BUBBLES WE BUY
 
 BUBBLES 
 WE BUY 
 
 BY 
 
 ALICE JONES 
 
 1 Bubbles we buy with a whoU soul's tasking." 
 
 LOWBLL 
 
 BOSTON 
 HERBERT B. TURNER & CO. 
 
 1903 $ 
 
 &;^5&a^^
 
 Copyright, 1903, by 
 Herbert B. Turner 6- Co. 
 
 Entered at Stationers Hall 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 Published May, 1903 
 
 Colonial ]3rtsf 
 
 Electrotypcd and Printed by C. H Simonds & Co. 
 Boston, Mass., U. S A.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 I. "THE STRESS OF THE STORM" . 
 
 II. OLD FRIENDS . 
 
 III. THE ANCIENT MARINER . 
 
 IV. " IN HER SERVICE " . . . . 
 V. THE FLOWERS OF DEATH . 
 
 VI. THE MOORINGS . . . . . 
 
 VII. THE LUST OF GOLD . 
 
 VIII. THE DEAD HAND. . . .'. 
 
 IX. OUR LADY OF WRATH .... 
 
 X. ISAAC MEETS AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 XI. GATHERING CLOUDS . . 
 
 XII. THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES . . 
 
 XIII. SEPARATE PATHS 
 
 XIV. A CONNOISSEUR 
 
 XV. IN THE DAYS OF HER YOUTH 
 
 XVI. A NEW ALLEGIANCE . 
 
 XVII. CLASHING WILLS . 
 
 XVIII. STARTING AFRESH . . . . 
 
 XIX. BY THE THAMES . . . i- . 
 
 XX. JACK . . . ... . . 
 
 XXI. CHRISTMAS ...... 
 
 XXII. IN THE STUDIO . . . . 
 
 XXIII. IN FLORENCE . . . . 
 
 XXIV. A WANDERER 
 
 PACK 
 I I 
 21 
 
 29 
 40 
 
 50 
 60 
 
 72 
 
 81 
 
 89 
 
 98 
 
 107 
 
 H5 
 123 
 130 
 138 
 '45 
 '54 
 161 
 1 68 
 178 
 187 
 198 
 208 
 218 
 
 2136383
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 
 PACK 
 
 XXV. 
 
 
 227 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 THE GORGON'S HEAD 
 
 237 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 
 254 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 THE BORDERLAND .... 
 
 . 263 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " OUR HANDS HAVE MET " . 
 
 273 
 
 XXX. 
 
 HEATHHOLM 
 
 . 282 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 THE AMERICAN ARTIST . 
 
 . 300 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 MOTHER AND SON .... 
 
 . 310 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 THE POISON OF ASPS 
 
 319 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 SUNDERED FRIENDS . . .. 
 
 . 328 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 COOKHAM REGATTA . . .. , 
 
 337 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 JACK GOES SOLDIERING . 
 
 345 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 ELLEN SIEVERT SPEAKS HER MIND 
 
 35 2 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 IN THE DAY OF TEMPTATION 
 
 . 360 
 
 XL. 
 
 AT THE SHOOTING HUT . 
 
 367 
 
 XLI. 
 
 THE POWER OF THE NIGHT . 
 
 375 
 
 XLII. 
 
 RELEASE 
 
 . 386 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 A FORLORN HOPE .... 
 
 393 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 " HOMEWARD BOUND " . * 
 
 . 401
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " THE STRESS OF THE STORM " 
 
 IT was a night when a wild south-easterly storm 
 had swept in from the Atlantic, battering with 
 steady persistency against the walls of a square, 
 white wooden house, bending down the frail sap- 
 lings of lime and elm planted in front of it, roaring 
 amongst the sturdier native pine and oak in the 
 woods that stretched behind. 
 
 It almost seemed as though some power abroad 
 in the darkness had brought an evil force to bear 
 against that human habitation, when the rain was 
 driven against the windows as if flung by an unseen 
 hand. 
 
 At any rate, such an idea may have been lurking 
 in the mind of an old man of rough, seafaring 
 aspect, who sat alone smoking, in a room that 
 looked a cross between a scullery and an office, for, 
 at every wild dash of rain or shrill gust of wind, 
 he looked round in a nervous fashion, subsequently 
 making some move to stir the fire that burned in 
 
 11
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 a small stove, or to fuss with his pipe, in seeming 
 excuse for such disquietude. 
 
 His small, keen eyes peered out in sailor fashion 
 from under the wrinkled eyelids, as if on the watch 
 for some untoward sight, and when the door of the 
 room opened softly, he started violently, and then, 
 to hide the fact, stirred the fire anew. 
 
 " What do you mean, woman, by coming creeping 
 in, in that fashion, instead of with an honest bang 
 to the door ? " he demanded, wrathfully. 
 
 " Indeed, and I thought you'd have your fill of 
 noises to-night, Isaac Neisner. You might fancy 
 yourself off the Jamaica coast in the hurricane 
 season, I'm thinking." 
 
 " And I'd just as soon, if not sooner, be there 
 as here, to-night," the man muttered to himself; 
 then, with a sudden purpose, he asked : 
 
 " And why did you come away and leave the 
 master's room, when I told you to stay there, even 
 if he should sleep? " 
 
 The woman glanced back toward the door 
 before she answered, in a cautious tone: 
 
 " And how could I stay when the mistress came 
 herself and sent me away? She said that she had 
 had a long sleep and was quite rested, and that 
 I was to go to bed." 
 
 " It would be a brave woman that would go 
 to bed on such a night," was the comment, though 
 whether Isaac referred to the storm or to some 
 other disturbing element, he did not explain. In- 
 stead, he went on to ask : 
 
 " Was he awake? Did he seem to know that 
 she was there? " 
 
 " He seemed asleep," the woman answered, in a 
 12
 
 "THE STRESS OF THE STORM" 
 
 whisper; " but as I stood outside, I heard him speak, 
 and thought he called * Isaac.' I just ventured to 
 open the door a crack and ask if I should send you, 
 but she answered in that quiet voice that gives you 
 a cold shudder down your back, that I was never 
 to mind, for he was just a bit wandering in his head, 
 and that she was going to give him the medicine 
 to soothe him. She was standing with a glass in 
 her hand by the bed. I had nothing to do but come 
 away." 
 
 There was a silence between them, only broken by 
 the eldritch shriek of the still rising gale. 
 
 They had seated themselves in shabby wooden 
 rocking-chairs, one on each side of the stove, seem- 
 ing to find a needed moral support in each other's 
 neighbourhood. The man was a rather superior 
 specimen of the long-shore sailor, of about fifty ; the 
 woman, a shrewd-faced, kindly-looking country- 
 woman of something the same age. It was she who 
 first broke the silence, saying, with a solemn shake 
 of her head : 
 
 "He'll go to-night for sure! Such a storm as 
 this hasn't come for nothing. You know how my 
 old man, who had been on the Spanish Main, used 
 to say that a pirate's soul could only get away in 
 a gale, when there were them abroad in the 
 storm that would not be gainsaid. Go he must 
 before morning," and she looked around her with 
 a shuddering joy in her own flight of imagination. 
 
 But the wrath of Isaac Neisner was aroused. 
 
 " And who taught you to call the Honourable 
 Jonathan Bauer, member of the Queen's own Coun- 
 cil for this country, a pirate, if you please? Keep 
 a civil tongue in your head for your betters," 
 
 13
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 Ellen Sievert took this admonition quietly. 
 
 " You're not the only one who knows things, 
 Isaac. Remember that my old man was more 
 voyages with him than you ever was. I've a good 
 idea that the mistress may know more than any of 
 us. Her eyes are awful to-night. They glitter like 
 the snakes' of her own country. I was glad enough 
 not to stay in the room with her." 
 
 " Women always know more than any man round, 
 or think they do. For my part, I'm content with 
 what I do know. 'Deed, an' I'm inclined to-night 
 to wish it was less," he added, inconsistently. 
 
 On a momentary lull came such a strange tumult 
 of sounds that Ellen started, and asked, nervously : 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " Only the wind in that old ventilator. The 
 master wouldn't let me have it mended; said it 
 would cost too much. He has screwed them all 
 down of late." 
 
 " Well, she'll soon get the spending of it now." 
 
 " That's as it may be. There's no doubt she 
 loves the money to spend, just as much as he does 
 to save. But the son will be the saving kind, I'm 
 thinking." 
 
 " He should be here to-night by his father." 
 
 " He would be, if she hadn't declared his wife 
 needed to see a Boston doctor, and sent them all off." 
 
 " As if Nova Scotian doctors weren't good 
 enough. But do you suppose " here Ellen low- 
 ered her voice " that she knew what was 
 coming? " 
 
 But Isaac declined to be further drawn. 
 
 " I don't suppose anything. Only, I'm glad them 
 
 14
 
 "THE STRESS OF THE STORM" 
 
 children are not in the house to-night. You and 
 I aren't easily frightened." 
 
 All the same, an ashen shade came through the 
 tan of his face, as Ellen sprang up with a low cry. 
 " Some one called ! I heard them ! " 
 
 Sure enough, there sounded a shrill voice in the 
 passage : " Isaac ! Isaac ! " 
 
 But as though it were a summons to the powers 
 of the night, down swept the fierce clamour of the 
 storm in such redoubled force, that one of the tall 
 pine-trees crashed over against the house, which 
 seemed to rock to its foundation. 
 
 " The Lord save us ! " groaned Isaac, while Ellen 
 clung to his arm in speechless fear. As if before 
 the elemental forces, the door of the room was 
 hastily flung open, revealing a strange figure. 
 
 It was a woman of about fifty, whose somewhat 
 unwieldy form was wrapped in an untidily gorgeous 
 red silk tea-gown. Her black hair hung in con- 
 fusion about the colourless face, from which the 
 dark, shining eyes flared out. 
 
 Although the slim hand that held a lighted candle 
 above her head did not shake, the woman was 
 evidently in a state of extreme nervous tension, and 
 there was no pause before she spoke quickly in a 
 shrill voice with a perceptible foreign echo in it. 
 
 " Isaac ! Ellen ! Come quickly ! Your master is 
 dead ! I had just raised his head and given him his 
 medicine when he fell back with a groan, dead." 
 
 Ellen's terrified grasp was still upon Isaac's arm, 
 but he silently shook her off and followed the crim- 
 son figure down the long passages and up the big 
 staircase of the silent house to the death-chamber. 
 
 15
 
 Ellen, preferring to follow him, rather than be left 
 alone, went too. 
 
 About the halls and staircase were evidences of 
 a certain comfort of furnishing, but in what had so 
 lately been the master's room was only a bareness 
 that was all but sordid. 
 
 The faded carpet was worn into holes, the china 
 on the wash-stand was chipped, and of various pat- 
 terns. 
 
 On an uncurtained iron bedstead was stretched 
 out the gaunt, wasted form of a gray-bearded man, 
 evidently over eighty. 
 
 In spite of the waste of extreme age, it was to be 
 seen, even now, how strong and powerful had been 
 that frame; how indomitable the will expressed by 
 that heavy jaw and grim mouth ; how tenacious the 
 grasp of that bony hand outstretched upon the bed- 
 clothes. 
 
 The sight of the corpse seemed to act with steady- 
 ing power upon both the man and woman servant. 
 
 While their mistress stood near the bed, still 
 holding the light, and furtively glancing from them 
 to the dead, Ellen came forward with a professional 
 interest in her face. Many were the dead, old and 
 young, whom her hands had prepared for their long 
 rest. 
 
 " You'll need to stir up the kitchen fire, and get 
 the kettles on, Isaac," she said. " I'll want all the 
 hot water that I can get to-night." 
 
 But Isaac stood unheeding, his eyes never stir- 
 ring from the death-mask of his old master, his face 
 sphynxlike in its parchment folds. 
 
 His mistress watched him as immovably, with 
 as intent a concentration of gaze upon him, 
 
 16
 
 "THE STRESS OF THE STORM" 
 
 But when, with a grunt of absent-minded assent, 
 " Ay, ay, I suppose so," he turned away, there came 
 over her a visible relaxing of some strain. 
 
 The next day the storm was over. The autumn 
 sun shone brightly, and only a few overturned 
 fences and fallen trees told of the night's havoc. 
 
 At the Club, and at street corners, men stood and 
 talked of the life that had passed away with the 
 storm, that of the richest man in the whole Province, 
 old Jonathan Bauer. 
 
 It had been so long and so varied a life, that 
 they spoke of it in sections, the earlier parts of it 
 only known to most of them from the talk of their 
 fathers. 
 
 Jonathan Bauer had begun life in a small prosper- 
 ous coast-town, going out as mate in one of the 
 numerous wooden vessels that came and went be- 
 tween the West Indies and Nova Scotia. Salt fish 
 was their cargo out, and sugar, molasses, rum, their 
 homeward-bound freight. 
 
 Many were the fortunes built up by the owners 
 in those easy days before steam and telegraphy; 
 many, too, were the chances of private trading open 
 to the crew. At the beginning, as at the close of 
 life, few chances escaped Jonathan Bauer's gray eyes, 
 and soon he was captain of such a vessel, then owner 
 of that and of others. There were troublesome 
 years of revolutions and wars in South America, 
 and other captains sometimes brought home strange 
 tales of privateering doings of " old Bauer's " on 
 the Spanish Main, which seemed to come perilously 
 near the line where privateering ends and piracy be- 
 gins. However, his own crew always held their 
 tongues, and after each voyage Jonathan reappeared 
 
 17
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 in his native town, more prosperous, more grim and 
 silent and respectable than ever. 
 
 When his one daughter married against his 
 wishes, he returned from his next voyage with a 
 beautiful young French wife, whom he announced 
 to belong to " one of the real tip- top old French 
 families who had come out to settle in Martinique." 
 
 Then he gave up the sea, went into politics, and 
 moved to the capital, where he built for himself in 
 the suburbs the big, white wooden house in which 
 he ended his days. 
 
 Then the Civil War brought the great chance of 
 his life, and he grasped it with a firm hand. 
 
 There were two possibilities of making a fortune ; 
 one in the chances of blockade-running, the other 
 in the fluctuations of the New York Stock Exchange, 
 and of both of these he had made skilful use. 
 
 While the men around him lavished their sympa- 
 thy upon the South, he never doubted the ultimate 
 result of the struggle, meantime, making his profit 
 out of both sides. 
 
 The result was wealth, great wealth for those 
 days, and then it began to be evident that shrewdness 
 was, with the approach of old age, developing into 
 miserliness. 
 
 His handsome French wife might fret and fume 
 for the splendour after which her soul hankered. 
 He was her master, in his grimly humourous way, 
 and she knew it, and submitted. She was allowed 
 to entertain, infrequently, and in a dull fashion, 
 the generals and admirals and political big-wigs of 
 the colonial society of the time. 
 
 She had one child, a son, who seemed to have 
 
 18
 
 "THE STRESS OF THE STORM" 
 
 inherited neither his mother's looks nor his father's 
 brains. 
 
 He grew up plain and dull, a mere puppet in his 
 father's hands, and in the course of time married 
 the plain and dull daughter of a colonel in the 
 English army, branch of a poor and titled Irish 
 house, and had two children, a boy and a girl. 
 
 Before this son had hurried home from Boston 
 with his family, the will was read. 
 
 It gave two-thirds of the estate to the son, the 
 remaining third to the widow, with absolute dis- 
 posal of her share. 
 
 To his daughter Susan's first child was left the 
 old home near Bridgewater, Isaac Neisner to have 
 the use of it until it should be claimed, Isaac Neisner 
 and Ellen Sievert being each given a small annuity. 
 
 It was the evening of the funeral, and Isaac was 
 busying himself rearranging the furniture in the 
 big, bare dining-room, where the company had 
 gathered. 
 
 A movement in the room made him look up, and 
 he saw his mistress standing watching him. 
 
 Of course her dress was black, but in her Southern 
 fashion she had huddled a red and yellow shawl 
 about her head and neck, which kept up her wonted 
 fantastic air. 
 
 " And so, Isaac, you have a home now," she 
 began, as he looked round, " but you will still stay 
 with me, will you not? I should miss you about 
 me." 
 
 The impenetrable gray eyes met the fixed stare 
 of the black ones stolidly, although from the move- 
 ment of Isaac's hands, it might have seemed that he 
 was nervous. 
 
 19
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 " Thanking ye kindly, ma'am, but it's the master's 
 orders you see that I go back, and so back I go. 
 And then, too, I'm thinking that it would make me 
 feel younger again to set a lobster-pot, or take in 
 a net. I don't get enough salt to nourish me here, 
 I think." 
 
 " But if I say that I cannot spare you," she per- 
 sisted. 
 
 Isaac wriggled a bit. 
 
 " Well, ma'am, there's plenty of time to be talking 
 it over," he compromised. 
 
 But the next morning Isaac was gone, not even 
 having communicated his intentions to Ellen, his 
 only intimate, and his mistress was all day in what 
 her servants called " one of her tantrums." 
 
 Soon after the old man's death a new era of ex- 
 penditure began, followed by the removal of the 
 whole family to England. From thence came tales 
 of the great estate purchased on the Thames, of the 
 quantity of servants kept, and the style in which 
 the household was conducted.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OLD FRIENDS 
 
 IT was a cheerless day of early spring in Boston, 
 and the glow of a wood fire gave its final touch 
 of cosiness to the perfection of Mrs. Broderick's 
 drawing-room. What it was that stamped that 
 room with the hall-mark of success above all other 
 rooms that it was ever compared with, it might have 
 been hard to say. 
 
 " It's absence of fussiness," said one. 
 
 " It's artistic simplicity," said another. 
 
 " Money," was a briefer comment, capped by as 
 brief a one of " Brains." 
 
 Certain it was that both brains and money had 
 been freely used in the bringing together of those 
 harmonious tints and costly textures that went to 
 create such a sense of pleasant repose. 
 
 It all seemed simple enough, the cheerfulness of 
 the pink and green French silks, the delicate outlines 
 of the Louis Quinze furniture, the one or two 
 Greuze-like crayon heads upon the wall, the few 
 bits of Dresden or Sevres on the stands. 
 
 The cloudy afternoon was dim enough for the 
 flicker of the firelight to be visible in the corners of 
 the room, and to enrich with its glow the silvery 
 
 21
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 folds of Mrs. Broderick's gray silk tea-gown, edged 
 here and there with touches of dark fur. 
 
 How was it that a woman of so absolute a sim- 
 plicity of bearing and aspect bore such a hall-mark 
 of fashion, Gilbert Clinch wondered, as he sat oppo- 
 site to her, studying the woman with reminiscences 
 of the untidy, enthusiastic girl art-student of eight 
 years ago. 
 
 Perhaps he was not enough man of the world to 
 appreciate the costliness of the perfect lines of the 
 silk drapery, the finished art in the carelessness of 
 the loose waves of fair hair. 
 
 And the serene and dainty bearing of the society 
 woman; perhaps that too had been no less costly 
 an acquisition than the folds of the gown, or the 
 style of hair-dressing. But who has ever gauged 
 the cost of that making of a woman ? 
 
 " The true gods sigh for the cost and the pain, 
 For the reed that grew, grows never again 
 'Mid the other reeds by the river." 
 
 There was something impalpable in the air which 
 told that these two sitting quietly facing each other 
 were not merely engaged in the polite amenities 
 of society. 
 
 Isabel Broderick's face had on it the studied calm 
 of a long repression, and her voice was even in its 
 modulations, but in her clear blue-gray eyes there 
 was an unconscious appeal as they rested on her 
 companion's intent face, and her hands moved once 
 or twice to clasp each other nervously. 
 
 About the concentration of Gilbert Clinch's inter- 
 est on the woman before him there could be no mis- 
 take, but although there was a certain conquered 
 
 22
 
 OLD FRIENDS 
 
 emotion hinted at, it hardly seemed due to the noon 
 of beauty or to its luxurious setting. 
 
 Rather, there was the scientific calm of the natu- 
 ralist studying some rare specimen; of the man, 
 used, in spite of his youth, to watch the involved 
 workings of the troubled mind ; for Gilbert Clinch 
 was already being spoken of, in high medical circles, 
 as a man with a future before him amongst the 
 alienists of the country. 
 
 His study of Mrs. Broderick was not, however, 
 that of a possible patient. 
 
 Not the most careless eye could scan her without 
 marking the perfect equipoise of her physical and 
 mental balance. She might have been chosen as the 
 type of " the sane mind in the sane body." But it 
 was to her tale, told in a sweet, low voice, that the 
 young doctor had been listening. 
 
 " You have done as I asked you to, and had 
 a talk with the two doctors about my husband ? " 
 she had asked, after a brief, yet kindly greeting. 
 
 Gilbert settled himself back in the deep chair, as 
 he began, gravely: 
 
 " Yes, and what they said quite carried out the 
 idea that you had given me. Putting aside techni- 
 calities, it is an ordinary case of melancholia, with, 
 I fear, the almost certainty of its increasing into 
 more acute mania. Of course his hereditary record 
 goes against him. There is nothing to be done that 
 I can see, save to follow the advice that they have 
 given you. Let him have as quiet an outdoor life 
 as possible, and above all things keep up his interest 
 in his painting. We need not despair until that 
 goes. It is only a sane person who can work."
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 Mrs. Broderick's face brightened responsive to his 
 words. 
 
 " Oh, his whole heart seems in his work. Of 
 course his subjects are strange; they have always 
 been strange for the matter of that. Have you ever 
 seen any of his things ? " 
 
 " Only the picture exhibited last year, of the New 
 England witches being taken to death. I thought 
 it very powerful." 
 
 " It was. It was also the least mystical of all 
 his subjects. They are almost always of saints and 
 visions, and of late they have grown still more weird 
 and vague. But there is always the same genius in 
 them," she added, with an evident pride. 
 
 " And does he show much pleasure in his work ? " 
 Gilbert asked. In spite of his familiarity with the 
 tragedies of life, he felt an intense^pity for this 
 woman whom he had known as an ardent girl. 
 
 Her face shadowed again. 
 
 " It is not easy to tell. He has grown so silent, 
 and takes so little notice. But he is always gentle 
 and pathetic. If you saw him often, you would 
 never, I am sure, ask me to consent to putting him 
 under restraint or to leaving him, both of which 
 courses the doctors have suggested." 
 
 " Restraint in time is almost always the wisest 
 plan," Gilbert answered, cautiously. 
 
 There was a troubling of Mrs. Broderick's sur- 
 face calm, as she leaned forward with clasped hands. 
 
 " Surely not in this case, where I am willing to 
 give myself up altogether to making the days better 
 for him. Surely there is no one who could keep 
 up his interest in his painting as I can, who have 
 always worked with him ? "
 
 OLD FRIENDS 
 
 " Perhaps not," Gilbert acknowledged, willing 
 to bring about gradually her facing of the inevitable. 
 " But you must always remember, there is a point at 
 which self-sacrifice becomes useless folly." 
 
 She scarcely seemed to heed his caution as she 
 went on: 
 
 " The problem of how to do the best for him had 
 been working in my mind when I heard that you 
 were here in town, and it seemed to me that you were 
 the person for me to appeal to, and that was why 
 I wrote and asked you to come to see me. You 
 know " here for the first time, a faint flush crossed 
 her face " you know that money is no question 
 in our plans. There is, in almost any case, more 
 than we need spend. I heard from Doctor Smart 
 of the work that you have done in the Michigan 
 asylum, and of how much is expected of you. He 
 told me, too, that you were ordered a holiday, and 
 outdoor life for a time." She hesitated, as though 
 feeling the difficulty of what she wished to say. 
 
 " Is it too much of a sacrifice to ask of you, 
 that you will, at a salary named by Doctor Smart, 
 take complete charge of my husband for the sum- 
 mer ? I would leave the choice of locality altogether 
 to you, only asking that it be some place out of 
 the way of ordinary travel, where there will be little 
 chance of meeting familiar faces. I do not mind 
 how simple our surroundings may be, only provided 
 that we are remote from every one and everything 
 we have ever known." 
 
 Her voice shook, but she recovered herself, and 
 went on, more quietly : 
 
 " It should be by the sea, too, for once he loved 
 sailing, and it is always possible that he might rouse 
 
 25
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 up to be interested in it again. We can try this 
 for the summer, and then well, if my plan does 
 not succeed, I promise to do as the doctors wish. 
 Tell me, will you think this over for a few days, and 
 give me your answer? " 
 
 Gilbert roused himself from the charm of the 
 low tones. 
 
 " It needs no thinking over, and it involves no 
 sacrifice on my part," he said, decisively. " As you 
 say, I am ordered a holiday of outdoor life, but 
 interesting holidays are not such easy things to 
 manage on limited means. Your proposal supplies 
 both the professional interest of the case, and the 
 friendly interest of helping you. Believe me, I am 
 truly gratified that your thoughts should have turned 
 to me in your distress, and I will try to justify your 
 impulse; " then, with a more matter-of-fact tone: 
 
 " Tell me, is there any place that you have thought 
 of?" 
 
 " No," she said, meditatively. " I had only a 
 vague idea of a fishing village somewhere on the 
 Maine coast. You don't know of any such place, 
 do you ? " 
 
 " Well, I happened to meet a friend to-day, brown 
 and rugged-looking, and I asked him whence came 
 his offensively outdoor aspect. It turned out that 
 he had been salmon-fishing down on the Nova 
 Scotian coast. It was that put the idea into my 
 head. There seem to be lots of such places as you 
 describe, and getting there by water would be a 
 very simple business." 
 
 Mrs. Broderick was apparently lacking in the 
 feminine love of ample discussion. 
 
 " Well, there is no hurry, for it can scarcely be 
 26
 
 OLD FRI ENDS 
 
 weather to get settled comfortably in the country 
 for six weeks yet," she said. " Suppose you took a 
 run down there to see, and choose for yourself. I 
 will leave the decision entirely to you. Is that 
 asking too much from you ? " 
 
 " It is merely asking me to take a pleasure-trip 
 on new ground, and you know of old what a wan- 
 derer I am," Gilbert answered. 
 
 An after-thought seeming to occur to him, he 
 hesitated, and then plunged boldly into the subject. 
 " I have not asked what you intend doing with 
 your child. You were not planning to take him 
 with you, I suppose? " 
 
 As a dog starts on the first note of danger, Mrs. 
 Broderick seemed to be aroused into alertness. 
 
 "Why not?" she asked, quickly. 
 
 " It can hardly seem advisable to you, I should 
 think," was his quiet answer. 
 
 " I could not have the courage for the effort, 
 if I had to part with my child," she broke out, pas- 
 sionately. " You cannot suppose that with the pre- 
 cautions we should take, there would be the slightest 
 danger to him ? " 
 
 "No." Gilbert admitted. "I must allow that 
 it hardly seems probable. But I am convinced 
 that the early memories of children are more tena- 
 cious than we are apt to fancy, and it might be best 
 to keep him apart. However, I can understand how 
 you shrink from the separation, and I trust that we 
 can avoid it. Of course, we must have a strong 
 man-servant trained to the work. With myself, he 
 ought to do. Then you must promise me never to 
 be alone with him."
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 He looked at her expectantly, but her acquiescence 
 was slow to come. 
 
 " I can always soothe him better than any one," 
 she objected. 
 
 " That power might suddenly fail at the crucial 
 moment. I really must insist on this condition." 
 
 His eyes and voice were equally determined, and, 
 after a moment's pause, Mrs. Broderick yielded. 
 
 " Very well, it shall be as you wish," she agreed, 
 gently. 
 
 Gilbert met her smile with compunction. 
 
 " I cannot bear to oppose your slightest wish in 
 the matter," he said. " Believe me, I would not 
 do so if it were not for the responsibility that must 
 rest on me in this affair." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I know," she said, hastily, " and I 
 assure you that I do not mean to add to it by any 
 unreasonableness on my part. And you think you 
 can go soon ? " 
 
 " To-morrow, I hope. There is nothing to detain 
 me here. And so I had better say good-bye now." 
 
 They had risen, and as Gilbert stood holding her 
 hand, the old magnetism of her presence swept over 
 him. He rejoiced in his youth and strength that 
 enabled him to serve her, while the man whom she 
 had chosen was a helpless burden upon her hands. 
 
 " I hope you know how I would thank you if I 
 could," were her parting words, and the sound of 
 them lingered in his brain as he went out into 
 the cold drizzle of the cheerless streets.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE ANCIENT MARINER 
 
 GILBERT CLINCH'S visit to Mrs. Broder- 
 ick, with its resultant compact, had fur- 
 nished him with a bewildering amount of 
 food for thought. 
 
 Eight years before, he had been the guest of a fel- 
 low-student in a roomy old farmhouse in the Ver- 
 mont hills, occupied for the summer by a hospitable 
 family. Isabel Steele had come there to visit the 
 daughter, who studied with her in the art school. 
 
 She was then eighteen, badly dressed and angular, 
 with a manner alternately shy and impulsive, and 
 only by fits and starts gave a promise of the charm 
 that was later to make her a well-known society 
 woman. 
 
 The bewitching hand of midsummer was laid on 
 these two impetuous young hearts, and certain senti- 
 mental scenes were a foregone conclusion. 
 
 But they were both poor and ambitious; both 
 straining every nerve to conquer the difficulties that 
 barred their chosen careers. They had both served 
 their apprenticeship in the school of small daily 
 self-denials for a dominant purpose. 
 
 And so, with the summer their companionship 
 
 29
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 had ended, each going back to their work choking 
 down a certain heartache. 
 
 The next spring Gilbert had heard of Miss Steele's 
 going abroad, and, within the year, of her marriage 
 to Andrew Broderick, the only son of the million- 
 aire, said to be, on his own account, an artist of 
 much promise. 
 
 " Rather an unfair deal of the fates, to have 
 given him the brains that poor men need," Gilbert 
 had commented to himself somewhat bitterly, as he 
 read the glowing accounts of the marriage in the 
 paper. 
 
 In the changes of the next few years, that bitter- 
 ness had all died away, and it was with a kindly 
 interest that he noted the varied statements about 
 Mrs. Broderick's social successes, her dresses, and 
 entertainments, the occasional pictures she had 
 painted and exhibited. And now, to his bewilder- 
 ment, he found that he had in a measure become her 
 paid retainer. Not that he was really sensitive to 
 the fact, for he knew that the service he was to do 
 her was more than could be rewarded by money. 
 All the same, he would have liked to lay that service 
 at her feet with a lordly generosity. 
 
 But such generosity is an expensive thing, and 
 although he had attained to a tolerable certainty as 
 to his daily comforts, he could not feel justified in it. 
 Besides, how could he expect Mrs. Broderick to 
 accept such services save on a business footing ? And 
 so he smothered down the feeling, as he had smoth- 
 ered many such results of poverty, with a mental 
 note of combat against that crippling power. 
 
 He tried to arouse all his powers of trained be- 
 neficence toward the man over whom hovered so 
 
 SO
 
 THE ANCIENT MARINER 
 
 hapless a fate. Neither Gilbert nor the authorities 
 with whom he had spoken had any doubt that the 
 course of a year would see Andrew Broderick a 
 pronounced maniac. But still, he was not that 
 now, and if his wife chose to go on fighting a hope- 
 less battle, well, she had the money that gave her 
 power to do so. 
 
 After all, nearly everything in the world is a 
 matter of money. 
 
 And so Gilbert began to meditate on the practical 
 details of his undertaking. He knew the man whom 
 he would choose as attendant, quiet, strong, obedient. 
 
 He went off at once to look for the fisherman 
 who had given him the idea of locality, and before 
 he returned to his rooms that night, he was sup- 
 plied with a full programme of travel. Then he 
 sat down to write to his widowed mother in her 
 home in a quiet Canadian town. For Gilbert was 
 a Canadian by birth, although, like so many of 
 his fellow countrymen, an American by education. 
 
 He told her, with his usual briefness, of this new 
 undertaking of his, and of the neighbourhood on 
 the Nova Scotian coast that he was about to visit 
 in search of summer quarters. 
 
 There had never been a habit of familiar confi- 
 dence between mother and son since Gilbert had 
 outgrown her narrow creed and austere life. 
 
 Her answer reached him at the end of his sea 
 trip to Halifax. 
 
 He was at once struck by some unfamiliar note 
 of agitation in it. 
 
 " It is another of the strange manifestations of 
 the guiding hand of Providence that have ruled my 
 life," she wrote, " that you should, in all ignorance, 
 
 31
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 have decided to go to the spot where I was born 
 and grew up, and where your father and I met. 
 
 " It was through his wise decision that you were 
 left in this ignorance of our early life. It is possible 
 that you may meet no one who would recognise 
 your name, for it is more than forty years since we 
 left there, and, save my father, I had no near rela- 
 tives, and but few friends. 
 
 " I feel no present tie between me and my old 
 home, nor any wish to see it again. My real home 
 is here, where I spent the happiest years of my life 
 with your father, where many of his congregation 
 still revere his memory. 
 
 " I think that there is no need for you to announce 
 your parentage to any one whom you may meet, 
 but if it should chance that your name is recognised 
 and your family spoken of, you will do wisely to 
 write to me at once as to what you may have heard. 
 I have nothing to conceal, nothing to be ashamed 
 of, although both your father and I agreed that it 
 was unnecessary for you to hear the story of our 
 lives." 
 
 Gilbert Clinch sat on the veranda of a country 
 hotel and re-read this letter with an unpleasant 
 sensation. He had often before wondered at his 
 parents' reticence, and had as often put aside the idea 
 that it signified anything beyond a reserved habit of 
 mind. He had gone out into the world so young, 
 and had so immediately become absorbed in the 
 battle of life, that all these family ways had become 
 unreal to him. 
 
 And now, when he was most occupied with other 
 thoughts, these feelings of his youth had suddenly 
 awakened into significance. This letter had reached 
 
 8*
 
 THE ANCIENT MARINER 
 
 him at Halifax, had tormented him through the 
 prolonged hours of a foggy coasting trip, was tor- 
 menting him on as he sat smoking on the veranda 
 of the little hotel, on the height above the small 
 town of Bridgewater. 
 
 It had distracted his thoughts a little while before, 
 when he had strolled in the clear twilight by the 
 beautiful river-banks, to watch the ships loading 
 with lumber in the stream, and the cone of fire that 
 rose against the sunset from the chimney of the 
 sawdust-burning furnace at the great lumber-mills 
 above the town. 
 
 Now, with a sudden resolution, he put his mother's 
 words aside. They probably belonged to that 
 shadow-land of theological self -tormenting where 
 his parents' path had lain. He himself had chosen 
 the broad daylight of scientific thought and action. 
 Let him abide in it, then, and see to his chosen 
 task. 
 
 He had taken a fancy to the bright, active little 
 town on its broad river, but saw that it was not 
 suited to his purpose. He must get farther, toward 
 the more lonely places by the sea. 
 
 He had already interviewed the landlord and one 
 of the general business men of small country towns, 
 as to any such remote seaside dwelling, but they 
 knew of none, and could only recommend him to 
 go " down toward the French settlements." 
 
 So the next morning, with a pleasant sense of 
 exploration of unknown regions, Gilbert started off 
 in a buggy, following a road that wound seaward 
 along the shores of the ever-widening La Have. 
 
 It was a sunny morning, and the subtle charm 
 of the capricious Northern spring lay over ths laud* 
 
 33
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 The red tassels of the maple blossoms swayed 
 beside the white clusters of the Indian-pear and 
 wild-cherry blossom. The scent of spruce came 
 from the damp shades; the woods were astir after 
 their long ice and snow captivity. 
 
 As he went on, the cheerful little white houses 
 by the river became more scattered, and then gradu- 
 ally ceased, while the dark woods crowded down to 
 the roadside. But there were always the open views 
 up and down the stately brightness of the river as 
 it broadened out to meet the sea, amongst low 
 islands and long yellow sand-bars. Noonday had 
 passed, and Gilbert had been for some time driving 
 through the solitude of thick spruce woods, with a 
 growing interest in the problem of a possible meal, 
 and rest for himself and his horse. 
 
 All at once, the woods fell away to reveal a slope 
 of green fields, down to a cove between which and 
 the open bay ran out a long line of sand. An un- 
 painted gray farmhouse faced the water, with a 
 path rambling down to it between old apple-trees. 
 
 There was an ancient gray wharf, and one or two 
 weather-beaten sheds; altogether the place looked 
 as though it might have been of importance in its 
 day, although that day was plainly over. 
 
 While old, the house had about it an exact trim- 
 ness, and there were even signs of a garden along 
 the path leading to the door. 
 
 " Now that's a place with possibilities," came 
 in a sudden idea to Gilbert. " At any rate, it's not 
 sordid. Well, let's see if there is food for man and 
 beast to be procured here. Hello, there's an ancient 
 mariner." 
 
 The ancient mariner was seated on the door-step, 
 34
 
 THE ANCIENT MARINER 
 
 smoking a pipe, and as he looked up, Gilbert saw 
 that he must be over seventy. 
 
 A mop of grizzled hair surrounded a face of 
 parchment texture, seamed by the many storms of 
 life, but the small gray eyes were still keen and 
 bright. 
 
 They were the only sign that he was conscious of 
 Gilbert's approach, as the latter left his horse and 
 walked toward the house. 
 
 " Good morning," Gilbert began. 
 
 " Mornin'," with an all but imperceptible nod. 
 
 " Can you tell me where I can find a house at 
 which to get a meal ? " 
 
 ' There's an inn three miles on, at La Falaise." 
 
 This remark was made in the most non-committal 
 fashion, as though to disclaim any personal interest 
 in the traveller's needs. 
 
 Gilbert accepted this attitude philosophically. 
 
 "That is a village?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " There are no nearer houses ? " 
 
 " None." 
 
 'You live here alone?" 
 
 ' Yes, with a boy, a grandson." 
 
 " Have you ever let your house? " 
 
 The old man had made no movement, but his 
 twinkling eyes brightened in interest, as he an- 
 swered : 
 
 " No, can't say that I have as yet. Happen to be 
 looking for one to hire?" 
 
 ' That's just what I am looking for. I want a 
 place for the summer close to the sea, and not too 
 near any village. Do you happen to know of any- 
 such place ? " 
 
 35
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 " Don't know much of other people's houses or 
 affairs. 'Tend to my own. But they're sometimes 
 queer kind of people that are wanting lonely houses 
 near the sea. What might you be meaning to do 
 with it?" 
 
 Gilbert, thinking he detected an impulse of parley, 
 answered, conciliatingly : 
 
 " I want it for an American lady, who has an 
 invalid husband needing quiet and outdoor life. I 
 am a doctor, and I should be with them." 
 
 "And you are a Yankee, too?" was the next 
 question. 
 
 Gilbert's amusement helped to curb his rising 
 impatience. 
 
 " No, I am a Canadian." 
 
 " And what might your name be? " was the next 
 query. 
 
 Looking into those keen eyes, Gilbert had a sud- 
 den strange sense of conjuring with an unknown 
 spell, as he answered : 
 
 " My name is Gilbert Clinch, though that can 
 hardly interest you. I thought that perhaps this 
 house might have suited my purpose, but I see that 
 I must go farther." 
 
 If he had expected any startling change through 
 recognition of his name, he was certainly disap- 
 pointed, but at this hint of moving on the old man 
 did stand up, saying with more heartiness : 
 
 " No need to be in such a hurry. Who knows 
 that it mightn't suit you after all? At any rate, 
 come in and have a snack, that is, if you can eat 
 sailors' fare, cold pork and hard biscuit. No harm 
 done in talking it over at any rate." 
 
 It was with a distinct consciousness of victory 
 36
 
 THE ANCIENT MARINER 
 
 that Gilbert followed him into the square room, 
 half kitchen, half living-room, into which the door 
 opened. 
 
 One glance showed him the possibilities of the 
 place. Everything was spotlessly clean, and there 
 were two sunny windows looking out toward the 
 sea. 
 
 " The stove taken away, and the fireplace opened 
 up ; the floor stained and rugs laid down ; a curtain 
 over the door leading into the back kitchen," he 
 summed up rapidly to himself, while the old man 
 bustled over to the cupboard, that bore a great 
 resemblance to a ship's lockers. 
 
 About every arrangement of his simple belong- 
 ings, there was this nautical suggestion. As they 
 began their austere meal, Gilbert was careful to 
 keep from any further reference to business. Instead 
 of which, he spoke of his own seafaring experiences 
 in a yachting trip to the West Indies with a patient, 
 and the bait was immediately taken. 
 
 Gilbert now received his first information of the 
 fact he was afterward to have more fully impressed 
 upon him, that to these remote " longshore " folk, 
 the West Indian Islands are " just over the way," 
 places to which if a man has not voyaged himself, 
 his father and brothers and neighbours are likely 
 to have been, and the names of which are of lifelong 
 familiarity to him. 
 
 Many a quiet old woman, sitting by her fireside 
 through long Northern winters, can recall the days 
 when, as wife to the captain of a sailing vessel, she 
 felt the glare of the tropic sun over the Caribbean 
 Sea, heard the rustle of the wind in the palm leaves. 
 
 His host seemed as familiar with every spot men- 
 
 37
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 tioned as he must be with the shoals and currents of 
 the La Have River, and Gilbert observed on the high 
 mantel, branching sprays of coral and sea-fans, 
 evident spoils of past voyages. Warmed by such 
 reminiscences, the old man became quite garrulous, 
 but presently Gilbert found that he was harking 
 back to his former questioning. 
 
 " Not been much with your home folks, I guess, 
 as you're such a young fellow, and been made a 
 doctor, and then travelling," he suggested. 
 
 " Oh, I'm older than I look," Gilbert answered, 
 carelessly. " But, no, I haven't been much at home. 
 If one has one's way to make in the world, it's best 
 to begin early, and learn to take the rough with the 
 smooth." 
 
 This bit of philosophy apparently passed un- 
 heeded, for it was followed by the brief query: 
 
 "Father dead?" 
 
 " Yes, my father died when I was eighteen," was 
 the answer, given with suitable gravity. 
 
 " Then there was just your mother and you? " 
 
 Gilbert noticed with that strange quickening of 
 interest, that the old man was taking it for granted 
 that he had no brothers or sisters. He looked 
 straight into the other's eyes as he answered : 
 
 " Yes, only my mother and me. She came from 
 somewhere about this neighbourhood, but my father 
 belonged to Ontario, and they returned there soon 
 after their marriage." 
 
 Under the steady questioning of his gaze, the old 
 man's eyes shifted uneasily. 
 
 " Indeed, indeed," he said, slowly, then with a 
 sudden turn : " Well, now, what of this fancy of
 
 THE ANCIENT MARINER 
 
 yours about the house ? If you were really thinking 
 it might suit you, it wouldn't be a bad idea to 
 take a look at it, would it ? " 
 
 " An excellent idea," the other agreed, glad to 
 leave surmises for facts. 
 
 39
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " IN HER SERVICE " 
 
 AS Gilbert followed his guide from room to 
 room, he found that the old house was larger 
 than he had thought it. 
 
 Off the ground floor was a sort of wing of two 
 rooms which he decided would be suitable for Mr. 
 Broderick and his attendant. Up-stairs the rooms, 
 though low with the slope of the roof, were large, 
 and would supply accommodation for the rest of 
 the party. 
 
 " The house would suit me well enough," he 
 announced, presently. " Now the question is, 
 whether you are willing to let it. By the by, I 
 don't know your name yet." 
 
 " Neither you do," the other agreed. They were 
 now smoking their pipes in amity upon the door- 
 steps. 
 
 " Isaac, it is," he went on, " Isaac Neisner, and 
 Neisner is as well-known a Dutch name as there 
 is from here to Lunenburg. Well, as to letting the 
 house. Can't say as the idea ever occurred to me 
 before, but come to think of it, don't see why I 
 shouldn't. That's to say, if you don't want me to 
 clear out, but will let me and the boy put up in that 
 little lean-to off the barn over there, so that I can 
 
 40
 
 "IN HER SERVICE" 
 
 come and go with my boat handy, and dig the pota- 
 toes, and see to the pig and the chickens. I sha'n't 
 be in your way." 
 
 Gilbert had marked the remains of strength in 
 the brawny frame, the shrewd determination in the 
 old face, and he felt that it would be a decided 
 advantage to have such a person about the place. 
 It would add to the force to be counted on in an 
 emergency with his patient. 
 
 " I'm sure you wouldn't," he said, heartily. 
 " And I'm sure you will have no trouble in getting 
 on with Mrs. Broderick. Look here," he went on, 
 with a sudden impulse toward frankness "I think 
 before we close our bargain, that I ought to tell 
 you that the gentleman is in rather a queer state 
 of mind. Not mad, you know, but melancholy; 
 hardly speaks or takes notice of any one. The 
 doctors want him to have quiet and sea air, and I 
 have promised to look after him. Now you know 
 all about it." 
 
 But again Isaac took him by surprise. 
 
 " I thought all along it must be something like 
 that," was his comment. " But what I want to 
 know is, are these people friends of yours? " 
 
 Gilbert felt thoroughly puzzled by the question, 
 and by the evident importance attached to it, though 
 he was careful to give no sign of his perplexity. 
 
 " Yes, they are my friends," was his quiet 
 answer. 
 
 " All right then. That settles it. A whole mad- 
 house wouldn't matter to me. I've seen worse 
 than that in my day. We'll call it a bargain then ? " 
 
 " We had better arrange the terms first," Gilbert 
 objected. 
 
 41
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 When they came to money matters, he was sur- 
 prised to observe the indifference that Neisner dis- 
 played. He might have been a millionaire, letting 
 a shooting-box to a duke as a matter of courtesy, 
 for all the interest he showed. 
 
 However, the sum that Gilbert offered him was 
 liberal enough to have satisfied any one, and both 
 seemed content with the arrangement. Gilbert told 
 him that he would telegraph Mrs. Broderick for 
 her approval, and would then come down again 
 from Bridgewater to see to the furnishing of the 
 house. 
 
 Isaac had grown so friendly that he seemed 
 almost unwilling to let him out of his sight. 
 
 Gilbert was sitting in his buggy, all ready to start, 
 and still the old man stood with his hand on the 
 side of the carriage. 
 
 " Know your mother's maiden name? " he blurted 
 out, suddenly. 
 
 Here it was, this uncanny interest cropping up 
 again, Gilbert said to himself, as he answered, some- 
 what brusquely: 
 
 " Of course I do ; why shouldn't I ? It was 
 Bauer. Dutch, like yours, I fancy. Do you know 
 any one of that name in the neighbourhood now ? " 
 
 Again, when it came to the point, the old man 
 seemed to shy away from the subject. 
 
 " Used to be some about, but none now that I 
 know of," he said, evasively. 
 
 " My mother told me that she thought she had 
 no relations left here," Gilbert agreed. 
 
 " Hum! Mother well off? " and again came the 
 furtively questioning glance. 
 
 The original Ancient Mariner was a joke to this 
 42
 
 "IN HER SERVICE" 
 
 one, Gilbert thought to himself, while answering, 
 sedately : 
 
 " She has always had enough to live comfortably 
 on. Why do you want to know ? " 
 
 " Oh, for nothing particular. Old folks like to 
 gossip, you know. It's about all we're good for. 
 But I was never one to talk much, and you won't 
 find me troublesome." 
 
 An undertone of wistfulness in the gruff voice 
 touched Gilbert. 
 
 " I'm sure not," he said, heartily. " Well, I must 
 be off. You'll hear from me soon," and with a grip 
 of the horny old hand, he went his way. 
 
 There was plenty of food for thought as he drove 
 back in the chill yellow twilight. 
 
 He felt in curious sympathy with his new friend 
 Isaac Neisner, although he had not a doubt that 
 the old man was keeping back from him some 
 information as to his knowledge of Gilbert's parents. 
 
 What did it mean, this atmosphere of mystery 
 that encircled so prosaic a couple as the minister 
 and his wife must always have been? 
 
 ' They must have changed their sect, and believed 
 or not believed something, and made a tragedy out 
 of it," he asserted, dogmatically, to himself, with, 
 all the time, an unpleasant underlying sense that 
 there might be some very different reason. 
 
 Even prosaic, middle-aged clergymen and their 
 wives have been, ere now, found not exempt from 
 the sins and passions that go to make up the trage- 
 dies of life. 
 
 While waiting to hear from Mrs. Broderick, Gil- 
 bert made himself at home in Bridgewater, with the 
 result of imbibing a good deal of local gossip. 
 
 48
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 The announcement of his purpose of becoming 
 Isaac Neisner's tenant brought out a flood of in- 
 formation. 
 
 " Old Neisner's down Falaise way ? Yes, they 
 call it ' The Pirates' Moorings.' Why ? Oh, well, 
 you see there was a rich old man owned it, and left 
 it to Neisner. He died, a grand sort of a person 
 in Halifax, and rich! There wasn't another man 
 in all the Province so rich. But all the same, the 
 country-folk about here have always called him 
 pirate and always will. They say he began to make 
 his money in queer ways, when he was a young 
 man and used to sail to the Spanish Main. You 
 won't easily get any one to go there with you, for 
 the house is said to be haunted by spirits in search 
 of buried treasure. Do I believe the story? Well, 
 no, not exactly. But, still, there's generally some 
 truth under such tales." 
 
 Here another lounger broke in with his story 
 that old Isaac Neisner did not own the house, but 
 was merely in charge for some stranger to whom it 
 had been left, but this theory seemed to receive 
 only a small share of popular favour. 
 
 However, Gilbert listened to them all impartially. 
 Then came a wire from Mrs. Broderick with direc- 
 tions to take the house, and saying that she was 
 sending down some furniture. With that, Gilbert 
 removed himself to Neisner's, sharing the old man's 
 rough fare, setting a handy man he had brought 
 down, to work at carpentering, tinting walls, stain- 
 ing floors. 
 
 Often he joined in the work himself, and old 
 Isaac, catching the contagion, turned to and proved 
 not unskilful in household art. 
 
 44
 
 "IN HER SERVICE" 
 
 There were some odds and ends of good old furni- 
 ture about the rooms, and these were rubbed up, 
 and brought into greater prominence. 
 
 " This sideboard must have once belonged to 
 well-to-do folks," Gilbert said, one day, as they set 
 up the rickety structure of pure Chippendale lines 
 in the central living-room. 
 
 " Hum ! Perhaps it did. Never took much 
 notice of furniture myself. Beds is beds, and chairs 
 is chairs, and we've got to have them both. That's 
 all I know," the old man grunted. 
 
 Another time Gilbert unearthed from a rubbish 
 corner, a hanging-lamp, which when rubbed up, 
 proved to be of elaborately embossed copper. 
 
 A knowledge of bric-a-brac acquired in the studios 
 of his friends, told him that this lamp must have 
 once hung in some Spanish or Italian church. 
 
 When he appealed for Isaac's leave to hang it in 
 the centre room, the latter scowled at it doubtfully. 
 
 " You've got a great eye for rubbish, mister. Do 
 what you like with it, it's all one to me. / don't 
 know where the thing came from. It's been round 
 the house ever since I've known it. Bought from 
 some Spanish sailor most likely, or perhaps the 
 missus Here he checked himself abruptly, 
 going on, " Yes, I've seen the like hanging up in 
 Catholic churches, with the little red light shining 
 in them, and big sailor men down on their knees 
 before them. Perhaps, though," he rambled on, " it 
 made the last taste of the salt water less bitter to 
 them as they went down. Oh, I've seen a good many 
 go down in my time, some with religion and some 
 without. Have you got any religion, young man? " 
 lie ended, with one of his sudden turns on Gilbert. 
 
 45
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 " I have the religion of trying to do my share 
 toward leaving the world better than I found it," 
 the latter answered. 
 
 " Ah, well, you might have a worse one than 
 that," he went off muttering, and Gilbert began to 
 feel sure that this conversational rambling was a 
 trick of the old man's when he wished to head 
 off the conversation in a different direction. But 
 the May days were growing more balmy, and the 
 furniture having arrived from Boston, the old farm- 
 house was looking a more possible habitation for 
 a fashionable woman. 
 
 Gilbert felt that he might now go back to Boston 
 to arrange for the Brodericks' journey. 
 
 It had been inevitable that of late he had dwelt 
 much in thought on Mrs. Broderick's preferences 
 and comfort. He had put his whole heart into 
 making the old place as artistically dainty for her 
 as possible ; reading and re-reading the brief letters 
 in which she had expressed her few wishes. 
 
 Now, there was an unconscious quickening of 
 Interest in the thought of telling her of his labours, 
 of receiving her approval. Surely she must see 
 how heartily he had striven to do everything possible 
 for her comfort. These thoughts were his compan- 
 ions on the short sea voyage, and sent him without 
 delay to the Brodericks' handsome house. 
 
 Once again he stood waiting in the reposeful 
 drawing-room, but this time, instead of the flicker 
 of firelight, there was the level western sunshine 
 resting on violets and lilies of the valley. 
 
 There was a rustle of silk, and Mrs. Broderick 
 had glided in and greeted him with her usual 
 finished grace. Was it her elaborate street dress 
 
 46
 
 "IN HER SERVICE" 
 
 of pale blue, trimmed with black, that made her 
 seem more the woman of society than she had in 
 that soft gray gown by the fireside, or was there 
 really a hardness behind her smile that chilled any 
 manifestation of sympathy? 
 
 However it came, the effect was there, and caused 
 Gilbert to feel as though those soft white hands 
 had gently pushed him into a remote outer circle. 
 Smarting with an uncomprehended pain, he strove 
 after the feeling of ten minutes earlier. 
 
 " You look better." he began. " I trust things 
 have improved during my absence? " 
 
 " Yes, I am better. I suppose I have got my 
 second wind of courage," she smiled, as they seated 
 themselves. " Then there is the comfort of trying 
 to do something definite. And I have remembered 
 what you said about work being the best sign. He 
 has, of late, been more absorbed in it than ever. 
 I have been looking forward to your coming in 
 the hopes that you might detect some improvement. 
 I somehow feel that you understand him better than 
 Doctor Smart does." 
 
 It was surely unreasonable in Gilbert to feel hurt 
 at being thought of in his professional capacity, and 
 to fancy that Mrs. Broderick wished to remind him 
 of the work that he had undertaken for her. The 
 only sign, however, that he gave of the feeling was 
 in a touch of professional mannerism, as he an- 
 swered, sedately : 
 
 " I can hardly hope to compete with Doctor 
 Smart's experience yet awhile. But I am sure you 
 know that the case has my deepest interest, and 
 that I shall spare no effort this summer." 
 
 " Oh, I am sure of that," she said, quickly, with 
 
 47
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 a little puzzled glance at him, as though questioning 
 the subtle change. 
 
 " But I want to tell you about his work. He 
 has actually begun a large new picture, the best, 
 so far as I can yet tell, of his life. About the time 
 you left, he was always doing studies of flowers and 
 butterflies, though I had not understood what was 
 his idea until he put it into shape on a large canvas. 
 Then I remembered 
 
 She paused, as though feeling the pathos of what 
 she had to tell. 
 
 " Have you ever read of poor Guy de Maupas- 
 sant's last sad days of insanity?" Gilbert silently 
 shook his head. He was again under the spell of 
 eyes and voice, of personality. 
 
 " Well, he was surrounded in his visions by flights 
 of butterflies. The white ones were the souls of 
 friends, good spirits, and made him seraphic. Trie 
 blue and yellow were women he had loved, and the 
 pleasures he had known; but on his gloomy days 
 black butterflies came, and from these he cowered 
 and hid, and called them Death and Pain. I knew 
 his mother," she went on, " a grim, old Norman 
 country dame, and she told me of the story. 
 Whether I ever spoke of it to my husband or 
 whether he heard it from others in Paris, I cannot 
 tell now. He has never mentioned it, or breathed 
 a word to show what he is thinking of, but there 
 can be no doubt that is the idea he is working 
 out in this picture. And, oh, it is so beautiful!" 
 she broke off, with sudden fervour. 
 
 A remembrance came to Gilbert of times when 
 he had wondered if Isabel Steele had any personality 
 beside the art spirit that inhabited her frame, and 
 
 48
 
 "IN HER SERVICE" 
 
 now again he wondered which side of her nature 
 
 life had the most largely developed, the feminine 
 
 or the artistic. 
 
 " I would like you to come to my husband's 
 
 studio, and see him at his work," Mrs. Broderick 
 
 said, rising. 
 
 " Certainly, if you are sure it won't startle him." 
 " Oh, no, he never notices any one when he is 
 
 busy," and she led the way through the house to 
 
 the studio. 
 
 49
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE FLOWERS OF DEATH 
 
 GILBERT was familiar, through the free- 
 masonry of young men, with several studios, 
 but he could not refrain from an admiring 
 glance at the noble proportions and stately sim- 
 plicity of this one he now entered. There were 
 indeed two studios, separated from each other by 
 a great sweep of subtle-tinted Indian curtain. 
 
 After that one glance around, all his attention was 
 fixed on the man who stood at a big easel. 
 
 It was not the first time that he had seen Andrew 
 Broderick, but his renewed impression was of the 
 attractiveness of his appearance. Young and tall 
 and slim, wearing a picturesque brown velveteen 
 painting-coat, he was a pleasing figure as he stood 
 palette in hand, staring intently at his picture, with- 
 out taking any notice of their entrance. 
 
 His hair, of a light blond, was very fine in texture, 
 and worn somewhat longer than usual. The face 
 was of a long oval, and had the pallor that some- 
 times goes with very fine hair. His eyes were of 
 a prominent blue. No untrained observation would 
 ever have associated this quiet-mannered, hard- 
 working young gentleman with any idea of insanity, 
 
 50
 
 THE FLOWERS OF DEATH 
 
 and yet to Gilbert's eyes the signs of mental degen- 
 eration were clear as written words. He stood 
 in silence, absorbed in this dread fact, for a moment, 
 before turning toward Mrs. Broderick ; he saw that 
 her eyes, and apparently her thoughts, were intent 
 on the big canvas on the easel. 
 
 His gaze followed the direction of hers, and he 
 suppressed a word of admiration at what he saw. 
 Gilbert knew as much about art as do most intelli- 
 gent young men nowadays, who live in cities at 
 young men's clubs, among authors, artists, journal- 
 ists, where such topics are in the air. He knew 
 enough to realise that here before him was one 
 of the masterpieces of American art. 
 
 Andrew Broderick must have worked hard during 
 the past weeks, for the canvas was completely 
 covered, and even in parts seemed nearly finished. 
 
 The picture was longer than it was high, and 
 in one upper end of it, a rising slope caught the 
 evening twilight. 
 
 On this slope, stately white lilies grew, and over 
 them, one white butterfly hovered against a radiant 
 opening in soft-tinted clouds. Lower down, half- 
 way up this slope, masses of rich flowers, pink and 
 cream roses and carnations, were fluttered over by 
 blue and yellow and orange butterflies. The fore- 
 ground lay in blue-gray shadow at the foot of the 
 slope. Here were ranks of dark red poppies, in 
 their gray-green leaves, while against them showed 
 out one large purple-black butterfly. 
 
 The poppies and the black butterfly alone of all 
 the picture had been worked up into the most accu- 
 rate finish. 
 
 But even while Gilbert was admiring the work. 
 
 51
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 he did not fail to mark a sudden restlessness in the 
 artist. 
 
 Whether he had only just become aware of their 
 presence or not, he was evidently uneasy at their 
 inspection of his picture. He cast furtive glances 
 from them to his easel, thrust his hair back from his 
 forehead with a troubled gesture, and then dabbled 
 his colours together on his palette in confusion. 
 
 Marking these signs, Gilbert turned away to look 
 casually around the room. 
 
 His gaze lighted on great boxes of growing 
 poppies ranged in one corner under the shade of 
 a bit of stretched blue-green muslin. 
 
 " What wonderful poppies to have been forced 
 indoors at this time of year," he said, in even tones. 
 
 Mrs. Broderick looked apprehensively from one 
 man to the other, but her face cleared as her husband 
 answered at once, though with a certain vagueness : 
 
 " They are always wonderful ; the most wonder- 
 ful of all flowers ; the flowers of sleep and death." 
 
 Then having spoken, he filled his brush anew, 
 and became re-absorbed in his work. 
 
 Gilbert made no further effort to attract his at- 
 tention. With a sign to Mrs. Broderick, he with- 
 drew, she following him. 
 
 " What do you think of him ? " she asked, as 
 they paused in a half conservatory, half passage that 
 connected the house with the studio. 
 
 " He may be a trifle better in health than when 
 I saw him before," he admitted ; then with more 
 earnestness : 
 
 " I saw another easel with a flower study at the 
 other end of the studio. Was it yours or his?" 
 
 " Mine. We have always worked in the same 
 52
 
 THE FLOWERS OF DEATH 
 
 studio," she answered, as though anticipating an 
 objection. 
 
 It came. 
 
 " I don't like it," Gilbert said, gravely. 
 
 " Why not? His man is generally in the next 
 room or somewhere near. It worries him to have 
 him in sight, and we cannot leave him always alone. 
 Besides, as I say, it has always been our habit, and 
 it used to please him to have me come to work. 
 He sometimes thought that I was neglecting my 
 painting for society or for the child." 
 
 " But does it seem to please him now? " Gilbert 
 persisted. 
 
 He was smitten with swift compunction as he 
 saw a mist of tears dim her eyes, with her answer : 
 
 " No, he does not often notice me." 
 
 He held firm to his purpose, however. 
 
 " Promise me to give it up," he urged. " It is 
 a needless strain on your nerves, and can do him 
 no good. He would very soon get used to the 
 man." 
 
 A quick sob broke from Mrs. Broderick. 
 
 "Life seems to have resolved itself into giving 
 up, now ! Doesn't it seem cruel that such genius 
 as that should go to waste? " she appealed to him, 
 passionately. 
 
 Unconsciously, Gilbert felt a certain exultation to 
 notice that it was for the artist she seemed to be 
 mourning, more than for the man. It gave him 
 a new sense of power to comfort and support her. 
 
 " It has not gone to waste yet. He could never 
 have done better work than this," he said, sooth- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Come and sit down here," he went on, pointing 
 53
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 to a big divan in a palm-shaded recess. " I have 
 had no chance yet to tell you about ' The Moorings,' 
 and my work there. I am thinking of qualifying for 
 a house decorator." 
 
 " You have been very good in taking so much 
 trouble," she said, he thought without much real 
 interest. 
 
 He persisted, however, in his effort to divert her 
 thoughts. 
 
 " I did not tell you in my letter that our residence 
 is supposed to be haunted by an old pirate, other- 
 wise a worthy sea-captain, who made a large for- 
 tune, and died in all the odour of respectability. Why 
 he was called a pirate, and why he should be sup- 
 posed to visit the home of his earlier days were 
 matters of local tradition that I never could master. 
 But it seems certain that it would be hard to get 
 servants there, and that we must take them with 
 us." 
 
 " Oh, I would rather do that in any case," she 
 said, hastily ; then, with a little shudder : " It sounds 
 rather dreary. I hope it won't have a depressing 
 effect." 
 
 " That is only owing to my clumsiness in putting 
 the worst side first. The place has a wonderfully 
 homelike charm, tucked into its green fields, where 
 they slope down to the water. I am sure that no 
 artist could look at the path twisting between the 
 old apple-trees, or the tumble-down, gray wooden 
 wharf, without their fingers itching to paint them." 
 
 " It does sound nice," she acknowledged. 
 
 " But I haven't told you the queerest part of the 
 story, which really has a ' shilling shocker ' sugges- 
 
 54
 
 THE FLOWERS OF DEATH 
 
 tion," and he went on to tell her of his mother's 
 letter, and of Isaac Neisner's mysteries. 
 
 " It seems absurd to invent a romance out of 
 such materials, and yet, it is strange, isn't it?" he 
 appealed to her. 
 
 " It is indeed," she agreed, thoughtfully. " I 
 think that we could do with a little less romance at 
 present. Romance and happiness are seldom synony- 
 mous terms." 
 
 Gilbert saw that she was not to be aroused from 
 her depression, but as he was about to leave her, 
 a child's voice was heard, and new light shone in 
 her face. 
 
 Her very figure lost its languid droop in alertness, 
 as the sturdy, daintily clad figure of a boy of about 
 four appeared, followed by a tall Swedish nurse. 
 
 The first thing Gilbert noticed was the child's 
 strong likeness to his mother. 
 
 " Mummie's here; was Boyso looking for her? " 
 she said, in a voice like music. 
 
 The child ran toward her outstretched hands, 
 but babbled: 
 
 " Boyso wants to go to daddy ; Boyso wants to 
 see daddy paint." 
 
 " No, poor daddy's tired ; daddy wants to go to 
 sleep," the mother said, with all the gladness gone 
 out of her voice. 
 
 " See, here is the gentleman who is coming with 
 daddy and mummie and Boyso in a big steamer, 
 to a pretty place where Boyso will fish and learn to 
 swim. Ask the gentleman to tell you all about it." 
 
 Boyso toddled over and stood by Gilbert's knee, 
 passing him under that crucial test of childish in- 
 spection. 
 
 55
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 "Are there apples there?" he asked, cautiously. 
 
 " Yes, plenty of apples," was the rash answer, 
 considering the season. 
 
 " And lobsters with big red claws? " 
 
 " Oh, yes. There is an old man there who goes 
 out in a boat and catches the big father lobsters, 
 and they are green, until they are put in the pot, and 
 then they come out red." 
 
 " I don't like green lobsters," the boy objected. 
 " Still, if they turn red, s'pose they'll do. And 
 may I go out to catch them ? " condescending to 
 eagerness. 
 
 " Perhaps so. But I must go now," and with a 
 brief farewell, he left the child and mother together. 
 
 The May weather was fine, and their plans were 
 pressed forward. 
 
 It was decided that Andrew Broderick must not 
 miss his work, and the most arduous task of the 
 whole affair was getting the big canvas away from 
 him to be packed, without making him too unhappy 
 in the process. 
 
 Here his wife's intimate knowledge of his process 
 of thought came in. She began a smaller study of 
 the poppy foreground, into which she put a shadowy 
 figure, raising one hand toward the veil that hid 
 its face. 
 
 This figure was merely suggested by some rough 
 brush-work, and seeing the canvas standing there 
 Broderick began to work on it, becoming so ab- 
 sorbed that he forgot to make any inquiries after 
 his own picture. 
 
 " It will be all ready waiting in his barn studio 
 down there, and will, I hope, settle him down at 
 once," Gilbert said. 
 
 56
 
 THE FLOWERS OF DEATH 
 
 This matter settled, there came the crisis of get- 
 ting him away from home without too much distress 
 to him. 
 
 He was not too troublesome, but cowered and 
 shrank pitifully into himself, like a child awed by 
 strange surroundings. 
 
 Gilbert noted that seeing him thus helpless and 
 forlorn went farther to convince his wife of Bro- 
 derick's real condition than any doctor's dicta could 
 have done. 
 
 He saw also that it aroused in her that passion 
 of pity which strong women feel for those more 
 helpless than themselves. 
 
 In these days Gilbert was driven to acknowledge 
 that no one was so quick to divine what would 
 soothe Broderick's restlessness as his wife; no one 
 so skilful at bringing that power to bear upon him. 
 
 Their party was not small, for Gilbert had thought 
 it best to keep the servants with them. These were 
 not numerous, but were picked in quality. 
 
 There was a French man-cook, of Norman stal- 
 wartness and good humour, who in a large house- 
 hold was always creating confusion by wanting to 
 turn his hand to every task that lay outside of his 
 department. The boy's nurse was a strong, faithful 
 Swedish woman, delighted to be going to a Northern 
 seashore, and Mr. Broderick's attendant had been 
 trained as a house-servant, and would do the wait- 
 ing. 
 
 The farmhouse had no room for more, and Gil- 
 bert saw that Mrs. Broderick recognised the fact 
 that, provided they had enough strong men, the 
 fewer people there were about the better. 
 
 There had come a haggard, hunted look to Isabel's 
 
 57
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 face by the foggy afternoon that they had reached 
 the Moorings. Gilbert, watching her, anathematised 
 the weather that could not produce one gleam of sun- 
 shine to cheer her heart. But perhaps the calm of 
 the luminous gray was more really soothing to her 
 wearied spirit. 
 
 Before the long spring twilight had darkened, 
 there had come a home aspect over the new house- 
 hold. 
 
 Broderick had been soothed into content at finding 
 his big poppy picture standing on its own easel in 
 the part of an old barn which Gilbert had converted 
 into a studio. His paint-box stood open, his brushes 
 and palette ready to his hand, but for the present, 
 it seemed to content him to sit in an armchair oppo- 
 site it, smoking one cigarette after another, the nerv- 
 ous shrinking fading from face and manner. 
 
 Isabel sat in a deep hammock-chair, on the ve- 
 randa that had been one of Gilbert's improve- 
 ments. 
 
 She was evidently utterly weary, but the terrible 
 strain of the last few days seemed to be already 
 losing its hold. The boy had lost no time in gather- 
 ing a handful of treasures of stones and shells, chief 
 of these being a great red lobster-claw, the sight 
 of which had filled him with rapture. 
 
 " Red lobsters here, not green," he had announced, 
 triumphantly. 
 
 He was playing with it now, close to his mother's 
 feet, while the nurse was arranging the room inside. 
 The mother yearning softened Isabel's eyes, as she 
 watched his play and listened to his babble. 
 
 But the day had been a long one, and presently, 
 
 58
 
 THE FLOWERS OF DEATH 
 
 dropping his treasures, the child climbed upon his 
 mother's knee, and nestled to her sleepily. 
 
 With a hungry gesture she gathered him into 
 her arms, and presently rose and carried him in- 
 doors, the fine proportions of her figure showing 
 out in the effort.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE MOORINGS 
 
 GILBERT, smoking his pipe, had watched the 
 group from a distance, his heart thrilled by 
 the familiar home aspect in which he was 
 standing to them. The fog rolled in more thickly, 
 deepening the evening shadows, and he strolled over 
 toward the barn, which had been divided between 
 Broderick's studio and a den for himself, where he 
 could read and write undisturbed, and yet be within 
 hearing of what happened. 
 
 This den he had on his first visit made homelike 
 with armchair, writing-table, and his few little 
 belongings, and he now turned toward it with the 
 relief of getting on his own ground. 
 
 He was anxious to let Mrs. Broderick see that 
 he did not intend to intrude upon her in any way. 
 As he crossed the grassy space that corresponded 
 with a farmyard, he saw old Isaac fondly contem- 
 plating his pigs, and hailed him: 
 
 " Why, Isaac, I've had hardly a word with you 
 yet. Come over and smoke a pipe with me." 
 
 The wrinkled face was stretched into a smile, as 
 the old man hobbled toward him. 
 
 " Well, and I was saying to myself that you had 
 60
 
 THE MOORINGS 
 
 your hands full, but that we'd have our talk all 
 in good time," he announced. 
 
 This den of Gilbert's was a cosy enough place 
 when his reading-lamp was lit, showing the bright 
 colours of the posters which he had pinned up upon 
 the rough wooden walls, and the archaic patterns 
 of the home-manufactured rugs, purchased from an 
 old woman in the neighbourhood. 
 
 " And it's yourself is a handy man to have turned 
 the old barn into this," Isaac said, with an approving 
 glance around ; then lowering his voice, " Is he 
 in there?" he asked, with a jerk of his thumb 
 toward the partition. 
 
 " No, he seemed tired, and Higgins got him off 
 to bed. Well, this getting here is a good job over, 
 Isaac," he added, somewhat wearily. 
 
 " Indeed, you may say so, sir. Many a time 
 I've been wondering how you'd get along. Those 
 mad folk are kittle cattle." 
 
 " Please don't call him mad, Isaac ; at least to 
 the servants and Mrs. Broderick. It would hurt her 
 to hear it." 
 
 " Indeed I wouldn't, poor lady. And what a 
 beauty she is! I feel as though I'd never muster 
 courage to speak to her like to other folks. Well, 
 he had more than us common run to lose, anyway." 
 
 As Isaac talked between the puffs of his pipe, his 
 eyes wandered slowly round the room, and presently 
 he got up and strolled over to where Gilbert had 
 pinned up on the wall an old-fashioned photograph 
 of his father and mother, taken together. It had 
 been with the idea of an experiment on Isaac that 
 he had hunted out the half-forgotten picture. 
 
 " Humph ! Got your parents up here " he be- 
 
 61
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 gan; then after a pause, going on in a more 
 absent fashion, " Fine-looking woman your mother 
 at least, must have been," he corrected himself. 
 " Say would be about sixty-eight now? " 
 
 Gilbert had risen, in the uneasiness which this 
 phase in Isaac always produced. 
 
 " That is her exact age. How did you know it ? " 
 he said, emphatically. 
 
 As he expected, Isaac evaded him. 
 
 " Oh, well, she looks about that." 
 
 " But it is more than ten years since that was 
 taken. Isaac, why won't you say out what you 
 know about my father and mother? " 
 
 The two men stood facing each other, the old 
 one obstinately imperturbable, the younger vexed 
 to see that his appeal had been in vain. 
 
 " What makes you think as I know anything 
 about them ? " was the dogged question. 
 
 " How can I help seeing that there's something in 
 your mind and ready to come out twenty times a 
 day?" Gilbert protested. 
 
 " But it won't ; not until I choose. Wait a bit, 
 there's no hurry. At any rate, I know no harm 
 about them, and I mean no harm to you. That's 
 something, isn't it?" and he laid his great paw 
 on Gilbert's shoulder. 
 
 Still vexed, Gilbert laughed in spite of himself. 
 
 " There's no doubt that you are a very aggravat- 
 ing old man," he said. " Still I suppose that I'll 
 have to put up with you. What is it, Higgins?" 
 for the attendant had presented himself at the door 
 to make his nightly report. 
 
 The next day was cheered by sunshine, and all 
 Gilbert's little colony seemed peacefully inclined. 
 
 62
 
 THE MOORINGS 
 
 The servants worked busily at unpacking; Bro 
 derick had absorbed himself in his picture, introduc- 
 ing the veiled figure into his larger canvas ; Isabel sat 
 on the veranda, stitching away at a strip of em- 
 broidery, in which Gilbert noticed she had a trick 
 of becoming absorbed, and, at the same time, keeping 
 an eye upon Boyso, who displayed great energy in 
 fluttering here and there, always attaching himself 
 to Isaac whenever that worthy was in sight. 
 
 The old man had won his heart that first morn- 
 ing, by appearing with an offering of lobsters; 
 wicked-looking green ones, still dripping from the 
 water, and snapping their claws and waving their 
 long feelers in a delightfully terrifying fashion, 
 that took all charm from the lifeless red ones of 
 the Boston shops. 
 
 " Mr. Lobsterman," Isaac was at once christened, 
 and seemed rather proud of the title. 
 
 They were a strange experience to Gilbert, those 
 first meals presided over by Isabel Broderick, with 
 her fixed serenity of manner, her calm which he 
 felt that nothing earthly could break. 
 
 For household convenience Boyso had been pro- 
 moted to table, and sat beside his mother, in a high 
 chair, his prattle a relief to every one. When Bro- 
 derick did speak, it was in answer to questions of his 
 boy's, some of which Gilbert would have been glad 
 to check. 
 
 " Daddy," he demanded, " when you want to 
 paint the angels, do you call them to come?" 
 
 The prominent light eyes lost their vagueness as 
 Broderick answered. 
 
 " Yes, I call them, and they come."
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 " But the bad black angels? " the child persisted, 
 in an awed voice. 
 
 " Alas, they come without calling," and the pallid 
 face grew wilder and more troubled. 
 
 " Isaac caught such a big lobster this morning, 
 and he's not going to take it to the factory until 
 Boyso sees it," Gilbert put in, and at the news 
 Boyso was anxious to be off, and the crisis was past. 
 
 Gilbert saw that the mother had paled, and when 
 presently they stood on the veranda watching Bro- 
 derick hastening back to his studio, followed by his 
 attendant, Gilbert said, gravely: 
 
 " If he should at any time seem disinclined to 
 come to table with us, I should not urge him." 
 
 " You apparently believe in the policy of isola- 
 tion," she said, bitterly. 
 
 Gilbert was pleased to see that she confided 
 enough in him not to care to conceal the jangling 
 of her nerves. 
 
 " I wish to avoid any unnecessary risk of excite- 
 ment," was his soothing answer. 
 
 " Yes, I know," she answered, more gently. 
 
 " But tell me, you do think that we have got 
 through the journey better than you expected, that 
 being here is good for him ? " 
 
 Gilbert had served his apprenticeship to those 
 painful questions which doctors must face, so he 
 responded, readily: 
 
 " I think that, so far, everything has gone wonder- 
 fully well. But I want you to remember that your 
 health and your nerves are an important part of 
 the whole affair, and that you must have change 
 and outdoor life. Your husband is safe in the 
 studio with Higgins; will you bring the boy and 
 
 64
 
 THE MOORINGS 
 
 come up the river in the sailboat with me? There 
 is one of those ideal westerly winds which seem to 
 be a summer feature of this shore." 
 
 They went, and the spell of the sweet Northern 
 spring laid its touch on Isabel's sore spirit. The 
 west wind was warm and languorous with wood 
 smoke, through which, every now and then, pene- 
 trated the crisper breath of the sea. 
 
 The child babbled happily at her feet, and Gilbert 
 left her untroubled by conversation. It was pleasure 
 enough to him to see how the society-woman phase 
 had been laid aside and replaced by a girlish sim- 
 plicity. 
 
 She looked so delightfully young with her hair 
 blown about under her sailor hat, with her bare 
 hands already browning in the sun. 
 
 Pleasure enough to hear her laugh ring out 
 naturally, at Boyso's scheme of converting the bot- 
 tom of the boat into an aquarium. 
 
 " Boyso will turn into a water-baby, and then 
 we'll keep him in a pool with the crabs and the 
 lobsters," she said, gaily. 
 
 " But Boyso would have to come back to his 
 own bed, and to mummie in the dark night? " 
 
 " Yes, Boyso shall always stay with mummie in 
 the dark night," and she drew the child closer to 
 her. 
 
 " There, you look a different person for that. 
 You must come out often," Gilbert said, as they 
 landed. 
 
 But as they walked up the path, he saw the 
 shadow of her self-repression gliding over her face. 
 It is an awful thing to return to a house that sends 
 its shadows out to meet us. 
 
 65
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 After this, it was Isaac who gave them their first 
 excitement, by going out to set his nets one evening, 
 and managing to get run clown by a fishing-schooner. 
 " One of them low Yankee things from Gloucester," 
 as he put it. 
 
 His boat was upset, and he was floating about a 
 bit before he managed to right her, and came home 
 very wet and shaky. Gilbert happened to see him 
 land, and got him quickly to bed, with a stiff glass 
 of grog, and a wood fire on the open hearth of his 
 little lean-to. 
 
 All the next day the old man seemed dull and 
 chilly, and sat by the fire in his room, but in the 
 evening when Gilbert went to smoke his pipe with 
 him, he appeared restless and talkative. 
 
 " I thought it was all over, when I couldn't find 
 that boat last night," he began, " and it did seem 
 cheap work for old Isaac Neisner, who'd been half 
 over the world, to be done for by a Yankee fishing- 
 craft in the La Have in his own La Have, sir. 
 Tell you what, it wouldn't sound well on a tomb- 
 stone. I'd be ashamed for the old man to come 
 back and read it. There were other things came 
 into my head then," he rambled on, while Gilbert 
 had the old feeling that this rambling covered some 
 purpose. 
 
 " One of them, and that was the worst one, sir, 
 was that if I had went down then, I would have 
 been cheating and robbing you. B'lieve it was 
 that made me find the boat in the dark," he chuckled 
 to himself. 
 
 Gilbert was thoroughly aroused now. 
 
 " Isaac, you must tell me what such things mean," 
 he said, sternly. 
 
 66
 
 THE MOORINGS 
 
 But Isaac, apparently requiring no further urg- 
 ing, went on : 
 
 " Your mother may refuse what she likes for 
 herself that's her own affair. But you are a 
 man now, and women, poor souls, aren't fit to do 
 the deciding for men." 
 
 But Gilbert's patience had reached its limits. 
 
 " Good heavens, man, can't you say what you 
 mean ? Have I got another lunatic on my hands ? " 
 
 His protest had apparently a good effect. 
 
 Sitting up from the depths of his high-backed 
 chair, and waving his pipe in one hand, old Isaac 
 said, dramatically: 
 
 " No, Gilbert Clinch, I'm not crazy or in my 
 second childhood. I tell you that this house and 
 farm belong to you, and I was only in charge until 
 you came." 
 
 Gilbert glanced professionally at the old man's 
 flushed face and shining eyes, and said, soothingly : 
 
 " Perhaps you had better wait until the morning 
 to tell me about it. I'm afraid you're tired now." 
 
 He could not have adopted a better method of 
 making Isaac tell his tale, for his obstinacy was 
 aroused by opposition. 
 
 " You needn't think I'm getting a fever, or 
 going off my head. It's plain gospel truth that I'm 
 telling you, you mind that, sir! 
 
 " Old Jonathan Bauer, that you're so fond of 
 listening to tales about, was your grandfather, 
 though you never saw him, nor he you. 
 
 " He knew of you though, for he left this house 
 and farm to you, though your mother was to have 
 the say first as to whether she would take it or not. 
 
 " She chose not, for your mother was high-flown, 
 67
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 as most good women are, and thought her father's 
 money was soiled by the way it came. As if money 
 could be soiled ! " 
 
 Here Gilbert in sheer desperation interrupted. 
 
 " You don't mean to say that the man they talk 
 about as ' old Pirate Bauer ' was my grandfather? " 
 
 " Just what I do mean ! I was with him more 
 than one voyage; I was with him the night he 
 died, and who should know if not me? 
 
 " That's all old women's tales, calling him a 
 pirate. He was the devil's own for setness, and if 
 he did wild things, it was just when things stood in 
 his way, and he walked over them. 
 
 " There's many no better than he, sitting in front 
 pews, in black coats on Sundays. When your 
 mother went off and left him, I thought he felt it 
 more than he let people know. Though I was so 
 much younger, he'd sometimes let me see things 
 that he'd hide from others. It was soon after then, 
 that he brought home his foreign wife from a cruise 
 that I didn't go on laid up with a broken leg at 
 home, worse luck. There must have been rare 
 doings on that cruise though that's neither here 
 nor there. She was a handsome young witch then, 
 no older than his daughter, and she always hated 
 him, however he got her." 
 
 The deep-seated, jealous resentment of a faithful 
 dog revived in Isaac's voice as he went on : 
 
 " She drove me away from his bedside the night 
 that he lay dying. But she didn't know that the 
 day before, when she was out of the way, he had 
 given me a package to go to your mother or you 
 for he knew of your birth and name, same as he 
 made a point of knowing about everything when 
 
 68
 
 THE MOORINGS 
 
 one of you should come back to seek the old house 
 he had left you; not before, for he wasn't one to 
 benefit people against their will. He told me dis- 
 tinct that you weren't to have the papers until you 
 had claimed the house; indeed, I don't know but 
 what I'm disobeying him in telling you about them. 
 Still, perhaps he's changed his mind by now, and 
 anyway " 
 
 He paused meditatively, but, just as Gilbert was 
 about to question him, went on again: 
 
 " As I was saying, your mother refused the legacy 
 for herself and her child, but when it was about 
 time for you to come of age, I went to the lawyer 
 in Bridgewater and got him to write again. There 
 was the same old answer, full of Scripture texts, 
 about wages of sin and so forth. 
 
 " She needn't have been so down on her poor 
 dead pa, but she was a hard woman, I guess ; all the 
 Bauers are. Dare say, too, she was still going by 
 what your pa had said, and parsons " 
 
 In spite of the dull anger growing in his heart, 
 Gilbert checked him. 
 
 " Hush, Isaac, you must not speak of them in 
 that way to me. But did my mother refuse like 
 that for me, after I was grown up ? " 
 
 " Indeed she did, and never let ye know a word 
 of it, I'll be bound. That's just the way with them 
 saints. They'll drive ye in the right way, whether 
 or no, like a pig to market." 
 
 Here Gilbert put in : " But tell me, Isaac, was 
 my grandfather really as rich as they say he was? " 
 
 Isaac brought his hand down emphatically. 
 
 " He was richer far than they ever guessed. He 
 died the richest man in the whole Province, and one
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 of the Queen's own Council at Halifax, though I 
 never heard of her coming there to be counselled." 
 
 " But who has all this now ? " came the next 
 question. 
 
 " The Frenchwoman has one-third, and that poor 
 stupid son of hers has the other two. Never could 
 have thought that a son of the old man's could have 
 been so wanting in brains and go. His mother used 
 to rule him and his genteel wife, and I expect she 
 does so still. The only thing that he was like 
 his father in, was his love of money, though he'd 
 never have had the sense to make any for himself. 
 He could save, though, just as well as the old man 
 could, and that was the only thing him and his 
 mother ever differed about." 
 
 " But where are these people now ? Why, if you 
 are right, he is my uncle." 
 
 " He's your uncle, fast enough. And soon after 
 the old man's death, they all went away to England 
 to live. People do say that they live in a house 
 in the country as big as the Queen's, and that they 
 have another in London, too, and that they are both 
 chock-full of servants. 'T would make the old man 
 get up and walk if he knew. 
 
 " There's one son and one daughter ; little things 
 they were when I last saw them, though the lawyer 
 says that he's a fine young officer now; and I 
 shouldn't wonder but that the girl has been took 
 to make a curtsey to the Queen. Ah, your mother 
 missed a fine chance when she left the old man," and 
 he gave a regretful sigh to the past. 
 
 Gilbert sat mazed by this picture unrolled to him. 
 Seeing the old man's earnestness, he could scarcely 
 
 70
 
 THE MOORINGS 
 
 doubt his veracity; besides, were not his wildest 
 statements supported by facts known to his hearer. 
 
 But Isaac leant forward, an emphatic hand on 
 Gilbert's knee, his voice hoarse with suspense. 
 
 " And now, young man, tell me, what will you 
 do? Will you take the house and the letter, or will 
 you set yourself up to be better than other people, 
 and go on taking care of lunatics? " 
 
 There was a silence, on which the wail of the 
 sea-wind sounded at the window. Gilbert rose, and 
 kicked together the brands of the dying fire. 
 
 " I can say nothing now. I am bewildered ; I 
 must think. I must write to my mother." 
 
 Isaac caught at his arm with a grip that made 
 him wince. 
 
 " Don't do that ! Act for yourself now, if ever 
 you do in your life. She never understood money, 
 and all the good it brings ! She never would under- 
 stand anything save churches and parsons. She's 
 not the kind. If you want to talk, go to the lady 
 out there " Isaac always spoke reverentially of 
 Isabel Broderick as " the lady." 
 
 " By the looks of her, she's got as much sense as 
 women can have in the course of nature," he added. 
 
 Gilbert still stood staring into the dying embers, 
 as though reading his fate there. At last he roused 
 himself to say: 
 
 " At any rate, I'll go and think it over to-night." 
 Then holding out his hand, " And thank you, 
 Isaac, for what you have told me. I feel sure that 
 you want to be my friend." 
 
 " Well, it seems as though the old man's grandson 
 belonged to me in a way." Isaac responded, with an 
 embarrassed sort of heartiness. 
 
 71
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE LUST OF GOLD 
 
 GILBERT went out into the freshness of the 
 summer night, his head buzzing with the 
 conflict of the new line of thought with the 
 old. 
 
 The tide was down ; there was a nearly full moon, 
 and he took his way out from the shadows of the 
 trees to the firm footing, the air and space of the 
 long sand-bar. Here he could pace with no thought 
 given to his surroundings, and try by action to still 
 the turmoil of his spirit. 
 
 There was a dull resentment against the parents 
 who in their self-righteousness had decided his fate 
 for him, when it was the right of his manhood 
 to have spoken for himself. There was a keen 
 curiosity to see these talked-of papers; in fact, 
 he knew in the unexplored recesses of his mind that 
 he could not give up the chance of seeing them. 
 It would have been easier to have renounced a 
 certainty than this wonderful possibility. 
 
 " The richest man in the Province," and all at 
 once he realised, with a certain shock, the intense 
 desire for wealth that lay in his nature. 
 
 It must have always been there dormant, as a 
 72
 
 THE LUST OF GOLD 
 
 hereditary feature, or else perhaps created by the 
 self -sacrifices and deprivations of his student life. 
 However it came, there it was, and like Lucifer, 
 the Son of the Morning, it unrolled before him 
 " the kingdoms of the world and the glory thereof." 
 
 He saw himself, freed from the galling bond of 
 being Isabel Broderick's paid retainer ; free to devote 
 himself to her service, with as little thought of self 
 as any knight of old; free' to be near her under 
 any circumstances, without consideration of his own 
 career. 
 
 He had heard her talk of men who led society, 
 who travelled, explored in the wild places of the 
 earth. He could show her that he, too, given a 
 chance, could take a place among these men, could 
 be good for something beyond medical drudgery. 
 
 Gradually, a system of action evolved itself from 
 these confused thoughts, if thoughts they could be 
 really called. He had jumped to the conclusion 
 that these papers must necessarily bring him a chance 
 of wealth, but he compromised on the idea of merely 
 claiming the farm, and reading the papers without 
 deciding to use them. When he had read them, 
 he could write to his mother, for his wrath was 
 already cooling, as he realised that she had acted 
 according to her lights, as a fanatic would act, and 
 that it was irrational to blame her for so doing. 
 
 He even went so far as to say to himself that he 
 would do nothing against her wishes, though feeling 
 all the time that the resolution was of frail structure. 
 
 There was, of course, the consideration that his 
 mother's secret reason for leaving home may have 
 sprung from so dark a cause that he would have 
 no choice as a man of honour but to abide by it, 
 
 73
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 but this consideration he refused to bring out into 
 the daylight of possibility. 
 
 Well, the tide was rising, and unless he wished 
 to return wading, he had better hurry back. 
 
 As he went up the path between the apple-trees, 
 he saw a figure sitting on the steps, wrapped in the 
 folds of a long white cloak, and was seized with a 
 sudden compunction. 
 
 " Good heavens ! I hope that I have not kept you 
 up," he said, hurriedly, as he approached her. " I 
 was stupid enough to forget, when I strolled out, 
 that you did not know where I was. Forgive me." 
 
 He almost thought that in the clear moonlight 
 he saw her colour, as she answered : 
 
 " Indeed, you were not the cause of my being 
 up late. If I had been tired, I should have gone 
 to bed and left the door open. This summer moon- 
 light seems to arouse one's restlessness. I find that 
 I sleep better if I sit up late." 
 
 " How have you been sleeping ? " was his quietly 
 solicitous question. 
 
 " Oh, fairly well, with ups and downs of course," 
 she answered, carelessly; then turning the subject: 
 " But it seems that the spirit of restlessness has 
 seized upon you as well." 
 
 " I had enough to make me restless ; " then, with 
 an uncontrollable impulse toward confidence, he 
 began, looking up at her as he sat on a lower step : 
 
 " The mystery was settled to-night." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 He told her Isaac's story. She listened in silence, 
 save when, now and then, she put in a short question, 
 which showed how fully her interest was aroused. 
 
 " I am ashamed at my want of stability in being 
 74
 
 THE LUST OF GOLD 
 
 so disturbed by it, but what do you think of 
 it all ? " he appealed to her. 
 
 Her answer came with no indecision. 
 
 " I think that it may be the one great chance of 
 your life if you seize it firmly. Remember how 
 long and hard your work to get a place in the world 
 was made by poverty. Remember how, in the days 
 when we were both young and poor " her voice 
 quivered slightly " we did without all pleasant 
 and cheerful things, just to grind on with dogged- 
 ness. Think of going out on those early winter 
 mornings after a poor breakfast, and not too warmly 
 clad, to the long day's brain-effort. I sometimes 
 wake up with a start to those mornings still. Ah, 
 poverty is a cruel, unlovely thing! " 
 
 " But the struggle gave us strength," he urged, 
 feeling the subtle pleasure of the " us " that linked 
 them together. 
 
 " A hard, bitter strength that darkened our 
 natures," she objected. " Not that natural expand- 
 ing that comes with ease and space and sunshine. 
 Believe me, I have tasted and I know." 
 
 " Then you mean that money is able to give hap- 
 piness, in spite of what the copy-books say ? " he 
 asked, trying to hide the earnestness of the question 
 under carelessness. 
 
 She drew a long breath before she answered 
 slowly : 
 
 " Happiness being practically an unknown quan- 
 tity, it is not worth while taking it into account. 
 But content must be far more easily won with 
 all the change and interest that wealth creates 
 around one, with the chances of self-development 
 that it gives. Health and position and career, wealth 
 
 75
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 can give ; and say that one should be positively un- 
 happy, is not forgetfulness more easily attained in 
 the work that wealth makes easy and interesting? 
 Think," she went on, leaning forward eagerly, " of 
 what your profession might be to you if you had 
 the money to study where and how you liked, in- 
 stead of, as now, having to consider the earning of 
 your income. You love your work, I know ; think 
 of how travel and leisure may help you in it. 
 Think of that, before you give up anything. This 
 old man was right. Your mother may be the best 
 of women, and yet not be competent to decide for 
 you in this matter." 
 
 " I should not allow her to decide for me," was 
 his quiet answer. " Yes, you are a good pleader, 
 but what if it came too late? What if I had been 
 rich that summer in the Vermont hills ! " 
 
 The night and his own thoughts were going to 
 his head, but as he looked up at her intently, he 
 saw her wince as if in pain, and the sight sobered 
 him at once. 
 
 "Don't!" she breathed quickly, but recovering 
 herself, went on, resolutely : " Nothing comes too 
 late, unless we choose to think it so. I saw some- 
 where the other day, that ' only the weak have a 
 past,' and I felt its truth." 
 
 There was a warning note of self-control in her 
 voice, and, as she rose, Gilbert made no effort to 
 detain her. But she did not turn away at once. 
 
 " Promise me," she said, " that in the morning 
 you will satisfy the old man, and get the papers ? " 
 
 Gilbert did not answer directly. 
 
 " If I were rich," he said, " I should always be 
 free to come when you needed me, to stay near you, 
 
 76
 
 THE LUST OF GOLD 
 
 But, after all, what nonsense it is to talk like this 
 about riches, when there is only one small farm in 
 question." 
 
 " There is more than the farm in question, I am 
 sure. Take it first, and see what follows. Promise 
 me." 
 
 " If you will promise that I may always be your 
 friend," he urged. 
 
 " That seems rather an unnecessary ceremony," 
 she tried to jest ; then, " but I promise," she added, 
 softly, and let him take her hand for a moment 
 before she moved away. 
 
 Gilbert, feeling the uselessness of trying to 
 sleep, forced himself by sheer will-power into steady- 
 ing his mind with some scientific reading, and then, 
 tired out, slept heavily. In the morning he found, 
 on waking, that what had seemed undecided the 
 night before, was now a fixed course of action in 
 his mind. 
 
 He breakfasted early, before Mrs. Broderick had 
 appeared, and then sought out old Isaac, in his hand 
 the letter to the lawyer in Bridgewater, announcing 
 his identity and claiming the farm. 
 
 " How would you fancy a sail up to Bridgewater 
 to-day?" he began, and Isaac, glancing from the 
 latent smile on his face, to the letter, took in his 
 meaning at once. 
 
 ' That's right ; you're going to act like the 
 sensible man you are, and get things started right 
 off. Yes, I'll go to Bridgewater, or do anything else 
 you may want me to do. It's the old man's orders 
 as I'm following, and hasn't he given me a roof 
 over my head, this many a day! When shall we 
 set out?" he asked, heartily. 
 
 77
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 "I'm not going myself, for 1 don't care to be so 
 long away from here." 
 
 Isaac's face fell with open disappointment, but he 
 agreed loyally, with an " All right, sir." 
 
 " You know this lawyer, and you can take this 
 letter to him, and tell him who you believe me to 
 be, and how we met. You can find out his opinion 
 as to handing me over the papers." 
 
 " But 1 never told him a word about the papers, 
 and if you'll excuse me, sir, I don't mean to. It 
 was just a matter between me and the old man, 
 without any lawyers meddling! And haven't I 
 the package all ready for you, sir? I got it out of 
 my old sea-chest last night, on purpose." 
 
 Gilbert stood thinking for a moment, then he 
 saw clearly that these talked-of documents must be 
 rescued from any air of mystery. 
 
 " See here, Isaac," he began, " I know that your 
 object is to benefit me in the matter, and I feel sure 
 that this lawyer of yours had better know about 
 the papers before he hands me over the farm. Some 
 one might, later, try to make out that they were a 
 cooked-up affair between you and me, but if you 
 tell the lawyer about them before you give them to 
 me, it lessens the chances of that being done. Do 
 you understand ? " 
 
 " Well, I can't quite say as I do," was the dubi- 
 ous answer, " but I'll take your orders on this trip. 
 And you won't even open them and give them a 
 squint over? " wistfully. 
 
 Gilbert, too, felt the temptation, though he an- 
 swered, firmly : 
 
 " Better not, Isaac, better not. We have plenty 
 of time ahead." 
 
 78
 
 THE LUST OF GOLD 
 
 " Very well, sir. I'll be off as soon as possible," 
 and calling his grandson, the old man hobbled away. 
 
 Gilbert stood a moment irresolute. He wanted 
 to go in search of Mrs. Broderick, and yet some- 
 how felt that he would prefer to have an excuse 
 for doing so. Ah, there she was in her white 
 morning-dress, gathering a handful of the honey- 
 suckle that grew by the steps. Boyso stood on the 
 path, looking somewhat tragic, and catching sight 
 of Gilbert, he called out, dolefully : 
 
 *' Mr. Lobsterman is gone away." 
 
 " Ah, but he'll come back. He is gone to fetch 
 me a lobster this time," he said, taking the child's 
 hand and approaching Isabel. 
 
 " Good morning," he said. " You see I have 
 been obedient, and despatched Isaac with my letter 
 to this lawyer of his in Bridgewater." 
 
 His words and aspect were a continuation of 
 their attitude of the evening before, but were checked 
 against the bright armour of her more formal 
 manner. 
 
 " Yes," she smiled, without any show of great 
 interest. " Well, let us hope that your lobster when 
 it comes may be a very big one how big shall 
 it be, Boyso?" throwing a spray of honeysuckle 
 toward the child. 
 
 " Oh, a big, big, grandpa lobster. Don't you 
 hope it will be a grandpa lobster, Mr. Kin? " Boyso 
 crowed, while Gilbert, chilled and disappointed, 
 stood silent. 
 
 " Certainly, Boyso, a regular patriarch ! " he 
 laughed, shortly. 
 
 " Have you seen my husband to-day ? " Mrs. Bro~ 
 
 79
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 derick asked, with the little shadowing that always 
 came with his name. 
 
 At the simple words Gilbert paled. He chose to 
 fancy that she was thus reminding him of the reason 
 for his presence, and of his duty. 
 
 His manner was all professional, as he answered, 
 with grave politeness : 
 
 " I generally prefer to wait until he is settled 
 down in his studio before I see him. But as it is 
 about my usual time now, if you will excuse me, I 
 will go," and with a bow he turned away. 
 
 " Mummie, don't squeeze me so tight," the child 
 protested, as his mother sat down on the steps and 
 drew him into her arms. 
 
 80
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE DEAD HAND 
 
 SORE as he was from his rebuff when he turned 
 away, Gilbert's trained thoughts went at once 
 to his patient, who for the last two days he 
 had been noticing to be more restless. 
 
 " What do you think of him this morning, Hig- 
 gins ? " he asked the attendant, outside the door. 
 
 The latter shook his head. " Not so quiet, sir, 
 and not so easily pleased. Painting seemed to 
 worry him, so I got him out, and nothing outside 
 seemed to please him, neither. Began to cry be- 
 cause the world was so lovely, and was going to 
 be burned up soon. Told him 'twould make a sight 
 worth painting, but that didn't answer any better. 
 But you'll see for yourself, sir." 
 
 Gilbert did see at once that there was no rest 
 or peace in the pathetic face. Instead of working 
 with placid absorption on his beloved picture, Bro- 
 derick had placed against it a small panel, on which 
 he was sketching out, with his brush, groups of the 
 woful faces of lost souls, set in wild curves of 
 flame. Gilbert, shuddering, wondered to himself if 
 ever such woe had been put into visible form before. 
 
 The thought came to him that insanity must be 
 charged with doubled terrors when joined to the 
 
 81
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 creative power of artistic imagination. Contrary 
 to his wont, Broderick turned round to him on his 
 entrance. 
 
 " Do you ever see visions of lost souls ? " he asked, 
 earnestly. 
 
 " No, and I think I'd rather not. They can't be 
 pleasant things to see. I don't believe they'd come 
 if you were out in the fresh air and sunshine. Go- 
 ing for a stroll this morning?" Gilbert said in 
 studiously matter-of-fact tones. 
 
 A deeper look of perplexed distress came into the 
 troubled eyes. 
 
 " They wouldn't like it if I weren't here; " then, 
 in a more peevish tone, and with an irritated side 
 glance at Gilbert, " and they don't like it when 
 people come in and out, and talk. They want me to 
 put them into form and shape, so that the living can 
 see their woe their woe," he repeated in a dreamy 
 tone. 
 
 Seeing that it would be best to leave him undis- 
 turbed, Gilbert withdrew. 
 
 " There is certainly a change for the worse," he 
 acknowledged to Higgins. " Still, it is slight, and 
 will, I fancy, go on very gradually. I think that 
 I shall take my rod and go after some sea-trout. 
 Keep a careful eye on him." 
 
 He felt that he would do much to avoid meeting 
 Mrs. Broderick at lunch, and that solitude was the 
 best medicine for his troubled spirit. 
 
 Half an hour ago his heart had been sore and 
 angry at Isabel's repulse, but now the self-control 
 of his careful mental training resumed its place, and 
 he tried to think only of the crisis that was coming 
 in her life, when she should be obliged to consign 
 
 82
 
 THE DEAD HAND 
 
 her husband to what would be a lifelong imprison- 
 ment. 
 
 What were her feelings toward that husband? 
 What were her feelings toward himself? And 
 with that, his young manhood asserted itself, and 
 he saw her, fair in last night's moonlight, eager 
 in his interest. He saw her next in the morning 
 sunshine, smiling that impenetrable smile, and po- 
 litely hinting that his affairs were none of her 
 business. 
 
 Ah, but they were, and they should be, he vowed, 
 hotly, to himself; and then his last night's desire 
 for riches awoke, riches, to enable him to stand 
 beside her on an equal footing. 
 
 They should be no longer the gracious patroness 
 who had bestowed easy and remunerative work 
 upon the clever, struggling young doctor, but man 
 and woman and what then ? his conscience and 
 common sense queried, checking him abruptly, so 
 that, alone as he was, the hot dye of shame rose 
 to his face. 
 
 No, he was her loyal friend and servant, and, 
 rich or poor, he would be so still. And who was 
 he to judge her varying shades of manner, he, of 
 all men, who had made his life-study of the subtle 
 action of the distressed spirit upon the body, of 
 the fashion in which tortured nerves can betray 
 themselves? And so, like many another man be- 
 fore him, Gilbert found calm and courage in Na- 
 ture's high places, bringing back with him from 
 the shadow of the woods a saner, kinder view of 
 those who made his world. It is a true test of the 
 fibres of our being, whether or not we can go to 
 Nature for new strength and find it. 
 
 83
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 He had walked far, and lingered through the 
 sunset time, dear to the heart of the fisherman, so 
 that the world was again flooded in silver when he 
 reached the Moorings. 
 
 There was no sign of any one about, and he 
 went off to his own den, where the servants were 
 in the habit of leaving some supper for him if 
 he had been out. 
 
 Lighting his lamp, he fell to on the cold meat 
 with the hearty zest of a tired man. As he flung 
 himself back in his hammock-chair and lit his even- 
 ing pipe, all the self-tormenting thoughts of the 
 day were lost in a general sense of well-being, the 
 result of healthy bodily fatigue. 
 
 What a refuge our bodies can be made at times 
 from the wearisome strife of the spirit! He had 
 all but drifted into a doze when his door was pushed 
 slightly open, and Isaac's wrinkled face peered 
 round it. With the sight, Gilbert's wits sprang into 
 sudden wakefulness. Here was the messenger of 
 fate. 
 
 "What, Isaac, back already?" 
 
 " Yes, the wind was most unusually accommodat- 
 ing. A fair south wind up, that shifted round 
 enough to the west to give us a fair wind down. 
 I take it that's a sign of your luck, sir." 
 
 "Well, let's hope so. Had some supper? If 
 not, there's plenty on the table. At any rate, sit 
 down and have a pipe." 
 
 " Thanking ye heartily, the last's what I'll do. 
 Me and the boy had a mouthful aboard," and Isaac 
 settled himself in a high-backed rush-chair, and 
 proceeded to fill his pipe. 
 
 Gilbert watched him in silence, not revealing by 
 84
 
 THE DEAD HAND 
 
 word or sign the impatience for tidings that pos- 
 sessed him. 
 
 " Well, you'll be wanting to hear what I did." 
 
 " In your own good time, my friend." If there 
 were a slightly sarcastic touch in the remark, Isaac 
 failed to see it. He settled to tell his tale, with 
 variations not unbearably lengthy. He had gone 
 to Mr. Scarfe, and recounted Gilbert's first appear- 
 ance at the farm, and the various questions and 
 proofs by which he had discovered that he was 
 really Jonathan Bauer's grandson. 
 
 " Mr. Scarfe thought it all fair sailing, and that 
 when you and he met, he would most likely find 
 that he could hand the farm over to you, any- 
 ways, the delays would just be your getting docu- 
 ments or such from your mother." 
 
 " Yes, yes, but how about my grandfather's pa- 
 pers?" Gilbert could not help interrupting. 
 
 " That's all right. Mr. Scarfe didn't see no 
 objection to your and me opening them." This 
 was Isaac's method of saying that he had told Mr. 
 Scarfe that the papers were his affair, and that he 
 intended to hand them over to Gilbert, without 
 taking any one else's opinion in the matter. 
 
 " And so," Isaac went on, " seeing that that's 
 the case, I just slipped the thing into my pocket 
 as I came over," and here he slowly produced a big 
 sealed envelope, with the dulled tint that years give 
 to paper. With a solemn face, he handed it to 
 Gilbert. 
 
 " There it is, sir, and may it bring you good 
 luck." 
 
 " Thank you, Isaac," was the warm response, 
 as, with a firm hand, Gilbert took it. The crack- 
 
 85
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 ling of the seal sounded unnaturally loud in his ears, 
 as he pulled out the one document which the en- 
 velope held. 
 
 A glance showed it to be a will, short and to the 
 purpose, made by Jonathan Bauer, dividing all his 
 property into thirds, one of which he left to his 
 wife, one to his only son, one to his daughter 
 Susan's child or children. The signature was wit- 
 nessed by Isaac Neisner and Ellen Sievert. 
 
 " You must know something of this, Isaac, for 
 here is your signature," Gilbert said, with a keen 
 glance at him. " It is a will of my grandfather's, 
 giving me a third of his estate." 
 
 " The Lord save us ! Then it really and truly 
 is that will that Ellen and me put our names to the 
 week before he died. The French woman had gone 
 out to church it was some saint's day, I think 
 and he bade me call Ellen, and shut the door ; 
 and he signed see, the hand is feeble like and 
 so did we. 
 
 " I heard no more about it till, sitting up with 
 him two nights before he died, he pulls that en- 
 velope out from under his pillow, and says, ' Keep it 
 for a bit. You'll understand next week. You're 
 to keep it till Susan's child comes. She's stiff- 
 necked in her righteousness, but perhaps there, 
 take it; there's some one listening.' And, sure 
 enough, just as I got it in my pocket, in comes 
 the French woman, with her snaky eyes. Well, 
 I never was sure if this were the will that I had 
 seen or not. Thought the missus might have got 
 hold of it and destroyed it. But when the years 
 passed, and I knew that you must be grown up, 
 and you never came, I began to say to myself that, 
 
 86
 
 THE DEAD HAND 
 
 before I was bedridden, I must go and look for you. 
 And that's just what I was pondering over, the 
 morning that the Powers that be brought you to 
 my door." 
 
 And he finished this harangue with a grunt of 
 dramatic solemnity. 
 
 " It's all strange enough," Gilbert agreed, when 
 Isaac took up his parable again. 
 
 " There's another thing. The old man was 
 never too free with his words. He generally meant 
 every word he said. Now, he left you this house 
 and contents. The contents you saw weren't much ; 
 suppose the contents you haven't seen were?" 
 
 Staring at him in growing surprise, Gilbert asked, 
 abruptly : 
 
 " What are you driving at ? Do you mean that 
 you know of anything hidden there?" 
 
 Isaac shook his head. 
 
 " I don't know of anything. 'Twasn't the old 
 man's way. But I've sometimes poked about, with 
 the idea that there might be something, and, though 
 I've found nothing, still, I think 'twould be worth 
 your while to have a good search." 
 
 Gilbert shook his head. " Isaac, you've been 
 reading too many Sunday papers. They are the 
 old abiding-place of buried treasure." 
 
 But Isaac stood to his guns. 
 
 " Don't you believe it. The old man was a real 
 sailor, and sailors hides things like magpies. It's 
 a way they learn, cramped up aboard ship. Just 
 you believe me." 
 
 Gilbert laughed impatiently. 
 
 " All right. You're welcome to pull the whole 
 place to bits if it gives you any pleasure, seeing 
 
 87
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 that, but for you, I should never have had anything 
 to do with it. We'll dig up a bag of diamonds 
 in the cellar, and live like fighting-cocks ever after- 
 ward, eh ? " 
 
 But Isaac evidently considered this a flippant 
 way in which to treat a serious subject. 
 
 " There's many a true word spoken in jest," was 
 his grave retort, nor could Gilbert get anything 
 more out of him. 
 
 88
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 OUR LADY OF WRATH 
 
 THE next morning was one of those summer 
 days when, looking out on the world, the 
 soul bids itself rejoice at the fair gift of 
 life. 
 
 As usual, Gilbert had breakfasted alone, but 
 when he came out from the shadow of his morn- 
 ing visit to Broderick's studio, he spied the white 
 figures of mother and child out on the sand-bar, 
 and unhesitatingly went down to join them. Isabel 
 was seated on the dry sand in a lazy attitude, but 
 the colour in her face told that she had had a hand 
 in the building of the sand fortress, around which 
 the boy was still hovering, though the tide was 
 sapping its outer walls. Gilbert's first glance into 
 her eyes told him that he need fear no distance- 
 keeping brightness, for those eyes were wistful, 
 almost deprecating. 
 
 " This is a morning full of the joy of life," he 
 said, cheerfully. " And I see that you have been at 
 work early." 
 
 " And am now sitting watching the coming de- 
 struction of my work, and wondering who used 
 the words, ' our life's strong places overthrown,' ' 
 
 89
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 she answered, with a languor veiling the hopeless- 
 ness of her voice. His glance swiftly scanned the 
 drooping curves of her face. 
 
 " I'm afraid you are tired," he suggested. 
 
 " Yes, I'm tired with the double tiredness of 
 yesterday and to-day. You know that there are 
 mornings when all yesterday's fatigues get up with 
 you." 
 
 Yes, he knew well enough, though he only asked : 
 " How did yesterday go? " 
 
 " It seemed somehow a long day," she said, 
 naively. " My husband was restless, and stayed 
 very little in the studio. He wandered about from 
 the shore to the house, and, seeing him, made the 
 boy restless, too. He wanted to follow his father." 
 
 "Did you let him?" 
 
 " Only when I was with him." 
 
 Gilbert hesitated before he spoke. " I hate to 
 tell you that you ought to break him of the habit." 
 
 Instantly the latent fear awoke in her eyes. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " You must know that it will be the best thing 
 for the child to learn to forget him," he said, gently. 
 
 She caught her breath before she asked: 
 
 " You have less hope of recovery, then ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You have no hope now ? " 
 
 " Hardly any. In fact, it is more honest to say 
 that I have none. But you must have been learning 
 the same thing for yourself." 
 
 She made no answer, and after those few quietly 
 interchanged sentences there was a silence. 
 
 The wavelets of the rising tide broke crisply 
 against the sand wall, and the boy chanted to him- 
 
 90
 
 OUR LADY OF WRATH 
 
 self : " The tide comes up, and the walls go down, 
 down." 
 
 It was not very long before Isabel's calm voice 
 asked : " Did you have a pleasant day yesterday ? " 
 
 " I did not want a pleasant day," was the swift 
 answer. " Forgive me for having left you for so 
 long, but I needed the solitude. A tempestuous 
 humour had got stirred up by all the Ancient 
 Mariner's mysteries, and I had to get it settled 
 down a bit. There is nothing like a good tramp 
 for clearing one's brain. Although Isaac arrived 
 with a fresh cargo of wonders last evening, I slept 
 the sleep of the just." 
 
 " What are the latest wonders ? " and there was 
 now no flimsy pretence at not being interested in 
 his affairs. 
 
 Gilbert dug his elbow comfortably into the sand, 
 so that he could lean back and look up at her. 
 
 " You were right. I have a chance of riches, 
 though how much that chance is worth remains 
 to be seen." 
 
 Then he went on to tell her of the contents of 
 this new will. She listened intently, and then 
 asked : " And have you decided on your next 
 move? " 
 
 The wind blew across his hand a long lace scarf 
 that she held in hers, and he caught its edge and 
 carefully smoothed it out on the sand as he an- 
 swered : 
 
 " No, I do not see anything that I can do until 
 I have found out my mother's real reason for re- 
 nouncing her share of her father's money. It can 
 hardly have been a trifle, and I may find that, in 
 common, every-day honesty, it binds me, too." 
 
 91
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 With an impulsive turn, she caught him by the 
 arm. 
 
 " You won't leave me now ? " came in an eager 
 whisper. 
 
 His brown hand closed over hers. " No," he 
 said, gently. 
 
 Presently she drew her hand from under his, 
 and he did not try to prevent her. Then she spoke 
 in her usual voice again. 
 
 " But you must see your mother. It would be 
 selfish in me to try to detain you here. You must 
 wire for another doctor, and leave when he comes." 
 
 " Would another doctor take my place with 
 you ? " was Gilbert's impetuous question. 
 
 There was no answer, and all that he could see 
 was the oval of her cheek, as she sat with her eyes 
 fixed on the boy; but still he seemed to feel that 
 her silence was answer enough. 
 
 " Come away from the waves, Boyso," she called 
 presently, in a clear voice, " unless you want to get 
 carried off as a water-baby, and never see mum- 
 mie any more." 
 
 Gilbert stood up, and then spoke, looking down 
 at her: 
 
 " I should not in any case, go to my mother at 
 once. I would rather learn a little more from let- 
 ters first. If our wills were to clash, it would be 
 the less trying process for both of us." 
 
 " Do you expect them to clash ? " she asked, look- 
 ing up. 
 
 " I should not be surprised if they did. My 
 mother is a determined woman, dominated by a 
 gloomy religion, but she is as just as she is stern. 
 She must see now that I have a right to know what 
 
 92
 
 OUR LADY OF WRATH 
 
 she has kept hidden from me. Then I must choose 
 my own road for myself. But we shall all be 
 turned into water-babies if we stay here much 
 longer. Come, Boyso ; " then, as they strolled 
 homeward, he said: 
 
 " You must have an outing to-day to blow away 
 the shadows. It will be just the afternoon to take 
 you and the boy for a sail." 
 
 " That would be nice," she agreed. 
 
 And so the hours of another summer day wove 
 their golden link around them. 
 
 The next morning a south wind had rolled in 
 the Atlantic fog, chill and dreary with its breath 
 of distant icebergs. Whether it were the influence 
 of the skies or not, there was a corresponding air 
 of gloom over the little group. 
 
 Broderick made no effort to paint, but paced the 
 studio like an imprisoned animal. The child was 
 unusually restless and even a little fretful, and Mrs. 
 Broderick looked pale and troubled. 
 
 Gilbert, feeling the necessity for some interest, 
 proposed that they should divert the child's attention 
 from his father by exploring a disused garret that 
 ran out over one portion of the house. 
 
 " I was only up here once before," he said, " and 
 that was when I kicked against the Spanish lamp 
 that I hung in the hall. Who knows but what 
 we may come on Isaac's mythical hidden treasure! 
 That would be good work for a foggy day, wouldn't 
 it?" 
 
 Isabel stood looking round somewhat listlessly 
 on the piles of broken furniture, old feather-beds 
 and pillows that mark such nooks, but, as the boy, 
 seized with the spirit of play, dashed round the 
 
 93
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 brick chimney that rose in the middle of the place, 
 crying, " Catch me, mummie," she stooped in pre- 
 tended pursuit. 
 
 There was a crash from behind the chimney, as 
 of something falling, and Isabel darted after the 
 child. 
 
 He was standing unhurt, but dusty and bewil- 
 dered, by a large square canvas that had fallen to 
 the floor, from where it seemed to have been propped 
 up, painted side inwards, concealing an open hearth 
 in the chimney. 
 
 "What's the matter, baby?" was the mother's 
 quick question. 
 
 " Nofing, mummie. Boards tumbled down. 
 Look!" 
 
 Isabel looked, and her first glance showed her 
 that it was an old painting that lay on the floor. 
 Even through the dust and grime she could see a 
 grave young face looking up at her. Gilbert was 
 now at her side. 
 
 " Oh, look," she said, eagerly, " here is an old 
 painting, some saint, I think. Carry it over to the 
 window, please." 
 
 Delighted to have aroused her to such interest, 
 Gilbert promptly did so, and, as he held it, Mrs. 
 Broderick knelt on the floor, wiping off the dust 
 with an old wisp of canvas. Gradually, under her 
 touch, the gently tragic face and figure that is famil- 
 iar to most of us, in galleries, as that of the mar- 
 tyred young Roman officer, St. Lawrence, showed 
 out more clearly from its shadowy background. 
 
 " I thought that it was St. Lawrence," she ex- 
 claimed, enthusiastically, " and, if I'm not very 
 
 94
 
 OUR LADY OF WRATH 
 
 much mistaken, it is Spanish work of not long 
 after the time of Velasquez." 
 
 " How can you tell that ? " Gilbert asked. 
 
 " I don't know how one can tell it. One feels 
 it more. But this is valuable, I think." 
 
 " Strange," he commented, thoughtfully. " That 
 lamp was from some Spanish shrine, and, if this 
 is Spanish, it may have come from the same church. 
 Let us hope that my worthy grandfather did not 
 join the robbing of churches to his other fashions 
 of amassing a fortune." 
 
 In spite of the lightness of his words, there was 
 something in them which caused her to glance up 
 uneasily at him, as she protested, " Don't say such 
 things." 
 
 " Well, at any rate, Isaac's theory seems to be 
 working itself out. What will you bet on the next 
 treasure-trove? " 
 
 His question remained unanswered, for just then, 
 came the child's shout from the dark recesses beyond 
 the chimney. 
 
 " Mummie. come and pick up the doll. Too 
 heavy for Boyso. Heavy, dirty doll. Poor dolly 
 in bed in dark." 
 
 " What next ? " Gilbert said, with an enigmatic 
 smile, as he followed her. 
 
 Boyso was half in and half out of the open 
 hearth, and even his protruding legs gave a hint 
 of his grimy condition. 
 
 " Come out, Boyso ; let Mr. Clinch see," and his 
 mother drew him unwillingly forth. 
 
 " Make haste ! Get the dolly ! " the child cried, 
 dancing with eagerness. 
 
 It was only Gilbert's sense of touch that availed 
 95
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 him as he groped inside. But there was certainly 
 something there in the inmost corner of the hearth, 
 and at last, used to the darkness, his eyes detected 
 the outlines of an image of between two and three 
 feet long. His hands told him, as well as the weight 
 when he tried to move it, that it was made of 
 metal. 
 
 " Here's another saint to match St. Lawrence ! " 
 he said, grimly, as he drew it out and set it up- 
 right. 
 
 There was something almost like disgust in the 
 way in which he stood looking down at the dark 
 shape of what was evidently intended for the Vir- 
 gin of the Seven Daggers, but Mrs. Broderick was 
 all delighted curiosity, as she knelt beside it, wiping 
 off the dust as she had done with the St. Lawrence. 
 
 Just then a ray of late afternoon sunshine, redly 
 piercing the fog, struck in horizontally at the left 
 window. 
 
 "It's silver!" she exclaimed with joy. 
 
 " Our Lady born smiling and smart, 
 
 With a pink gauze gown all spangles, and 
 Seven swords stuck in her heart.' " 
 
 Gilbert quoted, sardonically. 
 
 " The * seven swords ' are the only appropriate 
 words, so far," she retorted. " Oh, but look ! " 
 
 Gilbert, too, had seen the marvellous sight of 
 the line of green fire that answered the ray of sun- 
 shine, as her hand passed over the dust on the 
 border of the long robe. 
 
 Quickly she brushed over the surface, and then 
 drew back to gaze in amazement. The line of green 
 
 96
 
 OUR LADY OF WRATH 
 
 stones ran right round the robe and up the front, to 
 where its folds were gathered in one hand. 
 
 Each hilt of the seven daggers in the breast was 
 of rubies, and over the head hovered an open crown 
 of diamonds. Besides this, it was evident, even to 
 Gilbert, that the workmanship was of the best 
 Renaissance period. 
 
 There was no word spoken between them. The 
 only sound was the child's lisp of "Pretty dolly! 
 pretty dolly ! " as he twisted one arm around the 
 neck and laid his warm cheek against the cold 
 silver one. 
 
 At last Gilbert spoke hoarsely : " They cannot 
 be real!" 
 
 The words were neither a question nor an asser- 
 tion, but merely spoke the bewilderment in his mind. 
 
 " They are worth a king's fortune, if they are. 
 And they must be yours. Old Isaac was right." 
 
 " I suppose so," he agreed, slowly. " The house 
 and contents did mean something, after all." 
 
 The eager interest in her face all at once shad- 
 owed over, as she said, piteously: 
 
 " Oh, now you will have to leave us at once, and 
 take it and the picture to New York to find out their 
 value. A museum or a millionaire collector would 
 buy the image as it is. It would be such a pity 
 to spoil its beauty." 
 
 " You are in a great hurry to decide everything," 
 Gilbert smiled, " but I think that we will take it 
 more leisurely than that. The first thing I must 
 do is to fetch Isaac, and see what he knows about 
 it. I wonder if he has been bamboozling me all 
 along, and meant me to find it for myself," and his 
 air was somewhat stern as he turned away. 
 
 97
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ISAAC MEETS AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 HE found Isaac, like other heroes before him, 
 absorbed in his cabbages, and hailed him 
 more abruptly than was his wont. 
 
 " I wish that you would come up to the garret 
 and see what you think of making another room 
 in the dark north end. It has an open hearth in 
 the chimney, and only needs a skylight in the roof," 
 he found himself improvising. It did not seem 
 so easy to begin at once about the image. Isaac 
 looked up, stretching his bent back, and grunting: 
 
 " None there that ever I see." 
 
 There was no furtive inquiry in the ruminating 
 gaze that he turned on Gilbert. 
 
 " Something that Boyso knocked down was 
 standing up in front of it. It seems to be an old 
 picture." 
 
 Isaac looked more interested. 
 
 " That dismal old saint," he said, scornfully. 
 " Never could make out where it came from among 
 Dutch folk that had ne'er a Papist in their families. 
 The old man had a sort of fancy for it always. 
 He put it there himself the last time that ever he 
 was here. You see, after he went to live in town, 
 and got old, he'd sometimes take it into his head 
 
 98
 
 ISAAC MEETS AN ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 to come down here for a day or two alone with 
 me, though I never could make out why he did it. 
 He wasn't one to go on about * the past, and young 
 days,' and all that stuff." 
 
 As the old man talked, Gilbert felt his vague 
 suspicions clear from his brain. They had reached 
 the garret, where Mrs. Broderick still sat on an 
 overturned box, gazing at the statue, which seemed 
 to grimly face her and the sunshine. Boyso rushed 
 out to drag Isaac forward by the hand, crying, 
 shrilly : " Mr. Lobsterman, come and see the new 
 doll. Mummie said it's Mr. Kinch's." 
 
 But for once, Isaac paid no heed to the child's 
 touch or voice. 
 
 At sight of the silver figure, he almost staggered 
 back, with an alarmed recognition that was unmis- 
 takably genuine. 
 
 " Great Jehoshaphat ! The Virgin of Wrath ! 
 Then the old man did really take it. The men 
 always said he did, but I never believed them, and 
 they were none of them able to say what he had 
 done with it. Well, he wasn't scared of Heaven 
 or Hell, he wasn't," and there was something in 
 face and voice, in the very shrinking gesture, which 
 told that the speaker was. 
 
 "What should he be scared of?" Gilbert de- 
 manded, shortly. 
 
 Isaac slowly shook his head, as he answered: 
 
 " The natives were every man of them afeard 
 of that Virgin because of her powers. If you went 
 to her alone at midnight with a candle, she'd let 
 you have your wickedest prayer against your en- 
 emy! Oh, you needn't laugh, sir. I've known more 
 than one that's tried it, and got their evil will. 
 
 99
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 While if you did any slight or disrespect to the 
 image herself, you'd repent it. Now I always 
 thought there was a time when a current of luck 
 seemed to set against the old man. I put it down 
 to the missus's spells, but it's been this as has done 
 it. It stands to reason," he went on, in his argu- 
 mentative tone, " that no woman so decked out 
 would like to be poked away in a chimney all these 
 years! There! that's better." 
 
 With quaint reverence, he lifted the statue and 
 set it on a packing-case, immediately backing away 
 to a certain distance. While Gilbert was below, 
 Mrs. Broderick had been cleaning it still more, 
 and the exquisite modelling of the long, oval face 
 showed out distinctly. 
 
 " It is certainly Spanish Renaissance work," she 
 said, laying a gentle touch on its beauty. 
 
 " How do you know what image it is, Isaac ? " 
 Gilbert demanded. 
 
 " Haven't I seen it more times than one, in its 
 own church in Brazil, the pride of the whole coun- 
 tryside ? And haven't I heard the men most of 
 them dead now, but our own folks from round the 
 shore haven't I heard them tell how the old man 
 cleared out before daylight, after coming on board 
 with a heavy box at midnight; and how they had 
 first yellow fever, and then storms, till no man 
 thought he would ever see the La Have again? 
 
 " And didn't they all think that there was some 
 bad luck fallen among them, though 'twasn't till 
 after awhile, when one or two of them had been back 
 there in other ships, that they heard of the story 
 of the vanishing of the famous Virgin, and guessed 
 what had happened. They were scared men then, 
 
 100
 
 ISAAC MEETS AN ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 even to think of it. Ah, I missed a deal by stay- 
 ing ashore with my broken leg that trip." 
 
 " But do you mean to say that my grandfather 
 stole that statue out of a church ? " 
 
 Isaac looked taken aback at the stern voice, but 
 quick to mark how the land lay, he answered, glibly : 
 
 " Well, not exactly that, sir. You see, there 
 were wars and revolutions going on, as there always 
 are on those coasts, and the old man, having letters 
 of marque, had a right to have a fist in things. 
 
 " In those times out there, everybody helps them- 
 selves to every one else's movables, and, of course, 
 if you're a Protestant, and aren't afraid of the 
 Church, well, the Church has the most 
 
 " I see," was Gilbert's comment. " And you 
 really think these stones are real ? " 
 
 " And how could she have been the most famous 
 Virgin in all Brazil if they weren't?" was the in- 
 dignant demand. 
 
 " I suppose not," Gilbert agreed, slowly, then 
 turning his eyes from the silver woman to the live 
 one who faced it, he asked : 
 
 " Well, is your desire for the romance of a treas- 
 ure-trove satisfied ? " 
 
 Isabel's face had been intense in its watchfulness 
 of him during Isaac's talk, but she now answered 
 with a smile: 
 
 " I think it is I who should ask if you are sat- 
 isfied. But to return to business. Don't you think 
 it would be wise to get your treasure safely stowed 
 away before any of the men about should see it? 
 It's rather a valuable thing to have in a cottage." 
 
 " Tell you what, sir," Isaac put in, " I think my 
 mind would be easier, and perhaps yours, too, if 
 
 101
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 you were to sell it to a church. I fancy she might 
 be in a pleasanter humour toward us, if she were 
 to have a taste of candles and incense again. Dare 
 say, she's been homesick for them long enough. 
 It stands to reason ! " 
 
 " Well, get your candles. There are plenty 
 down-stairs, I suppose. As for incense, Mrs. 
 Broderick has some joss-sticks, I know," was the 
 impatient retort. 
 
 " No, sir, you don't catch me burning them 
 heathen Chinese things I've seen them in Hong 
 Kong before any Christian woman, be she silver 
 or not, but, if I had a pinch of the real stuff 
 
 " Oh, Isaac, talk about women you're worse 
 than twenty old women." 
 
 Isaac sniffed in an injured manner, but answered, 
 oracularly : 
 
 " Well, sir, I've seen a sight of queer things in 
 my day, and you haven't done with that there 
 Virgin yet, remember ! " Which remark seemed 
 to imply that he expected to see some still queerer 
 things shortly. 
 
 It was nearly a week later when Isaac appeared 
 one evening in Gilbert's den, with a somewhat 
 sheepish air veiled by an extra solemnity. 
 
 " It's a terrible world for gossip," he began, 
 oracularly. 
 
 " What's up now?" Gilbert asked. 
 
 " Well, I was down to La Falaise to-day to tfade 
 at the store, and I finds that the people there had 
 got hold of the story of our finding the Virgin. 
 Terrible interested they were, being mostly French 
 and Catholics. I had a hard time with their ques- 
 
 102
 
 ISAAC MEETS AN ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 tions. Somebody's been making a fool of them- 
 selves, and talking." 
 
 " That seems evident," Gilbert agreed, with a 
 strong idea as to who the somebody was. He did 
 not show how annoyed he was at the fact. 
 
 He was very sensitive at the idea of being a 
 nine days' wonder to these people, who knew more 
 of his family than he did himself. 
 
 " The worst of it is," Isaac went on, " that fel- 
 low D'Arcy is round the roads again. He held up 
 a man who was taking down the week's pay to the 
 gold mines only a few days ago, this side of Mid- 
 dleton." 
 
 Gilbert laughed. " He'd find the lady a pretty 
 solid armful, single-handed, Isaac. She has great 
 passive powers of resistance." 
 
 " Don't, sir, don't ! " the other entreated, ner- 
 vously, then going on with his ideas: 
 
 " Now I was thinking, suppose that you were 
 to sail up with her to Bridgewater, and get her 
 safe in the bank there." 
 
 He looked hopefully at Gilbert, who shook his 
 head. 
 
 " It is impossible for me to be away for long 
 just now. I will tell you in confidence that I am 
 not at all satisfied with Mr. Broderick's condition. 
 Higgins has just been in to report a more restless 
 day than usual, and the nights have been bad lately. 
 He has not tried to paint now for two or three days, 
 which is the worst sign of all." 
 
 Isaac shook his head gloomily. 
 
 " She's beginning her work, sir. For the Lord's 
 sake, get her out of here." 
 
 " Don't talk nonsense, man. If you want the 
 103
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 thing to go, you must take it yourself. Why 
 shouldn't you ? " 
 
 Isaac's eyes opened in alarm. 
 
 " Go up alone in the boat with her ? No, thank 
 you, sir." 
 
 " Then you want me to do what you are afraid 
 to do yourself. That doesn't sound like you." 
 
 At this taunt, Isaac looked sheepish, though he 
 persisted : " You don't believe in her. I do." 
 
 But Gilbert's patience was exhausted. 
 
 " All right. Then her ladyship will have to stay 
 where she is, under my bed," he said, shortly. 
 
 Perhaps Isaac's warning had taken greater hold 
 upon his imagination than he knew at the time, 
 for that night he certainly felt disinclined for bed, 
 and at midnight was still smoking, down on his 
 favourite perch of a pile of old boards on the end 
 of the little wharf. 
 
 On the breathless stillness of the night, there 
 rang out a sudden clamour of shouts from the direc- 
 tion of the studio, and Gilbert sprang up, alert to 
 face the long-expected crisis. 
 
 But even in the clear darkness, he could see that 
 the burly figure that rushed across the garden and 
 leaped the fence was neither that of Broderick nor 
 of his keeper. 
 
 But what was that strange white apparition, with 
 apparently high-waving wings, that pursued the 
 fugitive, shouting in a weird, hoarse voice : " I am 
 the Archangel Michael, the Wrath and the Sword 
 of the Lord!" 
 
 Gilbert was already close enough now to recog- 
 nise Broderick in his night-clothes, waving a white 
 sheet in great sweeps over his head. 
 
 104
 
 ISAAC MEETS AN ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 " He cometh as a thief in the night ! Behold I 
 will grind him and scatter him abroad as chaff 
 before the wind," the strange chant went on. 
 
 Gilbert was beside him now, though his voice 
 seemed to have none of its usual soothing power, 
 and, at the first restraining grasp, he struggled 
 violently, so that it took all the other's strength 
 to hold him. However, the keeper had been in 
 pursuit, and now, coming up from the other side, 
 they soon between them got the poor fellow back 
 to his room, though it was long before he was 
 really quieted down. It seemed that Higgins 
 had been aroused by a noise in the studio, and, 
 going out, startled the intruder, who dropped 
 a lantern and fled. 
 
 Broderick must have been awakened, too, and, 
 coming out just in time to intercept the fugitive, had 
 attacked him with a sheet and with verbal weapons. 
 
 " Enough to frighten ten robbers away. He 
 won't ever come back again," Higgins chuckled, 
 grimly. 
 
 But Gilbert looked very grave. 
 
 " He's done more harm already than twenty 
 robbers. The first violent fit has come," he said. 
 
 " Yes, sir, and others will come, too. An asy- 
 lum's the best place now," Higgins agreed. 
 
 The house had been roused, and, when Gilbert 
 could turn away from his patient, he saw Mrs. 
 Broderick, in long, white dressing-gown, waiting 
 for him on the veranda. 
 
 He did his best to reassure her, though he could 
 read in her white face her understanding that an- 
 other step on the via dolorosa had been taken. 
 
 105
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 With a heartache for her, he turned away, only 
 to find old Isaac leaning against the fence. 
 
 " She's waking up, sir; she's waking up. You'd 
 best get her to Bridgewater to-morrow." 
 
 " Get her there yourself, if you want to," Gilbert 
 retorted, going off to keep a night-watch by his now 
 sleeping patient. 
 
 106
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 GATHERING CLOUDS 
 
 THE rest of the night passed in quietness, 
 but, when Gilbert returned from his morn- 
 ing bath, it did not need the attendant's 
 gravely significant glance to warn him of Bro- 
 derick's state. 
 
 The change in his face might not be very marked, 
 but it was all the same unmistakable. A sullen 
 gloom, that was not without a touch of fierceness, 
 had replaced the former distressed perplexity. His 
 restlessness had increased, and, seeming to have 
 forgotten his work, he prowled about within a 
 certain distance of the house, only remaining still 
 when there was some one for him to watch. 
 
 Mrs. Broderick had been, according to wont, 
 sitting on the veranda, the embroidery which had 
 of late become her more constant companion, in 
 her hands, but, as though the sight of her husband 
 distressed her, she had wandered off across the pas- 
 ture toward the woods. 
 
 The Swedish nurse was sitting sewing down at 
 the shore near where Sam, the old man's grandson, 
 was coopering at his boat; and Boyso played hap- 
 pily near his greatest joy, a little fire of chips lit 
 under the tar-pot. 
 
 107
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 Smoking his pipe at a distance, Gilbert saw Bro- 
 derick hovering nearer, as though fascinated by the 
 group, and, at last, seating himself on a log on the 
 bank, with elbows on knees, seemed to become ab- 
 sorbed in watching the child's play. 
 
 The peacefulness of the scene was dominated 
 by the gloom of that one brooding figure, and to 
 Gilbert the air was heavy with a sense of approach- 
 ing calamity. 
 
 Comfort himself as he might with the sight of 
 Higgins's watchful figure close at hand, with the 
 lusty song of the stalwart French cook, as he gath- 
 ered vegetables in the garden, he would have now 
 given much to have known Broderick safe in an 
 asylum. 
 
 He was beginning to reproach himself bitterly 
 for having yielded too much to Isabel Broderick's 
 wishes in the matter. 
 
 " I am going to take you and Boyso out for a 
 sail," he announced to her after lunch, having noted 
 what a mere pretence at eating she had made. 
 
 " Have we no choice in the matter ? " she asked, 
 with a poor attempt at gaiety that wrung his heart. 
 
 " None. You have only to obey." 
 
 There was the life of the sea in the south-west 
 wind, and, although she was very silent, Gilbert 
 saw a certain restfulness come over her face, as 
 she leaned back on her cushions with the boy hud- 
 dled up against her, keeping up the sweet-voiced 
 chatter that reminded him of the daylight sounds 
 from a nestful of birds. 
 
 Out toward the open bay they tacked, and, with 
 that sensation of freedom that going seaward al- 
 ways gives, Gilbert felt a mad desire to sail away 
 
 108
 
 GATHERING CLOUDS 
 
 with her and the child from that trouble that 
 awaited them on the shore. 
 
 But no, the wind was getting lighter, and they 
 must turn and run up before it fell with the sunset. 
 
 " Going home to daddy ! Going home to 
 daddy!" the child sung, gleefully, in unconscious 
 mockery of their forebodings, as the little craft 
 drew in toward the landing. 
 
 Gilbert had already sent a comprehensive glance 
 around, but could see nothing of Broderick, of any 
 one, in fact, save Isaac, who was hanging about 
 the boats in his usual casual fashion. 
 
 He came forward to help Mrs. Broderick and 
 to lift the boy out, and then, after watching them, 
 as they went hand in hand up the path, he turned 
 to Gilbert. 
 
 " There's been trouble up there, sir," he said, 
 jerking his thumb over his shoulder. 
 
 "What?" the other asked, sharply, looking up 
 from furling the sail. He was out on the shore in 
 a moment, listening to Isaac's tale. 
 
 It seemed that Broderick, after the boat left, 
 had been walking up and down in front of his 
 studio, while Higgins, at a little distance, chatted 
 with Isaac, when he had slipped inside so quietly 
 that it was a few moments before they noticed he 
 was gone. A crash within took Higgins to the 
 studio door, only to see the big picture thrown from 
 its easel, the framework smashed, and the canvas 
 hanging in long strips, at which the artist was 
 still cutting wildly with the one small, dull palette 
 knife that he was allowed to possess. 
 
 " It could never really hurt any one; it is so 
 flimsy," Isabel had pleaded ; but it was strong 
 
 109
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 enough now to hack and rend the dark fields of 
 poppies, the glowing hillside of lilies. 
 
 When Higgins had caught his arm, saying : " I 
 wouldn't do that, sir, if I were you," he had 
 shouted, wildly: 
 
 " If I create them, I give them a soul ; and, if I 
 give them a soul, and that soul is lost, mine must 
 pay a hundredfold tribute of woe ! woe ! " 
 
 By the time that Isaac had got this far in his 
 story, Gilbert was striding up the bank. He had 
 seen Mrs. Broderick standing in the studio door, 
 and the sight drew him like a magnet. 
 
 She looked round silently as he came behind 
 her, and he saw that the slow tears were rolling 
 unchecked down her face. 
 
 With a motion of her hand, she drew his atten- 
 tion to the room before them. Scattered over the 
 floor, among the overturned paint-box and palette, 
 were fragments of the canvas that had formed a 
 masterpiece; here and there familiar bits of colour 
 still showing intact in their beauty. 
 
 On the sofa at the further end lay Broderick, 
 sleeping peacefully, a shadowy smile on his pale 
 face, the tumbled hair that hung over his eyes giv- 
 ing him a boyish look. 
 
 It was a pitiful enough sight, and Gilbert felt 
 a choking in his own throat as he looked. 
 
 " The artist is gone, and next the man will go," 
 he heard in a murmur beside him. 
 
 He turned and was about to attempt some words 
 of comfort, when, pushing aside Isabel's skirts, 
 Boyso poked his head into the studio. 
 
 At the tempestuous aspect of the place, he gave 
 a joyous crow, and, with a sudden rush, was across 
 
 110
 
 GATHERING CLOUDS 
 
 the room in spite of Gilbert's effort to seize him, 
 shouting : 
 
 " Daddy, wake up ! Wake up and play with 
 Boyso!" 
 
 Isabel rushed forward, but before she could reach 
 the sofa, Broderick had started up, and caught the 
 child in his arms with a wild cry: 
 
 " My boy ! My boy ! Destined to bear all my 
 sin and sorrow ! Destined to eternal fire ! " 
 
 The last words rose to a scream, and the terrified 
 child struggled and added his cries to the tumult. 
 
 While Gilbert hesitated as to what to do, Isabel's 
 clear tones made themselves heard : 
 
 " Andrew, you had better give him to me. Come, 
 Boyso, come to mummie." 
 
 Her spell worked, and, without opposition, her 
 husband let her take the child in her arms and 
 carry him off, soothing him as she went. 
 
 Broderick sat staring after her in a pathetically 
 bewildered fashion, and, when Higgins had closed 
 the door upon her. huddled himself together again 
 into the corner of the sofa, a picture of stolid 
 misery. 
 
 That night Gilbert took his dinner alone, being 
 told that Mrs. Broderick was having hers in the 
 nursery, but later he found her in her usual seat 
 in the veranda. 
 
 " Wouldn't you like to come down on the sand- 
 bar? There always seems more air there," he 
 suggested. 
 
 " No, I would rather not go so far. The nurse 
 is sitting with Boyso now, but I told her to call 
 me if he should awake restless or frightened. It 
 
 111
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 took me a little while to soothe him to sleep," was 
 her quiet answer. 
 
 This quietness reassured him to go on, though 
 it was with misgivings that he asked: 
 
 " Will it worry you to speak of what must be 
 done?" 
 
 " No, I know," she all but whispered. 
 
 " You know that your boy must be sent away 
 at once, either with you or without, as you shall 
 choose." 
 
 " Yes," came with a little catch of her breath. 
 
 " Will you let me give you the earnest advice that 
 you should go, too ? " he said, leaning nearer in 
 his intentness, the words seeming to frame his own 
 doom as he spoke them. 
 
 " Then you think that it is coming soon ? " and 
 the hitherto concealed horror sounded in her voice. 
 
 For the first time, Gilbert realised that, beside 
 her beautiful pity for the man, there could be a 
 personal shrinking from the maniac, and the fact 
 added to his determination to get her away from 
 her husband. 
 
 " I think," he said, cautiously, " these two out- 
 bursts show that, even with the most careful watch- 
 ing, he is likely at any time to do something that 
 might give the child a severe nervous shock, not to 
 speak of the same danger for yourself." 
 
 He paused to let his words take effect, and then 
 made his demand. " Will you let me telegraph 
 for two experienced men, to help me get him back 
 as soon as possible to Boston ? " 
 
 "To the asylum?" 
 
 " Yes," he acknowledged, waiting for her de- 
 cision. 
 
 112
 
 GATHERING CLOUDS 
 
 But it was not to come just yet. 
 
 " Would he be well enough to understand what 
 you were doing ? " was her question. 
 
 " Perhaps so, at times. But ' 
 
 She interrupted him, following out her own line 
 of thought: 
 
 " And if I were to send the child home with his 
 nurse, you do not fear danger to any one else here ? " 
 
 Gilbert saw that he was losing his battle, and, 
 ashamed at the sudden fierce throb of joy in her 
 continued presence, he spoke with grave self-re- 
 pression : 
 
 " Not absolute danger, I suppose, if we keep a 
 more careful watch on him, and get another keeper 
 to relieve guard. We are four men here already, 
 you know, counting Isaac, and that Swedish woman 
 is as strong as a man. I saw her turn a boat over 
 by herself, the other day. However, she, of course, 
 would go with Boyso." 
 
 " Then I am still free to choose between husband 
 and child ? " she asked, with repressed bitterness. 
 
 " In one way you may be, though I think it right 
 to warn you that, if only for your child's sake, you 
 have no right to risk the mental and physical harm 
 that such a strain may entail on you. Come," he 
 went on with kindly authoritativeness, " make up 
 your mind that the time has come when you must 
 consider yourself and the child first. You have 
 already done more than one woman out of a hun- 
 dred would have done " 
 
 " Ah, you do not know ! You do not know ! " 
 she broke in with a cry of irrepressible pain, that 
 puzzled him with its echo of self-reproach. 
 
 Of all wives in the world what could she have to 
 113
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 reproach herself with, unless but he would not 
 put the overpowering thought into form. He 
 only knew that he was her knight-errant, bound to 
 absolutely loyal service. As though repenting her 
 outbreak, she rose, saying quietly : 
 
 " There can be nothing gained by deciding it to- 
 night. You shall know the first thing in the morn- 
 ing," and without further parting, was gone. 
 
 114
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES 
 
 THE sparkling beauty of the June morning 
 seemed to mock at the restless human 
 misery that it encompassed. 
 
 After having kept watch for half the night, Gil- 
 bert had gone down early for his swim, getting new 
 energy from the crisp wavelets of the rising tide. 
 
 There seemed to be mental as well as physical 
 tonic in the healing waters of the great ocean, for 
 the surging thoughts of passion, against which he 
 had struggled through the hours of darkness, were 
 stilled, and he went back to the house able to bear 
 himself like a man, to fight the good fight for those 
 weaker than himself. 
 
 Early as it was, he found Isabel and her boy at 
 breakfast, and one glance at her face, serene 
 through all its traces of past conflict, told him that 
 she too had fought and conquered. 
 
 In after years, that picture of her never lost its 
 clearness in his mental vision. He saw the pallor 
 of her face, framed in her loose hair, against the dead 
 white of her duck dress. He saw the shadowy 
 smile that answered the child's prattling, even 
 while her hungry eyes never left his face. It was 
 the hunger in those eyes which revealed to him her 
 
 115
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 decision, even before, the sweet daily intimacy of 
 their meal ended, she came toward him on the 
 veranda. The dewy fragrance from the mignonette 
 in the homely garden, the morning song of the 
 robins amongst the apple blossoms, the flashing sun- 
 track on the water, all told of the joy of nature's 
 high-tide of life. In the woman's face alone was 
 the austere light of renunciation. 
 
 " I have decided," she began at once, with that 
 same self-control. " I shall send Boyso off with 
 his nurse in the steamer to-morrow. She shall take 
 him to his grandmother." 
 
 She herself would stay, then, was his first 
 thought, crushed down by the remembrance of the 
 harm that doing so might work her. 
 
 " And what if I refuse to agree to it ? " he asked, 
 with a sudden impulse to ensure her safety at any 
 cost. 
 
 She smiled securely. " You will not do that. 
 You acknowledged last night that it was possible 
 for me to remain, and I take you at your word." 
 
 " It may be possible, but still very undesirable," 
 he persisted. " However, in yielding as to the 
 present possibility, it is with the proviso that any 
 day I should insist on your leaving, you will go at 
 once. Will you agree to this ? " 
 
 For a moment her eyes searched his, then, as 
 though content with what they had found there, 
 she said, softly: 
 
 " What could I do but obey you, when I trust 
 you so absolutely ? " 
 
 He could not help it. He took the slim artist 
 hand in his, and pressed his lips to it, then, already 
 ashamed of the impulse, turned away and went 
 
 116
 
 THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES 
 
 down to the shore. Isaac was hovering about his 
 boat, evidently preparing to embark. 
 
 "Going fishing?" Gilbert asked, listlessly. 
 
 " Just going to have a look at the lobster-pots. 
 Thought I'd take the child along, if you don't ob- 
 ject. Looks kind of peeky this morning." 
 
 The old man liked to make an excuse that put 
 Boyso's companionship on a charitable basis, evi- 
 dently considering it a weakness to acknowledge 
 it as a pleasure to himself. 
 
 " You'd better not, I think. His mother will 
 want him with her to-day, for she's sending him 
 home to-morrow." 
 
 " That's one comfort," Isaac grunted, emphati- 
 cally. " This ain't no place for a child, with trouble 
 coming thick as a thunder-storm. Tell you what, 
 it's plain to any fool that there ain't no luck in the 
 house, or else, what there is is precious bad luck. 
 And for why ? " hammering his hand vigorously 
 against the gunwale of the boat. " Because it 
 stands to reason that, with that there Virgin " 
 
 " Look here, Isaac, I'm in no humour to stand 
 any more old wives' tales," Gilbert interrupted, 
 and, deeply offended, the old man shoved off his 
 boat, and paddled down along the shore. 
 
 All the morning, Gilbert never went very far 
 out of sight of the studio, where Broderick seemed 
 content to remain. The damage to his painting 
 materials had been repaired, and, for the first time 
 in several days, he seemed to care to work. 
 
 " A good sign," Gilbert said, hopefully, to Hig- 
 gins outside the door. 
 
 " I don't know about that, sir. Just take a look 
 
 117
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 at them cheerful kind of things he's paintin'," was 
 the pessimistic retort. 
 
 True enough, when Gilbert stood looking over 
 the artist's shoulder, he felt a chill at what he saw. 
 
 On the smaller canvas, which had replaced the 
 hapless poppies, were wild streaks of colour seem- 
 ingly representing clouds, through which peered 
 out lurid, boding heads, faces full of Satanic mock- 
 ery or rage, and arms outstretched to seize their 
 prey. 
 
 Only in one corner of the sketch was any at- 
 tempt at connected composition, and this, it seemed 
 to Gilbert, was a rough but vigorous suggestion 
 of the sacrifice of Isaac by Abraham. The few 
 touches that represented the victim contained an 
 evident likeness to Boyso, as did the angel hovering 
 above to Isabel. 
 
 Pondering deeply over these workings of the dis- 
 ordered mind, Gilbert turned away, leaving Bro- 
 derick undisturbed. 
 
 It was some days since the latter had joined them 
 at their meals, although his place was always kept 
 for him. To-day they had taken their seats, when 
 to the surprise of both, he quietly slipped in and 
 sat down. 
 
 " Daddy's come to dinner ! Daddy's hungry ! " 
 lisped the child, while his mother exchanged a 
 startled glance with Gilbert. 
 
 He nodded reassuringly, for he had been quick 
 to see that a calmer spirit had prevailed with Bro- 
 derick. His blue eyes were again dreamily vague, 
 though, once or twice, Gilbert did notice the side- 
 long glance at the child, that had before now made 
 him uneasy. 
 
 118
 
 THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES 
 
 He seemed to listen, too, when Boyso spoke, 
 though otherwise wrapped in his own realm of 
 shadows. 
 
 Higgins had followed him in, and waited behind 
 his chair, and, according to his ubiquitous habit, 
 the French cook came and went between the side- 
 board and the neighbouring kitchen. 
 
 There was certainly plenty of help at hand, even 
 if Gilbert had not believed there to be a temporary 
 improvement in his condition, and that, for the 
 present, there would be no more trouble. 
 
 It was not a cheerful meal, and Isabel gave a 
 quick little sigh of relief when her husband rose 
 and went out as quietly as he had come in. 
 
 She looked over appealingly at Gilbert, who 
 hastened to answer her mute question. 
 
 " Yes, he is certainly better for the time being. 
 How long it may last I cannot say, but I do not 
 think that we need fear any more trouble for the 
 next few days." 
 
 " Thank God for that ! " she murmured with 
 tremulous lips, and he saw that the coffee-cup she 
 held shook in her hand. 
 
 " You are played out," he said, quickly ; " here, 
 let me put this hammock-chair where you will get 
 the breeze, and this cushion under your head, so." 
 
 Silently she drooped back, with closed lids, from 
 under which the tears fell one by one. 
 
 The child's prattle sounded up from the beach 
 where he played beside his nurse, and they were 
 alone. She let her self-control fall from her as 
 she might have dropped an unnecessary wrap, and 
 Gilbert felt the painful joy that she should trust 
 him in her weakness. 
 
 119
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 "Willyou tell me if you slept last night?" he 
 asked presently, and she answered him with a silent 
 shake of her head. 
 
 " Then won't you try to rest in your darkened 
 room now ? " he urged, gently. " See, everything 
 is so quiet and peaceful, and there is nothing to 
 make you anxious. I think you would sleep." 
 
 " Nothing ! " she echoed, but still she rose obedi- 
 ently, and went up-stairs. 
 
 Over indoors and out settled the afternoon quiet, 
 and under its spell Gilbert presently found that he 
 had been dozing in the hammock-chair. He, too, 
 had felt the strain of the past twenty-four hours. 
 
 But he shook off the pleasant lassitude, and stood 
 up with a sense of work to be done. Before the 
 evening he must have a letter ready to send over 
 to catch the coach at La Falaise. 
 
 He went off to his den, passing Broderick and 
 his keeper sitting on a bench under an apple-tree 
 not far from the house. There he settled himself 
 to write a full professional account of the case to 
 his Boston colleague, asking him to wire back an 
 opinion as to whether the time had not come when 
 they must insist upon the immediate security of 
 an asylum. 
 
 The letter was not one to be written in a hurry, 
 as it entailed a frequent reference to his daily notes, 
 but it was finished at last, and, leaning back in his 
 high chair, he stretched out his arms lazily, think- 
 ing to himself that he would take a survey of his 
 domains, to determine if he might absent himself 
 for an hour's sail. The breeze on the water would 
 blow away this lassitude. 
 
 " Judging from the silence, it might be the castle 
 120
 
 THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES 
 
 of the Sleeping Beauty. Even the cocks and hens 
 seem to have forgotten to cackle," he said to him- 
 self, as he stood in the open doorway, lighting a 
 pipe. 
 
 Even as he said it, the air seemed rent by a long, 
 shrilly piercing scream, a scream that was the 
 wail of a passing life, and that left behind it the 
 silence of death. 
 
 It brought a creeping horror to the roots of his 
 hair, and an icy sweat to his face, as he knew that 
 his worst forebodings were realised. 
 
 " Isabel ! It will kill her, too ! " he heard himself 
 groaning, as, with the instinctive sense of the shore 
 being the scene of action, he rushed past the house. 
 He saw the stalwart Swedish nurse fleeing down the 
 pathway between the apple-trees, and the sight told 
 him that the child had been without her protection. 
 
 A wailing cry of " Gilbert " from an up-stairs 
 window only hastened his desperate speed. He 
 must, at any rate, get there before she did. 
 
 And then, as the little wharf came in view, the 
 full horror burst upon him. At its very end lay 
 the child on its back, while over it knelt Broderick, 
 one arm raised high, the hand grasping God ! 
 it was one of the sailors' sheath-knives, about which 
 Gilbert had already warned Isaac and his grandson. 
 
 But now the nurse had reached Broderick, pin- 
 ioning him from behind with her strong arms, and 
 a second later, Higgins scrambling up from the 
 beach, they had him securely in their grasp. 
 
 Then Gilbert, unheeding their struggles, found 
 himself kneeling by that sickeningly limp little fig- 
 ure, whose story was told by the red stream stain- 
 ing the front of the dainty white dress. The first 
 
 121
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 touch, the first look convinced him that life was 
 gone, and yet he still knelt, trying to stanch the 
 blood, feeling the poor little body, that looked so 
 pitifully small, for any last throb of life that might 
 be coaxed back into action. Some subtle conscious- 
 ness made him raise his head to see the swift rush of 
 Isabel toward him. 
 
 " Go back ! Go back ! " he shouted. " For God's 
 sake keep her back ! " but there was no one to do 
 so. and her feet were already on the wharf, as he 
 sprang up to come between her and that still, white 
 figure. He saw her sway forward, with outstretched 
 arms, before she fell her full length toward him, 
 and lay as still as did her child. 
 
 122
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 SEPARATE PATHS 
 
 FEW of the passengers by the next weekly 
 boat from Halifax to Boston knew that they 
 carried a child's coffin in one locked cabin, 
 and in another a lunatic, carefully guarded by four 
 men. Lunatics and coffins, not being popular at 
 sea, are generally kept as much in the background 
 as possible. 
 
 It being perfect summer weather, when even that 
 treacherous corner of the Atlantic was behaving 
 itself, the passengers did notice the distinguished- 
 looking woman, who sat so still in a secluded corner 
 of the deck, cared for so assiduously by a young 
 man of somewhat haggard aspect. 
 
 " Wonder if he's her husband? " said one young 
 woman to another. 
 
 " She doesn't treat him over civilly, if he is. 
 She has hardly answered him, or even looked at 
 him once that I've seen. She looks as sulky as a 
 bear." 
 
 " And he such a nice-looking fellow, too. But 
 I tell you what. I think there's something wrong 
 with her mind, or else why should they have that 
 great strong Swedish woman taking care of her. 
 
 123
 
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 No, I'm sure she's weak in her head. They must 
 be swells, too," she added, regretfully. 
 
 In the distress of those days, Gilbert was almost 
 inclined to the girl's opinion, as each day's dura- 
 tion of her unnatural calm seemed to increase the 
 chance of Isabel's mind never recovering from the 
 awful shock. 
 
 It was the night before they were to land, a 
 moonlight night when the surface of the sea was 
 absolutely calm, rising and falling to the long curves 
 of some far-distant tumult. 
 
 Isabel had refused to leave her hammock-chair 
 for her cabin, and, as the hour grew late, and the 
 decks were deserted, Gilbert sat beside her, sharing 
 her vigil. His thoughts were too full of unselfish 
 anxiety on her behalf for him to realise that these 
 were the last hours of their life of daily intimacy. 
 It had grown to seem to him a natural thing that 
 must perforce go on for ever. 
 
 His one desire now was to make her talk, to 
 break up at any cost that stupefied stillness that 
 might be working such havoc on her brain. 
 
 "You will go at once to your own house? I 
 telegraphed to have it got ready, you know," he 
 asked. 
 
 For a moment she moved her bare hand mechan- 
 ically backward and forward on her knee, with 
 that apparent dislike of being spoken to, which he 
 had before noticed, then she answered, in a listless 
 murmur : " I suppose so. It doesn't much matter 
 where." 
 
 With a sudden change to startled horror, she 
 turned to him, asking: 
 
 "He wouldn't be brought there, would he?"
 
 SEPARATE PATHS 
 
 " No, no ; you must not think about that. We 
 shall take him direct to the asylum." 
 
 He soothed her as he might have done a fright- 
 ened child, and, with the reassurance, she shrank 
 back again into herself, staring out intensely along 
 the moonlight track on the water. 
 
 " Is there any one, any woman, whom you would 
 like me to send for ? " he persisted. 
 
 " No one, thank you." 
 
 " But your husband's mother will surely come? " 
 
 Again the startled turn of the head, as she said, 
 quickly : " I hope not. Why should she ? " 
 
 " She would want to, I think," he said, shrink- 
 ing from referring more openly to the funeral. 
 Even this seemed to agitate her. 
 
 " I am sure that she must hate me," came in 
 distressed tones. " But for my obstinacy, her 
 grandchild would still be left. I wronged her son 
 in marrying him without love, and she always knew 
 it. When we first met in Paris, after I was en- 
 gaged to him, she warned me against the insanity 
 in the family, and I would not listen to her. She 
 is a hard, honest woman. How could she forgive 
 me now ? " 
 
 Gilbert, seeing that speech must come to the over- 
 burdened heart, went on : 
 
 " You must not forget that there is cause for 
 thankfulness in knowing that your child can never 
 share its father's fate." 
 
 He had roused her now effectually. With a 
 strange cry and wave of her hands, she broke out: 
 
 " And so I doubly murdered him, my boy, my 
 own little boy ! I gave him that nature, which was 
 a wrong to him! I failed to protect him from the 
 
 126
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 man who was his father! How can I bear to live 
 on, with such a curse upon me ! " 
 
 Before Gilbert could guess at what she was 
 about to do, she had sprung up, and hovered, with 
 upraised arms, near the rail. Like a flash he was 
 upon her, with his arms wound around her, press- 
 ing her struggling figure close to him. 
 
 All at once he felt its rigidity relax, felt its 
 weight heavier, and, loosening his grip, saw the 
 helpless head fall back against his shoulder. 
 
 In the keen ache of his sympathy, it was almost 
 a relief to see the wan face soften into peace, 
 the weary lids close, and to know that for a time 
 she was unconscious of her sorrow. 
 
 For the last hours of their journey, she was like 
 a sweet, sorrowful child, doing what he asked her 
 to do, but otherwise lying still with closed eyelids, 
 through which a slow tear occasionally welled. 
 
 The hard, strained look was gone, and Gilbert 
 feared no longer for her mind. All the more, per- 
 haps, was the sense of personal loss heavy upon him, 
 as he stood in the freshness of the June morning, 
 watching the closed carriage that contained Isabel, 
 her maid, and family doctor drive away from the 
 wharf. Henceforth, he knew that he must learn 
 to stand outside her life, though even yet he did 
 not realise how thorough their separation must be. 
 Those long, quiet days of shared anxiety and com- 
 panionship had made them too much and too little 
 for the continuance of an ordinary friendship. He 
 knew that his wisest course would have been to start 
 at once on a visit to his mother, but he could not 
 tear himself away before the child's funeral, which 
 Isabel was not able to attend. 
 
 126
 
 SEPARATE PATHS 
 
 He hung on the words of the family doctor, who 
 talked of prostration against which a strong phy- 
 sique was righting. 
 
 " Splendid type, splendid type! Wish there were 
 more American women like her," the old man said, 
 rubbing his hands. 
 
 A week passed, a week during which Gilbert 
 received the handsome cheque for his services, 
 which, to his fancy, seemed to put him at a still 
 farther distance. Then, his sense of loss prevailing 
 over sterner wisdom, he wrote her a note, asking 
 if he might see her before going to his mother 
 in Canada. 
 
 The answer contained only a few words, saying 
 that she would see him the next day. 
 
 The afternoon heat lay heavily upon the city 
 street, but could not reach the cool, shaded room, 
 that he remembered so well in the winter twilight, 
 the early spring sunshine. 
 
 There was no scent of flowers there now, and 
 no sunshine; only the soft light from the creamy 
 silk blinds seemed in pity to encompass the tall 
 black figure that rose to receive him. 
 
 Something choked him as he looked into the 
 woe-ravaged face, as he held the thin hand in his, 
 but, when she spoke, he knew that there was upon 
 her a force of self-repression that he must not dis- 
 turb, and that no words of sympathy were to be 
 spoken. 
 
 " You are going away? " she asked, almost care- 
 lessly. 
 
 " Only for a week or two, but I thought that 
 you might be out of town when I return. You are 
 not going to stay on here?" 
 
 127
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 " No, I am not going to stay on here," she an- 
 swered, with a little smile, then, as though trying 
 to show an interest in his affairs : " You are going 
 to see your mother about the legacy, are you not ? " 
 
 " I suppose so," he answered, chilled by her 
 manner. 
 
 " And where is Isaac's * Lady ' now ? " 
 
 " At the bank. Let us hope they are not aware 
 of her bad character," and he laughed, shortly. 
 
 He was amazed to see her wince at his words. 
 
 " Don't, please ! We, at least, have no reason to 
 scoff at her powers of bringing misfortune." 
 
 " Forgive me," he answered, with a quick com- 
 punction. 
 
 " Yes, I am to see Mr. Salmon, the famous col- 
 lector, to-morrow. I feel that I have a right to 
 find out the value of the thing, to get an idea as 
 to what connoisseurs think of it, before I see my 
 mother. That is all that I can do, for I may, after 
 all, find that there is some real reason against my 
 doing anything about the will." 
 
 " Don't be rash ! " she warned him. " Remem- 
 ber what I said about money." 
 
 " And you still say it ? " he asked, thinking only 
 of his own affairs, and with the masculine dislike 
 of hearing his ideal object give utterance to any 
 materialistic sentiment. The effect of his words 
 was alarming. For a moment he thought that she 
 had fainted, as she cowered back into the corner 
 among the cushions, hiding her face in her out- 
 stretched arms. 
 
 " What an idiotic brute I am ! " he ejaculated, 
 savagely, but unheeding him, she moaned: 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! I take back all that I said that 
 128
 
 day! Better to be a pauper, than to be crushed 
 by the weight of shameful wrong-doing, as I am 
 now." 
 
 He could not help it, he was on his knees beside 
 her, holding her hand in his, pouring out protes- 
 tations that never woman had acted with higher 
 or more unselfish devotion than she had done. 
 
 For a moment she did not interrupt him, and 
 then she drew her hand away, the movement recall- 
 ing him to himself. 
 
 " Forgive me! " he stammered, bitterly ashamed 
 of his want of self-control. 
 
 " I had better go," he added, as they stood facing 
 each other, and her whispered " yes " was hardly 
 audible. 
 
 " You will let me come when I return ; you will 
 not banish me for this?" he asked, desperately. 
 
 " I shall be gone," she said, softly. 
 
 "Gone?" 
 
 " Yes, I shall be gone before you return," she 
 repeated, with greater confidence. " I am letting the 
 house, going abroad somewhere; it doesn't much 
 matter where; back to the old artist haunts, most 
 likely. Perhaps I can work there ; perhaps, in time, 
 forget." 
 
 "Not everything?" he urged. 
 
 Her eyes met his with sorrowful steadiness. 
 
 " Yes, everything that I can. It is better so. 
 Now go, please." 
 
 He saw her waver, saw that he must be strong 
 for both, and, turning, left her. 
 
 129
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A CONNOISSEUR 
 
 ALTHOUGH Gilbert had been surprised at 
 Isabel's acknowledgment of superstitious 
 terrors, yet he recognised, with sardonic 
 amusement, a growing respect in his own mind 
 for " Our Lady of Wrath," a respect which would 
 certainly make him feel more comfortable if the 
 statue were disposed of to a church. 
 
 All the same it was with a pleasurable sense of 
 anticipation that he sat at the dinner-table of the 
 great collector, Mr. Salmon, awaiting their post- 
 prandial discussion. 
 
 Everything around him was, in its way, a work 
 of art; the glass on the table was old Venetian, 
 the centre ornaments were exquisitely chased silver 
 models of the craft of Spanish Armada. 
 
 The Renaissance was the watchword of Mr. 
 Salmon's life, and although he handled his art 
 treasures as profitably as other men do their stocks 
 and shares, yet he always kept the very choicest of 
 them around him to minister to his daily pleasure. 
 The power to do this was one of the joys which his 
 wealth had brought him. 
 
 Another, was the statuesque young wife, of the 
 best blond Jewish type, who sat, in serene and beau- 
 
 130
 
 A CONNOISSEUR 
 
 tiful stolidity, at the head of his table, dressed in 
 a Parisian adaptation of the costume of one of 
 Titian's Doges' wives. 
 
 Glancing from her to the bloodless-looking, vol- 
 uble man of sixty, Gilbert's wonder was aroused by 
 the couple. 
 
 However, after she had left the table, he saw 
 his hostess no more, but was taken to smoke in a 
 wonderful room, part library, part museum, and 
 perfect in every detail. 
 
 On a black wooden stand of Venetian carving, 
 under the golden glow of an electric light in the 
 semblance of an apple, stood the silver statue, and 
 Gilbert was conscious of a proud sense of proprie- 
 torship as, for the first time, he saw the work of 
 art to full advantage. 
 
 As for Mr. Salmon, seating himself in a deep 
 arm-chair before it, he contemplated it with an air 
 of devout absorption. 
 
 "Wonderful! Wonderful!" he murmured. 
 " There is something in the workmanship that 
 recalls a St. John the Baptist of Donatello's, in 
 Florence. Could it be possible but no, a work 
 of that value, lost in those times in Florence, would 
 have been heard of down to the present day." 
 
 Apparently inspired with a new idea, he leaned 
 forward to fix, with a powerful glass, the wrought 
 bordering to the robe that was set with the emeralds. 
 
 " I thought so," he said to himself, then turning 
 sharply upon Gilbert : " Young man, those stones 
 were put in afterwards by an inferior craftsman. 
 The work is quite roughly done. You say that the 
 statue came from South America? Well, it is prob- 
 able that this masterpiece has been taken out there 
 
 131
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 from Spain or Italy, and subsequently had the jew- 
 els added by an ordinary silversmith. What do 
 you say to that? " 
 
 " I say that it is quite probable, but that you must 
 have great technical knowledge to be so sure of 
 it," was the answer that brought a pleased flicker 
 to the sharp eyes. 
 
 " So-so, only so-so. Life is short at the best. 
 But, if I understood you right, you have not quite 
 decided to sell this statue?" 
 
 " To tell you the truth, I have hardly had time 
 to decide on anything since I obtained possession 
 of it. It seems that there are all sorts of old tales 
 as to its powers of bringing down misfortune upon 
 any one who treats it disrespectfully, and you 
 may laugh, but I have seen such strange things 
 happen lately that I almost feel as though I should 
 like to hedge with Providence, and sell it to some 
 devout millionaire who wished to make an offering 
 to the church." 
 
 ' There are not many people who would care 
 to make an offering of that value to a church," the 
 older man said, with so inscrutable an air that Gil- 
 bert was puzzled as to whether he really wished 
 to become its purchaser or not. 
 
 This respectful mention of its value sent a pleas- 
 ant stir through his pulses, as he asked : " Have you 
 any definite idea, then, as to what it is worth ? " 
 
 The answer came direct enough. " Well, that 
 I could hardly say, until the stones have been seen 
 by a first-class jewel merchant; however, what I 
 can say is that, if the stones are guaranteed as of 
 average quality, I would unhesitatingly offer you 
 fifty thousand dollars." 
 
 132
 
 A CONNOISSEUR 
 
 Fifty thousand dollars! The words sounded like 
 untold riches to the man who had worked so hard 
 for hundreds. 
 
 He was roused from his day-dream by the sharp 
 question, and the sharper accompanying glance. 
 
 " I suppose in that case you can give me the 
 facts as to w r here the statue came from, and 
 through whose hands it has passed?" 
 
 A sudden sense of shame came unexpectedly to 
 Gilbert, but he knew that the truth was the only 
 possible thing. 
 
 " The whole thing sounds so like a penny-dread- 
 ful, that I shouldn't be surprised if you doubted 
 the story, but as far as I know, it was brought 
 from a privateering cruise on the Spanish Main by 
 my grandfather more than seventy-five years ago, 
 and was hidden by him in a garret chimney of an 
 old farmhouse on the Nova Scotian coast. He 
 died a rich and very old man, leaving this farmhouse 
 and its contents to me. I visited the place for the 
 first time this summer, and had hints from an old 
 sailor that he believed there to be hidden hoards 
 about. After all, though, it was quite accidentally, 
 in a rainy day's exploring to amuse a lady and child, 
 that we came upon this statue, and the picture 
 that I told you of. It all sounds improbable 
 enough, I must confess," he ended with. 
 
 " Yes, it does," the older man frankly agreed. 
 " And yet, if anything of that rarity and value had 
 been lost from any church or museum in Europe 
 within the last twenty-five years, I should have 
 known of it." 
 
 Gilbert flushed vividly. " You do not mean " 
 he began. 
 
 133
 
 " I do not mean anything save a few business- 
 like inquiries," was the soothing answer. " How- 
 ard Glenn's letter would make me trust you 
 through any improbable stories. But it is a habit 
 of mine to get at all possible details in every trans- 
 action, a habit that has stood me in good stead be- 
 fore now." 
 
 " Very well," Gilbert said, swallowing his pride 
 with an effort. " Here is the address of the lawyer 
 in Bridge water, Nova Scotia, who can corroborate 
 what I have said about my right to it and the farm." 
 
 " That's all right," said Mr. Salmon, all the same 
 pocketing the address. " But now tell me, if we 
 should come to a bargain, should I have your leave 
 to publish this story? If I buy this statue, I mean 
 to keep it for my own collection, and half its value 
 would be lost to me unless its history were in my 
 catalogue." 
 
 For a moment Gilbert weighed this new question 
 in silence before he spoke. " In any case, I should 
 always prefer that the names should be kept back 
 from the public, but I can settle nothing until I have 
 been to Canada and seen some of my family. Until 
 I return, at any rate, I should wish nothing said 
 about the whole affair." 
 
 " You may trust me for that. We collectors do 
 not gossip about our bargains beforehand. But, 
 if you like, you can leave the statue in my strong- 
 room, and I will have it valued for you." 
 
 To this the other was glad to agree, and so they 
 parted in amity. 
 
 The next morning Gilbert started for the small 
 town in Ontario, where his mother lived. 
 
 A smiling little town it was, in that fertile penin- 
 134
 
 A CONNOISSEUR 
 
 sula of the Niagara district where Canada assumes 
 its most southern aspect. Shady streets and bowery 
 gardens surrounded the tidy houses, each set in 
 its own grass-plot. 
 
 It was all so trim and bright in its midsummer 
 glow, and yet Gilbert had a half-amused, half-bitter 
 consciousness of the old chill creeping over him, 
 as he paused in front of a prim little brick house, 
 evidently of greater age than its Queen Anne neigh- 
 bours. 
 
 This chill had, from his earliest childhood, ac- 
 companied him into the presence of his mother. 
 
 He found her, seated in a carefully shaded room 
 in the same old, rigid arm-chair, with the same 
 old, rigid aspect. She was sewing he had never 
 seen her knit, and had always fancied that she con- 
 sidered it too soothing an occupation holding 
 an uncompromising-looking white garment, into 
 which she was working buttonholes. 
 
 Scarcely was the perfunctory kiss and greeting 
 passed between them, than Gilbert thought that he 
 felt an extra chill of disapproval in her manner. 
 
 " And how is Cynthia ? " he asked, Cynthia being 
 the young girl whom his mother had brought up. 
 
 " Cynthia is well. I believe that she is picking 
 peas in the garden." 
 
 "As devoted to her garden as ever?" 
 
 " Yes, she persisted in her idea of growing flow- 
 ers and fruit for sale, and, I must acknowledge, has 
 done well. Still, I can see no necessity for it, and, 
 if she would only have taken up the church work 
 that I was forced to relinquish, she would have had 
 plenty to occupy her." 
 
 " Oh, well, I dare say that she likes to feel she 
 135
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 earns her pocket-money," he said, carelessly. He 
 had always had a kindly liking for the girl, but 
 at present his own affairs were of chief interest 
 to him. The cold blue eyes had been watching 
 him narrowly, and had read his preoccupation, and 
 the old woman went straight to the point. 
 
 " And so you have accepted your grandfather's 
 legacy?" she said, brusquely. 
 
 Gilbert answered in a tone of studied impas- 
 siveness. 
 
 " One can scarcely call that tumble-down, old 
 house much of a legacy, but I took it on account 
 of the papers that went with it. I felt that I must 
 know their contents." 
 
 A keen interest showed for a moment in her face, 
 and was immediately repressed. " One step at a 
 time; first the farm, and then this image that you 
 wrote of. After that, there will be some other will- 
 o'-the-wisp to lure you on." 
 
 " Mother," he began, more earnestly, " you have 
 not asked what those papers were." 
 
 "Why should I ask? Cannot I tell that it is 
 something to entice you away from the path of 
 duty ? " was her sombre answer. 
 
 " It is a will of my grandfather's, made the week 
 before he died, leaving me a third of his estate. 
 Isaac Neisner has had it in his possession ever 
 since." 
 
 It was but natural that he should feel a sense 
 of triumph in the announcement, but if he had ex- 
 pected to arouse even a show of surprise, he was 
 mistaken. 
 
 " I was right when I spoke of will-o'-the-wisps. 
 And you will follow this one? " she asked, gloomily. 
 
 136
 
 A CONNOISSEUR 
 
 " I certainly shall, unless you can show me good 
 reason to the contrary," he asserted, his resolution 
 crystallising with his words. His mother leaned 
 forward, her hands clasped over her sewing. 
 
 " And you promise to abide by that reason ? " 
 
 " How can I, until I am in a position to judge 
 it? Mother, don't let us be in an antagonistic atti- 
 tude now. I might, on my part, complain of the 
 mystery you had created in our affairs, but all I 
 ask now is to hear from you the whole story of our 
 family. I have refused to sell the image without 
 knowing it." 
 
 Some softening influence did seem to touch her. 
 
 " Your father and I thought to save you from 
 temptation." she said, more gently. 
 
 Unwilling to say that he felt they had wronged 
 him, Gilbert repeated : " I say that I will not blame 
 you for that, if only you will tell me what concerns 
 me so deeply now? " 
 
 " Very well, you shall have it," she agreed, dryly, 
 and, during the hours that followed, Gilbert heard 
 for the first time his family history. 
 
 137
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 IN THE DAYS OF HER YOUTH 
 
 SUSAN BAUER'S girlhood had been spent at 
 the old home on the La Have River, and a 
 dull and laborious girlhood it had been. 
 
 Her mother was a fretful invalid, aged before 
 her time by hard work, and the bearing and loss 
 of children. Susan had been the only one of the 
 family who had lived to grow up, and her mother 
 would have liked to have seen her in the enjoyment 
 of some of the little fineries and pleasures of the 
 other girls of the neighbourhood. 
 
 But the determined miserliness of Jonathan Bauer 
 had isolated them from the life of the countryside, 
 so that, at last, Mrs. Bauer, ashamed of her shabby 
 garments, ceased to appear even at church gather- 
 ings. 
 
 To these, however, Susan clung with a pertinacity 
 which she inherited from her German in local 
 parlance, Dutch ancestry. 
 
 They were both simple, conscientious women, 
 and, believing in the necessity for this strenuous 
 economy, they toiled early and late, asking for no 
 pleasures or change. 
 
 The only change came to them in the periodic 
 138
 
 IN THE DAYS OF HER YOUTH 
 
 absences of the head of the house, when they silently 
 relaxed into more restful ways. 
 
 Susan was not more than eighteen when her 
 mother died, and her life became truly solitary. 
 
 She worked on as before, occasionally shedding 
 furtive tears over her work, and singing a more 
 mournful type of hymn. She also went less to the 
 Lutheran services, and, when her father was away, 
 went as much as possible to a Presbyterian church, 
 presided over by a dyspeptic-looking young divine, 
 whose views as to the eternal arrangements of the 
 universe were as gloomy as his own appearance. 
 
 She would sometimes, on Saturdays, lock up the 
 house, and spend the Sunday with an old lady 
 cousin, who lived much nearer this church. 
 
 Little as Susan saw of the outside world, she had, 
 during these Sunday visits, heard things said which 
 began to make her wonder if her father were, if 
 not a rich man, at any rate, not a poor one. Even 
 in her mystical, unworldly nature the thought that 
 hers and her mother's lives had been rendered un- 
 necessarily sordid was beginning to arouse a dull 
 resentment. 
 
 She would look down in church at her toil-hard- 
 ened hands and shabby black dress, and pray that 
 she might be given strength to honour her father. 
 
 It was a little more than a year after Mrs. Bauer's 
 death, when her father returned from a cruise of 
 several months in an unwontedly good humour. 
 So comprehensive had this good humour seemed 
 that she had ventured, after their tea, to harness 
 the old white horse and drive up to the weekly 
 prayer-meeting. 
 
 On her return she had slipped in quietly from 
 139
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 the barn, and, going up-stairs, sat at her window 
 in the dark to live again the pleasure she had ex- 
 perienced in the sound of Mr. Clinch's deep tones, 
 and the exalted sentiments they had aroused in her 
 heart. 
 
 She heard the voices of her father and of the 
 mate of one of his vessels, a man whom she in- 
 stinctively disliked, as they talked just below her 
 on the steps, but she was too wrapt in these pleasant 
 thoughts of hers to heed their words. 
 
 Presently a fluttering, gray night-moth blundered 
 against her face, abruptly breaking the thread of her 
 devoutly sentimental meditations. Leaning out in 
 the darkness to brush away the moth, she was not 
 far above the heads of the two talkers. 
 
 " Well, the girl will be the gainer by all this 
 money of yours some day, I suppose. There's no 
 one else to have it, is there? " she heard the mate 
 say. 
 
 " No one, save myself, Reuben Stecker, and I 
 mean to have it for many a day yet, so you needn't 
 think you'll get any of it out of me by marrying 
 the girl, for you won't. Besides, what right have 
 you to be saying things like ' all this money of 
 yours ' out so loud ? There mayn't be so much as 
 you think." 
 
 The mate laughed unpleasantly. 
 
 " I don't think, I know. I know that you're 
 rolling up money every year, and other folks beside 
 me are beginning to guess it. Look here," and now 
 he did lower his voice, though it was still distinctly 
 audible to Susan, leaning out overhead. " Have 
 you ever thought what would happen if that affair 
 
 140
 
 IN THE DAYS OF HER YOUTH 
 
 of ours at Mobile last spring were to get blown 
 upon? Have you seen last week's Citizen?" 
 
 " No, what do you mean ? " and through the 
 gruffness of the question, there was an evident echo 
 of fear. 
 
 " Well, here's something I cut out of it for your 
 benefit, and, when you've read it, you just tell me 
 if it doesn't mean us?" 
 
 Something was muttered that sounded like an 
 oath, and, peering anxiously down, Susan could see 
 by the light of a match which the mate had struck, 
 that he was handing a strip of newspaper to her 
 father. 
 
 Afraid of being discovered, she hastily drew in 
 her head, but all the same she heard her father say : 
 
 " Do you think me a bat to be able to read in 
 the dark? Here, come inside, and we'll get a light." 
 
 Susan knew that her father would light the lamp 
 himself rather than bring her upon the scene, and 
 so sat still, cowering under some new, undefined 
 fear in the darkness. She had never loved her 
 father ; in fact, that would have been about as possi- 
 ble as the love of a meek barn-yard chicken for the 
 vigorous old eagle soaring above, but she had been 
 accustomed to look upon him as fulfilling the local 
 ideal of respectability, working hard at his busi- 
 ness all the week, sitting in a shiny black coat in the 
 Lutheran church on Sundays, never being known to 
 drink or play cards. 
 
 Now this hint of surreptitious riches, and of local 
 gossip over the same, brought the first disquieting 
 thought that these absences of her father's might 
 be the cloak to many an outside element in his life. 
 
 Her very incapacity to understand his character 
 141
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 or circumstances added to this terror of unknown 
 forces in her narrow life. 
 
 " Oh, if only mother had lived ! " she moaned to 
 herself under her breath. 
 
 For an hour or more, the light streamed out from 
 the down-stairs window, and the insistent murmur 
 of low voices went on, while Susan sat in the dark- 
 ness, a prey to undefined fears. 
 
 At last, the dread that her father might discover 
 that she was still undressed drove her to bed, and 
 to troubled snatches of sleep. 
 
 Used to early rising as she was, it was half an 
 hour earlier than usual when she was astir the next 
 morning. 
 
 She had not enough self -consciousness to look 
 pitifully at her own pale face and heavy eyes in 
 the glass, as would a more modern young woman; 
 she only brushed and twisted up her smooth, abun- 
 dant masses of flaxen hair into as tight a knot as 
 possible, donned her black-and-white print, and 
 went down. The house, like most of those belong- 
 ing to the German settlers, was kept immaculately 
 clean, and her trained housewife's eyes caught sight, 
 at once, of a scrap of paper lying at the foot of the 
 stairs. 
 
 As she picked it up, and saw that it was a cutting 
 from a newspaper, the whole of the last night's 
 overheard talk flashed back upon her, and she trem- 
 bled all over as she went, with it in her hand, 
 into the kitchen behind the house. 
 
 She sat down in an old wooden rocking-chair, 
 holding but not looking at the paper, which she 
 knew contained the solution of the mystery; her 
 precise conscientiousness still making her hesitate 
 
 142
 
 IN THE DAYS OF HER YOUTH 
 
 before anything which seemed like prying into her 
 father's affairs. 
 
 But the recollection of her own name in the con- 
 versation drove away her scruples. She felt that 
 she had, at any rate, a right to protect herself from 
 that hateful mate, with his bold eyes and half-for- 
 eign tricks. 
 
 The cutting had evidently been an extract from 
 a Boston paper, and told, with great apparent in- 
 dignation, of a strange outbreak of unlawful slave- 
 trading which had recently come to light in the 
 Southern States. The boldest and most successful 
 of these lawbreakers had been a Nova Scotian cap- 
 tain and ship-owner, who had, in the preceding 
 spring, brought a cargo of healthy young negroes 
 from the Congo to Mobile, and thence up to a lonely 
 plantation, where they were landed and sold at large 
 prices. 
 
 By the time the story was known, the schooner 
 and her captain were far at sea, but the paper de- 
 manded that the repetition of such an outrage 
 should be made impossible. 
 
 No American of the 5o's could look upon slavery 
 with eyes of the present day, but still, Susan had 
 lately heard a lecture delivered by Mr. Clinch on 
 the horrors of slavery, and her soul had burned 
 within her as she listened. Mr. Clinch had, like 
 so many Canadians, been partly educated in Boston, 
 where he had come under the noble influence of 
 some of the abolitionists of the day, and listened 
 to details of the grim horror that they were fighting. 
 
 Her father one of those people held up to moral 
 scorn as a slave-trader! Her father a man who 
 hid his ill-gotten gains away from the light of day. 
 
 143
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 grudging her dead mother every alleviation for her 
 failing health! 
 
 If Susan had not been so wretched, she would 
 almost have wondered at the coldly combative 
 strength that awoke in her. It was so new to her 
 to feel anything save meek submission toward the 
 father who ruled her life. She did not yet under- 
 stand that, not being a woman who would ever think 
 for herself, it was merely a transference of alle- 
 giance, and that from henceforth the words " Mr. 
 Clinch said " would take the place in her life that 
 " father said " had hitherto done. 
 
 However, even now she extracted her first grains 
 of comfort from the thought that she would consult 
 Mr. Clinch as to what it was her duty to do, for 
 the idea had never come to her that life could move 
 on exactly the same lines as before. 
 
 Although she could not have defined it clearly, 
 she knew that something familiar was ended, and 
 something strange was about to take its place. As 
 she rose to open the house-door, the sea fog came 
 in gray and cold, and she shivered, and hastened 
 to light the kitchen fire. 
 
 Presently she heard her father's heavy step over- 
 head, but, when it sounded on the stairs, she no- 
 ticed that it was lingering, and, taking a surrep- 
 titious peep into the passage, she saw that he was 
 peering about into corners, as though in search of 
 something. 
 
 Instinctively her hand went into her pocket to 
 feel that the slip of paper was safely there. 
 
 144
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A NEW ALLEGIANCE 
 
 AS her father came into the kitchen, where 
 they still ate their meals, she felt that her 
 heart was beating faster, and that her face 
 was pale. 
 
 However, Jonathan Bauer had never been in the 
 habit of studying the looks of his women-folk, and, 
 to her great relief, she knew from the first sound 
 of his voice that his humour was still set fair. 
 
 " Coffee smells good," he said, rubbing his hands. 
 " Must say you're not a bad housewife, as girls 
 go. There, as I didn't bring you a present, there's 
 a pound for you " shillings and pounds were still 
 words in use in the Provinces of the 50*5 " to 
 buy something smart next time you go to Bridge- 
 water. But be careful of it, be careful of it, for 
 observe, my girl, that it sometimes takes long to 
 earn a pound," and his grudging fingers hovered 
 claw-like around the note that he gave into her 
 hand. 
 
 Susan stared in silent amazement at such an un- 
 expected apparition, then, with a sudden movement, 
 she thrust the note back into his hand, and locked 
 her own together firmly. 
 
 145
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 " I don't want it, thank you, father," she said, 
 the unexplained tears coming into her eyes. " I've 
 got my black merino fresh for Sundays, and I don't 
 need no more." 
 
 With the speed of a conjuring trick, the note 
 disappeared in her father's grasp. 
 
 " Well, well, I dessay you don't really need it," 
 he agreed, with an unmistakable air 01* relief. 
 
 Susan's heart was now hammering so that she 
 hardly heard his words, but under her fright, her 
 newly founded courage held firmly. 
 
 " Father," she gasped, " I heard that they're 
 wanting a school-teacher at New Germany, and I 
 thought that if you'd let me go, I'd like to try it." 
 
 The effect of her words was not reassuring. 
 The bushy gray eyebrows drew together, and the 
 steel-like eyes were fixed on her face. 
 
 " What do you want that for ? " was the explo- 
 sive question. 
 
 Her answer came breathlessly. 
 
 " It's so lonely here now, and the housework is 
 hard. I could earn my living easier there, anyway." 
 
 He laughed with what, if she had had her wits 
 about her, she might have noticed as a growing 
 uneasiness. 
 
 " And have a fine time with the young men, 
 hey? But that's all stuff and nonsense. What's 
 to become of me, I'd like to know, with no one to 
 cook or mend for me? There ain't no need either 
 for you to earn your living. I made a good profit 
 on the fish on the last voyage out, and the rum and 
 molasses sold well, too. If you're lonely, you can 
 have a girl to help you in the kitchen ; a Dutch girl 
 who'll work hard and not expect meat too often. 
 
 146
 
 A NEW ALLEGIANCE 
 
 There, that ought to content ye, and keep you from 
 talking any more nonsense yet awhile." 
 
 There was a rough kindness in his voice to which 
 the girl's obstinate fright made her quite impervious. 
 
 As her father stood, waiting for some assent to 
 his words, she drew from her pocket her shabby, 
 empty purse, .-and thrust the newspaper clipping 
 into his hands. 
 
 " I found that on the stairs just now. Will you 
 tell me that that ain't the way you got rich? " she 
 gasped, while her father stared at it in bewilder- 
 ment. 
 
 A sudden flare of wrath seemed to raise the heavy 
 gray locks, and bristle the eyebrows, so that he 
 looked like a clamouring eagle as he shouted 
 hoarsely: " What damned tomfoolery is this? Go, 
 and mind your work, and have no more talking! 
 That's what comes of being kind to women ! Who 
 told you I got rich, anyway ? If I find it's that sneak- 
 ing parson as brings you gossip, I'll soon put a stop 
 to your churchgoing. 'Spose he thinks if I'm rich 
 he'd like to get a share of it, but he won't." 
 
 Susan, shaking under this torrent of speech, felt 
 as though her knees would give way beneath her, 
 but that new force within her held firm. 
 
 " Father, if you'll only say that you never made 
 money out of poor wretched slaves, I'll work at 
 home, all you like," she pleaded, even venturing 
 to lay a timid hand upon his arm. 
 
 But she had gone too far, and aroused his wrath 
 in earnest. 
 
 With a grim oath, he struck her down with his 
 clenched fist, and strode away. When Susan pres- 
 ently picked herself up, dizzy and bewildered from 
 
 147
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 her fall, she found with a sense of relief that she 
 was alone. 
 
 In years of drudgery, she had acquired the fine 
 stoicism of the working-woman, and, with aching 
 head and trembling hands, now set about making 
 herself a cup of tea. 
 
 " He hasn't had a mouthful of breakfast," she 
 said to herself, with a certain sense of guilt at such 
 an untoward event. 
 
 Mechanically she got through her morning's 
 tasks, with the ever-present dread of her father's 
 return. 
 
 When once these tasks were finished, she peered 
 out timidly at front door and back, then, seeing no 
 sign of life, she ventured more boldly on a tour 
 of inspection in the barn. Satisfied that her father 
 was nowhere about the premises, she went up to 
 her room, and put on her Sunday dress and hat, 
 poor, shabby black things, but treated by her 
 with all ceremony. 
 
 After this it was a simple matter to her to har- 
 ness the old white horse into the still older buggy, 
 lock up the house, leaving the key in its familiar 
 nook under the door-step, and take the inland road. 
 
 Her mind was made up. She must see Mr. 
 Clinch and get his advice on the next step to be 
 taken. 
 
 It often happens that to those of resolute mood 
 details lend a helping hand. So now, as Susan 
 and the white horse jogged despondently through 
 the raw damp of the autumn morning, she saw 
 what brought back courage and animation. It was 
 only Mr. Clinch's gaunt sorrel tied up outside the 
 door of the new church that was a recent offshoot 
 
 148
 
 A NEW ALLEGIANCE 
 
 from the one in Bridgewater, but the sight made 
 her pull herself upright from the tired droop into 
 which she had fallen, made her face lose its weary 
 downward curves and pallor. She felt sure of help 
 now. 
 
 A somewhat strange-looking figure, this gaunt, 
 stiffly dressed parson, of about thirty-five, to be the 
 knight errant of a young girl's fancy, and yet, in 
 his own conventional, narrow way, there was a 
 spark of true knight-errantry in the man's heart, 
 as, busied over accounts in the vestry, he looked 
 up at the sound of a footstep and saw Susan Bauer's 
 tremulous figure, pathetic in its poor clothes, and 
 her distressed face, its blonde colouring all blurred 
 by fatigue and pain. There was no pretence at 
 an ordinary greeting between them. 
 
 "What is it?" he said, moving quickly toward 
 her, and taking her appealing hands in his. " I 
 can see that you are in trouble." 
 
 As their gaze met, the blue eyes filled with tears, 
 which rolled silently down her cheeks, and, all 
 the stiffness and constraint of her shyness gone, 
 a certain charm of youth made itself evident. 
 
 For some time Mr. Clinch had been thinking 
 that she would make him a suitably devoted wife, 
 and this moment settled the question in his mind. 
 
 " You are tired and agitated. Take this seat 
 and try to tell me what is the matter." 
 
 As Susan stilled the one or two sobs that had 
 broken out, and looked up at him obediently, a 
 sudden thought checked her. 
 
 It was all very well to tell her own sorrows to 
 Mr. Clinch, but to tell of her father's sin was 
 another matter. The paragraph from the paper 
 
 149
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 had distinctly spoken of broken laws, and the pen- 
 alty what if through any words of hers her father 
 should be brought to punishment? 
 
 " It is about some one else, too," she faltered, 
 " some one who has done wrong, but, oh, who I 
 wouldn't do harm to." 
 
 He saw her point now, and hastened to reassure 
 her, speaking solemnly. 
 
 "If you have sin and sorrow to tell me of, you 
 tell it to me in confidence before God. You can 
 trust in me, surely." 
 
 " Oh, I do, I do," she repeated, shocked by any 
 doubt on such a point. 
 
 Then it was that Susan told her tale, sometimes 
 in confused, disconnected phrases, helped out by 
 discreet questions from her hearer, sometimes with 
 the feverish fluency of unconscious feeling. 
 
 When at the end she faltered over the telling 
 of the blow that had struck her down, an indignant 
 pity lightened the austerity of Mr. Clinch's face, 
 and he murmured, gently : 
 
 ' Though my father and my mother forsake me, 
 the Lord will take me up.' ' 
 
 There was a pause while he sat wrapped in deep 
 thought, the girl watching him intently; then, as 
 he looked up and their eyes met, her appeal took 
 shape in words. 
 
 " Oh, please tell me what I ought to do; I have 
 no one but you to go to." 
 
 Gravely, measuredly, his answer came: 
 
 " It seems to me that your own sense of duty 
 has already marked out your path, when you asked 
 your father's leave to earn your living as a school- 
 teacher. You cannot take the wages of sin." 
 
 150
 
 A NEW ALLEGIANCE 
 
 " No, oh, no. But need I go home again ? " 
 she asked, nervously. 
 
 What man with a heart in his breast could have 
 sent the trembling girl back to face her father again? 
 
 Mr. Clinch, at any rate, could not. 
 
 "Considering that you have already asked his 
 permission, and that you are in fear of further 
 violence, I think that there would be no lack of 
 filial duty in your going to stay with some relative 
 or friend. I myself will take you to old Mrs. 
 Truman, who is a real mother in Israel, and from 
 there you can write and settle matters with your 
 father." 
 
 " Oh, how good you are ! " Susan sobbed, and the 
 stiff ministerial attitude was somewhat relaxed as 
 he took her hand in his. 
 
 " Believe me, you shall never want a friend while 
 I live," he began, and then, in the stilted phrases 
 that sounded beautiful in the girl's ears, he told 
 her how he had been watching the gradual unfolding 
 of her Christian virtues, and deciding that she would 
 be a worthy helpmate in his parochial work. 
 
 If St. Peter had suddenly flung open the golden 
 gates, and asked her to take a seat of honour within 
 them, Susan could scarcely have been more over- 
 whelmed at the prospect. To be a minister's wife, 
 to be Mr. Clinch's wife, to see to his comfort, and 
 help him humbly in his work, what could the heart 
 of woman ask more than that? 
 
 There was so little uncertainty in either mind as 
 to her answer that I doubt if any answer were really 
 given ; but, at any rate, both man and woman were 
 thoroughly content with each other, and, from that 
 day forth, were mutually loyal in word and deed. 
 
 151
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 For the next few weeks all outward details seemed 
 vague and unreal to Susan beside the great central 
 fact that Mr. Clinch thought her worthy to become 
 his wife. Her stay with her kindly, widowed cousin, 
 her carefully planned letter to her father, which 
 brought no other reply than her little box of clothes, 
 were merely part of these details, and on the day 
 that she stood in Mrs. Truman's best parlour beside 
 Mr. Clinch, the past fell away from her and she 
 was in fact as in name a new creature, Roger 
 Clinch's wife. 
 
 With utter unworldliness the two gave no further 
 thought to Jonathan Bauer's money. " He is joined 
 to his idols like Ephraim let him alone," said the 
 minister, sternly. 
 
 But if either of them had had the faintest com- 
 prehension of the old man's character, they would, 
 instead of settling down in a cottage in Bridgewater, 
 have gone to make a new home for themselves else- 
 where. From the day of his marriage, Mr. Clinch 
 found himself perpetually, and in the most unlikely 
 places, striking against some adverse influence. 
 
 Here and there, impalpable but very real, it met 
 him as an opposing force, chilling a friendly greet- 
 ing, spreading an unfair version of some transaction, 
 hinting at Susan's unfilial behaviour. 
 
 Mr. Clinch was of too reserved a nature to be 
 able to trace and beard this antagonistic force, 
 though even he could see that it came from the 
 seafaring element of the place. 
 
 A clergyman and a doctor cannot fight against 
 unpopularity, and at last a friendly deacon came to 
 Mr. Clinch and gave him a word of warning : 
 
 " The whole countryside could tell you that Jona- 
 152
 
 A NEW ALLEGIANCE 
 
 than Bauer is an ill man to cross. You've crossed 
 him, and you'll never prosper in this place while he 
 lives. If you take my advice, you'll look round 
 for a start elsewhere." 
 
 Mr. Clinch was shrewd enough to see the wisdom 
 of the man's words. Without saying anything to 
 Susan, who had just lost her first child, he wrote to 
 friends, with the result that in a few months they 
 went to make their home in what seemed then the 
 very remote regions of Ontario. 
 
 Here they had days of poverty, of sorrow in the 
 loss of children, but they faced life with the stern 
 fortitude of their religion. 
 
 153
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 CLASHING WILLS 
 
 AND that was all we heard of my father for 
 many a day, for postage cost something in 
 those times, and people didn't write gossip- 
 ing letters just for nothing," the old lady said. " At 
 last many a year after, came the lawyer's letter 
 telling of his death and of the legacy to me of the 
 old home. He must have guessed that I'd refuse it, 
 for if I did, you were to have the choice when you 
 came of age. It was a short time before your father 
 died, but his faith in me never faltered, and he was 
 as firm as ever against taking the wages of sin. 
 And so we wrote and said we would not take it, 
 and one of your father's dying charges to me was to 
 save you from any part or lot in the evil thing." 
 
 Gilbert's was a nature that would have been quick 
 to mark the pathos of the old woman's life story, 
 that life dominated by a single affection and a single 
 purpose, but now in his present humour, he chose 
 only to see the hardness of self-righteous judgment, 
 shutting his eyes to the courageous unworldliness. 
 
 " And when I was twenty-one, and the lawyer 
 wrote again, you told him that you knew nothing 
 of my whereabouts, but that I intended refusing the 
 legacy? " he asked, quietly. 
 
 154
 
 CLASHING WILLS 
 
 Quiet as were the words, his mother was quick to 
 feel that they were out of sympathy with her, and 
 she chilled responsively. The rare expansiveness 
 of a reserved nature is easily driven in on itself. 
 Through all the days of her widowhood, the princi- 
 pal event to which Mrs. Clinch had looked forward 
 had been the telling of her life history to her son, 
 and now he had no word of sympathy to give her. 
 His thoughts were, it seemed to her, merely set on 
 his own selfish gain. 
 
 She would not understand the irritation with 
 which a warm-hearted nature finds that it has been 
 kept outside the real life of those nearest to it; she 
 could not see that Gilbert felt that he had been 
 defrauded of something that went to the making 
 of his own identity in the interweaving of family 
 tradition with hereditary instincts. 
 
 For the first time now he understood what had 
 caused that blank that had always existed between 
 his mother and himself. She had from the first 
 put him outside the dominant influences of her life. 
 
 With an evident desire to justify herself, she 
 looked at him as she answered : 
 
 " It was that summer when you were camping in 
 the Adirondacks, and I did not know your address. 
 I had also every reason to feel that you would not 
 disregard your father's dying wishes." 
 
 At any other time, the subterfuge would have 
 amused him, but now he only commented, bitterly : 
 
 " Wishes which I never heard." 
 
 " Of that your father was the judge," she said, 
 proudly ; then with a sudden wistfulness, " And 
 now all our care to save you has come to nothing, 
 
 155
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 unless Gilbert, my boy, you will not disregard 
 your father's lifelong decision? " 
 
 For a moment the thin old hand rested on Gil- 
 bert's arm, but it was quickly withdrawn, as he 
 answered, steadily: 
 
 " Mother, I can promise nothing now. It is my 
 own life, and I must decide it on my own judgment." 
 
 " Then you blame us for having kept you in 
 ignorance?" she asked, the weakness of old age 
 sounding in her voice. 
 
 A sudden sense of pity distracted Gilbert's 
 thoughts, but he knew that to yield to it might 
 hamper his liberty of action, and so he said, with 
 all possible gentleness : 
 
 " I certainly think that it was an extreme meas- 
 ure, toward a grown-up son. But there is no use in 
 discussing that now. All I claim is full liberty for 
 the future." 
 
 " You will plunge yourself into the uncertainty 
 of a struggle over this new will ? " she asked, with 
 the subdued distress of the aged. 
 
 " Have I not said that I cannot tell you now, 
 mother ? " he said, with a little less patience. 
 
 " At least you will assure me that you will not sell 
 this stolen statue? " 
 
 " I do not know that it was stolen, and besides, 
 what should I do with it? Do you ask me to try 
 to return it now to the church it came from ? " 
 
 " That were to encourage idolatry," she answered, 
 with a puzzled air that somehow appealed to him, 
 for he laughed kindly as he said : 
 
 " You must not worry yourself so, mother. If 
 my grandfather had letters of marque, I can see 
 no reason why I should not sell anything that he 
 
 156
 
 CLASHING WILLS 
 
 took then. I ought to get enough from it to give 
 me a small income, and then I shall go and find out 
 about these unknown relations of ours and the will 
 upon which they acted. I shall be able too to add to 
 your comforts here." 
 
 But his mother's face had settled into its well- 
 remembered lines of sternness, and her voice re- 
 minded him of the sins of his youth, as she re- 
 sponded : 
 
 ' You have made the purpose of my life but a 
 vain thing, and would you mock at me now? Go, 
 and do not return to this house while that money 
 is in your hands. I hope to die with mine clean." 
 
 The sorrow in her voice touched him deeply, and 
 he knew that he could not leave her thus. 
 
 " Mother," he said, appealingly, " we cannot part 
 like this. Let me stay one more day with you, and 
 we will leave the whole question alone. I do not 
 think you will really send me away in anger." 
 
 He was right, she could not do it. 
 
 She yielded enough to say, " Of course you are 
 free to remain if you wish. Perhaps you would like 
 to go and find Cynthia." 
 
 As this seemed to supply a peaceful ending to 
 this trying interview, Gilbert willingly assented. 
 
 What contrast could be greater, he thought to 
 himself, than that between the colourless, shadowy 
 old woman in the shaded room where musty books, 
 dim portraits, and ornaments spoke of nothing save 
 the past, and this red-haired girl, standing amongst 
 the light green tangle of the rows of peas, the noon- 
 tide light enfolding her as though it knew her to be 
 a child of the sun. 
 
 The ready flush that goes with red hair spread 
 
 157
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 over her face at sight of Gilbert, but she reached 
 out a sunburnt hand, greeting him with frank gaiety. 
 
 " I should have been indoors in my best clothes 
 to receive you, if I hadn't got such a noble order 
 from the hotel for my late green peas. But I kept 
 some for you." 
 
 Relieved at the change of atmosphere, he answered 
 in the same fashion : 
 
 " Thank you for the peas, but I don't believe that 
 under any circumstances would you have been found 
 indoors in your best garments on such a day. My 
 mother evidently thinks your love for your garden 
 is a pagan sentiment." 
 
 " Yes, I know," with a half-comic glance of com- 
 punction. "I'm really sorry, you know, that I hate 
 fusty sick-rooms, and sewing for missions, and all 
 the things she likes best. I really used to try to 
 stand them, and then I found that they made me 
 bad, while out here in the garden I am, in a way, 
 good. And then you know," she went on, more 
 seriously, " it must be right that I should work and 
 earn money for myself, and this is the only thing 
 that I am not stupid at." 
 
 " It is right that you should work at the thing 
 that your nature teaches you to like. It is the one 
 safe road to walk in," he said, earnestly. " But I 
 do not want you to feel that you must earn money. 
 My mother's home is yours, and there will always be 
 enough for both." 
 
 As the girl maintained a cautious silence, a new 
 idea came to him. 
 
 " Tell me, Cynthia," he said, quickly, " does she 
 live comfortably, without stint, I mean ? " 
 
 158
 
 CLASHING WILLS 
 
 A half-smile as at the memory of privations cheer- 
 fully undergone, curved the girl's lips. 
 
 " She is very careful/' she admitted, " and in the 
 winter well, we go to bed pretty early." 
 
 A word of annoyance escaped Gilbert's lips. 
 " And she will take so little from me, always assur- 
 ing me that she has plenty. But look here! You 
 can do me a real service, if you will." 
 
 Would she ? What was there that Cynthia Joyce 
 would not have unhesitatingly done at the bidding 
 of Gilbert, the one companion of her dreams, on the 
 memory of whose brief visits she lived. 
 
 Utterly ignorant of this element, he went on : 
 " When I go to-morrow, I will leave some money 
 with you, and later on, I will send you some more. 
 Tell me, do you think that you could spend it on 
 some comforts for her without her knowledge?" 
 
 The girl shook her head dubiously. 
 
 " It wouldn't be easy when she was well," she 
 said. " She watches every cent. But then, if she 
 were sick she sometimes is sick, you know " 
 
 "Is she?" he asked sadly, looking away over 
 the fertile garden to the sunny fields. In that 
 moment his life seemed a very futile thing. He had 
 failed to help Isabel ; must he then fail to help this 
 other, with the closest claim upon him? 
 
 " Oh, I am sure that then it would make a dif- 
 ference," she comforted, quick to note his depres- 
 sion. 
 
 " And I am probably going away soon to travel," 
 he went on, never noting how at his words all the 
 gladness died out of her face. " And I want you to 
 promise to write to me once a month or so, telling 
 
 159
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 me how she really is, and if she needs anything. 
 That will set my mind more at ease." 
 
 " I will be sure to do it," the girl promised 
 simply, " and you may be certain that I will always 
 do my best for her." 
 
 " I know you will," he said, kindly. " One could 
 not know you as long as I have, without feeling 
 that one could trust anything to you." 
 
 The lightly spoken words were treasured in the 
 girl's heart through many a monotonous day after 
 Gilbert had gone out into the world again. 
 
 160
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 STARTING AFRESH 
 
 WHEN Gilbert got back to Boston he found 
 awaiting him a letter from the well- 
 known Colorado heiress, Miss McShane, 
 saying that she had heard through a friend of Mrs. 
 Broderick's, of his desire to sell a costly statue of 
 the Virgin. 
 
 She herself was planning to make a memorial 
 offering to a new Roman Catholic cathedral, and 
 would be glad to see him on the subject. 
 
 Inexpressibly touched by this proof of Isabel's 
 thought for him, and whimsically sharing her own 
 desire to see the statue safely deposited in a church. 
 Gilbert entered into negotiations with the lady, witli 
 the result that the statue became her property for 
 five thousand dollars less than Mr. Salmon was 
 spurred on to offer. 
 
 " And after that," he said to himself, as he con- 
 templated the cheque, " I can certainly never lay 
 claim to being an enlightened scientific man. Five 
 thousand dollars thrown away for a superstition 
 which I don't believe in, and the quaintest part of it 
 is that my mind is certainly easier for it." 
 
 The feelings of Mr. Salmon were soothed by his 
 becoming the possessor of the St. Lawrence, and 
 
 161
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 then, for the first time in his life, Gilbert knew 
 himself to be in possession of a small but secure 
 income independent of the work of his brain. 
 
 " I could even afford the luxury of an illness 
 now," he thought. 
 
 One of the conditions of both sales had been that 
 the name of the owner should not be made public. 
 Of course Miss McShane's magnificent gift became 
 one of the topics of the day. It was shown in New 
 York, for the benefit of a charity, before being sent 
 westward to its destination, and the papers were full 
 of the mystery of its origin, its artistic beauty, and 
 the intrinsic value of the jewels. More than one 
 hypothetical history of the adventures of the famous 
 Virgin did Gilbert read, histories which accounted 
 for every year during which he knew her to have 
 lain in the shadows of his grandfather's garret 
 chimney. 
 
 Sometimes indeed he had to join in speculations 
 on the subject, and when he heard every crime in 
 the calendar raked out to account for the possession 
 of the treasure, he felt heartsick of the whole affair. 
 
 A great longing to get away from all familiar 
 things grew upon him, but there was one thing that 
 he must first do. A lingering hope that, in spite of 
 Mrs. Broderick's words, he might still find her in 
 town, took him past her house. No, it was evidently 
 closed. 
 
 He sought her business man, with whom he had 
 had frequent communications. Yes, she had sailed 
 for Europe on the very day of his return, with 
 instructions that her address was to be given to 
 no one. But she was surely in a state requiring 
 companionship and care, Gilbert urged, wretchedly. 
 
 162
 
 STARTING AFRESH 
 
 The answer was that the Swedish nurse, who had 
 proved such a devoted attendant, was with her, and 
 that her physical strength seemed completely re- 
 stored. 
 
 " As clever and capable a business woman as 
 ever, but cold and hard it seemed as though all 
 feeling had been killed in her," ended the man, who 
 had been her personal friend for years. 
 
 " What next ? " Gilbert said to himself, as he 
 strolled away from this interview, with a depressed 
 purposelessness upon him. And then in the stale 
 heat of the city streets, he found himself thinking 
 of the westerly breezes on the La Have River; of 
 the sailboat where she had sat opposite to him; 
 of the sand-bar and the veranda with their memo- 
 ries. Should he go there alone and live over again 
 those spring days? But a second manlier thought 
 came to him. Instead of hugging the remnants of 
 a fruitless past, he would try to forget feeling in 
 work. He had the money now to take him abroad, 
 and he would go to Vienna, where some wonderful 
 experiments in his own line of study were being 
 carried on. In this impersonal work his mind would 
 recover its focus, and he would be able to see things 
 in their proper perspective, so that, when ready to 
 go to England, he could rely more upon his own 
 judgment as to his claims to his share of his grand- 
 father's estate. 
 
 There was one thing to be done first. He must 
 return to Nova Scotia, and gather some facts about 
 Jonathan Bauer after he became a prominent man. 
 and try to find out whether there seemed any founda- 
 tion for Isaac's strange tales of the foreign wife. 
 This surely could be no very difficult task in a small 
 
 163
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 provincial city, where tales of old families were 
 likely to be current for a longer space than twenty 
 years. 
 
 And so, it was with a well-defined purpose that 
 Gilbert ended one chapter of his life, and turned on 
 to the next. 
 
 He was not entirely without acquaintances in the 
 town where the tragic home-bringing of Andrew 
 Broderick had caused him to invoke both legal and 
 medical aid. 
 
 It was the jovial, talkative old doctor whom, as an 
 evident mine of past gossip, he chose to start, by 
 mention of the local La Have traditions on the his- 
 tory of the Bauer family. 
 
 " Told queer tales about old Jonathan Bauer, did 
 they?" the old gentleman chuckled. "Well, I 
 doubt if there's a saint in heaven that our country- 
 town loafers couldn't tell queer tales about if they 
 chose, especially when it's some one who got rich 
 by holding his tongue and working while they were 
 talking." 
 
 " But they called him a pirate," Gilbert put in. 
 
 The doctor gave his jolly laugh. "A pirate! Oh, 
 yes, I dare say they did ! There's no doubt that in 
 his young days the old man did a bit of privateering 
 on the Spanish Main, during some of those South 
 American wars. I've heard him myself tell some 
 funny tales of church plundering done then all 
 fair in war, you know, and he never made any secret 
 of it. But his real fortune and mind you it was 
 a big one was made during the Civil War, be- 
 cause, while all the rest of us were going wild over 
 the romantic Southerners, he had the sense to see 
 that the North must win in the end, and speculated 
 
 164
 
 STARTING AFRESH 
 
 accordingly in New York. Ah, if only Providence 
 had given me a head like his ! " and the doctor gave 
 a passing sigh to lost opportunities. 
 
 "His second wife was a foreigner, I believe?" 
 Gilbert ventured, and the tale was taken up with 
 all an old man's love of recalling the past. 
 
 " Yes, yes, a foreigner French West Indies 
 they said she came from. I was but a boy when I 
 saw her first, a pretty, black-eyed girl, looking more 
 like his daughter than his wife. Quaint, broken Eng- 
 lish she spoke, then, indeed, always, for the matter 
 of that. Ah, she was a dainty sight in the reds and 
 yellows she loved to wear, and I fancy she might 
 have done damage to some of us young fellows' 
 hearts, if old Bauer hadn't kept a pretty strict hand 
 on her." 
 
 " Did he? " Gilbert asked, idly, as though humour- 
 ing the doctor's talkativeness. 
 
 " Strict enough, though always in that grim, 
 humourous way he had, as though after all he had 
 the best of the joke. And he generally had, too! 
 But as he got old, and she lost her looks, and took 
 a sort of witchlike air, I've seen him watch her as 
 though he might be half afraid of her. I'm certain 
 that in his last illness he shrank from her." 
 
 The doctor was now speaking meditatively, as 
 though forgetful of his listener, and Gilbert's heart 
 beat faster at this corroboration of old Isaac's words. 
 
 " Were you with him when he died ? " he asked. 
 
 " I was his doctor, but I was not there at the 
 last. It was one of those cases of the last of an 
 iron constitution, when the patient might hang on 
 for weeks, or go out like a snuffed candle; and it 
 proved the latter. There was a great storm that 
 
 165
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 night, I remember, and when they fetched me to 
 the house, there was a big pine-tree fallen across 
 the door-step." 
 
 Gilbert saw that the speaker was under the spell 
 of the past, and forebore to distract him. To his 
 disappointment, however, the thread seemed to have 
 broken, and the doctor shook himself and spoke 
 more vigorously : 
 
 " But these are old tales to be bothering you with, 
 and all the family is gone from these parts now. 
 The son was dull and stupid, and married the dull 
 and stupid daughter of an army colonel with good 
 connections, and what with his money and her 
 family, they've managed to become swells in Eng- 
 land, bought a big place, and all that. I daresay 
 that their son or daughter may make a titled mar- 
 riage. And so, you see, even an out-of-the-way 
 corner like this has its share in the evolution of the 
 English aristocracy. There, I've surely bored you 
 enough for to-night." 
 
 There were endless more questions that Gilbert 
 would have liked to have put, but he did not wish 
 to arouse the shrewd old man's suspicions as to his 
 interest. What he had already heard had deepened 
 every impression received from Isaac. With a 
 friendly farewell he left the doctor, and the next 
 morning walked past the square white wooden house 
 behind its elm-trees, where some of the story of his 
 race had been enacted. 
 
 Eminently respectable and prosaic it looked now 
 in the morning sunshine, and yet his thoughts were 
 on that loveless death-bed, the witch-like figure, the 
 midnight storm, and the fallen tree on the threshold. 
 
 166
 
 STARTING AFRESH 
 
 For all that, his heart was the lighter for his talk 
 with the doctor. 
 
 The more commonplace version made his mother's 
 tale seem all the more the imaginations of a morbidly 
 conscientious mind. He could not but feel that in 
 voluntarily placing their lives under the grim shadow 
 of poverty, his parents had acted unfairly to him. 
 He had not even had the choice of the stern joy of 
 renunciation. All that had been most sordid in his 
 years of early struggle seemed to rise up now .to 
 taunt him with its uselessness. Worse than all, was 
 the knowledge that if he had been a prosperous man 
 in the days when he had first met Isabel Steele, there 
 would have been no frustration to their mutual 
 attraction. 
 
 But the past was the past, and it remained for him 
 now to make the best of the present. Young and 
 strong, he walked in the light of the sun. with hands 
 and brain trained to noble work. 
 
 The world had a thousand interests for one who 
 could see them, and he would fare forth and behold 
 its wonders. 
 
 167
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 BY THE THAMES 
 
 WHEN fate has put a full stop in our lives 
 the natural instinct of the healthy mind 
 is to look round for material with which 
 to begin a new sentence. 
 
 When the mediaeval knight was disappointed in 
 his lady-love, he went a-crusading, and when the 
 freebooter found life hollow he made a tour of the 
 neighbouring highroads. Nowadays, the love-lorn 
 housemaid gives warning, the subaltern exchanges 
 to another regiment, the millionaire gets him a 
 steam-yacht and goes around the world. It is the 
 old cry, with various translations, of the Psalmist 
 " Oh, that I had the wings of a dove, that I might 
 flee away and be at rest ! " 
 
 Upon Isabel Broderick, sitting dry-eyed in her 
 desolate home, the yearning was strong, although 
 she knew that wherever she might go, she would 
 take with her the same acute sense of loss, the same 
 hunger for the comfort she might not know. 
 
 There would, however, be relief in putting space 
 between herself and those dread asylum walls which 
 seemed to come between her and the sunshine. Not 
 even Gilbert Clinch in the necessary intimacy of those 
 tragic days had guessed at the abhorrence for her 
 
 168
 
 BY THE THAMES 
 
 husband which had possessed her ever since she had 
 gathered her child's limp little body into her arms. 
 
 His name his money everything that had 
 been his, she longed to cast away from her, and to 
 go out into the world, her own old self once more. 
 
 But, even in those first days after her child's 
 funeral, she had the sense to see that the disloyalty 
 of such a course was impossible to her. When 
 Andrew Broderick had been sane, he had given her 
 his best; the ungrudging use of his large income, 
 his well-known family name and social standing, all 
 the advantages of the place which he had made for 
 himself in the art world of Paris and New York. 
 
 All this he had given, never concealing the terrible 
 drawback that went with it, and she had accepted 
 his gift with open eyes; what right had she to 
 complain when that one drawback had made her a 
 bankrupt in life's lottery ! 
 
 Throughout the past terrible year of the gradual 
 development of her husband's insanity Isabel had 
 always kept before her eyes the conviction that she 
 had a debt to pay to him, and it was this conviction 
 that had supplied the fortitude at which Gilbert had 
 so often wondered. 
 
 Now, as in those first weeks of solitude, she stood 
 facing a dark abyss of self-despair in which she 
 saw herself indirectly guilty of her child's death, she 
 searched desperately for some means of atonement. 
 
 Hers was a nature that must turn to action for 
 relief, and to such natures high thoughts come. 
 Gradually the idea dawned upon her that if she 
 had failed to save the man from his hereditary doom 
 she might at least try to rescue the name of the 
 artist from oblivion. 
 
 169
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 It was an idea born of the many hours during the 
 past months when, looking at his weird, powerful 
 picture, she had comforted herself with the thought 
 that, if the worst came, it would always be a monu- 
 ment to the artist's memory. 
 
 Its destruction had been a blow hard to bear, and 
 this new, wild hope that she herself might attempt 
 its re-creation dazzled her with a fresh purpose in 
 life. 
 
 It was wild, but still perhaps not so wild as it 
 seemed. It had always been Broderick's habit to 
 make numerous smaller studies from which he 
 painted his pictures, and she knew that these studies 
 for his last work were all carefully packed in the 
 Boston studio. And she herself had worked for 
 days at similar studies, as an excuse to keep guard 
 over him. From the first he had been her teacher 
 in her work, and now she had followed him with 
 half-conscious imitation until all the technique of 
 the picture had become familiar to her. 
 
 Yes, she would attempt it. She would take these 
 studies, and leaving behind all familiar faces and 
 scenes, she would go abroad and concentrate body 
 and soul on the task of reproducing the lost master- 
 piece. 
 
 She fully understood the difficulties of what she 
 was undertaking, but then, in the " impasse " to 
 which her life had come, the tangibleness of those 
 difficulties had supplied a comforting force of resist- 
 ance. 
 
 Wealth helps to make all action prompt and easy, 
 and so, when the full completion of August was 
 ripening into September, Mrs. Broderick inspected 
 and decided on the villa of Heathholm, on the hill 
 
 170
 
 BY THE THAMES 
 
 above the Thames. Cookham Dene, the postal 
 address, was a village by right of its church, post- 
 office, and public-house, but otherwise a mere net- 
 work of bowery gardens, set amid lanes that rambled 
 up slopes of open patches of gorse, by plum and 
 apple orchards to the wide-stretching Berkshire 
 beech woods. 
 
 Every here and there through the trees could be 
 seen a labourer's cottage, sometimes transformed by 
 the addition of a studio as big as itself into an artist's 
 abode. 
 
 Everything was decidedly up-hill or down-hill in 
 this region, and Heathholm clung to the steep bank, 
 its old-fashioned garden sloping down the hill, bor- 
 dered by tall hollyhocks and rose-bushes, shaded by 
 a group of fine walnut-trees. 
 
 There was a comfortable air of age about the 
 place, due to the fact of the house being built on 
 the site of an old cottage, leaving the garden undis- 
 turbed. It had been built by a man in the first suc- 
 cess of art and love, and he had only lived there 
 two years when, wife and child dead, he had broken 
 down in his work and desperately gone abroad in 
 search of a new start in life. When Isabel first saw 
 Heathholm the hollyhocks had been still ablaze in 
 the garden, the air heavy with the scent of ripe fruit 
 in the orchards below, but the rich sights and scents 
 of the season could as yet bring her no joy. Day 
 by day the peaceful autumnal beauty deepened in 
 intensity over the riverside meadows and upland 
 heaths and beech woods, but the great charm to 
 her of the surrounding world lay in its utter unlike- 
 ness to that Northern seashore where three months 
 before her child had played beside her on the sands. 
 
 171
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 The peace of that quiet English landscape was all 
 the more to her because it had no key to unlock the 
 inner doors of her soul. It was something apart 
 from her world, the world in which she had been 
 really alive. These thatched roofs showing through 
 the trees, sheltered peasants living much the same 
 lives, thinking much the same thoughts as did their 
 grandparents in the days of the Georges. These 
 winding lanes had been trodden into paths by the 
 bare feet of wandering friars, by the heavy boot of 
 Cromwell's soldiers. These big, fair, plainly dressed 
 men and women who glanced at her curiously as 
 they drove past her on the road in well-appointed 
 carriages were separated from her by nationality and 
 all that it entails. None of these people or things 
 could come near enough to her life to be real. 
 
 The very quiet-voiced, deferential English serv- 
 ants who waited upon her, had, under their polite- 
 ness, a chilly air of being on the defensive against 
 any possible eccentricity on the part of their Ameri- 
 can mistress. 
 
 " Not but what she doesn't seem just as much a 
 real lady as any as I've ever lived with," she heard 
 one of them confiding to the butcher boy over the 
 fence, " more than some perhaps, seeing as she 
 never shows no tiresome interest in our affairs, 
 asking if we've been to church and bothering us 
 with that nuisance of a Girl's Friendly. But then, 
 there's the most every-day, civilised things she don't 
 know nothing about, such as when quarter-day is, 
 and what one does on Bank holidays, so she may be 
 queer after all. One never can tell, can one? " 
 
 Yes, she was a stranger in a strange land and if 
 she was desperately, heart-sickeningly lonely, it was 
 
 172
 
 BY THE THAMES 
 
 with a loneliness that no outside influence could have 
 touched. 
 
 There was one friendly presence left to her in 
 Elsa, the Swedish nurse, now her own maid. She 
 had at first intended to leave her behind, but Elsa's 
 stolid determination had been too much for her, 
 backed as it was by the earnest representations of 
 her old business man. Besides she did not wish to 
 be thought any more eccentric than need be, and 
 she knew that it was more seemly for her to have 
 an attendant with her. 
 
 Many a time in her new loneliness she was com- 
 forted by feeling Elsa's silent, dog-like fidelity near 
 her. 
 
 And then she got to work, sparing no detail that 
 could help her, filling the small conservatory with 
 out-of-season bloom from the best London florists, 
 getting over from Paris a model whom she remem- 
 bered and thought suitable for the half-veiled figure 
 in the picture. She was careful too of her own 
 health, painting in the midday hours of the short- 
 ening days, walking or driving on foggy mornings 
 or in afternoon twilight. 
 
 At first she had to force herself into a work which 
 seemed like trying to revive the dead, but soon the 
 reward of effort came, and she worked for the joy 
 of creating, the most arduous but the purest joy 
 given to God's children. 
 
 This dream-life lasted through the autumn months 
 of fogs and a rare sunshine, and experienced its first 
 interruption on a fine December morning that had 
 all the deceptive spring beauty that makes an Eng- 
 lish winter endurable. 
 
 She had driven herself in her little two- wheeled 
 
 173
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 cart down into the market-town to lay in a supply 
 of magazines at the stationer's in the High Street. 
 
 In the shop she noticed a slim girl, smartly 
 dressed in rough red tweeds. 
 
 " One of the dwellers behind park gates," she said 
 to herself, with the casually reoccurring sense of 
 amusement that she, Mrs. Broderick, should not 
 know the most desirable people in any neighbour- 
 hood. Her errand done, she turned and found her- 
 self directly facing the stranger and looking into 
 the eyes of a friend. 
 
 Years ago, before her marriage, when she had 
 first gone abroad to study art, Isabel had spent some 
 summer months in a Normandy village, still cheap 
 and unfashionable. In the hotel she had struck up 
 a friendship with a lank, overgrown schoolgirl, sent 
 there with her governess after an attack of scarlet 
 fever. 
 
 The governess, being a gloomily selfish creature, 
 the girl, Margaret Nugent-Barr by name, had 
 seemed forlorn and had attached herself to Isabel 
 with that fancy which girls often take to those three 
 or four years older than themselves. She had fol- 
 lowed her about, content to sit beside her while she 
 painted, quick to learn when she might chatter and 
 when she must be silent, walking beside her over the 
 cliffs and gathering her great bunches of wild- 
 flowers. 
 
 When they had parted Margaret had wept stormy 
 tears, but Isabel had heard nothing more of her 
 until now, when looking down into an oval face of 
 a pale creamy tint, with great dark eyes, she recog- 
 nised in the smartly dressed young lady the lank 
 little Meg of the Normandy seashore. 
 
 174
 
 BY THE THAMES 
 
 Each looked in the other's face in a momentary 
 hesitation, and then, almost simultaneously, came 
 the dawning smile of greeting and the words: 
 
 "Miss Steele!" 
 
 " Little Meg ! Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss 
 Nugent-Barr ! " 
 
 " Oh, that doesn't matter ! But however did you 
 come to drop down into this little English corner? 
 Perhaps you have married an Englishman ? " was 
 the eager response, as Margaret's slim hand grasped 
 the larger one in a cordial pressure. 
 
 " No, my husband was an American, and my 
 name is Mrs. Broderick. I have been living up at 
 Cookham Dene Heathholm is the name of the 
 place since September," Isabel answered, smiling 
 down into the face that since she had seen it had 
 come into its woman's full inheritance of beauty. 
 
 " Since September ! It's odd that we have not 
 come across each other before, for we live at Monk's 
 Grange. You know it, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, is it not all down in Dickens's Guide, 
 and haven't I seen the substantial statue of your 
 ghost on her tomb in the little church ! Are you a 
 descendant of hers ? " 
 
 " No, thank goodness ! I don't think she would 
 make a nice ancestress. Though of course it would 
 be much grander to belong to the original old family 
 instead of being newcomers as we are. I must warn 
 you that we are not the genuine ancestral growth 
 of the soil, but only importations on the strength 
 of our money." 
 
 Though she laughed as she spoke, something made 
 Isabel guess that the point might be a sore one. so 
 she answered, quickly : 
 
 175
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 " I think in that case you are likely to be less 
 mouldy. Things don't always improve with age, 
 you know." 
 
 " No, I dare say not," the other answered, half- 
 absently. She was debating the phrase " my hus- 
 band was an American," and wondering if it implied 
 widowhood. 
 
 " But tell me about yourself," she went on. " Are 
 you an artist still and have you a lot of people up 
 there with you ? " 
 
 " I am an artist still, and I live all alone," Isabel 
 answered, quietly, something in her voice that 
 checked further questioning. 
 
 Margaret had already noticed that Mrs. Broder- 
 ick's well-made dress was all of black, and this 
 settled it. If she lived alone at Heathholm she 
 must be a widow comfortably off, and comfortably- 
 off widows are pleasant people to know. 
 
 Margaret had that taste for prosperous friends 
 which is such an important factor to success in life. 
 
 ' Your being alone is all the more reason for my 
 inflicting my society upon you, and I shall bother 
 you just as I did years ago," she said, with ready 
 tact. 
 
 Isabel was touched by the girl's friendliness. She 
 knew that when the English foot is on its native 
 heath the English welcome to strangers is not apt 
 to be enthusiastic. " There's a stranger, heave a 
 rock at him," applies in more countries than one. 
 
 And so there was gratitude in her face and voice 
 as she answered : 
 
 " It will indeed be pleasant to have you come. I 
 have been very solitary." 
 
 176
 
 BY THE THAMES 
 
 Why had a woman so cut herself off from her 
 friends, Margaret wondered, even as she answered : 
 
 " Then you mustn't be so any longer. Is that 
 smart little trap at the door yours? Well, then, 
 I think you might offer to give me a lift. I came 
 for a constitutional, but the mud is more than I 
 reckoned on." 
 
 Presently they were speeding down the quiet, 
 supernaturally trim and tidy High Street, out over 
 the bridge across the river, rolling dark and full 
 from recent rains, and along the flat bit of road 
 that crossed the meadows. 
 
 " Our ancestral domain, at least ancestral in so 
 far that I hope it may go down to my brother Jack," 
 Margaret said, with a light wave of her hand 
 toward the landscape. " By the bye, I'd like you 
 to meet Jack. He's such a downright jolly old 
 dear that you couldn't help liking him. May we 
 ride up to see you to-morrow about tea-time ? " 
 
 Isabel was a bit startled, for she had not reckoned 
 on more new acquaintances than Margaret, but still 
 it was natural enough that the girl should like to 
 ride with her brother, and after all he seemed to 
 be a mere boy. 
 
 " Oh, yes," she said, " if he would care to come, 
 bring him, certainly." 
 
 " Oh, he'd love it, I know. Don't bother to drive 
 up the avenue, for my mother's in bed and there's 
 no one else at home. Just let me out at the stile 
 and I'll run up the path. Thanks, until to-morrow, 
 then. Come, Mr. Tomkins," and she and her lively 
 fox-terrier vanished into the bushes. 
 
 177
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 JACK 
 
 THE next day Isabel found that she worked 
 with better heart for the knowledge that the 
 twilight time would bring her some other 
 society than her own. 
 
 That twilight hour of lassitude was the one in 
 which she found it hardest to keep memories at bay. 
 
 It was pleasant, too, to look around on the costly 
 simplicity of her drawing-room when the western 
 light struggled with the leaping flames, and to feel 
 that her visitors must be favourably impressed with 
 her surroundings. 
 
 A door opened down into the small conservatory, 
 crowded with bloom, and the scent of lilies and 
 roses stole in like the breath of summer. It was all 
 a suitable setting for the tall woman in her Paris 
 tea-gown of gray velvet, the statuesque folds of 
 which were the work of a master-hand. 
 
 Jack Nugent-Barr, home on Christmas leave from 
 Dublin, had grumbled a bit at being taken to call 
 upon an American artist. Still, he had a habit of 
 yielding to Meg's demands in unimportant things, 
 and it was a non-hunting day and so he went, growl- 
 ing amiably the while. 
 
 " Your geese are apt to be swans, you know, Meg. 
 178
 
 JACK 
 
 I've seen these women artists, sitting around the 
 banks under umbrellas like toadstools, and I can't 
 say I ever fancied their looks much. Their hair 
 never looked brushed, and they had horrible aprons 
 on." 
 
 Meg laughed confidently. 
 
 " Wait till you see Mrs. Broderick. She's differ- 
 ent. She's an American, you know." 
 
 " Well, I've seen lots of Americans," Jack went 
 on in an aggrieved tone. " Girls with snappy black 
 eyes, and what the novels call a ' vivacious ' manner, 
 and always wanting you to argue about things, you 
 know. I remember at the Scovills' dance one of 
 them wanted me to discuss England's policy in 
 Egypt." 
 
 Again Meg laughed. " Wait and see." 
 
 And Jack did see when he stood before that lady, 
 thoroughbred from the top coil of her burnished 
 chestnut hair to the tip of the gray suede slipper 
 showing under her dress. 
 
 There was no vivacity or eagerness here, rather, 
 over the graciousness of her welcome there was a 
 film of vagueness as of ever-dominant preoccupation, 
 a vagueness that matched the shadow in her eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Broderick read the admiration in the frank, 
 blue eyes, and straightway took a great liking to 
 the big, fair-haired young fellow with that honest 
 touch of shyness over the somewhat stolid self-re- 
 liance of his manner. 
 
 Brother and sister could not have belonged to 
 more various types, and yet there was evidently a 
 real comradeship between them. Meg looked at 
 him with pride as she said : 
 
 " This is my brother Jack, otherwise Lieutenant 
 
 179
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 Eustace Nugent-Barr, of Her Majesty's Death or 
 Glory Hussars, and he only condescended to come 
 and pay a visit with his sister because it's an off 
 day for hunting." 
 
 " I expect Mrs. Broderick knows you better than 
 to believe all your statements," Jack retorted. 
 
 " It's an awful pity," he went on to Isabel, " that 
 Meg hadn't the sense to find you out before. But 
 I dare say you have other friends in the neighbour- 
 hood?" 
 
 " Not one," she said. " But then I came here for 
 solitude, and I must say that I have had it." 
 
 " At any rate, you have a dear place up here," 
 Meg put in, as she nibbled at a little pasty, far 
 beyond the scope of the Monk's Grange cook. " I 
 do wish that the old monks had understood the 
 joy of these heights instead of our aguish meadows 
 and damp cellars." 
 
 " Both of which had their uses," said Jack. " The 
 meadows were as convenient for fish-ponds as the 
 cellars were for a tenant backward in his rent, or 
 a Jew who wouldn't negotiate a loan." 
 
 " You must have been reading ' Ivanhoe ' again," 
 Isabel suggested. 
 
 " Jolly old books, weren't they ? " he said, simply. 
 
 Meanwhile Margaret had been taking in the un- 
 mistakable signs of wealth. That ebony and ivory 
 cabinet was genuine old Florentine work, she was 
 sure, and that little silver coffer was a gem of chis- 
 elling. Really, Mrs. Broderick must have done well 
 for herself in her marriage, and how satisfactory 
 it was. She was like a cat in her love of warm lux- 
 urious haunts. 
 
 " I don't wonder those mediaeval people were al- 
 180
 
 JACK 
 
 ways poisoning and stabbing each other," she put 
 in. " I should do just the same if I didn't live 
 in the sunshine and fresh air. When the evil spirit 
 enters into me, I ride all over the country until it 
 is driven out." 
 
 Isabel smiled at her as one might at a child. 
 
 " I hope that doesn't often happen," she said. 
 
 " Oh, intermittently," was the careless answer. 
 " It comes on oftener when I'm with Granny than 
 when I'm at home. When I get to Florence among 
 all those priests and fusty old dowagers, and some- 
 times can't ride or play golf for a week or so, I 
 feel as though I should scream." 
 
 " Try dumb-bells," Jack suggested. 
 
 " But why do you go to Florence? " Isabel asked. 
 
 " Because Granny chooses to spend her winter 
 there and because Granny seems to have the first 
 right of possession. My parents own me secondly, 
 and I myself come in as a poor third. Granny's 
 in Brighton now, but as soon as she decides to start, 
 she claims me." 
 
 " Still, Florence is pleasant enough and I dare 
 say you like the change." 
 
 " Of course she does. You never saw any one 
 get bored so quickly without it. And if it weren't 
 for the old lady, she wouldn't be such a smartly 
 got-up young lady as she is." 
 
 " Oh, that's because she wants to marry me to 
 an Italian duke. But she's not going to, all the 
 same." 
 
 " I'm not so sure about that. Keep a lookout for 
 her conversion in the World sometime in Lent, 
 Mrs. Broderick," Jack said, teasingly. 
 
 " And you, do you go to Florence? " Isabel asked. 
 181
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 Meg laughed as if at an incongruous vision. 
 
 " Not I, thank goodness ! Even though I'm toil- 
 ing at drills in the rain, at the Curragh." 
 
 " At drills ! Hunting three days a week ! " 
 
 " And the Lord be praised for the same ! But 
 talking of hunting, have you ever tried it?" he 
 said to Isabel. " Do let me find you a horse suitable 
 for the country and take you out," he pleaded. 
 
 Isabel had ridden adventurously during a Mexican 
 winter, and the thought of knowing such joy again 
 brought a quick leap of youth to her pulses. 
 
 Jack caught the flash in her eyes, and said, joy- 
 fully : 
 
 " You will, I know." 
 
 But she shook her head. 
 
 " No, I mustn't attempt it. It would take too 
 much of the energy I need for other things. It's 
 delightful to come home tired all over, but that's 
 not the way to do brain-work." 
 
 "Brain-work?" Jack asked, puzzled. He could 
 not associate the leisurely elegance of this woman 
 with his idea of brain-work. 
 
 " I mean my painting," she explained, with an 
 apparent guess at his perplexity. 
 
 " But that's drudgery," he expostulated, " and 
 surely you work for your own pleasure, not for 
 a settled task ? " 
 
 " I work for my own pleasure and for a settled 
 task both, and I must keep on until it is finished. 
 That is what I came here for." 
 
 There was some unknown feeling in her voice 
 which checked his remonstrances, and presently his 
 sister said : 
 
 182
 
 JACK 
 
 " Oh, do tell us what you are painting, and let 
 us see your studio, won't you ? " 
 
 " Not to-day, I'm afraid. They've been doing 
 some work there, and the place is all upset," Mrs. 
 Broderick answered to the last question, and ignor- 
 ing the other request. 
 
 This was the first of several excuses until they 
 learned to see that they were not intended to ask 
 again. 
 
 As Jack Nugent-Barr rode home beside his sister 
 through the bare woodlands, under the wan light 
 of a young moon, his brain was somewhat in a 
 whirl over the vision of a kind face, and a gray 
 figure encircled by the orange light. 
 
 What a joy it would be to bring a smile oftener 
 around that grave mouth, to come home tired and 
 sit down by the fire beside such a figure. 
 
 At this point Meg broke in with the incongruous 
 remark : 
 
 " She seems to be a bit of a dark horse, doesn't 
 she?" 
 
 " A dark horse ! What do you mean by that ? " 
 
 Unheeding the grimness of his voice, she went 
 on: 
 
 " Oh, well, you know, being so well off as she 
 seems, and coming here where she doesn't know a 
 soul, for solitude, as she says, and working so hard, 
 and having such smart clothes " 
 
 But at this point Jack's wrath broke out. 
 
 " Well, I'm glad I'm not a woman and haven't a 
 feminine idea of loyalty. Here is this lady, who 
 has never made the slightest attempt to look you 
 up, and when you meet her accidentally, and invite 
 yourself to see her and she gives you a charming 
 
 183
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 welcome, you hardly wait until her door is closed 
 before you call her a dark horse! As I said, I'm 
 glad I'm not a woman ! " 
 
 " Well you may be ! But, goodness me, what a 
 tirade all about nothing! I called her a dark horse 
 having a delight in and a keen scent for mysteries, 
 and hoping to have a heroine of romance for a 
 next-door neighbour. It would be such a resource, 
 you know. But, all the same, I think her, as I 
 always did, one of the most delightful women I 
 ever knew. She reminds me of Iseult of Brittany, 
 the Lady of Shalott, and all such mystical creatures. 
 And I tell you what," she went on, with a quick 
 glance to see if Jack's good-humour were restored, 
 " I was thinking that she would be a godsend on 
 Christmas night among all those stupid people. I 
 must impress father with her grandeur so that he 
 won't make any objections." 
 
 " That's a good idea," Jack condescended to ap- 
 prove, all unconscious of his sister's mischievous face 
 in the shadows. 
 
 " It will be great fun springing such a mysterious 
 beauty on Lord Vernade." 
 
 This remark of Meg's failed to meet with the 
 approbation of the last. 
 
 " Oh, Vernade," he grunted. " Why doesn't he 
 go back to his excavations in Asia Minor, or the 
 Greek Islands, or wherever it is! I hate to see a 
 man who has it in his power to do anything just 
 fooling about." 
 
 " Well, but he had fever, you know." 
 
 " Oh, yes, fever," and in one of the momentary 
 differences of opinion they rode on their way in 
 silence. 
 
 184
 
 JACK 
 
 Mr. Nugent-Barr was a " dour " man, of whom 
 his family stood somewhat in awe. His daughter 
 was not without influence over him, though, when 
 she took the trouble to exert it, especially since her 
 social success had led her grandmother to spend 
 more money upon her dress and upon taking her 
 about. 
 
 A few remarks casually dropped as to the style 
 of Mrs. Broderick's establishment and Jack's ad- 
 miration for her were sufficient to arouse his interest. 
 
 Like his daughter, he had a taste for the ac- 
 quaintance of those rich in this world's goods, al- 
 though there was the great difference that she liked 
 them for the amusement and beauty with which they 
 could surround themselves he, for the mere sordid 
 neighbourhood of riches. 
 
 And so when Mr. Nugent-Barr handed his wife 
 a list of guests whom she was to invite, the first 
 name that she read was Isabel's. 
 
 " Mrs. Broderick you mean Margaret's Amer- 
 ican friend, my dear? " she asked, in a feebly sur- 
 prised tone. She was not expected to criticise her 
 husband's choice in the matter. 
 
 " I am certainly not aware of any one else of 
 that name. Are you, my dear ? " was the chilly 
 reply. 
 
 " Oh, no, I suppose not. Only it being Christmas 
 and her being a stranger and an American, it 
 seemed well, a little unusual, that was all." 
 
 " I really cannot see why her being an American 
 should make it unusual to invite her at Christmas- 
 time. Having been in Boston, you are probably 
 aware that Americans are Christians ? " Mr. Nugent- 
 Barr retorted, with an elaborate air of patience that 
 
 185
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 worked worse confusion in his wife's never over- 
 brilliant wits. 
 
 " Oh, of course, I knew that, though when Mar- 
 garet came home talking so much about this lady 
 I did ask the rector about her and he said that he 
 had never seen her in church, though he was never 
 surprised now at anything that artists did." 
 
 " You had better advise the rector to exercise 
 a little Christian charity, my dear." 
 
 When Mr. Nugent-Barr brought Christian charity 
 into play it was usually for the benefit of those 
 who did not require any more substantial charity 
 at his hands. 
 
 " Yes, but Mrs. Broderick is a widow, and how 
 would you like it if she got hold of Jack?" the 
 mother-hen fluttered, brave for her chicks. 
 
 " How would you like it if some actress or music- 
 hall dancer got hold of him, my dear?" This 
 prospect was Mr. Nugent-Barr's constant and most 
 unnecessary dread, his son not being in the least 
 the type that comes to grief in that fashion. 
 
 His wife gave a feeble little squeak of dismay. 
 
 " Oh, my dear, I hope you don't mean " 
 
 " I mean nothing save that you should write those 
 notes before the second post goes out," and he 
 walked off, leaving the poor lady to recover from 
 the shock in dreams of what Jack's wife should be. 
 She saw in her fancy a nice little pink-and-white 
 English girl, brought up in a rectory or hall, lov- 
 ing to teach in Sunday school, and fondest hope 
 of all to make things for bazaars. 
 
 Poor mothers, how they dream ! 
 
 186
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 CHRISTMAS 
 
 WHEN Isabel received this much-discussed 
 invitation, she, as a matter of course, sat 
 down to decline it, and then a second 
 thought gave her pause with " Why not? " 
 
 Too brave a woman to have any weakness for 
 anniversaries, she could not but look forward with 
 dread to the memories that Christmas would bring 
 of her child. 
 
 Day and night she heard the silvery voice, calling : 
 
 " Mummie. mummie, come and see what boofy 
 things Santa Claus brought Boyso! '* Day and 
 night she felt the touch of the soft hand on her 
 cheek, felt the warm little body nestling close to 
 her own. 
 
 Work as hard as she might, there were times when 
 her powers of concentration failed her. She would 
 try if going among strangers, and having to laugh 
 and talk with them, might not help her to forget. 
 
 And so, at the same time that she wrote a large 
 order for toys to be sent to a London hospital, she 
 sent for a black lace dress, the advent of which de- 
 lighted Elsa. 
 
 The party staying at Monk's Grange consisted 
 mostly of cousins, though there were three army 
 youths over from Aldershot, friends of Jack's, and 
 
 187
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 much of the same type, healthily outdoor in their 
 tastes, taking all " the feasting and the fun " that 
 came along, and yet making ready in a matter-of- 
 fact fashion for the baptism of fire that they were 
 so soon to meet on the South African veldt. 
 
 Two Nugent girls, cousins, bony and neutral- 
 tinted and aristocratically inane, had been upsetting 
 Margaret's temper for a week. Mrs. Curtis, another 
 cousin, just home with her husband from three years 
 in India, had all her usual characteristics of cheery 
 kindliness emphasised by her delight in being in 
 England again, and in seeing her husband reviving 
 from months of invalidism. 
 
 Her sister, ordinarily called Tommy Curtis, with 
 a quaintly pretty face, was just one stage removed 
 from the romping schoolgirl of a year or two earlier. 
 The subs found her delightful, and she and the red- 
 dest-haired and most freckled of them had already 
 started a violent but unsentimental flirtation. 
 
 The rector and his wife, and Lord Vernade, from 
 his place up the river, represented the local interest. 
 
 These people were all gathered when Isabel came 
 in, the lustreless black of her dress setting off to 
 perfection her milky skin and shining hair. Through 
 this hair was twisted a string of pearls in a fashion 
 of a Titian portrait, while another string hung low 
 over her dress. 
 
 The sensation which her entrance caused was evi- 
 denced by the sudden cessation in the hum of talk, 
 and the admiring stares of the youths. 
 
 " Good heavens, where did such a woman come 
 from ? " said one of them to the other. 
 
 " Those pearls are a fortune if they're real," mur- 
 mured Mrs. Curtis to the eldest Miss Nugent. 
 
 188
 
 CHRISTMAS 
 
 " So this is the surprise you warned me of," said 
 Lord Vernade to Margaret. 
 
 ' Yes, and she is my own discovery, captive of 
 my bow and spear," she answered, lightly, as she 
 went forward to welcome her friend and lead her 
 to her mother. 
 
 All Mrs. Nugent-Barr's motherly misgivings fled 
 before the charm of the newcomer's face, and she 
 made anxious inquiries as to the amount of wraps 
 worn during the drive over the hills, and if she had 
 had a foot-warmer. 
 
 The master of the house was groaning in his 
 room with an attack of sciatica, and his absence 
 did not seem to affect the gaiety of the party. 
 
 Isabel's attention had been caught by the brilliancy 
 of Margaret's appearance. In a gauzy dress of 
 deep red, wreathed round the shoulders with poppies, 
 and with their half-opened buds crowning her black 
 hair, she seemed a personation of the glow of 
 summer, and yet her friend was conscious of that 
 half- fanciful dread which poppies always gave her 
 now. 
 
 " The flowers of death," came to her mind, with 
 an echo of her husband's voice. 
 
 " I want to introduce Lord Vernade to you," were 
 Margaret's words that brought her back to reality 
 again. 
 
 Turning, she met a pleasant smile on the pale, 
 clear-cut face, and in the light gray eyes of the 
 man whose lazily high-bred aspect she had already 
 noticed. 
 
 " I hear that I may claim to be a neighbour," he 
 said. " It is too bad that I have made the discovery 
 
 189
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 too late for Lady Vernade to call. She has already 
 gone abroad for the winter." 
 
 In her life as an unprotected girl in big cities, 
 Isabel had faced such a smile before. 
 
 " I fear the limits of the neighbourhood are 
 stretched by Miss Nugent-Barr's charity," she said, 
 somewhat imresponsively. 
 
 But Lord Vernade's cordiality was not so easily 
 checked. 
 
 " Oh, you have yet to learn our English idea of 
 distances," he answered. " We might have a chance 
 of teaching it to you if we were not scattering so 
 soon." 
 
 "Are you going to Rome now?" Meg asked, 
 with interest in her voice. " Oh, no, I couldn't stand 
 a whole winter of Roman society, though my wife 
 never seems to get tired of it. The yacht is at 
 Naples, and I shall take a run out East to see how 
 my man is getting on with his digging. Perhaps 
 I shall find a bracelet of some fair Helen to bring 
 to you in Florence later," he added, in a tone of 
 old comradeship, which in such a man gave Isabel 
 food for reflection. There would have been more 
 if she had guessed how contrary to all his habits was 
 this Christmas in the country. 
 
 A proud man was Jack Nugent-Barr when he took 
 his father's seat at the table with Mrs. Broderick 
 at his side. 
 
 He had had a struggle to be allowed to take her 
 in, Mrs. Curtis being the daughter of an Honour- 
 able, but that lady came good-naturedly to his rescue 
 by asserting that they were mutually tired of each 
 other and wanted a change. 
 
 As Isabel looked around the old monks' dining- 
 190
 
 CHRISTMAS 
 
 hall on the alien faces around her, a great sense 
 of solitude came over her. 
 
 " How do you like our English holly and mistle- 
 toe ? " Jack asked, as a conversational overture. 
 
 " Oh, it's very nice," she answered, absently, not 
 troubling to explain that it had been familiar enough 
 to her across the water. 
 
 " I tried," he went on, bending toward her, " to 
 make Meg think of some flower that would remind 
 you of home, but we couldn't hit on anything, and 
 so I got that," and his gesture drew her attention 
 to two crossed sprays of pine before her place. 
 
 The green spikes brought a sudden vision of the 
 dusky woods on the hills behind the Moorings, and 
 for a moment she could have cried out with the 
 keen stab of memory. 
 
 " It was very good in you," she said, gently, put- 
 ting out her hand to lay it on the dark aromatic 
 branch. The young fellow's thoughtfulness had 
 touched her keenly. 
 
 " I would like to make you feel at home among 
 us," Jack went on, emboldened. 
 
 " ' I was a stranger and ye took me in,' " she 
 quoted, with a smile. 
 
 " I'm sure I might make it pleasanter for you if 
 my leave weren't up so soon. Though I suppose you 
 won't stay on here through the winter ? " he asked. 
 He had determined that if he could help it, this 
 radiant vision should not slip away out of his life, 
 and when Jack determined on a thing he usually 
 carried it through. 
 
 In former days Isabel would have been quick 
 to note the feeling she had aroused and to apply 
 an antidote, but now Jack, like the rest, seemed 
 
 191
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 too far away to enter into personal relations with 
 her. So she answered : 
 
 " I shall stay on until the picture that I am paint- 
 ing is finished. After that I don't know," she 
 finished, somewhat blankly. 
 
 " I suppose you know Paris ; all good Americans 
 do, don't they ? " put in Major Curtis, on her other 
 side. He thought that Jack had had the best-look- 
 ing woman in the room to himself for quite long 
 enough. 
 
 After dinner, cards were started, and if the master 
 of the house had been on the field there would have 
 been no higher stakes than bonbons. As it was : 
 
 " Hard cash, ladies and gentlemen," Meg de- 
 clared, upon which the rector's wife and the elder 
 Miss Nugent said that they preferred to sit by the 
 fire and talk. The rector organised his quiet whist- 
 table it was before the days of universal bridge 
 and the bolder spirits launched into poker, out 
 of supposed deference to Mrs. Broderick's Amer- 
 ican tastes. 
 
 " I am a born gambler," was Meg's gay announce- 
 ment, and Isabel, watching, had no doubt of the fact, 
 as she saw how recklessly she played, never losing 
 a chance of raising the stakes, and abetted by Lord 
 Vernade, who sat next to her, and who had as 
 bad luck as she had good. 
 
 The others kept to an average, save Jack, who 
 lost as persistently as did Lord Vernade. It was 
 not that, however, Isabel thought, which caused 
 the increasing gravity in his face, and an occasional 
 almost stern glance across at Meg. 
 
 Presently a run of better luck came to Jack, and 
 he then seized the first chance to stop the game. 
 
 192
 
 CHRISTMAS 
 
 " I think that Meg has pillaged her guests quite 
 enough," he said, decidedly. " Eh, Tommy, what 
 do you say? Have you anything left to buy choc- 
 olates with ? " 
 
 But Miss Tommy happened to be a little to the 
 good and was much excited thereat. She also, on 
 principle, opposed any ideas of Jack, whom she 
 knew to have been picked out as a desirable 
 match for her, coming, as she did, of an influential 
 family in army circles, and having a nice little 
 fortune, too, of her own. 
 
 " Oh, Jack, don't spoil all our fun by stopping 
 the game now. Meg doesn't want to stop yet, do 
 you ? " she appealed. 
 
 Meg, with flushed cheeks and shining eyes, looked 
 across at the childish face reflecting the same eager- 
 ness, and suddenly sobered down with a half-timid 
 glance at Jack. 
 
 " Oh, well, I suppose one can have too much 
 of a good thing. Come, let's count our gains," she 
 said, lightly. " I shall buy a little pig ' porte- 
 viene ' with mine to remind me of you all." 
 
 " A dance ! A dance ! " cried Jack, as they rose 
 from the card-table. " Our Christmas country- 
 dance! Mrs. Broderick, you will give it to me? 
 Althea ! " to the eldest Miss Nugent, " you'll play 
 us the ' March of the Nugents,' won't you? " 
 
 Young and old, they all joined, dancing in the fine 
 old hall where through the tracery of the big win- 
 dow the Christmas moonlight streamed in to rival 
 the lamps. As she moved through the stately dance, 
 the haunting sense of unreality deepened on Isabel. 
 
 Was it she, this woman dancing here, who within 
 the year had lost all that had made her life no, 
 
 193
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 not all, for did she not still retain her trust in the 
 honour and faith of one lonely for her sake 
 who might have made life so fair to her, if only 
 
 " Look at the moonlight ! " Meg cried. " The 
 view must be splendid up in the turret with that 
 sprinkling of snow over the country. Now, Mr. 
 Erwin," she called to one of the youths, " this is 
 just the night for your ghost-hunt. Our old lady 
 is said to be particularly active about Christmas- 
 time. I challenge you to a run up the turret-stairs, 
 her favourite haunt, you know." 
 
 " I'm game, I assure you," Mr. Erwin answered, 
 delighted to respond to any idea of hers. 
 
 " Oh, what fun ! " Miss Tommy cried. " Meg, 
 I'll go and get some shawls for everybody," and 
 without waiting for an answer she was off. 
 
 Isabel shrank back, chilled as she always was by 
 that dark tale of cruelty of an Elizabethan Lady 
 Macbeth. 
 
 " Don't let them drag you up there in the cold. 
 I must go to look after them, but you stay here 
 by the fire," Jack said, in a low voice, to her. But 
 Meg called out : 
 
 " You'll come, Mrs. Broderick, won't you ? It's 
 really an eerie sight worth seeing, the old house in 
 the moonlight." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I will go," she answered, adding to 
 Jack : " I would like to see the view." 
 
 A maid appeared with wraps and they went out 
 a long procession along narrow passages and 
 up winding stairs, that for all modern lighting and 
 carpeting, were yet so mediaevally gloomy. 
 
 Isabel was just behind Margaret and Lord Ver- 
 nade, and she heard him say: 
 
 194,
 
 CHRISTMAS 
 
 " This house never seems to me the right setting 
 for you. One of those Italian Renaissance villas 
 is what you should have, all whiteness and sun- 
 shine." 
 
 " Oh, don't talk to me of Italian villas ! " The 
 girl laughed, but with a note of gratified vanity in 
 her voice. 
 
 Lord Vernade and Jack carried candles for dark 
 corners, and with their help they climbed the last 
 stair and stood in the small turret-room. 
 
 Below them lay the white stretch of snow- 
 sprinkled meadows, through which wound the dark, 
 sinuous line of the river caught here and there by 
 a silver sparkle of moonlight. 
 
 " It's a night when you might fancy one of the 
 boats of the Vikings creeping up with a shine of oars 
 on the water. They went as far as Reading, didn't 
 they ? " Isabel said, as she thought, to Jack, but it 
 was Lord Vernade who stood beside her. 
 
 " I think so," he said, " though, really, I don't 
 quite remember. I fear that our historic sense gets 
 blunted by custom, and is not as fresh as I have 
 noticed it to be with you people from across the 
 sea." 
 
 Was there a polite sneer in his words, or was 
 it her prejudice that made her fancy so? At any 
 rate, she turned away, and stood gazing silently 
 down on the stretch of country that her imagination 
 peopled with those who had once come and gone 
 there. 
 
 " Has any one seen Tommy and Sutor?" asked 
 Jack, but no one had any answer to give. 
 
 " Come, Mr. Envin," Meg said to the youth who 
 was generally somewhere near her, " there has been 
 
 195
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 no trial of bravery as yet. I am going to start 
 alone down the long gallery and when I call you 
 must come alone, too. You others can wait here." 
 
 " Nonsense, Meg, Mrs. Broderick will be frozen," 
 Jack protested. 
 
 " Oh, it's only for a second," and Meg started 
 lightly on round the turn and down a gallery that 
 went the full length of the house. 
 
 There was the click, click of her heels as she 
 sped over the bare floor, but instead of her gay 
 shout, a sudden wail of terror broke on their startled 
 ears. 
 
 Isabel, Jack, Lord Vernade neither was quicker 
 than the other in their rush into the gallery, though 
 Isabel was ahead when the flying red figure flung 
 itself into her arms, crying: 
 
 " The ghost, the ghost!" 
 
 They had a momentary vision of a hooded white 
 figure, candle in hand, at the farther end of the 
 gallery, and as Jack's indignant voice rang out : 
 
 " Tommy, how could you play the fool like that ! " 
 it resolved itself into that young woman, wrapped 
 in the big folds of a man's white cloth dressing- 
 gown, the hood pushed back to show her disordered 
 hair and dismayed eyes. 
 
 " Oh, Meg, Meg, I'm so sorry. Please, please 
 forgive me. I thought you'd know," she protested, 
 earnestly, but Meg still clung with the same con- 
 vulsive grasp to Mrs. Broderick, who felt the long 
 tremors that ran over her. 
 
 " Meg, don't be a coward," said Jack, laying a 
 hand on her shoulder, and at the touch and the quiet 
 command of the voice the girl raised her head though 
 she still clung to her friend's arm. 
 
 196
 
 CHRISTMAS 
 
 There was something strangely impressive in her 
 disordered beauty, and Isabel saw how intent was 
 Lord Vernade's gaze. 
 
 Then following on Tommy's footsteps came the 
 sheepish figure of Mr. Sutor. 
 
 " Please, Miss Nugent-Barr, put all the blame 
 upon me. It was I who persuaded Miss Curtis to do 
 it." A protesting gasp was on second thoughts 
 stifled by Tommy. 
 
 " I know I was an ass, but I never thought " 
 
 " I'm glad you know that much," came from the 
 indignant Erwin, and Jack, forgetting his duties 
 as host, added, severely : 
 
 " I supposed that by this time you had got over 
 those fool's tricks of yours at Sandhurst." 
 
 The poor youth's humiliation was complete, but 
 it was Meg who came to the rescue. With a quick 
 movement she seemed to shake off her terrors, and, 
 though pale, was her smiling self again. 
 
 " Never mind, then, Mr. Sutor, they've no man- 
 ners at all. I think myself I was the greatest fool 
 of the three. Tommy, you imp of darkness, you 
 look lovely in that gown. It's a good idea for 
 a fancy ball. Come along all of you down-stairs 
 to the fire, but mind, don't tell my mother what 
 a goose I was. It would worry her." 
 
 " Come along, everybody," said Jack, " hot punch 
 is what we all need now." 
 
 197
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 IN THE STUDIO 
 
 AS Isabel drove home through the pallor of the 
 winter night, her thoughts were busy with 
 the Monk's Grange family. 
 
 Jack and his sister's prompt friendliness had 
 roused a very kindly feeling in her, so that any 
 revelation of character was of interest. 
 
 And there had been much self-revelation to-night 
 on the part of Meg. Her dress, for Mrs. Broderick 
 was enough of the world to know that when a 
 woman can add a personal poetic touch to the fash- 
 ion of her dress, she possesses a powerful weapon. 
 Then there were her varying humours. Her excite- 
 ment over the cards, her wild terror roused by such 
 an easily seen-through trick, and which she had 
 brought upon herself. 
 
 And yet what a charm there was about her, with 
 her frank kindness and her warm affection for her 
 brother. 
 
 His influence over her was evidently strong, and 
 that it must be all for good, Isabel, remembering 
 the steadfastness of his blue eyes, could not doubt. 
 
 Different types, this brother and sister, probably 
 taking after different sides of the house. Ah, well, 
 though they might have their troubles ahead of 
 
 198
 
 IN THE STUDIO 
 
 them, they still had the one supreme gift of youth 
 to make or mar as they would, while she 
 
 It had been good even for that little while to think 
 of some one but herself, but as there was nothing 
 left of real in her life save her work, let her go 
 back to it and immerse herself in it as a swimmer 
 in the waves. 
 
 The next morning she was in her studio nearly 
 an hour earlier than usual, and as she stood before 
 the half-finished picture she knew that here lay her 
 best oblivion. 
 
 And so when that evening there came a note 
 from Meg saying that they were going to skate 
 the next day on the flooded meadows, and asking 
 her to come down in time for a picnic luncheon, she 
 sent a plea of work as an excuse. 
 
 For two or three days she saw nothing of them, 
 and then at tea-time they arrived, announcing cheer- 
 fully that their guests had left that morning. 
 
 " So now we shall have full leisure to devote to 
 rooting you out of your solitude," Meg proclaimed. 
 
 " And if you would let me, I could go over early 
 to-morrow to Maidenhead and get you some skates. 
 You really ought to come down and try it in the 
 afternoon," Jack pleaded. 
 
 " Well, there is not much clear daylight after 
 three," she yielded. 
 
 Jack looked puzzled. 
 
 " I mean for painting." 
 
 " Oh, then you will come? " Disgust at painting 
 being the first consideration, mingling with delight 
 at her yielding. 
 
 And so, for a few days until a thaw came, Isabel 
 spent her afternoons on the stretch of ice in the 
 
 199
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 Monk's Grange meadows, contrast enough to the 
 forest lake in the Adirondacks where she had last 
 skated. 
 
 As Jack walked up through the woods with her 
 in the twilight, she asked : 
 
 " Has Lord Vernade gone away? " 
 
 " Yes, he went two days after Christmas. Queer 
 fellow, that! He'll lounge about town or Monte 
 Carlo or some such place for months without doing 
 one thing to show that he's any less a fool than 
 the men around him save that few play as high 
 as he does, but that's in the blood and then he'll 
 start off to Asia Minor, where he has men regularly 
 at work excavating some remnants of a town, and 
 there he'll stay two or three months at a time, 
 roughing it like the others, mad over some theory 
 about Homer or Troy or something, writing reports 
 to the learned societies, who think no end of him 
 then he drops it all and is back again, his same old 
 self." 
 
 " How strange," she commented. " He is the last 
 man one would imagine to be an archeologist. What 
 does his wife think of it? " 
 
 " Oh, I fancy she doesn't care two straws what 
 he does as long as he leaves her to go her own way 
 in a pretty fast lot. It's hard on a man to have a 
 wife like that, you know." 
 
 " Yes," she agreed, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Well, I'm off for Florence to-morrow," Mar- 
 garet announced the next day. " Or, rather, I'm off 
 to join Granny in London to buy clothes. I do wish 
 I had you there to help me. Your taste is just 
 perfect." 
 
 " Clothes! " Jack scoffed. " If Meg were going 
 200
 
 IN THE STUDIO 
 
 to be tried for murder she would get a regular 
 trousseau. What I like is women who are always 
 perfectly dressed without ever seeming to give it 
 a thought," looking appreciatively at Isabel. 
 
 " There's the superior artfulness in that seem- 
 ing," Meg retorted. " But now to be serious. You'll 
 promise, won't you," to Isabel, " not to spirit your- 
 self away from here without giving me due warning 
 of your address? " 
 
 " One really might think I was the flightiest of 
 mortals," Isabel protested, " whereas you will prob- 
 ably find me here when you return. But, yes, I 
 promise, and it is very good in you to care." 
 
 And so, with this promise, Margaret went, and 
 her friend really missed the girl who had fallen into 
 the way of running in and out so frequently. 
 
 Jack, however, seemed to have mysteriously 
 lengthened his sojourn, and apparently saw no reason 
 in Meg's departure for dropping his visits to Heath- 
 holm. 
 
 Hitherto Isabel had kept these visits of theirs 
 quite apart from her studio life, and Jack knew 
 nothing of the big nearly completed canvas into 
 which so much of herself had gone. Nothing, that 
 is to say, beyond a vague jealousy of the work that 
 so absorbed her. 
 
 The picture was a success, she knew, now that 
 it needed so little to complete it, and with the knowl- 
 edge some relaxation in the long strain of effort had 
 already come. 
 
 It was a hopelessly rainy winter day, and what 
 with the weather and what with the knowledge that 
 Jack had gone up to town, Isabel, expecting no 
 
 201
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 outside interruption, had, as the light dulled, thrown 
 herself upon the studio sofa and fallen asleep. 
 
 She was weary with the complete weariness of 
 the satisfied brain-worker. She had looked upon 
 her work and saw that it was good, and mind and 
 body craved for nothing beyond rest. 
 
 At sunset a deep red reflection had lit the eastern 
 clouds, rilling the room with a lurid glow. Isabel 
 lay among the soft-tinted cushions still in her studio- 
 dress a loose gown of coarse white woollen ma- 
 terial. 
 
 The closed lids, the released curves of the mouth, 
 gave her a curiously young and pathetic air. 
 
 It was thus that Jack Nugent-Barr, shown in by 
 the servant's mistake, saw her, and stood looking 
 down at her, a deep tenderness in his eyes. 
 
 Beyond the wearied figure stood the nearly com- 
 pleted work of the artist with all the light falling 
 upon it, and from the woman his eyes went on to the 
 picture almost with dread, as though there he rec- 
 ognised his worst rival. 
 
 It was after all only for a moment that he was 
 free to gaze, for the subtle sense of being watched 
 penetrated through Isabel's armour of fatigue, and, 
 opening her eyes, she looked at him with the slow 
 smile of the half-awakened child. Then once more 
 fully alert to her surroundings, she sat up, pulling 
 herself together in a woman's fashion. 
 
 " Oh, have I really been asleep, when I only lay 
 down to rest for a few moments? And I never 
 expected you this rainy day. I thought, too, that 
 you were in town." 
 
 " So I was," and the youth had the conscience 
 to blush, " but I came down by the four-thirty train, 
 
 202
 
 IN THE STUDIO 
 
 and as it had stopped raining I thought that I 
 would stretch my legs by walking back from Maiden- 
 head, and look in here on the way." It was an 
 audacious excuse, and must have struck Mrs. Bro- 
 derick as such if her mind had not been full of other 
 things. 
 
 The red light falling on the field of poppies caught 
 her eye, and she spoke impulsively. 
 
 " Oh. but you shouldn't be in here, you know ! 
 I don't let anybody see my work." 
 
 " Surely I am not ' anybody,' " he protested, stur- 
 dily, " and why should you shut me out from what 
 must be the main interest of your life? You must 
 know that such an achievement as even I can see 
 this to be could not make me think you more 
 wonderful than I do already." 
 
 With too late compunction Isabel heard the im- 
 petuous words, and realised that he was about to 
 take the bit between his teeth. Gathering all her 
 wits to regain her supremacy, she spoke with gentle 
 aloofness. 
 
 " Hush, I must send you away if you talk like 
 that. You shall see any of my other works you 
 like but this," with a motion of her hand toward the 
 big easel. " It has been a fancy of mine to keep 
 it to myself. It will be finished next week, and 
 then I shall take it over to Paris to be framed. But 
 you won't talk about it. will you ? " 
 
 " I think you can trust me." he said, quietly, a 
 little paler than he had been. 
 
 " Of course I can. I always do." she incautiously 
 reassured him. She could not bear to see that 
 pained look in his face. She had, however, imme- 
 diate cause for repentance in his rejoinder.
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 " I was thinking of taking a run over to Paris 
 myself to see some of the early racing. You wouldn't 
 mind if I were to go about the same time, would 
 you?" 
 
 " I shouldn't mind, of course, but I should hardly 
 be able to ask you to come and see me, as I should 
 be staying with an American artist and his wife, 
 who live at Passy, and only receive a few artist 
 friends." 
 
 Through the politeness of her words Jack saw 
 the hopelessness of his improvised scheme. 
 
 " It doesn't sound much of a change for you," 
 he commented, somewhat sulkily. 
 
 " Oh, that is just what it will be," was her cheer- 
 ful answer. " Nothing could be such a change as 
 getting back into the old art life again after being for 
 so long banished from it." 
 
 " I fear you must have found us very stupid 
 here," and the smart young hussar looked very like 
 a contumacious schoolboy. 
 
 A smile of amusement at his tragic voice flickered 
 on Isabel's face, as she said, kindly : 
 
 " The only stupidity was in my own dulness. 
 I came here to fulfil a certain task, and now it is 
 nearly done and I am free of its burden. Free ! " 
 and she stood up, stretching out her hands before 
 her. 
 
 But even as she did so, a sight of the fire in 
 the young fellow's eyes sobered her, and she went 
 on, nastily : 
 
 " But I was forgetting that I had promised to 
 show you some of my work." 
 
 " Oh, no, you are tired now. Another day will 
 do," he protested, sincerely enough, anxious not 
 
 204
 
 IN THE STUDIO 
 
 to have his enthusiasm diverted into the more arid 
 fields of art. 
 
 " But I really am rested now," she persisted, and 
 he had to content himself with watching the lines 
 of her figure as she held up a canvas to the light, 
 and with the changes that came over her face as 
 she talked of the various subjects. 
 
 All these she showed him were familiar scenes, 
 autumn or winter river bits of tawny reeds and swol- 
 len gray water, or woodland studies of gray beech- 
 trunks and golden-brown leafage. 
 
 Lifting these sketches one after another from a 
 pile that stood against the wall, she took up one 
 at which she looked in silence. 
 
 " I did not know that I had brought that with 
 me," she murmured, as if to herself. 
 
 It was a slight, sketchy thing, done in the luminous 
 gray of a northern evening, with a hint of the 
 day's labours ended in the net-laden fishing-dory 
 drawn up on the rough skids that ran down near 
 an old wooden wharf and shed, the wood of each 
 being weather-worn into soft gray. 
 
 Up the bank was a suggestion of the dark green 
 of distant spruce woods, but elsewhere stretched the 
 opalescent plain of the sleeping sea. 
 
 " I did not know that you had been in Norway," 
 Jack said, with a greater show of interest in the 
 new subject. 
 
 The gray wooden shed and the dory brought 
 fond reminiscences of conquered salmon. 
 
 " It's not Norway. It is Canada, the Nova Sco- 
 tian coast, you know," she answered, absently, look- 
 ing at the picture with the intent eyes of a ghost- 
 
 205
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 seer. Truly, for her there were more ghosts than 
 one around that spot. 
 
 " Why, those are our native regions," Jack said, 
 now all surprised interest. " We left there when 
 I was ten years old, but I can just remember places 
 like that. I used to think about them in Norway." 
 
 Isabel's attention was fully aroused. The asso- 
 ciations of the sketch had inspired a train of thought 
 which brought a sudden flash of realisation. 
 
 The French grandmother, the avaricious father, 
 the Canadian birth and the English home, the name 
 Bauer disguised into Barr, all showed that these 
 were Gilbert Clinch's cousins. 
 
 " But your name is Nugent," she said, follow- 
 ing her thoughts aloud. 
 
 The young man stared, as well he might. 
 
 " I really don't see what that has to do with it," 
 he said, as though apologising for his own dulness. 
 
 Recollecting herself, Isabel saw that she had no 
 right to betray any acquaintance with Gilbert 
 Clinch's family affairs. 
 
 " My wits must be wandering," she said, with 
 a laugh. " I suppose I meant that to us Americans 
 your double name sounds so English." 
 
 It was a lame excuse, but Jack accepted it readily. 
 
 " My mother was English, and as she had no 
 brothers, she took the name to please her father. 
 The old gentleman fancied his family no end, you 
 see," he added, simply. " I believe our paternal 
 Barr is German, and was originally Bauer, which 
 does not indicate an aristocratic origin," and though 
 he laughed, he also reddened slightly as though the 
 fact were unpalatable. 
 
 Knowing what she did, Isabel felt a warm sym- 
 906
 
 IN THE STUDIO 
 
 pathy for the boy in his pride of youth. How little 
 he must guess of his real family history. 
 
 " But your grandmother is French," she sug- 
 gested, and Jack brightened. 
 
 " Oh, yes, her father carried his head out to 
 Martinique to keep it safe from Madame Guillotine, 
 and when names were changed she tacked on his title 
 ' de Fer-de-Lance ' to her own, which with a ' de ' 
 before it, made up quite a grand whole. ' Madame 
 de Barre de Fer-de-Lance ' looks very well on a 
 card." He laughed, but with visible faith in this 
 family tree. 
 
 Isabel, feeling the need to be alone to pull her 
 ideas together, now suggested that it was getting 
 dark for the walk through the woods, and being still 
 answerable to discipline, Jack took his departure. 
 
 207
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 IN FLORENCE 
 
 THE early spring was creeping over the Flor- 
 ence hills, bringing out the narcissus in the 
 meadows and the scarlet anemone among the 
 young wheat under the olives. 
 
 It brought many a vagabondising instinct to Mar- 
 garet as she took her first morning peep from her 
 window at the dark curve of Morello beyond Fiesole, 
 at the distant shining Carrara peaks. 
 
 Years of habit had never accustomed her to her 
 grandmother's rule, never made her resigned to live 
 her life and go the old lady's ways instead of her 
 own. 
 
 And certainly the ways of Madame de Barre de 
 Fer-de-Lance were not ones to recommend them- 
 selves to a young girl eager to grasp the joy of 
 life with activity. 
 
 Dull drives in the big landau up and down the 
 alleys of the Cascine, duller receptions and teas 
 among the most ultra-Catholic element in the Italian 
 society of the town, a life planned to lead up to 
 an Italian marriage for Margaret and a subsequent 
 entrance into the fold of Rome, such had been the 
 routine of Margaret's winters for the last three 
 years. 
 
 208
 
 IN FLORENCE 
 
 Was it the thought of Jack's prophecies and gibes 
 that had kept up the girl's powers of passive resist- 
 ance, or was it the instinctive craving of her nature 
 for a life more suited to her needs? 
 
 However it was, she had hitherto held her own 
 against her sacerdotal surroundings, escaping when- 
 ever possible to the more outdoor element of her 
 English acquaintances. An occasional excursion 
 among the hills, or an afternoon's golfing would 
 soon brush away the cobwebs gathered in a heated 
 salon, crowded with scented dowagers and smooth- 
 faced ecclesiastics. She had her home alleviations, 
 too, in a whimsical friendship with her grand- 
 mother's French companion, poor, scraggy Madame 
 Estivalet, with her quaint antiquarian enthusiasm 
 that compensated her for all her bondage to her 
 grim old mistress. 
 
 Then there was Ellen, half-housekeeper, half- 
 ladies' maid, whose protecting, scolding devotion 
 had formed one of Margaret's earliest memories. 
 Ellen, whose sturdy independence held its own 
 even against the old lady's imperious will. 
 
 It was Ellen, though, who, in Margaret's occa- 
 sional fits of rebellion, would coax her into sub- 
 mission. 
 
 " She's old now, Miss Meggie, and she mightn't 
 live long, and her with all that money that would 
 make a rich woman of you, and, maybe, after all, 
 she's an easier one to please than your pa, and a 
 woman's got to please somebody that is, if she 
 isn't a widow with a bit put away and sure and 
 certain it is that your pa would never have paid 
 all them bills for clothes this last year. No, nor 
 given you that pearl necklace, neither, as you're so 
 
 209
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 proud of. And there's another thing, child," lower- 
 ing her voice carefully, " there was them at home 
 that called her a witch, and while that may be 
 nonsense, still I never did see those who crossed 
 her have much luck afterwards. In this pagan 
 country, Domenico calls it the evil eye and makes 
 signs behind his back with his fingers whenever he 
 comes near her, but I guess he means the same 
 thing as they did; and so, my dear, just you be 
 patient." 
 
 But Meg did not always follow this well-meant 
 advice, and at the present she was in deeper dis- 
 grace than ever. 
 
 Madame de Barre had taken her to a dance given 
 by the American daughter-in-law of a devout count- 
 ess, and Margaret, instead of modestly accepting 
 the attentions of the Countess Besaglieri's son, had 
 given several dances to a wandering American, and, 
 greatest crime of all in Italian eyes, had even sat 
 out one with him, after which her outraged ances- 
 tress had taken her home, and a fine war of words 
 had raged between the two. 
 
 " But, Granny, you never minded my sitting out 
 dances in London," the girl had protested, feigning 
 a social ignorance. 
 
 " London ! that is another matter ! Those heavy 
 English are too stupid ever to see or be afraid 
 of harm. But here! when I take you into the best 
 Italian society, when all the Ripamonti family are 
 agog to see what you are like indeed, the old 
 Count came to town on purpose you disgrace me, 
 and disgust Count Felice." 
 
 " That's one comfort, at any rate, and as to dis- 
 grace, Granny, if you're so easily disgraced as that, 
 
 210
 
 IN FLORENCE 
 
 you had better let me go home to my mother. Ellen 
 could take me, you know. At any rate, I should 
 like to go to bed now." 
 
 As generally happened when Margaret raised 
 the standard of open rebellion, the old lady ca- 
 pitulated, and soothed the angry girl with some 
 phrases almost apologetic, though her wrath burned 
 none the less fiercely below the surface. 
 
 She did not intend Margaret to know that the 
 Ripamonti dowager was coming to lunch with 
 her for a cosy little chat over the proposed 
 alliance, and so the next morning she issued her 
 mandate that Margaret and her companion were 
 to improve their minds by a day's sightseeing at 
 Fiesole. Poor Madame Estivalet's face shone with 
 pleasure as she appeared in Margaret's room with 
 the tidings. 
 
 " I fear that it will be but a dull day for you, my 
 dear, but still, the weather is lovely," she began, 
 timidly, but was interrupted by Margaret catching 
 her by the arms and whirling her round in an invol- 
 untary waltz. 
 
 " Dull, my beloved Stivvie, dull ! When I ex- 
 pected to be trotted about in the closed landau all the 
 afternoon on a round of dowagerical visits good 
 word, that, isn't it? And we will get the cook to 
 make us some of your favourite sandwiches and 
 we will lunch on them in the amphitheatre where 
 the maidenhair grows. Then we'll buy some 
 ' dolces ' at Doney's on our way to the train. Only 
 mind, now, we play fair. I'll go and gaze at your 
 beloved Etruscan scraps in the museum if you'll 
 promise to sit and do nothing out-of-doors for ever 
 so long." 
 
 211
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 " Oh, dear child, but you are of an amiable 
 disposition to enjoy going with your poor old 
 friend," and the good creature wiped away a tear 
 of gratitude. 
 
 "Don't be a humbug, Stivvie! You know that 
 at heart we are equal vagabonds ! " 
 
 Be that as it might, there was certainly enough 
 of a subtle bond between the queerly assorted pair 
 to make them good holiday companions. 
 
 The girl who to-morrow might choose to pose 
 as a very up-to-date society lady was to-day in 
 the wildest schoolgirl humour, and, indeed, in her 
 sailor hat and gray tweed, looked little more than 
 a schoolgirl. 
 
 The day was one of those perfect March ones 
 of which Florence holds the secret, and Margaret 
 bought from one of the street children at the station 
 a bunch of vivid red anemones and fastened them 
 against the white silk of her blouse. 
 
 They had reached their bourn of the Fiesole 
 amphitheatre, with its circling stone seats against 
 the hillside, where once 
 
 " The Monarch and his minions and his dames viewed the 
 games." 
 
 Below them lay the winding valley that the dark 
 hills closed in upon and hid, and over everything 
 was the peace of the sleeping past. 
 
 Margaret lay back with her head at a comfortable 
 angle against a big stone, and, as usual, was not 
 silent for long. 
 
 " Condescend, my friend," she said, lazily, " to 
 bring your thoughts into the comparative modern- 
 
 212
 
 IN FLORENCE 
 
 ness of the Roman Empire, and tell me if you think 
 the Latin ladies who sat here on these seats on Jan- 
 uary and February afternoons had the bare arms and 
 those nice little bare toes with gold trimmings that 
 we see in their statues? " 
 
 " Perhaps they only had their games in the sum- 
 mer," was the somewhat feeble suggestion. 
 
 " I rather fancy they were up to their little games 
 all the year round," Margaret jested. " And then, 
 those wonderful curled head-pieces of theirs ! How 
 blown about they must have got if they didn't wear 
 veils, and what guys they must have looked at any 
 time. Now, you wouldn't have caught a Greek 
 woman getting herself up like that. If I were clever 
 and studied things I should want to know all about 
 the Greeks. How would you like to go to Greece, 
 Stivvie?" she asked, tilting her head still farther 
 back to look up at the angular figure perched with 
 stiff incongruity on a great fallen stone. 
 
 " Greece ! Oh, my dear ! " The rapture of the 
 thought was evidently too deep for words. 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you what, if ever I'm rich you 
 and I will go to Athens together, and Corinth and 
 Olympia " 
 
 The stream of her idle talk was checked by the 
 sight of two men tourists, who, descending one of 
 the flights of steps of the amphitheatre, seated them- 
 selves on the first row of the curving tiers. Here 
 they proceeded to light cigarettes in an evident state 
 of lazy well-being. 
 
 Margaret gave a little amused laugh, and said, 
 in cautiously lowered tones : 
 
 " Do you see the younger one in the felt hat ? 
 Well, that's the one Granny and I had the fight 
 
 213
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 over. He's an American, you know, and seemed to 
 take it quite as a matter of course that I should 
 talk to him half the evening. Oh, Stivvie ! " she 
 broke off, in a sharp tone of dismay, for a precious 
 fragment of stone from the old Etruscan wall, sur- 
 reptitiously presented to Madame Estivalet by a 
 workman, and carefully carried by her, had slipped 
 from her grasp, and, rolling from step to step of 
 the amphitheatre, had ended by inflicting a sharp 
 rap between the shoulders of the subject of Mar- 
 garet's discourse. 
 
 The young fellow looked up in such evident 
 amazement that her laugh rang out unchecked. 
 
 Recognising his partner of the night before, he 
 raised his hat in greeting, and, stone in hand, began 
 to climb toward them. 
 
 " Oh, how awful ! He must think I did it on 
 purpose. Granny would have a fit," Margaret 
 gasped, choking back her mirth. " Let's go, 
 madame." 
 
 " But my Etruscan stone," groaned the other. 
 
 It was too late, however, for retreat. The stran- 
 ger was standing before them, and, with a conta- 
 gious smile hovering round the corners of his mouth, 
 began : 
 
 " Excuse me, but, as this seems to be an antiquity, 
 I feel it my duty to restore it, although I cannot 
 guess what I had done to be attacked with such a. 
 missile." 
 
 Margaret's schoolgirl manner was gone, and she 
 was altogether the society young lady, as she an- 
 swered, with a frank laugh: 
 
 " You were right. It is no common weapon, but 
 a precious fragment of the Etruscan wall, and when
 
 IN FLORENCE 
 
 my friend let it fall from her grasp she had horrible 
 fears that you might confiscate it. She adores the 
 Etruscans, you see." 
 
 The elder lady now found courage to murmur, in 
 her broken English : 
 
 " Oh, monsieur, I am desole! If it should have 
 inflicted a wound ! " 
 
 Here both the man and the girl laughed out 
 frankly, the former answering, with a kindly defer- 
 ence: 
 
 " Fortunately for me, it did not, you see ! But 
 I fear I must plead guilty to a rooted distaste for 
 the Etruscans, at least, those I have seen in terra- 
 cotta in museums. Their smile would lend a fresh 
 horror to the Day of Judgment. I am sure that 
 if I had seen them as a child, those heads would have 
 haunted every dark corner of the room at bedtime." 
 
 But Madame Estivalet could not bear to hear 
 her idols thus desecrated. 
 
 " Oh, monsieur, but they are so truly antique, so 
 venerable!" she murmured; then, with a sudden 
 recollection of her duties as a chaperon : 
 
 " But I fear that we must be thinking of the 
 next train." 
 
 Meanwhile, Margaret had been taking a daylight 
 inspection of the man who last night had aroused 
 her interest. He was good-looking, this fair-haired, 
 slim man of about thirty, with the suggestion of a 
 reserve of strength under the quiet of his manner. 
 
 What was there about him that reminded her of 
 her brother Jack? She was not quite sure, for his 
 aquiline features were more individualised than that 
 youth's, his observant eyes were of a clear gray 
 instead of the blue of jack's, and yet with both 
 
 215
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 there was the feeling that they were of those to 
 whom children and dogs would turn unafraid, while 
 a man might fear their anger. 
 
 But the second man was coming slowly up the 
 steps. 
 
 "Isn't that Mr. Sinnet?" Margaret asked. 
 
 " Yes ; do you know him ? " 
 
 " Just to bow to, but Mrs. Sinnet comes to the 
 villa sometimes." 
 
 Then, as the tall, thin man, with iron-gray hair 
 and dyspeptic countenance, raised his hat, she said : 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Sinnet ? One must come 
 into the wilderness, I see, to meet you aesthetic folk. 
 You don't condescend to teas and such." 
 
 The newcomer looked mildly flattered as he an- 
 swered, in a sepulchral voice : 
 
 " Art is long and life is short. We to whom the 
 mission has been given must husband our forces 
 for the doing of our work." 
 
 Margaret knew well enough that the doing of 
 this work consisted in the occasional production of 
 some overelaborate essay on North Italian scenery 
 or art, brought out with copious illustrations in 
 " editions de luxe," and she caught a look on the 
 other man's face which told her that he did not take 
 his companion very seriously. 
 
 " It must be delightful to go about with so good 
 a guide to Florence as Mr. Sinnet," she said, gra- 
 ciously, to him. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, though I fear he finds me a terrible 
 Philistine. I had not time, you see, in early days 
 to attend to the ornamental side of my education," 
 was the frank answer. 
 
 " Ah, well, that can always be added on like 
 216
 
 IN FLORENCE 
 
 a piece of lace to a frock. Yes, dear madame, I 
 am ready whenever you are," and, with a bow and 
 a smile which included both men, she turned with 
 her companion to climb toward the entrance. 
 
 " What a delightful young man ! " Madame Esti- 
 valet said, regretfully, as they sat in the shady 
 piazza awaiting the hourly train. 
 
 " That's all very well." Margaret laughed, mis- 
 chievously, " but won't Granny slay us when she 
 hears we have been talking to the enterprising part- 
 ner of last night ? " 
 
 Madame Esti valet looked troubled at the antici- 
 pation of her report to her tyrant, but presently she 
 spoke, with a fine air of carelessness : 
 
 " After all, dear child, I see no occasion to dis- 
 turb your grandmother with the little details of 
 our expedition. She has seemed nervous of late, 
 and easily disturbed." 
 
 " Nervous " was the companion's polite expression 
 for what Ellen called " the old lady's tantrums." 
 
 " All right, Stivvie, I'm mum," the girl agreed, 
 with an inward sense of amusement. 
 
 217
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A WANDERER 
 
 " f i HAT'S the girl you were asking me about, 
 isn't it ? " Mr. Sinnet said, as soon as the 
 A ladies were out of hearing. 
 
 " Yes, it was strange I couldn't remember her 
 name, for I found her charming company. I rather 
 think the old lady with her didn't fancy her bestow- 
 ing so much of it on me. She scowled at me fiercely 
 as she left." 
 
 "Madame de Barre? Oh, she is an old witch, 
 they say. She keeps mostly to the foreign society 
 of the place, and wants to marry Miss Nugent to 
 an Italian, at least, so I've heard my wife say. I 
 hold aloof from it all, you know. The real Florence 
 lies for me in the nooks and corners that retain the 
 national life, and steep my soul in joy with their 
 contrast to the American crudity from which I es- 
 caped as from Sodom and Gomorrah." 
 
 " Be sure you don't look backwards, then," his 
 companion said, and then, thinking that, for all 
 his aloofness, Mr. Sinnet seemed fairly well up in 
 the local gossip, he went on : 
 
 " Miss Nugent seems to have nothing foreign 
 about her except her looks. Her name is Irish, 
 
 218
 
 A WANDERER 
 
 and one often sees Irish girls with that blue-black 
 hair." 
 
 " But never with those deep dark eyes, where the 
 fire, where the passion of this old land slumbers. 
 She is a daughter of the South," Mr. Sinnet de- 
 clared, enthusiastically. 
 
 His friend laughed. 
 
 " I didn't know you included young ladies' eyes 
 in your artistic raptures." 
 
 " ^Esthetic, purely aesthetic! She seemed to per- 
 sonify the freshness of spring among these heavy 
 ruins. But I suppose we must be thinking of get- 
 ting back in time for dinner. That spaghetti at 
 lunch was only half-cooked, and I was afraid to 
 touch it." 
 
 All the same, he had managed a good plateful 
 of it, his friend remembered, but took care not to 
 say so. 
 
 Between these two men there was no real friend- 
 ship or intimacy, though during these days that 
 delayed him in Florence, Gilbert Clinch had fallen 
 into a habit of taking his walks abroad in the society 
 of the man who, self-absorbed dyspeptic as he was, 
 could rouse into genuine enthusiasm over the beau- 
 ties of the land he had chosen as a home. 
 
 When Gilbert had left America at the end of the 
 previous summer, his first need had been to put 
 a space of travel between himself and the beginning 
 of a new chapter. To let fresh scenes and faces 
 dull the too keen memories and regrets that he took 
 with him. He was not the first to try such a remedy, 
 nor the first to discover its uselessness. He soon 
 found that lounging about among mountains or ruins 
 was not the way to forget. As he watched some little 
 
 219
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 sunset cloud drifting against a mountain peak, his 
 instinct was to call Isabel Broderick's attention to 
 it. When palaces and churches brought new his- 
 toric ideas to him, he imagined her replies to his 
 theories. The sight of a sad woman's face under 
 a mourning-veil, of a mother's arms around her 
 child but what was there that did not take his 
 thoughts flying back to her, true as a homing pigeon ? 
 
 Then, being in a way a resolute man, he tried 
 a stricter regimen, and went off to Vienna where 
 the man who stood as one of the world's heads 
 to his special line of work was propounding some 
 startling new theories. 
 
 The working out of these kept him absorbed as 
 nothing else could have done. Not too absorbed, 
 however, that he did not have time to read the col- 
 umns of the American society papers, to listen to 
 the chatter of any woman whom he thought might 
 mention the name he hungered to hear. Always 
 he kept before him that in a few weeks, he must go 
 to England and find out more about this uncle 
 of his, find out, too, what were the first steps neces- 
 sary to the claiming of his inheritance. He had no 
 longer any doubts as to doing that, but he had now 
 what seemed to him like riches, at least enough to 
 free him from sordid cares, and was it not his duty 
 to follow out these experiments to the end ? It was, 
 indeed, a great chance for him to be able to do 
 so, but he would go at Christmas. Yes, he cer- 
 tainly would go at Christmas. 
 
 But the Fates must have laughed as he said so, 
 for just as Vienna was putting on her festive array 
 and a very smart array it was he received a 
 
 220
 
 letter from an American doctor in Florence, enclos- 
 ing a few scrawled lines, hardly legible: 
 
 " DEAR OLD BOY : Heard from some one you're 
 in Vienna. Here I am enteric fever up the Nile 
 relapse here. Think my time's up. Could you 
 come and help me settle about the kids? 
 " Yours, 
 
 "DICK BRINDLE." 
 
 The doctor added his opinion that there was small 
 chance of the patient rallying from his excessive 
 weakness, and that when conscious he seemed anx- 
 ious and depressed about his family affairs. If any 
 friend could come to him, it would certainly be an 
 advantage. 
 
 Xnw, Dick Brindle had been to Gilbert as a 
 brother during school and college days. A pluckily 
 fragile little fellow, he had at the age of fifteen 
 seen a luxurious home go to pieces around him, 
 leaving two baby brothers more helpless than him- 
 self. He scrambled into a newspaper office and held 
 his own there with a tenacity of grip, gradually 
 working himself on until he had done well as a 
 war correspondent up the Nile with the English 
 troops in the past September. 
 
 Gilbert knew that he was on his homeward way 
 and had been expecting to hear from him, and now 
 he had heard with a vengeance. There was no doubt 
 in his mind as to going. Dick had appealed to 
 him, that was enough. 
 
 There was a sigh given to the thought of the 
 week that he had intended to spend in Paris, for he 
 had cherished an idea that there, if anywhere, he 
 
 221
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 might find Mrs. Broderick. True, he must not seek 
 her, but if by any chance Well, however that 
 might be, it must wait now. 
 
 His trunk was packed and he was off within a 
 few hours of his summons. His reward came when, 
 standing in a small dark bedroom in a Florence 
 hotel, he saw the flicker of a familiarly whimsical 
 smile on a face so pinched and waxy that life seemed 
 to have but little to do with it. 
 
 For a few weeks Gilbert's existence was one 
 of those hand-to-hand combats with death which 
 most of us have fought in our time. Then, one 
 day: 
 
 " You've won, old fellow, though whether you'll 
 find it was worth the trouble is another question," 
 said Brindle, over a bowl of soup. " And how do 
 you mean to celebrate your victory? By an orgie 
 of old masters? " 
 
 Gilbert puffed at his pipe, and, lying back in an 
 armchair, contemplated his ghastly treasure-trove 
 with satisfaction. 
 
 " By swearing a bit at you now and then when 
 you get fractious. It didn't seem exactly polite to 
 a dying man, you know," he said. 
 
 " But I'm afraid I'll get more fractious. That is, 
 people always do when they are getting better, don't 
 they ? " was the rueful answer. 
 
 " You'd better just wait until you find the use 
 of your legs, then, that's all. Go to sleep now, like 
 the blessed baby you are, while I go for a walk." 
 
 This walk took him around by Cook's office, 
 where he made inquiries as to the different north- 
 ward routes, reading out various items from time- 
 tables to his friend that evening. But these an- 
 
 goo
 
 A WANDERER\ 
 
 ticipations were promptly quenched next day by 
 the well-known American doctor, who has been 
 such a good friend to so many of his country-folk 
 in Florence. 
 
 " I won't be responsible for him if he leaves here 
 before three weeks or so. You must see yourself," 
 he appealed to Gilbert, " that if he met a cold snap 
 on the journey it might knock him up again, and 
 in that case ' Here he left a silence which his 
 listeners had no difficulty in rilling in. 
 
 " I suppose you'll get off on Saturday or Mon- 
 day," Brindle said, with a fine air of carelessness. 
 It was the hour in the day when he was promoted 
 to sit at a window and gaze out on the varied out- 
 line of Florentine house-tops and spires, and when 
 Gilbert allowed him to talk most freely. 
 
 There had been a ruminative silence between 
 them now while the sunset splendour filled the room. 
 
 " Saturday or Monday ? " Gilbert made answer, 
 slowly, " no, I think I might as well hang on for 
 a bit longer and see how you get along." 
 
 " Look here," came with new energy from Brin- 
 dle, " I see now that I was a weak coward to send 
 for you at all. I don't think I'd have done it but for 
 those kids, and wanting to make sure that you'd be 
 their guardian." Here he choked for a bit, but in 
 a moment went on, bravely : " I'll do all right by 
 myself now, anyway." 
 
 "There's gratitude for you," scoffed Gilbert, 
 cheerfully, " and now will you state your reasons 
 for supposing that I am in such a devil of a hurry ? " 
 
 " You didn't think that I was listening one day 
 when Baldor spoke of your meeting Doctor Sproules 
 in Paris and you said that you must be in England
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 long before that, and might be detained there on 
 important business. I suppose you meant what you 
 said." 
 
 Gilbert laughed shortly. 
 
 " You little viper, to trick me like that ! Well, 
 were you never glad of an excuse to dodge the 
 beginning of a difficult and unpleasant piece of 
 business? That's the way with me at present. Let 
 me give you your medicine so as to prepare you 
 for a dime-novel romance pirates, slave-traders, 
 hidden treasure, and all the rest." 
 
 The room was dark when Gilbert, having finished 
 his tale, asked: 
 
 " There, what do you think of that? " 
 
 " And it is more than six months since you first 
 heard of this will that leaves you a fortune?" his 
 patient demanded, eagerly. 
 
 " The chance of a fortune, the disturbing, uncer- 
 tain chance of a fortune. How can I tell what legal 
 whirlpools and rocks may lie between that chance 
 and smooth waters ? " 
 
 " Man alive, how can you ever find out unless 
 you try? If you want to know what I think, I 
 think that you've been a fool. That is," he added, 
 more slowly, " unless there is something in the 
 affair that I haven't understood." Here his tone 
 became slightly neutral, and he fixed his eyes on the 
 black outline of a turret against the primrose sky. 
 " I think you said that you have told the whole 
 story to no one save Mrs. Broderick? " 
 
 Gilbert made a slight movement at the strange- 
 ness of hearing the familiar name again. 
 
 " She did not hear it all. I I have not seen
 
 A WANDERER 
 
 her since my mother told it to me," he answered, 
 simply. 
 
 " Well, never mind, you've told it to me now, 
 and I want to know what you are going to do 
 next?" 
 
 Gilbert laughed. 
 
 " What tyrants one's patients become ! May I 
 humbly venture to state that when I reach London 
 I intend taking a Boston letter of introduction to 
 a solicitor, telling him my tale and asking his ad- 
 vice." 
 
 " You do ? Well, then, will you start off on 
 Monday and go and do it ? " 
 
 " No, I intend to wait for a week or two and 
 hale you off with me." 
 
 " That depends, my friend." 
 
 Each was determined, and the argument was 
 longer than Gilbert thought good for his patient, 
 but how was he to leave one so helpless to travel 
 alone? At length they came to a compromise that 
 Gilbert should stay on for a bit if he would write 
 at once to the London solicitor, stating his case 
 and asking for advice. 
 
 " What I intend to do now, is to get back the 
 use of these legs of mine and cheat you two doctors. 
 You always said I had the obstinacy of a bulldog 
 and I mean to bring it into play." 
 
 He did, the next day clamouring to be taken out 
 in a carriage, which feat, being once accomplished, 
 became a daily one. save when a bath-chair took its 
 place. A quaint figure he made, the shrunken young 
 fellow with the handsome head, and the light- 
 hearted, feeble laughter. The old man who dragged 
 his chair, and on whom he experimented gaily in 
 
 225
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 Italian, thought him madder but far more amiable 
 than the generality of the " forestieri," and the 
 flower-sellers learned to track his path and persuade 
 him to heap the bunches of narcissus or red anemo- 
 nes around him, until he announced that he looked 
 like nothing save a legless Bacchus. 
 
 " And now we must see the sights that a poor 
 cripple can reach," he said, and Gilbert did all he 
 could to carry out the wish. 
 
 226
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 PERSEPHONE 
 
 WHOEVER has taken care of an invalid 
 knows what tales may be woven from the 
 slimmest incidents to bring back to the 
 sick-room a bit of the outside world. Gilbert Clinch 
 was by nature a reticent man, but now the little 
 adventure in the Fiesole amphitheatre was spun out 
 to its fullest extent, and Brindle was well up on the 
 subject of the English girl's hair and eyes, even her 
 dress. 
 
 " It will be nice to see some smart girls again," 
 he said, " only I'm afraid that in my feeble mental 
 state I shall fall in love with the first one I come 
 across." 
 
 " Then you will probably have to fall out of love 
 again," Gilbert retorted. 
 
 They were sitting in a sunny nook in the Boboli 
 Gardens, the invalid in a bath-chair, his friend beside 
 him on a bench. Beneath them 
 
 11 White and wide 
 
 And washed by the morning water-gold 
 Florence lay out on the mountain-side." 
 
 Beyond the city domes and spires rose the dark 
 curve of Morello, and away to the south like the 
 
 rr
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 far-off city of the soul gleamed the white Cararra 
 peaks. 
 
 At their feet a great circle of turf was starred 
 with anemones, and sparrows bathed and twittered 
 in the splash of a central fountain. Brindle, look- 
 ing round on it all with a convalescent's content, 
 drew a deep breath of satisfaction. 
 
 " Jove, but it's a good world to be alive in ! " he 
 said. " Think of being hidden under the earth on 
 a day like this, under the earth with one's life 
 unlived, like so many of those poor fellows out there 
 on the Nile like I came so near being myself." 
 He paused for a moment. " Somehow the spring 
 in the air goes to one's head, and one feels as though 
 the old Gods of the land ought to be awakening. 
 And by the whole Olympus of them," with sudden 
 energy, " here comes the very Goddess of Spring 
 herself." 
 
 Up the terraced path toward them came a girl in 
 a dress of light gray with big black hat wreathed 
 with spring flowers and carrying in her hands a 
 great cluster of daffodils. The morning light was 
 on her face, and she was laughing at something said 
 by the prim old companion who followed her like 
 a shadow. 
 
 " Keep calm," Gilbert said, " this is the girl I 
 told you of." 
 
 As Margaret saw him she bowed smilingly, and 
 was apparently about to pass on around the circling 
 path to the flight of steps that led to a higher bank. 
 Was it the sight of the wistful expectancy in a pale 
 young face that checked her and caused her to linger 
 so that Gilbert must needs come forward to greet 
 her? 
 
 228
 
 PERSEPHONE 
 
 " What a warm, sunny corner you have chosen," 
 she said, in frank greeting, " but I am sorry to see 
 your friend is ill," with a glance that set the bath- 
 chair quivering. 
 
 " Thanks, but I hope he is well on the way to 
 recovery now." Gilbert hesitated and then plunged 
 boldly in. " It would be a great kindness if you 
 would come and talk to him for a bit. He has seen 
 no one save me for weeks." 
 
 Margaret laughed. " And is tired of you ? I 
 see. Of course we love to play the Good Samaritan, 
 don't we, madame? Come and introduce us, please." 
 
 Seldom does a woman show to better advantage 
 than in talking to a sick man, all the latent motherli- 
 ness rousing in her to help him, if only with a 
 few cheerful words. So now, as with one quick 
 glance, Margaret took in the sight of the blanched, 
 wasted hands lying so listlessly on the rug, the 
 carefully buttoned overcoat, and the deep hollows 
 around the eyes that shone with young love of life, 
 a great gentleness came over her. 
 
 Taking a seat on the bench beside the bath-chair, 
 she said : 
 
 " It must be good to be here in the sunshine, for 
 you have been ill, I hear." 
 
 " That can all be a dream of the night now that 
 I sit here like a prince, with such a bit of the king- 
 doms of the world and the glory of them spread 
 out below me, and with spring coming to me in the 
 hands of Persephone, 
 
 " She stepped upon Sicilian grass, 
 Demeter's daughter fresh and fair,' " 
 
 the young fellow quoted eagerly. 
 
 229
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 Margaret gave a little pleased laugh, as she held 
 out her flowers to him to see. 
 
 " How nice of you ! Did you think of the rest 
 of the verse, 
 
 " ' The daffodils were fair to see, 
 They nodded lightly on the lea, 
 Persephone ! Persephone ! ' 
 
 I love to give those dear old outcast phantoms a 
 share of their lost haunts on days like this. But 
 you are sketching? " seeing a little note-book lying 
 on his knee. 
 
 Gilbert laughed. 
 
 " The sketching is a series of vile caricatures of 
 me. I figure making beef-tea for I have learned 
 of late to make beef-tea ; slumbering in an armchair 
 in the night watches, with my head near a candle, 
 and so forth. There's the gratitude of a patient for 
 you. Hand them over, you sinner," and reaching 
 down, he appropriated the book and held it out 
 with fluttering leaves to Miss Nugent. 
 
 But a confidential sketch-book is risky to handle, 
 and the first thing that Margaret came on was a 
 rough sketch outlining the semicircle of the Fiesole 
 amphitheatre, on the top steps of which stood a 
 beautiful, wrathful Bellona aiming a stone at a 
 cowering figure below, with Gilbert's aquiline nose 
 exaggerated into caricature. Behind Bellona a few 
 touches suggested an elderly figure in modern dress. 
 
 The corners of Margaret's mouth quivered, as she 
 said, demurely: 
 
 " You certainly seem to have classical allusions 
 at your finger-tips, Mr. Brindle. First Persephone, 
 then is it Pallas Athene or Bellona?" and with 
 that the frank laughter broke out. 
 
 230
 
 PERSEPHONE 
 
 For a moment the two men looked like school- 
 boys detected in drawing the head-master; then 
 they too joined in the laugh. 
 
 " It was all Clinch's fault," his friend protested. 
 " He would do nothing all that evening but talk of 
 his surprise at the stone and his pleasure in finding 
 his partner of the night before, so to relieve the 
 black envy of an overcharged heart " 
 
 " You perpetuated an injustice," Margaret inter- 
 rupted, " for if Mr. Clinch told you the truth, he 
 said that it was not I who dropped the stone, but 
 madame," and she turned and laid her hand on the 
 arm of that worthy lady, who made a little sound 
 of dismay. 
 
 " Oh, monsieur, I have been longing to ask if 
 my unfortunate awkwardness caused you any pain 
 or inconvenience." the poor soul fluttered. 
 
 " Not at all, madame." he hastened to say, good- 
 naturedly. " It was only told as a joke to entertain 
 a bored and fractious individual." 
 
 " It was told with deliberate design to make me 
 envious. I, who for months had only seen the oily 
 beauties of Nubia and the Soudan, and who, as soon 
 as I get back to civilisation, am dumped down like 
 a log in a back bedroom for weeks. But now," 
 pointing the word with an audacious glance at Mar- 
 garet, " I am in that state of Christian beatitude 
 that I can forgive him anything." 
 
 " That's just as well, or I might take you home 
 and put you to bed," Gilbert put in. 
 
 " Felice would stand my friend. Isn't he a 
 delightfully picturesque ruffian ? " Brindle said, nod- 
 ding toward a tattered being on a bench near by. 
 
 231
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 " Do you often get out now ? " Margaret asked. 
 
 " This is the opening scene to a wild career of 
 dissipation," Gilbert said. " We mean to bask in 
 the sunshine like lizards. To-morrow, if it is fine, 
 we shall cab it to San Miniato and spend the morn- 
 ing there. Then I have prospected the sheltered 
 spots about the Viale dei Colli for his benefit. I'm 
 glad now that our quarters are on this side of the 
 river." 
 
 " Are they? " Margaret said, with interest. " My 
 grandmother's villa is half-way up the Viale, the 
 pink one at the turn of the road, with a snake on the 
 top of each gate-post Villa della Biscia the people 
 began to call it, and now even our friends put the 
 name on notes. It's an uncanny crest to have," 
 and she gave a little shudder. 
 
 " Is it yours, too ? " Gilbert asked, with an unde- 
 fined impulse to keep her to personal topics. The 
 girl had somehow succeeded in arousing his curi- 
 osity. 
 
 " Oh, no, Granny has it all to herself, I'm happy 
 to say." 
 
 Just then the soft swell of the Angelus rose in 
 its daily oblation from the hundred bells of the city 
 below. 
 
 " I always think that at twilight one might see 
 the sound spirits going upwards," Margaret said, 
 gently, then as she felt a timid touch on her arm : 
 
 " Oh, madame, yes, I know. We shall hardly 
 manage to get home in time for dejeuner, and what 
 a fuss there will be. We must say good morning 
 and run away." 
 
 " Well," said Brindle, drawing a deep breath as 
 
 232
 
 PERSEPHONE 
 
 he watched the slim gray figure down the long vista 
 of the path, " that was a piece of luck anyhow." 
 
 14 Was it? " Gilbert responded, absently. " Per- 
 haps that remains to be seen. I never meet a new 
 person but I wonder what they may bring with 
 them. Good luck or bad." 
 
 " And most of them merely bring a pebble to add 
 to the cairn of boredom, which is the gift of man 
 to man." 
 
 " And of women ? " 
 
 " Oh, women ! That's a different question. I 
 know that my Persephone brought me a pleasant 
 half-hour, to which may the gods send an encore." 
 
 It is hardly to be wondered at that, given the vari- 
 ous sunny lounging-places on one side of the winding 
 hillside boulevard, and the facility with which the 
 pink Villa della Biscia could be identified, the bath- 
 chair was more than once the following week en- 
 countered in that neighbourhood by a young woman 
 taking her walks abroad under proper chaperonage. 
 Never had Florence known calmer, sunnier morn- 
 ings, mornings when it was joy to feel life and youth 
 coming back, and to watch a girl's cheek curving 
 with a smile, to see the quick flash of responsive 
 thought in her eyes, even before the words came. 
 
 And Gilbert watched the small idyl with secret 
 misgivings, noting the girl's little outbursts of frank 
 unconventionally and her unvarying kindness to 
 his friend, and remembering how he had heard the 
 Sinnets speak of her as an up-to-date society girl 
 with all the ways of her type. During the past 
 six months which seemed to form a gap between him 
 and the realities of his life he had seen no woman 
 who really aroused his curiosity and had given him 
 
 233
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 any desire to understand her character as much as 
 did this one. 
 
 " There are hidden fires there," he said, one night, 
 to Brindle, as they sat smoking. " Warring heredi- 
 tary traits of alien races that change the character 
 as one side or the other gets uppermost." 
 
 " I thought it was about time for your hereditary 
 fetich to be trotted out," Brindle grunted. " But 
 all the same you needn't speak as though the girl 
 were a mulatto. How do you know that she is of 
 mixed race? " 
 
 " She has an English name and an exotic face 
 and nature." 
 
 " She has a sweet face and a kind nature. Not 
 many girls would bother about a wretched cripple 
 as she does," the other protested, vehemently. 
 
 " No, she has been charming," Gilbert agreed, as 
 he rose to go and finish the evening at the Sinnets'. 
 
 It was after the third of these more or less casual 
 meetings that, on their homeward way, Margaret an- 
 nounced to her companion : 
 
 " Stivvie, I am sure you must be suffering from 
 an evil conscience." 
 
 " My dar, what do you mean ? " came with a 
 nervous gasp. 
 
 " Mean ? Why, what could I mean but that you 
 have forgotten to mention to Granny these two 
 young men whom you have been meeting let me 
 see. once, twice, thrice " 
 
 " / have been meeting? My dear child, what will 
 you say next?" remonstrated her friend. 
 
 " What I am going to say next is that I am 
 going to peach. I shall confess all, Stivvie." 
 
 234
 
 PERSEPHONE 
 
 " But I shall be turned out into the world," the 
 poor old lady protested. 
 
 " Not a bit of it. I'll see you clear. You leave it 
 to me." And with a meek sigh madame agreed to 
 this. 
 
 Madame de Barre had got through her third rich 
 dish, and the grimness of her countenance was 
 somewhat relaxed. She had also driven a hard 
 bargain with a countrywoman that morning for a 
 string of the old gold and coral beads which are 
 growing rare. She had a love for collecting all 
 such sorts of trinkets, and now sat at the table 
 lovingly fingering the beads. 
 
 " Granny, do you remember the American man I 
 danced with at the Delia Rovere's?" Margaret 
 asked, true to her usual bold policy with her ven- 
 erable ancestress. 
 
 Madame Esti valet jumped as though a pin had 
 been stuck into her, and her tyrant withered her 
 with a baleful glance before she answered, shortly : 
 
 " I do, certainly. I trust you have not been picking 
 up any more such acquaintances." 
 
 " Well," came the demure answer, " we did meet 
 him this morning up at San Miniato you know, 
 Granny, you said that long walks were so good for 
 my complexion and there was such a poor des- 
 perately ill-looking young fellow with him that I 
 couldn't help stopping to say something kind to 
 him " 
 
 "You spoke to these men! If the Marchesa di 
 Ripamonti should hear of it ! " shrieked the old lady, 
 like an angry cockatoo. " And you, Estivalet - 
 she was turning on the trembling companion when 
 Margaret made her voice heard again : 
 
 235
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 " It seems that Mr. Clinch is really a doctor " 
 
 " Mr. who?" came in a curiously changed voice, 
 like a child's that hears a dreaded name. 
 
 " Mr. Clinch, you know. It seems that he has 
 been delayed here for weeks by the illness of his 
 friend, who had enteric fever up the Nile, when he 
 was war correspondent, and had a relapse on the 
 way home. Such a young fellow he looks." 
 
 " Was that why he came here? " the old lady ques- 
 tioned, abruptly. 
 
 "Who? Mr. Clinch? Yes, I think so. He 
 seems devoted to his friend. He knows the Sinnets, 
 he says." 
 
 "Knows the Sinnets, does he? Well, we must 
 find out who this young man is, who seems to hover 
 about. What did you say his first name was ? " 
 
 Now Margaret had not said, and she rather won- 
 dered that her grandmother should think of asking. 
 However, she answered, demurely: 
 
 " It begins with G, for I saw that on a letter in 
 his hand." 
 
 " Ah, I see," in a less interested voice. " And 
 now, my dear, order the carriage. By the bye, it's 
 Mrs. Sinnet's day and we might as well pay her a 
 visit. I want to ask her about that washerwoman 
 she recommended." 
 
 236
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 THE GORGON'S HEAD 
 
 " TT HAVE been put through my paces on your 
 account to-day. What have you done to 
 
 -* arouse such an interest in the Gorgon's 
 breast?" Mrs. Sinnet said to Gilbert, as they sat 
 over a bright little wood fire in her drawing-room 
 the next evening. Mr. Sinnet was taking that abso- 
 lute repose which he found necessary to his digestion 
 for half an hour after dinner. 
 
 " What Gorgon ? " Gilbert asked, bewildered. 
 
 "Oh, don't you know the name? That's what 
 people call old Madame de Barre. She was here 
 with her pretty granddaughter yesterday and wanted 
 to hear a great deal more about you than I ever 
 knew myself. Have you been making love to the 
 young woman, par exemplef " 
 
 Gilbert laughed. 
 
 " You must blame Brindle, not me," he said. 
 " His pathetic appearance seems to have stirred her 
 woman's kindness, so that she and the quaint old 
 French lady have once or twice loitered to chat with 
 us in their walks. She seems a fine creature, full 
 of possibilities, doesn't she?" he added, carelessly. 
 
 Mrs. Sinnet sent one quick glance over her fire- 
 screen to see if the carelessness were genuine, but 
 
 237
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 observed nothing to confirm the suspicion. She had 
 not thought in the afternoon that Margaret's inter- 
 est was for the invalid. 
 
 " Well, I am under orders to take you to the Villa 
 della Biscia reception to-morrow. Suitable name for 
 the Gorgon's den, isn't it ? " 
 
 " I haven't seen her. For all I know she may be 
 a much maligned character. But really, I hardly 
 see the good of going there now when I hope to be 
 off in a week or so." 
 
 Mrs. Sinnet stared into the fire thoughtfully. 
 Being a lady of vivid imagination, she never brought 
 a man and girl together without foreseeing possi- 
 bilities. 
 
 " Doesn't it seem as though you were bound to go 
 after meeting the girl and talking to her casually? " 
 she suggested. 
 
 " Well, just as you like," he agreed. " Will it be 
 a very grand function ? " 
 
 " There will be a crowd, mostly Italian old ladies 
 and priests, and an assortment of the most fossilised 
 English element. Not many low-down Americans 
 like me." 
 
 "And how do you gain admittance?" Gilbert 
 asked, idly. 
 
 " Well, you see I have a cousin who married a 
 Roman duke, and that always comes in handy. Be- 
 sides that, the devout dowagers are under orders to 
 smile upon me and entice me into the right path. 
 There is a charming bishop angling for my soul just 
 now. It is such fun and gives me a glimpse of the 
 old-fashioned Italian society at its best. You know, 
 I am like St. Paul's Athenians and would sell what 
 soul I have for a new sensation. I have only to
 
 THE GORGON'S HEAD 
 
 appear at benediction and a dozen old countesses are 
 after me for the honour and glory of my conversion. 
 And that, you see, is how I come to be admitted to 
 the Gorgon's den/' 
 
 " It's a great thing to be catholic in your tastes, 
 but then perhaps even these dowagers are capable 
 of enjoying a little added spice to their daily gossip. 
 I trust I may prove a credit to you. And now," 
 rising, " I must get back to see to my patient's sleep- 
 ing draught." 
 
 "How is he?" 
 
 " Well, doctors differ. I think better of him than 
 Balder does. I sincerely trust I am right. An 
 revoirl " 
 
 When Mrs. Sinnet's smart little victoria swept up 
 the carriage drive of the Villa della Biscia there were 
 already several heavy family vehicles at the door. 
 
 " Why should old ladies' carriages have the same 
 stamp all the world over?" queried Mrs. Sinnet. 
 
 That lady was looking very smart in elaborate 
 mauve draperies around which ran outlines of dull 
 sage green and silver. 
 
 " Humphry designed it," she said, in answer to 
 Gilbert's expressed admiration. " That's one good, 
 at any rate, in having an aesthetic husband," and it 
 might almost have seemed as though she considered 
 it a lot requiring alleviations. 
 
 As they entered, Gilbert looked around with the 
 instinct of one who had often used surroundings as 
 an aid to deciphering character. The first thing 
 that struck him was the curious mixture of really 
 valuable old Italian furniture and stuffs with tawdry 
 modern materials. It suggested to him the palace of 
 some Eastern potentate, where glass chandeliers 
 
 239
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 from Birmingham hang beside priceless old lamps 
 of inlaid metals. 
 
 But to-day the setting lost interest in the groups 
 that filled the vista of the rooms. Awesome-looking 
 old ladies in those black costumes which seem put 
 together from a rag-bag of satins and laces, were 
 throned on sofas and deferentially talked to by gray- 
 haired men with the coloured buttons of various 
 orders against their black coats, while the younger, 
 more fashionably dressed women, chattered with offi- 
 cers in the Bersaglieri black and crimson or the blue 
 and silver of the cavalry. It was true that the 
 foreign element was the largest, but still there was 
 a sprinkling of smart Americans and comfortable- 
 looking English mammas with their trim half-pay 
 colonels and generals, and big daughters talking 
 loudly of golf and tennis. In fact, there was a little 
 of all the component parts of cosmopolitan society in 
 its staider form. 
 
 Gilbert followed in Mrs. Sinnet's wake through 
 the rooms, toward the central point where, enthroned 
 in a high-backed old Florentine chair, sat the hostess. 
 
 A weird figure it was, that of this little shapeless 
 old woman, huddled down in the shining folds of 
 her crimson brocade, on which numerous diamond 
 ornaments matched the hawklike brilliancy of the 
 black eyes glowing in the parchment face. 
 
 Made a keen observer by his profession, Gilbert 
 felt an insistent spell in the questioning of those eyes, 
 fixed on him as Mrs. Sinnet said : 
 
 " You see, dear madame, I have brought Mr. 
 Clinch as you so kindly suggested." 
 
 " So this is Mr. Gilbert Clinch ! " came in the 
 shaky voice of age marked with a foreign accent, 
 
 240
 
 THE GORGON'S HEAD 
 
 " the young gentleman who has been playing knight- 
 errant to my poor Estivalet." 
 
 " Indeed it is she and Miss Nugent who have 
 been kind enough to speak a few friendly words to 
 my sick friend." 
 
 " I have heard of this friend of yours. It is he 
 who detains you in Florence? " the old lady asked. 
 
 " I am waiting for him to be well enough to 
 travel," he said. 
 
 "And it was his illness that brought you here? 
 You would not have come otherwise?" she went 
 on, with a strange persistence. 
 
 " It is not likely, for I was just finishing up some 
 medical studies in Vienna before starting for 
 London." 
 
 "You have never been in England?" and if it 
 had not been so improbable Gilbert would have 
 thought that she attached some importance to the 
 question, and seemed relieved when he said no. 
 
 " Ah, you had better not be in too great a hurry 
 to forsake our Florence spring. They tell me your 
 friend is able to sit in a bath-chair in the sunshine. 
 Perhaps you would like to bring him to my terrace 
 some morning. It is sheltered and warm. Come 
 to-morrow if it is fine. And now you will want to 
 go and speak to my granddaughter, I know," and 
 with a wave of a bony, much-ringed hand she dis- 
 missed him. 
 
 Gilbert, although he could hardly have given any 
 reason for it, had rather the sensation of having 
 passed through an ordeal. 
 
 While he was being put through his paces, he 
 had been keenly conscious that Miss Nugent, dressed 
 
 241
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 in pale green, was watching his reception from under 
 a curtained archway. 
 
 " Why didn't you come to my rescue ? " he asked, 
 as she held out her hand in greeting. 
 
 " I thought you would do better without me. And 
 really, you must have bewitched Granny ! I haven't 
 seen her so smiling for an age." 
 
 He wondered with a sense of awe what her un- 
 amiable side might be like, but did not reveal the 
 sentiment. 
 
 " She very kindly told me to bring Brindle to- 
 morrow to sit on your terrace. That will delight 
 him," he said. 
 
 Margaret stared in amazement. 
 
 " Well, I can only repeat that you must have be- 
 witched her. And after her making all that fuss 
 about my sitting out two dances with you " she 
 checked herself, with a slight blush. 
 
 "Did she?" Gilbert laughed. " It must be that, 
 since then, she has discovered my harmless charac- 
 ter. If you only knew how old and cynical yours 
 and Brindle's youthful talk makes me feel." 
 
 The soft dark eyes were raised to his. 
 
 " I'm sure you are not cynical," she said, gently. 
 
 "Hullo! in the absence of Brindle the siren is 
 trying her wiles on me," Gilbert said to himself, all 
 the while noting, with a certain pleasure, the narrow 
 white hand that toyed with a cluster of red anemo- 
 nes in the front of her dress. 
 
 " You keep up your character of Persephone. I 
 see," he said, bringing a ready smile to her face. 
 
 " Poor Mr. Brindle ! Will you take him one or 
 two from me?" she asked. 
 
 " Not I ! such a gift would be bad for his tran-
 
 THE GORGON'S HEAD 
 
 quillity, both mental and physical," he protested, 
 half in jest and half in earnest. 
 
 " What a poor creature you think me," she said, 
 and he was surprised to see that he had somehow 
 wounded her. 
 
 " Ah, no, indeed ! I think you a wonder of kind- 
 ness," he asserted. 
 
 But Margaret was looking anxiously across the 
 room to where a stout, much-ornamented dowager 
 and an old gentleman with waxed gray moustache 
 were advancing. 
 
 " Oh, take me quick into the next room for a 
 cup of tea ! There are Mamma and Papa Ripamonti 
 bearing down upon me. They are trying to marry 
 me to the son, you know." 
 
 Gilbert's American chivalry was astir at the first 
 word of a girl's marriage being arranged by any 
 one but herself. 
 
 " But you won't have to marry an Italian, will 
 you? " he asked, directly they were safe in a corner 
 of the next room. 
 
 Margaret looked pleased at his earnestness. 
 
 " I'm afraid I can hardly pose as a persecuted 
 heroine, for I sha'n't have to marry any one unless 
 I choose. If Granny got too much for me, and 
 she sometimes does, I must confess," she said, 
 with a touch of gravity, "I have only to call in 
 my brother Jack to the rescue. He wouldn't stand 
 any nonsense." 
 
 " You have one brother? " Gilbert asked. 
 
 " Yes, only one. And you, have you any brothers 
 or sisters? " 
 
 "None! I am a solitary being. But tell me. 
 
 243
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 how did your grandmother know my Christian 
 name? " 
 
 " She didn't. She asked me yesterday if I had 
 heard it and I said I knew it began with G. I had 
 seen it on that book you had." 
 
 " Well, she called me Mr. Gilbert Clinch just 
 now." 
 
 " Mrs. Sinnet must have told her, then. But I 
 must go back. You will come to-morrow morning, 
 won't you ? " 
 
 Her friendly little appeal was very pleasant, and 
 as Gilbert left her to find Mrs. Sinnet he had to 
 make an effort to revive the siren theory. 
 
 " I've brought you some bonbons from the party, 
 you young sinner," was Gilbert's way of announc- 
 ing to Brindle the treat that was in store for him, 
 and the idiotic fashion in which that youth behaved 
 justified him in having kept back his news until the 
 last moment. 
 
 " Was there ever such a disgusting lot of neck- 
 ties beheld by human eyes? " he said, ruefully, con- 
 templating his small supply. " Say, Clinch, don't 
 you think you could go out and get me something 
 better?" 
 
 " Well, if you want to spend all the morning 
 dressing " Gilbert began, and the other cut him 
 short with : 
 
 " Of course I don't. This navy blue one will do. 
 What o'clock is it now ? Ten ? Surely Felice ought 
 to be here soon. Poke your head out and see, there's 
 a good fellow ! " 
 
 " Keep cool. He'll come up to help you down, 
 you know." 
 
 They were pathetic enough, these struggles be- 
 
 244
 
 THE GORGON'S HEAD 
 
 tween the self-will of young manhood and the help- 
 lessness of weakness, but a certain whimsicality of 
 Brindle's made them easier for both. There was 
 something in the fashion in which he scoffed at his 
 various afflictions that reminded Clinch of the much 
 loved Stevenson. 
 
 It was still early enough when the patient Felice 
 pulled the bath-chair up toward the Villa della 
 Biscia. 
 
 " Supposing there's no one in the garden, will 
 you ring at the door?" asked Brindle, with the 
 mingled fussiness of an invalid and an amorous man. 
 
 " I'll dump you in the window if you say much 
 more," Gilbert threatened. " There, do you see 
 that flower-wreathed hat beyond the cypress hedge ? 
 Now you're content, I hope? " 
 
 Yes, Brindle was thoroughly content when a 
 white serge-clad figure was seen coming down the 
 path to meet them. 
 
 " I've been picking out a nice warm corner for 
 you, Mr. Brindle, and Madame Estivalet is dragging 
 out rugs and cushions for your benefit," Margaret 
 said in greeting, smiling out beneath the shade of 
 her broad hat, over the brim of which hung clusters 
 of red flowers against her hair. 
 
 No one who has not been in Italy can know the 
 joy of terraces terraces to farmhouses where the 
 peppers and pumpkins are dried, terraces to villas 
 and palaces haunted by the shades of old pleasures 
 and old sins. 
 
 It so happened that when this spick and span 
 modern villa had been built, it had fallen heir to 
 one of these red-tiled farmhouse terraces, clinging 
 
 215
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 to the hillside and overlooking the fair valley of 
 the Arno and the city spires. 
 
 Sheltered by one end of the house, it was a pleas- 
 ant spot even in winter and now on this spring 
 morning it was a joy indeed. There were heavy 
 rugs spread over the red tiles, and a group of chairs 
 one especially deep and cushioned. 
 
 Margaret looked dubiously from the bath-chair 
 to the terrace. 
 
 " Would you rather not come up the steps " 
 she began, when Brindle said, eagerly: 
 
 " Oh, please let me get out of this thing that's 
 so like a coffin. Clinch, you'll give me an arm up ? " 
 
 As Felice and Gilbert helped him up the steps, 
 Margaret turned her eyes away in pity, while 
 Madame Estivalet fluttered above like a benevolent 
 stork. 
 
 Margaret had stooped to the beds of many-col- 
 oured anemones and tulips, and now came toward 
 Brindle with a cluster in her hand. 
 
 " Here are your flowers," she said. " I know 
 people who have been ill love to hold and handle 
 them." 
 
 He took the flowers with the single word " Per- 
 sephone ! " in which sounded the tribute of thanks 
 and admiration. 
 
 " I'm not sure on second thoughts that I like the 
 name. There's a creepy feeling of the dark king 
 looming up in the background," Margaret said, as 
 she settled into one of the basket chairs. " But tell 
 me, did you bring the Soudan sketches you promised 
 to show me? " 
 
 " I have brought photos which are better. I don't 
 
 246
 
 THE GORGON'S HEAD 
 
 do illustrating work, you know. My sketches are 
 just a matter between myself and my " 
 
 " Conscience," put in Gilbert. " Here are the 
 photos," pulling a small package out of his pocket. 
 
 These were as grimly interesting as are all war 
 photos, and in the morning beauty they looked long 
 at pictures of men sore wounded, or being carried 
 to their graves under the desert sands. More cheer- 
 ful ones showed groups of shirt-sleeved men cook- 
 ing, eating, resting. 
 
 " This is our correspondents' mess, and here am 
 I cooking some bacon Ah, that bacon ! It was 
 truly an oasis in the desert." 
 
 " What a horrible, uncomfortable, dirty thing war 
 must be! " Margaret said, as she laid the photos 
 down. 
 
 Gilbert was a bit surprised, having expected the 
 usual young lady cheap heroisms on the subject. 
 The girl had certainly a curious streak of sincerity 
 in her. 
 
 " How did you, an American, come to be up the 
 Nile as a war correspondent, instead of out in the 
 Philippines?" Margaret asked. 
 
 " We go whither we are sent ; besides is there 
 any place in the world where you will not meet a 
 Jew or an American, the oldest and the newest 
 products of civilisation? The American journalist 
 is ubiquitous in every city of Europe, like the Ameri- 
 can artist for the matter of that." 
 
 "Do you know many American artists?" she 
 went on. 
 
 Gilbert laughed. 
 
 " He is the special patron saint of artists. You 
 should see the pretty little articles he has written 
 
 247
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 about their various colonies such as Grez, Concar- 
 neau, Newlyn, Broadway. They make him touching 
 offerings of sketches to secure his favour." 
 
 " Don't play the fool," Brindle interrupted; then 
 with a mellifluous change of voice to Margaret : 
 
 " Can I place any of my acquired knowledge at 
 your service ? " 
 
 " Oh, I was only going to ask if you happened 
 to know Mrs. Broderick, who is an artist? " 
 
 What is it makes us aware that we have unwit- 
 tingly cast a bombshell into the conversational circle, 
 even though there is no outward sign of the fact? 
 Whatever it may be, this knowledge came to Mar- 
 garet in the pause that followed her remark. 
 
 Brindle gave one quick inquiring glance at Gilbert 
 and then began to carefully sort out his loose photo- 
 graphs. 
 
 Gilbert, who was seated on the stone steps, gave 
 no sign of having heard the question save for a 
 certain troubled pallor that showed itself in his face. 
 
 Seeing that he was not going to take the answer 
 on himself, Brindle spoke: 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Broderick dwells in more exalted 
 regions than the Bohemian circles haunted by me. 
 I have seen her, of course, and have written about 
 her pictures and her dress, and her parties, but I 
 have only spoken to her once, I think. You know 
 her, Clinch, don't you ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think that I may say that we are old 
 friends," Gilbert answered, in even tones. " And 
 you, Miss Nugent, know her, I suppose ? " Their 
 eyes met and Margaret saw the hungry yearning 
 that underlay his composed manner. 
 
 ' Yes, I knew her years ago in France, at the 
 248
 
 THE GORGON'S HEAD 
 
 seaside when I was a schoolgirl and before she was 
 married. I adored her then, as little girls do adore 
 such women, and I was overjoyed when she turned 
 up in our neighbourhood at home last autumn." 
 
 "In your neighbourhood that means?" 
 
 " On the Thames, near Maidenhead. She took 
 a house and settled down to paint there." 
 
 " And she lives there still? " and now there was 
 no mistaking the eager light in Gilbert's eyes. 
 
 " She did when I last heard, and I think I should 
 have had a wail from my brother Jack if she had 
 left, or else have heard of him on his travels. He 
 promptly fell down and worshipped at her shrine, 
 did that young man. And she is a great friend of 
 yours, Mr. Clinch ? " she asked, with suspicious 
 innocence. 
 
 " We have known each other for a long time," 
 he said, quietly. " But after when she was first 
 in mourning, she had a fancy to leave home without 
 letting her friends know her whereabouts. I am 
 glad to hear about her again. Did she does she 
 seem strong and well ? " he asked, wistfully. 
 
 " Oh, she gives one the idea of perfect health. 
 I'm sure she couldn't toil at her painting as she does 
 if she weren't strong," she said, lightly. " But I 
 have some little odds and ends of scribbles of hers 
 that I stole in her studio the other day, in my 
 writing-case over there. Would you care to see 
 them?" 
 
 Would he care to see the sunshine and breathe 
 the fresh air? Gilbert was never quite sure what 
 he had said, or if he had said anything, when he 
 held a sheet or two of drawing-paper in his hand, 
 all scribbled over in the dear familiar fashion. 
 
 249
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 " I saved that one because it had such a good 
 thing of Jack on it," he heard the girl say, and his 
 jealous eyes sought the sketch. 
 
 Yes, there it was, only a few pencil outlines, but 
 giving such a vivid suggestion of a stalwart young 
 fellow in riding-dress holding up a biscuit to a beg- 
 ging Irish terrier. 
 
 " And it's so good of Mr. Tomkins, too," Meg 
 went on, with a little nervous haste, as Brindle 
 noticed. " I think I must have it framed." 
 
 Gilbert was looking closely into the medley that 
 covered the paper like written thoughts. Ah ! here 
 was something to show that her mind had not for- 
 saken the past ! Flight of butterflies hovering over 
 a row of poppies. He well knew what that meant. 
 
 " You say that Mrs. Broderick was painting regu- 
 larly," he said, looking up abruptly at Margaret. 
 
 There was something almost like a flash of anger 
 in her eyes, as she answered : 
 
 " Yes, she worked steadily for most of the day, 
 though she never would show us what she was 
 doing." 
 
 Ah, she had kept those new friends out of her 
 real, her inner brain-life then! The comfort that 
 he drew from this thought was shattered by Mar- 
 garet's next speech. 
 
 " She dined with us on Christmas night, looking 
 oh, just splendid in the country-dance! And we 
 had some jolly days skating on the meadows before 
 I left. Jack is something a bit out of the common 
 on skates, and they looked so well together." 
 
 " Look out, Clinch, those photos will be scattered 
 to the four winds. Give them to me and I'll put 
 
 250
 
 THE GORGON'S HEAD 
 
 them in their case," Brindle said, with a great ap- 
 pearance of concern. 
 
 " My dear fellow, you're growing as fussy as 
 an old woman," Gilbert said, rising to hand him the 
 photos. " And now don't you think you've been 
 hung out to air long enough, and had better be 
 conveyed to your own quarters ? " Brindle was 
 beginning a protest when a look at Gilbert's face 
 stopped him. 
 
 " Perhaps it's best not to overdo it," he said, 
 meekly, and heroically rejecting offers of beef-tea 
 or wine, allowed Gilbert to get him into his chair 
 and to start Felice on the road. 
 
 There were few words between them until Brindle 
 had been got to his room and settled down and 
 fed. Then Gilbert said : 
 
 " Somehow, the spirit of unrest is on me to-day. 
 If you don't mind, I'll start out into the country 
 and have a bite at any trattoria I come across." 
 
 " Off you go ; you do look bilious, now that I 
 come to think of it. Just shove the writing things 
 up to me before you go, and I'll try to finish that 
 boy's story. Must keep the pot boiling, you know," 
 Brindle answered, cheerfully. 
 
 But when Gilbert was gone, the boy's story re- 
 mained untouched, and the invalid sat glooming at a 
 highly coloured picture of Victor Emanuele at the 
 battle of San Martino on the opposite wall, as though 
 he owed it a mortal grudge. 
 
 " Her kindness to me is all done for his benefit." 
 he said to himself, as though summing up the mat- 
 ter, " while he is thinking of nothing save that 
 wandering ' Lady of Sorrows ' of his. I wonder 
 if she saw that he had pocketed that smaller sheet 
 
 251
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 of paper. Well it's the unpleasant way of the world, 
 but Brindle, my good fellow, you can play the man 
 even without the use of your legs, I suppose, and 
 what you have to do is to get that use back again 
 as quickly as possible. And meantime get this story 
 finished up with ten followers of the Mahdi killed, 
 and the two English boys rescued so here goes." 
 
 Meantime Gilbert had taken a steam-tram out into 
 the country, and when it stopped had wandered up 
 hillside paths among the olive groves, where here 
 and there an almond-tree was outlined in pink 
 blossom. 
 
 He had the uncomfortably stripped feeling of one 
 whose dream-life is suddenly overthrown by a rude 
 touch of reality. Day by day, Isabel Broderick in 
 her lonely life of work and sorrow had been near 
 to him; now a curious new sense of isolation came 
 with this different picture of her. Isabel dancing, 
 skating, amusing herself with strangers, how hard 
 it seemed to imagine. Had she learnt to depend 
 on this young fellow as once she had depended upon 
 him? 
 
 He paused in his stride, struck with a sudden 
 thought. He had been content to stay away from 
 her, to let their lives run in different grooves, because 
 he had felt it necessary for her peace of mind, guess- 
 ing that she had morbidly blamed herself for some 
 of those summer hours by the La Have, but now, if 
 she could give to another that close companionship 
 that had been at once his joy and his temptation, 
 did not the fact free him from the obligation of his 
 self-imposed exile? 
 
 Was he not now free to go and at least enjoy her 
 comradeship again? It would not content him, he 
 
 252
 
 THE GORGON'S HEAD 
 
 knew, he had got too far for that, and he knew 
 too that he should suffer the torments of jealousy, 
 but in his present mood any active unhappiness 
 seemed better than the cold neutrality of separation. 
 
 In this new sense of loss, all ambition fell away 
 from him. What would be the use of his fighting 
 for money he did not need, when it was not to be 
 shared with her? 
 
 His life would henceforth be one of work, but 
 first, as soon as he could leave Brindle, he would 
 find his way to that English village where she had 
 hidden herself, and would see her face again. That 
 was all at present, just to hear her voice, look into 
 those steadfast eyes again. 
 
 Sitting at a table at a wayside inn, after a meal 
 of macaroni and Barola wine, he scanned every line 
 in that sheet of drawing-paper, finding a certain con- 
 solation in a vague outline of a net-laden fishing- 
 dory, such as they used to see on the La Have. 
 
 253
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 A DINNER - PARTY 
 
 WHEN the two young men had left the villa, 
 Margaret had given them a general invita- 
 tion to return again, and on two more 
 mornings they had come, and finding her on the 
 terrace had spent an hour or so in idle talk. 
 
 On the last of these, Margaret had seemed in high 
 spirits, which she explained by saying: 
 
 "I'm going to have a treat to-day, a long, vaga- 
 bondising afternoon's ride. Lord Vernade, a 
 neighbour of ours at home, has brought his horses 
 on from Rome, where he has been hunting this 
 winter, and when he comes I always get about the 
 country a lot. It is such a change from driving with 
 Granny. By the bye, Mr. Clinch, he met Mrs. Bro- 
 derick at our house on Christmas night, and admired 
 her very much," and she looked at him with a smile 
 which somehow seemed to-day harder and more 
 brilliant. 
 
 Gilbert immediately of course included Lord 
 Vernade in the hatred which he felt for the unknown 
 Jack. 
 
 " I am sure he would," he said, evenly, and again 
 Brindle interposed another topic. 
 
 254
 
 A DINNER-PARTY 
 
 ' There's a cold north wind. I think you had 
 better stay in to-day," Gilbert said one morning, 
 when they had planned to go to the villa. But 
 Brindle was so persistent that Gilbert yielded 
 after all, his friend was so much better that it could 
 hardly hurt him. There was no broad-brimmed 
 hat to be seen on the terrace, and presently the 
 Italian butler brought out a little three-cornered 
 note addressed to Gilbert. 
 
 " We are going for an early ride, and if I am 
 not back by the time you come, please give me a 
 little grace and wait for me, making yourselves quite 
 at home." 
 
 " Mademoiselle has found more amusing com- 
 pany," he said, grimly, as he passed the note to his 
 friend. 
 
 " And the fine weather is over," the other said, 
 somewhat inconsequently. " See how the laurels 
 are twisting in the wind. Those who can ride and 
 warm their blood have the best of it to-day. A 
 bath-chair is not an exhilarating steed." There was 
 a dreariness under the whimsicality of his voice, 
 and again Gilbert urged the prudence of a retreat, 
 but Brindle put him off, until presently, with a little 
 shudder, he said : 
 
 " I feel as though the eye of the unseen Gorgon 
 were piercing my back from some window. Let's 
 get home." 
 
 The treacherous wind met them in the sunless 
 street, and before night Brindle was in a high fever, 
 and for the next few days all Gilbert's energies were 
 thrown into the old grim fight. 
 
 " He'll never have the strength to pull through," 
 he said, on the second day. to the Florentine doctor, 
 
 255
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 but that optimistic person answered with his usual 
 undaunted self-reliance : 
 
 " Oh, we'll manage it somehow or other." 
 
 There were times when the patient's tongue was 
 loosened by fever, and then he would ask: 
 
 " Has she written to know where we are? " and 
 one night he kept calling out that she was riding, 
 riding away from him and that he was left alone in 
 the desert to die, and again there were rambling 
 words, of Persephone being carried off to the realms 
 of shadows, which Gilbert could easily interpret. 
 
 These worst days were fought down, and now 
 there was nothing but the extreme weakness to be 
 conquered. "Nothing!" Gilbert said, bitterly, as 
 his cheerful colleague announced this opinion. 
 
 Frail indeed looked the boyish head against the 
 pillows, all life seeming concentrated in the big eyes. 
 
 "Any news of Persephone?" he asked, with a 
 feeble jauntiness that was widely different from the 
 pathos of delirium. 
 
 " There's a precious effusion that has just come," 
 Gilbert, said, tossing a note down on the bed. He 
 chose somewhat unreasonably to consider Miss 
 Nugent to blame. The note was from her, saying 
 that she supposed the stormy weather was the cause 
 of their absence from the garden, and giving a 
 message from Madame de Barre to ask Gilbert to 
 dine with them a few days later. 
 
 " I am going to send Felice with a refusal when 
 he comes to do the errands," Gilbert said, but 
 straightway his patient waxed excitable, insisting 
 that he would not have his friend stay at home for 
 him, that he must think him about to die or he would 
 
 256
 
 A DINNER-PARTY 
 
 accept the chance of bringing him news of the out- 
 side world. He must be soothed down at any cost. 
 
 " All right, my dear fellow, I'll go. Yes, you'll 
 be quite fit by then to leave with the sister. She 
 can't snore your head off in that time. See, I've 
 written to accept. Will that content you? Now 
 shut up and go to sleep." 
 
 And Gilbert himself felt rather relieved at being 
 forced into a meeting that might bring him some 
 further tidings of Isabel. 
 
 That afternoon he took his usual constitutional 
 through the Cascine, where he met Mrs. Sinnet's 
 carriage. She stopped to speak to him, asking after 
 the invalid and condoling with him on their bad 
 luck. 
 
 " You look somewhat ghastly yourself," she com- 
 mented. " I met Miss Nugent yesterday, and she 
 was asking what had become of you." 
 
 " I believe the whole thing was her fault," Gilbert 
 grumbled ; " if she hadn't turned his head, he would 
 never have bothered me into letting him sit out 
 that cold morning, and then my lady went off amus- 
 ing herself elsewhere." 
 
 " With Lord Vernade?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I declare it is incomprehensible to me " Mrs. 
 Sinnet was beginning, with energy, when she 
 checked herself, saying, " There they are now." 
 
 Down a cross avenue ahead, clearly seen through 
 the young leaf-tips, came a couple, riding. The 
 animation in Margaret's face and voice, the beauty 
 of the horses, the air of quiet distinction about the 
 slim, pale man who bent toward her with such an 
 evident absorption, all made them a noticeable sight. 
 
 257
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 They passed without even looking round, and 
 Gilbert commented : 
 
 " So that's Lord Vernade, is it? But I beg your 
 pardon, you were saying?" 
 
 " I was merely going to say that I don't see how 
 any decent people can let a girl go about with such 
 a man. Of course, I suppose the excuse that is 
 made for him is that his wife is worse than he is, 
 but that is no reason why Miss Nugent should be 
 seen with him. He's rather a favourite in society, 
 I believe, but I can't bear him. I happened to know 
 a pretty little fool of a woman from home who was 
 bitten with a society craze, and left her husband 
 toiling out there in his office. We both came over 
 in the same steamer with Lord Vernade and well, 
 in a month or two she went off with him in his yacht. 
 He left her alone and friendless in Naples, and her 
 poor husband had her found and taken home to her 
 mother. And lots of people know that story," she 
 ended, darkly. 
 
 " Pretty bad ! " Gilbert commented. " I suppose 
 he will be at the dinner on Thursday ? " 
 
 " Sure to! You're going, are you? Well, I'll see 
 you there, then. Au revoir! " 
 
 It was into a pretty interior of shaded lights, 
 masses of flowers, and deep-tinted brocades that 
 Gilbert was shown on Thursday evening. His host- 
 ess, in purple velvet and amethysts, looked more 
 like an old begum than ever. She sat in her usual 
 armchair by the fire, and the new arrivals went up 
 to and made their greeting to her. There was Lady 
 Vernade, short and somewhat stout, a triumph of 
 art in her masses of golden hair, her blackened eyes, 
 her red lips, her marvellous Parisian gown. Beside 
 
 58
 
 A DINNER-PARTY 
 
 her Margaret, in white satin, looked like a school- 
 girl. 
 
 There were an old English general and his wife, 
 with a painfully overgrown daughter, the Sinnets, 
 a swarthy, twinkling little Irish priest, and a big 
 cavalry officer in the beautiful blue and silver uni- 
 form, whom Gilbert had no difficulty in identifying 
 as the Conte di Ripamonti, and lastly, lazily observ- 
 ant, there was Lord Vernade. 
 
 " What mischief can Miss Nugent be up to, to 
 look so demure? " Mrs. Sinnet said to Gilbert. " It 
 can't be much, as I am to take her in," he answered. 
 
 " Well, I trust that you are content with your 
 fate? " the girl said to him, as they settled in their 
 places. 
 
 " I am more. I am immensely flattered." 
 
 " Oh, you needn't think that you were my choice. 
 I never have any voice in the matter. It was 
 Granny's mandate." 
 
 " Well, then, I may repeat your own remark and 
 hope that you are content." 
 
 " I'll decide that after I see how you treat me. 
 But tell me, how is Mr. Brindle?" 
 
 " He has been at death's door since I saw you 
 last," was his sombre answer. 
 
 A beautiful light of pity softened her face. 
 
 " Oh, I did not know. I never guessed from your 
 note that it had been as bad as that. Tell me how it 
 all happened ? " 
 
 In spite of her appealing eyes, Gilbert was pitiless. 
 
 " It all happened because a certain young fool, 
 having had his head turned by a lovely siren, would 
 go out in a cold wind, and when he was disappointed 
 
 259
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 in finding her, would wait on in the hopes that she 
 might come that's how it all happened." 
 
 There was no answer, and he turned his head to 
 see the dark velvety eyes brimming with tears. 
 
 The sight checked him. 
 
 " Pardon me, if I have been too bold," he said. 
 
 The tears were brushed away with feminine skill. 
 
 " You have been too hard, I think," she said, 
 somewhat proudly. " If I tried to be kind to your 
 friend it was merely because I was sorry for him. 
 How could I have any idea that he would make more 
 of it?" 
 
 " You are right. How could you ? But you see 
 I am rather a bull in the social china-shop. You 
 must forgive my awkwardness." 
 
 " You said what you thought, but I would like 
 you to think better of me. Won't you promise to 
 try to believe that I meant no harm? " 
 
 Gilbert was conquered by the frankness of her 
 words. 
 
 " What is more, I will believe it on the spot," 
 he answered, with a smile. " You must forgive 
 me, for too much sickroom has made me grumpy, 
 though I trust that we are over the worst now. 
 But tell me about yourself. You have been riding 
 a good deal, haven't you ? I saw you one day in the 
 Cascine." 
 
 " Did you ? Yes, it is a bit of a holiday for me 
 when Lord Vernade comes, and the fun of it is that 
 these rides of ours have quite upset the Ripamonti 
 faction. My matrimonial prospects are down to 
 zero," and she laughed as though she found the 
 fact an exhilarating one. 
 
 "Against Italian etiquette, I suppose? But I 
 
 260
 
 A DINNER-PARTY 
 
 wonder that, in that case, your grandmother has 
 not put her foot down." 
 
 " No, the queer thing is," and here she lowered 
 her voice, " that Granny seems rather off the idea. 
 Now a month ago, if he hadn't taken me in to 
 dinner, he would have been phced well in view of 
 my charms, whereas now I have to strain my neck 
 around the corner to see him flirting with Lady 
 Vernade. He is evidently delighted with her." 
 
 " He must be fond of art, then," Gilbert said, 
 dryly. " But he's a big, handsome fellow." 
 
 " He's just my idea of a Roman gladiator," she 
 said, and Gilbert looked down the table to note the 
 appositeness of the comparison. Here Lady Ogilvie, 
 the English general's wife, turned to him, saying: 
 
 " I believe that you are an American ? " 
 
 " I fear that I must plead guilty," he answered, 
 with a smile that puzzled that lady. She did not 
 know that her tone had been that of one graciously 
 condoning an error. 
 
 " I have passed several years in the West Indies 
 when my husband was a colonel," she announced, 
 " and I must say that I grew very fond of the life." 
 
 " Some day I mean to go all around the West 
 Indies. Granny " Margaret began, in a slightly 
 raised voice. 
 
 Gilbert saw the bent head of the hostess turn 
 with a bright glance from under the heavy eyelids, 
 and the sign for the ladies to leave the table was 
 given. 
 
 He had noticed once or twice through the even- 
 ing that the sharp eyes of the little Irish priest sitting 
 opposite had seemed to be studying him, and now 
 the latter lost no time in beginning a conversation, 
 
 61
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 Starting with a casual remark on the beauties 
 of Florence, Gilbert found himself being led on 
 to tell of his friend's illness, the delay in their de- 
 parture, and his earlier studies in Vienna. 
 
 " It is some time then since you left America ? " 
 Father Kehoe asked. 
 
 " Only last August, although it seems much 
 longer," he answered, half to himself. 
 
 " And your summers are so hot that I suppose 
 you had not been in Boston then ? " 
 
 " Oh, we workers have to stand the heat as best 
 we can. But as it happens I spent the early summer 
 on the Nova Scotian coast in charge of a patient. 
 I am an alienist, you know," Gilbert found himself 
 saying. 
 
 " Ah, a sad and yet an interesting work. And 
 your patient recovered ? " 
 
 " No, I regret to say that I was obliged to get 
 him back to an asylum. It was an unusually sad 
 case." His desire to close the subject was evi- 
 dent, and his questioner acknowledged it. 
 
 " And perhaps I have disturbed you bv leading you 
 to speak of it. Pardon me. And now, gentlemen, 
 I am charged by our hostess to shepherd you into 
 the drawing-room." 
 
 Gilbert had a certainty that the reverend father 
 had been pumping him, though he could not imagine 
 why. But it did not seem to matter at all. Old 
 women of both sexes are often inquisitive with 
 strangers. 
 
 262
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE BORDERLAND 
 
 AFTER dinner Gilbert was standing talking 
 to Mrs. Sinnet when Margaret crossed the 
 room toward him, followed by Lord Ver- 
 nade. 
 
 " Lord Vernade would like to know you, Mr. 
 Clinch/' she said. 
 
 There was no doubt that the man's quiet smile was 
 attractive when he chose it to be so. 
 
 " Miss Nugent tells me that you come from across 
 the water," he began. " I was A. D. C. in Ottawa 
 in my young days, and used often to run down to 
 Washington to see a cousin there, so I know a 
 little more of the country than most Englishmen 
 do. But what I like best are the Rockies, where 
 I've been once or twice shooting." 
 
 " I have never been farther west than Michigan," 
 Gilbert answered, in a non-committal fashion, unwill- 
 ing to establish any bond of interest by acknowledg- 
 ing himself to be a Canadian. 
 
 " Miss Nugent tells me that you are a friend of 
 Mrs. Broderick's," Lord Vernade began again. 
 " Charming woman. Can't understand her staying 
 in that damp hole all winter. She is rich, isn't 
 she?" 
 
 263
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 Gilbert flushed angrily at the careless question. 
 
 " I believe that she is comfortably off," he an- 
 swered, stiffly. 
 
 " She looks it," turning to the girl, " I must get 
 Lady Vernade to call and persuade her to give us a 
 week's end in the spring. Such a dark horse would 
 create a sensation amongst a party from town, eh? " 
 
 Margaret laughed, and Gilbert caught a mocking 
 gleam in her eyes. 
 
 " You will be stirring up Jack's evil passions," she 
 said. 
 
 " Master Jack must be content with his share," 
 was the retort, and Gilbert turned away to stand for 
 a moment contemplating the party with profound 
 disgust. A stir of departure relieved him, but as he 
 said his good-night, he was detained by his hostess. 
 
 ' Your patient's relapse will detain you longer in 
 Florence, I hear," she said, fixing her beady eyes 
 on him. 
 
 " Not much longer, I hope," he answered, with 
 sudden resolution. " If he goes on improving I 
 shall leave him with a nurse under Doctor Balder's 
 charge. 
 
 The old lady shook her head and scowled. 
 
 " You ought to stay here and enjoy the spring- 
 time. I will get you invitations to the after-Easter 
 balls if you like." 
 
 " You are very good," he said, making his escape, 
 bewildered by this uncalled-for amiability. 
 
 " Queer enough people ! " he said to himself, as 
 he emerged into the soft starlit night to walk home. 
 Yes, he was determined, he would see Isabel Broder- 
 ick before any of those other people got back to form 
 a circle around her. 
 
 264
 
 THE BORDERLAND 
 
 Two or three days later, while these plans were 
 still unspoken, he returned from a walk to find 
 Brindle looking unusually excited. 
 
 He hardly waited for Gilbert to close the door 
 before beginning. 
 
 " Balder has been here and I've stolen a march 
 on you. He says that considering the lateness of the 
 season, and the creditable fashion in which I've 
 pulled up, he sees no risk in taking the journey 
 through to Paris. A night train, a Pullman, and 
 no stoppages, he recommends. What do you say 
 to that?" 
 
 " I say that you are both crazy," was the answer, 
 but after more or less of discussion and a little delay, 
 the plan was carried through, and Gilbert felt a 
 weight off his mind when he saw his friend safely 
 settled in quiet sunny rooms overlooking the Luxem- 
 bourg gardens. When he had gone to leave a fare- 
 well card at the Villa della Biscia he had not been 
 admitted, and Brindle had shown no desire for any 
 further communication. 
 
 And so the episode seemed closed. 
 
 Just before leaving Florence Gilbert had had a 
 letter from the London solicitor promising to pro- 
 cure him information as to his uncle's family and 
 fashion of life, but warning him that any contest 
 over the estate might entail a costly expenditure. 
 " A will signed during the last days of illness, un- 
 known to nearest relatives, might be open to a 
 strong suspicion of undue influence," he said, going 
 on to advise the establishment of friendly relations 
 with his kinsfolk. 
 
 " There's a sample of English caution for you." 
 Brindle said, contemptuously, after reading the 
 
 265
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 letter ; " take my advice and have nothing to do 
 with any Englishman in the matter. Whatever 
 you do, do it from your own side of the water." 
 
 " I don't feel much like doing anything at pres- 
 ent." 
 
 " That's the trouble," Brindle grumbled, taking 
 care, however, to make no sign as to what subject 
 he supposed to be monopolising his friend's mind. 
 
 Paris was full of friends and comrades of both 
 men, and as they flocked to Brindle's room, smoking 
 and exchanging yarns until Gilbert turned them 
 out, Brindle ungratefully said : 
 
 " Florentine sunshine is all very well, but this 
 is living instead of vegetating. The very air of 
 Paris stirs up one's brains like an egg-beater." 
 
 " Rather disastrous to the gray matter, I should 
 think," Gilbert commented. 
 
 It was the season when, from all over France, 
 from seacoast and woodland villages where they 
 have been toiling at their pictures, the artists flock 
 to Paris to receive their meed of success or failure 
 from their peers, for France is of all countries in 
 the world that in which an intellectual effort is 
 most judged by the inner circles of its craft. Many 
 of these men were Americans, and Gilbert and 
 Brindle were welcomed in studios up on the Clichy 
 heights, or in their own Luxembourg quarter. And 
 amid all the talk Gilbert kept careful watch for the 
 sound of one name, for any hint of one presence in 
 the swarming city. Of course there were many 
 hours spent in the salons, in an inspection of pictures 
 that did not overtask Brindle's strength, and in long 
 talks over " bocks " and cigarettes in the restaurant. 
 
 One of these days, Gilbert, having deposited 
 
 266
 
 THE BORDERLAND 
 
 Brindle in a comfortable seat, went for a later tour 
 of the rooms with a quiet Boston artist, a man to 
 whom success had come after his whole nature had 
 been hopelessly depressed by long striving. 
 
 " I suppose you've seen one of our American suc- 
 cesses, ' The Borderland ' ? " the artist asked. 
 
 " Not that I remember." 
 
 " There it is," said the other, and as Gilbert looked 
 across the room, he could have sworn that he was 
 the victim of an hallucination, for there on the wall, 
 its colours palpitating in the clear light, was the 
 mystic picture that he had watched growing under 
 the hands of a maniac, the picture that he had seen 
 lying in shreds on the floor of the country barn 
 studio. 
 
 Some instinct of caution, following on his first 
 amazement, made him check the word of surprise 
 on his lips. 
 
 As he stood, staring in utter bewilderment, he 
 heard his friend's voice going on : 
 
 " By the bye, I think that you knew him and his 
 wife Andrew Broderick, I mean. Sad story, 
 wasn't it ? They say he had just finished it before 
 he had to be taken to the asylum." 
 
 Still Gilbert stared in silence. 
 
 " Come over to it. I want to look at it close," he 
 said, and crossing the room, he peered intently into 
 the work. No, it was in some places painted thinly 
 enough to show the warp of the canvas, and there 
 was no trace of any join or repairs. It could not 
 by any possibility be the same picture that he had 
 seen stabbed and trampled upon. 
 
 The name was signed in small printed scarlet 
 letters such as he had often noticed on some finished 
 
 267
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 pictures in Broderick's studio, and the date was that 
 of the past year. What did it possibly mean! 
 
 " Let's see your catalogue," he said, turning to the 
 other man, who was watching him in a somewhat 
 perplexed fashion. 
 
 It was apparently all simple enough. 
 
 " Le Pays des Reves " was the French title, to 
 which the English one of " The Borderland " did 
 not literally correspond. The artist's name was 
 given, " Andrew Broderick, American, pupil of 
 Carolus Duran," address a well-known London 
 picture-dealer. 
 
 With a strong effort at the commonplace, Gilbert 
 said: 
 
 " Yes, I often saw him working at this picture, 
 but I did not know that he had quite finished it. 
 You have not heard, I suppose, of any recent re- 
 covery ? " 
 
 " No, and I fancy if there had been I should have 
 known of it, for this picture has been one of the art 
 topics of the day. But look here, Brindle will be 
 waiting in the restaurant. Shall we go?" 
 
 " If you will go and help him to a cab, I think 
 I'll stay here and prowl among the pictures for a 
 bit longer," he answered, gladly hailing the chance 
 of solitude. 
 
 When his friend left him, Gilbert seated himself 
 on a bench in front of " The Borderland " and gave 
 himself up to its contemplation. 
 
 There was all the brilliancy of technique and the 
 force of the destroyed picture, and yet the longer 
 he looked, the more persuaded Gilbert felt that it 
 was not the work of the same hand. Especially in 
 the figure in the corner of the foreground, that 
 
 268
 
 THE BORDERLAND 
 
 stood raising its veil with one hand, was there a 
 mystical touch which had been absent in the other. 
 And then he recalled the history of that figure, how 
 it had at first formed no part of Broderick's composi- 
 tion, but painted by Isabel on a smaller canvas had 
 been copied into his own work by her husband. 
 
 Did it really mean that Isabel, a woman broken 
 down under the shock of a ghastly tragedy, had had 
 the courage and power to paint this virile master- 
 piece? It seemed a hardly possible idea, and yet the 
 longer he thought, the more he felt that it was the 
 only explanation. 
 
 Absorbed in the picture and the thoughts it caused, 
 he paid small attention to the increasing crowd, until 
 a familiar voice beside him broke in on his reverie. 
 
 " I thought it was Gilbert Clinch when I saw 
 what you were studying so earnestly." Turning, 
 he saw the grizzled hair and shrewd, kindly face 
 of the Brodericks' doctor. 
 
 " What, are you holiday-making like all the 
 world ? " he said, as they shook hands. 
 
 " Yes, only as you see, I don't find it so easy 
 to get away from the affairs of my patients. A 
 sort of father confessor, a family doctor. But of 
 course in this case you are behind the scenes too? " 
 
 And he directed his words with a wave of his 
 hand and a glance toward the picture. 
 
 Gilbert had sometimes wondered how much those 
 shrewd eyes had noted of the intimacy between 
 himself and Mrs. Broderick on that tragical home- 
 coming, and he now walked warily. 
 
 " If you mean the Brodericks' affairs, I have 
 heard nothing about them since I left home last 
 August," he said, quietly. " I have been grinding 
 
 269
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 in Vienna all winter, you know, and seem to have 
 got out of touch with home news. Still, though I 
 cannot claim to be behind the scenes, I will acknowl- 
 edge to you that this picture has filled me with 
 amazement. I saw its duplicate that Andrew Bro- 
 derick had painted, torn into shreds by him in his 
 first fit of violent mania would to God that I 
 had taken the warning in time. I know that in 
 all probability he could never have recovered suffi- 
 ciently to have painted this one, and yet here I 
 see it before me, as splendid a piece of work as 
 Broderick could ever have turned out. Who 
 painted it? The only possible answer seems to me 
 too improbable, and I give it up." 
 
 Doctor Slater's twinkling eyes looked into his 
 with a concentrated extract of meaning in them. 
 
 " If a theory is utterly and palpably improbable, 
 then you may be sure it is the correct solution," was 
 his oracular comment. 
 
 " Then you really think that she painted it ? " Gil- 
 bert said, as though answering a spoken word. 
 
 " I don't think, I know that she did ; though, 
 mind you, she has never said so to me in words, and 
 I would let no one save you know it. I never dreamt 
 of your not guessing it at once." 
 
 " I did guess it, though not at once. But it 
 seemed too wonderful." 
 
 " You may well say that. The strain upon her 
 nerves for weeks must have been something like 
 sitting day by day painting her dead. And yet 
 to-day she is a stronger and more serene woman for 
 having done it. The work has somehow satisfied a 
 need of her conscience or heart." 
 
 Gilbert left the last sentence unheeded. 
 
 270
 
 THE BORDERLAND 
 
 "To-day?" he stammered. " You don't mean " 
 and paused. 
 
 "Didn't you know that she is in Paris?" The 
 quiet words steadied him. For her sake he must 
 not reveal the tumult of his spirit, even to this old 
 seer of household tragedies. 
 
 " I only came from Florence a day or two ago, 
 you know," he said. " But if you will give me her 
 address I should like to go and see her." 
 
 " You'd like to ? Poor wretch ! You won't know 
 one happy moment until you do," the old doctor 
 commented inwardly. His spoken words were more 
 commonplace : 
 
 " The Stacys have lent her their house, ' Passage 
 Lamartine. Rue de la Pompe, Passy ; ' you will find 
 her there most evenings, I fancy." 
 
 " Thanks. And Broderick what news have you 
 of him?" 
 
 The doctor shook his head. 
 
 " He is as you predicted a gloomy and 
 dangerous maniac, encircled with as many precau- 
 tions as any poor wretch in the place. In his worst 
 moments he thinks he is kept down in hell-fire by 
 demons with whom he struggles while his strength 
 lasts, and then sinks back into coma." 
 
 " The same leading idea. That's what comes 
 from an ancestry of Calvinist divines," Gilbert com- 
 mented; then, hesitating a moment, asked: 
 
 "Does Howard think him likely to live?" 
 
 The doctor's eyes were intent on a strikingly 
 dressed Parisienne as he answered : 
 
 " I asked him that just before I sailed, in case 
 she And it's the same old thing : no reason he 
 shouldn't live as long as any of us. But really, 
 
 S71
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 that's more in your line than mine. Well, I must 
 be off. See you to-night at the minister's, perhaps." 
 " Perhaps," Gilbert answered, and the doctor first 
 chuckled to himself and then sighed as he walked 
 away. 
 
 272
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 " OUR HANDS HAVE MET " 
 
 THE broad, quiet Passy street in the yellow 
 evening light, a passage where a row of 
 bright little houses looked across at the 
 blossoming fruit-trees in a convent garden, an up- 
 stairs drawing-room, and a gray figure rising from 
 a seat by the window, while a voice that set Gilbert's 
 heart leaping madly, said : 
 
 " It is you, then ? " 
 
 All he could think of to say as he held her hand 
 was: 
 
 " You got my ' petit bleu '? " The low laugh he 
 had loved to hear, greeted this. 
 
 " Naturally, as I answered it. But come, sit down 
 by the window and talk." 
 
 " But I can't see you in this twilight," he ob- 
 jected. 
 
 " Ah, surely you don't want to shut out the even- 
 ing! You shall have lights by and by." But all the 
 same she moved her chair enough for the yellow 
 glow to fall on the dear familiar face, showing 
 Gilbert that the old shadow of suppressed dread was 
 gone from her eyes, which, though sad, were serene. 
 
 " You have done your hair differently," he criti- 
 
 273
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 cised. Truly this was hardly the manner of a hope- 
 less lover or a dignified professional man. 
 
 " That might be expected in all but a year's time. 
 But surely you have something more interesting to 
 say than that? " she smiled back. 
 
 " Forgive me. I am bewildered by all that I would 
 say." Then in a graver note, " I was at the Salon 
 to-day, and saw the ' Pay des Reves.' I like that 
 name better than ' The Borderland.' ' 
 
 " So do I. And you understood ? You did not 
 blame me for the deception ? " Her voice was low 
 and troubled. 
 
 " Blame you ! I thought it the most magnificent 
 feat woman ever accomplished. I thought I under- 
 stood that it was done as the last of all the help you 
 had given him, the help to complete his career." 
 
 " You always understand what I mean," she said, 
 restfully. 
 
 Conquering his great desire to take her in his 
 arms, he went on : 
 
 " And it did not injure your health ? You had 
 no one to care for that while you were going through 
 such an ordeal ? " 
 
 " I think being alone made me stronger, and if 
 I were tired it was only with the healthy tiredness 
 of work done. There was the satisfaction of being 
 able to do it, you know," she said, simply. 
 
 " Yes, I can understand that. I have so hungered 
 to know how it was faring with you, and never until 
 a few weeks ago in Florence have I heard even your 
 name." 
 
 " You heard of me? I thought no one knew? " 
 she asked in surprise. 
 
 " And that was from strangers whom you had 
 
 274
 
 "OUR HANDS HAVE MET' 
 
 not kept at a distance as you did your friends. It 
 was Miss Nugent who told me of your English home 
 and the life you led there." 
 
 Isabel leaned forward in her deep chair. 
 
 " Do you mean Margaret Nugent, who lives in 
 Florence with her grandmother? " she asked. 
 
 " Madame de Barre? Yes, I dined with them." 
 
 "And you don't know who they are?" It was 
 Gilbert's turn to be surprised now. 
 
 " I know that the grandmother is an old hag who 
 is trying to marry the girl to a big ox-like Italian 
 officer, and that the girl would have a fine nature 
 if it got a chance. She seems devoted to you." 
 
 He could not see how pale the calm face had 
 grown as she went on : 
 
 " And you don't know that that girl is your 
 cousin, Margaret Nugent-Barr, and the old woman 
 is the West Indian wife whom old Isaac used to talk 
 about. 
 
 Gilbert sat for a moment assimilating this fact. 
 
 " Good heavens ! what a fool I was not to take 
 it in sooner. And I had a letter yesterday from my 
 uncle, Mr. Nugent-Barr of Monk's Grange, and even 
 then I never saw it. But why do they have 
 all this fantastic dividing up of names?" he said, 
 irritably. 
 
 " It's simple enough, the way Jack explained it to 
 me one day," she said, unheeding the arrow she 
 planted in Gilbert's breast. ' They took the mother's 
 maiden name of Nugent to please her father, as he 
 had no sons. The German Bauer was softened down 
 into Barr when they went to live in England. Then 
 the old lady, reverting with her Continental life to
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 her old French ways, branched out into Madame de 
 Barre de Fer-de-Lance." 
 
 " It's as fantastic as a comic opera," Gilbert in- 
 sisted. " And why, if the family is Nugent-Barr in 
 England, was the girl called Miss Nugent in Flor- 
 ence?" 
 
 " Just accident, I think. She told me that the 
 people there never had got into the way of using the 
 double name. Jack and she always laugh at it a 
 bit." 
 
 Again that familiar mention of a stranger. 
 
 " You like this brother and sister, don't you? " he 
 asked, gloomily. 
 
 " Yes, they went out of the way from the first 
 to be kind to me, and when I was tired their coming 
 seemed to bring a breeze of young life that blew 
 away the cobwebs. I was very solitary when they 
 found me out." 
 
 " You need not have been. It was your own 
 choice that made you dependent on the kindness of 
 strangers," he broke out, in irrepressible reproach. 
 
 " Sometimes strangers are the easiest to begin 
 again with," she said, gently, " though now they 
 are not strangers but friends." 
 
 " I see." 
 
 " And you, you have written to their father, you 
 say?" 
 
 " Yes, and I have just had a cordial enough an- 
 swer, inviting me to come and stay with them. 
 Strange to say, he makes no mention of my meeting 
 them in Florence, and yet now that I think of it 
 I'm sure the old lady knew who I was, and would 
 naturally have written to her son." 
 
 "What makes you think that?" 
 
 276
 
 "OUR HANDS HAVE MET' 
 
 " Well, even her granddaughter noticed the queer 
 sort of interest she seemed to take in me, and Mrs. 
 Sinnet told me that she had been pumping her about 
 me. Yes, it all fits in. She called me Mr. Gilbert 
 Clinch one day when I couldn't imagine how she 
 had got hold of it. Then at dinner a little priest, 
 who seemed a tame cat of the house, asked me a lot 
 of questions yes, and she gave me the girl to 
 take in ' 
 
 He checked himself, following out the recollection 
 of how Margaret had said that her grandmother had 
 suddenly lost interest in the Ripamonti match. 
 
 " Well, at any rate, if the old lady is up to any 
 schemes, her granddaughter is ignorant of them," he 
 said, decisively. 
 
 " I am sure that she would always be what is 
 honest and frank," Isabel agreed, while a little 
 quickly caught sigh told of the last hope wrecked. 
 Yes, it would be better, surely be better that he 
 should marry his cousin and thus come peaceably 
 into his inheritance, and yet 
 
 " And you will go among them and make friends 
 with these new kinsfolk of yours? " she asked, pres- 
 ently. 
 
 " I want to try to make friends with them, but 
 I don't feel as though I should care to stay in their 
 house. The obligations of the salt, you know. If 
 afterward it should come to a fight - 
 
 " Then you have decided nothing as yet ? " 
 
 " No," he said, uneasily. " I never was supposed 
 to lack decision before, and yet somehow I feel 
 myself a weak, vacillating creature in this. It seems 
 a cold-blooded sort of business, to attack what 
 people have enjoyed for fifteen years or so, when one 
 
 277
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 doesn't really need the money, and has no one but 
 oneself. You see the sale of the treasure-trove gave 
 me enough to free me from drudgery, and for an 
 occasional holiday. The rest I can earn for myself. 
 Of course, I can't say that this mood is permanent, 
 but then I do feel that way at present. Tell me," 
 he went on, leaning forward earnestly, " it would 
 pain you to see these friends of yours losing some 
 of their pretty surroundings, wouldn't it? " 
 
 " Yes, I think I should be sorry for them, but still 
 that is no reason " 
 
 " Oh, yes, it is," he interrupted, recklessly, " if 
 you like, I will make you a promise now and settle 
 the matter 
 
 " No, no," she checked him, " you shall make no 
 such promise to me. You may feel sometime that 
 it is best to claim your rights. Leave the question 
 open." 
 
 " Well, remember that it is your doing ! " he said. 
 " And now tell me, I should like to go and stay 
 somewhere in your neighbourhood where I could get 
 to know these new relations and yet keep my inde- 
 pendence. Do you know of any country inn or lodg- 
 ings near you, where Brindle and I could put up? 
 He needs some quiet country life before he goes 
 back to work again. The plan is of course subject to 
 your approval. We shouldn't bother you, should 
 we?" 
 
 Unheeding the wistfulness in his words, she felt 
 rather hurt at their doubt, but only said, quietly : 
 
 "That's hardly likely, is it? Yes, I think it is 
 a very good plan, and I know just the place for you. 
 A little cottage quite near my house, with a nice 
 old woman used to boating men and artists. She 
 
 278
 
 "OUR HANDS HAVE MET" 
 
 will delight in feeding up your friend, and the air 
 is high and pure." 
 
 As she spoke, she was seeing quick mind-pictures 
 of long summer twilights together again, and then 
 the pictures broke away like a shattered mirror be- 
 fore the thought of Margaret's young smile. It 
 would be best for him. 
 
 " I'm sending a note home to-night, and if you 
 like, I'll tell them to engage the rooms for you," 
 she added. 
 
 " Thank you so much. In ten days we should be 
 there. And you? You will be at home by then? " 
 
 " Oh, I go back at the end of the week, and shall 
 be waiting to greet you." 
 
 " No greeting could be as good as that," he said, 
 forgetting his role of resignation. 
 
 There was a silence save for the distant street 
 noises, and dreamy waltz music from a neighbouring 
 window. 
 
 " Well, I suppose I must go and see if Brindle's 
 all right," Gilbert said, unwillingly. " But mightn't 
 we have a gleam of light before I go ? " he urged. 
 
 " How pertinacious you are ! " and she reached 
 out her hand to touch the button that flooded the 
 room with a soft glow. 
 
 They had both risen, and as Gilbert stood looking 
 into her face he almost thought that he saw a blush 
 pass over it. 
 
 He could not help it, he must strike a more 
 personal note before he left her. 
 
 " You do not mind my coming? You are glad 
 that we have met? " he said, impulsively. 
 
 A mist of tears came over her eyes as she said : 
 
 " Oh, how could I but be glad to see the truest. 
 
 279
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 best friend woman ever had? You must always, 
 whatever happens, be sure of that." 
 
 The " whatever happens " struck cold on his 
 heart. Did it mean that even if in a happier future 
 she were to marry Jack she would always be his 
 friend? With a husky " God bless you " he left her, 
 to walk for more than an hour the Paris streets. 
 
 Twice again they met before Isabel left Paris, once 
 at a crowded reception at the American minister's, 
 when it was a case of 
 
 " Maud in all her splendour." 
 
 It was years since he had seen her thus, in the 
 glow of white satin and pearls, observed among 
 groups of fashionable women and well-known men, 
 and, save for the half-hour she kept for him, he was 
 content to stand and watch her as a beautiful appari- 
 tion. 
 
 Their second meeting was an afternoon which they 
 spent together among the young greenery of the 
 St. Cloud woods, with the garlic blossoms shining 
 white on the ground, and the mysterious call of the 
 cuckoo echoing from the forest depths. 
 
 By mutual consent they avoided all topics that 
 might be painful, Gilbert telling her of his studies in 
 Vienna, while she spoke of her long effort of work, 
 of having brought the picture to Paris in March, 
 and of its immediate success. 
 
 " And now that the habit of steady work has taken 
 hold of me, I could never be an idler again. I have 
 a dozen projects ahead, for when I get home." 
 
 " Ah, but you must spare me some lazy hours," 
 he urged. 
 
 They were standing at her door to say good night. 
 
 280
 
 "OUR HANDS HAVE MET' 
 
 " As many as you will want, I expect," she an- 
 swered, with a wistful smile, and before he could 
 quite understand what she meant, she added : 
 
 " Good-bye now, or rather au revoir until the 
 fifteenth." 
 
 He watched her into the house and up the stairs 
 before he turned away, a passion of useless longing 
 at his heart. Oh, if only she were free he would 
 not let this Jack, or any other man, take her from 
 him without a struggle. 
 
 281
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 HEATHHOLM 
 
 MRS. BRODERICK was at home at Heath- 
 holm again, enjoying the blossoming time 
 of her little kingdom, trying to keep down 
 troublesome thoughts by a system of steady work. 
 
 The sight of the Paris Salon, the art talk in the 
 air, had stirred her creative faculties, and the very 
 day after her arrival she began to paint. Every 
 morning she drove down to a certain reed-fringed 
 meadow, where, on the river-bank, she posed a fa- 
 vourite, flaxen-haired, lanky, sixteen-year-old model. 
 In a loose dress of blue-gray muslin, with bare feet 
 overhanging the water, a long green reed in her 
 hand, the girl, in the bucolic calm of her stupidity, 
 gave a fair enough idea of the mystic stream-maiden, 
 Undine. Stupidity often looks as though it were 
 evolving the soul it does not possess. 
 
 She usually took her lunch with her, returning 
 in time to dress before tea. It was a perfect after- 
 noon, and she had had tea taken out under the shade 
 of a walnut-tree in the garden, where she could 
 sit in a deep hammock-chair and look down at the 
 sea of white cherry and plum blossoms on the hill- 
 side below. 
 
 " Only two more days to the fifteenth, and how 
 
 282
 
 HEATHHOLM 
 
 Gilbert will enjoy it all," she thought to herself, 
 the air sleepy with the droning of a big bee. 
 
 The stillness was broken by the sounds of wheels, 
 the yapping of a terrier, the click of the gate, and 
 the sound of footsteps. 
 
 Lazily raising her head, she saw the very smart 
 apparition of Margaret, dressed in the latest Parisian 
 arrangement of pale green and black, and waving 
 a red sunshade toward her, as she called out: 
 
 " Here is your own bad penny back again, you 
 see! Don't look so amazed. Didn't you know I 
 was coming? " 
 
 " Now, how could I ? I went to call on your 
 mother the other day, but she 
 
 " Had neuralgia, of course," put in Meg. 
 
 " But I am glad to see you, and how smart you 
 are!" 
 
 " I thought I'd give you a treat before I fell 
 back on shirts and tweed skirts again. You your- 
 self aren't amiss," with an appreciative glance at 
 Isabel's white serge. " And then it seems I'm not 
 likely to get much chance of wearing my smart town 
 clothes this year. Granny is laid up with gout at 
 Aix with no chance, the doctor says, of getting 
 away for two months or so, and my father says 
 he won't foot the bills, so farewell to my London 
 season." 
 
 " Are you disappointed ? " 
 
 "Well, I don't exactly fancy dropping out of 
 the swim, you know. The waters so soon close over 
 one's head. For the matter of that, I suppose I 
 come in for odds and ends with various people. But 
 it all seems queer, somehow. Granny was in such 
 a desperate hurry to get to England a month earlier 
 
 283
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 than usual, and then, when she got laid up, she was 
 in a great stew; nothing would content her but 
 packing me off home with a maid, and, now that 
 I am here, they want me to do nothing but poke 
 about at home, instead of every one making a fuss 
 about my prospects for the season. I don't under- 
 stand it, and I hate things I don't understand," she 
 ended. 
 
 Isabel was used to soothing the girl's little 
 humours. 
 
 " I dare say it is simple enough. They would 
 probably rather not have you go out with strangers, 
 and think that you have had a good deal of variety," 
 she said. 
 
 " My father ought to take a town-house like other 
 people. I tell you what," with sudden vehemence, 
 " I believe it's this friend of yours, the new-found 
 cousin, that has upset them so." 
 
 The eyes of the two women met, both eager to 
 read the other's thoughts, while defending their 
 own. Isabel was the first to speak. 
 
 " What fantastic ideas you do get ! Why should 
 poor Mr. Clinch upset any one?" she said, as 
 lightly as possible. 
 
 " That's just the question. It struck me that 
 ' poor Mr. Clinch ' was very well able to take care 
 of himself. He snubbed me dreadfully in Florence. 
 But, tell me, he's a great friend of yours, isn't he? " 
 
 " Never woman had a better one," Isabel an- 
 swered, out of the loyalty of her heart. 
 
 " And were you surprised to hear that he was 
 our cousin? " came the question. 
 
 " Not altogether. Something your brother said 
 after you left me made me think it possible." 
 
 284
 
 HEATHHOLM 
 
 " I wonder you didn't tell him then." 
 
 Isabel had a queer feeling of being on her trial, 
 and laughed it off with : 
 
 " What a cross-examiner you would make. I 
 thought it best not to interfere in Mr. Clinch's 
 affairs. And now tell me about your Florence win- 
 ter. You're not engaged to that Italian marquis 
 yet?" 
 
 Margaret laughed gleefully. 
 
 " No, and Granny had such a lovely spider-web 
 of plans for an alliance with the Ripamonti old 
 Piedmontese nobility with actually pots of money 
 behind them. The man himself looked like a prize- 
 fighter, but that didn't seem to count. Granny and 
 Mamma Ripamonti had their heads together for 
 weeks, and then all of a sudden the whole thing 
 dropped. I never found out the reason, whether they 
 were shocked at my riding all about the country 
 with Lord Vernade, or whether " She hesitated 
 a moment. " Do you know, I sometimes think the 
 cousin upset that, too," she ended, flushing vividly. 
 
 Isabel did her best to hide that she was startled, 
 as she asked : 
 
 " How could that be, if neither he nor you knew ? " 
 
 " I have thought since that Granny knew, she 
 was so queer. Still," looking half -defiantly at her 
 friend, " she could hardly want me to marry an 
 American doctor." For an instant their eyes met, 
 and Isabel, feeling the stab of jealousy, had guessed 
 the girl's secret. Yes, it was all working out toward 
 the suitable ending, and who was she to wish it 
 otherwise ? 
 
 Paling a little, she said, with a smile: 
 
 " Thank you. You see we, who know no better, 
 
 188
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 are apt to consider an American doctor good enough 
 for most people." 
 
 " Oh, you know what I mean. Granny's ideas 
 of a grand match, and all that. And how soon is 
 the cousin to appear, do you know ? " and again 
 Isabel felt that new hostile element in her glance. 
 
 " He asked me to engage his rooms for the fif- 
 teenth," she said. 
 
 " Oh, and Jack will be here at the end of the 
 week, so it will be a gathering of the clans. He 
 told me to be sure to get you to come up to Hurley 
 on Sunday. We shall have the cousin and his friend, 
 I suppose, and Tommy Curtis is with us, had down 
 for Jack's benefit, so that makes six. You remember 
 the little wretch on Christmas night? And, by the 
 bye, I promised to get back early for a game of 
 tennis, so farewell," and the young woman was off, 
 leaving Isabel much to think about. 
 
 " There is nothing left to me save my dignity. 
 Whatever comes, I must not lose that," she mur- 
 mured to herself, presently. 
 
 The first chill of the evening dew seemed in the 
 air, and, rising with a shiver, she went into the 
 studio, where she stood long in contemplation of 
 her day's work. 
 
 " I could not have done it a year ago, and surely 
 that is something," she thought. 
 
 It seemed as though she had need to call in all 
 her forces for the fight. 
 
 " The bovine calm of the English meadows is 
 already stealing over my spirit. I feel as though, 
 a little more of it, and I would stand and chew the 
 cud like those big red-brown beasts," Brindle said, 
 
 2S6
 
 HEATHHOLM 
 
 as the Great Western train took the two friends 
 through the quiet riverside country. 
 
 " Well, a little more stolidity would do your char- 
 acter no harm," Gilbert retorted. " And look here, 
 I hope you won't make a fool of yourself over 
 that young woman any more." 
 
 There was a touch of real anxiety in his voice 
 which Brindle took very lightly. 
 
 " Persephone ? No, she may go to Hades for 
 me. Not that I sha'n't flirt with her if I get the 
 chance I always do that on principle but surely 
 I know my duty better to the jeune premiere when 
 the jeune premiere is round. I should expect to die 
 in the second act if I didn't." 
 
 " I wish you'd get over that silly habit of talking 
 as though all the world were a stage " 
 
 " Well, we have the immortal bard's authority 
 for it, anyway. But to revert to that little tem- 
 porary weakness of mine for Persephone can't 
 you see that it was a phase of the illness, like the 
 eruption in the measles ? " 
 
 " Well, have it so, then," Gilbert answered, half- 
 convinced. 
 
 The next two days were momentous ones in his 
 life. Every place and action were of interest; the 
 drive up steep hillsides to the cottage among the 
 fruit-trees; the kind old landlady's voluble account 
 of how " the lady " had said that the gentlemen 
 must have this or that ; that evening's sight of Isabel 
 in the harmonious setting of her own home, recalling 
 his first visit to her in Boston ; the next day's walk 
 through the woods and across the meadows and 
 park to the dark walls of Monk's Grange, 
 
 " that slurred the sunshine half a mile."
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 " I felt like a small boy had up for apple stealing," 
 he said, later, when over a pipe he told the tale of 
 the day to Brindle. " The whole place was as severe 
 as a prison. The butler took me into custody and 
 handed me over to his master in a mouldy-aired 
 study. The man did his best to greet me properly, 
 but there wasn't an ounce of warmth in him a 
 shrivelled, neutral-tinted, peevish, fishy sort of a 
 man " 
 
 " Save a few epithets, anyway." 
 
 " He evidently knew very little about my mother, 
 or his father's earlier days ; said Madame de Barre 
 would remember this or that, and it was a pity she 
 was not here. He had heard of our having met in 
 Florence. All through I had an impression that he 
 was somehow afraid of committing himself, and was 
 acting under orders. I suspect that the old Gorgon 
 is really the ruling spirit all round. After he had 
 done the civil for a bit, he made a move to take me 
 into the drawing-room, and there was the mother, 
 an amiable nonentity huddled in a shawl, and your 
 Persephone with the air of a convent schoolgirl. 
 Every now and then she made polite little remarks, 
 when I felt as though she were making fun of me. 
 She thawed, though, when just before lunch the 
 brother came in. Jove, that's a fine young fellow! 
 The best type of the man who hasn't had a struggle 
 for existence. It makes one think what our own 
 lives might have been without the early grimness." 
 
 " Haven't I thought, when I've seen the manliness 
 of those gilded youths up the Nile ! I used to console 
 myself by thinking we mightn't have had so much 
 grit but for the struggle. Well, how did he treat 
 you?" 
 
 288
 
 HEATHHOLM 
 
 " Frankly and honestly, with an open curiosity 
 that had nothing offensive in it. I felt at once the 
 blood tie with him." 
 
 " And not with Persephone? " 
 
 " Well, yes, perhaps after a bit, when we were 
 sitting outside, just the brother and sister and I. 
 They are very jolly together, the two." 
 
 " Better not feel that blood tie too strongly. It 
 might stand in your way if you decided to make a 
 fight of it, and then if you did the other thing, 
 it might stand in your way even more." 
 
 " I wish something stood in the way of your 
 being an ass." 
 
 " Such criticism is always the fate of the Greek 
 chorus, I fancy. And now," as Gilbert rose, " I 
 suppose you are off to report at Heathholm ? " 
 
 " Yes, will you come? " 
 
 " No, thank you," with commendable dulness. " I 
 shall toil at my sanguinary yarns. There seems a 
 good demand for them just now." 
 
 " Oh, I forgot " - lingering, " they want us to 
 spend Sunday on the river with them. Mrs. Bro- 
 derick will be going. I shall get a canoe to-morrow." 
 
 " All right, my son." Then, as Gilbert left the 
 room: 
 
 " The plot thickens ! " 
 
 289
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 " A DAY IN JUNE " 
 
 WHEN six people, three couples, are to spend 
 a day in boats or carriages, it is evident 
 that not every one can attain to their ideal 
 position. 
 
 Perhaps on this perfect Sunday morning when 
 they all started for Hurley, the brother and sister 
 had, as old inhabitants and organisers of the feast, 
 the best chance of carrying out their wishes. 
 
 Certainly Jack in his double-scull skiff looked very 
 handsome and happy, rowing stroke with Mrs. 
 Broderick steering opposite him. while Miss Tommy 
 Curtis plied the bow oar, with Brindle behind her. 
 
 " An invalided man has no place in the scheme 
 of creation," the latter said, gloomily, as he watched 
 the rhythm of her arms, but he soon cheered up 
 under her bubbling stream of chatter. 
 
 Gilbert had at first nourished hopes of getting 
 Isabel to himself in the canoe, but those hopes with- 
 ered when, on paddling up to the Monk's Grange 
 landing, he found her already installed in Jack's 
 boat, while that youth hailed him with a cheerful 
 demand that he should deposit Brindle in the bow 
 of the skiff and take Margaret in the canoe. The 
 latter settled down on the cushions, a mass of 
 
 290
 
 "A DAY IN JUNE" 
 
 flowered muslins, tilting a lace parasol between her 
 and the sun. 
 
 Gilbert chuckled grimly. 
 
 " Look at Br indie's wistful face. I wish I could 
 have taken him in here." 
 
 " Oh, you couldn't do that. Tommy must have 
 somebody to talk to, and Jack wouldn't hear a word 
 she said, now," was her comment. 
 
 Well, if his cousin chose to scorch his wings in an 
 unattainable flame it was no business of his, Gilbert 
 thought to himself, while Margaret went on : 
 
 " Now you look your natural self again. I don't 
 know which had the most priggish and uncomfort- 
 able air the other day, you or my father." 
 
 " I seemed to have that effect upon you all," he 
 said, somewhat bitterly. 
 
 " Oh, no, please don't think us horrid. Jack took 
 a great fancy to you, and said no end of nice things 
 about you that night at dinner," she urged. 
 
 " And did you play the part of devil's advocate? " 
 he asked, more amiably. 
 
 " Not if it is anything that isn't pleasant. Really, 
 you understand that Jack and I want to be friends 
 with you, don't you ? " 
 
 " Yes, thanks, I do feel sure of that. Then your 
 father didn't fancy me much?" 
 
 " I think it was the story of the jewelled image 
 that upset him," she answered, frankly; then with 
 childish glee, " And, oh, won't it set Granny 
 frantic?" 
 
 " Are they so fond of money then ? " 
 
 " Well, I suppose most people are. I am, I know. 
 Not to save up, but to spend on all the pretty things 
 I see. Oh, dear, I hope Granny will soon come back 
 
 291
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 and pay my bills. My father would have a fit if 
 he saw them, but Granny never minds." 
 
 Gilbert was silent, meditating on this novel view 
 of the girl's character. 
 
 " There," she said, " do you see that big house 
 above the weir ? That's Lord Vernade's. They have 
 a lot of people down for Sunday and sent over this 
 morning to get me to go up to Henley in the launch, 
 but of course I wouldn't leave our cosy little party," 
 with an upward glance from under the parasol. 
 
 " That's very amiable of you. I hope you don't 
 repent." 
 
 " Oh, I dare say it would have been fun, but then 
 somehow Jack's not overfond of the Vernades 
 thinks them a bit rapid, you know," mischievously. 
 
 " I don't wonder," was his energetic answer. " If 
 you were my sister I should have very strong opin- 
 ions on the subject." 
 
 A soft little laugh greeted this statement. 
 
 " But then I'm not your sister, you see," she said, 
 and something in eyes and voice rather dazzled him. 
 
 " How quietly and quickly you paddle," she said, 
 after a pause. " You don't look like the other people 
 here do. You kneel upright and hardly raise your 
 paddle. Is that the American way? " 
 
 " It is the way I learnt from Indians on the St. 
 Lawrence. I certainly never saw them lie back 
 against cushions and wave their paddles, like a 
 spoon helping porridge. I suppose that's the Eng- 
 lish way." 
 
 " Don't be supercilious ! How could we be ex- 
 pected to paddle like Indians ! " she retorted. 
 
 " No, the English mind is hardly imaginative 
 enough to grasp the fact that if the Indian evolved 
 
 292
 
 "A DAY IN JUNE" 
 
 the canoe, he is most likely to understand the best 
 way of getting it along." 
 
 " Do leave us poor English alone! " she pleaded. 
 
 " ' Us ' poor English ? I thought you were a 
 Canadian ! " 
 
 " An English Canadian, the same as you are an 
 American Canadian. Betwixt us two there is a 
 great gulf fixed." 
 
 Gilbert was silent, realising how much more of 
 a gulf there was between them than she guessed 
 the blood of the Martinique brown woman, and 
 all that it implied. 
 
 "You didn't mind my saying that?" came a 
 timid voice. " You look so grave." 
 
 " You set me thinking on some pet theories of 
 mine on race and nationality, that was all. And here 
 is the lock and there is your brother shouting to us 
 to hurry in." 
 
 As the canoe glided in under the shadow of the 
 masonry, Gilbert brought it close to Mrs. Broderick's 
 side. 
 
 " How do you like canoeing on the Thames? Is 
 it as good as the little Adirondack lake? " she asked, 
 smiling. 
 
 " Not as good as that,' 1 he answered, in a low 
 voice, in which sounded a deep regret for those lost 
 days of youth. 
 
 Presently the two craft were gliding into the 
 still green world of Hurley backwater; above, a 
 network of green branches between them and the 
 sky; below them, that network reflected in calm 
 water. In those winding ways there were the 
 number of boats usual to a fine June Sunday, but 
 once find an unoccupied flat meadow bank and one 
 
 293
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 or two willow-trees, and the other boats and their 
 occupants matter nothing. 
 
 The picnic was much as other picnics. Margaret 
 and her cousin Tommy devoted themselves to piling 
 up cushions for Brindle's benefit, until that youth 
 was overwhelmed by mingled delight and disgust. 
 
 " If any one does anything more for me, I shall 
 just roll to the bank and into the stream, which 
 will bear me away like Ophelia," he threatened. 
 
 " And before it bears you away, you are likely 
 to find yourself prodded all over with boat-hooks. 
 A hero will spring from the shadow of every tree 
 and you will be * butchered to make a Hurley holi- 
 day,' " Meg retorted. She had immediately joined 
 Brindle and Miss Tommy, leaving Isabel to her two 
 knights errant. 
 
 Did Mrs. Broderick ever look more lovely than 
 to-day, the adoring Jack wondered, in her favourite 
 white serge with one knot of deep purple velvet 
 at her neck, and a wreath of dark pansies around 
 her hat. Jack had hardly as yet taken in the full 
 extent of the intimacy between her and Gilbert, 
 and even if he had, his innate sense of fair play 
 would have kept him from showing any jealousy. 
 
 " Perhaps you and Gilbert have had picnics to- 
 gether before now in America," he said, as they sat 
 around the white table-cloth, over which the slim 
 tracery of the willow leaves danced in light and 
 shade, Gilbert on one side of her, he on the other. 
 
 Involuntarily the man and woman turned toward 
 each other, their meeting eyes telling of the same 
 memories: a dark pine- fringed lake in the days of 
 that long-ago first summer; a yellow sand-bar 
 
 394
 
 "A DAY IN JUNE" 
 
 against which the blue ocean crooned, while the child 
 played at their feet. 
 
 .Attributing all the pain in her eyes to this last 
 fact, Gilbert answered, quickly : 
 
 " Yes, we have broiled a trout over the ashes, 
 and gathered our quart of blueberries, in our day. 
 To think of your being Canadians and not having 
 known the joy of picking blueberries ! " 
 
 " Ah, but we're going out there some day salmon 
 fishing, Jack and I," put in Meg, who had been 
 listening. " Perhaps, Gilbert, you'll come and play 
 the host to us at that place of yours, ' The Moor- 
 ings '?" 
 
 If Margaret's keen eyes saw Isabel's nervous start 
 at the word so long unheard, Gilbert marked it. too. 
 
 " You must be more enterprising than that and 
 have a camp up one of the rivers, in the woods. 
 That would teach you what mosquitoes were like," 
 he said, quickly. 
 
 " Perhaps we may really do it, some day," said 
 Jack, " though it may be a good while first if I get 
 the staff appointment I am trying for." The sim- 
 plicity and downrightness of the young fellow 
 showed in every word, and Gilbert felt strongly 
 drawn to him. 
 
 " Do you want foreign service? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, one ought to see something of the world. 
 I've the best chance for South Africa, I think." 
 
 " Wouldn't you rather get to India ? " 
 
 " Yes, but there'd be big game in South Africa, 
 too." 
 
 There was to be bigger game than Jack or any one 
 else thought before many months were over. 
 
 " Don't you people want to come over and sec 
 395
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 the boats at the lock?" demanded Margaret. 
 ' There's a perfect stream of launches already, and 
 the theatrical people will all be about just now." 
 
 " You're an utter cockney, Meg," Jack protested, 
 but still he rose and offered a hand to Isabel. 
 
 " I had better stay with Mr. Brindle," she said, 
 hesitating. 
 
 " I'll take care of him and see that he doesn't do 
 anything desperate," piped up Miss Tommy. 
 
 Jack looked at her quizzically. 
 
 " The tender merices of the wicked are cruel," 
 he said ; then in a lower voice to Isabel : 
 
 " Do come." 
 
 She yielded with less restraint in her manner. If 
 he were going abroad so soon, a stern hand might 
 not be needed after all. 
 
 The two couples, Gilbert and Meg ahead, strolled 
 across the meadow where the strange effect might 
 be seen of the upper parts of boats or launches glid- 
 ing swiftly on, apparently over the grass, in reality 
 along the hidden canal that led to the lock. 
 
 " You'll see a little of everything here on a June 
 Sunday," Meg said, and it was true enough. It was 
 a side stream from the great current of London life 
 that poured past that country field. 
 
 Electric launches crowded with overdressed Bays- 
 water Jews, or groups from some of the many for- 
 eign colonies of London ; noisy theatrical folk mak- 
 ing the most of their one holiday ; boats-full by the 
 dozen and hundred, of young men, at their best in 
 the equalising boating flannels; habitual river- folk 
 in punts or canoes, and occasionally a small smart 
 launch party, evidently from a country-house. 
 
 Meg was at once in her element, picking out some 
 
 296
 
 "A DAY IN JUNE" 
 
 notoriety, a statesman, a peer or lady fresh from the 
 divorce court or a card scandal, and commenting on 
 them with a frankness that rather amazed Gilbert. 
 
 The lock had filled and emptied, and now as the 
 down-stream craft flocked in, the launches with the 
 right of way were led by a perfectly appointed 
 electric one, which held a small party of ultra- 
 fashionable people. 
 
 " Oh, Jack, here are the Vernades, now ! " Meg 
 said, moving forward to the edge of the lock, while 
 her brother followed less eagerly. 
 
 Lord Vernade, who had been lounging in a deep 
 wicker chair, beside a much-painted lady who seemed 
 to be doing her best to entertain him, sprang up, and 
 before the level of the water had begun to lower, 
 jumped up beside them. 
 
 " I have been on the lookout for you all day, only 
 to nearly miss you at last," he said, taking Mar- 
 garet's hand. "Why, this is a regular gathering; 
 the new cousin I congratulate you on it, Mr. 
 Clinch and I am glad to see that Mrs. Broderick 
 is still a neighbour," with a pleasantly deferential 
 bow to her. " I mustn't stay to talk, or I'll be 
 stranded high and dry, but won't you all follow us 
 down and have tea on the lawn ? I'm sure that Mrs. 
 Broderick will forgive the informality of Lady 
 Vernade not having yet called. You'll come, won't 
 you?" and his eyes dwelt insistently on Margaret, 
 who, flushed and smiling, looked all readiness. 
 
 " I don't know, what do you think, Jack ? " she 
 appealed. 
 
 Jack, who had taken one long, steady glance over 
 the smart people in the launch, recognising, although 
 he was not as familiar with the London world as his 
 
 297
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 sister, a recent divorcee and another lady scarcely 
 less notorious, answered, with quiet decision: 
 
 " Thanks, but I think that we had better stick 
 to our plans. I promised Mrs. Broderick a quiet 
 day, and Clinch has an invalid in charge.'' 
 
 The excuse was flimsy, but neither Gilbert nor 
 Isabel, after looking into Jack's face, made any 
 protest against standing in their way. Lord Ver- 
 nade's face hardened somewhat as he turned to Mar- 
 garet : 
 
 " Might I venture to suggest carrying you off 
 in the launch? " he said. 
 
 It was Jack's voice answered: 
 
 ' You wouldn't want to leave your guests, Meg." 
 
 Gilbert, watching, saw that her face had paled and 
 her eyes dilated curiously, though she answered, with 
 a laugh : 
 
 " Oh, certainly not. You see I'm under orders, 
 Lord Vernade." 
 
 The launch was sinking with the lowering water 
 in the lock. 
 
 " I must be off. I'm sorry," he said, letting him- 
 self lightly down. He was greeted with a remark 
 from one of the women which raised a general laugh, 
 and as Meg turned away from the lock there was 
 a red spot on each cheek. 
 
 Gilbert kept beside her across the grass, with 
 much the same feeling of indulgent pity as one has 
 for an unreasonable child. 
 
 " I am sorry you were disappointed," he said 
 simply. 
 
 " Oh, no, you weren't. You and Mrs. Broderick 
 think Jack is right in not wanting me to know 
 amusing people. How am I going to be a success 
 
 298
 
 "A DAY IN JUNE" 
 
 if I stick among the frumps, I should like to know? " 
 she flashed out. 
 
 " Thanks," he said with a laugh of frank amuse- 
 ment, which in a moment she echoed, saying : 
 
 " There, I won't be cross any more." 
 
 After all she was very like a wilful, attractive 
 child. 
 
 " Just look at Tommy and Mr. Brindle gazing 
 into each other's eyes," Meg went on, as they came 
 back to the scene of their encampment. The shadow 
 was gone, and when, between the evening opales- 
 cence of sky and water, they drifted down with the 
 current, Meg was at her gayest and most seductive, 
 so that Gilbert could not but feel his heart warmed 
 by this new sense of kinship, a sense that had 
 hitherto been so singularly lacking in his life. 
 
 299
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE AMERICAN ARTIST 
 
 IT was one of the languorous afternoons that 
 June brings to the Thames valley, and Mar- 
 garet was lounging in a deep chair under the 
 trees, well in view of the river, a becoming hat 
 tilted over her eyes, a soft-tinted pink cushion be- 
 hind her head, a pile of illustrated papers her osten- 
 sible study. Tommy Curtis had betaken herself to 
 her favourite amusement of fishing, and peace 
 reigned. 
 
 At first Meg had given her papers but a small 
 share of her attention, allowing it to stray after 
 each interesting-looking craft that passed, or even 
 to the vagaries of a swan family giving the young 
 ones an airing. 
 
 But presently, in lazily turning over a page, she 
 spied something that so interested her, that boats 
 and swans were allowed to pursue their course un- 
 regarded. 
 
 It was a reproduction of the picture " The Bor- 
 derland," and the name of the artist caught her 
 eye. " Mrs. Andrew Broderick " was an address 
 that she had seen more than once on papers or 
 parcels at Heathholm indeed, was it not on her 
 friend's visiting-card? 
 
 300
 
 THE AMERICAN ARTIST 
 
 She turned over to the letter-press. Yes, here 
 was the paragraph headed, " An Artist's Sad Story." 
 
 It told how " The Borderland," one of the most 
 successful American pictures of the Paris Salon, 
 had been painted last summer, just before the artist 
 had become hopelessly insane. It had been brought 
 to Paris by his wife, also an artist, after the unhappy 
 man had been confined to an asylum. 
 
 Besides its artistic merit an interest had been given 
 to the picture for Parisians, by the fact of the sub- 
 ject having evidently been evolved in his troubled 
 brain through some remembrance of the illusions 
 of poor Guy de Maupassant's first days of insanity, 
 when he was haunted by good and evil spirits in 
 the form of butterflies. The paragraph ended by 
 saying that there was no doubt that, but for the 
 artist's tragic condition, this picture would have 
 earned him a " mention," or even a second medal. 
 
 Margaret turned the page to gaze intently at the 
 weird composition, and only looked up as Jack 
 came toward her in riding-dress. 
 
 " Look here," she began, almost before he reached 
 her. " Here's such a queer thing a picture in 
 Paris painted by an Andrew Broderick last summer, 
 just before he went mad. Now I've often seen her 
 name, Mrs. Andrew 
 
 " Let's look," Jack interrupted, taking the paper 
 from her hand. As he scanned it, his sister sat 
 staring up at him, realising that nothing she might 
 say would attract his attention. 
 
 When he raised his eyes from the page, she saw 
 that his face was verv set and still, with a look that 
 she had only seen there once or twice throughout his 
 boyhood. 
 
 301
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 " Dare say it's a brother-in-law or cousin," was 
 his brief comment. 
 
 Margaret checked the obvious retort, that brothers 
 and cousins did not generally possess the same 
 Christian name, but as Jack turned away, she called 
 after him : 
 
 " Give me my paper." 
 
 " I want it," came back over his shoulder. 
 
 " Aren't you going to have some tea? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 Margaret sat staring after the retreating figure. 
 "So that's it, is it?" she said to herself. "The 
 Lady of Shalot is a grass widow, and my poor 
 Jack " and she breathed a very genuine sigh. 
 " And he has gone to have it out with her now, too. 
 Well, it won't do him any good for me to sit here 
 and think about it, so I might as well go for a 
 paddle." Then on a sudden came the thought that 
 if Isabel could not marry Jack, neither could she 
 marry Gilbert, and her heart leaped with a fierce 
 
 joy- 
 Margaret was right. Jack had gone to have it out 
 with her, riding up through the beech woods with an 
 unfamiliar look of pain on his young face. 
 
 He had not yet, however, quite accepted the fact 
 of Mrs. Broderick's having a living husband. He 
 felt morally certain that she herself must have 
 painted the picture which he had seen unfinished in 
 her studio, and tried to convince himself that the 
 mystery in which she had enwrapped it was merely 
 some artistic trick to secure its success. 
 
 Women certainly wrote books under the name 
 of men, and might do the same with pictures, for 
 all he knew to the contrary. The weaving of these 
 
 302
 
 THE AMERICAN ARTIST 
 
 fine theories brought no relief to the tension of his 
 mind, and when he pulled up at Heathholm gate, his 
 horse bore signs of harder work than usual on the 
 long up-hill stretch. 
 
 Yes, there she was down the garden path, sitting 
 before her easel at this unusually late hour of the 
 afternoon. Jack was not the one to understand that 
 it was the luminous gray that had tempted her into 
 making a study of a bank of azaleas in a blue twi- 
 light caused by the overhanging trees. At sound of 
 his footsteps, Isabel looked up with her smile of 
 friendly welcome. 
 
 " Is Meg with you ? " she asked, and then paused, 
 checked by some unusual element in his face. 
 
 " No, I came alone. I hope you don't mind my 
 interrupting your work, but there is something that 
 I must ask you." 
 
 "Yes?" She had instinctively risen, and stood 
 facing him, her eyes nearly on a level with his own, 
 the long folds of her plainly made dress of light 
 gray giving her the shadowy air of a mediaeval 
 saint in a modern picture. 
 
 From his pocket. Jack pulled the roughly folded 
 sheets that contained " The Borderland " and its 
 descriptive letter-press. 
 
 " Will you look at this? " he asked, quietly, 
 fear that I must disobey your wishes not to speak 
 of the subject, but this is the picture that I saw here, 
 in your studio, is it not ? " 
 
 There was the slightly startled air in Isabel's 
 bearing, which is aroused in any one. by an abrupt 
 intrusion into their personal affairs, but that was all, 
 as after glancing at the paper she answered, " Yes." 
 
 303
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 " I cannot pretend not to know that you painted 
 it." 
 
 At his expectant pause, she bowed her head acqui- 
 escently. 
 
 " Then if you are Andrew Broderick, what does 
 this account of the artist mean ? " 
 
 This almost stern demand was met by a silence 
 when her eyes met his steadily. 
 
 He answered the look as though it had been spoken 
 words. 
 
 " You mean have I a right to ask that ? You 
 know that I have. I will tell you presently what 
 that right is. Is there really such a man as this 
 artist whom they call Andrew Broderick, and if 
 so, what is he to you ? " 
 
 " My husband," came the words, low yet distinct. 
 
 " Alive? " 
 
 " Yes, or as it says, in the living death of an 
 asylum." 
 
 The quiet words struck home, and the boy's face 
 settled into the lines of manhood's enduring sorrow. 
 
 " But why should you paint the picture in his 
 name?" he said, vaguely, as though his mind were 
 still occupied with the details of the story, while 
 the one tragic central fact was not yet fully realised. 
 
 " He had painted a great masterpiece, and des- 
 troyed it in his frenzy. With the help of his 
 studies, I reproduced it. I could not have done so 
 if I had not worked with him so much, and seen 
 him paint it. He was a great artist, and I have 
 saved his name," she said, with a strange pride. 
 
 " Good God, how you must have loved him ! " 
 Jack broke out, fiercely. 
 
 The mask was down from her studious self- 
 
 304
 
 THE AMERICAN ARTIST 
 
 control, and with a strange outward wave of her 
 hands, as though putting from her a long-carried 
 burden, Isabel spoke: 
 
 "Loved him, no! I doubt if I ever did that, 
 even at the first ! I admired the artist, I was grate- 
 ful to the man for what he gave me. Then all at 
 once it changed to hate, such hate that his name, 
 his money, were a burden to me until I had repaid 
 something of my debt to him. It is done now, for 
 it is I who have made his name famous." 
 
 "You hated him?" Jack gasped, forgetting his 
 own trouble in the face of these hinted-at tragic 
 forces. 
 
 " I hated him, yes, for what in my darkest mo- 
 ments I have felt to be more my fault than his. For 
 when his mind began to be clouded, my one thought 
 was to act as a wife would have done who had 
 married him for love, not to fail in one effort to 
 save him. Against the doctor's wishes. I took him 
 away Gilbert Clinch came in charge of him to 
 that little Canadian fishing-place you saw in my 
 sketch. I was determined that he should not lose 
 one day's sunshine and free air that I could give 
 him; that he should have his liberty to the last. 
 And my reward " - here her hands fell and her 
 voice dropped to a dulled tone " my reward was 
 to see my child, my one hope in life, lying dend at 
 his father's feet, his blood running clown from the 
 knife held above him! " 
 
 " Your child ! My God ! " Jack gasped, feeling 
 himself and his passion put off at a great distance 
 by the tragedy of her fate. 
 
 " Can you wonder that I am different from other 
 women? " she went on, more dreamily. " Can you 
 
 305
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 wonder that I crept away, here to the solitude of a 
 distant country to hide myself? It was a strange 
 chance that brought me in contact with my old ac- 
 quaintance, Meg. You and she have been, oh, so 
 good to me, and led me back into the serener ways 
 of life. Believe me, I am grateful to you, and would 
 be pained to give you trouble " she ended, with 
 a wistful look at him. 
 
 Jack hesitated, his honest soul rent between the 
 passion of pity evoked by her words, and his own 
 certainty of the wrong that her silence had done 
 him. 
 
 " I suppose," he began, after a moment, " the 
 way was perhaps it was natural enough that 
 you never thought how hard it would come on me, 
 leaving me in ignorance. You weren't to know, of 
 course, that I should make such a fool of myself " 
 then his pain mastering his compunction " but 
 oh, if you only could have guessed what you have 
 grown to be to me, what it will be to live without 
 seeing you ! " 
 
 She twisted her hands together with a little move- 
 ment of pain. 
 
 " It hurts so to have to hurt you," she whispered. 
 " But we seemed such ages apart, you with every- 
 thing bright ahead of you, and me a poor bruised, 
 battered creature in whom all feeling should be 
 dead." 
 
 He turned on her quickly. 
 
 " And is it really dead ? Is there no one else 
 can wake it up? " 
 
 For a breathless moment she stared into his eyes, 
 and then a crimson flush passed slowly across her 
 
 306
 
 THE AMERICAN ARTIST 
 
 face. Silently she shook her head, but Jack spoke, 
 very gently: 
 
 " Ah, I see. Forgive me, I should not have said 
 that. Well, it is good-bye now. I go back to 
 Dublin next week anyway, and think I'll do the 
 rest of my leave in town. I'm sorry I bothered you 
 and made a fool of myself. Good-bye," and just 
 touching the hand that hung by her side he turned 
 and was gone. 
 
 Jack was not again visible to his friends until 
 he appeared late at the dinner-table ; and then, after 
 one quick glance at his face, his sister did not look 
 at him again, but kept up a stream of talk as best 
 she might, enticing her mother on to discourse 
 upon a bazaar, and her father to point out at length 
 his views as to the mistakes committed by the pres- 
 ent government, all the while keeping an eye on 
 Tommy Curtis, in case she should tease Jack. 
 
 The meal was nearly over when Jack broke his 
 silence, and Meg started nervously at something 
 unfamiliar in his voice. 
 
 " Ellen will be able to commence one of her 
 favourite house-cleaning sprees in my room to-mor- 
 row, mother, for I think that I'll be off in the 
 morning to Cowes. I've only a week's more leave, 
 you know, and Dick Loring writes that he is just 
 taking his yacht out and will land me at Kingston. 
 Don't you wish you were coming, Meg?" 
 
 " That I do," she answered, not looking up from 
 an elaborate pattern of strawberry stalks on her 
 plate. 
 
 "Whatever is up, Meg?" said Tommy, taking 
 her arm as they went out into the clear darkness 
 of the summer night. " You look as though you had 
 
 807
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 just had a legacy that you must keep dark, and 
 Jack suggests nothing but a toothache. And yet 
 you generally hunt in couples. Can the lovely 
 widow have refused him? What fun!" For if 
 Tommy was ever vindictive to any one, it was to 
 Jack, who for years had been held before her in 
 the light of a desirable husband. 
 
 Meg felt a pang of shame that her joy should be 
 Jack's sorrow. But there was no time to be lost 
 in getting that lively young woman out of the suf- 
 ferer's way. 
 
 " Look here, Tommy, go in like a dear, for I want 
 to speak to Jack presently. Go and play something, 
 not gay and not sad something dull and neutral." 
 
 " That's a large order," Tommy commented, as 
 she obeyed, and apparently found it impossible of 
 solution, for no music sounded from the windows. 
 
 Presently Jack's cigar showed a red point in the 
 doorway, and knowing that the light was on her 
 white skirts, Meg waited to see if he would come 
 to her. 
 
 "You there, Meg? Where's Tommy?" came 
 the cautious question. 
 
 " She's indoors. She won't come out." 
 
 " That's right. My father has just been suggest- 
 ing that she and I pledge our troth before I go, and 
 I said ' No, thank you,' civilly. One comfort, she'd 
 never have me," and he laughed dismally. " But 
 look here, you know that thing you showed me in 
 the paper to-day? Well, I wouldn't say anything 
 to Mrs. Broderick about it if I were you." 
 
 " No, I won't." 
 
 " It was her husband, you see, and the poor 
 
 308
 
 THE AMERICAN ARTIST 
 
 fellow's mad, and she doesn't like talking about him, 
 you know." 
 
 This was delivered with a fine air of carelessness 
 which caused Meg's eyes to grow dim. 
 
 " I dare say not," was her mechanical reply. 
 
 " She's had a lot of trouble dreadful trouble 
 and you'll be kind to her always when you 
 can, won't you?" came in more muffled tones 
 through the darkness. 
 
 All their childhood's loyal comradeship rose up 
 in that moment to fight down the fierce jealousy in 
 Meg's heart, that kept repeating, " And yet she can 
 make every man care for her; why must she take 
 every one? " 
 
 There was an indignation, too, for Jack's hurt, 
 but the old loyalty asserted itself in her words : 
 
 " Of course I will, Jack, but must you go 
 to-morrow? " 
 
 " I might as well. And look here, don't bother to 
 be up early. I must be off to send some wires and 
 pack now. Bye-bye, Meg," and with a quick fare- 
 well kiss he marched away, while Meg choked back 
 a sob and gave a vindictive thought to the friend 
 she had a little while ago considered perfection. 
 
 309
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 MOTHER AND SON 
 
 FOR the next few days Margaret kept as much 
 to herself as possible, brooding over poor 
 Jack's tragedy, and the parts played in it 
 by the different actors. 
 
 The longer she brooded, the stronger became the 
 impression that there must have been something 
 more than accident in Gilbert Clinch's reticence 
 as to Mrs. Broderick's history. It must have been 
 by her orders, she said to herself, bitterly, only for 
 what cause? 
 
 " Well, that's what I mean to find out," she 
 decided, and putting on a very smart red and white 
 boating-dress, she summoned Tommy Curtis to an 
 afternoon in the punt. Meg knew that she never 
 looked so tall and slim as when reaching up to grasp 
 the long punting-pole. 
 
 When dwellers on the Thames want to see their 
 acquaintances, they go out on the water, as dwellers 
 in villages walk down the High Street. 
 
 " I wonder if Mr. Clinch is out in his canoe 
 to-day? I haven't seen him since Jack left," she 
 remarked, carelessly, and Tommy answered, with 
 the tranquil innocence of a two-year-old : 
 
 310
 
 MOTHER AND SON 
 
 ' They generally do go up-stream about four 
 o'clock, I think." 
 
 Her information proved correct, for presently, 
 when the long pole had securely wedged the punt 
 in among the sweet-scented reeds under an old 
 willow, and that destroyer of peace, the spirit-lamp, 
 had been started, the canoe came gliding in toward 
 them, Gilbert paddling and Brindle stretched lazily 
 out. 
 
 " You're like the swans, and scent the tea-basket 
 from afar," Tommy said. " Come, Mr. Brindle, 
 sit on these cushions and draw me pictures." 
 
 " I don't see why cushions and myself always 
 seem to be associated in the feminine mind," Brindle 
 lamented, though he made the change to the larger 
 quarters with great alacrity. 
 
 Gilbert sat still in the canoe, one hand lightly 
 holding by the punt. His head was bare, his hair 
 slightly disordered, and to Margaret he seemed 
 to have a younger, brighter aspect, which she 
 highly approved. 
 
 " You are like Jack," she said, suddenly. " I 
 never saw it so strongly before." 
 
 " I'm glad you think so, for I know that must be 
 an open door to your favour," he said, cheerfully, 
 and the girl blushed with a new sense of shame. 
 
 " But I'm very sorry he had to go off in such 
 a hurry. I should have liked to have seen him 
 first," he went on. 
 
 A sudden purpose came to Margaret. The two 
 at the other end of the boat were absorbed, and she 
 and Gilbert were practically alone, their voices cov- 
 ered by the sound of the weir. 
 
 " It was the best thing he could do, he was so 
 
 311
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 worried and upset I never saw Jack so upset 
 before," she said, pathetically; then looking up at 
 Gilbert with the full force of her big dark eyes : 
 
 " Why did neither you nor Mrs. Broderick ever 
 tell us that her husband was alive?" 
 
 His face set, as does a strong man's to meet a 
 sudden attack. 
 
 " If she chose to be silent, it was not for me to 
 speak," he said, gravely; then questioned, almost 
 sternly : 
 
 " But why do you ask me that now? " 
 
 Her answer was a triumph of pathos. 
 
 " Only because I cannot help thinking so much 
 of them. It might have saved him and her - 
 from a lifelong sorrow if you had been more frank." 
 
 Gilbert paled under his bronze at the certainty 
 given by her words that Isabel shared Jack's feel- 
 ings, but he had long ago learnt the lesson of self- 
 control, and only answered, with quiet reserve: 
 
 " I think that if you knew more of the circum- 
 stances you would see that I could not have acted 
 differently." 
 
 Her arrow was planted; it was no part of Mar- 
 garet's plan to estrange Gilbert. 
 
 " Forgive me if I seem intrusive, but you know 
 what Jack is to me, and Mrs. Broderick has been 
 my ideal since I was a long-legged tomboy. I 
 haven't the courage to go and see her grieving, 
 when I can do nothing for her. Have you seen 
 her since " she paused. 
 
 " I saw her yesterday," he said, his mind mean- 
 time anxiously recalling each little sign that had 
 made him think her overworked and depressed. 
 
 " Tea is ready," sung out Tommy, from the other 
 
 312
 
 MOTHER AND SON 
 
 end of the punt, and as soon as possible afterward, 
 Gilbert took his departure. 
 
 " Change partners, and down the middle," said 
 Brindle, as they drifted down, " the fair Persephone 
 never vouchsafes me a glance nowadays." 
 
 " You don't give her much chance, it seems to 
 me," Gilbert said, rousing himself from his abstrac- 
 tion. " And do you think you need devote yourself 
 quite so violently to the little Curtis girl ? I under- 
 stand she is a bit of an heiress, and is destined 
 for my cousin Jack." 
 
 " They neither of them seem in much of a hurry 
 then. My dear fellow, don't you know that when 
 a nice little girl shows that she wants me to amuse 
 her, I do my best at it? I hate that cold-blooded 
 English way of accepting their attentions," Brindle 
 retorted. 
 
 " Well, don't go making a fool of yourself, that's 
 all," Gilbert cautioned. 
 
 At the same time Tommy was saying: 
 
 " I do think that American men take so much 
 more trouble to amuse girls than Englishmen do, 
 don't you, Meg? " 
 
 " Perhaps so. They are different, certainly," 
 Meg agreed. 
 
 Meetings like this one took place frequently, and 
 every day Gilbert's feeling of interest in Margaret 
 grew stronger, as well as his resolve never to put 
 himself in a position of an enemy to the brother 
 and sister who had given him this new sense of 
 kinship. 
 
 Isabel had immersed herself in her work, making 
 excuses whenever Gilbert tried to persuade her to 
 go out on the water with them. And so they re- 
 
 313
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 mained a quartette, until one day when Mr. Nugent- 
 Barr, taking a walk along the towing-path, spied 
 Tommy and Brindle drifting about in the canoe, 
 evidently absorbed in each other, while the punt 
 was nowhere in sight. He went home, meditating, 
 and making no comments, wrote that evening a 
 letter which two days later brought one summoning 
 Tommy back to her family the next day, on plea 
 of a coming dance. 
 
 " You'll say good-bye to Mr. Brindle for me, 
 Meg," she said, dolorously. 
 
 " I won't do anything of the kind, and I think 
 it is rather a good thing you are going back to 
 Selina. She'll keep you in order," announced Meg, 
 who had made up her mind to do all in her power 
 to get Tommy married to Jack. 
 
 " We'll see about that," was the stout answer, and 
 that evening there was a little note slipped into the 
 village post-box which would have shocked Meg. 
 
 Tommy had at last found something original 
 to suit her tastes, and she did not mean to let it 
 slip in a hurry. 
 
 Things were not cheerful at Monk's Grange. 
 Mr. Nugent-Barr was more peevishly restless than 
 ever, perpetually questioning Margaret as to what 
 Gilbert had told her of his life and prospects. When 
 his nephew came to the house, he seemed constrained 
 and uneasy in his presence, and yet if he failed to 
 appear at the usual time he worried at his absence. 
 
 There was a decided tone of relief in his voice 
 when one morning at breakfast he looked up from 
 a letter to say to Margaret: 
 
 " Your grandmother is on her way home, coming 
 straight through from Aix."
 
 MOTHER AND SON 
 
 " Granny ! " Meg said, with a little gasp of 
 dismay, " why, I thought the doctor had her safe at 
 Aix for the whole summer ! " 
 
 " I trust that she is safe, wherever she is," was 
 the prim retort. " But, yes, from what Madame 
 Estivalet says, she certainly does seem to be acting 
 against their wishes." 
 
 " Whatever is she in such a hurry for ? " asked 
 Meg. 
 
 " The wish to get home is natural enough." 
 
 Meg had her own thoughts, but held her tongue, 
 and she had further opportunities of discretion, 
 when her grandmother arrived, horribly fractious, 
 and evidently suffering in mind and body. 
 
 Madame Estivalet immediately retired to bed with 
 an attack of nerves, and Ellen Sievert confided to 
 the housekeeper that she wouldn't go through that 
 journey again for a hundred pounds. 
 
 The master of the house alone seemed pleased 
 at his mother's arrival, and was closeted with her 
 early the next morning. 
 
 An awesome sight was the old woman, sitting 
 bolstered up with many cushions in bed. head and 
 shoulders swathed in a red silk shawl, her hands, 
 as usual, loaded with rings. 
 
 Hardly was the door closed before she demanded : 
 
 " Well, have you found out what he wants? " 
 
 " What he wants? You mean Gilbert Clinch? " 
 
 "Who else could I mean? Hasn't he showed 
 his hand yet? Has he done nothing?" 
 
 Her son shook his head, and answered, with the 
 slowness that always stirred her impatience: 
 
 " Nothing save come and go, as any other neigh- 
 
 315
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 bour might. The young people and he made friends, 
 but I thought it best not to drop any hints." 
 
 " No, you never could manage Margaret. Leave 
 her to me. And you think she likes him ? " 
 
 Mr. Nugent-Barr tried his best to look dignified, 
 as he asked : 
 
 " And what does it matter whether she likes him 
 or not ? " Then breaking down into an appeal, 
 " Mother, you must tell me why you make so much 
 of this?" 
 
 But unheeding his words, the old woman was 
 muttering to herself, and he paused to listen : 
 
 " Old Isaac ! Old Isaac ! That most pig-headed 
 of all pig-headed Dutchmen! I always knew that 
 it would come through him! Why did I ever let 
 him " even in the outpouring of her rage she 
 checked herself here, with a furtive glance at her 
 son, who asked, uneasily: 
 
 " What would come through him ? " 
 
 She leaned forward and clutched his arm in her 
 bony grasp. 
 
 " I always thought that your father wanted to 
 make another will. At the last I felt sure that he 
 had made it, and if so, old Isaac knew of it. What 
 if that is the reason of his coming now ? " 
 
 Her listener glanced around with an uneasy laugh. 
 
 " Hush, mother, better not talk about such things. 
 Even an old fool of a fisherman wouldn't keep a 
 will hidden away for nearly twenty years and then 
 produce it." 
 
 " Well, what is this man coming here for if not 
 to find out about something that Isaac Neisner has 
 told him of? " she hissed, in an angry whisper. 
 
 316
 
 MOTHER AND SON 
 
 "What could he find out? There is no one 
 here to tell him anything." 
 
 "There is Ellen Sievert." 
 
 The son stared at his mother with a growing fear 
 in his eyes, as though of some coming revelation. 
 
 " What is there for her to tell him? " he asked, 
 in a more authoritative tone than he had often used 
 to her. 
 
 " Nothing, of course, nothing. What could there 
 be? Only you know that she and Isaac helped 
 me to nurse your father at the end, and if there 
 were any such last attempt at a will she may have 
 known of it. She had known that daughter of his 
 when they were girls." 
 
 " Ellen is not likely at this time of day to risk 
 her good home for a man she has never seen," he 
 answered, his very want of imagination dulling his 
 suspicions. " All the same I cannot understand 
 your fear of this man. Mother, what was the true 
 story of this half-sister of mine?" 
 
 " That's what he never would tell me," the old 
 woman answered, in low, intense tones. " I knew 
 from Ellen that he had kept her and her mother 
 living like working women and that, after her 
 mother's death, the girl quarrelled with him, and 
 left home to marry this minister of some American 
 sect, and her father never saw her again. I never 
 wondered that she quarrelled with him, but who 
 knows what shame or crime may have been hidden 
 who knows? " she crooned to herself, as though 
 forgetting her listener in the shadows of her past. 
 
 With a start she roused herself, though still 
 seeming vague. 
 
 " It was that look in his face that frightened me 
 
 317
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 when he came in Florence the look of Jonathan 
 Bauer, who all his life got what he wanted at what- 
 ever cost." Then in a brisker tone, " But it's no 
 use talking about the past ; we must get things in 
 hand now. I sent you the letter in answer to my 
 inquiries, the letter that shows that this Mrs. Bro- 
 derick must have come here to spy out the land 
 beforehand for him. Whether he is a tool of hers, 
 or she of his, remains to be seen. Anyway, we 
 must try through Margaret to detach him from her, 
 so that if the worst comes to the worst " she 
 paused, as though swallowing a bitter pill, and then 
 broke out : 
 
 " My pretty Margaret ! My dainty Margaret ! 
 Of whom I meant to make a grande dame a 
 grande dame! " and again the senile vagueness came 
 over her. 
 
 Her son sat looking at her with a new awe of 
 the barrier that was coming between them, realising 
 his own weakness without her. There could be 
 no doubt but that Madame de Barre was aging 
 fast. 
 
 "Where's Meg?" she asked, with one of her 
 sudden starts into keenness, " I must have a talk 
 with her soon. You haven't told her anything of 
 this story of his being Mrs. Broderick's old love? 
 No? That's right. We mustn't set her against 
 him yet, until we see how things go. Leave me 
 now to rest." 
 
 318
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE POISON OF ASPS 
 
 MARGARET had been spending a long soli- 
 tary afternoon on the river, looking over 
 at the closed shutters of the Vernade house 
 and giving a sigh to their London gaieties, wonder- 
 ing with uneasy jealousy if Gilbert were with Mrs. 
 Broderick, and generally feeling at odds with her 
 world. 
 
 It was late when she left the punt at the steps and 
 strolled up toward the house, its gray walls, dark 
 against the sunset, seeming to reach out their shadow 
 to draw her away from the evening peace and 
 beauty. 
 
 She looked up at them with all her old distaste. 
 
 " I don't know when you look darkest and 
 dreariest," she apostrophised them, vengefully, " on 
 a fine summer evening or a dreary winter day. 
 Other old houses don't look such a concentrated 
 essence of dead sins as you do. Why can't you 
 look cheerfully respectable as a decent house 
 should?" 
 
 But the old walls stared back at her as though 
 they knew a very good reason for looking the con- 
 trary. 
 
 Her own room was a cheerful place enough, with 
 
 319
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 its yellow and white furnishing, and its western 
 sunshine through a gap in the heavy trees. 
 
 Cheerful too from long affectionate habit was 
 the appearance of the old woman with shrewd, 
 kindly face who knocked and entered, saying in the 
 half-scolding, half-welcoming tone of nursery days : 
 
 " You're very late to-day, Miss Meggie. Your 
 grandmother's been fussing this hour past." 
 
 " Fussing for any reason, or just because she 
 felt like fussing?" Meg asked, as she took off her 
 hat before the glass. 
 
 " Well, she does seem to have something on her 
 mind like has had all the time we've been in 
 Aix, for the matter of that. But she quieted down 
 a bit after she had her tea, so you'd better go to 
 her now and get what she has to say over, ha'n't 
 you, my dear ? " 
 
 " All right," then turning suddenly from the 
 glass to face the servant, " Lennie, do you know 
 if it's about my cousin, Gilbert Clinch? Didn't 
 Granny tell you that we had known him in Flor- 
 ence?" 
 
 The name seemed to act like a spell on the old 
 woman, who jumped as though she had had a pin 
 stuck in her. 
 
 " Susan's child ! " she said, in shrill tones. " The 
 Lord's sakes! Is he here? Sure enough it's been 
 him that's put the old lady in such tantrums for a 
 month and more ! " 
 
 Margaret's face reflected that uncomprehended 
 fear that she saw before her. 
 
 " Why should it ? " she demanded. 
 
 " I don't know, child. I don't want to know, and 
 don't you either. It's the best way," was the 
 
 320
 
 THE POISON OF ASPS 
 
 hurried answer. It brought a light of determination 
 to the girl's eyes. 
 
 " I will know. I will find out. I'm going to 
 her now," she said, throwing her hat on the bed 
 and moving to the door. 
 
 The nurse laid a detaining grasp on her arm. 
 
 " Miss Meg my little Meggie don't ask her 
 anything. Don't make her angry. No one ever 
 prospers that does. If there's anything you want 
 to know though I says it again, don't you know 
 it if you can help it come to your old nurse who 
 loves you true." 
 
 " It's all right, Lennie, don't worry yourself," 
 Margaret said, looking down with a smile at the 
 bent form beside her. " You know that I'm never 
 the least bit afraid of her. I leave that to my father. 
 I've seen her angry before now, and it didn't hurt 
 me; besides, I can't think what on earth she has 
 to be angry at. Anyway, I'm going to find out. 
 Bye-bye, Lennie," and with a laugh she was gone. 
 
 For all her brave bearing, Margaret felt a curi- 
 ous chill upon her as she opened the door of her 
 grandmother's sitting-room. A stately room it 
 was, once the withdrawing-room of an imprisoned 
 princess, and in its great oriel window, that looked 
 down a reach of the river to the little town, sat 
 Madame de Barre, huddled in her usual fashion in 
 bright shawls. 
 
 The melancholy charm of the summer night had 
 apparently no interest for her, for instead of sitting 
 idly reminiscent under its spell, as is the wont of 
 nice old ladies, she was trifling with a small tray of 
 bric-a-brac set on the table beside her. There were 
 bits of clumsy jewelry set with rough turquoises and 
 
 321
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 garnets, such as the Florentine women used to wear ; 
 there were the heavy coral or gold necklaces of the 
 Roman peasants, as well as some Swiss ornaments 
 and strings of bright amethyst and cornelian beads. 
 
 Madame Estivalet was apparently sorting out a 
 box of the same kind of treasures, and one glance 
 told Margaret that she wore her most cowed and 
 dispirited air. 
 
 The heavy air of the room with windows closed, 
 and great bunches of heliotrope about it; the fan- 
 tastic figure of her grandmother, all, used as she 
 was to it, increased the girl's vague sense of un- 
 easiness. 
 
 She had expected to be greeted on her entrance 
 with a voluble outburst of wrath, instead of which 
 the old lady looked up and nodded with a smile 
 which might have frightened a child into fits, but 
 to which Margaret was accustomed. 
 
 " Ellen said that you wanted me, Granny," she 
 began. 
 
 " Ah, yes, I was asking for you awhile ago. 
 We old folks find the days long when we don't 
 know what is going on. Estivalet and I have taken 
 to toys like children. You can go now, and write 
 your diary, or your poetry, or whatever it is you 
 bemoan yourself in," she said, with a vicious snarl 
 at the scared-looking companion, who hastened to 
 avail herself of the permission. 
 
 With a weird return to her honeyed manner, the 
 old lady resumed : 
 
 " And now, come and sit down cosily, and tell 
 me what you have been doing since I have seen you. 
 I fear it's dull for you here. We must see about 
 
 322
 
 THE POISON OF ASPS 
 
 your getting to Cowes in a week or two. There 
 are plenty of people would be glad to have you." 
 
 " The Curtises want me to go up for their dance 
 and a lot of things next week, but I would need 
 some new clothes," Meg said, striking while the 
 iron was hot. 
 
 " Well, well, we must see about it. But tell me 
 now, how have you been getting on with this new 
 cousin ? Jack liked him, I hear ? " 
 
 Meg, intending to keep her schemes and hopes 
 to herself, felt the black eyes boring her through 
 like gimlets. 
 
 " Oh, Jack would like any one that Mrs. Bro- 
 derick ordered him to. He is just a sheet of 
 blotting-paper to that lady at present. He's taken 
 himself off in the sulks because he finds that she 
 has a live husband, even if he is a mad one," she 
 said, the soreness of her heart coming out in petu- 
 lance against her ally. 
 
 " Well, well, Jack never had your head, my dear. 
 No, it is you who should have been the man and 
 had the bigger share of the money. I shall see 
 that you have it too, if you get a fitting husband." 
 
 " I only want my share," Meg protested, while, 
 even with the words, a dazzling new possibility 
 stirred her heart with the love of gold. 
 
 " And so this American lady has got Jack under 
 her thumb, has she? It's a little way of hers, from 
 what I hear. She took advantage of Gilbert 
 Clinch's poverty to make him a sort of upper 
 servant, paying him for going about with them 
 to look after her husband, and when, as soon as 
 he got any money and got away from her, she fol 
 lowed him to Europe, and knowing that he meant 
 
 323
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 to come and claim our relationship, settled herself 
 here first and made a mouthful of our poor, soft 
 Jack. You were rather rash about her, I must say, 
 my dear, for you should have seen enough of the 
 world to be able to class such women." 
 
 This honeyed flow of malevolent words bewil- 
 dered Margaret with their horrible plausibility, the 
 old truth holding good: 
 
 " A lie that is half a truth is a harder matter to fight." 
 
 " How do you know this, Granny ? " she asked. 
 
 " It was easy enough to make inquiries when I 
 knew that they had spent last summer at the 
 Moorings. These facts were well known to our 
 agent. I only got the letter last week." Then 
 with a change to a more wheedling voice, " But 
 you know, my dear, we mustn't be too hard on 
 your cousin, who seems to have done his best to 
 sever the connection. Who knows but what it 
 may all have originated in ambition on his part? 
 A great deal lies in your power in exerting a 
 better influence over him. I cannot believe that 
 my pretty girl could fail to influence any one she 
 wished to," and the old woman ended with an 
 unsavoury leer. 
 
 Meg sat gazing out upon the dark masses of 
 the park trees, a sick disillusionment with life at 
 her heart. Was there no one left true and good 
 in this world? Were Jack and Gilbert both weak 
 tools in the designing hands of a woman? She 
 could read through her grandmother's wiles easily 
 enough, and saw that she was under orders to do 
 her best to make her cousin fall in love with her, 
 
 324
 
 THE POISON OF ASPS 
 
 and these orders filled her with an uneasy fear. 
 Why should her grandmother feel such a desire to 
 get a hold on this apparently unimportant American 
 cousin unless there was some harm that he was in 
 a position to do them? 
 
 Well, at any rate, her grandmother's schemes 
 seemed to march with her own at present, she said 
 to herself with a new recklessness. But there was 
 one question more she must ask : 
 
 " Under the circumstances I can hardly under- 
 stand his coming here to claim our friendship. Can 
 you, Granny? " 
 
 The old woman sent a long keen glance after her, 
 before she played her next card. 
 
 " Some motive he must have, my dear, and that 
 remains for us to find out. After all, I cannot but 
 feel a hearty sympathy for the boy when I think 
 that he is most likely ignorant of the doubtfulness 
 of his mother's marriage or his own parentage. 
 That there was some such cause for my husband's 
 anger with his daughter I have good reason to 
 know. But of all that, this poor young fellow is 
 probably ignorant. His little legacy was left to 
 him by name, you know. I should like to treat 
 him as my husband's grandchild." 
 
 Even with the smarting pain at her heart these 
 noble sentiments on her grandmother's lips struck 
 Margaret's quick sense of humour, so that a hard 
 little laugh came. 
 
 " All right, Granny, I understand. I am to kill 
 the fatted calf for the one sinner and shake the dust 
 off my feet with the other. That's the way of the 
 world, isn't it? I shall wear my little white pongee, 
 as a suitable robe of innocence when the prodigal 
 
 325
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 comes to dinner to-night. And by the bye, may I 
 write to Clementine to-day about a new ball-dress? 
 I have such a good idea the palest, palest yellow 
 with yards and yards of daisy and buttercup edgings. 
 I want to dress the part, you know. And I suppose 
 I may have a garden-party dress, too? Thanks, 
 ever so much," then pausing at the door, " and per- 
 haps, Granny, it would be just as well not to let 
 Jack get hold of these pretty stories of his Dulcinea, 
 or he will come charging over a regular Don 
 Quixote and likely upset the apple-cart." 
 
 With this mixture of metaphors she was gone, 
 and the old woman sat shaking her head. 
 
 " She is clever. She understands and feels more 
 than she will show. Thinking to fool me with her 
 daisies and buttercups," she chuckled to herself. 
 
 With an instinctive craving after a healthier at- 
 mosphere, Meg went off and sought her mother in 
 her sitting-room, where the light-coloured chintzes 
 formed such a contrast to the tawdry splendours of 
 Madame de Barre's rooms. 
 
 That lady, placidly dozing over her lace-making, 
 looked up in surprise at her daughter's advent. 
 
 " Have you been with your grandmother, dear ? 
 I hope she is feeling less fidgety now ? " 
 
 Meg laughed drearily. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I think her temper is settling down. 
 She has promised me some smart gowns if I go up 
 to town next week. You wouldn't miss me, mother, 
 would you ? " she added, wistfully. 
 
 That lady seemed rather at a loss. 
 
 " Of course we always miss you, dear, but I 
 suppose that your grandmother wants you to go? " 
 
 " I suppose so," and then to her own, and her 
 
 326
 
 THE POISON OF ASPS 
 
 mother's astonishment, a few impetuous sobs broke 
 out. 
 
 " Oh, mother, I wish you and I could just settle 
 things for ourselves like other mothers and daugh- 
 ters." 
 
 A touch of maternal tenderness showed in the 
 lymphatic lady, as she soothed the excited girl. 
 
 " There, dear, there ! I always wished it might 
 be so, but your father would be angry if he heard 
 us. You must try to be patient if she is worrying, 
 and perhaps some day " but finding herself about 
 to indulge in an unchristian wish for the speedy end 
 cf her life's tyrant, she checked herself. " There, 
 dear, it's time to dress for dinner. Run away and 
 get ready." 
 
 Margaret took herself off, having learnt the 
 lesson that the weak can give no help.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 SUNDERED FRIENDS 
 
 MARGARET sat on the lawn at Hurlingham 
 in great content with her surroundings, 
 She had been driven down on the much- 
 coveted box seat of Lor.d Vernade's coach to ore 
 of the smartest polo-matches of the season; greet- 
 ings on her return to Vanity Fair had been cordia! ; 
 and she had seen many an admiring or envious femi- 
 nine glance sent after the daring combination of her 
 white and black and cherry-coloured dress. Lord 
 Vernade had seldom left her side that day, and she 
 knew that his presence gave her more success in 
 other women's eyes than any Parisian toilette. 
 
 It was restoring, to at least her vanity, to know 
 that he would not have left her for Mrs. Broderick 
 or any one else. 
 
 Their chairs were a little apart from the group 
 of their friends, and they could talk freely. 
 
 " Are you all still under the rule of the fascinating 
 American widow ? " he asked, idly, watching Mar- 
 garet's colour deepen as she answered : 
 
 " I don't know about being under her rule, but, 
 as it happens, she turns out to be only a grass widow 
 after all." 
 
 " Ah, that explains many things."
 
 SUNDERED FRIENDS 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Well, for one thing, it explains why the newly 
 found cousin has not married the moneyed lady 
 instead of well, taking lodgings near her. My 
 man, who is an inveterate gossip, tells me that 
 the morals of the neighbourhood are much exercised 
 thereby." 
 
 Margaret's heart gave a great leap and then went 
 dizzily down. She sat staring at a rush of horse- 
 men across the dazzling green of the field, her one 
 thought being not to show that the blow had gone 
 home. Her grandmother's virulence she was used 
 to mentally softening down, but here was a man 
 hinting, from another point of view, at the same 
 facts. 
 
 " But Mr. Brindle shares his lodgings," she said, 
 rather helplessly, and her plea was greeted with 
 light laughter. 
 
 " As a chaperon ? I fear even your charity must 
 abandon that excuse, for I happened to pass that 
 youth in a music-hall last evening, and heard him 
 say that his holiday was over and that he was doing 
 London correspondence for American papers. So 
 your dear relative has lost that moral shield, you 
 see." 
 
 " Yes, I see," she agreed, listlessly ; then, with 
 a little laugh : 
 
 " Granny has already been expounding the same 
 theory to me, only she takes the view of Gilbert 
 being the victim of feminine wiles, whom we in 
 charity should rescue and reclaim. She appears to 
 look upon me as the chosen instrument in my dear 
 cousin's conversion." 
 
 A steely light flashed in Lord Vernade's gray 
 
 329
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 eyes, though his voice was as deliberately soft as 
 ever, as he said : 
 
 " I think that if Jack were here he would advise 
 you to have as little to do with this Gilbert Clinch 
 as possible. That, I am sure, would be a man's 
 view, and in such matters, a man judges better than 
 a woman." 
 
 The animation in Meg's face answered his words. 
 It was such a relief to have her dark hidden feelings 
 justified to herself. 
 
 " I am sure you are right," she said; then, with 
 a sudden dispirited relapse, " but Granny is set on 
 my keeping friends with him, you see. It seems so 
 strange that his coming should have upset them so." 
 
 She looked at him appealingly, and Lord Vernade 
 assented : 
 
 " It does seem queer," and tried to keep any sig- 
 nificance out of his voice. His private opinion of 
 the elders of the family was of the most uncompli- 
 mentary character, and no queer revelation about 
 them or their riches would have surprised him. He 
 himself had not a doubt that this new cousin had 
 come on a blackmailing expedition, against which 
 the old lady was hedging. Gilbert's influence over 
 Margaret had not been unobserved by him, and he 
 was swift to seize the chance of undermining it, even 
 with a tale invented on the spur of the moment. 
 
 " You mustn't let these people worry you too 
 much," he said, gently. " You ought to stay up in 
 town now as long as you can, and leave them to 
 show their true colours by themselves. Their sort 
 always do. Now, try to forget all about them and 
 enjoy yourself, won't you?" 
 
 Through a mist of tears the girl smiled at him, 
 
 330
 
 SUNDERED FRIENDS 
 
 and when presently they strolled across the grass 
 side by side, Lord Vernade had a sense of purpose 
 achieved in that half-hour's talk. 
 
 Through the following ten days' London whirl, 
 Margaret had a half-alarmed, half- vindictive con- 
 sciousness of the trouble ahead when she should 
 return home and kick over the traces of her grand- 
 mother's driving. 
 
 While afraid of the mischief she might work, all 
 her pride, all that was best in her, was up in arms 
 at the idea of lowering herself to win over Gilbert 
 even while ostracising Mrs. Broderick. Perhaps 
 such feelings were strengthened by the knowledge 
 of the difficulty of the task. 
 
 Twice she was summoned home and made ex- 
 cuses, but her ready money was slipping away, and 
 as she knew she would get no more, she went off 
 heavy-hearted. As the time came nearer she doubted 
 her own courage to oppose the fierce old woman 
 who ruled the whole family. 
 
 There were no ddubts or misgivings, though, 
 when at Paddington, her maid, having picked out 
 a carriage in which sat only one lady and turning to 
 call the porter, left her looking up into Isabel Bro- 
 derick's quiet eyes. A dawning wistful smile showed 
 on the latter's face, and she almost timidly leant 
 forward with the word : 
 
 "Meg!" 
 
 She had been keenly wounded by the way in 
 which Margaret had ignored her since Jack's de- 
 parture, but she would do what she could now for 
 a reconciliation. 
 
 The smile, the appeal, added fuel to Meg's wrath. 
 In a blind fury, such as of old had driven her savage 
 
 331
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 ancestors to stab and spare not, she turned away, 
 saying, in vibrant tones : 
 
 " Never mind, Toovy. Here is an empty carriage 
 further down." 
 
 The hour of travel that followed through the 
 sunshiny country was not a pleasant one to either 
 woman. 
 
 Outraged affection and sense of personal dignity 
 at first cost Isabel a few bitter tears, but before that 
 hour was ended, her face was firm again in its lines 
 of composure, and she knew what she meant to do. 
 
 Margaret was thankful for two river acquaint- 
 ances who got in at the last moment, and kept her 
 from thinking what was to happen next. They were 
 to get out at Taplow, the station before Mrs. Bro- 
 derick's, while she herself would go on for one or 
 two more to get to the other side of the circle made 
 by the river. 
 
 " Now if it were a slow train, I might have to 
 change at Maidenhead, and meet her on the plat- 
 form. As it is, I'll just lean back till she's gone," 
 she said to herself, not reckoning with Mrs. Bro- 
 derick's moral courage that always took her to meet 
 a difficulty. 
 
 Taplow! Her friends went cheerfully off. 
 
 Maidenhead! She sank back in her corner, her 
 eyes fixed on a fashion paper the carriage door 
 opened, but still she did not look up. 
 
 " Margaret, I have come to know what it all 
 means. What have I done to be so treated ? " Mrs. 
 Broderick stood at the steps, in gray travelling dress 
 and hat, her face a little pale and set, her steady 
 eyes fixed on Margaret. 
 
 For a moment the sweetness and sincerity of her 
 332
 
 SUNDERED FRIENDS 
 
 words asserted their power over the girl, and then 
 all the fiercer for the reaction she broke out 
 in the passionate invective of a lower race. 
 
 " What have you done ? Wasn't it enough to 
 come here to spy out the land for your lover, before 
 he arrived to try to foist his illegitimacy on an honest 
 family? What does he want to blackmail us for, 
 I wonder? And you must pretend to be so fond 
 of me, and try to break my poor Jack's heart " 
 her voice choked with passion, and Isabel spoke 
 gravely and almost pityingly. 
 
 " God knows I have done none of these things. 
 Margaret, my poor child, whoever has influenced 
 you like this has done an evil work." 
 
 The guard was banging the open doors and Isabel 
 turned away, feeling that this was not the place to 
 say more. 
 
 Nothing could have so intensified Margaret's 
 wrath as her attitude of sad, almost pitying, calm, 
 and the allusion to influence seemed the last straw. 
 
 There was no more compunction or doubt in her 
 attitude toward these two who had once been her 
 friends. 
 
 As Isabel drove homeward, she let her pony walk 
 up the long climb of the hillside, and thought over 
 the whole incident, beginning to realise that the 
 girl's taunts were something more than an outburst 
 of temper. 
 
 " Gilbert her lover, for whom she was a spy ! 
 Gilbert illegitimate, blackmailing his relations ! 
 The shameful words brought a hot glow to her 
 cheeks even while she was searching her mind for 
 their origin and reason. And then the word 
 " blackmail," striking so evidently a note of fear, 
 
 333
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 suggested an answer. From that moment she never 
 doubted that the old lady, if not her son, had cause 
 to fear and hate Gilbert. Even while outraged by 
 Margaret's treatment, she felt a deep pity for the 
 nature that could allow itself to be thus swayed, and 
 thinking that Gilbert's best chance of happiness lay 
 in a marriage with Margaret, hoped that, even yet, 
 it might not come to a quarrel between them. 
 
 Perhaps what hurt her the most, was the sense 
 of shame with which she thought of her own impru- 
 dence in letting Gilbert settle so near her. It had 
 been her weakness in craving his presence which, she 
 told herself, had wrought the harm. She should not 
 have returned here from Paris in the spring. She 
 would go away now, at once, only it would seem 
 like a confession of guilt. That evening when she 
 was sitting in the twilight of the studio, Gilbert 
 came, as was his habit, and sat idly talking. 
 
 Isabel was surprised to find that she was glad of 
 the shadows to hide a new shyness, the reflex action 
 of those cruel words. 
 
 " I am in more need than usual of the restfulness 
 of your presence," he said, and how grateful were 
 such words to her, " for I have undergone one of 
 those awesome inspections of my venerable step- 
 grandmother's." 
 
 "Inspections?" she asked, absently, her mind 
 harping back to the same old words. 
 
 " I can call them nothing else. Her poor old 
 companion writes a little note demanding my pres- 
 ence, and I go and sit spellbound under a series 
 of artful questions and reminiscences arranged to 
 draw out mine, and when she stops to breathe her 
 son takes it up. What do they want, I wonder ? " 
 
 S34
 
 SUNDERED FRIENDS 
 
 " I expect they are trying to find out what you 
 want," Isabel guessed, going very near the truth. 
 
 " Well, I shall soon show them that I want noth- 
 ing. I feel sure it would be folly to waste my time 
 and money in a sordid struggle for more than I 
 need. These people have, in their own way, treated 
 me well. Let them keep what they have always 
 had. My share shall be the Moorings and its 
 treasure-trove. I can see now that the very thought 
 of the thing has taken the life out of my work. I 
 must put it all aside and go home and get into 
 harness again." 
 
 An involuntary joy took possession of Isabel, to 
 be immediately shadowed by the thought of parting. 
 She was silent for fear of betraying either feeling, 
 or of telling him what she had resolved to keep to 
 herself. 
 
 " All that I mind is the leaving you behind," Gil- 
 bert said, in a strained tone, that might have told 
 any woman she was loved. " Is there no chance 
 of your coming home soon ? " 
 
 " I cannot ! I cannot ! " she almost whispered. 
 Then in a quieter fashion, " I shall give up this place 
 in September. It served my purpose for solitary 
 work, but now I need more of an art atmosphere. 
 I shall spend the winter in Paris. I ought to be very 
 thankful that the wish to work has come back. 
 I must not let it go again. It is all I have." 
 
 It was not often that she spoke of her own deso- 
 late life, and with the words a silence of endured 
 renunciation fell upon them both. 
 
 Presently Gilbert roused himself from it to say : 
 
 " I shall leave here in a day or two. To-morrow 
 is Cookham Regatta : come with me in the canoe for 
 
 335
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 a last day on this English river. Who knows when 
 we shall have another together?" 
 
 " I should like to go," Isabel answered, gently, 
 claiming that one day from the Fates, and yet with 
 an inward misgiving lest Margaret should be there. 
 
 336
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 COOKHAM REGATTA 
 
 THE next day was still and gray with a pre- 
 monition of the early English autumn in the 
 damp air. It was the breaking of a long 
 drought, and the tawny stretches of field and the 
 yellowing foliage showed its results. The river- 
 banks alone were green and luxuriant. 
 
 The quiet perfection of Mrs. Broderick's gray 
 cloth dress and black hat would have caught any 
 woman's eye, though a man's might have noticed 
 a pale intensity that gave force to her beauty. She 
 had left the paddling to Gilbert and, seated low in 
 the canoe, could look up at him as they talked. 
 What did they talk of, she wondered afterward, for 
 through all speech " the last time, the last time " 
 was repeating itself in her brain. 
 
 They had not started until after lunch, and reach- 
 ing the course when the regatta was in full swing, 
 had to draw hastily aside up against an electric 
 launch to make room for a race. 
 
 " How the colours vibrate under this gray sky," 
 Isabel said, with all an artist's pleasure in the sight. 
 
 No answer coming from him, she looked up to 
 see him pulling off his cap with a friendly smile up 
 at the launch just above them. 
 
 337
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 Her gaze following his took in a background of 
 gaily dressed lively groups and, seated on the deck 
 just above Gilbert's shoulder with Lord Vernade 
 lounging beside her, the figure of Margaret in her 
 favourite white and red colours. 
 
 Watching for what was coming, she saw Gilbert's 
 smile fade before the hard stare of his cousin's 
 hostile eyes, saw the angry flush in her face as Lord 
 Vernade said something in a low voice, at which 
 she laughed contemptuously. 
 
 Gilbert was now looking before him down the 
 course with a fixed and grim expression, his kneel- 
 ing figure tense with the strain he was putting on 
 himself. 
 
 On one of these silences of the crowd that marks 
 the waiting for a race, came the familiar sound 
 of Margaret's voice: 
 
 " As Granny says, one can never tell with Ameri- 
 cans. In any case, I am not responsible for Jack's 
 taste." 
 
 Gilbert looked down into Mrs. Broderick's face, 
 his sternness softened by anxiety. 
 
 " I think that in a moment I can move on and find 
 you a pleasanter place," he said, in even tones. 
 
 As the race swept by, he followed, without any 
 sign of haste, guiding the canoe onward through the 
 phantasmagoric pageant of flower-decked house- 
 boats, launches, and boats full of gay dresses and 
 gayer blazers, and multi-coloured parasols. 
 
 Presently they were beyond the thickest throng 
 of craft, and Gilbert checked the canoe by an 
 overhanging bank. 
 
 " You shall have tea here in the quiet. I cannot 
 
 338
 
 COOKHAM REGATTA 
 
 bear to think that I should have taken you in the 
 way of such insult," he said, with troubled eyes. 
 
 Even now Isabel did not see that his thought 
 was for her alone, and tried to soothe the hurt 
 Margaret had given him. 
 
 " It does not matter for me, only I am so sorry 
 for her. She has too much good in her to be so 
 influenced by some lower nature. I thought it was 
 that dreadful old woman, but now I am afraid it 
 is Lord Vernade. Oh, Gilbert, can nothing be done 
 to win her back again ? " 
 
 His face did not soften under her appeal. 
 
 " I do not care who has influenced her. After 
 the way in which she has treated you I never wish 
 to see her again," he said, bluntly. 
 
 His words were sweet to her, though she still 
 thought it was only his chivalry that was aroused. 
 
 " You must not say that. I could not bear to 
 know that you two had been separated through me ! " 
 she protested, her eyes filling with helpless tears. 
 
 " Separated ! " He was leaning forward, his face 
 gray with the strain of repressed passion. " Isabel, 
 isn't that a cruel word to use to me? Can it have 
 any meaning to us, save where you and I are con- 
 cerned ? Haven't I tasted the full bitterness of the 
 cup? Am not I going into exile again, and yet 
 you talk to me of separation from her! " 
 
 She sat looking up at him with dilated eyes, and 
 as his full meaning came to her, a beautiful light 
 dawned upon her face. 
 
 "I thought you had forgotten, Gilbert," she 
 whispered. 
 
 " Forgotten ! And I suppose you were glad 
 should be so, when this English boy took my place 
 
 339
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 with you ! " he said, bitterly, all unselfish restraint 
 lost in elemental passion. 
 
 "The English boy? Jack Nugent-Barr, you 
 mean ? He never took your place. There was never 
 any one save you, Gilbert." Her words had the 
 candour, the conviction of those spoken at life's 
 end, when nothing remains save the great realities. 
 
 For a time they sat looking into each other's faces, 
 satisfying their long heart-hunger, then Isabel's eyes 
 grew wistful. 
 
 " It is still separation," she murmured, deprecat- 
 ingly. 
 
 ' You are not to think of that now. To-day is 
 the gift of the gods, and we are rich," was Gilbert's 
 brave answer. " Let us get out and sit on the bank. 
 There, can you step now ? " 
 
 How long they sat in a little grassy patch among 
 the willow bushes, as alone, for all the passing craft, 
 as Adam and Eve in Paradise, neither could have 
 told. At first they talked but little, content with 
 each other's presence. 
 
 "Nothing matters so much now, does it?" she 
 asked, at length. " I mean things like this after- 
 noon? " As she spoke she saw the lines of Gilbert's 
 mouth harden. 
 
 " Some things matter more," he said, decisively. 
 " Such as the way you were treated just now. Last 
 night you said you would stay on over here, but 
 now you must see that I cannot leave you here alone. 
 You must be where I can look after you." 
 
 He was lying stretched on the grass, propped on 
 one elbow to look up at her, as she sat leaning against 
 a tree-trunk. 
 
 340
 
 COOKHAM REGATTA 
 
 There was an appeal under the resolution of his 
 words, and the pain in her voice answered it. 
 
 " All the more I must stay behind. Can't you 
 see that distance is the easiest thing that separates 
 us? To be near each other would be too hard." 
 
 " And must it always be so ? When we grow 
 old and we are lonely " he said, hoarsely. 
 
 " Believe me, it is better to wait and hope, apart. 
 See how near every-day life was to estranging us," 
 she pleaded. 
 
 " Never estranging, though that girl made me 
 believe you had acknowledged you cared for her 
 brother. But," he persisted, " at least come out 
 home a few weeks later than I do. We need not 
 be in the same city, but still we should be within 
 reach of each other." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " There is one reason alone that would make me 
 stay on here now." A painful colour stained her face, 
 and she clasped her hands nervously. " Gilbert, 
 I didn't mean to tell you, but I see that you must 
 know now. I understand the reason of Margaret's 
 behaviour to-day." Bravely and simply she told him 
 the story of the day before, ending with, " You see 
 how all this follows on the old woman's arrival. She 
 must have some good cause for hating you so." 
 
 " She shall have more cause yet before she is done 
 with me," he said, with a calm more portentous than 
 any anger. M 
 
 " You understand what this inevitably leads to? 
 he asked, then seeing her puzzled look, " I mean that 
 now I have no choice but to do my best for my 
 mother's sake, for yours, to prove the later will. 
 shall write to my uncle to-night, giving him warning 
 
 Ml
 
 of what I mean to do. Then I shall start at once 
 to go and try to prove the will in Halifax. There 
 will be a big fight, I suppose, but I shall spend every 
 penny of my treasure-trove before I am beaten. 
 I have no doubts as to the right now. Only I can- 
 not bear to leave you here alone." 
 
 " No one can hurt me," she said, with a brave 
 attempt at a laugh ; then, " Don't you see that I 
 must stay on after you go and live down their story? 
 Do you know," with a sudden intuition, " I believe 
 it was Lord Vernade who started it to set Margaret 
 against me, while the old woman told her that 
 about your mother." 
 
 " A pretty pair," he commented, grimly. 
 
 " A pretty pair to have an influence over a young 
 girl," she said, sadly. " And she has such a warm- 
 hearted, open nature when she has a chance. I 
 cannot be angry with the poor girl, I am so sorry 
 for her." 
 
 " Well, you may be sorry for her if you like, as 
 long as you don't bestow too much sympathy on her 
 brother," he said. 
 
 " Poor Jack ! He will be going to South Africa 
 soon, I suppose." 
 
 " Lucky for him to get away from such relations ! 
 No, I can feel no Christian charity for any of them 
 to-day. But, good heavens, I have forgotten all 
 about making your tea, and there is the sun setting, 
 and the paddle up-stream will take an hour or so. 
 What a fool I am ! " 
 
 Isabel laughed out in a fashion he had not heard 
 since her child's death. 
 
 " Never mind, there is no mist to-night and we 
 needn't hurry. We'll make it now." 
 
 342
 
 COOKHAM REGATTA 
 
 Like two children they picnicked in the evening 
 gray, regardless of coming separation and strife, 
 paddling home afterward through a wonderful blue- 
 green world lit with fiery rays of Japanese lanterns 
 and coloured lights, the end of the regatta festivity. 
 
 " Let me write the letter to my uncle here, and 
 then you can read it," Gilbert said, after their late 
 supper that evening. And Isabel sat watching the 
 lamplight on his head as he wrote it. 
 
 " Yes, I think that is all you can say," she said, 
 thoughtfully, after reading it. 
 
 Through all that day of revived trust, he had 
 scarcely even held her hand longer than usual, but 
 now, as they stood face to face to say good-night, 
 he whitened with passion. 
 
 " Must I go ? " he said, hoarsely. 
 
 She too was pale, and her breath came quickly. 
 
 "Yes, yes, go! Oh, please go!" she cried, in 
 distress. 
 
 Carried out of all self-control, he seized her in 
 his arms, pressing her to him with hot kisses. 
 
 For a space she yielded, and then, shoving him 
 off with her two hands on his chest, she panted : 
 
 " Gilbert, will you do one thing out of your love 
 for me?" 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " Say good-bye now. We have had our one day. 
 We must not have more. Say good-bye now, and go 
 to London in the morning. You can write me all 
 there is to say, but we must not be together now." 
 
 One long look showed him her firmness. 
 
 " Yes, I'll go. Perhaps it's best. But you must 
 make me a promise. If if he should die, you will 
 let me know at once that I may come." 
 
 MI
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 " Yes, I promise. Oh, my love, my love! " and 
 she clung to him sobbing. 
 
 " Go now," she said, presently, loosening his hold 
 with her hands, and he turned and went. 
 
 344
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 JACK GOES SOLDIERING 
 
 HOME seemed gloomier than ever when 
 Margaret returned there fresh from London 
 gaieties. She had no intention of telling 
 any one of her quarrel with Isabel, but all the same, 
 she had an uncomfortable conviction that it would 
 leak out sooner or later and get her into a scrape. 
 
 She found her mother sitting over a fire, the usual 
 fancy-work in her hands. 
 
 " There is to be a bazaar to buy a reredos for 
 Hugh Stayner's church, and I promised to send him 
 a box," she announced, after greeting her daughter. 
 
 Showing no interest in this important piece of 
 news, Margaret said : 
 
 " Barnes told me that Granny is ill. What is the 
 matter?" 
 
 " I'm sure I can't tell." her mother said, with the 
 aggrieved air of the family invalid with encroached- 
 upon rights. " She is nervous and fretful enough 
 for anything. She has sent Madame Estivalet on a 
 visit to her sister and will hardly let Ellen Sieyert 
 out of her sight. I can get no use of her at all." 
 
 Even this feeble complaint showed that the reins 
 held so long by the family tyrant were slipping from 
 her grasp. 
 
 345
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 But the habit of years still proved strong enough 
 for her mother to say, nervously : 
 
 " You had better go up and see her now. She 
 won't like it if she hears you are with me." 
 
 With reluctant steps the girl went, feeling as 
 though those sharp eyes would read the secret of 
 her disobedience to her implied orders. 
 
 She was not experienced enough to note the new 
 feebleness in the huddled figure, the something like 
 fear in the eyes that followed her about the room. 
 There was the same old delight though in the ac- 
 count of Margaret's social successes, the same keen 
 questioning as to what she had done. 
 
 " Gilbert Clinch will be glad that you are back. 
 He was here yesterday and seemed dull. You must 
 get some people together for him. Tennis or picnics 
 or something. There's Cookham Regatta to-mor- 
 row. I suppose you're going to that ? Why not take 
 him?" 
 
 " The Vernades are coming down for it with a 
 party. Their launch calls for me on the way to 
 meet them at Taplow. I couldn't very well ask 
 them to take a stranger," Margaret pleaded, thank- 
 ful for the excuse. 
 
 " You could manage it fast enough if you chose. 
 Well, then, you must do something for him the next 
 day. And listen, Meg," leaning forward to lay 
 a bony grasp on her arm, " the solicitor is coming 
 down to-morrow to see about altering my will for 
 you but mind you don't tell your father," she 
 added, in a whisper. 
 
 " All right, Granny. Just as you like," Meg 
 agreed, disquieted by her own satisfaction in the 
 news. That night she was startled from sleep by 
 
 346
 
 JACK GOES SOLDIERING 
 
 sounds like distant sobs and groans, which aroused 
 a latent element of imaginative terrors. She lay 
 for some time afraid to strike a light, chilled with 
 fear, though healthy fatigue at last conquered, and 
 she slept long and heavily. 
 
 She awoke to find the cheerful daylight streaming 
 in, and Ellen Sievert's comfortable face looking 
 down upon her. 
 
 " Bless me, child, but you slept late," that worthy 
 said. 
 
 " I don't wonder," stretching her arms above her 
 head. " Oh, Ellen, there were such strange noises 
 last night! I was sure the wicked old ghost must 
 be walking about. Did you hear anything? " 
 
 " Hush, child, hush ! " Ellen said, nervously. 
 " Don't talk about ghosts ! Yes, I heard the noises 
 all right. It was your grandma, who's taken to 
 having queer fits at night, waking up moaning and 
 screaming like a child. She won't be left alone, 
 keeping me up half the night sometimes. It's 
 very wearing." 
 
 " It's very unpleasant," Margaret agreed. 
 
 The next day, however, the old lady roused into 
 something of her former keenness with the appear- 
 ance of the fat little London solicitor. 
 
 " Has she said nothing to you, nothing at all 
 about what she is doing? " Mr. Nugent-Barr asked 
 his daughter, at frequent intervals through the day. 
 but every time she presented the same front of 
 serene ignorance. She was far too astute to let 
 fall any hint of her grandmother's promises ; 
 
 These promises had settled themselves in her 
 mind, and she had now dropped any mental pre- 
 tence of not desiring the riches they might bring her. 
 
 347
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 But she had not reckoned on a telegram from 
 Jack to say that he had obtained the promised staff 
 appointment at Cape Town and, as he was to sail 
 at once, would have little more than a day with his 
 family. 
 
 Jack going abroad for an indefinite time, and she 
 almost relieved at his absence in her consciousness 
 of disloyalty ! No wonder she was pale and restless, 
 and went off for a long solitary ramble. 
 
 And when Jack arrived, it was to find the whole 
 household in a commotion over Gilbert's letter an- 
 nouncing the second will. 
 
 Mr. Nugent-Barr fumed and fretted with the 
 helpless anger of the weak. His mother raved at 
 Margaret, whom she guessed to be keeping some- 
 thing to herself bearing on the affair, but getting 
 nothing out of her, worked herself up into such 
 a state that she had to be quieted with a soothing 
 draught. 
 
 Margaret paid little attention to either of them, 
 being absorbed in the fighting instinct aroused in 
 her by the first threat to the money that she now 
 knew she loved. She had wanted Gilbert Clinch to 
 think well of her, to idealise her, had suffered in 
 his liegemanship to Mrs. Broderick, had hated him 
 with the hatred of futile jealousy, but now all these 
 feelings were merged in the frank enmity of greed. 
 
 Jack, full of his new life, brought a breath of the 
 healthy outside world into the disturbed household. 
 At first sight of his familiar face, Meg felt all evil 
 thoughts fall away in the joy of his presence 
 the old brother and sister comradeship that can sur- 
 vive so much. She saw that the boyishness was 
 gone, though the manhood was as frankly and 
 
 348
 
 JACK GOES SOLDIERING 
 
 sturdily honest as ever. The new gravity sat well 
 on his sunburnt face as he listened quietly to his 
 father's excited story. 
 
 " It certainly doesn't seem what I would have 
 expected of him," Jack said, the letter in his hand, 
 ' to come to us and be treated as a relation and then 
 all of a sudden to fire this bomb at us in a distinctly 
 hostile fashion. And you say that he was here to 
 dinner two or three days ago? Well, I'm dis- 
 appointed in him." 
 
 " He'll learn that advancing claims is a different 
 matter to getting the money. He cannot have the 
 capital for a long fight such as, if the worst came, 
 we should make of it." 
 
 " Unless he has some one backing him up," Meg 
 put in. Jack gave her a quick glance, but said 
 nothing. 
 
 " Look here, Meg, what did you mean by that 
 about some one backing Gilbert up?" Jack asked, 
 when presently they were alone together on the 
 terrace. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know, it was just a guess," she 
 answered, evasively. She had already repented the 
 speech. 
 
 " I was afraid though you could have hardly 
 meant Mrs. Broderick," he said, jerking an idle 
 pebble toward a swan among the reeds. 
 
 " Oh, no," she agreed, hastily. She felt that what- 
 ever happened she must part good friends with Jack, 
 but how she hated the woman whom she felt to be 
 in some measure the cause of his going. 
 
 " Have you seen anything of her lately ? " he 
 asked, still intent on the swans. 
 
 " No, not lately. You see, I've been in town for 
 
 349
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 a fortnight and well, I had a feeling as though 
 she didn't want me to come much. She always 
 seemed to be busy and perhaps it was this thing 
 that made a difference." 
 
 " Why should it ? " was his brusque question. 
 
 " Oh, well, you know they are old friends." She 
 had no courage to imply more. 
 
 "Well, I don't understand it at all," he said, 
 moodily. " I could have sworn that he was an 
 honest man, and I'm half inclined to believe him so 
 still. I shall try to get my father to have a meeting 
 with him in town before he goes to America. You 
 see, Meg," he went on, slowly, " if that second will 
 should chance to be genuine we have no right to 
 fight him down through sheer power of money." 
 
 Meg felt like a child who sees its shining toys 
 being withdrawn from its grasp. 
 
 " But it would be a third of all that we have," 
 she protested. 
 
 " What does that matter if we had no right to 
 it? We should even then have plenty left. Let's 
 try, Meg, never to get like my father and the old 
 woman. And look here," he went on, very soberly, 
 " when I'm gone be friends if you can with Mrs. 
 Broderick it would make me happier, Meg." 
 
 " Yes, Jack," Meg sobbed, for the moment com- 
 pletely under his influence. 
 
 " That's a good girl," and Jack patted her on 
 the head, and strode away to hide his own feelings. 
 
 Meg never knew what passed between father and 
 son, or whether Jack saw Mrs. Broderick that day. 
 
 The next morning he went, and once free from 
 the magnetism of his presence, Meg had the old 
 harrowing mixed sensations of regret and relief. 
 
 350
 
 JACK GOES SOLDIERING 
 
 There had been none of the shadow of coming 
 war over the parting, for though in those days there 
 was already talk of a few troops going out to over- 
 awe the troublesome Transvaal politicians, no one 
 dreamt that for more than two years Englishwomen 
 were to watch their men go forth, so many to their 
 death. 
 
 331
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 ELLEN SIEVERT SPEAKS HER MIND 
 
 THE weeks went by and life was dull at 
 Monk's Grange, though the season ended 
 and shooting begun, had brought neigh- 
 bours back from town. 
 
 Margaret went about as much as possible, often 
 staying away on short visits, glad to escape from 
 home, where her father went up and down to fre- 
 quent interviews with his town solicitors, returning 
 to be closeted for hours with the old lady, hours 
 which left them both very fractious. 
 
 About this legal business they had both become 
 very mysterious to Margaret, a course which in- 
 tensely provoked her curiosity and also worried 
 her with a sense of mistrust. 
 
 She had found out, through the servants, that 
 Mrs. Broderick was still at Heathholm, though since 
 that encounter at the station they had never met 
 each other. 
 
 Jack's first letter had not cheered her in its under- 
 tone of implied reproach. 
 
 " I am hoping when my home letters arrive," he 
 wrote, " to hear that my father has come to some 
 arrangement with Gilbert Clinch. It is surely just 
 that he should have a share of his grandfather's
 
 ELLEN SIEVERT SPEAKS HER MIND 
 
 money." And then he went on to say, " I often 
 think, Meg, how solitary you are at home, and I 
 should be glad to know that you were much with 
 Mrs. Broderick, who would be so good a friend to 
 you." 
 
 " And twist me round her finger as she did him ! 
 I wonder what she has said or written to him 
 about me! " she said to herself, bitterly, and then, 
 with a desire to shake off her gloomy thoughts, she 
 started out for a ramble up through the beech woods. 
 
 Leaving the highroad, she struck off by a stile 
 into meadows that were part of the Vernade lands. 
 The corn was in most places cut, and a deep peace 
 brooded over the empty fields under the western 
 sunshine and the long blue-gray shadows of the 
 waning day. She was on comparatively high land 
 and every now and then could look down on some 
 shining reach of the river. 
 
 Why would it remind her of that Sunday in June, 
 and their cheerful group ? Was even her old friend 
 the river going to recall estranged friends! 
 
 It was with a pleased sense of coming companion- 
 ship that she saw Lord Vernade approaching with 
 gun and dogs, evidently returning from shooting. 
 How slim and alert he looked in his country dress! 
 Something that was almost proprietary pride 
 warmed her heart as she watched him. However 
 cynical and lazy his manner might be, she knew 
 that nowhere else did she ever find such subtle 
 intuition into her moods, such power of adaptation 
 to them. When with him she always felt that sense 
 of being understood which puts one at one's best. 
 
 As she went along Margaret had gathered sprays 
 
 353
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 of the fluffy gray clematis, with deep-tinted trails 
 of brambles, that now hung loosely from her grasp. 
 
 " Welcome, Ophelia ! Only not away to seek 
 a watery death in the backwater, I trust ? " he 
 began. 
 
 " I am only taking an aimless stroll," she said, 
 and at the first sound of her voice he gave a keen 
 glance of inquiry into her face. 
 
 " Then you might be very nice, and turn now 
 and walk back with me. You must turn sooner 
 or later, you know." 
 
 " I suppose so," she agreed, and they paced on 
 for a moment in silence, even the sound of his 
 regular footstep giving her a sense of companion- 
 ship. 
 
 " I only came down yesterday and meant to look 
 you up to-morrow. And now it seems to me that 
 you have a dispirited air. What is it ? " he said. 
 
 " Times are dull at Monk's Grange since Jack 
 left. Granny is ill, and her humours are so fan- 
 tastic that even I am half afraid of her, and I never 
 was that, you know. And then she and my father 
 are in an awful stew over business." 
 
 "Nothing wrong, I hope?" he asked with in- 
 terest. It was a part of his scheme of things that 
 Margaret should be a rich woman. 
 
 " It's the cousin," she said with a short laugh. 
 " You were right that he wanted something. He 
 has produced a later will of my grandfather's 
 which would give him a third of the estate." 
 
 " That's modest ! " Lord Vernade commented. 
 "But your father will fight it of course?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, and really the lawyers don't seem to 
 think much of it. He claims that an old sailor, who 
 
 354
 
 ELLEN SIEVERT SPEAKS HER MIND 
 
 was about the house when my grandfather died, 
 produced this will which he had hidden away for 
 eighteen years or so." 
 
 " What a cock-and-bull story ! And are Mr. 
 Clinch and his patron saint still dwelling on the 
 hilltops?" 
 
 " No. That is, she is at Heathholm, I believe, 
 but he must have gone away a day or so after we 
 met them at Cookham. I have been so worried 
 about it I haven't told any one but wouldn't 
 it be dreadful if my making him angry had started 
 all this?" 
 
 " Why, it must all have been a put up thing long 
 before either of them ever came here," he said with 
 conviction. 
 
 " I'm so glad you think so. I didn't venture to 
 tell any one at home," she said, wistfully. 
 
 This appealing attitude in the girl usually so 
 lazily self-reliant was rousing dangerous forces 
 in him. He found it momentarily harder to keep 
 his eyes from the curve of her cheek, the loose 
 hair that hung about her ear, the line of the neck 
 and shoulder under her tight-fitting jacket, and 
 when she turned her languorous eyes to him the 
 hot blood leaped in his veins. 
 
 " Poor little one," he said, very gently, " you 
 should be taken away from all this into the brighter 
 life that belongs to you. Think if only we were 
 yachting in the Mediterranean now. Would you 
 come if I got up a party and made Estelle ask you ? 
 
 Her face had flashed round to him transformed 
 into radiancy, but what she read in his eyes caused 
 her head to droop. They had instinctively paused 
 by a stile that led into the highroad. He did not 
 
 355
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 wait for her answer to his question, but went on: 
 " I always like to think of you with sumptuous sur- 
 roundings, the grande dame that you should be. 
 The other day, when I was down at Saxhurst, I 
 was haunted by visions of what the house might 
 be with another kind of mistress. I seemed to see 
 you in the state drawing-rooms, on the stairs re- 
 ceiving royalty " 
 
 His voice had grown hoarse, as though each word 
 forced itself out, and somehow her hand was in his, 
 the leaves fallen to the path. She felt under a spell, 
 as if being swept on by a great wind, until the strain 
 that had held her broke. 
 
 " Oh, don't," she cried, wildly, pulling her hand 
 away. " Oh, you must never speak to me like that 
 again, please! You must let me go now. We are 
 here at the lodge, and I want to speak to Mrs. Cox 
 about her chickens." 
 
 In silence he helped her over the stile, and it was 
 only when at the door of the lodge that he said, 
 with grim self-repression : " I would not interrupt 
 such an important mission for worlds. Good day," 
 and raising his hat, went off down the road. 
 
 Margaret stood for a moment at the cottage gate 
 to recover her equanimity. In the tumult of various 
 feelings that possessed her that of which she was 
 most conscious was the fact of having pained him. 
 She could not help it; virtuous indignation would 
 not come to her aid. His admiration, and some- 
 thing which she had read in his eyes that was 
 stronger than admiration, had aroused unknown 
 feelings in her before which everything seemed 
 petty and mean. If Jack and Gilbert set a stranger 
 before her, there was still some one with whom she 
 
 356
 
 ELLEN SIEVERT SPEAKS HER MIND 
 
 counted first, she said to herself, with a new exulta- 
 tion. 
 
 It was a striking change of scene to go in upon 
 Ellen Sievert having a friendly cup of tea with 
 plump Mrs. Cox by her cosy fireside. The latter 
 lady's principal boast in life was the large family 
 she had produced and partly sent out into the world. 
 
 It was a great thing to have a listener to tales 
 of this girl's welfare in service, or that son's doings 
 in the army, and Ellen made the best of listeners 
 because she had no desire to narrate her own experi- 
 ences. She had, after a short time in England, 
 decided to keep her Canadian origin a secret, and 
 called herself Scotch, not considering it likely that 
 she would fall in with any of that nationality, and 
 remembering that her mother had been of Scotch 
 origin. 
 
 " Them English always turns up their noses at 
 any one who's seen more of the world than they 
 have, and as far as I can tell, they don't seem to 
 know the difference between me and a Yankee any- 
 way," she had said to herself, veiling her respect- 
 able past with a secrecy usually reserved for a more 
 varied one. 
 
 The ample form of the hostess fluttered a greet- 
 ing, but the absence of a smile on Ellen's face re- 
 minded Margaret that the window where the two 
 cronies were sitting looked down the field-path by 
 which she had come. Was it possible that she had 
 a sense of shame under her nurse's gaze? 
 
 " Don't disturb yourselves when you are having 
 a cosy chat ! " she said, airily. " I am sure that 
 Mrs. Sievert needs a little cheering up. Mrs. Cox. 
 after the time she has had lately nursing my grand- 
 
 357
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 mother. I just ran in to ask you when you can let 
 us have those chickens. My mother was talking 
 about them this morning." 
 
 ' 'Deed and, miss, the housekeeper sent down for 
 them three days ago," Mrs. Cox protested, and 
 Ellen's inexorable eye seemed to rend her excuse to 
 tatters, and ask what she had to do with the house- 
 hold larder. 
 
 " Oh, well, then, I won't disturb you any longer," 
 she said, but she was not destined to get off with- 
 out a chaperon. 
 
 " I must be getting along home myself, miss, for 
 I promised Sarah the housemaid as I wouldn't be 
 more than an hour, and I guess it's near that now, 
 and, poor silly thing, she always gets nervous when 
 she's sitting alone in the old lady's dressing-room, 
 though why she should well, at any rate, miss, if 
 you don't mind, I'll come along with you," said 
 Ellen, somewhat stiffly. 
 
 " All right, nurse," Margaret replied, feeling 
 much as she did when, as a child, she had inked her 
 pinafore, and knew she would be scolded for it. 
 
 " When I first sees you coming down through 
 the fields, miss," Ellen began, in a mildly con- 
 versational tone, " I thought as how I wished the 
 gentleman with you might be your cousin instead 
 of that Lord Vernade." 
 
 Ignoring the disapproving accent on "that," 
 Margaret answered, sharply: 
 
 " Didn't Granny tell you that Mr. Clinch had 
 gone back to America? She would have, if she 
 had known how much interest you took in him." 
 
 " And why shouldn't I take an interest in him, 
 when I played and went to school with his mother 
 
 358
 
 ELLEN SIEVERT SPEAKS HER MIND 
 
 away off there by the La Have, that maybe I'll never 
 see again, and nobody to be sorry neither," came 
 with a sniff that sounded tearful, " but dead or alive, 
 Miss Meg, indeed I'd never be happy to be knowing 
 you to be walking round the country with them as 
 isn't fit company for no decent girl, lady or no lady. 
 Just listen to me, my dear, while I tell you what 
 happened " In her earnestness she laid a tremu- 
 lous hand on the arm of the girl, who shook it off 
 in a gust of passion. 
 
 " There's your way to the house," Margaret said, 
 pointing to the path that led to the servants' en- 
 trance, " I shall take this one," and she hurried off, 
 leaving the old woman shedding the few slow tears 
 of age. 
 
 359
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 IN THE DAY OF TEMPTATION 
 
 THE autumn and the war had come, and Meg 
 was in a panic of an unfamiliar dread. She 
 would start up at night with visions of dark 
 hillsides on which lay motionless figures, one mo- 
 tionless figure ; visions of hospital tents and a white 
 face turned up toward a rough attendant. Imagi- 
 nation at such times is a woman's worst foe, and 
 of imagination poor Meg had plenty. 
 
 Living under such a strain, her visits to her 
 grandmother's room became daily a greater ordeal. 
 She never could tell what irrelevantly keen question 
 might not pierce her armour. 
 
 One day the old lady was especially maddening. 
 
 " Jack was always unlucky, he will be sure to get 
 wounded. When he was a boy and fell from a tree, 
 he always broke an arm or leg," she soliloquised, 
 " and when he is wounded " Meg could have 
 screamed "I wonder if that American woman 
 will go out and nurse him. Do you know if she 
 has followed him out there?" she asked, imperi- 
 ously. 
 
 " No, Granny, why should she? " came the listless 
 answer. 
 
 " Why should she ? Because she knows he is a 
 
 360
 
 IN THE DAY OF TEMPTATION 
 
 fool and, if she told him to, would give up everything 
 to his cousin. But he hasn't got it to give," she 
 chuckled. " He tried the wrong person when he 
 tried to make my son loosen his grip on money. 
 Meg!" 
 
 "Yes, Granny?" 
 
 " Promise me that when I die, and you have 
 my money, you won't let Jack have any of it, or 
 he'll give it to that son of Susan Bauer's. Promise 
 me!" 
 
 " I can't promise not to give anything to Jack." 
 
 " You must ! You shall ! Or I'll leave it all to 
 your father! He won't give any of it away. Meg. 
 if this man takes away all our money you will be 
 sorry you did not try to marry him. Oh, I know 
 you didn't try, and that you offended him and made 
 him angry ! " 
 
 " What makes you say so, Granny ? " came in a 
 feeble protest. 
 
 " Oh, I know things. I sit here and piece them 
 together like a puzzle until they come out clear. 
 But listen now," and a tragic eagerness came into 
 the weird figure, " we made a mistake in letting 
 the Ripamonti marriage fall through. We'll send 
 for Estivalet and she can write to the mother. They 
 don't really want so big a ' dot.' And then there's 
 Tack he can be provided for by marrying Tommy 
 Curtis." 
 
 In spite of her growing uneasiness. Meg gave a 
 cynical laugh. 
 
 "Tommy Curtis has electrified her family by 
 announcing her intention of providing for Mr. 
 Brindle. He sailed for South Africa yesterday, and 
 it seems that they were secretly married the day 
 
 361
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 before. Father had an explosive letter this morning 
 saying that it was all our fault." 
 
 " Fools ! That will be a nice dose for their family 
 pride ! " the old woman snapped, vindictively. She 
 had always hated her daughter-in-law's aristocratic 
 relations. " But now go over to the table and write 
 to Estivalet to come home and start this Ripamonti 
 business again." 
 
 " No, Granny, I won't," Meg said, decisively. 
 " I would never marry that great big prize-fighter 
 of a man. And why should I ? What is it you are 
 afraid of? It looks as though you knew that this 
 will must be genuine " 
 
 A fierce cry from her grandmother interrupted 
 her. 
 
 " How dare you say I am afraid of him, you 
 wicked girl! If you knew more of the world you 
 would understand what a misfortune to a family 
 the flimsiest claims boldly pushed can be. Look 
 at the Tichbourne family, all but ruined years ago 
 by an Australian butcher. No, your grandfather 
 was a tyrant, but never a fool to go making con- 
 fusion with wills. But old Isaac, and the wind that 
 night " her voice rose into a scream, and Ellen 
 appeared at the door with a warning glance at the 
 girl. 
 
 " Better let her be quiet and go away to your 
 ma now, child. It's more healthy company for you." 
 
 Margaret lost no time in leaving the room, but 
 some reluctant attraction made her pause in the 
 dressing-room and seat herself in a high-backed 
 armchair that stood turned from the door near an 
 open window. The south wind blew in softly from 
 the river, and the distant sound of a railway whistle,
 
 IN THE DAY OF TEMPTATION 
 
 the measured clank of oars soothed her with the 
 consciousness of a saner, brighter world outside. 
 
 Within the bedroom her grandmother's wails 
 were gradually yielding to Ellen's soothing, as might 
 those of a frightened child. 
 
 " There now, there," she heard Ellen saying, 
 " let me put some cologne on your head, that'll 
 make you feel better, and just take a little sip of 
 this. You don't want to go to sleep, and you want 
 to talk, do you? I'll talk, if you like. I've only 
 been a poor working woman this many a day since 
 my brother-in-law went and lost my husband's sav- 
 ings in that plaguey gold mine, but I come of just 
 as good old Lunenburg stock as the Barrs, and have 
 known them all my life. I knew the old man, and 
 I knew Susan, and I never knew either of them 
 to yield in a thing that they had once made up their 
 minds to, and is it likely now that this boy will? 
 Lord knows you've got more than you know what 
 to do with, you and the master between you, so 
 why can't you give him a share of his grandpa's 
 money without going to law over it? It's a bad 
 thing for them as has old secrets they don't want 
 known, to begin going to law - 
 
 Here came a fierce murmur, and then the low, 
 steady stream of talk went on. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I know what I'm talking about, and 
 I don't mean to forget my place, but I've made up 
 my mind to speak out once for all. and when the 
 time comes I shall, too. You're old. and the days 
 of your life must soon be ended. Now wouldn't 
 it be better to try and straighten things up a bit 
 before you go? Tell your son the things you've 
 
 363
 
 never told him yet and get him to help you. Tell 
 him that ye were nothing better than a brown 
 Martinique girl, who the master won one night at 
 cards and took away with him the next day tell 
 him how your sort have queer poisons the doctors 
 know nothing of, and use them oh, yes, I know. 
 My old man was on that cruise and he told me 
 wild things when his end came, and the fear of 
 death took him and the rest, Isaac Neisner and 
 I guessed for ourselves. What do you suppose he 
 went off home for so sudden if he wasn't afraid of 
 following his master to the grave too soon ? " 
 
 Here the hoarse, inarticulate sounds which had 
 made themselves heard throughout the woman's 
 speech took form in words. 
 
 " Go away, go away, ungrateful, lying creature, 
 and never let me see your face again ! I will tell 
 your master to have you turned out of the house! " 
 
 " Oh, no, you won't ; you'd be afraid to," came 
 the even tones again. " I'm just going to stay with 
 my little Miss Meg, and her poor mother, same as 
 I've always done. And besides that, I'm going to 
 take care of you, and see that you don't die the death 
 that the old master did, with your soul carried off 
 in the storm ! Perhaps there'll be a tree crash down 
 here, too! No, you and I are used to each other, 
 and I don't mean you any harm if you'll only be 
 fair to Susan's boy " 
 
 " Ellen, listen ! " and again the hoarse, feeble 
 voice made itself dominant, " you say you care for 
 Meg, and I'll tell you what I haven't told any of 
 them. I've left everything to her, and if only you'll 
 hold your tongue " 
 
 364
 
 IN THE DAY OF TEMPTATION 
 
 " Oh, yes, I care for her, and if you hadn't set 
 her against her cousin " 
 
 Once or twice Margaret had made an effort to 
 rise, with the impulse of going to her grandmother's 
 aid, the instinct of race and of class making this 
 relentless upbraiding of the old woman too repul- 
 sive, but the spell of that smooth stream of words 
 bringing out horror upon horror held her bound 
 helpless. She must hear, she must know what other 
 shame rested upon her. 
 
 She felt as if something that went to the making 
 of her own identity were falling away, leaving all 
 her personality beggared of dignity. 
 
 Her own instincts, her mother's and grand- 
 mother's teaching had given her an intense pride of 
 birth. She had believed in the legend of the noble 
 French family fleeing from the Revolution to Marti- 
 nique, as she had believed in the greatness of her 
 mother's titled Irish relations, whose stately, dilapi- 
 dated castle she had seen. 
 
 " A brown girl that means a slave," she sup- 
 posed won at a game of cards and taken away in 
 a vessel; one who knew strange poisons, and had, 
 on some occasion that she dared not think of, used 
 them could such a creature be a blood-relation of 
 hers, existing side by side with this luxurious, upper- 
 class English life, which she had sometimes grum- 
 bled at as humdrum, but which at the moment 
 seemed to her such a secure refuge from those out- 
 side lawless elements? Why, the very servants who 
 waited upon them so deferentially would shrink in 
 horror from such a person. And if they were ever 
 to know, if all her world were to hear the story, 
 what would become of her ? 
 
 365
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 A horror of learning more took the place of the 
 morbid curiosity that had held her, and she slipped 
 noiselessly away, drawing a long breath of relief 
 as she gained the outer air. 
 
 366
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 AT THE SHOOTING - HUT 
 
 A DAY of still gray autumn beauty was 
 drawing to a close, and as Margaret, after 
 hastily ordering her horse, rode through the 
 yellowing woods, by heaths rich with heather, and 
 brown harvest fields, the rapid movement and open 
 air soothed her jangled nerves into lassitude. 
 
 At first she had ridden fast, but the habit of 
 caring for her horse was too strong for her to forget 
 it even now, and after taking a long turn she was 
 going along at a walk, her face set homewards. 
 
 It was not a highroad, indeed little more than 
 a cart track across a heath, and as it turned to lead 
 down-hill into a lane between high wooded banks, 
 she saw Lord Vernade standing by a gate into a 
 field, his gun on his shoulder. 
 
 She remembered now that near the gate stood a 
 little hut, used in winter as a lunching-place for the 
 shooters. She had sometimes come with Lady 
 Vernade to meet them there. Was it joy or fear, 
 the keen throb that shook her as he came forward 
 into the road and laid a hand upon her horse's neck ? 
 Was there relief or disappointment in noting that 
 his manner, his voice, even the look in his blue- 
 gray eyes, were marked by nothing more than their 
 usual quiet friendliness? 
 
 867
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 " This is unexpected luck," he said. " I was just 
 arguing the point with myself whether it would be 
 unsportsmanlike self-indulgence to go to the hut 
 and light the fire and make a cup of tea. The fact 
 of entertaining a tired wayfarer would remove all 
 my scruples, so you won't have the heart to refuse 
 me." 
 
 The words were a humble request, but the manner 
 took it for granted, and Margaret allowed him to 
 lift her down from her saddle in a light but lingering 
 grasp. 
 
 " It would be nice," was all she said, as she fol- 
 lowed him into the field. The hut was small and 
 rough, but comfortable, with one or two fold-up 
 chairs. A fire of logs and brushwood was ready 
 built on the hearth, some plain tea-things stood on 
 a deal table. A match to the wood sent a red glow 
 through the room, and Meg sank into a chair before 
 it with a sigh of relaxation. It was the getting 
 away that she had wanted. 
 
 " Shall I cut the bread and butter ? " she asked, as 
 she watched him hanging the kettle above the flames. 
 
 " No, you are to sit still and let me minister to 
 you. Why do you so doubt my capacity? Don't 
 you know that all sportsmen are handy men ? " 
 
 The work of preparing their little picnic seemed 
 to fully occupy his attention, and it was not until 
 the tea had been poured out and the bread and butter 
 cut that he seated himself opposite her. 
 
 " Did you ever observe what an atmosphere of 
 conventional virtue surrounds such articles as a 
 brown earthenware teapot and thick bread and 
 butter ? Now, if one could only found a sanitarium 
 for imbibing virtue by such outward means " 
 
 368
 
 AT THE SHOOTING-HUT 
 
 then abruptly dropping the nonsense he had been 
 talking - " Aren't you going to tell me what has 
 been troubling you ? " he said, quietly. 
 
 She had been saying to herself as she sat there 
 that she must not tell him what she had heard 
 to-day, but all instincts of prudence went, before 
 the influence of his steady eyes, and that craving for 
 sympathy, which is always such a weak spot for 
 women. Perhaps it was because he was the one of 
 all others in whose eyes she most dreaded to lose 
 her prestige, that she proceeded to recklessly lay 
 bare the dark story. 
 
 " I am feeling rather bewildered, like a poor doll 
 might whose card-house had fallen to bits on its 
 head." 
 
 "Has yours?" 
 
 " Yes, I fear that I shall never be able to believe 
 in card-houses again," and the attempt of her laugh 
 ended somewhat tremulously. 
 
 " Build more durable ones," he suggested, 
 humouring the parable. 
 
 " Oh, nothing will ever be worth doing any 
 more," she broke out. 
 
 " That's a large order, in your twenties. Tell 
 me about it. Here, make a footstool of this log of 
 wood and let me put this coat behind you," and 
 as he did so. his hand touched the back of her neck, 
 brushing the loose curls into place, and answered 
 almost as in words by the flush that rose on the 
 clear skin. 
 
 " Now tell me," he said, going back to the seal 
 that seemed to have edged itself round the corner 
 of the table. 
 
 369
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 It was a relief for the tumult of her spirit to find 
 vent in words. 
 
 " I know you think it's only some girl's quarrel 
 or nonsense," she began, " but if you knew what 
 I heard to-day! How would you feel if you had 
 found out that your grandmother had been a West 
 Indian slave girl, won at cards, and that her own 
 servants supposed her to have poisoned her husband, 
 that husband who had been something very like a 
 pirate? Why, it is as though one had done it one- 
 self!" 
 
 A restraining hand was laid upon hers clasped 
 upon the table, and even through the power of those 
 terrible facts as she first put them into words, that 
 touch came as a new force into her life. So did the 
 voice, that, masterful for all its calm, broke in upon 
 her speech. 
 
 " Hush, my poor child ! Try to be calm ! It's 
 been upsetting for you, no doubt, but you'll soon 
 see how little those old sins have to do with you. 
 It is what a woman is, that matters, not what her 
 grandmother has been." 
 
 As he thus waved aside all modern theories of 
 heredity, he withdrew his hand, and, leaning back 
 in his chair, went on, in a more matter-of-fact tone. 
 " And when once you think of it, most of the British 
 aristocracy is in the same boat. Weren't the fore- 
 fathers of all the oldest families Norman freebooters 
 or Danish pirates, and as for the modern ones, what 
 great fortune has ever been made with clean hands ? 
 
 " Then in regard to the ladies, how many big 
 English families have been founded by royal fa- 
 vourites, and in later days how many actresses have 
 supplied the needed brains and beauty? Don't you 
 
 370
 
 AT THE SHOOTING-HUT 
 
 think that you might see it in that light ? " and Meg 
 knew without looking up, that the half-cynical, half- 
 indulgent smile was bent upon her. 
 
 ' Yes, one knows all that, but one's own people 
 always seem different," she murmured, with a new 
 shyness. 
 
 "But why should they?" was the cheerful 
 retort. " It's only a matter of habit, after all. Now, 
 if I had ever taken to heart the sins of my grand- 
 father, George IV.'s Lord Vernade, and his excess- 
 ively lively French wife, I should have had a nice 
 subject of meditation." 
 
 " Are you half French ? I'm glad," Margaret 
 said, with sudden animation. 
 'Yes? Why?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. I suppose because I always 
 liked the idea that I had some French blood in me," 
 and the first hint of a smile crossed her face, though 
 it darkened into a new anxiety. 
 
 " You don't think I look one least little bit like 
 a black person ? " she asked, with girlish solemnity. 
 
 The man laughed out heartily. Both he and the 
 girl were too thoroughly European to have any com- 
 prehension of what the taint of a lower race would 
 have meant to one reared on the other side of 
 the Atlantic. If the skin were white it never oc- 
 curred to them that the nature could be shadowed. 
 
 " You ridiculous child ! Do you want me to tell 
 you what I think you look like ? " and again her 
 head drooped under the meaning of his eyes and 
 voice. 
 
 There was a pregnant silence, while the bru^li- 
 wood fire crackled loudly, and Vernade's long brown 
 hand lay on the table, as though kept from moving 
 
 371
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 forward by a strong will. When he began to speak 
 again his voice sounded more forced: 
 
 " You can comfort yourself, too, in the fact that 
 a woman is never so deep-rooted in her own family 
 as is a man. In a few years you will have another 
 name, probably that of some great house, and you 
 will have a position of your own in the world. And 
 how you will fill it ! Oh ! " his voice deepened into 
 the hoarse, intense tones that had thrilled through 
 her the other day " if only things had been differ- 
 ent with me 
 
 His hand was on hers now, but Margaret roused 
 into a last effort of resistance the effort that fights 
 against the weakness of its own desires, and she 
 sprang up, saying, quickly: 
 
 " Don't, please don't ! I must go if you do ! " 
 
 But her hand was still in that firm grasp, and, 
 though he made no movement to draw her nearer, 
 he would riot let her go. 
 
 " No, you must listen to me now, for I have made 
 up my mind to speak. Meg, you know well enough 
 what my wife is, and you guess perhaps what she 
 has made me, but before God, I would be an honest 
 man to a woman who trusted me. You could trust 
 me, Meg ! " 
 
 She stood very still beside him now, with a look 
 on her face as though it were fate that held her 
 in its grasp. 
 
 " I feel certain," he went on, " that she would like 
 nothing better than to have a chance to divorce me; 
 that she has reason to believe that Martingdale 
 would marry her, and would probably have gone off 
 with him before now, if she had been sure of my 
 divorcing her. So, you see, if you had the courage 
 
 372
 
 AT THE SHOOTING-HUT 
 
 to come away with me, it would only be a sharp, 
 short ordeal, and then, dearest, then " 
 
 With an impetuous movement, Meg had shaken 
 off his grasp. 
 
 " Oh, never, never," she cried, wildly. " Think 
 of my mother and Jack! They are good, at any 
 rate! " 
 
 The man showed no signs of a rebuff, but went 
 on with the same self-contained strenuousness, 
 standing now beside her. 
 
 " Perhaps so, if goodness is not merely neu- 
 trality. But Jack, as you have told me, is a weak 
 tool in the hands of Mrs. Broderick, and, through 
 her, of this cousin of yours. As for your mother, 
 well, you know that if she has her doctor, her 
 parson, and a bazaar to work for, nothing else 
 matters much. Are they two worth weighing in 
 the balance against what I give you? I never 
 guessed that it was in me to care as I care for you! " 
 
 There was no answering flash of passion, as 
 Margaret stood before him, chilled by doubts and 
 fears. 
 
 " Oh, dear ! How hard life is," she sighed. 
 
 He was too set upon conquering her by force of 
 will to weaken into pity. 
 
 " No, it is easy enough if you have the courage 
 to grasp its chances firmly. It is only to the waver- 
 ing that it is hard. Meg," both her hands were 
 now in his, " for both our sakes, don't be weak now ! 
 Remember it is my chance as well as yours! Face 
 it now and settle the matter." 
 
 " I can't do that." came low with an accent of 
 decision, before which his face grew grimmer. 
 
 " Then promise me to think it over well before 
 
 373
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 you decide against me. I have to run up North 
 to-morrow on a few days' business. Promise me 
 to have decided when I come back," he persisted. 
 
 " I will promise anything if you will only let me 
 go now. I must go," she sobbed; then looking up 
 at him with a new fear, " but if I find that I can't 
 do it, you won't be angry with me? I sha'n't lose 
 you as a friend ? " 
 
 He saw his advantage and pressed it home. 
 
 " I couldn't stay on as your friend now. You 
 must know that we've got past that. We've been 
 talked about, too, and that would make it harder 
 for you. I should probably spend the next six 
 months in India or South Africa after big game." 
 
 As the heavy tears rolled silently down her 
 cheeks, a light of exultation shone in his eyes, and 
 drawing her closer by the hands he held, their lips 
 met. 
 
 It was a moment before she freed herself, plead- 
 ing: 
 
 " Let me go ! Let me go ! " 
 
 :< Yes, you shall go now," he agreed, and hand 
 in hand they went out into the gathering autumn 
 twilight to where her horse was waiting. 
 
 When he had put her up he kissed her bare hand, 
 saying, softly : 
 
 "Next week!" 
 
 She made no answer, but he could hear that 
 she was sobbing as she rode away into the darkness. 
 
 374
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 THE POWER OF THE NIGHT 
 
 OCTOBER had come, bringing with it tidings 
 of the first battle of the war, tidings that 
 were to strike all England with a blank 
 amazement, a sick mistrust. At the same time as 
 this news, came Jack's letters to Meg, full of a new 
 serious purposefulness, a wistful affection that 
 frightened as much as it moved her. 
 
 " Although every man feels sure that he is going 
 to come through it, still, fighting ahead is a fact 
 that straightens out one's perspective," he wrote. 
 " Some things look all at once so big, and some 
 so small. Truth and honour, these are the things 
 that, whatever else a man loses, he must keep. I 
 have written again to my father, asking him to try 
 that at whatever cost we treat Gilbert Clinch with 
 justice and fairness. If anything should happen 
 to me, dear Meg, I hope that you will always 
 remember this is my earnest wish - 
 
 Margaret flung down the letter in an outbreak 
 of bitter weeping. All at once the knowledge of 
 what Jack would think of the way in which she 
 had of late been drifting, came over her with a 
 new cowardice. She did her best to shake it off 
 by saying to herself that at any rate she would 
 
 875
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 be no hypocrite like that hateful woman in whom 
 nothing seemed to shake Jack's belief. Perhaps 
 some day and then, even in thought, she shrank 
 away from what that " some day " might be bring- 
 ing. 
 
 How it rained in those late October days! The 
 steel-gray stretch of the river under the low sky 
 seemed day by day to widen, until, at last, it was 
 over the banks, and the low-lying meadows were 
 turned into great sheets of water, the trim nev. 
 brick villas that skirted the town standing up dis- 
 consolate like old ladies in their best clothes in 
 a mud-puddle. The waters were out over the high- 
 road, and Monk's Grange's communication with 
 the outside world was carried on by means of punts. 
 
 In these days the interest of the gloomy house 
 centred round the sickroom, where old Madame de 
 Barre was evidently making ready to set out on 
 a journey which floods would not prevent. Day 
 by day the intervals when she roused into full con- 
 sciousness became less frequent, the periods of heavy 
 torpor longer. 
 
 " She's slipping away peacefully, if it'll only go 
 on to the end," said Ellen Sievert, with an evident 
 conviction that it would not. 
 
 Then one grim day, when the southwest wind 
 drove the sheets of rain against the windows, the 
 conscious times were replaced by a dull monotone 
 of rambling, rising now and then in shrill cries on 
 which Ellen, if possible, shut the door to every one. 
 When the doctor appeared in a punt, he said, briefly, 
 after one glance at the patient : " I think that you 
 had better send over to the town for a priest." 
 
 " There is a telegrn.ph-boy crossing now. We 
 376
 
 THE POWER OF THE NIGHT 
 
 can send a man back with him," said Meg, who 
 was standing in one of the windows that over- 
 looked the river. 
 
 In a few moments more Mr. Nugent-Barr was 
 reading out in tones of incredulous horror, such 
 a telegram as was soon to bring woe to so many 
 English homes. 
 
 4 Your son, Captain Eustace John Nugent-Barr,\ 
 killed leading a charge against the Boers at Elands- 
 lagte." 
 
 Meg heard the words as one under a spell, and 
 while her mother sobbed and screamed in hysterips, 
 she left her to the ministrations of her maid, crouch- 
 ing with strained, pallid face, like a frightened child, 
 in the corner of a big sofa. 
 
 Only when old Ellen came, the tears streaming 
 down her face, and laying a tender hand upon her 
 head, said : " Miss Meg, my little Miss Meggie, 
 speak to me," did a quiver pass over her face and 
 a few slow tears fall. 
 
 Since the day when they had walked home to- 
 gether from the lodge, the friendly intercourse 
 between the two had been in abeyance, but now 
 Meg clung to her old nurse with all the abandon- 
 ment of her childish days. 
 
 " Oh, nurse," she sobbed, " if only he and I could 
 be children together again." 
 
 But Ellen could not be spared from the dying to 
 mourn the dead. 
 
 " Please, Mrs. Sievert, Sarah says she can't keep 
 the old lady quiet no longer without you," said 
 a frightened-looking servant, and as Ellen went. 
 Meg clung to her and followed her with an apparent 
 dread of being left alone. Mrs. Nugent-Barr had 
 
 377
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 been put to bed with a soothing draught, and her 
 father was pacing the corridor outside of his 
 mother's room. 
 
 The cause of the patient's restlessness was soon 
 made known. 
 
 " The priest ! Send for the priest at once ! " 
 clamoured a shrill voice with that strange new 
 strength which nurses learn to know as a sign of 
 numbered hours, while a clawlike hand grasped 
 Ellen's arm. 
 
 The latter soothed her with professional serenity. 
 
 " And isn't it more than an hour since Jenkins 
 went over to the town, and shouldn't they have 
 been back before now but for the current bein' so 
 cruel strong! But, sure and certain, they must 
 be here in ten minutes at the very outsidest, so 
 try and lie easy and keep your mind clear for the 
 time when Father Staunton comes, that's a dear 
 soul," and Ellen patted her as benevolently as if 
 she believed her old mistress destined to a heavenly 
 harp and crown. 
 
 Her spell worked for a moment, and then with 
 a long wail of the still rising storm the old woman 
 started fearfully. 
 
 "What's that? The wind?" came in a hoarse 
 whisper that shook even Ellen's calm. 
 
 " Lord save us, yes ! What else should it be ? " 
 she stammered. 
 
 " Where is my son ? He should stay by me now," 
 the patient wailed to herself. 
 
 " I am here, mother," came an answer from the 
 doorway, and out of the shadows appeared the 
 haggard face of the unhappy master of the house. 
 
 The nurse drew back, searching with an anxious 
 
 378
 
 THE POWER OF THE NIGHT 
 
 glance the corners of the dimly lit room for the 
 girl for whose sorrow her heart was aching. 
 
 Not finding her, she passed on into the dressing- 
 room, where the light burned brighter, and there, 
 seated on the floor, her hands clasped round her 
 raised knees, on which her chin rested, staring into 
 the shadows with sombre, unseeing eyes, she found 
 her. She had not even drawn near to the comfort 
 of the fire, but, held in a mental and physical ten- 
 sion, awaited the next stroke of Fate as a child 
 might await a blow. 
 
 "My poor precious girlie! Are you here by 
 your lone, grieving ?" the old woman cried, hurry- 
 ing toward her with an outstretched hand, but 
 something in the dark eyes turned upon her from 
 the unmoving face, staying her steps. 
 
 " Well, you have got your wish ! " came in a 
 fierce whisper. " Are you glad now that the Mes- 
 senger has come in the storm ? " 
 
 " For the Lord's sake, Miss Meggie, what do 
 you mean ? " the poor old soul stammered, drawing 
 back in dismay. 
 
 "I heard you when you threatened her! You, 
 whom I used to think were kind and good ! ' 
 
 This was too much, even for Ellen's sense of 
 pity. "Well, then, and I'm sure, poor sinners 
 though we all are, as you've no cause to say other- 
 wise " she began, volubly, when a cry so wild 
 rang out from the next room that her words 
 quavered and stopped. 
 
 " The priest ! The priest ! " came the wail as of 
 a lost spirit. " Will no one stir to fetch him. and 
 save a poor old woman's soul? Something, some 
 one is calling and I must go! Howard, you are my 
 
 379
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 son, I did it for you! I knew that your father 
 wanted to make a new will ! I gave him the med- 
 icine to stop it! Oh, those medicines we used to 
 make long ago in the hot sunshine hear the 
 palms rustle Meg, my little Meg, at least I have 
 loved you Meg, come to me before I go oh, 
 they are calling me " The broken words died 
 in a long wail as both women reached the bed, and 
 the raised head dropped back among the pillows 
 with a lifeless thud. 
 
 Outside a fearful gust beat and tore at the win- 
 dows, and the responsive crash of a falling tree 
 rang against the house. 
 
 Meg was now flat upon the floor as though 
 beaten down by the storm, her face hidden, her 
 hands over her ears, all the hereditary quailing 
 before the unseen powers of darkness of a savage 
 people dominant in her soul. 
 
 She did not know how long it was before her 
 father's hand drew down hers with a new gentle- 
 ness of touch. 
 
 " My poor child, there is nothing to be fright- 
 ened of. She is gone," he said, wearily. 
 
 "Gone where?" She was now sitting looking 
 up at him, and, unimaginative man as he was, he 
 was checked by some unfamiliar element in voice 
 and attitude, as though a restraining force of civi- 
 lisation had been cast off by a carefully trained 
 barbarian. 
 
 " Gone where? " she cried. " Oh, father, father, 
 what curse is it on us that crushes us down? I 
 know now that I have felt it, guessed it always, but 
 never as I do to-night. If you know what it is, 
 I implore you now to do your best to atone for it ! " 
 
 380
 
 THE POWER OF THE NIGHT 
 
 Over the man's wearied face came the cold anger 
 which any opposition was wont to arouse in his 
 narrow nature. 
 
 " Are you off your head," he began, " as your 
 grandmother has been for weeks past? Surely you 
 never were so foolish as to attach any importance 
 to her ravings ? But there, God knows we neither of 
 us are fit to talk any more to-night! Get to bed. 
 child." 
 
 Forgetting his wrath, he sighed for the fateful 
 day past, but neither his pity nor his anger turned 
 his daughter from the impulse that swayed her, 
 and her voice went on, rising and thrilling with that 
 unfamiliar exotic echo in it. 
 
 " Father, by our two dead, both perhaps lying 
 unburied to-night, will you promise me to do your 
 best, and find out what is right to do, as Jack asked 
 you to? If you will only promise me that, I will 
 not trouble you any more." 
 
 " You had better not, for I have had too much 
 of this nonsense. One would think that good taste 
 if not good feeling would keep you from it at such 
 a time. I have surely enough to bear to-night," 
 was her father's icy retort, after which, ignoring 
 her. he turned to whisper with Ellen. 
 
 In silence Margaret got on her feet and went 
 away to her own room. 
 
 In the household confusion the lights were unlit, 
 the shutters still unclosed, letting in a flood of white 
 light from a full moon, now shining triumphant 
 through a wild tumult of clouds, now lost in the 
 darkness of their impetus. 
 
 She flung up the window, letting a rush of o> 
 Jamp air beat on her as she crouched on the deep 
 
 881
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 window-seat. The refreshment of the air and the 
 darkness and silence were all she thought of at 
 first, as she listened to the hoarse roar of the river 
 over the weir, wetting her hands with the rain- 
 drops on the ivy and pressing them against her 
 forehead. But one of the last scattered showers 
 that end a big storm, swept up in a dark, menacing 
 cloud like a great clutching hand, over the moon. 
 With its darkness and with the rising gust that 
 accompanied it, that unaccountable horror came over 
 her again, and in a panic of fear she closed the 
 window and shutters and lit the light on her table. 
 
 She had that keen vision for trifles which is 
 said by some to be one of the marks of a low type, 
 and even in the tumult of her spirit her eyes did 
 not fail to see a note laid on the stand for letters. 
 
 She knew that minute cramped writing, too, and 
 saw that there was no postmark. 
 
 " I got back this morning," the note ran, " and 
 am here alone in the house waiting you know for 
 what. The yacht is all ready at Marseilles for us. 
 It is too late to hesitate now. Ah, be brave, and 
 make up your mind to come to me! Who else is 
 there who wants you as I do? VERNADE." 
 
 Who else? No, there was no one now. Save 
 Jack, there never had been any one good and true, 
 and he was dead and would never be grieved to 
 hear what she had done. If churchgoing and pray- 
 ers could veil such lives as her grandmother's and 
 her father's, should their shadow have power to 
 spoil her happiness? 
 
 She would be happy! She would, she would! 
 
 88*
 
 THE POWER OF THE NIGHT 
 
 she found herself gasping as she stared into the 
 glass at her flushed cheeks and distended eyes. 
 
 Even her own image seemed company in the 
 solitude of the death-hushed house. 
 
 But the resolution once taken steadied her nerves 
 and drove away her fears of the unseen world. 
 
 There was some one waiting for her, and she 
 must get to him without delay. There was no 
 thought, no compunction for those she was leaving ; 
 only that hysterical impulse to get away at any 
 cost. 
 
 One of those matter-of-fact instincts of her 
 strangely mixed nature came to remind her that 
 she was now in all probability a rich woman. She 
 knew that her grandmother's will had been made 
 in her favour; she knew that she was her father's 
 heir without any power on his part to disinherit 
 her; and a knowledge that however completely 
 she might fling her destiny into Lord Vernade's 
 hands, she would always be financially independent 
 of him, helped to decide her. The impulse that 
 had made her urge her father to cast off the weight 
 of an evil inheritance was past, with all that was 
 softer and weaker in her nature. She was a creature 
 now of fiery passions, fierce to grasp at and keep 
 what she wanted. 
 
 In the confusion of the past day. she still wore 
 a walking-dress of thick serge, and the boots in 
 which she had at midday made her way to the 
 stables. 
 
 There only remained to take down a rough coat 
 and hat, and she was ready. She was not of the 
 type of the heroine of " To Leeward." who. eloping. 
 took with her a box of hairpins and a bottle of 
 
 383
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 cologne. Down the quiet passage and stairs, with 
 a furtive glance back toward the death-chamber, 
 out through a side door into the outside space of 
 the moonlit night. The terrace around the house 
 was dry, but a little canal that edged it, remnant 
 of a former moat, had spread out into a shining 
 sheet of water. 
 
 Here, at the foot of the terrace-steps, a punt was 
 moored, that had been used through the day by 
 messengers. Margaret knew the outline of the 
 country so well that she understood exactly how 
 she could take advantage of the shallow water that 
 would be out over the park meadows, avoiding the 
 heavy current of the river in flood, and coming 
 round behind the weir to her destination. 
 
 If there had been any one abroad in the night, 
 it might have started strange legends, the sight 
 of that slim girlish figure, forcing her punt on 
 with practised strokes, through the swiftly chang- 
 ing spaces of light and darkness, the hoarse sound 
 of many waters around her. 
 
 Lord Vernade sat in his library, a room with 
 big windows opening like doors on to the lawn, 
 and, according to his usual fancy, these windows 
 were unshuttered. He was a restless, outdoor being, 
 and liked, even on a winter night, to step out on to 
 the paved path for a few quiet turns. 
 
 He had been busy tearing up letters, filing away 
 bills, making preparations for a possibly lengthy 
 absence, but looking up thoughtfully, a bright burst 
 of moonlight drew him to the window, which he 
 flung open to stand watching the still writhing trees, 
 the expanse of water above the weir. 
 
 Heavens! what was this coming toward him 
 
 384
 
 THE POWER OF THE NIGHT 
 
 across the submerged lawn, this long black craft 
 propelled by the woman's figure, silhouetted against 
 the shining waters beyond? 
 
 For a moment, childish recollections of a much- 
 feared legend of a darkly veiled lady who came 
 down the river to bring tidings of doom to his 
 race chilled his heart. The next, his face aflame 
 with gratified passion, he had sprung forward to 
 reach the punt. 
 
 " I knew that you would be your own brave self," 
 he said, triumphantly, as he drew her into the house. 
 
 :>85
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 RELEASE 
 
 EARLY in September, learning that she could 
 have her friend's house at Passy for the 
 winter, Isabel closed Heathholm and settled 
 herself in Paris, warmly greeted by her artist friends. 
 
 " I have come to sit at your feet," she said to 
 Edward Clarke, the apostle of a certain set of rising 
 men. 
 
 ;< You need sit at no man's feet," he said, point- 
 ing to the Undine studies which she had just been 
 showing him ; " work and concentration, that is all 
 you need to make a great picture out of that mate- 
 rial. But," with one of his keen glances from under 
 grizzled eyebrows, " it is not your work, but your- 
 self that is my wonder. What fountain of youth 
 have you discovered since last spring? You look 
 ten years younger. Of course," with an abrupt lit- 
 tle bow, " you were always charming, but then you 
 were August, to-day you are June." 
 
 With that rare evanescent blush dyeing her face, 
 she put up her hands in protest. 
 
 "Take care! If I were once to betray the fact 
 that you could pay such compliments, your influence 
 as a prophet would be gone." 
 
 " Influence is a thing that must take care of itself. 
 
 386
 
 RELEASE 
 
 I don't waste compliments on many people. But 
 work, work now ! " he admonished, as he left her. 
 
 " If that poor crazy wretch were to die, I shouldn't 
 be surprised if the old cynic, Edward Clarke, were 
 to make a fool of himself," he muttered, as he 
 walked down the street. 
 
 The elixir of life which Isabel had found had 
 been the old simple draught of happiness. A happi- 
 ness which, though she had not seen Gilbert since 
 that night when they parted at Heathholm, had 
 quenched the fever and fret of her thirst. 
 
 Gilbert had never wavered in his love, his care 
 for her, and for his sake it was joy to be young 
 and fair and strong, to be praised by her peers for 
 work that but few women could do, and thus cheer 
 him with the knowledge that her life was no poor 
 maimed thing. 
 
 And so she began on her large picture of Undine, 
 to be painted from her summer studies, for next 
 year's Salon; visited her friends and entertained 
 them, using her wealth to surround herself with 
 all beautiful and artistic things. 
 
 And every week came Gilbert's letters, telling 
 of his first legal steps toward proving the will, ant! 
 speaking hopefully of the result; and every week 
 she wrote him long tales of the daily current of 
 her life, and both his and her letters had occasional 
 phrases and self-revelations on which two souls 
 lived. 
 
 Never had work seemed so easy to her as now, 
 and Edward Clarke's critical approval drove her on. 
 
 "Stick to it. It goes," he said, watching her 
 work. " I have almost left off predicting anything 
 for clever-woman work, but still I'll venture so far 
 
 387
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 as to say that if you choose you have a future before 
 you." 
 
 " Of course I choose," she retorted, her eyes still 
 on her easel. " But why have you washed your 
 hands of poor women-folk? " 
 
 "Why?" warming to a favourite subject, "be- 
 cause I've known such dozens of hard-working 
 ' female girls/ as poor Morris calls them, and when 
 I've asked about them a few years later, one had 
 married a parson and only did children's portraits; 
 another had overworked or underfed herself into 
 nervous prostration ; a third had gone to the Fiji 
 Islands to look after her brother's orphan children, 
 and each one of them was conspicuous by absence 
 from the year's catalogues." 
 
 Isabel laughed idly at this diatribe. 
 
 " Well, you can except me from all those cases," 
 she said. " I could not, if I wished to, marry again ; 
 I have a most healthy appetite, and no brothers 
 or sisters to leave me their orphans, so don't you 
 think you can count on me as an artist ? " 
 
 " There's no foretelling the disturbing force, 
 where women are concerned," he answered, darkly. 
 
 Isabel remembered these words, when that day 
 she encountered a disturbing force in the person of 
 the little Tommy Curtis whom she had seen with 
 the Nugent-Barrs. 
 
 They met on the stairs of one of the English 
 banks, and the round, childish face changed from 
 thought fulness to smiles at sight of her. 
 
 " Mrs. Broderick ! Oh, I'm so glad to see you ! 
 You remind me of the dear river! May I talk to 
 you for a bit? " 
 
 " Certainly, my dear Miss Curtis. I was just 
 
 388
 
 RELEASE 
 
 going to take a solitary turn in the Bois, and should 
 be delighted to have your company." 
 
 Then, with a blush and a smile, the truth came 
 out. 
 
 " Oh, you didn't hear, then ? You see I'm Mrs. 
 Brindle, not Miss Curtis, now. Dick and I were 
 engaged, just without any one knowing, and then 
 he had a good offer to go to South Africa, and I 
 felt as though if I let him go I might never see 
 him again, and well, I was of age and I haven't 
 any father or mother. Just troublesome brothers, 
 and uncles and aunts. So, the day before he left, 
 I slipped out and we were quietly married, and then 
 went back and told my uncle and aunt, and wasn't 
 there a row ! " 
 
 As the words poured out, Isabel stood looking 
 into the childish face in mingled amusement and 
 respect for the woman who had known what she 
 wanted and got it. 
 
 The amusement conquered in a frank laugh. 
 
 " Why, what a little wretch you were," she said, 
 lightly, and then, seeing a wistfulness in the eyes, she 
 added : " Though it was rash. I don't think it was 
 foolish. Mr. Brindle is an honest, kindly fellow, 
 who, I am sure, will make you happy." 
 
 The girl caught her breath quickly. 
 
 "That's the first kind word I've heard about 
 him. They called him ' fortune-hunter,' ' adven- 
 turer,' and all such pleasant little names. I'll never 
 forgive them for it." 
 
 "Oh, yes, you will, when he has shown them 
 what he "really is," Isabel said, kindly, her heart 
 warm toward Gilbert's friend. 
 
 Presently, when they were driving up through the 
 
 389
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 brightness of the Champs Elysees, into the yellow- 
 ing avenues of the Bois, Isabel heard how Tommy, 
 having decided to follow her husband to South 
 Africa, had run over to Paris to say good-bye to 
 an old aunt of whom she was fond. She was 
 going back the next morning, to sail a week later. 
 
 " I do wish that I could see Meg before I go," 
 she said, sadly, " but she didn't write very nicely 
 to me, and her father is furious. You see, my 
 brother being at the War Office, would have made 
 it a good affair for Jack, only he, bless his honest 
 heart, never saw it! And he and Dick have come 
 across each other out there, and he's been awfully 
 good to him. I wrote and told Meg about it, and 
 asked her to come to town and see me before I 
 went, but she just wrote back quite shortly that 
 her father didn't wish her to. And have you seen 
 her at all lately? " she asked, anxiously. 
 
 " No." Isabel coloured as she answered. " She 
 seems to have some grievance against me in regard 
 to Mr. Clinch. Some one has evidently made mis- 
 chief," was her sad answer. 
 
 " She must be awfully changed," the little bride 
 agreed, "but what I mind the most are the queer 
 things people say about her and Lord Vernade." 
 
 " Surely they don't join her name with his ? " 
 Isabel asked, aghast. 
 
 " I'm afraid so," the other acquiesced, and the 
 two women, who had each in their way loved Mar- 
 garet, were silent. 
 
 With the feeling of doing it for Gilbert, Isabel 
 bought a man's and a woman's diamond ring, and 
 took them to the Gare du Nord at the hour of 
 Tommy's departure. 
 
 390
 
 RELEASE 
 
 "I shall be writing to Mr. Clinch," she said, 
 bravely, " and I shall tell him of your happiness." 
 
 " I wish that I might hear of yours," the little 
 wife said, made wise through love, and with a warm 
 embrace they parted. 
 
 Isabel never forgot the aspect of the Paris streets 
 that morning, bright under a blue October sky, as 
 she drove through them on her way back to Passy. 
 
 That drive was, in a way, an end to one chapter 
 of her life, for when she reached home there on 
 her writing-table lay a cablegram, which, as she 
 opened, she instinctively felt to be her order of 
 release. 
 
 " Andrew Broderick died peacefully last night. 
 No need immediate return," then came the signature 
 of her man of business. 
 
 Such were the words that she read mechanically, 
 passing on to sit down at an open window and 
 stare intently at the brown leaves drifting down 
 before a soft wind from a great lime-tree. 
 
 Last year's yellow leaves had seen her despair, 
 the new spring ones had seen her revived courage, 
 and now their passing was the passing of her long 
 endurance of loneliness. 
 
 She made no effort to force her mind into pity 
 for the dead man. She had pitied him living - 
 she rejoiced for his sake that he was at rest, and 
 for her own that the mockery of a tie was broken. 
 
 The spell of inactivity was broken and there was 
 a lovely flush on her face as she reached for her 
 gloves and stood up. She had remembered her 
 promise to Gilbert, and meant to keep it. 
 was a telegraph-office close at hand, and she woult 
 walk there, trusting no one else with the message. 
 
 391
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 " Wire date departure. Meet at Heathholm," she 
 ended, and the clerk looked his admiration for the 
 American lady who could thus lavish costly words. 
 
 The answer came that evening. 
 
 " Sail twenty-fifth." 
 
 She had thus a week to wait before leaving Paris, 
 and it was an unsettled enough week. She could 
 not work on the " Undine," which she knew would 
 not be finished for the next Salon, though it might 
 be ready for the New York spring shows. 
 
 She had inserted a notice of Andrew Broderick's 
 death in Galignani and the London papers, and then 
 closed her doors on the visits of condolence. 
 
 Edward Clarke was, however, in the habit of 
 walking in the side door which led to the studio, 
 and, one morning, when she was busy sorting out 
 her portfolios, he appeared, taking in with a keen 
 glance the preparations for departure. 
 
 " So the disturbing force has come," he said, 
 gravely, as he took her hand. Then, as she merely 
 bent her head, " Though I trust it may lead on into 
 quiet paths of work ? " he questioned. 
 
 " Eventually, I hope, but there is likely to be 
 delay now," and a deep blush told her secret. 
 
 She did not notice the old, tired look that came 
 over his face. 
 
 " I see, I see," he said, gently. " Well, happiness 
 and the * warm hearthstone ' are best. I trust life 
 may not drive you back again among the toilers, 
 but, if it does, come to me when you need help," and 
 the words remained with her. 
 
 393
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 A FORLORN HOPE 
 
 IT was on a morning as fine as summer that 
 Isabel left Paris, the meaning of her plain 
 black dress belied by the hope in her heart. 
 
 As she took her seat in the train, Elsa handed 
 her the day's papers. To still that strange joy that 
 almost frightened her, she opened one and glanced 
 at it idly, the stab of a familiar name coming from 
 the first column. 
 
 " Captain Eustace John Nugent-Barr killed trying 
 to rally his men in a charge against the Boers." 
 
 There were only two kindly-looking old ladies 
 in the carriage with her, and Isabel put her head 
 down on her hands and sobbed for the honest, 
 kindly blue-eyed boy who had loved her. for the 
 sister who needed him so sorely. She was too sensi- 
 ble to blame herself, knowing well how seriously he 
 had taken his profession, and that, happy or un- 
 happy, he would have managed to be in the thick 
 of it ; but her heart ached for the futile waste that 
 takes the best, leaving the feeble and useless. Not 
 being an Englishwoman, she could not feel the 
 proud national throb which comes as the first com- 
 fort for the loss. All that she knew was " the pity 
 
 393
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 of it! " and the pity of it brooded over her for the 
 rest of the day. 
 
 At Charing Cross there was the usual delay over 
 luggage, and leaving Elsa to face the customs, Isabel 
 went off to send a telegram. 
 
 Crossing near the platform where the Continental 
 night mail was getting ready, she caught her breath 
 at sight of a familiar figure. Margaret Nugent-Barr, 
 in blue serge dress and a sailor hat with the bright 
 band of her boating club, stood apparently waiting 
 for some one near the open door of a saloon carriage. 
 
 Quickly Isabel's glance swept the neighbourhood. 
 Yes, it was as she had guessed. Lord Vernade was 
 giving directions to a man who was evidently his 
 servant. 
 
 Conscious of nothing save the wave of womanly 
 pity that bore her forward, Isabel hurried toward 
 the lonely figure, that only as she reached it turned 
 on her a face of startled aversion. 
 
 Such a heavy-eyed pallid face it was! 
 
 " Margaret, dear," she said, quickly, " I have been 
 thinking of you all day, ever since I read it in the 
 paper this morning. Oh, my heart aches for him, 
 so brave, so young, so good ! I am going home now ; 
 do come with me, and let me show you how I grieve 
 for you." 
 
 Her hand was on Margaret's arm, but the latter 
 shook it off as she answered, sombrely : 
 
 " I am not going home, thank you. I am trav- 
 elling with friends, so you need not worry about 
 me." 
 
 " How can I help it, when I know how dear you 
 were to Jack ? " 
 
 " We will leave his name alone to-day, please. 
 
 394
 
 A FORLORN HOPE 
 
 You ought to be satisfied in setting him against 
 me. Until he knew you he was fond of me, proud 
 of me, but after that, even to his very last letter, 
 it was nothing but faultfinding. I never told him 
 how I had seen through your coming to spy upon 
 us for that man who is trying to rob us, but I 
 think he guessed and was angry. And you think 
 that I would let you take me home like a naughty 
 child!" 
 
 The fierce words were poured out in an undertone 
 that did not attract the attention of the passers-by. 
 To Isabel they seemed the ravings of an over- 
 wrought mind which she scarcely heeded. 
 
 "Oh, Meg," she- pleaded, "if you were not so 
 unhappy, I am sure that you would never think 
 these cruel things of me. We used always to be 
 such good friends. If you do not want to go home, 
 come to my house, where we shall be all alone, and 
 where you can rest and think about Jack." 
 
 Something like a moan broke from the girl's lips 
 before she answered with the same subdued in- 
 tensity : 
 
 " I mustn't rest. I mustn't think ! I am going 
 abroad to-night." 
 
 " Meg, I have known what it was not to dare 
 to rest or think. Listen for a moment. You have 
 felt that, believing in nothing, hoping for nothing, 
 you had a right to do the thing you chose, and to 
 let go your hold on all good. Yes. I knew all that 
 when I saw my child lying dead under his mad 
 father's grasp, but I managed to hold on to some- 
 thing, I hardly knew at first what it was, sense of 
 duty, or personal pride, or what, but it kept me on 
 my feet until I got back my reasoning powers. Ah, 
 
 395
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 Meg. it can't be worse with you than it was with me 
 then, and yet I lived it down. It's not too late to 
 go back. Only have the courage to do so, and you 
 will thank God all your life. Meg " 
 
 The momentary flash of startled awe with which 
 the girl had heard of so awful a tale was past, and 
 Isabel knew that the fight was lost, and that she 
 had laid bare her heart in vain, even before she 
 heard the sullen words: 
 
 " You have no right to torment me like this ! 
 You don't know. There is no going back possible. 
 I have thrown in my lot with the only person who 
 really cares for me. Ah, here he comes ! " with a 
 low laugh. " Are you going to make a scene, or 
 will you go away now? When you write to him, 
 tell him that he shall not get my money without 
 a fight for it." 
 
 On the last contemptuous words she faltered, and 
 a ghost of the old friendly light flickered in her 
 eyes, as she whispered : 
 
 " I think that perhaps you really meant to help 
 me, but it's too late." 
 
 Heart-sick and trembling, Isabel was at that pass 
 when a good woman forgets every personal thought 
 in a passion of pity. She would have pleaded on, 
 but that she saw that Lord Vernade had become 
 aware of their interview, and was coming forward 
 as though to interrupt it. Him she could not face, 
 and so turned away with a sharp sob of pain for the 
 unhappy girl. 
 
 Gradually her mind went back to her own per- 
 sonal happiness. Never before had she returned 
 to Heathholm but with a shrinking from the lonely 
 home-coming. How sweet and strange it was now 
 
 396
 
 A FORLORN HOPE 
 
 to know that it was the destined meeting-place for 
 her and Gilbert. 
 
 The gray autumn afternoon was already dark- 
 ening when she drove up to the house, and she was 
 tired out with the mental and physical strain of the 
 day. But that strain was not destined to be ended 
 yet, for the servant, who had known of her friend- 
 ship with Margaret, met her with excited tales of 
 the girl's disappearance the night before. It had 
 been at first supposed that the shock of her brother's 
 and grandmother's death had so disturbed her mind 
 that she had taken the punt and gone either to 
 suicide or an accidental death. They had been all 
 the morning dragging for her body, when a lodge- 
 keeper at Templemere had appeared on the scene 
 with positive assurances that Miss Nugent-Barr had 
 driven through the Park gates with Lord Vernade 
 in the direction of Henley. 
 
 " And they do say at the house, mum, that she 
 must have gone there in the punt last night, though 
 how any mortal woman managed it against the cur- 
 rent, with the water out " 
 
 "That will do, thanks, Parsons. I must dress 
 now," Isabel said, wearily, but the weariness went 
 as she caught sight of a pile of letters and a tele- 
 gram. 
 
 Yes, the latter was what she had been hoping for, 
 a wire from Gilbert, sent ashore in Ireland, to say 
 that he would be with her to-morrow. The sin 
 and the sorrow that had so troubled her melted 
 away to a distance, and a great peace soothed her. 
 
 But in the morning she did not find it so easy 
 to be tranquil. To begin with, it went sorely against 
 
 397
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 the grain to meet Gilbert in a black dress, but she 
 was shy of doing otherwise before the servants. 
 
 " If only we had brought some flowers from 
 town," she lamented to Elsa, as she stood before 
 the glass. 
 
 She went out into the garden, basking in pale 
 autumn sunshine, and her search was rewarded by 
 a handful of late pale pink roses. Pressing their 
 petals to her hot cheeks, she whispered : 
 
 " You used to comfort me last autumn, you dears, 
 now you must be happy with me." 
 
 Then came the question of where she would 
 welcome Gilbert, and that proved unexpectedly hard 
 to settle. The studio was dismantled, the drawing- 
 room was too formal, the garden too public. For 
 a time she even debated driving down to meet him, 
 but that was given up, and then things settled them- 
 selves unexpectedly, as they have a way of doing. 
 After lunch, a good two hours before she could ex- 
 pect him, she lay down on the drawing-room sofa 
 to rest, " just for ten minutes," but, tired out with 
 yesterday's journey and agitation, she dropped into 
 a deep sleep, from which she only started to see 
 a tall figure looking down at her, to hear a deep 
 voice : 
 
 " Isabel ! At last ! " and to find herself gathered, 
 all confused and flushed with sleep, into his arms. 
 
 After a time, she said : 
 
 " Let me have a look at you," and held him off 
 with her hands. 
 
 Bronzed from the sea-voyage, and with hair a 
 bit longer than usual, he had lost the air of a dweller 
 in cities. 
 
 " You look like a wild man of the woods." 
 
 398
 
 A FORLORN HOPE 
 
 ' That's just because my hair needs cutting. The 
 ocean tan will soon wear off. But you," he said, 
 tenderly, " you look tired, and there is an air about 
 you that is almost sad. Surely, dearest, that has all 
 passed now ? " 
 
 " I am not sad now, but I was yesterday," she 
 said, simply, laying her hand on his as he sat beside 
 her. 
 
 44 But how could you be sad, even then ? " he pro- 
 tested. 
 
 " It was not sadness for myself, but for others. 
 Oh, Gilbert, you know that I was fond of Meg 
 and Jack ? " 
 
 "Yes well?" 
 
 And then she told the tale of the last twenty-four 
 hours, breaking down into sobbing before she ended. 
 
 " What pains me most is the thought of that 
 one small bit of softening at the last. It seems as 
 though a little more effort might have saved her." 
 
 Gilbert soothed her " as a lover can." 
 
 " You did all you could," he said, decisively. 
 " Nothing could have saved her. She was doomed 
 by temperament the true fate. But that poor, 
 true-hearted fellow, what a life to be flung away 
 like that! Do you know, after he got out there, 
 he wrote to me such a simple, manly letter - 
 saying that he wished to persuade his father to 
 some compromise, and hoped we might some day 
 become good friends. ' I feel sure,' he added. ' that 
 when she is a bit wiser and older, my sister will 
 see things more as I do/ I am so glad now 1 
 know that he had that feeling toward me. Gilbert 
 ended, with a sigh. 
 
 " Yes, and it was all the finer." she said, eagerly. 
 
 399
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 " because when he went he knew, he guessed, that 
 it was you " And she smiled up at him. 
 
 "And yet he could feel kindly toward me! '' he 
 said, in wondering admiration. 
 
 Gilbert had his own tale to tell of legal delays 
 and difficulties. 
 
 " Though I can see no reason why I may not 
 succeed in the end," he said. 
 
 To this Isabel seemed irresponsive, though she 
 roused quickly enough, when he said : 
 
 " I wonder if you are really a brave woman." 
 
 " What do you mean? " she asked, startled. 
 
 " I mean a woman who is brave enough to set 
 her own and another's happiness above any dread 
 of public comment or criticism. Isabel, for more 
 than a year Andrew Broderick has been dead to 
 you. Will you marry me now without any fur- 
 ther delay, and come home to begin our new life 
 together?" 
 
 For a moment she sat silently watching the flick- 
 ering firelight that now seemed to have possession of 
 the room, while he looked intently into her face, then 
 she turned to him, laying her hand in his, that closed 
 around it firmly, and said, gently: 
 
 " Yes, Gilbert, I will do whatever you wish." 
 
 400
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 " HOMEWARD BOUND " 
 
 AND so it was settled that as soon as the read- 
 ing of the bans was over they should be 
 married in the little gray village church 
 among the trees. Meanwhile, Gilbert was installed 
 in his old lodgings. How much there was to tell 
 of and talk over ! Gilbert had been offered a splen- 
 did appointment in one of the foremost medical 
 colleges of the day. 
 
 " How will you like being a professor's wife?" 
 he asked. 
 
 " As long as it lets me be an artist, too. I could 
 never face Edward Clarke again unless I finished 
 my ' Undine.' ' 
 
 " You shall finish it after our honeymoon," he 
 promised. 
 
 And then he had to hear of the love-affairs of 
 Tommy and Brindle. The next morning he was 
 helping Isabel to elaborate a scheme of hers for 
 endowing a fund for the yearly purchase of six 
 pictures by American artists, to be called the Andrew 
 Broderick fund, when a servant came in to say that 
 an old woman wished especially to see Mrs. Bro- 
 derick, and seemed distressed when told that she 
 was engaged. 
 
 401
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 " It is some of my old cottage friends needing 
 help, perhaps. Show her in here," Isabel said. 
 
 But the first sight of the woman, in careful new 
 black clothes, and with tired face and tremulous 
 aspect, told that this was a graver matter than some 
 small charity. 
 
 " Sit down and rest. You are tired," Isabel said, 
 kindly, but merely acknowledging the words with 
 a polite " Thank you, ma'am," the old woman fixed 
 her blue eyes intently on Gilbert. 
 
 " I took the liberty of coming to ask Mrs. Bro- 
 derick if she could tell me where to find Mr. Gilbert 
 Clinch," she began, " but, if I'm not mistook, this 
 is him. I'm sure it couldn't be no one else. You 
 are Susan Bauer's son, aren't you, sir ? " and there 
 was a touch of appeal under the assumed primness 
 of her manner. 
 
 Gilbert's first surprise over, he knew at once that 
 this must be Ellen Sievert, one of the witnesses to 
 the disputed will, whose evidence was to count for 
 much. Not wishing to startle her, he answered, 
 pleasantly : 
 
 " Yes, I am Susan Bauer's son, and you, I think, 
 are Ellen Sievert. And why did you want to see 
 me?" 
 
 The old woman turned her troubled eyes upon 
 Isabel. 
 
 " If I might speak to you alone, sir," she hesi- 
 tated. 
 
 " Mrs. Broderick knows all about my family," he 
 reassured her. " She was living at the Moorings 
 when Isaac Neisner told me about my grandfather, 
 and she and I found the jewelled Virgin in the 
 garret, the Virgin of Wrath." 
 
 402
 
 'HOMEWARD BOUND" 
 
 At these last words the modest self-restraint of 
 the old woman's best manners dropped from her 
 like a veil, dropped as did the umbrella and bag 
 from her hands. 
 
 " For the Lord's sake, sir ! You found her at 
 the Moorings? Well, I never! Then there was 
 something true in what my old man used to mutter 
 at night, when I thought it was just pork-chops or 
 doughnuts. He saw her often enough at the last. 
 Well, he's dead, and nearly every one else seems to 
 be, excepting Isaac and me. But your mother, she's 
 younger than me. She's not dead, is she? " 
 
 " No," was all Gilbert answered. He was leav- 
 ing her to say her say in her own fashion. 
 
 " Well, I'm glad of that," Ellen Sievert conceded, 
 in a more politely conversational tone. " We were 
 always good friends when we went to school to- 
 gether. And you have a look of her " - with a 
 critical inspection of Gilbert " the honest, clean, 
 Dutch look that she had. Tell you what, young 
 man, you may thank the Lord that there's no drop 
 in your veins of the blood of that old woman they 
 buried to-day." With these last words her face had 
 hardened with a tragic recollection. 
 
 " Why ? " he asked, quickly. 
 
 " Because it's the snake's blood of a brown Mar- 
 tinique girl, and if you've never heard what that 
 means, you've never sailed about the West Indies 
 as I have, when my husband was master of a fine 
 Lunenburg schooner." 
 
 She drew a deep breath, then, as the other two 
 waited in silence, she went on : 
 
 " Yes, a brown Martinique girl she was, and 1 
 known it for years, and yet I came away with her 
 
 408
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 and tended her faithfully when she got old and 
 feeble, until that awful night when the Powers of 
 Darkness called her in the storm. Lord sakes, I 
 was near to crossing myself like a Papist in my fears 
 of what might be around me! It was just at the 
 end when the priest hadn't come, and she was shriek- 
 ing out for him, that she told us how she had given 
 the old master the stuff that killed him. 
 
 " We always knew, Isaac and I, that she had queer 
 drugs and potions, and that was what frightened 
 Isaac, and sent him off home after the master died. 
 He was right, perhaps, but I was fond of the chil- 
 dren, and stayed with my little Meg, and I always 
 would have, too, if the finding out the old wickedness 
 hadn't turned her brain and made her wicked, too." 
 
 At the sound of Meg's name, spoken with such 
 simple pathos, Isabel caught her breath sharply 
 and Gilbert's face grew sombre, but neither tried to 
 speak, and the shrill voice of old age went on : 
 
 " She was white and silent like a ghost, just 
 crouching in corners that sorrowful day, after the 
 news came of my poor boy's death. And she was 
 frightened, too Lord ! She was down on the 
 floor, hiding her poor pretty face, when the old 
 lady screeched out that she had done it, and a tree 
 crashed up against the house, just like long ago at 
 home when the master died." Her voice had grown 
 reminiscent, but she roused herself again to the 
 present. 
 
 " And then, when it was quiet again for the 
 wind went when she went didn't I hear my poor 
 child a-begging her pa, by ' our two unburied dead,' 
 she says, if there had been sin to do justice now. 
 
 " And when he got angry, as he does in that 
 
 404
 
 ''HOMEWARD BOUND" 
 
 cold, spiteful fashion of his, if any one breathes a 
 word about his money, and told her to hold her 
 tongue and go off to her bed, she just slipped away 
 by herself to her room while I was busy. And her 
 ma was calling for me, and, like an old idiot that 
 I was, I fell asleep in her room, being clean worn 
 out, without ever going to see that my pretty dear 
 was all right. And in the morning, when I thought 
 to find her sleeping peaceful, she wasn't there," 
 and the two wrinkled hands dropped heavily upon 
 her knees with a gesture of utter hopelessness. 
 
 " The Lord knows," she added, half to herself, 
 " that she must have been demented by trouble to 
 go to that lazy, smiling devil ! And now," she went 
 on, " her pa's cursing her because she's got all her 
 grandmother's money. But I say as it's a good thing 
 she has, or that lord might be leaving her to starve 
 when he's tired of her, as he has others before 
 now " 
 
 At this, Isabel winced in intolerable pain, a move- 
 ment which the old woman was quick to remark. 
 
 " Dear, dear," she said, with compunction, " it's 
 a dreadful thing to have a tongue that goes as mine 
 does. I ought to have minded that you were a 
 friend to her, ma'am, the poor lamb. But it comes 
 of my feelings being so bottled up of late, for I 
 knew well that the poor, misguided child was meet- 
 ing him about the country, and yet, like the old 
 fool I am, I did nothing. 
 
 " But I've given up the family now, and I'm 
 going back to end my days in the old place com- 
 fortably on my savings. And that was why I 
 wanted special, sir, to find you out before I went. 
 I had heard enough bits of talk to know as you were
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 trying to get your rights to some of your grandpa's 
 money, even before the letter came asking me about 
 being witness to that will as we never heard no more 
 on, and glad enough I'd be to help you, for the 
 sake of the days when your mother and I were 
 girls together." 
 
 " Thank you," Gilbert said, quietly, though Isabel 
 could see that his face was set in intense thought. 
 
 " Will you tell me what you remember about 
 the will ? " he went on, forbearing to prompt her. 
 
 " 'Deed, and I remember everything about it, for 
 many a time I've gone over it all in my mind, as I 
 might have been reading it in a newspaper. It was 
 the week before the old man died, and the mistress 
 had gone out to church it was some saint's day, 
 I think and I was ironing some of her laces when 
 Isaac calls me up-stairs, and there was the master, 
 propped up with pillows, a sort of writing-book 
 before him, and a pen in his hand. Like the dead 
 he looked, saving that his eyes were fierce and bright. 
 ' Watch me write my name, and then you two 
 write yours after,' says he, short and sharp, in his 
 old way, and we did it. 
 
 " ' Now go,' says he, ' and don't ye speak of this 
 to no one,' which we didn't, being used to obeying 
 of him. And remembering it as though it were 
 yesterday, I'm willing to testify in a court of jus- 
 tice, and I hope it may do you good, sir." 
 
 Her good-will was evident, and Gilbert answered, 
 gratefully : 
 
 " Thank you, Ellen. It may be of great help." 
 
 " And there's another thing as I made up my 
 mind to tell you," she went on, " seeing that per- 
 haps you never heard as there was a doubt whether 
 
 406
 
 "HOMEWARD BOUND" 
 
 the old master had ever married her when he brought 
 her home? " 
 
 ' No, I have not heard that," he put in. 
 
 " Well, you see, the sailors always had queer 
 tales, some of them saying as he won her at cards, 
 the others, as he carried her off against her will. 
 
 " However it was, she hated him, and yet never 
 tried any of her tricks with him. He had a grim 
 way of chuckling at her, too, if ever she showed a 
 spice of temper, as though he knew that he had 
 the whip-hand of her. One way or another he gen- 
 erally did have the whip-hand. As he got feebler he 
 seemed to feel the need to be cautious with her, doing 
 things that more than once made me think he was 
 afraid of poison. He mostly always managed that it 
 was Isaac or me that took him his food. She thought 
 the world and all of her son then, before she got 
 tired of his meanness and dulness, and of his poor 
 stupid wife; then she lost interest in all save Meg, 
 who, I think, she did care for to the last my 
 poor little Meg whose soul she brought to the same 
 ruin as she did her own." The old woman sighed 
 deeply, and Isabel laid a kindly hand upon her 
 wrinkled one in silent sympathy. 
 
 " God bless your good face," Ellen said, then, 
 with an effort at briskness, " Well, I'm leaving the 
 Grange in the morning, but if you'll write me a 
 line, telling me what you want me to do when I 
 get home, it will find me at 45 Culver Street, Isling- 
 ton, where I'm boarding for a week to buy some 
 bits of duds, as are nowhere cheaper than in Lon- 
 don. And if it's not a liberty, sir," rising as she 
 spoke, " I'd like to shake hands and wish you good 
 luck for the sake of Susan Bauer in old times." 
 
 407
 
 BUBBLES WE BUY 
 
 " My good friend, yes," Gilbert said, " and thank 
 you heartily for your kindliness. I shall write or 
 see you before you sail, and " turning to Isabel 
 "I am sure that this dear lady joins with me in 
 saying that if ever you want a home or friends you 
 will find them with us." 
 
 This first open linking of their names brought a 
 wonderful glow to Isabel's face. 
 
 " Yes, indeed," she said, softly. 
 
 " 'Deed and is that so? " crowed the old woman, 
 jubilantly. " Now may the Lord bless you and 
 give you joy in each other," and the blessing 
 sounded very sweet in their ears. 
 
 When Ellen Sievert had left them, the two stood 
 together before the fire. Isabel was the first to 
 break the silence. 
 
 " Gilbert," she began, in a low voice, " you heard 
 what she said were Margaret's words ' by our 
 two unburied dead to-night, do justice ' ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And you know what her brother wrote to you? " 
 
 " Yes," then suddenly turning and taking her 
 two hands in his, while his voice deepened with 
 feeling : 
 
 " And you have something to ask of me, and 
 I cannot even have the joy of granting your first 
 request, because I have already made up my mind 
 that not one penny of that money shall follow us 
 into our new life. I know that my uncle has no 
 power to disinherit his daughter. Let it all go to 
 make her dark way easier. A woman with ample 
 independent means may be made unhappy enough, 
 but she cannot be utterly crushed. My professor's 
 
 408
 
 14 HOMEWARD BOUND" 
 
 pay is ample for my personal needs, but if I want 
 more I can get it by writing." 
 
 Isabel looked mournful. 
 
 " But you won't refuse to share all that money of 
 mine?" she protested. 
 
 " I won't refuse to share in anything of yours, 
 sweetheart, but you'll let me have my own little 
 hoard for my private fads. And soon it will be 
 ' homeward bound,' with the shadows all behind 
 us. Only we must have a time to ourselves first. 
 Tell me, where shall it be spent, on the Nile? " 
 
 The Nile was agreed on, and it was the follow- 
 ing March before Gilbert Clinch and his wife landed 
 in New York. 
 
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