Lyons, there to weep and grizzle and -sniff, and make herself as uncomfortable and unpleasant-looking as the -vast majority of French old maids. And Clarisse was fully aware of -M. Pierre's talent, and believed in his fortune; and verging towards -middle age, and having lost sight of Rupert Robinson, and others for -whom she had had her _caprices_ after him, and having lost her zest -for rollicking suppers and fun of that kind, thought she could not -do better than settle herself in life, and accordingly accepted M. -Pierre's proposal. - -She soon found she had done rightly. Many of her husband's old -patronesses consented to give her a trial for his sake, and were -so pleased that they recommended her to all their friends. The -establishment in George Street was then first opened, and M. Pierre not -only did all he promised but a great deal more. For, being always a -man of great taste, he turned his attention to the devising of special -articles of millinery, then employed his manual dexterity in carrying -out his ideas; and not suffering in any way from a sense of the -ridiculous, he might be seen hour after hour in his sanctum, with his -glasses on his nose and an embroidered skull-cap on his head, singing -away some pastoral _chanson_ or drinking couplet, while his nimble -fingers were busily engaged in stitching at a novel kind of headdress -or in sketching out a design for an artistic bonnet. He was proud of -his wife's appearance and pleased with her industry and success, and -he enjoyed his married life very much for a couple of years, making -a point of going to St. James's Street on drawing-room days, and to -the Opera on great nights, to admire the results of his handiwork, -but otherwise living very domestically and quietly; and then he died, -leaving all his worldly possessions to his widow. - -The success which had attended Madame Clarisse during her husband's -lifetime continued after his death, and there was scarcely a house in -the millinery business holding a higher reputation than hers. It was -this reputation which induced Mrs. Stothard, ordinarily so quiet and -self-contained, to make a great effort to get her daughter engaged -as a member of Madame Clarisse's staff. Many young women of Daisy's -position in life would have eagerly accepted such a chance; "From -Madame Clarisse's," figuring on a brass door-plate in the future, being -an excellent recommendation and an almost certain augury of success. -The Frenchwoman was perfectly cognisant of this, and required a large -premium with her apprentices. That once paid, the girls were turned -into the workroom and left to "take it out" as best they might; unless, -indeed, one of them showed exceptional talent and skill--qualities -which were immediately recognised by their employer. - -Daisy's promotion had, however, not been due to her possession of -either of these qualities. She had one, a much rarer, which influenced -her removal from the work-room to the showroom, and which led Madame -Clarisse and all her customers to take notice of the girl--and that was -the exceptional style of her beauty. Ladies young and old would call -Madame to them, and in undertones ask her who was the "young person" -with that wonderful complexion and that excellent manner. Was she -not some one who--they meant to say--not born in that class of life, -don't you know; so very bred-looking and _distinguee_, and that sort -of thing? Some women would have been jealous of such compliments paid -to their assistants, but Madame was far above anything of that kind. -She used to bow and to invent any little nonsense as it occurred to -her at the moment, enough to satisfy the querists without leading them -to pursue their inquiries, and then would dismiss the subject from -her thoughts. The girl was _asses gentille_, neat, and even elegant -in her appearance, and of good address; looked well in the street, -wore pretty gloves, Madame had noticed, in contradistinction to most -Anglaises--"_qui sont ordinairement gantees comme les chats bottes_," -as she would say with a shrug of horror--and walked well--in Madame's -mind another unusual accomplishment in an Englishwoman. Altogether she -was a credit to the establishment; and Madame began to take a little -more notice of her, talk more confidentially of business matters to -her, and leave her in charge of affairs when pleasure engagements, of -which she had a great many, summoned her away. Under these different -circumstances the girl became a different being in her employer's -eyes. Hitherto Madame Clarisse had only seen her as a quiet impassive -young woman doing her duty in the showroom; but when she came to know -her, and to see how every feeling was reflected in her face--how the -gray eyes could flash and the colour would rush into the pale cheek, -heightened in its brilliancy by the creamy whiteness surrounding -it--she allowed to herself that "Fanfan," as she now called her, was -lovely indeed. - -And then Madame Clarisse began to have new notions about Fanfan. The -French milliner was not an exceptionally good woman, nor, indeed, ever -thought of arrogating to herself the title. In the days of her youth -she had not permitted any straitlaced notions of morality to interfere -with her pleasures; and in her comfortable middle age she never -neglected an opportunity of gratifying the two passions by which she -was most swayed--money-making and good living. She cared very little as -to what her young women might do during the few spare hours of their -leisure; but it was a necessity of her business, that the assistants -in the showroom should be presentable persons and of a certain staid -demeanour. Fanfan's manners were admirably suited for her place--cold, -respectful, and intelligent; but when Madame had discovered the -existence of the volcano beneath the icy exterior, had learned, as she -did quietly and dexterously, that, with all the good schooling she had -gone through, and the restraint which she had brought to bear upon -herself, the girl was full of feeling and passion, and that there was -"a great deal of human nature" in her, she took a special and peculiar -interest in Fanfan's future. - -"To make herself a _modiste_ here in London without money is -impossible," she mused. "To set up in Brighton or Tonbridge, to marry -an _epicier_ or an _employe_--ah, my faith, she is too good for that! -Is it that Madame Lobbia, that little dame, _mince_, and like to a -white rabbit, who flies to and from Saint Jean's Woot at the great trot -with her beautiful horses, and wears diamonds in full day; is it that -Mdlle. Victorine, _feu ecuyere_ at Franconi's, who leads Milor Milliken -such a dance, throws his money to the winds, and laughs to his nose; is -it that they are to be mentioned with Fanfan? And there are other Jews, -merchants of diamonds, than M. Lobbia, and other milors as rich and as -silly as Milor Milliken. Forward, my Fanfan! why this dull life to you? -For me, do you ask, why I give myself so much trouble? Hold, I know -nothing! In watching the progress of others one renews one's own youth, -and to _exploiter_ so much grace and beauty would be interesting, and -might be remunerative. _Et du reste_----" and Madame Clarisse paused -for a moment, reflecting; then shrugged her shoulders slightly, and -said, "_du reste, a la guerre comme a la guerre!_" - -But whatever Madame's notions on the subject might have been, she kept -them strictly to herself, never making any difference in her manner -towards Daisy, save, perhaps, in being a little kinder and showing a -little increased confidence in her. It was not until the evening after -the day on which Fanny Stothard had written to her mother that Madame -made any regular approach to familiarity with her assistant. They had -had a long and busy and tiring day, for the end of the season was -coming on, as it always does, with a rush, and people had neglected -ordering their autumn clothes, as they always do, until the last, and -the showrooms had been crammed for six hours with an impatient crowd, -every component member of which desired to be served at once. Madame -had given up any _reunions_ for that evening, and had taken her fair -share of the work and supervised everything, remaining in the showroom -until all the girls, except Daisy, had gone. Then she walked up to -Daisy, and put one hand on the girl's shoulder, tapping her cheek with -the other, and saying: - -"_Enfin_, Mademoiselle Fanfan, this dreadful day has come to an end at -last. You look worn and fatigued, my child. It's lucky that the end of -the season is close at hand, or you would what you call 'knock-up,' -without fail." - -"Oh, I shall do very well, Madame, thank you," replied Daisy, a little -coldly; "a night's rest will quite set me up again." - -"Oh, but you must have something before your night's rest, Fanfan. You -are _triste_ and tired; I see it in your eyes. You want a--_tiens!_ -what is it that little _farceur_, the advocate Chose, calls it?--a peg. -Ha, ha! that is it! You want a sherry peg or a glass of champagne. -We will go up to my room, and have some Lyons _saucisson_ and some -champagne." - -At any other time Daisy would have declined this invitation; but partly -because she really felt low and hipped and overwrought, and imagined -that the wine would restore her, partly because she was afraid of -appearing ungracious to her employer, whose increased kindness to her -of late she had noticed, she now said she should be delighted, and -followed Madame up the stairs. - -Such a cosy little sitting-room was Madame's--low-ceilinged and -odd-shaped, like an ordinary _entresol_ carried up a story; with -French furniture in red velvet, with the walls covered with engravings -and nicknacks and Danton's statuettes, and the tables littered "with -scrofulous French novels" in their yellow paper covers. The room was -lit by one large window and a half, the other half giving light to -Madame's bedroom, which led out by a door, through which, when open, -as it usually was, glimpses could be obtained of the end of a brass -bedstead apparently dressed up in blue muslin. There was a cloth on the -table, and Madame bustled about, and, assisted by her little French -maid--the page-boy retired home after customers' hours--soon produced -some sausage and the remains of a Strasbourg pie, bread, butter, -and _fromage de Brie_, and from the cellar (which was a cupboard on -the landing with a patent lock, where Madame kept a small stock of -remarkably good wine) a bottle of champagne. - -Daisy could not eat very much, she was over-tired for that; but the -wine did her good, and she talked much more freely than was her wont. - -Madame Clarisse was delighted with her; a certain bitterness in the -girl's tone being specially appreciated by the Frenchwoman. After some -little talk she said to her: - -"You still live in the same apartment, Fanfan?" - -"Yes, Madame--in the same garret." - -"Garret!" echoed Madame Clarisse. "_Eh bien_, what does it matter? -Garret or palace, it makes little difference when one is young. - - 'Bravant le monde, et les sots et les sages, - Sans avenir, fier de mon printemps, - Leste et joyeux je montais six etages-- - Dans un grenier qu'on est bien a vingt ans.'" - - -And as she trolled out the verse in a rich voice, Madame's eyes looked -very wicked, and she chinked her glass against her companion's. - -"Perhaps it is because I only live on the third story--though there's -nothing above it--but I certainly never feel _leste_ or _joyeuse_," -said the girl. - -"No?" said Madame interrogatively. "That's a sad thing to say. And yet -you have youth and beauty, Fanfan." - -"Youth and beauty!" cried the girl. "If I have them, what good are they -to me? Can they drag me out of this life of slavery, take me from that -wretched garret, give me gowns and jewels, and horses, and carriages, -and a position in life?" - -Daisy was full of excitement; the tones of her voice were thrilling, -her eyes sparkled, and her cheeks were flushed. Madame Clarisse eyed -her curiously. - -"Yes," she said, after a minute's pause; "they can do all this, -and"--taking Daisy's hand--"some day, Fanfan, perhaps they may." - -"Perhaps they may," said Daisy. - -She was thinking of the chance of her marrying Paul Derinzy, whom she -knew as Mr. Douglas. But Madame Clarisse did not know Mr. Derinzy, so -she was not thinking of Daisy's marrying him--or anybody else, as it -happened. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. -BEHIND THE SCENES. - - -When Mrs. Stothard said, "Oh yes, you will!" as comment upon Annette -Derinzy's outspoken declaration that she would not go down to dinner, -she probably knew that she had grounds for the assertion. At all -events, the result proved her to be right. The dinner-bell clanged out, -pealing through the crazy tumble-down Tower, and awaking all the echoes -lying in wait in that ramshackle building; and ere the reverberation -of the noise had ceased, the door of Miss Derinzy's bedroom was wide -open. Annette's back had been turned to it, and when she wheeled round, -her attention attracted by the current of air which rushed in and -disarranged a muslin scarf which she wore round her shoulders, she saw -that Mrs. Stothard was busily engaged at a chest of drawers standing -in a somewhat remote corner of the room. Annette was silent, but she -glanced stealthily and shiftily out of the corners of her eyes. Mrs. -Stothard still remained immersed in her occupation. The girl shifted -uneasily from one foot to the other, hesitating, dallying; then shook -herself together, as it were, and seeing she was still unnoticed, with -a low chuckle silently and swiftly passed through the doorway and -descended the stairs. - -In seaside places such as Beachborough the evenings in late summer are -chilly. There was a handful of fire in the dining-room grate, and while -Miss Annette was sulking upstairs, and deliberating whether she should -or should not come down, Captain Derinzy was standing on the rug with -his back to the grate, and from that post of vantage was haranguing his -wife and his guest--Dr. Wainwright--in his own peculiar way. When he -was alone with his wife the Captain was silent and submissive; when a -third person was present, and he knew that a curtain-lecture was the -worst he had to dread, he was loquacious and imperative. - -"And again I say to you, Wainwright," said he, in continuance of some -previous conversation, "she's got to that pitch now that she isn't to -be borne. I can stand a good deal--no man more so; they used to say, -when I was on the Committee of the Windham, that I had a--a--what was -it?--judicial mind; that was what they called it, a judicial mind--but -I can't stand this girl and her tempers, and so something must be done; -and there's an end of it, Wainwright!" - -There are some men who are never called by any but their -christian-names, and those often familiarly abbreviated, by their most -promiscuous acquaintance. There are others in whose appearance and -manners something forbids their interlocutors ever dispensing with -their courtesy titles. Dr. Wainwright, one would have said, undoubtedly -belonged to the latter class. He was a tall man, standing over six -feet in height, with a high bald forehead, large features, square jaw, -and deep piercing gray eyes. His manners were placidly courtly, his -naturally sonorous voice was skilfully modulated, and there was an -unmistakable air of latent strength about him, a sort of consciousness -of the possession of certain power, you could not tell what. He might -have been a duke, or a philosopher in easy circumstances, or a "man in -authority, having servants under him." Quiet, dignified, and bland, -he held his own amongst all sorts and conditions of men, and with -the exception of two or three intimates of a quarter of a century's -standing, Captain Derinzy was probably the only person living who would -have thought of calling him "Wainwright." The Doctor winced a little at -the repetition of the familiarity, but beyond that took no notice of it. - -"My dear Captain Derinzy," said he, after a moment's pause, "I can -perfectly appreciate your feelings. I have not the least doubt that -Miss Derinzy's unfortunate illness is the source of great annoyance to -you. Still, if you are indisposed to run certain risks, which, as I -have explained to Mrs. Derinzy----" - -"I thought by this time, Dr. Wainwright," interrupted the lady, "you -would have seen the utter futility of paying the least attention to -anything which Captain Derinzy may say!" - -"My love!" murmured the Captain. - -"He is as fully impressed as any of us," continued Mrs. Derinzy, -without taking the least notice of her husband, "with the necessity of -our pursuing the course we have agreed upon; but he has a passion for -hearing his own voice; and as he knows that I never listen to him, he -is only too glad to find someone who will." - -"No, no! Look here, Wainwright," said the Captain. "It's all very well, -you know, but Mrs. Derinzy don't put the thing quite fairly. She's a -woman, you know, and it's natural for women to be dull and left alone, -and all that; but a man's a different thing. He requires----" - -Captain Derinzy did not finish his sentence as to a man's requirements, -for Dr. Wainwright's quick ear had caught the sound of an approaching -footstep, and he held up his hand and raised his eyebrows in warning, -only in time to stop his voluble host as the door opened and Annette -appeared. - -As she entered the room Dr. Wainwright immediately faced her. There -was no mistaking his figure and presence, even if she had not expected -to find him there. Nevertheless, her first idea was to close the door -and run away. But she would scarcely have had the opportunity of doing -this, however much she might have wished it; for the Doctor at once -stepped across the room, and had taken her hand in his, and was bowing -over it in his old-fashioned courtly way, almost before she was aware -of it. - -"There is no occasion to ask after your health, Miss Annette," he said -in his soft pleasant tone. "One has only to look at you to have one's -pleasantest hopes confirmed. You and the Dorsetshire air do credit to -each other." - -"I am quite well," said Annette shortly, taking her hand from his. - -"Here's dinner!" said the Captain. "You see, we don't make a stranger -of you, Wainwright--at least, Mrs. Derinzy doesn't. There's a dam -prejudice in this house against using the drawing-room; so we sit -stiving in this infernal place, 'parlour, and kitchen, and all,' -and---- Where will you sit?" - -Sentence abruptly concluded in consequence of unmistakable -manifestations of his wife's being unable to put up with him any longer. - -"Thank you, Captain Derinzy, I'll sit over here, if you please," said -the Doctor, with an extra dash of stiffness in his manner; "opposite -Miss Annette; and, if you'll permit me, I will move these flowers a -little on one side, that I may get a better view of her." - -"Why do you always stare at me?" said Annette, with a defiant air. - -"Do I stare?" asked Dr. Wainwright. "If I do, I am exceedingly rude, -and ought to know better. But haven't you used the wrong word, my dear -young lady? I look at you, perhaps; but I hope I don't stare." - -"Looking and staring are all the same. I hate to be looked at!" - -"You are the very first girl I ever heard give utterance to that -sentiment," said the Doctor cheerily; "and you'll soon outgrow such -ideas." - -"I daresay we shall hear no more of them after her cousin Paul has been -staying with us," said Mrs. Derinzy. "We expect Paul soon now, Doctor." - -"I have heard a good deal of Mr. Paul from my son, who is in the same -office with him. They seem to be great allies, and George speaks in the -highest terms of Mr. Paul." - -"Is your son's name George?" asked Annette. - -"Yes." - -"Your own name is not George?" - -"No; mine is Philip." - -"I'm glad it is not the same as your son's." - -The Doctor and Mrs. Derinzy exchanged glances, and were silent; but -Captain Derinzy, who all his life had been notorious for his obtuseness -in taking a hint, said: - -"Why, what a ridick'lous thing you are sayin', Annette! Why are you -glad the Doctor's son's name's not the same as his? What on earth -difference could it make to you?" - -"It could not make any difference to me," said the girl quietly; "only, -I don't know why, I think I should wish to like Dr. Wainwright's son, -and--and----" - -"And the less he is like his father the greater the chance of your -doing so; isn't that it, Miss Annette?" asked the Doctor, with his -pleasant smile. - -"Yes," said Annette, looking him straight in the face, "you're quite -right; that is it." - -This blunt communication was received by those who heard it after very -different fashions. Mrs. Derinzy knit her brows, and, after looking -savagely at her niece, shrugged her shoulders at the Doctor, as much as -to say, "What could you expect?" Captain Derinzy laid down his knife -and fork, and muttered, "Oh, dam!" apparently in confidence to his -plate. The Doctor alone maintained his equanimity unimpaired. There was -a pause--considering the tremendous character of the last remark--a -very short pause--and then he said: - -"Now, there's an instance of the injustice which is done by your -sex, Mrs. Derinzy, to ours. Miss Netty--with an honesty which is -_impayable_, and which, if there were a little more of it in polite -society, would go far to the explosion of what Mr. Carlyle calls 'shams -and wind-bags'--says she doesn't like me. She gives no reason, you -observe; so that I am relegated to the same position as another member -of our profession--Dr. Fell--who also was misliked, and equally without -reason alleged." - -"I could tell you the reasons for my disliking you," said Annette. - -It was extraordinary, the change which had come over her face. The -cheeks were full-blooded, the eyes suffused and starting from her head, -the hair pushed back, the whole look fierce and defiant. - -"Could you?" said the Doctor; then, after looking up at her, adding -very quickly, "Ah, but you must not. I don't want to hear a list of -my shortcomings, or a catalogue of my faults. I'm too old to make up -for the one or get rid of the other; and---- Mrs. Derinzy, I must -congratulate you on your cook. It is rare indeed, in what I may be -pardoned in calling these out-of-the-way regions, that one comes across -anything like this _filet de sole_." - -He turned his face towards his hostess as he said these words, and -spoke in her direction, but he scarcely moved his eyes from direct -contemplation of Annette. The girl's face, with the same flush on it, -was looking down, and she seemed to be working nervously with her -hands, rapidly intertwining and then separating them, under the table. - -Captain Derinzy, at the Doctor's last remark, had given vent to a -very curious sound, half-sigh of self-commiseration, half a grunt of -contempt. He had not learned much in the half-century during which he -had adorned life--his natural gifts had been small, and he had not -taken much trouble to improve upon them--but one thing he had arrived -at, and that was an appreciation of good cooking. He not merely knew -the difference between good and bad dishes--in itself by no means a -common acquirement--but he had a knowledge of the arcana of the art, -and great high-priests whose temples were the kitchens of London clubs -had taken his opinion on the merits of various _plats_. - -"Well," he said, after a moment, "that's a funny thing! I know you, -Wainwright. You're not the kind of fellow to go in for politeness, -and all that kind of thing--I mean, of course, flummery, you know, -and all that--and yet you say we've got a good cook, and this is -nice _filet de sole_! Why, there are fellows used to tell you about -doctors, you know--'Oh yes, it's all very fine,' they used to say, -'for doctors to tell you not to eat this, and not to drink that, and -all the time they're regular _gourmets_, don't you know!' Well, I -think that's all stuff, for my part. They may know all very well about -broth and beef-tea, and all that sort of beastliness that they give -people when they're getting better; but I only knew one of 'em that -ever knew anything really about cooking, and he was an old fellow -who'd been out in India, and was a C.B., or something of that sort; -and he told the cook at Windham how to make a curry--peculiar kind of -thing, quite different from what you get mostly--that was delicious, by -Jove! As for this stuff," continued the Captain, taking up a portion -of the lauded filet on the end of his fork, and eyeing it with great -disgust, "it's dry and tough and leathery, and tastes like badly-baked -flannel-waistcoat, by Jove!" - -During this speech Dr. Wainwright, although his polite attention to -it had been obvious, had scarcely removed his glance from Annette. -It remained on her as he said, turning his face in the Captain's -direction, and laughing heartily: - -"I never tasted badly-baked flannel-waistcoat, Captain Derinzy, and -I still stand up for the excellence of the _filet_. However, I'm not -going to be led into giving any opinion whether we're good judges of -good living, or rather whether we exemplify the well-known exceptions -which prove rules by not practising what we preach. But one thing can't -be denied--that we hear of very curious stories about fancies in eating -and drinking. I heard of one only the other day, of an old gentleman -who had had the same breakfast for thirty years; and what do you think, -Mrs. Derinzy, were its component parts?" - -Mrs. Derinzy, also curiously observant of Annette, roused from her -quiet watchfulness, and gave herself up to guessing. Tea, coffee, -milk, cream, porridge, toast, ham, eggs, she suggested; while claret, -brandy-and-soda, anchovy, devilled anything, and bitter beer in a -tankard, were proposed by her husband. The Doctor shook his head at all -these items, grimly saying: - -"What should you say to Irish stew and hot whisky-and-water?" - -"Heavens!" cried Mrs. Derinzy. - -"For breakfast?" asked the Captain. - -"For breakfast; and eaten in bed every day for thirty years!" - -"Oh, dam!" said the Captain. "If you hadn't told the story, Wainwright, -I shouldn't have believed it. Of course, if you say so, it is so; but -the fellow must have been off his head--mad!" - -Before he had uttered the last word Mrs. Derinzy, who seemed to have an -idea of what was coming, had stretched out her hand towards her husband -in warning, while even Dr. Wainwright moved uncomfortably on his chair. -Had Annette heard it? Little doubt of that. She looked up slyly, very -slyly, with a half-stealthy, half-searching glance at the Doctor; then -raising her head, glared defiantly at her aunt, as though marking -whether she were affected by the suggestion. She looked long and -earnestly, then finding that Mrs. Derinzy's attention was concentrated -on her, she withdrew her glance, and relapsed into her former stolid -condition. - -So the dinner progressed--pleasantly to Captain Derinzy, as a break -in the monotony of his life. Not merely did Mrs. Derinzy, who, in her -capacity of housekeeper, kept the keys of the cellar and exercised a -rigorous economy in that department--not merely did she increase both -the quality and quantity of the wine supplied to the table, but she -refrained from joining in the conversation more than was absolutely -demanded of her by politeness, and consequently the Captain was able -to direct it into those channels which most delighted him. It is -needless to say that those channels ran with small-talk and fashionable -gossip, and petty details of that London life which he had once so -thoroughly enjoyed, and from which he was now so unwillingly exiled. -The Captain found his interlocutor perfectly able to converse on these -his favourite topics. One might have thought that Dr. Wainwright had -nothing better to do than to flutter from club to mess-room, and from -mess-room to boudoir, so well was he up in the _chronique scandaleuse_ -of the day, adapting his phraseology, his voice, and manner to the -fashion of the times. The Captain was delighted; great names, once -familiar in his mouth as household words, but the mention of which -he had not heard for ages, were once more ringing in his ears; the -conversation seemed to possess the old smoking-room and barrack flavour -so dear to him once, so dead to him of late; and while under its spell, -his manner renewed its ancient swagger and his voice its old roll. He -yet asked himself how the man whom he had hitherto only known as the -sober sedate physician could have recalled such sentiments or borne so -essential a part in their discussion. - -At length the Doctor's anecdotes commenced to flag, and the Doctor -himself was obviously seeking for an opportunity of breaking off the -conversation. Mrs. Derinzy, who had been apparently dropping off to -sleep, roused up with the declining voices, and catching a peculiar -expression in the Doctor's face, was on the alert in an instant. That -peculiar expression was a glance towards Annette, accompanied by a -significant elevation of the eyebrows, following immediately upon which -Dr. Wainwright said: - -"And now I must drop this charming conversation which we have had, my -dear Captain Derinzy, and, falling back into my professional character, -must declare that it is time for us to adjourn.--Beauty sleep, my dear -Miss Netty"--walking quickly round and laying his hand lightly on her -shoulder--lightly, though she quivered under the touch, and rose at -once from her seat--"beauty sleep is not to be had after twelve, they -tell us; and though you don't require it, and though you said you -didn't like to be looked at--oh, Miss Netty!--yet I think we're all of -us sufficiently tired to wish for it to-night. So goodnight! You don't -mind shaking hands with me, though you were cruel enough to say you -disliked me; goodnight.--Goodnight, Mrs. Derinzy; you feel stronger -to-night? Let me feel your pulse for one moment." Then in a rapid -undertone to her, "Do you go with her, while I speak a word to Mrs. -Stothard. Don't leave till she returns." Again aloud, "Goodnight." - -The Captain was making a final foray among the decanters as Mrs. -Derinzy and Annette, closely followed by Dr. Wainwright, passed out -of the door, immediately on the other side of which Mrs. Stothard -was standing. She was about to follow the ladies, but a sign from -the Doctor arrested her, and she let them pass on, remaining behind -with him. He said but very few words to her, and those in a muttered -undertone, but she understood them apparently, nodded her reply, and -hurried away upstairs. - -"Now, Miss Derinzy, get to bed; do you hear? This is the last time I -shall speak to you; next time I shall _make_ you." - -The tone in which these words are said is very unlike Mrs. Stothard's -usual tone; but it is Mrs. Stothard's voice and it is Mrs. Stothard -herself--equipped in a tight linen jacket fitting her closely -and without any superfluity of material, and a short clinging -petticoat--who is standing by the bed on which Annette is seated. - -"Come, do you hear me?" she repeats, taking the girl by the shoulder; -"undress now, and get into bed. We're ever so late as it is." - -But the girl sits stolidly gazing before her, and never moving a muscle. - -Then Mrs. Stothard bends down and looks into her face--looks long and -earnestly, the girl never flinching the while--and comes back to her -upright position, with her cheeks a little paler and her mouth a little -more set. - -"The doctor was right," she mutters between her teeth; "there's one -coming on to-night, and a bad one, too, I fancy." - -She goes to a drawer, takes out some article, and lays it on the bed -hard by. The girl shoots a stealthy glance out from under her eyelids, -sees what is done, sees what is fetched, and drops her eyes again on to -the floor. - -"You won't! you've heard me, you know, Annette! You won't undress! -Come, then, you shall!" - -Mrs. Stothard, bending over the girl, undoes the top button of her -dress, the second button, the third. The fourth is not so easily -undone, and Mrs. Stothard shifts her position, comes round, and kneels -in front of her. Then, with a low long howl, more like that of a beast -at bay than a human creature, the girl dashes at her throat and bears -her to the ground. A bad time for the nurse, this. The attack is so -sudden, that for one moment she is overpowered; the next her presence -of mind returns, and with it her strength of wrist. Her hands are wound -in the girl's long hair then floating down her back; she tears at it -with all her force, until the distorted face, which had been glaring -into hers, is wrenched backward, and under torture the hand-grip on her -throat is relaxed. Then she slips herself from underneath her foe and -closes with her. They are both on the ground, locked in each other's -arms, and struggling furiously, what is more wonderful silently, for, -save their deep breathing, neither emits a sound, when the door opens -softly and Dr. Wainwright enters. Annette's face is towards him: her -eyes meet his, and the wild rage dies out of them, to be succeeded by -a glance of fear and horror; and her grasp relaxes and her arms fall -helplessly by her sides, and she moans in a low voice. - -"It is here again! Oh my God, it is here again!" - -"And only here just in time, apparently, Mrs. Stothard," says the -doctor, helping the nurse to rise. "This is a very bad attack. Just -assist me to put this on her," he added, taking the _camisole de force_ -from off the bed, and putting it over Annette's head as she sat rigid -on the floor; "and keep it on all night, please. A very bad attack -indeed." - -"Bad attack!" said Mrs. Stothard; "I'm glad you've seen it, Dr. -Wainwright. You never would believe me before. But I've often told -you, in all your practice you've got no worse case than that she-devil -there. And yet these fools here think she will be cured!" - -"Strong language, strong language, Mrs. Stothard," said the doctor -deprecatingly. "But I don't think you're far out in what you say; I -don't, indeed!" - - - - -CHAPTER XII. -A CONQUEST. - - -It is the end of August, and society has gone out of town. Sporting -people have gone to Goodwood; and the Lawn, at the period of our story, -as yet uninvaded by objectionable persons, promises to present, as it -hitherto has always presented, a _parterre_ of aristocratic beauty. -There is no "limited mail" in these days; but they could tell you at -Euston Square of seats for the North booked many days in advance. And -there are no Cook's tourists; and yet it would seem impossible that -the boats leaving Dover twice a day for the great continental routes -_vid_ Calais and Ostend, could possibly carry more passengers. That -was before the contemptible German system of _battues_ was allowed -among us, when _dreib-jagds_ were almost unknown in England, and when -a day's shooting meant exercise, trouble, and skill, not warm corners -and wholesale slaughter; but Purdays and Lancasters, though mere -muzzle-loaders, did their work, and Grant's gaiters were to be found on -most of the right sort throughout the English counties. - -The physicians and the great surgeons have struck work--it is no -good remaining in a place where there are no patients--and having -delegated their practice _pro tem_. to some less fortunate brother--who -devoutly prays that chance may bring some rich or celebrated person -unexpectedly to town, then and there to be stricken with illness, and -left in his, the substitute's, hands--they are away shooting in the -Highlands, swarming up Swiss mountains, lounging at German Brunnen, -but never losing the soft placid manner and the dulcet tone which seem -to imbue their every speech and action with a certain professional -air, as though they were saying, "Hum! ha! ye-es, certainly; show me -the tongue, please--ah!" and wherever they may be, the scent of the -hospital is over them still. - -Passing through Edinburgh, on his way to his shooting in Aberdeenshire, -Mr. Fleem, President of the College of Surgeons, gives up a week of his -hard-earned holiday to the society of Sir Annis Thettick, the great -Scotch operator, and the pair indulge in many a sanguinary colloquy; -little Dr. Payne leaves Mrs. Payne to be escorted up and down the -_allees_ of Baden-Baden by trim-waisted Prussian and Austrian officers, -or by such of her compatriot acquaintances as she may find there (all -of whom are too glad to pay court to so charming a woman), while he -is closeted with Herr Doctor Von Glauber, Hof-Arzt to his Effulgency -the reigning Duke of Schweinerei, with whom he exchanges the most -confidential communications, resulting on both sides in a belief that -the real knowledge of either of them is extremely limited. - -In those charming courts and groves dedicated to the study and practice -of the law there is also tranquillity, not to say stagnation, for the -long vacation has commenced, and the Law is out of town. - -Read the fact in the closed courts of Westminster Hall--in the Hall -itself, no longer filled with the anxious faces of suitors, the flying -forms of bewigged barristers, or fragrant with the sprinkled snuff of -agitated attorneys, but now given up to marchings and counter-marchings -of newly-fledged volunteers, who--it is the first year of the -movement--are longing to be taking martial exercise in the wilds of -Wimbledon or on the plains of Putney, but, deterred by the rain, are -fain to put up with the large area of Westminster Hall, and to undergo -the torture of the professional drill-sergeant before the eyes of a -gaping and a grinning audience. - -Read the fact in the closed oaks of every set of chambers, each door -bearing its coffin-plate-like announcement that messages and parcels -are to be left at the porter's lodge; in the sounds of revelry that -proceed from the attorneys' offices, where the scrubs left in town -are amusing themselves with effervescing drinks and negro minstrelsy, -oblivious of executors, and administrators, and hereditaments; while -the "chief" is at Bognor with his wife and children, the "Chancery" is -geologising at Staffa, and the "Common-law" is living up at Laleham -Ferry, and washing off all reminiscence of John Doe and Richard Roe in -daily matutinal plunges off the bar at Penton Hook. - -All the members of the Bar, great and small, are away. Heaven -alone knows where the Great Seal may be hidden, but it is certain -that the keeper of it and the Sovereign's conscience--a tall, -straggling-whiskered, gray-haired gentleman--has been seen, with a -wideawake hat on his head and a gun in his hand, "potting" rabbits on -a Wiltshire common, and has been pointed out seated in a dog-cart at -a little railway-station as the "Lar' Chance'lar" to the wondering -bumpkins, who fully expected to see him in full-bottomed wig and -gold-fringed robes, and who were consequently wofully disappointed, -and thought his lordship of but "little 'count." Tocsin, the great -gladiator, who wrestles with his professional opponents and flings them -heavily, cross-buttocks the jury, and has been known, metaphorically, -to give that peculiar British blow known as "one" to the judge -himself--Tocsin, whose arrival at the Old Bailey (never appearing -there unless specially retained) arouses interest in the languid -ushers and door-porters, used up with constant criminal details, but -sure of some excitement when Tocsin leads--Tocsin is at Broadstairs, -swimming and walking with his boys during the day, and of an evening -very much interested, and not unfrequently affected to tears, by the -Minerva-Press novels, obtained from the little library, which he reads -aloud to his wife. Mr. Serjeant Slink, leader at the Parliamentary Bar, -whose professional life is passed in denouncing the aristocracy of -this country as stifling all freedom of political opinion by threats -or bribery, is staying with the Duke and Duchess of Potiphar at their -villa on the Lake of Como; and Mr. Moss, of Thavies Inn, 'cutest and -cleverest of criminal attorneys, is at Venice, occupying the moments -which his _valet de place_ allows him to have to himself in working out -the outline of the defence in a case of gigantic fraud, the trial of -which is coming off next sessions, in his room at Danieli's Hotel. - -Lethargy and languor in the public offices, where the chiefs are -away on leave, and the juniors left in town appear, from the medical -certificates they are sending in, to be suffering from every kind of -mortal illness, and where the "immediate attention" promised to your -communication becomes more vague and shadowy than ever; in merchants' -establishments, where the clerks, finding it impossible to get -"regularly away," compromise the matter by taking lodgings at Gravesend -or in up-the-river villages, and running to and fro daily; in large -shops, where the assistants bless the early-closing movement, and bound -away on Saturday afternoon with an agility which argues well for their -jumping many other things besides counters. - -George Street, Hanover Square, is much too distinguished a quarter not -to suffer under the general depression. There has not been a marriage -at the church for six weeks; the rector is away at the Lakes; and the -clerk has modified his responses, and is saving his voice until the -return of those to whom it is worth his while to address himself. -The beadle has laid by his gorgeous uniform, on week-days wears -mufti, and on Sundays comes out in a kind of compromise, alternately -airing the hat and the coat, but never appearing in both together. -The pew-openers' untipped palms are grimier than ever, the regular -congregation are absent, no strangers ask for seats, and the dust on -the pews is an inch thick. No horsey-looking men, chewing toothpicks, -and spitting refreshingly around, garnish the portals of Limmer's; the -silver sand sprinkled over the doorsteps as usual is untrodden, save -by the pumps of the one waiter, who knows no one is likely to come; -and as weary as ever was Mariana in her moated grange, he lounges to -the door, yawns, and lounges back, to cover his head with his napkin -for fly-diverting purposes, and seeks refuge in sleep. The dentist is -out of town; and the dentist's man has exchanged his striped jacket -and his black trousers for a heather suit, specially recommended by -the tailor for deer-stalking or grouse-shooting, clad in which, he -sits during the daytime in the dining-room reading _Bell's Life_, and -at night, after delicately scenting himself with camphor procured from -his master's drug-drawers, proceeds to some garden of public resort. -The paper patterns, marked with mysterious numbers, and inscribed with -the names of dukes and marquises, which hang in the shop of Stecknadel -the tailor, have a thick coating of dust; for the noble customers whose -fair proportions they represent have not had them in requisition for -weeks past. Stecknadel is away at Boppard on the Rhine, where he has a -very pretty _terre_, to which, if he could only get in his debts, he -would retire, and some day become Baron Stecknadel, and live peacefully -and prosperously for the rest of his life. - -Equally, of course, the headless dummies in Madame Clarisse's -showrooms are stripped of the fairy-like fabrics which cover them -during the season, and stand up showing all their wire anatomy, or -lie about in corners, unheeded. Madame is at Dieppe, and Daisy reigns -temporarily in her stead. The staff is very much reduced, for there -is little or nothing to do; and Daisy is enabled, very much to Paul -Derinzy's delight, to get out much earlier and much more frequently -than she could in the season, and the walks in Kensington Gardens -occur pretty constantly, and are much prolonged. Daisy is glad of this -too; for not only does her liking for Paul increase, but she knows he -is very soon going away for his holiday, "down to his people in the -West," and the idea of parting with him is not pleasant to her, and -she likes to see as much of him as possible. Daisy has noticed that, -with the absence of the great world from London, Paul has grown much -bolder: he walks with her without showing any of that dreadful feeling -of restraint which at one time galled her so much, is never fearful -of being observed, and has more than once asked to be allowed to take -her to dinner, to the theatre, or to some public gardens. This request -Daisy has always steadily refused, and their meetings are confined to -Kensington Gardens as heretofore, though she has permitted him to see -her home to the corner of her street on several occasions. - -One hot dusty afternoon Daisy is looking out of the showroom window -into the deserted street--deserted save by a vagabond dog, with his -tongue lolling out of his mouth, who is furtively gliding about from -one bit of shade to another, and hopelessly sniffing at those places -where he remembers puddles used to be in the bygone time, but where, -alas, there are none now--when she hears steps upon the stairs, and -turning round, recognises Miss Orpington, one of their best customers. -With Miss Orpington is her father, Colonel Orpington; and looking at -them as they enter the room, Daisy thinks within herself that a more -stylish-looking father and daughter could scarcely be found in England. -Both are tall, and slim, and upright; both have regular features, with -the same half-haughty, half-weary expression; both have small hands and -feet. Miss Orpington is going to be married to a Yorkshire baronet with -money. She has been staying in the same house with him in Scotland, -and is on her way to a house in Kent, where he is invited. She has -stopped a day or two in London on her way through to get "some gowns -and things." She is always wanting gowns and things, and spends a very -large sum of money yearly. - -Colonel Orpington does not very much mind how much she spends. Through -his wife, who was the daughter of his family solicitor, and who died -in childbirth a year after their marriage, he had a very large income, -every farthing of which he carefully spent. He had nothing to do with -the turf; hunted but little, and when he did, generally found other -men to mount him; never joined in the afternoon rubbers at the club, -and only interested himself in them to the extent of an occasional -small bet; kept a good but small stud; had no permanent country place; -and during the season entertained well, but neither frequently nor -lavishly, and yet managed to get through eight thousand a year. - -How? Well, the Colonel had his tastes. Though turned fifty years of -age, he had not run to flesh; his figure was yet trim and elegant, and -his face handsome and eminently "bred"-looking. His hair was still -jet-black; and though his moustache, long, sweeping, and carefully -trained, was unmistakably grizzled, the colour rather added to the -picturesqueness of his appearance. And the Colonel liked to be thought -handsome, and elegant, and picturesque; for he was devoted to the sex, -and had but little care in life beyond how best to please her who for -the time being was the object of his devotion. - -And yet Colonel Orpington was never seen in any suspicious _solitude -a deux_, nor even in the loose-talking, easy-going society in which -he mixed was his name ever coupled with any woman's. Old comrades -and contemporaries might be seen lurking at the back of shady little -boxes on the pit-tier of the theatre, and addressing a presumed form -in the corner facing the stage, of which nothing could be seen but a -white gleaming arm, a fan, and an opera-glass; but when the Colonel -patronised the drama, which was very seldom, he always went with a -party among whom were his daughter and his sister, who kept house for -him. Sons of old comrades, and other young men with whom he had a -casual acquaintance, might lounge across the rails of the Row to speak -to the "strange women" on horseback who were just beginning to put in -an appearance there; but the Colonel, when he passed them, whether -Miss Orpington were with him or not, was always looking straight -before him between his horse's ears, and never showed the slightest -recognition of their presence. Nor, though living in days when to love -your neighbour's wife was a rule pretty generally followed, was Colonel -Orpington's name ever mixed up with any of those society intrigues the -ignoring of which in public, and the discussion of which in private, -affords so much delight to well-bred people. Of good appearance, of -perfect manners, and with a voice and address which were singularly -insinuating, the Colonel might have availed himself of many _bonnes -fortunes_ which would not have fallen in the way of men younger and -less discreet; but he purposely neglected the opportunities offered, -and, while being the intimate and trusted companion of many of his -friends' wives, sisters, and daughters, was the lover of none. - -And yet he was devoted to the sex, and spent a great deal of money! -Yes, and was very frequently absent from his family. Amongst the -property which the Colonel inherited from his wife were some -slate-quarries and lead-mines in South Wales, which seemed to require -a vast amount of personal supervision. If he looked after the rest of -his estate with equal fidelity, he must have been a pattern landlord; -for he would leave town in the height of the season, or give up any -pleasant engagement, when he received one of these summonses. When Miss -Orpington was a child, she used to tease her father about "dose 'orrid -quarry-mines;" but it was noticed that after she had put away childish -things, amongst which might be enumerated innocence, she never referred -to the subject. Nobody ever did palpably refer to it, though there was -a good deal of sniggering about it in the Colonel's clubs, and Bobus, -known as Badger Bobus from his low sporting tastes, was asked out to -dinner for a fortnight on the strength of his having said that he -couldn't make out how old Orpington always went into South Wales by the -Great Northern Railway. - -Miss Orpington languidly expresses her pleasure at seeing Daisy. - -"You are so fresh, Miss Stafford, and all that kind of thing. Of course -I know Madame Clarisse's taste is excellent; but I confess I like a -younger person's ideas." - -Daisy bows, and says nothing, but applies herself to showing her wares, -which the young lady turns over and discourses upon. Colonel Orpington, -standing by and caressing his grizzled moustache, says nothing also. -Nothing aloud, at least; only someone standing very close might have -seen him draw in his breath, and mutter behind his hand, - -"Jove! Clarisse was right." - -Miss Orpington is large in her notions of autumn costume, and Daisy -shows her a vast number of "pretty things" which she would like to -order, but is somewhat checked by the paternal presence, in itself a -novelty in her negotiations with her milliner. But, deferring to the -paternal presence, as to "Should she?" and "Did he think she might?" -and receiving nothing but favourable replies, she gives her fancy -scope, and makes such of the workwomen as were always retained think -that the season had suddenly and capriciously recommenced. - -What had induced the Colonel to accompany his daughter? He never had -done so before, and on this occasion he says nothing, never looks at -the things exhibited, or the patterns after which they are to be made. -What does he look at? Miss Orpington knows, perhaps, when, following -the earnest gaze of his eyes, she makes a little _moue_, and slightly -shrugs her shoulders, taking no further notice until they are in the -street; then she says: - -"Do you think that girl pretty, papa?" - -The Colonel is in an abstracted state, and pauses for a minute before -he replies, - -"What girl, Constance?" - -"We have not seen so many that you need ask," says Miss Orpington, with -a melancholy glance at the deserted streets; "the girl who attended to -me just now, at Clarisse's." - -"I was thinking of something else at the time, and really did not -notice her particularly, my dear," says the Colonel, "but she appeared -to me to be a very respectable young person." - -Miss Orpington gives her little shoulder-shrug, and looks round -curiously at her father; but he is staring straight before him, and -they walk on without speaking further, until just as they are passing -Limmer's, when he says, half to himself, "That fellow will do!" and -then to her, - -"I want to send a message to the club, Constance. If you'll walk -quietly on, I'll overtake you in an instant. Hi! here!" - -The man to whom he calls, and who is hanging about the doorway of the -hotel, is one of those Mercuries who have now been superseded by the -Commissionaires, but who in those days were the principal media for -good and evil communication in the metropolis. In the season this -fellow wears a dingy red jacket like the cover of an old _Post Office -Directory_; but in the dead time of year he discards his gaiety of -apparel, and dons a seedy long drab waistcoat with black sleeves. He -crosses the road at once at the Colonel's call, and stands on the kerb, -touching his broken hat, and waiting for his orders. - -"Look here," says the Colonel, as soon as his daughter is out of -earshot; "go up to Clarisse's--the milliner's, you know, opposite the -church--ask to see the young woman who just attended to Miss Orpington, -and tell her you have been sent to say she must be certain to send the -things at the time promised. Take notice of her, so that you will know -her again; then wait about until she comes out, follow her, see whom -she speaks to and where she goes, and come to Batt's Hotel in Dover -Street and ask for Colonel Orpington. You understand?" - -"Right you are, Colonel!" says the man, pocketing the half-crown which -the Colonel hands to him; then he touches his shabby hat again, and -starts off. - -"Left her walking up and down in Kensington Gardens among the trees -near the keeper's cottage, did he?" says Colonel Orpington to himself -as he strikes into the Park about five o'clock, and hurries off in -the direction indicated. "Had not spoken to anyone, but seemed as -if she were waiting for somebody, eh? Plainly an assignation! So my -young friend is not so innocent as Clarisse would have me believe. -What a fool she was to think it, and what a fool I was to believe her! -However, I may as well see it through, for the girl is marvellously -pretty, and has a something about her which is extraordinarily -attractive--even to me!" - -As he nears the place to which he has been directed, he slackens his -speed, and looks round him from time to time. The first touch of autumn -has fallen on the grand old trees, and occasionally some leaves come -circling down noiselessly on to the brown turf. Away at the end of yon -vista a slight mist is rising, noticing which the Colonel prudently -buttons his coat over his chest and shudders slightly. Half-a-dozen -children are romping about, rolling among the leaves that have already -fallen, and shrieking with delight; but the Colonel takes no heed of -them. Just then the figures of a man and woman walking very slowly -come in sight. The Colonel looks at them for a moment, using his natty -double-eyeglass for the purpose; then stands quietly behind one of the -large elm-trees watching the pair as they pass. Her arm is through his, -on which she is leaning heavily; their faces are turned towards each -other, each wearing a grave earnest expression. As they pass the tree -behind which the Colonel stands, their faces approach, and their lips -meet for an instant, then they walk on as before. - -The Colonel drops the natty double-eyeglass from his nose, and replaces -it in his waistcoat-pocket. As he turns to walk away, he says to -himself: - -"Not a very pleasant position that! However, I've learned what I wanted -to know. The girl has a lover, as one might have expected. I think -I know the man too. To be sure! we elected him at the Beaufort the -other day--Derinzy, son of the man who put the Jew under the pump at -Hounslow. A good-looking youngster too, and in some Government office, -I think. Well, I suppose it will be the old story--youth against -cheque-book. But in this case, from the young lady's general style, I -think I should back the latter!" - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. -ANOTHER CONQUEST. - - -Town was at its dreariest; the little people in Camden Town and -Hackney had followed the great people in Belgravia and Tyburnia, by -going away; only they went to Southend or Margate instead of Scotland -or Biarritz. It was the last possible time of the year at which one -would imagine festivity could take place; and yet from the aspect of -No. 20, Adalbert Crescent, Navarino Road, Dalston, it was evident that -festivity was intended. The general servant of the establishment had -washed the upper half of her face, and hooked the lower half of her -gown--an extraordinary occurrence which meant something. The fishmonger -had sent in a lobster, and half a newspaper--folded in cornucopia -fashion--full of shrimps; the a-la-mode-beef house had been ransacked -for the least-stony piece of cold meat which it possessed; and from -the greengrocer had been obtained a perfect grove of salad and cress. -Looking at these preparations, Miss Augusta Manby might well feel -within herself a certain sentiment of pride, and a consciousness that -Adalbert Crescent was equal to the occasion. - -Miss Augusta Manby had been a workwoman at Madame Clarisse's; but -she had long left that patrician establishment, and started on her -own account. The name of her late employer figured under her own on -the brass plate which adorned her door; and this recommendation, and -her own talent in reducing bulging waists, and "fitting" generally -obstinate figures, had procured for her a vast amount of patronage in -the clerk-inhabited district where she had pitched her tent. - -In the fulness of delight at her success, Miss Manby had taken -advantage of the occasion of her birthday to summon her friends to -rejoice with her at a little festive gathering, and the advent of those -friends she was then awaiting. - -"I think it will all do very well," she said to herself, after -surveying the preparations; "and I am sure it ought to go off nicely. I -should have been afraid to ask Fanny Stafford if Bella Merton and her -brother had not been coming; but she has quite West End manners, and -he is very nice-looking and very well-behaved. It's a pity I could not -avoid asking Gus; but he would have been sure to have heard of it; and -then, if he had been left out, there would have been a pretty to-do." - -A ring at the bell stopped Miss Manby's soliloquy, and she rushed to -the glass to "put herself tidy," as she phrased it. There was no need -for this performance in Miss Manby's case, as the glass reflected a -pretty little face of the snub-nose, black-eyes, white-teeth, and -oiled-hair order, and a very pretty little figure, which the owner took -care should be well, though not expensively, got up. - -The arrivals were Miss Bella Merton--a young lady who officiated as -clerk at Mr. Kammerer's, the photographer's in Regent Street, kept the -appointment ledger, entered the number of copies ordered, and received -the money from the sitters--and her brother, a book-keeper in Repp and -Rumfitt's drapery establishment. - -"So good of you, Bella dear, to be the first!" said Miss Manby, -welcoming a tall dashing-looking young woman, who darted into the room -after the half-cleansed servant had broken down in announcing "Miss -Merting."--"And you too, Mr. John; I scarcely thought you would have -taken the trouble to come from the West End to this outlandish place." - -Mr. John, as she called him, who was a tall well-built young man, -dressed in a black frock coat, waistcoat, and trousers, relieved by an -alarmingly vivid-blue necktie, merely bowed his acknowledgments; but -his sister, who had thrown off a coquettish little black-silk cloak, -and what was known amongst her friends as a "duck of a bonnet," and who -was then smoothing her hair before the one-foot-square looking-glass -over the chimney-piece, said: - -"My dear Augusta, what nonsense it is! we should be thankful to escape -from that hot dusty town to this--well, really, this rural retreat. And -as for coming early, there's nothing doing now at the West, so that one -can leave when one likes." - -Miss Augusta Manby then took upon herself to remark that that was one -compensation for her exile from the realms of fashion. All seasons, she -remarked, were the same at Dalston, where people had new clothes when -the old ones were worn out, and never studied times or seasons. - -"And now tell me, dear, who are coming?" said Bella Merton, while her -brother John sat in the window-seat, and tried to derive a gleam of -satisfaction from the inspection of the fashion-plates in _La Belle -Assemblee_; "of course that dear delightful old Gus--and who else?" - -"I have asked Fanny Stafford, and she has promised to come." - -"No! that is fun!" said Bella Merton, laughing. - -"And Mr. Burgess----" - -"No! that's better still!" said Bella, laughing more heartily: "what! -_our_ Mr. Burgess?" - -"Of course. Did he not tell you?" - -"Not one single word, dear. But of course I understand why!" and the -young lady relapsed into fits of merriment. - -"You have all the joke to yourself at present, Bella," said John -Merton, looking up from his fashion-book. - -"And you won't have any of it, so far as I can see, during any part of -the evening, my poor old John!" said his sister. - -"I'm sorry I can't understand your West End wit, Bella dear," said -their hostess, with some asperity. - -"You will see it all in a minute," said Bella, striving to compose her -countenance. "Burgess has been raving-mad in love with Fanny Stafford, -whom he has only seen for an instant, ever since Mr. Kammerer gave him -her photograph to tint. My brother John, here, of course fell over head -and ears directly he saw her; and there's another man of a different -kind, with no end of money and position and all that, about whom I must -say nothing. So much for Fanny Stafford. But what's to become of you -and me, Augusta? There's nobody left for us but old Gus." - -"What's that you are saying about old Gus?" said a fat jolly voice, -belonging to a fat jolly man, of about forty years of age, who entered -the room at the moment. - -This was Augustus Manby, the hostess's brother, a tea-taster attached -to an establishment in Mincing Lane--a convivial soul, and a thorough -vulgarian. - -"Saying!" said Bella Merton, whose two hands he was wringing, after -having given his sister a smacking kiss; "that we should have no one -but you to flirt with, all the other men would be absorbed by Fanny -Stafford." - -"Well, they are welcome so far as I am concerned," said plain-spoken -Gus. "She's a nice girl, Fanny; but I don't like them red, and I do -like more of them; and that's the fact." - -"Hush! do be quiet," said his sister, as the bell sounded again; and -the next minute Fanny Stothard entered the room. - -She looked so lovely, that Gus almost audibly recalled his opinion. -The exercise had given a colour to her cheeks and a brilliancy to her -eyes. Her dress fitted her to perfection, and there was an indefinable -something about her which stamped her superiority to those among whom -she then was. She was warmly welcomed by all, and had scarcely gone -through their greetings when Mr. Burgess joined and completed the -little party. - -Mr. Burgess was a small consumptive-looking young man, principally -remarkable for the length of his hair and the smallness of his cravat. -Believing in his destiny as an "arteeste," he had originally entered -as a student at the Royal Academy; but after severe objurgations from -the authorities there, had subsided into colouring pictures for the -photographers, by which he realised a decent income. He entered the -room with a bound suggestive of hope and joy; but on seeing Fanny he -sighed deeply, and abandoned himself to misery. - -Then they all bustled about, and the cloth was laid, and the provisions -produced, and the half-cleansed servant appeared periodically, -staggering under large pewter vessels containing malt liquor; and the -gentlemen pressed the ladies to eat and to drink; and the ladies would -not be persuaded without a great deal of pressing on the gentlemen's -part; and so the meal was gone through with much giggling and laughter, -but without any regular talk. - -That began when the hostess had fetched from a cupboard, where -they were imbedded in layers of brown-paper patterns and bygone -fashion-books, and watched over by an armless papier-mache idol, two -bottles of spirits; and when the gentlemen had brewed themselves mighty -jorums of grog, and helped the ladies to delicate wine-glasses of the -same beverage. And thus it commenced: - -"Things must be dull with you now at Clarisse's, Fanny dear?" said the -hostess. - -"Dull!" said Fanny: "I never knew anything like it. I don't mean -written orders from the country, of course; but we only had one -customer in our place the whole of last week." - -"What will you bet me, Fanny," said Bella Merton, "that I don't tell -you that customer's name?" - -"Why, how can you possibly know it? She----" - -"I don't speak of a she! I mean a he," said Bella, laughing. - -"Hes ain't milliners' customers," said Mr. Burgess, with a titter. - -"Ain't they?" said John Merton, with a savage expression on his -good-looking face; "but they are sometimes, worse luck!" - -"My customer, at all events, was a lady," said Fanny, rather -disapproving of this turn of the conversation. - -"Yes; but she was accompanied by a gentleman," said Bella, still -laughing; "and, as John says, gentlemen have no right in milliners' -showrooms." - -"I suppose that even Mr. John Merton would not object to a father's -accompanying his daughter to a milliner's showroom?" said Fanny, -beginning to be piqued. - -"Mr. John Merton merely spoke generally, Miss Stafford," said John, -with a bow. "He would not have taken the liberty to apply his -observation to any particular case." - -"This is perfectly delicious!" cried Bella Merton, clapping her hands. -"I knew I should soon set you all by the ears. But we have wandered -from my original proposition. Can I, or can I not, tell you the name -of the gentleman who came with his daughter, as you say, to your place -last week?" - -"I daresay you can," said Fanny Stothard, "though how you gained your -information it would be impossible for me to say." - -"Don't tell her, Miss Stafford," said John Merton; "don't help her in -the least degree. It's scarcely a fair subject of conversation; at -least, it's one which I'm sure has no interest for me." - -"Was he a nice cross old dear?" said his sister; "and didn't he like to -hear about the fine gentleman that admired Fanny?" - -John Merton looked so black at this remark, that Mr. Burgess thought it -best to cut into the conversation. So he said: - -"But you haven't yet told us the name of the gentleman. Miss Merton." - -"Haven't I?" said Bella; "well, I'll be as good as my word. Colonel -Orpington. Am I right, Fanny?" - -"I daresay you are. Miss Orpington's father came with her. What his -title may be I haven't the least idea." - -"But he knows what your title is, dear, and accords it to you quite -publicly." - -"And what title does he give Miss Stafford, pray?" asked John Merton, -angrily. - -"That of the prettiest girl in London!" - -"I never heard a swell go so near the truth," growled John, half -pleased and half annoyed. - -"Don't you think it is almost time for you to speak a little more -plainly, Bella?" asked Fanny. "How do you know this Colonel Orpington, -and what has he been saying about me?" - -"_This_ Colonel Orpington, indeed!" cried Miss Merton. "My dear, -_this_ Colonel Orpington is simply one of the best men of the day, -extremely rich, and--well, you know--one of those nice fellows who are -liked by everybody. He came into our place the other day, and when -I looked up from my desk in the front room, where I was writing a -private letter--for I had nothing else to do--I saw him; and I thought -to myself, 'I know you, Colonel Orpington! I've seen you about often. -So you've come for a sitting, have you? Won't Mr. Kammerer be wild -to think you should have come when he was out of town!' However, he -came straight towards me; and he took off his hat, like a gentleman as -he is, and he said, 'There is a portrait in a frame outside the door -which strikes me as a wonderful example of photography, of which I am -a connoisseur.' I knew what he meant at once, bless you; but I said, -'You mean the gentleman in the skull-cap and the long beard--Professor -Gilks?' He muttered something about Professor Gilks--I daren't say -what--but then said No; he meant the coloured female head--was it -for sale? I told him I could not answer him without referring to Mr. -Kammerer, who was at Ramsgate. The Colonel begged me to telegraph -to him, and he would call next day. He did call next day, took the -photograph, and paid twenty guineas for it, which was a good thing for -Mr. Kammerer." - -"Very likely," burst in John Merton; "but a bad thing for art, and -decency, and----" - -"Don't distress yourself, John! Very likely it was all you say; but, -you see, Mr. Kammerer is not here for you to pitch into, and Fanny -couldn't help her portrait being bought by an admirer. Oh, he was an -admirer, Fanny; for when I tied it up for him, he said out, 'It's -lovely, but it doesn't do justice to the original.' And when I asked -him did he know the original, he said he thought he had had that -honour. And so it's no good your bursting into virtuous indignation." - -Her brother shrugged his shoulders and was silent; but Fanny Stothard -said: - -"Don't you think this joke has gone far enough? Augusta and Mr. Burgess -here are sitting in wild astonishment, as well they may be. Let us -change the conversation for the few minutes before we break up." - -Late that night Fanny Stothard sat on the side of her bed in her room -in South Molton Street, her hands clasped behind her head, her body -gently swaying to and fro as she pondered over all she had heard that -evening. On the table lay a letter from Paul Derinzy. It was the second -she had had, and he had not been away from London five days. The first -she had torn at eagerly and devoured its contents at once; this lay -unopened. - -"Very rich, that woman said," she muttered, "and a great man in his -way. Fancy his buying the portrait, and after only seeing me once! That -was very nice of him. Not in the least old-looking, and everybody likes -him, Bella said. What a funny thing his recognising that photograph, -and---- How horrible the journey home was to-night, and what detestable -people in the omnibus!--such pushing and tramping on one's feet, and--I -had no idea of that! I thought he looked hard at me once or twice, but -I never imagined that he took any particular notice. Colonel Orpington! -I shall look out his name in the _Court Guide_ to-morrow, when I get to -George Street, and see all about him. Had the honour of knowing me, he -told Bella Merton! Ugh! how sick I am of this room, and how wearied of -this life! Ah well, Paul's letter will keep till to-morrow; I'm sure I -know what it's about. That was really very nice about the portrait! I -wonder when Colonel Orpington will come back to town?" - -Then she frowned a little as she said, "What could have made that young -man, Bella's brother, so disagreeable about all that? He couldn't -possibly--and yet I don't know. He looked so earnestly at me, and spoke -so strongly about that business of the portrait, that I have half an -idea he resented it on my behalf. What impertinence! And yet he meant -merely to show his regard for me. How dreadfully in earnest he seemed! -And Paul too! I shall have a difficulty in managing them all, I see -that clearly." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. -PAUL AT HOME. - - -It does not matter much to George Wainwright whether London is empty -or full. His books, his work, and his healthful play go on just the -same in winter and summer, in spring and autumn. He only knows it is -the season by the fact of seeing more people in the streets, more -horses and carriages in the Park across which he strides to his home; -and when other men go away on leave, he remains at the office without -the least desire to change the regular habits of his life. He has a -splendid constitution, perfectly sound, and unimpaired by excess of any -description; can do any amount of work without its having any influence -on him; and never had need to go away "on medical certificate," as is -the case with so many of his brethren at the Stannaries Office. - -There is a decidedly autumnal touch in the air as it plays round George -Wainwright, striding across the Park this October morning. There is -sunshine, but it is thin and veneered, and very unlike the glorious -summer article; looks as if it had lost strength in its struggle with -the fog which preceded it, and as though it would make but a poor fight -against the mist which would come creeping up early in the afternoon. -But few leaves remain on the trees, and they are yellow and veinous, -and swirl dismally round and round in their descent to the moist earth, -where their already fallen comrades are being swept into heaps, and -pressed down into barrows, and wheeled away by the gardeners. The -ordinarily calm waters of the Serpentine are lashed into miniature -waves, and the pleasure-boats have vanished from its surface, as have -the carriages from the Drive and the horses from the Row. Only one -solitary equestrian stands out like a speck in the distance; for it is -Long Vacation still, and the judges and the barristers, those unvarying -early riders and constant examples of the apparently insurmountable -difficulty of combining legal lore with graceful equitation, have not -yet returned to town. - -Ten o'clock strikes from the Horse Guards clock as George walks under -the archway, and makes his way across to the little back street -where the Stannaries Office is situated. Always punctual, he is more -particular than ever just now, for all the others of any standing are -away; and George was perfectly aware, from long experience, that if -someone responsible was not there to look after the junior clerks, -those young gentlemen would not come at all. As it was, he finds -himself the first arrival, and has changed his coat and rung for his -letters, for even the messengers get lax and careless at this time of -year--when the door opens and Mr. Dunlop enters, bringing with him a -very strong flavour of fresh tobacco, and not stopping short in the -popular melody which he is humming to say good-day until he has arrived -at the end of the verse. - -"'And he cut his throat with a pane of glass, and stabbed his donkey -ar-ter!'" sings Mr. Dunlop, very much prolonging the last note. "That's -what I call an impressive ending to a tragic ballad!--Goodmorning, Mr. -Wainwright! I'm glad to see you here in good time for once, sir, at all -events." - -"Billy, Billy, if you were here a little earlier yourself, you wouldn't -be pitched into so constantly." - -"Perhaps not, sir, though 'pitched into' is scarcely a phrase to apply -to a gentleman in Her Majesty's Civil Service. However, my position -is humble, and I must demean myself accordingly. I am a norphan, sir, -a norphan, and have no swell parents to stay with in the country like -Mr. Derinzy, whose remarkably illegible and insignificant handwriting I -recognise on this letter which Hicks has brought in for you." - -"Paul's hand, by Jove!" says George, "and this other one is Courtney's, -the chief's." - -George opens the smaller letter, and emits a short whistle as he -glances through its contents. The whistle and the expression of -George's face are not lost upon Billy Dunlop, who says: - -"Dear old person going to make it three months' leave, this year, -instead of two? or perhaps not coming back at all, but sends address -where his salary will find him?" - -"On the contrary, he's coming back at once; he will be on duty -to-morrow." - -"By Jove! and he's not been away six weeks yet. The poet was right, -sir. 'He stabbed his donkey arter!' There was nothing else left for him -to do." - -"But," says George, laughing, "he says he thinks he shall go away to -Brighton in November, and advises me, if I want any leave, to take it -now, that I may be back when he goes." - -"What an inexpressible old ruffian! What does he say about my leave?" - -"Not a word. What could he say, Billy? You've had all your leave ages -ago." - -Mr. Dunlop, who has retired into the sanctuary behind the -washing-screen, makes a rapid reappearance at these words, and says -hurriedly: - -"I thought so. I thought that that pleasant month of March would be -the only portion of the year allotted to me for recreation. March, -by George! Why, Ettrick, Teviotdale, and all the rest of them put -together, are not worth speaking about. It seems a year ago. I can only -recollect it because it was so beastly cold I was obliged to spend -nearly all the time in bed. That's a nice way for a man to enjoy his -holiday! While you fellows are cutting about, and---- Hollo! what's the -matter with G.W.? He looks as if he were rapidly preparing himself for -his father's asylum. Some bad news from P.D., I suppose." - -These last remarks of Mr. Dunlop's are based upon his observation of -George Wainwright's face, the expression of which is set and serious. - -"Hold on with your chaff for a minute, Billy," he says, looking up. -"Paul is writing on business, and I want just to get hold of it as I go -along." - -So Mr. Dunlop thinks he will do a little official work; and having -selected a sheet of foolscap with "Office of H.M. Stannaries" -lithographed on it, fills in the date in a very bold and flowing hand -(the gentlemen of the Stannaries Office always boasted that they were -not "mere clerks," and that their penmanship "didn't matter"), then -takes out his penknife, and begins adjusting the toilet of his nails. - -Meanwhile George Wainwright plods his way with difficulty through -Paul's letter where the writing is so small and the lines so close -together, and his brows become more contracted and his face more set -and stern as he proceeds. This is what he reads: - -"_The Tower, Beachborough_. - -"DEAR OLD MAN,--I have so much writing at that confounded shop--don't -grin, now: I can see your cynical old under-lip shooting out at the -statement--that I thought I'd give my pen a holiday as well as myself; -and indeed I should not favour you with a sight of that 'bowld fist' -which so disgusts that old beast Branwhite--saw his name in the _Post_ -as having been present at the Inverness gathering, hanging on to swells -as usual--if there had not been absolute occasion. - -"By Jove? what a tremendously long sentence that is! Rather -broken-backed and weak in the knees too, eh? Don't seem to hang well -together? Rather a 'solution of continuity,' as they call it, isn't -there? Never mind, you'll understand what I mean. You see, my dear old -George, I don't know whether it is because I'm bored by being in the -country--and a fellow who is accustomed to town life must necessarily -hate everything else, and find it all horribly slow and dreary--but the -fact is, that instead of my leave doing me good, and setting me up, and -all that kind of thing, I find myself utterly depressed and wretched, -and nothing like half so well or so jolly as when I came down here. - -"I thought I should go out boating and swimming and riding, and -generally larking; and instead of that I find myself sitting grizzling -over my pipe, and wondering what on earth I'm to do until evening, and -how I shall get through the time after dark until I can go to bed. - -"You would go blazing away at your old books, or your writing, or your -music; but I'm not in that line, old boy. I haven't got what people -call 'resources'--in any way, by Jove! tin, or anything else. I want to -be amused, and I don't get it here, and that's all about it. - -"You see, the truth is--and what's the good of having a fellow for your -pal, if you can't speak the truth to him, and what people in the play -call 'unbosom yourself,' and so on?--the truth is, our household here -is most infernally dull. I hadn't seen any of them for so long, that -they all came upon me like novelties; and they're so deuced original, -that they would be most interesting studies, if they did not happen -to be one's own people, don't you see, and that takes all the humour -out of the performance. There's my governor, for instance, is the most -wonderful party! If he were anybody else's governor he'd be quite good -fun enough for me to render the place sufficiently agreeable. I don't -think I should want any greater amusement than seeing him go yawning -about the house and through the village, bored out of his life, and -wishing everything at the devil. He seemed to pluck up a bit when I -first came down, and wanted to know all the news about town, and talked -about this fellow and that fellow--I knew the names well enough, and -had met a good many of the people; but when we came to compare notes, -I found that the governor was inquiring about the fathers of the -fellows I knew--fellows with the same names, you understand; and when I -explained this to him, and told him that most of his pals were dead or -gone under, don't you know, and that their sons reigned in their stead, -he cut up rather rough, and said he didn't know what the world was -coming to, and that young men weren't half as well brought-up nowadays -as they were in his time. Funny idea that, wasn't it? As though we -could help these old swells going under! Fact is--I don't like to -confess it, and would not to anybody but you, George--but since the -governor has got off the main line of life they have shunted him into -the siding for fogeydom, and there's not much chance of his coming out -again. - -"I find a great change in my mother too. I've spoken to you so often -about all these domesticities, that I don't mind gossiping to you now. -It's an immense relief to me. I feel if I had not someone to confide -in, I should blow up. Well, you know, my mother was always the best -man in our household, and managed everything according to her own -will; but then she had a certain tact and _savoir faire_, a way of -ruling us all that no one could find fault with; and though we grumbled -inwardly, we never took each other into confidence, or combined against -the despotism. I find that's all altered now. Either she has lost -tact, or we have lost patience--a little of both, perhaps; but, at all -events, her attempts at rule and dictation are very palpable and very -pronounced, and our ripeness for revolt is no longer concealed. In -point of fact, the one thing which the governor and I have in common is -our impatience of the female thrall, and if ever we combine, it will be -to pass the Salic law. - -"And apropos of that--rather neatly expressed, I find that is--there is -another female pretender to power--my cousin Annette; you have heard me -speak of her as a ward of my people's, and resident with them. She has -grown into a fine young woman, though her manners are decidedly odd. -I suppose this is country breeding: said as much to the governor, who -made a very odd face and changed the subject. Whether he thought it -the height of impudence in me to suppose that anyone who had had the -advantage of studying him daily could have country manners, or whether -there was any other reason, I don't know. - -"One thing there can be no doubt of, and that is, that I am always -being thrown _tete-a,-tete_ with this young woman, principally, as -I imagine, by my mother's connivance. This might have been amusing -under other circumstances, for, as I said before, she is remarkably -personable and nice--not in my line, but still a very fine young woman; -but, situated as I am, I do not avail myself in the slightest degree of -the opportunities offered. - -"Nor, I am bound to say, does Annette. She sits silent, and sometimes -actually sullen. She is a most extraordinary girl, George; I can't make -her out a bit. Sometimes she won't speak for hours, sometimes won't -even come down amongst us, and---- There is something deuced odd in all -this! I wish I had your clear old head here to scrutinise matters with -me, and help me in forming a judgment on them. - -"You know what I refer to just above, about 'under other -circumstances?' Certain interview in Kensington Gardens, with certain -party that you happened to witness. Don't you recollect? Oh Lord, -George, if you knew what an utterly gone 'coon I am in that quarter, -you would pity me. No, you wouldn't! What's the use of talking to such -a dried-up old file as you about such things? I don't believe you were -ever in love in your life, ever felt the smallest twinge of what those -stupid fools the poets call the 'gentle passion.' Gentle, by Jove! it's -anything but gentle with me--upsets me frightfully, takes away all my -sleep, and worries me out of my life. I swear to you, that now I am -separated from her, I don't know how to live without her, and wonder -how I ever got on before I knew her. When I think I'm far away from -everybody, on the cliffs or down by the sea, I find myself holloing out -aloud, and stamping my foot, for sheer rage at the thought that so much -more time must go by before I can see her again. I told you it was a -strong case, George, when you spoke to me about it; but I had no idea -then that it was so strong as it is, or that my happiness was half so -much bound up in her." - - -There was a space here, and the conclusion of the letter, from the -appearance of the ink, had evidently been written at a different time. - -"I left off there, George, thinking I might have something else to say -to you later; and so I have, but of a very different kind from what I -imagined. - -"I have had a tremendous scene with my mother. She has given up -hinting, and spoken out plainly at last. It appears that her whole -soul is set upon my marrying my cousin Annette. This is the whole and -sole reason of their living out of town, and of the poor governor -being expatriated from the Pall Mall pavement and the gossip he loves -so well. It appears that Annette is an heiress--in rather a large -way too, will have no end of money--and that my poor dear mother, -determined to secure her for me, has been hiding down here in this -horrible seclusion, in order that the girl may form no 'detrimental' -acquaintance of youths who might be likely to cut me out! Not very -flattering to me, is it? But still it was well meant, poor soul! - -"Now, you know, George, this won't do at all. If I entered into this -plan for a moment, I should have to give up that other little affair at -once; _and nothing earthly would make me do that!_ Besides, I do not -care for Annette; and as to her money, that would be deuced little good -to me, if However, one goes with the other, so we needn't say any more -about it. - -"Of course, I fought off at once--pleaded Annette's bad state of -health--she is ill, often keeps her room, and has to have a nurse -entirely given up to her--said we were both very young, and asked for -time--but all no good. My mother was very strong on the subject; and -the governor, who sees a chance of his jailership being put an end to, -and of his getting back to haunts of civilisation, backed her up with -all his might, which is not much, poor old boy! - -"So all I could do was to say that I never did anything without your -advice, and to suggest that you should be asked down here at once. My -mother wouldn't have it at first, until I said she feared you were a -gay young dog, who would make running with Annette to my detriment; -and then I told her what a quiet, solemn, old-fashioned old touch you -really were, and then she consented. So, dear old man, you're booked -and in for it. I really do want your counsel awfully, though I only -thought of making you a scapegoat when I first suggested your visit. -But now I am looking forward to it with the greatest anxiety from day -to day. Come at once. You can easily arrange about your leave--come, -and help me in this fix. _But recollect, don't attempt to break off the -acquaintance between me and that young lady, for that would be utterly -useless!_ God bless you. Come at once. - - "Yours ever, P.D." - - -George Wainwright reads this letter through twice attentively, and the -frown deepens on his forehead. Then he folds it up and places it in his -breast-pocket, and remains for ten minutes, slowly stroking his beard -with his hand, and pondering the while. Then he looks up, and says: - -"Billy, I'm thinking of taking the chief's advice, and going for a -little leave." - -"Oh, certainly," says Mr. Dunlop; "don't mind me, I beg. Leave the -whole work of the department on my shoulders, pray. You'll find I'm -equal to the occasion, sir; and perhaps in some future time, when -I have 'made by force my merit known'--when the Right Honourable -William Dunlop is First Lord of the Treasury, has clutched the golden -keys, and shaped the whisper of the Throne into saying in the ear of -the Chancellor of the Exchequer, 'Put W. D. on the pension list for -ten thou.'--I may thank you for having given me the opportunity of -distinguishing myself!" - - - - -CHAPTER XV. -ON THE ALERT. - - -"Well, George, old man, how are you? No need to ask, though. You're -looking as fresh as a daisy, and that after a couple of hundred miles -of rail, a long drive in a dog-cart, and a family dinner with people -who were strangers to you! And after all that, you're up and out by -nine o'clock. I told my people you were the most wonderful fellow in -the world, and now I think they'd believe it." - -"I haven't done anything yet to assert any claim to such a character, -at all events, Paul. I'm always an early riser, and most certainly I -wasn't going to loaf away a splendid morning like this between the -sheets. Where are the ladies and the Captain?" - -"My mother is generally occupied with domestic matters in the morning, -and Annette never shows till later in the day. If the governor had -had his will, he would have liked to be with us now. He was immensely -fetched by you last night, and jabbered away as I have not heard him -for years. But a little of the governor goes a long way; and I told him -we had business to talk over this morning; so he's off on his own hook -somewhere, poor old boy." - -"I don't think you appreciate your father quite sufficiently, Master -Paul. He made himself remarkably agreeable last night; and there was a -kind of _Pelham_ and _Tremaine_ flavour about his conversation which -was particularly refreshing in this back-slapping, slangy age." - -"And Annette--what did you think of her?" - -"I was very much struck with her appearance. I'm not much of a judge in -such matters, but surely she is very pretty." - -"Ya-as," said Paul with a half-conquering air, caressing his moustache; -"ya-as, she is pretty. What did you think of her--of her altogether, -you know?" - -"I thought her manner very charming. A little timid and nervous, as -was natural on being introduced to a stranger. Well, even more than -timid: a little weary, as though scarcely recovered from some illness -or excitement." - -"Ah, that was her illness. She had a bout of it the very day I sent off -my letter to you." - -"Well, she gave me that idea. But what on earth did you mean, young -fellow, by telling me in that letter that your cousin was dull and -_distraite_? I never saw anyone more interested or more interesting; -and what she said about Wordsworth's sonnets and his poem of 'Ruth' was -really admirably thought out and excellently put." - -"Exactly. And yet you demur at my calling you the most wonderful fellow -in the world! Why, my dear old George, you are the first person in all -our experience of her that has ever yet made Annette talk." - -"Perhaps because I am the first person who has listened to her." - -"Not at all! We've all of us tried it. The governor's not much, to be -sure, and those who don't care to hear perpetually about the Tamburini -row, and D'Orsay, and Gore House, and 'glorious Jack Reeve at the -Adelphi, sir!' and those kind of interesting anecdotes, soon get -bored. And I'm not much, and not often here. But my mother, as you'll -soon find out, is a clever woman, capital talker, and all that; and -so far as I can learn, Miss Netty has hitherto utterly refused to be -interested and amused even by that most fascinating of men to the sex, -your father." - -"My father! Why, where did he ever see Miss Derinzy?" - -"Here, in this very house. Ay, you may well look astonished! It appears -that my people knew your father in early years, before he took up his -present specialty, and that he attended my mother, who has never had -anything like decent health. She grew so accustomed to him that she -would never see anyone else; and Dr. Wainwright has been good enough, -since they have been here, to come down two or three times a year, and -look after her." - -"And he has seen Miss Derinzy?" - -"Oh yes; unprofessionally, of course--at dinner, and that kind of -thing--and, as I understand, has gone in to make himself very agreeable -to Annette, but has never succeeded. On the contrary." - -"On the contrary?" - -"Well, they tell me that she has always snubbed him tremendously; and -that must have been a frightful blow to such a society swell as your -governor--diner-out, and _raconteur_, and all that kind of thing. Fact -of the matter is, she has a deuced bad provincial style about her." - -"Upon my honour I can't see it, can't allow it, even though, as you -say, she did snub my father." - -"Of course not, you old muff! Antony, no doubt, thought Cleopatra's -manners charming; though the 'dull cold-blooded Caesar' who wouldn't be -hooked in, and the other gents whom Antony cut out, had not a good word -for her. However, look here; this scheme won't do at all. Don't you see -that?" - -"What scheme?" - -"Now, 'pon my word, I call this nice! I fire guns for help, ring an -alarm-bell for aid, and when the aid comes I have to explain my case! -Don't you recollect what I told you about my mother's plan for my -marrying Annette?" - -"Oh--yes," said George Wainwright slowly, "I recollect now." - -"That's deuced kind of you. So you must see it would never do." - -"It would not do?" - -"No, of course it wouldn't! What a fellow you are, George!" said Paul, -almost testily. "The girl does not suit me in the smallest degree, -and--and there's another one that does." - -"Ah, I had forgotten about that." - -"My good fellow, you seem to have left your wits behind you at the -office for Billy Dunlop to take care of. What the deuce are you mooning -about?" - -"Nothing; I was only a little confused for the moment. And you are -still over head and ears in that quarter, my poor Paul?" - -"By Jove, you may well say that!" - -"You correspond, of course, during your absence?" - -"I've heard from her once or twice." - -"And you carry the letters there," touching his friend's breast-pocket. -"Ah, I heard a responsive crackling of paper, my poor old Paul." - -"Oh, it's all deuced fine for you to talk about 'my poor old Paul,' and -all that, but you don't know the party, or even you would be warmed -into something like life!" - -"Hem!" growled Wainwright, "I don't know about that; though, as you -say, I am a little more exacting in my requirements than you. Does she -spell Paul with a 'w,' or with a little 'p'?" - -"She spells and writes like a lady as she is. What an ass I am to get -into a rage! Look here, George, I can't stand this much longer. I must -get back to her. It's no good my fooling my time away down here. My -mother has brought me down to propose for Annette, and I shall have to -tell her perfectly plainly that it can't be done." - -"That's why you sent for me," said George Wainwright; "to tell me that -you had fully made up your mind in the matter on which you brought me -down here to consult me, eh?" - -"No, not at all. I wanted to consult you, my dear old man, my best and -dearest of old boys; but, you see, the scenes have shifted a little -since I wrote. I've seen more of Annette, and seen more plainly that -she does not like me, and I don't care for her; and I've had a letter -from town which makes me think that the sooner I am back with Daisy, -the better." - -"With Daisy? that's her name, is it?" - -"That's her pet name with me, and---- What, mooning again, eh?" - -"No, I wasn't. I was merely thinking about---- Who was that elderly -woman who came to the drawing-room door last night and told Miss -Derinzy it was bed-time?" - -"Oh, that was Annette's servant, who is specially devoted to her--Mrs. -Stothard." - -"Mrs. Stothard--Miss Derinzy's maid?" - -"Well, maid, and nurse, and general attendant. Poor Annette, as I -wrote you, is very delicate, and requires constant watching. I should -not wonder if the excitement of last night and all your insinuating -charming talk, you old rascal, were to have a bad effect, and make her -lay up." - -"Poor young lady, I sincerely hope not. When did you say my father was -here last?" - -"I _didn't_ say any time; but I believe a few weeks ago. Now let us -take a turn, and try and find the governor." - -"By all means. I--I suppose Miss Derinzy is not down vet?" - -"Villain! you would add to the mischief you caused last night. No. -Down! no; not likely to be for hours! Come." - - -About the time that this conversation was going on in the little -breakfast-room, Mrs. Stothard might have been seen leaving the suite -of apartments which she and her young mistress occupied, all the doors -of which she carefully closed behind her, and making her way to Mrs. -Derinzy's room. Arrived there, she gave a short knock--by no means a -humble petitioning rap, but a sort of knock which said, "I only do -this kind of thing because I am obliged"--and, following close on the -sound of her knuckles, entered. - -As Mrs. Stothard had previously noticed--for nothing escaped her--Mrs. -Derinzy for the last few days had been very much "out o' sorts," in the -language of the villagers. Those humble souls anticipated the immediate -advent of another attack, and Mrs. Powler had even suggested to Dr. -Barton that the "man in Lunnon," as she called Dr. Wainwright, should -be sent for. But when the little village medico presented himself at -the Tower with the view of making a few preliminary inquiries, he only -saw Mrs. Stothard, who told him, with an amount of grimness and acidity -unusual even in her, that his services were not required. - -The fact was, that Mrs. Derinzy, though to a certain extent a -strong-minded woman, had confined herself for many years to diplomacy; -and while plotting and scheming, had forgotten the actual art of war -as practised by her in early days. Now, when the time had arrived for -her to descend again into the arena, her courage failed her. It was -now that Paul should be induced--forced, if necessary--to take up that -position to the preparation of which for him the best years of his -mother's life had been devoted, and at this very moment Mrs. Derinzy -felt herself unequal to the task. The fact is, she had been winding -herself up for the struggle, and was now rapidly running down before it -commenced, although--perhaps because--she had her suspicions as to the -result. - -"How do you find yourself this morning?" asked Mrs. Stothard, in a loud -unsympathetic voice. - -"Not at all well, Martha. You might guess that from finding me still in -my room at this time; but the fact is, I had scarcely the energy to get -up this morning." - -"Tired out by the wild dissipation of having a fresh face to look at, a -fresh tongue to listen to, last night, I suppose." - -"You mean Mr. Wainwright? He certainly is a most agreeable man." - -"You are not the only person this morning suffering from his charms," -said Mrs. Stothard, with a sniff of depreciation as she pronounced the -last words. - -"What do you mean? How is Annette? What kind of a night did she have?" - -"Bad enough. Oh no, nothing violent, but bad enough for all that. I -don't think I ever saw her so excited, so pleasantly excited, before. -I could not persuade her to go to bed; and she coaxed me to let her -sit up while she talked to me of your visitor. He was so handsome, so -charming, so intelligent, she had never seen anyone like him." - -"He made himself very agreeable," said Mrs. Derinzy shortly. She was -alarmed at the account of these raptures on Annette's part, which boded -no good to her favourite project. - -"If she were a responsible being, I should say she was in love," -said Mrs. Stothard. "Not that anyone is responsible, under those -circumstances," she added: a dim remembrance of a cathedral yard, a -pile of illuminated drawings, and a cornet in the cavalry, seen through -a long vista of intervening years, gave her voice a flat and hollow -sound. - -"In love! stuff! She sees so few new faces that she's amused for the -time, that's all. She will have forgotten the man by this morning." - -"She _hasn't_ forgotten him, though you do say 'stuff!' She had a -very restless night, tossing and talking in her sleep and laughing to -herself. And this morning, directly she woke, she asked me if George -Wainwright was still here; and when I told her yes, laughed and kissed -my cheek, and fell asleep again quite satisfied." - -"_George_ Wainwright, eh?" said Mrs. Derinzy. "She has lost no time in -picking up his name." - -"She loses no time in picking up anything that interests her. And this -Mr. George Wainwright is clever, you say?" - -"Very clever, so Paul says; and so he seems." - -"And he has come down here on a visit, just to see Mr. Paul?" - -"Exactly. Mr. Paul thinks there is nobody like him, and consults him in -everything." - -"And yet, knowing this," said Mrs. Stothard, drawing nearer and -dropping her voice, "you have this man here, and don't seem to see any -danger in his coming." - -"What do you mean, Martha? I don't comprehend you," said Mrs. Derinzy, -showing in her pallid cheeks and wandering hands how she had been taken -aback by the suddenness of the question. - -"Oh yes, you understand me perfectly, and as you have only chosen to -give me half-confidences, I can't speak any plainer. But this I will -say, that if you still wish to throw dust in your son's eyes as regards -what is the matter with Annette, you have acted with extraordinary -folly in permitting this man to come down here. He is no shallow flimsy -youth like Mr. Paul--you will excuse my speaking out; it is necessary -in such matters--but a clever, shrewd, long-headed man of the world, -and one, above all, who is constantly brought into contact with cases -such as Annette's. He will see what is the matter with her in the -course of the next interview they have, even if he has not discovered -it at once, or at all events the first time she has an attack, and--he -will tell his friend." - -"They must be kept apart; he must not see her any more." - -"Pshaw! that would excite suspicion--his, Paul's, every one's. No; -we must think it out quietly, and see what can be done for the best. -Meantime, Annette's state is greatly in our favour. She is wonderfully -good-tempered and docile, and if she does not get too much excited, we -may yet pass it off all well." - - -"Let her console herself with that idea," said Mrs. Stothard, when she -found herself alone in her own room, "if she is weak enough to find -consolation in it. Nothing will hide the truth from this man. I saw -that in the mere momentary glance I had of him last night. He will -detect Annette's madness, and will tax his father with the knowledge -of it; and the Doctor, hard though he is, won't be able to deceive his -son. And then up blows our fine Derinzy castle into the air! Won't it -blow up without that? Wait a minute, and let us just see how matters -stand--in regard to _my_ plans and _my_ future, I mean, not theirs. - -"Paul is still madly in love with Fanny. Since he has been here, he has -had two letters from her, addressed to him at the 'Lion,' under his -assumed name of 'Douglas.' I saw them when they fell from his pocket, -as he changed his coat in the hall the other day. So far, so good. -Then--this man Wainwright finds out that Annette is mad, and tells -Paul. Of course the young fellow declares off at once, only too glad to -do so, and Mrs. Derinzy's of the marriage are at an end. - -"Would Paul marry Fanny then? If left to himself he would; but -Wainwright, who they say has such immense influence over him, would -never permit it; would persuade him that he was disgracing himself, -talk about unequal alliances, and all that. - -"A dangerous man to have for an enemy! What is to be done? How is he -to be won over? Suppose--suppose he were to take a fancy to the girl -himself, mad as she is--such things have been, and she is certainly -fascinated with him--and I were to prove their friend! How would that -work out? I think something might be made of it." - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. -THE COLONEL'S CORRESPONDENT. - - -The pleasant house in Kent at which Colonel Orpington and his daughter -are staying is filled with agreeable company. Not merely young men who -are out shooting all day in the thick steaming coverts well preserved -with pheasants; not merely young women who are in the habit of carrying -on perpetual flirtation with the afore-named young men in language -intelligible to themselves alone, who look upon the Colonel as rather -a fogey, and who, as he confesses himself, bore him immensely, and are -very much deteriorated from the youth of his time; but several people -of his own age--club-hunting men who began life when he did, and have -pursued it much after the same fashion; and ladies who take interest in -all the talk and scandal and reminiscences of bygone years. - -The house is situated at such a little distance from town--some sixty -miles or so--that it is traversed in very little more than an hour -by the express train, which (the owner of the house is a director -of the railway) can be always stopped by signal at the very small -station nearest to it; so that the company is constantly changing, and -receiving fresh accessions, the coming guests being welcomed, and the -parting guests being speeded, after the ordinary recipe. - -But throughout the changes, Colonel Orpington and his daughter are -among the company who stay on; both of them are voted excellent -company, for the nights are beginning to grow long now, and the -dinner-hour has been fixed at seven instead of eight; and there is a -great talk of and preparation for certain amateur theatricals, of which -the Colonel, who is an old hand at such matters, is stage-manager and -principal director, and in which Miss Orpington is to take a leading -part. Much astonishment has been privately exhibited by certain of the -assembled people that that restlessness which generally characterised -"old O.," as he was familiarly termed amongst them, seemed to have -abated during his visit to Harbledown Hall; more especially has a calm -come over those horribly troublesome slate-quarries and lead-mines in -South Wales, which usually took the Colonel so frequently away from his -daughter and his friends. The matter is discussed in the smoking-room -late at night, long after the well-preserved Colonel has retired to his -rest; and Badger Bobus, who is come down to stay at Harbledown on the -first breath of there being any possibility of club-hunting, thinks -that he ought to keep up the reputation which he acquired by his famous -saying on the subject; but the Muse is unpropitious, and all that Bobus -can find to remark is, that "it is deuced extraordinary." - -The long interval which has now elapsed since her father found it -necessary to relieve her of his presence does not seem to have had much -effect upon Miss Orpington. Truth to tell, whether her revered parent -is or is not with her has now become a matter of very small moment with -that lady; and when her hostess congratulates herself in supposing that -her house must indeed be attractive when that dear Colonel consents -to remain there as a fixed star, Miss Orpington merely shrugs her -shoulders slightly and expresses no further acquiescence. - -Life has gone on in all this Arcadian simplicity for full five -weeks, when the appearance of the Colonel at the breakfast-table, -blue frock-coated and stiff-collared, instead of in the usual easy -garb adopted by him in the country of a morning, shows some intended -change in his proceedings. The wags of the household, Badger Bobus -and his set, are absent from the breakfast-table; for there was a -heavy billiard-match on the night before, and they were yet sleeping -off its effects. Nevertheless the change in the Colonel's costume is -not unobserved; but before a delicately-contrived question can be put -to extract its meaning, the Colonel himself announces that he has to -go to town for a day, and may possibly be prevented from returning -that night. Modified expressions of horror from the young ladies -and gentlemen about to act in the amateur theatricals, then close -impending--fears that everything will go wrong during the manager's -absence, and profound distrust of themselves without his suggestions -and experience. The Colonel takes these compliments very coolly--is -pretty nearly certain to be back that night; and his absence will -give them a chance of striking-out any new lights which may occur to -them, and which can be tendered for his acceptance on his return. Miss -Orpington, when appealed to to persuade her father not to be longer -away than is absolutely necessary, meets the matter with her usual -shoulder-shrug, and a calm declaration that in those matters she never -interferes, and papa always pleases himself. - -The Yorkshire baronet with money to whom she is engaged, and who does -not put in appearance until after the Colonel's announcement has been -made (he was one of the most interested in the billiard-match, and ran -Badger Bobus very hard at the last), is really delighted at the news. -He and the Colonel get on very well together--they are on the best of -terms both as regards present and prospective arrangements; but there -is, as Sir George Hawker remarks, something about the "old boy" which -did not "G" with his, Sir George's, notions of perfect comfort. - -Before the last of the dissipated ones has dropped-in to the dry bacon -and leathery toast, the remnants of the haddocks, and the _debris_ -of the breakfast, the Colonel is driving a dogcart to the station, -where the signal for the express to stop is already flying. The -equanimity which the old warrior has sustained in the presence of his -friends deserts him a little now when there is no one near him save a -stolid-faced groom who is gazing vacantly over the adjacent country. -His annoyance does not vent itself on the horse--he is too good a whip -for that--but he "pishes!" and "pshaws!" and is very short and sharp -with the groom demanding orders as he leaves his master at the station; -and when he has been sucked-up, as it were, into the train, which -is again thundering on its townward way, he takes a letter from his -pocket, and daintily adjusting his natty double-eyeglass on his nose, -reads it through and through. - -"This is the infernal nuisance of having to make women allies in -matters of this kind," says he softly to himself, laying down the -letter and looking out of the window. "They are always doing too much -or too little; anything like a _juste milieu_ seems to be utterly -impossible to them; and I cannot make out from this girl's rodomontade -nonsense whether she has not just overstepped her instructions, and -so spoiled what promised to be a remarkably pretty little plot. And -yet it was the only thing I could do, and she was the only available -person. It was a thousand pities that Clarisse was away from town at -the moment; for she is not merely thoroughly trustworthy, but always -has her wits about her." - -When the train arrives in London, the Colonel calls a cab, and is -driven to the Beaufort Club, which is still empty and deserted, and -where he asks the porter whether certain members, whom he names, had -been there lately. Among these names is that of Mr. Derinzy; and on -being answered in the negative, he brightens up a little and pursues -his way. This time the cabman is directed to drive to the Temple; and -at the Temple gates he stops and deposits his fare. - -There are symptoms of renewing life among the lawyers, for term-time -is coming on. As the Colonel steps down Middle Temple Lane, he passes -by long ladders, and has to skip out of the way of the shower of -whitewash and water which the painters, standing on them, scatter -refreshingly about. It is for Selden Buildings that Colonel Orpington -is making; and, arrived in that quiet little nook, where the hum of -the many-footed passing up and down Fleet Street sounds only like the -distant roar of the sea, he stops before the doorway of No. 5, and -after a rapid glance upwards, to assure himself that he is right, -enters the house, and climbs the dingy staircase. The clerks in the -attorney's office on the ground-floor seem to be in full swing; but the -oak on the first-floor, guarding the chambers where Tocsin, Q.C., gets -himself in training for gladiatorial practice, is closed, Tocsin being -still away. Arrived at the second-floor, the Colonel pauses to take -breath, the ascent having been a little steep. There are two doors, -one on either hand, and both are closed. After a moment's breathing -space, the Colonel turns to the one on the right, which bears the name -of "Mr. John Wilson," and after a short glance round, to see that he -is unobserved--it was scarcely worth the trouble, for he was most -certain there would be none there to see him--he takes a neat little -Bramah-key from his pocket, opens the oak, and entering, closes it -carefully behind him. There is nothing in the little hall but a stone -filter and a couple of empty champagne bottles. So the Colonel does -not linger there, but quickly passing through, opens the door in front -of him, and finds himself in a large room dimly lit, by reason of -the window-blinds being all pulled down. When these are raised--and -to raise them is the Colonel's first proceeding--he looks round him -with a shiver, lights a fire, which is already laid in the grate, and -carelessly glances round the apartment. Not like a lawyer's rooms -these; not like the office of a hardworking attorney, the chambers of -a hard-reading, many-brief-getting barrister; not like the chambers of -Tocsin, Q.C.--even though Tocsin notoriously goes in for luxury, and -affects to be a swell; no litter of many papers here, no big bundles -of briefs, no great sheets of parchment, no tin boxes painted with -resonant names (in most cases as fictitious as the drawers of Mr. Bob -Sawyer's chemist-shop), no legal library bound in calf, no wig-box, -no stuff-gown refreshingly dusted with powder hanging up behind the -door. Elegant furniture, more like that found in a Mayfair drawing-room -than in the purlieus of the Temple: long looking-glasses from floor to -ceiling, velvet-covered mantelpiece, china gimcrackery placed here and -there, easy-chairs and sofa; no writing-table, but a little davenport -of old black oak, a round dining-table capable of seating six persons, -a heavy sideboard also in black oak, and a dumb-waiter. Heavy cloth -curtains, relieved by an embroidered border, cover the windows; and on -the walls are proofs after Landseer. Thick dust is over all; and as the -fire is slow in lighting, the Colonel shivers again as he gives it a -vicious poke, and says to himself: - -"'Gad! there is a horrible air of banquet-halls deserted, and all that -kind of thing, about the place! It must be more than three months -since anyone was in it. When was the last time, by-the-way? Oh, when -I gave Grenville and Brown and Harriet that supper after the picnic." -The fire struggles up a little, but the Colonel still shivers. "I wish -I had told that old woman who attends to this place that Mr. Wilson -was likely to be here for an hour or two to-day, and wanted his fire -lit. I hope my young friend will be punctual. It is better down at -Harbledown than at this dreary place; and it wouldn't do for me to -show in town--not that there is anybody here to see me, I suppose. -Young Derinzy away still--that is good hearing; but what could she have -meant by 'things not looking very straight?' Always so confoundedly -enigmatical and mysterious in her writing. Perhaps she will be more -explicit when we meet face to face." Then, looking at his watch, "Let -me see--just two; and I have not time to get any luncheon anywhere; -that is to say, if she comes at the hour which I telegraphed to her." - -The fire is burning bravely now, and the Colonel is bending over it, -rejoicing in its warmth, when he hears a slight tinkling of a bell. He -looks up and listens. - -"'Gad! I forgot I had closed the oak," he says. "I come here so seldom, -that the ways of these places are still strange to me." (Tinkle again.) -"That must be my young friend." - -He rises leisurely, crosses the hall, and opens the door, and is -confronted by a tall young woman, rather flashily dressed, who lifts -her veil, and reveals the features of Miss Bella Merton, the clerk at -Mr. Kammerer's, the photographer. - -"Is Mr. Wilson in, sir?" asked the young lady, with a demure glance. - -"He is," said the Colonel; "and delighted to welcome you to his -rooms. Come in, my dear young lady; there is no necessity for either -of us acting a part now. You are very punctual, and in matters of -business--and ours is entirely a matter of business--that is a very -excellent sign." - -He led her into the room, pulled an arm-chair opposite the fire, and -handed her to it. - -"I scarcely know whether I am doing right in coming here, Colonel -Orpington," said Bella Merton--"by myself, you know, and alone with a -gentleman," she added, as if in reply to his wondering look. - -"I mentioned just now that there was no necessity for any nonsense -between us, Miss Merton," said the Colonel quietly, "and that we are -engaged on what is purely a matter of business. Let us understand -each other exactly. You are my agent, my paid agent--I don't wish to -hurt your feelings, but in business frankness is everything--to make -inquiries and act for me in a certain matter, and you have come here -to make me your report. There is no mystery about it so far as you are -concerned, except that you are to know me in it as Mr. Wilson; but you -will find, my dear Miss Merton, as you grow older, that in many of -the most important business transactions in the world the name of the -principal is not allowed to transpire. Do I make myself clear?" - -Miss Merton, though still young, has plenty of _savoir faire_. She -takes her cue at once; lays aside her giggling, demure, and blushing -friskiness, and comes to the point. - -"Perfectly, Mr. Wilson," she replied. "I received your telegram, and am -here obedient to it." - -"That is very right, very prompt, and very much to the purpose," says -the Colonel. "I ask you to meet me here, because in your note received -this morning you seem to intimate that things were not going quite as -comfortable as I could wish with our young friend--Fanny, I think you -call her. Is not that her name?" - -"Yes; Fanny Stafford." - -"Very well, then; in future we will always speak of her as Fanny, or -Miss Stafford, as occasion may require. Will you be good enough now to -enter into farther particulars?" - -"Well, you see, Mr. Wilson"--and the girl cannot help smiling as she -repeats his name, for Colonel Orpington looks so utterly unlike any -possible Mr. Wilson--"Fanny has grown dull and out of sorts lately; and -I cannot help thinking, from some words she has occasionally dropped, -that she is anxious to leave Madame Clarisse, and settle herself in -life." - -"I don't know that I should prove any obstacle to that," says the -Colonel; "it would depend, of course, on the manner in which she -proposed to settle herself." - -"Of course," says the girl, looking at him keenly; "that is just it; -and, if I may be excused for saying so, I don't think hers was in your -way." - -"Very likely not. Please understand you are to say everything and -anything that comes into your head and you think relates to the -business we have in hand. I imagine, from the hint in your letter, that -the gentleman of whom we have spoken, Mr. ----, how do you call him?" - -"Mr. Douglas--Paul Douglas." - -"Ay, Mr. Douglas--had come to town. On inquiry, I find this is not the -case." - -"No, but she hears from him constantly; and though she never shows -me his letters, I can gather from what she says that there has been -something in the last one or two of them which has upset her very much." - -"You have not the least idea what this something may be? Do you imagine -he proposes to break with her?" - -"On the contrary, I think she discovers that his love for her is -even deeper than she imagined, and I think that her conscience is -reproaching her a little in regard to him." - -The Colonel looks up astonished. - -"Who can have benefited by any lapse or waywardness of which these -conscience-stings can be the result?" he asks. "Not I for one." - -"I don't think anyone is benefited by them, Colonel Orpington," -says the girl, with a shadow on her face; "I am sure no one has in -the way you suggested. What I mean is this, that Fanny is naturally -discontented with her position, and anxious for riches, and fine -clothes, and a pretty home, and all that. Since I have talked to her -about you and the strong admiration you have for her, and your coming -after her photograph and giving Mr. Kammerer the heavy price he asked -for it, and constantly speaking to me about her, she has grown more -discontented still, I fancy; and we women can generally read each -others minds and guess at each other's ideas, principally from the fact -that we are all made use of and played upon in the same way, I imagine. -I fancy that Fanny thinks that she has not acted quite fairly towards -Paul Douglas since his absence; that all this talk about you has -lessened her regard for him, and led her to picture to herself -another future than that which she contemplated when he went away, -and---- Well, I have rather an idea that there is another disturbing -element in the matter." - -"'Gad!" says the Colonel, stroking his moustache thoughtfully, "there -seems to be quite enough complication as it is. What is it now?" - -"I fancy that a young man in her own station of life, bright, active, -and industrious, and likely to make a very good position for himself in -that station out of which he would never want to move--for he is proud -of it, and thoroughly self-reliant--is deeply smitten with Fanny, and -that she knows it." - -The Colonel looks up relieved. - -"I wouldn't give much for this young man's chance, pattern of all the -virtues though he may be. I don't think he is much in Miss Stafford's -line." - -"Perhaps not," says Bella Merton, "nor do I think he would be likely -to succeed, if Fanny had not several sides to her character. At all -events, whether he succeeds or not, the knowledge that he cares -for her, and that he is ready to open a new career for her, has an -irritating and upsetting effect upon her just now." - -The Colonel lit a cigar during the progress of this dialogue, and sat -smoking it thoughtfully. - -"Do you happen to know whether Madame Clarisse is in town?" he asks her -after a few minutes' pause. - -"I think I heard Fanny say that she came back from Paris last week," -replies Miss Merton; "yes, I am sure she did; for I recollect Fanny -telling me Madame had said that she might have a holiday, and I wanted -her to come away with me to get a change somewhere." - -"Quite right of you to throw yourself as much with her as possible; -but don't take her away just yet. You have given me most admirable -aid, Miss Merton, and have managed this affair with a delicacy and -discretion which do you infinite credit, and which I shall never -forget. Will you add to your favour?" - -"Willingly if I can, Colonel--I mean Mr. Wilson," says Bella, with a -blush. "How is it to be done?" - -"By getting yourself a dress, or mantle, or something of that new brown -colour which has just come into fashion, about which all the ladies are -raving, and which I am sure would become you admirably, and by wearing -it the next time I have the pleasure of receiving a visit from you," -says the Colonel, pressing a bank-note into his visitor's hand. "And -now goodbye. Not a word of thanks; I told you at the beginning this was -a mere matter of business; I am merely carrying out my words." - -"You wish me still to see Fanny, and to let you know anything that may -transpire?" asks Bella. - -"Certainly; though perhaps I may soon---- However, never mind; write -always to the same address, and keep me well informed." - -Miss Merton goes tripping through the Temple, in great delight at the -crisp little contents of her purse that she has just received from the -Colonel, and commanding great tribute of admiration from the attorneys' -clerks who catch glimpses of her through the grimy windows behind which -they are working; and Colonel Orpington, _alias_ Mr. John Wilson, sits -with his feet before him on the fender, smoking slowly, and cogitating -over all he has heard. - -It is dusk in the Temple precincts, though still bright light outside, -before he rises from his chair, flings the but-end of his last cigar -into the fire, and says to himself: - -"Yes, I think that I must now appear on the scene myself, and see how -the land lies with my own eyes. I wonder whether young Derinzy has -been playing this recent game from forethought or by accident. Deuced -clever move of his if he intended it; but I rather think it was all a -chance; such knowledge of life does not come to one until after a great -deal of experience, and he is a mere boy as yet. I don't think much -of what my young friend just now said about the tradesman, artisan, -or whatever the fellow may happen to be, though she seemed to have a -notion that he would prove dangerous. However, it will all work out in -time, I suppose. I won't stop in town to-night, now there is nothing -to be done; the house in Hill Street is all upset, and I will go back -to my comfortable quarters at Harbledown, and give those acting people -the benefit of my society. John Orpington," he says, looking at himself -in the glass over the mantelpiece, "you have come to a time of life -when rest is absolutely necessary for you, and you have got too much -good sense to ignore the fact; and as to Miss Fanny Stafford, well--_la -nuit forte conseil_--I will sleep upon all I have heard, and make up my -mind to-morrow morning." And so little excited or flurried is Colonel -Orpington by the events of the day, that when the down express is -stopped by signal at the little station, the guard, previously charged -to look out for him, finds the Colonel deep in slumber over his evening -newspaper. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. -WELL MET. - - -In her light and volatile way, Miss Bella Merton had made what was by -no means a wrong estimate of Daisy's state of mind; more especially -right was she in her conjecture that Paul Derinzy's absence had had -the effect of showing to Daisy the true state of her feelings towards -him, and that she found her heart much more complicated than she -had believed. She had been accustomed to those walks in Kensington -Gardens, which had become of almost daily occurrence, and she missed -them dreadfully. She had been accustomed to the soft words, the -tender speeches, to the little pettings and fondlings and delicate -attentions which her lover was always paying to her, and in her -solitude she hungered after them. True, his letters were all that a -girl in her position could desire--full of the kindest phrases and most -affectionate reminiscences, full of delight at the past and of hope for -the future; only, after all, they were but letters, and Daisy wearied -of his absence and longed for his return. - -In the dull dead season of the year, when everything was weary and -melancholy, when business was at such a standstill, that she had not -even the excitement of her work to carry off her thoughts in another -direction, the girl pondered over her lot, and the end of each period -of reflection found her heartily sick of it. How long was it to -endure? Was this daily slavery to go on for ever? Was she still to -live in a garret, to emerge from thence in the early morning to the -dull routine of business, to go through the daily toil of showing her -employer's wares to the listless customers, of enduring all their -vapid impertinences and senseless remarks, to superintend making up -the boxes and the sending-off of the parcels, and to return again to -the cheerless garret, weary, dispirited, and dead-beat? So that slight -glimpse of the promised land which had been accorded to her when she -first made up her mind that she would bring Paul's attentions to a -definite end, that marriage never to be perfectly realised while he -was with her, while she was in the daily habit of meeting him and -listening to his impassioned words, that future which she had depicted -to herself, seemed now perfectly possible of realisation, although -Paul had, as she was compelled to allow to herself, never held out -definite hopes of marrying her, but contented himself by dwelling on -the impossibility of any decadence in his love, or of his being able to -pass his life away from her. - -But since his absence in the country, these pleasant visions had -gradually faded and grown colourless. Thinking over the past, Daisy -was compelled to allow to herself that, though their acquaintance now -extended over some months, the great end to which she was looking -forward seemed as far off as ever. Who were those people of his, as he -called them? this family of whom he apparently stood in such awe? and -even if their consent were obtained, would Paul have courage enough to -fly in the face of the world by marrying a girl in a station of life -inferior to his own? The moral cowardice on this point she was aware -of; his weakness she knew. She had seen it in his avoidance of public -places when in her company, and the constant fright of detection which -he laboured under. She had taxed him with it, and he could not deny -it, but laughed it off as best he might. He even in laughing it off -had confessed that he stood in wholesome terror of Mrs. Grundy and all -the remarks which she and her compeers might make. Was this a feeling -likely to be effaced by time? She thought not. The older he grew the -less likely was he to care to defy the world's opinion, unsustained as -he would be by the first fierce strength of that love which alone could -spur him on to what was, in his eyes, a deed of such daring. - -And Daisy was in this position, that, however much she might seem to -talk and laugh with Bella Merton, she could not take that young person, -nor indeed any person of her own age, into her confidence. All the -counsel and advice which she had to rely on must come from her mother -alone, and Mrs. Stothard's advice was like herself, grim and very hard -and very worldly. From the first she had seemed much pleased with -Daisy's account of her relations with Paul. She had urged her daughter -to persevere in the course on which she had decided, and to lose no -opportunity for making the young man declare himself, so that they -might have some legal hold upon him. All this was to be done cautiously -and without hurry, so long as he continued as attached as he then -seemed to be. Daisy was cautioned against doing anything which might -alarm him; it was only if she perceived that he was relaxing in his -attentions that she was at once to endeavour to bring him to book. - -And though Daisy was fully aware that her more recent letters to her -mother, written since Paul's absence, had been influenced by the -dulness which that event had caused her, and were, in truth, anything -but reassuring productions, Mrs. Stothard's had never lost heart. They -were cheerful and hopeful; bade her daughter not to give way, as she -felt certain that all would be right in the end; and were full of a -spirit of gaiety which was little characteristic of the writer. - -And there were two other influences at work which tended to disturb -Daisy's peace of mind. Her acquaintance, Bella Merton, though -sufficiently social and volatile, had a singular knack of persistence -in carrying through any plan on which she might be engaged; and since -the subject was first mentioned at the little party in Augusta Manby's -rooms, she had taken advantage of every opportunity of being in -Daisy's company, to enlarge to her on Colonel Orpington's position and -generosity, and of the extraordinary admiration which he had professed -for Fanny's portrait and herself. - -These remarks were listened to by Daisy at first with unconcern, and -their perpetual iteration would probably have disgusted her, had not -Miss Merton been endowed with an unusual amount of feminine tact, and -thus enabled to serve them up in a manner which she thought would -be peculiarly palatable to her friend; so that Daisy found herself -not merely constantly listening to stories of Colonel Orpington when -she was in Miss Merton's company, but thinking a great deal of that -distinguished individual when she was alone. She had taken very little -notice of him on the day when he called in George Street with his -daughter, and could only recollect of his personal appearance that -it was gentlemanly and distinguished-looking; but she remembered -having noticed the keen way in which he looked at her, and one glance -of unmistakable admiration which he levelled at her as he followed -his daughter from the room. And he was very rich, was he? and very -generous--very generous? Why was Bella Merton always harping on his -generosity? why was she always talking in a vague way of hoping some -day to be able to introduce him formally? - -To Daisy there could be no misunderstanding about the purpose of -such an introduction, the girl thought, with flaming cheek; and the -recollection of Paul's delicacy came across her, and she felt enraged -with herself at ever having permitted Bella Merton to talk to her in -that fashion. And yet--and yet what was the remainder of her life to -be, Paul making no sign? She knew perfectly well that that little -tea-party in Dalston might, in another way, take rank as an epoch in -her life. She knew perfectly well that John Merton, who had always -admired her, that night had yielded up his heart, and she would not -have been surprised any day at receiving an offer of his hand. Was -that to be the end of it? Was she to pull down the image of Paul which -she worshipped so fondly, and erect that of homely John Merton in -its place? Was she to continue in very much the same style of life -which she was then leading, merely exchanging her garret for a room a -little less high, a little better furnished, but probably in a less -desirable part of the town? Was she to remain as a drudge--not indeed -to Madame Clarisse or any other employer, for she knew John Merton -was too high-spirited to think of allowing her to help towards their -mutual maintenance by her own labour--but still as a drudge in domestic -duties, in slavery for children and household, never to rise in the -social scale, never to know anything of those luxuries which she so -longed for? It was a bitter, bitter trial, and the more Daisy thought -it over--and the question was constantly present in her mind--the less -chance did she see of bringing it to a satisfactory conclusion. - -Although the professional people whose duties required their attendance -in town were beginning to come back, and bringing with them, of -course, their wives and families, the majority of Madame Clarisse's -more happily placed-customers yet remained in their country houses, -and there was still very little business doing at the establishment -in George Street. There were frequently times in the day when Daisy -had nothing to do, and she would take advantage of her leisure to go -out and get a breath of the bleak autumnal air. Madame Clarisse never -objected to these little excursions; indeed, encouraged them. For on -her return from France, she had noticed that her favourite Fanfan's -cheeks were looking very pale, and that her manner was listless and -dispirited, and that she plainly wanted a change. Madame was at first -disposed to insist on Fanfan's going away for a time to the country -or the seaside, and recruiting herself amid fresh scenes. But a -communication which she received about that period altered her views; -and she consequently contented herself by giving her assistant as many -hours' leisure as she conveniently could, taking care that this leisure -was fragmentary, and never to be enjoyed for longer than one afternoon -at a time. - -Daisy had an odd delight, when thus enabled to absent herself from -her duties, in visiting the old spot in Kensington Gardens, which had -been the scene of her walks with Paul. They had selected it on account -of its seclusion, but now there were fewer people there than ever; it -was too damp and cold any longer to be used as a place of recreation -by the children who formerly frequented it for its quietude and its -shade; and an occasional workman hurrying across the Park, or a keeper, -finding his occupation gone in the absence of the boys, gazing wearily -down the long vistas at the end of which the thick white fog was -already beginning to steam, were the only human creatures whom Daisy -encountered. - -She was astonished, therefore, one day on arriving at the end of the -well-known avenue, and turning to retrace her steps, to find herself -face to face with a gentleman who must evidently have made his approach -under cover of the trees, and who was close to her before she had heard -his footfall. - -She recognised him in an instant--Colonel Orpington. - -"I must ask your pardon for intruding on you, Miss Stafford," said the -Colonel, raising his hat, "and more especially for having come upon you -so suddenly, and caused, as I am afraid I see by your startled looks, -some annoyance; but though I have never had the pleasure of a personal -introduction, we have met before, and I believe you know who I am." - -His manner was perfectly easy and gentlemanly, but thoroughly -respectful withal; and though, as he had noticed, Daisy's first impulse -was to turn aside and leave him without a word, a moment's reflection -caused her to bow and say: - -"I believe I recognise Colonel Orpington." - -"Exactly; and in Colonel Orpington you see an unfortunate man who is -compelled, from what the begging-letter writers call in their flowery -language, 'circumstances over which he has no control,' to remain in -London at this horribly dismal time of year." - -Daisy was silent, but she smiled; and the Colonel proceeded: - -"I wandered into the Park and strolled up the Row, where there were -only three men, who were apparently endeavouring to see which could -hold on to their horses longest; and I was comparing the ghastliness -of to-day with the glory of last season--I need not quote to you, I am -sure, my dear Miss Stafford, that charming notion about a 'sorrow's -crown of sorrows,' which Mr. Tennyson so cleverly copied from Mr. -Dante, who thought of it first--when at the far end by the Serpentine -Bridge I got a glimpse of a form which I thought I recognised, and -which, if I may say so, has never been absent from my mind since I -first saw it. I made bold to follow it; and just now, on your turning -round, I found I was right in my conjectures. It was you.". - -He paused; but Daisy did not smile now, merely bowed stiffly, and moved -as though she would proceed. The Colonel moved at the same time. - -"I hope you are not annoyed at my freedom, Miss Stafford," said he. -"Believe me, at the smallest hint from you, I will rid you of my -presence this instant; but it does seem rather ridiculous that two -persons who, I think we are not flattering in saying, are calculated -to amuse one another at a time and in a place where they are as much -alone as the grand old gardener and his wife were in Paradise, should -avoid each other in an eminently British manner, simply because -conventionality does not recognise their meeting." - -This time Daisy smiled, almost laughed, as she said: "You will readily -understand, Colonel Orpington, that the rules of society have no great -hold upon me, who have never been in any position to be bound by them; -and I haven't the least objection to your walking part of the way with -me on my return to my employer's, if it at all pleases or amuses you to -do so." - -"It would give me the very greatest pleasure," said the Colonel; and -they walked on together. - -As Daisy looked up for an instant at the face of her companion and -thought of Paul, she could not help wondering at the contrast between -the two men: he with whom she had been in the habit of walking up and -down that avenue was always so thoroughly in earnest, his head bent -down in fond solicitude towards her, his eyes seeking hers, every -tone of his voice, every movement of his hands showing how deeply -interested he was in that one subject on which alone they talked; while -her present companion, though probably fully double Paul's age, walked -along gaily and blithely, his head erect, and his voice and manner as -light as his conversation. - -"This is really charming," said the Colonel. "I had not the least idea -of so pleasant an interview in my dull, dreary day. There is literally -not one soul in London of my acquaintance, except yourself, Miss -Stafford; and do you know, on reflection, I am rather glad of it." - -"Indeed! And why, Colonel Orpington?" - -"Because, don't you know, they say that people who in the whirl of the -season might be constantly coming into momentary contact, and then -carried away off somewhere else, never have the slightest opportunity -of really becoming acquainted with each other; whereas, when people -are thrown together at this time of year and this kind of way, there -is a chance of their discovering each other's best qualities, and thus -establishing an intimacy." - -Daisy laughed again--this time a rather hard, bitter laugh. - -"You forget, Colonel Orpington, you are talking to me now as though I -am one whom you are likely to meet in the whirl of the season, one with -whom you are likely to become on intimate terms." - -The Colonel looked grave. "I am thinking that you have the manners, the -appearance, and the education of a lady, Miss Stafford; you could have -nothing more," said he quietly. "And now, where are you bound for?" - -"I am going back to my employer's in George Street." - -"Ah, Madame Clarisse's, where I had first the pleasure of seeing you. -And does that still go on, Miss Stafford, every day.--that same work in -which I saw you engaged?" - -"Exactly the same, day after day," said Daisy, with a little sigh; "a -little less of it now, a little more of it another time, but always the -same." - -"'Gad, it must be dull," said the Colonel, pulling down the corners -of his mouth, "having to show a lot of gowns and things to pert young -misses and horrible old women, and listen to their wretched jargon. -Don't you sometimes feel inclined to tell them plainly what frights -they are, and how the fault, when they find fault, is not in the -thing--cap, ribbon, shawl, or whatever it may be--which they are trying -on, but in themselves?" - -"Madame Clarisse would scarcely thank me for that, I think," said -Daisy; "and I should rather repent my own folly when I found myself -without employment, and without recommendation necessary for getting -it." - -"Yes, of course, you are right," said the Colonel, "it would not do; -but the temptation must be awfully strong. I was thinking after I left -Clarisse's the other day, how astonished the hideous creatures who go -there must be when they find that the things which look so charming on -you when you were showing them off, so entirely lost their charm when -sent home to the persons who have purchased them. Like a fairy tale, -by Jove!" As he said this, Colonel Orpington cast a momentary glance -at his companion to see what effect his remarks had produced, and -was pleased to find that Daisy looked gratified. The next moment her -countenance clouded as she said: - -"It is not a very ennobling position, that of being an animated block -for showing the effect of milliner's wares, but I suppose there are -worse in the world." - -"Of course there are, my dear Miss Stafford; many worse, and a great -many better. It would be a dreary look-out, though, if you had no -brighter future in store for you." - -"It is a dreary look-out, then," said the girl, almost solemnly. - -"Don't say that," said the Colonel, moving a little closer towards her, -and slightly lowering his voice; "you mustn't talk in that manner; you -are depressed by the dull time, and the day, and this charming fog -which is now rising steadily around us. You don't imagine, I suppose, -that the rest of your life is to be spent at Madame Clarisse's?" - -"At Madame Clarisse's, or Madame Augustine's, or Madame somebody -else's, I suppose," said Daisy. - -"But have you no idea of setting-up in business for yourself?" asked -the Colonel. "It would not be any great position, but at all events it -would be better than this. At any time, I imagine, it is more pleasant -to drive than be driven." - -"I have never thought of it," said the girl; "the chance is so very -remote, it does not do to look forward. I find it is better to go on -simply from day to day, taking it all as it comes," said Daisy, with a -short laugh. - -"Now, my dear Miss Stafford, you really must not speak in that way. -I must take advantage of my being, unfortunately, a great deal older -than you, and having seen a great deal more of the world, to give -you a little advice, and to talk seriously to you. You are far too -young, and, permit me to add, far too beautiful, to hold such gloomy -and desponding views. From the little I have already had the pleasure -of seeing of you, I should say you were eminently calculated by the -charm--well, the charm of your appearance--for there is no denying -that with us ordinary denizens of the world, who are not philosophers, -a charming appearance goes a long way--and of your manners, you are -eminently calculated to make friends who would only be delighted at an -opportunity of serving you." - -"Such has not been my experience at present," said the girl. "I am -afraid that your desire to be polite has led you into error, Colonel -Orpington; I find no such friends as you describe." - -"I was mistaken," said the Colonel; "I thought there must be at least -one person who would have done anything for you." - -As he said these words, he looked sharply at her; and though Daisy's -eyes were downcast, she noticed the glance, and felt that she blushed -under it. - -"However, be that as it may," said the Colonel, "it will be my care to -see that you are unable to make that assertion henceforth. Believe me, -that this day you have made a friend whose greatest delight will be in -forwarding your every wish." - -He dropped his voice as he said these words, and let his hand for an -instant rest lightly on hers. - -"You are very kind," she said, "and I know I ought to be very -grateful--I ought." - -"You ought not to say another word, Miss Stafford," said the Colonel. -"When you are a little older and a little more experienced, you will -know that there is nothing more foolish than to be too ready with your -gratitude. Wait and see what comes. Think over what I have said, and -settle in your own mind in what way I can be of service to you; and -don't be angry with me for saying that you must not be afraid to take -me literally at my word. Fortune, who is so hard upon many excellent -and deserving people, has been especially kind to me, who don't deserve -anything at all, and I have much more money than I can spend upon -myself. Think over all I have said, and let me look forward to the -pleasure of seeing you in the same spot again to-morrow afternoon. Now -I will intrude upon you no longer. Goodbye." - -He touched her hand, took off his hat, and before Daisy could speak a -word, he had left her, and was retracing his steps across the Park. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. -SOUNDINGS. - - -Captain Derinzy did not experience so much satisfaction as he had -anticipated from Mr. George Wainwright's visit to the Tower. On the -first night of his arrival, his guest had listened to him with the -greatest patience and apparent delight. The Captain had told all -his old stories, repeated his _bon mots_--which were very brilliant -some dozen years before, but had lost a little of their glitter and -piquancy--and had aired the two subjects on which he was strongest--his -delight in London life, and his disgust at the place in which he was -then compelled to vegetate--to his own entire satisfaction. - -He had hoped for frequent renewals of these pleasant confabulations -during George Wainwright's stay; but the next morning Paul told his -father that he and his friend had matters of business to talk over; and -although George seemed willing, and even anxious, to give up portions -of his time occasionally to his host, he was so much in requisition -by Paul, by Annette, and even by Mrs. Stothard, that the poor Captain -found himself left as much as usual to his own devices, and wandered -about the beach and the cliffs, cursing his fate and his exile as -loudly as ever. But while he was thus excluded from the general -councils, a series of explanations seemed to be going on among the -other members of the household. - -"I want to speak to you, Martha," said Mrs. Derinzy, on the afternoon -of the day after the conversation last recorded had taken place. "I -have been thinking over what you said this morning, and I want you to -be more explicit about it." - -"About what portion of it?" asked Mrs. Stothard. - -"Well, about all; but more particularly what you said about my only -having chosen to give you half confidences. What did you mean by that?" - -"Exactly what I said. You're a clever woman, Mrs. Derinzy, but you -have made a great mistake in imagining that you could make me a -fellow-conspirator with you in a plot----" - -"Conspirator! plot!" cried Mrs. Derinzy, interrupting. - -"Exactly. A fellow-conspirator in a plot," said Mrs. Stothard -calmly--"I use the words advisedly--and yet only tell me a portion of -your intentions." - -"Will you be good enough to explain yourself, Mrs. Stothard?" said -Mrs. Derinzy, seating herself, and thereby asserting her superiority -in the only way possible over her servant, who knew so much, and was -apparently inclined to make a dangerous use of her knowledge. - -"Certainly," said Mrs. Stothard. "I am the only person in this place, -besides you and your husband, who knows that your niece Annette Derinzy -is subject to fits of lunacy. I say who _knows_ it; it may be suspected -more or less, though I don't think it is much. But I know it. The -fact is kept sedulously by you from all who are likely to be brought -in contact save the one physician who attends, and his visits are -accounted for by a pretext that you, and not Annette, are his patient. -If that is not a plot in which we are fellow-conspirators, I should -like to know what is." - -"Go on," said Mrs. Derinzy, in a low voice. - -"I am going on," said Mrs. Stothard, pitilessly. "The reason for your -concealing the fact that this girl is an occasional lunatic is, that -she is the heiress of a very large fortune, and that since the day on -which you first heard of her inheritance you determined that she should -marry your only son. For my discovery of this portion of the plot, I am -not indebted to you. It was the work entirely of my own observation. -You can say whether I am right in my conjecture or not." - -"Suppose you are, what then?" - -"Suppose I am! What is the use of beating about the bush in this absurd -way any longer? You know I am right. Now that you see the difficulty of -blinding your son any longer to his cousin's condition, and that he is -not weak enough to have been played upon to any extent, had it not been -for the influence which this newly-arrived friend has over him, you -find that you require my aid, and want my advice." - -Perhaps for the first time in her long scheming anxious life, Mrs. -Derinzy felt herself thoroughly prostrate. She hid her face in her -hands, and when she raised it, tears were streaming down her cheeks. -She made no further attempt at concealment of her feelings, but -murmured piteously, "What are we to do Martha--what are we to do?" - -Mrs. Stothard's hard face softened for a moment as she stepped towards -her, and touched her gently with her hand. - -"What are you to do!" she cried. "Not to give way like this, and throw -up all chance of winning the battle after so long and desperate a -fight. Let us think it over quietly, see exactly how matters stand, and -determine what can be done for the best." - -"He must never know it, Martha--he must never know it!" murmured Mrs. -Derinzy. - -"Who must never know what?" asked Mrs. Stothard, shortly. - -"Paul must never know that Annette is mad. If he finds it out, of -course all hope of his marrying her is at an end. And what will he -think of me for having deceived him?--of me, his mother, who did it all -for his good." - -"You must be rational, or it will be impossible to decide upon -anything," said Mrs. Stothard, who had relapsed into her grim state. -"As to Paul's not knowing, that is sheer nonsense. I told you long ago, -it was very unadvisable to have him down here at all. But he is not -very observant, and with proper care might have been easily gulled. -The girl was getting better, too--that is to say, there was a longer -interval between her attacks, and the matter might possibly have been -arranged. Now that Mr. George Wainwright has seen her, and is an inmate -of the same house with her, that hope is entirely at an end." - -"You think so, Martha?" - -"I am certain of it." - -"Then all my self-sacrifice, all my anxieties and schemings have been -thrown away, and I have no further care for life," said Mrs. Derinzy, -again bursting into tears. - -"You are relapsing into silliness again. Suppose Paul were told of his -cousin's illness, do you think he would definitely refuse to marry her?" - -"Instantly and for ever," said Mrs. Derinzy. - -"What! if the fact were notified by George Wainwright, who at the same -time hinted that though Annette had been insane, her disease was much -decreased in violence and frequency during the last few years, and in -the next few might possibly cease altogether? Would Paul, hearing all -this, and urged on by you, give up his notion of the fortune he would -enjoy with his wife--Paul, who is, as I have heard say, so fond of -pleasure and enjoyment, so imbued with a passion for spending money?" - -She paused, and Mrs. Derinzy looked at her in astonishment, then said: - -"Paul is weak and frivolous, but is no fool; he will not believe it." - -"Not if it is told him by his friend who has such influence over him, -and on whose integrity he relies so thoroughly?--not if it is told him -by Dr. Wainwright's son?" - -"He might if it were told him by Dr. Wainwright himself," said Mrs. -Derinzy, hesitating. - -"And don't you think that George Wainwright has sufficient influence -with his father to make him do as he wishes?" asked Mrs. Stothard. - -"Has anyone sufficient influence with George Wainwright to make him -help in our scheme?" - -"Time will show," said Mrs. Stothard. "Now that we understand each -other, I think you had better leave this affair wholly in my hands. You -know me well enough to be certain that I shall do my best to serve you." - -"That was the best way to settle it," said Mrs. Stothard to herself as -she walked towards her own room. "It was necessary to face it out--it -would have been impossible to make her believe that Paul could have -been kept in ignorance of the secret. And yet she is weak enough to -think a man like George Wainwright would suffer himself to take part -in such a wretched scheme as this, and compromise his own honour and -his friend's happiness! However, it will amuse her, and give me time -to mature my own plans. I rather think the notion that I hit on this -morning will be the best one to work out after all; the best one, that -is to say, for all I care--for Fanny and myself. Ah, who is this coming -in from the garden? 'Tis Mr. Wainwright. I wonder what he thinks of -me; his look last night was anything but flattering; now we shall see. -Goodmorning, sir." - -"Goodmorning to you, nurse; how is your charge this morning?" - -"My charge? Oh, you mean Miss Annette. She's very well indeed; I think -she seems to have benefited very much by the change which the arrival -of company has brought to the house." - -"Company! Mr. Paul can scarcely be considered company in his own home, -and I fear I am not much company." - -"It doesn't sound very flattering, Mr. Wainwright; but the mere sight -of a fresh face does us good in this dull place. I always tell Mrs. -Derinzy that my young lady wants rousing; and I am sure I am right, for -it is a long time since I have seen her look so bright as she does this -morning." - -"I am sure you are not sufficiently selfish as to keep all her -brightness to yourself, nurse," said George; "but I do not think Miss -Derinzy has yet left her room." - -"I am going to her now," said Mrs. Stothard, "to persuade her to take -a turn in the grounds before luncheon; if I may say you will accompany -her, Mr. Wainwright, I am sure she will come at once." - -"You may say that I will do so with the very greatest pleasure," said -George; and then, after Mrs. Stothard had left him, "A clever woman -that, and, if my ideas are correct, just the sort of person for that -place. What a wonderful position for them all down here, and how -extraordinarily well the secret has been preserved! The girl has a -singular charm about her, and yet Paul will be delighted at getting--as -I have very little doubt he will get--his release. Fancy wishing to be -released from---- What can have made that woman so civil to me this -morning? I thought I came down here for quiet, and I find that I must -not move or speak without previously exercising the most tremendous -caution. Ah, here is Miss Annette; how pretty and fresh she looks!" - -She did look wonderfully pretty in her tight-fitting violet-cashmere -dress, made high round her throat, with a small neat white collar and -cuffs, and with a violet ribbon in her hair. Her eyes were bright, -and her manner was frank and free as she walked straight up to George -Wainwright, and holding out her hand, gave him goodmorning. - -"Goodmorning, Miss Derinzy," said George; "you are late in coming -among us. I was just asking your servant what had become of you." - -"My servant! Oh, you mean Mrs. Stothard. Have you been talking to that -horrid woman? What has she been saying to you? - -"You mustn't call her a horrid woman; she has been speaking very nicely -of you, and said she would send you to take a turn in the grounds with -me; so I don't think her a horrid woman, of course." - -"She is a horrid woman, all the same," said Annette, "and I hate her; -though I shall like taking a turn in the grounds with you. Let us come -out at once. What a lovely morning!" - -"Yes," said George, as they stood on the steps, "but not lovely enough -for you to come out without a hat; the air is anything but warm." - -"It strikes cold to you Londoners," said Annette, laughing; and as she -laughed, her eyes sparkled and her colour came, and George could not -help thinking how remarkably pretty she looked; "but I do not feel it -one bit too fresh; I hate having anything on my head." - -"Do you never wear a hat?" - -"Only when I go into the village with Mrs. Derinzy, never here in the -grounds. I hate anything that weighs on my head or gives me any sense -of oppression there; always when I feel my head hot I think I am going -to be ill." - -"Ay, I was sorry to hear that you were so frequently an invalid," said -George. - -"Yes," said the girl, "I often think the house, instead of the Tower, -should be called the Hospital. Mrs. Derinzy, you know, is very often -ill; so ill sometimes, that Dr. Wainwright has to come from London to -see her." - -"So I have heard," said George. "Do you know my father?" - -"I have seen him very often when he has been down here to visit my -aunt." - -"He has never attended you, I suppose, Miss Derinzy?" asked George, -looking at her closely. - -"Dr. Wainwright attend me! Oh dear, no," said Annette; "there was never -any occasion for his doing so." - -"Like most unselfish people, you make light of your own troubles," said -George, "and exaggerate those of other people." - -"No, indeed," said Annette; "my ailments are trifles compared with -those of Mrs. Derinzy." - -"How do you feel when you are ill?" asked George. - -"What a curious man you are? what curious questions you ask! Why do you -take any interest in me and my ailments?" - -"In you, because--well, I can only say that I find you very -interesting," said George, with a smile; "and in your illness because -I am a doctor's son, you know, and understand something of a doctor's -work." - -"Well, I can scarcely call mine illnesses," said the girl; "for such -as they are, I and Mrs. Stothard--the woman you were just talking -to--manage them between us. I feel a sort of heavy burning sensation -in my brain, a buzzing in my ears, and a dimness of sight, and then I -faint away, and I know of nothing that happens, how the time goes by, -or what is said or done around me, until I come to myself, and feel, -oh, so horribly weak and tired!" - -"I told you you spoke too lightly of your own ailments, Miss Derinzy," -said George, with an earnest, passionate look; "and this account of -what you suffer seems to give me the idea that you require more skilled -treatment than can be afforded by Mrs. Stothard, kind though she may -be." - -"I didn't say she was kind," said the girl sullenly; "I hate her!" - -"Has my father never prescribed for you in one of these attacks?" - -"Never; and never shall!" - -"I hope you don't hate him too?" asked George with a smile. - -"I--I don't like him." - -"May I ask why not?" - -"I--I can't tell; but his prescribing for me would be of no use, he -could do me no good." - -"How can you tell that?" - -"Because he has happened to come down here by chance to see my aunt -when I have been ill, and of course if he could have cured me, they -would have asked him to do so." - -"Of course," said George. He looked at her steadily, but could glean -nothing from the expression on her face, and he changed the subject. -"You haven't seen Paul this morning?" - -"No, I see very little of him. Before he came down, my aunt talked -so much to me about his visit, and said he was so amusing and so -delightful, and that I should be so much pleased with him." - -"Well?" - -"Now you are asking me questions again. I intended to make you tell me -all about London and what the people do there; and we have been out -here for half an hour, and talked about nothing but myself. What did -you mean by 'Well'?" she added laughing. - -George laughed too. - -"I meant, and you found all Mrs. Derinzy's anticipations realised?" - -"Not the least in the world. I don't find my cousin amusing, and I am -sure he doesn't talk much; he walks about smoking a pipe and smoothing -his moustache with his fingers; and whenever one speaks to him, his -thoughts seem to be a long way off, and he has to call them back before -he answers you. I told my aunt he was like those people you read of in -books, who are in love." - -"What did she say to that?" - -"She smiled, and said she had noticed the same since Paul had been down -here, and that very likely that might be the reason." - -"You must not be hard on Paul," said George Wainwright, at the same -time frowning slightly; "if you knew him as well as I do, you would -think him the best fellow in the world." - -"I find that that is what is always said of people whom I don't care -about," said Annette, quietly. - -"My father, for instance," said George, with a laugh, "and Mrs. -Stothard." - -"Of Dr. Wainwright, certainly," said Annette. "My aunt and uncle are -never tired of proclaiming his praises; and my aunt has reasons, for -I believe it is to his skill that my aunt owes her life; but I never -heard anyone say anything good of Mrs. Stothard." - -"Poor Mrs. Stothard," said George. "She will most likely---- Ah, here -is the Captain." - -The gentleman strolling up the little white path which led over the -cliff to the sea was indeed Captain Derinzy, limping along and slashing -at the bushes with his cane in his usual military manner. He looked -very much astonished at seeing Annette walking with his guest, and did -not disguise his surprise. - -"Hallo!" he said, "you out here! Seldom you come out into the open air, -isn't it?--Be much better for her if she came out oftener, wouldn't -it, Wainwright? This is the stuff that they talk about in this country -life. Why, in London a girl goes out and rides in the Row twice a-day, -and walks and rides in Bond Street, and all that kind of thing, and -get's plenty of exercise, don't you know? Whereas in the country it is -so infernally dirty, and the roads are all so shamefully bad, and there -are such a set of roughs about--tramps and that kind of people--that -girls don't like going out; and yet they tell you that the country is -more healthy than London! All dam stuff!" - -"Well, Miss Derinzy's looks certainly do credit to the country, though -I regret to hear that they are not thoroughly to be relied on. She has -been telling me she suffers a great deal from illness." - -"Oh, has she?" said the Captain, looking up nervously; "the deuce she -has! Look here, Netty, don't you think you had better go in and dress -yourself for dinner, and that kind of thing? It is quite cold now, -and you haven't got any hat, and your aunt might make a row--I mean, -mightn't like it, you know. Run in, there's a good girl; we shall all -be in soon.-- Don't you go, Wainwright; I want to show you a view from -the top of that hill--the Beacon Hill, they call it; it's about the -only thing worth seeing in the whole infernal place." - -When Captain Derinzy went in to dress for dinner, he said to his wife: - -"It is a deuced good thing that I am a long-headed fellow and have -my wits about me, and all that kind of thing. I found this young -Wainwright walking with Annette, and he told me she had been telling -him about her illness and all that. So I thought it best to separate -'em at once; and I sent her off into the house, and took him away to -the Beacon Hill, though he seemed to me to be wanting to go after her -all the time." - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. -TWO IN PURSUIT. - - -The festivities of Harbledown Hall were at an end, the amateur -theatricals had been given--to the great delight of those performing -in them, and to the excessive misery of those witnessing them--on two -successive nights: the first to the invited neighbouring gentry, the -second to the tenantry and servants. The guests were dispersed to -various other country houses, and among them Miss Orpington and her -father had taken their departure; but not to the same destination: the -young lady, under the chaperonage of her aunt, was going to stay with -some people, the head of whose family was an eminent tea-broker in the -City, who, some years before, would not have been received into what -is called society, but who was now so enormously rich that society -found it could not possibly do without him. Society dined with him and -danced with him at his house in Hyde Park Gardens, invited his wife -and his daughter to all sorts of entertainments during the season, -voted his two ugly dumpy sons the pleasantest fellows in Europe, and -went regularly to stay with him during the autumn at his most charming -country place at Brookside near Hastings. - -As an acknowledgment of all these kindnesses the tea-broker had caused -himself to be put into Parliament, and took his place with tolerable -punctuality amongst the conscript fathers, never failing in obedience -to the suggestions of the whip of his party, and, when he was not in -the smoking-room, sleeping the sleep of the righteous on the back -benches of the House. - -The party at Brookside promised this year to be a particularly -agreeable one; and as Miss Orpington had arranged for an introduction -with the Yorkshire baronet with money, and that gentleman saw his way -to unlimited sport during the day and unlimited flirtation during the -evening, they agreed to console themselves even for the absence of the -young lady's papa. - -For Colonel Orpington was not going to Brookside. His daughter, as he -said, had her aunt to look after her, and her intended to amuse her; -and though there was nothing to be said against Skegby--that being the -name of the tea-broker--who was a very good fellow, a self-made man, -honour to British commerce, and that kind of thing, and was received -everywhere, yet there were some people going to Brookside that the -Colonel didn't care about meeting; and so, as the house in Hill Street -was ready, he should go and take up his quarters there for a time--at -all events until he had occasion to inspect the works and quarries in -South Wales. - -All his friends being still away from London, it was natural that -the Colonel should seek for consolation in the resources of that new -acquaintance which he had so recently made. He had met Fanny Stafford -several times in the Park, and she had so far relaxed from her rigid -formality as to accept two or three little dinners from him, as good -as his taste could command and Verrey could supply, at which Madame -Clarisse was always present. - -That worthy lady's interest in her assistant seemed to have increased -very much since her return from Paris. She was always insisting on -Fanny's taking half-holidays, giving up work now and again, and coming -into her private rooms for a meal and a chat; and in that chat, which -was entirely one-sided and carried on solely by Madame Clarisse, the -theme was always the same--the misery of work and poverty, the glory of -idleness and riches, the folly, the worse than folly, almost crime, of -those who spend their life in toil, and neglect to clutch the golden -opportunity which comes to most all of us when we are young, and comes -but once. - -With these remarks--which might have seemed sententious in anyone else, -but which Madame Clarisse put so aptly and so deftly, with such quaint -illustrations, sounding quainter still in the broken English with which -she interlarded her discourse, as to render it amusing--was often -mixed a series of running comments on Colonel Orpington, which were -laudatory, but in which the praise was laid on with a very skilful hand. - -It is due to the Colonel to say that he left all mention of himself, -whether laudatory or otherwise, to Madame Clarisse, and this was one of -the greatest reasons for which Daisy liked him. - -Beyond referring occasionally to his originally expressed desire to -see the girl removed into some better position than that which she -then occupied, and his readiness to help her in the achievement of -such a position, Colonel Orpington never seemed to have any object -in his never-failing pursuit of the girl's acquaintance beyond the -perfectly legitimate one of amusing himself and her, and making the -time pass pleasantly for them both. He was always gay, always cheerful, -always full of good-humoured talk and anecdote, but at the same time -always strictly respectful and well-bred in his conversation and in -his manner. He treated the milliner's assistant with as much courtesy -as he would bestow upon a duchess; and it was only in his occasional -colloquies with Madame Clarisse that he permitted himself the use of -phrases which but few of his compatriots would have understood, and -which even in France would have been more easily intelligible in the -Rue de Breda than in the Faubourg St. Germain. - -And what were Daisy's feelings towards Colonel Orpington? Did she -really love or care for him? Not one whit. - -Had she forgotten Paul and all their long walks and talks, all the -devotion which he had proffered her, all her acknowledgments of regard -for him? Had his image faded out of her heart during his absence, and -was it there replaced by another and less worthy one? Not the least -in the world; only that the absence of her lover had given the girl -breathing space, as it were, to look around her, and to estimate her -present position and her future chances at their actual value. And when -thus seriously estimated, she found that the devotion which Paul had -proffered her was, to her thinking, not worth very much; it was not -sufficient to induce him to pledge himself to marry her: it was not -sufficient to induce him boldly to defy the opinion of the world, and -break off those shackles of family and society by which he was bound -hand and foot; it was only sufficient for him to give up a certain -portion of his time to be passed in her company, which was after all a -sufficiently selfish pleasure, as it pleased him as much as it did her. -And then, after all, what was to be the result? - -In the early days of their acquaintance, before he knew the character -of the girl he had to deal with, Paul had given certain hints which -Daisy had rigidly ignored, or when compelled to hear them, had -forbidden to be repeated; but since then they had been going on in -a vague purposeless way; and though the boy-and-girl attachment, -the stolen meetings, the letters, and the knowledge that they loved -each other, were in themselves sufficient, and would last for ever, -due consideration gave Daisy no clue to the probable result of that -connection. And yet she loved Paul; had no idea how much she loved him -until she was thinking over what her future, what a portion of her -future at least, might be if passed with somebody else. - -If passed with somebody else? There could be no doubt about what was -intended, though he had never said a word, or given the slightest hint. -The conversation of her employer--who, as Daisy was clear-headed and -keen-witted enough to see, was in the Colonel's confidence--was full of -subtle meaning. No need for the Frenchwoman to enlarge to Daisy on what -she meant by the golden opportunity; no need for her to dwell upon the -comforts and luxuries which were easily procurable by her--the dresses -and equipages, the pomps and vanities which so many wasted their lives -in endeavouring to obtain, and which might be hers at once. - -Hers; and with them what? A life of shame, a career such as she had -regarded always with loathing and horror; such as she had told her -mother that, whatever temptation might assail her, she had sufficient -courage and strength of mind to avoid. And such a life, not with -a young lover, the warmth of whose passion, whatever might be its -depth, it was impossible to deny, but with a man no longer young, who -pretended to no sentiment for her beyond admiration, and who, polished, -courteous, and gentlemanly as he was, would probably look upon her as -any other appanage of his wealth and position, and care for her no more. - -And yet, and yet were they to go on for ever--the long days of -drudgery, the nights in the cheerless garret, the weary existence -with the one ray of hope which illumined it, the love for Paul, soon -necessarily to be quenched for ever? She could not bear to think of -that. Should she give it up, fling all to the winds, tell her lover on -his return, which she was now daily expecting, that she could stand it -no longer; bid him take her and do with her as he willed--marry her -or not, as he chose, but let her feel that there was something worth -living for, some bond of union which, legal or illegal, lessened the -hard exigences of daily life, and took something of the grimness off -the aspect of the world? - -She was mad! Was that to be the end of all her cultivated coldness -and self-restraint? Had she quietly, if not cheerfully, accepted the -wretched life which she had been leading so long, with the one aim of -establishing for herself a position, and was she now going to undo -all that she had so patiently planned and so weariedly carried out in -one moment of headstrong passion? Was the position which she hoped to -acquire, for which she had so earnestly striven, to prove to be that -of a poor man's mistress, where everything would have been lost and -nothing gained? Nothing gained! Nothing? not Paul's love? No, she had -that now; and she was quite sufficient woman of the world to know that -in the chance of such a contingency as she had contemplated, she might -not be long in losing it. - -As the time for Paul Derinzy's return approached, Daisy became more -and more unsettled. It would seem as though Colonel Orpington had been -made aware of the speedily anticipated reappearance on the scene of one -who might be considered his rival; and, indeed, Miss Bella Merton had -been several times recently to Mr. Wilson's chambers in the Temple, and -held long conversations with the occupant thereof. As he was more than -usually assiduous in his attentions to Fanny, she, Madame Clarisse, had -accompanied them once or twice to the theatre; and on one occasion, -when the Frenchwoman had declared that Fanfan was dying for fresh -air--it was one morning after the girl had passed a sleepless night -in thinking over all the difficulties that beset her future, and she -looked very pale and weary-eyed----the Colonel had placed his brougham -at the disposal of the ladies, and insisted on their driving down in -it to Richmond, whither he proceeded on horseback, and had luncheon -provided for them on arrival at the hotel. - -More assiduous, but not more particular beyond telling her laughingly -one day that he should speedily ask her for an interview, at which he -should ask her consent to a little project that he intended to carry -out, the Colonel's conversation was of his usual ordinary light kind; -but Madame Clarisse's hints were more subtle than ever, and Daisy could -not fail to have some notion of what the project to be proposed at the -suggested interview might be. - -One Sunday morning--Paul was to come up from Devonshire that night, and -had written her a wild letter full of rhapsodical delight at the idea -of seeing her again the next day--Daisy was seated in her room. - -Her little well-worn writing-desk was open, the paper was before -her, the pen lay ready to her hand; but the girl was leaning back in -her chair, and wondering how much or how little of the actual state -of affairs she ought to describe in the letter to her mother which -she was then about to write; for it had come to that, that there was -concealment between them. Of her acquaintance with Colonel Orpington, -Daisy had breathed never a word; while on her side Mrs. Stothard had -carefully concealed the fact, that she was an inmate of the house which -was the home of her daughter's lover, where at the time he was actually -staying. - -Daisy was roused from her deliberation by a rap at the door, and by the -immediate entrance of Mrs. Gillot, her landlady, who told her that a -gentleman wished to see her. - -It was come at last then, this interview at which all was to be decided! - -Daisy felt her face flush, and knew that Mrs. Gillot remarked it. - -"A gentleman!" she repeated. - -"Ay, a gentleman," said the worthy woman; "and one of the right sort -too, or you may depend upon it I wouldn't have had him shown into my -front parlour, where he now is. Not but what you can take care of -yourself, Miss Fanny, and I trust you to give any jackanapes a regular -good setting-down, with your quiet look, and your calm voice, and your -none-of-your-impudence manner; but this is a gentleman, and when I -showed him into the parlour, I told him I was sure you would see him." - -"I will come directly, Mrs. Gillot." - -She rose, took a hasty glance in the little scrap of looking-glass, and -descended the stairs. - -Her heart beat highly as she laid her hand upon the parlour-door. -It resumed its normal rate or pulsation as the door opened beneath -her touch, and she saw, standing before her on the hearth-rug, the -unexpected figure of John Merton. - -Something in her face when she first recognised him, something in the -tone of her voice, some note of surprise and disappointment when she -bade him goodmorning, must have betrayed itself, for he said hurriedly: - -"You did not expect to see me, Miss Stafford." - -"I confess I did not; but of course I am very glad. I--I hope Bella is -quite well?" - -"Bella is very well, I believe." - -"Have you brought me some message from her?" - -"No, indeed. She does not even know I was coming here." - -There was a pause, then he said: - -"I suppose you do not think I have taken a liberty in calling on you, -Miss Stafford?" - -"Oh dear, no! I have known you so long, and your sister is such an -intimate acquaintance of mine, that I could not be anything of that -sort. What makes you ask?" - -"Well, you looked so--so surprised at seeing me." - -"I was surprised at seeing anyone. No one ever comes here after me." - -"No?" said John Merton, interrogatively, and his face seemed to -brighten as he said it. - -"No," said Daisy; "and my landlady must have been as much astonished as -I am. You must have made a very favourable impression on her to obtain -admittance." - -"Mrs. Gillot is a very old friend of mine," said John Merton. "She has -known me since I was a boy; but I should not have presumed upon that -acquaintance to ask for you, nor indeed, Miss Stafford, should I have -ventured to come here at all, if I had not something very particular to -say to you." - -"Very particular to say to me!" - -"To say to you something so special and particular, that your answer to -it may change the course of my whole life. I must ask you to listen to -me, Miss Stafford. I won't keep you a minute longer than I can help." - -Daisy bowed her head in acquiescence. She had taken a seat, but he -remained standing before her, half leaning over towards her, with one -hand on the table. - -Poor John Merton! The girl's eyes rested on that hand, with its great -thick red fingers and coarse knuckles and clumsy wrist; and then they -travelled up the shiny sleeve of his black coat, and over his blue silk -gold-sprigged tie to his good-looking face shining with soap, and his -jet-black hair glistening with grease. And then she dropped her eyes, -and inwardly shuddered, comparing them with the hands and features of -two other people of her acquaintance. - -"You said just now," said John Merton, in rather a husky voice, "that -you were not annoyed at my calling upon you, because you had known me -so long, and because you were so intimate with my sister. I think I -might allege those two reasons as the cause of my being here now. All -the time I have known you I have had but one feeling towards you, and -all that I have heard my sister say of you--and she seems never to be -talking of anybody else--has deepened and concentrated that feeling. -What that feeling is," continued John, "I don't think I need try to -explain. I don't think I could if I tried, unless--unless I were to say -that I would lay down my life to save you from an ache or a pain, that -I worship the very ground you tread on, and that I look upon you like -an angel from heaven!" - -His voice shook as he said these words; but the fervour which possessed -him lit up his features; and as Daisy stole an upward glance at him, -and saw his pleading eyes and working mouth, she forgot the homeliness -of his appearance, and wondered how her most recent thoughts about him -had ever found a place in her mind. - -He caught something of her feeling, and said quickly, "You are not -angry with me?" - -She shook her head in dissent. - -"You mustn't be that," he said, "whatever answer you may give me. I -know how inferior I am to you in every possible way. I know, I can't -help knowing, I could not help hearing even at that girl's the other -evening, the last time we met, how you were noticed and admired by -people in a very different position from mine: have known this and -borne it all, and never spoken--shouldn't have spoken now, but that -there is come a chance in my life which I must either accept or -relinquish, and I want you to decide it for me." - -"You want me to decide it!" - -"You, and you alone can do it. This is how it comes about, Miss -Stafford. You know I am what they call a 'counterjumper,'" said -he, with a little bitter laugh; "but I know, that though it is a -distinction without a difference, I suppose, to those who are not -in the trade, I am one of the first hands with perhaps the largest -silk-mercers in London, and I have been taken frequently abroad by -one of the firm when he has gone to buy goods in a foreign market. I -must have pleased them, I suppose, for now they are going to set up an -agency in Lyons; and they have offered it to me, and I shall take it if -you will come with me as my wife." - -He paused, and Daisy was silent. - -After a minute, he said hurriedly: - -"You don't speak. It is not a bad thing pecuniarily. They would make -it about three hundred a year, I think, and I should get very good -introductions, and it would be like beginning life again for both -of us. I thought it would be a good chance of shaking off any old -associations; and as the position would be tolerable, it would be only -me--myself, I mean--that you would have to put up with, and---- You -don't speak still! I haven't offended you?" - -She looked up at him. Her face was very pale, and her hands fluttered -nervously before her; but there was no break in her voice as she said: - -"Offended me! You have done me the greatest honour in your power, and -you talk about offence! You must not ask me for an answer now; I cannot -give it; the whole thing has been so sudden. I will think it over, -and write to you in a day or two at most. Meantime, I think it would -be advisable for both our sakes that you should not speak of what has -occurred, even to your sister." - -"Of course not," he said; "anything you wish. And you tell me that I -may hope?" - -"I did not quite say that," she said with a smile. "I told you you must -wait for my reply. You shall have it very soon. Now, goodbye." - -She held out her hand to him, and he took it in his own--which again -looked horribly red and common, she thought--then he just touched it -with his lips, and he was gone. - -"Another element, a third element in the confusion," said Daisy to -herself as she reascended the stairs to her room; "but one not so -difficult to deal with as the others." - - - - -CHAPTER XX. -FARTHER SOUNDINGS. - - -It was not likely that a man of George Wainwright's intelligence -and habits of observation could remain long domesticated in a -household like that of the Derinzys', without speedily reading the -characteristics of its various members. - -In a very little time after his arrival, the young man--whose manners -were so quiet and sedate as to lead Captain Derinzy to hint to his wife -that he thought Wainwright rather a muff--had reckoned up his host -and knew exactly the amount of vanity, silliness, and ignorance which -so largely swayed the estimable gentleman; had gauged Mrs. Derinzy's -scheming worldliness, knew why it originated and at what it aimed; had -thoroughly solved the problem, so difficult to all others, of Mrs. -Stothard's position in the house; and knew exactly the character of the -malady under which Annette was suffering. - -He ought to have known more about Annette than about anybody else, -for nine-tenths of his time--all, indeed, that he could spare from -the somewhat assiduous attentions of his host--were given to her. He -walked with her, made long explorations of the neighbouring cliffs, -long expeditions inland among the lovely Devonshire lanes, lovelier -still with the fiery hue of autumn, and even induced her to join him -and Paul in sundry boat-excursions, where, well wrapped up in rugs and -tarpaulins, she lay on the flush-deck of the little fishing-smack, half -frightened, half filled with childlike glee at her novel experience. - -Paul had often laughed and said to their common associates, "When old -George is caught, you may depend upon it, it will be a very desperate -case." - -And "old George" was caught now, Paul thought, and thought rightly: -the delicacy, the good nature, the sweet womanly graces of the girl -showing ever and anon between her sufferings--for during George's stay -at Beachborough, Annette had been free from any regular attack, yet -from time to time there were threatenings of the coming storm which -were perfectly perceptible to his experienced eye--nay, perhaps the -very fact of the malady under which she laboured, and the position in -which she was placed, had had strong influence over George Wainwright's -honest heart. As for Paul, he was so thoroughly astonished at the -change which had taken place in his cousin since George's arrival, -and at the wonderful pains and trouble which George himself took to -interest and amuse Annette, that this wonderment entirely filled so -much of his time as was not devoted to thinking of Daisy. He wondered -and pondered, and at last the conviction grew strong upon him, that -George must be in love. - -At first he laughed at the idea. The sober, steady, almost grave man, -who had such large experience of life, and who yet had managed to steer -clear, so far as Paul knew, of anything like a flirtation. Flirtation, -indeed, would be the last thing to which his friend would stoop, "when -old George is caught." Something, perhaps, also--"for pride attends us -still"--was due to the fact that Annette always showed the greatest -desire for his company, and undisguised delight at his attention and -admiration. Never in the course of her previous life had the girl -met with anyone who seemed so completely to comprehend her, whose -talk she could so readily understand, whose manner was so completely -fascinating, and yet somehow always commanded her respect. She despised -her uncle, she disliked her aunt, and hated Mrs. Stothard though she -feared her; but in the slow and painful workings of that brain she felt -that if at those--those dreadful times when semi-blankness fell upon -her, and her perception of all that was going on was dim, and obscure, -and confused--if at such a time George Wainwright were to order her -to do anything in opposition to the promptings of that devil, which -on those occasions possessed her, she felt she should be powerless to -disobey him. - -"I can't make it out, George; upon my soul, I can't," said Paul, as -they were walking along the edge of the cliffs one morning smoking -their pipes after breakfast. - -"What is it that puzzles your great brain, and that prompts to such -strong utterances?" asked George, laughing. - -"You know perfectly well what I mean. You needn't try to be deceitful -in your old age," said Paul; "for deceit is a thing which I don't think -you would easily learn, and at all events does not go well with hair -which is turning white at the temples, and a beard which is beginning -to grizzle, Mr. Wainwright. You know perfectly well that I am alluding -to the attentions which you are paying to my cousin, Miss Derinzy. And -I should be glad to know, sir," continued Paul, vainly endeavouring to -suppress the broad grin which was spreading over his face, "I should -be glad to know, sir, how you reconcile your conduct with your notions -of honour, knowing, as you perfectly well do, that that lady is my -affianced bride." - -"Don't be an ass, Paul," said George, smiling in his turn. "I dispute -both your assertions, especially the last. The lady is nothing of the -kind." - -"No, poor dear child, that she certainly isn't. And I think on the -whole that it is a very good thing that my affections are engaged in -another quarter; for I am perfectly sure that, however much I might -have wished it, Annette would never have had anything to say to me. I -endeavoured to make my mother understand that, when she first talked to -me on the subject when you first came down here; but she seemed to look -upon Annette's wishes as having very little to do with the matter." - -"Mrs. Derinzy's state of health possibly makes her take an exceptional -view of affairs," said George, looking hard at his friend. - -"Well, I declare I don't know about her state of health," said -Paul. "I confess that, beyond a little peevishness, which is partly -constitutional, I suppose, and partly brought on by having lived so -many years with the governor--good old fellow the governor, but an -awful nuisance to have to be with constantly--I don't see that there -is much the matter with my mother. Have you ever heard your father say -anything about her illness, George?" - -"My father is remarkably reticent in professional matters," said -George. "I have never heard him speak about any illness in this house." - -"Oh, of course, it was only about my mother that he could say -anything," said Paul; "for the governor never has anything the matter -with him, except a touch of sciatica now and then in his game leg; and -Annette's seems to be--you know--one of those chronic cases which never -come to much, and which no doctor can ever do any good to." - -"I suppose you won't be sorry to get back to town, Master Paul?" - -"I suppose you will be sorry to leave here, Master George? No; indeed, -I am rather glad the end of my leave is coming on; no intended bad -compliment to you, old fellow; your stay here has been the greatest -delight to me; but the fact is, I am getting rather anxious about that -young person in London, and shall be very glad to see her again." - -George looked up at him with a comical face. - -"You don't mean to say that since Theseus's departure, Ariadne has----" - -"I mean to say nothing of the sort," said Paul, turning very red. -"Daisy is the best girl in the world; but I don't know, somehow I don't -think her letters have been quite as jolly lately--the last two, I -mean; there is something in them which I can't exactly make out, and -there is not something in them which I have generally found there; so -that after all, as I said before, I shall be glad when I get back." - -"Has Mrs. Derinzy said anything more to you on the subject which -you wrote to me about?" asked George, with a very bad attempt at -indifference. - -"No," said Paul; "she has begun it once or twice, but something has -always intervened." - -"Have you any idea that she has given up her intention of getting you -to marry Miss Annette?" - -"I fear not; I fear that her intention remains just the same, and -that I shall have an immense deal of trouble in combating it. You -see, events have changed since your arrival here, my dear George. -But speaking dispassionately together, I don't see what line I can -take with my mother in declining to propose for Annette, except the -straightforward one that I won't do it. It seems highly ridiculous -for a man in a government office, and with only the reversion of a -sufficiently snug, but certainly not overwhelming, income in prospect, -to refuse the chance of an enormous fortune, and the hand of a very -pretty girl, who, as Mr. Swiveller says, has been expressly growing up -for me." - -"Yes," said George, reflectively, "I quite see what you mean; it will -be a difficult task. But you intend to carry it through?" - -"Most decidedly. Nothing would induce me to break with--with that young -person in London; and if she were to break with me, God knows it would -half kill me. I don't think I could solace myself by taking a wife with -a lot of money, even if I could be such a ruffian as to attempt it." - -So from this and fifty other conversations of a similar nature--for -the theme was one which always engrossed his mind, and was constantly -rising to his tongue--George Wainwright knew that there would be no -obstacle to his love for Annette so far as Paul Derinzy was concerned. -That young man had no care for his cousin even without the knowledge -of the dreadful secret, which must be known to him some day, and the -revelation of which would inevitably settle his resolution to decline a -compliance with his mother's prayer. - -That dreadful secret, always up-rearing its ghastly form in the path -which otherwise was so smooth and so straight for George Wainwright's -happiness! All his cogitations came to one invariable result--there -could be no other explanation of it all. The illness which she -herself could not explain, which came upon her from time to time, and -during which she sank away from ordinary into mere blank existence, -emerging therefrom with no knowledge of what she had gone through; the -mysterious woman, half nurse, half keeper, who watched so constantly -and so grimly over her? the manner in which all questions touching -upon the girl's illness were shirked by every member of the household; -the delusion so assiduously kept up, under which Mrs. Derinzy and not -her niece was made to appear as the sufferer; above all, the constant -visits of his father--all these proved to George that the disorder -under which Annette Derinzy laboured was insanity, and nothing else. - -And the more he thought of it, the more terrified was he at the idea. -Familiarity with mental disease, intercourse with those labouring under -it, had by no means softened its terrors to George Wainwright. True, he -had no physical fear in connection with the mere vulgar fright which is -usually felt with "mad people." He had no experience of that; but he -had seen so much of the gradual growth of the disorder; had so often -marked the helpless, hopeless state into which those suffering under it -fell--silently indeed, but surely--that he had come to regard it with -greater terror than the fiercest fever or the deadliest plague. - -And now, when for the first time in his life he had fixed his -affections on a girl who seemed likely to return his passion, and who -in every other way was calculated to form the charm of his home and -the happiness of his fireside, he had to acknowledge to himself that -she was afflicted with this dreadful malady. It was impossible to -palter with the question; he had tried to do so a thousand times; but -his strong common sense would not be juggled with. And there the dread -fact remained--the girl he loved was frequently liable to attacks of -insanity. He must face that, look at it steadily, and see what could be -done. Could she be cured? - -Ah! how well he knew the futility of such a hope! How many instances -had he seen in his father's house of patients whose disease was not of -nearly such long standing as Annette's, had indeed only just begun, -and who were in a few days, or weeks, or months at the farthest, to be -restored, with all their faculties calmed and renewed, to their anxious -friends!--and how many of them remained there now, or had been removed -to other asylums, in the hope that change might effect that restoration -which skill and science had failed in bringing about! - -The last day of their stay had arrived, and on the morrow George was -to accompany his friend back to London. The Captain was out for his -usual ramble, Paul was closeted with his mother, and George was sitting -in the little room which, owing to the few books possessed by the -family gathered together in it, was dignified by the name of a "study," -and which overlooked a splendid view of the bay. He was standing at -the window, gazing out over the broad expanse of water, thinking how -strangely the usually calm-flowing current of his life had been vexed -and ruffled since his arrival there, wondering what steps he could -take towards the solution of the difficulty under which he laboured, -and what would be the final end of it all, when he heard a door close -gently behind him, and looking round, saw Annette by his side. - -"I am so glad I've found you, Mr. George," she said, looking up at him -frankly, and putting out her hand (she always called him "Mr. George" -now; she had told him she hated to use his surname, it reminded her -of disagreeable things), "I am so glad I've found you. Mrs. Stothard -reminded me that it was your last day here, and said I ought to make -the most of it." - -"Mrs. Stothard said that?" asked George, with uplifted eyebrows; "I -would sooner it had been your own idea, Miss Annette." - -"The truth is, I think I am a little vexed at the notion of your -going," said the girl. - -"Come, that is much better," said George, with a smile. - -"No, no, I mean what I say; I am very, very sorry that you are going -away." As she said this her voice, apparently involuntarily, dropped -into a soft caressing tone, and her eyes were fixed on him with an -earnest expression of regard. - -"It is very pleasing to me to be able to know that my presence or -absence causes you any emotion," said George. - -"I have been so happy since you have been here," said the girl; "you -are so different from anybody else I have ever met before. You seem to -understand me so much better than any one else, to take so much more -interest in me, and to be so much more intelligible yourself; your -manner is different from that of other people; and there is something -in the tone of your voice which I cannot explain, but which perfectly -thrills me." - -"I declare you will make me vain, Annette." - -"That would be impossible; you could not be vain, Mr. George--you are -far too sensible and good. It is singular to see how wonderfully well I -have been since you have been here. On the morning after your arrival -I felt as though I were going to have one of my wretched attacks, and -Mrs. Stothard said it was because I had talked too much, and been too -much excited the previous evening. But it passed off; and though I -don't think I have ever talked so much to anyone in my life before, and -certainly was never so interested in anyone's conversation, there has -been no recurrence of it, and I have been perfectly well." - -The bright look had passed away from George's face, and he was -regarding her now with earnest eyes. - -"If I thought that had actually been accomplished by my presence, I -should be happy indeed; more happy in expectation of the future than in -thinking over the past." - -"In expectation of the future!" repeated the girl, pondering over the -words. "Oh yes, surely; you are going away now, but you will come again -to walk with me, and to talk with me; and you are only going away for a -time. How strange I never thought of this before." - -As she said these words she crept closer to him; and he, bending down, -took her small white hand between his, and looked into her face with a -long gaze of deep compassion and great love. - -"Yes, Annette," he said, "I will come again, and I hope before very -long. You must understand that this time, these past few weeks, have -been quite as happy to me as you say they have been to you; that if -you have found me different from anyone you have ever known, I, in my -turn, have never seen anyone like you--anyone in whom I could take such -interest, for whom I could do so much." - -He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly, and at that -moment the door opened, and Paul entered hurriedly. He gave a short low -whistle as he marked the group before him, then advancing hurriedly, he -said: - -"George, it is all over, my boy; the storm we have been expecting -so long has burst at last. My mother and I have just had a very bad -quarter of an hour together." - -During the foregoing conversation Mrs. Stothard, sitting in her room, -heard the sound of the spring-bell which was suspended over her bed; -the handle of this bell was in Mrs. Derinzy's apartments, and it -was only used under exceptional circumstances, such as at times of -Annette's illness, or when Mrs. Derinzy required instant communication -with the nurse. - -Mrs. Stothard heard the sound, but seemed in no way greatly influenced -thereby; she looked up very calmly, saying to herself, "I suppose some -climax has arrived; the departure of this young man was sure to bring -it about. She has been fidgety lately, I have noticed, at the constant -attention Mr. Wainwright has paid to Annette, and at the evident -delight with which the girl has received the attentions. That bids -fair to go exactly as I could have wished it. But there is some hitch -in the other arrangement, I fear, from the little I could overhear of -what he said to his friend the other day about Fanny; it must have been -about Fanny, although he called her by some other name which I couldn't -catch. He seemed nervously anxious about her, and appears to think that -his absence from town has weakened her affection for him. That ought -not to be, and that is not at all like Fanny's tactics; though there -is something wrong, I fear, for I have not heard from her for some -time, and her last letter was scarcely satisfactory. Yes, yes," she -added impatiently, as the bell sounded again, "I am coming. It seems -impossible for you, Mrs. Derinzy, to bear the burden of your trouble -alone, even for five minutes." - -When she entered the room, she found Mrs. Derinzy lying on the sofa -with her head buried in the pillow; she was moaning and sobbing -hysterically, and rocking her body to and fro. - -"Are you ill?" asked Mrs. Stothard, calmly, as she took up her position -at the end of the sofa, and surveyed her mistress without any apparent -emotion. - -"Yes, very ill, very ill indeed--half broken and crushed," cried Mrs. -Derinzy. "It is too hard, Martha, it is too hard to have to go through -what I have suffered, and to have all one's hopes blighted by the -wilfulness of one for whom I have toiled and slaved so hard and so -long." - -"You mean Mr. Paul," said Mrs. Stothard. "I suppose that, -notwithstanding my strong advice to the contrary, you have persisted in -your determination, and asked him, before leaving to return to London, -to give his answer about your project?" - -"Yes," sobbed Mrs. Derinzy, "I have. I had him in here just now, and -I went over it all again. I told him how, when I first heard of that -ridiculous will which his uncle Paul had made, I determined that the -fortune which ought to have been left to my boy, should become his -somehow or other; how I had decided upon the marriage with Annette; how -for all these years I had worked to compass it and bring it about: and -how, now the time had arrived when the marriage ought to take place----" - -"You didn't tell him anything about Annette's illness?" asked Mrs. -Stothard, interrupting. - -"Of course not, Martha," said Mrs. Derinzy, raising her head and -looking angrily at the nurse; "how could you ask such a ridiculous -question?" - -"It is no matter, he will know it soon enough," said Mrs. Stothard, -quietly. "Well, he refused?" - -"He did," said Mrs. Derinzy, again bursting into tears, "like a wicked -and ungrateful boy as he is; he refused decidedly." - -"Did he give any reason?" asked Mrs. Stothard. - -"He said that he had other views and intentions," said Mrs. Derinzy. -"He talked in a grand theatrical kind of way about some passion that he -had for somebody, and his heart, and a vast amount of nonsense of that -kind." - -"He is in love with somebody else, then?" asked Mrs. Stothard, looking -hard at her mistress. - -"So I gather from what he said; but I wouldn't listen to him for a -moment on that subject. I told him I would get his father to speak to -him, and that I myself would speak to his friend Mr. Wainwright, who -appears to me never to leave Annette's side." - -"So much the better for the chance of carrying out your wishes," said -Mrs. Stothard, grimly. "That is to a certain extent my doing; I knew -that Mr. Wainwright would be appealed to in this matter, and I thought -it advisable that he should have just as much influence with Annette as -he has with Paul; not that I think you can in the least rely upon his -recommending his friend to fall in with your views." - -"You don't think he will?" - -"I don't, indeed. Though he has given no sign, I should be very much -astonished if he don't completely master the mystery of the girl's -illness; and if so, it is not likely he would recommend this scheme -to his friend without showing him exactly the details of the bargain -proposed." - -"Bargain, indeed, Martha!" - -"It is a bargain and nothing else, as you know very well, and you and I -may as well call things by their plain names. What do you propose to do -now?" - -"I told Paul I would give him a couple of months in which to think it -over finally; at the end of that time we shall go to town for a few -weeks, for I really believe Captain Derinzy will go out of his mind -if we have not some change, and there will be no danger now in taking -Annette with us. Then Paul will have had ample time to discuss it with -Mr. Wainwright, and on his decision will of course depend how our -future lives are to be passed." - -"If Mr. Paul is still obstinate, you think there will be no further -occasion to keep Miss Annette in seclusion?" asked Mrs. Stothard. - -"Miss Annette will be nothing to me, then," said Mrs. Derinzy, "except -that if she marries anyone else without Captain Derinzy's consent, she -loses all her fortune; and I will take care that that consent is not -very easily given." - -"That is a new element in the affair," said Mrs. Stothard to herself, -as she walked back to her room; "but not one which is likely to prove -an impediment to my friend the philosopher here." - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. -FATHER AND SON. - - -Notwithstanding there was a most excellent understanding between George -Wainwright and his father, and as much affection as usually subsists -between men similarly related, they saw very little of each other, -although inhabiting, as it were, the same house. They had scarcely any -tastes or pursuits in common. When not engaged in actual practice, in -study, or communicating the result of that study to the world, Dr. -Wainwright liked to enjoy his life, and did enjoy it in a perfectly -reputable manner, but very thoroughly. He read the last new novel, and -went to the last new play of which people in society were talking; -he dined, out with tolerable frequency; and took care never to miss -putting in an appearance at certain _salons_, where the announcement of -his name was heard with satisfaction, and at which the announcement of -his presence in the next morning's newspaper was calculated to do him -service. - -The Doctor had the highest respect and a very deep regard for his son, -whose acquirements he did not undervalue, but with whose tastes he -could not sympathise; so it was that they comparatively very seldom -met; and though on the occasions of their meeting there was always -great cordiality on both sides, the relations between them were more -those of friends than of kinsmen, more especially such nearly allied -kinsmen as parent and child. - -On the second evening after his return from Beachborough, George -Wainwright dined at his club, and instead of going home as was almost -his invariable custom, turned up St. James's Street with the intention -of proceeding to his father's rooms in the Albany. - -It was a dull muggy November night, and George shuddered as he made -his way through the streets and walked into the hospitable arcade, at -the door of which the gold-laced porter stood in astonishment at the -unfamiliar apparition of Dr. Wainwright's son. - -"The Doctor's in, and alone, sir, I think," said he, in reply to -George's inquiry. "The same rooms, however--3 in Z; he has not moved -since you were last here." - -George nodded, and passed on. On his arrival at his father's rooms, -which were on the first-floor, he found the oak sported; but he knew -that this really meant nothing, it being the Doctor's habit to show -"out," as it were, against any chance callers; while, if he were -within, the initiated could always obtain admission by a peculiar -knock. This knock George gave at once, and speedily heard the sound -of someone moving within. Presently the doors were opened and Dr. -Wainwright appeared on the threshold; he held a reading-lamp in his -hand, which he raised above his head as he peered into the face of his -visitor. - -"George!" he cried, after an instant's scrutiny, "this is a surprise. -Come in, my dear boy. How damp you are, and what a wretched night! Come -in and make yourself comfortable." - -"I am not disturbing you, father. I hope?" said George, as he followed -the Doctor into the room. "As usual, you are in the thick of it, I -see," he continued, while pointing to a pile of books, some open, some -closed, with special passages marked in them by pieces of paper hanging -out of the edges, and to a mass of manuscript on the Doctor's blotting -pad. - -"Not a bit, my dear boy, not a bit," said the Doctor; "I was merely -demolishing old Dilsworth's preposterous theories as regards puerperal -insanity. By-the-way, you should look at his pamphlet, George; you -know quite sufficient of the subject to comprehend in an instant what -an idiot he makes of himself; indeed, I should be quite glad to escape -from his unsound premises and ridiculous conclusions into the region of -common sense." - -"You are looking very well," said George; "your hard work does not seem -to do you any harm." - -"No, indeed, my dear boy; the harder I work, the better I feel, I -think; but I take a little more relaxation than I did, and I like to -have things comfortable about me." - -The Doctor gave a careless glance round the room as he spoke. He -certainly had things comfortable there: the paper was a dark green; all -the furniture was in black oak--not Wardour Street, nor manufactured in -the desolate region of the Curtain Road in Shoreditch, but real black -oak, the spoil of country mansions whose owners had gone to grief, and -labourers' cottages, the tenants of which did not know the value of -their possession, and were not proof against the blandishments of the -Hebrew emissary, who was so flattering with his tongue and so ready -with his cash. On the walls hung a large painting of a nude figure by -Etty, supported on either side by a glowing landscape by Turner and -a breezy sea-scape by Stanfield. A noble old bookcase stood in one -corner of the room, filled with literature of all kinds--for the Doctor -was an omnivorous reader, and could have passed an examination as to -the characters and qualities of the three leading serials of the day, -as well as in the secular and professional volumes which filled his -lower shelves; while at the other end of the room a huge sideboard was -covered with glass, from heavy _moyen-age_ Bohemian to the thinnest and -lightest productions of the modern blower's art. - -"What will you take?" asked the Doctor. "Like myself, you are not much -of a drinker, I know; but, like myself, you understand and appreciate -a little of what is really excellent. Now, on that sideboard there are -sherry, claret, and brandy, for all of which I can vouch. A little -of the latter with some iced water?--the refrigerator is outside. -Nothing? Ah, I forgot, you are dying for your smoke after dinner. Smoke -away here, my boy; no one ever comes to these chambers who would be -frightened at the anti-professional odour; and as for me, I rather like -the smell of a pipe, and especially delight in seeing your enjoyment of -it; so fire away." - -George lit his pipe, and both the men pulled their easy-chairs in front -of the fire. There was an undeniable likeness between them in feature -as well as in figure, though the elder man was so much more _soigne_, -so much better got-up, so much better preserved than the younger. - -"I have been away for some time," said George, after a few puffs at his -pipe; "as perhaps you know." - -"Oh yes, I found it out very soon after your departure, from the -desolation which seemed to have fallen upon the house down yonder. -Nurses and patients joined in one chorus of regret; and as for poor old -Madame Vaughan, she seemed actually to forget the loss of the child -she has been bewailing for so many years in her intense sorrow at your -departure." - -"Poor dear _maman_!" said George, with a smile; "I feared she would -miss me and my nightly visits very much. It's so long since I went -away that I imagine I was regarded as a permanent fixture in the -establishment." - -"I confess I looked upon you in that light very much myself, George," -said the Doctor, "and after your departure felt what Mr. Browning calls -the 'conscience prick and memory smart' at not having previously asked -why and where you were going. It is rather late to pretend any interest -now you have returned, but still I would ask where you have been and -why you went." - -"I have been staying with some people who are friends of yours down in -the west." - -"Down in the west you have been staying?" said the Doctor. "Whom do I -know down in the west? Penruddock--Bulteel--Holdsworth?" - -"Not so far west as where those people you have just named live," said -George. "I have been staying with the Derinzys." - -"The Derinzys!" - -And the Doctor's eyebrows went up into his large forehead, and his -usually calm face expressed intense astonishment. - -After a few minutes' pause, he said: - -"Ah, I forgot. Young Derinzy is a colleague of yours, and a chum, I -think I have heard you say." - -"Yes; it was on his invitation I went down to stay with his people. He -was there on leave himself at the time." - -"Ah!" said the Doctor, who had recovered his equanimity. "And what did -you think of his people, as you call them?" - -"They were very pleasant, kind, and unaffected, and thoroughly -hospitable," said George. "Mrs. Derinzy is said to be in bad health. -I understand that you have been occasionally summoned down there on -consultation, sir?" - -He looked hard at his father; but the Doctor's face was unmoved. - -"Yes," he said quietly, "I remember having been down there once or -twice." - -"To visit Mrs. Derinzy?" - -"I was sent for to visit Mrs. Derinzy." - -George paused for a moment, then he said: - -"I saw a good deal of a young lady who seems to be domesticated -there--a niece of the family, as I understand--Miss Annette." - -"Ah, indeed! You saw a good deal of Miss Annette? And what did you -think of her?" - -"I thought her charming. You have seen her?" - -"Oh yes, I have seen her frequently." - -"And what is your impression?" - -"The same as yours; Miss Annette is very charming." - -The two men formed a curious contrast. George had laid by his pipe -and was leaning over an arm of his chair, looking eagerly and -scrutinisingly in his father's face; the Doctor lay back at his length, -his comfortable dressing-gown wrapped around him, his slippered feet on -the fender, his eyes fixed on the fire, while he gently tapped the palm -of one hand with an ivory paper-knife which he held in the other. - -"Father," said George Wainwright, suddenly rising and standing on the -rug before the fire, "I want to talk to you about Annette Derinzy." - -"My dear George," said the Doctor, without changing his position, "I -shall be very happy to talk to you about any inmate of that house; -always respecting professional confidences recollect, George." - -"You must hear me to the end first, sir, and then you will see what -confidences you choose to give to, and what to withhold from, me. -Whatever may be your decision I shall, of course, cheerfully abide by; -but it is rather an important matter, as you will find before I have -finished, and I look to you for assistance and advice in it." - -There was such an earnestness in the tone in which George spoke these -last words, that the Doctor raised himself from his lounging position -and regarded his son with astonishment. - -"My dear boy," said he, putting out his hands and grasping his son's -warmly, "you may depend on having both to the utmost extent of my -power. We don't see much of each other, and we don't make much parade -of parental and filial affection; but I don't think we like each other -the less for that; and I know that I am very proud of you, and only too -delighted to have any opportunity--you give me very few--of being of -service to you. Now speak." - -"You never told me you knew the Derinzys, father." - -"My dear boy, I don't suppose I have ever mentioned the names of -one-third of the persons whom I know professionally in your hearing." - -"But you knew Paul was my friend." - -"Exactly," said the Doctor, with a smile, "and in my knowledge of that -fact you might perhaps find the reason of my silence." - -"Ah!" said George, "of course I see now; it is no use beating about the -bush any longer; I must come to it at last, and may as well do so at -once. You will tell me, won't you? Is Annette Derinzy mad?" - -The Doctor was not the least disturbed by the question, nor by the -excited manner--so different from George's usual calm--in which it was -put. He looked up steadily as he replied: - -"Yes; I should say decidedly yes, in the broad and general acceptation -of the word; for people are called mad who are occasionally subjects of -mental hallucination, and at other times are remarkably clear-sighted -and keen-witted, Miss Derinzy is one of these." - -"Have you attended her?" - -"For some years." - -"And she has always been subject to these attacks?" - -"Ever since I knew her. I was, of course, at first called in to her on -account of them." - -"Your attendance on Mrs. Derinzy has been merely a pretext?" - -"Exactly; a pretext invented by the family and not by me." - -"Have you any reason for imagining why this pretext was made?" - -"They wished to keep everyone in ignorance of Miss Derinzy's state, and -asked me to procure a trustworthy person whom I could recommend as her -nurse----" - -"Ah, Mrs. Stothard?" - -"Exactly; Mrs. Stothard--you have made her acquaintance too?--and to -visit the young lady from time to time." - -"And you were asked to keep the fact of your visits from me?" - -"Certainly. The Derinzys were aware that you were in the same office -with their son, and were most desirous that his cousin's state should -be concealed from him, above all others. Why, I never thought proper to -inquire." - -"I know the reason," said George, with half a sigh. "Do you think that -this dreadful disease under which Miss Derinzy suffers is progressing -or decreasing?" - -"I am scarcely in a position to say," said the Doctor. "Were she in -London, or in any place easy of access, I should be better able to -judge; but now I only visit her periodically, and even that by no means -regularly, merely when I have a day or two which I can steal, so that I -cannot judge of the increase or decrease, or of the extent of delirium. -However, the last time I was there--yes, the last time--I happened to -be present when one of the attacks supervened, and it was very strong, -very strong indeed." - -There was another pause, and then the Doctor said lightly: - -"I think I may put you into the 'box' now, George, and ask you a few -questions. You saw a great deal of Miss Derinzy, you say?" - -"Yes; we were together every day." - -"And you deduced your opinion of her mental state from your observation -of her?" - -"Not entirely." - -"Of course you got no hint from any of the family, not even from -Captain Derinzy himself, who is sufficiently stupid and garrulous?" -said the Doctor, with a recollection of his last visit to Beachborough, -and the familiarity under which he had writhed. - -"No, from none of them; and certainly not from Miss Derinzy's manner, -which, though unusually artless and childlike, decidedly bore no trace -of insanity." - -"But, my dear boy, you must have had your suspicions, or you would not -have asked me the questions so plainly. How did these suspicions arise?" - -"From Annette's description of her illness--of her symptoms at the time -of attack, the blank which fell upon her, and her sensations on her -recovery; from the mere fact of Mrs. Stothard's presence there--itself -sufficient evidence to any one accustomed to persons of Mrs. Stothard's -class--and from words and hints which Mrs. Stothard--whether -with or without intention, I have never yet been able to -determine--occasionally let drop; from other facts which accidentally -came to my knowledge, but of which I think you are ignorant, and which -I think it is not important that you should know." - -"For a superficial observer you have made a remarkable diagnosis -of the case, George," said the Doctor, regarding his son with calm -appreciation; "it is a thousand pities you did not take to the -profession." - -"Thank God, I didn't," said the son; "even as it is I have seen enough -of it--or, at least, I should have said 'Thank God' two months ago; -now, I almost wish I had." - -"You would like to have taken up this case?" - -"I should." - -"You would like to have cured your friend's cousin?" - -"I should indeed." - -"My dear George," said the Doctor, with a smile, "I think, as I just -said, it is a great pity that you did not take up the profession. -You have a certain talent, and great powers of reading the human -mind, but you are given to desultory studies and pursuits; and your -picture-painting, piano-playing, and German philosophy, all charming -as they are, would have led you away from the one study on which a man -in our profession must concentrate his every thought. I don't think, -my dear George, that you would have been a better--well, what common -people call a better 'mad doctor' than your father; I don't think the -'old man' would have been beaten by the 'boy' in this instance." - -"I am sure not, sir; I never thought that for an instant: it was not -that which prompted me to say what I did. Do I understand from your -last remark that Miss Derinzy's disease is beyond your cure?" - -"In my opinion, beyond any one's cure, my dear George." - -"God help me!" And George groaned and covered his face with his hands. - -The Doctor sprang to his feet, and stepping across to where George sat, -laid his hand tenderly on his head. - -"My dear boy," said he, "my dear George, what does all this mean?" - -"Nothing, father," said George, raising his head, and shaking himself -together, as it were, "nothing, father--nothing, at least, which should -lead a man to make a fool of himself; but your last words were rather a -shock to me, for I love Annette Derinzy, and I had hoped----" - -"You love Annette Derinzy! You, whom we have all laughed at so long for -your celibate notions, to have fallen in love now, and with Annette -Derinzy! My poor boy, this is a bad business--a very bad business, -indeed. I don't see what is to be done to comfort you." - -"Nor I, father, nor I. You distinctly say there is no hope of her cure?" - -"Speaking so far as I can judge, there is none. If she were under -my special care for a certain number of weeks, so that I saw her -daily--Bah! I am talking as I might do to the friends of a patient. -To you, my dear George, I say it would be of no use. It is a horrible -verdict, but a true one--she can never be cured." - -George was silent for a minute; then he said: - -"Would there be any use in having a consultation?" - -"My dear boy, not the slightest in the world. I will meet anyone that -could be named. If this were a professional case, I should insist on a -consultation, and the family apothecary would probably call in this old -fool whose pamphlet I am just reviewing--Dilsworth, I mean, or Tokely, -or Whittaker, or one of them; but I don't mind saying to my own son, -that I am perfectly certain I know more than any of these men of my -peculiar subject, and that, except for the mere sake of differing, they -always in such consultations take their cue from me." - -Another pause; then George said, his face suddenly lighting up: - -"One moment, sir. I have some sort of recollection, when I was a -student at Bonn, hearing of some German doctor who had achieved a -marvellous reputation for having effected certain cures in insane cases -which had been given up by everyone else." - -"You mean old Hildebrand of Derrendorf," said the Doctor. "Yes, he was -really a wonderful man, and did some extraordinary things. I never met -him; but his cases were reported in the medical journals here, and made -a great sensation at the time; but that is ten or twelve years ago, and -I recollect hearing since that he had retired from practice. I should -think by this time he must be dead." - -"Then there is no hope," said George, sadly. - -"I fear none," said his father. "If Hildebrand were alive, there would -be no chance of his undertaking the case; for if I recollect rightly, -he had always determined on retiring from the profession as soon as -he had amassed a certain amount of money, which would enable him to -pursue his studies in quiet. He was an eccentric genius too--one -of the rough-and-ready school, they said, and particularly harsh -and unpleasant in his manners. I recollect there was a joke that he -frightened people into their wits, as other patients were frightened -out of theirs by their doctors; so that he would scarcely do for Miss -Annette, even if we could command his services. By-the-way, of course -there was no seizure while you were in the house?" - -"Nothing of the kind. She was, as I said, perfectly calm and tranquil, -and wonderfully artless and childlike." - -"Yes; she remains the ruin of what would have been a most charming -creature. That 'little rift within the lute,' as Tennyson has it, has -marred all the melody. By-the-way, you said you knew the reason of Mrs. -Derinzy's having impressed upon me the necessity of silence in regard -to my visits there. What was it?" - -"There is no secret in it now. Mrs. Derinzy always intended that her -son Paul should marry his cousin." - -"I see it all! An heiress, is she not, to an enormous property? A very -good thing for her son." - -"Ah! that was why, ever since symptoms of the girl's mental malady -first began to develop themselves, the boy was kept away at school, -even during the holidays, on some pretence or another; and why, since -he has been at the Stannaries Office, he has, up to this time, always -gone abroad or to stay with some friends on his leave of absence." - -"Exactly. The secret has been well kept from him. And do you mean to -say he does not know it now?" - -"At this moment he hasn't the least idea of it." - -"Then your friend is also your rival, my poor George?" - -"No, indeed. Paul does not care in the least for Annette, and he is -deeply pledged in another quarter. It was with a view of aiding him in -extricating himself from the engagement which his mother was pressing -upon him that he asked me down to the Tower." - -"As neat a complication as could possibly be," said the Doctor. - -"There is only one person whose way out seems to me tolerably clear," -said George, "and that is Paul. See here, father; I am neither of an -age nor of a temperament to rave about my love, or to make much purple -demonstration about anything. I shall not yet give up the idea that -Annette Derinzy can be cured of the mental disease under which she -suffers; and in saying this, I do not doubt your talent nor the truth -of what you have said to me; but I have a kind of inward feeling that -something will eventually be done to bring her right, and that I shall -be the means of its accomplishment. I would not take this upon myself -unless my position were duly authorised. I need not tell you--I am your -son--that nothing would induce me to move in the matter, if my doing so -involved the least breach of loyalty to Paul, the least breach of faith -to his father or mother; but before I take a single step, I shall get -from him a repetition of his decision, already twice or thrice given, -in declining to become a suitor for Annette's hand; and armed with -this, I shall seek an interview with his father and mother, and explain -his position and my own." - -"And then?" said the Doctor, with a grave face. - -"And then, _qui vivra verra_." - -"Well, George," said his father, laying his hand affectionately again -on his son's head, "you know I wish you God speed. You have plenty of -talent and endurance and pluck; and, Heaven knows, you will have need -of them all." - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. -L'HOMME PROPOSE. - - -One morning in the early winter, Colonel Orpington walked into the -Beaufort Club, and taking his letters from the hall-porter as he -passed, entered the coffee-room and took possession of the table which -for many years he had been accustomed to regard as almost his own. - -There was no occasion for him to order any breakfast, so well were his -ways known in that establishment, of which he was not merely one of the -oldest, but one of the most conspicuous of the members. The officers of -the household, from Riboulet the _chef_ and Woodman the house-steward -down to the smallest page-boys, all held the Colonel in very wholesome -reverence; and amongst the twelve hundred members on the books, the -behests of none were more speedily obeyed than his. - -While the repast was preparing, Colonel Orpington glanced over the -envelopes of the letters which he had taken from the porter and -laid on the table in military order before him. They are many and -various: heavy official-looking letters, thin-papered missives from -the Continent, and two or three delicate little notes. The Colonel -selects one of these last, which is addressed in an obviously foreign -hand, though bearing a London post-mark; the others are put aside; the -dainty double-eyeglasses are brought from their hiding-place inside his -waistcoat and adjusted across his nose, and he falls to the perusal -of the little note. A difficult hand to read apparently, for the -Colonel, though somewhat careful of showing any symptoms of loss of -sight to the more youthful members of the club then present, by whom -he has a certain suspicion he is looked upon as a fogey, has to hold -it in various lights and twist it up and down before he can master -its contents. When he has mastered them they do not appear to be of a -particularly reassuring character; for the Colonel shakes his head, -utters a short low whistle, and is stroking his chin with his hand, as -though deep in thought, when the advanced guard of his breakfast makes -its appearance. - -"'Coming back at once,'" says the Colonel to himself; "at least, so -far as I can make out Clarisse's confoundedly cramped handwriting. -'Coming back at once,' and from what she can make out from Fanny's -talk, not in the best of tempers either, and likely to bring matters -to an end; and Clarisse thinks I must declare myself at once. Well, I -don't see why not. - -"'Gad, it seems to me an extraordinary thing that I, who have been -under fire so many times in these kind of affairs, should have been -hesitating and hanging back and beating about the bush for so long with -this girl! To be sure, she is quite unlike many of the others; more -like a person in society, or rather, like what used to be society in -my time: what goes by that name now is a very different thing. There's -a sort of air of breeding about her, and a kind of _noli me tangere_ -sort of thing mixed up with all her attractiveness, that makes the -whole business a very different thing from the ordinary throwing the -handkerchief and being happy ever after. - -"Coming back, eh! My young friend Derinzy--member here, by-the-way; -letters had better go to one of the other clubs in future; it is best -to be on the safe side. Coming back, eh! And now what are--what parents -call--his 'intentions,' I wonder? Scarcely so 'strictly honourable' -as the middle-class father longs to hear professed by enamoured -aristocrats. If he meant marriage, he would certainly have proposed -before he left town, when, if all I learn is true, he was so wildly mad -about the girl he would not have left her to---- And yet, perhaps, that -is the very reason, though she said nothing, she has evidently been -pleased by the attentions which I have shown her; and this perhaps has -caused her to slack off in her correspondence with this young fellow, -or to influence its warmth, or something of that kind, and this may -have had the effect of bringing him to book. - -"If he were to declare off, how would that suit me? Impossible to say. -In the fit of rage and disgust with him, she might say yes to anything -I asked her; on the other hand, she might have a fit of remorse, and -think that it was all from having listened to the blandishments of this -serpent she lost a chance of enjoying a perpetual paradise with that -bureaucratic young Adam. - -"There is the other fellow, too--the young man 'in her own station of -life'--shopkeeper, mechanic, whatever he is. Clarisse seems to have -some notion that he is coming to the fore, though I don't think there -is any chance for him. The girl's tastes lie obviously in quite a -different line, and I am by no means certain that his being in the race -is a bad thing for me. However, it's plainly time that something must -be done; and now, how to do it?" - -He threw down his napkin before him as he spoke and rose from the -table. The young men who had been breakfasting near him, though perhaps -they might have thought him a fogey, yet envied the undeniable position -he held in society; envied him, above all, the perfect freshness and -good health and the evident appetite with which he had just consumed -his meal, while they were listlessly playing with highly-spiced -condiments, or endeavouring to quench the flame excited by the previous -night's dissipation with effervescing drinks. Sir Coke Only, the -great railway contractor and millionaire, whose neighbouring table -was covered with prospectuses and letters on blue paper, propounding -schemes in which thousands were involved, envied the Colonel that -consummate air of good breeding which he, the millionaire, knew he -could never acquire, and that happy idleness which never seemed in -store for him. The perfectly-appointed brougham, with its bit-champing, -foam-tossing gray horse, stood at the club-door, waiting to whirl the -man of business into the City, where he would be unceasingly occupied -till dusk; "while that feller," as Sir Coke remarked to himself, "will -be lunching with marchionesses and dropping into the five o'clock tea -with duchesses, and taking it as easy as though he were as rich as -Rothschild." - -Perhaps the Colonel knew of the envy which he excited; he was -certainly not disturbed, and perhaps even pleased, by it. He sauntered -quietly into the waiting-room, walked to the window, and stood gazing -unconsciously at the black little London sparrows hopping about in the -black little bit of ground which was metropolitan for a garden, and -lay between the club and Carlton House Terrace, while he collected his -thoughts. Then he sat down at a table and wrote as follows: - - -"Beaufort Club, Tuesday. - -"DEAR MISS STAFFORD,--The opportunity which I have been so long waiting -for has at length arrived, and I think I see my way to the fulfilment -of the promise made to you in the beginning of our acquaintance. - -"If you will be at my lawyer's chambers, No. 5, Seldon Buildings, -Temple, at two o'clock this afternoon, he--Mr. John Wilson is his -name--will enter into further particulars with you. I shall hear from -him how he has progressed, and you will see me very shortly.--Very -sincerely yours, - -"JOHN ORPINGTON. - -"P.S.--I have no doubt that Madame Clarisse will be able to spare you -on your mentioning that you have business. You need not particularise -its nature." - - -Then he wrote another letter consisting of one line: - -"All right; let her go.--J.O." - - -He addressed these respectively to Miss Fanny Stafford and Madame -Clarisse, and despatched them to their destination. - -It was with no particular excess of pleasure that Daisy received and -perused the first-written of these epistles. To be sure, at the first -glance over the words her face flushed and her eyes brightened; but the -next few minutes her heart sank within her with that undefined sense -of impending evil of which we are all of us so frequently conscious. -The thought of Paul's immediate return had been weighing upon her for -some days; she had been uncertain how to treat him. She could not help -acknowledging to herself that her feelings towards him had undergone -a certain amount of alteration during his absence. She was unwilling -that that alteration should be noticed by him, and yet could not avoid -a lurking suspicion that she must have betrayed it in her letters. She -gathered this from the tone of his replies, more especially from his -last communication, in which he announced his speedy arrival in town. -Of course she had not breathed to him one word of her acquaintance with -Colonel Orpington; there was no occasion why she should have done so, -she argued to herself; the two men would never be brought in contact. -And yet it would be impossible for her to renew the intimacy which had -previously existed with Paul, without his becoming aware that she had -other calls upon her time, and insisted upon being made acquainted with -their nature; and then, when he found it out, the fact of her having -concealed this newly-formed friendship from him would tell very badly -against her. It would have been very much better that she should have -mentioned it, giving some sufficiently satisfactory account of its -origin, and passing over it lightly as though it were of no moment. She -could have done this in regard to the meeting with John Merton and its -subsequent results--not that she had ever said anything of that to her -lover, by-the-way--without, she was sure, exciting Paul's suspicion; -but this was a different matter. In his last letter Paul had proposed -to meet her on what would now be the next afternoon, and by that time -she must have made up her mind fully as to the course she intended to -pursue. The interview to which she was then proceeding might perhaps -have an important effect upon her resolution. And as she thought of -that interview her heart sank again, and her face became very grave -and thoughtful; so grave and thoughtful did she look as she hurried -along one of the dull streets in the neighbourhood of Russell Square, -that a man to whom she was well known, and by whom every expression of -her face was treasured, scarcely knew her, as, coming in the opposite -direction, he encountered and passed by her. She did not notice him; -but he turned, and in the next instant was by her side. She looked up; -it was John Merton. - -"You were walking at such a pace and looking so earnest, Miss -Stafford," said he, after the first ordinary salutations, "that I -scarcely recognised you. You are going into the City. May I walk part -of the way with you? I am so glad to see you; I have been longing so -anxiously to hear from you." - -This was an awkward _rencontre_. Daisy had quite sufficient mental -excitement with the interview to which she was proceeding. She had -not calculated upon this addition to it, and answered him vaguely and -unsatisfactorily. - -"I have been very much occupied of late," said she. "The winter season -is now coming upon us, you see, and I have scarcely any time to myself." - -"It would have taken very little time to write yes or no," said poor -John; "and if you knew the importance I attach to the receipt of one of -those two words from you, I think you would have endeavoured to let me -know my fate. Will you let me offer you my arm?" - -"No--no, thanks," said Daisy, drawing back. - -"You--you don't like to be seen with me, perhaps, in the street?" asked -John, with a bitter tone in his voice. - -"No, not that at all; only people don't take arms nowadays, don't you -know?" - -"Don't they?" said John, still bitterly. "I beg your pardon; you must -excuse my want of breeding. I don't mix except among people in my own -station. I--I didn't mean that," he added hurriedly, as he saw her face -flush; "I didn't mean anything to offend you; but I have scarcely been -myself, I think, for the last few days." - -"You have done no harm," said Daisy, gently, pitying the look of misery -on his face. - -"Have I done any good?" he asked; "you cannot fail to understand me. If -you knew how I suffer, you would keep me no longer in suspense." - -"I did not pretend to misunderstand you," said the girl. "You are -waiting for my answer to the proposition you made to me when you called -at my lodging the other day." - -"I am." - -"You have placed me--unwillingly, I know--in a very painful position," -said Daisy; "for it is really painful to me to have to say or do -anything which I feel would give you pain." - -"Don't say any more," he said in a hoarse voice; "I can guess your -meaning perfectly. Don't say any more." - -"But, Mr. Merton, you must hear me--you must understand----" - -"I do understand that you say 'no' to what I asked you; that you reject -my suit--I believe that is the proper society phrase! I don't want to -know," continued he, with a sudden outburst of passion, "of the esteem -in which you hold me, and the recollection which you will always have -of the delicacy of my behaviour towards you. I know the rubbish with -which it is always thought necessary to gild the pill in similar cases; -but I'd rather be without it." - -"You are becoming incoherent, and I can scarcely follow you," said -Daisy, setting her lips and looking very stony. "I don't think I was -going to say anything of the kind that you seem to have anticipated. -I don't see that I have laid myself open to rudeness because I have -been compelled to tell you it didn't suit me to marry you; and as to -our being friends hereafter, I really don't think that there is the -remotest chance of such a thing." - -"I must again beg your pardon, Miss Stafford," said John, taking off -his hat--he was quite calm now--"and I will take care that I don't -commit myself in any similar ridiculous manner. I am perfectly aware -that our lines in life lie very wide apart, and after the decision -which you have arrived at and just communicated to me, I can only be -glad that it is so; and though we are not to be friends, you say, I -shall always have the deepest regard for you. You cannot prevent that, -even if you would; and I only trust that some day I may have the chance -of proving the continuance of that regard by being able to serve you." - -He stopped, bowed, and was striding rapidly away back on the way they -had traversed, before Daisy could speak to him. - -"More quickly over than I had anticipated," she thought to herself, -"and less painful too. I expected at one time there would have been a -scene. His face lights up wonderfully when he is in earnest, and if his -figure and manner were only as good, he might do. I wonder whether I -could put up with him if neither of those two other men had been upon -the cards; perhaps so, in a foreign place, such as he talked of going -to, where one could have made one's own world and one's own society, -and broken with all the old associations. How dreadful his boots were, -by-the-way! I don't think it would have been possible to have passed -one's life recognised as belonging to such feet and boots." - -By this time she had reached Middle Temple Lane, down which she was -proceeding, to the great admiration of the barristers' and attorneys' -clerks who were flitting about that sombre neighbourhood. After a -little difficulty and a great deal of inquiry she found the Seldon -Buildings; and arriving at the second floor, and knocking at the portal -inscribed Mr. John Wilson, she rather started when the door was opened -to her by Colonel Orpington. - -"Pray step in, my dear Miss Stafford," said the Colonel. "You are -surprised, I see, to see me here instead of my legal adviser; but the -fact is, that gentleman has been called out of town, and as I find he -is not likely to return, I thought it best to take his place and make -the proposition in my own person." - -Daisy was not, nor did she feign to be, astonished. She entered the -room and seated herself in an arm-chair, towards which the Colonel -motioned her. He sat down opposite to her, and without any preliminary -observations, at once dashed into his subject. - -"I don't think there is any occasion for me to inform you, my dear Miss -Stafford," he commenced, "that I have the very greatest admiration for -you. All women known intuitively when they are admired without having -the sentiment duly expressed to them in set phrases; and though I have -carefully avoided saying or doing any of those ridiculous things which -are said and done in novels and plays, but never in real life, except -by people who bring actions of breach of promise against each other, -you can have had very little doubt of the high appreciation of you -which I entertain." - -Daisy bowed. The trembling of her lip showed that she was a little -nervous--no other sign. - -"Well," continued the Colonel, "this admiration and appreciation -naturally induced me to think what I could do to better your position, -and at the same time to see more of you myself. Your life is not a -particularly lively one--in fact, there is no doubt it is deuced hard -work, and very little relaxation. You are not meant for this kind -of thing. You like books, and flowers, and birds, and all sorts of -elegant surroundings. You are so handsome--pardon the reference, but I -am talking in a most perfectly business manner--that it is a thorough -shame to see you lacking all those et ceteras which are such a help -and set-off to beauty; and you are wearing away the very flower of -your youth in what is nothing more nor less than sordid drudgery. At -one time I thought--as I believe I mentioned to you--of purchasing -some business, such as that in which you are now engaged, and putting -you at the head--making yourself, in point of fact, and placing you -in the position occupied by Madame Clarisse. But after a good deal of -reflection I have come to the conclusion, and I think you will agree, -that there would not be much good in such a project. You see, though -you would be your own mistress, and would not be obliged to get up so -early or to work so late, you would still be engaged in exactly the -same kind of employment; you would be at the mercy of the caprices of -horrible old women and insolent young girls, and would have to fetch -and carry, and kotoo, and eat humble-pie, and all the rest of it, -very much as you do at present. And I am perfectly certain, my dear -Fanny,"--she gave a little start, which had not passed unnoticed; -it was the first time he had called her so--"I am perfectly certain -that this is not your _metier_. You are a lady in looks--there is -no higher-bred-looking woman goes to Court, by Jove!--in education, -in manner, and in taste; you are not meant for contact with the -shopocracy, and it wouldn't suit you; and to tell you the truth, I -am sufficiently selfish to have thought how it would suit me, and I -confess I don't see it at all." - -He looked hard at her as he said this, and she returned his glance. Her -colour rose, and her lips trembled visibly. - -"I am perfectly candid with you, my dear child," said the Colonel, -drawing his chair a little closer to her, and leaning with his elbow on -the table so as to bring his face nearer to her--"I am perfectly candid -in avowing a certain amount of selfishness in this matter. I admire you -very much indeed, and the natural result is, a desire to see as much of -you as is consistent with my duties to society; and this shopkeeping -project wouldn't help me at all. I want you to have all your time to -yourself--a perpetual leisure, to be employed according to your own -devices. I wish you to have the prettiest home that can be found, with -pictures, and books, and flowers, and such-like. I wish you to have -your carriage, and a riding-horse, if you would like one, and a maid to -attend to you, and a proper allowance for dress and all that kind of -thing. You look incredulous, Fanny, and as though I were inventing a -romance. It is perfectly practicable and possible, my dear child, and -it shall all be done for you if you will only like me just a little." - -He bent forward and took her hand, and looked up eagerly into her face. - -She suffered her hand to remain in his grasp, and gazed at him quite -steadily as she said in hard tones: - -"It sounds like a fairy-tale; but it is in fact a mere businesslike -proposition skilfully veiled. You wish me to be your mistress." - -Colonel Orpington was not staggered either by the tone or the words, -but smiled quietly, still holding her hand as he said: - -"I told you I admired your appreciation and quickness, though I wish -to Heaven you had not used that horrible word. I never had a mistress -in my life. I always associate the term with a dreadful person with -painted cheeks and blackened eyelids, and a very low-necked dress. I -can't conceive any object more utterly revolting." - -"I am sorry you dislike the term," said Daisy, "but I conclude I -expressed your meaning." - -"It would be better put thus," said the Colonel: "I wish you to let -me be your lover, and show my regard by attending to your comfort and -happiness. That seems to me rather neatly put." - -Daisy could not help smiling as she said: - -"It is certainly less startling in that shape." - -"My dear child," said the Colonel, releasing her hand, and standing -upright on the hearth-rug before her, "it conveys exactly what I meant -to say. A young man would rave and stamp, and swear he had never loved -anyone before, and would never love anyone again. I can't say the -first, by Jove!" said the Colonel with a grin; "and I could not take -upon myself to swear to the last, we are such creatures of chance and -circumstances. But it wouldn't matter to you, for by that time you -would probably be tired of me, and I should take care to have secured -your independence; but at all events I should be very kind to you, and -you would have pretty well your own way." - -There was a pause, after which the Colonel said: - -"You are silent, Fanny; what do you say?" - -"You cannot expect me," said Fanny, rising from her chair, "to give a -decided 'Yes' or 'No' to this proposition of yours, however delicately -you may have veiled it. You see I am as candid with you as you were -with me. You have had no shrieks of horror, no exclamations of startled -propriety, and I conclude you did not expect them; but it is a matter -which I must think over, and let you know the result." - -"Exactly what I expected from your common sense, my dear child. My -appreciation of you is higher than ever. When shall I hear?" - -"If I don't write to you before, I will be here this day week at this -time." - -"So be it," said the Colonel, and he led her to the door. As she -passed, he touched her forehead with his lips, and so they parted. - -"I suppose I ought to be in a whirl of terror, fright, and shame," said -Daisy to herself, as she walked towards the West; "but I feel none of -these sensations. It is a matter which will require a great deal of -thinking about, and must have very careful attention." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. -POOR PAUL. - - -It is eleven o'clock in the morning on the first day of Paul's return -to work, and business in the Principal Registrar's room at H.M. -Stannaries is in full swing. - -Mr. Courtney has just arrived, and is seated before the -brightly-burning fire--the old gentleman used to harass the souls of -the messengers in reference to this fire--reading _The Morning Post_. -He looks much better for his holiday, and is wigged, and curled, and -buckled, and girthed, and generally got up as much as ever. - -George Wainwright is seated at his desk, with several sheets of -manuscript before him, which he is scoring through with a pencil, and -annotating marginally; from time to time uttering contemptuous grunts -of "Pshaw!" and "Stuff!" and "No nominative case," greatly to the -disgust of Mr. Billy Dunlop, who is the author of the work in course of -supervision. - -Mr. Dunlop, whose commencement of his official duties consists hitherto -in his having made one large blot on a sheet of foolscap, and newly -nibbed a quill pen, whistles softly to himself as he regards the work -of demolition going on, and mutters in an undertone, "Ursa Major is -going it this morning. I shall have all that infernal _precis_ to write -over again." - -And Paul Derinzy is seated at his desk, but he has not even attempted -the pretext of doing any work. - -His chin is resting on his hands, and he is gazing straight before him, -looking across at George, but not seeing him in the least, for his -thoughts are busily engaged elsewhere. George Wainwright is the first -to speak. - -"I can't compliment you on your effort, my dear Billy," said he -laughing, and looking across to Mr. Dunlop. "I don't think I have come -across a production in which there was such an entire absence of sense, -grammar, and cohesion as this _precis_ of yours, which you have made of -the Falmouth collector's report." - -"All right, sir," said Mr. Dunlop. "Cut away by all means, don't mind -me; sharpen your great wit, and make me the block. What says the -poet? 'Great wit to madness often is allied;' and as that is all in -your line, fire away." - -"What is that you are saying, my dear George?" said Mr. Courtney, -looking up from his newspaper. "Our good friend Dunlop been -unsuccessful in his praiseworthy attempt?" - -"So far as I can see, sir, from the manner in which my dear George's -pencil has been at work, our good friend Dunlop seems to have gone -a regular mucker with his praiseworthy attempt," said Mr. Dunlop; -"and had I any doubt upon the subject, my dear George is good enough -to express his opinion of my humble endeavours with a frankness and -outspoken candour which do him credit." - -"Here, catch hold!" cried George, grinning as he twisted the sheets -together, and throwing them across to Billy. "Copy my corrections -exactly, and we shall be able to drag you into the first class, and get -you your promotion as the reward of merit before you are seventy years -old. Fire away, Billy; get on with it at once." - -Mr. Dunlop took the papers, placed them before him, and dipped his pen -in the ink; but before writing, he looked up with a serio-comic air, -and said, "May I be permitted to ask, sir, why the work in this room -is to be entirely confined to one of the junior clerks; and why the -other, a gentleman who has the advantage of having just returned from -the country, where he has enjoyed fresh air, and no doubt exercise, and -freedom from that official labour which is the curse of fallen man--why -this gentleman is permitted to sit staring vacantly before him, folding -his hands like the celebrated slothful person immortalised by Dr. -Watts?" - -This remark was unheard by Paul; but when Mr. Courtney addressed him, -he started and looked up. - -"Yes, by-the-way, my dear boy," said the old gentleman, "I, as well -as our friend Dunlop, have remarked that you seem scarcely to have -benefited by your holiday; there is a kind of want of tone about you, -I notice. Your people's place is in Dorsetshire, is it not? Relaxing, -eh, and that kind of thing? House full of company, no doubt; shooting -all day; billiards, private theatricals, flirtations, and that kind of -thing. Doesn't do, my dear boy! doesn't do for men like us, who are all -the rest of the year engaged in official drudgery; doesn't do, depend -upon it." - -And here Mr. Courtney laid down _The Morning Post_, and proceeded to -commence his private correspondence. - -"Oh, I'm all right, Chief," said Paul; "a little tired after my -journey, perhaps--that's all; a little too smoke-dried by old George -over there, for we got a carriage to ourselves, and I think his pipe -was blazing all the way to town." Then turning to Dunlop, "I'll walk -into the work presently, Billy, and you'll be able to take some leave, -if you want any." - -"No, thank you, old man," said Billy Dunlop; "I don't want to be away -till just after Christmas. Within the month following that festive day, -the number of persons engaged in trade who have a small amount to make -up by a given period is extraordinary; and I feel it my duty to go -into the country about that time, in order that no one may indulge any -delusive hopes of pecuniary assistance from me." - -After a few minutes George Wainwright stepped across to Paul's desk, -and leaning over it, said in a low voice, "What's the matter? Nothing -fresh since your arrival?" - -"No, nothing at all," said Paul, in the same tone. "I found a note -from her at the club, saying that she would meet me this afternoon, -and expressed surprise at my having imagined that there had been any -decrease in the warmth of her feelings for me, that's all." - -"And what makes you so horribly downcast?" - -"I cannot tell; I have a sense of oppression over me which I find it -impossible to shake off. I had an idea that the mere fact of my return -to London, the knowledge that I was so much nearer to her, would have -dispersed it; but this morning it seems worse than ever. I think some -of it is due to a certain feeling of remorse which I felt on parting -with my mother yesterday; she seemed so horribly grieved about the -failure of that other business, you know." - -"I think you may acquit yourself entirely on that score," said George, -looking earnestly at his friend, "as I shall probably be able to prove -to you before long." - -"What do you mean?" said Paul, in astonishment; "how can you know -anything about it?" - -"Impossible for me to say just now," replied George; "control your -curiosity for yet a short time longer, and you shall know. Meanwhile -you may depend on what I have said to you. I only wish you were as well -out of this other affair." - -No more was said on the subject, and Paul worked on as best he might, -impervious to the sarcasms which his occasional fits of musing evoked -from Mr. Dunlop. - -Soon after two o'clock he closed his blotting-book, and asked the -Chief's leave to go away; alleging with a laugh that he had scarcely -got acclimatised to the place, and that he must slide into his work by -degrees. - -Good-natured Mr. Courtney of course assented, and after the performance -of a rapid toilet, Paul hurried away. - -The depression under which he laboured still continued in its fullest -force, and he could not help contrasting his present feelings with -those which animated him in the first days of his acquaintance with -Daisy. Then all was bright and roseate; now all was dull and dark. His -ideas as to the future were indeed no more definite then than they were -now; but the haze which hung over it then and shrouded it from his view -was a light summer mist; not so now--a dense gloomy fog. And she was -changed; he feared there could be no doubt of that. In a few minutes he -should be able to ascertain whether there was any foundation for his -suspicions; in the meantime he indulged them to the fullest extent. The -tone of her letters had certainly altered. The letters themselves were -written as though she were preoccupied at the time, and read like mere -perfunctory performances, executed under a sense of duty, and finished -with a sigh of relief. - -What should have changed her? Most men would have supposed at once, -on finding an alteration in the tone and manner of the woman they -love, that she had been receiving attentions in some other quarter. -Paul hesitated to do this; not that he was not aware of the power of -Daisy's beauty and attractiveness, nor entirely because of his faith in -her, but principally because they had gone on for a certain number of -months together, during all which time she must have had innumerable -chances of throwing him over and behaving falsely to him had she been -so disposed; while all the time she had kept true to him. - -_Les absents ont toujours tort_, says the proverb. Could that have been -the reason? What woman was to be trusted? How mad it was of him to -leave her for so long! It was only in order to satisfy his mother, and -to show her how impossible it was for him to comply with this project -which she had so long cherished for his future, that he had consented -to go down to Devonshire. By-the-way, what was that that George had -hinted at? "There need be no remorse on his part," George had said -about the refusal to fulfil his mother's wishes in regard to marrying -Annette. What could he have meant? Was it possible that his friend had -really been taken with the girl? He had some notion of the kind down at -Beachborough, but had dismissed it from his mind as unworthy serious -consideration. Now there really seemed to be some foundation for the -notion, and Annette certainly cared for him. Fancy them married! How -jolly it would be! What a capital husband George would make, and what -a pleasant house it would be to go to! Fancy "old George" tremendously -rich, with a lot of money, going in to give swell parties, and all that -kind of thing! No, he could not fancy that; whatever income he had, -George would always remain the same glorious, simple-minded, honest, -splendid fellow that he was now. - -Poor old _mater!_ how awfully she seemed to take his decision to -heart! She said this had been her pet project for so many years, and -it was hard to see it overthrown at last. George wouldn't do as well, -you suppose? No; it was for her own boy, her own darling, the _spes -gregis_, that she wanted the wealth and the position; as though that -would be the least value, if there were not happiness. His mother -didn't seem to understand that, and how could he have any happiness -without Daisy? Oh, confound it! there, he had run off that track of -thought for a few minutes, and had a small respite; and now he was on -it again, and as miserable as ever. - -Turning over these thoughts in his mind, Paul Derinzy hurried through -the streets and across the Park, and speedily reached the well-known -place of meeting. It was a sharp bright day in the early winter. The -leaves were off the trees now, and there was an uninterrupted view for -many hundred yards. Paul gazed eagerly about him, but could see nothing -of Daisy. Usually, to the discredit of his gallantry, she had been -first to arrive; now she was not there, although the time for meeting -was past; and Paul took it as a bad omen, and his heart sank within him. - -He took two or three turns up and down the dreary avenue, and at length -Daisy appeared in sight. He hurried to meet her, and as she approached -him he could not help being struck with her marvellous beauty. - -Paul would have sworn, had he been asked--but her face was ever present -to him during the time of his absence--that he felt that he must have -forgotten it, or she must have wonderfully improved, so astonished was -he at her appearance. She had been walking fast, and a splendid colour -glowed in her cheeks. Her eyes were unusually bright too; her dress, -which was always neat and in excellent taste, seemed to Paul to be -made of some richer and softer material than she was in the habit of -wearing. She smiled pleasantly at him as he neared her, and all his -gloom for a time melted away. - -"My own, my darling!" that was all he said, as he took both her hands -in his, and looked down lovingly into her eyes. - -"I am a little late, Paul, I am afraid," said Daisy; "but Madame had -something particular to be done, and as she has been very good in -giving me holidays lately, I did not like to pass the work which she -wished me to do to anyone else." - -"Never mind, pet; you are here at last, and I am in heaven," said Paul. -"How splendidly handsome you look, Daisy! What have you been doing?" - -"Nothing, that I know of, in particular," said the girl, "beyond having -a little less work and a little more fresh air. Rest and exercise have -been my sole cosmetics." - -"Holidays and fresh air, eh, miss?" said Paul, smiling rather grimly; -"and you never could get an hour to come out with me, Daisy!" - -"Because it was in the height of the season, when our work was -incessant from morning till night, that you were good enough to ask me, -Mr. Douglas," said Daisy, making a little _moue_. - -"And when I am away you find time to go out." - -"Exactly," said Daisy. "There, isn't this delicious? You were away on a -holiday yourself, and I believe you are actually annoyed because during -your highness's absence I managed to enjoy myself." - -"No, no, Daisy; you mustn't accuse me of that," said Paul; "I am not so -selfish as all that! However, never mind. Tell me now all you have been -doing." - -"No; do you first tell me how you have been enjoying yourself. Were -'your people,' as you call them, very glad to see you; and did they -make much of you, as in duty bound?" - -There was, whether intentionally or not, a slight inflection of sarcasm -in her tone which jarred upon Paul's nerves. - -"They were very glad to see me, and made much of me in the only way -parents can do," said he quietly. "I often think how foolishly, -worse than foolishly, we behave while we have them with us, and only -recognise our proper duty to them when it is too late." - -"Ye-es," said Daisy, struggling to repress a yawn. She was thinking of -something else very different from filial duty, and was beginning to be -bored. - -"You do not seem to enter into those sentiments," said Paul; "but that -is because you have no parents." - -"Perhaps so," said the girl; "but even if I had, I scarcely think I -should be tempted to gush; gushing is very much out of my line." - -Paul looked at her strangely. He had never heard her so hard, so cold, -so sardonic before. - -"No," he said, after a moment's pause; "you generally manage to have a -wonderful control of your feelings; it only needed one to look through -your recent letters to prove that." - -"What was the matter with my letters?" said Daisy, looking up at him so -bewitchingly at that moment that all Paul's anger vanished. - -"The matter with them! Nothing, my darling, except that I thought they -were a little cold; but perhaps that was my fault." - -"How do you mean your fault?" - -"Perhaps I ought not to have gone away, to have left you for so long." - -"My dear Paul, what are you thinking of? What possible claim have I on -you, that you should deprive yourself of a holiday and give up visiting -your friends on my account?" - -"What claim have you! The claim of being dearer to me than any person -in the world; the claim of being the one creature for whom I care -beyond all others. Can there be a greater claim than this?" - -She looked at him quietly and almost pityingly as she said: - -"I thought you would have given up all this romantic nonsense, Paul; I -thought you would have come back infinitely more rational and practical -than you were when you left." - -"I suppose that is what you pride yourself on having become," -said Paul, with a dash of bitterness in his tone; "'rational' and -'practical,' and 'romantic nonsense!' You didn't call it by that name -when we used to walk in this place but a very few weeks ago." - -"It was different then," said Daisy, looking round with a shudder. - -"It was, indeed," said Paul. "There is something gone besides leaves -from the trees." - -"And what is that?" asked Daisy, provokingly. - -"Love from you and hope from me," said Paul. Then, with a sudden access -of passion: "Oh, my darling!" he cried, "my own love, Daisy, why are -you behaving thus to me? For the last few days I have felt certain that -something was impending. I have had a dull, dead weight on my spirits. -I attributed it to the difference in the tone of your letters, but I -thought that would all be dispelled when we met. I had no idea it would -be as bad as this." - -The girl looked up at him steadily, but seemed to be rather angered -than touched at this sudden outburst. - -"My dear Paul," said she, "I am again compelled to ask you to be at -least rational. What could you have expected would have been the end of -our acquaintance?" - -"The end!" cried Paul. "I--I never thought about that; I never thought -that there would be an end." - -"Exactly," said Daisy; "and yet you wonder at my accusing you of want -of practicality. Let us go through this matter quietly. You seek and -make my acquaintance; you appear to admire me very much, and ask for -opportunities of meeting me; these opportunities you have, and you -then profess to be deeply in love with me. All this is very nice; we -walk and talk like young people in the old story-books. But there is -a strong spice of worldliness mixed up with the simplicity of both of -us: all the time that you are talking and saying your sweetest things -you are in a desperate fright lest any of your acquaintances shall see -you. I am perfectly keen enough to notice this; and when I tax you with -it, you confess it sheepishly, and as good as tell me that it would -be impossible for you, on account of your family, to enter into any -lasting alliance with a milliner's assistant. Now, what on earth do you -propose to yourself, my dear Paul, or did you propose, when you came -here to meet me just now? You have had plenty of time to think over -this affair down in the country, and have, I suppose, arrived at some -intention; or did you possibly suppose that we could go on mooning away -our lives as we have done during the past six months?" - -She stopped; and Paul, finding she expected some reply, said -hesitatingly: - -"I--I thought it would go on just the same." - -"You are a very child, my dear Paul," said Daisy, "not to see that such -a thing is impossible. If, before you left town, you had spoken at all -distinctly as regards the future, if you had asked me to marry you--not -now, I don't say immediately, but in the course of a certain given -time--matters would have stood very differently." - -"You say if I _had_ asked you," said Paul, with an appealing glance at -her. "Suppose I were to ask you now?" - -"It would be too late," said Daisy, with a short laugh. Then, suddenly -changing her tone, she cried, "Do you imagine that, in what I have just -said, I was spelling for you to make me an offer? Do you imagine that I -would so demean myself? Do you think that I have no pride? I can tell -you, I should feel I was doing quite as great an honour to your family -by coming into it as they could possibly do to me by receiving me into -it. Do you imagine that I was not merely going calmly to wait until it -pleased your highness to throw the handkerchief in my direction, but -that I was actually making signs to attract your attention to my eager -desire for preferment?" - -"Daisy, Daisy," interrupted Paul, "what are you saying?" - -"Simply the truth; I am speaking out what we both of us know to be -true. There is no good shilly-shallying any longer this way, Paul -Douglas; we are neither of us so very childlike, we are both of us out -of our teens, and we live in a world where Strephon and Daphne will -find themselves horribly out of place." - -There was a pause for a few moments, and then Paul said in a low voice: - -"You must pardon me, Daisy, if I don't answer you straight at once and -to the purpose. It is rather a facer for a fellow who has gone away and -left a girl, as he imagines, very much attached to him, and certainly -most loving and affectionate in her words and manner, to find her, on -his return, perfectly changed, and talking about being practical and -rational, and that kind of thing. I daresay I was a fool; I daresay -you thought I was giving myself airs when I talked about my family, -and kept in this secluded part of the Park in order that we might not -run the risk of meeting anybody I knew. God knows I didn't intend so, -child; God knows I would have done nothing that I thought could have -wounded your feelings in the very slightest degree. You say that if -I had spoken to you before I left town about marrying you, matters -would have stood differently. The truth is, until I went out of town, -until I was far away from you and knew I was beyond your reach, until -I felt that never-ceasing want of your society and companionship, that -ever-present desire to hear your voice and take your hand and look into -your darling eyes, I did not know how much I was in love with you. I -know it now, Daisy, I feel it all now, and the idea of having to pass -the remainder of my life without you drives me mad. You won't let it -come to this, Daisy--oh, my own darling one, you won't let it come to -this!" - -His voice trembled as he spoke these last words, and he was strangely -agitated. There was real pity, and perhaps a little look of love, in -Daisy's eyes, but she only said: - -"My dear Paul, sooner or later it must come to this. Even were there -no other reasons, it would be impossible for me to accept an offer of -marriage which it might be truly said I have literally wrung from you. -If you love me very much--there, you need not protest; we will allow -that to pass, and take it for granted that you do--you are desperately -spooney upon me, as the phrase is, Paul; but how long will you continue -in that state? and when the first force of your passion is spent and -past, you will find yourself tied to a wife who, as you will not fail -to say to yourself--you don't think so now, but there is no doubt about -it--insisted on your marrying her." - -"I should not have been cad enough to think any such thing!" cried Paul. - -"You would always be too much of a gentleman to say it, I know," said -Daisy, "but you could not help thinking it; and the mere knowledge that -you thought it would distress me beyond measure. No, Paul, it would not -do; depend upon it, it would not do." - -"Do you mean to tell me, then," said Paul, in a trembling voice, "that -you have finally decided in this matter?" - -"I have." - -"And your decision is----" - -"That it will be better for us to say goodbye, and part as friends." - -"And you--you will not marry me, Daisy?" - -"Under the circumstances I cannot, Paul. What I might have done, had -the proposal been made at a different time and in a different way, I -cannot tell; but coming as it has, it is impossible." - -"And do you think I am weak enough not to see through all this?" -cried Paul furiously. "Do you think I am so slow of hearing or so -uninterested in what you say that I did not catch the words, 'even if -there were not other reasons,' when you first began to explain why you -could not accept my offer; and do you think it is not palpable to me at -once what those 'other reasons' are? You have been playing the false -during my absence; your woman's vanity is so great that, knowing me as -you do, being fully aware of the love, passion, call it what you will, -that I had for you, you couldn't even remain content with that during -the few weeks I was away, but must get some fresh admirer to minister -to it!" - -"Paul--Mr. Douglas!" cried Daisy. - -"I will speak--I will be heard! This is the last chance I shall have, -and I will avail myself of it. You have wrecked my life and destroyed -all my hopes, and yet you think that I am to make no protest against -all that you have done! All the time that I was away I was wearing you -in my heart, checking off with delight the death of each day which -brought nearer the hour of my return to you; and now I have returned to -find you sneer at those relations between us which made me so happy, -and bidding me be practical, rational; bidding me, in point of fact, -though not in words, abjure all my love and give you up contentedly, -see you go to someone else. It is too hard, it is too hard, Daisy! You -cannot force this upon me." - -He seized her hand and looked imploringly into her eyes. - -The girl made no attempt to withdraw her hand, it remained passively -within his; but his passionate manner met no response in her glance, -and the tones of her voice were calm and unbroken as she said: - -"I see now, more than ever, how right I was in my determination. I -accused you of being childish, and you have proved yourself so, far -more thoroughly than I had anticipated. Seeing the chance of your toy -being taken away from you, you consent to do what before you would -never have thought of, in order to secure it. You scold, and abuse, and -beg, and implore in the same breath: almost in the same sentence you -declare your love for me and insult me; a continuance of such a state -of things would be impossible. We had better shake hands and part." - -During this speech she had withdrawn her hand, but at the close she -offered it to him again. - -Paul Derinzy, however, drew himself up; for an instant he seemed as -though about to speak to her, but it was evident he doubted his power -of self-command, his eyes filled with tears, and his under-lip trembled -visibly. Then with a strong effort he recovered himself, took off his -hat, and making a formal bow, hurried away. - -"It would never have done," said Daisy, looking after him. Then, as she -started on her homeward walk, she said, "It would have been neither -one thing nor the other; a kind of genteel poverty. Unrecognised by -his relations, he would soon have sickened of that kind of life, and -I should have been left to my own devices, to mope and pine at home -or amuse myself abroad; in either case, a very undesirable mode of -life. My vanity Paul talked about, that could not live without another -admirer! Poor fellow, he wasn't right there. It wasn't vanity; it was -a craving for luxury and position that first led me to listen to this -man. I have to give him my answer by the end of the week. I don't think -there is much doubt as to what it will be." - -A loud cry interrupted her thoughts just at this moment, and looking -up, she saw a carriage, drawn by a pair of splendid horses, turning -into the street that she was about to cross. The coachman and footman -sitting on the box called out to warn her of her danger, and as she -sprang back, they looked at her and laughed insolently. A woman, -handsome and young, and splendidly dressed in sables, lay back in the -barouche, and looked at the girl, who was covered with a mud-shower -whirling from the wheels, with a glance half of pity, half of contempt. - -Daisy's face was ablaze in an instant. - -"I have been a poverty-stricken drudge long enough," she said. "Now I -will ride in my own carriage, and stop all chance of insults such as -these." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. -GEORGE'S DETERMINATION. - - -Paul Derinzy's was not the only perturbed spirit in the Principal -Registrar's room of the Stannaries Office. To his own extreme -astonishment, George Wainwright found that his equable spirits and calm -philosophic temperament had entirely deserted him, and that he had -become silent, moody, and, he was afraid, sometimes irritable. He knew -perfectly the cause of this change, and did not attempt to disguise -it from himself. He knew that he was suffering from that malady which -sooner or later attacks us all, and which, like many other maladies, is -more safely got over and disposed of when it comes upon us in youth. -That period had passed with George Wainwright. He shook his head rather -grimly as he surveyed in the glass the brown crisp hair, already -beginning to be sprinkled with gray, and the lines round the mouth and -eyes, which seemed to have increased at such a confoundedly quick rate -lately; and he did not attempt to fight with the malady. He seemed to -confess that he could make no head against it, and that his best plan -was to succumb to its force, and let it do with him as it would. - -"It has come to me somewhat late in life, and I suppose it is the -worse on that account," said honest old George to himself; "but I see -plainly there is no use in attempting to resist it, and that mine may -be looked upon as a settled case. Strange, too, how it has all come -about that my going down into Devonshire to rescue Paul from a scrape -should have been the cause of my falling into one myself, and into a -far more helpless one than that out of which he wanted my help. He has, -at all events, the resources of hope. Time may soften the parental -anger; and even if it does not, he can afford to set it at defiance, so -far as Annette is concerned; while as for Daisy, as he calls her, if -he chooses to ignore conventionality, and what the world will think, -and Mrs. Grundy will say--and it doesn't seem to me to be a very hard -task to do that, though harder perhaps for a dashing young fellow like -him than a middle-aged hermit like myself--he may marry the girl, and, -like the people in the story-books, live happy ever after. But my -look-out is very different. I have examined mine own heart. God knows, -with as much strict search as I could bring to bear upon it, and I -feel that, so far as Annette is concerned, I am irretrievably---- And -I never thought I could love anyone at all in this kind of way. I am -perfectly certain that I shall never love anyone else; and therein lies -the utter hopelessness of the case. I buoy myself up with the belief -that this darling child is, I may almost say, attached to me--that she -feels for me what in another person would be affection and attachment. -She says that I understand her better than anyone else; and that -she is happier in my society than in that of any other person. What -more could the wisest among us say to show their preference? And yet -the hopelessness, the utter hopelessness! That conversation with my -father has left no doubt on my mind that he, at all events, regards -her malady as incurable; and though the fact of my comprehending her -so thoroughly might possibly have some good effect upon her disease, -and at all events would tend to mitigate and soften her affliction, -any thought of marriage with her would be impossible. Even I myself, -who am regarded, I know, by these lads at the office as a kind of -social iconoclast, stand aghast at the idea, and at once acknowledge -my terror of Mrs. Grundy's remark. And yet it seems so hard to give -her up. My life, which was such a happy one, in its quiet, and what -might almost be called its solitude, seems to attend me no more. I am -restless and uneasy; I find no solace in my books or my work, and have -even neglected poor _maman_, so occupied are my thoughts with this one -subject. I cannot shake it off, I cannot rid myself of its influence. -It is ever present on my mind, and unless something happens to effect a -radical change in my state, I shall knock myself up and be ill. I feel -that coming upon me to a certainty. A good sharp travel is the only -thing which would be of any use: the remedy experienced by the man of -whom my father is so fond of talking--who found relief from the utter -prostration and misery which he underwent at the death of his only son -by the intense study of mathematics--would not help me one atom. I -cannot apply my mind--or what I call my mind--to anything just now. The -figure of this girl comes between me and the paper; her voice is always -ringing in my ears; her constrained eager regard, gradually melting -into quiet confidence, is ever before me: and, in fact, I begin to feel -myself a thorough specimen of an old fool hopelessly in love." - -George Wainwright judged no man harshly but himself. When he appeared -at the bar of his own tribunal, he conducted the cross-examination with -Spartan sternness; and this was the result--he saw the impossibility of -fighting against the passion which had obtained such mastery over him; -and he had almost made up his mind to seek safety in flight--to plead -ill-health, and to go away from England on some prolonged travel--when -an incident occurred which altered his determination. - -One morning he was sitting at his desk at the Stannaries Office, -mechanically opening his correspondence and arranging the papers -before him--as usual he had been the first to arrive, and none of his -colleagues were present--when Paul Derinzy entered the room. George -noticed with regret that his friend's appearance had altered very -much for the worse during the last few days. His face looked wan and -peaked, his usual sallow complexion had changed to a dead-white, and -the expression of his eyes was dull and lustreless. There never was -much power of work in Paul; but there had been next to nothing lately. -George had noticed him sitting at his desk, his eyes bent vacantly on -the paper before him, his thoughts evidently very far away. Since their -return, there has not been very much interchange of confidence between -them; but George knows perfectly well that matters are not going quite -straight in Paul's relations with Daisy, and that the lad is spiritless -and miserable in consequence. George Wainwright's great heart would at -any time have compassionated his friend's position; but under present -circumstances he was especially able to appreciate and sympathise with -the position. - -"At it as usual, George," said Paul, after the first curt salutation. -"How you have the heart to stick to this confounded grind in the way -you do, quite beats me. I begin to loathe the place, and the papers, -and all the infernal lot." And with an indignant sweep of his arm he -cleared a space in front of him, and resting his face on his hands, sat -contemplating his friend. - -"Begin to loathe, my dear Paul?" said George, with a slight smile; "I -thought you had progressed pretty well long ago in your hatred to the -state of life to which you have been called. Yes, I am grinding away as -usual, and indeed have put a little extra power on just now." - -"What!" said Paul, with a look of disgust at a large array of tape-tied -official documents neatly spread out before his friend; "are those -infernal papers heavier than ever?" - -"No, not that," said George; "there seems to be about the usual number -of them; but I want to make a clearance, and not to leave the slightest -arrear when I go away." - -"Go away!" repeated Paul. "What do you mean? You have only just -returned; you don't mean to say you are going away again?" - -"That is really delicious," said George; "you, who have had your full -six weeks' leave, turn round and fling my poor little fortnight in my -teeth. Yes, I actually purpose taking the remainder of my holiday; a -great crime, no doubt, but one which must be excused under special -circumstances. I am a little overworked, and not a little out of sorts; -and I find I must get away at once." - -"Not at once," said Paul, with a half-comic look at his friend; "I -don't think I would go away just now, if I were you." - -"Why not?" asked George. - -"Because you might miss seeing some people for whom you have, as I -believe, a great regard," said Paul, with the same quaint expression. - -"And they are----" - -"My people. If the fashionable chronicler took any notice of them, he -would probably report: 'We understand that Captain and Mrs. Derinzy, -accompanied by their niece Miss Annette Derinzy, will shortly arrive at -94, Queen Anne Street, Cavendish Square, from their marine residence, -The Tower, Beachborough, Dorsetshire.'" - -"You are chaffing, I suppose," said George, who had laid down his -paper, and was looking up eagerly. - -"Not the least in the world; I never was more serious in my life." - -"Do you mean to say that they are coming to town, then?" - -"I do, indeed. I had a letter from my mother this morning; in it she -says that she requires change; but by what I gather from the context, -I have a strong notion that the corruption of good manners by evil -communications has taken place. Which, being interpreted, means this: -that since you and I were down there, and fanned the governor's -reminiscences of London and his previous life into a flame, he has -grown so unbearable, that my mother has been forced to knock under -to him, and intends bringing him up, to let him have the slightest -suspicion of a fling." - -"Exactly," said George; "I daresay you are right." - -"And there is another view of the question, in which I fancy I am -right too. It has long struck me that my mother's reason for keeping -Annette in such strict seclusion, carrying her away to that ghastly -place down there, and never letting anyone see her, was that she might -be kept from all temptation in the shape of other young men, and grow -up solely and entirely for me, my behoof and purposes. It seems to me -tolerably plain now, that since our visit down there my mother sees -that this notable plan is knocked on the head; as there is no chance -of my marrying my cousin, the necessity for keeping her in seclusion -no longer exists; and therefore she is to be brought to London, and -allowed, to a certain extent, to mix in society; and I think I know -someone, old man," continued Paul, looking with a kindly smile towards -his friend, "who will not be displeased at that result, however it may -have been brought about." - -He was surprised to see George Wainwright turn suddenly pale, and to -mark the tremulous tones of voice, as he said: - -"You are a good fellow, Paul, and my own dear friend, to whom I can -talk with all perfect frankness and honesty. I have never mentioned -this matter to you before, never offered you my confidence on the -subject, although I guessed from your manner once or twice, while down -at The Tower, that you had some idea of my attachment to your cousin. -I am sure I need not tell you, who know me so well, that, so long as -there was the remotest chance of any alliance between you and her, -even though it had been what, in the jargon of the world, is called a -marriage of convenience, and not one in which on either side affection -is supposed to have a part, I should never have dreamed of interposing -any obstacle, or of even allowing myself to entertain any strong -feeling towards her. I say that boldly now, for I think at that time I -could have exercised sufficient self-restraint, had there been occasion -for it, though now, God knows, my affection for her is quite beyond my -control." - -He paused for a moment, and Paul took advantage of the opportunity -to rise from his seat, and walking round the desk, to lay his hand -affectionately on his friend's broad shoulders. - -"Of course, I know that, old man; of course, I know that you are the -soul of honour and truth, and that you would have eaten your heart -quietly, and never said a word. But there is no occasion for all that -now, thank Heaven! I am in a nice mess with my business; but there's no -reason why you shouldn't be happy." - -"My dear Paul, any future for me and Annette together is impossible." - -"What utter rubbish! I am perfectly confident of my own power of -squaring my mother, and bringing her to see the thing in a proper -light, now that she knows that there is no chance with me; and the -governor's sure to follow as a matter of course; or supposing they -remained obstinate, and refuse to give their consent, Annette loses -her fortune, that's all. You've got quite enough to keep her in amply -sufficient style; and for the matter of that, some time or other the -money must come to me, and you and she should have as much of it as -you liked--all of it, if you wanted it. Money's no good to me, poor -miserable beggar that I am." - -"It is not a question of money, Paul, or of Mrs. Derinzy's consent; -there's something very far worse behind--something which I discovered -when we were down at Beachborough together, and which I have hitherto -kept back from you, partly because the revelation of it could do no -good, and partly because I had a certain delicacy in telling you -of what must, I fear, deprive certain persons of a portion of the -estimation in which they have hitherto held me." - -"Go on," said Paul quickly; "I haven't the least idea of what you mean." - -"There was another reason," said George, "for keeping your cousin -secluded in the country besides that which you have named. I had some -faint glimmering of it when I first arrived at The Tower, and I heard -of your mother's illness and my father's periodical visits. Before I -left, I took means to verify my suspicions; and since I returned to -town, I have had an opportunity of confirming them. Beyond question or -doubt, your cousin Annette is the victim of a mental disorder. Paul, -she is--that I, above all men, should have to tell you!--she is mad!" - -"Good God!" cried Paul Derinzy, starting to his feet, "you are mad -yourself to talk so!--Whose authority have you for this statement?" - -"The best of all," said George Wainwright, sadly. "The authority of the -physician in attendance upon her--the authority is my own father. This -comes to supplement my own experience and my own observation. There is -no doubt about it, Paul; would to God there was!" - -"And my mother--she must have known all this--she could not possibly -have been ignorant of it!" cried Paul. - -George Wainwright was silent. - -"And she would have let me marry Annette without any revelation of the -mystery, for the sake of that wretched money; she would have embittered -my future, and rendered the rest of my life hopeless and miserable. -What a shameful conspiracy! What a base and wicked plot!" - -"Hush, Paul!" said George Wainwright, laying his hand on his arm; -"recollect of whom you are speaking." - -"It is that that makes it all the worse," cried Paul. "To think that -she, my mother, should have been so besotted by the hope of greed as to -shut her eyes to all the misery which she was heaping up in store for -me. It is too horrible to think of. What a narrow chance I had! What a -providential escape!" - -"Yes," said George, in a low voice, "you have escaped." - -There was something in his friend's tone which touched Paul's heart at -once. - -"What a selfish brute I am," he cried, "to have been thinking of myself -and to have forgotten you! How much worse it is for you than for me! -My dear George, I never cared for Annette, and set my affections -elsewhere; so that beyond the pity which I naturally feel for her, and -the shock which I have experienced in learning that my mother could -have been so short-sighted and so culpable, there is nothing to touch -me in the matter. But you--you loved her for herself; you won her; for -I never saw her take to or be interested in anyone so much before; and -now you have to give her up." - -George's face was buried in his hands. He groaned heavily, but he said -nothing. - -"Is there no hope?" asked Paul; "no hope of any cure? Is she -irrecoverably insane?" - -"My father seems to say so," said George, looking up. "I had a long -interview with him the other day; told him the whole story, and -confided to him all my feelings. He was kindness itself; but he gave me -no hope." - -"But, good heavens, it seems so wonderful! Here one sees her walking -about, and talking in an ordinary manner, and yet you tell me that she -is mad!" - -"We only have seen her at her best times, my dear Paul. No one has seen -her at her worst, except perhaps my father and Mrs. Stothard. These -intermittent fits are, they tell me, a very bad sign. The chance were -better, if the illness were more constant and protracted." - -"It is too horrible!" cried Paul again. "George, what will you do?" - -"Bear it, my boy," said his friend; "bear it as I have done things -before now, and get on as best I can. I thought of going away, to -endeavour in change by the excitement of travel to get rid of the -thoughts which are now constantly occupying my mind, and I hope to -return in a healthier state. But what you have just told me has altered -my plan. The notion of seeing her once again, and speedily, has taken -possession of me, and I confess I am not strong enough to fight against -it. When do they come up to town?" - -"At once, I believe. My mother says the governor's temper is -unbearable, and that her only hope of any peace and comfort lies in -bringing him to London. You will remain to see them?" - -"Yes. As I said before, I cannot resist the temptation." - -"Perhaps there may be hope even yet," said Paul. "Every one noticed how -much better she was in health and spirits when in your society." - -"I fear that improvement will not be permanent," said George, shaking -his head sadly. "There was but one chance, and we seem to have lost -even that." - -"What was it?" asked Paul. - -"Well, there was a German doctor named Hildebrand, who lived at -Dorrendorf, who achieved a wonderful reputation for his treatment in -cases of mania. Even my father--who had had long disputations and -polemical controversies with him, carried on in the medical journals of -Berlin and London--allowed that he had performed some wonderful cures, -although the means by which the end was arrived at were, he professed -to consider, unprofessional and undignified." - -"Well, why don't we get this old fellow to come over and see Annette -at once? Dr. Wainwright wouldn't stand upon ceremony now that he knows -the real state of the case; and money's no object, you know, George; we -could stand any amount among us, if we could only get poor Annette put -right." - -"You may be sure I have thought of that," said George. "I spoke to my -father about it, and know he would be delighted to aid in any way in -getting old Hildebrand's advice, even though the method to be employed -should be contrary to his ideas. But the old man has retired from -practice for some time, and nothing can be heard of him. I have sent -to some of my correspondents in Germany; but from the answers I have -received, I am led to believe that he is dead." - -"That is bad news, indeed," said Paul. "The intelligence about poor -Annette has come upon me so suddenly, that I seem scarcely able to -comprehend it." - -"Your never having seen her under one of these attacks, and having only -a recollection of her as being always bright and cheerful, would tend -to prevent the realisation," said George. "I too always strive to think -of her under her most cheerful aspect. God knows I would not willingly -see her under any other." - -"It is a deuced bad look-out, there's no denying," said Paul; then -added gloomily, "everything seems to be going to the bad just now." - -"I have been so wrapped-up in my own troubles that I have forgotten -yours, Paul," said George. "Tell me, how are matters getting on between -you and your young friend? Not very brilliantly, I fear, by your tone." - -"Brilliantly! No, anything but that. Infernal, I should say," said -Paul. "I can't make her out; she seems perfectly changed since my -absence from London. I am sure something must have happened; but I -don't know what it is." - -"You recollect my hint to you at Beachborough about Theseus and -Ariadne? You burst out into a rage then; what do you think now?" - -"I don't know what to think," said Paul, "though it looks something -like it, I am bound to confess." - -"Then why don't you be a man, and break off the whole business at once?" - -"Now, I like that," said Paul; "I really like that suggestion from a -man who has been talking as you have been talking to me. Do you think -you could?" - -"No, I am sure I could not," said George. "It is the old story: giving -advice is the easiest thing in the world; following it the most -difficult. I----" - -"Hullo! here's Billy." - -It was indeed Mr. Dunlop, who entered the room at the moment, and stood -in the doorway regarding the two friends, who were leaning over the -desk together, with a comical aspect. - -"A very pretty picture indeed," said Mr. Dunlop. "'The Misers,' by -Rembrandt, I think, or some other elderly parties of an obscure age. -Whence this thusness? Do I intrude? If so, I am perfectly ready to -withdraw. No one can ever say that W.D. forced himself into his office -at times when his presence was not required there." - -"Come in, and don't be an idiot, Billy," said Paul. "George and I were -just talking over some private matters; but we have finished now." - -"Private matters!" said Mr. Dunlop. "And by the look of you they must -have been what the dramatist calls of 'serious import.' Confide in me. -Come, rest on this bosom, my own stricken Deer-inzy. William is ready -to give you advice, assistance, anything, indeed--except money. Of -that latter article he is generally scarce; and Mr. Michael O'Dwyer -has recently borrowed of him the attenuated remains of his quarterly -stipend." - -"No, Billy; thanks all the same; I don't think you can be of much use -to either of us just now," said George, with a smile. "If you really -are serious in what you said just now about money, you can have what -you want from me." - -"Thanks, generous stranger," said Billy. "You are like the rich uncle, -who, from his purse containing notes to exactly double the amount--a -favourite character in dramatic fiction, but one whom I have never yet -had the pleasure of meeting in private life. No, I shall get on very -well until the Chancellor of the Exchequer shells out." - -And then Mr. Courtney came in, followed shortly by one or two other -men, and the conversation dropped. - -Paul Derinzy had rightly divined the reason of his mother's -determination to come to London for a time. The Captain's -long-conceived disgust at the dulness of Beachborough had wrought him -into such a state of insubordination, that even his wife's authority -was no longer sufficient for his control. Mrs. Derinzy saw plainly -that some immediate steps must be taken; the Captain must go to London -to see his old friends and his old haunts, and to enjoy himself once -more after his former fashion. It would be unadvisable to let him go -alone; and as Mrs. Derinzy had the good sense to see that her favourite -project regarding the marriage of Paul and Annette was finally knocked -on the head, there was no longer so much reason for keeping the girl -in the seclusion of the country; and the head of the family therefore -determined that they should all proceed to London together. - -Principally for George's sake, for he had not much care of his own in -the matter, Paul made no opposition to the proposed arrangement. He -had perfectly made up his mind that the presence of his family in town -should make no alteration in his own manner of life; he would not be -bound to them in any way, and would consider himself just as free as he -was previously to their arrival. George would have an opportunity of -seeing Annette, which would be good gained for him, poor old fellow; -and as for himself, he seemed to care little about what became of him; -his every thought was centred and bound up in Daisy. If she treated him -well, he should be thoroughly happy; if she threw him over, as indeed -it looked somewhat likely she would, well, he should go to the bad at -once, and there would be an end of it. - - -In due course of time the family arrived at the furnished house which -had been taken for them in Queen Anne Street, and Paul and George went -together to call there. The Captain was not at home; he had already -begun to taste the sweets of liberty; had gone to the club, of which -he still remained a supernumerary member; had already accepted several -dinner engagements; was proposing to himself pleasure parties _galore_ -But they found Mrs. Derinzy, and after a short interview with her, -Annette entered the room. She seemed already to have benefited by the -change. Both George and Paul thought her looking unusually pretty and -cheerful, and the blush which mounted to her cheeks when she saw and -recognised the former, was as gratifying to him who had caused it, as -it was astonishing to Mrs. Derinzy. Before they took their leave, the -young men had arranged to dine there two days hence, when Mrs. Derinzy -said the Captain should be present, and she would allow him to bring -some of his old friends to meet them. - -George, however, was not destined to be one of the guests at that -dinner. When Paul arrived at the office the next morning, he found a -note from his friend, couched in these terms: - - -"DEAR P.,--Rather an odd thing occurred last night. Some men were -down here at my den, and among them Wraxall, who has just returned -from a long tour on the Continent. He brought some sketch-books, and -in glancing over them I was much struck with the extraordinary head -of an old man. On my pointing it out to Wraxall, he told me it was -drawn from life, and was indeed a portrait of an old German named -Hildebrand. He had been celebrated as a 'mad doctor' in his day, and -he was now resident at Mayence. Wraxall had seen him only ten days -ago. Recollecting our last conversation when Hildebrand's name was -mentioned, you will not be surprised to hear that I leave by this -morning's tidal train for Brussels and the Rhine. - -"Make my excuses to the Chief, and tell him I am taking the remainder -of my leave. You shall hear, of course, as soon as I have anything to -say. God bless you, my dear boy. I cannot help feeling that there is -yet a gleam of hope. - - "Yours ever, - - "G.W." - - -"A gleam of hope," said Paul, as he finished the perusal of this note. -"I hope so, indeed, my dear old man; but it is but a gleam, after all." - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. -WARNED. - - -Paul Derinzy had indeed little reason to be satisfied with the -treatment which he was experiencing at Daisy's hands; for though there -had been nothing approaching to a final rupture between them, the -new views of life which had opened upon her since her acquaintance -with Colonel Orpington had afforded her a vast amount of matter for -reflection. Of course the idea of the position which the Colonel had -offered to her was by no means new to the girl's mind. Unhappily, too, -the existence of such a position is unknown to a very small minority -of innocents; and according to the present constitution of society, -such a status is, it is to be feared, regarded by young women in -Daisy's walk of life as one rather to be envied than shunned. But up to -this time--perhaps partly owing to the severe training which she had -received, which had had the effect of making her regard propriety as a -sound commercial investment rather than as a duty to her conscience, -partly to a real affection which she felt for Paul--she had resolutely -refused to entertain any such ideas. - -What had changed her? Not any diminution in the affection between -her and her lover--not on his part, at least; for no man who did not -worship her with all the depth of passion possible in his nature -could have suffered so acutely as he did. Had she ceased to love him? -No, she thought not; she could scarcely tell--the position was so -unsatisfactory; that was all she could say to herself in thinking the -matter over. She had not the least doubt that Paul would willingly make -her such an offer as that which she had received from the Colonel; but -then their circumstances were so different. Though Paul was undoubtedly -a gentleman well connected, he was decidedly not rich, she knew that, -or he would never have been content to remain in this office which he -talked about; and to be rich, free from care, to have command of money -and servants and dresses and carriages, that was what her mind was -bent on just now. Then Paul would marry her too if she were to press -it, she knew that; but what would be the benefit by their marriage? -He would gain no more money; she would gain merely the name of a -position. She would not be received into his society; and he, finding -she was ignored, would either break with his own people and cleave to -her, when he would be sulky and bored, always regarding her as the bar -to his assumption of his proper status in society; or would give her -up, and lead his life among his friends, merely treating her as his -housekeeper, and his home as a place to return to when there was no -other house to visit. - -It would be dull and dreary either way with Paul, the latter condition -worse than the former, for then she would be tied, and the bonds would -be more difficult to break. And yet she could not bring herself to an -open rupture with her lover. He was so kind, so attentive, so delicate, -and above all, so passionately devoted to her. It must come, she -thought; it would come some time or other, but not just yet. The evil -day should be delayed as long as possible. And she had given no answer -to Colonel Orpington. She did not mind about that; he was a man of the -world, and would not expect one immediately. He would ascribe her delay -either to modesty or calculation; under the sway of which of the two he -might imagine her to be deliberating was quite indifferent to her. - -To only one out of the three men who proposed to pay her their -addresses had she conveyed her decision: that one was John Merton. -There would be no more trouble with him, she thought. He could not -misunderstand her words, and, above all, her manner, during that -conversation in the street on her way to the chambers in the Temple. -She knew he had not misunderstood it by the abrupt way in which he had -taken his departure. Daisy felt a mild kind of pain at having hurt John -Merton's feelings, as the details of that interview recurred to her. -But, after all, it was better at an end. It was perfectly impossible -that she could have led the life which he offered her. In company -with him it would have been very respectable and very dull: in her -then state of mind, Daisy considered that respectability and dulness -generally went together. There would have been a bare sufficiency to -live upon at first, and they would have had to have been supported by -the hope of thriving on the inevitable progress of honesty, industry, -and that kind of twaddle, which she had heard enunciated from pulpits, -and seen set forth in the pages of cheap popular periodicals, in which, -contrary to her experience of the world, the virtuous people got on -wonderfully, besides being preternaturally clean in the woodcuts, while -those who drank beer, and abstained from Sunday-afternoon service, were -necessarily dirty and poverty-stricken. - -It was not in her lodgings in South Molton Street that Daisy sat -cogitating over these eventful circumstances, and deliberating as to -her future. Madame Clarisse had gone away on business to Paris, and -before she left she had requested her assistant to instal herself in -the private rooms of the establishment in George Street. - -"You will be better there, Fanfan, my child, than in the _mansarde_ -where you have been so long. There are certain people--you know who I -mean; I need not mention their names--who, I think, would particularly -wish it, and it is as well for us to oblige them, particularly when at -the same time we do a good thing for ourselves; besides, it is good -for the business that I should leave you in charge of it. I will not -disguise from you, my dear child, that I do not think of continuing in -commerce very much longer. I have had enough of it myself; and though -I thought there might be a chance of my giving it up to someone who -would comprehend the delicate nuances of the details with which I have -surrounded it, and the care and trouble which I have expended upon -it, it shall not go to Augustine, or to any of those others who have -copied me and my ways over here in this _pays barbare_. I shall find -someone in Paris who would like to come and _exploiter_ her youth and -her talent, and also, my faith! her money, amongst the _jeunes meess_ -and the robust dames of England; and as for myself, when that is done, -Fanfan, I shall be free, and then _vogue la galere_. Perhaps in those -days to come, Fanfan, you will not mind seeing an old friend, who will -not be so old but she will understand the life, and how to lead it." -And here Madame Clarisse kissed her fingers and waved them in the air -with an eminently-suggestive French gesture. "And you will give her -a seat in your carriage, and tell her of all the conquests you are -making." - -And then Madame Clarisse gave Daisy's ear a little pinch, and laughed -shrilly, and betook herself to the cold fowl and half bottle of very -excellent Bordeaux which constituted her luncheon. - -So Madame Clarisse went to Paris, and Daisy was installed in her place. -And it was in the cosy little low-ceilinged room that she was seated, -gazing at, but certainly not seeing, the furniture in red velvet, the -engravings, the nicknacks, and the statuettes by Danton, that all these -reflections on the past, and speculations upon the future, passed -through her mind. - -She had had a busy day, and was feeling rather fatigued, and thought -she might refresh herself with a nap before she went through the -business accounts and wrote to Madame a statement of what had occurred, -as was her regular nightly practice, when a knock came to the door, and -the shiny-faced page, entering quickly, announced that a gentleman was -below and wished to see her. - -"He has grown impatient," Daisy thought, "and is anxious for his -answer. I scarcely expected that of him. However, I suppose it is -rather a compliment than otherwise. He must have heard from Madame that -I was here. You can show the gentleman up, James." - -When the page had gone, Daisy ran into the back room and passed a brush -over her hair, and just gave her face one touch with the powder puff -which Madame Clarisse had left behind on her toilet-table, and returned -into the sitting-room to confront, not Colonel Orpington, as she had -expected, but John Merton. - -Daisy started, and did not attempt to conceal her displeasure. - -"I have ventured once again to call upon you, Miss Stafford," said -John; "but I had better commence by saying that this time I have not -come on my own business." - -"That at all events is good hearing, Mr. Merton," said Daisy, coldly. - -"Exactly," said John. "I expected you to speak of it in that way. You -may depend upon it you will never be further troubled, so far as I am -concerned." - -"To what, then, do I owe this----" - -"Intrusion, you were going to say," interrupted he. "It is an -intrusion, I suppose, so far as it is unasked and decidedly unwelcome." - -"You speak bluntly, Mr. Merton." - -"I speak strongly because I feel strongly, Miss Stafford." - -"Perhaps you will be good enough to speak intelligibly at the same -time," said Daisy. "You have enlarged upon what you have been pleased -to call your unwelcome intrusion; but you have not explained the reason -of it." - -"You are right," said John. "I will proceed to do so at once. I am -afraid I shall be a little lengthy, but that is unavoidable." - -Daisy bowed, and tapped her foot impatiently. She felt that there was -something horribly irritating in the calmness of this man's manner. - -"I must begin at the beginning," said John, "and in doing so I must -allude to matters which I have just promised should not again be -mentioned by me. However, it is a necessity, and I will touch upon them -as lightly as possible. You know that, ever since I first made your -acquaintance through my sister, I took the greatest interest in you, -and ended by being hopelessly in love with you." - -Daisy bowed very coldly. - -"I daresay it was very ridiculous, and I know you consider it highly -presumptuous, though I am bound to confess I do not see any reason why -I should have not felt an honest love for you, and should not have -mentioned it to you. We are both members of the same class in society; -and if it suited them in other ways, there was no reason why the -milliner's first hand and the draper's assistant should not have been -married." - -He said these last words quietly; but there was a certain amount of -bitterness in his tone, and Daisy flushed angrily as she heard them. -She was about to speak, but refrained, and merely motioned him to -proceed. - -"However, that could not be," said John Merton in continuance. "The -right of acceptance or rejection remained entirely with you, and you -decided upon the latter." - -He paused for a moment, and then said in a lower tone: - -"If I had not been the besotted fool that I am, I should have accepted -my dismissal as it was given--coolly, definitely, and without the -slightest remorse; but, unfortunately, I am weak enough not to be -able to take things in this way. I had too much at stake--my future -happiness was too deeply involved--to permit of my bowing to my fate, -and endeavouring to forget what had been the one sole excitement of -many months in some new study or pursuit." - -He paused again, as though expecting her to speak. But she was silent, -and he continued: - -"My sister, who was the cause of our first introduction, has been since -the medium through which I have ascertained all my information about -you. She was very chatty at first, and never was tired of talking to -me of what you did and said, and where you went, and enlarging on the -dulness of the life which you pursued. She little thought, I imagine, -what intense interest I took in her voluble prattle. She thought me too -much immersed in my own affairs to take any real heed of what she was -saying, and imagined that I merely induced her to go on in order to -distract my mind from graver subjects, and to fill up what would have -been the tedium of my enforced leisure. It was not until the occasion -of the little tea-party at that young lady's---- I see you smile; but -from me the appellation is correct." - -"I beg your pardon, I did not smile, Mr. Merton," said Daisy, almost -savagely; "I am listening to you at your request. I am in no smiling -humour; and I must beg you to make this interview as brief as possible." - -"It was on the occasion of the tea-party at Miss Manby's then," -continued John Merton, "that I think Bella saw for the first time that -all my queries about you had been put with deliberate intention, and -had a definite aim. Previously to that she had once or twice joked me -in her light way about my admiration of you, but nothing more; but you -may recollect--I do perfectly--that on that night she took delight in -teasing me about that portrait which Mr. Kammerer had taken of you, and -about the man--I beg your pardon, the gentleman--who came to the place -and insisted upon buying it." - -John stopped here, and looked at her so pointedly that Daisy could not -restrain the rising blush in her cheek. She said quietly: - -"I do recollect it perfectly." - -"Of course you do; no woman ever forgets any occasion on which she sees -a man piqued or jealous at her preference of another." - -"There was no question of preference in the matter," said Daisy. "I -knew nothing about the gentleman who wished to purchase the portrait; -I had only seen him once; and there can be no great crime, even in the -category of sins proscribed by the severe doctrine which I presume you -hold, and which, at all events, you teach, in a girl's finding pleasure -at admiration bestowed upon her." - -"I must get back to my facts," said John Merton, quietly. "I suppose -I showed that I was annoyed that night, and from my annoyance Bella -judged that I was in earnest about you. We don't meet very often, and -we have very little in common, for she is younger than I am, and does -not take quite the same view of the world that I do--she has not seen -so much of it, poor girl; and for a long time you were not mentioned -between us. During all the time that I was in suspense, before I had -made up my mind to express my feelings to you, and ask you to be my -wife, and after that in the short period before I met you walking in -the street, we seemed mutually to avoid any mention of your name. It -seemed to me too sacred to be bandied about with such jests and light -talk as Bella would probably have used concerning it; and she seemed to -understand my feeling and to humour it. At all events, during that time -nothing was said about you; but since then--since I heard from your own -lips what was equivalent to my dismissal--we have frequently reverted -to the theme. You will understand, please, that in mentioning what I -am going to tell you, I am by no means endeavouring to harrow your -feelings, or to work upon your compassion; it simply comes in as part -of what I have to say; and I must say it." - -John might have spared himself this digression, for Daisy was in -no melting mood, and sat listening, half-sternly contemptuous, -half-savagely irate. All the notice she took of these remarks was to -give a very slight bow. - -"I was completely upset by your decision," John continued; "and though -I ought never to have expected anything else, that came so suddenly -upon me, the pleasing path in dreamland was so abruptly ended, the -visions which I had indulged were so ruthlessly chased away----" - -Here Daisy tapped her foot very impatiently. John started, and said, "I -beg your pardon," so comically, that Daisy could scarcely refrain from -smiling. - -"I mean, it was all over so quickly that I took it to heart like a -fool, and became moping and low. I sent for Bella then, and got her -to come and see me constantly in the evening, when our work for the -day was over; and I began again to talk to her about you, not telling -her anything about what had happened, but talking just as I used in -the old days, only a little more passionately perhaps; for my usual -quiet nature was aroused at the thought of the way in which you had -treated me, and at the idea of what might have been--what might be yet, -I suppose I thought to myself; for one night I told Bella all about -my coming to you in South Molton Street, the declaration that I made, -and the way in which you received it. Then I told her of that horrible -interview, when we met in the street, and when you treated me as though -I had been a servant. She was naturally angry about this, and talked -the usual stuff which people do in such cases, advising me not to think -of you any more; that you could not appreciate my worth; that there -were plenty of other women who--you know the style of condolence on -such occasions. I seemed to agree with her; and I suppose I actually -did so for some little time; but then the what-might-be feeling took -possession of me, and I began idiotically to buoy myself up with a -hope that you might have spoken hurriedly and without thought, that I -might have been proud and hasty; and, in fact, that there might yet be -a chance of future happiness for me. Bella must have discovered this -almost as soon as I felt it; for she seemed to discourage my questions -about you, and my evident inclination to forget what had passed, and -to endeavour to renew my acquaintance with you. She was very quiet and -kind at first--she was kind throughout, I suppose I ought to say; but -when she found that my feverish longing to see you again was coming -to a height, that I was bent upon imploring you to reconsider your -determination, she spoke openly to me, and told me what I would sooner -have died than have heard." - -Daisy looked up quickly and angrily at him. - -"And what," she said scornfully, "may this wonderful communication have -been?" - -"I suppose you do not know Bella's share in all that has taken place, -or you would not ask the question," said John. - -"I am not aware that Bella Merton has any share in anything that -concerns me," said Daisy. "It is useless speaking any further in -riddles. You promised you would speak out; hitherto you have done so, -and you must continue to the end." - -"I will," said John Merton; "I came to do it, and I will carry it -through at whatever pain it may be for me to speak, for you to hear. My -sister Bella, then, has informed me that a man--one of those whom you -call gentlemen, but from whom I withhold the name--has ventured to make -dishonourable proposals to you; in plain terms, to ask you to live with -him as his mistress." - -"Mr. Merton!" cried Daisy, in a wild access of rage, "how dare----" - -"Pardon me," said John, raising his hand; "we decided, if you -recollect, that we should go through this matter to the end. You will -not deny the accusation, I know, for you are too proud to stoop to -any such mean subterfuge; and even if you did, I could not believe -you, for I have the confession of one whom this scoundrel has made an -accomplice. You see it is not entirely on your account that I have to -bring this man to book, Miss Stafford," said John, who had turned very -white, and whose hands were clenching nervously. "He has debased my -sister into becoming a participator of his wretched work, a tool to -help him to his miserable end. All the time that Bella was intimate -with you, she was, unknown to you, fetching and carrying between you -and this man, feeding your vanity with accounts of his admiration, -giving him information as to your movements, playing the wretched part -of half go-between, half spy." - -"You know that I knew nothing of this!" Daisy broke out. - -"Perfectly," said John Merton; "but that only makes it the worse for -her. However, it is not of her I came to speak, but of you." - -"I think you may spare yourself the trouble," said Daisy, looking -steadily at him; "you have no position giving you the slightest claim -to interfere with me or my actions, and in forming conjectures, in -coming to conclusions about my future movements, you have already taken -a most unwarrantable liberty. I desire that you say no more, and leave -me at once." - -"Ah, for God's sake, no!" cried John Merton, in a tone so shrill and -startling that it went to Daisy's heart--"Ah, for God's sake, no! Give -up this outside crust of stoicism and conventionality, and let me plead -to the woman that you really are. Have you for an instant thought of -what you are doing? I know that you have temporised without giving any -answer. Bella told me that; but have you thought how even this delay -may compromise you? Are you, so lovely as you are, so bright and clever -and graceful, going to sacrifice your whole life, to place all those -charms at the mercy of a man who will use them while he chooses, and -fling them away when he is tired? I don't want to preach; I only want -to put matters plainly before you. Suppose you consent to this infernal -proposal which has been made to you. The man is old; he has not even -the excuse of a mad passion, which is deaf to the calls of conscience, -or even to the common feelings of humanity. He has not that excuse; he -is old, and jaded, and fickle; the life which he is leading requires -constantly new excitement; and after a little time your novelty will -have passed away, and you will be thrown aside to shift for yourself. -Could your high spirit brook that? Could you bear to see yourself -pointed at as deserted, or, worse than all, find yourself compelled to -become subject to some venal bargain--Oh God, it is too horrible to -think of!" - -"I will not bear this from anyone; certainly not from you. What right -have you to interfere?" - -"What right have I to interfere! The right of having loved you with -all my whole soul and strength; the right of one whose future has been -bittered by your refusal to share it with him. I don't pine," he cried, -"about a broken heart; I can bear to contemplate the lonely life which -I shall have to lead; I could bear"--and the words here came very -slowly through his set teeth--"to see you happily married to a man who -appreciated and loved you, as I should have delighted in doing; but -I will not stand patiently by to see the woman I have loved held up -to the world's scorn, or deliberately dragged down to the depths of -infamy." - -He spoke so strongly and so earnestly, his rude eloquence came -evidently from the depths of his troubled heart, that even Daisy's -stubborn pride seemed a little touched. - -"I know you mean this kindly towards me, Mr. Merton," she said, in -a low voice; "and I fear I have shown myself scarcely sufficiently -grateful, or even civil, to you; but, believe me, I appreciate your -motives, and I thank you for coming here. Now you must go." - -"You will not send me away without assurance that this cruel thing -shall not be; that you will say No to this horrible proposal, and never -give it another moment's thought. Ah, do not think I am pleading for -myself; do not think I am cherishing any vain hope that, this once -put aside, I may come forward again and urge my suit. It is not so, -I swear. I have accepted my fate, and shall--well, shall struggle on -somehow, I daresay. It is for you, and you alone, that I am interested. -Let me go away with the assurance that you are saved. Ah, Fanny, it is -not much I ask you. Let me go away with that." - -"It would be easy for me to give you that assurance, and then to do as -I pleased," said Daisy; "but you have shown yourself so true a friend -that I will not deceive you." - -"And you will give me the assurance?" - -"No; I did not, I cannot, say that." - -"Then I will get it," cried John, "from Colonel Orpington." - -Daisy started. It was the first time the name had been mentioned during -the interview. - -"You see I know him, and know where to find him. I will make him -promise me to give up this pursuit." - -The tone in which he spoke had worked a wonderful and immediate change -in Daisy's feelings. - -"Make him!" she cried. "You will not find the gentleman of whom you -speak so easily forced to compliance with your desires." - -"I did not mean to force him," said John; "I----" - -"If it were not for the fear of compromising my name," said Daisy, -now thoroughly roused, her eyes flashing, and her lip trembling, "he -would hand you over to the police. We have had enough of this folly," -she said, stamping her foot; "and as it is impossible to get you to go -away, I must retire and leave you." - -As she spoke she rose from her seat, and giving him a very slight bow, -she passed into the bedroom, the door of which she closed behind her. - -John Merton waited for a moment, then turned on his heel, and silently -left the house. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. -AM RHEIN. - - -George Wainwright found that early winter had already descended upon -Germany. When he arrived at Cologne the last tourist had long since -passed through that pleasant old city. The large hotels were shut up; -the _valets de place_ and cathedral touters had melted away, only to -reappear with the advent of summer; all the vendors of the Eau had shut -up their shops, and disappeared to more lively places, to spend the -money which they had acquired during the season; and even in the second -and third rate hotels the large _salons_ were closed, and but the -smaller apartments were kept open for the reception of such commercial -gentlemen as the exigences of business kept upon the road. - -This did not matter much to George Wainwright, who was as careless of -luxuries as most men, and who, as an old traveller, had comfortable -head-quarters on which he could depend in most leading cities in -Europe. It was at the Brusseler Hof that George put up when he was in -Cologne, and, no matter what the season, he was sure to find the cosy -little second-rate inn full of business, and to experience a hearty -welcome from stout old Schuhmacher the landlord. - -It was not so long since his last visit but that he was remembered; -and on his arrival, was placed close up at his old host's right hand -at the little _table d'hote_, consisting then solely of the host's -family and a few neighbouring burghers, who habitually dined there -all the year round. There was a good deal of quiet solemn chaff at -the idea of an Englishman daring to put in an appearance on the Rhine -border between the months of October and May, and a certain amount of -ponderous solicitude expressed in many polysyllabic words was exhibited -as to the reason of his journey. But George took care to keep this to -himself, passing it off in the best way he could, and merely informing -his querists that he was going as far as Mainz. - -Then he heard that ice had fallen in the river, that the steam-boat -traffic was quite suspended, and that he would have to travel in the -_eilwagen_, which he learned to his cost on the morrow was a humorous -name for a wretched conveyance something like a _diligence_, without -an _interieur_ or a _banquette_, which crawled along at the rate of -between five and six miles an hour, and the company in which was -anything but desirable. - -George slept at Coblenz that night, and the next day made his way to -Mainz, where he at once proceeded to an old inn situate in one of the -back streets of the town, and bearing the sign Zum Karpfen, which was -the head-quarters of the artistic body who nightly held high jinks in -the _kneipe_ there. - -By numerous members of this brotherhood--young men fantastically -dressed, with long hair and quaintly-cut beards, and pipes of every -kind and shape pendent from their mouths--George was received with very -great enthusiasm. Some of them had been his fellow-students at the -University; all of them had heard of him and his learning, and his love -for German songs and traditions and student-life. And high revelry was -held that night in honour of his arrival; and _ohms_ of beer were voted -by acclamation and speedily drunk; and speeches were made, and songs -were sung, and George was kissed and embraced by full two-thirds of the -company present. - -The next morning he was up betimes, and paid an early visit at the -Hofapotheke or Court-laboratory of the town, the manager of which -would, as he was informed, be able to give him Dr. Hildebrand's -address. The manager, who was a very little man, with large protruding -eyes covered with great horn spectacles, and very large flap ears, and -who looked so like an owl that George almost expected him to hop on to -the counter, was very polite but extremely reticent. - -"Oh yes; he had the pleasure of the Herr Doctor's acquaintance. Who -was there in the great world to whom the beruehmter Herr Doctor was not -known? It was in Dorrendorf that this so justly celebrated man formerly -resided had. Was it not true? But where did he reside now? Ah, that was -something quite otherwise. Was the Mr. Englishman who spoke the German -language with so excellent an accent--was he perhaps of the medical -profession?" - -"No; but his father. And perhaps the courteous manager of the Court -laboratory might know the name of Wainwright." - -"Vainrayte!" The courteous manager knew it perfectly. He had read the -even so clever treatises on the subject of "Mania and Mental Diseases," -which that so justly renowned physician had written. And the Mr. -Englishman was the son of the Doctor von Vainrayte! There would be no -difficulty then in letting him know the address of Dr. Hildebrand. - -And after further interchange of bows and courtesies, George took his -departure, bearing with him the old physician's address. - -Dr. Hildebrand lived some distance from the town, in a little -road fringed on either side by detached villas standing in their -trim gardens, the road itself turning out of a noble _allee_ of -chestnut-trees, which forms one of the principal outlets of the town. -All the gardens were neatly kept, and all the houses seemed clean and -trim and orderly; but George remarked that the Doctor's house and -garden seemed the neatest of all. He was almost afraid to stand on the -doorstep as he rang the bell, lest he should sully its whiteness; and, -indeed, the old woman who opened the door immediately looked at the -prints of his boots with great disfavour. - -She answered his question of whether the Doctor were at home by -another, asking him what was his business; and was evidently inclined -to be disagreeable at first, but softened in her manner when George -told her that he had come all the way from England in order to see her -master. - -She smiled at this, and condescended to admit him, not without a -parting glance at the muddy footprints, and without enjoining him to -rub his feet on the square scraper standing inside the hall which did -duty for a mat. Then she ushered him into a small and meanly-furnished -dining-room, which, like every other apartment in the house, smelt very -strongly of tobacco, and there left him. - -George could not help smiling to himself as he looked round the room, -the furniture and appointments of which recalled to him such pleasant -memories of his German student days. There on the little sideboard was -the coarse whity-brown cloth, so different from English table-linen, -rolled up and waiting for use. There was the battered red japanned -bread-tray, containing the half-dozen white _brodchens_, the lump of -_sauerbrod_, and the thin slices of _schwarzbrod_. There were the -three large cruets, so constantly required for salad-mixing purposes, -and the blunt black-handled knives and forks. On the wall was a print -from Horace Vernet's ghastly illustration of Buerger's Lenore, showing -the swift death-ride, the maiden lying in fainting terror across the -horse's neck, borne in the arms of the corpse, whose upraised visor -shows its hideous features. - -There were also two or three portraits of eminent German physicians and -surgeons. On the table lay folded copies of the _Cologne Gazette_ and -the _Augsburg Zeitung_; and each corner of the room was garnished with -a spittoon. - -George had just time to take observation of these things, when the door -opened, and the old woman entering, begged him to follow her, as her -master would see him. - -Down a long passage and across a small garden, not trim or neat by any -means--more of a yard, indeed--in which linen that had been washed -was hanging out to dry, and so to the Doctor's study--a large room -surrounded with bookcases crammed and overflowing. Books piled in -the middle of the floor in miscellaneous heaps; Pelions on Ossas of -books in the corners having overcharged themselves, and shot their -contents all over the neighbouring space. A large eight-day clock in -a heavy open case ticking solemnly on one side of the fireplace, the -niche on the other side being occupied by a suspended skeleton. On -the mantelpiece bottles of anatomical preparations, polished bones, -and cases of instruments; in the middle of the room an enormous -old-fashioned writing-table, littered with papers and books on which -the dust had thickly accumulated. Seated at it, busily engaged in -writing, and scarcely looking up as they entered the room, was Dr. -Hildebrand, one of the greatest men of science of his day. - -A tall man, standing over six feet in height, of strange aspect, -rendered still more strange by the contrast between his soft -silver-white air, brushed back from his forehead and hanging down -over his coat-collar, and the sable hue of an enormous pair of bushy -bristly eyebrows, which stuck out like pent-houses, and from under -which his keen black eyes looked forth. His features were coarse and -rugged, his nose large and thick, his mouth long and ill-shaped, his -jaw square, and his chin enormous. He was dressed in a long gray, -greasy dressing-gown, an old black waistcoat and black trousers, and -had frayed worked slippers on his feet. He was smoking a long pipe, the -painted porcelain bowl of which hung far below his knees; and from its -depths, in the influence of the excitement as he wrote, he kept drawing -up and emitting short thick puffs of smoke, in which he was enshrouded. - -After a short space of time, during which George sat motionless, the -old gentleman came to the end of the passage which he was writing; and, -looking up for inspiration or what not, perceived his visitor. - -He looked at him sharply from under his heavy brows, and then, in a -harsh voice, and with but scant show of courtesy, said: - -"Gefaellig?" (What is your pleasure?) - -George, speaking in German, began to inform the old gentleman that he -had travelled a very long way for the purpose of seeing and consulting -him. His fame had reached England, where---- - -"You are von England out?" interrupted the Doctor. - -"I am." - -"And yet you speak die Cherman speech so slippery!" said the old -gentleman. "So to me is it mit the English, it is to me equal; but as -I hef not the praxis had, if it is so bleasant to you, we will the -English langvitch dalk." - -"With the greatest pleasure," said George. "I was mentioning to you, -Herr Doctor, that your great fame and renown had brought me from -England for the purpose of consulting you on one of those cases which -you have made your special study, and one in which I am particularly -interested." - -"Zo!" said the Doctor, emitting a long puff of smoke, "aber ist es -ihnen nicht bekannt--I mean, is it not know to you dass I ze praxis -have gave up? Dass I vill no more the curatives inspect, but vill me -zum studiren leave?" - -"I have heard so, Herr Doctor; but I thought that perhaps under -peculiar circumstances you might make an exception." - -"Und die peguliar circonstances is----?" - -"I thought perhaps that when I told you of the case, a young girl" - -"Ah, bah!" interrupted the old gentleman, with a short and angry puff. -"It is nothing vorths; dass young kirls und dummerei! Dass geht mit mir -nicht mehr. I am one old man now and" then turning suddenly, "she is -your Schwester, vat?" - -"No; at present she is nothing to me, though if she were well, I should -hope to make her my wife." - -"Your vaife! Ah, ha! you are verlobt, vat you call engachement, vat? -And she is----?" touching his forehead. "Ach, du lieber Gott! dass ist -aber schwer. Und so fine a young man! How do you call? Vat is your -name, eh?" - -"You have heard it before, I think," said George. "My name is -Wainwright." - -"Vainwraet!" screamed the old gentleman; "was von Vainwraet dass -der _Tarkened Maind_, der _Seclusion, is it koot or bat?_ der _Non -Restraint in Lunacie_, und so weiter? der Doctor Vainwraet, are you mit -ihm verwandt, are you of him relatived?" - -"I am Dr. Wainwright's son," said George. - -"His sohn! was der sohn of Vainwraet, der beruehmter Doctor Vainwraet, -was von die Pedlams, und die Lukes und Hanvell Hash--Hatch, vot you -call; is dass shaining licht, so hell and so klar, dass his sohn should -komm to Chermany to consult _.me_, one such humble man, is to me -honourable indeed." - -George readily detected a very strong accent of scorn running through -this speech, and the bow with which the old gentleman concluded it -was one of mock humility. He scarcely knew how to reply; but after a -moment's pause he said, "I thought, sir, you would know my father's -name." - -"His name is mir sehr wohl bekannt, ver veil bequaint with him," -said the Doctor with a grin, "and mit his praxis nevertheless, -notwithstanding, likewise," he added, nodding his head with great -delight as he uttered each of the last three words. "Tell to me, your -father has he seen your braut, dass maedchen, die young dame?" - -"Yes, he has seen her several times." - -"And what says he of her?" - -George shrugged his shoulders, and shook his head despairingly. "He -says he can do her no good--that her case is incurable." - -"Which is two tifferent brobositions, of which I cannot tubidade about -the fairst, though the second may not be founded on fact," said the -Doctor. "No, my young chentleman, I am combassionate and sorrow for -you, but I cannot preak my rule. I hef retaired myself to studiren, and -will inspect no more curatives; and as to your father, der beruehmter -Vainwraet, it is not for him I preak my rule! He is an shamposter, see -you, an shamposter!" The puffs from the pipe came very thick and very -rapidly. "An shamposter, sir, mit his dreadises and his bamphlets, -and his lecturings delivered before the Collegiums drum und herum! -He laugh at my ice-theory in his vat you call Physikalische Zeitung, -_Lancer--Lancet!_ He make chokes at my institute in Dorrendorf, vat? -He is a shamposter, dieser Vainwraet, and to the devil mit him and his -sohn, and die ganze geschichte!" - -The old gentleman waved his hand as he spoke, as if he were really -consigning his visitor to the dread limbo which he had named, reseated -himself at his desk, from which he had risen in his rage, and began -writing and smoking furiously. - -What was to be done? George made an attempt at renewing the -conversation, but the Doctor only waved his arm impatiently, and cried -"Fort!" in shrill accents. - -So George Wainwright came away despondingly. His last chance of getting -Annette restored to health had failed, and his outlook on life was very -blank indeed. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. -PATRICIAN AND PROLETARY. - - -It was deep mid-winter, and Colonel Orpington was at home at his -house in Hill Street, Berkeley Square. Miss Orpington was at home -too, temporarily. She had just come up from one of the charming -country-houses where she and her chaperone had been spending Christmas, -and in a week's time she was about to rush off to another charming -country-house, where she would meet the same people, and they would all -do the same things, and thoroughly enjoy themselves. This forthcoming -one is the last visit she will pay before her marriage. Early in the -ensuing spring the Yorkshire baronet with money is to claim Miss -Orpington for his own; meantime the interval between the two visits is -spent by the young lady in shopping and visiting during the day, and -making her father take her to the theatre at night. - -Colonel Orpington accepts the position with his usual complacency. He -has lived long enough in the world to allow very few things indeed to -ruffle him. Even the fact of his not having had any answer from Fanny -Stafford does not annoy him. - -"A younger man," he says to himself, "would fret and fume, and get in -a deuce of a stew. What would be the good of that? It would not make -the answer come any quicker, and it would not have any effect upon the -girl's decision when she had made up her mind to send it. I am not at -all sure that this delay is not rather good than otherwise. My heart -does not beat quite so quickly as it did five-and-twenty years since, -nor does the blood tingle in my veins to such an extent as at that -period, and I can afford to wait. And even if the young lady should -make up her mind to decline my proposition, I should certainly not -commit suicide, though I confess I hope she may accept it for more -reasons than one. - -"I expect that this house will be deuced dull after Emily marries. -I should have to get a clergyman's widow, or somebody of that kind, -to come and be housekeeper. That would be horribly dull, and I don't -see why I should have all the expense of keeping this place up. All -the people I want to entertain I could have at the club; and if it -is necessary for me to give a couple of ladies' dinners during the -season--well, they can be done at Greenwich or Richmond, by Hart or -Ellis, at less expense and without any trouble. I think I should have -chambers in Piccadilly, or somewhere thereabouts; and then that other -little arrangement would suit me admirably, provided the Paradise which -I propose to establish was situated within an easy drive of town. - -"I shall have to lay out a new line of life for myself, I think. I -confess I don't see my way to what Emily said the other night about my -being constantly with them. She is a very nice girl, and Hawker's a -good fellow in his way; but his place is a deuced long way off, and I -am getting a little too old to like to be 'braced', as they call it, by -that infernally keen air that sweeps over the Yorkshire moors. Besides, -they'll be having children, and that kind of thing; and it would be -a confounded nuisance to have to be called 'Grandpapa!' Ridiculous -position for a man of my appearance! So that, except when they are in -town, and one can go to dinner, or to her box at the opera, or that -kind of thing, I don't expect I shall see much of them. Grandpapa! by -Jove, that would be positively awful!" - -And the Colonel rises from his seat, and looks at himself in the glass, -and poodles his hair, and strokes his moustache, and is eminently -satisfied with his appearance. - -It is in the breakfast-room that the Colonel makes these remarks to -himself. Miss Orpington has not yet come down. She has announced by her -maid that she has a headache, she supposes from the close atmosphere -of the theatre the previous evening, and is taking her breakfast in -bed. The Colonel has finished his meal, and is wondering what he will -do with himself. He strolls to the window, and looks into the street, -which is thick with slush. There has been a little snow early in the -morning, and it has melted, as snow does nine times out of ten in -London, and has been left to lie where it melted, as it always is in -London, and the result is a universal pool of slush and mud, a couple -of inches deep. The Colonel shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders, -and turns away. He had some notion of going for a ride, but he doesn't -see the fun of being splashed up to his eyes, and of having to hold -damp and slippery reins with aching fingers. So he thinks he will -stroll down to the club and look through the papers, and have a chat -with anybody who may be available. - -At that moment Miss Orpington enters the room. She walks up to -her parent, who is standing on the hearthrug, and turning her -head, presents to him the lobe of her ear. The Colonel bestows an -affectionate embrace on this portion of his daughter's anatomy, and -inquires after her headache. - -He is reassured at hearing it is better. Then Miss Orpington inquires, -"Who is the person in the hall?" - -"Person in the hall!" The Colonel has not the smallest idea. - -"There is a person in the hall," Miss Orpington avers. "A -tradesman-looking person--bootmaker, or something of that kind, she -should think from his appearance." - -Then the Colonel gives a little start, and remembers that something had -been said to him about half an hour ago about somebody wishing to see -him. - -The bell is rung, and inquiries are made from the servant about the -person in the hall. - -A mysterious stranger, who declines to give his name, but is extremely -anxious to see Colonel Orpington, and will take no refusal. Had been -waiting there half an hour, and seemed inclined to wait on. - -Miss Orpington says, "How very odd!" The Colonel raises his eyebrows, -and ejaculates, "Deuced!" then tells the servant to show the mysterious -person into the library; and after the lapse of a few minutes he -himself proceeds thither. - -On entering the room Colonel Orpington perceives the stranger to be a -tall, good-looking young man belonging to the middle-classes, and with -a curious expression on his face which reminds the Colonel of someone -of his acquaintance whom he cannot immediately recollect. The man, who -is standing, bows at the Colonel's entrance, but declines to take the -seat to which he is motioned. - -"You wish to speak to me, I believe?" said the Colonel, stiffly. - -He had committed a stretch of courtesy by inviting a young man -obviously in the commercial interest to take a seat, and was somewhat -outraged at finding his civility not appreciated. - -"You are Colonel Orpington?" said the visitor. - -"I am. I understand you decline to give your name." - -"For the present, yes. When you have heard my business, if you do not -by that time guess who I am, I shall be happy to tell you." - -"Deuced polite of you, I'm sure," said the Colonel with a grin. -"Perhaps you'll tell me what your business is. Some account to be -settled, I suppose? If so, I am not in the habit of discussing such -matters. If the money is due, you can have it and go." - -"There is an account to be settled," said the visitor; "but it is not -of the nature that you suppose." - -He spoke very quietly but very earnestly; so earnestly that the Colonel -leaned forward in his seat and looked at him with an attention which he -had hitherto not bestowed upon him. - -"Is this a plant?" said the wily old warrior to himself. "My friend -here looks very much of the outraged-brother order; but I have had -nothing of that kind on hand for years." Then aloud, "What is your -business, then?" - -"I have come here, Colonel Orpington, to appeal to your feelings as a -gentleman and a man of honour." - -"Monstrous good of you to take the trouble, I'm sure," said the -Colonel, with the old grin. - -"Hear me out first, and then say what you please," said the visitor. -"Depend upon it, I should not have come here on the chance of -submitting myself to miscomprehension and indignity, if I had not some -adequate motive." - -Again the Colonel noticed the likeness to someone in this man's face, -and again he failed to trace it to its original. - -"There is no need to make a long story of what I have to say; it -can be very shortly told. You will understand me at once, Colonel -Orpington, when I tell you that my name is Merton, and that I am the -brother of a young woman with whom you have been for some time past in -communication." - -"It is the outraged-brother business, after all," said the Colonel -to himself. "This man has found his sister was in the habit of -occasionally coming to chambers; perhaps has learned that I -occasionally give her money; and he jumps at once to a wrong -conclusion." - -Then looked up and said, "Well, sir!" - -"You have made my sister a tool for a most dishonourable purpose. You -have caused her to aid you in a plot against one of her own sex, her -friend, and situated much as she might have been herself." - -"By Jove," muttered the Colonel beneath his breath, "I was wrong; he is -on the other tack!" - -"I do not presume to understand how you had the audacity----" - -"Sir!" cried the Colonel. - -"I repeat the word--the audacity to attempt to induce my sister to -become a spy, and something worse than a spy! You must have had greater -powers of perception than I gave you credit for to comprehend that you -could offer her such a post, and that she would accept it. Of her part -in the transaction I have nothing to say, nor indeed of yours so far as -she is concerned." - -"That being the case, Mr.---- Mr.--I beg your pardon--Merton, perhaps -we had better bring this interview to an end," said the Colonel, -rising to his feet. "I am not going to pick words with you as to the -expression which you have chosen to apply to the commission which your -sister executed for me. She executed and was paid for it, and there's -an end of it." - -"Not yet," said John Merton. "You don't imagine that I should come -here, in the present day, when all these things are taken for granted, -to endeavour to wring your conscience by proving to you that you -tempted a young girl to do a dishonest, disloyal, and dishonourable -act? You don't imagine I am quixotic enough to think that even if you -listen to me patiently, what I said to you would have one grain of -effect a moment after the door had closed upon me? You don't think I -am a missionary from the lower classes come to prate to the upper of -decency and honour?" - -He spoke in a loud high key, his eyes were flashing, and his whole face -was lit up with excitement. - -"What my sister did for you is done and ended so far as she is -concerned, and I will not give you the excuse for a smile by telling -you that she is sorry for it now, and sees her conduct in a light in -which she did not before perceive it. You _do_ smile, and I know why: -you think it is easy to profess repentance when the deed has been -done and the reward paid. You paid to my sister at various times sums -amounting to thirty pounds. In this envelope," laying one on the table, -"are three ten-pound notes. So far, Colonel Orpington, we are quits." - -The Colonel sat still, with his eyes intently fixed on his visitor. As -he remained silent, John Merton proceeded: - -"I wish the other matter could be as easily settled. But in this I meet -you on even terms; in the other I come as a suppliant." - -The Colonel's face became a little more hard, and he sat a little more -erectly in his chair, as he heard these last words. - -"Through my sister's aid, directly or indirectly, you made the -acquaintance of Miss Stafford. Well," he continued, as he noticed -a motion of protest on the Colonel's part, "you may not actually -have made her acquaintance--that, I believe, commenced at the place -where she was employed--but it was through my sister's aid that you -knew of her, that you learned all about her, and that you found out -she was likely to swallow the gilded bait by which even now you are -endeavouring to secure her. When a man in your position pays attention -to a girl in hers, it can be but with one meaning and intention. -Whether Miss Stafford knew that or not, during these last few months in -which you have been constantly hanging about her, I cannot say: but she -knows it now; for you yourself have placed it before her in language -impossible to be misunderstood." - -"Look here, sir!" cried the Colonel, starting forward. - -"Wait and hear me, sir," said John Merton; "you must, you shall! I -told you I was prepared to submit to indignity, to endure your sneers -and sarcasms. I would not have put myself in the way of them for my -sister's sake; but I would for Fanny Stafford." - -"Ah, ha!" said the Colonel to himself, "a lover instead of brother; -greater virtuous indignation, infinitely more savage, but with less -claim to show it." - -"I have known her," continued John Merton, "for some years, and it is -not too much to say that I have loved her all the time." - -"Exactly," said the Colonel complacently. - -"I told you I was prepared for sneers," said John; "I shall not shrink -from avowing to you even that mine has been a hopeless passion; that, -after bearing it a long, long time in silence, I took courage to speak -to Miss Stafford, and received a definite and unmistakable dismissal. -You will glory in that avowal, because you will think it increases the -chances that the answer for which you are waiting will be a favourable -one. I know you are waiting for such an answer. You see I know all." - -"You seem to be devilish well posted up," growled the Colonel, -"certainly." - -"I don't think that her rejection of me would influence Miss Stafford -one way or the other in this matter; I put myself entirely out of the -question. Though her answer will have a certain effect on my future -life, I by no means come here as a desponding lover to implore any -leniency towards himself from his rival----" - -"I should think not," observed the Colonel parenthetically. - -"The leniency I would implore must be exercised towards her. I come to -you, not as a Christian man to show you the sin you contemplate, and -to implore you to avoid its commission; for I have not the right to do -so, nor would it be of the least avail; I know that perfectly. I simply -come to ask you to spare her, just to spare her." - -"Not a bad idea, Mr. Merton," said the Colonel, with his baleful grin. -"You are the young warrior who rescues the damsel from the giant's -castle, and in gratitude the damsel--though she did not care for him -before--of course bestows her hand on him, and they live happy ever -after." - -"No, by my solemn soul, no! In all human probability I shall never -set eyes upon Miss Stafford again; but I should like to know that -some honest man's home was cheered by her presence, some honest man's -children called her mother, although such happiness is not in store for -me." - -"Look here, Mr. Merton," said the Colonel. "I have let you run on to a -certain length without interrupting you, because you explained at once -that you wished to talk off straight away. But I think now I must pull -you up, if you please. You have made out a very pretty story, hanging -well together, and that kind of thing; and I have not contradicted you -because I am not in the habit of lying, and I don't choose to stoop -even to what is called prevarication. So, supposing we take all this -for granted, I say to you, 'Why don't you speak to the young lady -herself? The matter rests with her; it is she who has to decide it.' I -shall not appear in George Street with a band of freebooters to carry -her off, nor will she be seized upon by any men in black masks as she -walks home to her lodgings. This is the latter half of the nineteenth -century, when such actions are not common. A simple Yes or No is all -she has to say, and the affair is entirely in her hands." - -"I told you at once that I did not deny your perspicacity in reading -character. You showed it in your selection of my sister as your agent; -you show it further in your selection of Miss Stafford"--here John -Merton's voice sank to a whisper, and he spoke through his teeth--"to -be what you propose to make her. You know that you have exactly gauged -the mind and temperament of this girl; that, strong-minded in some -things, she is weak in others; vain, too sensitive and too refined -for the people with whom she is brought into contact, and longing for -luxuries which, while they are denied to her, she sees other people -enjoy." - -"I must reciprocate your compliment about the knowledge of character, -Mr. Merton," said the Colonel; "your description of Miss Stafford -appears to me quite exact." - -"Knowing this, you know equally well," continued John Merton, "that she -is the style of person to be caught by the temptations which you have -thought fit to offer her; you know perfectly well that her hesitation -in deciding on your proposition is simply caused by the small remnants -of the influence of proper bringing-up and self-respect struggling with -her wishes and inclinations." - -"If Miss Stafford's wishes and inclinations prompt her to do what I -am asking her to do, I really cannot see why I should be expected to -consent to thwart them and upset my own plans." - -"Colonel Orpington," said John Merton, sternly, "I have told you that -I would not pretend to thrust the religious side of this question -upon you; and in return I have a right to call upon you to drop this -society jargon, and let us talk this matter out as men. I will make -this concession to your vanity: I will tell you I fully believe that -Miss Stafford's future fate is in your hands; that if you choose to -persist in the offer which you have made to her, or rather if you do -not actually withdraw it, she will become something so degraded that I, -who love her so, would sooner see her dead." - -"Look here, my good sir," interrupted the Colonel, impatiently; "you -were good enough to talk about my using 'society's jargon;' I must -trouble you to drop the language of the penny romances. What the deuce -do you mean by 'something so degraded?' If Miss Stafford accepts my -propositions, she will have everything she wants." - -"Will she?" said John Merton, quickly. "Will she have your name? or, -even supposing she makes use of it, will she have any lawful right to -do so? Will she have the companionship of honest women, the friendship -of honest men?" - -"She will have, what is a deuced sight better, the envy of pretty -women, and the companionship of pleasant fellows," said the Colonel. - -"You meet my earnestness with flippancy," said John Merton. "I know -Fanny Stafford, and, with all her vanity and all her love of luxury, -I know that after a time the life would be insupportable to her. Her -proud spirit would never brook the stares which would greet her, and -the whisperings which would follow her progress. No amount of money at -her command would make up to her for that." - -"I still think that this is a matter for Miss Stafford's decision," -said the Colonel. "You really cannot expect me to place before her all -the disadvantages of my own offer in the strong light in which you -review them." - -John Merton paused a moment; then he said: - -"I will not take up more than five minutes more of your time, Colonel -Orpington, but I should like just to discuss this question perhaps -rather more from your point of view. What I have hitherto mentioned, -you say concerns Miss Stafford; but now about yourself. Supposing -events to follow as you have proposed----" - -"As I have every expectation they will," said the Colonel, pleasantly -smiling. - -"You have a right to that expectation," said John. "Well, supposing -they so fall out, you are too much a man of the world to expect that -your--well, what you are pleased to call your love for Miss Stafford -will last for ever." - -"It will be uncommonly unlike any other love if it did," said the -Colonel. - -"Exactly; it will run its course and die out, as similar passions have, -I should imagine, expired in previous years. What do you propose to do -then?" - -"I decline to anticipate such a state of affairs," said the Colonel; -"sufficient for the day-----" - -"Exactly," said John Merton; "only in this case the evil once done -would be sufficient for the rest of your days on earth. Do you imagine -that a girl of Fanny Stafford's proud temperament would condescend to -accept anything at your hands, when she knew that your feelings for -her had died out, and that you were probably spreading for another -woman exactly the same nets into which she had been entrapped? I know -her well enough to be certain that under such circumstances she would -refuse, not merely to be supported by you, but even to see you. What -would become of her then? She would take to suicide, the usual resort -of her class." - -"Most likely she would take to suicide," said the Colonel. - -"If she did," said John Merton, very sternly, taking a step in advance, -and bringing down his hand upon the table at which the Colonel was -sitting, "I don't suppose her death would lie heavily upon your soul; -but I would make you answer for it, so help me God!" - -"By George, do you threaten me, sir?" said the Colonel, springing to -his feet. The next instant he sank easily back into his chair, saying, -"Pshaw! the thing is too preposterous; you don't imagine I could fight -_you?_" - -"I had no such idea, Colonel Orpington; but what I threatened just now -I would carry out. If this girl becomes your victim, and if that result -which I have just foreshadowed, and which seems to me inevitable, -should ensue, I will take care that your name is dragged before the -public as the girl's seducer and the cause of her ruin. These are not -very moral times, but the gay Lothario stamp of man is rather laughed -at nowadays, especially when he has not the excuse of youth for his -folly; and when mixed up with his folly there are such awkward episodes -as desertion and suicide, people no longer laugh at him, they cut him. -The newspapers write articles about him; and his friends, who are doing -the same thing themselves, but do not labour under the disadvantage of -being found out, shake their heads and are compelled to give him up. -From all I have heard of you, Colonel Orpington, you are far too fond -of society and too great a favourite in it to risk being treated in -such a manner for such a temporary amusement." - -"If you have heard anything of me, sir," said the Colonel, rising in a -rage, "you may have heard that I never brook confounded impertinence, -and I'm d--d if I stand it any longer! I will trouble you to leave -this house at once, and never let me set eyes on you again," he added, -ringing the bell. - -"I trust I shall never have occasion to come across you, Colonel -Orpington," said John Merton firmly; "whether I do or not entirely -rests upon yourself. Depend upon it, that I shall hold to everything I -have said, and that I shall not shrink from carrying out what I have -fully made up my mind to do on account of any menaces." - -He bowed slightly to the Colonel, turned round, and slowly walked from -the room. - -Left to himself, the Colonel took to pacing up and down the library -with great strides. He was evidently labouring under great annoyance; -he bit his lips and tossed his head in the air, and muttered to himself -as he walked up and down. - -"That fellow struck the right note at last," he said. "Insolent brute! -All that palaver about honest man's fireside, and children calling her -mother, and that kind of thing, one has heard a thousand times; but if -all happened as he prophesied--and I confess it is the usual ending to -such things--and he made a row as he threatened, it would be deuced -unpleasant. He is right about the Lothario business being over; and -more than right about people grinning at you when you are mixed up in -such matters at fifty years of age. And if it were to come to what -he suggested, death and that kind of thing, there would probably be -a great row. Those infernal newspaper paragraphs about the heartless -seducer--they don't like those things at the Court or the Horse Guards; -and then one would have to run the gauntlet of the clubs and that kind -of thing. By Jove, it's worth considering whether the game is worth the -candle, after all!" - -At that moment Miss Orpington entered. - -"Who was that person, papa?" said she. "I thought I heard you speak -quite angrily to him." - -"Very likely, my dear," said the Colonel; "he was a very impertinent -and unmannerly person from--from those confoundedly troublesome -slate-quarries and lead-mines in South Wales." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. -DAISY'S LETTER. - - -Left to himself, without George Wainwright to listen to his complaints, -to afford him consolation, or even to do him good by the administration -of the rough tonic of his advice, Paul Derinzy had a very bad time of -it. His attendance at the office was exceedingly irregular; and when he -was there he was so preoccupied and _distrait_, that he would not look -after his work; which accordingly, there being no George Wainwright -to stay after hours and pull it up, went hopelessly into arrears. The -good old chief, Mr. Courtney, always inclined to be kind and indulgent, -and more especially disposed to civility since he had been to dine -with Paul's people in Queen Anne Street (where he found the Captain "a -devilish gentleman-like fellow, sir; far superior to the men of the -present day, with a remarkable fund of anecdote"), had his patience and -his temper very much tried by his young friend's peculiar proceedings; -and between the two other occupants of the principal registrar's room, -Mr. William Dunlop's life was pretty nearly harried out of him. - -"If the arrival of my people in town were to render me as wretched as -the arrival of P.D.'s people has rendered P.D.," observed Mr. Dunlop, -in confidence to a brother-clerk, "I should begin to think it was not -a bad thing being a norphan. I have often thought, Simmons, that I -could have done the young-heir business in doublet and trunk-hose--no, -that is, the spirit-stirring song of the 'Old English Gentleman'--the -young-heir business, smiling from the top of the steps on the assembled -tenantry, vide Frith, R.A., his picture of 'Coming of Age,' to be had -cheap as an Art Union print. But if to become moped and melancholy, to -decline to go odd man for b. and s., and to tell people who propose the -speculation to 'go to the devil'--if that is to be the result of having -people and being heir to a property in Dorsetshire, my notion is, that -I would sooner serve her Majesty at two-forty, rising to three-fifty at -yearly increments of twenty, and be free!" - -There was no doubt that there were grounds for Mr. Dunlop's complaints. -Paul not merely did not attend to his work, but his manner, which, -from its brightness and courtesy, had in the old days won him troops -of friends and rendered him everywhere sought for and popular, was now -morose and forbidding. He seemed to be aware of this, and consequently -went very little into society. To Queen Anne Street he only went when -he was absolutely obliged; that is to say, when he felt that he could -not decently remain away any longer; but even then his visits were -very short, and his mother found him absent and preoccupied. He had, -however, taken sufficient notice of what was passing around him to -remark the maidenly delicacy, imbued with true feminine tact, with -which Annette asked news of George Wainwright, and the hard struggle -which she made to conceal her disbelief of the stories which he, Paul, -invented to account for his friend's absence. - -He had not seen Daisy for the last fortnight. When last they met it was -arranged that they should meet as usual in the course of a few days. -But two days after, Paul received a little note from her, saying that, -owing to Madame Clarisse's absence, her trouble and responsibility were -so great that she could not possibly leave the business to take care -of itself for ever so short a time. She would let him know as soon as -the possible slackness of work permitted her to make an appointment for -meeting him in the gardens, and she was his affectionate D. - -Paul did not like the tone of this letter. It was certainly much -cooler than that of any of the little notes--there were but very few -of them--which he had received from Daisy since the commencement of -their acquaintance. He did not believe in the excuse one bit. Even in -the height of the season she had always managed to get out and see him -for a few minutes once or twice a week. Then, as to Madame Clarisse's -absence and Daisy's consequent responsibility, did not the very fact of -her being at the head of affairs prove that she was her own mistress, -and able to dispose of her own time as she pleased? - -There was something at the bottom of it all, Paul thought, which he -had not yet fathomed. There was a change in her; that could not be -denied--a strange inexplicable change. The girl he met on his return -from the country, and who came to him listlessly, with an evident air -of preoccupation, which she endeavoured to hide, and with an assumed -air of pleasure at his return, which was so ill-assumed as to be very -easily seen through, was a totally different being from the loving, -teasing, half-coy, half-wayward girl whom he had left behind him. - -Paul set himself to work to trace the commencement of this change, and -after long cogitation decided that it must have been worked during his -absence. What caused it, then? Certainly it arose from no fault of -his. He could not charge himself in the slightest degree with neglect -of her. He had written to her constantly, freely, and lovingly. He had -gone away protesting against his enforced absence; his letters had been -filled with joyous expectation of renewed delight at meeting her again; -and when he had met her, the warmth of his passion for her, so far -from being diminished one jot, had increased and expanded. So that the -alteration of their position towards each other which had so evidently -come about was her doing, and not his. - -In his self-examination, Paul went through all the different phases -of the feeling by which he had been actuated towards this girl. He -recalled to himself how that at first, dazzled and captivated by her -beauty, he had only thought of making her acquaintance, without the -idea of any definite end; how that end had in his mind soon taken a -form which, though not unnatural in a young man carelessly brought up, -and living the loose life which he then led, he now blushed to recall. -He recollected the grave displeasure quietly but firmly expressed by -Daisy when she saw, as she very speedily did, the position which he -proposed for her. And then his mind dwelt on that delicious period when -there was no question of what might happen in the future, when they -enjoyed and lived in the present, and it was sufficient and all in all -to them. - -That was the state in which they were when they parted; what was -their condition now? Daisy's manner was cold and preoccupied; all the -brightness and light, all pretty ways and affectionate regards which -she had displayed for him during the summer, seemed to have died out -with the summer's heat, and Paul felt that he stood to her in a far -more distant position than that which he had occupied at the very -commencement of their acquaintance. - -He had his hold to establish on her then, to be sure, but he was not -without hope or encouragement. Now he had neither to cheer him, and -the work was all to be done again. Good God, what did she require of -him! He would willingly brave the open frowns and whispered hints of -society, of which he had at one time stood in such mortal fear, and -would be only too delighted to make her his wife. She knew this. Since -his return he had plainly told her so; but the declaration had not -merely failed in obtaining a definite answer from her, but had made no -difference in her manner towards him. He had argued with her, scolded -her, tasked her with the change, and implored her to let him know the -reason of it; but he had obtained no satisfactory reply. - -"It was his fancy," she said; "she was exactly the same as when they -had parted. The life which he had been leading at home had evidently -had a very bad effect upon him. She had always feared his return to -'his people,' of whom he thought so much, and with whom he was so -afraid of bringing her into contact." - -Good heavens, why twit him with that past and bygone folly! Had he not -offered to set these people at defiance, and make her his wife?--could -he do more? - -She replied very quietly that she did not want any family rupture on -her account, and that as to the question of their marriage, there was -no necessity for any hurry in that matter; and indeed they had very -much better wait until they had proved that they were more thoroughly -suitable to each other. - -And then Paul Derinzy chafed against his chain, and longed to break it, -but dared not. He complained bitterly enough of her bad treatment of -him, but he loved her too dearly to renounce the chance of bringing her -into a better frame of mind, and restoring to himself the darling Daisy -of his passionate worship. - -He had no one in whom he could confide, no one whose advice he could -seek, in this crisis of his life. George Wainwright was away; and to -whom else could he turn? Although he and his mother were in their way -very fond of each other, there had never been any kind of confidence -between them--certainly not that confidence which would have enabled -him to lay bare his heart before her, and ask for her counsel and -consolation. Mrs. Derinzy was essentially a worldly woman, and Paul -knew perfectly that she would scout the idea of his marrying, as she -considered, beneath him; and instead of pouring balm into his wounded -spirit, would, after her fashion, try to cicatrise the hurt by telling -him that he had had a fortunate escape from an unworthy alliance. His -father, long trained in habits of obedience, would have repeated his -wife's opinion. Had he been allowed to give his own, it would have -been flavoured with that worldly wisdom of which he was so proud, and -would probably have been to the effect that, however one treated young -persons in that position of life, one certainly did not marry them, and -that he could not possibly imagine any son of his doing anything so -infernally stupid. - -Those who had known Paul Derinzy as the light-hearted, light-headed -young man of society, enjoying himself in every possible way, -extracting the greatest amount of pleasure out of every hour of his -life, and allowing no sense of responsibility to weigh upon him, would -hardly have recognised him in the pale, care-worn man with hollow -cheeks who might be seen occasionally eating his solitary dinner at the -club, but who never joined the gay circle in the smoking-room, or was -to be found in any of those haunts of pleasure which formerly he had -so assiduously frequented. With Daisy always in his mind, he had an -irresistible inclination to moon about those places where he had been -in the habit of seeing her. - -In the dusk of the evening he would walk for hours up and down George -Street, in front of Madame Clarisse's house, sometimes fancying he -recognised Daisy's reflection on the window-blind, and then being half -tempted to rush across and seek admission to her at any cost. And he -would go down to the spot in Kensington Gardens--now a blank desert of -misery--and wander up and down, picturing to himself the delightful -summer lounging there, and recalling every item of the conversation -which had then been held. - -One day, one Saturday half-holiday, Paul, who had not heard from George -Wainwright for some days, had been up to the Doctor's establishment -to inquire whether any news had been received of his friend, and -having been replied to in the negative, he was listlessly returning to -town, when the old fascination came upon him, and he struck up past -Kensington Palace with the intention of lingering for a few moments -in the familiar spot. He was idling along, chewing the cud of a fancy -which was far more bitter than sweet, when his desultory footsteps came -to a halt as he caught sight of a couple in front of him. - -A man and woman walking side by side in conversation. Their backs were -towards him, but he recognised Daisy in an instant. The man was tall -and of a good figure, and looked like a gentleman, but Paul could not -see his face. His first impulse was to rush towards them, but better -sense prevailed. His was not the nature to play the spy; so, with a -smothered groan, he turned upon his heel, and slowly retraced his steps. - -There was an end of it, then. At last he had comprehended the full -extent of his misery. All that he had feared had come to pass, and -more. She had thrown him over, and he had seen her walking with another -man in the very place which up to that time had been rendered sacred to -him by the recollection of their meetings there. - -There was an end of it; but he would let her know that he was fully -aware of the extent of her treachery and baseness. He would go to the -club at once, and write to her, telling her all he had seen. He would -not reproach her--he thought he would leave that to her own conscience; -he would only--he did not know what he would do; his legs seemed to -give way beneath him, his head was whirling round, and he felt as -though he should fall prostrate to the ground. - -When he reached the Park gates--and how he reached them he never -knew--he called a cab and drove to the club. He was hurrying through -the hall, when the porter stopped him and handed to him a letter. -It was from Daisy. Paul's heart beat high as the well-known writing -met his view. He took it with him to the writing-room, which was -fortunately empty, and sitting himself at the writing-table, laid the -letter before him. He was uncertain whether he would open it or not. -Whatever it might contain would be unable to do away with the fact -which he had so recently witnessed with his own eyes. - -No excuse could possibly explain away the disloyalty with which she -had treated him. It would be better, he thought, to return the letter -unopened. But then there might be something in it which in future time -he might regret not to have seen; some possible palliation of her -offence, some expression of regret or softening explanation of the -circumstances under which she had betrayed him. And then Paul opened -the letter, and read as follows: - -"MY DEAR PAUL,--I do not think you will be surprised at what I am about -to tell you; and I try to hope that you will not be very much annoyed -at it. I knew that it must come very shortly, and I have endeavoured as -far as I could to prepare you for the news. - -"The pleasant life which we have been leading for the last few months, -Paul--and I do not pretend to disguise my knowledge that it has been -pleasant to you, any more than I shrink from acknowledging that it has -been most delightful to me--has come to an end, and we must never meet -again. This should be no tragic ending: there should be no shriek of -woe or exclamations of remorse, or mutual taunts and invectives. It -is played out, that is all; it has run down, and come naturally to a -full-stop, and there is no use in attempting to set it going again. - -"I can understand your being horribly enraged when you first read this, -and using all sorts of strong language about me, and vowing vengeance -against me. But this will not last; your better sense will come to -your aid; in a very little time you will thank me for having released -you from obligations the fulfilment of which would have brought misery -on your life, and will thank me for having been the first to put an -end to an action which was very pleasant for the time it lasted, but -which would have been very hopeless in the future. For my part, I don't -reproach you, Paul, Heaven knows; I should be an ingrate if I did. - -"You have always treated me with the tenderest regard, and only very -lately you have done me the highest honour which a man can do a woman, -in asking her to become his wife. Don't think I treat this offer -lightly, Paul; don't think I am not keenly alive to its value, as -showing the affection, if nothing else, which you have, or rather must -have had, for me. Do not think that it has been without a struggle that -I have made up my mind to act as I am now doing, to write the letter -which you now read. - -"But suppose I had said Yes, Paul; you know as well as I do the -exact position which I should have occupied, and the effect which my -occupancy of that position would have had on your future life. It was -not--I do not say this with any intention of wounding you--it was not -until you clearly found you could get me on no other terms that you -made me this offer; and though probably you will not allow it even to -yourself, you must know as well as I do, that after a while you would -find yourself tied to a wife who was unsuited to you in many ways, and -by marrying whom you had alienated your family from you, and disgraced -yourself in the opinion of that world which you now profess to despise, -but of whose verdict you really stand in the greatest awe. - -"And then, Paul, it would be one of two things: either you would hold -to me with a dogged defiance, which is not part of your real nature, -but which, under the circumstances, you would cultivate, feeling -yourself to be a martyr, and taking care to let me know that you felt -it--you will deny all this, Paul, but I know you better than yourself; -or you would feel me to be a clog upon you, and leave me for the -society in which you could forget that, for the mere indulgence of a -passing passion, you had laid upon yourself a burden for life. - -"What but misery could come out of either of these two results? Under -both of them we should hate each other; for I confess I should not -be grateful to you for the enforced companionship which the former -presupposes; and under the latter I should not merely hate you, but -in all probability should do something which would bring dishonour on -your name. You see, I speak frankly, Paul; but I do so for the best. -If you had been equally frank with me, I could have told you long -since, at the commencement of our acquaintance, of something which -would have prevented our ever being more to each other than the merest -acquaintances. You told me your name was Paul Douglas; you disguised -from me that it was Paul Derinzy. Had I known that, I would have then -let you into a secret; I would have told you that I too had in a -similar manner been deceiving you by passing under the name of Fanny -Stafford, whereas my real name is Fanny Stothard. - -"Does not that revelation show you what is to come, Paul? Do you not -already comprehend that I am the daughter of a woman who holds a menial -position in your father's house, and that this fact would render wider -yet the chasm which yawns between our respective classes in society? -You do not imagine that your mother would care to recognise in her -son's wife the daughter of her servant, or that I should particularly -like to become a member of a family in which my cousin's waiting-woman -is my own mother. - -"I ascertained this fact in sufficient time to have made it, if I had -so chosen, the ground for putting an end to our intimacy, and my reason -for writing this letter; but I preferred not to do so, Paul. I have -put the matter plainly, straightforwardly, and frankly; and I will not -condescend to ride off on a quibble, or to pretend that I have been -influenced by your want of confidence in withholding your name. You -will see--not now, perhaps, but in a very little time--that I have -acted for the best, and will be thankful to me for the course which I -have taken. - -"And recollect, Paul, the breach between us must be final--it must be -a clean cut; and you must not think, even after it has been made, that -there are any frayed and jagged points left which are capable, at some -time or another, of being reunited. We have seen each other for the -last time; we have parted for ever. There must be no question of any -interview or adieu; we are neither of us of such angelic tempers that -we could expect to meet without reproaches and high words; and I, at -all events, should be glad in the future to recall the last loving look -in your eyes, and the last earnest pressure of your hand. - -"And that mention of the future reminds me, this letter is the last -communication you will receive from me; and when you have finished -reading it, you must look upon me as someone dead and passed away. If -by chance you ever meet me in the street, you must look upon me as the -ghost of someone whom you once knew, and forbear to speak to me. It -will not be very difficult to imagine this; for, God knows, I shall -be no more like the Fanny Stafford whom you have known than the Fanny -Derinzy you would have made me. No matter what I am, no matter what I -may become, you will have ceased to have any pretext for inquiring into -my state; and I distinctly forbid your attempting to interfere with me -in the slightest degree. Does that sound harsh, Paul? I do not mean it -so; I swear I do not mean it so. If you knew--but you do not, and never -shall. You are hot and impetuous and weak; I am cool and clear-brained -and strong-minded: you look only at the present; I think for the -future. You will repeat all this bitterly, saying that I am right, and -that my conduct plainly shows I know exactly how to describe myself; I -know you will, I can almost hear you say it. I half wish I could hear -you say anything, so that I could listen to your dear voice once again; -but that could never be. - -"Goodbye, Paul! At some future time, not very long hence, when all -this has blown over, and you are in love with, and perhaps married to, -someone else, you will acknowledge I was right, and think sometimes -not unkindly of me. But I shall never think of you again. Once more, -goodbye, Paul! I should like to say, God bless you! if I thought such -a prayer from me would be of any use." - -Paul Derinzy read this letter through twice, and folded it up and -placed it in his pocket. Ten minutes afterwards the writing-room bell -rang violently, and the servant, on answering was surprised to find an -old gentleman kneeling on the floor, and bending over the prostrate -body of Mr. Derinzy, whose face was very white, whose neck-cloth was -untied, and who the old gentleman said was in a fit. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. -RELENTING. - - -When George Wainwright left the presence of the strange old German -doctor, upon whom he had looked with an almost awful anxiety, a -half-superstitious hope, it was with an acute sense of disappointment, -such as had rarely stung the young man's ordinarily placid and -well-disciplined mind. He had the profoundest respect for his father's -opinion, the most implicit reliance on his father's judgment; and from -the sentence which pronounced the case of Annette hopeless, except -under those conditions whose fulfilment he now found it impossible to -procure, he never thought of appealing. His father--of whose science -in theory, of whose skill in practice, his own experience had offered -him innumerable instances--had told him, with genuine concern and with -true sympathy, rather than the more formal paternal manner it was the -doctor's custom to exhibit towards his son, that this one only hope -existed, this solitary chance presented itself. He had caught at the -hope; he had endeavoured to reduce the chance to practice; and he had -failed. - -There was bitterness, there was agony, in the conviction, such as had -never fallen to the lot of George Wainwright before, though life had -brought him some of those experiences which Mr. Dunlop was wont to -designate as "twisters" too. But then so much depends on the direction, -the strength, and the duration of the "twist," and there are some so -easily gotten over. - -This, however, was not one of them; and George's heart was sorely -wrung. The pain was directed cunningly, and strongly applied, and -as for its duration--well, George believed, as we all believe when -suffering is very keen and very fresh, that it was going to be -everlasting. It couldn't be otherwise, indeed, in the sense in which -"everlasting" applies itself to this mortal individual life; for did -it not mean that the woman he loved, the one woman he really loved -and longed for, was doomed for her term of terrestrial existence to -the saddest of all destinies, which included utter separation from -him? While they both lived, if that fiat should remain unaltered, how -should his sorrow be less than everlasting? If it be true that there -are certain kinds of trouble, and sharp trouble too, to which men and -women do become accustomed, of a surety this was not one of them, -but trouble of a vital kind, full of murmuring, of wretchedness, and -regret. So long as they both should live--he a sane man, loving this -periodically-insane woman as he loved her, with a strong passionate -attachment, by no means deficient in the conservative element of -intellectual attraction--whence should the alleviation come? - -George Wainwright liked pain as little as most men like it; and as he -turned his face towards England, discomfited and utterly downcast, -he felt, with a sardonic morbidity of feeling, that he would not -be disinclined now to exchange his capacity of suffering and his -steadiness of disposition for the _volage_ fickleness which he was -accustomed to despise in many of his associates. If he could get -over it, it would be much better for him, and no worse for her, he -thought; but the next true and fine impulse of his nature rebuked the -foregoing, and made him prize the sentiments which had come to ennoble -his life, to check its selfishness and dissipate its ennui, though -by the substitution of pain. And for her? He had seen so plainly, -so unmistakably the difference in Annette, the new element of hope, -anticipation, and enjoyment which her affection for him had brought -into her hitherto darkened life, that the utmost exertion of his common -sense failed to make him believe she would be the better for the -complete severance between them which reason dictated to him ought to -be the upshot of the failure of his enterprise. - -"It is better to have loved," he repeated to himself, as he sat -moodily in the railway-carriage on his return journey, unheeding alike -the trimly-cultivated country through which he was passing, and the -profusion of flimsy literature, journalistic and other, with which the -cushions were strewn--"it is better to have loved----" And then he -thought, "She is not _lost_. She lives, and I can see her. I may cheer -and alleviate her life, though it may never be blessed with union. -When the dark days come, they will be less dark to her, because when -she emerges into light again, it will be to find me; and at her best -and brightest--ah, how good and bright that is!--she will be happier -and better because of me. Good God! am I so weak and so selfish that -I cannot accept what there is in this of blessing, without pining for -that which can never be?" - -Thus, striving manfully with his bitter disappointment, and -strengthening himself with earnest and manly resolutions, George -Wainwright returned to England. Perhaps the sharpest pang he felt, -sharper even than that with which he had heard Dr. Hildebrand's -decided refusal and had obeyed his peremptory dismissal, was caused -by the momentary shrinking from the sight of Annette, which made -itself felt as he approached the place of her abode. At first there -had been wild, reckless longing to see her, longing in which love was -intensified by pity and sharpened by grief; then came this instinctive -dread and lingering. He had left her with so much hope, so much -energy, such strong conviction; he was returning with none of these. -He was returning to look in the dear face so often overhung with the -mysterious fitful veil of insanity, and to be forced to feel that it -could never be given to mortal hand to lift that veil, and to throw it -aside for ever. And though his first impulse had been to hasten back to -England with all possible speed, when he arrived in London he lingered -and hesitated about announcing himself at the residence of the Derinzys. - -Should he go to his father's chambers at the Albany in the first -instance, and tell him how his hopes had collapsed?--not because, as -Dr. Wainwright had supposed, the eccentric and famous German savant -was dead, but because the rampant vitality of professional jealousy -had utterly closed his heart to George's pleadings, and even obscured -the ambition to make one cure more, which, to the joy of many a heart, -has been found too strong to be resisted by more than one celebrated -physician _en retraite_. Yes, he would see his father in the first -instance; it would give him nerve. Indeed, he ought to do so for -another reason. - -He must henceforth be doubly careful in his dealings with Annette; he -who--it would be absurd to disguise his knowledge of the fact--had -assumed greater importance in her life than any other being, who -noted and managed her, and swayed her temper and her fancies as -no one beside; and this was exactly the conjuncture in which the -advice, the guidance, of the physician charged with her case would -be indispensable. George would obtain it and obey it to the utmost. -Supposing his father, in the interest of his patient and his son, -were to pronounce that under the circumstances it would be advisable -that the young people should not meet, could George undertake to obey -the behests of the physician or the counsel of the father? This was a -difficult question. In such a case he would appeal promptly to that -excellent understanding, that taken-for-granted equality which had -subsisted between him and Dr. Wainwright, and put it to him that he was -prepared to sacrifice himself for the welfare of the girl, and to lend -to her blighted life all the alleviation which his friendship and his -society could afford, while strictly guarding himself from the avowal -of any warmer feeling. - -Assisted by these resolutions, and perhaps not quite unconscious that -he would have been slow to credit any other person who might have -formed them with the courage to maintain them, George Wainwright -presented himself before his father. The Doctor received him kindly, -and listened to the account of his fruitless journey without any -evidence of surprise. - -"I am glad the old man is still living," said Dr. Wainwright, when -George had finished his story; "but sorry to find he is not so great -a man as I had believed him to be. No great man allows a personal -feeling, prejudice, or pique to interfere with his theories or hamper -his actions. The idea of his declining such a case because _I_ had been -unsuccessful with the patient! Why, that ought, even according to his -own distorted notions, to be the strongest reason for his going at it -with a will. However," and the "mad doctor" laughed a low laugh and -rubbed his hands gently together, "there are queer freaks and cranks of -the human mind to be seen outside of lunatic asylums." - -George was a little impatient of his father's attention being rather -given to Dr. Hildebrand than to his feelings under the circumstances, -and he recalled it by the abrupt question: - -"What is to be done now?" - -"Nothing," replied Dr. Wainwright; "nothing in the sense of cure, -nothing additional in the way of treatment." - -"May I--may I safely continue to see her?" - -The son knew well how thoroughly, under the habitual professional -composure of his manner, the father comprehended and felt the deep -importance of the reply he was about to make. - -"The question of safety," he said, "mainly concerns _you_. Do you think -you would do wisely in continuing to seek the society of this poor -girl, feeling as you do towards her, and knowing she cannot be your -wife?" - -"My dear father," replied George with deliberation, "I do not think, -I do not say it would be wise; I only say it is one of those foolish -things which are inevitable. Put me aside in the matter, and tell me -only about _her_." - -"Then," said the Doctor, "I have no hesitation in saying I do not -think you can harm her. Your society cheers and amuses her. In her -state there is little danger of the awakening of any deep and permanent -feeling. Should such a danger arise, I should be sure to perceive and -prevent it." - -After a long conversation, the father and son parted. Dr. Wainwright -felt considerable regret that George's feelings should be thus -involved; but he reasoned upon the case, according to his lights -and convictions, and did not exaggerate its importance, believing -that his son was not the sort of man to make himself perfectly -uncomfortable about any woman whom it was quite impossible he should -marry. He thought about the whole party after his son had left him--of -Annette with liking and compassion; of George with affection, and a -recognition of the difference which existed between his own mind and -his son's; and of the Derinzys with supreme contempt. Perhaps, in the -long list of his friends and patients, there were not to be found -two individuals whom Dr. Wainwright--a man not given to venerating -his fellow-creatures--more thoroughly despised than Captain and Mrs. -Derinzy. And then he turned to his books again, and forgot them. - -From his father's chambers in the Albany, George Wainwright went -direct to the Derinzys' house. Mrs. Derinzy was at home, as was Miss -Annette; but Mr. Wainwright could not on this occasion have the -pleasure of seeing the Captain. So far, everything was propitious to -that gentleman's wishes; and he entered the small back drawing-room, -which no one but a house-agent or an upholsterer would have called -a boudoir, where. Annette was usually to be found, lounging near a -flower-crowded balcony, with the feeling of joy at seeing her again -decidedly predominant. He was philosophic, but he was something more -than a philosopher; and this afflicted girl had become inexpressibly -dear to him, had inspired him with a love in which selfishness had a -strangely small share. - -Annette was in her usual place, and she rose to meet George with an -expression of simple unaffected pleasure. Mrs. Derinzy, who was also -in the room, greeted him with cold politeness. She was not so foolish -as to persist in believing she could have carried her design to a -successful issue in any case; but she vas quite sufficiently unjust to -resent George's influence over Annette, though she knew it had never -been employed against her, and though she felt a malicious satisfaction -in contemplating the hopelessness of the affair. - -"If anyone would marry an insane woman, knowing all about her, it -certainly would not be a mad doctor's son," thought Mrs. Derinzy, and -was pleased to feel that other people's plans had to "gang a-gley" as -completely as her own. - -George took Mrs. Derinzy's manner very calmly and contentedly. He did -not care about Mrs. Derinzy or her manner. He was thinking of Annette, -and reading the indications of health, or the opposite, in her pleased -agitated face. - -"Where have you been, and why have you stayed away so long?" was the -first address to George; and she could hardly have selected one more -embarrassing. But he got out of the difficulty by the plea which is -satisfactory to every woman except one's wife--possibly because she -alone can estimate its real value--the plea that "business" had taken -him on a flying tour to Germany. He entertained her with an account of -his travels, and had at least the satisfaction of seeing her brighten -up into more than her customary intelligence, and assume an expression -of happiness which had been singularly wanting in her sweet young face -when he had first seen it, and which he believed he was the only person -who had ever summoned up. It was not difficult for George, sitting -near the handsome girl, so bright and so gentle for him alone, in the -pleasant hush of the refined-looking room, to persuade himself that -such a state of things would satisfy him, and be the very best possible -for her. It was not difficult for him to forget that the Derinzys -were not habitual inhabitants of London; and that if his relations -with Annette were destined to assume no more definite form, he could -have no valid excuse for presenting himself at Beachborough without -the invitation which Mrs. Derinzy's demeanour afforded him no hope of -obtaining. - -But George's delusive content was not destined to be lasting. At -a break in the conversation, which, with the slightest possible -assistance from Mrs. Derinzy, he was carrying on with Annette, he asked -the elder lady for news of Paul, adding that he had not written to his -friend during his absence, and had not yet had time to apprise him of -his return. - -"We have seen hardly anything of Paul of late," said Mrs. Derinzy in a -tone of strong displeasure. "My residence in London has not procured me -much of the society of my son; and since you left town, I cannot say we -know anything about him." - -"This looks badly," thought George. "With all his determination to -resist his mother, Paul would not neglect her if things were not going -ill with him. I must see to him." - -That visit was memorable, and in more ways than one. It was the last -which George Wainwright made to Mrs. Derinzy in the character of a mere -friendly acquaintance, and it confirmed him in his belief, as full of -fear as of hope, that Annette loved him. - -His absence had not been of long duration, but it sent him back with -renewed zest to his painting, his books, and his music, and there was a -strong need within him of a little rest and seclusion. He felt he must -"think it out;" not in foreign scenes or amid distractions, but thus, -amid his actual present surroundings, in the very place where he should -have to "live it down." So it came to pass that he did not forthwith go -in search of Paul, but contented himself with writing him a note and -bidding him come to him--a summons which, to George's surprise, his -friend neither responded to nor obeyed. His leave had not expired, and -a few days of the solitude his soul loved were within his reach. - -Beyond his customary evening visit to Madame Vaughan--in whose -appearance he noted a change which aroused in him apprehensions shared -by her attendants and the resident doctor, but whose intelligence was -even more than usually bright and sympathetic, though her delusion -remained unchanged--George Wainwright went nowhere and saw no one for -three days. At the end of that time his seclusion was interrupted by an -unexpected visitor. - -It was his father. And his father had so manifestly something important -to communicate, that George, whose sensitive temperament had one -feminine tendency, that which renders a man readily apprehensive of ill -news, started up and said: - -"There is something wrong! Miss Derinzy----" - -"Sit down, George, and keep quiet," said the Doctor kindly, regarding -his son's impetuosity with a good-natured critical amusement. "There's -nothing in the least wrong with Miss Derinzy; and though a rather -surprising event has happened, it is not at all of an unpleasant -nature--indeed, quite the reverse. You have made a conquest, a most -valuable conquest, my dear boy." - -"Who is she?" said George, with a not very successful smile. "Have you -come to propose to me on the part of a humpy heiress?" - -"Not in the least. There is no she in the case. You have made a -conquest of old Hildebrand, and its extent and validity are tolerably -clearly proved, I think, considering that he has gotten rid of an -antipathy of long standing, surmounted a deeply-rooted prejudice. He -has actually written to me--to me, the man who, in his capacity of -doctor and savant, he holds in abhorrence, who, I am sure, he sincerely -believes to be a quack and an impostor. He has written me a most -friendly original letter, a curiosity of literature even in German; but -he thought proper to air his English, and the production took me nearly -an hour to read." - -Dr. Wainwright took a letter out of his pocket as he was speaking--a -big square letter, a sheet of coarse-grained, thin, blue paper, -sealed with a blotch of brown wax, and directed in a most crabbed and -unmanageable hand, the address having been subsequently sprinkled, with -unnecessary profusion, with glittering sticky sand. George glanced at -the document with anxious eyes. - -"I don't intend to inflict the reading of it on you," continued the -Doctor. "I can tell you its contents in a few words. Dr. Hildebrand -consents to undertake the treatment of Miss Derinzy on your account, -provided the young lady be formally confided to his care by her -relatives, on my authorisation; that I state in writing and with the -utmost distinctness all the particulars and the duration of the case, -and acknowledge that it surpasses my ability to cure it. In addition, -I am to undertake to publish in one of the medical journals an account -of the case--supposing Miss Derinzy to be cured, of which Hildebrand -writes as a certainty--and give him all the credit." - -George had punctuated his father's calm speech with various -exclamations, of which the Doctor had not taken any notice; but now he -said: - -"My dear father, this is a wonderful occurrence; but you could not -consent to such conditions." - -"Indeed! and why not? Do you think I ought to be as foolish and as -egotistical as that incomparably sagacious and skilful Deutscher, whose -conduct I reprobated so severely, and whom you apparently expect me to -imitate? No, George; professional etiquette isn't a bad thing in its -way, but it should not be permitted to override common sense, humanity, -and one's simple duty. If some small bullying of me, if some ludicrous -shrill crowing over me, enter into the scheme of this odd-tempered -sage, so be it. He shall make the experiment; and if he succeed, nobody -except yourself will be more heartily rejoiced than the doctor who -failed." - -George shook hands with his father silently, and there was a brief -pause. Dr. Wainwright resumed: - -"This queer old fellow assigns the very great impression which you -produced upon him as the cause of his change of mind. You are a fine -fellow, it appears; a young man of high tone and of worthy sentiments, -a young man devoid of the narrowness and coldness of the self-seeking -and gold-loving English nation. A pang, it seems, entered the breast -of the learned Deutscher when he reflected that on an impulse--whose -righteousness he defends, without the smallest consideration that his -observations are addressed to me--he refused to extend the blessing of -his unequalled service and unfailing skill to an afflicted young lady -of whose amiability it was impossible for him any doubt to entertain, -considering that she was by so superior a young man beloved. Under the -influence of this pang of conscience, stimulated no doubt by the wish -to achieve a great success at my expense, Hildebrand begs to be put -in communication with you, and with the friends of the so interesting -young lady, and promises all I have already told you. And now, we must -act on this without any delay. A little management will be necessary as -regards the affectionate relatives of Miss Derinzy." - -George was a little surprised at his father's tone. It was the first -time he had departed so far from his habitual reticence in anything -connected with professional matters. But a double motive was now -influencing the Doctor: interest of a genuine nature in his son's -love-affair, and the true anxiety for the result of a scientific -experiment which is inseparable from real knowledge and skill. The -family politics of the Derinzys were to be henceforth openly discussed -between Dr. Wainwright and his son. - -"You do not suppose they will make any objection? They can have no wish -but for her recovery." - -"I should have said that her recovery would not have concerned or -interested them particularly a short time ago," said Dr. Wainwright -calmly. "When they were not yet aware that their plan for marrying -their niece to their son could not be carried into effect--the money in -Paul's possession, and their own claims upon it amply satisfied, as of -course they would have been--I don't think the Captain, at all events, -would have concerned himself much further about the condition of his -daughter-in-law, or cared whether Paul's wife were mad or sane. But all -this is completely changed now, by Paul's refusal to marry his cousin. -The girl's restoration to perfect sanity is the sole chance for the -Derinzys getting hold of any portion of her property, by testamentary -disposition or otherwise; as on her coming of age, the circumstances -must, of course, be legally investigated." - -"Would not Captain Derinzy be Annette's natural heir in the event of -her death?" asked George. - -"No," replied the Doctor. "I see you are surprised; and I must let you -into a family secret of the Derinzys in order to explain this to you. -They have some reason for believing, for fearing, that Miss Derinzy's -mother is living. At another time I will tell you as much as I know of -the story; for the present this is enough to make you understand the -pressure which can be brought to bear, in order to induce Captain and -Mrs. Derinzy to follow out the instructions I mean to give them." - -"I understand," said George. "And now tell me what you intend to -advise. I suppose I am not to appear in this at all?" - -"Not at present, certainly. I should not fancy the Captain and Mrs. -Derinzy knowing anything about your flight in search of old Hildebrand. -It is preferable that I should gravely and authoritatively declare -their niece to require the care of this eminent physician, of whose -competence I am thoroughly assured; and I shall direct that Miss -Derinzy be placed under his charge as authoritatively, but also in as -matter-of-course a fashion, as if it were merely a case of 'the mixture -as before.' There is no better way of managing people than of steadily -ignoring the fact that any management is requisite, and also that -remonstrance is possible. I shall adopt that course, and I answer for -my success. Miss Derinzy shall be under Dr. Hildebrand's care in a week -from this time; and I trust the experiment will be successful." - -"Are you going there now?" - -"I am going there at once." - -"I should like to go with you--not into the house, you know--so as to -know as soon as possible." - -"Very well; come along, then. You can sit in the carriage, while I go -in and see my patient. Be quick; we can discuss details on our way." - -Two minutes more saw George Wainwright seated beside his father in one -of the least pretentious and best-appointed broughams in London, to the -displacement of sundry books and pamphlets, the indefatigable Doctor's -inseparable companions. - -"You are acquainted with Mrs. Stothard, I presume," said the Doctor, -"and aware of her true position in the family: partly nurse, partly -companion, partly keeper to my patient." - -George winced as his father completed this sentence, but unperceived. - -"Yes," he replied, "I do know her: a disagreeable, designing, -unpleasant person--strong-minded decidedly." - -"Strong-bodied too; and needing to be so sometimes, I am sorry to say." - -George winced again. - -"I shall give my directions to _her_. She must accompany Miss Derinzy. -She is faithful to the girl's interest; and would be a cool and -deliberate opponent of the Derinzys if there were any occasion for open -opposition, which there will not be." - -"She is of a strange, concentrated nature," said George. "I don't think -she loves Annette." - -"Oh dear no; I should say not," rejoined the Doctor. "I fancy she does -not love anybody--not even herself much--and cares for nothing in the -world beyond her interests; but she is wise enough to know they will be -best served by her fulfilment of her duty, and practical enough to act -on the knowledge--not an invariable combination. She has behaved well -in Miss Derinzy's case; and she may always be relied upon to do what I -tell her." - -"Should no one else accompany Annette?" - -"Well, yes; I think I shall send one of our own people--Collis is -a capital fellow, as good as any courier at travelling, and can be -trusted not to talk when he comes back. Yes, I'll send Collis," said -the Doctor, in a tone of decision. - -George approved of this. Collis was an ally of his. Collis was a -special favourite with Madame Vaughan; and in his occasional absences, -George always left him with a kind of additional charge of corridor No. -4. - -"That seems a first-rate arrangement, sir," said he; "I hope you may -find you can carry it out in all particulars." - -Dr. Wainwright did not reply; he merely smiled. He was accustomed to -carry out his arrangements in all particulars. They were nearing their -destination. - -"I wonder how Annette will take it: whether she will object--will -dislike it very much?" George said uneasily. - -His father turned towards him, and at the same minute half rose, for -they had arrived at the door of the Derinzys' house. - -"She will take it very well, she will not object," he said -impressively; "for I am going to try an experiment on my own part. I -mean to tell her the whole truth about herself." - -He stepped out of the carriage and went into the house. - -During Dr. Wainwright's absence, George recalled every incident of his -interview with Dr. Hildebrand with mingled solicitude and amusement. -The caprice and inconsistency of the old man were, on the one hand, -alarming; but they were, as George felt, counterbalanced by a certain -conviction of ability, of knowledge, an entire and cheerful confidence -in his skill, which he irresistibly inspired. If, indeed, it should -be well-founded confidence; if incidentally Annette should owe her -restoration to perfect mental health to the man who loved her; if the -result of this should be their marriage under circumstances which -should no longer involve a defiance of prudence--then George felt that -he should acknowledge there was more use in living, more good and -happiness in this mortal life, than he had hitherto been inclined to -believe in. - -He glanced occasionally up at the windows; not that he expected to see -Annette, who invariably occupied the back drawing-room. - -Presently the white-muslin blinds were stirred, and Dr. Wainwright -appeared at one of the windows, and in the opposite angle Captain -Derinzy, who, to judge by the expression of his countenance, was, -if not pronouncing his favourite ejaculation, "Oh, damn!" at least -thinking it. It was quite plain the conference was not pleasant; and -George could see his father's face set and stern. After a few minutes -the speakers moved away from the window; and then a quarter of an hour -elapsed, during which George found patient waiting very difficult. -At the end of that time Dr. Wainwright reappeared, and got into the -carriage. - -"Well," questioned George, "what did Captain Derinzy say?" - -"Never mind what Captain Derinzy said. He is a fool, as well as one or -two other things I could name, if it were worth while. But it isn't. -He must do as he is bid; and that is all we need care about. I have -seen Mrs. Derinzy and Mrs. Stothard, and settled it all with them. Miss -Derinzy will be ready to start in three days from the present." - -"You did not see Annette?" - -"No, of course not. My interview with her will not be an affair of -twenty minutes. I shall see her early to-morrow morning, and make it -all right. And now, my dear boy, I am going to set you down. I have -given as much time to the _affaire_ Derinzy as I can spare at present. -I shall write to Hildebrand to-night, and you had better write to him -too, in your best German and most sentimental style. Goodbye for the -present." - -Dr. Wainwright pulled the check-string, the carriage stopped, and -George was deposited at a street-corner. His father was immersed in a -pamphlet before he was out of sight. - -George saw Annette once, by special permission of Dr. Wainwright, -during the three days which sufficed for her preparations. He had been -strictly enjoined to avoid all agitating topics of conversation, and -was not supposed by Annette to be acquainted with the facts of the -case, or the nature of the interview which had taken place as arranged -by Dr. Wainwright. While studiously obeying his father's injunctions, -George watched Annette narrowly as he cautiously spoke of the Doctor, -towards whom she had never displayed the smallest liking or confidence, -and he perceived that the disclosures which had been made to her had -already produced a salutary effect. There was less versatility in her -manner, and more cheerfulness, and she spoke voluntarily and with -grateful appreciation, although vaguely, of Dr. Wainwright. She alluded -freely to her projected journey; and it was rather hard for George -to conceal that he had some previous knowledge on the subject. Her -manner, modest and artless as it was, could not fail to be interpreted -favourably to himself by the least vain of men; and when the moment -of parting came, it needed his strong sense of the all-importance -of discretion to enable him to restrain his emotion, to conceal his -consciousness of the impending crisis. When the interview was over, and -George had taken leave of Annette, when he went away with the memory of -a sweet, tranquil, _sane_ smile, as the last look on her face, he was -glad. - -No mention had been made by Mrs. Derinzy of her son, by Annette -of her cousin, and George had been so absorbed in the interest of -this strange and exciting turn of affairs, that he had not thought -of his friend. But when he had, from a point of view whence he was -not visible, watched the departure of Miss Derinzy, Mrs. Stothard, -and Annette's maid, under the charge and escort of the trustworthy -and carefully-instructed Collis, as he turned slowly away from the -railway-station when the tidal-train had rushed out of sight, he said -to himself: - -"Now I must go and look after Paul." - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. -DAISY'S RECANTATION. - - -There was no doubt about it, Paul was very ill indeed. The doctor, when -he came, pronounced the young man to be in a very critical state, and -gave it as his opinion that an attack of brain-fever was impending. -This confidence was given to George, for whom Paul's landlady had sent -at once, immediately on her lodger being brought home. The doctor--who -was no other than little Doctor Prater, the well-known West-End -physician, who is looked upon, and not without reason, as the medical -_ami des artistes_--took George aside, and probably without knowing -it, put to him as regards Paul the same question which Doctor Turton -asked Oliver Goldsmith, "Whether there was anything on his mind?" The -response was pretty much the same in both cases. George shook his head -and shrugged his shoulders, and admitted that his friend had been -"rather upset lately." - -"Ah, my dear sir," said the little doctor, "not my wish to pry into -these matters; man of the world, see so much of this sort of thing -in the pursuance of a large practice, could tell at once that our -poor friend had some mental shock. Lady, I suppose? Ah well, must not -inquire; generally is at his time of life; later, digestion impaired, -bank broken; but in youth generally a lady. I am afraid he is going -to be very bad; at present _agrotat animo magis quam corpore_, as the -Latin poet says; but he will be very bad, I have not the least doubt." - -"It's a bad business," said George dolefully, "a very bad business. He -ought to be nursed, of course; and though I have heard him speak of the -woman of the house as kind and attentive and all that, I don't know -that one could expect her to give her time to attend to a sick man." - -"Our young friend will require a good deal of attention, my dear sir," -said the little doctor; "for night-work, at all events, he must have -some professional person. What did you say our young friend's name was? -Mr. Derinzy. Ah, the name is familiar to me as--yes, to be sure, great -house in the City, millionaire and that kind of thing; and your name, -my dear sir?" - -"My name is Wainwright," said George, smiling in spite of himself at -the little man's volubility. - -"Wainwright! not son of---- My dear sir, I am glad to make your -acquaintance; one of the brightest ornaments of our profession; any -care that I should have bestowed on this interesting case will be -redoubled now that I know that our poor young friend here is a friend -of yours. You will kindly take care that these prescriptions are made -up at Balsam and Balmelow's, if you please; must have the best of drugs -in these cases, and no other house is so much to be depended upon. Now -I must run away; I will look in again in the evening; and during my -absence I will make arrangements for the night-nurse. The attendance -in the daytime I must look to you to provide. Good-day, my dear sir." -And wringing George's hand warmly, the little man trotted off, jumped -into his brougham, and was driven away to inspect, prescribe for, and -chatter with a dozen other cases within the next few hours. - -George sat down by the bedside and bent over its occupant, who was -tossing restlessly from side to side, gazing about him with vacant -eyes, and muttering and moaning in his delirium. What were the words, -incoherent and broken, issuing from his parched lips? "My darling, my -darling, stay by me now--no more horrible parting--never again that -scornful look! Daisy, say you did not mean it when you wrote; say there -is no one else--to-morrow, darling, in the old place--come and tell me -your mind--my wife, my darling!" - -These words were uttered with such intensity of earnestness--and -although Paul's glance was never settled, his eyes roving here and -there as he tossed and flung about his arms on the bed, there was such -a piteous look in his face--that George Wainwright's emotion overcame -him, and two big tears rolled down his cheeks. - -"This will never do," said he, brushing them hastily; "it is as I -thought, and that little doctor was right in his random hit. This -affair with the girl has assumed proportions which I never suspected. -Poor dear Paul used to make it out bad enough; but I had no notion that -it had come to any crisis, or indeed, if it had, that he would suffer -from it in this way. Now what is to be done? I think the first thing -will be to see this young lady, and bring her to her bearings. If she -has thrown Paul over, as I half suspect she has, I must let her know -the consequences of her work, and see whether she persists in abiding -by her determination. It may be only some lovers' quarrel; Paul is a -mere boy in these matters, and hotheaded enough to take _au serieux_ -what may have been only the result of pique or woman's whim; in that -case, when she finds the effect that her quarrel has had upon him, -she will probably repent, and her penitence will aid in bringing him -round. On the other hand, if she still continues obdurate, one may be -able to point out to him the fact that he is eminently well rid of so -heartless a person. Not but what my little experience in such matters," -said George with a sigh, "teaches me that lovers are uncommonly hard to -convince of whatever they do not wish to believe." - -In pursuance of this determination George Wainwright, so soon as he had -installed the landlady in Paul's apartment as temporary nurse, started -off in search of Daisy. He had listened to so many of poor Paul's -confidences that he knew where the girl was to be found, and made his -way straight to George Street. - -Madame Clarisse was still away, and Daisy continued her occupancy of -the little furnished rooms, into which George was ushered on inquiring -for Miss Stafford. The rooms were empty on George's entrance, and he -walked round them, examining the various articles of furniture and -decoration with very contemptuous glances. Presently Daisy entered, -and George stood transfixed in admiration. She looked magnificently -handsome; the announcement of the name of her visitor had brought a -bright flush into her cheek, and anticipating a stormy interview, she -had come prepared to do battle with all the strength at her command, -and accordingly assumed a cold and haughty air which became her -immensely. - -The transient glimpses which George had had of her that day in -Kensington Gardens, though it had given him a general notion of her -style, had by no means prepared him for the sight of such rare beauty. -He was so taken aback that he allowed her to speak first. - -"Mr. Wainwright, I believe?" said Daisy with a slight inclination of -her head. - -"That's my name," said George, coming to himself. - -"The servant told me that you asked for me, that you wished to see me; -I am Miss Stafford." - -"The servant explained my wishes correctly," said George; "I have come -to see you, Miss Stafford, on a very important and, I grieve to add, a -very unpleasant matter." - -Daisy looked at him steadily. "Will you be seated?" she said, motioning -him to a chair, at the same time taking one herself. - -"I have come to you," said George, bending forward and speaking in a -low and earnest tone of voice, "on behalf of Mr. Paul Derinzy. Not that -I am sent by him; I have come of my own accord. You may be aware, Miss -Stafford, that I am Mr. Derinzy's intimate friend, and possess his -confidence in no common degree." - -"I have heard Mr. Derinzy frequently mention your name, and always with -the greatest regard," said she. - -"If we were merely going to speak the jargon of the world, Miss -Stafford, I might say that I could return the compliment," said George. -"However, what I wish you to know is, that in his confidence with me -Paul Derinzy had spoken openly and frankly of his affection for you, -and, indeed, made me acquainted with all the varieties of his doubts, -fears, and other phases of his attachment." - -Daisy bowed again very coldly. - -"You and Paul are both very young, Miss Stafford," continued George, -"and I have the misfortune of being much older than either of you. -This, however, has its advantage perhaps, in enabling me to speak -more frankly and impartially than I otherwise could. You must not be -annoyed at whatever I find it necessary to say, Miss Stafford; for the -situation is a very grave one, and more than you can at present imagine -depends upon the decision at which you may arrive." - -"Pray go on, Mr. Wainwright," said Daisy; "you will find me thoroughly -attentive to all you have to say." - -"I must be querist as well as pleader, and introduce some -cross-examination into my speech, I am afraid," said George; "but -you may depend on my neither saying nor asking anything more than is -absolutely necessary. And in the first place let me tell you, what -indeed you already know, that this boy loves you with all the ardour -of a very affectionate disposition. I don't know whether you set much -store by that, Miss Stafford; I do know that young ladies of the -present day indulge in so many flirtations, and see so many shams and -counterfeits of the passion, that they are scarcely able to recognise -real love when they see it, and hardly ever able to appreciate it. But -it is a thing that, when once obtained, should not be lightly let go; -and indeed, Owen Meredith thinks quite right--you read poetry, I know, -Miss Stafford; I recollect Paul having told me so--when he says: - - Beauty is easy enough to win, - But one isn't loved every day." - - -"I presume it was not to quote from Owen Meredith that you wished to -see me, Mr. Wainwright," said Daisy, looking up at him quietly. - -George stared at her for a moment, but was not one bit disconcerted. - -"No," he said, "it was not; but I am in the habit of using quotation -when I think it illustrates my meaning, and those lines struck me as -being rather apt. However, we come back to the fact that Paul Derinzy -was, and I believe is, very much in love with you. From what he gave me -to understand, I believe I am right in saying that that passion was at -one time returned. I believe--I wish to touch as lightly as possible -on unpleasant matters--I believe that recently there has been some -interruption of the pleasant relation which existed between you--an -interruption emanating from you--and that Paul has consequently been -very much out of spirits. Am I right?" - -"You are very frank and candid with me, Mr. Wainwright," said Daisy, -"and I will endeavour to answer you in the same manner. I perfectly -admit that the position which Mr. Derinzy and I occupy towards each -other is changed, and changed by my desire." - -"You will not think me impertinent or exacting--you certainly will not -when you know all I have to tell you--if I ask what was the reason for -that change?" - -Daisy's face flushed for an instant, then she said: - -"A woman's reason--because I wished it." - -George nodded as though he perfectly comprehended her; but he gazed at -her all the time. - -"May I ask, has this altered state of feeling come to a head? has there -been any open and decisive rupture between you lately?" - -"If you are not sufficiently in Mr. Derinzy's confidence to have that -information from him, I scarcely think you ought to ask it of me," said -Daisy. - -"Unfortunately, Mr. Derinzy, is not at present in a position to answer -me." - -"Not in a position to---- What do you mean?" asked Daisy, leaning -forward. - -"I will tell you before I go," said George. "In the meantime, perhaps -you will kindly reply to me." - -"There has been no actual quarrel between us," said the girl--"that -is to say, no personal quarrel; but----" and she spoke with so much -hesitation, that George instantly said: - -"But you have taken some decisive action." - -Daisy was silent. - -"You have told him that all must be over between you; that you would -not see him again, or something to that effect." - -"I--I wrote him a letter conveying that decision," said Daisy slowly. - -"And you addressed to him----" - -"As usual, at his club." - -"By Jove, that's it!" said George, springing up. "Now, Miss Stafford, -let me tell you the effect of that letter. Paul Derinzy was picked up -from the floor of the club-library in a fit!" - -"Good God!" cried Daisy. - -"One moment," continued George, holding up his hands. "He was carried -home insensible, and now lies between life and death. He is delirious -and knows no one, but lies tossing to and fro on his bed, ever -muttering your name, ever recalling scenes which have been passed in -your company. When I saw him in this state, when I heard those groans, -and recognised them as the utterances of the mental agony which he was -suffering, I thought it my duty to come to you. Understand, I make -no _ad misericordiam_ appeal. There is no question of my throwing -myself on your feelings, and imploring you to have pity on this boy. -I imagine that, even with all his passion for and devotion to you, -he is far too proud for that, and would disclaim my act so soon as -he knew of it. But, loving him as I do, I come to you and say, 'This -is your work.' What steps you should take, if any, it is for you to -determine. I say nothing, advise nothing, hint nothing, save this: -if what you wrote in that letter to Paul was final and decisive, the -result of due reflection, the conviction that you could not be happy -with him, then stand by it and hold to it; for if you were to give way -merely for compassion's sake, his state would be even worse than it is -now. But if you spoke truth to me at the beginning of this interview, -if your dismissal of Paul was, as you described it, a woman's whim, -conceived without adequate reason, and carried out in mere wantonness, -I say to you, that if this boy dies--and his state even now is most -critical--his death will lie at your door." - -Daisy had been listening with bent head and averted eyes. All evidence -of her having heard what George had said lay in a nervous fluttering -motion of her hand, involuntary and beyond her control. When George -ceased, she looked up, and said in a hard, dry voice: - -"What will you have me do?" - -"I told you at first that I would give you no advice, that I would make -no suggestion as to the line of conduct you should pursue. That must -be left entirely to the promptings of your heart, and--excuse me, Miss -Stafford, I am sadly old-fashioned, and still believe in the existence -of such things--your conscience." - -"Is he--is he so very ill?" asked Daisy in a trembling voice. - -"He is very dangerously ill," said George; "he could not be worse. But -understand, I don't urge this to influence your decision, nor must you -let it weigh with you. Your action in this matter must be the result -of calm deliberation and self-examination. To act on an impulse which -you will repent of when the excitement is over, is worse than to leave -matters where they are." - -"He--he is delirious, you say?" asked Daisy; "he does not recognise -anyone?" - -"No, he is quite delirious," said George. "He will have to be carefully -attended, and I am now going to see after a nurse. So," he added, -rising from his chair, "having discharged my duty, I will now proceed -on my way. I am sorry, Miss Stafford, that on my first visit to you I -should have been the bearer of what, to me at least, is such sad news." - -Then he bowed in his old-fashioned way, and took his departure. - -After George left her, Daisy dropped back into the chair which she had -occupied during his visit, and sat gazing vacantly into the fire. - -Calm deliberation and self-examination! Those were what that strange -earnest-looking man, Mr. Wainwright, had said he left her to. In the -state of anxiety and excitement in which she found herself, the one was -impossible, and she shrank from the other. Self-examination--what would -that show her? A girl, first winning, then trifling with the affections -of a warmhearted young fellow, who worshipped her and was ready to -sacrifice everything in life for her. And the same girl, hitherto so -proud in her virtue and her self-command, paltering and chaffering for -her honour with a man, the best thing which could be said about whom -was, that he had spoken plainly and made no secret of his intentions. -Ah, good heavens, in what a miserable state of mental blindness and -self-deception had she been living during the past few weeks! on -the brink of what a moral precipice had she been idly straying with -careless feet! Thinking of these things, Daisy buried her face in her -hands, and sought relief in a flood of tears. Then, suddenly springing -up, she cried: - -"It is not too late! Thank God for that! Not too late to undo all that -my wickedness has brought about. Not too late to prove my devotion to -him. Mr. Wainwright said he was going to see after a nurse. There shall -be no occasion for that. When my darling Paul comes to himself, he -shall find his nurse installed at his pillow." - -Very long odds against Colonel Orpington's chance now! - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. -SUSPENSE. - - -George Wainwright was by no means unconscious that he had done anything -but a friendly act towards the Derinzys, by making himself accessory -to the reconciliation which he foresaw as the inevitable result of the -meeting between Paul and Daisy. He quite understood that he should -be regarded in the light of an enemy by Paul's father and mother; -and that, should circumstances turn out so happily as to lead to an -avowal of his feelings towards Annette, he would have laid himself -open to the imputation of the meanest of motives, in encouraging his -friend to a step which should at once remove him from rivalry for -the lady's hand and competition for her fortune. The attainment of -Annette's majority would set her free from the guardianship of her -uncle; but if her infirmity of mind continued--and it would then be her -relatives' interest to prove the fact which it had been their interest -to conceal--it would be a curious question how Captain Derinzy would -act. George held a very decided opinion of Annette's uncle, and he felt -very little doubt that the "old scoundrel," as he designated him in -his meditations, would take measures to prove the girl's insanity in -order to bar her from marriage or the testamentary disposition of her -property. If anyone else had been her legal heir, George felt that, -if the hope of her restoration failed, it would have been possible to -make terms, at least to secure secrecy; but not in the case of Captain -Derinzy, especially under the circumstances which he felt were now -shaping themselves into form. Greed, spite, revenge, and exasperation -would all combine to inspire the Captain with a determination, in which -George had no doubt he would be warmly supported by Mrs. Derinzy, to do -his worst with the least possible delay. - -But George, beyond feeling that they required consideration and -cautious handling, cared little for these things. If the experiment -undertaken by Dr. Hildebrand should happily prove successful, he would -do his best to make Annette love him and become his wife; and then -they might dispute her fortune as they liked--he should have enough -for both. If the experiment were destined to fail, he could not see -that the Derinzys would have much to complain of. They would not like -their son's marrying a milliner, of course; but as it was quite clear -they could not make him marry Annette, it did not materially affect the -chief object of their amiable and conscientious scheme. At all events, -no pondering over it on George's part, no resolution he could come to, -would avail to shorten the period of suspense, to alter the fact that -the crisis of his life must shortly be encountered. - -George had contented himself with a written communication to Mrs. -Derinzy, in which he informed her of Paul's illness, and expressed -his conviction that his life depended upon the judicious action of -all around him at the present crisis. He did not overestimate Mrs. -Derinzy's tenderness towards her son; but he was not prepared, when -he went to Paul's rooms on the following day, to find that she had -contented herself with inquiring for him, ascertaining that proper -arrangements had been made for his being carefully nursed, and -announcing her intention of calling upon the doctor. - -Paul was not in a condition to know anything about her proceedings. -When he appeared to be conscious, he named only Daisy and George, and -these intervals were rare and brief. They alternated with long periods -of stupor; and then it would not have been difficult, looking at the -sick man's face, to believe that all care and concern of his with life -were over for ever. - -It was from Daisy George learned that Mrs. Derinzy had been at her -son's lodgings, and he allowed her to perceive how much her account of -the incident surprised and displeased him. - -On arriving at Paul's rooms, George found Daisy sitting quietly beside -the bed, the sick man's hand in one of hers, while the fingers of the -other, freshly dipped in a fragrant cooling essence, lay lightly on -his hot wan forehead, on whose sunken temples pain had set its mark. -Her dress, of a soft material incapable of whisking or rustling, her -hair smoothly packed away, her ringless hands, her noiseless movements, -her composed, steady, alert face, formed a business-like realisation -of the ideal of a sick-nurse, which impressed the practised eye of -George reassuringly, and at the same time conveyed to him a sense of -association which he did not at the moment clearly trace out. When he -thought of it afterwards, he put it down to a general resemblance to -the women employed at his father's asylum. - -Daisy's beauty was not in a style which George Wainwright particularly -admired, and the girl had never attracted him much. He had regarded -her with pity and consideration at first, when he had feared that -Paul was behaving so badly to her. He had regarded her with anger -and dislike when he discovered that she was behaving badly to Paul. -Both these phases of feeling had passed away now, and Daisy presented -herself to George's mind in a different and far more attractive light. -In this pale quiet woman there was nothing meretricious, nothing -flaunting; not the least touch of vulgarity marred the calm propriety -of her demeanour. George felt assured that he was seeing her in a -light which promised for the future, should the marriage which he was -forced to hope for, for his friend's sake, be the result of the present -complication. - -She did not rise when he entered the room, she did not alter her -attitude, and there was not a shade of embarrassment in her manner. In -reply to his salutation she merely bent her head, and spoke in the low -distinct tone, as soothing to an invalid as a whisper is distracting. - -"There is not much change," she said; "it is not yet to be expected." - -George looked at Paul closely and silently. - -"I expected to have found his mother here," he said. "I wrote and told -her of his illness." - -"But you did not tell her I was here?" - -"No," said George in surprise, "I did not think it necessary. I -concluded she would see you here, and learn from your own lips, and -your presence, the service you are doing Paul." - -The sick man moaned slightly, and she dexterously shifted his head upon -the pillow before she answered, with a dim dubious smile: - -"I believe Mrs. Derinzy is a very well-bred person, quite a woman of -the world. She would hardly commit herself to an interview with me." - -The girl's proud eyes fixed themselves upon George's face, as she said -these few words, without any embarrassment. - -"I--I beg your pardon," stammered George; "I ought to have seen Mrs. -Derinzy, and prepared her--I mean told her. I shrank from seeing her, -from a personal motive, and--and I fear thoughtlessly sacrificed you, -in some measure, to this reluctance. I wonder she could go away without -seeing her son." - -"Do you? I do not. The standard of the actions of a woman of the world -may not be comprehensible to you, Mr. Wainwright; but we outsiders, yet -on-lookers, understand it well enough." - -She glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf, softly withdrew her -hand from Paul's, and administered medicine to him, he, seemingly -unconscious, moaning heavily the while. - -"I shall see Mrs. Derinzy," said George, "and explain to her. Forgive -me, Miss Stafford, pray forgive me, if I express myself awkwardly; I -really feel quite astray and at a loss. Things have changed so much -since I last talked with you, though that was only yesterday. I shall -have to give Mrs. Derinzy not only an explanation of the past and the -present, but some notion of what is to be expected in the future. Do -not think me impertinent, do not think me unfeeling, but I must, for -your own sake, in order to place you in the position it is right, it -is due to you, that you should occupy in the estimation of Paul's -mother--I must ask you, what do you purpose--what do you intend the -future shall mean for you and him?" - -Daisy did not reply, until George began to feel impatient of her -silence. Her hand again lay on Paul's forehead, her brow was overcast -and knitted; she was thinking deeply. At length she said: - -"Explain the past as you please, Mr. Wainwright--as Paul has told it -to you, I make no doubt--truly, honestly, as a gentleman, as a man of -honour should; relate the present as you know it to be--the story of -our interview, and of the step I have taken in consequence of it; but -of the future, say nothing." - -"Nothing!" repeated George, in a tone of remonstrance--"nothing! Will -that suffice for her, for you, or for _him?_" He pointed to Paul. "Do -you not know the hope, the confidence, to which your presence here, the -noble act you have done in coming to him in this terrible extremity, -must give rise? Do you not feel that this is decisive, that henceforth -every consideration must be abandoned by each of you, for the life -which must be lived together?" - -It passed swiftly through Daisy's mind that if ever Paul had so -pleaded his own cause, with so much conviction, so much force, so much -earnestness--if ever he had made her understand the worth of true love, -the false _allures_ of all beside--she would not have listened to -prudence and the narrow suggestions of her worldly wisdom, but would -have listened to him. It passed through her mind that this was a strong -man, one who would love well and worthily, and whose wife would be -honoured among women, whatever her origin. But she answered him coldly, -though his words were utterly persuasive. - -"I cannot tell you to answer for the future, Mr. Wainwright. That -question cannot be answered until it has been asked by Paul. If he -lives, he will ask it; if he dies, Mrs. Derinzy will not require to -know anything about me." - -"Be it so," said George emphatically. "I shall go there at once, and -see you again this evening. Goodbye, Miss Stafford, and God bless you! -You are doing the right thing now, at all events." - -Again she simply bent her head without speaking, and without turning -her eyes from the sick man's face. George left the room with a -noiseless step. When he had reached the stair-foot, Daisy covered her -face with her hands, and rocked herself upon her chair, in an agony of -self-upbraiding. - -"If he lives, he will ask me," she murmured in her torturing thoughts. -"Yes, he will ask me; and I--I who a little while ago was unfit to be -his wife only because of the difference in our rank--what shall I say? -Far other my unfitness now--the unfitness of one who has deliberately -entertained the project of degradation. Am I, who have chaffered with -that vile old man about the terms on which I might be induced to become -his mistress, fit to be that trusting boy's wife? Oh mother, mother! -this is the result of your calculation, your worldly instructions! Yet -no; why should I blame _her?_ It is the outcome of my life, of the sort -of thing I have seen and known since my childhood. Oh, my God! my God! -how foolish, how mad, how wicked I have been!" - - -Mrs. Derinzy was at home. George was ushered into the back -drawing-room, and permitted to indulge himself in solitude with the -contemplation of Annette's unoccupied place, her piano, her work-box, -and her own especial book of photographs, for some time. He looked at -these things with pangs of mingled hope and fear, and their influence -was to do away with the embarrassment and uneasiness he had felt on -entering the house. After all, what did anything really matter to him -which did not concern Annette and his relations with her? - -When at length Mrs. Derinzy appeared, George saw that she was alarmed -and angry. The former sentiment he was enabled to allay, the latter he -was prepared to meet--prepared by courage on his friend's account, and -indifference on his own. - -"I am happy to tell you," he began at once, "that there is satisfactory -progress in Paul's case. He is going on safely. I have little doubt he -will soon be out of danger; indeed, the doctor has said plainly that, -unless in the case of increase of symptoms, he is confident of the -result. You need not be alarmed, Mrs. Derinzy; I assure you the case is -favourable." - -"I have heard the doctor's opinion of the case, Mr. Wainwright," -replied Mrs. Derinzy with cold displeasure, "and I am not unduly -alarmed. But I am not unnaturally astonished to find myself excluded -from my son in his illness, and by you, the son of one of the oldest -and best friends I have in the world. I cannot believe you have any -explanation to offer which I can listen to, for your conduct in -bringing a--a person whom I cannot meet to take my place at my son's -side." - -"I am not surprised at your tone, Mrs. Derinzy," replied George, -"though I might be pardoned for wondering how you contrive to hold me -guilty in the matter of Paul's supposed offence." - -"_Supposed_ offence, Mr. Wainwright! You adopt the flippant and -unbecoming fashion in these matters! I hold it more than a _supposed_ -offence that I should find a person installed in my son's lodgings, -with the knowledge of my son's friend, whose presence renders mine -impossible." - -"We will let the phrase pass, Mrs. Derinzy, and come to the facts. Are -you sure you are really acquainted with the character and position of -the lady in question?" - -"_Character_ and _position_ of the _lady_ in question!" echoed Mrs. -Derinzy, in an accent of spiteful contempt. "I should think there -was little doubt about _them_; the facts speak pretty plainly for -themselves." - -"I assure you, nevertheless, and in spite of appearances, the -facts do not speak the truth if they impugn the respectability of -Miss Stafford--that is the young lady's name." Mrs. Derinzy bowed -scornfully. "I can give you an ample and trustworthy assurance on this -point, for I am acquainted--I was made acquainted by Paul himself--with -every particular of their intimacy, until within a few weeks of the -event which led to his illness; and the remainder I have learned partly -from inquiries elsewhere, but chiefly from Miss Stafford herself. If -you will listen to me, Mrs. Derinzy, I will tell you Miss Stafford's -history, so far as I know it, and the whole truth respecting her -position with regard to your son. And in order that what I have to say -may be more convincing, may have more weight with you, let me tell -you in the first place that I never spoke a word to Miss Stafford -until yesterday, when I went to her in my fear and trouble about Paul, -feeling convinced that from _her_ only could any real assistance be -procured." - -"Go on," said Mrs. Derinzy, with sullen resignation. "This is a -pleasant hearing for a mother; but it is our fate, I suppose. Tell me -what you have to tell." - -George obeyed her. He recapitulated all that had passed between -himself and Paul on the subject of Daisy, from the time when he had -accidentally witnessed their meeting in Kensington Gardens, to the -last conversation he had held with Paul before he went to Germany. She -listened, still sullen, but with interest, until he told her what was -Daisy's position in life; and then she interrupted him with the comment -for which he had been prepared. - -"A milliner's girl! Truly Paul has a gentlemanly taste! And I am to -believe _she_ had scruples and _made_ difficulties?" - -"You are," returned George, gravely; "for it is true. I do not -sympathise with your notions of caste, Mrs. Derinzy--I think I have -known more bad men and unscrupulous women of gentle than of plebeian -blood--but I understand them. Miss Stafford _had_ scruples, scruples -which Paul failed to vanquish--more shame to him for trying--and -she made difficulties which he could not surmount. The last and -gravest--that which threw him into the fever in which he is now -striving and battling for life--was her refusal, her point-blank, -uncompromising, positive refusal, to marry him!" - -"To marry him!" exclaimed Mrs. Derinzy, starting up from her chair -in very undignified surprise and anger. "My son propose to _marry_ a -milliner's girl! I won't believe it!" - -"You had no difficulty in believing, on no evidence at all, that he -had seduced her," continued George, quietly. "Now I can assume the -latter is utterly false; the former is distinctly true. You had better -be careful how you act towards this young lady, Mrs. Derinzy, for your -son loves her--loves her well enough to have been unworldly, and manly -enough to implore her to become his wife, and to be stricken well-nigh -to death by her refusal, and the sentence of final separation between -them pronounced by her. When your son fell down at his club in the fit -from which it seemed at first probable he would never rally, he was -struck down by a letter from Miss Stafford, in which she told him he -should see her no more." - -"What was her reason? Did she not care for him?" asked Mrs. Derinzy, -almost in a whisper. She was subdued by the earnestness of George's -manner, and some womanly feelings, which, though tepid, still had a -place in her worldly scheming nature, were touched. - -It was fortunate for the zeal and sincerity of George's advocacy of the -cause of the loves of Paul and Daisy, that he was entirely ignorant of -the Orpington episode. He had no actual acquaintance with the other -motives which had influenced Miss Stafford to reject Paul's proposal of -marriage, or the arguments with which she enforced them. - -He had a general idea of the ground she had taken up throughout--the -ground of their social inequality, the inadequacy of means, and the -inevitable grief to which a marriage contracted under those grave -disadvantages must come; and he had, on the whole, approved her -views, until he had beheld their practical effect. He detailed to -Mrs. Derinzy his conviction concerning Miss Stafford's reasons, and -stoutly maintained that those reasons were quite consistent with a -disinterested attachment to Paul, and with a sound and elevated sense -of self-respect. To this view of the subject Paul's mother was entirely -indifferent. When it was made plain to her--as it was with irresistible -clearness, which not even the obstinacy of an illiberal woman sitting -in judgment on a social inferior could resist--that Miss Stafford's -character was unblemished, in the ordinary sense of the phrase, she -was obliged to shift her ground; and thenceforth her anxiety was to -be convinced that Daisy had really refused to marry her son, and to -be assured that she was likely to maintain her resolution. In her -solicitude on this point, Mrs. Derinzy was even ready to praise Miss -Stafford. - -It was most wise of her; it showed an unusual degree of sense and -judgment in one so young, and necessarily so ignorant of the world; and -really it was impossible to praise such good taste too highly. Mrs. -Derinzy could assure Miss Stafford, from her own observation, which she -had had many opportunities of confirming, that these unequal marriages -never "did." They always resulted in misery to the wife. When the -husband outlived the first infatuation, and began to find society and -old habits essential to his comfort, society would not have the wife, -and she could not fit in with the old habits; and then came impatience -and disgust, and all the rest of it. Oh no, such marriages never "did;" -and Mrs. Derinzy was delighted to learn--delighted for the girl's -own sake; for Mr. Wainwright's narrative had inspired her with quite -an interest in this deserving young person--that she had acted with -so much judgment and discretion. She really deserved to prosper, and -Mrs. Derinzy was quite ready to wish her, after the most disinterested -fashion, the utmost amount of good fortune which should not involve her -marriage with Paul. - -But this was precisely the contingency towards which it was George's -object to direct her thoughts. Notwithstanding the ambiguity with which -Daisy had spoken, he believed that she would be ready to sacrifice -all her pride, and to lay aside all her misgivings, when, the great -relief of Paul's being out of immediate danger realised, she should be -convinced that his health and his peace must alike depend on her; and -when that time should have come, much would depend upon his mother. -Happily, George had judgment as well as zeal, and contented himself on -this occasion with convincing Mrs. Derinzy, not only that there was no -contamination to be dreaded in the presence of the "young person" under -whose watchful care her son was struggling back to life, but that she -owed it to Daisy to show, by immediately visiting Paul, and recognising -her properly, that she was willing to undo the compromising impression -which her refusal to enter Paul's room had produced. Those were two -great points to gain in one interview; and when he had gained them, -with the addition of having his offer to escort Mrs. Derinzy to Paul's -lodgings accepted, he bethought himself, for positively the first time, -of the Captain. - -Was he at home? was he much alarmed? George asked. - -The Captain was not at home; was out of town for a couple of days, in -fact; had gone to some races, Mrs. Derinzy did not remember where; she -knew so little about things of that kind, all the racing places were -pretty much alike to her. - -George politely suggested that the Captain's absence was fortunate; he -would not have much suspense to suffer; there was every reason to hope -all danger would be at an end before his return. - -To which Mrs. Derinzy replied with some sharpness that Captain Derinzy -was not endowed with susceptible nerves, and that he was not easily -alarmed by any illness except his own. - -They went out together, and George took leave of Mrs. Derinzy at -the door of Paul's lodgings, having ascertained that the doctor had -again seen the patient, and pronounced that there was no change to be -expected in his condition for some time. He lingered for a moment until -Mrs. Derinzy had begun to ascend the stairs under convoy of a maid, and -then he turned away, hoping for favourable results from this strange -and momentous meeting between Daisy and Paul's mother; and glad on his -own account that a rupture between himself and the Derinzys, which his -interference had appeared to render imminent, was at least postponed. - -There was no characteristic of Daisy's more pronounced than her -self-control. When the maid gently opened the door of the sick-room, -and whispered the words "Mrs. Derinzy," she understood all that had -taken place, and was equal to the emergency. She disengaged her hand -from Paul's unconscious clasp, and rose. Standing in an attitude of -simple easy dignity by her son's bedside, Paul's mother saw her first, -and felt, though she was not a bright woman in general, an instant -conviction that George's story was perfectly true, and that there was -nothing about this remarkable-looking "young person," whose handsome -face was absolutely strange to her, and yet suggested, as it had done -in George's case, an inexpressible association. - -Their respective salutations were polite but formal. Daisy spoke first. - -"Will you take this chair?" she said, indicating her own. "You will be -able to see him better from that side. I am happy to say he is going on -favourably." - -"Thank you, thank you," returned Mrs. Derinzy, in a fidgety whisper; -and she took the proposed place. - -Then came a silence, interrupted only by an occasional faint moan -from Paul. The presence of Mrs. Derinzy did not deter Daisy from -the punctual fulfilment of her self-imposed duties; and as the -mother watched her diligent ministering to the invalid, watched -it helplessly--for Mrs. Derinzy was a perfectly useless person in -a sick-room--she could maintain this reserve no longer, and broke -through it by anxious questions, to which the other replied with ready -respectful self-possession. - -If poor Paul could only have known that, in the first interview between -his mother and his love--an interview on which he had often nervously -speculated--Daisy had appeared to greater advantage, had looked -handsomer, softer, more charming, more graceful, more ladylike than she -had ever appeared in her life before! But many days were to pass away -before Paul was to know anything of surrounding things or persons; his -mind was away in a mysterious region of semi-consciousness, of pain, -of unreality. He was assiduously cared for by Daisy and George, by the -doctor and the nurse. Even Dr. Wainwright himself superintended the -case, and indorsed the mode of treatment of the humbler practitioner. -His mother came to see him every day, and a good understanding existed -between her and Daisy, though no direct reference to Daisy's relations -with Paul had been made. - -The Captain had shown a decent solicitude about his son; but it is to -be feared he rather enjoyed the state of affairs than otherwise as soon -as positive danger to Paul's life was no longer to be apprehended. It -implied so much of the freedom he loved, no surveillance, no domestic -restraints, no regular hours; it was a delicious renewal of the liberty -of his bachelor days. - -There is no need to dwell farther on this portion of the story. After -many weeks Paul was pronounced convalescent; and then, by the advice -of Dr. Wainwright, whose interest had been gradually awakened in the -case, and who had come to like Paul, Daisy abandoned her post. It was -determined that the invalid should travel for awhile, and arranged that -George should accompany him. Dr. Wainwright undertook to induce him to -acquiesce, and to reconcile him to the absence of Daisy. - -He was too weak to resist, he felt an inner consciousness of his -unfitness to bear emotion, which rendered him passively obedient, and -he was too happy to be exacting or rebellious. He trusted the future; -he felt, in a vague way, that things would go well with him. And on the -day fixed for the departure of himself and George on their excursion, -he received a little note from Daisy, which sent him on his way -rejoicing. It contained only these words: - - -"DEAREST PAUL,--George would have brought me to say goodbye to you; -but I could not bear it. You know I hate showing my feelings to anyone -but you, and we could not have been alone. Come home soon--no, don't; -stay away until you are quite well and strong; and don't forget, for -one minute of all the time, - - "DAISY." - - -"I think you are a humbug," said George Wainwright to Paul as they -landed at Calais, and Paul declared his inclination to have everything -that could be procured to eat immediately; "you don't look a bit like a -sick man." - -"I'm sure I don't feel like one," returned Paul; "and it's great -nonsense your father sending me away like this. But I am not going to -complain or rebel; I mean implicitly to obey him----" - -"And Daisy," interrupted George. - -"And Daisy, of course." - -The two young men enjoyed their tour, Paul very much more than George, -as was natural. Paul's affairs were promising, though he did not see -his way very clearly to the fulfilment of the promise. But he was full -of hope and the gladsome spirits of returning health. There was as yet -no rift in the cloud which overhung George's prospects, and he wearied -sometimes of the monotony of anxiety and deferred hope. - -Dr. Wainwright communicated punctually to his son such information as -reached him from Mayence. He had not expected regular intelligence -from Dr. Hildebrand, and had told George he must not expect any such -concessions from the scientific old oddity, who had already done him -exceptional grace. A formal report from Mrs. Stothard of the general -health and spirits of Annette reached the Doctor at the appointed -periods, but conveyed little real information. Such as they were, -George hailed the arrival of these documents with eagerness, and Paul -had the grace to assume a deeper interest in them than he really felt. - -"By-the-bye," he said to George one evening, as they were resting after -a day of laborious mountain-walking, "I don't think I ever told you -about Mrs. Stothard, did I?" - -"You never told me anything particular about Mrs. Stothard," replied -George. "What is it?" - -"Why, she's Daisy's mother!" - -"Daisy's mother!" repeated George in astonishment. "Now I know what -the likeness was that struck me; of course, it was just the steady -business-like look I have seen Mrs. Stothard give at Annette." - -Before the companions had started on the expedition arranged for the -following day, the English mail arrived. George got his letters at the -inn-door. One was from his father. He glanced over it, and ran up to -Paul's room, breathless, and with a very pale face. - -"Paul," he said, "there's a letter from my father. Such wonderful news! -He says he will not tell me any particulars till we meet; but Dr. -Hildebrand is sending Annette home at once, and--and she is perfectly -well! Hildebrand says he has never had a more complete, a more thorough -success." - -Paul shook his friend's hand warmly, and eagerly congratulated him, -adding with great promptitude: - -"I'm all right also, you know; and so, old fellow, we'll start for -England to-night." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. -MADAME VAUGHAN. - - -Captain and Mrs. Derinzy had not yet returned to the uncongenial -seclusion of Beachborough. The Captain, who, since he had been coerced, -by Dr. Wainwright's strong representation that he might find it -uncomfortable if he refused, into permitting the experiment proposed by -Hildebrand, had been unusually tractable, was not, it will be readily -believed, eager to leave London. As things were looking at present--and -he was aware they had assumed a very ugly complexion--there was a -decidedly unpleasant uncertainty about the prospect of his getting back -again to his favourite resorts, which quickened his appreciation of the -wisdom of remaining in London as long as he could contrive to do so, -and getting as much pleasure as possible out of the time. - -Mrs. Derinzy considered that it was proper to await Annette's return -in town; there would be so many things to settle when she came back; -and if they really were to be finally defeated in all their plans, if -Paul's folly and obstinacy were to defeat the marriage project, and -Annette's restoration to health render her attainment of her majority -a real acquisition of power, not a mere form, they would be better in -London than elsewhere. Annette might or might not settle an annuity -worth having upon them, if the power to manage her own affairs should -accrue to her; but if they did not voluntarily abandon it, she could -hardly do otherwise than invite them to continue to share her home. -The accounts which Mrs. Derinzy had received from Mrs. Stothard were -facsimiles of those which had been forwarded to Dr. Wainwright, and in -their contents Mrs. Derinzy discerned defeat. - -She was not a wicked, she was only a weak and selfish, woman; and -though that combination has worked as much woe as the more positive -evil, it is only fair to credit her with the palliation. No one could -have been more genuinely shocked than Mrs. Derinzy, if she had been -plainly told that she _feared_ Annette's recovery, that she _hoped_ -for her continued infirmity of mind. She would have repudiated such an -idea with vehemence and sincerity; but she would have been infinitely -puzzled to define the distinction between the feeling of which she -firmly believed herself incapable, and the feeling which she did, -beyond dispute, entertain. If Annette could have been perfectly sane, -but at the same time utterly passive in her hands; if she could have -been thoroughly competent to manage her own affairs; and at the same -time quite incapable of ever desiring to understand or interfere -with them, that would have been charming. Mrs. Derinzy thought it -unreasonable that so easy a state of things should not be immediately -called into existence. At this particular period of her life she -regarded herself as an ill-used individual, whose husband, son, and -niece, separately and in combination, were in act to "worry her to -death." - -It might have been all so comfortable and safe and prosperous--so -nice for them, so well for Paul, so pleasant for poor dear Annette -herself--if it had not been for that odious Miss Stafford in the first -place, and afterwards for that meddling German doctor. But Paul was -most to blame; indeed, if the marriage had come off, it would have -been for every reason best that Annette should be restored to perfect -sanity; this "pother" was his doing chiefly. She was very angry with -Paul--angry with him, that is to say, when he had recovered, when -the danger that the sun of his life might go down upon her wrath was -at an end, when he was abroad gaining health and strength, enjoying -himself, and carrying on a voluminous correspondence with Daisy; while -she had to lament the discomfiture of her designs, and put up with the -Captain's discontent and temper. - -On the whole, Captain and Mrs. Derinzy were very ill at ease, feeling -like a pair of discomfited conspirators, which indeed they were, and -experiencing a humiliating sense of having had the guidance of affairs -taken out of their hands suddenly, noiselessly, dexterously, and -irresistibly. Thenceforward the Captain would complain of "that d--d -authoritative way of Wainwright's," and Mrs. Derinzy admit that she -"had never quite understood the Doctor;" and they were drawn nearer -together by the discomfiture than they had been by any success or -vexation for many years. - -Annette was coming home--the day and hour of her arrival were fixed; -and Mrs. Derinzy had heard from her son that he intended to return -immediately. Something must be settled now. The explanation, which must -inevitably be encountered, had better be brought on at once. It had -occurred to Mrs. Derinzy as a cunning device of immense merit to call -on Daisy, and, availing herself of Paul's absence, address herself to -the girl's disinterestedness and generosity, and secure her promise -that she would refuse Paul should he again ask her to marry him. No -consideration that one refusal on Daisy's part had already almost cost -Paul his life interfered with his mother's sage resolution. "He will -have gotten over it," she believed, because she desired to believe so. - -In pursuance of this brilliant idea, Mrs. Derinzy called on Madame -Clarisse, and condescendingly inquired if she could see Miss Stafford. - -But she could not. Madame Clarisse benignly explained that Miss -Stafford, who had not been quite strong lately, had applied for a short -vacation, and gone to the country, to the farmhouse of a relative. -Madame Clarisse could give Mrs. Derinzy the address; but that lady, who -did not calculate on an epistolary victory, declined, and went away, -leaving the astute _modiste_ to wonder what her business with Miss -Stafford might be, and to make a very "near" guess at the facts. - -There was no help for it; Paul must come back, and she must fight the -battle single-handed. She wished that meddling George Wainwright would -have remained away a little longer. He had not behaved so badly as she -had been inclined to believe at first in that matter of Paul's illness -and Miss Stafford, but they could manage their affairs quite as well -without him. - -On the morning of the day fixed for Annette's return, Dr. Wainwright -visited Mrs. Derinzy, and gave her sundry injunctions as to composure, -and the avoidance of fuss and excitement, in her reception of the -convalescent. The effect of the lesson was, as the Doctor intended -it should be, to rouse Mrs. Derinzy up into the exhibition of some -kindness and warmth of feeling towards the girl, who had for a long -period known nothing more than an indifferent imitation of a home. The -effort to seem kind and affectionate bore its fruits in inspiring Mrs. -Derinzy with more of the feelings she strove to imitate than she had -ever yet experienced, and her heart fairly melted into true kindliness. -She forgot her interested scheming, she did not even remember Annette's -money, when she saw Annette herself, the picture of health, and of -natural girlish happiness. - -The most convincing proof, to Mrs. Derinzy's mind, that the restoration -of Annette was real and complete, was furnished by the alteration -in Mrs. Stothard's manner. As soon as she could see her alone, Mrs. -Derinzy had asked Mrs. Stothard her opinion of the case. The answer was -quickly and decisively given: - -"The German doctor is the queerest man I ever saw, and I'm far from -sure that he is not mad himself; but he has cured Miss Annette, and -sent her home as sane as you and I." - -Every word, look, and gesture of Mrs. Stothard's confirmed this -statement. There was no longer any of the steady unrelaxing vigilance, -the set watch upon the girl, the calmly authoritative or soothingly -coaxing tone which she had been used to maintain. There was no longer -the half-servant demeanour, the personal waiting on Annette which had -puzzled more than one of the very few persons who had ever had an -opportunity of speculating on Mrs. Stothard's real position in the -Derinzy household. - -Every trace of this manner had vanished. Mrs. Stothard was Annette's -companion, and nothing more. She formally, though without explanation, -assumed this position, whose functions she fulfilled as perfectly as -she had fulfilled the more painful and onerous duties of her former -station. It is probable that she and Dr. Wainwright had come to an -understanding, but if so, no third party was the wiser. - -Dr. Wainwright, who was perfectly satisfied of Annette's convalescence, -was a little curious as to how she would receive him, and on his part -assumed a friendly, almost paternal, manner in which there was no trace -of his old relation of physician. But Annette, seizing an opportunity -of speaking to him alone, referred openly to her former malady, and -in the warmest terms thanked him for all his solicitude and care. Her -ready frankness conveyed to the Doctor the last best assurance of her -complete recovery, and he met her expressions of gratitude with prompt -kindness. He left his former patient on this first occasion of their -meeting with an earnest wish for the success of his son in the suit he -had no doubt George would immediately urge. "If the case had been any -other," Dr. Wainwright thought, as he made his way out of the house -without seeing either Captain or Mrs. Derinzy, "I might not feel so -disinterestedly pleased that another has succeeded where I have for -some time despaired of success, but I cannot grudge Hildebrand his -triumph, when it is to secure George's happiness, as I do believe it -will, for this girl is a fine creature." - -Dr. Wainwright had stipulated, in writing to his son, that he was not -to see Annette until after he had had an opportunity of forming his -own judgment upon her state; and he had accepted it as understood, -that if the cure were not complete, George would not ask Annette to -marry him. When he had made his visit to her, with the results already -recorded, he wrote to George, who had arrived in England that morning, -in the following terms, characteristic of the writer, and eminently -satisfactory to the recipient: - - -"MY DEAR GEORGE,--I have seen Miss Derinzy. Hildebrand has kept his -promise, and beaten me, to our mutual satisfaction. Go and visit -her as soon as you please, and you have _my_ consent, if you can -gain the lady's, to turn my patient into my daughter, as soon as you -like.--Yours ever, - - G.W." - - -"That's glorious!" said Paul, who had gone home with George on their -arrival. "I am as glad for her sake as for yours, and for yours as -for hers, and I can't say fairer than that, can I? Annette is a dear -girl, and I am quite sure she likes you. I know something of the -symptoms, George, my boy! The governor and my mother will be furious, -of course, and I should not wonder if they declare your father and you -are in a conspiracy against them for your own purposes. However, if -they proclaim such a plot as that, they must include me in it. I say, -George, suppose Annette and I did a bit of the old romance business, -and solemnly repudiated each other; 'unalterably never yours,' and that -kind of thing, you know?" - -George smiled but dimly, and answered his friend's pleasantries only -vaguely. He had not the assurance and certainty with which Paul -accredited him. In the great change which had befallen Annette, in the -new hope and happiness of her life, he might not have the large share -of which his friend believed him confident. He had a true gentleman's -diffidence towards the woman he loved, and no assurance at second hand -could render him secure. He had awaited his father's message with keen -anxiety, and now that it had come, and was so full of goodness, he was -feverishly impatient to learn his fate. The time had come, the time -which had seemed so hopelessly far off had drawn near with wonderful -celerity, and he was to know his destiny--he was to - - put it to the touch, - To win or lose it all. - - -He read his father's letter again--"as soon as you like. I will see -her to-day, I will ask her to-day," he said to himself. "There is no -risk to her, or my father would not have said this." Then he said to -Paul: - -"You will come with me, won't you?" - -"Of a surety that will I," answered Paul; "and I will tackle the -governor and my mother--you may be sure there's plenty ready for me -on the score of Daisy--and leave you to welcome Annette home _en -tete-a-tete_." - -Just as the friends were leaving the house, a servant came in search of -George, and stopped him. George asked him with pardonable impatience -what he wanted, and the man replied, that Madame Vaughan had been very -ill during the night, and the nurse had sent to Mr. George to tell him -that she desired to see him at his earliest convenience. George asked -the man several particulars about his poor friend, and expressed his -readiness to go and see Madame Vaughan immediately; but this act of -self-denial was not exacted of him. - -"She's asleep just now, sir," said the man, "and the nurse would not -like to disturb her, she has had such a bad night; but I was not to let -you leave the house without telling you, sir." - - * * * * * - -Many a less brave man has gone to a battle with a stouter heart than -that with which George Wainwright entered the Derinzy mansion, and was -ushered into the room where Annette, her aunt, and Mrs. Stothard were -assembled. The young lady was seated at the piano; the sounds of music -had reached the visitors as they ascended the stairs; and on their -entrance she rose. Paul went into the room first. She received her -cousin with a smile, and his friend, who followed him closely, with a -deep, burning, lasting blush, perceived by Paul, George, and one other. -This observer was Mrs. Stothard, who, having performed her share in the -general civilities, withdrew, with a meaning and well-satisfied smile -in her clear gray eyes, and on her calm, determined, authoritative -mouth. - -"So," she thought, "I was right. I suspected before we left town, and -now I know. Well, so long as my Fanny comes by her fair share, I am -content; and she shall come by it, or I will know why. Old Hildebrand -is a very clever man, and so is Dr. Wainwright, and they have both done -wonders in this case, but I believe Mr. George is the true healer. I -hold to the old proverb, 'Love is the best physician.'" - - * * * * * - -When Paul Derinzy and his mother returned to the small drawing-room, -whence George Wainwright's friend and accomplice had drawn Mrs. Derinzy -within a very few minutes of their arrival, they found Annette in -tears, and her companion in a state of quite unmistakable excitement -and agitation. The first glance which Mrs. Derinzy directed towards the -girl enlightened her as to the cause of the emotion she was evincing; -and by that ray of illumination was dispersed the little feeble hope -of ever carrying her laboriously-constructed design into effect, which -had survived her conversation with Paul. It was surprising--or rather -it would have been surprising to anyone who did not know how obstinate -woman can be in declining to acknowledge a defeat--that her favourite -delusion could have survived the brief but momentous and decisive -conversation she had just had with her son; who had positively declared -his intention of marrying Daisy, if by any persuasion she could be -induced to accept him, and as distinctly his determination _not_ to -marry Annette, if she should prove as willing as her cousin was justly -convinced she was unwilling to have him. She had controlled her temper -wonderfully; her feelings were a little softened by the first sight of -Paul restored to health; and she re-entered the drawing-room determined -to believe that all was not yet completely lost. The sweet delusion -fled at the sight of the faces of the lovers. - -"What does this mean?" demanded the angry lady. - -George started up from his place--quite unconventionally close to -Annette--and was beginning to speak, when Paul interrupted him. - -"It means capital news, mother.--George, I wish you joy.--It means the -best thing possible for all parties. The best fellow in England is -going to marry the nicest girl in Europe.--Isn't it so, George?--Isn't -it so, Annette?--Come, mother, you must not look glum over it; it's -on my account you do so, I know; but I declare before witnesses my -conviction that Annette would not have married me, and that nothing in -the world should have induced me to marry Annette." - -"Though I am the nicest girl in Europe, eh, Paul?" asked Annette, -looking at him through her joyful tears, with a shy archness which was -an entirely new expression in her face. - -"Yes," said Paul, bestowing upon his cousin, for the first time in -his life, an unceremonious hug; "but then I'm not the best fellow in -England." - -"Am I to understand, Mr. Wainwright," began Mrs. Derinzy with an -assumption of dignity much impaired by the reality of her anger, "that -you and Miss Derinzy are engaged?" - -"Yes, madam," said George, and he took Annette's hand in his. "Miss -Derinzy has promised to become my wife, and she and I both hope for -your sanction, and that of Captain Derinzy." - -"It will be entirely a matter for the lawyers, sir. Until Miss -Derinzy is of age, no arrangement of the kind can possibly receive -our sanction, for reasons with which I have no doubt you are well -acquainted. After that time, it will be a question for the lawyers -whether Miss Derinzy can contract any engagements." - -It was a cruel speech, and Paul felt equally hurt and ashamed of it. -George's face glowed with anger; but Annette did not seem in the least -hurt by it. She smiled very sweetly, laid her hand caressingly on Mrs. -Derinzy's shoulder, and said: - -"Dear aunt, I hope the lawyers will not be hard on me. I shall only ask -them to do two things for me--to let me marry George, and to let me -give half my money to you and Paul." - -"If she is in earnest," thought Mrs. Derinzy, seizing on the idea with -lightning rapidity, "this is unlooked-for compensation for the defeat -of our plans, and I trust the lawyers will let her have her own way; -but if I were one or all of them, I should regard the notion for one -thing as strong proof that she is not cured, and for another that she -has bitten George and made him as mad as herself." - -But Mrs. Derinzy was very careful to conceal the effect which Annette's -generous unguarded proposition had produced upon her. She answered her -gently and without effusion, that this was a matter of which women -could not judge, and in which she would not interfere. It must be -referred in the first place to Captain Derinzy. She then took a cold -and formal leave of George Wainwright, and left the room. - -George, Paul, and Annette looked at one another rather blankly for the -space of a few moments, and then Paul said: - -"Never mind; it's all right. All that about the money is bosh, you -know, George. I'm not going to rob Annette because my friend is going -to marry her. But the discussion will keep, and we are mutually a -nuisance just now." - -He was out of the room in a moment; the next they heard him bang the -front door cheerfully, and go off whistling down the street. - -It is only with one portion of the conversation which ensued on Paul's -departure, which the reader can reproduce according to his taste or -his memory, that this story has any concern. Annette spoke of her -position, in every aspect with perfect unreserve to her future husband, -and she told him, without anger or vindictiveness, but with a clear -and sensible conviction, that, if the bribe of half her fortune did -not suffice to buy him off, she was sure they would experience active -enmity from the Captain, who would resist to the utmost the deprivation -of his power as her legal heir over her property, and would leave -no effort unmade to dispute her restoration to sanity. She proposed -that George should inform his father of their engagement and of her -apprehensions, and then that he should call on Messrs. Hamber and -Clarke, her father's former solicitors, and ascertain precisely the -amount and conditions of her property; and armed with these sanctions, -that he should demand an interview with Captain Derinzy, who was just -then fortunately absent from home. - -Annette's maid had twice presented herself with an intimation that it -was time Miss Derinzy should dress for dinner, before the interview -of the lovers came to an end. But at length George took leave of his -affianced bride, and turned his steps at once towards the Albany. - -Dr. Wainwright listened to his son's story with grave interest and not -a little amusement. - -"They will take the money," he said, when George had concluded his -recital of the morning's events. "It is too much, too liberal; but -I suppose she must have her own way. You won't have any trouble, I -am pretty sure. Derinzy is a fool in some respects, but in others he -is only a knave, and he won't venture to try to retain his power by -disputing Miss Derinzy's sanity, in the teeth of my testimony; he -will keep the substance, depend on it, and not grasp at the shadow. -And so Miss Derinzy's solicitors are Hamber and Clarke? It's an odd -coincidence," added the Doctor musingly. - -"Why?" - -"Because they are concerned in another case in which we are both -interested. Your poor friend Madame Vaughan's case, George. It is -through them her annuity is paid, and I must say they are capital -men of business, so far as punctual payments and keeping a secret -faithfully are concerned." - -"That _is_ an odd coincidence indeed. You know them, then? Would you -have any objection to call on them with me?" - -"Not the least. I can make time to-morrow morning. They have always -been very civil to me." - -On the following day, the two gentlemen took their way to the offices -of Messrs. Hamber and Clarke, and were without delay admitted to an -audience with the head of the firm, a polite, impressive gentleman, who -heard George's statement of his business in silence, which he broke -only to repudiate with decided eagerness the association of the firm in -any way with Captain Derinzy. They had acted for Miss Derinzy's father -in a confidential capacity for many years, but their trust, with one -exception specially provided for during Mr. Derinzy's lifetime, had -passed into other hands on Captain Derinzy's assuming the guardianship -of his orphan niece. - -This intelligence was grateful rather than otherwise to Paul. If -Messrs. Hamber and Clarke had been Captain Derinzy's solicitors, they -would probably have declined to afford him any information unsanctioned -by their client; but as things were Mr. Hamber furnished him with full -particulars. Acting on Annette's instructions, George informed her -father's old friend of all they had to wish and to fear, and told him -what were Annette's designs, supposing she secured the full personal -control of her property. He was prepared to find these designs treated -as extravagant by a man of business, but also prepared to disregard his -opinion. - -"Derinzy would never venture to fight it out," said the lawyer; "though -if he did, he must be beaten on your father's evidence. There's no -question Miss Derinzy could make far better terms. I understand you, -sir," turning to Dr. Wainwright, "that you are entirely confident of -the cure?" - -"Certainly," replied the Doctor; "there's no doubt about it. Nothing -can be clearer." - -"Then that's conclusive," said Mr. Hamber, "unless, indeed--to be sure, -there's the hereditary taint." - -"Hereditary taint! What do you mean?" asked Dr. Wainwright. "None of -the Derinzy family that I could hear of were ever mad; I investigated -that point closely, when Miss Derinzy first became my patient." - -Mr. Hamber looked vexed with himself, as a man does who has said too -much, or at all events has said more than he intended. He hesitated, -kept a brief silence, and then, taking a resolution, spoke: - -"I think, Dr. Wainwright, you will give us credit for discretion, -so far as you know us. I am of opinion that discretion, like every -quality, may be carried too far. Up to the present it has been our -duty to be silent concerning one particular of our relations with -the late Mrs. Derinzy, but at this point it seems to me our duty to -speak--confidentially, you will understand--to you and your son. Your -object and our wish is to benefit Miss Derinzy, and I think it would -not be fair to her, and therefore, of course, contrary to her father's -wishes, that you should remain ignorant of a fact, the knowledge of -which may modify your proceedings, and alter your judgment." - -"Certainly, you are quite right. We must be perfectly informed to act -efficiently," said Dr. Wainwright, who had felt much compassion for -the miserable anxiety displayed in George's countenance during the -long-winded exordium of Mr. Hamber. - -"Then, sir," said the lawyer solemnly, "it is my painful duty to tell -you that Miss Derinzy's mother is living and is mad." - -"Good God, how horrible!" exclaimed George. - -"Horrible indeed. She was a Frenchwoman, and she became deranged from a -shock, after her child's birth. I suppose the treatment of the insane -was not wise in those days, for she never recovered; and her husband's -horror of the possible effect on the child made him morbidly anxious -to put her out of sight and recollection. It was a bad business, not -intentionally cruel, I am sure, but ill-judged, and she had much to -suffer, I've no doubt. A sum was invested and placed in our keeping, -and the payments are made by us. The poor woman has been very quiet and -happy for a long time, for which I have frequently had your word, Dr. -Wainwright." - -"My word!" exclaimed the Doctor, on whom a light was breaking. - -"Yes, indeed. I am speaking of Madame Vaughan." - -"Of Madame Vaughan!" cried George, in a choking voice, quite unmanned -by this revelation. "Ah, father, then it is no delusion, after all; the -child--the child she is always pining for is my Annette." - -"Even so," said Dr. Wainwright, and laid his hand on his son's arm -impressively. "I don't wonder this discovery should affect you -painfully. But cheer up, George. Remember, this pining for her child -is the only trace of insanity your poor friend has exhibited for -years--has ever exhibited, indeed, within my knowledge. Now we know -this supposed delusion is no delusion at all, but a truth; and I don't -entertain the smallest doubt that Annette's mother is as sane as you or -I." - - - - -CHAPTER THE LAST. -CERTAINTY. - - -Mr. Hamber's opinion was justified by the result--the Derinzys did not -fight. The character of the Captain has been sketched in these pages -to very little purpose, if the reader does not guess with the utmost -readiness that he was entirely indifferent concerning his son's future, -when he had been once and for all thoroughly informed what was the -best he had to expect and calculate upon for his own. In the interview -which had taken place between the Captain and Dr. Wainwright, prior to -Annette's journey to Germany, he had tried to bully the Doctor, with -such utter failure that he bore a salutary remembrance of his defeat -with him to the family council, convened a few days after the visit -made by Dr. Wainwright and his son to Messrs. Hamber and Clarke's -office. - -The subjects to be discussed on this solemn and set occasion were -two--the intended marriage of George Wainwright and Annette Derinzy, -and the "state of things "--which fine distinction in terms had -been cleverly invented by Mrs. Derinzy--between Paul and Daisy. The -combination had come about on this wise: - -When Paul left his mother's house, on the occasion when he had so -gallantly helped his friend and his cousin out of their little -difficulty, he went straight away to the village in Berkshire where -Daisy was staying with an old friend; and having fully explained to -her the present position of affairs, entreated her to permit him to -announce to his parents that their marriage was immovably fixed. Paul -found Daisy looking very handsome, very elegant, and very sweet--if -there had existed a corner of his heart yet uninvaded by her power, -she must inevitably have taken possession of it; but she was changed, -changed in manner, and, as he found when he came to talk to her, in -mind too. - -The self-deception in which the girl had indulged; the false estimates -she had made of life, its responsibilities, and its real prizes; the -sudden shock of the discovery of her great error, which had come to her -with her first glance at Paul's fever-stricken face; the awful danger -from which she had been snatched, a danger confronted with hardihood -it filled her with shame to remember--these things had wrought the -change. Paul did not question or speculate upon its origin, but he felt -its presence with a keen sweet conviction, priceless to him. Daisy -had learned to love him; she would not deliberate now with cold pride -upon the pros and cons of a life to be shared with him; she would not -speculate upon the chances of his repenting, and the certainty of his -family being ashamed of her, as she had done, making him feel that the -canker of worldliness had fastened upon her beautiful youth. Paul was -a careless fellow enough, and as free from anything like heroism or -enthusiasm as the most practical-minded of his friends could possibly -have desired; but he was young, honest, and very much in love; and it -was an unspeakable relief to him to find that the genuine fervour of -his feelings and his hopes was no longer to be checked by caution or -disdain on Daisy's part. She was not gushing, and she was not silly--no -combination of fate could have made Fanny Stothard either--but she was -"pure womanly," and the sweet undefined humility in her manner--of -whose origin Paul must remain for ever ignorant--set the last touch of -captivation to her charms. - -"You did not see my mother, then, to explain anything to her?" -said Daisy, when Paul had told her the story of events, but with -one important omission; he had said nothing of Annette's generous -proposition. - -"No," replied Paul; "I thought it better to wait until I had seen you. -But I shall go to her immediately, and ask her consent." - -"Poor mother!" said Daisy, with a sigh, "she is of a gloomy designing -turn of mind; and I am sure she always had some scheme in her head -about Miss Derinzy, and never intended she should marry you. But that -her daughter should marry Miss Derinzy's cousin----" - -"And have half Miss Derinzy's fortune, if Annette gets her own way -about it!" interrupted Paul. - -"Half Miss Derinzy's! What are you talking about?" asked Daisy, in -utter surprise. - -"There now, my darling, you must forgive me. I could not resist the -temptation of seeing and hearing from yourself that you were not afraid -to marry a poor fellow like me--not afraid to go in for squalls with -a pilot whom you care enough for, not to mind very much whether he is -particularly calculated to weather the storm. It is so awfully jolly -to convict you of reckless imprudence! I really could not resist it; -and so I didn't tell you. We shan't be poor, and we shan't get into -storms--not that kind, anyhow. Annette and George are going to share -with us, Daisy. They have got an unreasonable kind of notion, which -they regard as sound sense, that I ought to be largely compensated -for the loss of a young lady whom no earthly inducement would have -persuaded me to marry, and the deprivation of a fortune to which I had -not the smallest claim. Very well, I'm agreeable. Of course taking half -is all nonsense; but if they will make us comfortable, and square it -with the governor, I don't see why--do you, darling?" - -"No, I don't," returned Daisy promptly. "If I wanted to flatter you, -Paul, and get credit of high-flying sentiment, I should talk nonsense -about love, and poverty, and independence; but I _don't_, not only -because it would not exactly fit in with my former line of opinion, -but because I don't mean to be anything but sensible and _true_. Your -friend and your cousin wish to insure your happiness, and they very -wisely think the first step is to secure you from poverty. I can give -you everything else you want, but I can't give you money. Very well, -then, I am glad that they can, and will." - -Paul returned to town on the following day, and had an interview with -Mrs. Stothard. It was satisfactory; but she made two stipulations. One, -that the fact of Fanny's being her daughter should be communicated to -Captain and Mrs. Derinzy by herself; and the other, that she should -not be expected to reside with Daisy. Paul had no objection to an -unhesitating acquiescence in the latter request. He did not wish for -any third person in his home, and he had always been a little afraid -of Mrs. Stothard--a sentiment which, he felt convinced, would increase -when that lady should have become his mother-in-law. He did not dare -to ask what she intended to do; but he felt a secret curiosity as to -whether she and his mother, whose relations had puzzled him for so -long, would continue to reside together. On this occasion Paul did not -see Mrs. Derinzy. - -His next visit was to George Wainwright, who told him of the discovery -which had been made relative to Madame Vaughan, of which Annette was -still in ignorance. - -"Our best plan--yours as well as mine--is to leave everything to my -father. He is a wonderful man, Paul. I never half appreciated him till -now--not his kind-heartedness, and his energy, and his sympathy, you -know. If he were a lover in difficulties himself, he could not be more -anxious about all this affair, and I don't only mean for me. You have -no idea how much impressed he was by Daisy when you were ill, and how -he liked and addressed her. Of course it is a delicate business to tell -Madame Vaughan that he has found out his mistake, and that her delusion -is no delusion; and equally, of course, it is subjecting Annette to a -severe test, in her newly-recovered state, to tell her that her mother -is living; and their meeting will be a tremendous trial for both. But -then, as my father said, if it turns out well--and he has not the least -fear of it--it will be just the most satisfactory test which could -possibly have been applied--one, indeed, beyond anything we ever could -have looked for turning up." - -"What has your father done?" asked Paul, pardonably anxious to come to -the discussion of his own share in the situation. - -"He has seen Mrs. Derinzy, and arranged a solemn meeting of all parties -concerned for Thursday next, when your father will have to make up -his mind whether he means to fight or to give in; and in the face of -the fact that Annette's mother is living and perfectly sane, and that -Annette is close upon her majority, I do not think there will be much -difficulty; and when he has fought my battle, the Doctor intends to -fight yours; and neither will there be much trouble there, I prophesy, -for Annette will not settle money on you unless you marry Daisy. I have -told our ambassador that you are willing. Did I go beyond the truth, -Paul?" - -Too much affected to speak, the younger man turned abruptly away. - -It has been already said that the Derinzys did not fight. The family -council was a trying ordeal for everyone concerned; but the consummate -tact, the masterly _savoir faire_ of Dr. Wainwright, carried all -parties, himself included, through the difficulties of the position. -Even Captain Derinzy was not visited by a suspicion of his motives: -even that gentleman, whose naturally base proclivities might easily on -this occasion have been quickened by the sympathetic consideration that -he had ineffectually endeavoured to do that very thing, did not venture -to suggest that this was a plan of the Doctor's to marry his son to an -heiress. - -Annette had been on terms of distant civility only with Mrs. Derinzy -since the _eclaircissement_, and no allusion to what had passed had -been made between her and Mrs. Stothard. She was sitting alone, and in -a state of considerable trepidation, listening to the reverberation of -the men's voices in the library, when Mrs. Stothard entered the room, -and addressed her with a very unusual appearance of agitation. In her -hand she held a letter: it was from her daughter. - -"My dear," she said, "I have something to tell you, and I mean to tell -it without any roundabout ways or preparation, which I have always -considered nonsense. You have made a noble offer, I understand, to Paul -Derinzy, in order to enable him to marry the girl he loves. But you -have no notion who that girl is." - -"Yes, I have; she is a Miss Stafford--a very charming person, and most -devotedly attached to Paul. She nursed him through that dreadful fever; -and my aunt has had to acknowledge that there is nothing against her, -except that she is not rich--not quite what people call a lady. She has -been forewoman to some great milliner, I believe--like dear beautiful -Kate Nickleby, you know," said Annette, to whom the matchless creations -of the Master were the friends, the associations, the illustrations of -her every-day life. - -"Yes, yes, you know so much; I am aware of that," said Mrs. Stothard. -"But what you do not know, Annette, is, that this Miss Stafford is my -daughter, Fanny Stothard, and that by the nobleness of your conduct -to her you have won my best affection, have utterly disarmed me--not -towards you, but towards others--and turned the enemy of the Derinzys -into the friend of all whom you care for." - -"The enemy of the Derinzys!" repeated Annette, who had been looking at -her in blank amazement, hardly taking in the meaning of what she said. - -"Yes, their enemy; their enemy for a reason which I need not explain, -which, indeed, I could not to you, but a well-founded one, believe -me. I knew their designs about you, and held them in check all along, -and played a counter-game of my own, while they were playing their -unsuccessful cards; and had the end come as I expected, I should have -defeated and exposed them, and had my revenge; but another end has -come, a widely different end, thank God, and your noble conduct to my -child--your upholding of the obscure, unknown, friendless girl, who -had no claim upon you except the claim so seldom allowed, of womanly -sympathy, and your kindly touch of nature--has softened my heart and -changed my purpose, and henceforth I shall hold you and her equally -dear." - -"Oh, Mrs. Stothard, how could you live without her?--how could you bear -to part with her?" - -"Because we were poor; we could not afford the luxury of a common home. -You have no practical experience of such things, my dear; but they -exist; and they warp one's nature sometimes. I believe my nature was -warped, Annette; but you--your patience, your sweetness, your nobleness -and generosity--have set it right again." - -"And your daughter Fanny is really, really Paul's Daisy?" Annette said, -with a dreamy and surprised delight in her eyes and her voice. "How -delighted Paul will be to hear it, and my George!" - -"They know it already," said Mrs. Stothard; "but I begged that I might -be allowed to tell you myself." - -"When is she coming? Have you told her to come at once? May I go and -fetch her? Where is she? Never mind Aunt Derinzy, Mrs. Stothard; she -will not find fault now; and, besides, the house is _mine_." - -To do Annette justice, she rarely showed any remembrance of her -heiress-ship--never, unless the rights or the interests of another were -in question. - -"She will be in London to-morrow; and if all goes right, she will come -to see you." - -"No, no, that will not do!" cried Annette impatiently. "She shall -not come to see me; she shall come to live here, to be like myself -in everything, and she shall be my sister. I never had a mother or a -sister, you know," continued the girl pleadingly; "and I have very, -_very_ seldom in all my life been able to do anything exactly as I -wished. You won't oppose me in that; I know you will let me have my -own way, won't you? My George is Paul's dearest friend, you know; and -Paul's Daisy shall be mine, though she is so handsome and so clever. I -_feel_ she will love me, and--and--we shall never part until I go to -George's home, and she goes to Paul's; and we shall be married on the -same day." - -When George Wainwright, with the full sanction of the subjugated -Captain, and congratulations as suave as she could bring herself to -make them on the part of Mrs. Derinzy, sought Annette's presence, in -order to tell her to what an entirely satisfactory conclusion the -family council had come, he found Annette on her knees beside Mrs. -Stothard, her smiling face upturned to the features which had lost all -their sternness, and the grave, ordinarily inflexible woman weeping -tears of gladness. - - - * * * * * - - -Dr. Wainwright found himself about this time in an unusual position; -and though he liked it very much, and was conscious that he fulfilled -all the duties which it entailed to perfection, he had no desire to -prolong its responsibilities. The docility of the Derinzys was not to -be surpassed; and the grave elderly physician became the referee of -two pairs of lovers, who looked to him as a beneficent genius, whose -judgment was equal to his generosity. This was pleasant, but it cost -trouble and time; and though the Doctor did not grudge the one, of the -other he had none to spare, and he was not sorry when the time fixed -for the double wedding arrived. Annette had had her way and her wish; -Daisy had come to remain in the house with her; and even the sensitive -girl, to whom congenial companionship and love of her kind were so -strange, could not fail to be content with the affection she inspired -in the so-differently-reared young woman, for whom her good breeding, -her refined, her perfect ladyism, had an indescribable and attaching -charm. - -The Doctor's cases were near their dispersion. All the arrangements -had been made, including one whereby Captain and Mrs. Derinzy were to -be comfortably bestowed in foreign parts. Annette had not yet learned -the truth about her mother, with Madame Vaughan's concurrence. Dr. -Wainwright had made the strange communication to her; and he received -the proof of the correctness of his belief in her perfect sanity in the -reasonable motherly solicitude which she exhibited, the willingness to -wait, to put off the so-long-deferred happiness of seeing her child, -rather than risk the least injury to Annette's health. There must be no -surprises, Dr. Wainwright had said; no _scenes_, if such could possibly -be avoided; and she understood and acquiesced at once. The news had -been to her like a recall from the borders of death. She had rallied -almost into health; her dark eyes were full of bright content, and the -wistful look had left her face. How keenly Dr. Wainwright felt the -extent and importance of the error he had been led into by accepting -the fiat of his predecessor upon the "case" of Madame Vaughan, when -he found the poor prisoner of so many years perfectly tolerant of the -error, and gently grateful for her secluded life! - -"I have been as happy as it was possible for me to be without my -child," she said; "and George has been like a son to me. All has been -well." - -It was the night before the double wedding, which was to be a very -quiet affair. The brides were inspecting their bridal dresses, -displayed upon Annette's bed. They formed a pretty picture, amid the -shiny white, the graceful flowers, the suggestive trifles of ornament -and luxury around. Daisy was incomparably the handsomer; but her -newly-found health and happiness had much beautified Annette. - -"Mamma has told us what she is going to do at last," said Daisy. "She -has settled it all with Dr. Wainwright, and her mind is quite made up. -It seems Miss Marshall, the lady superintendent of the Doctor's asylum, -is going to be married to the resident doctor, and resigns her post. -Mamma is going to take it; she likes the work" (Daisy spoke quickly, -and with her eyes averted from Annette), "and Dr. Wainwright thinks she -will be invaluable to him. So she is to go there to-morrow afternoon. I -don't _quite_ like it; but she is determined, and the omnipotent doctor -well pleased." - -"It is an occupation in which she will be happy and most useful," said -Annette; and she kissed her friend gravely. "I _know_ how fitted for it -she is. It would be well for all the afflicted ones, if such care and -judgment as hers might always come to their aid." - -The conversation of the two girls was interrupted at this point, -perhaps to their mutual relief, by the entrance of a servant who -brought Daisy a letter. She did not recognise the hand. It was not -Paul's; whom, indeed, she had parted with just an hour before. She -glanced first at the signature; it was "John Merton." The brief letter -contained these words: - - -"I have heard the news of your good fortune, and of your intended -marriage, and I can bear to write and congratulate you on both. From -what I could not have endured I have been preserved; and you?--few -have such a rescue to remember with gratitude. If I intrude its memory -ungracefully on such an occasion, forgive me; it is because I would -make you realise thankfully that three lives have been saved. As the -wife of another, a happier and worthier man, as the mother of his -children, I can think of you with resignation for myself, and the -rejoicing of a true and unselfish love for you; and though I do not -think I shall ever love any woman in all my life again, I can wish you -joy, and say from my heart, God bless you!" - -Daisy stood with the letter in her hand, pale and thoughtful, tears -shining in her brilliant eyes. - -"There's nothing wrong, is there, dear?" asked Annette softly. - -"Nothing; it is only a greeting from an old friend." After a pause, -she said thoughtfully: "It is good to have had such knowledge of life -as I have had--I mean for one like me--knowledge which would have done -_you_ nothing but harm, and made you wretched; good to have the means -of measuring one's happiness by what one has escaped." - -Soon after, and with Daisy's grave manner unaltered, the girls parted -for the night. - - - * * * * * - - -On the heights above the broad stream formed by the confluence of the -Rhone and the Saone there are many beautiful villa residences, whose -classic architecture harmonises well with the associations with the -ancient Roman rule, which invest the spot with a charm even beyond -its picturesqueness. From the lofty-pillared facade, and deep cool -porticos, terraced gardens, thick set with trees of southern growth, -descend to the verge of the height, arrested there by crenulated walls, -overgrown with a glorious tangle of roses and laurels, of jasmine and -clematis and passion-flower--the luxuries of our northern clime, but -common there. - -The long ranges of windows in the front of these scattered mansions -look out upon the dim distant Alps; those to the back upon the -vineyards of the Lyonnais, and the rich and spacious plains of -Dauphine". The scene retains the historic interest of the past in the -midst of the refined and cultivated beauty of the present. Amid this -beauty George Wainwright and his wife were to make their home; and -thither they turned their steps within a week after their marriage. -They had travelled by carriage-road from Dijon, George taking pleasure -in pointing out to his wife the scenes, which were all familiar to -him--all equally novel and delightful to her. - -"I am getting anxious about our villa," he said, when only a few miles -lay between them and their destination. "I had a general notion of what -they are like, but I never saw this one. Mathieu is a capital man of -business, however; and I think, if it be ever safe to do a thing of the -kind through an agent, we are safe in this instance." - -"I am certain to like it, George; you need not fear that; and I shall -soon get over the strangeness of having to look after my own affairs. -Only fancy the happiness of settling down in my first home with you! -The servants will be a difficulty; they won't understand _my_ French, -I'm afraid." - -"What would you say, Annette, if you found a most competent housekeeper -there already--a lady whom my father has known for many years, and -has selected and sent out in advance, to have everything ready for -you--what would you say?" - -"That it is like the wisdom and kindness of your father. But you seem -to imply that this lady came from London. Why did I not see her there? -Would it not have been better that we should have been acquainted in -the first instance?" - -"No, my darling; my father thought not. He had good reason. We are -rapidly approaching our home, my own wife" (George encircled her with -his arms as he spoke), "and I have something to tell you which you -could not have borne until now. It is joyful news, Annette. Can you -bear to hear it from me?" - -She looked at him fearlessly, with a candid trusting gaze, which -touched him keenly. - -"I can bear any news, good or ill, which is told me by you; which I am -to hear held in your arms, George." - -"You remember my telling you about my dear old friend, Madame -Vaughan--_Maman_, as she loved that I should call her?--and how you -wanted to be taken to see her, and my father said No?" - -"I remember," said Annette. "Is she the lady, George? Is she quite -well? I shall be so glad if it is so--if this is the delightful -surprise you have had in store for me." - -"She is the lady, darling; but there is more than this to tell you. Do -you remember that _Maman_ had a delusion, as we thought it; was always -wearying and pining for a child, complaining that she had been robbed -of her, but patiently declaring her belief that she should see her -again in this world?" - -"I remember," said Annette, still keeping her fixed earnest gaze upon -her husband. "Has it turned out that this was no delusion? Has she -really a child? has the child been found?" - -"The child is living; her child has been found, and I am taking her -home to her." George Wainwright pressed his wife closely to his breast, -and spoke the remainder of the sentence in a whisper: - -"You are that child, my Annette. Oh, be calm and strong, for the sake -of the husband's love which brings you to a mother's." - - * * * * * - -"Letters from England!" exclaimed Annette on a fine spring day in the -early new year, starting up from the terrace, on which she had been -sitting with her mother, to meet George, who was coming leisurely from -the house with a bundle of papers in his hand. - -"Yes, letters from England; and lots of them. Here's your share; I'll -talk to _Maman_ while you read them." - -Annette crammed all the letters but one into the pocket of her smart -little apron, and walked slowly to and fro reading the exception, while -George took her place beside Madame Vaughan. - -But they did not talk; they were both looking at Annette. She had read -one letter and begun another before either spoke. Then George said: - -"My father is so delighted with my report, he declares he will come to -Lyons himself, in the autumn. Well, what is it?" to Annette, who ran up -to them laughing. - -"Oh George, such fun! There's such a charming letter from Daisy. -The 'season' has begun; and she is going out tremendously; and she -says--but you shall read it all by-and-by--that the fine ladies are -very civil, and have not the faintest notion that she is in the secrets -of their 'get-up,' and tried on their bonnets and fripperies only last -year. And Paul is 'no end of a good fellow'--he shouldn't teach Daisy -slang like that, should he, George? And they are so happy, and they -will come to us at the end of the season. I'm so glad. I don't know -anything about the season; I've an idea it's an awful nuisance." - -"I have an idea you had better read your letters, and not keep _Maman_ -waiting for her drive," said George gaily. - -She flitted off again, and George returned to the subject of his -father's letter. - -"He reminds me how he doubted her recovery on account of the -uncongenial, interested _borne_ atmosphere of her home, and its dearth -of affection and geniality. He is never wrong, _Maman_, never. In -Annette's case, the natural remedy, home, love, healthy occupation, -children--or, let us not be presumptuous, say the prospect of -them--have been successful. The only sentimental aphorism I ever heard -my father use is the truest--'Love is the best physician.' He is always -right, _Maman_." - -"Almost always," replied Madame Vaughan. "He has been perfectly right -in this instance; and, indeed, the only mistake I ever knew him to make -was in my case, when I was Dr. Wainwright's Patient." - - - - -THE END. - - - - ------------------------------------------------- -CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS. - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dr. Wainright's Patient, by Edmund Yates - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. 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