-' 4-,-' (.' ( .-. ;
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 ^ -^^ 
 
 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 % 10^1. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. J. H. RIDDELL, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " GEORGE GEITH OF FEN COURT," " THE MYSTERY IN 
 PALACE GARDENS," ETC. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, 
 
 ^ublistifrs in ©rUinarj? to Jjfr i*lajfstp tljr Oiufcn. 
 
 1885.
 
 [TAe right of Translation and all other rights reserved.^ 
 
 l.OKDON • 
 ttOfiSON AND SONS, PBINTEIB. l-AHCRAS ROAD, N.W,
 
 1^ ^■'^0' 
 
 ?K 
 
 d^n 
 
 <?._ 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. An Off Day in the Park . 
 II. Sir Geoffrey Chelston 
 
 III. Gayre, Delone, Eyles, and Gayre 
 
 IV. Mr. Gayre's Brother-in-Law . 
 
 V. A possible Samaritan 
 VI. Eliza Jubbins .... 
 
 VII. Will he PROPOSE? 
 viii. Father, Daughter, Uncle 
 
 IX. Susan 
 
 X. Mr. Sudlow is advised for his Good 
 
 XI. " Should Auld Acquaintance be forgot 
 
 XII. High Festival . . . . . 
 xiii. Sir Geoffrey's Opinions . 
 XIV. On the Way Home . 
 
 XV. Sir Geoffrey's Tactics 
 XVI. Landed .... 
 XVII. Between Wind and Water 
 xviii. The Blackness of Night . 
 XIX. Sir Geoffrey's Idea . 
 
 XX. The Trial .... 
 XXI. •' Events arrange Themselves' 
 XXII. The Widower . 
 
 XXIII. A Dog in the Manger 
 
 XXIV. A Great Surprise 
 XXV, W'thout Foils . 
 
 XXVI. Beyond ms Strength 
 xxvii ■' How much are you sorry?" 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 12 
 
 25 
 
 34 
 
 45 
 
 53 
 64 
 
 75 
 82 
 
 94 
 102 
 112 
 128 
 141 
 149 
 
 159 
 169 
 
 183 
 
 195 
 203 
 216 
 227 
 237 
 251 
 261 
 
 27s 
 285 
 
 1301311
 
 IT 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAf. 
 
 XXVIII. His I'kick 
 
 XXIX. On iiiK Marink I'akadk .... 
 XXX. Wii.vr Mr. Gayke wished 
 XXXI. " Have you ever been to Tooting?" 
 
 XXXII. AWAKENINIJ 
 
 XXXIII. Lucky .\t Cards, etc 
 
 XXXIV. The lesser Evii 
 
 XXXV. " All kor Love and the World yi^ell lost !" 
 
 XXXVI. Anything but Pleasant .... 
 xxxvii. Mr. Gayre thanks Heaven 
 xxxviii. Conclusion 
 
 297 
 306 
 316 
 323 
 
 348 
 358 
 369 
 
 375 
 382 
 
 395
 
 iCe* •'w*' 
 
 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AN OFF DAY IN THE PARK. 
 
 Down in the country the meadows were yellow with buttercups, 
 the hawthorns were in full blossom ; in the Hertfordshire 
 woods, svA'eet-scented white and purple violets literally carpeted 
 the turf; beside the meandering streams of Surrey wild flowers 
 were spreading and blooming ; but still the spring had been 
 late and ungenial, the accustomed easterly winds had held a 
 longer carnival than usual, vegetation, on the whole, was back- 
 ward ; and as a natural consequence, Hyde Park, which seems 
 specially sensitive to the influence of weather, could not, in 
 the May of 1874, be considered looking its very best, as is 
 sometimes the case in that " merrie " month sacred to catarrh, 
 rheumatism, and bronchitis. 
 
 The winter of 1873-1874 was what is generally called 
 "singularly mild." It was singularly disagreeable, at all 
 events : snow and frost held aloof, and bitter blasts and raw 
 unwholesome mists and damps prevailed instead. That season 
 will in one district of London be ever held memorable for a 
 most dense and awful three days' fog, during which period a 
 darkness like unto that of Egypt spread its pall over the whole 
 of the East End. 
 
 On New Year's night 1874, indeed, it seemed as though the 
 English climate had determined to turn over a fresh and satis- 
 factory leaf. Such a fine evening was surely never known be- 
 fore on any i st of January ; so magnificent a moon rarely, 
 even in August, has shone on fields where the grain was ripe 
 for the reaper's sickle ; but, like too many good resolutions 
 made that day, the promise of amendment l^d to no lasting 
 improvement, and winter dragged itself into the lap of spring ; 
 and the spring itself was late and dreary ; and in the May of 
 that year Hyde Park was not looking its best.
 
 SUSAN J)RUMMLh\D. 
 
 Hyde Park is a jilace which appears to greatest advantage 
 when seen in full dress, when the trees are full of leaf and the 
 flowers in full bloom, and the Drive full of carriages and the 
 Row full of riders, and the whole scene one of incessant 
 motion, and constant change, and shimmering colour, and 
 varying elTects. 
 
 At some periods and under certain conditions it looks more 
 mournful than a desolate heath or a wide expanse of lonely 
 moorland. There is a sky under which its aspect is depressing 
 in the extreme. I'A-en in the "season" there are times when 
 the very genius of desolation seems to be brooding over the 
 grass, and the trees, and the mud-coloured Row, and the 
 Drive whence the last carriage has departed. 
 
 It is then, plodding his lonely way homeward, the whole 
 show over, with the sun setting behind him, and night coming 
 on apace, the pedestrian who is not rich or fashionable or 
 prosperous feels a fine despair oppressing him, and is inclined, 
 as a comforting exercise, to recite aloud six verses taken from 
 the ninth chapter of Ecclesiastes. 
 
 Judging from the face of a lady who was walking her 
 horse along the Row, she had compassed this state of mind 
 little more than an hour after noon on that specially dull 
 May day in the prosperous year of grace eighteen hundred 
 and seventy-four, when my story opens. Tittlebat Titmouse 
 himself could not have looked more dissatisfied. Her ex- 
 pression was gloomy as the aspect of the heavens, which 
 seemed to betoken rain ; and her listless dejected attitude 
 accentuated the desolation of the Park, which was almost 
 empty. 
 
 A Drawing-room had drawn nearly all the rank and fashion 
 in town off to St. James's ; and the few who at an earlier 
 period of the day graced the Row were now gone home for 
 luncheon, leaving but one solitary rose to bloom, almost un- 
 seen, in a desert peopled apparently only by nursemaids, chil- 
 dren of tender years, and Life-guardsmen. 
 
 And this was not a rose that liked to blush unseen. Soli- 
 tudes were not places she would have affected of her own 
 free will. She preferred to be amongst her kind, more 
 especially when that kind included a considerable number of 
 male admirers. A quiet life would certainly not have been 
 her choice, and yet for the twenty years she had lived in this 
 world a quiet life chanced to be her portion. 
 
 She was a very singular-looking girl to be riding in the Park,
 
 AX OFF DAY IN THF PARK. 
 
 apparently a total stranger. She seemed unknown, even by 
 sight, to those who had, earlier in the day, passed and repassed 
 her, and who now were gone away. Not a woman had spoken 
 a word to her, not a man raised his hat. She had walked and 
 cantered her horse round and round the Row, evincing a 
 curious tendency to "hug" the railings, instead of venturing 
 out into the middle of the ride. A gray-haired groom attended 
 upon her, keeping closer to his mistress than is the usual habit 
 of grooms; and the discontent which clouded her face assumed 
 on his the proportions of absolute ill-humour. 
 
 Yet, if beauty count for anything, she was a lady most 
 grooms would have felt proud to follow ! 
 
 As has been said, the Park was singularly empty. There 
 were not any equipages worth noticing; the itv^ equestrians 
 had gone away, either because they feared rain or were hungry ; 
 the usual loungers were elsewhere ; but still the young lady 
 rode up and down, and round and round, with the dull steady 
 persistence of a person on the treadmill. 
 
 That she was not enjoying herself in the least might have 
 been patent almost to a superficial observer ; the groom, who 
 was enjoying himself even less, knew wherefore, and wondered 
 why she did not end the ordeal and go home. 
 
 No fairer face was seen in the Row that season. One man, 
 leaning upon the railings, decided no fairer face ever could 
 have been seen anywhere. It was quite new to him. He had 
 not beheld it before, and, while he stood watching her as she 
 passed, he marvelled more and more who she could be, what 
 she was, and whence she came. He was a man of thirty, with 
 closely-cut light-brown hair, and rather starved moustache. He 
 had the look of a man about town ; and, while evidently capti- 
 vated by the girl's appearance, he eyed her with a critical inves- 
 tigating glance, which spoke more for the coolness of his head 
 than the warmth of his heart. 
 
 He seemed to have no appointment to keep, or anything 
 particular to do, for he waited on and on, watching lady and 
 groom with a puzzled expression that certainly did not betray 
 the full extent of the admiration he felt. 
 
 To him, over the grass, there came, with a quiet but not 
 stealthy step, a man much his senior, who, saying, '' Well, 
 Sudlow, as usual, admiring rank and beauty," took up a 
 position beside the person he so addressed. 
 
 " I do not know much about the rank," answered Mr. Sud- 
 low, " but the beauty is undeniable ;" and he fastened a bolder
 
 SUS.IA DR UMMOND. 
 
 gaze than he had previously ventured upon the girl, who was 
 jiassing at the moment. 
 
 She saw this and coloured, and yet there was a look in her 
 eyes — a downcast, indefinable look — which told she did not feel 
 wholly ofiended. 
 
 'J'lie new-comer followed her progress thoughtfully. 
 
 "She can't ride a bit," he remarked. 
 
 Mr. Sudlow made no answer, but he turned his head and 
 stared hard and imjuiringly at the speaker, who, though no 
 (jucstion had been asked, replied, " I should say not," and 
 then they both remained silent till after she passed again, 
 which she did this time at the side of the Row furthest from 
 where they stood. 
 
 " She is very beautiful," said Mr. Sudlow. 
 
 " No doubt, to those who admire that sort of thing." 
 
 "What sort of thing?" asked the younger man. 
 
 " If you can't see for yourself, it would be useless to try to 
 explain," answered his friend, in a tone which had something 
 annoying in its very calmness ; " but the girl is good-looking 
 — beautiful if you like." 
 
 " I wonder who she is ? Did you never see her before ?" 
 
 The other shook his head. 
 
 " Never ; and it would not grieve me if I never saw her 
 again. What have we here ?"' he added, as two persons, riding 
 very fast indeed, came at a hard trot down the road lead- 
 ing across the Serpentine. " You'll get yourselves into trouble, 
 my friends, if you don't mind what you are about," he added. 
 
 IJut apparently the pair knew very well what they were 
 about, for, reining in their horses, they walked as quietly down 
 the Row as if they had been riding lambs instead of powerful 
 hunters, that looked ridiculously out of place in Hyde Park, 
 and carrying such light weights. 
 
 Tliere was a lovely flavour of the country about the new- 
 comers. One, a lady, was mounted on the heavier of the 
 animals— a roan with black legs, a grand chest and splendid 
 action, well up to fifteen stone. 
 
 For a moment Mr. Sudlow's acquaintance wondered why 
 she rode the roan instead of the magnificent bay, upon which 
 he fastened an appreciative gaze, but his wonder was not of 
 long continuance. Just as the horses were passing the spot 
 where they stood, the bay took umbrage at the sight of a stone 
 roller which lay at the side of the Row. If it had been a wild 
 beast he could not have made more fuss about the matter ; he
 
 AN OFF DAY IN THE PARK. 
 
 shied almost across to the opposite railings ; he got up on his 
 hind legs, and reared as if he meant to fall right over on his 
 back; then he put down his fore-legs and kicked, till Mr. Sudlovv 
 felt sure his rider's last hour was come ; after that he tried to 
 get his head and bolt ; and when he was balked of this inten- 
 tion he seemed for a minute to lift all his four feet off the 
 ground at once, and dance upon nothing in the air. 
 
 IMeanwhile the gentleman sat the horse as if he had been 
 part of him, and his companion looked on without evincing 
 the slightest discomposure or anxiety. 
 
 " By Jove !" said the elder of the spectators under his 
 breath, with an admiration which was as involuntary as it vi^as 
 genuine. 
 
 '' People shouldn't bring such brutes into the Park," ob- 
 served Mr. Sudlow, who had turned quite white, and who 
 would, indeed, have speedily placed himself beyond all risk of 
 danger had not his dread of ridicule been greater even than 
 his cowardice. 
 
 Then the centaur patted his horse on the neck as if he had 
 done something praiseworthy, and the bay and the roan pro- 
 ceeded peacefully on their way side by side. 
 
 At the same moment, the girl who had been for so long a 
 time exercising herself on the Hyde Park treadmill, and who 
 was just then retracing her way from Albert Gate, shrank past 
 the pair, putting all the width of the ride between them. 
 
 No words could adequately describe the agony of terror 
 into which the scene had thrown her. She had been coming 
 on to meet the new-comers when the horse shied, and during 
 his varied performances she sat with her eyes fastened on the 
 rider, frightened almost to death, afraid to turn back, afraid the 
 creature would rush madly upon her, afraid her own steed 
 might next take alarm, suffering a thou-sand agonies in the 
 space of about a minute, and for once in her life utterly un- 
 mindful of who might be looking at her, or how she looked. 
 She had never even cast a glance at the roan, all her attention 
 being concentrated on the bay, which she regarded in the light 
 of a four-footed demon ; nor, indeed, did the lady on the 
 roan particularly regard her: but as they passed the groom a 
 sudden light seemed to dawn upon her mind, and she looked 
 back. 
 
 "Why, that must be Lavender!" she exclaimed; "and, 
 yes — certainly— that is Margaret Chelston ;" and without more 
 ado she wheeled her horse round, and, riding after the girl,
 
 Sl/SA.V DRUMMOND. 
 
 said as she got close up to her, " Who would have thought of 
 our meeting here, Margaret?'' 
 
 "That settles the nialter," remarked Mr. Sudlow's com- 
 panion to that gentleman ; and Mr. Sudlow somewhat shakily 
 answered, " Yes." Evidently there had been a doubt of 
 some sort in tlie minds of both men which was now laid at 
 rest. 
 
 " I wonder who %\\Qcan be, Gayre?" said Mr. Sudlow. "Are 
 you sure you have never seen her before?'' 
 
 "Quite sure; and yet, oddly enough, her face seems 
 familiar to me. O look ! this is very funny." 
 
 It was rather funny. The girl on the hunter had put up a 
 warning hand to keep her companion at a discreet distance, 
 and then, placing the object of Mr. Sudlow's admiration in 
 safety between herself and the railings, proceeded with her 
 conversation, whilst the man who was thus debarred from the 
 delights of feminine society philosophically fell back on 
 Lavender, to the manifest discomfort of a groom who " knew 
 his place " and " had been accustomed to what was fitting." 
 
 "It is long since 1 beheld so lovely a woman," observed 
 Mr. Sudlow. 
 
 " I never did," answered Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " It is a pity you so seldom speak seriously." 
 
 " I fad to see the particular application of your remark." 
 
 " Why, it is not ten minutes since you said she might be 
 very well for those who liked that sort of thing ; now you 
 declare she is lovely.' 
 
 " O, I was talking of die other one." 
 
 "Pooh !" exclaimed Mr. Sudlow. 
 
 " There is no accounting for tastes," remarked Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " So it seems," was the curt reply. 
 
 " You need not be angry with me because I have not fallen 
 in love with your beauty," said the elder man. "She is a very 
 nice thing in girls, indeed. I should say she is not long from 
 the country ; but she will soon know her way about town. I 
 daresay, Sudlow, you may meet her at some party or other 
 before you are much older." 
 
 " Do you really think it likely ?" 
 
 "I do, indeed. I should not mind buying that horse," he 
 added, following the bay with the eyes of a person who under- 
 stood horse-flesh. 
 
 " What a curious seat the fellow has!" observed Mr. Sudlow, 
 trying to emulate his friend's critical manner.
 
 AN OFF DAY IN THF PARK. 
 
 " Do you know the reason ?" asked Mr. Gayre, cruelly 
 throwing him at once. 
 
 '• No ; do you?" retorted Mr. Sudlovv. 
 
 " Of course ; he has been accustomed to ride buck- 
 jumpers." 
 
 "• And what the deuce are buck-jumpers ?" 
 
 "It is a pity your grandfather is not alive to tell you," 
 observed Mr. Gayre; which was an extremely unkind cut, had 
 Mr. Sudlovv clearly understood the full meanuig of his friend's 
 remarks. 
 
 "What areyougoing to do with yourself this evening?" asked 
 Mr. Gayre after a pause, which Mr. Sudlow had devoted to the 
 consideration of that conundrum concerning his grandfather. 
 
 "I do not know — nothing." 
 
 " Come and dine with me, then." 
 
 The fashion of Mr. Sudlow's face instantly underwent a 
 change. It lighted up with pleasure and surprise, and he 
 answered heartily, 
 
 '■ I shall only be too glad. How very kind you are to me ! 
 I can't imagine why you should be so kind." 
 
 " Neither can I," was the answer. " You do not amuse and 
 you do not instruct me. I have no daughter I want you to 
 marry, and I have enough money of my own without trying to 
 rob you of any of yours Farewell, then, till eight. If in the 
 mean time you discover why I am civil to you, tell me." 
 
 Left thus to follow his own devices, Mr. Sudlow, after a 
 moment's hesitation, turned and walked after the lady who had 
 attracted his admiration. 
 
 " I knew it," said Mr. Gayre, glancing back ; and then, 
 with a cynical smile curhng his lip, he pursued his way, which 
 happened to be Cityward. He was accounted a great man in 
 the City ; he was a great man anywhere, indeed, if money and 
 greatness can be considered synonymous terms. If a stranger 
 had asked any one of the many persons who touched hats to 
 him, and waved hands at him, and made a point of stopping 
 to say, "How d'ye do? how are you?" — as if their own 
 existence depended upon hearing that the state of his health 
 was satisfactory — who he was, the answer would have been, 
 
 " That, sir, is Mr. Gayre, the banker — Gayre, Delone, Eyles, 
 and Gayre, Lombard Street." 
 
 Utterly ignorant of the wealth and wisdom they had passed 
 by unheeded, the two young ladies rode slowly on, talkmg as 
 they went.
 
 8 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 " Who in the worUl, Susan, is that person you are with ?" 
 
 It was Miss Chelston who asked this question the moment 
 the " person " tluis spoken of was relegated to the improving 
 society of Mr. Lavender. 
 
 " lie is my cousin," answered Susan. 
 
 " U, indeed ! which of them?" 
 
 " Mrs. Arbery's son. He has just come back from Australia." 
 
 " Did he bring his steed with him ?" 
 
 " No," said Susan, laughing ; " that pretty creature and 
 this," stroking the roan as she spoke, " belong to a neighbour, 
 who lets us exercise them."' 
 
 " Does he wish them exercised in the Row ?" asked Miss 
 Chelston ; " because if he does, I will never venture into it 
 again.' 
 
 " No, it is too far for us," was the reply ; " but we should 
 not do any harm to any one if we did come. Are you as timid 
 about riding as you used to be ?" 
 
 The beauty shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " I hate it," she answered. 
 
 " Why do you ride, then ?" was the natural question. 
 
 " Why do we do a hundred and fifty things every day of 
 our lives we would rather not do?" she retorted. " O Susan, 
 pray keep your horse a little further off. He has not a nice 
 expression of face at all. He looks as if he would bite. I 
 can't think what could induce you to mount such a monster." 
 
 '• He is tall," agreed the other indifferently; "but a hand 
 or two does not much signify." 
 
 " And where have you been living since your uncle's 
 death?" said Miss Chelston, giving two young men who met 
 them at the moment a full view of her face turned towards her 
 companion, and her eyes raised with a bewitching expression 
 of interest and sympathy. " You dear old thing, it was hard 
 for you to have to leave the Hall." 
 
 "It was not so hard for me to have to leave the Hall as 
 for you to have to leave the Pleasaunce, Maggie," answered 
 the other, with straightforward frankness and good sense. "I 
 knew the day must come when it would be necessary for me to 
 go ; but you — O, I felt so sorry for you !" 
 
 " Yes ; but, after all, I don't think things are much worse 
 with us than ever they were. Indeed, I think on the whole 
 they are better. As for you, it is simply dreadful — to be 
 brought up as you were and then left without a sixpence. I 
 call it disgraceful of your uncle."
 
 AjM off da Y IX THE PARK. 
 
 " Don't say anything against uncle, please, to me," said 
 Susan, involuntarily tightening her rein, and so causing the 
 roan to spring forward, which movement elicited a little scream 
 from Miss Chelston ; " and I am not left without sixpence," she 
 added. " I have two thousand pounds saved from the wreck 
 of my father's fortune. If uncle had known sooner that the 
 great India house was going to fail, he would have arranged to 
 leave me something ; but as it was — " 
 
 " I know," interrupted Miss Chelston ; " he always intended 
 you to marry his son." 
 
 "'Who came home with a wife and two children," added 
 Susan. " Dear uncle — dear, kind uncle !" 
 
 " That is all very well," said Miss Chelston ; " but he might 
 have left you some practical proof of his kindness. Even niy 
 father, who, as you know, is not remarkable for the interest he 
 takes in the troubles of any one excepting himself, says it is a 
 shame for you to be left out in the cold — a very, very shame;" 
 and i\Iiss Chelston nodded her pretty head to italicise the 
 naughty words she would not utter in their native force and 
 integrity. 
 
 ' How is your father ?" asked Susan ; then, v.'ithout waiting 
 for a reply, she added, "the first ride I ever had in my life was 
 on his old horse, Wild Indian. Do you remember W^ild 
 Indian ? It was my fourth birthday, and he took me all across 
 the park and up the long beech avenue." 
 
 "And he has told me often enough since you were not 
 frightened, and that you ought to have been his daughter 
 instead of me. I wish with all my heart you had been." 
 
 They did not speak for a minute; each apparently was busy 
 with her own thoughts ; then Susan, looking at her old friend, 
 said suddenly, and as if the fact had only just struck her, 
 
 " You are prettier than ever, Maggie." 
 
 " Do you think so ?" answered Miss Chelston. 
 
 " Yes, I always thought you were the most beautiful creature 
 in the world ; but you are more beautiful now than you used to 
 be. It is London, I suppose, and dress." 
 
 " Dress improves every one," said the young lady, as a sort 
 of general statement which she immediately applied to a 
 particular case by asking, 
 
 'What could induce you to come out in that hat and 
 habit?" 
 
 "What is the matter with them?" asked the other. 
 
 " Matter ! Why, they must be ten years old !'
 
 lo Sl'S.l.y /)KUMMONn. 
 
 " I daresay they are, or more ; they are not mine. I tore 
 my own habit to rags ahnost in Ireland." 
 
 " Have you bcxn staying in Ireland ?" 
 
 " Yes, with the Dudleys. By the way, I wrote to you from 
 their place, but I suppose you never got my letter. The girls, 
 hunted, and of courbe I went with them." 
 
 "Of course you did. Does Mrs. Arbery hunt ?" 
 
 " (iood gracious, no 1 Why, she must be nearly sixty." 
 
 " I didn't know. I only thought that might be her habit. 
 Seriously, Susan, you must buy yourself something fit to wear." 
 
 " It is not worth while. I shall not have the chance of 
 riding even borrowed horses long.'' 
 
 " Dear me ! what will you do ? ' 
 
 "Do without." 
 
 " And you so fond of galloping about the country." 
 
 " A man may be very fond of champagne, and still find 
 himself able to e.xist without it. "Will Arbery says where he is, 
 out in the Bush they drink nothing but tea." 
 
 "Will Arbery is this latest cousin, I suppose ; any tender- 
 ness there?" 
 
 "Not the slightest. He has come home for a wife, I may 
 tell you, and that intended wife's name is not Susan Drum- 
 mond." 
 
 '• Most unfortunate Susan ! whose cousins won't marry her, 
 and who, for all her knowledge of horseman — or rather, horse- 
 womanship — has not, I see, yet learnt to hold her reins pro- 
 perly." 
 
 " Yes, is not it stupid of me ? I have tried to break myself 
 of that old trick ; but, do you know, I do not feel as if I had 
 the slightest power over my horse when I take them the other 
 way. \\'here are you living now, Maggie ?' 
 
 " We have only a friend's house for a short time," was the 
 reply. " When we are settled you must come and spend a 
 long day" 
 
 '• I shall be delighted," answered Miss Drummond. " You 
 know Mrs. Arbery 's address, don't you ?" 
 
 " Yes ; Knfield, is it not?" 
 
 " I'lnfield Highway," corrected the other. 
 
 " Good heavens ! have you ridden all that distance to-day ?" 
 
 " It is not so very far," laughed Miss Drummond. 
 
 " And don't you want to get back before night?" 
 
 " There are many hours before night," answered Susan. 
 " SuU vv-e ought to be making our way home. Just let me
 
 AM OFF DAY IN THF PARK. ii 
 
 introduce ^Vill to you. Sultan is perfectly quiet, I assure 
 you." 
 
 "Well, I don't know; however, if I am killed my death 
 will lie at your door. Your cousin won't come very near me, 
 will he ?" 
 
 The introduction was effected without any mishap, Sultan 
 comporting himself during the ceremony as if he had never 
 stood on his hind legs or lifted his hind heels in his life. Then 
 adieux were exchanged, and Miss Drummond and her cousin, 
 having announced their intention of returning home via Cam- 
 den Road, turned their horses' heads towards Stanhope Gate, 
 and were soon out of sight. 
 
 With a sigh of rehef Miss Chelston pursued her way to the 
 Marble Arch, thinking pensively as she rode slowly along that 
 it was a pity Susan Drummond had not the slightest idea of 
 making herself fit to appear in decent society, and wishing she 
 felt as little afraid of horses as that young lady. 
 
 " Who do you think the girl is we saw in the Park to-day ?"' 
 Mr. Sudlow asked Mr. Gayre the same evening, as they sat 
 tcte a-tcte over their wine. 
 
 '•Which of them ?" returned the banker. 
 
 " O, the one with the dark hair, and the dark-blue eyes, and 
 the long lashes, and the damask-rose complexion." 
 
 "Yes, go on ; who is she ?" 
 
 " Miss Chelston, the only daughter of Sir Geoffrey Chelston, 
 of the Pleasaunce, near Chelston." 
 
 " Of Sir Geoffrey Chelston !" repeated Mr. Gayre, setting 
 down his claret. " God bless me !" 
 
 " Why, do you know him ?" 
 
 "I used to know him," was the unexpected reply. '■^ He 
 married 7/iy sister."
 
 CITAT'TER II. 
 
 SIR GEOFFREY CHELSTON. 
 
 There have been, since the institution of that order, all sorts 
 of baronets — even good. To the latter class, however. Miss 
 Chelston's father certainly did not belong. He said himself he 
 " was a good deal better than some, and not nearly so bad as 
 most;" but, then, no one who was fortunate enough to be 
 acquainted with Sir Geoffrey attached much weight to any of 
 his statements. Had this estimate of himself been true — which 
 it was not — the moral condition of the rest of the world must 
 have been, indeed, regarded as lamentable in the extreme ; for 
 Sir Geoffrey had, since his boyhood, been in the habit of doing 
 those things which he ought not to have done ; whilst those 
 things which he ought to have done he did not. 
 
 Geoffrey is not a name which suggests a taste for the Turf, 
 a fondness for the society of jockeys, blacklegs, and gamblers; 
 an almost inconceivable amount of ignorance, except on the 
 subject of " sport," horses, games of chance and skill — an abun- 
 dance of that disreputable lore which a man who has always 
 been knocking about the world's least desirable haunts cannot 
 fail to accumulate; to say nothing concerning a distaste, which 
 almost amounted to hatred, for the pursuits, trammels, and 
 traditions of a ilecent and orderly life. 
 
 There was no shame about the man, and there was no hope 
 whatever of repentance — unless it might be a poor makeshift 
 death-bed repentance, with a wasted life stretching behind, and 
 an unknown eternity yawning in front. So long as a "chance 
 remained for him " — a chance, that is, of returning to the mud 
 in which he loved to wallow — remorse was not likely to fasten 
 its tooth upon him. His doings, his sayings, his sins, his short- 
 comings, were enough, in very truth, to have caused the scho- 
 larly ancestor from whom he inherited his name to rise from 
 the grave, sold by this degenerate descendant to strangers, and 
 return to see the ruin wrought by one man — one solitary man. 
 
 There had been spendthrifts aforetime amongst the Chel-
 
 S//i GEOFFREY CHELSTON. i- 
 
 stons, but no spendthrift like unto this. There had been sin- 
 ners — wicked, godless, graceless sinners ; but either they died 
 young, or, taking thought to their ways betimes, reformed and 
 settled down ere age came upon them. There had been misers 
 who grudged themselves food and the poor a farthing ; but it 
 was left for Sir Geoffrey to spend freely on his own pleasures, 
 and rob both rich and poor of that which of right belonged to 
 them. His inherited title — won by a certain Ralph Chelston 
 on a battle-field, where the fate of the day was changed by a 
 mere handful of gallant soldiers — he dragged like a worthless 
 garment through the mire of the kennels ; while his name, one 
 of the oldest in the kingdom, had become a mock and a byword 
 amoniist the vilest of women and the worst of men. 
 
 He was not born to poverty like many another, who, with 
 equally little satisfaction to himself or any other human being, 
 has travelled the road to ruin. It was not necessity which first 
 made him acquainted with strange bedfellows. No impulsive 
 generosity, no desire to serve a friend, no boyish prodigality in 
 the way of giving great entertainments, or wild desire to scatter 
 gifts around, brought him into early contact with the Jews. If 
 he had desired a father's help and counsel, he could, till he 
 was nearly twenty-six, have obtained both from a parent wise 
 as loving. So far as man could tell, there was not an excuse 
 for the bad mad race on which he entered. Some said he 
 "cast back" to a certain Elizabeth Hodwin?, who was raised 
 by a former baronet from the condition of a fisherman's daughter 
 to the rank of Lady Chelston ; but those best learned in the 
 family lore shook their heads when they heard this theory; for 
 Elizabeth, possessing for her dower as much sense as beauty, 
 had proved the saviour both of her husband and his fortunes. 
 When she married him he was, with other gay gallants of his 
 time, running a muck ; but she took her husband well in 
 hand, and brought him out of the ordeal safe, though not un- 
 scathed. She wore her honours with a splendid meekness, 
 winning respect rather than compelling it. She had, as one, 
 who knew her well, chronicled, a " smile for the rich and a tear 
 for the poor;" in all ways an exceptional woman, who once, it 
 was recorded, saved a child's life at the peril of her own. 
 Except as regards mere brute courage, Sir Geoffiey did not 
 own a trait in common with his brave and beautiful ancestress ; 
 but he had one good quality — physically he was no coward. 
 
 People marvelled a man of such ancient lineage should play 
 the pranks he did.
 
 14 Si' SAN DRUMMOXD. 
 
 •'Why, don't you know," said a farmer once in the village 
 taproom, •• ' the older the seed, the worse the crop.'" 
 
 Sir (ieoflrey was an awful crop for any house to have to 
 gather liome within its records. With him the race seemed 
 destined to die out. Slightly varying the words of James V. of 
 Scotland, it might have been said of the wealth of the Chelstons 
 that it had ''come with a lassie," and that the name "would 
 go with a lassie." The king who conferred the baronetage on 
 Ralph the soldier added the hand of an heiress, who was 
 nothing loth to wed the handsome hero. Since that time 
 heiresses had come and gone, adding their fortunes to the 
 Chelston coffers ; but now the coffers were all empty, and Sir 
 Geoffrey owned no lands, or houses, or money, or son, or any- 
 thing, save one fair daughter and a pile of debts that never 
 could be paid. 
 
 Well might men wonder where the money had gone. There 
 was nothing whatever to show for it. Sir Ralph had bought 
 the estate, adding to his own small patrimony many a broad 
 acre and goodly manor ; Sir Charles built the great rambling 
 house, and laid out the quaint gardens, and planned the ter- 
 races from the west front to the river Chel ; Sir Bruce built the 
 stables and kennels, and then, when he tired of dogs and 
 horses, purchased the pictures and statues which made the 
 Pleasaunce a show-place. Then there was the Sir Ralph who 
 entertained royalty ; and Sir Geoffrey, who spent his life in 
 collecting blackletter and rare editions, and who wrote a book 
 full of useless learning, of which he printed but one hundred 
 copies ; and then came the saintly Sir Francis, who, after a 
 youth of sin, devoted his old age and his money to ecclesias- 
 tical purposes, rearing and endowing one of the loveliest 
 churches in the whole of England ; then there was another Sir 
 Charles, who performed great deeds at sea, and died an ad- 
 miral ; and a Sir James, who was a great politician, and rose 
 to be a foremost man in the councils of the nation ; and then 
 there came Sir Cecil, with the scholarly tastes of his progenitor, 
 Sir Geoffrey, which he entirely failed to bequeath to the son 
 he named after that " lover of the best thoughts of older 
 minds." 
 
 Never, surely, was there such a man for getting fortunes 
 and wasting them as Sir Geoffrey the second. Before he was 
 seven-and-twenty he came into possession of the Pleasaunce, a 
 large sum in ready money, pictures, plate, horses, carriages, 
 everything necessary to the establishment of a gentleman of
 
 SIR GEOFFREY CHELSTON. 15 
 
 rank and position. When he was thirty his mother, who had 
 been an heiress, died, and he got her money. Two years later 
 he married Miss Gayre, dowered with a fortune of thirty thou- 
 sand pounds, which was so settled, the lawyers declared, that 
 a coach-and-four could not be driven through it. When matters 
 came to be investigated, however, it was found that if a coach- 
 and-four had not scattered her fortune. Sir Geoffrey had bur- 
 rowed a way into the money. Four years afterwards his 
 grandmother left him a satisfactory sum in ready cash, and this 
 legacy was soon after followed by one from his only uncle. 
 
 But all these legacies were mere drops in the ocean ; Sir 
 Geoffrey went through them at a hand-gallop ; and when he 
 finally sank in a very rough sea of well-nigh unlimited liability, 
 there was not a thing left to show for the money that had sifted 
 through his hands but piles on piles of writs, and lawyers' 
 letters in sufficient quantity to have papered the walls of the 
 new "thieves' kitchen" hard upon Temple Bar. 
 
 Everything saleable was sold ; everything go-able was gone 
 — books, pictures, statues, horses, lands, furniture, stock, tim- 
 ber. If he had been able to dispose of his title, that would 
 have followed in wake of his other possessions. In less than 
 thirty years from the time of his father's death he had not a 
 rood of his own ground left, not even the family burying-place ; 
 not a roof to cover his head belonging to himself; not a chair 
 to sit down on, or a table to dine at ; not even old Chelston 
 Pleasaunce — with its moss-covered avenue, and its rusty gates, 
 and its park, kept latterly like a meadow, and its garden, where 
 the roses were trailing across the paths — to go down to, when 
 London grew for him very hot indeed. 
 
 To say that in any one respect, whether personally or men- 
 tally, Sir Geoffrey even faintly resembled a gentleman, would be 
 to libel a class not accustomed to flattering similes. 
 
 Of course when people heard he was a baronet, and had 
 run through hundreds of thousands of pounds, they declared 
 there was ''something about him," that "blood would tell,' 
 and all the rest of it ; but meeting him casually " knocking 
 about," it never occurred to any human being to suspect he 
 was other than some disreputable horsey individual who fre- 
 quented racecourses and stables, who affected very tight trousers, 
 who was a proficient in bad language, who wore his white hat 
 a good deal on one side, who walked with his legs wider apart 
 than is the custom of those who have not spent best part of 
 their waking hours on horseback, and to whom no respectable
 
 1 6 S USA N DR UMMOND. 
 
 landlady in her senses would have let her first floor, even if 
 furnished with the best references and offered a month's pay- 
 ment in advance. 
 
 It had happened to Sir Geoffrey in his comparatively palmy 
 days to be taken for what he looked like ; and as he never 
 afterwards hesitated to tell the story himself, there can be no 
 harm in repeating it here. 
 
 One day wanting something in a hurry, he called at the 
 shop of a saddler with whom he had never before had any 
 dealings, was shown what he required, and marvellous to relate, 
 laid down a sovereign in payment. 
 
 Tlie price of the article was one pound precisely, but the 
 shopkeeper handed him back two shillings. 
 •' What's this for?" he asked. 
 
 " 6>, 7ve aiways allo7v ten per cent to grooms ^ was the an- 
 swer. 
 
 "Do you?" said Sir Geoffrey, coolly pocketmg the two 
 shillings. " I think I'll patronise you again." 
 
 Which, indeed, he did to some purpose ; for when the 
 final settlement of his bad debts came about, it so happened 
 he owed that particular tradesman something like four hundred 
 pounds. 
 
 It is delightful to think of the charming manner in which 
 favoured persons can incur debts they know they will never be 
 able to discharge, and how easy it is for any man with a handle 
 to his name to cozen the British tradesman. 
 
 You and I, my friend, with a limited income, might wait a 
 long time for a loaf of bread unless the B.T. were well assured 
 the wherewithal to pay for it would be duly and truly forth- 
 coming. But a baronet, or a knight, though he may not have 
 a lucky penny to bless himself with, need not, even at this 
 present incredulous period of the world's history, want any 
 manner of earthly thing that is good. 
 
 As regards Sir Geoffrey Chelston, he was one of those men 
 out of whom no created being seems able to make money. 
 He had no steward or lawyer or agent, or mistress or boon 
 companion, who waxed fat while he grew lean. He was not 
 systematically robbed or persistently cheated. His tenants 
 were harassed, his solicitors v/orried, his friends victimised, 
 his servants' wages left unpaid, and, as has been said, at the 
 end of it all there was nothing to show for the princely estate 
 mortgaged, for the fortunes gone, for the pictures and the 
 books and the jewelry and the timber, any more than might
 
 »* •'w-*' 67A' GEOFFREY CH ELS TON. 17 
 
 have been the case had the whole been swallowed up bodily 
 on one disastrous night in the Goodwin Sands. 
 
 Nay more, misled by the Baronet's easy indifference, by his 
 gross ignorance of matters with which most men are conversant, 
 by his " devil-may-care " manner, by a certain fatalist warp of 
 mind which had descended to him not from the fair Elizabeth, 
 and by the impossibility of conceiving that it was absolutely 
 necessary such wide estates and such an old title should " go 
 down into the pit," many hopeful persons had tried whether 
 " something could not be done." 
 
 Joyfully Sir Geoffrey surrendered the helm to each in suc- 
 cession : the credulity of any fresh fool concerning the future, 
 meant ready money to him in the present. That it also meant 
 loss to the fool did not affect the Baronet in the least. 
 
 '• They speculated for a rise," he was wont to say laugh- 
 ingly, " and the stock fell — that was all." 
 ^ The stock did fall indeed ; there is no quotation known on 
 
 'Change that could adequately represent the fall in the Chelston 
 stock as it appeared eventually to those who had felt quite sure 
 they would be able to make a good thing out of it. 
 
 If I had not to write this book about quite other people 
 than Sir Geoffrey Chelston and his dupes, or rather the dupes 
 of their own imagination and self-confidence, who, setting out 
 to shear, came home shorn, an instructive history might be 
 compiled for the benefit of solicitors, bankers, money-lenders, 
 and others, who were each and all represented on the bank- 
 ruptcy schedule when the Baronet went airily into Portugal 
 Street with a rose in his buttonhole and a straw in his mouth 
 to pass his examination. Liabilities scarcely to be recorded 
 in figures : assets available for the benefit of the unsecured 
 creditors — iiiL 
 
 Take one pleasing instance as an illustration — but a poor 
 illustration, it must be confessed, because it is sketched from 
 a landscape over which the evening shadows were drawing 
 rapidly down. 
 
 A smart young lawyer, who thought all the wisdom of his 
 predecessors folly, bought a practice in the market-town of 
 . Chelston, near the Pleasaunce. There he heard a great deal 
 about Sir Geoffrey, his debts, his recklessness, his rent-roll, his 
 mortgaged acres, his embarrassments, his one daughter, till he 
 got nearly beside himself with the magnitude and originality of 
 the design he had conceived. 
 
 He possessed a few thousands ; he believed he could 
 
 c
 
 1 8 SUSAN DRUMMOMh 
 
 reckon on a few thousands more from his relations. He knew 
 a man who was enormously rich and the father of an extremely 
 plain daughter \ the " oracle " might be worked, he considered ; 
 so without more to-do he set himself to work it. 
 
 Sir Geoffrey was not difficult of approach — bless you, not 
 he ! The young lawyer did not experience much trouble in 
 boarding the good old ship Chelston, in enticing the Baronet 
 into his pretty little ])arlour, in introducing that worthy to his 
 blue-eyed wife, in walking down the street to the Golden Stag, 
 where Sir Geoffrey put up ; the talk between them being all 
 the while as '' pleasant and familiar as talk could be." 
 
 After a short acquaintance, he began dexterously to feel his 
 way. 
 
 " Your affairs have been mismanaged. Sir Geoftrey, I am 
 afraid,'" he suggested. 
 
 " They have, danmably," agreed Sir Geoffrey, with agreeable 
 frankness ; but he did not say by whom. 
 
 " It seems to me that all they require is a little systematic 
 arrangement," observed the adventurous young man. 
 
 " That's all they ever wanted," answered Sir Geoffrey with 
 another oath. 
 
 " If a person were to devote time and energy to the matter, 
 they could soon be put in train/' observed the lawyer tenta- 
 tively. 
 
 " They might," replied the Baronet; but it is only justice 
 to add his tone was dubious. 
 
 There was nothing more said then. They went, of course, 
 into the Golden Stag, where Sir Geoffrey asked his new friend 
 what he " would take ;" and the wine which the landlord pro- 
 duced having been duly added to an already long score, the 
 nominal owner of Chelston Pleasaunce got on his horse, and 
 rode back to that place, leaving the lawyer well satisfied with 
 the progress he had made. 
 
 Not a fortnight elapsed before he was installed as Sir 
 Geoffrey's legal adviser, of whom that gentleman had already 
 about a hundred. He was told just as much as the Baronet 
 chose to tell him ; he paid out a couple of small but very 
 pressing executions; he wrote to several persons who had 
 issued writs 3 and he began to find his affable client in " pocket- 
 money." 
 
 That was Sir Geoffrey's lively way of putting the obligation, 
 and you may be sure the young lawyer laughed loud and long 
 at the pleasantry.
 
 S/J^ GEOFFREY CHELSTOX. 19 
 
 The Baronet wanted so much pocket-money, however — or, 
 as he put the matter, " he had such a confoundedly big hole in 
 his pocket " — that ere long his accommodating friend thought 
 it might be better to expedite aftairs a little ; so one day he 
 went across to the Pleasaunce, where he found Sir Geoffrey 
 seated in the library, the portrait of his scholarly ancestor sur- 
 veying, from its frame above the mantelpiece, long lines of 
 well-nigh empty book-shelves ; a small dog lying on the table, 
 and a large one stretched on the hearth-rug ; brandy and soda- 
 water on a tray beside him ; and a number of unopened letters 
 littering the blotting pad. 
 
 " All duns," said the Baronet, sweeping them carelessly on 
 one side. " Well, and what has blown you over ? Some good 
 wind, I am sure : for I was just wondering where I should get 
 enough money to carry me to town." 
 
 The lawyer took a seat, and commenced, with diplomatic 
 caution, to unfold his plan. 
 
 " You'd like to be rid of all this annoyance, Sir Geoffrey ?" 
 
 It was thus he opened his first parallel. 
 
 " Indeed, I should well like to be rid of it," answered the 
 
 Baronet ; " and if any way out of the mess has occurred 
 
 to you, I shall be only too glad to discuss it when I return 
 from London." 
 
 He had gone through too many interviews of the same sort 
 not to have learnt his best wisdom lay in deferring the final 
 hour of explanation. Explanation, bitter experience had taught 
 him, meant a sudden stop in the supplies. 
 
 " When do you suppose you will be back ?"' asked the 
 lawyer. 
 
 " O, in a few days; a week at the farthest,'" said Sir 
 GeoftVey ; "and I want to start this afternoon, if I can any- 
 how raise the funds." 
 
 " I have not much money with me," observed the lawyer. 
 
 " I can take your house on my way to the station," sug- 
 gested his client. 
 
 " Before I leave I should like just to ask you one question," 
 ventured the other. 
 
 " Ask away," said the Baronet graciously. 
 
 "Should you have any objection to resettle the estate?" 
 
 Sir Geoffrey stared at him. 
 
 " How the deuce could I do that," he asked, '■' when it's as 
 good as out of my hands altogether?" 
 
 " But if it were back in your hands?"
 
 20 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 ** That's quite another matter. I'd do anything in reason, 
 I'm sure, to get out of this blank blanked continual hot water. 
 I can't see. however, where the good of resettling would be 
 now. As you know, or as, perhaps, you don't know, there is 
 not a male left to come into the title after me ; and there was 
 no remainder to females in the patent." 
 
 The Baronet took great credit to himself in that he never, 
 in his later years, told his legal advisers a syllable he could 
 not swear to. He did not count silence any falsehood. So 
 long as they asked no questions he held his tongue ; when 
 they put a thing to him plainly, time had proved it was better 
 to answer without equivocation. Then if they liked to go on 
 deceiving themselves — which they generally did like — it was 
 their own fault, not his. 
 
 For which reason he told this latest adviser a fact *' any 
 fool," to quote Sir Geoffrey, " could find out for himself from 
 the Red Book in a minute." There was no heir to the title. 
 
 " I am aware of that ; O, I am quite aware of that," 
 answered the other, 
 
 " All I want is everything to be fair and above board," said 
 the Baronet, with a genial frankness. " I don't know how you 
 mean to help me; but I take it for granted you have some 
 project maturing in your head, and all I can assure you is, you 
 won't find me stop the way if you are able to find an outlet. 
 Only don't ask me to listen to any details now ; for it is of 
 vital importance that I should get into town by the afternoon 
 express." 
 
 Sir Geoffrey was detained so long in town by reason of 
 what he called a " stroke of luck," that his new friend deemed 
 it prudent to follow and " put matters in train." 
 
 He found the Baronet, who had won something consider- 
 able on the Turf, in the highest spirits. His talk was of a 
 certain outsider who had come in first; and it proved some- 
 what difficult to get him to listen to all the other had to say. 
 
 Divested of verbiage, the lawyer's proposition was this : 
 
 He knew a gentleman who had made his money in trade — 
 " never mind what trade," he said hesitatingly. 
 
 "That does not matter in the least," observed Sir Geoffrey, 
 in a truly liberal spirit. 
 
 "If there were one thing this man adored beyond all 
 other things, it was rank. He would, in a way of speaking," 
 declared the lawyer, " part with all he possessed for a title." 
 
 "Well, that's odd too," commented the Baronet. "I'd
 
 ► , . 677? GEOFFREY CH ELS TON. 21 
 
 sell my title and " — but I need not particularise the other 
 adjunct Sir Geoffrey offered to throw in as a mere makeweight 
 — " for a few thousands, cash down.*' 
 
 " He has a daughter," went on the lawyer. " She is not 
 handsome, certainly. I suppose, however, you would not 
 allow that to influence you much." 
 
 " I always did prefer a pretty woman to a plain one ; but 
 what has she to do with all this ? Her good or bad looks 
 can't signify to me." 
 
 " I thought you would take a sensible view of the matter," 
 observed the other. " Now, I believe — indeed, I know — a 
 marriage might be arranged which would at once relieve you 
 from your more pressing embarrassments, and induce my 
 millionaire — " 
 
 " Stop a minute," said the Baronet. " Do you mean a 
 marriage with vieV 
 
 " I could not mean one with anybody else," was the reply. 
 '"You see no objection, I hope?" 
 
 " There is only one objection; but I am afraid it is insur- 
 mountable, unless you are able to find a way out of the diffi- 
 culty. We can't get rid of Lady Chelston." 
 
 "What Lady Chelston?" 
 
 " My wife." 
 
 " But you have not got a wife." 
 
 " Haven't I ?" 
 
 " She died fourteen years ago." 
 
 "Did she?" 
 
 " You — you Haven't married again, Sir Geoffrey, have 
 you ?" 
 
 " No, faith ! One wife at a time is enough for any man." 
 
 " But you were left a widower fourteen years ago, when 
 you came back from abroad with your little girl, dressed in 
 deep mourning; and you said then, 'Poor Maggie has lost 
 her mamma.' " 
 
 " So she had. When we were on the Continent my wife 
 and I parted for ever. My daughter and I were in mourning, 
 I remember; but it wasn't for Lady Chelston." 
 
 " And do you mean to tell me Lady Chelston is still 
 alive ?" 
 
 " And likely to live, so far as I know." 
 
 "And has there never been anything to enable you to get 
 a divorce ?" 
 
 " My good fellow, do not ask such ridiculous questions."
 
 2 2 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 " And you are tied hand and foot matrimonially as well 
 as pecuniarily ?"' 
 
 "Your statement of the position is painfully accurate." 
 " And how am I to get back the money I have advanced 
 you ?" 
 
 "If you advanced it in the expectation of being repaid on 
 my marriage with your friend, who is, as you say, not hand- 
 some, I really have not an idea." 
 
 " But I can't lose my money because you happen to have a 
 wife living when everybody thought she was dead." 
 
 "If you like to take your chance of hanging, you can get 
 rid of her." 
 
 Then the lawyer broke out. Sir Geoffrey himself could 
 scarcely have indulged in worse language, in more futile and 
 frantic profanity. 
 
 He would expose the Baronet. England should ring with 
 an account of the transaction. He had been swindled ; he 
 had been robbed ; he had been dealt with most treacherously; 
 his pocket had been picked by a person who called himself a 
 gentleman, but who was in reality no better than a common 
 thief and swindler. 
 
 " He goes on in this way because I won't commit bigamy.'" 
 said Sir GeotTrey, addressing the imaginary jury the lawyer had 
 summoned to sit in judgment on so heinous a criminal. 
 
 "But surely in common honesty you will pay me?" said 
 this irate creditor. 
 
 " Pay you I how in the world am I to do that?" 
 " Why, you have won a lot of money, you say.'' 
 " O, but I want that for myself; besides, there is very little 
 left. You talk about being deluded and disappointed. You 
 have not been half so grossly deluded as I have been. What 
 is your disappointment compared to mine? I made sure you 
 had hatched some scheme for cheating the Jews and giving me 
 my own again, and now the whole thing resolves itself into an 
 impossible marriage. Gad, if I had been free I'd have got a 
 rich wife for myself long ago ! You may be very sure I never 
 should have employed a lawyer to look one out for me." 
 
 Perhaps this matter hastened the end a little ; but, under 
 any circumstances, that end could not have been long deferred. 
 There was a rush down to the Pleasaunce, a race as to which 
 creditor should get his man into possession first ; but they all 
 got there too late. Sir Geoffrey had " taken the wind out of 
 their sails" by begging a Jew to whom he owed a large sum of
 
 -S/A' GEOFFREY CH FES TON. 2\ 
 
 money to petition the court, and the court sent down a mes- 
 senger, who was comfortably installed at the Pleasaunce when 
 the representatives of the two chosen tribes of Israel, and 
 various so-called Christian?, who may have been, and very 
 probably were, descended from the other ten sons of Jacob, 
 put in an appearance there, only to be immediately turned out 
 again. 
 
 There was wailing and gnashing of teeth amongst bailiffs 
 and sheriff's officers, and lawyers and creditors; but the Baro- 
 net remained nobly serene. 
 
 " It was bound to come," he explained to the friends who 
 offered him their condolences. " I don't really know that I 
 can be much worse off than I was ;" and seeing the resigned, 
 not to say cheerful, manner in which Sir Geoffrey bore his 
 misfortunes, people came to the conclusion there was some- 
 thing in the background, that he had prepared a feather bed 
 to fall on, satisfied of which good management on the part of 
 the Baronet, society refrained from giving him as cold a shoul- 
 der as it might have done had that amiable abstraction be- 
 lieved he was an honest man. 
 
 "I shall have to take a house in London," he remarked, 
 not because at the moment he had the slightest intention of 
 doing anything of the sort, but merely for the reason that he 
 thought the statement sounded well; "a furnished house, till 
 I can pull myself together a little." 
 
 Then upspake young Moreby, who had been causing the 
 large fortune left by his papa, a great colliery proprietor, de- 
 ceased, to disappear like dust before the wind, till his mother, 
 the widow Moreby, who, though sometimes doubtful in her 
 English, had a thorough knowledge of business, came to town, 
 and, assuming the conduct of affairs, as she had a right to do, 
 being not merely executrix, but part-owner of all the coal-pits 
 whereout old Moreby had extracted his money, announced 
 her intention of taking him abroad away from " all his vicious 
 companions;" upspake this youth, who had not been blest 
 with Sir Geoffrey's friendship for more than a few months, and 
 said, 
 
 " My crib in the Regent's Park would be the very thing 
 for you, Chelston ;" and then there ensued a little chaff" and 
 various allusions to Mrs. Moreby and another very different 
 sort of lady who had exercised the mind of the worthy widow 
 in no slight degree, which need not be more particularly chro- 
 nicled here; and Sir Geoffrey made himself very agreeable
 
 24 srs.LV DRUMMOND. 
 
 while these themes were in progress, and any one might have 
 imagined the last thing he had in his thoughts was of the 
 house in (luestion, or of taking in young Moreby. 
 
 But somehow he just stei)i)ed into the '• crib "' as it stood — 
 fully furnished— and. when he was fliirly in residence, said 
 quite calmly to his youthful friend, 
 
 '• I do not know how to thank you sufficiently for lending 
 me your house. It shall be taken good care of, I promise 
 you.'' 
 
 Now young Moreby had never dreamt of lending Sir 
 Geoffrey anything without being paid for it; but he found the 
 Baronet's understanding so dense on the subject, he was forced 
 to yield the point with such grace as was possible under the 
 circumstances.
 
 *«* 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 GAYRE, DELONEj EVLES, AND GAYRE. 
 
 The Spirit of Improvement, taking a walk about the middle of 
 the year 1S57 down Lombard Street one day, bethought itself 
 that the banking-house leased by Gayre and Co. from the 
 gentleman whose fleshly tenement was temporarily occupied by 
 the meddlesome sprite referred to, ought to be rebuilt. 
 
 Nothing less to the taste of the old firm could readily have 
 been suggested. Ancient ways seemed good in their sight; 
 spick and span new edifices savoured, according to their ideas, 
 of shoddy companies, limited liability, tricks of trade, bank- 
 ruptcy, and various other matters hateful to honest men. 
 
 ]\Iore, to rebuild would cost much money, and Gayre and 
 Co. did not like parting with even a little money, unless, like 
 bread on the waters, it was sure to come back to them after 
 many days with interest from date added. Rebuilding would 
 inconvenience them, and that was even a more serious con- 
 sideration than the pecuniary outlay ; rebuilding was unprofit- 
 ably laying down gold at some ridiculous rate per foot on the 
 property of another man ; and the fuss and bustle, the hoard- 
 ing, the scaffolding, the masons and labourers, the mess and 
 lime and confusion, and utter demoralisation of the integrity ot 
 their dear old dirty den, Vould prove annoying, not to say 
 intolerable, to their clients, who were mostly slow-going people 
 of title and old-fashioned City merchants, whose fathers and 
 grandfathers had trusted their money to Gayres' keeping, and 
 never found cause to repent of the confidence reposed. 
 
 If a bank, and all a bank's customers, dislike change, 
 cleanliness, and convenience, it is evident that without great 
 external pressure things are likely to remain in their original 
 condition till the crack of doom ; but when this pressure did 
 come in the shape of an expiring lease, and a ground land- 
 lord who would not be diverted from his purpose even by 
 the offer of money, old Mr. Gayre, who was then alive, and 
 Mr. Edwin Gayre, his son, set their wits together to try how
 
 J 6 SL'SAN niWMMOND. 
 
 little they could do in the way of making their bank look like 
 any other bank of recent date as possible. 
 
 It is only fair to say they succeeded in their endeavour. 
 Kven to the present hour Gayres' is a model of what a counting- 
 house ought not to be. An old building at the back, which 
 chanced to be their own freehold, was left untouched, and in 
 a portion of that edifice the Gayre of to-day gives audience to 
 the few persons who ever ask to see him, and transacts the 
 little business it is necessary for him to attend to. Gayres' 
 have not gone on with the times ; but they feel no desire to 
 do anything of the kind. 
 
 Banks have come and banks have gone, but Gayres' still 
 holds on the even tenor of its respectable way. Though the 
 main part of the bank abutting on Lombard Street was, as 
 has been stated, brand-new less than twenty-five years ago, it 
 has managed somehow to acquire during that period quite a 
 look of antiquity. For one thing, it was built on the old lines, 
 and kept rigidly free from any improvements of structure or 
 originality of design. It is as square as the shape of the 
 ground w'ould permit; it has steps up to the door, apparently 
 with the intention of checking the ardour of any stranger who 
 might feel disposed to rush in and open an account ; the ex- 
 terior is utterly destitute of ornament, and the inside as plain as 
 Dissenting chapels used to be. It is badly lighted and not 
 ventilated at all. The way to the strong-room is encompassed 
 by as many traps and perils as those which beset Christian on 
 his road from the City of Destruction to the better land ; and 
 there is a dark step down into Mr, Gayre's own especial 
 sanctum which has nearly ended the earthly career of more 
 than one intending client. 
 
 Any one who by some rare piece of good fortune gets a 
 cheque to present across Gayres' counter feels as the narrow 
 half-door swings behind him that he has stepped out of Lom- 
 bard Street and the modern days of hansom cabs, railways, and 
 electric light, into the seventeenth century, and he half expects 
 when he steps out again to see the okl signs which denoted 
 the goldsmiths' whereabouts in the days when Mr. Francis 
 Child, the first regular banker, married Martha, only daughter 
 of Robert Blanchard, citizen, and lived with his wife, business, 
 and twelve children in Fleet Street, where, to quote Pennant, 
 " the shop still continues in a state of the highest respectability." 
 
 The Gayres were goldsmiths also about the same period, 
 and had been notable people in the City even before the time
 
 GAYRE, DELONE, EYLES, AND GAYRE. 27 
 
 when their relation, Sir John Gayre, was Lord Mayor of 
 London. No mushroom house this, eager to extend its credit 
 by means of cut stone and ornamented pilasters, or to flaunt 
 its wares in the face of the public through plate-glass windows, 
 or reflect the faces of dupes in French polished mahogany 
 counters and brass knobs and rails. It was quite enough satis- 
 faction for any man to know himself in the books of the firm, 
 without looking upon his own distorted likeness in shining 
 furniture and glittering lacquer. 
 
 Gayres were by no means anxious to open accounts " on 
 the usual terms j" indeed, their terms, according to modern 
 ideas, were most unusual. They did not even care for the 
 "best bills ;"' upon the whole they preferred that bills of all 
 sorts and descriptions should be negotiated elsewhere, and he 
 would have been a rash man who had ventured to ask Gayres' 
 manager to discount even the finest mercantile paper. 
 
 Conservative in their ideas of trade, though following civic 
 traditions, perhaps somewhat independent and radical in poli- 
 tics, Gayres' notion of banking was eminently primitive. 
 Accordins: to the traditions of their house a banker was a 
 man of substance and repute, v,'ho took care of money for his 
 customers. Gayres professed to do little more than this. Like 
 their predecessors the Lombard?, they could, though rarely, be 
 induced to accommodate a well-known customer ; but the 
 whole transaction was fenced about with such forms and cere- 
 monies, prefaced by such details, and requiring such an expen- 
 diture of time, legal advice, and thought, that ''the business" 
 was, as a rule, transferred to some house accustomed to more 
 rough-and ready methods of procedure. 
 
 Time, to Messrs. Gayre, Delone, Eyles, and Gayre, might 
 have represented eternity, to judge from the deliberation of 
 their movements. To take, say, one hundred pounds in five 
 notes over their old Spanish mahogany counter occupied more 
 time than the cashing of ten thousand might at Glyn's. 
 
 But then Gayres' looked down on Glyn's, as it did on 
 Child's. Gayres represented itself as being more respectable 
 than any other banking-house in London. 
 
 " Nell Gvvynne banked there, did she ?" said a Gayre, long 
 and long anterior to the date at which this story opens ; " and 
 Childs are proud of the fact, are they ? I wouldn't have let the 
 hussy set foot across our threshold." 
 
 Which remark may give the key to Gayres' policy. Respect- 
 able, decorous, sound; if you had wound Gayres up at any
 
 28 SfSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 minute in tlie twenty-four hours, enough would have been 
 forthcoming to satisfy everybody and leave a balance. 
 
 Yes, even in the year 1874, when the Gayre in whose 
 veins flowed the blood of all the Gayres since 1647, to say 
 nothing of many previous generations, laid down his claret, and 
 astonished his guest by declaring his sister had married Sir 
 Geoffrey Chelston. 
 
 As has been said, banks had come and banks had gone, 
 and, it may be added, banks were going; but Gayres' knew no 
 anxiety as regarded its financial position. The heads of the 
 firm had not appropriated their customers' title-deeds — a 
 favourite form of latter-day banking dishonesty ; the security 
 on which their good money lay at interest they had never 
 found need to mortgage. All their business lives for a couple 
 of centuries, at least, they had been quiet, honest, orderly 
 people, living well within their income, owing no man more 
 than they could conveniently pay, eschewing speculation, hold- 
 ing aloof from the railway and other manias, that beggared and 
 crippled so many large houses in the years preceding the great 
 show in Hyde Park. 
 
 And yet Gayres' was not what it had once been. It could 
 not have counted down guineas with some of the great 
 banks, as it might formerly. The principals had not gone on 
 with the world; and so the world, which latterly has got 
 into the habit of travelling very fast indeed, made no scruple 
 about leaving Gayres' behind. Some even of their titled cus- 
 tomers, finding the old bank allowed them no interest on 
 balances, were contracting a nasty habit of transferring two or 
 three thousand pounds at a time to the London and West- 
 minster, or National Provincial, or any other great bank which 
 had the knack of being more considerate. They kept their 
 accounts still at the " old shop," which once hung out a 
 tortoise for its sign ; but even country squires and Tory noble- 
 men were learning a few things their ancestors chanced to be 
 ignorant of, and seemed as anxious and greedy to make a 
 "tenner" as a lad to toss for tarts. 
 
 City wags occasionally suggested it would be the most 
 fitting of all fitting things if Gayres' were to hunt up the old 
 tortoise out of their cellars, and hang it in the sun. Scoffers 
 declared " Gayres' was the slowest coach going in the City." 
 They wondered why, if Gayres' would not amalgamate with a 
 bank that " had some life in it," Gayres' did not shut up and 
 cut the City altogether ?
 
 GAVRE, DELONE, EYLES, AND GAY RE. 29 
 
 " And there is only this one fellow left, and he not married," 
 was the remark generally made. " Why, he must be as rich as 
 a Jew ;" which did not happen to be the case. Mr. Gayre was 
 well ofif, very well off, but he could not be called a millionaire 
 for all that. 
 
 Nicholas Gayre came of a stock more famous for saving 
 money than making it. To pitch thousands about, to see gold 
 flung recklessly into this venture and that, would have seemed 
 criminal in the eyes of men who esteemed riches a possession 
 to be desired, more especially when accompanied by a good 
 name. Thus, if they had lost little or nothing, they had not 
 made fortunes in a day, like their neighbours up and down the 
 street. They took few measures to extend their connection ; 
 and so it occasionally happened that, as the heads of a family 
 died off, the younger branches carried their accounts elsewhere. 
 
 Banking, in a word, had changed its character, and as 
 Gayres' refused to veer round at the bidding of the banking 
 world the old house came gradually to be pushed up into a 
 quiet business corner, like a dowager at a ball, "whose dancing 
 days are over." 
 
 But it was v/hile Jeremy Gayre and his son Joshua — whose 
 name figured at the tail end of the firm — were the actual heads 
 of a house in which Delone and Eyles had long ceased to be 
 anything save sleeping partners, that a blow was dealt, sufficient 
 to have destroyed a business built on any other foundation 
 than the rock of honesty. 
 
 First, Delone elected to be paid out, and then Eyles. For 
 long previously they had both been drawing the full share of 
 the profits, and when the opportunity occurred they gladly 
 said, paraphrasing the words of the Prodigal Son, " Give us 
 the portion that falleth to us." Unlike the prodigal, however, 
 they did not waste their money in riotous living; they bought 
 estates, and went into mining and other speculations, and added 
 to their store, and married heiresses, and took up their position 
 among the first in the land, while Gayres' was left with a 
 decreasing business and a reduced capital. Well was it for the 
 bank that the then principal in the firm had always lived, not 
 merely well within his income, but so as to save largely out of 
 it. Jeremy Gayre was, indeed, one to have satisfied the author 
 of Banks and Uanking, who thus drew, in pen and ink, a type 
 of a class now well-nigh extinct : 
 
 "He" {i.e. a banker of the old school) "bore little 
 resemblance to his modern successor. He was a man of
 
 30 SL/SAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 serious manners, plain apparel, the steadiest conduct, and a 
 rigid observer of formalities. As you looked in his face you 
 could read, in intelligible characters, that the ruling maxim of 
 his life, the one to which he turned all his thoughts and by 
 which he shaped all his actions, was, that he who could be 
 trusted with the money of other men should look as if he 
 deserved the trust, and be an ostensible pattern to society of 
 probity, exactness, frugality, and decorum. He lived, if not 
 the whole of the year, at least the greater part of the year, at 
 his banking-house ; was punctual to the hours of business, and 
 always to be found at his desk. The fashionable society at the 
 West-end of the town and the amusements of high life he never 
 dreamed of enjoying." 
 
 Times, even during the noonday of Mr. Jeremy Gayre's 
 existence, had changed so far that few merchants in a large way 
 of business resided on their City premises. The upper portions 
 of their houses could be utilised much more profitably, it had 
 been found, than as mere dwellings ; and Mr. Gay re, who 
 understood the full import of that old Scotch saw which tells 
 how " many a pickle maks a mickle," when he married let off 
 part of the Lombard Street establishment, moved ''west of 
 Temple Bar," and took up his abode in one of the old roomy 
 houses in Norfolk Street, Strand. 
 
 There was no Embankment then, or thought of one. At 
 high tide the water came lapping up to the railings at the 
 bottom of the street; and, save at the Strand end, there was 
 no exit. Cabs and vans did not go tearing and rattling over 
 the pavement, as is the case now ; and the dwelling Mr. Gayre 
 bought was as quiet as though it had been situated in some 
 retired City court. 
 
 When in good course of time Joshua Gayre, the son, took 
 unto himself a wife, he set up housekeeping in Brunswick 
 Square, where four sons and one daughter were born and bred. 
 Of these four sons, Jeremy, the eldest, died before he came of 
 age. Edwin in due time went into the bank, in which, while 
 still young, he was associated as partner. John elected to take 
 orders ; and, in compliance with the bent of the youngest son's 
 inclinations, a commission was bought for Nicholas in a cavalry 
 regiment. 
 
 The three were all good men and true. They sowed no 
 crops of wild oats for their father and themselves to reap. 
 Edwin took kindly to banking, John to the Church, Nicholas 
 to the army. The latter rose rapidly in the service ; he went
 
 GAYR/:, DELONE, EVLES, AXD GAYRE 
 
 through the Crimean campaign ; and his regiment, crowned 
 with distinction, had just returned to England, when the Indian 
 INlutiny caused it to be again ordered oft' to the East. 
 
 Five years elapsed before young Gayre, who had fought his 
 way to the rank of colonel, saw his native country once more ; 
 then he came back in obedience to a summons from his father. 
 
 Great trouble had fallen upon the head of the now elderly 
 banker. Edwin was dead, and Margaret had left her husband. 
 ]\Ir. Gayre did not see how the Lombard Street business was to 
 be carried on without help, necessitated by the state of his own 
 broken health. 
 
 Should he take a partner, or amalgamate with some other 
 firm ; or would Nicholas leave the army, and fill the place left 
 vacant by the death of his elder brother ? Nicholas took a 
 week to consider, and then, to his father's infinite joy, signified 
 his willingness to devote himself to commerce. 
 
 With a clear head and a stout heart he set to work to 
 master the mysteries and intricacies of banking ; and if Gayres' 
 had been a different establishment, one in which the energies 
 of an active man might have found full scope, there can be 
 little question he would in the commercial world have risen to 
 eminence. 
 
 But without changing entirely the lines on which the busi- 
 ness had hitherto been conducted, he soon saw it would be vain 
 to attempt to make the old bank a monetary power in the City. 
 It might preserve its character for unspotted respectabilit}', 
 and for a long time be made still to return a fair income ; but 
 no great financial future could be hoped for a house which had 
 voluntarily dropped behind in the commercial race, and wilfully 
 shut its eyes to the great changes for good or for evil being 
 permanently wrought by steam, electricity, luxury, lim.ited 
 liability, the destruction of old landmarks, the extravagance 
 of the Upper Ten, and, in the lower stratum of society, the 
 determination of Jack to be as good as his master. 
 
 All this did not trouble Mr. Nicholas Gayre to any very 
 great extent ; and yet it would be idle to deny that it was a 
 disappointed man who, leaning over the railings in Hyde Park 
 on that May day when Mr. Arbery's bay mare indulged in such 
 wild antics, saw Susan Drummond for the first time. When he 
 unbuckled his sword and took up the pen, when he exchanged 
 the saddle for a seat in his father's office, there can be no ques- 
 tion he relinquished a great deal ; but till he tried the experi- 
 ment he fancied he should be able to find sufficient excitement
 
 SL'SAA VRLMMOND. 
 
 in the heart of the City to compensate him, in part at least, for 
 the career in wliich, when he abandoned it, he had so rapidly 
 been rising to distinction. 
 
 By degrees he learnt he and his people were not made of 
 the stuff out of which, at this time of the world's history, cele- 
 brated financiers are fashioned. The game was to be played, 
 but not by him. Great things were possible, but not to Nicholas 
 Gayre; and so, feeling he was out of the running, he stepped 
 ([uietly aside and watched the mercantile game, where, as a 
 rule, the stakes were power or ]DOverty, wealth or bankruptcy, 
 a baronetcy or outlawry, with a certain cynical pleasure he 
 might not have derived from the contemplation of greater 
 things. 
 
 Never, perhaps, in the history of the City of London was 
 there a better time for observing the humours of cornmercial 
 speculation than the years immediately following his intro- 
 duction to business life. 
 
 The wild speculation, the reckless private expenditure, the 
 sudden madness of all classes ; the swamping of little men, the 
 absorption of small concerns into large, the wholesale annexa- 
 tion of many Naboth's vineyards in order that the great houses 
 might have even "larger gardens of herbs 3" the pulling down 
 and the rearing up ; the pomp, the pride, the extravagance ; 
 the belief that the tide of apparent prosperity, then running so 
 strong, would never turn — these things, and many more of the 
 same kind, were for a time — only a short time, though — stopped 
 by the collapse of '66. 
 
 In one minute, as it seemed, the Corner House tottered 
 and crashed in ; and for a while banks kept failing, firms stop- 
 ping, old-established businesses tottering. Throughout the 
 whole of England — from orphans who were left penniless, from 
 widows stripped of their incomes, from country rectory and 
 hall and cottage — arose an exceeding bitter cry of *' mourning 
 and desolation and woe." 
 
 ''See the end of these men, Nicholas," said old Mr. Gayre 
 to his son. The prosperity of many a mushroom concern had 
 tried the banker's faith — indeed, it is not too much to say there 
 were times when he felt he ''had washed his hands in inno- 
 cency in vain f but now. as he looked at the commercial ruin 
 hastened by the collapse of the Corner House, he shook his 
 head gravely. '"I have seen the wicked in great power,' "' he 
 quoted, " ' and spreading himself like a green bay-tree. Yet he 
 passed away, and, lo, he was not : yea, I sought him, but he
 
 -"' GAYRE, DELONE, EYLES, AND GAYRE. 2>2, 
 
 could not be found.' We have great cause for thankfulness," 
 added Mr. Gayre, after a moment's pause ; and truly such was 
 the case. 
 
 Weighed in the balance of that terrible panic, Gayres' was 
 not found wanting. Every security was safe in the strong- 
 room ; the bank needed no help — nay, it found itself able to 
 give assistance; through the ordeal it passed in quiet triumph; 
 and yet, eight years later, IMr. Nicholas Gayre could not be 
 regarded as a perfectly contented man. 
 
 His being a nature which coveted success, it was scarcely 
 to be expected he should feel satisfied with having merely com- 
 passed safety. " And yet," as he himself remarked, " safety is a 
 very good thing when it means the possession of a comfortable 
 income."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MR. GAYRE'S brother-in-law. 
 
 Walking leisurely towards that "crib" hard by the Regent's 
 Park which Sir Geoffrey Chelston had appropriated as coolly 
 as the cuckoo does the hedge-sparrow's nest, Mr. Gayre em- 
 ployed his time in dissecting the motives which were taking 
 him to North Bank. Love for his brother-in-law could cer- 
 tainly not be reckoned amongst them. In every capacity of 
 life — as man, as gentleman, as baronet, as husband, father, 
 friend, relative — Sir Geoffrey was distasteful to him. Only for 
 one thing had Mr. Gayre ever felt grateful to the well-born 
 sinner. Sir Geoffrey's life had been so openly shameful that it 
 was vain for him ever to think of suing for a divorce. Lady 
 Chelston was Lady Chelston still — living abroad in the strictest 
 retirement on a pension duly paid to her every half-year by the 
 solicitors of Messrs. Gayre and Co. The scandal, now an old 
 story, was confined to the knowledge of a very few persons ; it 
 had never been a nine days' wonder or a case for the courts. 
 Sir Geoffrey held his tongue about the woman who had made 
 such a wreck of her life, and society did not trouble itself 
 to ask whether the disreputable Baronet were married or a 
 widower. It knew in either state he was not fit to associate 
 with. Voluntarily he had placed himself outside the pale as 
 well of intimacy as curiosity, and no one thought of being 
 inquisitive concerning him. To the Gayres the Chelston con- 
 nection had ever been a source of loss, annoyance, and dis- 
 grace, and it was not love for his brother-in-law that could be 
 one of the reasons now drawing Mr. Gayre to the unaccus- 
 temed pastures of the Regent's Park. 
 
 Given to sarcastic analysis of the motives of others, no one 
 could accuse Mr. Gayre of undue lenity towards his own. It 
 was not as a censor he regarded the foibles of his fellows; on 
 the contrary, his great failing happened to be that he looked 
 on life — unconsciously, perhaps — as a bystander at a game. 
 He knew all the moves and tricks and subterfuges, and he
 
 MR. GAYRE'S BROTHER-IN-LAW. 35 
 
 watched the play with a cynical interest which even extended 
 to the working of his own heart. 
 
 Surprised perhaps at finding a human weakness in that 
 great citadel, he would trace its birth and career with a curious 
 and intelligent attention. As some persons have a mania for 
 the study of bodily disease, his craze was to watch the mani- 
 festation of mental sin and folly. Making due allowance for 
 original temperament, it might be said his nature had grown up 
 malformed by reason of two accidents in early life. There was 
 good in him and there was bad, and he would have assured any 
 questioner solemnly there was neither bad nor good, that he was 
 an utter negative ; that he had no pleasure except in watching 
 a woman spin a web, and then invite some fly who thought 
 himself very clever to walk across and see what a beautiful web 
 it was, or, greater ecstasy still, noting the process by which 
 one big thief was robbed by a bigger. Finding so little to do 
 in Lombard Street he had turned his attention to these matters ; 
 and having at length decided to go to North Bank, it was most 
 unlikely he would arrive there till he had ascertained why he 
 had decided to call. 
 
 " Given," he thought, " ten parts, there is one to form some 
 slight conjecture how my precious brother-in law, without a 
 penny of visible income, without property, character, or friends, 
 manages to shuffle along. Shall we say one for that, or is it 
 too much ? We'll say one. Two — because I really can look 
 no longer at my sister's child making such an exhibition of her- 
 self, and feel constrained to stretch out a hand which may save 
 her or — may not. Then there is Sudlow worrying me to death 
 to introduce him. We'll put a half for that — three and a half 
 out of ten ; how much is that per cent, in City phrase? Never 
 mind ; it leaves six and a half for the girl with the brown eyes, 
 and the wonderful hair, and the pure complexion ; that is a 
 large proportion. Nicholas, my friend, you had better mind 
 what you are at. It's a case, I'm afraid, of either kill or cure ; 
 you'll either find the first half dozen words you hear her speak 
 disenchant you totally, or else — you've met your fate. But I 
 haven't met her yet," he added more cheerfully — " only seen 
 her once with the breadth of the Row between us^ — and for that 
 matter, I may never meet her anywhere, or see her again." 
 
 Having arrived at which conclusion, he turned down North 
 Bank, and sought the residence of his kinsman. 
 
 Every one acquainted with North Bank knows exactly the 
 sort of house, secluded inside high walls, which obtains on the
 
 36 SCSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 preferable or canal side of the way ; the mysterious postern- 
 gate that, being opened, discloses three yards of gravelled path, 
 a {q.\\ evergreens, some trellis-work, and a peep of greensward 
 and water beyond ; houses small, it may be, but capable of 
 being in their style made anything — ^which, indeed, they often 
 are — save respectable. 
 
 Mr. Gayre smiled grimly as he recognised the type of dwell- 
 ing, and asked the irreproachable Lavender, who, in striped 
 waistcoat, without his coat, and in what he modestly called his 
 " small clothes," answered the bell, 
 
 " Is Sir Geoffrey in ?" 
 
 Lavender did not know in the least who the new-comer 
 might be ; but he looked at the erect carriage, the trim cut- 
 away coat, not half an inch too wide, not a quarter of an inch 
 too small ; at the cropped head, the military moustache, the 
 quiet tie, the trousers and waistcoat en suite, the command in 
 the cold gray eye, and decided, 
 
 " Here at last is somebody decent come to see master." 
 
 "Well, sir," he answered, shocked at his deshabille and the 
 consciousness there was no one to do the honours, " Sir Geof- 
 frey is in, but he's not up. He did not come home till late last 
 night, and he has not yet rung his bell." 
 
 Which was, indeed, within the letter of truth ; for Sir Geof- 
 frey had not come home till so late last night that the water- 
 carts were abroad before he made his appearance, and when he 
 did come was so drunk Lavender had no expectation of hearing 
 his bell till late in the afternoon. 
 
 " I ought to have taken that first check," said Mr. Gayre to 
 himself in the days to come ; but he did not, and went on, "Is 
 Miss Chelston at home ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," answered Lavender; "but — " 
 
 " If you take in my card, she will see me," said Mr. Gayre ; 
 " I am her uncle." 
 
 " I knew it," affirmed Lavender, subsequently ; " I knew it 
 was somebody decent come to the house at last." 
 
 " If you'll walk in, sir, please," he observed to Mr. Gayre ; 
 and that gentleman was consequently shown into the morning- 
 room of young Mr. Moreby's lady-love — that lady-love whose 
 doings, and more especially whose spendings, had so distracted 
 the soul of Mrs. Moreby, widow. 
 
 " Humph !" reflected Mr. Gayre, looking round the apart- 
 ment, which was about eleven feet by seven ; " a fool and his 
 money are soon parted."
 
 J/A'. GAYRE'S BROTHER-IN-LAW. 37 
 
 " If you will be pleased to walk this way, sir," repeated 
 Lavender, who, having seized the opportunity of donning a 
 coat, now felt himself quite a master of the ceremonies ; then, 
 flinging wide the drawing-room door, he announced " Mr. 
 Gayre." 
 
 There was something so ludicrous about the whole business 
 that Mr. Gayre could have laughed in his sleeve, had he not 
 felt it was bad form on his niece's part to wait till he had 
 crossed the small hall and entered the charming apartment 
 overlooking the canal ere coming to make his acquaintance. 
 
 " She is not a duchess," he thought ; " and, considering 
 where I find her, she might be a little more natural. However — " 
 
 " And so at last I see my niece," he said aloud ; and then 
 Lavender discreetly closed the door, and Mr. Gayre found him- 
 self alone with a most lovely young woman, who, in the shyest 
 manner, gave him her hand and timidly held up her face, so 
 that he could kiss her if he liked. 
 
 Which he did, though with no very great good-will ; and yet 
 there were ten thousand young men in London, to say the least 
 of it, who would have availed themselves of such a chance with 
 effusion. 
 
 Well, well, thus runs the world away, and it is only natural 
 that it should. 
 
 *' And so at last I see my niece," Mr. Gayre repeated, which, 
 for so usually ready an individual, seemed a needless waste of 
 words. '• Let me look at you in the light ;" and, framing her 
 cheeks between his hands, he drew her towards one of the win- 
 dows. " If you are only as good as you are pretty," he said, 
 releasing her. 
 
 " O, I don't think, uncle, I am so very bad," she answered, 
 with delightful confusion. 
 
 " How far are you off your copybook days ?" asked Mr. 
 Gayre. 
 
 " What a funny question ! Nine or ten, I suppose." 
 
 '•' Then you remember self-praise is no recommendation." 
 
 " 0, how dreadful, uncle ! I did not mean to praise myself. 
 O no ; I'm very, very sure of that, because — " 
 
 " What is your name, my dear ?" he interrupted. 
 
 " Marguerite," she answered. 
 
 "And your mother was called Margaret. Well, perhaps 
 better so." 
 
 They talked together in the house for a while ; then they 
 walked out on the sharply sloping lawn for a time longer, she
 
 J 
 
 8 SUSAN DRUMMOXIK 
 
 with a dainty parasol over her weahh of dark- brown hair, he 
 bareheaded. Then they returned to the drawing room ; and 
 after she had drawn the bhnds half down, they exhausted, as it 
 seemed to Mr. Gayre, all topics of ordinary interest, and he 
 was just racking his brain to think what he should say to her 
 next, when the door opened, and Sir Geoffrey Chelston — clean, 
 clothed, and in his right mind, and on his very, very best 
 behaviour — entered the apartment. 
 
 "I take this very kind of you, Gayre," he said — " deucedly 
 kind indeed," he added. And, soothed and cheered by these 
 amenities, Mr. Gayre resumed his seat. 
 
 Ey dint of long endeavours to keep his hat on three hairs. 
 Sir Geoffrey had contracted a habit of shaking his head, which 
 caused many persons when first introduced to imagine (errone- 
 ously) he was afflicted with palsy or some other disease, which 
 had somewhat impaired both his bodily and mental powers. 
 
 Under this impression they were wont to challenge him to 
 play billiards and other games, to take his bets, and all that 
 sort of thing, and come signally to grief. 
 
 If subsequently they departed cursing him, surely Sir Geof- 
 frey was not to blame. It was only a habit ; but some men's 
 habits are useful, and his proved eminently so. 
 
 "This is your first introduction to your niece, isn't it?" 
 observed Sir Geoffrey, after a few interesting remarks had been 
 made about the weather and the locality. " Well, and what 
 do you think of her?" he went on, with a knowing twitch of 
 his head, when his brother-in-law had signified acquiescence 
 with the previous proposition. " She's not so bad, is she ?" 
 
 " I have already taken the liberty of remarking to her that 
 if she is only as good as she is pretty — " 
 
 " Ay, that's the thing," interrupted Sir Geoffrey ; as though 
 he himself were such a paragon of virtue, the mere idea of 
 naughtiness proved repugnant to his moral sense ; " that's what 
 I used to say to her and Susan, ' Beauty's only skin deep,' 
 ' Handsome is as handsome does.' Haven't I told you so a 
 hundred times over, Peggy, when you were going to fly at Susan 
 and scratch the ten commandments over her face, because I 
 said she was prettier than you ?" 
 
 *' I feel no doubt } ou have," answered Peggy, with a tender 
 smile, which was somewhat belied by a look in her eyes that 
 made Mr. Gayre fancy in her heart she desired nothing better 
 at that moment than to grave some lines on Sir Geoffrey's 
 sallow cheek.
 
 MR. GA ] 'RE'S BROTHER-L\-LA IV. 39 
 
 "Who was Susan?" asked the banker. " I always thought 
 you had never but the one daughter." 
 
 " That's right enough — no more I had. Who was Susan ? 
 why, the merriest little lass in the whole world, and fond of me, 
 too — far fonder than my own child ever was. Lord ! it seems 
 no longer ago than yesterday when she used to come running 
 across the lawn, and say to me, with both her little arms 
 round my knees, 'Divemea wide, papa Geoff.' Didn't she, Peg?" 
 " I have no doubt she did," Peg replied, with another smile. 
 " Doubt !" repeated Sir Geoffrey ; " why, you know she 
 did, just as well as you know what a nice passion you used to 
 get into when anybody said she had a better complexion than 
 you." 
 
 " I was only a child, papa," reminded Miss Chelston. 
 " Ay, only a child," agreed the Baronet, with another in- 
 describable twitch ; " and now you're a young woman, there's 
 no need for you to be jealous of anybody, though I say it. 
 And that brings us back to what your uncle remarked, that he 
 hoped you were as good as you were pretty." 
 
 "VVell, you are a strange pair," considered ^Ir. Gayre, con- 
 templating parent and child with admiration. 
 
 "And this Miss Susan," he suggested—" is she not pretty 
 now ?" 
 
 " O yes, she is," said Sir Geoffrey, " but she's not as hand- 
 some as my girl there. Those very fair children somehow 
 don't look so well at twenty as at six. I can't tell why. Susan's 
 good, though, that she is." 
 
 Having dealt his daughter which back-handed compliment, 
 and leaving both his hearers to take whatever meaning they 
 pleased out of it, the Baronet proposed an adjournment to the 
 next apartment. 
 
 " You must have a glass of claret, Gayre, after your walk," 
 he declared, with the hospitable warmth of a man who gets 
 his claret for nothing. Mr. Gayre did not want the wine, but 
 he accepted the proffered civility, as he wished to speak to his 
 brother-in-law alone. 
 
 " Now look here," exclaimed Sir Geoffrey, piloting the way 
 to the dining-room, "take some champagne, do — claret's an 
 un-English, ungenial sort of tipple, except when one can't get 
 anything else. I have some first-rate champagne, as you'll 
 say when you taste it, and I'm going to have some myself. 
 Champagne and soda-water is the best ' pick up ' I know, 
 and, to tell you the truth, I feel I need a pick up of some sort.
 
 40 SUSAN DRUM M ON D. 
 
 We did keep the ball moving last night. I'd have been right 
 enough if I'd never gone to bed ; but now my head seems 
 spinning round and round, like a coach-wheel. You'll have 
 champagne ? That's right, with just a dash of brandy in it. 
 I always advise the brandy ; champagne's cold without, and, 
 some people find, absolutely unwholesome too." 
 
 ]\Ir. Gayre said he would venture upon the champagne 
 minus the brandy ; and this point being amicably settled. Sir 
 Geotfrey, to show he was not recommending what he feared to 
 practise, followed up the first prescription he ordered for him- 
 self with that he advised for his brother-in-law \ after which 
 proceeding, regarded by Mr. Gayre with curiosity, not to say 
 awe, the Baronet stated he felt much better — "fit for any- 
 thing, in fact." 
 
 " You've dropped into a nice place here," said the banker, 
 as he and Sir Geoffrey sauntered down the garden. " You 
 might be a hundred miles in the country." 
 
 " Yes, it's quiet enough in all conscience," was the reply ; 
 " fact is, it's too quiet and out-of-the-way for me. Still, we 
 can't have everything ; and the little cottage costs me nothing. 
 Moreby — capital young fellow — lent it to me." 
 
 "So I heard," remarked Mr. Gayre; and he might have 
 added he had also heard how Mr. Moreby came to lend it. 
 
 "His mother took him abroad all in a hurry, and not an 
 hour too soon," explained the new occupier, in the tone of a 
 man who is paid for denouncing vice at the rate of about a 
 guinea a word. " He was going a pace ! Why, just look 
 how this house is furnished ! I only wish I had the money it 
 must have cost him,'' 
 
 Really, to hear Sir Geoffrey talk, any one might have 
 imagined he had never possessed a spare sixpence or been 
 given a solitary chance in his life. 
 
 " It was too good an opportunity to let slip," he went on, 
 finding his brother-in-law made no comment on the desire last 
 expressed, "for I had not a roof to put my head under. Don't 
 think that would have troubled me^ though ; I can live any- 
 where and on anything. I'd as soon sleep on the floor as not ; 
 and nobody ever heard me object to gin when I could not 
 getCliquot;" and having, in the contemplation of his own 
 self-denial, almost dropped his hat, Sir Geoffrey shook it on 
 again with the conscious rectitude of a person earning two 
 pounds per week by hard labour, and contriving to save fifteen 
 shillings out of it.
 
 MR. GAYRE'S BROTHER-IN-LAW. 41 
 
 " But it was my daughter," he said, after a slight pause. 
 " I couldn't let the girl remain without a shelter, however 
 willing I might be to make shift myself." 
 
 " It was a difficult position, certainly," observed Mr. Gayre, 
 feeling this concession could not compromise him. 
 
 " Difticult ! I believe you ! Give you my word, I could 
 not sleep o' nights wondering what on earth I was to do with 
 her ;"' a statement which, as Sir Geoffrey very rarely slept of 
 nights, usually soundly reposing by day, meant less than it 
 might otherwise have done. 
 
 "You called her Marguerite, she tells me." 
 
 " Faith, that I did not, or anybody else, so far as I know, 
 except herself. Her right name is Margaret, of course, but 
 she thinks Marguerite fits her better, somehow ; and if it 
 pleases her, I am sure it may please me." 
 
 " Has she many friends in London ?" asked Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " Many ! — not a soul ; I don't know what to do with her, 
 or how to set about getting her acquaintances. Time slips 
 away ; and I can't tell how long I shall be able to keep this 
 house. It's confoundedly awkward altogether, for something 
 ought to be doing." 
 
 " You want to get her married, 1 suppose ?'' 
 
 " If I can," answered Sir Geoffrey, breaking off a bay-leaf 
 and eating it with great apparent relish. 
 
 "You'll not compass your object, I'm afraid, by sending 
 her out in the Park." 
 
 "Have you seen her there, then?" said Sir Geoffrey, 
 reddening under his brother-in-law's steady gaze. 
 
 " Yes ; that is how I knew you were in town. You had 
 better let her abandon equestrian exercise. In the first place, 
 she can't ride," 
 
 "No, indeed, she can't," groaned Sir Geoffrey; "if she 
 could she'd have been worth a fortune, in a way of speaking. 
 But she'll never be of any use to me — not the least in the 
 world ; she hasn't a notion of making herself useful. Why, 
 with her appearance — " 
 
 "You will have to be careful what you are about," inter- 
 posed Mr. Gayre, with decision. " You must get some lady of 
 position to introduce her." 
 
 " I don't know who that lady is to be, then," retorted Sir 
 Geoffrey. " If you can find her, I shall feel mightily obliged 
 to you. It's all very easy to talk, but I can tell you it's not so 
 easy to do. Why, there's my own second cousin on the
 
 42 SUSA.y DRUMMOND. 
 
 mother's side, Lady Digley. When I was a boy the old people 
 thought it would be a fine thing to make up a match between 
 us ; and she was brought down to the Pleasaunce on view. 
 But I couldn't stand her nose — too much of the Coriolanus, 
 Roman-senator-business, about that nose. However, as I was 
 saying, I wrote to her, telling her my daughter was in London, 
 and mentioning the girl's good looks, and so on, and in plain 
 words asking would she take her up." 
 
 "Well?" inquired Mr. (}ayre. 
 
 " The old hag sent an answer by return. Lady Digley 
 presented her compliments, and the rest of it, and Lady Digley 
 regretted to say circumstances over which she had no control 
 compelled her to decline the honour of making the acquaint- 
 ance of Miss Chelston. Damn her !" added Sir Geoffrey, with 
 great fervour, referring to Lady Digley, and not to his own 
 daughter. 
 
 Mr. Gayre made no remark for a few minutes, but stood 
 looking thoughtfully down upon the canal. 
 
 The situation undoubtedly was awkward ; and it did not 
 seem as if any fresh revelation was likely to improve its aspect. 
 
 "Why did you bring her to town at all at present!*" he 
 asked, after a pause, during which Sir Geoffrey, looking as 
 much unlike a dove as possible, plucked another leaf. 
 
 " Why ?" repeated that gentleman ; " because I had no 
 other place to leave her. It seems to me, Gayre, you don't at 
 all understand how I am situated." 
 
 "I think I do," was the reply; "but had you no friends 
 near your old place with whom the girl could have stayed 
 for a while ?"' 
 
 " Deuce a friend," answered Sir Geoffrey. " Believe me, 
 my dear fellow, when a man has got to the bottom of the hill, 
 those who were civil to him at the top find it convenient to 
 forget the fact of his existence." 
 
 " But your daughter," urged Mr. Gayre ; " young people 
 form acquaintances for themselves, and, as a rule, the young 
 are not mercenary. Was there no single door held wide to 
 welcome my niece ?" 
 
 "Not one" 
 
 " But think — for example, that Susan you were speaking of 
 just now, did she hang back ?" 
 
 "Susan Drummond? No, she did not hang back; but she 
 had nothing in her power. You see, about the time that 
 things got to the worst with us her uncle died, and she had to
 
 MR. GAYRE'S BROTHER-IN-LAW. 
 
 43 
 
 clear out. She wrote me as nice a letter as you could wish to 
 read. She was always fond of me, poor Susan !" I know she 
 thought a deal of me," added the Baronet almost sentimentally. 
 
 ]Mr. Gayre looked askance at Sir Geoffrey, and wondered 
 what in the world any girl or woman could see personally or 
 mentally to admire in the disreputable jockey and battered 
 roue. 
 
 "There is no accounting for the caprices of the sex," he 
 decided, and reverted to the original question. 
 
 " It will save us both a great deal of time if I am quite 
 plain with you," he said, almost smiling as he spoke in Sir 
 Geoffrey's slowly-lengthening face. " I don't mean you to dip 
 deeper into my pocket than you have done ; but as regards 
 my niece, I should like her, at all events, to have a chance of 
 making something better of life than an utter failure. For 
 this reason I will see whether, amongst my own connection, I 
 cannot find some one to chaperone her ; you must do your 
 part, however. Keep her in the background till she can come 
 to the front properly. Could you not, meantime, get some lady 
 to reside in the house, as governess or companion, eh?" 
 
 " Well, I'm afraid not," answered Sir Geoffrey. " We've 
 tried that sort of thing before, and though I am sure I was 
 always most courteous and careful, still, ' once give a dog 
 a bad name,' you know ; the respectable ones wouldn't stop, 
 and—" 
 
 Mr. Gayre laughed outright. "We need scarcely pursue 
 the other side of the question," he said, a decision which, on 
 the whole, proved rather a relief to the Baronet. 
 
 " If your daughter had even some young friend stopping 
 with her for a time," suggested Mr. Gayre. " Where is that 
 Miss Drummond? wouldn't she come?" 
 
 " I daresay she would ; she spent more than half her time 
 at Chelston Pleasaunce. Yes, she'd come fast enough ; but 
 then, you see, I don't know where she is." 
 
 " But your daughter does, no doubt." 
 
 Sir Geoffrey shook his head dubiously. " I don't think so," 
 he said. 
 
 "Ask her," advised Mr. Gayre; " there she is." 
 
 And, indeed, there Miss Chelston was, framed within an 
 open window, to which her father at once advanced. 
 
 "Where is Susan Drummond now, do you know?" he 
 asked ; and Mr. Gayre, standing a step or two behind, watched 
 her face as she answered,
 
 44 Sl/SAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 " Susan Drummond, papa. I haven't an idea. She was 
 in Ireland, staying with some people who live near Killarney." 
 
 " But you've an address where you can write to her?" 
 
 Miss Chelston lifted her beautiful eyes and looked at her 
 father, as she answered, in the accents of utter truthfulness, 
 " She did tell me where an aunt lived who would always for- 
 ward on any letters ; but I have mislaid the direction, and 
 quite forget what it was." 
 
 " After that !" thought Mr. Gayre ; and his meditations as 
 he strolled through Regent's Park homeward, were of a more 
 unpleasant character than those with which he had amused 
 himself a couple of hours previously.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A POSSIBLE SAMARITAN. 
 
 It is one thing to ask friends to "take up " a girl, and quite 
 another to get them to do it. 
 
 This was Mr. Gayre's experience, at all events. He went 
 very heartily into the business, in the first instance full of faith 
 and hope, and later on with a species of desperation. 
 
 " Margaret's child !"' repeated his brother, now a great dig- 
 nitary of the Church, with a town house in Onslow Square, 
 Rector of Little Fisherton, Canon of Worcester Cathedral, 
 Chaplain to the Queen, and Heaven only knows what besides — • 
 " Margaret's child ! Ask Matilda to invite her to this house 
 and introduce her to our friends ! My dear Nicholas, the thing 
 is an utter impossibility. I would not for any consideration 
 prefer such a petition to my wife." 
 
 " Why not ?" demanded Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " It is a matter into which I really must decline entering. 
 Your own usually excellent sense should tell you it is out 
 of the question persons in our position could for a moment 
 entertain the idea of bringing forward the child of our unfor- 
 tunate sister, and the daughter of that most disreputable repro- 
 bate Sir Geoffrey Chelston. Our dear Fanny and sweet Julia 
 are not aware even of the existence of such a cousin. And 
 you say she is in London ; what a dreadful misfortune !" 
 
 Every one was in the same story ; the words might be dif- 
 ferent, but the sense proved the same. Sir Geoffrey rich might 
 have managed to slip his daughter through a camel's eye into 
 the social heaven presided over by Mrs. Grundy ; but Sir 
 Geoffrey without an acre of land, with no balance at his 
 banker's, living on his wits, regarded by gentlemen of his own 
 order as a very leper, had not a chance. 
 
 " I reckoned without mine host," said Mr. Gayre to the 
 Baronet Cagot. " It is not to be done." 
 
 "I told you so at the beginning," answered Sir Geoffrey, 
 who, if he had learned nothing else from experience, could not
 
 46 SL'SAjV DRUMMOND. 
 
 help knowing the sort of reception any creature belonging to 
 him was likely to meet with from the fashionable world. " You 
 meant it all kindly, Gayre, I know ; but there is no use in 
 trying to kick against the pricks. You had better stop in your 
 own comfortable home, and not trouble about us out-at-elbow 
 folks up here. If Margaret and I cannot swim together — and 
 it seems we can neither of us do that — we must sink ;" and the 
 Baronet, as he concluded, regarded his brother-in-law furtively 
 out of the corner of one knowing eye, for he was wondering 
 what on earth this latest benefactor meant to do, if not for him, 
 for his daughter. 
 
 " Confound him !" considered Sir Geoffrey, " why does he 
 not adopt her? If he took her to Wimpole Street, and got 
 some dashing widow to matronise her, and hinted he meant to 
 give her a handsome dot, he might pick and choose a husband 
 for her. Ah, if I had only in my power what he has in his, 
 I'd soon bring the old dowagers who have sons about me, 
 begging and praying for my daughter's company ! But he's 
 only a duffer, that's what he is, spite of his military achieve- 
 ments and the old bank at his back. Lord, how lucky some 
 men are !" and Sir Geoffrey, with his hat more on one side of 
 his head than ever, wended his virtuous way to pluck the latest 
 pigeon good fortune had made him acquainted with, 
 
 " If Gayre were in my shoes he'd starve, that's what Gayre 
 would do," he decided ; and he walked along, thinking what 
 a clever fellow Sir Geoffrey Chelston was, and what a fool 
 Nicholas Gayre. " Still, I should like to know his notion 
 about Peggy, because he has some notion, I'll swear." 
 
 Sir Geoffrey would have been very wrong in swearing any- 
 thing of the kind. Mr. Gayre had no fixed notion whatever 
 concerning the divine Marguerite. He wanted her to marry 
 well \ but he failed exactly to see how, weighted as she was, 
 she could marry at all. 
 
 " I should say," was the result of Mr. Gayre's mental reflec- 
 tions, " that she is as awkward a girl to get ' settled ' as ever I 
 saw in my life. India would be the place for her ; and yet I 
 don't know. She niight get a husband on the voyage out, most 
 likely; but then it is not every husband that would suit her. 
 If she could have been properly brought out in London — but 
 I see that is not to be thought of." 
 
 There was one way this might have been accomplished — 
 one way which would have suited Sir Geoffrey and his niece 
 extremely well; but it is only justice to that excellent sense
 
 A POSSIBLE SAMARITAN. 
 
 47 
 
 Canon Gayre, in his suave voice and best pastoral manner, 
 declared Nicholas possessed, to say the idea of adopting his 
 niece had never once crossed the banker's mind. 
 
 Even had he taken to her, which indeed was not the case, 
 he would have thought a long time ere installing himself as a 
 parent to another man's child, and that man Geoffrey Chelston, 
 About Nicholas Gayre there was nothing much stronger than 
 his strong common sense — that sense which induced him, when 
 he went down to war amongst the City Philistines, to drop the 
 title of Colonel, and sink into simple Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " I've seen," he said, " vans going about the City with *Dr. 
 Hercules Smith, blood-manure manufacturer,' and ' Sir Reginald 
 Jones & Co., patent stench-trap makers,' painted upon them. 
 Thank you, nothing of that sort for me. I have no fancy to 
 figure as Colonel Gayre, banker, like the fellow in the Volun- 
 teers who puts on his business-card, 'Major Robinson, waste- 
 paper dealer.' " 
 
 Upon the whole, excessive virtue has a great deal to answer 
 for. Its action, as regarded Margaret Chelston, had certainly 
 the effect of making Mr. Gayre wonder whether, after all, there 
 might not be some merit in vice. 
 
 " I need no man to remind me " — thus ran his thoughts — 
 "what a black, disreputable, sinful old sheep Chelston is; but 
 hang it ! surely if John's religion has any reality, that ought to 
 make him more anxious to help the girl. She is not answerable 
 for her father's faults ; and after all, she is Margaret's child." 
 
 During the course of the stormy correspondence which 
 ensued on the Marguerite question between the Canon and 
 his brother, the banker made some unpleasant remarks, which 
 the Rev. John took as personal injuries, concerning the priest 
 and the Levite who passed by on the other side, and left to a 
 Samaritan their proper work of tending the man who had 
 fallen among thieves. 
 
 Nicholas, being at the time not merely very angry, and 
 greatly disappointed, but possessed by a gibing devil, which at 
 times " rent," and caused him to foam at the mouth, ransacked 
 the New and Old Testament for texts concerning the pride and 
 worldliness of priests and Levites, to hurl at his brother's head 
 The Canon simply "ducked," and declined the contest; he 
 would not argue, he said, with a man in so " unfit " a state of 
 mind. He promised to remember him in prayer. He alluded 
 to St. Paul's oft-quoted statement concerning evil communica- 
 tions corrupting good manners, and mildly hinted he feared
 
 48 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 communication with that evil thing Sir Geoffrey Chelston was 
 corrupting the small amount of morality Nicholas had brought 
 with him out of the army. 
 
 In good truth, John Gayre was as furious as a Christian and 
 a canon of Worcester might be. In orders he had done 
 remarkably well ; yet, since the death of his eldest brother, he 
 had often felt that, but for orders, he might have done much 
 better. Further, he never really loved Nicholas ; and Nicholas, 
 on his part, had not fraternised with " canoness " Gayre and the 
 minor canonesses Gayre as he ought to have done. When dear 
 Julia published a song for the benefit of the Lambeth Shoe and 
 Stocking Society, Nicholas suggested, first, it was brought out 
 less to benefit bare-footed Lambeth than as a bid for a future 
 primacy ; and then offered to buy up the edition and sell it for 
 waste-paper, on condition she forswore musical composition 
 ever after; whilst he criticised so mercilessly some "angelic" 
 hymns written by our sweet Fanny, that the Canon's favourite 
 child, feeling all moderate Church views vanity, and meeting 
 with a sympathetic " priest," was for some time in danger of 
 going over to the Ritualists, which would indeed have proved 
 a most grievous slap in the face for that party from whose 
 hands Canon Gayre hoped some day to receive a mitre. 
 
 Altogether, a great division seemed imminent in the Gayre 
 camp one morning, in the fine June following that late May 
 when Mr. Sudlow, leaning over the rails in Hyde Park, admired 
 rank and beauty as, embodied in Miss Chelston, it rode timidly 
 along the Row. 
 
 Mr. Gayre, banker, walking Cityward, had left an extremely 
 nasty letter behind him in Wimpole Street, emanating from 
 Mr. Gayre, Canon. It went into money matters, always a 
 fatal and terrible subject to select for family correspondence. 
 It expressed quite plainly, grievances which had never before 
 been more than hinted at. It referred to one topic, regarding 
 which Nicholas desired forgetfulness ; and it said a man who 
 voluntarily permitted himself to become entangled for a second 
 time with Sir Geoffrey Chelston could only be considered a fit 
 candidate for the nearest lunatic asylum. 
 
 " Moderate," proceeded Canon Gayre, " as you must be 
 too well aware, my means are, in comparison with what I 
 expected, and had a right to expect, they would prove, I should 
 not have hesitated joining you in settling a small annuity on 
 the daughter of our unfortunate and erring sister; but to be 
 exposed to your insolence because I refuse to disgrace my
 
 A POSSIBLE SAMARITAN. 49 
 
 cloth by taking, as an inmate of my house and the associate 
 of my wife and daughters, the child of a blackleg and a 
 woman who forgot what was due to her name and her sex, is 
 more almost than I can bear. Happily, however, I am not 
 vindictive, and I shall earnestly pray you may never hereafter 
 find some of the texts of that Scripture you now so painfully 
 wrest, applicable to yourself — Faithfully your sorrowing bro- 
 ther." 
 
 There was so much '■'■ excellent sense," common sense, 
 worldly sense, plain useful sense, in this epistle, that it stung 
 Nicholas to the quick. So far as money matters went, he felt 
 himself blameless. He knew, if no one else did, his father 
 had made a fair will, and left John as much or more in hard 
 cash as the business would stand. He remembered the 
 annuity paid to his sister came out of his own pocket ; he was 
 aware that, had he not given up the profession to which he was 
 devoted, John's large income would have been considerably 
 smaller ; he understood perfectly what his brother wanted was a 
 share in the bank, if not for himself, at least for one son-in-law, 
 or perhaps two sons-in-law. It was not as regarding £ s. d. the 
 letter irritated, though it hurt ; no arrow the Canon shot really 
 found its mark, save that which criticised the prudence of his 
 conduct regarding Margaret No. 2. 
 
 He was well aware he had acted on an impulse he was 
 powerless to control, and Mr. Nicholas Gayre did not like to 
 act on impulse. 
 
 Canon Gayre himself could not have looked with more 
 disfavour on such a freak than the banker of Lombard Street. 
 
 " However," thought that gentleman, "I have gone in for 
 my niece, and I shall try if I cannot ' see her through.' The 
 materials are not promising; nevertheless, I think something 
 may be done. The world is not bounded by my own social 
 horizon, and it is inhabited by a good many other people 
 besides Canon John and Lady Digley — only who is going to 
 play the part of good Samaritan ?" 
 
 A pertinent question, truly. Mr. Gayre had gone the round 
 of his own friends, and met with " No," for answer in every 
 tone and every form of words a negative could be uttered. 
 It was clearly of no use expecting help from Sir Geoffrey; 
 and so far the young lady herself appeared either unable or 
 unwilling to mention the name of any person with whom she 
 could take up her abode, or who might be induced to enter the 
 gates of North Bank as an honoured guest. 
 
 £
 
 so SUSAN DRUMMOXD. 
 
 " Still," considered Mr. Gayre, " the thing is to be done, 
 and I must do it, if only to take the canoness ' down a peg ;' " 
 inspirited by which idea the banker mended his pace, and, 
 walking briskly Cityward, reached Lombard Street just as the 
 clock of St. ISIary Woolnoth chimed half-past eleven. 
 
 On the top step of the three which at Gayres' afforded 
 departing customers that number of chances for breaking a 
 limb the banker beheld an apparition which filled him with ire. 
 It took the bodily form of Lavender, but behind it Mr. Gayre 
 knew stood the prompting figure of Sir Geoffrey. Now, he had 
 told that worthy, in plain and unmistakable language, he must 
 not ask him for money or appear at the bank. " Here is the 
 first breach of our convention," he muttered, acknowledging 
 with but scant courtesy Lavender's pleased and respectful 
 greeting, and receiving the letter written by the Baronet's own 
 hand in a somewhat ungracious manner. 
 
 " I took it to Wimpole Street, sir," explained the man, " but 
 you had just left ; and as Sir Geoffrey he wanted an answer 
 very particular, I got on a bus, and came here as fast as I 
 could." 
 
 " Don't stand there," answered Mr. Gayre testily. "I can't 
 attend to you for a few minutes — wait inside till I am at leisure." 
 And having thus successfully snubbed poor Lavender, and per- 
 mitted the bank porter, and consequently every clerk in the 
 establishment, to see there was " something up with the gover- 
 nor," he walked into his own room, still holding Sir Geoffrey's 
 envelope unopened in his hand. 
 
 There was a pile of letters awaiting his attention, and to 
 these — laying aside the Baronet's epistle, as though some ser- 
 pent might be expected to crawl out of it — he first addressed 
 himself. 
 
 Almost at the bottom of the heap he came upon a tinted 
 envelope, with an imposing crest wrought in silver for seal. 
 The banker smiled as he drew out the enclosure, and read : 
 
 " Brunswick Square, Wednesday. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Gayre, — As usual, I am in trouble, and also as 
 usual I ask you to advise and help me. 
 
 " My poor little Ida is still ailing, and Dr. Tenby says I 
 must get her out of town. He does not want her to go far 
 away, as it will be necessary for him to see her frequently. He 
 recommends me to take a house in the country, and yet near 
 London ; for, sweet darling, she is so delicate, she requires
 
 A POSSIBLE SAMARITAN. 51 
 
 every possible home comfort. There is a place to let near 
 Chislehurst (furnished) which, from the description I have 
 received of it, would, I think, suit her exactly ; but, alas ! I am 
 chained to the sofa with a sprained ankle. There is no hope 
 of my being able to walk for weeks ; and the agent writes that 
 the house is sure to be snapped up immediately. What am I 
 to do ? Have you any elderly and reliable clerk who could go 
 down and bring back a faithful report of ' The Warren' ? 
 
 " Of course, whatever expenses might be incurred I should 
 only be too happy to pay. I am always encroaching on your 
 kindness ; but I know you will forgive me. Is not the weather 
 lovely now ? It does seem so dreadful to be pent indoors, with 
 the sun shining and the birds singing. — Yours very sincerely, 
 
 " Eliza Jubbins." 
 
 " Eliza Jubbins will be the Good Samaritan," said Mr. 
 Gayre aloud in triumph. " I wonder how I could be so stupid 
 as never even to think of her;" and, seizing a pen, he wrote 
 back : 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Jubbins, — I will go to Chislehurst for you with 
 much pleasure. Tell me to whom I must apply for an order. 
 When I call with a full report I shall hope to find you and Ida 
 much better. — Yours faithfully, Nicholas Gayre." 
 
 " Now to see what Chelston wants. I wish he had not 
 selected this particular time for beginning to worry me ;" and, 
 seizing the Baronet's epistle, he tore it open with the air of 
 a man determined to face the worst. 
 
 And behold, after all, there was nothing so very terrible — 
 only a crossed cheque, with a good signature attached, which 
 Sir Geoffrey wanted his brother-in-law to cash. 
 
 " For I have no banking account," he explained ; " and if I 
 took it to any of the tradespeople I should perhaps be expected 
 to leave most part of the change behind me." 
 
 Mr. Gayre pressed his bell. 
 
 " Spicer," he said, " send in the person who has been wait- 
 ing for me, and tell Hartlet I want him." 
 
 Doubtful, perhaps, of the reception he might meet with, 
 Lavender hung beside the door till the banker, with all his 
 usual affable frankness when addressing those inferior to him- 
 self restored, bade him come forward ; and while Hartlet was 
 absent getting fifteen ten-pound notes, the precise form Sir
 
 52 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 Geoffrey had requested the change might take, asked how MisS 
 Chelston was, and remarked on the fineness of the weather, 
 and altogether relieved and satisfied the man. 
 
 '* O, by the bye," said Mr. Gayre at last, '* do you remem- 
 ber one day when you were in the Row seeing a gentleman's 
 horse shy at a stone-roller ? It was a hunter — bay, with black 
 
 " Yes, sir, well ; he was riding with Miss Drummond. I 
 don't know if you noticed her horse — a very handsome animal 
 too." 
 
 " It was the bay took my fancy," answered Mr. Gayre. " Do 
 you happen to know the rider's name?" 
 
 " No, sir, I never saw him before ; but he was a free-spoken 
 sort of gentleman, not long back from the Colonies, as he gave 
 me to understand, and, if I remember right, he said he and 
 Miss Susan had ridden across from a place I think he called 
 Enfield Highway. I don't know if I am quite right in the 
 name." 
 
 '• There is an Enfield Highway," remarked Mr. Gayre ; and 
 then he put up the notes in an envelope, which he handed to 
 Lavender, smiling , to think how far matters seemed to have 
 advanced in the course of a single morning. 
 
 " I'll see, my dear niece," he decided, " whether I cannot 
 ascertain Miss Drummond's address, which you say you have 
 forgotten."
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 ELIZA JUBBINS. 
 
 When Colonel Gayre decided to exchange his sword for a 
 pen, he took up his residence in Brunswick Square with old 
 Mr. Gayre, who had long determined not to remove from that 
 central and convenient locality till the time came for him to be 
 carried to the Gayre vault in Highgate Cemetery. 
 
 The house was situated on the north, or quietest, side of 
 the square. No fault could be found with the number or size 
 of the rooms, the healthfulness of the situation, or the general 
 air of comfort pervading the whole dwelling. Nevertheless, 
 Mrs. John Gayre and her husband both professed themselves 
 surprised at their father electing to stop in a house where he 
 had known so much trouble. His wife and son both died in 
 it j and there also he faced that bitter sorrow concerning his 
 daughter. 
 
 John urged the old man to make his home with them, or, 
 at least, to move further westward, and "away from all the sad 
 memories which clustered around Brunswick Square ;" but his 
 parent asked in return, " Where could I go that it would be 
 possible for me to forget my dead ?" 
 
 Those were the days ere it had become a fixed belief of the 
 English nation that happiness and health are to be compassed 
 by eternal change of residence ; but yet John Gayre felt it very- 
 unreasonable for any one to refuse the dehghts of constant 
 clerical companionship and those intellectual pleasures only to 
 be found in the more fashionable parts of London. He and 
 his wife became more exercised in their minds than ever as to 
 whether the sole-surviving member of the Gayres meant to 
 take a certain " designing " manager into partnership. Long 
 previously Mrs. John had settled future banking arrangements 
 entirely to her own satisfaction. Her brother was to put in a 
 certain amount of money ; and then his son would marry dear 
 Julia or Fanny, and so " preserve " Gayres for the family. John 
 had been "pushed forward " in the Church in a truly " miracu-
 
 54 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 lous manner," but his wife wished him to be pushed forward a 
 great deal more. 
 
 A most worldly and ambitious woman, she was constantly 
 trying to manage an old gentleman who erred, perhaps, on the 
 side of fancying that all his life he had contrived to manage 
 exceedingly well for himself Mr. Gayre, however, utterly 
 declined to be managed. He got very tired, he said, of general 
 society, and, resisting all attempts to induce him to change his 
 abode, he " shut himself up," to quote Mrs. John Gayre's own 
 words, " to question the justice of the Almighty." But in this 
 statement she was quite wrong. Mr. Gayre was a much truer 
 Christian than his daughter-in-law had ever been. He had 
 lost, but he did not sorrow as one who has no hope ; disgrace 
 had touched him, but he went among his fellow-men and trans- 
 acted his business notwithstanding. As for other matters, he 
 still maintained his custom of giving four formal dinner-parties 
 each year ; and if the guests who accepted his invitations 
 seemed to Mrs. John "dreadful people," they suited the banker 
 a vast deal better than the folks he met when seduced to an 
 " at home " in Onslow Square. 
 
 They might not know much of Court or the *' dear Queen," 
 or dukes and duchesses, but some of them were acquainted 
 with Baring and Rothschild ; and if they could not talk about 
 the latest pieces of fashionable scandal, they were aware how 
 stocks stood, and shook their heads mournfully over Jones's 
 huge failure, and told how Smith had netted fifty thousand 
 at one transaction. Further, at his dinner-table he delighted 
 to see the clergyman from the church situate in Regent Square, 
 just at the back of his own house, and any officer or civilian to 
 whom Nicholas asked him to show a little attention. 
 
 There was plenty to eat in Brunswick Square, and of the 
 best quality, Mr. Gayre's spreads differing in this respect from 
 the Onslow Square parties, where, as once was said, a fellow 
 never got anything except " water ices and iced water," 
 
 Mrs. John Gayre had, indeed, reduced gentility to a science. 
 Her "social gatherings" finally became so eminently genteel, 
 no one who could help it went to them twice. Mr. Gayre had 
 reason when he objected to drive all that distance and stand 
 "in a crowd " with nobody he knew near him, and get nothing 
 in the way of food save a morsel of sandwich and a wine-glassful 
 of claret-cup. What he enjoyed, and what really kept him in 
 Brunswick Square, was the companionship of a few old friends, 
 who liked their rubber and a bit of supper to follow, and some-
 
 ^- ELIZA JUBBINS. 55 
 
 thing hot and comfortable in the way of punch as a genial 
 good-night ; all lights out by half-past eleven, and the whole 
 household warmly asleep before twelve. Insomnia was not a 
 thing Mr. Gayre knew much about, and he did not want to 
 know about it. 
 
 "The modern manner of living," he was wont to declare, 
 " brings all sorts of evil in its train ;" a sentiment his friends in 
 Bedford and Russell Squares and Gower and Guildford Streets 
 were quite willing to echo so long as old-fashioned customs 
 presented so pleasant an aspect as they did in the hospitable 
 banker's house. 
 
 Amongst the friends who for many a long year after Mrs. 
 Gayre's death had helped to soothe the widower's loneliness by 
 taking a hand at a rubber was a certain Mr. Jubbins, who, 
 though not old in comparison with most of the worthies wont 
 to assemble in the comfortable drawing-room, was certainly by 
 no means youthful. His father had been a well-to-do oil- 
 merchant in a very large way of business ; and Mr. Samuel 
 Jubbins, devoting his attention to the same line of money- 
 making, contrived, through some process, either chanced upon 
 by himself or devised by another person, literally to turn oil 
 into gold. Give him the dirtiest, thickest-looking stuff imagin- 
 able, and it came forth from his warehouse clear and beautiful, 
 a thing to be admired, an article to be paid for. 
 
 This wonderful process seemed also to have produced a 
 similar effect on I\Ir. Jubbins. All the oil of his nature was 
 good and pleasant and genial. No better, or honester, or 
 kinder man ever cut for deal. He was good to the poor swarm- 
 ing in the courts off Gray's Inn Lane, and other neighbourhoods 
 adjacent to his house; and he bore the tyranny and the tan- 
 trums of an elderly maiden sister, whose bitter tongue was the 
 terror of Bloomsbury, with a patience which should have secured 
 him canonisation. 
 
 Amongst his many friends was a solicitor, who lived in great 
 style at a corner house in Bedford Square, having offices in 
 Bedford Row. This solicitor owned one child, a daughter; and 
 Mr. Jubbins had dandled this young lady when she was a baby, 
 and won her childish heart with presents of fruit and cakes and 
 confectionery. Her name was Eliza Higgs ; and it may safely 
 be said, as a girl, no greater hoyden ever existed. 
 
 When they were all little folks together, she and the smaller 
 Gayres were close friends ; and on wet days they were wont to 
 play at battledore and shuttlecock in the wide hall of the Bed-
 
 56 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 ford Square house, and drive imaginary coaches and tandems 
 up and down stairs, to the distraction of their elders. 
 
 EHza Higgs was the youngest and worst of the trio. She 
 had a hard, well-filled-out, good-natured, hvely face; wonderful 
 brown hair ; as stout and straight a pair of legs as ever glad- 
 dened a parent's heart ; activity which seemed simply inex- 
 haustible; and a capacity for getting into mischief which could 
 only be regarded as miraculous. She was in love with Nicholas 
 Gayre, and used to kiss him in a manner the boy resented with 
 many shoves and angry remonstrances ; but, on the whole, he 
 liked Eliza very much indeed, and preferred her companion- 
 ship, when any deed of daring was in question, to that of his 
 more timid sister. 
 
 When Nicholas Gayre returned home for good he found the 
 bouncing Eliza, Mrs. Jubbins, and the mother of several tallow- 
 faced and delicate children. Mr. Higgs' affairs had arrived at 
 such a state of entanglement that he tried to hang himself. 
 Being cut down just in time, Mr. Jubbins stepped forward to 
 the rescue, and proved the splendid fellow everybody had 
 always thought him. He took the Higgs helm, arranged with 
 Higgs' creditors, found money for the Higgs establishment ; 
 and finally, one Sunday morning, when he was escorting Eliza 
 back from St. Pancras church, asked her if she would marry 
 him. 
 
 Had Miss Jubbins known she had kept her brother single 
 till he was fifty years old, only in order that he might propose 
 for her god-daughter, she must have risen from her grave ; but 
 she did not know or hear Miss Higgs' murmured ''Yes." 
 
 The young lady had been warned by her mamma that a 
 proposal was imminent, and told on no account to indulge in 
 any little affectations or pretences. 
 
 " Our position is too serious, my dear, to be trifled with," 
 said the astute lady ; and accordingly Eliza — who could not for- 
 get the shock her papa had given them all, or the mere thread 
 which stood between her and beggar}^, or, to do her justice, Mr. 
 Jubbins' kindness — gave her lover to understand she would 
 marry him with great pleasure. 
 
 When the happy man reached Bedford Square, he had one 
 of those kisses Nicholas Gayre once received with such dis- 
 favour. 
 
 "God bless you, dear," he said; and went away because he 
 wanted to be alone with his bliss. 
 
 That same afternoon, Mrs. Higgs, who was an eminently
 
 ELIZA JUBBINS. 57 
 
 practical person, with no tendency to let the grass grow under 
 her feet, called on Mr. Gayre, and had a long chat with that 
 gentleman. 
 
 "I left Liza crying," she said, with a cheerful countenance, 
 after she had told her good news, " and you'd never guess why." 
 
 " Perhaps," suggested the banker — who thought the whole 
 arrangement most sensible and proper, and " evincing a right 
 feeling" — "because he is nearly thirty years older than herself." 
 
 " O dear, no," answered Mrs. Higgs ; " she does not mind 
 that at all." 
 
 " Had she any other lover ?" 
 
 " Not that she cared for." 
 
 *' Was she fond of any one who was not fond of her?" 
 
 " Good gracious ! what are you thinking of ? Certainly not, 
 Mr. Gayre." 
 
 "Then, as I have exhausted all my guesses, 7i'z7/ you tell me 
 why your daughter was crying when you left her?" 
 
 " Because her name would be Jubbins. ' Higgs,' she said, 
 ' was bad enough, but only to think of Jubbins !' " 
 
 "Ah, those novels, those novels!" exclaimed Mr. Gayre; 
 and then with a glad heart, he offered Mrs. Higgs a glass of 
 wine, for the banker was a very kindly man, and sincerely 
 lamented the misfortunes of his friends, when they did not ask 
 him for any money to tide them over their troubles ; and he 
 thought reverses in a certain rank of life were most lamentable, 
 and that if any one member of a family could help the remainder 
 to regain their former position, it was the duty of that individual 
 to make even a great sacrifice in order to avert the social scandal 
 of wealth being reduced to poverty. 
 
 In the matter of Eliza Higgs, as wife, mother, and widow, 
 she behaved precisely with that admirable feeling and excellent 
 sense ]\Ir. Gayre expected. She could scarcely have been 
 human, and failed to prove grateful to the man who thought 
 her perfection, and deemed nothing in the world money could 
 purchase, or love think of, too good for his young and hand- 
 some wife. 
 
 No happier couple could have been found in the whole of 
 Bloomsbury, where Mrs. Jubbins was pointed out as an example 
 to refractory misses, and a rebuke to skittish matrons. 
 
 She learnt to play whist almost as well as her husband, and 
 Mr. Gayre often crossed the square in order to play a rubber, 
 and spend a quiet evening in the Jubbins house, which was 
 ordered on the same lines as found favour on the north side.
 
 58 SUSAA DRUMMOND. 
 
 Mr. Jubbins, making money a vast deal more rapidly than 
 Mr. Gayre, spent but a small proportion of his income, and in- 
 vested the rest in good undertakings. He looked up to the 
 banker as his superior in age, rank, and wealth, and Mr. Gayre 
 liked to be so looked up to ; therefore the intercourse between 
 the two houses grew closer and closer. 
 
 Things were in this state when Nicholas Gayre commenced, 
 under his father's tutelage, to learn the knowledge and mystery 
 of banking ; and though he never associated freely with, or 
 took kindly to, the Bloomsbury connection, it was impossible 
 for him to avoid seeing a great deal of it. 
 
 " Where could you find kinder or more excellent people ?" 
 asked the old man, who saw, or fancied he saw, a sign of the 
 cloven foot — the West End mania — in his son. 
 
 " All your friends, sir," answered Mr. Gayre jun., ** do, 
 indeed, appear to be most kind and excellent persons." ("At 
 the same time," he added mentally, " it is quite possible to see 
 too much of them.'') 
 
 He made no mention, however, of this feeling to his father. 
 Long habits of military discipline, and sincere affection and 
 profound respect for a parent who had always acted kindly and 
 liberally towards him, tied the ex-officer's tongue concerning 
 questions far more vexed and important than the choice of 
 acquaintances or the selection of guests. 
 
 He did not abandon his own circle, but he concealed the 
 weary impatience he felt of the Bloomsbury dinner-parties and 
 social evenings. The Israelites never could have loathed the 
 wholesome manna and the too plentiful quails to the same 
 extent that Nicholas Gayre learned to hate whist and port-wine 
 and whitebait and lark-pudding and City talk ; but in a most 
 difficult position he behaved himself remarkably well, and 
 though his father's friends never, perhaps, felt themselves quite 
 at ease when he was of the company, they liked to speak 
 about young Gayre, who, in spite of his having " been at 
 Balaclava, you know, and all through the Mutiny, had given 
 up his profession and his brilliant prospects to please his father, 
 and was settling down in Lombard Street as if he had been 
 sitting behind a desk all his life, like one of our own sons, sir." 
 
 Years had come and years had gone, since the days when 
 Nicholas and his sister and Eliza Higgs romped through the 
 large house in Bedford Square; but the first thing Colonel 
 Gayre thought of, when he saw Mrs. Jubbins in the bosom of 
 her family, was concerning those sounding smacks she had
 
 ELIZA yUBBINS. 59 
 
 been in the habit of bestowing so lovingly and lavishly upon 
 him. He had forgotten all about them and her, till his father 
 piloted him across Brunswick Square, and took him up into 
 the great drawing-room, the windows of which almost faced 
 those of Mr. Gayre's own house, and said proudly, '• I have 
 brought an old friend to see you, Mrs. Jubbins. I do not 
 suppose you remember my son Nicholas." 
 
 Did she not, poor soul ? Had not a wandering thought 
 gone forth to him across the seas even on her wedding-day ? 
 — though Heaven knows there was not a taint of disloyalty in 
 her thought to the best husband that ever lived. 
 
 " I am so glad you have come back to us, Colonel Gayre," 
 was her greeting. 
 
 Then it all returned to him — the battledore and shuttle- 
 cock, the mad galloping up and down stairs, the surreptitious 
 descents to the kitchen, the visits to the housekeeper's room, 
 the kisses, the quarrels, the jam, the scoldings, the delights 
 snatched with a fearful joy and terror from under the very eyes 
 of Higgs/t'r^. The change was so complete and so absurd, 
 Colonel Gayre felt the corners of his mouth twitching under 
 the shelter of that friendly moustache, which had so often 
 protected his character for gravity; but he managed to say 
 what he ought to have said, and say it well. And then Mr. 
 Jubbins appeared, and the visit passed off pleasantly ; and the 
 Jubbins children, who were supposed by a Bloomsbury fiction, 
 to inherit the beauty of their mother and the virtues of their 
 father, were introduced, and politics, as well as more inaterial 
 fare, were discussed ; and the head of the house hoped Colonel 
 Gayre would never feel a stranger in it. 
 
 Then once again the years went by, and during the course 
 of them Mr. Jubbins waxed richer and richer, and Mrs. Jubbins 
 comelier, and the Gayres got a little poorer ; and everything 
 seemed going on in the same monotonous groove much as 
 usual, when one day in the spring of 1865, Mr. Jubbins, re- 
 turning home from the City somewhat earlier than usual, com- 
 plained of having caught a cold and not feeling very well. 
 
 Ever after he never felt very well, and it was during the 
 long and painful illness which supervened, and eventually 
 carried him where there is no more pain and no more sorrow 
 (and Mr. Nicholas Gayre hoped no more whist), that Mrs. 
 Jubbins won her golden spurs as a wife. 
 
 Nursing him she lost flesh and colour, but never cheerful- 
 ness. To the last she took a smile with her into the sick-room ;
 
 6o SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 and when Mr. Jubbins died, it was with his poor wasted hand 
 clasped tight in hers. 
 
 " The best woman in the world !" said old Mr. Gayre 
 enthusiastically, an opinion his son did not feel inclined to 
 controvert. 
 
 He considered Mrs. Jubbins' conduct towards her husband 
 unexceptionable ; and if she failed to interest her old play- 
 fellow, it was rather because of some deficiency on his part 
 than any shortcoming on hers. 
 
 After the death there ensued more than a nine days' 
 wonder. With the exception of a very small sum secured to 
 the children and a few legacies of no great amount, everything 
 was left unconditionally to the widow. 
 
 " Literally everything," said Mr. Gayre senior, who was 
 executor. 
 
 " She'll have the whole City of London asking her in mar- 
 riage," thought Mr. Nicholas ; but he did not say so. 
 
 He knew nothing vexed his father to such an extent as any 
 reflections on the City; therefore, if the Lord Mayor and 
 Aldermen and every member of the Corporation had come 
 courting to Brunswick Square, he would have refrained his 
 tongue from comment. 
 
 But, as a matter of fact, nobody did anything of the sort. 
 Mrs. Jubbins afforded the many admirers she no doubt pos- 
 sessed small chance of declaring their sentiments. 
 
 For a year she lived in the strictest seclusion, having Mrs. 
 Higgs, now also a widow, resident with her, seeing no one 
 except a few old and intimate friends, and mourning most 
 deeply and unaftectedly for the husband whose loss, as she 
 told Mr. Gayre, she felt more deeply day by day. 
 
 This was all as it should be ; yet at the end of a twelve- 
 month, Mr. Gayre decided there is a limit even to mourning 
 and propriety, and that it would be a serious loss to the world 
 if such a woman took her grief to nurse for ever. 
 
 " It is time she began to wean it," thought the banker. 
 This was after the great crash of iS66, and his attention had 
 been directed even more than usual to the solid advantages 
 conferred by a large income. " She's the very wife for Nicholas, 
 if he can only be brought to think so. What is there against 
 the match ? Nothing. What is there in favour of it ? Every- 
 thing." And, indeed, so many golden reasons seemed to point 
 to the Jubbins-Gayre alliance as a most desirable one for both 
 parties that the banker decided some step ought to be taken,
 
 ELIZA JUBBINS. 6i 
 
 unless Nicholas meant to permit such a prize to slip through 
 his careless fingers. 
 
 So entirely at length did this idea take possession of his 
 mind that he determined to broach the subject to " my son 
 Nicholas." 
 
 It was one Saturday morning, and senior and junior were 
 alone in the private room at Gayres', when the old man, with- 
 out any leading up to the question, asked, 
 
 "Do you never think of getting married, Nicholas ?" 
 
 "Well, no, sir," answered Nicholas; "at least, for a long 
 time past I have not. Once in a life, surely, is enough for a 
 man to make a fool of himself;" which remark had reference 
 to a wild romantic passion of the speaker's youth which had 
 come to a disastrous conclusion. 
 
 ••Ah, you must forget all that," said Gayre. "I am sure 
 you would be a great deal happier married. All men should 
 marry, more particularly men who, like yourself, have an old 
 name to transmit, and an old business to bequeath. I know 
 nothing which would give me such pleasure as to see you 
 united to a good wife. You have been such a dutiful son, 
 Nicholas, you deserve to meet with a woman who could give 
 you more love even than your old father has done." 
 
 There was a touch of deep feeling in Mr. Gayre's voice as 
 he spoke ; and as Nicholas did not know very well what to 
 answer, he only said, 
 
 "Thank you, sir." 
 
 "And there is a woman," proceeded the banker, "who, I 
 am sure, would make you happy, and I think would take you 
 if you asked her." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed his son. 
 
 "Yes, Eliza Jubbins." The plunge was made, and Mr. 
 Gayre felt he could go on. "A most suitable match in 
 every respect, Nicholas. She is a few years younger than 
 yourself. She is still a very handsome woman ; you know 
 how she acquitted herself as a wife. You remember what a 
 daughter she was. She has — but there, I won't mix money 
 matters up with the business. If she had not a penny a year, 
 she would still be a treasure in herself. We know all about 
 her since the day she was born. No after-clap can come in 
 that quarter ; and I believe — I do believe— she always felt a 
 great regard for you." 
 
 It would be idle to state that so astute a man as Nicholas 
 had not known for some time previously whither his father's
 
 62 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 desires were drifting. Nevertheless, this plain intimation of 
 what Gayres expected from him in the way of a fresh sacrifice 
 came with the force of a blow. 
 
 Marry Eliza Jubbins ! — become stepfather to the young Jub- 
 binses ! — son-in-law to clever, manoeuvring Mrs. Higgs ! Settle 
 down for the term of his natural life among the Bloomsbury 
 connection — go voluntarily into the penal servitude of eating, 
 drinking, sleeping, thinking, visiting, with a class he knew he 
 could never really care for, seemed to this man too dreadful a 
 doom to hear mentioned by another. 
 
 Nevertheless, he did not say " No." Long experience of his 
 father had taught him the wisest policy in all family games was 
 to play not trumps, but the most insignificant and inoffensive 
 card he could find in his hand. 
 
 One of those he threw out now. 
 
 "It is early days to talk of anything of that sort," he 
 objected. " She has not been a widow much more than a 
 year, and her tears are not dry yet." 
 
 " Dry them yourself, my boy, then," recommended Mr. 
 Gayre, with a chuckle of delight at finding Nicholas took his 
 suggestion so coolly. " There is no time for winning a woman 
 equal to that while her eyes are still wet. Besides, I feel 
 sure she has a fondness for you. I am old, but I can see ; 
 bless you, I have not lived all these years with my eyes 
 shut." 
 
 " That I am certain you have not, sir," replied Nicholas, in 
 a tone in which respect and a pleasant flattery were dexterously 
 blended. " Yet I must confess it seems to me premature to 
 discuss such a matter." 
 
 " Not in the least — not in the least. Jubbins has been 
 dead over a twelvemonth," said the banker, practically " going 
 into figures." 
 
 "Still — to say nothing of my own objections — I do not 
 think Mrs. Jubbins would feel grateful if she knew we were 
 already disposing of her in marriage." 
 
 " There may be something in what you remark," agreed 
 Mr. Gayre. "Spite of her excellent sense, Eliza was always 
 a little given to sentimentality. We'll speak no more about 
 the affair, then, for the present ; only, Nicholas, you will pro- 
 mise me to think about it." 
 
 " Yes, I will do that, on the condition that no word is 
 dropped to Mrs. Jubbins. I must feel myself quite free ; for, 
 to be quite plain, I do not believe I shall ever marry."
 
 *»i^ ELIZA yUBBINS. 6 
 
 o 
 
 " That is simply nonsense, my son. You owe something to 
 your family. You are almost the last of the Gayres. John has 
 no sons ; we have not even a distant relation of our own name. 
 If you do not marry, and have children, who is to carry on the 
 business?" 
 
 Mr. Nicholas made no reply to a question his father 
 evidently considered crushing ; but he thought two things — 
 one, that the future might safely be left to look after its own 
 affairs ; and another, that if things went on in Lombard Street 
 as they were going, at the end of another thirty years there 
 would be no business called Gayres' to carry on.
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 WILL HE PROPOSE? 
 
 It was to the house in Brunswick Square, which had for 
 years been tenanted by the Jubbins', that Mr. Gayre repaired 
 on the afternoon following his visit to Chislehurst. Opinion 
 in Bloomsbury was divided as to whether the banker had pro- 
 posed to the widow and been rejected, or was still making 
 up his mind to put the momentous question. 
 
 Concerning the first alternative, Mrs. Jubbins could have 
 enlightened her friends ; but with regard to the second it was 
 impossible for her to say, even mentally, aught save " I hope 
 and I fear." There were days when she hoped, and there 
 were days when she feared ; yet as months and years glided 
 away, she grew very sick with " hope deferred." She believed 
 the man, the only man she had ever truly loved with the one 
 love of a woman's heart, would some day ask her to be his 
 wife ; nevertheless, she did not quite understand him ; surely 
 that wound, which had changed the frank, brilliant, charming 
 youth into a still more interesting, if less comprehensible, man, 
 ought to have been healed long ago ? 
 
 Mrs. Jubbins had some reason for believing he meant to 
 marry her. Old Mr. Gayre, keeping to the letter of his pro- 
 mise, if not to the spirit, confided to Mrs. Higgs that "my son 
 Nicholas was thinking seriously of her daughter, and he, Mr. 
 Gayre, should feel glad if the young man proposed, and Mrs. 
 Jubbins accepted him." To Mrs. Higgs, the idea of her 
 daughter wedding into the Gayres seemed a thing almost too 
 good to realise, and in her exultation at the suggestion she 
 forgot to maintain that reserve Mr. Gayre had stipulated on. 
 So Ehza was given to understand Nicholas had intimated he 
 meant to " think of her :" and Nicholas, like his father, fulfill- 
 ing the mere letter of his promise, did for a whole year think 
 of his old playfellow with an ever-increasing dislike towards the 
 connection. He did not want directly to cross his parent's 
 wishes, but he felt to make Eliza Jubbins his wife would be to 
 settle his own future in an utterly distasteful manner.
 
 WILL HE PROPOSE.? 65 
 
 He liked the lady well enough — but liking is not love — 
 and though he knew her money would be of use, both to him- 
 self and the bank, those thousands, made out of oil, repelled 
 rather than attracted him. Then there were the juvenile Jub- 
 bins — commonplace in mind and features, spoiled, delicate, 
 antagonistic, to his perhaps over-fastidious taste. Though the 
 Bloomsbury world, or that other world quite away from Blooms- 
 bury, with which he still kept up a friendly intercourse, did not 
 suspect the fact, he had long outlived the old attachment Mrs. 
 Higgs and her daughter often talked about with bated breath. 
 
 He was single, not from any actual objection to the married 
 state, or fancy for one especial fair, but simply because no 
 woman calculated greatly to delight so stern and cynical a judge 
 of the sex had crossed his path. Possibly he was looking for 
 perfection. If so, he had certainly as yet not found it. Upon 
 the other hand, seeing that mediocrity and common-place 
 virtues are often supposed to form a very good embodiment of 
 a higher ideal, it seemed really hard he could not please his 
 father and delight Mrs. Higgs, and return Mrs. Jubbins' attach- 
 ment and reward her constancy ; but all this appeared to Mr. 
 Gayre impossible. The more he thought the matter over, the 
 longer he contemplated himself hedged in by City notions, sur- 
 rounded by a mere moneyed clique, tied to the apron-strings of 
 Bloomsbury gentility — travelling life's road in company with the 
 men he had to meet in business, and acting the part of a model 
 stepfather to the Jubbins brood — the more truly he felt that, 
 putting all question of romance, or love, or the glamour which 
 does encircle some women, totally aside, such a marriage was, 
 for him, out of the question. 
 
 At the end of a year from the time his father first broached 
 the subject he was still " thinking the matter over ;" after which 
 period all necessity for him to think about it ceased — his father 
 died. 
 
 For six months after that event, Mr. Nicholas Gayre, a 
 wanderer here and there, debated what he should do with his 
 life ; then all in a hurry he made up his mind ; sold the lease 
 of the Brunswick Square house, took another in Upper VVimpole 
 Street, removed the furniture, books, plate, and china left to 
 him under his father's will, and, with the help of three old ser- 
 vants, soon found himself much more at home than had ever 
 been the case since he left the army and took to banking. 
 
 It was about this time Mrs. Jubbins' hopes revived. During 
 the period when, according to his father's desire, he had been 
 
 F
 
 66 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 thinking of the widow as his future wife, Mr. Nicholas Gayre's 
 manners became quite unconsciously cold and distant to the 
 constant Eliza. Now no longer bound by his father's old- 
 world notions ; free from the Bloomsbury servitude, wherein he 
 had duly fulfilled his term ; free to think and talk of other 
 things besides money, and stocks, and investments, and com- 
 mercial imprudence, and mercantile success ; free, further, to 
 marry whom he chose, or no one at all, Mr. Gayre grew quite 
 amiable, and fell easily back into the familiar, though not close, 
 intimacy which had marked his intercourse with the Jubbins 
 family after his return from soldiering. 
 
 As a matter of course, the good-looking Eliza took it for 
 granted he would step into his father's place as adviser-in-chief 
 concerning the Jubbins property. 
 
 The title-deeds, the scrip of all sorts, the shares, the trade 
 secrets, were under lock and key in Gayres' strong-room. At 
 Gayres' Mrs. Jubbins continued the account her husband for- 
 merly kept there. Had he felt curious about the matter, Mr. 
 Nicholas Gayre might have ascertained almost to a penny what 
 she spent, and how she spent it. There was nothing which 
 pleased the lady so much as getting into a muddle, and being 
 compelled to ask Mr. Gayre to help her out of it. 
 
 She made mountains of mole-hills in order to write notes 
 to him, and, herself a most excellent manager and capital 
 woman of business, tried to pass for one of the most incom- 
 petent of her sex. Mrs. Higgs died, and then, of course, Mrs. 
 Jubbins needed advice more than ever. Two of her young 
 people, spite of money and doctors and care, and everything 
 which could be thought of to restore them to health, drooped 
 and died. All these events retarded Mr. Gayre's proposal, no 
 doubt; still, there were times when Mrs. Jubbins doubted 
 whether he ever meant to propose. Had she known as much 
 of the world as Nicholas, she would have understood friendli- 
 ness is the worst possible symptom where a man's heart is con- 
 cerned. Mr. Gayre had as much intention of proposing for one 
 of the princesses as for the widow. Preposterous as the idea 
 seemed in his father's life-time, it seemed trebly preposterous 
 now. He did not exactly know what she expected, though 
 indeed he guessed ; but he had long before made up his own 
 mind that, so far as he was concerned, Mrs. Jubbins should 
 remain Mrs. Jubbins till the end of the chapter. 
 
 A longer interval than usual had elapsed without his seeing 
 her, when he turned his steps in the direction of Brunswick
 
 ]]'ILL HE PROPOSE? 67 
 
 Square. As he approached the familiar door Mr. Gayre sur- 
 veyed Mrs. Jubbins' residence widi an amount of interest and 
 curiosity he had never before experienced, and he certainly felt 
 a sensation of pleasure at the sight of windows clear as whiting 
 and chamois and that other commodity, better than either, 
 vulgarly called " elbow-grease," could make them, enamelled 
 boxes filled with flowers on the sills, curtains white as the driven 
 snow and of the best quality money could buy, spotless steps, 
 polished knocker, and all those little etceteras which point to 
 money, good servants, and a capable mistress. 
 
 " It is not Onslow Square, certainly," thought Mr. Gayre, 
 " but we will see what we can do with it.'' 
 
 " Now, this is really kind of you !" exclaimed Mrs. Jubbins 
 — a handsome and well-preserved woman on the right side of 
 forty — stretching out a white plump hand in greeting. " You 
 see, I am still unable to move," she added, with a laugh which 
 showed an exceedingly good set of teeth, pointing as she spoke 
 to a stool over which a coiivrc-picds was thrown, in the modest- 
 est manner possible. "Why, it is quite an age since you have 
 been here !" 
 
 *' Yes, indeed," he answered, in his suave decisive manner 
 — " almost three months. I fear you have been suftering much 
 anxiety. Why did you not send for me sooner ?'' 
 
 "Well," she began to explain — "well — " Then, after a 
 pause, " I know you must have so many engagements." 
 
 " None," he answered, " believe me, that could ever keep 
 me absent if you said you needed my poor services." 
 
 Mrs. Jubbins had been a bold child, but she was not a 
 forward woman. Quite the contrary. Supposing she could 
 have won Mr. Gayre by saying, "Will you marry me?" he 
 must have remained unwon for ever, and for this reason she 
 did not take advantage of his pretty speech, but merely inclined 
 her sleek head in acknowledgment, as she asked, 
 
 '^ Have you been able to go to Chislehurst?" 
 
 " Yes," he said. " And The Warren is a most lovely place." 
 
 "Which you would advise me to take ?" 
 
 "If you really wish to go out of town for the summer, 
 certainly." 
 
 "Tell me all about it, please;" and the Jubbins relict 
 leaned back on the sofa, crossed her hands, and closed her 
 eyes. 
 
 She was worth — heavens, ladies, how much was she not 
 v/orth? — and could consequently, even in the concentrated
 
 68 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 presence of Gayre, Delone, Eyles, and Co., lean back, cross her 
 hands, and close her eyes to any extent she liked. 
 
 Mr. Gayre looked at her not without approval —looked at 
 her comely face, her broad capable forehead, her straight well- 
 defined brows, her wealth of hair — not combed over frizettes, a 
 fashion then still much in favour, but taken straight off her face 
 to the back of a shapely, if somewhat large head, and there 
 wound round and round in great plaits almost too thick and 
 long even for the eye of faith. 
 
 Such hair — such splendid hair — as Mrs. Jubbins possessed, 
 quite of her own and altogether without purchase, belongs to 
 few women. 
 
 Mr. Gayre knew it to be perfectly natural. He had been 
 well acquainted with it in his youth, and in his experienced 
 middle age he could have detected a single false lock ; but 
 there was nothing false about Mrs. Jubbins. All she had was 
 as genuine as her money, as the Spanish mahogany furniture 
 which had belonged to her husband's grandfather. 
 
 " The Warren," proceeded Mr. Gayre, " is simply charm- 
 ing. A cottage in a wood ; but such a cottage, and such 
 a wood ! Lord Flint, it seems, bought about twenty acres 
 covered with trees, cleared a space on the top of the hill, and 
 built a summer residence for his bride. Shortly afterwards he 
 succeeded to the earldom ; but still spent some portion of each 
 year at the cottage, laying money out freely on the house and 
 grounds. He died last summer ; and as the widow does not 
 now like the place — whether she liked it when her husband 
 was living, I cannot say — she wants to let it; so there the 
 house, fully furnished, stands empty for you to walk into, if 
 you like." 
 
 At the mention of a lord, Mrs. Jubbins, who dearly loved 
 nobility, old or new, opened her eyes and assumed an upright 
 attitude. 
 
 "A place of that sort would be too grand and fine for me," 
 she objected, in the tone of one who wished to be contra- 
 dicted. 
 
 "It is not at all grand," answered Mr. Gayre, "and the 
 furniture is not fine. I daresay it cost a considerable sum of 
 money ; but really everything looks as simple and homely as 
 possible." And then he went on to talk of the gardens, and 
 grounds, and terraces, and woods, finishing by remarking, 
 " Though quite close to London, one might be a hundred 
 miles away from town, the air is so pure and the silence so utter."
 
 WILL HE PROPOSE? 69 
 
 For a few moments Mrs. Jubbins made no reply. Then 
 she said, with a delighted little laugh, 
 
 " Only fancy me living in the house of a real lord — not a 
 lord mayor, but a peer !" 
 
 " It is a very nice house for any one to live in," observed 
 Mr. Gayre, wondering, if she rented the residence, how often 
 in the course of a month she would mention Lord Flint, and 
 the Earl of Merioneth, and her ladyship the Countess. 
 
 " Who would believe it !" exclaimed Mrs. Jubbins. " And 
 yet, do you know, I think I must have been dreaming of some- 
 thing of this sort. I have had the strangest thoughts lately. 
 Whether it is this lovely weather following the long dreary 
 winter, or being kept a prisoner by my ankle, or what, I am 
 sure I cannot tell ; but often of late I have found myself 
 wondering whether I was doing right in staying so much at 
 liome, and spending so little money, and making no new 
 acquaintances, and continuing the same round from year's end 
 to year's end, as though Brunswick Square were the world, and 
 no other place on the face of the earth existed except Blooms- 
 bury." 
 
 Mr. Gayre smiled, and hazarded the remark that neither of 
 them ought to speak against Bloomsbury. 
 
 "No, that is quite true," agreed the lady; "but yet, you 
 see, you have gone west, and everybody else seems going west, 
 or buying places out of town, except myself The Browns 
 liave taken a house in Porchester Terrace, the Jones have 
 gone to Bournemouth." 
 
 "And the Robinsons no doubt will follow suit," suggested 
 Mr. Gayre, forgetful that Mrs. Jubbins' circle of friends did 
 include a family of that name. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Robinson is building himself quite a mansion 
 down at Walton-on-Thames, and they expect to be able to 
 move in August. I tell her she won't like it — that there is no 
 place on the Thames to equal London ; but they all seem 
 eager to go ; after a time there will be nobody left in Blooms- 
 bury but me ;" and Mrs. Jubbins sighed plaintively. 
 
 " You will not be left if you take The Warren," said Mr. 
 Gayre. 
 
 " I can't stay at The Warren for ever," she answered ; " I 
 shall have to come back here some day, unless — " 
 
 "Unless what?" asked Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " Unless I sell the lease of this house and remove altogether. 
 1 really think I ought to make some change. The children are
 
 70 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 growing up, and ought to be in a neighbourhood where they 
 could form pleasant acquaintances. Bloomsbury is all well 
 enough for elderly persons ; and the tradespeople are very 
 good ; I don't think you could get better meat anywhere than 
 Grist supplies ; and though Ida is not strong, I fancy that is 
 only natural delicacy, and has nothing to do with the air. But 
 still—" 
 
 " If I were you," interrupted Mr. Gayre, who always waxed 
 impatient under details that had seemed both instructive and 
 agreeable to his father, " I should take this Chislehurst place 
 for a year ; at the end of that time you could decide whether 
 it would be best to return here or remain on there, or buy a 
 house at the West End, What lovely tlowers ! How they 
 transform this dear old room ! It looks quite gay and bright — " 
 
 " They make a dreadful litter," remarked Mrs. Jubbins, 
 who was a very Martha in household details, though to hear 
 her talk at times any one might have supposed Mrs. Hemans 
 took a healthy and lively view of life in comparison with the 
 buxom Eliza — " but they certainly do light up a house. The 
 day before I sprained my ankle I went over to Porchester 
 Terrace, and, dear me, I thought what a difference between 
 the West End and Bloomsbury ! When I came back our 
 square seemed quite dingy; so I told Hodkins to arrange with 
 some nurseryman to keep me supplied with plants. At first it 
 did seem a dreadful waste of money, and I could not help 
 wondering what your poor father would have said to such 
 extravagance ; but there, the world goes on, and one can't 
 stand still and be left all behind, can one?" 
 
 *' Gracious heavens !" considered Mr. Gayre, " if I had 
 married her I should have been compelled to listen to this sort 
 of thing all the days of my life;" then he said aloud, "Talking 
 of my father, I want you to grant me a favour; will you ?" 
 
 " Certainly ; need you ask ? What is it ?" And then Mrs. 
 Jubbins paused abruptly, as the notion occurred to her that 
 perhaps the long-deferred hour was at last on the point of 
 striking. 
 
 But Mr. Gayre's next words dispelled the illusion. 
 
 "You remember Margaret?" 
 
 Hot and swift the tell-tale blood rushed up into Mrs. 
 Jubbins' face, and as she said, " Yes, is she in London ?" a 
 duller, but not less painful, colour mantled Mr. Gayre's brow. 
 
 " I do not suppose Margaret will ever come to London," he 
 answered ; " but her daughter is here, and I should consider it
 
 WILL HE PROPOSE? 71 
 
 a great kindness if you would pay the girl a little attention. 
 You know — or possibly you do not know — what a miserable, 
 hopeless, irreclaimable sinner the father is. His own relations 
 have cut him adrift; mine will have nothing to do with him ; 
 consequently, through no fault of her own, my niece is, by 
 both sides of the house, left out in the cold. I should like her 
 to be intimate with a good sensible woman such as you are ; 
 but perhaps I am asking too much." 
 
 " Too much ! I shall be enchanted to do anything in my 
 power for Margaret's daughter. Is she like her mother, poor 
 dear Margaret ?" 
 
 " My sister was pretty," answered Mr. Gayre, with a feeUng 
 of deep gratitude swelling in his heart for the friendly warmth 
 of Mrs. Jubbins' manner. " My niece is beautiful. Her face 
 does not seem so sweet to me as Margaret's ; but most persons 
 would admire it far more. She is, in fact, so beautiful, so 
 lovely, and placed in such a painful and exceptional position, 
 that I shall not know a moment's peace till she is suitably 
 married." 
 
 " Dear, dear !" exclaimed Mrs. Jubbins ; " I would go to 
 her this moment if it were not for this tiresome ankle. Could 
 she not come to me, though, Mr. Gayre ? I am such an old 
 friend of your family, she miglit dispense with ceremony, and 
 let us make acquaintance at once. If she spent a few days 
 here, for instance, and then supposing I were to take Lady 
 Merioneth's house, that would make a little change for her." 
 
 " You are the kindest person in the world," said Mr. Gayre, 
 with conviction. 
 
 "No, indeed I am not; only think, you know, if it were 
 one of my own daughters. I am sure I quite long to see the 
 dear girl. AVhat a thing for poor Margaret to be parted from 
 her only child f" 
 
 " My niece believes her mother is dead, and there seems to 
 me no necessity to enlighten her." 
 
 "Ah! that makes it all the worse. When I remember — 
 when I look back, and recall her lovely face framed in those 
 sunny curls — " 
 
 " Looking back is worse than useless," interrupted Mr. 
 Gayre, speaking hoarsely. "We cannot undo the past; the 
 best plan is to act as prudently as possible in the present. That 
 is why I ask your help — why I want you to look a little after 
 the child of my unhappy sister." 
 
 "And that I will," declared Mrs. Jubbins heartily. "It
 
 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 will be like having a daughter given to me in the place of my 
 darling Clara ; a daughter to think and plan for and love. How 
 I long to see her! When do you think she can come here? 
 Will you bring her? — or shall I send a lly and Ilodkins? You 
 know he really is a most superior and respectable person." 
 
 This time Mr. Gayre forgot to smile at Mrs. Jubbins' 
 singular way of putting things. 
 
 " I will arrange the visit with my niece," he said, " and 
 give you due notice when you may expect to see us. I am a 
 bad hand at returning thanks ; but I feel your kindness more 
 than I can express." 
 
 " It is nothing," she answered vehemently, " nothing at all ; 
 it is I who am obliged. All my life I have been receiving 
 favours from your faniily, and doing nothing in return. You 
 have made me so very happy. I wonder if you would mind 
 my consulting you concerning another little matter I could not 
 avoid thinking about while tied to this sofa?" 
 
 " I am all attention," Mr. Gayre declared, *' What is this 
 matter? Are you thinking of setting up a carriage?" 
 
 "\\'ell, you must be a wizard !" exclaimed Mrs. Jubbins. 
 " Do you know, often lately I have been wondering whether 
 my poor husband and your dear father would think a single 
 brougham and a very plain livery too great an extravagance. 
 You see things have changed so much during the course of the 
 last few years. There was a time when all one's friends lived 
 close at hand ; but now one must have a fly to pay visits ; and 
 really a carriage and coachman of one's own would not cost so 
 very much more." 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Jubbins," said Mr. Gayre, " you talk as if 
 you had to economise upon five hundred a year instead of 
 being obliged to starve on fifteen thousand." 
 
 " Yes," she answered; " but there are the children, and I do 
 so want to be a faithful steward, Mr. Gayre, and justify the trust 
 reposed in me. Yet there are two sides to the question, I am 
 sure. Our fathers moved with their times, and, as a mother, I 
 ought to move with mine; and that brings me to what I wished 
 to say — not about the carriage, it can wait ; but — " 
 
 "Yes?" said Mr. Gayre interrogatively. 
 
 " You must promise not to laugh at me." 
 
 " I am very sure I shall not laugh at what you say." 
 
 " Well, then, I have been thinking most seriously whether, 
 if I take a house out of town — and the doctor says I must — it 
 would not be a good opportunity for changing my name."
 
 WILL HE PROPOSE? 73 
 
 " I beg your pardon /"' 
 
 No italics could indicate the astonishment expressed in Mr. 
 ^Gayre's tone. 
 
 "Are you thinking of marrying again?" he went on — 
 severely, as the widow imagined, but really in a mere maze of 
 bewilderment. 
 
 "No — O no," she said hurriedly. "It is not likely I shall 
 ever marry again — I am certain I never shall ; but I cannot 
 blind myself to the fact that the name of Jubbins is in many 
 ways a bar socially. Put it to yourself, Mr. Gayre — Jubbins ! 
 Awful ! All the years I have borne it have never reconciled me 
 to the name. Higgs was not beautiful, but Jubbins is worse." 
 
 "'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,'" 
 quoted Mr. Gayre, resolutely refraining even from smiling. 
 
 " Not if it was called Jubbins," answered the lady almost 
 tearfully. 
 
 " Yes, it would," persisted the banker ; " but whether or 
 no, there are for the present, at all events, good and sufficient 
 reasons why your late husband's known and honest name 
 should be preserved. As you are aware, the formulae for 
 making those wonderful oils lie at our bank. When your sons 
 come of age they will want to make use of them. The name 
 is associated with the product. It is of pecuniary value. The 
 De Vere Oil, for example, would not command any market. 
 I have always admired many traits in your character, but none 
 more than your excellent feeling. Give that fair play now. 
 Just think what the name you bear has done for you." 
 
 " I know — I know." 
 
 " And do consider that, although you have an undoubted 
 right at any moment to change your own name by marriage, 
 you really have no right to change the name of your children." 
 
 " O Mr. Gayre, how good and clever you are ! How clear 
 you make everything !" 
 
 " And speaking for myself," added the banker, warming to 
 the subject, " I can only say that, though I liked Miss Higgs 
 much, I like Mrs. Jubbins more." 
 
 " You are kind !" exclaimed the widow, while the colour 
 once more fluttered in her face, and, spite of her declaration 
 that she would never marry again, she began to consider such 
 an event not quite impossible. " What, must you go ? Well, 
 you have given me a great deal of your valuable time, and I 
 am very grateful to you." 
 
 She could not rise on account of that troublesome ankle,
 
 74 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 and, as Mr. Gayre held her hand while he spoke some words 
 of thanks, he was obliged to stoop a little, and — unconsciously 
 perhaps — fell into an almost tender attitude. 
 
 I\Irs. Jubbins' heart beat so fast and so loud, she felt afraid 
 he wouUl Iicar it. Tlie long-e.xpected declaration must surely 
 be hovering on his lips ! 
 
 That was a supreme moment. Never before had he retained 
 her hand so long ; on the contrary, he had ever previously held 
 it as short a time as possible. Never had he before regarded 
 her with a look of such admiration ; never had his tone been 
 so low, or his words so earnest, or — 
 
 Just then a tremendous double knock — prolonged, ear- 
 splitting, infuriating — resounded through the house. Was ever 
 knock before so unexpected and so loud ? Mrs. Jubbins 
 gave a start, which almost threw her off the sofa. Mr. Gayre 
 dropped her hand as if he had been shot. 
 
 And, after all, it was no one coming up ; only Mrs. Robin- 
 son's card, and kind inquiries after dear Mrs. Jubbins' ankle. 
 Mr. Gayre saw that card lying on a salver as he passed out, 
 excellently contented with his afternoon's work, but, upon the 
 whole, not quite so well satisfied with himself.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 FATHER, DAUGHTER, UNCLE. 
 
 " Is your father at home, Margaret ?" 
 
 It was Mr. Gayre who asked this question. He had gone 
 straight from Brunswick Square to North Bank, debating that 
 matter of his own conduct all the way. 
 
 When he left the City he fully intended to have "a few 
 words" with his niece; but he did not feel his own hands 
 quite clean enough at the minute to cast stones at her, and 
 accordingly would have deferred the operation till a more con- 
 venient season but for the action taken by the young lady 
 herself. 
 
 "Yes ; papa has not gone out yet," she said, in answer to 
 his inquiry. "I will tell him you are here;" and she left the 
 room, but, changing her mind, returned almost immediately, 
 and, closing the door, observed, with a confusion which for 
 once was not feigned, 
 
 " I want to say something to you, uncle." 
 
 " Say on then, my niece," he returned. 
 
 But she hesitated, looking at him piteously for help, till at 
 last he felt compelled to ask, 
 
 " Well, what is it ?'' 
 
 " Can't you guess?" 
 
 " Whether I can or not, I decline to do anything of the 
 sort. Come, say what you have got to say, and let us be done 
 with the matter." 
 
 "It is — about — Susan Drummond." 
 
 " Yes ; what about her ?" 
 
 For one moment Miss Chelston doubted whether he remem- 
 bered, and lamented her own folly in not letting a sleeping 
 dog lie ; but the next she felt sure he could not have forgotten, 
 and said, 
 
 " You must have thought it so odd that I did not tell papa 
 I had seen her." 
 
 " Did I ? No, I do not think I did. I wonder now why
 
 ■J 6 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 you told him such an untruth ; but I presume you had some 
 reason, good or bad, for not wishing him to know." 
 
 " I was wrong." she confessed, in a tone of the deepest 
 humihty ; "but indeed I acted from the very best motives." 
 
 " It would be interesting to know what those motives were; 
 but I suppose you won't tell me." 
 
 "() yes, indeed— indeed I will; I have been longing to 
 tell you. Susan and I are the oldest and dearest of friends — 
 I may say she is the only friend I have in all the wide world. 
 I understand her perfectly; and the reason I did not want 
 papa to suspect she was in London — " 
 
 " Out with it," advised Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " Well, you see, at the time I thought things would be dif- 
 ferent here. Papa told me we should have a great deal of 
 company, and that I would be asked out to parties and — and 
 — all that sort of thing ; and I knew, since her uncle's death, 
 poor dear Susan could not afford to dress — as — as people 
 have to dress if they go into society; and I thought asking 
 her to come to us would only vex and place her in a false 
 position." 
 
 " Anything else?" suggested Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " Yes ; but you must not be vexed with me. I do hate 
 riding, and I was sure papa would be wanting me to go out 
 with Susan ; and I dare not — O, I dare not ! That horse you 
 so much admired almost frightened me to death." 
 
 " You are quite sure you have nothing more to tell me ?" 
 said Mr. Gayre, as she came to a full stop. 
 
 " Quite sure — quite sure, indeed." 
 
 Mr. Gayre looked her over with an amused smile. She 
 did not lift her eyes to his, but stood with them cast penitently 
 downwards, waiting for any comments he might have to 
 make. 
 
 " I think," he began at last, " there is some truth in what 
 you have just been saying, but I fancy there is not much. 
 Now let me give you a little advice. Don't try to hoodwink 
 me. In the first place, it is a mere waste of time ; and in the 
 second, you will find it to your advantage to work with, instead 
 of against, me. All I desire is your good. You are placed in 
 a most difficult and exceptional position, and you have not so 
 many friends you can afford to quarrel with any of them, more 
 especially a girl like Miss Drummond." 
 
 " Quarrel, uncle ! — I wouldn't quarrel with Susan for all 
 the world ; but how could I know living in London would turn
 
 FATHER, DAUGHTER, UNCLE. 77 
 
 out so dififerent from what I expected — so miserable ?" ended 
 Miss Chelston, with a gasping sob. 
 
 " You expected, perhaps, to be presented at Court?" hinted 
 "iTlr. Gayre, with bitter irony. 
 
 " I did not think it was at all impossible," she answered. 
 
 " And what do you think now?" he asked. 
 
 " That I have been very silly ; and O, it's all such a dread- 
 ful disappointment !"' and, covering her face with her hands, 
 she left the room fairly in tears. 
 
 "It is hard on the girl," thought Mr. Gayre, "and why 
 should I have expected straightforwardness from her? The 
 father does not know the meaning of the word ; the mother 
 was a poor weak timid fool ; and I — well, my friend, I don't 
 consider you have much reason to be proud of yourself." 
 
 " So you have sent Peggy off crying," said the Baronet 
 cheerfully, opening the door at this juncture ; " I am very glad 
 of it. Hope you gave her a good scolding. As I told her 
 yesterday — for I had an appointment after I got back from 
 Enfield the other day, and was not home till long after she had 
 gone to bed — as I told her, there is nothing in the world I 
 detest like a falsehood. Let a man or a woman only speak the 
 truth, and I do not much care how bad he or she may be in 
 other respects, though no one who does speak the truth can be 
 very bad." 
 
 " I think we may let the affair rest now," remarked Mr. 
 Gayre. "More particularly as Miss Drummond ought never 
 to know Margaret's silence was other than a piece of careless- 
 ness. It will be a great matter for your daughter to have so 
 nice a friend staying with her. Have you settled when she is 
 to come ?" 
 
 " Yes. Peg wrote her as pretty a note yesterday as you'd 
 wish to read. O, she was humble enough, I can tell you. 
 It's not often I do come the stern parent business, but I did 
 speak out. I said, ' If you think because Susan has only got 
 a poor couple of thousand pounds she is not as welcome to 
 my house as though she had millions, you are very much mis- 
 taken, that's all. I'm sorely afraid, Peggy,' I went on, ' you're 
 an arrant little snob ; and you don't inherit that fliiling from 
 me any more than your want of candour. No one can say I 
 ever held myself aloof from any man because he was not rich 
 or well-born. What's the use of being well-born if one can't 
 shake hands with a beggar?' No, that girl of mine wants 
 taking down. She does think so confoundedly much of herself."
 
 78 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 '•It seems to me she has been taken down a great deal," 
 observed Mr. Gayre. "She evidently came to London expect- 
 ing to carry all before her; and, spite of your agreeable man- 
 ners and large circle of desirable acquaintances, she fmds her- 
 self alone in a great city, without a soul to speak to. How- 
 ever," added Mr. Gayre hurriedly, to prevent his brother-in- 
 law once again taking up his parable, " I have at last suc- 
 ceedeil in getting her one invitation, which I hope will lead to 
 more. As we can't induce rank to notice her, I determined 
 to try money. Mrs. Jubbins, of Brunswick Square, a lady I 
 have known all my life, will be delighted to do anything and 
 everytliing she can for Margaret." 
 
 •■ Come, that's encouraging," exclaimed the Baronet, 
 '• though Jubbins does not exactly seem a name one would 
 find in Btirhi\ and Brunswick Square is a little — eh ?'' 
 
 '"If you mean that it is not Belgravia, you are right; but 
 as no duchess has rushed forward to chaperone your daughter, 
 it may be prudent to try and make the best of rich respect- 
 ability." 
 
 " Why, my dear fellow, how you talk ! Any one, to hear 
 the way you go on, might imagine I was particular ! Thank 
 God, I am no such thing ! I do not worship rank or money. 
 And so your friends are very rich. What is the husband?" 
 
 '• I don't know what he may be at present ; he is dead ; he 
 was a most excellent person when living." 
 
 " Widow ! Bless me, why don't you make up to her, 
 Gayre?" 
 
 " Well, there are several reasons. One, however, may 
 seem sufficient. She says she is not going to marry again." 
 
 '• Pooh 1" commented Sir Geoffrey, with an airy incredu- 
 lity. 
 
 "At all events, she has let seven years pass without making 
 a second choice." 
 
 "The right man has not asked her," remarked the Baronet, 
 with decision ; and he shook his head with such emphasis that 
 Mr. Gayre knew he was thinking, if his wife "gave him a 
 chance," and the fortune proved sufficient, he himself would 
 attempt Mrs. Jubbins' conversion, and with brilliant success. 
 
 " She is a truly admirable woman in every relation of life," 
 said Mr. Gayre. 
 
 '• I am thankful to hear it — most thankful," answered Sir 
 Geoffiey solemnly. " What a fortunate fellow you are, Gayre, 
 not to be saddled with the responsibility of a daughter ! I
 
 FATHER, DAUGHTER, UNCLE. 79 
 
 declare the future of mine is getting to be a nightmare to me. 
 What on earth would become of poor Peggy if I died ?" 
 
 " It is extremely difficult to say," observed Mr. Gayre, too 
 "wTse to be entrapped into any promise by his simple brother- 
 in-law. 
 
 " And we must all die," pursued the Baronet tentatively. 
 
 '• So it is said ; but there is no rule without an exception ; 
 and you m.ay prove that exception." 
 
 Sir Geoffrey digested this remark, and, deciding he would 
 not make much out of Mr. Gayre on such a tack, said, in a 
 frank sort of manner, as if the idea had only just occurred to 
 him, 
 
 "I really don't know that I should object to a City man 
 as a husband for my girl if he could insure her a proper estab- 
 lishment." 
 
 '• It is extremely good and wise of you to say so." 
 
 " You see I can give her no fortune." 
 
 " And, as a rule, money expects money nowadays." 
 
 " Upon the other hand," proceeded Sir Geoffrey, " she is 
 my daughter." 
 
 "So she is; that is a great advantage," said Mr. Gayre. 
 
 For a moment it occurred to the Baronet that his brother- 
 in-law was openly gibing at him ; but, looking sharply up, he 
 could see no hint of laughter in the calm cold face. 
 
 " And a title must always carry a certain weight," he ven- 
 tured. 
 
 " But your daughter has no title, and as for yours— knights 
 and baronets have in the City become somewhat of drugs in 
 the market. What can Margaret, without a penny of dowry, 
 do for any man ? You have no property left for him to talk 
 about. Your daughter has no social standing ; she possesses 
 the manners of a gentlewoman, I admit, and is extremely good- 
 looking. Nevertheless — " 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, Gayre, don't make me more wretched 
 than I am ! It was my misfortune, not my fault, I did not 
 marry into my own rank of life, in which case my relations 
 must have seen to the girl. But as matters stand — " 
 
 "I think, Sir Geoffrey, I will wish you 'good-afternoon,'" 
 interposed Mr. Gayre, rising in his wrath and striding across 
 the small room to the door, with tlie almost forgotten military 
 gait. 
 
 But ere he reached it. Sir Geoffrey caught hun. 
 
 " My dear, dear Gayre," he began ; and then, as his dear
 
 So SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 Gayre wrenched himself from his detaining grasp and reached 
 the hall, the Baronet, once again seizing his sleeve, went on, 
 "you liave misunderstood me quite." 
 
 Mr. Gayre, however, was not so easily to be appeased. 
 Standing in the middle of the gravelled path, sheltered from 
 the vulgar gaze by that high wall already mentioned, he deli- 
 vered his parable. He rehearsed the righteous doings of the 
 Gayres, and the sins of Sir Geoffrey. 
 
 "Good Gotl," he cried, and certainly, as a rule, Mr. Gayre 
 was no profane swearer, "if my father had liked, he could have 
 given you seven years' penal servitude over that matter of my 
 sister's settlement. But he refrained ; and yet now you talk 
 as if you had made a mesalliance by entering a family able to 
 trace a longer pedigree than your own." 
 
 Through a little pantry-window, almost screened from the 
 sight of visitors by a goodly arbor 7'itcB, Lavender watched the 
 progress of this wordy war, saw Mr. Gayre's impatient and 
 angry movement and his master's deprecating gestures, and the 
 humble and almost cringing servility of his manner. 
 
 "Sir Geoffrey's gone and done it now," he considered. 
 " Ah ! I knew it was too good to last. He'll be off in a minute 
 more, and I suppose we'll never set eyes on him here again." 
 
 And indeed departure seemed imminent. Mr. Gayre had 
 his hand on the lock of the gate, and, spite of Sir Geoffrey's 
 efforts to detain him, was evidently bent on making his way 
 into the road; but just as he had turned the handle, and was 
 on the eve of leaving Mr. Moreby's borrowed villa for ever, 
 Margaret, her eyes still a little red, but her dress, as usual, 
 perfect — Margaret, with one rose in her hair and another in 
 her girdle, looking fair and fresh and pathetically humble, came 
 round the end of the house, and exclaiming, " O uncle ! you 
 won't go without a cup of tea," changed her own destiny as 
 well as that of others. 
 
 " You can't refuse her,'' remarked Sir Geoffrey softo voce. 
 " Upon my soul and honour, you took quite a wrong meaning 
 out of what I said; and, hang it, whatever I may be, she's 
 your sister's child." 
 
 "Have you two been (luarrelling?" asked Miss Chelston, 
 in quick alarm. "Don't do that, don't— just, too, when I had 
 made up my mind to be so good and nice and sweet to you 
 both and everybody. Uncle, you mustn't mind papa. Really 
 he was quite unpleasant to me yesterday. Papa, uncle is in a 
 bad humour ; he scolded me half an hour ago till I had to go
 
 FATHER, DAUGHTER, UNCLE. 8i 
 
 up-stairs and have a good cry by myself. Now come in to 
 tea, both of you," she finished, with a pretty, imperious, and 
 yet caressing air which became her wonderfully, and caused 
 'Ml". Gayre to consider, "After all, something may be made of 
 her." 
 
 " Come," she repeated, taking Mr. Gayre's arm and lead- 
 ing him towards the house; "and you may follow us, you bad 
 man," she went on, addressing her father, who, for answer, 
 put his lingers within the bit of black velvet she wore round 
 her neck and gave it a twist. 
 
 Father and daughter did not exactly pull together, yet still, 
 upon the whole, they understood each other pretty well. 
 
 Though the tea was lukewarm and extremely bad, Mr. 
 Gayre swallowed one cup, exactly as he would have with 
 some wild Indian smoked a pipe of peace. Sir GeoftVey re- 
 frained from partaking of the beverage offered for delectation, 
 remarking his "liver wouldn't stand it," which, considering 
 what he forced his liver to stand, seemed on the part of that 
 organ an extraordinary act of rebellion ; but he was good 
 enough to go into the dining-room and prepare a brew for 
 himself that did not err on the side of weakness. This he 
 drank a good deal faster than Mr. Gayre did his tea, while 
 he drank communicating the good news of Mrs. Jubbins' in- 
 vitation to his daughter, telling that young person she could 
 never sufficiently prove her gratitude to the best of uncles, 
 and, during the course of the conversation which ensued, art- 
 lessly inducing his brother-in-law to state many facts in con- 
 nection with the state of the Jubbins finances he had not 
 thought of imparting previously. 
 
 " By Jove, what a chance !" considered the Baronet ; and 
 then he proceeded to think, " if her ladyship would only be 
 kind enough to quit a world she never really adorned, I'd have 
 a try for that quarter of a million — buried in the earth, as one 
 may say — and I'd get it, or else know the reason why." 
 
 Which only proves that even baronets may be liable to 
 error. Sir Geoffrey thoroughly understood the weakness oi 
 human nature, but most certainly he failed to estimate its 
 strength.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SUSAN. 
 
 Seated in his library — a room which, in a bachelor's estab- 
 lishment, ever seems the pleasantcst and most comfortable in 
 the house — Mr. Gayre, on the evening of that same day when 
 he fought Sir Geoffrey on his own ground, and felt perhaps 
 ashamedly conscious of having led Mrs. Jubbins astray, or at 
 least allowed her to stray, permitted his own soul the luxury of 
 a day-dream. During the course of his life he had not in- 
 dulged in many ; and now and then a doubt would intrude as 
 to whether anything could come of this vision, or if it would 
 end like the others in grief and humiliation and disappoint- 
 ment. But in that quiet twilight hour doubt seemed exor- 
 cised. After all, why should happiness not be his? If in 
 some things he had failed, in others he had succeeded : in no 
 respect could he be accounted an unfortunate man. The 
 stars in their courses had not fought against him, as they did 
 against Sisera. " I ought to have no quarrel with Fate," he 
 thought, " for Fate has done a great deal for me ; and, per- 
 haps," he went on, contemplating his air- castle with an eye of 
 faith, " she has been keeping the great blessing of a good pure 
 wife for the last." 
 
 Dreams, fair dreams ! Were they only, after all, to be 
 dreams ? Was his day to end in darkness, unillumined by the 
 golden beams of a mutual love? Was life to hold nothing for 
 him of the beauty and the glamour which only a woman can 
 shed over it? "Ah, no!" he murmured, and through the 
 gloom it seemed to him that a figure, clad all in white, came 
 gliding to his side ; that a delicate hand lay clasped in his ; 
 that a pair of tender brown eyes looked wistfully in his face ; 
 that a soft touch smoothed the coming wrinkles from his brow; 
 and that at last, tremblingly, he clasped to his heart the wife 
 he had waited through the long lonely years to meet. 
 
 Already he felt as if he must have known her always. They 
 were strangers no more. He heard her speak, and her voice
 
 SUSAN. S3 
 
 sounded familiar to him. She smiled, and the waters of his 
 soul reflected back the pleasant sunshine. 
 
 Had they, in some former and happier state of existence, 
 "wandered side by side through flower-decked meads and wind- 
 ing leafy lanes, it could not have seemed more natural to him 
 than it did^to find himself pacing the never before trodden fields 
 of Enfield Highway, in which the mowers were busy with their 
 scythes, filling the air with the delicious perfume of recently- 
 cut grass. 
 
 Her little tricks of manner and speech and look and move- 
 ment struck him with no sense of novelty. 
 
 " I must have been acquainted with Susan Drummond the 
 whole of my life," he decided ; " that is to say, for a good 
 many years before she was born." Her very name sounded to 
 him accustomed; homelike seemed its simple melody. Susan — 
 Susan — Susan — Susan Drummond, with her fair honest face; 
 with her hair, which was neither brown nor yellow nor red, 
 but a marvellous mixture of all three ; with her exquisite com- 
 plexion and sweet tender mouth — he recalled them all ; and 
 yet each individual and to be particularised beauty faded into 
 nothingness beside the intangible and indefinable charm which 
 had its source no man could tell where. 
 
 Had she been smitten with smallpox, or lost a limb, or be- 
 come suddenly old, Susan would have been Susan still. There 
 are women who retain, whether in youth or age, some subtle 
 and inexplicable essence of womanliness as far beyond ana- 
 lysis as the scent of a rose. Whatever the fashion of the 
 earthly tabernacle her soul inhabits, nevertheless from the win- 
 dows of even the poorest habitation some passer-by catches 
 the glimpse of a countenance never for ever to be forgotten. 
 
 Mr. Gayre at all events felt he could not, while life lasted, 
 forget riding along the Green Lanes and through Southgate, 
 and thence, by many devious roads, into Enfield Highway. 
 
 " Are you quite sure where you're going, Gayre?" asked his 
 interesting brother-in-law. Sir Geoff'rey, whom he had seduced 
 into setting off on a wild-goose chase after a fellow who owned 
 a wonderful hunter on the London side of Waltham. 
 
 "No, indeed, I am not," answered Mr .Gayre despondently; 
 "but I mean to inquire about my man at each 'public' we 
 pass." 
 
 Which performance, greatly to the Baronet's satisfaction, 
 was gone through duly and truly with negative success, till the 
 pair reached a certain hotel, noted in the old days, that still
 
 84 SC/S.LV /> A' r .]/.]/ 0A7). 
 
 did a roaring trade by reason of excursionists to the Rye House 
 and BroxboLirne Clardcns. 
 
 •' Does I know a gemman as owns a 'ansome bay 'unter ? 
 Why, in course I does— Squire Temperley, of Temperley 
 Manor. Rut, Lord love you, sir, it ain't of no manner of use 
 riding on to see 'ini ! 'E's been away — let's see — a matter of 
 three week with the gout, which do nip him up sore." 
 
 Mr. Gayre mused. It was not his fashion to rush into 
 dialogue. 
 
 " What sort of looking man is your Squire ?" he asked at 
 length, while he slipped halfa-crown into his informant's hand. 
 
 •' Well, sir, 'e's not unlike yourself in build and figure, only 
 'eavier and a trifle more advanced in years " — Mr. Gayre 
 winced; "a very pleasant gemman, and most out-and-out 
 rider; didn't mind taking in 'and any 'oss^ — got the most splen- 
 did 'unter to be seen in all these parts — a regular wild one; no 
 person can, to say, really ride 'im but 'imself and young Mr. 
 Arbery." 
 
 "Young Mr. Arbery? Who is he? Not Squire Temper- 
 ley's son, of course ?" 
 
 " No, sir ; Mr. Arbery is the son of Mrs. Arbery, Granston 
 'Ouse, just above 'ere. 'E's just back from the Australies, and 
 we 'aven't seen yd the 'orse could throw 'im." 
 
 Having with a commendable pride finished which state- 
 ment, the ostler, whose manners happened to be of a more 
 free-and-easy description than obtained in Lombard Street, 
 was good enough to " throw his eye over Mr. Gayre's steed," 
 and remark " she was a tidy sort of beast, who I dessay 
 can go" 
 
 "Well," asked Sir Geoffrey, coming out of the bar, where 
 he had been taking something, "just for the good of the house," 
 " have you dropped on your friend's track yet ?" 
 
 " Yes, I think so," answered Mr. Gayre ; and having re- 
 ceived some further information on the exact position of Gran- 
 ston House, the pair departed, only walking their horses up the 
 Great North Road, but nevertheless eliciting an observation 
 from the ostler that " he hoped he might be blanked if those 
 gents didn't know something about riding." 
 
 On they went past the church and into the older part of 
 the village, which even so late as 1874 was little more than a 
 mere straggling street. They had got into the region of a few 
 unpretentious shops, when Mr. Gayre started so suddenly that 
 his mare sprang forward with a bound which elicited a pro-
 
 SUSAN. 85 
 
 fane inquiry from Sir Geoffrey as to *' what the ailed the 
 
 brute." 
 
 His brother-in-law did not answer. Apparently he was 
 'devoting his whole attention to " the — ■ — brute," but in reality 
 his eyes were following two persons who chanced to be saun- 
 tering slowly along the footpath ; one was a lady wearing a 
 white straw hat and pique dress of the same colour, both 
 trimmed with black ribbon ; the other the young fellow he had 
 seen in the Park. 
 
 He had found his quarry, and yet, though he passed the 
 pair so close that he could almost have laid his hand on Mr. 
 Arbery's shoulder, he did not pull up and accost him. 
 
 Shyness was a fault from which, as a rule, the banker might 
 be considered perfectly free ; but at that moment he felt it 
 impossible even to turn his head in the direction of the very 
 persons he had come to seek. 
 
 Not so Sir Geoffrey. That woman must indeed have been 
 old at whom he would have failed (to use his own expression) 
 to take a squint ; and, following his usual practice, he pro- 
 ceeded to honour with a hard stare a girl whom he had already 
 decided possessed "a deuced good pair of ankles ;" then, 
 
 " Lord bless my soul !" he exclaimed, in a tone loud enough 
 for all the village to hear, "if it isn't Susan Drummond !" and 
 Mr. Gayre, at last looking back, beheld Sir Geoftrey standing 
 in the middle of the road, with his horse's bridle slipped over 
 his arm, shaking both Miss Drummond's hands, and expressing 
 his delight and wonderment at meeting her in such an out-of- 
 the-way place so volubly that he was well-nigh unintelligible. 
 
 " Gayre, Gayre,' he cried, " stop a minute — this is Susan ; 
 Susan Drummond, you know. By Jove, who'd have thought 
 of coming across her here ? Susan, this is my brother-in-law ; 
 gad ! I never was so surprised in all the days of my life ! 
 What in the world are you doing in Enfield Highway ?" 
 
 Watching her, Mr. Gayre saw a shadow of disappointment 
 creeping over her face, lit up the instant before with a delighted 
 smile of pleasure. 
 
 " Did not Maggie tell you I was here?" she asked. 
 
 "How should she know?" demanded the Baronet. 
 
 "Why, I saw her one day in Hyde Park, about a month 
 ago ; didn't she tell you ?" repeated the girl. 
 
 " Not a word ; if she had you may be very sure I'd have 
 been down here before now. I — " and Sir Geoffrey was about 
 to plunge into the whole story of Peggy's statement that she
 
 86 SUSAN DRUMXIOND. 
 
 did not know even the address of her old friend, when a look 
 from Gayrc arrested the words on his tongue. 
 
 " You know what a careless forgetful baggage it is," he 
 said, with great presence of mind, "and how much fonder she 
 always was of telling things to other people than her own 
 father ; however, now I've found you, I won't lose sight of 
 you again; you must come over and see Peg, and have all 
 out with her. Come and pay us a long visit." 
 
 But Susan made no answer except, "You are very kind ; 
 but you always were kind to me, Sir Geoffrey." 
 
 "Papa Geoff," amended the Baronet. "Where are you 
 stopping? Who are you with? What are you doing? I am 
 amazed. Who'd have thought of seeing you here ?" 
 
 " There is nothing remarkable in seeing me here," she 
 answered, " but it is astonishing to see you. I should just as 
 soon have expected to see Chelston Church spire coming up 
 Enfield Highway as you. What can have brought you to this 
 part of the world ?" 
 
 " My brother-in-law wanted to find some fellow about a 
 hunter — " Sir Geoffrey was beginning, when Mr. Gayre inter- 
 posed. 
 
 " This is the very gentleman I wanted to see, I think," he 
 said, looking towards Mr. Arbery, who had stepped into the 
 background. "As I did not know your name," he went on, 
 speaking to Miss Drummond's companion, "we have had a 
 great deal of trouble in finding out who you were and where 
 you lived.'' 
 
 " Well, it's all right now, isn't it?" exclaimed Sir Geoffrey. 
 "Susan, my dear, I am so glad we came; you can't think how 
 pleased I am to see you again." 
 
 " This is my cousin, Mr. Arbery," she said, acknowledging 
 the Baronet's hearty words with a smile which chased the 
 shadows from her face ; and then, with a pretty grace, she 
 introduced him to Mr. Gayre, which ceremony duly performed, 
 they all walked on together to Granston House, where the 
 young man said his mother would be delighted to see them. 
 It is more than doubtful whether Mrs. Arbery was anything of 
 the kind ; nevertheless, she received the unexpected visitors 
 with a good grace, and asked them to stop and take early 
 dinner. 
 
 "We always dine early," explained Will Arbery ; "but you 
 can call it luncheon;" and then, while Sir Geoffrey was making 
 himself agreeable to Mrs. Arbery, whom he afterwards spoke
 
 SUSAN. 87 
 
 of as "shaky — deucedly shaky," and Susan left the room, pro- 
 bably to add a few touches to the appointments of the dinner- 
 table, ]\Ir. Arbery and Mr. Gayre talked, not merely about Mr. 
 " Temperley's hunter, but other equine matters. 
 
 At the meal to which they all subsequently sat down the 
 conversation was general. It turned a good deal on Australia, 
 and Mr. Arbery, who found much to say, and said it well, 
 interested Mr. Gayre considerably with his account of life on a 
 great sheep-run. He had three brothers settled in Australia, 
 and one sister — all married. "So when I get back," he added^ 
 " there will be five of us out there, old married folks. If we 
 could only induce my mother to come too, we should be as 
 happy as possible." 
 
 Mr. Gayre looked at Miss Drummond, who smiled amusedly 
 in reply, while Mrs. Arbery said, " I shall never cross the sea," 
 in a tone which told the banker this was a sore subject in the 
 family. 
 
 " But 'pon my soul," exclaimed Sir Geoffrey, " it seems to 
 me a splendid idea. Why can't we all go? What do you say, 
 Susan — will you pack up and let us leave England together ?" 
 
 " No,-' she answered ; " like my aunt, /never mean to take 
 so long a voyage." 
 
 " I have asked her already, and she refused me," declared 
 her cousin. 
 
 "That is very true. Will," she said; "but perhaps, if you 
 had implored me to share the sheep run instead of helping to 
 catch wild horses, my answer might have been different." 
 
 At which they all laughed — Mrs. Arbery a litde sadly, Mr. 
 Gayre with a sense of relief, Sir Geoffrey delighted to find his 
 old favourite " as saucy as ever," and Will Arbery after the 
 fashion of a person who felt himself fairly hit. 
 
 " No, Susie, it wouldn't," he said, looking at her with fond, 
 but merely cousinly, affection. " You are far too much of a 
 ' bloated aristocrat ' for Australia : you like purple and fine 
 linen, and servants, and regular meals, and nice furniture, 
 and—" 
 
 " I like civilisation, if that is what you mean," she summed 
 up. " I think a sheep-run in Cumberland or Wales, or even 
 Ireland, might be all very well ; but I confess I should not 
 care for it a thousand miles from a post-office." 
 
 Plearing which declaration Mrs. Arbery sighed deeply, and 
 Mr. Gayre drew his own conclusions. He understood there 
 sat the wife Mrs. Arbery would have liked for her son, and he
 
 88 SL'SylN DRUMMOND, 
 
 could not exactly understand why " cousin William " had 
 elected to go further afield, till a few weeks afterwards, when 
 Susan was good enough to enlighten him. 
 
 " I don't fancy," she said slyly, one day, " men usually fall 
 in love with a woman because their mothers think the par- 
 ticular ' she ' will make a good daughter-in-law." 
 
 After dinner they went out on the lawn, which was perched 
 high over the road, and where the whole "Way"' might have 
 watched them jjromenading had it chosen ; then they wound 
 round the house to a pretty trim flower-garden, laid out in the 
 Dutch style, and from thence Susan, and Mr. Gayre, and Sir 
 Geoffrey, and young Arbery strolled down the pleasant mea- 
 dows, in which the grass was being cut and the hay being 
 made. 
 
 A stream bordered by pollards meandered at one side of 
 the fields \ large Aylesbury ducks were disporting themselves 
 in the water ; afar ofif, beyond the level marshes, rose the 
 rising ground, near Sewardstone and Chingford ; there was a 
 great silence in the air, and it seemed to Mr. Gayre as if sud- 
 denly he had left some old life of unrest behind, and entered a 
 land where trouble could not enter. 
 
 Even Sir Geoffrey assumed quite a different aspect saunter- 
 ing through those Elysian Fields with his hat oft", discoursing 
 learnedly with young Arbery about country affairs, or turning 
 to speak to Susan as she and Mr. Gayre lagged behind. 
 
 " You wouldn't like to jump that stream now, would you, 
 Susie ?" he asked, as they came to a standstill at one particular 
 bend of the river. 
 
 *' No," she laughed. " I do not feel so young as I did 
 once, and besides, this is wider than the Chel even at the 
 Pleasaunce." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that," said the Baronet, surveying the 
 sluggish water dubiously. "Well, perhaps you are right. 
 Lord, Lord ! shall I ever forget that day when I was out in the 
 Long Meadow looking at Lady Mary — do you remember that 
 chestnut filly. Sue ? — the prettiest thing, the very prettiest ! — 
 seeing you come tearing down the green walk, with Lai Hilder- 
 ton behind you, racing like two mad things ! I shouted out to 
 you to mind the river ; but you just gathered your skirts about 
 you and took it like a deer. Gad, I never saw a patch upon 
 it before or since ! And, afterwards, you stood mocking Lai, 
 he on one side and you on t'other." 
 
 " He did not follow, then ?" suggested Mr. Gayre.
 
 SUSAN. 89 
 
 " If he had, he'd have pitched right in the middle of the 
 water. Lai was no jumper." 
 
 "Ah, but couldn't he paint, Sir Geoffrey?" said Susan, with 
 just the faintest mockery of an Irish accent as she uttered a 
 completely Irish sentence. 
 
 " Yes, certainly he was clever with his pencil," agreed Sir 
 Geoffrey. 
 
 " And who was this Mr. Hilderton ?" asked Mr. Gayre, 
 feeling really he could contain himself no longer. 
 
 " O, an old neighbour," answered Susan carelessly. " He 
 was intended for the Church, but preferred art and went to 
 Rome to study. For the credit of Chelston, we hope he will 
 be a great man yet. About three years ago he was good 
 enough to come down to see us aborigines, and caused quite a 
 sensation in a velvet suit and a red tie." 
 
 "And all the ladies fell in love with him, I suppose?" said 
 Mr. Gayre bitterly. 
 
 "I think a great many did," agreed Miss Drummond. 
 " He really is very handsome." 
 
 What a strange girl ! — one who spoke of men and life and 
 wooing and marrying as if she were seventy years of age ; who 
 addressed the representative of Gayre, Delone, Eyles, and Co. 
 as though she had frisked and frolicked about Chelston Plea- 
 saunce with him ! How frightfully easy were her manners ! — 
 well, perhaps not so easy as indifferent ; and yet — and yet who 
 was the only woman that since that crazy fancy of his youth, 
 had ever seemed winsome to him. 
 
 Already he loved her distractedly ; already he felt, on the 
 slightest provocation, madly jealous. The first six words she 
 spoke had not disenchanted him — quite the contrary. She was 
 different from the girl he expected — stronger — a woman better 
 worth loving and winning — a woman such as, in all his pre- 
 vious experience, he had never before met, and — 
 
 " I think, Gayre, we must be seeing now about getting back 
 to town," said Sir Geoffrey, who, fond though he might be and 
 was of Susan, felt the pastoral business, unenlivened by cham- 
 pagne and the hope of a dupe, wonderfully slow. 
 
 To this proposal Mr. Gayre at once assented. He felt that 
 whatever his own wishes might be, he and the Baronet could 
 not stay at Granston House for ever; and accordingly, de- 
 clining young Arbery's hospitable suggestion that they should 
 stop and have tea, and ride home in the cool of the evening, 
 it was finally settled their horses were to be saddled and taken
 
 90 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 to the back gate, where Susan undertook to pilot the visitors 
 in ten minutes. 
 
 " The back gate is really the carriage-gate here," she ex- 
 plained ; "only we have no carriage, and nothing in the stable, 
 except a cow and a donkey." 
 
 Killing that ten minutes— a process which Sir Geoffrey 
 thought occupied about ten hours— they paused beside a Mar- 
 shal Niel which ran over the drawing-room window. 
 
 " Give me a rose, Susie," said the Baronet ; and then, as 
 she complied, added, •' Give Gayre one, too. Now," he went 
 on, " you must fasten it in my coat, in memory of old times. 
 What jolly little buttonholes you used to make up for me at 
 Chelston ! Only look at Gayre— see what a mess he is making 
 of the performance. Better let Susie take your rose in hand." 
 
 Now the fact was that Mr. Gayre had never in all his life 
 worn a flower in his coat. Affecting a severe simplicity, he 
 eschewed jewelry, perfumes, buttonholes, and every vanity of 
 latter-day male life ; but not knowing what on earth to do with 
 the rose Susan had given him, feeling he could not go about 
 dangling it in his hand, he was, when Sir Geoffrey spoke, vainly 
 attempting to coax it to stay in his left-hand lapel. 
 
 " ^\^ill you really take pity upon me ?" he asked ; and the 
 blood came up into his face as he put this question. 
 
 " O, certainly !" said Susan ; and while fastening the stem, 
 she looked up at him, blushing too, but with a merry light in 
 her brown eyes. 
 
 "Gad," exclaimed Sir Geoffrey, complacently surveying his 
 decoration, " they'll think along the road we've been to Brox- 
 bourne Gardens !" a remark which induced such an expression 
 of disgust on Mr. Gayre's countenance that Susan laughed out- 
 right, and explained the correct form of bouquet generally borne 
 home in triumph from that place of gay resort. 
 
 " What people will imagine. Sir Geoffrey, is that you must 
 be a great rose fancier, and are returning from Paul's at Wal- 
 tham," she said; which suggestion of his brother-in-law being 
 mistaken for a florist so tickled Mr. Gayre's fancy that, his 
 good-humour quite restored, he joined in Miss Drummond's 
 merriment. 
 
 " You are a bad, bad girl !" declared the Baronet, pinching 
 her cheek. " Come now, before we leave, you must tell me 
 what day I am to drive over for you." 
 
 Then instantly Susan's manner changed. She didn't know ; 
 she was afraid she could not go ; perhaps Margaret might be
 
 SUSAN. 91 
 
 able to arrange to run down by train and spend a day with her ; 
 excuses Sir Geoftrey cut short by saying decidedly, 
 ^ ^ " Now look here, my girl, no use our beating about the 
 T)ush ; you're hufted, that's what you are, but you needn't be. 
 Peggy will be only too glad if you'll come and stop with us — 
 not for a night or two, remember, but on a long visit. She's 
 just as lonely a girl as you will find in London, and she has 
 not a friend on earth she likes as she does you. Of course, you 
 know, we are down in the world a bit, but you cannot be the 
 Susan I know if that makes any difference." 
 
 " I was sure the poverty touch would fetch her," he re- 
 marked afterwards to Mr, Gayre ; and it did " fetch " Miss 
 Drummond so far as to induce her to say "she would try to 
 go and see INIaggie," if that young lady would write and name 
 an hour when she should be likely to find her at home. 
 
 "I think I did that pretty well," remarked the Baronet, as 
 he and his brother-in-law rode straight down the wide High- 
 way to Edmonton, cheered by Mr. Arbery's parting assurance 
 that whichever road they took back they would fancy the 
 longest. " I think I did that pretty well, considering we had 
 nothing but water at dinner. How people can drink water, as 
 if they were beasts of the field, beats me altogether." 
 
 "If you were on the march and couldn't get any, you might 
 change your opinion." 
 
 " I might," said Sir Geoffrey, in a tone which implied he 
 did not think such a change very likely. 
 
 " However," he went on, " I am going to stop here for a 
 minute to ' bait ;' " and, suiting the action to the word, he rode 
 up to the door of the inn where he had previously partaken of 
 spirituous refreshment, leaving Mr. Gayre to walk slowly on 
 and admire the prospect of flat country which alone met his 
 eye, look where he would. 
 
 " I feel another man now," declared the Baronet, when he 
 overtook his brother-in-law. " Well, you haven't told me yet 
 what you think of Susan." 
 
 " She seems a very nice girl," answered Mr. Gayre coldly, 
 as it seemed to Susan's enthusiastic admirer. 
 
 " Nice ! I believe you. There's not a dark corner about 
 her. I've known her — how long haven't I known her ? — the 
 dearest little woman ! I used to think it was a pity I could 
 not harness her and Peggy when they were children ; such a 
 pair they'd have made— Susie in blue shoes, and my young 
 one in red, blue and red sashes, blue and red necklaces to
 
 92 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 match ; and later on, while Peg was posturing before a look- 
 ing-glass — if you believe me, from six years of age she was 
 always putting flowers in her hair and smiling at her own reflec- 
 tion — Susie woukl be out in the paddocks with me, or sitting 
 in the dining-room while I told her stories." 
 
 "Stories!" repeated Mr. Gayre in amazement, wondering 
 what sort of fiairy tales the Baronet's repertory contained. 
 
 " Yes, stories," said Sir Geoffrey defiantly. " I don't mean, 
 of course, nursery tales or foolish stuff such as most children 
 are crammed with ; but good sensible stories about duels and 
 races, and shooting, and spins across country — things likely to 
 improve her mind. Lord, how she used to drink them in ! 
 holding her breath almost till we got to the end of a run, and 
 clutching the arms of her chair with both hands, and well-nigh 
 gasping as I told her about flying over hedges and taking bull- 
 finches, and all the rest of it. She'd never have been what 
 she is if it hadn't been for me. One evening I made a great 
 mistake. I don't know how I happened to get upon Dick 
 Darrell, who was the hardest rider and the wildest devil I ever 
 did come across. He was going to be married and settle 
 down, and the young woman was stopping at Darrell Court 
 with the father. Dick thought he'd have a burst with the 
 hounds ; and if you believe me, when I came to where at the 
 last fence he went clean over his horse's head and broke his 
 neck, Susan fell to crying to such an extent, my housekeeper 
 wouldn't let her go back to the Hall that night. Ay, it seemed 
 a hard thing to take Darrell home stiff; such screaming and 
 weeping and wailing I never heard — the old man childless and 
 the bride a widow, as one may say." 
 
 " What became of the bride, as you call her?" asked Mr. 
 Gayre, with some interest. 
 
 " O, she stayed to comfort the Squire ; and comforted him 
 to such purpose that they made up a match between them." 
 
 " I thought as much," remarked his brother-in-law sardoni- 
 cally. "Where's your rose, Chelston?" 
 
 " Faith, I don't know," answered the Baronet, glancing at 
 his coat, and for the first time noticing the flower had disap- 
 peared. " I must have knocked the head off as I was mount- 
 ing this fidgety beast." 
 
 Mr. Gayre smiled, but said nothing. On the whole he was 
 not perhaps displeased that Sir Geoffrey had lost his Marshal 
 Niel, as he had already lost the whole of his other possessions. 
 
 Seated in the twilight, then, it was of Susan Drummond
 
 SUS^IV. 93 
 
 and Enfield Highway and fields of emerald green, and a blue 
 sky just flecked here and there with snow-white clouds, and 
 Jthe air filled with the ft-agrance of new-mown hay, that Mr, 
 Gayre thought, as he dreamed his day-dream, and built fancy 
 castles with towering pinnacles that glittered in the sun. Why 
 should he not win and wear her? Why should he not marry 
 and be happy ? Why should she not come stealing to him 
 through the gloom, and fill his empty heart, and change his 
 lonely life into one of utter content ? 
 
 She was young, very young, no doubt ; and he was old — 
 yet not so old, after all. She was poor, and he was rich enough 
 to give her all he fancied she could desire. Women had 
 figuratively torn caps about him ; why should he despair of 
 awakening an interest in Susan Drummond ? She had no 
 lover — he felt sure of that ; quite sure the depths of her nature 
 had never yet been stirred. 
 
 The twilight deepened ; it grew so dark he could not see 
 the objects surrounding him ; and yet he dreamt on, till sud- 
 denly the door opened, and an old servant, who had been 
 with him "through the wars," said, 
 
 " Mr. Sudlow, Colonel, wishes to know if he can see you." 
 
 "Yes," answered the "Colonel," coming back to earth and 
 its realities. "Ask him to walk inj and bring lights and 
 coffee."
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 MR. SUDLOW IS ADVISED FOR HIS GOOD. 
 
 Lights and Mr. Sudlow appeared together — the former in tall 
 silver candlesticks, massive, and of an antique pattern ; the 
 latter in all the splendour of evening dress. As they shook 
 hands Mr. Gayre surveyed his visitor. 
 
 "Going to some scene of gay festivity?" he inquired. 
 
 Mr. Sudlow coloured a little. 
 
 " No, nowhere very particular," he answered. " I just 
 looked in on — on my way. I thought you would not mind. 
 I have called so often lately and always found you out." 
 
 "Yes, it has been unfortunate," remarked the banker; but 
 he did not proceed to indulge in expressions of regret, or ten- 
 der any explanation of or apology for his absence. He only 
 asked Mr. Sudlow if he would take some coffee, and while 
 he sipped his own stood leaning against the mantelpiece, 
 looking thoughtfully down on the flowers that filled the wide 
 hearth. 
 
 For a few moments the younger man did not speak ; then 
 he said, as if in a sort of desperation, 
 
 " Mr. Gayre, zc'/icn are you going to introduce me to your 
 brother-in-law ?" 
 
 Mr. Gayre, thus directly appealed to, laughed, took another 
 lump of sugar and stirred his coffee, before he answered, 
 
 " I am sure I cannot tell ; fact is, the more I see of the 
 worthy Baronet the less I consider his acquaintance a blessing 
 to be desired." 
 
 " But you promised me," expostulated Mr. Sudlow ; " you 
 did — you know you did !" 
 
 " Did I ? Well, perhaps so ; only circumstances alter cases, 
 and with the fresh understanding I have recently gained of Sir 
 Geoffrey's character, I should certainly advise any one able to 
 keep him at arm's length to do so."
 
 MR. SUDLOW IS ADVISED FOR HIS GOOD. 95 
 
 "But it is not Sir Geoftrey I want to know — it is his 
 daughter." 
 
 "My dear fellow, don't excite yourself; of course I under- 
 stand it is the daughter. But you can't make her acquaintance 
 without at the same time making that of the father ; and, as a 
 friend, I say have nothing whatever to do with Sir GeoftVey 
 Chelston. You think you can take care of yourself, I know," 
 went on Mr. Gayre ; " that the owner of INIeridian Square will 
 be more than a match for the Baronet, without an acre of land 
 or a house of his own. On your own head, then, be it. You 
 shall become acquainted with a gentleman who, to quote those 
 words of Mr. Pickwick which so deceived the widow Bardell, 
 will teach you more tricks in a week than you would ever learn 
 in a year," 
 
 " And when ?" asked Mr. Sudlow suggestively. 
 
 " Only to consider the impatience of youth !" exclaimed 
 Mr. Gayre. " Perhaps you imagined I would take you to call 
 this minute," he added, with cruel irony ; " but I won't hurry 
 you along the road to destruction. One of these afternoons 
 we will search out Sir Geoffrey, about the time he arises from 
 slumber, and before he goes forth to seek whom he may de- 
 vour. But one word of caution, Sudlow," went on Mr. Gayre, 
 with a short bitter laugh : " don't let him choose you a 
 horse." 
 
 " You may be very sure I won't," returned Mr. Sudlow 
 with energy. 
 
 "I am aware you think you play billiards pretty well; still, 
 were I in your place, I would not pit my skill against the 
 Baronet's. ' Further, do not lend him any money ; do not let 
 him persuade you to put your name to paper ; be very wary 
 of all games both of chance and skill ; refrain from laying or 
 taking odds — " 
 
 "Anything else?" asked Mr. Sudlow, a little sulkily. 
 
 "Well, no, except that you would do well to have nothing 
 whatever to do with Sir Geoffrey Chelston." 
 
 " You must permit me to be the best judge of that." 
 
 " All right, so you shall ; only I should be very sorry to 
 see Meridian Square, and all the other elegant and conve- 
 nient, if less profitable, properties you possess, converted into 
 ducks and drakes; and that is a conjuring trick the Baronet 
 will perform with incredible rapidity unless you are very 
 careful."
 
 96 srSAN DRUM.yOND. 
 
 " I believe he has bit you" said Mr. Sudlow, with a certain 
 triumph. 
 
 "You arc mistaken in that belief," answered Mr. Gayre, 
 the coldness which had characterised his manner during the 
 interview deepening into displeasure. "In which direction are 
 you going, Sudlow ? I will walk part of the way with you. 
 I want a stroll and a cigar." 
 
 In some i^laces and with some people Mr. Sudlow was 
 often bold, not to say arrogant ; but the banker exercised a 
 deterrent influence over him, which he felt perhaps rather than 
 understood. 
 
 With almost any other man he might have prolonged the 
 conversation, and indulged in further argument ; but since his 
 youth he had looked up to and feared Mr. Gayre. Habit 
 accordingly proved stronger than indiscretion, and mutter- 
 ing something about the Strand, and looking in at one of 
 the theatres, he took the hint so plainly given, and rose 
 to go. 
 
 They passed together into the quiet street, and under the 
 peaceful stars sauntered slowly along, speaking no word for 
 some little time, each busy with his own thoughts, whatever 
 those thoughts might be. 
 
 It was Mr. Sudlow who broke the silence, and his first 
 remark proved he had been considering how to give Mr. Gayre 
 a rap over the knuckles. 
 
 " I was surprised to meet Miss Chelston the other day." 
 
 " In the Park ?" 
 
 " No, I have not seen her there for a long time. At Baker 
 Street Station." 
 
 " Romantic," commented Mr. Gayre, who, had he spoken 
 frankly, would have said he felt a great deal more surprised than 
 Mr. Sudlow. 
 
 " A railway-station is as good a place to meet a lady as any 
 other in these days," retorted the younger man. 
 
 " It may be, you ought to know." 
 
 " She was going to Kew." 
 
 " You mean my niece, I suppose ?" 
 
 "Yes ; and we travelled down in the same compartment." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 "She went to one of the old houses on the Green." 
 
 " Once more referring to Miss Chelston ?" 
 
 " Of course ; I did not know it was necessary to go on
 
 MR. SUDLOW IS ADVISED FOR HIS GOOD. 97 
 
 repeating a woman's name in conversation, like 'my lord' in 
 an official letter." 
 
 "O!" and Mr. Gayre walked on, smoking steadily, and 
 refused utterly to ask a single question, though Mr. Sudlow 
 waited and longed for him to do so. 
 
 "True love will excuse many things," began the banker at 
 last; " still, as neither Sir Geoffrey nor his daughter is aware 
 you fell in love with my niece the first day you saw her riding 
 remarkably badly in the Park, I really do not think I should 
 ever mention that you followed Miss Chelston in the manner 
 you seem to have done. The Baronet might think you had 
 been — spying." 
 
 " How do you know I was not going to the Green too, on 
 my own business?"' 
 
 " I do not know, of course ; I only suppose. And under 
 any circumstances I should not advise you to mention the 
 matter — I really should not." 
 
 " I only mentioned it now to show you — " 
 
 " To show me what ?" asked Mr. Gayre, as the other paused 
 and hesitated ; " to show you could form my niece's acquaint- 
 ance without my help. Make no mistake on that point, my 
 friend — you might get to know a milliner's apprentice by travel- 
 ling in the same compartment with her to Kew on Whit-Mon- 
 day, but not that of a girl in a higher rank of life." 
 
 "You are always so hard upon me," complained Mr. 
 Sudlow. " You generally take a wrong construction out of 
 what I say." 
 
 " Then learn to express yourself in such a way that mis- 
 construction is impossible," returned Mr. Gayre sternly. " At 
 all events, understand clearly that though Sir Geoffrey Chel- 
 ston is an unprincipled roue^ his daughter has never caught 
 even a glimpse of Bohemia, and I mean to take very good care 
 she never shall. Fortunately she has not the slightest inclina- 
 tion in that direction ; I believe a girl never lived more capable 
 of understanding and resenting the impertinence of modern 
 puppyhood than my niece." 
 
 " Do you suppose I was going to offer her any imperti- 
 nence?" 
 
 " How can I tell ? All I know is you had better not." 
 
 " Mr. Gayre, on my honour — " 
 
 " Your honour ! Well, well, let that pass ; proceed." 
 
 " I wish you would not so constantly catch me up — you 
 make me forget what I intended to say." 
 
 H
 
 98 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 " That is a pity, for you were, if I mistake not, about to 
 remark you admired the cahii chgnity of Miss Chelston's man- 
 ners, when answering the observations made to her by a gentle- 
 man ' who travelled in the same compartment all the way to 
 Kew,' as much as her beauty. Come, Sudlow, confess my 
 niece snubbed you effectually." 
 
 "She did not do anything of the sort." 
 
 " Do you expect me to believe she talked to you?" 
 
 " No, no ! O, no ! She did not talk, but she was quite 
 polite. Said * no,' and * yes,' and ' thank you,' and that." 
 
 " Evidently regarding you as an outer barbarian all the 
 time," suggested Mr. Gayre, with relish. " Yes, I know her 
 style. Frankly," he added, " for your sake I am very sorry this 
 nas happened ; why can't or won't you remember all girls are 
 not barmaids, and that the fascinating manner and brilliant 
 conversation which prove so effective across a marble-topped 
 counter are really worse than useless with young ladies who 
 have been discreetly brought up ?" 
 
 "You are always preaching to me," observed Mr. Sudlow. 
 
 " And with so little result I think I shall leave off preaching 
 altogether." 
 
 " You are offended, and I declare nothing in the world was 
 further from my intention than to annoy you.". 
 
 " We had better let the subject drop." 
 
 " But you will introduce me to your niece?" 
 
 " I shall have to reconsider that matter. Second thoughts 
 are often best." 
 
 " But, Mr. Gayre, indeed, I meant no harm. Pray do not 
 speak to me in that tone. You know I would not voluntarily 
 vex you for the world." 
 
 Mr. Gayre burst out laughing. It was the best thing pos- 
 sible for him to do under the circumstances. 
 
 " Three quarrels in one day !" he exclaimed. " It would 
 be wise, I think, to get me home and send for a doctor. Never- 
 theless, Sudlow, it was truth that I told just now. You must 
 mind your p's and q's when I introduce you to Sir Geoffrey 
 Chelston." 
 
 " I'll take good heed to every letter in the alphabet, if that 
 is all," exclaimed Mr. Sudlow, relieved. Yet as he walked 
 away, after parting from Mr. Gayre, who seemed disposed to 
 carry out the programme he had indicated, so far as hieing 
 him back to VVimpole Street was concerned, he muttered under
 
 MR. SUDLOW IS ADVISED FOR HIS GOOD. 99 
 
 his breath, " O, if I only once could get the chance of giving 
 you change in your own coin, I'd make your ears tingle ! I 
 wonder what has come to you lately ! You always were given 
 to gibing, but since the Baronet appeared on the scene you 
 have grown unbearable." 
 
 Once rid of his companion, Mr. Gayre only retraced the 
 way for a short distance towards Wimpole Street. Instead he 
 turned in the direction of Manchester Square, and walking 
 evidently for the sake of walking, and not because he desired 
 to reach any definite goal, occupied himself in reflections upon 
 the occurrences of the afternoon, devoting a considerable 
 amount of attention to that statement of Mr. Sudlow's concern- 
 ing Miss Margaret's visit to Kew. 
 
 " I wonder who it is she knows at Kew ?" he thought. 
 " Shall I try to get her married ? or, following the Canon's 
 sensible advice, settle a small annuity on her and wash my 
 hands of the whole business ? Heavens ! what dirty water I 
 always seem to be dabbling in now ! There was a time when 
 I would not have soiled the tip of my finger with it. Alas ! and 
 alas ! Nicholas Gayre, Love has, I fear, played you a scurvy 
 trick once more. You had better don cap and bells at once, 
 for you are a far greater fool than Sudlow, and all for the sake 
 of a woman concerning whom you know next to nothing. I 
 wonder if she will be able to sweeten this Marah — extract any 
 healing out of such a Bethesda ?" 
 
 For, indeed, when Mr. Gayre exhausted the subject (and 
 his mind was so constituted he could not help exhausting any 
 subject which concerned himself, whether agreeable or the 
 reverse) he found he had since that memorable day in May, 
 when the horse Mr. Arbery was riding shied at a steam-roller, 
 been travelling across a wilderness, in which the kvf springs 
 were very bitter and the pools brackish, and playing an ex- 
 tremely risky game. What he said was quite true. There had 
 been a time when he would not have meddled in Sir Geoffrey's 
 concerns for any consideration. You cannot touch pitch and 
 not be defiled was a truth the Gayres never cared to forget, 
 and Nicholas Gayre could not disguise from himself the fact 
 that his brother-in-law could in no moral sense be regarded as 
 clean. The more he saw of him the more hopelessly disre- 
 putable did the man appear. Washing an Ethiop white would 
 have been a possible task in comparison with taking even a 
 part of the stain out of the Baronet's nature.
 
 1 oo S USA N DR UMMOND. 
 
 In the days gone by, when Sir Geoffrey kept his account 
 in Lombard Street, on the first occasion of his drawing below 
 the large amount which Gayres expected to be kept as a bal- 
 ance, a letter was despatched to Chelston Pleasaunce, direct- 
 ing his attention to the fact, and begging that the mistake 
 might be rectified ; but, finding the same "mistake " repeated, 
 Mr. Gayre, Senior, requested that the account might be closed. 
 
 This was the beginning of a coolness which lasted up to 
 the time when Mr. Nicholas Gayre sought out his relative in 
 North Bank — a coolness which Sir Geoffrey's own conduct in- 
 tensified into total estrangement. The banker thought of all 
 this as he walked along the London streets under the quiet 
 stars, and a feeling not unlike shame oppressed him as he con- 
 sidered how utterly at variance his own conduct had of late 
 been with the traditions of his house. 
 
 "And all because of a woman's face," he decided. "Well, 
 I can't draw back now. I went into the Chelston pest-housef 
 with my eyes open, and whatever happens I have only myself 
 to thank. Sir Geoffrey is not any better than I expected to 
 find him ; and my niece is not much worse than I expected to 
 find her. She is false ; but she is not fast, thank Heaven. I 
 wonder who it is she knows at Kew? She ought not to be 
 running about London by herself; but I do not see that I can 
 interfere in the matter." And having, just as he reached his 
 own door, arrived at this sensible conclusion, Mr. Gayre put 
 his key in the lock, and passed into the library, where he saw 
 a letter lying on the table. 
 
 "It is from Sir Geoffrey, Colonel," said his servant; "a 
 messenger brought it up from the club. He did not know 
 whether any answer was required; so I told him you were out, 
 and that I had no idea when you would be back, but if a reply 
 was expected I could take it myself." 
 
 Mr. Gayre made no comment. He only lifted the note 
 with the usual dread and repugnance with which he always 
 approached the Baronet's communications, and, tearing open 
 the envelope, read : 
 
 "Dear Gayre, — Peggy is certainly turning over a new 
 leaf. What do you think she proposed this evening? Why, 
 that we should both run down to Enfield early to-morrow and 
 look up Susan. I can't tell you how pleased I am. I have 
 promised to be a good boy and get home betimes tonight, so 
 as to be in condition for the journey. Yours, G. C"
 
 MR. SUDLOW IS ADVISED FOR HIS GOOD. loi 
 
 " Now what is the English of this move ?" marvelled Mr. 
 Gayre. But he need not have exercised his mind over this 
 question. For once Miss Chelston was playing a perfectly 
 straightforward game. " Circumstances alter cases," and she 
 felt as anxious for Miss Drummond's company as she had once 
 been desirous of avoiding it.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 "should auld acquaintance be forgot?" 
 
 Peace reigned in Mr. Moreby's villa. The summer glory lay 
 golden without, sunshine dwelt within. Susan had come, and 
 the house seemed transformed. The rooms were the same, 
 the furniture was the same, and yet everything looked dif- 
 ferent ; the place had that charm of home it never possessed 
 before. Susan was there, with her bright cheerful face, her 
 pleasant laugh, her useful hands, her constant thoughtfulness, 
 her unselfish heart, her tireless consideration for others. Mis- 
 taken ! No, Mr. Gayre understood here at last was a woman 
 sound to the core ; a woman a man would be safe in loving, 
 and who herself could love till the last hour of her life. Already 
 he felt as if he had known her for years — as if there had 
 never been a time when he and Susan Drummond were total 
 strangers. 
 
 They sat at tea in the charming room overlooking the 
 lawn ; sun-blinds excluded the light and heat, the windows 
 were filled with flowers. Sir Geoffrey lay almost at full length 
 in an easy-chair ; his daughter was looking her best, and try- 
 ing to seem demurely unconscious of Mr. Sudlow's admiring 
 glances. 
 
 Miss Drummond presided over the tea equipage, and Mr. 
 Gayre was taking her part against the apparently good-natured 
 accusation of extravagance which Miss Chelston was bringing 
 against her. 
 
 But Susan needed no champion; she was perfectly well 
 able to defend herself. 
 
 " If one is to have tea at all one may as well have it good, 
 and I am very sure the extra cost cannot be a shilling a week. 
 I excessively dislike tea that has been 'brewed.'" 
 
 " So do I, Susan," exclaimed Sir Geoffrey, who had been 
 coaxed into accepting a cup of the refreshing beverage, and 
 was considering how to escape drinking it. "I'd just as soon 
 take a dose of senna."
 
 " SHOULD A ULD AC(2UAINTAXCE BE FORGOT?" 103 
 
 " Your tea is certainly extremely nice," capped Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " We are all teetotallers at Enfield, you see," went on Susan, 
 in calm explanation — " my cousin from choice, my aunt on 
 principle, and I and the servants from necessity." 
 
 " O Susan, how can you say such things !" expostulated 
 Miss Chelston, shocked. 
 
 " Have I said something very dreadful?" asked Miss Drum- 
 mond of the company generally. 
 
 " No, faith," cried Sir Geoffrey; "after the wine your uncle 
 used to have at the Hall you must find water an awful cross 
 to bear." 
 
 " Happily the water is very good at Enfield. But what I 
 meant to say was, that as we have no other extravagance we 
 surely are justified in making good tea." 
 
 "You shall make it as you like here, Susan. That lazy 
 little minx always leaves it to the servants, and nice stuiT they 
 turn out ;" and the Baronet set down his cup and took a little 
 stroll to the window, and peeped under the sun-blind and re- 
 marked he thought a breath of air was stirring, and then asked 
 Susan when they were to have a long ride together. " I'll find 
 you a mount," he added. 
 
 " I think there is one of my horses Miss Drummond would 
 like," remarked Mr. Gayre. 
 
 "O, you don't want to ride; do you, dear?" suggested 
 Miss Chelston softly. 
 
 "Yes, I do, very much indeed. But I must first get a 
 habit ; I won't bring eternal disgrace upon you, Maggie, by 
 wearing that old thing I had on when we met in the Park." 
 
 " It was a horror," said Miss Chelston. 
 
 " Ah, well, it won't offend your eyes again. I mean to 
 have one of the latest fashion, short and narrow, so that if I 
 am thrown I sha'n't have a chance of helping myself." 
 
 "Order it from my tailor, Susan," advised Sir Geoffrey; 
 "he never expects to be paid under six years." 
 
 "You had better have it from mine, Miss Drummond," 
 said Mr. Sudlow ; " he is a very good man, and allows fifteen 
 per cent for cash with order." 
 
 " What a pull you rich fellows have over us poor devils !" 
 groaned Sir Geoftrey ; " we are forced to pay through the nose 
 for everything." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Sudlow, for your suggestion," answered 
 Susan ; " but I am having the habit ' built,' as my cousin 
 phrases it, by the ' local practitioner.' "
 
 I04 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 "Good gracious, Susan, you might just as well put your 
 money in the fire !" said Miss Chelston. 
 
 " Wait till you see this great work of art," advised Susan. 
 " I venturctl to pay tlie old man a compliment about the fit, 
 which he received with lofty indifference, merely saying, ' Yes, 
 I think we are pretty good sculptors !' " 
 
 Mr. Gay re laughed, Miss Chelston looked disgusted, and 
 Sir Geoffrey declared, " By Jove, that wasn't bad !' 
 
 " What is the colour of the thing ?" asked Miss Chelston. 
 
 " The colour of the uniform of the Irish Constabulary," 
 said Miss Drummond, " invisible green. I am not going to 
 enter into competition with you, though I do think that precise 
 shade of blue in your habit divine." 
 
 " And so becoming," added Mr. Sudlow, as a general sort 
 of statement, which he made particular by a look at Miss 
 Chelston. 
 
 " And so becoming, as you truly remark," observed Miss 
 Drummond, laughing, " to some persons" 
 
 At this juncture Sir Geoffrey bethought him that the room 
 was unbearably hot, and that he would take a turn round the 
 garden to " stretch his legs a bit." 
 
 It was some time before he appeared sauntering over the 
 lawn, for it had been necessary for him to pause in the dining- 
 room and refresh exhausted nature from a convenient decanter. 
 
 Shortly Mr. Gayre joined him among the flowers, and then 
 learned his brother-in-law was deucedly sorry, but he had an 
 appointment he could not possibly miss. 
 
 " Don't let me drive you away, Gayre, though," he said. 
 " Make yourself as much at home as you can ; and look here, 
 you bring your friend up some evening to dinner. The girls 
 make luncheon, dinner when I am out ; but name your day, 
 and I daresay we can manage something fit to eat. Susan and 
 Mrs. Lavender shall go into committee." 
 
 "Are you going to instal Miss Drummond as housekeeper?" 
 asked Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " Bless you, she has installed herself. Peggy will do nothing 
 but dress. There never was such a girl for finery. She'll 
 have to marry somebody rich, for she'd very soon bring a poor 
 man to the workhouse. Has it struck you that Sudlow's 
 mightily taken with her?" 
 
 " He seems to admire her very much." 
 
 "Well, then, clearly understand, if he means business I 
 won't stand in the way. Anybody with half an eye can see
 
 " SHOULD A ULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOTr 105 
 
 there's not a bit of breed about him, but you say he's well off; 
 nobody without money need think of Peggy. It would be a 
 great rehef to me to have her well settled ; so now you know 
 ' my views, and, as far as I am concerned, your friend can pro- 
 pose as soon as he likes." 
 
 " But, good Heavens, he was only introduced to her the 
 other day !" 
 
 " I know that ; but ' happy's the wooing that's not long of 
 doing ;' and between you and me, the sooner we can get her off 
 our hands the better. A great deal of running could be done 
 in a short time ; and the days slip away when you are living in 
 a borrowed house and have to trust to your wits for money. I 
 thought I would just give you a hint of what is in my mind." 
 
 " Most kind of you, I'm sure." 
 
 "Well, my idea is a man can't be too straightforward, and 
 I may tell you the sooner Peggy is married the better I shall 
 be pleased." 
 
 "Surely you don't want, though, to throw her at the head 
 of the first person who seems to admire her ? Don't be in 
 such a hurry ; give the girl a chance. She may meet plenty 
 of men more desirable in every way than Mr. Sudlovv." 
 
 " She may," agreed Sir Geoffrey, " and also she may not ; 
 besides, Gayre, a ' bird in the hand,' you remember ; and don't 
 you make any mistake about sentiment, and all that sort of 
 thing, as regards Peggy. She is as cold as a stone. She cares 
 for nothing on earth but herself If she had been different she 
 might have done well for both of us." 
 
 " Then you had some plan in your head when you brought 
 her to London," thought Mr. Gayre, "which she has baulked." 
 
 " And she's not a bit clever," pursued Sir Geoffrey, anxious, 
 apparently, thoroughly to convince Mr. Gayre of the desir- 
 ability of closing with the first eligible offer. " All that can be 
 said in her favour is she's pretty, and she knows how to dress 
 herself" 
 
 " Two very good points about a woman," commented Mr. 
 Gayre. 
 
 " Well, well, I only tell you for your guidance." 
 
 " But, Sir Geoffrey, she is not my daughter ; if you want to 
 get her married you had better set to work for yourself, had 
 you not?" 
 
 " I ! What can I do, a poor fellow out at elbows with 
 Fortune, who has had the devil's own luck in life ? Besides, 
 it is not from my side of the house she gets her selfishness
 
 io6 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 and want of brains. If I had thought nriore of myself and 
 less of other people I should not have been placed as I am. 
 I have been too considerate, too honest, Gayre — that is about 
 the state of the case. Ah, if I had to begin life over again, I 
 would act very differently !'" 
 
 "I wouldn't vex myself about your own imperfections, were 
 I you." 
 
 " No ; it's of no use crying over spilt milk. But, to come 
 back to what we were saying, you keep that matter in mind, 
 and remember if your friend likes to propose I shall make no 
 objection. Some men would want to know a lot about family 
 and all the rest of it, but, thank Heaven, I have no prejudices. 
 Everybody must have a beginning, and all I shall require to be 
 satisfied about is, can he pay her milliner's bills and keep her 
 as a girl with such a face ought to be kept? Ah, talk of the 
 — here she comes ! Well, Peggy, how are you going to amuse 
 your uncle ? for I must be off. I am so sorry, Mr. Sudlow — 
 confoundedly sorry ; but Gayre has promised to bring you up 
 to dinner some day very soon. You'll come, quite in a friendly 
 way, won't you ? We are very plain people, but sincere. I 
 never ask any man to the house I don't want to see." 
 
 In which statement there was so much truth Mr. Gayre felt 
 that even mentally he could not controvert it, while Mr. 
 Sudlow, almost trembling with pleasure, said he would be 
 only too delighted to accept the invitation. 
 
 " That's all right, then," said the Baronet heartily. " Now 
 I really can't stop another minute. You'll excuse me, I'm 
 sure, Air. Sudlow. Till our next merry meeting, Gayre. Fare- 
 well, Peggy. You'll see the last of me, I know, Susan ;" and 
 he turned back a pleased face to his brother-in-law as Miss 
 Drummond slipped her hand through his arm and went with 
 him into the house. 
 
 Something in that action seemed to touch Mr. Gayre to 
 the heart. He had heard ere then of guardian angels, but 
 never previously did it fall to his lot to see a pure and lovely 
 woman taking charge of such a sinner as Sir Geoffrey Chelston. 
 
 "We must also be thinking about going," he said; but 
 Miss Chelston pleaded so prettily for a longer visit that the 
 gentlemen consented to remain till nearer dinner-time, and 
 finally it was arranged they should all go out for a turn in 
 Regent's Park. 
 
 " O, delightful !" exclaimed Susan, when the question was 
 referred to her. " I do think this part of the park so exquisite."
 
 " SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT?' 107 
 
 Half-an-hour later they were all strolling along together — 
 Susan in a black silk dress, Margaret in a brown, which became 
 .her as well as the blue cloth habit had done. Regent's Park 
 was looking its very best ; the ornamental water shimmered and 
 glittered under the beams of the evening sun. The leaves of 
 the trees were fresh and cool, and free from dust ; the birds 
 were singing in the mimic plantations ; there was a great peace 
 in the hour and the scene, which seemed to lay a soothing 
 hand on the hearts of two, at all events, who looked wistfully 
 at the landscape. 
 
 " It is very, very pretty," said Susan to Mr. Gayre ; and, 
 looking in her face, he agreed with her; //was, indeed, very, 
 very pretty. 
 
 " Are Kew Gardens well worth seeing ?" asked Susan, after 
 a minute's pause. 
 
 " Yes ; I like the wild part best, however, where one gets 
 away from the excursionists." 
 
 " Maggie and I are going down to Kew to-morrow ; per- 
 haps we might be able to see the gardens." 
 
 " They are open every day," said Mr. Gayre. 
 
 "It was not that I meant; we intended to visit two dear 
 old ladies that we used to know at Chelston. They are the 
 sisters-in-law of the former Rector. They used to live with and 
 keep house for him. Such charming ladies ! You can't think 
 how lovely they were ; the pink in their cheeks was so delicate, 
 and their eyes so clear and blue, and they dressed so plainly, 
 yet so spotlessly, if you know what I mean ; and the poor loved 
 them so much, and with reason. Well, the Rector died. But 
 I am afraid I tire you, Mr. Gayre." 
 
 " Tire ! Your story enchants me." 
 
 " The Rector died, and then it seemed such a terrible thing 
 for them to go into lodgings and live on their poor little income. 
 I am sure I lay awake at nights crying about them, for they 
 were such darlings. And then, in a minute, like something in 
 a fairy-tale, a distant relation died, and left them a house on 
 Kew Green for their lives. They took their lovely china and 
 Indian curiosities up there. I helped them pack. And a 
 niece, a widow, lives with them ; and they put their incomes 
 together; and it really is a delightful ending to what might 
 have been a sad tale. They have a nephew, an artist. I think 
 you heard Sir Geoffrey mention him." 
 
 " Is he the son of the widow ?" asked Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " No ; his mother died long and long ago."
 
 io8 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 "And is he still in Rome, or has he returned to England?" 
 
 " I liave not heard anything about him for a long time. I 
 shall know all to-morrow." 
 
 "At last," tlunight Mr. Gayre, "I have met a woman in 
 whom is no ' shadow of turning.' She is as transparent as 
 glass. She is frankness and truth itself." And he felt mightily 
 relieved ; for, after all, there seemed no wrong in his niece's 
 trip to Kew. 
 
 " Save that she ought not to have gone alone. But then, 
 if she never went out except with a chaperon, she might stop 
 at home for the term of her natural life." 
 
 Altogether it was an anomalous position. Mr. Gayre, when 
 he considered the matter dispassionately, found it extremely 
 difficult to define the rank to which his niece belonged. 
 
 " How fond, Miss Drummond," he said, " you seem to be 
 of every thing and person connected with Chelston !" 
 
 " If you only could imagine," she answered, "how happy I 
 was there, you would not wonder at my loving even the vaga- 
 bond curs running about the roads." 
 
 Chelston, she went on to tell him, was the loveliest place 
 in all the wide world. Had he ever been there? Yes, once. 
 Did he remember this, that, and the other about the Pleasaunce, 
 the yew hedges, the fish-ponds, the cherry orchard, the great 
 mulberry-trees, the vineries, the billiard-room, the library ? 
 
 " At one time I used almost to live at the Pleasaunce," she 
 explained. " Sir Geoftrey was good to me ;" and then in a few 
 words she told how, when but two years of age, her father died 
 out in India, and her mother drooped and pined, and was 
 buried in Chelston churchyard six months afterwards. 
 
 " I never knew what it was, though, really to miss my 
 parents," she said. " Everybody was so kind. I do not think 
 any child could have been more petted and spoiled than I. 
 My dear uncle would not even let me go to school to be 
 taught, as poor old nurse used to lament, to be like other 
 young ladies ; and I am very sure Maggie is right in saying I 
 did not learn much from the governesses, who were supposed 
 to teach useful knowledge. Dreadful, was it not?" 
 
 And Miss Drummond, remembering many pleasant speeches 
 Miss Chelston had made to her in Mr. Gayre's presence, turned 
 a mischievous laughing face to that gentleman, who, though he 
 only smiled in answer, thought if his companion were to be 
 regarded as an example of total ignorance, education might be 
 dispensed with.
 
 " SHOULD A ULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT f i 09 
 
 " I used to hear so much about you," Susan went on, " I 
 feel as if I had known you all my life. And then — papa was 
 an officer too." 
 
 ' " I wish I were an officer now," answered Mr. Gayre 
 heartily, " only that in such case I might not have had the 
 pleasure of making your acquaintance. Should you like to go 
 back to Chelston, Miss Drummond ?" 
 
 " I think not," she said, with a sad dreamy look in her 
 wonderful eyes. '• You see we cannot take up the past again 
 just as it was. It is like reading a book a second time, or 
 hearing a song, or seeing a sunset. It is never the same twice. 
 My past was very beautiful, but it is ended. You can't put 
 last year's leaves on the trees, and we — we can't stay children 
 and girls for ever. Pretty nearly all the people I loved are 
 dead or gone. No, I should not care for Chelston without my 
 kind old uncle, and Sir Geoffrey, and all the other friends I 
 was so fond of." And for a moment Susan turned aside, while 
 Mr. Gayre, wlio had his memories of loss, if not of love, walked 
 on in silence too. 
 
 Just then, while Mr. Sudlow and his companion were 
 gravely discoursing concerning the latest on dit — the Queen 
 and Royal Family, the picture of the year, and the play which 
 was considered most amusing, or the book attracting the great- 
 est attention — Mr. Gayre saw a gentleman striding along the 
 path, who, with eyes bent on the ground and hat pulled over 
 his brow, passed beautiful Miss Chelston without a look, and 
 would have served Miss Drummond in like manner had that 
 young lady not arrested his attention with a cry. 
 
 " Lai !" she said, " Lai !" and then they grasped hands, both 
 hands. 
 
 " O, I am so glad !" she went on, " I am so glad !" 
 
 " Where in all the wide world, Susan, did you spring from?" 
 he asked, his face radiant with pleasure. *' It is like the good 
 old long ago, meeting you again." 
 
 " I am stopping with the Chelstons," she answered. " O 
 Mr. Gayre, would you mind telling Margaret this is Mr. 
 Hilderlon?" 
 
 Sweetly and decorously, without any undue haste or excite- 
 ment, came back the fair Ma'-guerite. She did not call the 
 young gentleman " Lai." SJie did not greet him with effusion; 
 she only said, " How very odd ! We intended to go to Kew 
 tomorrow." 
 
 Susan's friendship, however, was of quite another kind. No
 
 no S USA N DR UMMOND. 
 
 cause to complain of the warmth of her greeting. She insisted 
 on knowing "Where he was," " What he was doing," "How he 
 was doing." While Miss Chelston seemed to be considering 
 how she could most gracefully eftace herself, Miss Drummond 
 asked fifty questions. 
 
 " I have a studio in Camden Town, Susan," said the young 
 man, " and your face is in a picture there. Come and see it — 
 do." 
 
 " Certainly I will," she answered. " Not to-morrow, but 
 the day after. Is it not wonderful to have met you ?" 
 
 " I don't know," he answered ; " I live not very far away." 
 And then, raising his hat to the rest of the party, and shaking 
 hands with Susan, he was gone. 
 
 " How could you," asked Miss Chelston chidingly — " how 
 could you think, dear, of saying we would go to Mr. Hilder- 
 ton's studio ? The thing is utterly impossible." 
 
 Sir Geoffrey's daughter tarried behind Mr. Sudlow to make 
 this remark, and her friend retorted, 
 
 " I never said yoii would go ; but / shall." 
 
 " Now, Susan darling !" 
 
 " Now, Marguerite !" 
 
 And the two women stood tall and lovely and defiant in 
 the evening light. 
 
 " If you would accept of my escort. Miss Drummond," said 
 Mr. Gayre softly. 
 
 " O, how very, very good you are !" exclaimed Susan, turn- 
 ing towards him with that charming smile which seemed her 
 greatest possession ; " I should be so glad if you would go 
 with me. Not because I mind what Margaret says in the least. 
 She knows, nobody better, that Lai and I have been good 
 brother and sister always, and shall be the same, I hope, till 
 the end of our days. But if you went with me, you might see 
 some picture you admired, and then you could talk of it to 
 your friends, and, perhaps, somebody might buy it. Lai is 
 very, very clever ; but — " 
 
 "Is that the Lai who did not jump the river at Chelston?" 
 asked Mr. Gayre. 
 
 Miss Chelston had, apparently in stately disgust of her 
 friend's frivolity and impropriety, resumed her walk with Mr. 
 Sudlow. 
 
 "Yes, poor Lai ! I am afraid he will never jump any river 
 anywhere," said Miss Drummond sadly. " Don't you know 
 that sort of man? But, of course, you must be acquainted
 
 " SHOULD A ULD ACQ UAINTANCE BE FORGOT? " 1 1 1 
 
 with all sorts of men. There are people who can write books, 
 and paint pictures, and compose music ; and yet not sell a 
 book or a picture or a song. I am afraid Lai won't do much 
 good, as far as making money is concerned, and yet he has 
 such genius. He did a crayon likeness of uncle, which was 
 indeed his living self. Poor, poor Lai ! Isn't he handsome ?" 
 
 With a light heart Mr. Gayre agreed the young man was 
 uncommonly handsome. 
 
 " I do not think it is well for men to be so very good- 
 looking," observed Miss Drummond. " I know his beauty 
 has been Lai Hilderton's ruin. His aunts denied him nothing, 
 and the women about Chelston, young and old, thought he 
 was a nonsuch. Poor Lai ! I have often felt sorry for him. 
 You will look at his pictures, won't you, Mr. Gayre ?" 
 
 If she only could have realised the fact she had but to speak 
 a little longer in similar terms to insure the purchase of Mr. 
 Hilderton's whole collection !
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 
 
 Days swept by. Since Mr. Gayre left the army, days had 
 never sped along so quickly. All his scruples were gone, his 
 painful self-examinations ended. He almost lived at North 
 Bank ; he walked and drove and rode with his niece and her 
 friend. Save for an uneasiness he could not explain, an occa- 
 sional doubt which would intrude, he was perfectly, utterly 
 happy and content. 
 
 For some reasons best known to himself — most probably 
 because he wished at once to begin operations upon the 
 widow's heart — Sir Geoffrey decided to accompany " his girls " 
 to Brunswick Square when the luncheon "came off." 
 
 " I think it would be only a fitting mark of respect to 
 your kind friend," he observed to Mr. Gayre, who merely said 
 " Very well," and having duly apprised Mrs. Jubbins of the 
 pleasure in store for her, announced that he would defer his 
 own visit till some future occasion. 
 
 According to the Baronet's account everything went ofK 
 delightfully. He knew he had made himself most agreeable. 
 INIrs. Jubbins' acquaintance with that class of " nobleman " 
 (brought prominently before the public by the Tichborne trial) 
 was of the slightest. Indeed^ she had never before known but 
 one "Sir" intimately, and he was only a red-faced, snub-nosed, 
 loud-talking gentleman in the tallow trade, who had been 
 knighted upon the occasion of some royal expedition to the 
 City. In comparison with him Sir Geoffrey's manners, when 
 on good behaviour, must have seemed princely. Truly, as 
 the widow told Mr. Gayre afterwards, his brother-in law was 
 "most affable," "and I am quite taken with your dear niece," 
 went on Mrs. Jubbins. "She is a most lovely girl, and so 
 sweet and winning; but I can't say I care for her friend. What 
 do you suppose she asked my maid ?" 
 
 "I really cannot conjecture. Was it something very dread- 
 ful ?"
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 
 
 113 
 
 " Very impertinent, at any rate," declared Mrs. Jubbins ; 
 " she asked her if my hair was all my own." 
 
 " Miss Drummond," said Mr. Gayre, when he next went 
 *■ to'North Bank, " may I inquire what induced you to put such 
 a singular question to Mrs. Jubbins' maid as you did about 
 that lady's hair ?" 
 
 '• It was not Susan, it was I," interposed Miss Chelston. " I 
 did not mean any rudeness, though it seems Mrs. Jubbins is very 
 angry with me. So she has been complaining to you, has she ?" 
 
 " Yes, but she said it was your friend. Miss Drummond, 
 what are you laughing at ?" 
 
 " I can tell you," said Miss Chelston, as Susan murmured 
 " Nothing." " She is wondering if Mrs. Jubbins let down her 
 back hair to prove to you it was ' all real, every bit of it ;' for 
 that is what she did the other day, when expressing her righte- 
 ous indignation to Susan." 
 
 " My acquaintance with that back hair is of too long a date 
 for practical assurance to be necessary," answered Mr. Gayre, 
 joining in Susan's mirth, which was now uncontrollable. 
 
 "Her hair is as coarse as a horse's mane," put in Miss 
 Chelston spitefully. 
 
 " O no, Maggie. It is not as fine as yours ; but it is mag- 
 nificent hair, for all that," said Susan. 
 
 " I do wish you would call me Marguerite !" exclaimed that 
 young lady. " I have told you over and over again I detest 
 hearing Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, from morning to night !" 
 
 " I'll call you Griselda, if you like," said her friend slyly. 
 
 " What I cannot conceive," remarked Mr. Gayre, " is how 
 Mrs. Jubbins came to imagine you were Miss Drummond, and 
 Miss Drummond you." 
 
 "■ It was all papa's fault," answered Miss Chelston. " You 
 know the ridiculous way he talks about Susan being his own 
 girl and his favourite child, and his two daughters, and all that 
 sort of thing ; and poor Mrs. Jubbins, whom I really do not 
 consider the cleverest or most brilliant person I ever met, got 
 utterly bewildered. Besides, Susan set herself to be so very 
 agreeable that I know I must have seemed a most reserved 
 and unpleasant young person by comparison ; and, of course, 
 Mrs. Jubbins imagined Mr. Gayre's niece could not be other 
 than delightful. She still believes Susan to be me. For some 
 reason, when Susan called the other day to inquire concern- 
 ing the health of Mrs. Jubbins' ankle, she did not think it 
 
 necessary to explain the mistake." 
 
 I
 
 1 1 4 SUSAN DR UMMOND. 
 
 "I thought it would be wiser to give her time to forget that 
 little matter of the hair," observed Miss Drummond. 
 
 "You had better try to make your peace, my dear Mar- 
 guerite," suggested Mr. Gayre, a little ironically. " I know no 
 kinder or better woman than Mrs. Jubbins; and it will grieve 
 me very much if she and you do not get on well together." 
 
 " If I can make her credit I am really your niece she will 
 forgive me readily," said Miss Chelston, in a tone which told 
 Mr. Gayre she understood the widow's feelings towards her 
 uncle, and did not approve of them. 
 
 Indeed, the whole question had been very freely com- 
 mented upon by Sir Geoffrey and before Miss Drummond. 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder," declared the Baronet, "if they make 
 a match of it yet. I think she'll bag her bird, after all. He's 
 a strange fellow, but I daresay he'll settle down in the traces 
 one of these days. I am sure he might have her for the 
 asking, and I don't think it would be a bad thing for him, eh, 
 Susan ?" 
 
 *' It does not strike me as very suitable," answered Susan. 
 
 " She's not exactly his sort, but she'd make him comfort- 
 able, I'll be bound. With such a lot of money any woman 
 must be considered suitable ; besides, Mrs. Jubbins is not 
 bad-looking, and she's a good soul, I feel satisfied." 
 
 "Is not Mr. Gayre rich enough?" asked Susan. "I 
 should have thought it was not necessary for him to marry 
 Money." 
 
 " Bless you, my girl, nobody is rich enough. Gayre must 
 have plenty ; but I daresay he could do with more, and it 
 would be an actual sin to let such a fortune slip out of the 
 family." 
 
 Susan did not say anything further, but she thought a great 
 deal ; and she often afterwards looked earnestly at Mrs. Jub- 
 bins, wondering whether Mr. Gayre would ever marry that 
 lady, and supposing he did how his notions and those of his 
 wife could be made to work harmoniously together. She liked 
 Mr. Gayre immensely ; but somehow she felt she did not like 
 him quite so well since the Baronet broached that idea of 
 marrying the widow for the sake of her money. 
 
 And yet he was so kind and considerate. It was he who 
 made her visit utterly delightful. Margaret and she had their 
 little tiffs and misunderstandings. Sir Geoffrey — well. Sir 
 Geoffrey did not seem to her quite the Sir Geoffrey of old. 
 " We go on," as she observed so truly to Mr. Gayre ; and
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 
 
 ii5 
 
 oftentimes we find old friends do not suit us if they have not 
 gone on our way. 
 
 Much as faces change — age, sadden, alter — they do not 
 change half so much as souls. This is what makes it so hard 
 to take up a friendship again after a long separation. We may 
 get accustomed to gray hair that had kept its sunny brown in 
 our loving memory — to wrinkles — to dim eyes — to the bowed 
 head and the faltering step ; but what we never grow reconciled 
 to are the moral changes wrought by time, the faults which 
 have become intensified, the latent weakness we never sus- 
 pected, the falsehood where we would have pledged our lives 
 there existed only truth, the frivolity and the selfishness where 
 we never dreamed to find other than high aims and noble 
 aspirations. 
 
 To the young the process of disillusion seems terrible, and 
 Susan found that to be forced to see her friends' faults was 
 very bitter indeed. 
 
 Nevertheless, spite of Sir Geoffrey's eternal Jeremiads on 
 the subject of money, and his daughter's jealousy, irritability, 
 and lack of ordinary straightforwardness, Susan did enjoy stop- 
 ping at North Bank. It was such a delightful change from the 
 deathly quietness and dull monotony of Enfield Highway, from 
 her aunt's lamentations, and the conventionality, not to say 
 stupidity, of her cousin's intended wife. 
 
 Constant variety was the rule at Sir Geoffrey's : except 
 when Margaret and she were alone together, Miss Drummond 
 never felt dull. 
 
 " I daresay I should tire of the life after a time," thought 
 Susan ; " but a little of it is delightful." 
 
 Flower-shows, concerts, exhibitions — Mr. Gayre took the 
 girls to everything that was going on. Sometimes Mr. Sudlow 
 was of the party, but the banker never seemed particularly 
 desirous of his company. He was waiting to see whether some 
 better chance might not open for his niece. The closer he came 
 in contact with that gentleman the less he liked him, " and yet 
 he is good enough for her," was his deliberate conclusion- 
 Happiness, in those bright sunshiny days, made Mr. Gayre 
 almost am.iable. Dimly it occurred to him that if he married 
 Susan he could then give Margaret the opportunity of meeting 
 men of a different class and stamp altogether. He had quite 
 made up his mind to ask Susan to be his wife ; but he did not 
 want to be precipitate. He wished to woo her almost imper- 
 ceptibly, to make himself necessary to her before he spoke of
 
 n 6 S USA N DR UMMOND. 
 
 love, and win her heart, if slowly, surely, and run no risk of 
 even a temporary rejection. He could not do without her. 
 She was the woman he had been waiting for through the years 
 — sweet, tender, spirited, truthful. Life seemed very beautiful 
 to him then — well worth living, indeed. 
 
 Properly speaking, Miss Drummond's sojourn at North 
 Bank was rather a succession of short visits than one continu- 
 ous stay. Every alternate week she " returned to Enfield, 
 remaining there from Friday till Monday — sometimes for a 
 longer period ; besides this, she and Miss Chelston went to 
 stop a little time with their old friends at Kew \ and when 
 Mrs. Jubbins took up her abode at Chislehurst she often had 
 both girls staying there. 
 
 The widow was in a state of the highest excitement con- 
 cerning a great party she meant to give. The Jones had cele- 
 brated the change to their new house with a ball ; the Browns 
 had got up a picnic really on a scale of unprecedented magnifi- 
 cence; whilst it was known the Robinsons intended to ask all 
 the world and his wife to a tremendous entertainment, when 
 their new *' mansion " at Walton was ready for occupation. 
 
 " So I really must do something," declared Mrs. Jubbins 
 to Mr. Gayre ; "it would be a sin and a shame to have such 
 a house as this and not ask one's friends to it." 
 
 *' Better give a garden-party," suggested the banker ; " and 
 then the young people can have a dance in the evening." 
 
 So said, so done ; the invitations were written and posted. 
 Every one Mrs. Jubbins had ever known was asked, and a 
 great number she never had known. 
 
 Sir Geoffrey begged her to give him some blank cards, and 
 promised to secure the presence *' of a few young fellows well 
 connected, and so forth." 
 
 The Jones, Browns, and Robinsons, and many other rich 
 families — all of the same walk in life — had each two or three 
 intimate friends who wanted, of all things, to make dear Mrs. 
 Jubbins' acquaintance. 
 
 Mrs. Jubbins even asked Canon and Mrs. Gayre and the 
 Misses Gayre, and received by return of post an emphatic 
 refusal. The widow was unwise enough to mention that she 
 expected Sir Geoffrey Chelston and his beautiful daughter to 
 be of the company. 
 
 " What a set your brother has got amongst !" said Mrs. 
 Gayre to her husband. " I should not be at all surprised to 
 hear any day he had married that Jubbins woman."
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 1 1 7 
 
 *' Neither should I," groaned the Canon. "There is one 
 comfort, however, she is enormously rich.^'' 
 
 " O, I don't believe in those City fortunes," retorted Mrs. 
 Gayre : " look at your father !" 
 
 " My dear !" exclaimed the clergyman, less in a tone of 
 endearment than of mild remonstrance. 
 
 The garden-party, to which Mrs. Jubbins had bidden a 
 crowd of people, and with which she intended to inaugurate 
 a new epoch, wherein " she should enjoy her money, and have 
 some good of her life,'' promised indeed to be a unique affair. 
 Where expense is no object it is comparatively easy to compass 
 success ; and on this occasion, if never on another, the widow 
 announced her intention of not troubling her head about six- 
 pences — a resolution which met with unqualified approval from 
 Sir Geoffrey. 
 
 " In for a penny, in for a pound," he said, in his off-hand, 
 agreeable way ; and then he asked Mrs Jubbins how she 
 " stood " for wine, and offered to take all trouble concerning 
 her cellar ofif her hands, by having anything she wanted sent 
 down by his own wine-merchant, " who supplies an excellent 
 article," finished the Baronet "and is a deuced nice sort of 
 fellow." 
 
 " Affable," however, though the Baronet might be, friendly 
 as well, and indeed on occasions homely in his discourse, Mrs. 
 Jubbins was not to be enticed into taking her custom away 
 from the houses that had won the favour of Mr. Jubbins 
 deceased, and Mr. Jubbins' father before him. She would as 
 soon have changed her church ; sooner, indeed, because in 
 her heart of hearts she inclined to a moderate ritual, while the 
 Jubbins had always pinned their simple faith to black gowns, 
 bad music, high pews, and the plainest of plain services. 
 
 At every turn Sir Geoffrey's proffered suggestions met with 
 a thankful but decided rejection. 
 
 For the commissariat department, concerning which the 
 lady's ideas were of the most liberal description, Mrs. Jubbins 
 felt that she and her butler and her cook, and the City pur- 
 veyors, would prove equal to the occasion. 
 
 " I am not afraid of being unable to feed my friends," she 
 said to Sir Geoffrey ; " only, how am I to amuse them ?" 
 
 " Let them amuse themselves," answered Sir Geoffrey. 
 " Gad, if they can't do that they had better stop away." 
 
 He had laid out his own scheme of entertainment, and also 
 given a private hint to Miss Chelston it would be wise for her
 
 1 1 S SUSAN DR UMMOND. 
 
 to make " some running with that Sudlow fellow." " Remem- 
 ber the crooked stick, my girl," he advised, ''and while we 
 are in comparatively smooth water try to get a bit ahead. 
 You mind what I say to you. If you don't, the time won't be 
 long coming you'll repent having neglected my advice." 
 
 Plants by the van-load, muslin by the acre, relays of 
 musicians, luncheon and supper from a firm of confectioners 
 well known to City folks, waiters whose dignity would not 
 have disgraced a Mansion House dinner : The Warren looking 
 charming in its setting of green trees, guests alighting as fast as 
 the carriages could set down, a hum of voices, dresses of every 
 possible fashion and colour, ladies young and old, winsome and 
 passee, girls and matrons, gentlemen in every variety of male 
 costume, people who had respected Mr. Jubbins, and people 
 who respected Mr. Higgs' daughter ; the combined odours of 
 all the flowers on earth, as it seemed, mingling with the sound 
 of rattling china and jingling glass ; everywhere a Babel of 
 tongues : guests sauntering solitary over the gardens, wonder- 
 ing how they were to get through the next few hours ; groups 
 chattering on the lawns ; sunshine streaming on the grass 
 through a tracery of leaves and branches ; rabbits scudding 
 away into the plantations; windows open to the ground ; light 
 curtains swaying gently in the summer air ; white pigeons with 
 pink feet and wondering eyes looking down on the company 
 from the roof; millionaires exchanging words of wisdom about 
 *' stocks," and " Turks," and " Brazils," on the terrace which 
 once " his lordship " had no doubt often paced ; Mrs. Jubbins 
 nervous, triumphant, handsome ; her children in a seventh 
 heaven of delight ; Sir Geoffrey Chelston in a perfectly new 
 white hat and pale-blue necktie, talking to everybody his dis- 
 cerning glance told him might be made worth the trouble; 
 Margaret radiantly beautiful, in a dress which suited her hopes 
 and expectations ; Susan more simply attired in accordance 
 with her certainties ; Mr. Arbery escorting a young lady whose 
 ultimate destination was Australia ; Mr. Lai Hilderton looking 
 handsome, forlorn, and discontented ; a sprinkling of clergy- 
 men ; a few unmistakable West Enders ; this was what Mr. 
 Gayre saw when he walked up from Chislehurst Station to The 
 Warren on that glorious afternoon in August. 
 
 The number of persons who declared it was "a perfect 
 day " could only have been equalled by those who talked 
 about Lord Flint and the Earl of Merioneth and the widowed
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 1 1 9 
 
 dowager. Though all dead or absent, the "noble family" 
 seemed to pervade the whole place. 
 
 The rooms were inspected, their appointments criticised, 
 "the style of architecture examined in detail. Opinions dif- 
 fered as to the convenience of the residence as a family 
 mansion ; but every one agreed it was just the place for a 
 party. Such a number of rooms, and all on the ground- 
 floor ! 
 
 "It is like wandering through the courts in the Crystal 
 Palace," said one young lady. 
 
 " As fine a billiard-room as I'd ever wish to see ! " ex- 
 claimed Sir Geoffrey. 
 
 "Never could have believed any man out of Bedlam would 
 build such a place ; it is offering a premium to burglars," 
 grumbled an old alderman. 
 
 " Dear me, I should not care to sit in these great drawing- 
 rooms by myself ! " cried a portly dowager, who, next minute, 
 confided to all whom it might concern, " I am such a poor 
 timid creature, though — a mere bundle of nerves." 
 
 " Just fancy lying awake at night and hstening to the wind 
 howling through the trees ! I would as soon live in the middle 
 of an American forest," ventured a lackadaisical miss to her 
 neighbour, with a shudder. 
 
 " I like it," answered the neighbour, who happened to be 
 Susan Urummond. 
 
 " You don't mean to say you live here ?" in a tone of 
 mingled awe and horror. 
 
 " No, but I stay here sometimes." 
 
 " And where do you sleep ? Surely not in one of those 
 dreadful rooms with only a pane of glass between you and 
 robbers !" 
 
 *' I am not afraid. For twenty years I resided in a much 
 more lonely house than this," 
 
 " Really ! I wonder how any one can do it ; I could not ! 
 I should dieP' 
 
 " Come into the garden, do," entreated a voice at Susan's 
 elbow ; and, turning, she saw Lionel Hilderton. 
 
 Crossing the spacious hall, they walked together to the gar- 
 dens, which were curiously planned on sloping terraces, rustic 
 steps, formed of logs laid lengthwise, lea(Hng from level to 
 level. 
 
 " What a rambling sort of place this is ! " remarked the 
 young man irritably, as he regarded the evidences of wealth
 
 I20 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 which met his eye at every turn; "and these huge gatherings 
 are a complete mistake. I don't know a soul here." 
 
 " You know mc" said Susan mildly. 
 
 " Yes, you of course ; but then everybody wants you ; and 
 what a set of people they are !" 
 
 '•' Some of them seem very nice, I think," dissented his 
 companion, 
 
 " O, you find good in every one ; but they are a lot of 
 dreadful snobs, you may depend. Of course I have not a word 
 to say against your friend Mrs. Jubbins, though she has about 
 as much appreciation of art as that cow ;" and Mr. Hilderton 
 pointed down to the plantations, where a milky mother was 
 seeking food under difficulties calculated to try her patience. 
 " She — Mrs. Jubbins I mean, not the cow — asked me the other 
 day what I would charge to paint her a picture exactly a yard 
 long. I found out she wanted it to put in a frame she had 
 by her not worth twopence. Of course I said I could not paint 
 to measure. If these sort of people do not know better they 
 ought to be taught." 
 
 " I think I should have taken the order," said Susan. 
 
 " I would not, then. If I have no respect for myself I 
 have for my art. To please you I consented to paint her 
 prosaic self and hideous children, but I feel I can't stand any 
 more of that sort of thing." 
 
 " You know I did all for the best." 
 
 " Of course I understand that ; and I am most grateful to 
 you ; but you cannot think how trying it is. You remember 
 that picture of ' Esther ' for which your friend Mr. Gayre said 
 he would try to find a purchaser ? Well, he sent a dealer — 
 actually a dealer, a man with dirty hands and diamond ring, and 
 heavy gold chain and thick nose, a Jew of the worst type — who 
 had the impudence to criticise my work. He was good enough 
 to say ' Esther ' herself was not so bad, and he was willing to 
 buy that painting, though the perspective was defective and the 
 minor figures unfinished. I told him he must take ' Mordecai ' 
 as well — that I could not part the pair. He declared he would 
 rather be without * Mordecai ' if I gave him the picture ; but 
 at last, finding me firm, offered eighteen shillings extra !" 
 
 " Poor Lai ! What did you do ?" 
 
 " Do ! I ordered him to leave the studio, and next day had 
 a note, saying I could send a line ' to his place ' if I thought 
 better of the matter." 
 
 *' So you failed to sell * Esther ' after all ?"
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 1 2 1 
 
 " I was forced to take his terms. I had not a sovereign left." 
 
 They went a little further without speaking a word \ then 
 . Mr. Hilderton took up his parable again. 
 
 " And to see all these people absolutely wallowing in 
 wealth ! It is utterly heart-breaking ! Don't you think so, 
 Susan ? — now, honestly, don't you ?" 
 
 "Well, no," she answered. "If they can derive happiness 
 from money and you from art, surely it is better they should 
 have their money and your art." 
 
 *' But I can't be happy without money. I want ever so 
 much. I'd like to be as rich as Rothschild, if I could." 
 
 " In that case would it not be wise to accept as many com- 
 missions as you can get, even if the people who give them are 
 not particularly interesting ? Were I you I should try to paint 
 Mrs. Jubbins and her children as well as possible, and then she 
 might get you more orders. To be quite plain, Lai, as you 
 are in such want of bread-and-butter, you ought not to quarrel 
 with it." 
 
 What answer the artist might have made to this extremely 
 wise speech will never now be known, for at that moment their 
 tete a-tetc was interrupted. 
 
 " O, here are the truants !" exclaimed Miss Chelston 
 gaily : she and Mr. Sudlow, coming from an opposite direction, 
 met Susan and Mr. Hilderton somewhat unexpectedly. " We 
 could not think where you had gone ; Mrs. Jubbins has been 
 sending in all directions after you. Aren't you tired of walking 
 about ? You missed some exquisite singing ; dancing will com- 
 mence presently — you had better come in and get cool." 
 
 " I am not at all too warm," answered Miss Drummond ; 
 "but I won't miss the dancing as well as the singing." 
 
 "And remember I am to have the first waltz," said Mr, 
 Hilderton. 
 
 " You shall have it, though you did not ask me before," she 
 laughed. 
 
 And then they all bent their steps in the direction of the 
 house, Mr. Hilderton drawing his companion a little back in 
 order to ask, 
 
 " Who on earth is that man Sudlow ?" 
 
 " Haven't an idea," replied Miss Drummond, in the same 
 low tone ; " some one Mr. Gayre knows." 
 
 " He is rich, too, I suppose ?" 
 
 " I fancy so ; but I don't know." 
 
 " He has eyes for nobody but your friend Miss Chelston."
 
 122 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 " Your friend, too, or at least she used to be." 
 
 " Ah, she is like every one else in this vile place. She 
 cares for nothing but money." 
 
 " I am sure you wrong licr," said Susan. 
 
 " It does not much matter whether I do or not. I am only 
 a struggling artist. You see she scarcely speaks to me." 
 
 " It is her quiet manner ; she does not mean to be unkind." 
 
 As they stood near one of the windows watching the quar- 
 tette slowly ascending from terrace to terrace, Mrs. Jubbins 
 was saying at that very moment to Mr. Gayre, "Judge for 
 yourself; I feel positive my idea is correct." 
 
 " I should not have thought it ; but ladies no doubt under- 
 stand all these matters better than we do," answered the banker 
 courteously. 
 
 " And it seems such a pity, for she is so good and charm- 
 ing, and he is so poor and so impracticable." 
 
 "We must try if we can't do something for him." 
 
 " Yes, you are always thinking how you can serve others." 
 This was quite a stock phrase of Mrs. Jubbins, and one which 
 Mr. Gayre had long ceased to deprecate. " But I really can't 
 see how he is to be helped ;" and then the widow went on to 
 relate the " painting by measure " episode, and also another 
 painful experience she had undergone in her efforts to " bring 
 the young man forward." 
 
 " Dear old Deputy Pettell came down to call on me the 
 other day, and you know what a judge he is of pictures ; he 
 has bought thousands of pounds' worth one time and another. 
 Well, I had got Mr. Hilderton to take my darling Ida as a 
 shepherdess with a crook and sheep — such a pretty idea — and 
 there was the portrait in the smaller drawing-room, and Mrs. 
 Robinson and her nephew Captain Flurry and Mr. Hilderton 
 in the other. Of course the painting instantly arrested Mr. 
 Deputy. ' What have we here ?' he asked ; and he put on his 
 spectacles, and I was just going to remark I hoped to intro- 
 duce the artist, who fortunately was at The Warren, when he 
 said, ' My dear I\Irs. Jubbins, where did you get this awful 
 daub from ? It is one of your girls, isn't it ? I suppose that 
 long stick she is balancing over her shoulder is meant for a 
 crook ; but those things can't be sheep — they have not even 
 the remotest resemblance to that animal' " 
 
 " What happened then ?" asked Mr. Gayre, as the widow 
 paused in her impetuous narrative. 
 
 *' From the next room," answered Mrs. Jubbins, " there
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 123 
 
 came this, quite loud and distinct : ' The man only knows a 
 sheep by its head and trotters P I declare, Mr. Gayre, I thought 
 I should have dropped ; and I felt so angry with Mrs. Robin- 
 son for laughing outright — you are aware the Robinsons never 
 liked the Pettells. But don't mention the matter before Miss 
 Drummond," added Mrs. Jubbins hurriedly, as that young 
 lady, leaving her friends, turned to enter by the window. " I 
 wouldn't have her vexed for the world !" 
 
 Time — relentless time — flew by. The afternoon had gone, 
 the evening was going, the time for the last train coming. 
 Everywhere, as it seemed, there was dancing — in the dining- 
 room, the larger drawing-room, the library, so miscalled from 
 the fact of a few volumes of forgotten magazines being there 
 imprisoned within glass cases, locked and bolted as though 
 each book were valuable as some old Elzevir. 
 
 The musicians were placed in the wide corridor which 
 divided the private part of the house into two portions ; and in 
 the various rooms set apart for their use light feet twinkled in 
 the mazes of the dance, and light hearts grew lighter and bright 
 eyes brighter as the old, old story, which will never stale till 
 the heavens are rolled up as a scroll, was told in words or 
 implied in glances more eloquent than any form of mortal 
 speech. 
 
 " There never was such a party." At last every one seemed 
 agreed on that point — the many who approved of the affair, and 
 the few who did not. As a " social gathering " it proved a 
 supreme success. No stand-aloofism \ no proud looks and 
 uplifted noses ; no " How the deuce did you come here, sir ?" 
 sort of expression. The City did not seem antagonistic to the 
 West, or the West supercilious to the City ; while the latest 
 fashion in suburbs did not disdain to ask a few kindly ques- 
 tions concerning " dear old Bloomsbury." 
 
 There a High Church clergyman was exchanging confi- 
 dences with a wealthy Dissenter, who had given Heaven only 
 knows how much to the destitute and heathen. Young Grace- 
 less was dancing with Miss Reubens, who was reported to have 
 a fortune of a hundred and fifty thousand. Beamish, the author 
 oi Fashion and Fancy, brought to Chislehurst by Mr. Hilderton, 
 was showing some tricks in the card-room, to the great mental 
 disturbance of a few old stagers, who looked upon levity in the 
 midst of a game of whist as a sort of act of bankruptcy ; while 
 Sir Geoffrey Chelston having button-holed Mr. Jabez Fallis, 
 the great match manufacturer, who was then running a tre-
 
 124 -S" US AN DR UMMOND. 
 
 mendous opposition to Bryant & Ma}', had just concluded a 
 deal with him for a pair of carriage-horses, subject to inspec- 
 tion and a vet.'s approval. 
 
 " The price may seem stiff," remarked the Baronet (at the 
 same time confidentially recommending Mr. Fallis to try some 
 sparkling hock \ " the very best I ever tasted ; and I thought 
 I knew every vintage wortli talking about'*'); "but there is not 
 such another pair or match in London — three parts thorough- 
 bred ; action perfect, temper ditto ; except that the mare has 
 a star on her forehead and the horse hasn't, might be twin 
 brother and sister. Now I tell you," and the Baronet dropped 
 his voice confidentially, " how they come to be in the market. 
 Bless you, I know all the ins and outs of these things ;" and 
 as he made this perfectly true assertion. Sir GeoftVey poured 
 his new friend out a fresh beaker of Mrs. Jubbins' wonderful 
 hock. " Graceless — that young fellow coming along now to 
 get an ice for the pretty girl he has been waltzing with — who 
 is she, did you say ? — had, owing to a Httle misadventure — 
 young fellows will be young fellows, but you can't make old 
 dowagers understand that — got into the black books of his 
 great aunt the Dowager Countess of Properton. Well, he knew 
 her ladyship's one weakness was horseflesh ; so as a sort of 
 propitiatory offering, he got over from Ireland two of the 
 sweetest things ever put into harness. They were just a bit 
 wild at first, as all Irish horses are \ they need coaxing and 
 humouring, like the Irish women, and then they'll go through 
 fire and water and to death for you, if need be. He and I 
 trained them : took them here and there, first wide of London, 
 then nearer and nearer, and into the Park, till they were at 
 last well-nigh perfect ; then what d'ye think happened?" 
 
 *' I can't imagine ; perhaps one on 'em fell lame," said the 
 match-maker, lapsing into a once-accustomed vernacular. 
 
 " Lord, no," said Sir Geoffrey ; " but the Dowager died. 
 When Graceless went down to the funeral, he found his name 
 not in the will. That was last week. There are the horses 
 eating their heads off; and to come to what I said, Mr. Fallis, 
 if they don't do their twelve miles, half country and half over 
 the stones, in less than forty minutes, why, I'll eat them, and 
 that's all about it." 
 
 The hall was set about with great banks of flowers. Sitting, 
 half hidden by ferns, palms, begonias, and a hundred sweet- 
 scented flowers, that certainly were that night not on deserts 
 wasting their perfumes, Mr. Gayre at length espied Miss Drum-
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 
 
 125 
 
 mond, whom he had for some time past been seeking. She 
 was nesthng behind a great oleander, with a scarlet shawl 
 . wrapped around her shoulders, her hands idly crossed in her 
 lap, and her head resting against the wall. Her whole attitude 
 was one of Hstless weariness ; and it seemed so strange to see 
 Susan Drummond, of all people in the world, sitting apart 
 idle and silent, that Mr. Gayre was about to approach and 
 ask if she felt ill, when Mr. Hilderton, hastily brushing past, 
 exclaimed, 
 
 " Come, Susan, this is our dance." 
 
 "I think not," she said; "but, in any case, I mean to 
 dance no more to-night." 
 
 " The translation of which is, you don't mean to dance 
 with me." 
 
 " I intended you to understand my words literally." 
 
 " If I were Mr. Sudlow your answer might be different." 
 
 " As you are not Mr. Sudlow, and as he will certainly not 
 ask me, there is no use speculating about my possible answer." 
 
 " If you will not dance, then, come and have an ice.'' 
 
 " No, thank you. Like a dear good Lai, do leave me in 
 peace. I want to be quiet for a few minutes. I really am very 
 tired." 
 
 " The next time I ask you to do anything for me — " began 
 the young man. 
 
 " I'll do it if I can possibly ; but not tonight." 
 
 " That is all very fine. I am going, Susan." 
 
 " It delights me to hear it." 
 
 " Perhaps some day you will feel sorry for this." 
 
 " I do not imagine I shall ; but you had better leave me 
 now to try to get up strength to bear the regret you prophesy 
 is in store." 
 
 " Susan, I never thought I should almost hate you." 
 
 "Neither do you hate me . seriously, Lai; you will regret 
 your words to-morrow." 
 
 " Is Miss Drummond not well ?" asked Mr. Gayre at this 
 juncture, calmly and innocently, as though he had just come 
 on the scene. 
 
 " I am only tired, Mr. Gayre," Susan answered for herself ; 
 while, without deigning an answer of any sort, Mr. Hilderton, 
 an ugly scowl disfiguring his handsome face, turned away 
 abrupdy, and strode out of the hall. 
 
 " I fear greatly you are ill," persisted the banker anxiously. 
 
 " No, indeed ; but I do feel very, very tired. I have been
 
 126 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 standing, talking, or dancing all day, and am beginning to think 
 with Mr. Hilderton, these continuous parties are mistakes. One 
 has too much for one's money," she added, with a laugh. 
 
 " You are about the only person here who thinks so, I 
 imagine," said Mr. Gayre. "Let me get you a little wine. 
 Sir Geoffrey has been chanting the praises of some hock, as 
 though he had a cellar-full to dispose of. Will you try its 
 virtues ?" 
 
 " Not even on Sir Geoffrey's recommendation," she an- 
 swered. " I think I will try instead the efficacy of night air. 
 Anything to be quiet for a short time ; anywhere to get away 
 from the sound of those eternal waltzes and mad galops." 
 
 " May I — will you allow me to accompany you ?" and the 
 banker's courteous manner formed a marked contrast to the 
 rude familiarity which had characterised Mr. Hilderton's 
 speech. 
 
 " I should be very glad ; but I do not like taking you away 
 from your friends." 
 
 " I have not many friends here," he answered ; ** and if I 
 had — " But he stopped m time, and drawing her hand within 
 his arm in the paternal manner he affected, led her out on to 
 the drive. 
 
 " The terrace is crowded," he explained ; "which way shall 
 we go?" 
 
 " Down towards the Hollow, please," said Susan ; and 
 accordingly, winding round the end of the house, they struck 
 into a narrow tortuous path which led to the plantations. 
 
 "How pretty it is!" remarked Susan, looking up at the 
 lighted windows, from which the music floated out into the 
 peaceful night, and sank tenderly down into the heart, softened 
 as music and bells always should be by distance. 
 
 " Yes, not a bad sort of ' Love in a cottage ' place." 
 
 " Too large for that," she answered. 
 
 " What a bad character to give Love I Do you think he 
 could not fill all those great rooms ?" 
 
 " He might ; but still The Warren does not fulfil one's ideal 
 — at least my ideal — of Love in a cottage : three small sitting- 
 rooms, if Love were inclined to be extravagant, a tiny tile- 
 paved kitchen with latticed casement, a thatched roof, in the 
 eaves of which martins and swallows make their nests — it is 
 said martins will never build where man and wife disagree — a 
 trellis-work porch covered all over with honeysuckle and jas- 
 mine — roses, crimson, white and pink, peeping in at the win-
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 
 
 127 
 
 dows. No, The Warren is too stately a cottage for ordinary 
 lovers. The very place, of course, for folk of high degree, but 
 not for common mortals. Do you know, I have often wondered 
 how a lord makes love." 
 
 " Very much like anybody else, I should think," answered 
 Mr. Gayre. 
 
 But Susan shook her head in dissent. 
 
 "I should say not, though of course I am no judge ; for I 
 never knew but one lord, and he was a dreadful old man. 
 People said he beat his wife, and certainly she looked miser- 
 able ; and I knew — for I saw it — that he kept a book in which 
 every household item was entered. You would hardly believe 
 that the diary ran something in this fashion : 
 
 " ' At luncheon to-day : Mr. Gayre, Mrs. Jubbins, Sir 
 Geoffrey Chelston, Miss Chelston, Miss Drummond. Game- 
 pie, cutlets, blancmange, stewed fruit : nothing sent doivn^ " ; 
 
 " You cannot mean that !" exclaimed Mr. Gayre in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " Indeed I do. The book had been handed to the house- 
 keeper to convict her of some sin regarding three sponge-cakes, 
 I think, and she showed it to me. I looked at a page or two, 
 and saw my own name with this comment : ' Miss Dnimmond 
 ■was he/ped twice to cold beef.'' O ! and I remember also : ' Mem. 
 — Never to ask young Hilderton again ; he drank three glasses 
 of old madeira.' And poor Lai really did not know what he 
 was drinking." 
 
 " By the bye, I wanted to speak to you about Mr. Hilder- 
 ton," began Mr. Gayre. " I could not avoid hearing what he 
 said to you in the hall just now." 
 
 " Yes !" said Susan, surprised ; and she waited for the next 
 words her companion should utter.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 SIR Geoffrey's opinions. 
 
 Apparently INIr. Gayre found his subject less easy than it 
 seemed at first mention, for, instead of proceeding to say what 
 he had to say, he^repeated his former statement in a different 
 form. 
 
 " Believe me, I played eavesdropper quite unintentionally. 
 It was impossible for me to help hearing your conversation." 
 
 " No," answered Susan, varying her monosyllable, but not 
 its sense. " It does not matter in the least," she went on, 
 imagining Mr. Gayre intended to convey some sort of apology. 
 *' Lai spoke loud enough for all the world to hear." ^\t 
 
 The banker laughed. " That is quite true," he said. " Of 
 course, Miss Drummond, it would be both impertinent and in- 
 trusive were I to make any remark on Mr. Hilderton's words. 
 All I want to say is — " 
 
 " Don't say anything hard about poor Lai," she interrupted. 
 " He is trying at times ; but so few people understand him." 
 
 " I think I do." 
 
 " No, indeed, you cannot. Even to-night, for instance — " 
 and then Lai's champion paused suddenly. 
 
 " Even to-night, for instance ?" repeated Mr. Gayre, with 
 quiet suggestiveness. 
 
 " I dislike half sentences, and yet I cannot finish mine," 
 said Susan. " I may tell you this much, however," she added, 
 " that the day's festivities have tried his not particularly equable 
 temper a good deal. After all, if you think over the position, 
 it cannot be pleasant for a poor man who does possess genius 
 to mix amongst people incapable of recognising genius till it is 
 successful !" 
 
 " You bring me to the very point I wanted to reach," replied 
 the banker. " I wish to help Mr. Hilderton to make the genius 
 he undoubtedly possesses profitable ; but I scarcely know how 
 to set about the matter. He is a little ' difficult.' " 
 
 " Not a little — very," amended Susan. " So difficult, that
 
 .S7A' GEOFFREY'S OPINIONS. 129 
 
 I really sometimes fail to see hew even his best friends are to 
 put him in the straight road for fortune." 
 
 " I am quite willing to try, if you assist me with a few hints. 
 "Knowing the interest — the great interest — you take in Mr. 
 Hilderton's future, it would give me the sincerest pleasure to 
 aid him by any means in my power." 
 
 " I certainly like Lai," answered Susan slowly, struck by 
 something in her companion's tone — something implied which 
 she instinctively felt she ought to show him she understood — 
 "very much indeed ; both for his own sake, and on account of 
 old times ; but — " 
 
 " I suppose one cannot expect a young lady to say more," 
 Mr. Gayre observed, almost as if by way of inquiry. 
 
 " I hope, Mr. Gayre, you do not imagine for a moment — " 
 
 " What, Miss Drummond ?" 
 
 " That I care for Mr. Hilderton excepting as a friend ? A 
 dear friend, of course ; but one who could never by any possi- 
 bility be more to me." Susan was a little angry, and spoke 
 with a plain decision no man could really have misinterpreted. 
 
 Mr. Gayre did not, at all events, though it suited his pur- 
 pose to ask, 
 
 " And why should I not imagine he might some day be 
 more to you ?" 
 
 " Because," she answered, " I thought you knew me better." 
 
 Just for a moment there came a wild temptation over him 
 to say he did, to cast his arms around her and strain her to his 
 heart, and then and there, under the silent stars, with lights 
 gleaming through the open windows above, and music floating 
 down to where they stood, tell the tale of how love in middle 
 age had come to him, and made life all beautiful and good and 
 sweet, since a certain May day, when for the first time he saw, 
 in Hyde Park, Susan Drummond's fair dear face calmly watch- 
 ing the antics of Squire Temperley's hunter. 
 
 But he was prudent ; he did know her so well that he felt 
 sure, if the faintest consciousness of liking him over-much had 
 entered her mind, those charming lips would never have spoken 
 the words which filled his heart with such delight. He would 
 wait ; he would not frighten, even by a gesture, this innocent, 
 fearless, winsome bird, which seemed inclined to flutter towards 
 him and settle on his hand. 
 
 " To be quite candid," he answered, and in his voice there 
 was no trace of the strong constraint he put on his speech, *'I 
 thought I did know you better. It was an idea which would 
 
 K
 
 130 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 never have entered my own mind; but Mrs. Jubbins felt so 
 sure, so satisfied — " 
 
 "Dear, kind Mrs. Jubbins," murmured Susan, "She has 
 indeed been good to Lai." 
 
 " Then there is really nothing in the afifair ?" 
 
 " Nothing whatever ; nothing on either side," she said 
 eagerly, yet with pretty confusion. " Still, none the less, Mr. 
 Gayre, you will help him, won't you ?" 
 
 None the less ! If she could only have read his soul she 
 would have understood all the more — a thousand times the 
 more. 
 
 " I will do my best, my very best for him," answered the 
 banker earnestly ; " but you must help me, Miss Drummond. 
 You will teach me how to give him hints and avoid offence." 
 
 "Not a very easy task," she declared; "but I will try to 
 teach you the geography of that very strange country, Lionel 
 Hilderton's mind ; that is to say, so far as I may," she added, 
 with an unintentional significance. " And now you must not 
 say I am like a child who does not know what it wants if I 
 ask you to take me in again. I feel as much too cold as I 
 did too warm ten minutes ago. The night air out here is 
 chilly." 
 
 " Wrap your shawl closer around you," said Mr. Gayre 
 anxiously. "I am afraid you are not well. You have been 
 over-exciting yourself." 
 
 " Perhaps I have a little," she agreed ; " but that is nothing, 
 and I feel so much happier, so very much happier, since we 
 talked about Lai. I do not know how to thank you enough ; 
 I do not indeed." 
 
 Mr. Gayre could have told her ; but once again he refrained. 
 Who would willingly, even for reality, break the soft spell of 
 such a dream as the man then revelled in ? 
 
 ** And so," to change the subject, he said, looking up at 
 The Warren, "you think Love would not be a suitable tenant 
 for Lady Merioneth's cottage?" 
 
 " Well, you see," explained Susan, leaning a little on his 
 arm as they ascended the slope, her head bent somewhat back, 
 her eyes scanning the long terrace and the brilliantly-lighted 
 windows, '• the poets, so far as I can remember, have never yet 
 represented Love as a millionaire." 
 
 " What do you think of Mr. Sudlow as combining both 
 characters ?" 
 
 " I may be wrong," she answered, " but I fancy he feels his
 
 S/R GEOFFREY'S OPINIOA'S. 131 
 
 position as a rich man too much to act the part of Cupid very 
 naturally." 
 
 " And yet he is deeply smitten with my niece." 
 
 " So I see," Susan agreed ; and they proceeded a dozen 
 steps or more in silence. 
 
 They were slowly ascending towards the houie. Mingling 
 with the tones of the music they could hear the voices of those 
 guests who were pacing to and fro, or standing upon the ter- 
 race. Now there came to them the curious, muffled, yet con- 
 tinuous noise produced by a hundred light feet skimming over 
 polished floors — a moment more, and they were able to catch 
 glimpses of the dancers themselves. Soon it would be all over, 
 that brief time spent in paradise, which Mr. Gayre knew he 
 should never, while life lasted, forget. Involuntarily almost he 
 slackened his already tardy steps, and said. 
 
 " Do not walk so fast, Miss Drummond. You are tired." 
 
 "Fast !" she repeated; "slow, rather, even for a snail;" at 
 the same time, however, following his example, v/hile she turned 
 a thoughtful dreamy face towards the gleaming lights and the 
 laughing groups, and the flitting figures as they appeared and 
 disappeared within the rooms. 
 
 " If you could choose your lot in life," asked the banker, 
 breaking in upon her reverie, " what would it be ?" 
 
 "You ask a very strange question," said Susan, turning 
 towards him a glance eloquent in its wistful astonishment. 
 
 " Do I ? And yet one I should imagine easily answered. 
 We all have, or have had, I suppose, our dreams of what we 
 should like life to prove. If some enchanter put it into your 
 power to-night to select your path, where would you have it lie ? 
 Across the hill-top or winding among lowly valleys ? Should 
 you select to be rich and great, or humble and out of the 
 battle ? Perhaps, like Agur, of whom we are told so very little 
 you would pray for a happy mean ?" 
 
 " I don't think I should," she replied. 
 
 " What would you ask for, then ? ' he persisted. " Wealth 
 power, love, genius ?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " Is it that you will not tell me, or that, never having 
 thought the question out previously, you are unable to de- 
 cide?" 
 
 " I never have thought about the matter before," she said. 
 " Still, I fancy I know what I should most wish to be able 
 to do."
 
 T32 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 "And that is— ?" 
 
 "You must not laugh, Mr. Gayre, if I tell you — I could not 
 bear you to laugh." 
 
 "On my honour. I won't laugh, no matter how extraordi- 
 nary your desire may seem." 
 
 *' I should wish, then — " 
 
 " Yes, Miss Drummond ?" for she stopped and hesitated. 
 
 " To be able to make the best of whatever lot was appointed 
 for me. If I were wise I know I should not ask for riches, or 
 competence, or happiness, or talent, or renown ; but simply that 
 I might have strength and wisdom given me to be, not merely 
 content in the state of life assigned, but to make a ' good thing of 
 it,' as Sir Geoffrey would say." And for a moment, in the star- 
 light, Mr. Gayre could see a smile wreathe Susan's lips and 
 chase away the grave shadows that had seemed to change the 
 whole expression of her tender lovely face. 
 
 For a moment the banker was startled — actually startled. 
 He had long felt the girl's daily life and practice to be a lay 
 sermon \ but he was scarcely prepared for such a confession of 
 faith as that involved in the words she uttered. Just at first he 
 did not understand, even dimly, what she meant, and days and 
 weeks and months, and even years, were destined to pass before 
 the man thoroughly comprehended youth in its ignorance may 
 conceive a simple and sublime ideal that shall yet, with tears 
 and struggles, with sorrow and pain, eventually impress some- 
 thing like the image of Divinity upon broken and contrite 
 hearts, or souls worn, weary, and buffeted by the billows of 
 temptation, by the agony of remorse ! 
 
 Had he only known it, he was standing then under the 
 starlight side by side with his better angel. Yet the world and 
 the things of the world left him without other answer to her 
 words than the question, 
 
 "Are you a fatalist. Miss Drummond? Do you believe we 
 cannot even rough-hew the marble of our lives?" 
 
 " I believe," she answered, " that as we cannot forecast the 
 events of the next twenty-four hours, as we are unable to tell 
 in the morning what may occur before night, ' free will ' resolves 
 itself into whether we shall be good or bad children in our 
 school and playtime. Fact is, Mr. Gayre," added Susan, with 
 a gaiety which had a touch of underlying sadness, " I have been 
 enjoying life too much lately, and so I want to prepare m.yself 
 to bear the dark days bravely when they come — as come they 
 must."
 
 SIR GEOFFREY'S OPINIONS. 133 
 
 "You add the Spirit of Prophecy to the Voice of the Preacher, 
 Miss Dru'mmond." 
 
 " Thank you for listening to the words of both so gravely," 
 'answered Susan ; and as she spoke she would have taken her 
 hand from his arm, and turned to enter the house by a glass 
 door opening on a corridor which split the cottage in twain, 
 and gave egress to all the reception and some of the principal 
 bed rooms, had not j\Ir. Gayre detained her. 
 
 " Indeed, indeed," he said, " I meant no sarcasm. I feel 
 there is truth underlying your words, though I confess I do not 
 exactly comprehend them. Why should you, in your sunny youth, 
 talk so wisely concerning dark days ? Why should you, from 
 whom all true men would keep even the knowledge of sin and 
 trouble, imagine it could ever prove necessary for you to ' make 
 the best of your lot in life ' ?" 
 
 " Because I have known sorrow, and am certain I shall 
 know more ; besides, Mr. Gayre, even if such a thing were 
 possible, I should not like to live a perfectly prosperous and 
 easy life. One ought to see both sides." 
 
 " True daughter of Eve, you want to pluck of the tree of 
 the knowledge of good and evil 1 I really cannot recollect ever 
 having heard you take so despondent a view of life before. Is 
 it Mr. Hilderton's poverty, or Mr. Sudlow's plenty, or this gay 
 and festive scene, which causes you to regard existence as so 
 utterly gloomy an affair ?" 
 
 She did not answer for a moment. Somehow, as he paused 
 and listened, he felt rather than heard she was catching a sob- 
 bing breath; then just as it seemed he could contain himself 
 no longer, as if he must pour forth the full torrent he had so 
 long restrained, she said, with a little touch of her usual 
 vivacity, 
 
 '• There are some people, you know, Mr. Gayre, in whom 
 the spectacle of a crowd induces a far greater melancholy than 
 the sight of a single corpse ; especially if the corpse has had 
 anything to bequeath. Well, in a different way that is my case 
 to-night. I suppose it is only because I am so tired that I 
 project myself (that is a good word) to a time when not merely 
 in those now brilliantly lighted rooms there won't be a single 
 guest, but when I myself, Susan Drummond, shall feel 
 
 ' Like one who treads alone 
 Some banquet-hall deserted.' 
 
 Forgive me, Mr. Gayre ; ah, I did not mean to make you
 
 134 SUSAN DRUMJJOXD. 
 
 gloomy too. I am going to Mrs. Jubbins ; I want to ask her 
 a favour." And with a smile she left him at the porch, and, 
 crossing the wide hall, made her way to the inner drawing- 
 room, from which a few days previously had proceeded the 
 speech that struck Deputy Peitell dumlD. Following close 
 upon her, Mr. Gayre saw the girl glide behind the easy-chairs 
 and lounges, where dowagers sat fanning themselves, and 
 exchanging weighty confidences concerning household matters, 
 and the perfections of their children, till she reached Mrs. 
 Jubbins, standing near one of the windows talking to Mr. 
 Erown, who felt even his great mansion at "W^alton-on-Thames 
 shrink into insignificance beside Lady Merioneth's " little box," 
 into which, by a mere freak of Fortune, the widow had walked 
 as " coolly and unconcernedly as if she were as intimately 
 acquainted with noblemen's houses as with the old place in 
 Brunswick Square." For a minute Susan stood quietly waiting, 
 her flice white as her dress, and a far-off yearning expression in 
 those soft tender brown eyes the banker had never seen before. 
 Then suddenly Mrs. Jubbins turning became aware of lier 
 presence. Whatever Susan's request, it was evidently granted 
 with pleasure. The hostess touched the fair cheek with her 
 fan, lingeringly, lovingly. Mr. Gayre could have blessed the 
 buxom Eliza for that graceful caress. Then as Miss Drum- 
 mond, threading her way back as dexterously as she had come, 
 passed through the archway into the long drawing-room, where 
 dancing was in progress, INIrs. Jubbins made some remark to 
 the Walton-on-Thames Croesus the banker knew had kindly 
 reference to his niece's friend. 
 
 Still standing by the door, he saw Susan's white dress flit- 
 ting down the corridor. It went on and on, past the hall, past 
 the dining and morning and billiard rooms, past the library and 
 the state bed-chambers ; finally disappearing down a passage 
 at right angles with the main gallery. Through the music, 
 through the tip-tapping of the dancers' feet, through the buzz 
 of conversation, and the clatter of plates, and popping of corks 
 in the supper-room, he heard the closing of a distant door, 
 and Susan Drummond did not again that night bless his sight. 
 
 What could have gone wrong ? What was the matter with 
 her ? He waited and waited for her re-appearance, but waited 
 in vain. All the guests who wished to catch the last train had 
 gone. Weary chaperons were casting stern and reproachful 
 glances at girls who persisted in just one dance more, one 
 more still ; even Mrs. Jubbins' prosperous face began to show
 
 .sV/e GEOFFREY'S OP/N/OA'S. 135 
 
 signs of wear and tear. Amongst the musicians a man fell out 
 occasionally to rest. The hours had told on the waiters, some 
 of whom looked limp as to their cravats, and dishevelled about 
 the head. Still the young people went on dancing fresh and 
 gay, as though the party were just beginning ; but Susan came 
 not, and Air. Gayre's anxiety and curiosity concerning what 
 had become of her grew all the more intense, because he did 
 not wish to ask any questions concerning the missing guest. 
 
 With discontented and cynical eyes he was looking at his 
 niece as she floated to the melody of a ravishing waltz round 
 one of the ballrooms, pioneered by that captivating sinner 
 Graceless, when one of the old Bloomsbury set, a contemporary 
 of Mr. Jubbins, who had scores of times religiously played out 
 rubber after rubber of whist in Brunswick Square, accosted 
 him. 
 
 " Not dancing, Gayre ?" began this individual, who was the 
 human embodiment of snow in harvest ; " leaving it for the 
 juniors ? You're right — no fool like an old one, you know ! 
 Well, and what do you think of all this ? Things were differ- 
 ent in my day, and in yours too, for that matter. It is enough 
 to make Jubbins turn in his grave. If your wise father had 
 been alive we'd have seen nothing of this sort. He'd have 
 read madam a lecture. There are people here whose names 
 would not be thought much of across a bill-stamp, eh? You've 
 come to look after your niece, I suppose ! Handsome girl ! 
 doesn't take after your side of the house, at any rate. It is 
 astonishing, though, how hard it is to get men to marry beau- 
 ties. They fight shy of them when it comes to that, and I am 
 sure I don't wonder at it. 
 
 " Have you had any supper ? I give you my solemn word 
 I could not get a mouthful fit for any Christian man to eat till 
 a quarter of an hour ago, when I seized the butler and made 
 him bring me a cut of cold beef out of the larder, and a pint 
 of draught ale. I know their draught ale of old. Jubbins 
 always dealt with Flowers, and she keeps up the charter. 
 
 " I shall be glad to be at home and in my bed, and I dare- 
 say you will^ too. It is hard upon you, just when you must 
 be beginning to feel you want rest and quiet, having that girl 
 on your hands. However, Mrs. Jubbins will, perhaps, help 
 you to get her off. She played her own cards so remarkably 
 well, I daresay she can put your niece up to a thing or two. 
 
 "And so it was you looked out this fine place for the 
 widow, eh? You know the sex! Give women their way
 
 136 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 about finery, and fashion, and folly, and you may lead them 
 where you like by the nose. You're a sly dog, Gayre ! Not 
 a bad sort of peg this to hang up your hat on for life, though 
 the money that pays the rent was made out of dirty oil. You're 
 a sly dog !" 
 
 Having emphasised which pleasant utterance with an evil 
 chuckle and a dig in the ribs, the old friend of the family 
 took himself off, leaving Mr. Gayre speechless with indig- 
 nation. 
 
 " You look as if you had lost a shilling, and not found even 
 sixpence," said Sir Geoffrey, at this juncture taking up a posi- 
 tion beside his brother-in-law. The Baronet was just beginning 
 really to enjoy the evening. He had drunk himself sober, if 
 such an apparent parado.x is intelligible. It was a way Sir 
 Geoffrey had, or rather, as he frequently explained, a way his 
 constitution had. At the first start, when he began his libations 
 — if that, indeed, could be said ever to begin, which \vas only 
 suspended by sleep — strong liquors did apparently produce an 
 effect faintly simulating intoxication ; but as time went on 
 these evidences of a weak brain disappeared totally. 
 
 "Fact is," said Sir Geoffrey, "drink steadies me." He 
 spoke of it as a seafaring person might of ballast. He did not 
 roll when he had his due complement aboard, and he was 
 extremely ingenious in accounting for the extraordinary pheno- 
 menon, that the more champagne, or brandy, or " whatever 
 was going " he swallowed, the soberer he became. 
 
 " It is like this, you know," he declared : " every family, 
 I take it, must, in the course of a itw generations, drink a 
 certain amount ; I daresay statistics could get at the amount. 
 Well, then, don't you see, if three or four of the lot fail to take 
 their fair share, there must at last come some poor devil of a 
 scapegoat like myself, who has to drink for the lot. I call it 
 hard, deuced hard ! I am sure, even on the score of expense, 
 I'd like to live on tea and lemonade; but Lord ! when you've 
 a constitution like mine to deal with, what are you to do ?" A 
 question so abstruse and so impossible to answer, that nobody 
 tried to grapple with the difficulty presented by the singular 
 nature of Sir Geoffrey's internal arrangements. 
 
 In a state then of steadiness and comprehension a teeto- 
 taller might have envied. Sir Geoffrey, seeing Mr. Gayre part 
 company with the Bloomsbury friend, sauntered across and 
 made that remark anent the banker's shilling and sixpence 
 expression of face.
 
 SIR GEOFFREY'S OPINIONS. 137 
 
 Desirous, no doubt, of emulating the little busy bee, Sir 
 Geofifrey lounged about the rooms, affably entering into con- 
 versation with utter strangers, and, indeed, helping to do the 
 tionours for Mrs. Jubbins, as he might had Lady Chelston 
 gone to a better world, and the widow and himself been 
 engaged. Now and then, in this chance ride across country, 
 he met with a crushing retort or a nasty fall ; and, from expe- 
 rience, he knew pretty well what " the crusty, white-haired, 
 and red-nosed old party had been saying to Gayre.'' 
 
 "Deuced mixed lot this," he observed, with a solemn shake 
 of his knowing head. " I thought I'd seen a thing or two 
 during the course of a life which has not been wholly spent in 
 the quiet country ; but hang me if I ever could have imagined 
 such a set out as this !" 
 
 " It must, indeed, seem a change to you to find yourself 
 among so many solvent and respectable people," retorted Mr. 
 Gayre, who was glad to vent his irritation on any one. 
 
 "That's right, pass the blow round, my lad ! It does not 
 hurt me," said the Baronet. "Solvent?" he went on, looking 
 about him, " no doubt of that ; but respectable ? h'm — m — m ! 
 I notice some folks here who, unless I am greatly out in my 
 reckoning, have sailed uncommonly close to the wind. But 
 then i/ieir haul was ten thousands, or hundreds of thousands, 
 which makes all the difference, Gayre, all the difference." 
 
 "The whole thing is a confounded bore," remarked his 
 brother-in-law, who did not feel inclined at that moment to take 
 up the cudgels for trade morality. 
 
 " Peggy's having the fun of the fair," observed that young 
 lady's parent. "I don't think she has sat out one dance, and 
 I have seen her send away would-be partners by the dozen. 
 Lord, what a sly jade it is ! How does she do it? just a modest 
 downcast look, and an uplifted appealing look, or the slightest 
 turn of the shoulders, or an indolent movement of her fan, and 
 she has all the men about her. I have been watching her, and 
 wondering. It is extraordinary. That sort of thing would not 
 attract me ; but it seems to suit other people. It is not my 
 style." 
 
 " No, I don't think it is," agreed Mr. Gayre, who knew too 
 well the type of frisky and frolicsome young lady the Baronet 
 delighted in. 
 
 "But she's a splendid girl," proceeded Sir GeoftVey ; "just 
 look at her now. Faith, in that dress — I wonder how much 
 the bill for it will tot up too ?— she resembles nothing except
 
 138 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 some rare tropical bird. Gad ! what a splendid colour she has 
 to-night, just like the inner leaves of a damask rose ! And her 
 feet — there is not a woman in the room has such a foot and 
 ankle; all the Chelstons had good feet. Poor Margaret had 
 pretty feet too, though a trifle low in the instep. Seriously 
 now, Gayre, don't you think it's a thousand pities Peggy should 
 be throvvn away on mere wealth ? She'd make a capital coun- 
 tess, and even as a duchess she would only be the right thing 
 in the right place." 
 
 " Well, if you know any stray earl or duke in want of a wife, 
 you might mention the matter to him," suggested Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " I declare the more I see of Peggy the less I feel I can 
 bear the notion of her being wasted on such a fellow as Sudlow. 
 Why, he's a perfect cad, and a stick in addition. He can't 
 skate, and he can't ride, and he can't dance, and he can't 
 shoot ; what the deuce can he do?" 
 
 " Take care of his money," answered the banker ; " and all 
 I hope is he may give her a chance of helping him to take care 
 of it also." 
 
 " Well, I suppose we must make the best of a bad busi- 
 ness," said Sir Geoffrey, with religious resignation ; " I am 
 sure I try to do so. I gave her a hint or two before we came 
 here ; I told her she must not neglect her opportunities. The 
 worst of her is she's such a flirt, always was, always will be ; I 
 don't mean in any dangerous way — bless you, no ! She'll take 
 good care to get into no harm ; I could trust Peg anywhere, 
 trust her as I could myself;" which, indeed, was saying so little 
 for the charming Peggy's discretion, that Mr. Gayre had to 
 turn away his face and hide a smile. '' I wish she'd some female 
 relations up in all that sort of thing," proceeded Sir Geoffrey, 
 with an easy wave of his hand, indicating that he meant the art 
 of securing eligible husbands, "just to give her a chance; she 
 wants training. Heavens ! well schooled, she might marry 
 whom she pleased. It's no use thinking of what's past ; but if 
 her poor mother — " 
 
 .-^t which juncture the Baronet stopped and sighed, and 
 shook his head and sighed again. 
 
 " Out of the fulness of your own abundant experience," sug- 
 gested Mr. Gayre, " don't you think you might advise your 
 daughter for her good — tell her how to set about the great 
 sport of hunting men ?" 
 
 " No, my dear fellow," answered the Baronet, who, i he 
 imagined his brother-in-law was sneering at him, took care not
 
 S/i: GEOFFREY'S OPLYIONS. 139 
 
 to seem cognisant of the fact, " In the first place, to be truly 
 successful, it should be pursued as a business, not a sport ; and 
 in the next, only a woman can really teach a woman how 
 tcT deal with the other sex. If a man, now — yourself, for in- 
 stance — stood in want of a few tips, couldn't I give them? and 
 wouldn't I, with pleasure ? But, bless my soul, your running 
 is all straight enough. Here are you, and there's the widow ; 
 you've only to say ' Come,' and she'll come fast enough, and 
 why the deuce you don't say it baffles me." 
 
 " I must request, Sir Geoffrey — " 
 
 "O yes, I know all about that; but requests don't alter 
 cases, and though you may insist on people shutting their 
 mouths, you can't compel them to close their eyes. Well, 
 she's as pleasant and hospitable a woman as I'd ever desire to 
 meet, and I will say she, or somebody for her, has a judgment 
 in the matter of wine I wish were universal. You'll weed out 
 a lot of these people, no doubt," and he nodded towards the 
 room where what he called the "old fogies" were "playing at 
 company." " Poor soul, she knows no better ; but you'll teach 
 her, Gayre — you'll teach her ; and — she'll make an apt pupil;" 
 having delivered which last opinion, the Baronet was turning 
 away, probably to quite assure his rnind as to whether Mrs. 
 Jubbins' brandy was as good as her hock, when, inspired by a 
 fresh idea, he paused to ask, 
 
 " By the bye, where's Susan ? I haven't seen the little 
 baggage for ages. She looked a bit bleached, I thought, a while 
 ago; wonder where she's got to? There's Lai Hilderton, face, 
 as usual, black as a thunder cloud. No doubt he knows. 
 Hilderton — Lai — come here, can't you ! Where's Susan ?"' 
 
 " Haven't seen her for an hour or more." 
 
 "Where the deuce can she be?" remarked Sir Geoffrey. 
 " How are you going to get back to your ' digglns ' to-night, 
 Lai?" 
 
 " Irish tandem," was the curt reply. 
 
 " Come and have something, then, to give your horses 
 spirit for the journey," said the Baronet, taking the young 
 man's reluctant arm, and leading him tenderly towards the 
 supper-room. 
 
 Where was Susan? where could she be? Miss Chelston 
 did not know ; for, pausing with Mr. Graceless close to where 
 Mr. Gayre stood, she propounded the very question to her 
 uncle he v,-as longing to hear answered by some one. 
 
 "She is not going back to town to-night," said Mrs.
 
 14° SUSAN DRUaUMOND. 
 
 Jubbins, appearing at the moment Margaret was prettily ex- 
 pressing her wonder and astonishment. " She is tired ; she 
 has been doing too much, and I've sent her to bed." 
 
 For a second Miss Chclston looked at the speaker with 
 incredulous surprise ; then, seeing the hostess was not jesting, 
 she pressed her fan against her chin, puckered her forehead, 
 raised her eyebrows, murmured, " I am so sorry," and next 
 moment the maize dress, with its splashes of colour, was 
 whirling amongst the dancers, a dream of beauty and delight.
 
 an* ►^,- 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ON THE WAY HOME. 
 
 " Poor Susan ! poor, dear, kind, tiresome Susan !" lamented 
 IMiss Chelston. " These are the sort of things she ahvays 
 would do. Almost kill herself to please people who scarcely 
 considered it worth their while to say thank you ; always ready 
 to wear herself out for anybody." 
 
 " I call the whole proceeding extremely silly, to say the 
 least of it," observed Air. Sudlow. 
 
 " Do you ?" said Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " Yes, I do," retorted Mr. Sudlow, in a tone intended to 
 convince young Graceless he was out of the banker's leading- 
 strings at last. 
 
 " And what," said Mr. Gayre, " should you call the pro- 
 ceeding, if you said the most of it ?" 
 
 " That's a question I decline to answer," answered the 
 gentleman tersely styled " the cad " by Sir Geoffrey ; hearing 
 which valiant reply, Mr. Graceless burst out laughing. 
 
 They were all driving back to London together — Miss 
 Chelston, Messieurs Sudlow, Graceless, and Gayre— with Sir 
 Geoffrey on the box ; three of the party in extremely bad 
 temper, and one not too well pleased at finding himself booked 
 as inside passenger for a fourteen miles' journey, unable to 
 smoke, and thrown on the companionship of two men and a 
 girl, with none of whom he had an idea in common. 
 
 As for Miss Chelston, she felt most truly it was the day 
 after the fair. Such triumph as she had compassed was over, 
 and her triumph could not, in such an assemblage, be con- 
 sidered great. Amid better surroundings, her beauty, her figure, 
 her grace, her manner, her voice, must have placed her on a 
 high rung of the social ladder ; but upon the City magnates 
 she was thrown away. The old men regarded her merely as a 
 good-looking girl without a fortune, who, no doubt, knew more 
 about spending money than saving it ; while their sons felt 
 somewhat shy of a Baronet's daughter whose ways and looks
 
 142 SUSAN DRL'.^rMOXD. 
 
 and tones seemed different from the ways, looks, and tones of 
 belles renowned in civic circles. She was the right thing 
 among the wrong set of people. She had striven her best to 
 please ; she had smiled on the sons of prospective Lord 
 Mayors ; she had, in her quiet, undemonstrative way, flirted 
 with wealthy young stockbrokers and rising junior partners in 
 great City houses ; she had borne herself meekly towards large 
 and portly mammas, and refrained from looking amazed at the 
 doings of Cockney heiresses ; and yet, when the sum of the 
 day and evening was told, she felt her talents had not returned 
 her even fair interest. If Mrs. Jubbins' party represented the 
 best her uncle could do for her socially, bad indeed was the 
 best. She had only really felt herself in a proper element 
 while dancing with one or other of the '■ fellows " Sir Geoffrey 
 offered as his graceful contribution to the Chislehurt festivities; 
 and as she knew too well what they were, and what they had, 
 and that each of them was looking out for a flat, or an heiress, 
 or both, on his own account, it goes without saying that even 
 in the delicious curves of that final waltz with Mr. Graceless 
 she was perfectly well aware nothirg could ever come of such 
 an acquaintance, save, perhaps, if hereafter she got into a safe 
 and unexceptionable clique, a little regret at ever having known 
 so polished and presentable a blackleg. 
 
 With the result of the day's proceedings Mr. Gayre felt, if 
 possible, more dissatisfied than his niece. He had arrived at 
 the conclusion that he did not understand Susan in the least ; 
 that she would require more careful management than he 
 anticipated ; that below her sweet amiability and charming 
 frankness there lay a depth of character and a power of will, 
 both of which it might be necessary to gauge and to conciliate. 
 Time was when he thought he knew her thoroughly ; day by 
 day it was dawning upon him he really knew her less. The 
 old qualities which had socapti/ated him on first acquaintance 
 remained unchanged, but fresh and unexpected qualities were, 
 in addition, constantly appearing. She was like a garden 
 which a man first values for the sake of a few simple and 
 homely flowers almost gone out of fashion, and behold, as the 
 days go by, other plants thrust their tender leaves above 
 ground, and he is kept in a constant state of uncertainty as to 
 the manner of blossom which shall next appear. 
 
 As an acquaintance, even as a friend, perhaps she had 
 drawn nearer to him ; but as a lover, no. Mr. Gayre was too 
 sensible a man, far too well learned in the lore of a world which
 
 ON THE WAY HOME. 143 
 
 contains both men and women, to blind himself to facts. Be- 
 fore he kneu- Susan Drummond he would have laid it down 
 as a general proposition that all women were enigmas. Since 
 'tie had known Susan he would have done battle on the point 
 that he was acquainted with one woman who wore her heart on 
 her sleeve ; but now — now — now Mr. Gayre could not exactly 
 tell what to think. Leaning back in his corner, he felt sorely 
 tempted to speedily put his fortune to the test, and " maybe," 
 he considered, "lose it all." 
 
 O sweet Susan, sleeping that night among the Chislehurst 
 woods, dreaming your maiden- dreams in the house where 
 noble lovers had kissed and been blessed, had wept and been 
 parted till eternity, how was it possible for you to imagine a 
 middle-aged man's heart was being rent because he failed to 
 read aright your simple sincerity ? 
 
 He felt wild to know his hands held no prize the girl 
 seemed to account of value. Wealth, rank, jewels, pleasure, 
 idleness — the five curses and snares of womanhood — she held, 
 apparently, of no worth whatever. What did her youth long 
 for, his middle age could give ? Now he was beginning to 
 understand her better, he saw Susan was prepared to sit down 
 to the feast of life with a purpose of abstinence for which he 
 could find no possible reason. She loved riding, dancing, 
 society, travelling. Even to the simplest excursion she brought 
 a zest and a sunshine he had never seen equalled. Yet he 
 fully understood she expected at some not remote day to resign 
 all chance of such pleasures, and live quietly at Enfield with 
 her aunt. 
 
 " I mean to grapple with the mysteries of farming next 
 year," she said to Mr. Gayre one day. " I don't think I could 
 serve my country better than in trying to solve the problem of 
 how to make land pay. Aunt cannot. I see where she goes 
 wrong ; but that is quite another matter from seeing how I am 
 to go right." 
 
 " I will come over and help you," offered Sir Geoffrey. 
 " I know all about farming. If my tenants would only have 
 followed my advice I need never have left Chelston. Now 
 they have got another landlord they wish, I'll be bound, they 
 had considered me a little more. Do you remember, Susan, 
 the talks your uncle and I used to have about cropping, and 
 how he broke up the ten-acre lot, and sowed flax entirely on 
 my advice ?" 
 
 " Very well indeed/' answered Susan demurely. She had
 
 144 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 good reason for remembering the circumstance, since, owing to 
 dry soil and the utter impossibiHty of irrigation, the result 
 proved a dead failure. 
 
 " I'll only make one stipulation," proceeded the irrepres- 
 sible Baronet — " that you lay in a cask of beer. I ask nothing 
 more expensive. Hang it, there never was a man with simpler 
 tastes ! But water ! and New River water, too ! Fugh !" and 
 Sir Geoffrey drew down the corners of his mouth— he could 
 not turn up his nose, because it was aquiline— and pulled a 
 grimace expressive of the most intense disgust._ 
 
 " I must talk to my aunt about the ale," said Susan. 
 " Come, you don't mean to say, my girl, you are going to 
 turn yourself out to grass like Nebuchadnezzar, and drink 
 nothing stronger than water, as if you were a cow or a dog ? 
 Why, even a horse knows better. Gad ! I wouldn't keep a 
 brute that refused honest liquor." 
 
 Susan and Mr. Gayre simultaneously broke into a peal of 
 laughter. 
 
 " I am growing rather in love with teetotalism," said the 
 former. " It is cheap and healthful." 
 
 "The cheapness I admit, but the health I deny," retorted 
 the Baronet. " I only know one fellow who denies his blood 
 natural nourishment, and he's covered with as many boils and 
 blains as Job ; only Job got cured, and he never will. Serve 
 him right, too." 
 
 Once, when opportunity offered, Mr. Gayre hazarded an 
 inquiry to Sir Geoffrey concerning the why and the wherefore 
 of Miss Drummond's conviction that she would have to content 
 herself with a humdrum existence and very modest surround- 
 ings, and though the answer he received seemed to him scarcely 
 satisfactory, it was at least plausible. 
 
 " Susan's a confoundedly sensible sort of a girl," said the 
 Baronet. " Always was. Bless you, I used to call her little 
 old woman when she wasn't more than eight hands high. She 
 ought to have been a big heiress, a fine haul for some lucky 
 young fellow, but the house in which her father left his money 
 went smash, and she never got a penny out of the wreck but 
 a beggarly two thousand pounds. Her uncle Drummond was 
 a man who could not save a farthing — most extravagant old 
 dog ; so when he died, and the son came into the estate, there 
 was poor Susan adrift with about sixty pounds a year, and no 
 near relation except the ancient party at Enfield. Many a 
 girl would have broken her heart ; but that's not Susan's way.
 
 ON THE WAY HOME. 145 
 
 She'll make the best of a bad business, and when that young 
 Arbei-y's gone back to the Antipodes, take sole management." 
 
 "Yes, I understand all that," replied the banker; "but 
 why should she speak as if she was going totally out of society? 
 Now, she comes here, for instance ; why should she imply she 
 will not be able to continue to do so ?'' 
 
 " Well, for two reasons, I suppose : one, I don't fancy the 
 aunt will care to be left alone ; another, Susan knows Peggy 
 must marry ; and she's not so blind as to imagine my good 
 daughter would care for her as a constant or even occasional 
 inmate. Peg's jealous of her, that's the truth. Besides, Susan's 
 not grand enough, or rich enough, or dressy enough, or stuck 
 up enough to please her ladyship. Yes, you may stare, but 
 though Peggy's my own child, I can see her faults. I don't 
 know where she gets them, upon my soul, I don't — not from 
 me ; and as for her poor mother, if your sister hadn't much 
 wit, at any rate she was a loving clinging creature. You mayn't 
 believe it, Gayre, but I've often felt very sorry for Margaret. 
 Most men would only think of themselves, but, thank Heaven, 
 that's not my way ;" and Sir Geoffrey paused, either because 
 he was stricken dumb with the contemplation of his own 
 merits, or because he wished to give his brother-in-law time 
 to recover from the astonishment he believed such unparalleled 
 magnanimity might well excite. 
 
 Whatever his emotions, Mr. Gayre controlled them admirably. 
 
 " Still, I fail to comprehend Miss Drummond," he per- 
 sisted. '• Most girls look forward to marriage as an end to all 
 difficulty, the beginning of a brilliant and delightful existence. 
 Why should she not feel certain that a husband as rich and 
 handsome as Cinderella's prince will one day cross her path?" 
 
 " Because, as I told you before, Susan is as wise as Solo- 
 mon. She knows well enough it is not so easy to pick up a 
 rich husband ; if it were, clever though she is, she is not the 
 sort of girl to hook a big fish. Besides, her own sense must 
 tell her that if Peggy, a Baronet's daughter and so forth, hangs 
 fire, she has not much chance of going off to any good pur 
 pose. Fact is," went on Sir Geoffrey, shaking his remarkable 
 head till his hat actually quivered, "men can't afford to marry 
 nowadays, unless the lady brings something in her hand, 
 and something considerable too. There's no end to the 
 expenses of a married man. They begin with the engage- 
 ment ring, and they don't end when he is screwed down in his 
 coftin. It's no joking matter, I can tell you. Men don't care 
 
 I,
 
 146 SUSAN DRUMMOXJ). 
 
 a straw, at this date of the world, what a girl is ; what they 
 want to be told is what she has. For himself, a man is always 
 worth his own value in the matrimonial market, but a woman 
 isn't ; there's such a deuce of a lot of them." 
 
 Mr. Gayre was thinking of these utterances, and many 
 more, as they drove steadily on through the chill twilight of 
 that summer's night, when suddenly the carriage stopped, and 
 Sir Geoffrey shouted to some one they had just passed, "Jump 
 up, man ; we'll make room for you on the box; you've done 
 enough for glory ; come along !" 
 
 " Thank you, I'd rather walk," answered a sulky voice, 
 which belonged to Lionel Hilderton, and none other. 
 
 "With my left Icq; for leader. 
 And right leg for wheeler, 
 I'll distance all racers, says Pat. 
 
 Hoo-roo ! 
 I'll distance all racers, says Pat," 
 
 chanted the Baronet. " Don't be a fool, Lai," he added, in 
 sober prose. " It's thirteen miles from here to Camden Town, 
 if it's a step. If you have no mercy on yourself, have some on 
 your boots !" 
 
 Even Susan Drummond could scarce have found an apology 
 for the reply to Sir Geoffrey's genial speech, which though 
 muttered, was distinctly audible to every person in the carriage. 
 
 " Have your own bad way, then^ my friend," retorted the 
 Baronet ; " I'll not baulk you. Walk and be !" 
 
 " Poor Mr. Hilderton !" exclaimed Miss Chelston as they 
 drove on. 
 
 " T^ovely woman !" commented Mr. Sudlow. 
 
 "Yes, it's what we are all bound to go through," said Mr. 
 Gayre, who, having now a perfect knowledge of the name of 
 that lovely woman, derived the keenest enjoyment from Mr. 
 Sudlow's remark. 
 
 " And the most delightful part of the business is, that by 
 this time next year he will be thinking what a special Provi- 
 dence it was that she refused to smile on him," capped young 
 Graceless. 
 
 " I hope you like thai, my lady," thought Mr. Gayre, striv- 
 ing in vain to catch a glimpse of his niece's face. 
 
 Almost in silence the dreary journey was got through some- 
 how. If there ever had been a time when Mr. Graceless 
 enjoyed the society of a respectable woman it was long past ; 
 and after the utterance of a itw commonplace phrases, he began
 
 ON THE IV A V HOME. 
 
 U7 
 
 to think what a nuisance it was he could not smoke, to wonder 
 whether the old City '• dufter '" would stand to the bargain made 
 -^wjih Sir Geoftrey, how much the Baronet would expect for his 
 share of the spoil; and finally, exhausted by these mental 
 labours, he fell asleep, for doing which he afterwards apologised 
 by explaining he had " made a long day," viz. thirty-four hours, 
 not having gone to bed at all on the night preceding to Mrs. 
 Jubbins' party. 
 
 As for Mr. Sudlow, he was in a white heat of rage at the 
 presence of this interloper. He felt jealous, envious, disap- 
 pointed. Although Miss Chelston had, during the early part 
 of the day, shovvn him a good deal of favour, when once dancing 
 commenced he found himself put somehow out of court. Grace- 
 less, without a sovereign in his pocket, was, in a ballroom, a 
 greater man than Mr. Sudlow ; and not merely Graceless, but 
 all the guests introduced by Sir Geoffrey. 
 
 "They dance like seraphs f said one gushing young lady 
 to the disgusted Dives, who did not dance like anything on 
 earth or in heaven except like himself, who walked through a 
 quadrille with the solemn grace of a poker, and extracted, 
 apparently, a vast deal less pleasure out of a wild galop than 
 he would have done from a religious procession. 
 
 " He likes no concert where he can't play first fiddle," said 
 the Baronet, afterwards summing him up ; and as he certainly 
 did not do that at The Warren, it goes without saying Mr. Sud- 
 low's enjoyment of the evening's proceedings was not of an 
 ecstatic character. 
 
 On and still on, weary mile after weary mile ; the gray 
 dawn came raw and miserable ; objects by the wayside began 
 to be visible, and it was with a jaded feeling of relief the 
 revellers found themselves at last jolting over the London 
 stones. How hard and cold the river looked in the first 
 beams of the morning sun ! What a blessed sight the Houses 
 of Parliament seemed, holding as it did an assurance Middlesex 
 was reached once more ! On and still on. What an endless 
 distance they appeared to have driven ! How cramped and 
 stiff they felt ! How exasperatingly maddening Sir Geoffrey's 
 cheery and wide-awake tones sounded, as he hailed his brother- 
 in-law to ask, 
 
 " Shall we go round by Wimpole Street, Gayre ? Drop 
 you at your door with pleasure." 
 
 "Certainly not," answered Mr. Gayre; 'we will get out 
 here;" and, suiting his action to his word, he opened the
 
 148 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 carriage-door and stepped out, leaving Mr. Sudlow to follow 
 his good example. 
 
 " I'll take your place now," said the Baronet, jumping down 
 from the box. " It's getting a bit chilly. No, Graceless, keep 
 where you are ; we'll find you a sofa, never fear. Hope you'll 
 be none the worse, Mr. Sudlow ; by-by, Gayre !" and Sir Geof- 
 frey put up the window, and remarked to all whom the intelli- 
 gence might concern that it was deucedly cold. 
 
 " What does he mean by it?" was the astounding question 
 Mr. Sudlow put to his companion as the carriage rolled away. 
 
 " What does who mean by what ?" asked Mr. Gayre, in 
 amazement. 
 
 "Your brother-in-law ! What does he mean by taking that 
 fellow Graceless to his house and talking about finding him a 
 sofa ?" 
 
 " Are you mad, Mr. Sudlow?" said the banker. " Do you 
 suppose Sir Geoffrey Chelston cannot ask any one he likes to 
 his house without your permission ?" 
 
 " He has no business to allow his daughter to associate 
 with such a man." 
 
 " May I inquire by what right you presume to dictate with 
 whom his daughter shall associate ? What is Miss Chelston to 
 you, that you should even express an opinion on the subject ? 
 You are tired and a little irritable, Mr. Sudlow; so I will 
 only say, that it seems to me you have of late, more than once, 
 strangely forgotten yourself !"
 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 SIR Geoffrey's tactics. 
 
 " Leave me to deal with the fellow, Gayre," said Sir Geoffrey 
 cheerfully. " You are not fit for the task. In your own way 
 you are confoundedly clever — no doubt of that ; but aptitude 
 for business is one thing — gad, I wish I wasn't such a fool 
 about figures and money ! — and a knowledge of human nature 
 another. You made a mistake with your friend — one you 
 would not have caught your simple brother-in-law committing. 
 He never ought to have gone with us to Mrs. Jubbins — never. 
 He thinks now Peggy and myself are no better than her lot, 
 and that he is as good as we are. He thought great guns of you 
 once ; now he knows your ' native heath ' is much the same as 
 his own — " and as the Baronet left his sentence thus unfinished, 
 in order to light a fresh cigar, Mr. Gayre felt the pause which 
 ensued more explicit and humiliating than any words could 
 have proved. 
 
 It was three days after the party at The Warren. Mrs. Jub- 
 bins had been discussed, re-discussed, praised, criticised, di^ 
 paraged, blamed; and now there was nothing left for the 
 majority of her guests to do save call and see whether " the 
 Earl of Alerioneth's house " seemed as grand a place when 
 viewed in cold blood as it had done while filled with visitors 
 who walked through the rooms to the strains of music and the 
 popping of champagne corks. Things during that three days 
 had not been going pleasantly with Mr. Gayre ; on the contrary, 
 when he went to Chislehurst, ostensibly to inquire how Ivlrs. 
 Jubbins felt after her exertions, he found Miss Drummond 
 was walking through the woods, accompanied by Mr. Hilder- 
 ton. The widow told him this fact with a look of mournful 
 significance, and he really felt too much dispirited to inform 
 the lady he was satisfied his niece, and not her friend, had 
 won the poor prize of a struggling and sulky artist's heart. 
 No, many a man was caught on the rebound, and he did 
 not know, he could not be sure. After all, the girl might
 
 150 SL'SAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 scarcely understand her own mind ; possibly she mistook the 
 actual state of her feelings. This sisterly sort of intimacy, this 
 familiar intercourse, was dangerous — very. 
 
 Supposing Susan were Mrs. Gayre, would he allow, would 
 he tolerate it? Certainly, Mr. Gayre decided, he would do 
 nothing of the kind. It was all very well to talk, but Lai was 
 not her brother; worse still, he was disgustingly handsome — 
 and young. Yes, just the lover a girl might fancy ; and Susan 
 was only a girl, and the common-sense view of the matter 
 must be considered the right sense. The whole thing was 
 unusual and incorrect. He thought he would drop a word of 
 warning ; but, somehow, when the culprits appeared, he found 
 it would be very hard to make Miss Drummond understand the 
 full enormity of which she had been guilty, and decided that 
 to lecture her on the subject of " propriety " would belike 
 discoursing to a child concerning those sins which it is the 
 endeavour of older persons, who have eaten of the tree of the 
 knowledge of good and evil, to keep hidden from its inno- 
 cence. 
 
 At dinner, to whiclimeal Mr. Gayre stopped, for Mrs. Jub- 
 bins would take no denial, Susan was charming ; less gay than 
 formerly, perhaps a little sad, certainly most sweet. She had 
 been teaching Ida to ride, and caused some laughter by an 
 account of that young lady's mishaps. 
 
 " I don't know what in the world we are to do without her, 
 Mr. Gayre," said Mrs. Jubbins, referring to Susan, not her 
 daughter ; " we shall feel lost." 
 
 " When is the parting to take place ?" asked the banker, 
 who felt delighted to hear Miss Drummond's sojourn at 
 Chislehurst was soon to be ended. 
 
 " I am going to Enfield to-morrow," said Susan 
 
 " To Ejificld r repeated Mr. Gayre ; "not to North Bank ?" 
 
 " I have written to tell Maggie I cannot return there just at 
 present." 
 
 " So we shall all have to go into mourning," said the 
 banker ; at which remark Lai Hilderton scowled. He thought 
 this rich man was sneering at his old friend. 
 
 The next check Mr. Gayre met was received from the 
 artist. In the most courteous manner possible he asked Mr. 
 Hilderton to paint Miss Chelston's portrait, and was met with 
 a flat refusal. 
 
 " I don't intend to paint any more portraits," declared Lai, 
 with rude directness.
 
 SIR GEOFFREY'S TACTICS. 151 
 
 Susan looked at him reproachfully and sighed. Mr. Gayre 
 saw the look and heard the sigh. 
 
 " It breaks my heart to think of her being tied to such a 
 "^ear," said Mrs. Jubbins afterwards. 
 
 *' Why did you ask him here?" inquired the banker, 
 
 "I did not ask him. He came, and I could not well tell 
 him to go. Of course he will not come when she is gone ■" 
 which was very poor comfort for the middle-aged lover. 
 
 Calling the following afternoon at North Bank, in hopes of 
 hearing why Susan had decided on returning to Enfield, and 
 when she might be again expected in Mr. Moreby's villa, he 
 found Mr. Sudlow partaking of afternoon tea, and was unplea- 
 santly struck by a change in his manner, rather to be felt than 
 defined. They had not met since the morning when Mr. Gayre 
 administered what he meant for a crushing rebuke, and the 
 banker was certainly not prepared to find this former disciple 
 had cut his leading-strings, and was walking quite independently 
 
 about the world, " showing his d d cloven foot," said Sir 
 
 Geoffrey. 
 
 Few things could have discomposed Mr. Gayre to an equal 
 extent. Hitherto Mr. Sudlow had looked up to him, adopted 
 his views, being guided by his advice, received his admonitions 
 modestly and in a good spirit, as if he knew they proceeded from 
 one having authority ; but now all that was changed. He ven- 
 tured to disagree with the banker, not once or twice, but many 
 times; he spoke more familiarly to Sir Geoffrey than young 
 Graceless would have done ; and only the beautiful coldness 
 and propriety of Miss Chelston's demeanour prevented his 
 addressing that young lady "as though she was some girl 
 standing behind a counter, by Heaven ! ' declared the Baro- 
 net, talking " the cad" over after his departure. 
 
 Much exercised about the change which seemed to him to 
 have been wrought so suddenly, Mr. Gayre told Sir Geoffrey 
 that remark concerning young Graceless, and delicately hinted 
 it was not impossible some of those rumours the best of men 
 are not always able to escape, had reached Mr. Sudlow's ears. 
 " It is not that," answered the Baronet. " I don't pretend 
 to be better than my neighbours. No one can say 1 have 
 ever set myself up as a paragon of virtue. I admit I have 
 faults ; who is without them ? Even you, Gayre, are not im- 
 maculate, I'll be bound. As for myself, I am too easy, too 
 frank, too trustful, too willing to forgive, too ready to be duped. 
 But it's nothmg he has heard about }/ic that has caused this
 
 152 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 transformation. Your friend Sudlow needs taking down a peg ; 
 his comb wants cutting, and I'll cut it. Leave me to deal with 
 the fellow." 
 
 And then the credulous Baronet, who wore his heart on his 
 sleeve for all the daws he came in contact with to peck at, 
 dehvered himself of that pleasant sentence which annoyed Mr. 
 Gayre more than he would have cared to acknowledge. 
 
 Sir Geoitrey had an absolute genius for " finding out the 
 raw," and knew there was nothing under heaven that hurt 
 Nicholas Gayre's vanity more keenly than associating him with 
 the old Brunswick Square "set." 
 
 Resolutely the banker had for years held himself aloof from 
 his father's connections. In the City he was considered proud, 
 exclusive, and a genuine "West-ender." At the West End, 
 among acquaintances made during those blessed days when he 
 served the Queen and never thought of Lombard Street save 
 as a sort of gold mine, he was known as an officer who had 
 won distinction and a banker who was "rolling in money;" 
 while both in the City and at the West End people held him 
 to be exceptionally respectable. And now, merely for the sake 
 of a girl's brown eyes, he had voluntarily let himself drift into 
 close companionship with one of the most disreputable men in 
 England — gone to a party at which, a year before, he would 
 not have been seen for any consideration ; where dreadful 
 people, who were " merely rich," felt themselves at liberty to 
 call him "Gayre," and address him in a "hail-fellow-well-met" 
 manner inexpressibly galling ; and, as if this was not sufficiently 
 mortifying, on the top of all came Sir Geoffrey's statement, 
 which he knriv to be true, that Mr. Sudlow now believed socially 
 his former Mentor stood very litde higher than himself. 
 
 " It is always best to look matters straight in the face," 
 proceeded Sir Geoffrey, when he had got his cigar well alight. 
 " There's Peggy to be married, and Sudlow's the only man 
 who has turned up we can marry her to. I hate the fellow, 
 but what am I to do? Of course, I must not let my own likes 
 or dislikes interfere when the girl's happiness is at stake. It's 
 a pity I can't find a husband for her in a decent rank of life; 
 but it is no use fretting about that now. Well, the next thing 
 to be done is — get the man up to the point. I don't intend to 
 have him dangling about here, wasting all our time and trying 
 my temper You wouldn't believe what a confounded nuisance 
 he is. Why, I have often to stop in, and lose perhaps the 
 chance of some good thing, because he does not know when
 
 S7R GEOFFREY'S TACTICS. 153 
 
 to go. It's all very well for him, but we're no further forward 
 than we were last June. I can't bear such dawdUng. Gad ! 
 
 ^ the fellow ought to snap at the chance of marrying a Baronet's 
 
 """dSughter." 
 
 "Apparently he is in no hurry to 'snap,'" said Mr. Gayre, 
 with ill-natured frankness. 
 
 " He will be in a hurry before he is much older, or I'll 
 know the reason why," remarked Sir Geoffrey, " which brings 
 me back to the point I started from. It is quite evident, 
 Gayre, that under your management the matter makes no pro- 
 gress. Now I am going to take the conduct of affairs. I don't 
 ask your help because I would rather play my game alone. 
 Fact is," finished the Baronet, " the beggar must be brought to 
 book, for I can't hold on in this way much longer. If I had 
 not been pretty lucky the ball must have stopped rolling weeks 
 ago ; and I feel it deucedly provoking for so much of my hard- 
 earned money (no man knows how hard I work) to go in 
 keeping up this house. Were I alone, any attic at a few shil- 
 lings a week would serve my turn. Besides, I have heard a 
 word drop that young Moreby's mamma has found a wife for 
 him ; and if such is the case, you'll see this place will be sold, 
 and then what's to become of poor Peggy? Mark my words 
 -—this place will be in the market ere long; you know how 
 right all my intuitions are ;" and Sir Geoffrey shook his head 
 with the air of a man who believed there was not a cranny or 
 crack in it unfilled by wisdom. 
 
 He had good reason, at any rate, for his belief concerning 
 Mr. Moreby's villa, since the " word dropped " assumed the 
 shape of a letter from Mrs. Moreby's lawyer containing a plain 
 intimation that the sooner he could find another residence the 
 better his client would be pleased. 
 
 Except in that trifling matter of paying ready money, or 
 indeed any money at all, no one could complain of undue 
 delay on the part of Sir Geoffrey. Were a horse to be bought 
 or sold, a bet to be laid, a flat to be fleeced, or any other 
 little business of pleasure or profit in hand, the Baronet was 
 "up to time;" and most certainly now he had decided "some 
 steps must be taken about poor Peggy," he did not mean to 
 let grass grow under his feet. 
 
 Accordingly next time Mr. Sudlow called, as of late he had 
 got into the habit of doing, unaccompanied by his former friend 
 and Mentor, he found the drawing-room unoccupied, and not 
 the slightest sign of afternoon tea. On the contrary, the gipsy
 
 154 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 table, which might be regarded as the basis of operations, was 
 put tidily away in one corner of the apartment; the chairs 
 stood also in orthodox positions, and the stands and vases 
 were destitute of flowers. 
 
 Mr. Sudlow stared about him bewildered. He had never 
 before imagined the prettiest room in young IMr. Moreby's 
 villa could look so cold and formal. The afternoon also was 
 dull and depressing. No sunshine streamed across the tiny 
 garden, and no fragrant logs burnt in the grate. "Logs are 
 deuced useful sort of things," Sir Geoffrey was in the habit of 
 sententiously remarking. 
 
 On that especial day, however, at five o'clock p.m., affairs 
 were chilling in the extreme ; and as he stood by the window 
 Mr. Sudlow shivered. 
 
 "Bah! what a place this must be in the winter," he con- 
 sidered, " with all that water flowing at the rate of about an 
 inch an hour down below there !" 
 
 " How de-do ?" said the Baronet, appearing at this point in 
 Mr. Sudlovv's meditations, and greeting his daughter's admirer 
 with friendly familiarity and two extended fingers. " Bit raw, 
 ain't it ? Come into the next room — fire there \ like a fire 
 myself all the year round ;'' with which statement Sir Geoffrey 
 conducted Mr. Sudlow into the adjoining apartment, where 
 that gentleman found blazing logs and a strong smell of 
 stimulants. 
 
 " I suppose we must consider the best of the weather's 
 over now," remarked the host as he threw on another billet. 
 
 Mr. Sudlow ventured to hope a fine day or two might still 
 be expected, but Sir Geoffrey would not listen to the sugges- 
 tion. "We're in September now," he said, "and, faith ! winter 
 will be upon us before we can turn round." 
 
 After that there ensued a pause. Sir Geoffrey was able, as 
 a rule, to maintain a good even stream of talk, but neither man 
 could be described as a brilliant conversationalist. 
 
 "What will you take, Sudlow?" asked the Baronet, inspired 
 by a happy idea, sauntering towards the sideboard as he spoke. 
 
 Mr. Sudlow thanked Sir Geoffrey, but declined to take 
 anything. 
 
 " It's a beast of a day," said Sir Geoffrey, " 'pon my soul it 
 is; worse than if it was raining. Have something, man; I am 
 sure you need picking up ; I know I do." 
 
 Firmly Mr, Sudlow, or, as the Baronet sometimes loved to 
 describe him, that good young sneak, resisted the temptations
 
 y 
 
 SIR GEOFFREY'S TACTICS. 
 
 155 
 
 and declined the blandishments of his ladye-love's papa. "I 
 never touch wine between meals," he said, repeating a state- 
 ^ ment Sir Geoffrey had heard before at least fifty times. 
 '"" "Gad, I envy you; I only wish I could do without it," 
 answered the Baronet ; and to prove how imperatively neces- 
 sary he found it to "pick himself up," he forthwith poured out 
 and swallowed a tumbler of champagne, laced with what he 
 called a mere touch of brandy. 
 
 Mr. Sudlov/ looked on during this performance, but spoke 
 never a word ; indeed, what word could he have spoken ? 
 
 " I feel a new man," said Sir Geoffrey, in that capacity 
 strolling back to the hearth and critically scanning the last log 
 he had thrown on. " Do — take even a glass of sherry, Sudlow." 
 
 But Sudlow only shook his head. 
 
 " Deuced chilly, I call it,'' went on the Baronet, settling 
 himself in the depths of an armchair and stretching out his long 
 legs towards the fire. '" Well, and what mischief have you been 
 up to since I saw you last ?" 
 
 " Not much," answered the lively suitor, who detested Sir 
 Geoffrey's jokes, and yet did not well know how to take offence 
 at them. " How is Miss Chelston ?" 
 
 " O, she's all right," was the reply — " packing." 
 
 " Packing !" repeated Mr. Sudlow. 
 
 " Yes ; of late days she's had unfortunately to manage with- 
 out a maid, poor girl ; so she's doing the best she can, with the 
 help of Mrs. Lavender. They've been at it all day ; but I'm 
 afraid to inquire progress." 
 
 " Is Miss Chelston, then — " 
 
 " She's going out of town," finished the Baronet, with kindly 
 consideration ; "and, faith, I'm very glad she is, though I don't 
 exactly know what I am to do here all by myself — you'll lake 
 pity upon me, and look in often, won't you? — for the girl has 
 been too long cooped up, losing all her colour, and so forth." 
 
 " Is she hkely to remain away for any length of time ?" 
 asked Mr. Sudlow. 
 
 " Can't tell, I'm sure, what she'll do when she gets among 
 her friends — go the round of them, I suppose. I'll not bid her 
 come back to North Bank, you may be sure, while she keeps 
 well and is enjoying herself elsewhere. In the length and 
 breadth of England I suppose there is not so unselfish a father 
 as myself" 
 
 Sudlow murmured some remark under his breath, which Sir 
 Geoffrey chose to accept as complimentary; for, after repeating
 
 156 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 his statement in different and more comprehensive terms — viz. 
 that when another person's interests were to be considered, he 
 never thought of " Geoffrey Chelston " — he remained for a 
 short time looking at the fire with a pensive and satisfied 
 expression of countenance. 
 
 With more courage than might have been expected under 
 the circumstances, Mr, Sudlow essayed a few commonplace 
 observations ; to all of which Sir Geoffrey replied heartily, yet 
 in a manner which suggested to the visitor that his mind was 
 wandering elsewhere. 
 
 " Is there any chance of my having the pleasure of seeing 
 Miss Chelston this afternoon ? " ventured the lover at last. 
 
 The Baronet laughed. 
 
 " My good fellow," he said, " it would be ' as much as my 
 place is worth ' to ask such a thing. My daughter can't endure 
 to be seen unless she's in parade dress, every bow and brooch 
 and hairpin in its proper place. Funny girl ! Now she's in 
 her dressing-gown I wouldn't like to beg for a two minutes' 
 interview myself." 
 
 " I did not mean to intrude, of course ; I only wished — 
 but perhaps you will kindly tell Miss Chelston I trust she may 
 have an ' extremely pleasant journey.' " 
 
 '• I don't know much about the journey," answered Sir 
 Geoffrey ; " but she's certain to have a good time when she 
 gets to the end of it. Much obliged to you, I'm sure. I'll say 
 all that's proper and civil. What, must you go? Can't you 
 spare me even a few minutes more? No? Well, I'll walk 
 with you to the gate. By the bye, I saw you the other day, 
 though you did not see me." 
 
 *' Indeed ! May I ask where ?" 
 
 " In Meridian Square. You were pottering about ! Had 
 I seen any one to mind my horse I'd have got down to ask 
 what the deuce was possessing you to hold a house-to-house 
 visitation in a neighbourhood like that. The whole population 
 must have been at one-o'clock dinner, I think. At any rate 
 there were mingled odours of fish, onions, bacon, and cabbage, 
 and not one of the aborigines visible. You are in a hurry \ 
 Good-day. Look in as often as you can. 6^^t?^-afternoon !" 
 And the Baronet, as he shut the gate after Mr. Sudlow, slowly 
 closed one eye with a waggish expression of such infinite, if 
 silent amusement, that it really seemed a pity there was no one 
 at hand with whom he could share the excellent joke evidently 
 in progress.
 
 S//^ GEOFFREY'S TACTICS. 157 
 
 " Sulk away, my friend,'' soliloquised the Baronet. " The 
 
 more you sulk the better I shall be pleased. You've had two 
 
 or three nasty falls this afternoon, or I'm much mistaken. 
 
 "Perhaps for the future Jack will think twice before he again 
 
 feels quite so certain he is as good as his master." 
 
 " So your niece is not at home," suggested Mr. Sudlow to 
 the banker the first time he was fortunate enough to meet that 
 gentleman. 
 
 " Where is she, then ?" asked Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " Gone out of town." 
 
 "O! Gone for how long?" 
 
 " I don't know — not till she has finished the round of all 
 her friends, as I understand." 
 
 Secretly Mr. Gayre reflected that Miss Peggy's absence 
 would not prove of long duration if it depended on that con- 
 tingency; but he only said, 
 
 " Well, you see, Sudlow, you and I are the only people left 
 in town. Soon I shall be the last rose — for you doubtless 
 mean to take your departure shortly." 
 
 " Yes, I think I shall get away for a while," agreed Mr. 
 Sudlow. " I never remember so slow a season." 
 
 " Take comfort ; it is over, at any rate." 
 
 " Which way are you going, Mr. Gayre ?" 
 
 " If you had asked me two minutes ago I should have said 
 to North Bank ; but as my niece is not there the journey would 
 be useless. Sir Geoffrey is sure to be out." 
 
 " He has not left town," said Mr. Sudlow, in an aggrieved 
 tone. 
 
 " Now his daughter is gone you may be very sure he won't 
 stop long behind. I understood him to say some time ago he 
 was only staying on her account." 
 
 "I suppose," remarked Mr. Sudlow ruefully, "he has 
 plenty of friends always ready to invite him." 
 
 " Possibly, probably ; but I really have no information on 
 the subject." 
 
 *'I daresay nov/ he'll be going to some great place in the 
 country to shoot." 
 
 " He may ; I do not know." 
 
 " If I could speak French well I'd go abroad," said Mr. 
 Sudlow, a little inconsequently ; " but it is such a nuisance to 
 be in a foreign country, and experience a difficulty about even 
 asking for a glass of water." 
 
 " If Sir Geoff"rey were here he would advise you to get over
 
 158 SUSAN DRUMiMOND. 
 
 that difiiculty by never asking for a glass of water;" with which 
 easy observation Mr. Gayre managed to end the dialogue and 
 betake himself to Wimpole Street, whence he despatched a 
 note to his brother-in-law, asking, " What have you done with 
 Margaret ?" 
 
 During the course of the following day back came Sir 
 
 Geoftrey's reply : 
 
 " Dear Gayre, — Don't you trouble your head about Peggy. 
 She is out of town, staying with friends— that is what Peggy is 
 doing ; and she is going to remain out of town for the present. 
 As for myself, now I have that anxiety off my mind, I intend 
 running down to Snatchwell's place in Staffordshire to have a 
 turn among the long-tails. You had better come too. _ Lots 
 of game ; pleasant house to stop at ; colourless wife, with no 
 harm or good about her; excellent cellar; host who likes his 
 guests to enjoy themselves. Snatchwell would have been just 
 the husband for Peggy— son of an ironmaster, or something of 
 that sort, who left him a large fortune. But then, you see, 
 there's Mrs. S. ; and even for Peggy I don't feel disposed to 
 bring myself to the gallows. If you like to look up any even- 
 ing you name, shall be glad to see you ; but the place is all, 
 after a manner, done up in holland and brown paper, and there 
 are no servants except Sweet Lavender. — Yours, G. C. 
 
 " Think about Staffordshire." 
 
 "Then she is really out of town," decided Mr. Gayre. " I 
 scarcely believed it. Who ca?i he have found to take charge 
 of her?"
 
 ^ -w-^ 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 LANDED. 
 
 September had come and gone. Spite of Sir Geoffrey's gloomy 
 prophecies concerning an early winter, that year summer, as if 
 loth to part company with everything fair and beautiful, lin- 
 gered in England till even in late November such a blue and 
 sunshiny sky looked down on mead and stream and copse as 
 often fails to gladden the eye in rose-laden and leafy June. It 
 was October — a dry glorious October, with foliage turning red 
 and yellow and brown and russet on the trees, when the cones 
 hung low on the pines, and late pears and apples and plums 
 shone mellow on the espaliers; and there was just enough of 
 chilliness in the autumn air to make a fire pleasant, and the 
 country looked its very best, and the stubble gleamed golden 
 in the bright sunshine, and sportsmen winding through woods 
 only just beginning to get somewhat bare and thin of foliage 
 gave animation to almost every sylvan landscape. 
 
 The Warren was looking enchanting. Down in the planta- 
 tions there was an autumnal rustle and scent ; but immediately 
 around the cottage it might still have been July, so firm was 
 the turf, so fair the lawns, so bright the gardens, so gay the 
 verandah, with flower and leaf and berry ; whilst as for Mrs. 
 Jubbins, the gladness of Nature seemed reflected in her face. 
 
 So happy and good a season the widow had never known. 
 The glory of an Indian summer was streaming across her life 
 just as the sunshine lay golden upon the Kentish fields. 
 Three, often four, days a week Mr. Gayre now spent at her 
 house. 
 
 Ostensibly he came to shoot ; but then he might have 
 found far more pheasants, far finer sport, elsewhere. Were 
 not great houses open to him ? Had not grand and notable 
 persons asked for the pleasure of his company at their country 
 seats? It was optional with him, she knew, whether he chose 
 to chase " the wild deer and follow the roe " in Scotland, or 
 kill a stray rabbit on his lordship's twenty-acre lot. For him
 
 i6o SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 the rivers of Ireland danced and glittered in vain, the York- 
 shire moors held no charm, the stately hospitality of great 
 men's houses presented no temptation. 
 
 At last, thought the widow, after the years, the long patient 
 years, of waiting, he had become quite one of the family ; and 
 by Christmas perhaps — who could tell ? — the day might be 
 settled when, the last drop of bitterness extracted from her 
 cup, she should exchange the name of Jubbins for that of 
 Gayre. As regarded the banker himself, she felt he had grown 
 too delightful ; while still superior to all created beings, he was 
 yet more human, more accessible, less cynical. He took the 
 keenest interest in Ida's equestrian exercises ; he talked to the 
 boys about their future — he was very earnest that one at least 
 of them should pursue the path Mr. Jubbins had trod before. 
 
 When he spoke about " oil" it seemed to the widow that 
 product became nectar. Attar of roses never smelt sweeter 
 than rank sperm or olive when purified by Mr. Gayre's clever 
 
 tongue. 
 
 At last he was identifying his interests with hers — " taking 
 notice " of her children, advising her — not coldly, but as one 
 who took a pleasure in the subject — as to their future ; and all 
 this had come to pass since she left Brunswick Square and 
 migrated to Chislehurst. 
 
 Blessed Chislehurst ! blessed Warren ! thrice blessed Lady 
 Merioneth ! As she paced the rooms once trodden by that 
 noble personage, as her feet pressed the carpets formerly 
 honoured by the footsteps of nobility, and looked out of the 
 windows on the woods for which her money paid, but in which 
 Mr. Gayre shot, the widow forgot to remember she had been 
 Higgs and was Jubbins — forgot everything in heaven and on 
 earth save that she believed at length her long fealty was to 
 be rewarded, and that ere long she would be solemnly asked 
 whether she Eliza would take this man Nicholas for better and 
 for worse. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Jubbins ! Men were deceitful ever ; and Mr. 
 Gayre only made the few pheasants and rabbits he ever 
 " potted " at The Warren an excuse for hearing tidings of Susan 
 Drummond. 
 
 Since the great party they had met thrice — twice at Chisle- 
 hurst, once at Enfield, whither Mr. Gayre repaired with a mes- 
 sage (which might just as well have been sent on a post-card) 
 from Sir Geoffrey. 
 
 It struck him Mrs. Arbery was not particularly delighted
 
 LANDED. t6i 
 
 with his visit, and that Susan seemed a little anxious and dis- 
 Jraite ; but when next she walked with him round and about 
 TlTe Warren he could see no difference in her, save that she 
 had grown more sweet and beautiful than of yore. When 
 would Sir Geoffrey and his daughter return to London ? That 
 was the only question Mr. Gayre now accounted to be of any 
 real importance. Politics were to him as vanity, and the state 
 of the money market a matter of supreme indifference. He 
 could not propose to Susan at The Warren, where his most 
 telling sentence might be spoiled by a shout from one of Mrs. 
 Jubbins' untrained and ill-mannered cubs. It was equally im- 
 possible to say what he wanted to say out at Enfield, under the 
 eye of Mrs. Arbery. No ; he had decided the when and the where 
 his declaration should take place, if Heaven only so ordained 
 matters that his brother-in-law and niece returned to North 
 Bank before all sunshine departed. He knew the very spot in 
 the Regent's Park where he meant to lay all he had of value 
 on earth at her dear feet. He would entice her there, and 
 before those wonderful brown eyes lay his heart bare. 
 
 He had thought the whole affair out ; there was nothing to 
 conceal, nothing of which he need be ashamed. It was for her 
 sake only he had sought out his relations, for whom he was 
 now prepared to do a great deal. Her will should be his law. 
 Aught a man may do he was ready to essay, if only she would 
 lay her hand in his and say, " We will walk through life 
 together." 
 
 Occasionally perhaps he felt a twinge or two concerning 
 Mrs. Jubbins ; but if a woman likes to deceive herself, is a 
 man to blame ? 
 
 Mr. Gayre felt Miss Drummond was not likely to censure 
 him greatly for not asking the widow in marriage. Susan 
 moved among the City people ; but she was not of them. She 
 had scarcely a thought in common with the bulk of the per- 
 sons Mrs. Jubbins knew. She was good to Ida, tolerant 
 towards the boys ; but O ! and O ! what a gulf, wide and long 
 and deep, worn by centuries of culture and thought and breeding, 
 lay between her and the rich dowagers who "condescended" 
 to exchange a few words with Mrs. Jubbins' young friend, as 
 she flitted about the place, getting a book for one, a few 
 flowers for another, a cushion for a third — " making yourself 
 cheap," so Miss Chelston once truly and indignantly remarked 
 — a thing, by the way. Miss Chelston was never likely to do. 
 
 As for Mr. Sudlow, he was wandering to and fro upon the 
 
 M
 
 i62 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 earth, like a perturbed spirit. He had gone to every usual and 
 unusual seaside resort within a reasonable distance of London, 
 and nowhere found Miss Chelston, either in the flesh or in 
 the visitors' list. She had vanished, and nobody apparently, 
 except her father, knew whither ; Mr. Gayre did not, or Laven- 
 der, or Mrs. Lavender, or the housemaid, or Mrs. Jubbins, or 
 Miss Drummond. Mr. Sudlow had tried them all, openly and 
 craftily ; but it is impossible to tell what one does not know, 
 and the suitor could only, by dint of trouble and time and 
 scheming, e.xlract at the last the answer he had received at the 
 first. 
 
 " Miss Chelston was out of town with some friends." 
 Nobody could tell when she would return, nobody seemed to 
 know whether she would ever return ; nobody was able to 
 throw the smallest light on Sir Geoffrey's plans for the future, 
 save that there seemed some idea of giving up Mr. Moreby's 
 box at Christmas. 
 
 " And I did hear a word let drop, sir," said Mrs. Lavender, 
 smoothing down her apron, " that very likely Miss Chelston 
 might winter abroad with a relation of Sir Geoffrey's," which 
 revelation was in acknowledgment of a sovereign pressed into 
 the worthy woman's hand. Had she vouchsafed this informa- 
 tion at first instead of at last, she would never have received 
 that twenty shillings sterling coin of the realm. 
 
 " Dem !" said Mr. Sudlow, as he flung himself away, leaving 
 poor Mrs. Lavender utterly amazed. " Dem !" 
 
 Clearly if Sir Geoffrey failed to understand many good 
 things, he had a perfect comprehension of such a nature as 
 that possessed by the son-in-law he hoped to secure. 
 
 " Dem !" said that worthy, which monosyllabic curse meant 
 he felt he must now take action. 
 
 " And he went out of that there gate," said Mrs. Lavender 
 to her spouse, " and tore down the road as if he were a dog 
 with a tin kettle tied to his tail !" 
 
 A week later, Mr. Gayre had but just finished dinner, and 
 was in the act of filling himself a glass of claret, when the door 
 opened, and, unexpected and unannounced, Sir Geoffrey Chel- 
 ston made his appearance. 
 
 " I know you don't care to see me in your house," began 
 the Baronet, directly the first greetings were over ; " I must be 
 a confounded deal less sharp than I am if I failed to know 
 that. But under the circumstances I thought you would not 
 mind. Sudlow has proposed^^
 
 LANDED. 163 
 
 " No !" exclaimed Mr. Gayre. 
 
 "Fact, my dear boy, and a deuce of a time he has been 
 "^b'out it, in my opinion. If I had not packed Peggy bag and 
 baggage out of town, we should never have got him up to the 
 point. Yes, five days ago I was staying with a young fellow in 
 Norfolk, who has just come into fifteen thousand a year and 
 some splendid shooting — gracious Heavens, only to think of 
 the luck every one seems to have but myself! — when a letter 
 arrived, forwarded on from my club. It was from our friend, 
 asking my permission, wanting to pay his addresses, and all the 
 rest of the business ; a very proper sort of epistle altogether, 
 except that, apparently, he had forgotten all about money 
 matters; at any rate, he said nothing on the subject. So I 
 wrote back from Antler Castle a diplomatic little letter, thank- 
 in,g- him for the honour he did my daughter and myself ; but 
 in i mating it was not exactly the alliance I desired. I didn't 
 say what I wanted, but I made him feel he was scarcely in the 
 rank — you understand." 
 
 Mr. Gayre did. The charming Baronet had pursued pre- 
 cisely the same tactics in his ov/n case he was now practising 
 on behalf of his daughter ; but it was not necessary to go into 
 that question, so the banker only said, 
 
 " Did he write again ?" 
 
 " No, he came. By the greatest piece of good fortune, 
 Dashdale — that's my friend, you know — happened to be at the 
 station with tandem, dog-cart, livery servants, and everything 
 likely to impress an out-and-out cad like Sudlow, when he 
 heard that individual inquiring how he could get to Antler 
 Castle. ' Who is it you want there ?' asks Dashdale (a deuced 
 ready off-hand sort of fellow Dashdale). 'Sir Geoffrey Chel- 
 ston,' says Sudlow. ' You're not a dun, I hope !' cries Dash- 
 dale between fun and earnest. Sudlow, I believe, got very 
 red, and said, 'No, he wasn't a dun.' 'Jump up, then,' says 
 Dashdale ; ' give him his head ; stand clear, there.' And 
 before Sudlow was well settled in his seat, as sweet a pair of 
 bays as ever you clapped eyes on were spanking along the 
 road at a pace which took away our friend's breath. 
 
 " ' If you believe me,' says Dashdale, ' the cockney held 
 on — held on, by !' " 
 
 '* Well ?" asked Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " Dashdale — most deuced hospitable man — made him stop 
 for dinner, stop the night, stop for breakfast, stop for luncheon, 
 and then ordered round the brougham and sent him over to
 
 164 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 the station. * Any friend of my friend Chelston,' said Dashdale, 
 'is welcome to anything; I can do for him.' If I had coached 
 him up, Dashchile could not have played into my hands better. 
 Of course, in a house like that, Sudlow got a glimpse of the 
 usages of decent society. Thank God, I am no snob. I 
 would just as soon eat a crust of bread-and-cheese at a way- 
 side pub as dine off silver ; still, I confess I was glad that, for 
 once, Sudlow should see the sort of thing I had been accus- 
 tomed to. There was not much bounce left in him when he 
 asked me for half an hour's conversation in the library." 
 
 "And the end of it all?" inquired Sir Geoffrey's patient 
 auditor. 
 
 " I'm coming to that. He wanted my daughter ; what was 
 my objection to him ? I said, ' General rather than particular. 
 1 looked for something beyond mere wealth in a husband ;' 
 and I fooled him into believing Dashdale might suit me for a 
 son-in-law, as, indeed, he would, only he's engaged to his 
 cousin, a girl with the wickedest pair of eyes, and the sauciest 
 -smile, and the best seat across country you'd desire to see." 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Gayre. 
 
 No revelation the Baronet could make would have surprised 
 his relative ! 
 
 " That arrow stuck. ' You see,' I said, * you are only rich.' 
 * Surely it is something to be rich !' he urged. Of course I 
 agreed to that. ' But then a great deal more is needed. In 
 our rank we look for other things besides money. I am a 
 great advocate,' I went on, 'for people marrying in their own 
 set. My daughter would be miserable if asked to associate 
 with persons beneath her.' 
 
 " ' I should not ask her to do anything of the sort,' he 
 declared. 
 
 " ' I do not know,' I said. ' I have noticed a tendency in 
 you to think people great and grand merely because they 
 have so many thousands a year. In your estimation, if I 
 may say so without offence, a lord mayor is an individual to 
 be cultivated. Personally — though I am not in the least pre- 
 judiced — I would rather not associate with lord mayors, and 
 I certainly don't intend to let my daughter aasociate with 
 them. You have forced me to speak plainly,' I finished ; 
 ' and now no offence being, I hope, given, take my advice, 
 and look out for some City heiress.' And with that I rose 
 to end the conversation." 
 
 " It would have ended with me at a much earlier period,"
 
 LANDED. 165 
 
 said Mr, Gayre. " How you can be so intolerably rude, 
 Chelston, passes my understanding." 
 
 - - " Rude ! I was particularly polite. I didn't ' Confound 
 his impudence I' or bluster about my family. I was obliged ' 
 to show him where he had gone wrong, but I tried to spare 
 his feelings as much as possible. However, he would not 
 let me go. He was willing to do everything in his power. 
 A golden key would unlock the door into almost any society 
 nowadays ; and, wdth his money and my daughter's beauty, 
 birth, and breeding, he thought — he felt sure, indeed — 
 there would be no difficulty in getting into the very first 
 circles. 
 
 " ' Make no mistake about that,' I said, ' Society is not 
 a theatre, where you have only to pay your money and walk 
 into the stalls. Besides, what earthly reason have you to sup- 
 pose my daughter would marry you ? Has she shown the 
 slightest partiality for you ?' 
 
 " ' Well, he could not say she had. Still, he thought he 
 might have a chance if I would only give him opportunity 3' 
 and I let him talk on and on, and at last over-persuade me 
 into giving a sort of reluctant and conditional consent to his 
 writing to Peggy, He wanted to see her, but I would not 
 allow that. ' I can't have the girl harassed as you have har- 
 assed me,' I told him. ' She is a timid sort of creature, and 
 it hurts her, I know, to give pain so much ; she would be just 
 as likely as not to say ' Yes ' when she wanted to say ' No.' 
 
 "Then he entreated me not to prejudice her against him. 
 ' Honour bright,' I promised ; ' if I say nothing in your favour, 
 I'll say nothing in your disfavour ;' and he was going to end 
 with that, when I remarked, ' O, by the bye, before we go any 
 further we had better understand each other about one thing 
 — settlements.^ " 
 
 Mr. Gayre smiled cynically, but Sir Geoffrey did not choose 
 to see that smile. 
 
 " Would you believe," he said, " the beggar did not want 
 to make any settlements; so we had a very stiff ten minutes 
 before I could make the least impression on him. ' He did 
 not approve of settlements,' ' Very well, then,' I said, ' you 
 don't propose to my daughter.' ' Whatever the amount of 
 her fortune might be, he would settle a similar sum.' 'Then," 
 I said, ' you don't propose to my daughter.' ' He would settle 
 three hundred a year.' ' O no,' I said, ' you don't propose to 
 my daughter. Hang it, sir !' I went on, ' have you come here
 
 1 66 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 to insult me? You've nothing hut money to throw into the 
 scale ; and, by Heaven, if you don't throw in a good lot of 
 that, wife of yours daughter of mine shall never be ! Do 
 you think I am going to have my only child left to the tender 
 mercies of any husband ? No, no, Mr. Sudlow, you have 
 deceived yourself. I am not as simple as I look. I have not 
 lived fifty years in this wicked world for nothing. And if my 
 daughter marries, she shall marry as befits her station. Settle- 
 ments liberal and all in order — good establishment — plenty of 
 servants — carriage — everything in the best style — money no 
 object whatever. Now you know my views, and there is an 
 end of the matter.' " 
 
 "And I\Ir. Sudlow—?" 
 
 " Your friend accepted the inevitable. 'Pon my soul, there 
 are people who like you the better for thrashing them. When 
 I found out my gentleman's game I did not spare him, and 
 now he is as tractable as you please. He has my permission 
 to write to Peggy through me, and I have told her she is not 
 to take him at first, but that she must take him at last. I wish 
 they could have been married immediately, but that's impossible. 
 He has to find a house sJie likes, buy furniture she selects, pur- 
 chase the carriage she prefers (if he behaves himself I'll give 
 them a pair of horses such as you don't often see), make settle- 
 ments to be approved by viy solicitors. Gad, when you think 
 of it, Gayre, marriage is an awful thing for a man ! Then, on 
 the other hand, Peggy must provide a frousseau — not a mere 
 makeshift sort of business, but the best money can buy ; and 
 afterwards comes the worst difficulty of all — what are we to do 
 with the girl in the period between the time she is engaged 
 and married ? There is only one person I can think of fit to 
 matronise her. I must see Susan Drummond on the subject. 
 She can help me in that quarter, I know." 
 
 " Do you think of going over to Enfield, then ?" asked Mr. 
 Gayre. 
 
 " To Enfield ! Not I, faith ! I am not so fond of cold 
 water, old women, and sour looks as all that comes to. I'll 
 just drop Susan a line, and ask her to run over and see me as 
 soon as ever she can. We must take time by the forelock 
 now, or else time may reverse the operation." 
 
 " But you don't suppose Miss Drummond will run over, as 
 you call it, to see you ?" 
 
 " Won't she ? Ah, you don't bet; if you did, I'd lay long 
 odds Susan will come at any inconvenience to herself. You
 
 LANDED. 167 
 
 don't know Susan — that's flat, my lad. And now I must go, 
 and you will be very glad to see my back. It's a queer world, 
 toe. Only to think of the Chelstons and the Gayres, and the 
 Chelstons and the Sudlows !" Having delivered himself of 
 which suggested parable, Sir Geoffrey, after stigmatising claret 
 as cold unhealthy stuff, which thinned the blood and destroyed 
 the digestion, poured himself out a tumbler of Mr. Gayre's rare 
 vintage, and swallowing it with a wry face, as though it were 
 medicine, walked out of the house with a gravity of demeanour 
 and steadiness of gait which deceived Mr. Gayre's servant into 
 believing the Baronet was soberer than any judge. 
 
 For one rash moment Mr. Gayre had felt tempted to declare 
 Miss Drummond should not be at his brother-in-law's beck and 
 call, that it was monstrous to ask the girl to come to North 
 Bank even for ten minutes during his niece's absence ; but the 
 next, caution won the day ; only he resolved that upon the very 
 first opportunity which offered he would try to gain a right to 
 stop all that sort of thing. 
 
 But then, good Heavens ! if Susan married him she would 
 be almost Sir Geoffrey's sister-in-law; and this seemed so utterly 
 monstrous an idea that Mr. Gayre had, spite of his own will, to 
 sit down and consider the complication of relationship which 
 would ensue. 
 
 Aunt to Marguerite and Mr. Sudlow and the Minor Canon- 
 esses, sister-in-law to the Canoness and Canon Gayre ! The 
 banker felt quite disheartened. 
 
 "There ought to be some law passed to relieve people of 
 these liabilities," he considered ; and then he decided to haunt 
 North Bank till he heard when Susan might be expected to pay 
 that extraordinary visit suggested quite as a matter of course by 
 Sir Geoffrey, if indeed she ever paid it at all.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 BETWEEN WIND AND WATER. 
 
 " I ASKED you to come over in a way our worthy friend here 
 evidently considers extremely free and easy, that I might get 
 ten minutes' iminterrupted chat with you. We've known each 
 other too long to stand on ceremony, eh, Susan ?" 
 
 " I should think so indeed," answered Miss Drummond, but 
 the colour rushed into her face as she spoke. 
 
 "What on earth," wondered Mr. Oayre, " can make the 
 girl blush so painfully at times, while on other occasions she 
 does not seem to have a drop of tell-tale blood in her body ?'' 
 
 " Can you tell me where Miss Matthews is to be found ?" 
 
 " She is living at Shepherd's Bush," answered Susan. 
 
 "There, I felt sure you could help me out of the wood. 
 How is she off?" 
 
 " Not very well, I fear," was the reply. 
 
 " All the better for my purpose," said the Baronet gaily. 
 " Sorry, of course, on her account, and all that," he went on ; 
 "but if she is not overburdened with this world's goods, she 
 may be the more inclined to let bygones be bygones." 
 
 Susan shook her head gravely. " What is it you want her 
 to do?" she asked. 
 
 " Come here for three months, and I'll make it worth her 
 while." 
 
 " I am afraid," said Miss Drummond, pursing up her pretty 
 mouth till it was like nothing so much as a sweet pink rosebud ; 
 then meeting Sir Geoffrey's eye, her lips opened, and she broke 
 into a sudden and irresistible peal of laughter, in which the 
 Baronet himself joined heartily. 
 
 " Faith, it seemed no joking matter at the time, Sue," he 
 said, as soon as he could speak ; " and there's Gayre wonder- 
 ing what the deuce we are laughing at." 
 
 " I can guess," remarked Mr. (Jayre, with a poor resem- 
 blance of merriment. 
 
 The three were at luncheon together. Mrs. Lavender had
 
 BETWEEN WIA'D AXD WATER. 169 
 
 what she called " tossed up " a very pretty repast, over which 
 Sir Geoffrey Chelston, clothed, shaved, and as sober as his 
 •"previous night's doings would permit, presided. That luncheon 
 was indeed his breakfast, and with the aid of several highly- 
 seasoned and savoury dishes, assisted by strong cordials, he 
 was trying to get that troublesome stomach of his into good 
 temper. 
 
 " Have a glass of sherry, Susan, do," entreated the Baronet. 
 " Capital sherry this. Now I want you to coax Miss Matthews 
 to come and take charge of the house for three months. I am 
 sure she would do anything for you." 
 
 "I do not think she would do that," answered Susan, with 
 an attempt at gravity creditable under the circumstances. 
 
 " Not if I promised to be a good boy and behave myself? 
 She need not fear any recurrence of the indiscretion. Deuce 
 take the girl ! what's she laughing at now?" 
 
 " O Mr. Gayre," panted out Susan, " if you could only see 
 ]\Iiss Matthews !" 
 
 " He need not wish to see her, I'm sure. Touch of the 
 tar-brush about her complexion, and figure indescribable. But 
 fact is, Gayre, I did offend Miss Matthews — as conscientious a 
 woman as ever entered the house. An excellent person, but 
 most confoundedly ugly — perhaps that was the reason she was 
 . good. There is no merit in ugly people being virtuous. I can't 
 think what the deuce possessed me ; or rather — I know, it was 
 some of the worst whisky that ever came out of a cheating inn- 
 keeper's cellar. She needn't have made such a fuss about the 
 matter, though. If she looked in her glass she must have been 
 perfectly sure what I did was committed in a moment of mental 
 aberration. Never previously," finished the Baronet, " in the 
 course of a long and, I may add, comparatively sinless life, did 
 I so far forget myself." 
 
 " She would not have minded it so much, I am sure," inter- 
 posed Susan, '' if Dottrell had not chanced unfortunately to 
 come into the room." 
 
 " Where, if you believe me, Gayre, on my sacred word of 
 honour, I was making that worthy lady tread a measure like 
 Young Lochinvar. I must have been confoundedly drunk ; 
 not with the quantity, only with the quality, of what I had 
 taken. And when I got home, and found the old girl in the 
 drawing-room, I believe I chucked her under the chin, and 
 insisted she should dance a minuet with me. She declared I 
 kissed her, too ; and I daresay I did, for I was quite off my
 
 lyo SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 head. _ As a matter of choice, I wouldn't have done such a 
 thing in my sober senses for a thousand pounds ; and then, in 
 the middle of the performance, Dottrel), our then butler, ap- 
 peared on the scene. 
 
 " She appealed to him for protection, and straightway 
 opened out on me. I sat down, for the simple reason that I 
 could not stand, and she did hold forth. Father Mathew and 
 Mrs. Clrundy together could not have hatched up such a dis- 
 course. She would have gone on till now, only Dottrell calmly 
 remarking, ' You had better come away, ma'am ; Sir Geoffrey 
 does not understand a word you're saying,' with firm decision 
 took hold of her arm and marched her out of the room." 
 
 "And the next morning?" questioned Mr. (layre, who now 
 began to understand more thoroughly than ever the reason 
 why Sir (]eoftrey found his domestic affairs somewhat difficult 
 to manage. 
 
 " The next morning Dottrell woke me out of a sound sleep 
 in order to deliver a letter from Miss Matthews. 
 
 " ' Put it down,' I growled, for I had such a headache I 
 could scarcely open my eyes. 
 
 " 'Beg pardon. Sir Geoffrey, but ]\Iiss Matthews wants to 
 catch the 11.25 train, and — ^ 
 
 " ' Let her catch her train, and be blanked to her !' I said, 
 settling down again, for I had clean forgotten all about that last 
 night's minuet. But it was of no use. Dottrell proved too 
 much for me, and I had to sit up and face the matter. 
 
 " 'Won't she take an apology?' I asked. 
 
 " No, she wouldn't ; all she meant to take was her salary 
 and departure. But now, look here, Susan. You tell her 
 I'm a reformed character; and that I'm never at home till 
 morning; and that you'll go bail for my good conduct; and 
 that Peggy, who is now quite grown up, and a dragon of pro- 
 priety, keeps me on my best manners ; and that she shall have 
 fifty pounds for the three months, paid in advance. She'll 
 come then, bless you ! she'll come. If she should want any 
 further guarantee, refer her to Gayre. He'll tell her the man 
 never lived who had a greater respect for elderly women than 
 myself. Why, rather than offend one of them, I'd keep out of 
 their way for ever." 
 
 It was too much. Even Mr. Gayre had to laugh, as if he 
 saw some fun in the Baronet's utterances, while Susan faithfully 
 promised she would say all she could in Sir Geoffrey Chelston's 
 favour.
 
 BETWEEN WIND AND WATER. 171 
 
 " And you'll say it this afternoon, won't you?" he entreated, 
 " because time happens to mean money to me just now." 
 --^-To this arrangement Susan at first demurred a little. The 
 afternoon would be far advanced before she could get to Shep- 
 herd's Bush. Miss Matthews might not be at home. Mrs. 
 Arbery would certainly feel uneasy. But each of these points 
 Sir Geoffrey combated, and she yielded ; the while Mr. Gayre 
 sat inwardly fuming at the way his brother-in-law made use of 
 the girl, and the manner she allowed herself to be so treated. 
 Mr. Gayre failed to see the beauty of making oneself cheap. 
 He could not understand that the moment Susan began to 
 think she was of too much importance to answer to the beck 
 and call of those she cared for, she would cease to be Susan 
 Drummond, and become a totally different person. 
 
 " If you are going by the Metropolitan," said the Baronet, 
 by way of conclusion, '' we can walk together as far as Baker 
 Street. Will you come with us, Gayre ?" 
 
 Almost gnashing his teeth, Mr. Gayre said he would. Where 
 was now his chance of speaking to Susan ? He felt at his 
 wits' end. He did not know what to do. Should he write? 
 Should he go down to Enfield, or wait his opportunity, or — 
 
 " This is your hat, Gayre," cried Sir Geoffrey, interrupting 
 his meditations, " and here is Susan. I always did say I never 
 saw a girl who could put on her bonnet as fast as you. How- 
 ever, as you know, a 'bonny bride is soon buskit;' which re- 
 minds me that I am to be father, and give you away some day. 
 You remember our compact ?" 
 
 " Very well indeed j and I will hold you to your promise," 
 answered Susan. 
 
 And then, as Mr. Gayre held the door open for her to pass 
 out, he wondered to himself what on earth his ladye-love could 
 see in such a reprobate as Sir GeoftVey to laugh and make 
 merry with him and smile on his battered wicked face, as though 
 it were pure as that of an angel. 
 
 Nevertheless, they were a pleasant trio as they walked to 
 Baker Street ; and Mr. Gayre, after he had got Susan's ticket 
 and seen her into the train, he and Sir Geoffrey accompanying 
 the lady on to the platform per favour — lamented his own 
 want of daring in failing to take a ticket also to Shepherd's 
 Bush. 
 
 But if there is a " divinity which doth hedge a king," there 
 is a higher divinity which hedges a modest innocent woman. 
 Not for all the world would Mr. Gayre then have so timed his
 
 1 7 2 SWSAA' DRUMMOND. 
 
 proposal as to hurt tlie girl's self-respect, and daunt her fearless 
 self-reliance. 
 
 "She has no business to be running about London in this 
 way by herself," he thought ; but he felt he dared not be the 
 man to teach Susan Urummond she was doing wrong. 
 
 Next morning's post brought a note to North Bank, saying 
 Miss Matthews utterly declined to accept Sir Geoffrey's offer; 
 but she— Susan, the writer — had met, at the house of Mar- 
 garet's ex-governess, a lady willing to enter upon the duties he 
 required at once. 
 
 " I am sure she is just the person you would like," finished 
 the fair scribe; "■ not yoitug'" ("Good Lord!" groaned Sir 
 Geoffrey), "a widow" ("'Ware hawks, but she can't catch 
 me," considered the juvenile Baronet) ; " rather nice-looking 
 and pleasant-mannered" (" That's a bit of comfort") ; "has a 
 grandson she wants to keep at school " (" Then she must be 
 out of her teens, at any rate"); "and seems to be in all re- 
 spects the sort of person you require. I enclose her address." 
 
 To which Sir Geoffrey replied : 
 
 "You settle with her, my dear Susan. Anything you say 
 I'll stick to. If she can come into residence before the week 
 is out, so much the better." 
 
 Upon which authorit)', it may be assumed, Miss Drum- 
 mond acted forthwith, since Mr. Gayre was duly and truly in- 
 formed "an elderly party was coming to keep things straight 
 at North Bank." 
 
 " She'll be a deuce of a nuisance, I know," finished the 
 Baronet ; " but we must have something of the sort. Those 
 few days I had to stay at home and play propriety after the 
 Chislehurst spread nearly killed me. Besides, my time is my 
 money ; and it wouldn't pay me to play the part of Mrs. Pro- 
 priety. Once Peggy has given a sort of modified consent, she 
 shall come home ; and I've asked Susan to tear herself away 
 from the delights of Enfield, and stay with us for a while to 
 brighten up the house." 
 
 It was not long ere Mr. Sudlow won a reluctant and digni- 
 fied acceptance from Miss Chelston. 
 
 "She feels she scarcely knows enough of me yet," explained 
 Mr. Sudlow to Mr. Gayre ; " but even that looks well, does it 
 not?" asked the happy lover, invading the sanctity of Upper 
 Wimpole Street one morning before Mr. Gayre had finished 
 his breakfast. " She would not have said so much if she had 
 not intended taking me some time, would she ?"
 
 BETWEEX IVIXD AXD WATER. 173 
 
 Declining to commit himself to any positive statement, 
 Mr. Gayre nevertheless admitted he thought his niece must, 
 at all events, be entertaining the idea of Mr. Sudlow as a 
 husband. 
 
 '■ I am afraid Sir Geoffrey will be very hard to deal with on 
 the subject of settlements," ventured Mr. Sudlow. 
 
 " Time enough for you to consider that question when you 
 have arranged matters with my niece." 
 
 " You know I object to settlements — "' 
 
 " So I remember you said before; and we need not go over 
 that old ground again. Keep your objections for Sir Geof- 
 frey. It is his daughter, not mine, you hope to marry." 
 
 What Mr. Sudlow wanted to know was whether Mr. Gayre 
 meant to behave handsomely on the occasion. Five thousand 
 pounds, he hinted to Sir Geoffrey, would not empty the Lom- 
 bard Street coffers, while it might prove of material assistance 
 in the housekeeping battle ; but the Baronet warned him *ff 
 this treacherous ground. 
 
 "Gayre is a deuced odd sort of fellow," he said; "and if 
 he is going to give anything, he'll give it without being asked, 
 perhaps slip a dot into his niece's hand when she is going 
 away to change her dress. But a certain person, who shall be 
 nameless, couldn't get sixpence out of him unless he took the 
 notion. Our best plan is to let him alone." 
 
 Which was all very well for the Baronet, considered Mr. 
 Sudlow ; but not so well for the person undertaking to board, 
 lodge, and dress the beautiful Marguerite for the remainder of 
 her days. 
 
 " You see it is not as if Miss Chelston had a fortune in her 
 own right," ventured Mr. Sudlow at last. 
 
 Mr. Gayre looked at him and smiled. 
 
 " I suspect," said the banker, " if Miss Chelston had pos- 
 sessed a fortune in her own right, or in right of anybody else, 
 Sir Geoffrey would not have bestowed it on you. Take my 
 advice — if you get youth and beauty, and birth and breeding, 
 don't break your heart because there is not money too. You 
 could not have got one of the four in the person of my niece 
 but for the folly of Sir Geoffrey Chelston, formerly of Chelston 
 Pleasaunce." 
 
 "You seem to consider my wealth nothing." 
 
 " On the contrary, it is your wealth which has given you 
 the chance of marrying my niece ; and when you are married 
 to her I hope you will live in a manner befitting her rank and
 
 174 S US AN DR UMMOND. 
 
 her means. And for Heaven's sake, Sudlow," added Mr. 
 Gayre, with sudden energy, "give up collecting your own 
 rents. Dunning weekly tenants is scarcely an employment 
 suitable for a man whose wife may one day hope to be pre- 
 sented at Court." 
 
 Mr. Sudlow turned pink and scarlet, and blue and crimson, 
 in about as many seconds ; and his moustache quivered as he 
 asked, 
 
 " Who told you I did anything of the kind ?" 
 
 " Sir Geoffrey. He says he saw you doing it. And now do 
 take a word of advice. Your social future is before you to 
 make or to mar, and, what is of a great deal more importance 
 to me, my niece's future can be made or marred by you. If 
 you mean^to continue to do these sort of things say so, and the 
 matter shall be broken off at once. It is quite competent for 
 you to lower yourself; but ray niece shall not be pulled down 
 to your level. Why, in Heaven's name, don't you sell all that 
 wretched property, and try to put your many talents out to 
 interest in some way befitting a gentleman ?" 
 
 " Whenever you can prove your ability to introduce me to 
 really good society," retorted Mr. Sudlow, " I will follow your 
 advice. Meantime permit me to say I do not consider the 
 persons I find you know most intimately are in any respect 
 superior to myself." 
 
 " You had better repeat that statement to Sir Geoffrey 
 Chelston," said Mr. Gayre, " and ascertain his opinions on the 
 subject. I was wrong to interfere in the matter. It does not 
 much signify to me whom his daughter marries, or whether 
 she ever marries at all." 
 
 With which explicit statement Mr. Gayre rose, and would 
 have ended the conference, but that Mr. Sudlow, with profuse 
 apologies, begged him to overlook his little ebulUtion of 
 temper. 
 
 " You arc hard on a fellow, you know," he finished. " You 
 delight in catching me up and twitting me for taking care of 
 my money ; though you would be the first to find fault if I 
 squandered what my father left me." 
 
 " But for my grandfather your father would not have had 
 much to leave," answered Mr. Gayre. 
 
 And then the talk drifted away from the dangerous ques- 
 tion of rank to the surer ground of money, and peace seemed 
 restored by the time Mr. Gayre announced his intention of 
 starting for the City; and Mr. Sudlow asked him to come
 
 BETWEEN WIND AND WATER. 175 
 
 round by Bond Street, as he wished to buy a rhig, and desired 
 ^the benefit of his experience. 
 
 "I do not profess to be any judge of jewelry," answered 
 Mr. Gayre ; " but I will accompany you with pleasure, though 
 I consider your purchase somewhat premature. However, if 
 the ring is never possessed by my niece, it will do for some 
 other young lady ; only there is the loss of interest to consider, 
 Sudlow." 
 
 "I don't care a straw about that," declared Mr. Sudlow 
 valiantly. " Once your niece says ' yes,' and if only those 
 confounded settlements can be arranged, I shall be the hap- 
 piest man in England." 
 
 " That's what they all say before marriage," commented 
 Mr. Gayre, searching about for his umbrella. 
 
 They were just turning into Vere Street as a cab pulled up 
 opposite Marshall & Snelgrove's. Before the driver could get 
 down, a small gloved hand turned the handle, and in a second 
 the owner of that hand was on the pavement, and helping 
 another lady to descend more slowly. 
 
 "Why, it is Miss Drummond !" exclaimed Mr. Sudlow; 
 then he stopped ; for the flash of glad surprise in Mr, Gayre's 
 face, and the eager step made involuntarily forward, were reve- 
 lations more extraordinary than welcome. A man could scarcely 
 have clapped hands during the fraction of time it required to 
 make the banker's secret plain reading to Mr. Sudlow ; and 
 then both gentlemen were raising their hats and greeting Susan, 
 and remarking how extremely strange it was they should have met. 
 
 The cabman duly paid and discharged. Miss Drummond 
 introduced the banker and his companion to Miss Matthews, 
 during the progress of which ceremony it tried even Mr. Gayre's 
 gravity to look upon the highly respectable lady with whom, in 
 the great drawing-room at Chelston Pleasaunce, his brother-in- 
 law had essayed to trip a measure. Nearly six feet tall, gaunt, 
 short-petticoated, with slim ankles and lean legs, and long, 
 thin, tiat feet, with a face like a horse, kindly dark eyes, black 
 hair turning gray, a good Roman nose, prominent teeth, more 
 than a suspicion of a moustache : a less likely woman to appre- 
 ciate the delicate attention of being chucked under her chin 
 never existed. 
 
 As for Susan, she felt she dared not look at Mr. Gayre ; 
 there was a suspicious twitching about her mouth and a tremor 
 in her voice Mr. Sudlow could not comprehend, though both 
 phenomena were perfectly intelligible to his companion.
 
 1 7 6 SO'SAN DR UMMOND. 
 
 " Going shopping. Miss Drummond ?" asked Mr. Sudlow, 
 who, in his new character of an ahnost engaged man, had 
 already commenced to lake an interest in so purely feminine a 
 weakness. 
 
 " Yes, really," answered Susan, with a little nod and a 
 happy smile, and that sudden and vivid blush which was be- 
 ginning sorely to perplex Mr. Gayre. What on earth could 
 make her colour up at such a sim|)le question ? 
 
 " I always envy ladies their ability to sew and their liking 
 for turning over silks and satins," observed the banker. 
 
 " My purchases," said Susan, " must be of a much more 
 modest descrii)tion /' while Miss Matthews didactically ob- 
 served she did not know what ladies would do without the 
 resource of needlework. 
 
 As there probably never existed any one less able to suggest 
 even a vague solution to such a conundrum than Sir Geoffrey's 
 brother-in-law, wnde though the field of speculation opened up 
 by Miss Matthews' sententious remark might be considered, 
 the banker wisely declined to enter on it. Instead he inquired 
 when Miss Drummond meant to go to North Bank, and find- 
 ing " Very shortly — next week, perhaps," took his leave, and, 
 accompanied by Mr. Sudlow walked off, followed by warm 
 encomiums from Miss Matthews, who professed great astonish- 
 ment that her former employer could be possessed of so de- 
 sirable a relative. 
 
 "And what is the younger gentleman's name, Susan? I 
 failed to catch it." 
 
 " Mr. Sudlow — a captive of Margaret's spear and bow." 
 
 " Will it come to anything ?" 
 
 " I don't know. I hope not. He is only rich." 
 
 " If he is rich, then you ought to wish it may come to a 
 great deal. Margaret would be wretched married to a poor 
 man ; and she must be far happier and safer in the house of a 
 husband than residing under the roof of her reckless and dis- 
 solute father." 
 
 " Poor Sir Geoffrey!" remonstrated Susan. "You are far 
 too hard upon him." 
 
 "No, indeed, my dear, I am not; and the only fault I 
 have to find with you is that you wilfully shut your eyes to the 
 real character of that dreadful man. I am so sorry you are 
 going there ; it is really not respectable for a young girl to 
 associate with a person who bears so bad a character as Sir 
 Geoffrey Chelston."
 
 BETWEEN WIND AND WATER. \ii 
 
 " He has never been bad to me," retorted Miss Drummond 
 sharply — "always good and kind and thoughtful. One can 
 only speak of people as one finds them.'' 
 
 ''Ah, Susan — " 
 
 " Now it is of no use, Miss Matthews," interrupted the 
 girl, with that decision which often astonished Mr. (i.iyre ; " I 
 shall always like Sir Geoffrey. I should like him even if he 
 picked pockets." 
 
 "So he does," said the Roman Conqueror, as the Baronet 
 had been wont to call his daughter's governess \ " so he does, 
 if all accounts be true." 
 
 " I don't care whether they are true or false. What is the 
 use of being fond of a friend only when he does right? I 
 should want my friends to be fond of me if I did wrong — as 
 you would be, you know you would ; so never ask me again to 
 turn my back on Sir Geoffrey." 
 
 As days went by, the object of all this charming loyalty 
 might have been regarded almost as a reformed character. 
 The Baronet was devoting himself to getting his daughter well 
 settled with the same earnestness he brought to bear on betting, 
 card-playing, and horse-dealing. 
 
 "Sudlow finds those settlements a rasping fence," he said 
 
 to Mr. Gayre; "but he shall take it, by ! or give up all 
 
 hope of Peggy;" and because he was steadfastly purposed 
 to frustrate the slightest attempt to balk the jump, he rose 
 betimes, and stayed about the house, and watched over Miss 
 Chelstou, who was now at home, like a hen with one chicken. 
 The engagement at length became a fact accomplished, and 
 Sir Geoffrey was pleased to signify that he would put no 
 obstacle in the way of a speedy marriage. 
 
 " You satisfy my lawyers," was his terse way of putting the 
 case in a nutshell to Mr. Sudlovv, "and you'll satisfy me. To 
 save all trouble and argument, I have given them their instruc- 
 tions, by 7uhich they will abide;''' and if any disinterested per- 
 son had been by to see the shake of the head with which the 
 Baronet emphasised this utterance, he could not have imagined 
 that Miss Chelston's worthy papa was destitute of worldly 
 wisdom. 
 
 For, indeed, there had come a certain change over Mr. 
 Sudlow which puzzled and annoyed Sir Geoffrey. It was not 
 that he cared for his ladylove less ; but he certainly seemed 
 in no hurry to endow her with the amount of his worldly goods 
 upon which the Baronet insisted. That meeting with Susan 
 
 N
 
 i-jS SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 Drummond told him how small the fair Marguerite's chance of 
 inheriting her uncle's wealth might be considered, and hitherto 
 he had always calculated that she would, sooner or later, come 
 in for a good slice out of Lombard Street. 
 
 He longed to tell Sir Geoffrey and his daughter what he 
 had discovered, he was waiting his opportunity to do so; but 
 he did not wish to show his new card before Mrs. Morris, who 
 sat constantly on guard doing lace-work, which she sold to 
 various patronesses for the benefit of her grandson, whose 
 school- bills were made the excuse for that sort of genteel beg- 
 ging greatly in favour with ladies so situated that they are 
 obliged to wrest a living from society by hook or by crook. 
 
 He earnestly desired to get the matter off his mind before 
 ]\Iiss Drummond again appeared at North Bank, and at length 
 his chance came one evening, when Mrs. Morris had been 
 obliged to go to bed with a severe headache, and Sir Geoffrey 
 was fidgeting about the room, trying all the easy-chairs in suc- 
 cession, and thinking what an awful nuisance a daughter was, 
 and wondering why Lady Chelston could not, excepting for 
 contrariness, have presented him with a son instead, and mar- 
 velling when ]\Ir. Sudlow would take his departure, and feeling 
 sure there had never existed on the earth before so exemplary 
 a father as himself. 
 
 Something was said about Mr. Gayre not coming so often 
 as formerly to North Bank. 
 
 " I suppose," added the Baronet, " the fact is he has other 
 fish to fry at Chislehurst. I confess I feel rather surprised at 
 his choice myself. I hoped he might have gone in for some- 
 thing different ; but money attracts money, there can be no 
 question about that." 
 
 "And Mrs. Jubbins is so immensely rich," put in Miss 
 Chelston softly. 
 
 "Are you quite sure it is Mrs. Jubbins?" asked Mr. Sudlow. 
 
 " Why, of course, man," answered Sir Geoffrey ; " who else 
 is there ? Who else should there be ?'' 
 
 " I daresay you know best," said Mr. Sudlow ; " still, I 
 have a notion that when Mr. Gayre marries it will not be the 
 wealthy widow." 
 
 " You speak as if you had some one in your eye," exclaimed 
 the Baronet, roused into attention. 
 
 " So I have." 
 
 " And who is she ? O, pray tell us 1" entreated Miss Mar- 
 guerite. " What I would give to see her !"
 
 BETWEEX WIXD AXD WATER. 179 
 
 " You can compass your desire without any great expen- 
 diture of either time or money," said Mr. Sudlow triumphantly, 
 for he felt the moment for making a coup had come. " Unless 
 I am greatly mistaken, Miss Drummond will be metamorphosed 
 into Mrs. Gayre before we are any of us much older." 
 
 "Susan Drummond!" repeated the Baronet, sitting bolt 
 upright in his chair, and holding the arms with both hands, 
 while Margaret, literally, for the moment, bereft of speech, 
 remained dumb. "I think you are wrong there, my friend," 
 added Sir Geoffrey, after a pause, which seemed to last for 
 years. 
 
 " Am I ?" 
 
 " How in the world could such a notion have got into your 
 head?" 
 
 " I can't imagine how it failed to get into yours," answered 
 Mr. Sudlow, with a fine scorn. 
 
 " Poor dear Susan, what a preposterous idea !" said Miss 
 Chelston gently. 
 
 "You will find it a true one, I imagine,'' persisted the new 
 prophet. 
 
 " Fancy Susan my aunt !" suggested the beauteous Mar- 
 guerite, in the sweetest accents, the time her heart was full of 
 rage and malice and all uncharitableness. 
 
 " You might get a worse, Peggy, but never a better," said 
 the Baronet, who, having now grasped the position, decided 
 there was something in it. " If the land lies as you think, 
 Sudlow, I for one shall be delighted. On the face of God's 
 earth there walks no grander woman than Susan Drummond ; 
 and while I should have made the Jubbins welcome, I'd go 
 out of my senses with delight if matters turned out as you 
 think." 
 
 " You are very disinterested. Sir Geoffrey." 
 
 " Not I, faith ; I know Susan would never take from my 
 girl for herself. She'd be the making of Gayre — and — and — 
 us all. I wonder how it was I never thought of such a thing? 
 Gad, if it had rested with me they should have been man and 
 wife long enough ago." 
 
 Mr. Sudlow opened his mouth to reply, but an imploring 
 look from Miss Chelston caused him to shut it again. ^' After 
 all," she said, "my uncle may not have an idea of the kind." 
 
 " I hope and trust he has," cried Sir Geoffrey. " You have 
 brought me the best piece of news to-night, Sudlow, I have 
 heard for this many a day ! Susan married to Gayre ! why it
 
 l8o SUSA.y DRUMMOND. 
 
 sounds too good to be true. I'll go straight away down to 
 him, and ask if there's anything in it. We can walk part of 
 the way together ;" and the Baronet rose from his chair with 
 all the more alacrity that he thought he now saw his way to 
 getting out of the house and rid of Iiis future son-in-law at the 
 same moment. 
 
 " For heaven's sake, Sir Geoffrey, do no such thing !" en- 
 treated Mr. Sudlow. "Your brother-in-law would never for- 
 give me if he thought I had been meddling in his concerns. 
 Whatever you do, pray keep my name out of the affair; or, 
 rather, refrain from mentioning the matter at all. I — I may 
 be mistaken ; but I considered it only right to give you a hint. 
 I did not know the match was one you would like. I fancied 
 there might be objections, both on the score of age and 
 fortune." 
 
 " Did you ?'' said Sir Geoffrey grimly. " Understand, if 
 you please, I consider Susan Drummond a fortune in herself. 
 Why, with her family and Gayre's money, they might do just 
 what they pleased : and as for that trifle of disparity, Gayre is 
 a good fellow, and deserves a good wife : and, faith, if he gets 
 Susan, he'll have something to be proud of." 
 
 " I never admired Miss Drummond particularly myself," 
 remarked Mr. Sudlow — for which diplomatic speech he was 
 rewarded by an appreciative glance from his ladye-love — " but 
 from the first hour he saw her I know Mr. Gayre did." 
 
 " Showed his taste," commented the Baronet. " However, 
 I'll take no notice of what you have told us. Never spoil 
 sport has always been my maxim. Upon my soul, I feel as 
 much pleased as if anybody had given me a thousand pounds." 
 
 Which creditable feeling was certainly not shared by his 
 charming daughter. She knew exactly what Mr. Sudlow was 
 thinking, and her own opinion chanced to be identical with 
 his. If Mr. Gayre married Susan he would not feel disposed 
 to endow his niece with all he possessed. Miss Chelston had 
 long fastened her gaze on the Lombard Street coffers, and it 
 could not be said she regarded with pleasure the idea of Susan 
 getting any share of the spoil. 
 
 " Don't say anything more about this before papa," she 
 hinted, during a brief absence of Sir Geoffrey for the purpose 
 of draining a bumper to the health of the future Mrs. Gayre. 
 " Do you think my uncle is really thinking of marrying dear 
 Susan ?" 
 
 " I am quite sure he would like to marry her," answered
 
 BETWEEN WIND AND WATER. i8i 
 
 Mr. Sudlow ; and then he explained how the knowledge had 
 come upon him like a flash of lightning. " 'Pon my honour, 
 a child might have knocked me down," he finished. 
 
 "It was wonderfully clever of you," said Miss Chelston, 
 with a pleasant flattery of voice, and word, and look ; " but 
 then you are so clever. Don't you think the disparity is 
 dreadful, however?" 
 
 " Yes ; but if Ivliss Drummond does not mind that, I am 
 sure Mr, Gayre need not." 
 
 "O, don't; I can't bear to think of it," murmured Miss 
 Chelston, shuddering ; and then Sir Geoffrey, refreshed and 
 invigorated, sauntered back into the room, where he began to 
 yawn with such good effect that Mr. Sudlow felt reluctantly 
 compelled to say good-night. 
 
 " Now, look here, my girl," said Sir Geoffrey to his daughter, 
 as he took his hat, preparatory to getting the " cobwebs blown 
 off him," " take my advice, and neither mell nor meddle in this 
 business. Youd love dearly, I know, to stop the match, but 
 it will be a deuced fine thing for you should it ever come off". 
 As for Susan, if she can fancy your uncle — and he is not an 
 old man for his age ; he hasn't had to bear the anxiety I have 
 — I'm sure she'll never repent taking him. When she comes 
 here keep a quiet tongue about the matter. We'll want your 
 uncle's help yet, I'm afraid, in that matter of the Sudlow fish ; 
 so for the Lord's sake don't let any of your woman's whimsies 
 put his back up." 
 
 Only to a certain extent did Miss Chelston comply with 
 Sir Geoffrey's wishes. Miss Drummond spent a few hours at 
 North Bank one day, and promised to return shortly and stop 
 a fortnight. It was then she and her friend had a serious 
 talk about the Sudlow engagement. 
 
 " O Margaret ! don't marry him ; don't, like a darling," 
 entreated Susan, at the close of a long and confidential inter- 
 view. " You do not care for him, and you do care for Lai 
 Hilderton." 
 
 Miss Chelston laughed scornfully. 
 
 " Should you recommend me to marry Lai and make as 
 good a match as you seem disposed to do ?' 
 
 " Perhaps not," said Susan, " for there is that reason, you 
 know, which might cause any one to feel afraid of marrying 
 Lai ; but you have led him on and on, and — " 
 
 " Now, remember, I cannot bear being lectured, more 
 particularly by you," interposed Miss Chelston.
 
 1 82 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 " Well, then, tell Mr. Sudlovv you can't marry him, and I 
 won't say another word. Recollect, so long as I have a home 
 you need never want one. And I am sure — " 
 
 " Make yourself very sure, dear, I mean to marry Mr. 
 Sudlow. I shall not so far insult my own taste as to say he is 
 the man I would have chosen. But beggars, you know — " 
 
 " O Maggie, Maggie !" 
 
 " O Susan ! At the end of twelve months I wonder which 
 of us will be the best off?" 
 
 " Oood-bye, then, you poor mistaken child, and remember 
 what I said." 
 
 " I certainly shall not forget a word you have said, dear ;" 
 and with a sweet smile. Miss Chelston kissed her friend and 
 saw Susan depart, and then sat down biding her time, which 
 arrived that evening before dinner. 
 
 Mr. Sudlow was in evidence ; Sir Geoffrey in high spirits, 
 because his brother-in-law had walked up to North Bank ; 
 Mrs. Morris was putting the finishing touches to her toilette ; 
 Mr. Gayre was looking at the evening paper, when, in quite 
 an artless and gushing manner, Miss Chelston opened her first 
 parallel. 
 
 " I have such a piece of news for you, papa," she said 
 gaily. 
 
 " Good news. Peg ?" 
 
 " Very good ; it concerns Susan Drummond." 
 
 " Let's hear it, then," cried the Baronet. 
 
 " She is going to be married " — involuntarily Sir Geoffrey 
 turned towards Mr. Gayre, but that gentleman never moved 
 nor stirred, neither did the crisp sheet he held rustle — " to 
 Oliver Dane. You remember Oliver, don't you ? Old Mr. 
 Dane's grandson," went on the fair Margaret, almost without a 
 pause, and maintaining an admirable composure. " He is at 
 present in some house in the City — Colvend and Surlees — but 
 he is going to start on his own account, whatever that means, 
 and the wedding is to take place before Christmas." 
 
 " I don't think it will," said Mr. Gayre from behind his 
 newspaper ; and as he spoke a dead silence fell on those 
 present — they were waiting to hear more. 
 
 " Mr. Oliver Da/ie" proceeded the banker, deliberately 
 folding up the Globe, " was this day charged at the Mansion 
 House by his employers, Cob'ciid and Surlees, with forgery and 
 evibezzlcment, and remanded^ bail being refusedi"
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE BLACKNESS OF NIGHT. 
 
 Early next morning Mr, Gayre was making his way into the 
 Camden Road. Overnight, pacing the silent desolate streets, 
 he had decided what to do. He would break the news to 
 Susan. Unless Fortune meant to turn utterly against him, he 
 felt that he should be the first to carry the tidings out to 
 Enfield, and so score one trick in a game that would require 
 the most carefiil playing. While his niece was firing her shot 
 about Oliver Dane, it had seemed to him that he fell from 
 heaven to earth. The whole time occupied by her narrative 
 could have been reckoned by seconds, yet years ere then had 
 appeared to him a shorter period. 
 
 How he had held his paper so that it did not even rustle, 
 how he compelled his voice to utter the words he spoke with- 
 out a tremor, were mysteries he could not have explained 
 himself Save for a certain ring of triumph in his tone he was 
 unable to repress, Oliver Dane and Susan Drummond might 
 have been total strangers to the banker. 
 
 This was the hidden rock he had always instinctively 
 known stood in his way to port. Now he fully understood 
 the reason of Susan's unaccountable blushes. At last he com- 
 prehended why she was at once so friendly and so indifferent. 
 Everything which had puzzled him about the girl was clear at 
 last ; far, far too clear. But she could not marry this man. 
 All was not lost. On the contrary, in this awful trouble he 
 would be of such comfort, he would so watch over her, so 
 sympathise with her every mood, that for very gratitude's sake 
 she must at length give him love. And then he strove to 
 think he would rather not change matters even if he could. It 
 was far, far better she should have had a lover and found him 
 worthless. At his age it was scarcely to be expected a young 
 girl could give him the first, romantic, unreal dream-love of a 
 woman's life; but the love that lasts would be his— the love 
 founded on a rock — on respect, esteem, reason, and affection. 
 No more wild, unpractical, dangerous friendships with hand-
 
 1 84 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 some young fellows like T.al Hildcrton ; no running about at 
 the beck and call of that sinful reprobate Sir Geoffrey ; no 
 more gallops with her easy familiar cousin the centaur. The 
 brightness of her morning was gone, and she would now settle 
 down and make a more charming wife, with the traces of 
 tears on her cheeks, than she ever could have done in the 
 sunshine of a ridiculous and impossible engagement. 
 
 It is always wise to make the best of a bad bargain ; and 
 as Mr. Gayre rode leisurely along, he became so exceeding 
 wise that he finally felt thankful such a person as Oliver Dane 
 was in existence. 
 
 " I will make myself necessary now," he decided ; " and, 
 when her sorrow is a little spent, she will not be able to do 
 without me." 
 
 A pleasant vision, truly. Poor dear Susan, with those 
 wonderful brown eyes, coming to him, not as a ministering 
 angel, but as a sorely wounded dove, weeping out her grief on 
 his bosom, sobbing her tears in his arms, feeling him a tower 
 of refuge in her time of trouble, and giving this disinterested 
 suitor the last, best, strongest love of a strong unselfish nature ! 
 Men of Mr. Gayre's type are all too apt to imagine Pro- 
 vidence delights to play into their hands. 
 
 Gertainly on that autumn morning, between six and seven 
 o'clock, Mr. Gayre felt God was on his side. 
 
 The longer he thought about the matter the more satisfied he 
 became that things were working round to promote his own 
 happiness and Susan's welfare. 
 
 Out of evil good would come. When she had got over the 
 fret of losing her lover, she would bring him, Nicholas, the whole 
 of her great, loyal heart. Had the man died, had untoward 
 circumstances separated her from Oliver Dane, she might never 
 have recovered the blow. But forgery, embezzlement, the dock, 
 and a felon's doom, must, he argued, hurt a woman's pride, and 
 crush her love, and clear the course for a suitor like himself, . 
 unexceptionable in all respects save that unlucky item of age. 
 Not for one moment did it ever occur to Mr. Gayre that Oliver 
 Dane might be innocent. He knew Colvend and Surlees well. 
 Mr. Colvend, indeed, kept his private account at Gaj-res', and 
 he had often heard that gentleman speak in almost affectionate 
 terms of young Dane, "remanded on the previous afternoon, 
 bail being refused." 
 
 He was aware that at one time Mr. Colvend had thought of 
 taking his clerk into partnership. Such a termination of the
 
 THE BLACKNESS OF NIGHT. 185 
 
 business connection was spoken about both by Mr. Colvend 
 and Mr. Surlees. Of late Mr. Surlees, however, had seemed 
 dissatisfied with their employe. The question possessed so Httle 
 interest for Mr. Gayre, that when both principals wrangled a 
 little about Dane, he only considered that person a bore; but 
 now he remembered all their utterances, and came to the 
 conclusion the young man must have been engaged in a course 
 of fraud for years. He knew Mr. Dane's appearance per- 
 fectly well — his voice, accent, and manner had always struck 
 the banker as quite unsuitable to his actual station. 
 
 "A gentleman to the backbone, sir," old Mr. Colvend re- 
 marked; and now that "gentleman" was as good as convicted. 
 
 " Surlees is not a person to show mercy," considered Mr. 
 Gayre. " It will be penal servitude. Well, not so long ago he 
 would have been hanged !" Cheered by which consolatory 
 reflection the banker proceeded on his way. 
 
 It was a lovely morning. The Seven Sisters' Road looked 
 its best as IMr. Gayre rode along. Tottenham Valley, which 
 lies just behind the Manor House Tavern, seemed literally 
 steeped in sunshine ; the morning air blew fresh and pleasant ; 
 the ground was hard, and echoed cheerily the sound of the 
 horses' hoofs. Yes, though the blow had been severe, Mr. 
 Gayre felt he was recovering from it. Things were not so bad 
 that they might not have been a great deal worse. This 
 trouble, properly utilised, must draw Susan nearer to him — 
 nearer and nearer still. Now he knew his ground, and he had 
 never known it before. Putting up Iiis horse at a tavern in 
 Enfield Highway, he walked on to Mrs. Arbery's house. Ashe 
 pushed open the small gate he caught the flutter of a woman's 
 dress in the garden ; and, next moment, Susan turned and saw 
 him. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Gayre," she cried, " what has brought you here 
 so early ? How is Maggie? There is nothing wrong with Sir 
 Geoffrey, is there ?" 
 
 She did not know, she had not a notion of the trouble 
 impending ; and for a moment Mr. Gayre's heart smote him 
 when he thought of the sorrow he was bringing to the dear fair 
 girl, who had never looked sweeter or lovelier than at that 
 instant. 
 
 "My niece is well, thank you," he answered, "and Sir 
 Geoffrey was well also when I saw him last night. I have come 
 to see you, Miss Drummond. I want to tell you something I 
 think you would rather hear from me than — strangers."
 
 1 86 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 " Something bad?" 
 
 " I feel you will — I know you must — think so." 
 
 " Whom does it concern ?" 
 
 " Mr. Dane." 
 
 " My God !" — her lips rather shaped the words than said 
 them — "is he ill, or dead T 
 
 " Neither. But let us go into the house. This garden is so 
 exposed, and — " 
 
 Without a word she led him into the pleasant drawing-room, 
 which commanded a view of Sewardstone and the Essex hills ; 
 shut the door close ; and then, turning to the banker, said, 
 
 "Now, what is it?" 
 
 " I bring very bad news." He hesitated. 
 
 " I know you do ; what is it, Mr. Gayre ? Don't keep me 
 in suspense. What is it you have come to tell me ?" 
 
 " Have you read this morning's paper?" 
 
 "No, I have not looked at it. O Mr. Gayre, what is 
 wrong — what has happened ?" 
 
 For answer he produced a copy of the Timcs^ which he 
 had bought on the road, and gave it into her hands, indicating 
 a particular paragraph. 
 
 " I thought," he repeated, "you would rather hear of this 
 from me than another." 
 
 She did not answer. She was reading the brief passage in 
 yesterday's police report, which told her her ship had gone to 
 pieces on the breakers. She finished it to the end ; then lifted 
 her eyes to Mr. Gayre's with a look of dumb entreaty which 
 haunts him even now. 
 
 "My love! my love!" she murmured, and sat down 
 transformed. 
 
 The Susan of old would never walk among the flowers in 
 Mr. Arbery's garden again. That Susan was dead and buried ; 
 and Mr. Gayre stood marvelling to see the change. Coming 
 events cast their shadows before ; and the banker now under- 
 stood that yearning look in those sweet brown eyes. The 
 minor chord that gave such a strange sadness every now and 
 then to the music of her young life meant trouble was on its 
 way to meet her— the crushing trouble she now saw face to face. 
 
 Minutes passed, but she never spoke. After that one cry 
 of agonised despair she sat silent and motionless, while Mr. 
 Gayre, unable to suggest one word of comfort, stood looking at 
 her, with a great pity and a wild jealousy and a mad joy all 
 contending together in his breast.
 
 THE BLACKNESS OE NIGHT. 187 
 
 Through the window which looked out on the Essex hills, 
 bright sunshine fell in golden bars across her hair, her white 
 soft throat, her hands lying loosely clasped together in her lap. 
 The girl's whole attitude was that of utter abandonment. For 
 the mon:ient she seemed stricken down. She and hope and 
 youth and gaiety had shaken hands and parted. To have seen 
 her then, any one might have imagined Susan Druramond 
 would never laugh or smile or jest again. The iron had 
 entered into her soul. Forgery, embezzlement! The words 
 were branded on her heart. The man she knew so well, the 
 man she loved, accused of such awful crimes ! It appeared 
 impossible ; and yet there before her eyes lay the story in 
 black and white. His accusers said he had forged their signa- 
 ture ; the proceeds of his imputed crime were found at his 
 lodgings. The notes paid over the counter of the Union 
 Bank were discovered in his portmanteau, which w^as packed 
 as if for a journey. What did it all mean? Tossing in a 
 sea of distressed conjecture, Susan still held fast to one 
 saving rope— //6' was innocent. If the whole world declared 
 him guilty she would not believe the verdict. In some 
 moment of mental aberration she might have committed a 
 great sin (Susan felt she would do wickedness for the sake of 
 those she loved) ; but Oliver Dane ? No ! While the sun 
 rose and the sun set she could never believe that. He might 
 have faults, and he had — Susan knew them — but he was per- 
 fectly incapable of such an act as this. He would want her. 
 Vaguely this blessed thought began to shoot up— two fair green 
 leaves of promise to beautify the arid desolation of the barren 
 land to which she had been so suddenly transported. He 
 could not do without her help. He had no relation, she knew, 
 who would come forward at such a crisis. To all useful in- 
 tents and purposes, he and she stood utterly alone in the 
 world. Adam and Eve were perhaps less solitary in the 
 Garden of Eden than her lover and herself in what some 
 persons consider this over-populated world. 
 
 Directly that idea of help crossed her mind, she looked at 
 her watch, and said, 
 
 "There is an up-train in about twenty minutes. I shall 
 just be able to catch it, Mr. Gayre, if you will excuse me." 
 " Catch it ! Where are you thinking of going ?" 
 " To Oliver. I must go to him at once, you know — " 
 " No ; by Heaven, that you sha'n't !" broke out Mr, Gayre 
 fiercely ; then recollecting himself, he added, " Can't you trust
 
 1 88 SUSAN DRUM MO ND. 
 
 me, Miss Drummond ? Only say what you want done, and I 
 will try to do it. If time, or money, or inlluence can help 
 you in this strait, command all so far as they are within the 
 compass of my power." 
 
 " Thank you," she answered earnestly, " thank you ;" and 
 almost involuntarily she stretched out her hand, which he 
 took and held in both of his while she went on. " We are so 
 lonely, Mr. Gayre ; we are so far more lonely than any human 
 being could imagine." 
 
 He bent his head and kissed her hand — that white hand 
 which she made no attempt to withdraw, which lay in his as a 
 frightened bird nesdes in the palm of some one who has rescued 
 it from fear and death. 
 
 " If you can trust me — " he was beginning, when the door 
 opened and Mrs. Arbery's voice was heard exclaiming a little 
 sharply : 
 
 '* What are you doing ? Breakfast is ready, Susan." Tlien, 
 catching sight of Mr. Gayre, who was standing very close to 
 her niece — indeed, quite bending over that young person in a 
 manner which seemed to indicate private communications of 
 importance were passing between them — she added, in a tone 
 of severe and astonished dignity, " I beg your pardon, I am 
 sure." 
 
 "Come in, aunt," said Susan, "we are not talking about 
 any matter which can be kept secret. Will you tell her, Mr. 
 Gayre?" and the girl turned her face, from which all the deli- 
 cate rosebud pink had flown, towards the window, and looked 
 with unseeing eyes at the distant hills, v/hile the story of 
 Oliver Dane's downfall was recited for Mrs. Arbery's benefit. 
 It was a long story, which did not take long in the telling. 
 The bare facts contained enough of sorrow and disgrace with- 
 out any necessity for further detail. Mr. Gayre said as little 
 as he well could, but that little proved more than sufficient. 
 If Susan's lover had been tried, convicted, and sent to penal 
 servitude, ]\Irs. Arbery could not have felt more fully convinced 
 of his guilt. 
 
 She listened to the narrative in utter silence, and when it 
 was finished said calmly, 
 
 "I am not at all surprised." 
 
 "No?" questioned Mr. Gayre, for Susan did not speak. 
 
 " He is a young man I never liked," Mrs. Arbery explained. 
 " It was an engagement I never approved." 
 
 " You cannot mean, aunt, that you believe him guilty ?"
 
 THE BLACKNESS OF NIGHT. 189 
 
 " I certainly do not mean that I believe him innocent. 
 Everything is against him." 
 
 "Yes," said Susan bitterly. "Everything is against him, 
 everything has been against him ; but that is no reason why 
 you should think him a thief. Do you suppose if I heard you 
 or Will had committed any sin I should believe the story ? O 
 aunt, though you dislike Oliver, do not be hard on him. I 
 can't bear to hear you speak against the man I am going to 
 marry — I can't, I can't 1" and her voice trailed away into low 
 sobbing. 
 
 Mr. Gayre looked at Mrs. Arbery, who, laying her hand on 
 Susan's shoulder, said, 
 
 " ]\Iy dear, I do not wish to be hard on him. If he has 
 done wrong he is suffering for it ; but as for your ever marry- 
 ing him now, of course — " 
 
 "Are we not to have any breakfast to-day?" cried Will 
 Arbery at this point in his mother's diatribe. " Why, what 
 has happened ? What is the matter ?" he went on, looking in 
 astonishment at the group collected at the upper end of that 
 long pleasant drawing-room. " What is wrong, Susan ?" 
 
 " Don't tell him," pleaded the girl ; " let him read it ;" and 
 as Mr. Gayre handed the Timez to the young man in silence 
 she rose, and, twining her arm about her cousin's neck, looked 
 over his shoulder while he glanced at the brief report. 
 
 ' O Susan, I am sorry for you !" he exclaimed. " What 
 ought we to do ? Mr. Gayre, you know, I suppose, how we 
 can be best of use." 
 
 " You believe him innocent. Will?" 
 
 " Innocent ! Of course I do. It is some awful mistake ; 
 it can be nothing but a mistake," he added, turning to the 
 banker. 
 
 From the manner in which he uttered the words they might 
 have been intended either as an interrogation or a statement 
 of opinion. Mr. Gayre chose to accept them in the former 
 sense, and gravely answered that he hoped so. 
 
 " Mr. Dane may be able to explain the circumstances. As 
 yet, you must remember we have only heard one side — that of 
 his employers. When his statement is made the whole com- 
 plexion of the affair will probably be altered." 
 
 " I do not need to wait for his statement," said Susan, with 
 streaming eyes. " I know." 
 
 Mr. Arbery took a few turns up and down the room. 
 
 " Don't you think," he asked, appealing once again to Mr.
 
 IQO SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 — ■ , ^ 
 
 Gayre, " the thing for me to do would be to see Mr. Colvend 
 at once ?" 
 
 " Better let me do so. I know both the partners." 
 
 " It — wasn't at your bank, was it ?" hesitated Mr. Arbery. 
 
 " No ; the Union. Mr. Colvend only kept his private 
 account with us." 
 
 " What sort of a man is he ?" 
 
 " pAtremely kind. At one time he took the liveliest inter- 
 est in Mr. Dane's future." 
 
 " Do you know Oliver, then ?" asked Susan, drawing a 
 quick gasping breath. 
 
 " I have seen and spoken to Mr. Dane. Had I been aware 
 you were interested in him, Miss Drummond, I should have 
 made a point of cultivating his acquaintance." 
 
 " Standing here talking," remarked Mr. Arbery, in a general 
 sort of way, "won't mend matters. Mother, if you will give 
 me a cup of tea, the sooner I get oft" the better. Cheer up, 
 Susan ; I'll bring you back good news, never fear." 
 
 "I am going with you," she said. 
 
 "No, Susan," said Mrs. Arbery. " Understand that I dis- 
 tinctly forbid your doing anything of the kind. I will not have 
 you compromise yourself. You know what I have been im- 
 pressing upon you for a very long time past. You thought me 
 prejudiced, and now you see something far worse than ever I 
 imagined has come to pass." 
 
 " It is quite true," answered Susan — " something much 
 worse than any one could ever have imagined has come to 
 pass ;" and she sat down again with something more nearly 
 approaching a sullen expression clouding her face than Mr. 
 Gayre had ever seen disfigure its fair beauty before. 
 
 " Shall I send ycii a cup of tea, dear ?" asked her aunt, 
 apparently quite unconscious of having given any offence ; " it 
 will do you good." But Susan only shook her head. 
 ^'■^ "Come into the other room, or Mr. Gayre won't touch a 
 morsel ; and he has ridden a long way to do you a kindness," 
 whispered Will Arbery. Whereupon Susan rose, and, taking 
 her cousin's arm, walked silently across the hall. 
 
 Mr. Gayre watched her at the morning meal, which was the 
 great meal of the day in Mrs. Arbery's house. 
 
 She allowed herself to be helped to ham. She accepted a 
 proffered egg. She took a piece of toast. She did not again 
 decline that cup of tea, suggested as though a cup of tea were 
 a panacea for all the ills of life. She made pretence of cutting
 
 THE BLACKNESS OF NIGHT. 191 
 
 up and toying with her food ; but she touched none of it. She 
 never looked at nor spoke to anyone. She asked no question. 
 She made no remark. Will Arbery argued out the Dane com- 
 plication exhaustively, and ISlr. Gayre exhibited considerable 
 ingenuity in suggesting plausible reasons why it seemed the 
 most natural thing in the world for three hundred pounds, 
 paid over the counter at the Union Bank, on the strength of 
 Messrs. Colvend and Surlees' forged signature, to be found in 
 the lodgings of one of their clerks, a trusted employe^ a gentle- 
 man they had once thought of taking into partnership — but 
 Susan made no sign. 
 
 INIr. Gayre then shifted his ground. He spoke of the high 
 opinion he had always entertained of Mr. Dane, of the con- 
 viction he felt from the beginning he was far too clever to be 
 hampered with two such partners as Colvend and Surlees. 
 
 " Excellent men," proceeded the banker, warming to his 
 subject, "but fifty years at least behind the times. Colvend's 
 notions are those of the last century." 
 
 Just for the moment a faint flush, or quiver of the eyelids, 
 or pitiful tremor of the mouth rewarded these utterances ; but 
 it was uphill work, and Mr. Gayre felt he was growing almost 
 as anxious for the moment of departure as Mr. Arbery pro- 
 fessed himself to be, when suddenly Miss Drummond's eyes, 
 which she had lifted for a moment, became larger and brighter; 
 her whole manner changed ; her colour came and went, and, 
 exclaiming almost incredulously, " It's Sir Geoffrey ! it really 
 is Sir Geoffrey !" she ran out of the room and opened the hall- 
 door, and met him in the middle of the straight prim gravelled 
 walk. 
 
 " Why, Susan, my girl !" 
 
 *' O Sir Geoffrey !" and then the Baronet found himself, for 
 the first, and, it may be added, the last, time in his life, hold- 
 ing in his arms a perfectly respectable young woman utterly 
 beside herself with grief and anxiety, and what she considered 
 a lack of intelligent sympathy. 
 
 " There, then," said Sir Geoffrey, stroking and soothing her 
 down exactly as he might have done had she been a horse, 
 " take it quietly, my beauty. There's nothing really to be 
 frightened about. Dane — Dane's all right, you know. Gayre 
 and I will stand bail for him. Tut-tut ! what's all this trouble? 
 Bless the creature, how she clings to me ! There's nothing 
 wrong ; there is nothing to trouble you ! You are safe now 
 your old papa Geoff has come to the rescue. Bless you, he'll
 
 192 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 go and rout up the magistrates, and make them send your lover 
 back to you at once. It is an outrageous proceeding. Never 
 heard of such a thing — never in all my life. Now, now, now, 
 don't cry any more. If you do, you'll not be able to see him 
 when he comes back. What's that you are saying ? I don't 
 think him guilty, do I ? You silly little mortal ! Why, I'd 
 just as soon believe myself capable of doing such a thing;" 
 which comparison struck Susan even in her then state of mind 
 as scarcely conveying the amount of comfort Sir Geoffrey 
 amiably intended. 
 
 " Dry your eyes, Susie, and come into the house and tell 
 me all you know about the matter, and we'll see what's best to 
 be done." 
 
 With which and suchlike fatherly words of rebuke and 
 encouragement Sir Geoffrey led Susan into the drawing-room, 
 where, as he stated, to his immense astonishment, he found 
 Gayre. 
 
 "God bless me !" he exclaimed, " to think of meeting you, 
 of all men in the world, here ! Why, I'd ten minds to call for 
 you on my way — I passed the end of your street. I've never 
 been home all night — but I made sure you were snugly tucked 
 up, dreaming of Consols and Lord knows what besides ! Now, 
 I call this really friendly of you. I was just saying, Mrs. 
 Arbery," he went on, as that lady, frigidly decorous and deeply 
 exercised in her mind, made her appearance on the scene, 
 " that among us we'll put things right for our little girl." 
 
 " You mean very kindly, I am sure," answered Mrs. Arbery, 
 " but there are some things which never can be put right. If 
 you could only persuade my poor Susan of this, you would be 
 performing an act of the truest friendship." 
 
 " We'll see about all that after a while," answered the 
 Baronet cheerfully ; " time enough to discuss all those sorts of 
 questions whpn Dane is able to put his oar in. Now, Susie, 
 wake up, and say what you want me to do. As I told you, I 
 haven't been to bed at all ; but that makes no difference — I 
 am ready to go anywhere and see any one." 
 
 " I want you to take me to see Oliver," murmured Susan, 
 in so low a tone her words failed to reach Mrs. Arbery's ear. 
 
 The girl was still holding Sir Geoffrey's arm, and almost 
 whispered her request. Just for a moment the Baronet looked 
 grave, then he said briskly, 
 
 "So I will — so I will. Run and put your bonnet on, and 
 we can talk as we go up."
 
 THE BLACKNESS OE NIGHT. 193 
 
 "Sir Geoffrey," broke in Mrs. Arbery, "I really cannot 
 allow my niece to go to London with you." 
 
 " Very sorry indeed to hear it." 
 
 " Her engagement has been a source of disappointment, 
 trouble, and anxiety to me ever since I first knew of it." 
 
 " I can well understand that. Engagements very seldom 
 do meet the approval of any save the pair engaged, and their 
 satisfaction seldom lasts beyond a week after marriage. I 
 myself think the whole thing a mistake ; but, bless your soul, 
 you might as well try to prevent the sap rising as hinder two 
 young people falling in love." 
 
 " Young people should fall in love suitably." 
 
 " So they ought," agreed the Baronet; " but then, you see, 
 as a rule, they don't, and in this world we have to deal with 
 things not as they should be, but as they are." 
 
 " That is very true, Sir Geoftrey," answered Mrs. Arbery, 
 who in her own family and amongst her own friends conducted 
 herself after the fashion of a Mede and Persian ; " and it is 
 precisely because I object to things as they are that I feel 
 bound to forbid my niece to hold any further communication 
 whatsoever with Oliver Dane." 
 
 While Mrs. Arbery was speaking, Sir Geoftrey felt Susan's 
 hand slip from his arm, and saw her gliding out of the room 
 through the nearest door. He listened gravely to all the 
 " elderly party " had to advance, then took up his parable. 
 
 " In my best days," he began, " I never was what is called 
 a ladies' man " (Mr. Gayre smiled grimly) ; " but I believe I 
 understand the sex; or, to be more exact, I feel the sex is 
 made up of a number of women differing mightily from each 
 other, which is a fact your ladies' man never can grasp. I 
 don't attempt to generalise men. Why should I attempt to 
 generalise women ? And so, to return to what I had to say, 
 don't you curb up Susan too tight. If you do she'll give you a 
 lot of trouble. Take the right way with her, and, bless your 
 soul, I'd undertake to drive her with silken thread ; take the 
 wrong way, and — " 
 
 ."So far as I understand your mode of speech," said Mrs. 
 Arbery, white almost with passion, "you mean to encourage 
 my unfortunate niece in pursuing a line of conduct opposed at 
 once to propriety and common sense?" 
 
 " I always lament having to disagree with a lady," said Sir 
 Geoffrey, with a low bow — the one gentlemanlike talent the 
 Baronet possessed was his bow, afoot or on horseback — " but 
 
 o
 
 194 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 as you drive me into a corner, I feel bound to tell you plainly 
 I consider propriety and common sense were never opposed to 
 anything Susan Drummond liked to do. If you can show me 
 that they were, I will abandon common sense, and 'go in' for 
 another and better sense called Susan Drummond." 
 
 " Bravo, Chelston !" cried Mr. Gayre. almost involuntarily. 
 In acknowledgment of which the Baronet said : 
 
 " All right, Gayre ; thank ye." 
 
 " And despite of what I say, and Mr. Gayre said when he 
 first came this morning, you actually mean to take Susan to see 
 a felon ?" went on Mrs. Arbery. 
 
 "Softly, softly," entreated Sir Geoffrey. "Wait at least till 
 the man is proved guilty before you call him hard names. 
 And even supposing the worst comes to the worst — " 
 
 "Which it must," interrupted Mrs. Arbery, with great deci- 
 sion. 
 
 " Well, even in that case, I don't think it would be well to 
 use such a word when speaking of Oliver Dane. We are none 
 of us infallible. We don't know what we might do if we were 
 tempted. A man may make a mistake, but — " 
 
 "These fine distinctions are quite thrown away on me," 
 retorted Mrs. Arberj'. " Right is right, and wrong is wrong." 
 
 " Oliver has done no wrong, aunt," said Susan, reentering 
 the room at this juncture. " Give me some good wish before 
 I go — some good wish for both of us;" and she held up her 
 sweet face to be kissed. 
 
 But Mrs. Arbery would not kiss her. Once again she 
 expressed her disapproval of the whole expedition, and was 
 especially irate against her son, who, declaring Susan should go 
 where she liked, and that he would go with her, drew his 
 cousin's hand within his arm, and angrily left the house, leaving 
 Sir Geoffrey and Mr. Gayre to follow at their leisure.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 SIR Geoffrey's idea. 
 
 It was a fortnight later. Oliver Dane had once again been 
 brought before the magistrate, and committed for trial. The 
 evidence against him was conclusive ; not a creature except 
 Susan believed in his innocence. Even Sir Geoffrey, who said 
 he was " deuced sorry for the fellow, deuced sorry indeed," 
 shook his head mournfully, and lamented over the weakness 
 of poor human nature which, he implied, was alone responsible 
 for ruining the whole future of " as promising a young man as 
 you would wish to see." 
 
 " Heaven only knows," he exclaimed, " what demon could 
 have possessed him. I am sure any of his friends would have 
 found the money. I would, if I'd had it, and there were lots, 
 I'll be bound, in the same mind. That woman getting the 
 cheque cashed was a bad sign — a widow too — and handsome, 
 ah!" and Sir Geoffrey shook his head. "There must have 
 been some screw awfully loose. Wherever a woman leads, 
 trouble follows. Wonder who she is ? Awkward mess alto- 
 gether. Dane is the last man in the world I should have 
 thought likely to go wrong in that way; but, dear me, what a 
 dance any petticoat may lead the best of us ! You and I can't 
 be too thankful, Gayre, can we ?" 
 
 " Some persons are more lucky than wise," agreed the 
 banker, thinking Sir Geoffrey was a case in point. 
 
 " That is very true. It is not always the best rider clears 
 the ditch. But, as I was saying, it is altogether a most con- 
 foundedly awkward business. Though I am sorry for Dane, 
 I don't think he is doing right, and I told him so. * You 
 ought to plead guilty, and settle Susan's mind,' I said. ' If 
 the case were mine I could not keep a girl on the tenter-hooks. 
 This sort of thing might be all very well in dealing with a man, 
 but it isn't fair to a woman.' " 
 
 " And what did he say ?" asked Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " Just the usual thing — that he could not tell an untruth
 
 196 SUSAiV DRUMMOND. 
 
 even to settle Susan's mind ; that he had not forged the 
 signature ; that the money was forwarded to his lodgings by 
 someone unknown; that he had his suspicions; that unless 
 he could change them into certainties it would be worse than 
 useless to speak ; that he quite understood it was impossible 
 for Susan now to marry him ; that the engagement must be 
 considered at an end ; that his life was wrecked ; that she, 
 the noblest of women, must not sacrifice her life through any 
 mistaken idea of loyalty to him ; that her devotion was the 
 bitterest drop in a bitter cup ; that he had not the slightest 
 hope of an acquittal ; but that he could not plead guilty, or 
 tell Susan he was dishonoured in deed as well as in the eyes 
 of the world. Then I said, ' Your boasted affection is a very 
 poor sort of affection ; I would not treat any girl after such a 
 fashion. I am disappointed in you. I knew your father to 
 be a fool, and your grandfather a screw, but I did not think 
 you were a scoundrel.' " 
 
 " Rather rough on the fellow," commented Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " Rough ! not a bit too rough ! * Look at what the con- 
 sequences will be !' I said. ' Susan is just the girl to exalt 
 you into a sort of martyr. She will go on believing in and 
 fretting about you. She will lose her youth and her good 
 looks. She will not marry, and, if she do not die, she will 
 live a sad sweet old maid, nursing other folks' babies instead 
 of her own.' " 
 
 " You drew quite a touching picture," said Mr. Gayre. 
 
 *' And thai he wouldn't," declared the Baronet, with a great 
 
 oath. " No, me if he would ! I don't know when I went 
 
 through such an interview, and without a drop of anything 
 either to give me a fillip. Give you my word, Gayre, I felt 
 quite exhausted when I came out. Had to go into the nearest 
 pub, and ask leave to sit down. It's heartless, you know ; 
 that's what it is. Hang it 1 I'm not particular, you are aware. 
 If a man commits a crime I wouldn't turn my back on him ; 
 but to keep on with this sort of infernal humbug to a girl like 
 Susan Drummond, why — why, it's the very deuce !" finished the 
 Baronet, who was delivering these sentiments in his own house 
 and at his own table. 
 
 " I suppose it is not on the cards that the man may be, by 
 possibility, innocent ?" 
 
 " Innocent ! for Heaven's sake, Gayre, don't you get sen- 
 timental ! It's all very well to humour Susan's notion for a 
 while, and let the girl down gently ; but we, who have been
 
 SIj^ Gl::OFFJ^£rS IDEsi. 197 
 
 out in the world, and know a thing or two, must not talk like 
 children. Run your eye over the whole matter. Here's a 
 young fellow brought up by a grandfather, who won't allow him 
 sixpence of pocket-money, and puts him into an attorney's 
 office. Young fellow won't be an attorney, goes and enlists ; 
 old Drummond buys him off, and has him stopping at the 
 Hall for a while. Then he fails in love with Miss Susie ; 
 grandfather, delighted, thinks she will be an heiress ; grand- 
 father finds out she won't be an heiress, and insists on the 
 engagement being broken off; young man comes up to London 
 in a huff, and, through favour, gets into Colvend's house. 
 Everybody believes it's all over between him and Susan. 
 Eventually the grandfather makes some conditional sort of 
 promise to find money enough to buy a small share in the 
 business. After a while, Surlees begins to find fault with the 
 young man, the idea of the partnership is abandoned, and 
 Dane announces his intention of going into business on his 
 own account. Grandfather discovers he and Susan mean to 
 get married, and declares he will cut young man off with a 
 shilling. Young man has got a little into debt, and wants 
 money besides for capital. Surlees gets a hint that all is not 
 square, and begins to look into matters, which present some 
 serious complications. Holds his tongue to make quite sure 
 — means to speak to Dane when he has all the proofs com- 
 plete. At that juncture a three-hundred-pound cheque, signed 
 Colvend and Surlees, is presented across the Union counter 
 and paid. Notes are found in Dane's rooms, in a portman- 
 teau ready packed. Make what you can of the case, my 
 friend — it looks confoundedly black against Mr. Oliver." 
 
 "Yes," agreed Mr. Gayre — "yes." 
 
 " But there is no good in talking to Susan yet. I told you 
 exactly what would happen if Mrs. Arbery persisted in taking 
 up the curb another link. Most foolish, self-opinionated old 
 woman. Thinks because she won't drink half a pint of ale, 
 the Almighty has given her dominion over every living thing 
 that raoveth upon the earth. If she had only let Susan go her 
 own way at her own pace for a while she would not have sent 
 the girl mad, as she has done. When she told me about Susan 
 having left Enfield, and taken up her abode with Miss Matthews, 
 I said, * It's your own fault, ma'am ; she'd never have got the 
 bit between her teeth if you'd driven her easily.' But, bless 
 my soul and body, there are other persons in the world who 
 have a will beside Mrs. Arbery. No — excuse me— I can't get
 
 1 98 SUSAX DRUMMOND. 
 
 the girl back ; and if I could, I wouldn't try. The end of it 
 will be she'll marry Oliver Dane." 
 
 " But you don't really think that likely?" exclaimed Mr. 
 Gayre. 
 
 " I'll tell you what I think — that Dane won't marry her. 
 How could he? The dear grandfather will give him nothing; 
 Susan has but two thousand pounds. Say he only gets a couple 
 of years, what will he be fit for when he comes out? No, the 
 thing is not to be thought of. But our plan at present is to 
 take no notice — to her, at any rate. After the trial we'll see 
 what we had better do.'' 
 
 " Miss Drummond appears to have no doubt of his inno- 
 cence." 
 
 Sir Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders. " All the fault of the 
 old party out at Enfield Highway. She would tighten that 
 curb. It's just the same with a woman as a horse ; and you 
 know, Gayre, the result of fretting a young high spirited 
 creature by holding it in when there's no need to do any- 
 thing of the sort. Bless you, I always try to give them their 
 head for a bit ; and if Mrs. Arbery had taken no notice, and 
 let Susie have her own way about this confounded business, 
 the girl would have begun to entertain doubts concerning her 
 lover, and wanted to know who the woman was, and why Sur- 
 lees could not get on with friend Oliver, and so finally come 
 gradually round to a sensible view of the matter ; whereas — '' 
 and the Baronet, finding words inadequate to express the pass 
 to which Mrs. Arbery's management had brought affairs, poured 
 himself a good measure of champagne into a large tumbler, 
 " throwing on the top," as he expressed the matter, "just a 
 flavour of brandy." 
 
 If Sir Geoffrey had not been a baronet the mode in which 
 he tossed off this bumper and smacked his lips approvingly 
 after it might have been considered vulgar; but circumstances 
 alter cases, and circumstances altered most cases with Mr. 
 Gayre's brother-in-law. 
 
 " Ah," said Sir Geoffrey, leaning back in his chair, stretch- 
 ing out his feet to the fire, and looking with an air of childlike 
 contentment at the leaping flame, "you may talk as you like 
 about your clarets — !" 
 
 " I am not aware that I have spoken about clarets at all," 
 mildly responded the banker. 
 
 " Deeds speak as loud as words, and you always drink that 
 j)Oor, thin, sour stuff— for poor and thin and sour it is, though
 
 SIR GEOFFREY'S IDEA. 199 
 
 you do pay a price which makes my hair stand on end ; but 
 then a rich banker is one quantity and a poor baronet another. 
 However, as I was remarking, you may depend upon it a man's 
 face takes the cast of the tipple he affects. Now claret pro- 
 duces lines, wrinkles, and gives a sneering sort of expression 
 to the countenance. I'd drop it if I were you, and go in for 
 something more generous and exhilarating. Why should you 
 look older than your age ? You are a mere boy in comparison 
 to the battered craft you are good enough to call brother-in- 
 law. Let me see, you are younger than poor Margaret — " 
 
 The banker shook his head. 
 
 "Well, the difference either way, I know, is very trifling, 
 and we know what a baby thing she was when I married her. 
 Why don't you turn your attention to matrimony, Gayre ? I 
 you can't make up your mind to the widow — and I suppose 
 you can't or you'd have been stepfather to the Jubbins fry long 
 ere this — there are plenty of girls who, I am sure, would be 
 only too glad if you could be induced to say a civil word to 
 them." 
 
 " I fancy you are right about the widow," went on Sir 
 Geoffrey, finding his brother-in-law did not speak. " Of course 
 she has money ; but then you have plenty of your own, and 
 money is not everything, though it is a great deal, as nobody 
 knows better than I do. Why shouldn't you marry, and have 
 a nice wife and pleasant home? You're just the sort of fellow 
 girls would take to, and make up romances concerning; I 
 know them ; bless your soul, they'd turn you into a hero, and 
 fall down and worship at once. Think of it, Gayre. 'Pon my 
 honour, I don't like to see you drinking claret and living in a 
 big house all alone, with only servants about you. Providence 
 never intended such a thing. It is you that have made the 
 mistake ; but you may remedy it yet." 
 
 " If I take to champagne and brandy and making love to 
 young ladies ?" questioned the banker. 
 
 " I don't suppose you would care to make love to old 
 ladies, which, by the bye, reminds me of something I wanted 
 to say to you. I sha n't be able to induce Mrs. Morris to stop 
 on ; and I declare solemnly I have not chucked her under the 
 chin or insisted on her dancing z. fandango.'''' 
 
 "Why does she wish to go, then?" 
 
 "The usual thing ; all women are alike; they have a craze 
 for what they call respectability, and a knowledge of what 
 constitutes impropriety, which knowledge I myself regard as
 
 200 SC/SAX DRUMMOND. 
 
 sinful. Mrs. Morris has arrived at the conclusion this house 
 is not an abode in which she ought to continue to reside. She 
 has her doubts about it and me. She fails to understand why 
 visitors do not call ; why my daughter is not asked out ; why 
 we never give parties ; Avhy you have not Peg staying in Wim- 
 pole Street ; why I can't be induced to return to six o'clock 
 tea, nine o'clock prayers, and eleven o'clock bed ; why we 
 have not more servants ; why we do not keep a carriage ; why 
 I run household bills ; why I do not pay every fellow who has 
 a ' heavy account to make up.' She feels, in fact, the air of 
 North Bank may be injurious to her social health. It seems 
 she has got a presentation to Christ's Hospital for the boy. 
 So now, as she can do without me, she means to leave. Nice 
 and grateful, is it not?" 
 
 " How extremely awkward 1" said Mr. Gayre. 
 
 "I wanted her to stop till Peggy was married, but no she 
 won't. ' My dear Mrs. Morris,' 1 urged, ' you have surely 
 reached a time of life when you might be able to defy Mrs. 
 Grundy and all her works.' 
 
 "'No woman is ever so old as to be able to disregard 
 appearances, Sir Geoffrey,' she replied ; ' and for myself, though 
 I have a grandson — ' 
 
 " ' Yes, yes, yes,' I interrupted, ' I know you were married 
 at sixteen and your daughter at fifteen — the usual thing — so 
 you can't be much over thirty ; but still — ' 
 
 '' ' Pardon me,' she returned, ' I am over forty (upon my 
 soul, Gayre, she must be close on seventy), but 1 feel it is as 
 imperative for me to regard my character now as I did when I 
 was in my teens.' 
 
 " ' Most creditable, I am sure,' I replied ; * but forgive me 
 if I ask what is the good of shouting "Wolf!" when there is 
 not an animal of the sort outside the Zoological Gardens? 
 Let us walk across and see the wolves, Mrs. Morris, and say 
 you will stop a little while longer.' 
 
 "But she wouldn't, Gayre; she was as stiff as you please. 
 She set her lips tight and she drew down her nose (have you ever 
 remarked the stiff-neckedness of Mrs. M.'s nose?), and looking 
 straight at me, and fixing me with those steel-blue eyes of hers, 
 said, ' You must excuse me, Sir Geoffrey, but my mind is 
 quite made up. Miss Matthews told me from the first your 
 place would not suit me, and she was right. The place does 
 not suit me ; and if I may venture to say so, your place would 
 not suit any gentlewoman who respected herself.' "
 
 S/H GEOFFREY'S IDEA. 201 
 
 '' What are we to do about Maggie, then ?" 
 
 " That is just what I wanted to talk over with you. I have 
 'ITeen trying to get one of Lai Hilderton's old aunts — people I 
 had Peg with when they were in Wales — to come up from 
 Richmond and take charge, but it was no use. They say she 
 has treated Lai iniquitously, and that in consequence their 
 dear nephew has taken to smoking, drinking, and going to the 
 deuce generally, which of course is pleasant for a father to 
 hear." 
 
 " My fair niece can't help flirting, and I do not think Mr. 
 Lionel Hilderton required any goading along the road to 
 ruin." 
 
 " Precisely my own idea ; thank you, Gayre. Now I am 
 going to propose something I know will astonish you, but don't 
 make any rash comment till you have considered the matter 
 in all its bearings. T/ic rii;ht person to take charge of Fe^' is her 
 mother ; and if you'll help me a bit with the pecuniary part of 
 the matter, I am willing to let bygones be bygones, and for 
 the sake of niy girl make it up with your sister." 
 
 *' You cannot be serious, Chelston." 
 
 " I never was more serious in my life. I have a right to 
 take back ray wife if I like. The story is an old one now. At 
 the time many persons thought Margaret was dead, many 
 imagined we separated by mutual consent, many that I was 
 the sinner; only a very few knew the rights of the case. Well, 
 we make it up, we take a small house somewhere, and there's 
 your natural protector for Peg at once. Bless you, I've thought 
 it all out, and feel sure this is the course we ought to pursue. 
 Don't say anything yet. Mrs. Morris does not remove the 
 light of her countenance for a month. Think it over : a 
 mother for Peg, a home for Susan, who can't live always with 
 that gruesome old maid at Shepherd's Bush, all trouble and 
 anxiety ended, a very small additional allowance from you, 
 and the thing is complete. I never was a man who thought 
 of myself, and I assure you I have forgiven Margaret from the 
 bottom of my heart over and over again. She was a very 
 sweet girl, that sister of yours, Gayre, and I can see her now 
 as I saw her that day we first met at Brighton 3" and the 
 Baronet stooped, as though to hide a tear, while his brother- 
 in-law rose and paced the limits of Mr. Moreby's dining-room. 
 
 At last he said, 
 
 " You have indeed taken me by surprise, Chelston." 
 
 " Yes, I thought you would be astonished," said Sir
 
 202 SUSAX DRUMMOND. 
 
 Geoffrey, in the tone of a modest man who felt serenely con- 
 scious he had performed a good action. 
 
 " You say you do not expect me to give you an immediate 
 answer." 
 
 "Take your time— take your own time," observed the 
 Baronet tolerantly. " I am the most considerate man on 
 earth. No person can say with truth I ever made capital out 
 of my matrimonial troubles. Now did I ?" 
 
 " I am very sure you never did," agreed Mr. Gayre, think- 
 ing as he spoke that he knew the reason why.
 
 *» -. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE TRIAL. 
 
 Whatever small amount of comfort it may be possible to 
 extract from being the principal figure in a cause c'debrc 
 was denied to Oliver Dane. Nothing could have been more 
 prosaic and commonplace than his trial. As usual, the Old 
 Bailey was crowded ; as usual, the benches were filled by that 
 curious class of persons who are to be found in all parts of 
 London — lounging on the seats of the Thames Embankment 
 and Leicester Square, in the waiting-rooms of railway stations, 
 and the Law Courts, and the few other places of free resort — 
 engaged in the herculean task of killing time. Before a com- 
 paratively unappreciative audience the great scene of his life's 
 story was played out. Fashionable ladies were conspicuous 
 by their absence. Stock Exchange gentlemen, with their hats 
 well on the backs of their heads, and their hands deep in their 
 trousers pockets, utterly failed to put in an appearance. The 
 thousand shades of business to be met within the confines of 
 the City likewise felt the case was one which presented no 
 attraction. A defaulting clerk, a common case of forgery and 
 embezzlement : " Pooh ! not worth crossing the road to hear." 
 
 A good murder or a big swindle would have attracted an 
 appreciative audience ; but the crime of which Oliver Dane 
 stood accused being common as picking pockets, it was before 
 a comparatively speaking empty house, Messrs. Colvend and 
 Surlees' ci-dcvant clerk made his bow. 
 
 Through the windows of what is called the Old Court the 
 gray lights of a winter's day streamed coldly upon audience, 
 judge, aldermen, barristers, jury, and prisoner, who was young, 
 rather over middle height, slight, well-formed, dark-haired, dark- 
 eyed, standing looking calmly at the judge, and quitting him- 
 self, as even Mr. Gayre could not but acknowledge, like a man. 
 Confinement and anxiety had worn but not otherwise changed 
 him. He was still the Oliver of those happy blissful days 
 which now seemed farther away than childhood. And Susan,
 
 204 SUSA.Y DRUMMOXD. 
 
 who, with a little bunch of forget-me-nots fastened prominently 
 in her dress, had come to sit out the trial, when she saw the 
 dear face of old in such a place, felt the hot tears coursing 
 slowly down her cheeks and dropping heavily behind her veil. 
 On entering the dock, for one moment he glanced around, 
 and in that moment she made the slightest gesture with her 
 hand and touched the knot of blue llowers nestling in her 
 breast. That was all ; but he knew. And then, turning his 
 gaze resolutely away, he never again let his eyes stray towards 
 her — never once till the trial was over and the torture ended. 
 Mr. Gayre sat one side of the girl and Miss Matthews on the 
 other. Will Arbery had left England, and all other friends 
 were either witnesses for the defence or too angry or indif- 
 ferent to support her lover at such a crisis. But for Susan, 
 Oliver Dane might well just then have felt himself forgotten 
 by God and forsaken by man. Innocent or guilty, it seemed 
 as though his fellows had deserted him. In his cell he had 
 not felt half so lonely as he did in the crowded court. Mr. 
 (jayre he had seen and Miss Matthews likewise. Mr. Surlees 
 stood near the dock leaning against a partition. Familiar as 
 he was with the City, as a matter of course the names and 
 appearances of many men present were known to the prisoner. 
 He recognised his solicitor talking to a man he concluded 
 must be the counsel engaged for his defence; a burly coarse- 
 looking individual, famous for his skill in brow-beating wit- 
 nesses, he w^as aware had been retained for the prosecution. 
 He saw the place of honour under the canopy filled by an ex- 
 Lord Mayor, gorgeously attired, with the " sword of justice" 
 hung over his head on the wall behind his seat; then his 
 glance wandered to the judge, and after that his thoughts be- 
 gan to stray. 
 
 It seemed as though all the sin and misery of the centuries 
 rose out of their forgotten graves, and came trooping, ghostly 
 phantoms, into the place which had witnessed one terrible 
 scene of their earthly tragedy. The prison taint was around 
 him, the prison smell in his nostrils. He could see the dock 
 filled with wretched men and despairing women ; widows' 
 sons and gray-haired sires ; fingers, soon to be cold and still 
 in death, playing nervously with the herbs placed to preserve 
 those who were free from prison fever — fever kept for the 
 benefit of the captives. 
 
 Old stories, long forgotten, recurred to memory; all the 
 legends of that shameful place where, in the name of " Jus-
 
 THE TRIAL. 205 
 
 tice," so many innocent men were condemned in the good old 
 days to infamy, torture, and death, came josthng his elbow, 
 laid their skeleton hands on his throat, thrust their pallid faces 
 between him and the judge, and glided — a ghastly awful pro- 
 cession — down the stairs, from step to step of which they 
 carried, in dumb agonised silence, the burden of their woe. 
 
 All at once a voice brought him back from dreamland to 
 the fact that he was the latest member of that terrible crowd. 
 On the boards where such tragedies had been enacted it was 
 his turn to play a minor part. 
 
 " Guilty or Not Guilty T 
 
 " Not Guilty, my lord." 
 
 And then Mr. Gayre knew Sir Geoffrey's pleadings had 
 been, after all, in vain. 
 
 " It will be of no use urging extenuating circumstances 
 after that," thought the banker, looking hard at the accused, 
 while a feeling of pity, inconsistent in a merchant and a rival, 
 stirred his heart. 
 
 At once the court settled to work. The prosecutor's case 
 was fully stated. No detail which could hurt the prisoner and 
 his friends was spared ; his birth, education, antecedents, 
 means, failings, were shouted in the ear of the public. 
 
 He was shown to have been always somewhat wild — a boy 
 hard to control, impossible to train ; a lad determined to take 
 his own course to perdition ; a youth destitute of gratitude, 
 who turned and stung his best benefactor, an old and infirm 
 gentleman of large fortune and the possessor of extensive 
 estates. 
 
 " Our learned friend is a master of his craft," thought Mr. 
 Gayre, himself not wholly indifferent to the suggested iniquity. 
 
 Sledge-hammer work the learned counsel evidently consi- 
 dered quite good enough for the Old Bailey and Oliver Dane ; 
 and accordingly down he came, mercilessly crushing all flowers 
 of grace and beauty the young man's life might have been sup- 
 posed to hold. Everything charming, in word, deed, or manner, 
 was either a sin or a snare — often indeed both. He had bowed 
 his grandfather's gray hairs low with sorrow ; he had been seen 
 on racecourses drinking champagne and betting freely ; he had 
 utterly deceived his excellent and simple employer, Mr. Col- 
 vend ; he had been insolent to Mr. Surlees ; he had declined 
 the chaste pleasures, the intellectual converse, of Mr. Colvend's 
 house, and descended to the lowest social stratum to be found 
 even in London. He had consorted with thieves and vaga-
 
 2o6 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 bonds ; he had gone into their haunts, and treated them with 
 gin. One of the fraternity who called at his lodgings, had 
 been invited to partake of mild refreshment, which assumed 
 the character of brandy in its integrity. He (the learned 
 counsel) was aware an endeavour would be made to explain 
 these and other awkward facts ; but the overpowering evidence 
 on the part of the firm must render all such efforts worse than 
 useless. To see a man of parts — a gentleman by birth, educa- 
 tion, association — one who, favoured by Nature and caressed 
 by Fortune, might have hoped to climb to the highest rung of 
 the world's ladder — standing, like the common felons with 
 whom he had consorted, in the dock, wrung his (the learned 
 counsel's) heart — at which point the learned counsel thumped 
 that organ. But he had a duty to perform, and he meant to 
 perform it, without fear and without favour, just as he knew 
 the intelligent jury he had the privilege to address would per- 
 form theirs, regardless of ridicule, undaunted by calumny, un- 
 deterred by the false, though amiable, representations of the 
 prisoner's too partial friends. 
 
 Stripped of its verbiage, the whole speech, which did not 
 occupy above fifteen minutes in its delivery, was absurd in the 
 extreme — so absurd that Mr. Gayre could see even the prisoner's 
 lip quiver under his close moustache (" Hang him !" thought 
 the banker; " this poor dog whose day is ended has a sense of 
 humour"); but it told. Old Bailey juries and the learned 
 counsel were old and fast friends. If jurors never exactly 
 understood the barrister, the barrister understood jurors. 
 
 " They don't want much," he explained, in the easy confi- 
 dence of private life, " but they do like it uncommonly strong. 
 Pitch into a man, give it him right and left, and you get a 
 verdict. Mistakes ! Bless your innocence " (only the learned 
 counsel employed a stronger phrase), " a judge of the realm 
 can't make a mistake. If a man is not ripe for hanging to-day 
 you may feel very sure he will be over-ripe next year ; and it 
 is better to garner the criminal crop early rather than late ; that 
 is all." And, strongly convinced the Oliver Dane crop was 
 ready for the sickle, the learned counsel hitched up his robe, 
 settled his wig firmly on his head as though a thunderstorm 
 were impending, and " went for " that ungrateful young gentle- 
 man with a fury and acrimony which would have delighted 
 those writers for the press who denounced the Cato Street con- 
 spirators. He, the learned counsel, meant to show twelve 
 honest men what an unmitigated and irredeemable scoundrel
 
 THE TRIAL. 207 
 
 the prisoner at the bar really was. And then he proceeded to 
 -V. examine Mr. Surlees, who was the first witness called on behalf 
 of the prosecution ; while Susan Drummond spoke no word, 
 and turned no look towards her companions, though Mr. Gayre 
 could see she dug the fingers of one hand into the palm of the 
 other till it bled ; then she began as of deliberate intent and 
 tore her handkerchief into strips. The banker beckoned his 
 servant, who stood not far off, and handed the man a leaf from 
 his pocket-book. During the course of that trial Susan all un- 
 wittingly tore five handkerchiefs and a fan to tatters, festooned 
 her watch-chain into loops till she broke it, slit her gloves be- 
 yond the possibility of further use^ and picked the whole of the 
 fringe off one side of her mantle. 
 
 A sadly untrained young woman ! If Sir Geoffrey had been 
 going to the scaffold Miss Chelston would have adjusted every 
 frill and tucker, fastened her brooch, smoothed her hair, and 
 rubbed her eyes into a state of touching redness, ere descend- 
 ing to receive the condolences of her friends. 
 
 After all, it must be a great trial to people who believe these 
 and such-like items compass temporal salvation to meet with 
 persons who do not. 
 
 Mr. Surlees, judging from his evidence, seemed to be a man 
 who was at one in his opinions with Miss Chelston. He had 
 never thought Dane a business sort of young man ; he con- 
 sidered he was too fond of new-fashioned ways. Mr. Colvend 
 being infatuated about their clerk, he deemed it only his duty 
 to warn his partner he did not believe Dane could ever become 
 a fitting person to take into the house. He had received more 
 than one warning about the prisoner — half a dozen, perhaps, in 
 all. They assumed the shape of anonymous letters. He could 
 form no idea from whom they emanated. In consequence, he 
 examined the books. He found some discrepancies in them ; 
 he was intending to ask Dane to explain, when his attention 
 was called to the fact of a cheque being missing. His sus- 
 picions at once fell on the prisoner. He spoke to his partner, 
 who wanted to speak to Dane. Instead of speaking to Dane, 
 however, a detective was sent for. The detective proceeded 
 to the clerk's lodgings, where the notes, with which the cheque 
 waS cashed at the Union, were found in his portmanteau, packed 
 as if ready for a journey. 
 
 Being cross-examined by Mr. Tirling, the prisoner's counsel, 
 Mr. Surlees was entreated to describe his idea of a business 
 young man. Mr. Tirling convulsed the court, always ready to
 
 2oS SO'SAX DRUM MO XI). 
 
 laugh at nothing, but did no good to his client. The airy and 
 humorous way in which this learned counsel delighted inputting 
 things, in slyly chaffing his learned friend, poking fun at the 
 judge, and driving Mr. Surlees to the verge of distraction, 
 amused but did not convince twelve " conscientious, impartial, 
 and intelligent men." 
 
 Mr. Tirling wanted to know more than Mr. Clennam ever 
 thought of, when he went to the Circumlocution Office. The 
 learned counsel commenced operations with requiring a defini- 
 tion of a business sort of young man — not too fond of new- 
 fashioned ways. Finding Mr. Surlees incapable of putting his 
 notions into the concrete, he asked all sorts of questions con- 
 cerning the model or dream young man. Mr. Surlees turning 
 sulky at a very early stage of these proceedings, and the judge 
 interposing with a remark that he did not really think the learned 
 counsel's questions had the smallest bearing on the point at 
 issue, Mr. Tirling argued the matter out with his lordship, and, 
 being practically granted permission to ask such questions as 
 he liked, proceeded to inquire whether Mr. Surlees took Charles 
 Lamb's good clerk as his model. 
 
 " I think all C. Lamb's clerks very excellent ; I only wish 
 we had a few like them," v/as the unexpected reply. Where- 
 upon, said the newspaper reports, the court was convulsed, the 
 fact being the laughter was confined entirely to the bench and 
 the bar. 
 
 " Mr. Surlees' acquaintance with Elia does not appear to 
 have been intimate," suggested his lordship, wiping his wise old 
 eyes. Whereupon there ensued a smart little dialogue between 
 the bench and the learned counsel concerning Lamb and 
 Leadenhall Street, Talfourd and the Inner Temple, which 
 might have seemed more agreeable to the prisoner had he been 
 unaware the discussion could not possibly influence his fate for 
 good or for evil, that, forgetting all this pleasant fooling, the 
 judge would eventually sum up dead against Oliver Dane ! 
 
 Mr. Tirling inquired whether Mr. Dane wrote a "fair and 
 swift hand," whether he was clean and neat in his person, 
 whether he kept his books fair and unblemished, whether, in 
 the mornings, he was first at the desk, whether he was temper- 
 ate, whether he avoided profane oaths and jesting, whether the 
 colour of his clothes was generally black in preference to brown, 
 and brown rather than blue and green. And finding Mr. Sur- 
 lees unable to answer any of these queries in the negative, the 
 learned counsel suddenly dropped his friendly and conversa-
 
 THE TRIAL. 209 
 
 tional manner, and demanded with great sternness what further 
 or higher quaUties he could wish in a clerk. 
 
 Driven to bay Mr. Surlees answered, 
 
 "Honesty, for instance." 
 
 " That won't do," retorted the learned counsel. " You 
 conceived a prejudice against my unfortunate client long before 
 any doubt concerning his honesty crossed your mind. Remem- 
 ber you are on your oath, sir. Now, what was your particular 
 objection to Mr. Dane?" 
 
 It was like applying the thumbscrew torture, and Mr. Sur- 
 lees stammered out that he thought their clerk talked too much, 
 and was a fop. 
 
 Instantly Mr. Tirling smote the witness hip and thigh. 
 
 " Did Mr. Surlees know the meaning attached to fop ?" 
 
 *' Yes, Mr. Surlees thought he did." 
 
 " Would he be kind enough to explain ?" 
 
 Mr. Surlees declined this challenge. " There were," he said, 
 " words the meaning of which could not be explained by the 
 help of other words." 
 
 " There are, are there?" retorted Mr. Tirling; and straight- 
 way begged his lordship to take a note of this reply. 
 
 Instead of doing anything of the sort, his lordship said he 
 thought the learned gentleman was travelling very wide of the 
 subject indeed ; to which remark the learned gentleman replied 
 his lordship would, ere long, comprehend the reason for the 
 course he was taking, and with all due submission begged to 
 state he felt if he were to do justice to the prisoner — than 
 whom no more cruelly maligned individual ever deserved the 
 sympathy of his fellow-creatures — he must be allowed to con- 
 tinue the cross-examination in his own way. The judge gave 
 consent by silence. The opposing counsel looked up at the 
 ceiling, and smiled as one who should say, " Let him have his 
 fling. It is all of no use ; but he must do something for his 
 money." The prisoner knew if his chances had been bad ten 
 minutes previously they were worse now. With all the veins of 
 his heart he wished he had employed no solicitor, secured no 
 counsel, but just let things drift. 
 
 What was the loneliness of his prison cell in comparison 
 with this idiotic splitting of hairs, and attempt to make a man 
 out a liar who, to the best of his knowledge, stood there trying 
 to tell the simple truth ? 
 
 '• Now attend to me, sir, if you please ;" it was Mr. Tirling 
 who spoke this sentence. " On your oath, do you consider 
 
 p
 
 2IO SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 Oliver Dane to be a jjerson of weak understanding and much 
 ostentation? O, you don't? You are quite sure of that? Very 
 well. Do you believe it was his ambition to attract attention 
 by showy dress and pertness ? Certainly not. Thank you, 
 Mr. Surlees ; I thought we should get at something after a time. 
 Did he strike you as a gay trifling man ? Once again, no. I 
 trust these answers will be remembered. Was he, then, a cox- 
 comb or a popinjay? Again No. Now really this is very 
 singular. You described Mr. Dane as a fop, yet when one 
 comes to exhaust the matter it actually seems he has not a 
 single fop-like quality. Perhaps the other cause of dislike was 
 founded on equally unsubstantial grounds. You say, sir, Mr. 
 Dane talked too much ; why, even Charles Lamb's model clerk 
 was permitted the occasional use of his tongue. What did Mr. 
 Dane say, when did he say it, and how ? O, you decline to 
 answer ! Well, let that pass. Now I want to know who called 
 your attention to the fact that a cheque had been torn out of 
 the book ?" 
 
 With this question Mr. Surlees tried in vain to fence ; Mr. 
 Tirling was determined he would — as he unpleasantly expressed 
 the matter — "have an answer out of him," and at length elicited 
 that Mr. Surlees was the Columbus of this great discovery; that 
 he had "called his own attention" to it. 
 
 Then, indeed, the learned counsel felt delighted. In the 
 playful exuberance of his spirits he figuratively danced round 
 and round the merchant, dealing him verbal blows, catching 
 him with a jest and gibe under the fifth rib; getting him into 
 a corner, and making him contradict himself half a dozen times 
 in as many seconds ; closing with him as if for a mighty tussle ; 
 and then at quite an unexpected moment intimating in a scorn- 
 ful manner he had done with him. 
 
 This might have been all very well had his ingenuity proved 
 able to tell the jury how notes paid across the counter of the 
 Union on one day came, on the next evening, to be found in 
 Mr. Dane's possession. It was a circumstance which of course 
 might be capable of explanation ; but then neither Mr. Dane 
 nor Mr. Dane's counsel managed to do anything of the sort. 
 The notes had been sent to him, so said the prisoner ; the 
 parcel containing them was dropped into the letter-box of his 
 lodgings, the only information which accompanied it being that 
 they "came from a friend." Certainly such a story did not 
 seem feasible. It was just within the bounds of possibility that 
 it might be true ; but then it was so much more probable that
 
 THE TRIAL. 211 
 
 it might not. Incredulity was writ large on the faces of those 
 ^twelve men with whom the result lay. There are things that 
 cannot be got over save by faith, a quality for which the British 
 juryman is not usually remarkable ; and if he had ever pos- 
 sessed it in the case of Oliver Dane, it may safely be said every 
 step of the trial, every fact extracted in cross-examination and 
 from the witnesses produced for the defence, must have tended 
 to weaken the conviction of Oliver Dane's innocence. 
 
 There never seemed a clearer case of heartless ingratitude 
 and flagrant fraud. 
 
 On the part of Mr. Colvend, at all events, there could be 
 no suspicion of prejudice or dislike. Every answer he gave 
 clearly proved his affection for the prisoner — his grief and sur- 
 prise when he heard of the accusation against him ; yet his 
 evidence, reluctantly given, could only be summed up as against 
 Oliver Dane. Had the matter rested with him, the young man 
 would not have been given into custody ; but that he believed 
 in his guilt was evident. He knew he was going into business 
 on his own account, and had offered to assist him ; would 
 gladly have lent him three hundred pounds or more had he 
 been aware such a sum was important. Not a word was said 
 or sentence spoken during the whole course of the trial which 
 did not make the case blacker against the criminal. 
 
 " He ought to have pleaded guilty," thought Mr. Gayre. 
 " Chelston was quite right ; every fresh scrap of evidence is an 
 additional nail in his coftin. Even she must be convinced now;" 
 and he looked down at Susan, who, raising her anxious eyes, 
 whispered, as if in answer to his unspoken words, 
 
 " Remember all this does not change my opinion in the 
 least. He is innocent. I do not expect you to think so, but 
 I know it." 
 
 The end was nearly at hand. Sir Geoffrey Chelston, who 
 had been intimate with all the Danes — Oliver included — came 
 forward to state he believed Dane to be a most honourable 
 fellow, one he had never seen but once on any racecourse. 
 Pressed as to whether the prisoner was not fond of horses, he 
 answered, " Of course ; all gentlemen are ;" which last assertion 
 might as well have been omitted, if he wished to impress the 
 jury with any of the advantages to be derived from his own 
 acquaintance. There was only one witness whose testimony 
 could have proved useful on behalf of the prisoner ; but both 
 Mr. Gayre and Oliver Dane had so managed that her name 
 was not even known to Mr. Tirling.
 
 212 SUSAJV DRUMMOND. 
 
 " Wouldn't do, you know, Gayre," remarked Sir Geoffrey, 
 talking the matter over with his brother-in-law. " Susan must 
 not be mixed up publicly with that poor fellow's troubles. 
 Besides, nothing can materially change the aspect of matters 
 for him ; it is a mere question of so many months, more or 
 less ; and what can a few months more or less signify to him ? 
 while it would be perfect damnation — excuse the word — for the 
 girl to be bracketed with a fellow residing, even temporarily, in 
 one of her Majesty's gaols." 
 
 " And, at the most, all she could say is he might have had 
 her money without ever asking for it," answered Mr. Gayre. 
 '* We must keep her out of the matter. It is a redeeming point 
 in Dane that he seems more anxious by far about her than 
 himself." 
 
 " So he ought to be. Hang the fellow ! what business had 
 he to induce such a girl to engage herself to a pauper ? Now 
 the only amends he can make is to leave her free to marry 
 somebody else." 
 
 "She won't do that, I think," said Mr. Gayre, a little hypo- 
 critically. 
 
 "Won't she! Leave her to Time for a while. Old Time 
 is the only fellow that thoroughly understands women. He 
 heals love-wounds, and turfs over graves, and dries up tears in 
 a way you would scarcely credit. 'Pon my soul, I've known 
 him work miracles, and so you'll find it with Sue ; only what- 
 ever you do, don't cross her fancies," finished the Baronet, who 
 already looked on Susan as Mrs. Gayre, and the Lombard 
 Street strong-room as unlocked for his benefit. 
 
 It was, therefore, more with an interested eye to the future 
 than from any sympathy with the unfortunate lovers that Sir 
 Geoffrey worked for Oliver Dane " as though he were my own 
 son." 
 
 Nevertheless, spite of the fact that he was a baronet, his 
 testimony told, in the minds of the jury, against Mr. Colvend's 
 clerk ; and not even the circumstance, that in cross-examina- 
 tion, to the great satisfaction of every one, the judge included, 
 he threw the learned counsel for the prosecution, could make 
 things better for a man accused of robbing his employers. 
 Sir Geoffrey was quite sure of two things — one, that Oliver 
 Dane did not bet ; another, that he did not habitually attend 
 races. 
 
 " I'd know a betting-man," declared the Baronet, " if he 
 were a bishop, or came on the course in wig and gown. I never
 
 THE TRIAL. 213 
 
 saw Dane on any race-ground but once, and that was at the 
 ^Derby, with a lot of other young fellows like himself. More 
 by token,'' he added, nodding his head, and looking with a 
 malicious twinkle at the learned counsel, " that was the very 
 same year you laid against Bluegown, and lost a pot of money. 
 I shall never forget your face when the roar came, ' Bluegown, 
 Bluegown !'" 
 
 There was such a laugh over this agreeable reminiscence 
 that the judge's admonitions to Sir Geoftrey were quite unheard; 
 and the Baronet, dismissed by his opponent, who desired no 
 continuation of so unpleasant a tale, lounged easily out of the 
 witness-box, before it dawned on any one his lordship was 
 remonstrating with him concerning the impropriety of his 
 conduct. 
 
 After Sir Geofirey came Lionel Hilderton, who was called 
 to prove he and Oliver Dane had gone together into the low 
 haunts of London in order to study faces and find models 
 likely to prove useful in connection with his own work. They 
 had found their way into very questionable neighbourhoods, 
 and treated persons who were very like blackguards and thieves ; 
 but if they had, what then ? " No doubt you " — this pointedly, 
 and in his most offensive manner, to the genial gentleman who 
 was badgering him—" have, in the way of your trade, consorted, 
 ere now, with bad characters. You would be very much offended, 
 I daresay, if any one called you a pickpocket because you may 
 have defended one." 
 
 "Such license of language really cannot be permitted," 
 observed the judge. 
 
 " Then why," asked Lai, his dark eyes flashing with anger, 
 " does your lordship allow that person such license of language 
 in addressing me ? It is hard to get a blow and not to have a 
 chance of striking out in return ;" following on which remark 
 there ensued a very pretty little quarrel between bench and 
 witness. Lai defied the judge, and the judge threatened to 
 commit him. Lai said he did not care, and that, on the whole, 
 he would rather be committed; and it was at length only 
 through the interposition of the learned counsel engaged on 
 both sides his lordship was pacified, and the young man in- 
 duced to hold his tongue, and the cross-examination pro- 
 ceeded. 
 
 " Were you ever engaged in a fight with the police?" asked 
 his persecutor. 
 
 " Yes, and I'd fight them again if they were insolent. What
 
 2 1 4 SUSAN DR UMMOND. 
 
 right had they to interfere with a man who was doing them no 
 harm ?" 
 
 " Do you not think it was wrong to go to such places as 
 the pohce warned you were not fit for any decently-dressed 
 person to enter ?' 
 
 *'No, not a bit more wrong than going to church," re- 
 torted Lai. 
 
 "Perhaps you don't go to church, Mr. Hilderton?" 
 
 " Yes, I do, to study the British Pharisee." 
 
 " Dear — dear — dear !" murmured Susan, in an agony, wring- 
 ing her hands; "what madness could have induced them to 
 call Lai ?" 
 
 " He has done all that lay in his power to convict his 
 friend," decided Mr. Gayre, but he did not utter this idea 
 aloud. " Won't you come away now. Miss Drummond ?" he 
 entreated, for he knew the beginning of the end was at hand. 
 
 "No; O, no !" she murmured. 
 
 " I wish you would not stop, dear," said Miss Matthews. 
 
 " I must stay to hear — the worst," Susan almost whispered. 
 
 Still the dreary proceedings dragged their slow length along ; 
 but at last came the judge's summing-up. It was dead against 
 the prisoner, who stood listening, with crossed arms and an 
 unmoved front, to the words of wisdom and reprobation which 
 flowed in smooth passionless accents from the bench. The 
 question of the prisoner's guilt or innocence was left, of course, 
 to the jury ; but the jury were told how to decide. The crime 
 of which the young man before them was accused struck at 
 the foundations of society. It was for the jury to disembarrass 
 their minds of the extraneous matters which had been obtruded 
 on their notice, and deliver a verdict on the merits of the case. 
 His lordship felt he need not remind the gentlemen of the jury 
 that the fact of the prisoner being well born, well educated, 
 well connected, could not palliate his sin, if they believed he 
 had first stolen a cheque, then forged his employers' signature, 
 and subsequently appropriated the proceeds. It was for the 
 jury to say whether they considered this serious charge proved. 
 
 Apparently, the jury had arrived at their decision before 
 they even left the box ; for they were not ten minutes absent 
 before they trooped back again solemnly. They had arrived 
 at a verdict. 
 
 *' How say you, gentlemen ?" 
 
 And then Susan Drummond, though she knew what was 
 coming, held her breath.
 
 THE TRIAL. 215 
 
 « Guilty /" 
 »,^_ It seemed as if a thousand voices took up the word, and 
 shouted it in her ears. For a moment she felt like one drown- 
 ing ; the waters had indeed covered her soul. 
 
 "Let me take you out," said Mr. Gayre, touching her arm ; 
 but she seemed not to hear him. Every sense was concen- 
 trated on the judge, who, in measured accents, proceeded to 
 say he would not add to the distress the prisoner must feel at 
 the position to which a long course of folly and extravagance 
 had brought him. When he looked back over his wasted life 
 — a life which he could so easily have made honourable and 
 prosperous — it might well seem as if in the loss of the esteem 
 of all honest men, in the wreck and ruin of his own career, in 
 the reproaches of his own conscience, were the elements of a 
 sufficient and terrible punishment ; but the crime of which a 
 jury of his own countrymen had found him guilty, was one so 
 dangerous to the community, so necessary to check in a vast 
 city — the capital of the greatest mercantile nation in the world, 
 or that the world had ever known — his lordship felt it neces- 
 sary to pass the severe sentence of seven years' penal servi- 
 tude. 
 
 " My God !" exclaimed the prisoner, like one stunned ; and 
 at that moment Susan would have risen, but that Mr. Gayre 
 prevented her from doing so. 
 
 "Don't make a scene," he entreated, "don't;" while from 
 the dock came a cry of '■^I am innocent T ere the warders hur- 
 ried the Hving man into the seven years' grave that yawned 
 before him.
 
 CHAPTER XXr. 
 
 " EVENTS ARRANGE THEMSELVES." 
 
 " Seven years, by Jove !" said Sir Geoffrey, pacing the length 
 and breadth of Mr. Gayre's dining-room, his head sunk on his 
 breast, his hands clasped behind his back. " Seven years ! 
 Good God Almighty !" and the Baronet, in a vague sort of 
 way, fell to considering what he, Geoffrey Chelston, could have 
 made of seven long years spent in penal servitude, had the 
 Gayres dealt with him " according to law." 
 
 " Seven years without drink or dice or pretty barmaids — 
 without flats or cheats, or horses or racecourses — with no 
 society save the dumb company of those who had been * faund 
 out ' — with the shape of his head and ears too painfully defined 
 — clad in a suit for which no tailor could ever dun him — forced 
 to go to bed with that silly creature the lamb, and compelled 
 to rise with that greater nuisance and greater fool still the lark 
 — obliged to go to church, and knuckle down to the chaplain, 
 and eat, begad, any beastly stuff a rascally Radical Govern- 
 ment elected to thrust down the throat of gentlemen in trouble 
 — a damned lot !" 
 
 Thus the tenth Baronet, who had put his name and ances- 
 try and title and money out to such extraordinary interest, 
 stung into mental activity by the fact of so severe a sentence 
 being passed upon a man who had not shaved the wind one 
 whit closer than iiimself, regarded the "might have been" of 
 his own case, while ostensibly considering the sore plight of 
 that " unlucky devil," Oliver Dane. 
 
 " It all comes of keeping a fellow too tight," went on the 
 Baronet, talking to Mr. Gayre as though the banker were an 
 utter tyro in the ways of this wicked but pleasant old world. 
 "A man must have his fling some time, and if he hasn't it early 
 he'll take it late. 'Pon my soul, I'm as sorry for Dane as if 
 he were my own brother ! It's a deuced hard case. I am sure 
 I said all I could for him. Had he been my father I couldn't 
 have sworn harder, and yet I feel as though I were in some
 
 " EVENTS ARRANGE THEMSELVES:' 217 
 
 sort to blame — as if I might have said more, you know. I 
 declare, Gayre, to my dying day I shall never forget his cry, 
 ' I am innocent !' " 
 
 "But he was not innocent," objected Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " I am not so sure of that : standing almost in the pre- 
 sence of his Maker, as one may say ; for seven years' penal 
 servitude in this world appears to me far more like eternity, 
 and a very bad eternity, than walking over the border into a 
 land the parsons seem to think will be made pleasant for most 
 of us who are not hardened and desperate ruffians — a well- 
 connected and respectable young fellow like Dane — Heavens ! 
 I remember him quite a little lad running about in knicker- 
 bockers — would be scarcely likely to tell a lie." 
 
 " No one could have felt more sure of his guilt than your- 
 self," said the banker angrily; "what is the use of talking in 
 this strain now?" 
 
 " None — not a bit; and that's just what makes me take the 
 whole thing so much to heart. Innocent or guilty, such a 
 sentence is enough to make a man, if he had not the very 
 strongest faith — which, thank God ! I have — turn atheist. 
 Seven years cut clean out of a fellow's life ! Better have hung 
 him at once. Could that old fool of a judge understand what 
 seven years of penal servitude means to a gentleman well born, 
 well bred, well connected? I feel as if I'd like to go and 
 assault somebody — I might get the case ventilated then. And 
 then there's poor dear Susan breaking her soft tender heart; 
 and, as I told her this morning, I am only able to stand like a 
 brute and do nothing; and then what d'ye think she did?" 
 
 " Thanked you for your sympathy, I have no doubt." 
 
 " She never said a word. She just came up to me, and put 
 her arms round my neck and kissed me, and laid her pretty 
 head on my shoulder and cried like a child. I am a rough 
 and tumble sort of chap, and nobody ever suggested there was 
 any gamnion or sentiment about Geoffrey Chelston ; but, upon 
 my soul, Gayre," — and the unsentimental Baronet, instead of 
 finishing his sentence, fetched a deep breath. " A woman like 
 Susan Drummond can make what she will of a man," he went 
 on, "hand in hand with her, a fellow need never wish to wan- 
 der out of that path to heaven which we are told is so con- 
 foundedly narrow and straight." 
 
 "I never heard the path was straight," remarked Mr. Gayre, 
 "though I fancy many persons find it so." 
 
 "Hang it all, you need not take me up so short ! Besides,
 
 21 8 SUSAN DRUM MONO. 
 
 I gave the spirit of the text, and surely that's enough. And 
 as for Susan, narrow or straight, or both, she'd lead the worst 
 sinner that ever lived to the happy land scliool-children sing 
 about. Faith, it was very pretty to hear them at Chelston, 
 Gayre ; poor Margaret used — ^" 
 
 "Miss Drummond does not seem to have been able to lead 
 her particular sinner to a very happy land, in this world, at all 
 events," said Mr. Gayre, ruthlessly cutting across his brother- 
 in-law's pastoral reminiscences. 
 
 " Now don't be ironical," entreated Sir Geoffrey. 
 
 " Ironical ! (iood gracious !" 
 
 " Well, ironical, or sarcastic, or what you choose, you were 
 sneering at Dane, you know you were, and it's not kind to 
 sneer at a fellow who has got into hot water and been badly 
 scalded." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean," returned Mr. Gayre. " I 
 suppose we have all a right to express an opinion, and when a 
 man embezzles and forges — " 
 
 " Well, yon need not be hard on him ; and you are much 
 harder than 1 like to see — you are, Gayre, upon my con- 
 science." 
 
 "And upon my conscience," retorted the banker, "I utterly 
 fail to understand the drift of all your profound remarks. It 
 is impossible, in the face of the evidence you heard yesterday, 
 for you or any man to believe Dane innocent, and, being 
 guilty, he deserves punishment. Seven years is a heavy sen- 
 tence, no doubt, but employers must be protected. Supposing 
 you left your purse on that table, and a housemaid stole it, 
 would you give her a sovereign and entreat her to remain in 
 your service ? You know you would not ; you would send for 
 the nearest policeman and give her in charge — " 
 
 " I'd do nothing of the sort," interrupted the Baronet. 
 " She should never have a chance of robbing me again, but — " 
 
 "You would give her a chance to rob somebody else," 
 suggested Mr. Gayre. 
 
 "I'd rather do that than lock her up," said Sir Geoffrey, 
 standing to his guns. "I do not believe in all this law and 
 lawyer business, and punishing and deterring and the rest of 
 it. If a fellow goes wrong, give him a chance of doing right. 
 How can any one get right working like a navvy at Portland? 
 Supposing these two City Solons had left Dane free, and let 
 him repay their money, it would have been better for every- 
 body, themselves included."
 
 "EVEXrS ARRANGE THEMSELVES." 219 
 
 " In that case, he might have married Miss Drummond, 
 _^and lived happily ever after," sneered Mr. Ciayre. 
 
 " I shouldn't liave gone so far as that," answered the Baro- 
 net. "And, indeed, I doubt if Susan would have wished to 
 marry him ; now she does ; that's the first effect of his lord- 
 ship's sentence. The girl considers her lover a martyr, which 
 brings me to what I particularly wanted to say. For Heaven's 
 sake, Gayre, don't hurt her feelings by speaking as if you 
 thought him guilty ! If you do, she'll hate you for ever. There 
 is no manner of use in reasoning with a woman — women can't 
 reason any more than they can grill a steak. Let Susan have 
 her way. If she likes to believe Dane innocent, it won't do 
 you or me any harm. Soothing is the way to treat such a 
 wound. If any likely young fellow were about, now would be 
 his chance ; no time for winning a girl's heart so good as when 
 it has just been broken, and while her eyes are still wet with 
 crying ! Gad ! I mayn't know much about the business world 
 and money and so forth, but I do understand women ! Though 
 I am not as young as I used to be, if I were single I'd engage 
 to have Susan Drummond for wife in three months." 
 
 " Upon the whole it is fortunate for her that you are not 
 single," remarked Mr. Gayre. 
 
 "O, I don't mean to say that I should wish to marry Susan," 
 returned Sir Geoffrey; "only that I know I could. We should 
 not suit each other in the least. I'd drive her mad ; and she 
 — well, fact is, Susan would be a bit too good for me. She 
 ought to run in harness with some steady fellow, who does not 
 drink or gamble, who has not been driven half mad with trouble, 
 and compelled to pick up a wretched living as I am. I'd like 
 to see her married to some excellent man she could be proud 
 of — rich, respectable, that sort of thing ; what I never can be 
 now, Gayre. It would be an awful business if she made a 
 mistake a second time. Just fancy her tied for life to a sulky 
 beggar like Lai Hilderton, or to such an infernal cad as your 
 friend Sudlow !" Having planted which sting in his brother- 
 in-law's soul. Sir (ieoffrey walked to the sideboard, and refreshed 
 himself with about half a tumbler of Chartreuse that had been 
 produced for his especial benefit, as he said he felt deucedly 
 queer, and could think of nothing so likely to pull him toge- 
 ther a bit. 
 
 " I don't know what I am to do with Sudlow," he began, 
 after partaking of this moderate draught. " He's as shy of 
 those settlements as if they were a ten-foot wall. I bring him
 
 220 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 up to them again and again, but he always refuses the leap. 
 Now it's this, now it's the other ; something has been left out, 
 or something has been put in. He goes to my lawyers; for I 
 can't have him bothering me, and he won't, he declares, incur 
 the expense of letting his own solicitor arrange the matter — 
 I am sure he is afraid the attorney would sell him — goes to 
 my lawyers, and argues each point with them. Heaven only 
 knows who is to pay the piper. I know I sha'n't be able." 
 . *' And I really don't think Sudlow will," said Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " Things are getting deucedly awkward. I must give up 
 IVIoreby's crib ere long. His mother's legal adviser says I may 
 rent the place on, if I choose to pay in advance, but that he 
 cannot advise his client to permit the present unsatisfactory 
 arrangements to continue, and be blanked to him. Then I 
 am all at sea as to what I am to do about Maggie. Clearly 
 Sudlow mustn't, be hanging round the house while the girl is 
 alone in it ; and I can't be mewed up in North Bank for ever. 
 If I am to stop at home all day, the pot would soon cease boil- 
 ing. You must see yourself it is of no earthly use trying to get 
 ' companions ;' they won't stop ; money wou't make them — 
 love might. I believe old mother Morris expected I would 
 propose for her. It's deucedly awkward, confoundedly awkward. 
 I've looked at the position from, I think, every possible and 
 impossible point of view, and the more I think the more satisfied 
 I feel there is but one course open, and that is making things 
 up with Margaret." 
 
 " Well, of course, you know your own business best," said 
 Mr, Gayre, who understood whither all this was tending. 
 
 "There are few men who would j)ropose such a plan," 
 said Sir Geoffrey, helping himself to a little more Chartreuse; 
 "but I do not profess to be led by popular opinion. My 
 notions are not worldly, but I hope they are Christian. Dear, 
 dear, when I look back to the old times, and think of Margaret 
 and the Pleasaunce ! Ah ! she was a lovely young creature, 
 Gayre, and nobody can deny the Pleasaunce was as sweet a 
 spot as ever a set of rascally Jews got hold of! Lord ! when I 
 shut my eyes I can see her standing beside one of the windows 
 in the great drawing-room at Chelston, framed in a tracery of 
 leaves and roses, the red in her cheeks pink as the roses, and 
 her forehead white as her dress. The fairest picture : the 
 quaint old furniture and the sweet young bride. Ah, the 
 house is dismantled, and Margaret gone 1 Many a man has 
 hung himself for less, Gayre."
 
 "EVENTS ARRANGE THEMSELVES." 221 
 
 " It is not a particularly agreeable theme for Margaret's 
 brother," observed the banker. 
 
 " Rough on you," agreed Sir Geoffrey, '^ deucedly rough. 
 Hard for me — harder for you. Impossible to wash such a stain 
 clean out of any family; and to think that the cowardly fellow 
 escaped without having to pay even a farthing damages !" 
 
 "It would not have benefited Margaret much if he had," 
 said Mr. Gayre, who knew into whose pocket the damages 
 would have found their way. 
 
 " The more I think over the matter, the more satisfied I feel 
 Peggy and her mother ought to be together," declared Sir 
 Geoffrey, ignoring his brother-in-law's remark. 
 
 Mr. Gayre also was aware when it was prudent to main- 
 tain silence, and discreetly held his peace. 
 
 '' Have you thought over what I said to you a little while 
 since ?"' asked the Baronet, finding this astute fish declined to 
 
 " rise." 
 
 " What did you say ? Put your idea into plain words." 
 
 " You might help a man a little, more especially when he is 
 making such an offer as I am making now. Hang it ! if Mar- 
 garet v/ere my sister, and you, her wronged husband, were pro- 
 posing to let bygones be bygones, and have her back, you could 
 not take things more coolly than you are doing." 
 
 " I do not feel elated, if that is what you mean," said Mr. 
 Gayre. 
 
 "Well, of all tlie cold, bloodless fellows I ever met," Sir 
 Geoffrey was beginning, when a look in the banker's face 
 warned him to desist. "We can't be a// alike, however," he 
 added in a tone of bland apology for the fact. 
 
 " We can't all be Geoffrey Chelstons, if that is what you 
 mean," agreed the banker. 
 
 " We can't be all Gayres either. Gad, in many ways I wish 
 we could. But now to revert to Margaret. You would like the 
 past to be forgotten, eh?" 
 
 "It cannot be undone." 
 
 " That's true ; but where's the use of harping upon that ? 
 It would gratify you to know your sister had resumed her old 
 position and rank, and so forth, eh?" 
 
 " I don't know that it would. There is an old proverb 
 about letting sleeping dogs lie. Were Margaret to return to 
 England, many sleeping dogs in the country would wake up 
 and begin snarling at her." 
 
 " O no, they wouldn't. Scarce a soul ever knew the rights
 
 222 ^■^'^■^A' DRUM MO XD. 
 
 of that afifair. I am sure, Gayre, even you must say no man 
 could have kept stricter silence than I." 
 
 " Whatever your reason may have been for holding your 
 tongue, I never found fault with you for doing so," returned 
 Mr. Gayre dryly. 
 
 " That's City all over. I wonder if you would have made 
 such a speech while you were in the thick of the dashing fellows 
 who saved India for us ? But never mind, I know you better 
 than you know yourself, and feel quite sure business has not 
 really spoiled one I can remember as generous and trustful 
 and enthusiastic a young man as ever wore her Majesty's 
 uniform." 
 
 Mr, Gayre did not answer this bitter-sweet encomium. 
 Once again Sir Geoffrey had touched the raw, as that worthy 
 understood. 
 
 " Well, well," he said, " we can't be hard-hearted men of the 
 world, and keep the soft tender hearts of boyhood in our breasts, 
 too. Still, thank Heaven, all I have gone through has not made 
 me cast iron. I can't forget, though you do. I wish we could 
 have been more like brothers, Gayre. I'm an unfortunate devil, 
 I know; but 1 always was fond of you, and misfortune is not 
 crime. I did think you would be pleased at my notion about 
 Margaret — poor misguided soul ! However, of course, 1 can't 
 expect you to see with my eyes ; so Peggy and I must do the 
 best we can for ourselves, and that best will be bad enough. 
 Good-bye. Heaven only knows when I shall see you again. 
 I hope you may always be prosperous, and never know what 
 it is to hunger for a kind word or look, and get neither;" with 
 which Christian aspiration, that sounded uncommonly like a 
 curse, Sir Geoffrey was turning towards the door, when Mr. 
 Gayre stopped him. 
 
 " Wait a moment, Chelston," he said. " Don't go yet." 
 
 The banker was standing before the fire, looking into its 
 glowing depths, and did not see the smile which overspread 
 Sir Geoffrey's face as he paused to ask, 
 
 "Well, what is it now?" 
 
 " That is what I wish to know," answered Mr. Gayre. 
 '' Why can't you tell me in so many plain words exactly what 
 you want ? If you know anything about me, you ought to 
 understand the sort of talk in which you have been indulging 
 is completely wasted. I despise flattery as much as I distrust 
 sentimentality. You never liked one of us ; you thought we 
 might serve your turn. As for Margaret, a pert serving-wench
 
 "EVENTS ARRANGE THEMSELVES." 223 
 
 would have found more favour in your eyes than my sister. I 
 declare," added the banker, in a burst of fury, " when I think 
 ''of all Margaret suffered at your hands, I hate myself for ever 
 having crossed your threshold again, or eaten your bread, or let 
 my hand touch yours in amity." 
 
 "You know I can't hit back, Gayre; and it really was 
 deucedly good of you to forget old grievances — utterly ima- 
 ginary, upon my soul — for the sake of Peggy." 
 
 A dull red hne, like a band, came slowly across Mr. Gayre's 
 forehead. Perhaps he was conscious of that tell-tale mark, for 
 he never turned towards Geoffrey as he answered, 
 
 " I would have done a good deal for my sister's daughter, 
 but I find that daughter almost as impracticable and selfish as 
 yourself. I don't know what can be done for her." 
 
 " Don't you ? If you chose to give Peggy a fortune, no man 
 wouUl find her waste it in making presents, for example." 
 
 " Bat I don't choose to give her a fortune." 
 
 " I know you don't; you are far too like her to do anything 
 of the sort. I was only remarking, if you tried the experiment 
 of giving Peggy any of this world's goods, you'd find she'd take 
 deucedly good care of number one. She can make a pound go 
 further than I could five. Faith ! spite of her beauty and the 
 long line of ancestry she is able to claim on my side, I often 
 think it would be a pity to spoil two houses with her and 
 Sudlow. There is a regular trade smack about the girl at times 
 which positively amazes me. It just shows that what's bred in 
 the bone, you know — " 
 
 "Where is all this tending?" interrupted Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " I don't know that it is tending anywhere except to lodg- 
 ings at fifteen shillings a week and good-bye to Sudlow," 
 answered Sir Geofirey. " I had better be going, Gayre. I am 
 confoundedly sorry I came." 
 
 " What is the amount of annual income over and above 
 the sum I allow my sister you require to set up house with 
 Lady Chelston at the head of affairs ? Remember, I promise 
 nothing. I do not even know that Margaret would return to 
 you ; if she did, I fail to understand what is to be said to her 
 daughter concerning a mother she believes died long and long 
 ago. Still, I should like to know your price; you came to tell 
 me that price ; out with it, man." 
 
 " Well, as you force me to say, I think ten thousand pounds 
 down, and five hundred a year for Margaret's and my life, at
 
 224 srSA.V DRUMMOXD. 
 
 our death to go then to Peggy, would be just to me and not 
 unfair to you." 
 
 "Just io you I" repeated Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " I don't expect you to think much about the justice to 
 me," replied Sir Geoffrey equably. " Why should you ? Why 
 should a rich man consider a poor one ? Why should you, 
 who have always been first favourite with Fortune, think for a 
 moment about an out-at-elbows fellow like myself ? The ball 
 is at your foot, not at mine ; play it, knock me over ! Only 
 deal kindly with Margaret and the girl, and I am content to 
 hang on to life by my eyelids as I am doing now, till a pauper's 
 grave receives all that is mortal of the tenth Baronet of 
 Chelston." 
 
 " As for ten thousand pounds down, I won't give you a 
 thousand pence." 
 
 " Then I needn't detain you longer. I am sorry I men- 
 tioned the matter at all, only I thought, and still think, Mar- 
 garet is the proper person to take charge of her child. No 
 one but a mother can see to a girl, and I'd have made things 
 as pleasant as possible. I'd have stopped out of her way 
 except when it was necessary for me to enter an appearance. 
 I'd have left Margaret and Peggy to manage matters just as 
 they liked, and only put in a word if asked to do so. You 
 and your sister could have selected a residence to suit her ; 
 bless you ! though I make no fuss or pretence, I'm full of con- 
 sideration. I'd have left her as free as air. If she ever wanted 
 to ask a few friends, she could have sent out the invitations as 
 if from Sir Geoffrey and Lady Chelston ; and I'd have come 
 up to time. Of course I understood, after the way she had 
 treated me, she might feel more comfortable if I were not con- 
 stantly at hand to remind her of the past. Poor dear soul ! 
 She couldn't help being a simpleton, I daresay, but still — " 
 
 " Sir Geoffrey, will you have the kindness to leave my 
 house ?" 
 
 Mr. Gayre was almost beside himself with rage. 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," answered Sir Geoffrey, with the 
 greatest equanimity. " If you don't mind, I'll just have 
 another sip of that Chartreuse, and then I'll be off." 
 
 " Finish the bottle if you like," said Mr. Gayre, who knew 
 the Baronet was certain to do so without his permission. 
 
 "Thankee, I will; there's not much left;" and Sir Geoffrey, 
 having exactly filled his tumbler with the precious liquor, and, 
 in an easy affable way, drained its contents to the last drop,
 
 " EVENTS ARRANGE THEMSELVES:' 
 
 nodded to Mr. Gayre and walked out of the room. Next 
 luoment, however, he reappeared. 
 
 " I say, Gayre," he began, putting his remarkable head 
 inside the door, "you've treated me deucedly badly to-day, I 
 consider ; but still, hang it, if blood is thicker than water, a 
 brother-in-law is a brother-in-law ; so I thought I'd just come 
 back and give you a bit of a hint. It's not very likely you'll 
 ever see Peggy again— for I'm sure your friend the cad, upon 
 whom we've wasted such a lot of valuable time, will never be 
 got over that rasping settlement fence, and I'll have to start 
 the girl out as nursery-governess or lady-help, or something of 
 that sort — still if you ever should, don't tell her that you think 
 Dane guilty. Though she is my daughter, she's as nasty and 
 venomous a little toad as ever held the making of a truly 
 respectable and conventional woman. She'd tell Susan instantly. 
 Poor Susan ! Now, there is breed. The Drummonds never 
 married beneath them — never." 
 
 " Not even into the Mrs. Arbery clique," suggested Mr. 
 Gayre. 
 
 Sir Geoffrey was out on the doorstep ere the banker had 
 got half through this sentence, and before it ended had crossed 
 the street and was sauntering along the kerb, shaking his head 
 with repressed delight, and smiling to such an extent, the few 
 persons he met turned to look back after his retreating figure. 
 
 " That sprat will catch that herring," he decided. " I'll 
 screw fifteen hundred perhaps out of him, and he'll make Mar- 
 garet's allowance a thousand a year. It will be a wonderful 
 relief to me. I sha'n't then care a snap of my fingers whether 
 Sudlow marries Peggy or not ; I should never be a penny the 
 better if she did." 
 
 Sir Geoffrey's spirit of prophecy proved in many respects 
 correct. Mr. Gayre's first determination was, indeed, to sever 
 the whole connection ; but eventually calmer thought prevailed. 
 He could not blind himself to the truth that it would be mak- 
 ing the best of a bad business to adopt his brother-in-law's 
 suggestion, and place "Peg" under her mother's care. He 
 had no intention of paying a large sum in order to effect the 
 needful reconciliation, but he would be willing to pay some- 
 thing. It was easy enough to resume outwardly friendly rela- 
 tions with Sir Geoffrey, who never took offence unless he meant 
 to make a profit by doing so. A hint was given to Lady 
 Chelston of the happiness which might be in store ; and had 
 her husband been the best man living, she could scarcely have
 
 2 26 SUSAN DRUM MO ND. 
 
 expressed greater thankfulness for his generosity or more fer- 
 vent hope that nothing might occur to prevent the proposed 
 arrangement being carried out. Sir (ieoffrey walked jauntily 
 about London with so jubilant a manner people imagined he 
 must have had a fortune left to him. Even Mr. Sudlow began 
 to feel satisfied some extraordinary piece of luck had fallen in 
 the Baronet's way, and yielded a point in the settlements, over 
 which there had been ceaseless wrangling. Mrs. Moreby's 
 lawyer and several rather pressing creditors were quieted and 
 satisfied without that awkward business the exchange of money, 
 and things seemed to be going almost — to quote Sir (ieoflrey's 
 own words — " too smooth," when one evening, while he was 
 sitting over his wine with a few choice spirits he had invited to 
 a " quiet dinner and rubber to follow," Lavender appeared, 
 carrying a telegram on one of Mr. Moreby's salvers. 
 
 Unwitting of evil, the Baronet cut open the envelope, and | 
 with a bland " Excuse me," read : 
 
 '' Margaret died this afternoon, very suddenly. J start for 
 France by ? light mail." 
 
 " Talk about Job !" thought Sir Geoffrey ; but, with sup- 
 pressed and creditable emotion, he said aloud, " This," and he 
 touched the telegram, '' announces the death of one very near 
 and dear to me. Gentlemen, will you excuse me, and make 
 yourselves at home ? I shall just have time to catch the 
 express to Dover. Lavender, a hansom, quick, with a horse 
 that can go. O, I have no gold ! Can anybody lend me five 
 pounds? Thank you, very much." 
 
 And the Baronet was gone to bid good-bye to Peggy.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE WIDOWER. 
 
 At his wife's funeral Sir Geoffrey developed quite a new 
 accomplishment. He wept ! Circumstances had kept him 
 compulsorily sober ; and sobriety did what brandy never could 
 have done — made him maudlin. Mr. Gayre did not believe 
 in his brother-in-law's tears, yet he felt touched by them. They 
 fell like rain ; they were to be seen of all men. The under- 
 taker, who knew his money to be safe, was quite affected, and 
 afterwards spoke of Sir Geoffrey's emotion as " most creditable 
 to all parties." In gloomy silence the Baronet, thinking of 
 what might have been, and of what, indeed, was so near being, 
 stood and looked at the changed calm face of his once beauti- 
 ful wife. He could not have shed a tear then — he explained 
 that he felt turned into stone — had the whole of the money in 
 Gayres' bank been offered to him as the price of that precious 
 crystal ; but in the watches of the night, which, contrary to 
 custom, he was forced to spend in bed, " tossing and turning 
 and burnt up with a consuming thirst, begad !" he evolved a 
 brilliant idea, which he confided to his brother-in-law next 
 morning. 
 
 " Look here, Gayre," he began. " I wonder why we can't 
 have sensible breakfasts like this in England, instead of that 
 eternal tea or coffee which plays the very deuce with a man's 
 nerves and digestion. That is not what I was going to say 
 to you, though. I didn't get a wink of sleep last night — 
 couldn't sleep, you know. All the past rushed back upon me 
 like a wave — well, well, it's no use talking about last year's snow 
 — and it came into my head that you'd like to have Margaret 
 laid at Chelston. Of course everything is gone ; but I fancy 
 I could manage that matter. As for me, one place will be as 
 good as another — where the tree falls, you know (a most inapt 
 simile, because as a rule the tree is never allowed to lie long 
 anywhere). But I do think if the poor girl could speak, she 
 would say, ' Lay me at Chelston !' Lord, when I think of her
 
 !2S SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 trotting about at Christmastide, with a present for this one and 
 something for the other, I feel as if my heart would break ; I 
 do, upon my soul, Gayre !" And the Baronet walked out of 
 the room, ostensibly to hide his emotion, but really to consider 
 at leisure the extent to which Mr. Gayre would "fork out" for 
 the glory and privilege of having his sister buried among 
 " decent people." 
 
 There is an intuition, which seems to be the exclusive 
 birthright of dogs, children, women, fools, and scoundrels, that 
 serves its purpose better than any exhaustive line of argument. 
 This intuition Sir Geoffrey possessed to its fullest extent, and 
 through it he understood his brother-in-law would at length rise 
 to the bait offered. In good earnest Sir Geoffrey could have 
 made no proposition more gra:teful to the banker's feelings. If 
 Lady Chelston were once laid to rest amongst her husband's 
 kindred, the w^orld might say its worst, and still be checkmated. 
 If Sir Geoffrey made the arrangements for her funeral ; if his 
 friends attended it ; if he, for once,' donning a black hat instead 
 of a white one, appeared as chief mourner, Mr. Gayre felt he 
 could for ever after snap his fingers in the face of Mrs. Grundy. 
 The best he had ever hoped was to lay his poor, erring, and 
 doubly-sinned-against sister in some quiet graVe in a' strange 
 country and amongst a strange people ; but now the prospect 
 opened fairly amazed him. Of course he knew he would have 
 to pay in meal or in malt for that niche in the Chelston vault ; 
 but he was willing to pay for it. Sir Geoffrey had touched 
 everything that was weakest and most vulnerable in his nature. 
 
 " Poor Margaret ! — poor dear child ! If she could know, 
 she would like it," he thought; and the long years of trialand 
 shame and sorrow and seclusion faded away from memory, and 
 in fancy he once again saw his little sister running races with 
 him up and down the stairs, and along the halls and passages 
 of his father's house and the house occupied by Mr. Higgs. 
 He could hear the swish of the stifliy-starched white dress, and 
 the pitter-patter of the tiny feet ; behold once again the flutter 
 of a light-blue sash, and feel the long curls touch his cheek, as, 
 with a laugh and a bound, she rushed out upon him from some 
 unsuspected ambuscade. 
 
 And there, still and cold, in an upper chamber, lay all 
 that remained of the little sister grown to womanhood, who 
 had made what they all once thought so great a match; who 
 had suffered horribly and sinned grievously, and repented in 
 the sackcloth of loneliness and the ashes of isolation, and to
 
 THE WIDOWER. 229 
 
 whom he had not perliaps been so kind as he might, and 
 visited less frequently than he cared to remember. And life 
 was over for her; and he could have made it happier. And 
 yes, certainly, if it were possible to bring her to Chelston, she 
 should lie there, though all the stately matrons and discreet 
 widows and tender virgins mouldering to dust turned in their 
 coffins with righteous indignation when this poor frail sinner 
 was carried into the last earthly home the portals of which 
 might ever open for her. 
 
 " You will want money," said Mr. Gayre to the Baronet, 
 whose chronic state it was to stand in need of that necessary 
 article. 
 
 But Sir Geoffrey knew when to hold his hand as truly as 
 he knew when to reap, and at first refused to take the cheque 
 Mr. Gayre had already drawn, 
 
 " Leave it, leave it, my boy," he said, with a spasm intended 
 to act the manly part of indicating the emotion he was strong 
 enough to repress ; "time enough to spare for all that when 
 we know for certain if our darling can rest where I want to lay 
 her. If I am able to do that for her, I sha'n't feel so utterly 
 miserable. It's all I can try to, dp, Gayre. And now I ought 
 to be off at once. By the way, d'ye happen to have any loose 
 gold about you } Lord, how money does sift away, at a time- 
 like this ! No, no, no ; I don't want a twenty-pound note. 
 Can't you give me anything less?" 
 
 If Mr. Gayre could, he would not. 
 
 " Keep it," he said ; " you don't know what you may need." 
 
 " Faith, no !" exclaimed Sir Geoffrey, struck by a sudden 
 thought. " I had to borrow a fiver last night, or I couldn't 
 have come. Well, good-bye, Gayre ; and I'll wire you directly 
 I have seen Wookes — that's the name of the fellow who has 
 Chelston now." 
 
 " One moment. Don't you think — shouldn't you like — " 
 suggested the dead woman's brother almost timidly. 
 
 " My dear fellow, a thousand thanks ! I had forgotten — 
 I had, upon my soul — what might — what, indeed, must— happen 
 before it would be possible for me to return. Poor, poor Mar- 
 garet ! poor sweet dear !" And the Baronet, who had earnestly 
 hoped he might be spared another look at that face he never 
 saw in life cold and statuesque, took off his hat, and laying 
 it on the table, lest he might, from sheer force of habit, cover 
 his head again even in the death chamber ("which would play 
 the very devil," he considered), ran his fingers through his
 
 2 ^ o SUSAN DR UMMOND. 
 
 -J 
 
 hair, put on the most solemn expression at his command — and 
 the Baronet's expression could not, as a rule, be described as 
 jocund — and intimated to Mr. Gayre he was ready. 
 
 "Perhaps," said the banker, "you would i)refer to go 
 up-stairs alone." 
 
 " No, no, not at all. Why should not we — the only two 
 who seem to have cared for her — stand beside her together ? 
 And you know, (layre, I must leave her to your care." 
 
 As if, under any possible combination of circumstances, Sir 
 Geoffrey would have been induced to remain sole, or indeed 
 any, guardian at all of the " poor pale " thing laid helpless on 
 its last bed up-stairs! 
 
 In that sacred chamber the Baronet did all, and indeed 
 more than all, man could expect from man. He kissed the 
 mask of life there stretched so stiff and stark ; he touched the 
 clay-cold hands ; he severed with the aid of a convenient pair 
 of scissors — which, indeed, suggested the idea to him — a lock 
 of hair once golden, but now plentifully sprinkled with gray. 
 
 "Lord, Lord!" said Sir Cieofifrey, in severe expostulation 
 with the Deity, " that we should come to this ! On such an 
 occasion what can any trumpery laches on the part of a man or 
 woman matter ?'' After which magnanimous query the widower 
 left the room, made his way down-stairs, secured his hat, and, 
 grasping Mr. Gayre by the hand, departed in the most cheerful 
 spirits, producing a great effect on all the persons he met by 
 his lugubrious countenance and the persistent manner in which 
 he shook his head, as though he had tried a wrestle with grief 
 and been sorely worsted in the stniggle. 
 
 No man was perhaps ever more astonished than Mr. Sud- 
 low when he read in the Times the death of " Margaret, wife 
 of Sir Geoffrey Chelston, Bart., deeply lamented by her sorrow- 
 ing and affectionate husband." He was so much astounded, 
 indeed, that he found it necessary to call at North Bank, where 
 there was no one to receive him except Lavender, from whom 
 he failed to extract any save the most ordinary answers. 
 
 " He had known Lady Chelston — yes, well ; he remembered 
 her home coming and the great doings at the Pleasaunce. She 
 was a beautiful lady — more beautiful, according to Mr. Laven- 
 der's ideas, if he might say so without offence, even than Miss 
 Chelston. Her married life, he thought he might go so far 
 as to confess, could not have been a happy one. You know 
 Sir Geoffrey, sir," Lavender proceeded to remark, " and it is 
 not all ladies who could make allowance for his ways. Any-
 
 THE WIDOWER. 
 
 231 
 
 how, they didn't agree, and they Uved apart. It was better for 
 married folk to Uve apart if they didn't Hve happily together. 
 The Baronet was gone down to Chelston to arrange about 
 the funeral. None but intimate friends were to be present 
 (and something in the man's manner informed Mr. Sudlow he 
 was not going to be asked, and that Lavender knew it). Miss 
 Chelston (who at that moment of speaking happened to be 
 up-stairs closeted with her dressmaker) was out of town. Her 
 grief was terrible \ though she had not seen her ladyship for 
 years, still, in Lavender's opinion, a mother was a mother, and, 
 as Mr. Sudlow put the question so straight, he did not think 
 Sir Geoffrey ought to have kept his daughter all to himself as 
 he had done. Latterly there had been a talk of Miss Chelston 
 living for part of the year with her mamma. Lavender had 
 always heard Lady Chelston was a great heiress ; most likely 
 her fortune would come to her daughter, but even Lavender's 
 wisdom could not tell exactly how that might be ;" and then 
 Mr. Lavender, with a grave face and sad subdued manner, 
 shut the gate after Mr. Sudlow, and went back into the house, 
 and had a laugh with his wife over the suitor's discomfiture. 
 
 " I can't abear him," said Mrs. Lavender. 
 
 " Nor me," agreed Lavender ; " but he's better than nobody, 
 I suppose, and I do hear he's rolling in riches." 
 
 Meantime Mr. Gay re had returned to England, and in the 
 large dining-room of his house in Wimpole Street his sister's 
 body lay ready for burial. For several reasons Mr. Moreby's 
 villa seemed ineligible for so rare a purpose, and it scarcely 
 needed Sir Geoffrey's hint that any day the bailiffs might 
 enter into possession, which " would be confoundedly awkward, 
 you know," to decide the banker as to the course he should 
 pursue. 
 
 " Sorrowing and affectionate," considered Mr. Gayre, read- 
 ing the announcement in the Times. " I daresay ! And now 
 Sir Geoffrey Chelston, Baronet, who so deeply laments his 
 dead wife, is eligible once again, what will he do with this 
 chance, I wonder?" 
 
 Sir Geoffrey could have told him that the first thing he 
 meant to do was to offer himself and title to Mrs. Jubbins; 
 but his role was to keep up the semblance of distracted grief 
 for poor Margaret, and no man understood the beauty and 
 wisdom of silence better than the bereaved husband. So far 
 grief had returned him excellent interest. Mr. Wookes instantly 
 placed, not merely the family vault, but also Chelston Plea-
 
 232 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 saunce, at his service. Mrs. Wookes, and the young person 
 Sir Geofifrey with a deep sigh styled her " lovely daughter," 
 were introduced to the worthy Baronet. Mr. Wookes spoke of 
 him as " my afflicted friend," and he was earnestly requested 
 to stop and partake of " some refreshment/' which, under an 
 immense delusion, he certainly would have done, had he not 
 been compelled to hurry off to catch the afternoon express. 
 
 " There are so many things to see to at such a time," he 
 said; and Mrs. Wookes sighed, "Ah, yes, there are!" and 
 Miss Wookes stared at him hard with wide-open colourless 
 eyes; and Mr. Wookes insisted he and Mr. Gayre should 
 come down the evening before the funeral and stay the night; 
 and " whenever you feel disposed to stop with us, I can assure 
 you. Sir Geoffrey, both Mrs. Wookes and myself will give you 
 a hearty welcome," added Mr. Wookes, who, though truly 
 pious, would have welcomed Lucifer himself had he come with 
 a handle to his name. 
 
 *' I really do not know how to thank you sufficiently," an- 
 swered Sir Geoffrey, in his best manner, which Mrs. Wookes 
 often subsequently defined as "courtly," though she might 
 have employed a different word had the Baronet been a tutor. 
 " My daughter will be delighted when she hears I met with 
 such a reception at her old home." 
 
 " How is Miss Chelston ?" instantly inquired Mr. Wookes. 
 
 "She is dreadfully cut up, poor thing, of course," ex- 
 plained Sir Geoffrey. "Still, she tries not to let me see all 
 she feels." 
 
 Then Mr. Wookes, in a grand pompous voice, immediately 
 said, "My dear;" and Mrs. Wookes understanding observed, 
 " Yes, I was just about to remark that if dear Miss Chelston 
 thought a change to so quiet a place would do her good, we 
 should feel honoured by a visit;" after which amenities. Sir 
 Geofifrey took a hurried leave, and entered the conveyance 
 waiting for him ; first, sotto voce, desiring the coachman to 
 " drive to Chelston Station like the ." 
 
 There is no time probably which passes so slowly as that 
 intervening between a death and a funeral ; but at length the 
 interval was well-nigh bridged over by a succession of weary 
 hours ; and the evening arrived when Mr. Wookes was to be 
 gratified with the presence of his "distinguished" guest, and 
 that guest's less distinguished brother-in law. 
 
 " I hope they've some decent wine," said Sir Geoffrey, as 
 the gates swung wide to welcome the visitors. " He looks
 
 THE WIDOWER. ■ 233 
 
 like an old boy who knows what's what, and the cellars here 
 are first-rate." 
 
 *" " It might have been prudent to bring some cognac with 
 you," suggested Mr. Gayre, with a fine sneer. 
 
 " O, I'll square the butler !" answered Sir Geoffrey amiably ; 
 and then he looked out of the carriage-window and shook his 
 
 head, and remarked his heart was well-nigh broken, by -, it 
 
 was ! to think poor Margaret was not to be carried from the 
 house which properly belonged to her. " It may be partly my 
 own fault. I was always too easy and generous, and never 
 thought enough of myself; but, gad, that makes it no plea- 
 santer to see a place like this owned by a fellow who made his 
 money out of tallow, and to have to ask leave to bury ray wife 
 in my own vault, cap in hand, like a railway porter 3" which 
 recital of misfortunes was ended by their arrival at the house, 
 where Mr. Wookes in person appeared at the door to greet 
 them, and to tell Mr. Gayre how delighted he felt to welcome 
 any relation of his " esteemed friend Sir Geoffrey Chelston." 
 
 "You'd like a cup of tea, perhaps, before you go up to 
 dress," he said, with genial hospitality. " I always find a cup 
 of tea so refreshing after a railway journey. There was a 
 time when I would have proposed a glass of wine ; but we've 
 changed all that — we are strict abstainers." 
 
 " And so not merely virtuous yourselves, but the cause of 
 virtue in others," observed Mr. Gayre, scarcely able to repress 
 a smile at the sight of his brother-in-law's discomfiture. For a 
 moment, indeed. Sir Geofirey was too deeply indignant to 
 speak ; but he regained his presence of mind during the course 
 of some didactic remarks from Mr. Wookes concerning the 
 prevalence of drunkenness, and the importance of the upper 
 classes setting an example of temperance to the masses. 
 
 " You are quite right, Mr. Wookes," agreed the Baronet, 
 who had already set his wits to work to consider how he could 
 get some brandy " or — or anything, by Jove," from Chelston. 
 " People do drink far too much — and eat too," added Sir 
 Geoffrey as a happy after- thought, feeling he was clear of the 
 vice of gluttony, at any rate. 
 
 Mr. Wookes reddened. He liked to see a good table, 
 and to partake plentifully of what he called " God's mercies " 
 spread upon it. 
 
 "As for eating," he observed, "though we cannot deny 
 that it is a sin to indulge any appetite to excess, still I con- 
 sider that a moderate pleasure in and use of the bounties so
 
 234 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 lavishly provided for our benefit are not crimes. You see, my 
 dear sir," and he laid a fat pudgy hand affectionately on Sir 
 Geoffrey's arm, " the difference is this — fish, flesh, and fowl, 
 vegetables of all sorts, and sweets at discretion, do not cause 
 quarrelling and murders; whereas spirits — and under the 
 general head of spirits I include all sorts of wine — Woiit you 
 have a cu]5 of tea ?" he broke off to ask, feeling, perhaps, his 
 arguments might seem a little lengthy to hungry and thirsty men. 
 
 "Thank you; I should like one greatly," answered Mr. 
 Gayre. 
 
 " And I'd like a glass of 7uafer" declared the Baronet 
 desperately, " to lay the dust. My throat is as dry as a London 
 street in summer." 
 
 "Ah ! that's because you are in such trouble," sympathetically 
 said Mr. Wookes, who knew as well as possible Sir Geoftrey 
 was one of the hardest drinkers in England, and who would 
 have liked to offer him champagne had his new principles not 
 been dearer to him even than a title. 
 
 They were, indeed, as new as his possession of the Plea- 
 saunce, and he had been frightened into them by the sudden 
 decease of a brother, who died, as one City wag expressed 
 the matter to another, " of forgetting to put any water in his 
 grog." 
 
 There is no bigot like a convert (pervert Sir Geoffrey 
 would have said), and Mr. and Mrs. Wookes were already 
 anxious to begin the holy labour of washing this Ethiop white. 
 They belonged to the straitest sect : not a pint of beer was 
 allowed about the premises ; dinners were cooked, and horses 
 driven, and tables set, and fruit forced, and gardens kept in 
 order on the strictest teetotal lines. The lodge-keepers drank 
 nothing stronger than milk (" like babes and sucklings," said 
 the Baronet afterwards, in accents of the deepest disgust) ; no 
 labourers were employed who refused to give up malt liquor. 
 Indeed, Mr. Wookes had drawn such a cordon of sobriety 
 round his domain that when Sir Geoffrey, during the course of 
 the evening, made an excuse for stealing out, he found the 
 very beerhouse in the little village hard by had been closed, 
 and the jjremises converted into a coffee-tavern. 
 
 "Well, I'm blanked !" he thought; and, making the best 
 of a bad bargain, decided he would go back and render him- 
 self agreeable to " old mother " Wookes, and get something 
 definite settled about Peggy's visit to the Pleasaunce. 
 
 This was how he chanced to be " fasting from everything
 
 THE WIDOWER. 235 
 
 but sin," when he attended his wife's funeral, and shed those 
 tears that excited the surprise and won the admiration of all 
 beholders. 
 
 "Tell you what, Gayre," he said, as they returned together 
 to London, " another day in that house would have killed me. 
 It was inhuman too, under the circumstances — downright 
 inhuman, and confoundedly impertinent into the bargain. A 
 man has a right perhaps to play tricks with his own constitu- 
 tion, but he has no right to try to leave another man with no 
 stomach to speak of. / shouldn't force a fellow who came to 
 my house to drink against his will. Why should I be com- 
 pelled to swallow gallons of cold water ?^bad as a drench, 
 begad ! Why, you see yourself the effect it had upon me. 
 Whatever I might feel — and, as a rule, people haven't thought 
 I felt much — they were mistaken, though — I could control 
 myself; but I give you my word, Gayre, I am still as shaky as 
 possible. I could cry like a woman now. It was an awful 
 ordeal ! But the poor dear, could she have seen, would, I 
 think, have understood I bore no malice, and that I loved her 
 to the last — I did, upon my soul !" And the Baronet once 
 again took to weeping so profusely his brother-in law began 
 anxiously to examine the time-table, to see how soon they might 
 hope to reach a " civilised station," to quote Sir Geoffrey, 
 " where stimulants could be procured." 
 
 "I'm a fool," said the widower, wiping his red eyes, "an 
 utter idiot ; but the whole thing has been too much for me. I 
 do think all the people behaved splendidly. Fancy, even old 
 Dane coming — though, perhaps, that was as much to prove he 
 didn't care about his grandson being in gaol as to show respect 
 to Margaret's memory." 
 
 " He looks a dreadful old man," observed Mr. Gayre, 
 wisely passing over his brother-in-law's final suggestion. 
 
 " He looks what he is. Only to think of that poor young 
 fellow having to break stones, or carry stones, or whatever it 
 may be, for seven long years at Portland, and this old wretch 
 gloating over the guineas he can't take out of the world with 
 him, and that might have saved the lad ! Why such things 
 should be allowed baffles me ! And that dear poor Susan 
 coming down here to ask him to help get up a petition, or a 
 memorial, or something of the sort, and the wretch as good as 
 shutting the door in her face ! Drummond told me about it at 
 the station just now. Give you my word, I scarcely knew how 
 to contain myself."
 
 2 3 C .V us AN DR UMMOND. 
 
 "What can you mean?" asked Mr. Gayre; "what is Miss 
 Drummond doing?" 
 
 "As I understand, the solicitor who acted for young Dane 
 told her if she got a whole lot of influential people to sign a 
 paper, and forwarded it to one or other of the big wigs, she 
 might get the sentence commuted. I don't believe a word of 
 it myself; but still the notion may serve to comfort her a bit 
 till the worst of the trouble had worn off. One thing, how- 
 ever, I am sure of — the girl oughtn't to be going about herself 
 asking for signatures. I wish I had time and money to take 
 such a labour off" her hands ;" and the Baronet looked hard at 
 Mr. Gayre, who, after a few moments' silence, said, 
 
 " I think 1 am the person to help Miss Drummond now." 
 
 "You're the best fellow living, Gayre!" exclaimed Sir 
 Geoffrey, giving his brother-in-law such a slap on the shoulder 
 that the banker winced. " I always said it, and I always 
 thought it, spite of some few angularities — and which of us is 
 perfect? — you are the kindest, and the most generous, and the 
 truest man in England." Having finished which peroration, as 
 the train stopped, the Baronet jumped out of the compartment 
 at the civilised station, and returned refreshed.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 • » 
 
 A DOG IN THE MANGER. 
 
 Instead of formally offering the "assistance of his experience" 
 by letter, Mr. Gayre decided to call upon Miss Drummond, 
 and actually got within twenty yards of the house at Shepherd's 
 Bush, when he suddenly hesitated, turned, and commenced 
 retracing his steps. 
 
 " What can it be ?" he thought. '' From the moment I first 
 saw this girl a power stronger than myself seemed drawing me 
 towards her ; and yet at the very same moment some spirit of 
 prescience said, ' if you allow your inclination to lead you 
 now, you vvill in the future repent having done so.' It is odd, 
 very odd, at each turn of the affair, a check or, warning has 
 met me ; and now, here again, almost with my foot on the 
 doorstep, I feel I cannot meet her this morning — feel almost 
 as though I could wish we had never met. Her influence 
 upon me too is not for good ; strange, because she is all good ! 
 If there be any lasting virtue to be extracted out of my schem- 
 ing brother-in-law (which I doubt), she could extract it. Though 
 Sudlow hates her, he thinks it necessary to be on his best 
 behaviour when she is present. The fair Peggy also is an 
 atom more human, less affected, less straitlaced, altogether 
 less unendurable when Susan makes one of the party. But, so 
 far as I am concerned, it is really only since I knew her I feel 
 capable of treason, stratagem, or spoil. If I could be sure of 
 not being found out I would rob my neighbour, cheat my 
 friend, commit a murder, and see an innocent man hanged for 
 ray deed, supposing any one of those acts would bring me 
 closer to Susan. Then, when I married her, I should, I have 
 no doubt, find she had all unconsciously brought the avenging 
 sword to church with her. I wonder whether all this is tempta- 
 tion ? I am half inclined to think so ! For generations we 
 have been such a lot of respectable Pliarisees, that no doubt 
 it needed an angel to teach us we are only common clay, sub- 
 ject to like temptations, &c. But hold! What about poor
 
 23S SUSAN DRUM MO ND. 
 
 Margaret? Is Sir Geoffrey an angel — was Sir Geoffrey ever 
 an angel? Here is a difficult conundrum — Why do I feel 
 myself a worse man since I have known Susan Drummond? 
 Is it because she is a good woman ? Pooh ! what will the end 
 of all this be, I wonder? Will time solve the riddle? I have 
 a strong belief in the ability of time to solve most riddles, 
 and — Ah, how d'ye do, Sudlow? who would have expected 
 to meet you here ?'' 
 
 " I am often in this neighbourhood ; but you^" 
 
 " Set out to call on ]\iiss Drummond, and then changed 
 my mind." 
 
 " Indeed ! You would not have found her at home, how- 
 ever, if you had called." 
 
 " O !" 
 
 "She is staying at The Warren." 
 
 " Is my niece there too?" 
 
 Mr. Sudlow shook his head. 
 
 " Sir Geoffrey means to lunch with Mrs. Jubbins to-day." 
 
 " Does he know Miss Drummond is at Chislehurst ?" 
 
 " Of course ; it was he told me." 
 
 Having successfully planted which thorn in the banker's 
 bosom, Mr. Sudlow proceeded on his way, pleased to have 
 scored even so poor a trick. 
 
 " He's jealous of his own shadow," considered the careful 
 young man. " If it wasn't that my lady would snub me so 
 dreadfully, I'd have a turn at making love to her myself, in 
 order to vex the Baronet and drive Gayre mad. Marry him ! 
 The money is not in Lombard Street would buy \\tx yet : and 
 when the time comes that it might, our dear friend will have 
 found out practically roses wither and lilies fade." 
 
 " Sir Geoffrey will tell her she may depend on my help, 
 and so spoil the whole effect," thought Mr. Gayre, with a feel- 
 ing of savage disappointment. " Well, things must take their 
 chance now. I can only wait results." 
 
 He had not long to wait. It was about a quarter to four 
 on the same afternoon — the busiest part of a banker's day, 
 only Mr. Gayre was not busy — when a clerk took a card into 
 that gentleman's private office, intimating at the same time the 
 lady whose name it bore "would like to speak to him." 
 
 Mr. Gayre's first impulse was to rise and rush out to greet 
 this unexpected visitor; but prudence prevailed, and in his 
 coldest business tone he desired that Miss Drummond might 
 be asked to walk in.
 
 A DOG IX THE MANGER. 239 
 
 Then he waited — waited till he heard the rustle of Susan's 
 dress, as she drew nearer and nearer; waited till the door 
 opened, and he heard the clerk's warning to beware of that 
 step, which so often caused a customer or possible client to 
 enter the sacred apartment with an undignified stumble. Then 
 he rose ; he could refrain no longer. 
 
 " Pray be careful, Miss Drummond," he said ; " that step 
 is so very awkward. I must really have it altered." And then 
 it flashed through his mind, if Susan would only promise to 
 marry him, he might, even at so late a period of his life, alter 
 man}^ things, beginning with himself, for example. 
 
 That was, indeed, a moment to be marked with a white 
 stone in the banker's memory. The woman he loved stood 
 there looking with her soft brown eyes, from which the remem- 
 bered sunshine had departed, up into his face, with a sort of 
 timid appeal that wrung a heart not over susceptible to the 
 troubles of others. She had come to him voluntarily for help. 
 It was the beginning of the end. It was for this he had 
 turned back almost from the threshold of her home. That 
 which he so foolishly construed into a warning proved to be 
 an omen for good — an omen already fulfilled. 
 
 " I fear," she began — and there was a hesitation in her 
 manner he had never previously seen in it — " I fear I am in- 
 truding, Mr. Gayre. I walked twice up and down Lombard 
 Street before I could summon sufiicient courage to ask for 
 you." 
 
 He did not answer this remark for a moment. The con- 
 trast between the girl, strong in her fearless innocence, he had 
 sauntered with on that memorable night beneath the stars at 
 Chislehurst and this stricken Susan, who had since faced the 
 then intangible evil she vaguely felt was advancing to meet 
 her, seemed to him so cruel he could not find words in which 
 to clothe his pity. 
 
 When he did speak it was lightly. 
 
 "Strange to say, I went almost to Miss Matthews' door this 
 morning, intending to call upon you ; but then I turned back, 
 fearing to intrude — " 
 
 " I am not with Miss Matthews now." 
 
 " No, so I understand ; but I was unaware you had gone 
 to Chislehurst till I heard from Mr. Sudlow you were staying 
 at The Warren." 
 
 " I shall only be there till to-morrow. I have taken lodg- 
 ings at Islington."
 
 240 • SUSAN DRUMJIOND. 
 
 " At Islington ! Why ? Forgive me ; of course, I have no 
 right to ask." 
 
 " Certainly, you have every right. You want to know why 
 I left Miss Matthews. We disagreed — about Oliver. I could 
 not bear it — I could not. Everybody is sorry for me ; but 
 nobody is sorry for him. Now I don't want people to be sorry 
 for me." 
 
 " No one could help being sorry for you," said the banker 
 gently. 
 
 She looked at him for an instant questioningly ; then tears 
 welled up into her eyes, and she turned her head aside as she 
 said, " I have come to ask you to help me, Mr. Gayre. It is 
 very bold of me, perhaps, but — " 
 
 - "I went to Shepherd's Bush this morning to know if you 
 would not let me try to help you," 
 
 " How could you know I wanted help ?" 
 
 " Sir Geoffrey told me. He said you were endeavouring to 
 get some petition signed. That is so, is it not?" 
 
 '", Yes. And O, Mr. Gayre, if you will only put me in the 
 way of getting the right people to sign it, I shall be unutterably 
 grateful." 
 
 " Anything I can do for you, be sure I will do." 
 
 " Thank you ! — I feel certain of that. And you won't ad- 
 vise me ; I am so tired of being advised — so weary of hearing 
 I ought to sit down and fold my hands and do nothing, while 
 he — is — and we were all the world to one another !" 
 
 " I shall not advise you," said Mr. Gayre, who felt no incli- 
 nation to mingle his tears with the girl over the woes of Oliver 
 Dane. " Only tell me what you are doing — what you want 
 done — and I will assist you to the best of my ability." 
 
 " How kind you are 1" she cried — " how good ! I will try 
 to explain how it all came about. But I fear I am taking up 
 your time. You are busy, are you not ? I had better write to 
 you — may I ?" 
 
 " Might I not call upon you, Miss Drummond ? I shall be 
 most happy to do so, if you name an hour convenient to yourself.' 
 
 " Any hour," answered Susan — "any hour which suits you. 
 I do feel grateful, though I cannot express my gratitude. How 
 can I ever be thankful enough to God for raising up such a 
 friend for me in ray extremity ?" Which being a question Mr. 
 Gayre, under the most favourable circumstances, could scarcely 
 have been expected to answer, he prudently affected not to hear. 
 
 " I may be fortunate enough to see you at Chislehurst this
 
 A DOG IX THE MANGER. 241 
 
 evening," he said, instead of solving that difficult problem as to 
 . whether Aliss Drummond, if she could read his heart, might 
 "regard his friendship in the hght of an unmixed blessing. "I 
 was thinking of calling at The Warren. Then, perhaps you 
 will kindly give me your address, and let me know when I 
 should be most certain to find you at home." 
 
 " But please do not mention the matter before Mrs. Jub- 
 bins," entreated Susan. " She does not say anything, but I 
 know she is like every one else." 
 
 "Surely not every one! There are exceptions." 
 
 " Yes, I forgot. Sir Geoffrey, of course — kind good Sir 
 Geoffrey." 
 
 "Won't you bracket us together, Miss Drummond?" 
 
 She looked at him searchingly for a moment before she 
 asked, "Do you believe Oliver to be innocent, then?" 
 
 The question was put with such direct suddenness that Mr. 
 Gayre found it difficult to parry. 
 
 " It is not easy to believe him innocent," he answered ; 
 "but — pray do not misunderstand me. Miss Drummond — I 
 do not say he is guilty. Appearances are often against a man; 
 and this is a case in which I, for one, should not care to ex- 
 press a positive opinion. Of one thing, however, I am certain 
 — that, whether the verdict were righteous or unrighteous, the 
 sentence was utterly beyond the offence ; and, without going 
 into the question of guilt or innocence, I will do all I can to 
 help you and him. You must not be angry with me," added 
 the banker apologetically, " because I have not the same faith 
 in Mr. Dane you possess. Remember, I never was intimate 
 with him in the slightest degree — " 
 
 " That is true," she murmured ; " had you known you could 
 not have doubted him." 
 
 " Besides," said Mr. Gayre, finishing his interrupted sen- 
 tence, " I have seen something of the world, and understand 
 how temptation assails, and often overcomes, even the very 
 best amongst us." 
 
 " It did not overcome him," declared Susan. 
 
 " Then on your word I am to believe Mr. Dane sinned 
 against, not sinning : is that so ?" 
 
 "If you can." 
 
 " I will do precisely what you tell mc. I consider myself 
 a soldier under orders, and shall hold no personal opinions 
 whatever. I think I had better let you out by this private 
 door. You would of course rather avoid passing through the 
 
 JR.
 
 242 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 bank. Good-b)^e for the present, Miss Drummond — no, please 
 don't thank me. If we meet at The Warren perhaps it might 
 be more prudent to say nothing about your having been here. 
 Once more, good-bye ; depend I will do all in my power for 
 your friend." 
 
 And in another second Susan was once again in Lombard 
 Street, with the old dull pain tugging at her heart, spite of the 
 faith she had in Mr. Gayre's power to help young Dane, and 
 the certainty she felt he would try to do so. 
 
 "But O, he cannot be of the use he might if he only 
 believed in my darling !" she considered. 
 
 When, some two hours later, Mr. Gayre arrived at Chisle- 
 hurst it was scarcely agreeable to find Sir Geoffrey acting as 
 Mentor to the youth of the family, who were listening to his 
 improving stories with enthusiasm, and encoring reminiscences 
 of flood and field in a manner which should have been gratify- 
 ing to the Baronet. 
 
 " She can't bear these old tales now," said Sir Geoffrey, 
 sotto voce, to his brother-in-law, indicating vSusan, who was 
 seated apart in the larger drawing-room ; " but she'll mend of 
 that, poor soul. It has been worse than a death to her. You 
 must give her time, Gayre — give her time." 
 
 "Good Heavens! have I ever interfered with her in any 
 way ?" asked the banker. 
 
 " No, no ; I didn't mean that. Only verhiim sap., a nod's 
 as good as a wink, you know, and I really do love Susan like 
 my own child." 
 
 " And what was done to the mare that broke her leg, when 
 old Carey would take him over the bullfinch. Sir Geoffrey ?" 
 inquired one of the younger Jubbins. 
 
 " Shot, Joshua — dead as a doornail. A rough sort of 
 fellow — Poaching Bill he was called — happened to come up 
 at the minute, and we sent him for a pistol to put the poor 
 brute out of his misery. Give you my word, there was not a 
 dry eye in the field, except old Carey's. ' I said I'd teach 
 her who was master,' declared the gray-haired rufBan, ' and 
 I did it.' 
 
 " ' If you had broken your own neck it wouldn't have mat- 
 tered,' I remarked ; ' but by , sir, you've killed the finest 
 
 mare in the county, and if the other gentlemen present are of 
 my mind, you may hunt the county by yourself for the future. 
 Fair riding is one thing, and fair punishment is one thing ; but 
 brutality's another, and Geoffrey Chelston will never eat bread
 
 A DOG IN THE MANGER. 
 
 243 
 
 nor shake hands with a man who has done a gallant animal to 
 death, as you've tortured one this day." •' 
 
 " And did he hunt the county by himself?" asked the per- 
 tinacious Joshua. 
 
 "No, my lad ; he went to another county, where they would 
 have none of him either. The story followed him — I took 
 precious good care it should — and so, at last, the talk and dis- 
 grace broke his own heart. His dying words, I understand, 
 were, ' Curse Chelston !' but I didn't care for that. I always 
 say, if you do right, no man's bad opinion need trouble you. 
 And now, you see, Carey's in his grave, and I'm telling the 
 story of his wicked cruelty to a set of boys who ought to know 
 how to go across country as well as I do. If you'll persuade 
 your mother to let you come down and see me at Chelston — 
 But there, what am I talking about ? Well, well, though I 
 haven't the Pleasaunce any longer, you ought to know how to 
 take your fences. There's Gayre, now ; d'ye suppose he's a 
 bit worse banker because he's as straight a rider as you'd wish 
 to see? Gad, Nicholas, shall I ever forget seeing that wild 
 Irish devil — that chestnut mare, Leda, I mean — take you first 
 over the ha-ha, with only one foot in your stirrups, and then 
 across the Chel, before you were fairly settled in your saddle ? 
 By Jove, it was as fine a bit of horsemanship as ever came in 
 my way ! She took the notion in her head and went for it ; 
 and there was Margaret screaming, and the grooms running, 
 and I expecting you'd be brought back dead ; and then you 
 just turned the creature's pretty head — Lord, what a thing 
 memory is ! I seem to have that star on her forehead before 
 my eyes this minute — and brought her back the way she had 
 gone, gentle as a lamb." 
 
 With which, and suchlike pleasing and instructive anec- 
 dotes, ihe Baronet held the youthful Jubbins entranced during 
 the compulsory absence of their mamma, who, in honour of 
 Sir Geoffrey's presence, had proceeded to her room, in order 
 to don a more elaborate dinner-dress. 
 
 The feeling Mrs. Jubbins entertained towards the brothers- 
 in-law was, to a certain extent, contradictory. Whilst Mr. 
 Gayre remained the love of her heart, she felt a pride concern- 
 ing the easy and familiar terms on which Sir Geoffrey honoured 
 The Warren with his presence she did not even try to dis- 
 guise. The names of great persons grew to be as common on 
 her lips as in the columns of the Court Journal. She repeated 
 anecdotes of the nobility to her friends on the authority of the
 
 244 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 Baronet, which were not really more untruthful than such anec- 
 dotes usually are. The private history and daily life of no 
 peer of the realm remained a sealed book to her. Thanks to 
 good Sir (ieoffrey, she was an fait with everything which 
 occurred at Windsor and Balmoral. She felt that a visit even 
 from the Prince of Wales would not quite have overwhelmed 
 her. She had heard how his Royal Highness was in the habit 
 of greeting her friend at Ascot with " (Ieoffrey, my boy," and 
 " Chelston, old fellow," and asking his advice concerning 
 which horse the Princess should back for a dozen of gloves. 
 As for the younger Jubbins, they were simply rapturous on the 
 subject of Sir Geoffrey. 
 
 In his charming way he had pinched the girls' cheeks, and 
 declared they were '^deyv'lish good-looking," "pretty little 
 things," " that when they went to Court they would put some 
 persons' noses out, begad !" with a good deal more to the same 
 edifying effect. 
 
 He got a pony on which Miss Ida could canter as easily as 
 if she was sitting in an armchair in her mother's drawing-room, 
 and himself accompanied that young lady while she ambled 
 along the Kentish lanes. He sent Lavender frequently to The 
 Warren, so that the smaller fry might under his aupices learn 
 to fall easy on the velvet turf once pressed by the august feet 
 of Lady Merioneth. He told the lads stories of his own 
 exploits and the exploits of other worthies like himself, and 
 promised that when he " pulled his affairs together a bit '"' he 
 " would make men of them." He proposed furnishing a sort 
 of armoury at Lord Flint's former abode, which excellent idea 
 had, however, to be abandoned in consequence of Mrs. 
 Jubbins' nervous terror of firearms. 
 
 " Why, my dear soul," he said to that lady, " if you'd only 
 let me take you in hand, Pd engage you should in a month 
 hit at a hundred yards." 
 
 " I never said what she'd hit," he confided to his brother- 
 in-law ; " but it did not matter, because she thinks everything 
 with a muzzle can bite, and is deadly afraid even of a toy 
 pistol. Those big women always are cowards — ever notice 
 that ? Courage decreases as fat is laid on — fact, I assure 
 you." 
 
 In a sentence, then, the Baronet had secured the favour 
 of the whole establishment. With the men and women ser- 
 vants his rank and agreeable manners made him, as a matter 
 of course, prime favourite. No standing aloof with him.
 
 A DOG IN THE MANGER. 245 
 
 " About people of real good birth there is never no nasty- 
 low sort of pride," declared the united voice of the servants' 
 hall. 
 
 Even the cattle within Mrs. Jubbins' gates evinced a dis- 
 criminating partiality for so worthy a gentleman. 
 
 " They're like children, bless you," he said to Mrs. Jubbins, 
 in kindly explanation. " They know who is fond of them. 
 Why, look at your young folks ! (Gad 1 who'd think you were 
 old enough to be their mother ?) They'll leave any of your 
 rich friends, your City magnates rolling in money, to come and 
 stroll about with me, poor as I am. They respect Nicholas 
 Gayre, Banker, but they like Geoffrey Chelston, Beggar — that's 
 about it." 
 
 Concerning his wife, Geoffrey Chelston, Beggar, had fairly 
 mystified Mrs. Jubbins. In broken accents he had formerly 
 told how a reconciliation was imminent ; how he had been a 
 very bad boy, who meant now to turn over a new leaf — upon 
 his soul he did ; how Gayre was the best fellow living ; how 
 Margaret could be regarded but as little lower than the angels; 
 what a wretch he had been to the best woman who ever lived; 
 with a great deal more to the same effect, which often caused 
 the widow to wonder if that great trouble which bowed old Mr. 
 Gayre's gray head, and left Sir Geoffrey's little daughter mother- 
 less, had been all a dream. 
 
 In their first shame and misery the Gayres were unable to 
 hide the sorrow which had fallen on them within their own 
 breasts ; but now, to hear Sir Geoffrey, any one might have 
 thought all the sin and scandal were of his own making. 
 
 " He is certainly most magnanimous," said the widow to 
 Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " Most magnanimous !" agreed the banker, with an irony 
 perfectly unintelligible to Mrs. Jubbins. " He is quite willing 
 to let bygones be bygones ; so is Margaret, and so am I." 
 
 " I think it may prove a comfort to the poor girl to have 
 some old friend to whom she can speak," explained the Baronet 
 to his brother-in-law. " The Jubbins is not much, to be sure ; 
 but she means well and is faithful, and will serve better at first 
 than nobody. 'Pon my honour, Gayre, I like the widow ; for 
 her rank, indeed for any rank, she is a most excellent sort of 
 person." 
 
 She was indeed so excellent a sort of person, Sir Geoffrey 
 thought, after his wife's death, he could not do better than con- 
 fide a few of the many troubles besetting him to her. " And
 
 246 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 now the poor dear's gone and all that's knocked on the head, 
 and the link which bound Gayre to us is broken, what is to be- 
 come of Peggy God only knows. As for me it does not matter ; 
 I can make shift anywhere. Great happiness has never come 
 to me, and I needn't expect happiness now. I did look for- 
 ward to some peace and quietness with Margaret; but she has 
 gone to that bourne — you have read Hamlet, of course, Mrs. 
 Jubbins?" 
 
 Mrs. Jubbins said she had seen it acted, and that she felt 
 very sorry for Ophelia. Upon the whole, the Baronet gathered, 
 she considered Hamlet rather a foolish young man, and his 
 mamma a most dreadful and wicked person. 
 
 "Only think of the unprincipled creature marrying again in 
 that way !" she remarked. 
 
 " Only think of people marrying again in any way !" capped 
 the Baronet ; " I couldn't, I know. That is a point I have 
 always admired especially about you, Mrs. Jubbins. It is not 
 often one meets a woman young, rich, handsome, calculated to 
 adorn society, resolute as you are to wear the willow, even for 
 the best husband that ever lived." 
 
 " Ah, but where would you find so good a husband as mine 
 was ?" sighed the widow. 
 
 " Nowhere — nowhere," promptly agreed Sir Geoffrey. " I 
 have heard things from Gayre about your husband that make 
 me lament I did not know him." And then the Baronet, after 
 accepting an invitation to stop for dinner, walked off to find 
 some of his young friends ; while Mrs. Jubbins hastened away 
 to change her dress, considering, as she did so, that poor dear 
 Mr. J. always did like her to " look her best." 
 
 But for Sir Geoffrey, the dinner would have passed off very 
 heavily. He, however, proved the life of the party. 
 
 " A most agreeable gentleman," said Hoskins, as he de- 
 scended to the basement, "as I am sure I shall always be the 
 first to admit. Nevertheless — " 
 
 " Nevertheless what ?'' demanded Mrs. Jubbins' own maid. 
 
 " Things aren't what they wa?," observed Mr. Hoskins 
 oracularly. " The position is changed, if I may so express my- 
 self. The events of the last fortnight has altered the relations 
 of parties. We can't stand still, Miss Lambton." 
 
 " That's true enough," agreed the cook. " If wages ain't 
 rising they're falling, which I will maintain to my dying day." 
 
 " Well, and if we can't stand still, what then ?" asked Miss 
 Lambton. 1
 
 A DOG IN THE MANGER. 247 
 
 Mr. Hoskins closed one eye with decorous solemnity ere 
 answering, 
 
 '■ Least said soonest naended. Though I have a high 
 opinion of a gentleman who shall be nameless, his manners 
 being agreeable, his taste in wine as good as my own, and him- 
 self open-handed, I do not altogether know that it is a match 
 to which I could give an unqualified approval. There is 
 wheels within wheels. Miss Lambton ; and I have heard a 
 word or two drop which might render caution necessary." 
 
 " Get along with you, do !" expostulated the cook. " Missus 
 ain't going to make a fool of herself, though other people may 
 choose to make fools of themselves;" which was a very unkind 
 allusion to the fact that Mr. Hoskins meant, ere long, to take 
 Miss Lambton and a public-house, both for better or worse, 
 and leave " a good place, where he had nobody to trouble him, 
 for a wife who did not know how to cook a potato and a land- 
 lord certain to call for his rent regular." 
 
 At that very instant the genial Baronet, who during the 
 whole of dinner-time had been on his very best behaviour, was 
 saying to Mrs. Jubbins' sons, 
 
 " Look here, my lads ! I promised your mother I would 
 not let you sit long over dessert ; and, as I don't want to lose 
 any of your agreeable company, why, we'll all make a move. 
 One minute, Gayre," he added, as his brother-in-law, actmg on 
 the hint, rose all too willingly; " I have a word for your private 
 ear. Let the young fellows go. We'll be after you imme- 
 diately." 
 
 And then the dining-room door closed ; and, literally in 
 the twinkling of an eye, Sir Geoffrey had poured out and 
 swallowed a bumper of sound Madeira. 
 
 " It's a sin to put a wine like that on the table when there's 
 no one to drink it but women and boys, who would just as 
 soon have a sweet sherry. But that's not what I kept you back 
 for — it's not, upon my conscience. I wanted to tell you I saw 
 Susan slip into your Bank to-day. Nay, never fire up, man ; 
 surely sight is as free as the street; and, indeed, I was glad to 
 see the poor little soul had turned to you in her trouble. I 
 meant to tell her she'd nothing to do in this case but ask and 
 have ; but the chance did not offer. So, as I was saying, I 
 saw her pop up your steps just like a hunted hare. But Mum's 
 the word as regards me ; and, were I in your place, Mum should 
 be the word too." 
 
 " I have not a notion what you are driving at," exclaimed
 
 248 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 Mr. Gayre testily. " Why can't you say what you have got to 
 say in plain English, and be done with it ?" 
 
 •'O ! hang me, that's too good !" laughed the Baronet, at 
 the same time, as if in very excess of mirth, jocundly seizing 
 the Madeira decanter, and filling out another bumper. "Do 
 you know, Gayre," he went on, " I have heard some fool 
 advance the opinion that the more a man drinks the less he 
 understands about wine. Did you ever hear such rubbish ? 
 Why, the more a man drinks, of course the better judge he be- 
 comes. Practice makes perfect. I don't suppose even you 
 grasped the whole science and mystery of money-changing at 
 the first intention." 
 
 " That is a matter into which I really must decline to enter 
 at present. Mrs. Jubbins will be wondering what is detaining 
 us." 
 
 " I'll explain that I had to speak to you on a matter of 
 business — and so I have. Don't you talk about Susan or 
 Susan's affairs to the widow. She's an excellent person, no 
 doubt — I'm sure I have no cause to say one word against her ; 
 but in all these City folks there's a deuced hard kernel ; and 
 she wouldn't approve, and she'd launch out on poor dear 
 Susan, and she'd advise and preach and talk against Dane ; 
 and then they'd quarrel, and Susan would close another door 
 between herself and her friends. She's just in the humour to 
 fight anybody for the sake of Dane; and, Lord, what use is it? 
 By the way, why doiit you marry her ?" 
 
 " What do you mean ? Marry whom ?" 
 
 " The widow, to be sure." 
 
 " You might as well ask me why I don't fly to the moon ; 
 the one inquiry is about as reasonable as the other." 
 
 " Don't think so. In the first place, you don't want to fly 
 to the moon ; in the next, you couldn't fly there if you wished 
 ever so much. Now, you could marry the widow, and you 
 have led her to believe you meant to do so." 
 
 " I utterly deny it." 
 
 " That is all very well ; but she expects you to ask her, and 
 so do her friends. As far as I am a judge, they are only wait- 
 ing for the word." 
 
 *' Surely I am not answerable for their expectations." 
 
 "Yes, you are — to a great extent, at any rate. Unless a 
 man means business he has no right to fool around a house in 
 which there is an eligible woman, as you have been circling 
 about The Warren. Gad ! if I'd been her brother, I'd have
 
 A DOC JN THE MANGER. 249 
 
 had something definite out of you long ago. And when all that 
 is settled, why the deuce shouldn't you marry her? She is as 
 v.-eli born as you — both of you are the children of respectable 
 citizens. If her father did go wrong, your father might have 
 gone wrong. Heavens ! which of us has a right to throw stones ? 
 I don't know how rich you may be, but she is rich enough in 
 all conscience even for a lord to marry ; and if you took a 
 house in some neighbourhood away from that vile City connec- 
 tion, and gradually got rid of the young fry — perhaps put one 
 of the sons in the bank — and made a quite fresh start in the 
 country. I feel confident you might get amongst the best county 
 people. It's never too late to mend ! and if I were you I'd try 
 to have some value for my money even at the eleventh hour — 
 I would, upon my soul ! The widow is certainly both person- 
 able and presentable. I've seen worse driving to a Drawing- 
 room. Besides — " 
 
 " It is really exceedingly kind of you to take such an 
 unselfish interest in my affairs, but — " Mr. Gayre tried to 
 interrupt. 
 
 "Unselfish ! Not a bit of it, as you'll know when you let 
 me finish what I was going to say. There's Peggy, now. If 
 you married the widow, see what a home there would be for 
 her — that is, if you liked to ask her to the house." 
 
 " She and Mrs. Jubbins don't exactly hit matters off," ob- 
 served Mr. Gayre maliciously. 
 
 "That's true at the present moment; but if Mrs. Jubbins 
 were Mrs. Gayre, you'd see she'd take even to Peg to please 
 Peg's uncle. 'Pon my soul, Gayre, the woman worships you — 
 that's the plain state of the case ; and why, for very gratitude's 
 sake, you don't make her your wife passes my comprehension. 
 It's not as if there were anybody else." 
 
 " No, it is not as though there were anybody else," agreed 
 Mr. Gayre, in a spirit of the bitterest sarcasm. 
 
 " And then think of all the good you may do. Why, to go 
 no further, you'd be able to offer poor Susan a rest for the sole 
 of her foot — " 
 
 " Better at once start an Asylum for the Fatherless and 
 Afflicted," suggested the banker. 
 
 " You might do worse," said Sir Geoffrey, who had by this 
 time emptied the decanter. "What greater happiness can a 
 man desire than the welfare of his fellow-creatures ? That is a 
 point you rich fellows are somewhat apt to overlook ; and yet 
 what is the use of money unless you can do some good with it ?
 
 250 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 For my own part, if I were well off — which, of course, I never 
 expect to be now — I'd at once begin to consider how I could 
 best spend part of my wealth as a sort of thank-offering — you 
 understand." 
 
 ''If you have quite finished your remarks, as you have the 
 Madeira," said I\lr. Gayre, " I should wish to make one obser- 
 vation." 
 
 "One, my dear fellow ! A dozen, if you like; I am in no 
 hurry." 
 
 •• But I am," retorted Sir Geoffrey's " dear fellow." "What 
 I wish to say is this : I have not, and I never had, the smallest 
 intention of marrying Mrs. Jubbins." 
 
 "Honour bright?'' 
 
 ''And what is more," persisted Mr. Gayre, ignoring the 
 implied form of asseveration. "I don't mean you to marry her 
 either." 
 
 " I wonder what you take me for !" cried the Baronet, in 
 indignant expostulation — "with my heart still bleeding for 
 the loss of my poor darling ! Ah, Gayre, how can you say 
 such things .'* Why, the llowers on Margaret's coffin must still 
 be fresh." 
 
 "If that is a question pressing upon your mind, you may 
 be very sure they are as dead as she is," answered Mr. Gayre; 
 "and for the rest, remember what I say — you shall not marry 
 Mrs. Jubbins." 
 
 "Well, if ever there was a dog in the manger!" muttered 
 Sir Geoffrey, as he followed his brother-in-law along the cor- 
 ridor.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A GREAT SURPRISE. 
 
 Lacking the many admirable qualities which — if the Baronet's 
 own report of himself might be relied on as correct — rendered 
 Sir Geoffrey such an exemplar and benefactor to his fellow-men, 
 Mr. Gayre was never unduly anxious to part with money, even 
 when he saw a chance of getting a good return. It would have 
 been difficult, however, before a month was over, to name any 
 sum within reason he would have refused to pay, if by doing so 
 he could have rid himself of that dreadful Old Man of the Sea, 
 Oliver Dane. The petition was on his mind the last thing at 
 night, and woke him long before dawn. It strolled by his side 
 to the Bank, went to luncheon and returned to dinner; though 
 it failed to eat itself, and effectually deprived him of all appe- 
 tite, it sat at the table as long as he did, and only rose when 
 he made a move, in the vain hope of ridding himself of its 
 company. 
 
 Life was not worth living with that petition locked away in 
 his safe. It would have required a great reward to compensate 
 him for the humiliations heaped on his head in the matter of 
 Mr. Colvend's defaulting clerk ; and there were times when 
 Mr. Gayre believed he should get no reward whatever. Though 
 he saw Susan often, though the most intimate and friendly rela- 
 tions were established between them, the banker could not 
 blind himself to the fact that it was Oliver Dane, and Oliver 
 Dane only, the girl considered : Oliver Dane lying for six 
 months at Millbank ; Oliver Dane soon going to Portland ; 
 Oliver Dane, convicted thief and forger ; Oliver Dane, in whose 
 behalf he, Mr. Gayre, was compassing heaven and earth in 
 order to obtain signatures he did not know what he should do 
 with when he had got them ; Oliver Dane, whom he hated 
 with a detestation rare even amongst bosom friends ; in whose 
 guilt he had always believed, and whom he certainly did not 
 imagine he was ever likely to consider innocent. 
 
 He felt weary to death of the man, the case, and the peti-
 
 252 Sl/SA.V DRUMMOXD. 
 
 tion. He would have liked to argue out the matter at con- 
 siderable length with Susan, and try to convince her how 
 erroneous were all her plans and projects in connection with 
 the great Oliver Dane question, but for the certainty that their 
 first conversation on the subject would be their last. 
 
 "It's just 'take it or leave it,' with Susan now," declared 
 Sir Geoffrey. " Never saw a girl so changed in all my life. 
 Faith, I always thought there was something stiff about that 
 short upper lip of hers, but I little imagined my lady would 
 develop so hard a mouth. Gad ! except as a sign to bolt, she 
 minds the bit no more than a silken thread. Why, she was 
 nearly having a spar with me the other evening because I said 
 I was afraid the pardon would have to be sent down to Port- 
 land after all. What progress are you making, Gayre ?" 
 
 But Mr. Gayre utterly declined to say what progress he was 
 making, or whether he was making any. In answer to the 
 Baronet's question he used some strong language, and expressed 
 his heartfelt regret he had ever meddled in the business. 
 
 '' For, supposing the sentence should be commuted — and I 
 for one do not see the slightest likelihood of anything of the 
 sort happening — Miss Drummond's very first act, I foresee, will 
 be to make our interesting convict marry her." 
 
 " O, hang it ! Dane's not such a cad as to do that.'' 
 
 " I fancy he is a cad ; but, in any case, you'll find she'll 
 have the license and everything ready for his appearance. It 
 is pleasant to see a girl in earnest ; but I really cannot think 
 that your young friend will find life agreeable under the circum- 
 stances I have indicated." 
 
 " I tell you I know Dane, and even for gratitude's sake he 
 would not let Susan throw herself away on him." 
 
 "And I tell you I know something of women, and I declare 
 to you that she will marry him (even if he does not want to 
 marry her) for sentiment's sake." 
 
 "Then had you not better drop that petition business 
 altogether?" 
 
 " I should have done so long ago, if I had not, in an evil 
 hour prompted by some demon — you, I believe — promised to 
 do my best for this eligible lover." 
 
 " Surely it would be doing your very best to let him stay 
 where he is. What could any rational being want more? Fed, 
 lodged, clothed at the expense of his country ; large airy house; 
 regular hours, resident chaplain, medical attendance, free of 
 charge ! Better let Dane enjoy these advantages till Susan is
 
 A GREAT SURPRISE. 253 
 
 married, at any rate. Afterwards something might be done — 
 he can't be in any hurry for a year or two ; and if a free pardon 
 were got, the lad could then be slipped out of the countr3^ 
 Perhaps you yourself might not grudge a trifle to set him up in 
 som.e decent trade at the Antipodes." 
 
 Mr. Gayre turned and looked at his brother-in-law steadily, 
 as if trying to read his thoughts. 
 
 Sir Geoffrey, on his side, returned this scrutiny with an 
 expression of calm and satisfied innocence, which Mr. Gayre 
 seemed to find hard to contemplate, for he said at last, with 
 angry decision, 
 
 " I have promised, and it is not my practice to keep a 
 promise to the ear and break it to the heart." 
 
 " Most creditable, I am sure," answered Sir Geofi^rey, drawl- 
 ing out the last word so as to make almost three syllables of it. 
 
 "Whether creditable or not, such is the fact." 
 
 " I never suggested otherwise. All I mean is I trust you 
 may have a better gaol deliverance than I fear Dane is likely 
 to meet with. The whole thing seems to chafe you terribly, 
 Gayre." 
 
 Which was indeed the fact. Never in all his life before had 
 the banker gone through such an experience. Hitherto, when 
 he asked a favour, friends and strangers alike had seemed only 
 too pleased to grant it. To do anything, no matter how slight, 
 for Mr. Gayre, was once in the City esteemed both an honour 
 and a pleasure ; but now, words could scarcely describe the 
 change that all in a moment had come over popular opinion. 
 A cold wave of amazement and disapproval flowed steadily 
 from every commercial quarter towards Gayres. Why should 
 a man in the banker's position interest himself about so flag- 
 rant a case? The culprit was no kith or kin or friend of his. 
 His acquaintance with him had been no closer than that he 
 presumably maintained with the favoured clerk of any other 
 old and valued customer. The young fellow could not for a 
 moment be supposed innocent. He had deceived an employer 
 who never missed an opportunity of doing him a kindness. He 
 had been found guilty after a long and fair trial. If the sen- 
 tence were heavy it was not too severe. Forgery and embez- 
 zlement were crimes which could only be put down v/ith a 
 strong hand; other clerks would hear and tremble; young 
 fellows tottering on the brink of temptation would step back 
 in time; employers feeling their interests were considered 
 might take heart and resume some little of their wonted con-
 
 :54 SUSAjV DRUMMOND. 
 
 fidence. What the deuce — what the did Gayre mean by 
 
 trying to upset justice, and get up a false sympathy for a most 
 deceitful and unprincipled young man who, having deeply 
 sinned, was now most justly suffering? 
 
 " Not so long ago he'd have swung for it, sir," remarked 
 one City magnate to his fellow ; " and I'm not at all sure but 
 the old way was the best way too. The gallows and a little 
 quicklime were an effectual way of stopping this sickly sort of 
 sentiment. Once a man begins stealing he'll go on stealing — 
 can't help it ; and Gayre ought to know this as well as any- 
 body. Sign the petition ! Did / sign it, do you say ? Not I. 
 'You really must excuse me,' I observed to Gayre, 'but it's a 
 thing I wouldn't do for any consideration whatever. Why, it's 
 subverting the whole constitution of Great Britain. No, I am 
 very sorry to refuse the son of my valued friend any favour ; 
 but you see this is not a matter of time or money. It is a 
 question oi principle. I have a duty to discharge to my brother 
 merchants. How should I be able to look them in the face 
 if I espoused the cause of a felon against his employer? Why, 
 the case might have been my own or yours. How on earth 
 could you ever prosecute one of your people, after doing your 
 utmost to defeat the ends of justice as you are doing?' " 
 
 Wretched Mr. Gayre had thought this difficulty, and indeed 
 all other difficulties connected with the matter, out alone with 
 his own heart. He knew that attempting to play the part of 
 Good Samaritan towards a clerk would be regarded as an act 
 of wicked quixotism by the collective wisdom of Mark Lane 
 and Capel Court. Many things might be forgiven a man in 
 his position, but interference with vested rights was not one of 
 them. He had done himself incalculable harm, and he had 
 not done Oliver Dane any good. The chances of the " unfor- 
 tunate nobleman then languishing in prison " for a mitiga- 
 tion of sentence seemed quite as good as those of Mr. Col- 
 vend's ex-clerk. Mr. Gayre felt very weary and worn. He 
 had done a great many things he would much rather not have 
 done, and yet Susan remained as far from him as ever. He 
 knew he was losing instead of gaining ground. The long 
 talks, the confidential conversations, the hours spent in fruit- 
 less discussion, and still more useless retrospection, were full 
 of nothing but Oliver Dane. The air might be different, but 
 the words were ever the same— Oliver, Oliver, Oliver ! Susan 
 had once held her peace concerning her lover till she deluded 
 Mr. Gayre into the belief that thought of man born had never
 
 A GREAT SURPRISE. 255 
 
 agitated her gentle breast. But now the string of her tongue 
 was loosed she spoke of little else. The volume of life for 
 her contained but one name ; all interests, all hopes, all fears, 
 were bound together with a single clasp, upon which was 
 graven the story of one man's sorrows. All this did not re- 
 commend itself to Mr. Gayre. He would not have cared so 
 much had he discerned one sign of love or even liking, (irati- 
 tude there was, but it seemed rather anticipatory gratitude for 
 some favour to come than appreciative understanding of the 
 enormous trouble the banker had already given himself. With 
 that intuition which so rarely deceives women, Susan had long 
 before discovered her friend neither liked nor believed in her 
 lover ; whilst upon Mr. Gayre's mind there was gradually 
 opening that vast field of speculative observation filled by the 
 selfishness of an unselfish woman. 
 
 In those days Susan had no more thought to spare for any 
 one free to come and go, to laugh and be merry, than a mother 
 nursing her sick child has for some healthy waif, stout of limb 
 and sound of lung. The prison containing Oliver Dane was 
 to her the whole miserable world ; the man pent within those 
 cruel walls the entire human race. Susan could think of 
 nothing, talk of nothing, except him and his trouble. It was 
 but an aggravation of the trial that she should be at large 
 whilst he was in confinement. If her lover had not been a 
 rival Mr. Gayre must have found the constant iteration of his 
 name, and the eternal harping on one subject, wearisome ; but, 
 as matters stood, he felt he was fast reaching the limits of his 
 patience. 
 
 To jest openly with a power like Gayre's seemed, at the 
 first blush, little short of profanity. Nevertheless, the banker 
 found himself exposed to broad hints and sly allusions, which 
 greatly tried his equanimity. 
 
 " I understand there's a pretty face in the question, eh ?" 
 said one ex-Lord Mayor^ who thought his twelve months of 
 office had conferred grace to his manners and a pleasing ele- 
 gance to his diction. It was even whispered in City circles 
 the air of the Mansion House had so affected his brain that, 
 finding sober prose inadequate to express lofty imaginings, 
 he broke into verse, and indited a ditty, entitled " The Aged 
 Beggar : an Idyl of Threadneedle Street." 
 
 He was a dreadful person, who, if he once got hold of even 
 a faint similitude to a joke, worried and played with it as a 
 puppy worries and plays with some useless rag. When his
 
 256 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 friends hoped he had forgotten the wretched thing he went off 
 at score and dug it up again. Even in an ordinary way Mr. 
 Gayre avoided him as he would the plague ; but now avoid- 
 ance was impossible. His late lordship, as City wags faceti- 
 ously dubbed him, which title they often exchanged for '' The 
 Aged Beggar,"' would not be denied. When from afar Mr. 
 Gayre saw his portly form looming in the distance he igno- 
 rainiously tried to avoid the encounter by turning down some 
 convenient court ; but such cowardly tactics usually proved 
 useless. The former chief magistrate's knowledge of the City 
 was at least as exhaustive as the banker's ; and he found no 
 difficulty in executing a flank movement of considerable in- 
 genuity, and appearing at the supreme moment from an appa- 
 rently blind alley or deceptive doorway. He had signed the 
 petition, and therefore felt himself free to make merry at Mr. 
 Gayre's expense. 
 
 " I'd advise you to be on your guard," he said one day in a 
 stage-whisper, meeting the ex-officer in Copthall Court. " They 
 do say she was the widow ]" and then, with a fat laugh, which 
 set his sides shaking, he passed on before Mr. Gayre could 
 resent his remark. 
 
 Godless and graceless young stockbrokers, too, who had 
 not the fear of Gayres' before their eyes, were in the habit of 
 offering to append their names to any paper — not a bill-stamp 
 — if Mr. Gayre would procure them a sight of Dane's " young 
 woman." Altogether it was horrible. Oftentimes the banker 
 felt beside himself with anger. His very clerks he fancied 
 were laughing at him in their sleeves. He was a mere butt 
 for cockney wit ; and through some horrible fatality, Susan's 
 name had cropped out, and become a very shuttlecock for 
 men, who could not comprehend the purity and grandness of 
 her self-imposed task, to toss from lip to lip. 
 
 By almost imperceptible degrees, also, a doubt as to the 
 correctness of his own opinions on the Dane question was 
 stealing across Mr. Gayre's mind. By a slow process of reason- 
 ing he was arriving at the conclusion Susan had long before 
 grasped instinctively, that an enemy's hand might be traced 
 in the transaction. Things had happened since the trial in- 
 explicable on any other ground. Proved guilty and punished, 
 the man and his sin would, in an ordinary way, have been for- 
 gotten ; but for Oliver Dane there seemed, indeed, no rest. 
 Stories were circulated about him which Mr. Gayre's common 
 sense resented as untrue. Mr. Surlees' utterances concerning
 
 A GREAT SURPRISE, 257 
 
 their former clerk were characterised by a stinging bitterness 
 that seemed to the banker hard to explain. Mr. Colvend's 
 attachment to, and sorrow for, the young man could, according 
 to Mr. Surlees, only be regarded as evidences of a weakened 
 intellect ; whilst Susan herself was stigmatised as a sort of 
 adventuress, who, " I feel no doubt whatever, was Dane's 
 accomplice in the matter. So far as I am concerned, I regret 
 that we did not proceed against her as well." 
 
 This was awful. Mr. Gayre remained speechless with in- 
 dignation ; and it was not till Mr. Surlees went on to say, " I 
 advise you to be careful what you are about. Take my word 
 for it, this Miss Drummond is a most dangerous and unprin- 
 cipled person," that his anger found vent in words. 
 
 How he expressed the rage burning within him he never 
 subsequently could remember. All he knew was he and Mr. 
 Surlees parted in hot anger ; and when, during the course of 
 the same afternoon, Mr. Colvend called to try to make peace, 
 his well-meant efforts resulted in signal failure. 
 
 Altogether, nothing but humihation and irritation resulted 
 from his attempt to "subvert the British Constitution, and de- 
 feat the ends of justice." 
 
 It was discovered a clerk had been ingeniously robbing the 
 bank for some considerable time, but Mr. Gayre felt literally 
 afraid to prosecute. He had never loved the City, but now 
 he grew to hate it. The pavements of Lombard Street, and 
 the purlieus of the Exchange, were mere haunts of terror. He 
 dreaded the sight of his fellow-men, if those fellow-men had 
 offices within sound of Bow Bells ; whilst for Susan — the labour 
 of Sisyphus was not more discouraging than the endeavour to 
 win smiles from a woman who refused to smile, whose faith 
 in her lover never sv/erved, and whom absence only made 
 fonder ! 
 
 So far as the petition went, Mr. Gayre felt he had got all 
 the signatures he was ever likely to obtain. Some great names 
 were appended, but the longer he contemplated the paper, the 
 less hopeful he felt on the subject of ultimate success. He 
 stood, indeed, between Scylla and Charybdis ; if he failed, 
 Susan would blame him in her heart ; and, on the other hand, 
 he did not wish to succeed. No prospect, indeed, could have 
 seemed less pleasant to him than the idea of Oliver Dane's re- 
 appearance in the world of free men. 
 
 " I had better have given up all thoughts of the girl the 
 moment I found out she was fond of the fellow," he consi- 
 
 s
 
 25S SUSAN DRL'MMOND. 
 
 dered irritably. " Somehow I have botched the whole thing, 
 and every step I take only seems to lead nie further into the 
 mire. Supposing I could prove him innocent to-morrow, how 
 would that better my position ? I am not working for Oliver 
 Dane, but for Nicholas Gayre ; and I am as far from my ob- 
 ject — farther, indeed — than I was the first day. I think I 
 shall keep away from Islington for a week, and try the effect; 
 she will long to talk to some one, and must miss me, even for 
 that reason. Yes, I shall stay away." 
 
 It was the last evening of that week, a Sunday night. He 
 had not seen Susan for one hundred and sixty- eight endless 
 hours. He had refrained from writing or calling ; and having 
 just returned from church, whither he had gone to kill time, 
 he sat beside his hearth, thinking about the man who was now 
 at Portland — considering what he was doing, how he felt, how 
 any human being could face the prospect of seven years of 
 penal servitude and — live, 
 
 "It is awful," he said, almost aloud. "And suppose, after 
 all, the fellow should be innocent !" 
 
 He rose uneasily from his seat, and began to pace the room 
 with slow and measured steps. 
 
 His hands were loosely clasped behind his back, his head 
 was bent a little forward, his whole attitude, his whole expres- 
 sion, that of a man engaged in deep and unpleasant thought. 
 
 He was, in fact, reviewing the whole matter from the com- 
 mencement, and facing the question of what he should feel to 
 be his duty supposing he were once really persuaded of the 
 prisoner's innocence. 
 
 "If the matter rested with me now, for instance," he thought 
 — " if I had the proofs in my hands, how should I act ? That 
 is a question I might once have answered without any hesita- 
 tion \ but now — However, he is not innocent, and I have 
 no proofs. Who can that be ?" he added, as the sound of a 
 modest double rap broke the stillness of the quiet house; "not 
 Sir Geoffrey, I hope," 
 
 A minute elapsed. There seemed parleying in the hall ; 
 then his servant entered the room bearing a card. 
 
 "The gentleman" (there was just the slightest touch of 
 hesitation in the way he spoke this word) " says he wishes to 
 see you on business of importance. He will not detain you 
 long. Colonel." 
 
 " Samuel Fife ?" said Mr. Gayre, reading the name printed 
 on the card ; " I wonder who Samuel Fife may be ?"
 
 A GREAT SURPRISE. 259 
 
 " He says you know him, sir." 
 
 " Does he ? I wonder if I do. Show him up into the 
 drawing-room ; I will be with him directly." 
 
 " The name seems somehow familiar, and yet I cannot 
 associate it with any one," he added to himself. "Fife — 
 Fife !" and then he opened the drawing-room door, and en- 
 tered. 
 
 Under the chandelier stood a short, stiffly-built, middle- 
 aged man. He was dressed in his Sunday clothes — a rough 
 top- coat, dark trousers and waistcoat, thick serviceable boots. 
 He held his hat in his hand, and looked up somewhat ner- 
 vously as Mr. Gayre appeared. 
 
 " Good-evening," began the banker. "To what am I to — 
 Why, it is you, is it ?" he added, in a tone of intense surprise. 
 " What do you want with me — why do you come here ?" 
 
 " I wrote to you a while ago, and you took no notice of 
 my letters." 
 
 " I never heard from you in my life, so far as I am aware." 
 
 " O yes, you did. I wrote to you three times, signing my- 
 self 'Justice.'" 
 
 "You are 'Justice,' then. I see." 
 
 " Why did you not send me any reply?" 
 
 "Why should I reply? Why should I take any notice 
 whatsoever of anonymous communications ?" 
 
 " It was true what I said, though, Mr. Gayre." 
 
 " That Dane was innocent, and you could prove him to 
 be so?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " In that case why did you not speak before ?" 
 
 " I should not speak now if I had been properly treated." 
 
 " Have you not been properly treated?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Will you not sit down, Mr. Fife? If we are to talk — 
 and it is unlikely you would have come here unless you in- 
 tended to talk — you had better do so." 
 
 " Do you recollect what I said in my first letter ?" asked 
 Mr, Fife, as he sat down on the corner of a sofa, glancing at 
 Mr. Gayre, who had flung himself into an easy-chair. 
 
 " I recollect you said in all your letters you wanted money. 
 It is not an uncommon want ; you are not singular, Mr. Fife. 
 Many persons desire money ; but there are not many who 
 get it." 
 
 " Will you give me what I asked for ?"
 
 26o SC^SAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 " That is not a question I can answer offhand. Upon the 
 whole, however, I think I may say I do not think I shall give 
 you any money." 
 
 " If you are sure of that I will go to Miss Drummond." 
 
 " Why did you not go to her first — supposing always you 
 have not been to her?" 
 
 " I thought I could go to her after I had tried you. I 
 knew it would be useless coming to you after I had been to 
 her." 
 
 " Really, Mr, Fife, your candour is quite refreshing." 
 
 " I am glad you think so." 
 
 " I do think so ; though I cannot in the least imagine why 
 you come to me — " 
 
 " I come to you," interrupted Mr. Fife, with startling 
 directness, " because you are in love with Miss Drummond — 
 because you can make her marry you if you prove Dane inno- 
 cent — because it will be worth your while to pay me tvell for 
 the card I can place in your hand." 
 
 " I do not know which I admire most — your frankness or 
 your Impudence." 
 
 " It is not impudence, Mr. Gayre ; and you are as well 
 aware of the fact as I am. As you have asked me to sit down 
 I presume you mean to entertain the matter. In a word, I 
 have something to sell ; will you buy it? You know my price; 
 does it suit you?" and, shifting his position, he took possession 
 of a music-stool which chanced to be close to the chair in 
 which Mr. Gayre lay back, his legs stretched out, and the tips 
 of his fingers idly touching each other.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 WITHOUT FOILS. 
 
 There ensued an awkward silence. The one man did not 
 want to speak — the other would not. 
 
 At length the spell was broken by Mr. Gayre, who said, 
 without looking at his visitor, and as if his words were merely 
 the outcome of a long course of exhaustive reasoning, 
 
 " You see, some one must criminate himself." 
 
 Mr. Fife laughed. "You don't trap me that way," he 
 answered. 
 
 " Believe me, I had no intention of trapping you. I was 
 only stating a fact." 
 
 " O, of course. I quite understand that !" 
 
 " If we are to discuss the matter at all, Mr. Fife, permit me 
 to suggest you must do so in a different spirit." 
 
 " I don't know," answered Mr. Fife, " that I feel disposed 
 to discuss the matter further. In effect, there is nothing to 
 discuss. I have told you plainly, Dane is innocent, and that I 
 can prove his innocence. I have told you I want to be paid 
 for my information, and the price I expect from some one. It 
 does not much signify to me who pays that money, but I should 
 imagine it signified a great deal to you^ 
 
 Mr. Gayre winced. The man's tone, the man's manner, 
 seemed terrible to him. He had never been spoken to with 
 such offensive familiarity before, even by his equals ; and as he 
 shot a glance aside at Mr. Fife, and remembered the former 
 cringing deference of his address, it came home to his mind 
 more fully than ever that he was wading through very dirty 
 water indeed, and that he had better get out of it as soon as 
 possible. 
 
 " I think," he said, " I would rather wash my hands of the 
 whole business." 
 
 "Just as you like. I suppose, however, you have fully 
 considered what washing your hands, as you call it, exactly 
 means ?"
 
 262 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 " I fear I scarcely follow you." 
 
 Mr. Gayre's voice was freezing in its cold respectability. 
 
 " I don't believe you do. Now listen. No, you needn't 
 look so indignant. I mean no offence. Remember you are 
 not in Lombard Street now ; and if you were, I want nothing 
 out of your strong-room except a sum of money, for which I 
 am willing and anxious to give you full value. We're man 
 and man at this minute, sir, I'm not Samuel Fife, manager at 
 Colvend and Surlees' ; and you're not Nicholas Gayre, banker. 
 We're equals, that's what we are — equals. If there is any dis- 
 parity in our respective positions, the turn of the scale is in 
 my favour, for I have something you want to buy, and that 
 you can't buy from anybody but me." 
 
 During the delivery of this address, Mr. Gayre faced the 
 speaker in amazement. As he did so, it dawned upon him 
 that though Mr. Fife was not drunk, he had, according to his 
 own simple vocabulary, been " priming himself." 
 
 Had Sir Geoffrey been present, he would have read the 
 " abandoned miscreant " a lecture concerning the wickedness 
 of persons imbibing who *' could not carry their liquor de- 
 cently;" but Mr. Gayre, though utterly abstemious, did not 
 feel himself such a saint that he dare adventure upon any 
 argument concerning the sinfulness of Mr. Samuel Fife. 
 
 Instead of entering into that question, he remarked, 
 
 "I do not know that I want to buy anything." 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Fife, nowise disconcerted by a statement 
 meant to be crushing, " you had better know whether you do 
 or not during the course of the next fifteen minutes. Time is 
 getting on. It now" — and Mr. Fife produced a whitefaced 
 silver watch — " wants exactly five minutes to nine o'clock. If 
 by ten minutes past nine o'clock you, Miss Drummond's 
 friend, have failed to decide what you are going to do, I shall 
 not trouble you further. There," added Messrs. Colvend and 
 Surlees' manager, in beautiful continuation, at the same moment 
 laying his silver watch and steel chain on a table at Mr. Gayre's 
 elbow, " is the time — Post-office." 
 
 " In the name of Heaven," cried poor baited Mr. Gayre, 
 " why should you suppose all this concerns me ?" 
 
 " Better invoke the name of the Deity, sir," suggested his 
 unwelcome visitor, with bibulous solemnity : " in that case I 
 should answer, with no beating about the bush, I suppose ' all 
 this ' concerns you greatly. You're in love with the girl — 
 that's what it comes to. If you can lay your hand on your
 
 WITHOUT FOILS. 263 
 
 heart and say honestly you are not, why the sooner I go to 
 Miss Drummond the better. She'll pay me my price, I know." 
 
 " If you are so sure of that, why do you trouble me ? Why 
 did you not go to her direct ?" 
 
 "There are wheels within wheels," replied Mr. Fife loftily. 
 "I have my reasons, which I do not intend to tell you — not 
 yet, at all events — perhaps never. Now, Mr. Gayre, are you 
 making up your mind, because I am determined to settle the 
 matter one way or other before I sleep ?" 
 
 " I have made up my mind on one point," said the gentle- 
 man so peremptorily addressed, "namely, that I will not pay 
 one sixpence till you furnish me with some proof you really do 
 possess the knowledge you profess." 
 
 " That is fair enough ; but on the other part, I do not 
 show my hand without something binding on your side. Give 
 me the merest scrap of writing as evidence of your botta-fides, 
 and I'll tell you what I know." 
 
 " But what you know, or think you know, may turn out 
 practically valueless." 
 
 " Upon my soul, I believe you do not want the fellow 
 proved innocent. I think if his release rested with you he 
 might stop in gaol for ever — rot there before you would lift a 
 finger to get him out !" 
 
 "I trust you wrong me, Mr. Fife. At any rate, you must 
 allow me to observe your own anxiety on the subject is not so 
 disinterested you have any right to attribute such ungenerous 
 feelings to me." 
 
 " Pooh !" retorted Mr. Fife ; " that is all very fine, but we 
 both know more of the world than to believe much in gene- 
 rosity or disinterestedness, or any such humbug. What you 
 are afraid of now is, that when Dane appears once more on 
 the scene, Miss Drummond won't marry you. Neither she 
 
 will, if /tell her. She will marry Dane, him ! But make 
 
 a fair bargain with me, and the game is in your own hands. 
 ' Take me,' you can say, ' when I obtain your lover's release ; 
 refuse me, and my gentleman remains at Portland for the term 
 to which he was sentenced.' " 
 
 " What a scoundrel you are, Mr, Fife !" 
 
 " I am not a hypocrite, at any rate. And why should the 
 girl not marry you ? She will have everything money can buy, 
 except a conceited empty-headed puppy without a sixpence to 
 bless himself with. And she deserves a better fate ; for, though 
 I don't care much for that style myself, she is good-looking,
 
 264 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 and has as nice manners — I'll say that for her — as any woman 
 I ever spoke to." 
 
 "Have you spoken to her?" The amazement in Mr. 
 Gayre's tone was not complimentary. 
 
 " Rather ! I lodge in the same house : if I take a thing in 
 hand I do it thoroughly ; and I wanted to make sure of my 
 ground before I came to you. There has been nothing more 
 than ' Good-morning,' or ' Good-evening,' or ' It's cloudy,' or 
 ' What a wet day we have had !' but it was enough. Her voice 
 is soft, and her ways sweet. She'll make you a very suitable 
 wife ; and though, to be sure, you are not young, I daresay 
 you'll make her a very good husband." 
 
 " Mr. Fife, you shall hold no further communication with 
 this most faithful and unfortunate lady !" declared Mr. Gayre, 
 rising in hot wrath. " If only to save her from the degradation 
 of hearing you mention her lover's name in her presence, I will 
 pay the exorbitant sum you exact as the price of your shame- 
 ful secret." 
 
 " Come, that's to the point at last. Hard words break no 
 bones, and it is perfectly immaterial to me why you find the 
 money, so long as you do find it. If you have a piece of paper 
 handy, just write that, upon my proving the fact of Oliver 
 Dane's innocence to your satisfaction — " 
 
 " You must do more than that," interrupted Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " Well, word it any way in reason you like. I'll give you 
 the key, but you must do the rest yourself, remember. Say, 
 when Samuel Fife has given you the means of proving Oliver 
 Dane's innocence to the satisfaction of Messrs. Colvend and 
 Surlees, you will hand him over an open cheque — " 
 
 " I will give you a bank-note ; I wouldn't write your name 
 on a cheque." 
 
 " Dear me ! but it is of no consequence ; a note will do just 
 as well. Now, if you put that into form, and sign it (I'll not 
 ask for a witness — I don't believe you will try to shufile out of 
 your bargain), we can get to business — " 
 
 " I almost wish I had not passed my word." 
 
 "Ah! but you have, you know: and besides, though you 
 may choose to break your promise, I sha'n't break mine. Make 
 any further objections, and I see Miss Drummond before I 
 sleep." 
 
 Chafing with anger, more thoroughly furious perhaps than 
 he had ever felt before in his life, yet supported by the deter- 
 mination to do a right and unselfish action, Mr. Gayre inti-
 
 WITHOUT FOILS. 265 
 
 mated that writing materials being in his study, an adjournment 
 had better be made to that apartment. 
 
 " It does not matter to me where the thing is written, so 
 long as it is written," said Mr. Fife, with easy impudence. " I 
 have made up my mind for this throw, and I do not want to 
 waste any more time before making a dean breast. You have 
 a very fine house here," he added, as he descended the stairs ; 
 " but it needs one other piece of furniture, a handsome wife. 
 You'll have that before long, though, no doubt ; and I know 
 whom you ought to thank for it ; " and he laughed as he turned 
 his head and looked at Mr. Gayre, who had much ado to re- 
 frain from kicking him to the bottom of the flight. 
 
 Something of this feeling must have shown in his face, for 
 Mr. Fife proceeded to make a sort of apology. 
 
 "Don't mind me to-night," he remarked. "I'm mad; 
 that's what I am. I'm going to cut my own throat. I mean 
 to do that which will force me to leave Colvend's. Perhaps 
 you would like to know why ? Wait a little. That's in the 
 story as well." 
 
 " I do not feel at all sure that I am doing right in entering 
 into any compromise with you," said Mr. Gayre, as, after care- 
 fully closing the library-door, he motioned Mr. Fife to a seat, 
 and, taking a chair himself, began to write. 
 
 " That is a pity," commented Mr. Fife, with a smile. 
 
 "Are you aware you have made no stipulation with regard 
 to your own safety ?" asked Mr. Gayre. 
 
 "Yes, I am aware of that;" and his smile grew broader. 
 
 " I thought I would just mention the fact," said the banker. 
 
 " Very kind of you. In common gratitude, I think I ought 
 to give you a hint : don't let your young lady get an inkling of 
 how you are going to help her lover till you have made every- 
 thing safe as regards your own marriage. If you do, she'll find 
 a way to slip out of her agreement. They're all alike : so long 
 as a man can give or get them something they want, they'll purr 
 round him, and be pleasant and winning as a child looking out 
 for sweets ; but the moment he has served their turn, it's 
 * Thanks, so many \ and the pace isn't known, quick enough 
 to their fancy to take him out of their sight." 
 
 Mr. Gayre ceased writing, and contemplated the speaker in 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Your knowledge of the sex seems almost exhaustive, Mr. 
 Fife," he observed. 
 
 "I can't tell whether you are chaffing me or not; and I
 
 266 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 don't care," answered that gentleman. "There is one thing, 
 however, I will say — that, lot you know women as you may, I 
 know them better." 
 
 " The usual thing," remarked Mr. Gayre. *' You generalise 
 concerning the sex from one example." 
 
 " Never mind what I do, but remember what I say. If you 
 don't, you'll repent it." 
 
 " Before I sign this paper, there is one question I fear I 
 must ask." 
 
 " What is it ?" 
 
 " There are no other defalcations ?" 
 
 " So far as I am aware — none." 
 
 " Do you object to my embodying that statement?" 
 
 " Not in the least ;" and Mr. Fife laughed outright. 
 
 "Will this do?'' inquired the banker, wondering what Mr. 
 Fife had found so amusing in his question. 
 
 "Yes, that will do ; a lawyer, I daresay, could pick a few 
 holes in it; but friends ought not to be too particular. With 
 your good leave, I'll just put it in my pocket-book — so. 
 That's done," he added, drawing a breath of relief; " and 
 now for my part of the pact. You conclude I forged that 
 signature, Mr. Gayre ?" 
 
 " I should not have ventured exactly to make such a 
 suggestion, but, as you are kind enough to do so, I hope you 
 will excuse my frankness when I answer ' Yes.'" 
 
 " Beyond annexing a cheque I had nothing to do with the 
 matter." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "Truth, I assure you — gospel." 
 
 " Then perhaps you will tell me who did write the name of 
 the firm ?" 
 
 " Certainly ; there shall be no reservations on my part. The 
 party — or, to speak more accurately, the lady — was christened 
 Theodora Alberta Colvend ; but she is usually called ' Dossie ' 
 by a fond and foolish parent." 
 
 " Good Heavens !" exclaimed Mr. Gayre. " Good Hea- 
 vens !" 
 
 "And 'Good Heavens !' again, if you like," said Mr. Fife; 
 "my information seems to surprise you, sir. If you remember, 
 I more than hinted my knowledge of women was greater than 
 yours." 
 
 " But why should she? Why should any woman do such a 
 wickedness ?"
 
 WITHOUT FOILS. 267 
 
 " Name the devil that eggs women on to commit any and 
 every sin. You can't. Well, what do you say to jealousy? 
 Miss Dossie was madly jealous of your pink and white beauty, 
 and, as she was afraid to throw vitriol in her face, she decided 
 to put Mr. Oliver Dane out of the way of matrimonial tempta- 
 tion for some time." 
 
 " And you helped her ?" 
 
 " I helped her." 
 
 " And what possible motive could you have ?" 
 
 " Ditto to Miss Dossie's. Scarcely that, however ; for 
 though I did, and do, hate Mr. Oliver Dane, he might still 
 have been walking the streets a free man so far as my enmity 
 was concerned." 
 
 " You wanted, then — " 
 
 " I see you are beginning to understand. I wanted Miss 
 Dossie — that was the bargain. She promised to marry me, and 
 like a fool, I believed her — yes, I believed her.'' And Mr. 
 Fife broke off with a muttered oath, and something between a 
 gulp and a gasping choking sob. 
 
 " Surely she is not worth that," said the banker, regarding 
 him with quite a new interest. It seemed strange that an ex- 
 terior such as Mr. Fife's should cover joys, sorrows, hates, loves 
 precisely the same — save only, perhaps, that they were more 
 intense — as those, for example, which dwelt within the breast 
 of Nicholas Gayre. 
 
 " You're right enough ; she's not worth it — she's not worth 
 that!" and Mr. Fife snapped his fingers — "not worth one 
 thought of an honest man ; and before God, Mr. Gayre, I was 
 honest in word, thought, and deed till she laid her fiendish 
 spells upon me. However, all this has nothing to do with you; 
 only I want you to think of me hereafter as not quite an out- 
 cast. I'll be bound now you fancy I'm going to take all that 
 money as the mere price of what I know ?' 
 
 " You ask awkward questions, Mr. Fife." 
 
 *' Never mind that ; answer me truthfully, if you don't 
 object." 
 
 " As you press me so strongly, I am afraid I must confess 
 the idea you have suggested has crossed my mind," said Mr. 
 Gayre delicately. 
 
 " Wrong again !" laughed Mr. Fife. " Had I seen my way 
 to earning even a hundred a year, once Colvends gave me 
 marching orders, I'd have told you the whole story long ago, 
 with the greatest pleasure ; but a man can't starve, can he ?"
 
 2 68 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 Feeling many better men than his visitor had starved, and 
 fearing lest even so general a statement might commit him, 
 Mr. Gayre decided that, both in the interests of courtesy and 
 prudence, he would be wise to hold his tongue. 
 
 "I'm taking your money on the princijjle of self-preserva- 
 tion, which, as you know, is the first law of Nature," proceeded 
 Mr. Fife, taking silence for consent. 
 
 " And mean to go abroad with it, no doubt ?" suggested 
 Mr. Gayre. 
 
 "I don't mean to tell either man or woman where I'm 
 going," answered Mr. Fife, in a sudden access of caution. " I 
 think I may safely say you'll see me no more ; and that is about 
 all you'll get out of me concerning my future movements." 
 
 " Certainly I had no right to make any inquiry as to your 
 intentions ; and I beg your pardon for having done so." 
 
 " O, no offence ; I'm not at all a touchy fellow. What was 
 I talking about ? O, that young jade, Miss Theodora. If you 
 only knew — if you could only imagine — how she led me on and 
 on and on ; upon my soul, Mr. Gayre, there was a time when 
 you might have thought she liked the ground 1 walked on. It 
 was not easy to get me to do what she wanted ; but there are 
 words, looks, and tones no man with blood in his veins can 
 resist : I could not, at any rate ;" and Mr. Fife started from his 
 chair, and took a couple of turns up and down the room before 
 he resumed his narration. 
 
 " I am a fool," he said — " I was a fool ; for though I never 
 in my heart believed she cared for me, or for any created being 
 except herself and Oliver Dane — and for him only because he 
 would have nothing to do with her — -I let myself be led by the 
 nose till she had got her turn served." 
 
 " Other men have been treated in the same way," said Mr. 
 Gayre. " The story is as old almost as creation." 
 
 " And when I claimed my reward," went on Mr. Fife, un- 
 heeding this interruption, " she laughed in my face. Since, I 
 have wondered often I did not kill her. I wish now I had 
 struck her down where she stood, with a mocking devil in her 
 eyes and a sneer on her lips. ' Marry you P she said, ' marry 
 you ! That is an honour I really must decline.' And she 
 wasn't afraid, though we were alone on Wimbledon Common, 
 and there was not a human being but ourselves within hail. 
 You've seen her, Mr. Gayre?" 
 
 The banker nodded. 
 
 " Well, you know she looks as if a breath would blow her
 
 WITHOUT FOILS. 269 
 
 away. You might span her waist ; I beUeve she is so light 1 
 could hold her on my palm stretched out like that ;" and Mr. 
 Fife thrust across the table a hand of which a prize-fighter need 
 not have been ashamed. " Often and often I've watched her 
 coaxing and making much of the old man, till any one might 
 have thought there was not such an affectionate, tender soul on 
 earth. 'My poor Dossie !' he would say, 'my dear, tender, 
 little Dossie ; she's such a clinging, timid darling.' Clinging ! 
 timid !" repeated Mr. Fife, with wild scorn ; " I never saw the 
 thing she was afraid of yet, except of not getting what she 
 wanted," 
 
 " It is strange she was not afraid of you" observed Mr. 
 Gayre. 
 
 " When I found she would not give me anything for love, I 
 tried the other tack with her ; but I might as well have held 
 my peace. I said I would tell her father. * He won't believe 
 you,' was her answer. ' I'll show him your letters.' * The 
 person who could forge the nam.e of the firm could write 
 any number of letters.' ' But I did not forge the name of 
 the firm.' 'Ah, that you'd have to prove,' she said. 'Mr, 
 Surlees would believe me even if your father did not' ' He 
 might; but you won't try to make him believe you.' 'Why 
 won't I ?' ' Because you would lose your situation ; you would 
 not be permitted to retain it an hour.'" 
 
 " The weak point, then, in your evidence is that if Miss 
 Colvend choose to deny the statement in ioto, you have no 
 means of proving her complicity." 
 
 "I hadn't; I have now. The cheque, if you remember, 
 was presented by a woman." 
 
 " Not Miss Colvend ?" 
 
 " No ; her maid. She had a situation ready for the girl to 
 drop into. The very next day she went out to India as atten- 
 dant upon a lady who was going to join her husband. Miss 
 Colvend sold a quantity of jewelry to make things square with 
 Adela." 
 
 " Adela will have to be found, then, I suppose ; and when 
 she is found perhaps she may deny the whole story." 
 
 " O no, she won't. She is back in London. At the Cape, 
 news met the lady that her husband was dead ; so she took the 
 first vessel home and brought Adela with her. I met the girl 
 quite by chance, and, from a word or two, I know she would 
 be glad enough to get the matter off her conscience, if only 
 she could be sure of not being thrown on the world,"
 
 2 70 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 " How did the notes get to Dane's lodgings ?" 
 
 " I do not know ; but I fancy Miss Colvend herself slipped 
 them into the letter-box." 
 
 There ensued a jmuse — longer even than that which had 
 prefaced the gist of the conversation. Mr. Gayre, in his turn, 
 rose and paced the room, while Mr. Fife watched him anxiously. 
 No greater change could be imagined than that which had 
 taken place in the manager's look and bearing. He was not 
 anxious now concerning money, for he knew whatever course 
 Mr. Gayre elected to pursue the slip of paper in his pocket- 
 book represented money's worth. But he was playing for 
 another stake as well. And if the banker decided to take no 
 action in the matter, he would, he felt, rise from the game a 
 loser after all. 
 
 He grew weary with following the tall erect figure, of hear- 
 ing that leisurely measured tread, of trying to gain from the 
 banker's inscrutable face some vague idea of what was passing 
 through his mind, ere Mr. Gayre, pausing suddenly, said, 
 
 " I do not see my way at all." 
 
 "No?" 
 
 " The whole story is such an improbable one." 
 
 " It is true, though." 
 
 " I am not impugning your word. Still, you yourself must 
 admit the tale you have told me has not exactly the ring of 
 true metal." 
 
 " That depends on whether you wish to believe the gold 
 sterling or not. If you don't, Mr. Gayre, I will give you back 
 your paper and go straight to Miss Drummond. Even sup- 
 posing she should have gone to bed, I know she will get up to 
 hear what I propose to say to her." 
 
 "Why should I wish to disbelieve you?" asked Mr. Gayre, 
 looking Mr. Fife sternly and steadily in the eyes. 
 
 " Because," replied the other, with a resumption of his 
 former boldness — "because you are afraid to think Dane inno- 
 cent. You are afraid of yourself; you want to fancy you would 
 ' do right, let come what may,' as the French say (I daresay I 
 can read French as well as you, Mr. Gayre), and you know you 
 won't do right. Why should you ? The girl will be a thousand 
 times happier if she marries you than as Dane's wife. He is a 
 rackety chap ; he can make the money spin. I don't mean to 
 say there is much vice about him; but, upon my conscience, 
 he can go a pace. So far as I know, he was never in the habit 
 of frequenting races ; but he had something on every one —
 
 WITHO UT FOILS. 2 7 1 
 
 Derby, Oaks, Ascot, Goodwood, St. Leger, and plenty more. 
 He, and that Hilderton fellow too, did go to some very queer 
 places — places I wouldn't be seen in. Of course you'll do as 
 you please ; but were I in your shoes, I wouldn't get a waster 
 out of prison only to marry him to a young woman in whom I 
 took an interest. In my opinion it would be sinful ; but, 
 without doubt, you know best." 
 
 " Your feeling towards Mr. Dane seems something malig- 
 nant,'' observed the banker. " Without meaning any imperti- 
 nence, I really should be glad to know how he has injured you. 
 Even according to your own showing, he paid no attentions to 
 Miss Colvend, neither did he in any way encourage her fancy 
 for him." 
 
 " A true bill on both counts," answered Mr. Fife. " And I 
 don't much mind answering your question. I suppose you 
 wouldn't call me a handsome man, now, would you ?" 
 
 " I am scarcely a judge. I feel no doubt, however, there 
 are many ladies in whose eyes you would find much favour." 
 
 " That's chaffing." 
 
 " I assure you nothing was further from my intention than 
 chaff of any kind." 
 
 " Well, at any rate, I am not handsome, and you know it. 
 She said I was like Quilp, or the Black Dwarf, or that other 
 ugly fellow in Victor Hugo's Notre Darned 
 
 "I think Miss Colvend was wrong in fact as well as in 
 taste." 
 
 *' Thank you. I don't believe I am quite so bad as she 
 made out. I pleased her well enough so long as she was 
 making a tool of me ; but, however, that's not the question 
 now. You want to know why I dislike Oliver Dane. I'm 
 short, and broad, and plain. I haven't a good feature in my 
 face. I'm a common-looking fellow, according to Miss Dossie ; 
 and for once, most likely, she spoke the truth. He, on the 
 contrary, is the right height for a man ; not too tall — he is 
 some inches shorter than you — yet tall enough. He has a 
 straight nose — thank Heaven, that has been brought to the 
 grindstone ; he has dark-blue eyes ; he has brown hair cropped 
 close — it is cropped closer now ; he has the * sweetest ' mou- 
 stache — curse him ! he has hands white and soft as a lady's — 
 a use he never expected has been found for them lately ; he is 
 ten years younger than I am ; he can dance ; he can sing ; he 
 can ride ; he can row ; he can shoot ; he can do anything, in a 
 word ; yet he has not half my brains or any of my steadiness.
 
 272 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 He is a mere popinjay ; but he was preferred before me. I 
 have served Mr. Colvend faithfully since I entered his house ; 
 yet I was left out in the cold, while Dane v/as petted and 
 pampered and done well by. Miss Dossie would have blacked 
 his shoes if she could have won a smile from him. Not a soul 
 came into the office but 1 knew went out of it thinking, ' What 
 a delightful manner that young Dane has !' If there were any 
 halfpence going, he got them ; but the kicks were all given to 
 me. It was hard measure, and you can't deny it." 
 
 " As you put the matter, perhaps so ; yet I do not suppose 
 you would have been in much better plight had such a person 
 as Oliver Dane never existed." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that. If Mr. Colvend did not love, 
 certainly, once upon a time, he valued me. In those days it 
 was ' Fife, I wish you could call there ,' or ' Fife, if you can 
 spare time, just run along and see to this !' But, bless your 
 soul, once Mr. Dane, with his soft hands and well-kept nails 
 and hair parted down the middle (I hope the Portland barber 
 has altered that parting) and white teeth, came into the house, 
 times were changed for your obedient. And he wasn't the 
 making of a business man ; he hadn't it in him, I swear to 
 you, Mr. Gayre, if I were a merchant and wanted a clerk, I 
 wouldn't give him a hundred a year. It was only that plausible 
 manner of his drew men to him, as aniseed will rats. I don't 
 much like the smell of aniseed myself, and I never took to 
 Mr. Dane's manner." 
 
 Mr. Gayre smiled, with a cynical relish of this frank revela- 
 tion of human weakness. He could afford to smile, believing, 
 as he did, himself above all human weakness. 
 
 " Give me three days," he said, " and I will tell you my 
 decision." 
 
 " Great Heavens!" exclaimed Mr. Fife, striking his clenched 
 fist on the table so vehemently that everything upon it trem- 
 bled, " do you mean to tell me you need three days, or one, 
 or an hour, to decide what you intend to do now the game is 
 in your own hands V 
 
 " I cannot see that it is. In the first place, it may be diffi- 
 cult to convince Mr. Colvend of the truth of your statement." 
 
 " Then try Mr. Surlees," advised Mr. Fife, with an unplea- 
 sant grin. 
 
 " And in the next place," went on the banker, as suavely 
 as though this advice had not been tendered, " it is possible I 
 may not care to stir in the matter at all."
 
 WITHOUT FOILS. 273 
 
 " That is very likely. By ! that's what I thought from 
 
 the first. You fancy you will yet be able to win the girl, if 
 you only keep her and her lover apart long enough ; but you're 
 uTong. Time won't make her forget him. Faith, were I a 
 woman," he added maliciously, " I don't know that I should 
 forget his handsome face in a hurry myself ! Make your bar- 
 gain. You'll be doing the girl a real kindness, and you'll be 
 doing Dane himself a good turn, by giving him his liberty. 
 Don't you be afraid the young woman won't marry you. She'd 
 marry me on the terms ; and if she had a little more money, 
 that is a view of the question I should certainly entertain." 
 
 " Thank Heaven, she has not more money, then !" ex- 
 claimed Mr. Gayre, almost involuntarily. 
 
 " So you may ; you see it leaves the field open for you," 
 retorted Mr. Fife, wilfully misinterpreting the banker's remark. 
 
 "At the end of three days — say Wednesday night — you 
 shall have my answer," repeated Mr. Gayre, meanly taking 
 refuge in simple assertion, and declining further contest with 
 an adversary able to hit out so straight from the shoulder and 
 hit so mercilessly. 
 
 " I feel very much disposed to cut the knot by going to 
 Miss Drumraond to-night." 
 
 " You would have taken that course at first if, for some 
 reason best known to yourself, it had not seemed more desir- 
 able to deal with me." 
 
 " There is considerable truth in that statement," was the 
 cool reply. " Well, I will give you till Wednesday ; only 
 understand one thing, Mr. Gayre — I'm not going to take your 
 money and hold my tongue. Either you tell all I have told 
 you to Colvend and Co., or I shall do so." 
 
 " Evidently you take me to be such another as yourself," 
 said the banker, more angry than he would have cared to con- 
 fess, spite of the chivalrous resolution he had formed. 
 
 "I take you for a man," answered Mr. Fife, lifting his 
 shabby hat and putting it on defiantly ; then, as he left the 
 room, he turned to Mr. Gayre, who was promptly ringing the 
 bell, and said with jeering insolence : 
 
 " If you don't ask me to the wedding, I hope you will send 
 me a good slice of the cake." 
 
 " Thank God !" ejaculated Mr. Gayre, drawing a long 
 breath, as the door slammed behind his unwelcome visitor, 
 and looking round the room rid at last of Mr. Fife's presence. 
 
 Then he sat down, and, his head supported on both hands, 
 
 T
 
 2 74 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 remained for quite half an hour buried in profound thought. 
 All at once he rose, and, like one in some violent hurry, went 
 into the hall, took down his top-coat, put on his hat as deter- 
 minedly as Mr. Fife had done, and was marching straight into 
 the night, when his servant, hastily appearing, said : 
 
 ' You are surely not going out, Colonel ; it is pouring in 
 torrents !'' 
 
 The " Colonel " never answered, but, flinging wide the 
 door, passed out upon the doorstep, where he was met by a 
 fierce gust of wind and a perfect deluge of rain. 
 
 "Shall I try to get a cab, sir? You will be wet through 
 before you get twenty yards." 
 
 Again Mr. Gayre did not answer. He looked up and 
 down the street, then at the black vault above his head, and 
 the pelting storm. 
 
 " It would be madness," he muttered. " I could not ask 
 to see her, soaked to the skin. I must defer the matter till 
 to-morrow j" and re-entering the house, he passed into the 
 library, which he paced till the night was far spent.
 
 fer --, 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 BEYOND HIS STRENGTH. 
 
 If the woman who deUberates is lost, the man who hesitates 
 does not lag far behind her on the downward path. When 
 Mr. Gayre put on his coat he meant to go straight to Susan, 
 and tell her what he had heard. Casting temptation behind 
 him, he resolved to do the right, " let come what would." 
 
 Money, time, influence, all — all should be'spent in unlocking 
 the door of Oliver Dane's prison. He would not palter with 
 his own conscience — he would not tell specious lies to his 
 own soul, and profess to be thinking of the girl's happiness 
 whilst he was really seeking to compass his own selfish ends. 
 
 He would not give with one hand and take with the other. 
 In honour and honesty there was but one course to pursue. 
 At the price he would have to pay for her, even Susan Drum- 
 mond must be considered too dear. That which was pro- 
 posed to him seemed worse than any crime ; it would be 
 more cruel than seething the kid in its mother's milk to sacri- 
 fice that tender heart in the fire of its devoted affection. 
 
 If he was base enough to insist upon the condition sug- 
 gested to him, how could he ever again look in those trustful 
 brown eyes— red with weeping, dim with tears — touch the 
 hand which had once lain close in that of her lover, kiss the 
 lips he had seen quiver when she spoke of the ruin one day's 
 work had wrought in his life ? Such a sin might not be done 
 — by him. Another — a different man, perhaps — but there he 
 stopped in his mental sentence. The very strength of the 
 temptation, the very determination he had to call up to resist 
 that temptation, warned him he was in mortal peril. He was 
 fighting for more than life — for right, for self-respect, for every- 
 thing valuable to a human being, save that which he felt to be 
 a part of his soul, and which might never, never now be aught 
 to him — never for ever. Till that moment he had only faintly 
 grasped what Susan was to him. Daily, hourly, the vision of 
 her married to another, after the first terrible moment of grim
 
 276 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 revelation, grew less and less distinct, till it seemed a mere 
 shadowy memory of some troubled dream. Even supposing 
 his endeavours to obtain a commutation of Dane's sentence 
 were crowned with success — and in the whole world nothing 
 appeared less likely — how could any one with such a stain on 
 his name, without character or money, or friends willing and 
 able to assist him, marry and support a wife ? If he were not 
 wholly worthless he would refuse to accept the gift Susan was 
 sure to offer ; he would go away, and leave her free — he 
 would not suffer the girl to mate with him. But now — now — 
 one hour, and the world itself seemed changed to Mr. Gayre; 
 the blackness of despair closed around him as he thought of 
 the glorious hope he could carry to that lonely girl sitting in a 
 solitude worse than widowhood. For her the dawn, the sun- 
 rise, the glad sights and sounds of early day, the songs of 
 happy birds, the light breeze of morning- for him the darkness 
 and ever-deepening gloom of a long, cold, cheerless winter's 
 night. 
 
 This was the point he had mentally reached when, rushing 
 from temptation and fully prepared to put the affair beyond 
 the power of retractation, he was driven back by the pelting rain, 
 which swept down upon him in its wild fury and lashed his 
 face, cutting him almost like the sting of a whip. 
 
 Then the whole trouble had to be gone over again. For 
 hours, as his weary restless feet fell silently on the Turkey 
 carpet, he went on telling the same story to himself, repeating 
 the same arguments, wandering along the road he already 
 seemed to have been travelling for years. At such a crisis 
 thought is worse than useless ; it becomes the mere drudgery 
 of a horse going round and round in a mill, making, so far 
 as its own benefit or satisfaction goes, no progress, returning 
 every few minutes to the point it has but just left, and grow- 
 ing at length well-nigh giddy and stupid from the constantly- 
 recurring sight of objects which have grown familiar to distrac- 
 tion. 
 
 Mr. Gayre had arrived at this pass mentally before he went 
 to bed. Not a fresh thought or useful idea occurred to him. 
 Everything Right could find to say was said during the first 
 ten minutes after Mr. Fife's departure. On the other hand, 
 while the pleadings of Wrong were unduly protracted, they 
 were not one half so convincing; had an impartial judge 
 chanced to be on the bench, Wrong would have been ordered 
 out of court at once. Still, that side which a man wishes to
 
 BEYOND HIS STRENGTH. ' 277 
 
 espouse must always make itself heard; and accordingly temp- 
 tation, though often driven back, again came stealing up, and 
 laid its soft hand on the banker, and tried to lead him by 
 almost imperceptible degrees from the path there is no mis- 
 taking into that which conducts to wilds and mazes we once 
 should have recoiled in horror from the thought of being com- 
 pelled to traverse. Nevertheless, during the watches of that 
 lonely night, Mr. Gayre's purpose never really faltered. He 
 did not shrink from the wrong, most earnestly he desired to 
 cleave to the right ; but he felt that the impulse which had so 
 nearly driven him to see Susan before he slept, and put the 
 matter for ever beyond all power of recall, was past. He 
 would not now be precipitate. Even for her own sake he 
 would not offer a cup of happiness which might next moment 
 be dashed to the ground. How was it competent for him to 
 tell what of truth or of falsehood lay folded within Mr. Fife's 
 extraordinary story? So many things had to be thought of; 
 there was so much to consider. No; most certainly he should 
 not speak to Susan yet ; with a safe conscience he might for a 
 brief span longer maintain that sweet fancy which he openly 
 confessed to his own soul was a delusion — that marriage 
 between Oliver Dane and herself could only be regarded as 
 impossible. 
 
 And then he wondered for the hundredth time whether he 
 could be generous as well as just. Whether he could ever 
 forget he had been her lover, and really enact the part of 
 friend ; help Dane, for example, along the rough road of life, 
 visit at their house, listen to Susan while she talked about how 
 everything her husband touched prospered. But the last part 
 he felt was impossible. 
 
 " I might as well," he considered bitterly, " propose myself 
 standing godfather to their first child, and presenting the best 
 silver mug and fork and spoon, and coral and bells, money 
 could buy. No ; I may be able to rise to such a pitch of mag- 
 nanimity as to give him a leg if he can't mount the good steed 
 Fortune by himself, but all else is beyond me. Some day I 
 musf tell Susan how I loved her, and never see her again. She 
 will then think of me with far deeper interest ; her thoughts 
 will often stray to me ; whether he is near or far off, she will 
 have one sad corner in the garden of existence /w will never be 
 asked to visit. She will wonder what the man who, with her 
 for wife, might have climbed so high, but who, lacking her, did 
 nothing, is making of existence ; and if what Fife says is true,
 
 278 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 the time may even come when she might tliink— Good God ! 
 what a villain I am ! Were I in my senses tonight, I know I 
 would not, for the sake of holding her in my arms, have her 
 for one moment, even in thought, false to the man she loves." 
 Having attained to which moral state of mind, Mr. Gayre at 
 length repaired to bed. 
 
 Both interviews — the short talk with Mr. Fife and the 
 much longer talk with his own soul — had taken a great deal 
 out of the gentleman some persons casually referred to as " our 
 slow friend the Old Tortoise in Lombard Street;" for which 
 reason it was no doubt that when at length exhausted nature 
 sought some repose he slept soundly. 
 
 The next morning he did not revert to his idea of rushing 
 off to Islington. Quite the contrary. Light and air and sun- 
 shine but confirmed his determination to proceed in the matter 
 slowly and cautiously, to make very sure he stood safely on 
 one step before ascending to another, and to be hampered in 
 his actions by the fads and whims of no woman living. 
 
 "I should know no rest," considered Mr. Gayre, "if once 
 she were aware how matters stood." 
 
 Possibly he was right. Yet still it would have been better 
 had she been aware. 
 
 The weary day went by — such a day as the banker humbly 
 trusted he might never spend again — and at length the hour 
 came when he meant to ask Susan for that cup of tea of 
 which he had not partaken in her company for seven long days. 
 
 " I am so thankful to see you." This was her greeting. 
 " I felt so afraid you were ill. I should have written, but I 
 did not like to be troublesome." 
 
 And all the time her face wore a tender anxious smile, and 
 her eyes, out of which the sunlight of happiness faded one 
 summer's morning at Enfield Highway, looked with inquiring 
 solicitude into his. And she did not withdraw the hand he 
 held, but let it lie in his strong warm grasp as though he had a 
 right to keep it, as though in the whole wide world there were 
 no Oliver Dane for whose sake she deemed the love of all 
 other men valueless. 
 
 She did not know ; but he knew — knew that it was impos- 
 sible he could give her up, with his own lips pronounce his 
 death-warrant, and, while opening the gate of freedom for 
 Oliver Dane, kill every goodly hope, the tendrils of which had 
 grown around his heart and entwined their roots with his very 
 being.
 
 BEYOND HIS STRENGTH. 279 
 
 " I have been well," he answered ; " but a rather annoying 
 affair has vexed me. However — " He broke off to say, "I 
 will not harass you with my worries. And you ? You are ill, 
 I fear. What is it — what is wrong ?" 
 
 " Only the old story," she answered sadly. " Waiting is 
 such heart-breaking work. Time goes on, and nothing seems 
 to advance. It is more than six months now, Mr. Gayre. He 
 went to Portland last week." 
 
 The banker had forgotten this fact. As she spoke, how- 
 ever, he remembered : and it was with a sharp twinge of con- 
 science he saw the girl's eyes were full of unshed tears ; that 
 the trouble — her lover's trouble — was indeed sapping away her 
 great courage. 
 
 " It has been so difficult to get the signatures," he remarked, 
 more because he could think of no other words to speak than 
 for any comfort or novelty contained in them. They — he and 
 she — had gone over the same ground so often, the same things 
 had been repeated so constantly, that they were both weary of 
 the subject, which to him had been one long course of annoy- 
 ance and humiliation, while to her it represented but hope 
 deferred and cruel disappointment. 
 
 Now the signatures were procured, what was to be done 
 with them? To Mr. Gayre it had always seemed a mere 
 waste of time, this stringing of influential names together; 
 while Susan, tossed about by the advice of friends — counselled 
 to do this by one, to take some quite different course by 
 another, and "get out of the whole affair" by a third — was 
 growing utterly hopeless and discouraged. 
 
 The week too spent without seeing or hearing from Mr. 
 Gayre had tried and spent her even more sorely than that 
 gentleman intended it should. 
 
 As she poured out his tea he noticed how thin and trans- 
 parent her hands looked, how hollow her cheeks were getting, 
 how fragile her figure had become. With one sentence he 
 could have caused her face to flush with hope, and given 
 movement to those listless hands \ but that one sentence he 
 did not mean to speak — not, at all events, while it was capable 
 of giving her unalloyed happiness. 
 
 " Lai Hilderton says," began Susan, after a pause, " that it 
 is a case we should get ventilated by the press. Do you know 
 any one connected with the press, Mr. Gayre?" 
 
 Mr. Gayre, thus appealed to, thought for a moment, and 
 then could not call to recollection that he did.
 
 2 So SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 " It seems to me," he went on, " that the time is past for 
 that. A chance might have existed while the severity of the 
 sentence was fresh in the pubHc mind j but now — " 
 " Lai thinks there may be a chance even now." 
 "There may," said Mr. Gayre, but his tone was not hope- 
 ful. 
 
 " Ah me !" murmured Susan softly ; and then for a moment 
 she covered her face and kept silence. 
 
 " Does not Mr. Hilderton know any newspaper men ?" asked 
 Mr. Gayre, merely for the sake of saying something. 
 
 *' No one possessed of any influence," answered the girl \ 
 and then she looked at him with all her heart in her eyes. 
 What her look meant was, " Cannot you get to know some 
 person of influence able and willing to bring Oliver's wrongs 
 before the public, or Parliament, or the Queen, or anybody 
 competent to set him free ?" 
 
 How he did it, with Mr. Fife's story fresh in his mind, Mr. 
 Gayre never afterwards could imagine ; but he looked straight 
 back at the girl and shook his head. 
 
 "O !'' she cried, "do not think me wearisome, but is there 
 nothing to be done ? Must I sit here with my hands folded, 
 whilst he is dragging out such a life as that ? You do not know 
 him — really, I mean. If you did, you would understand what 
 I feel. He never could bear restraint of any sort. It was only 
 for me — for my sake — he came to London at all. Hejiated 
 London, and business, and — and — " Her voice shook so much 
 that she could not finish her sentence. 
 
 " There is the memorial, remember," suggested Mr. Gayre, 
 feeling himself the worst of criminals. 
 
 "But Lai says he is sure that won't produce the slightest 
 effect." 
 
 " It is a pity," observed the banker irritably, " you and he 
 did not arrive at that conclusion a little earlier. If you remem- 
 ber, from the first I felt doubts concerning the expediency of 
 moving heaven and earth to obtain signatures from people who 
 knew practically nothing of the case." 
 
 She sat with bowed head, her hands clasped tightly to- 
 gether, the while slow hot tears dropped heavily from her 
 downcast eyes. 
 
 "I did — not — mean — to vex you," she said at last, with a 
 mighty effort; "but the delay, the hopelessness of the whole 
 thing, is killing me. I can't sleep, I can' t eat, food chokes me ; 
 the horror of night, the thought of him lying all in the dark,
 
 BEYOND HIS STRENGTH. 281 
 
 eating his heart out, with those endless years stretching away 
 in the distance, seem more than I can bear. And my feeling is 
 not selfish — God knows it is not ! If I could purchase freedom 
 for him to-morrow, I would die — cheerfully, thankfully — if I 
 only could think of him able to go where he liked and do what 
 he liked, even though I never were to see him again, I could 
 be content. I am a great trouble to you, I know, Mr. Gayre. 
 You must be sick and tired of us both ; but if you could only 
 think of any plan, or any person, likely to help him in this awful 
 strait, I would do anything you told me. I would follow your 
 advice implicitly. I would listen to no one else — Lai or any- 
 body. Won't you think, Mr. Gayre ? Forgive me for troubling 
 you so much ; but it is just like saving a man from drowning, 
 and you would do that, I know, at the risk of losing your own 
 life. O, you will think ; I see you will ! How can 1 ever thank 
 you ?'' 
 
 He could have told her, but he did not. Once more he was 
 fighting that demon of temptation, and silently swearing he 
 would not let his better self be conquered, all the landmarks 
 of his higher nature he removed, because of a love he had 
 always instinctively felt was not for the good of his soul. 
 
 How should she know? Heaven grant, he thought, she 
 might never know the forces of evil beleaguering the citadel of 
 his humanity at that moment ! They came in serried ranks, 
 rushing onwards with almost resistless power, and at last he 
 understood fully what the temptation a man has to war against 
 means, the awful battle he has to wage when once he lets him- 
 self be drawn into such a conflict. At that juncture he intended 
 to do right. Self abnegation seemed grand to him. Again a 
 sweeping sea of chivalric feeling brought a great opportunity to 
 his feet ; but while he was stretching down his feeble hands to 
 seize it, the waves ebbed, and bore the chance back into that 
 ocean where so many things, once fair and beautiful and of 
 good repute, lie engulfed. 
 
 " Yes, I will think," was all he could say, in a tone which 
 conveyed far, far more than he intended. 
 
 In a second she had risen from her chair, and taken a step 
 towards him. He never knew what purpose was in her mind, 
 for she stopped suddenly, while a painful colour dyed her 
 cheeks and forehead, and even her throat. 
 
 " I was forgetting something I wanted to say," she remarked, 
 after an embarrassed pause. " It is probable I shall be leaving 
 here soon."
 
 282 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 "Why?" Mr. Gay re was so astonished he could only utter 
 one word, 
 
 " I have been told I ought not— that is to say, I have been 
 advised — I should not live all alone here, as I am doing. Per- 
 haps you, too, think I have done wrong ; but I had no inten- 
 tion. I never thought of that side of the question." 
 
 " It was one of your own sex, I presume, who asked you to 
 consider it," hazarded Mr. Gayre, to whom, even at so supreme 
 a moment, the idea of Susan and conventionality being asso- 
 ciated suggested a conjuncture so absurd he could scarcely 
 refrain from smiling. 
 
 " Yes ; though I do not exactly know how you came to that 
 conclusion," and once again the girl coloured. "There was a 
 time," she went on earnestly, " I should not have cared. I 
 should have said, ' Let people think what they like ;' but I 
 could not say that now. I have never before been quite by 
 myself I have always had some other person's wishes to 
 consult, and judgment to lean on; but now my whole life is 
 altered—" 
 
 "And?" inquired Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " And I suppose I must make a change of some sort. If 
 Oliver were in London — that is, where he was able to know 
 what I was doing — it would not matter. He could, in that 
 case, take care of me, and himself too. Now, I have got him 
 to think of — him as well as myself." 
 
 " That is very true," said Mr. Gayre, with a ring of bitter- 
 ness she did not detect. 
 
 " So I have come to the conclusion," Susan continued, more 
 readily, " that I will take a little cottage somewhere near Lon- 
 don. I don't care if it be no better than a labourer's. My old 
 nurse would come up and live with me. Indeed, I have written 
 to ask her to do so." 
 
 " O, you have written, have you ?" 
 
 This time it was Susan's turn to look astonished. 
 
 " Yes. I would have consulted you, only I could not tell 
 when I might see you next." 
 
 " I fancy it would have been impossible for any one to give 
 better advice than that you have already asked and followed." 
 
 "You really think so? I am very thankful. For other 
 reasons, too, I want to leave here. I could live cheaper— in — 
 in the labourer's cottage, and I most anxiously desire to save 
 every penny I can. If, some morning, when OUver comes back, 
 I had not enough to enable him to make a fresh start, I should
 
 BEYOND HIS STRENGTH. 283 
 
 never forgive myself; but what a far, far cry it is to Loch Awe ! 
 Will he ever come back to me ? Shall I ever see him on this 
 earth again ?" 
 
 Within a somewhat wide margin, Mr. Gayre could have 
 answered this question had he liked ; but he did not like, and 
 so contented himself with uttering a certain number of regula- 
 tion forms of comfort, which sounded so cold and unreal, Susan 
 shrank from the consolation they offered. 
 
 "He does not believe in Oliver's innocence," she consi- 
 dered after Mr. Gayre's departure. " How am I ever to per- 
 suade this the only man who could really help him, of how 
 incapable my darling is of crime ?" And because she saw no 
 way of compassing this, she cried herself into a troubled slum- 
 ber, unwitting the banker felt as certain of Mr. Dane's being 
 guiltless as he did of his own existence, and that over her head 
 there slept a person who could have told her the name of " a 
 conceited puppy's " enemy. 
 
 ]\Ieanwhile Mr. Gayre's loneliness had been enlivened by a 
 visit from his straitlaced brother-in-law. 
 
 " Gad," began that worthy, " what a time it is since I have 
 seen you ! Why, you look as washed-out as an old muslin 
 gown ! What is the matter ? Bihous, eh ?" 
 
 " I have got a confounded headache,'' returned the banker, 
 with that lack of ceremonious politeness only warranted by 
 relationship. 
 
 "Bad — very bad," returned Sir Geoffrey, with a sympathetic 
 shake, as one who had exhausted the whole run of human ail- 
 ments, and found nothing so hard to bear as a headache. "'AH 
 work and no play,' you remember, 'makes Jack' — far worse 
 than a dull boy ; a sick one. Now, look here, my friend, you 
 know I am not a man to recommend stimulants when they can 
 be avoided. I wish to heaven my constitution did not require 
 them ! If you think the matter over quietly, Gayre, it really is 
 an awful thing to have a constitution that eternally wants 'pick- 
 ing up.' Mine does, worse luck ; if it didn't, I should indeed 
 be thankful. But, however, what I want to say is this : for a 
 headache like yours, you know, there is nothing so good as 
 brandy-and-soda. I think I have mentioned the fact before, 
 but I may as well give you the recipe again. I wouldn't take 
 much — say a glass of brandy and a split of soda — your man 
 might finish the soda ; it would not be wasted, pity to waste 
 anything. Try my prescription, Gayre; 'pon my soul, you'll 
 find yourself a new man after it."
 
 284 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 "Thank you greatly for <i;//your suggestions, but I do not 
 mean to take anything, except some sleep." 
 
 " Balmy Nature's, et-cetera," said the Baronet. " Well, I'll 
 not prevent your swallowing that medicine, so I'll be off. O, 
 I forgot what I came to say. Peggy's back." 
 " When were father and daughter reunited?" 
 '' I wouldn't sneer, Gayre, were I you ; I wouldn't, upon 
 my soul ; it doesn't suit you, and it's not the thing to make a 
 fellow exactly loved and respected. But, to answer your ques- 
 tion. Peg and I were rejoined in filial bonds — no, that's not 
 it; how the deuce does the thing go? However, the dear 
 girl returned to the paternal roof (for paternal read Moreby, 
 thanks to the Jews) a week ago, looking lovelier than ever. 
 We must marry her, Gayre ; we really must, you know." 
 " Marry her if you like, she's not my daughter." 
 " For which little circumstance you may be very thankful, 
 if you knew all, I can tell you." 
 
 " I don't want you to tell me. I want to go to bed." 
 " I'll not hinder you. She went over to see Susan the very 
 day after she came back." 
 
 " Did she really ! How very good of her !" 
 "Wasn't it? And she found the poor little woman alto- 
 gether out of sorts. I am afraid she made a great mistake 
 going and engaging herself to a wild sort of chap like Dane. 
 Something quiet and sensible and domestic I should have 
 thought much more the figure ; but there, you never can tell 
 anything about what suits girls. When I think of your poor 
 sister — tut, what am I talking about? Just tell your man, 
 Gayre, to fetch you one bottle of soda and a thimbleful of 
 brandy. Acts like a charm. I know it does with me. No ? 
 then I won't keep you up ! Good-night — good-rix^X. 1" And 
 the Baronet was gone.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 " HOW MUCH ARE YOU SORRY ?" 
 
 Purposely Mr. Fife deferred keeping his appointment on the 
 Wednesday, when Mr. Gayre was to give a final answer, till 
 the last possible moment. 
 
 " I thought you had perhaps changed your mind, and were 
 not coming," said the banker. 
 
 " It seemed to me only fair to let you have as long as pos- 
 sible," answered Mr. Fife; "although when a man fails to make 
 up his mind at first I generally notice he experiences consider- 
 able difficulty in making it up at last. Well, how is it to be ?" 
 
 " I have decided to go on with the matter." 
 
 " Come, that is more to the point. Have you spoken to 
 Miss Drummond ?" 
 
 "Not yet." 
 
 " When will you do so ?" 
 
 " I cannot tell ; probably not until I am able to say, ' Mr. 
 Dane has been proved innocent. He will be at liberty in a 
 few days.' " 
 
 "Good Heavens !" ejaculated Mr. Fife. " Is this Bedlam, 
 and are you one of the patients ?" 
 
 " I should be mad indeed, Mr. Fife, if I pursued any other 
 course." 
 
 " It does not make much difference to me. I suppose you 
 know your own business best ; but I confess I was not pre- 
 pared to find Mr. Nicholas Gayre, of the sign of the Tortoise, 
 Lombard Street, so romantic a gentleman. All that remains 
 now for you to do in the way of self-renunciation and chivalry 
 is to give the bride away, take Dane into partnership, and en- 
 treat both husband and wife always to regard you as a devoted 
 friend. They won't know how to express their gratitude suffi- 
 ciently for a while, and then they'll begin to say, ' How into- 
 lerable it is to have a stranger comang in and out at all hours ! 
 He takes good care we shall never forget that kindness he did 
 us,' or else Mr. and Mrs. Dane will begin to wrangle about
 
 2 86 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 you. He will observe he should have preferred to work out 
 his time rather than lie under an eternal obligation ; and she 
 will remark, she wishes he had never been let out of prison." 
 
 Mr, Gayre looked across at his tormentor, but spoke no 
 word — indeed, he had no word ready to speak. 
 
 " When are you going to Colvend ?" asked Mr. Fife. 
 
 " I have not made up my mind." 
 
 " O !" and Mr. Fife laughed ironically. 
 
 " May I ask what you mean by your extremely oftensive 
 manner?'' inquired Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " Not much, but enough," was the calm reply. '■ When do 
 you suppose you will make up your mind ? There is no time 
 to be lost, you know." 
 
 " I do not mean to be dictated to by you," declared Mr. 
 Gayre, trembling with passion. 
 
 " Pardon me, I fancy I must dictate to you a very litUe. 
 Just give me an idea, will you, as to the outside period within 
 which it may suit you to open proceedings ?" 
 
 " If it is money you want — " 
 
 "I want money; but I can do without it for a short time. 
 And now, as you can't, or won't, give a straightforward answer 
 to a plain question, listen to me. I am not going to wait your 
 convenience. A wrong has been done, and it must be righted," 
 added Mr. Fife, with a nasty jeer. "That nice young man 
 ought to be set up on his pedestal again. He needs comfort ; 
 and we know who will console him. It really is a shame that 
 an innocent person should remain under such a cloud merely 
 because you are unable to decide what you will do." 
 
 " I quite agree with you, and you had better see Mr. Col- 
 vend yourself." 
 
 " Softly— softly ; it is Miss Drummond I shall see first." 
 
 " See Miss Drummond, then." 
 
 " But I thought you were going to spare her the crowning 
 humiliation of an interview with my unworthy self." 
 
 " I meant to do so ; but as you cannot refrain from inso- 
 lence when addressing me, I feel it impossible to carry nego- 
 tiations further with yoiiP 
 
 " The insolence, as you call it, has, I fancy, been more on 
 your side than mine. I came here to do you a good turn, 
 and at the same time benefit myself. How was I received? 
 And now, when all I want is some definite answer from you 
 as to the length of time you purpose to wait before seeing Mr. 
 Colvend, you turn round and advise me to go to my princi-
 
 ''HOW MUCH ARE YOU SORRY ?" 287 
 
 pals, or Miss Drummond, or anybody likely to make a beau- 
 tifal mess of the whole business, in preference to yourself, who 
 have posed as Oliver Dane's best friend. Friend, indeed? If 
 you could keep him in penal servitude for life I believe you 
 would do it." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake take the matter into your hands, and 
 leave me in peace ! I will still stand to what I said as regards 
 money, but I should prefer, in other respects, to be out of the 
 affair." 
 
 " Meaning, I presume, you would rather some other person 
 hung you, than put the noose round your own neck and kick 
 the stool away." 
 
 It was really appalling ! Mental analysis, the comprehen- 
 sion of hidden motives, knowledge of the weakness and wicked- 
 ness of human nature, Mr. Gayre had always previously con- 
 sidered matters appertaining to the higher culture. He felt 
 shocked to find a low fellow like Mr. Fife — a man he would 
 not have shaken hands with on any consideration — a humdrum 
 routine creature as he had seemed, could lay his finger with 
 unerring certainty on a festering sore, and by the aid of instinct, 
 or some equally unaccountable natural gift, jump to the com- 
 prehension of motives understood but dimly even by the person 
 they influenced. 
 
 It is a shock to any one who thinks himself acquainted 
 with the world to find that his knowledge is of the narrowest 
 description, and Mr. Fife's remark aff'ected Mr. Gayre like a 
 cold douche. 
 
 " I fear I scarcely follow you," he said. 
 
 " O yes, you do," was the uncompromising retort. " In 
 your class of life your remark is merely, I suppose, a polite 
 hint for me to amend or retract my words; but it is only 
 because I remember my rank is not yours I have refrained 
 from using plainer and stronger language. By appointment — 
 your own appointment, remember — I came here to-night, as I 
 understood, finally to arrange details : and first you tell me 
 what I knew before, that you had decided to go on with the 
 matter ; and second, because something I say does not quite 
 please your mightiness, that I had better go through with it 
 myself The whole fact is you want to ' trim,' and you do not 
 exactly see how to do it. You do not like to tell Miss Drum- 
 mond her lover is innocent, and trust to her generosity, because 
 you know as well as I do women have no generosity, and no 
 gratitude either, if you come to that. You are averse to going
 
 2 88 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 to Colvend because you feel the first sentence you speak will 
 put the girl beyond your reach for ever ; and you object to 
 adopt the plan I suggested because you desire to keep up the 
 character of being something more than human. That is how 
 the case stands, and accordingly you wish to drift for a bit, to 
 see if anything turns up. The captain in the old song ' Told 
 them he would marry, but he, never said when,' and in like 
 manner you may keep on 'intending ' to go to Colvend's till 
 the Millennium, or till the term of Oliver 13ane's sentence has 
 nearly expired." 
 
 " If you have quite finished, Mr. Fife, perhaps you will 
 kindly return me the paper I was foolish enough to sign, and 
 leave my house." 
 
 " As to leaving, I shall go in a minute ; as to giving up the 
 paper, I'm not such a flat. As to the rest — this is Wednesday 
 — if by Saturday, you have not spoken to Mr. Colvend, I shall 
 take the liberty of asking a private audience with your young 
 lady on Sunday." 
 
 "Why delay? Why not tell her all you know — if you do 
 know it — to-morrow ?" 
 
 " I said before, I had my reasons. I say again, I have my 
 reasons ; but even they won't allow me to postpone action in- 
 definitely. Oliver Dane is ill ; next we hear of him he may be 
 dying. If he should die — and he is just the sort of chap to 
 break his proud heart — what becomes of both of us then? 
 You would have to whistle for your young wife a long time 
 before you could get her, I am afraid \ and I should have to 
 whistle for my money and something else — " 
 
 " How do you know that Dane is ill ?" 
 
 "What does that matter? I know as all men who are 
 their own detectives always do know. Yes ; and if you had 
 not been so confoundedly high and mighty with me, I should 
 tell you something else it might be your interest to hear. As 
 matters stand, I mean to keep my information to myself for 
 the present." 
 
 " Believe me, I would rather remain in ignorance for ever 
 than be enlightened by you." 
 
 "That is courtesy, I suppose, and good breeding, and all 
 the rest of it. However, he laughs best who laughs last. Now 
 I am going. Saturday, remember, is the latest, and I shall 
 not come here again. Good-night, Mr. Gayre. You think 
 yourself a very wise man ; I will not shock your refined nerves 
 by telling you my opinion on that point."
 
 "HOW MUCH ARE YOU SORRY T 289 
 
 He was gone. As he closed the Hbrary door with a bang, 
 Mr. Gayre understood the Dane compUcation had entered on 
 a new phase. After ninety-six hours it could be no longer in 
 his power to speak or to refrain. That halting steed, himself, 
 would — unless he made good use of the short time still at his 
 disposal — be altogether out of the running. 
 
 There might be racing hot and swift — hope, despair, false- 
 hood, asseveration, exultation, disappointment; but his share 
 in the excitement, the rush, the prize, would be ;///. Not even 
 as a friend might he hope to participate in the gladness of the 
 day of triumph, for he understood perfectly that if he failed 
 before night on that fatal Saturday to decide, nothing but 
 renunciation was possible. Mr. Fife, in telling the story, 
 would make Susan clearly understand how he had hesitated 
 between good and evil and failed to do what was right, though 
 he lacked courage actually to commit a wrong. 
 
 " Yes ; that is the way this brute" — so he mentally styled 
 Mr. Fife — "would put the case." After all there is but a 
 right, there is but a wrong ; and would Mr. Fife have been 
 totally inaccurate in describing the banker's conduct as 
 cowardly? Perhaps the courage or the temperament which 
 enables a man to plunge headlong into sin may upon occasion 
 give him strength to perform some act of enormous self-abne- 
 gation — sacrifice his own life to save some other life to all 
 appearance perfectly worthless, smilingly wave farewell to 
 happiness for the sake of one who, to our poor human thought, 
 does not deserve to be especially happy. 
 
 It is a great mystery. The tendency of our modern life is 
 to wipe all strong emotions, all supreme passions, off the 
 society slate ; and yet in a book it has of late become some- 
 what bad form to study, but which will survive, as it has sur- 
 vived, many changes of fashion and creeds of morals, we are 
 specially warned against being neither hot nor cold. 
 
 Perhaps as Mr. Gayre beheld the face of that devil which 
 skulks within the heart of every man and woman, he felt it 
 might have been better had he chanced to be weaned on some 
 different creed than one ignoring our humanity and the 
 temptations which assail it. 
 
 Seven times were the walls of Jericho compassed ere they 
 fell ; but at the sound of the final trunipet Jericho was an 
 entrenched city no longer, because its foundations were rotten 
 and accursed. If a tree have no root, how can it produce lear 
 and bud and fruit ? The earth, which is gracious even to its 
 
 u
 
 290 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 meanest child, may give it for a short time some poor show of 
 vitality and greenness, but it is not strong enough to drink in 
 a sap which shall support even during the few short days of 
 springtime ; and so it withers away, and is cut down because 
 it " cumberelh the ground." 
 
 In the day of his trial, Mr. Gayre found himself wanting; 
 in the hour when he should have been strong to bring forth 
 the best fruit of a man's life, he was barren. At last he knew 
 it is not enough to decide that we will resist temptation — we 
 should flee it. Those who are wise will not let even its 
 shadow fall across their path. 
 
 If that night — that first night— he had allowed his better 
 angel to have her way, and lead him through storm and dark- 
 ness to a land of safety, whence return to the wave-beaten 
 rock where he sat so long considering was impossible, this 
 terrible struggle need never have rent his bosom ; but now 
 he could not with his own hand sign the death-warrant — with 
 his own hps he could not speak the words which should give 
 to Oliver Dane his liberty, to Susan Drummond her lover. 
 
 He could have done great things for Susan — he could have 
 died for her; but it seemed absolutely impossible he could 
 live without her. He had allowed the grandest opportunity of 
 his life to slip by. What would she not have thought of him ! 
 How she would have loved him ! And now he had lost all 
 chance even of gratitude. 
 
 Mr. Fife would open the ball ; and some day, no doubt, 
 tell Susan and the world how he offered Mr. Gayre the choice 
 of being first spokesman, and how that gentleman refused to 
 speak. He might come to be a common jeer, a mere laughing- 
 stock. Mr. Gayre rose in a fury and paced his room. He 
 had still time left. It was still not quite the eleventh hour, 
 though near it. Thursday was gone. Friday wanted but few 
 hours of being garnered into the great eternity. Should he still 
 go to Susan ? No ; he felt the task beyond his strength. She 
 should be led to meet her lover, but not by him ; the delicate 
 rose-tints should once again blossom on her cheek ; but when 
 that lovely portrait of tender aflection — of perfect happiness — 
 was finished another artist than Nicholas Gayre would add 
 after his name the word "pinxit." 
 
 No, he could not do it. He might that first night, in the 
 mad rush and hurry of his soul, have battled through the wind 
 and rain, and, drenched and buffeted, told her all the story; 
 how he had loved, how he had been tempted, how he had
 
 " HOIV MUCH ARE YOU SORRY?" 291 
 
 resisted, how he had come to bring her peace ; and then once 
 again taking his lonely life in his hand, passed out into the 
 darkness, away from her for ever. Desolate though such an 
 ending of the sweet love-dream might seem, it would have been 
 a thousand times better than the wreck of honour and honesty 
 suggested by Mr. Fife. Then the absolute cowardice of the 
 middle course he was treading ! Was this what years of idle- 
 ness and prosperity had done for him ? — years of sleeping soft 
 and eating regularly, of conforming to the world's code of con- 
 ventional propriety, of holding aloof from sinners, and con- 
 sorting only with those who had balances at their bankers', and 
 were mighty reputable and respectable men and women? 
 
 Yes, it was this. Ever since he had left the army, and 
 striven to shape the pattern of his life to that of those amongst 
 whom his lot was cast, he knew each day, as it came and 
 went, found and left him more and more truly a Pharisee thank- 
 ing God for something which probably was not in the least 
 degree pleasing to the iVlmighty. He had grown to like and 
 respect money — or at least the things money can buy; the 
 deadly canker of riches and conventionality had eaten into his 
 very soul, and gnawed away the graces of impulsive generosity 
 and noble chivalry which once undoubtedly were rooted there. 
 He was not the same man. Yon poor publican, who durst not 
 as much as lift his eyes to heaven, would go down to his house 
 justified, rather than Nicholas Gayre, banker, who would gladly 
 have given all he possessed in exchange for strength to do an 
 act of the most ordinary justice. But he could not do it. Just 
 as a drunkard will drain some fiery draught to the last drop, 
 even while loathing the smell and detesting the taste, so this 
 man, whose breath had once come shorter when hearing of 
 great deeds, while recalling wild achievements, lacked courage 
 to cut the rope binding him to the thought of wrong, though 
 honour lay in doing so, and shame abode in that from which 
 he refused to cast himself adrift. 
 
 "To-morrow will end it all," he thought, looking forward 
 as a criminal on the eve of execution may think of the follow- 
 ing noon when he shall have been hours in eternity. 
 
 He would not lift a finger to retard or to expedite events. 
 It seemed to him as though during the course of five days and 
 nights he had lived a lifetime, and he knew at the end of that 
 time one thing he had never known before — namely, that pas- 
 sive resistance is no victory, that a man may lose far more in 
 the course of even a short siege than during a battle.
 
 2 92 SUSAN DRUM MO ND. 
 
 The library clock first chimed the quarters and then struck 
 nine. But three hours, and then midnight. Mr. Gayre stood 
 still in the centre of the apartment. It was not yet too late; 
 should he still go to Susan ? 
 
 Irresolutely he turned towards the door, and took a hesi- 
 tating step in the direction of honour and safety, then — 
 
 " Sir Geoffrey Ghelston and a lady are in the drawing-room, 
 Colonel. Sir Geoffrey would like to see you immediately." 
 
 Mr. Gayre stared at the man. 
 
 " Lady !" he repeated. " VVhat lady ? Miss Ghelston ?" 
 
 "No, Colonel, not Miss Ghelston." 
 
 '' Good Heavens, perhaps the Baronet has got hold of Miss 
 Colvend !" was the idea that flashed across Mr. Gayre's mind. 
 '* What a lunatic I am !" he next decided ; " the world con- 
 tains a few other people and things besides Oliver Dane and 
 his interests." 
 
 He went slowly up-stairs ; for the second time, as it seemed, 
 Fate had interposed between him and his purpose. He was 
 making yet another most reluctant move towards the right 
 when the mysterious shadow we may feel, but can never see, 
 laid her hand upon and held him back. 
 
 Harlequin-like assuming the gay presence of Sir Geoffrey 
 Ghelston too ! Mr. Gayre smiled as he stood on the landing, 
 considering the remarkable shape it had pleased his deterrent 
 angel to assume. A man possessed by the almost sardonic 
 sense of humour nature (or circumstances) had given him ought 
 to have been able to steer clear of moral pitfalls. But we are 
 all imperfect ; and, in his hour of need, Mr. Gayre certainly 
 found his sense of humour a mere snare and delusion. 
 
 It had not delivered him from temptation ; it had not 
 proved that friend in need which is the friend indeed ; quite 
 the contrary. Now the Philistines were on him in reality, his 
 perception of the ridiculous, which had so often come to the 
 rescue when, as regards mercantile non-success, envy, hatred, 
 and all uncharitableness might otherwise have taken possession 
 of his heart, left him with the power to gibe indeed, but the 
 inability to fight. He could see the absurdity of forty-five 
 thinking of mating with twenty-one ; but he could not give up 
 his fancy for all that. Susan was none the less fair because 
 the summers of her life had been so few ; he was all the more 
 in love for the very reason that he had heard so often the 
 joyous rustling made by Nature when the first touch of spring 
 sunshine awakens her from long winter sleep.
 
 "HOW MUCH A RE VO U SORR Y ?" 293 
 
 No ; it was as well Sir Geoffrey had come. For almost 
 the first time in his life Mr. Gayre felt glad to know the 
 Baronet was close at hand. 
 
 He opened the drawing-room door and entered. In the 
 centre of the apartment directly under the chandelier stood 
 the once owner of Chelston ; his legs as usual a little bowed; 
 his white hat, which he held in his left hand, ornamented by a 
 broad mourning band ; his whole unique person serving unin- 
 tentionally to screen a lady who, with averted face buried in 
 her hands, sat in an armchair close behind. 
 
 "How do, Gayre?" It was the Baronet who spoke. 
 " Knew you'd forgive me. I've brought a poor little broken- 
 hearted soul to you for comfort. I said, ' If Gayre can't help 
 you nobody can. Never met with such a fellow for helping 
 other people.' Susan, Susan, my girl, look up ; don't go on 
 crying like that ! Here's Gayre. Lord bless you, he'll find 
 some way out of the trouble." And Sir Geoffrey, who was not 
 given to the melting mood, broke oft" with a very suspicious 
 tremor in his voice, merely to add next moment : " For God's 
 sake, Gayre, think what we can do ! I'd take a petition to the 
 Queen myself, only I'm afraid she wouldn't read it !" 
 
 " What has happened ? What is the matter?" asked Mr. 
 Gayre, feeling literally stunned by the turn aftairs had unex- 
 pectedly taken. 
 
 " There, Susan ; there, my dear ! What did Papa Geoff 
 tell you? Your own old Papa Geoff;" and the engaging 
 Baronet stroked his favourite down, as if she had been a horse. 
 Mr. Gayre forgave him though ; the wretched sinner's genuine 
 love for so pure a creature covered — in his brother-in-law's 
 eyes — a multitude of faults. " Didn't I say to you as we came 
 along, ' Beyond all things, Gayre is practical ; he has always 
 his wits about him ; he'll make something out of this bother. 
 There's a silver lining, you know, and gad ! if there's any silver 
 to be got Gayre's the man to get it.' " 
 
 Having concluded which complimentary speech. Sir Geof- 
 frey reined in, and left either jockey who pleased to do the 
 rest of the running. 
 
 " Miss Drummond, what is the matter ?" asked Mr. Gayre. 
 
 He had walked across the room, and was standing close 
 beside her, so when, for answer, she held out a piece of folded 
 paper, he could take it from her hand without the intervention 
 of Sir Geoffrey. 
 
 " Do you wish me to read this ?" he said.
 
 294 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 Just for a second she turned towards him a tear-stained 
 face, out of which all the beauty had temporarily been washed 
 by vehement weeping, and murmured, 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I had no notion of it. It was the last thing I should have 
 thought of, 'pon my soul it was," murmured Sir Geoffrey in a 
 stage aside. It was the last thing also Mr. Gayre could have 
 thought of, and yet the most natural in the world. Finding he 
 made no move, already Mr. Fife had commenced to open the 
 ground for himself. 
 
 Thus ran the note, which had neither prefix nor signature : 
 
 " Oliver Dane is very ill ; removed to infirmary. If his 
 friends mean to come forward, they must do so now or 
 
 NEVER." 
 
 After he had read, Mr. Gayre stood silent, clutching the 
 paper in his hand. At last he thoroughly realised the position. 
 Oliver Dane, innocent, buried as a felon; Susan broken-hearted 
 — Susan removed as far from him as heaven itself. Another 
 man, and that man Samuel Fife, would step in, perhaps almost 
 too late to undo the evil intensified by Mr. Gayre's want of 
 decision. But what could Mr. Fife or Susan, or any one who 
 lacked money and influence, effect without tedious and possibly 
 fatal delay ? No ; it should not be. Mr. Fife's action deter- 
 mined him ; all hesitation was over. One surging wave re- 
 moved in an instant all the landmarks of his life. Good and 
 evil, right and wrong, meant nothing to him then. He would 
 save the man, but he must sacrifice the woman. With his own 
 vacillation he had destroyed the will to choose. Only a single 
 word escaped him at that crisis, '' God !" but it was no cry for 
 help, only an utterance of despair, as he turned him to the 
 darksome way that leadeth to destruction. 
 
 There ensued a silence which though brief seemed to Susan 
 endless. Twice Mr. Gayre tried to speak, and twice his 
 parched lips refused their office ; but at last he managed to 
 say, in a tone harsh by reason of the strong effort required to 
 make himself audible, and the still stronger constraint he 
 placed upon his words, 
 
 " I do not see. Miss Drummond, why you should distress 
 yourself so much." 
 
 Once again she lifted her tear-stained face, this time to 
 look at him with amazement, while she mutely pointed to the 
 paper in his hand. 
 
 " No person who knows anything of the world," went on
 
 ' ' HO W MUCH A RE YO U SORR V ?" 295 
 
 ^Ir. Gayre, " attaches the sh'ghtest importance to an anonymous 
 letter." 
 
 She rose and stood erect before him — stood encircled by 
 the indefinable charm which was her birthright — stood in her 
 youth and sorrow the better to say fully what was in her mind. 
 
 " That letter is true," she gasped ; " I feel it, I know it. I 
 was not thankful enough for my misfortunes. God had been 
 very gracious to me. Though He saw fit to separate us, it 
 was not by the great gulf of death, and yet I murmured ! O, 
 Air. Gayre, what is to be done ? Can't you — won't you — help 
 us ? It may seem nothing to you, but it means life to Oliver." 
 And in an access of grief, this girl-woman, with the marvellous 
 eyes and hair, such as the Venetian painters dreamed of but 
 rarely saw, and a tender heart and a nature grand and strong 
 as ever was held within a lissom binding, flung herself on the 
 floor, and held out her clasped hands in an attitude of agonised 
 entreaty to the man Sir Geoffrey had taught her to regard as 
 well-nigh omnipotent. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake don't kneel to me !" entreated that 
 man, recoiling a little ; for he was still sufficiently master of 
 himself to know he dared not lift the prostrate figure, lest he 
 should strain it to his heart. 
 
 " Gently, gently, does it, old lady," said the Baronet, as, 
 without the smallest desire to take her to /12s heart, he raised 
 the one human being he loved with an unselfish attachment, 
 and placed her again in her chair, "Don't frighten my brother- 
 in-law. He's very slow, but he is indeed very sure. He'll find 
 a way out of the mess, or my name's not Geoffrey Chelston ; 
 and, as I feel I am totally in the way, I'll just — to put the 
 matter colloquially — -walk my chalks. You and Gayre will hit 
 on some plan ; I know you will. In sorrow, as in love, two 
 are company, you remember, but a third is a confounded 
 nuisance. And look here, Gayre, this room may be all very 
 fine, but it is beastly cold. Don't you see Susan is shivering 
 like an aspen ? Haven't you got a fire somewhere ? and can't 
 you manage a cup of tea or coffee, or — or anything for her while 
 you are talking over what is to be done ? Come along. Sue ; 
 come down-stairs with me, and cheer up, my beauty ! Gayre 
 will find a way out of this trouble. Don't cry your eyes out. 
 What would Papa Geoff do if he never saw the sunshine 
 dancing in them again, eh ?" 
 
 Discoursing which innocent and childlike prattle, Sir Geof- 
 frey guided the girl from step to step and led her into the
 
 296 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 library, where he wheeled up the easiest chair to the fire, placed 
 her " where you'll get thawed,'' patted heron the shoulder, said 
 "ta-ta," and left her to "come to," while he walked into the 
 hall, followed by Mr. Gayre, to whom he made a sign, intimat- 
 ing he wished to speak to him alone. 
 
 By, of course, the merest accident Sir Geoffrey turned into 
 the dining-room, and, without waiting to be asked whether he 
 would have anything to " pick him up," in the merest absence 
 of mind laid hold of a decanter and poured out a beaker. 
 
 " Ton my soul," he said, " I don't know how women manage 
 to get through their troubles on tea ; but then, to be sure, look 
 at the state they reduce themselves to." 
 
 "You have at least the consolation of feeling an undue use 
 of tea has not destroyed your nerves," observed Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " No, faith ; and I take very good care it never has the 
 chance. Now just look at Susan, poor Susan ! She's all to 
 bits. Girl, too, who used not to know the meaning of the 
 word * fear.' Why, she'd have gone at anything in the old 
 days ; and here she is to-night all of a tremble because she is 
 told her lover is sick. And that reminds me she'll need a very 
 light hand, Gayre— she will indeed; she'll not stand much. 
 You'll have to be very cautious. Let her think she's having 
 her head. I don't suppose we can do anything, really ; but 
 there's no need to tell her that. In my opinion it would be a 
 capital ending to the whole business if Dane did die ; but of 
 course it isn't natural that she should take that view. And now 
 I'll be off. Well, thank you, I may as well have a thimbleful 
 more. Don't trouble, I'll help myself. As I was going to say, 
 when you have finished your talk, bring her up to North Bank. 
 She must not be alone in those lodgings. Peggy's gone to the 
 play with Mrs, Wookes, and is to stop the night ; but that 
 makes no odds. Mrs. Lavender will make Susan comfortable. 
 Excellent woman, Mrs. Lavender, though she is so confoundedly 
 ugly. No ; I can't stop another minute, really ; besides, I'm 
 only keeping you, when I know you are longing to speak com- 
 fort to my poor girl. Good-night, good-night. Bless you, 
 Gayre ;" and Gayre was left alone.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 HIS PRICE. 
 
 When Mr. Gayre re-entered the library, Susan was not sitting 
 by the fire, as Sir Geoffrey had left her, but standing in the 
 middle of the room, with a dazed hunted look on her changed 
 face. 
 
 " I think I had better go," she said. " I know you can do 
 nothing for me ; if you could, you would have done it ere this. 
 Sir Geoffrey made me come. He thought amongst your friends 
 —but I told him—" 
 
 "Do sit down," entreated Mr. Gayre; and he led her to 
 the hearth, where she almost fell into a chair, and sat staring 
 with unseeing eyes at the leaping firelight. 
 
 " How do people go through such misery as mine and keep 
 silent ?" she murmured at last. " I am sorry to be so trouble- 
 some ; but O, if you knew — if you could imagine — " and she 
 broke once again into passionate and uncontrollable weeping. 
 
 " Do try to compose yourself. Miss Drummond," entreated 
 Mr. Gayre; " you distress me intensely." 
 
 " I can't help it," sobbed the girl, " though my tears won't 
 give him life or liberty. If I could only do something — go to 
 some one ! Is there no human being, Mr. Gayre, who could 
 help us? Think of him lying ill — dying, perhaps, in that 
 dreadful place ! If it were your own brother, or your friend — 
 but I am talking folly ! I will go now. I must not occupy 
 your time any longer." 
 
 " You must not think of going yet," he answered. " I have 
 ordered some tea for you ;" and even as he spoke tea appeared. 
 " You will have a cup, will you not ?" 
 
 " It would choke me," said Susan, shaking her head. " I 
 feel as if I never should eat or sleep again." 
 
 Mr. Gayre stood before the fire, looking down upon the 
 drooping figure, the bowed head. At that moment his soul 
 was not a battlefield, where good and evil were waging an 
 almost equal war. No ; the fight had ended, and he remained
 
 298 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 silent only because he was waiting for words in which to express 
 his meaning. 
 
 All at once he spoke. 
 
 " If a man were to say to you to-night, this moment, * I 
 will strive to set your lover free — there is one way in which I 
 might be able to obtain his release,' what would you do for that 
 man ? You spoke the other night as though no price which 
 could be asked would seem to you too great." 
 
 " Nor would it !" she cried, lifting her swollen eyes, lit with 
 a sudden gleam of almost despairing hope. " Do you know 
 such a man ? What would I not do for him ? Every sixpence 
 I own in the world he should have. I would be his servant — 
 his slave — " 
 
 "Would you be his wifef 
 
 She did not say anything; she only looked at him in 
 bewilderment. 
 
 " Would you be 7ny wife?" 
 
 It was done. If he lived a thousand years he could never 
 recall that utterance. Till his dying day the expression of in- 
 credulous horror ihat came into her face will never quite fade 
 from his memory. 
 
 "You — you — are jesting !" she gasped. 
 
 "Am I?" 
 
 " I did — not — think you would have jested at such a time ; 
 but-" 
 
 " Do I look as if I were jesting ?" he asked. 
 
 If she had lifted her eyes she would have seen a man with 
 the whole fashion of his countenance altered ; his lips com- 
 pressed, his cheeks pale, his gaze bent on her with a terrible 
 concentration ; but she did not lift her eyes. She shrank a 
 little into herself, mentally cowering under the weight and 
 horror of the blow he had dealt. 
 
 " You never thought of this ?" was his next question. 
 
 " No ; never once." 
 
 "Did no idea of anything of the sort ever cross your 
 mind ?" 
 
 " No ; never once." 
 
 " You supposed my care for and interest in you arose from 
 the extreme amiability of my disposition?" 
 
 "I thought you were my friend." 
 
 " There is no such thing as friendship, there can be no such 
 thing as friendship, between man and woman," he said almost 
 fiercely. " It is either love or indifference, unless, indeed, it
 
 HIS PRICE. 
 
 299 
 
 may be hate," with bitter emphasis on the word. " Perhaps 
 you hate me now ?" 
 
 She did not answer; she did not even make a sign of 
 dissent. 
 
 " Yes ; that is always the way with your sex ; they are 
 wining — eager to seize every valuable a man has to give, his 
 love, his life, his money, his time, his thought ; and then if he 
 ask for the smallest return, he is thrust out into the cold, to find 
 a path through the lonely darkness of his after existence as 
 best he may." 
 
 "There is little I would not have done for you, Mr. Gayre," 
 she answered, and there was no faltering in her voice ; " but 
 what you ask is not mine to give ; and if it were — " 
 
 " Yes ; if it were ?" 
 
 " I should not give it you." 
 
 " I have made such a mistake in my mode of asking for it?" 
 
 '• Yes, you have made a mistake. I was grateful to you ; I 
 was indeed. But now — O, how can I ever forget what you 
 said a minute ago ?" 
 
 " I do not want you to forget it. I want you to remem- 
 ber — No ; you must not go yet. As you have heard so much, 
 you must hear more." 
 
 " I must not," answered the girl. " I feel as truly Oliver 
 Dane's wife as if I were married to him, and the words which 
 would have insulted me in that case insult me now." 
 
 " You are mistaken. I am not insulting you. I am offer- 
 ing you the truest, deepest, most loyal love of which my nature 
 is capable." 
 
 " Love !" she murmured softly. 
 
 " Yes, a man's love, not a woman's — a love I have felt 
 ever since I first saw your face — which I have struggled with, 
 fought against — that has for months past cursed every hour of 
 my life — that is killing me — that I am glad you at last know 
 has crushed all things noble and honest out of my heart, and 
 made me so base I am capable of driving a bargain with you — 
 you, for whom I would die, if, in dying, I could win one look 
 of love." 
 
 She stared at him appalled ; the very calmness of his tone 
 and the restraint of his manner lent a greater terror to the 
 passion of his words. 
 
 . " I never meant to tell you this," he went on. " God is my 
 witness, when you entered my house to-night I had no more 
 intention of letting you catch even a glimpse of the war I have
 
 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 been waging with myself than you have of marrying me. A 
 thousand times I have been on the point of saying something 
 which should part us for ever; but I refrained. All uncon- 
 sciously you have tempted and tried me as man surely never 
 was tempted and tried before ; yet I resisted. But a man can- 
 not go on resisting for ever, and I am glad my resolution has 
 broken at last. Yes, if, after to-night, we never meet again, I 
 shall not feel sorry you know that which, but for your own 
 utter absorption, you would have known long ago." 
 
 She sat like one stunned. The tears, which had well-nigh 
 blistered her fair cheeks, were dry. Her eyes felt as if red-hot 
 sparks had been thrown in them ; her lips were parched, her 
 tongue stiff; and through all there was a pervading sense of 
 shame and misery — of having lost something of great price — 
 of having looked through an unclean window out on a world 
 which never again for ever could seem just the same to her. 
 
 For the moment she forgot even her lover — forgot his 
 trouble ; as sometimes, in the worry and turmoil of daily life, 
 we forget for a brief space our dead. Then it all came back 
 to her, and she lifted her head and gazed up at Mr. Gayre with 
 a hunted appealing expression on that face capable of silently 
 saying so much. 
 
 " I ask you to forgive me," she said at last, with a great 
 effort. " I have been absorbed — and — I did — not know." 
 
 "No, you did not know," he answered, with a sad cadence 
 in his voice which touched her inexpressibly. 
 
 " I am very, very sorry." 
 
 "Why should you be sorry? You have only wrecked a 
 man's life. What are twenty lost lives to a woman ?" 
 
 "• Good-night, Mr. Gayre." She was standing now. " Don't 
 let us part in bitterness. I will try to think of all this only as 
 a bad dream." 
 
 " How very kind you are !" he sneered. 
 
 " Good-night." 
 
 " Wait a moment. What about Mr. Dane ? Is he to stop 
 where he is, or — " 
 
 She raised her right hand with a gesture of passionate 
 despair. 
 
 " Can you really do anything for him, or were you merely 
 trying me ?" 
 
 " I cannot say. I would have striven." 
 
 " And you will still do it for him, though you think me so 
 ungrateful ?"
 
 HIS PRICE. 301 
 
 '• No, by Heaven, that will I not !" said Mr. Gayre, a 
 torrent of rage breaking down all the barriers he himself 
 had raised. " You have made your choice — abide by it. I 
 shall not try to influence you further. This night I part 
 company with you and your lover. Do what you can for 
 him without my help. Why should I be the one to give up 
 everything ?" 
 
 Mournfully she turned a little aside, walked to the table, 
 then stood and faced him with a steady front. 
 
 " What is it you could do for Oliver ?" she asked. 
 
 '' I have no intention of doing anything now," he an- 
 swered. 
 
 " What was it, then, you thought you might have done ?" 
 
 *' I regret being rude to a lady, but I must decline to 
 answer that question." 
 
 "Do you think you could have done anything?" 
 
 " I could have tried." 
 
 " But you have always tried." 
 
 " Well, yes, that is true. Still, formerly I felt my trying 
 would not effect much, or perhaps I should not have been so 
 eager in the matter. Before you go, it is better for you to 
 understand me thoroughly. I believe there is one chance for 
 your friend, which, properly worked, may unlock his prison- 
 door. Shall I try that chance, or not ? It is a question for 
 you to decide. I will not hurry your decision. Take till ten 
 o'clock to-morrow morning, and then give me an answer. On 
 the one hand, liberty for the man you profess to love ; on the 
 other, happiness to the man who loves you. For I do love 
 you as Mr. Dane never could. I ask nothing from you unless 
 he walks out a free man. Should that day never come till the 
 term of his sentence has expired, you will remain at perfect 
 liberty to greet him when he returns to you." 
 
 "And he is ill — perhaps dying now." 
 
 '•I know nothing of that; he mayor he may not be ill. 
 As I said before, you ought to attach no importance to an 
 anonymous letter." 
 
 " But I dreamt last night he was dead." 
 
 •' I really fear I consider a dream of less importance even 
 than an anonymous letter." 
 •'And if he did die?" 
 
 " I should say he would be better dead than alive at Port- 
 land." 
 
 She did not answer. She looked down at the carpet, then
 
 302 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 up at Mr. Gayre, then down at the carpet again before she 
 said, 
 
 " I will go now. I am sorry to have given so much 
 trouble." 
 
 " You will return to North Bank ?" 
 
 She shrank at the sound of the name, and said, 
 
 " O, no— no !" 
 
 "As you wish, of course. You must allow me to see you 
 to Islington." 
 
 " Don't, please don't !" she entreated, with a fervour which 
 was far from complimentary. 
 
 "Just as you like. My servant shall go with you. I will 
 send him for a cab." 
 
 " I would much rather walk." 
 
 " As this will most likely be the last time on which you 
 may ever be harassed by my advice, I must entreat of you to 
 do what I counsel now. You are in no state to walk, even 
 were such a course fitting. I will not intrude further upon 
 you till Rawlings has procured a conveyance." 
 
 He did not trust himself to stay longer with her. He knew 
 he had spoken roughly, barbarously, yet he felt that the words 
 uttered were as nothing in comparison with those he had kept 
 back, and enough of manly instinct still remained to make 
 him dread a prolongation of the interview. Had she gone on 
 crying and breaking her heart, had she pleaded to him for help 
 and mercy, he might have at least kept the devil, that was 
 tearing him sore, out of sight ; but the horrible disappointment 
 of finding she would not even entertain a thought of buying 
 her lover's liberty on the terms proposed was more than he 
 could bear. 
 
 " Let her try what she can do, even with Fife's help," he 
 thought bitterly ; " and if Dane die while the affair has been 
 messed up and muddled, she will at least have the con- 
 solation of knowing she remained true to her sex, if not to 
 her lover. Yet I was a brute. What other answer could I 
 expect ?" 
 
 Had he only been able to obtain a glimpse of Susan's 
 mind, he would have found the very abruptness of his declara- 
 tion, the suddenness by which she was made aware of the 
 nature of his feelings, had produced an eff"ect on the girl's 
 imagination years of gentle wooing must have failed to do. 
 
 She felt horror-stricken as he laid bare before her the pas- 
 sion of his soul, and her strongest sentiment, next to what
 
 HIS PRICE. 
 
 Oliver was to do, proved an absorbing pity for the man who 
 loved her vainly, and a deep reproach towards herself. 
 
 " I ought to have known," she thought, as she sat looking 
 into the depths of the blazing fire, that seemed no fiercer than 
 the heart the secret of which she had been allowed to see. 
 " I have been all wrong. This was what Margaret was in- 
 sinuating the other day. If we live in the world there are 
 things we must not blind ourselves to," and she covered her 
 face, though there was no one but herself, to hide the shamed 
 blushes crimsoning her cheeks as the full nature of the position 
 in which she had placed herself was, in its nakedness, re- 
 vealed. 
 
 " Your cab is at the door, ma'am," said Rawlings, just as 
 she reached this culminating point of utter misery. 
 
 Instinctively she drew down her veil ere passing out into 
 the hall, where Mr. Gayre stood waiting for her. Gravely he 
 offered his arm, which she just touched with the tips of her 
 fingers. Rawlings opened the cab door, and, at a sign from 
 his master, mounted the box beside the driver, while Mr. 
 Gayre, standing bareheaded on the pavement, said in a low 
 voice, 
 
 " Shall I come for your answer to-morrow, or should you 
 like me to send for it ?" 
 
 She paused a second. His question put the whole of the 
 issue at stake into a concrete form, before her. 
 
 " I will write," she at last murmured. 
 
 " Remember that after to-morrow /can do nothing." 
 
 " Nothing ?" 
 
 " Nothing whatever. And now, in case we never meet 
 again (whether we do or not rests wholly with yourself), let me 
 say good-bye and God bless you !" 
 
 He was gone. Before she had time to speak, almost 
 before she was able to draw back the hand she had half 
 stretched forth to lay on his, she saw him pass out of the 
 darkness of night into the solitude of his desolate home. The 
 door closed behind him, and she was c'riving with her own 
 memories and fears, for bitter company, through the streets. 
 
 There are assuredly times in life when we are incapable of 
 sustained thought. At such periods the mind drifts like a 
 dead thing over the ocean of being ; it is tossed by the waves 
 and buffeted by the currents and driven by the wind ; but, till 
 it awakens in a different hereafter, it knows next to nothing of
 
 304 SUSAN DRUMMOxWD. 
 
 the tempest it has ridden through, the incongruous points it 
 has touched, the abysses it has swept over. 
 
 Mr. Gayre had reached that state. Thought was out of 
 the question. Impulse and passion had urged him on till, 
 among billows of temptation, the better life was beaten well- 
 nigh into insensibility. He paced the room till he was weary, 
 but when, exhausted, he ilung himself into his chair, he could 
 not rest. Once again, driven by the fiends within him, he 
 was forced to resume that ceaseless march, up and down — up 
 and down, till he had walked miles over those few yards of 
 carpet. 
 
 His servant was a long time absent. Islington might, to his 
 irritable fancy, have been in Africa, judging from the period 
 occupied in covering the distance. 
 
 Three times had he rung to inquire if Rawlings were back, 
 and he was just about to ring again, when the man entered 
 with a note. 
 
 " I was detained, Colonel," he said apologetically ; " the 
 lady kept me over an hour while she wrote this letter. You 
 have been wanting me, sir ?" 
 
 " Yes — no — it does not matter, now," answered his master, 
 scarcely waiting till the door closed ere tearing open Susan's 
 missive. 
 
 " I cannot stop till morning," these were the words it con- 
 tained, " to tell you that I have made up my mind — I agree" 
 
 She had added a line after this, and then blotted it out. 
 Despite his earnest endeavour, Mr. Gayre failed to gather what 
 she had written and deleted ; but there stood forth, as if in 
 letters of fire, the sentence he once never expected to read — / 
 agree. She did not trouble him with the reasons which had 
 caused so extraordinary a change, she made no prayer, put 
 forward no excuse ; the paper was not stained with tears, the 
 caligraphy was clear as usual. In the travail of her soul such 
 a decision could only have been born, yet there was no hint of 
 agony in the cold decision of her resolve. 
 
 " I AGREE !" After hope was dead, at a moment when 
 despair was holding high carnival in his soul, he had got what 
 he wanted. Success was his at last ; and success had come 
 thus. 
 
 After a time, when the first astonishment was over, and 
 his scattered senses began slowly to return to their owner, he 
 sat down and wrote Susan a long letter. 
 
 What he said he never afterwards could clearly remember;
 
 HIS PRICE. 305 
 
 Ke* ■ but it calmed and comforted him. After the fret and turmoil 
 of the week he felt indeed strangely tranquil, when, in the 
 early morning, he went out to drop his letter in a pillar-box 
 near at hand. 
 
 "I will call," he had written, "about nine to-morrow to 
 see you;" and behold it was to-morrow already, and he had but 
 time to snatch a It'fi hours' sleep ere Rawlings roused him 
 with the words, 
 
 " Seven o'clock, Colonel ! '
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 ON THE MARINE PARADE. 
 
 Long ere Rawlings awoke his master out of that sound sleep 
 which can only be induced by utter mental or physical ex- 
 haustion, Susan Drummond was about her business. She had 
 made up her mind on the previous night what she meant to 
 do, and starting from fitful slumbers she rose before a streak of 
 dawn tinged the darkness, to begin a work out of which all 
 hope and happiness was eaten. 
 
 But even in the first anguish of her self-abnegation she was 
 not miserable. She had given up everything to try to save her 
 lover, and she did not mean now to make her own task harder 
 and his life wretched by looking idly back on a past which 
 seemed more remote as well as more beautiful than those 
 far-away hours of childhood when she first knew Oliver Dane. 
 If she were able to save him, if by any sacrifice she could 
 give him life and freedom, what did her personal sacrifices 
 matter ? 
 
 She had always hoped and prayed that if a great trouble 
 came to her she should be given strength to bear it bravely. 
 The fretting of uncertainty was what had broken her health 
 and bruised her spirit. Now there could be no more uncer- 
 tainty. She had cast all on one great die in a game, the stake 
 for which was Oliver Dane's liberty. She had done all she 
 could, and she felt content. For the first time since the trial, 
 since that desperate cry of " I am innocent !" rent the silence 
 of the court, she could think of her lover without hot tears 
 rising to her eyes — without feeling a wild sick desire to rush 
 off" and tear the very walls of his prison-house with her poor 
 impotent fingers, so that she might be doing something to 
 lessen the barrier between him and God's free earth. 
 
 In her anguish she had cried aloud in the night-time. 
 When there was scarce a star to be seen, when the moonbeams 
 cast lines of mournful silver light on floor and walls, and threw 
 masses of chequered and changing brilliancy into the darkness 
 of her chamber, she rose and paced the apartment's narrow
 
 ON THE MARINE PARADE. 307 
 
 limits, and wondered whether those cold sorrowful rays were 
 piercing the gloom of Oliver's cell ; whether his heart was 
 breaking at the thought of the time when they together, hand 
 locked in hand, looked up into the heaven of the tender 
 summer night, their happy souls too full for speech. 
 
 But now all that was over ; to that great unrest had suc- 
 ceeded a period of almost unnatural repose. She would have 
 given her life for him, but as no one wanted her life, she had 
 sacrificed something whicli she felt to be more valuable — her 
 future. Yet not sacrificed ; for she flung the gift thankfully 
 and with rejoicing at the feet of a man who would never know 
 the price she had paid for his freedom. 
 
 It was a changed Susan who went down- stairs at the ap- 
 pointed hour to meet Mr. Gayre. 
 
 He looked at the girl with wonder. Where were the tears, 
 the passion of grief, the sorrowful scorn of his own meanness 
 he had witnessed only the previous night ? The tears were 
 spent, the passion was over ; the girl Susan had departed into 
 that shadowy land of memory, from out of which, any more 
 than from the grave, no friend who once vanishes into it may 
 return to smile upon or greet us save in mournful recollection, 
 and in her place stood a woman who would never again laugh 
 with the gladness, or weep with the passion, or mourn with the 
 despair, he remembered so well. 
 
 She gave him her hand, but it lay cold and still in his, like 
 a dead thing ; in her sweet eyes he saw deep depths of sorrow, 
 but no light of welcome ; the very tone of her voice was dif- 
 ferent. A swift wave of remorse swept over Mr. Gayre as he 
 looked on the change wrought by a single night. Had he 
 killed her, he could scarce have felt more a murderer than in 
 that first moment of remorse ; but the emotion rested on his 
 soul no longer than a passing shadow. The woman seemed 
 dearer to him than the girl had ever been ; her beauty greater ; 
 the grave dignity of her manner, the unutterably sad cadence 
 in her tone, proved more captivating to his middle age than 
 the young charm and gay grace of the Susan Drummond he 
 should never see again. 
 
 Always he had felt there was a chord in Susan touched as 
 yet by no one ; and now he understood the nature of its har- 
 mony, there arose an evil rejoicing that his had been the hand 
 to awaken the full deep swell a human heart never gives forth 
 till, having eaten of the tree, it becomes as a god, knowing 
 good and evil.
 
 3o8 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 Yes, he had done this, and so become a part and parcel of 
 her life for ever. Let her forget what else she might, it would 
 be impossible for lier to forget him. The lore he had taught 
 her was more subtle and mysterious than love, for it showed 
 her the sin love is capable of begetting, told her something of 
 the terror of passion ; whereas hitherto she had tasted only its 
 sweetness. 
 
 In one night she had grown afraid of him, too; afraid of 
 the wrong a man will do, not merely though he loves a woman, 
 but because he does so. Already she had graduated in a school 
 many of her sex — maids, wives, and mothers — never enter; 
 nay, of the very existence of which some remain in ignorance. 
 
 She dreaded both his power and his will. Once she 
 thought of him but as an ordinary friend ; now she recognised 
 him for an enemy. If he had not seen the change in her face, 
 Mr. Gayre would have known from the first words she spoke 
 that, since they parted on the previous evening, she had thought 
 more about him than during all the preceding months of their 
 acquaintance. 
 
 " I received your letter," she began. " Thank you for 
 writing it ; but we need not talk about what you said in it, 
 need we ?'' 
 
 " \i you see no need," he answered, " we will not discuss 
 the matter. I think, however — " 
 
 "At all events we need not talk about it yet^'' she inter- 
 rupted. " Perhaps," she added, looking at him, as if trying to 
 read his very soul, "we might never have to discuss it."' 
 
 " You mean in the event of my efl:brts proving abortive?" 
 
 " Partly that;" and her eyes fell under a gaze steadier than 
 her own. 
 
 " It' is better you should understand me clearly," he said, 
 and the change in her voice was not more marked than that 
 in his " Remember, I shall hold you to your promise / I know 
 if you chose to cheat me you could ; but I am sure you would 
 not cheat me." 
 
 "No," she replied slowly; "you know I would not cheat 
 you." 
 
 " Neither will I delude you — do not imagine I shall release 
 you from your bargain — it was optional with you to make it. 
 There is time even yet to cancel it — do you wish to cancel it?" 
 
 " Not unless I could save Oliver by other means." 
 
 " It is still doubtful, remember, whether he can be saved 
 by any — "
 
 OA' THE MARINE PARADE. 309 
 
 " So you told me in your letter." 
 
 "And as it was optional with you to enter into such an 
 agreement, so it will be optional with me whether I hold you 
 to it or not. I shall. It is only fair to tell you this, to warn 
 you to expect nothing either from my weakness or my gene- 
 rosity. And do not say to yourself ' If he loved me, he would 
 not exact such a price,' for you would be wrong. It is pre- 
 cisely because I do love as only men like myself who have 
 passed their youth can love, that I swear if any human being 
 can compass Mr. Dane's liberty he shall walk out free. Then 
 you must marry me. I leave it all to your honour, you see. 
 Were I wise, perhaps I should stipulate for my price first ; but 
 I trust you implicitly — I, who once thought never to trust a 
 woman again." 
 
 " You may trust me." 
 
 " And some day you will love me. Do not shake your 
 head; no woman marries her first lover; indeed, I do not 
 believe the woman lives that could tell who her first lover was. 
 I have no doubt Oliver Dane was not yours." 
 
 " I have loved him all my life." 
 
 "And no one else?" 
 
 " No one else !" 
 
 " Then I shall have only one rival !" he remarked. 
 
 " I want to say something to you, Mr. Gayre." 
 
 "What is it?' 
 
 '■'■ He must never know." 
 
 " I do not understand you." 
 
 She twisted her white fingers nervously together. 
 
 " Never know why I did it. Let him think me fickle, 
 false, wicked. I would rather he supposed me the worst girl 
 ever breathed than that he came to understand I had done 
 what you ask for his sake. Liberty would not be sweet ; he 
 would fancy the very air tainted, if he knew the price I had 
 paid to set him free." 
 
 " Are you not mistaken ? Is not Mr. Oliver Dane a gentle- 
 man who would prize liberty on any terms ?" 
 
 "No. And it is you who are mistaken. Mr. Gayre, why 
 is it you hate him so much — he, who never injured you ?" 
 
 " You love him," was the answer, and a dead silence super- 
 vened. 
 
 " There is another thing I must tell you." 
 
 " If it be of the same nature, it might be well to defer the 
 communication till we meet again."
 
 , I o SUSAN DR UMMOND. 
 
 " It cannot be deferred. I had another letter last night." 
 
 " From whom?" 
 
 " I do not know ; but in the same handwriting as that I 
 showed you." 
 
 " And—" 
 
 " It said, ' No time should be lost if anything were to be 
 done for Oliver Dane. Some word of hope ought at least to 
 be sent to him at once.' Can any word of that sort be sent 
 him ?" 
 
 " I do not know ; my acquaintance with prison rules is, 
 unfortunately, of the slightest." 
 
 " But you will ascertain ?" 
 
 " Yes, I will ascertain. For my own sake I do not desire 
 that any harm should happen to Mr. Dane." 
 
 "Sorrow enough will meet him. O, Mr. Gayre, how can 
 you ? If you were fond of any one, I would not try to take 
 you from her — not if I cared for you as much as — " 
 
 " You do not," he finished. 
 
 " That was scarcely what I was about to say ; but — " 
 
 " It will serve, and is perhaps a shade more courteous than 
 the form you had in your mind. Again, believe me you are 
 mistaken, or else you are an exception to every rule of your 
 charming sisterhood. I have seen — great Heavens ! what have 
 I not seen done by women ! No trick has been too cruel, 
 no artifice too mean, to sever lovers, to entice a man's heart. 
 Ay, and I have known worse than that. I have known a 
 woman set out with the deliberate intention of winning affec- 
 tions she meant to fling away, and did fling away, as a child 
 casts aside a broken toy. I have known the best years of a 
 man's life ruined because he found himself jilted by such 
 a woman — his faith destroyed, his hopes blasted, his belief in 
 purity, goodness, honour, ay, even common honesty, shaken to 
 its foundations." 
 
 She could not answer him. Because she had no knowledge 
 of how such things affected a man, was it competent for her to 
 deny their reality ? 
 
 Further, she grasped he was talking of himself — that in the 
 background of his life's picture there lurked just such a woman 
 as he had indicated — smiling, fair, false. 
 
 " No," he went on less vehemently, " believe me, nor man 
 nor woman can tell the evil that ' desperately wicked ' thing 
 the heart is capable of conceiving and executing till it is placed 
 where its power for sin has a full and fair chance of develop-
 
 ON THE MARINE PARADE. 311 
 
 ment. Yoii have no right to say what you would or would not 
 do. How can you know ? You have no experience to fall 
 back upon ; you are like one walking in darkness who thinks 
 he sees. Yesterday morning nothing would have seemed 
 more incredible to you than that you should promise to marry 
 me. Who can predict what a day will bring forth ? Who dare 
 say temptation shall not tempt, wrong shall not conquer me?" 
 
 '■ I cannot tell," she said, answering his thoughts rather 
 than his words. " All I know is that, whether right or wrong, 
 what I have done has been done for OHver. If it be a sin, I 
 cannot help it. There seems no other way in which it is pos- 
 sible for me to serve him. It may be I ought not to commit 
 so great a wrong to you, myself, and him ; but I cannot think 
 of him ill, dying, perhaps, and remain firm while there remains 
 even a chance of saving him. I am only a woman after all." 
 
 " If you were only a woman you would consider yourself 
 first and your lover last. It is because you are what you are — " 
 
 '' Do not go on, please," she entreated ; and he stopped 
 suddenly, knowing what she meant — namely, that it was out- 
 side their contract to speak about love till his portion of the 
 compact was fulfilled. 
 
 " What are you doing about Oliver ?" she asked after a pause, 
 during which she had sat listening to the howling of the wind 
 — it was a boisterous morning — and fancying what words her 
 lover traced in its sound. 
 
 " I have done nothing yet. I am going to-day to see a 
 person I think may do something." 
 
 " Then why—" 
 
 "Do I not go about the business at once? I could tell 
 you, but I do not like. Yet I will tell you. I stayed here 
 because I am mad — because I could not help saying and doing 
 and looking that which makes you hate me. But I will leave 
 you now, and not come again till I am able to say either I have 
 some hope of obtaining his release or that I shall never be able 
 to obtain it;" and without word or touch or glance of farewell 
 he was gone, leaving Susan more utterly alone than she had 
 ever felt before. He had been her friend, and he could be 
 her friend no more. The only news it was ever likely he 
 should bring her would be death to all hope for her lover, or 
 the tidings that the date of her own execution was nigh at hand. 
 
 "Can I go through with it?" she thought, with a sickening 
 horror ; and then the courage which had carried so many a 
 Drummond high above all considerations of danger and sup-
 
 1 1 2 SUSAN DR UMMOND. 
 
 ported him in death rose strong and great within her. " It is 
 for Oliver," she whispered, and clasped the talisman of her 
 lover's name closer to her loyal heart. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Oayre was hurrying Citywards, as if pursued 
 by a thousand demons. He had done the things he ought not 
 to have done, and left undone those he ought to have done. 
 He had sneered at Susan, whose tender nature was vulnerable 
 to all his shafts. He had twitted her with love for her lover, 
 as if a woman should not believe her lover without peer. He 
 had failed to comfort — nay, rather he had torn her. He had 
 been — good Heavens ! what had he not been ? 
 
 " But at least," he thought, while slackening his pace as 
 he drew near Prince's Street, " she shall find no half-hearted- 
 ness with me in the matter of Oliver Dane. The sooner he is 
 released the better I shall be pleased ;" and before repairing 
 to his own place of business he turned into the office of Messrs. 
 Colvend and Surlees, which was close to Lothbury. 
 
 " Mr. Colvend in ?" he asked a porter. 
 
 " No, sir. Mr. Colvend has gone to Brighton." 
 
 "Can I see Mr. Surlees?" 
 
 "Mr. Surlees is out;, sir. He will not be back to-day. I 
 think he is going down to Brighton also this afternoon." 
 
 Since his first glimpse of Susan Drummond, some check 
 had always interposed between Mr. Gayre and whatever pur- 
 pose he might have in view ; but he meant to take no check 
 now. Less civilly than usual, because hitherto he had always 
 striven to be courteous towards persons in the City, even though 
 his heart was not one with them, the banker remarked : 
 
 '^ I suppose, however, there is some person in charge to 
 whom I can speak on business ?" 
 
 " Certainly, sir — Mr. Fife, sir. Perhaps you will walk into 
 Mr. Colvend's room, and sit down for a moment. I will tell 
 Mr. Fife you are here." 
 
 Mr. Fife, in the character of chief clerk in the old-estab- 
 lished and steady-going firm of Colvend and Surlees, seemed a 
 very different person from the insolent individual who in his 
 own had bullied and taunted Mr. Gayre in Wimpole Street. 
 The atmosphere of the City, and the consciousness he was 
 only a person in the receipt of salary, had so impregnated the 
 manner of his working hours that it was at first quite a defer- 
 ential and cringing Samuel who, in a couple of minutes, entered 
 Mr. Colvend's private room, and said, 
 
 " I hope I have not kept yOu waiting, sir."
 
 ON THE MARINE PARADE. 313 
 
 Troubled as he was, jVIr. Gayre could have laughed out- 
 right. The famous story of those bankers in Newcastle, who, 
 when the great hair movement first made a stir, intimated to 
 their clerks that " though out of business hours they should 
 not presume to dictate what their employes were to wear, yet 
 within those limits they must request the absence of mous- 
 taches," recurred to him. 
 
 Drink, however, unlike a man's own hair, can have its times 
 and seasons; and during business hours Mr. Fife never indulged 
 in any wilder carouse than half a pint of bitter. 
 
 " I am sorry to find Mr. Colvend absent," said Mr. Gayre ; 
 "I wished to speak to him." 
 
 " On a private matter, or on business connected with the 
 firm ?" 
 
 " On a private matter." 
 
 " O ! Can I be of any assistance to you ?" 
 
 " You can give me Mr. Colvend's address." 
 
 " And so the cat ate up the blackbird, and things went on 
 as usual," commented Mr. Fife ; and he took a rapid turn up 
 and down the room. 
 
 " I have no doubt there is profound wisdom underlying 
 your remark ; but wanting the key — '' 
 
 " Being eaten up meant a good deal to the blackbird, but 
 nobody else was much concerned by the catastrophe. Heaven 
 and earth are likely to crash together in the Colvend establish- 
 ment ; but in Lombard Street people will try to overdraw their 
 balances just as usual. And I don't suppose any difference in 
 the Bank-rate will be reported to-morrow." 
 
 "If you will kindly give me Mr. Colvend's address, I need 
 not detain you longer." 
 
 Mr. Fife did not answer. He took another turn over the 
 Turkey carpet ere he said, 
 
 " Man and boy, I've been in this ofiice a matter of — But 
 that does not signify. What I was thinking is, I'll have to 
 clear out now." 
 
 "It certainly does not seem likely that you will be entreated 
 to remain," commented Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " I wonder if I have been a great fool !'' 
 
 " That is a point on which no one can possibly arrive at 
 so accurate an opinion as yourself." 
 
 " Anyhow, I'm not going to draw back now. That young 
 minx sha'n't have everything her own way. When were you 
 thinking of going down, Mr. Gayre ?"
 
 3 1 4 SUSAN DR UMMOND. 
 
 " By the next train." 
 
 " Better not. Stop till after five o'clock, and I'll go too. 
 You will want me, you know." 
 
 " H— m," remarked Mr. Gayre doubtfully. " Well yes— 
 perhaps I shall." 
 
 " You won't find it all plain sailing," said Mr. Fife. " Miss 
 Dossie can lie through a deal board, and make her father 
 believe her. You must see him and Mr. Snrlees together, and 
 I ought to be one of the happy party." 
 
 *' I have no particular objection. But how are we to insure 
 the presence of Mr. Surlees ?" 
 
 " How ? He will be there, of course : where your treasure 
 is — you remember." 
 
 " I have not an idea what you mean." 
 
 "Why, that he is going to marry that simple, innocent, 
 
 fragile, timid darHng, Miss Dossie, her !" and Mr. Fife 
 
 turned white with rage, and tramped up and down the room, 
 as though he were treading over Miss Dossie's body. 
 
 " She has cursed my life," he said ; " but she'll find she 
 has met with her match. I'll stop the publication of those 
 banns, anyhow." 
 
 " I hope and trust you will be able to prove your story. It 
 would be exceedingly awkward if — " 
 
 " I know that," interrupted Mr. Fife ; " and I tell you 
 fairly, we'll have a lot of bother both with the old man and the 
 young lady. That is one reason why I want to go down with 
 you. I can say what you can't say. I'll not let either father 
 or daughter humbug wc." 
 
 " Do you think, then, that they could humbug me?" 
 
 " They would try," said Mr. Fife, in a tone which sug- 
 gested he considered the attempt might not be wholly unsuc- 
 cessful. 
 
 " In that case we will go to Sussex Square together," said 
 Mr. Gayre, glancing at the slip of paper on which the manager 
 had written Mr. Colvend's address. 
 
 " Not nice weather for a trip to the seaside, is it ?" sug- 
 gested Mr. Fife ; and then he opened the door for the banker 
 to pass out, and deferentially attended him through the outer 
 office. 
 
 At that moment the same idea crossed the minds of both 
 men. 
 
 " I sha'n't cross this floor many more times," thought Mr. 
 Fife.
 
 ON THE MARINE PARADE. 315 
 
 is* •v. - " He has paid tolerably dear for his whistle," considered 
 Mr. Gayre. 
 
 As the express rushed down to Brighton that evening the 
 wind howled and tore around the train, and seemed to be 
 trying races with it. It had been a wild day, and a wilder 
 night was coming on. There was scarcely a creature about on 
 the Marine Parade when Mr. Gayre and his companion walked 
 in the direction of Kemp Town ; but at almost the loneliest 
 part of the road there stood a female, wrapped in a long cloak, 
 looking out seaward, into the black and dreary night. Neither 
 man noticed her. Mr. Fife was speaking, and Mr. Gayre's 
 head was turned towards him. 
 
 " I suppose you have squared matters with Miss Drum- 
 mond," the manager said ; " because if not — " and the re- 
 mainder of his sentence was lost in a sudden gust of wind. 
 
 The woman turned and stared after the retreating figures. 
 It was Susan Drummond. 
 
 She had that day fled from London with her nurse, leaving 
 a note for Mr. Gayre, stating she felt she must get away for a 
 short time, and promising to send her address when settled. 
 
 A terrible unrest had again taken possession of her, but it 
 was physical rather than mental. She could not remain still. 
 The stormy blast was no fiercer than the fever coursing through 
 her veins ; invisible hands seemed drawing her into the night; 
 voices, audible but to herself, cried to her from the sea ; the 
 darkness was filled with fantastic shapes ; everything appeared 
 different from what was actually the case. A moment after 
 Mr. Gayre had passed she began to doubt whether she had 
 really seen him, whether the words were not a delusion of her 
 own brain. 
 
 " I wonder what is the matter with me ?" she thought. " I 
 suppose I ought to go home." 
 
 She did not, however, make any effort to do so. She 
 remained, with the wind buffeting her, with the sea moaning 
 and lamenting below, with the night getting wilder, and the 
 gloom growing denser, till a hand was laid on her arm, and the 
 old servant, who had been anxiously seeking her, said : 
 
 " My dear, what are you doing ? You will catch your death 
 of cold." 
 
 " I do not know what I have been doing," she answered. 
 " Where am I ? O, nurse, take me somewhere — anywhere 
 away from all these dreadful people and this horrible noise !"
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 WHAT MR. GAYRE WISHED. 
 
 "What have you done with Susan, Gayre ?" asked Sir Geof- 
 frey Chelston, walking one morning into the dining-room at 
 Wimpole Street, where his brother-in-law sat at breakfast. 
 " Now that I have caught you I mean to get an explicit 
 answer. I call here, and I call at the bank, and you are 
 never to be found. I write to you, and for reply I receive 
 something to the effect that if / could tell you where Miss 
 Drummond is, you would be much obliged to me. I can hear 
 neither tale nor tidings of the girl. Her aunt does not know 
 where she is, or her cousin, or Lai Hilderton, or Mrs. Jubbins. 
 And /don't know; and I may just as well tell you, I consider 
 the whole affair deucedly strange. I left Susan in this house, 
 and I've never set eyes on her since." 
 
 "Do you suppose she is in this house still?"' asked Mr. 
 Gayre, buttering a piece of toast with great deliberation. 
 
 '• I do not know what to suppose. One way and another, 
 I feel distracted. I half suspect Sudlow wants to cry off. 
 And now there's Susan. If you do not know where she is, 
 you ought to know, Gayre ; that is my candid opinion." 
 " Miss Drummond is at Brighton." 
 " Brighton ! What on earth took her there ?" 
 " To get ill, I suppose ; at any rate she has been ill." 
 " And why could you not have told me all this long ago ?" 
 " Because I have only been acquainted with her address 
 since eight o'clock this morning. She has had fever or some- 
 thing of the sort, and v/as unable to write. She is getting 
 better now." 
 
 " I feel a load taken off my mind," cried the Baronet. 
 " 'Pon my soul, I have been madly anxious about the poor 
 girl. Best girl in the whole world ; and to think of her being 
 laid up all alone at Brighton." 
 
 " She isn't alone; she has some former servant with her. 
 Won't you have some breakfast, Sir Geoffrey ?"
 
 WHAT MR. GAYRE WISHED. 317 
 
 " Not a morsel, thank you — must be ofif. And yet, now I 
 think of it, if you could just let your man bring me a glass of 
 beer, I fancy I might manage a slice of that cold beef— second 
 thoughts, you know, eh, Gayre ?" 
 
 Mr. Gayre rose and rang the bell. As he returned to 
 his seat the Baronet eyed him critically. 
 
 " I say," he cried, " what's up? What have you been doing 
 to yourself? Why, you are losing all your flesh ; and you are 
 not half the man you were a month ago ! No panic in the 
 City, I hope?" 
 
 " If there were, I do not suppose it could affect me much, 
 A house which does not go in for great gains cannot afford to 
 incur the risk of heavy losses. No, I have been worried to 
 death about that Dane business. I had better have gone and 
 hanged myself before meddling in the matter." 
 
 " Ah, by the bye," said Sir Geoffrey, with guileless inno- 
 cence, "what is this I hear about Dane ?" 
 
 " I don't know what you may have heard about him." 
 
 " Why, that he is not guilty, and all the rest of it." 
 
 " Who says he is not guilty ?" 
 
 " That is beyond me to tell you. There was a paragraph 
 about him in the CJiehton Banner, a vile, low Radical broad- 
 sheet. Wookcs sent it up to me marked. The London Cor- 
 respondent stated he had good reason to believe the whole 
 case would be reopened ; that it was whispered one of the 
 parties engaged in what seemed to be a most nefarious plot 
 against the young man's reputation was about to give himself 
 up to justice ; that a thorough investigation had been solicited; 
 that extraordinary facts had already come to light, and further 
 startling revelations might be expected ; that a gentleman in 
 the City, possessed of wealth and influence, had gone into the 
 matter heart and soul ; and that it was chiefly owing to his 
 exertions the whole villanous conspiracy was exposed. Several 
 romantic circumstances were connected with the case, aiid the 
 name of a young lady freely whispered as having taken a some- 
 what active part in the affair." 
 
 During the course of this recital Mr. Gayre's face was a 
 study. His colour changed from white to red and from red to 
 white once more; he compressed his lips, an angry light shone 
 in his eyes, and he struck the table passionately as he said, 
 
 " That scoundrel will make a nice mess of the whole 
 matter." 
 
 " Dear me ! Then there is something in it ! Poor, poor
 
 3 1 8 S US AN DR UMMOND. 
 
 Susan, I am so glad ! If you remember, Gayre, I always said 
 Dane was innocent. When you were hardest upon him, I 
 maintained no young fellow, born and brought up as he was, 
 could have sunk into a common thief." 
 
 "You did no such thing," retorted Mr. Gayre. "You said 
 he was guilty, and complained he would not make a clean 
 breast of the matter." 
 
 " No, excuse me, Gayre, it was you," 
 
 " Excuse me. Sir GeoftVey, no man could have spoken 
 more strongly than yourself — " 
 
 " Of course, in his behalf! When all the world was against 
 him I raised my voice, and — -" 
 
 With a muttered oath Mr. Gayre pushed back his chair and 
 rose from the table. 
 
 " I know of old," he said, " it is of no use trying to pin 
 you down to any statement, or expecting you to rememlDer 
 anything except what suits your own convenience ; but I tell 
 you fairly I am not in any mood to stand much more of this 
 fooling. Would to Heaven I had died before I ever heard the 
 name of Oliver Dane ; and I wish I could go to some part of 
 the earth where I should never hear it again !" 
 
 After which expression of opinion, Mr. Gayre left Sir Geof- 
 frey to his meditations. 
 
 The Baronet shook his head. 
 
 " Poor fellow !" he said, in audible soliloquy, " he's harder 
 hit than I thought ; shouldn't mind betting something now his 
 chances are not worth a brass farthing, or half the money. 
 Pity, too ! Well, I did all in my power. It was a match I 
 should have liked vastly. Lord, who'd have thought of things 
 taking the turn they have ! Daresay Dane will get a lot of 
 damages out of those rich beggars. Hope he'll chance on a 
 good solicitor — some sharp lawyer up to his work ; that's what 
 I've wanted all my life. Must talk to Susan about it." And 
 Sir Geoffrey went to the sideboard, and poured himself out 
 another tumbler of beer; having drunk which, and casually 
 remarked to vacancy that his throat was as dry as a whistle, 
 he went off about his business, whatever that might be. 
 
 Meantime, in hot rage, Mr. Gayre had chartered a hansom, 
 and drove down to the Borough, in a street off which thorough- 
 fare Mr. Fife had hired a " second-floor front," large enough 
 to contain himself and all his worldly possessions. His first 
 interview with Mr. Colvend on the great Dane question proved 
 his last. He was not permitted to remain long enough in the
 
 WHAT MR. GAYRE WISHED. 319 
 
 ,. office, even to balance his petty cash ; and had there been 
 anything wrong in his accounts, things would have gone badly 
 with him. Usually the mildest of human beings, Mr. Colvend's 
 indignation against the ex-manager knew no bounds ; and 
 when Mr. Fife insisted upon being brought face to face with 
 the fragile Dossie, he absolutely refused to produce his 
 daughter till Mr. Surlees said, in common justice, that young 
 lady should hear the charge made against her. 
 
 That young lady denied everything. She clung to her 
 father ; she asked how he or any one else could believe such 
 dreadful stories about her ; she declared she had never written 
 a letter to Mr. Fife or spoken to him, except in her father's 
 office, in her life. She looked at Mr. Surlees with great appeal- 
 ing eyes shining through a mist of tears, and said, " Surely 
 you won't desert me ;" she called Mr. Fife a " bad, wicked 
 man 3" she ran up and down the gamut of all her little arts 
 and graces, and finally bursting into a torrent of passionate 
 tears, rushed from the room, Mr. Gayre, with deadly courtesy, 
 opening the door for her. 
 
 Mr. Colvend followed his daughter with feeble and totter- 
 ing steps ; already he looked an old and broken man. 
 
 When he was left alone with Mr. Gayre and the manager, 
 Mr. Surlees rose, walked to the hearth, and standing with his 
 back to the fire, and hands deep in his pockets, remarked, 
 
 " Here's a nice kettle of fish." 
 
 It was so nice a kettle of fish that not only had Miss 
 Colvend lost her husband who was to have been, but a disso- 
 lution of partnership between Mr. Colvend and Mr. Surlees 
 became imminent. 
 
 " And whenever," remarked Mr. Fife to Mr. Gayre, " two 
 men fight, if you notice some dog gets a kick. I'm the dog 
 that has got kicked this time." 
 
 *' And serve you right," thought Mr. Gayre, but he did not 
 say so. 
 
 Amongst the various persons concerned somehow or other, 
 Mr. Dane's little affair had come to a deadlock. Mr. Colvend 
 pooh-poohed the idea of taking action in the matter : Mr. Sur- 
 lees would not. Mr. Gayre was at a loss to know how to pro- 
 ceed. Time drifted on, and an innocent man lay at Portland, 
 fighting with disease and eating his heart out. 
 
 "Cannot you get a message conveyed to him somehow?" 
 Mr. Gayre asked Mr. Fife, who inquired what good that would 
 do, unless some one meant really to push the matter ahead.
 
 320 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 " / don't intend to let Miss Dossie and her papa walk over 
 the course," said Mr. Fife, a little later. " I'll find a way of 
 forcing their hand, or my name's not Samuel." 
 
 "This, then, was Mr. Fife's notable scheme," considered 
 Mr. Gayre, as the hansom swirled round corners and dashed 
 along crowded thoroughfares, 
 
 " It was you put that notice in the Chelston paper," he 
 said, entering ]\Ir, Fife's room, where he found him busy smoking 
 a pipe. 
 
 " Even so — it was I." 
 
 "And what object could you hope to compass by putting 
 in such a rigmarole of nonsense ?" 
 
 " It is not nonsense." 
 
 " Why, who in the world is going to give himself up ?" 
 
 "I am, if things are not soon put on some different foot- 
 ing. I have got a friend — as clever a chap as you'd wish to 
 meet — and he told me that was the best and only way to 
 checkmate them and benefit myself." 
 
 " I think it might be checkmate to you. So you have 
 been taking advice about this business, Mr. Fife, have you?" 
 
 " Only in a general sort of way. I'm not a man likely to 
 make confidants, unless I see my interest in doing so. I can 
 keej:) my own counsel till I find it pays to open my mouth. 
 By the way, Mr. Gayre, have you ever been to Tooting ?" 
 
 "No; why do you ask?" 
 
 " O, only out of curiosity. To revert to the Dane ques- 
 tion : is it likely, do you suppose, that Messrs. Colvend and 
 Surlees mean to stir in this matter at all?" 
 
 " Not if they can avoid doing so." 
 
 "And they consider themselves honest and honourable 
 men, I suppose?" 
 
 "Mr. Colvend does not believe your story." 
 
 " None so blind as those that won't see." 
 
 "And Mr. Surlees' notion is, Mr. Dane's friends are as 
 well able to take up the matter as he. What I gather from 
 his reluctant remarks is, that he knows he must have a great 
 deal of trouble about the matter, but he wants to have as little 
 trouble as possible. He means, I see, to put no obstacle in 
 the way, and is willing to facilitate any steps which may be 
 adopted to obtain Mr. Dane's release. You can judge, there- 
 fore, the annoyance I feel at the unwise step you have taken." 
 
 " I am not so sure it was a mistake," said Mr. Fife, with a 
 nasty leer.
 
 WHAT MR. GAYRE WISHED. 321 
 
 "No?"' questioned Mr. Gayre. "While I am here, Mr. 
 Fife,"' he added, " pray obh'ge me by putting out that pipe. I 
 don't want to go about the City reeking of tobacco." 
 
 • " I have no wish to offend you," returned Mr. Fife, at once 
 complying with the banker's request. " Upon my soul, I'd 
 rather work for than against you, if only I could make you 
 understand it's of no manner of use trying to gammon me. 
 You see, I was not brought up to the genteel humbug sort of 
 business, and I had to see so much and do so much of it at 
 Colvend's that I'm more than a bit tired of trying to act the 
 saint when I feel myself a sinner. Now to tell you what you 
 came here in such haste to know. Do I think that little para- 
 graph in the paper will stir up Colvend and Surlees ? No, I 
 don't — except to bitter wrath." 
 
 " Then what made you put it in ?" 
 
 " Well, you see, there are a itw other persons on earth 
 besides Colvend and Surlees." 
 
 " Meaning — " 
 
 " Meaning in this especial connection Mr. Oliver Dane's 
 friends." 
 
 "I am afraid Mr. Oliver Dane has no friends except Miss 
 Drummond." 
 
 "Not even you?" And at this juncture Mr. Fife took up 
 his pipe once more, but immediately laid it down again. 
 
 " I have tried to do what I could — I hope I always shall 
 continue to do what I can — for Mr. Dane — not, however, on 
 his own account ; I never laid claim to being a friend of his." 
 
 " Suppose we drop all disguise, Mr. Gayre, and talk as if 
 we were — I really don't exactly know what ; because were I 
 a partner, say, in Glyn's house, likely as not I should put a 
 gloss on for you \ and supposing — ah, that's it — supposing you 
 were such as myself, v/hat would you say to me, and I to you, 
 eh?" 
 
 " Really, Mr. Fife, I do not know ; much the same, how- 
 ever, I imagine, as I am saying to you now, and you are saying 
 to me." 
 
 '[ Not a bit of it !" exclaimed Mr. Fife. " What I should 
 say is this : ' I meant to make one person speak, and that per- 
 son's surname is Gayre, Christian name Nicholas. He has 
 been trying to drift on with Miss Drummond, and now he 
 knows he must speak if he docs not want somebody else to 
 forestall him; and as he dislikes having his cattle hurried, he 
 is furious with Samuel Fife for spurring them on a little.' " 
 
 V
 
 322 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 " Your knowledge of me and my motives seems exhaus- 
 tive," observed Mr. Ciayre. 
 
 "I am very glad you think so, because that is precisely my 
 own opinion. I have given a good deal of thought and atten- 
 tion to you, one time and another. Long before this question 
 about Dane arose I used to wonder — wonder like the deuce — 
 how any man in his sober senses could let a business such as 
 yours go to the dogs." 
 
 " Is the manner in which I conduct my business any con- 
 cern of yours ?" 
 
 " No ; I only wish it were. People would soon see some 
 changes in Lombard Street that might surprise them. I know 
 what is passing through your mind — ' bachelor's wives and old 
 maid's children ;' but a bachelor can surely tell when a man's 
 wife is going wrong, and an old maid need scarcely be a Solomon 
 to know her neighbour's boys are a set of unruly brats." 
 
 " If my affairs have given you any amusement, Mr. Fife, I 
 am sure I ought to feel gratified. As to Miss Drummond, 
 even had I been disposed to repeat to her the story of IMiss 
 Colvend's evil-doings, no opportunity has presented itself for 
 doing so. I have not seen Miss Drummond for nearly a 
 month." 
 
 " Why, what's the cause of that ?" 
 
 " Illness, from which she is only now recovering." 
 
 " Whew !" whistled Mr. Fife. " That's a bad job. I wish 
 I had known. If I had, I wouldn't have trumped your ace 
 just yet." 
 
 " It can't be helped," said Mr. Gayre, accepting his own 
 defeat and Mr. Fife's concession with an air of lofty magna- 
 nimity. " I confess I did desire a little time in which to pre- 
 pare Miss Drummond's mind for the fact that it might be 
 possible to prove Mr. Dane innocent. Now, however, thanks 
 to you, matters have reached a point which compels me to go 
 straight from here to my solicitors.'' 
 
 "All right," answered Mr. Fife; "and if they tell you 
 there is only one way to clear Dane, I'll stand to what I said, 
 and give myself up. Ask your solicitors whether they think 
 I'd get clear off, and if not, the term for which I should be 
 sentenced. I want to know, for more reasons than one." 
 
 "Very well, I will ask them," agreed Mr. Gayre, wishing 
 more than ever, as he made his way down the narrow staircase 
 of a house let out in " apartments," he had never heard the 
 name of Oliver Dane.
 
 f^ " V_«.«' 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 " HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO TOOTING?" 
 
 It is somewhat humiliating to consider how much sickness 
 and how Httle sorrow affects our personal appearance. A bad 
 bilious attack will pull a man down more than the death of 
 his wife ; toothache keeps a sufferer on whom it has fastened 
 its fangs wide awake, though heartache often fails to do so. 
 
 All her mental anguish — and there could be no question 
 but that, since the previous summer, the girl had passed 
 through a season of intense and continuous agony — had failed 
 to work the change in Susan Drummond a few weeks of serious 
 illness sufiiced to do. 
 
 Mr. Gayre felt unutterably shocked when, ushered into the 
 room where she sat in an easy-chair propped up with pillows, 
 he saw the havoc so short a time had wrought. 
 
 Pale, wan, emaciated — a mere shadow of her former self — 
 her eyes dull and weary, her listless hands thin and nerveless, 
 her whole tired attitude that of one who had just returned 
 worn out from so long a journey into the Dreadful Valley — it 
 seemed almost as though she might better have gone on to 
 the end of her awful pilgrimage, and entered a land from 
 whence no tone returns to earth, no echo even of a sigh. 
 
 Could this really be Sir Geoffrey's Susan, with whom he 
 had ever associated the idea of strong health and almost 
 superabundant vitality ? 
 
 " Miss Drummond," he said — and those were the only 
 words he could speak, as he tenderly took her wasted fingers 
 in his own strong clasp — and looked mournfully at the woman 
 he loved. 
 
 " Won't you sit down ?" she asked feebly — the while she 
 smiled a wan, sad smile, which smote him to the heart. 
 
 ** Why did you not send to some of your friends ?" he asked ; 
 " it was cruel to leave us in ignorance of where you were, in 
 such uncertainty as to what could have become of you." 
 
 " No one knew where to send," she answered. " I wrote 
 as soon as I could."
 
 324 SUSAN DRUM MONO. 
 
 " I wanted to write to you," said Mr. Gayre, ''but having 
 no address — " 
 
 "Yes — about what? Oliver?" and for the first time she 
 hesitated a little over his name, and coloured painfully. 
 
 " Yes, about Mr. Dane." 
 
 " Is he— free ?" 
 
 " Not yet, but — " as she turned her head aside with a faint 
 gesture of sorrowful disappointment, " pray do not look so 
 wretched, Miss Drummond. I have every reason to hope his 
 imprisonment will not continue much longer." 
 
 " You are only saying that to comfort me. Perhaps he is 
 dead. I have been ill such a time. Tell me the worst ! O, 
 if he is dead, I wish, I wish, I had died too." 
 
 "He is not dead. Upon my word of honour, as far as I 
 can know anything I have not actually seen, I believe him to 
 be well again, or at the worst, very much better. A message, 
 I understand, has also in some manner been conveyed to him, 
 so that he knows friends are at work who soon hope to com- 
 pass his release.'" 
 
 " But friends have always been at work — and hitherto no 
 good has resulted — and I don't think any good is likely to 
 come from their efforts. O, what shall I do — O, my darling, 
 what can I do ? If only — only you were able to tell me," — 
 and as she finished this last apostrophe, which was not in the 
 least degree addressed to Mr. Gayre, great tears rolled down 
 her cheeks — tears she was too weak to wipe away. 
 
 "For Heaven's sake do not cry," entreated Mr. Gayre, "I 
 bring you nothing but good news. There may be delay ; 
 there always, in such cases, must be delay, for though it seems 
 to be easy enough to get a man into prison, getting him out is 
 a difficult matter. Circumstances, however, have come to my 
 knowledge that make me feel sure ere long Mr. Dane must be 
 liberated. I mean to spare no effort in the matter. I have 
 instructed my solicitors, and they are taking all necessary 
 steps. I assure you I feel it cannot be long before Mr. Dane 
 is once again a free man." 
 
 " And on what ground are you asking for his release now?" 
 she inquired, "because he is so ill?" 
 
 " No — because he is innocent," answered Mr. Gayre, flush- 
 ing up to his very temples, yet nevertheless looking straight 
 at Susan. 
 
 " But he was always innocent — I always knew that." 
 "Yes, only the difficulty is, you see, to get other people
 
 "HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO TOOTING r 325 
 
 to be of this opinion. There was a time when I nriyself fully 
 believed him guilty. There remains no doubt on my mind 
 now but that he is innocent, yet I see the greatest trouble 
 ahead before we can prove him to be so. My solicitors seem 
 to think, however, that if we are only patient for a short time, 
 they will be able to find a way to persuade the Home Secre- 
 tary to order a searching inquiry into the whole matter, or 
 grant him a free pardon at once." 
 
 "A free pardon for what?" asked Susan, indignation en- 
 dowing her for a moment with sufficient strength to grasp the 
 arms of her chair and sit up, the while the colour of old dyed 
 her cheeks, and her eyes grew dark with the intensity of her 
 passion, "for a crime he never committed." 
 
 " I seem not to be able to speak to-day without distressing 
 you," said Mr. Gayre, almost at his wit's end. " The words 
 are a mere form, and what can the form signify in such a case ? 
 You want to get Mr. Dane away from Pordand ; do not 
 quarrel with the means likely to compass that object most 
 speedily." 
 
 " I will not — I forgot. Liberty for him on a)iy terms — 
 any,'' and she laid her head wearily back on the pillow, " yet 
 I can't think Oliver would care for freedom as a favour, which 
 ought to be given to him as a right. He must know nothing 
 about it till he is out again. Were I a man — " and she stopped 
 and made a sign for Mr. Gayre to give her water. 
 
 It was sweet to do even this much for her, but it was 
 dreadful to feel how she shrank from contact with him as he 
 held her up, and see the way her feeble hand shook, and hear 
 the glass tinkle against her teeth, because he who once would 
 have been denied no privilege of staunch and kindly friend- 
 ship, had passed the border Ime and mentioned love. 
 
 Putting a strong constraint on himself, as a father might 
 have done, he withdrew his arm, and took the water from her 
 lips, and crossed the warm covering over her panting breast. 
 Then he said, moved by what demon he could never afterwards 
 imagine, 
 
 " Where you a man you would feel like a man, and the 
 man does not live who, after a few months— ay, days— of 
 penal servitude, would not take his liberty on any terms." 
 
 She did not answer him for a minute. Restlessly she moved 
 her averted head, as though struggling with some great emotion. 
 Before turning her face again towards him, she said, in a feeble 
 voice, yet with the greatest decision,
 
 326 . SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 " Had Oliver been the poor creature you think him, I should 
 never have promised to be his wife. Though that is all gone 
 and past, you must never say anything against him to me. For 
 even in spite of all his faults — and he has faults — I shall think 
 of him as the one perfect man I ever knew. A man could not 
 be perfect who was more tlian human." 
 
 " It is something," said Mr. Gayre, " to know how to avoid 
 your displeasure. I only wish you would tell me how I could 
 win your favour." 
 
 " I am so tired," she moaned, " I wish you would go. No, 
 I did not mean to say that ; only I feel weary — weary — " 
 
 "I am going," he answered. " I will not intrude longer; 
 but before I go tell me what I can do to please you." 
 
 She could not speak the words that trembled on her lips, 
 but she looked at him with that piteous look of dumb entreaty 
 we sometimes see in the eyes of an animal utterly at our cruel 
 mercy, then — 
 
 " Be just to Oliver," and hid her face, whilst giving him her 
 hand. 
 
 Yes, this was all he could ever expect from Susan Drum- 
 mond. Jf his name never passed her lips, it would be "Oliver," 
 " Oliver," " Oliver," in her heart for ever. 
 
 Mr. Gayre had some time to wait before a train started for 
 town, and he employed the interval in walking along the Rot- 
 tingdean Road till he found a point whence he could reach the 
 shore. 
 
 The tide was out far as tide at Brighton ever is, and while 
 he stumbled back over the great stones and shingle, he took a 
 savage satisfaction in telling himself the mess he had made of 
 a life that once promised a brilliant future. 
 
 "First Love, then Money, then Love again. Accursed be 
 both love and money," he muttered, regarding that horrible 
 waste of long and unpicturesque sea which is seen to such 
 advantage from the East End of Brighton. 
 
 " When she marries me — and she will marry me, because 
 such as she cannot give a promise and take it back — the same 
 loyalty which has kept her true to a man under a heavy cloud 
 will keep her faithful to her husband. I shall have to dread no 
 rival save the never-to-be-forgotten and perfect — And yet, 
 my God," he added, turning quite unconsciously seaward, as 
 though he felt somewhere — somewhere beyond the low horizon 
 running in an expanse of dull gray water — the God in whom 
 he believed — our God who sits above the water-clouds would
 
 ''HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO TOOTING?" 327 
 
 hear the cry of one of His creatures, who in no great or grand 
 fashion had drifted so hopelessly wrong — " I would rather try 
 conclusions with any rival than contempt — any man than 
 repugnance." 
 
 " What have I done," he thought, walking slowly along the 
 beach, with head bowed and hands clasped idly behind his 
 back, " that twice I should have loved women who had no 
 look or smile for me ? I — " And then memory, taking him 
 gently by the hand, gave him back the shy glances, the falter- 
 ing tones of those who, in the days of the dead gone by, which 
 could be his no more, would have been glad to take him for 
 better, and equally ready to leave him if worse ever came. 
 
 " It's all a mystery," he thought, as some time or other we 
 have most of us thought, when trying to solve the great problem 
 of lives mismatched, or worse than mismatched ; and then he 
 went back to town, and in the stir and bustle of London forgot 
 the lesson of which, by the mournful sea, he had caught a mere 
 glimpse, but which there was nothing surer than that, in some 
 form or other, he would have to learn the last word ere he 
 understood Nicholas Gayre. 
 
 Once again time went on, the days flew by. Two or three 
 afternoons a week, occasionally more frequently, the banker 
 ran down to Brighton, but he made no progress with Susan. 
 In fact, he made as little progress with her as his solicitors 
 seemed to do with the Oliver Dane conspiracy. 
 
 At last there came an hour when Susan spoke plainly. She 
 was getting strong again ; she could walk a short distance ; the 
 far-away look he had come to know so well lay constantly 
 folded within the deep brown depths of her tender eyes. The 
 roses which go on blooming, even over the grave of human 
 hope and happiness, had begun to tint her cheeks once more ; 
 her figure gave promise of again being rounded. The Susan 
 he once knew had gone like the last year's snow ; but a fairer, 
 nobler, more worthy Susan paced the Marine Parade, rejecting 
 the supporting arm he would have wished her to lean on for 
 life. 
 
 Once again spring had come upon the earth — spring, early 
 spring, that year filling the world with gladness — gay with 
 flowers, bright with sunshine. All through the land hawthorn 
 was blooming, and birds were singing, and vv'ild flowers decking 
 the fields and river-banks and copses. 
 
 The sea looked blue and glittering, as it lay calm under the 
 azure sky ; but Susan had no thought to spare for sea or sky,
 
 o 
 
 28 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 or white-winged vessel. Still Oliver Dane remained at Port- 
 land, breaking his heart or eating it out, according to whether 
 despair or frenzy was at the moment in the ascendency. 
 
 *' I mean to leave Brighton, ]\Ir. Gayre," she said at length, 
 " and return to London." 
 
 " You prefer London ?" This was interrogative. 
 
 " I think I may be able to do something for Oliver, there — 
 and I know I am doing nothing here." 
 
 Mr. Gayre bit his lip, but made no reply. They walked on 
 a little further, and then Susan, pausing and looking over the 
 parapet down at the shore beneath, went on, 
 
 "And I have been also thinking that when I do go back to 
 town it might be better if you did not call so frequently." 
 
 " May I ask your reason ?" 
 
 He knew his wisest policy would have been silence, but the 
 question rose to his lips, and he had no power to restrain its 
 utterance. 
 
 " You know," she said, " our arrangement was condi- 
 tional — " 
 
 " Yes ; but we mentioned no special time in which those 
 conditions were to be fulfilled. It is not from any lack of 
 endeavour on my part that — " 
 
 "I am quite willing to believe you," she interrupted; "it 
 would be terrible to think, really, you had 7iot done all in your 
 power; nevertheless — " 
 
 " It is a matter which cannot be hurried — " 
 
 " I mean to try if I cannot hurry it ; and if through my 
 exertions Oliver should be set at liberty — " 
 
 " Our contract is to be considered at an end ; is that what 
 you want to say ?" 
 
 " I feel it had better be at an end. You see," she went 
 on more firmly, now the first step had been taken, "if Oliver's 
 release cannot be procured soon^ it may as well never be pro- 
 cured." 
 
 " You think so ?" 
 
 " Yes, I do ; a few months more, and he will have been in 
 prison for a year. You cannot tell me now, certainly, that at 
 the end of another year he will be free. It may be all very 
 well for us — standing here, able to go and come as we like ; 
 but for him — " and she broke with a little passionate cry for 
 help to the God she sometimes thought — she could not avoid 
 thinking — had deserted her. 
 
 " If" — and her voice was calm and steady once more — " if,
 
 "HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO TOOTING?" 329 
 
 though innocent, I cannot prove his innocence — if there is no 
 justice or mercy to be hoped for — we must bear our burden of 
 sorrow as best we can. He has Hved somehow through this 
 awful time. If I can do nothing, I must Uve too, that I 
 may meet him when he is once more free. I have made up 
 my mind, ]\Ir. Gayre. It was for OUver I said I would marry 
 you if you obtained his release. It is for Oliver I say that, as 
 you seem able to do nothing to help him, we must part. No 
 woman cares less for the world's opinion than I, but I am 
 bound to consider the man whose wife I mean some day to be. 
 Though he has lost everything else, he shall find he has not 
 lost me." 
 
 Mr. Gayre did not answer immediately — he felt stunned. 
 That she could arrive at such a decision was an idea which had 
 never occurred to him. Something lay beneath the surface. 
 Could Mr. Fife — could any one— have sent her that cutting 
 from the Chelston paper ? No, he scarcely thought that ; but — 
 
 " 1 presume you do not mean to sit down and abandon 
 Mr. Dane to his fate without making some further attempt in 
 his behalf." 
 
 " No. I told you I thought I could help him, and I intend 
 to try." 
 
 "And may I not be permitted to assist?" 
 
 "Well, you see, Mr. Gayre, so far your assistance hitherto 
 has been of but little use, and — " 
 
 " I have asked such a price for it," he finished. 
 
 " I would have been willing to pay that price for it ; I 
 would have paid any price almost, before my illness, to set 
 Oliver free, and ever since, till quite recently, no thought of 
 refusing to act up to the letter of our bond occurred to me. 
 But you have not fulfilled your part. Oliver is still in prison ; 
 time goes on, and nothing is done on his behalf. His inno- 
 cence is not proved ; even that free pardon of which you spoke 
 is not obtained. Why should I remain in servitude when no 
 good results to him ? If nothing can be done by man, I must 
 ask God to give Oliver and myself strength to bear our burden 
 with submission, and live as cheaply as possible, so that when 
 he comes out he may have a home to receive him, and money 
 enough to take us both abroad should he wish to leave 
 England." 
 
 " In other words, Miss Drummond, you have thought of 
 some scheme by which you may obtain his release irrespective 
 of help from me."
 
 330 S[/SAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 " Yes, I have thought of a plan ; but I daresay it would 
 never have occurred to me, had your help promised to be of 
 the slightest use." 
 
 " May one inquire what your plan is ? If it be a secret," 
 he added, seeing she hesitated, " pray do not feel yourself under 
 any compulsion to tell me." 
 
 "There is no reason why I should not tell you," Susan 
 answered. "Before I left London, if you remember, I re- 
 ceived two anonymous letters." 
 
 "Yes, I recollect." 
 
 "Well, I think the writer meant kindly by Oliver and me." 
 
 "Possibly." 
 
 "And what has occurred to me to do is this: Advertise 
 and entreat the writer of those letters to come and see me. I 
 have thought the matter over, and it seems to me there is hope 
 in the plan, even if only a forlorn hope." 
 
 "There may be." 
 
 "You do not seem to think much good likely to result 
 from my scheme ?" 
 
 " My own have not hitherto borne so much fruit I dare 
 venture to disparage yours." 
 
 Her heart dropped down like lead at his words. Had he 
 opposed her she would not have felt half so much discouraged. 
 
 " It may do no good, I can but try." 
 
 "And if you fail, Miss Drummond, do I clearly under- 
 stand that I am to make no future attempt?" 
 
 "Not unless—" 
 
 "Unless what?" 
 
 " Unless there seems a likelihood of something being done 
 for Oliver immediately." 
 
 "What do you call immediately ?— a day, or week, or 
 month ? Give me some idea of the time you mean." 
 
 She paused a moment, then said : " Suppose we fix a period 
 of not more than three months." 
 
 "And if within that time I can procure Mr. Dane's re- 
 lease, you will marry me ?" 
 
 She paused again before she answered, 
 
 "Yes, I will marry you if, meantime, I fail to set him free 
 through my own exertions." 
 
 " I see." 
 
 "And, Mr. Gayre, during the period you must not come 
 to me." 
 
 " Or write ?"
 
 ''HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO TOOTING?" 331 
 
 " I should like to know what you are doing." 
 
 " The plain English of which is, you wish me to write." 
 
 ** I wish to hear about Oliver." 
 
 "And if I have nothing to tell you about him, I am to 
 send you no letter." 
 
 ■' I would much rather you did not." 
 
 "You are very plain spoken." 
 
 She made no reply to this — only walked a little way, be- 
 fore she said, " I think I should like to go back now." 
 
 Without a word he faced round and they slowly returned 
 the way they had come. Mr. Gayre's spirit was very bitter 
 within him. He knew, at any moment, some circumstance 
 might occur to make the Dane affair plain sailing. Over and 
 over he had told himself it was impossible no means could be 
 found to liberate an innocent man. His solicitors, though 
 slow, were sure \ but if Susan took the helm she would do one 
 of two things, either run her vessel on the rock, or else, by 
 dint of sheer determination, get the case brought so promi- 
 nently before the public that Mr. Colvend, by the mere force 
 of popular opinion, would be compelled to urge his daughter 
 to confession. 
 
 Further, he distrusted Mr. Fife. He could not understand 
 the expression with which the ex-manager occasionally regarded 
 him. He had no reason to suppose the man meant to play 
 him false, yet that some scheme was maturing in his busy brain, 
 he felt it impossible to doubt. He knew him to be needy, un- 
 scrupulous, desperate ; so far he had been living on the money 
 Mr. Gayre paid him, but from time to time he threw out hints 
 which implied his views of the future were large, and that it 
 was not his intention to render those dreams realities by dint 
 of hard work. 
 
 " Had enough of it for dog's pay," he explained ; " what- 
 ever halfpence might be going Dane got — I had the kicks for 
 my share." 
 
 Likely as not the moment Susan's advertisement appeared 
 he would go to her, get money from her, and tell her the whole 
 story. 
 
 " No, I'll stop that," thought the banker, looking askance 
 at his companion, who, with eyes bent down, seemed trying to 
 solve some knotty problem, " and you shall marry me yet. 
 You will find you have not to deal with a boy, or even Oliver 
 Dane," — having arrived at which conclusion he said aloud, 
 
 " Though I am not to write to you, you will write to me, if
 
 332 SUSAN DRUM MO ND. 
 
 you think I can be of any service — and you will not go away 
 and hide yourself without leaving even an address where a 
 letter might find you." 
 
 "I did not do so before, intentionally," she answered. 
 " You know I was so ill, so very ill. Just when you spoke I 
 was thinking about the night when I came down here. It 
 seems a long time ago, but perhaps you remember what a 
 stormy day it was." 
 
 Yes, Mr. Gayre did remember — he was never indeed likely 
 to forget that journey from London, with the wind howling 
 round the carriage — and rain dashing itself at intervals against 
 the glass. 
 
 " It was a wretched day," he agreed, " and a more wretched 
 evening." 
 
 " Well, do you know I could not rest in the lodgings, but 
 came out here, where we are now, alone in the wild weather. 
 I must have been mad to do such a thing — and am going to 
 tell you the oddest fancy. As I stood here— just about here — 
 I felt sure I saw you pass. A strange idea, was it not ?" 
 
 It was not half so strange and inexplicable as the tell-tale 
 colour which rushed up into Mr. Gayre's face. He could not 
 help it, he could not command his features. 
 
 " Were you here — really ?" asked Susan, astonished. " I 
 always thought it must have been a fancy of mine — but — " 
 
 " It was no fancy," said Mr. Gayre ; " I came down here on 
 the Oliver Dane business. I hoped to have settled it that night." 
 
 "And there was some one with you." 
 
 The banker made a gesture of assent. He could not have 
 spoken then to save his life. 
 
 " And he said — ah !" and Susan pulled herself up in the 
 middle of her speech, as we sometimes start in the middle of a 
 dream. 
 
 They did not exchange another word till they reached the 
 lodgings. Mr. Gayre, though uninvited to do so, followed the 
 girl in. Susan did not sit down, and so he could not. 
 
 " I am to go, then," he said, " and never return unless I 
 bring you good news — it is rather hard for me, is it not ?" 
 
 " It is better," she murmured. 
 
 "Yes, for you, perhaps. I wonder, though, if my absence 
 will make you as much happier as you suppose — whether you 
 won't miss me a little. Before we part, can't you find one kind 
 word, Susan, to say to a man who loves you as he never loved 
 any creature before ?"
 
 ''HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO TOOTING f" 333 
 
 It was the first time he had called her by her Christian 
 name, but she did not take any notice that he had done so. 
 Lifting her eyes she looked him strait in the face, and said : 
 " I will try and forgive you, Mr. Gayre." 
 " Forgive me for what?" he asked. 
 
 " For hating Oliver, for seeking fee or reward in this matter, 
 for doing so little to help him in his strait. I know you 
 would not have done anything if you could have helped. Had 
 the cases been reversed, he would not have acted as you have 
 done. He would have moved heaven and earth to compass 
 your freedom \ he would not have tried to take your promised 
 wife from you ; he would not have insisted on a woman marry- 
 ing a man she could never love nor respect, as the price of her 
 lover's freedom." 
 
 " Good-bye," he said, holding out his hand ; " do not let us 
 part in anger ; you will be sorry, after I go, to think you could 
 speak such cruel words. I asked for a blessing, and you give 
 me instead something akin to a curse. I wanted some pleasant 
 memor}' to carry away with me into the world, and you impute 
 the worst possible motives to me, whose only sin has been 
 loving you too well and faithfully. No, you need not tell me 
 to go, I am going. Why are you so angry with me, that you 
 will not give me even your hand ? What is the reason of this 
 extraordinary change ; why will you not speak ? Well, I had 
 better go, I suppose. Good-bye, Susan. Good-bye, my darling." 
 
 " Good-bye," she anwered coldly. 
 
 He took a few steps towards the door, then, moved by 
 some sudden madness, turned, and before she could have the 
 slightest idea of his purpose, had clasped her in his arms, and 
 kissed her over and over again. 
 
 She did not struggle, she did not speak a word, only when 
 he released her, which he did as suddenly as he had caught 
 her to him, she stood for a second, looking with eyes full of 
 wonder and reproach, and then, still in silence, walked out of 
 the room. 
 
 Mr. Gayre was not, perhaps, in the happiest state of mind 
 for seeking an interview with Mr. Fife, yet it was to that 
 individual's lodgings he repaired immediately he arrived in 
 London, 
 
 Before he slept he felt he must know the course Mr. Fife 
 would adopt. If Susan advertised for the writer of those letters 
 would he go to her ? that was the question Mr. Gayre put plainly 
 to Messrs. Colvend and Surlees' late manager.
 
 334 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 " I sha'n't take a morsel of notice," declared Mr. Fife. 
 " What's the reason of this new move ? She's not satisfied, I 
 suppose." 
 
 "Very much the reverse." 
 
 " What's the matter with her ? Rome wasn't built in a day, 
 or a night either, and it's not so easy to get a man out of gaol, 
 as anybody might suppose till he tried the experiment. Besides, 
 what does she want? Her young man running loose about the 
 world, no doubt ! If she could only realise the fact, he is far 
 safer where he is ; and when all that is settled, why doesn't 
 she marry you ? I thought the matter was finally arranged." 
 
 Mr. Gayre shook his head. "We will not discuss Miss 
 Drummond any further if you please," he remarked ; and on 
 Mr. Fife saying " All right " very cheerfully, the conversation 
 would have ended, had not the ex-manager suddenly put this 
 question : 
 
 " By the bye, Mr. Gayre, have you ever been to Tooting?" 
 
 " You asked me that same question some time ago," said 
 the banker. " Is it a conundrum, or have you any special 
 reason for referring to the place ?" 
 
 " Well, yes, I have. Look here, Mr. Gayre, should you 
 like me to put you in the way of making a lot of money ?" 
 
 " Money is always useful. Is there a gold-mine anywhere 
 in the Tooting direction ?" 
 
 " There is a quagmire, at any rate, where a fortune is in 
 the way of being lost. When I used the word making I ought 
 to have said saving. I can prevent your being a good bit out 
 of pocket, or I am much mistaken." 
 
 " Prevent my being out of pocket ! What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Precisely what I say. I believe I can be of use to you, 
 Mr. Gayre ; but I do not want a sum of money this time — I 
 want a commission. Will you give me ten per cent on any 
 loss I am able to put you in the way of avoiding ?" 
 
 " I have no objection to make such a promise, if I see that 
 the loss without your interposition would have been certain." 
 
 " Will you stick to that ?" 
 
 "Yes, subject to the condition mentioned." 
 
 '• The commission is too heavy. Look here, let us say five 
 per cent certain, and I will leave the rest to your generosity, or 
 rather to your justice, for I don't believe you are generous." 
 
 " You ought to be honest, Mr. Fife, for you do not flatter." 
 
 " You would not give me sixpence more if I did flatter you. 
 Now before we engage on this other matter, I should like to
 
 "HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO TOOTING r 335 
 
 un^rstand exactly how you and Miss Drummond stand. She 
 wants to see me, and you do not want me to see her. What's up?" 
 
 " I have told you. She thinks she can find some means to 
 obtain Dane's release." 
 
 " And supposing she did — what then ? O, you don't want 
 to tell me that ; come, you had better. There was once a lion, 
 you know, and there was likewise a mouse. Two heads are 
 better than one, remember, particularly when the second head 
 is mine. What was the nature of the arrangement you made 
 with her ?" 
 
 Mr. Gayre stood silent. Even to this man, who had been 
 his evil genius, he could not tell the nature of the bargain he 
 had made. 
 
 "Shall I guess for myself?" said Mr. Fife, with a nasty 
 laugh. " The arrangement was conditional — speak if I am 
 wrong — and the lady now wants to back out of it. I could 
 have told you exactly how it would be. They are all alike. 
 The very best of them can't bear to wait a minute for anything. 
 If you are unable to hand the article they ask for across the 
 counter they will have none of it. You ought to have married 
 her first — made her fulfil her part of the contract. She will 
 never marry you now. If the truth were known, I daresay she 
 is tired of Dane too — perhaps seen somebody else she fancies 
 better than either of you." 
 
 " No, t/iat she has not !" exclaimed Mr. Gayre vehemently, 
 finding voice at last. " I wish to heaven she had ! She speaks 
 of nothing, cares for nothing, thinks of nothing, but Oliver 
 Dane. I can see she is now gradually making up her mind to 
 wait for him. She has done a rule-of-three sum. One year 
 has nearly gone by : seven years will in the same way pass 
 somehow for both of them. Once she relinquishes all hope of 
 getting the sentence reversed, she will put down the number of 
 days before he can walk out a free man, and every night, after 
 she says her prayers, strike one off the list." 
 
 " Do you mean to say, then, matters are quite at an end 
 between you ? I thought, from your wanting me to keep quiet, 
 you had not quite played out all your own cards. Tell me the 
 real state of the case. After to-night you will not be able to 
 devote much time to Dane's affairs, and you will need my help 
 there too, or I am greatly mistaken." 
 
 Though still not easy to talk of the matter, Mr, Gayre found 
 it easier to say he had still three months, during the course of 
 which, if Dane could be set free, Susan would marry him.
 
 336 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 '* It's not long," observed Mr. Fife, rubbing his chin, when, 
 after a considerable amount of hesitation on the banker's part, 
 he found himself in possession of the girl's expressed determi- 
 nation, " but we must see what can be done. It is getting 
 dusk now, INIr. Gayre ; if you will kindly put on your hat, we 
 will make the best of our way to Tooting. If you do not care 
 to be seen travelling with me — and, indeed, it is as well we 
 should not seem acc^uainted — we can behave like total strangers 
 on our journey." 
 
 " I leave the whole matter to you," said the banker care- 
 lessly ; though, indeed, there was nothing he less desired than 
 to be going about the world in the character of Mr. Fife's 
 bosom friend. 
 
 Long before they reached their destination it was quite 
 dark, but by the aid of a lamp close at hand, Mr. Gayre was 
 able to take in most of the details connected with a fine old 
 house, to which his companion silently directed attention. 
 
 It stood well back from the road, and was approached by a 
 gravelled sweep, which enclosed a circular grass-plot. There 
 were trees and shrubs of old growth about the place, and an 
 air of stability and repose marked the house and its surround- 
 ings. 
 
 " You would not say that establishment could be kept up 
 on a few hundreds a year," suggested Mr. Fife, as they stood 
 together looking over one of the entrance gates. " There is a 
 stable at the rear, and one very good horse in it. There is a 
 coach-house and a natty brougham in it. There is a garden 
 which requires two men to keep in order ; and there is a pre- 
 siding deity in the shape of a lady, who cannot get through the 
 day without being waited on by a butler, a maid, a housemaid, 
 and a cook. Just a quiet, modest, steady-going, respectable 
 establishment ; no show, no ostentation ; nevertheless, one that 
 must require some small amount of money to keep going. 
 Don't you agree in my opinion?" 
 
 " Certainly," said Mr. Gayre, sorely puzzled. 
 
 " The lady," proceeded Mr. Fife, " who resides in that 
 house is supposed to be a widow, possessed of a fair fortune. 
 Her reputed name is Stanley. She is not very young — over 
 thirty, at any rate — but she is handsome. You have taken in 
 as many of the details of the place as is possible, unless we 
 could get inside, which we can't. We must not stand here any 
 longer. I want to call on a friend in the neighbourhood for 
 five minutes ; so if you will charter a cab and drive home to
 
 "HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO TOOTING r 337 
 
 " 'Wimpole Street, and give your servants orders to admit me 
 when I appear, I will follow you as quickly as possible." 
 
 "You intend to tell me something you think I ought to 
 know ?"" 
 
 "Yes ; for Mrs. Stanley is not a widow, was never married, 
 and has not a sixpence of her own." 
 
 "Then who — " began Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " What I mean to tell you when I get to Wimpole Street is 
 the name of the man who supplies the sinews of war necessary 
 to carry on that campaign."
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 AWAKENING. 
 
 More than an hour elapsed after Mr. Gayre's return to Wimpole 
 Street, before Rawlings, opening the library door, announced 
 Mr. Fife. Contrary to his evening custom, that gentleman was 
 perfectly sober ; and as he deferentially took a seat opposite the 
 banker, he looked once again a model clerk — a man who had 
 not a thought, hope, wish, beyond the counting-house and his 
 employer's interests. 
 
 He was paler than usual, and seemed fagged, which fact he 
 accounted for by remarking, 
 
 " It's a long pull from Tooting here." 
 
 " Surely you have not walked !" said Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " O no, I haven't walked; but take it any way you like it's 
 a long pull." Then he sat silent for a while, contemplating the 
 candlesticks as if he were appraising them. 
 
 " I am going," he at last began, speaking slowly, and never 
 removing his steady gaze from the candlesticks, " to tell you 
 the name of the man who keeps up the establishment we were 
 looking at this evening. He is called Nicholas Gayre." 
 
 " Are you mad ?" asked the banker. " I never was at 
 Tooting in my life before. I never knew there was such a 
 house as that you took me to see, and I never heard there was 
 such a person on earth as the Mrs. Stanley, who, you say, lives 
 there, till you mentioned it." 
 
 " That may all be — indeed, I know it all is. Nevertheless, 
 it is you and no other who rent the house, pay the wages, settle 
 with the tradespeople, and spend Heaven only knows how 
 much on madam — " 
 
 " You will perhaps presently kindly explain the enigma." 
 
 " Presently — yes. I suppose " — and at this point Mr. Fife 
 turned his eyes towards Mr. Gayre — " you will not dispute the 
 fact that a business cannot stand still ?" 
 
 " I should have thought it possible." 
 
 " Should you ? Well, it can't ; nothing under heaven can 
 stand still; it must be always advancing or retrogressing.
 
 A WA KENING. 3 3 9 
 
 "Wten your great-grandfather died he left a fine business behind 
 him. When your grandfather died the business was a fine one 
 still, but the diminishing process had begun. The world was 
 going on, the business was being left behind. When your 
 father died comparatively Gayres' had dwindled to quite a 
 small concern ; when you die — " 
 
 " Pray proceed ; do not allow any feeling of delicacy to 
 stop you," urged the person whose end was so plainly alluded 
 to. " When I die—" 
 
 " There will be no Gayres' if you do not meantime either 
 attend to your business yourself, or see that somebody else 
 attends to your business for you." 
 
 " May I ask the connection between all this and the house 
 at Tooting ?" 
 
 " Certainly ; I am getting on to that. When your father 
 died he left you, amongst other things, a safe business, if a 
 small one." 
 
 "You are quite accurate, Mr. Fife." 
 
 " And a perfectly honest staff of clerks ?" 
 
 " I believe so. Till quite recently I never had any reason 
 to suspect the honesty of any one in the establishment." 
 
 ".-Ind in that case it was notjw/ discovered there had been 
 peculation ; it was your manager, Mr. Pengrove." 
 
 " It was his duty to discover if anything of the sort was 
 going on." 
 
 " Exactly. And whose duty is it to discover if anything is 
 going wrong with Mr. Pengrove ?" 
 
 " With Pengrove ! O, that is too absurd !" 
 
 " Is it ? I suppose Mr. Pengrove's salary does not exceed 
 eight hundred a year ; in fact, I know it does not." 
 
 " I do not know where or how you obtain your information, 
 Mr. Fife, but in this instance it is correct." 
 
 "While up to the year 1866 he had but five hundred. 
 During the crisis of that summer he proved himself so able 
 and trustworthy that your father advanced his salary to six 
 hundred." 
 
 " Again you are right." 
 
 " Since that period you gave him another advance of a 
 hundred ; and last year finding personal attention to business 
 more and more irksome, and the society of your brother-in-law 
 more and more fascinating, and your manager more and more 
 trustworthy, you finally raised his honorarium — that is the 
 word, is it not? — to eight hundred."
 
 340 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 "Though of course delighted to find how thoroughly 
 acquainted with the details of my business you are, I must 
 confess to some surprise as to how you have mastered them." 
 
 " I could tell you that, too ; but it is a matter quite beside 
 the question, and would only detain us from the ])oint we have 
 to consider. Mr. Pengrove, then, till about the end of the 
 year 187 r, had nothing except six hundred a year on which to 
 support a wife, educate his children, and what is called ' main- 
 tain his position.' " 
 
 " Mrs. Pengrove was an heiress." 
 
 " Heiress to what ? No money, certainly. To ill-health, I 
 admit, and a tendency, not uncommon amongst ladies, of ren- 
 dering home somewhat unpleasant to her husband." 
 
 " Do you know for a fact she did not bring Mr. Pengrove 
 a fortune ?" 
 
 " For a fact. Mrs. Pengrove was a Miss Garley, the 
 daughter of a gentleman out at Homerton, who amused himself 
 by preaching thunder and lightning sermons on Sunday in a 
 little whitewashed barn, and supported a large family by selling 
 exceedingly bad grocery through the week. Miss Garley had 
 nothing but her face, and that soon faded ; she looks now like 
 a very poor portrait in water-colours which has hung for a long 
 time on an exceedingly damp wall. Mr. Pengrove, I presume, 
 told you his wife had a fortune ?" 
 
 " Merely incidentally. Whether she had or not was, of 
 course, no business of mine." 
 
 " O, of course not ; no more your business than whether 
 Jane, your housemaid, meets her young man round the corner." 
 
 " Mr. Fife, will you kindly say in so many words how that 
 house at Tooting concerns me?" 
 
 "With the greatest pleasure. Mr. Pengrove is Mrs. Stanley's 
 ' trustee.' Mr. Pengrove is constantly at the house on busi- 
 ness ; and one of these fine days he will marry the lady, and 
 take up his abode at Tooting altogether." 
 
 " Bless my soul, the man can't marry her ! He has got a 
 wife already, as you are well aware." 
 
 " Yes ; but that wife can't live long. She has an incurable 
 disease. It is only for ' contrariness ' she has not died long 
 ago ; and when she does die, you shall see what you shall see 
 if you fail to put a stop to Mr. Pengrove's little game at once." 
 
 "And what is his little game?" 
 
 " That is for you to find out. I have sketched an outline ; 
 you surely can fill in the details. I have no exact means of
 
 AWAKENING. 341 
 
 telling how much you will find yourself to the bad ; but I should 
 imagine the deficiency will turn out to be not less than a 
 hundred thousand pounds." 
 
 " What ?"' said i\Ir. Gayre ; and he said no more, for the 
 simple reason that he could not. 
 
 "And if you don't want to be utterly ruined," went on Mr. 
 Fife coolly, " you will put your own shoulder to the wheel, and 
 try to get your cart out of the rut," 
 
 "But how?" asked Mr. Gayre, at length finding voice — 
 "how could any man rob me to such an extent?" 
 
 "I'm sure I cannot tell; you know the position of your 
 own bank better, I should imagine, than anybody else, except 
 your trusty friend and servant, Mr. Pengrove. If you have not 
 money in your strong-room, you have, I suppose, money's 
 worth. Where are you going? No, for Heaven's sake, Mr. 
 Gayre, don't make any disturbance to-night. If you go to 
 Pengrove's house, he'll give you the slip safe as you are alive. 
 Let it be till to-morrow morning. Get to the bank early — his 
 always there early ; have him into your private office, and don't 
 let him leave it till you know where every title-deed and bond 
 and mortgage is you may ere long be called upon to make 
 good." 
 
 "I will go dov.'n to the bank now, and examine the 
 securities. If I find one missing, I shall give him in charge 
 to-night." 
 
 " Do; and I gwt you not longer than eight-and-forty hours 
 to repent not taking my advice. Why, your bank is not a 
 strong one — you know that; and if at a day's notice the 
 deposits are withdrawn and all securities required, you may as 
 well put up your shutters." 
 
 " I would rather do that than — " 
 
 " But why should you do anything of the kind? You must 
 make up your mind to lose a lot of money, but you need not 
 lose all. If you must have revenge, well and good ; but first 
 count the cost. It's all very well to cut oft' your nose to spite 
 your chin ; but after a while a man must begin to miss his 
 nose. If you only keep a quiet tongue in your head, you may 
 pull through yet ; if you don't the Bank of England couldn't 
 save you so far as to enable you to get a living out of Gayres' 
 in the future." 
 
 Ya.x into the night Mr. Gayre and Mr. Fife sat talking. 
 According to custom, at a certain early hour the female servants 
 repaired to bed, leaving Rawlings on guard below. He was
 
 342 SUSAN DRUaMMOND. 
 
 the most discreet and faithful of butlers ; yet even he could 
 not help marvelling what his master could find to say to that 
 low impudent fellow Fife. 
 
 "He might just as well ask mc into the library, and order 
 up a devilled bone and some i)unch for my supper, as have Jiim 
 there,'' grumbled the man to himself; and then Mr. Gayre's 
 bell tinkled, and Rawlings, quiet and decorous, went up-stairs 
 and waited just inside the door to hear what his master wanted. 
 
 "Shut that door," said Mr. Gayre, "and come in." 
 
 Rawlings obeyed. 
 
 " I am afraid something is wrong in Lombard Street," 
 began his master. 
 
 " Truth is," interposed Mr. Fife, fortified by hot brandy- 
 and-water, " I know there is a great deal wrong in Lombard 
 Street, have just come round to give your master a hint and — " 
 
 "Allow me for a moment, please, Mr. Fife. I shall want 
 your help to-morrow, Rawlings ; therefore please see breakfast 
 is ready at eight, and that you are at liberty to leave for the 
 City at half-past. 1 will give you full directions in the morning." 
 
 " Thank you, Colonel," and the man could scarcely refrain 
 from the old military salute, so delighted was he to be taken 
 into confidence, so relieved to find this unaccountable intimacy 
 with Mr. Fife indicated nothing worse than something going 
 wrong in Lombard Street. "Though, indeed," thought Raw- 
 lings, " that might mean a good deal to some of us. I wonder 
 if the Colonel would go back into the army? I don't know 
 how I should take to that mvself after the time I've had of it 
 here." 
 
 " Do you think you can trust him ?" asked Mr. Fife, as 
 Rawlings left the room. 
 
 " I would trust him with my life," answered Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " Ah, but this is not a question of life ; it is one of money," 
 said Mr. Fife, with a sarcasm that would not have disgraced 
 the banker himself. 
 
 Late though it was before Mr. Gayre went to bed, he never 
 closed his eyes. He had slept after the loss of his self-esteem, 
 but he could not sleep now the loss of money was in question. 
 
 At last he realised all the bank had done for him ; how 
 little he had done for the bank. What Mr. Fife said was pain- 
 fully true. As each succeeding Gayre for generations had 
 departed, he left, in proportion to the times, less money behind 
 him. It was pretty nearly the old story of the single talent 
 repeated in Lombard Street. Safety the Gayres had thought
 
 A WAKENING. 343 
 
 ' of4o the exclusion of progress ; and now, as a fitting sequel, 
 the last of the name seemed likely to be not merely shoved up 
 in a corner, but left, in addition, well-nigh destitute. 
 
 "And you have no one to thank but yourself," Mr. Fife 
 had most truly observed. "If a man professes to be in busi- 
 ness, he should attend to his business. Your father did not 
 ask you to give up the army merely that you might drop into 
 the bank for an hour a day. He could have found a dummy 
 to do everything you latterly professed to do — better." 
 
 It was of such utterances as these, and of how certainly he 
 •lad left things to " take their chance," Mr. Gayre thought as 
 le tossed restlessly from side to side. 
 
 Even then Ruin might be keeping watch in Lombard Street, 
 hough tlie outer world were still in ignorance of her presence. 
 -luin ! worse than ruin ! Value lay, or was supposed to lie, in 
 he strong-room at Gayres' to a larger amount than the whole 
 (f the money he owned in the world would cover. 
 
 " Nothing had been advanced upon those deeds and mort- 
 ^ges and bonds, and plate and jewels; but" — and at this 
 joint Mr. Gayre started up with the intention of going there 
 aid then to Lombard Street to learn the worst — " if these 
 tiings were not forthcoming, how should he meet man or 
 voman who had confided them to his keeping ?" The Act of 
 God was one thing, the carelessness of man another; and Mr. 
 Cayre knew, since he relinquished the idea of making Gayres' 
 ; big power in the City, that he had been criminally careless 
 )oth of his own estate and the goods of other people. 
 
 " During this last year particularly," conscience hinted, in 
 no uncertain tones, " each day you have been getting worse 
 and worse ; each hour you have been leaving more and more 
 to subordinates." 
 
 " A true bill," he murmured. " I have not done any real 
 good since I saw Will Arbery riding Squire Temperley's hunter 
 in the Park. Would to Heaven I had selected any other route 
 that morning, never stopped to speak to Sudlow, never set 
 eyes on my niece, never watched young Arbery managing that 
 horse, never seen Susan Drummond ! Yes," he added vehe- 
 mently, " I would to God Susan Drummond had never crossed 
 my path !" 
 
 It was not the first time he had expressed that wish ; but 
 even when the powers of good and evil were waging war within 
 him, he had never felt it more fervently. To be not only 
 lowered in his own esteem, but to be poor as well, seemed more
 
 344 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 than he could bear. Hitherto, if he gained Susan he accounted 
 the world well lost ; but when it came to the test, when he was 
 called upon to lose much the world accounts of value, Mr. 
 Gayre could not be quite so certain. 
 
 Suppose at that moment Ruin was actually in the cellars of 
 Gayres', crouching beside The Tortoise, removed from its 
 proud position by his grandfather, what could Susan avail him? 
 She did not love him rich ; was it in the least degree likely she 
 would care more for him when poor ? How could he humble 
 himself to tell her that even riches had refused to stop with 
 him ; that his boasted wealth was gone, and his social position 
 also? She would say, perhaps, they would have to make the 
 best of matters ; say it with that look of half contempt and 
 whole dislike he had learned to know so well. He never could 
 make her care for him : while the sun set and the moon rose 
 while grass grew and water flowed, he never, let him do wha 
 he would, might win a glance of love or a smile of welcome 
 from the woman he had treated as a conqueror might a slave. 
 
 Over and over and over again, through the watches of \X\t 
 dreary night, he conned the words of that song so many (f 
 us, under like circumstances, have set to doleful music of oir 
 own making, the burden of which is Loss, and the refraii 
 Despair. 
 
 He tried to sleep, but he could not. He strove to chei 
 himself into the belief Mr. Fife had spoken untruly, but evei 
 that poor reed broke as he touched it. Mr. Fife's way of talk 
 ing was not that of a man who desired to delude or conciliate 
 Quite the contrary — Mr. Fife was terribly plain. He said Mr 
 Pengrove had stolen, was stealing, would steal ; that Mr. Gayre 
 had no more right to complain of having been robbed than a 
 shopkeeper who puts his goods out on the pavement for any 
 thief to walk off with. 
 
 "Confidence," he went on, "may be a very fine thing in 
 theory, but your customers, I fancy, would think caution a vast 
 deal better in business. You should have kept your keys your- 
 self, Mr. Gayre, and seen the locks were not tampered with." 
 
 Long before it was time to go to Lombard Street Mr. 
 Gayre had finished breakfast. 
 
 Having agreed to follow Mr. Fife's advice he could not, as 
 his inclination prompted, rush down into the City and go 
 through the contents of Gayres' strong-room without another 
 moment's delay. 
 
 "If once the aftair gets wind you may suspend payment,"
 
 A WAKENING. 
 
 345 
 
 Mi'. Fife told him. " Follow my counsel, and, unless things 
 are in a very much worse state than I think they have yet had 
 time to get into, you may, with hard work and judicious man- 
 agement, pull through. But remember, you will have to work 
 hard, and bring all your common sense to bear on the matter. 
 Half the bankrupts in London smash up because the moment 
 some bother comes they lose their heads. I am talking of 
 the honest men. Swindlers rarely make a mistake of that 
 sort." 
 
 At length the moment arrived when he might make a move, 
 and, like a greyhound let out of leash, Mr. Gayre started for 
 the City. 
 
 It was the first time in his experience he had ever wished 
 to go there ; and even in the midst of his anxiety he could but 
 smile to consider the reason. " I have let all these years slip 
 by," he thought, " and now in a moment the fear of poverty 
 brings me to my feet, as the hope of gain never could have 
 done." 
 
 In Lombard Street he met Mr. Fife, and turned with him 
 for a moment into Change Alley. 
 
 " Think you are in command again, Colonel," said the 
 ex-manager very earnestly. " It needs as much courage to face 
 a difficulty like this as to stand fire. I'll be at hand when you 
 
 want me." 
 
 The interview between Mr. Gayre and his manager was not 
 long, but it sufficed to change Mr. Pengrove's whole appear- 
 ance. When he entered the private room he looked a smug, 
 prosperous, respectable man of business ; when he came out he 
 resembled nothing so much as a thrashed hound, longing for 
 a quiet corner in which to lay its aching bones. 
 
 Bat there was to be no quiet corner that day. Lie had to 
 go on with his work just as if detection were still in the far 
 distance. He was obliged to assist in checking the securities ; 
 he had to compel his trembling lips to speak and try to steady 
 his hands, and strive to seem unconscious that even when, for 
 appearance' sake, he went out at qne o'clock for his accustomed 
 chop, he was never lost sight of for a moment. 
 
 During the whole of that busy day Mr. Gayre's thoughts 
 did not once stray to Susan Drummond. For the first time 
 since their ill-starred meeting, he forgot the fact of her exist- 
 ence. The hours were so full of excitement and anxiety, Love 
 found himself out of court; and when, late at night, the banker 
 returned to Wimpole Street, he saw, almost with indifference,
 
 346 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 a letter addressed in a handwriting which foiir-and-twenty hours 
 previously would have stirred his every pulse. 
 
 The contents were merely to the effect that Susan had 
 returned to her former lodgings. The note began " Sir," and 
 ended '' yours truly." 
 
 '• I shall have to think about all this later on," he con- 
 sidered, feeling in very truth he was unequal at that moment 
 to think of any subject save whether it would be possible to 
 save his credit. 
 
 '• You must get money, and that immediately," had been 
 INIr. Fife's last words before he left the bank, where he stopped 
 for hours after every one else — even Mr. Pengrove — was gone ; 
 and it was how to get money without exciting wonder or 
 arousing suspicion which occupied Mr. Gayre's mind as he 
 walked ceaselessly up and down his dining-room. 
 
 Able to come to no conclusion, exhausted both in mind 
 and body, feeling his tired brain at last refuse to answer to his 
 call, he went wearily up-stairs to bed, where, perfectly certain 
 he should not close his eyes all night, he fell into a deep and 
 peaceful slumber. 
 
 The sun was streaming into his room, when he awoke with 
 a. start, and the words someone had spoken to him in a dream 
 still ringing in his ears. 
 
 " Mrs. Jubbins will lend you the money — go to her." 
 
 Yes, Mrs. Jubbins would lend him the money, but could he 
 go to her ? 
 
 Mr. Gayre thought not, and the close of another anxious 
 day found him in the same mind. 
 
 "Have you decided on the best way of quietly raising 
 enough money ?" Mr. Fife asked, when once again they parted 
 at the bank. " There is no time to lose." 
 
 Mr. Gayre knew that. Nevertheless, he felt he could not 
 possibly ask for help from Mrs. Jubbins. 
 
 " If your bank," said Mr. Fife, who really was working 
 heart and soul in the matter, " had been like any other bank, 
 there would be no trouble about the matter ; but no legitimate 
 reason exists why Gayres' should be short of cash. You don't 
 discount, you don't advance ; you run no risks ; you have 
 done nothing like anybody else ; and the consequence is, now 
 you need to borrow, everybody will imagine there is something 
 wrong. Yet money must be got till you are able to turn your- 
 self round. Have you no friend who could and would help 
 you at this pinch ?"
 
 A WAKENING. 
 
 347 
 
 t - 
 
 Mr, Gayre answered that he had friends, but he did not 
 like to ask them. 
 
 " Perhaps you would rather go into the Gazette ?" suggested 
 Mr. Fife. " I foresee that will be the end of the matter if you 
 delay much longer ; and it would be a thousand pities. Lord, 
 if you only had a few capable men about you, what might not 
 be made of this business even now ! Why don't you go to 
 your sohcitors ?" 
 
 No, Mr. Gayre thought, he would not go to his solicitors 
 then, at any rate. 
 
 " There is one person I feel sure would lend me all I 
 want," he at last explained, with a little natural hesitation. 
 
 "Then for Heaven's sake do not lose a minute in seeing 
 him !" cried Mr. Fife, " Any day or any hour some one of 
 these things may be required, and the worst of most of them 
 is that no money could replace them." 
 
 " That is too true, unfortunately," answered Mr. Gayre, 
 " I will go now, before I change my purpose." 
 
 " That is right," said Mr. Fife ; " and I hope from my soul 
 you may be successful."
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 LUCKY AT CARDS, ETC. 
 
 Mrs. Jubbins was not in her pleasant drawing-room when Mr. 
 Gayre arrived at The Warren. After a minute or two spent at 
 one of the windows idly trying to catch the only peep of the 
 Knockholt Beeches obtainable from Lady Merioneth's dower 
 house, the while every instinct he possessed was revolting from 
 the errand which had brought him down, Iloskins appeared to 
 say his mistress was in the Wilderness — should he send for her 
 — or would Mr. Gayre prefer to go to Mrs. Jubbins there. Mr. 
 Gayre preferred the latter suggestion, and, making his way into 
 the Wilderness by a walk which led straight from the trim 
 terrace into a grassy hollow, where the trees grew so thick 
 they found it a hard struggle for existence — where bracken 
 and grass and blackberry runners, and hemlock and gorse and 
 wild flowers all mingled in rank and picturesque luxuriance — 
 soon found, by the noise of voices, he must ascend to a higher 
 part of the grounds, left almost as much to the gardening 
 operations of nature as the dell he had plunged into. 
 
 It was with a little cry of genuine pleasure and surprise 
 that Mrs. Jubbins, seated on a mossy bank and surrounded by 
 some of her younger children, welcomed his arrival. 
 
 " You are such a stranger," she began, '' but I won't waste 
 a moment in scolding you now you have come. I am so glad 
 to see you again," and Mrs. Jubbins really looked delighted 
 as she stood, handsome, prosperous, happy, and middle-aged, 
 with the sunbeams glistening upon her luxuriant hair, her well- 
 developed figure, and her rich yet quiet dress. 
 
 "You have not lunched?" was almost her first question. 
 
 "Yes, thank you, I have." 
 
 " Then what should you like best to do, go indoors, or 
 stop out here, and enjoy this perfect afternoon ?" 
 
 Mr. Gayre, deciding to enjoy the perfect afternoon, found 
 a seat for himself on a felled tree, and took off his hat with 
 a view, as Mrs. Jubbins decided, of making himself quite at 
 home.
 
 LUCKY AT CARDS, ETC. 349 
 
 Never, perhaps, on the face of this earth did man feel 
 himself less at home, but he was in for the matter and did not 
 intend his courage should fail him at the last moment. 
 
 " Where have you been all this time," asked the widow, 
 "out of town ?" 
 
 " No, not out of town except for a day, now and then ; I 
 have been very fully occupied." 
 
 " And how is your niece ?" 
 
 " Very well, I believe — I have not seen her for some time." 
 
 "When is she to be married?" 
 
 " I really do not know— I have not seen Sir Geoffrey either 
 very lately. Have you ?" 
 
 " Not since Easter. He does not come here now — " 
 
 " O !" — and Mr. Gayre looked at Mrs. Jubbins, and Mrs. 
 Jubbins looked at Mr. Gayre. 
 
 "And I am so sorry," added the widow, '"for I thought 
 him a most delightful person, so amusing — and original — " 
 
 " Happily," interpolated Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " But he chose to take offence, and of course I could not 
 beg and entreat of him to come here on a merely friendly 
 footing." 
 
 " It was much safer not," said Sir Geoffrey's brother-in-law. 
 
 " And how is that dear Miss Drummond ?" 
 
 " She is getting better." 
 
 " Still at Brighton ?" 
 
 " She was the other day," answered Mr. Gayre, who had 
 his own reasons for not mentioning the fact that Susan was in 
 London. 
 
 " What about that wretched man, Dane ?" 
 
 " I trust he will be at liberty ere long." 
 
 " Dear me, I hope not." 
 
 "Why do you hope not, Mrs. Jubbins?" 
 
 " Because that poor girl will marry him, and there can be 
 nothing but misery for her with so dreadful a creature." 
 
 " There are persons who believe he was wrongly convicted." 
 
 " That is too shocking — of course, if he had been innocent 
 he would not have been found guilty." 
 
 " I do not think that exactly follows." 
 
 " O, but it does, you may be quite certain ! I was talking 
 to Deputy Pettell about the matter only yesterday, and he 
 assured me there could be no possible doubt upon the subject. 
 Of course he must know, having so much to do with the Lord 
 Mayor, and being constantly at the Mansion House."
 
 35° 
 
 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 (( 
 
 I should not dream of pitting my poor opinion agamst 
 that of Deputy Pettell." 
 
 " Now you must not be naughty, Mr. Gayre. I can't allow 
 it. I really can't. Mr. Deputy is a particular friend of mine, 
 and he is not to be laughed at." 
 
 "I was not laughing at him, I assure you. Nothing could 
 possibly be further from my mind than laughter of any sort.'" 
 
 "And I am sure I do not feel inclined to laugh when I 
 think of that sweet Miss Drummond being married to a con- 
 vict." 
 
 " But, my dear Mrs. Jubbins," expostulated Mr. Gayre, 
 "you signed the petition for that convict's release." 
 
 " So I did, but I never thought anything would come of it." 
 
 Mr. Gayre laughed — though in no mirthful mood, Mrs. 
 Jubbins' answer tickled his fancy. 
 
 " You are always making fun of us poor women," said the 
 widow. " It is really the case, though ; I would not have put 
 my name to anything of the sort if I had thought there was 
 the least chance of Mr. Dane being released. I did so hope 
 that poor Miss Drummond would have forgotten him, and 
 married somebody else. I knew Sir Geoffrey hoped the same 
 thing — indeed, he more than once implied he knew a gentle- 
 man who was very fond of her, and would make her a most 
 excellent husband." 
 
 "He did not mean himself, I suppose," suggested Mr. 
 Gayre. 
 
 " O, Mr. Gayre, how can you ?— Why, she is a mere child 
 in comparison with him, and besides — " 
 
 " Sir Geoffrey was thinking of some one else !" finished the 
 banker, with a dubious smile. 
 
 " I did not mean to imply that," said Mrs. Jubbins, laying 
 a sprig of moss on the back of one white hand, and smoothing 
 it with the other. " It was of Miss Drummond, though, we 
 were talking. If you have any influence over her — and of 
 course I know how great your influence is over every person 
 with whom you come in contact — do persuade her to forget 
 that wicked young man." 
 
 " It is an unfortunate fact," answered Mr. Gayre, " that I 
 have not the smallest influence over Miss Drummond. I do 
 not think an angel could turn her out of any road she thought 
 would lead to Oliver Dane." 
 
 " I am afraid that is too true. The very last time I saw 
 her she told me she should prefer water and dry bread with
 
 LUCKY AT CARDS, ETC. 351 
 
 "hun, to anything in the way of luxury wealth could furnish 
 without him." 
 
 "She will, I fancy, shortly be able to indulge her prefer- 
 ences." 
 
 " I do not like to speak hardly about her, but it seems to 
 me infatuation. If we did not know those old spells and things 
 had long been done away with, I should almost say she must 
 be under some possession or fascination." 
 
 " So she is — she is in love" returned Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " Bat there ought to be some sort of reason in love." 
 
 " There ought, but there rarely is," and Mr. Gayre sighed 
 involuntarily, and looked down towards the hollow where Mrs. 
 Jubbins' young fry, tired of the improving conversation between 
 their elders, had betaken themselves. He and the widow vvere 
 alone. Sunbeams were glistening through the leaves — the 
 wind was gently stirring the boughs, a great peace reigned all 
 around ; if he was ever to say what he had come to say he 
 felt he ought not to let this opportunity slip. Mrs. Jubbins 
 was looking at him a little perplexed. He raised his head and 
 looked at her, then plunged into the matter, at that moment 
 nearest to his heart. 
 
 " I have come down to-day," he began, " to ask you a 
 favour — a great favour." 
 
 " Whatever the favour may be it is granted," she said 
 quickly. 
 
 "No," he answered, "you must not bind yourself in any 
 way till you have heard what it is." 
 
 The ice was broken, what he had to say seemed easier 
 with every word. If there were one thing Mrs. Jubbins under- 
 stood better than another, that thing was business. She liked 
 sentimental books, she had a fancy for romantic and melan- 
 choly poetry, she adored rank, and would have done aught a 
 woman might to get rid of that dreadful name she had taken 
 for better for worse in St. Pancras Church ; but, when all was 
 said and done, her one talent was for business. Even while 
 Mr. Gayre continued speaking she grasped the position, she 
 saw exactly where the difficulty lay, and how it was to be 
 surmounted; no need of tedious explanations or wearisome 
 repetitions with her. Mr. Gayre had to listen to no weak 
 expressions of wonder, or feminine ejaculations concerning 
 the sinfulness of Mr. Pengrove. In fancy, it is true, Mrs. 
 Jubbins saw Gayres' tottering to its foundations, and herself as 
 guardian angel, restoring the stability of the bank with her
 
 352 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 money-bags; but, refraining from all gush or effusion, she simply 
 said, 
 
 "You can have as much as you want. Every penny I own, 
 if necessary^ I know the money which I feel I only hold in 
 trust for my children will be safe with you. I am very grateful 
 to you for coming to me."' 
 
 There is nothing like doing things thoroughly. Mr. Gayre 
 felt almost stunned by such impulsive generosity, such unciues- 
 tioning confidence. He forgot the ideas which annoyed and 
 the mannerisms that amused him in Mrs. Jubbins, and remem- 
 bered only the warm-hearted woman who had never once 
 ceased in her attachment and friendship for himself. He had 
 not treated her well, he thought; he had not done justice to 
 the nature his father always declared he could not sufficiently 
 extol. 
 
 Yes, Eliza Jubbins was a thoroughly good creature. To 
 eyes wearied with looking at possible ruin, she seemed posi- 
 tively beautiful, seated on that mossy bank, tearful yet smiling 
 — so glad, so very, very glad he had come to her. 
 
 "Thank you for your trust in me," he said. "I will not 
 abuse it." 
 
 *' No need to tell me that," she answered, ''the very idea!" 
 
 It was a delicious afternoon. To Mr. Gayre's fancy, Hea- 
 ven seemed to have come down to earth on a brief visit. The 
 utter peace of Nature in her milder moods had never before 
 appealed so strongly to his soul. There was rest in every sight 
 that met his eyes, in each sound that came wafted to his ear. 
 As in a dream he looked at dancing leaves and velvety moss 
 and opening fronds, at the rich brown of the old ferns that 
 still littered the ground, at the pine cones and the last autumn's 
 acorns and oak apples bountifully strewing the ground, at the 
 tiny wild flowers blooming amongst the short grass, almost too 
 minute for individual notice, yet spangling the sod with such 
 beauty as the art of man might strive in vain to equal. There 
 was a solemn hush about the place also to one accustomed 
 to the din of London — a hush broken only by some sound of 
 country life ; near at hand a thrush was singing long gushes 
 and snatches of song ; down in the hollow the young folks 
 were laughing and playing ; from further off, softened by dis- 
 tance, came the gruff shout of a wagoner to his horses. The 
 air was full of the thousand nameless yet subtly exquisite scents 
 of spring. As a man just rescued from drowning might sur- 
 vey with languid rapture the aspect of some fair land of safety
 
 LUCKY AT CARDS, ETC. 353 
 
 \ •'■iiO' which he had been borne, so Mr. Gayre looked at the syl- 
 van scene surrounding him, listened to the twittering of birds, 
 the rustling of leaves, the occasional scurry of a rabbit, inhaled 
 the balmy air and all unconsciously drank in the health-giving 
 odours of resinous pines. 
 
 " How pleasant it is here," he said, "what a delicious spot 
 to rest in." 
 
 "Yes, it is very nice," agreed Mrs. Jubbins, "but I do wish 
 sometimes it was nearer town. People will not come so far ; and 
 reall}^, after London, one cannot help finding the country dull." 
 
 " I daresay any one living in it always might find it dull, 
 but to me this spot seems perfect." 
 
 " You would tire of it if you were here always," declared 
 Mrs. Jubbins, with decision. " I do not mean The Warren is 
 not very pretty and all that, but, dear me — I so often wish it 
 could be transported bodily eight miles nearer the Bank. I 
 should not so much mind if there were any pleasant neigh- 
 bours who would drop in of an afternoon or evening in a 
 pleasant way, but when one has to get one's society, as well 
 as many other things, down by train, the country becomes a 
 trial." 
 
 " Have you not society in the neighbourhood, then?" 
 
 " There is plenty of society if it would be sociable, but it 
 won't. To be anybody here it is necessary to be enoriiwusly 
 rich. In Brunswick Square I used to think I was a person of 
 some consequence, but amongst all the great people about me 
 I assure you I feel very small indeed." 
 
 ISIr. Gayre turned an interested glance upon the lady. 
 Hitherto it had seemed to him any one with such an income 
 as was possessed by Mrs. Jubbins might have secured a fair 
 social position. Beyond a certain point it had not before 
 occurred to him money was essential to social standing. 
 
 He had heard of such things as a pair not associating with 
 a single brougham, of butlers refusing situations where one 
 footman at least was not kept, but his own path having led 
 him out of the way of these nice distinctions of modern rank, 
 he had always felt inclined to believe stories of the kind must 
 be the invention of some poor wretch in a garret, striving to 
 earn an honest penny by gibbeting respectable people, of 
 whose habits and thoughts and modes of proceeding he knew 
 literally nothing. 
 
 "And at times I really find it very dull," went on Mrs. 
 Jubbins, who having got her father-confessor in an agreeable 
 
 AA
 
 354 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 mood seemed determined to improve her opportunity. " Of 
 course there are my children, but they have their pursuits, and 
 indeed, occasionally even for their sakes, I long for something 
 different in the way of friends — greater variety. Of course the 
 people my dear husband knew and esteemed always must be 
 friends of mine, but the world has gone on, and since I came 
 down here I see clearly that what seemed very good society to 
 him and your kind father would not be thought very much of 
 now." 
 
 " It was a very safe sort of society, at all events," suggested 
 Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " I know that; but look at the sons and daughters of some 
 of the families your father was most intimate with. They are 
 enormously rich, they have had advantages such as I never 
 thought of, they can talk all sorts of languages, they can play 
 and sing and paint like professionals ; they mix amongst the 
 aristocracy, there is no line drawn now between the City and 
 the West End if people choose to entertain, and push them- 
 selves forward. Things were very different once, and not so 
 long ago either. I am old-fashioned enough to dislike such 
 rapid changes, and to feel that though I am, thank God, so well 
 off and happy, it is a little hurtful to be left out in the cold." 
 
 The banker sat silent for a minute, then he said, " I often 
 wondered you have never married again." 
 
 " Have you ? I do not think you need," she answered. 
 
 There ensued an awkward pause — not long — but sufficient 
 for a proposal had he wished to make it. Mrs. Jubbins sat on 
 thorns, till unable to bear the idea that she had in any way 
 committed herself, she added, as if in continuation, " Where 
 should I ever meet with any one who would do full justice to 
 my children ? Of course, I might have married, every woman 
 who has money can do that — but — " 
 
 He did not make her any reply ; he looked at the moss, at 
 the flickering leaves, at the modest wild flowers, while his 
 thoughts raced backward to the time when his father wanted 
 him to ask this woman to be his wife. 
 
 He might have done a great deal with her. He might 
 have made much of his life, taken a position in politics, become 
 a landed proprietor, gone on, as Mrs. Jubbins truly said, other 
 people had gone on, doubled the ten talents committed to his 
 charge, beyond all things been spared the awful trial of loving 
 a girl young enough to be his daughter, who would never care 
 for him while seed-time and harvest endured.
 
 LUCKY AT CARDS, ETC, 355 
 
 't --«-^ It was all a tangled hank, that might once have been woven 
 into something beautiful and useful, but which now — With an 
 impatient gesture he changed his position, and idly clasping 
 his hands, remained with head bent and eyes fixed on the 
 ground, while INIrs. Jubbins watched him, and wondered what 
 he could be thinking of. 
 
 "I am sure," she said at last, "you will be kind enough to 
 stay and have some dinner with us. Mr. and Mrs. Gibson 
 have taken a house on the Common, and they are coming over 
 this evening. It would be such a pleasure to me if you could 
 stop and meet them — I know you do not care much for City 
 people, but — " 
 
 " You must indeed think me ungrateful if you suppose it is 
 likely I should refuse any request of yours." 
 
 "Now," cried Mrs. Jubbins, with an attempt at playfulness 
 which sat a little heavily upon her, " I can't have anything of 
 that sort. It is I, and I alone, who ought to feel grateful — all 
 these years you and your father have been showering kindnesses 
 on me, and hitherto I have not had even a chance of making 
 the slightest return. Then you will stop for dinner. Thank 
 you very, very much." 
 
 They strolled back to the house through the Wilderness and 
 the dell, over the grass that stretched down to the hedge divid- 
 ing The Warren from the high road, up the steps into the garden, 
 and so leisurely back to the house through banks of flowers and 
 across green soft sward. 
 
 "It is a lovely place," said Mr. Gayre, with conviction, as 
 he stood within the porch looking at the still peaceful quiet of 
 the scene, and he repeated the same idea to himself as he 
 leaned later on beside one of the windows of a dressing-room 
 built out so as to command a view of tangled greenery and 
 lofty forest trees. The ground at this point sloped sharply 
 away from the house, and he could see down into the hollow, 
 round which were planted beautiful and rare shrubs ; rhodo- 
 dendrons grew there in the wildest profusion ; variegated hollies 
 lifted their heads on high, the graceful Italian broom and the 
 double gorse clustered together in friendly acquaintance. No- 
 thing which could please the eye, and gratify the taste, and 
 delight the heart seemed absent from that fair little domain. 
 It was an emerald gem encircled by a band of deeper green. 
 
 "A human being might be very happy here if he did not 
 bring his own misery down with his furniture," thought Mr. 
 Gayre, as he turned from the window and addressed himself
 
 356 SLTSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 to making such a toilette as was possible under the circum- 
 stances. 
 
 The bodily fare provided that day at dinner was as good as 
 fare could possibly be, but the mental nourishment appalled 
 the banker. It partook of the nature of mental bran, and 
 though wholesome was scarcely satisfying. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Gibson had been old and valued friends of 
 the lamented Mr. Jubbins — they had also, though in a distant 
 sort of way, known the elder Mr. Gayre, and their talk was of 
 times gone by, and how things had changed, and the price of 
 property in the neighbourhood of Chislehurst, and the rents of 
 good houses, " good fine houses," in the squares, in the better 
 period of old. 
 
 " Ah !" said Mr, Gibson, " there was no necessity then to 
 trouble oneself with keeping carriages and horses — and a lot 
 of fellows in the stables to eat a man out of house and home — 
 one could cover one's friends then with a handkerchief. It 
 was just across the square, or over the way, or up the street, 
 all quiet, and comfortable, and friendly — no hurry to catch 
 trains — no tearing and rushing about the world. Modern 
 improvement may be a very fine thing, but give me the days 
 before steam, sir; life was worth having then." 
 
 *' I trust, Mr. Gibson, you find life a little worth having 
 still," Mrs. Jubbins interposed ; and then Mrs. Gibson said it 
 was all talk — that no one appreciated the convenience of rail- 
 roads more than Mr. Gibson, who could not endure stopping 
 trains, "You know you can't, Charles." 
 
 It was all perfectly safe conversation ; no human being 
 could have objected to it on the score of morality, but Mr, 
 Gayre felt as if he were back in the " old days before steam," 
 and should never get out of them again. 
 
 Nor when that weary dinner was finished, and Mr. Gibson 
 had drunk as much wine as he thought good for him, did the 
 banker find himself at liberty to depart. 
 
 " Mr. Gibson does so long for one rubber, Mr. Gayre," 
 pleaded Mrs. Jubbins ; and then of course a table was opened 
 and the inevitable pack of cards produced — and the usual 
 jokes about partners uttered — and then a dead silence settled 
 down, and Mr. Gayre found himself in possession of a series of 
 as bad hands as man could be dealt. 
 
 They played for money — Mr. and Mrs. Gibson were partners 
 to Mrs, Jubbins and Mr. Gayre. It was perhaps for this reason
 
 LUCKY AT CARDS, ETC. 357 
 
 •"the banker's run of ill-luck was regarded by his opponents with 
 such equanimity. 
 
 " Never mind, Mr. Gayre," said ISIr. Gibson cheerfully, as 
 he pocketed his share of the spoil. " Lucky at cards, you 
 know, unlucky in love." And the old gentleman laughed at 
 his own wit till the tears ran down his cheeks, while Mrs. 
 Gibson said archly, "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, 
 Charles," and Mrs. Jubbins coloured and tried to smile. 
 * Mr. Gayre also made a feint of joining in the merriment, 
 but considering the result of his last encounter with Cupid it 
 may not seem surprising that his well-meant efforts failed to 
 prove signally successful. 
 
 The interminable evening wore on, and at length the banker 
 was able to remark that if he wished to gel back to London that 
 night he must really say good-bye. 
 
 " The best friends must part," remarked Mr. Gibson re- 
 gretfully, " we have to thank you for a most enjoyable evening ; 
 lor, what a time it is, Matilda, since we have had such a game 
 of whist." 
 
 " Good-night," said Mrs. Jubbins, giving Mr. Gayre her 
 plump hand, which he held for a second longer than seemed to 
 Mrs. Gibson absolutely necessary. " And I heard her say to 
 him distinctly," mentioned Mr. Gibson, as he and his wife 
 drove home a little later on, "you have made me so happy." 
 
 Perhaps that was the reason he repeated his joke to Mr. 
 Gayre as that gentleman was searching for his hat. 
 
 "There really seems to me," he said, "to be a great deal 
 of truth in the proverb I quoted just now — ' Lucky in cards, 
 you know.'" 
 
 " What an insufferable old donkey," thought the banker to 
 himself, as he took the short cut through the gardens to the 
 station.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE LESSER EVIL. 
 
 There is nothing more true than that misfortunes never come 
 singly. They love company ; and when the first of the dreary 
 brood knock for admittance the dwellers in any house selected 
 for so great a distinction may feel tolerably certain that several 
 more unwelcome guests may speedily be expected to follow. 
 
 It seemed to Mr. Gayre, as he walked up Wimpole Street, 
 that Fate must be pretty well tired of buffeting him, that she 
 could scarcely hold within her quiver another barbed arrow 
 wherewith to harass his body and lacerate his soul. He felt 
 inclined to regard Mrs. Jubbins' generous compliance with his 
 wishes as a sign the worst was over, and a new and better era 
 about to commence. 
 
 Silently he sang a song of thanksgiving; the peril but just 
 escaped was so recent he felt a sense of gratitude stirring 
 within him, to which hitherto he must have been almost a 
 stranger. Once more he breathed freely. He saw he could 
 save the bank, and saving the bank meant saving Nicholas 
 Gayre also. 
 
 " I have never been sufficiently thankful," he considered, in 
 which reflection there was, indeed, a much greater amount of 
 truth than the banker imagined ; truth is, we remember the 
 perils we have encountered, but take no note of those we 
 escape ; and it is always the good things human beings have 
 lost or lack they clasp tight within their memories, whilst bless- 
 ings literally showered upon them are forgotten. " Not suffi- 
 ciently thankful." Why, this unconscious Pharisee had never 
 been thankful at all. He wanted too much out of life ; and 
 behold, that he might understand fully the value of the gifts he 
 had despised, he saw his possession of them trembling in the 
 balance. 
 
 But all danger was now past, he decided ; no need for him 
 to contemplate the possibility of having to go down into the 
 ranks and painfully strive to work his way up once more into 
 that state of life which had been his only by purchase. He
 
 THE LESSER EVIL. 
 
 359 
 
 " ^-frft most grateful to Mrs. Jubbins for having relieved him from 
 the pressure of extreme anxiety, and after a vague sort of 
 fashion he did thank Providence for having sent him so generous 
 a friend at such a crisis. If conscience whispered the remark 
 that he had not treated Mrs. Jubbins exactly well, plausibility, 
 ready for the emergency, suggested the greater ]\Irs. Jubbins' 
 disappointment the greater her merit ; had she given with the 
 one hand and taken with the other the virtues of self-renuncia- 
 tion could scarcely have been attributed to her. It would be 
 quite competent for him always to think hereafter of Mrs. 
 Jubbins as his good, his best friend ; and the reflection pleased 
 and soothed him, spite of his positive assertion to Susan Drum- 
 mond that friendship between a man and a woman is an impos- 
 sibility. Circumstances alter cases ; and as he felt love towards 
 Mrs. Jubbins to be on his part out of the question, he reverted 
 to that convenient word which he averred to Susan was nothing 
 but a delusion and a snare. 
 
 " Confound that stupid old owl, with his ' lucky at cards, 
 unlucky in love,' " he repeated, as he put his key in the lock at 
 Wimpole Street, " All that sort of thing is such execrable 
 taste and makes a woman so uncomfortable, too," and then he 
 stepped across his threshold to meet a fresh misfortune, which 
 had been patiently awaiting his arrival. 
 
 " Mr. Fife left this note for you. Colonel," said Rawlings, 
 coming across the hall ; " he told me to give it to you the 
 moment you returned. He waited for a long time," and then 
 the man paused and pretended to be putting his master's 
 umbrella in the stand, while Mr. Gayre tore open Mr. Fife's 
 communication and read : 
 
 " Pengrove has given us the slip, I was always, if you 
 remember, doubtful of your friend the detective, who, I imagine, 
 has been ' squared.' P.'s disappearance means, I am afraid, 
 that there is something wrong you have not yet discovered. 
 Quite knocked up and must get some sleep. Better call on 
 me as you go to the bank to-morrow — does not matter how 
 early. P. never showed after luncheon to-day." 
 
 " Call me at six to-morrow morning, Rawlings," said Mr. 
 Gayre, after he had read this agreeable communication twice 
 over. " What is the matter ?" he added, for the first time 
 noticing Rawlings' manner, "anyone else been to see me?" 
 
 " No, Colonel, no one except Miss Chelston." 
 
 "Miss Chelston ; Sir Geoffrey, you mean, I suppose?" 
 
 "■ Miss Chelston ; she came about four o'clock, and Mrs.
 
 360 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 Bowcroft had the spare room got ready, and she went to bed 
 an hour ago— she said she felt so tired — " 
 
 "My niece in this house," said Mr. Gayre, who really 
 doubted the evidence of his ears. 
 
 " Yes, Colonel, I took her luggage up-stairs, and there is a 
 letter in the library, in which, she told me to tell you, Sir Geof- 
 frey had explained everything." 
 
 " I suppose I am going to hear some other pleasant piece 
 of news," thought Mr. Gayre, passing into the library and 
 taking up his brother-in-law's epistle. 
 
 "Dear Gayre" (it began), — "Peg will take this to you. 
 Poor Peg, I am forced to bundle her out of North Bank at a 
 moment's notice — long expected has come at last ! A scoun- 
 drelly wine-merchant, whom I may without any vanity say I 
 made, put in an execution yesterday. Just shows what one 
 has to expect from that sort of person. Why, the beggar must 
 have had thousands of orders from fellows who drank his 
 wine at my table. If right were right he ought to be in my 
 debt, instead of its being made out all the other way. How- 
 ever, he can't get sixpence out of me, that's one comfort. 
 This is the solitary advantage of being poor — you can't strip 
 a naked man — not but what, if the law would let them, many 
 of these rascals would like to flay a debtor. 
 
 " Of course I had to go down to Moreby's lawyers. They 
 put a man in ostensibly to put the other bailiff out- — and 
 they're serving me the pretty trick of keeping him in. They 
 are acting as badly as gentlemen of their kidney know how. 
 Fortunately it does not matter much to me — I would rather 
 leave here, but for Peg — poor little desolate woman, don't be 
 hard on her if you can help it; you are not the Almighty, 
 remember, and there is no necessity for you to visit her father's 
 and mother's sins on the girl. I'll write you again as soon 
 as I know what I am going to do. I shall keep out of the 
 way for a little while, as I know there's a nasty thing now, 
 called contempt of court, whereby any pestilent ruffian of a 
 creditor, when he fails to get his money in meal, can apply to 
 have it in malt, in other words take your body if he fail to 
 pick your purse. Heaven only knows what is to become of 
 me. It is all darkness — I do wish earnestly sometimes Heaven 
 would kindly give us a hint as to its intentions- — a lot of time 
 and trouble i.iight be saved, if we only knew the direction in 
 which we were expected to work.
 
 THE LESSER EVIL. 361 
 
 -■-^.- " I can't give you any address, for I don't know myself 
 where I am going. Very likely, however, you would just as 
 soon be without one, as you are near the top of the hill, and 
 I am close to the bottom. 
 
 " Don't be hard on Peg. — Yours faithfully, 
 
 " Geoffrey Chelston, Infelix. 
 
 " By the bye, you had better take Sudlow in hand. He's 
 an awful cad and I can do nothing with him. I always thought 
 that party at Mrs. Jubbins' was a mistake — he ought not to 
 have been disillusioned regarding your social standing. How- 
 ever, that can't be helped now, as he's so old a friend of yours 
 possibly you may be able to bring him to book. Good-bye, 
 if you never see me again, remember, I did my best — but a 
 man who has wind and tide always against him can't do much." 
 
 IMr. Gayre's first feeling when he finished Sir Geoffrey's 
 valedictory address was surprise that the Baronet had not 
 thought long previously of so simple and excellent a way of 
 burdening some one else — and that some one himself — 
 with the fair Marguerite. It seemed to him that the young 
 lady might just as easily have been passed on to Wimpole 
 Street months before. If the transference were possible now 
 — and in the face of the evidence before him how could he 
 doubt its possibility ? — no reason existed why it should not have 
 taken place then. 
 
 Flinging himself into a chair he tried to think the matter 
 out and failed. Strive as earnestly as he would to consider 
 the question of his niece, his mind constantly wandered down 
 to the bank or the securities, all locked or not locked, in the 
 strong-room. 
 
 Sleeping and waking the bank was now on his mind. Not 
 more sorrowfully did the five foolish virgins lament that fatal 
 delay in buying their oil which involved such disastrous con- 
 sequences than did Nicholas Gayre mourn concerning the way 
 he had neglected his business, and allowed what remained of a 
 once fine property to drift so far across the sea of loss. 
 
 Returning from Chislehurst, it had seemed to him safety and 
 honour were still possible ; but now he began to doubt. What 
 if a further loss were really impending — if some security quite 
 beyond his power to replace had been abstracted ? In such 
 case he saw no resource, except to make a full and swift con- 
 fession, give up every sixpence he owned in the world, and 
 middle-aged though he was, try to make some fresh start in life.
 
 362 S US A IV DRUMMOND. 
 
 Why had all this trouble come upon him, he wondered? 
 Other men hatl fallen in love with young girls and won them 
 too ; other men had trusted to subordinates without being 
 absolutely beggared through over-confidence; other men better 
 born, more highly connected, possessed of friends, mixing in 
 the very first ranks of society, had "gone in" for business and 
 found good in it instead of evil. Dimly he understood the 
 fault lay somewhere in himself, that he had been too sure, too 
 confident of the sagacity and honour and honesty of that excel- 
 lent person Nicholas Gayre; by slow degrees it was dawning 
 upon him that not merely was he no better than those outer 
 sinners the publicans, whom he had in his heart derided, but 
 that he was a great deal worse. One short year ago had any 
 one said — " You will behave to the girl you love like a cad, 
 you will try to shirk your duty to your neighbour, and strive to 
 skulk by on the other side if you can ; you will ask a woman 
 for money you know has always hoped you would marry her, 
 and accept substantial help, though you are well aware you 
 never had a feeling of affection for her ; you will almost suc- 
 cumb under the apprehension of loss of money, and let a low 
 vulgar fellow beat you in resource and in promptitude " — he 
 would have answered, " Is thy servant a dog that he should do 
 these things ?" — and behold he had done them and more. 
 
 There was nothing to set on the other side of the account ; 
 the few good actions he had performed were prompted, he was 
 well aware, by any other spirit than that of unselfish benevo- 
 lence. Could he in future do any better ? — he asked himself, 
 as he lay that night between such intervals of unrefreshing sleep 
 as Nature pleased to vouchsafe. He had meant to try, but now 
 he did not know. If anything more than what he was already 
 aware of had really gone astray at the bank, he felt a dead 
 man might as readily offer to make atonement to the living as 
 he. Now he grasped how greatly he had valued money, and 
 once during the darkness he wearily v/andered away into sleep, 
 with the words of a long-forgotten text recurring to his memory : 
 "There is he that scattereth, yet increaseth." 
 
 Nicholas Gayre had not scattered even a grain of wheat he 
 could avoid, and he had not increased; rather poverty threat- 
 ened to come "as one that travelleth," and it was with an 
 uneasy sense of the converse of the text being in his own case 
 literally fulfilled that he followed this first suggestion into tl^ 
 mazes of dreamland where he lost it. 
 
 Early the next morning, after pencilling a few lines of
 
 THE LESSER EVIL. 365 
 
 "relQctant welcome to his niece, who, being fond of her ease, 
 had no fancy for " brushing the dew at early dawn," Mr. Gayre 
 proceeded to Mr. Fife's lodgings. 
 
 "There may be nothing in my notion, you know," said 
 that gentleman, '' but upon the other hand there may. ' Bolt- 
 ing ' seems to me an uncommonly bad sign." 
 
 " But I have gone through all the securities, and they seem 
 right enough." 
 
 " Perhaps. If I were you I'd go over them all again ; there 
 is such a thing, you know, as — " 
 
 " Forgery," suggested Mr. Gayre. 
 
 *' Well, I was not thinking exactly of forgery," said Mr. 
 Fife. " My notion is, he has ' substituted.' You see it would 
 be easy enough to get a fresh cover drafted, and I'll be bound, 
 you never took time to examine more than the outside of the 
 deeds you hold in trust." 
 
 "Good Heavens, no," exclaimed Mr. Gayre, "practically, 
 therefore, there may be no limit to the extent of his defalca- 
 tions." 
 
 " I shouldn't go so far as that," answered Mr. Fife ; " after 
 all, the thing has not been going on very, very long. I knew 
 about the amount of his losses, and though I can't tell how 
 much that little game at Tooting cost, still I have allowed a 
 pretty tidy margin for the expenses there. If you remember, I 
 said I thought you would find yourself a hundred thousand 
 out of pocket. We have not quite touched that sum in our 
 investigations. Suppose the worst comes to the worst, you 
 will find a hundred and fifty thousand amply cover everything. 
 I suppose Gayres' can stand that." 
 
 " Not if the bank is to keep open." 
 
 " H — m. Well, the best thing we can do is to get to Lom- 
 bard Street, and find out the exact nature of the leak. We can 
 talk about stopping or sinking afterwards. You've found some 
 one, I hope, to lend you enough money to go on with." 
 
 " Yes ; but I sha'n't take it unless I see my way clearly to 
 pull through." 
 
 " Well, we need not discuss that point now. It may be 
 necessary to apply for a warrant for our friend, but don't do 
 that till later in the day. Let him get as long a start as pos- 
 sible. We don't want him back too soon, if ever. Now, if you 
 walk quietly up to the bank you'll find me at your private door 
 almost as soon as you're ready for me.'' 
 
 During the whole of that day each person who wanted to
 
 364 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 see the manager was informed his wife was ill, and he absent 
 from business. If on receiving this reply any individual adven- 
 tured to inquire whether Mr. Gayre happened to be in town, 
 he received for reply the unexpected intelligence that Mr. 
 Gayre was in town, but so deeply engaged he could not be 
 interrupted. There never was a truer statement : Mr. Gayre 
 chanced, indeed, to be engaged ! All the forenoon and most 
 of the afternoon he was busy checking the securities, and he 
 finally left himself barely time to go round and see his solicitors 
 and proceed with one of the firm to the Mansion House, where 
 he applied for a warrant to take the person of Titus Pen- 
 grove, on the charge of robbery and of dealing with valuable 
 securities. 
 
 Then he walked to the station and took train for Chisle- 
 hurst. He had made up his mind he would not take Mrs. 
 Jubbins' money now he knew it was impossible for him to meet 
 his liabilities and keep on the bank. He must withdraw capital 
 from the business, and he could not, even on the Gayre system 
 of commerce, do that and still manage to keep afloat. Only 
 the previous night safety seemed possible ; less than twenty- 
 four hours had served to change the whole aspect of his life. 
 
 The Chislehurst woods were not less fair, the grass was not 
 less green, the spring llowers had not closed their petals, the 
 air was full of the sweet scents that yesterday seemed so frag- 
 rant. Nature was the same, but the man who looked upon her 
 exceeding loveliness had changed totally. His body lacked 
 strength, his limbs were weary, his forehead burned, his parched 
 lips made speech painful, his mind was so distracted he took 
 no notice of distance, save by the measure of physical fatigue ; 
 the hill leading to The Warren, in those few hours since last he 
 breasted it, appeared to have grown strangely steep, the series 
 of rustic steps leading up through the garden from the wicket 
 gate to the house seemed interminable ; two or three times he 
 was forced to pause while ascending them. For him tasselled 
 larch and silvery birch and burnished copper beech and trem- 
 bling linden had donned their bravest apparel all in vain. He 
 was like one blind and deaf wandering through a world of 
 beauty and delight. As a sick man rejects the most delicate 
 food, as a broken heart finds discord in the most harmonious 
 music, as laughter grates on the ear of grief, and mirth increases 
 the sadness of sorrow \ so to Nicholas Gayre all the sweet 
 sounds and influences of Nature seemed to his dulled senses 
 and hopeless heart but so many aggravations of his grief. For
 
 THE LESSER EVIL. 365 
 
 "Others — for the children, for happy lovers, for eager youth and 
 prosperous middle life, and ripe old age contented to sit bask- 
 ing in the sunshine of ease and competence — flower and bud 
 and leaf and bird might add fresh charms to the soft beauty of 
 spring and the glory of summer ; but to this man, born and 
 bred amongst those who considered money a necessary essen- 
 tial before the most ordinary happiness could be hoped for, and 
 who now saw the fortune he once fully believed founded on a 
 rock beaten by the rain and shaken by the wind, and engulfed 
 by the flood and levelled with the earth ; what thoughts, save 
 those of loss and disaster, could the changing seasons ever iri 
 the dark future bring ? 
 
 The power of riches, the possibility of fame, the hope of 
 love, the wild longings, the noble aspirations of youth, all gone 
 — all vanished like the pageant of a dream — what remained for 
 him to do? Nothing, save to tell Mrs. Jubbins the truth, and 
 release her from a promise given in ignorance of his actual 
 position. And for Susan ? Yes, he would do right there too ; 
 but he could not think about her just then. For a moment he 
 lingered, looking into the hollow where he had stood beside 
 her on that happy night so long, so long ago, when the sound 
 of the music floated softly down among the ferns and the 
 undergrowth, when, with her hand resting on his arm, she 
 talked about love in a cottage, and looked under the starlight 
 a woman to love on earth, an angel to lead a man to heaven. 
 
 And what had he made of that chance ? Almost with a 
 groan he put that question aside, and walking on as quickly as 
 his tired limbs permitted, once more found himself at the porch 
 inquiring if Mrs. Jubbins were within. 
 
 He found her alone in the smaller drawing-room, engaged, 
 with a humility quite touching when evinced by so rich a 
 woman, in modestly knitting a stocking. 
 
 " Well, this is delightful !" she cried. " How do you do,, 
 Mr. Gayre — why, what is the matter ?" she added ; " surely you 
 are not ill ?'' 
 
 " No, I am not ill," he said, " but something has happened ;" 
 and then he told her. 
 
 They were both standing. She had risen to greet him, and 
 he opened his budget of ill news so suddenly — and it was such 
 awful news — she never asked him to be seated ; the ordinary 
 questions of life for the time were completely driven out of 
 mind. 
 
 For a minute or two after he ended, she remained perfectly
 
 366 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 still, grappling with the difficulty — trying to make the whole 
 matter clear to her comprehension; then, laying her white strong 
 hand upon his arm, she spoke these words : 
 
 " We mustn't let the bank go ; whatever we do, we must not 
 let the bank go." 
 
 " I can't prevent it going," he answered. 
 " But u'c can," she persisted ; " if my poor husband were 
 alive now — if your dear father could come back to us — they 
 would both say, ' Don't let the bank go.' Why, it is madness 
 ■even to think of Gayres' suspending payment. You know the 
 worst now, and between us we can surely weather the storm. 
 Sit down, and let us consider what is best to be done. You 
 say some of my securities have been abstracted ; that does not 
 matter in the least ; there are plenty left. O Mr. Gayre, I 
 wonder if it was for this all the money was left in my hands, 
 so that I can do what I like with it, without asking the consent 
 of any human being." 
 
 He did not answer — he could not ; the revulsion of feeling 
 was too great, too sudden. Ten minutes before he had regarded 
 himself as virtually a beggar, and now — 
 
 " But before we get to business you must have something 
 to eat ; I daresay if the truth were known you have not tasted 
 food to-day. No, do not look like that, I cannot bear to see 
 you. Surely — surely you won't object to taking help from an 
 old friend. Besides, as I told you yesterday, hitherto it has 
 been all the other way. I have been the person obliged. It 
 is merely my turn now ; you can't grudge giving me the happi- 
 ness of helping you a little. If the cases were reversed, I know 
 you would do the same for me, and more." 
 
 He knew no such thing, indeed he knew the very opposite ; 
 impulsive generosity, unreasoning friendship, liberality except 
 on undoubted security, had never been failings of the old- 
 established and highly respectable firm of Lombard Street 
 bankers. Mr. Gayre would not have objected to lending Mrs. 
 Jubbins a few thousands, or even to giving her a moderate sum 
 of money had she really stood in need of it; but to act the part 
 towards her, or anybody else, she was proposing to act towards 
 him (and she a clever woman of business, and one who knew 
 the value of capital), would have seemed to him, and perhaps 
 with reason, the height of madness. 
 
 She had grown quite earnest in her appeal. The same 
 loyalty of feeling which impelled the Jacobites to exile and the 
 scaffold was stirring in Mrs. Jubbins' warm heart then.
 
 THE LESSER EVIL. 367 
 
 -■•--Oayres' had ever been to her what the Stuarts were to the 
 CavaHers. She could not reason about the matter ; it seemed 
 impossible to her that Gayres' should go while she had the 
 power of saving it. The spice of romance which, hand in hand 
 with the most practical common sense, had ever walked beside 
 Eliza Jubbins, iicc Higgs, was at last fully asserting itself. Still 
 a handsome woman, possessed of a face on which years had as 
 yet traced very few lines, well preserved, prosperous — for the 
 moment sentiment and the consciousness of meaning to perform 
 a kindly action made her actually beautiful. 
 
 The evening sunlight fell across hair thick and glossy as 
 ever; her fine eyes were soft and liquid with emotion, her 
 mouth was sweet with tender smiles as she pleaded to be 
 allowed her share in trying to save Gayres'; her hand was un- 
 consciously pressed more heavily on the banker's arm, and yet 
 he could not speak, only slowly he took that persuasive hand 
 in his, and held it close while he looked wistfully at his old 
 playmate. 
 
 Before that look her eyes fell ; her colour rose, and she 
 would have released her hand but that it was locked too fast 
 to be withdrawn without an unseemly struggle. 
 
 " You will let me help you," she said, dissembling even to 
 herself, as women always do at such a juncture. 
 
 " If I may keep this hand," he answered, and kissed the 
 ringed fingers she did not now even strive to withdraw. 
 
 It had come at last; after years he had proposed, and in 
 this fashion. 
 
 That morning it nev^er entered his mind he could ask Mrs. 
 Jubbins to marry him, that morning she could not have con- 
 ceived it likely that bliss was ever to be hers. She may have 
 wished it had come at some other time, and in some other 
 guise, but it was welcome at any time and in any form. The 
 whole matter did not seem to her strange. Before Mr. Gayre 
 returned to town she felt as though she had been engaged to 
 him for years. On both sides it was indeed, as old Mr. Gayre 
 would have said, "most suitable" — what poor Mr. Jubbins 
 might have thought was quite a different affair. At parting, 
 Mrs. Jubbins said, " Now you will promise me to see a doctor 
 this evening, for I feel sure you are going to be ill," to which 
 Mr. Gayre replied, '' I will see a doctor, but I shall not be ill 
 
 now.'" 
 
 Upon the whole it seemed perhaps pleasant to have even 
 Mrs. Jubbins anxious concerning his health ; except so far as
 
 368 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 the malady might affect OHver Dane, Susan would probably 
 not have cared had he been smitten with smallpox ! Travel- 
 ling back to London, Mr. dayre, reviewing the position at his 
 leisure, found more cause for satisfaction than discontent. He 
 felt very grateful to .Mrs. Jubbins, yet he shrank, from the 
 idea of marrying her. 
 
 When menaced by two dangers, however, it is true wisdom 
 to select the least, and Mr. Gayre decided the widow was by 
 far a lesser ill than beggary. And he meant to act fairly to her 
 and to her children. Perhaps he thought he had given a tan- 
 gible proof of the bona-Juies of his intentions by making that 
 tardy offer of his heart and hand.
 
 I* "'--^^ 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 "ALL FOR LOVE AND THE WORLD WELL LOST !" 
 
 Though in no gay mood, Mr. Gayre laughed as these words 
 crossed his mind. He recalled his own experience. If ever 
 man had been passionately in love that man was himself, and 
 yet when put in the scales love flew up to the beam, and money 
 weighed down the balance. " It is all very well for young 
 people," he thought, " to talk like that ; young folks always 
 expect the wherewithal to feed love will spring up like the 
 grass. Prudent papas, mercenary mammas, who have saved 
 and toiled for their children, are to provide the few items love 
 requires to make itself comfortable. Love — true love, the 
 love of the poets, wants its rent paid, its taxes settled, its 
 tradespeople satisfied, its servants fed, its pocket-money found 
 by somebody else ; the moment real Love finds there are a 
 few difficulties in the way, and that bed, board, and lodging 
 must be hardly toiled for by the lover, it has a nasty but wise 
 way of metamorphosing itself. It ceases to have golden locks ; 
 it assumes the form of Mammon sometimes in a wig, but 
 always in a carriage, and with a satisfactory income." 
 
 AH of which tirade merely meant that Nicholas Gayre was 
 trying to reconcile himself to the course he had taken. It was 
 he who felt his love required many other things beside bread 
 and cheese for its maintenance. If we come to that in the 
 days of King Nebuchadnezzar there were but few of the chil- 
 dren of Israel found constant to refuse the meat and the wine 
 they considered defiled, and able to remain faithful to the 
 pulse and water which gave them " knowledge and skill in all 
 learning and wisdom, and Daniel understanding all visions and 
 dreams." The heart of man has not changed much since then. 
 In his soul Mr. Gayre knew that even had Susan cared for him 
 he should have preferred the fleshpots of riches to the manna 
 of poverty. 
 
 No one finds it exactly pleasant to face the fact of his own 
 worldliness, and the banker found it convenient and almost
 
 370 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 pleasant to meet the knowledge of his own unworthiness with 
 a gibe. 
 
 Besides, Susan disliked, and Mrs. Jubbins liked him. If 
 marriage in his then state of impeciiniosity were to be at all, it 
 had better take place with a woman who brought not merely 
 money but love into the state " ordained by God." 
 
 There could be nothing more certain than that Mr. Gayre 
 meant to act quite honestly by Mrs. Jubbins. He intended to 
 pay her back every farthing she had advanced, to promote her 
 children's interest, to be a father to young people who were 
 antagonistic to every taste; in a sentence, "to do the right 
 thing." He felt very grateful to the widow, he liked her better 
 than he had ever thought to like her. He intended to give 
 way to her in many things ; he purposed being a good steward, 
 a faithful husband ; nevertheless, he loathed and despised him- 
 self for having made such a bargain, lie who never hesitated 
 about riding " straight into the jaws of death," who had once 
 sprung into the saddle more cheerily than bridegroom ever 
 went forth from his chamber. 
 
 He could not even say to himself that he had acted from 
 impulse. His reason felt satisfied with his conduct, though his 
 soul recoiled from it. The thing he had done was " after his 
 kind," — no use for him even to say he had not followed his 
 nature. This much there was to be said in extenuation of that 
 step which could not be retraced. He had proposed not 
 because he knew he should otherwise fail to get what he 
 wanted, but merely in grateful recognition of the widow's kind- 
 ness. Such generosity he felt merited some return, and so he 
 offered all he had to offer — himself. It was far more than 
 enough he considered, with a shudder. That one entry reversed 
 the debit and credit side of their account. He merely meant 
 to take the use of her money for awhile, and in exchange he 
 had given her his life. Well, it did not much matter. Hitherto 
 he had not made so great a use of his opportunities that one 
 more flung away need break his heart. He would conform to 
 the world's ideas — he would settle down to business — he would 
 believe in the greatness of City magnates, he would try to forget 
 that time which seemed so far away — when the blare of the 
 trumpets — the call of the bugle, seemed to him the sweetest 
 music ever heard by mortal ear. He would remember youth 
 "with its illusions was gone — that middle age with its realities 
 had come — that, worst of all, the autumn and winter of life 
 were creeping on — that he was growing too old for sentiment,
 
 ''ALL FOR LOVE, THE WORLD WELL LOST T 371 
 
 "aRd that besides Susan Drummond did not love him, while to 
 Eliza Jubbins he had ever seemed a hero of romance ! 
 
 A great deal of unpleasant work still lay before him. He 
 had to put the bank straight, to arrange many business details 
 with Mrs. Jubbins — see how things stood between his niece 
 and Mr. Sudlow — hurry on his lawyers about the Oliver Dane 
 affair, and last, but certainly not least, end everything for ever 
 between himself and Susan Drummond. 
 
 In England a man cannot legally marry two wives. Often 
 he finds one more than enough, and it was evident that now 
 Mr. Gayre was engaged to the widow he must sever all con- 
 nection with Susan Drummond. 
 
 So far ]\Irs. Jubbins had behaved with the strictest pro- 
 priety — but her old playfellow had not forgotten those resonant 
 kisses, those fond embraces, which made existence terrible to 
 him in his boyhood. With trembling fingers Mr. Gayre just 
 lifted the veil of the future and peeped behind it. The pros- 
 pect was awful— most awful— so awful and abhorrent he dropped 
 the curtains incontinently. Nevertheless it was better than ruin 
 and disgrace. Greatly to be preferred, a line in the marriage 
 list to a paragraph in the money article. The Gayres had held 
 themselves so high, and believed they were so secure ! Mr. 
 Jubbins had looked up to them, and lo and behold it was his 
 money made in oil which was now to prove to the Gayres 
 temporal salvation. 
 
 ^ Well, it is of no use blinking facts, and the first thing 
 evidently to be done was to release Susan from her agreement. 
 But how to word the case he certainly could not say. "I am 
 going to marry Mrs. Jubbins," or " I have lost my money." 
 How on earth would it be competent for him to put it ? Mr. 
 Gayre felt he could only await the chapter of accidents \ lie low 
 and watch results. 
 
 But yet he must in some way indicate the way of the wind 
 to Susan. It was essential he should tell her that ill-starred 
 engagement might be considered at an end ; therefore next 
 day, before he showed at the bank, he repaired to her lodgings, 
 where the landlady, who in person answered the door, greeted him 
 with a pleased smile, and said, Miss Drummond was at home. 
 
 He waited for her a minute or two, then Susan appeared, 
 and with a stiff bow recognised his presence. 
 
 " You wished to see me," she said, laying her hand on the 
 table and speaking as though she had been walking very fast, 
 and found it strangely hard to get her breath.
 
 372 S US AN DRUMMOND. 
 
 " Yes, Miss Drummond, if you will kindly sit down I shall 
 perhaps be able to talk a little better." 
 
 "About— Oliver?" 
 
 " No, singular as it may seem, not about Oliver. Besides 
 that gentleman, there are a few millions of other persons in the 
 world, myself a unit amongst them, you understand that." 
 
 " And, Mr. Gayre — ?" she said, rising, and looking strangely 
 cold and resolute as she spoke. 
 
 Just for a moment he swayed his hat gently to and fro ere 
 he spoke — then — 
 
 " I have come to release you from our compact," he said, 
 quite quietly. 
 
 She looked at him, startled. 
 "Do you mean — " she asked, at last. 
 
 "Just what I say," he answered, "I bring you liberty; 
 never again need you look at me as one abhorred ; never 
 more will it be necessary for you to shrink from my touch ; 
 you are perfectly free." 
 
 He thought he heard her murmur, " My God, I thank Thee," 
 but the cry of gratitude was merged in the question, " And 
 what about Oliver ? O, Mr. Ciayre ! don't give us both up 
 together." 
 
 " No," he answered, '' no, I shall never cease striving for 
 his release till you and he meet once more. Good-bye, Miss 
 Drummond — good-bye, my dear. I was mad once, for which 
 I beg your pardon. I am sane now, and really I do not think 
 I need beg your pardon at all." 
 
 "But what about Oliver?" 
 
 " He must wait a little, his case is being seen to. (Gracious 
 Heaven, Miss Drummond, you have heard me just now give 
 up my soul's desire, and yet you never say, thank you ; you 
 have no thought or pity save for ' Oliver.' Take him, marry 
 him," added the banker, shaken by a sudden whirlwind of 
 passion. " Only I pray God that, living or dead, I may never 
 hear his name again." 
 
 "Mr. Gayre — Mr. Gayre," she cried, rushing to the door 
 after him and laying a detaining hand upon his arm, which he 
 tried in vain to shake off. 
 
 " Go," he said — " go. I lament the day I first saw you, 
 the hour I first spoke to you ; till that time I respected myself 
 fairly, but ever since I have been acting a mean, cowardly part 
 towards my Maker and my fellows. For the Almighty's sake, 
 do not tempt me to lose my soul and my substance as well. I
 
 '^ ALL FOR LOVE, THE WORLD WELL LOST r 373 
 
 nev«r was rich, and my love for you has left me bankrupt, not 
 merely in heart, but also well-nigh in pocket. Let me go while 
 I am master of myself; good-bye." 
 
 But still she held him, she clasped his arm with both her 
 hands, and her tears fell down like rain as she sobbed, "I can't 
 bear it — I cannot. You shall not leave me till you say you 
 forgive me — that we are friends." 
 
 " Friends !" he repeated scornfully. " How like a woman 
 — to prate about friendship to a man who has loved as I have 
 loved. You have been very cruel to me — you are not really 
 sorry for me now. You do not know what love means when 
 youth is over, when spring has gone, and no fresh sap can ever 
 rise again to nourish one green leaf of hope and promise." 
 
 "O, do not say that," she entreated; "there will be a fair 
 springtime yet for you. The day must come when you will 
 meet some one you can love and marry, and — " 
 
 " I shall probably marry," he interrupted, "but love again 
 I never can. Besides, who could love me ? You have taught 
 me that the whole passion of my soul — the undivided affection 
 of my heart — is incapable of winning one tender smile, one 
 feeling of regard — '' 
 
 " But O !" she said, looking up at him with swimming eyes 
 full of sorrow and womanly pity, " my love was given long 
 before we met. If it had not been — had I never known 
 OUver— " 
 
 He could bear no more. "With a sudden wrench he tore 
 himself away, leaving the girl, who had never come so near 
 loving him before, in an agony of grief. For the moment she 
 forget even Oliver, the great tide of her faithful affection seemed 
 to ebb out in one huge wave, leaving an arid waste of memory, 
 on which was traced only the image of a broken and despairing 
 man. 
 
 Had she known more of his nature, however, she would 
 have understood that paroxysm of ungovernable agony was but 
 the dying struggle of a passion which had torn and tormented 
 him. Even in the first misery of that final parting he felt a 
 sense of relief that all was over. The face of his dead wore as 
 yet no look either calm or beautiful, but at least the misery of 
 suspense would not have to be gone through again for ever. 
 He had suffered, no human being could know how horribly ; 
 he had grown hateful to himself; he had been falhng lower and 
 lower in his own esteem, till at last self-examination became 
 torture. He had done things of which he could not have
 
 374 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 believed himself capable \ he had forgotten honour, mercy, 
 justice — all because a woman had sweet, wistful brown eyes, 
 and the fairest face he ever looked upon. 
 
 If love fail to purify tlie waters of a human soul it fouls 
 them, and it is not without reason we pray the best instincts of 
 our nature may produce a blessing, not a curse. It rests with 
 each amongst us to decide which course to pursue. We can 
 climb, blinded it may be into tears and shod with sorrow, to 
 heights illuminated by a sun which never streams across any 
 low or unworthy road mortality elects to tread ; or we may trail 
 our love through the mire of earth, till nothing remains at last 
 but the marred and broken image, from which our anguished 
 hearts shall finally behold the last trace of comeliness fade 
 utterly away.
 
 r ----- 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 ANYTHING BUT PLEASANT. 
 
 From the time settlements were first mentioned his most par- 
 tial friend could not have described Mr. Sudlow as an ardent 
 suitor. 
 
 He had tried every means of avoiding making any, and 
 when he found Sir Geoffrey what the Baronet described as 
 " stiff," he began seriously to reconsider the whole question of 
 marriage. 
 
 He had learned that money makes any man of value in the 
 matrimonial market, and it occurred to him that he might do a 
 good deal better than Miss Chelston. He might not get a 
 more beautiful wife, but there was no reason why he should 
 not secure one even better born and moving in the best circles. 
 Mr. Sudlow's only weakness chanced to be a craze for good 
 society, and he had not long possessed the privilege of Sir 
 Geoffrey Chelston's friendship before he clearly understood 
 whatever the rank of that gentleman's acquaintances might be, 
 his daughter did not visit at grand houses or receive visits from 
 ladies whose names were ever likely to figure in the Court 
 Journal. 
 
 Not all the Baronet's finessing and talk about great people 
 could deceive him on this point. For a short time he suffered 
 himself to be deluded into the belief that his adored one could 
 introduce him to those charmed circles where fashion holds 
 high carnival, but this idea was soon dispelled. 
 
 As regarded Mr. Gayre also, Sir Geoffrey's notion was right. 
 The banker had ceased to be a hero to his former admirer. 
 There are some persons it is unsafe to admit to a private view 
 of dignity in dressing-gown and slippers, and North Bank and 
 The Warren exactly represented this sort of attire to Mr. Sud- 
 low's artless inexperience. To quote his own mental phrase, he 
 didn't " think much " of the Chelston or Gayre set. He had 
 never met and he was never likely to meet the Canon, and if 
 he had, even that respectable clergyman would scarcely to his
 
 376 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 mind have represented a Court card. Sir Geofifrey certainly 
 did know some persons of title, but then as a rule they were 
 black sheep, and, whether black or white, took no pains to 
 conceal that they meant to have nothing whatever to do with 
 Mr. Sudlow. He was far too careful and model a young man 
 to find favour in their eyes. He looked many times at a 
 sovereign before changing it; he would not bet, he did not 
 drink, he knew nothing about horses, he was not amusing, or 
 good-natured, or useful ; he bored even Miss Chelston to death, 
 and she certainly was not a peculiarly lively person. 
 
 Altogether Mr. Sudlow felt greatly disappointed with the 
 result of the first love-affair he had adventured upon that could, 
 with any propriety, be spoken about, and he was steadfastly 
 purposed if possible to make those settlements a cause for 
 breaking off the match. It was ridiculous to expect him to 
 marry a girl who had not a shilling or a settled social position, 
 who, spite of being a baronet's daughter, was in reality more 
 thoroughly a nobody than himself. If Mr. Gayre liked to give 
 his niece a fortune, he would put down an equal amount. 
 There was no reason why the banker should not do this, yet 
 Mr. Sudlow scarcely felt brave enough to make the suggestion. 
 
 When he received a note, however, from Mr. Gayre, asking 
 him to call in Lombard Street, he began to think matters might 
 still take a favourable turn. He knew Miss Chelston was in 
 Wimpole Street, but he did not know why, and under the 
 circumstances it was natural enough he should imagine Mr. 
 Gayre at last meant to "act handsomely" by her. 
 
 Walking along the Strand to keep the appointment, he ran 
 across a man he had met in North Bank. As a rule he passed 
 Mr. Sudlow with a careless nod, but on this occasion he stopped, 
 and, with hands plunged deep in his pockets, and hat tilted 
 back from his forehead, said, 
 
 " Heard if Chelston is out of danger ?" 
 
 " I didn't know he was in any danger." 
 
 " Didn't you really ? Awful smash; mare bolted with him 
 the very day after he went down into Yorkshire ; he was picked 
 up for dead, so Graceless tells me. Pity, too ! never saw a 
 finer horseman. Hope they'll save his leg ;" and Mr. Helsey, 
 who was waiting for a friend, leisurely took his cigar out of his 
 mouth and looked at it with a contemplative cast of counten- 
 ance. 
 
 " I am very sorry," remarked Mr. Sudlow. 
 
 " Sure you are; not half a bad fellow, Chelston. No one's
 
 ANYTHING BUT PLEASANT. 377- 
 
 enemy but his own. That was a bit of a bother up at North 
 Bank, wasn't it ?" 
 
 " I have not heard — " 
 
 " Why, bless my soul, you know nothing, and I thought you 
 were hand and glove there, not but what Graceless said long 
 ago he believed you meant to cry off. You are just as safe 
 too, perhaps. Shouldn't care for Chelston for a father-in-law 
 myself ; and though the girl is quiet and demure enough, still 
 where there has been anything with the mother I think it's 
 risky work. What ! you don't mean to tell me you never knew 
 that. I wouldn't have spoken only I made sure you knew all 
 about it. I believe Lady Chelston was as little in fault as a 
 woman ever can be when she goes oft" with somebody — not her 
 husband. It was a hard blow for the Gayres ; the old man 
 never really held up his head after it. Ah, here comes Jen- 
 nings. Hope Chelston will pull through all right. Ta-ta." 
 
 I\Ir. Sudlow did not pursue his walk eastward ; instead he 
 despatched a curt note to Lombard Street saying he could not 
 call, and giving no hint when it might suit his convenience to 
 do so. The note reached Mr. Gayre before he left the City ; 
 he kept very different hours from what had formerly been his 
 wont, and he decided to take Mr. Sudlow on his way home. 
 
 " I have come to have some talk with you, Sudlow," he 
 said, " about my niece." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Gayre." 
 
 " I consider matters are in a very unsatisfactory state 
 between you ; and as her father has left her in my charge, I 
 want to come to a thorough understanding with you on the 
 subject.'" 
 
 *' What is it you wish to know ?" 
 
 "First, when the settlements are to be signed; next, when 
 the marriage is to take place." 
 
 Mr. Sudlow hesitated ; he didn't like Mr. Gayre's tone, and 
 he liked the look of Mr. Gayre's clenched hand laid firmly upon 
 the table still less. There was very little of the banker about 
 that hand, and there was a great deal too much of the cavalry 
 officer. At that moment the old Adam was very strong in Mr. 
 Gayre. He had a fierce desire to quarrel with somebody, and 
 he felt he would rather quarrel with Mr. Sudlow than any other 
 human being. 
 
 " I am waiting for your answer," he said. 
 
 ''You are very imperative," Mr. Sudlow replied; "what is 
 the cause of all this sudden haste ?"
 
 378 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 "There is nothing sudden about the matter. The affair 
 has been at a standstill for months. On one paltry pretence 
 and another you have managed to put off the signing of these 
 settlements from autumn to spring, and we are no further for- 
 ward now than we were in the autumn." 
 
 " That is true, and I fear we shall never get any further 
 forward." 
 
 "What the devil do you mean, sir?" asked Mr. Gayre. 
 
 "Just what I say. It is of no use trying to bully me, Mr. 
 Gayre. I don't intend to sign those settlements, and I don't 
 mean to marry your niece." 
 
 Mr. Gayre sprang from his chair, and Mr. Sudlow sprang 
 from his. Just for a moment they looked across the table at 
 each other, then — 
 
 " Sit down, you coward," said Mr. Gayre, " I am not going 
 to strike you. Now, tell me the plain English of all this? 
 What makes you say you will jilt the girl ?" 
 
 " I was duped into proposing to her." 
 
 " You were what .?" 
 
 " I was misled." 
 
 " Who misled you ?" 
 
 "You must know I had every reason to suppose her father 
 was a very different person from what I find him to be." 
 
 " I know no such thing. From the very first, when you 
 would insist on being introduced to my niece, I told you in so 
 many words her father was a blackleg, a scoundrel, and a 
 cheat. If you did not choose to believe me— if you would 
 persist in thinking a baronet could not fail to be a paragon of 
 virtue, the fault was yours, not mine ; but you did not think 
 anything of the sort; you have some other reason for wanting 
 to back out of your engagement, and I insist on your telling 
 me what it is." 
 
 "I always objected to those settlements." 
 
 "Why did you not then refuse to make any? When Sir 
 Geoffrey said you should not have his daughter on any other 
 terms, why did you not tell him fairly you declined to marry 
 her ? You have not acted straightforwardly, Mr. Sudlow ; you 
 have kept shilly-shallying about the affair till I am tired of 
 hearing it named. But I intend to put matters on a different 
 footing. It was competent for you once to withdraw your 
 offer — but you shall not do so now. I mean you to marry 
 her soon — or else know some excellent reason why you 
 won't."
 
 ANYTHING B UT PLEA SANT. 3 7 9 
 
 "■"'-''" It is something outrageous to expect me to make such 
 settlements on a girl utterly destitute of fortune." 
 
 '• It would be something outrageous if a girl possessed of 
 any fortune were willing to marry jw;." 
 
 " Now it is of no use taking that tone with me, Mr. Gayre, 
 I won't stand it." 
 
 " You'll have to stand it and a good deal more before you 
 have done with me," retorted Mr. Gayre. " And as we are 
 upon the topic,- I tell you fairly that if my niece had not been 
 as selfish, calculating, and v/orldly as yourself, I should never 
 have thought of letting her marry you. In most respects you 
 will, however, be admirably matched." 
 
 " We never shall be matched," interrupted Mr. Sudlow. 
 
 " We'll see about that," said Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " I should have married Miss Chelston long ago," remarked 
 Mr. Sudlow, " if you would have made some suitable provision 
 for her, but I am now quite determined to break off the affair 
 entirely." 
 
 " I know, then, what I shall do," and jSIr. Gayre took up 
 his hat. 
 
 " I have been kept most shamefully in the dark. It was 
 by the merest chance I heard there had even been a scandal 
 about Lady Chelston — and — " 
 
 '' O, that's it, is it?" and Mr. Gayre laid down his hat— "you 
 had better think twice about what you purpose doing, my 
 friend. When this matter comes into court, as come into 
 court it shall, it will be pleasant for you to hear counsel state 
 the individual who makes an old story about a woman, who 
 had such excuse as wife living never could urge before, whose 
 husband never brought a charge against her, who condoned 
 her error, who laid her amongst his own people, the pretext 
 for refusing to marry her daughter— is the grandson of a felon, 
 transported for life for robbery and attempted murder." 
 
 " How dare you state such an infamous lie?" 
 
 " Lie is a nasty word, but we will let that pass. I always 
 knew your grandfather had been a convict, but I did not know 
 • the full measure of his crimes till I came the other day upon 
 all the papers connected with the affair. The public will find 
 the story very exciting and entertaining reading. I have 
 nothing more to say now, except that I shall be glad if you 
 will remove your account to-morrow, and transfer your securities 
 to the keeping of some other banker. You objected to employ- 
 ing any solicitor over those settlements— I should advise you
 
 o 
 
 So SUSAN DRL'MMOND. 
 
 to look out for some sharp lawyer now, for you will require 
 one before you have done with me. Good-evening." 
 
 As he walked up Wimpole Street, Mr. Gayre felt conscious 
 that he was extremely tired, anil needed a long night's sound 
 rest; but the day's work was not yet over. He had scarcely 
 sat down to dinner before Kawlings announced that Mr. Col- 
 vend wished to see him particularly. 
 
 " He will wait, Colonel," said the man. " He said you 
 were on no account to disturb yourself" 
 
 When Mr. Gayre entered his library he found the poor old 
 man sitting in a listless attitude, with head drooped and hands 
 clasped together between his knees. 
 
 " You must forgive me for coming so late," he began ; 
 " but — " and there he stopped. Twice he tried to finish his 
 sentence and failed, and then fairly giving vi^ay, he covered his 
 face and cried like a child. 
 
 "What is the matter — what has happened?" asked Mr. 
 Gayre. 
 
 " It is my daughter, my poor Dossie. She has had brain 
 fever — she has been dreadfully ill," moaned Mr. Colvend, in a 
 series of gasping sobs — "but that is not the worst of it. O, 
 Mr. Gayre ! have pity upon me. I am afraid what that 
 scoundrel Fife said was too true. There is no doubt she was 
 fond of Dane, and that the trouble unsettled her reason — my 
 unfortunate girl — my dear, dear little Dossie." 
 
 " I am very sorry indeed for you," and Mr. Gayre did feel 
 most truly sorry for the wretched father. 
 
 " Yes, it is an awful business," went on Mr. Colvend, wiping 
 his eyes and trying to speak calmly. " Awful : only to think of 
 that young fellow, and of that poor brave girl who stuck to 
 him through all — I don't know what to do. How is this 
 wrong ever to be set right ? Though she is my daughter, an 
 innocent man must not continue to suffer for her fault. Would 
 to God, Surlees had never given Dane in charge ! The pro- 
 secution was quite against my wish. The doctors do not think 
 she will ever recover her reason." 
 
 " Under the circumstances, that is perhaps scarcely to be 
 regretted," said Mr. Gayre. 
 
 "Just the remark Dr. Foynson made; but O, there is no 
 living creature can tell what this has been to me ; ever since 
 the terrible truth was forced upon me, I have thought about 
 that unhappy young man till it seemed as though I should go 
 mad myself."
 
 ANYTHING BUT PLEASANT. 381 
 
 •e* "^^^ " I do not imagine if you join with me there can be much 
 difficulty now in procuring his release." 
 
 " I will do anything and everything in my power. The 
 cause of this frightful illness was that Fife came to the house 
 and told Dossie, as all other means of clearing Dane seemed 
 unavailable, he meant to give himself up. He frightened the 
 poor little thing to death, said her letters to him would be 
 read in court. When I got home I found her in the most 
 dreadful state of mind ; of course I did not believe she was in 
 fault then, any more than I believe Fife's statement that night 
 you came to see me at Brighton ; but I can't blind myself 
 any longer; she had never been crossed before, and she 
 lacked strength of mind to bear up under the trouble of know- 
 ing Dane was in love with some one else. Why couldn't he 
 have fancied ray darling ? — I'd have given her to him, poor 
 child ! She v/as all I had — and now — " 
 
 " Gone mad, has she ?" commented Mr. Fife, when Mr. 
 Gayre subsequently repeated the substance of Mr. Colvend's 
 statement to that individual. " Don't you believe a word of 
 it; she's not the sort to go mad. I daresay she has had a 
 touch of brain fever, but it would puzzle a wiser man than 
 Dr. Foynson to tell where temper ended and fever began. 
 If they mean to get Dane out, though, without any fuss or 
 publicity, I shall be well enough content now ; I am going to 
 turn over a new leaf, and I think I would rather not turn it 
 before a magistrate." 
 
 " It is a great pity you do not turn over a new leaf," said 
 Mr. Gayre, " for you certainly are exceedingly clever." 
 
 " And trustworthy," added Mr. Fife, " that little matter of 
 the cheque, notwithstanding. O, I forgot to mention, Mr. 
 Sudlow was at the bank three times to-day while you were out. 
 He wants you to make an appointment— he left a message he 
 had something very special to say." 
 
 " Did he ?" said Mr. Gayre, scarcely able to refrain from 
 smiling.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 MR. GAVRE THANKS HEAVEN. 
 
 Eight weeks slipped by so fast that, like the seven years Jacob 
 served for Rachel, it seemed but a day, and Mr. Gayre, seated 
 one glorious summer's morning in his private room at Lom- 
 bard Street, was dreamily reviewing the events which had 
 occurred since the previous July when a letter was brought to 
 him, directed in Sir Geoffrey's sprawling handwriting. It was 
 a lengthy epistle that Mr. Gayre cut open, not without some 
 curiosity as to what the contents might prove. 
 
 "Dear Gayre"' (began the Baronet), — "Though you never 
 liked me as much as I liked you, I fancy you will be glad to 
 know I am at last getting better. Whether my leg will ever be 
 a good leg, it is difficult to tell. The doctors say not — which 
 is the reason, I feel inclined to think it will. Lord, what a 
 lot they are ! If I had followed their bidding I'd have been 
 comfortably tucked up with a spade long and long ago ! What 
 do you suppose they kept me — me — on for one blessed fort- 
 night ? — you'd never guess — milk in some confounded form or 
 other. Gad, I was so weak and wasted at the end of that time, 
 when I looked down at my hands I thought they belonged to 
 somebody else. Remonstrance was not a bit of good. Bless 
 you, a fellow that used to come and feel my pulse two and 
 three times a day would have put a navvy on the same diet as 
 a new-born child ! I'd never have picked up again if it had 
 not been for the landlady, who is as trim and smart an article 
 in petticoats as you ever set your eyes on. She keeps all the 
 business of this house going — ostlers, waiters, chambermaids, 
 and the whole gang of them. Her husband's occupation is 
 dying as fast as he knows how (the doctors have put ///;;/ on 
 milk and soda-water — ugh ! poor wretch), and the only recrea- 
 tion he has strength enough left to indulge in is whist. There 
 are generally some decent fellows stopping at this hotel, so we 
 manage to make up a party most evenings. While I was
 
 MR. GAYRE THANKS HEAVEN. -x^x 
 
 -' o 
 
 -pretty bad we were in the habit of playing on my bed, so you 
 see time has not been spent quite unprofitably after all. How- 
 ever, as I was saying, if it had not been for Mrs. Fitz-Hugh, 
 rather a high-flying sort of name, isn't it ? you would never 
 have been troubled more, by yours truly. 
 
 " ' For heaven's sake," I said to her, ' get me something fit 
 for a man to drink — not cat-lap.' 
 
 " ' But the doctor. Sir Geoffrey." 
 
 " ' My dear soul,' I expostulated, ' I am not a calf— if I 
 were, I have no doubt I should relish milk greatly ; being 
 what I am, if I don't have some brandy soon, I'll not answer 
 for the consequences.' Firmness, Gayre — it was firmness 
 saved me. How Mrs. F.'s father did laugh to be sure, when 
 she told him ; his name is Sponner, and it is said he had 
 netted seventy thousand pounds by always betting against the 
 favourite. He's a funny old chap, who can scarcely write his 
 name. 'That's a good one,' he roared. 'Sir Geoffrey Chel- 
 ston, the hardest rider and the heaviest drinker in England, put 
 into training on kettle tea and pap. No — no, my lass, that 
 won't do at any price. We'll find him something better than 
 that, doctor or no doctor.' 
 
 " You may imagine I am pretty comfortable here. I don't 
 exactly know who is going to pay the piper, but I rather expect 
 Dashwood will stump up. 'Tvvas his mare, or rather one he 
 was thinking of buying, took the notion of trying a race with 
 the wind. I never went so fast before, and I suppose I may 
 venture to say I never want to go such a pace again. All's 
 well that ends well, though, as I feel quite sure I could not 
 have dropped into better quarters. I thought I had not much 
 to learn in the matter of horse-flesh, but the old gentleman 
 has given me a wrinkle or two. 
 
 " I had no doubt but that you would get Sudlow to terms. 
 It is a sort of thing far more in your line than mine. You 
 don't say how you managed to screw him up, but so long as 
 he is screwed the modus operandi signifies little. Yes, you 
 arrange about the wedding as you like. I can't come up for 
 it, but I wrote to the Canon to know if he wouldn't tie the 
 knot ? ' You had best let bygones be bygones,' I said, ' peace 
 and goodwill in families is both politic and Christian. My 
 daughter is making a capital match, and it is always prudent to 
 cultivate friendly relations with a niece who is well oil'. I'eggy 
 is a confoundedly handsome girl — a girl any uncle might be 
 proud of with a rich husband at her back,' so to cut a long
 
 384 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 story short the Canon will officiate, that is, if you like. I said 
 I had always kept clear of the family quarrels, water, either 
 cold or hot, being a thing quite out of my line. 
 
 "Now the matter rests between you two brothers; just do 
 as you please, it makes very little difference to me. Give 
 Peggy my blessing — I am afraid she won't care for that much, 
 but I have nothing else to present her with. I certainly think 
 she and Sudlow will run in harness very well together. A 
 selfish man ought always to marry a selfish woman. This will 
 sound like a mistake, but it works well in practice. Entre nous, 
 it would have been a thousand pities to spoil two houses with 
 such a pair. There is a hard commercial smack about them 
 both that fills me with astonishment. If Peg had been differ- 
 ent she would have sent him to the right-about long ago. If 
 Sudlow had been different 1 could have hobbled him last 
 •summer. 
 
 " What a splendid girl poor, dear Susan has proved herself. 
 Fancy her smuggling that picture of Delilah out of Hilderton's 
 studio. 
 
 "The young hound ! — what a scandalous thing to paint my 
 daughter's face in such a connection. He meant to exhibit 
 ■the painting somewhere too, and then there would have been 
 the deuce and all to pay. I am afraid Peg did not act fairly 
 by the lad. She's an out-and-out flirt — a dangerous flirt — these 
 quiet demure women always are. However, she's met with 
 her match in Sudlow. They must arrange matters when they 
 are man and wife. Meanwhile you and I may thank Heaven 
 we are well out of the whole business. Directly Peg's matter 
 is settled I shall present my petition in bankruptcy. Poor 
 girl, she does not know all her father is going through for her 
 sake! I had thought of having Peg 'turned off' at Chelston 
 {the Wookes would have been only too delighted to stand a 
 wedding spread at the Pleasaunce) ; but second thoughts are 
 best, and it seemed to me we should act prudently (one ought 
 always to keep an eye on the future) to play no triumphal 
 march while the disgustingly woolly sheep, Sudlow, was led up 
 for sacrifice. 
 
 " Besides, the Wookes are total abstinence folks, and you 
 know what that means when the success of a marriage feast is 
 in the balance. 
 
 " You have managed splendidly about the settlements. In 
 confidence I may tell you, if it had been impossible to get 
 Ludlow up to the starting-post so weighted, I'd have let Peg
 
 *>" 
 
 ^rR. GAYRE THANKS HEAVEN. 385 
 
 •^ke her chance without any settlements at all. After my first 
 London experience of her, I knew she would be a most diffi- 
 cult young woman to • run,' and I think we both deserve the 
 highest praise for getting her married at all ! IMy letter has 
 been the work of two mornings. Of your charity write often, 
 if you can, to this poor 'Exile of Erin.' 
 
 •• I don't complain. You know I never complain ; still 
 there is no denying the fact that solitary confinement in the 
 height of the London season is rough on 
 
 " Yours faithfully, 
 
 "Geoffrey Chelston. 
 
 " P.S. — One little suggestion. Don't you think it might 
 be well to pay that milliner's bill of Peg's ? Of course I want 
 to put it in ray schedule ; but if I do I'm afraid ^Madame 
 Rosalie will apply to Sudlow for it, and kick up no end of a 
 row, in the event of his not paying her, and whether he paid 
 her or not he would make things confoundedly unpleasant for 
 the girl. 
 
 " If you agree with me I am sure you will do what I can't, 
 namely, settle with Madame R. As you are acting so gener- 
 ously about the bridal rig-out all could be paid under one 
 head, and it will be the last thing you will ever have to do for 
 Peg. Tell Susan, by the time her execution morning comes, 
 I mean to be well enough to act as father. 
 
 " I am so glad about Dane. As I always said no better 
 fellow ever breathed, and from the very first I felt sure his 
 innocence would be proved. When you are amongst jewellers, 
 I wish you would choose some pretty trifle and send it with 
 the enclosed to Susan. I'll square that account with you out 
 of the very first bit of luck which comes in my way. 
 
 " G. C." 
 
 ]^.Ir. Gayre felt inside the envelope for the enclosure men- 
 tioned. It proved to be a slip of paper, on which were written 
 the words, '• From Papa Geoff." 
 
 For a short time Sir Geoffrey's brother-in-law sat contem- 
 plating this epistle with a sort of amazed admiration. There 
 had been a period when it would have maddened him, but that 
 period was past, and he could now regard Sir Geoffrey dispas- 
 sionately as a person upon whose like it seemed most impro- 
 bable he should ever look again. 
 
 Besides, the letter was almost an epitome of the events 
 
 cc
 
 386 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 which had occurred within the space of little over a year. Was 
 it really something less than fifteen months since that day when 
 he sauntered idly across the ,c;rass in Hyde Park, and saw Sud- 
 low leaning over the rails ? Why, those months seemed to hin^ 
 a whole existence. He had nearly lived a life in the time. 
 What a sermon it all was on the vanity of human hopes, and 
 on the uselessness of mortal projects. What a satire to be 
 commissioned by Papa Geoff to buy a wedding gift it was 
 intended he himself should pay for, to present to the woman he 
 loved ! 
 
 "I thought to manage Sir Geoffrey," he considered, "arid 
 Sir Geoffrey has managed me. I wonder if he will outwit his 
 new friend Mr. Sponner. Nothing more likely. And what 
 about Mrs. Fitz-Hugh when Mr. Fitz-Hugh goes out of busi- 
 ness, and relinquishes whist and leaves her a widow? Humph.'' 
 and Mr. Gayre, lighting a match, applied it to the Baronet's 
 letter and watched the precious missive burn to dust on the 
 hearth. 
 
 Whatever his faults, and he had many, the banker was not 
 really mean. All his instincts led him to loyalty, for which 
 reason he did not docket and pigeon-hole his brother-in-law's 
 epistle and consider " This may prove useful some day." 
 
 What he did, however, consider was that he wished he had 
 not to go to Chislehurst in order to spend a " nice, quiet, com- 
 fortable afternoon."' He was forced to spend many such after- 
 noons at The Warren, and they filled his soul with a terrible 
 despair. What should he do when he was married and life be- 
 came a series of such afternoons ? Already Susan was avenged. 
 Never had she shrunk with greater horror from the idea of 
 passing existence with him than he recoiled from the notion of 
 spending the years "few and evil" which might be in store for 
 him with Mrs. Jubbins. 
 
 It was the old Brunswick Square business over again. She 
 had changed the venue, but the pleadings were the same. He 
 never for half-an-hour together got out of the Jones, Brown, 
 and Robinson set. Deputy Pettell and others of that connec- 
 tion literally swarmed upon the carpet. Their houses, their 
 furniture, their carriages, their servants, their friends, their 
 parties, their travels, their sayings, their doings — was he never, 
 till death brought peace, to hear any other sort of conversation ? 
 Talk of moulding Mrs. Jubbins ! He might as well have thought 
 of making her a girl again or of cutting down her goodly pro- 
 portions to the airy symmetry of a Hebe ! Endurance was the
 
 MR. GAYRE THANKS HEAVEN. 3 87 
 
 -oaly thing left for him, and to do Mr. Gayre justice he did 
 bear the eternal flow of talk about nothing with saint-like 
 equanimity. He had sold himself for a mess of pottage and 
 he would have to wear the chains of his captivity, though they 
 galled his flesh and ate into his very soul. Already there had 
 been a few differences of opinion, in all of which Mrs. Jubbins 
 marched oft" the field with a grand composure in the character 
 of conqueror. She would have felt greatly surprised had any 
 one told her she was or wanted to be a conqueror; she honestly 
 believed she was deferring to Mr. Gayre in all things. It is 
 difficult for a woman whose first husband has made an idol of 
 her, and whose widowhood has proved a long career of doing 
 exactly what she liked, to understand her ways and ideas or 
 even her manners and habits can possibly be uncongenial to 
 any one who wishes to marry her. Mrs. Jubbins had fallen 
 into the not uncommon mistake of imagining that all she did, 
 and all she had, stood far above the vulgar height, where holes 
 could be picked in either her doings or belongings. She had 
 her own notions, and of course those notions were right. She 
 had her possessions, and those possessions in her opinion were 
 precisely the proper possessions. She wished to live in town, 
 and as a natural consequence it was ridiculous to suppose Mr. 
 Gayre could really prefer the country. He knew nothing about 
 the country', and she did ; she had lived in it for a whole year 
 and was deadly tired of it ; he had not lived in it at all, if he 
 had he would be tired of it too. This was Mrs. Jubbins' mode 
 of reasoning, and it is unnecessary to state that the result ot 
 discussing future arrangements with ]\Ir. Gayre invariably ended 
 in his apparent conversion to her views ; considering what 
 Mrs. Jubbins had done for him he would have been most 
 ungrateful to insist he had any right to maintain his own 
 opinions, but the banker sometimes thought he should like to 
 know whether he might ever be permitted to have an opinion 
 at all. It was very well for Mrs. Jubbins to say, as she did say 
 continually, "I want to consult you." But it was scarcely so 
 agreeable to find that these consultations meant well-nigh 
 interminable talks about what the lady wanted to do. 
 
 Mr. Gayre knew perfectly well no better nor kinder woman 
 than Mrs. Jubbins, so far as her fight went, ever existed, but 
 he also knew she would wear, and was indeed v.earing him to 
 death. 
 
 There were things about her which reminded him constantly 
 of his father. He could not forget the monotonous round of
 
 388 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 small interests, petty details, contemptible gossip, and narrow 
 ideas which made Lrunswick Square more irksome to him than 
 narrow cell ever seemed to prisoner. Then he could not say, 
 " My mind to me a kingdom is," for he often felt his mind was 
 stultifying while he listened to the even ilow of babble that did 
 duty for conversation in Mrs. Jubbins' house. 
 
 Could he face the prospect of being cooped up in a town 
 house with that eternal trickle of twaddle always running 
 through his ears ; witli the Pettells, and the Jones, and others 
 of the same ilk, for his only home society ; with his old friends 
 banished to his club — for he could not — no, he felt he could 
 not — invite men whose ideas were cosmoijolitan, who had 
 travelled, and thought, and read, and seen life, understanding 
 the phrase in its best and widest sense, to come and listen to 
 discussions concerning the amount Mr. Robinson's " mansion " 
 at Walton had cost to build, or the questionable taste of Mrs. 
 Brown, who having been taken up by a " grand High Church 
 set," had so far forgotten what her poor papa's ideas of Popery 
 were, as to go lo early service and walk about the West End 
 clad in hodden gray, and wearing a close bonnet made of brown 
 straw, just as if she were the wife of a clerk in the receipt of 
 thirty shillings a week. 
 
 Further, he could not disguise the fact that antagonistic as 
 Mrs. Jubbins might be to him, she was beginning to feel him 
 even more antagonistic to her. 
 
 Honestly, he meant to make her an excellent husband ; but 
 he had no intention of being a foolish one ! At the first offset 
 it was clearly understood marriage should not be thought of till 
 sufficient time had elapsed to enable him to release his own 
 capital, and finally put matters between him and his future wife 
 on some business and tangible footing. For a time this arrange- 
 ment worked admirably, but it could not last for ever, and with 
 dismay Mr. Gayre found himself expected to play the part of 
 lover to a lady he had known ever since she wore short frocks, 
 and blue sashes — and whom he should certainly have thought 
 old enough to know better. Something of the awe she formerly 
 felt for him still remained ; but it was wearing away. No later 
 than the occasion of his last visit to Chislehurst, she entered 
 through the open window near which he was seated in order to 
 ask him some question, and in the most simple and natural 
 manner came behind his chair, put a hand on each shoulder and 
 called him ** dear." 
 
 Mr. Gayre thought of this experience with a shudder. He
 
 MR. GAYRE THAAKS HEAVEN. 389 
 
 recalled the sudden chill her action had sent through him, and 
 earnestly trusted the good, generous soul felt nothing of the 
 deadly tremor which for a moment turned his strength into 
 weakness. 
 
 He could not draw back now. In honour, in common 
 honesty, he was forced to go on. As long as he could make 
 the woman who trusted him happy and content, what did it 
 signify how wretched he felt? He had been placed in a sore 
 strait — on the one side lay the Scylla of poverty, on the other 
 the Charybdis of an uncongenial marriage. 
 
 Matrimony was the only interest Mrs. Jubbins would have 
 accepted and that he could have offered for the use of her 
 fortune. Yes, looking back he could see no other course 
 possible for him to pursue. Given that he dared not face 
 bankruptcy, no resource remained but to marry the relict of 
 Mr. Jubbins. The position did not bear thinking about, so 
 deciding not to think about it Mr. Gayre put aside his papers 
 and started for Chislehurst. 
 
 He found Mrs. Jubbins arrayed in a very pretty summer 
 dress, which did not become her in the least. Susan or his 
 niece would have looked lovely in it ; but the soft flow of the 
 light material, and the cunning interlacing of delicate colours, 
 were death to Mrs. Jubbins' mature charms. Nevertheless, he 
 had to say something about her attire, and he spoke a few 
 words of compliment with such grace as he could assume. 
 That was the first event of an afternoon he will never forget as 
 long as he keeps his memory. From the first moment things 
 went on steadily chafing his spirit and finally inducing such a 
 state of irritability, that finally addressing one of Mrs. Jubbins' 
 young people in a tone of sharp decision, he said, "Don't be 
 so rude, sir." Mrs. Jubbins' offspring were, as a rule, extremely 
 rude — but no one had ever ventured to tell them so before, and 
 the lad stared at the banker ere, turning on his heel, he walked 
 out of the room, whistling defiantly. 
 
 Mrs. Jubbins looked at Mr. Gayre, and Mr. Gayrc looked 
 at Mrs. Jubbins — but neither spoke. The boy had been often- 
 sively impertinent ; even a mother's partiality couldn't deny 
 that fact. Mr. Gayre regretted his hasty speech, but felt he 
 ought not to apologise. He waited for Mrs. Jubbins to make 
 some remark, but to his surprise and relief she took no verbal 
 notice of what had occurred. 
 
 Instead, she began to talk of The Warren, and her wish to 
 return to town.
 
 390 SUSAN DRUM MO ND. 
 
 "I have been thinking," she said, "that I should Uke to 
 take a house soijiewhere in the Kensington direction. I do 
 not care much for Palace Gardens, though the houses there are 
 good, and of course it is nice to look out on the Park. I pre- 
 fer Campden Hill. I really do not tliink I should object to 
 Campden Hill." 
 
 '• You have quite decided, then, not to return to Brunswick 
 Square ?" 
 
 *' Quite — the neighbourhood, you see, has so altered its 
 character. Besides, the lease has not long to run, and I feel 
 sure Mr. Motten would be glad to take it for the remainder of 
 my term." 
 
 "And I had a letter this morning from an old Indian friend, 
 who is coming home on leave for eighteen months, asking me 
 to look out a place for him within twelve miles of town. The 
 Warren would, I know, suit him exactly." 
 
 " I am so glad. I have taken it on for another year, and I 
 should not like to be under two rents." 
 
 "That is a thing to be avoided, certainly," and then there 
 ensued another silence. Mr. Gayre felt he was spending a 
 very quiet afternoon indeed. 
 
 " Shall we take a turn through the grounds ?" asked Mrs. 
 Jubbins, "the gardens are looking beautiful. As Mrs. Gibson 
 was saying only yesterday, they do Holditch very great credit 
 indeed."' 
 
 As he had observed, a score of times before, Mr. Gayre 
 again observed there could be no doubt but that Holditch 
 understood his business. 
 
 '' I must just get a parasol, so we may as well go through 
 the hall," and accordingly they passed through the hall, where 
 Mr. Gayre had seen Susan sitting amongst the flowers on that 
 night which seemed so long and long ago. 
 
 As though she had known of what he was thinking, jNIrs. 
 Jubbins, directly they got upon the gravelled walk leading 
 down the hill-side on which the gardens lay, began, 
 
 "That dear Miss Drummond was here the other day; she 
 came to say good-bye." 
 
 " Why, where is she going ?" asked Mr. Gayre. 
 
 "To her cousin's, to the place where she spent her girl- 
 hood. She is to be married from there ; did you not know ?" 
 
 " I did know something of it, but I had forgotten. How 
 is she looking ?" 
 
 " Radiantly happy ; poor thing, I am so sorry for her !"
 
 MR. GAYRE THANKS HEAVEN. 391 
 
 B* *-—-' ''Sorry ! Why?"' 
 
 " O, because she tuill marry that young man, arid what can 
 be in store for her but misery ? Nobody will ever beHeve in 
 his innocence, and even supposing he had been innocent when 
 he was sent to that dreadful place, how can he be fit for any 
 nice woman to associate with after living among thieves and 
 murderers and, as Deputy Pettell calls them, the very scum of 
 the population ?" 
 
 "I do not think we need discuss that question again," 
 suggested ]Mr. Gayre, who had heard it discussed till he was 
 tired. 
 
 " Then they have so little money ; nothing, I assure you, 
 but the trifle she has left out of her own small fortune."' 
 
 " They have a great deal of love, though." 
 
 " But, good gracious, people can't live entirely on love ! 
 and, after all, I am afraid, though I did not say so to her, 
 there is much more love on the one side than on the other. I 
 shall never feel quite satisfied about that business of Miss Col- 
 vend. If he had not paid attentions to the young lady, of 
 course she would never have thought of getting so violently 
 fond of him." 
 
 '• You must understand such matters better than I," said 
 Mr. Gayre humbly. 
 
 "And I have not patience with his folly in refusing to 
 accept compensation from Mr, Colvend. He says it would 
 look as if he were being bought off— like taidng hush money. 
 So ridiculous ! ' He ought to take all he can for your sake, my 
 dear," I told her, but she wouldn't see it. Her cousin means 
 to try and get him an appointment, but I suppose he can only 
 expect some paltry salary." 
 
 " I rejoice to hear she is looking well and happy." 
 
 " Yes, but I am afraid that won't last. She spoke very 
 gratefully about you, though not so gratefully as I consider she 
 ought, considering the enormous trouble you gave yourself over 
 Mr. Dane's affair." 
 
 " I only wish I had been able to do more, and do it sooner," 
 he answered. ''Ah! there goes Joshua! Did you see how 
 he turned back the moment he saw us ? He hasn't forgiven 
 me yet for telling him not to be rude." 
 
 '• No, poor boy ; you see my children have never been 
 spoken to in that way."' 
 
 " If you really think I went beyond the limit of what I 
 ought to have said I suppose I ought to apologise."
 
 )92 
 
 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 " No, no, don't think of such a thing," said Mrs. Jubbins 
 hurriedly: "you did not mean to vex me, only^only — you 
 scarcely understand — you have not been accustomed to young 
 people, and, besides — " 
 
 He looked at her inquiringly, as she paused and coloured 
 violently. " I fear I have annoyed you even more than I 
 thought," he said. " Believe me, I had not the slightest idea my 
 remark would wound you in any way. I am very rry. so You. 
 know if there be one person in the world whose feelings I 
 should consider more than another, that person is yourself." 
 
 She made a little sign to ask him to stop ; then, all of a 
 sudden turning and beginning to retrace her steps, she mur- 
 mured in a voice so low he could scarcely catch her tones, 
 
 "I want to speak to you. Let us go and sit under the ash- 
 trees ; we shall not be interrupted there." 
 
 Mr, Gayre assented, wondering greatly. He had not under- 
 stood an inexplicable change in her manner, which he noticed 
 from the first moment she greeted him. What could she be 
 going to say ? He racked his brain to imagine what had 
 happened. 
 
 Afterwards he remembered each detail of that interview,, 
 could recall the way the sunbeams lay athwart the road ; could 
 see the trembling of the leaves, feel again the touch of the 
 gentle wind which lightly swayed the branches; but just at that 
 moment all sense of observation seemed swallowed up in 
 amazement. 
 
 " It is no use beating about the bush," she began, and her 
 voice was not quite steady. " I will tell you at once what I 
 have been thinking. We must never marry — our engagement 
 must end.'" 
 
 "Why?"heaked. 
 
 " The last two months have been very pleasant to me," 
 she went on, unheeding his question ; " one week out of them 
 I may say was the happiest in all my life. When I look back 
 I can never remember a time when I did not care for you ; 
 when I was a girl you were the hero of my imagination, the 
 ideal man of all my girlish dream.s." 
 
 He was about to speak, but she laid her hand on his, as a 
 token she did not want him to do so. 
 
 "When I was left a widow and my mother told me your 
 father wished you and me to marry I felt life almost too happy; 
 I forgot my dead husband and all he had done for me and 
 mine, and thought of you and you only. I am not ashamed
 
 MR. GAYRE THANKS HEAVEN. 393. 
 
 To" tell you this now," she proceeded, after the slightest break; 
 " because it's all past and done with; we will, I hope, be good 
 friends for ever ; but I have thought matters over, and know 
 it is best we should be nothing more.' 
 
 " ]\Iay I again ask you why — I shall not try to influence 
 your decision, but if not disagreeable, I wish you would tell 
 me the causes which have induced you to arrive at it." 
 
 " I will tell you as well as I can. Fii'st of all, the convic- 
 tion has been growing upon me, for a long time, that we were 
 unfitted for each other — it is no sudden fancy of mine — that 
 we should never be quite happy together. You have your 
 notions and I have mine, and we could not make them agree. 
 Even in upholstery, the things I Hke you don't like — and it is 
 the same in other matters. That we might get over though ; 
 but what I never could get reconciled to is that you do not 
 care for me — really. If you ever had cared for me you would 
 have said so, years ago." 
 
 "Passionate attachment," he urged, "can perhaps scarcely 
 be expected from a man of my age — but — " 
 
 " Yes, I understand all that," she interrupted, " but I 
 should not feel satisfied. I know now, why, at times, lately 
 I have been so unsettled and miserable — yes, miserable — even 
 while I believed myself happy — but there is more still. I have 
 yet another reason." 
 
 " I must indeed be a heinous criminal," he remarked, with 
 a faint smile. 
 
 " No," she said, " you are not to blame at all, the fault is 
 entirely my own. I have no right to marry — anybody. My 
 husband left me in charge of a great trust, and I ought to try 
 to be worthy of it. How could I do justice to his children 
 and to you? I never thought of marrying anybody but you — 
 and I shall never think of marrying again. I mean to live 
 for my sons and my daughters, and to be what your father 
 once said I was — a faithful steward." 
 
 " It is perhaps quite as well, then, that I spoke to Joshua 
 as I did to-day ; otherwise, you might not have found out your 
 Cuty till it was too late," said Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " Yes, I should. I had found it out, and what do you 
 think showed it to me ?" 
 
 " I would really rather not hazard any conjecture." 
 
 " Miss Drummond." 
 
 " Why, what did she say ?" 
 
 " She said nothing, except two words. I'll tell you how it
 
 394 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 happened. When we Avere talking together, and she was 
 speaking about how happy she was, I could not help telling 
 her I was very happy too. I forgot, for the moment, you and 
 I had agreed to let no one know how affairs stood for the 
 present — and I went on — ' I am going to marry a man I have 
 loved all my life ; your friend, I\Ir. Gayre.' I assure you, it 
 slipped out quite accidentally.'' 
 
 " Yes, and then—" 
 
 " She repeated ^ Mr. Gayre P just like that, in an incredu- 
 lous sort of tone — yet still as if she was shocked — and I shall 
 never forget the look in her face, hke some one who could 
 scarcely believe her ears. Then she recovered herself and 
 said, prettily, she wished us all sorts of happiness — but the 
 way she cried out IVIr. Gayre, and her startled expression, have 
 haunted me ever since. I could not close my eyes last night, 
 I felt so wretched, and then when you spoke to Joshua as you 
 did, I knew it was best we should consider everything at an 
 end. As for the money, don't trouble yourself about that — 
 keep it as long as you like — I always knew you would not 
 wrong me or my children of a penny — but lending money is 
 one thing and marrying another; and now say you are not 
 angry with me, and that we shall never cease to be friends?" 
 
 " Mrs. Jubbins, I never respected or admired you so much 
 as I do at this moment— and 1 shall always be your devoted 
 friend," said Mr. Gayre— and it is only right to add he spoke 
 from his heart. 
 
 " Relief !" Was that any word to express the load taken 
 from his heart ? As he returned to town that night he felt 
 very humble, very penitent, very thankful. '' Heaven has been 
 more merciful to me than I deserve," he thought, and who can 
 deny but that there was a considerable amount of truth in the 
 observation ?
 
 »* '^■^0' 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Whitsuntide 1877. May once again, for the third time, since 
 that morning when Mr. Gayre stood beside the raihngs in Hyde 
 Park, and watched ^Margaret Chelston's meeting with the 
 " fairest of fair women." 
 
 London was virtually deserted. On the previous Saturday 
 London had despatched her hundreds, and tens of hundreds, 
 her millions, indeed, into the quiet country, to the seashore, 
 and the Continent. On IMonday morning there was not a 
 street situated in as low and poor neighbourhood a district 
 visitor could name, but found means to raise enough money 
 to charter some sort of conveyance and proceed behind 
 wretched horses that must long previously have learned to 
 curse the sound of a cornopean, to such places of resort as 
 represent fun and fashion to the excursionist mind. The great 
 ^Metropolis was like a city of the dead. Round and about the 
 Royal Exchange many commercial corpses lay awaiting burial, 
 but the ceremony being compulsorily delayed till after Bank 
 Holiday, the men whose cheques and bills had been dishon- 
 oured were waiting in suburban villas and great West End 
 mansions, for some miracle to happen in the interval which 
 should enable them to begin the struggle of business life 
 afresh on the Tuesday following Pentecost. 
 
 In the streets scarcely a human being was to be met with 
 — cabmen recognising a possible fare afar off hailed him with 
 effusion; a few country cousins wandered four abreast along 
 the pavements without getting "shouldered " for their pains; 
 lads who had no pennies wherewith to pay train or tram fares, 
 tied white woollen scarves tightly round their throats, and 
 started to walk for the nearest places where sticklebacks 
 could be fished for, or the pleasing sport of seeing starved 
 donkeys being thrashed by brutes armed with heavy sticks 
 witnessed. Scarce a soul was abroad. The better classes 
 who were forced to remain in town kept close within doors;
 
 .96 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 on the railways all distinctions of class were virtually abol- 
 ished ; it was possible to walk from Temple Bar to Ludgate 
 Circus down the middle of the horse-road ; the' West End con- 
 veyed a pleasing impression of rustic seclusion ; men walked 
 to their clubs as if a large balance of the seventy allotted 
 years remained in which to stroll along the shady side of the 
 street ; in the home counties rhododendrons and early roses, 
 hawthorn, laburnum, lilac, a thousand wild Howers— yellow 
 buttercups, meek-eyed daisies, springing grass— girt London 
 round with a natural belt of emerald green, gemmed by a thou- 
 sand stars of divine hues, such as no astronomer, no jeweller, 
 ever, out of his own consciousness, could have imagined. 
 
 In the hedgerows, by the wayside, flowers were springing, 
 blooming, dying. It was an early year, and in London a May 
 sun positively beamed upon its inhabitants. There were not 
 many belonging to the better condition of life remaining to be 
 beamed on ; still one man, well considered and reputed to be 
 wealthy, was walking down Duke Street, St. James', on his 
 way to Victoria Station. 
 
 The quietest of quiet pedestrians, the sedatest of sedate 
 gentlemen! Certainly not very young, presumably not very 
 old, a clean-cut, closely-shaved, military-looking sort of person, 
 who might have been anybody, from peer to poet, but who 
 happened to belong neither to the Upper Ten nor to the dear 
 Bohemia. 
 
 Suddenly the silence of the West End street was rent with, 
 " Gayre, Gayre ! Hillo ! Hillo !" and Gayre, for so the 
 gentleman was named, turning round, beheld a figure on the 
 opposite side of the way, making frantic signs for him to stop. 
 " Ah ! you remember me," this individual said, as they 
 shook hands in the middle of the horse-road. " Gad, you are 
 looking well. Years, I vow, run by and leave you younger." 
 " Why, Sir Geoffrey, I did not expect to meet you here." 
 " And, by Jove, I did not expect to meet you. Just see 
 here, Gayre," and the Baronet affectionately passed his arm 
 through that of his brother-in-law, as if they were the dearest 
 of dear friends, " I swear it is like water in a thirsty land to 
 look on your pleasant face again. I am glad to have even 
 this glimpse of you. I called at Sudlow's, but, faith, I found 
 such cold welcome there I was glad to return to mine inn." 
 "They are not a very genial pair, certainly." 
 " No, but you remember what I always said. I mayn't be 
 a very sharp fellow, but I'm the very deuce in the way of pro-
 
 CONCLUSIOX. 397 
 
 ■^jhecy. I always knew they would suit each other to a T. 
 Lord, how she did go on about my marriage. 
 
 " ' You hold your tongue, my girl,' I said, ' there was 
 trouble enough to gt\. you married.' That shut her up." 
 
 " And how is your wife ?" asked i\Ir. Gayre. For answer 
 his brother-in-law pulled a newspaper from his pocket — 
 smoothed it carefully over his knee — turned to the first page, 
 folded it up so as to leave the " births " outside, and pointed 
 out one especial paragraph for perusal. 
 
 The paragraph ran thus — 
 
 " At Brockborough, near Doncaster, the wife of Sir Geoffrey 
 Chelston, Baronet, of a son and heir." 
 
 " It is all their own composition,'' explained the happy 
 father. " Gad, I wish they'd make me an heir, but I'm nobody 
 now, of course. I came up to town to be clear of the fuss. 
 Old Sponner is just out of his senses with delight at being 
 .grandfather to an embryo baronet." 
 
 " I am sure I congratulate you all very heartily." 
 
 " It's more than Peggy did. I said, ' It's of no use your 
 turning up your nose ; you'd better by far be civil to the 
 young stranger. He is born with a silver spoon in his mouth. 
 He'll have lots of money when he comes of age. Old Sponner 
 swears he shall have all his money, and his mother says shell 
 see I have no chance of touching it. By the bye, I stopped a 
 night at Susan's on my way up. She's got a jolly little girl, 
 and she is prettier than ever — and as for Dane, he's fairly 
 crazy about her. You'd think no man ever owned a v.-ife 
 before. She's just the same as she used to be, only a little 
 quieter. I think she can't quite forget all that trouble. She 
 is the best creature ! She persuaded Lai Hilderton to leave 
 London, and he lives in a cottage on the estate, with Sue's 
 old nurse to cook his meals and mend his socks. He's doing 
 real good work, I hear — don't profess to care for that sort of 
 thing myself! Weren't you surprised to hear Dane had got 
 his grandfather's property? Good job the miserly old sinner 
 could never make up his mind to sign a will. ^Vell, they are 
 a very happy pair — as happy a pair as you'd wish to see. I 
 often wonder you never married, Gayre, but perhaps you're as 
 well as you are — women as a rule are a confounded lot of 
 trouble." 
 
 " I am sorry you tiiink so, for I have asked one to take 
 
 care of me." 
 
 " Who is it— Mrs. Jubbins?"
 
 39S SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 " Mrs. Jubbins -will never marry anybody. No. this is the 
 daughter of a man who was my superior oflicer when I first 
 entered the army. She is a charming girl, or rather woman, 
 for she is nearly thirty, and I hope and believe we are exactly 
 suited to each other. Her father leaves for India before the 
 end of the summer, and then we shall take up our residence 
 permanently at The Warren. You recollect Mrs. Jubbins' 
 party there ?" 
 
 " Rather," said Sir Geoffrey. " Well, I'm heartily glad to 
 hear this, my boy — and whenever you're ready, only let me 
 know, and I'll come and look you up. Gad, you've decided 
 on a sweet place. I am more pleased than I can tell you to 
 think you are going to live at The Warren— always thought 
 that dear good creature, Mrs. Jubbins, was the wrong^ thing in 
 the right place there. Money's not everything — that's what I 
 say a dozen times a week ; but I can't get the set I've got 
 mixed up with to believe me." 
 
 "You have quite recovered from your accident?" 
 
 " Yes, quite, thank you ; leg's a bit stift" still, but I can ride 
 as well as ever, Heaven be praised ; don't know what would 
 become of me if I couldn't. By the bye, I was deucedly glad 
 to hear you are allowing interest on balances now. I can send 
 you lots of accounts, and I don't want a penny of commission. 
 Yes, indeed, it was quite a surprise to me to hear some fellows 
 saying the other day that the old Tortoise might chance to 
 outstrip some new hares yet. There's Graceless ! I must be 
 off. Hi, Gayre ! just one thing more. Mark my words, you'll 
 see that youngster won't be able to drink a drop of anything 
 stronger than water. I know he'll turn out a regular milksop. 
 Shouldn't wonder if they make a parson of him. The Reverend 
 Sir Ferdinand Chelston, Baronet. You'll find that's what it 
 will be. Ferdinand is his mother s selection. Well, good-bye ; 
 don't quite forget me." 
 
 The banker stood looking after Sir Geoftrey's retreating 
 figure for a few minutes ; his legs were a little more bowed and 
 his hat a little more on one side than usual, but otherwise there 
 was no change in his appearance. 
 
 "Forget you," thought Mr. Gayre, as he turned away — 
 " never !" 
 
 THE END.
 
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