Xnfjy rcfc-Y
 
 Good for Nothing
 
 "Blanche BuUingdon 
 Coed for Xotlu'ng] 
 
 , was asked to play. 
 
 (Page 123.) 
 
 [Frontispiece^
 
 Good for Nothin 
 
 or 
 
 All Down Hill 
 
 By 
 
 G. J. Why te -Melville 
 
 Author of "Digby Grand," "The Interpreter," "Holmby House," etc. 
 
 Illustrated by G, P. Jacomb-Hood 
 
 London 
 Ward, Lock & Co., Limited 
 
 New York and Melbourne
 
 r '\ 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 
 PART I 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 
 r. 
 
 " Gilded Wires " 
 
 II. 
 
 I Remember . 
 
 III. 
 
 " Early Frosts " 
 
 IV. 
 
 "The Bees and the Drones" 
 
 V. 
 
 "Ada" 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Adventurer 
 
 VII. 
 
 "GanzAllein" 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Misgivings 
 
 IX. 
 
 John Gordon 
 
 X. 
 
 Bella Jones . 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Alarms— A Skirmish " 
 
 XII. 
 
 ' ' Dinner is on the Table " . 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Diplomacy . 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Pelidee 
 
 XV. 
 
 "At Home" 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " A Hitch in the Reel " 
 
 XVII. 
 
 "AydeMi" 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 "Bon Voyage" 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Why do you go to the Opera ? " 
 
 XX. 
 
 The False God 
 
 XXI, 
 
 A Bold Front 
 
 PAOB 
 
 7 
 
 18 
 
 27 
 
 38 
 
 49 
 
 59 
 
 66 
 
 73 
 
 88 
 
 97 
 
 106 
 
 114 
 
 127 
 
 134 
 
 148 
 
 156 
 
 165 
 
 174 
 
 181 
 
 190 
 
 201 
 
 OQf&
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 xxir. 
 
 "Keeping Afloat" 
 
 
 t 
 
 1 
 
 PAOg 
 
 . 209 
 
 xxnr. 
 
 "Sink or Swim" . . . . ,218 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Tom Tidler's Ground . . . . .223 
 
 XXV. 
 
 "A New Leaf" . . . . . .231 
 
 
 PART II 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Over the "Way . . . . . .237 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " An Unbidden Guest " 
 
 
 
 
 . 249 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 A Prior Claim 
 
 
 
 
 . 257 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The Temptation . 
 
 
 
 
 . 266 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The Australian Mail 
 
 
 
 
 . 272 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The Veiled Image 
 
 
 
 
 . 282 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Ebb and Flow 
 
 
 
 
 , 288 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " Never again " 
 
 
 
 
 . 302 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 The Thorn in the Flesh 
 
 
 
 
 . 310 
 
 xxxv. 
 
 A Fellow-Feeling . 
 
 
 
 
 . 321 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 The Fever Sleep . 
 
 
 
 
 . 331 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 A Cold Dinner 
 
 
 
 
 . 341 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 "West-Acres 
 
 
 
 
 . 349 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Family Likenesses 
 
 
 
 
 . 356 
 
 XL. 
 
 Lady Wilful 
 
 
 
 
 . 368 
 
 XLI. 
 
 " A Day that is Dead " 
 
 
 
 
 . 379 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Will You ? 
 
 
 
 
 . 388 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Won't You ? 
 
 
 
 
 . 397 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Tlie Husband 
 
 
 
 
 . 403 
 
 XLV. 
 
 The Wife . 
 
 
 
 
 . 413 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Atropos 
 
 
 
 
 . 424 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Dust to Dust 
 
 
 
 
 . 428 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 The Chief Mourner 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 . 433 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Too Late . 
 
 
 
 
 . 439
 
 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 OR, ALL DOWN HILL 
 
 PAKT I 
 
 " Fair ]anglis tlie morn, and soft the zephyr blows, 
 While proudly gliding o'er the azure realm, 
 In gilded trim the gallant vessel goes, 
 
 Yovith at the prow, and Pleasure at the helm, 
 Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, 
 That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey." 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 "GILDED wires" 
 
 That " fine feathers make fine birds " is so self-evident an 
 adage as to admit of no dispute by the most argumentative 
 of cavillers ; but that fine feathers make happy birds 
 is a different story altogether, and one which will bear a 
 considerable amount of discussion pro and con. 
 
 Up two pair of stairs in yonder large London house, 
 poised over a box of fragrant mignonette, and command- 
 ing the comparatively extensive view of the square 
 gardens, hangs a shining gilt bird-cage, with bath and 
 sanded floor complete, perches for exercise, trays for 
 hempseed and other delicacies, a graceful festooning of 
 groundsel, and a lump of white sugar between the bars.
 
 8 GOOD FOB NOTHING 
 
 Prison, forsooth ! it's a palace ; and would its inmate, that 
 bright yellow canary-bird, sing so londl}^ think you, if she 
 wasn't happy ? Don't we know that the bravest voice and 
 the noisiest lau^jh are nm-rring indicators of heart's-case 
 and content ? At least the world is well satisfied to take 
 them as such ; and surely plenty of bird-seed, and sand, 
 and groundsel, and white sugar, are an equivalent for that 
 imaginary blessing which men term libert}'. 'Tis a sad 
 heart that sighs for the " wings of a dove " ; the canary 
 don't want any wings, she has no use even for her own 
 glossy, yellow pair; and for liberty, why, she wouldn't 
 know^ what to do with it if she had it. 'Tis only on a day 
 like this, when the May sunshine bursts forth into some- 
 what of summer warmth, when the tender green leaves, as 
 yet unsmirched by London smoke, quiver in the breath of 
 spring, and the fleecy clouds dance against the blue sky 
 even over Belgi-ave Square, that the cage looks a little 
 narrow and confined, that the vagrant life of yonder 
 dirty sparrow appears somewhat enviable. It must be 
 joyful to be free to perch on the area railings, or to sip 
 from the muddy kennel, and twitter away at will over 
 chimney and housetop, into the fragrant hedgerows and 
 sunny fields of the pleasant country. But then, he is but 
 a common sparrow, after all, and she is a delicate canary — 
 nohlcssc oblige, indeed, in many more ways than one. 
 
 What thinks her high-born mistress, the Lady Gertrude, 
 an earl's sister and a sovereign's god-child ? With the 
 wholesome fear of Burke and Debrett before my eyes, I 
 suppress the proper name of the noble maiden. Shall I 
 involve myself in an action for libel at the suit of a dis- 
 tinguished family ? Shall I pander to the morbid taste of 
 that inuuerous and respectable class who make it their 
 especial study to identity the persons of the aristocracy 
 and chronicle their deeds ? Vade retro — be it far from 
 me ! The titled daughters of England are classed and 
 ticketed in certain catalogues published by authority 
 with mercantile fidelity. With the same accuracy that is 
 at once his pride and his profession, in measuring her off 
 a thousand yards of tulle for the trimming of her ball- 
 dress, can John Ellworthy, the mercer, calculate to a day 
 the age of Lady Hildegonda Vavasour. Her ladyship is
 
 'GILDED WIRES' 9 
 
 debarred by the remnants of feudalism from the very 
 birthright of lowlier women, never to exceed seven-and- 
 twenty. Like those high-bred Arab steeds, which the 
 children of the desert offer for purchase to the Feringhee, 
 there can be no concealment of her age or her per- 
 formances ; and she is sold, so to speak, with her pedigree 
 about her neck. Be gentle with her in her new capacity ; 
 like all thoroughbred animals, she is staunch and resolute 
 for good and for evil. 
 
 Lady Gertrude is alone in the privacy of her own 
 chamber. Bedroom, dressing-room, boudoir, sanctuary, it 
 combines something of all of these. Her midnight 
 slumbers and her morning dreams take place in a deep 
 and distant recess, containing a charming little French 
 bed, like a toy, draped with a rosy fabric of muslin, 
 corresponding in colour and texture with the toilet-cover 
 and the pincushion. Her Prayer-book of purple velvet, 
 crossed and clasped, and bound and bedizened with gold, 
 lies within easy reach of the lace-edged pillows, and 
 where male imbecility would look instinctively for a boot- 
 jack, a pair of sweet little slippers, fawn-coloured, with 
 bronze tips and beaded embroidery, turn their toes to each 
 other in confiding simplicity. A pianoforte occupies the 
 corresponding recess at the other side of the doorway. A 
 piece of music lies open on its stand ; it is an oratorio of 
 Handel's — a deep, solemn, and suggestive strain, such as 
 to sit and hear with half-shut eyes from which the tears 
 are not far distant, calls up a vision of the shadowy 
 Future and the mournful Past, of the bruised reed and 
 the aching heart, of hopes and fears, and bitter sorrow, 
 and humble resignation, and the white-robed angels 
 leading the poor penitent home. 
 
 She is not at all frivolous, you see, my Lady Gertrude, 
 though the canterbury by the side of the instrument 
 contains the Ratcatcher's Waltz, and the " Pray don't " 
 Polka, and other refined and popular music of the modern 
 school. 
 
 Her book-shelves, too, bear a strange mixture of liter- 
 ature, light and heavy, ancient and modem. No Byron, 
 no Tommy Moore. A quarto Milton, we dare not say 
 thumbed, but worn and frayed by the taper-Avhite fingers,
 
 10 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 and holding even now between the pages of Satan's 
 rebellious peroration a single thread of hair, denoting that 
 while Justine dresses the silken locks, Lady Gertrude is 
 no less busy than her handmaid with the inner culture of 
 that haughty little head. A voluminous Shakespeare with 
 notes, a translation of Herodotus, Swedenborg's Transcend- 
 ental Lucubrations ; Euclid, which she cannot understand, 
 but perseveres at from sheer obstinacy, even to the hope- 
 less and utterly futile task of learning him by heart ; 
 Schiller in the original, whom she don't much care about; 
 Tennyson's Maud, that she would never confess she cries 
 over like a child ; sundry excellent works of reference on 
 chemistry, optics, geology, and other sciences ; two or 
 three odd volumes of sermons, new and stiff in the binding, 
 as if but rarely consulted ; and a French novel, doubtless 
 contraband, and having no business there. By the way, 
 what is the intrinsic merit of this species of literature ? 
 Why is it gradually becoming so popular in England ? Is 
 it that the less scrupulous Frenchman hesitates not to 
 paint phases of life which British conventionality affects to 
 ignore, the while they move the mainsprings of everyday 
 society ? or is it that he has a happy knack of describing 
 gracefully the mere trifles we all know so well, and impart- 
 ing an additional charm to the interest every reader feels 
 in matters with which he is himself familiar, as we see a 
 farce run night after night, wherein a man eats a real 
 mutton-chop on the stage, or goes to bed bodily then and 
 there in full sight of the audience ? Whatever may be the 
 attraction, there is no doubt that these works are day by 
 day more generally read, notwithstanding their question- 
 able taste, their doubtful morality, and unblushing 
 disquisitions on sentiments which at least we don't ^vrite 
 about on this side the Channel. Perhaps there may be 
 something in the language after all, and we may opine 
 with Billy Fudge that, 
 
 " Though the words on good manners intrench, 
 I assure you 'tis not Jialf so shocking in Frencli." 
 
 One or two exquisite casts of children are placed, too, 
 here and there on brackets in th(; corners of the room ; 
 and a sufficiently faithful copy of Franceschini's " Sleeping
 
 'GILDED WIRES' 11 
 
 St. John " overhangs the chimney-piece. Lady G, is not 
 above the mania for little naked boys, so prevalent during 
 the present era that they may be purchased in any of the 
 bazaars at a shilling a dozen, and indeed the Holy Infant 
 in His slumbers is a gem that I have seen but rarely 
 equalled in real life. So she prizes it accordingly, and 
 suffers no other painting to lodge permanently in her 
 chamber save one, and that is a mere coloured photograph, 
 set in a costly framework of velvet and gold, placed in a 
 favourable light on her own especial writiiig-table (littered, 
 as a lady's writing-table invariably is, with every sort of 
 nick-nack, and destitute of that freedom and elbow-room 
 so indispensable to the efforts of masculine penmanship) ; 
 this additional ornament is but a pleasing representation 
 of a welMooking and well-dressed young gentleman, very 
 like the other ninety and nine out of any hundred of 
 well-dressed young gentlemen who pass their time in 
 going to and fro in St. James' Street as Satan does upon 
 earth, and walking up and down in it. He is good to 
 look at, too, with his dark, silken hair, his soft eyes with 
 their long lashes, and rich brown whiskers curling round 
 a pair of smiling lips, and a little dimple chin such as 
 ought to have belonged to a woman ; this countenance 
 surmounting nevertheless a large, well-developed frame, 
 indubitably characteristic of a man's organisation, and a 
 man's physical courage and vigour. 
 
 Lady Gertrude wipes the miniature half tenderly, half 
 triumphantly, with her delicate handkerchief; then she 
 smiles, such a saucy mischievous smile as dimples a child's 
 face when it has ousted a playmate at " puss-in-the-corner." 
 Lastly, she walks up to the full-length mirror, which has 
 reflected her graceful person so often, and in so many 
 becoming costumes — ball-dress, court-dress, riding-habit, 
 and peigTwir — the woman's true friend and constant 
 counsellor ; the adroit flatterer in sunshine, the sym- 
 pathising consoler in storms, the depositary of how many 
 a secret triumph and buoyant aspiration, and how many 
 a galling disappointment and weary, hopeless sigh. 
 
 Carefully, and inch by inch as it were, she scans what 
 she sees there ; but the expression in her ladyship's face is 
 scarcely that of self-satisfied female vanity. There is a look
 
 12 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 of mingled confidence and inquiry, more akin to Lord Mar- 
 tingale's calculating glance as he eyes the favourite for the 
 Derby, bred by himself, and trained in his own stable, 
 stripped and mounted for the race ; or Herr Merlin's 
 sweeping review of his magic rings, his all-productive hat, 
 and the other accessories with which he effects his 
 incredible feats of legerdemain. 
 
 The reflection is that of a striking girl enough. A tall, 
 graceful form, too slight, it may be, to fulfil the rigorous 
 standard of womanly beauty, but rounded and symmetri- 
 cal as a nymph's, with the same length of limb and airiness 
 of gesture which painters have combined to confer on those 
 mythological coquettes. The hands and feet are perfect, 
 long, slender, and flexible, they assimilate well with the 
 undulating lines of her patrician figure, and the stately 
 pose of her proud head. Dark masses of hair, that look 
 black against the pure white skin, are gathered into a 
 twisted knot behind the skull, pulled away somewhat too 
 boldly from the temples, and disclosing the faultless out- 
 line of the cheek and the perfect little thoroughbred ear. 
 Nor is Lady Gertrude's face out of character with the rest 
 of her person. The forehead, though low, has width and 
 capacity ; bright hazel eyes sparkle with vivacity and a 
 considerable touch of satirical humour, while the defect of 
 too wide a mouth is redeemed by the whitest of teeth, and, 
 when occasion offers, the merriest of smiles. Though a 
 critic might pronounce her features too sharp and bird- 
 like, though in her light primrose morning dress she has 
 a certain resemblance to her own canary, the general effect 
 of her face denotes considerable intellect, no slight leaven 
 of caprice, above all, great persistence and force of will. 
 
 The young lady turns at length from the perusal of her 
 own features, and moves towards the window, where hang 
 the cage and the canary. The bird knows her mistress, 
 and chirps and flutters in her prison, and beats her breast 
 against the bars. The sunshine pours in floods into the 
 room, and a fragrant breeze from Surrey scatters a hundred 
 blossoms from the square gardens over a dingy coal dray 
 and " the boy with the beer," and an astonished figure — 
 a footman — emerging in his magnificence from the area 
 with a note. How sweet the mignonette smells, and how
 
 'OILDED WIRES' 13 
 
 that silly bird is fighting with the cage ! For the second 
 time within the last five minutes her mistress experiences 
 a morbid desire to unhook the door and let the captive go 
 free. " But then," she reflects, " poor thing, you are not 
 used to liberty, and you would die. A prisoner you were 
 bred, and a prisoner you must remain." 
 
 A cloud comes over Lady Gertrude's face as she turns 
 with a listless air from the open window and the mellow 
 sunshine, and sits her down in her own arm-chair to 
 think. 
 
 Now, in order to follow the thread of Lady Gertrude's 
 ruminations, it is indispensable to put the clock back to 
 the hour of noon ; as it is already nearly luncheon time, a 
 meal which everybody knows would interfere with the 
 servants' dinner if it took place before two p.m. At noon, 
 then. Lady Gertrude emerged from the door of No. 00 
 Belgrave Square, in the primrose-coloured dress already 
 hinted at, and such a bonnet as Paris only can produce, to 
 cross the well-watered road with decorous speed, and letting 
 herself into the gardens with her own pass-key ; it being 
 freely admitted by the logical verdict of English society, 
 that in these chaste groves Dian herself might perambu- 
 late without a chaperon. The canary, had she been on 
 the watch, might then have observed her mistress pacing 
 the gravel-walk to and fro with something of quarter-deck 
 impatience and energy. In truth, there is nothing 
 provokes a woman so much as to be kept waiting, and 
 this is the more unjustifiable when we consider that it is 
 a penance she takes much pleasure in exacting from the 
 opposite sex. 
 
 The sixth turn, however, and such a clench of the slender 
 hand and stamp of the slender foot as constitute what our 
 American friends term a " caution," brought her once 
 more to the entrance-gate, where a good-looking face, 
 framed in a pair of brown whiskers, and surmounted by a 
 white hat, being indeed no other than the original of the 
 photograph up-stairs, was seen imploring admittance, with 
 a comical expression of half penitence, half amusement, 
 depicted on its comely lineaments. Lady Gertrude's wrath 
 seemed to evaporate as she turned the key for ingress of 
 the new arrival ; but it was with a backward toss of the
 
 14 GOOD FOR NOTHINQ 
 
 head, and in a sharper tone of voice than ordinary, that 
 she met him with a reproach rather than a greeting. 
 
 " How very unpunctual you are, Gilbert. I told you 
 half-past eleven on purpose that you mightn't keep me 
 waiting." 
 
 " So you would have given me the forty minutes of 
 anxiety and agitation instead," replied the gentleman, 
 with a pleasant laugh ; " and you know that every minute 
 I wait for you seems an age. O Gertrude ! what a bully 
 you are ! " 
 
 She was the least bit of a tyrant, if the truth must be 
 told, and to-day she was in one of her most imperious 
 moods, so she threw her head up once more as she 
 resumed. 
 
 " I tell you honestly, I'm going to quarrel with you, 
 Gilbert. It has been brewing for a week, and I mean 
 really to have it out at last. There ! of course you begin 
 to smoke, though j^ou know I hate it ; but I suppose it's 
 no use my forbidding you to do anything. I wonder 
 which of them worked you that tawdry cigar-case. Bought 
 it at the Baker Street Bazaar ? oh, I dare say ! Well, 
 what have you got to say in your defence ? Come, now, 
 begin." 
 
 The owner of the white hat put a pair of lavender- 
 kidded hands together in an attitude of supplication, and 
 without removing his cigar from his lips, mumbled out the 
 very apposite question — 
 " What have I done ? " 
 
 " It's not what you've done,** she replied, " and I can't 
 help laughing at you, though I am so provoked. Fray 
 don't be so absurd, with all those nurses and children 
 looking at us ! It's not what you have done, but what you 
 have left undone. Pray, since when have gentlemen con- 
 sidered it honourable to break their word to a lady because 
 she's a cousin ? Where were you last Thursday when 
 you ought to have met us at Sydenham ? and even Aunt 
 Olivia said it was just like you to forget all about it ! " 
 
 " I am always sure of my mother's good word," replied 
 the gentleman, somewhat bitterly ; " but last Thursday 
 was the day of the pigeon match." 
 
 " Pigeon match ! " echoed his cousin, with the colour
 
 'GILDED WIRES* 15 
 
 mounting rapidly ; " that won't do. Why the ' ties,' as 
 you call them, were shot off before two o'clock. I know 
 it, because I asked Charley Wing the same night at 
 Ormolu House. By the Avay, he dances as well again as 
 he did last year ; besides, the pigeon match didn't prevent 
 people going to see those hideous rhododendrons, and as 
 Mrs. Montpellier's yellow barouche was there from three 
 till five, I suppose she gave you a lift back into London." 
 
 " You wouldn't have wished me to walk," said the un- 
 abashed culprit, holding up at the same time a thin and 
 remarkably neat boot, on which it is needless to say he 
 prided himself not a little. 
 
 " What I wish seems to be a matter of the greatest in- 
 difference," was the reply. " But, indeed, Gilbert, there is 
 nobody to scold you but me ; at least, you say yourself 
 you never pay attention to any one else, and you know, 
 after all, I'm a very near relation, and — and — like a sister, 
 in short, and I own I vjas hurt that you never came near 
 us all last week, and you didn't go to Lady Broadway's, 
 though I sent your invitation myself. Such a stupid 
 ball, Gilbert ; and Aunt Olivia, though she says nothing, 
 I can see she don't like it. It's not so much for my own 
 sake I mind it, as for hers ; and then, you are doing your- 
 self incalculable harm. Is it true you lost so much money 
 on that childish match of Count Carambole's ? " 
 
 " A hatful," answered the defendant, at the same time 
 taking his own off, and looking roguishly into the crown 
 with provoking good-humour, 
 
 " What a life ! " proceeded Lady Gertrude, waxing 
 visibly impatient. " What a waste of time and position 
 and talent ; for you have talent, you know, Gilbert, if you 
 choose to exert it ; and all for what ? To play billiards 
 night after night at Pratt's, and yawn through the day 
 between the bay window at White's and the end of the 
 ride in the Park; you who might do anything." 
 
 " Very good of you to say so, dear," drawled her cousin. 
 " I'm not bad at caricatures, I know, aud I think, Avith a 
 fortnight's practice, I could do the ' pea-and-thimble ' well 
 enough to earn a livelihood during the racing season — but 
 as for high art, and science, and a ' career,' and that sort 
 of thing, why it's not exactly in my line,"
 
 16 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 She looked at hiin for a minute or two in silence. 
 Something almost of contempt curled her lip, while she 
 checked the words that came u})pcrmost, but her eye 
 softened as it rested on his comely, good-humoured face, 
 with its habitual expression of lazy contentment, and she 
 put her arm within his and pressed it kindly as she 
 asked his pardon for so lecturing him and taking him to 
 task. 
 
 " But you know, Gilbert," she said, " Aunt Olivia never 
 scolds you ; and so if I didn't nobody would take any 
 pains with you, and what would become of you then ? 
 1 don't believe you really care for any one mortal thing in 
 the world, and more than that, Gilbert, I don't believe you 
 are really happy^ — there ! " 
 
 She had broke through the crust at last, for this was a 
 home thrust. He had been thinking so himself of late 
 more than once ; had been startled to learn that the wine- 
 cup of youth could taste so flat sometimes, as if filled 
 from a bad bottle ; and the garlands, though fresh and 
 rosy still, were not always radiant with the dew of the 
 morning. 
 
 " Happy," he repeated musingly ; " why should I be 
 happy ? After all, I am pretty well alone in the world, 
 Gertrude. I don't believe any one in London cares two 
 straws about me but you. I have no home ; certainly not 
 there" he added, nodding towards the house whereat hung 
 the cage and the canary, and to which it was already time 
 for his cousin to return. " But I live as ninety-nine out 
 of every hundred do. I take the rough with the smooth ; 
 and I suppose, after all, I am as well off as my neigh- 
 bours. At least, I don't know any I should like to change 
 places with. Certainly none that own such a pretty 
 cousin with such a pretty bonnet. Time to go in, is it ? 
 Well, good-bye, Gertrude, dear ; I'm always the better for 
 a scolding from j'ou, and I'll do anything you like this 
 afternoon, only let me out of the square first. If I don't 
 go away, you know, I can't come back again." 
 
 So the white hat was presently vacillating up the shady 
 side of Grusvenor Place, and Lady Gertrude having taken 
 off her bonnet, which it now struck her was indeed a very 
 pretty one, sat her down, as we have already stated, in her
 
 'GILDED WIRES' 17 
 
 own ann-chtair, to rccapitiilatu and think over the events 
 of the morning. 
 
 The resnlt of her cogitations was, in one rcvspcct, afe 
 least decisive. She went to her writing-table, and 
 selecting a pen with great care, proceeded to write a note, 
 which she folded and sealed with accurate nicety. We 
 must do women the justice to allow that their missives, 
 however involved in sense and grammar, are at least fairly 
 and decently worked out as regards caligraphy ; and that 
 they do not seem to consider the legacy of Cadmus simply 
 as a means of puzzling their hapless correspondents. 
 
 This done, she looked once more at the coloured photo- 
 graph, once more at the winsome Lady Gertrude over 
 yonder in the looking-glass ; then she walked restlessly 
 to the window, and looked forth into the square gardens 
 she had so recently quitted, and drew a long breath as of 
 one who has at last solved a difficulty, the while she 
 murmured in an audible whisper — 
 
 "It will be far better for us both ; I shall marry my 
 cousin Gilbert ! " 
 
 And the canary struggled to get out of her cage, and 
 fought, and fluttered, and beat her breast against the bars.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 I REMEMBER 
 
 The cads at Tattersall's Yard knew Gilbert Orme as well 
 as the Wellington Statue. The fast young gentlemen 
 who frequent that equine resort, had each and all a 
 greeting and a pleasant word or two for avowedly " about 
 the nicest fellow in England." Half-a-dozen seasons in 
 London, autumns at Cowes, and winters in the grass 
 countries, had thoroughly identified him with that ab- 
 normal portion of the human race which calls itself the 
 world ; and with good health, good spirits, good looks, and 
 a good income, few went the pace so easily and gracefully 
 as gentle Gilbert Orme. A long minority had put him in 
 possession of a large sum of ready money, so that the 
 gloss of youth was untarnished by the many annoyances 
 and anxieties which la}^ upon none so heavily as those 
 who cannot afford to live in society, and cannot bear to 
 live ont of it. " How I should hate to be a poor man ! " 
 Avas Gilbert's oft-quoted exclamation, when he overheard 
 3^oung Brozier lamenting his inability to keep a certain 
 high-stepping cab-horse, which vras the onl}' claim to 
 distinction advanced by that uninteresting youth, and the 
 sentiment counted for a joke at the clubs. Many of the 
 members knew its import too well by bitter experience, 
 for, alas, se\'eral of those magnificoes whom we are so 
 often called upon to admire as they pace the Ride in 
 equestrian splendour, or traverse Pall Mall in gorgeous 
 a^^parel, have secret debts and ditficulties far more en- 
 thralling than those of Mr. Plausible, the coachmaker, 
 
 18
 
 1 REMEMBER 19 
 
 whose schedule bears him triumphantly through the 
 Insolvent Court ; and ends that won't stretch to come 
 within half-a-yard as near meeting as those of John 
 Stokes, the bricklayer. Varnished boots are beautiful 
 objects to look at, but a thick sole with ease is more 
 comfortable for walking, and no man knows where the shoe 
 pinches so well as he who wears it. 
 
 I often think that the life of a "young man about 
 London " has in nine cases out of ten something of the 
 excitement and adventure of a brigand's or a buccaneer's. 
 The moral piracy that would fain board every prize and 
 haul down every flag; the unceasing endeavour to sail 
 nearer the wind than the adversary, and take every 
 advantage, foir and unfair, of the chase ; the cutting-out 
 expeditions, the unacknowledged repulses, the boasted 
 triumphs, the strange freemasonry that exists between 
 reckless men ; above all, the uncertainty of the career, 
 and the consciousness that it must end in a general smash 
 at last. All this invests a " fast " man's life with some 
 inexplicable fascination, to which we must attribute the 
 numerical strength of the class. How many there are 
 who trust to the turn of a trump-card or the spin of a 
 billiard-ball for the very means by which they keep their 
 heads above water day by day ; and whose future, morally 
 and physically, is bounded by the settling after Goodwood. 
 Pleasant, sunshiny, and agreeable, they are totally devoid 
 of scruples, and utterly reckless of consequences — such 
 characters, in short, as are summed up in the modern 
 satirist's description of a promising young man — 
 
 "The damsel's delight, and the chaperon's fear, 
 He is voted a trump amongst men ; 
 His father allows him two hundred a year, 
 And lie'll lay you a thousand to ten! " 
 
 But Gilbert Orme was not one of these. Living as he 
 did in the midst of the temptations and dissipations of a 
 London life, there was a certain child-like simplicity in 
 his character which, while it enhanced the pungency of 
 his pleasures, doubtless deprived them of their most 
 deleterious ingredients. Far be it from me to affirm that 
 " to the pure all things are pure," or indeed that Gilbert's
 
 20 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 theory and ])r;i,ct,icc woro mu<',h less lax than his noii^h- 
 bours' ; but frail mortality at least is inclined to look 
 leniently on those errors in whieh the imagination and the 
 intellect predominate over the senses ; and he must have 
 been a stern Mentor, and forgotten the while that he had 
 ever himself been a boy, who could have clipped the 
 wings of that high-hearted young eagle, soaring indeed 
 far beyond the bounds of conventionality and decorum, 
 but yet soaring ever upwards nearer and nearer to the 
 sun. 
 
 I can see him now, as he was long after he had wound 
 himself round my old heart, a lad of eighteen. I can see 
 his tall graceful figure as he used to jump the ha-ha that 
 divided the lawn from the j)ark at West-Acres, and bound 
 away over the turf lithe and active as the very deer 
 scouring before him. I can see him cany out his bat, 
 with a score of fifty-six notches that I marked for him 
 with my own fingers the day the West-Acres eleven bwit 
 the united strength of Bat-Thorpe and Bowlsover in one 
 innings. He walked to the tent like a young hero, with 
 his head up and his eye sparkling, followed by a round t)f 
 applause ungrudgingly bestowed by the players on both 
 sides, and many an admiring glance from the benches on 
 which various coloured dresses and gossamer bonnets 
 quivered and bloomed like a parterre of garden flowers in 
 July. The boy used to come and tell me his triumphs 
 and his misgivings, and pour out his rich fancies, and open 
 his glad young heart with an abandonment and a fresh 
 sincerity that endeared him to me strangely, for I was an 
 old man even then, and the heavy sorrow that had crushed 
 me in manhood, but h;id been borne, I trust, humbly and 
 resignedly in age, had taught me to feel kindly for all, 
 and especially to synipatliise with the young. 
 
 If they knew, if they only knew! what that Future 
 really is to which they Inok so longingl}'. Woe is me! 
 not one of them but would cast his brnxlcn to the gi'ound, 
 and sit down by the wayside, and refuse to move one 
 single step further on the journey. 
 
 I was reading with him before he went to Oxford; not 
 Coaching and crainming him with dry facts and technical 
 memories, but sauntering pleasantly through the beauties
 
 I REMEMBER 21 
 
 of those glorious old Greek minds as a man might walk 
 slowly arm-in-arm with a friend in a gallery of art. My 
 boy (I can bear to call him my boy now) was a scholar, 
 not literally in the dull everyday acceptation of the word, 
 but essentially, and, so to speak, in its aesthetic sense. 
 He might not dig the Greek root, or criticise the verb's 
 middle voice quite so assiduously as some more plodding 
 students, but his conception of Homer's heroes, I am con- 
 vinced, would have satisfied the blind old wizard himself. 
 His spirit seemed steeped in those rolling hexameters, 
 like the garland of Alcibiades dripping and saturated with 
 strong rich Chian wine. I am sure that he could see the 
 son of Peleus standing visibly before him in the blaze of 
 his young beauty, and the pride of his heroic strength; 
 could mark the thin Greek nostril dilating in its wrath, 
 and the godlike head thrown back in high disdain, with 
 scorn on the chiselled lip, and hate in the flashing eye, 
 and stern defiance stamped on the fair wide brow. I 
 know that Briseis was not to him the mere ancilla who 
 constituted lot No. 1 of a freebooter's plunder, but an 
 ivory-limbed shape, smooth and faultless, cowering in her 
 loveliness under a shower of golden tresses, through which 
 the white shoulder peeped and peered coyly; the while 
 the red lip curled half in smiles, half in entreaties, and 
 the lustrous eyes looked upward from under their long 
 veiling lashes, deepening and softening with mingled love 
 and fear. 
 
 My boy would read out the burning lines in a Ioav 
 earnest tone, like a man reciting his own poetry ; and I 
 knew when I saw his colour rise, and heard his full young 
 voice shake, that he was back upon the sands before 
 Troy, with white-crested Olympus towering on the horizon 
 before him, and the blue sea wreathing into ever-changing 
 smiles at his feet. 
 
 Ah, mo ! it seems like a dream now, to have ever sat 
 in the hot summer noons under the old oaks at West- 
 Acres. The old oaks that stood apart one by one in their 
 majestic beauty, dotting the level English-looking park, 
 where the deer browsed lazily in the shade, and the white 
 swans glistened on the burnished surface of the lake : to 
 hear the distant voices of the haymakers blending with
 
 22 &O0D FOR NOTHING 
 
 the hum of insects in the sun-dried air, and the wood- 
 pigeou cooing softly in the leaf}^ depths of the dense elm- 
 grove, and the chimes striking faintly from the square 
 tower of the far-away village church. It was a dear old 
 place, with its red brick wings and white portico, and 
 all the architectural incongruities of Inigo Jones' taste. 
 There is a degree of comfort in one of these real English 
 houses that we look for in vain elsewhere. But the 
 favourite spot in which Gilbert and I chose to pursue our 
 studies was half a mile off in the park, under an old oak 
 tree, where the fern grew three feet high, and a clear 
 spring bubbled and sparkled through the green sward 
 ankle deep in moss. 
 
 It was a strange and suggestive contrast, yet was it not 
 altogether out of keeping to bask in that fragrant spot, 
 and read the noble thoughts, and the shrewd, yet simple 
 reflections ; above all, the deep heartfelt poetry of those 
 grand old heathens ; to mark the worldly wisdom of the 
 cynic, cold, heartless, and essentially logical, in the colon- 
 nades and porticoes of Athens, more than two thousand 
 years ago, as on the steps of White's at the present day ; 
 to watch the ideal tendency, the divince pai'ticula aurca, 
 always choked down and smothered, never totally ex- 
 tinguished, in all the casuistry and the luxury, and the 
 gross habitual sin of Greece and Rome, just as it sparkles 
 out and flashes upward now in London or Paris, reaching 
 and leaping and striving towards the heaven from which 
 it came. Is the fable of Prometheus but a legend of 
 barbarians ? Is it not rather the profoundest of parables, 
 the most graceful of allegories and myths ? Whoever of 
 ancient or modern times has sinafled himself out from the 
 common herd to benefit or instruct his kind, him have the 
 common herd scouted and stigmatised as an impostor or a 
 fool. They voted Paul mad, and they doomed Socrates to 
 die. Was not that a deep and sad insight into human 
 nature which feigned that he who brought down fire from 
 heaven, was chained upon the cold rock antl tortured the 
 while by a vulture tearing at his heart? Alas for the 
 gifted and the good ! they lay their hearts bare in their 
 frank ti-ust and their honesty of purpose, their kindly 
 hearts that throb and quiver to an injury; they lay them
 
 t bemembeh 2S 
 
 bare, and they chain themselves to the naked rock, and 
 beak and talons rend them to the core. 
 
 But Gilbert, like all boys, saw in the ancients his ideal 
 of manhood, moral as well as physical, and respected them 
 accordingly. How many and many a time under the old 
 oak tree would he argue with me on their chivalry, their 
 patriotism, and their love of all that was noble and good. 
 How his eye kindled when he quoted Curtius driving 
 his war-steed headlong into the gulf, or Leonidas willing 
 to sup with Pluto, so that he turned the Persian myriads 
 back from the human bulwark framed by his own and 
 the bodies of the devoted handful that held the pass 
 of Thermopylse; or the high-crested Horatius and his 
 trusty twain to right and left, the pride of Rome, herself 
 a colony of warriors — 
 
 " The three who kept the bridge so well, 
 In the brave days of old ; " 
 
 or any of the thousand instances of patriotic devotion and 
 heroic daring with which the annals of those large-hearted 
 heathens teem. 
 
 Many a time we laid the book upon the grass, and, re- 
 gardless of cricket, fishing, boating, the warning-bell for 
 luncheon, or the carriage-load of visitors grinding up the 
 avenue, we commented hour after hour on the subject of 
 our studies, and discussed, each in our own way, the com- 
 parative advantages of ancient and modern times. My 
 boy, of course, was all for shield and helmet against hat 
 and umbrella ; preferred his ideal Rome, with its Appian 
 Way and its Forum, to the material London, of which he 
 knew too well the Piccadilly and the cab-stands ; opined 
 that we had hardly yet recovered the effects of the dark 
 ages; esteemed the Olympic Games far superior to the 
 Derby, and regretted equally the laurelled triumphs 
 glistening and winding upward to the Capitol, with the 
 free discussions when sage met sage in the open Athenian 
 schools ; with the glorious obstinacy of youth, adopted the 
 irrational side of the argument, and stood by it to the 
 death. 
 
 But it was on the oft-vexed question of woman's mission 
 and woman's influence that my young pupil came out in
 
 24 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 his brightest colours. I have heard military men affirm 
 that perfectly raw recruits, who have never seen a shot 
 fired, are preferable to the staunchest veterans for one 
 desperate ccniqi dc main or rash hap-hazard attack ; and in 
 the same way, I have often remarked that the boy of 
 eighteen professes an utter contempt for his natural enemy, 
 where the man of thirty guards every assailable point, and 
 intrenches himself in the strongest position he can com- 
 mand. Ten years later he will decamp without beat of 
 drum, and seek safety in flight. On one occasion, I 
 hazarded the opinion that the woman worship which came 
 in with the institution of chivalry, and will not outlast 
 that superstition a day, had done more than any human 
 influence to advance our civilisation and ameliorate the 
 condition of mankind. Gilbert was in arms at once, he 
 disputed my position at its very outset, he denied that 
 woman ever had any influence at all, except among the 
 weaker minds and less commanding spirits of the opposite 
 sex. He flushed and chafed with the subject as he threw 
 his straw hat aside and walked up and down in the sun, 
 like a young Apollo. I ought to have been gratified with 
 his progress. He brought all the learning he possessed to 
 bear upon the subject, and fired off a sixty-eight-pounder, 
 80 to speak, at the commencement of the action. 
 
 " Why, even old Herodotus sneers at them as mere 
 chattels," quoth the untried legionary ; " and like a dry 
 old fellow as he is, he gives us his real opinion when he 
 quotes the sensible maxim of the Persians, ' that to carry 
 off women by violence is the act of wicked men, but to 
 trouble one's self about avenging them when so carried off, 
 is the act of foolish ones, and to pay no regard to them 
 when carried off, the act of wise men ; for that it is clear 
 that if they had not been willing, they could not have 
 been carried off.' We were reading it only last week, and 
 you laughed yourself, though you don't often laugh, when 
 I construed the passage. It is clear that he didn't think 
 them much worth troubling one's self about. Nor have I 
 forgotten the inscriptions of Sesostris, nor the regulations 
 of the Egyptians, which permitted no woman to enter the 
 precincts of a temple, as an inferior being unworthj'^ of the 
 service of a god or goddess ; and even the Greeks, though
 
 I REMEMBER 25 
 
 they were fools enough to make war about Helen, treated 
 their captive women as slaves, and only respected their 
 mothers and sisters as a part of themselves, not because 
 they belonged to the inferior sex ; whilst the Romans, 
 who, I have heard you say, improved as much upon the 
 Greeks in common sense as they fell short of them in 
 imagination and poetry, evidently considered them mere 
 machines to rear their children, and if ever they did speak 
 of them as gracing the wine-cup, or enhancing the charms 
 of a feast, apparently deemed it a matter of no moment 
 which should be the preferred one, but lumped in Chloris 
 and Chloe, Lydia and Lalage, all at the same premium, 
 one as good as another." 
 
 " Yet did the conquerors of these very Romans, the 
 tall Gothic barbarians, frame all their measures by the 
 advice of their wives, nay, even bade the experience of 
 the warrior give place in council to the sagas of the wise 
 women, daughters of Odin." 
 
 I hazarded this argument with some diffidence, knowing 
 the storm it would bring down. 
 
 " The bull-headed, superstitious, beef-devouring gladi- 
 ators ! " was the repl}^, " with just enough sense to knock 
 their heads against a wall, which luckily for them had 
 been sapped and crumbling for centuries. Could they 
 keep Rome when they had it ? Could they defend 
 Constantinople when it was in their clumsy iron grasp ? 
 Did not the Turks press them hard on the Bosphorus ? 
 Did not the Moors enslave them in Spain ? The poly- 
 gamist against the monogamist all the world over, till 
 the latter abandoned his creed and began to put his 
 faith in policy and common sense, instead of a cross- 
 handled sword and a long-eyed ladye light-o'-love ! " 
 
 " Then you scorn the institution of chivahy, Gilbert," 
 was my reply ; " and prefer the picture of Archimedes 
 demonstrating bis jiroblem during the assault, to that of 
 Dunois bleeding to death with his back to a tree and his 
 face to the eneni}', the while he made a Christian ending 
 before the crucifix of his sword-hilt ? " 
 
 " Dunois was a fine fellow!" answered Gilbert ; " besides, 
 there was no woman in his case. What I protest against 
 is the raising up an idol and bowing down before it
 
 d6 GOOD i*oR NOT mm 
 
 because it has soft eyas and long hair. You always take 
 the other side of the question to draw me out ; I know 
 I'm right, because I feel I am. How hot it is ! There's 
 my mother going out in the carriage. Don't let us read 
 any more for to-day ; come and take up the trimmers we 
 set last night, and after that we'll go and catch a pike in 
 the witch-pool under the elms." 
 
 I rose and followed him in silence, thinking of Antony 
 and the tawny-finned fishes, and the hook that sooner or 
 later is in every man's nose.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 "EAELY FROSTS 
 
 I WAS not always a reckise — not always the musty book- 
 worm who exists only amongst dusty shelves and rare 
 old badly-printed editions. The same man who some 
 years ago would have bade me see his two-year-olds 
 gallop, now asks me to arrange his library. I once lived 
 in the world as others do. Shall I confess it ? my heart 
 was never thoroughly interested in what is termed 
 society. Perhaps I had not room for so many objects of 
 interest and affection ; perhaps, like an unskilful gambler, 
 I set all my store on one desperate throw, and lost, and 
 cared not to try again; to play for silver where I had 
 once staked gold. So the bowl has stood empty ever 
 since. 
 
 This is no story of my own life. I only mention it 
 because I want an explanation of something which my 
 former experience has convinced me to be an undoubted 
 fact ; and I do not wish my experience to be set at 
 nought, as that of one who has never been down in the 
 arena, and spilt his blood upon the thirsty sand. 
 
 Why is it that in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred 
 those' women who have been brought up chiefly amongst 
 men, who have had no sisters, who have lost a mother 
 early in life (doubtless, for many reasons, a sad affliction 
 to a girl), who have been dependent on father or brothers 
 for society and conversation, should turn out the most 
 fascinating and supei'ior of their sex ? 
 
 Why is it that in nine hundred and ninety-nine cases 
 
 27
 
 28 GOOD FOE NOTHING 
 
 out of a thousand, the boy who is educated solely by his 
 mother becomes a triumphant and successful man in 
 after-life ? 
 
 Perhaps the opposite influence of either sex is beneficial 
 to the other ; perhaps the girl derives vigorous thought, 
 expanded views, habits of reflection, nay, more, charity 
 and forbearance, from her male associates, as the boy 
 is indebted to his mother's tuition and his mother's 
 com])anionship for the gentleness and purity of heart 
 which combine so well with a manly and generous nature, 
 for the refinement and delicacy of feeling which so adorn 
 true courage ; above all, for that exalted standard of 
 womankind which shall prove his surest safeguard from 
 shame and defeat in the coming battle ; a shield im- 
 pervious so long as it is bright, but that when once soiled 
 slides and crumbles from his grasp, leaving him in the 
 press of angry weapons a naked and defenceless man. 
 
 We have all heard of the little boy who sturdily upheld, 
 in defiance of the poet, that " his mamma was the noblest 
 work of God." I think the truest and holiest homage 
 that can be offered to a fellow-creature is that which such 
 a child tenders unconsciously to his mother. She is to 
 him the one bright beautiful being upon earth. His 
 young eyes open wide with childish wonder at the 
 magnificence of her apparel, the mingled grace and 
 majesty of her bearing; he feels so proud to belong to 
 her, and at the same time so conscious of his right to 
 a place by her side, a seat on her knee. When others 
 caress him, he smiles pleasantly enough for a time, but 
 soon wearies, and hurries off to be at play again ; but 
 when she lays her quiet hand upon his brow, the boy 
 forgets hoop and marbles, the new knife and the promised 
 pony, to nestle by her side, and look up in her face, and 
 sit lovingly down at the feet of his oum mamma. 
 
 All that he knows of good he learns from her. She 
 teaches him to love and pra}'. She teaches him to hope 
 and to believe. If ever he, gets to the end of the narrow 
 way, where the little wicket stands, and hears the bolts 
 drawn back, and sees the golden light from the happy 
 land shining through, whom shall he thank and bless on 
 eai'th but her who first taught him the pass-word and
 
 'EARLY FROSTS' 20 
 
 f'avc him the key ? Perhaps she will also be the first, to 
 bi<l him welcome on the other side. 
 
 Gilbert Orme was Avithout this unspeakable blessing. 
 Everything else that the world deems advantageous was 
 lavished on him in profusion. Health, vigoiu', childish 
 spirits, a fine place, and a long minority, but no mother — 
 at least, not in the sense in which I understand the word. 
 Gilbert was an only child, but in good truth he was far 
 from being spoilt, as people consider only children usually 
 destined to be. From boyhood his was a nature on 
 which harshness or ill-usage made but slight impression, 
 a spirit that could only have been broken through its 
 affections, and these, even when I was reading Homer 
 with him at eighteen, had been called but little into 
 play. Lady Olivia never seemed to care for her child. 
 Not a labourer about West-Acres but took more pride in 
 the bright-haired handsome boy than did his own reserved 
 and haughty mother. When I first knew her she was 
 not yet a widow, but I could never see that the event 
 which soon after deprived her of her husband made the 
 slightest difference in her manners or softened her 
 character one jot. 
 
 Of Mr. Orme I knew but little ; I had heard of him in 
 former days (for he was somewhat after my time) as a 
 gay dashing young man ; on the turf, in society, member 
 for a most corruptible borough in his own county, good- 
 looking, good-humoured, not much troubled with brains, 
 with a slight tendency to literature, and a rather stronger 
 turn for love-making. I saw him once or twice at New- 
 market, and missed meeting him at a country place or 
 two, to which we were both invited for the slaughter of 
 pheasants and other game. It interested me but little, 
 and astonished me not at all, to learn that he had 
 married the Lady Olivia, of whose maiden name I will 
 say no more than that it was identical with that of Ltidy 
 Gertrude, whose father indeed had been the elder lady's 
 brother. But after his marriage Mr. Orme dropped out 
 of society altogether. People in London do not trouble 
 themselves much about absentees. " Here's Orme accepted 
 the Chiltern Hundreds," said one of his club friends to 
 another as he yawned over the evening paper ; " what
 
 80 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 the deuce is that for ? By the way, hasn't something 
 happened to him ? " 
 
 "Married, poor devil!" was the reply; the speaker 
 himself possessing a charming wife with a numerous 
 family, and very fond of them besides ; " but that's no 
 reason he shouldn't come to London. Does anybody 
 know anything about him ? " 
 
 " Mad ! " observed young Tattleton sententiousl}'-, who 
 preferred hazarding a falsehood to betraying ignorance on 
 any subject whatever, " and shut up down at that place 
 in the country," he added, shaking his head commiserat- 
 ingly, and pointing with his forefinger to the spot where 
 his own brains ouoht to have been. 
 
 The two friends were quite satisfied with the explana- 
 tion, and fell to discussing their last night's dinner, taking 
 no more thought for " poor Orme." 
 
 He was not mad, though, nevertheless, only thoroughly 
 and essentially miserable. Lady Olivia might have 
 made an excellent wife to another; probably, like the 
 rest of us, under totally different circumstances, would 
 have been a totally difi;erent person. As it was, however, 
 she made a most uncomfortable one to him. He had 
 fallen into a mistake not imusual with one of his tempera- 
 ment — weak, kindly, and over-imaginative — and had in- 
 vested the lady, whom he had met at some half-a-dozen 
 balls and a breakfast, with all the qualities of his ideal, 
 none of which did she happen to possess. Then came 
 the disenchantment, the disagreements, the recriminations, 
 the offended pride on one side, the growing dislike and 
 blank hopelessness on the other. It was an ill-judged and 
 most unhappy union. " But," as Lady Olivia observed, 
 " was that her fault ? Was she to be punished because 
 Mr. Orme mistook her for somebody else ? No ! he had 
 been in error ; let him be the sufferer ! " 
 
 The argument was not without some show of reason, 
 and he suffered accoi-dingly, without much complaint, and 
 with a strong bridle on a temi^er naturally keen and self- 
 asserting. A sterner nature would have bent her to his 
 will, and altered her character to assimilate it with his 
 own. She would have loved him all the better. A 
 milder would have succumbed, and learned, like other
 
 ^EABLY FROSTS' 81 
 
 slaves, to submit to despotic authority with a good grace. 
 But Orme was as God had made him, and took refuge 
 in a listless, hopeless, pitiable apathy. He ceased to tear 
 at the chain he had not strength to break, the chain that 
 bound him to one with whom he had not a sinsfle feelina: 
 in common save abhorrence of the fetter, and threw his 
 hands up like the drowning man, who has the sense to 
 know that his struggles can but prolong his agony. 
 
 Those are wise and suggestive words in our Prayer- 
 book which exhort us to take in hand marriage, " dis- 
 creetly, advisedly, soberly, and in fear of God," words that 
 refer to the highest source, the most important action in 
 the lives of most human beings — words that suggest to 
 the least considerate the awful gravity of the interest at 
 stake. A loving marriage is a good and holy sight in 
 the eyes of men and angels, but that was the refinement 
 of a fiend's torture, which bound the living breathing 
 being hard and fast to the senseless corpse. 
 
 I have heard his neighbours say that Mr. Ormo grew 
 strangely idle and indifferent and lethargic. He left off 
 field-sports altogether, gave aAvay his famous pointers, 
 sold his hunters, doubled his subscription to the hounds, 
 and otherwise conducted himself in an unaccountable 
 manner. Some people thought he had gout in the 
 stomach, others vowed it was water on the brain. His 
 old butler, who v:ouldnt leave, though Lad}^ Olivia gave 
 him warning once a fortnight, opined it was neither of 
 these, for a certain tall bottle labelled V. O. P. stood in 
 his master's dressing-room ; and that faithful domestic, 
 who, liking brand}^ less than beer, took very little of it 
 himself, knew that it Avas never quite empty and never 
 full. 
 
 By degrees he chafed less and less under Lady Olivia's 
 provocations, took less and less interest in his boy (he 
 was fond of the urchin, but a child's love will scarcely 
 stand a man in the stead of everything else), and dozed 
 away more and more time in his arm-chair over the 
 embers of his study fire. One spring morning they both 
 went out together, and the tall bottle, too, had ebbed to 
 the last teaspoonful. So there was a fine funeral, and 
 Lady Olivia became a widow, and Gilbert an orphan with
 
 32 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 a little black frock on his back, and a long minority before 
 him. Nobody seemed to care much for poor Orme but 
 the old butler, and he gave up his place inunediately, and 
 took the public-house in the village. 
 
 In most families such an event would have drawn 
 tighter the bonds of affection which should unite mother 
 and son ; with the Ormes, however, it was not so. Lady 
 Olivia, when the customary year of a widow's seclusion 
 had passed by, went into society as before. Perhaps a 
 little more frequently than during the latter months of 
 her husband's life. She was a great stickler for con- 
 ventional forms, and went to London regularly in the 
 season to keep up her acquaintance, just as she gave 
 large, solemn, frigid dinners at West-Acres to sustain her 
 influence in the county. She seemed to have no inclination 
 to marry again. 
 
 People speculated, indeed, on her intentions, as they 
 always will upon matters with which they can have no 
 earthly concern, and coupled her name with a rich London 
 banker, a superannuated Lord of the Bedchamber, and a 
 neighbouring Squire still in his minority. Such reports 
 disturbed her ladyship's equanimity but little. Even 
 Diana was talked about with that young rake Endymion, 
 and Lady Olivia carried her indomitable head so high 
 that she could well atibrd to look down upon the nods 
 and winks and signs of humbler mortals. Pie would have 
 been a bold man, too, who could have ventured on a 
 tender subject with that severe beauty crushing him to 
 the dust, tnose grave eyes looking sternly into his own. 
 Old Flippant, a lady-killer of some twenty years' practice, 
 called her the Marble Widow. " Egad, sir," said that 
 mature Lothario, " she's a chiller, a regular black fi'ost ; 
 when the wind's in the east I can't go near her without 
 sneezing." And, indeed, veteran as he was, he stood in 
 considerable awe of the icy dame of whom he spoke so 
 disparagingly. To give her her due, like Queen Elizabeth 
 of blessed memory, she was one of those admirable ladies 
 who could " look a lion down." 
 
 I wish for her own sake she could have been kinder to 
 the child. When I first came to live near West-Acres 
 he was a bright handsome boy of some seven or eight
 
 'EARLY FROSTS' 33 
 
 summers, the least bit of a scapegrace, and rather too 
 fond of rat-catching, rabbiting, and such illiterate amuse- 
 ments ; but, as the old keeper used to say, " a little 
 gentleman, every inch of him • " He had all a boy's 
 spirit and a boy's pluck, with something feminine in the 
 shyness of his glance and the soft kindliness of his dis- 
 position, which endeared him wondrously to the domestics 
 and work-people about the place. One of the numerous 
 grievances for which he was taken sternly to task by 
 Lady Olivia was his predilection for the society of the 
 grooms and coachman, and his natural preference of the 
 stable to her ladyship's own morning-room, which was in 
 truth a dull place of resort for a child ; inasmuch as he 
 was not permitted to romp about or make a noise in those 
 sacred precincts. Also — and of this fault I cannot fairly 
 hold him guiltless — for the reckless manner in which he 
 rode and otherwise maltreated a certain long-suffering 
 pony, called " Mouse," of which the extraordinary speed 
 and endurance were daily tested to an unjustifiable 
 extent. 
 
 By the way, my first introduction to the young gentle- 
 man Avas brought about through the instrumentality of 
 this much-aggrieved quadruped. I was walking with 
 Lady Olivia in the park a day or two after my arrival 
 in the neighbourhood, discussing with her a matter of 
 business, in which she showed her usual clear-headedness 
 and precision, when my attention was arrested by tho 
 child and his pony scouring over the park in our vicinity 
 — I need not say at poor Mouse's utmost speed. Lady 
 Olivia stopped in her walk and drew herself up as was 
 her wont. " I wish you to know my son," she said in her 
 cold measured voice ; and the clear imperious tones call- 
 ing, " Gilbert ! Gilbert ! " cut through the summer air to 
 where he was galloping, intent only on Mouse and his 
 performances. 
 
 The child seemed pleased to be taken notice of, and 
 turned quickly in our direction. As he approached us 
 without checking speed, a fallen tree of no great girth 
 la}^ in his course, and with a pardonable display of horse- 
 manship he put his pony straight at the obstacle. I can 
 see him now, sitting resolutely back on his little saddle, 
 
 c
 
 34 GOOD PoR nofHwa 
 
 his golden curls floating behind him, and his smooth brow 
 bent, and rosy lips set fast for the effort. Mouse rose 
 gallantly, but predestined to ftiilure, or perhaps a little 
 blown with the pace, caught his fore-legs in the leap, and, 
 pitching his little rider forward over his head, followed 
 him in a very complicated and dangerous kind of fall. 
 
 I was standing close to his mother, and I thought I 
 heard her breath come quick ; but as the child rose to his 
 feet, I glanced at her face ere I went to catch the pony, 
 and saw that it retained its usual marble composure. 
 " What is the woman made of ? " I thought, as I ran my 
 arm through Mouse's rein, who no sooner found himself 
 on his legs again without a rider, than he took advantage 
 of the respite to crop a mouthful of the short sweet gz'ass. 
 
 When I came back to them the child had his hand in 
 his mother's. He was pale, and evidently shaken, but 
 not frightened the least bit, though there was a severe 
 bruise reddening and smarting on his cheek-bone. With 
 some vague remembrance of his nursery days, he looked 
 up in Lady Olivia's face, and I heard him whisper — 
 
 "It does hurt, mamma dear; kiss it and make it well." 
 
 " Nonsense, Gilbert," was the cold reply, " don't be so 
 silly ; how can my kissing it do it any good ? " 
 
 I saw his little face flush up and change all in a 
 minute; I think I remembered even then Him who 
 said it was not good to offend one of these little ones ; 
 but I helped the child into his saddle in silence, and was 
 not surprised to see poor Mouse taken short by the head, 
 and turned round to jump once, twice, over the unlucky 
 tree, with so fierce an application of his rider s whip as I 
 have seldom witnessed before or since. 
 
 " Gently, child," I could not forbear saying, as I took 
 hold of the pony's bridle and caressed it after the second 
 performance ; " do not punish your poor pony ; it was 
 more your fault than his. Another time do not ride so 
 fast at an upright leap." 
 
 The boy stared at me without replying, then turned and 
 galloped away ; whilst Lady Olivia and I continued our 
 walk and our conversation without again reverting to the 
 accident. 
 
 But when the luncheon-bell rang, and her ladyship had
 
 gone into the house, I met Gilbert on his way from the 
 stables. He came up to me very shyly, and put his little 
 hand timidly in mine. 
 
 " I like you," he said, " because you were sorry for poor 
 Mouse when I beat him." Then looking down and getting 
 very red, he added, " I like people who are sorry ; I would 
 like you very much if you would let me." 
 
 Need I say that henceforth we were fast friends ? I will 
 not recapitulate the progress of our intimacy. How family 
 circumstances brought me more and more into contact 
 with Lady Oli via and her son. How I used to correspond 
 with the lad at Eton, and visit him regularly in the dear 
 old College, from the " after-twelve " on which with three 
 others of the fourth form he was most deservedly " swished," 
 having attempted in vain to get off with a seventh " first- 
 fault," till the memorable evening of that 4th of June on 
 which I went up "sitter" with him to Surley Hall, and 
 he pulled stroke in the ten-oar. How we parted with 
 mutual regret when he went abroad for six months, and 
 met again delighted, to read, as I have already said, for 
 his matriculation at Oxford ; a place from which I regret 
 to say my pupil was more than once rusticated, in con- 
 sequence of his attachment to divers sports and pursuits 
 which cannot be brought to harmonise with academical 
 regulations. But still. Orme was avowedly " the most 
 popular man in his College." I knew one or two of the 
 dons behind the scenes ; their faces always brightened 
 when his name was mentioned; and they were quite of my 
 opinion, that with the least thing more application he 
 could have taken " honours." As it was, I am constrained 
 to admit that my pupil was " plucked," and being by that 
 time pretty well his own master, he abandoned the 
 University in disgust. 
 
 Nevertheless, I do not believe that the ripest scholar of 
 them all could have written a letter teeming with such 
 classical learning, fun, and imagination, as that in which 
 he apprised me of the unexpected failure; nor would I 
 have exchanged for the proudest diploma of science the 
 kindly expressions of regard and sympathy in which he 
 couched his announcement of a defeat which he regretted 
 far more for my sake than his own. After this I saw him
 
 36 GOOD FOB JNOTHING 
 
 of course at rarer intervals ; the lives of a young man in 
 the world and an old man out of the world are so different, 
 that they need seldom expect to meet. For full two years 
 I had not set eyes on him, when I met him in Piccadilly 
 on that spring day to which I have already alluded, after 
 his walk with his cousin, Lady Gertrude, in the square. 
 We were on opposite sides of the street, but my boy 
 rushed across, regardless of mud and omnibuses, with all 
 his old freshness and cordiality, to link me by the arm and 
 turn me as of yore in his own direction instead of mine. 
 
 "Yon have nothing in the world to do," said the butter- 
 fly to the earthworm, "and I am always so busy I have 
 not a moment to sj^are. Come with me as far as the top 
 of St. James* Street, and tell me all about yourself as we 
 go along." 
 
 I had been busier perhaps than he thought for, but my 
 day's work was nearly over ere his had begun, and it was 
 refreshing to look upon his kindly, handsome face, and 
 listen to the tones of his cheerful, hearty voice once more, 
 though it seemed to me that they were a little faded and 
 saddened to what they had been long ago. I sometimes 
 think the world wears the gloss off the players faster than 
 the workers. It may be perhaps that the former are the 
 more in earnest of the two. I know that I would fain 
 possess the same energies now to be expended on useful 
 purposes, which I wasted in m}^ j'outh on trifles and worse 
 than trifles ; but, alas ! in life, vcstiijia miUa rctrorsum, and 
 indeed that world of long ago was a bright and a joyous 
 world after all. 
 
 It had not palled entirely on Gilbert yet. As we paced 
 slowly along the jiavement, every second man we met 
 seemed to know Orme and to be glad to see him. Bright 
 glances were shot at him from open carriages, and pretty 
 fingers kissed in his favour from brougham windows. 
 Truth is truth, and despite all the sneers of philosophers, 
 it is no unpleasant lot, while it lasts, to be young, rich, 
 well-looking, and well received in London society. A man 
 muBt either be very happy or very miserable, who can 
 afford to treat the opinion of his fellows with contempt. 
 Even my own old heart felt lighter after my walk with my 
 jjupil ; and I wended my way towards the I5ritish Museum,
 
 'EAELY FRCr^TS' 37 
 
 where I resolved to spend the afternoon, witli a firmer step 
 than usual; the while Gilbert, with his hat very much on 
 one side, sprang lightly np the steps at White's, and 
 inquired according to custom of the affable functionary 
 who presides over the postal department, whether there 
 were '• any letters for Mr. Orme ? " 
 
 There was one, a note that had just amved. Gilbert 
 smiled as he perused the laconic contents — 
 
 " Dear Gilbert, — The tickets have come for the morn- 
 ing concert. We will call for you at White's in an hour. — • 
 Yours as ever, G." 
 
 " That's rather a bore,** remarked the recipient with a 
 yawn ; " however, I promised Gertrude, and, after all, it's 
 SOMETHING TO DO ! " 

 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 "the bees and the drones" 
 
 How little does one half the world know how the other 
 half lives. The streams of life, like the waters of the 
 Khine and the Moselle, though they flow down the same 
 channel, fatten the same pastures, turn the same mill, and 
 eddy over the same shoals, meet, but mingle not ; and what 
 interests are there in common between No. 1 and No. 2 of 
 any street, square, or row in the great city ? Your next- 
 door neighbour, the man who spends his whole life separ- 
 ated from you by a party wall of one brick and a half in 
 thickness, may be a coiner, an Italian refugee, or an alche- 
 mist in search of the philosopher's stone, for aught you 
 laiow to the contrary. You lay your head on your pillow 
 within eighteen inches of his, and whilst the rosy dreams 
 from which it is such a mockery to awake, are gilding your 
 morning sleep, he may be lying racked with bodily pain, 
 or breaking his heart with mental torture. What care 
 you ? So as he does not poke his fire too loudly, you are 
 unconscious of his existence. For forty years you pa}^ the 
 same water-rate, and consume an equal number of cubic 
 feet of gas, but you never exchange a syllable, probably 
 never set eyes on each other fi-om year's end to year's end, 
 till at last the mutes are standing at the door, the mourn- 
 ing coaches are drawn up decently next the pavement, and 
 one of you removes to another and a narrower house " over 
 the way." 
 
 I suppose, with the variety of a little more bloodshed 
 and a little more flirtation, things went on in Babylon the 
 
 38
 
 'THE BEES AND THE DRONES' 39 
 
 Great much as they do in the London of to-day. The 
 wine-cup bubbled again and again usque ad nauseam for 
 the high, and the low gasped in vain for a mouthful of 
 pure cold water. The Assyrian in purple wallowed in 
 profusion till he longed for a sensation, even though it 
 were a sting of pain ; while the Assyrian in rags starved 
 and drooped at his gates, faint and hungry, and weary of 
 his life. It was the bees whose sweltering labour con- 
 structed those hanging gardens, the fame of which reached 
 the uttermost ends of the known earth, but it was the 
 drones who walked delicately along their terraces, and 
 languished in their perfumed bowers, and caught the 
 diamond drops from their plashing fountains, gushing, and 
 glittering, and hurling themselves upwards against the 
 scorching sky. 
 
 So the bees and the drones jostle each other to-day in 
 the crowded thoroughfares of London, and some take the 
 rough, and some the smooth, and they have nothing in 
 common, and know each other not. 
 
 A section of the bees are clustering very busily in a 
 musical portion of the hive. There is a morning concert 
 this afternoon, and the professionals are all in tune and 
 time, preparing for those grand effects and combinations 
 which delight the dilettante, and of which less instructed 
 listeners deem it incumbent on them to say, " Magnificent I 
 very fine ! " They are assembling even now in a little 
 room off the grand hall, which is already half filled with an 
 impatient audience, reduced to the sad necessity of criti- 
 cising each other's dresses, and dirtying their gloves with 
 the programme as they read it over and over again. The 
 drones are always employed in doing nothing, and always 
 very tired of that laborious occupation. The bees seem to 
 enjoy their half-hour's respite, and to have a good deal of 
 fun and cordiality amongst themselves. 
 
 The male portion are chiefly remarkable for the extreme 
 accuracy of their toilettes, and the purity of their close- 
 fitting white kid gloves, which, with black evening coats 
 and continuations, seem somewhat out of place at three 
 o'clock in the day. They are either men of extremely 
 martial appearance, running considerably to mustachio, 
 whisker, and in some cases close-cut beard, or else they
 
 40 GOOD FOR NOTHTNO 
 
 affect an open simplicity of countenance amounting to 
 vacuity, enhanced by bare throats and long hair trained 
 studiously off the temples, and Howing down the nape of 
 the neck, than which, in my humble opinion, no f;ushionis 
 more unbecoming to the face of a male adult. 
 
 You would make some strange mistakes, though, if you 
 judged of their tones by their appearance. The large, 
 well-built fellow, with the legs and chest of a Hercules, 
 is the tenor, and if you only heard that soft silvery voice 
 of his quivering and thrilling on the sands by moonlight, 
 you would fancy such seductive notes could proceed from 
 nothing less feminine than a mermaid, instead of a stout, 
 soldier-like convivialist, who would incontinently oflfer 3'ou 
 a cigar, and take you home with him to a Perigord pie 
 and a cool bottle of claret. 
 
 The bass, again, whose diapason shall make the very 
 window-glasses shake before sunset, is a pale, weary- 
 looking man, whom, at first sight, you would call weakly, 
 if not an invalid. His tailor alone knows that he requires 
 a larger girth round the chest than most Lifeguardsmen, 
 and indeed the organ that can evolve such music as that 
 deep thunder-roll must be endowed with valves and 
 material of no ordinary strength and dimensions. He 
 has a wife and large family to be provided for out of the 
 low notes of that instrument, and already an unpleiisant 
 suspicion dawns upon him that it will not last for ever. 
 Great was the consternation in his home at Brompton 
 when he caught cold last winter, and the cough has not 
 left him yet, even in the fine spring weather. If he was 
 to spit blood, the children would soon be hungry, and the 
 poor mother at her wit's end. 
 
 The lady singers are in low evening dresses, and most 
 of them wear their hair a L^ Imp&atricc. They are 
 whispering and talking to each other with that busy 
 good-humoured cordiality which the sex is prone to affect 
 in public places, and those who have not brought bouquets 
 with them are vehemently admiring the ilowers of those 
 who have. One sits a little apart from the rest ; she is 
 attired very simply in mourning, and carries a half-blown 
 rose in her bosom. As she droops her head over the score 
 in her hand, the tenor, who has something of a painter's
 
 'THE BEES AND THE DRONES' 41 
 
 taste, thinks she would make a pretty picture, with her 
 white shoulders relieved by her black dre^ss, and the nut- 
 brown hair shading and hiding her face, while a sunbeam 
 slanting through the window, brings out a gold tinge on 
 the glossy head. He is a soft-hearted, good-natured man, 
 this tenor, and cherishes a romantic and self-denying 
 adoration for many ladies, both in and out of the pro- 
 fession, and for this one especially, the more so that there 
 is a quiet reserve in her manner by which he is abashed 
 not a little, and that after he has said " Good-morninor," 
 he generally falters, puts his hands in his pockets, and 
 becomes mute. 
 
 There is safety, however, in numbers, and his own good 
 looks are no bad protection to a man in his dealings with 
 the enemy. A joli gargon has generally more than one 
 string to that bow of which the cord sometimes breaks 
 with so sharp a twang, and a spice of admiration for him- 
 self is no bad antidote to too violent an infatuation about 
 another. If you want a devoted lover, ladies, t^ke an old 
 man's advice, and choose an ugly one. He is vain, too, 
 but his vanity is more easily managed than the other's ; 
 he is more impassioned, more constant, more submissive, 
 and if you do break his heart, your own remorse will be a 
 thought less keen when you are adding up the sum total 
 of your victims. Bar the pleasure of taking him away 
 from somebody else, and after the first week he makes just 
 as good a slave as a second Apollo would, and, say what 
 you will, you know that you do not appreciate beauty as 
 much as we do. You know that you are not so gentle, 
 not so soft-hearted, nay, not half so refined as the so-called 
 sterner sex. When do you see us take a repulsive being 
 to our bosom, and cherish it there, unless it be for some 
 extraneous object ? She may be an heiress, or an 
 authoress, or a good housewife, and there is a reason for 
 it. But you ? Beaut}' and the beast is so every-day an 
 occurrence, I can scarce believe the story to be a fable. 
 You go to the altar unhesitatingly with some monster 
 whom his fellow-men cannot look upon without loathing. 
 You not only marry him, I could forgive you that, but you 
 love, and coax, and prize the wretch, and make him happy 
 ever afterwards. I sometimes think this strange predi-
 
 42 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 lection originates in the instinctive jealousy and love of 
 appropriation so remarkable in the sex. Beauty thinks 
 nobody else will care to interfere with Bruin, and it 
 is pleasant to have even a beast all to herself; but old 
 Flippant, for whose lengthened experience in such matters 
 I have the profoundest respect, takes a wider view of the 
 subject, and refers all such incongruities to the general 
 principle of contradiction, and the impossibility of 
 arguing from probability, expediency, or any other 
 rational data, as to what a woman under any given cir- 
 cumstances will, or will not do, or let alone, or otherwise. 
 
 The singer in mourning seems very busy with her score, 
 and the admiring tenor has not yet been able to obtain a 
 glimpse of her fkice, still shaded by her thick hair worn 
 deep and low over her temples, a fashion which she is 
 probably well aware is exceedingly becoming to a wide 
 fair forehead and a pair of arched brows, such as gives 
 softness and feminine dignity to a woman's face. His 
 attention, however, is almost entirely taken up by two 
 very smart and lively ladies, who seem to despise the idea 
 of reserving their vocal powers for a musical triumph, but 
 are expending a liberal amount of breath and volume in 
 lively conversation with each other, with the tenor, with 
 the leader of the band, with any of the gentlemen who 
 are disposed to bandy good-humoured jokes and lively 
 repartee. 
 
 The bass alone sits apart from the rest. He looks very 
 pale and weary, leaning his head upon his hands, and 
 coughs more than once. There is a hard-working, care- 
 worn woman at Brompton, now clearing away the 
 remnants of the children's dinner, whose heart would 
 ache to hear that cough, who would bless the lady in 
 mourning for looking up as she does from her task, and 
 crossing the room so quietly, and lajdng her hand with 
 such gentle sympathy on the sufferer's shoulder. 
 
 " You are worse to-day," she says, in a low tone of 
 peculiar sweetness ; " I did not forget you, and I have 
 brought the lozenges, but I am sorry you require them." 
 
 He looks up quickly, and grasps her cordially by the 
 hand. 
 
 "God bless you!" he says, in his deep, full voice j
 
 *THE BEES AND THE DRONES' 43 
 
 " you never forget any one but yourself. My little girla 
 call you the good angel, and, indeed, I think you are an 
 angel." 
 
 She shakes her head, and smiles. Such a smile as 
 brightens only a countenance where they are very rare, 
 as decks it with a wild, painful, melancholy beauty, and 
 leaves a sadder and more hopeless expression when it 
 fades. 
 
 She makes no other reply, and buries herself again in 
 her score, while the bass shakes his honest head with a 
 puzzled air, half pitiful, half provoked. 
 
 " I wish I could make her out," he thinks, as he dwells 
 on her kindliness, her reserve, her abstraction, her avoid- 
 ance of intimacies, and backwardness in showing friend- 
 ship, save to those who are in sickness or otherwise 
 distressed. " I suppose she isn't happy, that's the truth. 
 She has never got over it, and she's thinking of him still." 
 
 They have often talked about her in the little parlour 
 at Brompton ; and this is the verdict to which, after a 
 masterly summing up from the former, husband and wife 
 invariably arrive. 
 
 Poor honest bass ! you have lived for five-and-forty 
 years in this specious \vorld, twenty of which you have 
 spent in a happy reciprocity of confidence, with the 
 frankest and most affectionate of wives. You think you 
 can read a woman's heart. Bless you ! you know no more 
 of it than a child ! 
 
 And now the doors are open. The professionals move 
 from their retiring-i"Oom to take their seats in the body of 
 the hall. The leader of the band assumes his baton with 
 a martial air, and the concert begins. The seats are 
 nearly all full. Very few tickets have been given gratis. 
 There is a dense crowd about the doors ; and notwith- 
 standing the many rival attractions of a summer's after- 
 noon in the metropolis, there is every reason to believe 
 that it will pay. 
 
 Meantime, a barouche is waiting three doors lower than 
 the steps of White's, Lady Olivia's prudence and pro- 
 priety forbidding her to draw up exactly opposite the 
 well-filled window of that exclusive club, from which 
 critical and unprejudiced eyes would be sure to piss in
 
 44 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 review herself, her niece, her bonnet, her gloves, her 
 parasol, nay, the very liveries of her white-stockinged 
 servants, not to mention the heavily-plated harness and 
 stiitely appearance of her bay carriage-horses champing 
 and stamping in the aun, concluding in all probability 
 with a sweejiing condemnation of the whole. So she 
 waits for Gilbert three doors ofl", and the frown darkens 
 oniinonsly on her stern forehead as the minutes pass and 
 her son does not appear. 
 
 " Very odd of Gilbert," says Lady Olivia in her harshest 
 tone; "he knows how I hate waiting, and does it on 
 purpose, I believe." 
 
 " Men are always un])unctual," answers Lady Gertrude, 
 looking very smiling and rayonnante in another killing 
 little bonnet. " Is it not so, Mr. Gordon ? " 
 
 Mr. Gordon answers not much to the purpose ; he is 
 thinking of scjuicthing else. He is a student of human 
 nature, this g(.'ntleman, during his play-hours, and takes a 
 good deal of relaxation out of Lady Gertrude and her in- 
 explicable ways. He is speculating now intensely on why 
 she should have secured him so long ago for the back seat 
 of the barouche, and why she should have been so fidgety 
 all the way along Piccadilly, and why she was so good- 
 humoured now during the painful process of waiting 
 for Gilbert ; above all, why there should be to-day, of all 
 days, a scarce perceptible tone of softness in the few 
 observations she makes to himself, and a shade as of pity 
 and compunction cast over that usually thoughtless and 
 buoyant nature. Topics of reflection, Mr. Gordon, which 
 may well make you ponder, and which, with all your keen- 
 sightedness, you will find it no easy task to understand. 
 
 Lady Olivia will wait no longer ; regardless of a 
 suppliant look from her niece, she is in the act of giving 
 orders to drive on, when the tiuant appears with his 
 mouth full of chicken-sandwich, and in his usual good- 
 humo\ired bantering wuv carries the war at once into the 
 enemy's country by accusing them of keeping idvi waiting. 
 
 " I have a bouquet for each of you, too," he says, handing 
 them with a good deal of mock dignity to the ladies, " and a 
 cauliHower coming later from Covcnt Garden for John, 
 who is a })ractical man."
 
 'TEE BEES AND THE DRONES' 45 
 
 The gentleman alluded to looks practical enough as he 
 turns a sharp keen eye upon the cousins. His exterior 
 presents a marked contrast to that of his friend. Power 
 is the prevailing characteristic of John Gordon's 
 physiognomy and tigure. The bold, well-cut features, the 
 clear, sallow complexion, the deep-.set, glittering eye and 
 close raven hair, are types of an iron 2}hysiquc and an iron 
 will. His tones are short, sharp, and imperious ; they 
 seem to be propelled, so to speak, from the thin lips that 
 close again as with a steel spring when they have gone 
 forth. That mouth belongs to a man from whom you 
 could never coax anything by persuasion, or wrest from 
 him by force. His very dress, plain to simplicity and un- 
 pretending th(uigh it be, has a character and a peculiarity 
 of its own ; whilst the muscular figure combines in a rare 
 degree great physical power with activity and insensibility 
 to fatigue. 
 
 No woman ever yet thought John Gordon good-looking ; 
 at least, none could ever be brought to say so. Quiet and 
 unassuming as he was, they always affirmed that they 
 were " a little afraid of him " ; and perhaps they like being 
 frightened, for they were always ready enough to sit by him, 
 or dance with him again. I do not know Avhether Lady 
 Gertrude admired his face, but she must have looked at it 
 pretty often ; and even now, though she buries her head 
 in her cousin's bouquet, her eyes pass over it once with a 
 strange, half-angry, half-pleading glance that does not escape 
 him, as, indeed, nothing docs, but that he cannot for the life 
 of him fathom or understand. The next instant, however, 
 she is talking so gaily and playfully, that even Lady Olivia 
 thaws to the influence of the girl's merry, sunshiny 
 manner ; whilst Gilbert sits back at his ease amongst 
 the cushions, submitting to be amused with the good- 
 humoured, grand-seigneur indolence habitual to him, and 
 that is not without its attractions to his companions of 
 either sex. 
 
 So they reach the doors of the building where the 
 concert is going on, and there is a vast deal of fuss and 
 ceremony and parade about their alighting, and a police- 
 man makes way for them authoritatively, and they take 
 the seats provided for them with no small noise and bustle,
 
 4fi GOOD FOR NOTHINa 
 
 to the just indignation of the audience, all of whom do the 
 same thing constantly themselves, but who think it right 
 now to betray marked disapproval, for our good-looking 
 friend the tenor is pouring forth a strain of clear, continuous 
 melody, sweet and luscious, like some rich liquid, of which 
 it were shame and pity to lose the smallest drop. " Bravo !" 
 says Gilbert, with honest enthusiasm, at the conclusion of 
 the piece ; and " Bravo ! " echoes Lady Gertrude in more 
 subdued tones, looking, nevertheless, sidelong at John 
 Gordon's face to see whether he too approves. Nothing 
 less than absolute perfection satisfies the latter ; and his 
 applause; is less demonstrative than that of his companions. 
 Lady Olivia is peering about through her glasses to see 
 who is there ; and a pause in the performances enables the 
 well-pleased spectators to relax their attention and fall to 
 conversing amongst themselves. 
 
 " I hate fine music," observes Gilbert, whose nervous 
 system, truth to tell, is strung to a far higher pitch than 
 he would have his friends believe, and who is ashamed, as 
 well he may be, that he can turn pale and shiver for so 
 unreal a cause as a thrilling stream of melody ; " in fact, all 
 music bores me rather than otherwise, though it's not 
 quite so bad as dancing." 
 
 " Then why did you come ? " asks Lady Gertrude, very 
 justly accepting this last shaft of her indolent cousin as 
 aimed especially at herself. 
 
 " Because you ordered me," was the reply, with one of 
 Gilbert's sweetest smiles ; and no woman's face that ever I 
 saw had a softer, kindlier smile than his. " Because you 
 ordered me ; and I've been here half-an-hour already with- 
 out wishing yet that I hadn't obeyed." 
 
 The girl put the bouquet he had given her to her face, 
 and looked full at him over the flowers with her bright, 
 speaking eyes. 
 
 " Then you like to do as I bid you," she said very low, and 
 with a slight tremor in her voice, not quite in keeping 
 with the trimriphant expression of her glance. 
 
 Gilbert thought he had never seen her look so pretty. 
 Something tenderer than admiration seemed to shoot 
 through him as he e3'ed the proud young beauty, so refined, 
 so delicate, so well-dresseu, and so high-born. John
 
 'THE BEES AND THE DRONES' 4t 
 
 Gordon's back was turned to the cousins, and he appeared 
 intensely occupied with the stir caused by the re-entrance 
 of the performers. As Gilbert lounged forward to read 
 the programme, his head drooped nearer and nearer his 
 companion's pretty hand, in its neat, well-fitting glove ; 
 perhaps his lip would have touched it even there, I 
 hardly know, but his mother's measured tones broke in 
 unexpectedly as she nudged the younger lady rudely with 
 her elbow, and called her attention to some of the nota- 
 bilities amonsfst the audience. 
 
 " There's Mrs. Mangonel, Gertrude — did you bow to 
 her ? — and her two daughters, and the Dowager Lady 
 Visigoth." 
 
 " More like Boadicea than ever, and with nearly as little 
 on her shoulders," whispered Lady Gertrude mischievously 
 to her cousin ; but Gilbert answered not, for a low sweet 
 voice at that moment stole upon his senses, and he was 
 feeling keenly, nay, painfully, in his inner being, that 
 music did not bore him in the least. 
 
 It was a simple song enough — something about an 
 angel and a child, of which the words and the poetical 
 conception were below contempt, but they were wedded 
 to a fanciful and melodious strain, an air that comprised 
 but few notes, and yet into which you could not but feel 
 the composer had thrown his whole art ; an air that 
 seemed less the elaborate conception of the brain than the 
 irrepressible expression of an engrossing sensation in 
 which suffering predominated. Such an air as recalls to 
 us, we know not why, that sunset evening or that starry 
 night ; pshaw ! that time of delicious folly which most of us 
 have known, and to which the roughest and the harshest 
 look back with strange wild longing and regret. What is 
 this secret charm of music, that it seems to speak to all 
 alike ? Why should it thus probe us to the quick ; and 
 bring the past back so cruelly in its hopelessness, only 
 because it is the past ? Oh, for the fi-esh glad heart ! oh, 
 for the days gone by ! and 
 
 " Oh ! for the touch of a vanished hand, 
 And .the Bound of a voice that is stil]." 
 
 The lady in mourning sang as if she felt it ; after the
 
 48 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 first bar she seemed to forget her audience, and to lose 
 herself completely in the strain. Gilbert, too, never took 
 his eyes off the singer's face ; and when she finished, and 
 there arose a burst of aj)plause from all the others, some- 
 thing like a tear stole down his cheek. Of course, he 
 began to talk vehemently to his companions, but Lady 
 Gertrude thought him less pleasant than usual, and all 
 seemed relieved when the concert was over and it was 
 time to go. The gentlemen put the ladiea into tlie 
 carriage, and walked arm-in-arm back to St. James' 
 Street, preserving for full five minutes a dead silence. 
 At the end of that period Gilbert made the following 
 remarkable observation — 
 
 " That's a pretty woman, John." 
 
 And although they had neither of them mentioned her 
 before, they must both have been thinking of the singer 
 in black, for John replied — 
 
 " Would be rather good-looking if she'd more colour. I 
 know something about her ; she's a ]\Irs. Latimer."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 •" ADA " 
 
 She ivas a pretty woman, and I don't agree with John 
 Gordon that she wanted an atom more colour. I have 
 seldom seen a face on earth that I thought could compare 
 Avith that of Ada Latimer. Yet, perhaps, to all men she 
 might not have shown as she did to me. I have heard 
 her beauty discussed, doubted, made light of, denied ; yet 
 when she came into a room, people's eyes brightened, and 
 their countenances kindled as if it were a pleasure to be 
 near her, to watch her graceful manner and soft gentle 
 ways. She must have been very good to look at, too, or 
 her own sex would never have been so fond of pulling her 
 beauty to pieces, and demolishing it, as it were, item by 
 item, till they finished by proving that she was positively 
 hideous — a perfect witch ! God help the man, however, 
 over whom such witches cast their spells ! She had 
 about her a nameless fascination, such as, happily for 
 mankind, falls to the lot of but few women ; such as, I 
 am convinced, must have been possessed by Medea in the 
 olden time, and to which I refer all the fables of those 
 charms and love-philtres insisted on by the poets as form- 
 ing the pharmacopada of that seductive dame ; such as 
 enabled the swart Egyptian to take and reject emperor 
 after emperor, as a modern belle does partner after part- 
 ner in a ball-room, and to play with the civilised world as 
 a child does with its ball ; such as taught Mary Queen of 
 Scots to make fools no less of grave statesmen than of 
 iron Avavriovs, inflicting madness on some and death on 
 
 49 D
 
 60 GOOD FOP. NOTnma 
 
 others, as the penalty of coming within the sphere of her 
 attractions ; such a charm, in short, as should be labelled 
 " poison," like any other deadly ingredient, and of which 
 the most dangerous feature is the possessor's own uncon- 
 sciousness of its power. 
 
 It is hopeless to attempt the description of a Avoman. 
 All that is most attractive in her beauty can be rendered 
 neither by pen nor pencil ; nay, not even by the boasted 
 facsimile of the photograph. Lustrous eyes, deep, and 
 soft, and winning ; a colouring like the delicate pink of 
 the inner petals of the moss rose ; silken hair, dark in the 
 shade, and golden brown in the sun ; an oval face of the 
 noblest Anglo-Saxon type, surmounted by the fairest, 
 gentlest brow that was ever ploughed by care; a rounded 
 outline of form less that of the nymph than of the goddess, 
 and the graceful yet dignified bearing of a queen. What 
 is all this but a commonplace good-looking person, defined 
 in commonplace words as a botanist might define a rose ? 
 Does it explain the charm that surrounds the woman, any 
 more than a page of Loudon could convey the fragrance 
 that clings about the flower ? Does it not utterly fail to 
 paint that rarest and most dangerous combination, the 
 ideal united with the physical type of womanly perfec- 
 tion, the form that can alike win devotion and command 
 obedience — the beauty to dream of, to worship, and to 
 caress ? 
 
 Ay ! she was this and she was that — good and gentle, 
 and fair and fond, and so is many another ; but Ada was 
 lovable, that's the truth ! and in that one word lies all the 
 mj'stery and all the mischief 
 
 Her youth had not been an enviable one, and indeed 
 her share of happiness in life was none of the largest. Is 
 it not usually so with the most gifted of both sexes ? Are 
 not the bravest and the best, the gentlest and the loveliest, 
 doomed to pay a heavy price for their superiority over 
 their kind ? — as if fate had resolved to equalise the lot of 
 mortals ; nay, to bake the porcelain in a furnace seven 
 times hotter than that of the common clay. I never see 
 a man the envy of his fellows — I never look upon a 
 woman the admiration of a ball-room — but I think of the 
 proud head humbled, perhaps, and bowed to the very
 
 'ADA' 51 
 
 dust, when there are none to see ; of the sweet face writh- 
 ing in sorrow on its pillow when the light is out, and hot 
 tears can course each other down the winsome cheek un- 
 restrained in the dark. Who can guess the wound that 
 is draining the combatant's life away, so long as he keeps 
 his head up and his vizor closed ? I once overheard four 
 words spoken that I have never been able to forget. It 
 is years ago, and he who uttered them has gone long 
 since to the rest for which he yearned so painfully, which 
 he never found on earth ; which, perhaps, I alone, of all 
 others, knew to be the one desire of his tortured spirit — 
 of his weary, aching heart. 
 
 And thus it fell out that I heard the cry of his great 
 agony. 
 
 I had seen him in all the pride and exultation of social 
 triumph. A week before he had won his election, and 
 been chaired and cheered — for in those da^^s such demon- 
 strations were permitted by lav/ — as popular candidate 
 had never been chaired and cheered before. He possessed 
 the fairest bride and the noblest fortune of three counties; 
 he was young, handsome, high-spirited, and popular. 
 That very day his favourite horse had won a cup, and I 
 had myself witnessed rank and beauty and genius crowd- 
 ing round him, with homage and smiles and compliments, 
 ay, and envy of his thrice-favoured lot. So as I walked 
 homewards along a meadow-path, screened from the high 
 road by a double hedge, thick, brier}^, and fragrant with a 
 load of may, I mused on all I had seen, and I said in my 
 heart, " Surely this man must be happy ! " And even 
 while thus I thought, the tramp of his horse was on the 
 other side of the hedge, as he, too, rode home alone, and I 
 caught a glimpse through the blossoms of the fortunate 
 one's face. Oh ! the weary, hopeless look of those con- 
 tracted features I shall never forget, nor the stifled agony 
 of the voice with which he said aloud, " O God ! O God ! 
 How long ! " looking up the while into the blue laughing 
 
 sky- 
 When I heard a week afterwards that he Avas dead, 
 could I sorrow for him as the rest did ; " cut off," said 
 they, " in his prime, with all that made life worth having 
 at his feet " ? Could I pity him, and bless myself with
 
 52 OOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 uplifted hands, and murmur, " The ways of Providence are 
 inscrutable," according to the authorised formula pro- 
 vided for such cases ? No ; rather I thought wistfully 
 with Job of those " which long for death and it comcth 
 not," " wdiich rejoice exceedingly and are glad when they 
 can find the grave." 
 
 It is a good many years now since a gay and gallant 
 young Englishman, spending a soldier's leave in the 
 capital of Austria, thought it expedient to fall in love with 
 one of those Viennese damsels whose fascinations are so 
 peculiarly fatal to the British heart. Major Glyn, like his 
 countrymen in general, could not resist the smiling eyes, 
 luxuriant tresses, and winning ways of a certain fair 
 3'oung Griifinn, from whose gentle tones he acquired the 
 worst of all possible German, to the detriment of his pro- 
 nunciation, and the irremediable capture of his affections. 
 But the Major, though soft, was honest, and profoundly 
 regardless of the fact that he had very little besides his 
 pay, and that his bride's fortune was barely sufficient to 
 provide her with a trousseau ; he married her out of hand 
 at the British Embavssy, to the infinite disgust of his own 
 family, who repudiated him ever afterwards, and brought 
 her away to join his regiment in England as happy as if 
 he had forty thousand a year. 
 
 These penniless marriages generally answer remarkably 
 well at first. Whilst the bloom is on the thing, upholstery 
 and gilding are very unnecessary decorations, and a 
 " dinner of herbs " is a most itiquant repast so long as you 
 are in love Avith your cook. Most of us know the story of 
 the vapid and liliis(^ young gcjiitleman who went to the 
 01yinj)io with the late Lord Melbourne, and complained 
 next day of the dull evening he had spent. " Hang the 
 fellow!" said the light-hearted statesman, "couldn't he 
 see the people in the streets, and the gas-lights fiaring 
 on the lobsters in the fishmongers' windows ? Wasn't 
 that pleasure enough for hirii'^ What would a man 
 have ? " 
 
 And so say I, " What would a man have ? " To have 
 the right face opj)osite you every morning at breakfast, 
 the right voice asking you to have more tea, the right 
 smile shining to gladden and soften you for the whole
 
 'ADA' 53 
 
 day ; in short, " the right woman in the right place," is 
 happiness enough for any man on this side the grave — 
 " iSo long as it lasts." Ay ! there is the rub — the gilding 
 is so a])t to wear off, the colours so seldom stand. A man 
 gives his all willingly enough lor the Venus Anadyomene, 
 but some fine morning he may wake up immeasurably 
 disgusted to find he has got but a plaster of Paris cast. 
 If he is wise, he raises it incontinently several inches on 
 its pedestal, and spends tlie rest of his life in endeavour- 
 ing to deceive himself and others as to the reality of the 
 idol ; if he is a fool, he dashes it to the earth and breaks it 
 all to pieces and seeks out another, to be again disap- 
 pointed, with the same result. 
 
 In either case he \vishes he had left the goddess 
 alone. 
 
 Such, however, was not Major Glyn's fate. He often 
 boasted, and with reason, that he was the happiest man in 
 the British army. He had married the woman he loved, 
 and he loved the woman he married (not necessarily a 
 logical sequence), so he never found himself without 
 strength and spirits to fight the battle of life. Always in 
 active employment, he was enabled, though with little 
 but his profession to depend upon, to live in tolerable 
 comfort, as the saying is, " from hand to mouth " ; nor, 
 when a girl was born to them, did father or mother 
 despair because there would be no fortune to leave their 
 child. " God will provide," said the Grafinn in her 
 German accent ; and the Major was quite satisfied on his 
 infant's behalf with the reversion. And so little Ada 
 grew from a delicate, fragile baby into a rosy, saucy romp, 
 always merry, fresh, gladsome, and wilful ; welcome even 
 in the stern area of the orderly-room, and almost as great 
 a pet with his brother officers as she was with her OAvn 
 papa. 
 
 But these happy days could not last for ever. The 
 busy, energetic, light-hearted soldier found himself one 
 morning unfit for duty. Before watch-setting that night 
 he was " down with the fever," to use the regimental 
 expression ; and little Ada missed her accustomed dance 
 to the music of " the Taptoo," which was hushed in 
 consideration of the Major's sickness. The next day she
 
 54 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 went to see him for five minutes, and never again. He 
 was, indeed, loth to (luifc his darling; loth to quit the 
 dear fond wife with whom he had never exchanged an 
 unkind word ; loth to quit his profession, his men, his 
 hopes, and his useful, piactioal career ; but he bowed his 
 head to the stroke with courage and resignation. Nor 
 did a word of complaint escape his lips, save that he said 
 once, " It seems hard to leave you and the child ; but I 
 shall see you both again ! " 
 
 Then the muffled drum was beat, and the soldiers 
 marched with their arms reversed ; and the charger with 
 empty saddle followed his master to the grave, and the 
 Grafinn was a widow, and little Ada an orphan. 
 
 They struggled on for years as so many people do in 
 the middle — or, perhaps, I should rather say, the lowest — 
 of the upper ranks of life ; struggled to keep up an 
 appearance of respectability on an insufficient income — to 
 secin if not to he above want — to retain a footing on that 
 imaginary surface called " society," which was continually 
 slipping from beneath them, and everybody said they 
 deserved great credit for their efforts, and pitied them 
 exceedingly and assisted them not at all. 
 
 So little Ada grew from a rosy roundabout child into 
 a tall slip of a girl ; and the Grafinn taught her all she 
 knew herself, and lived only for her daughter, and was 
 somewhat startled at last to find that daughter expanding 
 into a full-grown woman, beautiful and admired, and 
 actually sought after in marriage. 
 
 Now a young lady's first ofter, like a j^oung sportsman's 
 first partridge, combines the two very agreeable elements 
 of novelty and success. Nor does the one or the other 
 devote much consideration to the intrinsic value of the 
 bird in the bag. Ada never stopped to think Avhether 
 the little flutter of triumph she experienced at Mr. 
 Latimer's attentions was the result of vanity or affection, 
 nor hesitated for an instant in assenting to mamma's 
 avowed opinion " that Mr. Latimer was a very charming 
 person, calculated to make any girl happy ; that Ada 
 ought to feel flattered and grateful at his ])ro])o.sal, and 
 if she thought she ccnUd like him, had bettor accept him 
 at once ! "
 
 'ADA' 56 
 
 The Grafinn having made a love-match herself, and 
 found it turn out remarkably well, was inclined strenuously 
 to counsel matrimony, and held also the firm conviction 
 of all foreigners — that nothing is so desirable for a young 
 lady as an early marriage, before she can possibly know 
 her own mind. 
 
 There were besides many prudential considerations in 
 favour of the match. The Grafinn's health was delicate ; 
 her income very small. It was a great point to get Ada 
 settled. She would then be no longer anxious about her 
 dear child. She would miss her, indeed, sadly; but it 
 was for Ada's happiness — doubtless for Ada's happiness — 
 and the sooner it was concluded the better. 
 
 People differ so much in their ideas of happiness. 
 Many, and those doubtless the wisest and most reflective, 
 hold that it consists in plate, carriage-horses, and a 
 punctual return of their neighbours' visits ; others, and 
 these are justly scouted for their folly, opine that it 
 flourishes best in a soil of kindliness and community of 
 ideas — nay, that it must be warmed by the sunshine of 
 mutual aifection. Alas for those who have discovered 
 that none of these accessories can insure its duration ; 
 that it is no exhalation which rises from earth, but a dew 
 that descends from heaven. Alas for them ! because such 
 knowledge comes only through great sorrow and anguish 
 of heart, yet is it a lesson that shall profit them unspeak- 
 ably hereafter. 
 
 So Ada listened to mamma with a glowing cheek and 
 a pleased smile, and told her to accept Mr. Latimer for 
 her that afternoon when he called, and went about her 
 simple preparations, nothing doubting but that she had 
 done all for the best, nor dreamed in her innocence that 
 she was about to barter her woman's birthright for a mess 
 of pottage. 
 
 It is not the sorrow that must be sustained in an 
 unhappy union which is to be dreaded ; that can be 
 borne like other tangible evils. It is the galling reflection 
 on the joy that has been missed. 
 
 Latimer was one of those comel}'', cheerful, plausible 
 individuals who are so popular with the world. The 
 n)en voted him " such a good fellow," because, forsooth,
 
 56 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 he was ready at any hour to eat and drink, to play whist, 
 and smoke, or join in the diversion that was uppermost. 
 Always well " got up," thanks to his tailor — always fresh- 
 coloured, thanks to his dic^estion, which was indeed 
 faultless — constitutionally good-humoured, and (lisj)laying 
 habitually that superficial cordiality which supplies its 
 possessor with so many acquaintances, and so few friends ; 
 he was an acquisition to every party of pleasure, a welcome 
 guest in every fast-going circle, a necessary feature of 
 every race-meeting or other public gathering of the 
 thoughtless and the gay. The very gipsy-women at 
 Ascot knew Latimer too well to offer to tell him his 
 fortune. " You've got it in your face, my dear," they 
 would say, peering roguishly up into his well-flxvoured 
 countenance, flushed with luncheon and success. " There's 
 luck in the tone of your voice, and luck in the turn of 
 your eye, and it's no use to look in your hand, with such 
 beautiful whiskers as yours. Give the poor gipsy half-a- 
 crown ! " Nor was the flattery undeserved. Latimer's 
 whiskei-s were indeed worthy of the pains he bestowed 
 upon them. Shiny, curly, and voluminous, they possessed 
 all the elements of grandeur; and their proprietor was 
 once heard modestly to observe that he owed most of his 
 success in life to the assistance of these magnificent 
 appendages. 
 
 I do not think he was quite so great a favourite with 
 ladies as with men. The gentler sex have wonderful 
 discrimination in character, and an intuitive perception 
 of that which is artificial or insincere. They could not 
 but be amused with his small-talk, and gratified by his 
 attentions ; yet every woman, on first meeting him, 
 vowed she considered him " bad style " ; and one very 
 great lady to whom he was presented — herself by no 
 means choice in her selection of devotees — looked him 
 well over, and turned her back upon him thenceforward, 
 with the sweeping condemnation " that he had not the 
 slightest pretensions to the character of a gentleman ! " 
 
 80 he never penetrated quite into the highest circles 
 of that world in which he lived ; nor did the exclusion 
 affect him in the smallest degree. He led a smoking, 
 jovial, free-and-easy life, chiefly in a class of society which
 
 'ADA' 57 
 
 the great \ady alluded to above would have termed 
 " third-rate," and a good deal amongst artists, professionals, 
 actors and actresses, singers, and the like. By degrees 
 he lapsed entirely into the companionship of the latter; 
 and after he had spent his patrimony, had serious 
 thoughts of going on the stage, when the death of a 
 relative put him once more in possession of a competency, 
 and deprived the drama of a very indifferent performer. 
 He was about two-thirds through this last fortune, when 
 the Power that arranges these matters put it into his 
 head that he should like to make Ada Mrs. Latimer. 
 
 Poor Ada ! The Griifinn never found out the mistake 
 she had made. The girl gave her hand to Latimer; and 
 had he truly loved her — had he even cared for her with the 
 cold, temperate affection of a relative, doubtless her heart 
 would in time have followed the gift. But ere she had 
 been married a very few weeks, the truth began to dawn 
 upon her that they were utterly unsuited to each other. 
 His innate vulgarity of mind and feeling was continually 
 offending her own refinement — that true refinement 
 which is the essential characteristic of every pure-hearted 
 woman. She could not conceal from herself that he was 
 utterly selfish, utterly unprincipled; and that the very 
 partiality which he had shown for her beauty, and which 
 had led him into a step so contrary to all his maxims of 
 worldly prudence as marriage, was fast fading away in 
 her daily society. Can anything be so galling to a 
 woman's pride as this ? — to feel that she has sacrificed 
 her whole existence to a man who wanted nothing but 
 the shell, and see him gradually getting tired of her ; the 
 while, he is as ignorant of the real woman, the mind and 
 feelings, and, so to speak, the kernel of the fruit, as an 
 utter stranger. Had she loved him, it would have 
 broken her heart; as it was, it only broke her spirit. 
 She determined, however, that the Griifinn should never 
 know how unhappy she was ; and day after day, this fair 
 young creature performed her part with a noble hypocrisy, 
 and smiled cheerfully in her mother's face as if she were 
 the happiest wife in the world. 
 
 Then came pecuniary difficulties, angry consultations, 
 and constant humiliation. In the midst of it all, the
 
 68 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 poor Grafinn died, and Ada felt, when she had lost her 
 last friend, as if now indeed she had experienced the very 
 keenest form of woe. " I can never be so unhappy again," 
 said Ada, as she dried her tears after her mother's funeral. 
 We have most of us thought so more than once in our 
 lives. Dare we defy the future to equal the suffering of 
 the past ?
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE ADVENTURER 
 
 In addition to his other vices, or, as he chose to terra 
 them, " his amiable weaknesses," Latimer was a gambler. 
 Speculation, indeed, seemed to be an essential ingredient 
 of his character, and he liked it for its own sake, for the 
 excitement of its vicissitudes, the daily ups and downs of 
 winning and losing, perhaps more than for the actual 
 lucre which was the ostensible object of his ventures. 
 Not satisfied with the chances and changes of the turf, he 
 loved to hazard considerable sums at all games of skill or 
 fortune, nay, to dabble occasionally in that treacherous 
 river of Pactolus which mortals call the Stock Exchange, 
 a flood of which the golden waters are so hot as to scald 
 the fingers of all but the wariest and most experienced 
 manipulators. Such a character is ill adapted to make a 
 good husband to a woman whose value he is incapable of 
 appreciating, and of whose beauty he is beginning to get 
 tired. So matters verged rapidly to a conclusion ; and at 
 last came the explanation and the climax. 
 
 They lived in a pretty villa on the Thames, embowered 
 in sweetbriar and honeysuckles, with a sunny lawn 
 stretching down to the waterside, and the rich laburnums, 
 the " golden rain " trees of Ada's mother-tongue, drooping 
 overhead as they swayed and glittered in the scented 
 breeze of spring. It was a snug retreat, within easy 
 distance of London, as Latiiner well knew, yet retired and 
 rural as a hermitage to Ada, who was content to dwell 
 there in solitude week after week, whilst he amused hin^-
 
 60 GOOD FOR NOT 11 11^ O 
 
 self in the rambling, dissipated, good-for-nothing society 
 which had now become his natural element. Occasionally, 
 by her husband's desire, she wonld receive his associates 
 at " The Cottage," and exerted herself with such good 
 effect to entertain them, that " Latimer's sweet wife " 
 became a synonym for all that was loveliest and best on 
 earth, even amongst the blackest sheep of that vagrant 
 flock. Many a roiu', desperate and reckless, felt something 
 strangely like a pang in his worn, bad heart, as he be- 
 thought him what a different man he might have been 
 with such a woman as that to care for, and turned from 
 his host with a feeling nearly akin to disgust, as he 
 observed the utter want of deference and regard with 
 which he treated that gentle and lovely lady. 
 
 Ada bore with it all, sadly, but uncomplainingly. 
 Passionately fond of music, she cultivated her talenta to 
 the utmost ; and amongst all her husband's heterogeneous 
 stoi'e of ac([uaintiinces, those who made harmony their 
 profession seemed always the mast acceptable at the 
 plea.Scint luncheons or fascinating little dinners for which 
 " The Cottage " was notorious. 
 
 It was a fine summer morning, after one of these 
 reunions, and Ada was moving about amongst her flowers, 
 " herself the rose of all." The French windows of "The 
 Cottage" opened to the lawn, and within might have been 
 seen an elaborate breakfast service of massive silver on a 
 little round table, spread with a snowy cloth, and bearing 
 a luxurious repast, whereof a tall bottle and a bouquet 
 of roses formed two conspicuous features. Anon, emerged 
 into the garden a stout, good-looking gentleman, bright 
 and fresh as the summer morn itself, with ambrosial 
 whiskers of extraordinary magnitude, a richly-embroidered 
 velvet dressing-gown, and an amber-tipped ckihmupic in his 
 mouth. Puffing forth volumes of fragrant Lixtakian 
 fumes, he paced leisurely down the smooth-shaven sward. 
 
 " Always busy amongst those miserable flowers, Ada," 
 he remarked carelessly, without removing the pipe from 
 his mouth. " I wonder you're not tired of roses and 
 lilies and daffydowndillics. Don't you find this place 
 cursedly slow ? " 
 
 She looked quickly up at him. Woman as she was, a
 
 TRE ADVENTURER 61 
 
 biting retort could not but occur to her as she contrasted 
 his life with her own; but she swallowed it down, and 
 replied meekly — 
 
 " You know I like gardening ; and surely this is 
 pleasanter than hot, smoky London." 
 
 He yawned, and crushed an insect beneath his gold- 
 and-velvet slipper. 
 
 " You don't like London, eh ? " 
 
 "Hate it," was the reply, honestly enough; and she 
 knelt down to tie up a drooping carnation. 
 
 "I'm sorry for that," he answered, as if speaking on a 
 matter of trivial importance ; " for I expect you'll have to 
 live there for some years. I've sold ' The Cottage,' Ada, 
 furniture, fixtures, and all. Sold it within a hundred of 
 its full value, and lost every rap of the money into the 
 bargain ! " 
 
 She was so accustomed to these uncomfortable com- 
 munications, so used to reverses, that she only turned 
 a shade paler, and opened her large eyes as he went 
 on — 
 
 " I'm about told out, Ada, that's the fact. Everything 
 has gone wrong lately, just as it did, I remember, in 
 Belphegor's year. What a cracker I stood to win on him 
 and the Rejected! Well, I've never had a turn of luck 
 since Northampton ; and the funds went down seven- 
 eighths just after I bought in; and the South African 
 railway shares are not worth so much waste-paper; and 
 the mines in Paraguay seem to produce nothing but fire- 
 damp and bilge-water ; and indigo has gone down twenty- 
 five per cent. It's a drug in the market— nobody buys it. 
 Egad, I shall look blue enough with all I've got on my 
 hands ! Lucky I didn't pay cash for it. And I've bills 
 enough out to paper the dining-room ; and, in short, Ada, 
 I've seen this coming on a long time, but I wouldn't 
 bother yon about it." 
 
 " Why didn't you ? " she said, laying her shapely hand 
 on his arm with something akin to a caress. 
 
 Had he trusted in her, and gone to her for sympathy 
 and comfort, she could almost have loved him even then. 
 This was not his object, however, and it would only have 
 encumbered him ; so he refilled his pipe, and proceeded
 
 62 GOOD FOR NOTBINQ 
 
 with a cheerful smile, like that of a man detailing his 
 possessions or his gains. 
 
 " IMoney in the funds, none; landed property, four acres 
 of garden and meadow-land — sold ; indigo, sixty-seven 
 chests bond — not paid for; shares and scrip, about fifteen 
 hundred ; liabilities, from six to seven thousand ; personal 
 property, one chestnut cab-horse, with plated harness to 
 match — seized; also several exceedingly well-made suits 
 of clothes — worn out ; and one bottle of first-growth 
 chateau-margaux on the breakfast-table — empty ! I think, 
 Ada, it is almost time for me to make a bolt of it." 
 
 She was unprepared for so complete a smash as he 
 described. She could but weep a little, and wring her 
 hands at her own helplessness. 
 
 " Can nothing be done ? " she said ; " is it worse than it 
 ever was before ? Will matters not come right in time, 
 William ? You have so often been in difficulties." 
 
 She had not called him by his Christian name for many 
 a long day ; but her heart wanned to him now, for he was 
 in distress, or at least she thought he was. 
 
 It was Sunday, and the bells were ringing for morning 
 service. Instinctively she moved towards the house as if 
 to prepare for church, but Latimer placed himself before 
 her. 
 
 " Don't go to-day, Ada," said he ; " it's no use making 
 a secret of it any longer; I'm off this evening for 
 Australia ! " 
 
 She sank down on a garden-seat in a state of utter 
 prostration and astonishment. 
 
 When a man meditates any deed of unusual harshness 
 or injustice, he generally lashes himself into such a state 
 of anger as shall goad him to the necessary pitch of hard- 
 heartedncss ; and although Latimer was constitutionally 
 a good-humoured person enough, he thought it incumbent 
 on him at this juncture to prove that his own ruin was 
 chiefly his wife's faiUt ; so he puffed savagely at his 
 chibouque, advancing to the attack under cover of the 
 smoke. 
 
 " I've never had a chance, you see, Ada, encumbered as 
 I have been. Living down here, I have been obliged to 
 neglect matters of great importance in London ; and with
 
 THE ADVENTURER 6^ 
 
 my small income, how could I afford the expense of two 
 establishments?" (Of the truth of this reasoning, Latimer 
 himself was the best judge ; but if " The Cottage " was his 
 only home, he was strangely belied.) " Then I've been 
 unlucky at play, cursedly unlucky. Why, only last night, 
 when we all went up from here, Macer broke the bank at 
 Number Nine, whilst I was losing every shilling I had in 
 the world at Poulterer's. I can't be in two places at once, 
 can I ? Everything went on well enough till I married, 
 since then I've been so hampered and liothered, I've had 
 no time for anything. There, it's no use crying. You'll 
 do far better without me ; and perhaps when I get to the 
 other side of the globe altogether, there's a chance that 
 the luck may turn." 
 
 Again, had she lored him, how such a heartless speech 
 would have dried her tears and scorched her brain, but 
 her holier feelings at least were unwounded, and she only 
 suffered from an oppressive sense of loneliness and in- 
 justice ; so she hid her face in her hands and wept on. 
 
 "I shall get aAvay to-night," he proceeded, his good- 
 humour returning with the prospect of travelling, and the 
 indulgence of his innate love of change and excitement. 
 " Being Sunday, I'm safe, you see, and I can run down to 
 Southampton and embark before daybreak to-morrow. I 
 bought some lots two or three hundred miles from Sydney 
 last year on spec, and have never been able to get rid of 
 them. It's the only estate I've got left now, and I ought 
 to go and live on it. I'm not a bad hand at roughing it, 
 Ada, though I like to have things ship-shape Avhen I can." 
 He pointed as he spoke to the pretty house, the very t}^e 
 of elegance and comfort. " But after all, it's not the first 
 ' doAvner ' I've had by a good many ; and if it was not for 
 leaving you, I shouldn't care so much about it." 
 
 " May not I go with you ? " she said, looking quickly up 
 at him with a Avistful, searching glance. 
 
 Latimer's face elongated visibly. He had never con- 
 templated the affair from this point of view. He waved 
 his pipe vaguely, as though to convey an idea of indefinite 
 space, and observed doubtfully — 
 
 " Why, it's a long voyage, you see, and a wild country 
 when you get there, and everything quite in the rough,
 
 64 GOOD FOE NOTHING 
 
 and no aiTangements made. I think I had bettor go first, 
 and see how things are. In short, Ada, you'd bo internally 
 in the wav, and that's the truth 1 " 
 
 She seemed quite satisfied with so conclusive an answer, 
 and never again reverted to the subject ; but busied her- 
 self with preparations for his comfort, and inquiries as to 
 his supply of ready money, which was indeed of no incon- 
 siderable amount, and saw his things packed up, and took 
 his directions as to how to make the best of the broken 
 remnant of their fortunes, never repining nor reproaching 
 him that starvation seemed ab(jut to stare her in the face ; 
 and so the afternoon wore on, and a cab came to the front 
 gate of the villa, and it was time for him to be gone. 
 
 A bystander might scarce have supposed he saw a part- 
 ing between husband and wife, perhaps for ever, who had 
 witnessed that well-dressed, happy-looking gentleman 
 spring gaily into the cab that was to take him to London, 
 counting his luggage with an experienced eye, and rolling 
 an unlighted cigar between his fingers ; and that pale, yet 
 composed and quiet lady going to and fro from the door 
 to the carriage with cloaks and wraps, and such articles as 
 are always forgotten till the moment of departure. Yet 
 Latimer's voice was very hoarse, and there teas an unusual 
 moisture in his eyes as he bid her the last farewell, and 
 she grew paler and paler, till her face was like the face of 
 a corpse, as she stood at the door of the villa, gazing wist- 
 fully after the cab till it was out of sight. 
 
 Her last action had boon to press into his hand a small 
 sealed packet, which her husband naturally opened as soon 
 as he was fairly on his road to London. It contained the 
 few jewels and all the ready money poor Ada possessed. 
 Deserted, and in poverty, she could still despoil herself for 
 the sake of one who had caused her unvarying sorrow 
 and discomfort. This time the tears fairly filled Latimer's 
 eyes. 
 
 " What a trump that girl is ! " said he, with so loud an 
 oath as to startle even the imperturbable cabman who 
 drove him. " Why couldn't I like her better ? Why 
 couldn't I ? Confound it ! you're far better without me ! 
 but I'll never part with the bmcelet, my poor Ada ! 
 Never, as long as I live, never ! "
 
 THE ADVENTURER 66 
 
 Heartless, unfeeling as the man was, he separated it 
 from the rest of the trinkets, wrapped it up carefully, and 
 laid it tenderly in his bosom. Then he drove on more 
 comfortable, feeling as if he had made his wife some 
 amends, and joined a convivial party of fellow-profligates 
 whom he had engaged to meet at an early Greenwich 
 dinner, previous to his departtire by the night train, in 
 something like his accustomed hilarity and spirits. Lati- 
 mer's principle, I need hardly say, was to take all the 
 f)leasure that came to his hand ; and so, although he had 
 eft his home that day a ruined man, and was about to be 
 self-exiled, perhaps for lile, from his country, there were 
 still a few hours of the evening to be filled up, and how 
 could they be better employed than in eating bread-and- 
 butter and whitebait, and drinking success to his o\vn 
 voyage in Mr. Hart's sunniest champagne ? If a thoughl 
 of the pale face he had left ever did disturb him, which is 
 doubtful, he felt the bracelet next his heart, and as bumper 
 after bumper disappeared and mounted to his brain, he 
 began to think " he wasn't such a bad fellow after all. 
 Why should a man's efforts be hampered by a woman he 
 didn't care for — wife or no wife ? — particularly in a new 
 country — nobody could control circumstances — hang it ! 
 he had done the best he could — no fellow could do more." 
 So his friends drank his health, and a " pleasant voyage 
 to him," and Latimer paid the bill, and they saw him off 
 by the train, and thus tolerably comfortable in body, and 
 by no means imeasy in mind, the exile hummed " Cheer, 
 boys, cheer," and smoked alternately, half-way to South- 
 ampton. 
 
 Ada gazed after the cab that took away her husband 
 till it had turned the corner of the road and was fairly 
 gone, then she went back into the drawing-room, looking 
 strangely forlorn and deserted now ; and burying her face 
 in the sofa-cushions, gave way to a passion of tears. After 
 this she prayed long and earnestly on her knees, and rose 
 up composed and comforted. Sore, so to speak, and 
 wearied with agitation, yet with a new and startling sensr 
 ation of relief and liberty at her heart. 
 
 £
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 " G A N Z A L L E I N " 
 
 There were housekeeping bills to be settled, there were 
 servants to be paid ofif and dismissed, there were certain 
 lady's nick-nacks and trifles of Ada's own to be disposed 
 of before the too surely impending execution should be 
 put into the house, and these matters had to be arranged 
 and attended to by the lone and helpless woman. And 
 then after all was done, after sustaining reproach and 
 insult from one creditor, and coarse pity, almost as hard 
 to bear, from another — after wrangling with a broker's 
 man, who persisted in calling her " miss," for her mother's 
 miniature, and eventually being compelled to purchase 
 her own property, after seeing the ver}'' sanctuary of her 
 home profaned by strangers, and her household gods 
 shattered upon her hearth, poor, friendless Mrs. Latimer 
 had to betake her to a cheap and dirty London lodging, 
 and sit down with her hands before her to consider what 
 she should do next. Once, and only once, she revisited 
 " The Cottage." The laburnums had drooped and faded 
 now ; the lawn, that used to be so trim, was patched and 
 ragged with a rank growth of verdure, the carnations were 
 trodden down, the roses withered or over-blown, and a 
 carpet hung outside the front bedroom window. She never 
 went near the place again. 
 
 Man prides himself on his courage in facing danger, on 
 his endurance of hardship, his dogged resistance under 
 difficulties, in short, on what he calls " his pluck." I do 
 not think this quality is monopolised by the stronger sex. 
 
 66
 
 'GANZ ALLEIN' 67 
 
 I believe a stouter heart often beats under a pair of stays 
 than under a steel cuirass. My own idea is that a brigade 
 of amazons could conquer the world. The great difficulty 
 would be to provide a brigadier. Who is to command 
 these heroines ? who is to enforce obedience in the muslin 
 ranks of the invincibles ? Not one of their own sex 
 assuredly, and more assuredly still not one of ours. 
 
 Mrs. Latimer, brought up with all the refinements and 
 comforts of a gentlewoman, and after her marriage sur- 
 rounded by the luxuries which never fail to pervade an 
 establishment over which ruin is impending, found her- 
 self compelled to look absolute umit in the face. Not for 
 a moment did she quail before the grim antagonist. Like 
 a brave commander, she sat down and calculated her 
 resources. They were very slender ; but she had a hope- 
 ful, trusting heart to back them, and she never despaired 
 that they would prove enough. 
 
 She must do something to gain her own livelihood, that 
 was obvious ; the humble store of ready money was melt- 
 ing day by day, and when that was gone ! it would not do 
 to dwell upon the possibility. Her rare talent had not 
 been left uncultivated; she had worked and studied during 
 her long solitary hours at "The Cottage," tillshe had attained 
 a degree of science and execution rarely equalled by an 
 amateur. She would become a music-mistress — if need 
 were, she would sing in public for her bread. 
 
 And here her acquaintance with the professionals stood 
 her in good stead. No class of society is so ready to lend 
 a helping hand to the unfortunate as that which itself 
 derives a precarious subsistence from art — precarious, 
 because art is but an ornament, and not a necessity of 
 existence. My lord makes a memorandum of the case for 
 future consideration, and bows his suppliant out with a 
 cold smile. The thriving tradesman gilds his coarse jest 
 or coarser rebuke with a present alms, but peremptorily 
 declares that no future application must be made in the 
 same quarter. It is the artist alone who affords sympathy 
 as well as assistance, who gives ungrudgingly from his 
 small means, and wishes it were more ; above all, who 
 displays a personal interest in reverses and misfortunes 
 such as he knows may at some future time impede his own
 
 68 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 career. Which of us but has felt the inestimable value of 
 a friend who makes our case his o'wn ? who lends us a help- 
 ing hand out of our trouble, not dryshod on the brink, but 
 wading himself knee-deep in the mire ? who binds up our 
 wounds and puts us on his own beast, and pays our score 
 into the bargain ? Ay ! that good Samaritan must have 
 dwelt in a land infested by thieves ; must have himself 
 known what it was to be robbed and wounded, so he had 
 the heart to aid as well as to pity the maltreated traveller, 
 and poured oil into his wounds, and tenderly lifted his 
 gasping brother from the plain. 
 
 No sooner did Mrs. Latimer make it known that she 
 required assistance, than friends gathered round her far 
 more numerously than she could have supposed. Ada 
 was not without her faults. At the core of her gentle, 
 kindly nature was a leavening of indomitable pride, and 
 I fear she experienced more suffering from some of these 
 well-meant offers of assistance than she had done from 
 many an effort of privation and self-denial. A beginning, 
 however, must be made ; one introduction leads to another ; 
 and thus it is that the bees get what is called a " con- 
 nexion" amongst the drones. It was not long ere the 
 first step was gained ; the bass singer whom I have already 
 mentioned, who had eaten many a good dinner of Mrs. 
 Latimer's providing, and had made the very roof-tree of 
 "The Cottage" shake to his tones, had recommended her 
 to a young lady in the Regent's Park who was anxious to 
 take singing lessons ; the terms were higher than she 
 expected. It was a most fortunate opening; there was 
 nothing more to be done but to begin. 
 
 So on a hot, dusty, glaring day early in August, the 
 music-mistress left her humble lodging to commence this 
 first essay in gaining her daily bread. A week ago, she 
 would have thought that such an opportunity as the 
 present would have made her perfectly happy ; now she 
 dreaded and almost loathed it, though she reproached 
 herself for ingiutitude the Avhile, and took herself bitterly 
 to task for weakness of purpose and want of courage. 
 At times she felt as if the gallant spirit within could foce 
 and conquer any difficulties, but at times, also — and who 
 shall blame her? — the tears sprang to her eyes as she
 
 'GANZ A LIE IN' 69 
 
 thought of" her friendless and unprotected position, of her 
 dreary lot, her young days darkened, her young beauty 
 wasted in the mere struggle to live, her capacity lor 
 happiness and for making happy so completely thrown 
 away ! Who shall say why these things are so ? Why 
 the warmest heart must sometimes be the saddest and 
 the loneliest ? Why the kindliest nature must so often 
 be driven back upon itself, to sour and weary and deterio- 
 rate ? So little, so very little, would make some so happy. 
 And yet that little is sternly and consistently denied. It 
 is not for us to penetrate these things. The Great 
 Artificer of all is the best judge. Day by day we see 
 the round man in the square hole. We only know that 
 all the struggling in the world will not make his prison 
 one whit less angular and uncomfortable. 
 
 Revolving such thoughts as these, Mrs. Latimer, in the 
 quietest and simplest attire, crossed the New Road at the 
 top of Portland Place, and, as she did so, narrowly escaped 
 being knocked down byahigh-stepping brown cab-horse that 
 was wasting a deal of action (considering the time of year), 
 and throwing about a A^ast quantity of froth as he champed 
 and churned under the skilful guidance of a pair of 
 lavender-coloured gloves, the only portions visible of the 
 occupier of the cab. The lady was unconscious of her 
 danger; the gentleman totally unaware of her proximity. 
 They passed within a horse's length, jet neither saw the 
 other's face. Mrs. Latimer, with her indigenous good 
 taste, could not but approve of the tout evMinble that 
 had so nearly knocked her down as it rattled by, but she 
 had far other thoughts to occupy her mind than dark 
 green panels and high-stepping cab-horses ; whilst Gilbert 
 Orme — for Gilbert it was who owned the lavender gloves 
 aforesaid — was yawning his way out of town in a state 
 of weariness and vacuity which forbade him to take the 
 slightest interest in any sublunary consideration. He 
 was horcd with the London season, yet leaving it with no 
 feelings of relief or excitement. He was on his way 
 to a Scotch mountain, where he expected to be hoord 
 by the society of too many intimate friends and too 
 great a quantity of game. He was l>m-ed with the 
 prospect of a railway journey of some five hundred miles
 
 ?0 GOOD FOR NOTHIMO 
 
 to be accomplished with a break at a north-country hotel. 
 It was a hore stopping on the way ; but then it was a 
 hoo'e travelling all night. He was even horcd with the 
 self-imposed task of driving his own cab to the station, 
 and not five minutes before had caus^ht himself almost 
 envying the cheerful face of a jolly drayman, whose 
 waggon blocked the street. He was thinking what a 
 weary, useless life his own was — how he would like to 
 have an object for which to exert himself — something to 
 make him eager and energetic, and anxious, ay, even if 
 it made him unhappy — something to scheme for, and 
 think of, and fret about — something to care for— some- 
 thing to love. 
 
 And he passed her within three paces, and drove on 
 all unconsciously to the London and North-Western 
 Railway ; but we will not anticipate, and our business is 
 now with the lady rather than the gentleman. 
 
 Mrs. Latimer walked on till she arrived at the gate of 
 a pretty detached villa, the entrance to which, with its 
 trim lawn and well-swept gravel-drive, reminded her a 
 little of " The Cottage." It was, however, a far larger and 
 more stately residence, and everything about it, from the 
 fat spaniel stretching itself in the sun to the puffy foot- 
 man who opened the door, denoted affluence and comfort. 
 
 " Is Miss Jones at home ? " asked the music-mistress, 
 conquering a mixed feeling of pride and shyness at a 
 gulp. 
 
 " Yes, my lady," answered the man, a thorough London 
 servant, who had only accepted the appointment with 
 Alderman Jones, as he said, " temporarily, for country 
 air," and whoso savoir vivre prompted him that so plainly 
 dressed and engaging a lady calling at that early hour 
 must be a countess at least. " Step this way, my lady, if 
 you please ! " 
 
 Remorse tore that official's heart, and poisoned his one- 
 o'clock dinner, when he ascertained the real business of 
 the visitor. In the meantime, Mrs. Latimer followed her 
 conductor up-stairs, summoning all her courage for the 
 ordeal. 
 
 At the first landing-place she encountered a rubicund 
 old gentleman with a bald head and a white neckcloth,
 
 'OANZ ALLEIN' 71 
 
 who first begged her pardon, as it should seem, for taking 
 the liberty of going down-stairs in his own house, and 
 then stopped her further progress by the summary process 
 of placing his corpulent person immediately in front of 
 her. ' 
 
 "Madam," said the old gentleman, with a ludicrous 
 mixture of profound deference and startling abruptness, 
 "pardon the liberty I take in asking, but are -you going 
 up-stairs to give my daughter a singing-lesson ? " 
 
 She bowed silently in the affirmative, "This, then," 
 she thought, "must be the parent Jones. I wonder if 
 his daughter's voice is equally difficult to modulate." 
 
 " Not with that pale face — I'll be — I beg your pardon 
 — not with that pale face ! You don't go a step farther. 
 This way, ma'am, this way. You'll excuse me. John, the 
 sherry, directly ; and a biscuit, and some fruit ! And let 
 Miss Jones know. You'll find this the coolest room in 
 the house. Lord ! how tired she looks ; and what a knave 
 that husband of hers must be ! " 
 
 The alderman had two little peculiarities, which rendered 
 him at first a somewhat startling acquaintance — one was 
 a habit of speaking out his thoughts and checking him- 
 self too late, which, though inconvenient, is by no means 
 a very uncommon failing; and the other, a practice of 
 deriving his metaphors and other figures of speech from 
 the noble game of whist, of which, though a moderate 
 player, he was an ardent admirer. Albeit a trifle choleric, 
 he was kindly, jovial, good-natured, and generous; loved 
 his only daughter Bella, as he still loved her mother in 
 her grave at St. John's Wood; and believed old sherry 
 to be the true elixir vitce, and an unfailing remedy for 
 all diseases, whether of body or mind. 
 
 With his own hand he poured out a large glass of that 
 reviving liquid for Mrs. Latimer. He had heard her 
 story, and pitied her sincerely ; nor was he satisfied till 
 she had drained every drop, and the colour had returned 
 to her cheek, and the brightness to her eye. 
 
 Than Alderman Jones began again. ' 
 
 "Bella's dressing, Mrs. Latimer. A late riser; so was 
 her poor mother. You should have known her, my dear 
 madam. That woman was one in a million. There's her
 
 72 OOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 picture. Yes, it's veiy like, but wants her sweet smile, 
 A}', ay, we were very happ}' together, too happy to last. 
 JBut it's a blessed lot. Nothing equals a happy marriage ! 
 By Jove ! there's a misdeal ! Have a little more sherry, 
 Mrs. Latimer. No ? You're wrong, I think. I got it 
 at Discount's sale last year. Poor fellow ! he knew what 
 sherry was ; and now, he's left his wife and family, and 
 
 gone off without a penny to Austr Hang it ! I was 
 
 deuced near revoking again. Here's Bella ! " 
 
 Luckily for the alderman, his daughter made her 
 appearance at this juncture ; and, bowing kindly to Mrs. 
 Latimer, rang for her late breakfast ; and in five minutes, 
 with her frank, almost hoydenish manner, and her kind, 
 good heart, made the music-mistress feel completely at 
 home. She was a black-eyed, black-haired, fresh-coloured 
 girl, with a broad comely face, and a broad hearty smile ; 
 such a girl as looks more in ])lace on a dairy-floor than 
 behind the curtain of an opera-box, and yet with a degree 
 of true refinement in her honest womanly nature that 
 might put many a great lady to the blush. She turned 
 papa round her finger, did exactly what she pleased, and 
 enjoyed her London life and her London pleasures as such 
 things can only be enjoyed at nineteen. 
 
 " You must teach me to sing beautifully, Mrs. Latimer," 
 said she, before they had been five minutes at the piano- 
 forte, "as beautifully as you do yourself I shall not be a 
 bit afraid of you. I can see already that you are not the 
 least cross." 
 
 Such was Mrs. Latimer's first attempt at gaining a 
 livelihood, and successful in itself, it led to success in 
 many others. A fast friendship sprung up between her 
 and the Joneses, cemented on their part by every kindly 
 ofiice they could imagine, and recommendations without 
 end. The music-mistress soon found she had as much to 
 do as she could find time for, and was even able to send 
 out remittances to her good-for-nothing husband in 
 Australia. The second of these donations was returned 
 from Sydney with an intimation that William Latimer 
 was no more. At the time at which my story opens, Ada 
 had thus been eighteen months a widow, and was one of 
 the sweetest English singers in London.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MISGIVINGS 
 
 I MUST begin my story again, taking what seamen call 
 a fresh departure from a point subsequent to the events 
 already detailed. Such of my characters as have 
 appeared on the stage must be marshalled anew, fitted 
 with proper dresses and decorations from the wardrobe, 
 and so ushered up to the footlights, exulting in their 
 respective parts. For those who may come on hereafter, 
 I must crave indulgence, if not applause. Let the pit 
 suck their oranges with forbearance, if not satisfaction, the 
 boxes smother their yawns, the gallery abstain from 
 hisses. Tragedy or comedy, touching melodrama or broad 
 farce, the curtain must fall at last on all alike ; so in real 
 life — clouds or sunshine, storm or calm, lolling on patent 
 springs, or trudging footsore through the mire — have but 
 patience, brother — 
 
 "Be the day weary or never so long, 
 At length it ringeth to even-song." 
 
 Alderman Jones is in an omnibus bound for the bank ; 
 John Gordon is in a counting-hou.se in the City " counting 
 out his money"; Bella is eating bread and butter, if not 
 " bread and honey," at the villa in the Regent's Park ; Lady 
 Olivia in Belgrave Square is adding up her butcher's book 
 with a gold enamelled pencil ; Lady Gertrude reading her 
 French novel up-stairs ; Ada Latimer is preventing two 
 little girls at Bayswater from mangling a duet ; and 
 Gilbert Orme, in his bachelor's lodgings in Green Street, 
 
 73
 
 74 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 has already finished breakfast, though it is but twelve 
 o'clock. 
 
 It is the day after the morning concert to which he 
 escorted his mother and cousin. Gilbert whistles with 
 considerable execution (he learnt the accomplishment 
 years ago at West-Acres, from the keeper's eldest boy, 
 now assistant to a travelling showman), and he has 
 whistled a simple plaintive air that he heard yesterday for 
 the first time over and over again ; yet by the expression 
 of his face it does not seem that he whistles like the 
 ploughboy, " for want of thought." 
 
 Enter to him Lord Holyhead, an intimate friend.some few 
 years his senior, who has admittance at all hours. That 
 nobleman first examines his manly and military-looking 
 person in every glass in the room, then throws himself 
 into an arm-chair, hatted, gloved, booted, and spurred, 
 with his riding-whip in his hand, lights a cigar, gets it 
 well under weigh, and finally condescends to bid good- 
 morrow to his host. 
 
 " Well, Gilbert, how goes it, my boy ? " 
 
 To which Gilbert, as becomes one of the upper ten 
 thousand, replies with classic elegance — 
 
 " Nicely, thank ye. Nobs ! How's yourself? " 
 
 This effort achieved, the friends smoke on in solemn 
 silence. It is scarcely necessary to observe that " Nobs " is 
 Holyhead's nickname, originally acquired at Eton, and, 
 like Falstaff s " Jack," only to be used by his familiars. He 
 is a nobleman of considerable energy and determination, a 
 staunch friend, an uncompromising foe; not sweet-tempered 
 when crossed, but w4th tact and self-control, and moral as 
 well as physical courage. His motives and principles 
 are of the world worldly, but ho will readily do battle 
 even with that world on occasion. He has served with 
 distinction, of which he is naturally proud, and has fought 
 his way through one or two scrapes by sheer coolness and 
 pluck better than he deserved. He likes Gilbert more 
 than most people, and hustles him about, and " wakes him 
 up," as he calls it, and otherwise domineers over him, as 
 is his lordship's wont with his friends. Like all men of 
 action, he finds a charm in an easy-going, good-natured, 
 dreamy temperament, especially antagonistic to his own j
 
 MisairiNos ?6 
 
 so there are few days of which he does not spend a portion 
 in Orme's society. i 
 
 Lord Holyhead is a widower, and, it would appear, not 
 likely to marry again. 
 
 He soon fidgets out of his arm-chair, and makes a tour 
 of the apartment, criticising for the hundredth time 
 Gilbert's favourite prints and water-colours, and finding 
 fault, as usual, with all the arrangements of his indolent 
 friend on the sofa. 
 
 " You should put that screen further back, Gilbert. It 
 would show the caricatures better, and keep off the 
 draught from the door. And do turn the Thetis with her 
 face and neck to the light ; you lose the whole effect of 
 her attitude in that corner." 
 
 " I'm very fond of my Thetis," says Gilbert, with a stretch 
 and a yawn. 
 
 " No reason you should keep her in the dark, my boy. 
 Then I don't like the bracket you have put her upon ; all 
 that florid carving is wretched bad taste, and not over- 
 well done. I'll send you one I saw yesterday in Wardour 
 Street, on condition that you'll turn this hideous land- 
 scape to the wall. The water runs up-hill, and a thing 
 like that has no business over a chimney-piece. Then 
 Rosa Bonheur's print ought to hang as a ijendant to the 
 Landseer. By the way, talking of that, when are your 
 horses coming up at Tattersall's ? " 
 
 " To-day," answered Gilbert, settling himself into a more 
 comfortable attitude on his couch. 
 
 " And you never told me a word about it. How like 
 you. You certainly are the most indolent fellow in 
 London. I wanted particularly to know, and I could have 
 helped you to sell them. Why, Graner would give any- 
 thing to have the little bay horse. Is he to be sold ? " 
 
 " What, Matador ? " replied the fortunate proprietor of 
 that desirable animal, " yes — I suppose so — he'll go up 
 with the rest." 
 
 " I mean the horse you rode over six feet of timber last 
 season under the Coplow," urged Holyhead, warming with 
 the congenial subject, as hunting men will. 
 
 " Only five, " answered Gilbert quietly, but his eye 
 kindled, and he moved into a sitting posture with some-
 
 76 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 thing like reviving energy. Bellerophon was not a better 
 horseman, and he was over-fond of tliat fascinating pursuit 
 termed " riding to hounds." Hitherto it liad been his one 
 excitement, his passion, his predilection, the poetrv of his 
 life. 
 
 On his mental vision came back, as in a picture, the 
 dash and skurry of the scene ; the stretching pastures 
 smiling in the sun ; the time-honoured Coplow, crested 
 with trees, above him ; the flashing scarlets scattering like 
 a broken string of beads ; Matador's sweeping gallop, and 
 the meaning shake of his resolute little head ; the oak 
 rails, high, stiff, and ragged, with the gurgling water- 
 course boyond ; and the deer-like bound that landed him 
 alongside those white hounds fleeting so noiselessly up the 
 hedge-row ! 
 
 Even in Green Street, his blood danced in his veins to 
 think of it ; but the nil admirari is the ruling principle 
 of modern youth, and so he sat still and said nothing 
 more. 
 
 " Five or six," resumed his friend, " yow 2^oundrd them all, 
 and quite right, too ! Well, I shall be at Tattersall's after 
 luncheon, and I'll write a note to Craner to meet me there. 
 I suppose yoiL won't take any trouble, and don't care a 
 brass farthing whether the horses are sold, or boiled, or 
 cut up into sandwiches ? " 
 
 " It won't make much difference to me," answered 
 Gilbert, who had never felt so little interest in these the 
 most valued of his possessions as to-day ; " we can't hunt 
 again till November, you know, and now it's only May. 
 li they're not sold, they'll go down to West- Acres, and if 
 they are, I can always buy some more." 
 
 " West - Acres," said Lord Holyhead thoughtfully, 
 " West- Acres ! Avhy don't you marry your cousin, and go 
 and live at West- Acres ? " 
 
 " She never asked me," remarked Gilbert, with consider- 
 able nalvcU; but the colour rose a little to his brow, 
 nevertheless, and he threw the end of his cigar into the 
 grate, and unconsciously began to whistle the air that had 
 lately taken such strange possession of his fanc3\ 
 
 Lord Holyhead was very much attached to his friend. 
 He would have liked to furnish his house for him, buy his
 
 3nSGIVINGS 77 
 
 wines, choose his horses ; nay, to provide him with such a 
 wife as he thought good for him, draw up the settlements 
 himself, and stand godftither to the first-born, because 
 this was his mode of showing his affection. He now 
 began to ponder as to whether he should insist on Gilbert's 
 becoming a Benedict or not. 
 
 " You're not a marrying man, I'm afraid," continued the 
 peer, walking about the room, and ilicking the furniture 
 in general with his ritJing-whip ; " for the matter of that, 
 no more am I. Still, there's a good deal to be said upon 
 the pro})riL'ty of j^our settling at West- Acres. In the first 
 place, that property might be increased, with a little 
 attention, nearly a third in value. Then your political 
 interest should be kept up, and nothing does that so 
 effectually as going to magistrates' meetings, and giving 
 your neighbours venison and champagne. The fact is, 
 you ought to be in Parliament, my boy. There will be a 
 general election before long. Go down and stand for the 
 county ! " 
 
 " I don't seem to care much about Parliament," an- 
 swered Gilbert ; " and then the canvassing, and hand- 
 shaking, and beer-drinking, are not exactly in my line. I 
 don't see why I'm to be hand and glove with Brown, Jones, 
 and Robinson, only when I want their votes, and I'm 
 sure I couldn't keep it up when the necessity was past. 
 Then think of those uncomfortable seats in the House of 
 Commons, Holyhead ; I'd rather be in a hussar-saddle, or 
 a stall in a cathedral, or the front row of the dress circle 
 at the play. No ; I don't think it would suit my book to 
 be a statesman." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " replied his energetic adviser ; " every 
 fellow should have something to do. You'll be a paralytic 
 by the time you're forty, if I can't wake you up into 
 exertion. I'll tell you what, Gilbert — I'll let you off the 
 House of Commons, if you'll promise me that you'll marry 
 Lady Gertrude." 
 
 Again a faint coluur rose to the listener's temples, and 
 a slight movement escaped him of impatience and disgust. 
 The same topic had often before been suggested, nay, 
 urged upon him by his friend, and he had almost brought 
 himself to look upon it as most of us do upon death — to
 
 78 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 regard it as an eventual catastrophe, of which the time and 
 manner were both so uncertain, that it was useless to 
 trouble his head upon the subject. Holyhead waxed more 
 and more energetic as he proceeded — 
 
 " I don't know where you're to find a nicer girl, if j^ou 
 hunt all London for her — clever, accomplished, good- 
 humoured, good-looking, and as thoroughbred as Eclipse. 
 She's just the girl to make a good wife to a man in a 
 certain position," — and the peer thought of the late Lady 
 Holyhead, who possessed indeed none of the advantages 
 he enumerated ; " then she gets on so well with your 
 mother, and you know as well as I do it isn't everybody 
 who can manage Lady Olivia. Hang it, Gilbert 1 if I was 
 that sort of a fellow, you know, and soft, and so on, I'll 
 be shot if I wouldn't marry her myself, if I thought she'd 
 have me." 
 
 " I'm sure you have my leave to try," was the imper- 
 turbable answer. " Gertrude would like to be a peeress, 
 and you're not such a bad follow, after all ; far more fit to 
 be a respectable man than myself! " 
 
 The peer rose, looked in the glass, twirled his mous- 
 taches, and turned away with a doubtful shake of the 
 head. Apparently the last suggestion had struck out a 
 fresh train of ideas, for he consulted his watch, strode to 
 the window to see if his horses were still at the door, and 
 coming back to the sofa, bade its occupant " Good-bye," 
 with a strenuous injunction " not to be late." 
 
 " Of course not," replied Gilbert, looking up most inno- 
 cently. " On no account — but why ? and for what ? " 
 
 " You'd make a saint swear," burst out Lord Holyhead. 
 " Don't you remember you're engaged to dine at Richmond 
 with me to-day ? and I've arranged to drive you down. 
 You promised, I'll take my oath, and if you've made any 
 other enoan-oment you must throw it over. Not a moment 
 later than five, mind. You and I can go in the phaeton. 
 I want to know what you think of my American horse. 
 Charley Wing and old Landless will meet us at the castle, 
 and ]\Iadamc Bravoura drives down with her aunt in my 
 brougham. So that's the party — now, you won't put us 
 in the hole." 
 
 " Bravoura's going, is she ? " observed Gilbert ; " I
 
 MISGIVINGS 79 
 
 thought that was all over — 'gone with the last year's 
 snow.' How confiding of you to ask me to meet her ! I 
 say, Nobs, shall I go down in the brougham, and you can 
 drive the aunt ? Then you don't want to marry Gertrude 
 quite yet, after all ? " 
 
 " Nobs," as his friend called him, vouchsafed no answer. 
 " I'll call for you at White's," was all he said ; and in 
 another minute he was clattering up the street at his 
 usual pace, which wore him out at least one hack a season, 
 to the disgust of his groom, and the advantage of the 
 dealers. 
 
 Ere he had turned the corner of the street, Gilbert rose 
 from the sofa, and began to pace thoughtfully up and 
 down the room. What had come over him ? was he 
 going to be ill ? going to have a brain fever? or the 
 measles for the second time, or what ? Perhaps, after all, 
 he was only growing old. Growing old ! and on the sunny 
 side of thirty — it could scarcely be that. Yet why had 
 everything began to pall upon him, that used to be so 
 pleasant and enlivening ? A year ago, nay, a fortnight 
 ago, he would have willingly gone a dozen miles to meet 
 Madame Bravoura. She was then a sparkling and fasci- 
 nating syren, whose witty rejoinders were only made more 
 enchanting by her broken English, and her mellifluous 
 tones. Now she seemed to be nothing but a bold, bad 
 Italian woman, with a sallow skin, a meretricious manner, 
 and a hideous old aunt. Where on earth was the pleasure 
 of associating with these sort of people ? They had no 
 ideas in common with himself, after all. What was their 
 conversation but a tissue of slang, slander, and bad jokes ? 
 What were they without their tinsel, without sunshine, 
 and pink bonnets, and sweet champagne, and clever men 
 besides, to draw t'hom out ? Duller than the dullest of 
 evangelical aunts or country cousins. He saw no merit 
 in them — none whatever. He Avondered at Holyhead ! 
 He had never wondered at Holj^head before. 
 
 Gilbert sat down again, and began to analyse his own 
 feelings. 
 
 Now this is a process seldom productive of much good, 
 unless a man has trained himself to reduce all his thoughts, 
 wishes, and aspirations to the strictest staQd.arci of morality
 
 80 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 and high principle. For such an one, self-examination is 
 doubtless the most invigorating and beneticial of" all mental 
 exercises ; but if the impiiry be only conducted with a 
 reference to self, if the " yvoidi creavTuv" be but an injunc- 
 tion to learn what yuu yourself would most like, be but a 
 recapitulation of your wishes, not your duties, a wail for 
 your sufferings, not your sins, the mind becomes bewil- 
 dered in the labyrinth from which it has no compass 
 wherewith to extricate itself — becomes confused with the 
 many courses which expediency can alwaj's point out in 
 contradistinction to that one rugged way which is the 
 path of right. And at last, like the scorpion " girt with 
 fire," hopeless of release, maddened by the impassable 
 barrier that seems to hem it in on every side, turns and 
 plunges its sting deeper and deeper into itself 
 
 Gilbert Orme had never in his life reflected on the 
 duties that he owed to the station in which he was 
 placed, to his fellow-creatures, to his family, nay, even to 
 himself It had never occurred to him that a reasonable 
 being was scarcely put into this world for no higher pur- 
 pose than to wear out a certain quantity of clothes, eat a 
 certain number of dinners, and make himself tolerably 
 agreeable to a certain circle of people, whose bodies were 
 as well cared for as his own. He had sometimes found 
 himself restless, he didn't know why ; and very often bored 
 and languid without sufficient cause ; but he heard others, 
 with whom he associated, complain of the same symptoms, 
 and he was quite satisfied to lay the blame on a loaded 
 bottle of claret, or an east wind. He knew so many Clara 
 Yere de Veres 
 
 "With joyous health, in boundhsg wvaltli, 
 Yet >iickei>ii)g of a vague disease." 
 
 And one and all seemed to apply the same remedy — fresh 
 excitement to prove a fresh opiate, and breed fresh disgust. 
 Hitherto the treatment had answered moderately well. 
 To-day he felt strangely out of sorts, and dissatisfied with 
 the monotonous routine, to which he felt us if he were 
 condemned by his own election and freewill. He did 
 what any of his associates would have done in the same 
 predicament — dressed with the utmost care, in a selection
 
 MISGIVINGS 81 
 
 of Poole's noblest efforts, and wandered out into the 
 streets with no very definite object, save to kill the 
 afternoon. 
 
 It was strange how that singer in mourning haunted 
 him ; how the sim})le pathetic air she had sung so feel- 
 ingly rung in his ears still ; how that sweet pale face, 
 framed in its soft brown hair, rose at every turn on his 
 mental vision ; how distinctly he had caught the name, 
 though only mentioned once, and then so carelessly, by 
 John Gordon — Mrs. Latimer — Mrs. Latimer — and John 
 knew something about her. Should he go and find John 
 Gordon, who was safe to be immersed in his daily business 
 till five ? and then, what then ? cui bono ? Surely my 
 boy was becoming what the fashionable novelists call 
 blas^. From Dan to Beersheba, from the top of Grosvenor 
 Place to Temple Bar, he had scanned it inch by inch, and 
 it was all barren. 
 
 Now, if Gilbert had chartered a hansom cab, and paid 
 the driver by the mile, I doubt if the latter would have 
 taken the shady side of South Audley Street as his 
 shortest route from the house occupied by his fare to the 
 door of White's Club. Such, however, was the line my 
 indolent friend chose to adopt, and it appeared simply 
 from the force of habit that he turned up a street leading 
 from that thoroughfare to the Park, to knock dreamily at 
 the door of one of the prettiest houses in London — a 
 house which always looked as if it had been fresh " done 
 up," and the balconies of which bloomed with such 
 geraniums as were not to be seen elsewhere. 
 
 " Is Mrs. Montpellier at home?" asked Gilbert in a very 
 matter-of-course voice ; and the footman answered in cor- 
 responding tones, that Mrs. Montpellier was at luncheon, 
 and " wovdd Mr. Orme step this way ? " 
 
 Now, Mrs. Montpellier was one of those ladies on whom 
 their own sex choose to look somewhat askance without 
 any defined cause. There were certain houses to which 
 she was asked, certain people with whom she interchanged 
 the card-leaving and other dreary courtesies of society; 
 but those who repudiated her averred that the houses 
 were what they called " Omnium Gatherums," and the 
 people " second-rate." The accusation was scarcely a fair 
 
 F
 
 82 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 one, but it swamped IVIrs. Montpellier's bark, nevertheless. 
 " Who is she ? " demanded Lady Visigoth, with annually 
 increasing virulence, spreading her long hands and tossing 
 her head like one of her own carriage-horses ; indeed, her 
 face strongly resembled that of the Roman-nosed one that 
 went on the near side. " There are stories about her, I 
 tell you. What are her antecedents ? answer me that ! " 
 There were no stories about Lady Visigoth, nor when you 
 looked at her were you surprised at her immunity; but 
 when she asked you about Mrs. Montpellier's "ante- 
 cedents " in that voice of rigorous virtue, you could not 
 but feel as if you yourself were doomed, however unjustly, 
 to share the burden of the fair backslider's possible sins. 
 
 Mrs. Montpellier's antecedents, however, albeit unknown 
 to Lady Visigoth, were sufficiently romantic. She had 
 made a runaway match with an Indian officer at nineteen, 
 and had followed his fortunes through many a picturesque 
 scene of danger and excitement. She had been " under 
 fire," too, real honest fighting fire, more than once ; had 
 seen a round-shot go through her tent and smash her 
 workbox ; on another occasion, the camel she rode in a 
 somewhat ill-organised retreat had received a bullet- 
 wound in its neck. She was rather proud of these adven- 
 tures, and of the Rajahs whom she had visited, and the 
 Begums, in whose Eastern boudoirs she had made herself 
 at home ; and sometimes (not often) she would chat 
 pleasantly of those days with a dash of quiet sarcasm and 
 a vein of womanly sentiment that were not unpleasing. 
 The young husband soon died, from climate and *' brandy- 
 pawnee " combined, and ere she could find her way home 
 to her surviving relatives, via Calcutta, she was snapped 
 up in that city of palaces and induced to change her name 
 once more, by Montpellier, of the Civil Service, a tall, thin, 
 yellow man, like a bamboo, old enough to be her father, 
 and rich enough to have paved the street he lived in with 
 gold. She never spoke of that time ; and whereas there 
 were miniatures, and photographs, and remembrances of 
 her first husband scattered about her drawing-room in 
 profusion, any souvenirs she had of old Montpellier were 
 locked away carefully up-stairs in her writing-desk. I 
 Relieve she loved " the bamboo " very dearly. Reserved
 
 MISGIVINGS 83 
 
 as he was with others, he doted on his handsome wife, 
 and she — old, withered, ugly as he was — why did she love 
 him ? I can give no better reason than a woman's answer 
 • — " Because she did ! " 
 
 He left her, for the second time, a widow, in the prime 
 of life — very rich, very good-looking, and, after a year or 
 two, tolerably resigned to her fate. She wandered about 
 the Continent for a time, and refused, of course, many an 
 offer of marriage. Indeed, Mrs. Montpellier was a lady 
 who could take very good care of herself. Finally, not- 
 withstanding her deficiency in "antecedents," she came 
 and settled in London, three doors from Lady Yisigoth. 
 I should despair of explaining to male stupidity how it 
 was possible that, after a career of adventure and travel ; 
 after the glowing Indian days, first of thrilling excitement, 
 then of princely magnificence ; after the gorgeous colour- 
 ing and the dazzling climate, and the ease and freedom of 
 Hmdostan, Mrs. Montpellier could settle down to a quiet 
 street in Mayfair, and find absorbing interest in the 
 narrow routine of London life. A lady will understand it 
 in a minute. She puts herself at once in Mrs. Mont- 
 pellier's place. Give her a household to order, a few shops 
 to go to, a certain position to wrest or to retain, above all, 
 a feud with Lady Visigoth, and she will have no difficulty 
 in finding occupation for every hour in the twenty-four. 
 
 The widow (perhaps a twice-bereaved one may fairly be 
 called a widow indeed) — the widow had seen a good deal of 
 life, and had not failed to profit by what she saw. Rather 
 repudiating the idea of a third sacrifice, she had resolved 
 to enjoy, to the utmost, the many pleasures and amuse- 
 ments which her situation permitted ; and setting Lady 
 
 Y at defiance, she made her house the pleasantest 
 
 lounge in London, and, consequently, commanded a great 
 deal of very agreeable society, of which that exclusive 
 dame could not have the faintest notion. Mrs. Mont- 
 pellier's little suppers on Saturday nights ; Mrs. Mont- 
 pellier's luncheons — her dinners — her choice picnics — her 
 well-selected parties — all went off without hitch or con- 
 tretemps. If you were dying to meet " somebody," and 
 dined with Mrs. Montpellier, you were sure to go down to 
 dinner with that " somebody " and no other on your arm.
 
 84 GOOD FOR NOT ITT NO 
 
 If you wondered what had become of your old chum 
 whom you had never seen since he pulled next you in the 
 ten-oar at Eton, or went up the breach alongside of you 
 at Sobraon, ten to one you foimd him at luncheon at Mrs. 
 Montpellier's. If you wanted a fourth in that barouche 
 which Avas going anywhere out of town, who must amuse 
 and interest the other three all the way " there and back 
 again," you had but to draw Mrs. Montpellier's pretty 
 house between two and five, and you might select your 
 companion from the pleasantest people in London. No 
 wonder the young men dropped in so naturally at Mrs. 
 Montpellier's, and stayed there, as Lady Visigoth viciously 
 remarked, " so long ! " 
 
 The hostess herself was, to do her justice, no slight 
 attraction. Though a good deal past thirty — indeed as 
 far past as she well could be — she was bright and hand- 
 some still. Very dark, her complexion had deepened 
 rather than faded under an Indian sun, and her black 
 hair was, as yet, unstreaked with a line of grey. Her 
 features, though irregular, had extraordinary play and 
 brilliancy. She dressed, too, to perfection, and was never 
 to be surprised in unbecoming colours or costume ; while 
 her figure, which had always been her strong point (and 
 a very strong point such a figure is), preserved its sym- 
 metrical outline, and remained lithe and undulating as in 
 the days of her first honeymoon. Altogether, people 
 were justified in their general expression of wonder " why 
 Mrs. Montpellier didn't marry again " — a question Lady 
 Visigoth delighted to answer with a shrug of her broad 
 bony shoulders, and in a tone of mysterious defiance truly 
 intimidating. 
 
 " There may be fifty reasons — goodness only knows ! " 
 Doctor Johnson loved a good hater; the quality to less 
 vigorous minds is perhaps suggestive of awe rather than 
 affection. I admire its wondrous development, on 
 occasion, in the female breast. For the converse of that 
 charity which the apostle enjoins — that pure white mantle 
 which can cover all the scarlet stains of sin, ay, and wrap 
 a shivering wounded neighbour too in its kincily folds — • 
 fur the self-righteousness that pufteth up and vaunteth its 
 own merits, that thinketh evil, that suffereth not long, and
 
 MISGIVINGS 85 
 
 is easily provoked — for a thorough-going and practical 
 opposition to the true fundamental precepts of Christian- 
 ity, commend me to the merciless rancour of a virtuous 
 British matron such as my Lady Visigoth. 
 
 Gilbert was a prime favourite with his hostess. Indeed, 
 he was very generally popular amongst women, from the 
 damsel in her teens, just " out," who voted him very 
 " good-natured," and was not " the least afraid " of him, 
 to the pass^e woman of the world, who found something 
 interesting and unusual in a certain freshness of senti- 
 ment and originality of thought which he never entirely 
 lost, and to whom his little affectations of indolence and 
 sans-souci were amusing, because so utterly transparent. 
 He would laugh at himself, too, and ivith them, in the 
 most perfect good-humour. He was not to be put out by 
 any disappointment, and never seemed to care enough 
 about anything to make him cross. Then he was not the 
 least given to " making love " to them ; and let satirists 
 say what they will about the craving for conquest 
 implanted in the gentler sex, they do like a man who will 
 at once put them on an equal intellectual footing ^vith 
 himself, and who offers them frank confidence and respect 
 rather than admiration which they suspect to be false, 
 and flattery so sweet as to become unpalatable. 
 
 Mrs. Montpellier shook him by both hands, and bade 
 him sit down and eat. ' " I thought you were never 
 coming to see me again, Mr. Orme," said the hospitable 
 lady ; " and it's no use asking you to dinner, for you're 
 always engaged. Now, what Avill you have ? Every- 
 thing's cold. This is the first day I've lunched alone for 
 six weeks. What have you been doing all these ages ? 
 Now do tell me all about yourself" 
 
 This last request, I may observe in a parenthesis, is 
 essentially feminine. To me, as propounded by a gentle 
 refined being, it always appears a complete staggerer. 
 Would they really like to know ? and how could the best 
 and wisest of us tell them ? 
 
 " Oh," answered Gilbert, " that is easily done. My time 
 is chiefly employed in learning to work cross-stitch back- 
 wards, winding silks for my cousin, and reading good 
 books to my mother."
 
 86 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 She hold up her pretty finger at him, as one would 
 threaten a child. 
 
 " No nonsense," said Mrs. Montpellier. " I hear all 
 sorts of stories about you. Come, out with it ; make a 
 clean breast of it, and begin." 
 
 " Virtue is always liable to scandal," replied he, laughing. 
 " With the exception of the pursuits I have named, I 
 have been fulfilling my daily duties, and earning the 
 reward of a good conscience. With Holyhead to help me, 
 I have been much employed in doing nothing ; have done 
 it rather well, and a good deal of it." 
 
 " Are you going down to Richmond with Lord Holy- 
 head to-day ? " asked the lady, looking sharply and 
 meaningly in his face. " I hope not. I don't approve of 
 your friend. I don't approve of your party. You see I 
 know everything." 
 
 " Of course you do. You sat next him at dinner 
 yesterday at the St. Quentins'. You had on the yellow 
 dress — the one with black lace ; not the pale one with 
 roses. It was stupid of that servant to upset a cream 
 over it. Woe is me ! I shall never see that yellow gown 
 again." 
 
 " How do you know all this ? " 
 
 " Never mind. I was sure Holyhead had seen you, 
 because he was so restless and uncomfortable this 
 morning. He has moved every article of furniture in my 
 room, and broken two vases and a small china tea-pot ; 
 but he didn't dare mention your name. A little bird told 
 me about the cream." 
 
 The widow laughed, but she did not blush. Lord Holj^- 
 head's impenetrable nature was so well known, that it was 
 a standing joke to quiz her on having subjugated him — a 
 joke she herself took in exceedingly good part. 
 
 " I believe you were there yourself, Mr. Orme," said she, 
 rising to adjourn to the drawing-room. " I believe you 
 were the footman that did it, and had disguised yourself 
 for the purpose, as the gallants about the French court 
 used to do in Louis Quatorze's time. Fancy being forbid 
 to speak to a man on peril of your life, and his marching 
 up to you with the tea-tray, or bringing you the vegetables 
 at dinner. Ah, those wo-e days. People never do such
 
 MISGIVINGS ^1 
 
 things now. There are no devoted lovers in the nine- 
 teenth century." 
 
 " Don't be too sure of that, Mrs. Montpellier. Why 
 did Holyhead stay so late, except to put you into your 
 carriage ? You see I know that too." 
 
 " You are too absurd. Talking of carriages, will you 
 drive down with me to-day to Kew Gardens ? Much 
 better for you than that odious Richmond party. The 
 Ringdoves are coming. They both like you so much ; 
 and I must have a fourth, for they are still so taken up 
 with each other. I wonder if it will last. We'll hear 
 the band play, and drive back again to a quiet dinner 
 here ; then we shall be all quite fresh for Lady Clear- 
 well's. By the bye, did you go to the morning concert 
 yesterday ? I hear it was rather good. Tell me all 
 about it."- 
 
 Gilbert was intensely provoked. Do what he would, 
 the colour rose to his f;xce as if he had been a school-boy. 
 Though he shifted his position and got into another chair, 
 he did not do it well, and he felt that Mrs. Montpellier 
 could not but remark his confusion. Luckily, just then, 
 other visitors were announced, and he took his leave, but 
 not till she had shot another of those sharp inquiring 
 glances of hers point-blank at him. When he got into 
 the street he remembered that he had never replied to 
 her good-natured offer of a seat in her carriage. He who 
 was generally so composed and indolent and imperturb- 
 able — what had come over him ? 
 
 " There's something very queer about me to-day," 
 thought Gilbert, as he turned once more into South 
 Audley Street. " If I didn't believe it's impossible, I 
 should think I was getting nervous. This sort of thing 
 won't do at all. Hang it, I'll jump into a hansom, and 
 go and see John Gordon ! "
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 JOHN GORDON 
 
 Theke are some men who seem to be consulted instinc- 
 tively by ever}^ one in a difficulty. Which of us but has 
 a friend somewhere to whom he flies at a moment's notice 
 when he finds himself in a dilemma, whose opinions he asks 
 eagerly, to whose maxims he listens with respectful defer- 
 ence, for whose brotherly interest he certainly feels 
 intensely grateful, and by whose advice he as certainly 
 refuses to abide ? 
 
 I have heard experienced counsel affirm, that the great 
 difficulty they have to contend with in the defence of 
 criminal cases, is the extreme unwillingness on the part of 
 the prisoner to confess, even to his adviser, " the truth, 
 the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." There is a 
 mpiyressio veri somewhere in the unbosoming of even the 
 most candid of culprits, and on this unfortified point the 
 whole defence is apt to break down. " I could have got 
 him off, if I'd been quite sure he did it," says the astute 
 Balthazar ; " but if a man won't trust his counsel, he 
 deserves to lose, and be hanged to him ! " — which is 
 perhaps, after all, the result of his ill-advised insincerity. 
 
 Now, on a point in which his own personal feelings were 
 not concerned (for on those in which they are, I hold no 
 man to be better than a fool), I would have taken John 
 Gordon's opinion as I would the Lord Chancellor's. He 
 was one of the few men I have ever known who could 
 calculate the eventual, not the immediate, results of any 
 given measure. I can find hundreds who will demonstrate 
 
 88
 
 JORN GORDON 89 
 
 clearly that if I pull the trigger the piece will go off; but 
 I could number on my fingers those whose far-sightedness 
 can hazard an opinion as to whether the cartridge will 
 reach the pigeon at which it is aimed, or fall short on the 
 breast of the inglorious crow. John Gordon, like a fine 
 rider across a country, could see his way, so to speak, into 
 the far distance, field by field. It would have been a very 
 queer obstacle that turned him from it when once he had 
 taken his line. 
 
 His whole career had hitherto been one of uncom- 
 promising determination. He was well-born — indeed, a 
 distant connexion of Lady Olivia's — well-bred, and well- 
 educated ; hict he was a second son. These encumbrances 
 may think themselves fortunate in succeeding to a portion 
 at all, more fortunate still if it is ever paid up. John 
 Gordon's brother had five thousand a year — John Gordon 
 himself had five thousand pounds. He inherited, though, 
 from his mother, a legacy worth five times that amount — 
 an iron constitution, which nothing seemed able to impair, 
 and a strength of will rarely equalled, at least in his own 
 sex. An offshoot from the illustrious stock to which Lady 
 Olivia belonged, the late Mrs. Gordon possessed, in common 
 with her family, a noble obstinacy, which, while it degener- 
 ated in the male scions into pig-headedness and stupidity, 
 fortified the females into rulers of absolute and irrespon- 
 sible authority. This quality had descended to her son, 
 modified, as became his sex, into a milder form ; and to an 
 unswerving determination in that course which his reason 
 told him was the most judicious, John owed all the success 
 he ever had in life. 
 
 Most young men of the upper class with five thousand 
 pounds, seem to think so inadequate a provision is hardly 
 worth taking care of, and fritter the principal away in the 
 pursuit of pleasure, with a touching resignation and an 
 implicit reliance on Destiny which would do credit to a 
 Moslem. Some more adventurous spirits sink their capital 
 in the purchase of commissions in the army — a glorious 
 profession doubtless, but not lucrative. Bellona's noblest 
 prizes vnW make their winner illustrious certainly, but not 
 independent ; and a clean-swept orderly-room is a poor 
 substitute to a middle-aged man for the happiness of a
 
 90 GOOD FOR NOTHINQ 
 
 home. To be sure, there is the off-chance of a settlement 
 by a violent death, but this can scarcely be placed to the 
 credit-side of the account. Few think of making the five 
 thousand into ten thousand ; but of these few was John 
 Gordon. At eighteen he thought the matter over in this 
 wise : — " What would I wish to be at forty ? Certainly at 
 that age one begins to get an old fellow ; but I doubt if 
 even then one is quite past all the pleasures of life. I see 
 men at forty as active, as full of energy, as hopeful, as 
 enthusiastic, almost as great fools, as at twenty. I am not 
 sure but that they enjoy the world more than their juniors. 
 Their place is marked out, their position established and 
 allowed ; they can still look forward, and perhaps it is 
 pleasant also to look back." (John had seen but little 
 from the latter point of view, and knew as yet nothing of 
 " a sorrow's crown of sorrow.") " Yes, it is not such a 
 worn-out age after all. What would I like to be at forty ? 
 I should like to be independent, to have influence, a 
 certain station, and recognised position in society. Perhaps 
 I might wish to marry ; certainly, I should want a home. 
 How are these things to be obtained ? I want them, 
 therefore I will have them. I have youth, I feel ; I have 
 energy and endurance, I know. I have never been beat 
 yet in the cricket-ground or the school-room ; why should 
 I not conquer in the real world outside ? Had I lived in 
 the dark ages, I should have taken care to have a good 
 horse under me, a good sword by my side — as many men- 
 at-arms as I could command at my back. In those days 
 such were the accessories which wrested power and inde- 
 pendence, and the enjoyments of life. What constitutes 
 power now ? What is the talisman that obtains for a man 
 respect, regard, friendship, applause, and admiration ? la 
 it genius 'i — no ; courage ? — no ; benevolence and philan- 
 thropy ? — no. I have already seen men with each and all 
 of these qualities go irremediably to the wall. What is it, 
 then ? — money ! Am I satisfied of this ? — thoroughly. 
 Money, then, I want, and money I will have. How am I 
 to get it ? I have two-and-twenty years before me, and 
 five thousand down the day I come of age. I will go into 
 business at once. What have I to do with aristocratic pre- 
 judices ? and what need I care for the sneers of my smart
 
 JOHN GORDON 91 
 
 friends ? Will the blood they talk about so much as 
 provide me with a fine coat, as it does a thoroughbred 
 horse ? Of what use is an escutcheon without a hall to 
 hang it up in ? I will go into business to-morrow. If I 
 live to see my fortieth birthday, it shall not be my fault if 
 I am in a worse position than my elder brother ! " 
 
 Few lads of eighteen would have argued thus. I do nob 
 like John Gordon the better that at his age he could so 
 clearly see his own way to his own interest ; but I am not 
 painting people as I should wish them to be, but simply 
 as they are. The young calculator was right enough in 
 theory — merely wrong in a matter of detail. " The children 
 of darkness," we know, are " wise in their generation ; " 
 and we cannot blame the man who resolves to obtain that 
 which he has made up his mind he requires. The plan 
 only wanted enlarging ; the schemer did not go far enough. 
 Had he doubled the fixed period, substituting eighty for 
 forty, and set his heart on a safer investment, in a certain 
 bank Avhich returns millions per cent., and into which 
 " thieves cannot break through and steal," he would, indeed, 
 have proved himself the most prudent and successful of 
 speculators. 
 
 Into business accordingly John Gordon went — beginning 
 at the beginning, on a high office-chair, and mastering 
 detail after detail, and intricacy after intricacy, with the 
 dogged resolution so peculiarly his own. When a man 
 shows himself determined to take his line, irrespective of 
 the opinions of others, it is wonderful how little his friends 
 interfere with him, how soon they begin to coincide with 
 his views, and vote that they had agreed with him all 
 along. There is nothing so easy as to lead a crowd ; but 
 then you must not be a part of the crowd yourself, or 
 shrink one iota from going first. A moment's hesitation 
 is fatal ; but dash in resolutely, and though it be the pit 
 of Acheron, never doubt but that it will be full directly. 
 
 John Gordon found himself quite as welcome in the 
 great world, quite as efficient a " stop-gap " at my lord's 
 dinner-table or my lady's ball, as if he had been the idlest 
 of the drones, consuming his five thousand as he wanted it 
 month by month. What mattered it to old Landless, who 
 had been keeping his empty head above water with the
 
 92 GOOD FOE JS'OTIIING 
 
 greatest difficulty for the last forty years, that the pleasant 
 listener who sat next him had spent his morning digging 
 " the root of all evil " east of Temple Bar ? Miss Troller 
 only wanted a partner to enable her to dance vis-d-vis to 
 Lord Grayling. Mr. Gordon's figure was gentlemanlike, 
 his boots irreproachable. It made no difference whatever 
 to that far-seeing young lady whether he kept a ledger or 
 a betting-book ; and, doubtless, her ideas as to the real 
 nature of each were equally confused. Through his con- 
 nexions, he possessed the cniHe into a certain number of 
 great men's houses — a privilege obtained on the easiest 
 terms by some, and difficult as paradise to win by others ; 
 and he took advantage of his position, and frequented their 
 solemnities, called by courtesy " entertainments," with 
 sufficient moderation. John Gordon was a ^Hiir'x^t juaqiC an 
 hmit des angles ; albeit a satirist who could see good as well 
 as evil, and a little to create a smile amongst much which 
 could but call up a sneer. So it amused him to go into 
 this world of gaiety as well as that of business, in which he 
 spent his Avorking life ; to watch the anxieties, and over- 
 reachings, and rankling grudges, and general selfishness of 
 those petty gamblers, playing as eagerly for their counters 
 as the others did for gold. Moreover, he did not frequent 
 Vanity Fair entirely without an object. Few men, I fancy, 
 do. John Gordon's heart was roh^ir et ccs triplex, sound 
 and whole, and riveted, so to speak, with plates of steel ; 
 yet it hail its predilections, nevertheless. Of all his 
 partners, the one he preferred to dance with, the one with 
 whom he lingered longest through those precious " cooling " 
 minutes of which tea-rooms, staircases, and conservatories 
 Avitness the too rapid flight, was Lady Gertrude. He was 
 not one of those men who can go home and dream of soft 
 eyes, and floating hair, and burning whispers, and flowers 
 and gloves, and the bewitching absurdity of the whole 
 process. He had no leisure for such nonsense, and didn't 
 mean to have for years to come. But if you had asked 
 him who was the nicest girl in London, the best-dressed, 
 the best-looking, the best dancer, the cleverest and the 
 most agreeable, he would have answered, " Lady Gertrude." 
 As for dreaming of her, pshaw ! He went to bed to 
 sleep, not to dream. A plateful of lobster-salad, consumed
 
 JOEN GORDON 93 
 
 with a good appetite, a couple of glasses of champagne, a 
 cigar in the cool summer morning, and a huge tumbler 
 of cold water before going to bed — such was the con- 
 clusion of one of his nights of relaxation ; and as he had 
 to be in the counting-house next morning by ten at the 
 latest, there was little enough time for sleeping, let alone 
 dreams. 
 
 Lady Olivia was a great stickler for " kith and kin." 
 It is one of the kindliest prejudices of the aristocracy, 
 and, to their credit be it said, it is a distinguishing 
 feature of their class. Her ladyship was an accurate 
 genealogist ; and she never could forget that the late 
 Mrs. Gordon, of obdurate memory, and her own mother 
 were first cousins, nor how they had each danced on the 
 same evening with the royalty of their day — an exploit 
 on which she looked much in the same light as a man 
 would on the fact of two of his line having charged stirrup 
 to stirrup at Poictiers. Therefore, John Gordon came to 
 luncheon whenever he liked in Belgrave Square ; there- 
 fore, she consulted him about her investments, her lease, 
 her carriage-horses, and such matters as dowagers find it 
 expedient to discuss with a male adviser — till at length 
 it was obvious to the whole household that the only 
 person to whom " my lady " would listen, or who could 
 influence her the least, was Mr. Gordon. 
 
 Did the younger lady also hearken with pleasure to 
 Mr. Gordon's short commanding tones, and suffer her own 
 ideas, and her own likings and dislikings, to be influenced 
 by that gentleman's opinions, delivered, it must be con- 
 fessed, with more energy than politeness ? She did not 
 think so herself. She repudiated all allegiance to his 
 tenets. She generally disagreed with him, but she always 
 listened attentively to what he had to say. 
 
 Such was the gentleman who, with cuffs turned up and 
 strong sinewy wrists displayed, was now washing his 
 hands in a dark little room off Alderman Jones' counting- 
 house, preparatory to taking his leave of business for the 
 day. He had done his work, earned his wages, and was 
 now ready and willing for a few hours of that gay world 
 which could still amuse even if it failed to interest him. 
 He is already the junior partner in the firm of Jones and
 
 94 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 Gordon, a firm which City men know to be doing such 
 good business. The alderman can trust him implicitl}' : 
 "A partner who can play his own hand and mine too, 
 sir," says that worthy, when discussing his junior's merits; 
 and the live thousand is rolling up and accumulating 
 rapidly. Alas ! that liis heart is hardening in proportion, 
 and his wishes learning to centre more and more upon 
 pounds, shillings, and pence. Alas ! that even at this 
 moment his thoughts are still intent on to-day's consign- 
 ment; and the subjects that are perhaps the furthest 
 from his mind are Lady Olivia, Lady Gertrude, and Gilbert 
 Or me. 
 
 The latter has lounged through the counting-house 
 with his usual graceful languor, exchanging the news of 
 the day with a hard-working clerk, in just such a tone of 
 cordiality as he would use to a peer at his club. The 
 clerk thinks him the most "affable" of swells, and wishes 
 in his heart that his own boots and coat would only fit 
 him like those, resolving also, that on the first opportunity 
 he will try if he cannot imitate the gait and general 
 manner of his new acquaintance. Pending John Gordon's 
 ablutions, he has imparted to him one or two secrets of 
 the trade which Gilbert does not the least understand, 
 and asked his opinion of a racehorse that the latter knows 
 to have broken down. Gilbert replies with the utmost 
 naivcU and good faith, but he is a little absent and pre- 
 occupied, though he pretends to take an interest in the 
 clerk's turf speculations; and the idea uppermost in his 
 mind is, " What a bore it must be for John Gordon to 
 sj)end all his mornings in an uncomfortable room like this 
 without a carpet ! " 
 
 " Well, Gilbert, how are you ? What has brought you 
 here ? " says John, emerging from his retreat with his 
 cuffs still turned up, and offering his visitor a hand 
 scarcely yet dry. 
 
 The same question occurs at the same moment to 
 Gilbert for the first time; he does not the least know 
 what brought him here, and he says so. Juhn laughs a 
 short sarcastic laugh, that seems to shake some imaginary 
 folly to bits as a terrier would a rat. 
 
 " Then it's the greater compliment," he observes. " You
 
 JOHN GORDON 05 
 
 must have come on purpose to pay me a visit. Now, 
 what can I do for you ? Do you want to learn book- 
 keeping? Shall I give you some luncheon? Here are 
 the tools for the one ; the other can be got in five 
 minutes from a pothouse over the way." 
 
 " Do you mean to .say you cat here," asks Gilbert, with 
 a sort of quiet astonishment, "and smoke, and all that 
 sort of thing, as one would at home ? " 
 
 The drone, you see, looks upon this undesirable hive as 
 a place in which to make, but not to consume, the honey. 
 
 "Of course," answers the junior partner. "Why, in 
 busy times I often sleep here. I say, Gilbert, have you 
 ever been in an omnibus ? I am going to Pall Mall. 
 Come with me. We can go the whole way for three- 
 pence ! " 
 
 Gilbert laughed, and o^vned he never had, but would 
 like it of all things. 
 
 " I have a hansom waiting at the door, though," he 
 said ; " better jump in and come back with me. The 
 fact is, I had nothing particular to do. I thought the 
 drive would do me good, and I could bring you back with 
 me ; so here I am," 
 
 Now, a scheme was gradually unfolding itself in Gilbert's 
 mind. By seducing his friend into a cab, and artfully 
 leading the conversation towards the subject next his 
 heart, he thought he might perhaps find out something 
 about the individual who for the last few hours had 
 occupied so large a portion of his attention. John had 
 said yesterday he knew something about Mrs. Latimer; 
 what did he know? He was a bad hand at pumping; 
 but still he would surely get that something out of him 
 before they reached Pall Mall. Strange that he should 
 nut have asked him point-blank whatever he wanted to 
 ascertain ! A child, when frightened, buries its little face 
 in mamma's lap : the natural impulse of a grown-up man 
 is to shut his eyes, and shrink away from a missile flying 
 towards his head. And so in moral as well as physical 
 danger the instinct of weak humanity is to avoid rather 
 than confront the attack. We suffer the enemy to take 
 us in flank or rear, and then wonder that our resistance 
 is so feeble, and so quickly overcome.
 
 96 GOOD FOE NOTniNG 
 
 Gilbert's plans of strategy, however, were on this 
 occasion fated to remain undeveloped. Chance every 
 now and then gives us mortals a lift when we least ex- 
 pect it, as though to vindicate her suzerainty over ter- 
 restrial affairs ; and the fickle goddess had a sugar-plum 
 in store for Gilbert, as, followed by the junior partner, 
 he emerged into the street.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 BELLA JONES 
 
 A VERY pretty sociable was standing at the door of the 
 counting-house, and a very pretty bouquet, fresh from the 
 country, was lying in the front seat thereof Fresher 
 and more blooming than the paint on the sociable or the 
 flowers in the bouquet, Miss Jones sat solitary in the 
 carriage. Gilbert's hat was off in a moment, and the 
 young lady shook hands with him, and blushed, and 
 laughed, and wondered at meeting liim there, and was 
 glad to see him ; and seemed to have nothing more to 
 say, and to be rather shy and ill at ease, and relieved to 
 take refuge with John Gordon, whom she knew so well, 
 and who belonged, as it were, to the establishment. 
 
 Whatever may have been her opinion of the latter, 
 Bella entertained a profound admiration for Gilbert, whom 
 she regarded as a superior being altogether removed from 
 her own sphere. She had seen him prancing about in the 
 Park, on the most familiar terms with personages whose 
 names were matters of history, or threading his way on 
 foot amongst the carriages of those despotic ladies of 
 fashion who rule their own world so rigorously ; and she 
 believed him in her heart to be a compound of Bayard 
 and Beau Brummel. Notwithstanding her rosy cheeks 
 and her loud laugh, Bella cherished a tendency to hero- 
 worship. She reverenced Mr. Orme therefore, and was a 
 little afraid of him, which was uncalled for, and coloured 
 up whenever he spoke to her, which was uncomfortable. 
 So she addressed herself to the junior partner — 
 
 97 ■ «
 
 §8 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 "I was to wait for papa here ; he has gone to the bank, and 
 he said he shouldn't be long, and I thought we were late, 
 for there was a grand stoppage, as usual, in Fleet Street ; 
 and I brought you some flowers, Mr. Gordon, for the 
 counting-house. It does look so drear}'' ; I can tell you 
 how I pity you on these fine spring days." 
 
 " Thank you, Miss Jones," said John, taking the nosegay 
 as if he had been a gardener ; " thank you. They'll soon 
 wither in there, and then you must bring me some more." 
 
 " Why don't you come and fetch them yourself?" asked 
 the young lady. " You have not been near us for a week, 
 and you don't know how beautiful the Villa looks now, and 
 how the things have come out the last few days. You 
 used always to dine with us on Sundays, and now you 
 never do." 
 
 " Halloo, John ! " interrupted Gilbert, " here's an accus- 
 ation, a manifest charge against you. Give an account of 
 yourself. Where do you go on Sundays ? I assure you, 
 Miss Jones, he does not spend them with me." 
 
 Miss Jones looked as if she were going to say, " So 
 much the better for him;" but if such was her opinion, 
 she sent it back from her lips, and answered demurely 
 enough — 
 
 " We are so far out of London, I know it is a great tax 
 upon people to ask them to come to us ; but that is not 
 papa's fault or mine. There we are; and Mr. Gordon 
 knows he is always welcome." 
 
 " Welcome ! Of course he is," said a hearty voice behind 
 them ; and the jolly alderman appeared at the door of the 
 carriage, and smacked John Gordon on the back, and 
 shook hands with Gilbert, and took off his hat, and 
 mopped his bald head, returning his silk handkerchief, as 
 his father had done before him, into the crown. Then 
 turning abruptly to John, asked him — 
 
 " How about Surety and Safe ? " 
 
 " Seventeen and nine in the pound," answered John. 
 
 " And the bales from Liverpool ? " 
 
 " Got the invoice by to-day's post — second delivery." 
 
 " Then I needn't go in there," pursued the alderman, 
 pointing over his shoidder towards his counting-house ; 
 *' and indeed work ought to be over for to-day, and play-
 
 BELLA JONES ^ 
 
 time to begin. Fve done my business, John, and you've 
 done yoico' business ; and as for Mr. Gilbert and my little 
 girl there, they've no business here at all — so much the 
 better for them. Got a handful of trumps apiece, and no 
 thanks to anybody but the dealer. What say you, gentle- 
 men ? Will you jump into the sociable — drive off to the 
 Villa — saddle of Welsh mutton — '34 claret, country air, 
 and a n^bbe^ — wind up with a bit of supper, and just one 
 of the old brandy — bottled before you were born, Mr. 
 Gilbert. Dear, dear, how you boys keep growing up, to 
 be sure ! " 
 
 The alderman had been Gilbert's guardian. As a 
 practical man of business, and not averse to trouble, he 
 had of course been a working one ; and it was hard to 
 say whether he took a greater pride in his former ward, for 
 whom he had a sincere affection, or in the fine fortune which 
 he had nursed so long and tenderly, and the inroads into 
 which he contemplated with the same kind of feeling 
 with which you see a child trampling down and destroying 
 the garden-beds you have raked, and planted, and watered, 
 and put in order for him. It is the urchin's own, and 
 therefore you do not interfere ; but it is provoking, never- 
 theless. He called him Mr. Gilbert still, and considered 
 him a very promising boy, though he was near thirty. 
 
 " You forget, papa," interposed his daughter, who in all 
 such matters was the keeper of the alderman's memory, if 
 not his conscience — " you forget we were engaged to dine 
 with the Bullingdons. This is Blanche Bullingdon's birth- 
 day. You know they are coming to ws on Thursday." 
 
 The latter sentence Avas whispered in her father's ear. 
 I think Miss Bella rather intended it in the light of a 
 suggestion. In good truth, such a star as Gilbert would 
 be no slight acquisition to a suburban dinner-party ; and 
 then if John Gordon took her in to dinner, it would be a 
 day to mark with white chalk, and her happiness would be 
 complete. Bella had accustomed herself to depend rather 
 too much on her staunch ally, the junior partner. 
 
 " The Bullingdons ! My dear, so we are. Very stupid 
 of me to forget, especially as I met Bullingdon this 
 morning, and he bade me be sure and taste the old 
 Madeira — gave a guinea a bottle for it, and cheap at the
 
 100 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 money, as he tells me. Never mind ; I think I can give 
 yon as good. Now, when will you come ? " 
 
 The young men looked at each other as they thought 
 over their engagements. Nothing is so perplexing as a 
 general invitation ; and, though we have each of us our 
 private mcmoria tcchnica, our harmless predilections, that, 
 like the alderman's Madeira at a guinea a bottle, remind 
 us of our wishes or our duties, they are apt to fail us when 
 Cfilled up at such short notice ; and we cjinnot recollect in 
 an instant whether we dine to-morrow with the Bulling- 
 dons, or Duke Humphrey, or elsewhere. 
 
 Bella was accustomed to the part of a hostess ; she now 
 interposed quietly and gracefully — 
 
 " If you have no better engagement, and could come to 
 us on Thursday, we should be delighted. It is very short 
 notice, I know ; but we shall at least have somebody to 
 meet you, and a little music — and you mustn't mind if it's 
 very stupid," pleaded poor Bella, looking apologetically at 
 Mr. Orme. 
 
 Gilbert was already thinking how far he could get out 
 of it. He had even gone so far as to murmur something 
 about a " previous engagement," and an " opera-night," and 
 " hoping some other time," when the alderman, whose 
 hospitality was unbounded, caught him by the arm — 
 
 " Say you'll come, Mr. Gilbert. You've never dined 
 with me yet since I got into the new house. I shall have 
 some turtle, too, by Thursday — don't forget that, Bella — 
 and you'll like BuUingdon. Not one of your dandies, but 
 a rare judge of wine, and the best covert-shot in Hertford- 
 shire. I\Iind you don't fall in love with Blanche, you dog. 
 Eh, Bella ? Then my girl's singing-mistress is to dine 
 with us, and if you're fond of music — which I'm 710/, — 
 you'll have enough of it in the evening. She's an extra- 
 ordinary woman that — plays as good a hand at whist as 
 
 Major A ; and as for singing, people who are good 
 
 judges say there isn't a voice in London to equal Mrs. 
 Latimer's." 
 
 Mrs. Latimer's ! Gilbert's heart gave such a jump 
 against the cigar-case in his breast-pocket as almost broke 
 a recjalia. 
 
 Then he needn't pump John Gordon and show himself
 
 BELLA JONES 101 
 
 up, after all. Here was the worthy alderman, a rosy Dei63 
 ex machind, entreating him as a favour to come and meet 
 the very person ho would willingly have hunted all over 
 London to see. Dine with him ? Of course ho would 
 dine with him. He remembered at that moment he 
 was solemnly pledged for Thursday to his great-uncle the 
 bishop, a prelate of rigorous opinions, who would never 
 forgive him. What matter ? Had it been St. Paul, he 
 must have thrown him over. " He should be delighted," 
 he said ; and, indeed, he looked delighted. His eye 
 sparkled, and the languid indolent manner seemed all at 
 once to wake up into interest and life. The change could 
 not but be remarked. John Gordon attributed it to 
 Bella's beaux yeux, and wondered somewhat uncomfortably 
 whether Gilbert admired her only because he had seen her 
 so little, and she was so ditferent from the young ladies to 
 whom he was accustomed. The alderman opined it was 
 his mention of turtle that produced this beneficial change ; 
 whilst Miss Jones was quite content to take things as 
 they were, and congratulated herself on having secured 
 such an effective addition to their dinner-party. She was 
 satisfied, too, about John ; for she knew his face so well as 
 to see that he intended to come, at a glance. Altogether, 
 Thursday's banquet promised to go off well ; and as the 
 sociable rattled away towards the Regent's Park, the two 
 young men looked after it, with marked approval depicted 
 on their respective countenances. 
 
 " What a nice, unaffected, good-humoured girl that is ! " 
 said Gilbert, kicking back the half-doors ot his hansom to 
 let his companion in. " She's not exactly a beauty, but she's 
 very fresh and pleasant-looking. She wouldn't make a 
 fellow at all a bad Avife, now, if he wanted that kind of 
 thing. Do for you, John, only she isn't haU swell enough." 
 
 Many a random shaft hits the white. John's ideal, if he 
 had permitted his well-regulated mind to entertain such a 
 tormentor, would indeed have been a lady of far different 
 calibre from Bella Jones — would have been a haughty, 
 high-born damsel, clever, and scornful, and perhaps a little 
 wayward ; one who would have flouted him, and worried 
 him, and given ample occasion for the exercise of that 
 self-command of which he was so proud, all the pleasure of
 
 103 GOOD FOB NOTHING 
 
 dear-bought victory in moulding her to his will. So he 
 answered, frankly and unhesitatingly — 
 
 " The best little girl in England — worth her weight in 
 gold, and she can't be less than ton stone. I don't know 
 what the alderman would do without her." 
 
 Further conversation was rendered impossible by the 
 incessant noise of a great city thoroughfare. The hansom, 
 however, well-horsed and skilfully driven, kept its time. 
 Lord Holyhead had not waited above four minutes, or 
 cursed his friend's unpunctuality more than that number 
 of times, ere Gilbert was seated by his side, and the 
 American horse doing his best to step with his comrade, 
 and elicit the Englishman's approval. 
 
 But in despite of fine weather and " water-souchee," 
 despite of " maids of honour " and sweet champagne, the 
 llichmond dinner did not go off satisfactorily. Charley 
 Wing's invincible spirits and radiant smiles enlivened the 
 thing for a while, but it is hard for a single individual 
 to find gaiety for five, and even Charley caught him- 
 self more than once sujapressing a ya^vn and voting the 
 matter " dead slow " in his heart of hearts. Landless ate 
 and drank, as he always did, for a dozen, and varied but 
 little indeed from his normal state of twaddling anecdote 
 and comatose affixbility; but he had really told that story 
 about George IV. and a " Trifle from Brighton " so often 
 that it was a bore, and when the claret was pushed round 
 (and claret at these entertainments always is a failure), 
 and he began to expatiate on his own losses and reverses 
 in early life, there was no resource left but a general 
 break-up to cigars and coifee. 
 
 Holyhead did his duty with the hospitality of an Arab, 
 but his gaiety was evidently forced, and a cloud lowered 
 on his brow, portending, to those who knew him well, the 
 brewing of a storm, which, had he not been the giver of 
 the feast, would have burst forth long ago. Gilbert was 
 excessively silent, provokingly absent, and wished he 
 hadn't come. Madame Bravoura's aunt, of whom nobody 
 ever knew the name, was deaf, and to all appearance 
 half-witted. She seldom opened her mouth except to 
 take in stores, and was indeed remarkable for nothing 
 but her infirmities, and an enormous cameo brooch, which
 
 BELLA JONES lOS 
 
 Was stuck into her person immediately below her double 
 chin. Why Madame persisted in taking this old lady 
 everywhere, nobody exactly made out. There were all 
 sorts of stories as to the relationship and reciprocal 
 obligations between the pair, but none were founded on 
 probability. My own opinion is that she was the Signora's 
 mother, and that the attention paid her by the latter 
 was one of the few redeeming points in that reprehensible 
 person's character, though why she did not openly avow 
 the maternity I am at loss to imagine. 
 
 Now, it is hard when the " skeleton at the feast " has 
 come there by invitation — nay, harder still when the 
 feast has been made on purpose for the skeleton. In the 
 present instance, Madame Bravoura thought fit to enact 
 the part of the unwelcome convive — not physically indeed, 
 for Madame's proportions were ample and her crinoline 
 abundant; but in a moral, or, perhaps, I should rather 
 say, in an aesthetic sense, she sat there in her bones. 
 Something had occurred to put her out on her way down. 
 As Charley Wing observed, she had an "easy temper, 
 easily aroused," and she determined to revenge herself on 
 the whole party, and especially " Olli-ead," as she called 
 him, by putting everything a tort ct cl travers. The 
 surest method of doing this was obviously to make 
 furious love to Gilbert Orme, and the Signora, no inex- 
 perienced practitioner, addressed herself to the task with 
 considerable skill and perseverance. There is nothing- 
 more amusing than to watch a gentleman undergoing this 
 process at the hands of the fair. Charley Wing indeed, 
 who was used to it, would have remained perfectly passive 
 and imperturbable under any amount of such persecution ; 
 he considered it as one of the duties he owed to society, 
 and went through it deliberately and Avith edifying 
 gravity, but it was no use attacking hi7)i. Young Wing 
 was a sort of privileged pet, supposed to be, as doubtless 
 he was, perfectly harmless. The most careful shepherd 
 would trust him implicitly with any or all of his lambs — 
 the most rabid Othello send him home, and welcome, in 
 the brougham with Desdemona. Bravoura might have 
 sat on his knee and lit his cigar for him, without calling 
 up a passing fi'own on Holyhead's brow. " He didn't so
 
 104 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 much mind Chivrley ;" but Orme was a man of a different 
 calibre altogether, and, under the circumstances, his 
 lordship thought, with justice, she need not have been so 
 demonstrative. 
 
 Gilbert fought off as much as he could. Annoyed on 
 Holyhead's account, and disgusted on his own, his answers 
 became shorter, and his manner more distant, as the 
 Signora grew more affectionate. She scarcely spoke to 
 any of the others ; she drank wine with him at dinner, 
 asked his opinion as to everything she was to eat, and 
 finally lit her cigarette from his cigar, and puffed a volume 
 of smoke in his face with her harsh laugh, as she vowed 
 he was the only man in London the least scion son gcdt, 
 and that he must come and see her in Italy, where she 
 would go back as quick as ever she could, directly her 
 odious engagement in horrid England was over. She 
 flashed a glance of surpassing wrath at Holyhead as she 
 spoke, who kept his tem})er admirably, though with an 
 effort. Charley Wing tried to make the conversation 
 general, and old Landless edged in a request for a veri/ 
 small quantity of hot brandy-and- water ; but the Signora 
 pushed the siege vigorously, and was not to be repulsed. 
 
 The brandy came, and with it the announcement that 
 the carriages were at the door. Dipping a lump of sugar 
 into a liqueur-glass of the spirit, Bravoura popped it into 
 Gilbert's mouth. 
 
 " Vous voyez que je suis femme galantcmoif" said the 
 lady, in her most brazen tones, and, indeed, there was no 
 occasion to proclaim the fact ; " et je vmts dis que je vous 
 trouve cliariiiant," backing this unequivocal declaration by 
 an offer of a lift back to London in " Olli-ead's" brougham, 
 between herself and the deaf aunt. 
 
 Even Landless was startled. 
 
 " That's what they call at sea a stoppeo' over all" said 
 the old pleixsure-seeker, finishing his tumbler at a gulp. 
 
 The gentleman excused himself on the plea tliat he 
 must go back as he came «lown ; " he wanted to smoke," 
 he said, " and preferred an open carriage for that pur{)ose;" 
 and Holyhead gave him an affectionate squeeze of the 
 arm that made him wince, as they emerged into the 
 portico to ascend the phaeton.
 
 BELLA JONES 105 
 
 " How do you fellows get back ? " said his lordship, as 
 the American horse reared straight on end when he felt 
 the collar. Of course neither of them knew, so it was 
 settled that Landless should return on the box of the 
 brougham, and Charley in the narrow place that Bravoura 
 had offered Gilbert inside. Pending this arrangement, 
 however, the American horse would wait no longer, and 
 the phaeton dashed otf at the rate of sixteen miles an 
 hour — a pace that was kept up without remark from 
 either of the passengers for some miles. As they neared 
 Kensington, Holyhead took a pull at his horses, and 
 looking down in his friend's face, broke the silence as 
 follows — 
 
 " Curious creatures women, Gilbert. I don't think I'll 
 have anything more to do with tJoat one ! " 
 
 They are curious creatures : that one was in the 
 brougham a couple of miles behind him, crying as if her 
 heart would break ; and although Charley Wing was a 
 wary youth, who preserved on all topics in which the fair 
 sex were concerned a discreet silence, it might have been 
 gathered from his subsequent demeanour at his club, that 
 he had made a good many pleasanter journeys than the 
 drive home that night from Richmond.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 " ALARMS — A SKIRMISH " 
 
 Thursday came, and was ushered in by a lowering 
 morning that gradually settled into a pouring wet day — - 
 an honest straight-down summer's rain, that soaks you to 
 the skin in ten minutes, and makes the lig^ht-coloured 
 garment you have been rash enough to adopt in the 
 metropolis look as if it had been dipped in ink. The 
 cab-stands were empty as the great desert, save where 
 an occasional arrival, with splashed panels and steaming 
 horse, made its appearance for an instant, to be beckoned 
 away again by a fresh fare ere the driver had time to 
 lay his whip athwart the roof of the conveyance, and give 
 his many capes a shake like that of a Newfoundland dog. 
 Hapless pedestrians of both sexes floundered doggedly 
 along, fording the deepest crossings with a defiant 
 recklessness that had proved the worst ; whilst those 
 who wore petticoats encumbered their limbs as little as 
 possible with drapery, and displayed their draggled white 
 stockings without reserve. The man who alwaj^s looks 
 over the flrst-floor blinds in wet weather, the man whose 
 countenance is of a forbidding cast, and chiefly expressive 
 of blank dismay, occupied his post as usual, retreating at 
 intervals with more than common caution into the dusky 
 recesses of his den. Everybody wtxs draggled and dreary 
 and desponding, save only the London urchin, a stoic 
 whose philosophy is proof against all extraneous influences, 
 and whose equanimity wet and cold, hunger and thirst, 
 scorching skies and nipping frosts, are equally powerless 
 
 m
 
 'ALARMS- A SKIRMISH' 107 
 
 to overcome. Wrapped in a scanty drapery, apparently 
 formed from a discarded coal-sack, he stepped jauntily 
 along ; his whistle retained its customary richness and 
 volume, his accompaniment against the area-railings its 
 energy and precision. His sense of the ludicrous had 
 lost nothing of its keenness, his wit nothing of its 
 colloquial freedom, his remarkable demeanour none of its 
 eccentricity and self-reliance. 
 
 Inside their houses, at least, people ought to have been 
 cheerful and good-humoured, glad to have a roof over 
 their heads and dry clothes on their backs. I doubt, how- 
 ever, if it was so. Bad weather with the unoccupied is 
 apt to produce bad humour. The domestic barometer is 
 not uninfluenced by the outward atmosphere. When the 
 material quicksilver stands at " much rain," it is well to 
 provide a moral umbrella in the shape of forbearance and 
 long-sufifering ; when it gets down to " stormy," it is 
 advisable to look out for squalls. 
 
 Those right honourable dames, the Ladies Gertrude and 
 Olivia, did not lose the opportunity. To do them justice, 
 it was but on rare occasions — perhaps three or four times 
 in a season — that they indulged in a grand " passage of 
 arms." Such encounters, I am bound to admit, seldom 
 originated with the younger lady, whose spirit, though 
 easily roused against anything like injustice, was not of 
 an aggressive kind. To-day, however, she was unquestion- 
 ably the invader. It would seem by her tactics that she 
 had meditated an attack for some little time. 
 
 Lady Olivia was in the habit of passing her mornings 
 in a small apartment off her principal drawing-room, 
 which she called her boudoir. In this retreat she cast up 
 her accounts, wrangled with her butler, ordered dinner, 
 worked in worsteds, and dozed over a good book. It was, 
 in short, her ladyship's own especial sanctum, and the 
 locality was avoided, not to say dreaded, by her intimates 
 and relatives. Even John Gordon's stout heart seldom 
 brought him voluntarily within its precincts ; so she was 
 a little surpris-ed to receive an unasked visit from Lady 
 Gertrude, who made her entrance with rather more sweep 
 and rustle of her draperies than was consistent with pacific 
 intentions, and did not forget to shut the door after her
 
 108 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 with considerable energy. The Gonfalon was flung abroad 
 — the first shot wa.s fired. Lady Olivia, nothing loth, 
 cle<ared for action forthwith. 
 
 "Aunt Olivia, can you match me this piece of yellow 
 silk ? " was the insidious question, under cover of which 
 the younger lady made, so to speak, her first advance. 
 
 The frown deepened on Lady Olivia's dark forehead into 
 a dent between her eyebrows. 
 
 " What do you want it for ? " she asked abruptly, and 
 by no means with the courteous manner of one who is 
 disposed to grant a favour. 
 
 " For my cousin's slippers," answered the other inno- 
 cently. " I want to get them done by the end of the 
 month. Poor Gilbert will be so disappointed if he don't 
 have them on his birthday ! " 
 
 Now, these slippers had been a bone of contention ever 
 since the first stitch had been put into their elaborate toes. 
 Lady Olivia's unnatural dislike of her son had increased of 
 late to an unreasonable pitch. She was jealous of his 
 position, of his fortune, of his popularity — above all, of his 
 favour with his cousin. If she could be said to love any- 
 body in the world it was Gertrude ; and, strange to say, 
 the misfortune which she dreaded more than anything on 
 earth was the possibility of her only son and her favourite 
 niece being united in marriage. 
 
 "Sit down, Gertrude," she said, with much dignity; "I 
 want to speak to you." 
 
 Lady Gertrude sat down with the air of a princess. 
 Her heart beat a thought quicker, and her bright eye 
 sparkled. She felt the gaudia ccrtaminis coming on — 
 the Berserkar's noble ecstasy, modified only by sex and 
 situation. She sniffed the approach of battle, the little 
 vixen, and enjoyed its savour. 
 
 " Do you think it is either prudent or becoming," com- 
 menced the elder lady, steadying her voice with an effort 
 not lost on her antagonist, " to be always occupied in 
 this manner about Gilbert V Why is Gilbert to be made 
 the first person in this house ? Why is everything to be 
 deferred to Gilbert — nobody's opinion asked, nobody's 
 wishes consulted but Gilbert's? I have often hinted to 
 you, Gertrude, that there is much to displease and distress
 
 'ALARMS— A SKIRMISH' 109 
 
 me in the terms on which you choose to consider yourself 
 ■with Gilbert. Now, I must speak out. A young person 
 in your condition cannot be too careful ; and I must beg 
 that these tetc-a-tete walks and interchange of notes and 
 undue familiarities be put a stop to, once for all. Re- 
 member, Lady Gertrude, that he is not your brother, but 
 your cousin — that his only connexion with you is through 
 me ; and you must yourself see — and it ought to shock and 
 distress you much — if you had a particle of right feeling 
 — that he does not treat me like a mother." 
 
 She was a skilful fighter, Lady Olivia, and her blade 
 had never rusted for want of practice ; but in the present 
 instance she had got her guard the least thing too high. 
 The adversary had expected it, watching for it, and now 
 went in under it like lightning — 
 
 " Do you treat him like a son ? " she broke in, with 
 flashing eyes and quick-coming breath. " Do you ever 
 think it worth while to consult him on a single thing you 
 do ? Do you ever interest yourself in his pursuits or his 
 occupations ? Have you not taught him that this is the 
 house in London in which he is least welcome, and that 
 make his home where he will, it shall not be here ! Aunt 
 Olivia, I will speak out. Gilbert is going to the dogs as 
 fast as ever he can ; and although I do not deny that he 
 has his faults like other people, nobody will be so much 
 to blame for his ruin as his own mamma." 
 
 Lady Olivia was staggered. For some months she had 
 suspected that her niece — to borrow an expression from 
 the manege, — was getting a little " out of her hand." She 
 never dreamed, though, that the young lady would break 
 away in so determined a fashion as this. She enjoyed, 
 however, the best of fighting temperaments — that which 
 gets colder and harder the more sharply it is struck ; so 
 she rallied her forces, and answered very loftily — 
 
 " Indeed, Lady Gertrude, I have yet to learn that it is 
 my niece's province to teach me my duty towards my son. 
 May I ask, moreover, in what manner that unprincipled 
 young man is ' going to the dogs,' as you elegantly 
 express it, more effectually this season than usual ? " 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Olivia, how can you talk in that cold heartless 
 juanner ? Surely you are in the way of hearing all that is
 
 110 GOOD FOR NOTEIKG 
 
 said about him, when it reaches even my ears ? /am not 
 ignorant of his ill-choyen friendships and foolish intimacies. 
 He is losing himself completely amongst a bad set, and 
 nobody, not even his mother, thinks it worth while to 
 stretch a hand to save him. Aunt Olivia, do you know 
 that he gambles — that he lost ever so much last week at 
 Newmarket, and that if he goes on like this he will be 
 ruined by the end of the year ? " 
 
 " I'm never surprised at hearing of my son's folly," 
 answered his mother. " He rejected my advice once for 
 all when he came of age, and I washed my hands of him 
 from that time forth. I think I know my duty, Lady 
 Gertrude, better than you can teach it me." 
 
 " At all events I have done mine," retorted the girl. 
 " I had determined to appeal to you, to rouse you, to show 
 you how unkind and harsh you have been to Gilbert. 
 Poor fellow ! Listen to me, Aunt Olivia. He has never 
 had a chance — he has never had a home. If we do 
 nothing for him here, I can see he will go irremediably to 
 ruin." 
 
 " Perhaps you would like to reclaim him yourself, and 
 give him a home of which you should be the mistress ? " 
 retorted the other, in her hard sarcastic tones. " In my 
 time young ladies used to wait till they were asked, and 
 did not fling themselves gratuitously at a gentleman's 
 head, simply because the gentleman was utterly unprin- 
 cipled and good for nothing." 
 
 Lady Gertrude rose to her feet. If such had been her 
 wish equally with her intention, this home-thrust would 
 probably have finished the contest once for all. The 
 wound, however, though sufficiently painful, did not bleed 
 inwardly, and she had strength to huld her own. 
 
 " Say that again, aunt, and I leave the house, if I have 
 to walk without my bonnet through the rain," was her 
 spirited reply ; and she marched back into the drawing- 
 room with head up and Gonfalon waving, and, indeed, all 
 the honours of war. It was a drawn battle, but hers had 
 been the assault ; and as she retreated in good order, she 
 could not but think that at least she had lost no advan- 
 tage, and had gained a certain pf'cstiyc by the very bold- 
 ness of her attack. She liked her cousin, too, very much.
 
 'ALARMS-A SKIRMISW 111 
 
 She thought him, as indeed he was, unfortunate in his 
 domestic relations. She pitied him with a gentle womanly 
 pity, and felt for him all the more kindly that she had 
 ruffled her own and her aunt's feathers on his behalf; but 
 she was scarcely in a frame of mind to balance at that 
 moment the advantages and disadvantages of the match 
 to which the latter had so coarsely alluded ; and as, how- 
 ever near akin pity may be to love, nothing irritates a 
 woman so much as the idea of being won unwooed, it is 
 probable that Gilbert lost more than he gained in his 
 cousin's regard by the above passage of arms in Lady 
 Olivia's boudoir. 
 
 Its occupant sat and nursed her wrath "to keep it 
 warm." Strange to say, it was excited not against the 
 niece who had defied her, but against her son. The more 
 she thought of his advantages, his position, his independ- 
 ence of herself, the more she felt hurt and irritated that 
 he should be thus able to neglect her counsels, and set at 
 nought her authority. It is a sad and morbid feeling, 
 that jealousy of a parent towards a child. Like all such 
 passions, it is strong in proportion as it is unnatural. He 
 was the same Gilbert from whose affection she had turned 
 so wilfully when he was a winning urchin. In his prime 
 of manhood, beloved and admired by all, her heart 
 hardened itself against him more bitterly and resolutely 
 than ever. She thought of Lady Gertrude's beauty, of 
 her success in society, of her noble birth and patrician 
 bearing, of her thirty thousand pounds — for the young 
 lady was quite independent of her heart, and hers was no 
 empty threat when she talked of leaving the house. The 
 more she thought, the more determined she became that 
 her son should not carry off the prize. 
 
 Hour after hour passed away. The weather cleared, 
 the sun shone forth, the trees in the square flickered and 
 glistened in the light. Open carriages splashed through 
 the streets, and the Babylonians emerged, gaudy and 
 gladsome, like butterflies after a storm ; but still Lady 
 Olivia sat in her dreary boudoir, and still the frown 
 deepened on her forehead, and still the gloom closed in 
 darker and darker about her heart. 
 
 The drones, you see, are not so very happy after all,
 
 112 GOOD FOE NOTHING 
 
 because they are drones. The normal condition of this 
 terrestrial hive of ours seems to be something between a 
 struggle and a crawl. If labour is not thrust upon us, we 
 make it or purchase it fur ourselves ; and as I have been 
 informed, by those who have experienced its disci})lin©, 
 that the treadmill entails far more exhaui?tive exertions 
 than any honest method of bread winning, so the artificial 
 difficulties which we pile up in our own way are harder to 
 surmount than those which nature provides for our exer- 
 cise. One of the bees has had a severe day of it — gather- 
 ing honey in the rain ; her gauzy wings have been soaked 
 and draggled, her flight weary and long sustained, the 
 flowers which she has probed not always the sweetest or 
 most attractive in the garden. To descend from meta- 
 phor into plain English, Mrs. Latimer has done a good 
 day's work — teaching stupid pupils, relieved by interven- 
 ing wrangles with unreasonable cabmen. She has got 
 very wet, but she has no time to catch cold. She is very 
 weary, but feels neither out of spirits nor out of humour ; 
 and she sits down in her homely lodging to a cup of tea, 
 in such a frame of mind as Lady Olivia in her fine house 
 does not experience once in a twelvemonth. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Latimer ! She has not manv relaxations, and 
 to-day is one to be marked with white chalk, because she 
 is going to a dinner-party at an alderman's villa in the 
 Regent's Park. Think of this, you fine ladies, who can 
 scarce get through one-half of your pleasure engagements ! 
 — ^j'ou who have two or three gatherings to attend every 
 night in the week — who grudge the labour of dining with 
 your cousin over the way, unless the right people be 
 invited to meet you, and who, even if the right people do 
 come, are thinking half the time about when you shall get 
 away to go somewhere else. How would you like to give 
 lessons in Bloomsbury at nine in the morning, and in 
 Bayswater at five in the afternoon ? — to " rise up early, 
 and late take rest," in order to earn the " bread of careful- . 
 ness," that bitter morsel which alone foils to justify the 
 proverb that you cannot " eat your cake and have it " ? — 
 to live from hand to mouth, and f(!el that a day's illness 
 or a day's idleness is literally an irreparable loss ? — and to 
 look upon a party at Alderman Jones' as the acme of
 
 'ALARMS -A SKIRMISH' 113 
 
 gaiety and dissipation ? Perhaps you would be happier 
 than you are now ! As in your own gorgeous dinners a la 
 JRusse, so in your artificial lives, there are many rare 
 exotics and many tempting fruits placed before you which 
 you must neither taste nor touch — you are but at a 
 Barmecide banquet after all. The lip may be never so 
 dry, but you dare not stretch your hand for the forbidden 
 apple ; and the waters of Mara, like the waters of Vichy, 
 are none the more palatable because you drain them from 
 a cup of gold. 
 
 Mrs. Latimer sat over her tea, and enjoyed the luxury of 
 rest. She was naturally of a hopeful, sunshiny disposition ; 
 and although her lot had been one to damp the animal 
 spirits and cloud the gaiety of heart which belonged to 
 her temperament, there were times when the light tvould 
 break through, when the buds would put forth their leaves, 
 and, if only for half-an-hour, the desert would smile and 
 " blossom like the rose." 
 
 To-day was one of these hopeful occasions. The lodging 
 seemed more cheerful than usual — the engagements, each 
 of which represented a definite amount of the " necessary 
 evil," more numerous. That was doubtless a very pretty 
 dinner-dress spread out yonder on the bed, with its deli- 
 cate white skirts and its black bows and ribbons. Ada 
 was a woman, after all. She could not but look in the 
 glass and be well content with what she saw there — such 
 a gloss on the soft smooth hair, and a colour on her cheek 
 like a rose after the rain ! She turned away with a smile 
 and a sigh, yet the expression of her face certainly denoted 
 neither dissatisfaction nor despondency. She anticipated 
 her evening's amusement with calm gratification, and she 
 did not look forward an inch beyond. It was as well for 
 her that she did not ! And yet, could she have foreseen 
 the results of that night's entertainment, it is possible 
 that the white dress, despite its killing bows, might have 
 been consigned unworn to its place in the wardrobe.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 "DINNER IS ON THE TABLE!" 
 
 " Mr. Orme, you have not been introduced to the parrot," 
 said Miss Jones, as, rustling about in her capacity of 
 hostess, she endeavoured to relieve the awkwardness of 
 that five minutes before dinner, during Avhich English 
 people who do not know each other seem to cherish such 
 deadly enmity towards those with whom they are going 
 to sit at meat. Now, the parrot was an invaluable aid on 
 such occasions — his vocabulary was so extensive, compris- 
 ing many professional exclamations picked up on his 
 voyage home, and less startling " between decks " than in 
 a London drawing-room — his musical attainments were so 
 varied. He could sing "I'd be a Butterfly," part of "The 
 Ratcatcher's Dausfhter," and the first bar of " Beautiful 
 Venice!" and his general accomplislimcnts Avere so con- 
 stantly on the increase — for he caught up any sound or 
 expression often repeated — that he was a fund of conversa- 
 tion in himself " Polly, you must be civil to Mr. Orme." 
 
 " Ay, ay, sir ! " answered the bird in his goblin notes, 
 and with a shrill whistle dashed at once into the popular 
 couplet, " She was not born in Westminster," and then 
 stuck his head on one side and looked up so knowingly, 
 that Gilbert could but laugh ; and his subsequent intro- 
 duction to Miss pjuUingdon and Mrs. Latimer, the latter 
 of whom he had recognised directly he entered the room, 
 lost much of its formalit}', and placed the three at once 
 upon terms of easy politeness. 
 
 Miss Jones, meanwhile, walked off to do her duty by
 
 'DINNER IS ON TEE TABLE!' liS 
 
 Mrs. Bullingdon, The alderman, ruddy and radiant, and 
 thoroughly in his glory, rang for dinner ; and Miss Blanche 
 stole a good look upward at her new acquaintance, and 
 thought in her virgin heart he might be a desirable 
 conquest — at all events, there was no harm in trying. 
 
 Gilbert was the latest arrival. Truth compels me to 
 confess, he was so ashamed of his childish impatience that 
 he had waited ten minutes after he was dressed before he 
 permitted himself to get into his cab. Five of these he 
 made up by overdriving his horse, and the other five 
 brought him to the exact nick of time at which the alder- 
 man ordered dinner. He had not, therefore, much leisure 
 to improve his acquaintance with the two ladies who hung 
 with him over the parrot's cage. 
 
 Mrs. Latimer was no whit different from what he expect- 
 ed — neither plainer nor handsomer, nor more nor less 
 becomingly dressed. Before he had been three minutes 
 in the room with her, it seemed as though in some 
 previous stage of being, or in some inexplicable manner, 
 they must have known each other before. This Pythar 
 gorean introduction, however, did not appear to have 
 placed him much at his ease. London man as he was, 
 for the first time in his life he found himself dying to 
 speak to a woman, and at a loss for something to say. 
 
 Miss Bullingdon, however, was resolved to lose no time, 
 and commenced operations on him forthwith : — " Did he 
 like parrots ? Was he fond of birds ? Had he a bullfinch 
 of his own ? She herself possessed a canary and a pair of 
 love-birds. Did Mr. Orme admire love-birds ? The worst 
 of them was, that if one died, the other was sure to 
 pine away and die too. Wasn't it pretty of them ? — they 
 always did so — or," as Miss Blanche touchingly remarked, 
 " they wouldn't be love-birds ! " 
 
 Mrs. Latimer smiled ; Gilbert laughed outright ; and at 
 this pathetic juncture the butler entered with the welcome 
 announcement of " Dinner ! " 
 
 So the party paired off, the alderman offering his arm 
 to Mrs. Bullingdon, and finding even his own capacious 
 doorways much too small for the passage of two such 
 " first-raters " alongside ; Bullingdon following with Mrs. 
 Latimer, and thinking, we may be sure, much more of the
 
 UG GOOD FOR NOTHINO 
 
 good thin(]^s in store for him than of the lad}' on his arm ; 
 John Gordon coupled with Blanche Bullingdon, somewhat 
 to Bella's disappointment; and that yomig lady herself, in 
 her right of hostess, under the care of Gilbert, as being 
 the principal person of the party. Th(i rear was brought 
 tip by two stray men, City friends of their host — the one 
 an innocuous young gentleman of no particular calibre, 
 who always agreed with everybody ; the other an old 
 wizened individual, in a black stock, and one-eyed, bent, 
 shnmk, and faded, Avith the star of a bullet-mark on his 
 cheekbone. What a life had his been compared to any of 
 the others ! He had led three forlorn hopes, had been 
 broke by court-martial ; had married a West Indian 
 heiress, been ruined, divorced ; had been a slave-dealer, 
 perhaps a pirate ; commanded a free corps in South 
 America, and managed a mining company in Paraguay; 
 had seen life in all its most thrilling phases and in its 
 most varied \ips and downs. Now he lived in a lodging 
 in Long Acre, and was glad to get a good dinner when 
 he was invited to one, and a chop and pint of ale for a 
 shilling when he was not. 
 
 On entering the dining-room and taking Miss Jones to 
 the farther end, Gilbert found that Fate had been pro- 
 pitious, and that the vacant chair for his occupation was 
 between Mrs. Latimer and his young hostess. John 
 Gordon, too, was on the other side of the latter, so that, 
 when the turtle was handed round, at least three of the 
 guests were quite satisfied with the disposition of the 
 party. Bella, with her high colour and black hair, looked 
 very Avell in a deep pink dress, a little overdone with 
 trimming, and '' did the honours," as ladies call it, grace- 
 fully enough. Her slight touch of shyness was less awk- 
 ward than engaging. The alderman, at the bottom of the 
 table, actually shone with good-humour. The turtle was 
 clear and excellent, its green fat glutinous and abundant. 
 " The blest sherbert sublimed with snow " had been but 
 ditch-water compared with the ice-punch. When it 
 gurgled over Bullingdon's organs of deglutition, wrapped 
 as they were in an acre of starch and cambric, that 
 worthy's whole countenance and demeanour softened to 
 the genial influence.
 
 'DINNER IS ON THE TABLE." 117 
 
 Jones winked deliberately at his old friend. 
 
 " It's the same article, Squire," said he ; " not bad to 
 take, if you only take enough of it. Have another 
 glass." 
 
 Will anybody tell me why his intimates almost always 
 dub a Hertfordshire proprietor with the generic title of 
 " Squire " ? 
 
 Red mullet packs very easily above turtle. Sweet and 
 dry champagne taste none the worse that they have been 
 preceded by cold punch. The alderman prided himself 
 on his dinners. Ere he had entered his own walk in the 
 haunch, e/erybody's tongue seemed loosened, and the 
 ladies began to show more of their ftices and less of 
 their shoulders to their immediate neighbours. Mrs. 
 Bullingdon, a person of limited views, took advantage 
 of her host's operations on the venison to engage the 
 indefinite youth on such topics as she was capable of 
 originating — 
 
 " How nice it was to get out into the country ! And 
 was not the Regent's Park a delightful locality ? " 
 
 He agreed with Mrs. Bullingdon most completely. 
 
 " It was wrong, though, to allow the Zoological to be 
 open to any one on Sundays, The Society were very 
 much to blame. In all other respects they managed it 
 admirably. Did he not think so ? " 
 
 Mrs. Bullingdon's opinions and his own coincided in 
 every particular. 
 
 " She was there only last Monday with B. It was very 
 sweet about sunset, after the beasts were fed." 
 
 Again he agreed with her, though I do not, wondering 
 feebly, as he was ignorant of her name, what B. was, and 
 inclining to think it must be a pet of some description — 
 possibly a poodle. 
 
 B. in the meantime, albeit attending earnestly to the 
 main object of the entertainment, found leisure to relate 
 to his neighbour with one eye the particulars of his last 
 battue at Bullingdon Butts, where he resided ; and the 
 battered old adventurer, who had seen blood flow like 
 water, and whose game, for many a year of his strange 
 life, had been the unfeathered biped, listened with 
 the utmost deference and attention. He respected
 
 118 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 Bullingdon because he looked " the sort of man that would 
 give you a good dinner." 
 
 " Bella, dear, how are you getting on up there ? " quoth 
 the alderman, as a pause in his labours, and the placing of 
 something en tortuc before his daughter, enabled him to 
 take breath and look about him ; " I hope you take care 
 of Mr. Gilbert. It's your deal, you know. I daresay 
 John Gordon will cut for you. John, a glass of wine. 
 Squire, will you join us ? " 
 
 Bullingdon savoured every drop of the golden liquid as 
 it passed slowly down beneath the tie of his neckcloth ; 
 then he smacked his great lips and expressed his 
 appro \'al — 
 
 "It's good wine, Jones; good champagne, and just 
 enough iced. You got it from Paris. There's no more 
 left. I had the last of the batch myself" 
 
 No compliment could be greater. The alderman was 
 delighted. Happy the man who can be so easily 
 pleased ! 
 
 Independent of her juxtaposition to John Gordon, 
 which of itself was sufficient to make her a little pre- 
 occupied, Bella was a young hostess, and, unconsciously, 
 somewhat fidgety about the success of the entertainment. 
 Consequently, Gilbert's efforts to amuse her often fell 
 short of the mark ; and as he observed her eye and her 
 attention equally fixed elsewhere, ho had himself the 
 more leisure to follow his own inclinations, and improve 
 his acquaintance Avith the guest whose face and tones he 
 knew too well ])0ssessed for him a peculiar fascination. 
 
 Gilbert ! Gilbert ! will you take no warning ? What is 
 this very instinct but a placard, so to speak, advertising 
 you that the ice is " dangerous " ? On you skate reck- 
 lessly, though it cracks and sw\ays beneath you. In you 
 will go overhead. What a ducking you will have ! 
 Perhaps you will never get your head above the surface 
 again ! 
 
 I have heard it affirmed by the vanity of man, that if 
 you would make the agreeable to a fair neighbour at the 
 dinner-table, it is judicious to abstain from hurrying her 
 at first, and to give her plenty of time to settle before 
 you commence operations. When she has pecked at her
 
 * DINNER IS ON THE TABLE!' 119 
 
 food, like some dainty bird, and sipped at her champagne, 
 and had, moreover, leisure to look about her, and to think, 
 " Is he going to speak to me or not ? " it is time enough 
 to hazard your first observation. This is probably a 
 harmless platitude, provoking an equally harmless reply ; 
 but from that moment your boat is launched. You are 
 afloat ou the stream that leads — who knows where ? Dieu 
 vous garde ! If you get capsized, you are more likely to 
 sink than to swim. 
 
 Ada had stolen a good look at her neighbour whilst he 
 was dutifully conversing with Miss Jones. In her heart 
 she distinctly approved of what she saw. His exterior 
 was sufficiently pleasing to the feminine eye. His manner 
 had a charm in it that seldom failed to work its way. It 
 was far more refined, and at the same time more natural, 
 than that of the men whom she was accustomed to meet, 
 or of those who belonged to the dissipated set in which 
 her husband used to live. The German blood, too, stirred 
 within her, to sympathise with a certain leavening of 
 ideality and romance, which all the conventionalities of 
 society could not completely hide. His voice, too, was 
 very taking and kindl3^ When he turned to her with the 
 simplest observation about some dish on the table, she 
 could not but feel and show that she was pleased, and she 
 answered with more animation than was usual in the 
 staid and retiring music-mistress. 
 
 They soon got deep into conversation. They talked of 
 her mother's country and her mother's tongue. When 
 Gilbert got rid of his dandyism he was worth listening 
 to ; and on the present occasion there was a tone of soft- 
 ness in his voice, a shade almost of embarrassment in his 
 manner, such as women are very quick to detect, and 
 which the haughtiest of them cannot but accept as an 
 involuntary tribute of admiration. They liked the same 
 places, the same books, the same flowers, the same 
 music; and her eye sparkled and deepened, while her 
 cheek glowed with the unwonted pleasure of a kindred 
 spirit's converse, though only for an hour at a dinner- 
 table. 
 
 " Do you know, Mrs. Latimer," said he, looking straight 
 " jo her f^ce with frank honest eyes, " that I have heartl
 
 120 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 you sing ? " And ho went on to tell her of his attend- 
 ance at the concert, and the delight he had experienced 
 (only he rather broke down in the confession) at her song ; 
 all this quite simply, and as if her singing in public was 
 as much a matter of course as her being there. She 
 liked him all the better. She was pleased to feel that he 
 thought none the lower of her that she did not belong to 
 his own sphere of society ; and her own tact acknowledged 
 the intuitive delicac}' by which he was certain that she 
 would shrink no more from the allusion than he did him- 
 self. She thought she would like him to hear that song 
 once again, not in public, but sung on purpose for Jmn. 
 Ada, too, was enterinti; unawares into the stream. Already 
 it was over her ankles. Let us hope her boots were 
 Avaterproof, and her foothold firm. 
 
 She was quite sorry when it was time to retire to the 
 drawing-room. When Bella, fitting on her gloves, tele- 
 graphed sailing orders to Mrs. Bullingdon, and that lady, 
 rising from amidst her draperies, shook out a cloud of 
 canvas, and forged majestically ahead, she would have 
 liked to indulge in one backward glance as she departed ; 
 but for that very reason, be sure, she avoided anything of 
 the kind, or she would not have been Ada Latimer. 
 Bella had no such scruples. Besides, she was the last of 
 the convoy. So she shot a Parthian shaft at John Gordon, 
 unfortunately lost on its object, who Avas at that moment 
 reaching over for the grapes, and obeying his host's 
 injunction to " close in." 
 
 Warned by Acta3on'8 fate, we do not presume to follow 
 the ladies to their bower. Rather let us remain and dis- 
 cuss the magnum of claret which circulates so rapidly 
 under the alderman's auspices — fresh, fragrant, and blush- 
 ing, like the cup of youth, to be quaffed as greedily, to 
 ebb as quickly, and to leave at last nothing but an empty 
 bottle ! 
 
 Bullingdon liked good claret: so do I. He drank it 
 in large quantities, and expatiated between-Avhiles on his 
 preserves at Bullingdon Butts, and the different projectiles 
 with which he made war upon the feathered race. He 
 mentioned from what a small ])article of shot a woodcock 
 might meet its death ; and the conversation becoming
 
 'DINNEB IS ON THE TABLE!' 121 
 
 general, turned upon the tenacity of life in different 
 natures, and at last upon the easiest method of quitting 
 it for the human subject. Hitherto the one-eyed man 
 had preserved unbroken silence, sticking like a leech, 
 nevertheless, to a bottle of rare old port. This, however, 
 was a topic with which he was familiar, and he stated 
 his opinion without hesitation. 
 
 " Bleeding's easiest for grown men and women," observed 
 the old gentleman, filling his glass. " I've bled a dozen 
 and more to death whilst the men were at dinner. They 
 scarce seem to feel it after the first gash." 
 
 Bullingdon pushed his chair three feet farther off, with 
 a look at his neighbour which it is impossible to convey. 
 There was a pause of astonishment, and the old gentle- 
 man proceeded with the utmost sang-froid — 
 
 " I was running a cargo — that's a Uach cargo — from the 
 Gold Coast. Got driven by bad weather to the south- 
 ward, and found myself becalmed in the Bight of Benin. 
 Water short, schooner overmanned, and the cargo bad off 
 for stowage ; though we had a third on deck, leg- hampered, 
 day and night. It was warm down in the hold ; for 
 though she was a sweet craft, d'ye see, she hadn't been 
 built for the trade, and I'd altered her run myself, when 
 I ought to have known better. My first mate was a 
 long-winded chap. I think he never left off whistling 
 for a week; but the schooner headed all round the 
 compass just the same. I thought I should never see a 
 cat's-paw again. Well, the cargo suffered horrible. It's 
 bad to be thirsty in these low latitudes when there is 
 nothing to drink. I was obliged to make away with some 
 of them to save the rest. I divided them into watches, 
 and put the weakest of the men and the oldest of the 
 women into the condemned watch, giving each a chance 
 by lot, according as the weather should hold. First I 
 took and hove them overboard one by one, thinking it 
 was a cool and merciful death for the poor thirsty 
 creatures; but I'm a humane man, sir, and I couldn't 
 bear to see their eyes — 'specially the women — as they 
 went over the side. Have you ever watched a face, sir, 
 just when the last chance is up ? It's an ugly sight, a
 
 122 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 very ugly sight," said the old gentleman, with a retro- 
 spective sigh, filling his glass the while. 
 
 Bullingdon, to whom this ghastly narrative was especi- 
 ally addressed, could not find a voice to reply. He set 
 his wine down imtasted, and looked as if he was going to 
 be sick. 
 
 " Well, sir," resumed the slave-owner, " I'd a surgeon's 
 mate aboard, a sharpish fellow enough — he was hanged 
 afterwards at Porto Rico — says he to me, ' Skipper,' says 
 he, ' it's cruel work to frighten these poor devils to death 
 before you 2^ut 'em to death.' Says he, ' If you'll give me 
 leave, and a couple of hands to swab, I'll just 'tice 'era in 
 here, in the cook's galley, and finish them oft" on the 
 quiet, as nice as possible.' So I went in with him, as in 
 duty bound — for a man's not fit to command a ship, / say, 
 unless he knows all that's going on in that ship — and I 
 kept a bright look-out, though I let him use his own tools 
 in his own way. He was a neat workman, a very neat 
 workman, to be sure. He just slipped a lancet into the 
 jugular (here, you see, under the ear), and they bled to 
 death — a baker's dozen of 'em — as easy as I could crack 
 a biscuit. The breeze got up after this, and I'd a rare 
 good run to the Cape de Verde Islands, but I never had 
 a chance afterwards. It was a bad speculation was that 
 — a bad speculation from one end of the log to the 
 other ! " 
 
 " Gracious heavens ! " burst out Bullingdon, in a white 
 heat ; " can you bear to talk of such horrors ? Can you 
 bear to think of your victims ? Shall you ever forget 
 them till your dying day ? " 
 
 The old gentleman shook his head, and emptied the 
 bottle. 
 
 " I can bear most things," he said, " I've had such a 
 many ups and downs ; but I don't think I ever sh/tll 
 forget that calm. It wouldn't have cost me less than 
 seventy-five dollars a head, even for the weakest of them. 
 Seventy-five dollars a head ! " he repeated thoughtfully ; 
 " no, I don't think I ever shall forget it ! " 
 
 Nobody seemed to care about any more wivUe after this. 
 Even the Madeira remained untouched ; and Bullingdon
 
 'DINNER IS ON THE TABLE!' 123 
 
 was as near having a fit as a man can bo. The only clear 
 idea that remained in his head, was an earnest wish to 
 get away from his neighbour ; and excellent as were its 
 dinners, hospitable as was its owner, I think the one-eyed 
 old gentleman might have starved ten times over before 
 he would be asked to place his legs under the mahogany 
 at Bullingdon Butts. 
 
 In the drawing-room, people breathed more freely. 
 There being nothing more to drink, the one-eyed man 
 took his departure ; and the indefinite youth, unguardedly 
 answering in the affirmative to the alderman's question 
 about " cutting in," found himself set down to the abstruse 
 science of whist for the rest of the evening, with Mrs. 
 Bullingdon for a partner — an arrangement not tending 
 to mitigate the alarm with which he already regarded 
 that excellent lady. 
 
 Blanche Bullingdon, still hankering slightly after the 
 conquest of Mr. Orme, was, of course, asked to play. 
 Equally of course, she did play — accurately, conscienti- 
 ously, in excellent time, and without a particle of feeling ; 
 the rest of the party, with the exception of the quartette 
 at the whist-table, hovering round the pianoforte, and 
 expressing their approval with much cordiality. So Miss 
 Blanche put on her bracelets once more, assumed her 
 handkerchief, and said, " Thank you, Mr. Orme," for her 
 gloves, and looked as if she thought she had acquitted 
 herself very creditably. Then it was time for Bella to 
 ask " dear Mi's. Latimer " to sing, " if she didn't mind, she 
 was always so good-natured ; " and " dear Mrs. Latimer " 
 took her seat on the music-stool, and hesitated for a 
 moment, and burst forth into the song with just one 
 instantly-averted glance at Gilbert as she did so. It 
 caught his eye, nevertheless ; and Ada felt herself blushing 
 painfully, and thought that never in her life had she 
 sung with so little grace and self-command. If one of 
 her listeners agreed with her, his countenance very much 
 belied him ; yet he was the only one who did not ask for 
 it again — the only one who did not speak a syllable when 
 she had done. 
 
 Pending all this music, Polly had necessarily been 
 banished to the billiard-room, and he was now hear4
 
 124 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 enlivening his exile with such shameless volubility, that 
 Bella was forced to sfo and remonstrate with him. 
 
 " Miss Bullingdon, you play billiards ? " asked Bella, 
 with polite attention to her guest ; and Blanche, who 
 could use a mace as ineffectively as any other lady, 
 answered in the affirmative, with an appealing look at 
 Mr. Orme, Gilbert seemed lost in contemplation of a 
 landscape on the wall, so Miss Blanche's glance was 
 wasted on the parting of his back hair. 
 
 John Gordon good-naturedly proposed a match with the 
 young lady, if Miss Jones would come and " mark." 
 
 "Of course I will," said Bella. "But let us go through 
 the windows ; it is such a beautiful night, and there's 
 such a moon ! " 
 
 Now the Villa, like an Indian bungalow, was built with 
 all its principal rooms on the ground-tloor ; consequently 
 it was as easy, besides being infinitely pleasanter, to step 
 out by a French window into the garden, and so by the 
 terrace in a^'ain at the o-lass door of the billiard-room, as 
 to walk through a second drawing-room and a library in 
 order to reach the same apartment. Leaving the whist- 
 players engrossed with their rubbers, the remaining five 
 strolled out into the lovely summer night, flooded with 
 moonshine, and even here, almost in London, fragrant 
 with perfume. As Mrs. Latimer followed the billiard- 
 players along the terrace, her dress caught in some trellis- 
 work through which a creeper wound its snake-like growth. 
 Gilbert stopped to extricate it — a process which takes 
 considerable time if you would not tear the fabric, and 
 which is prone to call up ideas totally irrelevant to the 
 task itself, originating in the relative position of the 
 individuals — the one generally on his knees, and the other 
 necessarily stooping over him. In the present instance 
 the enlargement occupied several seconds, told very dis- 
 tinctly one by one on a couple of living timepieces which 
 people wear inside their breasts, and there was a flush 
 on Gilbert's brow when he raised it — the result probably 
 of stooping so soon after dinner. It was natural, surely, 
 that the couple thus isolated should linger a few minutes 
 longer out of doors to enjoy the air — equally natural that 
 they should have very little to say to each other, and
 
 'DINNER IS ON TEE TABLE!' 125 
 
 should consequently preserve an unbroken taciturnity. 
 I have watched the progress and development of some 
 few flirtations that have been thrust upon my observation. 
 I think the talking ones are the safest. A full heart 
 does not discharge itself through the organs of speech ; 
 and a very imperceptible tremor on a very commonplace 
 remark may tell a tale that three volumes octavo would 
 ffxil to convey. Gilbert lost the precious moments in 
 silence. He who could find plenty of small-talk to amuse 
 the smartest ladies in London, was baffled like the veriest 
 clown by the presence of one who would scarcely be 
 considered a gentlewoman in the set to which he be- 
 longed. This worldly polish doubtless hardens while it 
 brightens, and the burnished breastplate is impervious to 
 ninety-nine out of a hundred weapons in the meUe ; but 
 wait till the charmed lance comes : deep, deep into the 
 bosom it runs through mail and plate, and the knight's 
 dazzling harness shields him no safer than the yeoman's 
 homespun weed. 
 
 I am constrained to admit that long as this pair 
 lingered out of doors, neither of them spoke a syllable 
 beyond Ada's flxint acknowledgment of the preservation 
 of her dress, till they were on the steps of the billiard- 
 room, when Gilbert took heart of grace, and managed to 
 get out what he wanted to say — 
 
 " Thank you, Mrs. Latimer, for singing that song. It 
 has haunted me for a week. Thank you so very 
 much." 
 
 She looked up at him once more as she passed in, but 
 did not repeat the experiment during the rest of the 
 evening. Only she shook hands with him when he went 
 away ; and when she got back to her own solitary lodgings, 
 sat far into the night before she went to bed, postponing, 
 as it were, the division of the pleasant day she had spent 
 from the morrow's return to working life. It was but a 
 gleam, of course, this sunshine, and there was an end of 
 it ; but still she liked to bask in the remembrance of its 
 warmth. So she looked in the glass again before she 
 undid her hair, and turned from it as before with a smile 
 and a sigh. 
 
 Nor was Gilbert the least sleepy. After setting John
 
 126 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 Gordon down he drove straight home, and dismissed his 
 cab. Then he smoked three cigars, the consumption of 
 which, as I calculate, would last about an hour and twenty 
 minutes, walking round and round Grosvenor Square, 
 thinking of everything in heaven and earth except 
 philosophy — of the moon, of the stars, of Mrs. Latimer's 
 soft eyes, and how resolved he was that, come what might, 
 it should not be long before he saw her again.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 DIPLOMACY 
 
 John Gordon was by no means given to making rash 
 promises. The weariest of weasels, however, is, on occasion, 
 to be caught asleep, and John, in a moment of abandon, 
 had promised Miss Jones that she should receive an 
 invitation to Lady Olivia's coming "At Home," in Bel- 
 grave Square — a rash pledge, forsooth, and one not to be 
 redeemed save by a great expenditure of management 
 and diplomacy. 
 
 To my reader of the workaday world — say, our honest 
 business-like man of five-and-forty (if such should indeed 
 condescend to glance over these frivolous pages) — it may 
 seem unaccountable that the slightest interest should 
 attach to a piece of glazed cardboard, entitling the 
 recipient to stand in full-dress on a crowded staircase for 
 two or three hours of a summer's night. If he be a 
 bachelor, I should despair of making clear to him these 
 Eleusinian mysteries. He is innocent of the autopsia ; 
 he knows nothing of Hieroj^hantcs, who, as I take it, was 
 the Athenian Beadle ; and the petroma is to him a sealed 
 volume. Let him remain in his ignorance, and bless 
 himself the while. But if he be a family-man, rejoicing 
 in a vine and olive-branches, an expensive wife and 
 blooming daughters, they will explain to him, if they 
 have not impressed it on him already, how such a cartel 
 constitutes a veritable diploma, the full reward for many 
 months of competitive energy and serious application. 
 They will tell him how to be seen at Lady Olivia's is a 
 
 127
 
 128 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 recognition of that position which entitles them to call 
 on Lady Barthcdore, that Lady Barthedore's intimates 
 have the entree to Ormolu House, and that from Ormolu 
 House to the seventh heaven is but one step. Bcatics 
 illc 2'>>'ocul a ncgntiis of such kind, say I. Alas for John 
 Gordon's rash engagement, and the negotiations that must 
 ensue. 
 
 He had so nmch real business to do that it was not 
 till the very da}^ of the fete that he found leisure to call 
 in Belgrave Squai-e. He had written a note, however, 
 in the morning to Lady Gertrude, respecting some of 
 that young lady's trifling commissions, and expressing a 
 hope that he should find her at home during some part 
 of the day, and had received, as he expected, a laconic 
 answer, in the well-known hand : — 
 
 " My dear Mr. Gordon " (it used to be " Dear Mr. 
 Gordon "), " Aunt Olivia wants to see you very much. 
 Tea as usual at 4.30." And signed with a flourishing 
 monogrammatic " G," of which Gertrude was rather 
 proud. 
 
 He felt he should be welcome; he had not seen any 
 of them since the concert. No one knew better than 
 John Gordon the weight of the French maxim, Ilfaut se 
 /aire valoir. 
 
 Behold him, then, at 4.30, sitting in a corner of the 
 large drawing-room with a teacup in his hand, preparing 
 to do battle with two ladies on a point which was 
 calculated to call forth all the natural wilfulness of the 
 species. Heavy odds, even for Mr. Gordon. The house 
 was thoroughly unct)infortable. As in a ship cleared for 
 action, everything seemed out of its place, and put in 
 everybody's way. Like the same ship after the contest, 
 it would take some days before the effects of the 
 hmdcverseriicnt should disappeai'. John said as much. 
 
 " People ought to be very grateful to you, Lad}^ Olivia, 
 for putting yourself to all this inconvenience. How many 
 cards have you sent out ? " 
 
 Her ladyship named the number graciously enough ; 
 she liked to think she was fulfilling the onerous duties 
 of her rank. John proceeded warily — 
 
 " How right you are not to ask twice as many people
 
 DIPLOMACY 129 
 
 as the house will hold. Now at Mrs. Montpellier's, last 
 liight, I never got farther than the awning! " 
 
 Lady Olivia's smile was stern. It is needless to say 
 that she held staunchly by the Visigoth faction, and if 
 poor Mrs. j\l. had been a Suttee widow, and burne<^l alive 
 on the occasion in question, she would have listened with 
 grim approval. 
 
 " We don't visit Mrs. ]\Iontpellier," said Gertrude, rather 
 mischievously. " I should like to know her, I think ; 
 she's certainly handsome, and looks as if she ought to be 
 amusing." 
 
 " She's more a friend of Gilbert's than mine," answered 
 the gentleman ; " only having a card, I thought I would 
 look in for five minutes, which / dichi't. I think if I had 
 a sister I shouldn't take her to Mrs. Montpellier's. It's 
 a great thing for a girl when first she comes out, to go 
 to a few good places, only a very few, and those very good 
 ones," quoth John, as gravely as if he had studied nothing 
 but the Social Humbugf all his life. 
 
 " You are quite right," asserted Lady Olivia ; " if I 
 take a young lad}'- by the hand, I am most ])articular as 
 to her engagements. Gertrude's first year I only allowed 
 her two ' outings ' in the week. A good introduction is 
 everyt.hing. It is of vital importance. Without a good 
 introduction a girl is inevitably lost ! " 
 
 Lady Olivia expatiated on this point, as one might 
 who should keep the gates of Paradise and proclaim the 
 easiest way therein. She had herself enjoyed this im- 
 speakable advantage. Nobody's " introduction " could 
 have been better. Had her lines indeed fallen to her in 
 such pleasant places ? had she been resting ever since 
 by the margin of living waters, among the fields of 
 Asphodel ? 
 
 " The very reason I recommended a young friend of 
 mine not to go to Mrs. Montpellier's last night," observed 
 the astute John. " If it was Lady Barthedore's, or 
 Ormolu House, or here, for instance, I told her it would 
 be a different thing ; but this is your first season, I said ; 
 you don't know many people, mind you only know good 
 ones." 
 
 Lady Gertrude made a funny little face ; she was not 
 
 I
 
 130 aOOB FOR NOTHING 
 
 deficient in penetration ; while her aunt signified a 
 gracious approval. 
 
 " You see your way more clearly than most people," 
 the latter observed, encouragingly ; " 7nen so seldom can 
 be made to nndorstan(i these matters. Poor Mr. Orme 
 would ask .all sorts of people out of the highways and 
 hedges, and expect me not only to be civil to them, but to 
 know them, and their wives afterwards." 
 
 lipoor Mr. Orme, who was held by certain observers to 
 have justly earned that epithet previous to his decease, 
 really cherished any such expectations, he must have 
 been grievously disappointed. 
 
 " I take a great interest in this girl," resumed John ; 
 whereat Lady Gertrude glanced quickly in his face ; " and 
 I should like to see her well launched. I wish you would 
 let me introduce her to you, Lady Olivia." 
 
 "Would she like a card for to-night? "inquired herlad}-- 
 ship, very graciously ; " I should be happy to take her by 
 the hand, I am sure, if she is a nice person, and belongs 
 to people that one knows." 
 
 Now here was the difficulty. Alderman Jones, in the 
 execution of his duties as her son's guardian, had come 
 frequently in contact with Lady Olivia, and it speaks well 
 for the alderman's good-humour that their discussions had 
 never terminated in an outbreak. Ho was an old friend 
 and school-fellow of her husband ; the boys had been at 
 Charterhouse together, when the latter was a second son 
 with but modest expectations ; and this youthful alliance 
 had served to recommend him but little to Lady Olivia. 
 She had alM'ays strenuously set her face against having 
 anything to do with " the Joneses, my dear, except in the 
 way of business." And Gertrude, who was as prejudiced 
 a little aristocrat as ever a one of the great Whig family 
 to which she belonged, backed up her aunt firmly in this 
 determination, if in no other. 
 
 John resolved to secure one ally, at least ; so he turned 
 to Lady Gertrude. 
 
 "It is for Miss Jones," said he, " that I would venture 
 to ask this great favour. I dined there lately, as you 
 know I often do with my good partner. I met Gilbert, of 
 all people in the world ! and I thought he seemed very much
 
 DIPLOMACY 131 
 
 smitten with the young lady. You know he is not very 
 susceptible, so when he does strike his flag, it is all the 
 greater compliment." 
 
 Now, this was one of those chance shots which, like the 
 missile of an ambushed sportsman, though aimed at a 
 single duck,* brings down a whole troop of wild-fowl, 
 splashing and quacking, and scattering over the water. 
 At the hrst mention of the ominous name, the younger 
 lady gave a little toss of her shapely head, whilst the 
 elder's brow grew black as midnight ; but Avhen the 
 supposed conquest of the hard-hearted Gilbert was 
 reported, a sudden change seemed to show itself simul- 
 taneously in each. John had judged, and rightly, that 
 proud Gertrude would support him vehementlv in any 
 request he might make, rather than be supposed capable 
 of jealousy of a Miss Jones. But he had not calculated on 
 Lady Olivia's speedy acquiescence in any measure which 
 might tend further to separate the two cousins. So he 
 was not surprised when Lady Gertrude answered quickly, 
 and with rising colour — 
 
 " Oh, by all means, let us have her, Aunt Olivia ; poor 
 girl, it will be a charity to take her away from the savages 
 on the other side of Oxford Street, if only for one night, 
 and to show her the manners and customs of the civilised 
 English in the nineteenth century." 
 
 But he was a little astonished to mark Lady Olivia's 
 frown gi'adually subside as he concluded his sentence. 
 That lady, however, was incapable of granting a favour 
 gracefully. She always seemed to think its value enhanced 
 by the difficulty with which it was wrung from her. So 
 she coughed ominously as she replied — 
 
 "I fear I have already exceeded my stated number, 
 Mr. Gordon ; and I do not wish my house to be quite as 
 crowded as your friend Mrs. Montpellier's." 
 
 " I know it is a very great favour," said John, " and I 
 assure you. Lady Olivia, I would not have asked any one 
 to do me such a kindness but yourself." 
 
 Whilst at the same moment Gertrude interposed 
 eagerly — 
 
 " Oh, ^^ra?/ send her a card. Aunt Olivia ; one more 
 won't make any difference, even with otcr large dresses}
 
 132 GOOD FOR NOTniNG 
 
 though Charley Wing docs say that every soldier 
 occupies eighteen inches on jiarade, and every lady 
 eighteen feet ! Say ' yes,' Aunt Olivia, and I'll write 
 a Ciird for Mr. Gordon in a moment." 
 
 Thus adjured, Lady Olivia said "yes," though not 
 very graciously ; and so it was decided that Bella 
 Jones should be supremely blest that very night. Diplo- 
 matic John Gordon had gained his point, and that was 
 always sufficient for John, who, like a great man of 
 the last century, confined himself to doing one thing at one 
 time, and did it, in consequence, effectually. 
 
 Perhaps he gained more than his point without knowing 
 it. In the general conversation which ensued. Lady 
 Gertrude was not so talkative as usual. Neither did she 
 endorse her aunt's invitation to a spare place in the 
 well-known barouche then waiting at the door, an invita- 
 tion the busy gentleman was compelled somewhat 
 reluctantly to decline ; but when he lingered for a few 
 moments after the elder lady's departure to prepare 
 for her drive, Gertrude lingered too — not because he did, 
 of course, for she went to the writing-table in the 
 back drawing-room, and proceeded to fill in a printed card 
 for Miss Jones. That simple patronymic contains but five 
 letters, and the day of the month requires no great effort 
 of caligraphy, yet it took Lady Gertrude two or three 
 minutes to accomplish her task. Then she came back to 
 John and ])ut the card in his hand with a little scornful 
 curtsey, and rather a forced smile. 
 
 "Is Miss Jones really a nice person?" she asked, 
 turning away to inspect minutely the mignonette in 
 the window. 
 
 " Good-humoured — unaffected. Yes, a very nice girl, 
 I should say," answered John ; as what else could he 
 answer ? 
 
 " And very beautiful, too, is she not ? " pursued the 
 lady. 
 
 " Many people admire her, I believe," replied he, 
 abstractedly, and, truth to tell, somewhat tired of the 
 subject. 
 
 " Do you think her pretty ? " said Gertrude, turning 
 round with a quick searching glance. Kapid as it was,
 
 DIPLOMACY 133 
 
 John's eyes met hers, and a faint blush came into his pale 
 cheek. 
 
 " No, I can't say I do," was his reply ; and the tone 
 in which he spoke would have carried conviction to 
 the most incredulous. 
 
 Lady Gertrude was evidently not on terms of ceremony 
 with Mr. Gordon, for she bounded up-stairs to put on " her 
 things," without wishing him " good-bye," and a minute 
 afterwards was singing as merrily over her toilette as 
 her o-^vn canary-bird. When she came down again, Lady 
 Olivia was ready in the drawing-room, but Mr. Gordon 
 was gone. If she had expected to find him there, she 
 bore her disappointment bravely enough. Even the 
 footman who shut up the carriage-steps after her thought 
 he had never seen his young lady look so well and 
 so cheerful — " saucy " would have been his expression had 
 he been capable of reducing his reflections to his own 
 vernacular — as on that bright summer afternoon. 
 
 And John Gordon, having enclosed and sealed up the 
 precious document, stepped into Piccadilly to drop it into 
 the nearest post-office. It had cost Lady Olivia's Avriting- 
 table two envelopes, though, for he spoiled the firs* by 
 addressing it to 
 
 " The Lady Gertrude Jones, 
 
 ** Verbena Villa, 
 
 " Regent's Park."
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 PELIDES 
 
 The son of Peleus, flinging his shield abroad in high 
 defiance, as it wonld seem, of his equestrian rival perched 
 on the gate of Constitution Hill over against him, 
 must have acquired ere this a degree of philosophy and 
 savoir tivre for which he was not distinguished in the days 
 when he sulked in his tent by the sounding sea, and 
 chafed to hear of high-crested Hector crashing through 
 the battle under the walls of Troy. 
 
 How many London socosons has ho stood there in his 
 naked bronze, and watched the living kaleidoscope in Hyde 
 Park, ever varpng, ever on the move, tossing its tinsel 
 into a thousand combinations, gaudy, purposeless, and 
 provokingly alike. 
 
 Since our fair countryv*'omen put him up in honour 
 of one whose fame shall outlast his own, he has indeed 
 witnessed some unimportant changes. He has seen 
 Grosvenor Gate deserted for the banks of the Serpentine, 
 and the wooden rails in the Ride converted into iron ; also 
 the introduction of penny chairs in that locality, an imi- 
 tation from the French, which is, doubtless, even in our 
 uncertain climate, no trifling improvement. Nererthelcss, 
 it has its drawbacks. Three-quarters of a mile of beauty — 
 English beauty, too — looking its best, attired in gorgeous 
 apparel, and drawn up sometimes even three deep, is a 
 glorious sight doubtless, and one calculated to inspire 
 feelings of admiration and enthusiasm not entirely devoid 
 of awe; but to walk composedly from end to end of such
 
 PELIDES 135 
 
 an array, is an ordeal that a bashful man may well 
 shudder to undergo. I should scarcely recommend an 
 Englishman to attempt it ; and to do them justice, I have 
 remarked that my countymen seldom venture to run the 
 gauntlet unsupported and alone. Damon meets Pythias, 
 and hooks him by the arm ere he commences the promenade. 
 Thus encouraged, he crosses the line of fire leisurely and 
 coolly enough ; but if the latter should be suddenly seized 
 with a fit, or otherwise incapacitated, Damon becomes 
 instantly conscious of a total disorganisation of his outward 
 man. It seems that his clothes don't fit him, that his 
 boots look too large and feel too small ; that his hat is too 
 tight, his gloves too loose ; and that there is something 
 irresistibly ludicrous in the expression of his profile. His 
 only course is to dash at an empty chair, pay his penny, 
 and join the ranks of the aggressors on the spot, till he 
 can prevail on another friend to take pity on him and 
 tow him off. A Crimean officer, who was present at the 
 attack on the Redan, has assured me that he would rather 
 encounter the fire that swept that deadly glacis over 
 again, than walk solus on a summer's afternoon up the 
 right-hand side of Rotten Row, from Apsley House to the 
 Serpentine. 
 
 The costume, too, of gentlemen and ladies has under- 
 gone some mutations since the first fine day that our 
 Achilles found himself standing on his bare legs in the 
 Corner. There are no high neckcloths, there are no blue 
 tail-coats, alas ! there are no Hessian boots now. D'Orsay 
 has followed Brummel where dress is unnecessary, per- 
 haps inconvenient, and a garment that fitted a man would 
 be pointed at in the present day as simply ridiculous. 
 Our youths are clothed to please themselves, and so, I 
 presume, are the ladies. That an outer fabric of light 
 material, standing several feet from the person on all sides, 
 is a cool and comfortable attire in warm weather, appears 
 a self-evident proposition; but that the beauty of the , 
 female figure is enhanced by this up-springing, so to speak, 
 like a jack-in-the-box, out of a volume of circumambient 
 muslin, is a question of opinion which may admit of some 
 dispute. Who shall decide on such matters? Achilles 
 must congratulate himself that his own proportions are
 
 1.36 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 independent of all vagaries of fashion and changes of 
 costvune. 
 
 Above all, if he be wise, should he exult and leap for 
 joy, as it were, in the untrammelled luxury of his naked 
 feet. I speak it advisedly when I say that on the most 
 crowded day in June, I believe the Greek alone of all that 
 throng around him is ignorant of the suffering caused by 
 a ^)«iV of tiijht hoots. Now, I am aware that in this de- 
 partment of art, as in many others, we have borrowed 
 largely from the French. I am not to be told that Hoby 
 and Hubert and the rest have achieved all that com be 
 achieved with so pliant a material as leather, and that 
 even the cunning chiropodist who did so much for Louis 
 Napoleon, finds his profession fixiling him day by day, 
 for that there are no excrescences now to pare away. So 
 when I speak of tight boots, be it understood that I speak 
 metaphorically ; that I allude to the moral " pinching of 
 the shoe," which the proverb says is " best known to him 
 who wears it " — to that torture of the inner man which all 
 the casings and stretchings of all the cobblers and cord- 
 wainers who do homage to St. Crispin are powerless to 
 assuage. 
 
 Let us take, at random, the three or four men en- 
 countered by John Gordon as he turns into the Park after 
 dropping his missive at a Piccadilly post-office ; and first, 
 it is worth while to scan the pace and action of John him- 
 self His footfall on the pavement is firm, light, and 
 regular, the tread of a man whom fencing, running, leap- 
 ing, and such athletic exercises have put well upon his 
 legs; his polished boots look cool, easy, and comfortable; 
 his demeanour preserves its tisual confidence and assur- 
 ance ; his expression, though habitually grave, is that of 
 one with whom all is well within and without. Pelidcs, 
 in his bronze, could not look more imperturbable and self- 
 reliant. But is it so ? By no means. John's boots are 
 to-day a good deal tighcr than usual. Certain shares 
 which he holds on his own account, and in the selection 
 of which he flattered himself he had shown more than 
 common perspicuity, were this morning at a considerable 
 discount in the City. The business of which he is prin- 
 cipal manager has got into a hitch, and " advices " received
 
 PELIDES 137 
 
 by to-day's post have tended to complicate the difificulty. 
 Also an outstanding claim he had resolved, with the con- 
 currence of his partner, to contest, has been advanced at 
 an inconvenient season, and in an offensive manner. 
 Some of the irons in John's fire have thus become un- 
 pleasantly warm to the touch, and he feels to-day further 
 removed than usual from the coming independence, and 
 power, and influence which are to rest upon £ s. d. Thus 
 it occurs to him as Lady Olivia's barouche turns into the 
 Ring, that it will be ten years at least before he can 
 dream of marrying. John is not a "bread-and-butter," 
 " love-in-a-cottage " sort of man. He is not young enough 
 to be romantic, and too young to know the real value of 
 gold — alas ! far below the price we see it quoted in the 
 daily papers as commanding at Hamburg — so he dismisses 
 the subject at once with his customary energy, but feels, 
 notwithstanding, that his mental perambulations into the 
 future limp along very restrictedly in consequence. No — ■ 
 John Gordon's boots are to-day by no means pleasant to 
 wear. 
 
 Lord Holyhead, Charley Wing, and old Landless lounge 
 in leisurely conclave at the rails, and the nobleman, who 
 is on horseback, recognises Gordon, and nods to him over 
 the heads of his two friends. With Holyhead's strong, 
 firm seat in the saddle, surely there can be no pressure on 
 the soles, and those feet, thrust home in their shining 
 stirrup-irons, ought indeed to be unconscious of a twinge. 
 Alas ! " Nobs," like his neighbours, is undergoing the 
 torture of " the boot." In the first place, he is on a cer- 
 tain hack of which he has long coveted the possession, 
 and is to-day for the first time proving the merits of his 
 late acquisition. The animal is faultless in appearance, 
 symmetrical, and well-bred. In the stable it comes near 
 perfection, but ere he had ridden it a hundred yards this 
 afternoon, he discovered the old story, that, if he had only 
 been on its back before he bought it, he would not have 
 given half the money it had cost him for his purchase. 
 Old Landless, too, who is a first-rate judge, has not im- 
 proved the matter by volunteering his opinion that " It's 
 a clever-shaped one enough, but as a hack, Holyhead, I 
 don't think it g^iite comes up to your mark ! "
 
 138 OOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 Twinge number one ! 
 
 Then he has had what he calls " a roiighish tirae of it " 
 lately with Bravoiira, and has resolved that his acquaint- 
 ance with that syren shall henceforth become day by day 
 more distant. To any gentleman who has taken in hand 
 the very difficult task of breaking with a lady whose 
 interests, rather than her inclinations, lead her to value his 
 friendship, it is needless to insist on the oft-recurring 
 annoyances created by this twinge number two ! 
 
 Lastly, by to-day's post he has heard from his steward 
 in the north, that the poacher Avhom he directed him to 
 prosecute, and who had hitherto been a prime favourite 
 wdth his lordship, and the best cricketer in the parish, has 
 been " pitched into " by the worthy magistrates far more 
 severely than he desired, or than the culprit deserved ; 
 and to do Holyhead justice (for, as his old brother-officers 
 well know, " Nobs " always had his heart in the right 
 place), this last twinge is considerably keener than either 
 of those created by the deception of a dealer and the 
 caprices of a contralto. 
 
 Landless, who has one arm linked in Charley Wing's, 
 and the other reclining on the rails, might indeed fairly 
 claim immunity from all mental pangs, such as I have 
 described, on the score of bodily suffering. A generous 
 chanipagn(^-and-claret gout has reduced him to a crippled 
 amble, and a pair of cloth shoes, even at the best of times; 
 and why he should ever have a care or an anxiety it is 
 difficult to understand, living, as he does, on a small 
 annuity wrung from the forbearance of his creditors. The 
 Yorkshire property is mortgaged, the Irish estates are 
 under trust. As fine a fortune as was ever wasted has 
 been frittered away, less through vice than sheer careless- 
 ness and incompetency, so that none but the lawyers know 
 where it is all gone ; and the former Amphitryon of many 
 a joyous feast and hospitable welcome, is satisfied now to 
 dine for seven-and-sixpence at his club, and prose away 
 the evening over his brandy-and-water and cigar. I be- 
 lieve Landless likes his ])res('nt quite as well as his former 
 life. Easy, good-tempered, without brains or ambition, the 
 necessities of his existence are but a little whist, a little 
 lounging, much gossip and tittle-tattle (for Landless ia
 
 PELIDES 139 
 
 kindly even in his weaknesses, and stops short of scandal), 
 a glass of warm negus after he is in bed, and an old 
 servant who robbed him handsomely in former days, and 
 saves every shilling he can for him now, to look after him. 
 It seems he should have no more cares nor anxieties than 
 an ox stalled up to feed ; and yet — and yet — within that 
 bloated form there does beat a heart, if you can only get 
 at it, and, next that heart, in his breast pocket lies a 
 yellow, fumigated ship letter that makes every pulsation 
 beneath it a throb of pain. Even Landless loves one 
 thing on earth besides his dinner, and if that curly-headed 
 midshipman, lying sick unto death at the mouth of the 
 Senegal, yield to the fever which is wasting his fair 
 young frame, the old reprobate will wail for him like a 
 very Rachel, and refuse to be comforted. Yes, he loves 
 his boy — the boy who could never be his heir. Out of all 
 he has squandered, he might, perhaps, have made a better 
 provision for his treasure than a midshipman's berth in a 
 ten-gun brig. And yet he has always loved him, as a rosy 
 laughing urchin whom he visited by stealth, and who was 
 never taught to call him " papa " ; as a bold frank-eyed 
 boy at the Charterhouse; as a comely stripling in his 
 gold-laced cap, at the George Hotel, Portsmouth, before 
 he sailed ; never perhaps as well as now, when, for aught 
 he knows, the lad may be sleeping forty fathom deep 
 beneath that swelling sea. So, as Landless shifts uneasily 
 from one gouty foot to the other in the flesh, he is walking 
 blindfold over red-hot ploughshares in the spirit, and his 
 battered old heart turns sick within him lest he should 
 never see his darling again. 
 
 As for Charley Wing's boots, tiny and astonishing as 
 are those unequalled specimens, they are but a pair of 
 easy slippers compared with the mental chassure into 
 which his inner man has put its foot. Like the shirt of 
 Nessus, the latter has raised one continuous blister over 
 his whole moral epidermis. Charley's debts and difficulties 
 have reached a climax at which, as he himself says, " man 
 ceases to be a free agent, and is absolved from all responsi- 
 bility in the great scheme." Not only is the coat he wears 
 unpaid for, but the most long-suffering of tailors has 
 declined to present him with another. Not only is he in
 
 140 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 debt to everybody whom he honours with his acquaintance, 
 but the shillings and half-crowns are beginning to run 
 short, and ho has more than once of late expressed a wish 
 that the noble system of credit could be extended to our 
 cab-stands. He is engaged to-day to dine with a duke 
 (not Duke H.), but he thinks it extremely probable that 
 he may be arrested in his progress across the pavement 
 between the marquis's brougham that drops him, and the 
 arms of the parti-coloured giant who will relieve him of 
 his overcoat. Already he is acquiring the nack of glanc- 
 ing over his shoulder, which is never practised save by 
 him who expects an admonitory tap thereon. Already he 
 accepts invitations and makes engagements with a devout 
 air, as of one who is conscious of the uncertainty of human 
 afTairs, and jests somewhat plaintively on his probable 
 incarceration, as a mortal may who is prepared to submit 
 resignedly to the common lot. But ho is pleasant and 
 nonchalant just the same; quizzing old Landless placidly, 
 and discussing the points of Holyhead's hack as uncon- 
 cernedly as if he could buy up the national debt. These 
 young men of pleasure lavish a good many valuable 
 qualities on a sadly unworthy object. I cannot but admire 
 constancy, endurance, and a stoical good-humour equal to 
 either fortune, even though they be wasted on so foolish 
 and objectless a career as a round of London dissipation ; 
 and these Charley Wing must have possessed, or he never 
 could have borne his reverses so composedly. There was 
 a Spartan's pluck under all that " Persian apparatus " 
 outside, and had his boots been as tight as Cinderella's 
 slippers, he would have scorned to go lame in them for a 
 yard. 
 
 As Gordon joins the trio, Gilbert Orme appears, picking 
 his way daintily across the Ride, nodding to a dandy here, 
 and bowing to an equestrian beauty there, with consider- 
 ably more energy than is habitual to him. Whatever 
 twinges may be in store for Gilbert, to-day he is treading 
 upon air. He is in the first stage of a malady which is 
 fatal to some constitutions, and a general light-headedness 
 is the result. He sees the world throusjh rose-coloured 
 spectacles, if, indeed, such are to be procured at any real 
 optician's. The motley of the kaleidoscope is to him
 
 PELIDES 141 
 
 invested Avith a magic glamour, and Pelides towers above 
 him in a halo of artiticial glory. Why is the grass so fresh 
 to-day as it waves in the summer wind ? Why are the 
 leaves such a golden green as they flicker against the 
 summer sky ? Why is that vista of forest-glade towards 
 Kensington no longer a mere lobe, or breathing-place 
 of the great metropolis, but a glimpse into Fairyland? 
 Because he has crossed the tiny stream that scarcely wets 
 the wayfarer's feet, and taken his first step into the 
 enchanted region. Fair is the path, and pleasant too, at 
 starting, and all down-hill. The breeze is heavy with 
 perfumes, and his tread is upon crushed roses, innocent, it 
 would seem, of thorns. We shall see. Steeper and steeper 
 slopes the hill. By and by, flints cut the tender soles, 
 and there are no flowers in the brake through which he 
 must force his way, but plenty of thorns here that pierce 
 him to the quick. Faster and faster he must on. The 
 very nature of the spell forbids him to retrace his steps, 
 and he cannot turn aside, for the enchanted country 
 spreads wider and wider around, though it is lone and 
 dreary now, and he shudders to think that if he leave the 
 path he must be lost in the cheerless desert. He cannot 
 stop, for the descent is steeper yet, and he must plunge 
 on ankle deep in sand and shingle, faint, weary, and 
 athirst, down, down, through the gathering darkness, 
 wherever the path shall lead him, even to the waters of 
 the Dead Sea. Woe betide him then ! falling prostrate in 
 his hot need to lip the wave. Woe betide him ! that he 
 must perish at last in an agony of thirst, though steeped 
 to the very nostrils in the mocking flood. 
 
 Mrs. Montpellier had found him out directly. Women 
 ' are so sharp. The yellow barouche was drawn up accord- 
 ing to custom, where carriages most congregate, and 
 Gilbert had been to pay his respects to the lively widow. 
 As she watched his shapely figure winding its way through 
 the crowd, she smiled to herself, while she thought Avith 
 generous triumj)h, " One of my sex has succeeded in tam- 
 ing wild Gilbert Orme at last. I wonder which of us 
 it is ? " 
 
 Holyhead attacked him directly he joined the party. 
 
 " I saw the yello.w barouche, Gilbert," said he. " I knew
 
 142 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 you couldn't be for off. Do you dine at the Ringdoves' 
 to-day to meet her ? It's a regular case." 
 
 Gilbert only laughed. He was always impervious to 
 quizzing, and more so now than usual. With an im- 
 perceptible glance at Landless' swollen feet, he took 
 John by the arm and led him off for a stroll up the walk, 
 leaving the gout}^ sufferer to continue his conversation 
 with his companions. 
 
 "Is he really going to marry Mrs. Montpellier ? " asked 
 Charley Wing, with a faint glimmering that now he was 
 no longer a free agent he had better have done so himself. 
 
 " I should hope not," observed Landless. " Why, she's 
 old enough to be his mother, and a de — vil of a temper 
 besides ! " 
 
 " I don't believe that," interrupted Holyhead, who never 
 would let any one be run down. " I don't believe there's 
 a better woman in London." 
 
 " Fact, though, for all that," was the answer. " I knew 
 her first husband when he was in the 190th. She used to 
 lock him out of their house whenever he sat too late in 
 the mess-room at Plymouth ; and as he was always rather 
 given to brandy-and-water, I fancy, poor fellow, he seldom 
 spent a night in his own bed ; and she was only eighteen 
 then. Wliat she would do now at eight-and-thirty I 
 should bo sorry to contemplate. Perhaps she'd never let 
 him off duty at all. Eh, Charley ! that would be a pretty 
 go — wouldn't it ? " 
 
 There was no arguing with old Landless when he got 
 back to his recollections, which, from his antiquity, 
 extended into a remote period far beyond the experience 
 of his companions. Holyhead, therefore, had no resource 
 but to canter off with a snort of disajjproval, and Charley 
 Wing lounged awa}^ in search of a chair, having dis- 
 covered, to his surprise, that he was able to pay for it. 
 So the old gentleman was left alone in his glory, and the 
 ship letter, which, indeed, had never been absent from his 
 mind, came before it more painfully than ever, 
 
 Gilbert and John strolled leisurely up the Park, halting 
 every hundred yards to lean against the rails and chat 
 with the mounted throng. Many a fair head bowed 
 gracefully beneath its " wide-awake " hat to Gilbert's
 
 PELIDES 143 
 
 ready salute ; many a taper hand drew the rein a thought 
 tighter, or lavished a dainty caress on the smooth arched 
 neck before it, in order to pass Mr, Orme in the most 
 becoming manner ; and portly papas, jogging alongside 
 these enterprising Amazons, observed, " He's a nice young 
 fellow that, Bessie ; don't let mamma forget to ask him to 
 dine with us on Wednesday ! " 
 
 Be sure Bessie remembered, and mamma didn't forget, 
 for the latter had " always heard Mr. Orme must have ten 
 thousand a year." By the way, are there no fortunes in 
 England between "Nothing," "Comfortably off," "Ten 
 thousand a year," and a " Millionaire " ? Perhaps the 
 Income-tax Commissioners could tell. For my part, I 
 have never heard of one. 
 
 If I wanted to impress a foreigner with the merits of 
 English society, I would take him up this very walk on 
 such a crowded sunshiny afternoon. Our compatriots 
 show to the greatest advantage out of doors ; and no 
 woman alive looks so well in a riding-habit as the Anglo- 
 Saxon. There is no such lounge anywhere else in Europe. 
 The Prater at Vienna is a deserted solitude in comparison; 
 and the concourse in the Bois de Boulogne reminds me of 
 a pantomime, without the music, that gives life to that 
 fanciful representation. But Rotten Row, which unsavoury 
 name antiquarians affirm to be derived from the Route 
 clu Roi, is an institution per se, and challenges attention 
 accordingly. 
 
 Gilbert and his companion turned at the Serpentine 
 after another hearty stare into the horse-road, and pro- 
 ceeded to retrace their steps at the same leisurely rate, 
 but with fewer stoppages. The Park was thinning rapidly; 
 and the bevy of beautj^ had fled from its ]_Kirterre as the 
 ducks do from a disturbed decoy. Only a few of the 
 boldest were left, such, indeed, as had nothing to fear 
 from the stratagems of the fowler. Sleepy hacks — and 
 what steed is so mettled but that he docs get sleepy in 
 London ? — were roused for their final canter, and flitting 
 forms were fast disappearing through the many egresses of 
 the Park. 
 
 John had just pulled out his watch with a smothered 
 yawn, and voted it time to dress for dinner, when he was
 
 144 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 startled by a sudden wrench of his friend's arm from his 
 own that Avell-nigh spun the "Geneva" out of his hand, 
 accompanied by an exclamation of profane vehemence and 
 indubitable sui'prise. Ere he had recovered his equanimity, 
 Gilbert was a hundred yards off, striding away at the rate 
 of six miles an hour in ])tn'suit of a female figure carrying 
 a roll of music in her hand, who was herself making such 
 good way as argued no mean pedestrian powers. 
 
 John gave vent to a prolonged whistle ; such a whistle 
 as is the male rendering of a woman's " Well, I never ! " 
 and pocketing his watch, pursued his walk with a comical 
 expression of pity about his mouth. Gilbert meanwhile 
 was coming up rapidly with the chase, and his self-posses- 
 sion was failing him in proportion. There was no mistaking 
 her. Tastefully but quietly dressed, as one who would 
 avoid observation, her veil drawn over her face, and her 
 head rather bent down as she scudded along at a pace such 
 as only feet and ankles like Ada's can connnand. There 
 was no doubt in Gilbert's mind that it could be none 
 other than Mrs. Latimer. What to say to her ? How to 
 account for his intrusion ? He was breathless when he 
 came alongside ; and yet Gilbert could breast a Highland 
 mountain, and whistle a Jacobite air without a false note 
 the while. 
 
 He doffed his hat with the greatest diffidence. She did 
 not offer to shake hands with him, but bowed rather 
 distantly in leturn. Then he " hoped Mrs. Latimer was 
 (juite well. Had she seen Miss Jones since they met at 
 the Villa ? What a pretty villa it was ! " 
 
 Mrs. Latimer " had seen Miss Jones yesterday, and it 
 was a pretty villa." 
 
 Rather a deadlock than otherwise. Both their hearts 
 were beating very fast, and they were walking a liberal 
 four miles an hour. 
 
 " I am going home across the Park," stammered the 
 gentleman (and perhaps if " the longest Avay round " be 
 indeed " the shortest way home," he had chosen a judicious 
 route for Green Street). " Pray allow me to carry that — • 
 that — parcel for you ; " emphasising the substantive as 
 though it had been a clothes-basket. 
 
 " Thank you ; it's not very heavy," she said, repressing
 
 PELTDES 145 
 
 a smile. Nor was it, indeed, being but a single sheet of 
 music. He would have liked it to weigh a ton, though, in 
 that case, she would probably have returned with it in a 
 waggon. She almost wished she had ! 
 
 Ada was getting frightened ; yet was she provoked with 
 hereelf too. It seemed absurd that she should make 
 difficulties about walking a couple of hundred yards with 
 an acquaintance ! After all, he had been regularly intro- 
 duced to her, and she was old enough to take care of 
 herself; so she summoned up courage to thank him again, 
 and told him she had been giving a singing-lesson down 
 in Belgravia to a new pupil, and mentioned the acolyte's 
 name, insisting somewhat unnecessarily on her profession, 
 and flourishing it, so to speak, in her companion's fiice, 
 though she would have been puzzled to explain why 
 she did so. 
 
 All this was lost upon Gilbert. 
 
 " My cousin Gertrude ! " he exclaimed in a rapture ; " do 
 you teach Gertrude ? I am so glad you know her ! don't 
 you like her very much ? Then that is the reason she left 
 the Park so early to-day, I always thought she had a 
 good voice. Will she sing well ? I am sure she will if 
 ^mc try to make her. I hope she won't sing that song 
 about the angel, though." 
 
 " Why not ? don't you like it ? " she asked ; and a 
 moment afterwards she rebuked herself for the question. 
 
 " Like it ! " he exclaimed ; " I hope the angels will sing 
 it me when I am dying. Like it ! I have never been able 
 to get it out of my head. I hum it all day, and dream of 
 it all night ; and yet, do you know, I don't think I should 
 like to hear it sung by anybody again who — who couldn't 
 do justice to it," he concluded rather lamely. 
 
 She thought it best to try back upon the cousin. 
 
 " I gave Lady Gertrude her first lesson to-day," she 
 resumed. " I think she is a very promising pupil, I shall 
 ttike great pains with her. I — didn't know she was your 
 cousin," she was going to say, but she stopped herself just 
 in time. 
 
 " How fond you must be of music," he interposed, not 
 caring to discuss Gertrude's merits just then. "What a 
 pleasure it must be to call up such feelings in your 
 
 K
 
 146 OOOT) FOn NOTHIXG 
 
 listeners, and to make fools of them at your will ! Music 
 and mesmerism always seem to me the powers I should 
 covet most to possess. It is a gratifjdng thing to command 
 the bodies of one's fellow-creatures, but what a triumph 
 it must be to know that one can sway their minds. Don't 
 you feel like an empress, Mrs Latimer, when hundreds 
 are hanging on every word that comes from your lips 1 " 
 
 " Indeed I don't," she replied, simply and frankly 
 enough. " At first I used to be frightened out of my 
 wits, and even now I'm always glad when a concert or 
 anything of that kind is over. If I was rich I should 
 never sing in public ; and yet I dearly love music, too, for 
 its own sake." 
 
 "Of course you do!" he exclaimed enthusiastically; 
 " what would I give to possess the charm that you do, and 
 which you seem to value so lightly. To elevate the minds 
 of so many above their everyday vulgar cares and dis- 
 tresses, and to bring back to them, as you can, if only for 
 five minutes, the holiest and happiest period of their 
 lives. It is no slight thing, Mrs. Latimer, to influence 
 any one human being, as that song of yours has influenced 
 me, ever since the first time I heard it at the concert." 
 
 Gilbert had got into his swing now, and was striding 
 away like a winning horse over all obstacles. What more 
 high-flown opinions he might have broached it is im- 
 possible to guess, for at this juncture he was brought to a 
 halt by the Edgeware Road — a thoroughfare which his 
 comjjanion had resolved from the first was to prove a 
 barrier between them, impassable as the Styx. 
 
 Arrived at its fatal brink, she stopped short, and took 
 leave of him gracefully and kindly enough, but with an 
 air that told him plainly he would not be suffered to 
 attend her a yard further on her journey. To do him 
 justice, he obeyed the implied behest without a murmur. 
 They shook hands, though, and lingered both of them for 
 half a second over the ceremony that concluded what 
 each felt had been a very charming walk — 
 
 " Good-bye, Mrs. Latimer ! " 
 
 " Good-bye, Mr. Orme ! " 
 
 Gilbert never thought his own name so pretty, as when 
 he heard it spoken in those soft, gentle tones.
 
 PELIDES 147 
 
 How late he was for dinner that day at his great-uncle 
 the bishop's ; how absent all the evening ; how glad when 
 it was over ! The opium-eater has but little appetite for 
 natural food. The richest draught is flat and tasteless to 
 him who grasps that ciip of which the first sip is nectar, 
 poisoned though it be ! The prelate's guests sat down to 
 the episcopal good cheer thankfully enough, at eight ; but 
 then they hadn't been walking in the Park at half-past 
 seven Avith a Mrs. Latimer, 
 
 And Ada went home and drank her tea, and sat in her 
 solitude thankful to be so near the Park, watching the 
 glowing hues of sunset, as she thought what a beautiful 
 world this was, even in London, and wondering — oh ! how 
 she wondered — when she should see him again.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 "AT home" 
 
 There is a certain rite performed by the upper classes 
 during the hottest part of the London season, of which, 
 to the uninitiated, it would be difficult to explain the 
 advantages or the end. This solemnity, which has been in 
 vogue for a good many years, was called by our grand- 
 mothers a Rout, whereas modern irreverence, by an 
 equally martial and inexplicable metaphor, designates it 
 a Drum ! Its chief characteristic seems to be suffocation 
 under certain restrictions, and it would appear to have 
 been originally intended by some rigorous ascetics for the 
 practice of mortification and self-denial, moral as well as 
 physittU. The votaries, arriving at as late an hour as 
 possible, sit for a considerable ])eriod in their respective 
 vehicles, preparing, as it would seem, in darkness and 
 solitude, for the approaching ordeal, and emerge, under 
 the immediate guidance of a policeman, where awning 
 and foot-cloth are spread to protect the magnificence of 
 their attire. Wedged in considerable masses, the next 
 step is to contest a staircase inch by inch with a throng 
 of ladies and gentlemen all at a high temperature, until 
 by the exercise of patience, forbearaTice, and no small 
 amount of physical strength, a distant doorway is 
 event\uilly attained. Heie the presiding priestess, en- 
 joying the comparative i'reedom of breathing-space and 
 elbow-room, stands to receive the homage of her guests; 
 and when a formal bow has been tendered and returned, 
 the whole object of the ceremoidal would seem to have 
 
 148
 
 'AT HOME' 149 
 
 been accomplished, and nothing more remains but a 
 second struggle for freedom, open air, and the friendlj'' 
 light of the carriage-lamps. Recognition, for persons of 
 average altitude, is impracticable. Conversation, beyond 
 begging pardon for crushing, impossible. If friends are 
 jammed against friends, the very juxtaposition forbids 
 colloquial ease ; and if ten yards apart, they are as 
 effectually separated as if they were in different streets. 
 The heat is intense, the physical labour considerable. 
 Great lassitude and fatigue are the immediate results ; 
 and yet there is, doubtless, some hidden charm, some 
 inexplicable advantage consequent on these gatherings, 
 else how can we account for the eagerness with which 
 they are sought, and the patience with which they are 
 endured ? 
 
 Lady Olivia's " At Home " was no exception to the 
 general rule ; " the world " said " all the world " was there ; 
 and as " all the world " was likewise at another festivity 
 on the oppo.site side of the square, much confusion 
 amongst the chariots of the mighty, much strong 
 language, clattering of hoofs, and application of whipcord, 
 was the result. 
 
 How Bella's colour rose as the caniage-steps were let 
 down. That little earthenware jug amongst all those 
 vessels of Sevres and Dresden, and delicate porcelain, how 
 she shrank to her chaperon's side — an ample matron, 
 with daughters of her own ; and whose heart, large as the 
 capacious bosom under which it beat, was always ready to 
 befriend the motherless girl, but who has nothing to do 
 Avith my story, more's the pity — how she dreaded the 
 coming presentation to Lady Olivia, and winced from the 
 ordeal which she had so teased John Gordon — the little 
 schemer ! — to enable her to undergo. She had ample 
 time for preparation, however, and got through the intro- 
 ductory ceremony easily enough, Lady Olivia giving her 
 the coldest of her cold bows, and suffering her to pass on 
 into the room without further notice or welcome. Then 
 Bella was glad to sink into a seat, well sheltered under 
 the protecting wing (for Bella's chaperon, though she 
 knew everybody in London, and was liked in every circle, 
 had not forgotten that she had been a girl herself, and was
 
 ISO OOOD FOB NOTHIXO 
 
 once as shy as she was slim), and rest content to look 
 about her, and think how few people she knew, and hope 
 John Gordon wouldn't be late, for John had promised to 
 come, and Bella said to herself, with a thrill of secret 
 pride, " what John promises he alwaA'S performs." 
 
 It was dull work, though, for the uninitiated girl to 
 watch the quiet movements of the puppets without 
 knowing who pulled the strings. A fat bald man opposite 
 was talking eagerly in whispers to an elderly lady, 
 decorated with a profusion of diamonds and a flaxen wig. 
 It might have been interesting to her had she been aware 
 that the gentleman was a foreign statesman of eminence, 
 the lady a political intrigante of European reputation. 
 Truth, however, compels me to acknowledge that the 
 subject of conversation was not the interpretation of 
 treaties, nor the fate of nations, but the merits of the 
 Vichy waters, and their beneficial effects on the digestive 
 organs. 
 
 Again, she knew Lord Holyhead by sight ; and she did 
 weave a shocking little romance in her o\vn head when she 
 saw a stealthy and most affectionate squeeze of the hand 
 interchanged by his lordship with a remarkably pretty 
 woman, hanging on an elderly husband's arm, accom- 
 panied by the softest of glances, and a whispered, " I'm so 
 glad you're come." So she was! for he ought to have 
 dined with them that day, and she was his chief pet, and 
 favourite of all his si.'^ters. Moreover, she marked the 
 meeting of a couple who seemed to know and yet not to 
 know each other, their recognition was so distant and 
 constrained, their looks so embarrassed and quickly 
 averted. Bella resolved in her own mind that they must 
 be secret enemies, all the more bitter that the forms of 
 society compelled them to reciprocal civility. Had she 
 seen the same pair together at four o'clock that afternoon, 
 she could only have concluded that they must have 
 quarrelled since. Altogether she voted it was rather 
 stupid than otherwise, and began to think that she would 
 be glad when it was time to go home. 
 ■ But Bella's eye brightened once more as she saw a 
 gentleman winding his way perseveringly through the 
 throng, evidently to come and speak to her. No, it was
 
 'AT HOME' l5l 
 
 not John Gordon, but it was his friond, Mr. Orme. 
 Gilbert was unusually dutiful to-night ; he had dined 
 with his great-uncle, and now came to look in before 
 going to bed at his mamma's " At Home." When he saw 
 Miss Jones, he started with pleasure, and made for her 
 point-blank. To those who have ever been so foolish as 
 to care for anything but themselves, I need not explain 
 why that young lady's presence should have been such an 
 agreeable surprise. Have you a favourite flower ? is 
 there a colour for ribbons that you prefer? would you 
 rather walk down one side of a street than another ? If 
 so, you know what association means, and you can under- 
 stand that the compliment to Bella was the least flattering 
 possible. 
 
 " You don't know Gertrude, Miss Jones," said Gilbert, 
 shaking hands with her warmly, and bowing to her cha- 
 peron ; '' pray let me bring Gertrude to you. My cousin 
 Gertrude ; she belongs to the house, you know. Won't 
 you have some tea ? and, oh ! Miss Jones, how's the 
 parrot ? " 
 
 There was something irresistible in Gilbert's cordial 
 manner ; no shyness or reserve could stand before it for 
 an instant. People felt at their ease with him directly. 
 By the time he had found his cousin, and detached her 
 from certain admirers whom she was trampling under- 
 foot with her usual dignity, Bella's courage had risen 
 several degrees, and she had made up her mind that next 
 to John Gordon, who had not come yet, nobody was so 
 nice (that's the word) as Mi\ Orme. 
 
 Like most high-bred young ladies, Gertrude was also 
 perfectly good-natured. The two girls were friends 
 directly. 
 
 " You must come and see me in the morning. Miss 
 Jones, and make acquaintance with my snuggery up-stairs. 
 I don't call these 'crushes' meeting one's friends. I am 
 so glad, though, that you found your way here to-night. 
 I have heard so much of you from Mr. Gordon." 
 
 Bella coloured. Some young ladies blush becomingly, 
 and some do not ; Miss Jones was of the latter class. 
 Lady Gertrude scanned her narrowly, and felt she liked 
 her much better than she expected. She sat by her on
 
 152 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 the ottoman, and they were getting on very well whon 
 Gilbert lounged up to them once more ; he could not 
 keep away from Miss Jones pmt7' cause. 
 
 " I have never thanked you for the pleasant evening I 
 spent at your house," said he. " You were not at home 
 when I called. It's the prettiest villa in England, 
 Gertrude, and Miss Jones has got a parrot that you would 
 give your two eyes to possess. He can talk, and sing, 
 and play the pianoforte ; can't he. Miss Jones ? If you 
 heard him, Gertrude, you'd never look at the canary 
 again." 
 
 Bella's eyes sparkled ; it was no light triumph to have 
 such a first-rater in tow as this good-looking, dandified 
 Mr. Orme. Forgive her, demure Dorcas ! forgive her, 
 ascetic Agatha ! she was but a girl still, and you are 
 birds of prey by nature, every one of you, caged though 
 you be. She answered with unnecessary warmth and 
 animation. 
 
 " Come again, if you like the Villa so much, Mr. Orme, 
 but come earlier. Papa is often at home at luncheon- 
 time, and I never go out till three, because of my music 
 lesson." 
 
 He coloured to the roots of his hair. " He should be 
 delighted ; it was so kind of them — so hospitable — he 
 should like it of all things; he wanted so nmch to see 
 the garden — he was so fond of a garden ! " 
 
 Ladv Gertrude looked from one to the other in mute 
 astonishment. Gilbert fond of a garden ! this beat every- 
 thing. Gracious heavens ! he must be in love with the 
 girl, this shy, awkward, undeveloped, half-educated miss ! 
 
 " It's impossible ! " thought Gertrude. " It cannot be ; 
 it must not be ; it shall not be ! " 
 
 But her astonishment was lost upon its object. Out- 
 wardly he seemed engrossed in the admiration of a very 
 neat boot. Inwardly he was con.sidcring whether to- 
 morrow would be too soon to call again, or the next day ; 
 certainly he might call the next day. 
 
 " Go and get me an ice, Gilbert," said her ladyship in 
 her most imperious tones, " and don't be an hour about it. 
 I want it directly." 
 
 She had a way of ordering him about, when she meant
 
 'AT HOME' 153 
 
 to pet him especially — a pretty petulant way that he 
 quite understood, so she thought ; and indeed many a 
 man would have brought her an ice from the North Pole 
 to be so commanded with such a motive. Whilst he 
 executed his mission he was scheming a thousand ways 
 of meeting his tormentor here in this very house, at the 
 Villa, in the Park, whenever and wherever he could gefe 
 a glimpse of her. His head was in a whirl — he scarcely 
 knew what he was doing. And yet this was a man who 
 could drive an unruly team to an inch in a crowded 
 thoroughfare, who could steer a boat to a nicety in a gale 
 of wind, whoso friends believed him to be heartless, Uas^, 
 impenetrable, and cold as the very ice he handed to his 
 cousin. 
 
 Whilst she sipped it she kept him near her. She was 
 especially kind, and perhaps a little patronising to Bella, 
 but she had determined to make her feel in a thousand 
 ways that her cousin was her own peculiar property ; that 
 the idea of a Miss Jones flying at such high game was 
 simply ridiculous ; and that to enter the lists against 
 herself, with all her advantages of person, position, and 
 propinquity, was but to ensure defeat. 
 
 Gilbert, in the happiest frame of mind, for reasons of 
 his own, played into her hands unwittingly, and suffered 
 her to appropriate and tyrannise over him Avith all the 
 satisfaction of a willing captive. Even Lady Olivia 
 scowled at them as she passed ; and Bella, who thought 
 it the most natural thing in the world that the cousins 
 should be engaged, treasured up that fact for future 
 comment, and entered into the spirit of the con- 
 versation with a good-humoured vivacity that Lady 
 Gertrude thought rather " pushing," and Gilbert never 
 thought about at all. It was a pretty game enough at 
 blindman's-buff, and nobody caught. 
 
 Bella would have enjoyed it more had it included an- 
 other player. In the midst of her smiles, she winced 
 every now and then to think John Gordon had broken 
 his promise, and had not come. He who had got her 
 the invitation to this gathering of smart people, who took 
 such an interest in her first plunge into society, who had 
 told her so assuredly he would be there to take care of
 
 154 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 her if she wanted him, and now to forget all about it, and 
 not to come. It was unlike him — it was inconsiderate — 
 it was unkind ! 
 
 No, Bella, it was none of these. John Gordon attends 
 to business before pleasure. An express from the office 
 reached him at dinner at his club. He has been closeted 
 for hours in that office, poring over accounts by the light 
 of a tallow candle, in company with a dirty man, who 
 looks as if he had just come off a long voyage and a short 
 allowance of fresh water ; which is, indeed, the fact. Since 
 then he had been home to dress, and is now jingling here 
 in a hack-cab as fast as that vehicle can bring him. 
 
 As Bella sailed down-stairs in the wake of her chaperon, 
 John Gordon was coming up, but he turned back to 
 accompany her to the cloak-room, and postponed paying 
 his respects to his hostess and her niece till he should 
 have put her into the carriage, which was even then the 
 next in the string, waiting to take her off. 
 
 The poor girl looked up reproachfully in his face as he 
 prepared to wrap her up, and held her cloak out with 
 extended arms for the purpose; but in John's usually 
 imperturbable countenance there was a wistful, pitying 
 expression that she could not fathom, yet that she was 
 conscious she had never seen there before. Half frightened, 
 and more than half inclined to cry, she could only get 
 out — 
 
 " I thought you were never coming, Mr. Gordon ; but 
 thank you for my evening all the same." 
 
 " I hope you enjoyed it," was his answer as he put her 
 into the carriage ; and again the same pitying expression 
 swept over his features ; " Good-night, Bella — God bless 
 you ! 
 
 He had never pressed her hand so warmly till to-night ; 
 he had never said " God bless you ! " to her in her life 
 before. What could it all mean ? 
 
 The crowd was thinning rapidly, and he made his way 
 up-stairs without difficulty. Lady Olivia's reception was, 
 for her, wonderfully gracious, and Gertrude was still 
 monopolising her cousin Gilbert. John Gordon walked 
 up to them with his usual cold and impassive air. 
 Gilbert saw nothing in his friend different from usual;
 
 'AT HOME' 155 
 
 but Lady Gertrude gave one quick searching glance into 
 his face, and put out her hand to him, and pressed his 
 kindly, though she had seen him that afternoon, and 
 moved her dress a little so as to make more room on the 
 ottoman beside her. She would never have allowed it, 
 but somehow to-night she took a greater interest in him 
 than usual. Although he was colder and more impass- 
 ible than she ever remembered him, she would have 
 liked to have had him all to herself in a quiet tete-a-tete. 
 She had so many things to ask him and to talk over with 
 him ; so she flirted with Gilbert more vigorously than 
 ever, despite Lady Olivia's scowls, and Mr. Gordon's 
 apparent indifference to herself and everything else. 
 
 It was no false heraldry that represented the Sphinx 
 as a woman down to the girdle.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 "A HITCH IN THE REEL" 
 
 The days wore on. The Derby came and passed. People 
 dressed, and dined, and flirted, and wagered, and ran in 
 debt, taking what they believed to be their pleasure, 
 broiling on the pavement of Pall Mall, or wet to the skin 
 on the slopes of Ascot ; and Gilbert, moving from habit 
 in the accustomed circle, went about it all like a man in 
 a dream. The malady from which he was suffering so 
 far resembles the ague, that its hot and cold fits succeed 
 each other in regular alternation. Gilbert had, at least, 
 two paroxysms of each in the twenty-four hours, and was 
 fast waning into a state of nervous imbecility. He be- 
 came thoughtful, moody, impatient, and averse to the 
 society of his friends. Holyhead's abrupt opinions and 
 worldly maxims seemed heartless and unfeeling; old 
 Landless was simply a bore, without the advantage of 
 being a well-principled one; and as for Charley Wing — 
 he began to wonder what Avas the merit, after all, of 
 Charley Wing ? He wasn't clever, he wasn't well-in- 
 formed ; and no man j)roffssing such a low esteem for 
 women could be either good- hearted or respectable. This 
 was becoming a sore point with Gilbert. In the morning- 
 room at White's, or the gossiping circles of his other 
 clubs, he was liable to hear certain opinions broached 
 from which he winced as from a red-hot iron. Gentlemen 
 of all atres allow themselves considerable latitude in the 
 discussion of to])ics which, p('rha])s, are better not dis- 
 cussed at all. l>y assuming to speak from experience,
 
 *A HITCH IN THE REEL' 167 
 
 they would fain infer that they themselves are irresistible ; 
 and a man who confines himself to generalities, need 
 never fear reproof or contradiction. For my part, I think 
 Bayard is a better example than Lovelace. I think he 
 whom a woman has trusted, should, for that reason, be 
 the champion, not the accuser, of her sex. I think the 
 braggart who assumes a triumph to which he is not 
 entitled, deserves to meet as summary a fate as the in- 
 discreet intruder in a certain Irish fairy tale; and I join 
 cordially in the enchanted distich : — 
 
 " Woe worth the coward that ever he was born, 
 Who did not dare to draw the sword before he blew the horn," 
 
 Poor Gilbert hated the very sight of Flippant now. He 
 wondered he could ever have listened patiently to that 
 " beguiling tongue," or looked without loathing on those 
 hyacinthine locks, the pride of a coiffeur's art. He said as 
 much to Holyhead one day as they turned out of St. 
 James' Street, and the energetic peer at once avowed his 
 opinion that " Flippant was a d — d old humbug. But, 
 after all, Gilbert, my boy, women are very much alike ! " 
 And then he fell to talking of Bravoura. Of Bravoura ! 
 and Gilbert's type all the time was Ada Latimer. 
 
 He had now but one object in the day, or rather one in 
 every two days. This was his walk across the Park with his 
 enslaver. Three times a week for ten minutes he could 
 converse with Mrs. Latimer. Thirty minutes a week, or 
 two hours in a month. At this rate he could enjoy her 
 society for one day in every calendar year ; or about six 
 weeks of his whole remaining life, supposing he lived to 
 seventy. And for this he was content to barter comfort, 
 liberty, friends, ambition, everything he had in the world, 
 and hug himself on the exchange. Surely talue received 
 is but a relative term, incapable of accurate measurement 
 or calculation. 
 
 This was one of Gilbert's w?Liie days. A late breakfast 
 to shorten the time as much as possible ; a restless stroll out 
 of doors to survey his ground, as it were, and enjoy by antici- 
 pation the delights of his afternoon ; a total neglect of all 
 business and duties, and a great disinclination for society ; 
 then an elaborate toilet as the afternoon drew on, which,
 
 158 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 unfortunately, with a well-made, good-looking subject, 
 who, moreover, always looked like a gentleman, could not 
 be spun out to any great length ; afterwards an early 
 appearance to share the solitude of the Park with the son 
 of Peleus, which was unnecessary as it was wearisome, 
 inasmuch as she never came till nearly seven o'clock, to 
 be followed by two long nervous hours of suspense and 
 anxiety, avoiding his friends, and unconsciously catting 
 his acquaintance. He used to think the clock at the 
 corner 'must have stopped, so provokingly slow was the 
 progress of that shining minute-hand. What misgivings, 
 too, lest she should not pass after all ! She might be ill — 
 she might be gone out of town — she might be anything 
 that was most unlikely. He would bear the suspense 
 no longer. This should be the last time. To-day he 
 would tell her, come what might, and put a stop to it one 
 way or the other. Yes; no woman alive should make a fool 
 of him beyond a certain point. At last ! There she was. 
 God bless her ! To-day he would certainly tell her ! 
 
 But he didnt tell her, nevertheless, for she never 
 gave him an opportunity, because she loved him ; and 
 he never made one for the same reason. 
 
 For forty minutes or so after the walk he was 
 soothed and calm and tolerably comfortable. Then the 
 reaction began again ; and the worry and fidget to last for 
 another seven-and-forty hours. 
 
 These were the ichitc days. The llach ones were ditto 
 repeated, without the intervening period of delight. 
 They passed very slowly; and he was glad when they 
 were over. Yet am I not sure that they were the 
 most uncomfortable after all. 
 
 Now, it may seem strange that a gentleman of Mr. 
 Orme's standing and experience should have found 
 such difficulty in obtaining a tetc-a-tete with the lady 
 of his affections, who was, moreover, her own mistress ; 
 and I am not pre[)ared to say that Gilbert did not know 
 perfectly well where she resided, although, with intuitive 
 delicacy, he had never asked the question of herself, 
 else where would be the use of those functionaries in 
 white hats and red waistcoats, who, with singular attention 
 to " the unities," adopt the very colours of the Post Office
 
 'A TTTTGH IN THE BEBL' M 
 
 Directory and Court Guide ! Indeed, ho had walked past 
 the house many a night when the moon was up, and Ada 
 fast asleep ; but he had never ventured to call upon 
 her, as he would have done long ere this had she been 
 a duchess ; nor had he ever intruded on the music-lessons 
 in Belgrave Square or the Villa, though often sorely 
 tempted at both. This backwardness explains itself at 
 once to those who know by experience the thoughtfulness 
 and consideration of true affection, though to the Flippant 
 school it w^ould seem an inexcusable waste of time. That 
 " Faint heart never won fair lady," may be as true as 
 any other proverb, but the stouter the heart the fainter 
 it is likely to prove in any aggression on the feelings of 
 her it really loves. So Gilbert contented himself perforce 
 with his alternate afternoons, and longed and pondered 
 and resolved to take some decisive measures, and didn't. 
 
 At last, one dull afternoon, w^hen the Park w^as nearly 
 empty from the combined influence of a fete at Chiswick 
 and a drizzling rain, there was no Mrs. Latimer. 
 
 Gilbert bounced about, and made himself very hot and 
 angry, and at last resigned himself to the fact, after he had 
 waited till eight o'clock and was wet to the skin, attribut- 
 ing it to the weather, which he cursed with improper 
 energy, and wishing he could annihilate the intervening 
 period that must elapse before he could see her again. 
 Two days afterwards he was at his post half-an-hour 
 earlier than usual. It was a bright hot afternoon, and all 
 London seemed to have congregated about the Serpentine. 
 Still, no Mrs. Latimer ! That day he waited till dark, and 
 went to bed without any dinner, in a frame of mind hj no 
 means enviable or edifying. What could it mean ? 'She 
 must have done it on purpose. Heartless ! fickle ! un- 
 feeling ! No ; he would not blame her. He would give 
 her one more chance. He would wait for two days, and 
 then it would be a week, a whole week, since he had seen 
 
 her. If she didn't come then he would tvhat would 
 
 he do ? He was fain to postpone the contemj)lation of 
 such a contingency. So he chafed and fretted and 
 waited a whole week ; and still she didn't come. 
 
 Ada, too, had in the meantime been living a strange, 
 unsettled life of alternate hopes and misgivings, dashed
 
 160 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 with no inconsiderable twinges of uncertainty and self- 
 reproach. Yet through the motley web there ran one 
 golden thread of secret joy, which she prized the more 
 that it seemed impossible to disentangle it from the hope- 
 less confusion through which it twined. Woman-like, she 
 concealed her feelings even from herself, satisfied, and 
 more than satisfied, with her modicum of present 
 happiness. She dwelt far more than she was aware 
 on the cherished walks, and looked back on them, and 
 forward to them, with an engrossing interest that 
 sufficiently filled up the intervening hours. Resolutely 
 refusing to look into the future, she had not courage 
 to ask herself one or two questions, which she had a vague 
 suspicion were of some importance to her welfare, till they 
 were at last forced upon her unexpectedly, and could be 
 put off no longer. 
 
 It was one of the white days, and Mrs. Latimer was 
 at luncheon in the Villa, previous to Miss Jones' music- 
 lesson. Bella being late as usual — for she was as 
 unpunctual as she was good-natured — insisted on her 
 teacher sitting down with her to roast-chicken when they 
 ought to have been murdering a duet. They were quite 
 alone, with the exception of a butler, footman, and page- 
 boy, and discoursed freely as if those domestics were both 
 deaf and dumb. Bella was full of her evening in Belgrave 
 Square, and loud in praise of Lady Gertrude, how she 
 looked, what she had on, all about her. Mrs. Latimer 
 felt she was treading upon dangerous ground; but she, 
 too, had some acquaintance with Lady Gertrude ; and 
 there was a certain fascination in the subject that led her 
 on against her will. 
 
 " She is very handsome," said Mrs. Latimer, thinking of 
 a certiiin family likeness which no one else could have 
 traced, " and very clever, and altogether a very charming 
 
 " That she is ! " exclaimed enthusiastic Bella. " Now, if 
 I had been a gentleman, I should have fallen in love with 
 her too directly, and married her at St. George's, all 
 in order, the first week in August. (Some more chicken, 
 dear ? Let me give you the merry-thought.) I declare I 
 think Mr. Orme is a very lucky man."
 
 'A HITCH IN THE REEL' 161 
 
 " Why so ? " gasped Ada, turning as white as a sheet, 
 antl pushing her plate away. 
 
 " Oh ! don't you know ? " replied Bella, still intent upon 
 the chicken ; " they say he's engaged to her ; and I'm 
 sure the other night nothing could be more attentive. 
 He's very nice, too. You met him here once, and sat 
 next him at dinner. Don't you remember ? " 
 
 Rememher ! Poor Ada ! Luckily her companion was 
 still so engrossed with the merry-thought, that she did 
 not remark how paler and paler grew the music-mistress' 
 cheek ; but the observant butler, who held stoutly by his 
 master's opinion that there is nothing like old sherry, 
 filled her glass by stealth to the brim. 
 
 How the music-lesson went on after this, Ada knew no 
 more than I do. Fortunately for her, a strong leavening 
 of indignation, amongst her other feelings, prevented her 
 giving way. " Then he was engaged to be married all 
 the time," thought she — and if she was pale before, her 
 cheeks burned with fiery blushes now — " all the time he 
 professed to be so glad to see me. And I — fool that I 
 was ! — meeting him, and watching for him, and longing 
 so to see him. What must he think of me ? What must 
 he have thought of me all along?" She would have 
 liked to hide herself for a year. She Avas more angry 
 with herself than with him. She was hurt, and sick at 
 heart. 
 
 But she must go through her lessons. From the 
 Regent's Park to Bayswater, from Bayswater to Knights- 
 bridge, from Knightsbridge to Belgrave Square, There 
 is no respite for the bees, and herein they sting themselves 
 less poignantly with their sorrows than do the idler drones. 
 Ere she sat down to the pianoforte with Lady Gertrude, 
 she began to think it might not be true. Women read 
 other women easily enough, and the young lady's manner 
 was scarcely that of a fiancee. Where was the dreamy 
 look, the unconscious smile, the atmosphere of happiness, 
 that diffuses itself around those who have attained their 
 goal? Lady Gertrude was quick, livel}^ energetic as 
 usual; completely engrossed Avith her lesson, somewhat 
 sarcastic also, and not the least in the world like a maiden 
 pondering on her absent lover. Probably the whole
 
 162 GOOD FOR NOTBING 
 
 report was but one of the idle mmours of the world. It 
 made her cross-examine herself, though, pretty search- 
 ingly, the while her pupil warbled a cavaUna, making 
 two mistakes and a false note undetected ; and she came 
 to the conclusion that at least the walks must be dis- 
 continued from henceforth ; she must break herself of 
 this folly, for her own sake, for his sake ; ah ! then it 
 would be easier; and so, no more sunshine for her, but 
 the old gloomy life, darker than ever it had been before. 
 It seemed hard, very hard. She would have liked to put 
 her head in her hands, and cry till she got better. Lady 
 Gertrude was singing false and unrebuked. A figure 
 footman walked up to the pianoforte with a note — 
 
 " Mr. Orme's servant waiting for an answer, my lady." 
 
 Again the cold, sick feeling crept round Ada's heart. 
 Her pupil stopped singing, read the missive, and flung 
 it aside with the careless observation, "No answer." As 
 it rested on the music-stand, Mrs. Latimer could not avoid 
 seeing his handwriting on the half-turned page ; it began 
 — " Dearest Gertrude." 
 
 This was the reason the walks were discontinued ; and 
 Gilbert driven to such a pitch of monomania as I am 
 powerless to describe. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that he sat quietly down under 
 his privation. Would she have liked him better if he 
 had ? No ; he called boldly at her lodgings ; when I say 
 boldly, I mean that he concealed his trepidation (which 
 is, after all, the true definition of courage), and confronted 
 a maid-of-all-work with as much sang-froid as he could 
 muster. " Mrs. Latimer was not at home," of course ! 
 "When would she be at home?" equally of course, "It 
 was very uncertain." The maid-of-all-work, in furnishing 
 her report, stated that " the gentleman seemed quite 
 disappointed-like " ; and my lady readers will best under- 
 stand the confidence which Ada gathered from such an 
 announcement, and the encouragement it gave her to 
 proceed in that thorny path which, because it entailed a 
 painful amount of self-sacrifice, she was persuaded must 
 be the right one ; " Pleasant, but wrong," and its converse 
 seem to comprise the standard by which women regulate 
 their duties and their relaxations.
 
 'A HITCH IN THE BEEV 163 
 
 Then he tried the Villa, and found himself let in for 
 a heavy luncheon tete-d-tete with the alderman, and 
 narrowly escaped a drive back into London with Bella 
 in the sociable. Also he called in Belgrave Square about 
 the accustomed hour of the music-lesson ; and had not 
 been there five minutes before Gertrude complained that 
 her mistress had got a cold, and had written to postpone 
 any further tuition dne die. Gilbert was at his wits' end. 
 It was poor consolation to walk under her windows at 
 midnight, but he did it, notwithstanding ; and she, lying 
 wide awake, and thinking how difficult it was to be good, 
 heard his footfall on the pavement, and never doubted 
 but it was the policeman ! 
 
 I have seen a dog sit up and beg at a closed door. I 
 have seen a dog kicked and beaten for following its 
 master. I have wondered at that canine instinct of 
 fidelity which accompanies true courage and singleness 
 of heart, and I have been sorry for the dog. Would Ada 
 have been pleased to know that the man who loved her 
 was watching for hours under the gas-lamps only to be 
 near her ? would she have loved him better, or prized his 
 devotion the less to be so secure of it ? I do not know 
 women well enough to give an answer. I only know 
 what he thought of Tier — the best, the purest, the noblest 
 of God's creation ; he could have bowed the knee to 
 anjiihing in the shape of a woman for her dear sake. 
 
 Pacing up and down, absorbed in this rational admira- 
 tion of a closed shutter, he was the only passenger in the 
 quiet street save one. Alas for the ghostly figure that 
 flitted round the corner in its dingy garments, and leered 
 at him with dull, faded eye, and stretched a wan, dirty 
 hand for alms, and accosted him in the hollow whisper 
 that tells of sore trouble, and want, and weakness, and 
 gin. You meet them every night, gentlemen. Every 
 night of your lives, as you walk home along the echoing 
 streets from your clubs or other resorts, from wine, and 
 friendship, and fixscination, and merry-making — home to 
 the comfortable house, to the luxurious dressing-room 
 next door to that sacred chamber where nestles the loved 
 one, flushed and warm amidst her delicate white draperies, 
 restless even in her sleep because you tarry long. Think
 
 164 GOOD FOB NOTHING 
 
 of her whose only refuge is the gin-palace, whose daily 
 bread is the degradation of the streets. For God's dear 
 sake have pity on her ! She was not always bad ; she is 
 not all bad now. You, too, have been in temptation ; 
 have you resisted it ? You, too, have sinned ; have you 
 been punished as you deserved ? Must this poor scape- 
 goat bear the enormities of a whole people ; and is yours 
 the hand to drive her out into the wilderness, lost and 
 lonely, and shut the gate of the fold against her for ever ? 
 The deeper she has sunk, the more need has she of help. 
 The virtuous have heaven and earth, too, on their side ; 
 but if all were good, Mount Calvary had been but a 
 nameless hill to this day. You, too, must needs beg for 
 mercy ere long. Hold ! this is but a selfish consideration. 
 Think of what One would have done had He been on 
 earth. Is the gospel a romance ? or is it true that He 
 said, " Go thou, and do likewise " ? 
 
 There was five minutes' conversation between Gilbert 
 and the hapless, abandoned Avayfarer, A policeman, 
 walking his beat, scanned the couple searchingly, and 
 passed on. Ere he turned the corner, Gilbert haa wished 
 her a kindly "Good-night." The poor woman couldn't 
 speak for sobbing. " It's not for the money," gasped she, 
 taking the glove out of his hand, and kissing it ; " it's 
 not for the money, but the good words, the first I've heard 
 this six months. God bless your kind heart ! If every 
 gentleman was like you, I wouldn't be what I am this 
 night ! So help me Him that made me, but I'll take 
 your advice and tri/ ! " 
 
 It is rather a waste of time to lounge about under the 
 windows of your ladye-love, more particularly at midnight, 
 and in an east wind. On this occasion, however, Gilbert 
 went to bed at two a.m., not entirely dissatisfied with the 
 result of his walk.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 *' AY DE MI " 
 
 " llEiau-HO ! " sighed the parrot, coming down the inside 
 of his cage backwards, like a sailor descending the rigging 
 of a ship, holding on with beak and claws the while. 
 " Heigh-ho ! " repeated the bird ; and the sigh was so like 
 Bella's, that Alderman Jones turned round, startled to 
 find that he was alone in the room, 
 
 " The devil's in the bird," quoth the alderman testily, 
 going back to the money article in the Times. " Dear, 
 dear, Consols down again, and Slopes failed in Philadelphia 
 for two hundred thousand dollars ! I've a good mind to 
 wring his neck," — meaning the parrot's, not Slopes', whose 
 failure, though it struck Jones and Co. a pretty smart 
 blow, had not been entirely unexpected or unprovided 
 for. 
 
 " I'd be a butterfly," sang the parrot in discordant and 
 
 unearthly notes, " born in a ," and he cut the tune 
 
 short with another sigh that set the alderman a-thinking. 
 
 It was a new trick this, and he had caught it from 
 Bella. Yes ; now that he came to think of it, Bella was 
 always sighing of late. What could be the matter with 
 the girl ? Surely she must have got all she wanted. 
 Surely she didn't know anything about these hideous 
 rents and fissures in the business. Surely she couldn't 
 suspect ; and yet, if he didn't weather the storm (and 
 things were looking very bad just at present; neither he 
 nor John saw their way very clearly ahead), if he couldn't 
 weather the storm, Bella must be told at last. The alder- 
 
 165
 
 166 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 man pushed away his untasted plate, and took a great 
 gulp of his strong green tea. 
 
 The windows were open, and the birds singing blithely 
 out of doors, the sunshine flickering cheerily through the 
 green Venetian blinds. There were fresh Howers in the 
 room, and glittering plate and delicate china on the 
 breakfast-table. Must it all go — the fruit of how many 
 years of calculation and energy and honest mercantile 
 enterprise ? It would be hard to begin life again now. 
 The alderman glanced at a portrait that hung over against 
 his seat. " My own," he said, half aloud, " I never 
 thought to be glad that you were at rest in your grave 
 out yonder; " and even while he spoke a tear came to his 
 eye, and his heart thrilled to feel that, old, fat, worn-out 
 as he was, he would have worked thankfully, like the 
 veriest helot, for his daily bread, only to clasp that lady's 
 hand in his own once more. The parrot sighed again 
 profoundly, and Bella came down to breakfast, bright and 
 comely from her toilette, and gave her old father his morn- 
 ing kiss, with a pleasant smile. 
 
 He put the paper down, and half resolved to make his 
 daughter the confidant of his difficulties ; but then John 
 Gordon was to be with him at twelve o'clock, for a twinge 
 of his old enemy, the gout, had confined him to the house, 
 and it would be better, he thought, at any rate, to wait 
 till he had seen his partner, and take his opinion on the 
 matter. Bella, too, who had discovered (as people do find 
 out other people's movements) that Mr. Gordon was 
 coming, had resolved to ask him privately, on her own 
 account, why papa was so anxious and ill at ease. John 
 Gordon had great influence, you see, with the whole femily 
 at the Villa. 
 
 Breakfast progressed uncomfortably. The parrot heaved 
 a succession of deep sighs, after each of which the alder- 
 man started and looked searchingly at Bella, who poured 
 out the tea with an absent and pre-occupied air, which 
 seemed to justify papa's suspicions that she was not 
 altogether " fancy free." It seems to me one of the 
 hardest lessons that has to be learned in life, thus to 
 conceal from one nearest and dearest those vital matters of 
 which our thoughts are full ; to talk perforce of the cook
 
 'AY DE MI' 167 
 
 or the carpet, when the question is really whether we 
 shall to-morrow have a roof over our heads or bread to 
 eat ; to discuss yesterday's dinner or last night's farce, 
 while there is a tragedy enacting in our own hearts on 
 which our only desire is that the curtain may fall at once 
 and for ever. 
 
 It was a relief to father and daughter alike, when a 
 servant came in and announced " Mr. Gordon and a 
 gcntlemoin " as waiting in the alderman's sitting-room. 
 The latter rose with an inward thanksgiving, and hobbled 
 off with considerable alacrity ; while Bella, sitting over 
 her cold tea, proceeded all unconsciously to give the 
 parrot another lesson in suspiration. 
 
 Her father was right. The girl was not altogether 
 "fancy free." She had allowed her silly little head to 
 dwell upon the manifold excellences of a certain gentle- 
 man whom she was in the constant habit of meeting, until 
 she fancied her heart had not escaped altogether scathe- 
 less ; and, indeed, truth to tell, that organ had sustained a 
 slight scratch or two, which smarted pretty sharply — such 
 scratches as warn young ladies it is time to betake them 
 to their defensive armour ere it be too late, and which in 
 their innocence they take to be far more serious than they 
 really are. There is but little irritation about a death- 
 wound ; when the arterial blood comes welling up throb 
 by throb, agony gives place to exhaustion, and there is 
 more peace than pain. 
 
 The certain gentleman took a large roll of papers from 
 his pocket, and proceeded very methodically to untie the 
 string. Had John Gordon been going to undergo decapit- 
 ation, it was his nature to have turned his shirt-collar 
 down, so as to crease it as little as possible. A tall man 
 with moustaches, whom the alderman recognised as Lord 
 Holyhead, had already upset an inkstand, and was 
 mopping up the stains with blotting-paper. 
 
 The alderman begged him to sit down, rang for sheiry, 
 and turned to John with his business face on. 
 
 The junior partner was about to state matters in his 
 clearest manner, when the nobleman interposed. It was 
 Holyhead's disposition to take the initiative in everything 
 with which he had to do.
 
 168 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 " Look ye here, Mr. Jones," said he, with another phingc 
 at the inkstand, which John quietly removed beyond his 
 reach, " I've come on purpose to say three words ; you've 
 had ' a facer.' I don't know what the trade call it, but / 
 call it ' a facer.' You want time, of course ; yoni must 
 get your wind and go in again. Now, I've a strong claim 
 upon you. I don't mean to urge it. I don't want it. I 
 won't take a shilling. My bills are as good as bank-notes. 
 You stood by vie five years ago, when I wanted money ; I 
 mean to stand by you now so long as a plank holds ; and 
 if worst comes to worst, we'll go down together all stand- 
 ing, and so ' hon soir la coin;pagnie ! ' May I ring for my 
 hack ? " 
 
 " This is not business," gasped the alderman. 
 
 " This is not business," argued John Gordon. 
 
 " I shall never forget your offer, but I cannot accept it," 
 continued the former. 
 
 " If you'll go through these papers with me," interposed 
 the latter, " I can show you all the securities. We can 
 weather the gale yet if Newman and Hope ride through ; 
 but we want a nian out there sadly. See, I've got it all 
 down in black and white." 
 
 " I have always been able to pay as I go," said the 
 alderman, and a strange troubled expression came over 
 that jolly face; " to pay as I go, and owe no man anything. 
 I never thought it would come to this, my good friends 
 (ibr friends, and true ones, you are both of you). You're 
 young and sanguine. Now, my advice is this — wind up 
 the accounts ; lump in everything I have of my own, and 
 I can pay twenty shillings in the ])ound yet, and shut up 
 shop altogether. To think that Jones and Co. should go 
 out like this — Jonew and Co. ! Jones and Co. ! " 
 
 " Bother ! " exclaimed Lord Holyhead. " Never say die 
 till you're dead 1 Mr. Gonlon has my instructions. I 
 mean what I say; we settled everything this moniing. 
 You two must have plenty to talk about. Yes ; I'll have 
 a glass of sherry, if you please, and then my hack. Good- 
 bye, alderman. We'll pull through yet; never say die, 
 I tell you." And his lordship bustled out of the room 
 with even more noise than usual, to mask, as it were, 
 his own consciousness of the staunch friendship he had
 
 *AY DE MI' 169 
 
 shown, and the munificent offer of assistance he had 
 made. 
 
 It was not, however, in his nature to pass through the 
 hall without rectifying all and any arrangements which 
 his critical eye should deem amiss ; and it so chanced that 
 the parrot, undergoing temporary banishment in this airy 
 locality, had got entangled with his chain in the perform- 
 ance of his usual gymnastics, and was now showing no 
 little wrath in his endeavours to extricate himself. It 
 would not have been Holyhead could he have gone by 
 without interference. Ere the footman could open the 
 house-door his hand was in the cage, and with equal 
 rapidity the parrot had bitten it to the bone. Bella, 
 coming pensively down-stairs, was startled to hear a good 
 deal of fluttering and disturbance below, and a smothered 
 oath, accompanied by expressions of impatience and pain; 
 nor was her equanimity restored by encountering a 
 military-looking gentleman binding his fingers with a 
 blood-stained handkerchief, and eyeing Polly, who swelled 
 and sulked behind the bars, with suppressed resentment. 
 The lady could not but stop to express her concern and 
 apologise for the misbehaviour of her favourite. The 
 cavalier, though he bled like a pig, could not but make 
 light of the adventure in terms of fitting courtesy. The 
 knight was wounded ; and severely, too. It was the 
 damsel's part to succour and to heal. The result was 
 that Lord Holyhead's hack was sent round to the stable ; 
 a basin of warm water and some lint were produced ; and 
 John Gordon coming into the drawing-room for a missing 
 letter some ten minutes after the catastrophe, found Bella 
 bandaging Lord Holyhead's hand, and the two laughing 
 merrily over the operation as if they had been friends 
 from childhood. 
 
 It seemed to take a long time, and indeed all bandaging 
 is a process requiring patience and dexterity. Lord Holy- 
 head thought that was a very artless, pleasing face that 
 looked up so kindly in his own, and " hoped it didn't hurt 
 him " ; also that a man might have a worse attendant, 
 if he was really in a bad way, than a fresh-hearted, good- 
 natured girl, helpful and unaffected, and comely, too, 
 besides. It came across him more than once, as he rode
 
 170 GOOD FOR NOTmNQ 
 
 back into London, how neatly she had bandaged him 
 up, how prettily she had behaved, how " that daughter 
 of Jones was a deuced nice girl." 
 
 What Bella thought, I cannot take upon me to say. 
 She certainly did not scold the parrot for his outbreak, 
 but rather caressed and coaxed hiui, venturing her own 
 pretty fingers without compunction ; but Bella had a good 
 many other matters just then to distract her attention 
 from Polly and its misdemeanours. 
 
 She was no blinder than the rest of her sex. What 
 physical powers of vision are theirs as compared to ours ! 
 Muffle up the keenest-eyed detective of the force, in a 
 widow's bonnet with a double crape veil, and he will 
 blunder about like an owl in the daylight ; but watch the 
 bereaved one herself in the same head-dress, her eyesight 
 seems to be rather stimulated than impaired by that 
 impervious material, and she is as well aware of your 
 glances of curiosity, perhaps admiration, as though her 
 bruw were bared in shameless defiance, rather than 
 masked in the dense draperies of insidious design. Their 
 moral sense is equally acute. Try to deceive a woman 
 about 3^our feelings, your likes and dislikes, your little 
 prejudices and foolish whims. She looks through you at 
 a glance. She detects your secret ere you have hardly 
 told it to yourself; well for you if she do not abuse her 
 power, and make it public to the whole circle of her 
 acquaintance. Therefore, it is a wholesome maxim to 
 have no secrets from a woman ; or if the former be indis- 
 pensable, to determine that the latter is not. Bella knew 
 there was something wrong; so she counter-ordered the 
 carriage and waited all the morning, resolved to have 
 some explanation before Mr. Gordon went. It would be 
 so much easier, she thought, to ask him than papa ; and 
 Mr. Gordon, of course, would satisfy her curiosity ; he 
 was so frank and honest, and always so kind to her. 
 Nothing could be easier than to get it all out of John 
 Gordon ! 
 
 Luncheon was announced, and suffered to get cold. 
 What a long confabulation that seemed to be in papa's 
 room ! would it never be over ? At last a door opened, 
 ominous sound to nerves strained with expectation; o,
 
 'AY DE MI' 171 
 
 footstep crossed the hall towards the drawing-room. John 
 Gordon entered with his usual cold and unembarrassed 
 air. 
 
 It did not seem half so easy to cross-question him now. 
 
 Bella rose from her chair, felt her knees trembling, and 
 sat down again. John stood Anglice with his back to the 
 empty fireplace ; Anglice also he broached the important 
 subject in the most indifferent tones. 
 
 " Miss Jones," he began, " is there anything I can do 
 for you at Sydney ? " 
 
 I don't believe she knew where Sydney was. From his 
 manner she might have inferred it was a little farther off 
 than Regent Street. 
 
 " At Sydney ! " she gasped. " What ! are you going 
 away ? I don't understand." 
 
 " I am going across to Australia," said John, as a man 
 would observe he was going to step " over the way." 
 " It's a little matter of business, Miss Jones, and won't 
 take long to settle. What shall I bring you back ? A 
 couple of kangaroos would be very nice pets. I shall be 
 home in a year, or eighteen months at farthest." 
 
 A year or eighteen months ! And Bella was barely 
 twenty. It seemed a lifetime. She snatched up some 
 needlework, and stooped busily over it to conceal the 
 tears that were falling thick and fast upon her hands. 
 
 John observed her emotion, and somewhat wilfully 
 ignored its cause. At any rate he thought it advisable to 
 place it on some other score than his own departure ; so 
 he resumed his conversation in a kind and brotherly tone. 
 
 " You ought to know. Miss Jones, that mercantile 
 people, like ourselves, are subject to certain ups and 
 downs which no amount of attention or probity can 
 entirely control. Your father's business has been much 
 neglected in Australia. It is possible that everything 
 might be lost in consequence of a failure there" (John 
 had a discretionary power from the alderman, who dreaded 
 breaking the matter to his daughter himself). " Some 
 one who is intimately acquainted with our affairs should 
 be on the spot ; and that is why I am going over at such 
 short notice. If worst come to the worst, Bella," he 
 added, taking her hand, " there will still be enough saved
 
 172 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 to live upon ; and you will have your father left. You 
 don't know how fond he is of you, Bella." 
 
 The tears were falling unconcealed now. ]\[ingled 
 feelings were forcing them to her eyes. She loved her 
 father very dearly ; and it was dreadful to hear worldly 
 ruin thus spoken of as no improbable contingency. How 
 touching, too, was John Gordon's sympathy and brotherly 
 kindness ; he had never spoken to her in such a tone as 
 this before ; and yet her woman's instinct told her that it 
 was a tone of protection rather than attachment ; that it 
 was not thus he would have alluded to his departure, had 
 he been exactly what she wished. What did she wish 
 him to be ? Poor girl ! she hardly knew herself. So she 
 had no resource but to go on crying ; and having no more 
 pertinent remark to make, only sobbed out — 
 
 " Such a long way off! — such a long way ! " 
 
 John Gordon was not easily softened. He was sorry for 
 her ; but that was all. 
 
 " Bella," said he, still retaining her hand, " you have a 
 duty to perform. We have all our different tasks in a 
 difficulty like the present. Yours is to comfort your 
 father, to keep up his spirits, and attend to his health. 
 Mine is to lose no time in making preparations. I shall 
 scarcely be able to see you again. God bless you, Bella, 
 and good-bye." 
 
 They were cold words, though they were so kind. In 
 honest truth, they were kinder for being cold ; but each 
 by each sank very chill upon the girl's heart. Yet, even 
 then, her thoughts were less for her own disappointment 
 and loneliness than for his coming voyage. She seized 
 his hand in both of hers, and pressed it affectionately. 
 
 " Good-bye," she said, looking up with a face all 
 blurred with tears. " You'll sail in a safe ship ; and 
 promise me, Mr. Gordon, promise me you won't go without 
 a life-belt ! " 
 
 John could not forbear a smile. One more " good- 
 bye," one more tight clasp of the hand, and he was gone. 
 
 Then the alderman came in, and Bella had her "cry" out 
 comfortably, sitting on her old father's knee, and leaning 
 her forehead against his shoulder. To him it was an 
 immense comfort that he could talk matters over with his
 
 'AY DE MI' 173 
 
 child ; that there was no longer any concealment between 
 them ; and that now, even it" the blow did fall, it would 
 not fall unexpectedly upon Bella. It is strange how the 
 old dread worldly ruin for their children far more than for 
 themselves ; that though they have lived long enough to 
 learn the low value of rents and consols as promoters of 
 happiness ; though they have discovered that " non eht/r 
 neqne auruin" overlaying the roof of a palace, is to be 
 compared to the humble " heart's-ease " that can flourish 
 well enough beneath the cottage wall ; though they have 
 seen the rich weary and dissatisfied, the poor hopeful and 
 contented ; they should still covet for their dearest that 
 which they are too well aware has never profited them- 
 selves. The alderman could have lived on two hundred a 
 year in perfect comfort for his own part, but he had 
 dreaded breaking to Bella that they might have to manage 
 between them on something less than thrice that income. 
 Now they could talk it over unrestrained. Now he could 
 tell her of Lord Holyhead's magnanimity, and John 
 Gordon's good management, and the business, and the 
 losses, and their past mistakes, and their prospects for the 
 future. 
 
 Bella cared very little for poverty. Like other women, 
 she had been lavish enough of money when it was 
 abundant. Like them, too, she would be sparing of it 
 when it was scarce. Affairs brightened considerably, as 
 they generally do when people look them in the face. 
 And before they had sat together for an hour, Bella was 
 already loud in Lord Holyhead's praises, and had made 
 her father laugh at her description of his encounter with 
 the parrot ; but of John Gordon and his coming voyage, 
 uppermost as the subject was in her mind, poor Bella 
 could not yet bring herself to speak.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 "BON VOYAGE 
 
 'Tis a grand study of perspective, that long strr>ight vista 
 of wide, substantial, respectable Portland Place. Every 
 time I look down it, I wonder anew at the spire in 
 Langham Place, speculating whether it does really run up 
 to a point as sharp as a needle ; and admiring hugely, the 
 while, that architectural enthusiasm which could discover 
 either beauty or grandeur in the design of such a 
 structure. 
 
 The same idea would appear to have occurred to Lady 
 Gertrude, as she sat back in her aunt's barouche gazing 
 into mid-air, and totally unconscious, as it would seem, 
 of a familiar step coming rapidly along the pavement 
 towards the carriage. 
 
 It is a long way, I say, from one end of Portland Place 
 to the othei-, and there are a good many pairs of bay 
 horses, and a good many liveries in London closely re- 
 sembling those of Lady Olivia. It must have been, 
 therefore, some purel}' accidental motive which prompted 
 John Gordon to stop his hansom cab at the top of that 
 thoroughfare, and to dismiss it considerably over-paid a 
 long way short of its destination. Cupid, we all know, is 
 as blind as a bat, so the " boy with the bow " could have 
 had nothing to do with this proceeding ; and though John's 
 eye was that of a hawk, he might have had far more 
 important subjects to occupy him than the colour of a 
 coat or the identity of a carriage. Besides, how could he 
 possibly distinguish it at such a distance ? He stopped 
 
 174
 
 'SON VOYAGE' 178 
 
 the hansom, nevertheless, and jumped out incontinent. 
 First, he walked very fast, somewhat to the surprise of 
 his late driver, who followed; then he relapsed into an 
 enforced steady pace, resolving to pass the carriage with- 
 out speaking, but only taking off his hat — a salute which 
 might have been performed as effectually, if not so 
 gracefully, from the hack-cab. Lastly, he came to a halt, 
 shook hands with Lady Gertrude, leant his arm upon the 
 barouche door, and hold his tongue. 
 
 The lady was delighted to see him; "where had he 
 been these ages ? — and Gilbert — did he know anything of 
 Gilbert ? he has not been near us for a week." 
 
 John's tones were very short and stern, as he replied, 
 " / have been engaged with business day and night, but 
 I cannot conceive how Gilbert can be absent from his 
 post. It is inexcusable in him." 
 
 " Why ? " asked the young Delilah, with an admirable 
 assumption of confusion, looking down the while and 
 showing her eyelashes to great advantage. 
 
 John had not forgotten the last time he had seen the 
 cousins together, so he replied somewhat unfairly — • 
 " Does not Gilbert belong to yoti ? " 
 
 She was resolved to punish him for divers faults of 
 omission and commission, so she answered in a softened 
 tone, and still with downcast eyes — 
 
 " Well, so he does, you know, to a certain extent ; but 
 he's very wilful, I assure you ; I can't manage him a bit 
 sometimes." 
 
 She was no mean physiognomist, my Lady Gertrude, 
 and she had studied the countenance opposite to her till 
 she had learned it by heart, so she saw, what no one else 
 would have remarked, the slightest possible quivering of 
 the eyelid, and in-drawing of the lip, therefore she knew 
 the last shaft had reached the inner ring. 
 
 It is poor fun for the target ; he moved haughtily back 
 to go away, head up, and the stern look deepening visibly 
 on his face. She had not half done with him yet ; there 
 was a whole sheaf of arrows left, and she had no fear that 
 the string would break : a woman never has, till too late ; 
 and then who so acjhast as Maid Marion herself to find 
 she cannot mend it again ?
 
 176 GOOD FOB NOTHING 
 
 " Don't go yet, Mr. Gordon," said she ; " Aunt Olivia 
 won't have done her visit for half-an-hour at least. I 
 cannot stand old Mrs. Moribund, so I said I'd sit in the 
 carriage and wait. I always think of what you told me 
 about her that night at Lady Broadway's." 
 
 Now that night at Lady Broadway's was one of John's 
 pleasant recollections. It matters not to you or me why ; 
 but that its charms were somehow connected with Lady 
 Gertrude, we gather from her thus alluding to it Jis a 
 sweetener. 
 
 Mr. Gordon, as in duty bound, placed his arm once 
 more on the carriage door. 
 
 It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he was going 
 to leave her with regret, to remind her of the many 
 pleasant hours they had spent together, to confess to her 
 that nothing but unavoidable necessity would induce him 
 to go so far from her, and to ask her in a whisper, inaudible 
 to the servants, not to forget him entirely while he was 
 away ; but she tumbled the whole fabric down herself, as 
 they Avill, with a light word and a scornful laugh. 
 
 " How grave you look ! " said she ; " you men of busi- 
 ness never can forget it even '"or an hour. Confess now, 
 you're dying to get back to the City at this moment. I 
 wish Gilbert was here to take a sketch of you as the 
 Knight of the Rueful Countenance." 
 
 John smiled grimly. 
 
 "I fear I cannot spare any more time, even to be 
 caricatured, Lady Gertrude," said he ; "I have a good 
 many things to do, because I am going out of town to- 
 night." 
 
 " Out of town ! " she rejoined carelessly ; " where to ? 
 not Newmarket ? " 
 
 It was John's turn to have a shot now. He drew the 
 bow to its full stretch with strong, pitiless arm. 
 
 " To Sydney," he said ; " good-bye." 
 
 It went deftly through the joints of her harness, and 
 quivered doubtless in the quick ; but it is the Amazon's 
 instinct to conceal her hurt, even were it a death-wound ; 
 and Lady Gertrude was a pullet of the game. 
 
 " To Sydney ! " she repeated ; " how sick you will be in 
 this east wind. Bo7i voyage" anrl she laughed again as
 
 *BON VOYAGE' 177 
 
 she shook hands ; but the laugh was forced and somewhat 
 feeble, and the farewell died out upon her lips. 
 
 John walked steadily and slowly away ; he turned out 
 of the street without so much as looking back. She could 
 not forbear watching to see whether he would. Step by 
 step, she heard the measured tread die away, and from 
 her seat in the carriage she watched the retreating figure 
 till it disappeared ; then her heart smote her sore, and 
 of course she was very angry with him, quite as angry as 
 if she had known that the instant he was round the 
 corner, he started off for the City at the rate of five miles 
 an hour. 
 
 This was their farewell, and a sufficiently uncomfortable 
 one ; not much for a man to look back to in a dismal 
 sea-voyage, spun out to weeks and months ; not much 
 for a young lady to dwell upon during the weary process 
 of undergoing pleasures from which the essence has been 
 extracted ; but enough to make both regret very keenly 
 that they had shown so little consideration for each other's 
 feelings, so little providence in storing up some small 
 comfort for the vacant hours of the future. 
 
 The pleasure of suffering is one of the peculiarities of 
 the human mind which I despair of ever being able to 
 analyse. Why does our nature wince so apprehensively 
 from the slightest touch applied to a physical wound, yet 
 offer a moral one with such morbid eagerness to the 
 probe ? Why are we pitiless in proportion as we love ? 
 delivering our fiercest thrusts at the bosom we would 
 gladly shield with our lives, and watching the pangs of 
 our victim with an exultation that sufficiently avenges 
 itself? Doubtless we are enduring the while tenfold 
 what we inflict. Yet, to my mind, this paradoxical 
 explanation only serves to render the tendency more 
 incomprehensible. 
 
 The high-bred ones take their punishment, too, with 
 an unruffled brow. So long, at least, as a human eye is 
 on them, they preserve that noble regard for les con- 
 vetmnces which would seem to be the first of duties in 
 their moral creed. Dido, self-pierced on her funeral pyre, 
 would lay her queenly limbs to rest in no unseemly 
 attitude. Cleopatra, be sure, applied the asp where its
 
 irS aOOi) FOR NOTHING 
 
 festering bite would least disfigure the shapely bosom, 
 I have seen a gentle, soft-nurtured lady stagger as if she 
 Avas shot at the Jlat which was indeed to her the equivalent 
 of a death-sentence, yet rear her head a moment after- 
 wards to confront her fate with all the defiant pride of a 
 knightl}'- Paladin ; and I have wondered that the stem 
 of the lily should resist like the trunk of the oak. 'Tia 
 strange how extremes meet — how at either end of civilisa- 
 tion the stoicism which ignores pain should be considered 
 a qualit}"- essential to the dignity of man. I was sitting 
 once on a western prairie, in a lodge of Sioux Indians ; 
 brawny champions they were, large of limb and indomit- 
 able of appetite, smoking in solemn silence, and enjoying 
 a pleasure of which the pale-face is ignorant — the torpid 
 luxury of repletion. Two braves galloped into the camp 
 with a prisoner ; and perhaps I was the only male present 
 who showed the slightest interest in the pz'oceeding. A 
 few squaws, indeed, stared and pointed, jabbering to each 
 other with the natural tendency of their sex to examine 
 and enlarge upon a novelty ; but the imperturbable 
 warriors confined themselves to a sonorous grunt and a 
 hitch of the blankets on their shoulders. 
 
 Yet was it a picturesque sight, too, and one to rivet 
 the attention even of a savao^e. The braves in their 
 war-paint grim and ghastly, their grotesque fringes and 
 appointments ; beads, and thongs, and streaming scalp- 
 locks whirling about them as they darted to and fro on 
 their shaggy steeds, their weapons uplifted and threaten- 
 ing in the bravado of triumph, and their war-whoop 
 ringing wild and shrill in the ears of their captive, a 
 welcome challenge once, a death-note now. They seemed 
 to have no UKKlust scruples in celebrating their own ex- 
 ploits, and every sentence ended with a brutal gibe at 
 the fallen foe. He was a youth, apparently not more 
 than twenty years of age, slender of limb and delicate of 
 feature, yet evidently already a warrior of no mean reput- 
 ation, b}^ the barbaric splendour of his accoutrements, 
 above all by the trophies hung around his neck, nothing 
 less than the huge claws of a grisly bear, the noblest 
 collar of knighthood that the Red Indian is fain to possess. 
 I think if I was asked whom I considered the most perfect
 
 'BON VOYAGE' 1!?9 
 
 specimen of a gentleman that I have ever seen, I should 
 say that young brave of the Blackfeet. He never de- 
 parted for a moment from his bearing of calm, defiant 
 courtesy ; to the taunts of his captors he made the most 
 simple and dignified replies, and the preparations for his 
 torture he contemplated with a quiet, uninterested 
 observation which scarcely amounted to curiosity. 
 
 I will not detail the horrors that were inflicted on him ; 
 do what they would, it was impossible to make him wince. 
 His physique seemed to be bronze, like his skin ; and still 
 he preserved the same calm, courteous expression of 
 countenance throughout. Even his tormentors were 
 forced to acknowledge that his was a scalp would grace 
 the boldest warrior's belt. At last they paused, wearied 
 with their fiendish exertions ; and then the young brave 
 spoke. His deep guttural tones were steady and mea- 
 sured, though low from exhaustion. 
 
 " The sun is yet high," said he ; " are you wearied 
 already, that you will leave ' the Leaping Deer- wolf ' to 
 go to sleep ? " 
 
 They were his last words ; in a short half-hour his scalp 
 hung at the girdle of " Steep-Rock," who took him ; and 
 "the Leaping Deer- Wolf" was well on his way to the 
 happy hunting-grounds where the grass never withers, 
 and the water never fails, and the buffalo feed in count- 
 less thousands over the dreamy prairies of the spirit land. 
 
 So the highest pitch of refinement, though its tendency 
 must unquestionably be to render the nervous system 
 extremely susceptible, provides at the same time a check 
 upon their sensibilities, in the self-command which it 
 exacts from its disciples. Total impassibility is the chief 
 qualification for the charmed circle. Are you pleased ? 
 you must by no means exult and clap your hands. Are 
 you disgusted ? you shall stamp not, neither shall you 
 swear. A loud laugh is a solecism only second in 
 enormity to a wet cheek. To be seen with the latter, it 
 is needless to observe, would condemn the sufferer at 
 once. If you would be respected, you must never subject 
 yourself to pity ; if you would have influence, you must 
 never seek for sympathy. 
 
 Lady Gertrude bore up bravely enough through a
 
 180 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 wearisome round of morning visits, preferring to undergo 
 the platitudes of Lady Olivia and her dowager friends, 
 rather than endure her own society any more in the open 
 carriage. She was absent, no doubt, and answered some- 
 what at random, not listening very attentively to the 
 conversation; nor can I affirm that she was any great 
 loser thereby, inasmuch as it consisted chiefly of remarks 
 concerning the weather, the medical man who was first 
 favourite for the time, and the crush last night at Lady 
 Pleiad's, all delivered in admonitory and by no means 
 approving spirit. It was a great relief to get home to the 
 canary and the arm-chair in the boudoir up-stairs. 
 
 " I'll ring when I want you," said Lady Gertrude to her 
 officious maid, bustling in with the indispensable cup of 
 tea ; and then she locked the door, and put off the heavy 
 armour she had worn so bravely for hours, and laid it by 
 for a season, not to be resumed till the mel^ to-night, and 
 bathed her wounds, so to speak, encouraging them to 
 bleed freely now that the pressure was withdrawn. 
 
 She was no longer the frigid, fashionable young lad}^ 
 with cold eyes and haughty smile, regardless of all alike ; 
 but the helpless, yielding woman, burying her face in her 
 white hands, and weeping as if her heart would break. 
 
 It did her good, though. She learned more about Lady 
 Gertrude in one of those paroxysms of sorrow than she 
 had known in all her life before. The frost must break 
 up with storms and rain, and the floods burst wildly down, 
 carrying before them many a tangled fence and artificial 
 embankment, ere the saturated soil can teem with life and 
 hopes, ere the violet can peep out, and the meadow don 
 her grass-green kirtle, and soft-eyed Spring smile welcome 
 upon earth once more.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 "WHY DO YOU GO TO THE OPERA?" 
 
 We left Gilbert in a most uncomfortable frame of mind, 
 grieved, and bitter, and angry above all with the person 
 he best loved. It is, perhaps, the mood in which we are 
 least disposed to take a rational or even a sane view of 
 our position. A man who thinks himself ill-used is invari- 
 ably selfish ; he cannot take interest in any subject but 
 his grievance ; and if it should be one on which good taste 
 forbids him to enlarge, he relapses into a state of sullen 
 dejection, and justifies himself for being ill-tempered by 
 assuming that he is bored. Ladies in a parallel attack 
 enjoy the privilege of pleading ill-health ; what our neigh- 
 bours call a migraine is an invaluable refuge, and " the 
 nerves " are to-day an excellent substitute for what our 
 grandmothers denominated " the spleen." But with the 
 rougher sex such excuses are simply absurd; a fellow 
 cannot ask you to believe he is nervous, with the appetite 
 of an Esquimaux and the colour of a ploughman ; while 
 the plea of a headache, unless it be a convivial one, you 
 laugh ruthlessly to scorn. There are two courses for him 
 to pursue — either to sulk by himself till he gets better, or 
 to rush into every description of amusement and dissi- 
 pation till he forgets his own annoyances and his own 
 identity. Another and the only effectual remedy — 
 namely, to busy himself in fulfilling his duties and doing 
 good — is so rarely adopted, that I think it unnecessary to 
 recommend it, although certain sufferers who have hcmcstly 
 
 181
 
 182 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 tried it vouch most implicitly for its efficacy. The 
 fashionable cure, however, would seem to be continual 
 change of scene, and a course of what is humorously 
 called " gaiety." 
 
 It was simply because he did not know what on earth 
 to do, that Gilbert found himself in the back of Mrs. 
 Montpollior's box at the opera, endeavouring to adapt his 
 manners and conversation to thc^ locality. Hurt he was, 
 and sore, to think that he should have been so duped by 
 his own infatuation ; that he should have flung himself 
 so recklessly away without equivalent. His pride was 
 lowered ; even his vanity was wounded ; above all, his 
 trust in his own better feelings was shaken ; and herein 
 he showed the nice judgment and close reasoning of a 
 man in love. It was just a fortnight since he had seen 
 Ada, a woman with whom it was his dearest wish to 
 spend an eternity, and that one fortnight seemed to have 
 made an irremediable breach between them. Moreover, 
 were he so determined, there was no absolute impossibility 
 to "prevent their meeting to-morrow or the next day, or 
 some time within the week ; but no — he preferred to 
 torture himself by imagining barriers which did not exist, 
 and a thousand improbabilities as unjust to her as they 
 were derogatory to him. 
 
 Therefore he exerted himself to appear gayer and in 
 better spirits than usual in the eyes of Mrs. Montpellier, 
 and those glittering orbs saw through him at a glance ; 
 while their owner resolved, woman-like, to have his secret 
 ere he was many hours older; also woman-liko, we must 
 injustice add, to assist him by all means in her power, and 
 stand by him through thick and thin. So she made him 
 sit in the chair close behind her, leaving the place of 
 honour opposite for such comers and goers as she had no 
 wish to detain, and began to fool her way insidiously, as 
 they do, with innocent questions. 
 
 " Off duty to-night, Mr. Orme ? Your mother's box, I 
 see, is empty, and no Lady Gertrude." 
 
 A movement of impatience betrayed him. 
 
 " I haven't seen Gertrude for a week," he answered ; " I 
 should have dined with them on Sunday if I had not been 
 engaged to you. You see you make me forget all ray
 
 'WHY DO YOU 00 TO THE OPERA?' 183 
 
 duties ; " he laughed as he spoke, and began to scan the 
 honse through his glasses. 
 
 " And very absent and disagreeable you were," said she, 
 crossing her two pretty forefingers as she laid them on the 
 cushion. " Do you know, I think j^ou have an atrociously 
 bad temper, Mr. Orme, or else you're very unhappy about 
 something or somebody. Come, I'm an old friend, what 
 is it ? " 
 
 He smiled somewhat bitterly. He was thinking how 
 kind everybody else was to him, how they courted his 
 society, and appreciated whatever good qualities he might 
 have ; why should mie so neglect and despise him ? He 
 came to the front of the box, and leaned his elbows on it, 
 still scanning the house with an abstracted, vacant gaze ; 
 and one sitting far back in an upper tier was devouring 
 every feature of his face the while, through a pair of bad 
 glasses that tinged everything with a pink hue, and was 
 impressing, as it were, his picture on her brain, for she 
 was resolved never, neveo' to see him again ; at least, not 
 till he was fairly married to his cousin, and she could look 
 back calmly and even laugh at the impossible fancies of 
 which she had allowed herself to be the dupe. So, in the 
 meantime, it was doubtless judicious to give way to the 
 influence of the hour, the scene, the lights, above all, the 
 music ; to watch every turn of the dear face and the noble 
 head ; to lose herself in an enraptured dream of what 
 might have been had black been white, and everything 
 changed, and the whole social fabric overturned for her 
 especial bliss. 
 
 But eveu in the midst of this self-deluding vision she 
 was jealous of him. That was the most ridiculous thing 
 of all. Though she had resolved never so much as to 
 speak with him again, to abjure part or parcel in his 
 present, his future, everything but his ^j^^/! — she could 
 not quite give that up ; though she had clearly resolved 
 she had no right ever even to think of him now, 
 she could not help a pang of jealousy at his visible 
 attentions to another. She should not have minded Lady 
 Gertrude, she thought, so much ; but who was this dark- 
 haired, dashing dame, in whose opera-box he seemed so 
 completely at home ? How she wished she had a right to
 
 184 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 counsel him, to plead with him, to implore him for his own 
 and his wife's happiness to alter his waj's ! How she 
 would have liked to write to him a kind, persuasive letter, 
 full of good advice and pure sisterly interest, which 
 perhaps he Avould ansvv(;r, or would ask for an interview to 
 have explained, and then — the card-castle tumbled to 
 pieces, as the chill consciousness came back that they 
 could have nothing in common — nothing ! that between 
 them there was a great gulf, none the less impassable 
 that it was imaginary. 
 
 The pink-tinged glasses were useless to eyes dim 
 with tears. She laid them down and turned wearily back 
 to the mock sufferings on the stage. 
 
 Bravoura was singing her best and loudest, shuffling 
 about on her knees in imitation of a star that shines no 
 longer. It was her favourite part, and required indeed no 
 little gymnastic prowess, as well as great vocal powers, to 
 fill to her own satisfaction. 
 
 The opera was perhaps more remarkable for dramatic 
 incident than lucidity of plot. Everybody was attached to 
 the wrong everybody else, and neither the dagger nor the 
 bowl was spared in order that Bravoura might have 
 the stage to herself for certain scenes, in which her 
 contralto would prove most effective. How high she went 
 up, how low she came down, how spasmodically she 
 twisted the turns of her variations, how she strained 
 her massive throat, and grappled with her deep bosom, in 
 shouts of triumph or shrieks of woe, never out of time 
 or tune, it is impossible for a non-professional to describe. 
 Sufficient to say that Bravoura outdid herself, that Holy- 
 head thought he never saw her look so ugly, antl that 
 Mrs. Montpellier resumed her cross-examination of Gilbert 
 under cover of the noise. 
 
 " Mr. Orme," she said, looking kindly and pityingly in 
 his face, " I am a good deal older than you. ])ear me, 
 I might be your mother almost — at least in India. I 
 should call you Gilbert if there was any one else in 
 the box. Tell me what it is that makes you so unlike 
 yourself? It's no use laugliing and shaking your head, 
 and calling me ' your dear Mrs. Montpellier.' Of course, 
 I'm your dear Mrs. Montpellier. I've always stood up
 
 'WHY DO YOU GO TO TEE OPERA?' 185 
 
 for you, and fought your battles, and preferred you to 
 most people. That is why I never wished you to make 
 love to me ; and to do you justice, I don't think you ever 
 tried. I like you all the better, for I don't want to 
 lose you as a friend, and indeed I have not too many 
 as times go. Now you're a boy compared to me. No, 
 I don't dye my hair, though I'm much obliged to you 
 for looking at it so suspiciously ; but I'm nearly forty, 
 all the same. Listen to me. I've seen far more than you 
 have. You know the world as prosperous people know it, 
 just as you know this house all lit up at midnight; 
 but you haven't seen it cold and comfortless at eleven 
 o'clock in the day, and you don't know yet what the 
 real world is any more than a child. Will I teach it you ? 
 I wish I could. You'll have to learn some harder lessons 
 than I would set you. That is why I'm schooling you 
 now, you innocent dunce. I'm no cleverer than my 
 neighbours ; but you don't suppose a woman goes through 
 such a life as mine, is married twice, and loses all I have 
 lost " (here the kind voice trembled audibly), " to come 
 out of the crucible quite such a fool as she went in. 
 Now you shall not 'come to grief,' as you call it, 
 because you have no one to take an interest in you 
 and warn you in time. Tell me what your grievance 
 is, and, foi defemme, I'll help you, if I have to cut off my 
 right hand to do it — bracelet and all. Is it money ? " 
 
 " You are too kind," he said, really touched by her 
 honest straightforward friendship and sweet womanly 
 sympathy. " Money ! You don't think so badly of me, I 
 hope, as to suppose such a difficulty as that would make 
 me unhappy ? " 
 
 He spoke as a man does who has never known what it 
 is to want a pound, much less a shilling. 
 
 " I am glad of that," she replied. " Not but what I could 
 have helped you even then. I don't the least mind their 
 calling me ' the Begum ' ; and wealth has its advantages, 
 no doubt. But still it is pleasanter to have no dealings of 
 that sort between you and me. Well, if it isn't money, it 
 must be love. Don't wince. You've got into a scrape. 
 Honestly, now, there's a woman at the bottom of all this ? 
 Tell me the truth."
 
 186 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 Gilbert laughed and looked foolish. It seemed very 
 absurd to be thus cross-examined ; and yet he felt it 
 would be an immense relief to talk over his sorrows, 
 and he knew he could trust his companion — the staunchest 
 and most considerate of all confidants, a female friend. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " you're right. I don't mind telling i/mi 
 there is a ' somebody ' ; but it's a foolish business. It can 
 never come to good, and I'm very imhappy about it." 
 
 " Ze lien d'mdrui? " she asked, Avith a sharp, eager 
 glance. " Oh, Mr. Orme, for Heaven's sake, be wise ! I have 
 seen it so often, and I never knew it answer. Go out 
 of town ; go abroad — go to India even — anything rather 
 than thai." 
 
 Her obvious earnestness gave him confidence. 
 
 " No, no," he replied ; " if it were so, I believe I should 
 go mad. But I know j'ou mean what you say. I 
 know you won't show me up. I know you would help me 
 if you could. Give me your advice, and tell me what 
 I ought to do." 
 
 So, with many breaks and stoppages, and much hesita- 
 tion, out it all came ; how he had met the syren, and heard 
 her seductive strains, and fallen a victim to the charm of 
 the ear and the lust of the eye, and, above all, the longing 
 of the heart ; how he had watched for her, and worshipped 
 her rather as an angel than a woman ; and how her very 
 station was his greatest impediment, not because it 
 was inferior to his own, but lest she should dream for 
 an instant that he presumed on such inferiority, for indeed 
 with all her softness and attractions, she had the bearing of 
 a queen. AVhereat Mrs. Montpellier smiled, recalling the 
 while certain similar rhapsodies that had once been 
 whispered in her own ear. " If they only knew us," 
 thought Mrs. Montpellier, " they wouldn't imagine us 
 to be either angels or queens ; but men are such fools, 
 they never can understand that the same bait which takes 
 a sprat will take a salmon, and that Cinderella in the 
 ball-room is no more invulnerable than Cinderella in the 
 kitchen." Gilbert meanwhile, floundering about in his 
 confessions, was compelled to acknowledge the real 
 profession and antecedents of his divinity. To do him 
 justice, he rather gloried in them at heart; but yet
 
 'WHY DO YOU GO TO THE OPERA?' 187 
 
 the force of habit and education was so strong that he 
 covvld not help looking appcalingly in his listener's 
 face while he told his tale. 
 
 There was that in his glowing earnest countenance and 
 the accent of his voice, which spoke of faith, and sincerity, 
 and depth of feeling for which, prejudiced as she was in his 
 favour, she would scarcely have given him credit. Could 
 this bo the careless, good-humoured dandy who was 
 proverbial for his utter insouciance and hardness of heart ? 
 She began to experience a certain curiosity as to the 
 " somebody " who could have taken captive this champion 
 among the Philistines, and longed to see the weapon that 
 could thus pierce an armour of proof hitherto deemed 
 impenetrable. Many motives combined to interest her 
 in the progress of an attachment which partook of the 
 nature both of tragedy and farce, which might turn out 
 either in its denouement, but which she began to suspect 
 was rather too strong to be pleasant to the actors 
 immediately concerned ; for she could not but conceive 
 that the " somebody " must be as devoted to Gilbert as he 
 obviously was to her. So she pondered for a minute or 
 so before she spoke, and Bravoura's roulades made the 
 chandeliers jingle again the while. 
 
 " And you like her very much ? " she said, in a low, 
 impressive tone. 
 
 By the way, why does a woman love her dog, her china, 
 her new dress, but only talks of liking when it is a case 
 of an unfortunate in the toils ? Probably on the same 
 principle that the spider likes the bluebottle buzzing 
 in her web, to the destruction of the fixbric, but also to the 
 clumsy insect's own utter discomfiture. 
 
 " I would do anything on earth for her," answered 
 Gilbert, in a tone of suppressed feeling, " She's the only 
 woman in the world to 7ne." 
 
 " And you wouldn't injure her or vex her, or make her 
 unhappy in any way ? " pursued the lady. 
 
 "I would give my life to preserve one of the hairs of her 
 head," was his reply. " I tell you there is nothing I 
 wouldn't do, nothing I wouldn't endure, to spare her a 
 moment's sorrow or uneasiness." 
 
 " And yet, Mr. Orme, you couldn't well marry ^ musig-
 
 188 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 mistress," observed Mrs. Montpellier, quite simply and 
 quietly. 
 
 Now such a remark as this with nine men out of 
 ten would have been judicious and effective. It was 
 indeed, as the old Romans would say, " touching the 
 matter with the point of a needle ; " it was placing before 
 him in the clearest light the absurdity of his position, dis- 
 illusionising him in the most simple matter-of-fact way of 
 the romance in which he had chosen to wrap himself up. 
 It ignored all heroism and martyrdom, and such morbid 
 exaggeration, and was but a civil manner of expressing 
 a sentiment which is seldom without its due influence — 
 " What a fool Mrs. Grundy will think you ! " — and as such 
 it was no doubt a weighty and unanswerable argument. 
 
 But Gilbert didn't care for Mrs. Grundy. That 
 ubiquitous lady had petted and encouraged him till, like 
 any other spoiled child, he was very regardless of the 
 good opinion of his nurse. " You couldn't well marry a 
 music-mistress." This was exactly the question he had 
 never yet asked himself point-blank. It was now brought 
 before him as a foregone conclusion, a social impossibility. 
 Couldn't he ? We should see ! There was a strong 
 leavening of opposition in his character, as there is in 
 most of those who are capable of self-sacrifice, and to 
 such a temperament as his it was delightful to think that 
 he had much to give, that the condescension would not be 
 all on his mistress' side : for, like a true knight, he had 
 never thought of himself as worthy of the least of her 
 regards. After all, this would solve the difficulty at once. 
 He would find her out if the world held her ; he would 
 see her again before he was twenty-four hours older. 
 Mrs. Montpellier had suggested the very thing he would 
 give all he had to accomplish ; and he made an inward 
 vow, as he folded that lady carefully in her shawl, that he 
 wcnild marry the music-mistress if she could be induced 
 to accept him. The latter contingency would probably 
 scarce have occurred to any one else, certainly not to a 
 disheartening extent ; but it was sure to cast a gloom 
 over the visions of one who was deeply and truly in love. 
 
 As he took Mrs. Montpellier to her carriage, good- 
 natured friends in the crush-room arrived at their own
 
 'WHY DO YOU GO TO THE OPEBA?' 189 
 
 conclusions as to their sudden alliance. He had been iu 
 her box all the evening ! — ho had never left her for an 
 instant ! Even now they seemed to be whispering about 
 something veri/ interesting. What would Lady Gertrude 
 say ? and Mr. Montpellier ? — if he was really alive, which 
 many people affirmed, or if, as Lady Visigoth observed, 
 " there ever uns such a person ; " " not that she was 
 surprised the least — it was all of a piece — young Orme 
 was going fast to the dogs, no doubt, but she couldn't 
 blame him. And really now, the woman was old enough 
 to be his mother."
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE FALSE GOD 
 
 Like all old people, I must tell my story my own way or 
 not at all. I have seen my grandmother (now I trust 
 canonised) drivelling over her knitting during a livelong 
 summer's day. Here she would skip a whole row, with 
 that appearance of carelessness which is perhaps the 
 greatest triumph of art ; there she would " drop three 
 stitches and take up one " with grave perseverance and 
 perplexing ingenuity. Anon the ball of worsted would 
 roll off her venerable knees, and escape into all sorts of 
 impracticable corners, an object for the gambols of the 
 kitten or the admiration of the two-year-old sprawling on 
 the floor. Sometimes the work would seem to progress, 
 sometimes to retrograde. Yesterday, all four pins re- 
 volving like the arms of a windmill ; to-day, two or three 
 of them stationary as the legs of a pianoforte — yet some- 
 how the task went on ; thi-ough every dilemma, through 
 every misadventure, the fabric grew larger, and a ribbed 
 worsted stocking, that it tickled you to look at, was the 
 eventual result. Is it not so with " a talc that is told " ? 
 The thread is continually escaping, the Avork constantly 
 entangled, the pins seldom equably sharing the toil. 
 Still, row by row, and line by line, the manufacture comes 
 to a conclusion ; and, like the stocking, is footed and 
 finished, and produced with all its imperfections, to be 
 used and worn out, or to be condemned and put away. 
 My ball is rolling to-day beyond the reach of child or 
 kitten, far out upon the floor. This is to be a chapter 
 
 190
 
 THE FALSE GOD 191 
 
 devoted to moralising. Like knitting, it is a humble, 
 prosaic, and somniferous pursuit ; like knitting, also, such 
 as it is, it has a certain result. You can always skip it 
 and pass on, or you can wade through it with laborious 
 condescension, marking the while where the skein is 
 entangled and the stitches have been dropped. 
 
 I have heard of a ship sailing for a distant port, well- 
 manned, well-provisioned, well-found in stores and tackle, 
 and every kind of gear. Her destination was familiar to 
 captain and crew, her charts were clear and accurate, she 
 lay her course to a nicety by the bearings of her com- 
 passes ; and yet this ship went to shore five hundred miles 
 and more out of her due reckoning, and so going to pieces, 
 was lost with all her cargo upon a reef. The underwriters 
 were beside themselves. Never was such a thing known ! 
 The captain must have been mad, or drunk, or incom- 
 petent — perhaps all three; he deserved to be drowned, 
 which he was not, and his escape was the more for- 
 tunate as he was enabled eventually to account for the 
 catastrophe. 
 
 He had studied his charts and taken his bearings 
 accurately ; he had not neglected his duty for an instant, 
 and the ship's head had never wavered a point off her 
 safest course. She ansAvered her helm admirably, and 
 the alternate Tritons at the wheel were able seamen one 
 and all, who could steer her to an inch by the compasses 
 before them. And here was the whole mischief — the 
 compass itself was in error. A quantity of iron, placed 
 for greater security about the binnacle, had cavised a 
 considerable variation of the magnetic needle ; and the 
 very instrument that should have been her truest safe- 
 guard, proved that hapless ship's destruction. Many days 
 of cloudy weather had prevented her officers from taking 
 a celestial observation ; and the influence of the currents, 
 as usual, had considerably affected her dead reckoning. 
 Thus she drove forward in perfect confidence, faster and 
 faster towards her fate — struck — filled — broke up — and 
 so went down. 
 
 How often I think of that ship when I reflect on the 
 wide ocean of life ! What avail all the blocks and spars 
 and canvas of the prosperous bark, the friends who
 
 192 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 surround and support us, the advantages of position, rank, 
 or genius ; nay, the very wealth that fills our sails ? 
 What avails the well-known chart that most of us study 
 at least 07ice in the week, that warns us of every shoal and 
 every danger, and shows us the only true course to lead 
 to the wished-for haven ? What avails the dead 
 reckoning of respectability, and worldly advantage, and 
 self-interest — nay, the very compass of ethical morality 
 itself — if we never take a celestial observation on our own 
 account, if we never bend the knees in humility and raise 
 the eyes to heaven in prayer ? 
 
 This alone can save us from shipwreck. All other 
 precautions are good in their way — wise, discreet, and 
 advantageous — but this is indispensable. Many a great 
 mind has neglected it ; many a code of exceeding subtlety 
 and sagacity has omitted it from its scheme. What has 
 been the result ? The highest phase to which heathen 
 magnanimity could attain was but suicide, after all. 
 Cato, steeped in the ethics of Aristocles, surnaraed Plato, 
 could find no better solution for a difficulty than the 
 point of his reverted blade. Was this all that could be 
 learned from the sage who combined the dreams of 
 Heraclitus, the opinions of Pythagoras, and the sounder 
 conclusions of Socrates, to form his own ideal of per- 
 fection ? What are all the speculations of philosophy, 
 the doctrines of the Porch, the disquisitions of the 
 Schools, compared with a single sentence of the car- 
 penter's Son ? Which of us would now prefer to " err 
 with Plato," rather than be wise with " one of these little 
 ones " ? It needed not eighteen centuries of progressive 
 improvement to teach us the obvious lesson — 
 
 *' But I hold the gray barbarian lower than the Christian child ! " 
 
 At the risk of being esteemed as tedious and discursive 
 as the old lady to whom I have already respectfully 
 alluded, I pursue my admonitory theme. It is for this 
 " Christian child " that I would venture to put in an 
 appeal. Are we not too prone to teach the little one 
 lessons of self-reliance and self-guidance, omitting, or 
 rather ignoring the important consideration that man is 
 not a self-regulating machine ? If the urchin is hungry,
 
 THE FALSE OOD 193 
 
 he docs not go to the servants for a modicum of flour and 
 the loan of a rolling-pin, to make himself such a morsel 
 as his soul loveth, but he seeks mamma and asks for a 
 slice of bread and jam, or a bit of cake, as the case may 
 be. So when he is sent swelling and silent to enjoy his 
 own society in disgrace, till " he is good," would it not be 
 well to show him the shortest and easiest method of 
 arriving at that desirable state ? — to teach him that he 
 cannot 'snahc himself good, any more than in sickness he 
 can make himself well ; but that he can ask in the one 
 dilemma as in the other for what he wants, and so surely 
 as he aska will he obtain the remedy. It is the nature of 
 a child to be dependent ; it is his nature to pray. It is 
 well to lead him to it when it is so easy and so familiar. 
 God forbid he should wait till he is driven to it in man- 
 hood by the pressure of a great agony, though even this 
 be preierable to his passing out of life without bending 
 the knee at all. What is a man's first exclamation when 
 he is shot through the lungs ? What is the first outcry 
 of despair from a broken heart ? In either case the 
 sufferer calls instinctively on his Maker. Be he a poor 
 workman in a foundry, an obscure private in the ranks, or 
 one who has spent his life in purple and fine linen, with 
 all that the world holds best worth having at his feet, 
 each child in its extremity appeals almost unconsciously 
 to its Father. The soul flj^ing to the lips renders this 
 involuntary homage to its God. 
 
 Man has been defined by sundry quaint conceits as a 
 laughing animal, a weeping animal — nay, even a cooking 
 animal. It seems to me that he is essentially a worship- 
 ping animal, that his very organisation forbids him to 
 stand alone, and compels him to lean on some being or 
 some principle stronger than himself. All the greatest 
 and wisest of the earth have practically acknowledged 
 this necessity. Clever wits and ready talkers may have 
 ridiculed and ignored it ; but clever wits and ready talkers 
 have not swayed the destinies of the world. Alexander of 
 Macedon did not disdain to worship the heathen Jove, with 
 whom he claimed aflfinity, as David, the vvamor king, exulted 
 in the homage he offered to the true God. Why should 
 the polished Greek have trusted in his Delphic oracle,
 
 lU GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 and the grim Scandinavian brooded over the nones of his 
 ancestral faith ? Because Xenophon's ten thousand and 
 Erl Harald's vikings were in this respect but little 
 children — ruthless warriors, daring adventurers, helmed 
 and plumed and steeped to the elbows in blood, but still 
 in this one weakness little children, and of the same 
 family. Superstition is but faith exaggerated ; fanaticism 
 is but religion gone mad. The human race are willing 
 slaves of the one, sadly prone to the other ; but this only 
 proves that the principle of worship is inherent in their 
 nature, and that pantheism rather than atheism is the 
 extreme to which they tend. 
 
 How easy then is it, and how profitable, to lead a child 
 in the right way ! What a responsibility is theirs who 
 have the guidance of youth ! What an old metaphor that 
 is about the pebble which turns hither or thither the 
 course of a mountain rill, but how suggestive too ! It is 
 no trifling consideration whether the mighty flood shall 
 eventually roll into the easternmost or the westernmost 
 ocean. How often do I reproach m^^self with my negli- 
 gence towards my pupil ! Woe is me ! for I had already 
 learned the lesson on my own account, had been crushed 
 and humbled and beaten " with many stripes " for my 
 gins. Yet was I content to pore with him over the 
 character of every sage in history ; to discuss the belief, 
 the career, the doctrine of each, and pass by the Man of 
 Sorrows in silence as though He were but a fabulous 
 personage after all ; nay, could read the Greek Testament, 
 and dwell upon the purity of its language, the simplicity 
 of its expressions, the very mood and tense of a verb, 
 whilst I neglected or slurred over the Divine Spirit that 
 vivified and sanctified the whole. What is education, 
 after all ? Is it a dull routine like the work of a horse 
 in a mill, to be trod by every disposition alike ? Is it 
 sufficient that each disciple should be taught in turn to 
 construe, and parse, and scan ; to admire old Homer's 
 hexameters with Hacier, and criticise Horace's iambics 
 with Anthon ? nay, to obtain a thorough insight into, and 
 acquaintance with, the elegancies and the manners of 
 Greece and Rome, the while trigonometry, logarithms, 
 and conic sections are not wholly neglected ? Or is it a
 
 THE FAL.'<E GOD 105 
 
 preparatory course of training for the great stiuggle thai 
 every child of man must hereafter wage, of which the 
 prize is — what ? — success in this life ? Who was ever 
 satisfied with it ? Earthly happiness ? Who will confess 
 to it ? A quiet heart ? Who has got it ? What then ? 
 If it be what twelve poor Jews affirmed nearly two 
 thousand years ago they knew it was, by direct inspira- 
 tion ; if it be what some millions of the bravest, and 
 gentlest, and best on earth have since died believing it ; 
 if it be that without which you have perhaps never 
 pictured to yourself what a blank would be your own 
 identity ; then surely it is not well to ignore in your 
 preparation of the candidate the very aim and end you 
 would fit him to attain, 
 
 I might have done much with Gilbert that I neglected 
 to do. I could at least have sown broadcast a few 
 grains of the good seed which so multiplies in a fertile 
 soil under God's blessed sunshine. Here a little and 
 there a little, and in that warm, kindly heart what a 
 goodly harvest might have been the result ! I dare not 
 dwell on the contingency now. 
 
 Still, if he had but had a mother, Gilbert's disposition 
 would have been so different. If Lady Olivia could but 
 have looked upon the boy as it is woman's instinct to 
 look even on a stranger's child ; if she had not thrust his 
 tenderness away from her, and taught him, as it were, 
 that to his mother alone he was unwelcome, her influence 
 with a youth of his character would have been paramount. 
 He was so tractable, so docile, so easily led. He was so 
 loving and considerate to all that came about him, from 
 his frightful old nurse down to " Mouse," the long-suffer- 
 ing and never-resting pony. Brave and high-spirited as 
 the boy was, a word of kindness would at any time brino- 
 the tears to his eyes. He would have required no teach- 
 ing to love his mother, and, his mother might so easily 
 have taught him to love his God. 
 
 And yet Lady Olivia Avas what the world called "a 
 religious woman " — a person of " excellent principles " — 
 cold, pitiless, and unwavering. To be punctual in your 
 payments, to " give tithes of all you possess," to exact 
 implicit obedience from your inferiors, to offer outward
 
 196 GOOD FOB NOTHING 
 
 homage to your bettors, and to return with scrupulous 
 accuracy the courtesies of your equals, this is to be 
 thoroughly resj)cctable, and for this be sure you will 
 obtain your reward. You have never been tempted; 
 therefoi'c you shall spurn the fallen : you have never been 
 in need ; therefore you shall in no wise stretch a helping 
 hand to the unfortunate. The outside at least of your 
 own cup and platter you have kept clean and unseamed ; 
 so when your neighbour's pitcher is broken you shall 
 stand exulting at the well-mouth, and mock his agony of 
 thirst. All this is to be worldly wise and worldly 
 virtuous. All this is to be eminent in a service of which 
 the rewards are immediate and tangible, of which the 
 medals and decorations hang glittering outside your 
 breast ; but I doubt hugely if it be the service of the 
 Cross. I doubt it may be but disobedience and rank 
 mutiny in the eyes of Him who came to call, " 7iot the 
 righteous, but sinners, to repentance." 
 
 Lady Olivia called herself a miserable sinner once a 
 week ; also once a week she heard poor Gilbert his 
 Catechism, as lucidly set forth in the " Book of Common 
 Prayer" for the instruction of young Christians. The 
 boy repeated it scrupulously by rote, standing the while 
 on one particular square of the carpet, in a perfect 
 perspiration of fear least he should omit or mistake a 
 single word. The slightest error was corrected with 
 merciless severity; the task was fulhlled with undeviating 
 exactitude. Whether this method of teaching the sub- 
 lime and simple truths of our beautiful faith be the most 
 advisable, it is not for me to question. I would only 
 ask you, sir, a man of forty, if you axn at this moment 
 say the " Church Catechism " by heart ? if you can explain 
 it to your own satisfliction ? if you can make that explan- 
 ation clear to the intelligence of a child ? 
 
 As the boy grew up, it was not likely that he would 
 submit to the control of a mother who ruled by fear 
 rather than love. Petticoat influence, indeed, is seldom 
 either much regarded or dreaded by a man under thirty. 
 By degrees he slipped his neck out of the yoke, I am 
 bound to say, with perfect temper and good conduct. 
 He never spoke harshly or disrespectfully to Lady Olivia;
 
 THE FALSE GOD 197 
 
 but he simply absented himself as much as possible from 
 her society, and ignored her authority altogether. Such 
 a state of things was unnatural, and could not possibly 
 lead to good. Then came all the excitement and tempta- 
 tions of the great world to be encountered in their most 
 seductive form, without the one controlling principle 
 which steadies even when it fails to guide, as the helm 
 of a ship keeps her head well up to windward in a gale. 
 A young man of fortune loose upon London, without 
 domestic ties, and without a strong sense of religion, is 
 not unlikely to make shipwreck. That Gilbert escaped 
 so long, I can only attribute to his excellent natural dis- 
 position, to a certain degree of innate refinement that 
 shrank intuitively from vice, even when the dame draped 
 herself, as she well knows how to do, in her daintiest 
 attire, and to a grave brotherly regard he entertained for 
 his cousin Gertrude, whose alternate sarcasms and good 
 counsels did not fail on more than one occasion to rouse 
 in him that sense of self-respect and that strength of self- 
 control, which the extremes of prosperity and adversity 
 are so prone to annihilate. 
 
 Why he never fell in love with Gertrude it is not easy 
 to say. Perhaps the very facility of winning prevented 
 him from entering the arena ; perhaps the most tempting 
 fruit is always that which hangs out of reach, and it is 
 poor sport to strike the quarry without the excitement 
 of the chase. At the time when my story opens, the girl 
 had almost made up her mind to marry him, and when 
 such young ladies are in earnest they are not easily foiled. 
 It is folly to speculate on what might have been. Would 
 such a marriage have insured his happiness here and 
 hereafter ? or would it but have made confusion worse 
 confounded ? There is no such thing as a suppositional 
 past ; and yet how prone we are to lament and bewail ! 
 " If 1 had only known. If I had but been a day sooner." 
 If so, you would have been a different person, under 
 different circumstances, in a different world ; and the 
 whole hypothesis explodes in its own absurdity. 
 
 Long before he was thirty, Gilbert had become a good- 
 humoured, easy, unprincipled man of the world. I use 
 the latter adjective in its narrowest sense. I do not mean
 
 198 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 to say that he was capable of any infamous act, and for 
 what the world calls honour he had the most scrupulous 
 regard ; but I do mean to say that of such latitude as 
 that world allows, totally irrespective of religion and 
 morality, he was quite ready to avail himself Like the 
 bulk of his associates, he was also somewhat hored and 
 hlas^, as those must always be who expend immortal 
 energies in hunting butterflies ; but, like them, he ac- 
 cepted this weariness as an indispensable condition, and 
 only strove to dispel it by a fresh pursuit after a fresh 
 insect. 
 
 If the butterflies had all been alike, flitting the same 
 unvarying round within the garden walls, this would have 
 been of less importance ; but in a fatal moment he was 
 attracted by one of fairy colours and far-extended flight. 
 Hot, breathless, and exhausted, he followed it beyond the 
 bounds of lawn and pleasure-grounds, far out and away 
 into the wilderness. When Gilbert Orme first met Ada 
 Latimer, he thought he had exhausted all the sensations 
 and experiences of life. He fancied in his ignorance (was 
 it pitiful or enviable ?) that he had felt everything, done 
 everything, that he was getting old in mind if not in body, 
 and that there was very little left worth living for, but the 
 common needs of everyday existence. To awake from 
 such a state of torpidity was in itself delicious. There 
 was a zest in everything now that even boyhood had failed 
 to find ; he triumphed like a miser in his newly-discovered 
 treasure, pondered on it in secret, and hid it away in his 
 inmost heart. In such a disposition as his there was a 
 considerable leavening of the womanly element, which 
 makes an amiable companion but a weak man. The 
 " besoin d'aimcr " was strong witliin him. He had never 
 got through that disease which, like the measles, it is best 
 to encounter in early life, consequently it took a firm hold 
 of his constitution. He had often been grazed before, but 
 never hit, consequently the wound assumed an undue 
 importance, and he pulled it about, and probed it till it 
 festered and spread over his whole being. 
 
 His was a temperament capable of going any length 
 where the affections as well as the passions were concerned. 
 I have seen him, when a boy, plunge into a study which
 
 THE FALSE GOD 199 
 
 interested, or take up an amusement which fascinated 
 him, with an energy and a persistency that of themselves 
 predicated success. Contrary to one of the fundamental 
 rules of mechanics, his violemtmn, was also perpdumn, and 
 he was a rare instance of impetuosity and perseverance 
 combined. Beneath that careless, indolent exterior lay, 
 dormant indeed, but only waiting to be aroused, strong 
 passions, unbending resolution, an iron will that could 
 strike fiercely on the instant, or wait doggedly for years, 
 the whole tempered by a rare generosity and kindliness of 
 heart. Such a character, indeed, is powerful for good or 
 for evil ; such a character, above all others, requires some 
 guidance superior to the sordid motives that commonly 
 sway mankind. 
 
 I have heard a theory broached which at first sight may 
 appear untenable, but on which the more I reflect, the 
 more I am convinced it contains a considerable leavening 
 of truth. It is this, that there is a strong similarity in 
 the characters of the very good and the very bad ; nay, 
 that their prevailing qualities are actually identical, and 
 that the difference, as in the mountain stream, depends 
 upon the channel into which they may happen to be 
 turned. It is a startling consideration truly, and more 
 especially for those who have to do with the young. 
 Doubtless it is difficult to define the exact point at which 
 a virtue carried too far passes into its corresponding vice. 
 It requires, indeed, a skilful moralist to decide where faith 
 ends and fanaticism begins ; where courage becomes rash- 
 ness, decision degenerates into self-conceit, or perseverance 
 petrifies into obstinacy. The more I reflect on such 
 ethical inconsistencies, the more hopelessly I lose myself 
 in a maze of conjecture from which I feel there is no 
 egress but by the light of revelation. No system of man's 
 philosophy has ever yet been sufficient to satisfy the 
 cravings of man's reasoning powers. It is better to accept 
 humbly what we -feel we cannot do without: it is better 
 to believe than to understand, and while we take morality 
 as a staff, to hold fast by religion as a guide. 
 
 Yes, we come back at last to the Druid's stones, to the 
 Norseman's runes, to the Pythian oracle, and the Papist's 
 mother of God. We must worship something. Have we
 
 200 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 not the simplest and noblest faith that was ever believed 
 by man ? Can we not worship as that faith enjoins ? 
 
 There was no want of veneration in Gilbert. He was 
 capable of a fanatic's devotion, body and heart and soul. 
 God heip him! it was no cold, self-sacrificing temperament 
 that made such havoc with my boy, 
 
 " Little children, keep yourselves from idols ! " Even in 
 these Christian times idolatry is one of the crying sins of 
 the human race. Be it the money-worship that reduces 
 every thought and feeling to a golden standard ; be it the 
 ambition that leaves not a moment for reflection or repose 
 — be it the more amiable yet no less fatal folly that 
 exalts a fellow-creature into a divinity — too surely does it 
 mete out for itself its own retribution. It is a fine thing 
 to be rich. It is grand to have power, and station, and 
 influence. Above all, it is a golden dream to love. How 
 sweet is it to treasure up something so dearly ! how 
 ennobling to adore it so devotedly ! what unspeakable 
 happiness in the utter self-abandonment and self-sacrifice I 
 can any pleasure of gain or success compare with that 
 which we feel in pouring out all our wealth of life and 
 hopes at our idol's feet ? — and yet — I wonder what the 
 poor negro thinks of his Fetish when, as must sometimes 
 happen, he finds it break to pieces in his hand ?
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 A BOLD FRONT 
 
 I HAVE often pondered whether the Marble Bride was 
 marble all through; whether that astonished bridegroom 
 whose betrothal in the tennis-court was so unguardedly 
 brought about, took sufficient pains to thaw the stone- 
 cold lady who was good enough to chill his uncomfortable 
 couch. Is he the only gallant who has placed a ring on 
 the finger of an image — ay, and found the finger curve 
 itself so inflexibly that the ring would never come off 
 again ? And should he not have endeavoured more 
 diligently to penetrate the outward insensibility that 
 resisted him, and to discover the living, loving woman, 
 warm within that seeming statue-bride ? 
 
 I don't think that Ada Latimer was flint to the very 
 centre. I have my doubts that the 07der mistrusted 
 hugely, and so misrepresented, the m?icr woman, and I am 
 not satisfied in my own mind that people usually take 
 infinite pains to avoid those who are indifferent to them. 
 Truth to tell, Ada's self-imposed penance began to grow 
 very irksome. It was one thing to resolve that there 
 cotild be nothing in common between herself and this 
 dangerous fascination, and another to resign altogether 
 even the merit of resisting its influence. Whilst she 
 knew he was watching for her at every turn, and thinking 
 of her every hour in the day, it was neither difficult nor 
 altogether without a morbid gratification of its o^vn to 
 disappoint and torment him, and glory in the firmness and 
 good sense that could thus triumph over temptation ; but 
 
 201
 
 502 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 when he was gone out of town and far away, when he was 
 surrounded by scenes and people with whom she had 
 nothing to do ; wh(>n it was his turn to be rational and 
 strong-minded, and alive to his own interests, how would 
 it be then ? Ada began to think that prudence might be 
 carried too far, that she had wilfully ill-used one from 
 whom she had experienced unvarying deference and con- 
 sideration ; that she had been hasty, selfish, unjust, 
 unkind. So surely as she got to this last word the tears 
 rose to her eyes, and she thought how weak, how foolish, 
 and how unhappy she was. 
 
 We have no English exponent for an uncomfortable 
 feeling which our neighbours call pitie de soi-meme. It is 
 an enervating and deleterious sentiment, but by no means 
 rare in either sex when under the influence of each other's 
 attractions. Ada suffered from it intensely. It seemed so 
 hard that she must work, work all her days, and never be 
 happy. She felt so wasted in her lonely, loveless life ; she 
 who knew her own powers so well — as all do if they only 
 would confess it; she who could have made such a home for 
 one she loved, and been so happy in it herself, and it was 
 not to be ! She must not even have the ideal pleasure of 
 worshipping a sentiment, a dream, a myth ; for after all, 
 this Mr. Orme had but been trifling with her and awaken- 
 ing her interest under false pretences. She had seen hira 
 herself only last night at the opera, in that dark bold- 
 looking woman's box, apparently completely engrossed by 
 his entertainer ; and the face she was beginning to know 
 so well- rose up before her, and the kind eyes were looking 
 into hor own once more, till it seemed impossible he could 
 be so false and unfeeling. And yet what had he to do 
 there the whole evening, never once looking at the stage 
 — for she had watched him narrowly, be sure — and talking 
 all the time with such absorbing interest. If he were 
 indeed so utterly unworthy, she ought to hate him ; she 
 would hate him ! No, she would hate herself for loving 
 him through it all. <v i4 '*{ v/'-m;! 
 
 Then she reflected this was worse and worse. Virtually, 
 was he not even now another's ? Miss Jones had said he 
 was engaged to marry his cousin ; she had herself seen 
 the note to " dearest Gertrude." Ho could not but be
 
 A BOLD FRONT 203 
 
 devoted to such a girl as that, thought poor Mrs. Latimer ; 
 so handsome, so clever, so fluent — above all, so high-bred. 
 It would indeed be his saving to make such a marriage. 
 It could not but turn out weli, and no one would be more 
 rejoiced to hear of his welfare than herself. Yes, night 
 and morning she would pray on her knees for his 
 happiness. Such an interest, at least, was allowable ! 
 there could be no harm in that ! 
 
 So having arrived at this conclusion, Ada bethought 
 herself it was her bounden duty to recommence her 
 music-lessons in Belgrave Square forthwith. She would 
 take a double interest in Lady Gertrude now ; and if it 
 should so chance that the bridegroom elect came in 
 whilst the instruction was going on, why it was a proper 
 punishment to undergo for the dreams she had permitted 
 herself, and it would besides be an excellent test by 
 which she might prove the purity of her own feelings 
 and the firmness of her resolutions. Also she deserved 
 some indulgence for her late self-denial, and she could not 
 but admit that she would like to see him, if only once 
 again, for the last time. If this desire was weak and 
 wrong, she alone would have to pay the penalty ; no one 
 else could imagine what it would cost her. Surely if she 
 chose to purchase the gratification at so high a price, she 
 was entitled to do so ; and then, it was to be positively 
 for the last time ! 
 
 Ay, those last times are very fatal. It is not the " first 
 step " that costs so much ; it is the " once again," the 
 additional stone imposed that breaks down the whole 
 fabric. A gambler wins such a sum of money as his 
 highest hopes have scarcely calculated on, but he cannot 
 leave the table without one more throw; he must try 
 "just once again." Fortune shakes her head and he 
 loses, so he goes on to retrieve that single false step, to 
 regain the status ante, which nobody ever did yet or ever 
 will, and little by little his winnings disappear, and he 
 rise.'! from the table in far worse plight than he sat down. 
 A tumbler repeats the arduous somersault for which he 
 is celebrated in the profession, to the admiration of 
 applauding hundreds, in wondrous succession. Breath- 
 less and exhausted, but fired by the loud encores, he
 
 204 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 tempts the sawdust " once again," and breaks his neck. 
 It was by going " once again " to the well the hapless 
 pitcher became a proverb. It is by listening "once again " 
 to the vows whispered at that resort, the village maiden's 
 heart shares the same fate. Depend upon it Don Quixote 
 was right. When he had tried the strength of his paste- 
 board helmet by cleaving it in twain with one stroke of 
 his good sword, he mended the battered headpiece care- 
 fully and deliberately enough, but he abstained from 
 proving it " once again 1 " 
 
 So Mrs. Latimer resolved to write to Lady Gertrude 
 and tell her the cold was better, and appoint a future 
 time for the recommencement of the lessons ; and to this 
 she was the more disposed from the fact of her having 
 an engagement to sing at the last morning concert of the 
 season. Of course, if she could undertake the latter, she 
 was bound to fulfil the former duty; and if truth must 
 be told, she had rather set her heart upon this public 
 display for more reasons than one. It was the day after 
 her visit to the opera (a rare amusement for Ada, and 
 we have seen how she enjoyed it !) — it would probably 
 be crowded by those admirers of music who could not 
 obtain such another indulgence of their tastes till next 
 year. She ought not to neglect such an opportunity, for 
 the favour of the musical world (she thought rather 
 bitterly) was the very bread she ate. Also, she was to 
 sing a certain song of which I have already spoken, and 
 it was just possible Gilbert Orme might be there to hear 
 it. You see how successfully Mrs. Latimer's self-discipline 
 went on. You see how easy it is to warn the tide of 
 human feelings — " Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther." 
 How it is only necessary to say to yourself, " I will cease 
 to care," to become completely indifferent. What a 
 ductile instrument is this human heart of ours, which 
 responds so harmoniously to our better judgment and 
 our will ; from Avhich we can evoke whatsoever tones we 
 desire, and which we can tune as we would a pianoforte 
 or a harp, and never fear that a chord may be strung to 
 too high a pitch, and so break once for all. Oh ! it is a 
 goodly life this inner life, when we strive to regulate it 
 for ourselves ! So calm, so independent, so ignorant of
 
 A BOLD FRONT 205 
 
 misgivings and remorse, so full of self-reliance and self- 
 content ! If you cannot rule your voice, Mrs. Latimer, 
 more deftly than your feelings, there will be no small 
 discord in the tune you have set yourself to sing. If 
 your notes are to be no steadier than your nerves, you 
 had better make your excuses at once, and sit you down 
 in silence before it is too late. 
 
 She dressed, however, as usual, for the ordeal. I have 
 my own suspicions that she took more than ordinary 
 pains with her toilette. Of course when a sacrifice is to 
 be made, it is no use to depreciate its value ; and what 
 daughter of Eve would wish to look her worst in the eyes 
 of a man who was to see her for the last time ? It was 
 no difficult task to adorn Ada Latimer. She emerged 
 from her dreary lodging fresh and radiant, as you may 
 see a rose that has been raised by some floral enthusiast 
 in a two-pair back, competing for fragrance and colouring 
 with the pride of the garden. She took her place in her 
 hired brougham with a gentle dignity that the finest 
 lady in London might have copied, and the very reprobate 
 who drove it ceased to ponder on the price of oats or the 
 charms of beer, and felt himself a more humanised 
 member of society while he had the charge of her. 
 
 She arrived kte, as was her custom, and had only time 
 to run her eye over her score and force her energies to 
 the necessary pitch of resolution, when it was already her 
 turn to sing. With a single rapid glance she had taken 
 in the whole of that crowded assemblage, had distinguished 
 one amongst the sea of faces, and had even discerned 
 that it looked pale and careworn and unhappy. This 
 was doubtless consolatory and reassuring. He had never 
 supposed she could recognise him amongst the multitude. 
 He had watched her narrowly since she entered, and 
 could have sworn she never once looked up from the roll 
 of music in her hand. But what is a man's glance 
 compared to a woman's in the rapidity with which it 
 takes in objects of interest ? It is as the mole's to the 
 hawk's ; it is as the tedious roll of the waggon to the rush 
 of the express train ; it is as the parcel sent by post to 
 the telegram flashing along the electric wires. She had 
 seen the very flower in his button-hole, and wondered
 
 206 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 whether it was the gift of Lady Gertrude ; and he did 
 not even think she knew he was there. 
 
 One more lightning glance as she rose. Yes, he looked 
 paler than ever now ; and she soared away into a flood of 
 melody so rich, so wild, so thrilling, as to draw down 
 thunders of applause from the audience, and even marks 
 of surprise and apjjroval from the accustomed professionals. 
 She heeded none of these. It seemed to her that she had 
 been wishing that one listener a last farewell, and when 
 she seated herself once more, it required all the fortitude 
 and self-command that Ada could summon to avoid 
 bursting into tears. She did not dare look at him again ; 
 she felt that if their eyes had met she must have given 
 way. Mute and statue-like she sat through the rest of 
 the entertainment, except where necessitated to take a 
 part, which she did with the impassibility of an automaton 
 — marble, cold, smoothed, polished marble outside ; sore 
 and bleeding and quivering within. 
 
 And yet she was sorry, too, when it was over; when 
 the rooms were emptying fast, and people began to talk 
 and greet each other, criticising the performances aloud, 
 and it was time to go away. She had not known before 
 how keenly she must have prized the chance of seeing 
 him here for the last time ; and now she had seen him 
 and there was nothing more, Ada began to think that 
 the blank certainty to which she had looked forward as 
 such a relief was worse than all the hopes and fears, and 
 jealousies and self-reproaches of her past conflict. Well, 
 it was done at last, and there was an end of it. 
 
 A faltering step approached her as she reached her 
 brougham. How could he tell that was hers amongst all 
 the others ? A manly hand that trembled visibly as it 
 was put forward clasped her own, and a kind, sorrowful 
 face looked down at her whilst she stammered out an 
 incoherent greeting, and, with a woman's natural impulse 
 for flight, ensconced herself in her carriage. Gilbert was 
 no consummate actor, and, considering his opportunities, 
 no experienced Lovelace ; but I doubt if the highest 
 histrionic powers and the profoundest knowledge of the 
 Sex could have availed him as did the simple sentence 
 which told his misgivings and his regrets.
 
 A BOLD FRONT 207 
 
 " I was afraid you had quite forgotten mo. I began to 
 think I should never see you. again." 
 
 What was Ada's reply she never knew to her dying 
 day. I think he might have got into the brougham then 
 and there, and so driven away with her into Fairyland, 
 and she would only have been too happy; but another 
 carriage was waiting to come up ; hers must move off or 
 be annihilated, and my own impression is that neither of 
 them spoke another syllable. 
 
 Only as she turned the corner of the street he bowed to 
 the fair face blushing as it leaned forward for another look ; 
 and although the gesture might but have been curiosity 
 on her side and common courtesy on his, they felt they 
 belonged to each other once more. So all the good 
 resolutions vanished at one touch of a hand, at half-a- 
 dozen words from a well-known voice ; and there are 
 people who can deliberately avow that one such minute 
 (for these electric affinities require a very few seconds 
 to combine) is an equivalent for weeks and months of 
 longing and watching and weary misgivings and bitter 
 mistrust. There are people calling themselves rational 
 beings who can determine with all their energies that 
 they will never S23eak to nor so much as think of each 
 other again, that their mutual usage is unbearable, their 
 injuries irremediable, their positive dislike at last insur- 
 mountable, and yet who can change as instantaneously as 
 do the figures in a magic-lantern ; and because one hints 
 " I haven't forgotten you," and the other whispers " I 
 didn't mean to be unkind," can load themselves again 
 with the fetters they had voted so galling, ten times 
 heavier now, you may be sure, and rejoice exceedingly in 
 their return to captivity once more. 
 
 The man who had been sixty years in the Bastile found 
 his liberty so irksome that he praj^ed to be taken back 
 to his cell, and died of a broken heart to learn that it had 
 been destroyed. What was liberty to him ? what is 
 she to any of us ? We make a great fuss about her, 
 and erect statues to her, and prate about her being " the 
 air we breathe — if we have it not, we die " ; but we do7it 
 die, and we don't really care a pin about our liberty. 
 What we like is a despotism — an iron despotism that
 
 208 GOOD FOR NOTEINO 
 
 we have raised up for ourselves, and we elect to grovel 
 under it, and grumble at it, and hug our chains 
 tighter and tighter the while. Yes, there is many a heart 
 that incarcerates itself in a bastile of its own construction, 
 till it owns no kindred with the outer world, and has 
 no resource hift but to break and perish with the ruins of 
 its prison.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 KEEPING AFLOAT 
 
 » 
 
 The London season was now drawing to a close. Like 
 the dying notes of a musical-box, gaiety after gaiety took 
 place at longer intervals and with obviously failing 
 energy. Shutters had begun to appear in the first-floor 
 windows of well-known houses, and more than one scaf- 
 folding was already up for the repairs and decorations 
 that should be completed against next year. The trees 
 in the Park were acquiring that arid, uncomfortable, 
 and thirsty look which none but London trees ever put on, 
 and the young ladies still left were getting so pale 
 and jaded that the philanthropist felt quite concerned 
 lest their roses should never bloom again. Misguided man ! 
 He little knew what a fortnight's sea-breezes at Cowes 
 could do, or a few quiet rides and drives about the shady 
 country place with its out-of-door enjoyments and early 
 hours, where papa assumed gaiters and a white hat 
 once more, and mamma, always busy, rustled about in 
 faded dresses and circumscribed crin(jline, whilst self and 
 sisters rejoiced in the broa(i brims and gardening-gloves 
 of a coquetry none the less attractive for its apparent 
 simplicity. Yes ; a few showei-s of rain, a cooling breeze 
 or two, soon bring back the bloom and the freshness to 
 our English roses, always supposing there is no worm 
 feeding at the core. But indeed it was high time 
 to get them out of the dusty streets and squares to their 
 own native flower-beds once more. Even the environs of 
 
 209 o
 
 210 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 Loudun seemed to sympathise with the worn-out, dried- 
 iip, exhausted appearance of the metropolis. The grass 
 in Kichmond Park was burnt to a gamboge tint, whilst the 
 frequent picnics of which beautiful Bushey had been the 
 scene, left its smooth sward covered with broken bottles 
 and brown paper. 
 
 The Crystal Palace was no longer an attractive lounge 
 for people warm enough already without the process of 
 forcing under glass; and who, except ministers, would 
 dine at Greenwich to eat whitebait half the size of 
 mackerel ? Verbena Villa, situated as it was at the other 
 extremity of the Regent's Park, was not half for enough 
 afield ; and yet Bella often congratulated herself as the 
 autumn drew on, that she lived almost in the country. 
 
 Behold her sitting quietly down to the household 
 accounts, having gone through her usual routine of morn- 
 ing duties — that is to say, she has watered her plants, 
 snipped off the dead leaves, drasvn down the blinds, fed 
 the parrot, and sat for ten minutes in a brown study, 
 calculating how long it ought to take for a letter to come 
 from Sydney, supposing it to be posted immediately 
 on the arrival of a passenger who had only just sailed 
 for that distant port. Miss Jones has become very 
 thoughtful of late, and very economical. She endeavours 
 constantly to reduce the large expenditure of the Villa to 
 a more reasonable scale, and strives to dissuade her father 
 as much as possible from those entertainments w^hich 
 he seems to think more than ever necessary since his late 
 embarrassments. 
 
 " We must give another dinner-party, my dear, before 
 everybody goes out of town," said the alderman, breaking 
 in upon Bella's calculations, and flourishing the news- 
 paper in a nervous manner that was now habitual to 
 him. " Let me see ; we've had the Bullingdons, and the 
 Cheapsides, and old Mrs. Banneret and all her daughters. 
 I think we needn't ask these again. Who is there still 
 on the list, my child ? " 
 
 " Oh, papa, I am sure we have done quite enough," 
 was his daughter's reply ; " it's getting too hot for large 
 dinners now, and nobody expects to be asked so late in 
 the season. People think we are gone to the seaside."
 
 'KEEPING AFLOAT' 211 
 
 Rendered into English, this meant simply, " We are 
 growing poorer every day ; don't let us be extravagant, 
 but acconmiodate ourselves gradually to the change that 
 must come at last." 
 
 The alderman's temper, formerly so amiable, was 
 getting captious. A man can bear ruin well enough 
 when it has come, but the impending crash would make a 
 saint peevish and irritable. 
 
 " Stuff ! " he said. " I met Sir Andrew Lombard at 
 Lloyd's yesterday, and he asked me half-a-dozen questions 
 about this business of Slopes in Philadelphia. I must 
 show him that such a flea-bite as that cannot affect Jones 
 and Co. Faith ! he shall have as good a dinner here as 
 he could get at the Mansion House. Put him down, 
 Bella ; put him down. Sir Andrew and Lady Lombard ; 
 and we'll have a sound man or two to meet them. 
 There's Plumber, he can't be worth less than half a 
 million ; and Stirling Brothers, we'll have 'em both ; and 
 old Solomons the Jew, only no pork, Bella, mind that ; 
 the last time he dined here we had sucking-pig in the 
 second course, and he ate the half of it before he found 
 it out." 
 
 The girl came round to her father's chair, and seated 
 herself on one of its arms, leaning her hand on his 
 shoulder, and looking into his face with rising colour, and 
 her eyes full of tears. 
 
 " Papa," she said, " I wish you would let me speak to 
 you as I used to do. Dear papa, I am not so young now ; I 
 am nearly twenty ; and I think I have as much sense 
 as other girls of my age." 
 
 He began to look alarmed. What was coming ? had 
 she heard anything more of those losses which it had been 
 his duty to keep secret from her? The bitterest drop, 
 perhaps, in his cup was this gradual withdrawal of confid- 
 ence between parent and child. Of course he spoke 
 roughly, if not angrily, in reply. 
 
 " Speak away, Bella ; only don't expect that you can 
 play my hand without seeing my cards. Women can't 
 possibly know anything about business ; and it ought to 
 be enough for you to have every earthly thing you can 
 want, without even the trouble of asking for it. Don't
 
 212 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 cry, child ; what's the use of that ? Is there anything moi'e 
 I can give you ? If there is, say so." 
 
 To tell a woman or a child " not to cry," is to open the 
 flood-gates at once. Bella's tears began to fall thick and 
 fast, but she stuck to her point nevertheless. 
 
 " Oh, papa," she sobbed out, " it's not that ; I've all I want 
 now, and a great deal more. Indeed, I could live upon a 
 hundred a year wdth you, and be quite content, if I could 
 see you ha])py. But you don't trust me, papa, now ; you 
 keep things from me; I am sure you do. If it hadn't 
 been for John Gordon, I should never have known we 
 were in difficulties at all ; and now John Gordon's gone, 
 and you've nobody but me." 
 
 And with this touching allusion, Bella lifted up her 
 voice, and wept unrestrained. 
 
 The alderman was very uncomfortable. He soothed 
 her and })etted her as he used to do when she was a child, 
 and had been naughty — no uncommon catastrophe ; and 
 more than once he resolved to take her into his entire 
 confidence, and to tell her exactly how things stood, conceal- 
 ing neither the precarious position of the firm, nor the 
 necessity for immediate retrenchment and economy ; but 
 the "business habits" were too strong within him. The 
 natural instinct of the trader to keep up his credit, to 
 save a]yp^.arances, at least, as long as possible, forbade hira 
 to confess all, even to his child. He tried to turn the 
 question off with a joke, but his voice wtis husky, and his 
 laughter forced, as he replied — 
 
 " What a little goose it is ! Do you suppose that ever 
 since I've been in business I've had smooth water and a 
 fair wind, and everything my own way ? No, no, Bella ; 
 it's just like a game at whist; sometimes we hold honours, 
 sometimes we don't, and must make the best score we can 
 by our cards. If we ("atch the adversary revoking, we don't 
 excuse him the penalty ; if we niake a mistake ourselves, 
 we don't expect to get off scot free. A fresh deal may 
 set everything right, Bella, and no man alive can have a 
 better partner than mine. John Gordon's one in a million, 
 my dear; one in a million." 
 
 Bella subscribed willingly to this encomium ; but still 
 she resolved to urge her scheme of retrenchment once more.
 
 'KEEPING AFLOAT' 213 
 
 "But there's no harm in saving, papa, surely, just now. 
 I have been going through all these books over and over 
 again till I know them by heart. There's the grocer's is 
 extravagantly high, and the butcher charges a penny a 
 pound more for his mutton than he did six months ago; 
 and " 
 
 The alderman interrupted her vehemently. This was 
 more than flesh and blood could stand. To have lost 
 thousands in Philadelphia by the shortcomings of Slopes ; 
 to have tens of thousands in jeopardy at Sydney by the 
 incapacity of Newman and Hope, and then to be told that 
 his butcher overcharged him a penny a pound ! The 
 alderman exploded — 
 
 " Zounds ! child, don't bother me about such nonsense. 
 Pay the butcher and the rest of them as you used to do. 
 Things must have come to a pretty pass indeed when 
 Jones and Co. tax their bills for roast mutton, and can't 
 afford to give a dinner-party. Jones and Co., the safest 
 house in Fleet Street ! — Jones and Co. ! " 
 
 " But, papa," she pleaded yet once more, " surely, if we 
 can't afford it, we oughtn't to do it. Surely, if we're poor, 
 it's dishonest, and " 
 
 "Silence, Bella!" roared the alderman, very angry 
 indeed now, as well he might be, struck home by the 
 truth-tipped shaft ; " silence ! and do as I bid you. There's 
 Mrs. Latimer coming in at the gate now. She'll help you 
 to write the invitations after luncheon; and don't let me 
 hear anything of this kind again ! " 
 
 So the alderman bounced out of the room, and drove off 
 straight to his counting-house, where he was very ill at 
 ease the whole afternoon that he had spoken so sharply to 
 his darling, and where the accounts in which he immersed 
 himself did not tend, I fear, to restore the good-humour he 
 had lost. 
 
 It was a relief to Bella to have Mrs. Latimer's gentle 
 face smiling upon her after this uncomfortable scene. 
 Ada looked to-day more lovely than usual. An inward 
 glow seemed to brighten her whole countenance, and the 
 blue eyes shone with a soft light that could only be 
 kindled at the heart. 
 
 She was in good truth very happy — foolishly, exultingly,
 
 214 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 and certainly without adequate cause. When she asked 
 herself wJuj, she could not but acknowledge that her relative 
 position was precisely the same as it had been a week 
 ago. She was still Mrs. Latimer, giving music-lessons at 
 the rate of so much per hour. Mr. Orme was none the 
 less engaged to marry Lady Gertrude ; that his love of 
 harmony had led him to attend a public concert in the 
 dog-days ; nor was the end of the season, and his con- 
 sequent departure, postponed an hour by their meeting 
 of yesterday. And yet something within seemed to tell 
 her that she was at last rewarded for all her suffering, and 
 she was willing enough to believe it. 
 
 I have heard it stated that one of the symptoms of 
 incipient insanity is a tendency to view the same subject 
 at different periods under a totally different aspect ; to 
 make light of the difficulty which an hour ago seemed in- 
 surmountable, or to shudder to-day at the chasm which 
 appeared yesterday an exciting and pleasing possibility. 
 If this be the case, a vast number of embryo lunatics must 
 be still at large ; and few of us but have experienced at 
 one time or another this premonitoiy inconsistency of 
 "reason tottering on her throne." 
 
 The music-lesson was cut short, as indeed was often the 
 case, Bella much preferring a quiet chat with her friend to 
 the elaborate study of harmony for which that friend 
 ostensibly visited her. There were a good many invita- 
 tions to send, and the two ladies sat down to the task with 
 considerable energy, previously muffling the parrot, so to 
 speak, by placing a shawl over his cage. 
 
 " I suppose I must write in my own name to Lady 
 Lombard," said Bella ; " I never spoke to her but twice 
 in my life. Each time she asked me how old I was, and 
 if I could make a pudding ? Such a woman, Mrs. 
 Latimer ! She'll come in a red velvet dress and a 
 diamond necklace; I'm horribly afraid of her. Well, I 
 must mind my spelling and choose a good pen. Then 
 there are Stirling Brothers, as papa calls them. I think 
 I had better ' present his compliments ' to them ; and old 
 Mr. Solomons. Can you write Hebrew, dear ? If so, 
 you shall take it off my hands. You begin over the leaf, 
 you know, and work backwards. It looks a little like
 
 'K:EF.FiNG Ai'LOAT' 215 
 
 music. Yes; I think I had better leave Mr. Solomons 
 to you." 
 
 Ada smiled and proceeded in a very business-like 
 manner to trace an invitation to Stirling Brothers in her 
 delicate ladylike handwriting. It was not often such a 
 missive reached the gloomy habitation of those merchant 
 princes — the dusky firmament in which they sat en- 
 throned, twin deities of commerce — the lucida sid.era of 
 the money-making world. Bella chattered, or busying 
 herself the while with paper and envelopes, and admiring 
 her friend's industry and composure. 
 
 " Papa must Avi'ite to Mr. Plumber himself. He's an 
 old friend, and very easily affronted. Besides, he's sure 
 to come, for he never dines out anywhere but here. Do 
 you know, Mrs. Latimer, I sometimes think " 
 
 Here Bella stopped, looking wonderfully mysterious 
 and full of fvm, causing her friend to suspend her employ- 
 ment and inquire, not without curiosity, what it was she 
 " sometimes thought " ? 
 
 " Well, of course, I don't know," answered Bella, now 
 laughing outright, " and I've no business to say so ; but 
 he asked me last year if I shouldn't feel very dull in that 
 dingy old house of his in Bedford Square ; and twice since 
 then he has said such stupid things and behaved so oddly, 
 that I think — I think I might be Mrs. Plumber as soon 
 as ever I liked." 
 
 " And don't you like ? " asked Ada, looking up with the 
 eager interest which all women betray in a match probable, 
 possible, or utterly out of the question. 
 
 " You should see the man," replied the young scoffer. 
 " My dear, he's as old as papa — and his boots creak, and 
 he wears a wig and takes snuff. Besides, I believe he's 
 very cross at home, though he's always so good-tempered 
 here. No ! — mine, when I have one, shall be younger and 
 better-looking and nicer than old Plumber. Goodness ! 
 that just reminds me, papa said I was to ask Mr. Orme 
 the next time we had anybody here." 
 
 Ada was bending studiously over the note to Stirling 
 Brothers. At this juncture it seemed to require the 
 closest attention, so that only a delicate little ear and a 
 portion of her neck were visible under her soft hair.
 
 216 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 Probably it was the stooping posture tliat tinged the skin 
 with so very deep a red. Bella looked a little surprised 
 to receive no answer, and proceeded — 
 
 "I'm afraid to write to him myself; he's such a dandy, 
 you know, and fine gentleman, though he's so good- 
 natured. Besides, I shouldn't know how to begin or whafc 
 to say. Dear Mrs. Latimer, couldn't you do it for me ? 
 He'd never know the difference of hand, and you might 
 write as if it came from papa." 
 
 She was obliged to look up now, but the colour had 
 faded away and left her very pale. She couldn't write 
 to him : that was quite impossible ; also it was quite 
 impossible to tell Bella why ; neither could she meet the 
 black eyes of the latter, opened wide at her obvious 
 confusion. It was an immense relief to hear a peal 
 jingling at the door-bell. It was not quite such a relief 
 when the footman threw the drawing-room door open and 
 announced " Mr. Orme ! " 
 
 There are many circumstances in life which draw 
 largely on the composure and self-control of the human 
 subject. It requires courage to stand up and be shot at 
 by the riflemen of an enemy's corps, the while you are 
 yourself bound to maintain for the encouragement of 
 your followers such an outward demeanour of carelessness 
 as though you were but the object of a pleasant joke — 
 practical, perhaps, but humorous, and perfectly harmless. 
 It demands no small assurance to address a public as- 
 semblage two-thirds of whom are prepared to cavil at 
 your arguments, and the whole disposed to criticise your 
 language, appearance, and general demeanour with any- 
 thing but a favourable eye. It must shake the nerve of 
 any but a professional to appear for the first time on the 
 boards in the character of Macbeth, Coriolanus, or Hamlet 
 the Dane, — but none of these — sharpshooter's target, 
 impopular orator, or amateur tragedian — requires half 
 such sang-froid to carry him through his ordeal as he 
 who is unexpectedly ushered into the presence of his 
 ladye-love to find her not alone. 
 
 Gilbert Orme had doubtless plenty of time to prepare 
 himself for the interview. His arrival at this critical 
 moment was the result of much forethought and the
 
 'KErJPIXG AFLOAT' 217 
 
 nicest calculation. He had allowed so much for the time 
 of the music-lesson, so much for the necessary conversa- 
 tion of any two ladies at any given hour of the twenty- 
 four, so much for the difference of clocks, and the result 
 should have been his entrance at the gate of the Villa 
 precisely when Mrs. Latimer was quitting it. He knew 
 nothing, however, of the dinner-party and the invitations 
 — nothing of the note that was to be written to himself; 
 consequently he came ten minutes too soon. 
 
 Of course he scarcely said a word to Mrs. Latimer ; of 
 course he made himself remarkably agreeable to Bella, 
 though he would have been puzzled to repeat a single 
 word of any sentence he addressed to her five minutes 
 afterwards ; and of course the latter young lady, none the 
 less observant that she herself knew the nature of such 
 an innocent predilection, found out the two guilty ones 
 in about five minutes and took her measures accord- 
 ingly, thereby insuring their gratitude and devotion for 
 life. 
 
 " Don't go, Mrs. Latimer," said she, preparing to leave 
 the room ; " I must see the housekeeper before I can 
 settle how many to ask ; and I want you to help me with 
 the invitations afterwards. If you and Mr. Orme can 
 amuse each other for a quarter of an hour, I will promise 
 not to be a moment longer with Mrs. Garnish." 
 
 So she vanished, and Ada held her breath, while 
 Gilbert, feeling somewhat as he used when he " hardened 
 his heart " for " the Smite " or " the Whissendine," only 
 much more nervous, made up his mind for the plunge.
 
 CHAPTER XXIIl 
 
 "SINK OR swim" 
 
 Two little girls, with netted hair and innocent frilled 
 trousers, are waiting meanwhile in a back drawing-room 
 at Bayswater, and wondering whether their music-lesson 
 is not to take place to-day. That kind, gentle mistress, 
 who never scolds them, and so often brings them sugar- 
 plums, has been hitherto punctuality itself Wet or dry, 
 she has never been five minutes late before ; and now 
 they watch the hand of the clock with increasing specula- 
 tion, and broach the most improbable theories to account 
 for her delay. 
 
 Julia, the fickle, aaj's to Charlotte, the steady one, that 
 she thinks " Mrs. Latimer has been upset in a cab, and 
 perhaps killed ; in which case mamma will be very angry, 
 and they will have no more lessons till a fresh teacher 
 can be got — a holiday of at least a week ! " 
 
 Chai'lotte, as in duty bound, appears much shocked at 
 so summary a disposal of their instructress, but suggests a 
 milder flitc, inclining to believe in bodily illness as the 
 cause of her detention, or the death of a near relative, or 
 sudden accession to untold wealth. Both, however, con- 
 cur in deciding that under any circumstances " Mamma 
 will be very angry." So they make up their minds with- 
 out much difficulty to wait a little longer. 
 
 Ada meanwhile, still busying herself over the note to 
 Stirling Brothers, feels as if she was suffocated, and as if 
 her heart was beating so loud that Mr. Orme cannot but 
 hear it. He is standing on the hearth-rug, drawing lines 
 
 218
 
 'STNK OR SWIM' 219 
 
 on its surface with the point of his umbrella. How loud 
 the clock ticks ! — this silence seems so stupid, so awkward, 
 so distressing ! Yet how to break it ? If it lasts thirty 
 seconds longer she will jump up and run after Bella ! 
 
 The parrot makes a diversion just at the critical moment. 
 Despising the artificial darkness in which he is enveloped, 
 he gives vent to a startling whoop and an ear-piercing 
 whistle, embarking forthwith in demoniacal tones on 
 
 "Beautiful Venice, the bride of the " Gilbert and 
 
 Ada burst out laughing simultaneously. It is reassuring 
 to hear their own voices, and the gentleman feels a 
 considerable accession of that desperation which is the 
 counterfeit of courage. The point of the umbrella, never- 
 theless, scores the hearth-rug faster than ever. 
 
 " I am so glad to have found you here to-day," said he, 
 at last ; " I Avanted so much to see you again before I 
 leave London." 
 
 This was a bad start. Then he ^vas going to leave 
 town, probably forthwith. Ada's pride was in arms on 
 the instant ; she bowed haughtily, and answered in the 
 coldest possible tones — 
 
 " I am generally here twice a week with my pupil ; I 
 have already exceeded the usual time of her lesson. As 
 you are going away so soon, I am afraid I must wish you 
 good-bye." 
 
 She rose as if to depart, and with another formal 
 inclination turned to leave the room, but her heart smote 
 her for this gratuitous unkindness, and she put out her 
 liand. 
 
 As he took possession of it, he bent till his forehead 
 almost touched her glove; then raising his reproachful 
 eyes to hers, he said very gently — 
 
 " Are you angiy with me ? What have I done to 
 offend you ? Will you not forgive me before I go away ? " 
 
 There was something in his tone that filled Ada's eyes 
 with tears ; she did not dare look up lest he should see 
 them ; but she left her hand in his involuntarily, and 
 kept her regards fixed firmly on one particular square of 
 the carpet. 
 
 " Forgive you ! " she said, in a very unsteady voice ; 
 *' indeed, I have nothing to complain of. Ever since I
 
 220 GOOD FOE NOTHING 
 
 have kno^Yn you, Mr. Ornie, you have been most kind and 
 considerate. Indeed I wish you every happiness in your 
 marriage, and congratulate you with all my heart." 
 
 One large tear that had been slowly gathering here fell 
 with a splash — how provoking that she could not keep it 
 back ! How angry she was with herself ! What must he 
 think? What he thought I cannot tell — what he did 
 was to imprison the hand he had never relinquished in 
 both his own. 
 
 " My marriage ! " he exclaimed ; " I am not going to 
 be married ! — unless, unless — Mrs. Latimer, there is but 
 one woman in the world to me — Ada ! — may I not call 
 you Ada ? — are you blind ? My own ! my own ! have 
 you not seen it a long " 
 
 Then out it came, the old, old story. In these cases, 
 and these alone, the man does all the talking; and the 
 fcmmc qui ecoute, with drooping head and averted eyes, 
 and burning cheek and thrilling heart, drinks in every 
 syllable without comment or interruption : and when the 
 tale is told at last, be sure, would have no objection to 
 hear it all over again. That Gilbert's question was one 
 of those which required a definite answer seems 
 sufficiently obvious, yet did it elicit no sort of reply. 
 That he was himself satisfied with that eloquent silence 
 which proverbially gives consent appears probable, for the 
 umbrella lay neglected on the floor, and they both sat 
 down again at no groat distance apart ; indeed a tolerably 
 vigorous arm interposed between Ada and the back of her 
 chair, while, despite the vociferous interruptions of the 
 parrot, the soft whisper went flowing, flowing on; the 
 music that was first heard in Paradise ; the music of 
 which thousands of years, and hundreds of languages, 
 have never lost the cadence and the tune ; the music that 
 ravishes alike the sovereign on the throne and the peasant 
 beneath the hawthorn tree ; that stirs the blood of poor 
 and dull as of gifted and noble ; that gladdens the wise 
 and good, and heavenward leads the hearts of earth's 
 most wayward children. God help the forlorn one, for 
 whom that strain is mute, that spell broken for ever ! 
 
 By his own account nobody had ever gone through so 
 much to be alive. He spared her none of the particulars
 
 'SINK OR SWIM' 221 
 
 of their first introduction or their subse(}uent meetings, 
 or the break-otf in their intimacy, or his own misgivings, 
 and anxieties, and final despair. The words came fast 
 enough now with that beloved form so close, and the 
 dainty head bent down till his lips almost touched its 
 delicate little ear, and never a sign given of acquiescence 
 or approval save a scarce palpable pressure of the hand 
 he clasped. There are many waj^s of telling the old 
 story, but their drift is pretty much the same, as there 
 are many paths through the forests of Cyprus that lead 
 alike to the temple on the sacred hill. Gilbert's was a 
 straightforward account of all he had thought, done, and 
 suffered. He confessed freely to having been charmed by 
 others, but never subjugated ; to having often admired, 
 but never Avorshipped : nobody but Ada had ever made 
 him unhappy before. And she was cruel enough to be 
 gratified by this admission. Also, with all his regard for 
 Gertrude, who was like a sider (here there was another 
 faint pressure of the hand and a negative little shake of 
 the averted head), he had no more dreamt of marrying 
 her than the queen of Sheba. No ; there was but one 
 chance of happiness for him in this world ; if that was to 
 be his, there was no mortal he would envy upon earth. 
 If not, the sooner he was utterly lost and done for the 
 better. Life was not worth having without it, for in good 
 truth he was vei'y, very, etc., etc., etc. 
 
 She had not spoken yet ; indeed, she had never lifted 
 her burning face to meet his regard. Now she looked up 
 quickly for an instant. 
 
 " Who was that lady I saw you with at the opera ? " 
 she said ; and Gilbert knew by the tone in which she 
 asked the question that she loved him. So their eyes 
 met at last, and 
 
 It was rather unfortunate that Miss Jones should have 
 reappeared at this juncture, which she did with more 
 noise and bustle than was habitual to her, albeit not the 
 quietest young lady in the world. Two of the trio 
 thought Bella's quarter of an hour the shortest that was 
 ever allowed. She herself, with a juster appreciation of 
 time, esteemed five-and-forty minutes a sufficient period 
 for the settlement of any question, however important,
 
 222 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 and considered the lovers had been together quite long 
 enough. As my reader may probably be of the same 
 opinion, I will only add that the little girls at Bayswater 
 waited in vain lor their nuisic-lesson far on into the after- 
 noon. Mrs. Latimer never came, and " Mamma was very 
 angry," as Julia and Charlotte had predicted would be the 
 result. 
 
 What a happy heart the music-mistress took home with 
 her to that second-floor on the other side of the Edge- 
 ware Road ! What a paradise seemed the little dusky 
 room, and how those roses on the chimney-piece bloomed 
 with a fragrance unknown to " the gardens of earth and 
 sea ! " Though that crimson cheek bore the traces of 
 recent tears, though ever and anon fresh drops welled up 
 to quench the love-light in those lambent eyes, who would 
 not wish to weep like this for very excess of joy ? Who 
 would not envy Ada Latimer, moving restlessly to and 
 fro in the pride of her rich beauty, and the ecstasy of her 
 new-found happiness ? What though it was injudicious, 
 foolish, unheard-of, impossible ; — she would never injure 
 him ; — she would give him up willingly, cheerfully, thank- 
 fully, if it was for his own advantage. Anything for his 
 sake ! He loved her ! — he loved her ! — that was quite 
 enough for her. 
 
 It is worth while to be steeped in visions such as these, 
 if it be only for an hour. Let her dream on ! the time of 
 waking will come quite soon enough.
 
 CHAPTER XXI \^ 
 
 TOM TIDLER's ground 
 
 I AM Cockney enough to be very fond of Kensington 
 Gardens. Where will you find pleasanter sweeps of lawn, 
 or more umbrageous glades, or statelier trees, than about 
 the hideous old palace ? Indeed, were it not for the 
 town itself, that part of the valley of the Thames in which 
 London is situated seems to be naturally a very strong- 
 hold of sylvan beauty. There are glimpses of woodland 
 scenery in Hyde Park, about the Powder Magazine, and 
 near the Serpentine, fair enough to challenge competition 
 with Windsor Forest itself; and there are also walks and 
 retreats in my favourite Kensington Gardens, wherein 
 you may dream away a summer noon, and fancy yourself 
 hundreds of miles from the smoke of cities and the din 
 of men. Probably you have never been there in your 
 life before five P.M. ; just as you have never seen the 
 metropolis with its long perspectives, perfectly free from 
 smoke, and all aglow in the flush of a midsummer's sun- 
 rise. Many a time have I perused it thus, both before 
 and after my night's repose; and you may take my 
 word for it, that our capital is no dirty, dingy, ill-favoured 
 agglomeration of houses under such an aspect. But 
 nine-tenths of its frequenters never see it save at its 
 worst. Regular hours and conventional habits combine to 
 deprive most men of at least a third of their lives, and 
 they can only picture to themselves Regent Street as a 
 noisy thoroughfare alive with splashed omnibuses at three 
 in the afternoon, or a meretricious promenade flaring with 
 
 223
 
 224 GOOD FOR NOriTINO 
 
 lamps and libertinism at cloven at night, just as their 
 ideas of Kensington Gardens arc limited to the half- 
 dozen smoko-blarkcncd chestnuts and the circumscribed 
 area of trodden sward surrounding the band of the Life- 
 Guards or the Blues. 
 
 And yet there is many a quiet walk and many a 
 sequestered nook within those park-like precincts, fit 
 resort for those who are of opinion that " two is company 
 and three is none." A pair are pacing thoughtfully to 
 and fro under the shade of some large elms, and by the 
 absorbed manner of the lady and the half-protective, half- 
 deferential air of the gentleman, it would appear that 
 they are one of those couples on whom Holy Church is 
 about to bestow her blessing, rather than a iastly-riveted 
 pair for whom hopes and fears are over, and the rushlight 
 of Hymen burns with pale domestic lustre compared to 
 the Haring torch of Love. 
 
 " But why not immediately ? " asks the gentleman, 
 flourishing- an attenuated umbrella with considerable 
 emphasis. " Why not make everythmg certam at once ? 
 and then I'll go to the end of the world, if you like, and 
 come back again twice as fond of you, if jjossible, as I am 
 
 now." 
 
 •' Oh, no ! " said Ada, looking up at him with one of her 
 soft, shy smiles, and thinking in her heart there never was 
 anybody like him in the world. She always said, " Oh, 
 no!" to his ardent expressions of affection. Was it a 
 sense of its priceless value, or was it indeed some forebod- 
 ing of evil that thus made her decline and deprecate, as it 
 were, the treasure he lavished at her feet ? 
 
 " Oh, no ! that is not my object. Do you not yet under- 
 stand my feelings — my pride, if you will ? Listen to me, 
 Mr. Orme — very well, Gilbert, dearest Gilbert ; for indeed, 
 come what may, you will always be very, veiy dear to me. 
 Listen to me, and promise you will do what I ask you." 
 
 He gave the required promise with a sufficiently bad 
 grace, and Ada proceeded in her gentle, persuasive tones — 
 
 "It is from yourself I would guard 3'ou, dear one; it is 
 for your own welfare that I seem so heartless and unfeeling. 
 You know you have promised me that you will never think 
 me unkind. I have had experience; I know what life is;
 
 TOM TIDIER S GROUND 225 
 
 I have had sorrows, and struggles, and disappointments. 
 You know I have been married before." 
 
 He fired up in a moment. Perhaps this retrospective 
 jealousy is one of the most laughable absurdities of the 
 whole delusion. 
 
 " I am not likely to forget it," he said bitterly. " So 
 far you have certainly the advantage of me. I never cared 
 for any but one ; whereas you — I dare say you liked him 
 far better than you do me." 
 
 She laid her hand upon his arm. That gentle touch 
 could calm Gilbert in his wildest mood, and he was 
 ashamed of his ungenerous speech the moment it crossed 
 his lips. 
 
 " Hush ! " she said, with a quivering lip ; " never say 
 that again. Do not be unreasonable — do not be angry 
 with me. I would give my life to serve you, and welcome. 
 I ask you for mjj sake to do what I wish. It is not such a 
 very long time." 
 
 " Not a long time ? " he pleaded ; and it must have been 
 no easy task to resist his entreaties. " A whole year, and 
 you call it not a long time ! Why, that fortnight nearly 
 drove me mad ; and now I am to go to the end of the 
 earth, and never see you, or even hear from you, for twelve 
 long months. You expect too much, Ada. I can't do it. 
 After all, I have my feelings like other people." 
 
 " Do you think I have not considered them all through ? " 
 was her reply ; " do you think I have not watched you and 
 studied you till I know your character far better than you 
 do yourself? Thin-skinned, impatient, injudicious, but as 
 true as steel " (a smile chased away th(.> listener's frown). 
 " Supposing we were — were married to-morrow, however 
 much you might regret it, I know you would never let me 
 find it out. It is precisely for that reason I urge this step 
 for my own sake. Gilbert, dear Gilbert, think what my 
 feelings would be if I were not persuaded, convinced in ray 
 own mind, that you had chosen me deliberately, advisedly, 
 and on mature reflection. Would you like Lady Olivia to 
 be able to reproach me that I had hurried her son into a 
 mesalliance with a music-mistress ? " 
 
 Even while she spoke Mrs. Montpellier's axiom rang 
 once again in his ears — " Yoti coiddn't well marry a music- 
 
 p
 
 m GOOD FOR NOTRim 
 
 7nistrrss." If ever Gilbert resolved in his own mind that 
 he wcndd, it was at that moment. 
 
 "If that is all," he burst out, "I won't hear of it for an 
 instant. Am I not a free agent ? Who is to dictate to 
 me ? Can 1 not choose whom I please ? " 
 
 " Then we must put it the other way," she said, smiling 
 playfully in his face. " You must do something to deserve 
 me, sir. Like a knight of the olden time, you shall not 
 win your ladj^e without an achievement. It soimds a vain 
 speech, and yet I don't think you will be angrj^ with me ; 
 but seriously, Gilbert, such an affection as I have to give — 
 well, as I have given — is worth a sacrifice." 
 
 She certainly did not think he looked angry, and it 
 seemed to Ada that no music she had ever made or hoard 
 sounded in her ears so sweetly as the voice in which he 
 spoke. 
 
 " Do you really love me so much, Ada ? " 
 
 " I mustn't spoil you," she answered, laughing off her 
 emotion. " I must leave all that for the future. In the 
 meantime, I will tell you what you shall do. Promise me 
 that for a whole year you mil never see me or write to me ; 
 that you will travel, exert yourself, improve your mind, 
 and fit yourself for the high station in store for you. I 
 know you have great talents. I should be sorry to see 
 them thrown away in a life of idleness. I should like to see 
 my — I mean one in whom I was interested — take a high 
 place amongst men. I should like to see him envied, 
 admired, looked up to. I could be very ambitious on his 
 account, and so proud of him when he succeeded." 
 
 "And when he failed?" said Gilbert, kindling at her 
 enthusiasm, and smiling in the glowing face turned so 
 frankly towards his own. 
 
 " It would be nicer still to cherish him, and console him, 
 and make him happy at home," was the woman-like reply. 
 
 Gilbert walked on a few paces in silence. Suddenly he 
 crammed his hat down on his head, like a man who has 
 taken his resolution. 
 
 " Then I'll do it," said he, "just as I would jump off the 
 Monument, if you told me to do so for your sake. Yes, 
 I'll be off directly. I'll follow John Gordon out to 
 Australia; I'll make myself acquainted with the colony.
 
 TOM TIDLEES GROUND ^ 
 
 I'll work haixi, and be fit for Parliament when I come 
 back. You shall be proud of my success, or comfort me 
 for failure, Ada; one or the other I promise you. Next 
 week I'll go down to West-Acres, and set my house in 
 order. To-day I'll see my mother and inform her of our 
 engagement." 
 
 The hand was laid on his arm once more. 
 
 " Stop," she said ; " not a word of that. There is no 
 engagement on your side. You shall not pledge yourself 
 to me. If you should change your mind at any moment, 
 remember you are perfectly free." 
 
 " And you ? " he said quickly, looking rather alarmed. 
 
 " I am difterent," she replied. " It is not likely that I 
 should alter. Gilbert," she added, stopping short in her 
 walk, and turning rather pale, " I — I will never belong to 
 anybody but you. Enough of this. Tell me when you 
 will go. Let us talk of your plans for the future. After 
 all, a year is not such a very long time." 
 
 Perhaps her courage failed her a little now that it was 
 settled. Perhaps having persuaded him, she was now a 
 little scared at her success. What if he should change ? 
 What if this wonderful dream should turn out to be hut a 
 dream after all ? Well, it was something to have dreamt 
 it ; and if he was happy she would never repine. With all 
 their faults, and they have a good many, of which not the 
 least is a tendency to rush constantly into extremes, they 
 are not selfish, these women. And they bear a bankruptcy 
 of the feelings, an utter failure of all the hopes of a life- 
 time, better than do their sterner taskmasters. It may 
 be that, as the subject more constantly occupies their 
 minds, they more studiously prepare themselves for that 
 catastrophe which seems to be the normal result of all 
 spes animi crcdula mutui. Certainly the proverb about 
 " the course of true love " must be of very general applica- 
 tion. If every Jack has his Gill, it seems marvellous 
 how seldom they descend the hill hand-in-hand. Can we 
 account for the very few happy matches we see amongst our 
 married acquaintance ? Who is in fault ? Jack, or Gill, 
 or both, or neither ? Perhaps if Hymen and Cupid could 
 trot on together to the end of the stage, what with stuffed 
 cushions and C springs, the journey would be too pleasant,
 
 228 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 and the passengers too unwilling to stop and rest when 
 the_y came to the inn. The disinclination now is seldom 
 from that cause; and neither mutual fitness, nor similarity 
 of tastes, nor great personal and mental attractions on 
 both sides, seem to be of the slightest efficacy in smooth- 
 ing the ruts on the road. It was but half-an-hour ago I 
 saw Tom Pouter and his wife start in the open carriage 
 for what Mrs. Pouter's maid calls a " hairing." Tom is 
 one of the best fellows in Enijland. At the mess of " The 
 Royal Plungers," a regiment in which studious politeness 
 amongst comrades is by no means exacted, it was pro- 
 verbial that " nobody could get a rise out of Pouter " ; his 
 temper was as undeniable as his whiskers, his boots, his 
 absorbent powers, or any other of the advantages on which 
 he prided himself From colonel to cornet, not a man but 
 vowed he could spend a lifetime with Tom, and never have 
 a wry word. Yet he looked cross, not to say sulky, this 
 afternoon when he emerged on the Marine Parade, and 
 leaned his body half out of their pretty little carriage, 
 offering nothing but his left whisker to the contemplation 
 of his anefcl wife. 
 
 Could this be Mrs. Pouter's fault ? Ivipossihlc ! I 
 remember her as Agatha Fantail, the sweetest girl I ever 
 came across in my life. What did their French governess 
 tell my cousin Frederic ? — that " she couldn't have stayed 
 in the family had it not been for the amiable disposition 
 of Miss Agatha." I imagine iiuU^od that old Lady Fantail 
 roas a bit of a Tartar. No doubt Mrs. P. is a kind mistress, 
 an excellent mother ; she often washes that spoiled little 
 boy, and puts him to bed herself A delightful member 
 of .society, and a most attractive person. I know more 
 than one of my acquaintance who would esteem Pouter's 
 place cheaply })urchased at half his worldly all. And yet, 
 3'ou see, Tom can't bring himself to agree with these 
 admirers. What a host of suitors Penelope had ! Would 
 any one of them have stayed away .so long as did crafty 
 Ulysses, without even the excuse of being detained by the 
 syrens ? Who knows ? 
 
 The sea breeze, a chat with a mutual acquaintance, and 
 a haj)py remark of Tom's depreciating the attractions of 
 a pretentious lady on the jja'y<f, will restore good-humour,
 
 TOM T IDLERS GROUND 229 
 
 and the Pouters will return to diinicr in harmony and 
 resignation. Alas ! that which should be the acme of 
 human felicity is but a matter to make the best ofl — and 
 much I doubt that even now both of them vjish Ihcy 
 hadn't. Is it wiser to be a dry branch alto^ethei- ? Is it 
 better to think of the blue eyes smiling m heaven, all 
 unaltered still, than to have watched them till they 
 learned to flash with anger here, or, yet worse, freeze 
 into cold indifference and scorn ? Woe is me ! I think 
 I would Hxin have run my chance with the others. 
 Might not mine have been the favoured lot — the one in 
 a million — the prize amongst all those blanks ? Again I 
 say, Who knows ? 
 
 To and fro they walked, and backwards and forwards 
 they discussed the knotty point, with many a playful 
 allusion and many a glowing vision, half-hinted, half- 
 expressed. What can be more dull in detail than the 
 conversation of such a couple ? — what more absorbing to 
 the colloquists ? There are many pastimes at which it is 
 very poor fun to be a looker-on, and theirs was indeed 
 of engrossing interest to the players themselves. They 
 settled it at last in this wise. Gilbert was to absent 
 himself from England for a year, or at least for so much 
 of a year as Ada considered a sufficient probation. He 
 was to go to Australia ; he was to occupy himself in every 
 possible manner which could wean him from his one 
 cherished idea. Above all, and on this point she was 
 very firm — so much so as almost to anger him again — 
 they were not to correspond. Also, the subject was to 
 remain a profound secret from his family and from his 
 friends. John Gordon, or any very intimate associate, he 
 might take into his confidence, but only under strict 
 promises of secrecy, and even this she would rather he 
 refrained from. In short, every precaution nmst be taken 
 to leave him totally unfettered and uncompromised. She 
 would herself continue to earn her own livelihood by 
 teaching music. On this point, too, she was obstinate, 
 though she readily yielded to his Avish that she should 
 sing no more in public ; and lastly, he was to depart 
 forthwith, and they were not to meet again till his 
 return.
 
 230 OOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 I believe he was fool enough to be a little hurt at this 
 rigorous condition. I believe he did not see in it a 
 consummate proof of the adversary's weakness. 
 
 Ada did not dare trust herself with these constant 
 interviews. It was cruel work to have to bid him leave 
 her, and to find him comply: so generously, so chival- 
 rously, with such entire faith — it was more than she had 
 expected even from him ! Ada felt indeed that a succes- 
 sion of such victories would lead to a tinal defeat. She 
 must wish him "Good-bye," once for all. She had some- 
 thing more to say ; she had neglected it too often. 
 
 " You will make me one more promise ? " she whispered, 
 standing near the gate of the Gardens with her hand in 
 his ; " one more promise — the surest of them all ? " 
 
 " Anything — anything, for your sake." 
 
 " Not for my sake, Gilbert," she replied solemnly, " but 
 for a higher motive. You must not think only of mc ; 
 you must think of a better world than this, and hope to 
 get there. You will, won't you ? — you will try to be 
 good ? No ; you mustn't stay any longer. Leave me here. 
 I shall always like this s[X)t better than any place in the 
 world. There's your cab ! how tired the poor horse must 
 be of waiting in the sun. Well, only one more — There. 
 God bless you, darling. Good-bye." 
 
 " You won't forget me, Ada ? " he whispered, in a 
 cbokins: voice. 
 
 "A' ever/" was the pithy answer to so unnecessary a 
 question. 
 
 I think he extorted " one more/' and so was gone.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 "A NEW leaf" 
 
 The cab-horse might or might not have been tired of 
 
 waiting so long ; he was suffered to proceed at his own 
 
 pace in the direction of Belgrave Square. His master 
 
 was indeed in no mood to interfere. Bodily he was 
 
 gliding through the Park at the rate of twelve miles an 
 
 hour; mentally he was still walking with his Eve in 
 
 Paradise. In what different aspects does the garden of 
 
 Eden present itself to different minds, nay, to the same 
 
 imagination at diff"erent times. Five acres of gorse in 
 
 the heart of a grass country ; a good brook in the distance, 
 
 and all the gates locked ; or a deep cmTie on the broad 
 
 shoulder of Ben-i-Voord, with the naked bluffs of gi-anite 
 
 peeping out through the blushing heather, and the deer 
 
 feeding so still to windward, while the dull roar of a 
 
 distant waterfall mingles with the moan of the mountain 
 
 breeze on his ear ; or again, the giddy water cutting itself 
 
 against the tight-strung line, and its backward " swirl " 
 
 in yon steel-grey pool, dulled like a dim breast-plate by 
 
 the cloudy sky and the feathery weeping birches, under 
 
 which it runs a rich clear amber, and the pebbly shallow 
 
 below the alders, where he hopes to land that silvery 
 
 ten-paunder with whom he wrestles not in vain. Each 
 
 of these scenes had been to Gilbert, at various epochs, the 
 
 perfect antitype of his Elysian fields. Now it was a 
 
 hundred yards of sward and a noted elm-tree, some 
 
 rhododendrons, a stagnant pool, and a hideous red-brick 
 
 house beyond. I often think there must be no such thing
 
 232 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 }is reality; that all depends on the glasses we look through. 
 Alas, alas ! when they are green or blue ! 
 
 As his first step in that eourse of moral improvement 
 to which he now aspired, Gilbert had resolved to pay a 
 filial visit in the square. Although he was to preserve 
 inviolable secrecy as regaided his ladye-love, he meant to 
 break to his mother his speedy de})arture for the Antipodes 
 — an announcement he was persuaded, not without good 
 reason, she would receive with edifying resignation. 
 
 Lady Olivia had lingered in London longer than was 
 her custom. She was going to the seaside : she hated a 
 watering-place — the only point on which I cordially agree 
 with her ladyship — and therefore put off the evil hour 
 as long as possible. As her son's cab rolled up to the 
 door, she and Lady Gertrude were busy packing — a 
 process, I may observe, en iMisstrnt, that the weaker sex 
 seldom leave unrestrictedly to their servants. Gentlemen 
 desire their valets to " put up their things," and trouble 
 their heads no more about the matter; ladies inspect 
 their own delicate preparations with the strictest scrutiny. 
 Also, like wild partridges, after their flights, it takes 
 them a considerable time " to settle." 
 
 His mother received Gilbert with a frown, the result 
 of her travelling preparations, which did by no means 
 soften into a maternal smile at the greeting of her 
 son. 
 
 "What, Gilbert!" she said, coldly enough, extending 
 him two fingers to shake ; " I certainly did not expect 
 you. I thought you had gone out of town. I have not 
 seen you for three weeks." 
 
 He felt the rejjroach was not undeserved. 
 
 " Mother," he answered, " I am afraid I have been very 
 negligent. I came hen; on purpose to tell you so ; to 
 ask your forgiveness for nuich that may have offended 
 you. I am sorry to have been wanting in my duty 
 towards you. Make friends with me before I go." 
 
 Lady Olivia could not but be gratified at so .submi.ssivc 
 an avowal, be sollcncd by this unlooked-for humility. 
 She could not <mjoy her triumph, however, without dis- 
 playing it. This was too guod an opportunity to be 
 missed of reading her prodigal son a lecture. So she sat
 
 *A NEW LEAF' 233 
 
 down in her own especial carm-chair, and began in her 
 haughtiest tones — 
 
 " I have never complained of yotu* conduct towards me, 
 Gilbert, nor have I expected anything else from you now, 
 for a good many years. I am glad to find that you have 
 been at last brought to see the errors of your ways. 
 Better late than never. Perhaps for the future you will 
 no longer consider my advice utterly valueless, or think 
 it derogatory to consult me upon your plans and move- 
 ments. May I ask, when do you go, and where ? " 
 
 " This week certain, mother," was his reply ; " I am 
 going direct to Australia." 
 
 Even Lady Olivia was startled, 
 
 " To Australia ! " she repeated ; " it's a voyage of 
 months ! My child, I might never see you again ! " 
 
 And for the lirst time for years she drew him towards 
 her and kissed him on the forehead. 
 
 " And therefore, mother, you must think kindly of me 
 whilst I am away," he urged. " When I come back, things 
 will be very different, I hope. I am going to turn over a 
 new leaf; I shall live a great deal more at West- Acres. 
 I shall try and be a useful member of society. In the 
 meantime, I shall not see you again for a whole year." 
 
 She remembered how his father had once spoken to 
 her almost to the same effect, how he had wished once 
 for all to put matters on a happier footing between them. 
 It was not long before the late Mr. Orme took to drink- 
 ing so sadly, and, indeed, was the last confidential 
 communication they had ever held. She had hardened 
 herself against her husband then, she would not harden 
 herself against her son now. 
 
 " You have got into some scrape, Gilbert. You are 
 forced to leave the country ! tell me what it is. I will 
 assist you if it is in my power ; at least I know my duty 
 as a mother." 
 
 At this moment of impending reconciliation, when his 
 mother for the first time appeared willing to treat him 
 as a son, he felt sorely shackled by his promise to Mrs. 
 Latimer. It was not to be thought of that he could 
 break it. A promise, especially a })romise to Ada, must 
 indeed be held sacred. He hesitated, he murmured, he
 
 234 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 came to a dead stop altogether. Lady Olivia was more 
 than ever offended. 
 
 " This is a bad beginning," she said, " of your promised 
 amendment. You are going to alter your whole life, you 
 tell me. You are on the eve of a long voyage to the 
 other end of the world, and I, your mother, am not to be 
 informed of the cause. Excuse me, Gilbert, I have no 
 desire to intrude upon your confidence ; perhaps your 
 cousin may have more influence with you than your 
 mother" She got up, rang the bell, desired the servant 
 to "send and let Lady Gertrude know that Mr. Orme 
 was here and wished to see her immediately ; " then, 
 coldly shaking her son once more by the hand, merely 
 added a wish for good weather on his account, and a 
 formal "good-bye," with which ceremonious farewell she 
 walked out of the room as Lady Gertrude came into it, 
 and thus Gilbert lost the chance of being reconciled to 
 his mother, 
 
 " What's the matter now ? " asked his cousin with a 
 saucy smile, as she greeted him in her usual cordial 
 manner ; " Aunt Olivia looks as black as thunder ; and 
 you too, to judge by appearances, seem to have been 
 getting the worst of it. What have you been saying to 
 her, you wild, good-for-nothing boy ? and why haven't 
 you been near me to be lectured for so long ? You look 
 different yourself too, to-day, Gilbert ; what has happened V 
 she added, anxiously. 
 
 Gertrude had become more familiar than ever with 
 her cousin of late. She petted him, and scolded him, 
 and ordered him about with the caprice of a spoiled child. 
 Yet was it such a familiarity as I do not think Mrs. 
 Latimer would have minded in the least. Beyond a 
 certain point mutual liking seems to promote mutual 
 reserve. If the Koh-i-noor was yours or mine, we should 
 not advertise the world of its possession ; we should never 
 look at it without a secret thrill of triumph, none the less 
 keen that it was dashed with a misgiving lest the gem 
 should be lost, or stolen, or depreciated by those who 
 envied our lot. We should not paw it about, and parade 
 it, and wear it on Sundays in our shirt front. The heart 
 is with the buried trciisure, and not with the golden
 
 'A NEW LEAF' 235 
 
 image set up like " an ensign on a hill." Gertrude, I say, 
 treated her cousin as a brother, now that John Gordon 
 was gone to Australia. 
 
 " I shall be at sea this day week," said Gilbert ; " I am 
 going to follow a friend of ours out to Sydney." 
 
 She looked up very grave. " Notliing has happened," 
 she said ; " you have had no time to hear. Why are you 
 going ? " 
 
 " 1 want change of scene," he answered vaguely ; " I 
 am tired of Scotland, and Brussels, and the eternal round 
 of German watering-places, each exactly like the other. 
 I should like to see Australia, I should like to be out 
 there with John Gordon." 
 
 Lady Gertrude looked very well when her countenance 
 softened, as it did now; the fault of her aristocratic 
 beauty was a certain impassibility of features and sharp- 
 ness of outline. Like a level landscape, it was all the 
 fairer for melting in a summer haze. 
 
 " How good of you," she said, clasping his hand, " how 
 like you ! God bless you, Gilbert ; you are a true 
 friend." 
 
 Recent circumstances had considerably sharpened 
 Gilbert's perceptions ; he laughed rather meaningly as 
 he asked — 
 
 " Can I take anything out for you, Gertrude ? Kind 
 messages and all that, or bring anything back ? " 
 
 He was looking straight into her clear dark eyes, and 
 Lady Gertrude blushed deeply, a proceeding which rather 
 strengthened her cousin's suspicions than otherwise. I 
 do not think she gave him any positive messages to take 
 out to Sydney, nor exacted from him a promise that he 
 would bring anything very particular back ; but she 
 talked with him for an hour with ever-increasing interest 
 of the colony and all belonging to it. And when she did 
 take leave of him, it was affectionately, gravely, almost 
 solemnly, for she thought of the long absence, the tedious 
 voyage, and the distant shore. You see, she liked Gilbert 
 very much ; they had been brought up together almost 
 on the terms of brother and sister; and her manner on 
 this occasion was as different as possible from that in 
 >vhich she had wished John Gordon a flippant " farewell"
 
 236 GOOD FOR NOTHTNG 
 
 So Gilbert sailed for the Antipodes, heca^ise he had lately 
 discovered that there was something in England dearer to 
 him than all the rest of the Avorld besides; and Lady 
 (iortrude, when her cousin was fairly embarked in pursuit 
 of his friend, felt easier in her mind than she had been 
 ever since she expressed to that friend a considerate wish 
 for his " hon voyage ! " 
 
 My little ])layfellow from school lost one of his arrows 
 t'other (lay amongst the long gniss in the meadow behind 
 the home farm ; the urchin fitted another shaft forthwith, 
 and from the same place took a roving shot in the same 
 direction. By following up the last he found both. Cun- 
 ning little archer ! if it is well to have two strings to 
 your bow, it is also not amiss sometimes to have two 
 arrows to your string.
 
 PART II 
 
 " I fruitless mourn to him tliat cannot hear, 
 And weep the more because I weep in vain." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 OVEll THE WAY 
 
 A DAZZLING sky, a clear warm atmosphere tempered by 
 a breeze, grassy plains alive with quails and paroquets, 
 and rich in knee-deep verdure, undulating slopes crowned 
 by waving woods aglow in the mellow sunlight, and far 
 away, beyond and above all, a strip of deep blue sea. 
 Such is the scene I would fain call up, a scene of Aus- 
 tralian splendour, of sylvan beaut}^ of wild adventurous 
 associations, and yet, with its distant glimpses of ocean, a 
 scene reminding those who looked upon it of their home. 
 
 When the Dutch boer, toiling with his lumbering 
 vehicle and his span of wear}- oxen towards Capetown, 
 comes at last in sight of the sparkling African sea, he 
 lights a fresh pipe with fresh satisfaction, and pointing 
 exultingly towards that distant gleam, exclaims, " Behold 
 the Englishman's waggon-path ! " and the Dutch boer, 
 albeit a person of sluggish apprehension, and no very 
 brilliant imaginative powers, is in this instance right. 
 Whoever has been much in a foreign land, and has felt, 
 as the absent are prone to feel, a weary longing for home, 
 must remember the welcome with which he instinctively 
 
 237
 
 238 GOOD FOlt mTHtNG 
 
 greeted the friend that, if ever he got there at all, was to 
 bear him to hie own shores, must remember how the sight 
 of the sea alone was like the sound of a national strain, 
 how to be under the Union Jack was the next thing to 
 seeing the white cliffs once more. 
 
 Stretching away at the best pace a wiry little Austra- 
 lian horse, held hard by the head, can command, rides 
 an Englishman in the normal state of hurry peculiar to 
 his countrymen in every land but their own. He has 
 time, nevertheless, to feel his heart thrill as he catches a 
 glimpse of that distant sea, but he is also too thorough a 
 Briton to allow any consideration on earth to divert his 
 attention from his present occupation, no less engrossing 
 a business than the chase. 
 
 Many months have elapsed since I left Gilbert Orme at 
 the gate of Kensington Gardens, in far worse plight, to 
 his own thinking, than was ever his father Adam, for the 
 latter, though driven from their Eden, took his Eve along 
 with him. Many a month of adventure o,nd excitement 
 has passed over his head. The outward man has grown 
 brown, robust, and prosperous-looking. A deep abiding 
 happiness stamps its presence on the features as unerr- 
 ingly as does the endurance of a continuous affliction, 
 but the glowing effects of the former are as becoming as 
 those of the latter are the reverse. There are no haggard, 
 anxious lines about Gilbert's eyes and mouth now, while 
 his smile, always so sweet, has gained a frank joyousness 
 which it did not display in London. A silken and 
 abundant beard adds to the manliness of his appearance, 
 and hides his chin, which is the worst feature of his face. 
 In that rough shooting dress, with a gaudy handkerchief 
 flying loose about his throat, I question if Lady Olivia 
 would recognise her son ; yet is he all unaltered in mind, 
 and even now, speeding along after those gaunt kangaroo 
 dogs, the presence of Ada seems to pervade the whole 
 atmosphere of beauty and fragrance around him. Ada is 
 in the rustling breeze — the glowing woods — the sunny 
 upland slopes — the smiling sky — above all, the distant 
 strip of deep blue sea. 
 
 It is rare galloping ground, though somewhat hard for 
 legs and feet of less enduring materials than the Austra-
 
 OVER THE WAY ^^ 
 
 Han lioi"se possesses, and " the pace," as Gilbert would 
 have called it in Leicestershire a twelvemonth ago, is 
 sufficiently good to satisfy even that reckless and exacting 
 horseman. A leaping, brown object about two hundred 
 yards ahead of him is bounding rapidly away down-hill, 
 disposing of all intervening obstacles, such as underwood, 
 fallen timber, broken ground, and dry watercourses, with 
 extra(jrdinary facility; but those two large roiigh, lean 
 dogs are g-ainiiig on it nevertheless at every stride, and 
 Gilbert's eager little horse is pulling hard at its rider, and 
 spinning after them as if he, too, would fain have a share 
 in the spoils. Here and there a huge tree lying prostrate 
 and half concealed by the luxuriant verdure, offers no 
 mean obstacle to encounter at a flying leap, but the little 
 bay horse gathers himself with the quickness of a cat for 
 the effort, and landing like a deer, is in his stride and 
 away again without loss of time, and with ever-increasing 
 energy. The rider who urged " Mouse " so resolutely to 
 his downfall twenty years ago, has gained strength and 
 experience now. Wherever a horse can go, be it across 
 the stretching pastures, and over the formidable ox-fences 
 of Leicestershire ; be it through the dense underwood and 
 athwart the " apple-tree fiats " of Australia, Gilbert Orme 
 is the man to ride him ; not only to sit on his back and 
 allow himself to be carried like a sack of potatoes or a 
 hundredweight of coals, but to ride him and make the 
 most of him every yard he goes. He is close to the 
 kangaroo dogs, cheering them on their game even now. 
 
 " Yooi, over, Gilbert ! that's a rum one ! " cries a cheery 
 voice behind him, as the little bay horse clears a fallen 
 trunk as high as a fair-sized gate. " Forward ! forward ! " 
 adds the speaker, pointing ahead to a flat verdant glade 
 up which the dogs are stretching at a killing pace, near 
 their now flagging game ; and John Gordon, gaining a 
 few yards on his friend by a judicious turn, comes up 
 alongside. 
 
 " Five minutes more, and we shall run into him," he 
 shouts, sitting well back on his horse, and urging him to 
 his extreme pace; "when he ' blobs' like that he's getting 
 beat. See how Canvas sticks to him, and the yellow dog 
 hangs back waiting for the turn."
 
 240 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 While he speaks, a subdued sparkle in John's black 
 eye shows that he, too, is not insensible to the excitement 
 of the sport. 
 
 There are some men on whose exterior change of climate, 
 life, or habits seems to make no impression ; whose per- 
 sons, like their mind, are superior to extraneous circum- 
 stances, and of this cla,ss is John Gordon. Clean-shaved 
 is he, here in the wild Australian bush, as he used to be 
 in the Fleet Street counting-house ; and although he has 
 discarded the black hat and coat of civilised life, or rather 
 I should perhaps say those articles of dress have discarded 
 their Avearer, his habiliments have none of the picturesque 
 variety in colour and fashion which distinguishes those of 
 his friend. His clear olive tint is perhaps a thought 
 clearer and deeper under this burning sun that has 
 tanned his comrade so rich a brown, but the crisp, black 
 locks sit as close to the head as if they had but just 
 emerged from the Burlington Arcade, and his well-cut 
 jaw is rather defined than concealed by the short curling 
 Avhiskers. John has been working hard in Sydney for 
 months, astonishing, sometimes disgusting the old stagers, 
 by the quick apprehension he shows for affairs of trade, 
 and making himself thoroughly master of details in a few 
 weeks, with which it took them as many years to become 
 familiar. Newman and Hope looked upon him as a 
 prodigy in the mercantile world. That firm has not been 
 accustomed to see the keenest talents for business com- 
 bined with a soldier-like rapidit}" of thought and action, 
 and the manners of an accomplished gentleman. Also 
 they have more than once tried to contest somo of John's 
 arrangements, and found themselves, Avithout knowing 
 why, worsted in the attempt. Altogether, Mr. Gordon 
 has rather astonished the good people at Sydney than 
 otherwise. 
 
 It was with considerably more energy than his wont 
 that he greeted Gilbert's arrival at the Antipodes, I need 
 not now observe that John was by no means a demonstra- 
 tive gentleman, yet could he be sufficiently cordial on 
 occasion, and even his self-command could not conceal his 
 delight at Orme's unexpected appearance with the latest 
 intelligence from the square. Since then they have been
 
 OVER THE WAY 241 
 
 constant associates ; the man of business sharing his houi-s 
 of relaxation with the man of pleasure, the latter by all 
 means in his power, and with considerable assistance from 
 his friend, studjdng to acquaint himself with the resources 
 of the colony, preparatory to that public life on which he 
 has determined to enter because Ada wishes it. 
 
 In the meantime, both are enjoying a fortnight's expe- 
 dition into the Bush ; and after a long day's " draw," they 
 have had an undeniable gallop with a kangaroo. 
 
 Three minutes more of thrilling excitement, a scramble 
 through a dried-up watercourse — a "crowner" for John, 
 whose horse goes shoulder-deep into a hole — a shrill 
 English " Who-whoop ! " and our sportsmen are standing 
 by their reeking steeds, whilst Gordon, as the more experi- 
 enced of the two, draws a glistening hunting-knife, and 
 filling a short black pipe with " Cavendish," proceeds to 
 take upon himself the obsequies of the prey. Gilbert 
 pulls out his watch. 
 
 " Eighteen minutes," says he, " from find to finish, and 
 best pace every yard of the way ! " 
 
 The horses, with drooping heads and heaving in-drawn 
 flanks, attest the severit}' of the gallop. John meanwhile, 
 with upturned sleeves, is demonstrating his thorough know- 
 ledge of Avoodcraft, in one of its departments on which it 
 is unnecessary to dwell. He looks up from his work. 
 
 " Equal to the Qnorn," says he, " for pace and distance." 
 
 "With almost as much jumping," remarks his friend, 
 patting the bay horse's dripping neck, and thinkincr what 
 a rare cover-hack that game little animal would make him 
 in England. 
 
 "And the advantage of six feet of venison at the finish," 
 adds the carver, wiping his blade on the grass ; " we must 
 have had short commons to-day if it hadn't been for this 
 fellow. I rather think I shall astonish you when we camp, 
 and I show you what ' steamer ' is ! " 
 
 Indeed, they were rather short of provisions. In antici- 
 pation of a separation from their servants, they had with 
 them a few ounces of tea, some tobacco, and a ration 
 or two of pork and flour; but a haunch of kangaroo 
 venison was likely to prove no mean addition to this 
 humble fare, as John emphatically observed the while he
 
 24'i GOOD FOR NOTHWa 
 
 pticked it behind his saddle, ere they remonnted their 
 jaded horses to look for water in the vicinity of which 
 they might camp. 
 
 The Sim was going down as they reached one of those 
 fluctuating rivers, called in Australia creeks, which, full of 
 water and rushing in one mighty torrent towards the sea 
 to-day, arc perhaps to-morrow dried up into a succession 
 of isolated pools fast waning into hopeless aridity. Once 
 there, they unsaddled rapidly, turned their horses to graze, 
 having first hobbled them, a somewhat unnecessary pre- 
 caution, until they should have recovered their fatigues ; 
 and then proceeded with infinite labour to collect enough 
 fallen branches to make a tolerable fire. 
 
 They had only their hunting-knives for this purpose, 
 and for cooking utensils possessed nothing but a certain 
 iron pot, from which John never parted, and which, indeed, 
 with its close-fitting lid, formed the receptacle of all their 
 luxuries, and a tin mug that hung at Gilbert's belt. 
 
 With such insufficient accessories, our two gentlemen 
 from St. James' Street were now quite old enough 
 campaigners to furnish an excellent meal. 
 
 It was well the}^ were so, for their " coo-ey " call — so 
 termed from the distance at which a shrill enunciation of 
 those syllables can be heard — was never answered ; and 
 indeed their spare horses and servants must have been 
 some thirty miles or more distant from them in a direct 
 line through the bush. 
 
 At length their preparations were made. The fire 
 burned up, the pot was on to boil ; the flour kneaded into 
 a heavy dough, was placed to bake in the ashes, until the 
 tough mass should have acquired the consistency that 
 entitled it to its appropriate name of damper. Gilbert's 
 mug was made a tea-pot for the occasion; and the two 
 friends, thoroughly wearied, lit their short black pipes, 
 and reclined against their saddles, watching with con- 
 siderable satisfaction the cooking of a savoury mess which 
 was to constitute their meal. The horses were grazing 
 assiduously in their vicinity; and the stars coming out 
 one by one. 
 
 "Nothing like steamer," observed John, knocking the 
 ashes from his pipe, and removing the lid of the pot to
 
 OVER THE WAY 643 
 
 give its contents a good stir with his hunting-knife, the 
 same weapon which had inflicted its coup de grace on the 
 kangaroo. 
 
 " Not to be despised," answered his friend, shovelling a 
 liberal portion on a piece of bark that served him for a 
 platter. " I never could eat a ' haggis ' in Scotland, but 
 when it is made of kangaroo and salt pork, it is food for 
 the gods. A little bit more liver, John, and a pinch of 
 powder. As usual, we have forgotten the salt ! Give us 
 a drain of tea if it's drawn. As Holyhead says after a 
 magnum, a child might play with me now ! " 
 
 So they ate and drank as men can only eat and drink 
 who are all day taking severe exercise in the open air, 
 and who sleep with no lower roof over their heads than 
 the starry heaven ; and then, with the smoking mug of 
 tea set equitably between them, and the pipes alight 
 once more, they settled down to a quiet chat about 
 " home." 
 
 " We will go back together, Gilbert," said John, in his 
 short, decided tones. " A few weeks more will teach you 
 all you are likely to learn about the colony, unless you 
 came and settled here for good. I don't think it would 
 suit you as well as West-Acres. My business will soon 
 be wound up with Newman and Hope, then we'll hoist 
 ' Blue Peter ' at the fore, up anchor, westward ho ! and 
 away ! " 
 
 "I am very glad I came," said Gilbert dreamily, 
 between the pufts of his pipe. 
 
 "So am I," rejoined the other; "it has done you a 
 world of good, depend upon it. For myself, I don't object 
 to the colony ; and if I hadn't been here, I fear we should 
 have saved but little out of the fire. Aide-toi, et Dicib 
 t'aidera. We've had a ' facer,' though, and I am very 
 glad I came, too ! " 
 
 " Is it a complete smash ? " asked Gilbert, rousing from 
 his abstraction. " The poor alderman ! how will he bear 
 it?" 
 
 "He has enough left not to starve," replied the junior 
 partner, " and that is more than can be said for some. 
 I do not pity a man much who has been always in 
 business. The alderman has had a good time enough,
 
 244 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 and a long day. This could not have been avoided, and 
 was one of the chances that must be run with large 
 returns. I am sorry for Bella." 
 
 " And yourself? " put in his friend. 
 
 " I've lost ten years of my life, according to my 
 calculation," replied John. " It's against me, but what 
 then ? You've seen a fellow climbing a pole at a fair, 
 Gilbert ! He swarms up to the six feet of grease at the 
 top, gains an inch at a time, stops, gives way, and slides 
 down by the run. What is the next move ? To stand by 
 and whine, giving up the leg of mutton altogether ? Not 
 a bit of it ! He puts fresh sand in his hands, and at it 
 again ! Mox rejkit rates, you know ; and with Dame 
 Fortune as with her sex, ' one refusal no rebuff.' " 
 
 He spoke quite calmly and confidently, also with 
 something of contemptuous indifference, which was rather 
 provoking ; and this loss of capital, as he truly observed, 
 was to John the loss of ten years of life, perhaps of all 
 that was best worth living for. The fruit for which he 
 thirsted would not surely hang for ever up there on the 
 bough ! Over-ripe, might it not fall to the grotmd ? 
 Or might not another with longer reach come and pluck 
 it whilst he was making his ladder? And now, half-a- 
 dozen rounds were broken at once, and he must go to the 
 bottom and begin again. Well, no good ever came yet of 
 complaining ' He would set about mending them in 
 silence. But what if the ladder should not be finished 
 till too late ? John suffered and bled inwardly, so to 
 speak, and could not alwaj's shut out the whispers of the 
 fiend who vexed his ear, and who is so fond of askincr, 
 Cui bono i 
 
 " Let me help you," said Gilbert earnestly ; " I am well 
 off; I have plenty of money. At least I can horrmv as 
 much as we want. You and I are old friends, John ; 
 don't be proud ! Besides, you know, I would do anything 
 for the good alderman." 
 
 John smoked on in silence, his keen eye resting on his 
 friend. It was quite dark now save for the fire over 
 which they sat. John's face was habitually impassible as 
 marble. It must have been the dickering of that wood 
 fire which cast such successive shades over its surface.
 
 OrER THE WAY 245 
 
 It was a full minute before he spoke, 
 
 " You Avcre alwa3'S a good fellow, Gilbert," said he, 
 " but you arc an altered man of late. Forgive me for 
 speaking so freely. I would rather be under an obligation 
 to you noio than ever, if I felt I understood you, but I 
 don't. Never mind. You're improved : that's all right. 
 And as for help, I dare say I should come to you fast 
 enough if I wanted it." 
 
 For all his honesty this was hardly a straightforward 
 speech of Mr. Gordon's. If he wished to find out any- 
 thing, why did he not ask point-blank, as was his custom ? 
 Was he, too, one of those who must needs " beat about 
 the bush " ? Was there a sacred grove in any forest on 
 earth round which he hovered and hankered, not daring 
 to enter in ? Gilbert loaned his head back against his 
 saddle, looking upwards into the starry night. He was 
 indeed an altered man for the nonce, and a happy one. 
 Also he felt an intense longing to proclaim his happiness, 
 to pour out some of the new fancies which kept thronging 
 his mind. He was so far from her, too : it would be an 
 immense delight to talk about her. He had indeed 
 mentioned her name once or twice in a studiously care- 
 less manner, and had been disappointed to find that his 
 part was so well acted as to raise not the slightest 
 suspicion in his comrade's breast, who took no more 
 notice of the magic syllables than if they had spelt the 
 patronymic of his wet-nurse. He had a great mind to 
 unbosom himself then and there, but he remembered 
 Ada's wish that all confidence should be avoided ; so he 
 adopted a middle course, and propounded one of those 
 dreamy sentimental questions it is so impossible to 
 answer. 
 
 " What do you suppose they are, John ? " said he, 
 pointing upwards with the stem of the short black pipe ; 
 " worlds or what ? And do you think that people who like 
 each other here will be together hereafter up there ? " 
 
 It was so unlike a speech of Gilbert's that John stared 
 at his recumbent friend in iitter consternation. Once 
 more the fire flickered up and threw a shade as before 
 across his dark face. A dingo, too, or native wild dog, 
 attracted by the smell of the " steamer," had prowled to
 
 246 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 within a few yards of their bivouac. His shining green 
 eyes were alone visible. John took a blazing log from 
 the fire, and a shower of sparks Hying about just behind 
 where the green eyes had been, attested the accuracy of 
 his aim. Then he sat down again, and spoke in scornful 
 tones. 
 
 " What would they do with each other up there, if 
 they did meet ? There are no politics, or field-sports, 
 or money-making for the men ; no smart dresses and 
 shopping and scandal for the women. They would all of 
 them find the star very slow, depend upon it. Do you 
 believe in Platonics, Gilbert ? Do you think one fair 
 spirit for your minister would be enough after a liberal 
 honeymoon, say of a couple of hundred years ? Don't 
 you think she would call in other spirits worse than 
 herself to see how they were dressed ? and you would be 
 very glad to welcome anything that should break the 
 teie-d-tete. What has come to you, man ? " 
 
 " This has come to me," answered Gilbert, rousing up 
 with unusual energy, " that I've wasted the best part of 
 my life, and only found it out of late — that I am happier 
 far than I used to be, because I Imow now that a man is 
 not put into this world only to amuse himself — that his 
 duty is to make the happiness of others — to take his 
 share in the great scheme, and enjoy the wages he earns 
 with the sweat of his brow — to work in the fields all day 
 with his fellows, and rest in his own garden at sunset — 
 that's my lesson, John ; I thank God I've learnt it, and I 
 bless the person who taught it me." 
 
 I think my boy was very nearly right. It is not well, 
 saith the philosopher, to examine too closely into motives, 
 yet what was it iiid the motive that in his case made all 
 the difference between lost and found ? 
 
 John Gordon would have liked much to inquire the 
 name of the teacher who had been taking such pains with 
 his friend, but his lips wore set so firmly together that 
 the question never escaped them ; and it was in bitterer 
 tones than usual that he resumed the conversation. 
 
 " Then you mean to sell the horses, and abjure the 
 vanities of life ; turn country gentleman, grow turnips, 
 and mind the poor and the poachers. Quite right, ol4
 
 OVER THE WAY 247 
 
 fellow ; and yK)u deserve credit for it. You are not 
 obliged to do anything but mischief in right of your 
 station. Well, it's no credit to me to work, because it's 
 my trade. So you will have it all. Honour and happi- 
 ness, and a good conscience, and a balance at your 
 banker's, I wish you joy ; it's a strong position. Votes 
 and interest ; flocks and herds, ay," he added inaudibly, 
 between his set teeth, " and the poor man's ewe lamb into 
 the bargain." 
 
 Now this was very unjust of John Gordon, if, as I 
 shrewdly suspect, his departure from his customary re- 
 ticence was owing to a misgiving that a certain young 
 lady at home had been putting her cousin through a 
 course of elementary instruction in ethics. Nor, indeed, 
 was his metaphor peculiarly apt, inasmuch as the most 
 pastoral of her admirers would scai-cely have designated 
 Lady Gertrude a " lamb " of any description, 
 
 " There are better things than flocks and herds," quoth 
 Gilbert, apparently following out the thread of his own 
 reflections ; " ay, than votes and interest, silver and gold, 
 houses and land. I don't mean learning, I don't mean 
 fame. I can fancy circumstances under which I should 
 be thankful and happy to work all day long with a spade 
 for my daily bread. I can fancy two rooms and a pigsty 
 looking brighter than Ormolu House. Hang it ! old 
 fellow, I know I can depend upon you. I've a great 
 mind to tell you something." 
 
 John Gordon would have known it all in two more 
 minutes ; the cup of his friend's happiness was running 
 over, and the drops, be sure, would have neutralised all 
 the bitterness of his own. But as he turned his face 
 from the firelight to hearken, an exclamation of surprise 
 rose to Gilbert's lips. He jumped to his feet, and bade 
 his comrade listen. 
 
 " It's a horse's tramp, I'll swear," said he, arredis auri- 
 hus ; " and mounted, too, by the regular pace. How the 
 fellow rides ! He'll be into our camp neck-and-heels if 
 we don't holloa. Give him a ' coo-ey,' John ! You do 
 it better than I can." 
 
 In efifect John's shrill call was answered by a similar 
 Round close at hand ; and a wavering mass made its
 
 248 GOOD FOB NOTHING 
 
 appearance, looming very large and indistinct in the 
 darkness, while a hoarse, cheerful voice shouted out — 
 
 " Hold on, like good fellows ! Don't shoot ! there are 
 no bushrangers here-away; and you're Englishmen, I can 
 tell by the camping of ye ! " 
 
 His horse gave a sob of contentment, as half the mass 
 dismounted, heavily and wearily, like a man who has 
 had about enough. The next instant brought him out 
 in full relief as he stepped into the red glare of the 
 firelight.
 
 "He stepped into the red glare of the firelight." 
 Good for NotJiingl {.Page 248
 
 CHAPTER XXYII 
 
 "AN UNBIDDEN GUEST " 
 
 There is small ceremony in the Bush. The new-comer 
 accepted a proffered mug containing about a quart of 
 smoking tea, and took a hearty pull at its contents. John 
 Gordon pushed him down into his own seat by the fire, 
 and put the remains of the " steamer " on to warm up 
 again ; while Gilbert unsaddled the tired horse, led him to 
 water, and then turned him loose to graze. There are 
 different codes of politeness in different situations, but a 
 welcome everywhere seems to consist in offering a guest 
 meat and drink. It does not take long for a man to settle 
 himself who has ridden a tired horse from sunrise to 
 sunset. A pocket-comb is soon run through the hair 
 and beard ; and by the time the new arrival had emptied 
 mug and platter, and filled a short pipe from his own seal- 
 skin pouch, he seemed to feel very sufficiently at home. 
 
 Fresh logs were thrown on the fire, which blazed up 
 gloriously, throwing a thousand fantastic shadows on the 
 surrounding trees, and shedding a glare on one of the 
 horses wandering ghost-like about the camp of his mastere. 
 The night was very soft and calm, the stars shining with 
 a golden lustre peculiar to the southern hemisphere, cUid a 
 light air ever and anon rustling the dense foliage, as if 
 the leaves stirred in their sleep and hushed off again 
 quieter than before. Occasionally the stamp and snort of 
 a horse, or the champing of his jaws as he cropped the 
 moistened herbage, broke the surrounding stillness ; but 
 even such casual interruptions seemed only to enhance 
 
 249
 
 250 OOOD FOB NOTHING 
 
 the prevailing silence of the night. For a while the 
 three men smoked on without speaking. Two of them 
 were loth to disturb the soothing influence of the hour ; 
 the third was in all the physical enjoyment of rest, re- 
 pletion, and tobacco. At length he puffed forth a volume 
 of smoke with a sigh of extreme satisfaction, and turned 
 towards his entertainers. 
 
 " Gentlemen both ! " said he, putting the mug of tea to 
 his lips and feigning to drink their healths ; " a good job 
 for me that I came across ye. It's no joke, even in these 
 fine nights, camping out in the dark, without a morsel of 
 prog or a drop to drink, and the 'baccy nearly done be- 
 sides. It's the right stuff too, is that in the sealskin ; try 
 it. What is life but a vapour ? and is not 'baccy the 
 staff thereof? " 
 
 There was no disputing such self-evident propositions ; 
 and as their guest seemed a free-and-easy, communicative 
 sort of gentleman, it was natural to inquire of him 
 whether he had come a long distance since sunrise. 
 
 " No dead reckoning here," was his reply : " if you 
 asked my horse he would say yes, for before the sun went 
 down he could hardly wag. Yet he was a thundering 
 good bit of stuff this morning, and now I guess he's as 
 crisp as a biscuit. Well, strangers ! it's a long lane that 
 has no turning, but I did think for five minutes 
 before I saw your fire that it was about U.P. ; and I 
 haven't been reared altogether on white meat and milk 
 diet neither. Some of the lily-handed ones would say I 
 was a roughish customer. What's your opinion, gentle- 
 men ? — there's no charge for looking." 
 
 He was " a roughish customer " in appearance, no 
 doubt ; and yet the man had something of the tone and 
 manner of one who had lived in good society. Nothing 
 could bo less sumptuous than his apparel ; a red Hannel 
 shirt, becoming crimson in hue ; a grey frieze jacket, 
 patched and darned ; leather trousers that, like the chame- 
 leon, had taken the colour of every object with which they 
 came in contact, and boots of undressed hide, afforded 
 what might well be termed an unvarnished exterior. Nor 
 did a skin tanned to a rich mahogany and a magnificent 
 brown beard detract from his wild appearance. His
 
 'AN UNBIDDEN QUEST' 251 
 
 whiskers also were of remarkable length, and curled in 
 stiff corkscrew ringlets down to his shoulders. Gilbert 
 fancied he had seen that face before, yet where in civil- 
 ised life was it possible that he could have met this 
 strange apparition of the Bush ? 
 
 Nothing abashed by the scrutiny he had invited, the 
 stranger proceeded — 
 
 " I'm on my way to Sydney, I am. That's where I'm 
 bound. Where do I hail from ? — that's tellings. Well, 
 you're good chaps, both of you, I can see, and born gentle- 
 men, I'll lay a guinea, though you are two-handed, but a 
 man soon learns to be two-handed in the Bush. Ay, I 
 know the sort, though I haven't seen a true-bred one for 
 a month of Sundays. It's not so long that I've quite 
 forgotten it, since I'd boot-trees of my own, and wore a 
 ' go-to-meeting ' hat and kid gloves on week-days. I 
 shouldn't lose my way to-morrow if you set me down on 
 the heath at the ' Turn-of-the-lands ' in a fog. You 
 look surprised ; but, bless ye, things happen every day 
 to take the skin off a man's eyes. Now, where d'ye think 
 this 'baccy-bag came from ? " 
 
 He looked humorously from one to the other as each 
 professed his inability to answer the question, 
 
 " You've heard of the diggings, where the gold grows. 
 Well, it's been ' rock the cradle, Lucy,' with me before 
 this ; and though there may be queerer places than the 
 diggings on earth, it's not been my luck to meet with 
 them as yet. I'd a mate there, a thin chap with a cough. 
 Poor beggar ! how that cough of his kept me awake o' 
 nights ; and somehow, though he was no great things to 
 work, I liked the chap too. He took an extraordinary 
 fancy to me, and you'll say that's strange, but the reason's 
 stranger still. 'Twas all along of my wearing a bit of a 
 gimcrack thing that I didn't seem to care about parting 
 with, and his mother had one like it, so he said, at home. 
 People have queer fancies, d'ye see, up there. Well, we 
 went share and share alike, and whether we made an 
 ounce or a hundredweight that's neither here nor there. 
 But the work he did, light as it was, seemed too much for 
 him ; and one day he says to me, ' Bill,' says he (you may 
 Qa.U me ' Bill,' gentlemen, and I shall esteem it a compli-
 
 252 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 ment) — ' I'm about washed out,' says he ; ' what'U you 
 do for me Avheii I'm gone ? ' — ' Gone be hanged ! ' says 
 I; 'where are you going to?* He was a fanciful lad, 
 and he pointed up into the sky — blazing hot it looked, I 
 thought — and says he, ' Up there, I hope, Bill ! When 
 my tnne comes you put me quietly in the ground, and say 
 a prayer over me, there's a good fellow ! I wouldn't like 
 to be buried like a dog ! ' So of course 1 j)romised him, 
 and that day I thought he was stronger and worked 
 better than common. I liked the lad, I tell ye, so I did ; 
 but it's no use talking about that now. 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, there are robberies, as far as I can 
 make out, all over the world. I've seen men robbed in 
 Paris and London, and at Epsom and Newmarket, as well 
 as at Ballarat. It don't make much odds whether a fellow 
 empties your pockets with his legs under the same table 
 or nis hand on your throat ; not but what we'd the cream 
 of society too for the skimming. Next lot to me was a 
 Baronet — not a very spicy one, but a ]5aronet all the same 
 — and his mate was an Honourable, and a precious bad 
 one he was ! There was a lawyer working fourteen hours 
 a day beyond them, and a Methodist parson, who got 
 delirium tremens, and so went under. Men of all sorts 
 meet at the diggings ; and though the article's scarce 
 enough in most places, I didn't think you could have gone 
 through so many trades and professions without running 
 against an honest man. My mate was the best of them, 
 poor fellow ; and even he took a cullender once that didn't 
 belong to him ; to be sure he returned it when he'd done 
 with it, for he had a conscience, you know, and was a 
 scholar, and a poet too, and such like. I've seen the tears 
 in a strong chap's eyes to hear him quavering away with 
 his weak voice how 
 
 ' Tliey fitted a grey marble slab to a tomb, 
 And fair Alice lies under the stone.' 
 
 It's a neat thing enough, gentlemen ; I'll sing it to you 
 to-morrow. 
 
 "We'd a little gold dust in a bag — it makes no odds 
 how much, but it took us a goodish time to get ; and 
 digging isn't such roaring fun that you'd go out of your
 
 'AN UNBIDDEN GUEST' 253 
 
 way to take a longer spell than you can help. So we put 
 it away in a hole, and I slept above it with a revolver 
 pretty handy. My mate knew I could make very fair 
 practice at that game, if necessary. 
 
 " Well, the same night after he'd been talking to mc so 
 chicken-hearted, I woke with a start to hear a scuffling 
 noise in the tent, and my own name in a smothered voice, 
 like a man's half-strangled. 
 
 "I jumped on my legs pretty smart, I can tell you; 
 and, dark as it was, I soon caught hold. There were two 
 or three of them inside who'd come without an invitation, 
 and one made a bolt of it in less than no time. He was 
 no bad judge neither, for I was more than half riled, and 
 less than that makes me feel ugly at close grips. As he 
 dashed out he tore the tent open, and the moonlight 
 streaming in, I saw the muzzle of a pistol point-blank for 
 this child's head, and a glittering eye squinting over it 
 that looked like making sure. Just then my mate broke 
 from the beggar who held him, and sprang up between us 
 to take the ball in his brisket that was meant for me. 
 The tent was full of smoke, and the poor chap fell stone 
 dead at my feet." 
 
 The narrator's voice failed him a little at this stage of 
 his recital, and he complained that the smoke from the 
 fire got in his eyes. 
 
 "What next?" he resumed, in answer to a question 
 from Gilbert, who betrayed a flattering interest in the 
 story ; " I passed my hand behind the villain's arms, and 
 pinioned him as neat as wax. He cried for mercy then, 
 the white-livered slave, when he heard the click of my 
 revolver turning round to the cock ! I looked in his eyes 
 and saw by the glare of them that he judged me wolfish, 
 and I guess he wasn't far out. The kitchen was clear by 
 that time ; there was only us two, and my mate's dead 
 body in the tent. There was but cme left to walk out and 
 cool himself five minutes afterwards, for I shot the beggar 
 through the heart at short notice ; and all the plunder he 
 had on him, as I'm a living man and a thirsty one, was 
 this little sealskin pouch, filled with the best tobacco I 
 ever smoked yet. I judged he'd robbed a poor Spaniard 
 who was found with his throat cut some days before.
 
 2o4 GOOD FOR NOTHINa 
 
 Howsoever, it's lucky it was in his right breast-pocket, or 
 my ball would have spoiled the bag. There's a screw or 
 so left, gentlemen ; till your pipes again." 
 
 " And your mate ? " said the two listeners in a breath. 
 
 " I buried him next morning when the sun rose," 
 answered the stranger, " and I said a prayer over him too, 
 as I promised. It couldn't do him any harm ; and I some- 
 times think I wiis none the worse for it myself for a day or 
 two. I worked on my own hook after that, and I rather 
 think I paid my expenses ; but you've maybe discovered, 
 gentlemen, that gold isn't just as sticky as treacle, and all 
 the money-bags I've seen yet have a small hole at the 
 mouth and a large one at the far end. I kept an hotel 
 at Melbourne once ; that's the best business I ever had — 
 breakfasts thirteen shillings a head, and champagne a 
 guinea a pint. I could drive my four horses and play 
 cards every evening, fifty pounds a cut. But somehow 
 they burnt the place to the ground one night with their 
 games, and I walked out in a pair of trousers and an old 
 silk handkerchief, glad enough to have saved my skin. 
 Then I opened a spirit store, and was undersold by one of 
 my own waiters. That was a bad job, for I had to leave 
 in debt ; but my best customer he wanted a man to look 
 after a sheep-run, and he took me for lack of a better. I 
 could have put by some money too, but the life's enough 
 to kill a fellow who hasn't been regularly broke for a 
 hermit, and I cut it before I'd been with him six weeks. 
 I've done a few odd jobs since then, and travelled over 
 most of the colony, either for business or pleasure. For 
 my part, I think one place is very like another. In the 
 meantime I wish you good-night, gentlemen. You've 
 given me plenty to eat and drink, many thanks to you, 
 and for smoking and sleeping I can shift for myself." 
 
 In two minutes more he was fast asleep ; and his enter- 
 tainers, nothing loth to follow so good an example, threw 
 a fresh log on the fire, and betook themselves mthout 
 further ceremony to their repose. 
 
 Gilbert remained awake after the other two had begun 
 to snore. Happiness is no heavy sleeper; and it was a 
 luxury which of late he never missed, to lie for awhile 
 with half-shut eyes, and suffer his fancy to wander into
 
 'Alf UNBIDDEN GUEST* 255 
 
 that golden future, which every day that passed seemed 
 to bring more near. He was so happy ; he felt so kindly 
 disposed towards his fellow-creatures. This adventurer, 
 sleeping heavily by his side, seemed, notwithstanding his 
 eccentricities, to be an honest, well-meaning fellow 
 enough. He would find out more about him to-morrow ; 
 he would befriend him, and perhaps help him to a chance 
 of something better than the wild reckless life he had 
 lately led. It was so delightful to do good /or Ada's sake ; 
 to refer all his feelings and actions to the imaginary 
 standard by which he thought she would judge them. 
 
 There is a story in one of the old romaunts of an un- 
 kno>vn champion who never raised his visor lest man or 
 woman should look upon his face ; but who rode the 
 country like a true Paladin, rescuing the oppressed from 
 the oppressor, winning armour, and gems, and countless 
 riches with his sword, and bestowing greatest largesses on 
 all who were in need, the bad and good alike. Yet never 
 a guerdon asked he for blood or treasure save one. On 
 the vanquished knight at his feet, the rescued damsel at 
 his bridle hand, the beggar by the wayside, the barefooted 
 hermit, and the mitred abbot, he imposed the same con- 
 ditions — Priez pmir elle. With those three words he 
 claimed his wages; and day by day the prayers from 
 warm, thankful hearts went up to heaven for Her. Thus 
 she prospered, and was happy, and forgot him. 
 
 So at last he won a king's battle, fighting, as was his 
 wont, in the van. But a lance-head broke deep in that 
 honest breast, and a shrewd sword-stroke clove the trusty 
 headpiece in twain, and for the first time in harness or in 
 hall, men looked on the pale, worn face of the unknown 
 knight ! So they turned his rein out of the press, and 
 brought him to the king. Then did that monarch swear 
 on his sword-hilt that he would reward him by whatsoever 
 he should ask, were it the hand of his only daughter or 
 the jewels out of his very crown ; but the knight's white 
 lips smiled feebly, for the blood was welling up through 
 his armour, and draining his life faster and faster away. 
 His voice was very low and thick, yet did men hear him 
 plainly ; Fricz 'pour elle, said he, and so fell dead. Then 
 a bonnie bird flew to the bower of a lightsome ladye, and
 
 256 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 beat with its wings against the casement, till she put 
 forth her snowy arm and it ]jcrc]iod upon her wrist. Said 
 the lightsome ladye — " Bonnie bird, bonnie bird, comest 
 thou from my love ? " And the bonnie bird answered — 
 " From which of thy false loves ? from him in scarlet and 
 in ermine ? or from him in rochet and stole ? from the 
 Prince of the Isles with his golden crest ? or the pretty 
 page with his lute on his knee ? " But she said — " From 
 none of these. Comest thou from ni}^ true love in the 
 plain steel harness, with his lance in the rest, and his 
 visor ever down ? " Then said the bonnie bird — " Thy 
 true love sleeps in his plain steel harness, and his visor is 
 up at last, and men have looked upon his face." But the 
 lightsome ladye's cheek turned white as her snowy arm, 
 for she knew then that he was dead, and she said — " Qui 
 mc gagne, me perd; qui vi'a j^erdio via gagnc." 
 
 So the false loves mourned awhile for the sake of the 
 lightsome ladye, because she smiled on them no longer; 
 and after a year and a day, the shadow of the bonnie bird 
 flitted across a new-made grave, and when it perched at 
 the casement, behold, the lightsome ladye was in her 
 bower no more. Then it was well for her that the prayers 
 of the good and bad, and the poor and sorrowing, and the 
 hungry and thirsty, had interceded for her souL
 
 CHAPTER XXVIIT 
 
 A PRIOR CLAIM 
 
 " More sore backs," observed John Gordon in a tone of 
 condensed provocation, as, being the earliest riser of the 
 three, he returned to the fire, and put the pot on for 
 breakfast, after a matutinal visit to the horses. Already 
 he had caught and tethered them ; and on examination of 
 those ridden by his friend and the stranger, had dis- 
 covered that their hides were severely galled under the 
 saddle, and that neither of them would probably carry a 
 man's weight without considerable suffering for many 
 days. This is a casualty none the less irritating that it is 
 the common lot of all equestrians. This it is that destroys 
 the efficiency of a cavalry soldier ; and reduces the travel- 
 ler to the ignominious necessity of walking with his bridle 
 over his arm. Alas that there is no remedy for it but 
 rest ! 
 
 Gilbert and the stranger still slept soundly and peace- 
 fully side by side, dreaming, it might be, each of them, of 
 the fresh English glades and the cool English breeze ; of 
 rich waving meadow or smiling upland farm ; perhaps of 
 a fair English face, that itself made the fatherland em- 
 phatically a home. John soon roused them ; " Bill " — as he 
 requested his entertainers to call him — proving himself 
 no mean adept in the art of roughing it, and improvising 
 with ingenious skill a multitude of little comforts aston- 
 ishing to his less experienced comrades. As he became 
 more familiar with them, too, he seemed gradually to 
 recover the manners of a man who had lived in good 
 
 257 K
 
 258 GOOD FOE NOTHING 
 
 society. His tone lost much of its coarseness, his expres- 
 sions many of those quaint Yankeeisms which have 
 become the colloquial slang of adventurers in every part 
 of the world. Without quite coming up to the standard 
 of a gentleman in the somewhat fastidious opinions of 
 Orme and Gordon, he had evidently the trick and turn of 
 speech habitual to certain circles, and which, once attained, 
 is never lost again. Altogether " Bill " puzzled both of 
 his entertainers considerably. 
 
 After breakfast — consisting of a r6chauff6 of the 
 " steamer," and the tin mug filled with weak tea — a coun- 
 cil of war was established, and future measures taken into 
 consideration. Two of the party must walk — there could 
 be no question on that point ; and as John's horse was the 
 only available animal, it was settled that he should ride 
 up the creek to a certain bay from which he knew his way 
 to the spot where their people had camped, while Gilbert 
 and the stranger should remain where they were, till fresh 
 horses could be sent for them, when they would all pro- 
 ceed together towards Sydney, that being the ultimate 
 destination of the whole party. 
 
 So the two new acquaintances watched John's retreat- 
 ing form as he rode away through the Bush, and prepared 
 to spend the long summer's day in the society of each 
 other, and the care of their enfeebled horses. 
 
 Being Englishmen, the latter topic afforded them an 
 inexhaustible fund of conversation, and the points of 
 " Bill's " mount, an animal possessing extraordinary 
 powers of speed and endurance, were canvassed at con- 
 siderable length. 
 
 " He is a right good one," said his master, eyeing with 
 no small disgust the running wound in the poor beast's 
 back. " And yesterday was the fifth day he must have 
 carried me from seventy to eighty miles. I've been far 
 up the country to look at a sheep farm, and now I'm on 
 my way back to Sydney about paying for it. It's a queer 
 life, this, for a man who once had a decent house over his 
 head, and drove his own cab every day into London ; ay, 
 and could give a friend as good a dinner as a duke. It's 
 been a queer time, mine, from first to last — mostly in a 
 gale of wind ; always a heavy sea ; not the steadiest
 
 A PRIOR CLAIM 259 
 
 fellow alive at the helm ; and a strong tondcncy to carry 
 too much sail in all weathers. I should have been a 
 different man but for three things. I never could resist 
 making money, I never could resist staking money, and I 
 never could resist spending money. I sometimes wonder 
 whether I shall drop my anchor in smooth water at last. 
 I sometimes think I should like to have done with these 
 ups and downs ; to make one more good hit that would 
 make me straight a^ain ; and so go home to my wife, lead 
 a new life, and toddle peaceably on towards my grave." 
 
 " What ! are you married then ? " asked Gilbert, with 
 increasing interest in his companion. 
 
 " That am I," was the reply ; " and to as nice a woman, 
 and as pretty a woman, and as good a woman, as you'll 
 see in a summer's day. It's been a strange story, mine, 
 from first to last. We've nothing to do but smoke and 
 yarn the whole of this blessed day ; if you'll light your 
 pipe and sit down, I'll tell it you." 
 
 Gilbert acceded willingly ; throwing himself at length 
 on the dry ground in the shade, he lit up the indispens- 
 able pipe, and listened attentively. 
 
 " I began too fast," said the narrator ; " I've gone on 
 too fast ; I expect I shall finish too fast. If it s at all 
 down-hill the pace will be something quite out of the 
 common. I've had friends, plenty of them ; fine jovial 
 fellows, who would back me for all they were worth, so 
 long as I was in luck; and I never found one of them 
 3'et that I could depend upon when the wheel turned. 
 There was a time in my life, to be sure I was very young, 
 when I thought a sworn brother would have seen me 
 through anything. I have learned better since then ; 
 but I don't think I owe those any thanks who taught me 
 the lesson. Well, as I was telling you, they turned me 
 loose in Paris at sixteen, with plenty of money in my 
 pockets, and not so very green for my age. Before I 
 was twenty, I found out one or two things that are better 
 not learned quite so soon. I found out that there's only 
 one person a man of sense ever considers, and that the 
 more you make men and women subservient to your own 
 interests, the better they treat you, especially the women. 
 I found out you should never go in for a stake without
 
 260 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 resolving to stand for no repairs, but to win, whatever 
 it costs ; and above all, I found out that if once a woman 
 gets your head under water, she ducks you till you are 
 drowned. I'm not such a fool as I look ; and one lesson 
 was all I needed to teach me that. Ah ! Mademoiselle 
 Aim(^e ! I don't think it was / who had the worst of it 
 when all was done." 
 
 There was something repulsive in his jarring laugh, as 
 he gave vent to this vindictive reflection ; something 
 gratnig to his listener's feelings. The latter was one of 
 those men whom a woman might have ruined, body and 
 soul, and he would never have visited it on her. 
 
 " Well, sir, when I came to England I led a pleasant 
 life enough. I had plenty of floating capital, and I knew 
 how to make the most of it. I wasn't one of your fine 
 gentlemen who can rufHe it bravely so long as the wind's 
 fair and the tide helping them on. I could make the 
 most of a good thing, and the best of a bad one ; so before 
 I had spent the whole of my first fortune I had taken 
 out three times its value in amusement and dissipation. 
 I liked the life. Hang it, sir ! I should like the life over 
 amiin. It wasn't bad fun to go to Epsom and Ascot, 
 Isewmarket and Goodwood, with champagne and sun- 
 shine, pretty bonnets and kind looks, and a good guess at 
 the colours that would be first past the judge's chair. 
 There's nothing like it in this cursed country. But it 
 luas worth while to stand in a barouche up to your neck 
 in muslin with the fast ones who had won their glove- 
 bets, thanking you for ' putting them on,* and the quiet 
 ones, who wanted to have a look at the winner, leaning 
 over your shoulder to see his jockey go to scale; and a 
 ' monkey ' at leabt to the credit side of your own book 
 landed in about a minute and a half But what's the 
 use of talking about it ? You've seen it all yourself. 
 Bless you, I know your face as well as my own ; and, 
 forgive me for saying, if it wjvsn't for your beard I could 
 put a name to it, I'm sure. Well, sir, this sort of thing 
 has but one fault that I know of — it's too good to last. 
 The better the liquor, you know, the sooner you get to 
 the end of the bottle. I made a bad hit or two in the 
 money-market, and I lost a cracker backing Armstrong's
 
 A Pnion CLAIM 2G1 
 
 lot for the Derby. If you were there, you'll agree v/ith 
 me that Belphegor was pulled. There never was so gross 
 a case. The Rejected goes and wins the Two Thousand. 
 I myself saw him tried with his stable companion, and 
 the latter beat him by three lengths in a mile and a half 
 The worst of the two was five pounds bettor than any- 
 thing else in the race. What is the result ? When they 
 come out at Epsom, Belphegor runs third for the Derby ; 
 the other horse is nowhere ; and Armstrong wins the 
 largest stake in the ring. I tell you it was a robbery — 
 the biggest of the year. They put me in the hole, the 
 scoundrels ! and I've never had a chance at them since. 
 I was forced to go abroad for awhile ; but I got into 
 some money from a cousin soon after, and paid up every- 
 thing. I had enough to live on ; and if I could have 
 kept out of the market I might have done well. I 
 married a wife, too, and took a pretty little house near 
 London, where we lived quietl}^ and comfortably enough. 
 I have often thought since that this was the happiest 
 time of my life. She was a good contented soul, ay, and 
 a pretty one too. It's so long since I've seen a real fresh 
 Englishwoman, it does me good to think of her, with her 
 soft brown hair and gentle quiet ways. There's nothing 
 like 'em, to my fancy; and I dare say you agree with 
 me!" 
 
 Gilbert subscribed willinglj' to his companion's senti- 
 ments. He had formed his own ideal of woman's beauty, 
 and was not likely to depart from a standard that was 
 seldom absent from his thoughts, that he had looked on 
 again only last night in his dreams. We have each of 
 us our dilTerent pattern. I have seen Titian's Venus, 
 every bit of her, and Canova's, and nearly all the 
 Madonnas. I can fancy the Anadyomene rising in the 
 lustre of her charms, fresh and radiant, from the sparkling 
 wave ; can picture to myself the deep eyes, the queenly 
 brow, the loving lips, the gloAving limbs, and rich am- 
 brosial tresses, wreathed in shells and gold. And yet — - 
 and yet ! to me a worn-stained glove, a withered leaf, 
 crushed and sapless as my own old heart, can recall more 
 of beauty, more of worship, more of longing, loving sorrow, 
 than Titian's colours, or Canova's marble, than all the
 
 ^62 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 Madonnas with all their holy perfections, nay, than the 
 shining vision itself of Love's majestic goddess, offspring 
 of the sea and sky. 
 
 Gilbert's standard was a fair one enough. He liked to 
 think of her whilst he led his companion to talk on of 
 those peaceful days. 
 
 " There's a deal of confinement about a married life," 
 proceeded the latter ; " and at last, what with specula- 
 tions failing, and Consols dropping all at once, not to 
 mention a continual run of ill-luck with the ' bones,' I 
 saw no way out of it but 'to bolt.' So I broke it to 
 * the missis ' one fine morning, and sailed that same 
 night. Short notice, you'll say, sir ; and so it was. But 
 women are like horses in many ways, and in none more 
 than this : that we never know what they can do till we 
 try them. She was a regular trump, that wife of mine. 
 I left her what I could in the way of furniture and odds 
 and ends, but she made me take every rap of money she 
 could muster, poor thing ! And she put up all her little 
 trinkets in a packet, and thrust it into my hand when I 
 started. There's only one of them left, but I'll never 
 part with it as long as I live. Look ye. Here it is ! " 
 
 He drew a small gold bracelet from his breast as he 
 spoke, and handed it to Gilbert, who examined it with 
 the reverence due to a husband's last memorial from his 
 wife. It wanted cleaning sadly, and was worn and frayed 
 here and there, where it had nestled against bowie-knife 
 or revolver, or some such uncongenial companion. Many 
 a strange scene had that little keepsake witnessed, many 
 an unholy orgie and wild midnight carouse. Yet, bad as 
 he was, the man had the grace to lay it aside upon 
 occasion, rather than pollute the only link he had with 
 a purer, fairer state of being passed away for evermore. 
 There were times, too, in his adventurous life, when he 
 was penniless, that the sale of such an article would have 
 brought twenty times its cost among his reckless, half- 
 savage associates. But no ! some inward feeling he could 
 not define bade him rather starve than part with his 
 wife's farewell gift. He said as much while he laid it 
 away once more within his breast ; and Gilbert, keenly 
 alive to all such impressions, vowed in his heart that there
 
 A PRIOR CLAIM 203 
 
 was good in the man, after all, and that he would do 
 everything in his power to benefit him ere they should 
 part. 
 
 " I'd a curious run of ill-luck," he proceeded, " after I 
 came to the colony. First I failed in one line, then in 
 another; at last I got so involved I was forced to cut 
 and run. Come ! you're a good chap and a gentleman. 
 I dor/t mind telling you. I made them put my death 
 in the papers. I changed my name. I started fresh in 
 a new 'ine; and got on like a house on fire. It's a long 
 time ago now. I've never heard from England since. 
 Sometimes I've thought I'd write ; but what's the use ? 
 She thinks she has been a widow for years ; perhaps she 
 has manied again. I hope she's got one that is kind to 
 her. I don't often bother about it. I can't think what 
 has coff.e over me just now ; but somehow to-day I would 
 give my allowance of grog to know what has become of 
 Ada. Hold on, sir ! There, you've broke your pipe." 
 
 In effect, Gilbert started and turned pale at the name, 
 breaking in his confusion the cherished pipe that had 
 been so artistically coloured by many weeks of judicious 
 smoking. It took him a minute or two to reflect that 
 there might be more Adas than one in the world ; and 
 that it was neither rational nor manly to allow the 
 enuncation of three letters to produce such an effect on 
 his dtmeanour. These proper names are sufficiently 
 cabaliaic in their effects. I have seen a life-guardsman, 
 six-feel-two, with moustaches down to his elbows, utterly 
 put to (onfusion by a discerning little lady five years of 
 age. Tie champion good-humouredly asked her name. 
 " Dora," answered that matter-of-fact personage, in one 
 of those clear childish trebles which command immedi- 
 ate atteition from a whole dinner-table, "you know 
 it is, becuse I heard you say it twice when you were 
 looking at' Aunt Dottie's' picture in the library." 
 
 Ambrosi.l whiskers somewhat shaded and toned down 
 the blushet of that helpless dragoon ; but poor " Aunt 
 Dottie," wh» wore her hair a I'Jmp&atrice, remained con- 
 siderably piker than usual for the rest of the evening. 
 Well, well, Fank Grant has painted a better picture of 
 her now than the one in the library ; and she has got a
 
 264 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 rival already in the aflfections of her incautious captain, a 
 sturdy little rival, whose name is also Dora, and vho 
 screams and tussles lustily to go to papa. 
 
 The adventurer picked up the broken fragments of the 
 pipe, and returned them to their owner. 
 
 It must have been something in the pallor of Gilbert's 
 face that recalled his features as they had appeared on 
 race-courses and at cricket-matches long ago, before he 
 had become bronzed by an Australian sun ; for his com- 
 panion gave his thigh a slap, as a man does when g bright 
 thought has flashed across him, and exclaimed exubingly — 
 
 " I remember you now, I can tell you where I saw you 
 last ; they pointed you out to me as a heavy loser when 
 Potiphar broke down at Goodwood. Your name is Orme." 
 
 Gilbert owned the fact, and his friend seized him 
 cordially by the hand. 
 
 " It's strange we should make acquaintance for the first 
 time out here. You're a gentleman, I know ; I can trust 
 you ; my real name is Latimer ! " 
 
 Latimer ! Then it was Ada — his Ada — the Ada who 
 had visited him in his morning dreams not six hourt- ago, 
 when he lay by this man's side ! Reader, have you ever 
 had a knock-down blow that has crushed, and stmned, 
 and stupefied you all at once ? You cannot descrile the 
 feeling, you cannot analyse it. You can scarcely cal that 
 dumb, helpless suffering by the name of pain. Jain is 
 something to bear, something to fight with anc rebel 
 against ; something, at worst, under which you can writhe, 
 and gnash your teeth, and call upon your God ; sonething 
 to which you feel in justice there must be a limi-. Pain 
 comes to-morrow, when you wake to the sense of. your 
 bereavement or your grief, and lift up your voice md pray 
 in mercy that you may die ! it is not pain that yci endure 
 all to-night in that dull, dead stupor, turning doggedly to 
 the wall with a misty notion that it is but a (ream, and 
 waking, all will be well. There is a limit to bdily suffer- 
 ing, and your doctor calls it syncope — there i a limit to 
 mental agony, and your friends call it madnss ; but oh, 
 what tortures will the brain not bear beforeit reels into 
 frenzy ! what a Aveight of sorrow must be l^d upon the 
 poor heart before it breaks altogether and tcknowlodges
 
 A PRIOR CLAIM 265 
 
 that henceforth there is no hope ! Who that has suffered 
 here on earth (and which of us is there can say, " I have 
 not drunk from the bitter cup, nor eaten of the bretvd of 
 affliction " ? ) that shall dare to speculate on the torments 
 of a lost soul ? Can any human imagery come near that 
 thrilling metaphor of " the worm that dieth not, and the 
 fire that is not quenched " ? And yet, how far may not 
 even this fall short of the awful reality ? I shudder to 
 contemplate sufferings to which our past experiences shall 
 but bear the same proportion as does Time to Eternity. 
 Sufferings such as we cannot imagine, although we have 
 quivered in anguish here, although we have been bruised, 
 and mangled, and crushed into the dust ; sufferings from 
 which the friend who never failed us yet will turn away 
 indifferent, and of which the sting shall be increased ten- 
 fold, by the maddening consciousness of what is, and what 
 might have been. 
 
 Gilbert felt like a man under a sun-stroke. It was 
 strange that Latimer did not notice his utter prostration 
 of mind and body, his vague replies, his wandering glances, 
 scanning earth and heaven as it were for help, or explana- 
 tion, or relief But Ada's husband was busy with his own 
 reflections. He had unbosomed himself to-day for the 
 first time for years ; and the very act of telling his own 
 story had led him insensibly back into the past. He was 
 lost in a labyrinth of recollections, and for a time remained 
 as silent and abstracted as the stupefied man by his side. 
 
 So they sat on, watching the shadows lengthening by 
 degrees, and one grew drowsy at last and slept, and one 
 remained in a fixed rigid posture, with the sweat pouring 
 from his white face, and his eyes staring vacantly on the 
 landscape, where the sun shone down so pitiless, and the 
 mocking breeze swept by with a cruel laugh. There was 
 that in his heart which turned God's fairest works to a 
 horror and a curse.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 THE TEMPTATION 
 
 He has great suggestive powers, that arch-enemy, who for 
 so many centuries has studied the habits of his prey. 
 Doth not the angler's cunning skilfully adapt his devices 
 to the appetites of his hungry victims ? For the fastidious 
 trout a delicate palmer ; the lob- worm for greedy gudgeons; 
 and to enthral the stately salmon, who but gaudy " meg- 
 in-her-braws " ? So, brother, my bait may be a snug sine- 
 cure; yours a white shoulder or a twinkling ankle. 
 Orpheus goes down the broad road willingly, because 
 Eurydice beckons him from the far end. John Smith has 
 no objection in life to the same journey for half-a-crown 
 a day and his beer. Each is promised his price, and save 
 wise Lord Soulis, who reserved a right to his own soul, if 
 his body should be neither in a church nor md of a church, 
 and who did in effect cause himself to be buried beneath 
 the church wall, I have never heard of one who could 
 cozen the groat cozener of the human race. Many shapes 
 and aspects, too, are his — from the serpent crawling on its 
 belly, to the bright splendour of the morning star ; perhaps 
 the most dangerous of all the forms he can assume is that 
 in which he fell. We may do battle with the fiend, but 
 who shall say to the nuliant angel, " Avoid thee, and tempt 
 me no more " ? Many instruments has he also in his 
 workshop, keen and polished, and ready for immediate use. 
 He will place them in your hand at a moment's notice. 
 Ere you have time to think, you may have cut away the 
 cord for ever that moors you to your haven. Last night, 
 
 266
 
 THE TEMPTATION '2fi7 
 
 full of bread and hot with wine, you longed for the breath 
 of beauty to cool your brow, and lo ! she was there, smiling, 
 and fragrant, and lively ; so you held out your wrists for 
 the shackles, and bound yourself hand and foot, and did 
 homage to her you had abjured, and became a vassal and 
 a slave once more. Next Sunday, going humbly to your 
 prayers, a thousand little annoyances and irritations will 
 spring up like weeds and nettles in your path, to draw 
 your eyes and thoughts to earth from heaven. Your 
 servants will mutiny at sunrise, your womankind will vex 
 you at breakfast, the friend of your boyhood will ill-use 
 you about a deed. Irritated and impatient, you will curse 
 the crossing-sweeper who splashes you, even at the church 
 door. In great matters and in little, one furnishes the 
 opportunity and the means. It is the same hand that 
 rumples the rose-leaf to spoil a potentate's temper for the 
 day, and that proffers the ready noose in which a maddened 
 mother strangles the child of shame. Only you be willing 
 to do his work, and he will take care that you shall never 
 want for tools. 
 
 Latimer slept heavily once more. The fatigue of many 
 successive days of severe labour had told even on his 
 hardened frame. Notwithstanding his previous night's 
 rest, he lay like a man who was thoroughly in want of 
 repose, every limb relaxed and helpless, whilst his deep, 
 regular breathing attested a slumber disturbed neither by 
 dreams nor anxieties. His companion sat motionless by 
 his side, it might have been for hours — he never knew ; 
 suddenly he started and looked down at the sleeper. It 
 seemed strange to Gilbert that any man could lie so still 
 unless he were dead. Unless he were dead. He kept 
 repeating the words unmeaningly to himself; now with 
 slow monotonous distinctness, now in a sort of wild chant 
 to which they set themselves unbidden. Unless he were dead. 
 And what was this death of which men make such a bug- 
 bear ; which many affronted knowingly and willingly, 
 which all men must often unconsciously approach ? This 
 man — this Latimer. O God ! that he should bear that 
 name ; how it tore him to think of it ! this Latimer, then, 
 must have been near it very often. In the course of his 
 wild adventurous career must have learned to look upon it
 
 268 GOOD FOE NOTHING 
 
 without terror, scarcely with aversion ; must have prepared 
 many a time for the shock ; nay, it was but one of the 
 chances and casualties to which all were liable, none more 
 than those who were travelling alone through this track- 
 less Australian wilderness. He himself ran the same risk; 
 truly in such a country a man may be said to carry his life 
 in his hand. Was it really so valuable a possession ? 
 Could one more or less, indeed, make so much difference 
 in the great scheme ? 
 
 Unless he vh:rc. dead. If he ivere dead he would hardly 
 look different, lying there so still. How easy it would be 
 for a bushranger, or such lawless brigand, to rob him as 
 he slept ! How easy if he woke to quiet him for ever; 
 how simple to dig a hole down yonder in the mud by that 
 winding creek, and hide all evidence of the crime. A 
 bushranger would do it for the value of his powder-horn. 
 So different with different men is the standard of crime ; 
 and the bushranger would camp at night with but little 
 additional remorse that he hact one more murder on his 
 conscienca Suppose such a thing were to happen. 
 Suppose some merciless ruffian were to come upon him 
 now in his sleep, and there were none to help, and the 
 body were taken away and hidden ! Then would to-day 
 be as if it had never been. Then would he, Gilbert Orme, 
 be once more as he was when he awoke this morning. 
 A time that seemed to be centuries ago. There would be 
 still a fair world for him, and a laughing sky, and a hope- 
 ful future, and heaven at the end. Who was this man 
 that he should thus have come between him and his 
 happiness ? — a happiness the man himself had volun- 
 tarily resigned and abandoned. What right had he to 
 the rose he had thrown wilfully away, the gem of which 
 he never knew, never could have known the value ? 
 Then he thought of the brightness of the gem, the sweet- 
 ness of the flower ; thought of her as he saw her the first 
 time they ever met ; the last time when she blessed 
 him while they parted ; and his brain reeled, and " his 
 punishment was greater than he could bear." 
 
 Unless he v.rre dead. Gilbert Orme felt the edge and 
 point of his gleaming knife — how cold and bright it was ! 
 He thought of the quick turn of John's wrist as his blade
 
 THE TEMPTATION 269 
 
 crossed the poor kangaroo's throat, and the smoking blood 
 leaping so freely from the wound. It was a horrible fascin- 
 ation to think how easily such things could be done. lb 
 was a relief from the crushing effects of the blow he had 
 sustained, to reflect on any other subject in the world, 
 most of all on this. If he had not been an educated 
 man and a gentleman ; nay, if he had even been inured 
 to scenes of blood and violence, it would not seem so 
 impracticable to get rid of that sleeping man. Not 
 while he slept, — oh no ! that would be coAvardice added 
 to crime ; but a brave unscrupulous spirit might surely 
 wake his enemy, and so giving him an equal chance, 
 grapple with him to the death. What was it then, but a 
 life taken in fair fight, after all ? It would be easy to 
 call him a bushranger, and talk about an attempt at 
 violence and a resolute defence. If it went the other 
 way, and he were himself a victim ? Ah ! better so, 
 better any death than to live without Ada. The very 
 name softened him. Again his fancy wandered and his 
 brain reeled ; his hand closed tight on the hunting-knife, 
 but his eyes were fixed on a fair picture painted in glow- 
 ing colours, such as human artist never yet could grind. 
 
 He saw the pretty breakfast-room in the old house at 
 West- Acres, with his father's portrait on the wall, and 
 windows opening to the park, where the old trees were 
 bursting into a tender green, and the deer leaping 
 amongst the fern in the fair spring sunshine. He saw a 
 gentle lady sweeping in with her own quiet grace and 
 calm matronly smile, to take her rightful place opposite 
 his chair, where the light rippled off her shining tresses, 
 and the deep, soft eyes grew deeper and softer in the 
 shade. He saw little children with the dear mother's 
 face playing round her, clinging to the soft hand, or 
 holding by the muslin folds of that simple morning dress. 
 He saw the neatness, the order, and the sacred beauty of 
 a home ; far off he saw the gradual descent into the vale 
 of years, and the gates of heaven shining yonder on the 
 mountain, and the long pathway they would travel hand 
 in hand. Then he looked down and saw Latimer 
 sleeping, more stilly, more heavily than ever man slept 
 yet, uiuess he were dead.
 
 270 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 He put the kuife back into its sheath. A new thought 
 struck him : ho was mad — he knew he was mad ; and yet 
 he could reason now calmly, logically, and by consequence. 
 The revolver was the more efficient weapon ; one touch to 
 its trigger and the thing was done. He possessed himself 
 of Latimer's pistol, and examined it carefully. All five 
 chambers were loaded : one of them would be sufficient 
 for the purpose ; he would be no murderer, not he ! — but 
 this man and himself should have an equal chance for 
 life. Thus he argued : they could not both live and be 
 happy ; one must give way ; fate should determine the 
 victim. He would draw lots, his own life against this 
 man's — a murder or suicide — and abide by the issue ! 
 Ha, ha I Was that mocking laugh from heaven or hell ? 
 Did it come from the Bush behind him, or the sleeper at 
 his feet ? Surely not from his own lips ! Again it was 
 repeated harshly, distinctly. Laugh on, good devil, laugh 
 on ! We are busy about your work ; we will come to you 
 for our wages by and by. 
 
 That laugh of Gilbert's must have disturbed him, for 
 the sleeper stirred and turned, and muttered indistinctly. 
 Even then his enemy hoped it was a prayer, and, though 
 his finger was on the trigger, he stooped down to listen. 
 Latimer must have been dreaming, for he said, " Ada, 
 Ada ! " twice over, and breathing heavily, was immediately 
 asleep again. 
 
 The words acted on Gilbert like a spell. His whole 
 frame shook and shivered ; he laid the pistol on the 
 ground quite gently, and sat down confused and breath- 
 less. He felt faint and sick at heart. The man belonged 
 to Ada after all, and he would have killed him — killed Ada's 
 husband ! — one whom she at least had cherished and valued, 
 who had loved her, who perhaps loved her even now. 
 Killed him ! oh no ! He must have been mad ; he who 
 would prize a dog for Ada's sake. He felt kindly now 
 towards the very man against whom he had well-nigh 
 lifted a murderer's red hand but one short minute back. 
 For Ada's sake ! Never till that moment had he known 
 how much he loved her. Does the brightness of heaven, 
 think ye, glow with half such splendour to the exult- 
 ing seraphim as to the poor lost spirit, turning sadly
 
 THE TEMPTATION 271 
 
 from the light to its own portion of darkness for ever- 
 more ? 
 
 Then the reaction came on, and he fled into the Bush 
 and threw himself on his face in the long grass, and wept 
 tears of blood. God help him ! had he fallen on his 
 knees and thanked his Maker for his deliverance from the 
 guilt of murder, crying aloud for mercy, that the rod 
 might be spared, the burden lightened, if ever such a 
 little, — I think even then it had been the saving of my 
 boy. 
 
 John Gordon came back with the fresh horses as he 
 had promised, and day after day the three men journeyed 
 on together in brotherly kindness and good-fellowship 
 through the Bush ; but when Gilbert arrived at Sydney 
 there were white hairs in the soft brown beard, and a 
 wistful look in the worn, anxious face that had never been 
 there before, that never left it afterwards.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 THE AUSTRALIAN MAIL 
 
 Happiness is a wondrous beautifier. No cordial or 
 cosmetic has ever yet been invented to impart such a 
 lustre to the eyes, such a brilliancy to the skin. Under 
 its influence even the withered branch seems to blossom 
 into leaf ; how much mure, then, does it enhance the 
 bloom of a flower glowing in its summer prime. As Ada 
 walked along the streets, people turned round to look at 
 her. There was a buoyancy in her gait, a brightness in 
 her glance, a colour in her cheek, that betrayed a heart 
 overflowing with its own deep sense of joy. And well 
 might she be happy. Was she not a woman, and had she 
 not won the treasure which is a woman's most coveted 
 possession ? They can do very well without it. I have 
 not lived to the age at which " grizzling hair the brain 
 doth clear," to subscribe to the aphorisms of poets and 
 romancers, who affirm that love is the essence of female 
 existence. Not a bit of it. I know hundreds, and so do 
 you, who tread the daily pxth contentedly enough, 
 unscathed by the arrows of the mischievous boy, and 
 scarcely even brushed by his wings, just as I have seen 
 many a sweet flower reared in a dark close chamber, 
 watered from a broken jug, and screened by envious 
 chimney-pots from the genial rays of the morning sun. 
 But of course if you transplant the flower into a garden, 
 if you place her where she can bask in the smiles of the 
 day-god, and open her petals to the showers of heaven, 
 
 279
 
 THE AUSTRALIAN MAIL 273 
 
 she will oufc-blooia her former self in her new prosperity, 
 even as bleak, barren March is out-bloomed by the merry 
 month of June. 
 
 Ada was no longer young. I mean that her heart and 
 intellect were matured, although she was still in the 
 noontide of her womanhood. As a girl her affections had 
 remained untouched. In her married life she had indeed 
 suffered sundry vague longings and imaginings to cross 
 her fancy as to certain items which might constitute 
 mortal happiness, but had concluded, and justly, that it 
 was but the portion of a favoured few, and that she for 
 one must be content to di.spense with the golden lot. 
 That she tried hard to love Latimer I honestly believe. 
 Alas, that in such endeavours the success is seldom in 
 proportion to the effect ! Alas, that the hot-house flower 
 should be so difficult to force, while the corresponding 
 weed we would fain eradicate spreads and germinates and 
 thrives the more for all our labour to cut it down, and 
 tear it out and trample it to the ground. 
 
 When Ada's husband left her, she felt alone in the 
 world, and the sensation was rather a relief When she 
 heard of his death at Sydney, the few natural tears she 
 dropped were soon dried, and it seemed to her no novel 
 nor altogether unwelcome situation to be isolated and self- 
 dependent. She had no near relatives left ; she had no 
 child about which her heart could cling. She accepted 
 her lot with a sort of bitter resignation, and flattered her- 
 self that she was a hard, sensible, unimaginative sort of 
 person, for whom the matter-of-fact and the practical were 
 all in all. She, with her father's warm, generous heart, 
 and her mother's dreamy German temperament, and her 
 own soft, kindly disposition ! How little we know our- 
 selves. Why, at one time of her life, when she began 
 giving lessons to Lady Gertrude, she was actually distrust- 
 ful of her own beauty, thought she was losing her colour 
 and growing old, pondered on the effect a few years would 
 have, and wished her outward appearance as different as 
 possible, like a fool Jis she was. 
 
 Certain philosophers opine that the softer sex are very 
 much alike. One of the bitterest affirms
 
 274 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 " Most, women have no characters at all." 
 
 I would do battle on each of these points to the de^ith. In 
 the first place, every woman is from herself most dissimi- 
 lar, and this fact alone multiplies the variety of the sjjecies 
 ad infinitum. It is surely a logical sequence that where 
 one specimen is multiform, the class cannot bo homogene- 
 ous. With regard to their want of character, is it not 
 allowed on all sides that the principal distinctive quality 
 of the female mind is a jDositive adherence to its own 
 opinions, that its intuitive perceptions are of the keenest 
 and most incontrovertible ? Also that its resolution and 
 tenacity of purpose remain entirely unshaken by extrane- 
 ous influences, such as argument, expediency, plain reason, 
 or even the all-important consideration of self-interest. 
 What is this but force of character of the strongest 
 and most undeniable ? I think I have made out my 
 case. 
 
 Other women might not have felt as Ada felt ; other 
 women might not have acted as she did. She was one by 
 herself, and I never knew such another; nor was I the 
 only man that thought so. 
 
 Well, after she had made up her mind to live in dark- 
 ness all her life, the light began to dawn upon her. Can 
 you blame her that she turned to it, and opened her eyes 
 wide, stretching her arms towards the east, and preparing 
 to bask in the sunbeams ? Can you blame her that, hour 
 by hour, as the rays increased in warmth and brilliance, 
 she bathed and steeped her whole being as it were in the 
 golden floods ? Science tells us there is no such thing as 
 colour in the dark, that a red coat is not a red coat, nor a 
 peach-coloured silk any more peach-coloured than it is a 
 peach ; that the action of light on the particles which con- 
 stitute their surface produces the effect we choose to term 
 colour, and that where the light is not the colour is not, 
 I accept unhesitatingly whatever science thinks well to 
 offer, and am quite willing to believe, the more that I 
 cannot understand ; but I think I know of another light 
 also " that never was on sea or shore," which imparts 
 its own hues to every object on which it plays, and when
 
 THE AUSTBALIAN MAIL 275 
 
 it is withdrawn leaves the red coat but a sad-coloured 
 garment, the peach-silk a dull and dreary weed. 
 
 In the meantime, though the early spring days were 
 dark and cold, though Belgrave Square was a sufficiently 
 cheerless locality at that time of year, though the other 
 street passengers looked chill and cross, with muffled chins 
 and angry red noses, Ada Avalked on in the halo of an 
 artificial lustre, and, influenced by its glamour, saw all 
 material objects under an aspect of her own. The leafless 
 trees glowed like the gardens of Paradise; the dingy 
 houses outshone that magic city, flaming with gems and 
 paved with virgin ore, which to this day the Mexican 
 beholds in his dreams, and the enterprising traveller seeks 
 in vain. The muddy macadamised street gleamed like the 
 golden waters of Cathay. How happy she was — how 
 supremely happy ! Life seemed to have nothing more to 
 offer than what she had already, or what a few weeks 
 would surely bring. What a joyous world it was — what 
 bliss only to live and love — what a bountiful Creator who 
 thus lavished blessings on His children ! Whatever the 
 future might have in store, it was something to experience 
 such happiness as she did to-day ! Her full heart thanked 
 Heaven in a silent prayer. As it did so a misgiving came 
 across her, not for the first time, that she had been want- 
 ing in her duty to her love. 
 
 Ada was a pure-hearted and a trusting woman — one, 
 moreover, who had known sorrow and adversity. Need I 
 say that a strong religious sense — an implicit confidence 
 in the protection of the Almighty — was to her as the very 
 air she breathed ? Once or twice she had touched upon 
 the most sacred of topics in conversation with Gilbert. 
 Each time from a feeling of diffidence, and unwillingness 
 to approach the one important subject of time and eternity, 
 she had left unsaid much that she now regretted. Since 
 she parted from him she had often reproached herself 
 for this negligence. Like all those who feel themselves 
 supremely happy, she could not forbear speculating on the 
 uncertain tenure by which she held this cherished happi- 
 ness — could not help picturing to herself casualties and 
 dangers and possibilities, and wondering what she should
 
 276 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 do if any fearful dispensation should separate them for 
 ever. With a woman's self-abnegation, she had hitherto 
 looked upon herself as the chief sufferer, had remembered 
 the only refuge for human sorrow, the only altar on which 
 to lay a broken heart. To-day, for the first time, she 
 knew not why, it occurred to her what would become of 
 Gilbert in any possible catastrophe if his grief should 
 equal her own. He had not the same resources, the same 
 aid. Why had she not taught him where to look while 
 there was yet time, before he left her ? She almost 
 regretted now her determination that he should absent 
 himself for a stated period. She wished — oh, how long- 
 ingly — that she had him back all to herself, to cherish and 
 care for and lead on the heavenward path. What was 
 pride now, or prudence, or common sense, as com])arcd to 
 his welfare ? Then it was anxious, weary work, this long 
 absence, uncheered even by a single letter. True", she had 
 herself expressly forbidden him to write, but surel}' — ■ 
 surely — he might have disobeyed her. She did not thiuk 
 she would have been so very angry. Perhaps he had not 
 thought of it. Perhaps he had no leisure. Ah ! if she had 
 been in his place, she would not have been deterred by 
 want of time or means ; no, nor by an express prohibition. 
 But of course he could not care for her as she did for him 
 — that was out of the tpiestion. Would she wish it ? Yes, 
 she began to think she would. 
 
 What self-torturers they are ! You see that even in 
 Ada's cup, brimming as it was, lurked the bitter drop 
 which, more or less, qualifies the sweetness of every earthly 
 draught. You may stud the goblet with gems, or wreathe 
 it with flowers, and fill it with nectar to the edge, there is 
 a fine tonic flavour somewhere, do what you will. Quaff it 
 off thankfully, nevertheless, and be glad that you can taste 
 the sugar at all. For nine out of every ten of us the 
 crystal is foul and the contents wormwood. 
 
 Twice a week, at an early hour, Ada went to Belgrave 
 Square. On these red-letter days she instructed Lady 
 Gertrude in her own art, for it is needless to state that 
 the lessons had been resumed immediately on the pupil's 
 return to town, much to the delight of the mistress. She
 
 THE AUSTRALIAN MAIL 277 
 
 had often argued the point in her own mind, as to whether 
 it was judicious thus to familiarise herself with Gilbert's 
 family, and almost always came to the conclusion at which 
 she wished to arrive — viz., that it was advisable to do so 
 by every means in her power. In the first place, should 
 it ever be her lot to reach the summit of earthly happiness 
 — which, like all other summits, came to look more and 
 more practicable the oftener she contemplated it — she 
 would prefer that they should have become thoroughly 
 acquainted with her in her professional character, and 
 accept her, if they accepted her at all, as the humble 
 teacher whom they had been good enough to patronise 
 (there was no little pride in this, Ada, if you only knew 
 it). In the second, if, as was too possible, something 
 should occur to dash the cup of happiness from her lips, 
 was it not well to rivet every link and strengthen every 
 tie that could connect her by the power of association with 
 those to whom he belonged ? The latter consideration 
 was seldom absent from her mind. There were times 
 when it seemed impossible that such a dream as hers could 
 be realised; when all sorts of contingencies would force 
 themselves upon her; when she could not but mistrust 
 the influence of absence, time, circumstances, fate itself, 
 and wonder what she should do then. Fancy being told 
 that she was to see Gilbert no more ! She felt it would 
 go near to break her heart ; and there would be but one 
 consolation left to have identified herself with all belong- 
 ing to him. There are hot and cold fits in love as in the 
 aofue. Ada turned out of Halkin Street, as I have said, in 
 the full glow of the former, but her moral teeth chattered, 
 so to speak, and her moral being shivered all over ere she 
 arrived at her destination in Belgrave Square. She was 
 earlier than usual, indeed Mrs. Latimer was always some- 
 what fidgety on these Tuesdays and Thursdays; and as 
 she entered the hall she heard Lady Gertrude's voice on 
 the stairs inquiring if the post had come in, and distinctly 
 caught the words " Australian Mail," addressed to some 
 one in the back drawing-room. The bare mention of 
 that dependency brought Ada's heart into her mouth, 
 and she was so nervous when Lady Gertrude sat down
 
 278 GOOD FOR NOTHmO 
 
 to her music-book, that she could hardly turn over the 
 leaves. 
 
 Her ladyship, too, was restless and uneasy. To do him 
 justice, Gilbert, during his absence, had been pretty 
 regular in his correspondence with his cousin. She looked 
 forward to these yellow ship letters with an eager longing. 
 It would have been flattering to Mr. Orme, could he have 
 seen how the dark eyes flashed as she tore them open; 
 how the straight brows knit (Lady Gertrude's brows were 
 a little too straight) as she devoured them, page by page ; 
 and how the whole countenance softened ever and anon 
 at the description of some Bush adventure, or colonial 
 sport, shared with his friend. Also he might have been 
 a little puzzled to account for the look of disappointment 
 with which some of these epistles were closed, and the 
 dreamy listlessness which would overcome that otherwise 
 energetic young lady for days after their perusal. 
 
 On the present occasion, she was peculiarly inattentive 
 and preoccupied. She sung folse, and played too fast, 
 at last she shut up the pianoforte, and turned to her 
 instructress — 
 
 " I am out of tune to-day," she said, " a little out of 
 temper, too, perhaps. Oh, Mrs. Latimer, I wish I were 
 you!" 
 
 " Why ? " asked the latter, whose own state of beatitude, 
 conscious as she was of it herself, did not seem to her so 
 obvious to the world in general. 
 
 " Because you are alwa3'3 the same," was the emphatic 
 reply ; " because you never seem to me to have worries 
 like other people. You never look flurried, or hurried, 
 or disordered. You are always in harmony. I do not 
 believe, now, that you have an anxiety in the world." 
 
 Ada shook her head, perhaps a little sadly. She ought 
 not to feel so, she knew it ; and yet who so anxious, who 
 so restless, who sometimes so discontented as herself? 
 
 " I have been disappointed to-day," resumed Lady 
 Gertrude, " annoyed, provoked ! Here's another mail 
 come in, I know it's arrived, for there's the Sydney 
 paper, and no letter from Gilbert — Mr. Orme, I mean — so 
 thoughtless, so unfeeling. Isn't it too bad of him ? "
 
 THE AUSTRALIAN- MAIL 279 
 
 She turned her piercing eyes full upon her listener 
 ■while she spoke. Ada's heart began to beat very fast; 
 her colour came and went ; she looked as if she " had 
 worries like other people." 
 
 " When did you hear last ? " she gasped ; for she must 
 say something, though she knew quite well ; having, 
 indeed, on that occasion, considerably out-stayed her 
 time, once more exciting harrowing speculations in the 
 infant minds at Bayswater, to near tidings of his 
 welfare. 
 
 Lady Gertrude had a way of not answering questions 
 which seemed to her irrelevant. She was, moreover, a 
 little surprised at the manifest agitation displayed by the 
 music-mistress. So she pursued the thread of her own 
 reflections, keeping her bright eyes fastened the while on 
 the face of the other, who winced, and flushed, and 
 faltered beneath her gaze. 
 
 " The only way I can account for it," said she, " is that 
 he may possibly have arrived in person by this mail. 
 Even if he has, it is stupid and inconsiderate not to write 
 a line from Southampton to say so. Perhaps he means 
 to surprise us, and walk in with a long beard, as if he had 
 dropped from the clouds ! Let me see, he might have 
 landed last night, and come by the ten o'clock train, 
 which would bring him here just about now. What fun 
 if ho did! There's a cab stopping at the door at this 
 moment. Good gracious, Mrs. Latimer! you look as if 
 you were going to faint. Let me ring the bell." 
 
 Poor Ada ! no wonder she turned pale ; no wonder 
 these voluble surmises of her pupil, and the suggested 
 surprise, which after all did not seem so impossible, took 
 away her breath! She prevented the bell being rung, 
 and summoned all her forces to stand upright and take 
 her leave forthwith, vowing "that she was quite well, 
 quite well, only a little heated, the fire was so powerful ; 
 and that she was already very late. Good-morning ; Lady 
 Gertrude would be in better voice another day. She 
 must really not lose a minute ; she must be gone." 
 
 I wonder if anything on earth would have tempted 
 Ada to remain and risk the interview for which she had
 
 280 OOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 lougcd so many weary months. She felt ahnost as if she 
 had rather never see him again, than risk a first meeting 
 in the presence of others, especially this sharp-eyed cousin, 
 of whom, truth to tell, she was always a little jealous, and 
 a little afraid. She had pictured to herself a quiet drama 
 confined to tAVO performers, of which the scene should be 
 the spot where they parted in Kensington Gardens. She 
 had even determined in her own mind how he would look, 
 and what he would say. She had settled it all. He 
 would come back true as ever, and would be a little hurt 
 and disappointed to find her so cold, so formal; then he 
 would ask her if indeed absence had taught her to forget 
 him ? and she would remind him of their compact, and 
 free him once more, and bid him be happy with some 
 one better suited to him ; and tell him she had done all 
 for the best for both their sakes. Then he would be 
 angry and violent, and reproach her, vowing to leave her 
 for ever, and she would be sure (as if she were not sure 
 now) that he was still the same. How delicious it would 
 be to give way entirely then, and confess herself his own 
 here and hereafter. 
 
 But this charming little programme could not be con- 
 veniently carried out with Lady Gertrude for audience ; 
 and Ada was not without that strange instinct of 
 womanhood, the first impulse of which seems to be to 
 fiy from what it most desires. So she collected her 
 gloves, handkerchief, and music-roll, with trembling 
 haste, and hurrying from the room, confronted — Lady 
 Olivia. 
 
 Now it is hardly necessary to observe that the 
 demeanour of that austere lady towards those whom she 
 was pleased to consider her inferiors, was the reverse of 
 engaging ; and that one of the labours of love in which 
 Mrs. Latimer especially delighted, was the endurance of 
 Lady Olivia's condescension and patronage with edifying 
 humility, for her son's sake. On the present occasion 
 the greeting was more severe and majestic than usual ; 
 nor, as the music-mistress hurried down-stairs with 
 trembling steps, could she avoid hearing the elder lady's 
 comments on her unseemly departure.
 
 THE AUSTRALIAN MAIL 281 
 
 " Well, I'm sure," observed that exemplary pei-son, in 
 her loudest and harshest tones ; " people's time must be 
 very valuable, to go away in such a whirlwind ! and what- 
 ever her musical proficiency may be, I can't compliment 
 you, my dear, on the manners of your mistress." 
 
 Lady Gertrude's rejoinder to this unprovoked attack, 
 though probably none of the meekest, was, however, 
 inaudible in the hall.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 THE VEILED IMAGE 
 
 Ada h<astened home. She felt it absolutely necessary to 
 seek composure in her own room. With all her self- 
 command, on which she plumed herself not a little — with 
 all her womanly pride and reticence — she was not proof 
 against the possibility of his return on whom she had 
 pondered so continuously, though so unconsciously, all 
 those weary months. She began to feel at last, what she 
 had hitherto hardly realised, that every thought and 
 action of her daily life had borne reference to him. She 
 could not buy a ribbon without choosing the colour he 
 preferred ; she could not cross the street without en- 
 countering some object that associated itself with Gilbert. 
 Wet or dry, storm or sunshine, she never missed her 
 walk in Kensington Gardens, never failed to stand in the 
 same place, to conjure up the same vision, till her heart 
 thrilled with a sensation that was very nearly pain. It 
 was pleasant even to toil the week through at those 
 never-ending tasks, and to feel that the discipline and 
 the self-denial made her more worthy of her love ; it was 
 intense happiness, on the day of rest, to have nothing 
 else to do but to pray for him, and long for him, and 
 think of him incessantly from morning till night. 
 
 When Alderman Jones' friend Plumber, or the enter- 
 prising gentleman who manages the affairs of Stirling 
 ISrothers, consigns the produce of a West Indian estate 
 to the treacherous ocean, he does not think well to heap 
 the whole of his venture — his rums, his sugars, his 
 
 282
 
 THE VEILED IMAGE 28^ 
 
 molasses, and his mangoes — in one cargo, for transport 
 by one frail bark, however well found in the appliances of 
 her class. When good Dame Trot rides the blind mare 
 to market, she does not judge it expedient to put all her 
 eggs in the same basket. On the contrary, the goods of 
 the cautious Plumber or the far-seeing Stirlings float on 
 various bottoms over the greedy wave, so that the loss on 
 sugars may be balanced by the gain on rum ; so that> if 
 the moliisses go down, the mangoes ride triumphantly 
 into port. Also, thrifty Dame Trot, warned by previous 
 downfalls of the blind mare, while she carries some of her 
 eggs with the cheese and butter in the basket on her 
 arm, consigns the fresh-laid ones, pink and transparent at 
 their ends, to the care of her honest Gaffer trudging 
 safely afoot by the highway, scanning with critical eye 
 the well-tilled glebe, a shrewd man and a cautious, taking 
 thought in his dealings, but standing word to his bargains, 
 a willing husbandman, and not averse to beer. 
 
 Warned by these wise examples, it is judicious to carry 
 out the principle divide et impera in the moral world. As 
 a general rule, ladies, I would say, cut up your affections 
 into small parcels, neatly made up, and tied with a breast- 
 knot or a tress of hair. Distribute these samples impar- 
 tially amongst your admirers — the more the merrier, of 
 course, for the greater the number the less the size, and 
 consequently the risk, of each individual packet. If Jack 
 is false or unfortunate, or makes himself ridiculous, either 
 of which causes is sufficient reason for dropping him at 
 once, what matter ? Tom, Harry, and the rest, preserving 
 each his share, make up a fair aggregate. Tom, Harry, 
 and the rest will console you sufficiently, if indeed conso- 
 lation be required. Think of what your plight would 
 have been if Jack had carried the whole freight, and so gone 
 doAvn. Limp, dejected, your hair in plain bands, and 
 without an atom of crinoline, you must have wandered by 
 the willows, a maiden all forlorn, instead of queening it 
 still in bower and ball-room, radiant, captivating, bouff^e, 
 and heartless. As for poor Jack, never mind him, though 
 he may be in prison, or in disgrace, or gone to the wars, 
 or the dogs, or the devil ; that is his affair, not yours. 
 Everybody knows that men have no feeling ; that cigars,
 
 284 GOOD FOE XOTniNO 
 
 race-horses, or campaign ini,', will console them for the 
 most harrowing disappointments ; and even if poor Jack 
 should go down in the front rank, to be stripj^ed of that 
 little packet aforesaid, only when the broad breast on 
 which it nestled is cold for evermore, that is his own 
 stupid fault. Why could he not take a leaf out of your 
 book, impartial fair one ? To soar aloft, false, flattered, 
 and unscathed rather than thus to fall, true-hearted and 
 alone. 
 
 Alas for Ada ! that she was not one of these wiser 
 sisters. Alas for her ! that her cargo was heaped and 
 stowed away by deck and hold, till the waters lipped the 
 gunwale, that the eggs were crowding and hurtling in the 
 narrow basket, and never a one left to tempt the bird 
 back to her cold empty nest, when she had spread her 
 wings and flown away. 
 
 The dove fluttei'ed home to her cage, and sat down to 
 think, to brood over her coming happiness, and stifle the 
 misgivings that would cast their shadows athwart the 
 promise of the sunny future. On her table lay a letter 
 addressed to her in the handwriting of an agent -W'ith 
 whom she had not corresponded for years. In good truth, 
 Ada's bankers sustained no heavy load of responsibility. 
 Carelessly she opened the envelope, and its enclosure fell 
 out upon the floor. As the sealed side turned uppermost, 
 she perceived it was a ship letter ; and concluding that it 
 could have come from but one correspondent over the 
 water, her eyes filled with tears of joy as she pressed it 
 eagerly to her heart before tearing it open to devour the 
 contents. Then she read on, word by word and line by 
 line, to the very end. Here it is : — 
 
 " Dearest Ada, — You will, I fancy, be surprised to see 
 my handwriting once more ; and I hope you will forgive 
 me any pain I may have caused you by one of those 
 dodges that the pressure from without obliged me to 
 practise, much against my will. I am an honest fellow 
 enough, I believe, as times go ; and had I not learned that 
 you still bear my name, I would never have troubh^d you 
 again, but kept dark on my own hook, and allowed you to 
 believe that poor old Will had gone under once for all.
 
 THE VEILED 1 31 AGE 285 
 
 Well, dear, the water has been over my head many a long 
 day, but I've come up pretty dry notwithstanding. You 
 know I always had a knack of getting afloat again after a 
 capsize. Bad times I have had of it since I saw my own 
 name amongst the deaths in the Sydney papers ; but it is 
 a long lane that has no turning ; and things have come 
 round of late better than I had reason to expect. I shall 
 have some queer stories to tell you when we meet — for 
 meet we shall, Ada, I am determined, and that before 
 very long. I have purchased some lots up the country 
 that answer considerably better than my first venture ; 
 and I am not one of those people who wish to go on buy- 
 ing experience all their lives. I shall hold on for a 
 fiivourable time, and then realise. If the thing comes off 
 as I expect, I shall land a pretty good stake, and come 
 straight home. Will you take me back, Ada, and let 
 by-gones be by-gones ? I sometimes think you had a 
 hardish time of it, my dear ; but we have both of us seen 
 a deal of rough usage since then ; and I hope it will be 
 different in future. I've had to work hard for my 
 plunder ; and they shan't skin me again, not if I know it. 
 I sometimes think I'll be with you before the cuckoo 
 begins to sing ; and I feel somehow as if it would do me 
 good to see Old England and your kind face once again. 
 I've got your bracelet, Ada, still ; I've stuck by it through 
 many a rough job; but I never thought to see its owner 
 again, 
 
 " I came through the Bush awhile ago with a chap that 
 knew you and heard you sing. His name is Gordon, a 
 likely lad enough, and one of the right sort, but uncom- 
 mon sharp. However, he did me a good turn camping 
 out one night ; and I never forget either the man that 
 puts me on. or the man that lets me in. He had a pal 
 with him who beats me altogether : they call him Orme, 
 a tip-top swell, and a face I remembered to have seen 
 before in the old country. He's mad, I guess, for he never 
 speaks to any one, and a man Avouldn't give a hundred 
 dollai-s to speak to him. He's got a cross game look about 
 him, for as mild as he is. Poor chap, I think he's had 
 bad news from England, for when I was bragging to him 
 about going home, he turned quite white, and trembled.
 
 286 GOOD FOR NOTHINQ 
 
 He's not one of the chicken-hearted ones, neither. But 
 this makes no odds to you or to me. 
 
 " Don't expect nie, Ada, till you see me. You remem- 
 ber of old I never could bear to be tied to time. But be 
 sure I shall come home before the fall, and that I aui 
 always your very affectionate, 
 
 " William Latimer. 
 
 "Sydney, 18th." 
 
 She had the courage of a lion, that gentle Ada. She 
 read every word of her letter over again, examined the 
 post-mark, compared it with the date, folded it, locked it 
 away in her desk, and then tottering across the room, 
 caught at the back of a chair to save herself from falling 
 on the Hoor. As she did so she saw her own white face 
 in the glass, and wondered vaguely whether those parted 
 lips and dull protruding eyes could belong to Ada Latimer. 
 It was no question now of vexation, or sorrow, or resist- 
 ance — no case of accepting or refusing the bitter draught, 
 or disguising its taste, or otherwise making the best of it. 
 Not so. The hammer had fallen. At one blow it had 
 shivered the goblet into a thousand particles, and the 
 liquid — good, bad, or indifferent — had vanished soaking 
 in the plain. Not a fragment nor a drop remained. 
 
 For a minute or so the feeling of suffocation, I mean 
 the physical feeling, was unbearable. She strove to cry 
 aloud, but nothing came of it save an inarticulate gasp. 
 She put her hands to her throat, turning wildly round and 
 round like a dumb animal caught in a noose. Then she 
 sank upon her knees — her shoulders heaved, her bosom 
 sobbed to bursting. With the first cry for mercy came 
 the saving tears ; and so the crisis of a lifetime was past. 
 
 I will leave her alone with her sorrow. There are griefs 
 for which it is mockery to offer consolation. There are 
 losses to which bereavement by death were comparatively 
 a gain. So long as a single strand of rope holds, the 
 human heart will cling to it, and trust in it, as if it were 
 an iron cable. So long as ever the past belongs to us, 
 there is a dry spot on which the dove can rest her foot. 
 Alas for her when she must flit aimlessly to and fro over 
 the dark waters. Alas when that which might have been is
 
 THE VEILED IMAGE 287 
 
 but a maddening impossibility — when that which has been 
 is but a baseless and uncertain dream. Whilst memory 
 remains we are not all alone. Far, far back in the gloomy 
 perspective sits the immovable image, a long way off, 
 indeed, but yet existent ; and its glance, cold and stony 
 though it be, turned upon us still. Woe to the utter 
 desolation that is fain to veil the statue of the goddess ! 
 Woe to the hand, cold and pitiless as the marble itself, 
 that must needs draw the kerchief 
 
 "O'er the eyes of Mnemosyne there."
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 EBB AND FLOW 
 
 Bella Jones has had no pleasant winter. That young 
 hidy is beginning to find out that life is not all a 
 journey down-hill in the sunshine. On her, too, is break- 
 ing the chill su8])icion that childhood, notwithstanding its 
 little restraints and sorrows, may have been the best 
 season, after all. That to be " grown-up " means to be 
 "put to work," to carry a certain burden, which must, 
 moreover, be carried erect and with a bold front, which is 
 also constantly increasing in sad disproportion to the 
 strength that year by year fails ever such a little, and 
 which no one seems inclined to help his brother wayfarer 
 to bear more easily, 
 
 "There's none will weep for thy di.stress, 
 Tlioiii;li friends stand firm and true ; 
 For in the tan<<led wilderness 
 They bleed and battle too." 
 
 Bella, like many another warrior, takes her place in the 
 combat with a confident face and a sinking heart. 
 
 She has much to contend with. The alderman, under 
 the combined influence of gout and anxiety, has become 
 testy and irritable. He will not bear to be questioned 
 about his affairs, nor listen for an instant to any of his 
 daughter's schemes for retrenchment. At the same time 
 he allows her, as he has always done, to take the entire 
 management of his household. " Nonsense, Bella," is 
 his invariable reply to her expostulation ; " girls can't be 
 
 288
 
 EBB AND FLOW 289 
 
 expected to understand these things. Never show your 
 hand, my dear, whether you've four by honours or haven't 
 a single trump. All you have got to mind is to return 
 your partner's lead ; so let me hear no more about it, but 
 do as I bid you." 
 
 She has, nevertheless, her own plans of economy and 
 self-denial. Amongst other gloomy forebodings, she looks 
 forward to the day when her father's servants must be 
 dismissed, and when their present establishment must be 
 reduced to the narrowest possible limits. In anticipation 
 of this evil time, Bella thinks it well to go marketing 
 regularly Avith Mrs. Garnish, thereby putting a consider- 
 able check on that confidential servant's expenditure, the 
 while she herself gets a good many valuable lessons in 
 the difficult art of making both ends meet. Mrs. 
 Garnish, I need hardly observe, disapproves highly of this 
 practice, but submits the more quietly that she has herself 
 certain suspicions of the coming storm, and having 
 already feathered her nest pretty handsomely, is quite 
 prepared to leave the tree so soon as it ceases to shelter 
 her from the wind. Three times a week Bella, in a plain 
 straw hat and quiet gown, was used to accompany that 
 domestic at an early hour to the shops of the different 
 tradespeople, thereby largely reducing the amount of 
 the weekly bills, and giving much dissatisfaction to all 
 concerned. 
 
 Thus it fell out that on a certain bleak spring morning, 
 of which mention has been already made. Miss Jones and 
 her attendant, pervading the streets of that rural city which 
 lies at the back of the Regent's Park, encountered, at the 
 door of a baker's shop, no less a person than Lord Holy- 
 head ; and his lordship, whose mind, though certainly not 
 " wax to receive," was doubtless of the order which is 
 " marble to retain," stopped to greet her Avith marked 
 cordiality and delight. Holyhead had not forgotten the 
 episode of the parrot, and never recun-ed to it Avithout a 
 pleasant recollection of the frank, Avarm-hearted gii'l Avho 
 had tended him so gently, and bound up his Avounds Avith 
 such chirurgical skill. 
 
 He quite started with pleasure Avhen he caught sight of 
 her, and leaping from his horse, led the animal by the 
 
 T
 
 290 aoon FOR NOTHtNG 
 
 bridle while he accompanied Miss Jones along the foot- 
 way, a proceeding which considerably discomfited Mrs. 
 Garnish, but drew down marks of decided approval from 
 a London urchin, who was watching his lordship's 
 movements. 
 
 " I have not set eyes on you for months," said Holy- 
 head, in his kindest tones. " How lucky to come across 
 you at an hour when I thought ladies were in their first 
 sleep. Why, what an early bird you are. Miss Jones ! " 
 
 " I am out marketing," she answered good-humouredly ; 
 "perhaps you didn't know that was one of my accom- 
 plishments. I can buy beef and mutton by the pound, 
 and can tell the weight of a chicken Avithout asking for 
 it to be put in the scales. I've made a capital bargain 
 this morning. Would you like to see what I've got in 
 the basket ? " 
 
 Mrs. Garnish^, who had her own ideas of good breeding, 
 and who held the article above-mentioned, turned on her 
 young mistress a look of angry expostulation. 
 
 " I wish I might carry it for you," said he, " and take 
 a lesson in so useful an art. But is this only a freak for 
 once ? or do you really go out every morning on these 
 foraging expeditions ? " 
 
 If Lord Holyhead asked this invidious question with a 
 view of facilitating future meetings like the present, he 
 must have been a little disappointed by the grave, un- 
 conscious tone of Bella's replj''. 
 
 " Yes," she said ; " and glad I am to be able to do so. 
 I can be of very little use to my father, I fear ; but it is 
 not my fault that I was born a woman. If I were a man 
 I should be at some harder work than this. Oh, how I 
 wish it was all so different ! " 
 
 He saw she was uneasy in mind, and partly guessed 
 the cause. He was better acquainted than she knew 
 with her father's affairs, and indeed had his own share 
 in some of the alderman's ventures. He talked on of 
 indifferent subjects for a while, but showed no inclination 
 to get into the saddle again, although they wei-e now 
 returning to the vicinity of Verbena Villa. 
 
 Bella had evidently something on her mind. Her 
 manner was constrained, her replies absent and incon-
 
 EBB AND FLOW 'iOi 
 
 sequent. As she neared her home she seemed to nerve 
 herself for an effort. At last she made a plunge, as it 
 were, and got out what she had to say. 
 
 " Oh ! Lord Holyhead," stammered Bella, gaining 
 confidence from the vicinity of the garden-gate, " I have 
 never been able to thank you for your great kindness last 
 year. I am afraid you must think me very ungrateful ; 
 but, indeed, I heard of it, and whenever I have seen you, 
 I have always wanted to tell you how much I — how much 
 we all — felt it. Somehow, I never could get it out till to- 
 day. Thank you really. Good-bye." 
 
 She was close to the gate now, and put out her hand, 
 blushing bright scarlet. He pressed it very cordially, 
 and wishing her " Good-bye," jumped on his horse, and 
 was off; nor could Bella have adopted a more expeditious 
 method of getting rid of her cavalier, Lord Holyhead 
 being one of those gentlemen whose insuperable objec- 
 tion to being thanked is the less accountable that they 
 are in the constant habit of perpetrating actions for 
 which thanks can be their only payment. 
 
 He had ridden the same road once before with his 
 bridle-hand neatly bound up in a silk handkerchief. It 
 was some months ago, yet had he not forgotten how 
 certain vague ideas crossed his mind then, which bore 
 reference to the Villa, the parrot, and other possessions of 
 Alderman Jones. The same current of thought, brighter, 
 more engrossing, yet perhaps not quite so pleasant, took 
 possession of him now. On some minds the force of 
 contrast has a stronger effect than even the influence of 
 association ; and Lord Holyhead, as he rode soberly along 
 at a foot's pace, with his rein dangling loose on the neck 
 of his astonished hack, called up in his mind's eye a 
 picture to which Bella Jones, with her fresh morning 
 colour and her quiet morning toilette, above all, with her 
 frank simplicity and honest diffidence, was as different as 
 light from darkness. 
 
 It was not so long since he had been sitting in a 
 luxurious and beautiful little room, furnished with every 
 appliance that could be thought of for comfort and 
 amusement, rich in gaudy colours and costly ornaments, 
 which, though not invariably in the best taste, were of
 
 292 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 hin-h price and indisputable beauty. Groups of choice 
 little statuettes filled the corners, and prints of well- 
 known artists, dramatic and otherwise, adorned the walls. 
 Books, music, flowers, were scattered about the room, and 
 a large pianoforte encumbered its somewhat contracted 
 dimensions, a pianoforte over which Holyhead had ere 
 this hung enraptured, drinking in its tones, as if such 
 draughts were drained from a fountain always sweet, 
 always inexhaustible. A blazing fire gave an air of home 
 to all this brilliancy ; and the out-of-doors view, not 
 very engaging in cold spring weather, was shut out by 
 pyramids of exotics, completely blocking up the windows. 
 
 Enters on this luxurious little scene a stout dark- 
 browed lady, with her shining bands of hair pressed closely 
 to her temples, and an ominous frown, harbinger of stormy 
 weather, lowering on her forehead. She has the sallow 
 complexion and black piercing eyes of the south ; also 
 the sharp, shrill tones of the Italian voice, which, 
 although capable of being modulated by art into the 
 sweetest of music, commonly strikes harsh and dis- 
 agreeable on the ear in ordinary conversation. 
 
 She flounces in, without taking notice of Holyhead, 
 sweeps her hand over the keys of the instrument Avith 
 practised skill, trills off a roulade that makes the window- 
 glasses ring again, and sinking into an easy chair by the 
 fire, puts her feet upon the fender, disclosing a creased 
 stocking and a slipper down-at-heel, while she gives vent 
 to a yawn of such capacious energy as betrays an amount 
 of oDin.i by no means complimentary to her companion. 
 
 Hol3'head looks as if he meditated departure, but did 
 not exactly kpow how to set about it. 
 
 The lady stares at him contemptuously for a minute or 
 so, pulls a bunch of keys and a letter out of her pocket, 
 and flinging the latter in his lap, says in no mellifluous 
 accent, " Take it. Read me, then, that. What does that 
 mean to say ? " 
 
 Holyhead recognises the hand of a gentleman with 
 Avhom he has already had no little correspondence ; it is, 
 indeed, from the manager of a great theatre, declining to 
 make any advance on the liberal offer he has tendered 
 the star. As his lordship, with her own consent, had
 
 EBB AND FLOW 293 
 
 previously closed the bargain for her on these very terms, 
 he is not surprised that an adherence to the contract 
 should be required, and he says as much, pretty decidedly. 
 
 " Bah ! " returns the lady, with an emphasis on the 
 monosyllable that an Englishwoman could never effect ; 
 " he seems to forget I make my own affair — who saved 
 him last year from bankruptcy ? who filled the house 
 night after night, though Coronella sang false through 
 a whole opera, and Tamboretto was as hoarse as a crow ? 
 Terms ! I make my own terms. What does he mean 
 by terms ? Effectively, he is stupid, this man ! " 
 
 " But, my dear Signora," interposed the nobleman, with 
 more meekness than was his wont, " I wrote to you in 
 Italy, and you were quite satisfied with the agreement. 
 You yourself bade me accept it on your behalf; I am 
 compromised in this matter as well as you. I think you 
 ought to consider this. Fair play is a jewel ! " 
 
 " What signifies that ? " retorted the syren ; " I did not 
 then know the offer that Garotte would make me from St. 
 Petersburg, nor the share I might have had in La Scala, if 
 I had not tied myself to this odious country. What a 
 place ! what people ! what a climate ! what infamous 
 coffee ! Enfin, I shall abandon the whole engagement and 
 go back." 
 
 Holyhead was inexpressibly provoked. There is 
 scheming and there is intrigue behind the imitative 
 scenes of a theatre, as within the actual walls of a court. 
 Who knows what amount of trouble, and civility, and 
 subservience, foreign to his real nature, he had lavished to 
 effect the arrangement which he now saw on the point of 
 subversion ? Bravoura entertained no mean opinion of her 
 own powers ; in fact, it was whispered that the celebrated 
 singer considerably over-rated her talents, and the 
 manager was satisfied that he could have got sweeter 
 notes for less money elsewhere. He was willing, however, 
 to oblige Holyhead, nor was he averse to a name that still 
 looked so attractive in the bills ; accordingly, he concluded 
 a treaty of extreme liberality on his own part, and now 
 he felt he was unfairly used in being required to bid 
 more than the article was worth. Holyhead aj)preciated 
 his sentiments, and shared his indignation.
 
 294 GOOD FOB NOTHINO 
 
 " You will not," said he, controlling his temper with an 
 effort ; " you will think better of it, Signora, if only on my 
 account." 
 
 " Qici i^ivra vcrra," answered the lady, with a peculiar 
 expression of brow and lip that he knew well ; " I sent for 
 my passport yesterday afternoon." 
 
 She had done the same thing on more than one previous 
 occasion, and had only been induced to stay b}- great 
 personal eiitreaty and pecuniary sacrifices. He deter- 
 mined to try firmness for once and abide the result. 
 I " You will be in Paris, then, by Sunday," said he, 
 pretty calmly ; " will you do two or three little commis- 
 sions for me ? " 
 
 She swept a choice porcelain vase filled with flowers off 
 the table at her elbow, as if by accident, but the gleam in 
 her dark Italian eyes denoted the storm would break ere 
 long. 
 
 " I shall only go through Paris from one station to 
 the other. I long so to be back in my dear Italy." 
 
 " Then I won't trouble you," said Holyhead. " You 
 must have a great deal to do ; I will order my horse and 
 wish you adieu," he added, n:ioving towards the bell. 
 
 The Signora's hand shook visibly, and her deep bosom 
 heaved under her somewhat untidy morning dress. This 
 was not what she wanted at all. She had no more inten- 
 tion of going to Italy than she had of losing her theatrical 
 engagement, but she wanted to be implored to stay, and 
 that her acquiescence should be made a great favour of, 
 and serve as a pretext for tlie indulgence of a thousand 
 future whims, including a certain fairy carriage with 
 cream-coloured ponies, on which she had set her heart. 
 She took, moreover, a delight .n tormenting Holyhead, 
 which none but her own sex can understand. She was 
 under countless obligations to him. He had stood her 
 friend for years, and she liked him just well enough to 
 enjoy vexing him. She snatched the bell-rope from his 
 hand, and pointed to a chair in her noblest tragedy 
 attitude, with stiffened arm and down-turned wrist. 
 
 " Sit down," she screamed ; " we do not part like this. 
 How dare you use me thus ? " 
 
 Thon the storuj burst, in French, in English^ in Itd^iiilif
 
 EBB AND FLOW 296 
 
 in woman's universal language of gasps, and sobs, and tears. 
 She accused him of heartlessness, of injustice, of mistrust ; 
 in one breath, of neglecting her interests ; in the next, of 
 domineering over her actions. She would never have 
 come to England but for him. He had never influenced 
 her in the least in England or elsewhere, and never 
 should ; but it was cruel, it was base, it was infamous, not 
 to advise her now in her need, and assist her in her 
 negotiations. Then she ingeniously put him in the 
 wrong, vowing that it was his over-rated opinion of her 
 that made her break with her good friend the manager ; 
 that it was in accordance with what she believed to be his 
 wishes, she had written to increase her demands ; but how 
 could she know what he liked if he never told her, if 
 he never came near her, if he neglected her and left her 
 to do everything for herself ? What had she to amuse her ? 
 Whom did she ever see ? What a life was hers, triste, 
 stupefying, embetante. Theatres, diamonds, carriages, pic- 
 nics, what were they to her ? It was all Holyhead's fault, 
 and she never could forgive him, not if he was to go down 
 on his knees then and there to beg her pardon, which 
 was the very least he could do. 
 
 We need scarcely say that " Nobs," as his familiars 
 called him, was a most unlikely person to assume that 
 humiliating posture. He did nothing of the kind, but he 
 gave in nevertheless. By dint of promises and assurances, 
 and a little scolding, and a good deal of soothing, the 
 Signora was induced for the present to postpone her 
 departure for her native land, under the express stipula- 
 tion, however, that she should not delay her flight an hour 
 after her engagement was concluded. She longed so for 
 Italy, dear Italy, the very day her theatre closed she 
 should start. How fervently Holj^head hoped she would ! 
 
 The fact is, he had endured rather too many of these 
 scenes. If constant dropping will wear away a stone, it is 
 no less true that the continual action of the element has, 
 on the other hand, a petrifying tendency on the softer 
 substances, and the fair sex are prone to forget that the 
 most alarming demonstrations, when often repeated, must 
 fail in their object of intimidation. Even the kettle- 
 drum is powerless to rouse the metal of the e(juine
 
 20G GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 philosopher on whose shoulders it is usually placed, and 
 Holyhead's sentiments of late in a passage-of-anns with 
 Bravoura had been simply suggestive of weariness while 
 it lasted, and relief when it was over. 
 
 Yet had he not strength of mind to free himself at once 
 from the influence exerted by this overbearing and not very 
 attractive lady. A thousand times he resolved nothing 
 ■would be so easy as to break the imaginary bonds which 
 held him ; a thousand times, from mingled motives of 
 good-nature, indolence, and a certain manly consideration 
 of the Signora's amour proprc, he paused on the eve of a 
 rupture. He knew he had but to say a word, and it was 
 done ; yet he hesitated, and every day the task became 
 more difficult. 
 
 My little playfellow informs me that if you choose to be 
 at the trouble of taking bold Chanticleer from roost in his 
 first sleep, and will bring the astonished bird into a 
 lighted room, you may amuse yourself with the following 
 experiment. Place his beak upon the table, and from 
 that beak draw a line with chalk in any direction you 
 please, the infatuated fowl will not move his head from 
 the spot until the chalk be rubbed out. Doubtless he 
 believes firmly that he is made fast by the nose. My little 
 playfellow cites this instance as an example of the want 
 of wisdom in the gallinaceous tribe, but when my little 
 playfellow gets older he may possibly see parallel cases of 
 helplessness in the unfeathered biped. I think I know of 
 more than one old cock, young cock, or cock of the game, 
 whose tether is imaginary and yet restrictive as the line of 
 white chalk — Avho lays his foolish beak down in some 
 inconvenient spot, and though every one else knows him 
 to be as free as air, will not believe he can move an inch 
 from it to save his life. Samson snapped the strongest 
 fetters of the Philistine like withy bands, and yet I have 
 little doubt but that Delilah could have held and bound 
 the champion fast with a thread of her golden hair. 
 Habit and indolence combined will sometimes weave a tie 
 enduring as the very handcuff of necessity herself. 
 
 Holyhead was a widower ; like many another such, the 
 failure of his first " venture," to use Mr. Weller's appro- 
 priate expression, had rather stimulated than damped his
 
 EBB AND FLOW 297 
 
 hopes of a happier future. In his position, manly, good- 
 looking, with a large fortune, a peeress' coronet at his 
 disposal, he need have had little trouble in selecting some 
 fair girl from any London ball-room, who would have been 
 willing to share these advantages ; but it is almost as 
 difficult to choose from too many as too few. Like the 
 man who looks for a straight stick in the wood, his lord- 
 ship found himself reaching the boundary of his quest with- 
 out spying exactly what he wanted, and whilst one was 
 too forward, another too shy, a third somewhat romantic, 
 and a fourth a little affected, he had gradually accustomed 
 himself to the society of Bravoura and her set, till his 
 male friends opined in their discrimination that " Nobs 
 would never marry at all." 
 
 He had his own ideal, nevertheless, as most men have. 
 Holyhead's was an artless, unaffected, good-humoured girl, 
 more comely than handsome, more frank than mavAere'e ; 
 young, fresh, untutored, and altogether a fitter mistress 
 for the old place in Yorkshire, than the town house he let 
 by the season in Grosvenor Square. 
 
 Of the same species and the same sex, there could 
 scarcely have been found two individuals so different as 
 the Signora Bravoura, of all the principal theatres in 
 Europe, and Miss Isabella Jones, Verbena Villa, Regent's 
 Park. I do not affirm that Lord Holyhead traced the 
 slightest resemblance between them as he rode slowly 
 away down the long perspective of Portland Place. 
 
 Bella goes home rather fluttered and pleased with her 
 morning walk ; rather more impatient than usual of the 
 narrowing circumstances which she foresees must ere long 
 shut her completely out from those brilliant circles of 
 which she has had an occasional glimpse. She is the last 
 young woman on earth to plead guilty to nerves, yet the 
 parrot's screams appear more discordant than usual, and 
 she muffles him, so to speak, with a shawl, covering his 
 cage, much to his disgust, and leaving him with a crust 
 and a lump of sugar, in total darkness, at eleven o'clock in 
 the day. She has but little time, however, to consult her 
 own comforts or inclinations. The alderman's breakfast 
 must be prepared, and she must herself preside at that 
 meal, supplying his wants with her own hands, and lending
 
 298 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 a patient car to his details concerning his gout and other 
 infirmities, glad at any sacrifice to keep him off the 
 distressing subject that is nearest both their hearts. 
 Podagra is not an amusing topic for a girl of twent}^, nor 
 is it advisable for a patient of threescore to dwell upon 
 the various symptoms of his malady ; but when there is a 
 skeleton in the house, even the proprietors are fain to cover 
 it up with whatever rags come most readily to hand ; and 
 the nearest relatives had better drivel on in the emptiest 
 of conversation, acting their several parts with studious 
 forbearance, than advert to a topic on which they are sure 
 to disagree. After breakfast she takes him out for a walk 
 in the brightest part of the day. The alderman, like most 
 energetic men, is an extremely wilful and obstinate 
 patient, one of those who resolutely decline the pill unless 
 it be sufficiently gilded ; and although his doctor tells 
 him walking exercise is indispensable (indis — pensable, 
 observes the sage, as if he were propounding some new 
 and startling discovery in the theory that air and move- 
 ment are necessary to the well-being of man), without 
 Bella's arm and Bella's company he could scarcely be 
 induced to step over the threshold. So the good daughter 
 walks out with him day after day, postponing all her own 
 little occupations and amusements to the convenience of 
 papa. 
 
 I think the old seldom sufficiently appreciate the for- 
 bearance and attentions of the young. Filial duty apart, 
 I think I ought to feel under considerable obligations to 
 my junior when he puts off his pleasures or his excite- 
 ments to sit and listen to my platitudes, when he consents 
 to sacrifice the poetry of his young life to my unquestion- 
 able prose. His society is to me like some reviving 
 cordial, a sip of the cup that was once so strong and 
 sparkling, that I drained so greedily, with such a noble 
 thirst. Mine to Itivi must, I fear, be at best but an 
 anodyne, a draught that afiects him as would " the drowsy 
 syrups of the East." He is a willing listener ; alas ! I 
 fear I ride him on occasion much too hard. I marvel 
 he does not yawn at that story I have told him so 
 often about Brummel and the Brighton coach. I wonder 
 wbfit'he): he really believes in my short-tailed grey horse,
 
 EBB AND FLOW 399 
 
 or the retriever that was drowned the day we heard of 
 Waterloo, or my famous " innings " at St. Albans, off 
 Catapult's bowling, when the last of the Caesars was a 
 boy ? Does he consider me a deliberate and circum- 
 stantial liar, or only a fond foolish old man, whose memory 
 runs away with him ? At least he is patient under the 
 infliction, kind, gentle, and considerate ; at least I owe 
 him thanks for riveting one of those links which arq 
 parting so fast between myself and the world that is 
 passing away from me. When he goes back to his horse, 
 or his cricket, or his sweetheart, he will not, I think, be 
 the less light-hearted, or the less successful that he has 
 smoothed a few yards of the old man's down-hill path 
 towards his grave. 
 
 Rusticus expedat dum dejiuat amnis. The crossing of 
 Oxford Street, when they extended their walk so far, is 
 always to Bella a subject of grave and nervous responsi- 
 bility. The alderman's infirmity, and his obstinacy in 
 ignoring it, render him a likely object to become the 
 victim of reckless driving ; and his daughter, like the Roman 
 rustic who pauses till the river shall have flowed by, that 
 he may cross over dry-shod, is fain to wait many a weary 
 minute ere she dare venture her charge in the stream of 
 carriages, omnibuses, and cabs, which seem to roll on in a 
 continuous and eternal tide. One of the latter passes close 
 to father and daughter as they stand on the footway. Its 
 inmate stops the driver with unusual vehemence, but he 
 has shaken both father and daughter by the hand, and 
 greeted them in the kindly voice they have never for- 
 gotten, ere either recognises in that worn, haggard face, 
 with its bronzed skin and large beard, the features of their 
 dandy friend, Gilbert Orme. He is indeed much altered ; 
 he has acquired that restless, anximcs look which so soon 
 stamps age on the countenance ; and had it not been for 
 the mil sweet tones, pleasing and musical as ever, even 
 Bella would have failed to recognise him. 
 
 She blushed, however, as she did so ; Bella's blushes 
 were easily forthcoming when she was interested ; and, 
 rather to her own surprise, she asked him news of John 
 Qofdon. in the very first sentence. I have my owjj opicioij
 
 300 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 that while she did so, Miss Jones found out something she 
 had never suspected before. 
 
 " He came to town with me this morning," answered 
 Gilbert, " and has only gone to his lodgings to dress in 
 decent clothes. He will be at the Villa before you can get 
 back." 
 
 There was something in his tone that struck both his 
 listeners, although each was naturally pre-occupied with 
 the intelligence it conveyed. Bella's heart beat fast as 
 she thought she was so soon to see John Gordon, yet was 
 she a little surprised it did not beat faster; and I question 
 if she looked forward to the interview with half the anxiety 
 of her father. 
 
 Nevertheless, the first thought of the kind-hearted old 
 man was for his young friend. 
 
 " You look ill, Orme," said he anxiously, " very ill. 
 Have you kept clear of these fevers ? Is there anything 
 the matter ? " 
 
 Gilbert laughed, but it struck even Bella there was 
 something very forced and hollow in his laugh. 
 
 " Never was better ! " he answered, in a loud voice that 
 arrested the attention of the passers-by. " I need not ask 
 after yrni, or Gertrude, or my mother ; I suppose they are 
 all well. I suppose I shall see them by and by." 
 
 " Are you not going there now ? " said Bella, more than 
 ever struck with his strange look, and wondering the while 
 whether John Gordon had reached the Villa, and would 
 wait till they returned from their walk. 
 
 " No," he answered, speaking through his set teeth, like 
 a man in pain ; " I have something to do first. I cannot 
 stay. I am glad to have seen you. I must not wait any 
 longer, good-bye. Drive on," he added to the cabman, 
 " and make haste, there's a good fellow ; " muttering, as he 
 sank back into the cab, " You will get there soon enough ; 
 you will get there soon enough. What have I done to 
 deserve this punishment ? " 
 
 Bella and her father hastened homewards to the Regent's 
 Park ; on their way they encountered Lord Holyhead once 
 again ; and Bella's dark eyes brightened considerably as 
 she smiled her acknowledgments of his lordship's very
 
 EBB AND FLOW 301 
 
 marked and deferential salute. She tripped on with a 
 lighter step than usual after that courtesy, chatting gaily 
 with her father ; and her coming interview with the 
 returning traveller seemed to grow less and less formidable 
 every minute. A year ago she could not have faced John 
 Gordon half so coolly after an absence of oight-and-forty 
 hours. Do not blame her therefore. We cannot all be 
 mirrors of constancy and fidelity. In a world of change 
 like ours, it is surely better to be less immutable than 
 impressionable, to be more alive to the influence of the 
 present than the past. It may be heresy in love, but it is 
 sound common sense nevertheless in common life. Shall 
 everything around you change ? The trees, the climate, 
 the surface of the country ? Shall you, yourself, as your 
 doctor tells you, lose your own corporeal identity by the 
 process of waste and supply once in every seven years, and 
 shall your sentiments and affections, madam, undergo no 
 coiTesponding mutations ? Forbid it all the prescriptive 
 rights and privileges of womanhood ! Remember his Sen- 
 eschal's sage advice to the noble Moringer — 
 
 " Seven twelvemonths, did I say ? 
 I'll pledge me for no lady's faith 
 Beyond the seventh fair day ! " 
 
 In a hansom cab, rattling and bounding at a gallop 
 towards the Edge ware Road, is one who had better have 
 changed like the veriest dog-vane, veering at every breath 
 to every point, than sit as he does now, with closed jaw, 
 and fixed eye, and cold, clenched hands, nerving himself 
 like one who is about to meet his fate, and muttering 
 below his breath, " You will get there soon enough ! You 
 will get there soon enough ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXXin 
 
 "NEVER again" 
 
 For a certain space of time, how long or how short they 
 never afterwards distinctly remembered, neither spoke 
 more than a few common-place words of courteous greet- 
 ing. It needed no explanation to tell Gilbert that Mrs. 
 Latimer knew all ; that sad wistful face was more eloquent 
 than the wildest exclamations ; the resigned hopelessness 
 of her bearing showed more of suffering than would a 
 thousand complaints. She had expected him all day. 
 Well she knew that he would hurry to her the very instant 
 he arrived in London ; and her unselfish heart ached more 
 painfully for his misery than her own. She had desired 
 that he might be admitted ; she had resolved to grant him 
 this one interview, to use her gentle influence as far as 
 possible in softening the blow that was inevitable ; and 
 then, never to see him again. It was almost a relief to 
 perceive by the expression of his face, that he must have 
 made the same discovery as herself; it lightened her task 
 ever such a little. How different from the meeting she 
 had anticipated twenty-four hours ago ! when she was to 
 have given him up voluntarily with such ready generosity. 
 Was it easier to give him up now, when the impassable 
 gulf yawned between them ? Was the treasure less valu- 
 able because she must never so much as think of it again ? 
 She was the first to speak. Her heart was sore to see 
 his altered looks, his pale worn face, on which grief and 
 anxiety had set the marks as of physical pain. She 
 remembered him so well in the prime of health and 
 
 302
 
 ^ NEVER AGATN^ 
 
 happiness and manly vigour. What a contrast now! 
 She could scarce keep back her tears. 
 
 " You are ill ? " she said, and her voice shook ; while 
 from an impulse she could not resist, she took his hand. 
 " You look wretchedly. You are completely broken down. 
 Oh, Gilbert, Gilbert, for my sake do not give way like this ! " 
 
 It was too much. His heart was full ; and even a man's 
 pride was insufficient to control his weakness as he bent 
 over the dear hand he had hoj^ed to make his own. She 
 had to find courage and strength for both. Who can tell 
 what it cost her ? Who can calculate the struggle that 
 tore that fond true heart ! It is set down in a book ruled 
 with no earthly lines, and some day an angel will add it 
 up, and place the score exulting on the credit side. 
 
 She broke from him, and unlocked her writing-desk. 
 Taking out her husband's letter, she put it in Gilbert's 
 hand without a word, nor once took her eyes off his face 
 till he had read it through, refolded it, and returned it to 
 her with the same silent gravity. There was neither 
 astonishment, nor anger, nor reproach on his countenance, 
 nothing but the sad hopeless sorrow that cut her to the 
 soul. She wished he could blame her, argue with her, 
 quarrel with her, anything rather than this dumb, 
 piteous resignation. Once more, and, as it were, to 
 break the spell, she forced herself to speak. 
 
 " You know all now," she said. " We have been the 
 victims of a cruel deception ; and yet perhaps he could 
 not help it. Believe me, Mr. Orme, I have not injured 
 you willingly. There is but one path before us. We 
 must never meet again." 
 
 He raised his head stiffly. Those low gi'ave tones were 
 most unlike Gilbert's voice. 
 
 " Be it so," he replied. " At least I am consoled to see 
 you can bear it so cheerfully. At least I am glad to be 
 the only sufferer." 
 
 They were cruel words, and she felt them so ; but she 
 knew that men are unjust in proportion to the strength of 
 their affections ; and she could not bear to think that he 
 should go away and never do her justice, never know the 
 cost of her burnt-offering, purified by a fire that reduced 
 to ashes the altar on which it was kindled.
 
 304 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 " Do not say so," she answered, her eyes filling fast with 
 tears. " Do not believe I am utterly without feeling, 
 without heart. Do you think I can take a sponge at will 
 and wipe out the past, as you wipe off the figures from a 
 child's slate ? Do you think I can forget last year, with its 
 changes antl its misgivings, and its surprise of unspeakable 
 happiness ? Do not make my duty too difficult for me to 
 perfonn — do not make my burden too heavy for me to 
 bear — do not force me to confess that my misery is more 
 hopeless, my punishment heavier and more enduring than 
 your own." 
 
 His face cleared and brightened in a moment. A beam 
 of hope seemed to play on it once more. Something in 
 Ada's tone that spoke of human longing and vain natural 
 regret, seemed to call him, as it were, to the rescue. He 
 Avas a man, and he argued like a man, pressing into his 
 service all the considerations of sophistry, expediency, and 
 precedent which might at least, he thought, persuade, if 
 they were powerless to convince. He rose from his chair, 
 and his whole exterior seemed to glow and change, whilst 
 the full tones of the kindly voice smote sweetly, as of old, 
 upon her ear. With all the impassioned energy of a man 
 who is pleading for life and more than life, he urged upon 
 her every argument that love could suggest to fly at once 
 with him, and be his own for ever. He pleaded his faith, 
 his truth, his fond obedience, above all, his altered condi- 
 tion now, and his future destruction if deprived of her. 
 He was ready to leave England with her that minute — to 
 change his name — to accompany her to the remotest corner 
 of the earth, and there devote every hour of his life to her 
 service. They would be so contented, so happy. With a 
 fine climate and a beautiful country, and their own society, 
 all the world to each other, life would be a rapturous 
 dream. He drew such a picture of their future as dazzled 
 even his own mental vision. Gilbert was never deficient 
 in eloquence ; and the advocate's own being was indeed 
 wrapped up in his cause. Then he asked indignantly 
 what it was, this obstacle, that stood in the way of more 
 than earthly happiness ? A right granted without con- 
 sideration, and repudiated by the possessor's own deliberate 
 act ; an alliance never sanctioned by love, and dissolved
 
 'NEVER AGAIN' 305 
 
 by mutual consent of the contractors. Was this imaginary 
 difficulty to embitter the whole future lives of two guiltless 
 persons ? Was a superstitious adherence to a vow made 
 under mistaken conditions, and afterwards broken on the 
 one part, to debar her for ever from the inheritance of 
 every child of clay ? — the sunshine of the soul that gladdens 
 all alike, rich and poor, grand and lowly — that gives a zest 
 to the beggar's coarsest food, and kindles a glow upon the 
 peasant's fireless hearth. Was he to be the joint sutferer, 
 he who had loved her as a thousand Latimers could never 
 have done, to whom in her beauty she was the light of his 
 life, the very air he breathed ? 
 
 " Ada, Ada ! you are mine in the sight of heaven. 
 Will you sacrifice mo to hiin ? " 
 
 Since our Mother Eve was fain to listen to the whispers 
 of the serpent, it seems woman's lot to be tempted, 
 woman's lot to be in all cases the besieged and the assailed. 
 Woe to her if she be defeated ! — woe to her if she be sur- 
 prised by a coup-de-main, or compelled to surrender at 
 discretion ! In either case, whilst the conqueror flings 
 abroad his banner and trumpets forth his victory with all 
 the honours of war, the vanquished must be enslaved, 
 reviled, and humbled to the very dust. Vce vidis ! is the 
 battle-cry of less unpolished savages than Brennus, of 
 none more than the gentler sex themselves. I wonder on 
 Avhat principle of justice is founded the award that the 
 less erring of two culprits should bear the whole punish- 
 ment of their joint crime ? I wonder in what page of the 
 gospel I shall find authority for the conclusion, that the 
 same ofl^ence is in man a venial folly, in woman an un- 
 pardonable sin ? Is it brave and generous to trample 
 down the weak, and truckle to the strong? Is it the 
 Teacher's will that His disciples should be the first to 
 " break the bruised reed and quench the smoking flax " ? 
 If so, then society, as at present constituted, is indeed 
 established on a noble and Christian-like basis ! 
 
 Tempted she was indeed, and who can tell how sorely ? 
 Yet did Ada come out of the furnace pure and radiant as an 
 angel of light. It was hard to see him pleading there so 
 eagerly, hard to know what must be the result ofhis failure 
 in the one dear hope of his life, hardest of all to stifle the
 
 S66 GOOD FOR NOTEtNC^ 
 
 voice that cried for him so loudly in her own breast. Ada, 
 too, was not deficient in imagination. She could picture 
 to herself — oh, far too vividly — the happiness of a lot on 
 which she must not even dare to think ; could appreciate 
 Avith a thrill that was not altogether painful the intense 
 devotion that scrupled not for an instant to leave country 
 and friends and kindred, and all for her sake ; that would 
 Avillingly and thankfully lose everything else so it gained 
 but her. Men did not usually love like this. It luas some- 
 thing to have found the treasure ; ahis that it had been 
 won only to be given up ! Her visions, too, had been of a 
 golden future, rich in all the blessings of domestic happi- 
 ness and love ; a future that to a woman — and such a 
 woman as Ada — was a very t^^pe of heaven upon earth. 
 Now that it was imjwssihk she felt for the first time how 
 she had cherished and leant upon this future — how she 
 had made it the goal and the object of every thought and 
 every action — how it had indeed become a part of her very 
 existence, without which the life before her was a weary 
 and barren waste. 
 
 Then it seemed so easy to make herself and him happy. 
 What was the sacrifice of character and reputation and 
 earthly honour? Nothing for his sake. Nay, it would 
 be a pleasure to prove to him that she too could give up 
 all for one she loved. The opportunity was present, the 
 cage was open ; it seemed so easy to be free — so easy but 
 for one consideration. 
 
 " Gilbert," she said, and the loving look she bent upon 
 him was pure from all earthly feeling. " Gilbert, you 
 have often told me that my happiness was dearer to you 
 than your own; that you were capable of any effort, any 
 sacrifice, for my wcilfare. It was my pride and pleasure 
 to believe this, to know that you were different from 
 others, to feel that I could trust you and depend upon 
 you to the last. The time has come to put you to the 
 })roof Then; is right, Gilbert, and there is wrong. 
 Would you ask me to turn out of the path that leads to 
 heaven even for yon-r sake ? Would you wish to see me 
 lost body and soul ? Oh, I know you better than that ! 
 You }ire generous and chivalrous and good. Assist me 
 in my task, hard though it be. Join me in the painful
 
 ^ NEVER AGAIN' SO? 
 
 effort. I need never then be ashamed of the past. Do 
 not deprive me of my only consolation, but let me carry 
 with me that memory pure and unsullied into another 
 world." 
 
 He could almost have consented then never to see her 
 more. She had enlisted all his better feelings in the 
 cause. Was she not worthy of any sacrifice, though it 
 were his life's happiness, as she stood there so pure, so 
 sorrowing, so lovable — the soft cheek so pale and wan, 
 the tears gathering fost in those deep fond eyes ? Had 
 she been less beautiful she might have conquered. But 
 no, he could not give her up — could not voluntarily resign 
 her to another, his type of all that was most enslaving 
 and attractive, his very ideal of womanly perfection both 
 in body and mind. Right or wrong, if man could do it, 
 he would win her still. He could not stand upon the 
 heights that she had reached, nor breathe so pure an air 
 as that refined exalted nature. There was an earthly 
 leavening in his devotion, deep and absorbing though it 
 was — a drop in the cup of his affection which, like some 
 cunning poison, sweetened while it strengthened the 
 draught. Banishment from her presence was too severe 
 a sentence ; he could not bear it and live — he said so. 
 
 But she was firm. She who knew the danger so well, 
 whose eyes were not blinded by passion or self-interest, 
 though she had loved him entirely, though her future 
 life promised to be even sadder and lonelier than his 
 own. She could do right, though hers appeared far the 
 harder task of the two. We call them the weaker sex ; 
 we mock their frailties, their indecision, their inconstancy 
 and love of change ; yet I have known women bear 
 suffering both of body and mind without wincing, from 
 which a strong man has shrunk and turned away aghast. 
 
 " It must not be," she said softly, but decidedly. 
 " This is our last meeting upon earth. It is hard to say 
 farewell. Gilbert, if it will make you happier, I will 
 even pray that you may forget me." 
 
 He was angi'y, maddened, desperate. 
 
 " You have never loved me," he exclaimed wildly, " if 
 you can say such things to me now. You are like all 
 other women, and I was an idiot to suppose you different*
 
 308 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 So long as everything went on smoothly, while there was 
 little to lose and much to gain, so long was I in high 
 favour, and Mrs. Latimer saw nothing to be ashamed of 
 in the conquest of Gilbert Orme ; but directly there comes 
 a difficulty, directly she on her side has something to 
 give up, something to undergo, oh ! then it is quite 
 another thing, and the poor fool who cannot change his 
 affections as a lady does her dress, must sutler for his 
 infatuation during the rest of his life. Well, I thank 
 you for the lesson, Mrs. Latimer. I am not the first 
 man, I conclude, by a good many, who has had to learn 
 it ; though it has not been taught in the kindest manner, 
 I am the less likely to forget it. I shall not fall into the 
 same mistake again, you may be sure ! Oh ! I am likely 
 to be a wise, and a good, and a happy man hereafter ! " 
 
 He spoke in strong bitter irony ; hurt, angry, and self- 
 torturing. She could not answer him for sobbing, and he 
 went on, now softening at her distress, now lashing himself 
 once more into cruelty. 
 
 " If I might but live near you, and see you sometimes ; 
 if I might watch over you, Ada, and hear from you, and 
 be sure of your welfare. I would even be satisfied that 
 you should never hold communication with me so long 
 as you were well and happy, on condition that I might 
 come to you and aid you in sickness or distress. But no, 
 no, you shake your head, you deny me even a kind word, 
 a pitying look. False, heartless, ungrateful ! you never 
 cared for me, and I will crush and annihilate every feeling 
 I ever had for you as I trample this wretched flower 
 under my foot ! " 
 
 While he spoke, he took a sprig of geranium from a 
 stand on the table, and around it with a curse beneath 
 his heel. Then, without another word or look, turned 
 abruptly to the door, and left the apartment. 
 
 With fixed eyes and parted lips, Ada stretched out her 
 arms towards his receding figure. She tried to speak, 
 but her voice was gone. Like the vague noises of a 
 dream, she heard his footsteps die away \ipon the stair, 
 the closing of the street door, and the wheels of the cab 
 which had been waiting for him clattering away up the 
 street. Then for the first time she realised her desolation.
 
 'NEVER AGAIN' 309 
 
 She felt the agony she had undergone, and knew the 
 extent and the hopelessness of her loss. Never to see 
 him again ; neither to-day, nor to-morrow, nor next 
 month, nor through all the weary years they both might 
 live : never to hear his voice, nor see his handwriting, 
 nor know aught of him save through careless indifferent 
 third persons. Her dearest hope to be that he might 
 forget her, that he might belong exclusively to another, 
 and love that fortunate woman as well as he had loved 
 her. No ! she could not quite bring herself to that, and 
 yet how selfish to wish it otherwise. And half-an-hour 
 ago her destiny was in her own power ! Had she so 
 willed it, she might have been his own all her life. It 
 was a cruel reflection, and yet had it to be done again, 
 Ada thought she would again have found strength for 
 what she considered the right. 
 
 Nevertheless, she picked up the poor flower he had 
 crushed with such brutal harshness, and hid it away 
 sadly and tenderly in her bosom.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 THE THORN IN THE FLESH 
 
 It is a bright spring afternoon in the first flush of the 
 London season. The old story has begun over again with 
 fresh hopes, fresh schemes, a few fresh faces — the old 
 story of dining and driving and dressing, and pushing 
 on with calm polite energy that never relaxes, as though 
 it had some definite object for its goal. There are indeed 
 a few blanks amongst the rank and file of the 4lite. 
 The pale visitor who knocks at the door of lowly hut 
 and regal palace, alike regardless of the hall-porter's 
 " not at home " and the peasant-mother's imploring cry, 
 has taken care of that. Certain Amphitryons will bow 
 blandly to their guests no more ; a joker or two has 
 exchanged his thoughtless existence for something per- 
 haps a little more like real earnest ; Tiraon of Athens 
 has left a hatchment on his four-storeyed house, and his 
 afffiirs in a state of hopeless confusion ; yet the ball goes 
 round much the same. A few words of languid pity 
 comprise Timon's epitaph. " The fool of a doctor never 
 bled him. How well his horses sold at Tattersall's ; and 
 who has got his cook ? " His very cab-horse stands 
 opposite to them now as they sit in the bay-window of 
 their club; but Landless, Flippant, and the like have 
 already joaid tribute to his memory, as recorded above, 
 and are talking of something else. 
 
 Charley Wing has succeeded to a fortune. Charley 
 Wing has become the unexpected possessor of docks in 
 Liverpool, and acres in Buckinghamshire, and mines '\r\ 
 
 310
 
 TEE TUOBN IN THE FLESH 3U 
 
 Cornwall, and money in the Funds. No longer a gay 
 condottiere living from hand to mouth, looking perpetually 
 over his shoulder for somebody who " wants " him, reduced 
 to his last shifts to obtain credit for his gloves, Charley 
 Wing has become a man of substance — a landholder, a 
 capitalist. The change has had its usual effect. From 
 a light-hearted open-handed " good-for-nothing," he has 
 become a morose close-fisted curmudgeon. The ci-de/vant 
 dandy Avalks about now with thick soles and a cotton 
 umbrella. Landless asked him last week to lend him 
 a " pony." 
 
 " Only a pony, I give you my honour," said that experi- 
 enced borrower, in a tone of injured feeling, "and he has 
 never spoken to me since, besides refusing point-blank. 
 The infernal screw ! " 
 
 The pony would have been useful to Landless, who 
 owes money to everybody that will trust him. A year 
 ago, if Charley Wing by rare accident had a five-pound 
 note in his pocket, it was at the service of the first person 
 who asked for it. The evergreen Flippant, settling his 
 neckcloth and feeling the padding of his coat, opines that 
 " it's all up with a fellow when he gets into more than ten 
 thousand a year," and his auditors, having applauded 
 Flippant's remark, as is their custom, the latter struts 
 away with the hapj)y persuasion that he has perpetrated 
 a jest, Holyhead joins the group, and nods to a man in 
 the street, who walks moodily by, with his eyes fixed on 
 the pavement, and who takes no notice of the salute nor 
 of his friends in the window. 
 
 " Gad," says Landless, " there's a fellow that, according 
 to Flippant, must have come in for a pot of money. It's 
 all up with Orme since he went to that queer Australian 
 climate. I never saw a man so changed in my life. He 
 was never likely to set the Thames on fire ; but still he 
 used to be a cheery, amusing bird enough, and now you 
 can't get a word out of him, good or bad. You know him, 
 Holyhead, better than anybody — what's the matter with 
 him ? Is it lungs, or liver, or lawsuits, or what ? " 
 
 " How d'ye mean he can't set the Thames on fire ? " 
 interrupted Holyhead, rising freely, as was his wont, in 
 d^fejoce of fin absent friend. " There's not a fellow of our
 
 312 GOOD FOR NOT U TNG 
 
 own set 's got better brains than Orme. If he turned his 
 mind to it, I would back him to write a book, hanged if I 
 wouldn't " (" Nobs " always avowed that he considered the 
 production of a book, good or bad, as the nc 2Jli'-'S ultra of 
 mental ability). " He's only seedy after a sea-voyage, 
 that's all. So would you be, Landless, if that great 
 stomach of yours was turned inside out without inter- 
 mission for twelve or fom-teen weeks. He'll be all right 
 after the Derby. A fellow never feels as if he was 
 thoroughly at home again till he has seen a Derby, you 
 know." 
 
 Holjdiead did not think exactly as he spoke. He, too, 
 had not failed to remark the visible alteration in his 
 friend's looks and manner; had been hurt to observe that 
 his own society, once so welcome, was now shunned as 
 much as possible, and had, indeed, given many an anxious 
 thought to the state of Orme's mind and spirits ; but he 
 was too staunch and judicious a friend to make Gilbert's 
 feelings the topic of conversation in a club, and was not 
 sorry, moreover, to " pooh-pooh " any suggestions of Land- 
 less, whom in his heart he considered a " gossiping old 
 fool." 
 
 That worthy, however, had not done with him yet. He 
 laid his cane impressively on Holyhead's shoulder, and 
 lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. 
 
 " Something wrong," said he, with a shake of his head. 
 " Depend upon it, my dear fellow, there's a screw loose 
 somewhere. Just like his poor father. I remember him 
 well, though he was rather before my time, you know. 
 He went just in the same way — gave up hunting and 
 society and all that; took to living quite by himself; 
 grew perfectly childish, I've been told ; and at last died 
 very suddenly in his arm-chair. They hushed it all up, I 
 remember ; but everybody down there was persuaded he 
 had made away with himself It's in the blood, depend 
 upon it — in the blood. I know what these things are, 
 and I should never be surprised at anything in that 
 family." 
 
 " Nonsense," retorted Holyhead, fairly provoked, and in 
 another minute ho was galloping off in the direction of 
 the Park, to get rid of his misgivings, if possible, by rapid
 
 TEE THORN IN THE FLESH 31 S 
 
 motion; Avhilst Landless, taking up the evening paper, 
 fell to its perusal with the calm satisfaction of one who 
 has succeeded in making his neighbour thoroughly un- 
 comfortable. 
 
 It required, indeed, no great perception to observe a 
 change in the demeanour of Gilbert Orme ; for a few 
 weeks after his return he had disappeared altogether, and 
 even his most intimate friends never knew how or where 
 those weeks of wild, passionate sorrow had been spent. 
 From my own knowledge of his character, I incline to 
 think he remained in London during that dreary period. 
 There are some spirits that find relief from suffering in 
 restlessness, in perpetual motion, and continuous excite- 
 ment. For these there are strong hopes of recovery. 
 They wear out body and mind with the violence and 
 rapidity of their motions, till nature will be denied no 
 longer, and exhaustion forces on them the anodyne of rest. 
 It is grievous to wake to consciousness once more, and the 
 treatment must in all probability be repeated over and 
 over again till it produces its effect. Each fresh paroxysm 
 becomes less painful, each love of oblivion deeper than its 
 predecessor. Wave after wave of self-consuming sorrow 
 succeeds at long intervals, and the troubled ocean subsides 
 into a cold, sad calm at last. Others, again, seem to be 
 stunned and crushed by the blow they have sustained. 
 They gaze wildly around, apparently incapable of an effort 
 for their own preservation. Dull and stupefied, they take 
 no note of anything but the fatality that has overtaken 
 them. Perhaps with touching helplessness they hover 
 aimlessly about the spot where the wreck went to pieces 
 when she came ashore. They would hide themselves and 
 their woes from their fellow-men ; they want no sympathy, 
 no assistance ; they only ask to be left unnoticed and 
 alone. For such there is little hope. The wild animal 
 carries his wound home to the solitude of his den, but he 
 reaches it only to die. 
 
 Those few weeks were a blank in Gilbert's life. It is 
 needless to say how he repented of his bitter words and 
 violent reiDroaches in his last interview with Ada. How 
 twenty-four hours had not elapsed ere he was willing to 
 submit to anything, however humiliating, only to see her
 
 314 OOOD FOB NOTHING 
 
 again. How he went back the following day to her house 
 at the earliest hour decency would permit, and found that 
 she was gone. 
 
 " Gone out of town," the maid said, "and given up her 
 lodgings, and left no address. She was quite sure there 
 was no address. Mrs. Latimer went away last night," 
 
 Every word struck cold as ice to his heart. He went 
 straight to his mother's. In the drawing-room was an 
 open note to Gertrude in Ada's handwriting. The former 
 lady was not yet dressed. It had evidently arrived the 
 evening before, and been thrown carelessly aside after 
 perusal. It contained only a few lines, stating that the 
 writer was " summoned into the country unexpectedly, 
 and should bo unable to attend her ladyship any more." 
 He crushed it up in his hand with a curse, and then 
 he pressed it to his lips tenderly and with a ghastly smile. 
 How many fond happy tears in former days had dropped 
 on those delicate characters, and now it seemed a cruel 
 mockery that they should record his sentence. He waited 
 to see no one, but rushed incontinently from the house, 
 and it was several weeks ere Lady Olivia, or Lady Ger- 
 trude, or any of them heard of him again. 
 
 Ada had indeed sought safety in flight. Enclosing a 
 few hurried lines to her husband's agents, she informed 
 them of her projected departure, and her intention of 
 writinsr to them asfain with her new address, which she 
 insisted must be communicated to no one but Mr. Latimer 
 on his arrival. 
 
 From the uncertainty of his movements, she was spared 
 the trial of having to answer her husband's letter. She 
 was stern and pitiless. With that dogged resolution 
 which sustains women in an effort of self-sacrifice, she 
 stifled all the softer and kindlier feelings of her nature, 
 forcing herself into what she deemed the performance of 
 her duty with the savage energy of despair. And she 
 thought, poor Ada ! that she could sustain this high- 
 wrought part — that her own heart would not soon smite 
 her too keenly on his behalf, whom she knew to be in 
 sadness and loneliness and desolation — that the reaction 
 would not come and leave her weaker, fonder, more help- 
 less, more miserable than before.
 
 THE THORN IN THE FLESH 315 
 
 However, she went out of town, and left no trace by 
 which he could follow her or obtain information of her 
 whereabouts; and after a time Gilbert reappeared on that 
 stage on which the characters wear their motley with 
 such appropriate gestures, on which the performers are so 
 well " up " in their respective parts. 
 
 London, particularly in the season, is no place for the 
 indulgence of solitary grief A man cannot well sulk or 
 mope by himself whose breakfast-table is covered with 
 cards and invitations, whose leisure is continually broken 
 in upon by acquaintances calling themselves friends, and 
 who have a thousand schemes of pleasure and pastime, of 
 which they have elected him a principal partaker. He 
 allows himself to be carried away by the tide, and joins in 
 amusements for which he has no zest from sheer want of 
 energy to make head against the flood. 
 
 I am not sure but that the pale convive sitting at the 
 board, clad in brave apparel, and crowned with the festive 
 wreath, is not a drearier sight, as he quaffs his wine with 
 ghastly smiles, than the cowering wretch who shrinks 
 from his fellows in honest helplessness, neither afraid to 
 bemoan his sorrow nor ashamed to confess his sufferings. 
 As usual, the braver nature must take the deepest wounds 
 the while it carries the highest crest, and the serge jerkin 
 is opened at once to dress scars that must stiffen uncared- 
 for beneath a cloth of gold. 
 
 Gilbert could not refuse to acknowledge his acquaint- 
 ances, because he no longer took the slightest interest in 
 them and their doings, nor to dine with his former 
 associates simply because he was himself restless and 
 unhappy. Insensibly he glided into something of his pre- 
 vious life, kept the same hours, frequented the same clubs, 
 cut off his beard, dressed like other men of his age, and 
 went through the usual routine of what is termed " good 
 society." But the zest was gone from everything he did 
 — there was the bitterness of gall in the cup, quaff it as 
 bravely as he might — a sting in every pleasure rankling 
 and probing to his heart's core. I heard a lad complain- 
 ing once to a surgeon that he had run a thorn deep into 
 his hand, and whenever he moved, whatever he touched, 
 he wa,5 reminded of its presence by the pain. " Cut it
 
 316 GOOD FOR NOTHTNG 
 
 out," was the sage and medical advice given. "Oh, doctor," 
 said the boy, " it would hurt luore to cut it out than to 
 bear it as it is!" I have often thought of my young friend 
 and his philosophy, not diifering entirely from Handet's. 
 How many of us have a thorn that we would fain be rid of, 
 and yet that we go on enduring, afraid to face the pain 
 of eradication ■ How many a burden would be thrown off, 
 how many a chain broken, how many a complaint spared, 
 could we b\it bring ourselves to contemplate unshrinkingly 
 the possibility of " cutting it out " ! Every day it works 
 deeper and deeper, burrowing through the flesh to in- 
 corporate itself with the bone — every day the ditticulty of 
 extraction becomes greater — more and more we wince 
 from the probe. At last we resign ourselves helplessly to 
 our pain. Habit is second nature — it becomes part and 
 parcel of ourselves. Perhaps the boy was right, after all, 
 and " it would hurt more to cut it out than to bear it as 
 it is ! " 
 
 I do not think that at this time Gilbert was an agree- 
 able companion. He took to drinking deeply, not with 
 the jovial abandon that glosses over, if it cannot excuse, 
 that vice, but with a morose determination anything but 
 characteristic of a hon camarade. After these bouts he 
 would go into society with a flushed brow and haggard 
 eyes to stand in silence contemplating the scene with in- 
 difference, or to whisper a few sardonic remarks to his 
 next neighbour, who, if of the fair sex, was pretty sure to 
 api)rove of his observations. The best and kindliest of 
 women are not proof against well-directed satire aimed at 
 their friends. His potations seemed to have no effect 
 upon his demeanour, certainly not to raise his spirits — the 
 latter indeed were observed to sink lowur and lower with 
 the waning decanters. Gilbert seldom laughed now; 
 when he did, those who heard his merriment cared little 
 to have it repeated. It was not a healthy ebullition — 
 not the least like a child's mirth. Altogether, he wtxs 
 strangely altered. Some of the ladies thought him im- 
 proved, but these were chiefly dames who found them- 
 selves, to use their own jargon, considerably hlasdes, and 
 who would have greeted Mephist()|)heles himself in a 
 white neckcloth with the utmost cordiality, if he promised
 
 THE THORN IN THE FLESH 317 
 
 to be different from the people they usually met. Mrs. 
 Montpellier was quite concerned about him. She stood 
 for an hour in a corner of the blue drawing-room at 
 Ormolu House talking to Holyhead conlidentially of his 
 friend, regardless of the construction charitable observers 
 might put on this long conversation. 
 
 " Got him out of London, I cnti'eat you," said she, with 
 kindly sympathy melting in her dark eyes. " Get him to 
 Bath or Brighton, or abroad to drink the waters, or any- 
 where. I tell you he's killing himself here. Look at 
 him ! did you ever see anybody so altered ? What are all 
 his friends about ? Dear ! how I wish I was his mother ! 
 I should march him off with me down into the country, 
 and nurse him till he got well. You know what a life he 
 is leading. You men know everything, only you all screen 
 one another. Up all night, and dissipating and gambling, 
 I hear; and, worse than all, losing his health and his looks 
 day by day. And he used to be such a dear, bright, 
 fresh-coloured boy. Now promise me, promise me, Lord 
 Holj'head, that you'll try and do something to save him 
 before it is too late ! " 
 
 Good-hearted Holyhead strove to calm Mrs. Mont- 
 pellier's anxieties, assuring her that they were entirely 
 without foundation, that Gilbert's altered looks were but 
 the eftect of climate, and that his late hours and extrava- 
 gances were but bad habits contracted in the colonies, 
 which he would soon lose again now that he had returned 
 to his former associates ; but he succeeded neither in re- 
 assuring the lady nor himself Mrs. Montpellier shook 
 her glossy black head, vowing she would lace the whole 
 Visigoth set, and attack Lady Olivia herself on behalf of 
 her son, rather than let things go on as they were ; whilst 
 Holyhead, who had his own reasons for knowing the truth 
 of these reports about Orme's wild caprices and his late 
 losses at play, determined to expostulate with him forth- 
 with as to the imprudence and folly of the way in which 
 he was going on. 
 
 He watched his opportunity accordingly, and regardless 
 of entreating glances cast at him from many a shawled 
 beauty and hooded chaperon, who wanted him to call up 
 their carriages, he followed Gilbert down the steps of
 
 m &oot) Pon NOTHtm 
 
 Ormolu House as the latter emerged with the obvious 
 intention of departing alone and on foot; and, taking his 
 arm nolens volens, expressed his determination of walking 
 home with him for a quiet chat. It is no easy matter to 
 commence taking even the most intimate friend to task 
 concerning his habits, demeanour, and general conduct, 
 but Holyhead was not a man to beat about the bush 
 when he knew where the game lay ; and, lighting a cigar, 
 he phmged at once without hesitation in mcdias res. 
 
 " Gilbert," said the peer, emitting the smoke from his 
 mouth in short sharp puffs, as was his custom when ])ecu- 
 liarly energetic, " they tell me you are playing the devil. 
 I am the oldest friend you have, you know, and I don't 
 care a straw whether I offend you or not. You're getting 
 into the worst set in London. I haven't seen you at a 
 respectable house till to-night for a week. You've lost 
 no end of money — more than even you can afford — within 
 the last few days; and everybody is talking about your 
 altered manner and strange ways. One by one you're 
 losing every friend you ever had. You must take a pull, 
 old fellow, you must indeed. Hang it ! you're nob a 
 fool, though you're behaving like one. You can't go 
 on so." 
 
 " What do you wish me do ? " said Gilbert, in such a 
 quiet hopeless tone as disappointed his friend sadly. 
 Holyhead had almost wished he would quarrel with him, 
 pull him up for his interference, give him an opportunity 
 of saying a host of sharp things, and of rescuing his friend, 
 so to speak, with the strong hand from himself; but this 
 gentle, unquestioning acquiescence disarmed the peer 
 completely, upset his whole mode of attack, and confused 
 all his operations. 
 
 " Do ? " repeated he ; " why, come with me to Germany, 
 or Switzerland, or Norway, or anywhere you like. Get 
 out of London, and into fresh air and a quiet life. I'll go 
 with you to-morrow, if you'll only say the word, and pitch 
 every engagement I have to the devil. Hang it ! old 
 fellow, you're the dearest friend I have, or I wouldn't 
 speak to you as I do." 
 
 " You are a kind good follow," answered Gilbert, and 
 again the utter hopelessness of his tone sank into his
 
 ^RH THORN m THE PLESH 319 
 
 friend's heart. " But what is the use ? — what is the use ?" 
 He repeated the words vacantly, and, as it seemed, 
 unconsciously. 
 
 Holyhead was at a nonplus. There was something in 
 all this beyond his simple skill to fathom or to set right. 
 He stopped beneath a gaslight and peered anxiously into 
 his companion's face. There was that in it which he could 
 not rightly understand. Everybody who knew "Nobs" 
 said that his heart was in the right place. Something 
 like a tear glistened on his shaggy cheek as he grasped 
 his friend's arm once more, and spoke in a softened and 
 broken voice. 
 
 " Gilbert, I never had a brother, but I could not have 
 loved fifty brothers as well as I do you. There's some- 
 thing wrong, very wrong, I can see plainly. Trust me. 
 Tell me what it is. I don't care what you've done. I'll 
 stand by you through thick and thin. Only trust me. 
 Only tell me what I can do for you." 
 
 The other burst out laughing. Orme's temper was so 
 variable now, you never knew whether he would be grave 
 or gay for five minutes together. 
 
 " You're quite in the blues to-night, Nobs," said he, 
 with harsh jeering merriment. " What the devil should 
 I have to confess worse than the rest of us ? You don't 
 think I've robbed a church, do you ? or that, if I had, I 
 should be sorry for it ? Cheer up, old fellow ! every man 
 for himself, you know. When I want you, I'll come to 
 you. Don't be offended ; you mean well, I'm sure, but 
 you don't make allowances for a fellow like me — a fellow 
 that cares for nobody, and has nobody to care for him. It's 
 a jolly life — vo^i/. You can't think how happy I am some- 
 times. Here we are at my door. Will you come in and 
 drink brandy, or go quietly home to bed ? You won't ? 
 Well, then, I must take your allowance and my own too. 
 There's nothing like it. II scgreto per esser felicc, you 
 know." And he trolled out the famous drinking-song 
 from Lucrctia Borgia in rich manly tones, scarcely yet 
 impaired by his failing health. 
 
 Holyhead bade him " Good-night " with a sad wistful 
 countenance, and betook himself to his own bachelor 
 home at a far slower pace than ordinary, shaking his head
 
 320 GOOD FOE NOTHING 
 
 moodily at intervals as he strode along the streets. The 
 peer was at his wits' end — not a long distance, certainly 
 — 3'et had he never arrived so obviously at that terminus 
 before. As he drew his latch-key from his pocket, he 
 startled the pcjliceman on duty by the energy with which 
 he gave vent to this remarkable expression — 
 
 " F&undcd, by Jupiter ! There must be a woman at the 
 bottom of it ! " 
 
 And Gilbert drank brandy as he had threatened ; ay, 
 and a darker fluid than brandy, poured drop by drop from 
 a phial — a fluid without which he could now never know 
 a moment's composure or repose ; and then he sallied 
 forth again, with many a bitter laugh at his own weak- 
 ness, and crossed the Edgeware Road, and flitted to and 
 fro about a certain dreary street, as they say the miser's 
 ghost flits aimlessly about the sjwt which concealed his 
 buried treasure long ago.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 A FELLOW-FEELING 
 
 The only person in whom Gilbert seemed to confide, or 
 in whose society at this period he seemed to take the 
 slightest pleasure, was his cousin, Lady Gertrude. There 
 might have been some secret sympathy between these 
 two ; for Gertrude also, with no obvious cause for uneasi- 
 ness, was not happy. It may appear strange that a young 
 lady possessed of her advantages, both of person and 
 position, rejoicing, moreover, in a good constitution and a 
 fortune of thirty thousand pounds, should have a care or 
 an annoyance beyond the folds of her dress and the circum- 
 ference of her crinoline ; but pleasures and sorrows are 
 pretty equally distributed amongst all classes in this 
 world of ours, and the peer's daughter is no more free 
 from the latter than the peasant lass is debarred from 
 the former of these necessities of existence. When the 
 princess meets the milkmaid, in the fair}' tale, and makes 
 the latter the confidante of her woes, do we not find that 
 her little world of hopes and fears and jealousies and 
 anxieties is very like that of her low-born companion ? 
 Nay, that Dolly's very often is the most enviable lot of 
 the two ? Though «he have to rise at daybreak, and milk 
 the cows on a misty morning, though she break her fast 
 on brown bread, and wear a coarse but not unbecoming 
 petticoat, she enjoys several advantages that are not com- 
 manded by her noble friend in brocade. Dolly can come 
 and go unquestioned, if not unnoticed, to and from her 
 
 321 X
 
 322 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 tryst beneath the hawthorn tree. Dolly's gambols at 
 fair and market are, if not uncensured, at least unchal- 
 lenged by her gossiping comrades. Free-handed Dolly 
 can box her swain's ears for attempting a kiss, or offer her 
 red lips to that smacking salute without fear of discovery; 
 and may jig it all Saturday night at a merry-making with 
 Hodge if she will, and find her freedom unimpaired by 
 her activity on Sunday morning. But precious Perdita 
 must do none of those things. Perdita must not go across 
 the threshold of the palace unattended. Perdita must by 
 no means overheat her pretty self with exercise, or wet 
 her tiny feet in the morning dew. Above all things, 
 Perdita must be careful of every look or sign she casts 
 amongst the household, more particularly that portion of 
 it which wears doublet and hose. Perdita may dance a 
 minuet with the (Irand Falconer, a venerable nobleman, 
 feathered and hooded and beaked like one of his own 
 hawks ; but she must not so much as speak to the hand- 
 some equerries, or look at the roguish pages ; and as for 
 that beautiful young prince to whom she has been be- 
 trothed unseen, and with whose portrait she has fallen in 
 love, etiquette forbids poor Perdita to mention his name, 
 or inquire about his movements, or even to seem aware of 
 the happiness for which she is destined. Despite of the 
 brocade and the confectionery, the gilded chambers and 
 royal coaches, the silks and satins, and diamond oar-rings 
 and glass slippers, I cannot but think that I would rather 
 be Dolly the milkmaid than Perdita the princess. 
 
 Now, although no young person in London succeeded in 
 getting her own way more effectually than did Lady Ger- 
 trude, there was, so to speak, a rose-leaf rumpled amongst 
 all her mattresses, which for the present destroyed her 
 comfort and disturbed her repose. 
 
 It is perhaps in my reader's remembrance, that on a 
 certain occasion during the previous year a sufficiently 
 cavalier farcAvell was taken of an old friend in Portland 
 Place, bound for a longer voyage than is usual with the 
 denizens of that locality ; but I cannot expect my reader 
 to be intuitively aware how that careless greeting after- 
 wards rankled in the minds of the two individuals con-
 
 A FELLOW-FEELING 823 
 
 cerned. Above all, how the lady brooded over it month 
 after month with ever-increasing remorse ; how she would 
 have given anything she possessed to recall it ; how she 
 had resolved to make amends for it, and do away with the 
 recollection of it on the first opportunity; and how, when 
 the opportunity arrived, and John Gordon, swarthier, 
 squarer, and sterner than ever, made his reappearance in 
 Belgrave Square, Lady Gertrude, much to her dismay, 
 found the tables completely turned, and herself in the 
 unpleasant position of one who was virtually asking for- 
 giveness for an offence which had either never been 
 perceived, or was now completely forgotten. I recollect a 
 sardonic old trainer at Newmarket who, when his wife 
 disputed with him, never vouchsafed her a reply, not from 
 any amiable motive of concession, but with the persuasion 
 that such a course of treatment was the greatest punish- 
 ment he could inflict. " Women," said the ancient mis- 
 ogynist, with a grin, " women hate a walk over ! " And 
 indeed nothing can be so disappointing to those gentle 
 beings as to discover that they have brought up all their 
 artillery against an object which melts into air the 
 moment they have pointed their guns. It must be aggra- 
 vating to find ready submission where one has expected 
 resistance " worthy of one's steel," stolid indifference where 
 one anticipated entreaties and reproaches and complaints, 
 obedience to those cruel commands it was never one's 
 real wish to see enforced. I think if I was a woman 
 under such circumstances I should sit down and cry. I 
 believe they sometimes do. 
 
 John Gordon, when he returned to England, had paid 
 an early visit, as in duty bound, to Belgrave Square. 
 Even Lady Olivia was glad to see his honest dark face 
 again, and greeted him with a cordiality foreign to her 
 customary deportment. Gertrude, on the other hand, for 
 the first time in her life, felt troubled and uneasy, whiter 
 than was becoming, whilst he followed the servant who 
 announced him through the ante-room, and redder than 
 was convenient when she gave him her hand and welcomed 
 him home. There was no lingering pressure in his grasp, no 
 change of voice, nor colour, nor bearing, while he returned
 
 324 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 her greeting ; neither indecision nor uncertainty in the 
 bright inscrutable eyes. If ever John Gordon looked like 
 a man of iron, it was at that moment ; and yet it was a 
 moment he had anticipated and dwelt upon during many 
 an hour of toil on laud and wearisome monotony at sea. 
 He meant that it should be his last look upon his imagin- 
 ary Eden, his last gasp of the scented air from those 
 gardens which must bloom for him no more. 
 
 John was a straightforward and determined man. With 
 the fall of his worldly prospects, he was content to accept 
 its inevitable accompaniment, the destruction of his castle 
 in the air, with its moat and postern, its pinnacles and 
 battlements, its bower of beauty and its stately keep, even 
 of the tender flower that clung about its wall. What 
 matter to us the strong man's dreams, all the fairer, per- 
 haps, and gentler because of the stern moulding of his 
 nature ? What matter the future he could imagine so 
 vividly with a woman's tenderness and a child's trust ? or 
 the abiding affection, deep and pure and strong as his own 
 honest heart ? or the iron links that only such men can 
 rivet, that only such men can break ? He had strength to 
 sweep them all away, like so many fibres of gossamer 
 before the cold north wind. He had strength to accept 
 his task as it was offered him, and to do right for right's 
 sake. 
 
 So when her aunt departed to her own den, as was her 
 custom, and left the two young people alone in the back 
 drawing-room, John took up his hat incontinently to go 
 too. Lady Gertrude, quaking in her chair for what was to 
 come next, did not sufhciently apjareciate the relief she 
 ought to have derived from this movement. In good 
 truth, her first feeling was one of disappointment, suc- 
 ceeded by a keen sense of anger and a strong inclination 
 to cry. But she resolved that she had some reparation to 
 make for that heartless speech over which she had been 
 brooding for so many months. She clung to the excuse 
 that she was herself in the wrong, that he had a perfect 
 right to expect some amends, some explanation. The 
 difficulty was how to .set about it. 
 
 " You — you njust have found it very hot in Australia,"
 
 A FELLOW-FEELING 325 
 
 was the young lady's insidious method of postponing the 
 dreaded moment, and commencing the conversation. 
 
 " Very," answered John absently, looking down the 
 while, and thinking what a pretty little foot it was that 
 peeped so coyly from beneath the folds of that primrose- 
 coloured morning-dress. 
 
 " Are you not very glad to come home ? " asked the 
 fair diplomatist ; a leading question, you may observe, and 
 likely to produce remarks of a personal nature. There 
 was an unusual softness in Lady Gertrude's voice, a 
 timidity and hesitation in her manner that attracted 
 John Gordon's attention to her face ; the dark eyes shone 
 with a mild lustre, and the colour came and went under 
 the clear delicate skin. 
 
 " I went away because I was obliged," answered he 
 sturdily ; " I came back for the same reason. We men of 
 business, you know, Lady Gertrude, have no such fancies 
 as likes and dislikes." 
 
 She looked hurt and disappointed ; she paused for a 
 moment, and, though her voice shook a little, she tried 
 again — 
 
 " I thought I should have seen you to wish you good- 
 bye. I had no idea you would really sail on such short 
 notice. Gilbert told us a great deal about you in his 
 letters ; we were ahvays so glad to hear. Mr. Gordon, you 
 must have thought me very unkind the last time we met ; 
 I did not mean to be so. Indeed, I am rejoiced to see you 
 back again." 
 
 There was a moisture in the shining eyes as she gave 
 him her hand, with a pretty little imploring gesture, very 
 winning in one usually so haughty and composed. John 
 had need of all his resolution, all his firmness, not to raise 
 it to his lips, to steal his arm round hei-, and take her 
 once for all to his heart. But he was determined, imcom- 
 promising, and with certain old-fashioned ideas of honour 
 and probity in his dealings with the weaker sex, now very 
 generally exploded ; so he held the little hand reverently 
 and somewhat sorrowfully in his own. 
 
 " Believe me, Lady Gertrude," said he, " I have too few 
 friends to lose one by taking offence where it is not
 
 326 GOOD FOR NOTmN(^ 
 
 meant ; I am proud to be numbered amongst yours. I 
 hope, however seldom we may meet in future, you will 
 always consider me one of the truest and sincerest you 
 have." 
 
 With that he relinquished the hand, not daring to trust 
 himself any longer in that too attractive society, and 
 abstaining from another glance at Gertrude's tearful face, 
 hurried out of the room and was gone. 
 
 They seldom met after this. John Gordon, putting his 
 shoulder practically to the wheel, wont less and less into 
 society ; and Lady Gertrude, attending, as is the wont of 
 fjashionable young ladies, party after party all the week 
 through, thought it must be the sameness of her amuse- 
 ments that so palled upon her fancy, and the intense 
 stupidity of her friends that made those wearisome 
 festivities so dull. 
 
 Had you hinted to her that it was an irritating process, 
 and of a saddening tendency, to scan those same crowds 
 for one stern dark face, night after night in vain, and that 
 the failure of the search might fairly account for the dis- 
 gust and ennui of the seeker, who would have denied the 
 accusation so indignantly as Lady Gertrude ? 
 
 Perhaps some unacknowledged harmony of feeling 
 between the two may have made her at this epoch 
 extremely tolerant of her cousin's society, extremely for- 
 bearing to his whims ; for Gilbert was no longer the 
 merry acceptable guest, whose entrance into a room was 
 like the taking down of a shutter, letting in a flood of 
 enlivening light. On the contrary, his gloomy though 
 impatient glance more resembled some resinous torch, 
 which cast a lurid glare on every surrounding object, now 
 flarinor into fantastic flames, now smoulderinof down to a 
 deep red glow, suggestive of burning pain and condensed 
 fury, ready at any moment to burst forth. 
 
 It soothed him, though, to be with Gertrude. All the 
 old cousinly confidences began to return. Twice or three 
 times a week Gilbert was sure to find himself in Belgrave 
 Square ; and Gertrude, with womanly tact and tenderness, 
 was satisfied to mitigate and distract his sorrows without 
 inquiring too closely into their origin. She too felt she
 
 A FELLOW-FEELING 327 
 
 was doing good — the only balm for a wounded spirit, the 
 only possible chance by which those who are injured in 
 their tenderest affections can hope to divert their minds 
 from their own selfish griefs — selfish, indeed, and morbid 
 and imaginary, yet none the less painful for that. These 
 fancied woes are sometimes harder to bear than the real 
 tangible trials of life. It is only the old and worn-out — 
 those who have outlived their hopes and fears — who are 
 capable of analysing the sensations of the heart, long 
 since dead within their breasts. Will they not agree with 
 me, that most of the pleasures and the pains of that life 
 which once seemed to them so important were purely and 
 essentially imaginary ? 
 
 Why did your tears flow fresh and fast in a foreign 
 clime, when they sent you a withered flower that had 
 bloomed on your mother's grave ? Why did your heart 
 leap and thrill for joy when you read that the brother 
 whom you have not seen since he left school, whom you 
 would not know if you met him to-morrow a grown man, 
 big and bearded and bronzed by an Indian sun, had won 
 the Victoria Cross with which our Queen rewards the 
 bravest of the brave ? Was it a corporeal and substantial 
 annoyance that spoiled your dinner and kept you awake 
 half the night because you were told Mrs. Verjuice had 
 declared your wit to be buffoonery, and your genius an 
 imposition, and your character a humbug ? — or can you 
 account upon any rational and material principles for the 
 delight which you experienced when Fanny gave you a 
 flower out of her bouquet at supper, and vowed you were 
 the best waltzer in the room ? You never entertained 
 serious designs upon that affable young lady ; soft as you 
 were, you were never soft enough to be taken in by flirting 
 Fanny's ways, and yet you were more pleased with the 
 compliment and the rosebud than if any one had given 
 you a hundred pounds. Yes, we may soon lose ourselves 
 m the definitions of the real and ideal — where does the 
 one end and the other begin ? Hunger and thirst and 
 fatigue are scarcely more physical sensations than love 
 and hate and fear. A knock on the head does not stun 
 you more effectually than the tidings of a great sorrow,
 
 328 GOOD FOR NOTHTNO 
 
 Anxiety, disappointment, and wounded affection will 
 defiace the physical man far more than fevers and such 
 bodily ailniL-nts ; the frame that hardshij) and climate 
 have not wasted will droop and dwindle under the 
 gnawing influence of discontent ; and even on the out- 
 ward brow care plows her furrows deeper far than pain. 
 
 Lady Gertrude's bright eyes and buoyant step were 
 losing day b}^ day sonu'thing of brilliancy and vigour, 
 whilst her cousin looked ten yeai's older than he had 
 looked a twelvemonth ago. People said it was all owing 
 to that odious Australian climate. 
 
 But whatever might have been the power of foncy in 
 poisoning the happiness of the denizens of Belgrave 
 Square, those of Verbena Villa had to contend with a 
 real and actual foe, whose advances would admit of no 
 compromise and no half me.xsures. Despite of the 
 alderman's wilful blindness, despite of Bella's schemes of 
 retrenchment, despite even of John Gordon's honest 
 intelligence and unceasing exertions, the crash had come 
 at last. With the rest of the alderman's personalty 
 Verbena Villa must go to the hammer ; and to the 
 hammer accordingly went "that desirable residence," with 
 its furniture and fixtures, its grand pianoforte, its double 
 coach-house, and all its api^urtenances and belongings. 
 
 It was a sad break-up and blow to the old alderman, 
 but Bella bore it bravely as a heroine, and busied herself 
 in making the loiigings to which they removed at 
 Brighton as comfortable as circumstances would permit. 
 She redoubled her care and tenderness to her father ; she 
 encouraged him to talk to her of his ventures and his 
 losses with the tact and perception of true affection. She 
 saw that this was the only method by which she could 
 prevent him from continually brooding over his mis- 
 fortunes. A sudden fall in the Funds consequent upon a 
 panic had completed that ruin of which the American 
 and Australian losses had been the forerunners ; and 
 although John Gordon, whose own speculations were 
 conducted with more foresight than those of his elder 
 partner, remained an independent though an impoverished 
 man, the alderman was obliged to make over his whole
 
 A 'FELLOW-FEELING 329 
 
 personal property to liquidate his liabilities, and take 
 refuge from absolute starvation in a small settlement 
 which had been provided long ago for his only daughter. 
 
 It was sad to see the hospitable Villa dismantled and 
 put up for sale ; irritating to behold carpets hanging out 
 at window, and mirrors with great spots of whitewash in 
 their centres, and dirty men walking about, examining, 
 appraising, and making themselves completely at home. 
 It was aggravating to see the hospitable owner's choice 
 wines offered for sale and bought up, though at inordinate 
 prices, by Stirling Brothers, who never gave dinner- 
 parties, and old Plumber, who drank nothing but weak 
 brandy-and-water. Above all, it was conducive to wrath 
 and suggestive of profane swearing to watch heavy 
 boots trampling the borders of Bella's neat flower 
 garden, and grimy hands pulling the wire-fencing about 
 to test its substance before bidding for it at so much per 
 foot. To one spectator who had arrived early and on 
 horseback these offences against good manners appeared 
 particularly displeasing. Several lots were, however, 
 knocked down to this energetic cavalier. The portrait of 
 the late Mrs. Jones, which excited but little competition, 
 w;is purchased by him for a sum by no means compli- 
 mentary to the artist who painted that work or the 
 charms of the lady it represented ; but on the other hand, 
 a cottage pianoforte which stood in the boudoir fell to him 
 after a brisk contest at the somewhat unreasonable price 
 of fifty-five guineas. It soon became apparent, however, 
 that this purchaser was determined to possess himself of 
 any article for which he had once made an offer, and this 
 act ascertained, he was permitted to secure sundry trifles 
 at not much more than twice their real value. The only 
 exception to this forbearance was in the case of the parrot, 
 for which desirable bird an old lady from St. John's Wood 
 betrayed so morbid a longing as nothing but her an- 
 tagonist's complete indifference to price was able to 
 overcome. When the cage and its living contents were 
 eventually knocked down to his lordship for seventeen 
 guineas, the disappointed one suffered herself to be led 
 away in a flood of tears.
 
 3^0 GOOD FOR NOTHim 
 
 An unusual spectacle might have been, and indeed was 
 remarked in the vicinity of the Regent's Park, after the 
 sale was concluded. Judging from their gestures, it 
 afforded intense gratification to that observant class, the 
 London urchins, and consisted indeed of a mounted 
 gallant proceeding at a hand-gallop in the direction of 
 Baker Street, with a huge gilt cage containing a grey 
 parrot swinging on his arm.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 THE FEVER SLEEP 
 
 It was about this time I returned to London. T had 
 not been twenty-four hours in town before I sought 
 tidings of my boy. I shall not soon forget the dismay 
 with which I received intelligence that he was lying 
 dangerously ill of a brain fever. I did not think any 
 earthly communication could have made me so sick at 
 heart again. Years ago, when every sunrise brought its 
 fresh glad hopes, and every night its holy trustful calm, 
 when the golden-green was still on the summer leaves, 
 and ere the fragrance and the bloom had departed for 
 ever from the flower, the sting of disappointment was in 
 proportion to the exulting thrill of hope. It was but fair 
 then that a great sorrow should prostrate us in the dust, 
 as a great joy lifted us high above the clouds into the 
 dazzling heaven. But now, when we have retired from 
 the contest, when we have heart no more to don our mail 
 and plate, and leap into the saddle at the first trumpet- 
 sound — when that last wound that sent us reeling out of 
 the press a maimed disabled man for evermore, reminds 
 us, as it reopens and bleeds afresh, how we are crushed 
 and useless henceforth, we feel that we ought at least to 
 have earned immunity from further pain — that if we rode 
 into the meUe again we should find the knights of to-day 
 do not strike so hard or push so fiercely as those grim 
 champions with whom we held our own long ago ; that 
 even if the angry steel were to penetrate our defences, it 
 would not bite so deep, nor leave so keen a smart as here- 
 
 331
 
 332 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 tofore ; nay, that if we have gained nothing else in our 
 defeat, it has at least made it impossible that we should 
 ever feel so bruised and sore again. 
 
 I did not think, I say, that an earthly tidings could 
 have affected me as did this intelligence of Gilbert's 
 dangerous illness. From his friends I learned but with 
 difficulty the apparent cause of his malady. 
 
 Continual dissip-ation, obviously without the slightest 
 enjoyment, violent exercise, taken with the sole object of 
 exhausting the frame to the utmost, deep drinking at 
 all hours, alone or in company, equally divested of all 
 ideas of merriment and good-fellowship, with the fre- 
 quent use of laudanum to steady the shaking hand and 
 close the sleepless eye, would have shattered a stronger 
 frame and broken a healthier constitution than was ever 
 possessed by any of the Ormes ; and I think a description 
 of one of Gilbert's days, as I gathered it in conversation 
 with Holyhead and others of his intimate friends, would 
 at once account for the state in which I found him on my 
 arrival in London. He was an early riser, they said, 
 though at this time, as long as he could persuade any one 
 to sit up with him, nothing would induce him to go to bed, 
 and was riding or walking at a rapid pace about the parks 
 long ere any of his companions were astir. From his 
 morning excursions he would come in heated and excited 
 to write a few necessary letters, and smoke, generally 
 without touching food. Towards the middle of the day 
 he would have recourse to stimulants, and then play 
 tennis, rackets, fence, or otherwise employ himself, for 
 hours, in violent exertion, always with the same wild 
 restless manner which was becomiug habitual to him. 
 Later in the day he would be again on horseback, some- 
 times joining his friends in the Park, but oftener riding 
 moody and solitary round the outskirts of London. 
 Afterwards dinners, to which the most reckless and good- 
 for-nothing of his associates were invited, were succeeded 
 by frantic orgies, in which noise and ribaldry and excess 
 reigned paramount. Perhaps he alone who was their 
 chief promoter resisted the degrading tendency of these 
 reunions. Certainly for him the cup never held a Lethean 
 draught ; and he Avould on occasion rise from a table at
 
 THE FEVER SLEEP 333 
 
 which all the others were more or less intoxicated, and go 
 into society with a steady step and reserved unfaltering 
 eye. More often nights of deep play succeeded these 
 evenings of debauchery ; and continued losses, of which 
 he sceniied utterly careless, were already making rapid 
 inroads on the fine fortune of the heir of VVest- Acres. But 
 one redeeming point, and one only, was remarkable in these 
 unbridled excesses. The other sex were rigidly excluded. 
 Even in good society, Gilbert at this period avoided as 
 much as possible the fairer portion of the assemblage, 
 wincing, as it seemed, from some painful association 
 connected with those that were softest and brightest and 
 most lovable. But he shuddered at the bare mention of 
 a woman's actual degradation ; and though Clitus had 
 been sure of a welcome to the feast for the very ex- 
 travagance of his potations, Phryne must have unveiled 
 her ivory charms elsewhere. 
 
 Soon, when Orme's name was mentioned, people began 
 to nod and whisper and shrug their shoulders. Although 
 guiltless of being drunk with wine, the vacant stare 
 betrayed at times that he was stupefied with laudanum. 
 His absent restless manners, his unusual hours and strange 
 variable conduct, now moody and morose, and anon break- 
 ing forth into frantic bursts of gaiety, denoted a state 
 of mind little removed from insanity, and ere long it 
 began to be hinted that Ormc was mad. " Very queer," 
 people said, touching their foreheads, and smiling quietly, 
 as though there were something irresistibly ludicrous in the 
 subversion of a human intellect. " Gets it from his father. 
 Was in confinement months before he died. Take five 
 to two, this one is shut up in a fortnight." Holyhead 
 used to get very angry, but he, too, could not help feeling 
 alarmed about his friend. At last the blow fell — the 
 blow that everybody but the sufferer had been daily 
 expecting. At a large dinner-party of boon companions, 
 Gilbert was attacked oy brain fever, and carried from the 
 table in an access of delirium. 
 
 The world, as we know, invariably adopts the least 
 charitable conclusion. Years before it had voted the 
 father mad, because he dropped out of its circle, and shut 
 himself up in a country-house; now it was quite willing
 
 334 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 to be satisfied without inquiry of the insanity of the son. 
 There is something to me inexpressibly painful in the 
 levity with which this dis])ensation of Providence, and 
 that other awful judgment, suicide, are discussed amongst 
 mankind. Who can calculate the horrors that haunt the 
 wavering mind, the doubts and fancies that distract the 
 quivering nerves, ere the twilight closes in utter darkness, 
 and the morbid imaginative temperament settles into 
 confirmed madness ? Who can tell the agony that must 
 be endured, the bitter consciousness of complete desola- 
 tion, the despairing glances here and there for a gleam 
 of hope or a chance of escape, before the sufferer takes 
 his fatal plunge, in the conviction that any lot must be 
 preferable to that which he can endure no longer ? And 
 yet while men pity the loss of worldly fortune, or the 
 maiming of a limb, or the failure of a cherished scheme, 
 they can deem the maniac an object rather of contempt 
 than commiseration, and console themselves with the 
 suggestion of " temporary insanity " as a cloak for the 
 sufferings and the despair of the suicide. And oh ! to 
 think that a grain of timely aid, that a single loving 
 word, might have saved both one and the other. Truly 
 there is many a man who walks about erect with no mark 
 of Cain upon his forehead, against whom, as earnestly as 
 against the first murderer, " the voice of a brother's blood 
 crieth from the ground." 
 
 Gilbert lay prostrate and insensible in his luxurious 
 apartments, so out of keeping with thoughts of death or 
 sickness. Indeed, he had no lack of friends now at his 
 need. Many a smart carriage stopped at the door, many 
 a dandy associate hoped good-humouredly that " Gilbert 
 would pull through, after all " ; many a soft voice lisped 
 its tender inquiries after Mr. Orme. Though they forgot 
 him five minutes afterwards, yet for the moment they 
 were really interested in his welfare. He who expects 
 more from his friends is likely to bo disappointed. Better 
 than this. Lady Gertrude, giving up all engagements and 
 amusements, braving, moreover, the remarks and innuen- 
 does of her acquaintances, devoted herself imremittingly 
 to the sick chamber. Coming early and staying late, she 
 missed no opportunity of being useful to the sutierer,
 
 THE FEVER SLEEP 333 
 
 while the subdued energy and quiet force of her character 
 made her an invaluable nurse. Holyhead also took his 
 share of attendance on his friend, and John Gordon, 
 though he did not press his assistance when he found it 
 was not required, made it understood that he was always 
 ready if wanted. I, too, petitioned earnestly to take my 
 turn with the others. They had not the cruelty to refuse 
 me. There were but few left on earth to whom my heart 
 still clung. I felt kindly and charitably towards my 
 fellow-creatures, as who does not that has known great 
 sorrow ? But there were scarcely one or two whose voices 
 could still gladden me ever such a little, and one of those 
 voices was my boy's. If it should be mute for ever ! 
 Woe is me ! the last green leaf of all must wither from 
 the branch. 
 
 It was sad to hear it now ! sad to endeavour to hush 
 it in the loud ravings of delirium ; sadder still to mark 
 the low hoarse whisper that tells so piteously of physical 
 exhaustion. And it was sad, too, to see the gaunt wasted 
 frame, at which fever had been drinking like a vampire 
 for hours ; the thin shadowy hands, once so capable and 
 strong — the hands that could wield the heaviest club and 
 stop the swiftest ball and hold the hardest-pulling horse 
 — alas ! feeble as an infant's now ; the wan sunken 
 features, so sharp, yet so beautiful still ; above all, those 
 deep cavernous eyes, that rolled and shone with the lurid 
 light of madness, and seemed to glare upon a thousand 
 things at once ; how deep and bright and awfully beauti- 
 ful they were, as he lay there in the calm summer after- 
 noons, and told of his spirit's wanderings with a power 
 and eloquence that his weakness seemed to borrow from 
 disease. How the glorious and the grotesque mingled 
 themselves in his ravino^s, as the fever wincjs bore him 
 away over land and sea to the strange realms of fancy, 
 which none have visited without a vague consciousness 
 that in some stage of existence they have been there 
 before. How the beautiful fictions of antiquity, the gods 
 and goddesses and nymphs of heathen mythology, were 
 encircled and confused with fairies and kelpies and pixies, 
 and all the store of Gothic superstitions of which I should 
 have thought he could scarcely have heard ! What
 
 3m GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 torrents of long-neglected lore would burst forth, wherein 
 I recognised, how painfully, the aptitude of the willing 
 pupil whom I had cherished from a child ! How link 
 after link of the mind's mysterious chain 1('(1 him on as 
 the thread guided the hero thnnigh the labyrinth of old 
 into that othei' world of which, in our ignorance, we know 
 nothing, save that it is populous and unfathomable and 
 illimitable. One hot afternoon I was left aK)ne with the 
 patient ; a faint bi'eeze laden with perfume from the 
 mignonette in the open windows stole into the chamber, 
 and the distant roll of carriages in the streets smote 
 monotonously on my ear. He had been quiet for some 
 hours, and I began to hope that the sleep to which we 
 all looked as the last chance of his recovery had come 
 at last. I did not dare to move, lest I should disturb 
 his repose ; and as his face was turned to the wall, I 
 could not ascertain whether he was really asleep or not. 
 Worn out with anxiety and fatigue, I was getting drowsy 
 myself, when a sudden movement in the bed made me 
 turn round with a start to watch my charge. He was 
 sitting upright, his hands clasped and his eyes fixed on 
 vacancy with that expression which the fever-nurse knows 
 so well. 
 
 " How cold it is ! how cold ! " he muttered, with a 
 shiver that made my own flesh creep. " The blood was 
 up to my knees, but I have forded the river at last — 
 forded the river and crossed the moor, though the whins 
 pricked me to the bare bone. Ah, True Thomas ! there 
 was no fairy queen to lead me. Alone, all alone ! Ah ! 
 better so ; my foot will be the steadier on the bridge. 
 How narrow it is ! and must I cross that hissing bar of 
 iron ? cross it barefoot, too ? Have I never done a good 
 turn in my life ? I who never harmed a human being 
 wilfully. And they all forsake me now. Curs and 
 cowards ! I would not take a hand of yours to save me 
 from the eternal fiames boiling and wreathing down below 
 there, a thousand fathoms deep. I might have had a 
 Friend who would not have failed me at the last ! Too 
 late now, too late ; they are reading the Great Book with 
 its flashing pages far away ycjnder on the golden sands 
 that I shall never reach, and the grave white angel shuts
 
 THi: FEVER SLEEP 337 
 
 it up and shakes his head. I fear not, I care not. In 
 the face of earth and heaven, all alone — I can cross it all 
 alone. Here goes! Hurrah! I shall reach it yet! 
 Ada ! will you not come with me ? Ada ! ray own, my 
 beautiful, my best beloved ! it is not heaven if you are 
 left. See ! I turn back for you. Look at me — only one 
 look. You used not to be so unkind I Speak to me, 
 dear one. It is her voice ; she is mine still, mine for 
 ever, I am saved now, saved and happy; so happy; 
 nothing can hurt me now." 
 
 The last words came very weak, and in broken inarticu- 
 late syllables ; and they were still dying on his lips as he 
 sank back, apparently insensible. 
 
 Much alarmed, I summoned his servant, to despatch 
 him at once for the doctor. In my preoccupation I had not 
 remarked a feeble ring at the door-bell, and a whispered 
 conference with that domestic in the passage. The man, 
 I observed, was white and trembling, even before I told 
 him what was the matter. 
 
 " Speak to the lady, sir," he said, " for the love of 
 heaven. The nurse is up already; she can stay with 
 master, whilst I run for the doctor. I shan't be five 
 minutes." 
 
 And so, without further explanation, he pointed to the 
 door of a dining-room on the ground floor and was gone. 
 
 Leaving Gilbert in a kind of stupor under the nurse's 
 charge, and promising myself not to be away more than a 
 few minutes, I entered the room indicated, and there found 
 a lady seated near the window, in a state of the deepest 
 distress and agitation. As she strove to rise, and sank back 
 helpless in her chair, and strove to speak, but only gasped 
 inarticulately with white lips and vacant eyes, I had 
 some difficulty in recognising the face I had known and 
 loved from a child, the once blooming and beautiful Ada 
 Latimer. Yes, I had loved that face for years, partly for 
 its own sweet sake, more for its resemblance to one I shall 
 never see again on earth — perhaps, God help me ! that I 
 shall not be permitted to meet in heaven. Strange that 
 she should remind me of the lost one more than ever now ! 
 Poor Ada ! she could not speak, but she grasped my hand, 
 and looked in my face with an eager wistiid expression 
 
 Y
 
 338 QOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 that made ray heart bleed. I know not what I said. I 
 scarcely knew why she was there. I made her understand 
 that at least all was not yet over ; that the chamber of 
 wasting and dangerous sickness above was not yet the 
 chamber of death. She leaned her head upon her hands, 
 and burst into a passion of weeping that seemed to do 
 her good. After a while she looked up and smiled — such 
 a piteous sad smile ! — as she pressed my hand once more. 
 
 "Thank God," she said; "I feared the worst, or I 
 should hardly have been here. And yet," she added ab- 
 stractedly, and as if unconscious of my presence, " I could 
 not let him die all uncared-for and alone. I who have 
 been so cruel to him, so brutal, so ungrateful. I who have 
 been his bane, his blight, his curse. Whom he chose from 
 a thousand fairer and better and nobler than I am, and 
 who gave him up at the first cold breath. And yet, what 
 could I do ? what ought I to have done? God help me! 
 what shall I do now ? " 
 
 Again she bowed her head upon her hands, and after 
 a short interval looked up, more soothed and more 
 composed. 
 
 " I was far away in the country," she said, meeting my 
 eye quite frankly and openly, but not without a faint 
 blush on her gentle brow ; " and I saw in the papers that 
 Mr. Orme was dangerously ill. I came up immediately ; 
 I knew where he lived; do not ask me how or why; and 
 — and — they had pity on my misery and let me into the 
 house. Tell me the truth — is he better? Do not be 
 afraid. For the love of God tell me true — is there any 
 hope ? " 
 
 Any hope ! What a despairing question ! How often 
 asked with blanched faces and wild imploring eyes, when 
 the silver cord is frayed to the last fibre ! How difiicult 
 to answer ! How sad for the grave kind doctor, on whose 
 Avords the poor inquirer hangs as if he had the dispensa- 
 tion of life and death ! How hard to tell the truth ! How 
 cruel to raise hopes that shall crush the heart they shelter 
 in their ruins ! Any hope ! I could not tell Ada there 
 was none. I said — 
 
 " He still lives ; a change has come on within the last 
 half-hour. It may be for the better."
 
 THE FEVER SLEEP 339 
 
 Oh the bright gleam that swept over her face for an 
 instant like a glory, as she raised her thankful eyes to 
 heaven ! A moment afterwards they hlled with tears as 
 she took my hand in both of hers, and urged me in im- 
 ploring accents to install her as his nurse. 
 
 "I will be so quiet," she said, "so careful. He will 
 never know it. Directly he is out of danger I will go 
 away. Oh, do let me, I entreat you! I will do every- 
 thing on earth they tell me." 
 
 I urged on her the necessity of keeping him quiet, the 
 danger of the slightest agitation, and the general im- 
 possibility of such a proceeding. Also, as I was myself 
 getting anxious about his state, I begged her to remain 
 where she was for a few minutes, whilst I went up- 
 stairs to gather fresh tidings. She sat down, and waited 
 patiently till I came back. 
 
 The crisis had indeed passed, and he was asleep — that 
 sleep which the doctor said would save him if it came 
 within a certain period. He was breathing heavily, and, 
 best sign of all, a beaded moisture was standing on his 
 wan forehead. The good nurse pointed to him with a 
 satisfied look. 
 
 " No need of the doctor now," she whispered, " and he 
 can't be here for an hour yet anyways. It's this blessed 
 sleep as has saved him. Praised be the Lord." 
 
 So it was. A load seemed taken from my heart, and, 
 though I could scarce tell why, I felt that he was rescued. 
 I flew down-stairs to Mrs. Latimer, and told her of the 
 change that had taken place. It was not then, it was not 
 till long afterwards, when I had leisure to think over the 
 events of that anxious time, I became aware that his 
 delirium was at its crisis precisely when she came into 
 the house. I believe in my own mind that his senses, 
 pretematurally sharpened, caught the tones of her low 
 w^hisper in the hall. I believe that even on the confines 
 of life and death his spirit turned back, true and un- 
 changed, to the sound of the dear voice. I believe that 
 even at the supreme moment Aer image filled the fever- 
 maddened brain, and her influence soothed down the 
 paroxysm and hushed it off to the slumber which saved 
 his life.
 
 340 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 Poor Ada ! She bowed her head down till her cold 
 forehead touched my hands, as she clasped them fervently 
 in both her own. Then she looked up so beseechingly, so 
 tearfully. 
 
 " May I not see him ? " she said. " Only for one instant 
 — only one look, and never, never again," she added, with a 
 mournful earnestness that I was nut meant to hear. 
 
 He nuist have had a harder heart than mine who could 
 have resisted those pleading eyes. I took her hand and 
 led her to the door of Gilbert's chamber, entering softly 
 on tiptoe and with bated breath lest we should wake the 
 patient. He was lying perfectly relaxed and helpless, 
 sunk in that profound sleep which is only produced by 
 utter debility. I drew th«3 nurse to the window, for I 
 thought indeed no mortal eye should look on that loving 
 woman in her great agony. Have I lived, like many 
 another, to forego the dearest hopes I cherished here on 
 earth, and shall I not feel for those from whom the daylight 
 hath departed for evermore — for whom henceforth the 
 rush of streams and the song of birds and the laughter of 
 children is no longer a carol from the heavens, but a 
 requiem for the dead ? I could not succour nor comfort 
 her. I heard the stifled sob, the low moan painfully 
 repressed, and I held my breath and turned my eyes 
 doggedly away. 
 
 The rustle of her dress made me look up once more. 
 She was leaving the room without a thought of any one 
 in it but him to whom she had bid her silent farewell. 
 At the door she turned, and, stooping down, pressed her 
 lips against the threshold, and so with that last kiss of 
 humble hopeless homage dropped her veil and walked 
 soberly and sadly away. My poor Ada ! that proud but 
 loving heart must have been nearly breaking then.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 A COLD DINNER 
 
 Mil. Gordon is making his way in a hansom cab throtigh 
 the many difficulties and impediments that infest the 
 journey from any part of the metropolis to London Bridge 
 station. Enterprising cabmen have indeed discovered, so 
 to speak, a north-west passage on the Surrey side, which, 
 while they make their charge for a considerable ddtonr, 
 they affirm to be the more expeditious, although the 
 longer route. But impatient travellers, doubtful of 
 " catching the train," will agree with me that the narrow 
 and winding streets of this insidious approach are almost 
 as unfavourable to punctuality as the constant stoppages 
 of the more direct thoroughfare. Be this as it may, John 
 Gordon's brows are sterner, and his manner more uncom- 
 promising than usual, as he directs his driver to make all 
 the haste he can to save the five o'clock train. 
 
 A decided man in a state of indecision is always an 
 amusing sight. He invariably assumes for the occasion 
 an air of preternatural determination, as though to mask 
 with extra resolution of front the wavering of his main 
 body, and so to bully himself and others into the belief 
 that he is not to be induced to depart one inch from his 
 usual course. All the time he is conscious of feeling 
 painfully ridiculous. Mr. Gordon is at this juncture 
 suffering acutely from the sensations I have described. 
 The cabman who drives him thinks he never met " a 
 gent " with whom he would be so unwilling to adopt his 
 favourite plan of " trying it on " : in other words, who 
 
 341
 
 342 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 would be so unlikely to submit to imposition. If the 
 cabman only knew, he might to-day for the only day in 
 the year grossly overcharge him with impunity. John is 
 not habitually the least of a sophist, but he is trying even 
 now to persuade himself that it is his duty to run down 
 to Brighton and see Gilbert, that he has no other object 
 in view than a visit to his old friend, and that he does not 
 care the least whether or not he is late for the train ; all 
 which are egregious fallacies, and the man within the man 
 knows them to be such. 
 
 He is not late for the train, however, and during the 
 fifty minutes that he is whirling along at the rate of a 
 mile for every minute, we may take a peep at the family 
 party to which he is about to pay his hurried visit. 
 Perhaps we shall not be altogether persuaded of his 
 assumed carelessness as to whether he goes or stays. 
 
 Extended on a sofa in a bay-window jutting into the 
 street, commanding a view of " down Channel " and the 
 ominous clouds that always gather towards evening over 
 Portsmouth and the Isle of Wight, lies Gilbert Orme, 
 wan, weakened, and attenuated, yet drinking in with 
 every breath new life from the reviving westerly breeze. 
 His attitude and appearance are of themselves sufficiently 
 picturesque to attract the notice of the passers-by without 
 the aid of Lady Gertrude's graceful form, who is bending 
 over his couch and ministering to him as only woman can 
 minister to the wants of an invalid. At Brighton our 
 English reserve unaccountably merges into the opposite 
 extreme. The houses are so constructed that the deni- 
 zens of the ground floors live to all intents and purposes 
 in the street, and we are satisfied, as the most southern 
 of foreigners could be, with the publicity. So everybody 
 that passes can see the cousins; and for seclusion they 
 might as well be in Pall Mall. 
 
 Gertnide has been reading to him. One of his favourite 
 books now — .speculative, melancholy, and mysterious; 
 such a book as you would choose to read in the grey 
 autumn afternoon, when the wind is roving in gusts and 
 the dry leaves are pattering down by scores and whirling 
 about on the russet earth. It has lost nothing of it-g 
 melancholy or its interest in the tones of that full young
 
 A GOLD DINNEB 343 
 
 voice, and the reader's lips have not forbome to quiver 
 ever and anon, as though the words she uttered stirred 
 some deep chord of feeling at her heart. She has shut it 
 now, and is looking wistfully at Gilbert, who tosses wearily 
 upon his sofa, 
 
 " It is a fallacy," she says, " Gilbert, from beginning to 
 end, and yet the writer knows human nature so well that 
 he attacks us in our weakest place, and makes us for the 
 moment agree Avith him and believe in his philosophy," 
 
 " A fallacy ! " he replies, with a harsh weak laugh ; " so 
 is everything. Show me a code that people abide by — a 
 faith that they do not virtually deny every day — and then 
 you may call this a fallacy more than the rest. This man 
 only does not pretend to ignore what we really are. He 
 argues from our conscious weakness and our continual 
 aspirations after strength that we are in a state of transi- 
 tion. He says very justly that suffering is the normal 
 condition of helplessness, and that we are not compelled 
 to accept that condition. I believe him. I believe our 
 fate is in our own hands." 
 
 " Oh, Gilbert ! " she remonstrates, " have you ever been 
 really unhappy ? Have you ever felt that everything on 
 earth had deserted you — that there was nothing left to 
 cling to, and you were far too weak to stand alone ? Then 
 you must have been convinced that man, without some 
 extraneous aid, is utterly and essentially helpless." 
 
 He smiles bitterly at the first part of her sentence ; but) 
 as she proceeds he seems to analyse his past feelings and 
 weigh their testimony for and against her inference. It 
 is in the hard tone of one who reasons not entirely with 
 his convictions that he replies — 
 
 " If you ask me, have I ever felt utterly helpless and 
 undone, I answer. Yes. If you ask whether I looked 
 about in vain for a remedy and a palliative, I answer, No. 
 This man is right. I have felt it a thousand times. The 
 remedy is in my own hands. The palliative is to dwell con- 
 tinually on that remedy. What does he say ? ' Endur- 
 ance is indisputably the highest form of bravery, yet doth 
 the slave endure his chain for lack of courage to throw it 
 off. All depends upon the motive.' His inference is 
 obvious. But I should not talk these matters over with
 
 344 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 you, dear Gertrude, who have never known sorrow. God 
 forbid you sliould ever think as I do. Thank you for 
 reading to nie, and there's an end." 
 
 " Oh, no I " she replies, with grave earnest tones. " I 
 understand you better than you think. I too have known 
 sorrow, deep and engrossing, and veri/ hard to bear. Do 
 not inquire how. I asked for strength and courage to 
 endure it, Gilbert — I did indeed ; and you don't know 
 how much easier it became after that. This book may 
 be very clever and logical and profound, but there is 
 something in mankind more convincing than reason, and 
 not a sentence of it speaks to the heart like that invita- 
 tion in another book to the Avcary and heavy-laden that 
 they may have rest. Dear Gilbert, you have been very 
 near death within the last few weeks. Think what would 
 have become of you then ! " 
 
 Why was his defiant spirit so easily roused to arms 
 now ? That last remark hardened him directly. 
 
 " I must have taken my chance," he said, with another 
 jarring laugh. " We shall never think alike on these 
 matters. Don't let us talk of them any more. I'm tired 
 now." 
 
 John Gordon, arriving with his humble valise in a 
 Brighton fly, could not but see the cousins as he descended 
 at the door of the mansion they inhabited. " They look 
 very like lovers," thought John, with a tightening about 
 that manly chest of his. " I suppose it's all settled by this 
 time. From my soul I hope she'll be happy." And so 
 Mr. Gordon composed his features and .smoothed down his 
 crisp black curls as the servant announced him ; and 
 Gilbert greeted him with almost boisterous cordiality, the 
 while Gertrude gave him a very cold impassive hand, and 
 never lifted her eyes to his f;xce. You see this was what 
 he had been working double-tides for to ensure a few 
 hours' holiday — this was a judicious soother and consola- 
 tory sedative after the agitation of the journey down, none 
 the less fervent that the strong man kept it so sternly 
 repressed. This was another of the moments he had been 
 looking forward to — though he would not confess it, of 
 course — for a week — a month — never mind how long. 
 
 I have the pleasure of being acquainted with a very
 
 A COLD DINNER 345 
 
 jovial old gentleman who was young in the days of 7-cal 
 winters and long coaches, and who travelled otiisicle the 
 mail from London to Edinburgh in a bitter frost for the 
 mere gratification of spending half-an-hour in the society 
 of a damsel to whom he believed himself devoted. He 
 had not seen her for several months, and had put himself 
 to much trouble and inconvenience, besides the rotatory 
 and refrigerating penance of the north mail, to procure 
 this interview, hoping, not without reason, that it might 
 be an agreeable surprise. How do you think she received 
 him ? The young lady was en pajjilloie, a guise now for- 
 tunately exploded, and anj-thing but becoming to the 
 human face. " It's you, is it ? " she said, in tones far more 
 suggestive of surprise than satisfaction. " Dear me ! how 
 tiresome ! I wish I'd known in time to have taken my 
 hair out of curl-papers." 
 
 The thaw had commenced when my friend went back ; 
 he travelled, moreover, inside, and in company with two 
 stout ladies and a rich banker. He alwaj's affirmed, how- 
 ever, that he felt the cold far more biting on this second 
 journey than the first. 
 
 John Gordon's inward temperature, as we know, does 
 not affect his outward demeanour. He proceeds to dress 
 for dinner, calmly and methodically, as we all do, whatever 
 may be our hidden state of suffering or suspense. Do you 
 think Hero forgot to " do up her back hair " before she ran 
 down to the beach to meet Leander's body tossed on the 
 mocking wave ? Do you suppose Curtius had a speck on 
 his flashing mail, or a buckle of his accoutrements awry, 
 when he rode so straight at that last " yawner " which was 
 to close over him for ever ? Even the " Great Montrose " 
 wont to his execution attired like a bridegroom ; and Mary 
 Stuart laid her h^ad upon the block in the dress that best 
 became that dangerous beauty which sorrow and imprison- 
 ment had not faded, which survived the loss of throne and 
 friends and freedom — broken faith, broken fortunes, and a 
 broken heart. 
 
 The dinner passed off slowly and formally enough. 
 Lady Olivia, who presided, and who had been with diffi- 
 culty persuaded by Lady Gertrude to take charge of her 
 son's convalescence — the only method by which the latter
 
 346 GOOD FOR NOTEINO 
 
 could ensure having Gilbert under her own eye — was not 
 at any time a lively acquisition to a small party. More- 
 over, she was annoyed at her enforced absence from London, 
 and made no secret of her cordial hatred for Brighton. 
 Bella Jones, the only guest besides John, seemed absent 
 and out of sorts, which was not to be wondered at, con- 
 sidering all things. She and her father wore living for 
 economy in a small cottage outside the town, and the 
 alderman's health was failing day by day. Poor Bella 
 nursed him with unremitting assiduity : but it was weary 
 work for the young girl, with no companions of her own 
 age, and nothing to occupy her but the variable temper 
 and peevish fancies of an invalid. The kind old alderman 
 was sadly broken now. His mind appeared to be somewhat 
 enfeebled as well as his body ; and though he loved his 
 daughter dearly, he worried her without ceasing from 
 morning till night. 
 
 Even John Gordon's presence did not seem to brighten 
 her up as it used to do. Kind Lady Gertrude had per- 
 suaded her aunt to ask Bella to meet him, thinking (so 
 she said) " it would be such an agreeable surprise for 
 both." I am not sure however, that this was her real 
 motive. So the party were somewhat at cross-purposes, as 
 is often the case in our artificial life. Gilbert was too 
 weak to sit up, and was lying on a sofa in the drawing- 
 room, which accounted to John Gordon's entire satisfaction 
 for Lady Gertrude's obvious preoccupation and absence of 
 mind. That sprightly damsel, usually so full of conversa- 
 tion and savoir-vivre, was to-day extremely silent, not to 
 say stupid, and scarcely ever lifted those brilliant eyes of 
 hers off her plate. They never met Mr. Gordon's once. 
 The latter gentleman might have spared himself all 
 anxiety about " catching the train." I think his appetite 
 Avould have been keener, and he would have made a 
 better dinner at his club. Here he was, however, and he 
 must make the best of it ; so he listened patiently to Lady 
 Olivia, who, being a little afraid of him, liked him better 
 than most of her acquaintance. Lady Olivia's conversa- 
 tion was not interesting. It related chiefly to her disgust 
 at her present residence, and the impositions practised on 
 her by her servants. These topics, discussed in a loud
 
 A COLD DIKNER 347 
 
 harsh voice, without the slightest reserve, did not tend to 
 raise her listeners' spirits ; and when the ladies withdrew, 
 and John was left alone with a voluminous dessert, and 
 four full decanters — port, sherry, claret, and madeira — it 
 is not surprising that he had not the heart to touch one 
 or the other. 
 
 In the drawing-room it was worse. Gilbert, in one of 
 the moody fits to which he had become so subject since 
 his illness, had returned to his bedroom. Lady Olivia was 
 fast asleep in an armchair, and, considering she had just 
 begun sea-bathing, this was excusable enough. Gertrude 
 had intrenched herself behind Bella and a tea-table, so 
 that it was impossible to say two words to her in private, 
 even had John's pride permitted him to entertain such a 
 wish. Miss Jones was the most at her ease of the trio ; 
 but it was hardly to be expected that she could sustain 
 the whole conversation single-handed ; and after tea was 
 taken away the gSne began to become oppressive. There 
 was no pianoforte, so music was out of the question ; and 
 John could not go away, because he had a bed in the 
 house. 
 
 It was an immense relief when Bella rose to take her 
 departure ; and Gertrude, with a peculiarly immovable 
 countenance, suggested to Mr. Gordon that he should 
 escort her home. As the night was fine, they walked 
 soberly off arm-in-arm, like a brother and sister, and I 
 think one of them felt very distinctly that no warmer 
 feeling now existed between them. The other was think- 
 ing of a cold proud face, and a clear pitiless voice that 
 seemed to ring in his ears still. 
 
 " Good-night, Mr. Gordon, and good-bye, as you will be 
 gone to-morrow morning before I shall be up." 
 
 Bella and John soon fell into confidential conversation. 
 They talked of her father's losses quite unreservedly, of 
 her present condition and future prospects. They both 
 enjoyed their walk very much, and soon got back to old 
 times and old recollections, and, above all, the dear 
 abandoned villa. Bella betrayed much interest, and asked 
 a thousand questions about the sale, wondering in her own 
 mind which of her father's old friends it could have been 
 that had sent her the parrot and the pianoforte, and a
 
 348 GOO 7) FOR NOTHING 
 
 number of little honseliDld trifles, with such delicacy and 
 kind feeling. To-night she wa«5 destined to be enlight- 
 ened ; for John, who had been successfully trying to raise 
 her spirits by a comical rather than a moiirnful account of 
 the proceedings, concluded his details of the auction's 
 humours thus : — 
 
 " But, above all, you would have laughed, Bella, if you 
 could have seen Holyhead cantering about the Regent's 
 Park with the cage and the parrot hanging to his arm ! " 
 
 Happy Bella ! It was too dark to see the blush that 
 sprung to the roots of her hair; but she wished John 
 " Good-night " with a hearty squeeze that was the next 
 thing to an embrace. She longed to kiss him — her kind, 
 dear, good old John Gordon. And she went to bed, for 
 the first time for months, with a glow of real indisputable 
 happiness at her heart. No bad nightcap, reader. Alas 
 that, like other nightcaps, it should be so much out of 
 vogue.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 WEST-ACRES 
 
 What an agreeable and thoroughly English life is that 
 which our foreign friends envy us so sincerely, and 
 which they call our vie clc chateau! There is nothing the 
 least like it abroad. Continental nations do not under- 
 stand that pleasant intercourse which combines the polish 
 of society with the cordiality of intimate friendship, nor 
 do they appreciate the merits of that neutral territory on 
 which it is so agreeable to meet, where formality can be 
 forgotten without detriment to propriety and self-respect. 
 Moreover, the women's complexions will not stand in- 
 vestigation at breakfast-time. It is too early an hour, and 
 French, German, or Italian beauty prefers to have its 
 coffee in its bedroom, and descend in elaborate toilette, 
 armed at all points, about two or three P.M. It is only a 
 handsome, healthy Englishwoman, like Lady Gertrude, 
 who can come down at nine in the morning, fresh, clear, 
 and rayonnantc, dressed for the whole day. 
 
 After many years' absence, I was indeed interested 
 to find myself again at West-Acres. Gilbert, on his 
 recovery, had pressed me earnestly to come and see him 
 once more at the old place, where he meant to spend the 
 autumn, and I willingly broke through those habits of 
 reserve and indolence which had been growing upon me 
 for so long ; and steeling myself against memories on 
 which it was a mockery now to dwell — memories from 
 which time had plucked the sting, but never could efface 
 the marks — I travelled down, as I had promised, into the
 
 350 OOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 west country, and arrived late at night towards the close 
 of Sc2)tembcr, soon after the whole family had retired to 
 rest. 
 
 It was not till the following morning at breakfast that 
 I had leisure to look about me, to identify the old familiar 
 scenes of long ago, and to scrutinise the changes time had 
 made in the few faces I ever cared to look on now. The 
 party was small, but there was not one in whom I did 
 not take an interest, either personal or for the sake of 
 my boy. I had been fatigued with my journey, and slept 
 long. When I came down, I was the last arrival at the 
 breakfast-table but one. Lady Olivia, Lady Gertrude, 
 Lord Holyhead, and John Gordon were already down ; but 
 my host's place was still vacant, and his letters lay by the 
 side of his plate, ready for perusal against his appear- 
 ance. I have a keen eye for trifles (if indeed there are 
 such things as trifles ; a minute grain of sand in the eye 
 will cause as much suffering as a lance-head in the body), 
 and it pained me to notice even so simple an indication 
 of insouciance as these unopened letters. It argued such 
 an utter want of interest in their contents, such a hope- 
 lessness that any post could bring Mm welcome intelli- 
 gence, such a general depression and relaxation of mind 
 thus to ignore the arrival of that which we all look 
 forward to with more or less interest, that I could but 
 feel grieved and anxious even with respect to so un- 
 important an incident. 
 
 Lady Olivia received me with her usual cold politeness. 
 Some natures are totally insensible to the power of asso- 
 ciation, and of such was her ladyship's. My presence did 
 not seem to recall to her the bright days of yore, when 
 West-Acres was the centre of gaiety and hospitality — 
 when the broken, miserable man who was now its owner 
 was a laughing child, rich in the glorious inheritance of 
 hope — when she herself had the opportunities for happi- 
 ness in her own hands, and might have made a kindly 
 and obedient wife to him who sank so helplessly at last 
 into a drunkard's grave. Perhaps all this never occurred 
 to her ; and yet I have heard it said that even Lady 
 Olivia once had a woman's heart in her bosom — that 
 Ada's father, when the gay young Captain Glyn, had been
 
 WEST- ACRES 351 
 
 the object of her first affections, and that it was his 
 indifference to the high-born lady which drove her into a 
 hasty and ill-assorted marriage, which made her a hard, 
 unfeeling woman ever afterwards. If this be indeed the 
 truth, it is a strange, sad story. 
 
 She received me, however, with as little emotion as 
 though I had been in the habit of breakftusting there 
 every day; and I must confess that for the moment I 
 envied her the armour of proof in which she seemed 
 to be encased. Not so Lady Gertrude. Contrary to her 
 wont, her hand trembled and her voice shook as she bade 
 me " good-morning " ; and I could see by the nervous 
 agitation of her manner — the more remarkable in her 
 who was usually so cool and composed — that the arrival 
 of her old friend was fraught with much anxiety and 
 many painful associations. I know now that she dreaded 
 to hear my opinion as to the state of her cousin's 
 health. 
 
 John Gordon and Holyhead were in the common 
 disguise of English gentlemen who are going partridge- 
 shooting. They both greeted me with a cordial welcome. 
 The former, I observed, looked even graver and colder 
 than his wont, but John's reserve I knew of old was so 
 impenetrable, that it was hopeless to speculate on the 
 demeanour of his outward man ; and the peer, with a 
 most enviable appetite for breakfast, made rather more 
 noise and took up more room than usual. 
 
 " How late Gilbert is ! " said Lady Gertrude, refilling 
 the tea-pot with becoming assiduity. " Uncle Edward, 
 did you see him last night when you arrived ? " 
 
 There was no relationship between us, but " Uncle 
 Edward," I must here observe, was the name by which I 
 was known in the family. It originated in some childish 
 joke, and had never been discontinued. I answered in 
 the negative ; for I had been so much beyond my time 
 that everybody had gone to bed. I could see Gertrude 
 waited eagerly for my reply. 
 
 " He is not near well yet," she went on in a low hurried 
 tone, and looking nervously at the door. " I hope the air 
 and exercise will do him good. He used to be fond of 
 shooting. But he must not walk too much. Over-
 
 .352 GOOD FOL NOTHING 
 
 exertion is so bad for him. You must take good care of 
 him, Lord Holyhead, you and Mr. Gordon." 
 
 A wistful expression crossed the nobleman's face as she 
 spoke, and he pushed his plate away, which was still half 
 full. John (Jordan nevfr looked up from his breakfast, 
 nor did his ii'on mask vary one shade. 
 
 Just then Gilbert made his appearance. He shook 
 hands with me, and welcomed me to his house with 
 almost the old boyish cordiality and gaiety. For a 
 moment my heart leaped to think how well and strong 
 he had grown once more, laughing to scorn the anxious 
 fears which had oppressed me since I left him rescued 
 from the very jaws of death in a sick-bed in London; 
 it sank again a moment afterwards, when he sat 
 quietly down to road his letters, and I could mark the 
 settled gloom that pervaded his countenance in its 
 repose. 
 
 I did not like to observe him too narrowly ; for every 
 now and then I caught his eye glancing stealthily up 
 from his occupation, as if jealous of being watched. 
 There was a glare in it too, like that of some wild animal 
 in a noose. It puzzled me, that strange unreasoning look. 
 I had seen something like it in other eyes before, but I 
 shuddered to think ivherc I had seen those eyes, and 
 whose they were. For the rest, his brown hair was worn 
 thin, and streaked with whole patches of grey — his fore- 
 head was wrinkled — his features sunk, and there were 
 deep lines about his mouth that told of worse than 
 sickness and ph}sical suffering. Altogether he looked 
 ten years older than when I had seen him last, even in 
 the crisis of his malady. It seemed impossible that this 
 could be the young Apollo of a dozen years ago. It was 
 touching to mark the very attitude I knew so well. The 
 same in which he used to bend over his studies ere he 
 jumped up with some light jest to fling the book away, 
 and stand bcdbre me the impersonation of youth, and 
 health, and hope, and budding manhood. His gestures 
 were never impatient now. He moved like a man under 
 some heavy weight. Every limb seemed to drag listlessly 
 and slowly, as if shackled. Where w^as the graceful 
 freedom of the athlete ? And Lady Olivia was the oidy
 
 WEST- ACRES 353 
 
 person that could not, or that would not, see this great 
 and awful change ! 
 
 I was obliged to dissemble my emotion. The present 
 was no time for ill-judged sympathy or impertinent 
 criticism. I felt that Lady Gertrude was watching me 
 with eager interest to compare my first impressions with 
 her own. Once our eyes met. I had need of all my 
 self-command then not to betray my sorrows and my fears. 
 
 She came to the rescue, however, with the kind tact 
 in which she never failed. One or two letters from the 
 pile beside her plate were already opened, and, as the 
 conversation was slackening AvoefuUy, she began to en- 
 lighten us as to their contents. The general news and 
 gossip of the day was welcome to all her listeners, and 
 even Gilbert looked up and betrayed an interest in his 
 cousin's correspondence. Lord Holyhead, too, was full of 
 jokes and curiosity. 
 
 " There is one left. Lady Gertrude," said he, " that you 
 have not read us. Of course it's the cream of the whole 
 lot. From a lady, too ; I can tell by the colour of the 
 envelope. Now do indulge us with a breach of confidence, 
 and read it from beginning to end." 
 
 Lady Gertrude smiled and glanced restlessly at John 
 Gordon, while she answered Lord Holyhead. 
 
 " It's from Bella Jones," said she, without looking at 
 the latter; "poor dear! it's a long journey for her, but 
 she will be here by dinner-time." 
 
 Gaiters must be inconvenient appendages, even for a 
 sportsman, if they often require so much attention during 
 breakfast as did Lord Holyhead's at this juncture. 
 
 Perhaps I was the onl}^ person who remarked how very 
 much he flushed in consequence of stooping to buckle 
 those defences. 
 
 He soon recovered himself, however. It is only boys 
 and girls who cannot readjust the domino at a moment's 
 notice, should the wearer indeed be sufficiently clumsy to 
 let it slip off at all. Holyhead had been too often to the 
 masquerade to remain long at fault. 
 
 " How is her father ? " he inquii'ed, in rather a loud 
 off-hand tone — " docs she say anything about him ? — and 
 when do you expect her ? " 
 
 z
 
 8*: 
 
 So4 aOOD FOR NOTHim 
 
 " He is better," replied her ladyship, " or Bella would 
 not be coming here. She ought to arrive to-day by the 
 four o'clock train — the one Uncle Edward contrived to 
 miss yesterday, in his unwillingness to tear himself from 
 London." 
 
 " Ah, Lady Gertrude ! " said I, " my London and yours 
 have very different significations. You could not even 
 find your way about those sober regions which lie at the 
 back of the British Museum, and which people used to 
 call Mesopotamia when I was young ; and I should be 
 equally lost in your gay and glittering Mayfair, the 
 enchanted land you are so fond of, only fit for fairies like 
 yourself" 
 
 Lady Gertrude sighed. " You may well call it fairy- 
 land, Uncle Edward," said she ; " you have no idea how 
 soon the glamour wears off. The gingerbread is none 
 the better in Vanity Fair for being gilt, and they gild it 
 very badly after all ; don't you think so ? " 
 
 " Gingerbread is very unwholesome," remarked Lady 
 Olivia, "and for my part, I can't say I see the merit of it. 
 That reminds me, Gilbert — have you given any orders 
 about luncheon ? " 
 
 " Yes, mother," replied her son, waking out of a fit of 
 abstraction ; " I have seen the keepers. We can take 
 Elmhurst and Rosebank in one beat. So if Gertrude 
 likes to join us at the top of Marigold Lane, in the pony- 
 carriage, she can bring the luncheon. Then we shall 
 have the forty acres and the home farm for the afternoon ; 
 not a gun has been fired there yet ; we ought to get fifty 
 brace." 
 
 The two sportsmen emitted that low murmur of appro- 
 bation with which such announcements are usually 
 received, and Gertrude also seemed to coincide with the 
 proposed arrangements. 
 
 "You will come with ?ne, Uncle Edward?" said she; 
 " I Avant to show you the new lodges, and then I can drop 
 you when you are tired of me, and drive to the station 
 for Bella. By the bye, the cart can go for her things, as 
 she has no maid." 
 
 "Do you mean she is coming quite by herself?" 
 exclaimed Lord Holyhead ; and for the moment I think
 
 WESt -ACRES 35S 
 
 he regretted the earnest nature of his costume, which 
 would admit of no compromise as to his purpose, and the 
 keen attachment he had always displayed for the sports 
 of the field, which made it impossible to ^lirk off and 
 attend at the railway station. 
 
 " Why not ? " said Lady Gertrude. " The young ladies 
 of the present day are very independent, and it is high 
 time, in my opinion. We women are determined at last 
 to assert our rights. We have been kept down quite 
 long enough." 
 
 She glanced quickly at John Gordon as she spoke, but 
 he was conversing with Lady Olivia in a low tone, and 
 either did not hear or did not notice her remark. 
 
 All this time Gilbert was reading his letters without 
 apparently deriving the slightest information from their 
 contents. His breakfast consisted of a single cup of 
 coffee and a morsel of bread. 
 
 Without further sustenance. Lady Gertrude whispered 
 to me, he would go through the hardest day's work, and 
 at dinner would be nearly as abstemious in his eating, 
 though he drank hard, and with a sort of fretful impa- 
 tience, like a man in pain. No wonder he looked so ill, 
 no wonder his form was so wasted and his eyes so wild. 
 
 " Had not Lady Olivia noticed it ? " I asked. " Was 
 she not anxious about her son ? " 
 
 " Not till I pointed it out to her," she answered — " not 
 till I told her how alarmed all his friends were about him, 
 and that I thought myself he had one foot in the grave." 
 
 " Did she not take fright then ? " I asked, remembering 
 that even Lady Olivia was a mother. 
 
 " She said his system probably wanted bracing, and 
 recommended homoeopathy," was the reply. 
 
 It seemed only yesterday I had seen the brave, bright 
 child fall with his pony in the park, had marked him 
 appeal instinctively to his only parent for sympathy and 
 assistance, and had wondered how she could refuse it so 
 coldly. How well I remembered it all ! I walked into 
 the library to write my letters with a heavy heart.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 FAMILY LIKENESSES 
 
 But I could not get on with my letters. Do what I 
 would, it was impossible to force my thoughts into any 
 other channel than that in which they persisted in flow- 
 ing. Here was I once more in the old house at West- 
 Acres — once more under that well-remembered roof ; why, 
 there was not a brick in its whole structure, not a tree in 
 the park, nor a walk in the shrubbery, that was not to me 
 alive with painful memories and bitter sweet associations. 
 I did not dare draw up the blinds of the very window 
 over against which I sat ; and yet why not ? I had been 
 seeing that elm avenue every day for forty yeai's. It 
 would look to-day with the sun on it just as it did that 
 time. ]\fy hair is worn and grey, my limbs are wasted, 
 my form bent, and my teeth gone, yet even now I cannot 
 see the sunlight flickering through an elm tree, or the 
 tender fern waving in the breeze, but that, were it not 
 for very shame. I would fain turn aside and weep. I have 
 been a man of peace all my life, useless, it may be, and 
 but a blade of tares amongst the wheat — an unprofitable 
 servant indeed, and a helpless, but I have never been an 
 overt and presumptuous rebel. I have committed no 
 heinouo and unpardonable crime. I am no murderer, 
 no suborner, no thief Why nmst I be haunted for ever 
 with that one ineflfaceable picture ? Is my punishment, 
 like Cain's, to be greater than I can bear ? Two are pacing 
 up and down the last forty yards of that arch-roofed 
 
 3i3t>
 
 FAMILY LIKENESSES 357 
 
 avenue — the rich autumn corn-fields are studded with 
 ricks and glowing in the noonday glare — the cattle are 
 standing knee-deep in the shrunken bed of the broad 
 shallow river ; myriads of insects circle in the sunbeams 
 as they stream athwart the lon^ perspective of the glade. 
 It is a time of ripened promise, of matured beauty, of 
 reward and fruition throughout all nature. And still 
 those two pace backwards and forwards, every turn 
 threatening to be the last, and still the one pleads with 
 tearful eagerness and still the other's face is turned 
 haughtily and pitilessly away. So they parted in anger, 
 and met — never again — never again. 
 
 Years rolled on, so painful and harassing whilst there 
 was hope, so long and dreary when doubt had sunk into 
 certainty. The blow was felt over and over again in 
 anticipation before it fell — there was no fresh place left in 
 which another sting could be planted when the last stroke 
 was dealt upon the numbed and stupefied sufferer. Then 
 the grave closed over the one, and the other buried heart 
 and hope for evermore. Since that the pilgrimage seems to 
 have no landmarks. Tardy and noiseless, yet with some- 
 thing soothing in its monotony, has been the journey 
 over that wide was^te of sand. Palm-trees and springs of 
 gushing water have not lain in the wayfarer's track, and 
 there is no inircKjc for eyes that were dimmed so long ago 
 with tears. Nevertheless, we may count our footsteps 
 now, for we cannot but be near the end. It must be that 
 soon we shall see the blue sea sparkling in the horizon, 
 and the white shroud-like sail that is waiting to waft us 
 home. 
 
 There are many consolations for the aged which the 
 young can never be brought to understand. If our joys 
 are not so keen as yours, my blooming minor, we do not 
 chafe and fret and fight with the wind under our griefs. 
 A certain resignation, less the result of content than of 
 hopelessness, forbids us to kick with our gouty feet 
 against the pi'icks. We accept the bitter potion, so to 
 speak, and gulp it down with a wry face. Whereas yoio 
 must needs shout and struggle, and have your nose hold, 
 and swallow it the Avrong way after all, till you extract 
 twice its natural nausea from the draught. But there is
 
 S58 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 one pang that probes us very sharply, from which yo2i are 
 exempt. One reflection that makes us feel very sad 
 and uncomfortable, that causes you too often to deem us 
 meddlers and officious and unkind. When time and 
 necessity have reconciled us to our own shipwreck — when, 
 thous'h we can never forp'et it, we have ceased to dwell 
 upon the hour that saw our goodly vessel broken up, and 
 our precious cargo heaving on the wave — it does gall us 
 to mark your young confidence steering straight for the 
 hidden reef — it does grieve us to see you too swamped 
 and engulfed in the briny waters, stretching madly at the 
 illusive spar that dances just beyond your reach, turning 
 wild eyes to the pitiless heaven that seems to mock your 
 need and your despair. 
 
 It is the recollections inspired by this old library that 
 have made me so sombre a moralist to-day — this old 
 library, in which I had spent so many hours of study, so 
 many hours of dreamy listless abstraction. It was a 
 beautiful room, too, and thoroughly in keeping with the 
 tine old place. It is needless to describe it : people 
 always skip descriptions, and, truth to tell, I could never, 
 for as often as I have perused it, take a thorough inventory 
 of its contents. My eye was always arrested by a certain 
 picture which hung above the lofty chimney-piece — a 
 picture painted long ago by an unknown artist, yet of 
 extraordinar}'' merit, and worked out with a skill and 
 knowledge of light and shade not unworthy of Rembrandt 
 himself. It represented a 3'onng man of considerable 
 beauty, Avith the brown hair and rich complexion heredi- 
 tary in the Ormes, dressed in the gorgeous apparel of 
 Charles II.'s reign ; and I remember that connoisseui's 
 could never sufficiently praise the skill with which the 
 artist had wrought out the elaborate ornaments and 
 details of his costume, while at the same time he kept 
 them down in the deep shadow that was indispensable 
 to the development of his conception. Two or three 
 subordinate figures in the background were carousing 
 round a table, and the broad humour of their jollity, with 
 a certain coarseness of expression and attitude, might 
 have been borrowed from the Dutch school. But the 
 principal character was essentially an original crtvation.
 
 FAMILY LIKENESS£JS 359 
 
 Standing forward, with a half-emptied goblet in his hand, 
 he seemed to be giving some toast of more unbridled 
 audacity than even his boon companions could appreciate 
 or understand. His full lip curled with an expression in 
 which joviality, recklessness, and a certain sorrowing self- 
 contempt were strangely mingled ; but it was in the eyes 
 the painter had displayed the whole power and resources 
 of his genius. Deep, wild, and piercing, they seemed to 
 flash from out the canvas, and yet there was a subdued 
 melancholy in their expression truly touching. The effect 
 was so lifelike as to be star-tling, even unpleasant. I 
 remember that Lady Gertrude when a child used to make 
 faces and shake her little fist through the closed door 
 at the dreaded picture, but that when brought into the 
 room she would scream to be taken away in an access 
 of horror at her aversion. " I want to go, I want to go," 
 she would repeat, " I don't like its eyes ! " And many a 
 time have I carried her into the drawing-room, and 
 soothed down her terror with her picture-books and her 
 toys. There was a story too, connected with the painting, 
 a legend of the house that gratified the pride of the 
 Ormes, as people are proud of any notoriety, good or evil, 
 which has distinguished some member of their family 
 long ago. We can boast of our pedigrees, we mushrooms 
 of the West; and yet we can despise the lineage of a 
 Jew who counts back to the building of the Temple ; or 
 an Arab whose progenitor, a man of ancient fiimily then, 
 stood by Mahonfiet in the cave. I am not sure but that 
 these same pedigrees are valued in proportion to their 
 brevity. I have heard that, now they have had time to 
 own grandfathers, the Yankees are beginning to talk 
 about their ancestors. Well, perhaps it is an amiable 
 weakness after all ; certainly a cheaj) and innocent display. 
 I believe for five-and-twenty pounds the Heralds' College 
 will trace you up to royalty in the tenth or twelfth 
 generation ; and who, for the trifling consideration of a 
 "pony," but would choose to be so near the purple as 
 that ? They need not have been so proud of him, though, 
 for after all there was not much to boast of in this scion 
 of the House of Orme, nor in his history. I have been 
 told the legend over and over again. I believe it to be
 
 3(50 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 a true stor}^ I can remember every word of it. Here 
 it is : — 
 
 Frank Orme was a second son. Like many other 
 second sons, his fortune wtis meagre, his position very 
 galling to a proud, undisciplined spirit. His elder brother, 
 Rufane, was not the man to smooth his difficulties, or to 
 lend him a helping hand in the little scrapes and petty 
 troubles which then, as now, embarrassed the lot of 
 younger brothers with high spirits and low incomes. 
 Rufane was a morose, unamiable person, conscientious in 
 the discharge of what he considered his duties, but 
 making no allowances for the slightest dereliction on the 
 part of others, and altogether a characteristic specimen 
 of the party to which he adhered. When the " troubles " 
 began, Rui'ane had espoused the side of the Parliament, 
 and became, moreover, a tolerably rigid Presbyterian. 
 Nor did he confine his political tenets to abstruse specula- 
 tions. He led out his tenants under Essex, sorely against 
 their will, to do battle with the King, and had once the 
 honour of exchanging sword-thrusts with Prince Rupert 
 in a charge. It was well for Mr. Orme that he wore a 
 bre^istplate of proof on that occasion ; also that the Prince, 
 who swept down upon him like a hawk, had other matters 
 to attend to than a repetition of his thrust. Frank of 
 course adopted the other side, and made his first essay 
 in arms as a stri})ling at Edgehill. His childish face was 
 as forward amongst the pikes of the rebels as many a 
 rugged veteran's, and the boy seemed to take kindly and 
 naturall}^ to the trade of slaughter. After such a demon- 
 stration the brothers of course became avowed encuiies ; 
 but even this open hatred, bitter as it was, and unnatural 
 between two of the same blood, was preferable to the 
 malice that had been rankling for years. A thousand 
 little everyday occurrences had long embittered them 
 against each other; and if Rufane's was a disposition not 
 to overlook an offence, Frank's was one that could neither 
 forgive nor forgot an injury. Scenes of insult and 
 humiliation had made a deej) impression in the younger 
 brother's breast. It was a custom in the family to close 
 the carousals, of which they were all somewhat too fond, 
 with a parting t(jast — " To our next meiTy meeting ! "
 
 FAMILY LIKENESSES 361 
 
 and the practice had not been suffered to die out in 
 Kufanc Orme's time, who, Puritan as he was, showed no 
 disinclination to such pleasures of the senses as were 
 ])ennitted by his creed. One bright summer's evening 
 the brothers sat together at the supper-table. They 
 were alone in the world those two — father and mother 
 sleeping in the vaults of the old church yonder amongst 
 the trees. No nearer relative than a cousin, whom they 
 had never seen ; nothing to divide them but their own 
 evil passions and wayward hearts. How they ought to 
 have loved and clung to each other! A ilagon stood 
 between them on the supper- table. The wine blushed 
 and sparkled in the glow of sunset. Rufane drank deeply, 
 and with a dogged sullen air; alre<xdy his brow was 
 flushed, and his features swollen with his potations. 
 Frank's cup stood untasted before him, and neither spoke 
 a word. 
 
 At last the younger brother broke silence with an 
 allusion to their previous conversation. 
 
 " Not so much as would purchase a horse and a sword ! 
 If I lived you should be repaid with interest. The Ormes 
 have never been unsuccessful soldiers. If I fall, you will 
 be spared the charges to which you are now put for a 
 morsel of food and a cup of wine." 
 
 He spoke in anything but the conciliatory tones of a 
 borrower. There was bitter hatred and a keen irony in 
 every compressed syllable. 
 
 " You are not obliged to go," answered the elder, in a 
 cool, careless voice, inexpressibly irritating to the chafing 
 spirit of the boy. "If you knew your duty you would 
 remain in the station in which you have been placed, 
 therewith to be content. But, go or stay, it is no affair 
 of mine. You have your portion; I do not choose to 
 interfere." 
 
 The boy's fury blazed out. 
 
 " My portion ! " he repeated. " The wages of a groom 
 or a falconer! No, Irother, I will not be indebted to 
 you ; you have said it yourself. Not another morsel will 
 I eat, not another drop will I drink, beneath your roof. 
 This very night I will ride away before the moon is up. 
 I leave you; I despise you; I renounce you. When I
 
 362 GOOD FOB NOTHING 
 
 have made myself a name, and you come cringing to 
 claim kindred with me, I will abjure you, and proclaim 
 to the world how false-hearted and mean and ungenerous 
 you were." 
 
 He rose while he spoke, but his young heart smote 
 him as he glanced at the old church-tower, and he turned 
 and put out his hand. 
 
 " I shall never see you again," he said, his voice falter- 
 ing a little, " so we need not part in anger now, Rufane, 
 do you remember our mother ? " 
 
 " I do," answered the other, in the same cold grating 
 voice, refilling the cup at his elbow the while ; " and how 
 she warned you against that undutiful and rebellious 
 spirit of yours, which was sure to bring you to evil." 
 
 The other ground his teeth and turned upon his heel ; 
 but even then his mother's face rose before him — the 
 face he used to drag down with his two little arms so 
 laughingly to meet his own — the face he had seen long 
 ago white and beautiful in its coffin, when he thought 
 his heart was broken for evermore. He looked back, less 
 in anger than reproach. 
 
 " I will bear you no malice," he said. " Brother, for the 
 last time, farewell ! " 
 
 The other lifted his full cup with a sneering smile. 
 "To our next merry meeting!" he replied, and, emptying 
 it at a draught, leaned back in his chair, and closed his 
 e3'es either in real or feigned repose. 
 
 When he opened them he was alone ; and he never 
 saw his brother's face again but once. 
 
 The battle of Worcester was fost degenerating into a 
 rout. The streets of the town were filling with pursuers 
 and pursued. The third Stuart had played his last stake 
 for a crown — and lost. It was a question now of saving 
 the person of the King. Covering his flight, a body of 
 Royalist cavalry made a succession of brilliant and 
 desperate charges, leaving at every fresh effort some 
 cavalier of name and distinction on the field. In these 
 onsets Frank Orme signalised himself by a headlong 
 gallantry and personal prowess worthy of a disciple of 
 Prince Rupert, and was largely instrumental in checking, 
 although he could not repulse, the overwhelming squad-
 
 FAMILY LIKENESSES 363 
 
 rons of the Protector. As he made his final effort, which 
 enabled Charles to escape, his horse's bridle was seized 
 by an officer of the enemy's cavalry. His sword was 
 already broken, and quick as lightning he drew a jiistol 
 from his holster and shot his assailant through the body. 
 The next instant his charger was clattering masterless up 
 the street, and he was bending in an agony of remorse and 
 horror over the dying man. 
 
 Yes, the pale face contracted in its last spasm was no 
 other than Rufane's. All unconsciously in the confusion 
 of the struggle Frank felt his hand was red with a 
 brother's blood. He strove to stanch the wound, but in 
 vain. He strove to wrest a word of reconciliation or 
 pardon from those writhing lips, but the bullet had done 
 its duty too well, llegardless of his own danger, of the 
 King, of the routed army, of everything but the gasping 
 sufferer before him, he implored Rufane but for one word, 
 one token, that should lift the curse from his own head 
 ere his brother passed away. Once he thought the black 
 lips moved, and a stifled murmur seemed to gurgle up 
 through the blood that was choking the fallen man. He 
 bent down and listened with wild terror. He sprang to his 
 feet then and caught a loose horse, and sped away like a 
 madman. Something he had heard froze the very foun- 
 tain of his heart. He rode as if chased by furies. Shot 
 at by the pursuing Parliamentarians, he seemed to bear a 
 charmed life. And still he galloped on, that awful mur- 
 mur ringing and surging in his ears. " To our next merry 
 meeting ! " It was not fancy, it was not the trick of 
 memory played on an excited imagination, for he had 
 bent down to catch his brother's last words, and listened 
 for them as one listens for the sentence of life or death. 
 They were plain enough, though the dying lips moved so 
 faintly, and the whisper was hoarse with exhaustion. 
 Every breeze that swept bv repeated them, every stroke 
 of his horse's gallop kept tune to the ghastly refrain, " To 
 our next merry meeting I " 
 
 It matters little how he reached Boscobel, and followed 
 the fortunes of his fugitive sovereign, to return with him 
 at the Restoration, and enter in triumph on the goodly 
 inheritance of the Ormes. Remorse has a different efi'ec^
 
 364 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 on different minds. For some, the thorny path Iccads 
 slowly and painfully np the mountain, to reach the 
 springs of life and hope at last, fresher and purer and 
 more reviving as they gush from the bare granite, than 
 Avhen stealing sluggishly along through the fat pastures 
 of the level valley below. Others it goads downwards 
 into the broad easy road — the descent that grows smoother 
 and steeper at every mile-stone — the journey that can be 
 performed as surely and expeditiously on a cripple's 
 crutches as in a coach-and-six — that terminates at those 
 gates which open mde to receive all comers, but which 
 can be passed but once, for thence there is no return. 
 
 Frank Orme — the lord of West- Acres, a king's fixvourite, 
 a gentleman of name and position — was a very ditierent 
 person from Frank Orme the chafing, discontented, and 
 morose younger brother, yet would he willingly have given 
 all he was worth twice over to be able to undo the deed 
 that had placed him in possession of his present advan- 
 tages. A curse seemed to hang over him, which neither 
 employment nor excitement nor prosperity could take off. 
 He sat in a corrupt parliament, and devoted no mean 
 talents to political intrigue and the promptings of ambi- 
 tion in vain, lie attended a dissolute court, and failed to 
 find forgetfulness in the smiles of beauty or the favour of 
 royalty itself As a last resource he married — rather a 
 bad compliment to the lady ; but then, as now, the fair 
 sex were not averse to the task of reforming a sinner 
 (Men entcndu not a sinner in rags, but a sinner in purple). 
 The last effort seemed no whit more successful than its 
 predecessors. There is a picture of the lady and her boy 
 in one of the bedrooms, a dove-eyed dame with a fair 
 foolish face, and to all appearance her stays outside her 
 dress, nursing a curly-headed urchin, who shows no slight 
 resemblance to the stock from which he sprang; the 
 whole depicted under a blue curtain with a crimson sun- 
 set in the distance. He did not love the foolish face, but 
 he made it a kind, cold, indifferent husband, and it con- 
 soled itself perhaps as best it might ; or perhaps it paled 
 and pined and longed in secret, and so grew old before its 
 time. Who knows ? It is full two hundred years ago. 
 Who cares ? They arc hideous ornaments, those stiff family
 
 FAMILY LIKENESSES 365 
 
 pictures, yet are they suggestive representations never- 
 theless. Before he was thirty Frank Orme was a doomed 
 man. 
 
 Like many another who looks here and there, before 
 and behind, around and below, everywhere but above, for 
 some distraction, some palliative of the pain rankling at 
 his heart, the lord of West-Acres tried the same remedy 
 that might have been selected by any ignorant clown on 
 his estate. Drenched with wine, and maddened with 
 licentious shouting revelry, he could forget for a few hours; 
 and then, when the spectre drew aside his curtain and 
 woke him to memory, what resource had he but to drown 
 it once again ? There must have been something weak 
 in the morale of these Ormes. They were a gallant race 
 and a gifted, from father to son, but they seem to have 
 been incapable of facing unaided the misgivings or the 
 sorrows which their own imaginations conjured up. 
 Frank found no pleasure save in these brutal orgies, and 
 it was strange that, to whatever excesses they were carried, 
 he never neglected that parting toast, " To our next merry 
 meeting ! " giving it out with a ghastly mockery of gaiety 
 as if in defiance of some invisible agency, and quaffing off 
 his wine in its honour with the reckless mirth of despair. 
 
 By his own desire and from some morbid feeling which 
 we could not and would not anatomise, he Avas painted in 
 the act of pledging his accustomed toast. It is probable 
 that the artist whom he employed had assisted him more 
 than once in draining a flagon to do it justice. Time 
 after time were his boon companions half startled, half 
 amused, at the increasing wildness of his voice and 
 gestures when he enunciated the well-known sentence ; 
 time after time they winked and shrugged their shoulders, 
 and touched their wine-sodden foreheads with owlish 
 gravity ; but those who drink at a man's charges are 
 usually the last to interfere with his whims; and the 
 Ormes were a race that seldom listened to advice, cer- 
 tainly that never brooked reproof 
 
 At last, one afternoon, the foolish face, sitting vnth. her 
 child, was startled by a visit from her husband. He 
 spoke more kindly to her than was his Avont, and took 
 more notice of his boy. Then ho bade her farewell. " Ho
 
 3G6 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 was going a journey," he said, "not a very long one, yet 
 for which some preparation must be made. He should 
 mount his horse after dinner, to which he had invited a 
 few friends. Life was uncertain : in case of accident, he 
 had come to wish her ' Good-bye.' She had been a good 
 wife to him." 
 
 Emboldened by this unaccustomed tone, the foolish 
 face brightened up, and asked whether she might not 
 take her place at the dinner-table, as he was to depart so 
 soon ? That handsome brow of his could look very black 
 on occasion. It darkened now as he answered harshly iii 
 the negative. But he kissed her on the forehead directly 
 afterwards, and bade her " Farewell " very kindly once 
 more. Poor woman ! she treasured up that caress to her 
 djdng day. 
 
 Then Frank Orme gathered his boon companions about 
 him, and laugh and shout and song made the rafters ring. 
 At last he pledged them all in a double measure with the 
 well-known toast, " To our next merry meeting ! " crushed 
 the empty cup beneath his heel, and so, without another 
 word, walked to the door, mounted his horse, and was 
 gone. 
 
 By midnight, the horse came quietly back to his stable. 
 By noon of the next day, a lad found Mr. Orme's hat, 
 gloves, and cloak under an old oak tree about two miles 
 from West- Acres. When that lad died a man of four- 
 score, the master had not returned. His fate has been a 
 mystery ever since. The foolish face mourned for him, 
 they say, and waited long before she married again ; and 
 the curly-headed child sat in its father's chair. Some 
 people affirm that father appears to his descendants even 
 now. I know the late Mr. Orme fancied he saw him 
 more than once, but this was when his mind was failing, 
 and shortly previous to his own decease. It is a queer 
 story — none the less so for the wild expression of the 
 picture. I v/onder where he met his brother Rufane, and 
 whether they are reconciled now ? 
 
 " Uncle Edward, are you not coming ? " said a voice at 
 my elbow, " and how idle you are ! A whole morning 
 gone, and not a letter ready for the post." 
 
 Lady Gertrude, in a provoking little hat, was standing
 
 FAMILY LIKENESSES ml 
 
 by my side. I did not hear her come into the room, so 
 engrossed was I with my meditations. 
 
 "I will put them off till to-morrow," I replied; "the 
 fact is, my dear, I am getting old and dreamy. I have 
 been thinking of the past, and looking at that picture." 
 
 Her glance followed mine, and for an instant the 
 childish expression of terror came back into her face. 
 
 " That picture ! " she said, " I wish they would take it 
 away ; I have a horror of it. Oh, Uncle Edward ! do you 
 see it, too ? Is not Gilbert getting like it, especially about 
 the eyes ? " /
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 LADY WILFUL 
 
 It was a relief to get out of doors. I seemed to breathe 
 more freely in that pure warm air. The last days of 
 September were going out with the rich tints of autumn 
 and the sunny skies of June. The scarlet geraniums in 
 the flower-garden surfeited the eye with their bright 
 masses loading the shaven sward ; the tall hollyhocks 
 reared their gaudy rosettes above a splendid confusion of 
 verbena, petunia, anemone, and calceolaria spangled with 
 spots of gold. The pendant fuchsias drooped in their last 
 loveliness, and the sweet heliotrope exhaled her dying 
 fragrance ere she sank to decay. Only the roses Avere 
 past. All was left that could extort admiration, but the 
 balmy scent that gives its dearest charm to the summer 
 garden was gone with the summer prime. So it is in life. 
 Rich and bright in its meridian splendour — deep are the 
 hues and noble is the beauty of success ; but Avho would 
 not give it all so willingly but for one breath of the hope- 
 ful sweetness that pervaded those showery mornings in 
 May? 
 
 Gertrude was proud of her driving, and not without 
 reason ; she managed two high-bred spirited ponies with 
 considerable skill. We had no servant with us, as the 
 groom who was to accompany her when she dropped me 
 had gone on to our trysting-jjlace Avith the sportsmen. 
 As we swept round a turn in the avenue, a deer that had 
 been coucliing in the fern suddenly sprang to its feet, and 
 
 .368
 
 LADY WILFUL 369 
 
 bounded across the road immediately in front of the 
 ponies' heads. One of them took fright and tried to turn 
 round. My fair charioteer's brows went down and her 
 lips shut tight as she administered two or three sharp 
 cuts which brought the rebel to obedience, then the 
 pretty face cleared, and she soothed and caressed him with 
 the end of the whip, and spoke to him in gentle concilia- 
 tory tones, which the animal seemed perfectly to under- 
 stand. I wonder if she read my thoughts, for she turned 
 to me with her meaning air, and said — 
 
 " Do you remember. Uncle Edward, when you used to 
 call me Lady Wilful, and tell me the fairy tale about 
 what happened to the princess who would have her own 
 way ? " 
 
 " You have yours with the ponies, at any rate," I 
 replied. "Your system, I see, is one of rewards and 
 punishments. Do you not think, however, it would be 
 better to try the caresses first ? Or perhaps you consider 
 they are the more welcome for the flogging that precedes 
 them." 
 
 I think she was answering her own thoughts when 
 she replied, for she looked straight between the ponies' 
 heads far beyond the new lodges which we were rapidly 
 approaching. 
 
 " I believe a strong will is best counteracted by a 
 stronger than itself I believe all creatures, not excepting 
 the human race, are prone to despise the yielding and to 
 give way before the firm. And yet it is far more painful 
 to insist than to concede. But it never answers to give in, 
 never! Fancy, Uncle Edward, if I had let that pony 
 turn round ! why, we should have been back at the hall 
 door by this time." 
 
 " And if he had insisted," said I — " for after all he is 
 much stronger than both of us put together — and you 
 had thought proper to fight it out ? " 
 
 "Then the carriage would have been broken all to 
 pieces, and you and I had to trudge home on foot. You 
 see somebody must get the worst of it." 
 
 This feminine argument was conclusive. I recognised 
 in it the principle that has held the sexes in equipoise so 
 many thousand years. I remembered our mother, and the 
 
 A A
 
 870 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 apple her honest husband would never have dreamed of 
 touching but for her. I did not forget Saaisou with his 
 head in that coaxing Philistine's lap. A vision came 
 across me of routed legions and galleys scattered like 
 scared waterfowl over the blue southern sea, and frank- 
 hearted Antony destroyed because dark Egypt smiled. 
 It needed not to go back into history to find parallel 
 examples. I thought of many a bright joyous comrade 
 and many a trusty friend. I thought — no, I dared not 
 think — of the story I knew best of all, but I subscribed 
 sincerely to the sentence, " Somebody mnst get the worst 
 of it ; " and it is not the least generous, the least trusting, 
 the least devoted, that is to " get the worst." No ; in 
 this, as in other matters, they take sufficient care that the 
 so-called weakest shall not go to the wall. 
 
 We stopped at the lodges, and inspected the progress 
 that had been already made. We looked down across the 
 park to where the chimneys and gables of the hall peeped 
 through a mass of towering elms, and a thin smoke curled 
 upward into that blue sky laced with a streak of silvery 
 clouds. The lake at our feet glowed like burnished gold, 
 and the woods beyond seemed sleeping, hushed, and still, 
 in the hot haze of noon. The same thought, I am sure, 
 crossed each of our minds at the same moment. " To be 
 lord of all this and not to be happy 1 " was my inward 
 reflection ; and Gertrude, touching the ponies with her 
 whip, broke silence, and put the carriage in motion at 
 the same time. 
 
 " What a deal Gilbert might do here," said she, " if he 
 were only to turn his mind to it ; and it would be the best 
 cure for himself at the same time. Uncle Edward, I want 
 to ask vour advice. What do you think ought to be done 
 about Gilbert ? " 
 
 It was a comprehensive question, and she put it with 
 the clear penetrating look that sat so well on her fair 
 young face. I know not what ])rompted me to answer as 
 I did. I know not why, being so intimate as I was with 
 both, I should have chosen not to be sure that her feel- 
 ings towards her cousin were like those of a sister for a 
 brother, scarcely less, certainly not more. I looked full 
 into her eyes as I replied —
 
 LADY WILFUL 3?! 
 
 " He ought to marry ; I see no other chance of saving 
 him from everything that is worst." 
 
 "Ah! if he would do that," said she, with the same 
 clear bright look, " it would make us all so happy. But 
 do you think there is any hope of it ? Are you sure if he 
 did he would not make bad worse ? I thought you were 
 more or less romantic than the rest of us, Uncle Edward, 
 and did not consider marriage the universal panacea for 
 improvement when everything else has failed." 
 
 She read my thoughts pretty clearly. I have never 
 lowered the richest blessing earth can bestow to a mere 
 remedy for dissipation — never looked upon the troth- 
 plight of a pure and loving woman as the safety-valve 
 that shall possibly check the excesses of a wild young 
 man. 
 
 " If he married some one who could guide as well as 
 interest;him," was my answer, " whom he respected as well 
 as loved, I do believe that even now it would not be too 
 late. Such a wife would make him a different being 
 here and hereafter. You know as well as I do how much 
 good there is about Gilbert, how generous and forgiving 
 he is, how sensitive to kindness, how easily led by his 
 affections." 
 
 The bright eyes were filling fast with tears, but the 
 little hands guided the driving-reins to an inch. Old fool 
 that I was ! I must needs put my oar into waters already 
 sufficiently troubled. I who ought to have known, who 
 did know, that it was simply impossible, must needs sub- 
 scribe for the moment to the conclusions of the gossiping 
 circle of relatives and friends, who dispose in theory of the 
 feelings and affections as readily as of the prospects and 
 fortunes of another. 
 
 " I only know one person," I resumed, " who has it in her 
 power to rescue Gilbert now. I wish I was as sure of her 
 willingness as her ability." 
 
 I looked straight in her face while I spoke. She met 
 my eye quite calmly ; not a shade of confusion darkened 
 her fair open brow, but there Avas something bitter and 
 unhappy about the expression of her mouth, as she 
 replied — 
 
 " I know what you mean, Uncle Edward ; but it wil)
 
 372 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 never be. Once, I grant you, it was not impossible ; now 
 it is completely out of the question. Dear (Gilbert ! how 
 happy he would be with any one who was really fond of 
 him, and how happy she would be too ! Where shall we 
 find the princess. Uncle Edward ? Is she coming, think 
 you, in a coach-and-six with outriders, like Cinderella at 
 eleven o'clock at night, or in rags and tatters, like poor 
 Cinderella at one in the morning ? I think, if I know my 
 cousin, the rags will have it. I wish I could see her, 
 though, whether she came in pattens or glass slippers! 
 As for me," she added, brightening up, with a joyous sun- 
 shiny look that did my heart good — (" Steady, ponies ! I 
 won't have you start off because you hear a shot fired ") — 
 " as for me, I shall never maiTy, but remain Lady Wilful 
 to the end of the chapter." 
 
 " We like you very nuich as you are," was my reply, as 
 the carriage stopped at the turn down Marigold Lane, and 
 we espied the three sportsmen wading knee-deep in a 
 field of swedes ; " but you Avould not be a woman if you 
 were not liable to change your mind ; and it don't follow 
 that because you promise some deluded victim to ohej/ 
 him, you should not continue to be Lady Wilful after- 
 wards just the same." 
 
 She was not listening to me, for just then a brace of 
 partridges got up before John Gordon, and he shot them 
 right and left. 
 
 What fun they had in that field of swedes ! How they 
 traversed it backwards and forwards, lengthwise and 
 crosswise, up and down, and beat it every inch ! How 
 steady was that sagacious old ])ointer, whose duties were 
 limited to the quest after dead game and baffling pursuit 
 of " runners," of which I am bound to say there were 
 indeed but few ! The three gentlemen wore no uncertain 
 shots, and so surely as the russet partridge Avhirred up 
 from its variegated covert, so surely it went down, shot 
 dead and true, before one or other of those unerring 
 barrels. How grim and immoved was the broad- 
 shouldered keeper ! An institution at West-Acres was 
 that man of superhuman gravity, who Avas never known 
 to smile, but who entered into every detail of his profes- 
 sion with a reverent earnestness as of one who lived for
 
 LADY WILFUL 373 
 
 nothing else in the world. He was not without a sort of 
 dry humour, nevertheless, and a hvn-mot of Orme's old 
 keeper had even found its way to the clubs in St. James' 
 Street. It was produced at Flippant's expense, who, al- 
 though a deadly shot, had suffered a woodcock to escape 
 him whilst draining his sherry Hask in the middle ride of 
 West-Acres Wood on occasion of a large battue, and was 
 ever afterwards spoken of by the keeper as " the London 
 gentleman as didn't seem to take much notice." 
 
 How the stable-boy in the rear, ordered out on a young 
 horse for the purpose of " marking " the wilder coveys, 
 scampered hither and thither ! Not doing much in the 
 way of observation, certainly, but finishing countless 
 imaginary Derbys and St. Legers, with his hands down, 
 his feet rammed home in the stirrups, to his own bound- 
 less satisfaction, and the general agitation and discom- 
 fiture of the young horse. 
 
 How another assistant, following with beer, made 
 repeated applications to that fluid, till his face shone 
 rubicund under the influence of its own innate health, 
 combined with a mild stage of intoxication, and exposed 
 to a broiling sun ! 
 
 How John Gordon walked untiring, with his iron 
 muscles and his indefatigable stride, and rarely missed 
 and never smiled ; how Gilbert, with his light springy 
 step, and a certain grace of gesture which never left him, 
 reminded me of the Gilbert of old times ! and lastly, how 
 cheery and gladsome was Holyhead's manly face as he 
 sprang over the fence into the lane, and announced his 
 delight at our arrival, and the extreme rapacity of his 
 inner man for the good things with which we had come 
 provided ! 
 
 " Tvvo-and-thirty brace, Lady Gertrude ! " exclaimed 
 the peer in triumph ; " and the practice, though I say it 
 that shouldn't, remarkably accurate. Do you know, Gordon 
 has scarcely missed a shot the whole morning. We've all 
 done well, and now exhausted nature must sink without 
 supplies. What have you brought ? Sandwiches ? good ! 
 cold pie ? good ! Sherry ? very good ! And a bottle of 
 claret. My old friend at my elbow again ! Lady
 
 374 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 Gertrude, you come like the Goddess of Plenty to the 
 thirstiest of your worshippers. Here's your good health." 
 
 Holyhead drained his glass with exceeding goodwill, 
 applying himself thereafter to the pie with an earnestness 
 that stopped his mouth for a season most effectually. 
 
 In the meantime Gilbert and Gordon had laid their 
 guns aside, and came up to the pony carriage to welcome 
 its inmates and its pi-ovisions, though with far less energy 
 than their demonstrative companion. My boy looked 
 more like himself than I had seen him for a long time. 
 His eye was bright with the excitement of the sport, and 
 hard exercise had brought a healthy colour to his cheek ; 
 but I listened in vain for the good-humoured banter and 
 flow of lively fanciful conversation which used to make 
 him the life and soul of a party like the present. Alas ! 
 a ribald sentiment or a bitter sarcasm was the nearest 
 approach to mirth that ever now crossed the lips of 
 Gilbert Orme. John's talent for silence, too, had wonder- 
 fully increased of late, particularly in Lady Gertrude's 
 presence. Formerly they were never tired of appealing 
 to each other on the most trivial subjects, and would 
 wrangle good-humouredly upon every possible topic from 
 morning till night ; now they only exchanged words when 
 it was unavoidable, and even then I could not help 
 remarking that their eyes never met. It was for Holy- 
 head to keep us all in good spirits. He had already dis- 
 cussed a capital luncheon, and whilst he pufifcMl at his 
 cigar was deep in an argument with Lady Gertrude upon 
 the charms of partridge-shooting. His was one of those 
 enviable dispositions which take their most vivid colour- 
 ing from the objects immediately surrounding them. 
 Holyhead was always engrossed with the present occupa- 
 tion or amusement. If he was hunting, life seemed to 
 have nothing to offer equal to the stride of a good horse 
 and the })ace of a pack of fox-hounds. If he was deer- 
 stalking, the essence of poetry and delight was comprised 
 in the dim mountain and the distant herd, the deep corrie, 
 and the wreathing mist rising like a curtain from the 
 black fastnesses of the glen. Li salmon-fishing he vowed 
 there was no music to him like the spin of a reel, and
 
 LADY WILFUL 375 
 
 the swirl of a rushing stream ; whilst of all sports in 
 the world, he declared to-day, none could vie with 
 such a morning's shooting and such a luncheon as the 
 present. 
 
 Lady Gertrude admitted the merits of the luncheon. 
 " But surely," said she, " you don't call this like being on 
 a Highland hill, up to your knees in heather, with fifty 
 brace of grouse in the creels ? " 
 
 " Infinitely superior," answered Holyhead, with a 
 vigorous application to the claret ; " I cannot admit the 
 comparison. Look at the variety of a day's shooting in a 
 low country. The constant change of scene — the snug 
 farm on the rising ground — the pretty village in the 
 valley — the rich autumnal woods to back those slopes of 
 bright yellow and intense green. Luxuriant hedgerows 
 everywhere — a gleaming river gliding peacefully to the 
 sea through a perfect wilderness of beauty in the distance, 
 and — Lady Gertrude with her pony carriage for a fore- 
 ground ! " 
 
 We all applauded his lordship's eloquence. Gilbert 
 slapped him on the back, quoting at the same time the words 
 put into Balaam's mouth by a certain French philosopher, 
 "Mon S,ne parle, et meme il parle bien." Gertrude laughed, 
 and vowed she could not dispute the merits of the last 
 feature in the landscape ; " but you might have that in 
 the Highlands equally well," she added. 
 
 " You wouldn't look half so nice as you do now," 
 objected the energetic peer, "not a bit of it! You'd be 
 dressed in that hideous grey stuff, to begin with. Then 
 you'd be on a shaggy brute of a pony, horribly disordered 
 and dkoiff4e with what they call mountain breezes there, 
 and we should term a gale of wind anywhere else. Also, 
 such a hat as that wouldn't stand the climate a day. No, 
 with these disadvantages, even you could not carry off the 
 general gloom of the scene. Then think of those eternal 
 tracts of moor. You are romantic, ladies always are, but 
 you don't like sameness, ladies never do. Now, that's 
 what I object to in grouse-shooting : the same scenery — 
 the same objects, or rather the same want of objects — the 
 same grey — the same brown — the same purple — the same
 
 376 GOOD FOR NOTIIINO 
 
 blue. 'Pon my life, it's almost as bad as the sea. Yes, 
 it's just one degree better than yachting. I appeal to 
 both of you follows, now, as men who are above prejudice. 
 Were you not always the least thing bored with grouse- 
 shootinsr by the end of the third day ? " 
 
 " But then we hadn't Gertrude with us," said Gilbert ; 
 whereat I remarked one gentleman of the party wince 
 ever such a little, though his dark face varied not at all. 
 I think she observed it too, for she addressed him for the 
 first time. 
 
 " I hear you have been shooting very well, Mr. Gordon. 
 I hope you like West-Acres better than Scotland ? " 
 
 One moment the whole iron face softened, till its 
 expression was almost beautiful ; the next, the mask was 
 on again as tight as ever. 
 
 " Even unthout the foreground," he answered, very low, 
 and with a cold, distant bow that was almost rude. 
 
 The others had gone to resume their guns, and I was 
 getting out of the Ciirriage, so I think she fancied the 
 whisper was unobserved in which she replied, " Thank you 
 for the compliment ; you are sincere, at any rate," And I 
 am sure no one but myself heard John's muttered " God 
 help me ! I am" with which he strode over the fence into 
 the adjoining field. 
 
 Lady Gertrude drove off for the railway station at a 
 pace of unusual liberality, and John Gordon missed the 
 first three consecutive shots which offered themselves, 
 to the astonishment and disgust of the keeper at his 
 side. 
 
 I walked behind the sportsmen, enjoying the freshness 
 of the air and the contemplation of a pastime that I had 
 followed in youth with passionate eagerness. When a 
 man has once cared for field-sports, I confess I am always 
 sorry to see him losing his taste for these manly pursuits. 
 I mean, when they come in his way naturally and easily. 
 I have remarked that it argues either failing energy or too 
 great a preponderance of one engrossing idea, than which 
 nothing is more fatal to the morale of the individual. I 
 believe balance to be one of the great secrets for preserv- 
 ing a well-regulated mind. One who can interest and
 
 LADY WILFUL 377 
 
 occupy himself with what are called trifies, has a great 
 advantage over another who must be at " high pressure," 
 so to speak, to work at all. The former can keep his 
 fjiculties in edge and polish by frequent and judicious use ; 
 the latter must wear them away with too much friction, or 
 leave them to lie on the shelf and rust. 
 
 As I watched Gilbert, I was concerned to see the list- 
 lassness of his bearing, and his mere endurance of what 
 used to be one of his keenest pleasures. He was such a 
 contrast to his two companions ; for Holyhead, it is need- 
 less to observe, was an enthusiastic sportsman, while John 
 Gordon, though never to be betrayed into anything like 
 undue triumph or excitement, had still a strong zest for 
 any task which required the slightest amount of skill or 
 perseverance, and consistently carried out the precept of 
 Solomon, " Whatsoever thine hand findeth to do, that do 
 with thy might." 
 
 Nevertheless, field after field was beat ; covey after 
 covey flushed, marked, broken, and destroyed. John 
 Gordon had recovered his equanimity and the accuracy of 
 his practice. Holyhead was beginning to complain of 
 " that deathless thirst of his." There were fifty- two brace 
 in the bag ; the dews were falling rapidly, and a vapoury 
 haze was rising from the teeming soil. Heavy banks of 
 clouds tipped with crimson were settling over the western 
 sky ; the partridges were calling to each other from 
 stubble to stubble ; and even the keeper thought it was 
 time " to give out," as he termed it. The sportsmen 
 handed their guns to their attendants, and striking into 
 the high-road, made for the park. Gilbert remained 
 behind to give a few directions as to the disposal of some 
 game, and the other two walked on at a pjice that seemed 
 to me peculiarly unsuitable after a hard day's work. 
 Perhaps each had some restless reason of his own for 
 wishing to get back to the hall. I also had an object to 
 pui-sue. I had determined to obtain an hour's quiet con- 
 versation with my boy. We were soon strolling along 
 between the high thick hedges, out of sight and ear-shot 
 of all but the quiet hares and busy rabbits that stole out 
 of the plantations to crop their dank evening meal.
 
 378 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 Like many other " pleasant vices," smoking has given 
 me np for years. Nevertheless, on occasion I hold the 
 composing weed to be of great assistance to those who 
 would invite confidence or unbosom themselves of their 
 sorrows. Gilbert smiled as he handed me a cigar. For 
 several minutes we walked on and smoked without a 
 word.
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 **A DAY THAT IS DEAD" 
 
 I WAS the first to break silence. 
 
 " Gilbert," I said, " I fear I shall have to go soon. I 
 can only spare time for a short visit. When shall I see 
 you again ? What are you going to do all the winter ? " 
 
 I confess to the common weakness of humanity that 
 shrinks from entering at once upon a painful subject. I 
 know I am wrong, but I cannot help, as it were, putting 
 forth my foot and testing the temperature of the bath, to 
 withdraw it again shrinkingly, and prepare, not without a 
 shiver, for another attempt, rather than souse in at once 
 over head and ears, and come up with a glow. Therefore, 
 I tried to lead Gilbert on to a confession by degrees. 
 
 He started as though I had touched upon some subject 
 which even then occupied his mind. 
 
 " Go abroad, I think," he answered, with rather a dis- 
 turbed look : " to Egypt, or South America, or any other 
 warm climate. What does it matter? What can I do 
 here ? " 
 
 " Shall you not stay at West- Acres," I resumed, " now 
 you are settled here — at least till the end of the hunting 
 season ? " 
 
 He laughed bitterly, launching at once into the savage 
 tone which was habitual now, which he never used 
 formerly. 
 
 " And fulfil my duties, I suppose, in the station in which 
 I am placed ! Ride half-bred horses over this break-neck 
 country, and come home in the dark to dine with a few 
 
 379
 
 380 000 D FOR NOTHING 
 
 respectable idiots who haven't an idea beyond the fat on 
 my venison and the taste of niy claret. Then once a week 
 I should attend magistrates' meetings, and commit poor 
 fellows to prison that I know are ten times better and 
 honester men than myself! Thank you, my de;ir old 
 friend. What a life you would chalk out for me ! " 
 
 " I am an old friend," I said gravely, " and that is why 
 I am talking to you now. Think how ninety-nine men out 
 of every himdred would envy you your lot." 
 
 As I spoke we met one of his own labourers returning 
 from work. His tools hung in a basket behind him ; his 
 coarse clothes and gaiters were plastered with mud ; his 
 red handkerchief, limp with toil, was knotted loosely round 
 his weather-beaten neck. The man was obviously tired 
 {uid hungry and poor, yet while we passed him he wished 
 us a kindly " Good-night," and whistled cheerfully as he 
 stepped out on his homeward way. 
 
 Gilbert pointed over his shoulder with the loading-rod 
 in his hand. 
 
 " I would give everything I have," he said, " willingly — 
 oh ! Jww willingly ! — to whistle with as light a heart as 
 that fellow, even for a day." 
 
 There was something so utterly hopeless and spirit- 
 broken in his tone that I could hold out no longer. 
 
 " My boy," I said, " you are very, very unhappy. I 
 have known it, I have seen it, for long. Such a grief as 
 yours, hidden and cherished and brooded over, eats like a 
 sore into the heart. Like a sore, too, it should be opened 
 and fomented and encouraged to run freely till it drains 
 itself away. Will you not confide in me ? Will you not 
 take counsel with me ? I have known you from a child. 
 I have watched over you all your life, Gilbert, I love 
 you like a son." 
 
 He took my arm and pressed it in his own kindly 
 manner. 
 
 " If you know it," he said, " it's no use my telling you. 
 But you are right. Uncle Edward, I need not mind 
 acknowledging to ymt that I am very miserable. It 
 cannot be unmanly to speak the truth ; and if it be so, 
 what need that matter to me ? I have nothing to care 
 for, nothing to hope for, on earth. You cannot conceive
 
 'A DAY THAT IS DEAD' 381 
 
 how I loathe the wealth and the position and the luxury 
 by which people set such store. What can they do for me? 
 How can they help me ? They do but give me facilities 
 for evil ; and I rush into guilt, not blindly — that might be 
 excusable — but wilfully, and with open eyes, knowing it 
 cannot make me forget even for an hour ! I sometimes 
 wonder why are these things so. I begin to doubt Wisdom 
 and Truth — above all, Jicstice. Am I expiating crimes 
 committed in a past state, of which I have no remem- 
 brance ? Or am I punished for the venial follies of my 
 youth, in which even now I can see but little harm ? 
 What is it I have done ? or what is the object and the 
 intention of making me so unhappy ? I try to look at 
 the whole question with the eye of an unprejudiced 
 observer ; to be myself the unshrinking anatomist of my 
 own moral being — to abstract my own identity from the 
 sufferer, and watch the fibres quiver and the nerves thrill 
 with calm scientific interest. You see I go rather deep 
 into the thing," he added, with a painful attempt at 
 levity, " and the only conclusion I arrive at is the some- 
 what inconclusive one — Cui bono ? " 
 
 " You do not take the right view of it," I argued. 
 " How can you look dispassionately on your own suffer- 
 ings ? And when was cold philosophy sufficient to console 
 a man for any sorrows but those of others ? Cui bono? you 
 ask. Did you ever hear of a prize without a struggle ? 
 Can you not conceive that the furnace must be heated 
 sevenfold to temper the true steel ? Gilbert, the time 
 will come when you will thank God that you have been 
 in trouble ! " 
 
 " And you mean to tell me that all this is for my own 
 good?" he broke in. " To put me oft" with the old woman's 
 argument, that Avretchedness here necessarily implies 
 happiness hereafter. I dispute the whole principle. I 
 maintain that if there is any scheme at all, man is 
 intended to be happy both in this world and the next — 
 that the very affections which constitute the blessings of 
 earth fit him best for heaven. And what of him who is to 
 lose both ? — who feels as I do, too painfully, that he has 
 been deprived in this life of that for which the next, 
 whatever it may be, can offer him no equivalent ? But on
 
 382 GOOD FOB NOTEINO 
 
 questions such as these no two people can agree. You 
 have not felt as I have, Uncle Edward ; I cannot expect 
 you to think as I do." 
 
 I have alwaj's been of opinion that a grain of illustration 
 is worth a pound of argument. We were still half-an- 
 hour's walk from the hall. Evening had already closed in. 
 Time and place were equally adapted for confidential 
 communication. 
 
 " You doubt my experiences," I said ; " would you like 
 to hear something of them ? You have known me as long 
 as you have known anything. Do you ever remember me 
 different from what I am now ? " 
 
 He smiled as he answered — 
 
 " No. My impression of you from the first is the same 
 kind, dear old Uncle Edward, with the same white hair, 
 and the same absent ways, and I firmly believe the very 
 same clothes that you have got on to-day." 
 
 " A sort of old man of the sea," I replied, " who clung to 
 you so tight that you never could shake him off. I wonder 
 you were not afraid of him as a child, that Ancient 
 Mariner — 
 
 * So long, and lank, find brown, 
 As i3 the ribb'd sea sand.' 
 
 Ah ! Gilbert, I have never told you before ; I will tell you 
 now, almost in the Ancient Mariner's words — 
 
 ' Oil ! wedding-guest, this soul liatli been 
 
 Alone on a wide, wide sea ; 
 So lonely 'twas, that God himself 
 Scarce seemed there to be.' 
 
 The sea is lonely as ever, but it is not so wide now ; and I 
 think I know that God is often nearer poor Hagar in the 
 wilderness than mocking Sarah smiling at the tent door, 
 surrounded by fiocks and herds, asses and camels, and all 
 the j)rofusion of the Patriarch's wealth. Think of that 
 desolate one as she sat down on the barren sand, a bow- 
 shot off from her child that she might not see him die. 
 It was not till she had abandoned her very last hope that 
 the spring bubbled up, and they were saved. Will you 
 hear how it was with me before you were born ?
 
 'A DAT THAT IS DEAD' 383 
 
 " It may seem strange to you that the quiet old book- 
 worm whom you remember making your bows and arrows 
 as a child, and reading Herodotus with you as a youth, 
 should ever have been, like yourself, a man of the world, 
 worldly, mixing in all the sports and vanities that are so 
 engrossing at the time, and draining the cup of pleasure 
 with a zest of which even the memory carries with it a 
 species of intoxication still. He was rich, gay, agreeable — 
 —he may say so now without vanity — and above all, 
 thoroughly in earnest. Whatever promised amusement 
 or excitement, he pursued and ran down with unfailing 
 energy. Ay, it's no use disguising it, you know it as well 
 as I do — pleasure, empty though it be, is a very pleasant 
 thing while it lasts. We have read of the cups of Circe, 
 you and I, in the old peaceful days. Depend upon it, 
 they were no insipid draught. Cold, sweet, and sparkling, 
 be sure they never lost their flavour till they had pro- 
 duced their effect. Ah ! with the strength and skill of man- 
 hood in one's limbs, and the hot blood of manhood boiling 
 at one's heart, it was no tame pastime to sweep along on 
 a high-couraged hunter over fence and field, racing with 
 half-a-dozen of the wildest and merriest of one's friends ; 
 no wearisome task to watch far into the night, quaffing 
 the blushing claret, with thick-coming fancies crowding in 
 the brain on the generous flood, and the charms of wit, 
 and friendship, and poetry, and romance, brought out as 
 the varnish brings out the colours of a picture, in each of 
 the brave, thoughtless, high-spirited comrades who sat 
 around. Why need I dwell on all that life offers to the 
 rich and gay ? — the succession of sports, the crowded 
 race-course with its rush of horses, its Babel of tongues, 
 and its flower-show of beauty ; the solitary heather-bed 
 amongst the dark hills that lower round Ben-y-Glo ; the 
 wild wave surging up so fresh and free from the bows of 
 the gliding cutter, steadying bravely to the breeze ; above 
 all, the pleasant voices of women, the ringing laugh, the 
 merry eye, and the intoxicating smile. You have done it 
 all ; you have tried it all. You have been through the 
 charmed circle ; you cannot deny it. It was a gleaming 
 fairy-land once, for all it is such a waste of desert now. 
 Well, Gilbert, I have trodden the same path before you;
 
 384 GOOD FOR NOTHIXG 
 
 I am ashamed to think how well I liked it. But the 
 time came at last when I began to deem all this sparkle 
 and glitter less the end than the accessories of existence ; 
 when I esteemed such but as the stones of lesser price, 
 that I would fain group around the pearl I thought I had 
 W'on ; nay, when I flung them away willingly, cheerfully, 
 that the pearl might snow fairer, purer, without the aid 
 of extraneous ornament. Then I said, I have found the 
 philosopher's stone at last. What need I care that I melt 
 all my possessions in the crucible, since I have worked out 
 the charm that turns everything to gold ? Why should I 
 grudge to abstract myself from all I have hitherto 
 esteemed, and give up friends, ambition, fame, station, all 
 and everything, since I have discovered the pearl of great 
 price, which, when a man finds, he sells all he has that he 
 may make it his own ? I was really happy now — so I 
 thought, and so I ivas — for about half a day ! It is no 
 less sad than true, Gilbert ; and you will, I feel, agree 
 with me, that this false glamour is a warmer, softer light 
 than the pure, clear dawn of the true day. Alas ! in- 
 stead of growing brighter and brighter into the splendour 
 of noon, that it should fade as rapidly as a meteor, and 
 leave us in a darkness all the more profound that our 
 eyes have been dazzled, and our senses stupefied with its 
 sheen ! 
 
 " I set my ])earl in gold, if ever man did. The gem 
 was well worthy of the setting. I am an old man now. 
 Boy ! I cannot biit be within a few paces of my grave. 
 Years have gone by since then ; years that have changed 
 everything around me. And yet I dare not speak tonlay 
 of the great sorrow that passed over me and left me 
 desolate. 
 
 " Do you think I cared for worldly ruin after that ? 
 Do you think the choicest gifts of fortune could have ever 
 again been to me aught but dust and ashes ? The 
 greatest kindness you can bestow on the poor wretch who 
 has taken his death-wound, is to lay him down in some 
 quiet corner unnoticed and alone. 
 
 " These things are manag(!d for us. It must be so, or 
 the memories of threescore years and ten would drive a 
 good man mad. Let me look calmly back down the long
 
 'A DAY THAT IS DEAD' 385 
 
 valley, and think of what might have been. Had I 
 retained all the treasures men most covet — health, and 
 wealth, and strength, and station — ay, and the one ines- 
 timable blessing that alone made them all worth having 
 — how could I nave borne to think of death ? Too happy 
 for a mortal, I must have become a coward from sheer 
 fulness of content. Again, had I not been compelled to 
 face actual want alone, how would it have racked my 
 heart to see her in poverty and distress ! On the other 
 hand, to have lost the jewel and preserved the setting, 
 would have been to sit with folded hands in the mute 
 prostration of despair. But when all was lost, then was it 
 all was gained. It is well to have but one Friend left, the 
 only Friend that never failed a man at his need. There 
 He is, always the same, always generous, always sympa- 
 thising, always forgiving ; not grudging that you never 
 come to Him till every one else has spurned you ; 
 accepting your broken heart all the more kindly that it 
 is broken and humbled to the dust. Oh ! my boy, if the 
 heathen thought he was sure of one last resource in death, 
 what courage does it give tis to know that we have our 
 refuge in life for ever ! " 
 
 Gilbert shook his head. He was dissatisfied still. How 
 I wished for " the tongue of men and angels " to win 
 him over to my side ! But there was a drop of bitter- 
 ness in his heart that turned all his better feelings to 
 
 " Yours is a sad story," he said, " but I daresay there 
 are many such in the world, though few have borne the 
 load so gently and bravely as my old friend. Do not 
 think, however, that it is any consolation to me to lament 
 and whine over so common an infliction as mine. On the 
 contrary, I wish, as I have already told you, to look on 
 the whole thing as a physiological study. It is rather 
 amusing than otherwise. You know the facts ; I need 
 not go over them. You know what I felt for her. Oh, 
 God ! you know how I loved her ! " (it was sad how his 
 voice changed ;) " and by this time y(ju must know the 
 return she has made me for all / could give. The thing 
 is almost absurd enough to stand for a joke. If the 
 
 BB
 
 386 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 devil ever laughs — and I am sure he must often have 
 cause — it is enough to make him hold his sides. Well 
 may he gibe and jeer at those who do his work without 
 even receiving his wages. I laugh at it myself, when I 
 am alone. And yet what would I not have saciificed, 
 what did I not sacrifice for her ? I asked for so little in 
 return. Had she but loved me, I should have lived all 
 my life true and self-denying for her sake. I would not 
 even have asked to see her, or be near her ; but I would 
 have heard from time to time of her welfore, and so 
 toiled on, hoping to meet her in another world. Is this 
 high and holy affection, or is it stark madness ? What 
 has been my reward ? She drops me with as little effort 
 as it takes to pull off a pair of soiled gloves, and when I 
 am dying she never comes near me to know how I am ! " 
 
 He spoke with a degi-ee of bitterness that was painful 
 to hear. It was clear he knew nothing of Ada's visit to 
 his sick chamber. My gentle, soft-hearted Ada, who 
 would have given her life only too happily to have saved 
 his — it seemed cruel he should so misunderstand her. 
 After a moment's silence he went on again. 
 
 "This it is that galls me so; I can sometimes hardly 
 endure it. This it is that makes me a morose, and savage, 
 and miserable man. I could have borne anything better 
 than this. Rather would I have lost her a thousand times, 
 than feel that she is so unworthy, that I have been wasting 
 my whole being on a myth, on an idea, on that which 
 never had an existence ; that the Ada whom I worshipped 
 so fondly was false, heartless, fickle, and unfeeling as the 
 veriest coquette that ever sold herself for the miserable 
 triumph of a day ! " 
 
 I could bear it no longer. To hear her so misjudged, so 
 reviled, and b}^ 1dm of all men on earth ! 
 
 " Hold, Gilbert," I said ; " had you seen her as I did, 
 when you were insensible in London, and she came to take 
 her last look of you on earth, you would not speak of her 
 as you do noAv." 
 
 Fool that I was, I had better have bit my tongue out 
 by the roots, than have let him guess at the reality of 
 that touching interview.
 
 *A DAY THAT IS DEAD' 387 
 
 He seized me by the arm, and looked wildly into my 
 face. " Did she come to me ? " he said, in a low choking 
 voice. " Oh, God ! she loves me still ! " 
 
 We were entering the house while he spoke. He hurried 
 away with staggering, uncertain stops, and I heard the 
 lock of his door turned when he reached his room.
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 
 WILL YOU ? 
 
 Dinner that day was rather a tedious affair. Our host 
 did not appear; nor was this an unusual practice with 
 Gilbert of late. The ixry line gentleman who condescended 
 to officiate as Groom of the Chambers, and who was chiefly 
 remarkable for the elegance with which he turned his 
 periods, and the perseverance with which he pulled down 
 his wrist-bands, announcing to us that " Mr. Orme begged 
 we would not wait. He had given orders not to be dis- 
 turbed. Mr. Ornie had a large amount of business to 
 transact against post-time." So we paired off and rustled 
 in to dinner without him. 
 
 Bella seemed the liveliest of the party. Lady Gertrude, 
 I could not but observe, was exceedingly uneasy ; and 
 John Gordon very much out of spirits and out of humour. 
 Lady Olivia was disturbed about some shortcomings of her 
 maid. Holyhead was quieter and more subdued than his 
 wont, though still by no means a dull companion ; and I 
 myself, I nnust confess, felt oppressed by many vague and 
 painful misgivings which I should have been at a loss to 
 explain. 
 
 Miss Jones, however, was quite lively and talkative. 
 This young lady was considerably improved by the mis- 
 fortunes through which she had passed. Her somewhat 
 hoydenish manner had acquired repose and dignity, with- 
 out losing its frankness. Her tone was softened, and her 
 bearing more self- restrained. She was a woman now ; and 
 one who had not only learned to depend on herself, but to 
 
 388
 
 WILL YOU? 380 
 
 act for others. Even her very appearance was changed, 
 and to my thinking, vastly for the better. She had lost 
 the hcantd de diahle, the only beauty, by the way, to which 
 she could lay claim ; but she had gained in its stead a 
 depth of expression, and a defined characteristic cast of 
 countenance, well worth all the red-and-white in the world. 
 I do not think I was the only person present of this 
 opinion. 
 
 I do not set up, like many gentlemen of my age and 
 habits, for a consummate judge of beauty. It is perhaps 
 a subject on which study is by no means beneficial, and 
 even in theory admits of every variety of taste and opinion. 
 I do know one man, and that by no means an impression- 
 able person, on whom an impediment in the female speech 
 (doubtless a rare defect, and not without its advantages) 
 produces instantaneous subjection. Stoically uninfluenced 
 by regularity of features, adamant to complexion and 
 crinoline, his defences fall to the abortive music of a 
 " stutter," as the walls of Jericho crumbled at the trumpet- 
 blast of the hosts of Israel. He is fascinated, conquered, 
 bound hand and foot, before the fair mute can get out her 
 offer of quarter. The one hesitates, and the other is lost. 
 I only adduce this in corroboration of a proverb which 
 exists in every known language, to the effect that " there 
 is no accounting for tastes." 
 
 To my mind, our young English ladies are very tardy 
 in reaching their prime. They do not usually get rid of 
 their " baby-faces " till person and intellect have for some 
 years arrived at the stage of womanhood ; and beautiful 
 as those " baby-faces " unquestionably are, I think most 
 men will admit that time and experience, while altering 
 their expression, rather add to than detract from their 
 charms. In the south of Europe, twenty-five or thirty is 
 synonomous with decay. A Transatlantic beauty is in the 
 splendour of her prime at eighteen. Our Saxon cousins, 
 with their fair hair and blue eyes, commonly grow so fat 
 in their sixth lustre, as to lose all pretensions to admira- 
 tion : whilst a Frenchwoman's teeth rarely withstand the 
 influence of the honhonni&re for half-a-dozen years after her 
 marriage. It is only our English dames, I think, who, 
 thanks to their climate, constitution, food, and habits,
 
 390 GOOD FOB NOTHING 
 
 preserve their beauty unimpaired up to the very verge of 
 middle age. Bella was yet a long way from that somewhat 
 uncertain period ; nevertheless she was acquiring ex- 
 pression of countenance and fascination of manner day by 
 day. She was quite capable now of taking her part in the 
 emptiest conversation — than which I hold no accomplish- 
 ment more denotes familiarity with society — and brought 
 us down the very latest London gossip, which at the end 
 of September, it is fair to conclude, was more likely to 
 originate at Brighton than in the deserted city itself. 
 
 " Mrs. Montpellier was at the old Steine. Mrs. Mont- 
 pellier had called upon her. She had a piece of news 
 especially for Lord Holyhead — Mrs. Montpellier had refused 
 Charley Wing." 
 
 Holyhead looked excessively conscious, though doubtless 
 every one present mistook the cause. 
 
 " How very strange ! " said he, with a forced laugh. 
 " Such a parti for a widow ! You know Charley is smoth- 
 ered in money now. What can she be about ? She must 
 be waiting for a Rothschild." 
 
 " I don't think Mr. Wing can be very rich," observed 
 Bella. " I saw him one day w^alking on the Chain Pier in 
 such shabby clothes, and with a cotton umbrella ! " 
 
 " That's a sure proof of wealth," remarked John Gordon. 
 " Capitalists always carry cotton umbrellas ; I know it's so 
 in the City. A very neat article, we consider, looks like 
 borrowing money. I speak as a professional man." 
 
 We laughed ; and I remarked a smile on the staid coun- 
 tenance ot the Groom of the Chambers, ex officii a close 
 observer of men and manners. 
 
 " He's very good-looking," said Miss Jones, simply, still 
 harping on Charley Wing ; " if he would only dross him- 
 self a little better; but I suppose Mrs. Montpellier don't 
 think .so." 
 
 " Is that realli/ your opinion ? " asked Lord Holyhead, 
 uneasily ; then added wdth his frank laugh, " Ah, Miss 
 Jones, you should have seen him in his palmy days, when 
 he hadn't a Hix])enco. He was the smartest and best- 
 looking-foUow about London then." 
 
 " Gilbert used always to call him the Last of the Lady- 
 Killers," remarked Gertrude. " How amused he will be
 
 WILL YOU? 391 
 
 to hear of his rebuff ! I have often heard him declare he 
 should be more afraid of Charley Wing as a rival than 
 anybody in the world." 
 
 " He mustn't say so again," interposed Holyhead, mis- 
 chievously. " I believe it is nobody but Gilbert that has 
 cut out Charley with Mrs. Montpellier." 
 
 " What nonsense ! Gilbert never thought of her ! " ex- 
 claimed Lady Gertrude, with flashing eyes and uncalled- 
 for energy. " I mean," she added, calming suddenly down 
 as if a little ashamed of her vehemence, " it is so hard that 
 people never can be friends without the world putting the 
 most uncharitable constructions." 
 
 Her ladyship's unqualified denial did not fail to produce 
 its effect. The servants looked startled ; Lady Olivia 
 displeased ; Holyhead amused ; and John Gordon's brow 
 grew darker and darker. When the ladies rose en masse 
 to take flight, he did not even stoop to pick up the gloves 
 and handkerchief which Gertrude had of course suffered 
 to escape below the table. I was forced to dive for them' 
 myself, no easy task for an old man after dinner; and 
 though she thanked me kindly for the recovery of these 
 superfluities, I do not think she was conscious of a syllable 
 she said. 
 
 Soon after her departure, John thought proper to repeat 
 his previously-announced intention of starting by the early^ 
 train next morning. Holyhead suddenly sank into a very 
 unusual fit of abstraction, in which he not only forgot to 
 pass the bottle, but neglected to fill his own glass. The 
 consumption of claret was moderate in the extreme ; and 
 the bell that summoned coffee was felt to be a relief to all. 
 
 In the drawing-room matters were even worse. Lady 
 Olivia had gone to bed with a headache — the only indis- 
 position to which her strong organisation was subject, and 
 which was apt to come on when she was tired of her com- 
 pany. Gertrude, looking extremely restless and anxious, 
 had taken a cup of tea to Gilbert's door. Miss Jones 
 chatted on pleasantly enough for a time, chiefly to the 
 edification of Lord Holyhead, who seemed never tired of 
 asking news about her papa, her cottage, her parrot, and 
 her pianoforte. On the three former topics they were 
 growing quite confidential. She had told him that papa
 
 392 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 was getting better every day, and was a different man 
 since he had escaped from the constant annoyances and 
 anxieties of business ; that he got his rubber four nights 
 a week ; and that she herself played " double dummy " 
 with him the other two. That the little house was very 
 comfortable. She even described the situation of the 
 rooms, and the pattern of the drawing-room carpet. That 
 the parrot liked his new quarters as well as the rest of the 
 family, and had " quite left off biting people," added Bella, 
 with a blush and a smile. And then she checked his 
 lordship's explosions of hilarity, and his assurances that he 
 should bear the scars to his grave, by an allusion to the 
 comfort she had derived from the possession of the piano- 
 forte at the worst stage of their misfortunes, and her 
 gratitude for the kindness and forethought which had 
 provided her with the instrument. 
 
 " I never found out," said Bella, in a much lower and 
 rather unsteady voice, " whose gift it was till John told 
 me about it at Brighton. I had almost made up my mind 
 to write and thank you, but I thought I had better wait 
 till I should see you to express my gratitude ; and now I 
 hardly know how to do so strongly enough. It was very, 
 very kind of you. Lord Holyhead," said Bella, and the 
 black eyes filled with tears, though she tried hard to 
 smile. " You must be a conjuror. You must have known 
 exactly what I wanted, or you must have taken a great 
 deal of trouble to find out." 
 
 ^ " I have thought of little else for many months," he 
 whispered, in a very low voice, not much steadier than her 
 own ; and I confess at this juncture I began to consider 
 whether a third person must not be rather in the way. 
 Gertrude had not returned from her mission with the tea. 
 Gordon was in the little drawing-room, as it was called, 
 obviously reading the paper, to judge by the irritable 
 crackling of the broadi^heet. Besides myself, these two 
 were the only inhabitants of the apartment, and they 
 seemed to be quite forgetful of my presence, so engrossed 
 were they with the absorbing topic which some one has 
 described as " talking to each other of each other." Old 
 gentlemen are all veiy well in their way, but if they are 
 dense and inconsiderate they may sometimes be very
 
 WILL YOU? 393 
 
 much in the way of other people. I began to think I had 
 better penetrate into the library ; that Avas my natural 
 sphere now. There was not much temptation to remain 
 with John Gordon in the retreat he had selected, and I 
 caught myself repeating the "3fc nccfemina ncc puer" of 
 Horace as I sat me down to a stiffish page of Diodorus 
 Siculus which had long puzzled me, but of which thafe 
 evening I certainly failed to extract the meaning. 
 
 No ! I do not think I would have it all over again if I 
 could. " Otium divos rogat in patenti." How that Horace 
 keeps running in my head ! but surely rest, rest is what 
 poor mortality must yearn for, after all. It is better to 
 lie still, though it be down fathom-deep below the dark 
 waters, than to be ever heaving to and fro, the sport of 
 the changing wave. No more fair breezes and smiling 
 skies and purple islands studding the smooth sheen of the 
 tropic sea ; but then no more treacherous fogs and hidden 
 reefs and sudden squalls and long-continued gales to baffle 
 the bold mariner, and vex and weary and make him long 
 for any port at last. No more joyous chorus round the 
 capstan, nor pleasant carouse with jolly messmates on 
 Saturday nights; but then no more turning up all hands 
 to shorten sail in the night, with the sea washing heavily 
 over the slippery deck, and the bare spars dancing and 
 reeling aloft against the cheerless, windy, starry sky. The 
 mariner is down in the sea caves, wrapped in his clean 
 hammock, with a round-shot at his feet. There let him 
 sleep sound and still till the resurrection. He is better so. 
 
 Once it crossed my mind, as I turned over the pages of 
 Diodorus Siculus, that a lady of whom I had heard as the 
 Signora Bravoura might be somewhat dissatisfied with 
 the arrangements so obviously impending. How that 
 strong-minded vocalist herself, or any of her fashionable 
 friends, would have laughed at my being so much behind- 
 hand in the gossip of the world. They had parted months 
 ago; and from what I have heard of the lady, it was by no 
 means the least courageous act of his lordship's life thus 
 to free himself from a captivity that was growing more 
 hopeless day by day. 
 
 With all the intuitive tact and administrative powers 
 of the female intellect, there are some characters of the
 
 304 OOOD FOlt NOTniNO 
 
 other sex, and those not the least capable, in the manage- 
 ment of which women find themselves completely at fault. 
 To soothe the hasty, to cajole the obstinate, to Hatter and 
 impose upon the vain, or with honeyed accents and 
 specious eloquence to mystify the weak, what advocate so 
 sviccessful as a woman ? But there is one class of dis- 
 position she usually mistakes, which baffles her persuasive 
 powers, and before which her boasted influence is swept 
 away like a mesh of cobwebs. It is that of a frank, good- 
 humoured, single-hearted, yet resolute man. His very 
 absence of cunning foils all her tactics. He cannot be 
 made to understand her hidden interpretations — her tor- 
 tuous schemes — her pretty little affectations and harmless 
 duplicity; the shaft that would sting a more artificial 
 heart to the quick, rebounds innocuous from the stainless 
 shield of honesty. There can be no trial of fence where 
 one declines to use the small sword, and falsehood, with 
 all its speed, has so much lost ground continually to make 
 up, that it can never reach the goal so soon as truth. 
 Beaten from her usual mode of warfare by such an 
 opponent, the fair aggressor is prone to mistake forbear- 
 ance for weakness, and patience for stupidity. Then she 
 falls into a fatal error, and elects to try the issue by sheer 
 strength. He has borne a good deal. He will bear just 
 a little, ever such a little, more. You are bad handi- 
 cappers, ladies ! Ask your brothers or your husbands if 
 it is not that last pound which turns the triumph of 
 Newmarket to a defeat none the less ruinous that it was 
 within a yard of victory ? Be advised by me. If you 
 have half reclaimed your falcon, be careful liow you abuse 
 the obedience of that tameless nature. Ruffle its feathers 
 but once too often, and the bird breaks away from wrist 
 and jesses, never to stoop to the lure again. 
 
 Bravoura was a lady of considerable physical calibre — 
 deep-bosomed as Juno, ox-eyed also like the mother of the 
 gods, and, not to speak it disrespectfully, a little bull- 
 throated. The price of stalls and boxes on her benefit 
 nights sufficiently vouched for the power of her lungs, and 
 her servants and courier could answer for her high courage 
 and temper to correspond. She feared nobody on earth 
 but Holyhead, and she tried to bully Idui. The obvious
 
 WILL YOU? 395 
 
 result of such a measure was to bo found in his lordship's 
 happy escape from thraldom, which left him at liberty to 
 tel! Bella Jones such a tale in the quiet drawing-room at 
 West-Acres, as called up blushes, but not of shame, on 
 her comely cheek, and tears, but not of sorrow, into her 
 downcast eyes. 
 
 " They will suit each other remarkably well," was the 
 way in which I translated a page of the vellum-covered 
 volume on my knee; "better than nine couples out often. 
 She loves him dearly, and she will make him the most 
 willing of wives. He is the last person on earth to exact 
 obedience except in a case of absolute necessity, and then, 
 unless I mistake him very much, he is a man who will 
 not be denied. I believe such make the best husbands. 
 Moreover, he is a widower, and Bella will gain hugely by 
 comparison with his late viscountess, a lady with whom 
 I had the disadvantage of being acquainted. She has at 
 least this in her favour, that her rival will not be that 
 imaginary piece of perfection who is supposed to be en- 
 dowed with all those charms proverbially to be found 
 only in ' bachelors' wives.' Holyhead's, again, is not a 
 nature that can love anything a little, and for a short time. 
 He is old enough to know his own mind, and he seems 
 pretty sure of it on this occasion. It will be a cheerful 
 wedding, with more smiles than tears. Then they will go 
 away to the old place in Yorkshire, and the school-children 
 ■will cheer them under arches of laurels, and the tenants 
 will get drunk, and the bonny bride receive a hearty 
 welcome home. Holyhead will live there entirely, and 
 farm a little, and hunt and shoot a good deal, and put on 
 a stone of weight every year ; and Bella will expand into 
 a comely matron, with a fine numerous family, a blessing 
 to the poor, an acquisition to the neighbourhood, and the 
 very prop and mainstay of the annual York Ball." I 
 thought of the altar rails, and the grave priest, and the 
 touching blessing — " Well is thee, and happy shalt thou 
 be ! " Then I thought — how could I but think ? — of one 
 in that very house, its lord and master, sitting apart from 
 all in his own room, alone with his desolate heart. I 
 could feel for him looking blankly into the future — no 
 promise for him in the coming years — no hope of that to
 
 39G GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 which almost all men who hope at all, look forward at 
 some time or another — a happy home. It is barl enough 
 to think of the jonrncy through the Great Sahara when 
 it is nearly over ; but who, with the weary ride fresh in 
 his remembrance, the aching eyes, the dizzying glare, the 
 endless caravan, the tiresome bell, the cruel thirst, the 
 maddening sameness day by day — who, I say, in sight of 
 the palm-trees and minarets at last, but would pity one 
 whom he knew to be mounting his patient camel to com- 
 mence the solf-same pilgrimage ? Alas for Gilbert ! I 
 could hardly bear to think of him. Unconsciously as I 
 rose from my chair and paced up and down the long 
 library, my glance rested on the portrait of Frank Orme. 
 In the dim light those eager eyes looked startlingly out of 
 the canvas into my own. I began to understand Lady 
 Gertrude's youthful dislike to the picture. For the first 
 time I acknowledged to its full extent the wild fascination 
 of that handsome face. There was a spell upon me that 
 seemed to affect my nerves and my brain. The eyes 
 haunted me, the more painfully, too, that I avoided them 
 and turned my back on the figure. Whilst in my ears 
 something seemed continually to whisper, " To our next 
 merry meeting ! " " To our next merry meeting !"
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 won't you ? 
 
 The evening in question was an eventful one at West- 
 Acres. As we read that before the Deluge people feasted 
 and amused themselves, and married and were given in 
 marriage, not discontinuing such indulgences even after 
 the rain began to fall, and the avenging waters to mount 
 inch by inch from the sea — so we of modern times must 
 dine and dress, and make love and conversation, whatever 
 may be impending on ourselves individually, or those who 
 are nearest and dearest to our affections. If you or I 
 were to die to-morrow, kind reader, our survivors nmst 
 eat and drink. The butler would fill their glasses with 
 sherry as usual, perhaps a trifle fuller if a feeling man ; 
 and should the fish not be boiled enough, do not suppose 
 the cook's shortcomings would escape notice on account 
 of our demise. Is there one heart in the world, think 
 you, that will break when you are gone ? Perhaps there 
 may be just one. If so, thank God that you have really 
 lived, and grudged not to depart when you are called 
 "Home, to go and take your wages." 
 
 There were several agitated minds above-st^airs in Mr. 
 Orme's house when the servants' supper-bell rang. Not 
 the least so, though he tamed and kept it under with his 
 iron will, was tliat of Mr. John Gordon, reading the 
 Wedern Luminary upside down in the little drawing- 
 room, and deriving obvious stores of information from the 
 well-filled columns of that meritorious journal. John was 
 very discontented and unhappy. He had miscalculated 
 
 397
 
 398 GOOD FOB NOTHING 
 
 his strength ; he, who uever miscalculated anything, and 
 who piqued himself so especially on that same godlike 
 quality of strength. He had thought he was quite man 
 enough to come down to West- Acres for a week and enjoy 
 his shooting, and be as happy as he had always been in 
 Gilbert's society; and if anything decided should take 
 place whilst he was there, why, that he could congratulate 
 the cousins with a steady voice and an unruffled brow. 
 Love is blind indeed. John saw clearly, though nobody 
 else did, that Lady Gertrude was on the eve of becoming 
 mistress of West- Acres. And now to-day he had found 
 out that ho couldn't bear it. He felt hurt and angry ; he 
 had spoken unkindly, bitterly, almost rudely. She must 
 have remarked it ; everybody must have heard it ; he 
 would not run such another risk of losing his self-control. 
 He would go away to-morrow morning and never see her 
 again. 
 
 Do you remember the magic mirror on which Cornelius 
 called up for gifted Surrey the image of his love ? Do 
 you think she ever looked so fair to him in the reality of 
 daylight at home, as far away in that foreign land, under 
 " the vaulted roof of gramarye " ? Did his heart ever 
 thrill to her fondest whisper when he sat by her at the 
 banquet, or led her a stately measure through the hall, as 
 it thrilled to mark her image in the depths of that dreamy 
 picture ? — where the dear one 
 
 " Lay reclined, 
 And pensive, read from tablet eburnine 
 Some strain that seem'd her inmost soul to find ; 
 That favour'd strain was Surrey's raptured line, 
 That fair and lovely form, tiie Lady Geraldine." 
 
 What was the secret of the wizard's charm but the deso- 
 late feeling — he would never see her again ? Those are the 
 words, that is the spell to call up at an instant the image 
 of the loved one, in its brightest beauty and its dearest 
 perfections. Then we feel the worth of all that we have 
 lost ; then we reproach ourselves that we did not value it 
 half enough while it was our own ; then we know that 
 henceforth the inirror must be broken and the self- 
 emitted light be quenched for evermore.
 
 WON'T YOU? 399 
 
 John Gordon ran over his whole past life in his mind. 
 He recalled the delicate high-born girl on whom he had 
 dared so long ago to set his heart : a thousand graces of 
 voice and manner, a thousand bright looks and kindly 
 words, beamed on his memory once more. He remem- 
 bered — oh ! so well — the first happy day on which the 
 possibility had dawned upon him of winning her at last. 
 What strength and energy had that hope given him for 
 the battle of life ! How had he risen in his own esteem 
 for the courage that owned so high an aim, and the deter- 
 mination, which he felt he possessed, that could alone 
 conquer the difficulties in his path ! What labour, what 
 efforts, what self-denial had he shrunk from while there 
 was yet a hope ? Had he ever miscalculated an advantage 
 or thrown a chance away with this one object in view? 
 He had submitted to drudgery, to confinement, to a career 
 of endless and continuovis labour, because these were the 
 only steps to advance him on his way. He had consented 
 to be thought avaricious, grovelling, ungenerous, for his 
 relentless pursuit of wealth. And why ? Because the 
 bars of the ladder must be made of gold. Why had he 
 winced so painfully from the news of his partner's diffi- 
 culties, and gone out at once to Sydney, making light of 
 danger, trouble, and hardship, but that he might leave no 
 means untried to refit the dismantled bark that carried 
 all his venture ? He remembered so vividly her farewell 
 in Portland Place — the turn of her head, the colour of her 
 dress, the very gloves she wore. He had been angry with 
 her then. Ah ! he was not angry with her now. Then 
 he recalled her gi-eeting when he returned, and the sense 
 of honour which enforced him to silence whilst his heart 
 was bursting to speak. Surely she cared for him then. 
 Perhaps he, too, like others, had learned to agree with 
 Dante — to acknowledge, 
 
 " This is truth the poet sings, 
 That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things." 
 
 Well, well ; it was no use looking back. Of course she 
 was meant for Gilbert from the first, and he ought to have 
 known it long ago. He hoped she w^ould be happy with 
 her cousin ; he would always hope that. For him the
 
 400 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 dream was over. It had lasted through the best years of 
 his life. He was no love-sick swain, yet something told 
 him that it would be a darker world hencefoi-th ; that was 
 not her fault, but his own weakness. He was not ashamed 
 of it. "After all," thought John, " I have been a better 
 and a kindlier man for her sake." 
 
 Some work of Gertrude's lay on the table at his elbow. 
 She was no persevering sempstress at the best of times, 
 and it was her habit to do a few desultory stitches at a 
 sitting, and leave her embroidery about in an untidy and 
 disorderly manner. By an impulse very unusual in one 
 of his disposition, he took it up and pressed it fervently 
 to his lips. Gertrude, passing softly along the corridor, 
 on her way to the drawing-room, saw the gesture through 
 the open door, and drew her own conclusions, to her own 
 entire satisfaction. 
 
 Now this young lady, albeit neither given to " nerves " 
 nor r/iigraine, hut n^uicing,on the contmry, in a character 
 and constitution of more than ordinary vigour, was never- 
 theless to-night in a disturbed and restless frame of mind, 
 from a variety of conflicting causes. The origin of her 
 distress, she persuaded herself, was anxiety on Gilbert's 
 behalf; and her cousin's seclusion in his own room doubt- 
 less caused her no inconsiderable uneasiness. She had 
 been to visit him after dinner with a cup of tea, and 
 finding the door locked, had left it there to cool in the 
 passage, and so betook herself to her own room, there to 
 weep a little, and bathe her eyes, and smooth her hair, 
 and shake out her muslin skirts, ere she returned to the 
 drawing-room more radiant than she quitted it. 
 
 Now there was no occasion for passing the door of the 
 apartment in which we left Mr. GohIdu reading the 
 Western Lummary, to proceed from L<uly Gertrude's 
 chamber to the principal drawing-room, whither she was 
 bound. Such a course, on the contrnx}', from the ])lan of 
 the house, involved the transit of several passages, and no 
 less than three green baize doors. We can only conclude, 
 therefore, that Lady Gertrude must have had some un- 
 explained motive I'or traversing so much unnecessary 
 space. On this subject, as our business lies chiefly with 
 results, we need not trouble ourselves to speculate.
 
 WON'T YOU? 401 
 
 It was one thing, however, to have a sly peep at John 
 Gordon — a sort of ftirewell look on which to dwell to- 
 morrow when he was gone, and so depart unseen — and 
 another to witness the very ridiculous pantomime which 
 I have ventured to describe. Lady Gertrude was not a 
 person to deliberate when the moment of action had 
 arrived; she was thoroughly versed, moreover, in the 
 character with which she had to deal. Had she not 
 studied it for months, thinking of little else ? She knew 
 intuitively that if he went away to-morrow he would 
 never come back again. 
 
 " Now or never ! " thought her ladyship, and she walked 
 into the room with a bold front indeed, but with quaking 
 limbs and a beating heart. 
 
 " Are you studying cross-stitch, Mr, Gordon ? " said she, 
 with an artificial laugh that would not have deceived a 
 baby. 
 
 John dropped the work as if it had burnt his fingers, 
 stood up, sat down again, and looked like a fool. 
 
 His embarrassment gave her courage ; she could afford 
 to banter him if he was really at her mercy. 
 
 " I should have thought you required no lessons in that," 
 she proceeded, crossing her taper forefingers in close 
 proximity to his face. " You are going away at a 
 moment's notice ; you have scarcely spoken a word since 
 you have been here. Aunt Olivia thought you very much 
 altered. Do you wish to quarrel with all your old 
 friends ? " 
 
 Her antagonist's, we need hardly say, was an honest, 
 manly nature. It was no time now for fencing and 
 trifling, saying one thing and meaning another the while. 
 He was disarmed, and, like a brave man, not ashamed to 
 confess it. The stern face softened as she had seen it 
 soften once or twice before, and the voice in which he 
 spoke was very kind and tender in its grave sorrow. 
 
 " I will never quarrel with you, Gertrude. I have been 
 learning a hard lesson ; I am not quite perfect in it yet. 
 God bless you ! I shall not see you again to wish you 
 good-bye. I go early to-morrow." 
 
 " Why ? " she asked, glancing uneasily at him. She 
 could not trust her voice to add another syllable, 
 
 c c
 
 402 GOOD FOR NOTEINO 
 
 " I will not grudge you your triumph," he answered, 
 still in those grave, kind tones. " It is soon said. Once, 
 Lady Gertrude, I was fool enough to hope I might some 
 day win you. Now it is only right I should pay the 
 penalty of my presumption. Listen. For a good many 
 years I tried to build up a fortune, that I might ask you 
 to share it. Even then I think I should have been pre- 
 pared for a refusal ; but at least I could have come boldly 
 forward and made my offer. All that is impossible now. 
 You are generous, Lady Gertrude: this avowal will not 
 deprive me of your friendship ! It is for my own sake 
 that I ask not to meet you very often, for even a man like 
 me has his defenceless points. I must go back to work 
 now after my holiday. You know I am poor." 
 
 " But I am rich," exclaimed Gertrude, hastily ; and then, 
 crimsoning to her temples, rested her arms on the chimney- 
 piece and hid her face in her hands. 
 
 I believe, though, she peeped at him through her fingers, 
 for she must have been aware of the struggle that tore 
 that brave heart, and convulsed the well-known face, 
 usually so staid and composed, or she never could have 
 found courage to make the following remarkable little 
 speech, spoken very low, and in accents of breathless 
 rapidity — 
 
 " Don't be so proud ! Will you not ask me to share 
 with you all I have in the world ? " 
 
 The strong arm was round her at last. She buried her 
 face on the broad, true breast. And then, having succeeded 
 in getting what most she wanted on earth, of course she 
 set to work, and cried as if her heart would break. 
 
 So the lady proposed to the gentleman, after all ! How 
 shocking, how incorrect, how unfeminine ! Quite a reversal 
 of the established order of things. And yet, if my married 
 friends will take the trouble to recall the most thrilling 
 moments of their lives, they will perhaps agree with me 
 that, virtually at least, such trespasses on the privilege of 
 leap-year are neither wholly inexcusable nor quite so rare 
 as is usually supposed.
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 THE HUSBAND 
 
 If you will take the trouble to consult the terrestrial 
 globe in your library, and are not too much puzzled by the 
 brass meridian, called by courtesy " of Greenwich," which 
 girds the same, you will, if I mistake not, find certain 
 colonial districts of Australia as nearly as possible the 
 direct antipodes to our own country. If you are also a 
 believer in those theories regarding the solar system, which 
 are considered the most plausible in the present century, 
 you will hardly dispute the position that nine o'clock in 
 the evening at West-Acres was nine in the morning at 
 Sydney. 
 
 I have endeavoured, partly from my own observation, 
 partly from matters that have since come to my know- 
 ledge, to describe what was occurring in one of " the 
 quiet homes of England " at this particular hour. I wish 
 I could bring before 3^ou a scene that was being enacted 
 almost at the same moment on the opposite side of the 
 world. 
 
 I should be sorry to ask my reader to wade with me 
 through the coarse details that make up the life of such 
 a man as William Latimer. One who has, to use the 
 common expression, " seen better days," and who with his 
 lost position has also lost the self-respect which depended 
 alone on extraneous circumstances, is apt, I imagine, to 
 sink into a lower depth of degradation than the more 
 ignorant and, so to speak, naiihral blackguard. The man 
 
 403
 
 404 GOOD FOB NOTHING 
 
 has glimpses of what he was, and what he might have 
 been, which madden, while they drive him to despair. He 
 cannot rise to anything better, he knows full well, because 
 he has shut the door upon himself; he cannot fall, he 
 thinks, to anything worse than a disgraced and branded 
 object. So he lives for the passing moment. He is vicious, 
 because he has lost the only two moral checks to vice — 
 hope and self-respect. He is idle, because who would be 
 fool enough to work, save with a view of improving his 
 position ? He is pitiless, because none, he thinks, would 
 help or pity him ; and he feels at last a morbid triumph 
 in making himself really as bad as he is thought. 
 
 Since Gilbert took leave of Ada's husband at Sydney, 
 after that meeting in the wild Australian bush, which was 
 to the one but a pleasant episode in a life of continual 
 change, to the other a sudden destruction of his whole 
 future, Latimer had been following out the same career of 
 speculation and debauchery which had first driven him 
 from England, and then ruined him in the colony ; yet 
 which, to such a mind as his, was not without its charms. 
 Yes, there in a pleasure in excitement — there is, a pleasure 
 in dissipation — there w a pleasure in vice — that is the 
 worst of it. But what a price we pay for them, even in 
 ready money, here ! What a reversion we sell for them 
 hereafter ! 
 
 Latimer had thought of reforming over and over again, 
 but he knew fiill well that, however much he might talk 
 about it in his softer moments, there were many reasons 
 to prevent his return to England. Even in the colony he 
 was now too well known to occupy a respectable position. 
 His only chance was to make one large successful specula- 
 tion, and then with the profits, or rather the plunder, to 
 seek a fresh home in the United States, or perhaps some 
 of the lawless republics of Central America. Should he 
 send for Ada to join him ? This was a measure he had 
 often debated in his own mind. He never seemed for a 
 moment to question her willingness to come. Altogether 
 he was persuaded he could do better without her. He 
 wished he was rid of her — he wished she was free and 
 independent of him. Every time he looked at her bracelet 
 he seemed more and more to have forgotten the donor.
 
 THE HUSBAND 405 
 
 Yet he kept the trinket too. He liked to think some- 
 times that he could not always have been so vcri/ bad, or 
 she would not have given him this remembrance. But he 
 had formed and broken so many ties since then, he had 
 simply almost forgotten her. Latimer was one of those 
 men on whom a barmaid in pncsenti makes more impres- 
 sion than an absent Madonna. What would you have ? 
 There are many such. I have often thought these are the 
 dispositions women like best. He had written a second 
 letter to his wife, postponing his promised return to 
 England, but telling her where he was to be found. He 
 now considered whether he should not send her a third, 
 expressing his intentions of never troubling her again, and 
 bidding her a final " Farewell." He was waiting before he 
 despatched so conclusive a missive to accompany it with 
 a round sum of money, thus salving, as it were, his own 
 conscience, and persuading himself he was doing rather a 
 generous action after all. He must indeed have quite 
 forgotten Ada when he meditated such a proceeding as 
 this. 
 
 It is no easy task, however, to get hold of that same 
 round sum of money, which is not only as slippery as ice, 
 but melts like that substance in the grasp. When he was 
 sober, Latimer was doubtless a shrewd, observant man, not 
 without considerable aptitude for business, and that readi- 
 ness to embark on fresh schemes, profitable in proportion 
 to their risk, which often in a new country leads to con- 
 siderable success. But we must take leave to mistrust all 
 these rapid methods of growing rich. Cent, per cent, is 
 a tempting return, doubtless; but undertakings which 
 promise so largely are apt to swallow up the capital before 
 the interest is paid, and the speculator has nothing left of 
 his venture but the satisfaction of knowing that while 
 five hundred pounds more would have made his fortune, 
 the present amount of his assets is easily represented by a 
 round O. 
 
 So Latimer went into one thing after another, with un- 
 tiring energy, indeed, but varied success. One day he had 
 put by an overplus, and saw his way clearly to independence; 
 the next he kicked it all down again in trying to double 
 it too hastily. He was ever looking forward to a to-
 
 406 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 morrow that should emable him to send home a certain 
 sum, and what he called " wind up his afifairs " ; but that 
 " to-morrow " never came. Such courses could not but 
 tell upon his health and habits. In the true spirit of a 
 gambler, he learned to live only for the enjoyment of the 
 present hour. He had always been addicted to pleasure ; 
 he now became a confirmed sensualist. The human appe- 
 tite, like the human frame, soon adapts itself to circum- 
 stances. If we cannot get turtle and venison, we munch 
 with sufficient gusto our simple meal of bread and cheese. 
 Nay, if the latter relish be not forthcoming, we gnaw 
 vigorously at the dry crust. With Katherine the shrew, 
 rather than remain empty, we are fain to cry, " Why, then, 
 the beef, and let the mustard rest ; " nor have we even 
 the heart to fall foul of mocking Grumio when he offers us 
 " the mustard without the beef." Latimer used to be very 
 particular about the flavour of his dry champagne, and the 
 exact degree to which it was iced. He could drink gin 
 and bad brandy now out of a battered pewter measure, 
 nor hesitated to qualify his morning draught of milk with 
 that abominable mixture which is sold under the name of 
 new rum. 
 
 Let us see what he is doing at the door of that low 
 store outside the town of Sydney, with the bright morning 
 sun shining on his face, and children all about him, troop- 
 ing off, clean and health}^ to school. 
 
 He is altered, shockingly altered. The fresh complexion 
 is mottled and sodden, as it were, with drink. The eyes 
 are dim, watery, and bloodshot. His figure has lost its 
 squareness, but the body has become bloated, whilst the 
 limbs have shrunk. His cherished whiskers, no longer 
 oiled and curled with such tender care, run to waste 
 beneath his chin in unkempt circles streaked with grey. 
 His dress is frayed and shabby in the extreme, but looks 
 the less so from being made of such coarse material as 
 suits a working-man. He wears a red nightcap over one 
 ear with an assumption of hravado still, and preserves 
 through all his reverses a certain manliness, or call it 
 rather audacity, of gesture and demeanour, the result of 
 his adventurous life. There is a bad look though in those 
 leering eyes of his, and as he lights a short pipe, and lifts
 
 I'HE HUSBAND 4.07 
 
 that wicked face to the sun, the children pass to the other 
 side of the way to avoid touching him. 
 
 He smokes for a while in silence, and seems weighing 
 some dubious matter in his mind. Once when a burst of , 
 childish laughter strikes upon his ear, he gives vent to a 
 low curse, feels in his empty pockets, and turns on his 
 heel with a louder and deeper oath. " Cleaned out ! " he 
 mutters, " you incurable idiot. Well, it must go with the 
 rest ! " 
 
 A tawdry woman, with sunken eyes and dishevelled 
 hair, cowering under a close-wrapped shawl of flaunting 
 faded colours, walks up to him and lays her hand upon 
 his shoulder. The hand, though dirty, is well-shaped, 
 and the wasted features tell of former beauty, almost of 
 refinement. 
 
 " Speak to me, Bill," she says, " you've never been home 
 all night, dear ; what luck ? " 
 
 Her voice is kind and tender. She seems to trust and 
 cling to him. Reprobate as the man is, he has found 
 some one to make him a home, even here. 
 
 He shakes her off, but not unkindly. " Cleaned out ! " 
 he repeats. " The old story over and over again. Every- 
 thing I put my hand to seems to rot and turn to rubbish. 
 Whether it's land or houses, or sheep or stores, or dice or 
 cards, all's one to me. There's a turn in the luck for 
 other fellows ; / never get a chance. lb cant go on ! I 
 tell ye it can't go on. Best leave me, Jane, and try to 
 shift for yourself. It's only a fool that sticks by a sinking 
 ship ! " 
 
 " Not likely," she answered, smiling rather sadly ; " is it 
 all gone. Bill ? What did you play at ? " 
 
 A look of interest lights up her countenance while she 
 asks the question. She is a gambler too, this faded, fallen 
 woman, for his sake, and likes to hear of his successes and 
 reverses because they are his. 
 
 He swears horribly in reply. "Monte/" he screams 
 out, with a dreadful imprecation; and on that most 
 gambling of games he continues to enlarge through a 
 stream of blasphemous abuse that at length cannot but 
 exhaust his passion and his lungs together.
 
 408 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 It is maddening, doubtless, to recall the last night's 
 orgie and its consequences. He had been paid the previous 
 day a large sum of money for a wool- bargain, in which he 
 had certainly not shown the simplicity of the poor shorn 
 animal. He could not, of course, resist the temptation of 
 turning into a spirit-store for the purpose of "wetting" 
 his luck. There he sat and drank, this man, who had once 
 been a member of second-rate clubs and dined at military 
 messes, with the refuse of the worst population of Sydney, 
 taking a strange, morbid pleasure, as it seemed, in the 
 very ribaldry and indecency of his associates ; even poor, 
 abandoned Jane did not dare to look for him there, or 
 fetch him thence till daylight. He caroused, and sang, 
 and shouted with the rest— he treated them to liquor — he 
 boasted of his money. With his eyes open, with his 
 intellect no more affected by his potations than those of a 
 man usually are who seldom goes to bed sober, he sat 
 down deliberately to play cards with a party of ruffians, 
 any one of whom had merited and probably earned 
 transportation for life. He knew they would cheat him if 
 they could. On occasion, he was not scrupulous in that 
 way himself. He knew that fear of detection alone would 
 make them hesitate for an instant to cut his throat, if by 
 so doing they could get his money ; and jet, knowing all 
 this, such was the habitual craving for excitement, the 
 restless thirst for gain engendered by his mode of life, 
 that he seemed impelled by some irresistible power to 
 risk his whole means, where he felt that chance, and 
 fraud, and violence would all be combined against him. 
 
 At first he resolved, of course, that he would only play 
 for a quarter of the sum he had about him — then the 
 half, then he won, and he thought it would be a fine thing 
 to double it, and so write the lung-proposed letter, with a 
 handsome enclosure to Ada. Fortune was going to smile 
 upon him at last, he felt sure of it. The most experienced 
 gambler is just as infatuated as the raw beginner. He 
 was persuaded he should win his great stake to-night, and 
 never try again. Then he lost— once, twice, sweeping 
 ventures in succession. He must go on now, and get it 
 back again at any risk ; he should never forgive hhnself
 
 THE HUSBAND 409 
 
 else. The cards seemed to be in league against him. He 
 called for more drink, and now the worst passions of his 
 nature blazed out. He accused his antagonist, a brawny, 
 bearded ruffian, on his way to the gold diggings, via the 
 hulks, of cheating, and the accusation, accompanied by the 
 whole pack of cards, was flung back in his face ; blows 
 were exchanged, knives were drawn ; the landlord and a 
 gigantic negro, who performed the office of waiter, parted 
 them before blood was spilt. Such outrages were neither 
 rare nor much regarded, and the party, including Latimer, 
 were soon set down to their game again as if nothing had 
 happened. When the sun rose, he had but a hundred 
 dollars left in the world. It is a strange feeling, that 
 embarkation of the last venture, not without a hideous 
 fascination of its own. The gambler's horizon becomes 
 narrowed to the closest limits. His world is a circle of 
 some two or three feet in diameter. Time is represented 
 by the next deal of the cards. Every sense is sharpened 
 on the keen whetstone of anxiety ; yet strange to say, the 
 very agony of suspense is dashed with something not 
 entirely pain. There is a dull sensation of relief, too, 
 when all is lost, consequent on the relaxation of the nerves, 
 strung to so unendurable a pitch. When the cord is 
 broken the bow cannot but spring back. Ere the sun had 
 been up two hours, Latimer walked out of that reeking 
 den into the pure air of heaven, for the hundredth time 
 a ruined man. The best of wives could hardly have re- 
 frained from expressing disapprobation, but she was not 
 his wife, and she never reproached him so much as by a 
 sign. 
 
 " We can begin again. Bill," she said, taking him by the 
 arm to lead him home. Such a home ! " It's been as bad 
 as this more than once before, and I'm stronger now, I can 
 work." 
 
 His only answer was another imprecation; but he 
 suffered her to take him on a few steps ere he stopped, 
 and looking fixedly at her, shook himself loose from her 
 hold once more. 
 
 " You're a good girl," he said, " you've a brave heart of 
 your own. Look ye here, Jane, it's all up with me, this
 
 410 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 bout. I'll have to go to the diggings again, or maybe 
 take to the Bush, or worse. You and I'll part, not in 
 unkindness, lass, not in unkindness ; but what's the use of 
 dragging you down any lower along with me ? Don't take 
 on so, girl ! It must have come some day. What's the 
 odds ? '^ 
 
 She sobbed violently. She clasped her hands over his 
 arm. He was in fustian, she in rags ; both were depraved, 
 immoral, desperate, yet the same feeling was tearing that 
 poor, sinful bosom, that stirred Cornelia's heart for the 
 father of the Gracchi. 
 
 " Let me go with you ! " she entreated ; " I'll follow 
 you " (follow of you, she expressed it) " to the end of the 
 world." 
 
 Something almost like tears came into William Lati- 
 mer's eyes as he bent down and kissed her poor, wan 
 face. 
 
 " It can't be, my lass," he replied ; " but I won't forget 
 3rou, for all that. D — n it ! Jane, you shan't starve. See 
 here — I'll do for you what I've never done for man nor 
 woman yet. Look at this " (he pulled the bracelet from 
 his bosom as he spoke), " I've kept this safe for many a 
 long day. I've held on to it when I hadn't a ' mag ' in my 
 pocket, nor a crust in my wallet, nor a screw of ' baccy ' in 
 my pipe. I thought never to have parted with it, never ; 
 but, I'll give it you, Jane, because you've been a good girl 
 to me, and you'll keep it, lass, won't you, now, and think 
 of me sometimes when I'm gone ? " 
 
 Her eyes glistened as she stretched out her hand for 
 those golden links glittering in the sun. For a moment 
 she forgot they were to part, in the pleasure of her new 
 acquisition, and the kind words with which he had accom- 
 panied his gift. She Avould not have been a woman, 
 though, had she not looked quickly up in his face and 
 asked him- — 
 
 " Who gave it you ? " 
 
 " My wife ! " he replied, with something almost of shame. 
 " Never mind about that. You take it, my dear. It's all 
 you'll ever get from me ; and so fare ye well ! " 
 
 Perhaps it was the first unselfish action he had ever
 
 THS husband 411 
 
 done in his life ; and Latimer walked away with his hands 
 in his empty pockets, and a feeling akin to exultation in 
 his heart. He had not a farthing in the world, nor credit 
 to obtain a meal. What of that ? He had been on the 
 brink of utter destitution so often, that he shrank but 
 little from the precipice he had accustomed himself to 
 contemplate. To do him justice, he was more concerned 
 for the future of the poor woman who clung to him so 
 trustingly, than for his own. He liked to think he had 
 done the best he could for her, though he should not see 
 her again. 
 
 He had no property, and but few clothes, which, indeed, 
 were not worth returning for ; so his intention was to walk 
 off into the open country without delay, and take his 
 chance of some menial employment to procure him food. 
 Last night's excesses were still ringing in his brain, and 
 he did not yet appreciate the forlorn condition to which 
 he had sunk. He strode on, sucking the short, black 
 pipe, and wondering vaguely what would become of 
 him. 
 
 The sun was hot, and vice had sapped his once powerful 
 frame. Ere he had gone a mile or two, he sat down to 
 rest by the wayside, and so dropped off to sleep. He was 
 woke by some soft substance thrust under his head — the 
 poor woman had followed him, and stripped off her ragged 
 shawl to make him a pillow. He swore at her in return, 
 and bade her go back to the town, and not interfere with 
 him any more. 
 
 " It will be the worse for you if you do," he growled. 
 " What made me give you that bit of filagree, but for a 
 keepsake ? Be off' with you at once." 
 
 " You gave it me for my own," she answered, " to do 
 what I liked with. Look here." 
 
 She showed him a handful of gold and silver. Ada's 
 last gift had brought enough money to keep them for 
 weeks to come. His face relented as he looked at the 
 coin. 
 
 " We'll have a parting glass together, at least," he said, 
 with a brutal laugh, preparing to retrace his steps towards 
 the to^vn.
 
 412 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 She folded his hand in both of hers, and pressed it to 
 her bosom. 
 
 " Take it all — all," she urged, in eager, imploring tones. 
 " I got it only for you ! But don't leave me, don't drive 
 me away from you ! Bill, Bill, I have but you in the 
 world."
 
 CHAPTER XLV 
 
 THE WIFE 
 
 " I SEE her go by yesterday to the post-office, it's but the 
 second time since she's come. She's never asked for a 
 letter yet, I hnoiv. It's my belief there's something more 
 than queer about her, for all her black dress and thick 
 veil. 
 
 The speaker was a stout buxom personage with a loud 
 shrill voice, and a pair of bare arms smeared with flour. 
 No bad specimen of the English matron of the middle 
 class. Bustling, warm-hearted, suspicious, thrifty, prolific, 
 and uncharitable. She brought up her young family in 
 the rugged paths of virtue, and conducted the "' business " 
 — a combination of baking, grocery, tea, pepper, snuff, and 
 tobacco — with vigilance and energy. She was much 
 respected, not to say feared, in her native town ; by none 
 more so than by her " master," as she called him, a ghost- 
 like personage, who might be seen at times pervading the 
 back shop, appearing and disappearing through a trap- 
 door like the elder Hamlet, and sustaining his spiritual 
 character, by never speaking unless spoken to. He was a 
 quiet man, was Mr. Barber, with a turn for meditation, 
 and his wife was a thought too much for him. 
 
 " She've a been to church regular since she come," 
 answered a little, musty old woman, like a moth, who was 
 purchasing with her ounce or two of tea the right to her 
 hebdomadal gossip in Mrs. Barber's shop, a favourite 
 lounge, indeed, as commanding the linen-draper's and the 
 post-office ; " but she alwavs waits till every one of 'em's 
 
 "^413
 
 414 OOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 gone afore she leaves her pew ; and though she give me a 
 shilling only last Sunday, she never lifted her veil, and 
 she durstn't look mo in the face. Such airs ! She's no 
 widder-woman, not she, mem. I should know, Mrs, 
 Barber, for troubles I've seen, and troubles I've come 
 through, Ow's Jemima? poor lamb, she do take on so 
 "with her teething." 
 
 Such digressions are not unusual in the conversation of 
 ladies who adorn this rank of life ; and Jemima's infirmi- 
 ties disposed of, the original topic was reverted to with 
 renewed vigour, 
 
 " It's weeks she's been here, Mrs. Mould," resumed the 
 proprietress, placing one arm akimbo, and the other with 
 thumb reversed upon the counter, " and nobody knows no 
 more about her and her belongings nor when first she 
 come. I never see her go out a-hairing, or what not, till 
 dusk, and nobody will tell me that's what a respectable 
 woman's been used to. I don't like your fly-by-nights, 
 Mrs. Mould, and I never did. She may be this, and she 
 may be that, but I say I can't make her out, I can't, nor 
 Barber can't make her out, nor nobody can't make her 
 out." 
 
 " She come respectable, too, at first," observed Mrs. 
 Mould, meditatively. " First-class railway ticket, two 
 trunks, and a bonnet-box. It's truth, mem, for my lad, 
 you know, he got a job up at the station. She pays 
 regular, too, for what she has — little enough it is, they do 
 tell me ; but she's free with her money, or that matter. 
 It's hard to tell, though ; the worsest is the least likely to 
 want, more's the pity. Deary me ! it's a queer world ! " 
 
 Mrs. Mould was quite right, it is a queer world. Why 
 did they think ill of the stranger, these two honest, hard- 
 working gossips ? Simply because they knew nothing of 
 her; and it seems to come so much more natural to 
 suspect than to confide. Even in that remote country 
 town, with its branch railway and its one hotel — by 
 courtesy so called — its half-a-dozen shops, its annual fair, 
 and perennial stagnation, the drowsy inhabitants were as 
 prone to think evil of their neighbours as if they formed 
 the most bustling community of the most mercantile city 
 in the world, where it is everybody's business to get the
 
 TEE WIFE 415 
 
 better of somebody else on the shortest notice. " No 
 trust " seems to be the motto on the turnpike road of life. 
 The toll-keeper is but a fair specimen of his kind. " Will 
 you trust me ? " says the bagman, as he pulls up and un- 
 gloves, loth, even in the act of payment, to resist his 
 commercial tendency to a joke. " Why should I ? " 
 answers the toll-keeper. " I don't know you." " Will you 
 trust me to-day ? " reiterates the waggish traveller on his 
 return. "Not I," repeats the toll-keeper, "I know you 
 too well." We are all toll-keepers or bagmen, I think. 
 Confiding reader, would you trust any man you don't 
 know ? Experienced wayfarer, how many would you trust 
 of those you do ? 
 
 The lady who afforded a never- failing subject of conversa- 
 tion to the fair inhabitants of this quiet country town, had 
 arrived there several weeks previous to the above dialogue, 
 during which time she had perseveringly led a life of the 
 strictest seclusion, resisting all advances to acquaintance 
 with resolution indeed, but with a sad pleading humility 
 that was very touching. Once when a neighbour's child 
 was taken suddenly ill, she had afforded prompt assistance, 
 both pecuniary and personal ; but on the patient's recovery 
 she had obviously repudiated the friendship of its parents, 
 and avoided every opportunity of accepting their thanks. 
 When the curate of the parish called on her, an old grey- 
 headed priest, who had been labouring in the vineyard 
 through the burden and heat of the day, satisfied with his 
 present penny in consideration of his future pension, she 
 had consistently denied him admittance. Even that 
 charitable man feared she was a lost sheep, and could only 
 hope she might be a Magdalene. Nay, more wonderful 
 than all, though the few observers who had been fortunate 
 enough to behold it pronounced her face one of extra- 
 ordinary beauty and sweetness, she was notorious for 
 concealing that face with the most studious vigilance, and 
 even preferred to take her stroll for fresh air in the early 
 morning before any one was up, or after dusk, when she 
 tried to pass from her quiet lodgings unobserved, it is 
 hardly necessary to add, in vain. 
 
 This last precaution was a heavy grievance. Mrs. 
 Barber was not the only lady who "couldn't abide your
 
 416 OOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 fly.by-iiights." They arc close reasoners, those women, on 
 a system of logic peculiarly their own. " Why," said they, 
 " should she live so retired if she don't want to hide her- 
 self ? Why should she want to hide herself unless she's 
 done something to be ashamed of ? What crime can a 
 person like that have committed save one ? Depend upon 
 it, ma'am, she's no better than she should be." 
 
 To the masculine mind one or two links in the above 
 chain of argument may seem wanting. To the female 
 intellect, with its imaginative powers and steadfast adher- 
 ence to a foregone conclusion, the evidence is final and 
 satisfactory. 
 
 So they voted Ada Latimer (I can hardly bear to write 
 it) somebody's disgraced wife or cast-off mistress ; and after 
 a while, if she should accidentally cross the street, Mrs, 
 Barber would call in her children from playing on the 
 door-step ; and Mrs. Mould, a custodian of morals in virtue 
 of her ecclesiastical office, would wrap herself in all the 
 dignity of unassailed and unassailable virtue, and, like the 
 Pharisee in the parable, " pass by on the other side." 
 
 And what was Ada doing in this quiet little country 
 town ? I must go back a space to explain her motives. 
 
 She had lingered in London — who can blame her ? — till 
 the crisis of Gibert's illness was jjast, and she had ascer- 
 tained, as women do find out things, that he was no longer 
 in danger. Then she fell upon her knees and thanked the 
 God who never had deserted her, and rose up, determined 
 to be gone. Do not judge her too harshly that she was 
 not strong enough to be within a few streets of him, and 
 never wished to see him. Many and many a time had 
 she cast up, so to speak, and balanced the account in her 
 own mind. On one side, the delirium of a few years ; on 
 the other, two souls lost for an eternity. And yet— she 
 shuddered to think that she could weigh the alternative — 
 there was no safety for her but in flight. She called up 
 the worn ghastly fixce, with its wasted features and hollow 
 eyes, as she saw it last, betwixt life and death, on its 
 pillow, and dwelt upon it till she felt as if her brain was 
 going. If he should come and plead with her, looking as 
 he did then. What could she do ? She knew its power 
 too well. Why, even now she thirsted but to look upon it
 
 THE WIFE 417 
 
 once more, and then to die. She must never see him 
 again, never, for both their sakes. That alwaj^s seemed to 
 make it easier. When they parted before, she had wisely 
 left London, for she knew that no efforts would be want- 
 ing on his part to find her out, and had gone to the north 
 of England, where, under a feigned name, she had recom- 
 menced her laborious career as a teacher of music. But 
 even this occupation she feared was too public. One or 
 two circumstances, slight in themselves, and perhaps only 
 apparent to her excited imagination, made her fancy she 
 was not safe from discovery even there; and after her 
 return to London, and departure from it a second time, she 
 had again changed her place of residence, and resolved to 
 live forafixed period in a state of the strictest seclusion. The 
 path of duty was plain enough ; she must go and join her 
 husband in Australia. Well did she know what a life was 
 before her. Hard living, hard work, hard words, would be 
 her portion ; bat it seemed she would rather it should be 
 so ; that luxury and comfort would be unbearable, and 
 time for thought to be dreaded above all. That " nothing- 
 can-hurt-me-now " feeling is desolation indeed. She had 
 been painfully uncertain about Latimer's movements as 
 well. Till his second letter arrived, definitely postponing 
 his return to England, she could come to no decision ; and 
 even that letter was so worded as to convince her that she 
 would be most unwelcome when she did reach him. After 
 its reception, however, she seemed to make up her mind. 
 She had enough money left, the proceeds of her professional 
 exertions, to pay her passage out to Sydney. In the mean- 
 time, she husbanded her resources with economy ; and 
 although, as Mrs. Mould had ascertained, she paid honestly 
 for everything she bought, the purchases were but few, 
 and limited to the mere necessaries of life. 
 
 Her movements Avere watched with a vigilance that can 
 only be conceived by those who have ever resided in a 
 small country town ; and Mrs. Barber was perfectly correct 
 when she affirmed that the mysterious stranger had visited 
 the post-office but twice during her stay. The first time 
 she had posted a letter to her husband in Australia, the 
 second was on the very day that witnessed my arrival at 
 West- Acres. On that occasion she hesitated long ere she
 
 418 GOOD FOR J^^OTHIN-a 
 
 dropped the missive into the fotal box. Mrs. Barber, 
 prying from amongst her miscellaneous stores, watched it 
 despatched with intense gratification. Had she known its 
 contents she might have judged that lonely woman less 
 harshly for pity's sake. 
 
 The evening was falling while the two chief gossips of 
 the town gave their final award upon Mrs. Latimer's 
 character. She had just passed up the street in her usual 
 black dress, and the thick veil that gave such offence. 
 She thought she would soon leave England for ever, and 
 she would look upon its homely beauties now whilst she 
 could. Moreover, after a great mental eff"ort, as after a 
 physical struggle, the very frame seems to gasp for fresh 
 air. I think the spirit can dominate the body with less 
 difficulty in the free open country ; and I can well under- 
 stand the feeling which prompts many a man to wish that 
 when his time comes he may die out of doors. 
 
 Ada Latimer walked on towards the sunset by the side 
 of a sluggish river. The damp haze of evening rose moist 
 and chill about her, the autumn leaves dropped noiselessly 
 in her path, not stirred by the breeze, because the air was 
 calm and still, but perishing, like everything on earth, by 
 the inevitable process of decay. The time and the season 
 were in keeping with her own thoughts. A merry, hope- 
 ful spring day would have broken her heart. 
 
 As the shadows darkened around her she walked on and 
 on. One favourite haunt she had already found where 
 certain stately chestnuts and a few acres of level sward 
 reminded her of Kensington Gardens. Thither mechanic- 
 ally she directed her steps. At another time, like any 
 other delicate woman, she might have felt alarmed thus 
 to stroll by herself in the deepening twilight through 
 lonely meadows and unfrequented paths ; but Ada had no 
 fears now. 'Tis a fluctuating quality, that same disregard 
 of danger, depending much upon the value of what we 
 risk. The first in the breach, for aught we know, may be 
 a man whose present state is such that it would be rather 
 an advantage to be knocked on the head than otherwise. 
 Private Jones may be certain, if he escape the perils of the 
 assault to-day, that he will be flogged to-morrow for the 
 violence and rapine of yesterday. Sergeant Brown, on the
 
 TS:^ WIFE 419 
 
 contrary, is safe to be promoted, if he be not killed, wife 
 and children provided for, long years of meritorious services 
 rewarded at last. I think Brown deserves most credit for 
 courage when he scrambles over the parapet alongside of 
 Jones. " Nothing to lose and all to win," should make a 
 man a hero if anything will ; and 
 
 " Let him take castles who has ne'er a groat," 
 
 is the sentiment of a shrewd observer of human nature, 
 though put into the mouth of a common soldier. 
 
 When she reached the spot at which it was her habit to 
 turn, she sat down upon the steps of a certain stile, and, 
 for the first time, ventured to review the reflections of the 
 past twenty-four hours. She was human, after all ; and 
 the final struggle had been very severe and exhausting. 
 So long as she remained in England, so long as the same 
 sky covered them, the same topics interested them ; nay, 
 so long as it was possible they might see the same people 
 — such is a sophistry of love — she felt that every link was 
 not completely torn asunder. Therefore she believed she 
 must fly — therefore she thought the sacrifice could not 
 be perfected unless they were parted even in thought — 
 therefore she must give him up unreservedly, and once 
 for all. 
 
 Those may blame you, gentle, sorrowing Ada, who have 
 never been so tried, even for your sufferings. " It was her 
 duty never to think of him for an instant, to dismiss him 
 at once from her mind," says Cornelia ; and doubtless the 
 Roman matron is right. It is well for those whose affec- 
 tions can thus be managed " like a steed that knows its 
 rider." It is better, perhaps, for those whose affections 
 require the spur rather than the curb ; but I can feel for 
 you if Cornelia cannot. I knew him so well in his happy 
 days — his kindly, cheerful disposition, his winning manner, 
 his varied accomplishments, his refinement of feeling, his 
 deference to all women, his devotion to one, his frankness, 
 his generosity, above all, his brave and loving heart. It 
 must have been a hard task for any woman to give up 
 Gilbert Orme. 
 
 It is done, however. The last few weeks had made Ada 
 comparatively an old woman. Incessant thought, racking
 
 420 OOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 memories, maddening temptation, had furrowed even her 
 fair, gentle brow, and brought a thread or two of white 
 amongst the glossy hair. It seemed that she must be 
 racked to the utmost, for not the least of her tortures was 
 the doubt of her right to wish him a last farewell — not in 
 person, that she would never have dared to contemplate — 
 but a few kind words by letter. Stern Conscience said 
 No ; but Memory called up a vision of the dear face and 
 the kind eyes she had loved so fondly, and the aching 
 heart pleaded hard for that slight relief. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! I am glad I wrote to him," said she, 
 sitting on the step of the stile alone in the dark night. 
 And then she drew her shawl round her, and fell a- 
 thinking. 
 
 When hope is done with, and we feel that a certain era 
 of our life is concluded ; that we have closed, as it were, 
 one of the volumes and put it back upon the shelf, never 
 to be taken down again, there comes over the mind a kind 
 of retrospective clairvoyance, to Avhich the everyday efforts 
 of memory are but blurred and indistinct daubs. Can it 
 be something like this which they say pervades the brain 
 of a drowning man (the only death, by the way, in which 
 mortals seem to be permitted to put one foot over the fatal 
 threshold and then draw it back again), and which recalls 
 to him, as it were in a magic mirror, every scene of his 
 past existence, from his earliest childhood to his present 
 suffocation ? We have most of us felt something akin to 
 this painful fticulty when kneeling by the couch of a dead 
 friend or mourning over the buried hopes that were more 
 to us than all the friends in the world. We are most of us 
 conscious that there are certain turns in the road of life at 
 which we pause and look back u})on the past stage, feeling 
 that the next step we take will shut it out from our vision 
 for ever, whether it hath been across a barren moor, or 
 along a rich valley teeming with corn and wine, or through 
 the enchanted garden where the sunlight lingers still, 
 though we have passed into the shade, and of which a 
 fragrance yet clings around us from the roses, though our 
 limbs be torn and festerinfj with the thorns. We cannot 
 forget, we say, in our self-commiseration — God help us ! 
 Do we try ?
 
 THE WIFE 421 
 
 Ada soon lost herself in the long labyrinth of the past. 
 She went back to her first meeting with the gay, light- 
 hearted Mr. Ormc ; to the dinner at the old alderman's, 
 and the exnltation with which she had found herself in 
 society — and such agreeable society — once more ; to the 
 self-confidence and self-content that pleasant evening had 
 given her, and the undefined hope, so soothing in its dim 
 uncertainty, that she might perhaps see him again. Then 
 she remembered how her heart used to beat when he over- 
 took her in the Park, and how well she knew that step 
 amongst a hundred others, long before it came up with 
 her ; how she had wept, and grieved, and fretted ere she 
 forced herself to forego those cherished interviews, and 
 how hurt and angry she felt at his fancied defalcation, 
 although she had told herself all along that he had never 
 belonged to her, and never could. Was it all pain that 
 made her eyes run over while she recalled their conversa- 
 tion at the Villa, and those weeks of intense happiness 
 that succeeded the avowal of his love ? Ah ! he was her 
 own, then, her very own. Nothing came between them 
 but a sense of her unworthiness, and that seemed but to 
 enhance her trust in him, the generous, the chivalrous, and 
 the kind. How pi-oudly she used to watch him when he 
 left her, and how her heart would swell with very triumph 
 to feel that she had won that noble, gentle, unselfish being 
 — so loyal, so hopeful, and so true. She would weep from 
 sheer excess of joy to think of her own happiness. It was 
 no easy task to bid him leave her. When he had fairly 
 sailed, she fancied that she was very lonely and unhappy. 
 Oh ! could she but go back to those days, and be now as 
 she was then ! 
 
 It would not do ; it was unendurable to recall the trials 
 and the miseries of the succeeding time — the torturing 
 anxieties of his illness, and the crushing agony of that last 
 sight of him' on his sick-bed when she bade him farewell. 
 She should go mad, she thought, if she dwelt on these 
 afflictions, yet had they been present with her, sleeping 
 and waking, ever since. Was there nothing left ? Nothing 
 to live for, nothing to hope, nothing to pray for here or 
 hereafter ? But one glimpse of light in the black dark- 
 ness ! she pleaded — one drop of balm to soothe the cruel
 
 m OOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 stripes — one ray of hoj^e to help her with the heavy load 
 along the weary way ! 
 
 The chill misty evening had long ere this merged into 
 night. As Ada lifted her white face in imploring eager- 
 ness to heaven, a star or two broke forth in the dreary sky, 
 and a watery moon, rising through the haze, shed its pale 
 light over the dark meadows, and the shadowy hedges, and 
 the nodding elms by which she was surrounded. The 
 night wind, too, was rising litfully in gusts, moaning and 
 sighing at intervals, and hushing off again into stillness. 
 Without, all was mournful, cheerless, and desolate; within, 
 an icy grasp seemed to be closing round her heart. 
 
 Yet Ada prayed to the God who made her, that He 
 would have mercy upon her now in her great sorrow. 
 Leaning her forehead against the smooth-worn bar of the 
 stile, she poured forth her wild, despairing petition, only 
 that they might not be parted for ever — that she might 
 see him again, not here, not here, but in another life — in 
 the heaven she strove so hard to win ; — at least, that where 
 he was, there might she be also, and so see him again, only 
 see him again ! 
 
 As she rose, his well-known figure came into the moon- 
 light, and crossing the path in front of her, stopped an 
 instant and looked her steadfastly in the face. His coun- 
 tenance was very pale, and there was the same eager, 
 mournful look in the deep eyes that she remembered 
 so well when he was pleading with her for his life's 
 happiness. 
 
 "Gilbert! Gilbert! — did you get my letter ? " she ex- 
 claimed, stretching out her arms, as she staggered rather 
 than ran towards him in the tumult of her feelings. Ere 
 she could reach him he was gone. 
 
 Just then the breeze, rising once more, bore with it the 
 chimes of the town-clock, striking the half-hour after nine. 
 Those familiar sounds recalled her to herself, and she was 
 aware that she was shiverinof with cold and her feet were 
 dripping wet. Looking down she perceived the marks of 
 her own footsteps in the dewy film that stood on the thick 
 saturated herbage through which she had passed when she 
 left the path to follow him ; yet Avas there no track but 
 t/his on either side of the footway.
 
 TEE WIFE 423 
 
 She did not faint, she did not cry out nor moan ; but a 
 vague horror seemed to creep over her and enfold her, as a 
 corpse is folded in its shroud. Though she walked home 
 with swift, unfaltering steps, she moved bewildered and 
 half-conscious, like one in a dream. 
 
 Was it better to have seen him thus than not at all ?
 
 CHAPTER XLVI 
 
 ATROPOS 
 
 I AM no believer in presentiments. I never went to bed 
 more thoroughly wearied and disposed for sleep, than on 
 the evening which bestowed four people so happily, which 
 witnessed the total breaking-up of John Gordon's habitual 
 reserve, the subjection of Lady Gertrude's pride, and the 
 hearty self-satisfaction of the good-natured peer who was 
 to make Bella Jones a viscountess. They slept light, the 
 four, I doubt not, or lay awake looking far into the 
 rosy future, peopled with its shining visions of love and 
 faith and confidence, and all that makes life worth having. 
 What need had they of dreams — those glowing hearts, 
 steeped in their " sober certainty of waking bliss " ? Not 
 for such doth judicious Proserpine think it worth while to 
 unclose the Ivory Gate, and despatch her shadowy doves 
 to flit around the sleeper's couch. No ; it is the fevered 
 cheek of the hopeless that they fan with their downy 
 wings. It is to the broken and the lost that they bring 
 the thrilling memories and the magic wealth, and the 
 maddening impossibilities of a dream. It is to those who 
 lay their heads down, praying that they may never rise 
 again, that sleep restores what fate has snatched away. 
 Then the stern consort of the king of hell smiles in her 
 sad beauty, for she knows that when they wake to reality 
 in the grey morning once more, the last drop of bitterness 
 shall have been poured in which the cup of life will hold. 
 I had neither hopes nor fears to keep my eyes open. 
 The one memory that has never left me in all these years, 
 
 424
 
 ATROPOS 425 
 
 shining through the far distance still, like a star of heaven 
 eternal and unchanged, had smiled upon me ere I sank to 
 rest. I was not anxious, nor was I alarmed, but simply a 
 little saddened by the recollections of the day, and w?'?/ 
 tired. So I think my slumbers were the soundest of all 
 the sleepers in that large house — of all save one. 
 
 I was woke by a gentle tap at my bedroom door, and the 
 voice of Gilbert's valet, an attached fellow, who had been 
 with him through his illness, calling me by name. 
 
 " May I come in, sir ? " he said, in an agitated whisper, 
 as though loth to disturb the rest of the household ; " I 
 want to speak to you, if you please." 
 
 I huddled on a few clothes, and opened the shutters to 
 let in the cold light of the misty morning, just beginning 
 to dawn. 
 
 The man was dressed as he had waited at dinner ; 
 evidently he had been sitting up all night. His face was 
 very pale, and he trembled. I knew something dreadful 
 had happened before he spoke. 
 
 " Mr. Orme ! — sir," he said, trying to steady his voice ; 
 " he's never been to bed all night, sir ! I beg your pardon 
 for disturbing you, but I've been to his door several times. 
 I — I can't get him to hear ! " 
 
 What made me feel so horror-struck, and yet so little 
 surprised ? 
 
 " He must have gone to sleep at his writing-table," I 
 answered, in corresponding tones of caution. Whence had 
 I the intuition that, even while the words passed my lips, 
 convicted me of a lie ? 
 
 The man grasped eagerly at the suggestion. He was a 
 ready fellow, I knew, and with better nerves than the 
 generality of his order. 
 
 " He ought to be woke, sir," said he, recovering his 
 breath and colour. " He'll catch his death of cold there, 
 with the fire out. I can't get into the room because the 
 door's locked. I didn't like to disturb the other gentle- 
 men, or any of the family ; but I thought you wouldn't 
 take it amiss, sir, if I came to ask you what I'd better 
 do." 
 
 By this time I was dressed ; the man handing me my 
 things unconsciously, and from mere habit, as I wanted
 
 426 GOOD FOE NOTHING 
 
 them. When we got into the passage he turned pale 
 once more. 
 
 " I can take the lock off the door, sir," he whispered, 
 " if you think it necessary." 
 
 We reached his room. It was on the ground-floor, and 
 far apart from any of the bed-chambers, so there was no 
 fear of disturbing the other sleepers. As a matter of 
 form, I knocked twice or thrice pretty loudl}^, then sent 
 the man to fetch his tools for forcing the door. How 
 long he seemed to be gone ! — and yet what a vague 
 impression have I of that interval. 
 
 He returned at last. That was a moment of breathless 
 suspense, which I shall never forget, when the lock came 
 off, and fell with a clink upon the floor. 
 
 We both paused while one might have counted ten. 
 Neither had courage to open the door and confront the 
 horror that each had so dreaded, yet would not confess 
 even to himself. 
 
 I pushed it back at last, and walked in. The fire was 
 out, but candles were still burning, and the window 
 curtains drawn. The first thing I observed was Gilbert's 
 watch upon the carpet. 
 
 My boy sat with his back to us, still in his shooting- 
 dress ; his head had sunk upon the writing-table, and lay 
 pillowed on one arm ; the other hand hung listlessly over 
 the edge, but the fingers were clenched into the palm. 
 
 I touched it with mine, scarce knowing what I did. 
 It was quite cold. 
 
 " He's asleep," said the shaking valet, in a hoarse 
 whisper. " He's never dressed since he came in, and 
 he's fallen off to sleep in his chair." 
 
 " He is indeed asleep, Jones," was all I could answer, 
 "and so sound that he will never Avake again." 
 
 Soon there were noises of hurrying feet in the passage, 
 and pale faces one behind another blocking up the door- 
 way, and supj)ressed whispers at intervals, and then the 
 awful silence that seizes those who look upon the dead. 
 I was relieved to see Holyhead and Gordon amongst the 
 shuddering servants, and to learn that his relatives had 
 not yet been disturbed. 
 
 "ladv Olivia must be told of this at once," said the
 
 ATROPOS 427 
 
 latter. "I will undertake that duty. Send off immedi- 
 ately for a doctor, and secure all these letters and papers 
 without loss of time." 
 
 So we lifted him up and carried him away, and laid 
 him down gently and tenderly on his own bed. After- 
 wards we returned and fastened up the chamber of 
 death. 
 
 Then I felt for the first time that the blow had fallen. 
 I was half stupefied, stunned, as it were, and numbed 
 before ; but I knew it now. I knew that I should never, 
 never see him again. 
 
 The blinding tears did my old eyes good — the blinding 
 tears that came so fast as I thought of his cruel fate. 
 The bright, the brave, the beautiful. Was this the end 
 of all ? My boy ! — my boy !
 
 CHAPTER XLVII 
 
 DUST TO DUST 
 
 It is needless to dwell on the painful details that 
 succeeded the catastrophe of Gilbert's fate — the necessary 
 precautions, the cruel inquiries, the frightful suspicion, 
 the solemn hush that pervaded the house, the dreary 
 efforts to talk of other matters with the family, the bursts 
 of feeling that would not be controlled. His mother 
 scarcely appeared to realise the fact of her bereavement, 
 yet, now that she luid lost him, the maternal tenderness, 
 of which we all thouo^ht her incapable, seemed suddenly 
 to have sprung into life. The very servants remarked 
 that Lady Olivia would not allow the merest trifle to be 
 moved from the place where her son had put it. She would 
 sit for hours looking at the chair he used to occupy. With 
 her own hands and a stern silence she moved a portrait 
 of him taken as a boy from the library to her bedroom. 
 The horses he rode were to remain in the stable ; the 
 dogs he shot over never to be sold or given away ; a small 
 pencil-case that he had left between the leaves of a book 
 on the drawing-room table was privately seized by his 
 mother and hoarded away. Long afterwards I saw 
 it in her workbox. She observed the direction of my 
 eyes, and immediately shut down the lid. Who knows 
 how that proud, impassible woman may have suffered ? 
 Who can guess the regrets and vain longings that tore 
 her heart when it was too late ? I believe his image was 
 oftener present to her now as the blooming child than 
 
 428
 
 DUST TO DUST 429 
 
 the grown man. And she had not even pressed his hand 
 to wish him a last " Good-bye." 
 
 As for Gertrude, she was inconsolable. Her own late- 
 won happiness but made her seem the more sensitive to 
 this overwhelming sorrow. True to his memory in her 
 sisterly affection, she would only rouse herself to defend 
 it from all and every imputation. She could love even 
 John Gordon the better for his loyalty to the dead. That 
 resolute and clear-sighted nature was of infinite use to us 
 in our troubles. Poor Holyhead was so prostrated and 
 unmanned, that he was incapable of offering assistance or 
 advice. In his warm, impulsive heart, so little affected 
 by the conventional usages of society, he had loved Gilbert 
 with more than a brother's love, he mourned him with 
 the abandonment of more than a brother's sorrow. John, 
 with his calm exterior and his unruffled presence of mind, 
 was our mainstay and our sheet-anchor ; but even he gave 
 way at last. When they moved the coffin gravely and 
 carefully from the death -chamber, John Gordon turned 
 his face to the wall, and wept — that strong, unimpression- 
 able man, wept like a little child. 
 
 I have Gilbert's watch in my possession now. I have 
 never wound it up, and the hands still point to half-past 
 nine. At that hour it seems to have fallen on the floor, 
 and so stopped. It may have been swept from the table 
 by the last movement that convulsed the body ere the 
 soul quitted it. I know not. I have pondered on it long 
 and earnestly. I cannot but think he died at half-past 
 nine. 
 
 By degrees we acquired courage to face the necessary 
 ordeal ; by degrees we elicited certain facts from which to 
 form our own conclusions. Gilbert had been in the habit 
 of taking laudanum in large quantities. His constitution 
 was already much impaired by this injurious practice, the 
 only respite, as he was once heard to say, from " the worm 
 that dieth not." On the evening in question, he had 
 found his letters, which arrived by the afternoon post, 
 according to custom, on his writing-table. The groom of 
 the chambers, who had gone to his master's room and 
 brought us the message " not to wait dinner," had been 
 refused admittance, but stated that he could not help
 
 430 GOOD Pon ^TSim 
 
 observing Mr. Orrae's voice was very much altered when 
 he spoke to him through the door, and even that discreet 
 official remembered to have hazarded a suggestion to a 
 fellow-servant, that his " master must either have got 
 some bad news, or been taken suddenly ill." His orders 
 not to be disturbed were so peremptory, that nobody had 
 ventured near him, save Gertrude with the tea. As he 
 did not answer her, she concluded he had passed into his 
 other apartment to dress, and would join them later in 
 the drawing-room, or that he was tired and gone to bed. 
 Poor Gertrude ! ever since she has reproached herself 
 that she did not force an entrance ; and yet, what good 
 could she have done ? Nobody knows exactly at what 
 hour he fell into his death-sleep, nor when he woke from 
 it on the other side of the narrow boundar}^ A phial 
 marked "Laudanum" stood in its accustomed place, about 
 half full. His servants were accustomed to see it there, 
 and did not think of watching the diminution of its con- 
 tents. The cautious physician, who arrived too late, gave 
 it as his opinion, that " enough of the narcotic had been 
 taken to produce death ten times over, in a frame un- 
 accustomed to its use ; but that the same quantity was 
 not necessarily fatal under peculiar circumstances, and 
 in a case like the present, where the deceased was con- 
 firmed in the habit of resorting to this pernicious anodyne." 
 There could be no doubt that something had distressed 
 and wounded him beyond endurance ; that his spirit, 
 harassed and tortured for so long, had completely given 
 way, and he had flown for relief to that fatal remedy, in 
 which alone he could hope to find oblivion and repose. 
 There was no question that he had died from the effects 
 of laudanum. He was in the habit of taking it, and we 
 resolved that, inadvertently, he must have taken too 
 much. 
 
 Those who had the right went through the melancholy 
 duty of examining his papers. He left no will, and his 
 affairs were much involved; frightful inroads on the fine 
 hereditary property of the Ormes having been made 
 during the last year ; but of this we took little heed. It 
 is a sad and painful duty to inspect all the little items 
 and minutife that bring before us so forcibly the reality
 
 1)UST TO DUST 431 
 
 of our loss, that seem, as it were, imbued with the very 
 presence of the dead- To select one from among the little 
 trinkets we know so well — the ring we remember to have 
 seen on his finger ; the book he loved and quoted ; the 
 knife he habitually used — to go over the trifling articles 
 of his toilet, the little everyday accessories of life, the 
 well-known clothes he wore ; to peruse in routine the 
 business letters of which he has kept copies; to weep 
 over the familiar signature, and wonder at the so recent 
 date. All these duties must necessarily wring the hearts 
 of the survivors ; and jet, in their weary routine and the 
 unavoidable exertion they entail, do they mercifully and 
 gradually inure us to his loss. Ah ! had we nothing to 
 do but to sit down with our hands before us, and think, 
 there are some sorrows that the heart of man could not 
 confront. There are some partings that, if we had leisure 
 to dwell upon them, would turn our very brain. After 
 the first stunning sensation of the blow, comes the agony 
 of pain, from which we sink into a hopeless lethargy. 
 Were we not roused by the spur of necessity, we should 
 soon follow the beloved one across the dark river, before 
 our time. 
 
 One letter lay open beneath his arm, as he stooped over 
 the table against which he died. It was given me to 
 read by those whose delicacy of feeling forbade them 
 to examine more than the signature, and who did not 
 hesitate thus far to confide in my honour and discretion. 
 It had been awaiting him on his return from shooting, 
 and was posted the day before in the quiet country town 
 selected for her retreat by Ada Latimer. It was no long 
 epistle, and yet she seemed to have lingered over its con- 
 clusion with a sad, wistful foreboding of evil, and a natural 
 repugnance to divide with her own hand the last link of 
 all. It breathed, nevertheless, a tone of humble resigna- 
 tion throughout; and although something of feminine 
 restraint prevented the open avowal of her feelings, it Avas 
 evident that the Avriter had nothing more to look forward 
 to in this world, and trusted but in the one fond hope of 
 meeting him, where there would be neither sin nor sorrow, 
 in the next. She expressed firmly enough her determina- 
 tion to leave England forthwith, and to seek out her
 
 432 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 husband bcj'ond seas, although she was well aware of his 
 disinclination to receive her. " The path of duty," she said, 
 " she had resolved to follow undeviatingly for the remainder 
 of the short journey. And now," she added, " Ave shall 
 never meet again on this side the grave. We shall not 
 even hear of each other. We must ignore the whole of 
 the past. We must even forget that we were ever more 
 than friends. Therefore I am not ashamed to confess 
 that I loved you once very dearly ; that in those days I 
 would have followed you barefoot to the end of the world; 
 that I would have lived with you and died with you the 
 happiest woman on earth. All that is over now. I 
 depart immediately ; and, believe me, I take this step of 
 my own free choice. The only kindness you can do me 
 now is to forget me. I ivish you to do so. I pi-ai/ night 
 and morning that you will. Farewell." 
 
 Generous, pure-hearted Ada ! I cannot but fear he 
 was incapable of appreciating your noble self-devotion. I 
 cannot but think he would sorely misinterpret the con- 
 clusion of your touching letter. He had expressed to me 
 that very day the bitterness with which he reflected on 
 what he was pleased to term your desertion of him. His 
 heart leapt with renewed hope and joy when I told him of 
 your visit to his sick-bed. Who shall guess at the revul- 
 sion of feeling produced by your farewell ? There are 
 some matters that will never be cleared up till we have all 
 learned the grand secret — some simple facts that we shall 
 never know till we know the simplest and commonest of 
 all. Perhaps the fiercest struggles, the noblest instances 
 of fortitude, the boldest acts of courage on record, have 
 been far surpassed by those which none have been present 
 to witness, and over which death hath drawn an impene- 
 trable veil. We cannot tell. In our ignorance of causes, 
 we can but judge blindly and erringly of effects. 
 
 Alas for Gilbert ! All I know is that the letter lay open 
 beneath his body, and the bottle of laudanum stood half 
 emptied on the shelf.
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII 
 
 THE CHIEF MOURNER 
 
 It was midwinter, and the snow fell heavily — such a 
 winter as people call old-fashioned — which means many 
 uninterrupted weeks of gloomy skies, and landscapes 
 wrapped in white. I was still at West- Acres. There was 
 so much to be looked into, and so many arrangements to 
 make, which could only devolve upon the late possessor's 
 oldest friends, that I found my presence indispensable, 
 and could not abandon my post. It is strange, perhaps 
 a little melancholy, to observe how soon matters relapse 
 into their ordinary routine, even after the most painful 
 bereavement. Though the tree that has been felled may 
 be one of the finest and largest in the forest, may have 
 left a gap that it seems at first sight can never be filled 
 up, it is wonderful how soon the grass and weeds begin 
 to spread over the vacant space, and the neighbouring 
 branches to approach, till they interlace at last across the 
 narrowing void, so that on our return we scarcely miss the 
 giant that has been laid low, or perhaps decide that a loss 
 so easily repaired is rather a gain than the reverse. 
 
 Household cares, household comforts, household duties 
 went on, just as if the master were not sleeping beneath 
 the snoAv. Lady Olivia, dark and stern, more silent, more 
 imperious, more exacting than ever, alluded neither by 
 w^ord nor gesture to her loss. Lady Gertrude, though she 
 would weep bitterly at times, if anything reminded her 
 unexpectedly of her covisin, had yet a thousand occupa- 
 tions and distractions in the details of her approaching 
 
 433 £ £
 
 434 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 marriage, impending though postponed. John Gordon 
 was in London, indeed she wrote to him every day ; and 
 Holyhead in Yorkshire, preparing for the reception of his 
 future viscountess, and to her intense gratification corre- 
 sponding with the same diurnal regularity. These two 
 good fellows had lost their dearest and oldest comrade. 
 No friends could have been more faithful — no mourners 
 more sincere — but what can you expect ? They had other 
 ties, other hopes, other interests ; for them all that made 
 life worth having did not go down to the grave with 
 Gilbert. So they set their houses in order for their com- 
 ing brides, and bespoke plate and linen, and purchased 
 appropriate oi-naments, and bustled about like the rest of 
 us, as if they were to live for ever, thinking of "poor 
 Gilbert " perhaps three or four times a week, perhaps not 
 so often, 
 
 I believe the old retriever and myself were the two 
 beings that missed him most of all. 
 
 Between nine and ten one night, I was returning to the 
 hall from a visit to a sick person in the neighbouring 
 village. The poor fellow was an old acquaintance, who 
 had worked for many years about the place and grounds. 
 I had been reading him a chapter in the Bible, and the 
 dying man was much comforted and impressed with its 
 holy truths. " He was ready to go," he said, " now his 
 day's work was done," and seemed to please himself with 
 the illustration of the labourer in the vineyard, and to 
 look forward Avith a certain sense of reality to receiving 
 his wages from his Lord. The very last words he spoke 
 to me were these : — " I am too weak to thank you for 
 your kindness now. I shall meet you again, and thank 
 you in heaven." 
 
 I was in a more serious mood than common as I left the 
 cottage, and I resolved to pass by the churchyard, as I had 
 done several times alread}^ and spend a few minutes by 
 the sifle of Gilbert's grave. A low square tomb with a 
 plain inscription had been lately put up over the spot 
 where he slept. I felt I should like to stand by it awhile, 
 and think of my boy. The dead seem nearer to us when 
 we are in the very place where we saw them laid, and 
 poor humanity draws some strange futile consolation from
 
 THE CHIEF MOURNER 43S 
 
 the idea, as though, if it were possible for us to see them 
 again on earth, they would be more likely to meet us here 
 than elsewhere. Vain as may be the longing, I believe 
 we are none of us without it, and yet when was it ever 
 gratified ? I often think one of the greatest and holiest 
 mysteries in this mysterious lot of ours is the persuasion 
 that we feel, contrary to our senses and our experience, 
 of some hidden link between ourselves and those who have 
 gone before us to the shadowy land. We weep for them, 
 refusing to be comforted — we mourn them, ay, mourn as 
 those without hope — and yet something tells us that we 
 shall not always be thus fettered and powerless ; that a 
 time will come when we shall burst the material trammels 
 that now clog and madden us ; that the spirit shall pre- 
 dominate at last in its immortality, and if the universe 
 holds them, we shall meet our beloved again. There had 
 been heavy snow during the day, and more was still fall- 
 ing. The ground was covered a foot deep, so it was as 
 light as noon ; the old church stood boldly out against a 
 white background, and every hedge and plantation that 
 intersected the hill behind it was traced as distinctly as 
 the line of a pencil-drawing on a sheet of paper. I could 
 see where the home meadows ended, and Beamier Giles' 
 close began. I could even distinguish the open gateway 
 into the " forty acres," and far beyond that the long 
 straggling ash wood, and the black bank of gorse that 
 constituted the fox-covert. Poor Gilbert ! it was a favour- 
 ite spot of his, enclosed and cherished under his immediate 
 eye. He would never see it drawn again. 
 
 I passed through the wicket into the churchyard. As I 
 turned an angle of the building, and came suddenly in 
 sight of his grave, I was startled to observe something 
 hlach, that seemed to be thrown, as it were, across the 
 tomb. For an instant I thought of the dog's fidelity 
 and the old retriever ; the next, I saw it was a woman's 
 figure, and I knew it could only be Ada Latimer. 
 
 She was stretched upon her face across the broad 
 
 square surface of the stone. Her bonnet and cloak had 
 
 come off unheeded. Her brown hair swept in heavy 
 
 masses over her neck and arms. She did not writhe, 
 
 ^nor sob, nor wail, but lay there under the heavy sky
 
 436 GOOD FOR NOTHINa 
 
 and the flilling snow, prostrate and motionless, like the 
 dead. 
 
 A horrid fear came over me, but I shook it oil", ana went 
 to her with noiseless steps, and took her hand, and spoke 
 to her by name. 
 
 Then she rose, slowly, deliberately, neither startled nor 
 surprised, and turned upon me her seeking eyes, that 
 seemed indeed prepared to meet some other face than 
 mine. 
 
 That eager, sorrowing gaze remained unchanged for a 
 few seconds — then the wistful eyes grew dim, the pale 
 lips writhed, the wan set features contracted with a sudden 
 spasm. She was back in the lonely world again. She 
 sank once more u};on her k;;ees, laid h-^r fwreh.'ad against 
 the cold wet stone, and wept without restraint. 
 
 After a while she grew calmer, and suffered me to raise 
 her and wrap her in her cloak, for she was shivering 
 with cold. Her sobs, too, subsided, for she had more self- 
 command than most men ; and she took my hand in both 
 of hers, and spoke to me for the first time. 
 
 " I could not go away without coming here," she said. 
 " Do you think it was so very wrong ? May God have 
 mercy on me ! Have I not been punished enough ? " 
 
 I had not heard her voice for many months. I should 
 not have recognised it for hers, so changed was it, and 
 hoarse, and broken now. 
 
 I soothed and consoled her as best I could. I scarcely 
 know what I said. How can the tongue of man comfort 
 such grief as hers ? Soon she made an effort to summon 
 all her strength, and, though she still shook with cold, her 
 voice was steadier as she resumed. 
 
 " I only saw it in the newspapers — the horrid, horrid 
 suspicions — the dreadful inquiry. I cannot suffer more 
 than I have done. Do not be afraid to tell me everything, 
 I can bear the worst now ! " 
 
 It seemed best to give way to her. Surely she had a 
 right to know. I related all the painful story nearly as I 
 have related it to you. I told her of my walk home with 
 him. I was indeed the last person who had seen him 
 alive. I described our sad conversation, and the morbid 
 state of feeling to which he had brought himself. I did
 
 THE CHIEF MOUBNER 437 
 
 not even conceal his great, troubled joy when he learned 
 that she had visited his sick-bed; nay, I had not the 
 cruelty to withhold from her the last words I heard him 
 speak as he rushed to his chamber to be alone — " Oh, 
 God ! she loves me still." 
 
 A light as of some intense happiness glowed in her 
 face for an instant, though it darkened immediately with 
 a deeper sorrow, and she bowed her head and wept 
 bitterly again. So have I seen on a drenching, cheerless 
 day in March, the sun shine out for a space with more 
 than summer splendour, ere the black clouds sweep once 
 more across the sky, to break in gusts and storms and 
 pelting pitiless rain. 
 
 Of course I was wrong. Of course I ought not to have 
 spoken a word of kindness or sympathy or comfort, but to 
 have stood by and looked on in pious reprobation, pointing 
 to the grave of the dead sinner, and insisting on his fate 
 as a warning, yet more to crush the living loving heart 
 that was left. I cannot justify myself. I confess my 
 error. I do not defend it. I was weak, I was foolish, I 
 was sinful ; still, I could not have done otherwise. God 
 help me ! Even at threescore years and ten a man's 
 heart is something less hard than the nether millstone. 
 No, I do not regret it. She listened so much more calmly 
 after that. I told her how I had found him. She spared 
 me no details. Where was he sitting ? — what was he 
 doing ? — how was he dressed ? — was he writing ? — had he 
 got her letter ? — was he in the habit of taking that dread- 
 ful laudanum? It was so easy to pour out a little too 
 much ! and he was always so heedless about trifles ! 
 Perhaps he took it directly he came in, and before he 
 read his letters ! Did I not know ? Had I not been able 
 to find out ? All these questions hurried out eagerly and 
 breathlessly, while she hung upon the answers as if her 
 life depended on my words. I endeavoured to reassure 
 her as much as possible. Without departing from the 
 truth, I tried to make it clear to her, that she could have 
 had nothing to do with the over-excitement which had 
 driven him to the fatal remedy ; that her letter, which I 
 had seen, was calculated to soothe rather than madden 
 him; that it was, in short, one of those judgments of which,
 
 438 GOOD FOR NOTHING '- 
 
 as we could never know its exact details, we were bound 
 to accept the least shocking probability. In vain. She 
 always came round to the same ghastly doubt, the same 
 harassing inquiry, had he done it he/ore or after he read her 
 letter ? 
 
 I changed the subject two or three times, inquiring her 
 present prospects and future movements. I learned she 
 had come to stay a few days in a little town five or six 
 miles off, that she was resolved to depart from England 
 forthwith, but that she could not leave without visiting 
 the grave of him who had loved her so dearly, with whom 
 she had once hoped to spend a long and happy life. 
 She had been here last night and the night before. She 
 had a carriage even now waiting for her in the village. 
 She must go away to-morrow, and perhaps she should 
 never have even this melancholy consolation again. 
 
 I entreated her to take shelter at the hall, or elsewhere. 
 I urged upon her that she was killing herself, that the 
 cold and exposure was more than any woman's frame 
 could bear. I even begged of her to order her carriage 
 and return. No, " she would not stir from that spot," she 
 said, " till her doubts were satisfied, till she knew whether 
 she had killed him, murdered him, her own — her love — 
 her darling, for whom she would have died, to shield 
 him from the slightest harm." 
 
 She was getting wild, incoherent, at last. I feared for 
 her brain. I knew not what to do ; I was at my wit's end. 
 
 Suddenly a new thought seemed to strike her. She 
 gripped my arm fiercely, and her eyes, usually so soft and 
 kind, glared into mine as she asked, in a hoarse, thick 
 Avhisper — 
 
 " What time did he die ? " 
 
 I told her I had myself picked his watch up from the 
 floor, and it had stopped at half-past nine. 
 
 The whole face softened into more than earthly beauty, 
 breaking into such a smile as it would have made you 
 weep to see. 
 
 " Half-past nine ! " she repeated, and for the first time 
 that niofht the voice was Ada's own. 
 
 " Half-past nine ! My love — my love ! I kneiu you 
 could never leave me without coming to say good-bye ! "
 
 CHAPTER XLIX 
 
 TOO LATE 
 
 Two years had passed and gone since I had seen Ada 
 Latimer, weeping over the grave of Gilbert Orme — since 
 I had placed her, half stupefied with grief, in the carriage 
 that bore her away from the spot where her heart lay 
 buried with my boy. Two years, with all their changes 
 in the outward world, and their addition to the load we 
 carry, each of us, in our inner life ! The weights truly are 
 heavier, and the strength decreases, but the feeble, shorten- 
 ing steps bear us nearer and nearer to the goal. For two 
 years I had not seen nor heard of her, yet was she seldom 
 absent from my thoughts. Sleeping and waking, the sad 
 inquiring face seemed to haunt me still. I was again in 
 London, in the vast city on which time seems to make no 
 impression, and but that a few of the items which consti- 
 tute its whole had passed away, it was little changed, even 
 to me, from the London of ten, ay, twenty years ago. 
 The new faces in the club windows wore the weary 
 expression of the old ones ; the new voices seemed to be 
 as languid and listless as those others, silent now for 
 evermore. Orme, indeed, was forgotten. Charley Wing 
 never came to St. James' Street, and Landless had suc- 
 ceeded to the only territorial reversion he had been 
 unable to make over to the Jews — the six feet by three 
 to which the humblest of us is an heir of entail ; but 
 Flippant was alive still, alive and merry, with a deeper 
 colour than ever, and a darker wig and a brighter smile, 
 the envy of his contemporaries, alternately the butt and 
 
 43d
 
 440 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 the oracle of younger men who were following in his steps. 
 With Flippant, however, and his school I have nothing to 
 do. I am more interested in the prosperity of those whom 
 I connect with my last visit at West- Acres, and on their 
 happiness it is my chief pleasure to dwell. 
 
 I have seldom been splashed by the wheels of a sociable 
 with such satisfaction to myself, as I was near the comer 
 of Bruton Street, whilst waiting to cross that thoroughfare 
 not very long ago. Looking up, I saw on the panel of the 
 carnage a double cipher, in which the letter G wtis twisted 
 and tortured and multiplied into itself with extraordinary 
 ingenuity, and raising my eyes a few feet forther, they 
 rested upon Lady Gertrude's handsome face, beaming with 
 matronly beauty and content ; also on a tiny copy of the 
 same with a huge cockade and a strong dash of John 
 Gordon's resolution about its infant brows. She stopped 
 to show me the son and heir with more than a mother's 
 pride. How she believes in " baby," nobody but the young 
 mother of a first-born can conceive. It is a fine child, 
 doubtless, and a vigorous. Indeed, the poor canary has 
 already fallen a victim to its energetic caresses. 
 
 Like its father's, the baby's grasp is not only strong, but 
 tenacious, and too ardent an embrace of the yellow throat 
 left the poor favourite dead on the floor of its cage. 
 Gertrude has read how the sucking Hercules strangled 
 the serpents in his cradle, and is innnensely proud of the 
 feat. For the rest, she is thoroughly happy, cannot be 
 brought to a skirmish now, even with Lady Olivia, and 
 thinks there is but one man on earth, and that man is 
 John Gordon. Also they are going to spend the autumn 
 with the Holyheads at their place in Yorkshire. Of the 
 latter couple I have heard a good deal through Mrs. 
 Montpellier. Although she vows she has scarcely forgiven 
 the peer for not giving her the option of refusing him, she 
 expresses herself perfectly satisfied with his choice, and 
 showed much kindness to Bella when mourning the death 
 of her father, an event which postponed her marriage 
 for nearly a twelvemonth. The old alderman has played 
 his last rubber, and died happily enough in the arms of 
 his dear child. Mrs. Montpellier prospers as she deserves ; 
 she has quite overcome the Visigoth faction, and goes to
 
 TOO LATE 441 
 
 lunch with the inmates of Orraohi House, as if she had 
 known them from childhood. She and Lady Ormolu have 
 become hand and glove about homoeopathy, so that Lady 
 Visigoth, though by no means silenced, has been com- 
 
 f)elled to submit. True to the nature of her kind, she is 
 ess rancorous in defeat than victory. Mrs. Montpellier's 
 black eyes sparkle mischievously when they meet. One 
 would hardly think they could ever fill with tears, as 
 they did when she talked to me about poor Gilbert, the 
 last time we were together. It is more than a year ago, 
 and she has, doubtless, forgotten him ; there have been 
 moments when I thought in bitterness they have all for- 
 gotten him now. Even the old retriever howls no longer 
 at the gun-room door ; though he persisted for months in 
 that offensive habit, he has left it off" at last. 
 
 " Yes," I said to myself in Bruton Street, as Lady 
 Gertrude drove away with her baby in her arms and 
 a merry laugh on her face, " it's the way of the world 
 — the rolling, changing world. I believe I am the only 
 mourner left ! " 
 
 My heart was heavy as I went to evening church, 
 according to my favourite custom, in a locality where 
 such services are performed on stated week-days. 
 Though my eyes are dim now, and I am deaf and stupid, 
 and the clergyman's voice is but an indistinct monotonous 
 drone in my ears, I love the dark recesses, and the 
 scattered lights, and the sacred gloom of the place of 
 worship. Above all, I love to mark the triumphant 
 swell of the pealing organ, and the high notes of the 
 choristers, soaring like an echo of angels' voices from the 
 distance of eternity, and the hallowed music that I may 
 humbly hope to hear in another world. 
 
 As I listened to the chanting of the evening psalms, I 
 was aware of a voice of peculiar sweetness that joined in 
 the holy melody — a voice that I fancied I had heard 
 before, that seemed to touch some thrilling chord and 
 wake some painful memory in the depths of my heart, 
 but yet that, strange to say, I did not recognise. Again 
 and again it rose and fell in the beautiful poetry of the 
 inspired minstrel, till, in a verse of touching sorrow, too 
 sacred for me to mention here, it seemed to be cut short
 
 442 GOOD FOR NOTHING 
 
 with a stifled sob, and I heard it no more daring the rest 
 of tho service. 
 
 Though I never imagined she was in England, I was 
 scarcely surprised when Ada Latimer put her arm within 
 mine at the church-door, and, adapting her stops to my 
 slow and feeble gait, walked silently and sadly with me 
 up the lamp-lit street. 
 
 There was something in her face that forbade me to 
 accost her with commonplace words of greeting and 
 inquiry. It was pale as marble, and the contrast with her 
 black dress in the gaslight was unearthly. Could this 
 be the Ada who was once the very rose of womanhood, the 
 pride and flower of her sex ? 
 
 After a few steps she spoke. The sweet, low voice had 
 lost none of its music, but there was that in its tone 
 which told of a broken heart. 
 
 " I saw you in church," she said ; " I waited to speak to 
 you. I have no one to consult — no one to guide or advise 
 me now." 
 
 I bade her talk to me as she would to a father. 
 
 " I have tried to do right," she said. " Do you think I 
 am justified in remaining in England ? I have been to 
 Australia to seek my husband. I can hear nothing of 
 him. There is no trace by which I can follow him. 
 I remained at Sydney till my money was nearly 
 exhausted. I can at least get my bread in London, and 
 it is a long, long way from — from where you met me last. 
 Surely there is no harm in my staying here. Indeed I 
 have but one wish, to labour whilst I live, and do all the 
 good that one weak woman can. Night and morning I 
 pray but to know what is required of me. Oh ! I want to 
 be so good, so good. It may be " — and her voice sank to a 
 whisper, whilst a shudder swept over her frame — " it may 
 be that his blood is on my head. Shall I have to seek 
 him through all eternity without finding him ? Oh ! no, 
 no. I believe the Scriptures, and they promise me that 
 ' the fervent prayer of the righteous availeth much ! ' " 
 
 Trusting even beyond the grave. Hoping, when even 
 hope itself had failed. Ah ! could he but have thought as 
 you did, Ada, my boy had been still alive. You would 
 pever have rc^et on earth, but Infinite Mercy would hav§
 
 TOO LATE 443 
 
 tempered your afflictions here, and to Infinite Mercy you 
 would cheerfully have confided your lot hereafter. Alas 
 for the one who failed at the moment of trial, in his faith ! 
 Alas for the proud self-confidence, the reckless spirit, and 
 undisciplined heart ! I dare not speculate on its doom, 
 nor argue on the award of unimpeachable justice ; nor 
 place a limit to the ransom which has rescued millions 
 on millions of souls for all eternity. 
 
 Could I tell Ada Latimer she must leave that hope 
 alone for ever ? 
 
 THE END 
 
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