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A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 $. 3towi 
 
 BY 
 
 BEATRICE WHITBY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE AWAKENING OP MAEY FENWIOR.' 
 
 THE MINERVA PUBLISHING COMPANY, 
 
 48 UNIVERSITY PLACE, 
 NEW YORK, 
 
HENRY M 
 

 A MATTER OF SKILL 
 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " If ladies be but young and fair, 
 They have the gift to know it." 
 
 As You Like It. 
 
 TTPON the uncarpeted floor of a shabbily-furnished 
 ^ bedroom stood a small open trunk, before which 
 knelt a girl who was engaged in packing her few 
 possessions within its narrow dimensions. This 
 task she performed with ostentatious indifference, 
 as though she realized their worthlessness and what 
 sheer waste of time it would be were she to wrap 
 cotton gowns and shady hats in tissue-paper, or to 
 ! expend thought or ingenuity on the arrangement of 
 so scanty a wardrobe. 
 
 Though the room in which she knelt was uncar- 
 peted and not ornamental, it was large, airy, and 
 cheerful. The broad window, through which the 
 summer sunshine streamed, was wide open, and 
 round its casement a Gloire de Dijon rose, in full 
 bloom, trailed its notched leaves and sweet bios- 
 
 514261 
 
4 - # MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 soms. Outside in the garden a linnet was singing, 
 and the air smelled of mignonette and heliotrope. 
 
 All the time the girl was packing she sang to her- 
 self in a light-hearted, nonchalant way, which 
 spoke well for the unshadowed gayety of her mind, j 
 
 These were the words she sang : 
 
 " A man who would woo a fair maid, 
 Should 'prentice himself to the trade, 
 
 And study all day, in methodical way, 
 How to natter, cajole, and persuade. 
 It is purely a matter of skill, 
 Which all may attain if they will, 
 
 But every Jack he should study the knack 
 If he wants to make sure of his Jill !" 
 
 Very soon the trunk was filled and her work 
 done. Then she rose slowly to her feet, and going 
 over to the window she leaned out, still singing — 
 
 " Then a glance may he timid or free, 
 It may vary in mighty degree, 
 
 From an mpudent stare 
 
 To a look of despair, 
 Which no maid without pity can see, 
 And a glance of despair is no guide, 
 It may have its ridiculous side, 
 
 It may draw you a tear, 
 
 Or a hox on the ear, 
 You can never he sure till you've tried." 
 
 She was a tall girl, and she made the most of her 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. § 
 
 height, for she held her head high and moved with 
 much stately dignity, when she was in the humor to 
 to be grand. There was a distinguished air about 
 her which was more remarkable than her beauty, 
 though that, too, was by no means inconsiderable. 
 
 Her eyes were lovely ; gray eyes, which could be 
 deep, or tender, or cold, or mischievous, according to 
 their owner's mood — not her will, for there was 
 nothing artificial about the young lady. Her lips 
 curved with laughter, though they knew the trick 
 of falling into severe lines if their mistress was dis- 
 pleased. The voice with which she sang was clear, 
 refined, and just a little cold. Her complexion was 
 delicate and pale ; her brown hair was curled and 
 coiled and trimly bound to her small head. She 
 was carefully though poorly dressed ; her clothes, 
 however shabby, never suggested that they had 
 been u shoveled on with a pitchfork," were worn to 
 the best advantage. Her old serge gown was brushed 
 into a semblance of smartness ; the collar round her 
 long throat and the Cuffs above her well-bred hands 
 were spotless. A red rose was tucked into the 
 bosom of her gown. 
 
 Her bearing betokened a self-reliance and self- 
 possession which are usually the outcome of con- 
 scious superiority, and though she was neither ag- 
 
6 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 gressively conceited nor inordinately proud, yet she 
 had no mean opinion of her attractions. She had, 
 perhaps, rather an exaggerated idea of the value of 
 the blue blood in her veins, inherited from the old 
 Welsh family of which her mother was a member. 
 
 She was proud of her ancestors, proud of herself 
 altogether, and, what was more, she was a trifle 
 proud of her pride. 
 
 Her father was rector of Meriton, a village in the 
 Midlands. The living was a poor one, and the rec- 
 tor's private income was very small ; the girl Helen, 
 his only child, had been reared in poverty from her 
 cradle. The beautiful things of life which she 
 loved had been denied her ; but with admiring 
 parents, pleasant friends, plenty of genial society, a 
 home which she considered perfection, and in which 
 she reigned as absolute monarch, she had found 
 nothing to desire. Her temper was imperious and ! 
 quick, but where everything was arranged with a 
 view to her pleasure she found little to try it, and 
 had danced through her twenty-one years of life, 
 rejoicing on her way, as happy as a kitten and as 
 light of heart as a child. 
 
 Her first trial had come, " not with womanhood," 
 but with her father's first bachelor curate, who had 
 fallen promptly and desperately in love with her. j 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 7 
 
 Her gray eyes were beautiful but cold; laughter, 
 not love, was to be found in them; she really had 
 no patience with the young man's folly. He was a 
 quiet, unassuming person, and Mrs. Mitford had - 
 vainly tried to persuade her impervious daughter \ 
 to recognize and appreciate his commendable 
 qualities. 
 
 For some time Helen had refused to treat this 
 serious matter seriously. She had continued to 
 walk with the gentleman, to sing to him, to play 
 golf and tennis with him, to make up his mind for 
 him on all subjects, recklessly disregarding conse- 
 quences. 
 
 "Oh, it is only fancy, mother," she had said, 
 when Mrs. Mitford remonstrated. " If I don't take 
 any notice of it, it will blow over." 
 
 "Will it?" her mother groaned, shaking her 
 head. "I hope it may, but these things sometimes 
 blow into flame instead of blowing over." 
 
 Mrs. Mitford was right. Driven to desperation 
 by the girl's behavior, her lover had refused to be 
 silenced, and for once so far asserted himself as to 
 demand an interview with her father, and an ex- 
 planation with herself. For many days, by a thou- 
 sand ruses, she had managed to postpone it, but it 
 came at last. 
 
g A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 The interview had been solemn, and the expla* 
 nation so passionate and prolonged that Helen had 
 been frightened and agitated into angry, resent - 
 ! ment. She had been most disagreeable and repel - 
 j lant, and he, stung by her coldness, had reproached 
 her with vehemence. It had been very dreadful, 
 and she had felt extremely ashamed of herself. 
 
 For one long day after this scene Helen had been 
 subdued, and went about the house and garden at 
 a slow walk, neither singing nor smiling. She had 
 discovered that some feelings, faculties, emotions 
 were abroad in the world of which she knew 
 nothing, and the approach of which she should be 
 most particularly careful to shun. 
 
 Upon the following morning, by what Helen 
 welcomed as a lucky turn of Fortune's wheel, she had 
 received an invitation to pay Mr. Mitford's maiden 
 sister a visit, at a village on the North Devonshire 
 coast. Such an invitation had been proffered 
 yearly, hitherto Helen had expressed no wish to ac- 
 cept it, but now she had changed her mind. 
 
 As soon as she had finished reading her aunt's 
 letter, she tossed it across the breakfast-table to 
 her mother, saying — 
 
 "Here is Aunt Elizabeth's annual invitation, 
 mother; will you read it ? She is such a dear old 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 9 
 
 thing, and she really wants me. The new people— 
 those dreadful Jones'— are going to give a ball this 
 month; she says Mrs. Majoribanks would take me. 
 I think, no, I am sure, I should like to go." 
 
 Mrs. Mitford, who had never arranged a plan in 
 her life, but who had, with peaceful success, al- 
 lowed herself to be guided by any who cared to 
 exert themselves to think for her, obediently pe- 
 rused the letter. 
 
 Helen and her mother possessed dispositions 
 directly antithetical each to the other, but in com- 
 mon they owned one trait — each adored the other 
 with that open, perfect, self-sacrificing, blind love 
 which seems out of fashion nowadays between 
 mother and daughter, but which creates* an other- 
 wise unattainable happiness in home life. 
 
 Mrs. Mitford possessed the still comely remains 
 of beauty, but with her, as with Helen, an inde- 
 ] scribable air of good breeding was the predominat- 
 1 ing characteristic of her appearance. In common, 
 too, they owned finely -molded features, small heads 
 held high, tall and graceful figures. But the elder 
 lady's face was mildly dignified; her lips were never 
 compressed by sudden anger nor curved with pride, 
 neither did they break into wide laughter nor 
 ripple with wicked smiles, as did her daughter's. 
 
lb A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 The mother was an optimist; she took life easily 
 and good-humoredly, so she was good and cheerful 
 company both to herself and her neighbors. 
 
 When she had finished reading her sister-in-law's 
 letter, she laid it down by the side of her coffee-cup 
 and looked up, rather wistfully, at Helen. 
 
 "Did you say that you would like to go to Devon- 
 shire, dear ? " 
 
 "Yes, mother. You see, Aunt Elizabeth says 
 she will pay my journey, so there is really no reason 
 why I should not go." 
 
 "Certainly not, dear. You shall do as you wish. 
 Henry"— addressing the Rector—" Henry, Helen is 
 going down to Noelcombe to stay with Elizabeth." 
 The Rector was reading the Morning Post. He 
 lowered it, and looked rather absently at his wife. 
 " I am very glad to hear it," he said. " The sea 
 is delightful at this time of year, and Elizabeth's 
 carnations will be in full bloom. I shall be curious 
 to hear whether the primrose variety has deterior- 
 ated; don't forget to let me know, Helen." 
 
 Mr. Mitford was a good clergyman, and he was 
 also a zealous gardener. He was of an indolent, 
 easy-going temperament. The milk of human kind- 
 ness abounded in his kind heart; he was much loved 
 by his parishioners, and if he did little good, at least 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL, it 
 
 he did no harm. He lived a contented, happy, un- 
 ambitious life, and of the many perfections of a 
 charming world he considered Mrs. and Miss Mit- 
 ford the masterpieces. [ 
 
 • The Rector returned to his paper, and Helen ate; 
 her breakfast deliberatively and in silence. 
 
 "I shall start the day after to-morrow, mother," 
 she presently announced, having assured herself 
 that such was her feasible desire, "for I really must 
 get away from Mr. Flight. Now don't look severe. 
 It. is for his own sake I am going — partly, you 
 know. I am sure he will be glad when I am gone, 
 though he mayn't think so just at first. In this 
 place I meet him at every corner ; and on Sunday, 
 when he preaches about the sorrows of life, he looks 
 at me, and it is so horrid." 
 
 "My dear, my dear, you must not be heartless. 
 Poor Mr. Flight ! " 
 
 "That's just what he is, mother — he is poor. . I 
 don't mean penniless, you know, because he is ^ 
 pretty well off. I mean poor-spirited ; he has no 
 pride. Pshaw. Think of wishing to marry a per- 
 son who doesn't like you ! Think of not only wish- 
 ing it, but talking about the wish ! " There was a 
 fine scorn in her voice. " It is contemptible, in- 
 sufferable, despicable ! " 
 
12 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 Mrs. Mitford never excited herself to argue— 
 seldom to give an opinion— but now she spoke with 
 decision. 
 
 " Mr. Flight is a nice young man, Helen — quite 
 nice. You should have believed me ; I warned 
 you. I have such experience and foresight as you 
 will some day acquire, no doubt, though you are 
 long about it. In this quiet place, where there is 
 little to distract a gentleman, I do not see how he 
 could well have avoided falling in love with you." 
 The disdain of Helen's face perplexed her mother. 
 "It is no offense on his part ; it is the greatest com- 
 pliment he could pay you, dear. You have no right 
 to despise him for it." 
 
 "But mother, he is so ridiculous or so tiresome. 
 I laugh or I get angry— I can't help it." 
 
 Mrs. Mitford sighed. 
 
 "My dear," she said "you will be an old maid, 
 and when it is too late you will be sorry." 
 
 No girl likes that dismal epithet, "an old maid," 
 applied to her, even in joke. Mrs. Mitford was in 
 earnest, and Helen grew grave. 
 
 "I shall marry," she said, "some day — not too 
 soon. I love pretty clothes and pretty things about 
 me, and therefore I love the money that buys them, 
 and therefore I shan't marry a poor man. When 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 13 
 
 I fall in love" — with distinct disrelish of the pros- 
 pect — "I shall take care to fix on a rich man — a 
 Croesus — so as to combine prudence with passion, 
 mother, and make a good match." 
 
 Mrs. Mitford nodded. 
 
 "Well, my dear, if you do it will be very wise 
 of you. When I was young, girls were not so pru- 
 dent as they are at present. When your father 
 suggested our marriage, I agreed without casting a 
 thought to his income. I was never a practical 
 woman, I — " 
 
 "No," broke in the Kector, startling his wife and 
 daughter, in whose conversation he never joined 
 until his paper had been read from end to end ; 
 "thank my stars, you were not a practical woman, 
 Honora. You were a tender-hearted, sweet girl, 
 such as I should like to see that silly girl there, who 
 thinks her airs and graces very smart at present, 
 but who will find them poor and cold company be- 
 fore long, ]et me tell you. Don't pride yourself on 
 your obduracy, Nell. A yielding disposition is a 
 charming and womanly attribute. " 
 
 "Father, that's a dull paper," said his daughter, 
 smiling rather deprecatingly, "or you would not put 
 it down to scold me ; if I am made of brick instead 
 of gutta-percha, it isn't my fault. It is all Mr. 
 
14 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 Flight's fault for finding it out. I owe him ten 
 thousand grudges. I shall have to say f yes,' that 
 is the only effectual way I know of paying him 
 out." 
 
 "Do not worry yourself about her, Henry," said 
 his wife with a calm and superior smile, ' 'when the 
 right man comes she will be, like the rest of her 
 sisterhood, only too ready to leave her home and 
 her people." 
 
 "Then I hope the right man will be rich," said 
 the girl, making a grimace, " excessively and ab- 
 normally rich, for I shall want a very big bribe to 
 console me for leaving home." 
 
 That conversation had taken place on Monday 
 morning ; on Wednesday Miss Mitf ord had packed 
 her small trunk in the manner already described. 
 Upon that afternoon she was to travel to Noel- 
 combe, where she had undertaken to spend a long 
 month away from her home and in company with 
 Miss Elizabeth Mitford. 
 
 It was not until she had collected her possessions 
 and looked at them critically, that she realized how 
 scanty and worthless they were. Poverty was a 
 disadvantage. Helen owned a slender foot — an 
 arched instep, and perfect ankle — the form of which 
 was disguised in a country-built boot. Helen owned 
 
A MATTEL OF SKILL. 15 
 
 a skin fair and delicate as the petals of a La France 
 rosebud, but she might not wear a white gown be- 
 cause the cost of washing was a consideration. 
 Helen had received an invitation to a ball, but was 
 it a thing to be desired when her one ball dress 
 was draggled, limp, soiled, and would be shamed 
 by a dive into smart company, where it must brave 
 comparison with creations from the brain of a M. 
 Worth or a Kate Reilly ? Poverty at home sits 
 lightly on our shoulder, we hardly feel his weight, 
 but when we introduce him to new scenes and rich 
 neighbors, change of air increases his bulk and he 
 becomes a burdensome and oppressive comrade. 
 
 Helen looked down upon her trunk and in her 
 heart of hearts she thought, " Some day I will have 
 a box such ab porters tremble to see ; its size shall 
 be gigantic, c ! it shall be full to overflowing, for I 
 will marry a rich man who will fill it for me from 
 his coffers ! " 
 
 But the mercenary intentions of this young woman 
 did not interfere with the sweet lilting of her song, 
 she was still singing — 
 
 " It is purely a matter of skill, 
 Which all may attain if they will, 
 But every Jack he should study the knack 
 If he wants to make sure of his Jill." 
 
io A MATTER OF SKILL, 
 
 when the door opened, and with slow stately step 
 and mild face, lined with an unusual anxiety, her 
 mother entered the room. She looked at Helen 
 with some trepidation; she was conscious of being! 
 the bearer of an unwelcome message. She was not! 
 in the least bit afraid of her impetuous daughter's 
 anger, but she was afraid of causing any living soul 
 one pang, nay, one prick even, of unnecessary 
 pain. Helen could read her mother's face per- 
 fectly, she saw at once that there was something 
 the matter. She stopped singing and began to 
 question her. 
 
 "Mother," she said, "you have ^ en tc 
 
 order the fly again, I know you h&rv fon 
 
 have come to break the news tc , n( * be for- 
 given." f 
 
 "Nay, Helen, the fly will be he / an hour's 
 time. I ordered it at two o'clock. " 
 
 " Then what is the matter ? Your f is a * long ] 
 as a sermon." ' 
 
 "There is nothing the matter; bu - 1 ha • * brought 
 you a message. Poor Mr. Flight- 
 Helen stamped her foot upon the ound. 
 "Poor Mr. Flight," she broke Aut, with a world 
 of emphasis on the adjective. "I won't 3ar his^ 
 name, mother, I shall put my fingers in my ears 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 17 
 
 and run down into the garden if you mention him 
 again, I will, indeed." 
 
 ( ' That is just where I wish you to run, my dear. 
 The poor man is in the kitchen garden and I have 
 promised him that you shall go to him just to bid 
 him good-by." 
 
 An angry color, red as the rose at her bosom, suf> 
 fused the girl's fair cheeks ; up went her little head 
 in the air, her lips curved superciliously. 
 
 " Helen, dear, don't be disagreeable," her mother 
 went on, soothingly, "you don't know what suffer- 
 ing such feeb'^gs entail, and the ignorance does not 
 reaotmd > '-ny way to your credit. Kemember 
 wh£t,7 > 'er told you at breakfast the other 
 morning. i> be hard and don't pride yourself 
 on your obd ;: ." 
 
 "Mother'' mnly — "if ever I am so unfor- 
 
 tunate as tc 1 y in love, I hope and pray, no, more, 
 I swear, tto 10 one shall know it. I shall have 
 sufficient ^ aspect to keep my feelings to myself 
 and not tra] $xem through dust and mire, so that 
 any one who » " *o glance my way can see them." 
 
 "When yua ^ ^ as other women feel you will do 
 as women do, ft we. Now, dear, don't keep poor 
 Mr. Fligh vaiting. It isn't probable that you will 
 ever see him again after to-day. He only asked 
 
1 8 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 leave to speak to you for one moment, and I could 
 not refuse him such a small request. You have 
 caused him a great deal of pain hitherto. Why not 
 wish him good -by kindly ? soothe his wounded 
 vanity by a few gracious words, they can do you no 
 harm." 
 
 ' ' Oh, mother, you are as soft as the dove, but not 
 so wise as the serpent," said the girl, shaking her 
 head and laughing. " It will be just as unpleasant 
 for him, no matter how nicely I put it. It's a nasty, 
 dangerous order of yours; if I am different he won't 
 understand, and I shall have the whole business to 
 go through again. Then I shall miss my train — to 
 say nothing of losing my temper." 
 
 " You are heartless and unfeeling, Helen," said 
 Mrs. Mitford, severely. "I am sure you don't in- 
 herit those faults from either your father or myself. 
 Henry was a susceptible young man, and he was, 
 by no means, my first lover." 
 
 "Then why do you want me to marry my first 
 lover, mother ? You didn't, and it's such a poor- 
 spirited, mean sort of thing to do." 
 
 "Don't dawdle in this way, Helen, the delay 
 tries poor Mr. Flight and does you no good. Go 
 down, go down now, you will find him between 
 the raspberries and the Jerusalem artichokes," 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 19 
 
 Then Hel^n, to her mother's amazement, changed 
 her tone. She defended herself against the charge 
 of obduracy with vehemence; she declared finally 
 that her indifference to Mr. Flight was no sign of 
 want of heart. Then, in a stormy frame of mind, 
 she went to the looking-glass and smoothed her 
 nut-brown hair, and stared resentfully at her 
 beautiful face, until, with sulky dignity, she at 
 length obeyed her mother, and set off to keep this 
 distasteful tryst. 
 
20 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 " Experience does take dreadfully high school wages, 
 But he teaches like no other." 
 
 Caelyle. 
 
 '"THE Rectory kitchen garden was untidy — not; 
 hopelessly untidy, but somewhat neglected. 
 Poor people's gardens are seldom in apple-pie order. 
 Perhaps that is the reason why poor people's 
 flowers flourish more luxuriantly than their better <- 
 tended brethren which are reared under the care of 
 pruning, raking, prof essional gardeners. Let-alone 
 flowers, like let-alone children, are so much more 
 true to Nature — to the Divine Hand whence they 
 come than are the trained and cultivated speci- 
 mens. 
 
 Up and down a moss-grown gravel path, whic-h 
 intersected a row of ragged raspberry bushes on the 
 one hand and a waving sea of artichoke sticks upon 
 the other, a young man paced hurriedly. His 
 handsome features were glum, and gloomy of ex- 
 pression; his mouth was weak and womanly. He 
 hung his head and gazed upon the ground. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 2t 
 
 This was poor Mr. Flight, toward whom at this 
 moment Miss Helen Mitford was slowly wending 
 her way. Her heart beat unusually quickly as 
 she approached ; but, alas for him ! it beat with an 
 embarrassed anger — not for love. She was indig- 
 nant at, and intolerant of, her lover's obstinate and 
 importunate affection, and yet she schooled herself 
 to patience. She would remember her parents' re- 
 marks, and endeavor to treat this distasteful pas- 
 sion with leniency, if not respect. 
 
 When he heard her step he turned to meet her, 
 holding out his hands. She halted abruptly when 
 he did so, put her hands behind her, standing in an 
 attitude unmistakably on the defensive. She 
 looked very cold, very unapproachable, and not at 
 all a young lady whom it would be easy to coerce; 
 but withal she looked so beautiful that poor Mr. 
 Flight grew desperate. 
 
 " Helen," he cried, " Helen, you did not mean 
 what you said ? You could not be so cruel. You 
 will not wantonly break my heart ? You have 
 come to tell me that you have changed your 
 mind?" 
 
 "I never change my mind — at least, not with- 
 out a reason. I came because my mother said she 
 had promised you that I should come." 
 
22 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 Neither her words nor her face were encouraging, 
 and he knew it. 
 
 "Never — never change! There is no such a 
 word as ( never' to me," he told her, mournfully, I 
 shall continue to hope — I can not give up hope. 
 You are not heartless. I know you are not. I 
 shall wait. I will not despair. Why should I ? 
 For you know that winter does not last forever. 
 If I wait spring will come." 
 
 She did not follow this meaning; she looked 
 puzzled, and did not speak. Silence on her part 
 was unusual, and he thought it augured well for 
 him. 
 
 " I am in no hurry, Helen. I will be patient — I 
 can hope on. You have only known me six 
 month«; I was foolish to expect too much. You 
 shall see more of me, much more, and then, per- 
 haps, you may grow to like me. Don't shake your 
 head. What is it that you dislike in me ? Tell 
 'me what pleases you, and I will endeavor — " 
 
 "Oh, don't," she interrupted; "don't say all 
 those things over again — it is of no use. I have 
 told you so a dozen times. I don't dislike you. 
 Why should I?" 
 
 " If you don't dislike me, why not like me ? " 
 
 " I tell you that I do like you" — impatiently. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL 23 
 
 " Then marry me." 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Helen, look here. You don't dislike me — you 
 mean to be married some day. I have got a fair in- 
 come, a good temper. I love you dearly, and I will 
 give you your own way in everything." 
 
 She stamped her foot on the ground and said : 
 
 " G-ood-by, Mr. Flight. I start at two. I can 
 not wait here another instant." 
 
 " Helen, listen a moment. I shall not give up 
 hope. I shall come again. I shall be patient. 
 You will not be so cruel as to refuse me hope — it is 
 such a little thing to ask, Helen, your father 
 wishes me to leave this place, to go forever. I 
 shall go, but I shall follow you to Noelcombe. I 
 shall come to see you, I must see you again. I can 
 not bear to be away from you. May I come % — will 
 you speak to me ?" 
 
 " Noelcombe doesn't belong to me," said Miss 
 Mitford, petulantly. " If you choose to come there 
 I can't help it. Good-by." 
 
 " Then, If I come, you will speak to me ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, yes, yes. Good-by." 
 
 " Won't you shake hands ?" 
 
 Then Helen, much relieved at the thought of the 
 approaching parting, and prompted by the memory 
 
H A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 of her mother's suggestion, looked up with a smile 
 into her lover's gloomy eyes and laid her cool, 
 slender hand in his. 
 
 " Good-by," she said, with a sudden access of cor- 
 dial friendliness in her clear voice ; " good-by, Mr. 
 Flight. I am so sorry I have been such a nuisance 
 to you, but if it hadn't been me it would have been 
 someone else, probably." 
 
 And so saying, she wrenched her hand from his 
 hold, and, turning her back upon him, she rapidly 
 disappeared down the gravel path and entered the 
 house. 
 
 i " Mother," she said with a rueful smile, when 
 that lady accosted her at the garden door, " I have 
 done as you wished. I have been so kind to Mr. 
 Might that he is coming down to Noelcombe to see 
 me. He says I must see more, much more of him, 
 and that then it will be all right. Oh, mother, why 
 were you so foolish as to make me meet him again ? 
 — why didn't you let well alone ? Bother ! I have 
 dropped that lovely red rose, and of course'he picked 
 it up. Before a week is over he will have persuaded 
 himself that I gave it to him — I know him so 
 well." 
 
 ' Mrs. Mitford did not return Helen's smile. This 
 latest piece of intelligence was perplexing. Per* 
 
A MATTEX OF SKILL. t% 
 
 haps her own judgment had erred on the side of 
 kindness. If Mr. Flight fancied himself encouraged 
 by this short interview, there would probably be a 
 repetition of those trying scenes which had annoyed 
 the Rector, vexed herself, maddened her daughter, 
 and saddened the lover. 
 
 Somewhat grave, and in silence, she aided in put- 
 ting the finishing touches to Helen's packing, ac- 
 companied her in the fly to the station, and saw 
 her safely ensconced in the corner of an over- 
 crowded and very hot third-class carriage. 
 
 This traveling third-class was a trial to the com- 
 fort-loving, proud girl. Poverty at home, where 
 her position was assured, where every one knew 
 that her pedigree was unimpeachable and that her 
 own and her parents' friends ranked high in the 
 neighborhood, was poverty stingless and bearable. 
 She never thought or openly grumbling at the 
 necessity of this economy, but to her mind the pos- 
 session of a third-class ticket seemed a proclama- 
 tion of penury — a humiliating testimony that 
 stamped her a pauper. 
 
 A railway journey was an infliction under such 
 circumstances. How high she held her head, how 
 closely her lips closed, how very stately her bear- 
 ing throughout the ordeal ! Woe to the porter who 
 
2 5 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 hustled her along ?— woe to the loquacious commer- 
 cial traveler who addressed her familiarly ! To 
 navies, market-women— however big their baskets 
 or however troublesome their children— and such 
 folk she was sweet and gracious ; from the other 
 classes of society she held herself aloof. 
 
 "There are a great many people traveling to-day, 
 Helen," Mrs. Mitford remarked, coming up to the 
 carriage window at the last moment. "The sta- 
 tion master says the train is overcrowded : there are 
 
 the races at to-morrow. If I had known it 
 
 before, you should have waited until the end of the 
 week. Good-by, dear. Don't forget you change 
 at Exeter. Your purse is in your bag. Write to- 
 night. Good-by— good-by !" 
 
 With mighty puffs and hissing pants the train 
 moved slowly out of the hot station, and Miss Mit- 
 ford's penance began. How bitter that penance 
 would prove, she was fortunately unconscious, but ( 
 even the start was sufficiently distasteful. 
 
 Nine different persons lolling in nine different 
 attitudes overfilled the narrow carriage upon which 
 a July sun streamed from a cloudless sky ; the at- 
 mosphere therein was hot with a heavy, fiery heat, 
 which was insufferable. Through the open win- 
 dow a stifling showers of dust, sand, and blacks, 
 
A Matter of skill. tj 
 
 that powdered the faces and clothes of the trav- 
 elers. 
 
 It was too hot for Helen to read or doze, or watch 
 the dazzling landscape reeling past; her companions 
 were not of prepossessing appearance, but from 
 beneath the shadow of her broad-brimmed hat she 
 investigated them. Beside her sat a lean man, 
 whose garb proclaimed him a dissenting minister, 
 and whose fixed and benignant smile declared him 
 to be impervious alike to the discomforts of the 
 weather and to the inferiority of his fellows. A 
 smart young woman in a green beige gown, and 
 wearing a large cotton- velvet hat, from which long 
 feathers, dank and curlless from the heat, trailed 
 spiritlessly, sat in the corner opposite Helen. She 
 held Modern Society, that paper dear to the serv- 
 ants' hall, in her soiled, gloveless hands ; but she 
 was not reading, she was half- asleep; now and again 
 she opened her eyes and glanced with a swift, keen 
 glance at Miss Mitford. Beyond this girl a spruce 
 man, very neat and trim, leaned languidly against 
 the unyielding cushions at his back in an attitude 
 which was probable an exact imitation of his mas- 
 ter's. He was a servant, Helen decided — a gentle- 
 man's gentleman — a valet. The remainder of the 
 company belonged to that unattractive portion of 
 
28 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 humanity, the third-class racing man, whose per- 
 sonal appearance, let us charitably conclude, is the 
 worst part of him, for the task of finding a step 
 balks the imagination. 
 1 The intense heat was so enervating, the glare was 
 so intolerable, that Helen soon lay back in her cor- 
 ner of the carriage and, covering her aching eyes 
 with her hand, abandoned herself to a don't-care 
 lassitude, which took interest in no one or nothing. 
 The train by which she was traveling was express ; 
 
 it would stop only at , where the races were to 
 
 be held, and at Exeter, at which place she had to 
 change both train and platform. Helen was usually 
 an anxious traveler, but that day she was conscious 
 only of the melting atmosphere and her own smart- 
 ing eyelids and many discomforts. 
 
 Once or twice Helen uncovered her eyes to draw 
 out her watch, but, after glancing at it, with an 
 j impatient sigh, she replaced it in her belt, depressed 
 ' at finding how slowly the lagging time crept past. 
 This watch of hers was a cherished possession ; on 
 her twentieth birthday it had been given her by a 
 rich and favorite uncle, and it was the only piece of 
 valuable jewelry she owned. It was an enameled 
 hunter, small, and of exquisite workmanship ; her 
 initials, H. M. ; were traced in diamonds upon the 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. »9 
 
 case. The eyes, both of the spruce man and of the 
 tawdy young woman, were caught by the glitter of 
 the brilliants, and each looked with some renewed 
 curiosity at its owner. 
 
 The dust, the glare, the intolerable heat, became , 
 each moment more unendurable; it was a vast relief 
 to leave the dazzling sunshine and rush, though 
 only for three minutes, into a dark and compara- 
 tively cool tunnel. Helen's eyes were still shielded 
 by her hand, and she was leaning back in her 
 corner. 
 
 "Allow me to pull up the window, Miss," 
 said the lean man, getting up as he spoke to 
 fulfill his suggestion, "for the smoke is something 
 hawful." 
 
 " Thank you," said she, shrinking as far as pos- 
 sible from the speaker. 
 
 " It is a warm day," the smart young lady oppo- 
 site remarked, mincingly. 
 
 "I call it 'ot," said the dissenting minister, still 
 busy with the window. 
 
 ' ' You have knocked the paper out of my hand, 
 sir," remonstrated the smart young lady, with in- 
 dignation. " I should be obliged if you would be a 
 little more careful." 
 
 " No offense ; if I knocked it down I'll pick it up. 
 
30 A MATTER OF SKILL, 
 
 No damage done and no time wasted, for you can't 
 see to read in the dark." 
 
 The tone of the discussion was pugnacious; Helen 
 was alarmed lest the difference might lead to a 
 quarrel ; such a quarrel would be most unpleasant. 
 Hot as she had been before, she grew still hotter at 
 this prospect. But her fears were groundless, 
 though there was some excitement as the two com- 
 batants stooped at the same moment — their heads 
 consequently coming in sharp contact — to pick up 
 Modem Society. Neither lost their temper; on the 
 contrary, they first apologized and then laughed 
 with praiseworthy amiability. 
 
 Just after this occurrence the train slackened 
 speed, and after emerging from the tunnel drew up 
 
 alongside the platform of , where the racing 
 
 men, the dissenting minister, and the smart young 
 lady presently alighted, leaving Helen and the gen- 
 tleman's gentleman sole occupants of the carriage. 
 
 Helen drew a long sigh of relief as they departed, 
 even though she thought it probable that the man 
 with whom she was now alone would prove either 
 a drunkard, or a lunatic, or, at the best, a hypnotist. 
 She surveyed him furtively from beneath her lashes; 
 he did not look very dangerous, and as he soon 
 moved to the corner of the compartment most dis- 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 31 
 
 tant from her, put his feet on the opposite seat, took 
 off his hat and opened a thin pinkish paper, in the 
 perusal of which he was speedily engrossed, she 
 
 I gradually composed her nerves. 
 Indeed he was so motionless, he yawned so sane- 
 ly, and was altogether such a reassuring com- 
 panion, that she shortly forgot both her fears and 
 his presence, and with her head bolstered against 
 the uneasy cushion behind her, with her chin up- 
 tilted, with her weary body swaying at each motion 
 of the carriage, she was rocked by degrees into a 
 deep, dreamless slumber. The sun poured on her 
 pale face from which the heat had sucked all 
 vestige of color, her long lashes swept the delicate 
 curve of her cheeks, her slim hands, ringless, bare, 
 and very white, lay clasped upon her lap. 
 
 Once or twice the man lowered the pinkish paper 
 to his knee, and turned his shrewd eyes inquisi- 
 tively upon her. He was a discriminating and ob- 
 servant person, and he was puzzled how to allot 
 this ' ' sleeping beauty " her right place in the social 
 scale. She was too spirited and self-reliant for a 
 governess, and she was too poorly clad to be a gen- 
 uine West-ender traveling thus humbly by way of 
 novelty, and yet his educated eyes recognized her 
 p& a lady bred and born. 
 
32 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 The express had entered among the wooded vales 
 and gentle hills of South Devonshire, before Helen, 
 with a sudden start, awoke. A piercing whistle 
 had aroused her. She sat upright, set her hat 
 straight, passed her hands carefully over her ruffled 
 hair, adjusted her collar and cuffs, and yawned. 
 Her unobtrusive companion was still reading his 
 paper, and did not look up. 
 
 The fiery sun still streamed down on the melting 
 country, the burning air was stifling, clouds of 
 fine dust floated in the track of the train. 
 
 Wondering how long a space of time she had 
 cheated from this purgatory in sleep, Helen put her 
 hot hand down to her belt and felt for her watch. 
 It was not there ! Dangling from a button of her 
 bodice hung her short watch chain, but though the 
 swivel of the chain was unbroken, the watch was 
 no longer attached to it ; while she had slept it had, 
 it must have become, unfastened. It was the first j 
 time such an accident had happened. \ 
 
 Startled at this discovery she began to search 
 hurriedly, with eager finger, behind her waist-belt 
 for the missing treasure, but she searched in vain. 
 No watch was there. Then, as a last hope, she un- 
 buckled her belt, took it off, shook it violently, as 
 though she fancied that the watch might, by a 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. $$ 
 
 superb conjuring trick, have been concealed in the 
 leather, and cried, in a tragic voice of despair — 
 
 "It has gone !" 
 
 Meanwhile, unobserved, by the preoccupied girl, 
 the train had stopped, the whistle which had, 
 awakened her, had heralded the vicinity of Exeter. 
 
 Cries of "Tickets ready !" were now to be heard 
 approaching; but Helen heard nothing. 
 
 "Have you lost anything, ma'am?" the shrewd- 
 faced man inquired, with respectful interest. 
 
 "My watch," she answered breathlessly. "I 
 looked at it just now — I had it in the carriage here 
 — it has gone ! " 
 
 Eising to her feet she shook her serge skirt, she 
 stooped to look under the seats, she minutely ex- 
 amined the cracks of the dust-strewed, dirty floor, 
 she peered into possible and impossible places, but 
 she did not find her watch. Her companion assist- 
 ed in the search. As they were thus engaged, the j 
 door was opened, and a porter, hot, and consequent- \ 
 ly cross, demanded "Tickets" gruffly. 
 
 Helen's little traveling-bag lay on the seat, she 
 took it up — it was already open — and looked into it. 
 It was empty, her purse had gone ! In stunned 
 amazement she stared, speechless, at the ticket col- 
 lector. 
 
34 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 "Look sharp, Miss," he said, imperiously, to 
 this dawdling third-class passenger, who seemed to 
 consider his time of no more value than her own. 
 Neith3r his tone nor her discovery tended to soothe 
 Miss Mitford's feelings. The purse containing her 
 ticket was gone, she had placed in her bag, which 
 she had carefully shut. The bag was wide open 
 now and empty. Her cherished watch, all her 
 money, and her ticket, were alike lost. Here was 
 an overwhelming calamity ! 
 
 The short familiar tones of the porter braced her 
 courage hy rousing her indignation ; if she had not 
 been annoyed, it was possible that these misfor- 
 tunes, combined with the overpowering heat of the 
 day, might have affected her to tears. As it was 
 she held out the open and empty bag toward the 
 porter with tragic dignity. 
 
 " My purse was in this bag when I left Meriton 
 Station," she said, with dismay in her voice, " and," 
 touching the dangling watch-chain, " my watch was 
 fastened firmly to this chain. Both my purse and 
 my watch are gone; I have lost them both, but how, 
 or where, or when, I have not the slightest idea." 
 
 "Stolen," said the porter, shortly. 
 
 Helen looked thunderstruck, and the shrewd- 
 eyed man nodded like a Mandarin. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 35 
 
 " The young lady was wearing a very handsome 
 watch set with brilliants," he volunteered, address- 
 ing the porter. "It was an enameled hunter as far 
 as I could see from where I sat in the carriage. She 
 took it out and looked at it more than once before 
 we reached " 
 
 "Do you know the lady?" inquired the porter, 
 looking hard at the man. " Are you acquainted ? 
 Is she a friend of yours ?" 
 
 "I have never seen the young lady in my life 
 until to-day. I was in the train when she got in at 
 Meriton." 
 
 Then the porter leaned out of the carriage and 
 called loudly for "Bill," who, in the shape of another 
 porter, presently arrived, accompanied by the guard 
 and a policeman, by whom Helen was questioned 
 closely, and by whom her companion was keenly 
 scrutinized. The train which had halted outside 
 the station in order that the tickets might be col- 
 lected, now proceeded into St. David's station, the 
 policeman and "Bill " remaining in the carriage, the 
 former still cross-examining Miss Mitf ord and keep- 
 ing a watchful eye on the man. Helen told her 
 short story concisely ; she was not the kind of 
 woman who outwardly loses her head or grows 
 confused in an unpleasant emergency ; though, in 
 
36 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 truth, she was frightened and miserable at heart, 
 she preserved a dignity of manner calculated to 
 freeze her interrogators. 
 
 When the train drew up alongside the crowded 
 Exeter platform, the man with whom Helen had j 
 traveled collected his belongings and was about to 
 leave the carriage, had not the policeman inter- 
 posed, civilly enough, but decidedly. 
 
 "I am sorry, sir, but we shall want to speak to 
 you. The circumstances are not altogether satis- 
 factory, I'm afraid. Before reaching this lady 
 
 looked at her watch, it was safe then. She falls 
 
 asleep almost immediately on leaving , you 
 
 were alone in the carriage with her ; when she 
 awakes the watch is gone, likewise the purse. The 
 circumstances, as you'll allow, are not satisfac" 
 tory, and it is my duty to sift them to the bot- 
 tom." 
 
 The man turned first red and then very pale. 
 
 "Then you suspect me of stealing?" he de- ; 
 manded, and the dismay in his voice touched Helen ; 
 she turned her gray eyes compassionately upon 
 him. 
 
 "I am quite sure he did not do it," she said, 
 quickly, addressing the policeman. 
 
 "Thank you, ma'am," said the man. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. tf 
 
 u What reason have you for saying that Miss V 
 inquired the policeman, sternly. 
 
 "I can see he is an honest man," Helen answered; 
 her feminine logic was not convincing. 
 
 " She had none other than a woman's reason, 
 She thought him so, because she thought him so." 
 
 The policeman smiled grimly. 
 
 u He will have to prove himself an honest man 
 by turning out his pockets for one thing, and giving 
 a satisfactory account of himself for another. Will 
 you kindly oblige me with your name, sir, your 
 business, and your destination ?" 
 
 " No difficulty about the one or the other. My 
 name is Smithers, William Smithers, native of Bar- 
 ford, county of Warwick. I'm a gentleman's serv- 
 ant, valet to Mr. Albert Jones, who is traveling in 
 a first-class smoking- compartment in the front part 
 • of this train. We are on our way to Newton Hall, 
 Noelcombe, North Devon, the seat of Sir Adolphus 
 Jones, Knight — father to my master." 
 
 The policeman listened to this explanation atten- 
 tively, then turned with a wise and skeptical smile 
 to Bill. 
 
 u We must find this Mr. Albert Joues, Bill," he 
 said. 
 
$8 A MATTER OF SKttL. 
 
 At that moment there hurried past the carriage 
 window, a tall good-looking young man whose face 
 was wrinkled with a frown, and who scanned the 
 crowd upon the platform in evident and impatient 
 search for some one whose duty it was to be found. 
 
 ' s That is my master," cried Mr. Smithers, with 
 a note of triumph in his voice. 
 
 " Ask the gentleman to step here a moment," said 
 the policeman, addressing "Bill." 
 
 "I must get out," Helen said, desperately. "I 
 have to change trains here, I can not wait." 
 
 u We must settle up this matter, before you go, 
 Miss." 
 
 "Then we must settle it outside, on the platform. 
 I can not stay here." 
 
 As she spoke, "Bill," accompanied by the gentle- 
 man, reached the door, which stood open. This Mr. 
 Albert Jones was of prepossessing appearance. He 
 was a handsome, prosperous, genial, young man. 
 His easy temper was very seldom ruffled, indeed a 
 less contented man than he could have found little 
 to grumble at in his smooth and golden path. But 
 just now he looked hot and irritated, and he spoke 
 angrily. 
 
 "What on earth is all this about, Smithers"? 
 Why on earth will you travel third when I pay for 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 39 
 
 your second-class ticket ? You are so infernally 
 economical that you deserve to be locked up V 
 Then catching sight of Helen's figure from behind 
 the policeman, whither she had withdrawn on his - 
 approach, he went on with charitable interest and [ 
 some condescension. "If that is the person who 
 fancies Smithers has got her purse, I can assure her 
 that she's mistaken. Smithers don't rob me so I 
 am sure he would not rob her. But if she can't get 
 home without a ticket, I hope she will allow me to 
 provide her with any money she may want.' 1 
 
 This open-handed generosity, this convenient 
 suggestion should surely have been received with 
 gratitude and thanks, but exasperated, robbed, 
 proud Helen chose to be offended. With the mein 
 of an affronted princess she pushed her way past 
 the policeman and answered this overbearing gen- 
 tleman with extraordinary dignity and coldness. 
 
 " I did not think that your man had stolen my 
 things. I knew he had not. And I want nothing 
 but to be allowed to leave the carriage. Would you 
 kindly let me pass ?" 
 
40 A MATTM OF SKILL; 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Whose humble means watch not 
 
 His haughty spirit." kespeaee. 
 
 1WTISS Mitford's voice, face and manner wei • 
 *"* unexpected as to be a little startling. But the 
 young man instantly stood aside and raised his hat 
 with an ingratiating smile. He smiled, not because 
 he found her manner amusing, but because it was 
 his habit to smile whei nceraed. 
 
 They were always so gracious to him that he 
 
 had never yet found occasion to frown in their com- 
 pany. He half offered his hand to help her to 
 alight from the carriage but he was just a moment 
 too late, she was already on the platform. 
 
 She found that the train to Noelcombe was behind 
 its time, it would not be in for half an hour. Dur- 
 ing the earlier part of that interval, Smithers, who 
 was now exonerated from ion, and Helen, 
 
 formed the nucleus of a group consisting of several 
 officials, the policeman and Smither er, who, 
 
 to that young pel entered with 
 
R OF SKILL. 41 
 
 officious interest into the discussion concerning her 
 loss. He was a young man of some energy, and 
 energy to those who live idle lives in a superfluous 
 \ possession of which they are glad to find opportu- 
 nity to rid.themselves. Besides which Miss Mitford 
 was an unusually pretty girl and in distress. So 
 he took the investigation of the affair into his own 
 hands, directed every measure which was adopted 
 for the recovery of the property, asked a hundred 
 questions and showed some talent for the detective 
 trade. 
 
 The cross-examination to which she was com- 
 pelled to submit was not the least unpleasant part 
 of this unfortunate day. At length, the subject, 
 exhaustive as it proved, was brought to an abrupt 
 conclusion by the arrival of the Plymouth Zulu. 
 Helen withdrew to the ladies' waiting-room where 
 she sat, sulking, in the stifling heat of that crowded 
 room. She was cross, hot, tired, but she was glad 
 to escape f torn her undesirable notoriety and still 
 more glad to be quit of the persistent gaze and 
 searching interrogations of that complacent son of 
 the low-born, purse-proud Sir Adolphus Jones, 
 whose condescending attentions were intolerable. 
 
 She, whose family-tree reared its distant branches 
 into the most lofty circles, she, whose ancestors 
 
4* A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 (like all other orthodox ancestors) came over with 
 the Conqueror, she, whose pride was cultured and 
 excessive, had been found in humiliating third- 
 class circumstances by this first-class passenger. 
 Such an offense could not be lightly condoned. 
 The freedom of his earlier remarks, his masterful 
 patronage and officious arrangement of her busi- 
 ness were all alike distasteful. 
 
 He was so unconscious of his offenses, so certain 
 of her gratitude, and so good-humoredly assured of 
 his supreme authority, that she felt helpless in his 
 hands. She heard him tell the officials " that as he 
 too was going to Noelcombe by the next train, he 
 would look after the lady and see that she reached 
 her journeys end in safety," and could find no rea- 
 son for remonstrating at, or contradicting his asser- 
 tion. 
 
 Beggars can not be choosers, and it is generally 
 understood that they should be most grateful for 
 any favor, however small, which is thrust upon 
 them. Indeed, Helen was glad — truly thankful— 
 to be spared the discomfort necessarily attending a 
 journey which was to be performed without ticket, 
 money or companion. 
 
 Beneath an armor of pride which counterfeited 
 self-reliance, Helen concealed a courage no stouter 
 
A Matter of skill. 43 
 
 and nerves no tougher than those owned by her 
 gentler sisters ; her braveness and her composure 
 were but skin-deep. When a porter came into the 
 waiting-room and told her that the train in which 
 she was to travel was due, and when she found her 
 self -elected conductor awaiting her at the door, she 
 was glad of his protection. 
 
 " The train. won't be in for ten minutes," he said, 
 at once. " I hope you don't mind my having sent 
 for you, but I thought you would like a cup of tea, 
 or something before you go on." 
 
 Could anything be kinder or more considerate ? 
 The very words, " a cup of tea," are refreshing to 
 the female sex. Helen's head ached, and she realized 
 that she was extremely thirsty ; she imagined the 
 comfort of a cup of tea, and yet she preferred her 
 thirst and her weariness to accepting another favor 
 at the hands of this stranger. 
 
 He was looking at her intently, rather more in- 
 tently than he would have looked, perhaps, had he 
 found her in less humble circumstances. He had 
 decided that she was a governess— a young, much- 
 to-be- pitied dependent, on her way to her work, 
 where she would waste her beauty in a dull school- 
 room among lesson books and naughty children. 
 He was intensely compassionate over her fate. 
 
44 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 Unfortunately, she was slightly uncouth and abrupt, 
 but no doubt she was shy and a little overwhelmed 
 by the interest he had evinced in her misfortunes. 
 
 Mr. Jones, young, good-looking, popular among 
 his fellow-men, and heir to a prodigious income,' 
 was not likely to be humble or blind to his own ad- 
 vantages. 
 
 The kind maidens and their still kinder mothers, 
 with whom he came in contact at every stage of 
 his life, had flattered and cajoled him into the belief 
 that his personal attractions were irresistible. Of 
 the more substantial attractions which he possessed 
 they were evidently oblivious, and he, to do him 
 justice, did not suspect his guileless flatterers of 
 ulterior designs, but accepted their proffered friend- 
 ship with frank pleasure, ascribing his popularity 
 with the fair sex to any reason and every reason 
 but the right one. He had proved himself neither 
 | a susceptible nor a sentimental person. It has 
 been said that there "is safety in numbers," and 
 Mr. Jones admired a very great many damsels very 
 much. Many dovecotes had been fluttered, many 
 hopes had been raised by the marked, but mean- 
 ingless attentions, which he so impartially be- 
 stowed. 
 
 With an appreciative eye, he noted the beauty of 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 4$ 
 
 Miss Mitford's graceful figure ; the turn of her 
 throat, the erect pose of her head, the length of her 
 curly lashes, the dimple that cleft her round chin, 
 and the curve of her short, upper lip. She was 
 more than pretty — she was beautiful, and just the 
 style of girl whom he admired ; he wished to see 
 more of her ; he would like to hear her talk. How 
 silent she was, and how solemn — saddened, no 
 doubt, by her depressing position. He would like 
 to see her smile ; her smile ought to be very sweet ; 
 there was a suspicion of a dimple indenting her pale 
 cheek. How white, how. travel- soiled, how grave 
 she looked: He was so sorry for her. But her con- 
 duct was disappointing, for she, with frigid polite- 
 ness, refused his offer of tea, and turned to re-enter 
 the ladies' waiting-room. 
 
 "Why not wait here ?" he inquired, earnestly. 
 
 " I should like to rest until the train is in," with 
 what he called her unfortunate governess man- 
 ner. 
 
 " You can rest out here," pointing to an adjacent 
 bench; "there is more air out here. It is much 
 better for you than being stifled among all those 
 women. Do come, you are looking so awfully 
 done up, and I will bring you a cup of tea down 
 here." 
 
46 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 But the waiting-room door had closed behind her 
 before his sentence was ended, It was evident that 
 she was very gauche, but it was also evident to her 
 observant and good-natured companion that she 
 was tired out ; he was convinced that she had re- 
 fused his offer from some other motive than dis- 
 inclination for the proffered refreshment. 
 
 " It is an awkward thing for a shy girl to accept 
 anything from a strange fellow," he reflected. " I 
 was clumsy : I must manage it better. She shall 
 have her tea, I swear, for I know she is dying 
 for it," and he walked off to the refreshment- 
 room. 
 
 A few minutes later, a maid, accompanied by 
 Smith ers, and carrying tea, cake, biscuit, and a 
 plate filled with white-heart cherries, entered the 
 ladies' waiting-room. There, at Smither's direc- 
 tion, the tray was placed on the table by Helen's 
 side, with the words — 
 
 "The gentleman desired me to bring these, 
 ma'am." 
 
 The retreating figure showed no consciousness of 
 Helen's quick disclaimer — 
 
 " It is a mistake. I ordered nothing — I want 
 nothing." 
 
 The tea and those seductive cherries stood un- 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 47 
 
 tasted at this foolish girl's elbow ; she looked at 
 them wistfully, but she touched them not. When 
 her train came into the station, she felt that she 
 ] was turning her back on a terrible temptation, as 
 ; she bustled out upon the crowded platform, where 
 she was immediately joined by Mr. Jones. 
 
 " This way if you please. I've got you a carriage. 
 My man will see to your luggage ; it is with 
 mine." 
 
 And he hustled her on till they reached an empty 
 compartment, the door of which was held open by 
 Smithers. 
 
 "I am traveling third," she said, glancing within 
 the carriage. " This is first." 
 
 " The man — the who-do-you-call it at the ticket 
 office " — stammering over the prevarication — "gave 
 me a first-class ticket for you." 
 
 [As indeed he had done, and had been paid for it, 
 too.] 
 
 "Thank you, but I like third best; it— it is 
 coolest." 
 
 "As you please." This girl was less shy than 
 disagreeable after all. "I am going in there," indi- 
 cating the smoking-carriage next door, "so you 
 would get this place to yourself. The rest of the 
 train is very much crowded." 
 
48 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 Helen hesitated. She believed that the white 
 ticket which he held had been provided by the gen- 
 erosity of the railway company ; she also believed 
 that by a fortunate coincidence — not by bribery and ! 
 corruption— the selected compartment happened to | 
 be empty — the only empty compartment in the full 
 train. 
 
 Smithers, with respectful mien, patiently held the 
 door open. "Take your seat ! " shouted a porter at 
 her elbow. An eager crowd of excited excursionists 
 surged past; a drunken man staggered close to her. 
 Mr. Jones said nothing, but preserved an indifferent 
 air. The drunken man settled the question. Helen 
 shrunk away in disgust from him, and saying, "I 
 really think I will go in here," entered the carriage 
 precipitately, and with some loss of dignity. 
 
 "There was an excursion to Exeter from Barn- 
 staple to-day," Mr. Jones explained. "They go back 
 by this train. We shall get rid of the crowd 
 there." 
 
 He was standing on the platform, still with his 
 hand on the sill of the open window. He was think- 
 ing that it would hav.e been pleasanter to travel with 
 this handsome girl than to smoke next door. He 
 was in search of an excuse to change his mind and 
 join her. Miss Mitf ord, with a calm and unap- 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 49 
 
 proachable mien, returned his steady gaze. An 
 excuse was not easy to find, but just before the 
 train started he gave her an inkling of his intention 
 by his last words — 
 
 "You will find some papers in there 1 you care 
 to look at them. I shall see you again at Barn- 
 staple ; I shall have done my smoke by that time. 
 Au revoir." 
 
 " He means to travel with me from Barnstaple to 
 Noelcombe," Helen concluded, closing her lips tight 
 and not looking amiable. 
 
 That is precisely what he had meant, and what 
 he also proceeded to do. 
 
 At Barnstaple he entered the carriage, as though 
 it was a matter of course that he should do so, 
 and taking the seat opposite to its occupant, he 
 said — 
 
 "I hope you don't mind my coming in here? 
 There was such a lot of men in the other carriage 
 that they smoked me out." 
 
 She made some inarticulate sound which sug- 
 gested her indifference to his movements. 
 
 A pile of illustrated papers lay, where he had 
 placed them, beside her on the seat. He pointed at 
 them, and asked whether she had been reading. 
 
 "It is too hot to read/' she said. 
 
5 o A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 " Perhaps you are one of the people who can 
 never read in a train ? " 
 
 "I read sometimes." 
 
 (f It makes your head ache, perhaps ?" 
 
 " Yes, it does." 
 
 ' ' Does it make your head ache to look at pict- 
 ures ? " 
 
 " No " — a moment's pause ; "but talking makes 
 my head ache." 
 
 "I'm so sorry ; that is particularly unfortunate, 
 for I have a question or two which I really must 
 ask you. You see, I ought to have a full descrip- 
 tion of your . watch and purse, a minute account of 
 your fellow- travelers — every particular, in fact, of 
 the circumstances to send up to headquarters as 
 soon as possible. I am sorry to trouble you, but I 
 want it down in black and white ; it would not do 
 to trust to my memory in any important business. " 
 
 He drew out a book — it might have been a note- 
 book — and pencil from his breast pocket, and began 
 in a business-like way to question Helen, and write 
 down her answers. She was impressed by his man- 
 ner and set at ease by this explanation of his in- 
 trusion. 
 
 "Your name?" 
 
 " Helen Mitford." 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 51 
 
 "You came from Meriton, you said — started 
 about 2:30? How far do you live from the sta- 
 tion?" 
 
 "Two miles." 
 
 He entered this important item carefully. 
 
 " Meriton is a pretty village," he remarked. " I 
 have often passed through it on my way to Dro- 
 more." 
 
 Helen started and, looked at him. 
 
 " You know Dromore ? " he pursued. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "The Chilterns are awfully nice people." 
 
 Lady Chiltern was Helen's cousin and most inti- 
 mate friend ; but she had grown frigid again, for 
 what had the Chilterns to do with the notebook, or 
 the theft ? 
 
 "Would you kindly describe your fellow-trav- 
 elers ? " he proceeded, with solemnity, his pencil 
 poised in the air and his dark eyes watching her ex- 
 pressive face. 
 
 " A thin, middle-aged man — I thought he was a 
 dissenting minister — sat next to me. There was a 
 woman — a smart women with feathers and dirty 
 hands— opposite to me. The other people were 
 men ; I hardly looked at them. I could not recog- 
 nize either of them." 
 
5* A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 "Poor men !" murmured the gentleman, writing 
 in his book. 
 
 This superfluity of the dialogue was a mistake on 
 his part. A delicate color rose to Helen's cheek ; 
 she averted her eyes and her attention from her vis- 
 a vis, and fixed them on the landscape. The scen- 
 ery through which they were passing was magnifi- 
 cent. Great hills, topped with rugged bowlders of 
 gray granite, clothed with short turf on which 
 droves of horned sheep were browsing, streaked and 
 belted with woods of oak and ash, rose almost per- 
 pendicularly from out the smiling valleys. 
 
 In those valleys herds of the copper-red Devon 
 cows cropped the meadows, acres of young, pale 
 corn undulated in the mild breeze. Scarlet -tiled 
 farms, with groups of yellowish ricks for sentinels, 
 were scattered here and there. A wide river, be- 
 tween high banks, gleamed in the sun. 
 
 Helen was keenly alive to beauty ; she loved the 
 country, and the sight of the matchless landscape 
 of North Devon was a revelation of wonder and de- 
 light. It left her capable of no sensation but one 
 of pure and perfect enjoyment. 
 
 Mr. Jones was not wanting in penetration. He 
 replaced his note-book with a smile at his own ex- 
 pense, for he soon saw that his companion's afcten- 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 53 
 
 tion was absorbed by the scenery, at which she was 
 gazing with rapture in her eyes, a pleased smile rip- 
 pled her mouth,, and that she had forgotten him. 
 
 He was an admirer of fine scenery himself — 
 woods, as coverts, and mountain streams as harbors 
 for trout, were always particularly interesting to 
 him ; but while Miss Mitf ord looked out of the win- 
 dow he looked at her, not at the landscape. They 
 were approaching Noelcombe, where they must sep- 
 arate, and he had made no way with her. If he al- 
 lowed her to leave him thus, it was probable that 
 he should see her no more, therefore it was that 
 he must draw her attention to himself once more. 
 Hitherto he had found, with her amiable sex, such 
 a task wonderfully easy. 
 
 He began again, with pencil and note-book, his 
 examination and cross-examination on the well-worn 
 topic. This was, of course, a little tiresome, but 
 Helen answered with great precision and accuracy, 
 and with her eyes on the window. 
 
 " Oh, look," she suddenly cried, with a deep- 
 drawn breath of happiness, pointing through the 
 open window, " there is the sea." 
 
 A blue and wrinkled belt of water glittered be- 
 tween a cleft hill, at the sight of which Mr. Jones, 
 on being thus accosted, expressed rapture. 
 
54 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 " Have you never been here before ? " 
 
 "Never." 
 
 "It is such a ripping little place, I know you 
 will love it. Whereabouts in Noelcombe are you 
 staying ? " 
 
 "I don't know exactly where the house is." 
 
 "I might have to see you, don't you know, 
 about this business ; I may have forgotten to ask 
 you some important question, so I ought to know 
 your address." 
 
 " My aunt lives at Carnation Cottage." 
 
 For some time his governess theory about her 
 had been wavering : it now expired. 
 
 " How long shall you be down ?" he asked, anx- 
 iously. 
 
 "I do not know." 
 \ " You will be here until the week after next \ " 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 " I shall probably hear something from the rail- 
 - way company in a few days ; in that case I will call 
 _ and tell you what they say — that is, if you will allow 
 me to do so." 
 
 " Thank you ; you are very kind." 
 
 The words were unimpeachable, but the tone 
 in which they were uttered was not encourag- 
 ing. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. $$ 
 
 u We shall be very lucky if we can hear of either 
 watch or purse again." 
 
 The " we" was very offensive to Miss Mitford. 
 
 " Yes, the recovery of things lost in that way is 
 so unlikely that I am exceedingly sorry that you 
 troubled yourself at all about the matter." 
 
 She was very dignified and grand, but he was not 
 awed. 
 
 "It is the sort of search I like," he said frankly ; 
 "I shall be as proud as Lucifer if I can trace 
 them. If it can be done, it shall be done, I promise 
 you." 
 
 " I can't see how you are going to do it." 
 
 "Leave it to me," he told her, with a smile of 
 superior wisdom. And then he diplomatically be- 
 gan to extol the glorious country through which 
 they were passing. There was Morte Point, there 
 the merciful lighthouse which guarded the ships off 
 that sharp peninsula of jagged rocks, there was the j 
 famous Toro, there a Druidical stone, there a crom- ( 
 lech. If his geography was inaccurate, Helen did 
 not discover it, but listened to what he said with in- 
 terest and smiled upon him. 
 
 But when the travelers reached Noelcombe Eoad 
 poor Helen discovered that the misfortunes of that 
 unlucky day were not yet over. With a culpable 
 
56 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 want of forethought, Mr. Jones desired her to inter- 
 view station master and ticket collector in his pres- 
 ence. Out came his note-book again, and the tedi- 
 ous routine of endless questions which she had al- 
 ready answered had to be repeated. At the time 
 the useless delay fretted her, but when at last she 
 was free, and, on emerging from the station, found 
 that omnibuses and cabs had alike started for Noel- 
 combe, leaving her and her box five miles from 
 her destination, she was dismayed and ready to 
 cry. 
 
 " Why didn't you fetch me V she inquired, mis- 
 erably, of a porter; "you saw me here, you knew 
 I was going to Noelcornbe. Why did you let the 
 omnibus start without me ?" 
 
 "I understood you were along of Mr. Jones, 
 Miss," the man said ; "you came up in the train 
 along o' him. His man went on in the cab, but the 
 dogcart is outside waiting." 
 
 At this moment Mr. Jones himself approached 
 and asked Helen anxiously what was wrong. 
 When she had explained her position and this cul- 
 minating misfortune, he was extremely concerned. 
 He rated the porter with great severity and used 
 unparliamentary language about the thick heads of 
 the west -country people. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 57 
 
 "However," he added, turning to Helen with a 
 courtly and ingenous air, " it is fortunate that my 
 cart is here, for, as I am going your way, I need not 
 tell you how pleased I shall be to drive you to Car- 
 nation Cottage." 
 
 His manner was very happy. If Helen had 
 not, by an abrupt turn of her head, caught sight 
 of a meaning grin on the face of the porter, she 
 would most likely have complied gratefully 
 with this suggestion, but that grin aroused a sus- 
 picion in her mind that determined her immediate 
 action. 
 
 It would have been a relief to have said something 
 really rude to this presumptuous, low-born stranger ; 
 her eyes were dangerously bright, she was very 
 angry. With a meaningless inclination of the head 
 she waived the question, and, turning, re-entered 
 the station. After giving the station master suc- 
 cinct orders for the forwarding of her box at the 
 earliest opportunity, she inquired of him her way 
 to Noelcombe, and then, without looking to the right 
 hand or the left, set off at a rapid pace in the direc- 
 tion indicated. 
 
 A few minutes later the unconscious offender, 
 Mr. Jones, climbed into his cart and drove off after 
 the dark figure, which was already at some distance. 
 
&8 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 from him, and upon which he kept his eyes. He 
 wondered why she would not start with him ; per- 
 haps she was shy of the people at the station. She 
 had not seemed a bashful young woman ; no doubt 
 that studiously cold way of hers was a form of shy- 
 ness. He would wait until she turned the corner of 
 the road, and was consequently out of sight of the 
 station, before he picked her up. 
 
 How well and how quickly she moved. Neither 
 heat nor weariness beat down her erect head ; how 
 high she held it. Her shoulders were rigid as she 
 walked ; there was no undulation, nothing gentle, 
 nor drooping about her ; she had an uncompro- 
 mising back. The sun was low in the west, the 
 air was cooler than it had been all day, a fresh- 
 ening evening breeze had arisen, yet how pale 
 she looked. Poor girl she was tired out. He 
 touched the horse with the whip, and next mo- 
 ment was alongside of her and addressing her by 
 name. 
 
 " Miss Mitford, you went off in such a hurry ; 
 you had gone in a moment, before I knew where 
 you were. Please get in as quick as you can, the 
 horse won't stand." He leaned over the splash- 
 board and offered her his hand to help her into the 
 cart. 
 
A MATTER OF SKTLL. 59 
 
 " Thank you, but I'm going to walk to Noel- 
 combe," she answered, moving on as she spoke. 
 He caught sight of her face ; there was animosity 
 in every line of it. 
 
 " You can't walk," he said, "it would kill you. j 
 It's five miles — more — and an awful road — hills the 
 whole way — hills like a switchback." 
 
 She did not argue, but she walked on faster ; he 
 kept the cart by her side. 
 
 "I assure you that you can't walk," he said, a 
 little irritated and very much surprised. "You 
 don't understand, I am not exaggerating — it is five 
 miles if it is a step. You don't know what that 
 distance in this part of the country means. You 
 must get in — indeed, you must ; you are tired out 
 already." 
 
 " Thank you, but I would rather walk were the 
 distance ten times greater than it is." 
 
 " Under those circumstances I have nothing more 
 to say." 
 
 And, taking off his hat with great ceremony, Mr. 
 Jones drove off, leaving an irritating cloud of dust 
 in his track. 
 
 Before the cart was out of sight Helen had re- 
 pented her decision. 
 
 "I was a fool," she said, "it would have been 
 
6g a matter of SKILL 
 
 better to have driven with a butcher or a hangman 
 than this." 
 
 "This" was a long, steep, stony hill, which 
 stretched before her. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. ( 
 
 I 
 
 Long lines of cliff breaking have left a chasm ; I 
 
 And in the chasm are foam and yellow sands ; 
 
 Beyond, red roofs about a narrow wharf 
 
 In cluster; then a molder'd church, and high 
 
 A long street climbs — 
 
 Enoch Arde 
 
 'VTOELCOMBE was just such another fishing- 
 *■* hamlet as that home of Philip, Enoch, anal 
 Annie, above described ; but its one narrow street, 
 after clambering half-way up the broken cliff -side,* 
 was met and lost in row after row of neat, newly- 
 built lodging-houses. 
 
 Marine Parade, Sea View Terrace, and West Clint 
 Place, daily disgorged, during the season, an in- 
 numerable army of " visitors," for whose summer 
 sea-blow these houses had been lately erected by the 
 great patron of the village, Sir Adolphus Jones, 
 who, in a speculative way, appreciated the attract- 
 ive beauty of the place. 
 
 The old residents of Noelcombe and its neighbor- 
 hood—among whose number Sir Adolphus was not 
 —conservative to the backbone, regarded those 
 
6z A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 horizontal rows of remunerative houses, and that 
 enormous mansion, flanked by acres of glass, and 
 oversmart, alike in color and design, in the middle 
 distance, with distinct disfavor. 
 
 But the county patronized Sir Adolphus and his 
 family; rich neighbors who owned an eligible son, 
 daughters, too, sufficiently good looking, and more 
 than sufficiently dowered, who kept open house 
 where champagne flowed like water, where a French 
 cook presided in the sumptuous kitchen, where your 
 presence was eagerly welcomed, and where your wit 
 was sure to be appreciated, were acquaintances to 
 be cultivated. 
 
 If the house was new, it was none the less lux- 
 urious on that account. So the county smiled good- 
 humoredly, at Lady Jones's faux-pas, replaced Sir 
 Adolphus's H's when they could surreptitiously do 
 so, shot his coverts, fished his rivers, sailed in his 
 yacht, and ate his dinners, availing themselves, 
 without stint, of his hospitality. This condescen- 
 sion toward this patronage of the Joneses by the great 
 people around, astonished their humbler neighbors, 
 who could trace a very decent descent for themselves 
 and knew no difficulties of H's or etiquette, but to 
 whom neither great people nor upstart Joneses paid 
 attention or respect. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 63 
 
 To neither section — the Jones-patronize rs nor 
 the Jones -detesters — did Miss Elizabeth Mitford be- 
 long, for beyond the inclosing cob-walls of her gar- 
 den she had no interests worthy of the name. With 
 the exception of the mice which fed on her bulbs 
 and crocus, the slugs, snails, wood-lice and wire- 
 worms that she slew with pitiless ferocity, or those 
 errand boys who wantonly sloshed the lovely heads 
 from off the juicy stalks of her tulips, or who, by 
 leaving the gate open, allowed strange dogs to enter 
 her domain and ravish her flower-beds, she regarded 
 all humanity with placid benevolence. 
 
 Above the winding village street, above the 
 highest horizontal row of offending " apartments w 
 (from which it was separated by a wooded glen), 
 nestling down against a background of tall trees, 
 stood Carnation Cottage, the dainty home of this 
 gentle maiden lady who lived her guileless life sur- 
 rounded by, and existing for, her flowers. 
 
 The house was a large, many-roomed cottage ; 
 the porch door opened into a square hall, which 
 was furnished as a room, the narrow bay windows 
 of the miniature drawing-room were shaded by 
 overhanging creepers ; above, latticed windows, 
 fringed with flowers, were tucked away unevenly 
 beneath the eaves of the thached roof. 
 
64 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 Miss Elizabeth Mitford was in face, disposition, 
 and in manner, a mild caricature of her brother, 
 the Eector. 
 
 Her gray hair was arranged in rows of gradu- 
 ated curls on either side of her tanned and weather- j 
 beaten face, her long nose dipped over a wide 
 mouth that curled up at the corners with a bland 
 contentedness which was almost, but not quite, a 
 smile ; her chin receded, and her over-arched eye- 
 brows wrinkled her forehead deeply, and left her 
 round blue eyes wide open. 
 
 She was indifferent to her appearance but not 
 to her comfort. For the sake of shade, she wore a 
 wide-brimmed straw hat, bound, for the sake of 
 security, with a black ribbon beneath her chin. For 
 the sake of coolness, she wore a light chintz gown, 
 fashioned with a view to ease, not elegance ; for 
 the sake of convenience, she wore no gloves. 
 
 I have described her in her gardening garb, and 
 as she spent the greater part of each day in this ' 
 pursuit, and often snatched an hour from the night 
 for murderous sallies on slugs — which is a form 
 of gardening — this was her perpetual summer cos- 
 tume. 
 
 She took no interest in herself, she lavished all 
 her care upon the beautifying of her house and gar- 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. gj 
 
 den, and, no doubt, she was wise in doing so, for 
 they repaid her attention better than her old face 
 and bent figure could have done, however deftly 
 decorated by art. Her little rooms were the pret- 
 tiest, and brightest, and cosiest imaginable, their \ 
 windows, too, commanded a glorious view of the 
 cove [wherein the sea swept from cliff to cliff] and 
 a wide stretch of neutral sand out of which great 
 rocks thrust their dark ribs and cast black shadows 
 on the beach. 
 
 The atmosphere within a hundred yards of Car- 
 nation cottage was redolent of flowers ; the round 
 grass plot before the house was edged and sprinkled 
 with beds that were thick with blossom. 
 
 A small conservatory which opened out of . the 
 drawing-room, was a complete blaze of color. Miss 
 Mitford's plants seemed to understand and respond 
 to their owner's love, and half -killed themselves to 
 gratify her by their profuse bloom. j 
 
 The trellised walls of the cottage were concealed , 
 by creeping fuchsias, and myrtles, which were 
 trained so as to completely cover them. Against 
 the house was a broad bed of poppies, their scarlet 
 and yellow petals caught the rays of the sinking sun. 
 On the window ledges were tiled boxes filled with 
 mignonette, lobelias, and marguerites. An old- 
 
66 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 fashioned border of hollyhocks, sunflowers, sweet 
 peas, candy-tuft, honesty, balsams, phloxes, and 
 pansies edged the gravel walk that swept round 
 the grass plot and led to the gate through which 
 Carnation Cottage was reached. This gate was no 
 smart entrance, but a green door let into the cob 
 wall ; by its side was a bell-handle mounted on a 
 brass plate, on which the direction, " Ring and walk 
 in " was engraved. 
 
 On the center of the lawn a tulip tree and a 
 standard magnolia grew side by side, beneath them 
 stood a rustic garden seat on which Miss Mitford 
 was now sitting ; she held her watch in her hand, at 
 which she glanced every now and then, with evi- 
 dent anxiety. Presently she rose, and bustling 
 over to the garden door she opened it and prowled 
 out upon the road, thence she soon returned very 
 breathless and with an increased anxiety depicted 
 on her face. She then hurried into the house call- 
 ing "Betsey." 
 
 People who are desperate use desperate remedies, 
 and if Betsey was not a desperate remedy, she was 
 at least an old servant, who, though she was wont 
 to say, " she knew her place, " did not keep it, but 
 tyrannized over her gentle Mistress as a "valuable 
 servant " alone knows how to do. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 67 
 
 When Miss Mitford had repeated her call for 
 " Betsey" several times, she recollected that Betsey 
 was always conscientiously deaf to a call and only 
 responded to a summons from the bell. So she 
 rang, and then paced to and fro the hall, looking 
 now at the grandfather's clock in the corner, now 
 at the flowers on the table. 
 
 An old woman, lean as a rook, with hard, black 
 eyes, and a mouth which twisted down with a curl 
 at the corners, opened a side door and came into 
 the hall. 
 
 " Look at the time, Betsey," cried her mistress, 
 pointing at the clock and shaking her head. " See 
 how late it is, and that dear child has not yet ar- 
 rived. I begin to feel sure something has happened. 
 I have been uneasy all day, no doubt a presenti- 
 ment of misfortune and — " 
 
 "Thunder in the air, ma'am," interrupted Bet- 
 ' sey, "and tying up them carnations in a blazing sun 
 is enough to give presentiments to mummies." 
 
 s ' t John tells me that the omnibus came in half 
 an hour ago," pursued Miss Mitford, almost crying. 
 "The flies are even fleeter than the omnibuses. 
 Dear me, dear me, the more I think, the more 
 anxious I become. Betsey, where can that poor 
 gid be ?» 
 
6B A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 " Miss Helen is a young lady who can take good 
 care of herself, ma'am, better than many twice and 
 thrice her age. Her head is fit for use as well as 
 for ornament, and she holds it high." 
 
 With Betsey the absent were always right — the 
 present wrong— Miss Elizabeth hardly heard her 
 words, she sprang up from her seat and wrung her 
 hands, fearful misgivings began to crowd upon her 
 anxious mind. 
 
 " These are dreadful days, Betsey," she said, 
 "the papers teem with horrors. I live so safely 
 here that I do not consider the dangers of others 
 less blessed than myself. Those terrible murderers 
 cut their victims into small portions and throw 
 them here and there over the hedges." 
 
 Betsey possessed the nineteenth-century weak- 
 ness — a perniciously skeptical mind ; she even went 
 to the length of occasionally doubting the infallible 
 truth of what she read " on the paper," so now, in- 
 stead of sharing her companion's fears, she smiled, 
 an acrid, superior smile. 
 
 "So we hear, ma'am, but we don't see nothing 
 of such things down in these respectable parfcs, and 
 as for Miss Helen being murdered and made away 
 with, I'd be sorry for the ruffian who attempted 
 
A MATTER OF Sktlt. iy 
 
 iC Ah, Betsey, don't we often, you and I, see a 
 strong ship sail down the bay one morning," cried 
 poor Miss Elizabeth, pointing with a tragic gesture 
 to the sea, "and a few hours later, alas, where is 
 I she ? A wreck, a wreck ! Because we can't see 
 the sunken rock upon which she founders, does 
 that save her ? Oh, dear, dear, I am so anxious !" 
 
 "If you go on like this, ma'am, fitting Miss 
 Helen into parables like the parson, you will upset 
 yourself, you will indeed. The young lady will be 
 here in a minute and you'll be too ill to see her, 
 through running down hill to meet misfortune. 
 Ships sail past, a score a day, and come home, too, 
 most times, and overfill the public houses, more 
 shame to their crew." 
 
 These words "running down hill to meet mis- 
 fortune" suggested an action to the hearer by 
 which she could lessen her fears. 
 
 "Fetch my lace shawl and gauntlet gloves, Bet- 
 sey," she commanded, with a sudden determination. 
 "I will go down into Noelcombe and you shall 
 accompany me. I will see the omnibus conductor ; 
 he promised me to inquire for the poor girl at the 
 station, he undertook to look after her, otherwise I 
 should have gone to meet her myself — as I ought 
 to have done, as I ought to have done." 
 
?6 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 "It would have been better, ma'am than tying 
 up them carnation blossoms as if Providence was 
 mistaken in making them top-heavy." 
 
 "I wished Miss Helen to see the garden at its 
 best," said the poor gardener sadly. 
 
 "Young ladies don't look very particular at 
 flowers, ma'am. 'Tisn't in a garden they take inter- 
 est. Fine clothes, not fine flowers, are their de- 
 light ; of young gentlemen, not carnations, they 
 take notice." 
 
 Presently the mistress and maid — the former, 
 dispirited and drooping ; the latter, erect and ener- 
 getic — were to be seen hurrying down the steep, 
 descending street into the village of Noelcombe 
 together. 
 
 Half an hour later a carrier's cart drew up out- 
 side the garden door of Carnation Cottage. The 
 carrier, who had been walking beside his horse up 
 the hill, addressed some one who was seated on a 
 bench among a mountain of parcels and boxes 
 beneath the arched awning. 
 
 "This yur be the place, mum, if yer plaze to 
 get out. It's a awkwardish concern is a carrier's 
 cart for a young lady to ride in, but it saved 'ee the 
 worke howsomever ; and a long worke it be from 
 up station down to Noelcumbe." 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 71 
 
 (l Yes, indeed, and I am so much obliged to you," 
 answered a gracious voice, most gratefully, and 
 Helen, emerging from the shadow of the awning, 
 climbed down by aid of the shaft, upon the road. 
 " Your cart is very comfortable, I am glad I missed 
 the omnibus now ; I couldn't have seen the country 
 half so well from it." 
 
 "No, mum, I sim as how yu couldn't. 'Tain't 
 much to see, however. 'Twas a bit of luck my 
 meeting of 'ee and thinking to ask 'ee if you'd have 
 a lift." 
 
 "So it was; thank you very much indeed. I 
 have brought you out of your way, too, I am 
 afraid." 
 
 "Lor' bless 'ee, mum, dorn't you spake of it. 
 Poppet and me dorn't count an extra moile or tu ; 
 it's all in the day's job." 
 
 But Helen would not allow him to pooh-pooh his 
 civility ; she was most thankful to him, and with ' 
 reason. His ready West-country courtesy had not 
 only saved her a walk of deadly length and dreari- 
 ness, but had restored her self-assurance. She had 
 not been compelled to resort to the weak revenge 
 of the foolish; she had not cut off her nose to spite 
 her face after all. 
 
 She had certainly been born under a lucky star. 
 
fi A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 If a misfortune seemed to threaten her, a lucky 
 chance, intervening, averted it. She was elate 
 with self -congratulation when a sudden memory of 
 1 her moneyless and watchless condition struck her, 
 1 and, slightly sobered by the recollection, she bade 
 the carrier " good-night," and entered her aunt's 
 domain. 
 
 The twilight had turned to dusk, and the moon, 
 "like a rick on fire," was rising over the sea 3 be- 
 fore the elder Miss Mitford returned. Too agitated 
 to speak, she leaned on Betsy's stiffly- crooked arm, 
 with her eyes cast on the ground, a thousand fears 
 overwhelmed her. The slugs, tempted forth by the 
 falling dew, might feast undisturbed for once in 
 their lives ; she was too preoccupied to remember 
 them. Even Betsy was perturbed; her rugged 
 face was solemn, and she gave quite as high a 
 jump, and gasped quite as fast and breathlessly as 
 | did her mistress when a girl's head was thrust 
 I through the open spare room window and a lively 
 voice cried — 
 
 "Oh, here you are, at last ! I am unpacking, I 
 will come down." 
 
 And the next moment Helen herself came out of 
 the porch door to meet them. 
 " My dear, my dear, how you have frightened 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL, fl 
 
 me ! What happened \ Where have you been ? 
 There, take me indoors, Helen, I am trembling 
 sadly, I should like to rest." 
 
 \ "I am so dreadfully sorry, Aunt Elizabeth ; 
 (but really, upon my word, it was not my own 
 fault." 
 
 "Kiss me, my love; now that you are here, I 
 mind nothing. Only that conductor increased my 
 alarm. I know so little about girls ; they are odd 
 nowadays, quite changed since my youth. Betsy 
 didn't believe it, but, then, Betsy never believes 
 anything, you know." 
 
 Then Helen, her aunt and Betsy hanging on 
 her words and asking many questions, gave a de- 
 tailed account of the day's occurrences. She omit- 
 ted all mention of Mr. Jones's name, however, and 
 slurred over the explanations of how she lost the 
 omnibus. 
 
 ] "And you came here in the carrier's cart — how 
 j extremely uncomfortable you must have been." 
 
 " It was rather jolty down the hills, Aunt Eliza- 
 beth." 
 
 Aunt Elizabeth and she were having supper. 
 Betsy hovered about them, joining every now and 
 then uninvited in the conversation. 
 
 " The carrier is a civil man ; he admired mf 
 
74 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 / 
 
 wallflowers so much in the spring— a dark variety, 
 
 Helen, and particularly sweet-scented ; would your 
 
 father care for some seedlings, do you think ? " 
 
 " He would love them, auntie ; so should I." 
 
 "I am still thinking of the carrier, Helen; he 
 and Mr. Jones are so very unlike. It is extraor- 
 dinary that such an intelligent person as the con> 
 ductor could have been so mistaken." 
 
 Here Betsy made some remark about Ananias in 
 an impressive aside. 
 
 " What mistake did the conductor make, auntie ? 
 "What did he say about me ?" 
 
 " Well, really, I can't quite remember, my love. 
 You see I was in the stable-yard at the Mermaid 
 Hotel — such a confusing spot, for the horses were 
 loose and so close to me." Though they were quiet 
 at the time and looking hot and exhausted, poor 
 things, it does not do to trust to appearance — I kept 
 my eye on them." 
 
 "But what was the mistake?" Helen repeated. 
 — "Dear Helen is so determined/' Mrs. Mitford was 
 in the habit of saying, "she has such force of 
 character." — 
 
 "Never mind, love, never mind. It was a mis- 
 take, so I will not repeat what might be an annoy- 
 ance to you. I make a point of forgetting anything 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL, 75 
 
 unpleasing. Those kind of people do not mean any 
 harm, not at all ; but they are not discerning." 
 
 These remarks were not likely to arrest Helen's 
 curiosity. 1 
 
 " I should like to hear what he said." \ 
 
 Miss Mitf ord was of a plastic disposition ; though 
 she formed her own opinions and preserved them, 
 yet she was always ready to comply with the wishes 
 of her companions. 
 
 "He didn't say much, Helen." 
 
 From behind them came some indignant and 
 isolated words, of which " Shameful " — " Sir Adol- 
 phus, indeed" — "grinding the poor" — "an old- 
 clothes man" — "ought to know better" — "re- 
 spected herself" — "not a word of truth" — were 
 distinguishable. 
 
 "Why did you go to see the omnibus conductor, 
 auntie ? " 
 
 "I had asked him to look out for you at the 
 station, I had given him a shilling, and he had 
 promised to see after you. When you did not ar- 
 rive, we went down to the ' Mermaid,' where the 
 omnibus stops, to inquire for you. The conductor, 
 doubtless to screen his own carelessness, had the 
 effrontery to tell me that you had started for Noel- 
 combe in young Mr. Jones's dogcart with that gen- 
 
76 A MAT2ER OF SKILL. 
 
 tleman. Yes, my dear, he even said that Mr. 
 Jones's valet told him not to wait, as his master was 
 taking every care of you and would see you home. 
 I questioned him, for I could not believe it. The 
 conductor was both wrong and foolish to invent so 
 impossible a tale to screen his fault." 
 
 While Miss Mitford was speaking Helen blushed, 
 and her gray eyes sparkled, but with mischief, 
 not malice. She did not execrate the inventor 
 of the calumny, but she laughed and turned the 
 subject. 
 
 " Don't faint, Aunt Elizabeth, but I want some 
 more lobster ; I was never so hungry in my life." 
 
 After supper the aunt and niece settled down 
 for that underrated feminine delight, a " long talk." 
 Helen was good company ; she had plenty to say, 
 and when she listened she was a good listener. 
 
 Her aunt had a hobby — our neighbors' hobbies 
 are apt to weary us, but Helen had inherited the 
 family flower-love, so she was sympathetic with this 
 horticultural enthusiasm. She discussed the sub- 
 ject of seedlings and cuttings, of annuals and peren- 
 nials, of bedding and sowing, of grafting and bud- 
 ding, without being palpably bored. 
 
 Betsey belonged to that unhappy race of people 
 who were once described as those " who hate bear- 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 57 
 
 baiting not because it gave pain to the bear, but 
 because it gave pleasure to the spectators," so she 
 treated her mistress's delight in her garden as a 
 weakness to be first despised and then quenched. 
 The pleasure- crushers of the world are to be found 
 in each flock. Never owing to, nor, perchance, 
 realizing their unlucky tendency, they contrive to 
 act as a drag upon their companion's happiness, 
 blight the blossom of his innocent amusements, and 
 play the miserable part of Killjoy in a world not 
 overprolific of bliss at the best of times. 
 
 Helen's unfeigned interest in an admiration for 
 every flower of the field or garden was delightf ul to 
 Miss Mitford. 
 
 " I have not enjoyed an evening so much for 
 years," she told the girl as they mounted the stairs 
 on their way to bed ; " it was very good of you to 
 come to me at last, love, though I am afraid you 
 will find it dull with only an old woman for your 
 companion. You bring brightness with you, so I 
 hope you will be content here, though the life I lead 
 will seem monotonous and quiet, I know." 
 
 "I thought Noelcombe was raging with dissipa- 
 tion, auntie, ever since it had engulfed the great 
 Sir Adolphus." 
 
 " Well, my dear, I hear that Newton is always 
 
78 A MATTER OF SKILL, 
 
 filled with guests, and I believe that the Jones's en- 
 tertainments are continual, but they do not invite 
 me to partake in them. However, my friends at 
 the Priory, the Majoribanks, are bidden to the ball 
 there next week, and have already offered to take 
 you with their party." 
 
 "I shan't go, though," Helen said, with a mighty 
 yawn ; " those sort of impossible people don't 
 amuse me. I suppose everybody who goes to their 
 house goes either to laugh at them or for what they 
 can get." 
 
 Helen's tone was not dulcet ; Miss Mitford waa 
 surprised at it. 
 
 " I know very little about them, my dear. They 
 sit near me in church — such rows of servants and 
 such very smart young ladies ; they titter a good 
 deal, which d iot seemly ; but I hear that Lady 
 Jones is ext ■>* ely kind to the poor. Their man- 
 sion is very i and much decorated ; Sir Adolphus, 
 people say, *is his own architect. You can see the 
 lights from the window of this room — over in that 
 direction — a little further to the left — below the 
 clump of trees, love — you are looking at the wrong 
 spot. Good-night. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 79 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " O saw ye bonnie Lesley 
 As she gaed o'er the border ? 
 She's gane, like Alexander, 
 To spread her conquest farther." Burns. 
 
 TI7TTHIN the drawing-room belonging to that 
 * * gorgeous mansion, toward the lights of which 
 Miss Mitf ord had drawn Helen's attention, a rollick- 
 ing party of smart people were assembled. The 
 room, large as it was, was yet well filled, for the 
 owner thereof and his daughters were indifferent to 
 such charms as may be found in an unadulterated 
 home circle, and their idea of bliss was to fill their 
 house with guests — guests of distinction if possible — 
 but guests at any rate, and at all hazards. Their 
 brother, when he favored them with his presence — 
 which was fairly often, considering that his com- 
 pany as an eligible young man, a good shot, and a 
 good-humored companion — was much sought— fell 
 in with their mood. Poor little Lady Jones's good 
 nature overruled her good sense ; her partiality for 
 
8o A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 her daughters converted their wishes into her law, 
 so she, with the courage of a martyr, lived in a 
 harassing round of dissipation among people in the 
 society of whom she felt neither ease nor comfort, j 
 The constant strain of the endeavor to appear otheii 
 than she was, and the knowledge of the failure of 
 the attempt, spoiled all the pleasure of her riches, 
 and turned her from a homely, sensible woman into 
 a blundering, timorous nonentity. By the con- 
 strained expression of her daughters' faces, she 
 knew when she had made some egregious mistake, 
 but how to rectify such errors she realized that she 
 was either too stupid or too old to learn. 
 
 Dinner was over — an excellent dinner it had 
 been, such as leaves those who have been happy 
 enough to discuss it in the best of humors. If the 
 wit was weak among the party at Newton, the 
 laughter was strong, and there was plenty of it, 
 and the music of laughter is pleasant to hear in a 
 world where it does not always over-abound. 
 
 A group of men and girls were gathered round 
 the piano, which, with an accompaniment of banjo, 
 bones, and vigorous voices, was degrading its mel- 
 lifluous tones by leading the popular strains of that 
 curious tune "Killaloo." 
 
 Apart from the group at the piano, upon the 
 
A MATTEL OF SKILL. 8i 
 
 ledge of an open window, Helen's recent acquaint- 
 ance, Mr. Albert Jones, was seated talking, with 
 rather a listless and condescending air, to his 
 youngest sister, Anastasia. 
 
 "Don't grumble, Bertie, come and sing," she 
 was saying ; "or, if you won't sing, go and smoke 
 — do something. I saw Lady Lucy looking over 
 here just now ; it's rather uncivil of you not to 
 talk to her. * You have been so stupid all the even- 
 ing ; you bored her to death at dinner, I saw her 
 yawning." 
 
 "'That polished horde, formed of two mighty 
 tribes, the Bores and Bored, ' " he quoted, with a 
 comprehensive glance, first at the musicians, and 
 then round the room. "My dear An, I can't tune 
 myself up to concert pitch in heat like this. Lady 
 Lucy is all very well, but she is not invigorating ; 
 she is as mild as buttermilk." 
 
 His sister looked at him rather anxiously, and 
 knitted her eyebrows. 
 
 "She is perfectly charming, Bertie; we are de- 
 voted to her, and so is papa. They have asked us 
 all there on the 29th. Didn't she tell you ? Hasn't 
 she asked you ?" 
 
 " She said something about polo at their place, 
 and a golf or tennis week — I forget which, It 
 
82 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 made me hot to think of such violent exercise, and 
 I said so." 
 
 "You are too spoiled, Bertie," said Anastasia, 
 shrugging her shoulders. ' 'You really are. You 
 are getting disagreeble. " 
 
 At that moment the chorus of "Killaloo" — 
 
 "We larn to sing it aisy, that song the Marseillasy 
 Too long, vouslong, the Continent, we learnt at Killaloo." 
 
 rung out through the room. 
 
 "Pretty thing that!" growled the young man 
 — " just like ' White Wings' or Lady Lucy. Sort 
 of thing you never get sick of — grows on you — just 
 suits a night like this." 
 
 He pointed through the open window to 
 where the moon traced its pathway across the 
 dark, heaving sea — to where the black cliffs tow- 
 ered, standing on guard upon either side of the 
 cleft chasm in which twinkled the lights of the 
 village. 
 
 Anastasia did not look at the view, but she look- 
 ed keenly at her brother. 
 
 "Did Troubadour win the Norchester Stakes ?" 
 she inquired, with apparent irrelevance. 
 
 ' ' Walk over, ' ' — laconically. 
 
 "Then what's the matter, Bertie ? When you 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL, &$ 
 
 are crusty something quite extraordinary must have 
 happened." 
 
 " I'm all right, my dear ; there is nothing earth- 
 ly the matter with me. I suppose a fellow needn't 
 make a fool of himself unless it is agreeable to him. 
 Lady Lucy is everything that is correct, but she 
 can't sing — 
 
 ' Her voice was soft and low 
 A cooing kind of voice, you know, 
 Except when she began to sing, 
 And then it was a fearful thing."' 
 
 "Lady Lucy sings beautifully," his sister said, 
 lAvher stiffly. '*Good-by, Bertie. You are such 
 dull company, I'm off." 
 
 She had not gone more than two or three steps 
 when he called her back. 
 
 Anastasia returned— no one ever dreamed of dis- 
 puting Mr. Jones's wishes ; but she was impatient 
 at his demands on her time. With a half-a-dozen 
 young men within hail, the best of brothers would 
 seem a dull companion ; this grim, uncomplaisant 
 brother was an unmitigated bore. 
 
 *' What do you want ?" 
 
 (m Well, I wanted to hear" — he rfpoke slowly ; 
 he was staring hard at his foot, as though its ap- 
 pearance at the end of his trousers was an interest- 
 
$4 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 ing novelty — "I wanted to hear how many people 
 are coming to this ball, and who they are, and what 
 sort of entertainment it's likely to be." 
 
 This was an engrossing and a sensible topic, into 
 which Anastasia conld enter. 
 
 "Every one is coming," she answered, confi- 
 dentially. "We have been so lucky — hardly one 
 refusal. All the right people in the house." 
 She ran through a string of noble names glibly, 
 and in rather a raised voice ; it is curious that 
 such names should require emphasizing. "It 
 ought to go off well. There are plenty of men, 
 if they will only do their duty as well in the 
 ball room as they are sure to do in the supper- 
 room." 
 
 Mr. Jones was still staring at his foot, his inter- 
 est in which had developed into anxiety ; for he 
 twisted it about and craned his neck to enable him 
 to catch sight of the sole of his shoe. 
 
 "Have you asked any of the other people ?" he 
 inquired, indifferently. 
 
 " Whom do you mean ?" 
 
 " Why, the — the— what-do-you-call-them ?— the 
 villagers. The parson and the doctor, and the law- 
 yer and the old ladies, don't you know ? The 
 people one only sees in churchc" 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL, Bg 
 
 Miss Anastasia said, "G-ood gracious, no!" and 
 laughed. 
 
 Then Bertie, still occupied ,with the formation 
 of his foot, spoke more briskly than he had hith- 
 erto done. 
 
 " It is a great mistake to make enemies," he be- 
 gan, as though he was delivering a lecture and was 
 a little pressed for time ; si the greatest mistake in 
 the world, Anastasia. We ought to ask everybody ; 
 we ought to make a point of asking everybody. 
 There is no end of room in this house ; a dozen 
 more people won't crowd us out, and-if I'm to stand 
 for this side of the county at the next election it 
 won't do to risk unpopularity and that sort of thing 
 by want of civility, People like to be asked, and 
 it ought to be done. I feel very strongly about it 
 myself — I always have done so. I should like to 
 know why they shouldn't be asked, and come, too ? 
 Surely there are plenty of old ladies in Noelcombe ? 
 Poor old souls ! — a ball would cheer them up a bit. 
 You needn't laugh. I don't want them to dance — 
 I don't mean that — but the looking on and all the 
 rest of it. I'm not chaffing, An ; I want some more 
 invitations sent out." 
 
 Anastasia looked perplexed, and spoke coldly — 
 
 " Thanks for indulging me with your maiden 
 
85 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 speech, Bertie — not very elegant, but emphatic. 
 So you will support women's rights, and old wom- 
 en's rights in particular ? Most benevolent of you !" 
 
 1< I want those invitations sent out," her brother 
 repeated. 
 
 He did not often exert himself to express a wish, 
 but when he did so his family knew that, come 
 what might, that wish would eventually be fulfilled. 
 
 "Then you had better speak to mother. She is 
 always eager to gather in from the hedges and high- 
 ways. No doubt she will be charmed to send every 
 tradesman in the village a card." 
 
 This last whim of Bertie's was preposterous, and 
 the indulgence of it likely to prove a great trial to 
 his relations. Though that magic word politics 
 (which ' surprises in himself") could be made to 
 account for the presence of any social curiosities at 
 the party, yet their entertainment— an uncongenial 
 task — would devolve upon the ladies of the house. 
 
 Anastasia was annoyed, and when she was dis- 
 pleased she had a knack of making herself pecul- 
 iarly disagreeable to her neighbors, but it was im- 
 politic to quarrel with her brother, so she contented 
 herself by turning down the corners of her mouth, 
 shrugging her wide shoulders, and leaving him to 
 occupy his window-seat alone. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 8 7 
 
 He, however, did not remain where she had left 
 him, bat crossing the room, seated himself by the 
 side of his mother, with whom he conversed for 
 some time. Lady Jones still possessed one joy 
 which was unqnenched by the pomp of her riches 
 — the love of her son, her handsome,, charming son, 
 who treated her with a gentle tenderness and a 
 courteous consideration such as had strangled the 
 dawning shadow of a suspicion that he might be 
 ashamed of her, and those supreme, manifest, but 
 unsuccessful efforts of hers to be comme ilfaut. 
 
 The conversation between them, of which the 
 young man monopolized the lion's share, and to 
 which his mother replied with "nods and becks and 
 wreathed smiles," was of some length, and bore the 
 following fruit. 2 
 
 During the ensuing afternoon, when Miss Mit- 
 ford and her niece were seated in the cool, flower- 
 scented little drawing room at Carnation Cottage, 
 the sound of a ring at the front gate tinkled through 
 the open window, and mingled so harmoniously 
 with the jubilant song of the canary that Miss Eliz- 
 abeth — who was dozing in an arm-chair with her 
 cap straying, as was its wont over her left column 
 of curls, and her plump brown hands clasped on her 
 round knees — neither stirred nor sighed. 
 
88 A MATTER OF SKILL 
 
 Helen, who was arranging some freshly-cut roses 
 in a basket as she hummed her favorite, "A 
 man who would woo a fair maid," in subdued 
 notes, saw a shadow cross the lawn; so, roses 
 in hand, she rose and twitched the offending cap 
 into place in view of an emergency in the shape of 
 visitors. She had resumed her song and her oc> 
 cupation when Julia, awed by the stateliness of a 
 powdered footman and excited by the unwonted 
 sight of a gentleman caller, opened the door timidly, 
 and in hushed tones announced — 
 
 "Lady Jones and Mr. Jones !" 
 
 Then followed some embarrassing moments, 
 during which Miss Elizabeth woke up in a bewildered 
 condition ; Lady Jones nervously and unintelligibly 
 endeavored to explain the object of her call, stared 
 Helen out of countenance and broke the foreleg of 
 the dainty chair upon the edge of which she had 
 placed herself on her entry. 
 
 Strangely enough, the usually composed Helen 
 had momentarily lost her self-possession, but soon 
 regaining it, she found Lady Jones another and a 
 firmer chair, helped her out with her disclosures, 
 and sustained the conversation until her aunt finally 
 emerged from the land of dreams and became her 
 placid and tranquil self. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 89 
 
 "It is so long since I had the pleasure of seeing 
 you, Lady Jones, that, for the first moment, I hardly 
 knew you," she apologized. '' It seemed so stupid, 
 but unfortunately I left my spectacles on the gar 
 den seat below the magnolia, and without them I 
 am nearly blind, I am indeed." 
 
 "My eyes fail me, too, Miss Mitford, but I'm 
 sorry to say I don't wear spectacles, but these awk- 
 ward pinch-noses which my girls prefer, though 
 they fall from my nose as often as I place them 
 there." 
 
 "But I notice that your — ahem — your glasses are 
 suspended from your neck by a chair, which is so 
 very convenient ; my spectacles frequently get mis- 
 laid. It is impossible," with a gentle sigh, "to 
 attach spectacles." 
 
 Mr. Jones, to do him justice, was behaving with 
 tact, he looked as though he was in the habit of 
 paying afternoon calls with his mother, and ap- 
 peared quite at home on the tiny chair in the cor- 
 ner, where he had retreated on his arrival, and 
 from whence, for the first few moments, he watched 
 the scene in silence. 
 
 As soon as the elder ladies were fairly engaged 
 in conversation, Helen turned and spoke to this 
 unassertive guest ; though she was conscious that 
 
90 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 his eye rested more persistently upon her than was 
 quite in accordance with good manners, she no 
 longer appeared to resent it. If he had approved 
 her, soiled, weary, and . travel-stained, as she had 
 appeared the previous day, it was not probable 
 that his admiration would lessen on the second 
 sight of the girl, who, for some inexplicable reason, 
 had amended her manner as much as she had im- 
 proved her appearance. Yesterday he had fan- 
 cied her gauche, constrained, shy, now she was 
 gracious, self-possessed, and smiling, and although 
 there was something in her ceremonious civility 
 which balked his endeavors to arrive at that easy, 
 hail-fellow-well-met stage of intimacy, which he 
 usually adopted with those fortunate girls to whom 
 he took a liking, yet he was not inclined to quarrel 
 with her demeanor; after all it was a change, and 
 variety is refreshing. 
 
 He had come for the purpose of inviting her j 
 to the ball, and he saw no reason for concealing ' 
 his purpose so he immediately approached the 
 subject. 
 
 "My mother's brought you a card," he said, and 
 then urged her to accept the invitation. 
 
 Her smiling indifference to the whole question 
 was rather astonishing to one whose desire, opinion, 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 91 
 
 or remark, usually received the undivided attention 
 of that honored lady to whom it was divulged. 
 
 "You don't care for dancing?" he hazarded. 
 "Perhaps you don't go to balls? " 
 
 "I was at a ball last week," she replied, " I am ! 
 very fond of dancing." 
 
 "Perhaps you have had too much of it? One 
 gets sick of anything." 
 
 She smiled at him without answering— a provok- 
 ing smile because it was ambiguous. 
 
 He thought those gray eyes of hers with which 
 she looked straight into his, were very clear and 
 cold, but wonderfully pretty ; he thought she looked 
 like a rose herself in her pink cotton gown and her 
 hands filled with roses, he thought he should like to 
 own that cloth of gold bud with which she toyed 
 half -absently while she talked. He wished she- 
 would be less unapproachable and more responsive. 
 
 " Perhaps," he began again, still searching for a 
 cause for her refusal, "you don't care for a ball out 
 of your own -neighborhood ? Do strangers bore 
 you?" 
 
 " On the contrary — I like change, and therefore a 
 change of face." 
 
 "Then, why," doggedly, "won't you come to 
 us?" 
 
92 A MATTEL OF SKILL. 
 
 "I am so sorry," with that formal air of polite- 
 ness that was artificial, he knew, and which annoyed 
 him, "that I am unable to accept your kind invita- 
 tion." 
 
 " I am most unlucky," he returned with a smile, 
 "you will accept nothing of mine — not even a lift 
 in my dog-cart." 
 
 It was the first time he had alluded to their prior 
 acquaintance, and she blushed a little when he did 
 so, though she answered with that calm savoirfaire 
 and self-reliance which seemed to place her at a 
 great distance off and reversed their former position, 
 to his disadvantage. 
 
 " Yesterday you were a stranger to me," she said, 
 demurely. 
 
 "So is a cabman a stranger, but you drive in his 
 cab all right." 
 
 " I pay a cabman." 
 
 " You could pay me, if you like." 
 
 " I had no money." 
 
 " I would have put it down," he said, "I would 
 have taken out the fare in dances." 
 
 "You were very kind," with a mischievous 
 twinkle in her eyes, "to propose driving me, but 
 you could hardly expect me to trespass upon your 
 goodness by accepting your offer." 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. $$ 
 
 ■ j 
 
 "It was no case of trespassing," he returned, 
 answering the twinkle with a laugh, " the cart was 
 there and the empty seat ready for you. Upon my 
 word, I was miserable the whole evening at the. 
 thought of your walking home ; I couldn't forget it, ? 
 but it was your own fault." ' 
 
 A very steady and expressive glance from his 
 companion disconcerted the speaker. 
 
 " If it wasn't your own fault I don't know who 
 was to blame," he added, with some defiance. 
 " When I was half way home I nearly turned back 
 to try my luck again with you, but remembering 
 your face as I had last seen it I thought it wiser not 
 to try." 
 
 u Had you come you would have been too late to 
 find me for I soon met with a — a carriage in which 
 I drove home." 
 
 "Not really? You don't mean it, I thought all 
 the cabs and carts were well on their way back 
 before you left the station." 
 
 "You had forgotten the carrier's cart." 
 
 He laughed, they were sailing unpleasantly near 
 the wind, he must change the subject. 
 
 " So you came in the guise of a parcel, what 
 a fortunate carrier ! I am glad you were spared the 
 walk, though I am inclined to think you deserved to 
 
94 A MA1TER OF SKILL. 
 
 suffer for refusing my escort/' then, with a sudden 
 happy thought, " You pass through pretty country 
 on the way here, don't you ? " 
 
 " Exceedingly," with a disappointing lack of en- 
 thusiasm. 
 
 " You do not know the Eivers Meet Vale near 
 here ? " 
 
 " No, but I have heard of it." 
 
 " You must see it. " 
 
 "Yes, I should like to go there." 
 
 "It's, a perfect bit of scenery. It beats anything 
 I ever saw in any country, and I have done a tire- 
 some bit of knocking about in my life. The rivers 
 come in contact in a narrow valley between a brace 
 of granite tors ; there is such a tumult over the 
 meeting of the waters that you can hear the splash- 
 ing and the roar half a mile off. Bowlders from 
 the cliff have rolled down into the bed of the river 
 and the water lashes them all day long and sends 
 up clouds of spray which keep the air cool even on 
 the hottest summer morning. The Osmunda Ee- 
 galis grows eight feet high on the banks ; inland 
 you can get a view over the moor, and seaward you 
 can see right away beyond Morte Point." 
 
 "How beautiful." 
 
 "Indeed, it is beautiful J* 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 95 
 
 Scenery was a stimulating and stirring topic; 
 Mr. Jones felt that hitherto he had not fully appre- 
 ciated the beauties of North Devon. 
 
 "The morning after the ball we are going to 
 drive up there for a blow," he continued. "We 
 are all going, a largish party, we shall take lunch 
 and make a day of it. It's rather a difficult place 
 to get at, the roads are execrable. You will come 
 with us, won't you ? You would love the Vale and 
 my mother would be so pleased to have you." 
 
 Helen's eyes had sunk to the roses on her knee, 
 she hesitated and he eagerly pressed his advantage. 
 
 "I will get the carrier's cart if that is the only 
 conveyance you fancy, and if I mayn't drive you, at 
 least I may walk by the horse's head and crack the 
 whip occasionly." 
 
 " May I leave it open ? " 
 
 "No," he said, boldly, "that is just what you 
 may not do. I hate uncertainty worse than misfor- 
 tune. If you will come it will be very kind of you; 
 if you won't I will make up my mind to bear the 
 disappointment. " 
 
 "It must depend upon my aunt," with an ac- 
 cession of dignity that the young man did not seem 
 to remark. 
 
 "I thought it depended on you," he said, frank- 
 
)6 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 ly, "if it depends on her it is easily arranged/' and, 
 forthwith, he arose from his chair, quitted his non- 
 plussed companion, and, turning his shoulder upon 
 her, addressed Miss Elizabeth. He had hardly fin- 
 ished his petition for permission for Helen to join 
 their Eivers Meet picnic before it was gratefully ac - 
 corded. 
 
 " Whose picnic is it, Albert," asked Lady Jones, 
 rising as she spoke preparatory to taking leave. "I 
 had'nt heard a word of it. Dear me, I fancy you 
 must have made a mistake for I do not think we are 
 invited." 
 
 "It's all right, mother," he replied, calmly. 
 'The girls are going and all the people in the house. 
 It is our own picnic, but it's rather premature to 
 talk of it, for the weather's so uncommonly un- 
 settled down here in the West." 
 
 When the visitors had gone, the elder Miss Mit- 
 f ord waxed eloquent over their charms and flooded i 
 her discourse with their praises. \ 
 
 "Such genial and friendly people, love, the 
 young man so handsome and so easy. If poor 
 Lady Jones is not quite what we are accustomed to 
 in polish, yet her deficiences are concealed by good 
 nature. People are sadly unkind about them. 
 Jealousy/love : is at the root of all unkindness. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. fcf 
 
 Between ourselves, Helen, I think that nice young 
 man has taken a. fancy to you. You have no idea 
 how he stared when you were bidding his Mama 
 good-by — it was almost uncivil — but then he has 
 such handsome eyes." 
 
 "He is very self-satisfied and conceited," said the 
 younger lady with cold deliberation. 
 
 "Dear, dear, you astonish me, Helen. From 
 your manner and general air I quite thought, well, 
 well, I really couldn't tell you what I did think — » 
 old maids are fanciful." 
 
 "I wonder if they are as fanciful as young 
 ones," thought the girl dipping her sweet face down 
 in the basket of roses before her and smiling rather 
 grimly. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 "Unfold, ye tender blooms of life ; 
 
 Sing birds ; let all the world be gay ; 
 'Tis well — the morning of our day 
 Must rise 'mid joyous songs and strife." 
 
 Lewis Morris. 
 
 '"THE first week of Helen's visit had passed, and she 
 A had already decided that Carnation Cottage was 
 the pleasantest house possible in which to live, that 
 no companion could be more congenial than Miss 
 Elizabeth, that Betsey's wit was equal to Sheridan's, 
 that Devon was the loveliest county in England — in 
 fact, to be brief, that she was as happy as the lovely 
 July days were long. 
 
 Her radiant face was seldom clouded ; it would 
 take a heavy weight of grief to depress her buoy- 
 ant spirits, or quench the sparkle of keen life in 
 her eyes. In her sheltered existence such anxieties 
 as she had of necessity encountered did not strike 
 below the surface ; of suffering she knew nothing 
 but the name. 
 
 Both Miss Elizabeth and the less impressionable 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 99 
 
 Betsey had gone down before her charms like nine- 
 pins. When she was out of the room, they talked 
 about her; when she was present, they followed her 
 about, watching her with indulgent eyes. As a 
 matter of course, she took the guidance of the 
 household into her firm hands, and even gave 
 advice on the subject of gardening, flitting to and 
 fro the grass-plot, from flower-bed to flower-bed, 
 carrying shears or watering-pot, trowel or rake, 
 hose or spud, as the fancy seized her, with Miss 
 Elizabeth, a little breathless and anxious, but un- 
 complaining, following at her heels, When, as 
 was sometimes the case, she fell into a wild and 
 whimsical mood and talked and romped more like 
 an irresponsible madcap than the dignified young 
 woman she sometimes appeared, Miss Elizabeth, in- 
 stead of scolding, went into fits of weak laughter. 
 
 When the fierce heat of the day had passed, 
 Helen usually went down alone to the seashore, for 
 her aunt could seldom be persuaded to leave the 
 precincts of her own domain, explored the village, 
 climbed the rocks, played with the children on the 
 beach, and formed a friendship with that inevitable 
 seaside institution, the tanned, amphibious, and 
 most garrulous bathing-woman. 
 
 Helen was gregarious ; she was content to be 
 
ioo A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 alone because it was her nature to be content under 
 all circumstances, but she dearly liked a companion, 
 and when nobody came her way she was disappoint- 
 ed. The nurses and children with whom the nar- / 
 row belt of sands immediately below the village was 
 sprinkled, soon learned to know the tall, handsome 
 girl who had a greeting for every one she met, a 
 smile for the babies, a ready and skillful hand 
 wherewith to build castles, fill buckets, sail boats, or 
 pick up the fallen, and cheerful words to console 
 the woeful. She never sat beneath an umbrella 
 absorbed in the dead contents of a yellow-back, and 
 therefore blind to the real game of life played for- 
 ever before her eyes. She was keenly interested in 
 her kind. 
 
 More than once during her wanderings, she had 
 caught a glimpse of a high, yellow dogcart, with a 
 square shouldered figure sitting bolt upright on the . 
 box seat, whom she recognized. Usually he had ( 
 some one beside him ; twice it had been another ( 
 square-shouldered, broad figure like his own ; but 
 the third time his companion had been a lady, a 
 pretty girl, whose face was turned toward him as 
 though she was listening while he talked. Once, only 
 once, Helen had met that dogcart face to face, and 
 then its occupant, who had been alone, had drawn 
 
A MATTER' <)#'> SKILL: \6i 
 
 up beside her and engaged 1 her for' ah unconscion- 
 ably long time in conversation. More than once 
 she had tried to move on, but each time he had re- 
 called her by a question and always on the subject 
 of her loss, on which topic he had, of course, a right 
 to question her. In an affair of dogged determina- 
 tion Helen had met her master — an amiable, gentle, 
 but unflinchingly obstinate master. 
 
 Mr. Jones had also called one afternoon at Car- 
 nation Cottage, and again it was for the purpose of 
 conversing with Helen about her stolen property, 
 of which, it seemed, he had heard some hopeful 
 news ; in fact, he believed the watch had been dis- 
 covered in a pawnbroker's shop in Birmingham 
 and in that case before very long he should have 
 the pleasure of restoring it to its owner. 
 
 Miss Elizabeth was grateful for all the trouble 
 that this kind young man had taken, and, although 
 her niece was out, she had pressed him to stay to 
 tea. He had remained, and, tea having been taken 
 out into the garden, he had seated himself beside 
 his hostess in the shade of the tulip tree, where he 
 had sojourned for a very, very long time. He had 
 shown such wisdom about, such appreciation of, and 
 such love for his companion's flowers that on his 
 departure she waxed enthusiastic, pronouncing him 
 
iui : 'A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 to be "the most Agreeable person of her acquaint- 
 ance," and "more like the young men of my own 
 day, love." 
 
 Helen, who had been down on the beach during 
 this event, was toiling slowly up the hill on her way j 
 home when Mr. Jones emerged from the garden 
 gate, with the most cherished of her aunt's rosebuds 
 in his button-hole, and an aggressively debonair and 
 satisfied demeanor. She was overjoyed at the pros- 
 pect of recovering her watch and listened to all he 
 had to say, which was not a little, on that and on 
 other subjects, with eager eyes and her most gracious 
 manner. When, at last, she left him, he watched 
 her out of sight, and then, turning away, he walked 
 home with a graver look than usual on his careless, 
 untroubled face ; while she, entering the garden, 
 met her excited aunt with a torrent of insane jokes 
 and teasing laughter. She would be in earnest 
 about nothing; she would not listen to a repetition 
 of Mr. Jones's conversation, she would not be in- 
 terested in anything concerning him ; she would 
 only consent to hear his praise under prc f es t. All 
 through that evening she was in outrageously high 
 spirits, and at last, when her poor aunt, half ex- 
 hausted with laughter, led her to the piano and 
 almost with tears petitioned for a song, she would 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL, 103 
 
 only sing her old favorite, " A man who would woo 
 a fair maid," and that with such whimsical emphasis 
 and vehemence that it set poor Miss. EKzabeth 
 laughing again. 
 
 "Sing something'soft, love, something soft," the 
 lady begged plaintively. 
 
 "Of soft heads or soft hearts, auntie? "They 
 are both equally interesting, and they hunt in 
 couples." 
 
 " Hush, Helen, hush ; do not be so wild. Sing a 
 pretty, gentle, tender love song. " 
 
 "I couldn't do it, auntie. Love is such a fraud ; 
 it really is — You may talk of a tender beefsteak ; 
 but a tender song — pshaw ! " 
 
 "Helen, that is not right; it is unseemly, love. 
 I am going to bed." 
 
 And she went — it was her usual and effective 
 way of ending an argument. 
 
 Upon the afternoon of that day which had been 
 fixed for the ball at Newton Hall the Miss Mitfords, 
 at Helen's request, had tea early ; after which the 
 girl, adjusting her big white hat, and, as a tribute to 
 custom, fetching her gloves (which she put in her 
 pocket instead of upon her hands), set off for her 
 daily walk. She paused a moment at the gate to 
 Wave a farewell to her aunt, who was bent double 
 
-jo* A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 over her carnation bed, the surface soil of w hich she 
 was loosening with a fork, 
 
 "The tide is out this evening, auntie; I am 
 going to the rocks. The distant rocks, it's a long 
 j walk. I maybe late." 
 
 "Don't get drowned, love." 
 
 "No, auntie." 
 
 "Don't get your feet wet." 
 
 "No, auntie." 
 
 Half an hour later Helen had reached the shore. 
 She loved the sea, the thousand lights and shades 
 that tinged its surface, the restlessness, the eternal 
 variety, the mystery of its troubled life. But that 
 evening she had no time to watch the waves ; she 
 walked quickly along the sands, skirting the groups 
 of nursemaids and children, with her face turned 
 westward toward the cliffs, which shelved down into 
 a jutting peninsula. Here the low rocks reached 
 I far put into the sea, and then sinking below the sur- 
 ! face showed, like a black shadow, through the blue 
 waters. Thither she steered her way. 
 
 The bathing- woman, who « was standing as sen- 
 tinel behind a long row of curious, sand-ingrained, 
 faded garments which, secured by stones, lay supine 
 on the yellow sands, addressed her as she passed— 
 
 " Where be 'ee going to Miss ?" 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL, 105 
 
 - "To the rocks." 
 
 "Then plaze to mind the tide; her comes in 
 powerful fast and strong out yonder. Don't 'ee go 
 I out tu far, Miss. It's safe enough if yu'll be a bit 
 [careful." 
 
 Helen nodded. "She would be careful," she 
 said, and strode on fast. 
 
 She toiled laboriously over the rough and broken 
 shingle which intervened between the sands and 
 those splendid rocks — her destination. Most girls 
 would have been daunted by. the obstacles of that 
 long and painful walk, and would soon have turned 
 back to join those- comrades who were content with 
 pleasures less difficul of access, but with Helen it 
 was altogether otherwise. An impediment in her 
 route was merely a thing to be surmounted ; it was 
 no barrier to stop her progress. When once that 
 formidable possession of hers, her mind, was made 
 I up, her purpose, she had accustomed herself to con- 
 
 ! sider, was inflexible. 
 
 j 7 
 
 She found the distance she had to traverse was 
 far greater than she had anticipated, and it was 
 long before she — tired, hot, and footsore — reached 
 the desired spot and sat down on the first low rock 
 at hand to rest and look about her. The air was 
 redolent of the breath of the sea ; a bright breeze 
 
io6 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 was blowing, which put a " sharp head" on the 
 chopping waves, and cut them up into bustling, 
 zig-zag ridges that splashed and broke continually 
 against the rocks, and tossed and swayed the heavy- 
 layers of seed weed to and fro. 
 
 Save for Helen the place was deserted ; the sea 
 would chafe and fret so foolishly it seemed to her, 
 so sadly, too, as though memory would not let it 
 rest, though the sky was cloudless. Helen leaned 
 back against the rock and watched the water, more 
 thoughtful than was her wont. It was very cool in 
 the shade of the cliff ; the sea-gulls swooped lazily 
 about the bay, and a fleet of fishing- smacks, their 
 tawny sails bright in the sunshine, were sailing past 
 before the wind. 
 
 Presently she emerged from the shadow and be- 
 gan to cross the rocks, steering her course toward 
 their furthest ledge, which formed a natural break- 
 water on the west of the reef. She was light and 
 agile of limb, possessed a fairly steady head and a 
 ready eye, but the path she trod was a perilous one, 
 for the seaweed which grew on the rocks concealed 
 the pools, and was, moreover, both slimy and slip- 
 pery. 
 
 To avoid the catastrophe of spoiling her boots 
 and stockings, she took them off and put them upon 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 107 
 
 an adjacent rock. Then, with an easy mind and 
 happy as a child, she waded through the tepid pools 
 in which the green-ribbon and pink tree- seaweed 
 floated, where vividly-green rock fish darted to and 
 fro, and sea-anemones unfolded their tinted limbs 
 until they bloomed like the blossoms of a chrysan- 
 themum in the sunshine. Her observant eyes 
 missed none of the beauties at her feet, but every 
 now and then she remembered the dangers of the 
 tide and kept an outlook on the sea. 
 
 She was enjoying herself after a childish fashion, 
 the warm transparent water was tempting. She 
 rolled her sleeves up high, and kneeling down be- 
 fore a pool she plunged her hand and arm deep 
 down among the seaweed and the stones. She was 
 laughing at the awkward flight of a tiny crab when 
 a call — a clear, loud call — startled her to her feet. 
 
 She stood up, raised her dripping, white hand to 
 shade her eyes, and stared in the direction whence 
 the sound had come. A little sailing-boat, in which 
 were seated Mr. Jones and the gentleman whom 
 Helen had seen before in the yellow- wheeled dog- 
 cart, was within twenty yards of her. It was the 
 former of these two young men who had so uncere- 
 moniously hailed her. 
 
 " Hey, hey ! You musn't stay there — don't 
 
ioS A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 stay there!" he cried. "The tide has turned; in 
 two minutes those gulleys behind you will be three 
 feet deep. If you don't want a ducking, you had 
 better hurry up, I can tell you." 
 
 Helen was dismayed ; the situation was exas- 
 perating. She did not move ; she stooped a little, 
 to be sure that those dreadful feet of hers were con- 
 cealed, and then she cast a hurried glance around. 
 Where was that rock upon which she had stored 
 her belongings? Alas, she had not marked the 
 place, and now she could not find it. 
 
 "I say, don't wait!" cried the voice again. 
 "You will be drowned. There isn't too much 
 time to get across." 
 
 "Thank you — thank you," she called back, 
 feebly. " I will go — I am going." 
 
 Still she did not move. 
 
 "What a good-looking girl!" said Mr. Jones's 
 friend. "No wonder you rowed here ten thou- 
 sand miles an hour when you saw her ! She's a 
 precious deal too pretty to drown. She has lost 
 her head, though. Why don't she go on ? " 
 
 "No fear of her losing her head," returned the 
 other, with an unkind laugh. " We have told her 
 what to expect, so if she wishes to be drowned she 
 knows how to do it. She is as headstrong as ' an 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL, 109 
 
 allegory. ' If her manners matched her face she 
 would do, but they don't." 
 
 " Poor thing! What has she done to you Ber- 
 tie ? She has never jumped on you, has she. You 
 are such a lucky chap, you expect to get all the 
 roses and none of the thorns. She l don't take no 
 'count of us,' as you say in Devon, for she has not 
 budged an inch.'' 
 
 "She is a little fool," said Mr. Jones, shortly. 
 "Turn the boat, Mason. We will bustle up and 
 leave her." 
 
 After a mild protest his friend obeyed. 
 
 Tacking to the wind, the boat sailed down the 
 bay, and landed its occupants on the shore below 
 Noelcombe. Here the men separated, one disap- 
 pearing in the direction of Newton, the other- 
 after wandering rather aimlessly about the sands 
 for a time— suddenly turned his face westward, 
 and began to plod ever the rough route which led 
 to the reef of rocks. 
 
 Though Miss Helen Mitf ord was ungrateful and 
 pig-headed, and though Mr. Jones thought it prob- 
 able that he should shortly ask the gentle and pli- 
 able Lady Lucy Freemantle to marry him, yet he 
 was interested to know what had become of that 
 slender figure which he could still see ; with his 
 
no A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 miners eye, standing in the sunshine, with her beau- 
 tiful wet hand and arm raised and her earnest, 
 startled eyes fixed on him. He had felt unreason- 
 able anger at his companion's admiration of the 
 girl, anger which he had directed upon her luckless 
 head. He had spoken of her with unjustifiable 
 rudeness ; it was well for him that she had been 
 out of earshot when he had done so ; he could 
 picture her face had she, by an unhappy chance, 
 overheard his words. 
 
 If she had not flown at the first hint of danger, 
 then she deserved praise for her pluck — not the 
 condemnation for rashness which he had allotted 
 her. 
 
 His head was overflowing with thoughts of her. 
 His heart misgave him that he had not appreciated 
 the daring bravery with which she had heard of her 
 danger (a danger he had somewhat exaggerated), 
 and steadily, calmy, courageously faced it. 
 
 Meanwhile, this calm young heroine, as soon as 
 the boat's head was turned away, cast custom and 
 caution to the winds. The choice between dignity 
 or drowning was not hard to make, between clothed 
 feet or safety, seemlinesss or preservation, boots or 
 death. Stumbling, clambering, slipping, she ran 
 like a stag over the rocks, fording pools and gullies 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. in 
 
 recklessly in her panic, cutting and bruising her 
 feet and accomplishing her painful retreat with 
 wonderful celerity considering the difficulties of 
 her path and her constant backward glances at the 
 departing boat. 
 
 And so, presently, Mr. Jones saw the figure for 
 which he was in search approaching him, but most 
 leisurely. How provokingly she dawdled ; no 
 house-laden snail ever crawled so slowly as she 
 now advanced. Could it be that she recognized 
 him, and from perversity, or coyness, or some un- 
 fathomable feminine coquetry, lingered for the 
 mere purpose of annoying him ? 
 
 Confound her, she was over-doing it, for she 
 actually seated herself on the shingle within a few 
 yards of the breaking waves, and stared out to sea 
 as though she was as stationary (or more so) than 
 the lighthouse. The dinner hour was approaching 
 awkwardly near, but Mr. Jones did not retreat ; on 
 the contrary, he quickened his pace, and with a 
 smile in his eyes and a tightly-closed mouth walked 
 on. As he came nearer to the girl she started per- 
 ceptibly ; if she was not a good, nay, more, a prac- 
 ticed actress, that was assuredly the first time she 
 had seen him. He saw her flush, a scarlet, deep 
 flush, which dyed her face and neck, her lips quiv- 
 
U2 A MATTEL OF SKILL. 
 
 ered, her eyes sank to the ground, and then, with 
 a bashful, uncertain, hurried movement, she rose 
 to her feet. 
 
 The conclusion he naturally deduced from this I 
 delightfully unexpected shyness of hers set his' 
 heart beating fast, he had taken her unawares, and 
 thus learned the value of that indifferent manner 
 which it had pleased her to adopt toward him. 
 How exceedingly pretty she looked ! Her down- 
 cast, black-lashed eyes, her drooping head, that 
 changing color of which he was the author, be- 
 came her royally ; he would not spoil the picture by 
 speaking and setting her at her ease. Even her 
 voice, as she addressed him hurriedly by name, 
 faltered— there was a deprecating cadence, new as 
 it was sweet, in its tones. His late companion 
 had accused him of desiring to possess, nay, more, 
 of actually possessing "all the roses and none of 
 the thorns " ; this blushing rose had assuredly 
 stripped off her prickles, and she was a rare blos- 
 som, the fairest of her sisters. His heart warmed 
 to her, he would be most gentle, he would be un- 
 conscious of her constraint. But he must be 
 cautious, it would not do to be too— there* his reso- 
 lutions failed him, for Miss Mitford, with a second 
 rapid uncertain movement, sank down again into 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL, 113 
 
 her former position on the shingle, flushing like 
 Aurora. 
 
 It was his duty, of course, to follow her lead 
 and seat himself beside her, and, late though it 
 was, he felt no disinclination to do so. Leisurely, 
 and with a kind smile, he placed himself beside 
 her ; his reception had flattered him, he was sure 
 of himself. 
 
 " Trust in thyself— then spur amain" for wooing 
 as for working, is an excellent motto. 
 
 To give him his due, he made himself very 
 agreeable ; how fluently he talked and how quietly 
 she listened ; she answered him but in soft mono- 
 syllables ; he felt that he shone in conversation, she 
 was evidently well satisfied with his society, for she 
 made no attempt to move, she sat motionless as a 
 statue. Fired by the troubled expression of her 
 beautiful eyes — by the way, how her sweet face 
 had grown in expression, the anxiety that ruffled 
 her brow, the restlessness, a constraint betrayed by 
 the way in which she toyed continually with some 
 pebbles in her hand, were all new — he began to 
 talk sentiment, it was not his way to be senti- 
 mental, he hardly knew what ailed him. Follow- 
 ing her gaze across the sea, he began to descant on 
 its beauties. Had she watched last night's sunset, 
 
H4 A MATTER OF SKIIL. 
 
 the lights had been — what did that poet say? he 
 was sure Miss Mitford knew whom he meant and 
 what he meant — "day died like the dolphin." 
 Yes, that was it. Had she seen a storm at sea? 
 Viewed from the coast he declared it to be a most 
 glorious sight ; he would give anything to be with 
 her at Noelcombe when a real nor'easter was blow- 
 ing, and the waves dashed roaring up against the 
 rocks and drenched the cliffs a hundred feet aloft 
 with spray. But she would be miserable, her kind 
 heart would be with the sailors, and her thought 
 of them would blind her eyes to the beauties of the 
 storm. He was getting on fast, he was going 
 ahead ; to his comrade's unutterable relief, he sud- 
 denly drew out his watch and changed the subject. 
 
 "It is half -past seven," he announced carelessly ; 
 he thought that, perhaps, her watchless position 
 had made her regardless of time. " At what a pace 
 the time has gone." 
 
 Every nerve in her body lustily negatived that 
 remark, but she said — 
 
 "Yes, it is very, very late. Won't you" (tim- 
 idly) "be late for dinner ?" 
 
 "Yes," he returned, with a regretful sigh ; " un- 
 less we start at once, I shall probably get no dinner 
 at all." 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 115 
 
 " Don't" she began, with a sudden boldness ; 
 "please don't think it necessary to wait for me. I 
 shall not go home for some time.— I don't know 
 when I shall go home ; — not for hours and 
 hours." 
 
 " Then," he returned, gravely, "you mean to de- 
 prive me altogether of my dinner." 
 
 "But, surely, you have forgoten, you must go ; 
 it is the night of your ball." 
 
 He murmured something which the breaking of 
 the waves drowned, but which was in reality a rash 
 avowal of oblivion to the mundane matters of life 
 under the present circumstances. 
 
 She smiled a bewilderingly kind smile into his 
 face. 
 
 "Good-by," she said, holding out her hand to 
 him. " I won't allow you to stay for another mo- 
 ment. I should never forgive myself if you lost 
 your dinner through your — your politeness, and 
 don't you think — I'm sure — at least I think your 
 people will want you and won't know where you 
 are." 
 
 A pathetic, pleading note had become entangled 
 in her hesitating tones. He took her cold little 
 hand and held it tightly, answering her with some 
 Words apt and soft enough to repay her amply for 
 
u6 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 her favor. He fancied that he knew a good deal 
 about the ways of women, but this one puzzled him. 
 Game so easy of acquisition was sport not worthy 
 of the name. But the hand which he held, small 
 and cold though it was, struggled stoutly for free- 
 dom, so stoutly, indeed, that he released it. 
 
 Poor Helen ; the failure, or rather the result of 
 her final effort to rid herself of this unconscious ag- 
 gressor overwhelmed her. She was disheartened, 
 perplexed, and tired out. The incoming waves 
 splashed dangerously near her ; a few minutes more 
 and her present position would be untenable. Her 
 mouth quivered perceptibly, and the tears started to 
 her eyes. Mr. Jones noticed these preliminaries 
 with dismay ; he had barely time to feel that mat- 
 ters were getting serious, and to reflect that the 
 kissing away of these tears would be a blessed work, 
 when her drowned gray eyes were turned tragically 
 to his. 
 
 " Won't you go ? Will nothing make you go ?" 
 she cried, pushing forth, for one moment, from 
 beneath her serge skirt, a bare and bleeding foot at 
 which she pointed with a pregnant gesture. "I 
 have to walk all the way over these dreadful, dread- 
 ful stones barefoot. I could not find my — my boots 
 Or stockings when you frightened me ; they were 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. U f 
 
 out there on the rocks ; they have been washed 
 away. Oh ! you are laughing — how can you 
 laugh f ' 
 
 And the tears in her eyes welled over, and rolled 
 slowly ^down her cheeks. 
 
ii8 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " There's a divinity that shapes our ends, 
 Kough-hew them how we will." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 "HUT if Mr. Jones had smiled, the smile arose 
 *** from a desire to screen an inevitable chagrin, 
 rather than from any sense of humor at the situation, 
 and at her words he became grave as a judge. Indeed, 
 he felt as little inclined to laugh as did Helen her- 
 self at that moment, for he was disagreeably con- 
 scious of having played the coxcomb in his thoughts. 
 Had ever man more grievously misread a manner ? 
 And yet he was glad — yes, glad that he had been 
 mistaken, and that this young person differed from 
 that vast tribe of demoiselles a marier, who ad- 
 vanced uninvited from all corners, and at all stages 
 of his life, to meet him. 
 
 At the sight of her distress, he forgot himself ; 
 such a lapse of memory was not quite of so rare an 
 occurrence with Mr. Jones as with the majority of 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 119 
 
 his sex. Divesting himself instantly of that gallant 
 air which embarrassed her, with considerable tact 
 and kindliness he soothed Helen into taking a less 
 hopeless view of her position ; and when her tears 
 were dried and she was composed, she found that 
 he had again opened a road through which she 
 could escape from a dilemma. 
 
 "But I am giving you so much trouble • you are 
 so kind/' she faltered. 
 
 "Trouble ? Nonsense, it's no trouble at all. I 
 was going into the village, anyway. I shall get up 
 to your place in no time, and explain what has 
 happened. You stay quietly here ; no, not just 
 here, but a dozen yards further in. Get up ; give 
 me your hands ; lean on me, that's right. Bah ; 
 how those beastly stones hurt you. There, you're 
 all safe now, and the tide won't be in for an hour. 
 Don't move, and I will undertake that your maid 
 shall bring your shoes and stockings before you 
 know where you are. No, don't thank me, it's 
 absurd. You know it was all my fault for scaring 
 you out of your life on the rocks. Good-by, till to- 
 morrow. I wish " — pressing the hand he held sud- 
 denly and firmly — "I wish to heaven that you were 
 coming to our dance to-night." 
 
 But before he had reached Noelcombe, when his 
 
%2o A MATTER OF SKILL, 
 
 young blood had had time to cool, and when the 
 extraordinary influence of the girl's presence was 
 removed, he was no longer sure of the truth of that 
 forcibly expressed desire, for he remembered Lady 
 Lucy to whom he had already engaged himself for 
 half a dozen dances, and to whom he quite intended 
 to engage himself for life. 
 
 Some time later that evening, Miss Elizabeth 
 Mitf ord, her spectacles upon her nose, was delicately 
 perambulating her dewy lawn, withhei^upgathered 
 skirts in one hand and a jam-pot containing a dead- 
 ly solution of salt and water in the other. The 
 passion of her nationality, the thirst for sport, 
 shone in her eager, downcast eyes. 
 
 While she was thus engaged, her niece came out 
 from beneath the embowered porch and stood 
 silently looking across the bay. Helen was tired, 
 her eyes were languid, her expression was soft and 
 subdued, her vigorous spirits were no longer aggress- 
 ive, and contrary to her usual habit, she preserved 
 a lengthy silence. The flower-scented air was 
 warm, the sinking sun, like a ball of fire, lay in the 
 "dappled sky," the clouds, crimson, purple and 
 gold, cast broad shadows upon the indigo back- 
 ground of the sea and were reflected in fainter tints 
 upon the gaunt cliffs. Standing against a back- 
 
A MATTER OF SKTLL. 121 
 
 ground of myrtle and rose trees, she watched the 
 wondrous picture of the sea and of the sunset, and 
 was still. Thoughtful, perforce, and against her 
 will, for thought is pain and pain is not to be toler- 
 ated in so blithe a world. Helen was not given to 
 meditation, she was emphatically a woman of 
 speech, not of deliberation. Neither had it been 
 her habit to indulge in day-dreaming — she wanted 
 no more than she owned, she preferred fact to 
 fancy, therefore the building of an air-castle was a 
 distinct waste of time which might have been bet- 
 ter employed in enjoying life in the solid cottage 
 wherein her lot was cast. 
 
 The result of her present reflection was a smile, 
 not a sigh. 
 
 u Auntie, let those wretched slugs live on for just 
 one more night," she said; her suggestions were 
 apt to fall from her autocratic lips in the guise of 
 commands. " Come over here, and look at the sea 
 and let me talk to you. When you are slug-hunt- 
 ing, you never hear a word I say." 
 
 Thus adjured, the disturbed sportswoman drew 
 herself upright by a stiff effort, and with a guilty 
 confusion turned to her niece. 
 
 " My love, I did not see you, I thought you were 
 in the drawing-room singing that odd song of yours 
 
i22 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 or I should not have come out here. How," anx 
 iously, " are your poor, dear feet ?" 
 
 Helen looked down critically at those invalids, 
 which were roaming within her aunt's capacious 
 house boots — cloth boots, they were capped with 
 patent leather, lined with scarlet flannel, side laced, 
 devoid of heels and roomy. 
 
 "Oh, they are all right now, Auntie, they don't 
 hurt at all, I had forgotten them. I assure you, it 
 is awful when they press their identity on one— as 
 mine did upon me on the beach." 
 
 " Mr. Jones is a most kind-hearted person, 
 Helen." 
 
 The girl had turned aside to pick a crimson rose 
 from the tree behind her, which she placed in the 
 bosom of her gown : she was humming very softly 
 
 " It may draw you a tear 
 Or a box on the ear, 
 You can never be sure till you've tried." 
 
 " I learned both the value of boots and of mes- 
 sengers," she answered, watching the sky. 
 
 Though Miss Elizabeth had obediently joined 
 Helen, her eyes were not on that miraculous and 
 glorious panorama of changing color to which they 
 had been directed, but had crept down to the hunt- 
 ing ground at her feet. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. \t% 
 
 "Auntie," in a slow, low-pitched tone, "were 
 you ever in love ? " 
 
 Miss Elizabeth, scrutinizing the lawn, said, with 
 a pre-occupied air. 
 
 " What did you say, my dear ? " 
 
 " Were you ever in love ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, my dear, to be sure I was." 
 
 " Then you fell in love ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes, certainly I did." 
 
 " Well ? " inquisitively." 
 
 No answer. 
 
 "Well, Auntie?" a little louder, and persua- 
 sively. 
 
 " Well—what— my dear ? " 
 
 " What happened when you were in love ? " 
 
 " Nothing which I can at this moment recollect, 
 Helen." 
 
 "Then you were not engaged ?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed, I was engaged for nearly a year, 
 love. It was an anxious time and Thomas jilted 
 me." 
 
 Helen drew in her breath and flushed. Her 
 curiosity had inflicted a wound on this poor lady, 
 who must yet be made of tough material for she 
 had been jilted, jilted, JILTED, and yet her out- 
 raged pride had not killed her! Helen, in her 
 
%U A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 angry distress, could not speak, but the victim of 
 the wrong manifesting no agitation, she went on 
 commenting on the circumstance with serene com- 
 | plaisance. 
 
 "Dear me, Helen, you have no notion how un- 
 pleasant it all seemed, and how foolishly I fretted. 
 It is hard to foresee in a present distress a future 
 gain. Providence was very good to me. The poor 
 thing for whom he jilted me became his wife— a 
 position I was ignorant enough to envy her. She 
 has had a hard life, for he made a most uncomfort- 
 able and selfish husband, while I, my dear, have 
 spent the autumn of my happy life without a care. 
 My love, the adoption of a life-partner is too great 
 a risk to be willingly undertaken by any one except 
 those who are fearless through the inexperience of 
 their extreme youth. . . — My goodness me ! Helen, 
 there, look, upon the stalk of that tender picotee ! 
 \ Do you see it ? Eapacious little wretch ! I must 
 I secure him." And she ran back to recommence her 
 engrossing occupation. Then Helen re-entered the 
 little porch and a few minutes later the sound of 
 music reached Miss Elizabeth through the open 
 window. Helen was singing a new song, unfamil- 
 iar to the household. 
 Upon the following afternoon the younger Miss 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL, nj 
 
 Mitford, looking as sweet and fresh and fair as the 
 flowers around her, was fidgeting about the grass- 
 plot as she waited for the carriage which Lady 
 Jones had promised should call at four o'clock to ,« 
 pick her up on its way to Bivers Meet. She wore, [ 
 with sad extravagance, her very best gown, a thin 
 electric cotton that matched the color of her eyes, 
 and clad in which she looked her best, and knew it. 
 In her waistbelt she had carefully stowed a whole 
 parterre of her aunt's choicest carnations; her nut- 
 brown lovelocks were arranged to perfection be- 
 neath the broad brim of her hat. 
 
 " Too-to-to-too-toot !" the stirring and lively call 
 of a horn, the rumble of wheels, the sharp trot of 
 horses' hoofs, the jingling of harness precursed the 
 arrival of the Jones' coach, which presently, loaded 
 with a boisterous, laughing, happy crew, drew up 
 alongside the door of Carnation Cottage. 
 
 Neither Lady Jones nor her son were among the 
 party, but a girl, whom Helen afterward learned to 
 be Patricia Jones, called out, listlessly — 
 
 "How do you do?" following the question by 
 the advice to "Get up as fast as possible, for the 
 horses won't stand." 
 
 So Helen mounted the steps precipitately and 
 squeezed herself into the small space on the third 
 
t26 A MATTER OF SKILL, 
 
 seat back whither she was directed — a little abashed 
 at finding herself the one outsider among a party of 
 intimates — a position seldom enviable. Her happy 
 faculty of easy enjoyment served her in good stead 
 during that drive, for, more from lack of invitation 
 than want of inclination, she took small part in 
 that " feast of reason and flow of soul" floating 
 around her. She was in the habit of taking her 
 stand in the foreground of the scene ; here she was 
 unceremoniously thrust into the background, and 
 subsequently ignored — no doubt a wholesome though 
 an unpalatable experience for the damsel, who, how- 
 ever, laughed at such witticisms as she heard, ob- 
 served the company, and craned her neck first on 
 one side, then on the other, to catch a full sight of 
 the surrounding country, and culled plenty of pleas- 
 ure from so doing. Patricia, Anastasia, and the 
 other half-dozen girls were fully occupied with their 
 respective swains, and the aftermath of the pre- 
 vious night's flirtations was being cropped on all 
 sides. 
 
 The young man whom Helen had seen with Mr. 
 Jones in the boat was driving, and by his side on 
 the box-seat Anastasia sat ; such attention as he 
 could spare from the team, which required careful 
 handling over the Devon roads^ she engrossed. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 127 
 
 Once, and once only, Patricia addressed her 
 silent guest — 
 
 " I'm afraid you have not much room, Miss Mit- 
 ford. My brother said you would go in the landau 
 with my mother, and she forgot all about you and 
 started an hour ago." Then, turning to the man 
 next her, she went on — " Bertie drove Lady Lucy 
 in the dogcart ; she was more than half afraid, but 
 he insisted." 
 
 " Have they settled it ?" he asked, with that 
 sort of smile which flickers only over one "it." 
 
 Miss Jones shrugged her high, broad shoulders. 
 
 " Bertie is like all the rest of you, Sir Edwin," 
 she returned — " doesn't know his own mind. The 
 fact is he is an unconscionable flirt, though if one 
 told him so he wouldn't believe it." 
 
 The gentleman addressed murmured some re- 
 sponse, at which Patricia's rosy cheeks grew rosier, 
 and to which she retorted with gratified smiles. 
 
 Helen was an unsympathetic observer of these 
 soft passages ; her lips hardened a little. " They 
 are all making fools of themselves — every one," she 
 thought, and she plumed herself on her superiority 
 to these weaknesses. 
 
 Up and down the heaving country the strong 
 team of hill- trained horses trotted fast. The air 
 
123 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 fanned a color into Helen's cheeks, and brightened 
 her eyes. The chaperon of the party was a girl, 
 little older than Helen herself, whose husband was 
 -Helen's neighbor, and who, before they reached 
 their destination, fell into a broken conversation j 
 with'her. When they alighted at Rivers Meet he 
 elected to constitute himself her companion, and 
 though he was heavy, dull, and universally discon- 
 tented, she was compelled to accept his proffered 
 society, as it seemed to be a choice between him 
 as her squire or no one. Thus she spent- the greater 
 part of the time with him, trying conscientiously to 
 amuse and interest him, but failing obviously. She 
 received a careless smile and a pre-occupied greet- 
 ing from her young host. He did not speak to her ; 
 his presence was in great demand. A girl with a 
 weak, inanimate face, whom Helen heard addressed 
 as Lady Lucy, was always by his side, and he seemed 
 to bestow some of that superfluous energy of his j 
 upon the arrangement of the picnic, for the serv- 1 
 ants were flying to and fro at his behests. 
 
 Now this wise young man had read " the books 
 of woman's looks" rather deeply : he knew the 
 feminine weakness that desires everything except 
 that one thing which she possesses, that values noth- 
 ing which she owns, but ever casts a covetous eye 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 1*0 
 
 upon the unattainable, and so, though' with consid- 
 erable reluctance, he scrupulously neglected Helen. 
 The picnic part of the entertainment was worthy of 
 its source — iced drinks with startling names ; sand- 
 wiches cool, curious, and unwholesome ; tea, coffee, 
 sugared and almonded cakes, bon-bons, and tea- 
 table accessories beloved of women were pressed 
 upon the guests by troops of servants. No man 
 need stir a finger on his comrade's behalf, and there- 
 fore the men, for once in a way, enjoyed a picnic. 
 
 After tea Helen and her squire were wandering 
 lazily along the side of the brawling river, the noise 
 of which was an excuse for maintaining silence — so 
 she diplomatically suggested, for she found herself 
 afc the utmost tether of easy discourse — while each 
 was secretly wondering how soon the call of the 
 horn would summon them for their return journey. 
 The gentleman was grateful to Helen, first for her 
 face, which he admired, secondly for having saved 
 him any trouble in conversation ; but for all that 
 he was thinking, not of her, but of his dinner, while 
 she was conscious of being tired, disappointed, and 
 puzzled. 
 
 Why had Mr. Jones been so anxious that she 
 should go to Rivers Meet ? Though his was the 
 only familiar face among all these strangers, he had 
 
1 3 o A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 never once come near her. He was not the least 
 desirous of her company, he was unconscious of her 
 presence, which he had certainly been at some pains 
 to secure. She had thought about him a good deal, 
 she had never thought of any stranger so much be- 
 fore. She was thinking about him at the very mo- 
 ment when he emerged from behind the granite, 
 moss-fringed bowlder before her and joined them. 
 This time he was alone, no insipid pale-eyed girl to 
 monopolize him. Helen was accustomed to receiv- 
 ing deference, if not devotion, from men ; she al- 
 most considered it her due. Almost simultaneously 
 with his appearance the tooting of the horn broke 
 above the roaring of the water and echoed among 
 the hills ; this was the sound for which she had 
 been eagerly listening, it had come but just three 
 minutes too soon. 
 
 "That is the muster, old chap," said Helen's 
 squire with alacrity, addressing Mr. Jones. " Come 
 along, Miss Mitford, you and I must be off. Aw- 
 fully noisy place this — Niagara not in it. Shan't 
 be sorry to get into the quiet. See you again. 
 Good-by. Good-by. 
 
 " Good-by, Jack," said he, "but it isn't good-by 
 to Miss Mitford. If she will allow me, I am to 
 have the pleasure of driving her back in my cart. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 131 
 
 Lady Lucy fancies there is going to be a thunder- 
 storm, so she has booked for the landau, and I can't 
 be such a brute as to sunder any of the couples on 
 the coach." 
 
 By this speech Mr. Jones had shown the sub- 
 tlety of the serpent ; by his indifferent, but incon- 
 testable invitation, he precluded the possibility of 
 Helen's either refusing his escort or guessing at 
 what pains he had been in perfecting the present 
 arrangement. To which arrangement she ac- 
 quisced quite graciously — her pride would not al- 
 low her to wince beneath the punishment to her 
 vanity. 
 
 1 • Will you go down and see the start, Miss Mit- 
 ford ? Or will you come a hundred yards higher 
 up the stream and have a look at the pools ? " 
 
 She hesitated ; she had no inclination to see the 
 start, she had no interest in her late companions. 
 Mr. Jones read her silence to his liking. 
 
 " We won't see them off. Good-by's are melan- 
 choly duties, you are quite right. Come along down 
 this path, it's not far," and he led the way through 
 the bracken, "but such a ripping place when you 
 get there. We have plenty of time, I am going to 
 drive you home by the new cut round the Great 
 Tor~it is a shorter way than the way you came, but 
 
132 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 the road isn't safe for coaching. You want a good 
 head and a steady nerve to appreciate the view, but 
 you possess both, I know." 
 
 He went on talking with great ease and friend- 
 liness. It really was impossible to remember lost [ 
 parental IPs, plebian progenitors, overbearing sis- 
 ters, or purse-proud oddities, in company with the 
 sunny mood of this genial comrade. What grati- 
 fication was to be found in holding aloof from and 
 sulking with a person who is blind to your frigidity, 
 who listens eagerly to your remarks, who under- 
 stands and responds to your smiles, who meets your 
 thought half way with an answering thought, and 
 who, this last clause is the most effective in the cate- 
 gory — should it please you to turn your back upon 
 and leave him, would be quite as happy, content, 
 and debonair, with some other young woman beside 
 him. Helen did not argue either with him or with 
 herself, but she forgot his drawbacks, though she 
 meant to remember them — and responded to his 
 mood. She became friendly and enjoyed herself, 
 her face was always dangerously expressive of her 
 feelings, he saw at once that she was pleased. 
 
 Precipitous hills inclosed a wide ravine through 
 which a swift and angry river dashed, striking 
 against impending bowlders with a roar, gushing 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 133 
 
 in shallow cascades over the stones, rushing with 
 silent but mighty force beneath the rocky banks. 
 At one spot a cluster of jagged bowlders had been 
 detached from the overhanging cliff and had fallen 
 into the bed of the river, subduing, by their strength, 
 the frenzy of the water, which lay in deep, dark, 
 brooding pools between them. Further on, like a 
 giant refreshed, and with an outburst of fury, the 
 water in a spouting sheet poured over a lofty fall, 
 and thundering down, sped headlong on its course 
 to the sea. 
 
 To this locality Bertie guided his companion. 
 
 "Isn't this ripping?" said he, leaning against 
 the rock, upon a ledge of which she had seated her- 
 self. "I wanted you to see the pools. I knew you 
 would like Eivers Meet. Just look and listen, I 
 won't talk to you. A human voice or a human be- 
 ing is superfluous here. We are too insignificant to 
 assert ourselves ; we ought to take back seats and 
 keep quiet." 
 
 The brawling river drowned his last words, 
 which he had addressed more to himself than to 
 her. 
 
 She clasped her hands tightly, and did as he told 
 her. She looked and listened, she forgot him, she 
 forgot herself, her eyes grew dim with wonder and 
 
*34 A MATTER OF SKILL 
 
 with awe, her quickened breath rose and fell 
 sharply. 
 
 Before the eternal beauty of those hills and 
 vales, before the overwhelming majesty of God's 
 creation, her puny ' ' pride of life " was annihilated. 
 She turned to him for sympathy as a child might 
 turn. 
 
 "And I shall go away and forget it!" she 
 sighed, and then added, slowly — 
 
 " Oh, Memory shield rue from the world's poor strife, 
 And give these scenes thine everlasting life." 
 
 She was astounding him by this departure : but 
 he said again, in that familar formula which, like 
 one of Humpty Dumpty's words, did duty with him 
 for a reflection — 
 
 "It's ripping /" 
 
 "It makes me good," she said — " makes me 
 want to be good. Nothing else matters. All the 
 things we value are nothing — "they are ridiculous 
 I want only to be good." 
 
 He nodded. He knew, or guessed, what she 
 meant ; but he, was a genuine John Bull, to whom 
 gush is impossible. Only upon a very great emer- 
 gency was a glimpse below his leveled surface to be 
 obtained. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 135 
 
 He kept his eyes on her glowing face in lieu of 
 those glorious waters. She caught his glance, hesi- 
 tated, blushed, and then jumped to her feet. 
 
 u We ought to go," she said ; and as he did not ■ 
 dispute her assertion, she retraced her steps, he fob \ 
 lowing in her wake. 
 
%$6 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Is't possible that on so little acquaintance you should 
 like her ? that, but seeing, you should love her ? and lov- 
 ing, woo ? ** As You Like It. 
 
 YJfcT OMAN — let her assert her independence never 
 *" so emphatically — is naturally a dependent 
 growth. She belongs, if not to the genus parasite, to 
 the tribe of creepers, and without a trellis- work to 
 which to attach her delicate, but tenacious, 
 tendrils she falls — a straggling, useless, mean- 
 ingless cumberer of the . ground, whose very blos- 
 soms are hidden or trodden under foot. The 
 trellis work to which she clings is not inevitably 
 love. No, the stancher, if less happy, foundation 
 of duty, labor, self-abnegation, ambition, or philan- 
 thropy may uphold her. By any one of these 
 she, creeping, climbs — slowly, laboriously, pain- 
 fully, but still she climbs upward. Without one 
 or other of these supports she droops, forlorn and 
 useless. 
 Some one who speaks with authority has said 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 137 
 
 "that man is at his best when he stands alone"; 
 bnt it is not so with women. To her a prop is a 
 necessity — a prop self -created or bestowed, but a 
 prop, an object, a trellis- work upon which to cling 
 until the " fever which we call life" is past. 
 
 Helen never thought seriously of the path of 
 life which she was treading, or whither it led. 
 The sense of its duties and responsibilities, its 
 possibilities and impossibilities, she shook off her 
 mind as a duck shakes the water from its feathers. 
 She had lived in an atmosphere of love and happi- 
 ness; she had been shielded from all troubles. She 
 had been petted, admired, sought after, and to her 
 opinion her companions had deferred. The little 
 god Cupid she simply despised ; if any of her ac- 
 quaintances had shown symptoms of desire to pay 
 tribute to his shrine, this young Diana's attitude 
 grew forbidding — she would have none of it. 
 
 Mr. Flight alone had stoutly defied her wishes, 
 and thrust his unwelcome affection obstinately be- 
 fore her. He had been humble, subservient, dismal, 
 but he had been passionately in earnest. For the 
 first time in her life, Helen had realized that this 
 love of which she had heard and read was a serious 
 thing, and not the mere idle dream, born of fancy, 
 which she had hitherto considered it. 
 
*38 A MATTER OF SKILL 
 
 As a matter of course, but with complete author- 
 ity, Mr. Jones took Helen's guidance into his hands. 
 He helped her into the cart, wrapped a light rug 
 over her knees, and negatived her ardent desire to 
 drive herself decidedly. 
 
 "Lean back," he said. "That seat is pretty 
 comfortable, and you must be tired." 
 
 "I'm not the least tired. I should like to 
 drive." 
 
 " Are you used to driving ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 She was accustomed to driving the Rector's 
 rough gray pony, which lived in the paddock, and 
 was twenty years old. 
 
 "Then you shall take the reins presently. 
 She's fresh at starting, and I know her ways. 
 She will soon cool down. Do you mind my smok- 
 ing?" 
 
 "Not if the wind won't blow it in my face," 
 she candidly replied. She did not share the mod- 
 ern damsel's oft-asserted passion for the fragrance 
 of tobacco. 
 
 "The wind is the other way, and I'm half a 
 foot above you," he urged, with some natural 
 anxiety. 
 
 "Then smoke, by all means." 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 139 
 
 He thrust his hand into his pocket. 
 
 " I haven't a light," he told her, " so I can't." 
 
 And he mounted to her side and they started. 
 
 Few mild enjoyments equal that soothing sense 
 of drowsy well-being in which a tired frame revels 
 as it is driven through the balmy air of a warm 
 summer evening, with a fresh horse between the 
 shafts that covers the ground with a long, easy, 
 equal stride — traversing, too, such wild and won- 
 drous scenery as beggars description. 
 
 Helen's face still wore the reflection of that 
 softened intensity of feeling which it had caught 
 by the river side. The long hours she had passed 
 in the open air had lulled the aggressive vivacity of 
 her youth ; the spirit of mischief no longer sharp- 
 ened her eyes, her dimples played faintly in her 
 soft cheeks. She was gentle, therefore more 
 womanly, and for that reason a thousand times 
 more winning than before. 
 
 He and she were talking as though they had 
 been friends from childhood. If that cool brother- 
 demeanor of his was assumed for her deception, it 
 was a clever and seductive mask. 
 
 " How did you like Jack Peel?" he was asking 
 her. " You and he spent the day together pretty 
 well, didn't you 2" 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL 
 
 "He sat next me on the drag. I liked him — a 
 little ; but he hates everybody, and doesn't admire 
 anything." 
 
 " I suppose he admires Mrs. Peel V 
 
 " Isn't she pretty ? I'didn't know she was mar- 
 ried — at least, not to him." 
 
 " You mean she flirts 1 Oh yes, she does." 
 
 " She is very pretty and amusing." 
 
 " She's a butterfly, but a man wants more than 
 color, down, beauty, to live upon. That sort of 
 thing is stunning but you want sunshine to show it 
 off. A butterfly isn't much to admire on a wet 
 day. A good deal of rain falls in Devon— and else- 
 where." 
 
 "Ona wet day one can stay indoors." 
 
 Helen had a suspicion that she was a butterfly, 
 her high spirits were fatiguing. 
 
 ' ' A butterfly indoors ; think of the fluttering on 
 the window-pane." 
 
 " A butterfly can't help being a butterfly." 
 
 "No more than a chrysalis can help being a 
 chrysalis. Both are very nice in their way, but I 
 have no wish to own either one or the other. 
 Don't argue with me please, I'm not up to it, but 1 
 know what I mean and I know what I like. I want 
 a wife far better than I am myself 3 some one who 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 141 
 
 would keep me up to the mark, some one who would 
 do what I told her and yet some one whom I should 
 only tell to go her own way because I should know 
 her way to be wise and straight. I couldn't stand 
 any woman whom I had to look after, it would 
 knock the love clean out of me." 
 
 All this rather overwhelmed Helen, she did not 
 know how interesting this lady in the clouds had 
 lately become to Mr. Jones. 
 
 " So you would like to marry an angel," she re- 
 marked, with a malicious smile, "poor angel I" 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 "Poor angel," he repeated glancing at her. 
 " How can an angel be poor, Madam ? The sense 
 of her superiority would keep her rich, and me 
 humble. No angel, however angelic, for me." 
 
 " You are hard to please." 
 
 " On the contrary I am always pleased but never 
 satisfied. 
 
 "I think a man ought to be very thankful if he 
 persuades any woman, of any sort, to be his wife," 
 retorted Miss Mitford, yawning deliberately. 
 
 Her words and her yawn disconcerted her com- 
 panion and for some minutes they drove on in 
 silence. As a rule, the honored girls to whom he 
 confided his sentiments concerning the future Mrs, 
 
143 A MATTEX OF SKILL. 
 
 Jones hung upon his words as though they were 
 oracles ; but if they were discreet, they committed 
 themselves by no comments, looking all they did 
 not say, for those sentiments of his had been known 
 to change repeatedly. 
 
 How little we guess what impression we make 
 upon others or what opinion they form of us. 
 How differently different people estimate our char- 
 acter. . To Helen's own intimate friends and re- 
 lations she seemed a gay, mischievious, lovable girl, 
 whose unshadowed weal accounted for her want of 
 softness, but to Mr. Jones her gayety had been con- 
 spicuous by its absence. When he had offended 
 her by his allusion to butterflies how could he fancy 
 that she would fit her stately head into the cap, 
 feeling angered and wounded by his just attack? 
 She had (as had he) been brought up on commen- 
 dation, but this self-satisfied young man always 
 seemed to get her at a disadvantage, she had begun 
 to wish to please him, and she fancied she had 
 failed, the fancy irritated her a little. She would 
 have liked to impress him by her beauty, her dig- 
 nity, her calmness, her good breeding, but he did not 
 seem to notice her advantages. The sun had sunk 
 beneath a mass of gloomy cloulds, which were 
 gathering in heavy groups over the now dingy 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 143 
 
 sky and cast abroad black shadows on the hills, the 
 air had grown heavy but was stirred by a warm, 
 rising wind. When our travelers reached the New 
 Cut to which Mr. Jones had alluded, and came in 
 sight of the sea, its horizon was dim with fog, and 
 the waves murmured listlessly and softly. 
 
 Mr. Jones had warned Helen that she would 
 require a steady nerve and strong head if she 
 was to enjoy the view, and he was right, for the 
 road on which she found herself was hewed out 
 of the hillside. It was a ledge cut on the side 
 of a mighty cliff which towered perpendicularly 
 overhead on the left hand and on the right de- 
 scended a sheer precipice, a thousand feet, into the 
 sea. 
 
 Down below in the bay the slumberous waves 
 rippled lazily over sunken rocks and gently laved 
 the hollowed crags, lulled by the caressing air, into 
 forgetf ulness of storm and wind. The sea-breeze 
 was idly whispering as if the blast of sfcorm and fury 
 were unknown. The sea-wave was trifling with 
 her cold lover the rock as if she could never again, 
 spurred by the gusts of love and despair, break into 
 passionate and desperate longing. Delusive calm ; 
 for, soon surging and lashing her misery to mad- 
 ness, she shall shatter her glorious billows into a 
 
144 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 thousand fragments as she beats herself to death 
 against his impenetrable heart. 
 
 The width of the road upon which the dog- 
 cart was traversing was broad enough to admit of ( 
 two carriages driving abreast. A low wooden \ 
 paling had been roughly extemporized on the ' 
 extreme verge of the precipice, but this every 
 here and there had crumbled away and disap- 
 peared, leaving no barrier, however frail, between 
 the traverser of that giddy pass and an apalling 
 death. 
 
 For the first few minutes of the crossing Helen 
 tried to admire the view. 
 
 ''How beautiful—" she murmured below her 
 breath, struggling for those steady nerves with the 
 possession of which she had been credited. " Oh, 
 Mr. Jones," with a sudden collapse of courage, 
 "please, be careful." 
 
 At her words he reigned in the horse. 
 
 "Don't you like it ? Shall we turn back ? lean 
 turn in a moment." 
 
 Turn ! her head reeled at the thought. 
 
 " Oh, no ; go on. I like it. I'm not afraid. 
 Only you won't drive fast f You will keep dose to 
 the side, won't you ? " 
 
 "You are quite sure that you would not rather 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL, 14$ 
 
 go back ? I can take you home the other way, you 
 know. " % 
 
 " No, no ; go on. I shall get used to it in a mo- 
 ment. It is only just at first — and those seagulls 
 flying out below us make me' dizzy, and the sea, 
 wriggling, and like a wrinkled walnut, such a long, 
 long way below. " 
 
 " Don't look straight down; look right out 
 across the bay. There are a dozen fishing-smacks 
 sailing down, with those tawny sails set which you 
 admire." 
 
 "Oh, lovely," she said. " How long is this—' 
 this New Cut?" 
 
 He was walking the horse very slowly, and the 
 cart was hugging the cliff side. 
 
 "A quarter of a mile," he answered. "If we 
 went more quickly, it would sooner be over." 
 
 "Yes, but I would rather go slowly, if you 
 don't mind." 
 
 "When we round that corner" (pointing to a 
 distant curve of the cliff which concealed any fur- 
 ther sight of the road) " we soon turn inland, and 
 get into a iane with twenty feet of solid bank on 
 either side." 
 
 " We shall get there in ten minutes \ " interroga- 
 tively. 
 
146 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 " About that. You are giddy, " anxiously. "I 
 am so desperately sorry that I brought you. You 
 told me the other day that you could stand any 
 height, or I should not have thought of bringing 
 you." 
 
 ' c I'm getting better ; I didn't know I should mind. 
 It is very stupid of me. I'm s*o sorry. " 
 
 She was fighting bravely against her fear, despis- 
 ing her swimming head and the sickening quivers 
 of faintness that unstrung her muscles. 
 
 " Will you get out and walk ? " 
 
 This palliation of her misery was forbidden by 
 the thought that, to allow of her descent from the 
 cart, the horse would have to step nearer to the 
 edge of the cliff, in which case she knew she should 
 scream. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " Shall I tell Phil to lead the mare ?" 
 
 He was much concerned, for she had grown 
 very pale, and the smile she forced to her lips was 
 piteously unreal. 
 
 "Yes, I should like that," her voice shook. 
 "Thank you." 
 
 But, as Phil alighted to obey this astonishing or- 
 der, a sudden sharp sound above their heads startled 
 them. They looked up. Down the rugged face of 
 
A MATTER OF SKTLL. 14? 
 
 the cliff, hurled from crag to crag, whirling like a 
 gigantic bird through the air, a gray, struggling 
 mass was seen to descend until it fell, with a dull, 
 sickening thud — such a sound as haunts memory for 
 a lifetime — upon the road in front of the trembling 
 mare. She stopped, backed a pace or two, plunging 
 and rearing in terror ; than, answering to the voice 
 and hand of the master, she dashed forward. They 
 passed that grim and shapeless mass, lying motion- 
 less and blood-streaked on the road, in safety, but 
 the wheel of the cart grated against the wooden pal- 
 ing that guarded the edge of the precipice, and shiv- 
 ered it to splinters. Then, at a mad gallop, the 
 mare raced on. The air hissed past them ; the cart 
 rocked like a swing; the cliffs seemed to rush out to 
 meet them; startled seagulls whirled around them; 
 below in the yawning deep the sea reeled. 
 
 Once Helen put out her hands and caught at the 
 reins. With rough fury he bade her keep still, and 
 she obeyed. 
 
 Eound the perilous sweep of the cliff they tore, 
 whirling again, so near their death that he set his 
 teeth, thinking the end had come. One fraction of 
 an inch to the right and nothing would save them, 
 but again the frantic mare answered to his voice and 
 his grip of the rein. She swerved ever so little to 
 
i 4 3 ~ - A MATTER OF SKILL, 
 
 the left and rushed safely by — on, on, scudding like 
 a cloud before the wind— on, on, until sky, sea, 
 clouds, and cliffs mingled in one staggering pan- 
 orama. 
 
 Helen sat motionless. Once, when the thought 
 of her mother beset her, she had clutched at the 
 reins ; otherwise she had not moved, nor had she 
 spoken. Through her mind the memory of heroes 
 who had faced death without fear came and 
 strengthened her. Though no one should know it, 
 she would not quail or shudder ; she would not be 
 afraid ; she would die hard. She was one of those 
 "who do not mind death, but can not bear pinch- 
 ing. " 
 
 But when the danger was past, when the blessed 
 shelter of high banks rose on either side, when the 
 mare's gallop sank to a canter, and from a canter to 
 a trot, when they were safe and the hideous sight of 
 sea and cliff was left far behind, then came the 
 demon reaction to unnerve her. 
 
 It was a deep and fervent " Thank God ! " which 
 broke from her companion, that loosened the flood- 
 gates of her tears. Till then he had not spoken, nor 
 had he looked at her ; but when he turned and she 
 heard those words, saw the expression in his dark 
 eyes, which met hers, she burst out into weeping. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 149 
 
 She clung to his arm, she buried her face against 
 his shoulder, she trembled and wrung her hands. 
 A long hill lay before them. The mare's trot had 
 subsided into a quiet walk. He put his arm round 
 her, comforting her as though she were a frightened 
 child. 
 
 ''There, there ; it's all right — you are quite safe. 
 Don't cry. You shall never go near the place 
 again." 
 
 She was so unstrung and beside herself that she 
 sobbed her heart out, as if it were her father's shoul- 
 der against which she hid her eyes; she was oblivi- 
 ous as to whose protecting arm supported her, or 
 whose hand patted her soothingly, as though she 
 was a baby to be quieted by such treatment. 
 
 "What fell ?— What was it ?— It was killed." 
 ■ " A sheep, poor brute \ Don't talk of it. Think 
 of something else. " 
 
 "I can't" — shuddering — "I daren't open my 
 eyes ; I am afraid I should see it." 
 
 "I wouldn't open them just yet. You will be 
 all right in a minute." 
 
 "I should not really have touched the reins, I 
 only put out my hand." 
 
 " It was a case of life or death. I hadn't time to 
 be gentle. I'm awfully sorry. I deserve to be shot." 
 
J 50 A MATTER OF SRItt. 
 
 His encircling arm held her more closely as he 
 spoke, but during the pause which followed, Helen 
 drew away from him, covering her face with her 
 hands. 
 
 ' 'Look here, don't give up like this," he said, 
 rather alarmed. " You have been so plucky all the 
 time." The compliment was undeserved, but she 
 did not dislike it on that account. 
 
 "I can't help it — I can't indeed ! " 
 
 Her voice came thick and low, her hands fell 
 down from before her deathly face ; she tried to 
 smile, and then murmuring, ' ' I don't feel very 
 well," she fell back again upon his shoulder. She 
 had fainted. 
 
 On the summit of the hill which they were 
 mounting was a country inn, thither Bertie, sup- 
 porting the girl, with a now aching arm, drove fast. 
 Assisted by the host, he lifted Helen from the cart 
 and carried her into the house. In the inn-parlor 
 stood that horse-hair sofa, oft described because the 
 memory of his discomforts is not easily obliterated, 
 peculiar to wayside hostelries and seaside lodgings ; 
 upon it Mr. Jones laid his burden. He was almost 
 as pale as she; he kept his head, but he was horribly 
 frightened ; he fully believed her to be dead, and 
 would not be reassured by the landlady, who told 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 151 
 
 him that "Her Mary Kate failed away a score o* 
 times last summer." 
 
 They doused Helen's pretty head with water and 
 chafed her white hands ; they fanned her with a 
 newspaper and burned feathers and held salts under 
 her nose. Every suggestion which the landlady 
 made Bertie executed with feverish anxiety. But 
 when at length he poured tea-spoonful after tea- 
 spoonful of cooking brandy between her pale lips, it 
 had at last the desired effect ; she coughed once or 
 twice, turned her head on the crochet antimacassar, 
 and slowly opened her eyes. 
 
i 5 2 A MATTER OF SKILL, 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 " On life's vast ocean diversely we sail, 
 Reason the card and passion is the gale." 
 
 Pope. 
 " There be none of beauty's daughters 
 With a magic like to thee, 
 And as music on the waters 
 Is thy sweet voice to me." 
 • Lord Byron. 
 
 HELEN soon sat up and declared herself quite 
 well. She was astonished but somewhat 
 gratified, to discover that she had fainted ; her health 
 had hitherto been unromantically robust— a little 
 dehcacy was interesting and a novelty. Besides 
 which, during the interval of unconsciousness, the 
 agonizing agitation' (which had thus culminated) 
 had subsided ; save for some throbbing pulses in her 
 temples, she felt just as usual. Mr. Jones was as 
 astonished as he was relieved by her rapid recovery, 
 and presently left her, ostensibly to see to the mare 
 and to keep a look-out for Phil, for whose nerves 
 great concern was certainly due. A minute later, 
 Helen, who was looking out through the open 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 153 
 
 ■window, saw him cross the road to a gateway, 
 where he halted, and taking both a cigar-case and a 
 matchbox from his pocket, proceeded to light a 
 cigar, ther.e was no dearth of matches in that box ; 
 he struck several before he accomplished his object. 
 Helen watched, her face alight with a smile. To 
 please her he had not smoked, and yet he would 
 not let her know that he sacrificed his pleasure to 
 her comfort. How nice of him ! 
 
 In a girl's vision a little circumstance may be 
 made to do duty for a great one ; it grows or di- 
 minishes at her will. Helen chose that this virtue 
 should grow, even as the gourd of Jonah. 
 
 Fortunately for him she could not guess that 
 when he had screened his weak desire to please her 
 with a white he, it had not been to hide his merit, 
 but in practical view of a possible future (a future 
 that grew more possible each moment), she must 
 learn at once that, but for the lack of ingredients, 
 he and his cigar were inseparable. 
 
 With hands thrust in the pockets of his coat his 
 straw hat tilted to shade his eyes as he scanned 
 the road in search of Phil, this martyr stood full in 
 her sight smoking like a chimney. She thought 
 him handsome — and so he was — and his good- 
 humored smile was pleasant. 
 
<54 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 Throughout their homeward drive, his conduct 
 left nothing to be desired. He was most tender of 
 her shaken nerves — never before had the dogcart 
 been driven so cautiously. Never before had the I 
 strong and surefooted mare been walked uphill and 
 down alike to save any risk to her wind in the 
 first, and any danger to her knees in the second, 
 instance. Both horse and groom were a little im- 
 patient of these precautions and anxious to get to 
 their journey's end, while their master grudged 
 each flitting field as it passed, and reached Carna- 
 tion Cottage before he had told Helen a tenth of 
 the hundred things he had to tell her. 
 
 That expression of successful assurance which 
 acknowledged beauty sometimes flaunts, is not at- 
 tractive ; it repels rather than allures. Helen w^as 
 not self-conscious, though she was apt to be aggress- 
 ively self-reliant, but that evening she was quiet, 
 languid and responsive. Though she looked white, | 
 worn and ill, perfection of feature, such as she i 
 owned, is not dependent on health or coloring for 
 beauty. Never, to her companion's mind, had she 
 looked one half as lovely, her great eyes shone like 
 stars under the brim of her white hat, her lips 
 curved with a half smile, her hair, dried by the air, 
 curled on her brow. The very existence of Lady 
 
A Matter of skill. 155 
 
 Lucy Freemantle faded from his mind. He forgot 
 that a passion for an obscure young person was a 
 passion to be stifled, not encouraged. He forgot 
 everything but the obscure young person herself. 
 Once or twice he forgot his adopted role of brother- 
 ly friendliness and broke off 011 the point of some 
 word quite unsuitable to the part. He would have 
 welcomed the threat, nay, even the fulfillment, of a 
 second calamity if, by such an event, she would be 
 driven again — then and there — to his arms. 
 
 When the door in the cob wall surrounding Car- 
 nation Cottage had closed, shutting the graceful, 
 blue-gowned figure from sight, he heaved a stu- 
 pendous sigh, for an eternity lay between him and 
 the following morning when he promised himself 
 the pleasing duty of presenting'* a little enameled 
 watch, set with the initials H. M. in glittering brill- 
 iants, now reposing in his pocket, to its delighted 
 owner. 
 
 Miss Mitford, with a watering pot in her left 
 hand and a spud, which she used, as old men use an 
 index finger, to emphasize her words, in the right, 
 hovered round her neice until bedtime. Again and 
 again Helen had to retail the account of their es- 
 cape, though the horror of the time half returned as 
 she painted it in words, and she would gladly have 
 
i$6 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 turned her thoughts elsewhere. Miss Mitford was 
 sorry for Helen, but she not unjustly singled out 
 the sheep as the nucleus of her interest and 
 sympathy. She wondered to whom it belonged, 
 | whether it was a valuable animal, why Providence 
 had not bestowed upon it a greater penetration. 
 
 " The want of sagacity in sheep is remarkable, 
 love. Instead of avoiding their natural enemy, the 
 dog, they approach him, though they possess no 
 weapon of defense. They continually walk over 
 the edge of the cliffs, following the gulls, I presume, 
 dear, and forgetting their lack of wings. As a term 
 of opprobrium for the dull I should prefer ' sheep' to 
 'ass' as less coarse and more appropriate." 
 
 Helen refused the mutton chop and custard pud- 
 ding proffered her but she made great havoc with 
 a dish of strawberries and cream, and her spirits did 
 
 not flag. She never discovered that she was over- 
 ) 
 j tired until she went to bed, and then she found that 
 
 I the events of the day had impressed themselves 
 vividly and deeply upon her brain. 
 
 Hitherto as soon as she had lain her nut-brown 
 head on the pillow, she had fallen asleep ; but that 
 night she could find no comfort among the laven- 
 der-scented pillows ; she tossed and turned for 
 hours. Her thoughts would allow her no rest, they 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. itf\ 
 
 flew tumultuously back to that "New Cut" and 
 dragged her again and again through every occur- 
 rence of that homeward drive. 
 
 Ten days after the River Meet picnic the two I 
 Misses Jones might have been seen pacing up and \ 
 down the corridor at Newton Hall in grave and 
 low-toned conversation. The subject under discus- 
 sion was of such importance as to lower their high- 
 pitched voices and banish their eternal smiles. 
 Patricia's temper was ruffled, her forehead was 
 puckered, her eyes, blank and sombre as holes 
 burned in a blanket, were dark with gloom. She 
 took the lead in the debate. Anastasia listened ; 
 though her engagement to Major Mason — that gen- 
 tleman by whose side she had been seated during 
 the drive to the picnic and the man of her choice — 
 had been that day announced and she had every 
 reason consequently to be gay, she too, was pro- 
 foundly solemn. 
 
 " He is so obstinate," the elder Miss Jones was 
 saying, "you ought to know what he is; if I was to 
 hint that we were nervous, he would probably decide 
 it at once and the wrong way. Just to show his in- 
 dependence, he w M do it. He is quite infatuated, 
 he hangs about tL \ ~'ch or the village half the 
 day. Yesterday iu t . roiling sun he toiled up 
 
158 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 with a pot of orchids to that little earwiggy place. 
 I believe he has been there on some excuse or other 
 every afternoon this week. He went to church 
 twice on Sunday, and walked back with her after 
 the service carrying that ridiculous old Aunt's spec- 
 tacle case. I saw him." 
 
 " Bertie has generally got some one on hand," 
 said the other. "Lucy is not here, you see, Pat. ; 
 there is no one in the house he cares about, it's so 
 dull down by the sea in the summer without some- 
 body to amuse one. Next week he is going to 
 Paxf ord. He will forget this girl and settle it with 
 Lucy." 
 
 " He will get entangled first," said Patricia, trag- 
 ically. "He is over head and ears in love; don't 
 you see him meandering about with his head on one 
 side and Shelley under his arm ?" 
 
 "She is a good-looking girl, Pat., and she's all 
 right, you know. Gussie knows some of her people 
 in Lincolnshire. If Bertie likes her, I don't really 
 see—" 
 
 At these words Patricia stamped angrily upon 
 the ground. Her stamp was formidable, for her 
 foot was not light. 
 
 "You don't care for anything on earth but 
 yourself, Anastasia, You are the most selfish, self- 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 159 
 
 absorbed little pig ! It is nothing to you what 
 becomes of me. You have got Gussie now — and 
 a precious long time you have taken about it ! — so 
 you are content. How much longer am I to wait 1 
 Sir Edwin has been here a fortnight, and I can't do 
 anything with him. I know he's shy of — well, of 
 our relations — I see it ; but if we were only con- 
 nected with the Paxford people he would swallow 
 anything — even poor old grandfather." 
 
 Anastasia was rather irritated by this attack. 
 
 "Good gracious, what am I to do, Pat.? If 
 Bertie means to marry her, who is to prevent him ? 
 Unfortunately, you can't lock up a marriageable 
 young man, and only let him loose when the right 
 person is about. Let the poor fellow amuse him- 
 self ; he means to marry Lucy — Gussie says so. 
 If we interfere it would be fatal ; he won't stand 
 advice." 
 
 "I wouldn't interfere with him, but I should 
 like to give the girl a hint. She is very proud. 
 I am sure she would take the slightest hint at 
 once." 
 
 Anastasia paced on in silence. As long as she 
 was allowed to remain neutral, she did not mind 
 what happened ; she had few objects in life beyond 
 the attainment of her own desires. She wanted 
 
160 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 ]ier brother to marry Lacly Lucy, certainly -not for 
 his happiness, but because a Lady Lucy for a sister- 
 in-law was a solid advantage for herself. 
 
 "I don't know that. Bertie's a tremendous 
 catch. A cart-load of hints wouldn't put a sensible \ 
 woman off twenty thousand a year. " 
 " I shall tell her he is engaged to Lucy." 
 "She will congratula ; m, and you will catch it." 
 "I shan't — Bertie is . t rude. If I make a 
 breach, they won't have th v & patch it up in these 
 three days. Once get him off without a fiasco, he 
 will forget her, and be thankful to me for keeping 
 him out of it." 
 
 Anastasia was getting a little bored, and would 
 be glad to settle the matter any way, so that she 
 might return to the garden and her lover ; but, in 
 case of possible contingencies, she thought it ex- 
 pedient to warn her sister and demonstrate her 
 wisdom. s 
 
 "Well, Pat., do what you think is right, if yon! 
 don't mind risking a row, Bertie mayn't jump 
 down your throat, but I've seen him angry once or 
 twice in my life. Interfering with a love affair is 
 like interfering in a dog-fight — you don't get thanks 
 from either side ; you'll be lucky if you don't get 
 bitten." 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. i6t 
 
 "She is always about the beach in the after- 
 noon," said Patricia, "I shall go down and ask 
 her to come for a row. There wilf be plenty of time 
 then to lead up naturally to the subject. I can say , 
 a good many things* to open her eyes, and she will 
 never guess I meant anything." 
 
 When the sisters met before dinner, and Pa- 
 tricia was questioned about the success of the strate- 
 gem she confessed herself baffled. She was afraid 
 Miss Mitford did not intend to take any hint, and 
 Patricia's invitation she had refused. 
 
 "She would hardly speak to me," that young 
 lady complained ; " but I managed to say how good 
 it was of her to console my brother. 'Don't over- 
 console him, Miss Mitford,' I said, 'or Lady Lucy 
 Freemantle won't quite like it yo,u know.' She's a 
 collected sort of girl. She looked at me as if she 
 had not heard what I said, then she made some 
 irrelevant remark about the weather, and went off ( 
 to play with a little child whom she held by the [ 
 hand. I can't think what Bertie sees in her ; she 
 is positively forbidding. But perhaps, for all her 
 calmness, she heard me right enough, and if so, I 
 did not toil over that awful shingle for nothing 
 She is the sort of woman who prefers dignity to 
 common sense — the very person who would fling a 
 
x6a A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 fortune into the sea rather than cross a gutter to 
 getit." 
 
 " She's as poor as a church mouse," said Anas- 
 tasia, "and she wears such boots! I wonder 
 Bertie, who is fastidious, can stand them. Patricia, 
 if you want v ^se-his-name to adore you, don't 
 wear your pop,.., - * T n. It doesn't suit you — 
 it matches your cheeks. 9 
 
 Meanwhile, up on the hill at Carnation Cottage, 
 poor Miss Mitford was overpowered by the exuber- 
 ance of Helen's mirth. She had returned from the 
 shore in fantastic and exultant spirits. She laughed 
 and sang and joked until Miss Mitford sat down 
 exhausted on the garden seat with the tears of 
 laughter rolling down her cheeks, and a faint 
 petition to the girl u to be quiet and go away, for 
 pity's sake !" breaking between her gasps. 
 
 But Helen was gone out of earshot, and had 
 entered the porch before her aunt had finished her 
 sentence or her laughter. 
 
 That wonderful vivacity of hers lasted through- 
 out the evening, and reappeared with her at break- 
 fast next morning. If she was not very hungry, 
 she was so talkative that her want of appetite 
 passed unnoticed. Throughout the morning she 
 helped her aunt to stick the verbenas and prick 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 163 
 
 out the seedling gloxinias. It was tiring work; 
 by lunch-time Helen was looking fagged, and Miss 
 Mitford was full of self-reproaches when she saw 
 that it was so. 
 1 "You shall rest this afternoon, my love. You 
 can he on the sofa and read that charming book 
 by Miss Gwynne-Hughes. You will be sure to 
 sleep. I am going to call at the Priory — I have 
 ordered a fly for the purpose — but you need not 
 accompany me, though, to be sure, I should have 
 liked your society." 
 
 " I will come," said Helen. 
 
 But by the time the fly had arrived she had 
 changed her mind. She was certainly a little tired; 
 she would take her aunt's advice and rest. 
 
 The resting was of an odd kind ; it drove her 
 again and again to the glass, before which she 
 arranged her hair and prinked with deliberation 
 and anxiety. It sent her into the garden to gather 
 more flowers to adorn the drawing-room, which was 
 already a perfect flower-garden itself ; it compelled 
 her to mount to her bed- room and hastily don a 
 certain pink cotton dress which she had heard ad- 
 mired not many days previously. Again it drove 
 her back to the drawing-room, whither she wan- 
 dered to and fro until the tinkle of the gate bell, 
 
1 64 A MATTEL OF SKILL. 
 
 reaching her listening ears, seemed to remind her 
 of her fatigue ; for she sank down into an arm- 
 chair, took up a book, and was at once engrossed in 
 its perusal. She did not notice a shadow pass the 
 window, nor when the door was opened, did she 
 immediately look up ; but as Sarah announced — 
 "Mr. Flight, if you please, miss," she started, the 
 book fell to the floor, and in that full, clear voice, 
 for the tones of which this poor unwelcome visitor 
 had yearned to hear again, she exclaimed — 
 
 "Oh, it is you?" 
 
 Though this greeting was not reassuring, it had 
 been wrung from Helen's astonishment and the 
 next moment she had risen with outstretched friend- 
 ly hand to meet him. In a moment he saw that 
 she had changed. Hope whispered that the change 
 was to his advantage. Her manner had altered ; 
 the coquettish defiance, varied with cold disdain, 
 with which she had formerly met his advances had i 
 gone— a stereotyped politeness had usurped its I 
 place. 
 
 Born and bred in woman, is the art of fence. 
 Never did swallow swoop more lightly, more swift- 
 ly, more restlessly after his evening meal than 
 Helen flew from subject to subject. Her ease, 
 her frank friendliness, and her command of topic, 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 165 
 
 voice, and smile might have answered Mr. Flight's 
 question better than any word, if he would have 
 been content to read those lucid signs and thus have 
 saved them both unnecessary pain. 
 
 At first the sound of her voice and the sight of 
 her beauty was bliss sufficient, but soon he grew 
 impatient of the chit-chat in which he was taking a 
 secondary part. He made several unsuccessful 
 efforts to change the subject, and then, remember- 
 ing that Dr. Abercrombie remarks that no woman 
 can talk for more than twenty minutes without 
 cessation, he obstinately held his peace and waited 
 for the inevitable, pause. It came, he seized his 
 opportunity and hurled his declaration into the 
 interval. 
 
 It was the old, old story. What a remarkably 
 dull, tiresome, threadbare old tale it is when told by 
 the wrong person — and the wrong person somehow 
 • seems conscious of the failure and bungles over its 
 recital, emphasizes the wrong points, and hashes 
 the whole thing ! If he who is right is not exactly 
 eloquent, he need say so little, and brevity is the 
 soul of wit. 
 
 When she found that it was impossible to avert 
 a scene, Helen cast her eyes on the ground and list- 
 ened patiently and silently to what he told her. She 
 
166 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 sat in a low arm-chair, face to the light. Mr. Flight 
 tried to read his fate in her downcast face ; how it 
 had altered — not a touch of the disdain he dreaded, 
 no mocking curve of lip, but a steady, thoughtful 
 brow, a woman's gentleness softening each line. 
 
 A woman, conscious of her weakness, sides, I 
 think, almost without exception, with the weak. 
 Her sympathies are for the unsuccessful ; her ten- 
 derness for the feeble who fails. Her love may go 
 elsewhere, but her love is her fate, and with the di- 
 rection of its flight she has little to do. Helen's 
 awakened heart ached for the speaker, though it 
 beat no whit the faster for his words. But to those 
 who ask for love, compassion is no boon. 
 
 When, with a faltering voice, Helen declared 
 that she could never, never, never be his wife, that 
 neither long years, nor his devotion, nor his pros- 
 pects, nor the wishes of her parents, nor her pov- 
 erty, nor his unhappiness could ever, by any possible 
 chance, alter one jot or tittle of her determination, 
 it mattered very little to him whether she pitied or 
 hated him. Though with her eyes brimming with 
 tears she gave him both her hands, and never drew 
 them away when his grasp crushed her slight fin- 
 gers; though she did' not reprove him when he laid 
 his lips on them; yet, passion- blinded as he was, he 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL, 167 
 
 could not deduct any sign of relenting from her 
 attitude. 
 
 She who, even under the suspicion of reproof, 
 had flared into hot anger and retort, now hung herj. 
 head when his misery wrung forth some bitter re-( 
 proaches from him, and murmured, humbly — 
 
 " I know, I know ; I am so sorry ; but I didn't 
 believe — I didn't understand. Forgive me." 
 
 He found it difficult to credit that such true, 
 deep, absorbing love as he felt could meet with no 
 return — that it had been born only to die ; he felt 
 that he was hardly treated, and so he was. But life 
 is hard, and things go wrong with us more often 
 than they go right ; into each life the rain falls 
 heavily, and if we do not happen to see our neigh- 
 bor drenched to the skin, we may rest assured that 
 he has not escaped his share of ducking, although 
 he may be dry and trim enough when we chance to 
 meet him. 
 
 It was bad luck that induced Miss Mitford's 
 front gate bell to give so soft a tinkle that the 
 sound escaped Helen's sharp hearing ; it was bad 
 luck which caused her to stand in full sight of the 
 open window when Mr. Flight held both her hands 
 in his and stooped to kiss them ; it was an unlucky 
 impulse that made her wrench away those hands 
 
16$ A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 and dart guiltily a yard or two asunder from the 
 young man when the drawing-room door was 
 opened and " Mr. Jones " was announced. 
 
 If the visitor felt surprise or annoyance at the 
 tableau presented to him, his manner did not betray 
 him. His self-possession was admirable ; he even 
 covered Helen's confusion and Mr. Flight's awk- 
 ward preoccupation by a flow of conversation, and 
 when the latter took his leave, and the lady accom ■ 
 parried him, in answer to his earnest petition, to the 
 front gate, he concealed a most rancorous irritability 
 under a suave smile. 
 
a Matter ob skill. 169 
 
 1 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " The best laid schemes of mice and men 
 Gang aft a-gley ; 
 And leave us nought but grief and pain 
 For promised joy." Bukns. 
 
 TJELEN seemed reluctant to part with Mr. Flight. 
 1 * Her strenuous endeavors to prolong their fare- 
 well at the garden gate met with no success. It was 
 unreasonable of her to blame him on that account. 
 He saw no necessity of answering her quick ques- 
 tions on irrelevant subjects ; he could find no small 
 talk with which to respond to her many remarks. 
 But just at the last he stammered out that "he un- 
 derstood," "he knew," "he hoped she would be 
 J happy," "he hoped that he loved her as she should 
 be loved." And then, refusing to enlighten her in 
 reply to her quick question as to what he meant, 
 and shaking his head sadly at her hot denial of the 
 imputation — whatever it might signify — he turned 
 abruptly away, and left her. 
 It was no wonder that she looked pale as she re- 
 
270 A MATTER OF SKILL, 
 
 traced her steps to the house, for the blazing sun 
 streamed down on her bare head. As she passed 
 the sweet-brier tree she paused to gather a spray on 
 which one of the fragile blossoms bloomed, but 
 as she picked it the petals fell off one by one to the 
 ground, and the resisting thorns tore her fingers. 
 The crushed leaves left their scent upon her hands, 
 for she held them in a vise as she re-entered the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 Mr. Jones was standing by the window when 
 she came in. She looked at him gravely. She had 
 cause for gravity ; the change in his mien frightened 
 her. She hardened her heart and sent her thoughts 
 coursing back to past events, by the memory of 
 which she could brace her determination. He re- 
 turned her glance ; his eyes were grave and stead- 
 fast ; his attitude was alert ; his careless good hu- 
 mored smile was gone. 
 
 The fact was that, for once in his life, his emo- 
 tions were stronger than his will. He had at the 
 Rivers Meet picnic made up his mind that Helen 
 should be his wife. Systematically and deliberately 
 he had set himself to win her love. If the task had 
 not been easy, it was none the less to his taste on 
 that account ; neither was the result less likely to 
 please him. She had, against his better judgment, 
 
. A MATTER OF S£fZL. 171 
 
 subjugated him; he, recognizing her disadvantages, 
 overlooked them. 
 
 Until this moment he had been in no hurry ; he 
 would not precipitate matters ; on the contrary, he 
 would prolong his wooing until her feelings fully 
 reciprocated, if they did not exceed, his own ; that 
 would be his revenge for her obdura^' . 
 
 He had promised himself a deli^. u "ul time, he 
 had laid a capital plan, but 
 
 " The best laid schemes of mice and xnen, 
 Gang aft a-gley." 
 
 The advent of this rival was unlooked for ; it up- 
 set his calculations and his self-control; it maddened 
 him. 
 
 He would not beat about the bush, he would go 
 straight to the root of the matter. He would not 
 have any nonsense, he told himself, angrily, before 
 she returned. But when he saw her, looking, in 
 her faded pink gown, as fair and delicate as one of I 
 those sea convolvulus that grew intertwined with 
 thrift and sea-lavender on the cliffs, and a bunch of 
 which he had gathered for her only the night be- 
 fore, he felt, with a sudden qualm of heart, what it 
 would be to lose her, and he softened his words. 
 
 " 1 hope I did not send your friend away ? " 
 
172 A MA TIER OF SKILL. 
 
 "He was just going when you came." 
 
 " Is he staying in the place ? " 
 
 "I don't think so." 
 
 "Came over from Ilfracombe, perhaps ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Is he an old friend?" 
 
 "I have known him for six months." 
 
 Her way of answering him displeased and sur- 
 prised him— it was reluctant and constrained, it was, 
 oh, disquieting thought ! as though she had some- 
 thing she wished to hide from him; this hypothesis 
 was unbearable, and should be dismissed at any cost. 
 
 "Are you going to marry him ? " 
 
 There was a pause. A pause so long as to be 
 alarming, then she answered — 
 
 "No," in defiant and distinctly unfriendly tones. 
 He was annoyed, but not to be deterred from gain- 
 ing his point by her mai_ner. 
 
 "You don't think I have any right to ask you 
 that question ?" he said. 
 
 " Any one has a right to ask any question, I sup- 
 pose ; but it is always unpleasant to be catechised." 
 
 "When I found that parson alone with you, and 
 — and — ahem — holding your hands, what was I to 
 believe ? " 
 
 Every atom of color had forsaken her face and lips, 
 
A MA TIER OF SKILL, 173 
 
 it returned in a flood, her eyes blazed, her lips were 
 compressed. 
 
 ' ' Don't be angry. I only wanted to make sure ; 
 for a moment, I was afraid. I knew you would 
 have told me long ago if you had been engaged. I 
 was a fool to doubt you. I understand : if I hadn't 
 been a bit annoyed I should have seen the whole 
 thing at once." 
 
 Mr. Jones was taking a great deal for granted. 
 If Helen was ever to quarrel with him it would be 
 easiest to do so when he plumed himself on his 
 security and his rival's defeat. A man's vanity is 
 coarse and unattractive, no matter with what justice 
 it is owned. 
 
 " What would you have seen ? " she inquired. 
 
 "That the parson was to be pitied — not killed." 
 
 " Your insight might have misled you." 
 
 Now feminine weapons of warfare may serve 
 their purpose in an Amazonian battle, but used 
 against most men, and particularly against such a 
 man as Mr. Jones, they are quite harmless ; he was 
 a frank opponent, he hit straight from the shoulder, 
 or he did not hit at all. 
 
 "Now, look here," he said, going a step nearer, 
 she was standing by the piano back to the light, 
 " do you think that if I had come in as I did— 
 
174 A MATT££ OF SKILL. 
 
 through no fault of mine — and seen that poor chap 
 making love to you, and hadn't asked you what it 
 meant but had taken it for granted that it was your 
 4 usual custom of an afternoon,' that that would 
 have pleased you ? " 
 
 "It would have been less eccentric ; but perhaps 
 I ought to be grateful for the interest you take in 
 my affairs." 
 
 In speaking, her voice broke, the sprig of sweet- 
 brier which she held was trembling, and he saw it. 
 
 " I'm awfully sorry, Helen," he said, gently. " I 
 beg your pardon. I had no right to bother you, but 
 upon my honor I couldn't help it, I was so angry." 
 
 He had hardly heard what she said, her changing 
 color, her evident distress, he attributed to the scene 
 through which she had lately passed. It seemed 
 cruel to increase her agitation himself, but he had 
 gone so far that he could not draw back. He must 
 secure his troubled angel at once and soothe her 
 into perfect happiness ; he could not bear to see 
 her frown, he could not bear to think that he had 
 wounded her. He guessed his angel had a temper, 
 but of that he was not afraid ; a temper in prospect- 
 ive is sometimes considered one of the rather inter- 
 esting vices, but like the rest of such failings, loses 
 its allurements at close quarters. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL, 175 
 
 He stood in silence and watched her, he was 
 thinking how fair and stately a wife she would be ; 
 he postponed for one moment the words which 
 \ should bring her to his arms. During that moment 
 she recovered herself ; with a sudden and yet un* 
 hurried movement she seated herself on the window 
 seat ; a table of some dimensions now intervened 
 between herself and him. 
 
 " We are making a very great mountain out of 
 nothing, Mr. Jones," she said, lightly, u in your 
 agitation you even forget my name. Would you 
 mind opening the door ? The heat in here is hor- 
 rible, and a draught will blow away the scent of 
 the flowers, they are so overpowering, they make 
 one breathless." 
 
 He did not open the door, nor did he answer, 
 She did not look at him but she was conscious of 
 his steady gaze. She could bear anything just then 
 rather than silence. 
 
 " We will go out," she went on quickly, "it is 
 cooler in the garden. I must fetch my hat and 
 order tea. We will have tea under the trees." 
 
 She was passing him on her way to escape 
 through the door — how clever was her ruse to get 
 away — her hand was close to the handle when he 
 stepped forward and barred her progress. 
 
i?6 A MATTER OF SKILL 
 
 "One moment, " he said, "I want to speak to 
 you." 
 
 "Not now," — there was a wild petition in her 
 voice which startled him— " wait— presently— noi I 
 now." 
 
 " It is all right, darling. I don't want to frighten 
 you, but the truth is I can't get through an hour 
 without you. When I am not with you, I think of 
 you. I dream of you every night. I want you to 
 marry me, Helen." 
 
 He paused. She was confounded at this honor 
 which he had thrust upon her, the lashes concealed 
 her eyes ; she did not move nor answer. 
 
 "I'm so awfully fond of you, dear! that very 
 first day in the train I liked you. You are such a 
 splendid girl, Helen ; you are so pretty, and you are 
 such good company ; you are different from the 
 others. I never knew that I could be such a fool 
 about a woman. I will marry you, no one but you. 
 After all, love is the thing for which to marry. 
 Darling," with a soft contented smile and extended 
 hand, "if you won't marry me, if you chuck me 
 over, I shall go and drown myself, or — " 
 
 4 'Or marry some one else," returned his "dar- 
 ling;" who spoke quite collectedly. "I advise the 
 latter course as it might not entail such notoriety." 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 177 
 
 " Helen," still smiling, " you hard-hearted lit- 
 tle—" 
 
 "My name is Miss Mitford;" interrupted she; 
 " perhaps you will be good enough not to call me by ' 
 any other." I 
 
 "My dearest girl, don't chaff, I want my answer, 
 I am in red-hot earnest." 
 
 "So am I." 
 
 "When will you marry me ?" 
 
 "Never." 
 
 Mr. Jones's smile faded. " Look here, Helen, I 
 am in deadly seriousness. I tell you that I am most 
 awfully fond of you. I can't put it strong enough. 
 I love you with all my soul, I swear I do. Will 
 you marry me V 9 
 
 "No/' in a low, firm voice, "I will not marry 
 you. " 
 
 "You don't mean that ?" 
 
 "I do." j 
 
 That is all your answer f I 
 
 
 "You have nothing more to say to me V 9 
 "Nothing." 
 
 He was stunned. It was not her words alone, 
 but her hard, set face that confounded him. 
 "Is there some one else, Helen V 9 
 
178 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You — you are not," unsteadily, "in love with 
 some other fellow ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 He caught her by the wrist, pulled her into the 
 full light of the open window, and stared into her 
 white face. 
 
 " I could have sworn you liked me," he said, "as 
 no doubt that other poor chap who was here this 
 afternoon could have done. I suppose this sort of 
 thing diverts you; it's a variety entertainment — one 
 poor devil after another dancing to your pipe. I'm 
 afraid I don't understand women ; for on my life, I 
 don't know what kind of gratification they get out 
 of this form of amusement. I never guessed you 
 were making a fool of me, Helen. I wouldn't have 
 believed it, I swear, I wouldn't, unless I'd heard it 
 myself, and seen the parson's face just now." 
 
 Her face did not express much amusement cer- 
 tainly, but she tried to back away from him into the 
 shadow of the curtain, and he let her go with an 
 impatient sigh. At this juncture, for the third time 
 the gate bell tinkled its warning of an arrival, and 
 Miss Elizabeth Mitford crossed the grass plot. She 
 caught sight of the young man's face at the draw- 
 ing-room window, and immediately approached him. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 179 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Jones? I knew you 
 were here, your cart is outside. How is dear 
 Helen?" 
 
 "She is here to answer for herself." 
 
 "lam quite well, auntie." 
 
 " I left her lying down, Mr. Jones, I told her 
 to rest; she was tired out, and it is such a hot day. 
 Keally," peering at her, "she looks terribly pale. 
 Come out into the air, love ; come out both of you, 
 and we will have tea under the tulip tree. I will 
 tell Betsey to bring it at once." And she bustled 
 off. 
 
 "Helen, I am going. I believe I was rude just 
 now. I hardly knew what I said; I was cut up, 
 don't you know. I suppose it isn't your fault that 
 you don't fancy me ; upon my word, I don't know 
 what you should see in me after all. It is rough 
 luck though, I shall never see your face, nor hear 
 your voice again. I have been thinking we should 
 spend our whole lives together. That thought had 
 taken root deep ; how am I to get rid of it ? " 
 
 Those were his last words. Before Helen had 
 time to think what they meant he had gone ; she 
 heard him talking to Miss Mitford in the garden, 
 then she heard his quick step on the gravel, then 
 the click of the gate and the rumble of wheels, 
 
i8o A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 loud at first, but soon lessening until they died into 
 silence. 
 
 Yes, he had gone, but he would come back ; he 
 had said he could not live without her. Surely, 
 surely, surely he would try again. What had she 
 said ? Her wretched pride, her suicidal vanity had 
 made her wound him. He must know, he must 
 guess that she was only a woman after all, and 
 therefore to be won. The remembrance of Lady 
 Lucy Freemantle ran a leaden thought through her 
 brain. 
 
 The recollection of Miss Jones's "hint," her 
 overbearing manner, the sins (of ommission) of the 
 Jones's progenitors, all these things which had com- 
 bined in prompting her recent action were now 
 replaced by a new and sickening dread, which she 
 (unused to and restive under mental pain) strove 
 with the strength of her strong will to banish — and 
 failed. 
 
 " My love, we shall miss Mr. Jones," said her 
 aunt, as they sat together under the tulip tree drink- 
 ing their tea. "Men make a house livery, and he 
 had such a pleasant cheery way about him. I de- 
 clare he reminded me more than once of my poor 
 Thomas." 
 
 "Perhaps he will come to-morrow?" Helen 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL, i8t 
 
 was sitting, or rather, lounging back in a deck 
 chair, her large white hat was on the grass at her 
 feet, her hands were clasped behind her head, her 
 eyes, soft and dewy, were fixed on her companion's 
 face. 
 
 "Nay, my love, he bade me a last good-by, h* 
 is going to-night— on business to London I under- 
 stood him to say, and then he goes to Paxford, I 
 believe. Helen, your tea is getting cold. Dear ! 
 dear ! there is a poor little fly in it." 
 
 Helen carefully extricated the fly with a leaf, 
 and placed it on her knee to dry and recover itself, 
 but it was past cure ; the tea had been of fatal 
 heat, and it was dead. She looked at it ; how 
 easily it had come to grief, a false flutter, a fall, 
 and a painful death as punishment for one small 
 mistake. To and fro in the sunshine, myriads of 
 gnats and flies were darting — 
 
 "You are so thoughtful, love ; what is it ?" 
 
 " It's too hot to talk, auntie. Just look at the 
 bed of portulacas, with the sun on it. I never 
 saw such tints, they would drive a painter to de- 
 spair." 
 
 "Mrs. Majoribank's yellow poppies are magnifi- 
 cent, Helen," with the gentle jealously of the ama- 
 teur gardener. "Her coarse soil suits them to 
 
xSa AMA7TER OF SKILL. 
 
 perfection ; she has promised me some seed next 
 spring if I live so long. To my mind the seed- 
 time is the happiest of the year. We sow, and 
 there is hardly a limit to our expectation of joyful 
 results. Now the harvest is a period of great 
 anxiety ; we realize that nothing is under our own 
 control, we are at the mercy of the elements ; we 
 gardeners live on faith like the farmers. Mrs. 
 Majoribanks makes a great mistake with her roses; 
 she will not prune, she will not sacrifice the present 
 to the future. My love, you have scratched your 
 hand ; you will pluck the sweet-brier, you should 
 cut it, Helen. That is what I said to Mr. Jones ; 
 he tore off one of the shoots so roughly as he 
 passed the bush on his way to the gate ; he is 
 remarkably partial to sweet-brier. Indeed I never 
 knew such a young man so devoted to flowers. 
 Mrs. Majoribanks is surprised at his intended mar- 
 riage to that daughter of Lord Parsons being un- 
 opposed by her noble relations, but he is such an 
 amiable and wealthy youth, and, I am sure, will 
 make a considerate husband to any young lady. 
 Mrs. Majoribanks quite thought, until Miss Jones 
 herself contradicted the report, that he came here 
 to pay his court to you, love. But, I said, Lord 
 Parson's daughter could, from her assured position, 
 
A MATTER OP SKILL. 183 
 
 niarry into trade, a connection which we should pre- 
 fer a member of our family to avoid. I do not 
 like gossip, Helen. I spoke most decidedly, and 
 Mrs. Majoribanks quite agreed with me." 
 
 "How parched the lawn is, Auntie. As soon as ; 
 the sun goes down and it gets cooler we will turn on 
 the hose and water the grass as well as the flowers." 
 
 "Nay, love, it would so encourage the slugs, a 
 heavy dew falls each night — but do as you like — 
 Mrs. Majoribanks was very chatty, I stayed there 
 so long walking round the garden and talking. 
 She told me Sir Adolphus is in London, he is 
 always adding to his wealth by fortunate specula- 
 tions ; everything he touches turns to gold, those 
 girls of his will have fabulous fortunes and yet 
 Fred Majoribanks will not propose to the elder 
 one, who is undoubtedly attached to him, his 
 mother says. Young men are sadly headstrong. 
 Mrs. Majoribanks is a clever woman, Helen, she : 
 notices so many trifles which escape my observa- i 
 tion; did you remark that Lady Jones had dyed her 
 hair ? " 
 
 "She does not dye it," said the girl, quickly, 
 "Mrs. Majoribanks dyes hers purple and blues her 
 ugly face, and she is a disagreeable, spiteful old 
 
1 8 4 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 Miss Mitford untied the strings of her mush- 
 room hat, which were fastened in a bow beneath 
 her chin, and threw back the ribbons upon her 
 shoulders ; she was overcome. 
 
 " Mrs. Majoribanks is a friend of mine, love," she 
 said, with mild reproof. 
 
 " Isn't that the very reason you would like to 
 hear her abused ? There, Auntie, don't look shocked, 
 it was a joke— only it didn't amuse you." 
 
 " You are not yourself, love, the air is oppressive 
 and that fly prevented you drinking your tea. Will 
 you have some raspberry vinegar instead ? " 
 
 " Easpberry vinegar," with a laugh which was 
 half a sob. " Vinegar already; no, thank you, I 
 daren't touch it." 
 
 Helen's mind that evening was a weathercock, 
 first she declared herself too tired to go to the 
 beach, then she remembered that the children were 
 expecting her and she must not disappoint them. 
 At the gate she turned back, it was so hot she 
 would stay in the garden ; on reaching the bush 
 of sweet-brier she made a fresh decision, the sea 
 breeze on the shore would be refreshing, she would 
 go — nay she wouldn't, it was so long a walk — she 
 would — she wouldn't — finally she would and she 
 went. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 185 
 
 She returned late, very gentle and subdued, very- 
 careful of, and caressing toward, her aunt, with 
 pensive eyes and a restless spirit. 
 
 This new mood seemed likely to be permanent, it 
 lasted through the ensuing week and on to the final 
 days of her visit. 
 
 The weather had broken up, a succession of 
 thunderstorms had succeeded the heat, heavy 
 showers fell continually, the Atlantic was troubled 
 and stormy. Neither rough breezes nor rain kept 
 Helen indoors, she haunted the cliffs and the sea- 
 shore. Upon the sea-lashed rocks she would stand 
 for hours, a tall, unbending figure against the dark 
 background, the wind flapping her skirts and beat- 
 ing a warm color into her cheeks. 
 
 On the last day of her sojourn at Noelcombe she 
 had gone for her usual evening ramble on the 
 beach and she had walked for so long and for so 
 far that she felt very tired as she toiled up the steep 
 ascent homeward. Fatigue was a new sensation, 
 but its 
 
 " Your merry heart goes all the day, 
 Your sad one tires in a mile," 
 
 as Shakespeare and several other people have 
 hitherto observed. 
 
xS6 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 When she reached Carnation Cottage, she saw 
 Miss Elizabeth, with chintz skirt pinned up high, 
 and Betsey's pattens protecting her feet from the 
 damp grass, spudding up daisy roots on the lawn ; 
 on seeing Helen she left her work and hurried 
 toward her. 
 
 "My dear," she cried, "I thought you were never 
 coming ! Mrs. Majoribanks has been here, she 
 waited an hour on purpose to wish you good-by." 
 
 " I should like to have wished her good-by," said 
 Helen with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. " Ein 
 ewig Lebenwohl, is not always a wrench." 
 
 44 She had news for us, Helen, she had been 
 calling at the Joneses'; the engagement is an- 
 nounced." 
 
 Helen was overtired, her knees were trembling, 
 her voice was rather harsh, she had raised it high. 
 She turned toward the sweet-brier, then changed 
 her mind and faced the elder lady. 
 
 44 Whose engagement ? " she asked. ' 
 
 44 Sir Edwin Shuter and Miss Patricia Jones; Mrs. 
 Majoribanks is so vexed, she says that her son 
 deliberately flung away his chance." 
 
 A beautiful smile crept over Helen's face, the 
 dimples played in her cheeks ; she laughed a little 
 joyous contented laugh to herself. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. i8$r 
 
 a I hope they will be as happy, as happy as the 
 Queen," she said, returning to the bush of sweet- 
 brier. 
 
 •'Both engagements announced on the same 
 day ! A curious coincidence, Helen. Patricia's | 
 will take place first. Lady Luey Freemantle and 
 our Mr. Jones will not be married until Christmas, 
 Lord Parsons will not return from America before 
 then and he wishes to be present. The engage- 
 ment gives universal satisfaction." 
 
 But the engagement was in truth not nearly 
 so unprecedented as Miss Elizabeth Mitford de- 
 clared. 
 
 Poor Mr. Might, had he known it, was avenged. 
 
1 88 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " We rise in glory as we sink in pride ; 
 Where boasting ends, there dignity begins." 
 
 Young, 
 " For, 'tis a question left us yet to prove, 
 Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 QUMMER was long past. The corn was all gath-- 
 ^ ered in ; the shivering trees were shedding their 
 variegated leaves; the chilly breath of coming winter 
 was to be felt at "rosy morn and dewy eve." Even 
 to a genuine country lover, the last days of October, 
 amid dying flowers, naked hedges, newly-stripped 
 woods, and cloudy skies, are depressing, and the 
 j thought of pavements, shop windows, dry crossings, 
 and fresh faces possesses a new and decided attra- 
 tion. 
 
 But if Helen ever sighed as she trudged over 
 sodden leaves and waded through the muddy Meri- 
 ton lanes, no one heard her ; if the universal decay 
 and death of autumn saddened her, no one sus- 
 pected that it was so, How should they \ She was 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. tfy 
 
 the life and soul of her home — an imprisoned sun- 
 beam in which they all rejoiced. If she smiled less 
 easily, her smile was sweeter and less swift ; if her 
 spirits were no longer rampant, they did not over- [ 
 power — they sustained— the humor of her neigh- • 
 bors. If she was less ready of advice, less quick of 
 decision, more diffident of the justice of her judg- 
 ment, more lenient, more sympathetic, and more 
 thoughtful, she "was older," they said, as though 
 age always wrought its change thus. 
 
 One or two of Helen's girl-acquaintances, who 
 belonged to the conventional, egotistical, man-hunt- 
 ing sect — of whom the members, in converse, man- 
 ner, appearance, and lamentable monotony of char- 
 acter resemble each other as closely as do primroses 
 — declared "she had grown stupid and didn't care 
 for things" ("things" meant their conversation — 
 which, however, both in purport and intention, far 
 exceeded their doings). • 
 
 Because Helen had made a mistake, or because 
 fortune had not been kind to her, was no reason 
 that she should revenge herself upon fate by mak- 
 ing her innocent family exceedingly uncomfortable, 
 if not positively miserable, by repinings and moody 
 preoccupation. She was not the sort of girl to 
 visit her troubles upon her unfortunate parents^ or 
 
199 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 make them pay for her caprice. If she suffered, she 
 suffered alone ; she showed her mettle, which was 
 of the right quality. But, as they said, she had 
 grown older. Under such circumstances a girl of 
 her caliber ages apace. 
 
 But before long Helen had good cause to be pen- 
 sive — a justifiable excuse for growing more sober 
 and less childish. A sad event took place, an event 
 at which remorse, sorrow, and some natural excite- 
 ment were blent. 
 
 Mr. Flight, to whom she had been so unkind — 
 Mr. Flight, on whom she had practiced her foolish 
 wiles with such unlooked for result — Mr. Flight, 
 whose very name turned her sick and cold — Mr. 
 Flight, of whom she never thought without a stab 
 of sharp pain— Mr. Flight had atoned for all his of- 
 fenses by death. He was dead ! 
 
 Poor Mr. Flight ! At least there was no men- 
 tion of broken heart as the cause of his death. He 
 had, like many a heart- whole man, taken fever at 
 Florence, and, after a long and severe illness, had 
 succumbed to the disease. His last words had been 
 of Helen ; his last act had been to make his will, by 
 which he left her everything that he possessed. 
 She found herself the owner of fifteen thousand 
 pounds, and forgot the satisfaction of her riches in 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 191 
 
 Her anger with herself. She had never so despised 
 herself. She had been despicably, pitilessly re- 
 morseless. Even now she could not cast her warm- 
 est thoughts to him ; she could not grieve for him, 
 she could wish him back again. 
 
 She did not want his money ; all she wanted was 
 to tell him how bitterly she repented, ' and how 
 well she understood now that she had laughed 
 where she had better have wept. 
 
 Eegrets are vain emotions, as Helen knew to 
 her cost — useless encumberers of the soil. Regrets 
 must be strangled, if life is not to be a waste tangle 
 of retrospect ; for regrets, like all weeds, grow 
 apace. 
 
 Mrs. Mitford was very tender with the girl at 
 this time, and would watch her, furtively and un- 
 observed, from anxious eyes. She had drawn her 
 own conclusion — a fresh and false one — from 
 Helen's altered looks and ways. 
 
 " Henry," she said one day — impulsively disclos- 
 ing (as women do) the secret which she had in- 
 tended to keep inviolate forever — "Henry, Helen 
 regrets that poor young man. " 
 
 "To be sure she does," the Rector answered, 
 energetically. "I should think very poorly of her 
 if she did not, Why, we all regret him. His seis 
 
192 A MATTER OF SKILL, 
 
 mons were above the average, and his kindness of 
 heart exceptional." 
 
 " But, Henry, you do not understand me. I 
 mean more than I said. I mean that she mistook 
 the nature of her feelings. She really and truly j 
 loved him." 
 
 For a few seconds her husband remained in 
 thought, then he spoke slowly — 
 
 " No, Honora — I think not. Do you not re- 
 member how I scolded her for singing that ridicu- 
 lous ballad to the poor man — 
 
 ' It is the most exceeding bore, of all the bores I know, 
 To have a friend who lost his heart a short time ago ?' 
 
 Had her heart been touched, those words would not 
 have occurred to her. " 
 
 "I don't know that," said Mrs. Mitford, with an 
 indulgent smile. u A girl will say or do anything 
 from a sheer love of teasing." j 
 
 Again, with a thoughtful brow, her husband re- 1 
 viewed the past, then he spoke with decision — 
 
 " You are wrong, Honora. You were always a 
 most imaginative woman. That poor young man 
 had no attraction for the child. I found her hiding 
 in the hayloft more than once when he called. As 
 there was no chance of her being discovered by him, 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 193 
 
 I do not think it possible she would have concealed 
 herself had she formed an attachment for him." 
 
 Mrs. Mitf ord was shaken. She was always ready- 
 to distrust her own judgment and to rely upon that 
 of her husband, so she brightened perceptibly. 
 
 " So she hid in the loft, did she ? How Frances 
 has searched for her, while that poor young man 
 was with me for hours in the drawing-room. That 
 idea upsets my theory ; I am glad of it. But it is 
 odd to me that our child should be so hard of heart. 
 I had had several slight affairs before I was her 
 age." 
 
 t( I don't see anything wrong with Helen ; she is 
 prettier than ever, and as merry as a grig. You 
 women are always raking and sifting and prying 
 for a love-tale. If a girl is happy without a hus- 
 band, you won't believe it." 
 
 Mrs. Mitf ord. smiled slyly. Yet her husband was 
 do doubt right. j 
 
 "I shall send her away, Henry. Now that there ■ 
 is no difficulty about ways and means, I should like 
 her to go and see my people. Change of air and 
 scene is excellent for mind and body, besides which 
 she will meet many — " 
 
 " So you won't be content till you have lost her, 
 Honora. You foolish woman, why won't you keep 
 
i 9 4 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 her here as long as you can ? You will break your 
 heart when she marries — I know it." 
 
 "I should break my heart if she didn't marry," 
 Mrs. Mitford said, smiling very sweetly at her Rec- 
 tor ; "for I want her to be happy— as happy as I 
 am." 
 
 So it was arranged that Helen should pay a 
 round of visits, with which arrangement she was 
 nothing loath to comply. She wrote lively letters 
 home, descriptive of lively and varied life. She 
 made new friends and met pleasant people ; she 
 seemed to enjoy everything and find amusement 
 everywhere. There was an even, a sustained con- 
 tent to be detected in her mode of writing which 
 was foreign to her years, and particularly new to 
 her former habits of mind. In each letter she in- 
 quired for her Aunt Elizabeth. " She never writes 
 to me," was her complaint, repeated over and over 
 again. 
 
 She had been away from home about two months 
 when the following letter from her mother 
 awakened, with somewhat insufficient cause, an un- 
 conquerable anxiety about the dear writer's health, 
 and drove Helen to return to Meriton upon the 
 very day after she received the disquieting allusion. 
 
 Mrs. Mitford had written thus — 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 195 
 
 "My darling Helen, — How cold it is. I 
 hope that if you are tempted to wander about 
 those draughty galleries at your uncle's after din- 
 ner that you do not forget to wear a shawl. I 
 am reminded of such dangers to your health by 
 a tiresome cold in my head which I caught last 
 eve pottering about the garden with your dear 
 father, who is more careful to protect his fruit 
 trees than his wife from the frost. I wrapped my 
 head in flannel and drank several jugs of treacle 
 posset before going to bed. I slept heavily, but 
 awoke headachy and stupid, so this letter will be 
 very short and flat, dear. I am rejoiced to hear 
 how well you enjoyed the ball and how delightful 
 you find your surroundings. Do not hurry home. 
 I love to think of you admired, happy, and mak- 
 ing the most of your youth. I read your letters 
 again and again, and you are never absent from 
 my thoughts, my dearest. 
 
 "Your loving mother, 
 
 "HONORA MlTFORD. 
 
 "P. S. — By the by, your Aunt Elizabeth has 
 written at last ; your father received the letter 
 some days ago. Betsey has been ill— seriously ill 
 —and her time has been fully occupied with the 
 
i 9 6 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 consequent sick nursing; she is better now and 
 downstairs again. Elizabeth seems very full of 
 those dreadful Jones people, who have gone a 
 frightful smash. The old man has been speculat- 
 ing in the most reckless way — the shock of ruin, 
 upon all those good dinners of which we have heard, 
 brought on apoplexy ; he is dead. If I can find 
 Elizabeth's letter, I will inclose it." 
 
 But the latter had not been inclosed, and very 
 soon after Helen's arrival at Meriton she led the 
 conversation to Noelcombe. 
 
 "What was the matter with poor old Betsey,'' 
 the girl asked. She stood before the fire with her 
 arm around her mother's waist. Mrs. Mitford 
 could not take her eyes away from the contem- 
 plation of her beautiful child. She had improved ; 
 yes, if it was possible, she was more lovable and 
 loving than before, and she had torn herself from a 
 household of friends and cousins, had relinquished 
 the prospect of a party, had hurried home to see 
 with her own eyes and hear with her own ears that 
 the " tiresome cold " of which she had been told 
 was of no deadly character. 
 
 " A very serious touch of influenza. Oh, Nellie, 
 [ can't bear to think that you have left so much 
 pleasure on my account. It was foolish of me to 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 197 
 
 mention my cold, but I thought you knew I only 
 sneeze for a day or two and put on an extra shawl, 
 and then one of my colds goes. Why, I am quite 
 well again to-day. The delight of seeing you, my 
 darling, is spoiled when I remember what you have 
 given up for me." 
 
 "I have given up nothing, mother. I wanted 
 to come home every single day I was away. Of 
 course I was having great fun — lots going on — but 
 I was a little mammy-sick ; I always am. How 
 long was Betsey ill ? " 
 
 "I don't remember exactly. Helen, did you 
 meet with any very charming people ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes, most of them were awfully nice. 
 Mother, you did not inclose auntie's letter." 
 
 " No, dearest, your father had gone out and must 
 have taken it with him. I couldn't find it, I asked 
 him where it was just before you came, but he had 
 J torn it up and thrown it into the waste-paper 
 basket. Never mind, she had nothing to say ; she 
 does write such dull letters, poor dear." 
 
 Late that night when the Meriton household had 
 been long asleep a stealthy figure, wrapped in a red 
 flannel dressing-gown, with brown hair hanging 
 straight and thick to the knees, and a beautiful, 
 eager face, on which the candle that she shaded 
 
r$? A MATTEL OF SKILL. 
 
 with her hand shone, crept slowly and cautiously 
 down the stairs and made her noiseless way to the 
 rector's study. 
 
 Helen, — for she it was — set patiently to work 
 over the accomplishment of her intention. Sitting 
 on the floor by the side of the waste-paper basket, 
 she pieced, contrived, patched the severed and scat- 
 tered fragments of Miss Elizabeth's letter into a 
 legible whole. It was a difficult and laborious 
 achievement. She was blue with cold ; her teeth 
 chattered, and her fingers were stiff and half frozen ; 
 bodily discomforts were unheeded, for her heart 
 was hot within her. Again and again she read 
 those pieced atoms, and then, gathering them care- 
 fully together, she stole back to her room. Holding 
 them in her closed hand, she got into bed and lay 
 there cold, shivering, and sleepless until dawn ; 
 then she relighted the candle and reread the letter, 
 which ran as follows : — 
 
 "My very dear Henry, — I have not written 
 since I congratulated and condoled with you and 
 yours on the sad death and extraordinary generosity 
 of your late curate. It is one of those events over 
 <vhich tears and gratitude mingle. I do not wonder 
 at his attachment to my niece, for during her visit 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 199 
 
 at my cottage I learned to love her dearly. Betsey 
 has been ill ; this must be my excuse for an un- 
 usually lengthy silence, for my time was much oc- 
 cupied both with attending to her requirements and [ 
 fulfilling her necessarily relinquished duties. She j 
 suffered from influenza, and was for some days in a 
 critical condition ; she is now happily convalescent. 
 Irritability — a natural consequence of weakness, it 
 seems — has attacked her ; but of that, perhaps, it is 
 unkind to speak. Helen will grieve with me over 
 the sad ruin of our kind friends the Joneses. The 
 news of the catastrophe fell like a thunderbolt upon 
 us here, though I understood from Mrs. Majoribanks 
 that something of the sort was anticipated by the 
 better informed in London. It has been discovered 
 that poor Sir Adolphus, whose sudden death from 
 apoplexy heralded the publicity of the disaster, was 
 a speculator of colossal and reckless enterprise. His 
 business had declined somewhat, and his expenditure ' 
 was in excess of his receipts. He sought to recoup 
 himself by a venture of great risk and magnitude ; 
 its failure hastened, if it did not wholly occasion, 
 the impending calamity. I understand that the 
 fortunes of Lady Shuter and Mrs. Mason are secure ; 
 also that a considerable sum was settled upon the 
 widow and son, but this they have decided to relin- 
 
*oo A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 quish in favor of the creditors, whose claims will in 
 consequence be fully discharged. Much admiration 
 is expressed for their conduct by the kindly dis- 
 posed, though it is grievous to find how many will 
 discover something at which to cavil in an action, 
 however noble. The nights are very cold, and I 
 have to superintend the warming of the conserva- 
 tory. John overheated the flues one day last week, 
 and had I not detected his blunder in time to avert 
 danger, I tremble to think of what the consequences 
 might have been. Convey my warmest love to dear 
 Honora, and 
 
 " Believe me, your fondly attached, 
 
 " Elizabeth Mitford." 
 
 The next day was Sunday, a day on which 
 enforced idleness begets " long thoughts. " When 
 the organ plays and when the parson preaches, 
 upon what vast wanderings does an ill-regulated 
 attention engage, upon what diverse tracts and 
 over what leagues of space does imagination travel. 
 If Helen's mind was not under proper control, 
 her voice, for which the congregation were wont 
 to listen, and with which she led the village choir, 
 had grown in depth and power, it rang clear, 
 eweet, and rich, never faltering nor tiring through 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. *ox 
 
 the chants and hymns. Her eyes, deep as the sea, 
 and very grave, were lowered to the contemplation 
 of her book. 
 
 (Upon Monday morning the news of Miss 
 Elizabeth Mitford's illness reached the Kectory, 
 this time it was Betsey who wrote. Her style 
 was not discursive, in three bold lines she announced 
 that her mistress " was very bad with the influenza, 
 and that the doctor came twice a day, but said 
 nothing." 
 
 Mr. Mitford received the letter at the breakfast 
 table and read it aloud to his companions. 
 Both he and his wifej between the discussion of 
 ham, eggs, and coffee, were full of sympathy with 
 the invalid. Helen did not join her condolences 
 with theirs, but when the topic was at length dis- 
 missed she suddenly and unexpected recalled it by 
 suggesting that she, herself, should go to Carnatioii 
 1 Cottage and nurse "poor Aunt Elizabeth. She 
 I loved sick nursing, she loved Aunt Elizabeth, she 
 should love to be with her, might she go ? " 
 
 The mild opposition of her mother gave her 
 resolution strength, she described the miseries, the 
 sufferings, the ravages of the Eussian pest with 
 such tragic vehemence as to wring the listeners' 
 tender hearts, till they swallowed all remembrance 
 
202 A MATTER OF SKILL, 
 
 of the void the loss of the girl's presence would 
 entail, and told her eagerly that she should go, she 
 should go at once, that very day. 
 
 " You have inherited your father's good heart, 
 Helen," said her mother, fondly. 
 
 " You have learned unselfishness from your dear 
 mother, Helen," added her father, patting her head 
 caressingly. 
 
 These terms of approbation affected their daugh- 
 ter strangely, she colored up to the eyes, tried 
 to speak, but her quivering lips would not obey 
 her, and then, with a murmur, of which the words 
 "too good to me," alone were intelligible, . got up 
 and left the room. 
 
 "Helen has grown so sensitive, Henry. Last 
 night her eyes were full of tears during your ser- 
 mon, and really I hardly thought it so affecting as 
 usual." 
 
 "She is a very good girl, indeed," said the Rec- 
 tor, heartily, "give me the Bradshaw, Honora, I 
 must look out her train and send a telegram to 
 Betsey." 
 
 The next evening saw Helen once more an 
 Inmate of Carnation Cottage — the warmth of 
 her welcome was overpowering. She found that 
 Betsey had not exaggerated the severity of Miss 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 203 
 
 Mitford's illness, and Betsey herself was still too 
 weak to attend to her mistress, so that Helen's 
 presence was most opportune. For several days 
 she hardly left the sickroom, she was a devoted, , 
 gentle, and skillful nurse. Under her dexterous ' 
 care Miss Mitford steadily gained ground, and 
 before a week had passed was down stairs on the 
 sofa. 
 
 Though Carnation Cottage was at its best in 
 the spring and summer, its winter comforts were 
 not to be despised ; heavy portieres excluded 
 draughts, the conservatory supplied an abundant 
 stock of flowers ; log fires blazed in the low grates. 
 Helen loved every nook and corner, every chair 
 and table in the little drawing-room, she sat on a 
 tiny chair which she had drawn to the sofa-side on 
 which her aunt, propped on down pillows and 
 covered with a couvre-pied, was reclining, and 
 looked round her with a new far-away expression : 
 in her eyes which made them very sad and dreamy. , 
 Presently these two began to discuss a subject 
 which they had already worn threadbare, they had 
 talked it over so often and so minutely, that they 
 had no new light, no new thought, no new diffi- 
 culty about the matter, but yet as soon as Miss 
 Mitford had finished her afternoon siesta and 
 
*o 4 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 opened her eyes, she naturally and inevitably re- 
 turned to the familiar theme. 
 
 " My love, Lady Jones had an annuity, a small 
 annuity, but sufficient for her wants, left her by her 
 father ; of course it was praiseworthy of her to 
 relinguish her claim to the money, but when we 
 remember that the young man has no money, not 
 a sixpence, that he has been reared in affluence, 
 that he has never known an ungratified desire, 
 and that under these circumstances, he voluntarily 
 relinquished a handsome independence, we must 
 find it impossible to express, with adequate strength, 
 our warm admiration of the nobility of his con- 
 duct." 
 
 Helen had taken up the piece of embroidery 
 from her lap and had begun to stitch with some 
 show of industry, she was obliged to bend low over 
 her work, and the winter afternoon was drawing to 
 a close, and the room was dusk. 
 
 " I wonder what he will do," she said. 
 
 " He will do well, mark my words, Helen. He 
 has many friends. I hear that already he has en- 
 tered a house of business in which he is likely, 
 through the favor of the proprietor, to succeed, if 
 he proves himself intelligent and reliable — such 
 qualities we know he possesses. Don't sigh, my 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. Jo J 
 
 love; rats alone desert a sinking ship, the cap- 
 tain and her crew are the last to leave her. If that 
 unworthy woman whom he loved chose to re- 
 nounce him at the approach of trouble, she is no 
 better than a rat, and of such vermin he is well 
 rid." 
 
 " Perhaps it was not quite all her fault," said 
 Helen, slowly ; "perhaps he would not drag the 
 girl he liked into poverty. Perhaps she could not 
 help it." 
 
 "She should have made a point of helping it," 
 said Aunt Elizabeth, with energy. " When does a 
 man really find comfort in a woman ? When does 
 a man appreciate the blessing of an affectionate 
 wife ? Why, when he is in trouble, to be sure. 
 And any woman worthy the name knows it, and 
 glories in the knowledge ; and any woman worthy 
 of the name would have remained by his side as 
 constant as a compass and as adhesive as a burr. 
 She should have been glad and proud to stay by 
 him. I met him in the road one afternoon last 
 week ; I ran and shook him by the hand — I 
 couldn't speak — but he was just as usual, though a 
 little graver in his manner, and his face looked 
 older ; twenty years older he had grown in three 
 months. He came in here with me and bad some 
 
2 o6 A MATTER Of SKILL. 
 
 tea ; he stayed a long while — he seemed pleased to 
 stay. We talked of the summer, love, and of you, 
 and I told him of the strange generosity of poor 
 / Mr. Flight, and then he went away ; but he prom- 
 ised to come again if he was at Noelcombe. He 
 should be to and fro till the business was settled 
 and the house sold, he said." 
 
 u Did he say anything about that girl, auntie ?" 
 ' Which girl ? Oh, you mean Lady Lucy Free- 
 mantle. No, my love, he talked of you ; men do 
 not speak of matters upon which they feel deeply. 
 He talked much of you. I showed him your new 
 photograph ; he did not think it at all good, 
 not at all. It is a most curious thing, Helen, I 
 have mislaid that likeness ; from that day to this, I 
 have never found it, though I have searched dili- 
 gently, I must have sent it back to the library in a 
 book, I have lost many letters thus and some valu- 
 able packets of flower seeds. The orchid which the 
 young man gave me is dead — it wanted more heat 
 than I could give it here. Good gracious, love, 
 that is the front door bell ; pull down the couvre- 
 pied over my feet and set my cap straight ; the 
 room is nearly dark. Will you light the candles 
 on the mantelpiece ? What ? you prefer the dusk ? 
 Very well. My love — Helen ! where are you 
 
A MATTEL OF SKILL. 207 
 
 going ? Don't leave the room. Stay, I want you 
 to stay." 
 
 But she had gone ; and while Miss Mitford was 
 still imploring and commanding her to return, Mr. 
 Jones was shown into the room. 
 
*o§ A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Great let me call him, for he conquered me." 
 
 Young. 
 "Had I not loved thee, my sky had been clear, 
 Had I not loved thee, J. had not been here, 
 Weeping by thee." 
 
 TITHETHER some recollection of her own girl- 
 hood, or whether the glimpse of her niece's face 
 as she escaped, or whether the intuitive perception 
 of a woman in the scenting-out of such ' 'small-game" 
 as a love-affair, brought nascent suspicion upon Miss 
 Elizabeth Mitford's hitherto obtuse mind, she could 
 never afterward decide. But, in the flash of an 
 eye, the suspicion grew to certainty : she knew that ' 
 what "Thomas" had once been to her this hand- • 
 some but poverty-stricken and recently- jilted visitor 
 was to her dear niece. 
 
 She had been parted from her Thomas and was 
 wont to congratulate herself on that circumstance, 
 but to hav3 escaped the torture of that never-to-be* 
 f orgotfep. vr&j&i* sh* would have endured the long 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 209 
 
 unhappy wifehood of her successful rival, had the 
 choice between those two evils been left to her de- 
 cision. She would — she would indeed. Memories 
 and half -dead longings were awakened by the tran- 
 sient glimpse of Helen's face, and she was ready 
 for the first time in her life to proclaim her weak- 
 ness. 
 
 She felt quite faint at her discovery, but this did 
 not prevent her receiving the gentleman with great 
 warmth and friendliness. He was, of course, totally 
 unconscious and at ease. He sat down on the same 
 tiny chair as before and asked with much interest 
 about the influenza. Her answers were absent and a 
 little puzzling ; she hardly knew what he said so sick 
 was she with the responsibility of immediate action. 
 Should she casually mention her niece's presence 
 and judge by his face whether the knowledge af- 
 fected him in any way ? But the most expressive 
 feature — his mouth — was hidden by a mustache, 
 and those dark eyes of his defied scrutiny, especially 
 in this dusky light. He went on talking; the frank 
 youthf ulness of his manner had changed; he was no 
 longer debonair and careless — he had grown earnest 
 and grave, almost to sternness. Every now and 
 then there was a weary note in his voice which wrung 
 the old lady's heart; she grew each moment mors 
 
2io A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 confused and abstracted. He became aware of this, 
 and, thinking that she was weak from recent illness, 
 and therefore unfit for conversation, he presently 
 rose to take his leave. 
 
 "I am tiring you," he said, "so I will go. I 
 have finished all the business down here. I go up 
 to town to-morrow and get to work next week, so I 
 must wish you a long good-by." 
 
 "You must not go," with the authority of a 
 general in action; "you must stay to tea. Kindly 
 ring the bell." 
 
 He obeyed her and reseated himself. 
 
 "I can never tear myself away, if you are so 
 kind," he said. 
 
 She nodded, she could not speak. "His great 
 grandfather," she was thinking, "wore three hats 
 and dealt in second-hand wardrobes — he has not got 
 a sixpence in the world — he has been jilted," but 
 when the bell was answered she spoke out her order 
 clearly and with decision. 
 
 "Will you tell Miss Helen that Mr. Jones is here, 
 and ask her to come down and make tea." 
 
 Miss Mitford was too agitated to take notes, so 
 to speak, of the situation, but she could not avoid 
 seeing him start or hearing the exclamation — 
 
 "Helen? Helen here, in this house?" before 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 211 
 
 his calmer reception of the news by the remark, 
 u I had no idea Miss Mitford was with you," reached 
 her. 
 
 As the door opened she watched him, wondering 
 whether it was her fancy which made his face look 
 so white, but the incomer was not Helen, but Betsey 
 with the tea. 
 
 " Miss Helen went out ten minutes ago, ma'am ; 
 she has gone to the post." 
 
 This news staggered her aunt, she stared blankly 
 at her companion, a sudden flame leaped out of a 
 kindled log and played on the fire of his eyes. Then, 
 for the first time in all her guileless life, Miss Eliza- 
 beth created a plot. 
 
 "Mr. Jones," she said, u you hear that Helen 
 has gone out; I am vexed with her for doing so, 
 she should have sent a servant with the letter ; it 
 is growing dark rapidly, the road through the 
 glen is very lonely, it is not fit for her to walk 
 there alone. You will think me a great fidget but 
 it would be such a relief to my mind if you 
 would go and meet her," then, seeing the hesita- 
 tion of his face, she went on tremulously, "I have 
 been ill ; the illness has left me weak and nervous, 
 I am anxious about her and I presume upon your 
 kindness," 
 
212 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 The request so couched was almost impossible to 
 refuse, he did not attempt to refuse it, he went. 
 When she heard the garden gate slam a minute or 
 two later, she cried, plaintively : 
 
 ' ■ Dear, dear, I am a creature of impulse, after 
 all, " and she buried her face in her hands and trem- 
 bled. Still trembling she left the sofa and rang the 
 bell for Betsey. 
 
 " Betsey," she said, "I am exceedingly tired, 
 I shall go up stairs to my room and keep quiet. 
 Tell Louisa to bring the lamps in here, she may 
 put on the new pink shades, she must make 
 up a large fire and keep the muffins hot. Mr. 
 Jones and Miss Mitford will be in to tea before 
 long." 
 
 " How long, ma'am ?" 
 
 " Well, indeed, I don't quite know, Betsey. Give 
 me your arm, I must lean on something, I feel so 
 very shaky." 
 
 A young girl, however courageous, has seldom 
 the hardihood necessary to lead her to face a diffi- 
 cult situation when by any possible action she can 
 escape the ordeal. Flight is the first and often the 
 only available tactic. To this refuge Helen had re- 
 sorted. She had put on her coat and hat, stamped 
 and sealed her letter to Mrs. Mitford, and, after 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. *ij 
 
 mentioning carelessly to Betsey that she was going 
 to the post, she softly crept across the hall and 
 let herself out by the front door. It was dreadful 
 to leave the house, but to remain there was worse, 
 she had escaped the meeting — but, unfortunately, 
 she could not escape herself. She walked very 
 quickly, it was dark beneath the trees in the glen 
 and their branches creaked, for the wind was 
 blowing sharply. Down the steep, rough village 
 street she sped apace — how soon, how far too 
 ^soon she reached the post-office and fulfilled her 
 errand ! 
 
 The sun had gone down, but a full moon was 
 rising over the sea, the tide was high and the rough 
 waves were bellowing at the foot of the cliffs. 
 They lashed the broken rocks — they drew Helen 
 toward them, for their loud wailing was attune with 
 her heart ; they were in sympathy with her mood. 
 Their might, their strength, their majesty over- 
 whelmed her personal trouble, she could forget all 
 things in heaven and earth if she might stand beside 
 them. 
 
 Below the village, to the right of the beach, was 
 a broad ridge of rock which had been a haunt of 
 hers in other times, the descent thither was hazard- 
 ous in the faint light but she climbed down and 
 
2i4 A MATTER OF SKILL, 
 
 stood on the wide ledge with the wind beating 
 against her and the salt spray wetting her face. 
 The silver pathway spread from her very feet to the 
 pale moon, black western clouds were piled like 
 mountains against the faint sky on which a few 
 stars glimmered. The heavy crested waves broke 
 with a roar like thunder on the crags, the cream - 
 like foam looked soft and gentle, now and again a 
 drenching, large- dropped shower of spray fell upon 
 the rock a few feet beyond her. 
 
 "Unfathomable sea, whose waves are years, 
 Ocean of time, whose waters of deep woe 
 Are brackish with the salt of human tears," 
 
 and yet whose sound is a tonic to our spirits as 
 
 much as its breath is a tonic for our bodies. 
 It was long before she turned away from the 
 ^ wonder of the waves, away from the beauty and 
 
 grandeur of the sky, she was calmed and strength- 
 " ened, she was ready to "go home.*' Close behind 
 - her stood a figure whose approach the roar of the 
 
 water had drowned and who had neither spoken 
 
 nor moved but who had been standing, motionless, 
 
 watching her. 
 His face was set and stern, and there was a great 
 
 sadness in the eyes which met hers as she turned 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL, 215 
 
 slowly round toward him. Her mind was so full 
 of him ; he seemed to have been so near her all 
 through these months that she was hardly surprised 
 to find him there, in the flesh, by her side. He 
 spoke to her as if their meeting and his presence j 
 were things of course, as if they had never parted, 
 as if he had forgotten that last scene from the 
 memory of which all her meditation had been 
 drawn of late. 
 
 u I heard where you had gone and followed 
 you," he said. "The tide is still coming in ; the 
 waves lick over this rock in a squall ; it isn't a 
 safe place for you." 
 
 She was angry with the raging waters for 
 deadening the full sound of his voice. She had 
 to lift up her head to catch the meaning of his 
 words. 
 
 " I was sent to fetch you home." 
 
 Alas, he had been sent ! He had always read her 
 thoughts, he did so now, but not correctly. 
 
 "Miss Mitford sent me — I hope you do not mind 
 — she was anxious about you, so I came ; it was," 
 slowly, " the only chance I had of seeing you, so, 
 right or wrong, I took it." 
 
 " We must go," she said. 
 
 "Not yet, not yet. Wait; you won't mind 
 
216 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 waiting just a moment ; it will be the last time — 
 the only time — don't you remember we used to 
 want to watch a storm together ? " 
 
 So she turned again to the sea, as he wished, and 
 waited. 
 
 He was young ; the black nightmare of all his 
 troubles rolled away like a dream, and the glamour 
 of the past returned upon him. He had been 
 bereaved, ruined, jilted, but his years were few and 
 his love was great — how great it was he had dis- 
 covered when, from a careless habit of drifting with 
 the tide and in pique, he had bound himself irrev- 
 ocably to another woman. He was free now to 
 play with fire ; he might seam and scar his fingers 
 at his will, he might just, for this one last time, 
 return to the dear days when he had been so hope- 
 ful, so happy, when life had been a merry game, 
 when poverty, loneliness, and failure had seemed 
 remote as death. He might feast his eyes on her 
 for the last time ; he might listen once more to the 
 music of her voice — if she would only speak, which 
 she didn't. At any rate she stood close beside him. 
 The curves of her graceful figure, the erect pose of 
 her head, the sweep of her uplifted arm — for she 
 held the flapping brim of her hat with her hand — 
 were all alike beautiful and familiar. Before them 
 
A MATTER OP SKILL. 217 
 
 the roar and splash of the waves boomed and 
 clashed an eternal diapason. 
 
 "I am glad you came here," he said, after a 
 long, long silence ; "I am glad we have seen a 
 storm together, after all. Come, we must go." 
 
 She turned docilely and followed him. He led 
 the way up the difficult path to the village ; he did 
 not offer to help her, she followed close at his heels. 
 He seemed afraid of another silence and talked fast, 
 but on the surface of things ; she answered in low 
 monosyllables. They had passed the village and 
 were entering the shadows of the glen ; how the 
 time rushed by — these bitter-sweet moments which, 
 the bend in the road once passed, would be at an end 
 forever. Her heart was throbbing fast with pain ; 
 he was so calm, so self-contained, while she could 
 not command her trembling voice so as to answer 
 him. Once she had had her chance, once she might 
 have had all for which she now pined, but she had 
 flung it away. " He that will not when he may— 
 when he will, he shall have ' nay.' " How was she 
 to know that this calmness was born of something 
 like despair ?— that of all his troubles the bitterest 
 by far had been caused by her ? He, too, was re- 
 alizing that these moments were almost over ; he, 
 too, had a pain like a knife in his breast. Sudden- 
 
M* A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 ly, on an impulse, he broke out with a fragment 
 of a moan. He was by nature frank and unre- 
 served, and the darkness, through which they 
 walked, made confession easy. 
 
 " I used to think I was such a lucky chap ; every- 
 thing always went straight ; I never had the heart- 
 ache in my lif e till— till last July, Helen. Then my 
 luck changed ; I changed ; and now, you know — at 
 least, you must have heard — how badly things have 
 gone with us. " 
 
 He could not see the quivering face she turned 
 away from him, but he heard a smothered sob. 
 
 " How sweet you are," he said ; " you are sorry 
 for us." 
 
 "Not for you," she answered, desperately, " but 
 for myself." 
 
 "Why for yourself ?" very gently. 
 
 " Because, because— I may only watch a storm at 
 :aea with you, and I want to help you through other . 
 —harder— storms." She spoke distinctly. I 
 
 "That is pity.' 9 
 
 "No," she said, with some return of her old 
 spirit, "it is not." 
 
 " What do you mean, Helen ?" 
 
 "I mean that when you left me, when you de- 
 serted me, I broke my heart." 
 
A MATTEL OF SKILL. *i$ 
 
 u Do you know what you are saying ? Do you 
 know that this is cruel ? — that your pity makes you 
 mad." 
 
 "Pity ! I tell you it is not pity. Whom should I 
 pity?" 
 
 "Me." 
 
 " Why should I pity you ? " 
 
 " A ruined, jilted, obscure man gets pity, if not 
 contempt." 
 
 "Don't talk like that, I will not listen to you. 
 I pity any one who pities you. I never understood, 
 I was puzzled, I was angry because I did not know 
 what made me like you ; but I know now, I have 
 heard now, the whole world knows what you have 
 done." 
 
 "That's as I thought," he told her gravely; 
 "that is what I feared. You have got hold of 
 some exaggerated tale about this business — such 
 as women love — and have made a saint out 
 of a sinner, a hero out of an honest tradesman. 
 And now you fancy things, in your generosity 
 you would say anything. Before, when noth- 
 ing stood between us, you would not look at 
 me." 
 
 " Wouldn't I ? You only tried me once, and then 
 you went away, and — and — ! " 
 
«za A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 " Hush, hush ! don't talk like this now. It is 
 too late." 
 
 The pained agitation of his manner was her best 
 consolation. 
 
 "I am not going to make love to you any 
 more," she said, with an imitation of her former 
 vivacity, the effect of which the break in her voice 
 destroyed. If you won't have me when I throw 
 myself at your head, it is very disagreeable and rude 
 of you." 
 
 " You don't understand what you offer." 
 
 " Excuse me, but I understand perfectly." 
 
 " I have nothing, I have to begin work as an un- 
 paid clerk in a merchant's office ; my mother will 
 live with me. It will be uphill work for years and 
 years, even if I am most fortunate." 
 
 "Yes," she said, "and you are a man of ex- 
 pensive tastes, you have used luxuries as necessities. 
 Poverty will be terribly hard on you ; you will get 
 bad-tempered, you will want a vent for your anger 
 —have me ! " 
 
 They had emerged from the shadow of the glen 
 and reached the garden* door, and through the dim 
 twilight her brave eyes, wet with tears, smiled at 
 him. His scruples were vanishing into air, he had 
 muck to do to keep cool. With his hand upon 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL, m 
 
 the handle of the gate he paused and questioned 
 her— 
 
 "Tell me, what has changed you, Helen !" 
 
 ' ' I have not changed. " ( 
 
 "Not changed? Five months ago you refused 1 
 to marry me." ' 
 
 "You had everything then, you didn't want me, 
 at least, not much. I was blind and vain ; and a 
 fool. I may be a fool now, but I am no longer 
 blind ; I have seen clearly enough since July. I 
 have learned a great deal." 
 
 "You know so little of me." 
 
 "That is true. I have told myself so a hundred 
 thousand times." 
 
 "Helen, you are torturing me, you tempt me be- 
 yond endurance." 
 
 "Then open the door, if you please, and let ma 
 go." 
 
 "No, no ! I can never let you go now." 
 
 "I must have tea, you forget the time," getting 
 nervous over the crisis which she herself had brought 
 about. 
 
 "Listen, Helen, I don't want pity, I want love ; 
 you may mistake the one for the other ; you prob- 
 ably do." 
 
 "Did I pity you last summer," she answered 
 
22r A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 impatiently. "And when you left me in a mo- 
 ment, and went away to that other woman, do you 
 think the pain I had was pity. It isn't like you, it 
 isn't kind of you to make me say all this. You 
 have said nothing. I don't know why I should 
 think you care for me. Let me go." 
 
 "Never,'' he said ; and he took her into his arms 
 and kissed her. 
 
 Every one said that the beautiful Miss Mitford 
 and her fifteen thousand pounds were being thrown 
 away upon Mr. Jones — of the city. Mr. Jones 
 himself was wont to say so, and to predict great 
 miseries in store for her. She often acquiesced 
 in these prophecies ; for she, except on one mo- 
 mentous occasion, was chary of feeding the vanity 
 or lavishing tender words on the lover of her 
 choice. 
 
 At first, Mr. and Mrs. Mitford had been slightly 
 shocked by their daughter's departure. Why Helen 
 should have engaged herself to the ruined son of 
 "those dreadful Joneses" was incomprehensible 
 to them ; but when their mild remonstrances were 
 met by a passionate and vehement confession of 
 her great love for this undesirable person, they 
 instantly became sympathetic and congratulatory. 
 
A MATTER OF SKILL. 223 
 
 Helen had always been right, she was probably- 
 right now. 
 
 In the following June, upon the day preceding 
 Helen's wedding, the Rectory was the scene of 
 great, though subdued excitement. Bridesmaids, 
 uncles, aunts, stray men, and country neighbors 
 thronged house and garden. The presents, the 
 trousseau, the flowers, and the bride-elect were on 
 view. It was to be a gay wedding (as the saying is), 
 every possible token of rejoicing was to be manifest, 
 every possible honor was to be heaped on bride and 
 bridegroom. " Though Miss Mitford was making 
 Such a bad match," the girls said, " she seemed very 
 proud of it." 
 
 And so she was, she thought herself the most 
 fortunate woman in the world. Even when her 
 Aunt Elizabeth, who was directing the labels for 
 the bridal boxes, sighed and said, pointing with an 
 unappreciative finger at — 
 
 "Mrs. Albert Jones" 
 
 "I can't make it look nice, my love." 
 
 Helen answered quickly. " What's in a name, 
 auntie," and then added, a little wistfully, after a 
 pause, "it is better than Hogg, at any rate." 
 
 " Bertie is the most charming fellow in the 
 world," Mrs. Mitford put in, kissing the bride-elects 
 
224 A MATTER OF SKILL. 
 
 fair cheek tenderly. tC Whatever his name was, if 
 he had no name at all, I should be glad for Nellie 
 to be called by it." 
 
 " I don't know what all the women see in him," 
 said the Rector rather dismally. <f Fortunately he 
 is getting on fairly well in business, Elizabeth, 
 though I believe my foolish little girl would have 
 married him whether or no." 
 
 THE END* 
 
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