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 Lover or Friend? 
 
 BY 
 
 ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY 
 
 AUTHOR OF ' NEI. lie's MEMORIES,' ' NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS,' ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON 
 
 ^ublishrrs in (Drbinarjo to ^J£r <^;ijtstg the Quffu 
 
 1890 
 
 [J/I Rights Reserved^
 
 923. 
 C \iX 
 
 (M 
 
 < 
 
 CD 
 
 I 
 
 CO 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. THE BLAKE FAMILY ARE DISCUSSED 
 II. AUDREY INTRODUCES HERSELF 
 
 III. THE BLAKE FAMILY AT HOME 
 
 IV. MICHAEL .... 
 V. THE NEW MASTER 
 
 VI. THE GRAY COTTAGE . 
 VII. KESTER'S HERO 
 
 Vin. *I HOPE BETTER THINGS OF AUDREY' 
 IX. MAT . . . . • 
 
 X. PRISCILLA BAXTER . 
 XI. 'a GIRL AFTER MY OWN HEART' . 
 XII. MOLLIE GOES TO DEEP-WATER CHINE 
 
 XIII. GERALDINE GIVES HER OPINION . 
 
 XIV. ' I AM SORRY YOU ASKED THE QUESTION ' 
 XV. MRS. BLAKE HAS HER NEW GOWN . 
 
 XVL MOLLIE LETS THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG 
 XVIL AMONG THE BRAIL LANES . 
 
 I 
 17 
 35 
 56 
 
 72 
 
 93 
 III 
 132 
 152 
 
 173 
 191 
 211 
 231 
 248 
 270 
 287 
 305
 
 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE BLAKE FAMILY ARE DISCUSSED. 
 
 ' There is nothing, sir, too little for so little a creature as 
 man. It is by studying little things that we attain the great art 
 of having as little misery and as much happiness as possible.' — 
 Dr. Johnson. 
 
 Everyone in Rutherford knew that Mrs. Ross 
 was ruled by her eldest daughter ; it was an 
 acknowledged fact, obvious not only to a keen- 
 witted person like Mrs. Charrington, the head- 
 master's wife, but even to the minor intelligence 
 of Johnnie Deans, the youngest boy at Wood- 
 cote. It was not that Mrs. Ross was a feeble- 
 minded woman ; in her own way she was 
 sensible, clear-sighted, with plenty of common- 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 sense ; but she was a little disposed to lean on 
 a stronger nature, and even when Geraldine 
 was in the schoolroom, her energy and youth- 
 ful vigour began to assert themselves, her 
 opinions insensibly influenced her mother's, 
 until at last they swayed her entirely. 
 
 If this were the case when Geraldine was a 
 mere girl, it was certainly not altered when the 
 crowning glories of matronhood were added to 
 her other perfections. Six months ago Geral- 
 dine Ross had left her father's house to become 
 the wife of Mr. Harcourt, of Hillside ; and in 
 becoming the mistress of one of the coveted Hill 
 houses, Geraldine had not yet consented to lay 
 down the sceptre of her home rule. 
 
 Mrs. Ross had acquiesced cheerfully In this 
 arrano^ement. She had lost her rig^ht hand in 
 losing Geraldine ; and during the brief honey- 
 moon both she and her younger daughter 
 Audrey felt as though the home machinery 
 were somewhat out of gear. No arrangement 
 could be effected without a good deal of 
 wondering on Mrs. Ross's part as to what 
 Geraldine might think of it, and without a 
 lengthy letter being written on the subject. 
 
 It was a relief, at least to her mother's mind, 
 when young Mrs. Harcourt returned, and with-
 
 THE BLAKE FAMILY ARE DISCUSSED. 3 
 
 out a word took up the reins again. No one 
 disputed her claims. Now and then there 
 would be a lazy protest from Audrey — a con- 
 cealed sarcasm that fell blunted beneath the 
 calm amiability of the elder sister. Geraldine 
 was always perfectly good-tempered ; the sense 
 of propriety that guided all her actions never 
 permitted her to grow hot in argument ; and 
 when a person is always in the right, as young 
 Mrs. Harcourt believed herself to be, the small 
 irritations of daily life fall very harmlessly. It 
 is possible for a man to be so cased in armour 
 that even a pin-prick of annoyance will not find 
 ingress. It is true the armour may be a little 
 stifling and somewhat inconvenient for work-a- 
 day use, but it is a grand thing to be saved 
 from pricks. 
 
 Mrs. Harcourt was presiding at the little tea- 
 table in the Woodcote drawing-room ; there 
 were only two other persons in the room. It 
 was quite an understood thing that the young 
 mistress of Hillside should walk over to Wood- 
 cote two or three afternoons in the week, to 
 give her mother the benefit of her society, and 
 also to discuss any little matter that might have 
 arisen during her brief absence. 
 
 Mrs. Harcourt was an exceedingly handsome 
 
 I — 2
 
 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 young woman ; in fact, many people thought 
 her lovely. She had well-cut features, a good 
 complexion — with the soft, delicate colouring 
 that only perfect health ever gives — and a figure 
 that was at once graceful and dignified. To add 
 to all these attractions, she understood the art 
 of dressing herself; her gowns always fitted 
 her to perfection. She was always attired 
 suitably, and though vanity and self-conscious- 
 ness were not her natural foibles, she had a 
 feminine love of pretty things, and considered 
 it a wifely duty to please the eyes of her lord 
 and master. 
 
 Mrs. Harcourt had the old-fashioned sugar- 
 tongs in her hand, and was balancing them 
 lightly for a moment. ' It is quite true, mother,' 
 she said decisively, as she dropped the sugar 
 into the shallow teacup. 
 
 Mrs. Ross looked up from her knitting. 
 
 ' My dear Geraldine, I do hope you are 
 mistaken,' she returned anxiously. 
 
 Mrs. Ross had also been a very pretty 
 woman, and even now she retained a good 
 deal of pleasant middle-aged comeliness. She 
 was somewhat stout, and held grown a little in- 
 active in consequence ; but her expression was 
 soft and motherly, and she had the uimiistakable
 
 THE BLAKE FAMILY ARE DISCUSSED. 5 
 
 air of a gentlewoman. In her husband's eyes 
 she was still handsomer than her daughters; and 
 Dr. Ross flattered himself that he had made the 
 all-important choice of his life more wisely than 
 other men. 
 
 * My dear mother, how is it possible to be 
 mistaken ?' returned her daughter, with a shade 
 of reproof in her voice. * I told you that I had 
 a long talk with Edith. Michael, I have made 
 your tea ; I think it is just as you like it — with 
 no infusion of tannin, as you call it ;' and she 
 turned her head slowly, so as to bring into 
 view the person she was addressing, and who, 
 seated at a little distance, had taken no part 
 in the conversation. 
 
 He was a thin, pale man, of about five or six 
 and thirty, with a reddish moustache. As he 
 crossed the room in response to this invitation, 
 he moved with an air of lanc^uor that amounted 
 to lassitude, and a slight limp was discernible. 
 His features were plain ; only a pair of clear 
 blue eyes, with a peculiarly searching expres- 
 sion, distinguished him from a hundred men of 
 the same type. 
 
 These eyes were not always pleasant to meet. 
 Certain people felt disagreeably in their inner 
 consciousness that Captain Burnett could read
 
 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 them too accurately — ' No fellow has a right to 
 look you through and through,' as one young 
 staff officer observed ; ' it is taking a liberty 
 with a man. Burnett always seems as though 
 he is trying to turn a fellow inside out, to get at 
 the other side of him ' — not a very eloquent 
 description of a vvould-be philosopher who loved 
 to dabble a little in human foibles. 
 
 ' I have been listening to the Blake discus- 
 sion,' he said coolly, as he took the offered cup. 
 ' What a wonderful woman you are, Gage ! you 
 have a splendid talent for organization ; and even 
 a thorough-paced scandal has to be organized.' 
 
 ' Scandal ! — what are you talking about, 
 Michael ?' 
 
 ' Your talent for organization, even in triHes,' 
 he returned promptly. * I am using the word 
 advisedly. I have just been reading De 
 Quincey's definition of talent and genius. He 
 says — now pray listen, Gage — that talent is 
 intellectual power of every kind which acts and 
 manifests itself by and through the will and the 
 active forces. Genius, as the verbal origin 
 implies, is that much rarer species of intellectual 
 power which is derived from the genial nature, 
 from the spirit of suffering and enjoying, from 
 the spirit of pleasure and pain, as organized
 
 THE BLAKE FAMILY ARE DISCUSSED. y 
 
 more or less perfectly ; and this is independent 
 of the will. It is a function of the passive 
 nature. Talent is conversant with the adapta- 
 tion of means to ends ; but genius is conversant 
 only with ends.' 
 
 'My dear Michael, I have no doubt that all 
 this is exceedingly clever, and that your memory 
 is excellent, but why are we to be crushed 
 beneath all this analysis ?' 
 
 * I was only drawing a comparison between 
 you and Audrey/ he replied tranquilly. * I 
 have been much struck by the idea involved in 
 the word "genial"; I had no conception we could 
 evolve ** genius " out of it. Audrey is a very 
 genial person ; she also, in De Quincey's words, 
 " moves in headlong sympathy and concurrence 
 with spontaneous power." This is his defini- 
 tion, mark you ; I lay no claim to it : " Genius 
 works under a rapture of necessity and spon- 
 taneity." I do love that expression, ** headlong 
 sympathy " ; it so well expresses the way 
 Audrey works.' 
 
 Mrs. Harcourt gave a little assenting shrug. 
 She was not quite pleased with the turn the 
 conversation had taken ; abstract ideas were not 
 to her taste ; the play of words in which Captain 
 Burnett delighted bored her excessively. She
 
 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 detected, too, a spice of irony. The comparison 
 between her and Audrey was not a flattering 
 one : she was far cleverer than Audrey ; her 
 masters and governesses would have acknow- 
 ledged that fact. And yet her cousin Michael was 
 giving the divine gift of genius to her more 
 scantily endowed sister ; genius ! but, of course, 
 it was only Michael's nonsense : he would say 
 anything when he was in the humour for dispu- 
 tation. Even her ow^n Percival had these con- 
 tentious moods. The masculine mind liked to 
 play with moral ninepins, to send all kinds of 
 exploded theories rolling with their little ball of 
 wit ; it sharpened their argumentative faculties, 
 and kept them bright and ready for use. 
 
 ' Mother and I were talkincr about these tire- 
 
 o 
 
 some Blakes — not of Audrey/ she said in a 
 calm, matter-of-fact tone. * If you were listen- 
 ing, Michael, you must have heard the whole 
 account of my conversation with Mrs. Bryce.' 
 
 * Oh, you mean Harcourt's sister, with whom 
 you have been staying. Did I not tell you 
 that I had heard every word, and was admiring 
 your admirable tactics ? The way in which you 
 marshalled your forces of half-truths and im- 
 plied verities and small mounted theories was 
 grand — absolutely grand!'
 
 THE BLAKE FAMILY ARE DISCUSSED. 9 
 
 Mrs. Harcourt was silent for a moment. 
 Michael was very trying ; he often exercised 
 her patience most severely. But there was a 
 threefold reason for her forbearance : first, he 
 was her father's cousin, and beloved by him as 
 his own son would have been if he had ever 
 had one ; secondly, his ill-health entitled him to 
 a good deal of consideration from any kind- 
 hearted woman ; and thirdly, and perhaps prin- 
 cipally, he had the reputation for saying and 
 doing odd, out-of-the-way things ; and a man 
 who moves in an eccentric circle of his own 
 is never on other people's planes, and therefore 
 some allowance must be made for him. 
 
 Mrs. Harcourt could, however, have heartily 
 endorsed Mrs. Carlyle's opinion of her gifted 
 son, and applied it to her cousin — ' He was ill 
 to live with.' Somehow one loves this honest, 
 shrewd criticism of the old North-Country 
 woman, the homely body who smoked short 
 black pipes in the chimney-corner, but whom 
 Carlyle loved and venerated from the bottom 
 of his big heart. ' 111 to live with ' — perhaps 
 Michael Burnett, with his injured health and 
 Victoria Cross, and the purpose of his life all 
 marred and frustrated, was not the easiest 
 person in the world.
 
 lo LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 Mrs. Harcourt was silent for an Instant ; but 
 she never permitted herself to be ruffled, so she 
 went on In her smooth voice : 
 
 ' I felt It was my duty to repeat to mother all 
 that Edith — I mean Mrs. Bryce — told me about 
 the Blakes.' 
 
 * Please do not be so formal. I Infinitely 
 prefer that fine princess-like name of Edith/ 
 remarked Michael, with a lazy twinkle In his 
 eyes ; but Mrs. Harcourt w^ould not condescend 
 even to notice the interruption. 
 
 * Mrs. Bryce,' with a pointed emphasis on the 
 name, ' was much concerned when she heard 
 that my father had engaged Mr. Blake for his 
 classical master.' 
 
 * And why so ?' demanded Captain Burnett 
 a little sharply. ' He has taken a good de- 
 gree ; Dr. Ross seems perfectly satisfied with 
 him.' 
 
 ' Oh, there Is nothing against the young man ; 
 he is clever and pleasant, and very good-looking. 
 It Is only the mother who is so objectionable. 
 Perhaps I am putting It too strongly — only Mrs. 
 Bryce and her husband did not like her. They 
 say she Is a very unsatisfactory person, and so 
 difficult to understand.' 
 
 ' Poor Mrs. Blake,' ejaculated her cousin,
 
 THE BLAKE FAMILY ARE DISCUSSED. ii 
 
 * to be judged before the Bryce tribunal and 
 found wanting I' 
 
 ' Don't be ridiculous, Michael !' replied Mrs. 
 Harcourt, in her good-tempered way; ' of course 
 you take her part simply because she is accused : 
 you are like Audrey in that.' 
 
 ' You see we are both genial persons ; but, 
 seriously, Mrs. Blake's list of misdemeanours 
 seems absurdly trifling. She is very handsome ; 
 that is misdemeanour number one, I believe.' 
 
 ' My dear,' observed Mrs. Ross placidly at 
 this point, for she had been too busy counting 
 her stitches to concern herself with the strife 
 of words, ' Geraldine only mentioned that as a 
 fact : she remarked that Mrs. Blake was a very 
 prepossessing person, that she had rather an 
 uncommon type of beauty.' 
 
 ' That makes her all the more interesting,' 
 murmured Captain Burnett, with his eyes half 
 closed. * I begin to feel quite excited about 
 this Mrs. Blake. I do delight in anything out 
 of the common.' 
 
 ' Oh, Edith never denied that she was 
 fascinating. She is a clever woman, too ; only 
 there were certain little solecisms committed 
 that made her think Mrs. Blake was not a 
 thorough gentlewoman. They are undoubtedly
 
 12 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 very poor ; and though, of course, that is no 
 objection, it is so absurd for people in such a 
 position to try and ignore their little shifts and 
 contrivances. Honest poverty is to be re- 
 spected, but not when it is allied to pretension/ 
 
 * My dear Gage, was it you or Mrs. Bryce 
 who made that exceedingly clever speech ? It 
 was really worthy of Dr. Johnson ; it only 
 wanted a " Sir " to point the Doctor's style. 
 *' Sir, honest poverty is to be respected, but 
 not when it is allied to pretension " — a good, 
 thorough Johnsonian speech ! And so the poor 
 woman is poor ?^ 
 
 * Yes, but no one minds that,' returned 
 Mrs. Harcourt, somewhat hastily. * I hope 
 you do not think that anything in her out- 
 ward circumstances has prejudiced my sister- 
 in-law against her. As far as that goes, 
 Mrs. Blake deserves credit ; she has denied 
 herself comforts even to give her son a good 
 education. No, it is something contradictory 
 in the woman herself that made the Bryces say 
 they would never get on with her. She is im- 
 pulsive, absurdly impulsive ; and yet at the 
 same time she is reserved. She has a bad 
 temper — at least, Edith declares she has heard 
 her scolding her servant in no measured terms ;
 
 THE BLAKE FAMILY ARE DISCUSSED. 13 
 
 and then she is so injudicious with her children. 
 She absolutely adores her eldest son, Cyril ; 
 but Edith will have it that she neglects her 
 daughter. And there is an invalid boy, too — a 
 very interesting little fellow ; at least, I don't 
 know how old he is — and she is not too attentive 
 to him. Housekeeping worries her, and she 
 is fond of society ; and I know the Bryces think 
 that she would marry again if she got the 
 chance.' 
 
 ' Let the younger widows marry. I hope 
 you do not mean to contradict St. Paul. Have 
 we quite finished the indictment, Gage ? Be 
 it known unto the inhabitants of Rutherford 
 that a certain seditious and dangerous person 
 of the name of Blake is about to take up her 
 residence in the town — the list of her mis- 
 demeanours being as follows, to wit, as they 
 say in old chronicles : an uncommon style of 
 beauty, an inclination to replace the deceased 
 Mr. Blake, imperfect temper, impulsiveness 
 tempered with reserve, unconventionality of 
 habit, poverty combined with pretentiousness, 
 and a disposition to slight her maternal duties 
 — really a most interesting person !' 
 
 ' Michael, of course you say that to provoke 
 me ; please don't listen to him, mother. You
 
 14 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 understand me if no one else does ; you know 
 it is Audrey of whom I am thinkincr. Yes,' 
 turning to her cousin, ' you may amuse yourself 
 with turning all my speeches into ridicule, but 
 in your heart you agree with me. I have often 
 heard you lecturing Audrey on her impulsive- 
 ness and want of common-sense. It will be 
 just like her to strike up a violent friendship 
 with Mrs. Blake — you know how she takes 
 these sudden fancies ; and father is quite as 
 bad. I dare say they will both discover she 
 is charming before twenty-four hours are 
 over ; that is why I am begging mother to be 
 very prudent, and keep the Blakes at a dis- 
 tance.' 
 
 * You agree, of course, Cousin Emmeline ?' 
 
 * Well, my dear, I don't quite like the account 
 Geraldine gives me. Mrs. Bryce is a very 
 shrewd person ; she is not likely to make mis- 
 takes. I think I shall give Audrey a hint, 
 unless you prefer to do so, Geraldine.' 
 
 ' I think it will come better from me, mother ; 
 you see, I shall just retail Edith's words. 
 Audrey is a little difficult to manage some- 
 times ; she likes to form her own notions of 
 people. There is no time to be lost if they are 
 coming in to-morrow.'
 
 THE BLAKE FAMILY ARE DISCUSSED.' 15 
 
 * I thought your father said it was to-day that 
 they were expected ?' 
 
 * No ; I am positive Percival said to-morrow. 
 I know the old servant and some of the furni- 
 ture arrived at the Gray Cottage two days 
 
 aero.' 
 
 Captain Burnett looked up quickly, as though 
 
 he were about to speak, and then changed his 
 
 mind, and went on with his occupation, which 
 
 was teaching a small brown Dachs-hund the 
 
 Gladstone trick. 
 
 ' Now, Booty, when I say " Lord Salisbury," 
 
 you are to eat the sugar, but not before. Ah» 
 
 here comes the bone of contention !' he went 
 
 on in a purposely loud tone, as a shadow 
 
 darkened the window ; and the next minute a 
 
 tall young lady stepped over the low sill into 
 
 the room. 
 
 * Were you talking about me ?' she asked in 
 a clear voice, as she looked round at them. 
 * How do you do. Gage ? Have you been here 
 all the afternoon ? How is Percival ? No 
 more tea, thank you ; I have just had some — at 
 the Blakes'.' 
 
 * At the Blakes' ?' exclaimed her sister, in a 
 horror-stricken tone, unable to believe her 
 ears.
 
 i6 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 ' Yes. I heard they had come in last night, 
 so I thought it would be only neighbourly to call 
 and see if one could do anything lor them. I 
 met father on the Hill, and he quite approved. 
 Mrs. Blake sends her compliments to you, 
 mother ;' and as only an awful silence answered 
 her, she continued innocently : ' I am sure you 
 and Gage will like her. She is charming — per- 
 fectly charming ! the nicest person I have seen 
 for a long time !' finished Audrey, with delightful 
 unconsciousness of the sensation she was 
 creating.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AUDREY INTRODUCES HERSELF. 
 
 ' Indeed, all faults, had they been ten times more and greater, 
 would have been neutralized by that supreme expression of her 
 features, to the unity of which every lineament in the fixed 
 parts, and every undulation in the moving parts of her counte- 
 nance, concurred, viz., a sunny benignity, a radiant graciousness, 
 such as in this world I never saw surpassed.' 
 
 De Ouincey. 
 
 In this innocent fashion had Audrey Ross 
 solved the Gordian knot of family difficulty, 
 leaving her mother and sister eyeing each other 
 with the aghast looks of defeated conspirators ; 
 and it must be owned that many a tangled 
 skein, that would have been patiently and 
 laboriously unravelled by the skilled fingers of 
 Geraldine, was spoilt in this manner by the 
 quick impulsiveness of Audrey. 
 
 No two sisters could be greater contrasts to 
 each other. While young Mrs. Harcourt laid 
 
 :-VOL. I. 2
 
 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 an undue stress on what may be termed the 
 minor morals, the small proprieties, and lesser 
 virtues that lie on the surface of things and 
 give life its polish, Audrey was for ever riding 
 full-tilt against prejudices or raising a crusade 
 against what she chose to term ' the bugbear of 
 feminine existence — conventionality.' 
 
 Not that Audrey was a strong-minded person 
 or a stickler for woman's rights. She had no 
 advanced notions, no crude theories, on the 
 subject of emancipation ; it was only, to borrow 
 Captain Burnett's words, that her headlong 
 sympathies carried her away ; a passionate 
 instinct of pity always made her range herself 
 on the losing side. Her virtues were unequally 
 balanced, and her generosity threatened to de- 
 eenerate Into weakness. Most women love to 
 feel the support of a stronger nature ; Audrey 
 loved to support others ; any form of suffering, 
 mental or physical, appealed to her irresistibly. 
 Her sympathy was often misplaced and exces- 
 sive, and her power of self-effacement, under 
 some circumstances, was even more remarkable, 
 the word ' self-effacement ' being rightly used 
 here, as * self-sacrifice ' presupposes some con- 
 sciousness of action. It was this last trait that 
 caused genuine anxiety to those who knew and
 
 AUDREY INTRODUCES HERSELF. 19 
 
 loved Audrey best ; for who can tell to what 
 lengths a generous nature may go, to whom 
 any form of pain is intolerable, and every 
 beggar, worthy or unworthy, a human brother 
 or sister, with claims to consideration ? 
 
 If Audrey were not as clever as her elder 
 sister, she had more originality ; she was 
 also far more independent in her modes of 
 action and thought, and went on her own way 
 without reference to others. 
 
 * It is not that I think myself wiser than other 
 people,' she said once to her cousin, who had 
 just been delivering her a lecture on this subject. 
 ' Of course I am always making mistakes — 
 everyone does ; but you see, Michael, I have 
 lived so long with myself — exactly two-and- 
 twenty years — and so I must know most about 
 myself, and what is best for this young person,' 
 tapping herself playfully. 
 
 Audrey was certainly not so handsome as her 
 sister. She had neither Geraldine's perfection 
 of feature nor her exquisite colouring ; but she 
 had her good points, like other people. 
 
 Her hair was soft and brown, and there was 
 a golden tinge in it that was greatly admired. 
 There was also a depth and expression in her 
 gray eyes that Geraldine lacked. But the 
 
 2 — 2
 
 20 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 charm of Audrey's face was her smile. It was 
 no facial contortion, no mere lip service ; it was 
 a heart illumination — a sudden radiance that 
 seemed to light up every feature, and which 
 brought a certain lovely dimple into play. 
 
 And there was one other thing noticeable in 
 Audrey, and which brought the sisters into 
 still sharper contrast. She was lamentably 
 deficient in taste, and, though personally neat, 
 was rather careless on the subject of dress. 
 She liked an old gown better than a new one, 
 was never quite sure which colour suited her 
 best, and felt just as happy paying a round ot 
 calls in an old cambric as in the best tailor- 
 made gown. It was on this subject that she 
 and Geraldine differed most. No amount of 
 spoken wisdom could make Audrey see that 
 she was neglecting her opportunities to a 
 culpable degree ; that while other forms of 
 eccentricity might be forgiven, the one un- 
 pardonable sin in Geraldine's code was 
 Audrey's refusal to make the best of herself. 
 
 'And you do look so nice when you are 
 well dressed,' she observed with mournful 
 affection on one occasion when Audrey had 
 specially disappointed her. * You have a 
 beautiful fiorure — Madame Latouche said so
 
 AUDREY INTRODUCES HERSELF. 21 
 
 herself — and yet you would wear that hideous 
 gown Miss Sewell has made, and at Mrs. 
 Charrlngton's '' at-home," too.' 
 
 ' How many people were affected by this 
 sad occurrence ?' asked Audrey scornfully. 
 ' My dear Gage, your tone is truly tragical. 
 Was it my clothes or me — poor little me ! — that 
 Mrs. Charrington Invited and wanted to see ? 
 Do you know, Michael,' for that young man 
 was present, ' I have such a grand idea for the 
 future ; a fashion to come In with Wagner's 
 music, and aesthetics, and female lawyers — in 
 fact, an advanced theory worthy of the nine- 
 teenth century. You know how people hate 
 " at-homes," and how bored they are, and 
 how they grumble at the crush and the crowd.' 
 
 ' Well, I do believe they are hideous products 
 of civilization/ he returned with an air of 
 candour. 
 
 ' Just so ; well, now for my idea. Oh, I 
 must send it to Punch, I really must. My 
 proposition Is that people should send their 
 card by their lady's-maid, and also the toilette 
 intended for that afternoon, to be inspected by 
 the hostess. Can you not imagine the scene ? 
 First comes the announcement by the butler : 
 *' Lady Fitzmaurlce's clothes." Enter smiling
 
 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 lady's-maid, bearing a wondrously braided skirt 
 with plush mantle and bonnet with pheasant's 
 wing. Hostess bows, smiles, and inspects 
 garments through her eyeglasses. '* Charming ! 
 everything Lady Fitzmaurice wears is in such 
 perfect taste. INIy dear Cecilia, that bonnet 
 would just suit me — make a note of it, please. 
 My compliments to her ladyship." Now then for 
 Mrs. Grenville, and so on. Crowds still, you 
 see, but no hand -shaking, no confusion of 
 voices ; and, then, the wonderful economy : no 
 tea and coffee, no ices, no professional artists, 
 only a little refreshment perhaps in the servants' 
 hall.' 
 
 ' Audrey, how can you talk such nonsense ?' 
 returned her sister severely. 
 
 But Captain Burnett gave his low laugh of 
 amusement. He revelled in the girl's odd 
 speeches; he thought Audrey's nonsense worth 
 more than all Geraldine's sense ; he even enjoyed 
 with a man's insoucimice her daring disregard 
 of conventionality. 
 
 How difficult it is for a person thoroughly 
 to know him or her self, unless he or she be 
 morbidly addicted to incessant self-examina- 
 tion ! Audrey thought that it was mere 
 neiofhbourliness that induced her to call on
 
 AUDREY INTRODUCES HERSELF. 23 
 
 the Blakes that afternoon ; she had no idea 
 that a strong curiosity made her wish to in- 
 terview the new-comers. 
 
 Rutherford was far too confined an area for 
 a Hberal mind Hke Audrey's. Her large and 
 intense nature demanded fuller scope for its 
 energies. With the exception of boys — who 
 certainly preponderated in Rutherford — there 
 were far too few human beings to satisfy 
 Audrey. Every fresh face was therefore hailed 
 by her with joy, and though perhaps she hardly 
 went to Dr. Johnson's length when he com- 
 plained that he considered that day lost on 
 which he had not made a new acquaintance, 
 still, her social instincts were not sufficiently 
 nourished. The few people were busy people ; 
 they had a tiresome habit, too, of forming 
 cliques, and in many ways they disappointed 
 her. With her richer neighbours, especially 
 among the Hill houses, Geraldine was the 
 reigning favourite ; Mrs. Charrington was de- 
 voted to her. Only little Mrs. Stanfield, of 
 Rosendale, thought there was no one in the 
 world like dear Audrey Ross. 
 
 Audrey would not have mentioned her little 
 scheme to her mother for worlds. Her 
 mother was not a safe agent. She had long
 
 24 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 ago made Geraldine her conscience-keeper, but 
 she had no objection to tell her father when 
 she met him walking down the hill with his 
 hands behind him, and evidently revolving his 
 next Sunday's sermon. 
 
 Dr. Ross was rather a fine-looking man. He 
 had grown gray early, and his near-sight 
 obliged him to wear spectacles ; but his keen, 
 clever face, and the benevolent and kindly air 
 that distinguished him, always attracted people 
 to him. At times he was a little absent and 
 whimsical ; and those who knew them both well 
 declared that Audrey had got all her original 
 ideas and unconventional ways from the 
 Doctor. 
 
 ' Father, I am going to call on the Blakes,' 
 she observed, as he was about to pass her as 
 he would a stranger. 
 
 ' Dear me, Audrey, how you startled me ! 
 I was deep in original sin, I believe. The 
 Blakes ? Oh, I told young Blake to come up 
 to dinner to-night ; I want Michael to see him. 
 Very well. Give my respects to Mrs. Blake ; 
 and if there be any service we can render her, 
 be sure you offer it ;' and Dr. Ross walked on, 
 quite unconscious that his daughter had retraced 
 her steps, and was following him towards the
 
 AUDREY INTRODUCES HERSELF. 25 
 
 town. ' For I won't disturb him with mv chatter/ 
 she thought, ' and I may as well go to Gage to- 
 morrow ; she is sure to keep me, and then it 
 would be rather awkward if she should take it 
 into her head to talk about the Blakes. She 
 might want to go with me, or perhaps, which is 
 more likely, she would make a fuss about my 
 going so soon. If you want to do a thing, do 
 it quickly, and without telling anyone, is my 
 motto. Father is no one. If I were ^oinQ^ to 
 run away from home, or do anything equally 
 ridiculous, I should be sure to tell father first ; 
 he would only recommend me to go first class, 
 and be sure to take a cab at the other end, bless 
 him !' 
 
 Dr. Ross walked on in a leisurely, thoughtful 
 fashion, not too abstracted, however, to wave 
 his hand slightly as knots of boys saluted him 
 in passing. Audrey had a nod and smile for 
 them all. At the Hill houses and at the school- 
 house Geraldine might be the acknowledged 
 favourite ; but every boy in the upper and the 
 lower school was Audrey's sworn adherent. She 
 was their liege lady, for whom they were proud 
 to do service ; and more than one of the prefects 
 cherished a tremulous passion for the Doctor's 
 daughter together with his budding moustache,
 
 26 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 and, strange to say, was none the worse for the 
 mild disease. 
 
 A pleasant lane led from the Hill to the town, 
 with sloping meadows on one side. It was a 
 lovely afternoon in June, and groups of boys 
 were racing down the field path on their way to 
 the cricket ground. Audrey looked after them 
 with a vivid interest. ' How happy they all 
 look !' she said to herself. ' I do believe a boy 
 — a real honest, healthy English boy — is one of 
 the finest things in the creation. They are far 
 happier than girls ; they have more freedom, 
 more zest, in their lives. If they work hard, 
 they play well ; every faculty of mind and body 
 is trained to perfection. Look at Willie 
 Darner running down that path ! he is just 
 crazy with the summer wind and the frolic of 
 an afternoon's holiday. There is nothing to 
 match with his enjoyment, unless it be a kitten 
 sporting with the flying leaves, or a butterfly 
 floating in the sunshine. He has not a care, 
 that boy, except how he is to get over the 
 ground fast enough.' 
 
 Audrey had only a little bit of the town to 
 traverse, but her progress was almost as slow 
 and stately as a queen's. She had so many 
 friends to greet, so many smiles and nods and
 
 AUDREY INTRODUCES HERSELF. 27 
 
 how-d'ye-do's to execute ; but at last she ar- 
 rived at her destination. The Gray Cottage was 
 a small stone house, placed between Dr. Ross's 
 house and the school-house, with two windows 
 overlooking the street. The living-rooms were 
 at the back, and the view from them was far 
 pleasanter, as Audrey well knew. From the 
 drawing-room one looked down on the rugged 
 court of the school-house, and on the gray old 
 arches, through which one passed to the chapel 
 and library. The quaint old buildings, with the 
 stone facade, hoary with age, was the one 
 feature of interest that always made Audrey 
 think the Gray Cottage one of the pleasantest 
 houses in Rutherford. Audrey knew every 
 room. She had looked out on the old school- 
 house often and often ; she knew exactly how 
 it looked in the moonlight, or on a winter's day 
 when the snow lay on the ground, and the ruddy 
 light of a December sunset tinged the windows 
 and threw a halo over the old buildings. But 
 she liked to see it best in the dim starlight, 
 when all sorts of shadows seemed to lurk 
 between the arches, and a strange, solemn light 
 invested it with a legendary and imaginative 
 interest. 
 
 A heavy green gate shut off the Gray Cottage
 
 28 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 from the road. Audrey opened it, and walked up 
 to the door, which had always stood open in the 
 old days when her friends, the Powers, had 
 lived there. It was open now ; a profusion of 
 packing-cases blocked up the spacious court- 
 yard, and a black retriever was lying on some 
 loose straw — evidently keeping watch and ward 
 over them. He shook himself lazily as Audrey 
 spoke to him, and then wagged his tail in a 
 friendly fashion, and finally uttered a short bark 
 of welcome. 
 
 Audrey stooped down and stroked his glossy 
 head. She always made friends with every 
 animal — she had a large four-footed acquaint- 
 ance with whom she was on excellent terms — 
 from Jenny, the cobbler's donkey, down to Tim, 
 the little white terrier that belonged to the 
 sweep. She had just lost her own companion 
 and follower, a splendid St. Bernard puppy, and 
 had not yet replaced him. As she fondled the 
 dog, she heard a slight sound near her, and, 
 looking up, met the inquiring gaze of a pair of 
 wide-open brown eyes. They belonged to a 
 girl of fourteen, a slight, thin slip of a girl in 
 a shabby dress that she had outgrown, and 
 thick dark hair tied loosely with a ribbon, and 
 falling in a wavy mass over her shoulders, and
 
 AUDREY INTRODUCES HERSELF. 29 
 
 a small sallow face, looking at the present 
 moment very shy and uncomfortable. 
 
 ' If you please,' she began timidly, and twist- 
 ing her hands awkwardly as she spoke, * mamma 
 is very tired and has gone to lie down. We 
 only moved in yesterday, and the place is in 
 such a muddle.' 
 
 * Of course it is in a muddle/ replied Au- 
 drey in her pleasant, easy fashion. * That is 
 exactly why I called — to see if I could be of 
 any assistance. I am Miss Ross, from 
 the lower school — will you let me come in 
 and speak to you ? You are Miss Blake, are 
 you not ?' 
 
 * Yes ; I am Mollie,' returned the girl, redden- 
 inof and lookinof still more uncomfortable. * I 
 am very sorry, Miss Ross — and it is very good 
 of you to call so soon — but there is no place fit 
 to ask you to sit down. Biddy is such a bad 
 manager. She ought to have got things far 
 more comfortable for us, but she is old — 
 and ' 
 
 ' Miss Molly, where am I to find the teapot ?' 
 called out a voice belonging to some invisible 
 body — a voice with the unmistakable brogue. 
 ' There's the mistress just dying for a cup of tea, 
 and how will I be giving it to her without the
 
 30 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 teapot ? and It may be in any of those dozen 
 hampers — bad luck to it !' 
 
 ' I am coming, Biddy,' sighed the girl wearily, 
 and the flush of annoyance deepened in her 
 cheek. 
 
 Somehow, that tired young face, burthened 
 with some secret care, appealed to Audrey's 
 quick sympathies. She put out her hand and 
 gave her a light push as she stood blocking up 
 the entry. 
 
 ' My dear, I will help you look for the tea- 
 pot/ she said in the kindest voice possible. 
 ' You are just tired to death, and of course it is 
 natural that your mother should want her tea. 
 If we cannot find it, I will run round and borrow 
 one from the Wrights. Everyone knows what 
 moving is — one has to undergo all sorts of dis- 
 comforts. Let me put down my sunshade and 
 lace scarf, and then you will see how useful I 
 can be ;' and Audrey walked into the house, 
 leaving Mollie tongue-tied with astonishment, 
 and marched into the dining-room, which cer- 
 tainly looked a chaos — with dusty chairs, 
 tables, half-emptied hampers, books, pictures, 
 all jumbled up together with no sort of arrange- 
 ment, just as the men had deposited them from 
 the vans. Here, however, she paused, slightly
 
 AUDREY INTRODUCES HERSELF. 31 
 
 taken aback by the sight of another dark head, 
 which raised itself over the sofa-cushions, while 
 another pair of brown eyes regarded her with 
 equal astonishment. 
 
 * It is only Kester,' whispered Mollie. * I 
 think he was asleep. Kester, Miss Ross kindly 
 wishes to help us a little — but — did you ever 
 see such a place ?' speaking in a tone of disgust 
 and shruoforinor her shoulders. 
 
 ^ Mollie can't be everywhere,' rejoined the 
 boy, trying to drag himself off the sofa as he 
 spoke, and then Audrey saw he was a cripple. 
 
 He looked about fifteen, but his long, melan- 
 choly face had nothing boyish about it. The 
 poor lad was evidently a chronic sufferer ; there 
 was a permanent look of ill-health stamped on 
 his features, and the beautiful dark eyes had a 
 plaintive look in them. 
 
 ' Mollie does her best/ he went on almost 
 irritably ; ' but she and Cyril have been busy 
 upstairs getting up the beds and that sort of 
 thing, so they could not turn their hand to all 
 this lumber/ kicking over some books as he 
 spoke. 
 
 ' Mollie is very young,' returned Audrey, 
 feeling she must take them under her pro- 
 tection at once, and, as usual, actine on her
 
 32 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 impulse. * Is your name Kester ? What an 
 uncommon name ! but I like it somehow. I 
 am so sorry to see you are an invalid, but you 
 can get about a little on crutches ?' 
 
 ' Sometimes, not always, when my hip is 
 bad,' was the brief response. 
 
 * Has it always been so ?' in a pitying voice. 
 
 ' Well, ever since I was a little chap, and 
 Cyril dropped me. I don't know how 
 it happened ; he was not very big, either. 
 It is so long ago that I never remember feeling 
 like other fellows ;' and Kester sighed im- 
 patiently and kicked over some more books. 
 ' There I go, upsetting everything ; but there 
 is no room to move. We had our dinner, such 
 as it was, in the kitchen — not that I could eat 
 it, eh, Mollie ?' 
 
 Mollie shook her head sadly. 
 
 ' You have not eaten a bit to-day. Cyril 
 promised to bring in some buns for tea ; but I 
 dare say he will forget all about it.' 
 
 A sudden thought struck Audrey : these two 
 poor children did look so disconsolate. Mollie's 
 tired face v/as quite dust-begrimed ; she had 
 been crying, too, probably with worry and over- 
 fatigue, for the reddened eyelids betrayed her. 
 
 * I have a bright idea,' she said in her
 
 AUDREY INTRODUCES HERSELF. 33 
 
 pleasant, friendly way, ' why should you not 
 have tea in the garden ? You have a nice 
 little lawn, and it will not be too sunny near 
 the house. If Biddy will only be good enough 
 to boil the kettle I will run and fetch a teapot. 
 It is no use hunting in those hampers, you are 
 far too tired, Mollie. We w^ill just lift out this 
 little table. I see it has flaps, so it will be 
 large enough; and if you can find a few teacups 
 and plates, I will be back in a quarter of an 
 hour with the other thingfs.' 
 
 Audrey did not specify what other things 
 she meant ; she left that a pleasing mystery, 
 to be unravelled by-and-by ; she only wanted 
 to lift out the table, and then started off on her 
 quest. 
 
 The Wrights could not give her half she 
 wanted ; but Audrey in her own erratic fashion 
 was a woman of resources : she made her way 
 quickly to Woodcote, and entering it through 
 the back premises, just as her sister was walk- 
 ing leisurely up to the front door, she went 
 straight to the kitchen to make her raid. 
 
 Cooper was evidently accustomed to her 
 young mistress's eccentric demands. She 
 fetched one article after another, as Audrey 
 named them : a teapot, a clean cloth, a quarter 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 of a pound of the best tea, a little tin of cream 
 from the dairy, half a dozen new-laid eggs, a 
 freshly-baked loaf hot from the oven, and some 
 crisp, delicious-looking cakes, finally a pat of 
 firm yellow butter ; and with this last article 
 Audrey pronounced herself satisfied. 
 
 ' You had better let Joe carry some of the 
 things, Miss Audrey,' suggested Cooper, as 
 she packed a large basket ; ' he is round about 
 somewhere.' And Audrey assented to this. 
 
 Geraldine was just beginning her Blake 
 story, and Mrs. Ross was listening to her with 
 a troubled face, as Audrey, armed with the tea- 
 pot, and followed by Joe with the basket, turned 
 in again at the green gates of Gray Cottage.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE BLAKE FAMILY AT HOME. 
 
 ' Her manner was warm, and even ardent ; her sensibility 
 seemed constitutionally deep ; and some subtle fire of impas- 
 sioned intellect apparently burnt within her.' — De Quincey. 
 
 There was certainly a tinge of Bohemianism 
 in Audrey's nature. She delighted in any 
 short-cut that took her out of the beaten track. 
 A sudden and unexpected pleasure was far 
 more welcome to her than any festivity to 
 which she was bidden beforehand. 
 
 ' 1 am very unlike Gage,' she said once to 
 her usual confidant, Captain Burnett. ' No one 
 would take us for sisters; even in our cradles 
 we were dissimilar. Gage was a pattern baby, 
 never cried for anything, and delighted every- 
 one with her pretty ways ; and I was always 
 grabbing at father's spectacles with my podgy 
 little fingers, and screaming for the carving-
 
 36 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 knife or any such incongruous thing. Do you 
 know my first babyish name for father ?' 
 
 ' I believe it was Daddy Glass-Eyes, was it 
 not ?' was the ready response, for somehow 
 this young man had a strangely retentive 
 memory, and seldom forgot anything that 
 interested him. 
 
 Audrey laughed. 
 
 ' I had no idea you would have remembered 
 that. How I loved to snatch off those 
 spectacles ! " You can't see me now. Daddy 
 Glass-Eyes," I can hear myself saying that; 
 *' daddy can't see with only two eyes." ' 
 
 ' You were a queer little being even then,' 
 he returned, somewhat dryly. ' But I believe, 
 as usual, we are wandering from our subject. 
 You are a most erratic talker, Audrey. What 
 made you burst out just now into this sisterly 
 tirade ?' 
 
 * Ah, to be sure ! I was contrasting myself 
 with Gage ; it always amuses me to do 
 that. It only proceeded from a speech the 
 Countess made this afternoon ;' for in certain 
 naughty moods Audrey would term her elder 
 sister the Countess. ' She declared half the 
 pleasure of a thing consisted in preparation and 
 anticipation ; but I disagree with her entirely.
 
 THE BLAKE FAMILY AT HOME. 37 
 
 I like all my pleasures served up to me hot and 
 spiced — without any flavour reaching me before- 
 hand. That is why I am so charmed with the 
 idea of surprise parties and impromptu picnics, 
 and all that kind of thing/ 
 
 Audrey felt as though she were assisting at 
 some such surprise party as she turned in at 
 the green gates, and relieved Joe of the basket. 
 Mollie came running round the side of the 
 house to meet her. She had washed her face, 
 and brushed out her tano^led hair and tied it 
 afresh. 
 
 ' Oh, what have you there ?' she asked in 
 some little excitement. ' Miss Ross, have you 
 really carried all these things ? The kettle is 
 boiling, and I have some clean cups and 
 saucers. Kester has been helping me. I 
 think mamma is awake, for I heard her open 
 her window just now.' 
 
 ' What a nice, intelligent face she has !' 
 thought Audrey, as she unpacked her basket 
 and displayed the hidden dainties before the 
 girl's delighted eyes. ' I am sure I shall like 
 Mollie. She is not a bit pretty — I dare say 
 Gage and Michael would call her plain ; but 
 she has an honest look in her brown eyes. 
 * Mollie,' speaking aloud, * if your mother has
 
 38 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 awakened from her nap, she will be quite ready 
 for her tea. May I go into the kitchen a 
 moment ? I want Biddy to boil these eggs — 
 they are new-laid ; and perhaps you could find 
 me a plate for the butter ;' and as Mollie ran 
 off Audrey turned coolly into the kitchen — a 
 pleasant apartment, overlooking the street — 
 where she found a little old woman, with a 
 wrinkled face and dark, hawk-like eyes, stand- 
 ing by the hearth watching the boiling kettle. 
 
 The kitchen was in the same state of chaos 
 as the dining-room — the table covered with 
 unwashed dishes, and crates half unpacked 
 littering the floor. It was evident Biddy was 
 no manager. As she stood there in her dirty 
 cotton gown, with her thin gray hair twisted 
 into a rough knot, and a black handkerchief 
 tied loosely over her head, she was the image 
 of Fairy Disorder ; her bent little figure and 
 the blackened poker in her hand carried out 
 the resemblance, as she looked up with her 
 bright, peering eyes at the tall young lady who 
 confronted her. 
 
 ' Do you think I could find a saucepan, 
 Biddy ?' 
 
 ' 1 suppose there is one about somewhere,' 
 was the encouraging answer. * Perhaps Miss
 
 THE BLAKE FAMILY AT HOME. 39 
 
 Mollie will be knowing ; she boiled some 
 potatoes for dinner.' 
 
 ' Do you mean this ?' regarding the article 
 with some disfavour. ' Would it trouble you 
 very much to wash it while I make the tea } 
 I have some nice fresh eggs, which I think 
 they will all enjoy.' 
 
 But Biddy only returned a snapping answer 
 that was somewhat unintelligible, and carried 
 out the saucepan with rather a sour face. 
 
 ' Disagreeable old thing !' thought Audrey, 
 as she made the tea, but she afterwards re- 
 tracted this hasty judgment. 
 
 Biddy was a bad manager, certainly, but she 
 was not without her virtues. She was faithful, 
 and would slave herself to death for those she 
 loved ; but she was old for work, and the ' ache,' 
 as she called it, had got into her bones. She 
 had slept on the floor for two nights, and her 
 poor old back was tired, and her head muddled 
 with the confusion and her mistress's fretful 
 fussiness. Biddy could have worked well if any 
 one had told her exactly what to do, but 
 between one order and another — between Mr. 
 Cyril's impatience and Miss Mollie's incapable, 
 youthful zeal — she was just ' moithered,' as she 
 would have said herself.
 
 40 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 She brought back the saucepan after a minute, 
 and Audrey boiled the eggs. As she looked 
 down at the hissing, bubbling water, an amused 
 smile stole over her features. 
 
 ' If only Gage could see me now!' she thought; 
 and then Mollie came in and rummaged in a 
 big basket for teaspoons. 
 
 Audrey carried out her teapot in triumph. 
 Mollie had done her work well and tastefully : 
 the snowy cloth was on the table ; there were 
 cups and saucers and plates ; the butter was 
 ornamented with green leaves, the cakes were 
 in a china basket. Kester was dustinof some 
 chairs. 
 
 ' Doesn't it look nice !' exclaimed Mollie, 
 quite forgetting her shyness. ' How I wish 
 Cyril would come in ! He does so love things 
 to be nice — he and Kester are so particular. 
 Mamma !' glancing up at a window above them, 
 * won't you please to hurry down ? May I sit 
 there, Miss Ross ? I always pour out the tea, 
 because mamma does not like the trouble, and 
 Kester always sits next to me.' 
 
 * Is your mother an invalid, my dear ?' asked 
 Audrey, feeling that this must be the case. 
 
 * Mamma ? Oh no ! She has a headache 
 sometimes, but so do I — and Cyril often says
 
 THE BLAKE FAMILY AT HOME. 41 
 
 the same. I think mamma is strong, really. 
 She can take long walks, and she often sits up 
 late reading or talking to Cyril ; but it tries her 
 to do things in the house, she has never been 
 accustomed to it, and putting things to rights in 
 Cyril's room has quite knocked her up.' 
 
 * What are you talking about, you little chat- 
 terbox T interrupted a gay, good-humoured 
 voice ; and Audrey, turning round, saw a lady in 
 black coming quickly towards them : the next 
 moment two hands were held out in very 
 friendly fashion. ' I need not ask who our kind 
 visitor is,' went on Mrs. Blake. ' I know it 
 must be Miss Ross — no one else could have 
 heard of our arrival. Have you ever experienced 
 the delights of a move ? I think I have never 
 passed a more miserable four-and-twenty hours. 
 I am utterly done up, as I dare say my little girl 
 has told you ; but the sight of that delicious 
 tea-table is a restorative in itself. I had no 
 idea Rutherford held such kind neighbours. 
 Mollie, I hope you have thanked Miss Ross for 
 her goodness. Dear me, what a figure the 
 child looks !' 
 
 ' Yes, mamma,' replied Mollie, with a return 
 of her shyness ; and she slunk behind the tea- 
 tray.
 
 42 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 Audrey had apparently no answer ready. 
 The oddest idea had come into her mind : Sup- 
 posing Michael were to fall in love with Mrs. 
 Blake ? He was a great admirer of beauty, 
 though he was a little fastidious on the subject, 
 and certainly, with the exception of Geraldine, 
 Audrey thought she had never seen a hand- 
 somer woman. 
 
 Mrs. Blake's beauty was certainly of no 
 ordinary type : her features were small and deli- 
 cate, and her face had the fine oval that one 
 sees in the portraits of Mary, Queen of Scots ; 
 her complexion was pale and somewhat creamy 
 in tint, and set off the dark hazel eyes and dark 
 smooth coils of hair to perfection. 
 
 The long black dress and widow-like col- 
 lar and cuffs suited the tall, graceful figure ; 
 and as Audrey noticed the quick changes of ex- 
 pression, the bright smile, and listened to the 
 smooth, harmonious voice, she thought that 
 never before had she seen so fascinating a 
 woman. 
 
 * Gage will rave about her,' was her mental 
 critique. ' She will say at once that she has 
 never seen a more lady-like person — '' lady- 
 like," that is Gage's favourite expression. And 
 as to Michael — well, it is never Michael's way
 
 THE BLAKE FAMILY AT HOME. 43 
 
 to rave ; but he will certainly take a great deal 
 of pleasure in looking at Mrs. Blake.' 
 
 * Will you sit by me, Miss Ross ?' asked her 
 hostess in a winning voice ; and Audrey woke 
 up from her abstraction, colouring and smiling. 
 
 ' I have taken a great liberty with your 
 house,' she said, feeling for the first time as 
 though some apology were due ; for the queenly 
 beneficence of Mrs. Blake's manner seemed to 
 imply some condescension on her part in accept- 
 ing such favours. ' I called to see if you needed 
 any assistance from a neighbour, and I found 
 poor Mollie looking so tired and perplexed that 
 I stayed to help her.' 
 
 * Mollie does her best,' replied Mrs. Blake 
 gently ; ' but she is a sad manager, and so is 
 Biddy. They nearly worry me to death be- 
 tween them. If they put a thing straight, it is 
 sure to be crooked again the next moment.' 
 
 ' I am sure Mollie works hard enough,' 
 grumbled Kester ; but his mother did not 
 appear to hear him. 
 
 ' I am a wretched manager myself,' she went 
 on. * If it were not for Cyril, I do not know 
 what would become of us. Poor Kester is no 
 use to anyone. Would you believe it. Miss 
 Ross, that, when we arrived last night, not a
 
 44 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 bedstead was up ? That was Biddy's fault ; 
 she forgot to remind the men. We all slept on 
 the floor except Kester. Cyril would put up 
 his bed for him, though I told him that just for 
 once, and on a summer's night, it would not 
 hurt him.' 
 
 Mollie and Kester glanced at each other ; 
 and then Kester bit his lip, and looked down 
 at his plate. 
 
 * Oh, mamma,' began Mollie eagerly ; but 
 Mrs. Blake gave her a quick, reproving look. 
 
 * Please don't interrupt, Mollie. I want Miss 
 Ross to understand ; she must be quite shocked 
 to see such confusion. CyriJ said this morning 
 we should be all ill if we passed another night 
 in that way ; so he and Biddy have been 
 putting up the beds, and getting the upstairs 
 rooms in order, and Mollie was sent down to 
 make the dining-room a little tidy.' 
 
 * But, mamma ' pleaded "Mollie, turning 
 
 very red. 
 
 * My dear little girl,' observed her mother 
 sweetly, * Miss Ross can see for herself the 
 room has not been touched.' 
 
 * Because Kester was asleep, and Cyril told 
 me I must not wake him,' persisted Molly, 
 looking ready to cry again ; * and whenever I
 
 THE BLAKE FAMILY AT HOME. 45 
 
 began, either you or Cyril called me ;' and 
 here, though Mollie dashed away a tear 
 bravely, another followed, and would splash 
 down on her frock, for the poor little soul was 
 tired and dispirited, and Miss Ross would 
 think she had been idle, instead of havine 
 worked like a slave since early morning. 
 
 ' Don't be a goose, IMollie !' retorted Mrs. 
 Blake, with the ready good-humour that 
 seemed natural to her ; ' you are too old to cry 
 at a word. Miss Ross, may I have one of 
 those delicious cakes ? I shall feel a different 
 woman after my tea. Children, what can have 
 become of your brother ? I thought he was 
 only going out for half an hour.' 
 
 ' He is to dine at Woodcote to-night, I 
 believe, Mrs. Blake.' 
 
 * Yes ; Dr. Ross kindly asked him this 
 morning. I must not begin to talk about 
 Cyril ; that must be a tabooed subject. Of 
 course, a mother has a right to be proud of her 
 son — and such a son, too ! — but it is not neces- 
 sary for her to bore other people. If you were 
 to ask me ' — with a low laugh of amusement at 
 her own expense — ' if I thought any other 
 mother's son could be as handsome and clever 
 and affectionate as my Cyril, I should probably
 
 46 LOVER OR FRIEND ? 
 
 say no ; but I will be prudent for once : I wil 
 not try to prejudice you in his favour. Cyril 
 shall stand on his own merits to-nicrht ; he will 
 not need his mother's recommendation.' 
 
 Mrs. Blake made this speech with such a 
 pretty air of assurance, such a conviction that 
 there was something pardonable in her egotism, 
 with such winning frankness, that Audrey for- 
 gave the thoughtless insinuation against poor 
 over-tasked Mollie. It was evident that Mrs. 
 Blake idolized her eldest son; her eyes softened 
 as she mentioned his name. 
 
 ' Ah, there is his step !' she added hastily. 
 ' No one walks in the same way as Cyril does ; 
 isn't it a light, springy tread ? But,' checking 
 herself with another laugh, ' I must really hold 
 my tongue, or you will think me a very silly 
 woman.' 
 
 ' No ; I like you all the better for it,' replied 
 Audrey blundy. She had no time to say more, 
 for a gay whistle heralded the new-comer ; and 
 the next moment a young man vaulted lightly 
 over the low window-sill. 
 
 He seemed a little taken aback at the sight 
 of a stranger, shook hands rather gravely with 
 Audrey, and then sat down silently beside his 
 mother.
 
 THE BLAKE FAMILY AT HOME. 47 
 
 Audrey's first thought was that Mrs. Blake 
 had not said a word too much. Cyril Blake 
 was certainly a very striking-looking young 
 man. ' He is like his mother,' she said to her- 
 self ; * he is as handsome in his way as she is in 
 hers. There is something foreign in his com- 
 plexion, and in those very dark eyes ; it looks as 
 though there were Spanish or Italian blood in 
 their veins. She hardly looks old enough to 
 be his mother. Father said he was two-and- 
 twenty. What an interesting family they 
 seem ! I am sure I shall see a great deal of 
 them.' 
 
 Cyril was a little silent at first. He was 
 afiflicted with the Englishman's mauvaise honte 
 with strangers, and was a little young for his 
 age, in spite of his cleverness. But Mrs. 
 Blake was not disposed to leave him in quiet. 
 She knew that he could talk fluently enough 
 when his tongue was once loosened ; so she 
 proceeded to tell him of Audrey's neighbourly 
 kindness, treating it with an airy grace ; and, of 
 course, Cyril responded with a brief compliment 
 or two. She then drew him out by skilful 
 questions on Rutherford and its inhabitants, 
 to which Audrey duly replied. 
 
 * And you like the place, Miss Ross ?'
 
 48 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 * Oh, of course one likes the place where one 
 lives,' she returned brightly. ' I was only a little 
 girl when father came to Woodcote, so all my 
 happiest associations are with Rutherford. I 
 grumble sometimes because the town is so 
 small and there are not enough human beings.' 
 
 ' There are over three hundred boys, are 
 there not ?' asked Cyril, looking up quickly. 
 
 ' Oh, boys ! I was not thinking of them. 
 Yes, there are more than three hundred. I 
 delight in boys, but one wants men and women 
 as well. We have too few types. There are 
 the masters and the masters' wives, and the 
 doctors and the vicar, and a curate or two, but 
 that is all. A public school is nice, but its 
 society is limited.' 
 
 ' Limited, but choice.' 
 
 ' Decidedly choice. Now, in my opinion, 
 people ought not to be too exclusive. I am 
 sociable by nature. " The world forgetting, by 
 the world forgot " is not to my mind. I like 
 variety even in character.' 
 
 ' I think we are kindred spirits, my dear Miss 
 Ross. How often have you heard me say the 
 same thing, Cyril ! That is why I took such a 
 dislike to Headingly — the people there were so 
 terribly exclusive and purse-proud.'
 
 THE BLAKE FAMILY AT HOME. 49 
 
 ' Not purse-proud, mother. You are wrong 
 there.' 
 
 ' Well, they were very stift' and inhospitable ; 
 there was no getting on with them at all. I 
 think the Bryces were the worst. Mrs. Bryce 
 is the proudest woman I know.' 
 
 * Mother,' observed Cyril warningly, * it is 
 never safe to mention names. I think — that is, 
 I am sure I have heard that Mrs. Bryce is 
 a connection of Miss Ross.' 
 
 ' Oh, I hope not !' in an alarmed voice. ' Do 
 — do forgive me my very plain speaking.' 
 
 ' There is no harm done,' returned Audrey 
 lightly. ' Mrs. Bryce is only a connection of my 
 sister's by marriage. She is Mr. Harcourt's 
 sister. I am afraid I sympathize with you 
 there. I have no special liking for Mrs. Bryce 
 myself; she is clever, an excellent manager, 
 but she is a little too proper — too fond of laying 
 down the law for my taste.' 
 
 * Oh, I am so glad !' clapping her hands. 
 * Cyril is always keeping me in order ; he is so 
 afraid what I may say next.' 
 
 ' You certainly are a most incautious person, 
 mother.' 
 
 ' See how my children keep me in order,' 
 with an air of much humility. ' Mrs. Harcourt 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 is your sister, and lives at Rutherford. I do 
 hope she is Hke you, Miss Ross.' 
 
 ' No, indeed,' shaking her head and laughing. 
 * We are very different persons. Geraldine 
 is far better than I am. She is exceedingly 
 clever, most accomplished, and so handsome 
 that everyone falls in love with her at first 
 sight. She is quite a little queen here, and no 
 one disputes her sway.' 
 
 Mrs. Blake gave an eloquent shrug, but she 
 did not venture on a more direct answer ; and 
 Audrey sat and smiled to herself as she thought 
 that Geraldine and Edith Bryce were certainly 
 pattern women. 
 
 How pleasant it all was ! Audrey had never 
 enjoyed herself more ; she was making herself 
 quite at home with these Blakes. But surely 
 there was no need to hurry home ; Gage was 
 with her mother. She might indulge herself a 
 little longer. She longed to talk more to 
 Kester and Mollie, but she found it impossible 
 to draw them into the conversation. They sat 
 quite silent, only every now and then Audrey's 
 quick eyes saw an intelligent look flash between 
 them — a sort of telegraphic communication. 
 
 * I hope those two poor children are not left 
 out in the cold,' she thought uneasily. ' Their
 
 THE BLAKE FAMILY AT HOME. 51 
 
 brother does not seem to notice them ; he and 
 his mother are wrapped up in each other. It is 
 hardly fair.' 
 
 Again Audrey was forming a hasty judgment. 
 
 ' The country is not very pretty, is it ?' asked 
 Cyril at this moment, and she woke up from her 
 reverie. 
 
 ' It is a little flat, but it has its good points : 
 it is a splendid hunting country, as you know. 
 Oh yes, I think it pretty. There are nice 
 walks. I am very partial to the grass lanes we 
 have about here. In fine weather they are 
 delicious.' 
 
 * And you are a good walker ?' 
 
 ' Oh yes. I am strong, and there is nothing 
 I enjoy so much. One is such splendid com- 
 pany for one's self. Leo and I used to have 
 such expeditions ! Leo was a St. Bernard 
 puppy, only he died three weeks ago of dis- 
 temper. I cannot bear to speak of him yet. 
 He was my playfellow, and so handsome and 
 intelligent ! My cousin, Captain Burnett, has 
 promised to find me another dog. He has a 
 Dachs-hund himself — such a loving, faithful little 
 creature. He is obliged to take Booty where- 
 ever he goes, or the poor thing would fret him- 
 self to skin and bone. Is that retriever your 
 
 4 — 2 
 LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILUNOiS
 
 52 LOVER OR FRIEND f 
 
 Special property ?* and Audrey looked at Cyril 
 as she spoke. 
 
 * No ; he belongs to Kester,' he returned 
 carelessly. Then, with a quick change of tone : 
 * Are you tired, old fellow ? Would you like me 
 to help you indoors ?' and, as Kester languidly 
 assented, he picked up his crutches, and taking 
 possession of one, substituted his arm, while 
 Mollie ran before them with a couple of 
 cushions. 
 
 Mrs. Blake looked after them, and a cloud 
 came over her face. 
 
 ' Is it not sad ?' she said, in a melancholy 
 tone. ' That poor boy — he will be a drag on 
 Cyril all his life. He will never be able to 
 gain his own living. He is fifteen now.' 
 
 * It was the result of an accident, was it 
 not ?' 
 
 But Audrey regretted her abrupt question, 
 as a troubled expression came into the mother's 
 eyes. 
 
 ' Who told you that ?' she asked impatiently. 
 ' Of course it was Mollie. She is a sad chatter- 
 box. And I suppose she mentioned, too, that it 
 was Cyril's fault ?' 
 
 ' Indeed it was not Mollie,' returned Audrey 
 eagerly. * Kester spoke of it himself. He
 
 THE BLAKE FAMILY AT HOME. 53 
 
 did not enter into particulars. He just said 
 his brother had let him fall when he was a 
 child; 
 
 ' Yes, it was a sad business,' with a sigh. 
 ' I wonder if anyone has ever had so many- 
 troubles as I have. Life has been one long 
 struggle to me, Miss Ross. But for Cyril I 
 should have succumbed again and again. No 
 widowed mother has ever been more blessed 
 in a son ;' then, dropping her voice : ' Please do 
 not mention the subject before Cyril ; he is 
 dreadfully sore about it. It was a pure accident: 
 they were all lads together, and he and his 
 schoolfellows were racing each other. I think 
 they were steeplechasing, and he had Kester 
 on his back. There was a fence and a stony 
 ditch, and the foolish child tried to clear it ; 
 they might both have been killed, it was such 
 a nasty place, but Kester was the only one 
 hurt. He was always a delicate little fellow, 
 and hip-disease came on. He does not suffer 
 so much now, but he will always be a cripple, 
 and he has bad times now and then. Cyril is 
 so good to him ; he has never forgiven himself 
 for the accident.' 
 
 * I can understand that,' returned Audrey 
 in a moved voice ; and then Cyril came back
 
 54 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 and she rose to go. ' I shall see you again,' 
 she said smilinof, as he accompanied her to the 
 gate. ' I hear my father has asked you up to 
 Woodcote this evening to meet the Harcourts/ 
 
 ' Yes,' he returned briefly, looking as though 
 the prospect were a formidable one. ' I could 
 not very well refuse Dr. Ross under the 
 circumstances.' 
 
 ' Did you wish to refuse ?' rather mis- 
 chievously. 
 
 ' No, of course not,' but smiling too ; ' I feel 
 as though it were a derelict of duty. Look at 
 the muddle in there ! and those poor children. 
 I have been working like a horse to-day, but 
 there was too much to do upstairs ; I left the 
 living-rooms for this evening.' 
 
 ' You can work all the harder to-morrow.' 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 ' To-morrow I have to begin lessons. 1 
 suppose the muddle must just go on, and we 
 must live as we can. Biddy is old and worn 
 out, and Mollie is too young to direct her.' 
 
 * I will come round and help her,' was 
 Audrey's impulsive answer. ' This is just the 
 sort of thing I love. I do so enjoy putting a 
 place to rights.' 
 
 ' But, Miss Ross, we have no right to
 
 THE BLAKE FAMILY AT HOME. 55 
 
 trespass on your kindness,' replied Cyril, 
 flushing slightly as he spoke. 
 
 But Audrey only smiled and showed her 
 dimple. 
 
 * Tell Mollie I shall come,' was her only 
 answer. ' Ate revoir, Mr. Blake.' 
 
 And Audrey walked on rapidly to Woodcote, 
 feeling that she had spent a very amusing after- 
 noon, and quite unaware of the commotion she 
 would raise in her mother's and sister's breasts 
 by those few innocently spoken words, ' I have 
 been having tea at the Blakes'.'
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 'And when God found in the hollow of His hand 
 This ball of Earth among His other balls, 
 And set it in His shining firmament, 
 Between the greater and the lesser lights, 
 He chose it for the Star of Suffering.' 
 
 Ugo Bassi. 
 
 It is better to draw a veil over the scene that 
 followed Audrey's abrupt announcement. As 
 Captain Burnett said afterwards, ' Geraldine's 
 attitude was superb ; she was grand, absolutely- 
 grand.' 
 
 Mrs. Ross was, as usual, a little plaintive. 
 
 * If you had only mentioned where you were 
 going, Audrey,' she said quietly ; ' but you are 
 so impulsive, my dear. Geraldine would have 
 accompanied you with pleasure a little later, 
 and you could have left my card, and a civil 
 message for Mrs. Blake ; that would have
 
 MICHAEL. 57 
 
 been far nicer, would it not, my love ?' with 
 an appealing look at her young adviser. 
 
 * You can send the message by Mr. Blake 
 this evening,' replied Audrey. 
 
 She never argued with her mother if she 
 could possibly help it. In the first place, it was 
 not filial, and in the second, it was perfectly 
 useless, as there was always a mental reserva- 
 tion in Mrs. Ross's mind, and she could seldom 
 be induced to decide any question without 
 reference to Geraldine. 
 
 ' I think father might have consulted 
 Percival before he asked another guest,' 
 observed Mrs. Harcourt in rather a dubious 
 tone, for she was exceedingly jealous of her 
 husband's dignity. ' Percival was told that we 
 were to be quite alone. I was not going home 
 to change my dress. But if this young man be 
 invited ' 
 
 * My darling,' interrupted her mother, ' you 
 must not think of walking back all that way — • 
 that gown is lovely, is it not, Audrey ? — and 
 one more person does not signify. No doubt 
 your father was anxious that Percival should 
 see Mr. Blake and give him his opinion ; he 
 thinks so much of Percival's judgment, does he 
 not, Audrey ?'
 
 58 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 Now here was the opportunity for a douceur, 
 for a nicely adjusted compliment, to smooth her 
 sister's ruffled brow ; but Audrey was far too 
 blunt and truthful for such finesse. 
 
 ^ Father told me that he wanted Michael to 
 see Mr. Blake — I don't believe he was thinking 
 of Percival — because of course the lower school 
 has nothing to do with Hillside. There is not 
 the least need of changing your gown, Gage, 
 for of course we are only a family party. Will 
 you come up with me to my room now, or will 
 you go with mother presently ?' 
 
 ' I will come with you,' returned Mrs. 
 Harcourt. 
 
 Audrey was inclined to be contumacious, but 
 she would not yield the matter so meekly. 
 Audrey was always more contradictory when 
 Michael was in the background ; they seemed 
 to play into each other's hand somehow, and 
 more than once Geraldine was positive she had 
 heard a softly-uttered * Bravo !' at some of 
 Audrey's ridiculous speeches. 
 
 ' Come along, then,' returned Audrey good- 
 humouredly ; and as they left the room together, 
 Captain Burnett laid down his book. 
 
 ' I am afraid she is going to catch it, Cousin 
 Emmeline ; it will be a case of survival of the
 
 MICHAEL. 59 
 
 fittest — Geraldine is strong, but Audrey can 
 hold her own. I back Audrey.' 
 
 ' My dear,' remonstrated Mrs. Ross, as she 
 put away her knitting, ' you talk as though my 
 girls were likely to quarrel. Geraldine is far 
 too sweet-tempered to quarrel with anyone ; she 
 will only give Audrey a little advice — dear 
 Audrey is dreadfully careless, she takes after 
 her father in that ; John is always doing impru- 
 dent things. Geraldine has made me most un- 
 comfortable this afternoon ; I am quite sure that 
 Mrs. Blake will be an undesirable friend for 
 Audrey.' 
 
 ' Do you always see through other people's 
 spectacles ?' he asked quietly. ' I have a habit 
 of judging things for myself — I never take any- 
 thing second-hand ; it is such an unpleasant 
 idea, airing other people's opinions. Fancy a 
 sensible human being turning himself into a sort 
 of peg or receptacle for other folks' theories ! 
 No, thank you, my dear cousin; my opinions are 
 all stamped with " Michael Burnett, his mark." ' 
 
 * Men are different,' she replied tranquilly ; 
 and then she left him to go in search of her 
 husband. 
 
 * What a world we live in, Booty !' observed 
 Captain Burnett, as he walked to the window
 
 6o LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 and his four-footed favourite followed him. ' Oh, 
 you want a run, do you ?' as the little animal 
 looked at him wistfully. ' You think your 
 master uncommonly lazy this afternoon — you 
 don't happen to have a pain in your leg, do 
 you, old fellow — a nasty gnawing, grumbling 
 sort of pain ? — there is nothing like neuralgia for 
 making a man lazy. Well, I'll make an effort 
 to oblige you, my friend — so off you go ;' and 
 Captain Burnett threw a stone, and there was a 
 delighted bark and an excited patter of the short 
 legs, and Booty vanished round a corner, while 
 his master followed him more slowly. 
 
 The garden of Woodcote was the best in 
 Rutherford ; even the Hill houses could not 
 compete with it : an extensive lawn lay before 
 the house, with a shrubbery on one side, and 
 the trees and shrubs were exceedingly rare ; a 
 little below the house the ground sloped rather 
 steeply, and a succession of terraces and flower- 
 beds led down to a miniature lake with a tinv 
 island ; here there were some swans and a punt, 
 and the tall trees that bordered the water were 
 the favourite haunt of blackbirds and thrushes. 
 
 Captain Burnett sat down on a bench facing 
 the water, and Booty stood and barked at the 
 swans. How sweet and peaceful everything
 
 MICHAEL. 6i 
 
 looked this evening ! The water was golden in 
 the evening sunshine ; a blue tit was flashing 
 from one tree to another ; some thrushes were 
 singing a melodious duet ; the swans arched 
 their snowy necks and looked proudly at him ; 
 some children's voices were audible in the 
 distance. There was a thoughtful expression 
 in Captain Burnett's eyes, a concentrated 
 melancholy that was often there when he found 
 himself utterly alone. 
 
 Captain Burnett had one confidant — his 
 cousin John. Not that he often called him by 
 that name, their ages were too dissimilar to 
 permit such easy familiarity ; but he had once 
 owned to Dr. Ross, to the man who loved him 
 as a father, that his life had been a failure. 
 
 * Only a failure in the sense that you are no 
 longer fit for active duty,' had been the reply. 
 * You must not forget the Victoria Cross, 
 Michael.' 
 
 * Oh, that was nothing ; any other man w^ould 
 have done the same in my place,' Michael had 
 retorted with some heat, for he hated to be 
 reminded of his good deeds. 
 
 Perhaps he was right : hundreds of brave 
 young Englishmen would have acted in the 
 same way had they been placed in the same
 
 62 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 circumstances. The English army is full of 
 heroes, thank God! Nevertheless, Michael 
 Burnett had earned his Victoria Cross dearly. 
 
 It was in one of the Zulu skirmishes. A 
 detachment of the enemy had surprised them at 
 night ; but the little handful of men had 
 repulsed them bravely. Captain Burnett knew 
 help was at hand ; they had only to hold out 
 until a larger contingent should join them. 
 He hoped things were going well. They had 
 just driven the Zulus backwards, when, in the 
 dim light of the flickering watch-fires, he saw 
 dusky figures moving in the direction of a hut 
 where a few sick and wounded men had been 
 placed. There was not a second to lose ; in 
 another moment the poor fellows would have 
 been butchered. Calling out to some of his 
 men to follow him, and not perceiving that 
 he was alone, he tore through the scrub, and 
 entered the hut by a hole that served as a 
 window. Michael once owned that he fought 
 like a demon that night ; but the thought of the 
 few helpless wretches writhing in terror on 
 their pallet beds behind him seemed to give 
 him the force of ten men. ' They shall pass 
 only over my body ! God save my poor 
 fellows !' was his inward cry, as he blocked up
 
 MICHAEL. 63 
 
 the narrow doorway and struck at his dusky- 
 foes like a madman. 
 
 More than one poor lad lived to look back 
 on that day, and to bless their gallant deliverer. 
 ' No one else could have done it, sir,' observed 
 one of them ; ' but the Captain never knew how 
 to give in. I was watching them, and I thought 
 the devils would have finished him. He stag- 
 gered back once, and Bob Jaggers gave a groan, 
 for we thought it was all up with us ; and 
 though I would have made shift to fight before 
 I would be killed like a rat in a hole, one could 
 not do much with a broken arm. When our 
 men rushed in, he was pretty nearly finished ; 
 one of the savages had him by the knees. Of 
 course they gave him the Cross. For the 
 matter of that, he ought to have had it before. 
 
 * Did you ever hear how he saved little Tom 
 Blatchley's life ? Well, I will tell you ;' and 
 hereupon followed one of those touching inci- 
 dents which are so frequent, and which gild 
 with glory even the bloody annals of war. 
 
 Yes, they gave him the Victoria Cross ; but 
 as he lay on his bed of suffering, disabled by 
 cruel wounds, Michael knew that he had won it 
 at the expense of all that men count dear. 
 ' Greater love hath no man than this, that
 
 64 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 a man lay down his life for his friends.' There 
 were times when, in his anguish, Michael could 
 have prayed that his life — his useless, broken 
 life — might have been taken too. How gladly, 
 how thankfully would he have yielded it ! how 
 willingly would he have turned his face to the 
 wall, and ended the conflict, sooner than endure 
 the far bitterer ordeal that lay before him ! 
 for he was young, and he knew his career was 
 ended, and that, brave soldier as he was, he 
 could no longer follow the profession that he 
 loved. It was doubtful for a long time how far 
 he would recover from the effects of that terrible 
 night ; his wounds were long in healing. The 
 principal injuries were in the head and thigh. 
 One or two of his physicians feared that he 
 would never walk again ; the limb seemed to 
 contract, and neuralgic pains made his life a 
 misery. To add to his troubles, his nerves 
 were seriously affected, and though he was no 
 coward, depression held him at times in its fell 
 grip, and mocked him with delusive pictures of 
 other men's happiness. Like Bunyan's poor 
 tempted Christian, he, too, at times espied a 
 foul fiend coming over the field to meet him, 
 and had to wage a deadly combat with many a 
 doubt and hard, despairing thought. ' You are
 
 MICHAEL. 65 
 
 a wreck, Michael Burnett!' the grim tempter 
 seemed to say to him. ' Better be quit of it all ! 
 Before you are thirty your work is over ; what 
 will you do with the remainder of your life ? 
 You are poor — perhaps crippled ; no woman 
 will look at you. You have your Cross — a 
 little bit of rusty iron — but does such empty 
 glory avail ? You have aches and pains in 
 plenty ; your future looks promising, my fine 
 fellow ! A hero ! In truth those ten minutes 
 have cost you dearly ! no wonder you repent of 
 your rash gallantry !' 
 
 * I repent of nothing/ Michael would rejoin, 
 in that dumb inward arofument so often renewed. 
 ' If it were to come over again, I would do just 
 the same. " Greater love hath no man than 
 this " ;' for in his semi-delirious hours those 
 Divine words seemed to set themselves to 
 solemn music, and to echo in his brain with 
 ceaseless repetition. ' A life given, a life laid 
 down, a life spent in suffering — is it not all the 
 same — a soldier's duty ? Shall I shirk my 
 fate ? Would it not be better to bear it like a 
 man ?' and Michael would set his teeth hard, 
 and with an inward prayer for patience — for in 
 the struggle the man was learning to pray — 
 girded himself up again to the daily fight. 
 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 66 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 Once, when there had been a fresh outbreak 
 of mischief, and they had brought him down 
 to Woodcote, that he might be more carefully- 
 nursed than in the town lodgings, which was 
 all Michael Burnett called home, Audrey, who, 
 after her usual pitiful fashion, wore herself out 
 in her efforts to soothe and comfort the invalid, 
 once read to him some beautiful lines out of a 
 poem entitled * The Disciples.' 
 
 Michael, who was in one of his dark moods, 
 made no comment on the passage that she had 
 read in a trembling voice of deep feeling ; but 
 when she left the room on some errand, he 
 stretched out his hand, and read over the 
 passage again : 
 
 * But if, impatient, thou let slip thy cross, 
 Thou wilt not find it in this world again, 
 Nor in another ; here, and here alone. 
 Is given thee to suffer for God's sake.' 
 
 When Audrey returned the book was in its 
 place, and Michael was lying with his eyes 
 closed, and the frown of pain still knitting his 
 temples. He was not asleep, but she dare not 
 disturb him by offering to go on with the poem. 
 She sat down at a little distance and looked 
 out of the window, rather sorrowfully. How 
 strong she was ! how full of health and enjoy-
 
 MICHAEL. 67 
 
 ment ! and this poor Michael, who had acted 
 
 so nobly Audrey's eyes were full of tears. 
 
 And all the time Michael was saying to him- 
 self, ' After all, I am a coward. What if I 
 must suffer ? Life will not last for ever.' 
 
 By-and-by Michael owned that even his hard 
 lot had compensation. He became used to his 
 semi-invalid existence. Active work of any 
 sort was impossible — that is, continuous work. 
 He had tried it when his friends had found 
 an easy post for him, and had been obliged to 
 give it up. He still suffered severely from 
 neuralgic headaches that left him worn and 
 exhausted. His maimed leg often troubled 
 him ; he could not walk far, and riding was 
 impossible. 
 
 * You must make up your mind to be an idle 
 man — at least, for the present. Captain Burnett,' 
 one of his doctors had said to him, and Michael 
 had languidly acquiesced. To be a soldier had 
 been his one ambition, and he cared for little 
 else. He had enough to keep him in moderate 
 comfort as a bachelor, and he had faint expec- 
 tations from an uncle who lived in Calcutta ; 
 but when questioned on this point, Michael 
 owned he was not sanguine. 
 
 * My Uncle Selkirk is by no means an old 
 
 5—2
 
 68 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 man,' he would say. * Any insurance office 
 would consider his the better life of the two. 
 Besides, he might marry — he is not sixty yet ; 
 even old men make fools of themselves by taking 
 young wives. It is ill waiting for dead men's 
 shoes at the best of times. In this case it 
 would be rank stupidity.' 
 
 ' Then you will never be able to marry, 
 Michael;' for it was to Mrs. Ross that this 
 last speech was addressed. 
 
 * My dear cousin, do you think any girl would 
 look at a sickly, ill-tempered fellow like me ?' 
 was the somewhat bitter reply; and Mrs. Ross's 
 kind heart was troubled at the tone. 
 
 * You should not call yourself names, my 
 dear. You are not ill-tempered. No one minds 
 a little crossness now and then. Even John 
 can say a sharp word when he is put out. I 
 think you are wrong, Michael. You are rather 
 morbid on this point. They say pity is akin to 
 love.' 
 
 ' But I object to be pitied,' he returned some- 
 what haughtily ; ' and what is more, I will 
 commend myself to no woman's toleration. I 
 will not be dominated by any weaker vessel. 
 If I should ever have the happiness of having a 
 wife — but there will be no Mrs. Michael Bur-
 
 MICHAEL. 69 
 
 nett, Cousin Emmellne — I should love her as 
 well as other men love their wives, but I 
 should distinctly insist on her keeping her 
 proper place. Just imagine' — working him- 
 self up to nervous irritation — * being at the 
 mercy of some blooming, high-spirited young 
 creature, who will insult me every day with her 
 overplus of pure animal enjoyment. The 
 effect on me would be crushing — absolutely 
 crushing.' 
 
 'Audrey is very high-spirited, Michael, but I 
 am sure she sympathizes with you as nicely as 
 possible.' 
 
 ' We were not speaking of Audrey, were 
 we ?' he replied, with a slight change of ex- 
 pression. ' I think it is the Ross idiosyncrasy 
 to wander hopelessly from any given subject ; 
 I imagined that we were suggesting an im- 
 possible wife for your humble servant. Far be 
 it from me to deny myself comfort in the shape 
 of feminine cousins or friends.' 
 
 ' Yes, of course ; and Geraldine and Audrey 
 are just like your sisters, Michael.' 
 
 * Are they ?' a little dryly. ' Well, as I never 
 had a sister, I cannot be a good judge ; but from 
 what other fellows tell me, I imagine Audrey 
 bullies me enough to be one. Anyhow, I take
 
 70 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 the brotherly prerogative of bullying her in 
 return/ 
 
 And with this remarkable statement the con- 
 versation dropped. 
 
 Captain Burnett spent half his time with his 
 cousins, oscillating between Woodcote and his 
 lodgings in town. Dr. Ross wished him to live 
 with them entirely ; he had a great respect and 
 affection for his young kinsman, and, as he often 
 told his wife, Michael helped him in a hundred 
 ways. 
 
 ' He has the clearest head and the best 
 common-sense I ever knew in any man. I 
 would trust Mike's judgment before my own. 
 Poor fellow ! he has o^one throuofh so much 
 himself, that I think he sees deeper into things 
 than most people. It is wonderful what know- 
 ledge of character he has. The boys always 
 say there is no cheating the Captain.' 
 
 Michael owned himself grateful for his 
 cousin's kindness, but he declined to call 
 Woodcote his home. 
 
 * I will have my own diggings,' was his 
 answer — ' a burrow where I can run to earth 
 when my pet fiend tries to have a fling at me. 
 Seriously, there are times when I am best alone 
 — and, then, in town one sees one's friends. For
 
 MICHAEL, 71 
 
 a sick man, or whatever you like to call me, my 
 taste is decidedly gregarious. *' I would not 
 shut me from my kind." Oh dear no ! There 
 is no study so interesting as human nature, and 
 I am avowedly a student of anthropology. 
 London is the place for a man with a hobby 
 like mine/ 
 
 Nevertheless, the chief part of Captain 
 Burnett's time had been spent latterly at 
 Woodcote.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE NEW MASTER. 
 
 ' We agree pretty well in our tastes and habits — yet so as 
 *' with a difference." We are generally in harmony, with occa- 
 sional bickerings, as it should be among near relatives.'— Essays 
 of'Elia.' 
 
 Booty grew tired of barking at the swans long 
 before his master had roused from his abstrac-* 
 tion ; it was doubtful how much longer Captain 
 Burnett would have sat with his eyes fixed 
 dreamily on the water, if a tall figure in white 
 had not suddenly appeared under the arching 
 trees, and Audrey stood before him. 
 
 ' I knew where I should find you,' she said, 
 as he rose rather slowly from his seat. * I have 
 christened this bench Michael's Seat. How 
 sweet the lake looks this eveninof ! I wish I 
 could stay to enjoy it, but 1 must go back to 
 the drawing-room. Percival has come, and,
 
 THE NEW MASTER. 7^ 
 
 do you know, the dressing-gong sounded ten 
 minutes ago, and you have taken no notice of it.' 
 
 ' I will go at once,' was the answer, but to 
 his surprise she stopped him. 
 
 'Wait one moment, Michael ; I have to ask 
 you a favour. I want you to be kind, and to 
 take a great deal of notice of Mr. Blake. He 
 is very young and shy, and though his mother 
 says he is so clever — and, indeed, father says so, 
 too — one would not find it out, because he is so 
 quiet, and you know how formidable Percival 
 must be to a shy person.' 
 
 ' And you want me to take your new protdgS 
 under my wing ?' he returned, dissembling his 
 surprise. 
 
 ' She had put her hands on his arm, and was 
 speaking with unusual earnestness, and he knew, 
 by a certain look in her eyes, that something 
 had vexed her. 
 
 ' He is not my /r^/^/,' she answered quickly. 
 * You talk as though he were a boy, a mere 
 child, instead of being what he is — an exceed- 
 ingly clever and gentlemanly young man. 
 Michael, you qe erally understand me — you are 
 always my ally when Percival is on his high 
 horse — i^nd I want you to stand Mr. Blake's 
 friend to-night.'
 
 74 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 * And I am not even to form my own 
 opinion ? Supposing the moment I shake 
 hands with your pro — I mean your visitor — I 
 become conscious of an inward antagonism ? 
 You see, Audrey, I am subject to Hkes and dis- 
 likes, in common with other people/ 
 
 * Oh, you must try to like him,' she returned 
 impatiently. * I am very much interested in 
 the whole family. We always like the same 
 people, Michael — do we not ?' in a coaxing 
 voice. ' I know the Marquis will wear his most 
 judicial aspect to-night ; he will perfectly annihi- 
 late poor Mr. Blake ;' for this was another 
 sobriquet which Audrey applied to her brother- 
 in-law. 
 
 They were walking towards the house, but 
 at this point Captain Burnett thought fit to 
 stand still and shake his head, with a grieved 
 expression of face. 
 
 * My dear Audrey, I should like to see you 
 on more sisterly terms with Gage's husband.' 
 
 ' Don't be silly,' was the only response ; ' one 
 cannot choose one's brother-in-law. The Mar- 
 quis makes Gage a splendid husband — no one 
 else could have mastered her — but I never 
 could get on with a man who always thinks he 
 is right about everything. Percival is too im-
 
 THE NEW MASTER. 75 
 
 maculate in his own and his wife's eyes to be in 
 harmony with a sinner Hke myself; and I don't 
 mind confessing to you, Michael, that he never 
 opens his mouth without my longing to contra- 
 dict him.' 
 
 Audrey said this with such perfect ;^^2Z^^/^ and 
 candour that Captain Burnett could only smile, 
 though sheer honesty made him say a moment 
 afterwards : 
 
 • I think, indeed I have always thought, that 
 you undervalue Harcourt. He is a fine fellow 
 in his way. I like a man to be strong, and 
 Harcourt is strong — he has no pettiness in his 
 nature. He is rather a severe critic, perhaps 
 — and demands a little too much from other 
 people — but you will find that he always prac- 
 tises what he preaches.' 
 
 ' I wish he understood me better/ was the 
 rueful response. ' Unhappily, he and Gage 
 think their mission is to reform me. Now, 
 Michael, do be quick, or the dinner-bell will 
 ring ;' and Audrey waved her hand gaily, and 
 turned into the house, while Michael and his 
 faithful Booty followed her more slowly. 
 
 When Audrey entered the drawing-room she 
 found her brother-in-law standing in his 
 favourite attitude before the fireplace — he was
 
 76 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 evidently holding forth on some interesting 
 topic, for Dr. Ross was Hstening to him with an 
 amused expression of face, and Geraldine was 
 watching him with admiring, wifely eyes. He 
 broke off, however, to greet Audrey, and there 
 was brotherly warmth in his manner as he 
 shook hands with her and asked after her 
 health — a mere civility on his part, as Audre\' 
 was never ill. 
 
 Mr. Harcourt was a good-looking man of 
 about forty — perhaps he was a year or two more, 
 but he was young-looking for his age, and the 
 absence of beard and moustache gave him a 
 still more youthful aspect ; the slight tinge of 
 gray in his hair seemed to harmonize with the 
 well-cut features. The mouth was especially 
 handsome, though a sarcastic expression at 
 times distinguished it. His figure was good, and 
 without being tall, he carried himself with so 
 much dignity as to give the impression of 
 height. He was a man who would always 
 be noticed among other men on account of 
 his strong individuality and sheer force of 
 character. 
 
 Audrey was right when she owned that he 
 made a splendid husband for Geraldine. Mr. 
 Harcourt was exceedingly proud of his beautiful
 
 THE NEW MASTER. 77 
 
 wife ; but from the first hour of her married life 
 he had made her understand that though she 
 managed other people, including her own 
 mother, her husband was to be the one 
 exception — that, in other words, he fully in- 
 tended to be Geraldine's master. 
 
 Geraldine had to learn this lesson even on 
 her wedding-day. There was some little con- 
 fusion at the last — a small hitch in the domestic 
 arrangements — and someone, Dr. Ross prob- 
 ably, proposed that the happy couple should 
 wait for a later train ; they could telegraph, and 
 dinner could be put back for an hour. Geral- 
 dine endorsed her father's opinion ; perhaps, at 
 the last minute, the young bride would fain 
 have lingered lovingly in the home that had 
 sheltered her so happily. 
 
 * It is a good idea. We should have to drive 
 so dreadfully fast,' she said with some eager- 
 ness. * Yes, we will stay, Percival' 
 
 * My darling, there is someone else to 
 consult,' he returned, taking her hand; 'and 
 someone else votes differently. Dr. Ross, 
 will you ask them to send round the carriage. 
 Geraldine has had excitement enough ; it will 
 be far better for us to go.' Geraldine did not 
 like her husband any the worse for showing
 
 78 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 her that he meant to manage for both for the 
 future. She was clever enough to take the hint, 
 and to refer to him on all occasions. Before 
 many weeks were over, )oung Mrs. Harcourt 
 had so fully identified herself with her husband's 
 interests, was so strangely impregnated with 
 his opinions, that she insensibly reproduced 
 them — 'and Perclval thinks so and so ' now re- 
 placed the old decided ' that is my opinion,' 
 which had hitherto leavened her conversation. 
 
 * Who would have thought that Geraldine, 
 who snubbed all her lovers so unmercifully, and 
 who never would listen to one until Percival 
 '' came, saw, and conquered " — who would have 
 imagined that this very exacting young woman 
 would have turned out a submissive and pattern 
 wife ?' was Audrey's remark when she returned 
 from her first visit to Hillside. 
 
 But in her heart she respected her brother- 
 in-law for the change he had effected. 
 
 ' Well, Audrey,' observed Mr. Harcourt, 
 with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, ' so I 
 hear you have been enacting the part of Good 
 Samaritan to the widow Blake and her children. 
 What do you think of the bewitching widow 
 and her Mary Queen of Scots beauty ? Did 
 she make an impression, eh ?'
 
 THE NEW MASTER. 79 
 
 * She is very handsome,' returned Audrey 
 curtly; for she was not pleased with her brother- 
 in-law's quizzical tone. 
 
 How long had she stopped out with Michael ? 
 Barely ten minutes ; and yet Percival was in 
 possession of the whole story. 
 
 ' I shall be writing to Edith to-night, and I 
 must tell her all about it,' he went on, for if there 
 was one thing in which he delighted, it was 
 teasing Audrey, and getting a rise out of her. 
 In reality he was very fond of her ; he admired 
 her simplicity and the grand earnestness of her 
 character ; but he took the brotherly liberty of 
 disagreeing with her upon some things. He 
 told his wife privately that his one desire was 
 to see Audrey married to the right man. 
 
 * She is a fine creature, but she wants 
 training and keeping in order ; and I know the 
 man who would just do for her,' he said once. 
 
 But though Geraldine implored him to say 
 whom he meant, and mentioned a dozen names 
 in her womanly curiosity, Mr. Harcourt could 
 not be induced to say more. He was no 
 match-maker, he thanked Heaven ; he would 
 be ashamed to meddle with such sacred 
 mysteries. If there were one thing on which 
 no human opinion ought to rashly intrude, it
 
 So LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 was when two people elected to enter the holy 
 state of matrimony. It was enough that he 
 knew the man, though he never intended to 
 take a step to bring them together. 
 
 ' I think we had better drop the subject, as 
 Mr. Blake will be here directly,' retorted 
 Audrey, in her most repressive tones. ' Father, 
 do you know you have forgotten to wind up the 
 drawing-room clock ? I think it must be nearly 
 seven.' 
 
 ' It is past seven,' answered her brother-in- 
 law, producing his watch. ' Mr. Blake is keep- 
 ing the dinner waiting. No one but a very 
 young man would venture to commit such a 
 solecism. Under the circumstances, it is really 
 a breach of good manners. Don't you agree 
 with me, Dr. Ross ?' 
 
 But Dr. Ross hesitated ; he rarely agreed 
 with such sweeping assertions. Geraldine 
 murmured 'Very true,' which her mother 
 echoed. 
 
 ' That is too bad !' exclaimed Audrey, who 
 never could hold her tongue. ^ If you had only 
 seen the state of muddle they are in at the 
 Gray Cottage ! I dare say Mr. Blake has been 
 unable to find anything ; his mother does not 
 seem a i^ood manao^er. Hush ! I hear a bell !'
 
 THE NEW MASTER. 
 
 — interrupting herself. ' Now you will not be 
 kept any longer from your dinner, Percival/ 
 
 * I was not thinking of myself,' he returned, 
 with rather an annoyed air ; for he was a quick- 
 tempered man, and he was really very hungry. 
 Thanks to his wife's splendid management, the 
 meals were always punctual at Hillside. A 
 deviation of five minutes would have boded woe 
 to the best cook. Mr. Harcourt was no domestic 
 tyrant ; the boys, the servants, always looked 
 upon him as a kind friend ; but he was an exact 
 disciplinarian, and the wheels of the domestic 
 machinery at Hillside went smoothly. If 
 Geraldine complained that one of the servants 
 did not do her duty, his answer was always 
 prompt : * Send her away and get another. A 
 servant without a conscience will never do for 
 me.' But, as a matter of fact, no master was 
 better served. 
 
 To Audrey's relief, Michael appeared with 
 Mr. Blake. He came in looking a little pale 
 from the exertion of dressing so hurriedly, and 
 Audrey's conscience pricked her for want of 
 consideration as she saw that he limped more 
 than usual, always a sign with him of over- 
 fatigue. Mr. Blake looked handsomer than 
 ever in evening dress, and Audrey noticed that 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 Geraldine looked at him more than once, as 
 though his appearance struck her. He cer- 
 tainly seemed very shy, and made his excuses 
 to his hostess in a low voice. 
 
 ' I ought not to have accepted Dr. Ross's 
 kind invitation,' he said, starting a little as the 
 dinner-bell immediately followed his entrance ; 
 ' everything is in such confusion at home/ 
 
 ^ I suppose it was like hunting for a needle in 
 a truss of hay,' observed Michael, in a genial 
 voice. ' I can imagine the difficulties of making 
 a toilet under such moving circumstances. No 
 pun intended, I assure you. Don't look as 
 though you want to hit me, Harcourt. I would 
 not be guilty of a real pun for the world.' 
 
 Mr. Harcourt was unable to reply at that 
 moment, as he had to offer Audrey his arm and 
 follow Dr. Ross into the dining-room ; but as 
 soon as they were seated and grace had been 
 said, he addressed Michael. 
 
 ' I need not ask an omnivorous reader as you 
 are, Burnett, if you remember "Elia's" remarks 
 about puns.' 
 
 ' I suppose you mean that " a pun is a pistol 
 let off at the ear, not a feather to tickle the 
 intellect." Poor old " Elia"! what a man he was ! 
 With all his frailties he was adorable.'
 
 THE NEW MASTER. 83 
 
 * Humph ! I should be sorry to go as far as 
 that ; but I own I like his quaint, racy style. 
 Dr. Ross is a fervent admirer of " St. Charles," 
 as Thackeray once called him.' 
 
 ' Indeed, I am. I agree with Ainger in 
 regarding him as the last of the Elizabethans. 
 I love his fine humour and homely fantastic 
 grandeur of style,' returned Dr. Ross warmly. 
 ' The man's whole life, too, is so wonderfully 
 pathetic. Few scenes in fiction are so touching 
 as that sad scene where the unhappy Mary 
 Lamb feels the dreaded attack of insanity 
 coming on, and brother and sister, hand-in- 
 hand, and weeping as they go, perform that 
 sorrowful journey across the fields to the house 
 where Mary is to be sheltered. I used to cry 
 over that story as a boy.' 
 
 Audrey drew a long breath of relief. Her 
 father had started on one of his hobbies. All 
 would be well now. 
 
 For one moment she had been anxious, very 
 anxious. Like other men, Michael had his 
 weaknesses. Nothing would annoy him more 
 than to be supposed guilty of a premeditated 
 pun. He always expressed a great deal of 
 scorn for what he called a low form of wit — 
 * and which is as far removed from wit,' he 
 
 6 — 2
 
 84 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 would add. ^ as the slums of the Seven Dials 
 are from Buckingham Palace.' 
 
 Mr. Harcourt was quite aware of this fas- 
 tidious dislike on Michael's part. It was, 
 therefore, in pure malice that he had asked 
 that question about * Elia '; but Michael's matter- 
 of-fact answer had baffled him, and the sole 
 result had been to start a delightful discussion 
 on the writings of Charles Lamb and his con- 
 temporaries — a subject on which all three men 
 talked exceedingly well. 
 
 Audrey listened to them with delight. She 
 was aware that Mr. Blake, who sat next her, 
 was silent too. When a pause in the conversa- 
 tion occurred, she turned round to address him, 
 and found him recrardinof her with an air of 
 intelligent curiosity. 
 
 * You seem to take a great deal of interest in 
 all this,' he said, with a smile. ' Most ladies 
 would consider it dry. I suppose you read a 
 great deal.' 
 
 * I am afraid not. I love reading, but one 
 finds so much else to do. But it is always 
 a pleasure to me to hear my father talk. My 
 brother-in-law, too, is a very clever man.' 
 
 * So I should imagine. And Captain Burnett 
 — is he also a relative ?'
 
 THE NEW MASTER. 85 
 
 ' Onl}' a sort of cousin. But he has no nearer 
 ties, and he spends half his time at Woodcote. 
 My sister and I look upon him as a brother — 
 in fact, he has supplied a great want in my life. 
 From a child I have so longed to have a brother 
 of my own.' 
 
 Mr. Blake looked down at his plate. 
 
 ' A brother is not always an undivided bless- 
 ing,' he said in a low voice, ' especially when he 
 is a daily and hourly reproach to one. Oh, 
 you know what I mean/ throwing back his 
 head with a quick, nervous gesture. * My 
 mother says she has told you. I saw you 
 looking at Kester this afternoon, but you are 
 aware it was all my fault.' 
 
 ' But it was onlv an accident,' she returned 
 gently. ' I hope that you are not morbid on 
 the subject, Mr. Blake. Boys are terribly ven- 
 turesome. I wonder more of them are not 
 hurt. I am quite sure Kester does not blame 
 you.' 
 
 ' No, you are right there ; but somehow it is 
 difficult for me to forget that my unlucky slip 
 has spoiled the poor fellow's life. He is very 
 good and patient, and we do all we can for him ; 
 but one dare not glance at the future. Excuse 
 my bothering you with such a personal matter,
 
 86 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 but I cannot forget the way you looked at 
 Kester ; and then my mother said she had told 
 you the whole story.' 
 
 ' I was very much interested/ she began, but 
 just then Mr. Harcourt interrupted them by a 
 remark pointedly addressed to Mr. Blake, so 
 that he was obliged to break off his conversation 
 with Audrey. This time the ladies were de- 
 cidedly bored — none of them could follow the 
 discussion ; the conversation at Woodcote was 
 rarely pedantic, but this evening Mr. Harcourt 
 chose to argue a purely scholastic question — 
 some translation from the Greek, which he de- 
 clared to be full of gross errors. 
 
 Audrey felt convinced that the subject had 
 been chosen with the express purpose of crush- 
 ing the new master; on this topic Michael 
 would be unable to afford him the slightest 
 help. True, he had been studying G eek for 
 his own pleasure the last two years at her 
 father's suggestion, and had made very fair 
 progress, but only a finished scholar could have 
 pronounced with any degree of certainty on 
 such a knotty point. 
 
 She was, therefore, all the more surprised 
 and pleased when she found that Mr. Blake 
 proved himself equal to the occasion. He had
 
 THE NEW MASTER. S7 
 
 kept modestly in the background while the 
 elder men were speaking, but when Mr. Har- 
 court appealed to him he took his part in the 
 conversation quite readily, and expressed him- 
 self with the greatest ease and fluency; indeed, 
 he not only ventured to contradict Mr. Harcourt, 
 but he brought quite a respectable array of 
 authorities to back his opinions. 
 
 Audrey felt so interested in watching the 
 changes of expression on her brother-in-law's 
 face that she was quite reconciled to the in- 
 superable difficulties that such a topic offered 
 to ^her understanding. The sarcastic curve 
 round Mr. Harcourt's mouth relaxed ; he grew 
 less dry and didactic in speech ; each moment 
 his manner showed more earnestness and 
 interest. The silent young master was by no 
 means annihilated ; on the contrary, he proved 
 liimself a worthy antagonist. Audrey was 
 quite sorry when Geraldine, stifling a yawn, 
 gave her mother an imploring glance. Mrs. 
 Ross willingly took the hint, and as Michael 
 opened the door for them he whispered in 
 Audrey's ear : ' He is quite capable of taking 
 care of himself.' And Audrey nodded assent. 
 
 She lingered in the hall a moment to look 
 out on the moonlight, and on opening the
 
 88 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 drawing-room door she heard a few words in 
 Geraldine's voice : 
 
 ' Splendidly handsome — dangerously so, in 
 my opinion ; what do you think, mother ?' 
 
 * Well, my dear, I have seldom seen a finer- 
 looking young man ; and then his manners are 
 so nice. Some clever young people are always 
 pushing themselves into the conversation ; they 
 think nothing of silencing older men. Mr. 
 Blake seems very modest and retiring.' 
 
 ' Yes, but he is too handsome,' w^as the 
 regretful reply ; and then Audrey joined 
 them. 
 
 ' I knew you would say so,' she observed, 
 with quite a pleased expression. ' Handsome 
 is hardly the word ; Mr. Blake has a beautiful 
 face — he is like a Greek god.' 
 
 Geraldine drew herself up a little stiffly. 
 
 * My dear Audrey, how absurd ! do Greek 
 gods have olive complexions ? How Percival 
 will laugh when I tell him that !' 
 
 ' To be sure,' returned Audrey calmly ; ' thank 
 you for reminding me that you are married, 
 Gage ; I am always forgetting it. That is the 
 worst of having one's sister married ; one is never 
 sure that one's little jokes and speeches are not 
 repeated. Now, as my confidences are not
 
 THE NEW MASTER. 89 
 
 intended for Percival, I will learn slowly and 
 painfully to hold my tongue for the future.' 
 
 This very natural speech went home, as 
 Audrey intended it should. With all her dic- 
 tatorial ways and clever management, Geraldine 
 had a very warm heart. 
 
 ' Oh, Audrey, dear,' she said, quite grieved 
 at this, ' I hope you are not speaking seriously. 
 Of course I will not repeat it to Percival if 
 you do not wish it ; but when you are married 
 yourself you wall know how difficult it is 
 to keep back any little thing that interests 
 one.' 
 
 'When I am married — I mean, if I be ever 
 married/ substituted Audrey, blushing a little, 
 as girls will — * I hope I shall be quite as capable 
 of self-control and discrimination as in my 
 single days. I have never considered the point 
 very closely ; but now I come to think of it, 
 I would certainly have an understanding 
 with my husband on the wedding-day. " My 
 dear Clive," I would say to him — Clive is a 
 favourite name of mine ; I hope I shall marry a 
 Clive — " you must understand once for all that, 
 though I intend to treat you with wifely confi- 
 dence, I shall only tell my own secrets — not 
 other people's." And he will reply, ** Audrey,
 
 90 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 you are the most honourable of women. I 
 respected you before ; I venerate you now." ' 
 
 'Audrey, how you talk!' But Mrs. Harcourt 
 could not help laughing. Audrey was looking 
 very nice this evening ; white always suited her. 
 To be sure, her hair might have been smoother. 
 ' There is some sort of charm about her that is 
 better than beauty,' she thought, with sisterly 
 admiration ; and then she asked her mother 
 if she did not think Percival looked a little 
 pale. 
 
 'He works too hard,' she continued; 'and 
 he will not break himself of his old bachelor 
 habit of sitting up late.' 
 
 ' Men like their own way; you must not be 
 too anxious,' retorted Mrs. Ross tranquilly. 
 ' When I first married, I worried myself dread- 
 fully about your father ; but I soon found it 
 was no use. And look at him now ; late hours 
 have not hurt him in the least. No one has 
 better health than your father.' 
 
 But the young wife was only half comforted. 
 
 ' My father's constitution is different,' she 
 returned. ' Percival is strong ; but his nerves 
 are irritable ; his organization is more sensitive. 
 It is burnmg both ends of the candle. I tell 
 him he uses himself up too lavishly.'
 
 THE NEW MASTER. 91 
 
 * I used to say much the same things to your 
 father, but he soon cured me. He asked me 
 once why I was so bent on bringing him round 
 to my opinions. *' I do not try to alter you," I 
 remember he said once, in his half-joking way. 
 " I do not ask you to sit up with me ; though, 
 no doubt, that is part of your wifely duty. I 
 allow you to go to bed when you are sleepy, in 
 the most unselfish way. So, my dear, you 
 must allow me the same liberty of action." 
 And, would you believe it, I never dared say 
 another word to him on the subject.' 
 
 ' You are a model wife, are you not, mother ?' 
 observed Audrey caressingly. 
 
 * No, dear ; I never deserved your father,' 
 returned Mrs. Ross, with much feeling, and the 
 tears started to her eyes. ' If only my girls 
 could have as happy a life ! I am sure dear 
 Geraldine has done well for herself — Percival 
 makes her an excellent husband ; and if I could 
 only see you happily settled, Audrey, I should 
 be perfectly satisfied.' 
 
 ' Are you so anxious to lose me ?' asked 
 the younger girl reproachfully. ' You must 
 find me a man as good as father, then. I am 
 not so sure that I want to be married ; I fancy 
 an old maid's mission will suit me best. I have
 
 92 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 too many plans in my head ; no respectable 
 man would tolerate me.' 
 
 * May I ask what you ladles are talking 
 about ?' asked Captain Burnett, as he sauntered 
 lazily round the screen that, even in summer- 
 time, shut in the fireplace, and made a cosy 
 corner. Mr. Blake followed him. 
 
 Audrey looked at them both calmly. 
 
 * I was only suggesting my possible mission 
 as a single woman. Don't you think I should 
 make a charming old maid, Michael ?' and 
 Audrey folded her beautifully-shaped arms, and 
 drew herself up ; but her dimple destroyed 
 the effect. Cyril Blake darted a quick look at 
 her ; then he crossed the room and sat down 
 by Mrs. Ross, and talked to her and Geral- 
 dlne until It was time for him to take his leave.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ' THE GRAY COTTAGE. 
 
 ' I think I love most people best when they are in adversity ; 
 for pity is one of my prevailing passions.' — Mary Wolstone- 
 CRAFT Godwin's Letter, 
 
 The next morning, as Captain Burnett was 
 strolling across the tennis-lawn in search of a 
 shady corner where he could read his paper, he 
 encountered Audrey. She was walking In the 
 direction of the gate, and had a basket of 
 flowers In her hand. 
 
 She was hurrying past him with a nod and a 
 smile, but he coolly stopped her. 
 
 ' May I ask where you are going, my Lady 
 Bountiful ?' for this was a name he often called 
 her, perhaps in allusion to her sweet, bountiful 
 nature ; but Audrey, In her simplicity, had 
 never understood the compliment. 
 
 She hesitated a moment ; and this was so
 
 94 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 unusual on her part, that Captain Burnett 
 metaphorically pricked up his ears. To use 
 his own language, he immediately scented the 
 whole business. 
 
 ' I am going into the town ; but I have a 
 great deal to do,' she returned quickly. 
 ' Please do not detain me, Michael. I am not 
 like you : I cannot afford the luxury of idle- 
 ness.' 
 
 ' Well, no ; it is rather a dear commodity, 
 certainly,' he replied pleasantly, though that 
 hasty speech made him inwardly wince, as 
 though someone had touched an unhealed 
 wound. ^ Luxury of idleness !' how he loathed 
 it! 
 
 ' If you are too long, I shall come and look 
 after you,' he continued significantly ; but to this 
 she made no reply. She took herself to task as 
 she walked on. She had not been perfectly 
 open with Michael, but, then, he had no right to 
 question her movements. She had spoken the 
 truth ; she certainly had business in the town — 
 several orders to give — before she went to the 
 Gray Cottage. Michael was her ally — her 
 faithful, trusty ally. No knight sworn to serve 
 his liege lady had ever been more zealous in 
 his fealty. But even to Michael she did not
 
 THE GRAY COTTAGE. 95 
 
 wish to confess that the greater part of the 
 morning would be spent at the Gray Cottage. 
 
 Audrey had no idea that her cousin had 
 guessed her Httle secret — that he was smiling 
 over it as he unfolded his paper. Her con- 
 science was perfectly easy with regard to her 
 motives. Pure compassion for those two poor 
 children was her only inducement. There was 
 no danger of encountering the elder brother. 
 
 The windows of the great schoolroom opened 
 on the terrace, and as Audrey had passed to 
 gather her flowers she had had a glimpse of 
 a dark, closely-cropped head, and the perfect 
 profile that she had admired last night, and she 
 knew the new master would be fully occupied 
 all the morning. Audrey felt a little needle- 
 prick of unavailing compunction as she 
 remembered her allusion to the Greek god 
 yesterday. 
 
 ' I wish I were not so foolishly outspoken !' 
 she thought. * I always say just what comes 
 into my head. With some people it would not 
 matter — with Michael, for example. He never 
 misunderstands one's meaning. But poor dear 
 Gage is so literal. Clever as she is, she has no 
 sense of humour.' 
 
 Here she paused at the grocer's to give her
 
 96 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 orders, but directly she left the shop she took 
 up the same thread again : 
 
 * I am always making resolutions to be more 
 careful, but it never seems any use. The 
 thoughts will come tumbling out like ill-behaved 
 children just let out of school. There is no 
 keeping them in order. I fancy Mr. Blake is 
 outspoken, too, when he gets rid of his shyness. 
 I was so surprised when he blurted out that 
 little bit about his brother. He looked so sad 
 over it, too. I think I must have made a mistake 
 in supposing that he only cared for his mother. 
 It was odd to make me his confidante ; but, 
 then, people always do tell me things. He is 
 Irish, of course. Irishmen are always impulsive.' 
 
 But here another list of orders to be given 
 at the ironmonger's checked these vague 
 musings. 
 
 Audrey was fully expected at the Cottage. 
 She had hardly lifted the latch of the gate 
 before Mollie appeared in the doorway. 
 
 ' I knew you would come/ she said shyly, as 
 Audrey kissed her and put the flowers in her 
 hands. ' Oh, what lovely flowers ! Are they 
 for mamma. Miss Ross ? Thank you ever so 
 much ! Mamma is so passionately fond of 
 flowers, and so is Cyril.'
 
 THE GRAY COTTAGE. 
 
 97 
 
 * And not Kester ?' 
 
 * Oh yes ; he loves them too/ burying her 
 face in the dehcious blossoms — ' roses especi- 
 ally ; they are his favourite flowers. But, 
 of course, no one thinks of sending them to 
 Kester ; he is only a boy.' 
 
 ' And I dare say you like them, too ?' 
 Mollie vehemently nodded assent. 
 ' Well, then, I shall bring you and Kester 
 some next time. You are right in thinking 
 those are for your mother. May I go in 
 and speak to her ? — for we have to be very 
 busy, you know.' 
 
 * Mamma is not up yet,' returned Mollie ; 
 and as Audrey looked surprised, she added 
 quickly : ' She and Cyril sat up so late last 
 night. She was wanting to hear all about his 
 evening, and it was such a lovely night that 
 they were in the garden until nearly twelve 
 o'clock, and so, of course, she is tired this 
 morning.' 
 
 Audrey made no reply to this. Mrs. Blake 
 was charming, but she was certainly a little 
 erratic in her habits. No wonder there was so 
 little comfort in the house when the mistress 
 disliked early rising. 
 
 Mollie seemed to take it as a matter of 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 course ; besides, she was too much absorbed in 
 the flowers to notice Miss Ross's reproving 
 silence. She rushed off to find a jug of water, 
 and Audrey turned into the dining-room, which 
 presented the same aspect of confusion that it 
 had worn yesterday. Kester was on his knees 
 trying to unpack a hamper of books. It cost 
 him a painful effort to rise, and he looked so 
 pale and exhausted that Audrey at once took 
 him in hand. 
 
 ' My dear boy,' she said kindly, as she helped 
 him to the sofa, ' how very imprudent ! You 
 have no right to try your strength in that 
 way. How could Mollie let you touch those 
 books !* 
 
 ' She has everything to do, and I wished to 
 help her,' he returned, panting with the exer- 
 tion. * Cyril wants his books so badly, and he 
 has put up the bookcase, you see. He did 
 that this morning — he had scarcely time to eat 
 his breakfast — and then he asked Mollie if she 
 would unpack the books.' 
 
 * I will help Mollie,' returned Audrey, laying 
 aside her hat. * Now, Kester, I want to ask 
 you a favour. You will only be in our way 
 here. Will you please take possession of that 
 nice hammock-chair that someone has put out-
 
 THE GRAY COTTAGE. 99 
 
 side the window ? and we will just fly round, as 
 the Yankee domestics say.' 
 
 Audrey spoke with such good-natured de- 
 cision, with such assurance of being obeyed, 
 that Kester did not even venture on a grumbling 
 remonstrance — the poor fellow was too much 
 accustomed to be set on one side, and to be 
 told that he was no use. But Audrey had no 
 intention of leaving him in idleness. 
 
 * By-and-by, when the room is a little clearer, 
 3'ou can be of the greatest help to us ; for 
 you can sit at the table and dust the books 
 in readiness for us to arrange.' And Kester's 
 face brightened up at that. 
 
 Audrey was quite in her element. As she 
 often told her mother, she was robust enough 
 for a housemaid. The well-ordered establish- 
 ment at Woodcote, with its staff of trained 
 domestics and its excellent matron, afforded 
 little scope for her youthful activities. Mrs. 
 Ross was her own housekeeper, and though 
 she had contentedly relinquished her duties to 
 Geraldine for the last few years, she had not yet 
 offered to transfer them to Audrey. 
 
 Audrey pretended to be a little hurt at this 
 arrangement, but in reality she was secretly 
 relieved. Her tastes were not sufficiently
 
 loo LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 domestic. She liked better to supplement her 
 mother's duties than to take the entire lead. 
 In her way she was extremely useful. She 
 wrote a great many of the business letters, 
 undertook all the London shopping, and assisted 
 Mrs. Ross in entertaining her numerous visitors, 
 many of whom were the boys' mothers ; and 
 thoueh Mrs. Ross still res^retted the loss of her 
 elder daughter, and complained that no one 
 could replace Geraldine, she was fully sensible 
 of Audrey's efficiency and good-humoured and 
 ready help. 
 
 'Audrey is as good as gold, and does all I want 
 her to do,' she said to Geraldine, when the latter 
 had questioned her very closely on the subject. 
 
 It was no trouble to Audrey to dash oft^ half 
 a dozen letters before post-time, or to drive into 
 Sittingbourne to meet a batch of boys' relatives. 
 She was naturally active, and hated an idle 
 moment ; but no work suited her so well as 
 this Herculean task of evoking order out of the 
 Blake chaos. Mollie was so charmed with her 
 energy, so fired by her example, that she 
 worked like a dozen Mollies. The books were 
 soon unpacked and on the table ; then Biddy 
 was called in to clear away the straw and 
 hampers, and to have a grand sweep. No-
 
 THE GRAY COTTAGE. loi 
 
 thing more could be done until this had been 
 carried out, so they left Biddy to revel in dust 
 and tea-leaves, while they turned out another 
 hamper or two in the kitchen ; for in the course 
 of their labours Mollie had confided to Audrey 
 that certain indispensable articles were still 
 missinof. 
 
 ' The best thing would be to get rid of as 
 many of the hampers as possible,' replied 
 Audrey ; ' they are only in the way ; let us 
 pack them up in the yard, and then one can 
 have room to move.' 
 
 When Biddy had finished her labours and 
 all the dirt had been removed, Kester hobbled 
 in willingly to dust the books, and Audrey and 
 Mollie arranored them on the shelves. There 
 were not so very many, but they were all 
 well and carefully chosen — Greek and Latin 
 authors, all Carlyle's and Emerson's works, 
 a few books of history and philosophy, the 
 principal poets, and some standard works of 
 fiction : Dickens, Thackeray, and Sir Walter 
 Scott — the latter bound very handsomely. 
 Audrey felt sure, as she placed the books 
 on the shelves, that this little library was 
 collected by a great deal of self-denial and 
 effort. The young student had probably little
 
 102 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 money to spare. With the exception of Sir 
 Walter Scott and Thackeray, none of the books 
 were handsomely bound ; that they were well 
 read was obvious, for a volume of Browning's 
 poems happening to fall from her hand, Audrey 
 could see profuse pencil-marks, and one philo- 
 sophical book had copious notes on the margin. 
 
 * They are all Cyril's books,' observed IMollie, 
 unconsciously answering Audrey's thought. 
 * Poor Cyril ! it is such a trouble to him that he 
 cannot afford to buy more books. W^hen he 
 was at Oxford he used to go without things to 
 get them ; he said he would sooner starve than 
 be without books. Is it not sad to be so dread- 
 fully poor, Miss Ross? But I suppose you 
 don't know how it feels. Mamma bought 
 him that lovely edition of Thackeray — oh, and 
 Sir Walter Scott's novels, too. Don't you 
 like that binding ? it is very expensive. Cyril 
 was so vexed at mamma's spending all that 
 money on him when K ester wanted things, I 
 am afraid he hardly thanked her, and mamma 
 cried about it.' 
 
 Mollie was chattering on without thinking 
 until a bell made her start and hurry away. 
 She did not come back for some time, and 
 Audrey finished her task alone.
 
 THE GRAY COTTAGE. 103 
 
 * I have been making mamma some coffee/ 
 she said gravely ; ' she had one of her head- 
 aches. She has sent you a message, Miss 
 Ross ; she is so deHghted with the flowers. She 
 wanted to get up at once and thank you, and 
 then she thou^rht she had better He still until 
 her headache was better ; but she will be down 
 presently.' 
 
 ' Then we must make haste and finish the 
 room before she conies. Mollie, I can do no- 
 thing with those pictures ; we will put them 
 up against the wall until your brother can hang 
 them. Let me see ; that corner behind the 
 writing-table — no one can see them there. 
 Quick! hand me another. Is this a portrait of 
 ) our father ?' stopping to regard a half-length 
 figure of a fine-looking man in naval uniform. 
 
 ' No, that is only an uncle of mamma's ; I 
 forget his name. Do you remember it, Kester? 
 Papa was a merchant — at least, I think so.' 
 
 ' Has he been long dead ?' 
 
 * Oh yes ; he died abroad when Kester and 
 I were quite little ; that is why we are so poor. 
 Mamma has often told us that it is her money 
 we are living on. I don't know how she 
 managed to send Cyril to Oxford ; but we had 
 no house all that time, only poky little
 
 I04 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 lodgings. Are we going to arrange the furni- 
 ture now, Miss Ross? Oh, how comfortable 
 the room begins to look, and how delighted Cyril 
 will be when he comes home this afternoon ! 
 He says that Dr. Ross wants him after school, 
 so he will not run home before dinner. How 
 glad I am that Cyril will always have a nice 
 dinner now ! He does so hate Biddy's cooking ; 
 he declares everything tastes alike. You say 
 so, too, don't you, Kester ?' 
 
 Kester's answer was a shrug of the shoulders ; 
 he seemed more reserved than Mollie, who was 
 chattering to her new friend with all the frank- 
 ness and thoughtlessness of a very young girl. 
 
 ' Mamma never minds what sort of dinner 
 Biddy sends up, if only Cyril does not find fault. 
 I think she would live on tea and dry bread 
 all the year round if only Cyril could have nice 
 things.' 
 
 Cyril — always Cyril ! Audrey turned the 
 subject by asking Mollie if she would like the 
 couch in the window. Mollie clapped her 
 hands delightedly at the effect. 
 
 ' It looks beautiful ; don't you think so, 
 Kester? And how funny ! Miss Ross has put 
 your own particular little table beside it, just 
 as though she guessed that it was to hold your
 
 THE GRAY COTTAGE. 105 
 
 desk and your books. There is Kester's little 
 box of books, but he will unpack them himself 
 by-and-by.' 
 
 * Mollie, have you ordered the dinner ?' inter- 
 rupted Kester a little anxiously — and poor 
 Mollie's face fell. 
 
 ' Oh dear, I am so sorry, but I have forgotten 
 all about it ; the butcher has not called, and 
 there are only those potatoes and bread and 
 cheese. Mamma is right when she says my 
 head is like a sieve.' 
 
 ' Why don't you send Biddy for some chops, 
 my dear ?' remarked Audrey very sensibly. 
 
 Kester had spoken in a loud whisper, but she 
 had overheard every word. Mollie started off 
 with a look of relief to hunt up the old woman, 
 and when Audrey found herself alone with 
 Kester she could not help saying to him : 
 
 ' Mollie is a very young housekeeper — girls 
 of fourteen are liable to forget sometimes ;' but 
 to her surprise he fired up at once : 
 
 ' They all expect too much of her ; I hate to 
 see her slave as she does : it is not right, it is 
 not fair — I tell Cyril so. She has no time to 
 herself; all her lessons are neglected. If only 
 mother would send Biddy away and get another 
 servant !'
 
 io6 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 * Who teaches Mollie, then ?' she asked, a 
 Httle curiously. 
 
 ' Oh, mother gives her lessons sometimes, 
 but they are not very regular, and I help her 
 with arithmetic and Latin. Cyril always gives 
 me an hour or two in the evening, when his 
 work is done, but of course Mollie does not care 
 to learn Greek.' 
 
 ' Do you mean that your brother gives you 
 lessons when he has been teaching all day i^' 
 
 * Ves, and he is awfully tired sometimes ; but 
 he never likes me to be disappointed. Mother 
 often tries to make him take a walk instead ; 
 but Cyril is such a brick : he never will listen 
 to her.' 
 
 Audrey felt a little glow of satisfaction as she 
 heard this. What a kind brother Mr. Blake 
 seemed to be — how truly estimable ! she would 
 never judge hastily of anyone again. Just then 
 the clock struck one, and she told Kester that 
 she must hurry away. She was disappointed 
 that Mrs. Blake had not yet appeared — she 
 wanted to see the face that had haunted her so 
 persistently ; but the bewitching widow had not 
 shown herself. 
 
 * I am afraid I must go, or I shall be late for 
 luncheon,' she said hurriedly.
 
 THE GRAY COTTAGE. 107 
 
 *I will tell Mollie,' returned the boy; and 
 then he said a little awkwardly : ' You have 
 been awfully good to us, Miss Ross ; I don't 
 know how Mollie and I are to thank you. You 
 must be quite tired out.' 
 
 Audrey laughed. 
 
 * I am not so easily tired, Kester, and I am 
 rather fond of this sort of work. Do you think 
 your mother would mind if I were to look in 
 to-morrow afternoon and help a little with the 
 drawing-room ? Mollie said something about 
 it just now, and I half promised — she is to help 
 Biddy put up the plates and dishes this after- 
 noon ; that will be as much as she can do.' 
 
 ' I am sure mother will be only too delighted,' 
 replied Kester gratefully ; and then Audrey 
 went in search of Mollie, and found her occupied 
 with the chops, while Biddy cleaned the knives. 
 Mollie turned a scorched cheek to her. 
 
 * Dear Miss Ross, thank you ever so much/ 
 she said fervently, as Audrey repeated her pro- 
 mise of looking in the next afternoon. 
 
 ' Poor little soul ! how interested Michael 
 will be when I tell him all about her !' she 
 thought as she walked briskly towards Wood- 
 cote. 
 
 Audrey had scarcely closed the green gate
 
 io8 LOVER OR FRIEND ? 
 
 behind her before Mrs. Blake's foot sounded 
 on the stairs. She looked pale and heavy-eyed, 
 and walked into the room a little languidly ; but 
 if Audrey had seen her she would only have 
 thought that her paleness invested her with 
 fresh interest. 
 
 ' Miss Ross has gone, mamma,' observed 
 Mollie regretfully, as she followed her into the 
 room. 
 
 ' Yes, I know ; I felt too jaded to face visitors 
 this morning — Miss Ross looks at one so, and 
 my nerves would not stand it. How are you, 
 Kester ?' kissing his forehead lightly ; ' you look 
 better than usual. I don't believe I closed my 
 eyes until four o'clock. Dear me !' interrupting 
 herself; ' there are Cyril's books nicely arranged 
 — did you do them. Mollie ? Why. the room 
 looks quite comfortable and homelike. Miss 
 Ross must have helped you a great deal.' 
 
 ' Oh yes, mamma,' exclaimed Mollie and 
 Kester eagerly ; and they were about to 
 expatiate on Audrey's wonderful goodness, 
 when their mother checked them : 
 
 ' Please don't speak so loud, children, or you 
 will make my head bad again. I will tell you 
 what we will do, Mollie. We will make those 
 curtains, and then this room will be quite
 
 THE GRAY COTTAGE. 109 
 
 finished. There are only the hems and just 
 the tops to do. We can have no difficulty in 
 finishing them before Cyril comes home. The 
 red tablecloth is at the top of the black box — if 
 you will fetch it, Mollie — and I have arranged 
 the flowers in that pretty green vase.' 
 
 ' But, mamma,' pleaded Mollie, in a vexed 
 voice, ' the room will do quite w^ell without 
 curtains for one day, and I promised Miss Ross 
 to help Biddy with the plates and dishes. All 
 the hampers are unpacked, and there is not a 
 corner in the kitchen to put anything — and it 
 does make Biddy so cross.' 
 
 ^ Nonsense, Mollie ! Who minds about 
 Biddy's crossness ? I suppose I may do as 
 I like in my own house. Let us have dinner, 
 and then we will set to work at once — you and 
 I — and Kester can read to us ;' and, seeing 
 that her mother's mind was fully made up, 
 Mollie very wisely held her tongue, probably 
 admonished thereto by a mild kick from 
 Kester. 
 
 So, as soon as the chops had been eaten, 
 Mollie produced her mother's workbasket and a 
 shabby little cotton-box that was appropriated 
 to her own use, and sewed industriously, only 
 pausing at intervals to watch the white, slender
 
 no LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 fingers that seemed to make the needle fly 
 through the stuff. 
 
 Mrs. Blake was evidently an accomplished 
 seamstress, and long before four o'clock the 
 curtains were put up, and duly admired by the 
 whole family and Biddy.
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 KESTER S HERO. 
 
 ' Measure thy life by loss instead of gain — 
 Not by wine drunk, but by the wine poured forth ; 
 For love's strength standeth in love's sacrifice ; 
 And whoso suffers most hath most to give.' 
 
 Ugo Bassi. 
 
 Audrey was bent on keeping her promise to 
 Mollie, but she found a great deal of finesse and 
 skilful management were necessary to secure 
 her afternoon from interruption. 
 
 First, there was a note from Hillside. Mrs. 
 Harcourt had to pay a round of visits, and 
 would be glad of her sister's company ; and as 
 Mrs. Ross evidently thought that a refusal was 
 impossible under such circumstances, Audrey 
 felt that she was in a dilemma. 
 
 * Gage will have the carriage,' she said, with a 
 trace of annoyance in her tone. ' She cannot 
 possibly require me, especially as she knows an
 
 112 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 afternoon spent in paying formal calls is my pet 
 abomination.' 
 
 ' But, my dear Audrey, you would surely not 
 allow your sister to go alone,' began her mother 
 in a voice of mild remonstrance. She very 
 seldom interfered with Audrey — indeed, that 
 young person was in most respects her own 
 mistress — but when Geraldine's interests were 
 involved Mrs. Ross could be firm. ' You are 
 very good-natured,' she went on, * and I am 
 sure it is very good of you to take all that 
 trouble for those poor neglected children' — for 
 Mrs. Ross's motherly sympathies were already 
 enlisted on behalf of Mollie and Kester — ' but, 
 of course, your first duty is to your sister.' 
 
 ' But, my dear mother, a promise is a pro- 
 mise, and poor little Mollie is expecting me.' 
 And then a bright idea came to Audrey. 'Why 
 should you not go with Gage yourself? It is a 
 lovely afternoon, and the drive will do you 
 good. Gage would much prefer your company 
 to mine, and you know how much she admires 
 your new bonnet ;' and though Mrs. Ross 
 faintly demurred to this, she was in the end 
 overruled by Audrey. 
 
 * Dear mother ! she and Gage will enjoy 
 themselves thoroughly,' thought Audrey, as she
 
 HESTER'S HERO. 113 
 
 watched Mrs. Ross drive from the door, looking 
 the picture of a well-dressed English gentle- 
 woman. 
 
 Audrey had to inflict another disappointment 
 before she could get her own way. Michael 
 wanted her to go with him to the cricket-field. 
 There was a match being played, and on these 
 occasions Audrey was always his companion. 
 She understood the game as well as he did, 
 and always took an intelligent interest in it. 
 Audrey was sorry to refuse him and to see him 
 go off alone. 
 
 * Never mind ; I dare say I shall only stay 
 for an hour.' he said, as he took down his hat 
 and walked with her to the gate of the Gray 
 Cottage. 
 
 Mollie was on the watch for her, and darted 
 out to meet her. 
 
 ' Oh, Miss Ross,' she said excitedly, ' I have 
 so much to tell you ! Mamma has had to go up 
 to London this morning on business, and she is 
 so sorry because she did not see you yesterday ; 
 and I was to give you all sorts of messages and 
 thanks. And now please do come into the 
 kitchen a moment, and you will see how hard 
 we have worked.' 
 
 Audrey followed her at once. 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 114 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 * Oh, Mollie, how could you have done so 
 much !' she exclaimed in genuine surprise, as 
 she looked round her. 
 
 The plates and dishes were neatly arranged 
 on the dresser, the dish-covers and tins hanging 
 in their places, the crate of glass and china 
 emptied of its contents and in the )'ard. The 
 rtoor had been scrubbed as well as the table, 
 and Biddy stood by the side of her freshly- 
 blackleaded stove, with the first smile Audrey 
 had yet seen on her wrinkled face. 
 
 * It is not all Miss Mollie's doini^,' she said, 
 with a chuckle, as she carried off the kettle. 
 
 * Did your mother help you ?' asked Audrey, 
 for Mollie only looked mysterious. 
 
 * Mamma ! Oh dear no ! She was busy all 
 the evening with the curtains. Oh, what fun ! 
 I do wish Kester were here, but he is studying 
 his Greek. Dear Miss Ross, you do look so 
 puzzled. It was not mamma, and it was not 
 Biddy, though she cleaned the kitchen this 
 morning ; and of course it could not be 
 Kester.' 
 
 ' I will give it up,' returned Audrey, laughing^ 
 ' Some n-iai^ician must have been at work — and 
 a very clever magician, too.' 
 
 * Oh, I will tell Cyril that I' replied Mollie,
 
 HESTER'S HERO. 115 
 
 clapping her hands. ' Why did you not guess 
 Cyril, Miss Ross ? He is clever enough for 
 anything.' 
 
 ' Do you mean Mr. Blake put up all these 
 plates and dishes ?' observed Audrey, feeling as 
 much surprised as an Athenian damsel would 
 have been if she had heard of Apollo turning 
 scullion. 
 
 ' Yes, indeed ! I must tell you all about it,' 
 returned MoUie garrulously, for she was an 
 inveterate chatterbox. * You know, I had pro- 
 mised to help Biddy because she was in such a 
 muddle, and then mamma came down and said 
 we must get the dining-room curtains ready, 
 to surprise Cyril when he came home. 
 
 ' Well, he was very pleased ; but I am afraid 
 mamma thought that he took more notice of 
 the way his books were arranged than of the 
 curtains ; but he said it all looked very nice, 
 and that we were getting to rights now ; and 
 then mamma said that, as she was in the mood 
 for work, we might as well do the drawing- 
 room curtains as well.' 
 
 * But, my dear Mollie, the furniture is not 
 yet arranged.' 
 
 ' No, of course not ; but you don*t under- 
 stand mamma. She never does things quite 
 
 8—2
 
 ii6 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 like Other people. She likes either to work all 
 day long, and not give herself time for meals 
 even, or else to do nothing ; she likes begin- 
 ning things, but she hates being compelled to 
 finish them. That is why I am obliged to 
 mend this shabby old frock,' looking down at it 
 ruefully. * Mamma has two such pretty ones 
 half done, and I don't know when she will 
 finish them.' 
 
 * Does your mother make all your frocks, 
 dear ?' 
 
 ' Yes ; and she does work so beautifully — 
 everyone says so. But she is not always in 
 the mood, and then it troubles her ; she was in 
 the curtain mood last ni^ht. C\ ril saw I was 
 vexed about something, and when mamma went 
 out of the room he asked me if I w^ere tired ; 
 and I could hardly help crying as I told him 
 about my promise to you ; and then he called 
 me a little goose, and pulled my hair, as he does 
 sometimes, and told me to leave it to him.' 
 
 ' Yes ' as Mollie paused from sheer want 
 
 of breath. 
 
 ' Of course Cyril can always manage 
 mamma. He sent me into the kitchen, and in 
 ten minutes he came after me, and asked 
 what was to be done. Kester dusted all the
 
 KESTER'S HERO. 117 
 
 glass, and Cyril and I did the rest. We were 
 hard at work till ten o'clock ; and Biddy was 
 so pleased.' 
 
 * And now we must go upstairs,' returned 
 Audrey, when Mollie's story was told. 
 * Perhaps Biddy will be good enough to help 
 us.' And in a little while the three were hard 
 at work. 
 
 Audrey and Mollie arranged the shabby 
 furniture to the best advantage. One or two 
 Oriental rugs were spread on the dark-polished 
 floor ; then the curtains were hung and draped 
 in the most effective manner, and some old 
 china, that Mollie said was her mother's special 
 treasure, was carefully washed and placed on 
 the shelves of an old cabinet. 
 
 * It really looks very nice,' observed Audrey 
 contentedly, when Biddy had gone down to see 
 after the tea. She had enjoyed her afternoon 
 far more than if she had been paying those calls 
 with Geraldine. * I always liked this room so 
 much ;' and she gave a touch to the big 
 Japanese screen and flecked some dust from 
 the writing-table. ' I dare^^say your mother will 
 alter the position of the furniture — people always 
 have their own ideas. But I hope she will not 
 move the couch ; it stands so well in that recess.
 
 Ii8 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 Do you think she will like this little table in 
 the window, Mollie ? I am sure this would be 
 my favourite seat ;' and Audrey took it for a 
 moment as she spoke, and looked down at the 
 old arches and the quiet courtyard, with its 
 well-worn riacrstones. The martins were twit- 
 tering about the eaves ; some brown, dusty 
 sparrows were chirping loudly. The ivy- 
 covered buildings round the corner were just 
 visible ; and a large gray cat moved stealthily 
 between the arches, intent on some subtle 
 mischief. Mr. Charrington's boys were all on 
 the cricket-field, watchincr an excitincr match 
 between Rutherford and Hailebury, and the 
 school-house was deserted. 
 
 ' That must be your seat when you come 
 to see us,* observed INIollie affectionately. 
 ' Mamma was only saying this morning that 
 she had taken a fancy to you, and hoped you 
 would come very often ; and Kester said he 
 hoped so, too, because you were so very kind.' 
 
 * Did you have many friends at Headingly?' 
 asked Audrey absently. 
 
 She was wondering to whom Kester was 
 talking. She could hear his voice through the 
 open window; it sounded bright and animated. 
 It could not possibly be his brother. Mr. Blake
 
 KESTER'S HERO. 119 
 
 would be with the boys on the cricket field. 
 Perhaps Mrs. Blake had returned from town. 
 
 * VVe had no friends at all,' returned Mollie 
 disconsolately; ' at least, no real friends. People 
 just called on us and left their cards. Mrs. 
 Bryce was very kind to Kester, but mamma 
 never got on with her. We none of us liked 
 Headingly much, except Cyril. Everyone 
 was nice to him, but when mamma fretted and 
 said she was miserable, and that no one in the 
 place cared for her, he seemed to lose interest, 
 too ; and when this vacancy occurred, he just 
 said he had had enough of it, and that mamma 
 would be happier in a fresh place, and so we 
 came here, and now we have found you ;' and 
 Mollie's brown eyes were very soft as she 
 spoke. 
 
 * Oh, you will find plenty of people to like 
 at Rutherford,' replied Audrey. ' You have 
 not seen my mother yet, Mollie ; she is so good 
 to everyone, and so is father. And then there 
 is my cousin. Captain Burnett, who half lives 
 with us ; he is one of the nicest men possible.' 
 
 But as Audrey spoke, she had no idea that 
 Michael was that minute talkinof to Kester. 
 It fell out in this way: Michael found it slow 
 on the cricket-field without Audrey ; so man)'
 
 120 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 people came up and talked to him that he got 
 quite bored. Captain Burnett was a general 
 favourite with men as well as women ; he had 
 the reputation of being a hero : women pitied 
 him for his ill-health and misfortunes, and men 
 admired him for the cheerful pluck with which 
 he endured them. 
 
 ' Burnett is a pleasant fellow^ and a gentle- 
 man/ was one observation. * Perhaps he is a 
 bit solemn at times, but I fancy that confounded 
 wound of his gives him trouble. Anyhow, he 
 never plagues other people with his ailments. 
 ''Grin and bear it" — I fancy that is Burnett's 
 motto.* 
 
 Michael found the cricket-field dull without 
 Audrey's liveliness to give zest to the after- 
 noon ; she always took people away when 
 he was tired. He had had enough of it long 
 before the match was over. Just as he was 
 sauntering homewards he encountered Mr. 
 Blake, and in the course of brief conversation 
 he learnt that Mrs. Blake was in town. 
 
 Michael thoucrht he would call and see if 
 Audrey were ready to come home — it would 
 do no harm to inquire at the door; but Biddy, 
 who was scouring the doorsteps, told him 
 abruptly to step in and he would find the lady ;
 
 KESTER'S HERO. 121 
 
 and, half amused at his own coolness, he, 
 nothing loath, accepted the invitation. 
 
 He found Kester alone in the dining-room 
 busy over his lessons. He looked up in some 
 astonishment at the sight of a strange gentle- 
 man, and Zack, the retriever, growled rather 
 inhospitably at Booty. Perhaps the Dachs- 
 hund's short legs affronted him. 
 
 ' Am I disturbing you ?' asked Michael in 
 his most genial manner. And he looked at the 
 boy's pale, intelligent face with much interest. 
 ' I have come to see after my cousin, Miss 
 Ross. Is she anywhere about ? My name is 
 Captain Burnett.' 
 
 ' Oh, I know,' returned Kester, flushing a 
 little nervously under the scrutiny of those keen 
 blue eyes ; ' Cyril told us about you. Miss 
 Ross is upstairs with Mollie ; they are putting 
 the drawing-room to rights, but they will be 
 down to tea presently. Will you sit down,' 
 still more nervously, ' or shall I call Mollie ?' 
 
 * No, no ; there is no hurry, unless I am in- 
 terrupting you,' with a glance at Kester's 
 books. ' You are doing Greek, eh ?' 
 
 * Yes, I am getting ready for Cyril this 
 evening ; but I am too tired to do more.' 
 
 And Kester pushed away his papers with
 
 122 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 a mov^ement that betrayed latent irritability. 
 Michael knew that sign of weakness well. 
 
 * That is right ; shut up your books,' he said 
 with ready kindness. ' Never work when you 
 are tired : it is bad economy ; it is using up 
 one's stock of fuel too recklessly — lighting a 
 furnace to cook a potato. The results are not 
 worth it. Tired work is bad work — I have 
 proved it.' 
 
 ' I am generally tired/ returned Kester with 
 a sigh. And it was sad to see the gravity that 
 crept over the young face. ' It does not do to 
 think too much of one's feelings ; one has just 
 to bear it, you know. I am ignorant enough 
 as it is, and I must learn ; I will learn !' setting 
 his teeth hard. 
 
 Michael shot a quick glance at the lad ; then 
 he turned over the leaves of the book next him 
 for a moment in silence. 
 
 ' I must know more of this fellow,' he 
 thought ; ' Audrey is right ; she is generally 
 right about people.' Then in his ordinary 
 quiet tone : 
 
 * I wonder your brother finds time for private 
 tuition. I live at the lower school, you know, 
 and so I understand all about the junior 
 master's work. Mr. Blake has his evenings
 
 KESTER'S HERO. 123 
 
 free generally, but there is dormitory work 
 and ' 
 
 * Cyril says he will always give me an hour 
 and a half,' interrupted Kester eagerly. ' Of 
 course, it is not good for him to have any more 
 teaching ; but he says he would hate to see me 
 grow up a dunce — and — and' — swallowing 
 down some secret emotion — ' I think it would 
 break my heart not to know things.' 
 
 * And you want to be a classical scholar ?' in 
 the same grave tones. 
 
 ' I want to learn everything ;' and here there 
 was a sudden kindling in the boy's eyes. ' I 
 must do something, and my lameness hinders 
 everything but that — perhaps, if I learn plenty 
 of Latin and Greek, I may be able to help Cyril 
 one day. We often talk about it, and even 
 mother thinks it is a good plan. One day 
 Cyril hopes to have a school of his own — when 
 he is older, you know — and then I could take 
 the younger boys off his hands and save him 
 the cost of an usher ; don't you think that 
 would be possible ?' looking anxiously at 
 Michael, for somehow those steady clear eyes 
 seemed so thoroughly to comprehend him. 
 
 ' I think it an excellent plan,' returned 
 Michael slowly; '"knowledge is power" — we
 
 124 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 all know that. Do you know/ drawling out his 
 words a little, ' that I have been working at 
 Greek, too, for the last two years ? I took it up as 
 a sort of amusement when I was seedy ; it would 
 not be bad fun to work together sometimes. I 
 dare say you are ahead of me in Greek, but I 
 don't believe you could beat me in mathematics. 
 We could help each other, and it would be good 
 practice. I suppose your brother gives you 
 lessons in mathematics.' 
 Kester shook his head. 
 
 * There is not time for everything, and Cyril 
 always says mathematics are not in his line — 
 he is a classical master, you see.' 
 
 * Oh yes, that is easily understood ; but you 
 can have more than one master. Come, shall 
 we make a bargain ? Will you read Greek with 
 me ? and I will give you an hour three times a 
 week for mathematics, or anything else you like. 
 I am an idle man, and any fixed occupation 
 would be a boon to me.' 
 
 ' Do you mean it ?' was the breathless answer ; 
 and then he added, a little sh) ly : ' I am awfully 
 obliged ; I should like it of all things ; but you 
 are not strong, are you .'^ — Miss Ross told 
 us so ' 
 
 'Not particularly; I was rather knocked
 
 KESTER'S HERO. 125 
 
 about by the Zulus, you know, and my leg 
 gives me a good deal of trouble. I am pretty 
 heavily handicapped — we are both in the same 
 beat, are we not ? — but we may as well make a 
 fight for it.' 
 
 * Someone told me,' returned Kester, in a 
 tone of great awe, * that you have the Victoria 
 Cross, Captain Burnett.' 
 
 Michael nodded ; he never cared to be ques- 
 tioned on the subject. 
 
 * Will you let Mollie and me see it one day ?^ 
 half whispered the boy. ' I hope you don't 
 mind my asking you, but I have always so 
 wanted to see it. I am afraid you won't tell us 
 all about it, but I should dearly love to hear.' 
 
 No one had ever induced Michael to tell that 
 story ; the merest allusion to his gallantry 
 alw^ays froze him up in a moment — even Dr. 
 Ross, who was his nearest confidant, had never 
 heard the recital from his own lips. But for 
 once Michael let himself be persuaded ; Kester's 
 boyish eagerness prevailed, and, to his own 
 surprise, Michael found himself giving the 
 terrible details in a cool, business-like manner. 
 
 No wonder Kester forgot the time as he 
 listened ; the lad's sensitive frame thrilled with 
 passionate envy at the narrative. At last he
 
 126 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 had met a hero face to face. What were those 
 old Greek fellows — Ajax, or Hector, or any of 
 those gaudy warriors — compared to this quiet 
 English soldier ? 
 
 ' Oh. if I could only be you !' he sighed, as 
 Michael ended his recital ; ' if I could look back 
 on a deed like that ! How many lives did you 
 save, Captain Burnett ? — you told me, but I have 
 forgotten. I think you are the happiest man I 
 know.' 
 
 Kester in his boyish reticence could not speak 
 out his inmost thought, or he would have added: 
 * And the greatest and the grandest man I have 
 ever seen.' 
 
 A dim, inscrutable smile flitted over Captain 
 Burnett's features. 
 
 ' My dear fellow, happiness is a purely relative 
 term. I am not a great believer in happiness. 
 A soldier without his work is hardly to be 
 envied.' 
 
 Kester was young, but his life had already 
 taught him many things. He was acute enough 
 to detect a note of bitterness in his new friend's 
 voice. It said, more than his words, that Captain 
 Burnett was a disappointed man. He looked at 
 him wistfully for a moment. 
 
 * Yes, I know what you mean. You would
 
 HESTER'S HERO. 127 
 
 like to be back with your regiment. It is very 
 hard — very hard, of course ; but you are not 
 suffering for nothing, Hke me. Don't you see 
 the difference ?' — dropping his voice. ' I have 
 got this pain to bear, and no good comes of it ; 
 it is just bearing, and nothing else. But you 
 have suffered in saving other men's lives. It is 
 a kind of ransom. Oh, I don't know how to 
 express myself, but it must be happiness to 
 have a memory like that !' 
 
 Kester had spoken with a sort of involuntary 
 outburst. For a moment Captain Burnett 
 turned his head aside. He felt rebuked by 
 this crude, boyish enthusiasm, which had gone 
 so straight to the heart of things. Why was 
 he, the grown man, so selfish, so impatient, 
 when this poor lad acquiesced so meekly in his 
 fate ? Had Kester deserved his lot ? 
 
 'You are right,' observed Michael, in a low 
 tone. ' One ought only to be thankful, and not 
 complain.' 
 
 And just at this moment Audrey came in, 
 and stood on the threshold transfixed with 
 amazement, until Michael rose and offered her 
 a chair. 
 
 * You here !' she gasped. ' I thought I heard 
 voices. Mollie, this is my cousin, Captain
 
 128 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 Burnett. I suppose we must let him stay to 
 tea.' 
 
 Mollie gave her invitation very shyly. The 
 poor child was thinking of her shabby frock, 
 with the great rent in the skirt, so hastily 
 cobbled up. The pale man with the n-ddish 
 moustache was very formidable in Mollie's eyes. 
 Mollie was sure her hand would tremble when 
 she lifted the heavy teapot. She had been 
 so looking forward to having a cosy tea with 
 their dear Miss Ross, and now everything was 
 spoilt. 
 
 When Mollie was shy she always lookt^d a 
 little sulky ; but Michael, who noticed her em- 
 barrassment, set himself to charm it away. 
 
 Biddy had set the little tea-table under the 
 acacia-tree; but as Mollie, blushing and awk- 
 ward, commenced her arduous duties, she found 
 herself assisted by the formidable Captain 
 Burnett. 
 
 Before half an hour was over Mollie thoucfht 
 him quite the nicest man that she had ever 
 seen. He was so kind, so helpful ; he told 
 such interesting stories. Mollie forgot her 
 Cinderella rags as she listened. Her eyes 
 sparkled ; a pretty colour came to her face ; 
 her rough brown hair had gleams of gold
 
 KESTER'S HERO. 129 
 
 in it. Mollie did not look plain or awkward 
 then. 
 
 * Her eyes are nice, and she has a sweet 
 voice and a ringing laugh,' thought Michael, as 
 he glanced at her. 
 
 How merry they all were ! What nonsense 
 they talked, as they sat there watching some 
 pigeons circling among the arches ! The little 
 garden was still and pleasant. Zack was 
 stretched out beside them, with Booty curled 
 up near him. Audrey was the first to call 
 attention to the lateness of the hour. 
 
 ' We must go home now, Michael,' she said, 
 in a tone of regret, which was loudly echoed by 
 Mollie and Kester. 
 
 Mollie closed the green gate after them ; then 
 she rushed back to Kester. 
 
 ' Do you like him — Captain Burnett, I mean ?' 
 she asked eagerly. ' I was so afraid of him at 
 first ; his eyes seem to look one through and 
 through, even when he sa}s nothing. But he is 
 kind — very kind.' 
 
 ' Is that all you have found out about him ?' 
 returned her brother contemptuously. ' That is 
 so like a girl ! Who cares about his eyes ? Do 
 you know what he is ? He is a hero — he has 
 theVictoria Cross. He has saved a lot of lives. 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 Come here, and I will tell you all about it ; it 
 will make your hair stand on end more than 
 it does now.' 
 
 But the story made Mollie cry, and from that 
 hour she and Kester elected Captain Burnett to 
 the position of their favourite hero. 
 
 ' We must tell Cyril all about him when he 
 comes home,' observed Mollie, drying her eyes. 
 ' You are right, Kester. Captain Burnett is 
 quite the best, and the nicest, and the bravest 
 man I have ever seen.' 
 
 * Hear, hear T interposed Cyril mischievously, 
 thrustinof his dark face out of the dining^-room 
 window. He had heard the whole story with 
 a great deal of interest. And then, as Mollie 
 darted towards him with a little shriek of 
 assumed anger, he laughed, and sauntered out 
 into the garden. 
 
 * Let us do our Greek out here, old fellow,' he 
 said, throwing himself down on the grass, while 
 Zack jumped on him. * Have you got some 
 tea for me, Mollie, or have you forgotten the 
 teapot in your hero-worship ? How late mother 
 is !' He hesitated and looked at Kester. * She 
 would like me to meet her ; it is such a long, 
 lonely walk. But no ' — as a cloud stole over 
 Kester's face — * perhaps she will take the omni-
 
 HESTER'S HERO. i:;i 
 
 bus. Open your books and let me see your 
 day's work ;' and Cyril quietly repressed a 
 yawn as he took a cup of cold tea from Mollie's 
 hand. 
 
 He was tired. A walk through the dewy 
 lanes would refresh him. He was in a restless 
 mood ; he wanted to be alone, to stretch him- 
 self and to think — perhaps to indulge in some 
 youthful dream. But he was used to combating 
 these moods ; he would rather bear anything 
 than disappoint Kester. And then he drank off 
 his tea without a murmur, and the next moment 
 the two brothers were hard at work. 
 
 9—2
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ' I HOPE BETTER THINGS OF AUDREY.' 
 
 'Your manners are always under examination, and by com- 
 mittees little suspected — a police in citizen's clothes — who are 
 awardin<^ or denying you very high prizes when you least think 
 of it.'— Emerson. 
 
 Mrs. Harcourt had had a successful after- 
 noon. All the best people had been at home, 
 and a great many pleasant things had been 
 said to her ; her mother had been a charming 
 companion. Nevertheless, there was a slight 
 cloud on Mrs. Harcourt's face as she walked 
 through the shrubbery that led to her house, 
 and the fold of care was still on her brow as 
 she entered her husband's study — a pleasant 
 room on the ground-floor, overlookinsf the 
 garden. Mr. Harcourt was reading, but he 
 put down his magazine and greeted his wife 
 with a smile. He was just rising from his seat,
 
 '/ HOPE BETTER THINGS OF AUDREY: 133 
 
 but she prevented him by laying her hand on 
 his shoulder. 
 
 * Don't move, Percival ; you look so com- 
 fortable. I will sit by you a minute. I hope 
 I am not interrupting you.' 
 
 ' Such an interruption is only pleasant, my 
 dear/ was the polite answer. * Well, have you 
 and Audrey had a nice afternoon ?' 
 
 ' Mother came with me. Audrey had some 
 ridiculous ens^ao^ement with the Blakes. 
 Percival, I am growing seriously uneasy at 
 this new vagary on Audrey's part. Would 
 you believe it ? — she has been the whole after- 
 noon at the Gray Cottage helping those 
 children ! and Michael has been there,- too ; we 
 met them just now.' 
 
 Mr. Harcourt raised his eyebrows ; he was 
 evidently surprised at this bit of news, though 
 he took it with his usual philosophy. 
 
 * Never mind, Jerry,' he said kindly, after 
 a glance at his wife's vexed face, * we cannot 
 always inoculate people with our own common- 
 sense. Audrey was always inclined to go her 
 own gait.' 
 
 Geraldine blushed ; she always did when her 
 husband called her Jerry. Not that she minded 
 it from him, but if anyone else — one of the boys,
 
 134 LOVER OR FRIEA'D? 
 
 for example — were to hear it, the dignified mis- 
 tress of the house felt she would never have got 
 over it. In her unmarried days no one had 
 presumed to call her anything but Geraldine 
 or Gage, and yet before three months were 
 over her husband had invented this nickname 
 for her. 
 
 ' It is no use fretting over it,' he went on in 
 the same equable voice ; ' you and Audrey are 
 very different people, my love.' 
 
 ' Yes ; but, Percy dear, it is so trying of 
 Audrey to take up the very people that mother 
 and I were so anxious to avoid. I declare I am 
 quite sorry for mother ; she said, very truly, 
 how is she to keep an intrusive person like 
 Mrs. Blake at a distance now Audrey has 
 struck up this violent friendship with her ? She 
 has even taken Michael there, for of course he 
 would never go of his own accord. I am so 
 vexed about it all ; it has quite spoilt my after- 
 noon.' 
 
 * Burnett was on the cricket-field a great part 
 of the afternoon,' returned Mr. Harcourt. ' I 
 saw him talking to Charrington and Sayers.' 
 
 • Then she must have asked him to fetch 
 her,' replied Geraldine, with an air of decision 
 that evidently amused her husband ; ' for
 
 '/ HOPE BETTER THINGS OF AUDREY: 135 
 
 Michael told us of his own accord that he had 
 been having tea at the Cottage. It is really 
 very foolish and incautious of Audrey, after 
 Edith's hint, too ! I wish you would tell her 
 so, Percival, for she only laughs at my advice.' 
 
 * And you think she would listen to me ?^ 
 — still with the same amused curl of the lip. 
 
 * I think she ought to listen to you, dear — a 
 man of your experience and knowledge of the 
 world — if you would give her a little of your 
 mind. It is so absurd for a grown-up person 
 to behave like an impulsive child. Michael is 
 particular in some things, but he spoils Audrey 
 dreadfully. He and father encourage her. It 
 is your duty, Percival, to act a brother's part 
 by her, and guide her for her own good.' 
 
 Geraldine was evidently in earnest, and Mr. 
 Harcourt forbore to smile as he answered her : 
 
 * But if she refused to be guided by me, my 
 dear ?' 
 
 ' Oh, I hope better things of Audrey,' replied 
 Geraldine, in such a solemn voice that her 
 husband laughed outright, though he drew 
 down her face to his the next minute and 
 kissed it. 
 
 ' You are a good girl to believe in your 
 husband. I don't envy Audrey's future spouse;
 
 ,36 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 he will have much to bear. Audrey is too 
 philanthropic, too unpractical altogether, for a 
 smooth domestic life. We are different people, 
 as I said before. Come, cheer up, darling. 
 If I hnd it possible to say a word in season, 
 you may trust me to do so. Ah ! there is the 
 dressing-bell.' 
 
 And Mr. Harcourt rose and stretched him- 
 self, and began gathering up his papers as a 
 hint to his wife that the subject was concluded. 
 
 Audrey was not so unreasonable as her sister 
 supposed ; she had no intention of placing 
 herself in direct opposition to her family — on 
 the contrary, she was somewhat troubled by 
 Geraldine's chilling reception that afternoon. 
 Michael had stopped the carriage and informed 
 the two ladies of the manner in which he and 
 Audrey had spent their afternoon. 
 
 ' We have both been having tea at the Gray 
 Cottage,' he said cheerfully. ' I hope you have 
 spent as pleasant an afternoon. Gage. That 
 youngster — Kester they call him — is a bright, 
 intelligent lad, and Mollie is a nice child.' 
 
 ' Oh, indeed !' was Geraldine's reply ; * I am 
 afraid we are late, Michael, and must drive on ; 
 and then she nodded to Audrey : but there was 
 no pleasant smile on her face.
 
 '/ HOPE BETTER THINGS OF AUDREY: 137 
 
 * Gage is put out with us both/ observed 
 Audrey, as they turned in at Woodcote. ' I 
 shall be in for another lecture, Michael.' 
 
 Audrey had no wish to be a bugbear to her 
 family. For several reasons she thought it 
 politic to avoid the Gray Cottage for a day or 
 two : Mollie must not depend on her too much. 
 When her mother and Geraldine had called, 
 and Mrs. Blake was on visiting terms with 
 them, things would be on a pleasanter footing. 
 She was somewhat surprised, when Sunday 
 came, to find Mr. Blake was the sole repre- 
 sentative of his family in the school chapel. 
 She had looked for the widow and her children 
 in the morning, and again in the afternoon, and 
 as she exchanged greetings with Cyril in the 
 courtyard after service she could not refrain 
 from questioning him on the subject. 
 
 ' I hope Mrs. Blake has not another head- 
 ache ?' she asked rather abruptly as he came 
 up to her, looking very handsome and dis- 
 tinguished in his cap and gown — and again 
 Audrey remembered her unlucky speech about 
 the Greek god. 
 
 Cyril seemed a little embarrassed. 
 
 ' Oh no, she is quite well, only a litde tired ; 
 she has rather knocked herself up. Kester had
 
 1 38 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 a touch of his old pain, so I told him not to 
 come.' 
 
 ' And Mollie ?' But Cyril did not appear to 
 hear the question. 
 
 ' Will you excuse me ?' he observed the next 
 moment, rather hurriedly ; ' I think Mrs. Char- 
 rington is waiting for me — she asked me to go 
 to the school-house to tea.' 
 
 And as he left her, Audrey found herself 
 obliged to join her sister and Mr. Harcourt. 
 
 * Have you many people coming to you to- 
 morrow afternoon ?' asked Geraldine, as they 
 walked on together. 
 
 ' Only the Luptons and Fortescues and Mr. 
 Owen and Herr Schaffmann — oh, and — I forgot, 
 father asked Mr. Blake.' 
 
 Audrey spoke a little absently. They were 
 passing the Gray Cottage — a blind was just then 
 raised in one of the lower rooms, and a small 
 pale face peeped eagerly out at the passers-by. 
 Audrey smiled and waved her hand in a friendly 
 manner, and a bright answering smile lighted 
 up the girlish face. 
 
 * What an untidy-looking child 1' remarked 
 Geraldine carelessly; 'is that yowx protdgde?' 
 and then she continued, in a reproving tone : 
 * It is really disgraceful that none of the family
 
 'I HOPE BETTER THINGS OF AUDREY.' 139 
 
 were in chapel. Edith was right when she 
 spoke of Mrs. Blake's mismanagement of her 
 children ; that poor girl had a most neglected 
 look.' 
 
 Audrey did not answer ; she thought it wiser 
 to allow her sister's remark to pass unchallenged; 
 she had a shrewd suspicion why Mollie was not 
 in chapel — the shabby, outgrown frock .had 
 probably kept her at home. 
 
 ' Poor little thing !' she thought, with a fresh 
 access of pity, for Mollie had certainly looked 
 very forlorn. And then she turned her atten- 
 tion with some difficulty to what Geraldine was 
 saying. 
 
 Dr. Ross was famed for his hospitality, and 
 both he and his wife loved to gather the young 
 people of Rutherford about them. 
 
 On Monday afternoons during the summer 
 there was always tennis on the Woodcote lawn ; 
 one or two of the families from the Hill houses, 
 and perhaps a bachelor master or two, made up 
 a couple of sets. The elder ladies liked to 
 watch the game or to stroll about the beautiful 
 grounds. Mrs. Ross was an excellent hostess ; 
 she loved to prepare little surprises for her 
 guests — iced drinks or strawberries and cream. 
 Geraldine generally presided at her mother's
 
 I40 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 tea-table ; Audrey would be among the players. 
 Tennis-parties and garden-parties of all kinds 
 were common enough in Rutherford, but those 
 at Woodcote certainly carried off the palm. 
 
 Mr. Harcourt had always been considered one 
 of the best players, but on the Monday in ques- 
 tion he found himself ranged against no mean 
 antagonist, and he was obliged to own that 
 young Blake played superbly. 
 
 * You would have won every game this after- 
 noon if you had had a better partner,' observed 
 Audrey, as she and Cyril walked across the 
 lawn. She had been playing with him the 
 greater part of the afternoon, and had been 
 much struck with his quiet and finished style. 
 * My brother-in-law has always been considered 
 our champion player, but you certainly exct 1 
 him.' 
 
 ' I have had a great deal of practice,' returned 
 Cyril modestly. ' I think you are wi'ong about 
 our respective powers. Mr. Harcourt plays 
 exceedingly well ; being so much younger, I 
 am a little more agile — that is all.' 
 
 ' Yes ; and you would have beaten him this 
 last game, but for me. I have played worse 
 than usual this afternoon.' 
 
 * You must not expect me to endorse that
 
 '/ HOPE BETTER THINGS OF AUDREY.' 141 
 
 opinion, Miss Ross. I have never seen any 
 lady play half so well. You took that last ball 
 splendidly. Now we have exchanged these 
 mutual compliments, may I ask you to show me 
 the lake ? Kester gave a tremendous descrip- 
 tion of it when he came home to-day. Captain 
 Burnett put him in the punt, and he seems to 
 have had a grand time altogether.' 
 
 ' Oh, I heard all about it at luncheon.' 
 
 * It is good of your cousin to take all this 
 trouble,' went on Cyril in a lower voice, as they 
 walked down one of the terraces. ' I was quite 
 taken aback when he spoke to me yesterday. I 
 thought he could not be in earnest. You know 
 he asked me to go up to his private room after 
 luncheon, and we had a long talk until it was 
 time to go to chapel.' 
 
 ' Will it be possible for your brother to come 
 here two or three times a week, Mr. Blake ?' 
 
 ' Oh yes ; he can manasfe that short distance 
 — at least, w^hen he is pretty well ; and the 
 change will be so good for him. It is quite a 
 load off my mind to know he will learn mathe- 
 matics as well as Greek and Latin. You have 
 no idea, Miss Ross, how clever that boy is. If 
 he had only my opportunities, he would beat me 
 hollow in no time. I tell my mother so, but
 
 142 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 she will not believe it ; but she thinks with me 
 that it is awfully good of your cousin to interest 
 himself in Kester.' 
 
 * It will be a godsend to Michael,' returned 
 Audrey. * You see, my cousin's health is so 
 bad that he cannot employ himself, and he is 
 debarred from so much enjoyment. He helps 
 my father a good deal with the boys when he is 
 here, but sometimes the noise is too much for 
 him. Itw^ill suit him far better to study quietly 
 with your brother. Of course, he meant to be 
 kind — he is always doing good to someone 
 or other — but this time the kindness will 
 benefit himself. He quite enjoyed his morn- 
 ino-. He told me so in a tone as though he 
 meant it.' 
 
 ' And Kester looked ever so much brighter. 
 What comfortable quarters Captain Burnett 
 has ! I had no idea he had a private sitting- 
 room, and he tells me he has rooms in town as 
 
 well.' 
 
 * Yes ; but we do not let him use them oftener 
 than we can help. It is so dull for him to 
 be alone. My father is anxious for him to live 
 altogether at Woodcote — he thinks the Ruther- 
 ford air suits him so much better than that of 
 town ; but Michael cannot be persuaded to give
 
 */ HOPE BETTER THINGS OF AUDREY: 143 
 
 up his rooms. I tell him it is all his pride, and 
 that he wishes to be independent of us.' 
 ' He is your father's cousin, you say ?' 
 ' Yes ; and he is just like his son,' returned 
 Audrey, wondering why Mr. Blake looked at 
 her so intently. * You know, I told you that we 
 looked upon Michael as our own brother. Here 
 we are at the pond — or lake, as we prefer to call 
 it — and there are the swans, Snowflake and 
 Eiderdown, as I have christened them ' 
 
 * It is a charming spot,' observed Cyril, lean- 
 ing over the fence to look at the beautiful crea- 
 tures. He was quite unaware, as he lounged 
 there, that he added another picturesque effect 
 to the landscape, his bright blue coat and peaked 
 cap making a spot of colour against Audrey's 
 white gown. * So that is the island where 
 Kester found the forget-me-nots for Mollie? 
 It looks as though one could carry it off bodily 
 in one's arms/ he continued, after a reflective 
 pause. 
 
 * Mr. Blake, I will not permit such remarks,' 
 returned Audrey, laughing. ' I have often 
 paddled myself about the lake. At least, it 
 is deep enough to drown one. Now tell me 
 how Mollie is.' 
 
 ' Mollie is inconsolable because she has not
 
 144 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 seen you for two whole days. She spent most 
 of the morning- at the window in the hope of 
 seeing you pass.' 
 
 ' Nonsense !' 
 
 ' Oh, it is a fact, I assure you. My mother 
 told me so herself. Will there be any chance of 
 your looking in to-morrow, Miss Ross ? I am 
 going back now, and I am sure such a message 
 would make Mollie happy for the remainder of 
 the evening.' 
 
 Audrey smiled. 
 
 ' I do not think I will send the message, Mr. 
 Blake. I half thouQ^ht of callinof on some 
 friends of mine who live a little way out of 
 Rutherford, but if I have time ' 
 
 She paused, not quite knowing how to finish 
 her sentence. 
 
 ' Well, I will say nothing about it,' he returned 
 quickly. ' You have been far too good to us 
 already. Mollie must not presume on your 
 kindness ;' and then he took up his racket. 
 
 * Why are you leaving us so early, Mr. 
 Blake ? There is surely time for another game ?' 
 
 ' Thanks ; I must not stop any longer now. 
 My mother asked me to take her for a walk, 
 and, as Kester can do without me this evening, 
 I promised that I would.'
 
 '/ HOPE BETTER THINGS OF AUDREY.' 145 
 
 ' And you will take Mollie ? There is such a 
 pretty walk across the fields to Everdeen Wood, 
 if Mrs. Blake does not mind a few stiles. Mollie 
 will not, I am sure.' 
 
 ' I think Mollie will prefer to stay with Kester,' 
 he replied quickly. ' I am sorry to leave so 
 early, Miss Ross, but one does not like to dis- 
 appoint other people.' 
 
 * I begin to think you are one of the unselfish 
 ones,' thought Audrey, as she gave him her 
 hand. Then aloud : ' You must come to us 
 next Monday, Mr. Blake, for I am sure my 
 brother-in-law will want his revenge. Oh, there 
 is Booty, so of course his master is not far off. 
 I will go and meet him.' 
 
 Then she nodded to Cyril, and turned off into 
 a side-path just as Captain Burnett came in 
 sight. 
 
 'Are they still playing, Michael ?' 
 
 * No. Harcourt wants to be off; he and 
 Gage are to dine at the Fortescues', so they 
 have agreed to break up earlier. Why is Blake 
 leaving us so soon ? Your father proposed that 
 he should be asked to dinner.' 
 
 ' I don't think he would be persuaded,' she 
 replied, wishing that she had not taken him so 
 easily at his word. ' He has promised to take 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 his mother for a walk. He is really a very 
 good son. Most young men care only about 
 their own pleasure.' 
 
 ' I think I like him,' returned Michael, in his 
 slow, considering tone. ' We had a smoke 
 together yesterday up in my room, and I con- 
 fess he interested me. He seems to feel his 
 responsibility so with respect to that poor boy. 
 He was very grateful to me for my proposed 
 help, and said so in a frank, manly fashion that 
 somehow pleased me.' 
 
 * I am so glad you like him, Michael !' and 
 Audrey's tone expressed decided pleasure. 
 
 ' Oh, we shall hit it off very well, I expect ; 
 but I dare say we shall not see very much 
 of each other. He goes in for cricket, and 
 makes tremendous scores, I hear, and the Hill 
 house will soon monopolize him. He is too 
 good-looking a fellow not to be a favourite with 
 the ladies — eh, Audrey ?' 
 
 ' I am sure I don't know,' returned Audre)-, 
 who could be a trifle dense when she chose. 
 ' I do not think Mr. Blake is a lady's man, if 
 that is what you mean. Don't you detest the 
 genus, Michael ?' 
 
 ' Do I not !' was the expressive answer ; and 
 then he went on : ' I am quite of your opinion
 
 '/ HOPE BETTER THINGS OF AUDREY: 147 
 
 that Blake is a nice, gentlemanly fellow ; but I 
 think that brother of his is still more interesting. 
 Poor little chap ! he has plenty of brains ; he is 
 as sharp as some fellows of nineteen or twenty. 
 Blake is clever enough, but one of these days 
 Kester will make his mark. He has a perfect 
 thirst for knowledcje. I drew him out this 
 morning, for we only made a pretence at work. 
 You should have heard him talk.' 
 
 ' That is exactly his brother's opinion/ re- 
 turned Audrey ; and she repeated Cyril's 
 words. 
 
 Michael was evidently struck by them. 
 
 ' He seems very fond of him, and, for the 
 matter of that, the poor boy is devoted to his 
 brother. I suppose that accident has made a 
 link between them. I do not know that I ever 
 took so much interest in your protSgds before. 
 By-the-bye, what has become of the O'Briens, 
 Audrey ?' 
 
 ' I am going to see them to-morrow. I know 
 what that inquiry means, Michael. You think 
 that I am always so much taken up with new 
 people that I forget my old friends ; but you 
 are wrong.' And then she added, a little re- 
 proachfully : * That you of all people should 
 accuse me of fickleness !' 
 
 10 — 2
 
 148 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 Captain Burnett smiled a little gravely. 
 
 * You are investing my words with too large 
 a meaning. I do not think you in the least 
 fickle ; it is only your headlong sympathies that 
 carry you away.' But as Audrey looked a little 
 mystified over this speech, he continued : ' I 
 would not have you neglect Mr. O'Brien lor 
 the world. I only wish Vineyard Cottage were 
 a mile or two nearer, and I would often smoke 
 a pipe in that earwiggy bower of his. I 
 have a profound respect for Thomas O'Brien. 
 I love a man who lives up to his profession, and 
 is not above his business. A retired tradesman 
 who tries to forget he was ever behind the 
 counter, and who goes through life aping the 
 manners of gentlefolk, is a poor sort of body in 
 my eyes ; he is neither fish, fowl, nor good red 
 herring. Now Mr. O'Brien is as proud of being 
 a corn-chandler as — he paused for a simile — 
 
 * as our drummer-boy was of belonging to the 
 British army.' 
 
 * Poor old man I he has seen a peck of trouble, 
 as he calls it.' 
 
 * There, you see,' interrupting her delightedly, 
 
 * his very language borrows its most powerful 
 imagery from his past belongings ! Do you or 
 I, Audrey, in our wildest and most despairing
 
 'I HOPE BETTER THINGS OF AUDREY: 149 
 
 moments, ever talk of a peck of trouble ? De- 
 pend upon it, my dear, when Thomas made that 
 speech, he was among his bins again ; in his 
 mind's eye he was measuring out his oats and 
 beans. I think I hear him repeating again 
 what he once said to me : " It is such a clean, 
 wholesome business, Captain. I often dream 
 I am back in the shop again, with my w^ife 
 laying the tea in the back-parlour. I can feel 
 the grain slithering between my fingers, and 
 even the dropping of the peas on the counter 
 out of the overfilled bags is as plain as possible. 
 Mat always did his work so awkwardly." ' 
 
 ' I don't think he has ever got over the loss of 
 his wife, Michael.' 
 
 ' Of course not. Is he likely to do so, with 
 Mrs. Baxter's lugubrious countenance opposite 
 him morning, noon and night ? I don't wonder 
 her husband ran away from her ; it would take 
 a deal of principle to put up with such a trying 
 woman.' 
 
 ' Michael, I will not have you so severe on 
 my friends ! Mrs. Baxter is a very good woman, 
 and she takes great care of her father. We 
 cannot all be gifted with good spirits. Poor 
 Priscilla Baxter is a disappointed woman.' 
 
 Michael shrugged his shoulders, but he was
 
 ISO LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 Spared making any reply, as just then they 
 encountered Geraldine and her husband. They 
 were evidently looking for Audrey. 
 
 ' Are you going, Gage ?' observed Audrey 
 serenely. ' I was just coming up to the house to 
 wish you good-bye, only Michael detained me.' 
 
 * I thought you were with Mr. Blake,' re- 
 turned her sister, in a puzzled tone. ' I wish 
 you would come up to luncheon to-morrow — I 
 have scarcely spoken two words to you this 
 afternoon. Edith is coming.' 
 
 * It will be a pity to interrupt your tete-a-tetel 
 returned Audrey pleasantly ; * Mrs. Bryce has 
 always so much to say, and she comes so 
 seldom.' And, as her sister's face clouded, she 
 continued : ' I will run up for an hour on 
 Wednesday, but I really cannot neglect Mr. 
 O'Brien any longer — he will have been looking 
 for me day after day.' 
 
 * Oh, if you are going to Vineyard Cottage,' 
 in a mollified tone that Audrey perfectly under- 
 stood, ' you will have tea there, of course.' 
 
 * Do you think Mrs. Baxter would let me 
 come away without my tea T returned Audrey 
 quickly. 
 
 She was inwardly somewhat annoyed at this 
 those questioning. She had meant to go to the
 
 '/ HOPE BETTER THINGS OF AUDREY: 151 
 
 Gray Cottage on her way ; but now she must 
 give that up : Mollie must watch for her a Htile 
 longer. Perhaps she could go to Hillside in the 
 morning and keep her afternoon free. And as 
 she came to this conclusion, she bade her sister 
 an affectionate good-bye. But as Geraldine 
 took her husband's arm in the steep shrubbery 
 walk, she said, in a dissatisfied tone : 
 
 * I am glad we found her with Michael ; but, 
 all the same, she and Mr. Blake were partners 
 all the afternoon.' 
 
 ' My dear Geraldine/ returned Mr. Harcourt 
 with assumed solemnity, ' I think Audrey may 
 be trusted to manage her own little affairs — she 
 is two-and-twenty, is she not ? When you have 
 daughters of your own, my love, I am quite 
 sure you will manage them excellently, and no 
 young man will have a chance of speaking to 
 them ; but with Audrey it is another matter.' 
 And then, in a tragic undertone : 'Have yuu 
 forgotten, wife mine, a certain afternoon when 
 you did me the honour of playing with me three 
 whole sets, and then we cooled ourselves down 
 by the lake, until your father hunted us out ?' 
 
 Geraldine pressed her husband's arm gently ^ 
 she remembered that afternoon well, and all 
 Percival had said to her — they had just come
 
 152 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 to an understanding when her father interrupted 
 them. For one moment her face softened at 
 the sweet remembrance, and then she roused 
 herself to remonstrate. 
 
 ' But, Percy dear, this is utterly different. 
 Audrey would never dream of falling in love 
 with Mr. Blake. Fancy a girl in her position 
 encouraging the attentions of a junior master ! 
 No, indeed ; I was only afraid of a little flirta- 
 tion. Of course Audrey declares she never 
 flirts, but she has such a way with her — she is 
 too kind in her manner sometimes.' 
 
 * It is to be hoped that she will not break as 
 many hearts as a certain young person I know 
 — eh, Jerry ?' and Geraldine blushed and held 
 her peace. 
 
 She never liked to be reminded of the 
 unlucky wooers who had shaken off the dust of 
 Woodcote so sorrowfully. As for Mr. Harcourt, 
 he delighted in these proofs of conquests. 
 Geraldine had not been easy to win — she had 
 given her lover plenty of trouble ; but she was 
 his now, and, as he often told himself, no man 
 had ever been more fortunate in his choice. 
 For Mr. Harcourt, in spite of his delight in 
 teasing, was very deeply in love with his 
 beautiful wife.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MAT. 
 
 ' Sympathy or no sympathy, a man's love should no more fail 
 towards his fellows than that love which spent itself on disciples 
 who altogether misunderstood it, like the rain which falls on 
 just and unjust alike.' — Mark Rutherford. 
 
 Vineyard Cottage, where the retired corn- 
 chandler had elected to spend the remnant of 
 his days, was no pretentious stucco villa ; it was 
 a real old-fashioned cottage, with a big roomy 
 porch well covered with honeysuckle and sweet 
 yellow jasmine, and a sitting-room on either 
 side of the door, with one small-paned window, 
 which was certainly not filled with plate-glass. 
 It was a snug, bowery little place, and the fresh 
 dimity curtains at the upper windows, and the 
 stand of blossoming plants in the little passage, 
 gave it a cheerful and inviting aspect. The 
 tiny law^n was smooth as velvet, and a row of
 
 154 LOVER OR FRIESD ? 
 
 tall white lilies, flanked with fragrant lavender, 
 filled up the one narrow bed that ran by the 
 side of the privet hedge. 
 
 As Audrev unlatched the little siate she had 
 a glimpse of Mr. O'Brien In his shirt-sleeves. 
 He was smoking in the porch, and so busily 
 engaged In reading his paper that Audrey's 
 light tread failed to arouse him, until a plaintive 
 and fretful voice from within made him turn his 
 head. 
 
 * Father, aren't you ashamed to be sitting 
 there in your shirt-sleeves when Miss Ross has 
 come to call ? And it is 'most four o'clock, too 
 — pretty near about tea-time.' 
 
 ' Miss Ross — vou don't sav so, Prissv ! re- 
 turned Mr. O'Brien, thrusting an arm hastily 
 into the coat that his daus^hter was holdinor in 
 an aggressively reproachful manner. * How do 
 you do, Miss Ross ? Wait a moment — wait a 
 moment, until I can shake hands with you. 
 Now, then, the other arm. Prissy. You are as 
 welcome as flowers in Mav — and as bloomin^ 
 too, isn't she, Prissy?' and Mr. O'Brien enforced 
 his compliment with a grasp of the hand that 
 made Audrev wince. 
 
 * I expected a scolding — I did indeed,' 
 laughed Audrey, ' instead of this very kind
 
 MAT. 155 
 
 welcome. It is so long since my last visit ; is 
 it not, Mr. O'Brien ?' 
 
 * Well, ma'am, tell the truth and shame the 
 devil ; that's my motto. I'll not deny that 
 Prissy and I were wondering at your absence. 
 " What's become of Miss Ross ?" she said to 
 me only to-day at dinner, *'for she has not 
 been near us for an age." ' 
 
 ' And I was right, father, and it is an age 
 since Miss Ross honoured us with a visit,' 
 replied his daughter in the plaintive tone that 
 seemed natural to her. ' It was just five weeks 
 aiT^o, for Susan Larkins had come up about the 
 bit of washing her mother wished to have, so 
 I remember the day well.' 
 
 ' Five weeks !' responded Audrey with a 
 shake of her head ; ^ what a memory you have, 
 Mrs. Baxter, and, dear me, how ill you are look- 
 ing ! Is there anything the matter.'^' looking 
 from one to the other with kindly scrutiny. 
 
 Mr. O'Brien and his daughter were complete 
 contrasts to each other. He was a stout, gray- 
 haired man with a pleasant, genial countenance, 
 though it was not without its lines of care. 
 Mrs. Baxter, on the contrary, had a long 
 melancholy face and anxious blue eyes. Her 
 black gown clung to her thin figure in limp
 
 156 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 folds ; her features were not bad, and a little 
 liveliness and expression would have made her 
 a good-looking woman ; but her dejected air 
 and want of colouring detracted from her come- 
 liness, and of late years her voice had grown 
 peevish as well as plaintive, as though her 
 troubles had been too heavy for her. Audrey 
 had a sincere respect for her ; but she certainly 
 wished that Mrs. Baxter took a less lucjubrious 
 view of life. At times she would try to infuse 
 a little of her own cheerfulness ; but she soon 
 found that Mrs. Baxter was too closely wrapped 
 in her melancholy. In her own language, she 
 preferred the house of mourning to the house 
 of feasting. 
 
 ' Oh, I hope there is nothing fresh the 
 matter !' repeated Audrey, whose clear-sighted 
 sympathy was never at fault. 
 
 She thouorht that Mr. O'Brien's genial face 
 looked a shade graver than usual. 
 
 * Come and sit down, Miss Ross, and I will 
 be hurrying the girl with the tea,' observed 
 Mrs. Baxter mournfully, for she was never too 
 lachrymose to be hospitable, and though she 
 shed tears on slight occasions, she was always 
 disposed to press her hot buttered cakes on 
 her guests, and any refusal to taste her good
 
 MAT. 157 
 
 cheer would have grievously wounded her 
 bruised sensibilities. ' Father, take Miss Ross 
 into the best parlour while I help Hannah a bit.' 
 
 And as ^Ir. O'Brien laid aside his pipe and 
 led the way into the house, Audrey followed 
 him, nothing loath. 
 
 * Joe's been troubling Priscilla again,' he 
 observed, as Audrey seated herself on the little 
 horsehair sofa beside the open window, and 
 Buff, a great tortoiseshell cat, jumped uninvited 
 on her lap and began purring loudly. 
 
 'Joe !' repeated Audrey in a shocked voice ; 
 she knew very well who was meant. Joe was 
 the ne'er-do-well of a son-in-law whose iniquities 
 had transformed the young and comely Priscilla 
 into the meagre and colourless ]Mrs. Baxter. 
 ' He has no rio^ht to trouble her !' she went on 
 
 o 
 
 indignantly. 
 
 ' He has been worrying for money again,' 
 returned Mr. O'Brien, ruffling up his gray hair 
 in a discontented fashion ; ' he says he is hard 
 up. But that is only one of Joe's lies ; he tells 
 lies by the peck. He had a good coat on, and 
 looked as thriving as possible, and I know from 
 Atkinson, who has been in Leeds, that he is 
 a traveller to some house in the wine trade. 
 And yet he comes here, the bullying rascal !
 
 158 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 fretting the poor lass to skin and bone with 
 pretending he can take the law of her for not 
 living with him, and that after all his ill-usage.' 
 
 ' I am so sorry/ returned Audrey, and her 
 tone said more than her words. ' He is a bad 
 man, a thoroughly heartless and bad man — 
 everyone knows that ; and she must never go 
 back to him. I hope you told him so.' 
 
 'Ay, I did,' with a touch of gruffness ; 'I 
 found him bullying, and poor Prissy crying her 
 eyes out, and looking ready to drop — for she is 
 afraid of him — and I just took down my big 
 stick. *' Joe," I said, as he began blustering 
 about her being his true and lawful wife, " you 
 just drop that and listen to me : if she is your 
 wife, she is my daughter, our only one — for 
 never chick nor child had we beside Priscilla — 
 and she is going to stop along with me, law 
 or no law." 
 
 ^ " ril claim my own. There's two to that 
 bargain, father-in-law," he says, with a sneer ; 
 for, you see, he was turning a bit nasty. 
 
 ' " And you'll claim something else as well, 
 son-in-law !" I replied, getting a good grip of the 
 stick ; for my blood was up, and I would have 
 felled him to the ground with all the pleasure in 
 life, only the girl got between us.
 
 MAT. 159 
 
 * " No, father — no violence!" she screeches 
 out. ** Don't make things worse for poor, un- 
 happy me. Joe is not worth your getting into 
 trouble on his account. Go along with you, 
 Joe, and Heaven forgive you ; but horses 
 wouldn't drag me under your roof again after 
 the way you have treated me." 
 
 ' Well, I suppose we made it too hot for him, 
 ma'am, for he soon beat a retreat. Joe was 
 always a coward. I would have hurried him out 
 wqth a kick, but I thought it better to be pru- 
 dent ; and Priscilla w^ent and had a fit of 
 hysterics in her own room, and she has been 
 looking mortal bad, poor lass ! ever since.' 
 
 ' I wish we could save her these trying 
 scenes, ■Mr. O'Brien ; they get on her nerves.' 
 
 ' Ah, that is what her mother said ! " Prissy 
 will never have a day's health if w^e can't hinder 
 Joe from coming to plague her" — I remember 
 my Susan saying that. Why, it was half 
 for Prissy 's sake we gave up the shop. " What 
 is the good of filling our purse, Tom, when we 
 have plenty for ourselves and Priscilla ?" she 
 was always saying to me. But there, I was 
 fond of the shop — it is no use denying it — and 
 it takes a special sort of education to fit one for 
 idleness. Even now — would you believe it,
 
 i6o LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 ma'am ? — I have a sort of longing to finger the 
 oats and peas again/ 
 
 ' But you are very fond of your cottage and 
 your garden, Mr. O'Brien. Captain Burnett 
 says it is the prettiest Httle place about here.' 
 
 * Ah, I have been forgetting my manners, 
 and I have never asked after the Captain, 
 though he is a prime favourite of mine. Oh 
 yes, he always has his little joke. " What will 
 you sell it for, O'Brien, just as it stands ? Name 
 your own price." Well, it zs a snug little place; 
 and if only my little woman were here and I 
 
 had news of Mat ' And here Mr. O'Brien 
 
 pushed his hand through his gray hair again, 
 and siehed as he looked out on his row of 
 lilies. 
 
 Audrey sat still in sympathizing silence. She 
 knew how her old friend loved to unburden 
 himself. He talked to no one else as he did to 
 this girl — not even to the Captain. He liked to 
 enlarge in his simple way on his old happy life, 
 when Prissy was young and he and his wife 
 thought handsome Joe Baxter a grand lover for 
 their girl, with his fine figure and soft, wheedling 
 tongue. 
 
 ' But we were old enough to know better — we 
 were a couple of fools, of course ; I know that
 
 MAT. i6i 
 
 now,' he would say. ' But he just talked us 
 over — Joe is a rare hand at talking even now. 
 He can use fine words ; he has learnt it in his 
 business. I think our worst time was when 
 Prissy's baby died and she began to droop, and 
 in her weakness she let it all out to her mother. 
 I remember my little woman coming into the 
 shop that oay, with the tears running down her 
 face. " Tom," she says, " what have we ever 
 done to be so punished ? Joe is treating Prissy 
 like a brute, and my poor girl's heart is broken." 
 Dear, dear ! how I wanted Mat then !' 
 
 Audrey knew all about this Mat — at least, the 
 little there was to know. One day, soon after 
 Mr. O'Brien had lost his wife, and she had 
 found him sitting alone in the porch, he had 
 begun talking to her of his own accord of a 
 young brother whom he called Mat, but to no 
 one else had he ever mentioned his name. 
 Audrey had been much touched and surprised 
 by this confidence, and from time to time Mr. 
 O'Brien had continued to speak of him, until 
 she was in possession of the main facts. 
 
 Thomas O'Brien had lost his parents early, 
 and his brothers and sisters had died in infancy, 
 with the exception of the youngest, Matthew, or 
 Mat, as he was generally called. There was so 
 
 VOL. I. I I
 
 162 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 much difference between their ages that Mat 
 was quite a plaything and pet to his elder 
 brother. From all accounts, he was a bright, 
 engaging little fellow, and developed unusual 
 capacity. 
 
 ' He was a cut above us, and people took 
 notice of him, and that spoiled him,' observed 
 Mr. O'Brien one day. 
 
 Audrey, piecing the fragments of conversa- 
 tion together, could picture the clever, handsome 
 lad learning his lessons in the little back parlour, 
 while honest Tom served in the shop. But 
 Mat was not always so studious : he would be 
 sliding with the Rector's boys, or helping them 
 to make a snow man ; sometimes he would be 
 having tea at the Rectory, or with his master, 
 or even with the curates. One of the curates 
 was musical, and Mat had an angelic voice. 
 One could imagine the danger to the precocious, 
 clever boy, and how perhaps, on his return, he 
 would gibe a little in his impertinent boyish 
 fashion at thickheaded, clumsy Tom among his 
 cornbins and sacks of split peas. 
 
 Mat did not wish to be a corn-chandler. 
 When Tom married the daughter of a neigh- 
 bouring baker. Mat was heard to mutter to 
 one of his intimates that Tom might have
 
 MAT. 163 
 
 looked higher for a wife. He grew a little 
 discontented after that, and gave the young 
 couple plenty of trouble until he got his way — 
 a bad way, too — and went off to seek his fortunes 
 in London. 
 
 Tom missed the lad sadly ; even his Susan's 
 rosy cheeks and good- humour failed to console 
 him for awhile. Not until Prissy made her 
 appearance — and in clamorous baby fashion 
 wheedled her way into her father's affections — 
 did his sore heart cease to regret the young 
 brother. 
 
 Susan used to talk to her husband in her 
 sensible way. 
 
 ' It is no use your fretting, Tom,' she would 
 say ; ' boys will be boys, and anything is better 
 for Mat than hanging about here with his hands 
 in his pockets and doing nothing but gossip with 
 the customers. He was growing into idle ways. 
 It was a shame for a big fellow like Mat to be 
 living upon his brother ; it is far better for him 
 to be thrown on himself to work for his bread,' 
 finished Susan, rocking her baby, for she was a 
 shrewd little person in her way. 
 
 * I don't like to think of Mat alone in London,' 
 returned Tom slowly ; but as he looked into his 
 wife's innocent eyes he forbore to utter all his 
 
 1 1 — 2
 
 t64 lover or friend? 
 
 thoui^hts aloud. Tom was old enough to know 
 something of the world ; he could guess at the 
 pitfalls that stretched before the lad's unwary 
 feet. Mat was young, barely eighteen ; his very 
 gifts of beauty and cleverness might lead him 
 into trouble. 
 
 ' I wish I had him here,' muttered Tom, as 
 he went off to serve a customer. * Peterborough 
 is a better place for him than London ;' for they 
 were living at Peterborough then. 
 
 Tom cheered up presently, when Mat wrote 
 one of his flourishing letters ; he was a fine 
 letter-writer. He was in luck's way, he told 
 Tom, and had fallen on his feet ; at his first 
 application he had obtained a clerkship in some 
 business house, and his employer had taken a 
 fancy to him. 
 
 ' I feel like Dick Whittington,' wrote Mat, in 
 his happy, boastful way ; * all night long the 
 bells were saying to me, " Turn again, turn 
 again, Mat O'Brien, for fortune is before you." 
 I could hear them in my dreams — and then the 
 next morning came a letter from Mr. Turner. 
 Dear old chap, you won't bother about me any 
 more, for I mean to stick to my work like a 
 galley slave. Give my love to Susan, and kiss 
 the little one — couldn't you have found a better
 
 MAT. 165 
 
 name than that Puritan Priscilla, you fooHsh 
 Tom ?' — and so on. Audrey once read that 
 letter, and a dozen more of the same type ; 
 she thought them very affectionate and clever. 
 Every now and then there were graphic de- 
 scriptions of a day's amusement or sight-seeing. 
 What was it they lacked ? Audrey could never 
 answer that question, but she laid them down 
 with a dim feeling of dissatisfaction. 
 
 Mat used to run down for a day or two when 
 business permitted, and take possession of his 
 shabby little room under the roof. How happy 
 honest Tom would be on these occasions ! how 
 he would chuckle to himself as he saw his 
 customers — female customers especially — cast 
 sidelong glances at the handsome dark-haired 
 youth who lounged by the door ! 
 
 * Old Mrs. Stevenson took him for a gentle- 
 man,' Tom remarked to Susan once, rubbing 
 his hands over the joke. * Mat is so well set 
 up, and wears such a good coat ; just look at 
 his boots ! — and his shirts are ever so much 
 finer than mine ; he looks like a young lord 
 in his Sunday best,' went on Tom, who ad- 
 mired his young brother with every fibre of his 
 heart. 
 
 Mat was quite aware of the sensation he
 
 i66 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 made among his old friends and neighbours ; 
 he Hked to feel his own importance. He came 
 pretty frequently at first ; he was tolerant of 
 Susan's homeliness and sisterly advice, he took 
 kindly to Prissy, and brought her a fine coral 
 necklace to wear on her fat dimpled neck ; but 
 after a year or two he came less often. 
 
 * Leave him alone,' Susan would say when 
 Tom grumbled to her over his pipe of an 
 evening ; * Mat has grown too fine for the shop; 
 nothing pleased him last time. He wanted 
 napkins with his food because of his moustache, 
 and he complained that his bed was so hard he 
 could not sleep on it. It is easy to see that our 
 homely ways do not suit him. I wish your 
 heart were not set on him so much, Tom ; It Is 
 thankless work to cling to a person who wants 
 to get rid of his belongings.' 
 
 * Nay, Susan, you are too hard on the lad,' 
 her husband remonstrated ; ' Mat will never cut 
 us — he has an affectionate heart. He is only 
 having his fling, as lads, even the best of them, 
 will at times. By-and-by he will settle down, 
 and then we shall see more of him.' 
 
 But in spite of Tom's faith, that time never 
 came. By-and-by Mat wrote with a greater 
 flourish than ever.
 
 MAT. 167 
 
 ' Wish me joy, my dear Susan and Tom,' he 
 wrote, * for I am going to be married, and to 
 the prettiest and the dearest girl in the world. 
 Just fancy, Tom, her uncle is a Dean ! what do 
 you think of your brother Mat now ? " Turn 
 again, turn again, Mat O'Brien " — that is what 
 the bells said to me, and, by Jove ! they were 
 right. Haven't I had a rise this Christmas ? — 
 and now my dear little Olive has promised to 
 take me for better or worse. Oh, Tom, you 
 should just see her — she is such a darling ! and 
 I am the luckiest fellow in the world to get her ! 
 I can see Susan shaking her head and saying in 
 her wise way that I am young to take the cares 
 of life on my shoulders ; but when a fellow is 
 head over heels in love, he cannot stop to 
 balance arguments. And after all, we are not 
 so imprudent, for when the Dean dies, and he is 
 an old man, Olive will have a pretty penny of 
 her own. So wish me joy, dear Tom, and send 
 me your blessing.' 
 
 Tom fairly wept over this letter ; he carried 
 it about with him and read it at intervals during 
 the day. 
 
 * If only she makes the lad happy !' he said 
 to Susan. ' To think of our Mat marrying a 
 gentlewoman, for of course a Dean's niece is
 
 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 that ;' and Susan, whose knowledge of the 
 world was small, supposed so too. 
 
 Tom was hopincr that Mat would bring his 
 young wife down to receive his brotherly con- 
 gratulations in person ; but there was always 
 some excuse for the delay. Olive was delicate; 
 she could not travel ; Mat could not leave her 
 to come himself, and so on. Tom never 
 doubted these excuses ; he even made his 
 little joke about the lad becoming a family 
 man ; but Susan, who was sharper than her 
 husband, read between the lines. Mat was 
 ashamed of brinofinor the Dean's niece down to 
 see the shop, it was possible ; but here Susan 
 almost shuddered at the awfulness of the 
 thought that he might not have told his wife 
 that he had a brother. 
 
 ' Mat is as weak as water, with all his clever- 
 ness,' she said to herself; * if he has not told her 
 yet, he will put it off from day to day. There is 
 nothing easier than procrastination if you once 
 give in to it. Few people speak the truth like 
 my Tom, bless him !' 
 
 Susan would not grieve her husband by 
 hinting at these suspicions, though they grew 
 stronger as time went on. Mat never brought 
 his wife to see them ; he seldom wrote, unless
 
 MAT. 169 
 
 to tell them o( the birth of a child, and then 
 his letters were brief and unsatisfactory. Tom 
 once wrote and asked him if he were happy, 
 ' for somehow Susan and I have got it into our 
 heads that things are not quite square,' wrote 
 the simple fellow. ' Do come and let us have 
 a chat together over our pipes. Prissy is 
 g^etting quite a big girl ; you would hardly 
 know her now.' 
 
 Perhaps Mat was touched by this persistent 
 kindness on his brother's part, for he answered 
 that letter by return of post. 
 
 ' One must not expect too much happiness 
 in this crooked old world,' he wrote ; * but you 
 and Susan are such old-fashioned people. 
 Olive and I have as much enjoyment of life 
 as ordinary folk. We quarrel sometimes and 
 make it up again. I was never a very patient 
 mortal — eh, old chap ? — and one's temper does 
 not improve with age.' And then after a little 
 talk about the children, who had been ill with 
 scarlatina, the letter wound up by begging the 
 loan of a five-pound note. 
 
 Tom did not show this letter to Susan. For 
 the first time in his life he kept a secret from 
 the wife of his bosom. He put two five-pound 
 notes in an envelope, and sent them with his
 
 I70 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 love to Olive and the children. A pang of 
 remorse must have crossed Mat's heart at this 
 fresh act of kindness ; but though he acknow- 
 ledged the gift with the utmost gratitude, he 
 neither came nor wrote acrain for a lonor time. 
 
 Some time after that Tom took an odd 
 notion in his head : he would go up to London 
 and see Mat and his wife and children ; he was 
 just hankering for a sight of the lad, as he told 
 Susan. To be sure, Mat had never invited 
 him — ^ never hinted at such a thinof in his 
 letters ; he could not be sure of his welcome. 
 Susan tried to dissuade him, but to no purpose ; 
 for once Tom was deaf to his little woman's 
 advice. He left her in charge of the shop one 
 fine spring morning and started for London 
 and Bayswater, where Mat lived. 
 
 He came back earlier than Susan expected, 
 and there was a sad look in his eyes as he sat 
 down and filled his pipe. Susan forbore to 
 question him at first ; she got him some supper 
 and a jug of the best ale, and presently he 
 beean to talk of his own accord : 
 
 * There were other people living in No. 23, 
 Mortimer Terrace. The O'Briens had left 
 more than a year ago, and no one knew where 
 they were. Fancy Mat leaving and never
 
 MAT. 171 
 
 giving me his address !' finished Tom with an 
 air of deep depression. 
 
 He was evidently much wounded at this 
 want of brotherly confidence. 
 
 ' But surely you know his business address, 
 dear ?' Susan asked quietly. 
 
 No ; Tom did not know even that. He 
 reminded her that Mat had long ago left his 
 old employers, and had set up for himself; but 
 Tom did not know where his office was. 
 
 ' I always wrote to his private address, you 
 know, Susan,' he went on. ' Mat told me that 
 no one ever opened his letters but himself; but 
 how am I to find him out now if he chooses to- 
 hide himself from his only brother ?' 
 
 And though Tom said no more, he moped 
 for many a day after that fruitless expedition. 
 
 By-and-by the truth leaked out — Mat was in 
 trouble, and in such trouble that no fraternal 
 help could avail him. One awful day, a day 
 that turned Tom's hair gray with horror and 
 anguish, he heard that Mat — handsome, brilliant 
 Mat — was in a felon's cell, condemned to penal 
 servitude for a long term of years. In a moment 
 of despair he had forged the name of one of his 
 so-called friends, and by this terrible act was in 
 possession of a large sum of money.
 
 172 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 Tom's ano^uish at this news was not to be 
 described ; he cried like a child, and Susan 
 vainly tried to comfort him. 
 
 ' My father's name,' he kept repeating — ' he 
 has disgraced our honest name ! I will never 
 forgive him ; I will have nothing more to do 
 with him — he has covered us all with shame !' 
 
 And then the next moment he relented at the 
 thought of Mat, beaten down and miserable, and 
 perhaps repentant, in his wretched cell.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 PRISCILLA BAXTER. 
 
 ' How many people are busy in this world in gathering to- 
 gether a handful of thorns to sit upon !' — Jeremy Taylor. 
 
 Audrey never forgot the day when she first 
 heard this sad story. It was on a winter's after- 
 noon, and she and Mr. O'Brien were alone in 
 the cottage. She remembered how the setting 
 sun threw ruddy streaks across the snow, and 
 how the Hght of the fire beside which they sat 
 later on in the twilight illumined the low room 
 and flashed out on the privet hedge, now a mass 
 of sparkling icicles. She and Geraldine had 
 driven into Brail, and by-and-by the carriage 
 was coming back to fetch her. 
 
 They had been talking of Mat, and Mr. 
 O'Brien had shown her some of his letters ; and 
 then, all at once, his face had grown very white 
 and troubled, and in a few husky sentences he
 
 174 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 had told her the rest of the story ; and as Audrey 
 listened there was a gleam of a teardrop on her 
 long lashes. 
 
 * But you went to see him — surely you went 
 to see him ?' she asked tremulously, as he came 
 to a sudden pause ; but he shook his gray head 
 very sorrowfully. 
 
 * I would have gone, ay, willingly, when my 
 anger had burnt out a bit. I just hungered to 
 see the poor lad — he was still a lad to me — and 
 to shake him by the hand ; for all he had done, 
 he was still Mat, you see ; but he would not let 
 me : he begged and prayed of me not to come/ 
 
 ' Ah, that was cruel !' 
 
 ' Nay, he meant no unkindness ; but he was 
 pretty nearly crazed, poor chap ! I have the 
 letter now that he wrote to me ; the chaplain 
 sent it, but no eye but mine must ever see it. 
 I have written it down in my will that it is to 
 be buried with me : " Don't come unless you 
 wish me to do something desperate, Tom ; I 
 think if I saw your honest face in my cell I 
 should just make away with myself. No, no, 
 dear old chap ; let me dree my weird, as Susan 
 used to say. 1 have shamed you all, and my 
 heart is broken ; try to forget that you ever had 
 a brother Mat." Eh, they were desperate words
 
 PRISCILLA BAXTER. 175 
 
 for a man to write, but I do not doubt that he 
 meant them.' 
 
 * Did he mention his wife and children ?' 
 
 ' No, never a word of them. I wrote to him 
 more than once, but he never answered me. 
 He was such a long way off, you see ; they 
 send them to Dartmoor now. As far as I know, 
 Mat may be dead and buried. Well, it is hard 
 lines, and I have known a peck of troubles in 
 my time. There, you know it all, Miss Ross ; 
 it beats me why I've told you, for no one in the 
 world knows it but Prissy — you have drawn it 
 out of me somehow ; you've got a hearty way 
 with you that reminds me of my Susan, and I 
 never had but that one secret from her — when 
 I sent Mat the two five-pound notes.' 
 
 * Your story is safe with me, my dear old 
 friend,' returned Audrey, laying her hand on his 
 arm ; * you must never regret telling me. I 
 have heard so many sad histories — people always 
 tell me their troubles ; they know they can trust 
 me. I am fond of talking,' went on Audrey, in 
 her earnest way, * but I have never betrayed a 
 person's confidence ; I have never once repeated 
 anything that my friends have told me — their 
 troubles are as sacred to me as my own 
 would be.'
 
 176 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 ' I am bound to believe you,' returned Mr. 
 O'Brien, looking thoughtfully at the girlish face 
 and steadfast eyes ; ' Prissy says it always gives 
 her a comfortable feeling to talk out her troubles 
 to you. It is a gift, I am thinking ; but you are 
 young to have it. Did I ever tell you, Miss 
 Ross, what Susan said to me when she was 
 dying ?' 
 
 ' No, I am sure you never told me that.' 
 
 ' Well, Prissy had gone to lie down, and I 
 was alone with Susan. It was the room above 
 us where she died. I was sitting by the fire, 
 thinking she was having a fine sleep, and would 
 surely be better for it, when she suddenly spoke 
 my name : ** Tom," she said, " I know just what 
 you are thinking about ; you have got Mat in 
 your mind." Well, I could not deny that, and 
 Susan was always so sharp in hnding me out ; 
 and then she begged me to sit by her a bit : 
 ** For you are very low about everything, dear 
 Tom," she went on ; " you've got to lose me, 
 and there's Prissy, poor girl ! with her bad hus- 
 band ; and when you have nothing better to do 
 you think about Mat. Sometimes I wish you 
 were back in the shop, when I see you looking 
 at the fire in that way." 
 
 ' ** I was only wondering whether I should
 
 PRISCILLA BAXTER. 177 
 
 ever see the poor lad again," I returned, with a 
 sigh ; "that was all my thought, Susan." 
 
 * " I am sure you will see him again," she 
 replied very earnestly, with a kind of solemnity 
 in her voice ; " I don't know why I think so, 
 Tom, but they say the dying are very clear- 
 sighted, and it is strong upon me that Mat will 
 one day seek you out." Now, wasn't that 
 strange, Miss Ross ?' 
 
 ' No,' replied Audrey, 'she may have spoken 
 the truth ; while there is life there is hope. Do 
 not be disheartened, my dear friend ; you have 
 had great troubles, but God has helped you 
 to bear them, and you are not without your 
 blessino^s.' 
 
 * That's true,' he returned, looking round him ; 
 ' I would sooner live in this cottage than in a 
 palace. I don't believe, as the Captain says, 
 there is a prettier place anywhere. 1 like to 
 think Susan lies so near me, in Brail Churchyard, 
 and that by-and-by I'll lie beside her ; and if I 
 could only see my girl more cheerful ' 
 
 * Oh, you must give her time to live down her 
 worries. There ! I hear the carriage ;' and 
 Audrey went in search of her fur-lined cloak. 
 
 This conversation had taken place about 
 eighteen months ago, and though Audrey had 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 never alluded to it of her own accord, it touched 
 her greatly to notice how, when he was alone 
 with her, Mr. O'Brien would drop a few words 
 which showed how clearly he remembered it. 
 
 ' There is no one else to whom I can speak 
 of Mat,' he said one day ; * Prissy never cared 
 much about him — I think she dislikes the 
 subject ; as sure as ever I mention Mat she 
 cries and begins to talk of Joe.' 
 
 Audrey was not at all surprised when Mr. 
 O'Brien made that allusion as she was stroking 
 the tortoise-shell cat in the sunshine. She could 
 hear Mrs. Baxter laxing- the tea-things in the 
 other parlour, where they generally sat, and the 
 smell of the hot cakes and fracrrant new bread 
 reached them. The cuckoo's note was distinctly 
 audible in the distance ; a brown bee had buried 
 himself in the calyx of one of the lilies ; and 
 some white butterflies were skimming over 
 the flower-beds. The sweet stillness of the 
 summer afternoon seemed to lull her into a 
 reverie ; how impossible it was to realize sin 
 and sorrow and broken hearts and the great 
 hungry needs of humanity, when the sky was so 
 blue and cloudless, and the insects were huin- 
 ming in the fulness of their tiny joy! * Will 
 sorrow ever come to me ?' thought the girl
 
 PRISCILLA BAXTER. 179 
 
 dreamily ; * of course, I know it must some clay- 
 but it seems so strano^e to think of a time when 
 I shall be no longer young and strong and full 
 of joy.' And then a wave of pity swept over 
 her soft heart as she noticed the wrinkles in her 
 old friend's face. ' I wish Mrs. Baxter were 
 more cheerful/ she said inwardly ; * she has de- 
 pressed him, and he has been missing me all 
 these weeks.' 
 
 Audrey tried to be very good to him as they 
 sat together for the next half-hour. She told 
 him the Rutherford news, and then asked him 
 all manner of questions. Audrey was a hypo- 
 crite in her innocent fashion ; she could not 
 really have been so anxious to know how the 
 strawberries and peas were doing in the little 
 kitchen garden behind the cottage, and if the 
 speckled hen were sitting, or if Hannah, the new 
 girl, were likely to satisfy Mrs. Baxter. And 
 yet all these questions were put, as though 
 everything depended on the answers. ' For 
 you know, Mr. O'Brien/ she went on very 
 seriously, ' Ralph declares that we shall have 
 very little fruit this season — those tiresome 
 winds have stripped the apple-trees — and for 
 some reason or other we have never had such 
 a poor show of gooseberries.' 
 
 12 — 2
 
 i8o LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 'The potatoes are doing finely, thouoh,' re- 
 turned Mr. O'Brien, who had risen to the bait ; 
 ' after tea I hope you will walk round the 
 garden with me, ma'am, and you will be sur- 
 prised to see the way some of the things have 
 improved.' 
 
 * Tea is ready, father,' observed Mrs. Baxter 
 at this point. ' Miss Ross, will you take that 
 chair by the window? you will feel the air there. 
 I am going to ask a blessing, father: "For 
 what we are going to receive the Lord make us 
 truly thankful." Yes, Miss Ross, those are 
 your favourite scones, and Hannah is baking 
 some more ; there's plum preserve and lemon 
 marmalade and home-made seed cake.' And 
 Mrs. Baxter pressed one viand after another 
 upon her guest, before she could turn her atten- 
 tion to the teapot, which was at present en- 
 veloped in a huge braided cosy. 
 
 * Dear me ! I shall never be able to eat my 
 dinner, Mrs. Baxter, and ihen mother will be 
 miserable ; you have no idea the fuss she makes 
 if I ever say I am not hungry.' 
 
 ' She is perfectly right, Miss Ross,' was the 
 mournful answer; 'there is no blessing to equal 
 good health, and health mainly depends on 
 appetite. Where would father and I have been
 
 PRISCILLA BAXTER. i8i 
 
 if we had not kept our health ? It is a won- 
 derful blessing, is it not, father, that I have 
 been so strong- ? or I should have sunk long 
 ago. But, as poor dear mother used to say, 
 there is no blessing like a good constitution.' 
 
 Everyone has his or her style of conversa- 
 tion, just as all authors have their own pecu- 
 liar style of writing. Mrs. Baxter, for example, 
 delighted in iteration ; she had a habit of taking 
 a particular word and working it to death. 
 Michael was the first person to notice this little 
 peculiarity. After his first visit to Vineyard 
 Cottage, as he was driving Audrey home in the 
 dog-cart, he said to her : 
 
 ' Did you notice how often Mrs. Baxter used 
 the same word ? I am sure she said " trouble " 
 fifty times, if she said it once. She is not a 
 bad-looking young woman, but she is a pain- 
 fully monotonous talker. I should say she is 
 totally devoid of originality.' 
 
 * I know nothing about health, Mrs. Baxter,' 
 returned Audrey with aggressive cheerfulness. 
 * I am always so well, you see. I never had the 
 doctor in my life, except when I had the 
 measles.' 
 
 'And the whooping-cough, Miss Ross. Don't 
 say you have not had the whooping-cough !'
 
 i82 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 ' Oh yes ; when I was a baby. But 1 hope 
 you do not expect me to remember that.' 
 
 ' I am glad to hear it, I am sure, for you gave 
 me quite a turn. There is nothing worse than 
 having^ the whooping-cough late in life — it is 
 quite ruinous to the constitution. You know 
 that, don't you, father ? — for great-aunt Saun- 
 ders never got rid of it winter and summer. 
 She had a good constitution, too ; never ailed 
 much, and brought up a large family — though 
 most of them died before her : they had not her 
 constitution, had they, father ? Great-aunt 
 Saunders was a stout-built sort of woman ; but 
 with all her good constitution and regular living 
 she never got rid of the whooping-cough.' 
 
 * Shall I give you a slice of this excellent 
 cake ?' asked Audrey politely, and with a laud- 
 able desire to hear no more of great-aunt 
 Saunders' good constitution, and, to change the 
 subject, she begged for a recipe of the seed- 
 cake for her mother. 
 
 Mrs. Baxter looked almost happy as she gave 
 it. She was an excellent cook, and her light 
 hand for cakes and pastry, her delicious scones 
 and crisp short-cake, must have been remem- 
 bered with regret by the recusant Joe, and may 
 have had something to do with his anxious
 
 PRISCILLA BAXTER. 183 
 
 claims. Mrs. Baxter forgot her beloved itera- 
 tion ; her monotonous voice roused into positive 
 animation as she verbally weighed out quantities. 
 
 ' A great deal depends on the oven, Miss 
 Ross, as I tell Hannah. Many and many a 
 well-mixed cake has been spoiled by the baking ; 
 you may use the best of materials, but if the 
 
 oven is over-hot ' and so on, to all of which 
 
 Audrey listened with that pleased air of intelli- 
 gent interest which once made Michael call her 
 * the most consummate little hypocrite on the 
 face of the earth.' 
 
 ' For you were not a bit interested in listening 
 to old Dr. Sullivan's account of those beetles,' 
 he said on that occasion. ' You know nothing 
 about beetles, Audrey. I saw you once yawn- 
 ing behind your hand — which was positively 
 rude — and yet there you were making big eyes 
 at the dear old man, and hanging on his words 
 as though they were diamonds and pearls.' 
 
 * You are too hard on me, Michael,' returned 
 Audrey, who was a little hurt at this accusa- 
 tion. She rarely quarrelled with Michael, but 
 now and then his keen man's wit was too much 
 for her. * I was very much interested in what 
 Dr. Sullivan was saying, although I certainly 
 do not understand the habits of beetles, any
 
 i84 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 more than I understand the Greek literature 
 about which you are pleased to talk to me,' in a 
 pointed tone. ' And if I yawned ' — speaking 
 still in an injured voice — ' it was because I had 
 been up half the night with poor little Patience 
 Atkinson — and I don't like you to call me a 
 hypocrite, when I only meant to be kind/ 
 finished Audrey, defending herself bravely in 
 spite of an inward qualm that told her that per- 
 haps Michael was right. 
 
 Michael looked at her with one of his rare 
 smiles ; he saw the girl was a little sore. 
 
 ' My dear,' he said, taking her hand, ' don't 
 be vexed with me. You know we always 
 speak the truth to each other. You must not 
 mind my little joke. After all, your friends love 
 you the better for your innocent hypocrisy. 
 We all pretend a little ; conventionality de- 
 mands it. Which of us would have the courag^e 
 to say to any man, " My good friend, do hold 
 your tongue — you are simply boring me with 
 these everlasting stories " ?' 
 
 * But Michael,' persisted Audrey, for she 
 wanted to make this thing very clear to herself 
 as well as to him, ' I think you are wrong in 
 one thing : I am really very seldom bored, as 
 you call it. Even if I do not understand things
 
 PRISCILLA BAXTER. 185 
 
 — if they are not particularly interesting — it 
 pleases me to listen to people. Old Dr. Sul- 
 livan did look so happy with that row of nasty 
 little beetles before him, that I was quite pleased 
 to watch him. You know people always talk 
 so well on a subject that interests them.' 
 
 ' I know one thing — that there are very few 
 people in the world so amiable as a certain 
 young lady of my acquaintance. The world 
 
 would be a better olace to live in if there were 
 
 J. 
 
 more like her ' But here he checked him- 
 self, for he had long ago learnt the useful lesson 
 that speech is silvern and silence is golden, and 
 that over-much praise seldom benefited anyone. 
 
 When tea was over, Audrey accompanied 
 Mr. O'Brien round his small domain, while he 
 proudly commented on the flourishing state of 
 his fruit and vegetables. Before she left the 
 cottage she contrived to exchange a few words 
 with Mrs. Baxter, who had remained in the 
 house, and whom she found in the tiny kitchen 
 washing up the best cups and saucers. 
 
 ' Girls are mostly careless, ?vliss Ross,' she ex- 
 plained in an apologetic manner ; ' and Hannah 
 is no better than the rest, so I always wash up 
 mother's china myself It would worry me more 
 than I am already if a cup were to be broken.'
 
 i86 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 ' I am so sorry to hear your husband has 
 been troubhng you again, Mrs. Baxter.' 
 
 'Yes, indeed, Miss Ross, and it is a crying 
 shame for Joe to persecute me as he does. 
 Sometimes 1 feel I must just run away and 
 hide myself, his visits put me into such a ner- 
 vous state. It is so bad for father, too. He is 
 not as young as he used to be, and since 
 mother's death there has been a o^reat chanore in 
 him. Last time Joe came he put himself out 
 terribly, and was for taking the stick to him. I 
 was all in a tremble — 1 was indeed, Miss Ross — 
 for Joe had been drinking, and father's a power- 
 ful man, and there might have been mischief.' 
 
 ^ I think your husband must be made to un- 
 derstand that he is to leave you alone.' 
 
 ' Oh, you don't know what men are. Miss 
 Ross. They are overfond of their own way. 
 Joe does not find things comfortable without 
 me, and then he is always so greedy for money. 
 The ways of Providence are very dark and 
 mysterious. When I married Joe 1 expected 
 as much happiness as other women. He was 
 so pleasant-spoken, had such a way with him, 
 that even father and mother were deceived in 
 him ; he never took anything but his tankard of 
 home-brewed ale at our place, and he was so
 
 PRISCILLA BAXTER. 187 
 
 trim and so well set up that all the girls were 
 envying me. But the day I wore my gray silk 
 dress to go with him to church was the most 
 unfortunate day of my life. Mother would far 
 better have laid me in my shroud,' finished 
 Mrs. Baxter, with a homely tragedy that was 
 impressive enough in its way. 
 
 ' Oh, you must not say that,' returned Audrey 
 hastily. ' Life will not always be so hard I hope;' 
 and then she shook hands with the poor woman. 
 
 Audrey enjoyed her walk back. It was a 
 delicious evening, and the birds were singing 
 from every brake and hedgerow. Once or twice 
 she heard the harsh call of the corncrake 
 mingled with the flute-like notes of the thrush ; 
 a lark was carolling high up in the blue sky 
 — by-and-by she heard him descend. Audrey 
 walked swiftly down the long grass lanes, and, 
 as she neared Rutherford she could see a dim 
 man's figure in the distance. Of course it was 
 Michael coming to meet her, attended by his 
 faithful Booty. Audrey smiled and quickened 
 her pace. She was quite used to these small 
 attentions, this brotherly surveillance on 
 Michael's part — she was never surprised to 
 find him at some unexpected point waiting 
 patiently for her.
 
 i88 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 ' Am I late ?' she asked hastily, as he rose 
 from the stile and slipped his book in his 
 pocket. ' I havehad such a nice afternoon. They 
 were so pleased to see me, and made so much 
 of me ;' then, with a quick change of tone, 
 ' You have walked too far to meet me, Michael 
 — you are looking paler than usual this evening !' 
 
 * Nonsense,' he returned good-humouredly ; 
 ' I am all right. Was Mrs. Baxter as mournful 
 as usual ?' To which question Audrey returned 
 a full explanatory answer. 
 
 Michael listened with his usual interest, but 
 he made few comments. Perhaps his mind was 
 on other things, for when she had finished he 
 said somewhat irrelevantly : 
 
 ' You are right, Audrey — Mrs. Blake is cer- 
 tainly a very pretty woman.' 
 
 In a moment Vineyard Cottage, Mr. O'Brien, 
 and the mournful Priscilla vanished from 
 Audrey's mind. 
 
 ' Oh, Michael ! have you really seen her ?* 
 she asked breathlessly. 
 
 ' Well, I am not sure,' was the somewhat 
 provoking answer. ' You were not there to 
 introduce us, you know, and of course I could 
 not swear that it was Mrs. Blake.' 
 
 * Dear me, how slow you are, Michael !' for he
 
 PRISCILLA BAXTER. 189 
 
 was Speaking in a drawling manner. 'Why 
 can't you tell me all about it in a sensible way ?' 
 
 * Because there is not much to tell,' he 
 returned calmly. ' I was just passing the Gray 
 Cottage, when a lady in black came out of the 
 gate. I was so close that I had to draw back 
 to let her pass, and of course I just lifted my 
 hat ; and she bowed and gave me the sweetest 
 smile — it haunts me now,' murmured Captain 
 Burnett in a sort of audible aside. 
 
 * A lady in black coming out of the Gray 
 Cottage ? — of course it was Mrs. Blake, you 
 foolish fellow !' 
 
 'You think so ?' rather sleepily. 'Well, per- 
 haps you are right. I certainly heard a window 
 open, and a girl's voice called out " Mamma, 
 will you come back a moment } You have for- 
 gotten your sunshade." And the lady in black 
 said, " Oh, how stupid of me, Mollie !" and then 
 she whisked through the gate again.' 
 
 ' Did you stand still in the middle of the road 
 to hear all this, Michael ?' 
 
 * No, my dear. There was something wrong 
 with the lock of the school-house gate. It is 
 sometimes a little difficult — I must tell Sayers 
 it wants oiling.' Michael's face was inimitable 
 as he made this remark.
 
 I90 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 ' And so you saw her come out again. Oh, 
 you deep, good-for-nothing Michael !' 
 
 * I saw her come out ao-ain, and she had the 
 sunshade. She walks well, Audrey, and she 
 has a pretty, graceful figure — and as for her 
 face ' 
 
 * Well !' impatiently. 
 
 ' I think I will keep that to myself,' he replied 
 with a wicked smile. ' Do you fancy we could 
 coax Cousin Emmeline to call soon. I begin 
 to feel anxious to enlarge my stock of acquaint- 
 ance, and you must allow that a bewitching 
 widow is rather alluring ' He paused. 
 
 ' Michael,' giving his arm a little jerk, ' a joke 
 is a joke ; but, mind, I will not have you falling 
 in love with Mrs. Blake. Dear me ! what would 
 Gage say ?' 
 
 And at this Michael laughed, and Audrey 
 laughed too — though just for the moment she 
 did feel a wee bit uncomfortable, for even the 
 notion of Michael falling in love with any 
 woman was not quite pleasant. 
 
 ' Really, Michael, we must walk faster,' she 
 said, recovering herself, 'or I shall not have time 
 to dress for dinner.' And then they both 
 quickened their footsteps, and no more nonsense 
 was talked about the fascinating Mrs. Blake.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 * A GIRL AFTER MY OWN HEART.' 
 
 ' Be to their virtues very kind, 
 Be to their faults a little blind, 
 And put a padlock on the mind.' 
 
 Anon. 
 
 * I WILL go to the Gray Cottage this afternoon/ 
 was Audrey's first thought the next morning 
 when she woke ; but she kept this intention to 
 herself when Geraldine came in, after break- 
 fast, to beg for some favourite recipes of her 
 mother's that she had lost or mislaid. ' And if 
 you have nothing better to do,' she said, turning 
 to Audrey, who was filling the flower-vases, ' I 
 shall be very glad of your company this after- 
 noon, as Percival is going up to London.* 
 
 ' Shall you be alone, Gage ? I mean, are you 
 expecting any special visitor ?' 
 
 * Well, old Mrs. Drayton is driving over to
 
 192 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 luncheon with that deaf niece of hers ; but they 
 will go away early — they always do. Come up 
 later, Audrey, and bring your work ; and perhaps 
 Michael will fetch you — it is so long since we 
 have seen him. I will not ask }ou both to stay 
 to dinner, as Percival is always a little tired 
 after a journey to London, and a tete-d-tete 
 dinner will suit him better ; but we c(juld have 
 a long afternoon — you know you refused me 
 yesterday because of the O'Briens.' 
 
 ' I will come up to tea, Gage,' interrupted 
 Audrey somewhat hastily ; ' I would rather 
 avoid Miss Drayton, and Miss Montague is 
 simply terrible. You may expect me about 
 half-past lour, and I will give Michael your 
 message.' 
 
 And Audrey carried off her vase to avoid any 
 more necessary questioning. Gage seemed 
 always wanting her now ; was it all sisterly 
 affection, Audrey wondered, or a clever device 
 to counteract the Blake influence ? 
 
 ' By-the-bye, mother,' observed Mrs. Har- 
 court carelessly, as she gathered up sundry 
 papers, ' I suppose you will soon be leaving 
 your card on Mrs. Blake '^. Percival thought I 
 had better call with you, and if you are dis- 
 engaged next Tuesday or Wednesday '
 
 'A GIRL AFTER MY OWN HEART: 193 
 
 * Why, that is a week hence, my love !' 
 
 ' Yes, mother dear, I know ; but I have so 
 many engagements just now that I am obHged 
 to make my plans beforehand. Besides, we 
 could not very well call before — you know 
 what a muddle they were in.' 
 
 ' Yes, I remember ; and Audrey helped them 
 so nicely to get straight. Very well, we will 
 say Tuesday ; and I really am very much 
 obliged to Percival for his suggestion, for after 
 all this talk, and the things Edith Bryce told 
 you yesterday, I shall be quite nervous in calling 
 alone.' But here a significant look from her 
 daughter checked her, and she changed the 
 subject rather awkwardly. 
 
 * So dear Edith has been talking again, 
 thought Audrey, as she stepped out on the 
 terrace with her empty basket ; * I almost wish 
 I had been at Hillside yesterday, and heard 
 things with my own ears.' And then she 
 stopped to cut off a dark crimson rose that 
 grew under the schoolroom window, and 
 as she did so she became aware that Mr. 
 Blake had put down his book and was 
 watching her. She gave him a smile and a 
 nod, and walked to the other end of the gar- 
 den. 
 
 VOL. I. r 1
 
 194 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 * I always forget the schoolroom window,' she 
 said to herself, with a slight blush, as she re- 
 called that fixed look ; 'Mr. Oilier always sat 
 with his back to the window and took no notice 
 — he was as blind as a bat, too — but Mr. Blake 
 is very observant.' 
 
 Mrs. Ross had arranged to drive into Dul- 
 verton after luncheon with her husband. When 
 Audrey had seen them off, and had exchanged 
 a parting joke with her father, she started off 
 for the Gray Cottage. Things had arranged 
 themselves admirably : she had two hours 
 before Geraldine would expect her. Michael 
 had consented to fetch her — Kester was coming 
 to him early in the afternoon, and he had also 
 promised to take a class for Dr. Ross ; he would 
 put in an appearance about half-past five. And 
 Audrey professed herself satisfied with this 
 arrangement. 
 
 Audrey met Kester on her way to the cottage 
 The poor boy was dragging himself rather pain- 
 fully along on his crutches ; the heat tried him, 
 he said, but he seemed bright and cheerful. 
 Audrey looked pitifully at his shabby jacket and 
 old boots ; she noticed, too, the frayed edges 
 of his wristbands. * Is it poverty or bad 
 management ?' she thought ; and then she asked
 
 M GIRL AFTER MY OWN HEART: 195 
 
 Kester how he liked his new tutor. The boy 
 flushed up in a moment. 
 
 * Awfully — I like him awfully, Miss Ross, 
 and so does Cyril. You have no idea of the 
 trouble he takes with me ; I know nothing of 
 mathematics, but I mean to learn. Why,' went 
 on Kester, with an important air, ' I am so busy 
 now, working up for Cyril and Captain Burnett, 
 that I can hardly find time for Mollie's sums 
 and Latin.' 
 
 Evidently Kester did not wish to be pitied 
 for his additional labours. 
 
 * Poor fellow, how happy he looks !' Audrey 
 said to herself, as she went on. ' Michael is 
 doing good work there.' But somehow she 
 could not forget those frayed wristbands all the 
 remainder of the day ; there was a button off 
 his jacket, too — she had noticed the unsightly 
 gap. ' I wish Mrs. Blake had a little more 
 method,' she thought ; ' Mollie and Kester are 
 certainly rather neglected. How could poor 
 Mollie go to chapel in that frock ?' 
 
 Audrey let herself in at the green gate ; but 
 this time there was no Mollie on the threshold. 
 She rang, and Biddy came hobbling out of the 
 kitchen. 
 
 ' The mistress is in there,' she said, with a 
 
 13—2
 
 196 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 jerk of her head towards the dining-room, and 
 then she threw open the door. ' Here's Miss 
 Ross, mistress,' she said unceremoniously. 
 
 Biddy was evidently unaccustomed to parlour 
 work. Mollie, who was sewing in the window 
 beside her mother, threw down her work with 
 a delighted exclamation, and Zack gave a bark 
 of recognition. Mrs. Blake welcomed her very 
 cordially. 
 
 ^ My dear Miss Ross,' she said in her soft, 
 pretty voice, 'we thought you had quite for- 
 saken us ; poor Mollie has been as restless as 
 possible. I cannot tell you how pleased I am 
 to see you again ; I was half afraid you had 
 disappeared altogether, after the fashion of a 
 benevolent brownie.' 
 
 ' I have so many friends,' began Audrey ; 
 but Mrs. Blake interrupted her : 
 
 ' There, I told you so, Mollie. I said to this 
 foolish child, when she was bemoaning your 
 absence, ** You may take my word for it, Mollie, 
 Miss Ross has a large circle of friends and 
 acquaintances — it is only to be expected in her 
 position — and of course we must not monopolize 
 her ; especially as we are new-comers and com- 
 parative strangers." ' 
 
 * Mollie thinks differently — don't you, Mollie ?
 
 'A GIRL AFTER MY OWN HEART: 197 
 
 We are quite old friends, are we not ?' and 
 Audrey gave her a kind glance. 
 
 How flushed and tired the poor child was 
 looking ! but she brightened up in a moment. 
 
 * Of course we are not strangers,' she returned, 
 quite indignantly ; ^ mamma is only saying that 
 because she wishes you to contradict her. Oh, 
 Miss Ross/ nestling up to her, ' I have so 
 wanted to see you — I have looked out for you 
 every day !' 
 
 ' I could not possibly come before, dear.' 
 
 ' No — but now you will stay for a long time ? 
 Mamma, won't you ask Miss Ross to stay to 
 tea ? and Biddy will bake some scones. Biddy 
 will do anything for Miss Ross ; she said so the 
 other day.' 
 
 ' My dear child, I could not possibly stay ; I 
 am going to have tea with my sister — she lives 
 in one of the Hill houses. Another time, 
 Mollie,' as a cloud of disappointment passed 
 over Mollie's face ; and to divert her thoughts 
 she took up the work : ' Why, what pretty stuff! 
 is this for your new frock ?' 
 
 Mollie's brow cleared like magic. 
 
 * Yes ; is it not lovely ? Cyril chose it ; he 
 bought it for my last birthday, only mamma 
 was too busy to make it up. But both my
 
 198. LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 frocks will be done to-night — mamma says she 
 will not go to bed until they are finished.' 
 
 ' Well, and I mean to keep my word,' re- 
 turned Mrs. Blake good-humouredly ; 'and 
 your new hat will be trimmed, too, and then 
 Cyril will not grumble any more about his 
 sister's shabbiness. I have been working like 
 a slave ever since I got up this morning, and 
 yet this naughty child pretended she was tired 
 because I wanted her to stitch the sleeves.' 
 
 * But, mamma, I had to iron all those hand- 
 kerchiefs for Biddy.' 
 
 * Yes, I know — and it was terribly hot in 
 the kitchen ; she does look tired, does she 
 not, Miss Ross ? I have a good idea, Mollie : 
 put down that sleeve, and I will finish it 
 myself in a twinkling, and fetch your hat and 
 go down to the cricket-field and bring Cyril 
 back with you to tea — it will be a nice walk for 
 you.' 
 
 ' Oh, mamma !' protested Mollie ; * I would 
 so much rather stay here with you and Miss 
 Ross, and I don't care about the walk.' 
 
 * But if I wish you to go ;' and there was a 
 certain inflexion in Mrs. Blake's soft voice which 
 evidently obliged poor Mollie to obey. She 
 rose reluctantly, but there were tears of vexation
 
 'A GIRL AFTER MY OWN HEART: 199 
 
 in her eyes. Audrey felt grieved for her 
 favourite, but she was unwilling to interfere ; 
 she only took the girl's hand and detained her a 
 moment. 
 
 * Mrs. Blake, could you spare Mollie to me 
 to-morrow afternoon ? I want to show her our 
 garden — it is looking so lovely just now.' 
 
 ' You are very kind,' hesitating slightly ; ' but 
 are you sure that it will be convenient to Mrs. 
 Ross ?' 
 
 ' My mother has nothing to do with it — 
 Mollie will be my visitor,' returned Audrey 
 quietly ; and then she continued diplomatically : 
 ' I know my mother intends to call on you next 
 week, Mrs. Blake ; she and my sister were 
 planning it this morning — they are only waiting 
 until you are settled.' 
 
 Evidently Mrs. Blake was much pleased with 
 this piece of intelligence ; she coloured slightly, 
 and her manner became more animated. 
 
 ' That is very kind ; I do so long to see Mrs. 
 Ross : Cyril is charmed with her, and he thinks 
 Mrs. Harcourt wonderfully handsome. Oh 
 yes, I can easily spare Mollie ; and her frock 
 and hat will be all ready. Now off with you, 
 child,' with laughing peremptoriness ; and 
 Mollie only paused to kiss her friend and
 
 200 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 whisper that she was quite happy now, as she 
 would have her all to herself the next day. 
 
 * Mollie has got to a difficult age,' observed 
 Mrs. Blake, stitching rapidly as she spoke ; and 
 Audrey again admired the lovely profile and 
 finely-shaped head ; ' she is getting a little self- 
 willed and wants her own way. And then she is 
 such a chatterbox ; she will hardly let me get in 
 a word. Sometimes I like to have my friends 
 to myself; you can understand that, Miss Ross?* 
 
 ' Oh yes, that is easily understood,' returned 
 Audrey, who nevertheless missed Mollie. 
 
 ' I thought I could talk to you more easily 
 without her this afternoon ; I wanted to speak 
 to you about your cousin — Captain Burnett is 
 your cousin, is he not ?' 
 
 ' He is my father's cousin.' 
 
 'Ah, well, that is much the same. Is he a 
 pale, slight-looking man with a reddish-brown 
 moustache ?' 
 
 * Certainly that description suits Michael. I 
 think he has such a nice face, Mrs. Blake.' 
 
 ' I dare say ; he is not handsome, but he 
 looks like a soldier. What keen, bright eyes he 
 has ! The children have talked about him so 
 much that I was quite curious to see him.' 
 
 ' It is certain that you have seen him ; no
 
 'A GIRL AFTER MY OWX HEART.' 201 
 
 one else in Rutherford answers to that descrip- 
 tion. It is odd how everyone makes that 
 remark about Michael's eyes.' 
 
 * Yes, they are a little too searching. I have 
 plenty of courage, but I am disposed to feel 
 afraid of Captain Burnett. What I wanted to 
 say, Miss Ross, is this — that I am truly grateful 
 to your cousin for his kind interest in my 
 poor boy.' 
 
 ' Do you mean this as a message ?' 
 
 ' That is just as you think proper ; but in my 
 opinion he ought to know how much Kester's 
 mother appreciates his kindness. When I first 
 heard of the plan, I will confess to you honestly, 
 Miss Ross, I was a little bit alarmed. Kester 
 did not explain things properly — he would have 
 it that Captain Burnett meant to give him 
 lessons here, and I told Cyril that would never 
 do. Cyril was a trifie bothered about it himself, 
 until he had a talk with Captain Burnett and 
 found out that Kester was to go to Woodcote.' 
 
 ' Oh yes, of course ; Michael intended that 
 all along.' 
 
 ' True, and I ought not to have flurried my- 
 self. But if you only knew what I went through 
 at Headingly, and the unkind things that people 
 said of me ! A burnt child dreads the fire, and I
 
 202 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 was determined that no one should have an 
 opportunity of speaking against me at Ruther- 
 ford. What a hard world it is, Miss Ross! 
 Just because I am — well' — with a little laugh — 
 'what you call good-looking — why should I 
 deny the truth ? I am sure I care little about 
 my looks except for Cyril's sake ; but just be- 
 cause I am not plain, people take advantage of 
 my unprotected position. Oh, the things that 
 were said !' with a quick frown of annoyance at 
 the recollection. ' I dare say some of them have 
 reached your ears. Maven't you heard, for 
 example, that I tried to set my cap at Dr. 
 Forester, only his daughter orew alarmed and 
 insulted me so grossly that I vowed never to 
 sneak to him a^ain ? Have vou not heard 
 that, Miss Ross ?' 
 
 Audrey was obliged to confess that something 
 of this story had reached her. 
 
 * But I did not believe it, Mrs. Blake, and I 
 do not believe it now/ she continued hastily. 
 
 Mrs. Blake's eyes filled with indignant tears. 
 
 'It was not true — not a word of it!' she 
 returned in a low vehement voice. ' You may 
 ask Cyril. Oh, how angry he was when the 
 report reached him ! He came home and took 
 me in his arms and said we should not stay
 
 'A GIRL AFTER MY OWN HEART' 203 
 
 there — no one should talk against his mother. 
 They did say such horrid things against me, 
 Miss Ross ; and yet how could I help Dr. 
 Forester calling on me sometimes ? He was 
 never invited — no one asked him to repeat his 
 visits. Mollie will tell you I was barely civil 
 to him. I suppose he admired me, that is the 
 truth ; and his daughter knew it, and it made 
 her bitter. Well, after that I declared that 
 nothing would induce me to receive gentlemen 
 again, unless they were Cyril's friends and he 
 brought them himself.' 
 
 Audrey was silent. She had been very 
 angry when Geraldine had told her the story. 
 She had declared it was a pure fabrication — a 
 piece of village gossip. 
 
 * Besides, if it were true/ she had continued, 
 ' where is the harm of a wealthy widower, with 
 one daughter, falling in love with a good-looking 
 widow ? And yet Edith Bryce seems to hint 
 darkly at some misconduct on JNIrs. Blake's 
 part.' 
 
 * You are putting it too strongly, dear,' 
 replied her sister. ' Edith only said she con- 
 sidered Mrs. Blake rather flippant in manner, 
 
 and a little too gracious to gentlemen ' but 
 
 Audrey had refused to hear more.
 
 204 LOVER OR FRIEND P 
 
 ' I was Utterly wretched at Headingly,' went 
 on Mrs. Blake, in her sweet, plaintive voice ; 
 ' and Cyril grew to hate it at last — for my sake. 
 He says he is sure it will be different here, and 
 that people are so much nicer. I believe he 
 thinks you angelic, Miss Ross, and your mother 
 only a degree less so. Only last night he said 
 to me, as we were walking up and down in the 
 moonlight, '' I am certain you will be happy at 
 Rutherford, mother. You have one nice friend 
 
 already, and " But, there, I had better not 
 
 repeat my boy's words.' 
 
 Audrey felt anxious to change the subject. 
 
 ' Where did you live before you went to 
 Headingly ?' she asked abruptly, and Mrs. 
 Blake was clever enough to take her cue. 
 
 * We were in lodgings in Richmond/ she 
 answered readily. ' You know we were poor, 
 and I was straining every nerve to keep Cyril 
 at Oxford. I had been saving up every year 
 for it, but I cannot deny we were sadly pinched. 
 I had to send Biddy home for a year or two, 
 and Mollie and Kester and I lived in three 
 little rooms, in such a dull street. Cyril 
 generally got a holiday engagement for the 
 summer, but when he joined us — I procured 
 him a bedroom near us — it used to make him
 
 M GIRL AFTER MY OWN HEART: 205 
 
 very unhappy to see the way we Hved. But I 
 always comforted him by reminding him that 
 one day he would make a home for us, and that 
 cheered him up.' 
 
 ' You were certainly very good to him. 
 Some mothers would not have done half so 
 much,' observed Audrey. 
 
 She was repaid for this little speech, as a 
 smile, almost infantile in its sweetness, came to 
 Mrs. Blake's lip. 
 
 * I wish Cyril could hear you say that. But 
 he knows — he feels — I have done my best for 
 him. Yes, my darling, I have indeed !' She 
 clasped her hands and sighed. ' What did a 
 little extra work, a few sacrifices, matter, when 
 one looked to the future ? We were very 
 straitened — the poor children did not always 
 have what they needed — but I don't think we 
 were, any of us, unhappy.' 
 
 ^ I can so well understand that. I think 
 people are too much afraid of being poor. I 
 could never see, myself, why poverty should 
 hinder happiness.' 
 
 * Do you not ?' looking at her a little curiously ; 
 ' but you have not served my apprenticeship. 
 You do not know how hard it is for a pleasure- 
 loving nature to be deprived of so many sources
 
 2o6 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 of enjoyment — to have to stint one's taste for 
 pretty things — to be perpetually saying " no '' 
 to one's self.' 
 
 ' And yet you own that you were happy.' 
 
 * Well, yes, after a fashion. I think the poor 
 children were, until Kester got so ill. Mollie 
 and I used to walk about Richmond Park and 
 build castles in the air. We planned what we 
 would do if we were rich, and sometimes we 
 would amuse ourselves by looking into the 
 shop-windows and thinking what we should like 
 to buy — like a couple of gutter children — and 
 sometimes, on a winter's evening, we would 
 blow out the candles and sit round the fire and 
 tell stories.' 
 
 ' And then you say Kester fell ill ?' 
 ' Well, it was not exactly an illness. But he 
 seemed to dwindle and pine, somehow, and 
 Cyril and I got dreadfully anxious about him. 
 I don't think Richmond suited him, and I could 
 not give him the comforts he needed ; and he 
 fretted so about his want of education. He 
 seemed to get better directly we went to 
 Headingly and Cyril began to give him les- 
 sons.' 
 
 * Yes, I see ;' and then Audrey took advan- 
 tage of the pause to look at her watch. It was
 
 'A GIRL AFTER MY OWN HEART: 207 
 
 later than she thought, and she rose reluctantly 
 to go. Mrs. Blake rose too. 
 
 ' Don't you think me an odd, unconventional 
 sort of person to tell you all this ?' she asked a 
 little abruptly. * Do you know, Cyril often 
 says that I make him very anxious, because I 
 am so dreadfully impulsive and speak out 
 everything I think ; but I made up my mind 
 that afternoon when Cyril told me that Mrs. 
 Bryce was a connection of your sister's that I 
 would talk to you about the Headingly worries 
 on the first opportunity.' 
 
 * I am very glad you have spoken to me ; I 
 think it was very brave of you.' 
 
 ' No, my dear Miss Ross, not brave, but 
 cowardly. I was so afraid you would be pre- 
 judiced against me ; and you must know that I 
 have taken a great fancy to you. I am a very 
 strange creature : I always like or dislike a 
 person at first sight, and I never — perhaps I 
 should say I scarcely ever — change my 
 opinion.' 
 
 ' I think that is a great mistake. It is im- 
 possible to read some people at first sight.' 
 
 ' Perhaps so ; but you were distinctly legible. 
 When I looked out of my window and saw 
 you setting out the little tea-table on the lawn
 
 2o8 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 with Mollie, I said to myself, " That is a girl 
 after my own heart." ' 
 
 Audrey laughed ; but the little compliment 
 pleased her. Somehow Mrs. Blake's manner 
 made everything she said seem charming. 
 Audrey felt more and more drawn to this fasci- 
 nating woman. 
 
 ' And I want you to come very often, and to 
 be my friend as well as Mollies,' with soft 
 insistence. 
 
 * Yes ; yours and Mollie's and Kester's,' 
 replied Audrey in an amused voice. 
 
 'And not Cyril's.-^ My dear Miss Ross, I 
 hope you do not mean to exclude Cyril.' 
 
 ' Oh, of course not,' rather hurriedly. * But, 
 Mrs. Blake, you must really let me go, or 
 Geraldine will be waiting tea ; as it is, I shall 
 have to walk very fast, to make up for lost 
 time.' 
 
 Audrey's thoughts were very busy as she 
 walked swiftly up the Hill. 
 
 ' I like her — I like her exceedingly,' she said 
 to herself; ' I have never met a more interest- 
 ing person : she is so naive and winning in 
 her manner. I feel I shall soon love her ; and 
 yet all the time I see her faults so plainly. She 
 is terribly unpractical, and managed as badly as
 
 'A GIRL AFTER MY OWN HEART.' 209 
 
 possible. Edith Bryce was right when she said 
 that. And she is fooHsh with regard to her 
 eldest son — no mother ought to be so partial. 
 I am afraid Kester must feel it ; all his interests 
 are secondary to his brother's. It is hardly 
 fair. And Mollie, too — the child seems a 
 perfect drudge. No, my dear woman, I 
 admire you more than I can say, and I know I 
 shall very soon get fond of you ; but you are 
 not blameless.' 
 
 And then a curious doubt crept into Audrey's 
 mind : with all her impulsiveness, was not 
 Mrs. Blake rather a clever woman, to tell that 
 Forester story in her own way ? Audrey had 
 already heard a very different version. She 
 knew Agatha Forester had lived in deadly 
 terror of the charming widow. It was true that 
 she had declined to believe the story, and that 
 her S)mpathies were enlisted on Mrs. Blake's 
 side ; but, still, was it not rather a clever 
 stratagem on Mrs. Blake's part to secure her 
 as an ally ? But Audrey dismissed this 
 thought as quickly as it passed through her 
 mind. 
 
 * Why, what nonsense !' she argued. * I am 
 accusing Mrs. Blake of being a little deep, 
 when she herself owned frankly that she was 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 2IO LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 anxious to prejudice me in her favour. Of 
 course she knew Edith Bryce would talk to 
 Gage, and it was only wise of her to tell me 
 the truth. People must have treated her very 
 badly at Headin^^ly, or her son would not have 
 taken her part. He seems to have plenty of 
 common-sense, although he dotes on her. 
 They are a wonderfully interesting family, and 
 I seem to know them all so well already.* And 
 this last reflection brought her to Hillside.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MOLLIE GOES TO DEEP-WATER CHINE. 
 
 ' Well I know what they feel. 
 They gaze, and the evening wind 
 Plays on their faces ; they gaze — 
 Airs from the Eden of youth 
 Awake and stir in their soul.' 
 
 Matthew Arnold. 
 
 MoLLiE arrived very punctually the next after- 
 noon. Audrey, who was watching for her, 
 hardly recognised the girl as she came slowly 
 along the terrace. She wore a pretty gray 
 stuff frock and a straw hat, trimmed very taste- 
 fully with the simplest materials ; and her 
 usually unkempt locks were neatly arranged in a 
 broad glossy plait that reached to her waist. 
 
 Audrey felt quite proud of her appearance, 
 and took her into the drawing-room to see her 
 mother and sister ; for Geraldine had just 
 dropped in on her way down the town. Mrs. 
 
 14—2
 
 212 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 Ross received her very nicely, but Geraldine 
 took very little notice of her. Mollie was 
 rather shy and awkward, and answered all 
 Mrs. Ross's questions in monosyllables. 
 She seemed so hot and confused that Mrs. 
 Ross's motherly heart took compassion on 
 her. 
 
 ' Do not let us keep you, my dear,' she said, 
 addressing Audrey. ' I am sure Geraldine 
 will excuse you ; and it is far too fine to stay 
 indoors.' 
 
 ' In that case, we will go, Mollie,' returned 
 Audrey in a relieved tone. * Good-bye, Gage ; 
 I dare say I shall see you to-morrow. And, 
 mother, let me know when tea is ready ;' and 
 then she beckoned Mollie to follow her. 
 
 Mollie was no longer silent when she found 
 herself alone with her friend. 
 
 * Oh dear. Miss Ross, what a grand house 
 you live in, and what a lovely garden ! Ours 
 must seem such a poor, poky little place after 
 this, and yet we were all so pleased with it. 
 I do like Mrs. Ross so ; she is such a dear old 
 lady ' — Audrey had never heard her mother 
 called a * dear old lady ' before — * and what a 
 grand-looking person your sister is ! I never 
 saw anyone so handsome.'
 
 MOLLIE GOES TO DEEP-WATER CHINE. 213 
 
 But Mollie's tone was a trifle dubious. 
 
 * I hope you mean to like her too, Mollie.' 
 
 'I don't seem to know her yet,' replied Mollie 
 evasively ; * but I liked looking at her. Some- 
 how I could not talk before her. Where are we 
 going. Miss Ross ? There is no pond that I can 
 see.' 
 
 * No lake,' corrected Audrey, with much 
 dignity. * No, Mollie ; I am going to introduce 
 you to the greenhouses and poultry-yard first ; 
 then there are the pigs, and the boys' play- 
 ground — oh, a host of sights ! — before we make 
 our way down to the lake.' 
 
 ' Ah, now you mean to be funny, because 
 Cyril always calls it the pond — and Kester too. 
 You must be very rich, Miss Ross, to live here 
 and have all these fine things. Mamma was 
 saying so to Cyril when he was telling us 
 about it.' 
 
 ' This is my favourite little bantam, Mollie,' 
 interposed Audrey ; and then Mollie gave her- 
 self up to enjoyment, there were so many 
 things to see. Mollie wondered and exclaimed 
 and admired, with flushed cheeks and sparkling 
 eyes, until Audrey told herself the child was 
 positively pretty. 
 
 At last they found themselves by the tiny
 
 214 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 lake, with their hands full of bread for Snow- 
 flake and Eiderdown, while a little troop of rare 
 foreign ducks hung somewhat timidly in the 
 rear. Presently, to Mollie's intense delight, 
 they got into the canoe, and Audrey, with much 
 gravity, commenced their voyage. 
 
 * For you may laugh, iMoliie,' she said 
 severely, ' but you have no idea of the extent 
 of the place. This island is called " The Swans' 
 Nest." We need not land, because we can see 
 it perfectly from the canoe ; but you may perhaps 
 notice a small wooden buildinor somewhere in 
 the recesses of the island.' 
 
 ' Oh yes, I see it perfectly,' returned Mollie, 
 with the utmost candour. ' I could almost cover 
 the island with my pocket-handkerchief; but, of 
 course, it is very pretty.' 
 
 Audrey gave her a withering glance. 
 
 * We will go on a little farther. You have a 
 capital view of Woodcote now ; the house is in 
 fine perspective. There is Michael's Bench, so 
 called after my cousin. Captain Burnett ; and 
 this, Mollie ' — pointing to a pretty little thicket 
 of trees and shrubs reaching down to the water 
 — ' is Deep-water Chine. With your per- 
 mission, we will rest here a moment.' 
 
 * Have we got to the end of our voyage ?'
 
 MOLLIE GOES TO DEEP-WATER CHINE. 215 
 
 laughed Mollie. ' Oh dear, Miss Ross, how 
 droll you are this afternoon ! But it is pretty — 
 sweetly pretty ; and how lovely those swans 
 are ! How happy you must be to live in such a 
 dear place !' 
 
 ' I am very fond of it,' returned Audrey 
 dreamily. * Listen to those birds ; father is 
 so fond of them. You cannot admire the place 
 more than I do, Mollie. To me Woodcote 
 is the finest place in the world ; it would be 
 dreadful to leave it.' 
 
 ' Why should you ever leave it. Miss Ross ?' 
 
 * Why, indeed ?' with an amused curl of her 
 lip. ' I don't suppose I ever shall leave it, 
 Mollie.' 
 
 * Not unless you married,' replied Mollie, in a 
 serious voice. * People are obliged to go away 
 when they are married, are they not ? But 
 perhaps you will have as grand a place of youi 
 own.' 
 
 ' I have half made up my mind that I will be 
 an old maid,' returned Audrey lazily. * Old 
 maids lead such nice, useful, unselfish lives.' 
 And then, as Mollie opened her eyes rather 
 widely at this, she went on : ' What a pretty 
 frock that is ! — and that smocking is exquisitely 
 done. I really must ask your mother to give
 
 2i6 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 me lessons — for it will be useful if I ever should 
 have any nephews and nieces,' thought Audrey, 
 who was practical in her own way. 
 
 * Mamma will be delighted to teach you ; she 
 is so fond of you, Miss Ross. She was talking 
 about you half the evening. Do you know, she 
 did not go to bed until past one o'clock ; she 
 was finishing my blue cambric. Cyril begged 
 her to put it down half a dozen times, but she 
 said no, she had made up her mind to finish it — 
 and the hat, too. He had to go off to bed and 
 leave her at last, and it was not really done until 
 past one.' 
 
 Audrey made no comment. She was asking 
 herself how far she ought to encourage Mollie's 
 childish loquacity — she was very original and 
 amusing. 
 
 ' But if I do not check her,' thought Audrey, 
 * there is no knowing what she may say next. 
 All the Blakes are so very outspoken.' 
 
 But Mollie was disposed to enlarge on a topic 
 that interested her so closely. She had arrived 
 at an age when a girl begins to feel some anxiety 
 to make the best of herself. Her nice new frock 
 was an important ingredient in the day's plea- 
 sure ; she felt a different Mollie to the Mollie of 
 yesterday. It was as though Cinderella, dusty
 
 MOLLIE GOES TO DEEP-WATER CHINE. 217 
 
 and begrimed with her ashes, had suddenly- 
 donned her princess's robe. 
 
 ' I am so glad you think my frock pretty/ she 
 went on. * I shall be able to go to chapel with 
 Cyril next Sunday. This is my Sunday frock ; 
 my blue cambric is for every afternoon. It was 
 very fortunate mamma was in her working mood 
 yesterday, for she would never have allowed me 
 to come in my old brown frock. She is so busy 
 to-day ; she made me bring her down a pile of 
 Kester's shirts that want mending — " For the 
 poor boy is in rags," she said. Stop ! I think it 
 was Cyril who said that. I thought it was funny 
 for mamma to notice about Kester. Yes, it was 
 Cyril.' 
 
 * Mollie, do you know your mother calls you a 
 sad chatterbox ?* observed Audrey at this point. 
 
 Mollie coloured up and looked perturbed. 
 
 * Oh, Miss Ross, did mamma tell you that 
 really ? Perhaps that was why she wanted to 
 get rid of me yesterday, because I talk so much. 
 Do you know ' — dropping her voice and look- 
 ing rather melancholy — ' I never do seem to 
 please mamma, however much I try ; and I do 
 try — oh ! so hard. I never mind Cyril laughing 
 at me, because he does it so good-naturedly ; 
 but when mamma speaks in that reproachful
 
 2i8 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 voice, and says that at my age I might help her 
 more, I do feel so unhappy. I often cry about 
 it when I go to bed, and then the next day I am 
 sure to be more stupid, and forget things and 
 make mistakes, and then mamma gets more 
 displeased with me than ever.' 
 
 ' My dear little Mollie, I am sure you work 
 hard enough.' 
 
 * Yes, but there is so much to do,' returned 
 Mollie, with a heavy sigh. ' Biddy is so old, 
 she cannot make the beds and sweep and clean 
 and cook the dinner without any help. Kester 
 is always saying that if we had a younger and 
 stronger servant we should do so much better. 
 But mamma is so angry when she hears him 
 say that ; she declares nothing will induce her 
 to part with Biddy — Biddy used to be mamma's 
 nurse, you know. Sometimes I get so tired of 
 doing the same things day after day, and I long 
 to go out and play tennis, like other girls. But 
 that is not the worst ' — and here poor Mollie 
 looked ready to cry ; ' do you mind if I tell you, 
 Miss Ross ? I seem talkingr so much about 
 myself, and I am so afraid of wearying you.' 
 
 * No, dear; you may tell me anything you 
 like — about yourself, I mean,' corrected Audrey 
 hastily.
 
 MOLLIE GOES TO DEEP-WATER CHINE. 219 
 
 ' Yes, I know what you mean, and it will 
 make me so comfortable to talk it all out — and 
 I have only Kester, you know. I am so afraid, 
 and Kester is afraid, too, that with all this 
 rough work 1 shall never be as ladylike as 
 mamma. She has such beautiful manners, and, 
 then, have you noticed her hands, Miss Ross ? 
 they are so white and pretty ; and look at mine !' 
 and Mollie thrust out a brown, roughened little 
 hand for inspection. 
 
 * You have a pretty hand, too, Mollie, though 
 it is not quite soft at present ; but if I were you, 
 I should be proud to think that it was hard with 
 good honest work for others.' 
 
 ' Yes, if only Cyril would not notice it ; he 
 told me one day that no young lady ought to 
 have hands like a kitchenmaid. Mamma heard 
 him say it, and she begged me to use glycerine 
 and sleep in gloves, but I could not do such 
 things. I am afraid you think me very com- 
 plaining, Miss Ross, but I have not got to the 
 worst trouble of all, and that is — that I have so 
 little time for my lessons.' 
 
 ' Oh, I was going to ask you about that.' 
 
 * I fret about it dreadfully sometimes, and then 
 Kester is so sorry for me. He does all he can 
 for me, poor boy ! but sometimes on a hot after-
 
 220 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 noon I am too sleepy and stupid to do my sums 
 and Latin. I don't like sums, Miss Ross, or 
 Latin either : I would so much rather read 
 French and history with mamma — she reads so 
 beautifully and teaches so well — but somehow she 
 is so often too busy or too tired to attend to me.' 
 
 ' And who teaches you music ?' 
 
 * No one,' and here Mollie's face wore a look 
 of the deepest dejection ; ' we have no piano, 
 and mamma does not play. When we lived at 
 Richmond the lady in the drawing-room taught 
 me my notes, and I used to practise scales and 
 exercises in her room. She was such a funny old 
 dear, with queer little pinned-up curls. Her name 
 was Miss Foster — she had been a governess — 
 and she used to be so kind to Kester and me. 
 She would ask us into her room, and give us 
 cake and nice things ; but I don't think she 
 liked mamma — she was always pitying us and 
 calling us ''poor children ;' but I am sure we 
 were very happy.' 
 
 ' And she gave you music-lessons ?' 
 
 ' Yes, and I got on quite nicely. I am so 
 fond of music, Miss Ross, and so is Cyril ; he 
 sings beautifully, and can play his own accom- 
 paniments. He talks of hiring a piano, and then 
 perhaps I can practise my scales and exercises.'
 
 MOLLIE GOES TO DEEP-WATER CHINE. 221 
 
 Audrey made no answer for a moment — she 
 was deep in thought — and then she said 
 suddenly : 
 
 * Are you busy all the morning, Mollie ? I 
 mean, If you had a piano, when would you 
 practise ?' 
 
 This question seemed to puzzle Mollie. 
 
 * I hardly know, Miss Ross — in the morning, 
 I think, when I had done helping Biddy. 
 Kester generally wants me for an hour in the 
 afternoon, and there is the chance, too, that 
 mamma might call me to read history with her. 
 I dare say I could get half an hour or so before 
 dinner — luncheon, I mean.' 
 
 * Would you like to come to me twice a week 
 for a lesson ? Oh, Mollie dear, take care !' for 
 the girl was starting up in her excitement ; ' the 
 water is very deep here, and if you upset 
 us ' 
 
 * No, no, I will sit quite still ; but I did so 
 want to kiss you — it is such a lovely idea !' 
 
 ' I am so glad you approve of it. I tell you 
 what, Mollie, I will call one afternoon and settle 
 it with your mother. The morning will suit 
 me best ; I generally go out after luncheon, 
 unless we have a tennis-party at home ; but 
 with a little management I think I could con-
 
 222 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 trive to spare you an hour twice a week — 
 perhaps an hour and a half,' finished Audrey, 
 whose busy brain had already sugo^ested that a 
 French exercise or half an hour's French read- 
 inor miijht be thrown in after the music-lesson. 
 
 Audrey was a good linguist, and played very 
 nicely ; it made her quite happy to think that 
 she could turn her accomplishments to account. 
 And really the child was so disgracefully 
 neglected — Audrey did not scruple a bit to use 
 the word ' disgracefully.' It was strange how all 
 her sympathy was enlisted on Mollie's behalf, 
 and yet she could not like Mrs. Blake one whit 
 the less for her mismanagement of the girl. On 
 the contrary, Audrey only felt her interest 
 quicken with every fresh side-light and detail ; 
 she longed to take the Blake household under 
 her especial protection, to manipulate the exist- 
 ing arrangements, and put things on a different 
 footing. Biddy should go — that should be the 
 first innovation ; a strong, sturdy Rutherford girl 
 like Rhoda Atkinson should come in her place. 
 Poor little Mollie should be set free from all but 
 the lightest household duties — a little dusting or 
 pastry-making; she should have regular hours for 
 practising, for reading French, even for drawing. 
 Geraldine was very good-natured ; she drew
 
 MOLLIE GOES TO DEEP-WATER CHINE. 223 
 
 beautifully — Audrey was quite sure that after a 
 time she might be pressed into the service. 
 Between herself, Gage, and Kester, Mollie 
 might turn out an accomplished woman. 
 Dreams, mere dreams, if Mrs. Blake could not 
 be induced to part with Biddy ; and here the 
 thought of the little work -roughened hands 
 gave Audrey a positive pang. 
 
 Mollie, on the contrary, sat and beamed at her 
 young benefactress. She was that ; she was 
 everything perfect in Mollie's eyes. Mollie's 
 cup of happiness was full to overflowing ! to see 
 her dear Miss Ross twice a week, to be taught 
 by her to study her beloved music ; Mollie's 
 heart sang for joy ; the sunshine seemed to 
 intoxicate her. She was in a new world — a 
 world with swans and birds and bees in it — full 
 of leafy shadows and rippling, tiny waves. The 
 kind face opposite her breaks into a smile. 
 
 ' Well, Mollie, are you tired of sitting here ? 
 Shall we go back to the landing-place ?' 
 
 * Miss Ross, there is Cyril looking for us !' 
 exclaimed Mollie, almost beside herself with 
 excitement. * Yes, do please let us go back ; 
 he is waving to us.' And Audrey paddled 
 across the pond. 
 
 Cyril lifted his straw hat rather gravely ; but
 
 2 24 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 there was restrained eagerness In his manner as 
 he helped them to ahght. 
 
 * Mrs. Ross sent me to fetch you/ he said 
 quietly. * Tea is ready, and Miss Cardell and 
 her brother are In the drawing-room. Mrs. 
 Ross begged me to come back with you. Why, 
 Mollie ' — with a pleased look — ' I should hardly 
 have known you. She looks almost grown up, 
 does she not, Miss Ross ?' 
 
 His manner had changed in a moment. He 
 looked bright and animated ; his slight gravity 
 vanished. It was Audrey who became suddenly 
 embarrassed ; the eager look with which the 
 young man had greeted her had not been 
 unnoticed by her. Cyril's dark eyes were very 
 expressive. More than once during the last 
 day or two Audrey had Innocently intercepted 
 those strange, searching glances, and they 
 vaguely disturbed her. 
 
 ' It Is very good of you to take all this trouble 
 with Mollie,' continued Cyril, as he walked 
 beside her towards the house. * I need not ask 
 if she has been happy — eh, Mollie ?' 
 
 • I have had a lovely time !' exclaimed Mollie, 
 almost treading on Cyril's heels in her excite- 
 ment. ' Oh, Cyril, do ask Miss Ross to take 
 you in the canoe to Deep-water Chine! It Is
 
 MOLLIE GOES TO DEEP-WATER CHINE. 225 
 
 such a delicious place ! The trees dip into the 
 water, and the birds come down to drink and 
 bathe ; and we saw a water-rat and a water- 
 wagtail, and there was the cuckoo ; and we 
 could hear the cooing of the wood-pigeons 
 whenever we were silent ; and, oh ! it was 
 paradise !' 
 
 * I can believe it,' returned Cyril, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 ' Mr. Blake,' asked Audrey hastily, * why is 
 it that you are not on the cricket-field with the 
 boys ?' 
 
 ' Conybeare has taken my place. A lot of 
 the boys were kept in, which means I was a 
 prisoner too. I have only just opened the gaol- 
 door to the poor wretches. If you want to see 
 a heart-breaking sight. Miss Ross — one sad 
 enough to touch the stoniest heart — go into the 
 schoolroom on a half-holiday on a summer's 
 afternoon when half a dozen boys are kept in 
 for lessons returned. The utter misery depicted 
 on those boys' faces is not to be described.' 
 
 ' I should just shut up their books and tell 
 them to be off.' 
 
 ' I dare say you would,' with an amused look 
 at her. * I can well imagine that that would be 
 Miss Ross's ro/e. We masters have to harden 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 our hearts ; *' discipline must be maintained," as 
 that delightful old fellow in '* Bleak House " 
 used to say ; bad work brings its own punish- 
 ment.' 
 
 ' You are as stern as Captain Burnett. By- 
 the-bye, where is Michael i^' 
 
 ' He has gone out with Dr. Ross. That is 
 why Mrs. Ross wants me to make myself 
 useful ' — and Cyril did make himself useful. 
 
 Some more visitors dropped in, Geraldine 
 amongst them. She had finished her business 
 in the town, had paid a couple of calls, and now 
 looked in on her way home. Somehow, Wood- 
 cote was always on the way home ; but, then, as 
 everyone said, there were few daughters so 
 devoted to their mother as young Mrs. Har- 
 court. 
 
 Audrey, who was presiding at the tea-table, 
 saw her sister looking at Mr. Blake with reluc- 
 tant admiration ; she had never before noticed 
 the quiet ease of his manners. He had lost his 
 first shyness, and was now making himself 
 exceedingly pleasant to Mrs. Ross's guests. 
 Mr. Cardell, who was a stiff, solemn-faced 
 young man, was placed at a decided disadvan- 
 tage ; clever and gentlemanly as he was, he 
 looked positively awkward beside Mr. Blake.
 
 MOLLIE GOES TO DEEP-WATER CHINE. 227 
 
 Mr. Blake seemed to see everything — to notice 
 in a moment if a lady wanted her cup put down, 
 if her tea were not to her taste ; he carried 
 sugar and cream to one, cake or bread and 
 butter to another. He seemed to know by 
 instinct when the teapot wanted replenishing, 
 and was ready to lift the heavy kettle ; but he 
 never remained by Audrey's side a moment. 
 
 As Audrey busied herself among her teacups 
 she was amused by overhearing a fragment of 
 conversation behind her. Emily Cardell, a 
 plain, good-natured sort of girl, had seated 
 herself beside Geraldine. 
 
 ' Mr. Blake seems a decided acquisition,' she 
 observed, in a loud whisper that was distinctly 
 audible. ' We ought all to be very much obliged 
 to Dr. Ross. He is very young, but so dis- 
 tinguished-looking. Poor Oliver is quite cast in 
 the shade.' 
 
 ' I don't know about that, Emily.' 
 
 * I suppose you think comparisons are odious ? 
 But, all the same, I am sure you must admire 
 Mr. Blake.' 
 
 * I think he is very gentlemanly and pleasant.* 
 ' Dear me, Geraldine ! that is very moderate 
 
 praise. I never saw anyone with more finished 
 manners.' 
 
 15—2
 
 228 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 Here Audrey moved away, but her lip curled 
 a little. Would Geraldine's tone have been so 
 utterly devoid of enthusiasm if she had not 
 known her sister was within earshot ? 
 
 Just then Mollie touched Audrey on the 
 arm. 
 
 ' Miss Ross, Cyril says that I have been here 
 long enough, and that he is going to take me 
 away.' 
 
 ' Are you sure that I worded it quite so 
 ungraciously ?' observed Cyril, who had fol- 
 lowed her. 'All the same, I think you will 
 endorse my opinion, Miss Ross. Mollie has 
 been here all the afternoon.' 
 
 ' It has been a very pleasant afternoon,' re- 
 turned Audrey, with one of her kind looks at 
 Mollie ; ' and I hope we shall have many more. 
 Mollie and I mean to see a good deal of each 
 other.' And then she bade them good-bye and 
 turned to the other guests, who were also making 
 their adieux. 
 
 Geraldine remained behind to exchange a few 
 confidential words with her mother, and Audrey 
 stepped out on the terrace. As she did so, she 
 was surprised to see Michael sitting just outside 
 the drawing-room window. He had evidently 
 been there some time.
 
 MOLLIE GOES TO DEEP-WATER CHINE, 229 
 
 As she sat down beside him she was struck 
 by his air of dejection. 
 
 * Oh, Michael, how tired you look ! have you 
 had your tea ?' 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 ^ Then I will go and fetch you some. Do let 
 me, Michael ;' for he had stopped her. 
 
 Michael's hand was very thin and white, but 
 when he cared to put out his strength it had a 
 grasp like iron ; and that firm, soft grip on 
 Audrey's wrist kept her a prisoner. 
 
 * No, don't go ; it is so late that I would 
 rather wait for dinner. I heard the teacups, 
 but I was too lazy to move, and to judge from 
 the voices, the room must have been pretty 
 full.' 
 
 ' Yes ; the Cardells and the Fortescues and 
 Gage were there/ 
 
 ' Mr. Blake, too, was he not ?' 
 
 ' Yes, mother asked him — she wanted him to 
 help entertain the Cardells.' 
 
 * Yes, I see ; and he seems disposed to be 
 friendly — your father has asked him to dinner 
 to-morrow night to meet the Pagets.' 
 
 ' Indeed!' and Audrey tried to suppress the 
 pleasure she felt at this intelligence. * Have 
 you any objection ?' She asked the question in
 
 230 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 a joking manner ; to her surprise her cousin 
 answered her quite gravely : 
 
 ' Well, I think it will be a pity to take too 
 much notice of him — he is young enough to be 
 spoilt. People are glad to have a good-looking 
 fellow like Blake at their parties ; and, then, I 
 hear he has a magnificent voice. I expect half 
 the young ladies of Rutherford will be in love 
 with him — Miss Emily Cardell among them ; 
 eh, Audrey ?' 
 
 ' I am sure I don't know,' returned Audrey 
 coldly ; ' Mr. Blake's good looks are nothing to 
 me.' She spoke with unusual petulance, as 
 though something in her cousin's remarks had 
 not pleased her. * Well, if you will not have 
 some tea, Michael, I must just go back to 
 mother and Gage ;' and as Michael said no 
 word to detain her, she moved away so quickly 
 that she did not hear the half-stifled sigh with 
 which Michael took up his paper again.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 GERALDINE GIVES HER OPINION. 
 
 ' We must be as courteous to a man as we are to a picture, 
 which we are willing to give the advantage of a good light.' — 
 Emerson. 
 
 ' She has a most winning manner and a soft voice.' 
 
 The Abbot. 
 
 Audrey was able to fulfill her promise to 
 Mollie the very next day, when she encountered 
 Mrs. Blake unexpectedly some little way from 
 the town. She was just turning down a lane 
 where one of her protigies, a little lame 
 seamstress, lived, when Zack suddenly bounded 
 round the corner and jumped on her, with one 
 of his delighted barks, and the next moment she 
 saw a lady in black walking very quickly towards 
 her. She wore a large shady hat that com- 
 pletely hid her face, but there was no mistaking 
 that graceful figure. Mrs. Blake had a peculiar
 
 232 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 walk : It was rapid, decided, and had a light 
 skimming movement, that reminded Audrey of 
 some bird flying very near the ground ; and she 
 had a singular habit as she walked of turning 
 her head from side to side, as though scanning 
 distant objects, which deepened this resemblance. 
 
 ' What a charming surprise !' she exclaimed, 
 quickening her pace until it became a little run ; 
 ' who would have thought of meeting you, my 
 dear Miss Ross, in this out-of-the-way corner ? 
 Some errand of mercy has brought you, of 
 course,' with a glance at Audrey's basket. 
 ' That dainty little white cloth reminds me of 
 Red Riding Hood ; I would wager anything 
 that under it there are new-laid eggs and 
 butter. Down, Zack ! you are sniffing at it just 
 as though you were that wicked wolf himself.' 
 
 ' I am going to see Rhoda Williams,' returned 
 Audrey ; ' she is lame, poor girl ! and has 
 miserable health besides, but she works beauti- 
 fully. Geraldine and I employ her as much as 
 possible. I suppose you and Zack have been 
 having a walk.' 
 
 ' My dear Miss Ross,' with extreme gravity, 
 * I am not taking an ordinary constitutional — I 
 have come out in the hope of preserving my 
 reason. I have been enacting a new version of
 
 GERALDINE GIVES HER OPINION. 233 
 
 Hood's ''Song of the Shirt" ; for the last two 
 days it has been "Stitch, stitch, stitch," — how 
 do the words run on ? — until I was on the brink 
 of delirium. An hour ago I said to IMollie : 
 *' If you have any love for your mother, carry 
 away that basket and hide it ; do not let me see 
 it again for twenty-four hours — nature is ex- 
 hausted ;" and then I put on my hat, and, at the 
 risk of spoiling my complexion, came out into 
 this blessed sunshine.' 
 
 Audrey laughed ; there was something so 
 droll, so mirth-provoking in Mrs. Blake's tone. 
 Any other woman would have said, in a matter- 
 of-fact way : * I was tired of work, and so I put 
 on my bonnet ;' but Mrs. Blake liked to drape 
 her sentences effectively. 
 
 ' It is very fortunate that we have met,' 
 returned Audrey, when she had finished her 
 laugh, ' for I want to ask you a great favour ;' 
 and she detailed her little scheme for Mollie. 
 
 Mrs. Blake was evidently surprised, but she 
 testified her gratitude in her usual impulsive way : 
 
 ' How good, how kind of you, my dear Miss 
 Ross ! Indeed, I do not know how to thank 
 you ; no one has ever taken so much notice of 
 my poor Mollie before, except that droll old 
 creature Miss Foster ; but she could not bear
 
 234 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 me — a compliment I reciprocated; so we always 
 quarrelled when we met/ 
 
 ' And you will spare Mollie to me for an 
 hour or so twice a week ?' 
 
 ' Will I not ! Do you suppose I am such an 
 unnatural mother that I could refuse such a 
 generous offer ? I really am ashamed to tell 
 you, Miss Ross, that I do not know a note of 
 music. When I was a girl I was very perverse, 
 and refused to learn, because I said I had no 
 ear ; but in reality 1 hated the trouble of all 
 those scales and exercises. Of course I am 
 sorry for it now : Cyril is so musical, and has 
 such a delightful voice, and even poor little 
 Mollie has picked up her notes as cleverly as 
 possible.' 
 
 ' I am so glad you have not refused me. I 
 am sure I shall enjoy teaching Mollie. I think 
 we had better begin as soon as possible. Let 
 me see : this is Friday ; will you ask her to 
 come to me on Monday morning ? I will be 
 ready for her by half-past eleven.' 
 
 * Thank you a thousand times ! I will cer- 
 tainly give her your message. What a blessing 
 that new cambric is finished! Cyril will be so 
 pleased when I tell him about your kindness. 
 He worries dreadfully about Mollie sometimes :
 
 GERALDIXE GIVES HER OPINION. 235 
 
 he says her education is so desultory ; but I tell 
 him he cannot alter his mother's nature. I 
 never was methodical ; it drives me crazy to do 
 things by rule. Mollie sometimes says to me : 
 " Mamma, I do so wish I had a fixed hour for 
 lessons, that I knew exactly when you could 
 read with me ;" and my invariable answer is, 
 " Good gracious, Mollie! don't you know me by 
 this time ? am I that sort of person ?" I wish 
 for my children's sake that I were different ; 
 but they must just put up with me as I am. 
 You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's 
 ear.' 
 
 * My dear Mrs. Blake, what an odd com- 
 parison !' 
 
 * Oh, it just came into my head, you know ; 
 it is rather strong, but it is very expressive. 
 By-the-bye, I was going to ask you something : 
 Have you any idea on which day your mother 
 and sister intend to call on me ?' 
 
 * I believe Geraldine said Tuesday or Wed- 
 nesday ; I really forget which — Wednesday, I 
 think.' 
 
 ' But it might be Tuesday. Thanks. I 
 would not willingly be out, so I will keep in 
 those two days. Now, I positively must not 
 keep you standing under this hedge any longer;
 
 236 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 but I feel all the better for this nice little talk.' 
 And after a few more parting words Mrs. 
 Blake went on her way, and Audrey unlocked 
 the o^ate of Mrs. Williams' cottacre. 
 
 The short interview with Mrs. Blake had 
 been satisfactory ; her request had been granted 
 without demur or difficulty. Mrs. Blake had 
 shown herself in a sensible light. Audrey's 
 benevolence had now a new object ; she would 
 spare no pains or trouble with this poor neg- 
 lected child. To meditate fresh acts of 
 kindness always stirred Audrey's pulses as 
 thousfh she had imbibed new wine. Her 
 sympathetic temperament felt warmed, vivified, 
 exhilarated, as she stooped to enter the low 
 room where Rhoda Williams was expecting her. 
 
 Audrey looked forward rather anxiously to 
 her mother and Geraldine's visit. She watched 
 them set out with secret perturbation. They 
 were to call at one or two places besides, but 
 Mrs. Ross assured her very seriously that they 
 would be back to tea ; and as Geraldine seemed 
 to consider this as a matter of course, Audrey 
 got over her own business as soon as possible, 
 so as to be back at Woodcote at the same time. 
 
 Michael had gone up to town for two ortliree 
 days, and was not expected home until Monday.
 
 GERALDINE GIVES HER OPINION. 237 
 
 Dr. Ross rarely made his appearance in his 
 wife's drawing-room until late in the evening, 
 and, as no casual visitors dropped in, Audrey 
 would be able to cross-examine them to her 
 heart's content. But she knew her mother well 
 enough to be sure that no questions would be 
 needed. Even if Geraldine were inclined to be 
 reserved, to keep her opinions for her husband's 
 ear, Mrs. Ross would be sure to discourse very 
 readily on her own and Geraldine's doings. 
 
 'Well, my dear,' she said in her cheery way, 
 as she entered the room, ' here we are, as punc- 
 tual as possible, and quite ready for a nice cup 
 of tea. Of course Mrs. Fortescue was out — 
 she always is — and Mrs. Cardell was just going 
 out, so we would not detain her ; and Mrs. 
 Charrington had her room full of visitors, so we 
 would not stay long there.' 
 
 ' Of course, as Lady Mountjoy was there, no 
 one else had a chance of getting a word with 
 Mrs. Charrington,' observed Geraldine, with 
 rather a discontented air. 
 
 * My love, I am sure Mrs. Charrington was 
 as nice as possible to you ; you know what a 
 favourite you are with her. But a person like 
 Lady Mountjoy is always so embarrassing to a 
 hostess. She is so very big, Audrey, and seems
 
 238 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 to take up so much more room than other 
 people ; and, then, she Is such a talker!' 
 
 * So she is, mother. I don't wonder poor 
 Mrs. Charrington found herself unable to talk 
 
 to Gage.' 
 
 ' No; so we did not stay long. What was 
 the use ? Well, my dear, I dare say you 
 wonder how we got on at the Gray Cottage ? 
 We had a very pleasant visit, on the whole — an 
 exceedingly pleasant visit.' 
 
 Audrey's face brightened ; this was better 
 than she expected. 
 
 * Mrs. Blake was in. I think, from her manner, 
 that she was expecting us.' 
 
 *Yes; certainly we were expected,' put In 
 Geraldine, in rather a decided voice. 
 
 ' She was in the drawing-room, and everything 
 was as nice as possible ; and the old servant is very 
 respectable-looking. Mrs. Blake was doing some 
 lovely embroidery in a frame. How exquisitely 
 she works, Audrey ! and she selects her own 
 shades, too. That dear little Mollie was read- 
 ing to her — French history, I think. They did 
 look so comfortable ! You are certainly right, 
 my dear: Mrs. Blake is a most charming 
 woman ; she has very taking manners, and is 
 altogether so bright and expressive.'
 
 GERALDINE GIVES HER OPINION. 239 
 
 ' She is certainly very handsome,' observed 
 Geraldine — * a most striking-looking person, as 
 Edith says. Mother and I agreed that her son 
 is very like her ; but, for my own part, I prefer 
 Mr. Blake's quiet manners.' 
 
 * But you like her, Gage ?' and Audrey looked 
 a little anxiously at her sister. 
 
 ' I am not quite sure,' was the cautious answer. 
 * Mother liked her ; but, then, mother likes 
 everyone. She was friendly and pleasant — • 
 pointedly so ; but, in my opinion, she is too 
 Impulsive, too outspoken altogether. It is not 
 quite good form. A grown-up person should 
 have more reticence. To me, Mrs. Blake is 
 wanting In dignity.' 
 
 * I think you are rather severe on her, Gage. 
 You and Mrs. Blake are very different people.' 
 
 * You need not tell me that. Mrs. Blake and 
 I are at the antipodes as far as temperament 
 and sympathy are concerned. You are very 
 impulsive yourself, Audrey, and often speak 
 without thought ; but I do not think you are 
 quite so outspoken as Mrs. Blake.' 
 
 ' Well, perhaps not.' 
 
 ' It was so unnecessary for her to tell mother, 
 for example, that she was too poor to indulge 
 her social tastes, and that she hoped her Ruther-
 
 240 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 ford neighbours would be very sparing of their 
 invitations. It was not as though we had led 
 up to it. Nothing of the sort had been said 
 to prompt such an extraordinary statement. I 
 am sure Percival would have called that bad 
 form.' 
 
 ' How I do hate that expression !' exclaimed 
 Audrey, rather pettishly. She thought Geral- 
 dine more than usually trying this afternoon. 
 
 ' Still, I am sure you would have agreed with 
 me that it was most uncalled-for. Mother was 
 quite taken aback for a moment. She told me 
 so afterwards — did you not, mother ?' 
 
 *Yes, dear; and, of course, it put me in a 
 difficult position. I am sure I do not know 
 what we were talking about, Audrey. I think 
 I was saying something about Rutherford being 
 a sociable little place.' 
 
 ' Yes ; and then she interrupted you, mother, 
 and said. In an abrupt sort of way, that its 
 sociability would matter very little to her, for, 
 dearly as she loved gaiety, she could not afford 
 to indulge in it. ''So I hope no kind neigh- 
 bours will ask me to dinner, or to any kind 
 of evening entertainment, for I should be 
 obliged to refuse." Now, do you call that 
 quite in good taste, Audrey ?'
 
 GERALDINE GIVES HER OPINION. 241 
 
 * I think that it was, at any rate, very honest. 
 I can see none of that pretentiousness that 
 Edith Bryce led us to expect.' 
 
 ' I don't know,' rather doubtfully. ' Mrs. 
 Blake is certainly not a humble person ; she 
 thinks a great deal of herself. At times her 
 manner was almost patronizing. She talks a 
 great deal too much about her son. Of course 
 she has a right to be proud of him ; but it was 
 a pity to be quite so gushing.' 
 
 * It is useless to talk to you, Gage,' returned 
 Audrey impatiently. ' Edith Bryce has pre- 
 judiced you too much. You are judging Mrs. 
 Blake very unfairly/ 
 
 * I hope not. I do not wish to be unfair to 
 anyone ; but I must own that I am sorry that 
 you have such an infatuation for her.' 
 
 * I don't know about that ; but I am certainly 
 very much interested in the whole family.' 
 
 'Yes; and I could not help observing to 
 mother that I thought it a great pity. They 
 evidently look upon you as a close friend. It 
 was " dear Miss Ross " every minute from one 
 or other of them.' 
 
 ' Audrey has been so good to them, you see,' 
 returned Mrs. Ross, whose soft heart had been 
 much touched by her daughter's praises. * I am 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 quite sure, Geraldine, that Mrs. Blake meant 
 every word she said ; there were tears in her 
 eyes once when she mentioned how unused they 
 were to such kindness. Audrey, my dear, I 
 have asked Mrs. Blake to waive ceremony and 
 come to us on Monday, and I assure you she 
 was quite pleased. She said it was such a treat 
 to her to watch tennis, and that she loved to see 
 her son play. And now, of course, we must ask 
 Mr. Blake.' 
 
 * Oh yes, I suppose so.' Audrey spoke with 
 studied indifference. * It is a pity you are 
 engaged ' — turning to her sister — ' for we shall 
 have quite a large party.' 
 
 * Yes, I am thoroughly vexed about it,' re- 
 turned Geraldine, ' for Mrs. Charrington is 
 coming too. I wish Mrs. Sheppard would not 
 always fix Monday ;' and then, after a litde 
 more talk about the arrangements for the 
 tennis-party, she took her leave, Audrey, as 
 usual, accompanying her to the gate. 
 
 ' I suppose Michael will be back for it ?^ was 
 her parting question. 
 
 Audrey supposed so too, but she was not 
 quite certain of Michael's movements. He had 
 said something about his intention of coming 
 back on Monday, but he might alter his mind
 
 GERALDINE GIVES HER OPINION. 243 
 
 before that. Michael had noc seemed quite like 
 himself the day before he went to town ; she 
 was sure something had harassed him. Geral- 
 dine hoped fervently that this was not the case ; 
 she never liked dear old Michael to be troubled 
 about anything. And then the two sisters 
 kissed each other very affectionately. Audrey 
 always forgave Geraldine her little vexing pro- 
 prieties and tiresome habit of managing every- 
 one when she felt her loving kiss on her cheek. 
 
 ' After all, there are only we two,' she thought, 
 as she walked back to the house. * I must not 
 magnify Gage's little faults, for she is a dear 
 woman.' 
 
 And Geraldine's thoughts were quite as 
 affectionate. 
 
 ' I hope I have not vexed her too much about 
 this new protdgde of hers,' she said to herself, 
 ' but one cannot pretend to like a person. 
 Audrey is a darling, and I would not hurt her 
 for the world. After all, she is a much better 
 Christian than I am ;' and then she had a long, 
 comfortable talk with her husband, in which she 
 indemnified herself for any previous restraint. 
 
 * It is so nice to be able to tell you every- 
 thing, Percy dear !' she exclaimed, as the dress- 
 ing gong warned her to close the conversation. 
 
 16 — 2
 
 244 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 * That is the good of having a husband,' he 
 replied, as he put his books together and pre- 
 pared to follow her. 
 
 Michael did not return in time for the tennis- 
 party, but Audrey could only give him a regretful 
 thought — so many people were coming that her 
 hands were quite full. She was busy until 
 luncheon time, and Geraldine good-naturedly 
 came down from Hillside to offer her help, and 
 had to submit to an anxious lecture from her 
 mother on her imprudence in coming out in the 
 heat. Audrey had scarcely time to change her 
 dress before the first guest arrived. Mrs. Blake 
 came early ; her son was still engaged with his 
 scholastic duties, and would make his appear- 
 ance later ; but he had not allowed her to wait 
 for him. Audrey saw her coming through the 
 gate, and went at once to meet her. 
 
 ' Well, Miss Ross, I am making my debut,' 
 she said gaily ; ' have I come too early ? Do tell 
 me which is the schoolroom window ; I want to 
 know where my boy sits ; he said he should 
 look out for me.' 
 
 Audrey suggested rather gravely that they 
 should walk along: the terrace : her mother was 
 on the lawn with Mrs. Charrington. She 
 thought Mrs. Blake looked exceedingly nice in
 
 GERALDINE GIVES HER OPINION. 245 
 
 her thin black dress and little close bonnet ; 
 nothing could be simpler, and perhaps nothing 
 would have suited her half so well. Audrey 
 felt sure that everyone would admire her ; and 
 she was ricrht. Mrs. Charrington fell in love 
 with her at first sight, and to Audrey's great 
 amusement her father paid her the most marked 
 attention. 
 
 ' My dear, do tell me who that lady in black 
 is,' inquired Gertrude Fortescue, catching hold 
 of Audrey's arm ; * she is perfectly lovely. 
 What magnificent hair she has, and what a 
 sweet smile ! Papa is talking to her now, and 
 Mrs. Charrington is on her other side.' 
 
 ' Oh, that is Mrs. Blake — you know her son, 
 Gertrude.' 
 
 'Mr. Blake's mother! why, she looks quite 
 young enough to be his sister. I wish you 
 would introduce me, Audrey ; I have quite lost 
 my heart to her.' 
 
 ' I have brought you another admirer, Mrs. 
 Blake,' observed Audrey mischievously, while 
 Gertrude Fortescue turned red and looked 
 foolish. Mrs. Blake received the young lady 
 with one of her charming smiles. 
 
 ' Everyone is so kind,' she murmured ; ' I am 
 having such a happy afternoon, Miss Ross. I
 
 246 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 won't tell you what I think of Dr. Ross — I 
 positively dare not ; and Mrs. Charrington, too, 
 has been as nice as possible.' 
 
 ' And now Gertrude means to be nice, too/ 
 returned Audrey brightly. * Good-bye for the 
 present ; I have to play with Mr. Blake, and he 
 is waiting for me ;' and she hurried away. 
 
 What a successful afternoon it was ! Mrs. 
 Blake was certainly making her mark among 
 the Rutherford people ; no one in their senses 
 could have found fault with her manners. She 
 was perfectly good-humoured and at her ease ; 
 she had a pleasant word and smile for every- 
 body. 
 
 ' One would have imagined that all these 
 strangers would have made her nervous,' 
 thought Audrey ; but It needed a close ob- 
 server to detect any mark of uneasiness In Mrs 
 Blake's voice or manner. Now and then there 
 might be a slight flush, an involuntary move- 
 ment of the well-gloved hands, a quick start or 
 turn of the head, if anyone suddenly addressed 
 her ; but no one would have noticed these little 
 symptoms. 
 
 ' Your mother seems to be enjoying herself,' 
 observed Audrey, as she joined Cyril and they 
 walked across the lawn together.
 
 GERALDINE GIVES HER OPINION. 247 
 
 * Yes,' he returned, with a pleased look ; ' she 
 is quite happy.' 
 
 * Let us sit where we can see my son and 
 Miss Ross play !' exclaimed Mrs. Blake, rising 
 as she spoke. ' Look ! there are chairs on that 
 side of the lawn. What a well-matched couple 
 they are ! — both play so well. Miss Ross is not 
 as handsome as her sister — Mrs. Harcourt is an 
 exceedingly fine young woman, and one seldom 
 sees such a complexion in the present day — but, 
 in my humble opinion, Miss Ross is far more 
 charming.' 
 
 ' Do you think so ? We are all very fond of 
 Geraldine, and — oh yes, Audrey is very nice 
 too,' returned Miss Fortescue a little absently. 
 She was considered handsome herself, and it 
 struck her with some degree of wonderment 
 that the afternoon was half over and Mr. Blake 
 had not asked her to play tennis.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 'l AM SORRY YOU ASKED THE QUESTION.' 
 
 'Thou must not be hurt at a well-meaning friend, though he 
 shake thee somewhat roughly by the shoulder to awake thee.' — 
 
 QUENTIN DURWARD. 
 
 Half an hour later Audrey had finished her 
 game, and had resisted all her partner's plead- 
 ings to give their opponents their revenge. She 
 might feel tempted — Mr. Blake played so 
 splendidly — but she knew her duty to her 
 guests better than that. 
 
 ' You must get another partner,' she said, 
 with something of her sister's decision. ' Here 
 Is Miss Fortescue ; she has been sitting out a 
 long time, and she Is a very good player. Ger- 
 trude ' — raising her voice — * Mr. Blake wants a 
 partner. I am sure you will take pity on him.' 
 And In this manner Gertrude obtained her 
 wish.
 
 'I AM SORRY YOU ASKED THE QUESTION.' 249 
 
 Perhaps she would rather have had her desire 
 gratified in a different manner — if Mr. Blake 
 had asked her himself, for example. She was 
 not quite pleased at the tone in which he pro- 
 fessed himself delighted to play with Miss 
 Fortescue ; he fetched her racket a little reluc- 
 tantly, when Audrey pointed it out, and there 
 was certainly no enthusiasm visible in his manner 
 as he suggested that Miss Cardell and her 
 partner were waiting for them. 
 
 •' Do you know where my mother and ]Miss 
 Ross have gone ?' he asked, as they took their 
 place. 
 
 * Mrs. Blake asked Miss Ross to show her 
 the pond. They are waiting for you to serve, 
 Mr. Blake ;' and then Cyril did consent to 
 throw himself into the game. Miss Fortescue 
 was a good-looking girl, and played well, but 
 she was not Miss Ross ; nevertheless, Cyril had 
 no intention of accepting a beating, and he was 
 soon playing as brilliantly as ever. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mrs. Blake was talking after her 
 usual rapid fashion. 
 
 ' What beautiful grounds ! and so tastefully 
 laid out, too. I have never seen such a 
 garden. I do love this succession of terraces, 
 and those trees with white leaves just striped
 
 250 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 with pink — what do you call them, Miss 
 Ross ?' 
 
 Audrey told her they were white maple. 
 
 * Dear me ! Did Dr. Ross plant them ? 
 They do look so well against that dark back- 
 ground of trees. Everything is in such perfect 
 taste and order, and Cyril says it is the same in 
 the house. The Bryces' establishment was not 
 half so well regulated. He declares Dr. Ross 
 has a master-mind, and, now I have talked to 
 him, I am quite sure Cyril is right.' 
 
 ^ You must not expect me to contradict you. 
 I think there is no one like my father.' 
 
 ' I dare say not. He is charming — positively 
 charming! So this is the pond Kester and 
 Mollie rave about ? What a sweet little place 
 — so still and so retired ! But of course you 
 can see the house from it. Is not that your 
 cousin, Captain Burnett ?' — as they came in 
 sight of the bench. 'It is very much like 
 him.' 
 
 * Yes, of course it is Michael!' and Audrey 
 quickened her steps in some surprise. * My 
 dear Michael, when did you get back ? No one 
 knows of your arrival.' 
 
 * I dare say not,' he returned somewhat 
 gravely, as he shook hands with her and bowed
 
 '/ AM SORRY YOU ASKED THE QUESTION: 251 
 
 to Mrs. Blake. ' I only got in half an hour ago, 
 and, having no mind to mingle with the crowd, 
 I sat here to get cool.' 
 
 * Have you had some tea, Michael ?' 
 
 * Oh yes ; Parker brought me some. Never 
 mind me. How have you been getting on ?' 
 looking at her attentively. 
 
 ' Oh, very well.' But Audrey blushed a little 
 uneasily under that kind look. * Mrs. Blake, I 
 believe you have not met my cousin before ?' 
 
 ' I think we have met, Audrey.' 
 
 * To be sure we have !' responded Mrs. Blake, 
 with her brightest smile. ' I am so glad of 
 this opportunity of speaking to you. Captain 
 Burnett. I hope Miss Ross gave you my 
 message ?' 
 
 ' I don't believe I have had any message — 
 have I, Audrey ?' And Audrey laughed a little 
 guiltily ; she did not always remember people's 
 messages. 
 
 Mrs. Blake shook her head at her. 
 
 * Oh, you traitress !' she exclaimed playfully. 
 *And I thought you, of all people, were to be 
 trusted. Captain Burnett, I must give my own 
 message. I want to thank you for your kind- 
 ness to my poor boy.' 
 
 ' He is not poor at all,' he replied lightly ;
 
 252 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 but his keen blue eyes seemed to take the 
 measure, mental and physical, of the graceful- 
 looking woman before him. * He is a very 
 clever fellow, and will make his mark. I can 
 assure you I quite envy him his brains.' 
 
 ' It makes me so proud to hear you say that. 
 I often wonder why my children are so clever ; 
 their father ' — she checked herself, and then 
 went on in a more subdued key — * my poor 
 husband had only average talents, and as for 
 
 me ' She left her sentence unfinished in a 
 
 most expressive way. 
 
 * Mollie says you are clever too, Mrs. 
 Blake.' 
 
 * My dear Miss Ross, then Mollie — bless her 
 little heart ! — is wrong. Is it my fault if those 
 foolish children choose to swear by their mother? 
 Cleverness does not consist in chattering a little 
 French and Italian — does it, Captain Burnett ? 
 You and I know better than that, and it will 
 always be a lasting wonder to me why I have a 
 son like my Cyril.' 
 
 * You have two sons, Mrs. Blake.' 
 Something indefinable in Michael's tone made 
 
 Mrs. Blake redden for a moment ; then she 
 recovered herself. 
 
 * Yes, thank God ! I have ; but a widow's
 
 'I AM SORRY YOU ASKED THE QUESTION: 253 
 
 eldest son is always her prop. Kester is a 
 mere boy; he cannot help his mother much yet.' 
 
 ' Kester is nearly sixteen, and will soon be a 
 man ; he is already very thoughtful for his age. 
 I am sure you will permit me to say that I 
 already take great interest in him ; he has a 
 wonderful thirst for knowledge. I showed one 
 of his translations to Dr. Ross, and he was 
 quite struck by it. You know, Dr. Ross is a 
 fine Greek scholar.' 
 
 Mrs. Blake seemed much impressed ; she was 
 evidently taken aback. She was generally so 
 absorbed in her eldest son that she failed to 
 give Kester his due. The boy was shy and 
 retiring with her ; very likely he felt himself 
 unappreciated. Anyhow, it was certain that he 
 sought sympathy from everyone but his mother ; 
 and yet, in her own way, she was kind to him. 
 
 Audrey was a little disappointed to find 
 Michael so grave in his manner to her charm- 
 ing friend — for such she already considered Mrs. 
 Blake. Michael was generally so nice and genial 
 with people ; he did not seem in the least aware 
 that he was talking to a pretty woman. In 
 Audrey's opinion, he seemed disposed to pick 
 holes in Mrs. Blake's words to find matter for 
 argument. Not that this would be apparent to
 
 254 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 anyone but herself; but then she knew Michael 
 so well. She could always tell In a moment if 
 he approved or disapproved of anyone. One 
 thing was clear enough to her, that Mrs. Blake 
 was not at her ease. She lost her gay fluency, 
 and hesitated for a word now and then ; and 
 when they left the lake and walked towards 
 the tennis-ground, and Cyril intercepted them, 
 she gave him an appealing look to draw him to 
 her side. But for once Cyril was blind to his 
 mother's wishes. He shook hands with Captain 
 Burnett, and then fell behind to speak to 
 Audrey. 
 
 ' Do you mean to say that you have finished 
 your game already ?' she asked, in some sur- 
 prise. 
 
 ^ No, indeed ; only Mrs. Fortescue discovered 
 that it was late, and took her daughter away, 
 and, of course, I could not beat them single- 
 handed — Wheeler is a crack player — so we 
 made up our mind to consider it a drawn game. 
 You ought not to have thrown me over, Miss 
 Ross,' dropping his voice; ' it was hardly kind, 
 was it ?' 
 
 ' Would you have me play with you and 
 neglect all my other guests ?' she returned, 
 smiling. ' I think you owe me some gratitude
 
 '/ AM SORRY YOU ASKED THE QUESTION: 255 
 
 for providing you with a partner like Gertrude 
 Fortescue. She is one of our best players.' 
 
 ' I would rather have kept the partner I had,' 
 he replied, with unwonted obstinacy ; * even 
 in tennis one prefers one's own selection. I 
 played the first set far better.' 
 
 * I believe you are a little cross with me, Mr. 
 Blake.' 
 
 * I !' startled by this accusation, although it 
 was playfully made, and reddening to his 
 temples ; ' I have no right to take such a 
 liberty. No man in his senses could be cross 
 with you for a moment.' 
 
 *You are wrong. Michael is often cross 
 with me.' 
 
 * Is he ?' slackening his pace, and so compel- 
 ling her to do the same, until there were 
 several yards between them and the couple in 
 front. ' Captain Burnett seems to me far too 
 good-natured ; I should have said there was 
 not a spark of temper about him. I am rather 
 hasty myself.' 
 
 ' I am so glad you have warned me in time, 
 Mr. Blake.' 
 
 * Why, do you meditate any special provoca- 
 tion ?' Then, catching sight of her dimple, his 
 own face relaxed. ' I see you are laughing at
 
 256 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 me. I am afraid I was not properly gracious 
 to Miss Fortescue. I will make up for it on 
 Thursday at the Charringtons', and ask her to 
 play. You will be there ?' with a note of 
 anxiety in his voice. 
 
 ' Oh yes ; I shall be there, of course.' 
 
 ^ We must have one set together ; you will 
 promise me that ?' and Cyril's dark eyes looked 
 full into hers. 
 
 ^ Yes, certainly.' But Audrey blushed a little. 
 She felt a sudden desire to hurry after the 
 others ; but her companion evidently held a 
 different opinion. 
 
 ' Do you know Mrs. Charrington has asked 
 my mother to come too ?' 
 
 ' No, indeed ; but I am so glad to hear it.' 
 
 ' She was most kind about it : she has 
 promised to call on her to-morrow. My mother 
 is so pleased. Does she not look happy, Miss 
 Ross ? She is so fond of this sort of thing — a 
 dull life never suits her. She nearly moped 
 herself to death at Headingly ; we were all un- 
 comfortable there.' 
 
 ' I think she will get on with the Rutherford 
 people.' 
 
 * Indeed I hope so. Miss Ross, do you 
 know, I am so vexed about something my
 
 '/ AM SORRY YOU ASKED THE QUESTION: 257 
 
 mother said the other afternoon, when Mrs. 
 Ross and Mrs. Harcourt were caUing on her.' 
 And as Audrey looked mystified, he w^ent on 
 slowly : * She accually told them that she would 
 accept no evening engagements, and that she 
 hoped no one would invite her to dinner.' 
 
 * Oh yes, I remember.' 
 
 ' I am afraid they must have thought it very 
 strange. I tell my mother that she is far too 
 frank and outspoken for our civilized age, and 
 that there is not the slightest need to flaunt our 
 poverty in our neighbours' faces.' 
 
 Cyril spoke with an air of unmistakable 
 annoyance, and Audrey good-naturedly hastened 
 to soothe him. Her fine instinct told her that 
 his stronger and more reticent nature must often 
 be wounded by his mother's indiscreet tongue. 
 
 ' I am afraid you are a little worldly-minded, 
 Mr. Blake. I consider your mother was far 
 more honest.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' in a low tone ; ' but all the 
 same,' returning to his usual manner, ' it was 
 premature and absurd to make such a state- 
 ment. My mother has to do as I like,' throw- 
 ing back his handsome head with a sort of wil- 
 fulness that Audrey thought very becoming, 
 ' and I intend her to go out. Miss Ross, I am 
 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 going to ask you a very odd question, but 
 there is no other lady to whom I can put such 
 an inquiry. Does it cost so very much — I 
 mean, how much does it cost — for a lady to be 
 properly dressed for the evening ?' 
 
 Audrey did not dare to laugh, Cyril was so 
 evidently in earnest ; her nice tact guarded her 
 from making such a grievous mistake. 
 
 'Your question is a little vague, Mr. Blake ; 
 I hardly know what I am to understand by it. 
 Do you mean evening dress for one dinner- 
 party or a succession of dinner-parties ? You 
 know, they are perpetual in Rutherford ; every 
 house invites every other house to dinner. In 
 Rutherford we are terribly given to dining out.' 
 
 * Oh, I see ; and relays of gowns would be 
 required,' returned Cyril in a dejected voice. * I 
 am afraid I must give it up, then. My mother 
 would certainly not be able to afford that for 
 the present.' 
 
 ' But when one wears black, a change of 
 dress is not so necessary/ interrupted Audrey 
 eagerly. ' If I were poor, I should not allow 
 poverty to debar me from the society of my 
 fellow-creatures, just because I could not make 
 as great a display as other people. No, indeed; 
 I would not be the slave of my clothes.'
 
 '/ AM SORRY YOU ASKED THE QUESTION: 259 
 
 * I can believe that,' with an admiring glance. 
 
 * I would have one good black dress — and it 
 should be as nice as my m.eans would allow — 
 and I would wear it everywhere, and I would 
 not care a bit if people looked as though they 
 recognised it. " You are noticing my gown !" I 
 would say to them. '* Yes, it is an old friend. 
 Old friends are better than new, and I mean to 
 cling to mine. By-and-by, when I am a little 
 richer, I will buy another." ' 
 
 * Miss Ross, if my mother could but hear you !' 
 ' Tell her what I say, and bid her do the 
 
 same. Black suits her so perfectly, too.' 
 
 * Oh, she never means to wear anything else 
 but black,' he returned gravely. 
 
 * Let her get a soft silk — a Surah, for example 
 — and if it be made prettily and in the newest 
 fashion, it will look well for a long time. Yes ' 
 — reflectively — * Mrs. Blake would look well in 
 Surah.' 
 
 ' Would she ? Do you mind telling me how 
 to spell it ?' and Cyril produced his pocket-book. 
 
 * S-u-r-a-h.' 
 
 * Thank you a thousand times, Miss Ross! 
 And about the cost — would five pounds do ?' 
 looking at her anxiously. 
 
 ' Oh yes, I should say that would do,* re- 
 
 17 — 2
 
 26o LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 plied Audrey, who in reality knew very little 
 about it. 
 
 Mr. Blake would have done better to have 
 consulted Geraldine, she thought. Geraldine 
 would have told him tlie price to a fraction of a 
 shilling ; she would have directed him to the 
 best shop for making an excellent bargain. 
 Geraldine had a genius for these practical 
 things, whereas she — Audrey — was liable to 
 make mistakes. 
 
 ' I am sure five pounds will do,' she repeated, 
 by way of encouragement ; and again Cyril 
 thanked her fervently. 
 
 There was no more opportunity for carrying 
 on this interesting discussion, for the others 
 were now standing quite still in the shrubbery- 
 walk, waiting for them to join them. 
 
 ' My dearest boy, everyone has gone !' ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Blake, in a tone of dismay. ' The 
 tennis-lawn is empty !' 
 
 ' What does that matter T replied Audrey, 
 hastening up to her with a heightened colour, 
 as she noticed a quick, observant look on 
 Michael's part. 'We have no rule for our 
 Mondays ; people come when they like, and 
 stay as long as they like.' 
 
 ' But, still, to be the last to go, and this is my
 
 */ AM SORRY YOU ASKED THE QUESTION: 261 
 
 first visit to Woodcote !' rejoined Mrs. Blake 
 uneasily. ' Cyril, you ought to have taken me 
 away long ago.' 
 
 * We will make our adieux now,' he returned 
 carelessly, and not at all affected by his mother's 
 discomposure. ' Come, mother, I see Mrs. 
 Ross standing in the drawing-room window; 
 she is evidently waiting for us.' And Cyril 
 drew his mother's hand through his arm. 
 
 Audrey and Michael followed them to the 
 gate. Mrs. Blake kissed Audrey with some 
 effusion. Audrey, who, in spite of her large 
 heart and wide sympathies, was not a demon- 
 strative person, would willingly have dispensed 
 with this little attention before the gentlemen. 
 Mrs. Blake had never offered to embrace her 
 before. She had an idea, too, that Cyril was 
 not quite pleased. 
 
 * Come, come, mother,' he said impatiently, 
 ' we are detaining Miss Ross ;' and he hurried 
 her away. 
 
 Audrey would have returned to the house 
 at once, but Michael asked her to take another 
 turn in the shrubbery. 
 
 ' For I have not seen you for a whole week,' 
 he grumbled ; ' and it is hardly possible to get a 
 word with you now.'
 
 262 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 * Well, you have me now,' she returned, with 
 assumed gaiety ; but all the time she wanted to 
 be alone and think what Mr. Blake's parting 
 
 look meant. ' It was so — so ' Audrey 
 
 could not quite find the word. ' And now, 
 Michael, I am ready.' Audrey was going to 
 say, • I am ready to hear your opinion of 
 Mrs. Blake;' but just at that moment she saw 
 her father coming to meet them. 
 
 Two is company, but three is none, as both 
 Michael and Audrey felt at that moment. Dr. 
 Ross, on the contrary, joined them with the air 
 of a man who knows himself to be an acquisi- 
 tion. He tucked his daughter's hand under his 
 arm, and began questioning Michael about his 
 week in town. 
 
 As it happened, Michael had seen and done a 
 good deal, and Audrey was soon interested in 
 what he had to tell them. She knew all 
 Michael's friends by name, and in this way 
 could claim acquaintance with a large circle. 
 She was soon busily questioning him in her turn. 
 Had he seen that pretty little Mrs. Maddox ? 
 and was the baby christened ? and who was the 
 second godfather ? and so on, until the gong 
 warned them to disperse. 
 
 The conversation at dinner ran on the same
 
 '7 AM SORRY YOU ASKED THE QUESTION.' 263 
 
 topics, but just before they rose from the table 
 Mrs. Ross asked Michael if he did not admire 
 Mrs. Blake. 
 
 ' Very much, indeed,' he returned, without a 
 moment's hesitation. * She has three very 
 excellent points for a woman : she is pretty, 
 lively, and amusing. I had quite a long talk 
 with her.' And then he changed the subject — 
 whether intentionally or unintentionally Audrey 
 could not tell — and began telling them about 
 a picture one of his friends was painting for the 
 next Exhibition. 
 
 Michael was very much engaged the next few 
 days. He had told Kester to come to him 
 every morning that week, to make up for the 
 lessons he had lost, and as a succession of garden- 
 parties occupied Audrey's afternoons, she did 
 not find time for one of those confidential chats 
 with Michael which they both so much enjoyed. 
 When Thursday came Michael escorted her to 
 the Charringtons' garden-party. Mrs. Ross 
 and her husband were to come later. 
 
 Audrey was amongst the tennis-players, but, 
 as she passed to and fro with her various 
 partners, she saw Michael more than once talk- 
 ing to Mrs. Blake. The first time he gave her 
 a nod and a smile, but when she passed them
 
 264 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 aorain he seemed too much eno:rossed with Mrs. 
 Blake's Hvely conversation to notice her. 
 
 Audrey had just finished her second game 
 with Mr. Blake, and he was taking her to the 
 house in search of refreshment. As Audrey 
 ate her strawberries, she wondered a little over 
 Michael's abstraction. 
 
 * He certainly seems to admire her,' she said 
 to herself. 
 
 Michael and she were to dine at Hillside that 
 evening, and as they walked home together 
 in the summer moonlight Audrey bethought 
 herself at last of asking that question. 
 
 ' Michael, I want you to tell me what you 
 think of Mrs. Blake ? I am quite sure you like 
 her very much indeed.' 
 
 ' You are wrong, then. I wonder what put 
 such a notion in your head — because I was 
 talking to her so much this afternoon ? That 
 was more her fault than mine. No, Audrey ; I 
 am sorry to say it, but I do not like Mrs. Blake 
 at all; 
 
 ' Michael !' and Audrey stood still in the 
 road. This was a shock indeed ! She was 
 prepared for criticism : Michael always criti- 
 cised her friends ; he felt it a part of his duty ; 
 but this utter disapprobation was so unexpected ;
 
 'I AM SORRY YOU ASKED THE QUESTION.' 265 
 
 it was crushing — absolutely crushing ! Michael, 
 too, whose opinion she trusted so entirely 1 
 * Oh, I hope you don't mean it — that you are 
 only joking,' she said, so earnestly that he felt a 
 little sorry for his abruptness ; but it was too 
 late to retract ; besides, Michael never re- 
 tracted. 
 
 ' I am sorry you asked me the question ; but 
 I am bound to tell you the truth, you know.' 
 
 ' And is it really the truth ?' she asked a little 
 piteously. ' It is very soon for you to have 
 made up your mind that you do not like her ; 
 why, you have only spoken to her twice.' 
 
 * Yes ; but I have had plenty of time to form 
 my opinion of her. Look here, Audrey, you 
 must not be vexed with me. I would not have 
 found fault with your fair friend if you had not 
 asked my opinion. Of course I admire her ; 
 one has seldom seen a prettier woman, and her 
 style is so uncommon, too.' 
 
 ' Don't, Michael ; you will be praising her 
 hair and complexion next, as Gertrude Fortescue 
 did the other afternoon. It is the woman, Mrs. 
 Blake herself, I want you to like.' 
 
 * Ah, just so !' 
 
 ' And now I am so disappointed. Somehow 
 I never enjoy my friends quite so much if you
 
 266 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 do not care for them. I thought we always 
 
 liked the same people, but now ' Here 
 
 Audrey stopped. She felt vexed and mortified; 
 she did want Michael to share her interest in 
 the Blakes. 
 
 ' And now you will look on me as a broken 
 reed ; but, after all, I am not so bad. I like 
 Kester — he is a fine fellow ; and I like your 
 little friend Mollie — she is true as steel ; and,' 
 after a moment's pause, ^ I like Mr. Blake.' 
 
 * Are you quite sure of that, Michael ?' 
 
 ' Yes, I am quite sure of it. If I know any- 
 thing of human nature, Mr. Blake is worthy of 
 my esteem : as far as any man is good, he is 
 good. And then he has such splendid capa- 
 bilities.' 
 
 Audrey felt vaguely that this was generous 
 on Michael's part ; and yet she could not have 
 told herself why it was generous. If she had had 
 an idea of the truth ! But as yet she was only 
 dimly conscious of the nobility of Michael's 
 nature. 
 
 * Mr. Blake is clever,' he continued, ' but he 
 does not think much of himself; it is rare to 
 find such modesty in a young man of the 
 present day. Still, he is very young ; one can 
 hardly tell what he may become.'
 
 '/ AM SORRY YOU ASKED THE QUESTION.' 267 
 
 * Father says he is three - and - twenty, 
 Michael.' 
 
 * Still, Audrey, a man's character is not 
 always fully developed at three-and-twenty ; at 
 that age I was a conceited cub. I am seven- 
 and-thirty now, and I feel my opinions are as 
 settled as Dr. Ross's are.' 
 
 * I wish you would not always talk as though 
 you were father's contemporary ; it is so 
 absurd, Michael, when everyone else thinks 
 you a young man !' 
 
 * I am a very old young man,' he returned 
 with a whimsical smile ; ' I have aged prema- 
 turely, and my wisdom has developed at the 
 same rapid rate. Amongst my other gifts I 
 have that of second-sight.' 
 
 ' Indeed!' with incredulous scorn. 'You are 
 not very humble in your own estimation.' 
 
 * My dear, old young men are never humble. 
 Well, my gift of second-sight has put me up to 
 a thing or two. Do you know,' turning away 
 and switching the hedgerows carelessly as he 
 spoke, ' I should be very sorry if any girl in 
 whom I took a deep interest were to be thrown 
 too much into Mr. Blake's company.' 
 
 Audrey faced round on her cousin in extreme 
 surprise.
 
 268 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 * You are very incomprehensible to-night, 
 Michael : at one moment you praise Mr. Blake, 
 and say nice things about him, and the next 
 minute you are warning people against be- 
 coming intimate with him — that is surely very 
 inconsistent.' 
 
 ^ Oh, there is method in my madness,' he 
 returned quietly. ' 1 have nothing to say 
 against the young man himself. As far as I 
 can tell, there is no harm in him ; but he is so 
 young, and is such a devoted son, that he is 
 likely to be influenced by his mother.' 
 
 ' And it is on her account that you would 
 dislike any such intimacy ? Oh, Michael,' very 
 sorrowfully, ' I had no idea you would dislike 
 her so !' 
 
 * It seems rather unreasonable — such a pretty 
 woman, too. On the whole, I think I do like 
 talking to her, she is so amusing. But, Audrey, 
 I must say one thing : you are always talking 
 about her frankness. Now, I do not agree 
 with you.' 
 
 * I don't understand you, Michael. I have 
 never known anyone so outspoken.' 
 
 ' Outspoken — yes. Well, I will explain 
 myself. You are frank, Audrey ; you hide 
 nothing, because there is nothinor to hide ; and
 
 'I AM SORRY YOU ASKED THE QUESTION: 269 
 
 if there were, you would not hide it. Now, 
 Mrs. Blake has her reserves ; with all her 
 impulsiveness, she has thorough self-command, 
 and would never say a word more than suited 
 her own purposes. It is her pleasure to in- 
 dulge in a wild, picturesque sort of talk ; it is 
 effective, and pleases people ; and Mrs. Blake, 
 in common with other pretty women, likes to 
 please. There is no positive harm in it — 
 perhaps not, but it detracts from reality.* 
 ' But, Michael, I like to please people too.' 
 * Certainly you do. Have I not often called 
 you a little hypocrite for pretending to like 
 what other people like ? How often have we 
 fallen out on that point ! But you and Mrs. 
 Blake are very different people, my dear ; with 
 all your faults, your friends would not wish to 
 see you changed.' 
 
 But the dark shade of the shrubbery walk 
 they were just entering hid the strangely tender 
 look that was in Michael's eyes as he said the 
 last words.
 
 
 rW, 
 
 " ^> 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MRS. BLAKE HAS HER NEW GOWN. 
 
 ' Thou art a girl of noble nature's crowning : 
 A smile of thine is like an act of grace ; 
 Thou hast no noisome looks, no pretty frowning, 
 Like daily beauties of a vulgar race. 
 When thou dost smile, a light is on thy face, 
 A clear, cool kindliness, a lunar beam 
 Of peaceful radiance, silvering o'er the stream 
 Of human thought with beauteous glory, 
 Not quite a waking truth, nor quite a dream : 
 A visitation — bright though transitory.' 
 
 Hartley Coleridge. 
 
 Audrey was much disappointed by the result of 
 her conversation with her cousin. It was true 
 that Michael had tried to efface the severity of 
 his own words by remarking that a third inter- 
 view might somewhat alter his opinion of the 
 fascinating widow — that he might even grow to 
 like her in time. Audrey knew better. Michael 
 had a certain genius of intuition ; he made up
 
 MRS. BLAKE HAS HER NEW GOWN. 271 
 
 his mind about people at once, and she had 
 never known him to reverse his decision. As 
 far as regarded the younger members of the 
 Blake family, they would still be able to work 
 happily together. Michael was certainly much 
 interested in Kester ; he had adopted him in 
 the same manner as she had adopted Mollie. 
 It was a comfort also that he approved of Mr. 
 Blake. Michael had spoken of him with de- 
 cided approval, and without any stint or limit of 
 praise ; nevertheless, she was well aware that 
 Michael would willingly have restricted their 
 intimacy, and that he saw with some reluctance 
 her father's growing partiality for the young 
 master. 
 
 Audrey had only spoken the simple truth 
 when she owned that Michael's approval was 
 necessary to her perfect enjoyment of her friend. 
 She might still maintain her own opinions of 
 Mrs. Blake. Nevertheless, the first fine flavour 
 of her pleasure had been destroyed by Michael's 
 severe criticism ; the delicate bloom had been 
 impaired. She would hold fast to her new 
 friend ; she would even be kinder to her, as 
 though to make up for other people's hard 
 speeches ; but much of her enthusiasm must be 
 locked in her own breast.
 
 272 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 ' What is the use of talking on a subject on 
 which we should only disagree ?' she said to him 
 a week or two afterwards, when he had rebuked 
 her playfully for not telling him something. ' It 
 was only a trifling matter connected with Mrs. 
 Blake/ 
 
 And when he heard that, Michael held 
 his peace. He had been thrown constantly 
 into Mrs. Blake's company since their first 
 meeting, but as yet he had not seen fit to 
 change his opinions. 
 
 But in spite of this little rift in her perfect 
 harmony, Audrey thoroughly enjoyed the next 
 month ; she was almost sorry that the vacation 
 was so near. It had been a very gay month. 
 Relays of visitors — distant relations or mere 
 friends — had been invited to Woodcote and 
 Hillside. Mrs. Ross's garden-party had rivalled 
 Mrs. Charrington's, and there had been a suc- 
 cession of picnics, driving parties, and small 
 select dinners at all the Hill houses. But in 
 spite of her many engagements — her afternoons 
 on the cricket-field, the tennis tournament, 
 in which she and Cyril Blake won, and various 
 other gaieties — Audrey had not neglected 
 Mollie. Twice a week she devoted an hour 
 and a half to her pupil. When the music-
 
 MRS. BLAKE HAS HER NEW GOWN. 273 
 
 lesson was over, Audrey would read French 
 with her or correct her exercises. She was a 
 very conscientious mistress, and would not 
 allow Mollie to waste any of her time in idle 
 gossip. When she was putting away her books, 
 Mollie's voluble tongue would make amends for 
 the enforced silence. 
 
 ' Oh, Miss Ross/ she exclaimed one day, 'do 
 you know, Cyril has given mamma such a 
 beautiful present ! You will never guess what 
 
 it is r 
 
 Audrey prudently refrained from any guesses ; 
 besides, she was still correcting Mollie's transla- 
 tion. 
 
 Mt is a black silk dress — a real beauty, as 
 mamma says. She has borrowed Miss Mar- 
 shall's last copy of the Qtiee7i, and she means to 
 make it up herself. Mamma is so clever! It 
 is to have a long train ; at least, a moderately 
 long train, and an open bodice — open in front, 
 you know — with tulle folds. Oh, I forget 
 exactly ; but mamma explained it to me so 
 nicely !' 
 
 * It was very kind of your brother,* observed 
 Audrey gravely. 
 
 For once Mollie was not checked. 
 
 * Yes ; isn't he a darling for thinking of it ? 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 274 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 He went to Attenborough himself and chose it, 
 and mamma thought he was on the cricket-field 
 all the time. He got her a pair of long gloves, 
 too. Cyril always thinks of everything. Mamma 
 cried when she opened the parcel, she was so 
 pleased ; and then Cyril laughed at her. The 
 worst of it is ' — and here Mollie's face lengthened 
 a little — ' Kester will have to wait for his new 
 suit, and the poor boy is so shabby ! Cyril went 
 up to his room to tell him so ; because his leg was 
 so painful, he had gone to bed early. Of 
 course, Kester said he did not mind a bit, and 
 he would much rather that mamma had her new 
 gown and could go out and enjoy herself; but, 
 all the same, it is a little hard for Kester, is it 
 not?' 
 
 ' I don't think boys care about their clothes 
 quite so much as girls do.' 
 
 ' Oh, but Kester does ; he is almost as par- 
 ticular as Cyril. He does love to have every- 
 thing nice, and I know he is ashamed of that 
 old jacket. He has outgrown it, too, and the 
 sleeves are so short ; and now he is so much 
 with Captain Burnett, he feels it all the more. 
 Oh, do you know, Miss Ross' — interrupting 
 herself — ' Captain Burnett is going to drive 
 Kester to Brail in his dogcart !'
 
 MRS. BLAKE HAS HER NEW GOWN, 275 
 
 ' That will be very nice. But, Mollie, you 
 really must leave off chattering ; you have 
 translated this sentence quite wrongly. This is 
 not one bit the sense.' And Mollie did at 
 last consent to hold her tongue. 
 
 Audrey took her mother into her confidence 
 that afternoon as they were dining together, 
 and told her the whole story about the black 
 silk dress. Mrs. Ross was much interested. 
 
 ' How very nice of him !' she said, in just the 
 sympathetic tone that Audrey expected to hear. 
 ' I said from the first that I liked Mr. Blake ; I 
 told your father so. He is a good son. I am 
 not a bit surprised that his mother dotes on 
 him. I am sure I should if he were my son ;' 
 and Mrs. Ross heaved a gentle litde sigh under 
 her lace mantle. 
 
 She knew her husband had ardently desired 
 a son, and, until Michael's troubles had made 
 him almost an inmate of the house, there had 
 been a certain void and unfulfilled longing in 
 Dr. Ross's breast. Not that he ever spoke of 
 such things ; but his wife knew him so well. 
 
 ' Perhaps one day he will have a grandson,* 
 she thought ; for her motherly imagination loved 
 to stretch itself into the future. 
 
 ' Don't you think we might ask Mrs. Blake 
 
 18—2
 
 276 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 to dinner next week, when your cousin Rose is. 
 here ?' she observed presently. * Rosie will be 
 charmed with her ; and we could get the Car- 
 dells to meet her, and perhaps the Vicar and 
 Mrs. Boyle. You know they have not been to 
 dine with us for a long time.' 
 
 * Very well, mother. I have not the slightest 
 objection/ returned Audrey, who had in fact 
 been leading up to this. ' I suppose you will 
 ask Gage, too ?' 
 
 ' Oh, of course!' for Mrs. Ross never consi- 
 dered any party complete without the presence 
 of her eldest daughter. ' We must find out 
 which day will suit her best.' 
 
 ' I do not believe Percival will let her come,* 
 returned Audrey calmly. ' He says she is going 
 out too much, and tiring herself dreadfully. I 
 heard him tell her that he meant to be more 
 strict with her for the future.' 
 
 ' Dear Percival, how good he is to her ! I 
 always told your father that he would make her 
 an excellent husband. Your father was not a 
 bit enthusiastic at first — he liked Percival, and 
 thought him an exceedingly able man ; but he 
 never did think anyone good enough for his 
 girls. You will find him hard to please when 
 your turn comes, Audrey.'
 
 MRS. BLAKE HAS HER NEW GOWN. 277 
 
 * My turn will be long in coming,' she replied 
 lightly. ' Well, if Percival prove himself a 
 tyrant, whom do you mean to have in Gage's 
 place ?' And then they resumed the subject of 
 the dinner-party. 
 
 Things turned out as Audrey predicted : Mr. 
 Harcourt would not allow his wife to accept her 
 mother's invitation. 
 
 * She has been over-exerting herself, and 
 must keep quiet,' he said to his mother-in-law 
 when he next saw her at Hillside. ' I tell her 
 that unless she is prudent, and takes things more 
 quietly, she will not be fit for her journey to 
 Scoriand — and then all our plans will be upset.' 
 
 For a charming arrangement had been made 
 for the summer vacation. Dr. Ross had taken 
 a cottage in the Highlands for his family, and 
 Mr. Harcourt had secured a smaller one, about 
 half a mile off, for himself and his wife. Michael 
 was to form part of the Ross household, and 
 during the last week or two he and Audrey had 
 been putting their heads together over a bene- 
 volent scheme for taking Kester. There was a 
 spare room in their cottage, and Mrs. Ross had 
 asked Audrey if she would like one of her 
 cousins to accompany them. Audrey had hesi- 
 tated for the moment. Mollie had been in her
 
 278 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 thoughts, but when she had hinted at this to 
 Michael, he had said somewhat decidedly that, 
 in his opinion, Kester ought to be the one to 
 have the treat 
 
 * He would be company for me, too,' he 
 added, ' when you and your father go on your 
 fishing expeditions. And he will not be a bad 
 third, either, when you honour us with your 
 company.' 
 
 Audrey had a great wish to take Mollie. She 
 thought how the girl would enjoy those long 
 rambles across the purple moors, but she was 
 open to reason : as Michael had pointed out 
 to her, Kester certainly needed the change 
 more than Mollie. It would be good for 
 Michael to have a companion when she and her 
 father and Percival went on one of their long 
 expeditions. The boy had been drooping sadly 
 of late — the heat tried him — and, as Audrey 
 knew, Biddy's homely dishes seldom tempted 
 his sickly appetite. 
 
 Mr. Harcourt was not aware of this little plan. 
 When he uttered his marital protest Geraldine 
 looked at her mother with a sort of resigned 
 despair. 
 
 * You hear what Percy says, mother. I sup- 
 pose you must ask someone else in my place.'
 
 MRS. BLAKE HAS HER NEW GOWN. 279 
 
 * But I am not going without you,' returned her 
 husband good-naturedly. ' Your mother would 
 not want me, my dear, under those circum- 
 stances. We will stay at home, like Darby and 
 Joan, by our own ingle side.' 
 
 * Oh, then you can ask the Drummonds,' went 
 on Geraldine, in a relieved voice. ' Audrey 
 ought to have reminded you of them, but she 
 seems to think only of the Blakes. I suppose 
 you will be obliged to ask Mr. Blake, too, 
 mother ?' 
 
 ' Yes, certainly, my dear. Mrs. Blake would 
 not like to come without her son. It will be a 
 large party, but ' 
 
 ' Well, it cannot be helped, I suppose ; but 
 
 Percy and I think it is rather a pity ' Here 
 
 Geraldine gave a slight cough, warned by a look 
 from her husband. 
 
 * What is a pity, my dear ?' 
 
 ' Oh, it does not matter — at least, Percy does 
 not wish me to speak.' 
 
 ' Geraldine is rather like the dog in the 
 manger,' interrupted Mr. Harcourt. * Because 
 I will not let her come to your dinner-party, she 
 would rather you did not have one at all. That 
 is it, isn't it, Jerry ?' 
 
 Mrs. Ross smiled benevolently at this little
 
 28o LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 sally. She liked to hear her son-in-law's jokes. 
 She never joked Geraldine herself, and so she 
 seldom saw that girlish blush that was so be- 
 coming-. 
 
 When she had taken her leave, Geraldine 
 said to her husband : 
 
 * Why did you stop me just now when I was 
 dropping that hint about Mr. Blake ?' 
 
 * Because I. thought the hint premature, my 
 dear,' he returned drily, ' and because it is not 
 our place to warn Mr. Blake off the premises; 
 he is not the first young man, and I do not ex- 
 pect he will be the last, to admire Audrey.' 
 
 ' But, Percy, I am quite sure that Mr. Blake 
 is too handsome and too attractive altogether to 
 be a harmless admirer.' 
 
 ' Pooh ! nonsense, my love. Don't let your 
 imagination run away with you. Audrey is too 
 sensible a girl to let herself fall in love with a 
 young fellow like Blake. Now shall I go on 
 with our book ?' For that day Geraldine was con- 
 sidered an invalid, and as her husband thought 
 fit to indulge and make much of her, she was 
 not so sure she disliked her passing indisposi- 
 tion, any more than Mr. Harcourt disliked play- 
 ing Darby to his handsome Joan. 
 
 The dinner-party passed off well, and Mrs.
 
 MRS. BLAKE HAS HER NEW GOWN. 281 
 
 Blake looked so lovely in her new gown that 
 she made quite a sensation, and the Vicar ob- 
 served to his wife afterwards 'that she was the 
 nicest and most agreeable woman he had met 
 for a long time.' 
 
 Mrs. Boyle received this eulogium a little 
 coldly. She was a fat, dumpy little person, 
 with a round, good-natured face that had once 
 been pretty. * Bernard might admire Mrs. 
 Blake,' she said to herself, * she was the sort of 
 woman men always raved about ; but for her 
 part she was not sure she admired her style,' 
 but she had the rare magnanimity to keep her 
 opinions to herself. Mrs. Boyle never contra- 
 dicted her husband after the peevish manner of 
 some wives. 
 
 The term was drawing to a close now, and 
 Mollie's face lengthened a little every day. 
 Audrey had mooted the scheme to her father 
 during a walk they had together, and Dr. 
 Ross, who was one of the most benevolent 
 and kindly of men, had at once given his 
 consent, and had promised to speak to Michael, 
 who carried it through with a high hand. 
 
 Great was the rejoicing in the Blake house- 
 hold. Poor Kester had turned red and white 
 by turns, and could hardly speak a word, so
 
 282 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 intense was his surprise ; but Audrey, who saw 
 the lad's agony of embarrassment, assured him 
 that there was no need for him to speak, and 
 that everything was settled. 
 
 Cyril was almost as embarrassed when he 
 came in to thank them that evening. 
 
 * I have never heard of such kindness in my 
 life,' he said eagerly, when he found Audrey 
 alone ; for the others were all in the garden, as 
 she told him. * I will go to them directly. Of 
 course I must speak to Captain Burnett. I 
 hear it is his thought. Am I interrupting you ?' 
 looking at her open desk. ' May I stay a 
 moment ?' 
 
 ' Certainly, if you like.' 
 
 But Audrey did not resume her seat. She 
 stood by the lamp, its crimson shade casting 
 ruddy gleams over her white dress. She had 
 coiled her hair loosely — Audrey was given to 
 dressing herself hurriedly — and one long plait 
 had become unfastened. It looked so smooth 
 and brown against her white neck. At such 
 moments Audrey certainly looked pretty. Per- 
 haps Cyril thought so, for he looked at her long 
 and earnestly. 
 
 ' I hardly know how to thank you all,' he 
 went on almost abruptly. * My mother feels
 
 MRS. BLAKE HAS HER NEW GOWN. 283 
 
 the same. It is such a weight off my mind. 
 You know, I am going to Cornwall myself; 
 one of our Keble men has invited me. His 
 father has a nice place near Truro.' 
 
 * That will be a pleasant change for you,' she 
 observed sympathetically. 
 
 * Oh, I always turn up trumps,' he replied 
 brightly. * Last Christmas, and again at Easter, 
 I had heaps of invitations. I was only bother- 
 ing myself about Kester ; he looked so seedy, 
 you know, and it seemed such hard lines for 
 him, poor boy ! to see me go off and enjoy 
 myself.' 
 
 * Well, you see, Kester means to enjoy him- 
 self too.' 
 
 ' Don't I know that ? He is a lucky fellow !' 
 and Cyril sighed — a good honest sigh it was, 
 too, for Audrey heard it. 'Just fancy seven 
 weeks in paradise !' 
 
 * Well, it is very lovely there/ she answered 
 demurely ; and then she discovered the stray 
 lock, and pinned it up hastily. 
 
 ^ Oh, I was not meaning the place — though, 
 of course, everyone knows Braemar has its 
 advantages. I think one's happiness depends 
 more on the society one has. Don't you think 
 so too, Miss Ross ?'
 
 284 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 * I dare say you are right. Well, we shall 
 have my sister and her husband, and Kester 
 and Captain Burnett ; so we shall be a nice 
 party.' 
 
 * Oh yes, of course Captain Burnett is going ?* 
 returned Cyril, in a dubious tone. 
 
 ' Yes ; and I suppose you think he is lucky 
 too ?' and there was a gleam of fun in Audrey's 
 eyes. 
 
 ' Not more so than usual ; the gate of para- 
 dise is never shut on Captain Burnett.' 
 
 But though Cyril laughed as he made this 
 little speech, there was no expression of mirth 
 in his eyes. But Audrey chose to consider it a 
 joke. 
 
 ' If you talk in this manner, I shall think you 
 envy Kester his treat.' 
 
 ' I am afraid I do envy him, Miss Ross. If 
 Kester and I could only change places ' 
 
 He checked himself as though he had said too 
 much, and turned to the window. 
 
 ' You will find them all on the circular bench,' 
 she said, sitting down to her desk again. * When 
 I have finished my letter I will join you.' And 
 Cyril took the hint. 
 
 ' I wish he would not say such things ; but, of 
 course, he is only joking,' thought Audrey.
 
 MRS. BLAKE HAS HER NEW GOWN. 285 
 
 But in her heart she knew he was not joking. 
 Could she be ignorant that on all possible occa- 
 sions Mr. Blake followed her like a shadow — a 
 very quiet, unobtrusive shadow ; but, neverthe- 
 less, he seemed always near. Could she be 
 blind to the wistful looks that seemed to watch 
 her on all occasions, and that interpreted her 
 every wish ? Perhaps no one else noticed them 
 — Audrey fervently hoped not — unless it were 
 his mother. And here Audrey reddened at 
 the remembrance of certain vague hints and 
 innuendoes that had latterly made her uncom- 
 fortable, and hindered her from going to the 
 Gray Cottage. 
 
 ' Perhaps I am too friendly with him. I do 
 not check him sufficiently,' she thought. ' But 
 he has never said such things before. He oueht 
 not ; I must not allow it. What would Gage 
 or Michael say ? Dear old Michael ! how 
 excited he is about our Scotch trip ! He says 
 he shall be so pleased to have my undivided 
 attention again. I wonder, have I been less 
 nice to Michael lately ? He has certainly 
 seemed more dull than usual. I will make up 
 for it — I will indeed ! Michael shall never be 
 dull if I can help it. I mean to devote myself 
 to him.' And then Audrey took up her pen
 
 286 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 with a sigh. Was she really glad the term was 
 so nearly over ? It had been such a nice summer. 
 Of course she would enjoy Scotland, with all 
 her own people round her, and there would be 
 Kester. Kester would write to his brother 
 sometimes, and, of course, there would be letters 
 in reply. That would be pleasant. Oh yes, 
 everything was delightful !' And with this final 
 thought Audrey set herself resolutely to work, 
 and finished her letter just in time to see Cyril 
 take his leave. He had waited for her with the 
 utmost impatience, but when Mrs. Ross com- 
 plained of chilliness, and proposed to return to 
 the house, he had no excuse for lingering any 
 longer, and Michael, with some alacrity, had 
 accompanied him to the gate.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MOLLIE LETS THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG. 
 
 ' Nothing is true but love, nor aught of worth ; 
 Love is the incense which doth sweeten earth.' 
 
 Trench. 
 
 ' Oh dear, Miss Ross, what shall I do without 
 you for seven whole weeks ?' was Mollie's 
 piteous lament one morning. Audrey was on 
 her knees packing a huge travelling box, and 
 Mollle, seated on the edge of a chair, was 
 regarding her with round, melancholy eyes. 
 It was the first day of the vacation, and 
 Rutherford looked as empty and deserted as 
 some forsaken city. Utter silence reigned in the 
 lower school, from which the fifty boys had 
 departed ; and Mrs. Draper, the matron, had 
 uttered more than once her usual formula of 
 parting benediction as the last urchin drove off: 
 * There, bless them ! they are all packed off,
 
 288 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 bag and baggage, thank Heaven I and not a 
 missing collar or sock among them ' — an ejacu- 
 lation that Michael once declared was a homely 
 Te Deum, sacred and peculiar to the race of 
 Rutherford matrons. 
 
 Audrey straightened herself when she heard 
 Mollie's plaintive lament. 
 
 * Now, MoUie, I thought you promised me 
 that you would make yourself as happy as 
 possible.' 
 
 ' I said I would try,' returned Mollie, her 
 eyes filling with tears ; ' but how can I help 
 missing you ? I do mean to do my very best — 
 I do indeed, Miss Ross.' 
 
 ^ Come, that is bravely said. I know it is 
 hard upon you, my dear, taking Kester away.' 
 But Mollie would not let her finish her sen- 
 tence. 
 
 ' Oh no ; you must not say that. I am so 
 glad for Kester to go. Do you know, he is so 
 pleased and excited that he can hardly sleep 
 when he goes to bed ; and he wakes in the 
 night to think about it. I do believe he loves 
 Captain Burnett as much as I love you ; he is 
 always talking about him. After all ' — here 
 Mollie dried her eyes — ' it is not so bad for me 
 as it is for mamma : she is always wretched
 
 MOLLIE LETS THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG. 289 
 
 without Cyril ; you can't think how restless and 
 unlike herself she is when he is away from her ; 
 she spends half her time writing to him or 
 reading his letters. Cyril always writes such 
 nice long letters.' 
 
 ' And Kester and I will write to you ; you 
 will be glad of letters, too, Mollie.' 
 
 Evidently this charming idea had not oc- 
 curred to Mollie, for she darted from her place 
 and gave Audrey a grateful hug. 
 
 ' Do you mean it ? will you really write to 
 me ? Oh, you dear thing ! how I do love 
 you !' with another hug. ' But you must not 
 tire yourself, you know, or Kester either ; they 
 need not be long letters, but just nice little 
 notes, that won't trouble you.' 
 
 ' Oh, we will see about that.' returned 
 Audrey, smiling. She was touched by this 
 thoughtful ness ; it was so like Mollie's sweet 
 unselfishness : she never did seem to think of 
 herself ' You have no idea how quickly the 
 time will pass. Think of all the things you 
 have promised to do for me !' for Audrey had 
 already made all sorts of nice little plans for her 
 favourite. Mollie was to have the run of the 
 house and grounds ; she was to bring her mother 
 to sit in the garden every afternoon if she liked 
 
 VOL. I. 19
 
 290 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 — Mrs. Blake would enjoy it ; she was so fond 
 of flowers — and Mollle could amuse herself 
 with the canoe. Then there was Audrey's 
 piano : Mollie must promise to practise her 
 scales and exercises on it every day ; and there 
 was a pile of delightfully interesting books set 
 apart for her use. She must see, too, that her 
 pet bullfinch was not neglected, and that her 
 flowers were watered ; for Audrey had a pretty 
 sitting-room of her own. Mollie soon cheered 
 up as Audrey recapitulated these privileges ; she 
 was young enough to be soon consoled. She 
 readily agreed with Audrey that her mother 
 would enjoy wandering about the Woodcote 
 gardens ; they would bring their books and 
 work, and sit under the trees on fine afternoons. 
 
 ' Cyril has been making mamma promise to 
 begin Roman history with me,' continued 
 Mollie ; ' he was so shocked when he found out 
 I knew nothing about Romulus and Remus. 
 Was it quite true about the wolf, Miss Ross ? 
 I thought it sounded like a fable. Oh, do you 
 know,' interrupting herself eagerly, ' I want to 
 tell you something — Kester said I might if I 
 liked : he has got two new suits of clothes.' 
 
 Audrey left off packing, and looked at Mollie 
 in some surprise.
 
 MOLLIE LETS THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG. 291 
 
 * Did you say two suits, my dear ?' 
 
 'Yes. Is it not nice, Miss Ross? But 
 Cyril said he positively could not do with less 
 than two — a rough suit for every day, and a 
 better one for Sundays. I don't think Kester 
 ever had two whole suits before. Mamma was 
 pleased, but she thought it a little extravagant 
 of Cyril. And he bought him boots and ties, 
 oh, and other things beside !' 
 
 * How very good of him !' and Audrey felt a 
 warm glow of pleasure. She longed to question 
 Mollie, but she prudently forbore : it was no 
 business of hers if Mr. Blake chose to get into 
 debt ; for where could he have got the money ? 
 But her curiosity was soon to be satisfied ; 
 Mollie was dying to tell the whole story. 
 
 ' You would say so if you knew all,' she re- 
 turned, with a mysterious air ; ' mamma does 
 not know yet. I am afraid when she finds out 
 she will be terribly vexed : she does so hate 
 Cyril to go without things. I think she would 
 almost rather let Kester be shabby than see 
 
 Cyril without Oh, I was just going to 
 
 bring It out !' 
 
 Audrey took no notice. She was folding 
 a dress, and the sleeves were giving her some 
 trouble. 
 
 19 — 2
 
 292 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 ' Kester never said I was not to tell,' went 
 on Mollie, as though arguing with herself. 
 ' I don't know why I stopped just now. Miss 
 Ross, have you ever noticed what a beautiful 
 watch and chain Cyril wears ?' 
 
 This was too much for Audrey. 
 
 * You don't mean to say that your brother 
 has sold his watch ?' she asked, so abruptly that 
 Mollie stared at her. 
 
 ' No, not his watch ; he could not do without 
 one ; but he said the chain did not matter — a 
 steel guard would answer the purpose quite as 
 well. But it was such a lovely chain, and he 
 was so proud of it! An old gentleman, General 
 Fawcett, gave them to him. He was very 
 grateful to Cyril for saving his grandson's life 
 — Cyril jumped into the river, you know — and 
 then the General, who was very rich, sent him 
 the watch and chain, with such a beautiful 
 letter. When Cyril saw them he was almost 
 ashamed to accept them, he said they must 
 have cost so much.' 
 
 ' What a pity to part with such a gift!' mur- 
 mured Audrey, busying herself over another 
 dress. 
 
 ' Yes ; but, you see, Cyril had so little money, 
 not half enough to pay for all Kester wanted —
 
 MOLLIE LETS THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG. 293 
 
 and he had bought that silk dress, too. Mamma 
 would have had him get the clothes on credit, 
 but Cyril has such a horror of debt. At first 
 he would not let us know anything about it — 
 he took Kester to the shop and had him fitted 
 — but at last he was obliged to tell, because 
 Kester missed Cyril's gold albert chain. Kester 
 looked ready to cry when he heard it was sold. 
 He did think it such a pity, and he knew 
 mamma would be so vexed. But Cyril only 
 laughed at us both, and said he did not care 
 about jewellery — he would be very much 
 ashamed if Kester went to Scotland in his 
 shabby old clothes ; and then he begged us 
 both to say nothing to mamma unless she 
 missed the chain — she will not yet, because 
 Cyril has sent his watch to be cleaned.' 
 
 ' Mollie, I am really afraid that you ought not 
 to have told me this,' returned Audrey gravely ; 
 but there was a wonderful brightness in her 
 eyes, as though the story pleased her. ^ I think 
 you ought to have kept your brother's secret.' 
 
 ' But he never said it was a secret, except 
 from mamma,' pleaded Mollie in self-defence ; 
 * and I wanted you to know, because it was so 
 dear of Cyril. But he is just like that ; he will 
 do anything for Kester.'
 
 294 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 * But, all the same, I hope you will not tell 
 anyone else ;' and as Mollie looked disturbed at 
 this, she went on : 'it will be quite safe with me, 
 you know. People so often tell me their little 
 secrets, and your brother need not know that 
 you have told me.' 
 
 ' Why, do you think he will mind ? Oh no, 
 Miss Ross! I am sure you are wrong about 
 that. I was talking to him one evening about 
 you, and I remember I said that I could not 
 help telling you things, because you were so 
 nice and kind ; and Cyril answered, quite seri- 
 ously, " You could never have a better friend 
 than Miss Ross. You will learn nothincr but 
 good from her — tell her all you like. There is 
 no one of whom I think more highly." And 
 then he kissed me quite affectionately.' 
 
 * But all the same, Mollie, I think you had 
 better not mention all that you have told me — 
 I mean it would only embarrass him ;' and here 
 Audrey got up in a hurry and went to her ward- 
 robe for something she had forgotten, and when 
 she came back, it was to remind Mollie of the 
 lateness of the hour. 
 
 * But this is not good-bye, you know. We 
 shall stop at the Gray Cottage to-morrow morn- 
 ing, to pick up Kester and his portmanteau.'
 
 MOLLIE LETS THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG. 295 
 
 And then, with some little difficulty, she dis- 
 missed Mollie. 
 
 Audrey intended to pay a parting visit to her 
 friend, Mr. O'Brien, that evening. Dr. Ross 
 and Michael had gone up to London for the 
 day, and had arranged to sleep in town, and 
 Mr. Harcourt would escort the ladies and look 
 after their luggage until they joined them. 
 
 Audrey had arranged with her mother that 
 an informal meal should be served in the place 
 of the ordinary late dinner, and that even this 
 should be postponed until nine. It was impos- 
 sible to walk to Brail in the heat of the after- 
 noon — the weather was sultry, even at Ruther- 
 ford, and Audrey proposed not to start until 
 after an earlv tea. 
 
 When she was ready she went in search of 
 Booty, who had been left under her guardian- 
 ship. She knew exactly where she should find 
 him — lying on Michael's bed. Booty was always 
 a spectacle of woe during his master's brief 
 absences. At the sound of a footstep or an 
 opening door below, his short legs would be 
 heard pattering down stairs ; there would be an 
 eager search in every room, then, with a whine 
 of disappointment and a heart-broken expres- 
 sion in his brown eyes, Booty would slink back
 
 296 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 again to Michael's room to lie on his pillow, or 
 mount guard over some relic — a tie, a glove, or 
 even an old shoe — something that he could 
 identify as his master's property. 
 
 Audrey was the only one who could comfort 
 Booty for the loss of that loved presence ; but 
 even with her, Booty was still a most unhappy 
 dog. He plucked up a little spirit, however, at 
 the sight of her hat, and jumped off the bed. 
 His master was clearly not in the house ; per- 
 haps the road his temporary mistress meant to 
 take would lead to him — even a doe wearies of 
 moping, and Booty's short legs needed their 
 usual exercise. He followed her, therefore, with- 
 out reluctance, and even lapped a little water 
 out of his special dish ; but there was no joyous 
 bark, no unrestrained gambols, as he trotted 
 after her with his soft eyes looking out for that 
 worshipped form that was to Booty the one aim 
 and object of life, for whose special delectation 
 and delight he had been created. Mrs. Ross 
 always said it made her quite miserable to see 
 Booty when Michael was away, and, indeed, 
 Michael never dared to leave him for many 
 days together. If anything had happened to 
 his master the little animal would have pined 
 and fretted himself to death.
 
 MOLLIE LETS THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG. 297 
 
 * I suppose no one will ever love me as that 
 creature does,' Michael once observed to Au- 
 drey ; ^ he has simply no will or life of his own. 
 What a faithful friend a dog is ! I believe 
 Booty understands me better than most people. 
 We have long conversations together sometimes 
 — I talk, and Booty answers by signs.' 
 
 Audrey enjoyed her walk, but she was afraid 
 Booty was tired and would need a long rest. 
 When they reached Vineyard Cottage she found 
 Mrs. Baxter mending stockings in the porch. 
 
 ' Father has gone out for a little stroll, Miss 
 Ross,' she said, rising, with her usual subdued 
 smile. ' He will be back directly. Will you 
 come into the parlour and rest ?' 
 
 * I would rather stay here,' returned Audrey. 
 * I am so fond of this pretty old porch, and this 
 bench is so comfortable. Booty is tired, Mrs. 
 Baxter ; he has been fretting because his master 
 chose to go up to London to-day, and his low 
 spirits have made him languid. Look at him 
 when I say Michael — there !' as the dog started 
 and sat up eagerly ; ' he knows his name, you 
 see.' 
 
 * Poor thing ! He is as intelligent as a Chris- 
 tian — more intelligent than some Christians I 
 know. The ways of Providence are strange,
 
 298 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 Miss Ross, putting a loving heart into an 
 animal like that, and leaving some human beings 
 without one — unless it be a heart of stone ;' and 
 here Mrs. Baxter sighed heavily and snapped 
 her thread. 
 
 * I hope things have been quiet lately/ 
 observed Audrey, taking off her hat. 
 
 * You mean, if Joe has been behaving himself? 
 — which is a question I can thankfully answer 
 at present. Joe has not been troubling me 
 again, Miss Ross. I think father frightened 
 him that time. Joe was always a coward ; it is 
 an evil conscience that makes him a coward. 
 There is nothing else so frights a man. Joe 
 couldn't treat a woman as he has treated me 
 without feeling his conscience prick him some- 
 times.' 
 
 * No, indeed, Mrs. Baxter. Let us hope that 
 he will repent some day.' 
 
 * I tell father his repentance will come too 
 late. We can't sow tares and reap wheat in 
 this world, Miss Ross. "The wicked flee 
 when no man pursueth." I always think of 
 Joe when I read that verse. Oh, there is 
 always comfort to be found in the Scriptures. 
 ** A woman forsaken and grieved in spirit " — do 
 you remember those words, Miss Ross ? I
 
 MOLLIE LETS THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG. 299 
 
 came upon them quite suddenly one evening as 
 I was sitting in this very porch, and I said out 
 loud to myself, as one does sometimes, ** Those 
 words just fit you, Priscilla Baxter ; they might 
 be written for you." ' 
 
 * That makes the Bible such a wonderful 
 book/ returned Audrey thoughtfully. ' Every 
 form of grief finds expression and comfort there ; 
 there is food for every mind, every age, every 
 nationality.' 
 
 * I never saw anyone to beat father in reading 
 the Bible, Miss Ross. You would be surprised 
 to see how kindly he takes to it. I have known 
 him read the Prodigal Son to Hannah and me 
 on Sunday evening with the tears running down 
 his face, and he not knowing it more than a 
 baby, for all Hannah's sniffs. It is his favourite 
 reading — it is, indeed, Miss Ross, though his 
 voice does get choky sometimes.' 
 
 * He is thinking of his poor brother Mat.' 
 
 ' Begging your pardon, Miss Ross, I would 
 rather not mention Uncle Mat,' returned Mrs. 
 Baxter stiffly. * Joe has been a thorn in my 
 side, heaven knows ! and his wickedness has 
 reduced me, his wedded wife, to skin and bone ; 
 but even Joe, with all his villainies, has not 
 made himself a felon, and I can still bear his
 
 300 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 name without blushinor — and so I have told 
 father a score of times when he wants to make 
 out that Joe is the blacker of the two.' 
 
 ' Oh, I would not hurt him by speaking 
 against his brother ! Do you know, Mrs. 
 Baxter, he loves him so dearly still.' 
 
 * Yes ; but that is father's craze, Miss Ross,' 
 she replied coldly. ^ Even a good man has his 
 little weakness, and, being a Churchwoman, 
 and 1 trust humbly a believer, I would not 
 deny that Providence has given me as good a 
 father as ever breathed this mortal air ; but we 
 are all human, Miss Ross, and human nature 
 has its frailties, and father would be a wiser and 
 a happier man if he did not set such store by an 
 ungrateful and good-for-nothing brother, who is a 
 shame to his own flesh and blood, and whom it 
 is a bitterness to me to own as my Uncle Mat.' 
 
 * Priscilla !' ejaculated a grieved voice near 
 them ; and, looking round, the two women saw 
 Mr. O'Brien standing within a few paces of 
 them. No one had heard his footsteps except 
 Booty, whose instincts were always gentlemanly, 
 and who, in spite of his deep dejection, had 
 given him a friendly greeting. 
 
 Mr. O'Brien's good-natured face looked un- 
 usually grave.
 
 MOLLIE LETS THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG. 301 
 
 ' Good-evening, Miss Ross. I thought we 
 should see you before your flitting. I am sorry 
 I stepped out for a bit, and so lost your com- 
 pany. Prissy, my girl, I don't want to find fault 
 with you, but I'll not deny that it hurts me to 
 hear you speak against Mat, poor old chap ! 
 when he is not here to answer for himself. It 
 is woman-like, but it is not fair ' — looking at 
 them with mild reproach — ' and it cuts me to 
 hear it. It is not what your mother, my blessed 
 Susan, would have done. She was never hard 
 upon Mat — never !' 
 
 Mrs. Baxter gave a penitent little sniff, and 
 a faint flush came to her sallow face ; with all 
 her faults, she was devoted to her father. But 
 she was a true daughter of Eve, and this well- 
 deserved reproach only moved her to feeble 
 recrimination. 
 
 ' Well, father, I was always taught that 
 listeners never heard any good of themselves. 
 Not that the proverb holds strictly true in this 
 case ; but if Uncle Mat were standing in your 
 place, and heard what I said to Miss Ross, he 
 would not deny I was speaking the truth — 
 being always praised for my truthfulness and 
 shaming the devil as much as possible ; and 
 if you are for saying that Uncle Mat was a
 
 302 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 kind brother to one who acted as his own father, 
 I am bound to say that I do not agree with you.' 
 
 ' No, my lass ; I am free to confess that Mat 
 might have been kinder, and that as far as that 
 goes you are speaking Gospel truth ; but my 
 Susan and I have been used to say the Lord's 
 Prayer together every night ; and Susan — that's 
 your mother, Prissy — would sometimes whisper 
 as we knelt down, " Tom, are we sure we have 
 quite forgiven everybody ? I was put out this 
 afternoon with Mat ;" and sometimes her voice 
 would tremble a bit when she came to the 
 words, " forgive us our trespasses, as we for- 
 give them that trespass against us." ' And 
 Mr. O'Brien took off his straw hat with old- 
 fashioned reverence. 
 
 Mrs. Baxter gave a little choke. 
 
 ' I wish I had left it unsaid, father, if you are 
 going to take on like this,' she observed re- 
 morsefully. ' Sooner than grieve you, I would 
 hold my tongue about Uncle Mat for the 
 remainder of my natural life. There is nothing 
 I would do sooner than have my mother quoted 
 to me like a Scripture saint, as though I were 
 not worthy to tie her shoe-string.' 
 
 * Nay, nay, my lass ; you are misunderstand- 
 ing my meaning.'
 
 MOLLIE LETS THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG. 303 
 
 ' No, father, begging your pardon, I am not ; 
 and, as I have often told Miss Ross, I never 
 feel worthy to be the offspring of such parents. 
 Miss Ross ' — turning to her — ' my father is a 
 little low this evening, and I have put him out 
 of his usual way. I will leave you to talk to him 
 a bit while I open a bottle of our white currant 
 wine to hearten you for your walk home.' 
 
 * Poor Prissy !' observed Mr. O'Brien, shaking 
 his gray head ; * she is a worrier, as Susan used 
 to say ; but her bark is worse than her bite. She 
 is a good soul, and I would not change her for 
 one of the lively sort.' 
 
 ' She is really very sorry for having pained 
 you.' 
 
 * Sorry ! Bless my heart, you don't know 
 Prissy. She will be that contrite for showing 
 the sharp edge of her tongue that there will be 
 nothing she will not do to make amends. It 
 will be, " Father, what will you have ?" and, 
 ** Father, do you think you could enjoy that T' 
 from morning to night, as though I were a new- 
 born babe to be tended. No, no, you are not 
 up to Prissy. She has not got her mother's 
 sweet, charitable nature — my Susan, bless her 
 dear heart ! always thought the best of every- 
 body — but Prissy is a good girl, for all that.'
 
 304 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 Audrey smiled as she drew down a tendril of 
 jasmine to inhale its honeyed fragrance. There 
 was not much girlhood left in the faded, sorrow- 
 ful woman who had left them just now ; but in 
 the father's fond eyes Priscilla would always be 
 a girl. Then, in her serious, sweet way, she 
 began to talk to her old friend — drawing him 
 out, and listening to those vague, far old 
 memories that seemed dearer to him day by 
 day, until he had grown soothed and comforted. 
 
 Mrs. Baxter joined them by-and-by, but she 
 did not interrupt them, except to press another 
 slice of the home-made cake on Audrey. 
 
 When she rose to go, father and daughter 
 accompanied her to the gate, and wished her a 
 hearty god-speed. 
 
 ' Good-bye, my dear old friends,' she returned 
 cheerfully ; ' in seven weeks I shall hope to see 
 you again. Take care of Mr. O'Brien, Mrs. 
 Baxter.' 
 
 * Oh yes. Miss Ross, I will take care of him. 
 It is not as if one could have a second parent. 
 Father, put on your hat ; the dews are falling, 
 and you are not as young as you used to be.'
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 AMONG THE BRAIL LANES. 
 
 ' Discreet reserve in a woman, like the distances kept by 
 royal personages, contributes to maintain the proper reverence. 
 Most of our pleasures are prized in proportion to the difficulty 
 with which they are obtained.' — Fordyce. 
 
 ' A very slight spark will kindle a flame when everything lies 
 open to catch it.'— Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 While Audrey was talking to her old friend in 
 the jasmine-covered porch of Vineyard Cottage, 
 Cyril Blake was sitting on a stile In one of the 
 Brail lanes, trying to solve a difficult problem. 
 
 A domestic matter had come under his notice 
 that very afternoon — a very ordinary occurrence, 
 if he had only known It — and had caused him 
 much vexation. Not being more clear-sighted 
 than other young men of his age, It is extremely 
 doubtful whether he would have noticed it at 
 all but for a few words spoken by Miss Ross. 
 
 VOL. I. 20
 
 3o6 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 A week or two ago he had observed casually 
 to her, as they were standing together on the 
 cricket-field, that he thought Mollie was growing 
 very fast. 
 
 ' I suppose she is strong/ he added doubt- 
 fully ; ' but she has certainly seemed very tired 
 lately' — this reflection being forced upon him 
 by a remark of Kester's, ' that Mollie had such 
 a lot of headaches now.' 
 
 ' I am afraid Mollie is very often tired,' re- 
 turned Audrey rather gravely. 
 
 Now, there was nothing in this simple remark 
 to arrest Cyril's attention ; but somehow Au- 
 drey's tone implied a good deal, and, though 
 no further word passed between them on the 
 subject, Cyril was left with an uncomfortable 
 impression, though it was too vague and in- 
 tangible to be understood by him. 
 
 But on this afternoon in question he was 
 rummaging among his possessions for some 
 studs he had mislaid, and, thinking Mollie 
 would help him in the search, he went in quest 
 of her. He found her in the close little kitchen, 
 ironing a pile of handkerchiefs and starched 
 things. The place felt like an oven that hot 
 summer's afternoon, and poor Mollie's face was 
 sadly Hushed ; she looked worried and over-
 
 AMONG THE BRAIL LANES. 307 
 
 heated, and it was then that Audrey's words 
 flashed on him with a sort of electrical illumina- 
 tion — ' I am afraid Mollie is very often tired.' 
 
 ' Did you want me, Cyril ?' asked Mollie. a 
 little wearily, as she tested another iron and 
 then put it down again. 
 
 ' Yes — no, it does not matter,' rather ab- 
 sently. ' Mollie, is there no one else who can 
 do that work ? This place is like a brick-kiln.' 
 
 * Well, there is only Biddy, you know, and 
 she does get up the things so badly. You 
 remember how you grumbled about your hand- 
 kerchiefs — and no wonder, for they looked as 
 though they were rough-dried — and so mamma 
 said I had better do them for the future, because 
 I could iron so nicely ;' and Mollie gave a look 
 of pride at the snowy pile beside her. 
 
 But Cyril was not so easily mollified. 
 
 ' I would rather have my things badly done 
 than see you slave in this fashion,' he returned, 
 with unwonted irritation. ' Mollie, does Miss 
 Ross know you do this sort of thing ?' 
 
 * Oh yes, of course; I always tell Miss Ross 
 everything.' 
 
 * She must have a pretty good opinion of us 
 by this time,' in a vexed voice. 
 
 ^ She knows it cannot be helped,' returned 
 
 20 — 2
 
 3o8 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 Mollie simply. ' She did say one day that she 
 was very sorry for me, when she saw how tired 
 I was — oh, she was so dear and sweet that day ! 
 —and once when I told her how my back 
 ached, and I could not help crying a little, she 
 said she would like to speak to mamma about me, 
 but that she knew it was no business of hers/ 
 
 ' Anyhow, I shall make it my business,' re- 
 turned her brother decidedly ; and he marched 
 off to the drawing-room. 
 
 Mrs. Blake was sitting in the window, mark- 
 ing some of Kester's new socks. She looked 
 very cool and comfortable ; the room was sweet 
 with the scent of flowers. The contrast be- 
 tween her and Mollie struck Cyril very forcibly, 
 and when his mother looked up at him with one 
 of her caressing smiles, he did not respond with 
 his customary brightness. 
 
 ' Mother, I want to talk to you about Mollie,' 
 he said with unusual abruptness, as he threw 
 himself down in a cushioned chair opposite his 
 mother's little work-table. 
 
 * Yes, dear,' she returned tranquilly, pausing 
 to admire an exquisitely-worked initial. 
 
 ' I found her in the kitchen just now, with 
 her face the colour of a peony, ironing out a lot 
 of things. The place was like a furnace ; I 
 
 1 — cu;
 
 AMONG THE BRAIL LANES. 309 
 
 could not have stood it for a quarter of an hour. 
 Surely, mother, there is no need for Mollie to 
 slave in this way.' 
 
 * Do you call ironing a few fine things 
 slavery ?' replied Mrs. Blake in an amused 
 voice. ' In our great-grandmothers' time girls 
 did more than that. Mollie is not overworked, 
 I assure you.' 
 
 'Then what makes her look so done up ?' 
 
 ' Oh, that is nothing ! She is growing so fast, 
 you know ; and growing girls have that look. 
 Mollie is as strong as a horse, really — at her 
 age I was far weaker. Mollie is a good child, 
 but she is a little given to grumbling and making 
 a fuss about trifles.' 
 
 ' Oh, I don't agree with you there.' 
 
 ' That is because you do not understand 
 girls,' returned his mother composedly. * But 
 you may safely leave Mollie to me. Am I 
 likely to overwork one of my own children ? 
 Should I be worthy of the name of mother ?' 
 
 * Yes, but you might not see your way to help 
 it — that is, as long as you persist in your ridi- 
 culous resolution of keeping Biddy. Why, she 
 ought to have been shelved long ago.' 
 
 'That is my affair, Cyril,' replied Mrs. Blake 
 with unusual dignity. ,
 
 3IO LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 She hardly ever spoke to him in that voice, 
 and he looked up a little surprised. 
 
 ' I hope we are not going to quarrel, mother- 
 ling,' his pet name for her. 
 
 * Do we ever quarrel, darling ? No, you only 
 vex me when you talk of sending poor old 
 Biddy away. I could not do it, Cyril. I am 
 not naturally a hard-hearted woman, and it 
 would be sheer cruelty to turn off my old nurse. 
 Where would she go, poor old thing ? And 
 you know yourself we cannot afford another 
 servant.' 
 
 ' Not at present, certainly.' 
 
 * Perhaps we may in the future — who knows ?' 
 returned Mrs. Blake with restored gaiety ; * and 
 until then a little work will not hurt Mollie. 
 Do you know, when I was a girl, my mother 
 always insisted on my sister Dora and myself 
 making our own beds — she said it would 
 straighten our backs — and she liked us to run 
 up and down stairs and make ourselves useful, 
 because the exercise would improve our carriage 
 and complexion. Dora had such a pretty figure, 
 poor girl ! and I think mine is passable,' draw- 
 ing herself up to give effect to her words. 
 
 ' You, mother ? You are as slim and as 
 graceful as a girl now !' returned Cyril admir-
 
 AMONG THE BRAIL LANES. 311 
 
 ingly. Then, recurring to his subject with a 
 man's persistence, ' I don't believe you did half 
 so much as poor Mollie does.' 
 
 'And what does she do ?' asked Mrs. Blake, 
 still mildly obstinate. ' She only supplements 
 poor old Biddy. A little dusting, a little bed- 
 making ; now and then, perhaps, a trifle of 
 ironing. What is that for a strong, healthy girl 
 like Mollie ?' 
 
 ' Yes ; but Mollie has to be educated,' replied 
 Cyril, only half convinced by this plausible state- 
 ment. ' These things may be only trifles, as 
 you say, but they take up a good deal of time. 
 You know, mother dear, how often I complain 
 of the desultory way Mollie's lessons are carried 
 on.' 
 
 ' That is because Mollie and I are such 
 wretched managers,' she returned eagerly. ' I 
 am a feckless body, I know ; and Mollie takes 
 after me — we both hate running in grooves.' 
 
 ' Mollie is young enough to learn better 
 ways,' was Cyril's grave answer. * As for you, 
 mother, you are hopeless,' with a shake of his 
 head. 
 
 ' Yes, you will never mend or alter me,' she 
 rejoined with a light laugh. ' I am Irish to the 
 backbone. Now, my boy, you really must not
 
 312 LO VER OR FRIEND ? 
 
 keep me any longer with all this nonsense 
 about Mollie. I have to go up to Rosendale, 
 you know ; Mrs. Cardell begged me to sit with 
 her a little, and I am late new. Mollie will give 
 you your tea. Come — have you forgiven your 
 mother ?' passing her white taper fingers over 
 his dark hair as she spoke. 
 
 Cyrils only answer was to draw her face 
 down to his. 
 
 Mrs. Blake smiled happily at him as she left 
 the room — what did she care if only everything 
 were right between her and her idolized boy } 
 But Cyril was not so satisfied. With all his 
 love for his mother, he was by no means blind 
 to her many faults. He knew she was far too 
 partial in her treatment of her children — that she 
 was often thoughtless of Kester's comfort, and 
 a little hard in her judgment of him ; and she 
 was not always judicious with respect to Mollie. 
 At times she was lax, and left the girl to her 
 own devices ; but in certain moods, when 
 Cyril had been speaking to her, perhaps, there 
 would be nothing right. It was then that 
 Mollie was accused of untidiness and feckless 
 ways, when hints of idleness were dropped, and 
 strict rules, never to be carried out, were made. 
 Mollie must do a copy every day ; she wrote
 
 AMONG THE BRAIL LANES. 313 
 
 worse than a child of ten. Her ignorance of 
 geography was disgraceful ; she had no idea 
 where the Tigris was, and she could not name 
 half the counties in Scotland, and so on. For 
 four-and-twenty hours Mollie would be drilled, 
 put through her facings, lectured, and made 
 generally miserable ; but by the next morning 
 or so the educational cleaning would be over. 
 ' Mother wasn't in a mood for teaching,' Mollie 
 would say in her artless fashion as she carried 
 away her books. 
 
 * No ; he could not alter his mother's nature,' 
 Cyril thought sadly. He could only do the best 
 he could for them all. He was clever enough 
 to see that his mother was wilfully shutting her 
 eyes to her own mismanagement of Mollie, and 
 that she preferred drifting on in this happy-go- 
 lucky fashion. With all her energy and fits of 
 industry, she was extremely indolent, and never 
 liked taking trouble about anything. No ; it 
 was no use talking to her any more about 
 Mollie, unless he had some definite suggestion 
 to make — and then it was that he wondered if 
 Miss Ross would help him ; she always helped 
 everyone, and he knew that she was in full 
 possession of the facts. 
 
 * I am not a bit ashamed of our poverty,'
 
 314 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 thought Cyril, as he plunged down the sweet, 
 dewy lanes. * One day I shall get on, and be 
 any man's equal ; but the only thing that 
 troubles me is the idea that she thinks us too 
 hard on Mollie. She has never said so, of 
 course ; but somehow it is so easy to read her 
 thoughts — she is more transparent than other 
 people.' And Cyril heaved a deep sigh. ' I 
 wonder what she will think when she sees me. 
 I do not want her to know that I am looking out 
 for her. Everyone has a right to take an 
 evening walk if he likes ; and, of course, the 
 roads are open to all. Even without this 
 excuse I meant to do it ; for after this even- 
 ing ' And then Cyril groaned to himself 
 
 as he thought of the seven long blank weeks 
 that stretched before him, when a certain sweet 
 face would be missing ; and at that moment he 
 espied the gleam of a white dress between the 
 hedgerows. 
 
 Now, Audrey was right in saying Booty was 
 a spoilt dog. He was as full of whimsies this 
 evening as spoilt children generally are. He 
 had testified extreme delight when Audrey had 
 closed the gate of Vineyard Cottage behind her. 
 By some curious canine train of reasoning he 
 had arrived at the conviction that his master
 
 AMONG THE BRAIL LANES. 315 
 
 was at Woodcote — had probably arrived there 
 during their absence ; and with this pleasing 
 notion he pattered cheerfully after Audrey 
 down the long grass lanes. But Audrey 
 walked fast, and being rather late, she walked 
 all the faster ; and Booty, who was used to 
 Michael's leisurely pace, began to lag behind 
 and to hold out signals of distress. ' Oh, 
 Booty, Booty !' exclaimed Audrey, regarding 
 the little animal indulgently ; ' and so I am to 
 carry you, just because your legs are so 
 absurdly short that they tire easily.' Evidently 
 this was what Booty wished, for he sat up and 
 waved his paws in an irresistible way. * Very 
 well, I will carry you, old fellow ; but you are 
 dreadfully spoilt, you know.' 
 
 ' Indeed, you shall do nothing of the kind, 
 Miss Ross ;' and Cyril jumped off the stile. ' I 
 will carry him for you ;' and Cyril hoisted him 
 up on his arm, being rewarded by an affec- 
 tionate dab on his nose from Booty's busy 
 tongue. 
 
 Audrey had coloured slightly when she first 
 caught sight of Cyril's tall figure ; but she sup- 
 pressed her surprise. 
 
 * Is this a favourite walk of yours ?' she asked 
 carelessly, as though it were a usual thing to
 
 3i6 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 meet Mr. Blake wanderlnof amonor the Brail 
 lanes. 
 
 Cyril was quite equal to the occasion. He 
 hardly knew which was his favourite walk ; he 
 was trying them all by turns. He had taken 
 his mother to Brail once, and she had been 
 much pleased with the village. There was one 
 cottage she thought very pretty — indeed, they 
 had both fallen in love with it ; it had a quaint 
 old porch, smothered in jasmine. 
 
 ' That is Vineyard Cottage, where my friends 
 the O'Briens live,' replied Audrey, only half 
 deceived by this smooth account. 
 
 It was clear that Mr. Blake wished her to 
 think that only purest accident had guided his 
 feet in the direction of Brail ; but Audrey was 
 sharp-witted, and she knew Mollie had a tongue; 
 it would be so natural for her to say, ' Miss 
 Ross is going to see some old friends at Brail 
 — she told me so ; but it is so hot that she will 
 not go until after tea.' Once before she had 
 been sure that Mollie's chatterinor had set Mr. 
 Blake on her track. She must be more careful 
 how she talked to Mollie for the future. 
 
 But here Cyril, who was somewhat alarmed 
 at her gravity, and who half guessed at her 
 thoughts, began to speak about Mollie in an
 
 AMONG THE BRAIL LANES. 317 
 
 anxious, brotherly manner that restored Audrey 
 at once to ease. 
 
 'So you see all the difficulty,' he continued, 
 after he had briefly stated the facts ; ' and I 
 should be so grateful if you could help me to 
 any solution. I ought to apologize for troubling 
 you, but I know you take such an interest in 
 Mollie.' 
 
 ' I do indeed,' she returned cordially, and in 
 a moment every trace of constraint vanished 
 from her manner ; ' and, to tell you the truth, 
 Mr. Blake, I have felt rather anxious about 
 her lately. Even my mother has noticed how 
 far from strong she looks.' 
 
 * But that is because she is growing so fast,* 
 he replied, unconsciously repeating Mrs. Blake's 
 words. ' You see. Miss Ross, my mother abso- 
 lutely refuses to part with Biddy. I have argued 
 with her again and again, but nothing will induce 
 her to send the old woman away. She also 
 declares that she cannot afford another servant, 
 so what is to be done ?' and Cyril sighed as 
 though he had all the labours of Hercules before 
 him. 
 
 Audrey looked at him very kindly ; she was 
 much touched by this confidence. How few 
 young men, she thought, would have been so
 
 3i8 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 simple and straightforward ! There was no 
 false pride in the way he mentioned their small 
 means and homely contrivances ; he spoke to 
 her quite frankly, as though he knew she was 
 their friend, and as though he trusted her. It 
 was the purest flattery, the most delicious 
 homage he could have offered her. Audrey 
 felt her sympathy quicken as she listened. 
 
 * I would not trouble about it just now,' she 
 observed cheerfully — ' not until the vacation is 
 over. Mollie will have very little to do while 
 you and K ester are away.' 
 
 ' That is true,' he returned, in a relieved tone ; 
 for he had not thought of that. 
 
 ' When we all come back we might hit upon 
 some plan. Do you think your mother would 
 object to having in a woman two or three times 
 a week to help Biddy ? I think I know a 
 person who would just do — Rebecca Armstrong. 
 She does not want to leave home ; but she is a 
 strong, capable girl, and could easily do all the 
 rough work — and she is very moderate in her 
 charges. I could inquire about her, if you like.' 
 
 ' It is an excellent idea,' he replied, inwardly 
 wondering why it had not occurred to his 
 mother. ' I am so grateful to you for sug- 
 gesting it. I am quite sure my mother will
 
 AMONG THE BRAIL LANES. 319 
 
 not object ; so by all means let us have this 
 Rebecca.' 
 
 ' Shall I tell your mother about her ?' 
 
 ' Perhaps I had better speak to her first ; 
 there is no hurry, as you say. Really, Miss 
 Ross, you have lifted a burden off my mind.' 
 
 * I am so glad !' with a smile. ' You see, 
 Mr. Blake, it will be so nice for Mollie to have 
 her mornino-.s to herself. She has told me two 
 or three times that she finds it impossible to 
 work in the afternoon, there are so many inter- 
 ruptions ; and by that time she is generally so 
 tired — or stupid, as she calls it — that she cannot 
 even add up her sums.' 
 
 'Oh, we will alter all that !' replied Cyril lightly. 
 
 He had discharged his duty, and now he did 
 not want to talk about Mollie any more. From 
 the first he had always felt conscious of a feeling 
 of well-being, of utter contentment, when he was 
 in the presence of this girl ; it made him happy 
 only to be with her. But this evening they 
 were so utterly alone ; the whole world was 
 shut out by those barriers of grassy lanes and 
 still green meadows, with their groups of slowly- 
 feeding cattle. 
 
 The evening air was full of dewy freshness, 
 and only the twitteringof birds broke the stillness.
 
 320 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 A subtle sweetness seemed to distil through 
 the young man's veins as he glanced at his 
 companion ; involuntarily, his voice softened. 
 
 * I wonder where you will be this time to- 
 morrow ?' he said, rather abruptly. 
 
 ' We are to sleep at York, you know. Geral- 
 dine wants to see the Minster.' 
 
 ' Oh yes, I remember ; Captain Burnett told 
 me ;' and then he began questioning her about 
 Braemar. Could she describe it to him ? He 
 had never been in Scotland, and he would like 
 to picture the place to himself. He should ask 
 Kester to send him a photograph or two. 
 
 Audrey was quite willing to satisfy him. She 
 had been there already, and had seen their 
 cottage. She could tell him all about their two 
 parlours, and the little garden running down to 
 the beck. But Cyril's curiosity was insatiable ; 
 he wanted to know presently how she would 
 employ herself and what books she would read. 
 
 ' For you will have wet days,' he added — 
 * soft days, I think they call them — and then 
 time will hang heavily on your hands unless you 
 have plenty of books.' 
 
 ' Oh, Michael has seen to that,' she replied 
 brightly. 
 
 Somehow, Michael's name was perpetually
 
 AMONG THE BRAIL LANES. 321 
 
 cropping up. ' My cousin and I mean to do 
 that,* or ' Michael means to help me with that,' 
 until Cyril's face grew slightly lugubrious. 
 
 True, he tried to console himself with the 
 remembrance of Audrey's words that she and 
 Geraldine looked upon Michael as a sort of 
 brother ; still, he never did quite approve of 
 this sort of adopted relationship. It was always 
 a mistake, he thought ; and in time people 
 found it out for themselves. 
 
 Of course he was Miss Ross's cousin — or, 
 rather, her father's cousin — but even that did 
 not explain matters comfortably to his mind ; 
 and when a man has a Victoria Cross, and is 
 looked upon in the light of a hero, it is a little 
 difficult for other men not to envy him. 
 
 Cyril began to feel less happy. The walk was 
 nearly at an end, too. Some of the light and 
 cheerfulness seemed to fade out of the land- 
 scape ; a chill breath permeated the summer air. 
 
 But Audrey went on talking in her lively, 
 girlish way. She was quite unconscious of the 
 sombre tinge that had stolen over Cyril's 
 thought. 
 
 * Yes, to-morrow we shall be more than a 
 hundred miles away ; and the next day you will 
 be C7i route for Cornwall.' 
 
 VOL. I. 21
 
 322 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 ' I suppose SO.* 
 
 'You will have a very pleasant time, I hope.' 
 
 * Oh, I dare say it will be pleasant enough ; 
 the house will be full of company — at least, 
 Hackett says so. His people are very hos- 
 pitable.' 
 
 ' Are there any daughters ?' 
 
 * Oh yes ; there are three girls — the three 
 Graces, as they were called when they came up 
 to Commemoration.' 
 
 * Indeed ; were they so handsome ?' 
 
 'Some of our men thought so,' with a fine 
 air of indifference. * I know Baker was smitten 
 with one of them ; it is going to be a match, I 
 believe. That is Henrietta, the eldest.' 
 
 ' I suppose she was the handsomest ?' 
 
 * Oh dear no ! Miss Laura is far better 
 looking ; and so is the youngest, Miss Frances. 
 In my opinion Miss Frances is far more taking 
 than either of her sisters.' 
 
 * Oh, indeed ! I think you will have a 
 pleasant time, Mr. Blake.' 
 
 ' Well, I cannot say I am looking forward to it. 
 I am afraid it will be rather a bore than other- 
 wise. I would much rather go on working.' 
 
 * I don't think you would find Rutherford 
 very lively.'
 
 AMONG THE BRAIL LANES. ,. 323 
 
 'Oh, I did not mean that!' with, a reproachful 
 glance at her that Audrey found, rather embar- 
 rassing. 'You surely could not have thought 
 I wished to remain here now ' — a dangerous 
 emphasis on 'now.' 'Why, it would be the 
 abomination of desolation, a howling wilderness.' 
 
 ' I thought you were fond of Rutherford.' 
 
 Audrey was not particularly brilliant in her 
 remarks just now ; she was not good at this 
 sort of fencing. She had a dim idea that she 
 ought to discourage this sort of thing ; but she 
 did so hate snubbing anyone, and, in spite of 
 his youth, Mr. Blake was rather formidable. 
 
 ' So I do — I love Rutherford !' he returned, 
 with such vehemence that Audrey was startled, 
 and Booty tried anxiously to lick him again. 
 * It was a blessed day that brought us all here 
 — I wonder how often I say that to myself — 
 
 but all the same ' he paused, seemed to 
 
 recollect himself, and went on — ' it must be 
 very dull in vacation time.' 
 
 ' Oh yes, of course,' she said quickly. It 
 was rather a tame conclusion to his sentence ; 
 but Audrey breathed more freely. She was 
 almost glad they had reached Rutherford, and 
 that in a few minutes Woodcote would be in 
 view.
 
 324 LOVER OR FRIEND? 
 
 They were both a little silent after this, and 
 by-and-by Cyril put Booty down. 
 
 * Good-bye,' observed Audrey very gently, as 
 she extended her hand. ' Thank you so much 
 for being so good to Booty ; and please give 
 my love to your mother and Mollie.' 
 
 * Good-bye,' murmured Cyril ; and for a 
 moment he held her hand very tightly. If his 
 eyes said a little too eloquently that he knew 
 he should not see her again for a long time, 
 Audrey did not see it, for her own were down- 
 cast. That strong, warm pressure of Cyril's 
 hand had been a revelation, and a quick, sensi- 
 tive blush rose to her face as she turned silently 
 away. 
 
 'That is over,' thought Cyril to himself, as 
 he strode through the silent street in the sum- 
 mer twilio^ht ; ' and now for seven Ions: blank 
 weeks. Am I mad to-night ? would It ever be 
 possible ? It is like the new heaven and the 
 new earth only to think of it !' finished the 
 young man, delirious with this sweet intoxica- 
 tion of possible and impossible dreams. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD. 
 
 C, C. <5- Co.
 
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