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AWS. "
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fiimiiii,.

(A?,!'i;j:- iri)N"M)i„.!'(xrE

*^ •

r^-

THE CAREER OF MRS. OSBOKNE

'"4

■But ,t -a„s Ian />,>irn :J,o could not speak.

: i

The Career

Mrs. Osborne

CARLETON-MILECETE

AUTHOR OF

"Misa Vandeleuh, Pirate"
ILLUSTRATED BY BAYARD JONES

1903

The Smart Set Publishing Co.

NEW yORK LONDON

COPYRIOHTBD
1901, b ]r
ESS ESS
PUBLISHINQ CO.

COPYRIGHTED
1903, by
THE SMART SET
PUBLISHING CO.

First Printing Stft.

PREFACE.

Thi principal business of a preface is, the
present writers have always believed, to make
some explanation of, or to offer some apology
for, ^he work that follows. But the pages of
this book need no explanation, as the reader
may soon discover for himself; and we have no
intention to apologize if, perchance, we succeed
in bringing a smile to the lips of one who is
so venturesome as to delve into this little com-
edy. This brief foreword, then, has lost sight
of its chief object. We can only wish that some
one may find the pleasure in reading rf Mrs.
Osborne that we experienced in writi,,,. . her.

«S»\*A4,>,k,„,.^

' « • *.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. A Background

II. The Curious Wiltons

III. The Comedy Begins

IV. A Dead Lion .
V. A Breath of Liberty .

VI. The Troubles of a Flat -

VII. The New Beauty .

VIII. A Family Party

IX. Mistaken Identity Again

X. Two social Favorites

XL A Threatened Eviction

XIL The Palace

XIII, A Pair of Buccaneers -

XIV. Explanations - . . .
XV. The Lion Unmasks

XVT. The Passing of the Osbornes -
XVII. The Background Scores

PAGR
»5
30

51
61

94
109

I20
141

»56

167

186
199

-*. •. V. ■* •» • .\ .

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LIST OP ILLUSTRATIONS

•'But it was Van Ingen who could

not speak." .... Prontisficcb

^^i

•* Lady Jane was at home.'

Page 41

••He rushed Mr. Hopkins to the

window." .... p^o, 65

"And she had laughed.

Paoi

loa

'^m

Hatt* thw. Nymph. •»»«* bring w«ih xttm
Jr%t. And youthful JoUlty,
Quipt, Mul CrMikt. siul wMitnn W1«U.
No.»t. and Beck», »nil wtmUiM baulm;
Svich M hmau "n H jb««» ehetk,
And lova to Uva in dirmJa tlMk;
Sport th«t wrinkled C»r« dartdti.
And Uuflhtai holding both hi* #dtf .

MUum-" LAUtgro.'

I
■ i

If '

Porwtrd And froH* (l«t wm tli«f«.
Tht wtll to 4e. ilw MHil to (l«r»

" Udy ol tbt '^*k*.

The Career of Mrs. Osborne

CHAPTER I

A BACKGiOUND

When Captain George Wilton of the Royal
Irish Fusiliers, only son of Colonel and Mrs.
Wilton of The Cedars, Elmhurst, Berkshire,
married an American, his mother fainted.
When, two years after, he sent his wife and lier
sister home from India to reside undrr the
parental rooftree until his return, she fainted
no more. Instead, a fine light of battle rose
in her small brown eyes with the ..dvent of
the two daughters of Heth. They should be
shown what it meant to brave an outraged
English mother in her own drawing-room.

And shown they were throughout an English
Winter, with kind advice and otlwr things that

«5

ZJ^t Career of fiusi. €)0bome

(
I

■

1 1

left them calm as glass, till one night in April,
when Mrs. George Wilton by the light of one
composition candle read and re-read a para-
graph in Fanity Fair.

It was a small thing to rouse the spirit of
the Declaration of Independence in a woman
who had married because she was asked to
marry, and had borne tacitly with the rule of
a mother-in-law because she was asked to bear
with it ; but rouse that spirit it did. Jane Eger-
ton had married with a Background, a gor-
geous tapestry of life with one figure in it.
Even on her wedding day her husband had
been as a faint etching hung on the splendid
color, the too bold lines of that never forgot-
ten Background. And here — the paper shook
in her shaking hand — the Backgrouihl was
alive again; was "become a multi-millionaire
by the tragic death of his unmarried uncle in
the ill-fated S. S. City of Perth; had taken a
house in Grosvenor Crescent and would enter-
tain largely during the season." The new
millionaire was but thirty-three and un-
married.

" Miles," said Mrs. George Wilton to her-

dii

iiS

m^t €axm of savii. €)isbonte

self, " Miles in London! And I'm here, dead
and buried — and married to a Wilton ! " She
wished wildly that she had married a duke or
a Vanderbilt, to be able to meet Miles Van
Ingen and tell him so.

She remembered the last time she had seen
him. It was at church, the evening service.
She could see now that country choir, the
ghostly purples and pinks of the east window
against the dying light outside. It was a queer
way to remember Van Ingen, but it was true ;
just as the walk home afterward was true, and
the good-bye under the big hornbeam by the
gate he had been forbidden to enter. He had
had no money, no more had she — of course
it had been good-bye; he was not the sort of
man to ask a girl to marry him and exist
in a two-by-four house in Brooklyn. But there
was money now, hers as well as his; and —
her thoughts crowded so that she could not
think. Her eyes fell on a paragraph below
the one she had been reading.

Mrs. George Wilton clutched the paper tight
to a leaping heart, stared at her own face in the
glass and turned from absolutely white to scar-

2 17

€lfte Career of fiivsL fDsOmnt

let, and back again. With shoeless feet she
stole along the corridor to the door of her sis-
ter's bedroom and closed it behind her with
elaborate caution.

"Is the oil stove lit?" she demanded.
"Thank heaven!" Rut she stretched her
chilled hands over the hot brass without grat-
itude. Sarah groaned.

" I've spoiled my best dressing gown trying
to abate the smell," .she said. " Does it smell
— much— oilside?"

" Not at all." Jane had been conscious of
paraffin yards down the passage, but why say
so? Were not the Wilton family all in bed
in woolen nightgowns, and safe till morning?
Let it smell.

She disposed herself as near the stove as
iwssible. while a polite clock somewhere rang
half-past twelve. Everything was genteel in
the house of her mother-in-law except her
father-in-law, and he was unspeakable. An
old Indian who does not smoke and never con-
trols his temper usually is. Colonel Wilton
• nanaged his family and his house with a pre-
cision as dull as a Scotch story. The days

■■sm

C^e Career of fMi* €)jeil)ome

at The Cedars rolled by in heavy state, punctu-
ated neatly with meals and finished elegantly at
ten o'clock with the full stop of prayers.

The object in life of Colonel and Mrs. Wil-
ton was to marry their daughters. They said
so in unadorned phrases to their daughter-in-
law and her sister. The two girls themselves
spoke of possible matches with smug smiles.
The smooth garden, the neat fields, the solemn
dinners and the weary evenings all seemed sat-
urated with matchmaking to the two American
visitors, to whom marriage had never been
pointed out as The Only Career of Women.

The two Misses Wilton were considered by
their parents to be " on approval," but the sup-
posed approvers had said nothing — they were
merely constant in coming to tea.

It had struck none of the Wiltons that the
appearance of these male lights on the horizon
was coeval with the arrival of Mr^ George
Wilton and her sister Miss Egerton. Life at
The Cedars did not sharpt.i the wits. No one
ever did anything there but eat, drink and gos-
sip. A letter was an event — to be inquired into.
Heavy puddings at luncheon were followed by

Zjt career of fiitfL ^lOmnt

heavier ones at dinner. There were no duties,
no diversions ; and Jane and Sarah had endured
existence there for months. Their Colonial
blood ran thin in the damp of a cold April,
when they were not allowed fires because the
label of the month was Spring. In boredom
and a raging east wind their noses grew red
and chilly, till Sarah in desperation had in-
vested in her contraband oil stove. But Jane
was oblivious of it now, even while she sat by
It and thawed.

"Sarah," she said, sharply, "are you
happy ? "

Sarah stared at her.

"Happy! After this afternoon? When
Mr. O'Hara ca ne in with his cheerful smile
and his red-gold hair—" warming to her sub-
ject in the malodorous cheer of her cherished
stove and regardless of a certain look on her
sister's face—" and mamma-in-Iaw prepared to
annex him, then it was that he sat down by me.
Think of my daring to appropriate Amelia's
lawful prey ! Mamma-in-law could have killed
me. No wonder she gave us boiled veal for
dinner. For you were no better. She intended

C^e Career of fML f&fOmnt

Mr. Hopkins for Evelyn, and it was you by
whom he seated himself, while his looks— oh,
if his looks had only been turned on Amelia!
But a married woman has no right to looks
from a young man."

"As if I did not hear that every day!"
Jane's voice was dryly indifferent, her frown
contemptuous. " And what do I want of a
Hopkins?"

Sarah shrugged her shoulders.

" He and Mr. O'Hara are all we've had to
keep us alive," she said. *' Not that they're
much pleasure to me. I hate talking to a
man when I am surrounded by females with
their mouths open like young robins. But
we'd have looked well at that ball without
them ! "

For Colonel Wilton had taken his two
daughters, his daughter-in-law and her sister
to the Hunt Ball in haste ; and had repented at
leisure. Jane and Sarah had danced all night
with the men who should have been dancing
with Evelyn and AmeUa. The atmos^^here at
The Cedars had been thunderous since that ball.
Amelia had flashed sheet lightning to the effect

€5e Career of fsitn ^fOmnt

that married women should never go to balls;
they were sold, and no longer " on approval."'
Mrs. Wilton's lightning was the forked form
of regretting the exploring and annexing and
marrymg tendency of young and unprotected
Englishmen in wild regions, such as America.
The insult to her beloved country stung Sarah
now.

" I wish we were in New York." she said,
viciously, getting up and beginning to brush
her waving hair. " But as we're here I sup-
pose we may as well go to bed. There is noth-
ing to get up for to-morrow, but if we don't
sleep we shall look even worse than wc do.
Your nose was bright red to-day when the
drawing-room was so cold." Sarah was vilely
truthful.

But truth was what Jane had come for.
She stood up in her white dressing gown, her
throat rising very straight and round out of
its lace and chiffon, her eyes hard, her young
shoulders held superbly.

" Sarah," she said, " look at me— look hard.
Do you think I'm good-looking? I don't mean
pretty, I mean— more."

Zl^t career of ffixn* i)0bonte

Sarah's brush waved in mid-air.

" I always said you were a fool to throw
yourself away on George, even if it was while
we were poor," she said, with the composure
of contempt. " You know you're lovely ; you
always were, even at fifteen. Why do you want
me to tell you so ? " She looked clear-eyed at
Jane as she spoke, at her chestnut-brown hair,
her brown eyes, her exquisite azalea-colored
cheeks ; saw, as the world saw when Jane Wil-
ton passed by, her grace, her carriage, her air
that was half princess and half child. " Much
good it has done you to be beautiful," she
added, huskily, though she liked George. Per-
haps she knew too well why Jane had married
him.

But Jane's eyes only brightened.

" That's all I wanted to know," she re-
turned, coolly, and sat down. " No woman's
beautiful for nothing — when she knows it. It's
going to do this much good, it will get us away
from here. You said there was nothing to
get up for, and no joy in life — but there shall
be." She threw back her head with confidence,
as became a woman who had always been

rS^^ **"' " ■" ♦ ^^'--m^^

'^f

etc €mn of jutji g>rtorn e

lovely. " Wc will go away from here. We
will take a flat in London."

" Take a flat ! " with an incredulous glare.
Take a flat," firmly, " in London. Wc will
live by ourselves, do everything, go every-
where." She swept her hand comprehensively
round the horizon.

" We can't," said Sarah, crushingly. " You
know they'd never let us go."

"Look here; did you ever read 'Uncle
Remus'.""

Sarah nodded.

" Well, when he was just driven to desper-
ation he ' lammed aloose,' and so shall I We
might know plenty of nice people in England.
We 11 never see any here."

"Men." Sarah's tone was soft and thought-
ful. *

" Well, men. if you like," unabashed. " But
people, not monsters. Anyhow, we are going
up to town next week to take a flat near a
woman who's a relation of ours, quite a grand
person and a beauty."

Sarah gasped.

CQe Career of fUtiL tf>iaome

"What's her name?" ihe demanded.
" Whom do you mean ? *'

"Jane Oiborne," with lofty calm.

Miss Egerton sat paralyzed. When she
tpoke it was in an awestruck whisper.

•• But she ••

" Yes, I know," stolidly. " But the Wiltons
don't. And I sha'n't tell them much about her.
I don't want them to hunt her down ana spend
all their waking hours calling on her when they
go up 10 town."

" But she can't be in London; she "

'* She can, just as well as we can. Are you
an idiot, Sarah? Don't you remember New-
port ? She was useful enough there."

Sarah bounced in her chair.

" For two days," she said, solemnly. " And
this isn't Newport. And do you imagine you
can choke the Wiltons olT her — let alone any-
one else ? "

" I can — just because this isn't Newport.
London's a big place ; they won't move in Mrs.
Osborne's set. They'll never see her."

Sarah broke into wild laughter.

"A beauty I" she gasped. "Oh, I'm not
25

U.lm^„l ,l„„l< „ j„„j. J,,,, , ^^^.^ ^^

•• V...I will by-and-byc. Do,,', you «, «..
nnist have somm^n*? i- ^"" »cc we

H . ■""" """■ ' »'•»" have a

"7 ''•""''' »■« »'V here? These people are
«"..„,. .„„, a, , hey dare ,„ be, Pra' .h^

" «> 'h« we re goinR, ami that we've a
cous,,,, Mr,. Ostorne, ,„ ,...|,e „, „„ J/ J
«.nr Theyl|bcfr,gh.e„edofher,too C„m

"AndlVV" •■■ '"" ""n?" breathlessly.
^ And why do you wan. her to come .0 Lo„.

"Because she', a period," darkly, "and

you II know soon enough why,,, J; her™
you don't now." '

"SowilIGeorgc."dryIy.",vhen he arrives
26

«5e career of f^ns. oiOiame

from India and find* us in town instead of
under his paternal roor"
Jane's face went white with passion.
" Let George alone. I'm tired of this ctcr-
nal George <linne<l at me. I Ic would marry mc
—oh, I know he's dear .nnd nico and sweet, but
I want to live. I want to Iw free. I never had
any youth, you know I never had. I'm going
to use what's left while I can— 111 have forty
years to live George's life. Now I'm going
to live my own. with Mrs. Osborne and you.
Besides." her voice was lowered again. " I can
say I really couldn't stand George's |)eoplc. I
hop* he'll never grow like them."
Sarah reflected.

" He did look like his mother once, the wet
day he made you wear rubbers," she said.
^ " No, he didn't. Sarah." sharply. " Besides.
I'd rather go away and be killed for it than
stay here, for I should be certain to go mad
or get very plain. We'll go as soon as I can
get a— a roof to cover us in town. As for
George, it will be time enough to worry about
confessing to him when I have .something to
confess." with a pale smile. " We didn't come

<» career of jUra AOmte

to Englind to be »hut up in jail; wc came to
enjoy ourielvei. And were going to do it
through Mr.. O.borne. For if I told the bare
truth about being bored here and wanting to
be amuMMl. ^frs. Wilton would tend me to a
hinatic asylum. She has taught me to be a
har already; if I „ayed here .hed teach me to
be a murderer. I am going to * lam aIoo»e '
and, incidentally, pay Iwck every insult she has
put on us. Of course." with lofty virtue " I
•hall not do anything I'd mind confessing to
George." *

She gathered her dressing gown about her
«» »hc prepared to slip cautiously back to her
own room; the paper she had brought with her
fell on the cari)ct-she had got all s»v wantc!
out of it.

Sarah put out the oil stove and got into bed
hy the li^ht of the one candle with which she
nightly ruined her eyes in the effort to read a
sufficiency of cheerful literature to counteract
the effect of the day on her mind.

" Don't worry." she remarked, disposing her
Pdlows high. •• You'll do enough-but you
won't confess it." and she smiled the smile of

UiiHi^afi

Utf^AAHUb.

C^e €^tm of ffitn. ^)Aome

•eoirity in the dim light. She be»towc<l no
thought wna ever on Mrt. Oihorne. The fan-
ity Fair J:\'\e had left behinci caught her eye
where it lay humped on the flixir. ami sfie
clawed it with a long arm. It was folcletl back
at the two paragraph* Jane had rea«l— and not
mentioned. At the first Missi Kgerton startetl
with enlightenment ; the second she read aloud
to her empty nwm and her one candle :

Thtrt <• «n unpurallelcd opening <n town thii wMon
for a ni-w btauty. It is mUI, «»iove a whinper, th«t there
will not be ■ «Ubut«nte poMemetl even of averaKe goo<l
looki ; and for th«»^ who are not d^tmtantes it ia per.
Biitted to My that it i> a long time since they have worn
their baby ahoea. A new beauty, real and undeniable,
and tranMtlantic for choice, would have the ball at her
feet this year. TranaatUntic, 1 say, because we all know
how fvw qupfitioDA are asked about Besuty Yiacked by
Dollars and untrammeled by the ' Almanach de Cotha."

" Mrs. Osborne! " said Sarah, in an eldritch
whisper. " Goodness gracious me ! "

CHAPTER n

THE CURIOUS WILTONS

Sarah sat surrounded by Wiltons in a room
that was stufify in spite of being chilly. She
was ostentatiously doing needlework, but she
wore her best manner nervously, for Jane had
gone to town the day before, and the atmos-
phere of The Cedars was straining to the nerves
when taken undiluted.

"I wonder how Jane's toothache is?" she
remarked, tentatively. " I think I will go down
to the village and send her a wire."

Mrs. Wilton turned from her writing table
with smooth disapproval.

" Oh, why go out? The roads are so damp
after last night's storm."

" Storm ? Oh, but there wasn't any storm,"
with wide eyes.

" There was heavy rain," decidedly. " But

if you think it necessary to telegraph," with

Clfte Career of fikx%. o^bome

emphasis— wire was a vulgar term, even com-
mercial—'* I V,.. , nn „p this form for you, and
James can ikc it to Hit ' illage."
"I shoui , [u<t the wi'lk," faintly.
^ " Oh, but i tniuk you walk far too much.
You keep yourselves thin, you and Jane, with
your ene getic ways." eying Sarah's slight and
languid figure with disapproval. " Shall I
write 3'our telegram ? "

" Please don't trouble. I can go down this
afternoon."

"You are so independent," Mrs. Wilton
murmured, sweetly.

Sarah fidgeted. Why had she been such a
fool as not to go to town with Jane ? Her head
ached in the closeness and her arms crept with
gooseflesh in the sunless room. Mrs. Wilton
never admitted the sun into her house— it faded
the carpets.

"If you want to go out, perhaps you would
go into the garden with Amelia and pick some
flowers," with kindly concession.

" I am not going to do the flowers this morn-
ing," said Amelia, looking up from a nightmare
of blue embroidery that she was making lurid

~T «..-

C^ie career of fUtfL mhotnt

with red and yellow. " They were done the
day before yesterday. But presently I am
going to pick slugs off the anemones. Sarah
might come and help me there if she likes.

Sarah shuddered. The fat, slimy things that
were soft and cold through her glove, the jar
of salt and water to which they must be con-
signed, made her ill.

" I—I don't think I'll go out this morning,
thank you, Amelia," she uttered, faintly. Bet-
ter a thousand miles of elegant embroidery than
half an hour bent double in the exciting slug
chase. " My head aches to-day. I think I'll
go and take a powder."

" I do not think it can be good to take drugs
for headache, my dear Sarah." Remonstrance
was the breath of life to Mrs. Wilton. " Try
to bear it and it will pass away."

" Those long walks you and Jane take must
be bad for you. Evelyn and I never walk, it is
so tiring." Thus Amelia.

Sarah bent her eyes firmly on her work, her
small, pale face quite expressionless. " If you
would walk, or ride, or bicycle, or something,
you might not be so unbearable to live with,"'

p'l

ci^e Career of iiirjj. flDjSbonte

she thought, passionately. "If something
doesn't happen soon I shall scream. I know I
shall."

There was a little stir in the room a serv-
ant came in bearing a note, a very large note on
a very small tray. The weary Sarah did not
look up. No one ever wrote her any rotes at
The Cedars.

" You can bring it to me, James," Mrs. Wil-
ton spoke condescendingly, for James was pass-
ing by her.

" It is not for you, m'm," uncomfortably.
James was a new importation and still had no-
tions of the rights of property,

Mrs. V^^'ion's brow clouded and then cleared
magnaij y.

" If it .. lor Miss Wilton she is with the
Colonel in his study."

James was determined if trembling.

" It is for Miss Egerton, m'm."

Sarah started violently. With a trembling
hand she took the large white note from the
tray. Why had he used so monogramed an
envelope? Why sent it by hand ? Oh, ifj^ne
were only here I She rose to leave the room.
3 33 •

•fi

Cje Career of jarn ^lOmnt

in
1'^

" Pray open your letter, my dear."
"Fancy your retting a note! You don't
know anyone in the neighborhood— at least,
not well." Amelia gazed at the letter with
curiosity, but Sarah had clutched the mono-
gram to her palm. "What can it be? An in-
vitation ? "

"Hardly, my dear Amelia. Sarah would
only be asked anywhere as belonging to our
party. Pray open your note, Sarah; we are
quite dying of curiosity."
" Don't you know who k's from, Sarah?"
Miss Egerton's drooping soul rose to arms.
She was under no obligation to tell the truth to
Amelia. With a calm eye and a careful hand
she opened the exciting letter, and for one in-
stant sat appalled.

This is to warn you that I am asked over to luncheoa
I must see you and hear your plans. I met your sister
yesterday and went as far as the junction with her. She
seemed in great pain, and told me she found this air too
relaxing, and thought of taklu- a flat in town. O'Hara
•nd I are going up in a day or two. Do tell me your
plans. She was looking wretched.

"She I" And this was Amelia's supposed
34

Ctie Career of fsixsL iOsibmit

adorer! Coming to luncheon f He would talk
about Jane. How was she to stop him ?

" Well, my dear, have you solved the mys-
tery? Is your letter from the rectory . " Even
a Yankee connection may be allowed to have
notes from the parson's wife.

Sarah's blue eyes met Mrs. Wilton's small
brown ones without a tremor. " My note is
from Mrs.— Osborne." And if she faintly hes-
itated before the name no one observed it.

"And who is Mrs. Osborne, my dear? "

'' We don't know any Osbornes," in unison.

"She is an American—" once launched
Sarah was floating nobly-" a great friend of
ours."

" Oh ! I suppose she is staying in the coun-
try somewhere?"

The desperate Sarah, slipping the mono-
gramed note wrong side up into a safe pocket,
supposed she was.

" I shall ask Mr. Hopkins if ne knows her;
he is coming to luncheon." Mrs. Wilton purred
with excitement. " Amelia, go and put on that
pale-green frock of } jurs. Dear child ! " as the
obedient Amelia departed, "she looks so

Cl^e Career of ffitfL iflOiOome

springlike in it. I always say anyone can wear

blue." Sarah wore it all day and every day.

" It needs a complexion to wear green."
Sarah was spared a reply by the arrival of

Mr. Hopkins, which did not raise her depressed
spirit. But she forgot his being small and
fussy, because he bore a friendly face; even his
blue serge clothes she looked on kindly, till
after luncheon. After luncheon they played
croquet. Sarah soon saw why Mr. Hopkins
had proposed it, for he hit no ball but hers.

" Dear lady, I must speak to you." He set-
tled his ball with care. " Or would you write
to me?"

" Colonel Wilton looks over every letter in
the postbag."

"Let me meet you somewhere in the vil-
lage."

" With all the family at my heels," dryly.
" I'll write you to-morrow, then."
" For heaven's sake, never write again ! "
But I must know when you are leaving.
Your sister said you would tell me. I'll send
a boy for a message."
" Don't send any boys to me" furiously.
36

Cl^e Camv of flitn. fDOmnt

It was all very well that Mr. Hopkins and
Mr. O'Hara should follow them to town as use-
ful adorers, but they should do no more; she
would nU have them sitting at the door of her
flat till she wanted them. Besides, for all she
knew Jane's town plans comprehended neither
a Hopkins nor an O'Hara.

" It is of no use asking me things," she said,
sternly. "I don't know what we arc going
to do. But we'll write to you from town. I
can't write a letter here without being asked
why I'm writing; I can't go out without being
told not to tire myself and asked where I'm
going; I can't even say 'No, thank you,' to
pudding. And if you want to say anything to
me, don't whisper. You do growl so when you
whisper I "

"Dear Sarah does get so excited about
games. She is so energetic about everything,"
said that Spring Iamb Amelia to Hopkins as he
returned to her side.

And Mr. Hopkins made no reply.

1 11 lur i i i ti i ji i ii

"■^■^*"'"-^""'-

If H

CHAPTER III

THE COMEDY BEGINS

Miss Egerton sprawled on the sofa in a
furnished flat in the suburb of West Kensing-
ton and surveyed her sister. To arrive at a
servantless abode after dark was not her idea
of " lamming aloose," and she said so.

Jane laughed.

" I am going to call on my godmother this
morning," she said.

" She won't know you from Eve."

" So much tht better," with a little laugh,
" You wait," and she vanished.

The godmother was Lady Jane Mandeville,
daughter of the Earl of Shropshire and wife
of Sir Richard Mandeville, late Ambassador at
Washington and a power in the land.

Sarah thought, and said nothing. She
would make a divine wife for some man some

one Cimr o( jria g)ttome

day; this capacity for holding her tongue would
be a prtceleu benefit to her husband. Of courie
•he was well aware that Jane's visit to her god*
mother was the result of but one fact— the pres-
ence of Miles Van Ingen in town. But Sarah
had none of the qualities of a missionary ; she
had no sermon to preach. However, she would
take good care that Jane's little ship should not
fly the pirate flag too long or get into troubled
seas. For the rest— well, she as well as her sis-
ter had the " wander lust " in her blood after
her course of Wilton society.

Mrs. George Wilton emerged from her coup6
at Lady Jane's house in Prince's Gardens look-
ing a vision in frills of soft lace and dull-pink
muslin and a hat solely constructed of apple
blossoms that would have made a Devonshire
apple tree look as if suffering from blight.

Lady Jant was at home. She did not re-
member her goddaughter, but as Jane had been
exactly two when the Ambassadress left Wash-
ington she had not expected an affectionate
greeting. No one with a figure more like a
hippopotamus than any other living thing can
possess the memory of a Royalty. She prompt-

1 1 i

€te Cimt or mn. tMnm

\y explained that the was one of the goddiugh-
teri.

Lady Jane began with the painfuHy affable
•mile the had acquired in the early days of her
husband'i career, but she gradually succumbed
to the charm of the girl, and waxed natural.

" Was your father the copper Egerton. or
the oil, my dear? " she inquired.

" Neither," said Jane, firmly. " He was the
Senator."

" Oh, of course ! " cheerfully. " I know all
about you now. You must forgive me for my
want of memory. After I left Washington I
1« .'led my work better, and I kept a book.
'1 nere were so many babies wherever I went,
and I am a wretched hand at names," plain-
tively. " I never could tell them apart unless
their mothers were with them." She sighed,
and then her face yt up. This girl was more
than pretty, and had come just in the nick of
time to save l.er trouble. Sir Richard Mande-
ville was rather a bother to his obedient spouse,
and that very morning had told her her parties
consisted of the ugliest women in London-
adding that he knew why, with a sneer. She

'l.iuiy June \as at lumi,:

I ^

!«-^^«%"r -.i.;.

C^ Camr of iKvi. OAome

had not •niwcrcd him ; her ptttion for her too
•morout lord hid only lurvivcd lutticicntly to
nuke her with to keep him innocently amuicd,
and here was the mean* at her hand.

" Of cour»e you married Osborne," she taid.
and plainly Mr«. Osborne's name was not un-
known to her, for she nodded approval.

Jane sat in scarlet silence, and then nodded
like a mandarin. It was not she who had told
■ lie.

•• Well, you are not * Plain Jane,' as they
used to call me in the days of my youth f You
will have a great success here, I foresee that.
You are lucky to be a widow and so fascinat-
ing. I am very glad to see you," and she was
— it would take Richard off her mind.

" I am giving a ball next week ; " her playful
manner was almost elephantinely ridiculous.
"You must come. I love pretty people, and
your women do know how to dress. I yearn
to have a beauty at my shows." Here Lady
Jane beamed with great amiability. "You
must let me see a lot of you and your com-
panion. Did you say she was your cousin ? "

" No," replied Jane, truthfully, if reluctantly.
41

f *;*4-4^a.^V»i,»-.'»^-*^ ,

■ ...^'Mta.^u,^^*. »"» ».^A fc^.k.-««««-, . -...v

«^»-^ «fc -■•» .Va

C^e Camr sT fiut, dHibonie

f i

But her godmother did not wait for explana-
tions. Sir Richard had killed her taste for
them-— he had so many for one sin, and all so
different, that it was not surprising.

" You must let me launch you," was all she
said.

Jane laughed for joy, It was such plain
sailing, and she did so long to be happy and
forget the whole duty of woman as preached
by the Wilton family. She rose to go.

"Good-bye, dear." Lady Jane kissed her
new-found godchild with effusion. She had a
meeting at two on the disposal of superfluous
women, and the thought was depressing. How
could she, one of the most superfluous of
women, dispose of the others ?

But Jane departed feeling as if someone were
waving chiffon through her cloudy brain. She
paid a mysterious visit to a house-agent, and
wrote a note to Lady Jane, after securing a fur-
nished house and its stamped note paper.

Lunch time had long passed when Mrs.
George Wilton arrived at her suburban flat, to
find Sarah yawning in a big chair by the win-
dow.

. ■.»«.-■,.-, a ^

C^e Cateer oT fRxn. ftHOmtn

" You've been away a century," said Miss
Egerton, crossly. " I suppose she kicked you
out. Your frills weren't wasted on her foot-
man, I dare say. Did she make you feel small ?
Oh, I've been so bored! I have had nothing
to do but count fourteen women with purple
faces playing tennis in the square, and each
one's skirt was four inches longer in the back
than in the front. Why docs the suburban
woman think there is something immoral in
a smart short skirt ? "

" Eve did not bother about her toilet or the
lack of it till she met the devil," said Jane, sen-
tentiously. " They haven't met him. Nowa-
days it is worse to be suburban than American ;
even Colonials are better than dwellers in Su-
burbia."

" I don't want to hear about Imperialism,"
said Sarah, petulantly. " I want to hear your
adventures. And I may as well tell you, I
won't live here I "

'* You needn't," said Jane, concisely. " She
asked us to a ball next week. Have you a
gown?"

"Have I a gown? I've four gowns. Did
43

^t€mtt or iKtu. ^>iamnt

she really ask us ? It is-" in a tone of concen-
tratcd fear—" all right?"
Jane nodded.

" You see before you— Mrs. Osborne!" she
said. " Lady Jane says so."

"What?" The gentle Sarah's voice was
slightly shrill.

" It must be Osborne, or no ball." Jane's
voice was languid. " And I've taken a house
in Eaton Place."

"I see: 'no ball.' like cricket! Yet, after
all, what's in a name?— except to the Wiltons.
But Mr. Van Ingen," brutally, " where does he
come in ? "

" Don't know till I see him," coolly, though
her face flushed.

"And this flat?" stupidly.

" Is for Wilton letters and Wilton visits,"
quietly. " We put a maid in it and come and
go as it is necessary. No Wilton shall ever
see Mrs. Osborne— or Lady Jane."
^^ "Oh!" said Sarah. She rose with a skip.
" Well, now let us think what I shall wear to
the ball. Blue? Yes, blue, the immortal crea-
tion of my dear Paquin." And as Jane had
cast care away, so did she, to all appearance.

CHAPTER IV

A DEAD UON

The rooms at Lady Jane's were full, very
full; yet the new goddaughter was noticed,
most carefully noticed. The fame of the for-
tune of Jane Osborne had crossed the Atlantic,
but wealth at a distance is not really interest-
ing, and in this case distance had lent disen-
chantment, for certainly no one had ever heard
of her good looks. Now the view was too al-
luring.

Mrs. Osborne wore white, white with the
shine of moonlight on it, and in her eyes, too,
was moonlight. She had plenty of partners,
and if she kept some blanks in her card
no one saw them. She stood discoursing to
Sir Richard Mandeville, who, of all men in
London, had the most brains and the quickest
eye for the charms of a woman. But in spite

''■'•■'-^"'-^■''''■'''''^'■"^''^"'^■^"'■^'^^^^ ,

Ctie €axm of ffivfL fDiOmnt

I J

of his outspoken admiration she was bored, and
more. Her eyes ached with looking for the
man she had come to find; and her heart, too,
ached, in spite of the introduction to the great
world her godmother had given her that night.
As her host led her through the hall they were
mobbed by a well-bred crowd, whose stares
at the new star were too intent to be reassur-
ing to Jane, even though her companion en-
joyed them.

" They are worse than a mob of cattle look-
ing at a red umbrella," said she, calmly.

Sir Richard laughed, being for once grate-
ful to his wife.

" You are the red umbrella," he said.

She did not hear him. She saw a man lean-
ing against the wall. He was tall, with sleepy
gray eyes that she knew could sparkle like the
sea in the sun; and his clean, hard chin with
the little cleft in it, his determined mouth, were
printed on her heart with indelible distinctness.
That mouth had spoken the awful words that
turned life into ashes for Jane Egerton, when
he had said he never meant to marry, and said
truly. The Wild World was his everlasting

f '

C»e €$mt of jtttn iDfixmt

portion— the sea, the sound of wind in the rig-
ging, the rip of the paddle, the sleep under the
stars. All these things made life for him, not
the arms of a woman, even of the woman he
worshiped. If he could have had all, indeed f
But to the poor man only one thing comes, and
Van Ingen chose his— with soft words, yet he
chose it. Now that he was a millionaire, the
woman who looked at him knew a choice was
no longer necessary. For her, life with him
would have been heaven. It is always so when
a woman plays the game of life with gold and
the man plays with counters. Her admiring
companion, who knew he was one of the most
attractive men in London, was quite happy,
even to beaming at Lady Jane. To his wife's
goddaughter he was only a little pebble on the
side of the river of life, and while she pre-
tended to listen to him her eyes looked long
and long at the man against the wall. As if
he had suddenly awakened from sleep, Van
Ingen started. For a moment the two pairs of
eyes were locked; the next he was through the
crowd and at her side.
" Ah, Van Ingen, I see you know Mrs. Os-

C^e Career of ifttn i2)jaortie

( i

borne! " said Sir Richard, genially. He was
surprised to find the two acquainted, but as
he had to join his wife to welcome Royalty he
bowed the celebrated bow that had reduced the
hearts of so many women to pulp, murmured
he hoped she would remember her promise to
him of the tenth dance, and vanished. Mr.
Van Ingen took Mrs. Osborne's hand and put
it on his arm. He held it rather high, close to
his side; and she felt his heart beating like a
trip-hammer. Without speaking they went
down the steps to a little door that led to a tiny
garden— empty as Paradise.

" The grass is wet." Mrs. Osborne hesi-
tated on the edge. Did she fear the dampness
for her feet, or the darkness of the shadows for
her heart?

In the dim light of the fairy lamps Van In-
gen took her up in his arms and carried her
to a couple of chairs in the shadow. He trem-
bled a little as he put her down gently, and his
old tyrannical, barbaric love for her swept over
him like a wave out of a smooth sea.

From the doorway Sarah saw him. No one
else did, for Miss Egerton blocked the view—

Cte Career of iftrn t>iamnt

shouJders were worn wide t:.at year. She
turned so sternly that her partner asked her
what was wrong.

" Not the ice." replied she. " It was very
good. I am thinking of the proverb: * Better
a living dog than a dead Hon.* "

" What do you mean by it? " asked the be-
wildered man.

" I mean that it is better to risk everything
to find out that the lion you worship is dead
than it is to worship him as a live, far-away
king with whom you lived in the past. Most
men— most lions— sign their own death war-
rant, because no lion can live and be good in a
cage."

"You mean they bite their keepers?" said
the man.

"Exactly," she assented. "And then one
loves one's own dear, gc d dog again."

" A pet lion often leaves a scar," with a
laugh. " He gets too aflfectionate, he "

"Oh, no, he can't!" interrupted Sarah.
Perhaps she was chilly, for she shuddered as
she continued her reflections to herself.

"Jane can keep her head," thought she.
* 49

MMta

■' « i ■«* ■ (Mi;

,m « ii j i j'n'

€»e €mn of jUgi; tMamt

' Van Ingen always was peculiar. Hcwutoo
uiwelfiih ages ago. and unielfishnew in a man
It usually inspired by poverty in the girl.
Therefore he will probably be selfish now; he
w,Il believe that he has never forgotten his love
^or Jane. And as he takes love in long
draughts, just as he takes his excursions in^
the wiW places of the earth with all his
■trength. there'll be trouble."

Van Ingcn did not ask Mrs. Osborne any
hITau ^°"l^ *^' ''' '^" ^^^^^'"^ them

define anTHH*^"' '" ''°"^ "^'^ J*"* ^•»-
deville. and d,d not want to be told the detail.

nit him'"' ^'^'^»^^«"^-<» her husband,

CHAPTER V

A BMKATH OW UBIBTY

" A»i these all the letters? " Jane looked at
the one maid with her lovely smile.

"Yes, m'm. The two gentlemen who
called—" The maid hesitated almost stupidly,
though she was not at all a stupid girl. It was
only that she had never imagined anyone so
beautiful as her new mistress looked to-day.
It was not Mrs. Wilton's clothes— they were
plain enough, nor her hat— which was not, but
herself. Her rose-and-white smile, the soft
starriness of her eyes, her radiancy that seemed
to light the dingy little narrow pa ^,.. • She
was good-looking when she eng.iged me,"
thought the dazed Adams, " but she ; a thou-
sand times more so now." Then she realized
that she had stopped in the middle of a
sentence. " They were very sorry not to find
you at home," she ended, hastily.
"You said ?"

■* i». i < ll> W>i > ni l

•!•*»

Cte €mn or futn. €>«nm

Y«i, m'm. Ai you told m«."

Mri. Wilton nodded.

" Then tea, pletse. Adams," and the fol-
lowed Sarah into the microscopic drawing-
room. It looked very unused for the abode of
a fortnight, and this rather struck Jane. '* We
ought to get more s ttled looking, really," ahe
Mid. •• You know. Sarah, we've been here
long enough."

Sarah made no answer, but stretched herself
on the solid sofa with a reckless display of
faultless shoes. " Jane, will you ever forget
The Cedars' farewell? Colonel Wilton's pon-
derous growls in the background were really
like distant thunder. How could you be so
brave as to Ic-ve? I should have w-pt and re-
mained."

'•It was I supplied the lightn ,^." grimly.

Dont thi:k about it." and she recklessly
pushed her best bodice into a drawer too smaU
for it.

Across the garden were other flats in other
high brick mansions, and ever since the impos-
ir- arrival of two smart young women and
wuiidcrful dressing bags at No. i6, Rossetti

-^ (».. •U,*..*,^ ^,

fSTlUMim'Vfi

C^e €mn or fM. HHOmm

Mansiont, a lady with an opera glass had been
enraged in sUring in at their windows from
the flat opposite. Sarah observed her with dis-
approval.

" I shall give that old person something to
see," she said, and lit a cigarette in front of the
window with a joy only marred by being una-
ble to see the countenance behind the opera
glasses. " What was in the letters? '■ she in-
quired, suddenly.

" Nothing. Just settling for to-night, and
iorry to have missed us when they called. It's
lucky they write more letters about themselves
than Horace Walpole, or they might have gone
on missing us. I could have borne it," dryly
" if they had stayed with Amelia."
Sarah's lip straightened.
" I think they'll be refreshing." she said, just
as dryly. " At all events, they have come up,
and as we have to dine with them we may as
well think we like it. Perhaps you'd rather be
dining with Royalty, but I wouldn't. Give me
my little amusements."

Jane chuckled. Somehow it was very funny
—Jane Wilton coupled with Royalty.

^» €$mt or jlita gxtwrne

/ I

%: m r
O.I it*.

I wouldn't, for that would plctie th«

They'd be much aiif rier at my din-

estaurant with their Mcred Hopkins.

4St leven ! Come and dreii. It will

•nt hiPtt to get ui into Charlet street

by I qu..rii^-pa * '' ht."

If t.v,k . Hying departure, indeed, that

mnri I. , ved the trifling fact that
tve.v derM.c.. , . the flat was observing their
ex.i with deep interest. Jane had taken a sub-
urhan flat, thinking it would be more retired,
qu.cter. She had made no allowance for sub-
urban curiosity The neighbors gazed with
disapproval at Jane's curled head and Sarah's
high-heelecl shoes as they disappeared into the
hansom. A man standing at the nearest point
of vantage caught the name of the restaurant
where they were dining, flung out in Jane's
high, sweet voice as she dros e oflF, and he whis-
tled to the empty air.

Meanwhile the unconscious dames drove on
joyfully. How shocked, how ill would their
relations be if they could only see theml

" And what have you been doing? " inquired
the ambrosially arrayed O'Hara at dinner.

C^e €mn or 0Lt$. €>0mm

" You ought to have done all »ortt of things
in thii fortnight. Ha\"e you been aikcd about
much? Or do you want to be? Would you
go to the Duchcsi of Atton't dance if I got
cards?"

"VVett Kensington flats aren't asked to
duchesses'." Jane laughed her lovely laugh as
she said it. "No, no! Don't get us cards for
anything. We'd rather just dine quietly with
you and Mr. Hopkins." The heart of Hopkins
bounded. " When you go to the Duchess's we
will sit quietly in our suburb and imagine you."
" You'll have to imagine very hard. I sha'n't
go where you are not going. As for Hopkins,
he never goes out."

Something like relief lighted Mrs. Wilton's
eyes.

" Bores me," said Mr. Hopkins. " Tired of
their old beauties and don't want to be of their
new ones—all paint and French dressmaker! "
He looked at Jane's clean cheek and sweetly
simple little gown. "Though there's the
usual story this year. They say— well, they
say she's a revelation ! But I don't believe it."

The azalea face his eyes were on paled a lit-

^^mtt or ffittL tf)tfiortie

tit. With the Background in town and
"entertaining Iargei>." Mrs. George WUton,
who could never go to his parties, had per-
haps no desire to hear of the woman who
could.

" I'm told she really is exquisite—" O'Hara
was a great man for justice. " I must meet
her! The new American millionaire is running
her. At least, the millionaire's supposed to
have discovered her, though he keeps mightily
m the background and swears he hardly knows
her."

Only Sarah knew what sick apprehension
made the quick coldness in Jane's voice.

" What's her namer " she said. She drank
cold Water thirstily. The Background must
love a woman if he would Ke for her. It made
her murderous to think of any other woman's
lips at his.

"Name? Osborne, Mrs. Osborne. She—
What's the matter?"

Mrs. Wilton had dropped her glass, and her
sister thought she could see her heart leaping
under the crepe bodice.

"Mrs. Osborne! Is she your new beauty?

Z^t career or fm. tf)jaortie

Why," with a laugh of wild relief, of pleasure,
for the Background was welcome to a woman
like Mrs. Osborne, " she's not a beauty at alll
I don't call her even good-looking. She's as
made up as ever she can be— certainly not
worth while going out of your way to see."

Mr. Hopkins hid a smile in champagne. His
beloved was so womanly with her guess-
work "made up." Mr. O'Hara was bewil-
dered.

" But you haven't seen her." He was too
polite to say it was unlikely she ever would.

Jane had the loveliest laugh in the world,
the laugh of a beautiful mouth that does not
care if you see every tooth in it.

" Seen her ! " she cried. " Why, I know her.
So does Sarah. She's a relation of ours,
though she has never had much to do with us.
But she's going to be of the greatest use to
us while we're in town. Oh, I dare say men,"
scornfully, " might call her a beauty! She al-
ways has shoals of them about her. I saw her
to-day. She was going to meet the Duke of
Cornwall at dinner to-night."
Mr. Hopkins was perturbed. Shoals of men

» 1
i

.dJMlMiMii

iKifei

Cfte camr or fUtiL fOOmnt

and Royalty were no surroundings for his
sweet, simply mannered Jane.

"Dear me I" said he. "will you see her
often ? " He scented danger for his schemes of
possessive dinners, of protective theatre parties.
Instead, would he have to call, to dine, to scour
London in the wake of the relation of the
beauty?

"Very often." Jane spoke firmly. "When
my • in-laws ' come up to town and want us
to go to thuTi, I shall always be going to
Mrs. Osborne's. You see, we have very few
friends in town and Mrs. Osborne will be con-
venient."

" Has she ? husband? " Mr. Hopkins's voice
was hollow. The husbands of beauties were
always fast or drunken. He trembled for his
Jane.

" He's dead," she said, shortly. " There are
Mrs. Osborne and her father-in-law, old Mr.
Osborne; and his son, Mr. Howard K. Os-
borne, on a visit from Boston, U. S.; and that
is all. Old Mr. Osborne and Mr. Howard are
going to take us wherever we want to go. Mrs.
Osborne won't want us to bore her. And I—

t^t €mtt of ffitfL ^lOmnt

sometimes I am afraid she bores Sarah a lit-
tle."

" I see," said O'Hara, stiffly. " Are they—
nice? They sound— charming;" sarcastic ef-
fort all over him.

"Very nice," returned Sarah. She had
taken no notice of Jane's last sentence. She
was looking her prettiest, her curly hair shin-
ing golden in the pink-enwrapped light—" am-
ber dropping" hair, Mr. O'Hara, being sus-
ceptible, had fondly called it to Mr. Hopkins.
Many men were susceptible where Sarah was
concerned. "Can't you understand?" Her
little teeth showed white between her fresh lips.
" The Osborne men relations do not exist. We
have invented them, so that we could give
names and dates to the Wiltons. There is
really only Mrs. Osborne, and she has me to
lunch and gets done with me. I/' with ungodly
pride, " invented her men relations."

"No! You didn't really 1" O'Hara was
filled with admiration. " Let me be Mr. How-
ard K. Osborne, of Boston, U. S. I can be
such a good American! What a pity," with
feeling, " that the Wiltons know me! If only

itiiii^

m^lg^a^j,^

1<I

C^e €axi.. or fm. it>fimnt

you could introduce me as Mr. Howard K.
Osborne."

" You would spoil it all," said Jane, with de-
cision. " Mr. Hopkins is to be old Mr. Os-
borne— to the Wiltons."

Mr. Hopkins remembered sharply that he
was thirty-nine. He made an effort to smile.

"It's simply splendid!" the correctly lan-
guid O'Hara spluttered with rapture.

"Gorgeous!" echoed the old Mr. Osborne,
faintl; . Then with a flash of manly insight :
" Whenever you say you are going to the Os-
bomes, you will come somewhere with us."

" Oh, no," returned Jane, with crushing can-
dor, " not at all. It is to cover up our going
where we choose that we have created the Os-
horntsr-p^re et His. Whenever we do not
want my relatives we shall say we are going to
the Osbornes."

Sarah yawned.

" We are going home now," she announced.
" We arc tired."

I^HK

.,.-..,„ -,:-..■ .

CHAPTER VI

THE TROUBLES OF A FLAT

"Jane!" said Sarah, shaking the calmly
sleeping form, "Jane!"

Jane started up, justly exasperated.

" Good heavens, what a vice you have for
early rising I .What's the matter? And a wet
morning, tool You might let me sleep on a
wet morning."

" The bath won't run. And you never could
have looked at this flat ; there isn't any dining-
room."

" Well, I knew that. We aren't ever going
to dine here, so what would be the good of
one? There's a sweet kitchen with rows of
white china and a gas stove " severely.

" Oh," said Sarah, darkly. " Well, /V^ had
a bath." She enveloped herself in a blue silk
garment and departed, leaving Jane's nose once
more buried in the bolster.

S V

■»••■•-*

C^e €$tnt of iKtu «ttionie

After all, it wai a cheerful novelty to break-
fast in a kitchen, and a gas stove made excel-
lent toast. It was not so very hot in the
kitchen, if you kept the window and the door
open and sat between them. Miss Egcrton en-
couraged her outraged maid to pour her a third
cup of coffee. That damsel was convinced that
her mistresses were mad, but she, at least, would
be primly sane. She stood behind Miss Eger-
ton's chair with a bearing of pomp suited to a
banqueting hall, but bursting with intelligence.

"If you please. Miss Egcrton," as Sarah
looked up for fresh toast, "do you think this
flat is respectahlef " The dark meaning was
lost on Sarah.

^^ "No. No flat is respectable," calmly.

"without a dining-room. Why, Adams?"

For the face of the factotum was portentous.

" Well, Miss Egerton, last night I took a

walk in the garden after you went out, and I

heard them all wondering who we could be.

'Three pretty young women,' one man was

saying as I passed; the ignorant wretch had no

idea," with a conscious smirk, "as how I'm

your maid."

MiiMiifi

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C9e €$xm or fM. fi>0amit

" Even that couldn't make you ugly, Adami.
If that all?"

" No, MiM Egerton, it's not! The window
tcroM from mine in the next flat looks straight
into my bedroom, and a horrid man sat in it
all the evening and stared in at me. And when
I got up after you had come in, to see that the
door was locked, there he still was, glaring in,
and me in my nightdress."

" Don't look out of the window," practically.
" I hear Mrs. Wilton calling, Adams."

" Hear me calling! I should think so." A
wrathful apparition stood in the doorway,
swathed in white. " The bath won't run out;
it's full of gallons of cold water where you had
your bath."
" I told you so."

" You said it wouldn't run. I thought you
meant the cold-water tap, and I didn't care, be-
cause I always use hot water. But it won't run
out, and I want my breakfast."
" Dip it out then."

" If you had the Christian habit of hot baths
it would have run. Hot water," crossly, " will
always run. This flat is perfectly beastly I "

-I

.(I
li

' )

€» Career of fMk ^Httiorw

"There it a tweet kitchen with rowt of
white china and a gat ttove."

But Jane wat gone, and toundt of woe and
dipping were rising from the bathroom. The
early riser determined to persist in vice.

In the morning they went shopping in the
long roads of Suburbia, because Jane said they
were poor. Sarah ruined her skirt in climbing
up and down from the tops of (minibuset, and
Jane got her feet wet. They lunched at a
ladies' restaurant, because Jane vowed nerv-
ously that someone she knew might be at
Prince's — ^Jane Wilton, who knew six people
in London! Sarah gave way to unbecoming
language when she found she could have noth-
ing to drink but tea or coffee. They had coffee,
and they expended ten shillings. Jane paid the
bill morosely.

" No more ladies' restaurants," she said,
grimly, as she squelched with wet feet into the
inside of an omnib'i?, for it was raining like
Niagara. She explained as they rumbled to-
ward the flat that having ruined th« , boots,
it was not worth while to pay for a . nsom
too late to save them. Sarah knew it was for

1 a

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igmmiMki

• — ■•'•

.^» .-^. — ^

C^ Career of fML ftfimnt

quite another rctfon. There it no shelter like
an omnibtit for uncurled and dowdy wetness.

Mr. Hopkins and Mr. O'Hara had been ad-
vised that to come to tea would be useless, but
they had sent a humble telegram suggesting
dinner at the Carlton; they had even been so
fearful of disappointment as to come to convey
their divinities thither. But Jane insisted on an
Italian restaurant in Oxford street. She said
she disliked Prince's, the Carlton and the Cecil.

After dinner Mr. O'Hara beseechcd them to
come on somewhere. He murmured of the
Palace. Mr. Hopkins frowned sternly. He
felt himself responsible, especially for Jane,
who was the prettier.

" I assure you, my dear chap, they wouldn't
like it." He was very protective. " We might
go to the Grosvenor Qub if you like, or to see
Irving. I've a box."

Jane was remarkably tired; also, she loathed
theatres and clubs.

" Get two hansoms and we'll go home," she
onnmanded. "You may come in for five
minutes."

She had meant one hansom for herself and
5 65

I^Lji^

C4c €$tm or iHw Wbam

Sarah, but Mr. Hopkini wm too quick for her.

"Oh, you're going with Billy," he said,
sweetly, to the less divine Sarah, and he leaped
nimbly in beside Jane. But when they arrived
at Rossetti Mansions there was no second han-
som behind them.

" Sarah must be here." said Jane, as they
entered the fourth-story flat after a weary
climb. But Sarah was not there. Hopkins did
not repine,

" This is very nice," he observed when he
was in the drawing-room. He had been ap-
palled at the narrow darkness of the entry.
" The stairs are a little steep, though."

" We don't mind them. You are getting
old," returned the practical Jane. " You would
never guess who lives in the flat below us."

She pulled up the blinds to let in the cool
night air, and the modest interior was plainly
visible to the dwellers opposite as Sarah came
in, followed by O'Hara. The lady with the
opera glass hung breathless from her balcony.

" Well, O'Hara, you have been quick." Mr.
Hopkins wore a meaning smirk.
" Where have you been ? "

HHIto

f !
i ■

;

C9e Career of 0t$, fHOiaciie

" AH over town in a haniom." Sarah w»7
pink and frcth from the night breese. " We
thought of going to supper, but we weren't
hungry enough. What is Mr. Hopkins look*
ing so perturbed about ? "

" I want to know who lives below yoti."
Hopkins did mtt approve of the flat, it being
too far from St. James's street, where he lived.
He had also had suspicions ever since he set
foot on the stairs of Pos^etti Mansions.

" Why do you want to know ? "

" Because Mrs. Wilton says it is somebody."

" Of course it's somebody, and you probably
know all about her," returned Jane, cheerfully.
" It's Winnie Wdlwood."

"Not tht Winnie? the music-hall Winnie?
the Duke's Winnie? " Hopkins sat appalled.

" Yes."

"Then it won't do for you to stay here.
O'Hara, do you hear this? "

" What a lark ! " O'Hara was not appalled.
"Is she in now?"

" What a lark 1 My good chap, these ladies
can't stay here. It can't be respectable if they
let that woman a flat"

C^ Cnartr ar iiityi Ottom

"Ohl" Tht fnvity of tbt titutUoii
dawiMd on O'Htrt. tvtti while he compoMd
hit countmtnce with difficulty. His tyet twin-
kl€d. "Ftncy Winnie here! I luppoM the
h*s chenfcd a lot," regretfully. " She uicd to
be yrett fun."

Hopkins frowned.

" You must let us get you tnother flat. Mrs.
Wilton. What would your husband say if he
knew?"

Mrs. Wilton took a rapid survey of some
pages in her George's past. When he and the
Duke had lived together in Charlotte street,
Winnie had— but no matter. Besides, the rent
was paid.

"Another flat?" She skipped the quea-
tion with masterly alacrity. " Of course
not I Winnie won't hurt us. It's not catch-
mg.

" Move again f " Sarah was agonized with
suppressed laughter. " Not till I have to.
Winnie won't eat us. She— she won't see
enough of us."

Jane interrupted hastily.

"Our maid says her brougham comes for
68

7/i' rushed Mr H,it<l'iii.< in ih,/ xvimiotv."

, ..^...J....^ ^-.JUtagj.

cue Citmr of fM^ iftftome

her every night at nine and brings her home at
all hours."

"Here's a carriage f" O'Hara was quite
excited. He rush?d Mr. Hopkins to the win-
dow.

"Hush!" growled the virtuous Hopkins,
sternly, as Jane and Sarah gave way to wild
laughter at the spectacle of the two correct
adorers reclining recklessly on the balcony,
their heads han^ng over the railing and their
feet dangling in the room. " Hush ; don't make
a noise! It's Winnie!"

The world had not been going well with
Miss Wellwood, and she had been swamping
sorrow. Jane and Sarah were craning from
their bedroom window. Below, Miss Well-
wood was grabbing at the railings for support
and addressing her coachman in unknown
tongues.

" Don't listen ! " commanded Mr. Hopkins,
hastily, leaning well out to adjure the bedroom
window. "Don't!"

The anguish in his voice overcame Mrs. Wil-
ton. She laughed till the clear, sweet sound of
it fell to the street below. Winnie stopped in

■ » ■ > liii ■

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€» c»mr of jm» £)tfMintt

her unsteady career and gazed upward, half-
drunk and all-malignant, at the four silhouettes
against the lighted windows. Her music-hall
yell carried:

"I s'posc you laugh because you've been
luckier than me I " and she pointed at the two
men.

Mr. Hopkins shot back into the drawing-
room, disgustedly brushing himself with black
and grimy. hands till his hostesses appeared
agam. He had much to say, but Jane cut him
short. She was a little pale. That raucous
voice had somehow threatened disaster.
" You must go home now," she said, wearUy •
we are sleepy." ' '

^^ " Oh, not yet." O'Hara was suddenly sad.

1 am just beginning to feel happy."

" You can ftel happy in the cab."

So with regret and solemnity the adorers de-
parted. The lights were out in the passage
and they had to cling closely to the banisters'
as they slowly stumbled downstairs.

" Did you impress on them that they couldn't
come again for a week ? "

Jane looked years younger as the door shut
70

Zt^t €axm of iKtu fDiOmtti

on them. She had forgotten ail about Winnie.
" I did," morosely. " I— I shall rather miss
them."

But Mrs. George Wilton only gazed radiantly
at her reflection as she took the pins out of her
hair. " After all, it was very easy to " lam
aloose," and Mrs. Osborne was very useful and
easy to manage.

" I'm sorry I said she was made up," she
murmured, repentantly, to her glass; "so un-
grateful ! " And she laugh«;d just as Sarah had
laughed when the freedom of the flat dawned
on her.

•J
-'i

H'^-ft'-viW. «»,-»■•

' •' -=.'vi<-4jw»«k/-=*"^

■■•"-■«»•*'»*;,■

CHAPTER VII

THl NIW BEAUTY

Mrs. Osborne came late to the Duchess of
Aston's dance, the dance that the Hon. Wa-
liam Craven O'Hara had scorned becaove Miss
Sarah Egerton refused cards for it It was
rather a pity, since thus he could have trmm-
phantly disproved Mrs. George Wilton's slurs
on her smart relation. Yes, Mrs. Ori»me was
beautiful. To know it you had only to look
at the women's faces of dark envy, of blank
wretchedness, as she passed by them. There
was youth in her exquisite grace, but there was
no simplicity. She was exotic, fine, strangely
sumptuous and unmodem ; her face a face that
might have smiled on dead men out of Circe's
window in strange lands long ago ; cut exquis-
itely, as to show the gods what a woman's face
could be. The color of it was like azalea flow-
ers, creaming into the pink that is the pink <^

K&JBtt^i&EiaiSEi&ill

C^e Camv of fML tiDAome

dawn, not of roses. She carried her brown
head high, with a curious backward loll of it
on a flawless throat, and under her slow lids
shone the eyes of a woman to whom the world
is very young.

At least a man who knew her thought so.
The woman next him was only wondering why
Mrs. Osborne was not looking radiant triumph
and provocation at the gathering cloud of men.
Also, if that plain brown were beautiful in hair,
it was a pity it cost two guineas a week to keep
hers Titian red.

"What?" She was absent enough to be
irritable, but hastily recovered herself. " Per-
iectly exquisite, is she not ? "

" A woman whose mouth is scarlet and not
crimson goes far," murmured the man who had
bnn thinking of Circe, and promptly he went
far himself — to Mrs. Osborne's very elbow.
Her foamy skirts, that were golden-threaded
laae an dawn-yellow chiffon, on something pale
fiame under that, brushed his foot. The cost
of them would have kept Jane Wilton in West
Kensington for a month. The faint, keen scent
from them pleased the man, just as did the inef-

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t^ €axm oC iRtu ^lOmnt

V I

fable unartncM, the grace and air of their
wearer. His face was impassive, chilly, at she
turned and saw him.

" There's no supper yet," she said, with a
laugh. " I wonder why." Her face was lovely
as she laughed, even if the sorceress look in
it was intensified.

Everyone else laughed, too.

" Ask the Duke," said a man.

" Is he more truthful than his equerry? I,"
placidly, " don't like equerries."

" He's more patient," said the equerry, slow-
ly. " To-night, at least, he's waited an hour."

" Oh, not for me I Nobody ever waits for
me," serenely. But the equerry was gone.

Royalty, simple-mannered and rather in-
jured was at her side. Mrs. Osborne liked
Royalty, who was a gentleman, as all Royalties
are not. She smiled as she went away with
him, looked her loveliest as she sat beside him
at a table where even the Duchess ceased from
troubling. If the marvel of her eyes was on a
hawk-faced man across the room, no one knew
it — particularly the man.

Yet when the Duke was gone he was unos-

•-> !-j -••.»•»-». ,i» ;... .^ ,v

mmt

Cl^e Camr oC fum. iMxime

tentatiously beside her, and he laughed as she
spoke tranquilly.

" Once round the room," said Mrs. Osborne.
No one would have known she had dressed and
come just to waltz once round the Duchess's
ballroom in Van Ingen's arms.

His shoulder was like iron under her hand,
his coat so near to her cheek the dearest thing
in the world, his strong, easy hold of her —
dear God I to have had his arm forever between
her and all others! She made him stop, be-
cause the sharp thought hurt her.

" In here," he said. The room was empty.
" Now sit down and let me look at you. I
get the most awful feeling every now and then
that you are a dream, and that I'm going to
wake up."

" If you want to wake! " said Mrs. Osborne.
A childish gayety lighted her eyes. " It's too
funny," she said. " You and I, who were no-
bodies, poor nobodies — once ! "

" You were always a princess." He had a
trick of throwing back his head and smiling,
his keen eyes very sweet.

Mrs. Osborne's laugh was as young as Jane
Wilton's own.

■' > ii ^ mm i^^'^'^mmm

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" Whit I When you uicd to come to Atuit
AdeU'f by the back gate before breakfiit, and
had to run all the way home to get past the
other houses before they woke up? I had two
hideous cotton frocks she made me wear, black
with white dots on them. No one could look
like a princess in ^hite dots."

" I wish I'd got up earlier and run more! "
sharply. " I wish the ship that took me away
from you had never sailed. Do you know how
I've always 'rememl)ered you ? In one of those
cotton frocks, kneeling down and picking
strawberries. I came behind you. You didn't
expect me."

'• Oh, no! " She made no pretense of hav-
ing forgotten. " I didn't expect you. I was
caught. I was all over strawberries. I could
have cried."

" You were like a princess dressed up. It
was no surprise to me when I found you like
this. I knew you'd marry. If I hadn't, I— I
think I shouid have gone back to look for you."

Mrs. Osborne's hand pressed her fan a little.

"Would you prefer the cotton frock?" the
said, languidly.

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"No, you were made for this! If I had
gene bade

** It might have been to find you'd lost your
tatte for cotton."

" It's all the same It's you. "

Somehow Mrs. Osborne remembered what
time it was.

"And — me — is going home," she said,
gayly.

" Do you know that I — " he rose because she
did — " I never danced with you in those days?
I made a vow I'd never dance again till I had
the girl of my heart in my arms."

"Girls are out of fashion," observed Mrs.
Osborne, sweetly. She had seen her hostess's
frock in the doorway, within earshot.

"I've kept the vow, all the same," he re-
turned, under his breath.

It was the Duke of Aston who put Mrs.
Osborne in her carriage. When she drove
away in the May dawn no one could have
thought her impassive, indifferent to success.
She put down both windows, drank the wine-
sweet air avidly, widc-nostriled, full of pride.
Her face was wicked with triumph. She, who

C9e €mn of jKta IHAome

had picked strawberriet in her aimt't gardtn in
a hideout cotton frock, had taken the town by
•torm ; had kept the heir to the throne waiting
till it pleated her to arrive; had the detir« of
her eyes, the love of her heart within reach,
when the choae to put out her hand. It wat
for this that the was mad with joy. No matter
what happened, the would never let him go-
while he wanted her( Ami she laughed. She
was sure of him. Poor Jane Wilton, with her
white frocks, and her Background f But Jane
Wilton was no actress, perhaps, and carried her
head a little forward as Nature put it, and let
her crimson lips alone. Mrs. Osborne of the
scarlet lips would have the kisses that Jane had
never forgotten.

With money and unerring taste even a fur-
nished house in Eaton Place may be made soft-
colored and individual, a dimly gorgeous set-
ting to the loveliest thing in it. Mrs. Osborne's
house was that, and more. Against silks thick
with silver embroidery, satins worked by clois-
tered nuns for princesses, faint-colored like
sunsets and pale dawns, she shone sUrlike in
her drawing-room ; against brocade hangings,

, !H4LL i i„

Cte Ctmr of mtn ^Aam

tht ipotlt of forgottm palaces, iht Mt at her
dinner Ubie. But for her bedroom the did not
care. It was as its owner left it, hideous,
franki) English ; so far, the only room in the
house that did not matter. She woke up in it.
and laughed as she saw that her companion had
brought the chocolate, instead of her maid.

"I had a gorgeous time!" she said. "I
nearly woke you up to tell you of it. Oh, why
don't you go about with me? "

The companion laughed.

" I'm saving money. You said so yourself
the other day. Here's the paper, all about you !
And the Ladies' Letter in the pyorld says that
' to be a K^auty it is apparently only necessary
t do one's hair low and wear green shoes.'
1 told you someone would spot those shoes.
Do look at the invitations. How shall I an-
swer them? Oh, and Lady Alderney says
she'll be delighted to present you at the Draw-
ing Room ! "

" I've no doubt she would," with vigor. " It
would take more than delight to get me to
Court," chuckling. "I'm — too American to
spend such a dull morning. I'll accept all the

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CQe Career of sax^ i^isbome

nice things, though. Lady Lanark's dinner
dance — I must go there. Miles Van Ingen's
river party, of course. I wish you'd come — he
said to bring you. Three balls, good houses,
too; two invitations for Ascot week — they can
wait. I don't," thoughtfully, " want to crowd
every day till I can't turn round. What's
that?"

A telegram lay, flimsy and ugly, among the
smart notes.

" It was among what I got last night. I
didn't show it to you. It's for Saturday week,"
cheerfully.

" I don't care two straws," said Mrs. Os-
borne, deliberately. She scribbled a list of en-
gagements on the back of a card. " On Satur-
day week you and I are going to— to Hastings.
Nothing can interfere with that. You can ' un-
avoidable absence from town' all these.
They're nearly all dull. But these—" she had
put six invitations together neatly — " I'll man-
age these. I," composedly, "will dovetail
them in."

They were all places where Miles Van Ingen
was going.

CHAPTER VIII

A FAMILY PARTY

The fiat looked grubby to Mrs. George Wil-
ton as she came in. Sarah, very heartlessly
gay in her best tea gown, pitchforked a letter
across the placid tea table into her sister's un-
willing hand.

" Another despatch," she said. " That
makes five, counting the telegram."

Jane tore it open, groaned and read aloud :

" Dear Jane : We hope to arrive in town
this afternoon and are looking forward to see-
ing you to-morrow. Will you go to our rooms
(95, Cromwell road) and give our landlady a
few last directions? Tell her we shall want
dinner at seven, soup, fish, whiting or haddock
— six small ones, Jane — be sure you mention
six, and small. They must be about the size
of a herring, and she is to fry them. Order a
6 81

»<iik . . .I • » "* * •

Cl^e Career of fiitiL ^leibome

nice vegetable— cauliflowers are good, espe-
cially at night after a long journey. We like
a plain pudding, as I have to be careful what
I eat. Will you order stewed prunes?— Col-
onel Wilton likes them. And a pennyworth of
fresh cream for me. Order a fourpenny loaf
of bread. On Sunday I have in the morning
two tumblerfuls of new milk, and two penny-
worth of cream to last till the afternoon. She
must get the same quantity fresh in the even-
ing. Now, my dearest Jane, I am,
" With much love,
" Yours affectionately,

" Isabella Wilton."

" Do buy them a cow," said Sarah, crossly.
" It would save so much calculation."

" We shall have to lunch with them to-mor-
row," Jane announced, forlornly.

" But not dine. I will not dine there on Sun-
day night. We are dining with the Osbornes.
Will dearest Amelia be with them ? "

" Of course. And I meant to have had such
a nice Sunday ! " wailed Jane.

" Well, don't let's go near them."

I s

Zl^t Career of f^t^ Oieibome

** We must ; at least I must. There's a post-
script that they expect us at luncheon."

" I shall read the Pink 'Vn in bed Ijefore I
go, and tell all the anecdous. There was a
nice one last week about town Sundays."

But even the Iwld Sarah's heart sank as they
entered the respectable lodgings that the Wil-
ton family gilded by the name of residential
hotel. Upstairs the sisters toiled, up and up
again, till Sarah was breathless in her best
corset.

" Do they live on the roof? " she demanded,
stopping so suddenly that Jane nearly fell over
her, thereby causing an unseemly noise.

" Sh ! This is the door."

Sarah sailed in behind Jane's train, not the
same Sarah who was to be seen at Rossetti
Mansions, all laughter and sweet youth fulness,
but a pale Sarah, with a hard-set lip. She held
up her head determinedly, and avoided the Wil-
ton embraces with a hand pushed stiffly out
before her. Jane, alas! dared not so fortify
herself. Fach and every Wilton kissed her
with eflfL.. ^n.

" Now that we have arrived," said Mrs. Wil-

b-# «h « .„*, n, ^^ • • •

'tl

III

; 1

■ ,■

■'i

]

Z^t career of fsitiL tSDOmnt

ton, kindly, " you will be able to go out a lit-
tle. I dare say you have found that London is
a very dull place when one knows no one."
She could say " I told you so " to Jane's in-
dependence, even if she could not crush it.

" Dull? Oh, no, I don't think we have been
exactly dull." Jane's eyes were guileless and
her smile truly childlike.

" I suppose you have done a great deal
of shopping," Amelia said, with some envy,
though she assured herself as she said it that
Jane's pale-pink muslin and Alengon lace were
not pretty at all— there was no stiff collar.
" You have on a very peculiar bodice, and
surely those are new pearls ? "

" Are they ? " carelessly. " I almost forget
what I have bought."

Mrs. Wilton looked alarmed.

" I hope you are not spending too much, my
dear. George "

" Oh, I never take any money from George,"
calmly. " He has his and I have n ine. I
should hate taking money from my hus-
band."

Colonel Wilton grunted an approving grunt.

CQe Career of iHris. €)jn»me

Would that he had trained his Isabella to such
heights !

Isabella sat knitting furiously.

" Really, Jane." she said, with a vexed
laugh, " you stick at nothing. It sounds quite
improper to speak of money and your husband
like that. Pray remember Eveyln and
Amelia."

" And Sarah," lightly. " But my improper
sentiments can't corrupt them, since they
haven't any husbands."

•• Sarah is looking a very bad color — " be-
ing routed, Mrs. Wilton attacked in a new place
— " and very thin."

Sarah grew scarlet.

" Green blinds," she said, determined to be
calm. " They make us all look frightful."

" No, I think it is perhaps that your frock
is too trying for you."

But Sarah did not respond. With her other
ear she heard Colonel Wilton engaging Jane,
who had let them know that she had gone to see
Mrs. Patrick Campbell.

Mrs. Wiivon also had heard.

" I hope you did not go alone, Jane."

g^t €itttt Of iHtiB. ©jjwne

••Oh. no." Jane settled hersdnnorc com-
ortably ,n her uncomfortable chair and care-
hilly avoided Sarah's eye.
" Who went with you?"

friend;"'TT' r'T ^"" ""^ "'^ ^-^-^
inends. 1 hus hvelyn and A.nella.

Neither have we— many."

Jane paused, and Sarah sat appalled. What

was the matter with her? Had she lost her

put m. br,skly. " You remember my hav-
2^a note from Mrs. Oslx>r„e at The Ce-

*; ^y'^'; Mrs. Osborne an<I old Mr. Osborne

and Mr. Ward K. Osborne, his son. He ha
I'ved so much in America! "

Jane gave the catalogue slowly.

•' That is no reason he should take up their
rlrwT-T'^'""''^'^'"'^-''^- Wilton

uT^lrC'' "^^•^^--^K.Osbornef
"e must be most objectionable! "

" I don't think you would find him so "

Xa>'''^''"''^'°^'-^^^'^'^^^''^^M;.

Zt^t Career of inns. €)M)ome

Sarah gave a frighlencil start. This was
really too wild.

" Mrs. Oslx)rne is a relation of ours," she
said, hurriedly. " The OslMjrnes are American,
you know."

•• So I should have supposed."

"Did you like the play?" inquired Amelia.

" I liked Mrs. Pat."

" Mrs.— ? oh. Mrs. Patrick Campl^ell! You
speak very flippantly, Jane. Did you sit be-
side Mrs. Oslxjrne? I hope you are always
very careful to sit beside her. It looks so much
more modest."

*• I sat between old Mr. Osborne and Mr.
Howard K. Osborne," said Sarah, frantically,
for there >v as an evil light in Mrs. George Wil-
ton's eye.

" Osborne? Ha, I don't know any Osbornes
now I I did once, though. Where do these
people come from? Isabella, I wish you'd ring
for luncheon," shouted Colonel Wilton.

Jane plunged wildly.

" Kalamazoo," she responded, to the annoy-
anc* of Sarah, who had meant to say Cohoes.

" What's his name— the father's ? "

C^e Career of f^tn, ^^bctnt

\mw Jane had a fetish, ami the fetish was
a chin.i «log of vile pottery, with a foolish
smile ami large blue eyes. Since the age of
three she had jwssessed it, and wherever she
went the china d')g went also.

His name? Suddenly the name of the fetish
•KTcurrcd ti) her. She cast a stern glance at
Sarah,

'■ Mr. Osborne's Christian name is Reginald
Adolphus." she said, blandly.

And thf'n the miage of the true Reginald
Adolphus, with his spotty china coat, his span-
iel cars and his collie tail, presented itself oo
vividly to her mental vision. She began to
laugh helplessly.

"It is— it is such a funny name!" she
gasped bet we -n her hysterical chuckles, wiping
the tears from her eyes.

" Funny ! I don't think it's funny ! " snorted
Colonel Wilton. " Very ordinary I call it.
Isabella, I want my lunch."

" You would think it was funr.y if you saw
him," retorted Jane.

Sarah rose hastily and looked out of the win-
dow. The amiable china smile of Reginald

CQe Carrtt of fiktn* Onhmit

Adolphus had occurred to her alio. Uul Jane
was too reckless; they would be getting into
trouble if !>he went on like this. She feared the
worst during luncheon. So matter how hard
pressed one may be at luncheon, it is impossi-
ble to rise and tly to the window to hide a
too ingenuous countenance.

I have tickets for the Albert Hall this af-
ternoon," Mrs. Wilton announced as she carved
the orthodox hot roast l)eef. " Your tickets,
Jane, came to four shillings."

•* Oh, I am afraid we can't go! That is, I
haven't any money." Jane was oflf her guard
and pattered weakly.

" It would l)e a pity for you to miss the
chance o' hearing a little gootl music," Mrs.
Wilton pursued. "You can -we it to me.
There are always such nice ballads at the Al-
bert Hall on Sundays, about shipwrecks and
the sea and prayers— quite religious. I am so
fond of sacred music ! "

Sarah glared rebelHously at Jane. But Jane
was hungry, and wls eating roast beef and
boiled potatoes as if she liked them.

" Thank heaven, I ave on m ,' best corset I "

e(ie career of iRrE g>$bamt

'' i

reflected Sarah, angrily. " I couWn'r feel him-
gry if I were starving." She Icxike,! tlintaste-
fully at the waxy »)oile<l jwlatu. the ov^rUo.ie
l)ccf on her plate.

•• I think, mamma dear, I had better lend
Jane a bonnet. .,r at least a tiniuc. A y.nmg
married .vonjan can hardly g.> to the Altwt
Hall on a Sunday in a large hat."

Jane. to«i »tui)cfied for sjicech. gazed at Eve-
lyn.

" Wh% iii the matter with my hat ? " she de-
manded at last.

" It is a little-well." Mrs. Wilton nodded
|«rtentously. " Evelyn is quite right, my dear
Jane. You can borrow her traveling toque to
wear. And really, Jane. I consider so thick a
ved fastf One would think you did not want
to be recognized."
Jane clutchetl her headgear with both hands.
Thank you, I will go as I am," she said,
" or there is no need for us to go at all."

" But that would be a waste—the tickets arc
paid for." To pay for anything and then not
use It, even if it were al. .rrent, was out of
Mrs. Wilton's range of vision. " And perhaps

Ctie Career oC 0ix$, €)0borne

no one will notice your hat. Ilui )ou imi»i
really get a nice, cjuict little U^nnet to wear
when y«.u go al»oiit with us."

•* I think," «.lmrvcil jane, very slowly ami
H'fl). "I *h;i!l not rcijuire that bonnet."
But the |v)int was wasted on her re! uveji.

" We »hall l)e etigagctl a fjrc it «lcal this
week." Sarah put in. lirnily. " Mrs. Os»K>rne
has come to London to — t.- e a «l«ictt)r. ,\n<l
he says she must go al)out everywhere and lie
atnusctl. It is absi>lutely necessary f«)r her to
l)e amused. So we are tliniiij; with hci an<l
going on somewhere every night this week."

Mrs. Wilton fmishc<l her custard inuhling,
then rose majestically.

•• Go and get rea 'y. girls." she comman<le«l.
" It is something of a walk from here to the
Albert Hall."

Sarah gazed <!oubtfully at her high heels.
She wore them conscientiously, in order to look
as tall as Jane. Could she ever totter in them
all that way, even at Mrs. Wilton's pace? Jane
thought of the streets she must traverse in a
squadron of Wiltons. Even with a thick
veil . . .

C^e Career of fHviL (DOmnt

" Why not drive? " she inquired.

" I do not approve of driving on Sunday. It
is a day of rest for man and beast. Besides,
cabs are exorbitant."

" We can go in an omnibus."

"Omnibus!" Mrs. Wilton's fat hands
really flew up in the air with horror. " How
could I, in my Position, be seen in an omnibus ?
You forget one owes a certain duty to one's
County. I hope," grandiloquently, " you and
Sarah never go in omnibuses. I could never
hold up my head again if anyone saw you."

" Mr. Hopkins and Mr. O'Hara are in town.
You would not like them to see you getting
out of an omnibus! " said Evelyn, cuttingly.

" Oh, I don't know ! " muttered the godless
Sarah. "We haven't wooden legs — or Eng-
lish ankles! I think," her mind reverted rap-
idly to the surroundings in which she was ac-
customed to meet one at least of the desirable
bachelors referred to-— the cheerful restaurants,
the pink lights, the flower-scented drawing-
room at the flat—" I think we are not at all
likely to meet Mr. Hopkins and Mr. O'Hara—
in an omnibus ! " And Sarah chuckled as she

Cftc Careci? of fML fPfOmnt

stepped carefully down the stairs in her high
heels.

Mrs. Wilton remained behind.

" Do hurry, mamma," called Evelyn, primly.
" We shall be late."

" It was your father. I was obliged to stop to
put away his walking sticks. He will carry one,
though an umbrella is so much more suitable
on a Sunday," and she sailed serenely onward.
Jane looked at Sarah. At least they would not
be there to hear the torrents of bad language
with which Colonel Wilton would start for his
club, supporting his gouty footsteps by the
family umbrella. It was the only drop spilled
out of Jane's brimming cup of woe.

i*l

J ■

CHAPTER IX

MISTAKEN IDENTITY AGAIN

Miss Egerton was dull. She had so
snubbed Mr. O'Hara that he had retired in
dudgeon. Jane was away, the society of
Adams was not festive, and to avoid owning to
herself a sneaking sorrow for the dismissal of
the faithful, Miss Egerton arrayed herself and
went out. It was three when she set forth,
it was seven when she returned. If she
had been preoccupied when she opened the
door, she was jovial when she beheld Jane,
whom she had not expected, awaiting her in
elegant leisure and her oldest tea gown.

"I had a heavenly day," was that lady's
greeting.

"Had you? Oh, never mind! I'm glad
you're back, though. Where do you think I've
been ? And whom do you think I met ? "

€Qe Career of iiftrst. iS>0fmnt

" Don't know. You look very smart. Have
you got on any of my clothes? "

"Only your wedding ring," carelessly.
" And very useful it was. Oh. you must know
whom I met! It was the luckiest thing I went
out."

"What!" Jane sat up from her elegant
position on the sofa. " Not Urmston, Sarah?
What did you do ? "

"Urmston, exactly; and I didn't do any-
thing. I said, ' How do you do ? ' and, well— I
routed him ! "

" Did he ask you where I was? " said Jane,
curiously. " Was that why he wanted rout-
ing?"

Sarah winced, ever so faintly.

" No, he didn't. But oh, Jane, he knows the
Wiltons. He knows we live here. He wanted
to come and call."

"What did you say?" Jane was very
white. The Wiltons could not be forbidden
her flat any more than death or the baker's boy,
but their emissaries she would not have.
" How did you manage? "

" Beautifully," with a childlike smile. " He

■»i

C^e Catrer of fML tf)0bome

i '

didn't catch my name that day at— Mrs. Os-
borne's. On that occasion he had been glued to
her side with such an effect that it was the
first and last time Miss Egerton appeared in
Mrs. Osborne's drawing-room. " I had bor-
rowed your wedding ring for fun, and so,"
very cheerfully, " as he seemed to think I was
married, I let him think so."

" But he'll find out! " Cold horror was in
Jane's voice.

" Not he! He l.u't half as tall as I thought
he was, Jane, and he looked as if he had been
bleached since I saw him."

" Good heavens! " said Jane, faintly. " Are
you sure it was he? "

"Am I sure you are you? Listen. I met
him at that new picture place, and he took me
to have tea. I took of! my gloves, and when he
saw your ring he looked so surprised that I
improved the occasion."

" What did you tell him your name was? I
suppose," unkindly, " you drew the line at tell-
ing him you were the duchess of anything."

" That's where I managed so well. I didn't
tell him anything. I talked a little about Cap-

|t'

^l^e Career of /nm €)jeibome

tain Wilton, and I answered when he called me
Mrs. Wilton."

" But why ? What on earth made you pre-
tend to be me? Hell meet you at the Wil-
tons'. You were mad."

" I was wise." Sarah looked at her sister
significantly. " He— I— it's such an odd thing,
Jane; quite inexplicable," gazing straight at
her. " Last Thursday the Wiltons caught him
in the Park and made him point out the cel-
ebrities. He did. And the Wiltons— well, it
seemed to me that if he pined to set eyes on
their daughter-in-law, he'd better do it at
once!"

" But he'll see me at their house."

"Never goes there," sententiously.
"Afraid of Amelia. Don't look at me like
that. I tell you it was the only thing to
do."

"But he'll come here!"

" He won't now ; he would have. I terri-
fied him with mamma-in-law. Also, why
should he come when I'm going to meet him in
the Park in the morning? The Wiltons," mus-
ingly, " only go there in the afternoons."
7 97

Cfte CarcCT oC fML fMbotnt

•• He*i

"Don't go— for me!" very pale.
* kittle cattle to shoe behind.' "

•• I must. Unless you'll put things straight

yourself," slowly.

" I can't," said Jane, dully. " Vm playing
for money, Sarah; and I thought it was for

counters."

Sarah looked at her, and held her peace.
But her choked-down answer stuck in her
mind. She was playing for flesh and blood,
and gallantly, if for a forlorn hope not her
own. Jane's voice startled her.

" Does Urmston know—" it was the first
time for days that she had said the name—

••George?" , .

•• No," shortly. " Not even that he s m In-
dia. The family were evidently pressed for
time when they met him."

At ov.e o'clock the next after-oon Lord
Urmston discovered Sarah seated in the Park,
a vision of diaphanous muslin, crowned with a
large black hat and shaded by a faintly rosy
parasol. He saw at once why the Wilton family
had taken Mrs. Osborne for her. Her whole
toilet was exactly what Mrs. Osborne had worn

■*^~.

ete career of iKrn i0)M)ome

list Thursday, when the same parasol had
shaded her face from her would-be relatives.
His lordship felt the warm midday air heady as
he looked at l.?r. Sarah as she greeted him
made certain that her preposterous heels were
out of sight. She had not told Jane all about
yesterday. She had had a horrible fright, had
been driven indeed before she posed as her sis-
ter. But it had been a great success, and to-
day's gown clinched it. Urmston as he sat
down beside her was cursing himself for a
short-sighted idiot. Who would ever have
thought a Wilton daughter-in-law could have
been like this, with sense enough to come out
rather than make him run the gantlet of Wil-
tons at her flat ? He decided never to mention
her to her relatives, if he had the bad luck to
come across them.

" I believe all the nice women in the world
are manied," he remarked, concisely.

Sarah had the grace to blush.

" I wonder if all the nice men are," she re-
turned, thoughtfully; and she looked straight
into his gray, self-seeking eyes with her lucid
blue gaze. There were friends of Sarah's who

C^e Ceveer of ffiXfL iOfixncnt

would have known that the look threatened
stormy weather. Lord Urmston saw only a
fair wind and set his spinnaker.

" You look charming this morning, and io
happy. Tell me — " he was the sort of man
who makes acquaintance intimacy if the woman
be pretty — " are you happy ? "

" I never was so happy in my life," compos-
edly Composure is a great addition to a
lie.

He gave her a sudden glanre.

" I wonder if you know what happiness is.
I wish 1 could teach you."

Teach her! Sarah kept contempt oflf her
lips. She had an instant's vision of another
man's face, young and spare, of other eyes.

" What is happiness? " she said, dreamily.

" You are married to the man of your choice,
and yet — you can ask ! "

" I can ask." She looked at him. " Can
you answer ? " She was thanking heaven it
was not Urmston to whom phe must look for
happiness.

"Happiness? It is to be with the woman
who charms you, whether you have her for-

100

Zi9t Career of futn, 0ia»me

It is to love ai the

ever or for but a little time.
Greeks loved, to—"

Sarah laughed. No one in all the world,
not even Jane, had ever before heard her laugh
like that. And when Urmston, wincing, looked
sharply at her she was holding her slim throat
very straight, and the set of it was merci-
less.

His head swam. The brown-green turf, the
passing carriages, the women in their p.Me-
colored gowns went before him like a dream in
which the one thing real was Sarah. And
she had laughed ! She should pray before he
was done with her. His upper lip went up;
for just one second the white teeth, with the
oddly wide division bct\,een the two in front,
showed. But Sarah did not see. She was get-
ting up, carefully keeping her pale-rose parasol
between her pale-rose face and the sun.

" Let us go and have luncheon," she said se
renely. "Would you mind coming with me
first to Jay's ? "

There was an odd look on Lord Urmston's
keen, eager face as he intimated that he was de-
lighted to go to Jay's. But by the time they

loi

C|^ CtVCtt OC fft$» €)iMltt

had rcichcd Hydt Park corner another look

reigned in iti itead.

Ten minutei later a hantom wat pulled up
with a jerk in the middle of Regent ttrcet,
' .ereby causing s vift profanity from the driver
of an omnibus whose horses nearly ran over it
A man in gentleman's clothes jumped out and
imperiled them amid the traffic rwore viciously
at a policeman who tried to stop him as he dived
under the nose of a hansom horse, and dis-
appeared between two omnibuses.

The driver of the hansom from whidi the
man had fled peered down through the trap
for orders, and a girl's voice said, wildly :

" Drive on— any where f No, Sloane street."

As the cab turned back into the street Sarah
sat in It trembling with fury. Was that what
UiMston called conversation? — vO &ay he
adored her; to take it for granted she adored
him, because, forsooth, she had met him l^
appointment ; to propose she should go to Paris
with him I " You have never been in Paris.
Your husband will never know." It had been
all she could do to speak. " My husband — no,
he never will know," she had said slowly. Then

103

hiil sill' liad hiu^Ufd'.

C^ Ctmr or 0ix$. tfibome

with her parasol the had pushed up the little
window in the roof. " Sto|>— at oncef" the
had said. And l(K»king straight at Urmiton,
" Get out of this haniom f Go!" Her voice
had been high and steady. " Get out of my
sight I I loathe you I " Jane or no Jane, dan-
gerous or not, she would for once speak the
truth to Lord Urmiton. She h.id been play-
ing the g.ime so calmly he had never imagine*!
this was coming. He had »nt petrified wifh
amazement. "Will you go? Or must I?"
Sh^ had held her breath as she looked at him.
And without one word, without his own voli-
tion. Lord Urmston had got up, hid fourd him-
self standing in the roaring traffic, being cursed
on all sides.

For once Sarah was wildly unhappy. She
wept sick, unwilling tears when she was s.-^fe in
Rossetti Mansions with the house to herself.
" I'll never be unselHsh again," she sobbed.

She was startled by the ring of a telegraph
boy. However, it was not what she expected,
for her tears ceased as she read. It was
O'Hara, begging her in a humble and lengthy
wire to dine with him at the Cecil. Her heart

103

■-•-♦>♦-•» V-»«t*»<^ *!*»!._

^^e €axttt of 0LtfL €)j3l)ome

turned to him gratefully. What was it Jane
had said? "Mr. O'Hara thinks gold is not
good enough for you." He was always the
same, always kind, always tender, never tak-
ing advantnge of their wild adventures to say
one word she would rather he had not said.

" I may forget I'm a lady — " she dashed
fresh tears from her eyes — " but he never for-
gets he is a gentleman." So she sent an an-
swer to the reinstated O'Hara and set forth to
dine with him, dressed adorably. O'Hara
thought she had never looked so pretty. He
walked proudly into the Cecil with her and es-
tablished her at a small table in the corner,
where he ordered a dinner that even Sarah
begged him to moderate. But he only laughed,
and went on.

Sarah was well launched in her dinner when
a man and a woman brushed past her as they
took their seats at the next table. There were
reasons why Miss Egerton could not turn pale,
but a fierce, a frightened gleam lighted her nar-
rowed eyes. Lord Urmston had evidently
been seeking consolation, and by what evil fate
was it that he brought it to the Cecil?

104

C^e Career of fsitfL flDisbome

OHaras back was to the couple, but Sarah
must sit and face them throughout her over-
long dinner. Urmston had not seen her yet.
She leaned forward and touched O'Hara with
a beseeching, trembling hand.

" Whatever you do, don't call me by my
name." she sSitl. " There is a man sitting be-
hind you whom I once knew, and I don't want
him to come and speak to me. Perhaps he
won't be certain who I am if he does not hear
you say my name. I— I hate him ! " incoher-
ently.

"I'll break his neck if he annoys you!"
O'Hara did not understand, but that was no
matter — his Sarah could do no wrong. And
the look of him gave Sarah courage.

" He's not — a very nice man ! I know
Jane," with late virtue, " would not like me to
speak to him."

" All right," cheerfully. " You sha'n't."

Urmston had seen her by this time, but her
look was as calmly unconscious as an utter
stranger's. It was he who was disconcerted.
Sarah under lowered lids saw him glance at
his consolation with distaste — it was an opu-

105

is^^mmm^

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ZJ^t Career of fRxiL ^tffmnt

lently fair consolation with over-golden hair.
Suddenly she felt faint, for he had turned his
eyes full on her and in them was an expression
that terrified her. She must take strong meas-
ures. If he thought O'Hara merely an ac-
quaintance he was quite likely to come and
accost her, and she knew the words that would
be on his tongue. But if he could be made to
thing O'Hara was her husband! As she re-
flected she caught Utinston's eye— and he
smiled.

At that smile Sarah's wild blood was up.
There was something fundamentally strange
and untamed about her under her languid man-
ner, her childlike gayety. With the same im-
pulse with which she would have put a knife
into Urmston had she been hard pressed, she
leaned forward and spoke to O'Hara. It was
some trifling nonsense that she uttered, but
there was a sweet familiarity as of long use in
her tone, such as Mr. O'Hara had never heard.
The poor boy's heart filled with pride. There
was a bn .ling and consultation of waiters
round Urmston ; for the moment he could not
hear. Sarah, very low, spoke to O'Hara
again.

io6

■'•H.**'

CQe Career of iftrn ^sibomt

" I said not to call me by my name, but you
can't say 'hi' when you speak to me. You
can say ' Sarah ' I believe," she laughed, " you
always call me ' Sarah ' in private."
O'Hara changed color.
" I would like to," he said, quietly. " I wish
I could think that in private life you called me
•Billy.'" For the Honorable William Des-
mond Craven O'Hara, the son of many earls,
had no tore romantic nickname than " Billy."
•' I will if you like— Billy."
The man behind O'Hara heard the tone of
the last word, and it gave him a new emotion.
He looked at her left hand, where Jane's wed-
ding ring was surmounted by Sarah's pearls.
This was evidently the husband. Somehow
he had ignored the fact that the husband might
be in town. He would rather have seen him
old or insignificant than unexceptionable like
this. As he watched the pair leave the room
Lord Urmston decided he was well ou. of this
day's work, but he regretted Sarah infernally,
and he was exceedingly rude and disagreeable
to his consolation. Mr. O'Hara, when he had
climbed up the stairs of Rossetti Mansions

107

Ci^e Career of ^ris. iS>si>\mtnt

with Sarah, stood beside her in the empty
drawing-room.

" Good-night," he said, quite huskily. " I
have to thank you for the happiest evening I
ever had in my life." He stooped, and with
a certain reverence laid his lips lightly on her
hand.

As the door closed behind him Sarah threw
herself down on the sofa. There she lay till
the dawn came in, her smart satin evening cloak
huddled up round her, crying softly and bit-
terly with self-contempt and shame. If O'Hara
only knew— everything 1

T08

CHAPTER X

TWO SOCIAL FAVORITES

Miss Winnie Wellwood sat reading the
papers. On the IVorld, Truth, Vanity Fair
and Society she browsed every week ; you knew
who was who if you did that and cast no pearls
before younger sons. But this week there were
no names exploited— except Mr. Miles Van
Ingen's. He " had taken a deer forest," had
" bought Lord Elderson's place in Devonshire,"
" was building a steam yacht," had " given a
dance with an American cotillion and Ameri-
can favors." Miss Wellwood's mouth watered
at the favors. "All that money going to
waste, and me getting old ! " she said, viciously.
She knew she might as well go out and try to
catch the stars with a butterfly net as hope to
get hold of Van Ingen. Besides, it dawned on
her suddenly that in every paper a paragraph

109

' '--i

Ode Career of fM^ Hbfimm

about Mrs. Osborne, the new American beauty,
came after each that held Van Ing^n's name.
The " Ladies' Letters " were even bolder.

" Mrs. Osborne at the Countess of Bar-
wick's was, of course, mobbed, as usual. She
bore her honors calmly, and danced a good deal
with her compatriot, Mr. Van Ingen. . . .

" Mrs. Osborne I saw, among others. She
was driving on the box seat of Mr. Van Ingen's
coach, looking supremely beautiful and happy.

I* • •

" Mrs. Osborne's gown at Lady Ilminster's
garden party at Bolland House was a dream
in banana-green. The foamy flounces puzzled
me, lill I discovered they were of string-colored
lace applique with wee pink ostrich feathers.
She wore her favorite green shoes. On dit
that she is so devoted to them as to mean to
wear them en seconde noces; but as that occa-
sion is likely to be a purely American one we
poor Islanders will probably see many new
things thereat."

Miss Wellwood cast down the third paper.

Is-

Cie Career of iatiL ^lOmnt

Eh seconde noces was Greek to her. She
clawed a meaning of her own out of it that was
fairly correct. And she hated Mrs. Osborne
with a fine vigor, because she was in no need
of Mr. Miles Van Ingen's dollars-and Miss
Wellwood was.

Banana-green gown," she sniffrd. sourly.
" I bet her looks are all clothes. If she's so
lovely why doesn't she have her photo in the
shops ? All clothes and luck, I call these ' beau-
ties,"' savagely. "I was good-looking
enough, but Td no luck. That slim woman
who lives upstairs, she's about the prettiest
thing I've ever seen, and all the luck she's got
is one little man that's running after her. And
Thompson," with a laugh. "She wouldn't
look at Thompson, even if he dared look at her.
But you wouldn't catch me living here if I'd
her looks. One man." with deep scorn, " and
a red-headed boy, all that ever come near her.
She's either poor or a fool." She picked up her
papers again. " I'd like to see this Mrs. Os-
borne that's caught Van Ingen. I'd lay odds
he's having tea with her now. Tea ! That's
where the difference comes in. They give tea

III

■m

C^e Career of fiitiL iD0bome

and we give champagne. But it conies to the
same thing in the end," cynically. " I won't
re id any more about Van Ingen. I'm never
likely to do more than read. He doesn't go
anywhere I go. They don't — when they can
get banana-green gowns and tea. Ur-rh! I
can see that tea now,"

She was quite right, so far as the banana-
green gown went. The tea stood neglected in
Mrs. Osborne's drawing-room. Miles Van
Ingen, very pale and shining eyed, stood fac-
ing Mrs. Osborne in the middle of the room.

" Do you love me as much as that ? " he said.
He was triumphant. Mrs. Osborne nodded.
Alone with him, all the mystical, sorceress look
had gone from her face. She was girlish, fresh
— and ashamed! She covered her face sud-
denly, as if she could not meet his eyes.

" Don't," he said. " Look at me. There's
nothing that can't be said between you and me.
There's never been a day we haven't loved each
other for all these years." He forgot the tri-
fling episode of Osborne. This woman was
his. always had been and always would be.

He caught her hands and kissed her, as no

112

C^e Career of f^tn. ^ibome

one had kissed her since the day he left her. In
a hired house in Eaton Place Mrs. Osborne
stood inside the gates of heaven.

" Kiss me again," he said. " We've years to
make up for. But we'll have years to do it in."
He laughed, quick and short. "Oh. blessed
London and blessed money! I'd never have
found you without them."

" Let me go," she said. " I'm dizzy." But
she was not. She only felt as if something had
stopped the rioting blood in her, made her faint.
Yet when he brought her a chair she did not
sit down.

" Why couldn't you have found me without
the money ? " she said. " You could have gone
back."

" You married Osborne."

" Before that."

" I couldn't have married you even if you
had remained single. You knew that. Not
till this year. I — I was packing raisins in a
factory in Mexico. Faugh I I can Sv . those
colored papers now."

So he had really been penniless I Her blood
began to move again. Sometimes she had
8 113

HMM

•«iMlMli«

-.* ■

. --%3

wondered if — But no matter. He loved htf
with all his loul now.

"How much do you love me?" She
laughed because she was so happy.

*' You wouldn't believe me. You were al-
ways an u.ibeliever/' shrewdly. " But it's I
who can't believe now. Do you 'xnow I'm a
poor match ? Oh, I'm not talking about money
— you've that already. But a woman all Lon-
don raves over, Mrs. Osborne this and Mrs.
Osborne that — you could marry a prince to-
morrow, and you know it. I can't believe—oh,
you're a sort of queen, Mrs. Osborne!" with
that quick little laugh. " I can't believe you're
coming of! your throne to me."

" I'm a fashion," with a quick intake of her
breath. " An — an episode ! Miles, tell me, if
I weren't Mrs. Osborne, if I hadn't ' caught on,'
would you love me? "

" I might have seen you," with superfluous
truth.

" If I'd had a husband alive when you met
me?"

" Osborne died in '98," he said roughly.
" You never loved him. Forget him."

114

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C^e Ctmr of iiiak OAomc

"Loved him! Why ihould I love him?"
It was a queer thing to say. " He's got no>
thing to do with it — except the money that lets
me be the success you say I am. I—I'm only
Ulking, Miles. Let me talk. I always," with
a sharp smile, " liked to get at the root of
things. Suppose, instead of finding me Mrs.
Osborne, you'd found me married to a well-
meanini;, kind, middle-class husband, the sort
I should have been likely to marry at Aunt
Adtla's, what would you have done then? *'

" Kept out of your way— o.' made you get a
divorce."

" If you couldn't do either ? If "

He laughed.

"If ' ifs and ans were pots and pans,' " he
said; but the laugh had covered annoyance.
" It would be just the same. You know it
would. Sweetheart, what's the matter?"

For the second time Mrs. Osborne's hands
had covered her face.

" I — I wanted to be sure it was I you loved,
not the Mrs. Osborne the town runs after. You
are sure?"

"I'm sure I won't let you talk any more
115

■■*a«Mtai«M>>

C^f Cfttett of iRnk tf)Aonif

nonsense. " He came to hei mtsterfully.
" You're mine; you've said sa"

•' But listen. I must '*

" I won't. That's more than your • must.*
Do you think anything could stop my loving
you? Nothing. Now nre you satisfied?"
He took her hands from her face, and whatever
thought of indecision had been on it was
gone.

He was right, nothing mattered ; nothing she
could ever tell him would matter. It was Miles
who had come back to her, Miles who would
love her as she loved him, out beyond and in the
V orld to come. »vhatever one called it, hell or
heaven. She held out her arms to him ak if
he were all she had on earth.

" My sweetheart, how lovely you pre'" he
said, his cheek against hers. And his voice
caught at the soul of Mrs. Osborne.

Whatever she had to tell him of a hitherto
colorless .life should not be told to-day. Be-
tides, there was a step outside, a

She was standing at the tea table as the door
opened ; Mr. Van Ingen with an impassive face
was saying good-bye. Mrs. Osborne's incom-

ii6

C^ camt or iRti. ^ttboimt

inf viiiton thought they had never lecn her lo
lovely ; and perhaps they nevr< had.

She dined with Lady Lanark. Van Ingcn
from the other tide of the table worshiped
her. The glamour of her dazed him— her
beauty, her vogue, her indefinable air, the
beauty that was redoubled to-night because of
him. As soon as dmner was over he would
ask her to let him tell his victory. His hard
face was feverish as he thought of it. But af-
ter dinner Lady Lanark had plans; he found
he could go home or agree to them. She ap-
parently patronized an oil-and-color shop for
her complexion, and she liked her pleasures to
match. They were all going to the Empire.
Mr. Van Ingen knew why as well as if he had
been told.

"Showr* cried Lady Lanark. "We
haven't come to sec the show. We've come to
sit here in the lounge and eat ices and see the
world." Mr. Van Ingcn was the only man
who did not put on an air of nervous
gloom.

" Dear mc, they look very prim and pious ! "
She omitted to say whom she meant. " They're

C^e Career of fgiviL mimnt

—really, Mr. Van Ingen, they do those things
better in France ! "

Mrs. Osborne fanned herself, her exquisite
head held even more backward than usual. It
amused her to hear Lady Lanark appeal to Van
Ingen; he was so openly restive. He started
now.

" What ? The show ? How do you know
when you won't look at it ? "

" No, not the show, my dear ingenu! " Lady
Lanark was impervious to snubs. " The — the
—what's that over there? It looks— Wkt a
Japanese screen!" She pointed to a girl in
red, with gold embroideries spilled all over her.
" And the lady in the tailor frock — so sweet
and Sergey ! What's her name ? "

" I really never heard it." Van Ingen calmly
retired to Mrs. Osborne's side. "Why on
earth did we ever let her drag us here?" he
said, in a furious undertone. " Let me take
you home."

" I daren't. They'd talk ! "

" Then let me tell them."

" Please, no," said Mrs. Osborne, faintly.

He nodded.

ii8

tiDi^e Career of ffitf^ ii)iiiXx»me

" You watch me get our beloved hostess
away," he remarked, dryly.

Mrs. Osborne laughed. If the laugh was
sweet and ringing, 'i wa'j :iJso incredulous.

At the sound of it .Miss \V'ii.;ae Wellwood
swung round and ir ^).'c"ed Mr?.. Osborne's un-
conscious back.

" My, what a gown ! " said she to the girl
in serge. " Who's the man ? "

"Oh, Van something!" The sergey girl
did not care to converse with Miss Wellwood.
" American millionaire. The woman's the
beauty, Mrs. Osborne. Let go my arm ! Don't
grab me like that! What's the matter?"

Once more Mrs. Osborne's laugh came high
and sweet as she passed, triumphantly leading
Lady Lanark away.

" Mrs. Osborne ! " repeated Miss Wellwood.
She plumped down on a convenient chair.
" Mrs. Osborne! That's her? "

"Yes. What about it?"

" She's a beauty," said the Wellwood, slow-
ly; "a beauty. But, my word, she's a fooH "

119

CHAPTER XI

A THREATENED EVICTION.

Sarah on the narrow hardness of her bed
in the flat lay waiting for Jane to come. She
sleepily contemplated the long array of her
little shoes ranged out on the mantelpiece, re-
joicing that she had thought of bestowing them
there before it occurred to Jane. Jane had
been obliged to put hers under her bed and
glare passionately into that dusty bourne when-
ever she required a fresh pair of shoes, which
she did ten times a day Miss Egerton also
contemplated, with content at her own ingenu-
ity, the thirty-guinea traveling bag for which
she had found a home in the empty grate.

" It only takes a little cleverness to be per-
fectly comfortable in a flat," she thought,
proudly. "Where is that low wretch, Jane?
I want the light put out."

She climbed over Jane's couch to extinguish
1 20

Clfte Career of jUris. ^jjbome

the gas when he was conscious of sharp whis-
pering from Adams's room, where Jane had
gone to be unlaced. There was something go-
ing on ! Miss Egerton nimbly arrived on the
scene of action.

" What are you whispering for ? And wh^
are you in the dark?" at the top of her cool
soprano voice.

" Hush, miss, please ! " Adams was nearly
in tears.

" Shut up, Sarah ! "

Mrs. Wilton and her maid stood in pitchy
darkness, each holding to a slat of the Venetian
blind and peering cautiously out through the
slit afforded.

"Oh! what shall we do, Sarah? He looks
like a murderer! "

"What!"

Sarah, all in whue, shouldered her sister out
of the way. In the opposite window, four
yards away, sat a man. He was smoking, and
every now and then the glow from the end of
his cigar lit up a loathsome face. All three
women stood motionless.

" He's been staring like that at me all the

121

Cl^e Career of fM* €)0bome

evening," shivered Adams, "and he watched
the gentlemen go just now half out of the win-
dow."

" He couldn't see them," Sarah murmured,
contemptuously. " He'^ jot a perfect right to
sit ::t his own window."

" He could, Sarah. They lighted matches
all the way down stairs ; he could see them on
eve y landing, and he's only sitting there to
stare at us."

Suddenly there was a sharp rasp. The man
opposite had lighted a fusee. The light shone
plainly on his face, and it was the face of a
beast. The three watchers sprang from the
window.

" What a devil I " cried Sarah, sharply, be-
tween her teeth.

Jane threw herself on Adams's bed.

" Oh, he's a detective, I know he's a detec-
tive! The Wiltons have sent him to watch
me ! " She broke into shuddering sobs. Sarah
threw her arms round her.

" Hush, darling, hush I He's just a horrid
man trying to annoy us." Her own heart was
beating quickly; she had never seen just such

122

€4e Career of fiixsi* i^ieibome

a look on a man's face before. " Adams, the
door! " she said, softly, as she held Jane tight.

Adams flew to the front door and bolted it.
Jane was quiet and Sarah got up and stood be-
side the maid in the bedroom doorway. The
little entry was only half-dark, for the drawing-
room light shone into it from one end. As
they stood mistress and maid looked at each
other. Someone treading softly on the balls of
his feet was coming up the long stone stair.

" He's gone," said Jane, with relief. She
had got up and was peering through the blind
once more.

" Brute ! He's gone down his own stairs
and in our door, and he's coming up our stairs.
Hush, don't move ! "

In the silence the soft footfall stopped out-
side their flat, which was the top one in the
building. Some one knocked. Sarah hardly
breathed. Then the letter-box was cautiously
rattled. Sarah's wild blood raced in her; she
made a step in the entry, but Adams caught
her firmly by her white embroidered sleeve.

"Don't go out, miss. He can see you!"
She spoke very low, but the .nan heard her.

^^e Career of fMk ^isbome

"T'ss, t'ss, t'ssl" he called, with vile cau-
tion, through the letter-box.

" I'm going to open the door and speak
to that man ! " Sarah's high voice was
low with rage. "To think he should
dare!"

Jane was herself again. She laid a quiet
hand on Sarah's slim shoulder.

" Don't move," she said. " Let him knock.
Once we opened the door he would be in; we
couldn't keep him out. And then if we made
a fuss and roused the house, they would believe
we had let him in and got frightened afterward.
It's this beastly suburb that's the matter.
They're not used to people who have visitors
all day and go out in hansoms. He has prob-
ably seen all our doings, and saw us bring those
two men home with us. Oh, why aren't we in
America, where, if you amuse yourself, no one
immediately thinks you vile? "

The handle of the door turned softly, it shook
as a strong shoulder heaved against it, but the
bolt and the latch held. Presently the foot-
steps, treading softly, went away.

" I wish he had done it while Mr. O'Hara
124

€4e Career of fiixtL Oieibome

was here." Sarah thought longingly of
O'Hara's iron muscles.

" Not he," said Jane. " Catch him ! They
would have kicked him downstairs, too, and
we should all have been put in the papers."

"Let's go to bed," said Sarah, drearily.
" My feet are frozen on this horrid oilcloth.
Mr. Hopkins will make us leave this flat if we
tell him we've been annoyed, and we can't go
to a hotel. You know we can't."

" The bolt is strong; he can pound all night
if he likes. Come to bed. Don't light your
gas again, Adams. Good-night."

She followed the shivering Sarah to bed, but
their narrow stretchers were not reposeful.
They turned and tossed for an hour. Sud-
denly Jane started out of bed.

" He's at the door again."

Sarah stood in the bedroom door, looking
into the sitting-room. She had taken Jane's
bed at the fly in the efTort to pass her sister,
and had bumped her shins successively against
every article in the room.

" Come back to bed," she said, contemptu-
ously. " If he likes to spend the night on our

12S

Ctir Cateev of iML i^ttome

door-mat, let him. I've cut my foot on your
vile bonnet-box."

She limped back to bed and fell fast asleep,
to dream of earthquakes.

It was morning, and the postman's knock was
loud at the door. Adams appeared presently
with letters and tea.

"That's a funny letter!" Sarah surveyed
a common envelope with distaste; the writing
on it sloped backward, and she despised it.
" It's for you. Jane."

Jane was drinking hot water; she said tea
was not good for the complexion. She felt
as languid as her tasteless draught.

" Open the thing," she said, listlessly.

Sarah pulled a small slip of paper from the
flimsy envelope — and stared.

Jane snatched it.

" This is from a friend. You'd better go
away.

" Thompson."

" I wonder if we had," she said, with cu-
rious earnestness.
" Go away I " shrieked Sarah. " The man's

126

C^e €atm of faxiL tOfimnt

mad. We're away enough, what with those
old Wiltons and adorers and things. You can
go if you like, but I sha'n't stir." and she de-
parted, to be first at the bath that would not
run.

Her pains were wasted, for Jane breakfasted
in bed, to an obligate of discomforting
thoughts. Against her will she believed in the
good faith of their licsieger of last night. She
wished, as the panic-struck always wish, that
she had had sense enough to dress and speak
to him. She had but just finished a languid
toilet and emerged into the drawing-room when
Adams announced a visitor.

"Mr. Elmslie, mm, would like to see
you."

"Who is he? "said Sarah.
" The agent for the flats. Ask him to come
in, Adams."

Mr. Elmslie was t .11 and gray, with the man-
ner of an auctioneer. Jane asked him to sit
down, which he did with an uneasiness the ap-
pearance of his chair did not justify.

" I have come about a letter," he began.

"A letter?" Jane was nobly calm. This

137

C^e Career of inm tf>$teme

was not the man of last n'^ht. How did he
know about the letter ?

•• Yes." He fidgeted. " Some of the ladies
in the Mansions have written complaining about
— about you.*'

" About us ! " Jane turned white.

"How interesting!" said Sarah, languidly.

Mr. Elmslie glanced at his surroundings; he
wished he had not come in person.

" In fact, Mrs. Wilton, they have written
they consider you too young, and — and cheer-
ful. They think it improper — in fact they
think it gives a bad tone to the Mansions for
two gir^ to live alone here." He had meant
to say It > .th elegance, bui he became blunt in
his despair.

"What impertinence!" said Jane, icily.
"Still, Sarah, I am glad we look young; are
not you? You know all about us," turning on
the wretched Elmslie. " I wonder you took
the trouble to come and tell us such idiocy."

" I don't see — " Sarah's calm eyes rested on
the eirissary who had in very truth been sent
to evict them — " I don't see what we can do

to look old, except wear wigs.

138

suppose it is

mmm

!«S!

^If

Cte Career of flitn, ^wxnt

a lady opposite who ha» been writing about us.
Tell her we do not like being starcU at through
an opera glass. Tell her wc find it boring.
Does she accuse us of anything else but youth ?"

" The truth is," said EInislic, slowly, gazing
at Jane, who was evidently not wasted on him,
" that they don't exactly complain."

"What do they do then?"

" They simply say that you have no husbands
— and many visitors — and "

Jane rose — a different woman from the one
who had trembled at his entrance. Her head
held very high and backward, her eyes half-
closed, she looked at him, and then smiled —
magnificently. Whatever she had been, she
was perfectly untroubled now.

" My husband is in India, and my sister is
not married. If you want us to go on that ac-
•ount we arc perfectly willing. We," with
calm insolence, " will leave the neighborhood
unpolluted for Miss Wellwood."

Mr. Elmslie caught his breath. The letters
were suddenly stigmatized in his mind as " d--d
cheek."

" My goodness ! " he said, incoherently. " I
9 129

I: <

C» Career of jnti, ^$imm

wat a (ooi; I might have known. I— I will
arrange this affair for you. I underttand these
complaints are insults. I will answer them ac-
cordingly. I "

"Then it is nothing?"

"Quite so. Nothing." If she had been a
murtlcrcss Mr. Elni*lie would not have cared.
All !)c knew wa« thai he had never seen anyone
so beautiful in all his life. He Iwweil himself
out, sadly conscious that he, as a visitor, would
not be welcome at Rossetti Mansions.

" And you never mentioned last night and
that horrid man!" shrieked the astonished
Sarah when Elmslie had deiwrtcd.

"I forgot him," returned Jane, meekly.
But she Ind not; she only preferred other
mcthoils. Last night's letter was no worry to
her now, since it was all of a piece with the
agent's visit. But if the writer waited use-
lessly night after night to speak to Mrs. Wilton
on the sta-rs, no one but the night-watchman
knew.

130

iM.mr

criAPrrcK xii

TIIK PALACE

TifERR was m escape. Jane wa§ forced to
"dine quietly" with the WilKmf*. Sarah was
punfjently ignored in tlie invitation, ami she
smiletl.

"Praise the piRs!" was her low comment.
"Don't agitate yourself to explain. I would
not enjoy it any more than you will. I am
going out. I shall lake Adams. I shall go to
the Palace."

" Why don't you take an adorer instead ? "

"Tliey wouldn't go. Or if they <lid they'd
stuff me intr» a Imx and not let me call my soul
my own. They treat me as if I were made of
virgin gold and everything were acid and might
corrotle mc. I shall take Adams. And I won't
even sit in the stalls. I shall sit in the upstairs
balcony."

•• You cant."

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Ci^e Career of ftitiL i^itibottie

" I can, my beloved. And if you put me to
it I can walk about in the promenade."

And Miss Egerton retired to the bedroom
to make a carefully studied toilet. Evening
dress was out of the question ; street dress was
too hot. Eventually she compromised on a
muslin blouse, all creamy pink and lace, a chif-
fon ruffle, and a toque covered with pink roses.
These splendors she toned down with an old
black satin skirt and covered up with a gor-
geous dark-blue satin cloak adorned with
quantities of priceless lace. She surveyed her-
self with some pride, and sailed blandly into
the drawing-room.

Jane raised her eyebrows.

"What's the matter?" inquired the be-
decked one, with suspicion.

" Oh, nothing ! You look sweet, but not
precisely inconspicuous ! "

"Fudge! I've had this cloak and this old
skirt for forty years."

" You have had that complexion for only
the past forty minutes." For the pale Sarah
was adorned with a flush as of faint roses.

" Only ten, if you wish to be exact." Sarah,
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Ci^e Cateet of fML iDfOmnt

unabashed, departed to beat up Adams. That
damsel had likewise spent time on her toilet.
She had enlivened the smart black dress that
duty compelled her to wear with a hat culled
from the treasuries of the Brompton Road.
It was large and it bore plumes of black that
waved high.

" Good heavens I " cried S«rah. " I had no
idea you were so pretty, Adams." She sur-
veyed her hand-maiden with astonishment, tak-
ing in the black hair and the creamy skin deftly
brought out by like tones in her toilet. Sarah's
pinkness and her amber-gold hair stood out
softly beside the low-toned good looks of her
maid.

" Come along, we're going in an omnibus,"
she cried, prosaically, and the enraptured
Adams followed the rapid click of her high
heels down the long stone stairs.

"Buy the tickets, Adams!" Sarah spoke
rather faintly. They were very late, the en-
trance to the Palace was full of men, and
Sarah's pink toque was striking to the eye.
Adams was a London girl, and not in the least
appalled. She purchased tickets and followed

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mBSBmsss8SSSSMasMamumaaBsssss:^rss

C^e Career of fUttL i^fOmnt

Sarah upstairs. Three men strolled up after
them, but Sarah was happily oblivious.

Upstairs it was pitch dark. Someone was
in the middle of a turn. It was a slim girl in
voluminous drapings on which were chastely
thrown varying transparencies of the heads
of different members of the Royal family.
The audience applauded loyally ; they were ac-
customed to the type of the Royal counte-
nances, and did not find them unhandsome.

Sarah leaned breathless over the rail of the
promenade.

" Adams," she breathed, " there aren't any
seats."

Adams, with the air of a masquerading duch-
ess, beckoned her onward after a white-capped
maid. Sarah was conscious of going down
steps in darkness, dazzled the while by blue and
red flashes on the darkened stage where the
Royal family glared in primary colors, of stum-
bling over outstretched legs, finally of sinking
into her seat with joy. The lights flashed up
as the girl on the stage finished her last gyra-
tion, and the French gentlemen whom Sarah's
preposterous heels had made wince were all

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Ci^e Caveet of fML ^fOmnt

glaring wrathfuUy at her. But she was letting
her cloak slip back from her shoulders, and her
innocent pinkiness and the cloudy amber of her
small, drooping head worked a miracle with the
annoyed ones. They glanced eloquently at
their friends instead of glaring at Sarah. One
of them offered her his program, and she
calmly took it, but somehow he became con-
scious that he was a hairdresser in private life,
and he felt it impossible to begin the conversa-
tion he had contemplated. All that he accom-
plished was to sit out the rest of the perform-
ance without any program.

As the next turn came on Sarah piously gave
thanks that she had not come with an adorer.
Four men were singing, singing very well, but
one of them was so wobblingly fat, either by
nature or art, that he made her feel ill. A
Frenchman beside the hairdresser made a real-
istic remark to him in French that caused the
hapless Sarah to start.

" I'm not a bit amused ! " she said, wrath-
fuUy. "And all this smoke when I'm not
smoking makes my head ache." For all round
her, in the low-turned light, resounded the

135

;*»4rJ j>«M-«?^i

»* »^ •»»*—»,

Cl^e €axm of fML tf)jtf»me

I 1

cheerful click of wax matches, followed by the
little flame and glow as man after man lighted
up. It was paradise with the peri inside but
unable to enjoy herself. Miss Egerton's sharp
eye traveled carefully over the house when the
fat and pendulous horror on the stage had dis-
appeared amid frantic applause, and the lights
were turned on.

" There's a woman smoking in one of the
boxes. I shall smoke," she declared, cheerfully.
" Can we buy cigarettes in the bar, Adams?"
It took a good deal to jar Adams.
" Certainly, Miss Egerton. Shall I get you
some?"
" I'll go with you."

And she followed the doughty, handsome
maid across the promenade and into the refresh-
ment place. Adams disappeared into a crowd
of men ; Sarah sank composedly on a wide sofa
and surveyed the scene. Everywhere were
men and girls walking up and down or seated
at small tables in retired comers having drinks.
Sarah envied none of them. They looked dull,
their scraps of talk that reached her were coarse
and stupid. Still she was the only woman in

136

C^e eateer of fatiL ^fimnt

sight not talking to a man, and it was annoy-
ing to be out of the fashion. Not for worlds
would she have owned to herself tliat she re-
sented the glances of the attached and unat-
tached males lavished on her dainty prettiness,
where she nestled alone in a corner of the big
sofa by the door. Adams returned with the
cigarettes, and Sarah rose. They went into the
promenade and leaned on the rail very happily
while they discussed the house. Suddenly
Adams took her mistress by the arm.

" Th?t fair man has followed you ever since
we came in — he'll speak to you if you don't
move. And — don't start. Miss Egerton — I
saw Mr. Hopkins behind him just now as I
turned my head ! "

Sarah glided nimbly to her place as the lights
went down, and the fair man retired disap-
pointed. Mr. Hopkins hastily decided that he
must have had the jumps to have imagined
Miss Egerton here alone, and he went down-
stairs again. Sarah drew a long breath.

"Adams, you are a priceless angel!" she
said, solemnly. "One more minute and my
situation— heavens! suppose Mr. Hopkins, of

»37

■-*'-*A»(.mt« •'-*.■ ■'--* -'-%*.** ^ •--♦.^^.■•.•. ...jfcfc^.^j.

ZJ^t €axm of iHQL iMiartie

all persons, had observed me being accosted by
a man I didn't know ! After that escape I can
venture on anything I "

She took a cigarette from the box of Egyp-
tians Adams had procured, and leaned back
composedly in her chair to a stout Frenchman
behind her. He was accompanied by his
stouter wife, and when the slim, fair angel in
front of him calmly asked him for a light his
position was truly appalling. Had he been
alone, indeed !— but alas, he was not ! Polite-
ness made him produce the match, abject cow-
ardice in the glare of his wife's eye made him
present it to Sarah in silence.

Anna Held came on the stage, and for the
first time Sarah took joy in the performance.
She laughed softly as she smoked her cigarette,
oblivious of Hopkins below stairs and the fair
man who stood gazing at her from the prome-
nade. The hairdresser next her was more puz-
zled than ever. He was obliged to dismiss the
theory that she was a little girl run away from
the schoolroom, and fortunately the supposi-
tion he substituted was unknown to the subject
of it.

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O^e Caiter of fML iS>iaxmt

Sarah put out her cigarette against the opera
glass in front of her.

"Let's go home, Adams. I'm hungry!"
and she yawned. The people were getting up
to go. Sarah and Adams went out in the
crush, escaping Hopkins by keeping carefully
at his back. As they edged along behind him
in the bright light of the street door Sarah
gasped:
"Adams, run/"

She seized her by the arm and dragged her
across the street, then on at top speed to Pic-
cadilly Circus. Neither of them spoke till they
were safely on an omnibus, wedged in by
grubby, nondescript people.

" Colonel Wilton ! " Adams ejaculated.
Solemnly Sarah nodded. " Bad old man ! "
she said virtuously. She had never seen a pair
of opera glasses that had been leveled on her
all the evening from a box, nor the puzzled ill
temper in a face behind them.

A man got up on the omi bus. It was the
fair man who had gazed at them throughout
the evening. Sarah drew another long
breath, this time of annihilated conceit. For

139

■^SSSmmottaHmtamiaii

»-: :i

! 11

()

' I »

C^e Camr of jin» ifttfiome

the man sat down beside Adams. It was to
Adams that he addressed himself, and for the
first time in her life Sarah comprehended that
mistress and maid were of the same clay. The
man was a gentleman and perfectly polite.
Sarah found a wicked joy in egging the uncom-
fortable and reluctant Adams on to mild flirta-
tion. In spite of drawbacks it was evident
that the latter could hold her own. Sarah felt
like sa} ng " bravo " at every sharp, quiet cut
the town-bred girl dealt her unwelcome swain.

" I wonder, though, what he would think if I
were to sit beside him and talk to his valet."

The omnibus stopped at Rutland Gate, and
Adams whispered to her. They rose and flew
down the steps and disappeared before the fair
man realized they had departed. It was dark
and there were no hansoms. Miss Egerton,
as she trudged along toward Hammersmith in
uncomfortable shoes, felt that if ever there was
an overrated pleasure it was going to music-
halls. But Adams sailed onward, puflfed with
pride.

140

CHAPTER XIII

A PAIR OP BUCCANEERS

The clock was striking nine as Mrs. Wilton
toiled up the stairs to her flat. She had told
Hopkins that she did not mind stairs ; to-night
she was conscious of each step of them. She
looked, as she passed the landing light, tired ;
exactly as a woman looks who has been out to
lunch and then to a garden party, and has
hated each worse than the other. Adams
opened the door before she had time to knock.

" I'm so glad you've come back, m'm," she
said, solemnly.

"Why? Is anything — " she was so weary
that she was petulant — " the matter here? " as
if it were the last straw to have anything wrong
in the flat.

"Those dreadful people who let yoi their
flat never paid their gas bill, and the ga: man
came this afternoon and said he must havt the

141

MMl

HMUb

C^e €Bmt of iHrii tf)ibanie

four pound' they owed him. I would not give
him all that money."

"Did you have u?" Jane's interruption
was to the point.

•• Well, no/* unwillingly, " I hadn't. So he
said he must cut off the gas. And he did."

"What about dinner? There was no din-
ner?" said Jane.

" No, m'm ! Miss Egerton did not come in.
I suppose she was dining ou*. My tea," gloom-
ily, " I made on the oil stove."

Mrs. Wilton was at once aware that she
was hungry. It was this, of course, that made
her so depressed.

" This is too much ! " she said.

" I might make you some porridge on the oil
stove."

Jane turned ungratefully from the sugges-
tion.

" No, thank you, Adams ; I am too h jry.
What I want is dinner." She never .rank
champagne; but it came over her now that
some soup and .1 glass of it would lift this
senseless worry off her. Where on eirth was
Sarah? It was not fair of her to be out.

14a

t^ Ctmv or fM. Atfionte

" Here is Mits Egerton now," remarked the
doleful Adams. " Sometimes she brings cakes
home with her."

" Cakes! " cried Sarah, gayly. " \Vh.it are
you talking about cakes for at this time of
night? Isn't there any dinner left? I'm get-
ting old. The society of a young man no
longer makes me oblivious of food."

" There was no dinner," announce<l Jane.

" No dinner! What rubbish! Ill have sup-
per, then," with the falling inflection of relief.

" They've cut of! the gas, miss," said Adams.

" Well, there's a range — cook on the range."

" It won't draw."

" Won't draw ! " cried Sarah, flinging her-
self down on the sofa. " It must draw. I'm
hungry. Can't you do something? "

" Just after the t.ian cut oflf the gas Mr. Elm-
slie sent word over to say he'd paid him rather
than let us be inconvenienced. But the gas man
had gone. I can't do anything, miss, till the
morning. Couldn't you ladies go out ? "

"Why didn't I stay out?" groaned Sarah.
" But I couldn't."

"Where's Mr. O'Hara?"
143

C^e Career oC fM^ Mlmm

1^!,'

•• Yen now where he ii," tglooimly. " Din-
ing out 41 d going to the Glastonbury s bftjl.
He has >'. She's his aunt. You knew that."

The wea i.jess came back to Mrs. Wilton's
face, "^h ght, of all nights, she wished de-
vou 'v h it Sir. O'Hara had not known a soul
in to V 1

•• V\ i> It we go to Mrs. Osborne's?"
said S I ih, i)' kfy.

"\\r r ii< I. i;.in', . " She's away. We
can't , di)^ You know," irrelevantly,

** I hav< to b» 1 /iltons' most of to-mor-

row. . nd au> k\a) , Mrs. Osborne is supposed
to ha\c been off at Paddington in the 8.20
train.'

" Then she's out of it ! But," firmly, " wc
must eat. That Italian place in the Strand —
we could go there to supper."

" But it's miles from here."

" There's nowhere nearer," dryly. " You
know that." She spoke as securely as if Re-
gent street and Piccadilly had f)ecn wiped out.

But Jane only said : " No, tlicre's nowhere
nearer."

It was odd that after having driven all the

144

die €Mtm of jmv. €>ttonie

way in a cab. Jane, nevcrthclcit, should itand
brtathku in the entrance of the unfashionable
restaurant.

'• Come on," urged Sarah. " No one we
ever heard of will be here. We're just l*ctwcen
dinner and supper, too. The room s half-
empty."

Jane cast hesitation t) the windn.

"Where shall we go. upstairs or down?
Down is a la carte."

*' Oh, down, if you've got enough money."

Sarah's experience of many restaurants had
shown her the error of table d'hote timing.
But it was Jane's party, so she kindly added a
saving clause to her decision.

"Heaps!"

Jane kept money in little pile^ on the bed-
room mantelpiece between Sarah's row of
shoes. She had hastily swept a pile of sover-
eigns into her pocket just as they were leav-
ing that crowded retreat.

She led the way straight before her and took
possession of a table near the door.

Sarah gazed at the electric lamps with soft
rose shades on the tables, marked with satia-
10 145

1 )

i m '

C^>e Career oC fMk fOfOmat

faction her own reflection in the many mirrors,
and regarded the astoundingly frescoed walls
with keen rapture.

" This is my favorite color for lamp shades,"
she remarked, cheerfully. " I know I shall en-
joy my supper."

" Thank heaven, I can back myself to order
it against any man in London," murmured
Jane, piously.

She was apt to suffer many things when din-
ing with the excellent Hopkins, who liked
jointsr — with vegetables.

" Cold trout, Sarah, or whitebait? "

" Whitebait. Mr. O'Hara always feeds me
on cold trout."

The head waiter murmured respectfully that
one portion of fish would doubtless be ample
for the two ladies, who had chosen their wine
and omitted soup in a manner that had placed
them high in his estimation.

" Filet d la Toscano," Jane commanded.

" Shall we have asparagus? "

" Yes, cold."

" And a vanilla souffle. They make heav-
enly souffles. And— can we have some straw-

146

:^^

mjsa&^

Ciie Camv of ^nni fDiOnmt

berries — with kirsch or maraschino ? Iced, you
know."

The head waiter did know, and the two buc-
caneers sat awaiting their supper. It was
early, and there were not many people. They
were sufficiently noticeable as they sat discours-
ing happily, and a middle-aged gentleman op-
posite eyed them with approbation. He spe-
cially admired Sarah's exquisite wild-rose com-
plexion.

"They're not very quick," remarked that
lady, ruefully. "Jane, I shall die if I do not
get something to eat ! "

" Have a hors d'amvre."

** Never eat raw fish ! " ungratefully eyeing
the Norwegian hareng. Jane was eating a
buttered roll, she did not specially like it, but
it kept her calm.

" If I could turn pale," wailed Sarah, " I
should faint. But you can't expect everything
from a complexion that lives in a china box 1 "

" Here's the whitebait."

Jane divided it triumphantly. There was
"ample" for two, as the waiter had prophe-
sied.

147

dt^e Career of JML i^itibome

Under the gentle influences of champagne
and whitebait Sarah revived. She even be-
came hilarious. Her dark-blue eyes shoiM
starry, her laugh rang out nearly as clear and
sweet as Jane's — ^Jane had the most delicious
laugh in the world. And Jane, too, sat laugh-
ing and talking like a happy child, her mo-
dishly dressed hair and her fine hat somehow
adding point to the fresh delicacy of her face,
the fine, unspoilt lines of her firm red lips.
After all, her apptehensions had been no more
than hungry crossness.

" Don't, don't, Sarah ! " she implored. For
Sarah was recklessly flinging away her best
conversation and her most cheerful tales on this
tete-a-tete dinner with a sister. Could Colonel
Wilton, who said sisters always hated each
other and talked only before men, but have
heard her !

"Oh, Sarah, I am getting hysterical. Do
stop making me laugh," Jane implored.

She put down her knife and fork on her plate
and put her hand in her pocket for a handker-
chief. A small pile of coins came out with it
and droppec with a clink into her lap. She

148

mmmmmm

ssaatm

C^ Career oC ffixn. a>fiimnt

looked at them absently. Then she started.
She thrust her hand back into her pocket ; there
was nothing else in it. Every bit of color left
her face.

She had brought five shillings instead of five
sovereigns; she had not enough to pay for their
dinner!

"Sarah!"

" What's the matter? Do you see any Wil-
tons?"

" Oh, do attend, Sarah ! Have you got any
money ? "

" Me? You know I never have," cheerfully.
" Why? You said you'd plenty."

" I made a mistake." The filet was growing
colH on Jane's plate. "Look! That's all I've
got."

She pointed a small, miserable finger at
the pile of silver that should have been
gold.

Sarah dived wildly into the recesses of her
gown. Piecemeal she produced shillings and
sixpences.

" Two pounds," she announced, grimly. " It
is not enough."

«49

Jane drank some champagne. Then she did
some rapid mental arithmetic.

" It's not enough, not nearly. Oh, that
soufB^! Why did I order it? It was only
greediness ; we didn't need it 1 "

The middle-aged man near by was taking in
the tragedy. He gave way to a broad smile
of approval at Sarah's calm response.

" Well, it is ordered, and I'm going to eat
it. When we get to the bill, we can think of
wrestling with it. Your filet's getting cold.

Jane took up her knife and fork again, but
visions of a row and an outraged proprietor
loomed large before her. Even the souffle did
not give her courage. But the strawberries
and maraschino made her bold.

" Best strawberries and maraschino in Lon-
don one gets here," she announced, as she ate
her first. At her third she waxed cheerful,
and she was herself again throughout the coffee
and cigarettes. It was Sarah who was doubt-
ful about smoking without the stalwart O'Hara
to back her.

" Pouf ! " said Jane, her cigarette tight in her
childish mouth as she got a light from the out-

150

z:fyt Cmter of fnt$. fDfimat

wardly calm waiter. " They can only ask us
to stop. This is the first smoke I've had to-
day."

She leaned back, placidly happy. They were
not asked to stop; no one took any notice of
them.

" I can't smoke in peace till I know about
that bill," said Sarah, suddenly. She un-
earthed half-a-crown from a forgotten pocket
and gave it to Jane. There was a period of
awful suspense ; then the bill arrived on a plate.
Jane glanced at it ; Sarah snatched it.

"Oh, blessed half-crown!" she cried.
" Give me that light, Jane," holding out a slim,
fair hand for the spirit lamp. For the bill was
just two pounds — they had half-a-crown for
the waiter.

But when they were in the street it dawned
on them that they had only sixpence to get them
home.

" Hansom, and pay at the house," said Sarah.

" No money when we get there. I remem-
ber now. I paid the bills yesterday."

" The top of an omnibus will be much nicer,"
calmly. "I've always wanted to go on one

151

■aaiH

Mum

€9e Caveer of fMk tfHttionie

at night. Come on. We'll get one from Char-
ing Cross."

Jane said nothing. Her mental aspect was
clouded again by the vision of a man's face —
if he could see them careering madly up the
Strand at 1 1 p.m. I But at Charing Cross there
was not one omnibus for West Kensington.

" We can't stay here," said Jane, desperately.
" We must go to Piccadilly Circus in the first
one we see, and get our own there."

She climbed as she spoke into a dark-green
omnibus bearing the desired legend of Chapel
Street and Piccadilly. But there was no room
inside. With shaking legs she followed Sarah
to the top and to the front seat.

" Horses are quite good," said Sarah. Sarah
was enjoying herself.

" We're all good on this 'bus ! " The driver
turned round with a drunken leer. " Men and
'orses and girls are all good ! "

"Don't talk to him!" commanded Jane.
" Don't you see he is a pirate? He's drunk."
She picked up her skirts and fled wildly down
the steps. " And the conductor — oh, hear the
conductor ! "

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Clie €axnt of fML fOfimnt

There was no need to draw attention to him.
Hit cheerfully intoxicated yells were loud in
their ears.

" Come on I My 'bus goes everywhere. To
hell, if you like ! " He caught Jane's arm.
" Hi, miss, you can't get off I If you does we
charges sixpence."

But she fled by him after Sarah into the
crowd. It seemed miles to Piccadilly, and no
blue omnibus greeted them when they reached
the comer.

" We'd better walk to Mrs. Osborne's," said
Jane, desperately. " We'll never get to the flat.
Come across the street. She might have come
home unexpectedly. Anyhow, they'll let us
m.

The lamps shone down on them bright as
day as they waited while the stream of hansoms
and omnibuses passed ceaselessly, and for once
the policeman lingered before stopping the traf-
fic to let them cross.

"Jane!" cried Sarah.

" Sarah ! " muttered Jane.

In a hansom close to them, but driving rap-
idly pasv, were Mrs. Wilton and her lord.

153

C^f Ctreer of iKtjk Mbome

" Did they know us? " Jane was sick with
horror. But she grew worse when she turned
and beheld another hansom coming from the
other direction. Out of it Mr. Hopkins and
Mr. O'Hara gazed straight at them.

There was no question of going to Mrs.
Osborne's now. Jane grasped her sister by the
arm, and they tore across the street under the
noses of omnibus horses, but not before they
had observed a wild stampede in the hansom,
and had heard "Stop! stop!" from its occu-
pants.

"Here's an omnibus!" Sarah jerked Jane
into it. It went to Putney, but that was no
matter. There were two vacant seats on the
top. From that eminence they descried two
men tearing back from the point at which they
had succeeded in stopping their hansom. Mr.
Hopkins rushed to the omnibus as it started.

" No room ! " yelled the conductor.

"We'll stand!"

"Not allowed," roarc<1 the man, with a
glance at the policeman directing the traffic.

Sarah looked no more, for the relucta *
Hopkins had dropped off the step. Jane w:

154

t:^ Camr of fML fDttmtit

too agiuted to speak. Not till they were past
the corner of Brompton road did she muster
courage to lead the way down from the shelter-
ing omnibus into the street. Penniless, weary,
for once silent, Sarah trudged beside her. It
had been a day of storm. It seemed the mid-
dle of the night when they came to their own
door, but not even the night-watchman saw
them drag wearily into its blessed shelter.
Half-W9v up the endless stairs Jane lagged and
•topped, by chance she looked out of the land-
ing window.

Winnie Wellwood's door was open. In the
stream of light from it a man came out, and —
Jane Wilton's heart stopped beating — the man
was Van Ingen I

She set her teeth and walked upstairs.

V»

I5S

CHAPTER XIV

IXPLANATIONf

"jANi," Mid Sarah, half-awake, "Jana!"
She Uxktd at the empty bed betide hen; then
sat up and stared round the little bedroont
Was Jane ill that she was up at half-past seven
in the morning? The electric bell ringing as it
had never rung in that flat brought Adams at a
run. But all her mistress said was :

"Breakfast." She had seen a note on
her bed. She read it, standing barefoot by
the window — perhaps that made her shiver.
The note was simple enough :

" I've gone out—I had to go. If the Wil-
tons come I don't care. I'm done with Wil-
tons. Don't go to Mrs. Osborne's till you see
me. I may be back in an hour; I may stay
there. If I do I'll stay for good."

"'Don't care!' 'Done with Wiltons I'"
repeated Sarah. " She's madl She can't be

156

etc Cimt of fM. Wtmrn

done with them. Oh, I hite Gtorge Wilton,
I hate him! Why did I ever let her mirry
him? But if she doesn't come back— ' Serah,
who never cried, wu crying wildly. " What
shall I do? Oh, what shall I do? " She knew
Jane could never pay the price of being " done
with Wiltons." " I thought it would be fun.
But it isn't— funny t"

She dressed, at half past seven, because she
must be doing something. She was afraid to
go out, afraid Jane might come back and miss
her. If she had dared be honest with herself
she would have said, afraid Jane might not
come back. " In an hour," Jane had written.
What on earth did she mean by an hour?
There were years of minutes, aging centuries of
them, and they stretched on indefinitely. By
four Sarah Egerton had paid mentally all the
price that would bankrupt Jane, the price of
being done with Wiltons. At half-past four
precisely an impetuously touched doorbell gave
a hideous and disquieting shock to nerves that
were nearly at breaking strain.

"Adams — " she had to moisten her lips to
say it— "who is it?"

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Adunt craned to the gUM of the front door.
"Mri. and Miu Wilton, m'm."

Something like electricity ran through Sarah.
If Jane were done with Wiltons the could tell
them 10. decently and in order ; no lilly ichooU
girl prank should do it for her. And — there
was the oft chance yet; Jane might never tell
them. The lister walked back to the drawing*
room and sat down.

" Truth, mixed with Osbomes, will do the
Wiltons," she said to herself, though ten
minutes ago she had not cared whether or not
there was a Wilton in the world. It was queer
how determined she felt this : if Jane must be
blamed in great things she should stand clear
of small.

Mrs. Wilton could be heard now, demand-
ing of Adams in breathless gasps if Mrs.
George Wilton were at home. The informa-
tion that she was not was useless, and Adams,
momentarily effaced by the drawing-room door,
announced the visitors. Miss Egerton rose to
receive them.

"How do you do, dear Mrs. Wilton?"
Her voice was oiled with the serpent's guile;

IS8

Oe €mn or jum. g)iteme

ihc kis«cd her connection- in-Uw lightly on both
cheeki— yet, kiiMd hert " Quite well I hope?
What a bad horie you had in your hansom laM
night! I wai ture he would kick bctorc you
got home. Do tit here on the lofa. Tea haa
juit come in."

Mrt. Wilton atood rigid. Sarin was dewv-
Ing nothing; the shameless sight of last night
had been no delusion.

" Where — " she said, hv\ she w.i« forced to
pause for the breath horror had kn ;ckeH .)ui of
her, "where is Jane?"

" I don't know." It was a tnjthi jl answer.

" She should be here. She shouUl have come
to me this morning with an explanation.
She "

"She was very tired last night." calmly.
" She went out to get rid of a headache. Will
you have cake or bread and butter ? "

" Do you mean to say," said Mrs. Wilton,
slowly, sternly, with a full stop after each word,
" that you were in Piccadilly Circus last night,
that we really saw you, with our own eyes I
Oh, Amelia f " she t* rned her portentous gaze
on her daughter.

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C^e camr of fM^ iftteme

Sarah softly and profanely hununed, "Oh,

Louisa!"

" Of course it was," said she, opening her
eyes innocently to meet Mrs. Wilton's store.
" Did you think I should say we were not there?
Is that why you came to-day? You saw

I '';'

US.

" No, no. But Jane," severely, " Jane must
be aware that only women of a— a certoin class
are seen at night in Piccadilly Circus! "
" You were there," meekly.
" Passing through, merely."
"We did not stay there all night." Sarah
laughed; no one would have known it was with
iron determination, with a heart quaking for a
step that did not come. " What did you think
we were doing— camping out ? "

Mrs. Wilton opened her mouth and shut it
again. She was incapable of speech.

Sarah's voice, sweetly raised, lost all that un-
called-for mirth.

" It was so unfo5 'unate! We had an acci-
dent. We were coming home from the thea-
tre with old Mr. Osborne and Mrs. Osborne in
a four-wheeler, and she became faint. The

i6o

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C^e Caveer of fML fS>iamnt

four-wheeler had no pneittnatic tires. And the
driver was drunk I "

Amelia sniffed.

" Yes, very drunk," with calm asseveration.
" We were all obliged to get out, and they took
the only hansom we could fmd. Of course
Mrs. Osborne had to be got home, and Mr. Os-
borne could not leave his fainting daughter-in-
law. He was to distressed at having to desert
us I We had to come home in another hansom,
with a sober driver." Sarah was all the time
wondering why she took this trouble to lie to
people who to-morrow might be neither here
nor there to her and Jane.

But the lies were a success. Mrs. Wilton
and her daughter were calmed. They ate cake
and drank much tea, as their due for the disap-
pointment of not finding Jane and at finding
Sarah ready with an explanation, even bold
with one — for she dared much before they left.
Mrs. Wilton said so, with a decent varnish, but
finally she and her daughter departed amicably.
Sarah, with huge relief, washed off the taste of
Wilton cheek, that stung her lips a Judas red,
and sat down. The horrible bell rang again.
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C^e Career of jftyn fPfOmnt

"Mr. Hopkins, Mr. O'Hara," announced
Adams.

Mr. Hopkins's appearance was as warlike as
his unwarlike figure would permit; he wore de-
pression and suspicion ostentatiously. But the
eyes of O'Hara were troubled. At their glance
Sarah's only ray of consolation was that she
had on her best and most becoming tea-
gown.

" We saw you — " Hopkins seated himself by
her — '' last night. How could you do such
a thing?" He was really glaring at her.
"And is your sister not here?" disagreeably.

For Hopkins Sarah had cared not at all, and
the nameless aggression of his manner roused
her to sudden battle. No Hopkins must be
allowed to look like that, and so speak of
Jane!

"Do what?" she asked, carelessly. "I
think it is you who shouldn't have done
it."

" But it was extraordinary — dreadful ! "

" Who was dreadful ! There were we, alone,
after an adventure with a drunken driver, hav-
ing to get out in Piccadilly Circus and forage

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Ci^e Career of fHviL ^tfMnme

for ourselves. And there were you, two self-
ish men in a hansom with a sober driver, and
you never even offered him to us."

" We would have," Hopkins interposed,
" but you ran ! You went on an omnibun — a
Putney omnibus." There was blood-curdling
tragedy in his tone.

" We had no time to ofifer you our hansom,"
began O'Hara. '* You were so quick, so very,
very quick, as if you wanted " he paused.

Sarah was regarding him intently. He
avoided his doom by that pause. Not so Mr.
Hopkins, who rushed on his.

" We were sure you did not want us to see
you," he said, unpleasantly.

" As if we should mind what you saw us
do!" Sarah made that "you" scathing.
" And why, then, did you come here to-day? "
she inquired, with the air of her late visitor.
" We were most unhappy last night. We did
not like the streets, or the men — they stared at
us. But as for you "

" Of course they did," said Hopkins, gruffly.
" How horrible for you both ! " The " both "
was added to appease Sarah ; but he thought of

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C^ Career of fmrn* iBfSbmm

bobd, bad men staring at his beloved Jane, and
felt quite ill.

" And you drove on," said Sarah, softly.
" Yon did not care enough about us to get out
of your hansom." Her voice was icy. " We
had been dining out. w« were very tired, and
at least you could have got us a hansom." She
thought as fhe said it, *' What fools we were
not to stay still and make tbem get one." Tlien
she thought it wise to thaw. " And we were a
little— a little frightened." Could Mrs. Wil-
ton have heard that gentle, cooing voi«!

" Your sister goes out a great d«d," said
Hopkins, suddenly, " for a person who dislikes
it. She refused to go to the theatre with me! "

" What do you mean ? " Sarah's eyes were
too childlike, too wide.

" I mean I was at the Lyceum on Saturday
night."

"Well," she looked really babyish, "Jane
was not, though I suppose she had a right to
be if she had wanted to."

" In the Duke of Alte-Henneberg's box,"
dryly, " with three men and no wcwien ! I
must say I was surprised ! "

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Zl^t €dxm of fMi, iDtfbomt

"Then you wasted an emotion," returned
Sarah, very quietly, " on our cousin, Mrs. Os-
borne. Jane would not speak to a man like the
Duke; she couldn't because she doesn't know
him. But I suppose even Jane can't help what
Mrs. Osborne does. Do you imagine she would
take the trouble to lie — to you — about going
to a theatre? She has no need ! " (With a sis-
ter to do it for her. )

" Mrs. Osborne ! " Hopkins gasped. " Was
that Mrs. Osborne? Then — oh, that explains
it! I — I couldn't get near; I'd no glass; and I
never thought your sister could have that man-
ner — with a man like Alte-Henneberg. I —
can you forgive me for being such a fool?"
His countenance had assumed the expression of
the villain of a piece when his villainy is
brought home to him. Even Sarah was mol-
lified by his crestfallen, guilty face.

" Oh, what does it matter? " she said. " But
last night — we had a dreadful time last night !
I'm — I'm so wretched to-day! "

Emotion was in her voice, and O'Hara
longed for a screen that he might humble him-
self and kiss her hand in secret. Hopkins in

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C^e Career of fMi* g)ifl»me

humiliation was calling himself by every name,
when the drawing-room door was flung open
— not by Adams.

A man, tall, clean-shaven, grimly handsome,
stood in the doorway. Sarah, behind Hop-
kins's back, clutched O'Hara by the arm.

" Go ! Take him away ! " she said, not above
her breath ; but he heard. " Go quick ! "

To this day Mr. Hopkins does not know why
he did not wait for Mrs. Wilton, or for his
tea. He was so instantly out on the landing,
hat in hand, that he never dreamed O'Hara
put him there. He did not look at O'Hara, or
he would have seen that he was deadly pale,
as pale as Sarah left behind— Sarah, who, as
the door closed behind Hopkins's unconscious
back, stood staring at the Background! If a
mind can jabber, hers did it then.

"Here! He's here! What brings him
here? What shall I do? What shall I do? "

i66

..-->■ . ..^...a_^„.^jM»^

CHAPTER XV

THE LION UNMASKS

Old Lord de Fort stared. He put up his
eyeglass and stared again ; then he tittered. He
always tittered when affairs— other peoples af-
fairs—looked involved. The crush in which
Lady Lanark was exploiting her visiting list
suddenly became so interesting as to obviate
the heat of it and the treading on his lordship's
gouty toe. "Mrs. Osborne," he reflected,
"without Mr. Van Ingen! Mr. Van Ingen,
with Miss Delabere! There have been events.
Gad! She couldn't have been fool enough to
refuse him ! " And he studied Mrs. Osborne's
face.

It was not as usual, though for his life he
could not tell Avhat made the change in it. She
had not refused the American prince, or she
would not glance furtively at his immaculate

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C<K Career of fMk Qfimw

btck. The Dclabere girl— he looked at her—
wai pretty, seventeen and not clever. " Lord,
Lord I " said de Fort, piously, " she must have
given him too much caviare to make him fly
to jam; raspberry jam," unkindly — for the
Delabere cheeks were dyed with elation. " I
shall J-e this through." He trotted downstairs
and employed half an hour it* the hall, outside
the tea-room door.

Mrs. Osborne, with the Duke of Alte-Hen-
iieberg in tow, passed him so closely that her
gcwn brushed him. She was not hearing a
word the Duke of Alte-I lenneberg said, and
she never saw Lord de Fort at all. She looked
as lovely as a painting, and as hard. He saw
now where the change was in her. Her scar-
let, triumphant lips were straight shut. She
looked driven.

"Do you mind letting me pass?" The
voice took no pains to be civil, and Lord de
Fort started.

It was Van Ingen, at Mrs. Osborne's heels.
His little idea had been erroneous, and he hated
to waste an idea. To try and save it he
hastened after the man who had shoved past

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^iM^Maiii

him— and obtained nothing whatever for hii
paint.

Eaton Place is no distance from Eaton
Square. Mrs. Osborne and her German High-
ness were slowly descending the steps to walk
the short way between Lady Lanark's door and
hers. Mr. Van Ingen, not a yard from them,
jumped hastily into his smart private hansom
and gave an order Lord de Fort did not hear.

Mrs. Osborne heard — and never changed her
step nor flickered an eyelid. It was no con-
cern of hers, apparently, where Mr. Van Ingen
went. She went home, and stayed at home.
As for the Delabere girl, she never gave a
thought to her. But Lord de Fort remem-
bered afterward that she had looked very ill
at the Lanark tea.

Never in all her life had Mrs. Osborne
dressed as she dressed that evening for her
solitary dinner. She dismissed gown afi.er
gown. They were too pale, too meek. She
must have color to-night ; must " go proud in
scarlet, brave in red." She was like a pale
flame when she was dressed ; her very servants
gaped at her beauty as she sat alone in her din-

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C^e Ctteet oC fML €>fimtit

\ng-TOom, her gown a heart of color to the
lombre gold-embroidered hai^ingt. But for
all the red of it she was cold. Jane Wilton
would have ortlered a fire and crouchetl over
it, regardless that the night was June, and suf-
focating. Mr.H. Osborne sat still, a woman in
pale scarlet, all alone at a table decked with dull
orchids, warm with red light from the shaded
candles that flickered in the air fn^m the open
window. As she had sat still when the ser-
vants were in the room she was still when they
were gone — with the stillness of a wild animal
that will not stir one way or the other for fear
of a hidden trap. Surely there could be no
trap for Mrs. Osborne, the reigning beauty of
a set that was small because there can be but
one top layer of eggs in a basket, f ler beauty
was unaltered, her money undoubted. But her
lover had not spoken to her that afternoon ; he
had spent his time with a girl, though his set
ignored girls. It was not what he had done
but the reason of his doing it that made Mrs.
Osborne's lips hard-set.

She looKcd up at the clock, though she knew
the time, since her heart had ticked true to

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C^e €$:tm oC fML OMmntr

every second of it. Half*past nine! She
would give him till midnight. lie hml never
come to her house alone at night, never imin-
vited; but if e loved her he would do Iwth
to-night. The candle* shot up leaping flame*
in the sudden draughts frotu the d(K)r; Mr*.
Osborne's heart leaj>ed to match ihem. lc.it>cd
almost out of her Ixxly. Yet she only lifted
her eyes with a little, slighting glance.

" Mr. Van Ingen." said the butler. If the
butler was surprised she did Jiot care.

Miles was in the doorw.iy, very tail against
the brilliant h.ill l)chin<l him. It was odd that
instead of looking at his f.ice she only thought
what a curious " lamplight cfTect " he made,
standin there with white light Iwhind him and
red cai ilelight on the black and white of his
evening clothes.

The butler closed the door softly. Perhaps
he had not noticeil that neither hi«^ mistress nor
Mr. V.in Ingen had said one word. But it
was Va!i Ingen who could not s|)eak.

" What came ye out for to sec ? " They w ere
old words, and not visual in society, but they
came into his head. Whatever he had come

171

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€]^e Career of f^tfL fDfOxmt

to see it was not this: Mrs. Osborne like a
flame so incandescent that the burn of it would
feel cold, seated at her dinner table among her
everyday surroundings, with a plate and coffee
and fruit before her, with quiet eyes th-\t met
his with — was it wonder, or — something else?
Pie (lid not know,

"Is anything the matter?" she said, tran-
quilly. "You don't see a ghost, do you?"
Will you have some Benedictine or anything? "
She was miles awav from him, unapproachable.

Benedictine ! It dawned on him that he had
not dined. He had been too angry, too ap-
palled. But the woman he was angry with
was still at the last stage of her unexceptionable
dinner. The small thought found his tongue
for him.

" I forgot dinner." He stopped her with a
sharp gesture as she would have rung a silver
bell. " I — for God's sake tell me why you
said you went to Hastings last night."

Mrs. Osborne's head went back a little,
slowly. She had never seen him like this; she
did not know if she loved him so — or hated him.
She answered as if she did neither.

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Cl^e Career of f^tfL ^Disbome

*• I said I was going. 1 didn't go. Why?"

" You weren't here."

" I wasn't here. You're quite riglit. I met
my Hastings protegee," her voice was too even
to be mocking, " at the station. I dined witli
her, I got home ahout midnight. After this
afternoon I don't see why this catechism. My
movements did not apparently concern you
then."

** I couldn't trust myself to go near you,"
sulkily. " I wouldn't believe my eyes when
I saw you last evening driving along the
Brompton Road in a hansom. You were
vilely dressed and different somehow. But I
knew it was you."

" It was I, certainly. Aren't you going to
sit down? You are not at the bar of justice,
even though I seem to be." It was not her
words that made him look at her, but something
in the way she said them. Something critical
behind her coldness came suddenly home to
him.

" I'm a brute, but I've been half-mad. When
you think a woman like the stars it's a jar to
see her in the sort of clothes she never wears,

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CQe Career of fatsL ^sUbotnt

and a thick veil — if she's told you she'd be in
the country! And there's more — I can't tell
you all, it's too confused. That cousin of
yours, I saw her one night when you'd told
me she was going away with you — saw her
at a music hall, with — well, Lord knows whor
she was with ! I saw a man speak to her. And
last night — I thought if you had changed your
mind and stayed in town you'd be at the Glas-
tonburys', and you weren't there. I only
stayed ten minutes. I went along Piccadilly
— and stood like a fool, till the woman I
thought was you jumped on an omnibus! But
that wasn't you, like "

Mrs. Osborne interrupted him :

" If it had been I— what of it? "

" There is no need to tell you," said Van In-
gen. " But — it wasn't ! I know that, or I
couldn't tell you the rest. I went to supper at
a woman's flat in West Kensington. And she
was — I wasn't civil to her; I wasn't in a civil
temper "

" And you wreaked it," softly, " on a poor
soul like that ! " It did not dawn on him that
he had not said the woman was not a lady ; Mrs.

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Cl^e Career of fiixii, Osborne

Osborne had never needed the i's of conversa-
tion dotted.

" I did nothing of the kind," sullenly. " But
she turned on me and said she was as good as
the woman I was so hit with. That if I chose
to go upstairs I would see my fine Mrs. Os-
borne, with the men who came home with her
each time she came to her flat. And she gave
me the dates of her coming."

"Did you go upstairs?" said Mrs. Os-
borne, gently.

Van Ingen's face burned dully.

" She was a woman ; I couldn't knock her
down. I went home. But — it bit me to the
bone."

He had never moved from where he stood
since the first gesture that had stopped her
from ringing the bell. Mrs. Osborne looked
at him, and every line of the face that she loved
seemed new to her.

" Miles," she said, slowly, " if I had ten flats
in Kensington should you think me the sort
of • ;an to take men to them ? "

" No," he said. He came toward her and
held out his hands. " Forgive me, and let it
go."

1/5

hi
t

\a^t €axztt of flLViL fDfOiOtnt

But she went on as if he had not heard, as
ii she did not sec the strong, fine hands she
loved.

" Let us suppose a case," she said. " If I
were not Mrs. Osborne, but a woman who mas-
queraded in her shoes, who did so to see you,
to be with you; if I had been a woman with a
husband, wlio had never had a thought of him
beyond 'iving in peace and paying his bills;
who, as his wife, could never have come m
touch with you ; who longed to live a little, to
get out of the deadly, dull milieu that belonged
to her, then you could treat me as you treat
me now — or would you?"

He was staring at her, his face perplexed,
half-suspicious. But as he stared it cleared,
though not to laughter. It was not the woman
he loved he thought of, but Mrs. Osborne, the
run-after, the pink of fashion, the season's
success. Not a man in town but envied him
his plane at her side, her use of his carriages.
And it was she, the unapproachable, the woman
he had known for years, Osborne's widow, who
asked him this. He had brcjght it on himself,
for he had insulted her; but he would insult

176

Zl^t Career of fisitfL iDnimnt

her no more by letting her imagine he could
care for such a woman as she had pictured.

" All that." he said, quickly, " would not be
youf I never could have loved a woman like
that."

" You would not," she smiled securely, " let
her get a divorce and then marry her ? " In
her mind was that insane adoration of Jane
Wilton for the Background who was Mrs, Os-
borne's Miles Van Ingen.

" A woman like that would not expect me to
marry her I "

" But— if she did? if she came and told you
all she had done to make you care for her, even
to pretending to be someone else whose hus-
band was dead ? "

He had Puritan ancestors as well as Knicker-
bocker, and they spoke in him now; he did not
often give them an opportunity.

"I won't have you draw yourself into sup-
posititious cases like this. My wife won't be
a divorced woman. I won't have you put
yourself into any such woman's place." He
had thought of her in a worse place this very
day, hut she did not say so.

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€Qe Career of ffitn* fOfOmnt

"If she loved you enough not to care for
divorce— or marriage! Would you take her?
would you take me if I were what I've been
saying?" For if he had been :.3 bad, and
worse, she would have gone with him gladly,
happier to have his love, even if he beat her,
than to have married a king.

" You mean," slowly, " if you were an im-
poster?"

The word was electric. Mrs. Osborne's
hand caught the table sharply, as if the solid
wood were a support.

"An imposter!" He had never seen her
pale before. Now her lips showed like new
blood 5'>illed on the lips of the dead. " An im-
poster? I didn't mean quite that. I only
meant a woman who had lied about her cir-
cumstances, her relations — not herself. Could
you love me if I were like that ? "

For a moment he stood bewildered ; then he
knew it was only anger in her face. He came
close to her, masterful, not to be denied. He
knelt beside her, his dark, smooth head against
her shoulder, his arms locked round her love-
liness.

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Zl^t Cateer of flixn. €>iffxmt

••Don't," he whispered, '•don't! I deserve
you to score off me. I was mad to-day, but
you've made me pay for what I dared think
of you. Sweetheart, don't say any more such
things. I know you could not He. I'd sooner
see you dead than insult you by thinking you
could deceive me in even the littlest way." His
voice must have thrilled to her soul, for her
hands gripped him desperately. " You couldn't
be like that, even for love. Don't you know
that women who are liars can't love? They
can't be true."

" You mean all that ? " Her voice was sharp,
iwsijtent.

" All that. Don't punish me any more,
though I «1eserve it. I've something still to
confess. I did doubt you. I went to West
Kensington to-day."

"Well?" said Mrs. Osborne, as tranquilly
as if she had known it.

" Well," his clasp loosened as he leaned back
to look her in the face, " your cousin's affairs
are no business of mine, except that I won't
have it said that she lived with my wife. When
I ask for Mrs. Wilton, as that cursed woman

>;9

C^e Career of fiivn. 0iamnt

below stairs told me, and find Miss Egerton, I
can't help drawing my own conclusions. Es-
pecially when I don't find her alone."

Mrs. OslK)rnc got up. She was curiously
magnificent ; hci Ijcauty went home to him as
it had never done before. All the light in the
room seemed centred on her marvelous face,
the pale scarlet of her gown, as she stood tall
beside him.

•' \Jilcs, I want a littL* spade truth," she
said, slowly, and her voice was the voice he
had heard h-r use only to sa) she loved him ;
it came soft and slow like melted lava, as warm
and as dangerous. She made no eflTort what-
ever to defend her cousm. " You have found
your Mrs. Wilton, as you would never have
found me. But if I were Mrs. Wilton— I don't
mean pour rirc, but really married to a Wilton,

a middle-class man in a marching regiment

and had come up to town to a poor little flat
and written to you to come and sec me, would
you have come? Would it have been all like
this?"

He laughed. He was iMJsotted by her l>eauty,
her sumptuousness. The «pade truth was a

i8o

Cte Career of fKtn. mtmit

joke, like the reM of her words, but if she

wanted it she should have it.
•• I'd have come. yes. Once ' "
** When you had found me surrounded by

middle-class relations, a mother-in-law, sisters,

what would you have ilmc next? "

" ^"« ^way." promptly. " We're talking
truth U night ; I'll tell you anything. When I
first saw you this year I'd completely forgotten
you. If you had not l>ecn Mrs. Osb<irne, and
the fashion, I don't think I'd have ever thought
of you as I have. It wouldn'c have occurred
to me. You wouldn't have come in my way,
don't you see? If I had fallen in love with you.
"^ -well, I wouldn't have asked you to run away
with me and Hive a divorce! I've no fancy
for shopworn goods in women or anything
else."

" You wouldn't have lent me your carriages,
or your kind countenance at balls? "

"Carriages! Oh, that, if you liked, cer-
tainly! But I didn't mean that sort of mean-
ingless politeness. I mean; marrying. I—"
and he laughed—" I certainly never would have
thought of passing througl the fire and soot

I8i

€(e Cateet oC fiitn. tfHttnme

of the divorce court to marry yott. I alwayi
want the pick of the basket, likr Mrs. Os-
borne!"

*• Then you only love me for my sticcc«it— my
vogue. Oh, Mile* I" mockingly.

"Oh, well, I <lare »av that had *i)mething
to do with it. I wouldn't have loved Mr«. Wil-
ton pour rir( or anything else. By the way,
you will really have to tell your cousin— tht
text of all this — that she can't come here any
more. I won't have you mixed up with doubt-
ful Mrs. Wiltons."

" She won't come — after to-day," very
quietly. " She is not really Mrs. Wilton,
though. She "

" I don't care who she is, so long as you
are Mrs. Osborne — though I'm not content
with her, I want Mrs. Van Ingen." And iclat,
and envy, and the great beauty of ' .0 season.
But he did not say so.

" I'm rather tired of Mrs. Osborne myself,"
She laughed lightly. "And you're right—
there's no need for her to last much longer.
But." she paused, looked long and long at him,
" she's been a very hapi^/ woman ! "

183

CQe Career oC ilir». Oflmme

•• Shell be happier yet," he whiipr-U, tnd
the words loundefl fatuous.

" I think she will." She said it with delibcr-
ation. •• I think she will. She will t)e clean -
sighted, leading you no more will-o'-the-wisp
chases. Miles, du you know that it is nearly
the middle of the night ? Say poo<l-h>c to me
and go."

His kiss was quick— so rnick that it hurt
her soul. Miles Van Ingc.i nad made many
•cars in women's lives, but he hati scarred one
woman's soul.

" It's more good-bye than you think. I have
to go away to-morrow— not your kind of go-
ing away, but really. I won't be back for a
week."

From the weary, longing sound in her voice
she might have said, " I won't be back for eter-
nity." She turned to him with a sudden pas-
sionate vehemence.

" I wonder if you really love me? "

He looked at her. He did not like the tone.

" Don't expect me to be too constant to—"
he paused — " to Mrs. Van Ingen. I am a way-
farer. I believe now that no other woman ever

i8j

C)e Career of fML tf)tfiame

could appeal to me. Vm new, life is new, and
I've got money, and that is good — sufficient for
the present — with you."

** Don't tell me bare truths now— don't you
know that a man should never tell the truth to
the woman who loves him? "

" You are not a fool." She stiffened. "The
world is my country — this is only an interlude.
I shall want to go out from civilization again,
to feel the sea. the wind across the prairies, to
camp 9ut, to kill things."

She gave a little gasp.

" To kill things! " she repeated. " I could
go with you." '

" No. Then I should cease to love you. I
could not see you roughing it — in serge and
thick boots. I wouldn't want you then. You
aren't calico."

"I'm chiffon?"

He nodded.

Mrs. Osborne was finding things out. The
lion was killing himself, and the killing was
merciless. He took her hands — he did not no-
tice that there was something wanting in their
touch. As to the glance of her eyes — ^he did

184

etc €9Xttt Of jfLVfL a>iamnt

not see the sword in them. He had left the
wilderness of doubt, had reached the pleasant
country of certainty, had forgotten that there
were enemies. If Mrs. Osborne had looked
at him before with worship, she did not do so
now.
"Good-bye," she said, "good-bye!"
When he had left her she rang for her house-
keeper. Perhaps the woman had been prepared
for the order she received, for she showed no
surprise.

185

CHAPTER XVI

THE PASSING OF THE OSBORNES

"Jane," said Mrs. Wilton, heavily, "you
never told me that your Mrs. Osborne was the
Beauty, or that Lady Jane Mandeville is her
godmother. Mrs. Osborne cannot be flighty
if Lady Jane has anything to do with her."

"Quite right," said Sarah, with approval.
" Lady Jane is too heavy for flight."

Mrs. Wilton merely sniffed. Sarah was too
frivolous about the aristocracy — to speak in
such a way about the daughter of a nobleman I

" That, Jane," she said, pointedly, " explains
Mrs. Osborne's success to me. Sarah cannot be
expected to understand the undercurrents of
English society. When a woman has a mem-
ber of the aristocracy for her godmother she
can attain anything."

Jane started. She looked pale, unlike her-
self, and had been staring round her mother-

i86

C^e eamt of ftitik tf)tf»nte

in-law's room as if she were surprised to find
herself once more in that chaste retreat. She
said nothing, and Mrs. Wilton put down her
knitting and gazed at her.

" I really think, Jane, you should have told
me. I should have called. Politeness demands
something from us. Mrs. Osborne has been so
useful to you and Sarah."

" She hasn't been useful to me," said Sarah,
sharply. "I never could bear herl" She
glanced hastily at her sister, behind Mrs. Wil-
ton's back, and amended, hastily, "At least,
I mean I never could bear her to do anything
for me."

" Don't you think I ought to call on her,
Jane?" demanded Mrs. Wilton.

Jane looked taken aback. Her voice was the
voice of one appalled as she faltered forth an
answer.

" I think it would be very nice of you, but
you had better wait a few days. Mrs. Os-
borne is — has gone away."

" It would be nice for you to meet the aris-
tocracy," said Sarah.

"But she will return," said Mrs. Wilton,
187

€4e Career of fiivfk lOitUome

who never replied to Sarah when she could pos-
sibly avoid it. " You said you were going to
dine there on Monday next. How can you
dine there if she is awav? "

" We were asked to amuse old Mr. Osborne
while his daughter-in-law was away," returned
Sarah with a righteous air.

" But on Tuesday Sarah said she was taking
you both to the play," put in Amelia, disap-
provingly. She was the unfortunate possesser
of worldly yearnings and virtuous pretensions.

'* I said old Mr. Osborne was," firmly.

It was Saturday afternoon and very hot.
Jane and Sarah had lunched with their relatives
on hot mutton and warm custard pudding.
Mrs. Wilton always gave them mutton; she
said it was so wholesome. Jane had muttered
something about leaving early, but her mother-
in-law had returned firmly that to go out at
half-past two on a hot day was to court sun-
stroke, and that a nice rest in a quiet house
would do dear Jane good. Dear Jane got as
near the window as she could ; the room reeked
of mutton fat, and grew hotter. Small won-
der, perhaps, that Mrs. George Wilton waxed

1 88

Clie Career of iftrn ^fOmnt

paler and paier, as people do from heat and also
from hopeless straining after something that
will not come.

At last— blessed signal of release— tea was
brought in. Sarah sat up and grinned openly;
even Jane looked as if the worst were past; but
not for long. As Mrs. Wilton poured out the
tea she also poured lorth on the subject of Mrs.
Osborne.

" It is of no use, Tane, your trying to put
me off calling on her." She spoke suspiciously.
" It will seem strange to her that you have no
relations by marriage, if you have not men-
tioned us; if you have, she will doubtless won-
der we have not recognized her. Now don't
say any more to prevent me. I shall call upon
her on Monday afternoon. If she is away
still—" the sniff was openly incredulous — " I
suppose she will get our cards when she comes
home. Mr. Hopkins also wishes to go."

" Mr. Hopkins I " Jane and Sarah spoke to-
gether.

" Yes; what is so extraordinary in that? I
have seen you so little lately that I suppose
you do not know he has called twice. He has

189

eiie Career oC fMk ^lOnmt

been most polite, and lo interested in Mrs. Os-
borne that I have promised to ask her to tea
as a sort of recognition — asking you and him
also. Mr. Hopkins has seen your cousin, in
the distance, and thinks her like you, Jane, but
much handsomer! We all know you do not
pretend to be a beauty."

Sarah's lips quivered violently. She put up
her hand and covered her mouth.

"Sarah," exclaimed Mrs. Wilton, "how
funny yoy are looking ! Just as if you were go-
ing to be sf'asick."

Sarah emitted a strange sound between a
cough and a growl.

" I do feel rather ill. I think I had better
go home, Jane."

" The air will do you good," said her sister,
promptly.

" Perhaps so," observed Mrs. Wilton.
" Well, Jane, I shall call on Mrs. Osborne on
Monday."

" Do you wish m^ to go, too? " There \. as
a queer change on Mrs. George Wilton's face
since that mention of Mr. Hopkins. " Or will
Mr. Hopkins escort you? "

190

^^eeamp or futn. tWmnt

"I .hall go alone. Mr. Hopkins meant, I
think, to go to-day. He was to be introduced
by Mr. Van Ingen."

"Mr. Van Ingen is in Paris." Jane drawled,
indifferently.

" H*» returned thi: morning," briskly. " If
you knew him, Jane, you would know that "
" Oh I " said Jane.

Mrs. Wilton swelled with the triumph of
knowledge.

" Yes, he has returned. And I owe it to
you. Jane, as your only relative of any position

AV ^^ "°' '°""* Americans-to give a little
fete to Mrs. Osborne and any friends of hers
you may have met. Beside^, she has been so
useful to you that she might-who knows?-
be useful to Amelia. I wonder you did not
suggest Amelia to her! She might at least
send her brother-in-law, Mr. Howard K. Os-
borne, to call."

" Did Mr. Hopkins tell you about him, too ? "
said Jane, grimly.

th«!^°' l'^^' °^ '''"'' ""^ '' '"^^ to me
that Mr. Hopkins said "

"He merely said, 'Oh!'" pat in Amelia.
191

■«;■

r r

/! f

Clie Cftmr of iKnL tf>tf»nie

" I knew at once he did tiot think much o(
Mr. Howard K. Osborne. He changed the
subject."

"Of course, my dear Amelia — " Mrs. Wilton
beamed — " he would have his prejudices. Be-
sides, if I remember, I thought your interest
in Mr. Howard K. Osborne a little — a little
marked. Mr. Hopkins would naturally resent
it."

"Very naturally," commented Jane. She
wished viciously that Amelia would marry
Hopkins ; he might yet be saved as by fire. She
stood a minute by the tea table, and it was
well that her relations-in-law had never seen
her in a rage.

" Come, Sarah," she said, " we must go now.
Amelia, may I see the Standard for a minute?
Oh, you take the Morning Post. That will do
as well. Thank you."

She glanced at it, and put it down. " Good-
bye. We'll see you on Tuesday," she called
back over her shoulder, gayly, as she left the
room. " Then you can tell us what you think
of Mrs. Osborne."

Once they were outside she drew a long
breath.

192

li !

t»e Ctmt of 0Lvik €>a»tnt

" What -re you going to do? " said Sarah,
in an awe-struck whisper. •• You will have to
do something. Oh, let me get home ! Iculd
not stand the strain when your mother-in-law
harped on Mrs. Osborne. Come and find an
omnibus. Oh, I could kill Mr. Hopkins ! He's
a sneak, and we told him about old Mr Os-
borne!"

"Omnibus?" scathingly. Jane took no
thi ught for the sinning Hopkins. " Hansom.
Can't you see we must be quick ? I hate houses
where they don't have tea till five." She set-
tled her thick white-lace veil over her mouth;
it was as impervious as a mask, and nearly as
stifling. "Hurry!" She waved her parasol
with command to the nearest hansom and
pushed her sister in. "Morning Post office
Wellington street," she adjured the cabman.'
" Drive fast," and she sank, down beside Sarah.
" I hope," she added, grimly, " that he'll drive
like the devil!"

" Jane! " shrieked the scandalized Sarah.
" Half-past five." returned Jane, irrelevantly.
" We'll just do it."

193

«ie Carter of fiit$. €>0mi

If'

" Do what ? Why are you going to a newt-
paper office?"

" Don't you ice they are determined to go
«nd call on Mrs. Osborne ? " fiercely. " I don't
mind th,-*', because she could be away. But I
v/on't h.«ve that sneaking little Hopkins find m*
out! And I know he will, if I don't choke
him off by Monday. And we were so nice to
him, too I "

" We ate his dinners! " said Sarah, with In-
jury at his ingratitude. " And he always had
joint."

" If I'm found out I'm ruined. And I won't
be ruined now, with nothing to show for it.
I can only think of one thing that will save
me. I got all ready for it when Mrs. Os-
borne gave I", her house and went away. I
thought of it when I paid the butler. Mrs. Os-
borne mui. die!" Jane's voice was hollow.

" Where ? how ? " demanded Sarah. " She
can't. She's too much of a celebrity."

" TJjat won't keep her alive. I shall write
the notice in the Morning Post office, and if
we are there before six it will be in on Monday
morning." She dragged out her watch. "Oh,

»94

fl(

•» etmt af jut* CiHBBtr

1 forgot it wai How. If. ,„ minute, to lix
")*• Tell him to drive f..ter, do I "

"But w. cnt kill her." S.r.h wa. .Imot,
^r,ul. ■;Sh.-dbe«.„gryir.h.,oundr
Jutt go away ? We can't kill her."

" I"" not going to .Uy in bed, thaf. why
"»• '•^'•' •"« have anything infection, ii
I^^-J-dnt? And the..'. nH.re. Van ingen..'

•' But what will you do without her? "

" I'm done with her."

" But Mr. Howard K. Osborne will have to
jro into mourning. He can't take me to
thmgs."

'• If. old Mr. Cborne who", going to be in
■nourning- gr,m|y. ..s,„h, thi. man i.
crawlmg."

"Where?" Sarah was always prepared for
-nyihmg " Not on top of the hansom ? He'll
be killed if he does that."

^ "No, idiot, no!" lookiug forth distractedly.
Uh, now we are blocked I "

.nTlZ """'" T '^' '°'"'^ "^ ^'^'^' Circus,
•nd a stream of omnibuses directed by a policc-

'9$

ne €mn of iKt<> €)rtornt

nian wat surging pait their horte'g not.
Would they never get on ?

"We »hall be late. I know we ihallf
mooned the miterable Jane, who knew that the
mii<lee(*fi of a Beauty— and a daughter-in-law
— live forever. " There if go little time, and
nothing can lave me but the Morning Post.
^'othing elM can make Miles Van Ingen wish
hf were dead," viciously, " but to lose his Mr^.
Osborne unstained and untarnished. Go
round!" she shouted through the little door in
the roof. "Don't wait to get through the
block."

It wanted four minutes to six when they
aliphted at the ofnce of the Morning Post and
tore up the stairs.

'• After this," panted Jane. " I will never tell
another lie. But I will not be found out — by
a Mrs. Wiltor, a Hopkins and a Van Ingen I "
Could the Background only have heard him-
.clf being lumped in with a husband's friends
and relations!

The notice was written and paid for. The
murderers went down to th? Strand and got
into an omnibus, and Jane Wilton wi« almost

196

^^^tttt or iKm €>»mi

M pile as If ihe, initcad of Mrt. Oibome, wen
death-atricken.
That evening Kfri. Wilton tnt reflecting.
" It it my opinion," ihe aaid. " that Jane and
Sarah do not wi»h ui to know Mr*. Cborne.
They are afraid of her taking: "« up. e«t)eclally
you. Amelia. Either they are jealous or elie
Mrs Oalwrne i» flighty. Ye*, now I come to
think of It. I have no doubt Mrs. Osborne is
flighty, if not mad. I heard %ht kept the Prince
H'a.ting to dance with her till he was so angry
he shoot the dust off his feet and went hotne "
-vS'»t dust was immaterial. •• I must frnd
out. I shall call there early on Monday If
only to-morrow were not Sunday! I suppose
It would not do to make a first call on Sunday,
would it, Amelia?"
'* No, certainly net, mamma."
Amelia could not be defied. But the hours
of the Sabbath were bng to Mrs. Wilton, and
Monday morning was welcome.

She was still at her toilet when Ameli:.
rushed u.to her room bearing a newspaper.
"Listenl listen!" she shrieked.

19/

Zt)t career of futfL tDsOxmt

Suddenly, of heart failure, at Basley, Jane
Osborne, nie Egerton, widow of R. Osborne,
Esq.. of Virginia. No flowers. The remaini
will be taken to America for interment."

"How annoying! how disappointing; how
dreadful I" exclaimed Mrs. Wilton. "And I
can't send any flowers, which would have been
a nice little surprising kindness to old Mr. Os-
borne. I could have sent quite a nice wreath
for five shillings, or perhaps four and nine.
And now old Mr. Osborne will be too depressed
for a time to do anything for you, even if he
does not accompany the body to America. And
young Mr. Osborne will not be able to call, so
it is of no use to trouble about sending your
father to leave cards in Eaton Place. But—"
she hesitated-" Amelia, Providence is all-
powerful and so wise. Perhaps it is for the
best. Mr. Hopkins seemed unduly interested
m Mrs. Osborne." She gazed thoughtfully at
the Morning Post. " Basley. I don't know
where that is. It seems extraordinary to die
there when she could have had her funeral
from Eaton Place. She must, Amelia, she
must have been flighty."

198

CHAPTER XVII

THE BACKGROUND SCORES

"Not at home?" said Mr. Hopkins, blank-
ly. 'Notat/iom^/ Oh, I suppose on account
of mourning."

" That, sir," returned Adams, calmly, " and
of gomg to America. My mistress starts this
evening. I was to say it was most unlikely
she could see you before she went."

"America!" said Mr. Hopkins, but it was
to the shut door. Was it a delusion, or did he
hear the voice of O'Hara from the paradise
that was denied to him? As he fumed down
the steps he decided it was a delusion. As he
gamed the street a man jumped out of a han-
som, and Mr. Hopkins, too. jumped.

" Wilton ! " he gasped. " Why-where~"
feebly-" I'm delighted to see you. But you're
just m time. Your wife's going to America
this afternoon."

199

^ J

^.^in>r| y.v,.

,«Vv-

.■ilW-lf«. i-

ft^JiifcBiXivV*^ ;.-< £•.-

■«■ »..i «..!->«, •.!».».. ^

Cl^e €axttt of fM* fDOmnt

— ^— — '

" So am I," said George Wilton, calmly.
*' Good-day." And he flew up the stairs.

As his voice was heard at the door Miss
Sarah Egerton seized Mr. O'Hara by the arm.

" Kitchen," she said, firmly. " Quick! Oh,
thank heaven I telegraphed I "

Jane Wilton stood among her half-packed
trunks and swayed.

"George!" she said. "George!" She
looked at him^ as if she had never seen him be-
fore. And had she ever seen him before ? Was
he always bronzed, clean-cut, hawk-eyed— or
had she been deliberately blind? And his
clothes, his immaculate coat and boots, his dis-
tinguished air as he paused for one second in
the doorway. This was the man she had
called middle-class and lumped in with his re-
lations. This! He had never seemed so de-
sirable, so utterly

He turned, deliberately closed the door be-
hind Adams, and smiled.

Mrs. George W ilton backed sharply till the
wall stopped her. He would never kiss her
again — when she told him. It was better to
refuse kisses than to have them denied you.

200

.>•-,- ,— --.i— '. *,--;« ;>it'-;.J< ,- .

.i».'^ v.*fl ■^i^'«>.-»4 *''•

ZJ^t Career of fnviL tiDisbome

" You've never even said you were glad to
see me," remarked Captain Wilton, politely.
"Aren't you?"

How tall he was, and he wore that pin she
gave him; and he wasn't a bit like the Wiltons,
not like any one of them. And— she had been
a fool all her days and now she must pay for it.
But glad ! It was all she could do not to run to
him and hide her head on his breast. But she
stood sti"

" Don . come near me," she muttered. For
a second his face was blank. " I've— I've been
doing dreadful things I I've been telling lies,
and being a Beauty, and "

" You were always a Beauty," consideringly.
"And— I've known you to tell lies. Is that
why I'm not to come near you ? "

" I've been pretending to be Mrs. Osborne
—Jane Osborne— you know," sullenly. " You
don't know all I've done. You wouldn't be
here if you did."

" It's just what I would be," composedly.
" Fve always wanted to see a murderer. Come
here, Mrs. Osborne, and let me look at you."

"You know! Who told you?"

201

ill

?*.**^'v?!'*"-'*"'*'****^*-****'^'A»,i^'»-*»^>V%-?**

. I i

I 1

■ii

Ci^e Cateet of fML a>iamnt

" Well," calmly, " it was Sarah. She kept
writing and telegraphing till I thought I'd
come home. I came overland from Marseilles,
and she thoughtfully kept me amused all the
way by telegrams. She sent a frantic one to
the Metropole this morning. I think it was
about America." He moved toward her, but
he did not look at her. " I think," aflfably—
and this did him credit, for he was afraid of
something ih her face — " I know all your
crimes."

" You don't," she muttered. " You don't.
I got frantic at The Cedars ; I got tired of you ;
I — I went up to town and was Mrs. Osborne
because Miles Van Ingen was in London, and
I wanted to see him and make him think I was
grand."

" I hope he did."

" George, don't laugh. Be angry. But you
will be in a minute. I — I thought I always
loved him ; I never could forget him, he was al-
ways a shadowy third between you and me "

" And did you find him a substantial one? "
quietly.

Jane straightened herself desperately.

202

M i l > i nm *Ji«-. ^•«M»**-~»«-*»«'^

t-»-<M»»*-* *' »» '«» *» ^-* - < . »i » .i», .♦«»*»— ^-^in ■» « «■« -*« ;

Cie career of iftrn lOfOmnt

" I forgot all about you for two months,"
•he said, dully— it is not pleasant to own you
have found cheese-cake gingerbread. "I
adored him— I used to kiss him— I »

" I always thought you could be dangerous,"
calmly. " Is that all ? "

But she went on as if she had not heard
him.

"I thought I'd get a divorce and marry
him."

"I won't make any defense," jaid the
wronged one, blandly.

Jane leaped toward him like a leopard. Her
eyes were blazing, her pale azalea cheeks scar-
let.

" Don't talk like that ; you sha'n't dare ! I'm
not like that. I kept finding out little things
and seeing clearer and clearer, and— George,
he didn't love me at all; it was Mrs. Osborne!
And I couldn't bear it," incoherently. " I'm
just as good-looking and just as nice as Mrs.
Osborne; and I hated him— and so I killed her
to get her out of his way and make him misera-
ble because she was dead."

"You dear little devil I" said Captain
203

£>--f--flM»--**Ji^

•'■*»H« ,.•.*.

i-.

C^e Carcet oC fiM, iMbome

George Wilton, son of Colonel und Mrs. Wil-
ton of The Cedars.

" But," said Mrs. Wilton, humbly, half an
hour afterward, " some one might come in—
and you're sitting on Mrs. Osborne's clothes.
And I want to know what we are going to
do I don't suppose I can stay in London."
♦' It mightn't be exactly wise," cheerfully.
" Suppose we go to New York. You know
you really ought to square it with Jane Os-
borne. She may hang you, of course, for kill-
ing her, but "

" I've squared her. She knew all along, ex-
cept of couri^ tnat she had to die. I never
did anything to get her into trouble, really;
that was the reason I kept away from the
American Minister's and wouldn't be pre-
sented."
" Good heavens! " faintly. " I— I mean you

were extremely prudent."

" And Mr. Van Ingen," she stammered over
the name she had been wont to swear by,
" ne .er saw her."

" He'll be pleased when he does!" Neither
knew which laughed first.

204

Cl^e Caveer of fML iDittmnt

** George, she's a dear, and old Osborne did
feave me a million. But oh, her figure! "

" I was thinking of her nose," meekly. " Oh,
Jane!"

" And I've spent an awful lot of money, be-
ing her. And George "

"What?"

" Winnie Wellwood lives below us."

" The devil she does! Good Lord, we'll go to
New York at once. For goodness' sake, Jane,
let me get at the packing."

" I suppose," said Sarah, leaning against the
kitchen sink, " we can go back now. The front
door's wide open, and Adams can't adorn the
landing forever."

"Two minutes more won't hurt her."
O'Hara leaned against the gas stove; it was
well that the thoughtful Adams had put it out.
" You've never answered me."

" I can't." It was a desperate Sarah, with
a hard-set mouth. " I'd have to tell you things,
and they'd be dishonorable if I told. And if
you knew them, you wouldn't "

Mr. O'Hara lounged a little on his well-
blacked support.

205

■ <l

Cte Career of iKnk tf>iaante

"If you mean about Mri. Osborne," he said
languidly, "I've Icnown all along; ever since
the Astons' dance. I had to go— couldn't get
out of it; and I saw her. I suppose she died
to get the change out of Van Ingen. He wasn't
fit, you know, to black her shoes. I always
knew she'd find it out. I'm very fond of
Jane," sweetly.

But Sarah was speechless.

"I rather helped, too." O'Hara had left
the stove. " Dearest Sarah, you don't know
what a struggle it was not to stay behind, the
day Van Ingen came sniffing round here, and
punch his head. And then there was Urm-
ston." Sarah's teeth really chattered. " After
that night, you know, I met him. And he was
rather nasty— or he tried to be! I shut him
up, and — he called me Captain Wilton."

"What— did— you— do?" She was white
with shame. *

"Oh, I'd never shatter a healthy illusion,"
calmly. " I'd have played up to being the Czar
if it would have helped you. I knew what
you'd been doing, if no one else did. I thought
I'd help you save the show," simply.

2GO

!^ .

C^e Career of fiitn. fDfimnt

^^ " Billy, I love you." said Sarah. lolwinly.
"And I'll tell you now. Aunt Adela Egerton
brought us up on thin bread and thinner but-
ter, but she fed us. and she sent me to school.
She kept Jane at home to write notes and mend
lace and feed the prize poultry, and that was
how Jane knew Mr. Van Ingen and I didn't.
And Aunt Adela's daughter was named Jane,
too. She had only one; she was nice and fat.
and hated her mother, and ne -er stayed with
her. She made a grand marriage, and the
man's name was Osborne. He had heaps of
money, and when he dird he left us a lot I
always thought his wife made him; she liked
Jane. But what put it into Jane's head to
be her was Newport. Aunt Adela took us
there, just after her own Jane's engagement
was announced; and for two days people fell
over each other being civil to the wrong Jane.
And then Aunt Adela aired herself, and the
bubble burst. But Jane had found out the dif-
ference, and I suppose she thought she'd like
to be some one again. She— she wanted to en-
joy herself," fiercely; " she never had had much
of a life, her money came too late. Mrs.

207

tJ9t €mn of 0u$, Mbam

George Wilton, in Eaton Place, with row* of
VViltona glaring at everything ihc did— well,
you can see for yourself that Dick Osborne's
widow, with Dick Osborne's fortune, wouldn't
be quite as pale a joy! But I never liked
him^" incoherently—"! knew she wouldn't
either, if she had her head. There were little
things, I can't tell you— but he loved Mrs. Os-
borne, not Jane."

"What I" O'Hara let her go suddenly,
"what on earth is that?"

" It's a woman I " gasped his beloved. " Oh,
move! It's the Wiltons— they can't come in—
George and Jane may be fighting! Besides,
they don't know he's come home."

She flew to the door, with O'Hara, big and
burly, behind her, and stood appalled. In the
front doorway stood Mr. Van Ingen; behind
him, the worse for wear and striving madly to
pass him, Miss Wellwood.

" Is it true? " said Van Ingen. " What does
this woman mean, if it is? "

"True, that she's dead?" shrieked Miss
Wellwood, contemptuously. She dived under
his arm and pointed to the open door of the

208

C^ Career of futn, Ogliome

drawing-room. " Let me go in and look.
Mw her, I tell you. last night."

"Go away, you nasty wretch!" gas|)ecl the
sturdy Adams. " How dare you come here? "

" I want to see Mm. Wilton. I know she's
here— and Thompson," wildly, " won't si^ak
to me because he says I told him lies about her.
Let me in."

" Did anyone ask for me? " said a blind and
manly voice from the drawing-room door.
"Or was it my wife?"

Miss VVellwood's arm dropped paralyzed;
the released Adams reeled against OHara's
legs, and incidentally bumped Sarah violently.

" Vou!" said Miss VVellwood. She forgot
all she had come to say, all that had made her
waylpy Mr. Van Ingen when kind chance
showed him passing her window. " Oh, my I "
And with a swift gesture she caught up her
purple plush tea-gown, turned cowering from
Captain George Wilton, and fled downstairs.

" It ain't she," she said, breathlessly, to a

man who stood below, who had once signed

himself " A Friend " to Jsne Wilton for sheer

joy in her lovely face. " It's just Mrs. .Wil-

14 209

£^:M»f;aa^sy:?:r-»cr.--*i.- :

C^ Ctmr of iRfi. Mbome

ton, and if I'd known the wii hit wife I'd
never have looked crooked tt her. He
wouldn't let her play no Mri. 0»bornei/*

Mr. Thompson ceaicd to regret he had let
het paw him to go up. He auisted her lome-
what grimly to her door. Hii profettion led
him to the haunts of the rich and great, of late
to the control of Mr. Van Ingen'i sublet. He
stood a m<Mnent in the sunshine and took off his
hat.

• ril never see another like her," said he,
...lemnly, " nor a better finish. She died game,
she did," and he retired from the scene. \J\y-
stairs George Wilton stood staring before him,
as if he saw no one in the well-filled hall as
he reflected aloud.

" Now, who would have thought she would
have remembered Charlotte street — and me!
Have you any more friends, Jane, for me to
polish off?" He was looking through and
through Mr. Van Ingen.

" No." She had come forward and was
standing at his side. " No, I can attend to the
rest for myself." Her hand touched his sleeve
as she passed him with a little imperious ges-

310

€^ Cimt or iKvi. tf)ttaiiie

turt, and hit face fluihej warmly. Never until
to-day had he felt jutt that touch in hit wife's
hand.

Van Ingcn xtood dumb, black with turpriM
and rage. For when Miss VVellwood caught
him on her dcwrttep he had come to condole
with and ask questions of the bereft and un-
godly Sarah.

"How do you do?" said Jane, slowly.
** I'm afraid we can't ask you in. I am pack-
ing — to take the <lccea»«d to America. You
know, of course, that Mrs. Osborne is dead."

He bowe<l. Nothing else occurred to him.
He had been victimized, made fun of, and
must, to save himself from ridicule, play out the
lonely mourner, leaving London in the middle
of the season.

" And I don't think you have ever met my
husband, Captain Wilton."

Mr. Van Ingen, who would be the Back-
ground no longer, looked from one to the other,
and scored.

" I have to congratulate you both on the con-
venient career of Mrs. Osborne," he said, and
turned away.

311

/':

Zl^t Careev of fRXfL €)isi»nie

It was not a pleasant reply to make, but
George Wilton made it, while Jane stood
speechless.

" On the contrary," he said, " you may con-
gratulate us on its happy conclusion."

The mystified Adams stared from one to an-
other. There was something in the everyday
scene that was not everyday. But the Hon-
orable William Desmond Craven O'Hara
clutched his Sarah's hand with cheerful aban-
don as the door closed forever on the Back-
ground.

'• Served him right ! " said he, calmly. " All
the time he was making up to Jane he was liv-
ing with—with somebody else. And he'll hear
it in that quarter if he doesn't hold his tongue
about ' careers.' "

" I knew," said Sarah, simply. " I'd have
told — if I'd needed to."

And neither man knew if Jane kissed her, or
she Jane. Adams had discreetly gone to cook
the luncheon.

FINIS.

The
Middle Course

A CONTEMPORARY R(»\;ANCE
BY

Mrs. Poultney Bigelow

A PowxRVUL Story op Socibty, Cleverly Told

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