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 A WOMAN'S LOVE-LESSON. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 NEW NOVELS AT ALL LIBRARIES. 
 
 PENHALA; A Wayside Wizard. By Clara Lemore, 
 
 author of ' A Harvest of Weeds,' ' Gwen Dale's Ordeal,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 IN A NEW WORLD. By Mrs. Hans Blackwood. One 
 
 volume. (Now first published.) 6s. 
 
 VENTURED IN VAIN. By Reginald E. Salwey, author 
 
 of ' The Finger of Scorn,' ' Wildwater Terrace,' &c. 2 vols. 
 
 ADAM THE GARDENER. By Mrs. Stephen Batson, 
 
 author of ' Such a Lord is Love,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 ST. MAUR. By Adeline Sergeant, author of ' Caspar 
 
 Brooke's Daughter,' ' Sir Anthony,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 LONDON: HURST & BLACKETT, LIMITED.
 
 A WOMAiN'S LOYE-LESSON 
 
 BY 
 
 EMILY J. DUNHAM 
 
 ' Experience, like a pale musician, holds 
 A dulcimer of patience in his hand, 
 Whence harmonies we cannot understand, 
 Of God's will in His worlds, the strain unfolds 
 In sad, perplexed minors.' 
 
 E. B, Browning. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON : 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MAELBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1895. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 ?^3 
 
 TO 
 
 ^. M. D. 
 
 IN MEMORY OF A PROMISE 
 
 THIS STORY 
 
 IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 A WOMAN'S LOVE-LESSOK 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ' My godmother says that Ijeauty's only 
 skin-deep.' 
 
 Mattie Purvis repeated this original 
 sentiment proudly, and looked round her 
 circle of listeners to note the approving 
 gaze she expected as her due. But girls 
 are not naturally reverential ; they only 
 becorne so when excellently trained ; and 
 the dozen young women present owed 
 their early education to the village Board 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 
 
 Scliool, and their later training to tli em- 
 selves. 
 
 With the independence of the age in 
 which they found themselves, they ex- 
 pected always good value for any reverence 
 they might give, and Mattie's moral re- 
 mark savoured too much of copy-book 
 wisdom to appeal to minds emancipated 
 from control. 
 
 ' If it is only skin-deep, why, there isn't 
 n Avoman living who wouldn't cry her eyes 
 out for it, if she thought tears would buy 
 it!' said Kate Ruggles. 'As for you, 
 Mattie, if good looks aren't worth anything, 
 why do you stand curling your hair before 
 the glass for a quarter of an hour every 
 morning, I should like to know?' 
 
 All the girls giggled, including Mattie. 
 
 They were met together to form a 
 class, — a reading, working, often gossip-
 
 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 3 
 
 ing class — Miss Broughton, the rector's 
 daughter, had cajoled them into joining 
 her ' Mutual Improvement Society,' which 
 had a meeting every Wednesday evening, 
 in the reading-room of the Maycross 
 library. 
 
 Literature, unless of the penny-dreadful 
 order, did not excite them, plain sewing 
 they performed with aversion ; but the 
 occasion for an outing was not despised by 
 them. 
 
 Miss Broughton's intention in keeping 
 up the society was a grave one ; she wished 
 to raise the girls of her father's parish in- 
 tellectually, to teach them gradually to 
 aspire to ' better things,' to lead them by 
 easy stages to a height of wisdom, from 
 which they would look back in wonder at 
 the frivolities and follies of their former 
 lives. They were to be trained to become 
 
 B 2
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 good women, possibly good wives and 
 mothers ; and were encouraged to tell their 
 troubles, love affairs, household difficulties 
 of the present, to their counsellor, teacher 
 and friend. Miss Broughton. 
 
 Miss Broughton was but a girl herself, 
 had never known any great trouble, had 
 only just gained a love-affair of a most 
 placid kind, had herself to manage a house- 
 hold — the old servants of which knew to 
 an item what was required of them — and 
 had never gathered experience outside her 
 own home. Still, she was the rector's 
 daughter. By reason of this distinction of 
 birth, she counselled, taught, and be- 
 friended the dozen young women who 
 could have given her much varied in- 
 formation. 
 
 Mattie Purvis was the favourite of the 
 class ; not Miss Broughton's favourite, but
 
 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. O 
 
 the heroine of the girl-society of Maycross. 
 Romance hovered round her name on ac- 
 count of her superior ancestry, her father 
 and only living relative being a broken- 
 down gentleman ; a gentleman, that is to say, 
 in the opinion of the ' Mutual Improvers.' 
 He had once been ' Captain' Purvis, and 
 they gave him the title scrupulously, 
 though rumour declared that he had long 
 before parted with the right to it. 
 
 ' Once a captain, always a captain,' was 
 Mattie's opinion, and she had impressed it 
 successfully upon her friend's memory. 
 
 Kate Ruggles, her chosen ' chum,' was 
 the daughter of a widowed shop-keeper. 
 Everyone knew Mrs. Ruggles' confectionery 
 and baking establishment, with the large 
 plate-glass window, and the green-painted 
 door opening into the High Street. 
 Through serving in the shop all day all
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 the year, Kate had gathered a repertory of 
 gossip, of the extent and accuracy of which 
 she was more proud than she had ever 
 been of the small amount of learning she 
 owed to school. 
 
 The girls usually met at the reading- 
 room a quarter of an hour too early, and 
 spent the time in conversation of an un- 
 edifying nature. Miss Broughton, her 
 family affairs, and personal appearance, 
 was a complex subject to which they 
 devoted much discussion, and this evening 
 Mattie's borrowed sentiment on the subject 
 of beauty and its limitation was spoken in 
 connection with an argument as to the good 
 looks of the rector's daughter. 
 
 ' Well, Miss Broughton doesn't curl her 
 hair, anyway,' said a girl from the back of 
 the room. 
 
 ' I daresay she thinks it's wicked !'
 
 A wo]vla.n's love-lesson. 
 
 ' Because her's grows so low down her 
 forehead that she doesn't need to. I look 
 just wild without a fringe, — see if I don't?' 
 
 Mattie pushed back her black curls with 
 both hands, until her hair made a dark 
 aureole round her shapely little head, 
 and revealed an expanse of brow that 
 would have received admiration from a 
 physiognomist. 
 
 Her eyes and eyelashes were as black as 
 her curls, and her cheeks had a natural 
 carnation flush upon them, matching the 
 colour of her parted lips. 
 
 ' Don't spoil yourself, Mattie,' cried 
 large, -plRin Kate Ruggles ; adding, in a 
 whisper, ' you wouldn't like to take all 
 the curl out, I know you wouldn't, to-night, 
 when Mr. Richard's coming^ home !' 
 
 Mattie's face went crimson all over, and 
 she began to unpack her sewing from a
 
 8 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 hand-bag, not answering Kate's words, ex- 
 cept by the vivid blusb. 
 
 The other girls continued the discussion. 
 
 ' I call her handsome, but it takes a lot 
 of looking to find it out. She's that sort 
 of 2firL If she'd ^ot more colour she'd be 
 more admired.' 
 
 ' Or if she dressed more tastily.' 
 
 There was a o^eneral exclamation of 
 agreement to this. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Mattie, who had recovered 
 from her confusion by this time, and who 
 was considered an authority on matters of 
 dress, ' if I were a rector's daughter I 
 wouldn't go to church if I didn't have a 
 new frock now and again !' 
 
 ' Oh, Mattie, but what would your father 
 say? 
 
 ' It wouldn't be so much what he said 
 that would be important, but what he gave
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 9 
 
 me out of his pocket !' went on Mattie, 
 unabashed. ' But I'd far and away be 
 dad's daughter than have anv rector in the 
 world for a father, that I would !' 
 
 Kate, who had been reflecting, gave in 
 words the result of her meditation. 
 
 ' Miss Broughton, she's got an old dark 
 blue cotton that she's had three summers 
 to my knowledge, a silver-grey alpaca for 
 best, and that sero;e coat and skii't she 
 wears with shirts, and that's all ; and she's 
 not having anything new, because she 
 ^always has her dresses made in the village, 
 and when I saw Miss Mearson yesterday I 
 ^sked.' 
 
 ' I suppose Mr. Hedworth wouldn't like 
 her to think too much of dress, he being a 
 curate !' suo-o-ested someone else. 
 
 ' Xonsense !' cried Mattie. ' Curates are 
 only men after all, and he tries to do his
 
 10 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 little girl up in blue ribbons, though he is 
 as poor as a rat !' 
 
 ' It's a pity then that his sister don't 
 smarten herself up a bit.' 
 
 ' Oh, Miss Grace would never look 
 anything !' 
 
 Kate, who was peering through the 
 window, now made the announcement 
 that Miss Broughton was coming across 
 the street. 
 
 ' How she's looking?' asked Mattie. 
 
 ' She's got on the alpaca, and her Sunday 
 bonnet, — that must be because she's going 
 on to the station to meet Mr. Richard!' 
 
 Mattie's cheeks went red again. 
 
 Then there was a general drawing-out 
 of work from the various receptacles, and 
 Kate hurried to get the history that was- 
 being read on Wednesday evenings. 
 
 By the time Anna Broughton entered
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 11 
 
 the room she found her class preparing for 
 work, their eyes bent dutifully upon their 
 needles, their tongues suspiciously silent. 
 
 Suspicion not being part of Anna's 
 nature, her surprise at the dulness of the 
 assembly did not make her guess that her 
 own arrival had checked conversation. 
 She often felt that she did not quite under- 
 stand her pupils, but she as often consoled 
 herself with the reflection that their simple 
 characters did not require to be understood. 
 Very docile, good girls, she thought them ; 
 sometimes a little inclined to giggle, not 
 very industrious, not as religious as she 
 hoped to make them, but always exceed- 
 ingly j)olite to her. 
 
 She was interested in them as human 
 beings of a completely dilFerent nature to 
 her own, creatures of a lower order alto- 
 gether, who needed principles, for safe-
 
 12 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 guarding tliem from evil; who were exposed 
 to temptations incidental to their state of 
 life from which she, as rector s daughter, 
 was mercifully free. Anna was not of a 
 self-contemplative disposition, but it had 
 occurred to her that she had reason to be 
 grateful for her own steadiness ; she could 
 not imagine any reason why she should 
 ever hesitate between the claims of duty 
 and of inclination. She was twenty-six, 
 and had always found satisfaction in 
 behaving well. 
 
 The dozen girls of her class misrht be- 
 come good girls for their position in life, 
 but they could not expect to enjoy the 
 same immunity from temptation, thought 
 Anna. It was only natural that there were 
 great advantages in being born a rector's 
 daughter. 
 
 She was absolutely unselfconscious as
 
 A woman's love-less ox. 13^ 
 
 she walked down the room to the head of 
 the long table, and cast her eyes approv- 
 ingly over her quiet class. Smiling upon 
 them, she gave them the words of praise 
 that they seemed to merit. 
 
 ' It is good of you to be so punctual, 
 o'irls.' 
 
 Then came a chorus of ' Good-evening, 
 miss.' A spectator would have imagined 
 that the class had only just become aware 
 of its teacher's j)resence. 
 
 Anna replied to the greetings cordially ^ 
 while she drew off her grey silk gloves, 
 and unlocked the drawer in the table 
 where she kept her sewing. The un- 
 finished garment would eventually become 
 a flannel petticoat, and clothe the rheumatic 
 limbs of some old woman in the winter. 
 
 Xow it was summer. Bees and butter- 
 flies tapped the large window sometimes.
 
 14 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 attracted to its vicinity by the odour of 
 the yellow jasmine that trailed up the 
 wall beside it. The lower sash was down, 
 for the noises from the village street, 
 though few in number and far from ex- 
 citing, would have made the girl's atten- 
 tion wander from the history of past days 
 to the small but present events of life in 
 a country town. 
 
 Anna sat down in the librarian's arm- 
 chair, and found the place in the book. 
 
 ' Please, Miss Broughton, I want to ask 
 a question,' said Mattie, hurriedly. 
 
 Looking at the speaker's flushed cheeks, 
 and bright excited eyes, Anna wondered, 
 then remembered that to make a great 
 fuss of little things was Mattie's habit. 
 These two young women, to consider them 
 by comparison for once, were nearer to- 
 gether in education and breeding than
 
 A woman's love-lessox. 15 
 
 Anna at all realized ; to her Mattie seemed 
 no better in either way than the others, 
 but Mattie herself felt an indescribable 
 difference. She saw thro uo:h Miss Brouo^h- 
 ton's innocent self-deceptions, she laughed 
 at her calm consciousness of superiority. 
 
 Anna laid the book down. 
 
 ' I am glad you told me before we be- 
 gan,' she said, in the grave, clear tones 
 which always emphasized the correct enun- 
 ciation of her words. ' If we interrupt the 
 reading by conversation we are apt to for- 
 get the thread of the writer's argument, 
 and if your thoughts are full of personal 
 concerns you do not appreciate what is 
 read. I will try to answer the question, 
 Mattie. Is it a very hard one ?' 
 
 ' No, at least not to you, I suppose, 
 though dad says that learned men can't 
 agree upon the rights of it. It is this,
 
 16 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 " Why can a ricli man go to his club on 
 a Sunday, and go to see his friends, and 
 drink what he likes, and stay at his club 
 as late as he likes, and a poor man is — " ' 
 
 ' Mattie, I am sorry to interrupt you, 
 but you must know that if we try to dis- 
 cuss a question of that kind, we shall 
 waste a great deal of time. A poor man 
 may go to see his friends on a Sunday if 
 he desires to do so, though it is certainly 
 better for him to spend the day with his 
 wdfe and children. Your father is un- 
 happily a socialist, and he ' 
 
 'My dad's the friend of the poor!' cried 
 Mattie, ' that's what he calls himself.' 
 
 Anna made no reply, her manner show- 
 ing that she considered the contradiction 
 both unimportant and impolite. Handing 
 the book to Kate Ruggles, she asked her 
 to begin to read.
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 17 
 
 ' We are at tlie commencement of the 
 reim of Alfred.' 
 
 o 
 
 Mattie shrugged her shoulders petu- 
 lantly ; then, seeming to repent her vex- 
 ation, she gave a low laugh, and began to 
 stitch. 
 
 Often at the class meetings the men- 
 tion of Captain Purvis brought an element 
 of discord to disturb the placid atmosphere 
 of learning. Anna was tempted to believe 
 that his daughter delighted in her power 
 to produce that discord, but seldom yield- 
 ed to the temj^tation, preferring to think 
 that Mattie erred through inadvertence 
 rather than through malice. 
 
 A long-standing disagreement between 
 the rector and Mattie's father had of late 
 assumed the proportions of a public quar- 
 rel. The captain had instituted a club 
 for the propagation of socialism, the mem- 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 bers of which club had been in the habit 
 of meeting on Saturday nights at ' The 
 Four Stars Inn,' a public-house in the 
 Back Street. After trying to defeat the 
 radical spirit, which was growing among 
 the working-men of the parish, by argu- 
 ment rather than by other opposition, the 
 rector had come to the conclusion that it 
 was his duty to be belligerent. He had 
 purchased the pubhc-house, and the 
 o'round on which it stood, and. as the 
 lease fell in that June, he had given the 
 landlord notice to quit, it being his inten- 
 tion to make a private dwelling of the 
 place. 
 
 Captain Purvis, who loved nothing more , 
 than notoriety, had tried to persuade the 
 law to protect the publican — but vainly ; 
 now he had announced his intention (at 
 moments both of sobriety and of in-
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 19 
 
 toxication had the threat escaped his lips) 
 of ' paying out the old rector.' 
 
 How far Mattie sympathised with her 
 father Anna did not know, but the intro- 
 duction of a socialistic question into the 
 meeting of ' Mutual Improvers,' was either 
 very foolish, or a rude attempt to disturb 
 the peace of the assembly. 
 
 As Mattie laughed Anna looked sharply 
 -at her, all her suspicions of the girl's 
 malicious intent leaping into her mind 
 again. 
 
 Miss Brouo'hton found her own thouo^hts 
 wandering from the consideration of King 
 Alfred's affairs, this evening she was more 
 inattentive than the laziest girl present. 
 She was relieved when the hands of the 
 clock pointed to the hour of release. 
 
 ' The time is up, girls. Put the marker 
 in the book, please.' 
 
 c2
 
 20 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 ' Yes, miss. We shall finish Alfred 
 next time. Mr. Richard's coming home 
 won't make any difference, will it?' 
 
 ' None at all.' 
 
 ' I thought you might Avant the evening 
 to go out with him on the river, or some- 
 thing of that kind, miss, as it's so long 
 since he was home for good.' 
 
 ' We can none of us afford to neglect 
 duty for pleasure, Eliza.' 
 
 ' Perhaps Mr. Richard is going away 
 a2:ain, miss ?' 
 
 ' I do not know.' 
 
 ' Is he going to be a rector too. Miss 
 Anna?' 
 
 ' It is not decided.' , 
 
 ' If I were a man I'd be a rector !' said 
 Mattie, ' then I should be able to go to see 
 everyone in the parish, find out all their 
 concerns, and scold them when I wanted
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 21 
 
 to ! Oh, it must be grand to stand up in 
 a pulpit and preach. And have everyone 
 obliged, for the sake of being thought re- 
 spectable, to come to church and listen !' 
 
 With which parting speech Mattie gave 
 a little nod to her teacher, and vanished 
 through the doorway.
 
 22 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 Again Anna felt annoyed, but she tried 
 not to show it. With a gesture of 
 weariness she pushed back the fair hair 
 that grew so low in the middle of her 
 forehead then rose over the temples. 
 With the natural waviness of that fine gold 
 hair, the rector's daughter, as Mattie had 
 declared, had certainly no temptation to 
 cultivate a fringe. 
 
 ' You're tired, miss. ,You look as 
 though you'd got a headache. Won't you 
 stop at the shop on your way home and let '
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 23 
 
 motlier give you a cup of tea in the 
 parlour ? She'd be proud to do it.' 
 
 Kate Rugo^les was the only girl left 
 beside Miss Broughton herself. 
 
 Anna smiled gratefully, but declined. 
 Kate was always a satisfactory pupil, 
 having a large store of good humour, and 
 being more respectful in manner than any 
 of the others. There was never any fear 
 that Kate would ' forget her place.' 
 
 ' My mother has been ill to-day, and I 
 have been too much indoors,' Anna ex- 
 plained. ' Excitement always does her 
 harm, and she is eagerly counting the 
 moments until my brother returns. A 
 mother seems to think so much of a 
 son.' 
 
 ' And no wonder, miss, particularly when 
 the son's as fine a young man as Mr. 
 Richard. You see, miss, they're all a bit
 
 24 A WOMAN S LOVE LESSON. 
 
 wild when they're young — it's no use ex- 
 pecting too much of a man ! Of course 
 we all heard about Mr. Richard's being 
 turned away from school, but, dear me, 
 that's years ago ! And if the gentleman 
 he's been travelling with don't give no 
 very good account of him now, why, miss, 
 it's a kind of law of nature that the old 
 don't understand the young.' 
 
 ' I am sorry that my brother should be 
 the talk of the village, Kate,' said Anna, 
 with a reproving air. 
 
 ' AYe must gossip a bit, miss, or else 
 we should get into worse mischief; there's 
 so little goes on in Maycross we must 
 make interests for ourselves. Of course, 
 it's not for us to doubt the rector's being 
 right in everything, but, having known 
 Mr. Richard as a boy, we do feel we'd 
 like him to be given his chance.'
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 25 
 
 ' Xo doubt he will be more steady now 
 tbat he is older.' 
 
 ' That's it, miss, give him some trust to 
 make him feel he's a responsible creature. 
 If you'll excuse my mentioning him in the 
 same breath with Mr. Richard, that's what 
 I'm doing with Tom.' 
 
 ' Kate ! You promised me last month 
 that you would give up Tom.' 
 
 The elder girl seemed in no way hurt 
 by Anna's disparaging tone. She laughed 
 genially. 
 
 ' Ah, I said I'd try if I could give him 
 up, but I found I couldn't, miss, and you'll 
 see it'll be all for the best. If I can't keep 
 him away from the drink always, why I 
 can sometimes, and he won't drink himself 
 to death as he'd do if I threw him over. 
 Besides, he's some one to love, miss. I'm 
 not good-looking, nor young, and maybe
 
 26 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 I shouldn't get another man to care about 
 me.' 
 
 ' But, Kate, a girl ought not to want a 
 lover. If she finds that her heart is won, 
 that she has grown to love some man who 
 has paid her attention, then that is differ- 
 ent ; there is no harm in being kind to 
 him, if her parents approve, and if he 
 bears a good character ... But to ac- 
 cept a man who is not trustworthy, be- 
 cause she is afraid that no other man will 
 propose to her . . . Oh, Kate, Kate, I am 
 surprised ! . . . A self-respecting young 
 woman ought not to regard herself as a 
 failure if she has no lover. We have not 
 all of us vocations for matrimony.' 
 
 ' But I am fond of Tom, miss, and he's 
 fond of me in his way. I don't think it 
 would be fair to give him up because I
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 27 
 
 fancy his drinking habits will make a 
 home uncomfortable.' 
 
 'But the degradation, Kate !' 
 
 ' It won't be as bad as it would if he 
 hadn't anyone to care when he makes a 
 beast of himself, miss. He's always sorry 
 next morning.' 
 
 ' We have always taken a great interest 
 in you, Kate ; I know my father will be 
 grieved to hear that you really mean to 
 marry Tom Casson.' 
 
 ' It s Mr. He d worth can manage Tom 
 best, miss, meaning no disrespect to the 
 rector. You see, I suppose it's because 
 a curate can do things a rector can't or 
 wouldn't like to.' 
 
 Anna's grey eyes became more gentle 
 in expression. 
 
 'What has Mr. Hedworth done?'
 
 28 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 
 
 ' It was last Saturday night, miss. Poor 
 Tom liad been overcome, and Mr. Hed- 
 worth found him coming along the tow- 
 path from Huntstown. Tom wasn't Avalking 
 very straight, — the drink always takes him 
 that way because his legs aren't strong, — 
 and what did Mr. Hedworth do but take 
 his arm and bring him home to his lodg- 
 ing in safety, to prevent the risk of his 
 falling into the water and being drowned. 
 All through the Back Street they walked 
 together, arm in arm, for Ca^^tain Purvis 
 met them, and he said to me only yester- 
 day, '' Kate, my dear, if there's a good 
 man left on earth who isn't a socialist, 
 that man's name is Philip Hedworth !" 
 You know the captain's way, miss ; he 
 didn't mean no rudeness.' 
 
 '• I cannot help being sorry for you, 
 Kate. If you are miserable in the future
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 29 
 
 you will not be able to say that you were 
 not warned ; you will owe your troubles 
 to your own wilfulness.' 
 
 'Yes, miss, so I shall; but I'd rather 
 be miserable myself than that Tom should 
 be.' 
 
 ' Is not your mother distressed at your 
 decision ?' 
 
 ' She says I ought to have done better^ 
 miss, only I take after poor father in 
 looks, and he was so ugly that he was 
 refused half-a-dozen times before mother 
 took pity on him.' 
 
 'AYelL I must be going, Kate.' 
 
 ' You're walking to the station to meet 
 Mr. Richard ?' 
 
 ' Xo. I am going back to my mother.' 
 
 Anna went out into the fading sunshine 
 of the evening. As she passed along the 
 street many nods, smiles, and curtsies
 
 30 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 of recognition were bestowed upon her, 
 for the poorer part of the Maycross popu- 
 lation was airinsr itself in front o^ardens 
 or on doorsteps. 
 
 Chubby-faced children peered over the 
 green and white palings, among tall lilies 
 and blue and yellow iris, or peeped 
 roguishly from upper windows embowered 
 in honeysuckle. These little ones had 
 great respect for ' Miss Anna,' but their 
 ove was tempered by awe. She was 
 always kind, with that good-natured 
 toleration of infantile silliness and scrapes 
 which a grown-up person of amiable dis- 
 position has for children, but she never 
 unbent, never romped with the most 
 winning of babies, never forgot the dignity 
 which she maintained with such ease, 
 never ceased to remember her position of 
 authority as rector's daughter.
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 31 
 
 Once or twice she stopped to ask some 
 mother after a sick child, or enquire 
 thouo'htfullv about the absent son who 
 was a trouble, the state of some precarious 
 business, the condition of some bed-ridden 
 grand-parent. 
 
 Her enquiries were answered according 
 to the spirit in which they were made, 
 that is to say, cordially ; but the women 
 watched her as she walked away, and 
 exchanged criticisms as to her sentiments. 
 
 ' Miss Brouo;hton she do seem to think 
 that poor folk ought to be grateful for any 
 sort of a roof above them ! When I told 
 her how the rain came through last night, 
 drip, drip, right on Dickie's bed, she says, 
 '' Well," says she, '* you had better move 
 his bed to the other corner of the room, 
 and persuade the landlord to mend the 
 roof before winter comes." '
 
 32 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 ' Yes, and when she heard t'other day 
 as Bob Sarbin's mother was laid up with 
 asthma, '' I'm sorry," she says, " but Mrs. 
 Sarbin ought to be glad she has been 
 blessed with such excellent health until 
 now. 
 
 ' I wonder what Master Richard '11 do, 
 now he's comin' home agen. I all' us do 
 think it's hard for a young felloAv to belong 
 to a rectory.' 
 
 ' An' though there's not a word I'd 
 speak agen the rector, still I must say as 
 Master Richard's likely to find his self 
 kept a sharp watch over, an' there's no- 
 thing drives a young man into mischief 
 like feelin' spied upon. Why, there was 
 Mrs. Kitson's Jim went an' 'listed all be- 
 cause of the eye she kep' on him.' 
 
 But Miss Broughton had no idea that 
 ' father's parishioners ' were discussing her
 
 A woman's love-lessox. 33 
 
 or her brother Richard, or the discipline 
 of rectory life. She went on her way 
 quickly, walking gracefully, as does a girl 
 who is accustomed to much pedestrianism 
 with a purpose : her tall, well-developed 
 figure showing symmetry in spite of the 
 folds, flounces, and gathers of the Sunday 
 alpaca. 
 
 A lane which turned northwards out of 
 the end of the High Street led to the rectory. 
 Wild bramble and hawthorn hedo^es hid 
 the sandv stretch of narrow road until 
 the traveller was fairly round the first 
 wind of the corner, then there were other 
 twists and turns, over-arched by tree- 
 branches, made irregular by out-jutting 
 banks, which ensured the privacy of a 
 lane which was only traversed by those 
 having business at the church or rectory, 
 or the curate's cottage. 
 
 VOL. T. D
 
 34 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 Anna had rounded one of tlie turns, 
 when, walking away before her, she saw a 
 figure she knew ; a black-robed figure, 
 crowned by a light-brown head of hair and 
 a clerical hat. 
 
 It was the Reverend Philip Hedworth, 
 who had escorted drunken Tom Casson 
 home in safety. 
 
 Anna blushed. 
 
 A few weeks ao:o she had re^-arded Mr. 
 Hedworth as a friend, her father's able 
 coadjutor; but of late a revelation had 
 come to her, partly by the agency of 
 nei2:hbours' nods and becks and wreathed 
 smiles, partly out of Phihp's own serious 
 eyes ; this had forced her to realise that 
 he was courting her. 
 
 Now he Avas a good man, worthy of all 
 her respect and confidence, so there was
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 35 
 
 not tlie slightest reason why she should 
 not accept him. 
 
 Having blushed and paused in her 
 walk a moment Anna began to blame her 
 own folly. Was she, the rector's daughter, 
 to alter her j)ace because she saw the curate 
 walking slowly along in front of her ? If 
 this foolishness were encouraged, it would 
 prevent her from working zealously with 
 him in Sunday-school. It was unworthy 
 of them both. 
 
 Hearing a quick step immediately be- 
 hind him, Philip He d worth turned and 
 lifted his hat. 
 
 'Miss Broughton, I was on my way to 
 see the rector. Is he busy?' 
 
 ' Surely not too busy to see you, Mr. 
 Hedworth ! You probably wish to con- 
 sult him on some matter?' 
 
 D 2
 
 36 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 ' I do ; yes, that was my object.' 
 Anna and the curate walked on to- 
 srether. His face was thouofhtful, he 
 seemed in doubt, to judge by his puzzled 
 expression. J^ow and then he pulled his 
 brown beard; it was more by reason of 
 this unconscious habit than on account of 
 any dandyism in trimming, that the beard 
 was sharply pointed, in a fashion becom- 
 ing to his thin profile. The villagers 
 spoke of the curate as ' a plain man ;' 
 j)lainness, and a suspicion of eccentricity 
 his appearance did suggest ; yet, suppos- 
 ing that fate could ever have made him 
 fashionable, and given him the self-assur- 
 ance and small airs and graces which go 
 with conceit, no critic would have detected 
 anything Avanting in the proportion of his 
 limbs and features. In the matter of 
 looks, human beings are very much what
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 37 
 
 they try to be ; just as many a plain 
 woman has contrived to be called beau- 
 tiful, so Philip Hedworth with care, and a 
 different disposition, might have passed 
 for a handsome man. 
 
 He stole one or two admiring glances 
 at Anna ; Anna looked at him when his 
 face was turned away again, and won- 
 dered what thoughts were engrossing him. 
 
 ' I have been hearing your praises this 
 evening,' she said, after a while. ' Kate 
 Ruggles was very grateful to you for your 
 kindness to that unfortunate man, Casson. 
 It is a great pity that Kate has taken him 
 back into favour.' 
 
 ' He may improve,' Hedworth answered, 
 reluctant to admit that Tom was a regular 
 reprobate. ' A good woman's influence 
 may teach him to have a higher ideal of 
 happiness than can be satisfied by drink-
 
 38 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 
 
 ing. I think yoii know that I have pro- 
 fonnd faith in woman's natural goodness, 
 Miss Broughton. When she doesn't try 
 to copy man, she is stronger than the 
 majority of men as an elevating influence.' 
 
 ' But Kate . . .' said Anna, hesitatingly. 
 ' I do not mean to hint that Kate is other 
 than a very estimable young woman, 
 but . . .' 
 
 As she paused Philip said, with one of 
 his placid smiles at her, 
 
 ' Love has power to idealize, — thank 
 God that it is so.' 
 
 The rector s daughter, who had never 
 looked into the depths of dark lives as 
 Philip Hedworth had done, scarcely under- 
 stood his meaning. 
 
 It was not her fault that she was an un- 
 sympathetic, rather ignorant girl at this 
 stage in her career ; her opportunities had
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 39 
 
 been small, and no one had taught her to 
 enlarge them. Prejudices, founded on 
 sterling principles, had been as a fence of 
 gold around her childhood, — a fence too 
 precious to be destroyed, in which she had 
 learned to take pride. When a strong 
 passion made her break down that barrier, 
 she might emerge, a noble woman, into a 
 wider world. 
 
 Her preconceptions of many things were 
 truthful now, but were not always strong 
 enough to make her tolerant of those flaws 
 without which nothing earthly is, and 
 which add value to the unique virtue. 
 Mr. Hedworth fulfilled her preconceived 
 expectation of goodness in man, yet as she 
 looked at him, she saw clearly all that 
 was, or appeared, absurd in his humble 
 personality. To-night there was a hole in 
 his sock, and his trousers were turned up
 
 40 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 for fear the country mud might spot them, 
 A small paper parcel in his outer pocket 
 had come unfastened, and from it obtruded 
 the head of a penny china doll. 
 
 Philip's next sentence was very simple. 
 The anxious absorbed expression had come 
 back into his eyes. 
 
 ^ I want to ask the rector two questions, 
 Miss Broughton, one of which is an appeal. 
 The first is about the interpretation of the 
 chapter for the next Bible-class meeting, 
 the second is whether he can dispense 
 with my help over the coal club accounts 
 to-morrow night ? I am anxious to stay 
 at home, for my sister has to go out, and 
 Trot has a feverish attack.' 
 
 Anna guessed that the penny doll in 
 the curate's pocket was for sick ' Trot,' but 
 she thouo^ht that he mio^ht have seen that 
 it was properly wrapped up. No doubt
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 41 
 
 he had come all throuj^h the village with 
 that shiny black head visible. 
 
 ' Poor little girl. I hope she will soon 
 be better,' she answered, cordially, for 
 Trot and Jerry Hedworth were little peo- 
 ple who besides reigning over their father's 
 heart enjoyed considerable favour in the 
 hearts of the parish. People often said 
 how sad it was for so young a man to 
 have lost years ago a dearly-loved wife ; 
 but no one who knew the children pitied 
 him for having two such tiny cares as 
 Trot and Jerry. 
 
 Philip smiled gratefully at Anna, who 
 had spoken kindly of his little girl. 
 
 ' You see,' he explained, ' Trot always 
 •sleeps so much better if I tell her a fairy- 
 tale when she's gone to bed.'
 
 42 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 While the rector's daughter was walking 
 homewards Kate Ruggles had returned 
 to her domestic circle, and to the shop, 
 No. 17, High Street, of which she and her 
 mother were as proud as a newly-made 
 peer of his ancestors. The benefits en- 
 joyed to-day were owing to the worthiness 
 of past generations. No Ruggles had 
 failed to add his stone to the erection of 
 this utilitarian family trophy ; a great- 
 grandfather had put in the plate-glass 
 window, a grandparent had bestowed a
 
 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSOX. 43 
 
 new wing, — a nearer relative had widened 
 the space between the counter and the 
 door, — Mrs. Riiggies herself had pur- 
 chased two marble-and-iron tables for 
 customers' use, and lately a gaily-painted 
 board had been attached to the outside 
 wall, announcing that a big cup of tea 
 and a roll and butter could be obtained at 
 the establishment for the modest sum of 
 sevenpence. 
 
 Within the plate-glass window were ar- 
 ranged neatly, buns, scones, loaves, 
 cakes, jam-puiFs and tartlets, sandwiches 
 and sweetmeats ; and behind all these 
 dainties Kate's smiling face looked out into 
 the street. 
 
 She had a maiden-hair fern growing in a 
 pot on the counter near her, and some 
 crochet-work to occupy her lingers but 
 not her eyesight.
 
 44 A wo^ian's LO^'E-LESSOX. 
 
 When dusk descended upon Maycross, 
 Mrs. Ruggles ^vould toddle out of the par- 
 lour, and light up the three gas-jets which 
 marked her shop as superior to any other 
 of the village. 
 
 To-night Kate greeted the stout old lady 
 jocularly : 
 
 ' Hullo, mother, come to buy some 
 sweeties?' 
 
 This joke was in allusion to Mrs. Rug- 
 gles' weakness for brandy-balls, and it 
 lost nothing by repetition. Mother and 
 daughter always paid it the tribute of 
 laughter. 
 
 ' No, Kitty, not this time ; I'm going to 
 save up my farthin's.' 
 
 Being asthmatic, Mrs. Ruggles was spar- 
 ing of her Avords, for they cost her many 
 efforts ; it was Kate who talked enough for 
 both of them. To-night, however, she did
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 45 
 
 not begin to detail an account of the 
 Mutual Improvement Society meeting and 
 of its president's looks and manners. 
 After lingering a few minutes, wondering 
 at her daughter's unusual dulness, Mrs. 
 Ruggies toddled back into the parlour 
 and closed the door to keep out the 
 night-air. 
 
 She had no sooner gone than Mattie 
 Purvis ran in from the street. 
 
 ' Kate, Kate, he's not come by the seven 
 o'clock train, so he must arrive by the 
 next!' 
 
 Her eao;er little face was flushed, for she 
 had run all the way from the station ; her 
 eyes were very bright, with mingled love 
 and excitement. 
 
 Kate hospitably raised the flap of the 
 counter and invited her friend to take a 
 stool next to her own ; but Mattie 's mind
 
 46 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 was too restless at the moment to allow 
 lier body to be still, sbe preferred standing 
 near tbe window, that she might chatter 
 while watching the raised pathway of the 
 road. 
 
 ' I suppose you're glad Miss Broughton 
 wasn't going to meet him ?' suggested Kate. 
 ^ You couldn't well have done it if she 
 had.' 
 
 ' I haven't done it, and I don't mean 
 to. Oh, Kate, as though I would dare !' 
 
 ' Why, you said you'd been to the 
 station.' 
 
 ' Only to peep ; I sta3^ed on the bridge 
 and looked down at the platform. I could 
 see everyone who got out of the train. Of 
 course if I'd seen him I should have run 
 away.' 
 
 ' That's a queer way of treating a 
 lover.'
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 47 
 
 ^ Kitty ! .... Oh, it does sound nice to 
 hear you call him that. But he's not like 
 any other lover, he's so far above me in 
 everything. I don't say that because I 
 don't think my dad's as good as the old 
 rector, but because of .... of Mr. Rich- 
 ard himself. He's so clever. He can 
 speak four languages. . . . Oh, Kate, do 
 you think he'll come back the same ?' 
 
 ' I should think he mio-ht have learned 
 
 o 
 
 to speak a few more.' 
 
 ' You're laughing at me ! I meant, will 
 he come back . . . to me^ Kate ?' 
 
 ^ He was tremendously fond of you when 
 he went away, that's certain. But I told 
 you then that you ought to have got en- 
 oraf^ed to him, as he wanted.' 
 
 ' No !' cried Mattie, stamping her foot on 
 the floor. ' The rectory folk would have 
 thought I wanted to catch him ... So I
 
 48 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 do, but for his sake, not for his position, 
 nor for his money, nor for anybody or any- 
 thing else ! . . . I'd be true to him if he 
 hadn't a half-penny or a friend in the 
 world . . . OA, Kate^ lies come . . . hei's 
 loalking past the ivindoio.'' 
 
 Kate rose and looked out over Mattie's 
 head. 
 
 The younger girl fell on her knees and 
 rested her chin on the edge of the shelf 
 upon Avhich were arranged the cakes, 
 loaves, and pastry. Here dark, still- 
 childlike eyes, with their longing, appeal- 
 ing expression, might have been those of 
 some j^enniless little girl who wanted some 
 ' sweeties ;' but her heart, prematurely 
 aged to A\"omanhood, was beating with the 
 warmth of a passion which was not 
 ignoble. 
 
 Neither Mattie nor Kate saw the-
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 49 
 
 ludicrous side of the former's romantic 
 attachment, nor the absurdity of the scene 
 now i^rogressing. They were accustomed 
 to finding pathos in a common-place 
 environment. 
 
 ' Kitty, he mustn't see me watching 
 him ! . . . Oh^ you deai\ you dear^ you re 
 handsomer than ever . . . Isn't he bronzed ? 
 . . . and he looks grave ... I wonder, 
 are you thinking of me, my own Dick . . . 
 my darling ?' 
 
 On the opposite side of the way Richard 
 Brought on was walking, with his head 
 bent, his hat pulled over his eyes, his hand 
 grasping a shabby portmanteau. It was 
 two years since he had last set foot in 
 May cross, and he had changed more in 
 apj^earance than in nature during that time 
 of travel. A fair moustache showed light 
 upon his sun-tanned skin, his shoulders 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 were broad, his tread firm, his bearing 
 suo^gested strength and obstinacy. 
 
 Mattie noticed this new trait in his looks, 
 and spoke of it. 
 
 ' Kate, doesn't he step as though all the 
 world belonged to him ?' 
 
 'That he does, Mattie; but he's aged 
 very much ; he might be twenty-five in- 
 stead of twenty-three. Now I tell you 
 what you ought to do ; run round by 
 Carver's lane, across Canning's meadow, 
 and meet him in the rectory lane. He'll 
 only think you've been up to the church 
 for something, and, by the first glance 
 when he sees you, you'll find out if he's 
 still fond of you.' 
 
 Mattie impetuously sprang up, and 
 kissed her fingers again and again to the 
 retreatins: fi 2:ure. 
 
 ' My hero . . . my handsome Dick . . .
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 51 
 
 you haven't forgotten me, I Icnoio you 
 haven't!' 
 
 ' Look sharp, or you won't have time,' 
 said Kate, the practical. 
 
 With a farewell hug to her friend and a 
 murmur of thanks for the brilliant sugges- 
 tion, Mattie darted out of the shop as fast 
 as she had entered it. 
 
 Kate felt quite excited to know how the 
 ' meeting was progressing, as she waited for 
 the young girl's return. She admired 
 Mattie with the most ungrudging devotion, 
 loved her as a superior creature to herself, 
 relished keenly the daring nature of a 
 love affair with the rector's only son. Miss 
 Anna's brother. Kate was very much 
 swayed by circumstances. When she was 
 talkino^ to Miss Anna she liked her sincere- 
 ly, regarding her as entitled to respectful 
 loyalty; when she was sharing Mattie's 
 
 E 2 
 
 liiBRAHY
 
 52 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 defiance towards the Broiigliton family 
 she was persuaded that the rector and his 
 daughter were wrong in being hard upon 
 poor Mr. Richard ! Yet never would 
 Kate betray Mattie to Anna, nor Anna to 
 Mattie. She merely liked to be on good 
 terms with both of them. 
 
 But the meetino; in the lane did not take 
 place after all. Kate had not been alone 
 five minutes when Mattie, rather pale, but 
 otherwise quite herself, walked calmly into 
 the shop again. 
 
 ' You silly ! why, you've missed him !' 
 
 Mattie did not resent the remark, but she 
 drew up her little figure j^roudly, and 
 announced, with an air of dignity, though 
 tears were in her eyes, 
 
 ' I couldnH ! It would have been run- 
 ning after him. It's his place to run after 
 me.'
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 53 
 
 The audacity of which remark, in re- 
 ference to a rector's son, almost took away 
 Kate's breath. 
 
 So Richard Broughton met no one in 
 the rectory lane. 
 
 He was not altogether glad to be home 
 again, and was preparing himself mentally 
 for the ordeals consequent upon home- 
 coming, — his father's severe scrutiny and 
 catechetical enquiries, his sister's patro- 
 nising kindness, his mother's loving wel- 
 come. Then there would be a public, as 
 well as those three private ordeals ; an 
 hour's general conversation after supper, 
 when the famil}^ circle would include 
 Philij) Hedworth, and he, Richard, the 
 returned traveller, would be expected to 
 entertain them all with an account of his 
 voyages, while his a]3pearance and history 
 would be freely discussed to his face.
 
 54 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 Yet it was strange but true that, of all 
 the ordeals, the young man shrank most 
 from his invalid mother's welcome. She 
 had such unbounded trust in him, such 
 tender credulity for his slightest explan- 
 ation, such disbelief in the possibility 
 that he by any chance could ever be 
 unsatisfactory. 
 
 There had been several unlucky epi- 
 sodes in his early career, school-boy sins, 
 which had earned him a bad reputation, 
 Anna's distrust, his father's severity; but 
 his mother had never been made to credit 
 a-iy one of them. He had been misjudged, 
 she thought ; she had tenderly told him 
 her opinion as to the true versions of the 
 affairs, — versions which proved conclusive- 
 ly that his motives had been of the best^ 
 his sins virtues, only appearances had made 
 them look like sins.
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 55 
 
 As a boy, Richard had preferred his 
 father's castio^ations to his mother's ex- 
 CLises, for the former had filled his rebel- 
 lious heart with rage, the latter only had 
 humiliated him. Sometimes he had hon- 
 estly tried to blame himself to her, to 
 make her see in him the black sheep he 
 was, and believed he always would be ; 
 but no good ever came of these attempts. 
 Happy in the completeness of her faith, 
 poor Mrs. Broughton smiled, as she lay on 
 her couch for hours alone, and thought 
 what a blessed thing it was that 'dear 
 Richard had no vanity, thought so meekly 
 of his own virtues, was such a beautiful 
 character !' Then the mother would tear- 
 fully thank God for having given her this 
 noble son. 
 
 Poor Richard ! Poor mother ! Their 
 mutual love was a joy to them, but not
 
 56 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 the joy it might have been. Their hearts 
 were banded together, while the other two 
 members of the family were convinced 
 that the mother was weakly forgiving, and 
 the son a hardened deceiver. 
 
 ' Richard can always twist poor mother 
 round his little finger,' Anna would say 
 to her father ; and the rector would often 
 warn his son, 
 
 ' Take care, Dick, my boy ; you cannot 
 humbug me, you know. I am not your 
 mother.' 
 
 When Mr. Broughton used a vulgar 
 word such as ' humbug,' his disdainful 
 tone gave it almost a classical beauty. 
 None of the sights and sounds that greeted 
 the young man's return had any agreeable 
 association with his memory. He had 
 hated Maycross as a child, and as a man 
 he loathed it more.
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 57 
 
 The white wood gate flew open at his 
 touch, he remembered the rattle of the 
 latch ; there were patches of pansies in the 
 flower-bed bordering the gravel, he had 
 helped Anna to sow the seeds ; the dove- 
 coloured sun-dial on the lawn was still 
 broken — he had smashed it once in a fit 
 of temper, and been locked up in con- 
 sequence. The iron scraper on the step 
 gave its accustomed rattle as his foot 
 touched it. 
 
 There was no need for him to ring the 
 bell which hung above the lintel for the 
 door was open all day long, Avith old Nep- 
 tune, the water-spaniel, lying on the mat 
 to act as porter. Neptune did not bark at 
 Richard, knowing him at once, but ex- 
 hibited no excitement, having lost a young 
 dog's interest in men and things. He 
 merely tapped the ground with his feath-
 
 58 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 ered tail, and rolled on liis back for the 
 caress he expected. 
 
 Richard patted the sleek, brown side, 
 then stepped over the recumbent animal, 
 and made for the library. 
 
 The rector was sitting before the long 
 table which was littered with papers, his 
 back was towards the door, giving his son 
 an opportunity to reconnoitre the room 
 and its occupant. 
 
 Thank goodness, the curate wasn't there 
 too, thought Richard. Not that he had 
 the least objection to Philip Hedworth 
 personally, rather liked him in fact, but 
 first meetings with a stern father are try- 
 ing under any circumstances, and intoler- 
 able in the presence of a third person, an 
 outsider. 
 
 Richard decided that the ' governor ' 
 was looking older, had less grey hair
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 59 
 
 falling over his collar, and more of a 
 stoop about his shoulders ; he wore s]3ec- 
 tacles for reading, a thing he had not done 
 when Dick was last at home. 
 
 A tap at the door made Mr. Broughton 
 look round. 
 
 ' Hope you're well, sir, and the mater as 
 little ill as possible ?' 
 
 ' So that is you, Richard.' 
 
 In this manner the black sheep re- 
 entered the parental fold. 
 
 From the instant when he had knocked 
 with his knuckles upon the hard wood of 
 the library door Richard had assumed a 
 new manner, almost a new individuality. 
 The action of tapping had reminded him 
 of the qualms of conscience, the dread 
 with which he had gone into his father's 
 presence on many occasions formerly, and 
 with the recollection had come the dis-
 
 60 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 covery that this was changed for ever. 
 He disliked the scene in which he had 
 to take j)art, he rebelled against the com- 
 ing catechism and exhortation, but he was 
 not trembling, his heart was beating 
 quietly, he did not fear anything that 
 could be done or said to him. For the 
 future he might have to endure being 
 made the subject of his father's private 
 sermons, he might be considered and 
 treated as a reprobate by nature, but in- 
 difference to criticism arose from the 
 knowledge of the impossibility of punish- 
 ment. What could be done to him? 
 Nothing. He was no longer boy, but 
 man. 
 
 One sorrowing look, the dread of one 
 tear from the frail invalid who lived most 
 of her life in the darkened room above the 
 library, could have led Dick Broughton to
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 61 
 
 make any sacrifice of pride or inclination, 
 one loving word could have made him 
 humble. Perhaps this fact was proof 
 positive that the rector was wrong in his 
 treatment of a high-spirited son. 
 
 Many a good man errs through fear of 
 weakly yielding to a tender impulse now 
 and then. Mr. Broughton was severe to 
 all the world including himself, and when 
 sometimes he had felt disposed to rule 
 Dick, his boy, by kindness only, he had 
 regarded the disposition as a temptation 
 of the evil one. If severity was best for 
 the parishioners, why should it not be best 
 for Dick? 
 
 • So that is you, Richard,' he repeated, 
 conscious of a difference between the youth 
 who had gone away and the young fellow 
 who had returned. 
 
 The two men stared in each other's eyes.
 
 €2 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 
 
 ' Yes, sir, and I'm tired of globe-trotting. 
 I've come liome to settle down.' 
 
 ' I am glad to hear it. Your companion, 
 by his letters, did not lead me to expect 
 that you were in any way steadied by 
 experience.' 
 
 Richard laughed. 
 
 ' Old men don't understand young ones. 
 I wanted to see and do everything while I 
 was abroad, but now I'm back I want to 
 work for a change.' 
 
 ' And in a short while you will probably 
 desire some other change.' 
 
 Mr. Broughton's tone was sharp, for he 
 had not liked that unfortunately chosen 
 speech limiting the understanding of ' old 
 men,' having heard in it intentional 
 insult. 
 
 Richard, two years ago, would have lost 
 his temper at an accusation, but to-night he
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 63 
 
 passed it by with a shrug of his shoulders. 
 ' You had better go to your room and 
 get ready for supper,' said the rector. 
 ' You can come down to me in a quarter 
 of an hour, when I shall have finished my 
 sermon. Anna and Hedworth are in the 
 drawing-room, and your mother is lying 
 down, as usual.'
 
 64 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 But the quarter-of-an-hour passed and 
 Richard did not return to the library, and 
 the drawing-room knew him not. He was 
 sitting on the edge of his mother's couch, 
 holdino^ her thin hand in his h'm brown 
 one, and enlivening her by a recital of his 
 adventures. 
 
 There was still that meek young feel- 
 ing in his heart when he saw her gaze 
 admiring him, that same passionate long- 
 ing to go away and hide himself from the 
 dear eyes that saw only perfection in his
 
 A WOMAN S LOVE -LESSON. 65 
 
 face, — away, above all, from the tender 
 trust which believed that never since hi* 
 babyhood had he kept one secret from 
 her. 
 
 He had cried for want of her when he 
 had been abroad, (big baby, maudlin^ 
 sentimental fool, great idiot, he had called 
 himself when he had found on his cheek 
 the tear he could not help !) he knew that 
 if he went away again he would come back^ 
 drawn irresistibly by that pure love which 
 was the strongest influence his nature had 
 known as yet. 
 
 There was one comfort left him, he could 
 kiss and caress her, that gave her pleasure, 
 he could guard her and care for her, never 
 forgetting any little service for her com- 
 fort, planning all day long how to give her 
 happiness. He was proud of her, proud of 
 
 his devotion to her, would have quarrelled 
 A^OL. I. r
 
 66 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 witli any man wlio liad dared to laugh at 
 him for it ; though he objected to being 
 home-sick when absent, he liked being 
 fond of his little mother when present. 
 He would devote his holidays to cheering 
 her up, — she looked more of a shadow, 
 less substantial even than when he had 
 said good-bye to her, and then a lump had 
 risen in his throat, choking his words of 
 farewell, because of a fear that he might 
 never kneel by her couch again and feel 
 her lips pressed to his. 
 
 If he could not quite look her in the 
 face, not without regrets and an effort at 
 any rate, why he could at least make her 
 happy 1 And he had never been very bad, 
 from a young man's point of view he was ' 
 eminently praiseworthy ! The worst of it 
 was that this little woman, with the pain- 
 drawn face, who spent what she called her
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 67 
 
 '^ idle days ' in prayer for him, gave him 
 all her trust from her own point of view, 
 which was widely different to that of 
 modern young men ! 
 
 So Richard's voice was rather husky as 
 he said, 
 
 ' I've come home to be good, dear. 
 You shall see how well I shall get on 
 with the governor, and with work, and 
 with everything!' 
 
 ' That is said like my Richard ! You 
 see, others will not take it all on trust as 
 I do, dear, — no one can understand you, 
 can read your whole heart and soul like 
 your poor little mother, from whom you've 
 never kept one thought or ambition. I 
 know what you are without being shown, 
 — but it will be very gratifying when 
 everyone knows, Dick, and when they all 
 praise you.' 
 
 r 2
 
 68 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 ' They Avon't do that ! The pater would 
 not praise me if I stood on a pedestal and 
 all the rest of mankind was bowing down 
 before me !' 
 
 ' My funny boy, what wild things you 
 do say ! Your father has a high idealy 
 because he is such a wonderful man him- 
 self; and . . . and he speaks strongly 
 out of a sense of duty, Richard, to make 
 you realise all we expect of you. He 
 does not mean to blame, only to brace 
 you for great exertions ; he would be 
 more gentle with anyone from whom he 
 hoped less.' 
 
 Richard grimaced, and playfully stroked 
 her closed eyes, as he changed the awk- 
 ward subject. 
 
 ' How is Anna going on ? Sunday 
 schools, and penny readings, etc., etc.,, 
 flourishing, I sujDpose ?'
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 69 
 
 ' Yes, Dick, she is a zealous worker. 
 She often makes me feel ashamed of my 
 idleness, but now you are come perhaps I 
 shall feel stronger, and you will take me 
 out to see some of the poor ? You have 
 such a strong arm, dear.' 
 
 ' I'll carry you into the garden to- 
 morrow by way of a beginning. Xow, 
 what news have you for me ? Old Mother 
 Drinkwater hasn't been gathered to her 
 grandmothers, I hear.' 
 
 ' She is growing younger, Dick ! Some 
 people do when they are as old as she, 
 but I'm afraid I shan't live long enough 
 to try !' 
 
 Dick sat silent. He wanted to con- 
 tradict her, but he did not dare. She 
 seldom spoke of herself, and her nature 
 was averse to every morbid train of
 
 70 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 thought, so she went on talking after a 
 moment's pause. 
 
 ' Your father and Mrs. Drinkwater are 
 no better friends than they used to be — 
 worse indeed, I fear. I wrote to you 
 about the quarrel with Captain Purvis, 
 did I not?' 
 
 ' Some public-house that's going to be 
 closed, the one where Purvis had his 
 socialist club meetings, isn't it ? — I 
 thought the " pater " had put his foot 
 down too forcibly, — Purvis will be even 
 with him somehow, and, after all, little 
 mother, these radical chaps have a great 
 deal of right on their side.' 
 
 ' How charitable you are, dear.' 
 
 ' And . . . Mattie . . . Mattie Purvis — 
 the tiny girl with the gipsy hair and eyes, 
 what about her ?' 
 
 ' Oh, you remember what a pretty child
 
 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 71 
 
 she used to be ! She has quite grown up, 
 Dick.' 
 
 ' Why, she was seventeen when I went 
 away.' 
 
 ' Seventeen is childhood to some girls^ 
 though I was only eighteen when I was a 
 mother, Richard, and, oh, how proud I 
 was of my baby-girl ! She had such a 
 sweet little face . . .' 
 
 ' I suppose Hedworth thinks her face 
 sweet now ! It's a queer world.' 
 
 ' Anna is handsome.' 
 
 ' She'd make a good curate, so I con- 
 clude she'll make a good curate's wife. 
 Does she mean to, eh, mother? There's 
 no accounting for taste, and I know the 
 poor chap was gone upon her years ago.' 
 
 ' She does not like to be questioned ; I 
 don't know what her feelings are. Pro- 
 bably she has confided in her father.'
 
 72 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 'When rm sure I'm in love, if I can I 
 shall confide in you.' 
 
 ' My dear, kind, thoughtful boy !' 
 
 ' Only if I fall in love with some one 
 the pater won't approve, why then I may 
 get you into trouble if you share my 
 secret.' 
 
 ' I would rather help you to bear trou- 
 bles than I would be without them, Dick 
 dear.' 
 
 They were happy in each other's society, 
 this mother and son, yet they were not at 
 ease. She longed to say many Avords to 
 him that she repressed, because they could 
 not be spoken without a suspicion of dis- 
 loyalty to the head of the family. The 
 rector's wife rebuked the mother. But 
 that one speech she had delighted herself 
 by speaking, though not without after- 
 reproaches from a conscience that was
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 73 
 
 almost too delicate. ' I would rather help 
 3^ou to bear troubles than I would be without 
 them, Dick dear.' That had meant ' Tell 
 me your secret, because my heart is brim- 
 ming over with love for you, and I shall 
 not mind blame if I am scolded and you 
 are spared !' 
 
 Poor little mother, who had pains and 
 worries enough already, yet longed, as 
 some folks long for personal gains and 
 luxuries, to be allowed the privilege of 
 suffering for her boy ! 
 
 And Richard, without putting the know- 
 ledge of all this into the form of definite 
 thought, yet thrilled to the heart with 
 sacred gratitude for this gift of mother's 
 love that God had given him. 
 
 The day might come when contact with 
 worldly minds would make him ashamed 
 of every other reverential, docile senti-
 
 74 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 ment ; he might drift further and further 
 away from the secure shore of home and 
 home influences — but whether he became 
 only a good-for-nothing, or a regular scamp 
 as his father sometimes prophesied, so long 
 as Mrs. Broughton lived on she would 
 have power to draw him back again, to 
 keep him ' her boy,' to summon every good 
 instinct his heart held to the fore, to aid 
 him to become the man she thought him. 
 
 We are told that God's gifts are equally 
 distributed, that the sufferers have their 
 compensation, the poor their reward for 
 poverty ; and we know that the blind re- 
 ceive a capacity for self-help, are taught 
 to see with their finger-tips, while the eyes 
 of the deaf see more than other eyes.. 
 Little Mrs. Broughton, unable to stand 
 alone, with a body racked by pain, nerv- 
 ous as a child, whose hands trembled
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 75 
 
 if they held a vase of her favourite 
 crimson roses, whose head throbbed till 
 every nerve was weary — she, in her weak- 
 ness, had God's compensation, another 
 kind of strength, a power that the rector, 
 for all his steadfastness of goodwill and 
 muscular Christianity, could not exercise 
 — she held her son back from dangers she 
 knew not of; she controlled, led, con- 
 quered him; in all the rebellion of his 
 young self-sufficiency, he bowed his head 
 before her superiority, and dreaded the 
 punishment of her tender, ignorant, hero- 
 worship. 
 
 Mother and son were still talking to- 
 gether when Anna came into the room. 
 
 ' I am very glad to see you, Dick ; I 
 was beginning to think that you had quite 
 deserted us.' 
 
 He sprang up from his seat on the edge
 
 76 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 of the couch, and caught his sister's hands 
 in both his own, laughingly drawing her 
 into the light of the shaded lamp, that he 
 might scrutinize her face, after kissing it. 
 
 ' The " mater's " been telling me that 
 you've grown handsome, Nan, and that 
 you're playing shuttlecock with poor 
 Hedworth's heart.' 
 
 ' Oh, Richard ! I cannot be responsible 
 for such interpretations.' 
 
 Anna blushed a little, as a girl was 
 supposed to do when her lover was men- 
 tioned, but she was not really confused by 
 the turn of the conversation. 
 
 ' Mother would not have said that, 
 Dick, so I need not question her. Have 
 you quite done staring at me, bad boy? — 
 You have changed, you look older.' 
 
 ' Of course ; you didn't expect Father 
 Time to show mercy to me, did you?
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 77 
 
 We've all liearcl that tlie rolling stone 
 didn't gather any moss, but never that it 
 escaped being scratched and battered. 
 You and Hedworth have been flirting in 
 the drawing-room, I heard ; has he gone?^ 
 
 ' We were arranging about the hymns 
 for Sunday. No, he has not gone, he is 
 staying to supper.' 
 
 Richard groaned mockingly. 
 
 ' And when the meal is concluded, for 
 which one of us at least will be truly 
 thankful, I shall be asked to favour the 
 company with an account of " modern 
 Germany and Spain, the habits, customs, 
 and peculiarities of their inhabitants, and 
 the morals deduced from these by a young 
 man on his travels." ' 
 
 ' Is it not natural that we stay-at- 
 homes should want to hear about your 
 adventures ?'
 
 78 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 ' My dear, couldn't you say " isn't " 
 instead of "is not," just to make me feel 
 at my ease ?' 
 
 The mother laughed at the chatter of 
 her children ; it made her feel young 
 herself. 
 
 ' You're still a tease, Dick.' 
 
 'We'll strike up a bargain, — I won't 
 tease you about Hedworth if you'll stand 
 between me and the pater's catechism for 
 this one night, Nan ? Tell him I'm too 
 tired to be questioned, that a railway 
 journey has put my brain in a whirl, — 
 that I've a cold, or the " rheumatics," or 
 ague, .... no malady could be worse 
 than the old boy's probings.' 
 
 The last sentence Dick had spoken in a 
 low voice. 
 
 ' Can you not realize that father is both 
 fond and proud of you, Richard?' pleaded
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 79 
 
 his sister, in a whisper, as they went out 
 of the room together. ' He asks questions 
 because all that concerns you is of interest 
 to him. You never have given him credit 
 for one-half his real kindness ; you pre- 
 pare to object to the first word he says, — 
 I know yon are in one of your defiant 
 moods to-night, or you would not have 
 called him " the old boy." ' 
 
 A hearty laugh from Dick rang through 
 the quiet corridors of the rectory, 
 
 ' That shows that " I come with the 
 heart of my childhood home !" You 
 ought to be glad I'm so little changed, 
 Nan !'
 
 80 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Maycross appreciated tlae Reverend Philip 
 Hedworth, and Maycross was likely to keep 
 him ; he had no personal ambition, throw- 
 ing all the fire of energy which burns in 
 every heart into the cause for which he 
 did his daily toil, for the routine of which 
 he had infinite patience as well as enthu- 
 siasm ; and that cause was God's, not his 
 own. Neither had he superior relatives 
 who might desire his worldly advance- 
 ment, nor wealthy friends with livings to 
 dispose of, who might consider that he
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 81 
 
 would grace a higher niche in the Church. 
 And he, in his turn, was attached to 
 Maycross, not only because Anna Brough- 
 ton lived there, but for quite a host of 
 other reasons. There were at least a 
 dozen special cases among the poor which 
 occupied his special care, — characters 
 whom he was nursing tenderly, trying 
 many kinds of treatment, in the hope of 
 bringing them back into healthy spiritual 
 life. Often his cures went wrong when 
 he had begun to rejoice over them, but 
 no number of relapses could make him 
 despair of their ultimate success. It was 
 characteristic of Philip that he never de- 
 spaired of anything. And he was the 
 most modest of curates, for he was always 
 convinced that the satisfactory cures owed 
 nothing at all to his ministrations, that 
 had he been away they would have re- 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 €eived the care tliey needed for tlieir 
 development, that the grace within them 
 had accomplished the result. He had even 
 gone so far, in one or two cases, as to tell 
 Anna that all the good had been done by 
 some more than usually excellent sermon 
 of the rector's. 
 
 For those sermons Philip had unbounded 
 admiration. He could not preach elo- 
 quently himself, he said, because his col- 
 lege training had been cut short for pe- 
 cuniary reasons ; and he had never got 
 over his surprise that he, so insignificant 
 a man, should be an authorised interpreter 
 of Supreme decrees. 
 
 With this excess of natural modesty it 
 was strange that there should not have 
 been persons ready to affirm that the 
 curate was playing a part ; it was the 
 most convincing proof of his absolute sin-
 
 A woman's love-lessox. 83 
 
 cerity that he never feared this imjDu- 
 tation, and maybe it is true that the 
 accusation a man never dreads is never 
 made ao^ainst him. In olden davs, heroes 
 of the sword were sometimes of such 
 proven courage that they could laugh at 
 a charge of cowardice, and be sure of hear- 
 ing the laugh echoed ; but Philip Hed- 
 worth's position was superior, for he had 
 not even to laugh at any expressed doubt 
 of his sincere modesty. His was a weak 
 character in some ways, and he knew it. 
 He had been at Maycross ever since his 
 wife's death, having come there with the 
 new weight of loss upon him. Several 
 times in those early days he had broken 
 down, of overwork in a former curacy, 
 the rector said, but of sheer boyish sorrow 
 in reality. The married life, with its ever- 
 increasino^ worries, with the ofrowino^ ex- 
 
 g2
 
 84 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 penses, the darkening shadow of past 
 debts and coming illness, the very alarm 
 for the future, the knowledge that * some- 
 thing must be done,' had been as near 
 perfect in its happiness as a man such as 
 Philip Hedworth ever exjDected life on 
 earth to be. The sorrows and anxieties 
 had not been borne alone, — that, in his 
 opinion, had been enough to change them 
 into joys. 
 
 There are a few natures who do not 
 stay to ring the gold of blessings, but 
 accept them on bended knees, and count 
 them with amazement at their number. 
 The debts were all paid now, Philip had 
 no more pressing anxieties, for his two 
 children had their Aunt Grace to be a 
 mother to them, and he had long ago 
 begun to thank heaven for these new gifts 
 which had come in place of the old. They
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 85 
 
 were not of half tlie value of tlie old, but 
 he thouf^ht that no reason for neglecting 
 thankfulness. When a man is resolved to 
 be grateful, he has never far to seek for 
 a cause. 
 
 About a year before Richard Broughton 
 had left England, Philip Hedworth had 
 begun to realize that Anna was more beau- 
 tiful and more good than any other woman 
 living. The discovery had surprised him, 
 which fact was more complimentary to 
 dead Rose than to living Anna. He had 
 wished to speak to some one about the 
 discovery, and had just made up his mind 
 to make her brother his confidant, when 
 Richard, who had been home for a few 
 weeks, left again, to visit other parts of 
 Europe. Philip, unable to confide in his 
 own sister, on account of a certain want 
 of sympathy in her otherwise excellent
 
 86 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 
 
 nature, not desiring until he knew more of 
 his own feelings to disclose them to the 
 rector, and having not another creature to 
 whom he could unbosom his doubts, was 
 thrown back upon his own meditations. 
 
 Weeks passed, and taught him to respect 
 his growing love ; months went by, and he 
 began to wonder whether he had any 
 chance of winning Miss Broughton's 
 affection. Having found out that the prize 
 was probably too glorious a one for him to 
 be blessed by obtaining it, man-like he 
 wanted it all the more. 
 
 Gradually he began to see new beauties 
 in her character, — his spiritual eyes being 
 opened to appreciate the intellectual, as hi& 
 human eyes were to note the physical, charms 
 of this tall, fair, handsome woman. He told 
 himself that his dear dead Rose would have 
 loved this girl had she known her, would
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 87 
 
 have leant upon her, trusted her, admired 
 her heartily. Which was equivalent to say- 
 ing to himself that Anna was the superior 
 of dear dead Rose. 
 
 People who believe that one love is 
 enough for a life will see in Philip's 
 second attachment a sign of weakness, yet 
 it was in one way an undeniable sign of 
 strength. As a boy, he had loved to his 
 utmost, — as a man his love had grown: — 
 Rose, had she lived, would have grown in 
 love-capacity also, probably being to him 
 all that Anna could be now ; but a dead 
 wife lived in his regard as she had been 
 when death took her beyond his reach, — a 
 gentle, timid, often tearful girl. Anna 
 Broughton was more, she was a woman ; 
 and Philip Hedworth had become a man. 
 
 He was so certain now that he was going 
 to ask Anna to marry him, that he had not
 
 88 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 tlie same need of a confidant ; yet he had 
 looked at returned Richard with great 
 interest, hoping that the young fellow would 
 be his friend. Philip was shy of new friend- 
 ships, so if Dick needed to be cultivated 
 as a stranger first, the confidences would 
 still remain untold. But PhiHp thought 
 that he perceived the same Richard under- 
 neath a new Richard, and was glad of it. 
 
 The first night of Dick's home-coming 
 had given the curate no opportunity to 
 make advances to him, excepting in the 
 way of interjecting a word in his defence 
 once or twice, when the rector had been 
 severe. The catechism Dick had dreaded 
 had taken place, Anna not having been 
 able to defer it, and discrepancies between 
 Dick's own account of how his time abroad 
 had been sj)ent, and the account contained 
 in many letters of the former tutor in
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 89 
 
 whose charge he had been travelling, were 
 naturally provoking to a father who re- 
 garded a lie as a kind of moral attempt at 
 suicide. 
 
 ' The man who dares to lie dares any 
 sin,' said the rector. ' ]^o man who cared 
 for the safety of his own soul would 
 murder his conscience by untruths.' 
 
 The blackest of sinners would have 
 been encouraged to believe in redemption, 
 had such a one applied for advice at 
 Maycross rectory ; but the son who came 
 home, honestly meaning to do better, but 
 trying to cover old sins decently with . . . 
 oh, with any excuse or tale, so long as the 
 covering was adequate, . . . that son was 
 held to have given evidence of utter cal- 
 lousness and of a resolution to persist in 
 evil courses. 
 
 That night discussion after supper had
 
 90 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 taken place in the library, while Anna was 
 practising hymn -tunes on the harmonium 
 in the drawing-room ; and though Hed- 
 worth had tried his utmost to escape to 
 her society, his rector s express request 
 had made him an auditor to a conversation 
 in which there had been no harmony. 
 
 Question after question had the rector 
 asked his son, answer after answer Rich- 
 ard had made, and all his words had been 
 checked off as true or false according to 
 the statements contained in his travelling - 
 companion's epistles. Often forgetfulness, 
 inaccuracy as to dates on the young man's 
 part, had made him seem to lie when he was 
 only blundering, but his attempts at ex- 
 planation had made matters worse instead 
 of better. 
 
 Finally, the rector having proceeded to 
 a few general enquiries, Richard had pro-
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 91 
 
 ceeded to general retorts, and had ended 
 the catechism by striking his clenched fist 
 upon the table and vowing passionately 
 that, as he was no longer baby but man, 
 he refused to confess his shortcomings to 
 any one who could not believe also in his 
 virtues and good intentions. 
 
 'If I go to the devil,' he had shouted, 
 ' I'd rather have myself to blame than you, 
 sir.' 
 
 Often had Richard's temper betrayed 
 itself before in that same room, the rafters 
 of which had rung with his threats and 
 defiance, but never before had he left it 
 when commanded to remain. 
 
 When the door had closed behind him, 
 the rector had sunk his grey head on his 
 hands, and Philip, from the background, 
 had not known for whom to sorrow most, 
 the wild young fellow who was seemingly
 
 92 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 bent upom destroying the promise of his 
 life, or tlie old man who saw in that son 
 only the evil which his duty obliged him 
 to denounce. 
 
 ' Sir . . . my dear sir . . .' the curate 
 had said, but then had paused for want of 
 eloquence and self-assurance. 
 
 ' You may go, He d worth, thank you,' 
 the rector had answered. 
 
 Then, as Philip had walked the short 
 distance to the cottage which was his 
 home, he had resolved that, please God, 
 he would win Richard Broughton's con- 
 fidence by the gift of his own. Not that 
 he believed that he could do Dick much 
 good, but there is always a chance that 
 Providence, meaning to accomplish a con- 
 version in some heart, may employ a 
 seemingly unworthy instrument.
 
 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. d^ 
 
 Philip's way of putting it to himself ran 
 thus : 
 
 ' It would be strange indeed if I Avere 
 to succeed where the rector fails, but then 
 the way in which goodness works is often 
 strange and incomprehensible.'
 
 94 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Twenty-two hours had passed since he 
 had made his resolution, and Philip, sit- 
 ting by his little girl's cot, had a firm 
 belief that Richard would come to-nis^ht 
 to see him, in response to a note of invi- 
 tation he had ventured to send him. 
 
 The rector was doing the coal club 
 accounts without his curate's assistance, 
 because Trot had a feverish cold, and 
 Grace was out, so Philip and his children 
 were alone in the cottage. 
 
 The cottage was very quiet : sometimes
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 95 
 
 Trot moved, tossing out heated hands, or 
 moaned a little in her sleep ; then the 
 father would lay his firm fingers on her 
 wrist or shoulder, murmuring some sooth- 
 ing words, or even trying to hum the tune 
 of a lullaby. Sometimes the window- 
 curtains would rustle mysteriously, as the 
 night wind tried to push them inwards, or 
 a nightingale would sing a few bars of his 
 sons: from one of the old elms round the 
 church-yard. 
 
 Philip looked well in his own home. 
 Anna would have seen nothing to regret 
 in his appearance at the moment, for 
 though the china-headed doll lay on his 
 knee, its presence was sufiiciently excused 
 by Trot's proximity. 
 
 Presently she began to sleep more 
 easily, and Philip rose to answer a knock 
 he thought he had heard at the door of
 
 96 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 the ante-room ; tlie hall-door was standing 
 hospitably open. His hearing had not 
 been at fault, for Dick was come. 
 
 ' My dear Broughton, this is good of you. 
 You have taken pity on my loneliness, as 
 I hoped you would.' 
 
 ' I don't refuse a man's invitation unless 
 I dislike him,' said Eichard, brusquely, 
 ' and you said Grace was out.' 
 
 ' Yes, I am all alone, with Trot ; Jerry 
 is sound asleep in his room. Let us sit 
 here and smoke — I know you like tobacco.' 
 
 Dick threw himself into a cane-backed 
 easy-chair by the long window, the door of 
 which was ajar leading into a kitchen- 
 garden, and filled his pipe from the packet 
 of tobacco which the curate smilingly 
 offered him. 
 
 ' What a fraud you are, Hedworth, to 
 talk as though you meant to follow my ex-
 
 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 97 
 
 ample. You know you think nicotine 
 inclines a man to depravity.' 
 
 * No, indeed I do not. I might smoke 
 if I were a rich layman.' 
 
 ' How's the little girl?' 
 
 ' Better, but still feverish. Forgive me 
 it I have to listen now and again when I 
 fancy I hear her voice ; it will be no hin- 
 drance to our talk. Most of my work is 
 done in the evenings, when my sister is 
 often out, and when I have the little ones 
 in charge.' 
 
 A whimsical look came into Dick's eyes 
 as he watched, through his tobacco smoke, 
 the simple face of his host. 
 
 ' I've often thought of you while I've 
 been roaming, Hed worth, and I've always 
 pictured you under these circumstances, 
 with these surroundings.' 
 
 ' Naturally,' said Philip, ' the surround- 
 
 A'OL. I. II
 
 98 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 inofs of a widower. Trot will be delio:hted 
 to welcome you back ; you are one of her 
 heroes, and she doesn't forget friends, 
 thouo^h she is little more than a baby. It 
 was exceedingly kind of you to come to- 
 night, Broughton ; I can offer you no en- 
 tertainment, but — ' he hesitated, and the 
 puzzled expression came into his eyes 
 which sometimes made him seem dazed 
 when preaching — ' but I wanted to ask you 
 all about yourself, not of your travels only 
 — of what you mean to do rather than of 
 what you've done.' 
 
 ' That's a orood thins; ' lau2:hed Richard. 
 ^ or you'd run the risk of being unpleasant- 
 ly like the pater. I could find it in my 
 heart to bear you malice for having been 
 present at that idiotic scene last night, only 
 that I feel I had the best of it. Loyal to 
 him you may be, but for God's sake, man,
 
 A woman's love-lessox. 99 
 
 own that lie behaves like a fool to me, or 
 you'll drive me into the conviction that all 
 clergymen are humbugs.' 
 
 ' There is no need for such hot words. 
 You can't expect me to call my rector a 
 fool.' 
 
 ' I said he behaved like one, and so he 
 did.' 
 
 ' In my opinion your father made a mis- 
 take, Avas too severe. If he asks me, I shall 
 have to tell him so, though no man could 
 admire his earnest character more than I 
 do.' 
 
 ' Bravo ! You're my friend ! or you 
 wouldn't have owned so much.' 
 
 ' But you had better not ask me what I 
 think of y cur conduct !' 
 
 Philip smiled at the culprit, who was en- 
 joying his tobacco. Dick was in an excitable 
 mood, as his flushed face and shining eyes 
 
 H 2
 
 100 A woman's love-lessox. 
 
 attested. He leaned forward to answer, 
 sj^eaking empliatically, watcliing the effect 
 of his words. 
 
 ' Don't von understand that I haven't a 
 fair chance in life, that I'm handicapped 
 by having been born a Broughton, and 
 reared in the stifling atmosphere of a rec- 
 tory ? Would it be anything but just if I 
 went to the opposite school on getting free 
 of this one ? What if I did ? Say that 
 I've learnt wisdom, experience, common- 
 sense in the school of modern life, am I 
 not better off with the knowledge than 
 without it ? I know now what the World 
 means, after hearing it reviled every Sun- 
 day regularly. I know how to compare 
 good with bad. If I choose the good now it 
 will be through knowing the bad, a choice 
 with my eyes open ; I shan't submit tamely
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 101 
 
 to duty because I don't know the attractions 
 of . . . the opposite.' 
 
 ' The opposite, as you call it, has no real 
 attractions, Broughton.' 
 
 ' Have you ever tried it?' 
 
 Philip shook his head. 
 
 ' That's not the point of view I like. 
 Good heavens, do you suppose the devil 
 doesn't know his own business ? It's noble 
 to fight against temptation, I admit that, 
 though saying so does sound like Sunday 
 school; but it's weak, not noble, for a man 
 to sit down and say, " I'm good, because I 
 don't want to be anything else." ' 
 
 This was exaggerated, and Richard him- 
 self knew it, feeling that he had placed the 
 right of the argument on Hedworth's 
 side. 
 
 ' Temporary, false attractions, the — the
 
 102 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 opposite to duty may have, Dick, but no real 
 attraction, — nothing to offer that a man's 
 common-sense, apart from the religious 
 point of vicAv, would lead him to accept at 
 the cost of his own self-esteem.' 
 
 ' A slave comes as near being a beast as 
 a man can, and why? — because he's con- 
 sidered no better than one.' 
 
 ' True.' 
 
 ' Shall I ever be regarded as anything 
 but a black sheep, a solemn warning, a 
 good-for-nothing, a reprobate ?' 
 
 ' Yes, — as a son, by a mother for whose 
 sake alone you should be great, — as a 
 husband perhaps some day, by a good 
 woman who will put all her trust in 
 you.' 
 
 Richard threw himself back again. 
 After a long silence, he said, in a less 
 excited voice,
 
 A woman's love-lessox. 10^ 
 
 ' You're a queer fellow, Hedworth !' 
 
 The curate, unaware that lie had shown 
 any sign of queerness during the past 
 quarter-of-an-hour, interpreted the criticism 
 as being delivered against his whole career 
 and character. 
 
 ' I often say the wrong thing. Have I 
 done so now?' 
 
 ' The question might be answered truth- 
 fully both by yes and no. When I find 
 the "good woman," supposing that I 
 haven't already found her, what do you 
 imagine the pater will say to her?' 
 
 ' Surely he will welcome her, if she be 
 what you say ?' 
 
 ' Good, eh? — My worldly wisdom teaches 
 me to doubt it ! However, leave me alone 
 for to-night, and tell me about yourself.' 
 
 ' Myself?' Hedworth was startled by the 
 demand, though he had been prepared to
 
 104 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 make his secret known to Richard. ' There 
 is not much to tell, except that I love your 
 sister.' 
 
 Dick gave a roar of laughter that would 
 have been disconcerting to a less self- 
 depreciating friend than Philip. 
 
 ' Of course I guessed that years ago, but 
 the miracle of the matter, to mv opinion, is 
 what in the name of wonder you can see 
 in the girl to love ? She is stiff, ignorant, — 
 oh, you needn't look daggers at me, I'm 
 only saying what I've said to her face 
 often ; — altogether she's a feminine edition 
 of her father.' 
 
 ' A brother is not a fair judge. You 
 could tell me nothing of her — her good 
 qualities that I do not know already, and I 
 cannot ' 
 
 ' Admit that she has any bad ones ? 
 Well, man, if that's your frame of mind I
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 105 
 
 hope you'll be happy when you've got her, 
 and not find out her fallibility. I'm a 
 trifle soft-hearted about Anna myself, 
 against my better judgment, and because 
 she's my sister; if she were any other 
 fellow's sister I should hate her.' 
 
 ' As much as you dislike mine ?' 
 
 ' Grace ? .... oh, come now, we're 
 getting too personal ! . . . . Grace isn't 
 coming home yet, is she?' 
 
 ' She promised to be back by half-past 
 eight.' 
 
 ' And it's twenty past now. I must be 
 off, Hed worth.' 
 
 ' So soon ? I hoped you would take 
 supper with us.' 
 
 ' Awfully kind of you. I'm sorry to re- 
 fuse, but you know I'm frank if not polite, 
 and I can't endure Grace, not even for 
 your sake, old man !'
 
 106 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 Dick had risen, and was standing with 
 outstretched hand before the curate. 
 
 ' And you will have me for a brother-in- 
 law, if my hopes are fulfilled?' 
 
 ' They will be. Anna couldn't be such 
 a fool as to think twice about accepting 
 you, and the pater will say *' Bless you, 
 my children," in his finest preaching tone. 
 You're not in his black books, luckily for 
 you !' 
 
 ' My secret I have shared with you, when 
 will you share yours with me, Broughton?' 
 
 ' I'm not sure I've got one.' 
 
 ' You're not willing to say that if you 
 have it does not concern me ?' 
 
 Philip eyed the younger man wistfully 
 as he suggested this possible state of his 
 mind. 
 
 ' No ; I'm not, for you're the only crea- 
 ture alive I would tell, except .... the
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 107 
 
 mother, and she doesn't look up to bear- 
 ing the burden of a secret at present. 
 The fact is, Hedworth, it's not easy to take 
 up the old ties all at once, — if I care for 
 anyone it's for a girl of this county, whom 
 I haven't seen since my wanderings. She 
 may have forgotten me, or she may have 
 left her heart with the old Richard^ 
 who's dead as a door-nail, — dead and 
 buried.' 
 
 ' No one else can see much change in 
 you, Broughton.' 
 
 ' Don't want them to. — Here, take this, 
 Hedworth, it's for Trot, and there's some- 
 thing in the other packet for the little 
 
 chap Ah, here it is — and give 'em 
 
 both my love.' 
 
 Philip was alone before he could thank 
 the rector's son for the toys which were 
 on the table. Richard, having heard a step
 
 108 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 on the gravel, had rushed out of the 
 house, without waiting to be shown to the 
 door, and was away, over the garden fence, 
 before Grace Hedworth had seen him. 
 
 She was not like her brother, either in 
 appearance or disposition, and her manner 
 to young men was the outcome of her sin- 
 cere distaste for their society. 
 
 As she came into the parlour now, she 
 sniffed the air, and glanced at the dis- 
 ordered cushions of the arm-chair, at the 
 tobacco •]3acket, and the crushed antima- 
 cassar. 
 
 ' Richard Broughton has been here then?' 
 ' I was sure he would come, Grace.' 
 ' I thought he would not, but then I 
 cannot be expected to know his reasons 
 for cultivating your friendship. Take care 
 he does not embroil you with the rector, 
 that is my advice.'
 
 A avoman's love-lessox. 109 
 
 Laying her bonnet and gloves aside, she 
 began to tidy the room, then went upstairs 
 to brush her smooth fair hair, which seem- 
 ed never to really require that attention. 
 Philip sighed. In all his plans for the fu- 
 ture Grace had a place, and he tried to 
 persuade himself that she and Anna would 
 live together in amity. When both were 
 good, why not ? But a vague weariness 
 which came over him when Grace was 
 more than usuallv ' sensible ' when her 
 suspicions of everybody and everything 
 seemed unbearably bitter, made him realise 
 that even goodness does not make a woman 
 lovable. 
 
 Strictly speaking, no one could find 
 fault with Grace ; she was admirable as 
 guardian to the children, as a housewife, 
 as a Christian. AYas it her fault or her 
 virtue that she was sure to perceive the
 
 110 A avoman's love-lesson. 
 
 shortcomings of man or woman ? As she 
 herself said, ' Blind confidence tends to 
 destroy honesty ;' but then it is an open 
 question whether being doubted has ever 
 made any human being honest. 
 
 Out in the mellow night air Richard 
 threw back his head and laughed, with 
 amusement born of the thought of Grace 
 Hedworth's indignation at his abrupt de- 
 parture. The genial vagabondage of Dick's 
 nature exulted in the solitude of lanes 
 and fields at this hour when the labourers 
 were at the public-house and the women 
 at their cottage doorways. It was easy 
 to avoid passing homesteads ; he had 
 learned how to traverse miles without 
 meeting any person face to face, or run- 
 ning the risk of being recognised from 
 wdndows. This was one of the arts on 
 the acquisition of which he prided himself;
 
 A ayoman's love-lesson. Ill 
 
 and there Avas an undeniable attraction 
 about the freedom of his bye-paths, short 
 cuts and detours, owing partly to his 
 knowledge that he was trespassing. 
 
 It is to be feared that Richard had a 
 deep-rooted antipathy to the respectable, 
 and as strong a liking for the shady paths 
 of life ; but to-night, could his friend 
 Hedworth have seen into his mind, Dick 
 would not have blushed for either thought 
 or purpose. He was intent upon finding 
 out whether ' the good woman ' had for- 
 gotten him, whether the spell of her pre- 
 sence would enthrall him as it had power 
 to do two years ago, whether he could 
 feel that her influence could make a credi- 
 table man of him. 
 
 Hedworth would have ajDproved all 
 this, though his rector would not have 
 done so.
 
 112 A woman's love lesson. 
 
 A long tramp brought Richard to the 
 river-bank, at a point where a tiny boat- 
 house stood among the reeds. 
 
 On the wooden wall of the building an 
 inscription was painted, to the effect that 
 ' any j^erson wanting to hire a boat at 
 sixpence an hour must apply to Jonathan 
 Lodge, at Mill Cottage :' and a ghastly- 
 looking device of a hand with three fin- 
 gers outstretched, pointing inland, signi- 
 fied that Mill Cottage was visible among 
 some willows and birches not far away. 
 
 But Richard took no notice of the in- 
 scription ; Jonathan Lodge knew him 
 well, and had accorded him special privi- 
 leo^es which had not been revoked since 
 the boy had become man. Dick had a 
 key to open the boat-house. 
 
 There was the Merry Jane^ — named after 
 Jonathan's baby daughter who was now
 
 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 113 
 
 grown-up and serious ; — the planks were 
 painted a lively green, j^icked out with 
 scarlet scroll-work alono; the edo^es, and 
 a union-jack of home-manufacture and 
 washing was lying on the narrow seat. 
 Holiday-folk sometimes hired the boaty 
 who would have felt that it was deprived 
 of a necessary adjunct if the flag had not 
 fluttered on its diminutive stafl", but Dick 
 2:)referred the boat without adornment. 
 
 Having launched his vessel he began to 
 pull steadily up stream, jmst the curate's 
 cottage, the church, and the rectory, hav- 
 ing taken his long walk merely for the 
 sake of securino; the boat, as in it he 
 could go through the heart of the little 
 town without being noticed by a single 
 neio:hbour. Once under the brido;e of the 
 High Street, away from the narrow line of 
 light cast by the one gas-lamp, he was in 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 the welcome darkness ao^ain, amono; the 
 reeds and sedges. 
 
 He was o-ettino- excited, thouo^h he had 
 made up his mind not to be ; eager, anxi- 
 ous, though he had resolved to let his 
 emotions depend upon the course of an 
 event that had not yet occurred. Rowing 
 quickened his pulses, exhilarated him, and 
 had the effect of strong wine upon a nerv- 
 ous constitution. Poor Dick ! his mother's 
 delicacy had not been without influence, 
 as yet unsuspected, upon her son ; he 
 would have laughed the idea to scorn had 
 anyone suggested that he, the champion 
 oar of his rowing-club, noted at college 
 for his powers as a batter, enthusiastic 
 athlete that he was, had need to guard 
 ao^ainst over-exertion or excitement ; but 
 the strong muscles might relax some day ; 
 the noisy heart had done its best Avork.
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 115 
 
 Rebellion against circumstances of daily 
 life is a tiring crusade ; still more tiring is 
 the task of learning cynicism. Richard 
 would never be sufficiently calm for a 
 cynic, sarcasm was all that could be ex- 
 pected of his constitution ; and now, in 
 the invigorating night-air, he was full of 
 hope, of longing, of life; forgetting that, 
 two hours earlier, he had determined that 
 never again would he believe in the rich 
 promises, the happy faiths, which a young 
 sanguine temperament teaches the boy to 
 discover in the immediate future. As a 
 man it was his business to be j^hilosoph- 
 ical, to expect nothing, he had told him- 
 self — passionate aspirations were only fit 
 for youth ; but the stars, the moonlight, 
 the whisper of the willoAV branches, the 
 glittering wavelets under his boat, the 
 solitude, the stillness of the night-world, 
 
 I 2
 
 116 A woman's LOVE -LESSON. 
 
 had deadened the power of worldly wis- 
 dom. God, what a fair earth ! What 
 wonder if Hope lived on it ? 
 
 And with Hope had come Longing, — a 
 vague discontent had grown into a hot 
 desire for Love, that love which is pure 
 and perfect, which has breathed in all the 
 true romances of all the ages, beginning 
 with, that idyll of Eden which a Creator 
 blessed ! 
 
 Romance was in Dick Broughton's 
 heart, and Reality was by his side. On 
 the banks of the river were the gaunt 
 walls of manufactories — now that he had 
 j)assed out of Maycross into its environing 
 country — and the backs of squalid houses 
 with yards sloping down to the water's 
 edge. In an outlying street was the ' Four 
 Stars,' the public-house that the rector was
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 117 
 
 going to close, where Captain Purvis gath- 
 ered together the socialists of the county. 
 A meeting was taking place to-night, the 
 last one in that building, and Dick caught 
 an echo of a cheer from hoarse voices. 
 
 The boat sped up the river, and soon 
 the houses became scattered, stretches of 
 meadows lying between along the tow-path 
 which led to the distant town of Hunts- 
 town. Then a cottage came in sight at a 
 bend of the bank — a low, two-storied 
 building, whose whitewashed walls caught 
 the equally white light of the moon, and 
 made a mark in the landscape. 
 
 Richard pulled his boat into the rushes, 
 grasped with a trembling hand the shelv- 
 ing side of the bank, and, detaching some 
 loose pebbles, flung them at one of the 
 latticed windows of the cottage.
 
 118 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 He could hear his own heart beating in 
 the stillness as he watched and waited for 
 an answer. 
 
 The river gurgled among the reeds, and 
 a water-rat scudded past the boat. 
 
 Dick threw some more gravel, and 
 whistled softly. 
 
 Then a light showed behind the white 
 blind, a girl leaned out of the window, 
 boldly facing the tell-tale moonlight. 
 
 ' Dick, is it you? . . . Oh, you've come. 
 You've come at last ! I wouldn't run after 
 you, dear, but I'm glad, so glad! . . . 
 You've come back the same, after all ?' 
 
 ' Yes, Mattie.' 
 
 ' Father's at the meeting, — and Becky's 
 too deaf to hear, so you can talk for a few 
 minutes. Richard, you're taller, . . . your 
 head comes higher up the wall than it 
 used to !'
 
 A wOxMan's love-lesson. 11^ 
 
 ' Mattie, you're lovelier^ I can see that 
 by the moonshine !' 
 
 And had the curate heard the thrill in 
 the voice of his friend he would have 
 sympathised, so great a bond of union is 
 romance. In his eyes, dazzled by Cuj^id's 
 moonshine, Anna too was lovelier than 
 she had ever been, for beauty grows in 
 exact proportion to the growth of the 
 lover's passion. Hedworth might have 
 been puzzled by the knowledge that 
 Richard Broughton had chosen Mattie 
 Purvis for * the good woman ' whose 
 influence was to remodel the wasted sub- 
 stance of his life ; but then Richard could 
 not imao^ine ' what, in the name of won- 
 der, any man could see in Anna.' 
 
 These things are inexplicable, but no 
 doubt love's moonshine has a great deal 
 to answer for.
 
 120 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Thoreau, tlie great stoic, tauglit, or tried 
 to teach, men and women to become rich 
 by limiting their desires; but, though the 
 recipe may be excellent applied to earthly 
 gold, it is not to be carried out satisfactorily 
 if the formation of happiness is contem- 
 plated. A man may, by making up his 
 mind that worldly wealth is mere dross, 
 persuade himself that it is not worth 
 grieving for, and so gradually cease to 
 covet it; but every man desires happiness, 
 and will continue to desire it so long as
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 121 
 
 life lasts. Some try to gain happiness by 
 the sacrifice of self-will, some consent to 
 suffer and toil in this kingdom — all praise 
 be to them ! — yet they take pleasure in 
 the thought that by present self-denials 
 they are laying up for themselves rich 
 treasure of joy in the kingdom where no- 
 thing is transient. God was merciful to 
 human nature when he bribed it. 
 
 Anna Broughton did not desire gold, 
 but she had often longed for happiness, 
 temporal as well as eternal ; and the long- 
 ing had been a blessing to her. Without 
 it, daily contentment would have palled 
 upon her. The happiness she wanted was 
 different from the happiness she had, as a 
 brooklet is different to the ocean ; the joys 
 of to-day were placid, peaceful, and to be 
 counted uj^on, whereas the joys of that 
 possible future were to be strong, deep,
 
 122 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 unfathomable, ever varying, ever new, ever 
 entrancing. 
 
 She did not say this to herself in her 
 thoughts, for she was not fanciful ; the 
 whole desire was a part of her nature 
 rather than of her character, which latter 
 had been moulded by circumstance rather 
 than by inner inspirations. There are 
 many living men and more women who 
 are in this manner what their surround- 
 ings require them to be, instead of being 
 true to their inner selves ; and, probably, 
 in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, the 
 fact is an advantage to themselves and to 
 others. Culture, which has changed a 
 wild-rose into a greenhouse ' Marechal 
 Niel,' can eifect wonders, but as strange a 
 metamorphosis may be noted any day by 
 a close observer of the result of custom 
 upon human creatures.
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 123 
 
 If a friend had asked Anna whether or 
 not she Avas satisfied with her life, she 
 would have replied, with honesty as well 
 as with pride, that she delighted in it. 
 
 Was she not the reetor's dauo-hter ? 
 Besides this advantage of birth, she pos- 
 sessed good health, freedom (as much as 
 any well-dispositioned girl could require), 
 a certain amount of authority in her 
 father's home and in the parish, affection 
 for her family, intellectual tastes, and 
 lately she had discovered a new possession 
 in Philip Hedworth's love. 
 
 No wonder that the sfirls of the neio:h- 
 bourhood envied Anna ! A few times in 
 her life she had been stirred to a depth in 
 her heart which was usually covered by 
 contentment ; but those moments of strong 
 feeling had not left any conscious want 
 behind them. Until the want was given
 
 124 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 a name, Anna would not recognise it. 
 Those few times had occurred when her 
 emotions had been appealed to by some 
 cadence of harmony, some tine sentence in 
 a book, some great manifestation of beauty 
 in nature, or by some religious ceremony. 
 The choir singing the Christmas hymn 
 had done the work once ; another Christ- 
 mas the song had been without mysterious 
 inspiration for her ears; one moonlight 
 had been palpitating with some spiritual 
 glow that no other had since owned. 
 But none the less was there a longing, 
 undefined but deep, in this girl's nature ; 
 and, when the desire was made manifest 
 to her, she would attain her womanhood. 
 It might take the form of holy renuncia- 
 tion, of ambition, or of love, or it might 
 never declare itself; all the same, it lived 
 in her life, and gave her dream-seconds,
 
 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 125 
 
 inspirations of charity, and tlirills of 
 reverence. 
 
 While Richard Broughton had visited 
 the curate, fled from Grace, walked and 
 rowed miles to find out if a child of the 
 people had forgotten him, Anna had been 
 occupying herself very much to her liking. 
 That evening she had received a letter 
 announcing the coming to Maycross of a 
 school-friend of her own, and, besides the 
 letter, a box of new books had been taken 
 in to the rectory. Both had been sent by 
 Barbara Morne, andAvere addressed in her 
 square handwriting. 
 
 At first the letter had pleased Anna 
 best, and she had turned to an investiga- 
 tion of the books out of a sense of duty ; 
 for they were intended for the Maycross 
 library, which was under her manage- 
 ment, and she knew that no sooner were
 
 126 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 they added to the somewhat meagre cata- 
 loo;ue than all the young women in whose 
 welfare she was interested would carry 
 them away for mental assimilation. The 
 few story-books of the library were almost 
 worn out through their popularity, and 
 still were eagerly accepted for third and 
 fourth perusals. Xo new volume could 
 be 2:iven to those ravenous readers until 
 Anna had considered it with scrupulously 
 severe criticism. 
 
 In the silence and solitude of her bed- 
 room she had been sitting since tea, forc- 
 ino; her mind to work instead of lettino^ 
 her thoughts play round the exciting news 
 of Barbara's intended coming. Two vol- 
 umes had passed the ordeal of her judg- 
 ment, when she took uj) a third, and 
 forgot to ask herself every five minutes 
 whether the author had succeeded in the.
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 127 
 
 difficult task of writins: an altoo^ether un- 
 objectionable tale. As she read, her letter 
 fluttered to the floor, and lay there un- 
 heeded ; her upright attitude unbent, the 
 hours passed without being regarded by 
 her. As the dusk of evening increased, 
 she moved mechanically nearer the win- 
 dow, and held up the page to catch the 
 last sunset light. Xot until the pink glow 
 faded out of the sky, and darkness made 
 the printed lines before her eyes indis- 
 tinct, did x\.nna realise that her cheeks 
 were wet with tears. 
 
 Springing from her chair, she dashed 
 her hands across her face, and drew herself 
 up as though to reassert her independence 
 of character ; for never had she felt the 
 least patience with a girl who sat stooping 
 over the pages of a novel ! But there may 
 have been stronger character in that story
 
 128 A woman's love -lesson. 
 
 than was in Anna herself, for she suc- 
 cumbed to its sj)ell again, lit the lamp on 
 the little table, and, while the unholy 
 light mocked the gathering moonbeams, 
 sat, with her head bent on her fingers, 
 reading, reading, reading, — no, living 
 another life ! — until at the tragedy of 
 imaginary despairs and deaths, she sobbed 
 and trembled ; to rise up again less self-as- 
 sertive- — humbled, frightened, conquered. 
 Her longings were still unspecified, but 
 they had drawn new life from a story 
 which had been written with a soul's blood. 
 Anna, with the ignorance she could not 
 help, had imagined that only by visiting 
 London and ' going into society ' does a 
 woman learn to know the world ; but now 
 she was undeceived. This story had been 
 about country folk, young creatures had 
 played their drama of life among scenes of
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 129 
 
 rustic simplicity, had been themselves old- 
 fashioned, yet had loved, been tempted,, 
 felt the passions of great hatred and great 
 faith. Their lives had been part of Anna's 
 unknown world, as surely as though they 
 had lived in Mayfair and sojourned in such 
 wicked places as Paris and Monte Carlo. 
 
 And she, Anna, might any day find that 
 uneventful routine does not prevent ex- 
 jDerience of the heart, might awaken some 
 morning to an existence which should be 
 as full, as bewildering, as strong in oppor- 
 tunity for sorrow or ecstacy as this author 
 had seen that human life can be. Before, 
 if she had ever imagined herself the 
 heroine of stirring situations the rectory 
 and Maycross village had always seemed 
 impossible scenery ; she had felt that 
 nothing strange would ever happen while 
 she lived at home and taught the Sunday 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 scholars. Xow her ideas were chans^ed : 
 she understood that some supreme 
 tragedies can be played on a minute, a 
 common-place stage. 
 
 Would this wonderful fulness of know- 
 ledge come to her? Was she destined to 
 face the joy that stings with the dread of 
 loss, and the loss that widows the heart? 
 — would she, Anna, pass through the 
 wilderness of uncertainty, where the misty 
 atmosphere chokes even the soul and 
 deadens the glow of the light of lights ? 
 Would she grope her weary way through 
 the land of denial? Would she not be 
 conquered if ever temptation came to her 
 in the guise of perfect happiness ? Could 
 it do so ? Could she ever feel with that 
 mad keenness ? Some inner self told her 
 that she would not be safe through any 
 incapacity for emotion.
 
 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 131 
 
 And this was life, this knowing how to 
 feel. 
 
 The sound of a closing door downstairs 
 roused her into recollection of the routine 
 which had lost its character of security. 
 She felt her flushed face, tidied her ruffled 
 hair, in shame that she had learned so 
 much ; yet was grateful for the enlighten- 
 ment, would go back to the book again and 
 again, hoping to draw more from it, — would 
 soon begin to despise her old self for 
 having been so innocent. Indeed, Anna 
 had learned nothins; which would have 
 been better unlearned ; the story was one 
 with pure ideals and of truthful, judicious, 
 charitable tone. It had preached human 
 love to her, and that wide kind of affection 
 is not harmful. 
 
 As she stood, listening, the flame of the 
 lamp began to flicker and die down. This 
 
 k2
 
 132 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 trivial occurrence made lier realize how 
 late it Avas, how lon^ she had been en- 
 grossed in the novel. 
 
 Tidiness was one of Anna's virtues, but 
 she did not stay now to put away a 
 single book, but hurried downstairs con- 
 science-stricken. In the hall she met 
 Richard, who had just come home. 
 
 ' Hullo, Nan !' 
 
 ' Dick . . . have you had supper ?' 
 
 ' No, but it doesn't matter. A still 
 tongue is a sign of a wise head, old girl^ 
 so don't let the pater know at what 
 hour his prodigal returned. I'll do with- 
 out supper for once.' 
 
 His sister came close to him, held him 
 by the arm, and looked him in the face. 
 Richard was not quite sober, though not 
 a drop of intoxicating liquor had passed 
 his lips that evening ; he had drunk of
 
 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 183 
 
 Hope's vintage, until, in his young cre- 
 dulity, he believed that no sorrow would 
 ever be sufficiently powerful to subdue 
 his sense of exaltation, no trial be able 
 to shake his confidence. 
 
 The moonlio^ht, combined with a sfirl's 
 
 CD J ~ 
 
 smile, a few sentences exchanged, a pro- 
 mise made and echoed, these had brought 
 Dick to this glorified state of foolishness. 
 
 ' Richard^' cried Anna, ' I haven't had 
 supper either ! What ivill father say ?' 
 
 The sublime is always dangerously akin 
 to the ridiculous, and as these two young 
 people a moment ago had been thinking 
 great thoughts they now began to fear 
 small perils. A common dread of parental 
 scolding made them sympathise. 
 
 ' Why, it's past ten o'clock. Old girl, 
 you must have been writing Hed worth a 
 love-letter.'
 
 IM A woman's LOVE-LESSON. 
 
 ' No, indeed, Dick, I was only looking 
 over the books for the library ; but time 
 went fast, and I had no idea that it was 
 anything like supper-hour. Mary must 
 have rung the bell too gently.' 
 
 ^ You can't sneak off to bed supperless 
 like a culprit, Nan, so we'd better put a 
 o-ood face on the matter and ojo and 
 eat.' 
 
 The rector took many of his meals in 
 his study, not caring to be disturbed when 
 working, often only joining his family for 
 dinner ; so the brother and sister were 
 able to avoid the questions he would have 
 asked to-night had he known of their 
 unpunctuality. 
 
 Anna was more of a companion to Dick 
 than she had ever been before ; she herself 
 found him more lovable than she had 
 thought him. They chattered gaily in
 
 A "WOMAN S LOVE-LESSOX. 135 
 
 wliis^^ers, lauohing over their escapade, — 
 for, according to rectory notions, this late 
 supper was nothing less, — x\nna forgetting 
 to be shocked at Dick's noctural wan- 
 dering. 
 
 He gave an account of his visit to the 
 cottage, jDainting in vivid words the picture 
 of Hed worth sitting by his child's cot. 
 
 ' Nan, that fellow's a good sort, and I 
 do hope you're going to be kind to him. 
 Good heavens, I wish I were like him !' 
 
 ' Richard, I never heard you express 
 such a wish before.' 
 
 ' Because I never had it. There are 
 changes in my character that would amaze 
 you if you found them out ; but you see, 
 old girl, we've never been used to chum- 
 ming together, you and I ; you've always 
 shared the governor's opinions, which are 
 not flattering where I'm concerned.'
 
 136 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 ' Has it been my fault alone, Dick T 
 ' Did I say it had ? No, but when you 
 are caught tripping, Miss Propriety, when 
 you forget your household aifairs because 
 you've chanced upon a novel, then you 
 come down to my level a bit, and we get 
 on famously.' 
 
 Anna pursed her lips together and be- 
 gan to reflect. If it was true that she was 
 encouraging her brother to practise a de- 
 ception upon her father then indeed she 
 had been ' caught tripping,' and deserved 
 to have the truth revealed to her with un- 
 pleasant distinctness. Richard began to 
 deteriorate in her opinion ; his reckless 
 gaiety seemed less innocent, his relish for 
 the good food and ale no longer pleased 
 her. She watched him with eyes which 
 sought faults, and she wondered where he 
 had been so late ? Surely not at Captain
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 137 
 
 Purvis's meeting? Surely not in any 
 jDublic-house ? Years ago lie had patron- 
 ised a billiard-saloon in Huntstown, she 
 remembered. 
 
 ' If you have finished your suj^per, 
 Richard, we had better go and say good- 
 nio^ht to father.' 
 
 Her tone of voice was so different to the 
 one in which she had spoken a few mo- 
 ments earlier that Dick looked up in 
 surprise, to find that the change had not 
 been confined to a tone, but was of her 
 Avhole manner and bearing. This was the 
 Anna whom he regarded as not half good 
 enough for Hedworth. 
 
 ' You Avill do as you please, of course, 
 but I'm not going near the pater to-night ; 
 it's bad enough to endure his society when 
 necessity compels, without going to seek 
 it. Am I a baby that I should trot into
 
 138 A WOMAN S LOYE-LESSON. 
 
 the study for the sake of saying '' Good- 
 night, dear papa?" ' 
 
 Richard had altered also, and Anna felt 
 yet more vexed with herself for having 
 countenanced him in his lateness. She 
 remembered that novel-reading was always 
 supposed to produce bad results in a home, 
 and made a virtuous resolution not to re- 
 read that particular story, as she had fully 
 intended to do. 
 
 ' Father will ask me where you are if I 
 go to him alone,' she said, rising from the 
 table. 
 
 ' Tell him I'm in my room, which will 
 be true by the time you've got to the 
 study.' 
 
 ' And mother?' 
 
 Richard gave a hard laugh. 
 
 ' Don't you bother about interfering be- 
 tween the mother and me, there's no need
 
 A woman's LOVE-LESSON. ]39 
 
 until I 'begin to neglect her. I saw her 
 before I went out.' 
 
 Some of the light had faded out of his 
 face, but, as he ran lightly up the stairs, 
 it began to kindle fires in his eyes again ; 
 and he had to check a whistle which 
 would have betrayed him to the rector. 
 
 Anna sighed, and went at once to the 
 study. 
 
 ' I have come to say good-night, father, 
 but I would rather stay if I can help you 
 in any way. Have you not finished the 
 coal club accounts yet ? It was very an- 
 noying that Mr. Hedworth had to stay at 
 home this evening.' 
 
 She drew a chair to the table beside her 
 father, and rested her cheek for a second 
 against his coat-sleeve. 
 
 The rector smiled upon her, laying aside 
 his glasses for the purpose.
 
 140 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 
 
 ' You ought to be at rest now, my cliilcl, 
 or what is to become of your beauty-sleep?' 
 
 ' I did a very foolish thing. 1 forgot all 
 about supper, because I was busy, and did 
 not hear the bell. To-morrow I must 
 scold Mary for not ringing more loudly.' 
 
 ' That was unlike you, Anna.' 
 
 ' Yes. Can I help you ?' 
 
 ' The work is done, dear. By-the-by, 
 where is your brother ?' 
 
 Anna blushed. 
 
 ' In his room.' 
 
 ' Ah — not playing truant to-night ? I'm 
 glad of it. Of all my anxieties, and my 
 days are clouded by them, the greatest 
 has to do with that boy and his future. 
 He seems determined to disgrace me; 
 every new discovery of his evil conduct I 
 make warns me against placing the least 
 trust either in his honour or his common-
 
 A woman's love-lessox. 141 
 
 sense ; and this last rumour ... if it be 
 true . . . but true it probably is . . . 
 Why not . . . when all the others have 
 been proved true ?' 
 
 The elderly man was speaking out of 
 the fulness of his mind, more to himself 
 than to Anna, who did not understand 
 him ; but a startled question from her 
 roused him. 
 
 ' Father, is there any new trouble about 
 Richard?' 
 
 'Eh, my dear? — There will always be 
 new trouble about him.' 
 
 ' But anything that I may know may 
 help me to influence him. I will do my 
 utmost, if you will trust me, father.' 
 
 ' It is scarcely a question of trusting 
 you, Anna, for you are aware that I have 
 always felt confidence in your discretion ; 
 only the matter is a delicate one, and you,
 
 142 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 being a girl, may . . . Well, I will tell 
 you, in case you should be worried more 
 by the doubt than the knowledge ; and it 
 concerns one of your protegees^ too — that 
 is another reason. The fact is, my dear, 
 that when Dick went away I had good 
 cause to be angry with him for his rebel- 
 lious disposition and his boyish wrong- 
 doino- : but now he has come back a man, 
 and as rebellious as before, I have grave 
 fears for him. To-day a friend warned me 
 that Richard was formerly much with that 
 rascally fellow, Purvis, and used to show 
 his daughter attention. Now, if Richard 
 tries to continue his friendship with a man 
 who is my enemy because he is the enemy 
 of my parishioners, I shall be obliged to 
 forbid it, and if he dares to . . .' 
 
 The rector paused impressively, and 
 Anna exclaimed, in dismay,
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 143 
 
 'Oh, father ... do you mean Mattie?' 
 
 ' Purvis has only one daughter, as far 
 as I know.' 
 
 ' And she is . . . pretty ; at least, she 
 is considered so. She is not a pupil or a 
 protegee in whom I take any pride, for she 
 is too impetuous to work well, and she is 
 not always nice in her manner to me. I 
 have tried to think that her ignorance is 
 to blame for that, but in many ways she 
 is clever. — Father, what can you do if 
 Dick . . . falls in love with her ?' 
 
 ' He shall not have the chance, my 
 dear ; they shall not meet.' 
 
 ' Can you prevent it ?' 
 
 ' This is not an occasion for doubts of 
 the kind, Anna ; I loill prevent it.' 
 
 ' But how can you know whether they 
 meet or not?' 
 
 ' I have ways, my dear, and you can
 
 144 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 help me. I don't ask you to spy upon 
 your brother — that would be unworthy of 
 us both — but you might question him 
 about where he goes, and whom he speaks 
 with. Now we will dismiss this most 
 unpleasant subject of conversation. Is 
 there not something you want me to do 
 for vou to-morrow afternoon?' 
 
 ' To call with me upon Mr. Calkin, 
 father, if you can spare time. Barbara 
 says in her letter that she will arrive quite 
 early in the morning, so surely we might 
 go after lunch ? I am anxious for you to 
 know her, — she is so bright and clever ; 
 and while she stays with her step-uncle 
 she will be one of your ^parishioners.' 
 
 ' That is true, my dear ; I will accom- 
 jDany you with pleasure. Mr. Calkin is 
 not a favourite of mine, as you are aware, 
 but he pays his pew-rent though he comes
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 145 
 
 lamentably seldoin to church, so I need 
 not boycott him on that account.' 
 
 Anna laughed dutifully, though her 
 father's jokes were apt to be ponderous. 
 
 They went upstairs together, and paused 
 on the landing. 
 
 ' Good-night, father. Perhaps it will be 
 better if I do not disturb mother so late.' 
 
 ' Very good, you are always thoughtful, 
 my dear child. You are looking unusually 
 bright to-night ; what is the cause ? 
 Excitement about your friend's coming, I 
 guess ?' 
 
 ' I am dearly fond of Barbara. I do hope 
 you will like her, father.' 
 
 ' Not if she is a talkative fashion-plate. 
 But there, I promise to do my best for your 
 sake ; only my girl must not let herself be 
 made Avorldly and discontented because 
 slie cannot roam over foreign lands.' 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 ' There is no danger of my feeling dis- 
 contented, I hope, father.' 
 
 ' You have certainly no reason. Good- 
 night again, my child, and God bless 
 you.'
 
 147 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The novel Avas still lying on the table in 
 Anna's bedroom, but she did not open it, 
 rather avoiding its neighbourhood, as 
 though she were not sure that her good 
 resolutions were strong enough to resist 
 temptation. The other books she replaced 
 in their box, all but the two which she had 
 approved as fit for the perusal of young 
 persons. As she moved them she found 
 Barbara's letter lying where it had fallen 
 from her lap half an hour ago, and she 
 read it again, smiling with pleasure. 
 
 l2
 
 148 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 Barbara was a heroine to Anna. 
 
 Their acquaintance had been one of the 
 results of two years' study toojether, at a 
 finishing school at Brighton ; while the 
 friendship which had followed had been 
 maintained almost exclusively by means of 
 the post, Barbara having been out of 
 England travelling for pleasure. Once 
 Anna had seen Miss Morne, when the latter 
 had had occasion to pass through London 
 on her way to Scotland; but an hour's in- 
 terview betAveen friends who have grown 
 strange to each other is scarcely as satisfac- 
 tor}^ an opportunity for friendship as letter- 
 writing affords. That hour had sped fast^ 
 Anna had left unsaid all the warm sentences 
 of affection she had planned to speak, and 
 had found Barbara awe-inspiring. Miss 
 Broughton was her friend's elder, but no 
 one seeing them together would have
 
 A woman's love-lessox. 149 
 
 guessed it ; for while one girl's was a 
 finished nature, the other's was undefined, 
 if not in the matter of principles assuredly 
 so as regarded sentiments. 
 
 Barbara's letters had a literary flavour 
 that Anna admired, that made them at once 
 superior and inferior to most girl-epistles ; 
 they were not to be counted upon, another 
 enhancement of their charm, but arrived 
 at irreo;ular intervals and were of irreo:ular 
 lengths, sometimes mere notes, at other 
 times crossed and recrossed pages of de- 
 scription, anecdote and reflection, which 
 required careful reading, and deserved the 
 earnest thought that Anna always paid 
 them. 
 
 Formerly Miss Broughton had regarded 
 Miss Morne as one for whom great things 
 might be expected, not only great successes 
 but great trials, temptations, and possibly
 
 150 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 great happiness. With simple truth to the 
 friendship, doing her very utmost for the 
 dear friend herself, Anna had prayed, 
 mornino^ and nio-ht, that Barbara's heart 
 might remain unspotted from the world. 
 To-night the prayer did not seem quite 
 so necessary, though it was not omitted ; 
 for Anna had learned that a crowd does 
 not make life, nor a city constitute all the 
 world of any importance. Considerable 
 was the enlightenment which had come to 
 her in this one day; she no longer believed 
 that a rector's daughter is never severely 
 tempted, that villages are unfit backgrounds 
 for romances, that London holds all the 
 broken hearts of men and women ; she had 
 been playing a not unimportant part herself 
 in a romance of the existence of which she 
 had been ignorant ; she had felt all the 
 passion of a tragedy that she had read.
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 151 
 
 Trying to forget the tragedy, because it 
 was contained in a ' novel,' Anna's medita- 
 tions hovered round the romance in which 
 her brother was the chief actor, while 
 Mattie Purvis's share in the performance 
 remained a doubtful quantity. 
 
 Anna blushed for them both, — for the 
 young man whom she had always con- 
 sidered as a boy, for the young woman 
 whom she treated as a wilful child. Then 
 she blushed for herself, because she knew 
 that Dick's attachment might be a very 
 serious matter. 
 
 Mattie was pretty, certainly, — Miss 
 Broughton was obliged to admit this, after 
 recalling to memory's view the dimpled 
 rosy face and gipsy hair and eyes. And 
 Mattie was either greatly to be blamed, or 
 else was absolutely innocent of any wish 
 for Richard's admiration. But here medita-
 
 152 A ^"oma:n's love lesson. 
 
 tion had perforce to strike into two different 
 channels, caused by two suppositions, — for 
 if Mattie were the bold bad girl Miss 
 Broughton was inclined to think her, then 
 Richard was exceedingly foolish ; whereas 
 if Mattie were merely silly, flattered by a 
 gentleman's attentions, then Richard was 
 the more culpable. 
 
 Xo wonder the rector was anxious ! 
 
 Anna began to speculate about the 
 future. She was not wise in worldliness, 
 but she understood that a flirtation is one 
 thing," and a serious love affair another, 
 and in this case an infinitely worse one. 
 
 If Richard were earnestly in love he 
 might persuade Mattie to marry him 
 against the opposition of his family ; that 
 would be a distressing climax, and Anna's 
 heart beat fast with the excitement of 
 imagining the stormy scenes at home which
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 153 
 
 the marriage would occasion, — how Mr. 
 Purvis would insult her father, and how 
 her father would tell Richard never to enter 
 the rectory doors again. 
 
 Or if Richard were only amusing him- 
 self and Mattie thought him in earnest ? 
 then Richard might be responsible for a 
 girl's broken heart ? Or what if Mr. Pur- 
 vis were encouraging the foolish young 
 people, in order to revenge himself upon 
 Anna's father? — the motive of revenge 
 beinof of course the closins: of ' The Four 
 Stars Inn.' Again Mattie might be amus- 
 ing herself, she might wish to boast of 
 havino; won the love of the rector's son 
 and heir ? 
 
 And supposing gossip should take up 
 the question, and the neighbours, in as 
 much doubt as to truth as Anna herself, 
 should hold as many different opinions as
 
 154 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 
 
 the case allowed, how could Anna bear to 
 hear the echo of all the chattering, how 
 could she support the dignity of her 
 position, when asked for a true account of 
 the unfortunate idyl? It seemed that 
 life was no longer to be a placid routine 
 of tolerably pleasant duties. 
 
 Supposing, last but not least, that there 
 should be a scandal ? But Anna refused 
 to consider this supposition. Her face 
 grew hot, her heart felt stilled, at the 
 appalling idea that scandal was possible. 
 
 She was not pleased with herself as she 
 thought over the events of the day, for she 
 had let her better judgment be twice set 
 aside by impulse ; once when she had read 
 ihe novel by the light of a lamp long after 
 supper-time, — secondly, when she had 
 forgotten to blame Richard for keeping late 
 hours.
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 155 
 
 Her conscience was very uncomfortable 
 as she considered this latter mistake. 
 Where had Dick been ? Why had he come 
 home with that radiantly bright face ? 
 Mr. Hedworth would not have kept him all 
 that while at the cottage without offering 
 him supper, or sending polite excuse for 
 detaining him. 
 
 Ought she not to have told her father 
 that though Richard was ' in his room ' he 
 had only just gone there? Instead of which 
 she had helped Dick to keep his secret. 
 
 A firm resolution grew out of the re- 
 cognition of a lapse from duty, as firm 
 resolutions have a habit of doing. 
 
 ' Never again will I shield Richard,' 
 said Anna to herself; ' I will be true to 
 my father's confidence.' 
 
 Then she allowed herself to think of 
 to-morrow's excitement, the coming of
 
 156 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 Barbara to Maycross. — Dear, clever, bril- 
 liant, perplexing girl ! — ' We shall grow 
 to understand each other as we have never 
 been able to do before,' thought Anna, 
 happily. ' I may even be able to ask 
 Barbara's advice about Richard.' 
 
 When she fell asleep it was to dream, 
 as Miss Broughton had never dreamed 
 before, — to wake many times and blush 
 in the friendly darkness at the recollec- 
 tion of the strongly- written love -scenes of 
 the novel, — to meet the morning light a 
 new creature, seeing in it a summons to 
 new life, realising that existence had 
 gained a fuller flavour, bewilderingly sweet 
 and possibly intoxicating. 
 
 Anna had just sipped that draught of 
 Hope's vintage of which Richard had 
 drunk deeply.
 
 157 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Reginald Calkix, Barbara Morne's step- 
 uncle, lived at the Hollies, a mile and a 
 half out of May cross, and was an object of 
 interest to no one in the county. 
 
 The hollies were tine trees, but the 
 house and estate to which they had given 
 their name showed no rem.arkable feature^ 
 and could not be called important. Eight 
 bed-rooms, dining-room and drawing-room, 
 and the usual kitchen, scullery, etc., etc., 
 — this was the best description of the 
 house the Maycross auctioneer had been
 
 158 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 able to invent; but the gardens, having 
 run to ruin from a gardener's point of 
 view, were charming enough to have 
 merited eulogies. 
 
 But Mr. Calkin himself loved tidiness 
 without practising the virtue, so saw no 
 beauty in a wilderness of trees, shrubs, 
 flowers, weeds, and moss-grown paths; he 
 was in the habit of taking his daily walks 
 up and down the carriage-drive, which was 
 kept in good order. 
 
 In the Hollies Reginald Calkin took no 
 pride, because it did not belong to him, 
 nor could he bestow it upon his kinsman, 
 or step-nephew, Barbara's brother. The 
 owner, an eccentric bachelor, was living in 
 Africa, and had left his house in Calkin's 
 charge for Calkin's lifetime, subject to 
 many limitations of authority, and accord- 
 ing to a code of definite instructions.
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 159 
 
 Now, as Calkin had only a few hundred 
 pounds a-year from an annuity, he could 
 not afford to expend much upon a home 
 where he was but a life-tenant. 
 
 No one in the county cared for Reginald 
 Calkin, and he, in his turn, cared for no 
 one. He raio^ht die on the morrow for all 
 anyone would care, — he might leave May- 
 cross, and not a question would be asked 
 respecting his destination, — he might walk 
 through the village all day on market- 
 Wednesday, and not a creature would turn 
 a head to look after him. The fact is 
 that gossip must have something to take 
 hold of, and Reginald Calkin's personality 
 presented no obtrusive points, — his was a 
 smooth nature and an even life. 
 
 When Maycross learned that a young 
 lady was coming to the Hollies, people 
 began to consider Mr. Calkin relatively,
 
 160 A wOxMAn's love-lesson. 
 
 because he was the step-uncle of the 
 strange young lady, and was of importance 
 in that connection if in no other. They 
 decided that Miss Morne was to be pitied ; 
 for surely her fortunes had come to a low 
 ebb indeed if she had to put up with a 
 residence in Mr. Calkin's home ? And no 
 travelled young lady, who wrote books, 
 could possibly be coming to the Hollies 
 voluntarily. One of Miss Morne's books, 
 an early work full of long sentences and 
 irreproachable sentiments, was included in 
 the Maycross library, so she was already 
 known to fame locall}^ 
 
 The Ruggles, Kate and her mother, dis- 
 cussed Miss Morne's personal appearance, 
 coming to the conclusion that she Avould 
 be tall and thin, and would wear spec- 
 tacles ] but, as the stranger passed from 
 the station to the Hollies in the shelter of
 
 A woman's love-lessox. IGl 
 
 the one closed 'fly' the village owned, 
 they were not immediately able to verify 
 their prognostications. Before lunch-time 
 the Ruggles had heard a difl'erent descrip- 
 tion, but, as two ladies had arrived at 
 the Hollies, no one could be sure which 
 was Miss Morne. One was little, dark,, 
 and p)lain, the other was little, fair-haired,, 
 and not very young. Kate thought the 
 latter must be Miss Broughton's friend, 
 never having heard her age, for a literary 
 lady could not be a mere girl. 
 
 Anna knew what to expect, having on 
 the mantelpiece of her bed- room a photo- 
 graph of Barbara, besides having a very 
 clear recollection of her charms ; but she 
 was anxious to see her friend again, to 
 find out whether or not she had changed. 
 Travelling is undoubtedly ageing, but 
 country folk credit it with the power of 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 wrecking constitutions, as well as occa- 
 sionally re-making them. Richard had 
 travelled, and he had come back from 
 foreign lands so much altered that Anna 
 feared for Barbara. 
 
 All that mornino^ Richard's lio;ht-heart- 
 edness and gaiety had delighted his mother, 
 in whose room he spent many hours ; but 
 his sister could not shake off the impres- 
 sion left upon her mind by her father's 
 words of the preceding night ; she saw 
 nothing but audacity and recklessness 
 akin to rebellion in Dick's high spirits, 
 heard nothing but impudence in his 
 laughter and jokes. 
 
 Since Richard had behaved so ill on 
 that memorable night of his home-coming, 
 when he had declared his intention to 
 refuse replies to catechetical examination, 
 the rector had treated him with severe
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 163 
 
 politeness. No confidential words ever 
 j)assed between father and son ; they both 
 looked and listened for evidences of the 
 other's ill-will. At lunch Anna made con- 
 versation to which the rector replied, 
 while Dick ate heartily, smiled over his 
 own thoughts, and put in a remark now 
 and again to show that he was quite at 
 his ease, — which remarks were not always 
 addressed to Anna, but to the father. 
 They were answered with stiff courtesy, 
 were sometimes made the excuse for small 
 homilies, to which, it is to be feared, Dick 
 seldom listened. 
 
 After lunch the rector retired to his 
 study to write some letters, and Anna, 
 feeling; excited and frivolous, went to her 
 room to dress for the visit to Barbara. Of 
 Barbara's step-uncle, of the friend whom 
 Barbara had brought with her, of Bar- 
 
 m2
 
 164 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 bara's brother, Anna did not think at all^ 
 — her best clothes, the grey alpaca, kid 
 gloves to match, and black lace scarf, her 
 Snnday hat, her new boots, these were 
 donned out of respect for her dear, clever^ 
 worldly-wise friend alone. 
 
 This heroine- worship made the prim^ 
 judicially just Sunday-school teacher, the 
 counsellor of the poor, the virtual mistress 
 of the rectory household, the manageress 
 of the Mutual Im23rovement Society, into 
 a diiferent creature. Anna was used to 
 ruling others, to having her opinions re- 
 spected, but dear Barbara was a stronger 
 individuality, and never respected opinions 
 the value of which her own experience 
 had not estimated. Barbara ruled Anna 
 when they were together ; this had been 
 but seldom, so far, and Anna felt, without 
 exactly thinking the thought, that Bar-
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 165 
 
 bara's near neighbourhood and frequent 
 comj^any must effect a species of revolu- 
 tion in her own life and character. If a 
 book, a novel, a love-story, had had power 
 to shake Anna's convictions of her own 
 immunity from temptation, was it not 
 probable that Barbara's conversation would 
 shake many other convictions she had 
 cherished with equal care ? Anna did not 
 forget that Barbara was a maker of novels, 
 though, strange to say, those works, by 
 the author's express wish, had never 
 found their way to the rectory book- 
 shelves. 
 
 Being ready for the walk before her 
 father had finished his letters Anna 
 crossed the room and stood by the hearth, 
 gazing meditatively at the portrait on the 
 mantelshelf. It was the photograph of 
 a girl whose face was spoiled by the com-
 
 166 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 pression of full reel lips. The attitude of 
 the head was haughty, and haughtiness is 
 unbecoming to a small woman ; the ex- 
 pression of the half-closed dark eyes was 
 disdainful ; the daintily curved neck, the 
 rounded contour of the cheek, the ripples 
 of the curled hair, the general eiFect of 
 perfectly finished features, was charming 
 enough to have satisfied an artist ; but a 
 physiognomist could not have forgotten 
 the unfortunate trick, the squeezing to- 
 gether of those lips, which had been 
 meant to smile. 
 
 The gossip who had told Kate Ruggles 
 that the younger of Reginald Calkin's 
 visitors was little, dark, and j)lain, had 
 made a mistake upon the whole. Country 
 critics of beauty do not admire it in the 
 miniature as a rule, and Barbara Morne 
 was not what is called ' a fine girl.'
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 167 
 
 Anna saw no fault in the face of the 
 photograph. She gazed at it with the 
 most honest admiration, wishing that she 
 herself had one tithe of Barbara's wit and 
 style. Anna, with Barbara's features, 
 would have been plain, if the exchange 
 can be imagined ; it was Barbara's style^ 
 her bearing, her manner, her air, her 
 absolute symmetry and finish that made 
 her appearance successful. 
 
 Only it was true that the ' finish ' had 
 been over-perfected : had Barbara been a 
 trifle more natural she would have been 
 lovely as well as lovable. 
 
 ' Anna, I am ready !' 
 
 ' So am I, father.' 
 
 Miss Broughton hurried downstairs, her 
 heart fluttering with anticipation ; and 
 joined the rector in the garden. 
 
 The walk was through pleasant lanes.
 
 168 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 where honeysuckle laced the hawthorn- 
 trees together, and woodbine silvered the 
 hedges with gray-green leaves, which 
 caught the sunlight ; in a month or 
 two those leaves, with their silver re- 
 verse sides, would be hidden by the 
 brighter show of pearl-white blossoms. 
 On the banks trailed ivy, grew daisies, 
 buttercups, and blue ' bird's-eye,' while 
 the fields beyond the hedges showed the 
 wealth of a wet summer's hay-crop. 
 
 The rector loved country sights and 
 sounds, though he had not much patience 
 with the slow wits of country people ; 
 often he paused to point with his stick to 
 some grass that needed cutting, or was 
 being cut too soon, to the blue haze quiv- 
 ering over the distance, to a new planta- 
 tion of firs, or a lark rising cloudwards. 
 Anna, fretted by these delays, tried to
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 169 
 
 appear tranquil, knowing well that all 
 her own principles, as well as her father s, 
 were opposed to allowing excitement to 
 influence temper. 
 
 At last the gate of the Hollies was 
 reached. The rector smiled kindly at his 
 daughter. 
 
 ' Wheel-marks in the gravel, my dear, 
 a sure sio-n that vour friend has arrived, 
 for Mr. Calkin has no visitors as a rule. 
 I hope Miss Morne will come to church 
 on Sunday, for all the parish knows you 
 are intimate with her, and her absence 
 from service would set a very bad ex- 
 am j)le. You might let fall a word of 
 caution, — it would come well from you.' 
 
 ' Oh, I am ... I mean Barbara will 
 surely come.' 
 
 ' Is she naturally of a religious dispo- 
 sition ? Many persons are not who obtain
 
 170 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 religion, but others are predisposed to- 
 wards it from their birth. I found no 
 fault with the tone of that little book of 
 Miss Morne's that you have in your 
 library.' 
 
 ' I believe Barbara is very good in her 
 Avay, father, but I do not know if it is 
 just our way. She is charitable, there 
 are many poor friends of hers who owe 
 her a great deal.' 
 
 ' That is a good point in any young 
 woman's character, — charity.' 
 
 As they stood on the door-step awaiting 
 admittance the rector asked in a whisper, 
 
 ' Is she wealthy, Anna?' 
 
 ' I think not. The father left his money 
 to Barbara, her brother Basil, and their 
 half-brother, Reuben Drive, but it was not 
 a great sum, I believe.' 
 
 The rector wanted to question further,
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 171 
 
 but had no time, as a man-servant opened 
 the door and led the way to a drawing- 
 room at the back of the house. 
 
 The Broughtons had been in that room 
 before, and had thought it dreary, but to- 
 day its character was altered. A garden 
 hat with white ribbon strings had been 
 tossed into the arm-chair; a mass of roses, 
 red, pink, and yellow, covered the shabby 
 cloth of the centre table ; a pair of gloves, 
 much the worse for wear, lay between the 
 hideous china vases on the mantelshelf; 
 and the top of the old-fashioned piano was 
 heaped with music, some pieces of which 
 had fluttered to the floor. 
 
 Anna, smiling as she saw this disorder 
 and guessed that Barbara was responsi- 
 ble for it, noticed an open song on the 
 music-stand. It was a patriotic song for 
 a baritone voice, and a name, ' Basil
 
 172 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 Morne,' was scrawled in blotted letters 
 across the margin. 
 
 In days to come Anna remembered tbat 
 Barbara's brother had first been recalled 
 to her mind by the sight of that signature. 
 Before, she had, of course, known that he 
 existed, but the idea of his personality had 
 never engrossed her thoughts. 
 
 He was a member of Parliament, 
 and the private secretary of a Cabinet 
 Minister. 
 
 Xow she began to wonder what manner 
 of man he was ? Her wondering was cut 
 short by the entrance of Barbara. A lithe 
 little figure glided through the open door- 
 way. With both hands outstretched, and 
 lips raised for kisses, Anna's friend greeted 
 her. 
 
 ' My dear . . . my dear, with all my 
 heart I am glad to see you !'
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 173 
 
 Her manner was intentionally ' pretty/ 
 yet the prettiness was caused by really 
 warm feeling's. Barbara could no lono;er 
 help being theatrical. By her carefully 
 chosen and spoken sentence of welcome 
 she had meant the sentiment which most 
 young women would have expressed by 
 ' Oh, you dear old girl, I'm awfully glad 
 to see you !' 
 
 Anna returned the embrace, then blushed 
 for fear her father was secretly ridiculing 
 her excitement. 
 
 ' Barbara, I've brought father to see you.' 
 
 The two little hands went out again ^ 
 this time to the rector. 
 
 ' Dear sir, I can't feel that we are 
 strangers, for Anna's letters have told me 
 so much of you !' 
 
 ' And my girl has told me a great deal 
 of you. Miss Morne. I trust you may be
 
 174- A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 happy at Maycross, and stay our neigh- 
 bour for a considerable time.' 
 
 Anna's appearance had suddenly become 
 ' dowdy,' and the rector, without thinking 
 the womanish word, noticed this. Bar- 
 bara was untidy, while Anna was neat, 
 but then there Avas nothing countrified 
 about Barbara's nearly worn-out dress. 
 
 • It was so good of you both to come 
 and see me on the very first afternoon ; and 
 I am all alone. Ah, I should have apolo- 
 gised earlier for uncle's absence. He has 
 gone into Maycross. My dear Anna, how 
 radiantly well you look. I am a perfect 
 wreck, the result of tearing through 
 Europe. Xo doubt you have been a great 
 traveller in vour time, Mr. Brouo;hton?' 
 
 The rector had never been further than 
 Paris, but he was pleased by Barbara's 
 assumption.
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 175 
 
 ' Xo,' he said, ' no, we clergymen are 
 very much tied. I have often thought 
 that it would be a great treat for me to 
 visit . . . well, Egypt for instance.' 
 
 ' Ah ? Antiquarian lore, mummies, 
 pyramids, etc. etc. ? I have done all that. 
 We spent winter at Alexandria. Ceylon 
 I preferred, and Burmah. But really, 
 scenery apart, the poor old world is terri- 
 bly the same ; human nature consists of a 
 few types only, and those are mostly weari- 
 some wherever met with !' 
 
 A shrug of the shoulders ended Bar- 
 bara's words. While she had been talkino: 
 she had offered Anna and the rector arm- 
 chairs, and now threw herself carelessly 
 into the corner of a huge black-covered 
 sofa. Leaning on one elbow, her slim fin- 
 gers pushed aside the loose curls of her 
 brown hair, — curls which formed a mass
 
 176 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 and could not be distinguished one from 
 the other. From under long lashes she 
 watched the rector and Anna, formins: 
 fresh opinions of her friend, and guessing 
 at the character of the father. 
 
 Her feet, clad in old theatre-slippers, ele- 
 gant but rather worn, dangled easily, — 
 her lips had the compression which had 
 spoiled their shape in the photograph in 
 Anna's room. The rector had intended 
 to make some semi-playful speech to this 
 young authoress, for though he had read 
 none of her later books he had heard that 
 her works were widely popular ; but he 
 found himself not as ready with words, 
 felicitous phrases, as he would have wish- 
 ed to be, — so the conversation could take 
 no brilliant turn, and consisted principally 
 of questions and answers. 
 
 Barbara's last remark had called for a
 
 A WO:kIAN's LOVE-LESSON. 177 
 
 reply Mr. Broughton thought, and, after a 
 pause for reflection, he answered it. 
 
 ' I am sorry to hear you speak as though 
 you had but few friends. A young and 
 .... pardon me .... agreeable young 
 woman, ought to take pleasure in society. 
 Probably you find that gaiety is fatiguing 
 both to mind and body . . . .' 
 
 ' Gaiety'^ .... Is there any genuine 
 gaiety left in society ?' 
 
 'You mean thatthe social roundisaduty?^ 
 
 Upon that phrase, ' the social round,' he 
 prided himself; it sounded Avorldly-wise ; 
 and most men who have spent their lives 
 in the country desire to be regarded by 
 their friends as ' men of the world.' 
 
 But Barbara's laugh was a trifle dis- 
 concerting. 
 
 ' I don't trouble myself about social 
 duties, I assure you ! Anna knows that 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 I rank myself among the Bohemians !' 
 
 ' You prefer the nobility of intellect to 
 the nobility of rank in those whose ac- 
 quaintance you cultivate?' 
 
 Barbara hid a yawn, and smiled across 
 at Anna. 
 
 • Mv brother has to cultivate all sorts, 
 because he is political, — agricultural la- 
 bourers and dukes particularly. He will 
 run down here sometimes, so you'll know 
 him soon. Perhaps you and dear Anna 
 will see more of us than you may wish, — 
 we appreciate real kindness, Basil and I. 
 However — I mayn't stay long in your 
 neighbourhood.* 
 
 ' I assure you, my dear Miss Morne, that 
 you underrate 6>w?' capacity for appreciation,' 
 said the rector, somewhat stiffly. He was 
 beginning to suspect that Barbara was 
 lauD^hino; at him.
 
 A woman's love-lessox. 179 
 
 ' Oh,' said Barbara, — ' that is a compli- 
 ment. How very good of you.' 
 
 Mr. Brouo-htoii thou^rht that never had 
 he met a girl who was so strangely careless, 
 yet so unnatural in manner. Good man, 
 he was not particularly keen-witted ; all 
 his cleverness ran in the groove of duty, to 
 which he had directed it ever since his 
 early manhood, but he was not as stupid 
 as Barbara considered him. There are 
 many kinds of dulness, and not the least 
 rare is the character which is conscien- 
 tiously dull. 
 
 Miss Morne, herself genuinely clever, — 
 but paying her talents away in very small 
 coin for fear generosity should fail to win 
 her the admiration she craved, — with an 
 elastic conscience combined a desire to 
 acquit herself finely at all times. A very 
 wearying desire, this ! 
 
 x2
 
 180 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 Occasionally her natural indolence made 
 her shirk the labour of pleasing, so that 
 towards the end of a conversation she was 
 often less agreeable than at the beginning. 
 
 Carrying about her continually a sense 
 of her own superiority over others, she 
 sometimes revolted against the display for 
 others' edification of those airs and graces 
 which, at moments, seemed a part of her-- 
 self, but which were in reality wholly 
 artificial. 
 
 Animals, strange to say, when much 
 23etted, frequently show the same incon- 
 sistency ; a lap-dog will, one day, keep his 
 eye on his mistress, exhibiting all his 
 amiable tricks and fawning upon her, and, 
 the next day, will appear to have tired of 
 demonstration.
 
 ]81 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Anna, whose eyes had been so fully 
 occupied in the delightful task of gazino; 
 U23on her friend, now timidly broke into 
 the conversation. 
 
 ' I mustn't forget to thank you for 
 sending me all those books for the library, 
 Barbara.' 
 
 ' Frankly, my dear, I hoped you would 
 have pleasure in them — I didn't care so 
 much for the amusement of your Class. 
 Young women of a low rank in life are 
 too fond of romance as a rule, and should
 
 182 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 really be kept to grammars, histories, and 
 geographies.' 
 
 ' Quite right,' said the rector, quickly. 
 •All girls have too much imagination,. 
 jDarticularly girls of low rank, as you said, 
 Miss Morne.' 
 
 He had been reminded of Mattie Purvis. 
 
 ' But they have not much pleasure in 
 their lives,' suggested Anna. 
 
 ' That is quite a delusion, dear — a Bank 
 Holiday outing, a penny novelette, a new 
 ostrich-feather, a smile from some odious 
 young butcher or baker, these are quite 
 enough to put them into the seventh 
 heaven of delight.' 
 
 ' Some of my girls are like that, but not 
 all of them, I trust.' 
 
 ' My dear girl, dont trust anyone — it's a 
 mistake now-a-days. I'm sure your father,,
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 183 
 
 with his experience of human nature, will 
 give you the same advice.' 
 
 ' H'm ... I do not counsel blind 
 belief, certainly not,' said Mr. Broughton, 
 dubiously. 
 
 ' Ah, here comes coffee,' said Barbara. ' I 
 thought you would prefer it to tea so soon 
 after lunch. And here is my friend and 
 companion, Miss Hilda. — Miss Hilda Brown 
 is her real name, but we never call her by 
 it.' 
 
 Anna and the rector looked through the 
 open doorway which gave a view of a 
 lono^ leno^th of corridor. From the distance 
 a quaint figure was approaching, robed in 
 pale pink muslin, with white bows on the 
 shoulders. This was the lady who was 
 ' small, fair, and not young.' 
 
 She came into the room shyly, smiling
 
 184 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 from one person to another, as though to 
 express the Catholicism of her good-will — 
 friends and strangers alike might be sure 
 of it ; her hands were full of ox-eye daisies, 
 whose petals tapped her lined cheeks as 
 she walked, and had ruffled a few strands 
 of her grey-streaked hair. There was a 
 sweetness, a dependence as of youth, a 
 hamble desire to please, withal a wistful- 
 ness in the expression of this elderly 
 Ophelia. Her eyes had a certain vacancy 
 of look too, not suggesting madness but 
 a forgetfulness of the way Time had 
 checked off the years of later life for her. 
 A girl's romance was still in her heart, so 
 Time's incontrovertible account she never 
 reckoned up to a sum total. 
 
 ' Barbara, dear, I hope you have not 
 wanted me?' 
 
 ' No, you are in time for tea, and in time
 
 A woman's love-lessox. 185 
 
 to see my friends, the rector and Miss 
 Brought on.' 
 
 ' Anna Broughton !' cried Miss Hilda, 
 eagerly, clasping the girl's hand without 
 losing hold of the armful of daisies. ' My 
 dear, you are my sweet Barbara's confidante, 
 it would be strange indeed if I did not 
 recollect that !' 
 
 For the rector Miss Hilda had three 
 timid fingers and a half-curtsey, not to 
 mention a vivid blush which often troubled 
 her when she conversed with gentlemen. 
 
 Seating herself primly, with well- 
 arranged skirts and hands demurely folded 
 above her wild-flowers, she smiled again 
 confidingly upon the company. 
 
 Barbara had contrived to cross the room 
 to Anna's side, havino; sio-ned to the ser- 
 vant to set the cofi*ee-table there ; so the rec- 
 tor and Miss Hilda were left to a tete-a-tete.
 
 186 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 Mr. Broughton was fortunately never 
 troubled by a lack of subjects for the 
 foundation of small talk, and the little 
 lady, who expected ' the gentleman ' 
 to inaugurate conversation, was greatly 
 flattered by his cordial manner. She after- 
 wards told Barbara that ' Mr. Broughton 
 had condescended to be extremely enter- 
 taining.' 
 
 Miss Morne gave a nod of approval at 
 Anna, signifying her satisfaction at having 
 given her father occupation. 
 
 ' Now we can chat. My dear, let me 
 begin by complimenting you upon your 
 fresh appearance. I am tired out, jaded ^ 
 harassed, infinitely Aveary. Basil tells me 
 I'm over-sensitive, — but then Basil, though 
 a genius in some things, isn't infallible I 
 I fancy myself that I may recover in time, 
 but meanwhile ! — pity me !'
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 187 
 
 ' You must have been doing too much/ 
 suggested Anna, vaguely. 
 
 ' My writing, eh? Oh, that is so cynical, 
 it rests me. It is real life, not sham, that 
 takes the spirit out of one.' 
 
 Anna looked distressed. 
 
 ' Are you really cynical ? I cannot be- 
 lieve that, — you have always been so kind 
 to me.' 
 
 ' If I had been kind that would be a sure 
 proof, for all the kind deeds are done by 
 cynics ! But, my dear, you can have no 
 idea what a satisfying friend you are.' 
 
 ' I am very, very much delighted that 
 you think me so !' 
 
 Barbara laughed, and laid a small ringed 
 hand on Anna's knee. 
 
 ' What discussions we will have while 
 we are together ! You shall teach me the 
 secret of your placidity, and I will teach
 
 188 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 
 
 you wisdom, — the wisdom of the serpent, 
 you know, — that is all you can expect 
 from such a worldlin<^ ! And Basil shall 
 sing to us both, when he is in the humour, 
 which will not be often !' 
 
 ' It will be exciting,' said Miss Brough- 
 ton. ' I am very dull as a rule.' 
 
 That she had learned this was due to 
 Barbara's demoralising influence. 
 
 ' Poor dear ! I have often wondered 
 what you do with yourself! I don't mean 
 the hours of the day, they are easily filled 
 of course with Bible-meetings and plain 
 sewing, but how you can find enough to 
 fill your soul ! I suppose your soul isn't 
 awake yet, and slumbering infants don't 
 need feeding ; — its powers of emotion have 
 bad no call made upon them by the irre- 
 proachable curate. My dear Anna, forgive 
 me, but I abhor irreproachable persons of
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 18^ 
 
 all kinds, but |mrticularly irreproachable 
 young men !' 
 
 ' Mr. Hed worth is certainly very good, 
 but I should not call him irreproachable.' 
 
 Barbara was quick to discern a forbid- 
 ding gravity in Anna's tone. 
 
 ' Xo ? I am relieved to hear it. / 
 nearly married a curate two years ago — 
 some curates are delightful creatures, I 
 admit. Did I tell you about him? He 
 was the one who taught me a little Greek 
 in Switzerland.' 
 
 ' I remember well,' said Anna, who 
 would have considered herself a faulty 
 friend if she had not taken profound 
 interest in Barbara's experiences. She had 
 indeed often wept over Barbara's letters, 
 whereas that young woman herself had 
 shed never a tear for the love-affairs them- 
 selves. ' He met you first at a private
 
 190 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 concert, a musical party, in Paris, and then 
 followed you to Switzerland. I wondered 
 whether you had not made a terrible mis- 
 take, whether it would not have been for 
 your happiness to have married him.' 
 
 ' He was a capital companion, but he had 
 a curacy in Wales, and a mother who lived 
 with him.' 
 
 'Yes?' 
 
 Barbara considered that her explanation 
 had been sufficient, but Anna failed to 
 understand it. 
 
 ' Well, — I couldn't live with a mother- 
 in-law in a cottage in a Welsh village, 
 could I?' 
 
 ' Surely you could, if you had loved 
 him?' 
 
 ' Then I suppose I didn't.' 
 
 ' Then it was all for the best,' said Anna, 
 with a sigh of relieved apprehension.
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 191 
 
 ' The curate was not half as admirable 
 as Mr. Chester. — did I write to you about 
 him?' 
 
 ' Yes, but not as much as about the 
 curate. He was older, a great traveller.' 
 
 ' My dear, I did lose my heart to him, 
 but he disappointed me, so I got it back.' 
 
 ' Oh, how was that ?' asked Anna in a 
 whisper. 
 
 Miss Hilda was laughing gently at the 
 rector's anecdotes ; and Barbara was not 
 averse to self-discussion with her admiring 
 friend. 
 
 ' I found that his passion made him 
 despicable. He was not worldly — he 
 hated novels and flirtation, and thought 
 theatres dangerous, particularly French 
 ones ; he was engaged in a ' good work,' 
 some scheme for converting Africans and 
 stopping the slave trade. He spent his
 
 192 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 days and niglits in toiling for the good of 
 humanity, and sacrificed his private for- 
 tune as well as his own comfort. People 
 raved about his wonderful goodness, his 
 eloquence, his invincible courage and 
 determination — and I, really. / believed in 
 him !' 
 
 ' Of course you did. He must have been 
 a splendid character !' 
 
 'Oh, remarkably splendid! He began 
 by despising me for my frivolity, then he 
 tried to convert me — then he fell in love, 
 and the inspired j^rophet died ; and out of 
 his ashes rose a new man, who didn't care 
 what became of heathens, so long as his 
 own self gained the object he desired, — 
 which was me !' 
 
 ' I am very stupid, but I don't quite un- 
 derstand, Barbara.' 
 
 ' I admit that 1 led him on, but then I
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 193 
 
 cared for him ; I would have married him^ 
 in spite of his niggers, if he had remained 
 true to himself. When he jDroposed for the 
 third time, I asked him if he would leave 
 missionary work and patronise theatres 
 and race-meetings in stead,' for my sake — 
 and he promised, with tears in his eyes ! 
 The affair sounds nonsensical, but it was 
 a sacrifice from his point of view.' 
 
 ' And you could not respect him any 
 longer. I do not wonder. He was not 
 worthy of your regard, dear.' 
 
 'Oh, I didn't care about the niggers , 
 you know, it was his want of will I 
 loathed. No, Anna, I was punished for 
 being credulous. I shall never marry, un- 
 less I can find a man who is strong-minded 
 enough to disapprove of me consistently^ 
 and tell me so !' 
 
 The little theatre shoe, which was peep- 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 ins; from under Barbara's frilled skirts, 
 tapped the floor impatiently. There was 
 a contemptuous smile on her tightly- 
 closed lips ; while Anna looked genuinely 
 distressed. 
 
 ' My poor dear Barbara, don't be angry 
 with me for saying that I do so hope you 
 may be very happy some day.' 
 
 ' Hullo, what has worked the change ? 
 Your last letter contained a sentence to 
 the effect that o^irls ouo;ht not to want to 
 get married, — you were preaching that 
 text to the young women of the parish ?' 
 
 ' I seriously fear that I have changed, 
 for the worse,' said poor Anna, colouring 
 painfully. 
 
 ' Not at all, my dear, you've only been 
 getting more human. Who was it said 
 that sinners are more interesting than 
 saints, because sin is the hall-mark of
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 195 
 
 "huraanity? It was either some French- 
 man or Basil.' 
 
 'Mr. Morne is very charitable perhaps?' 
 ' Basil ? Don't call him Mr. ]\Iorne. 
 Well, he's a man of the world, which 
 means the same thing. He wouldn't call 
 a spade a spade, for instance, if he thought 
 it would hurt the spade's feelings, — unless 
 he was feeling spiteful. Basil is sure to 
 like you, my dear, you are so delightfully 
 fresh. I shall bring him to see you soon, 
 for of course I shall run in and out of the 
 rectory just as I clioose. Now I suppose 
 I had better do the polite to your father ; 
 he's a very handsome man, in his own 
 style, and I think he knows it.' 
 
 But the rector, though as susceptible as 
 most people to adroit flattery, was not won 
 by Barbara's complimentary attentions 
 suspecting a certain capacity in that young 
 
 o2
 
 196 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 woman for clouble-facedness and ridicule, 
 he noticed the rare moments when she 
 rested from the toil of fascinating and 
 showed a cynicism which if not part of her 
 nature was so habitual as to seem so. 
 Those moments, rare though they were, 
 chilled the satisfaction her cordiality gave, 
 and made him credit her at last with less 
 real cordiality than she j^ossessed. The 
 fair deceiver whose occasional deceits are 
 discovered must expect to be judged cap- 
 able of nothing but deception, for mental 
 generalization enters into most character 
 analysis. Mr. Broughton prided himself 
 upon his ability to read a man or woman 
 through and through by a glance ; but his 
 philosophic eyesight usually missed the 
 inmost heart and its half-acknowledged 
 impulses. To him a human being was 
 either o;ood or bad — the latter to be con-
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 197 
 
 verted, the former to be rejoiced over, and for 
 the majority, — those who wish to be the one 
 and only contrive to be the other, or those 
 who are accounted bad but are better than 
 the good if rightly understood, — he had no 
 pigeon-hole in his comprehension. Barbara, 
 who swung backwards and forwards be- 
 tween right and wrong, touching both points 
 but resting at neither, could not fail to be 
 an enigma to him ; and therefore was dis- 
 trusted. 
 
 Anna felt displeasure in the air as she 
 walked home beside her father. Nervously 
 she stole glances at his severe face, 
 wondering whether silence were golden, 
 or whether it were wiser to address him. 
 
 He solved the difficulty by speaking 
 himself. 
 
 ' Well, I have seen your friend, my 
 dear, but I cannot say that I approve of
 
 198 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 her. Beware lest slie lead you unconsci- 
 ously to follow her into the dangerous 
 paths of worldly life. You are my daugh- 
 ter, Anna, and I hope I may never have 
 to say that you have disappointed me.' 
 
 This solemn harangue made Anna 
 wonder. 
 
 ' I hope not, father. I can see that 
 Barbara is a little spoilt; but she has a 
 very good heart.' 
 
 ' N^aturally you desire to defend your 
 friend from criticism, — I should do the 
 same myself in your place ; and I do not 
 ask you to see less of her; I merely ex- 
 press a hope that you will not forget that 
 you, my child, can have little in common 
 with these . . . these worldlings !' 
 
 Anna remembered that in the novel 
 o;reat events occurred in a villao-e as old- 
 fashioned as May cross, in an atmosphere
 
 A woman's love-lesson, 199 
 
 as pure as that of her home, and as appar- 
 ently far removed from all the warm influ- 
 ence of passion and ambition. And what 
 else but passion of one kind or another 
 can make any event great to mankind? 
 The passion of avarice makes the miser's 
 gold-chest all the world to him, the passion 
 of love glorifies into greatness the posses- 
 sion of the little brass ring some tramp 
 places on the dirty finger of some factory- 
 girl ; the passion of noble longing digni- 
 fies any poor efi'ort done by its guidance. 
 Anna, looking at the world through newly- 
 opened eyes of charity, saw that the 
 apparently little may be sublime, the 
 apparently calm be the mask worn over 
 an anguished life. In her present exalted 
 mood she felt to have much in common 
 with every living creature, so why exclude 
 these ' worldHngs ?'
 
 200 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 But the next instant reminded her of 
 Mattie Purvis, and of her brother Richard ; 
 bringing her down at once from lofty charity 
 to personal want of sympathy. Here was 
 one instance of undesirable romance. Her 
 opinion of the whole world was narrowed 
 down to it in a second. 
 
 ' I will not forget your good advice, 
 father,' she said, glancing at her parent 
 with reverence again. ' Perhaps I may be 
 able to persuade Barbara to see things as 
 we see them. I acknowledge that I felt 
 influenced by her just now, — she is very 
 captivating, — but when I have grown 
 accustomed to seeing her I shall not be 
 affected by her in the same way.' 
 
 The rector nodded his approval. 
 
 ' Right, my dear. You have always 
 shown a very proper disposition, and I do 
 not want to lose my best helper in the
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 201 
 
 parish. You have to set an example to 
 others, remember, as well as fulfilling 
 your home duties.' 
 
 ' This evening I shall ask Richard to help 
 me classify those books for the library, 
 father. He will not refuse; and when that 
 is done I will persuade him to take me for 
 a row on the river.' 
 
 Again the rector approved, and con- 
 gratulated himself upon Anna's docility 
 and usefulness.
 
 202 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Years earlier the rector had refused to give 
 old Mrs. Drink water a joint of Christmas 
 beef unless she earned it by going to church 
 and listening to his Sunday sermons ; and 
 ever since then an enmity had existed be- 
 tween ' parson ' and parishioner. 
 
 On fine Sunday mornings the aged dame 
 sat in her front garden and read the Bible, 
 proclaiming in this way both her Christianity 
 and her independence. On wet Sundays 
 she repeated the same programme in her 
 little front parlour, the window of which
 
 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 203 
 
 "vvas close to the street. On week-days 
 she always sat near this window. 
 
 Every man, woman, and child of May- 
 cross knew her and gave her greeting as 
 they passed ; all this public attention 
 flattered her, but she was best pleased by 
 the salutation which Mr. Broughton, when 
 he went by, could not well refuse her. She 
 would return the bow with the light of 
 triumph in her smiling eyes, and all the 
 wrinkles of her face taking malicious 
 curves. 
 
 ' Parson's not got over me yet,' she 
 would mutter to herself on these occasions : 
 or ' Parson thinks himself a fine fellow^ 
 but he don't hoodwink Maria Drink- 
 water!' 
 
 She was the one irreconcilable member 
 of Mr. Broughton's fold, — for he counted 
 all the Christians of Maycross who were
 
 204 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 Protestant by birth as belonging to that 
 fold ; — but this old woman defied him 
 openly every Sunday of the year, and 
 rejoiced in being singular. 
 
 The matter of the Christmas beef was 
 her principal cause of offence, but smaller 
 causes came into operation as the years 
 went by. She was a cousin of Captain 
 Purvis, and championed both him and his 
 socialism, merely to vex the rector. For 
 the same reason she petted Mattie and 
 instilled rebellion against patronage into 
 her youthful character. 
 
 Mrs. Drinkwater saw Mr. Brouo^hton 
 and Anna walk out together on the after- 
 noon of their visit to Barbara Morne ; she 
 guessed their destination, noticed all the 
 details of their costumes and expressions, 
 watched for their return. 
 
 As they passed her window, on the
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 205 
 
 way back, she parted the crochet curtains 
 and peered out. 
 
 ]\Ir. Broughton bowed stiffly, so did 
 Anna. 
 
 ' Good-day to you, parson.' 
 
 ' Good-day, Mrs. Drinkwater.' 
 
 When they had passed the old woman 
 drew back again, and sank chuckling into 
 her chair. 
 
 ' Made parson speak though he didn't 
 want to !' 
 
 Then she remembered that the rector 
 would be obliged to j)ass again that night, 
 on his way to a meeting of ' The Young 
 Men's Christian Association,' and her 
 chuckles broke out afresh. 
 
 'I'll make him say "Good-evening," 
 parson though he be, an' " Good-night," 
 as a finish.' 
 
 Even the life of an old woman, spent
 
 206 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 in an invalid chair, may have its excite- 
 ments. Had Mr. Broughton been obliged 
 to leave May cross suddenly, no keener 
 regrets than those of Mrs. Drinkwater 
 would have followed him. 
 
 Mattie ran in every evening to make 
 tea for her elderly kinswoman, and was 
 always greeted with kisses, compliments, 
 and sweetmeats. This was her o-od- 
 mother, who had expressed the sage 
 opinion that beauty is only skin-deep. 
 
 To-night Mattie was looking very pretty, 
 had put on her best pink cotton-frock, 
 and was more than usually absent-minded. 
 Mrs. Drinkwater noted these facts. 
 
 ' Dont'ee put salt in the tea, love.' 
 
 ' Oh, no^ god-mother.' 
 
 ' I saw you drop some in the cup, but 
 maybe that was an accident.'
 
 A woman's love -lesson. 207 
 
 Mattie became penitent at once. 
 
 ' Did I really? — Oh, what a goose I am, 
 I meant to put it on your plate with the 
 watercresses.' 
 
 ' Xever mind, my dear, never mind ! 
 Pretty girls will get foolish when they 
 lose their hearts to fine young gentlemen.' 
 
 Mattie coloured hotly, then gave her 
 head a saucy toss, and smiled. 
 
 ' Wouldn't you like to know all I know, 
 eh, godmother? But, though you're al- 
 ways a dear to me, there's nothing quite 
 so sweet as a secret, even from you.' 
 
 The old dame winked shrewdly. 
 
 ' Let's see it^ Mattie, love.' 
 
 ^ Oh, you've guessed ! How could you?' 
 
 The 2:irl, foro;etful of the claims of tea 
 and bread-and-butter, ran and threw her- 
 self on her knees by Mrs. Drinkwater's
 
 208 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 chair, layin^^ two clasped hands on her 
 lap, and gazing in her face with eloquent 
 eyes of haj^piness. 
 
 ' Do say you think he means to be true 
 to me in spite of his horrid old father and 
 Miss Anna, who's as stiff as a poker ? If 
 I thought he'd be persuaded to give me 
 up I'd go and drown myself now at once, 
 before he had time to tell me. I love him, 
 I love him, and I'll never forgive those 
 who try to part us !' 
 
 The imj)etuous sj^eech ended in a burst 
 of tears ; during which Mattie drew a 
 ribbon from round her neck, and slipped 
 a little turquoise ring into her godmother's 
 hand. 
 
 Mrs. Drink water patted the bent curly 
 head, surveying the ring meanwhile with 
 satisfaction which was mainly malicious. 
 She was revelling in anticipation of the
 
 A woman's love-lessox, 20^ 
 
 time when she would be able to say, ' Xow 
 we're kinsfolk, parson, aren't we ?' But 
 Mattie soon left off crying and sprang 
 up. 
 
 ' I mustn't ruffle my hair and make my 
 eyes red, he's coming here to-night.' 
 
 ^ Here^ my darling?' 
 
 ' Oh, I knew you wouldn't refuse to 
 help me ; and Dick said if Ave met here it 
 would all look so respectable when it's 
 found out, because he can't announce the 
 eno^ao^ement for a week or two, until his 
 father's ojot him somethino; to do.' 
 
 'I'd like to see parson's face when he's 
 told, ay, that I should ; but I'll see him 
 pass the window times afterwards, for he 
 can't helj) passing . . . Oh, my pretty 
 dear, you've done a fine thing, you have, — 
 but tell me now, can't you get the young 
 man to put his promise into Avriting?' 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 
 
 ' No, no !' cried Mattiu, passionately. ' If 
 lie won't be true for love, he shan't for 
 fear. But he icill be true. He didn't 
 forget me all the while he was away . . . 
 And, oh, godmother, lies coming up the 
 steps f 
 
 ' Polly's in the kitchen, let her open the 
 door, love.' 
 
 A sooty little maiden of twelve years of 
 age made her appearance hurrying down 
 the hall, and presently ushered Master 
 Richard into the front parlour. 
 
 Dick's air of confidence as he crossed 
 the room was beautiful Mattie thought, 
 nor was its bravado lost upon the old 
 woman, who stretched out one hand to 
 him with dignity worthy of a queen. 
 
 ' You're very welcome under my humble 
 roof, Mr. Richard.' 
 
 And this was the parson's only son.
 
 A woman's love-lessox. 211 
 
 ' Why, you don't look a day older than 
 you did when I went away, mother,' cried 
 the young man. ' I'm going to marry 
 Mattie some day — I hope she's told you 
 — and we know you'll help keep our secret 
 for a while.' 
 
 Very keen were the eyes which watched 
 the meeting of the two young creatures. 
 
 Dick boldly took Mattie in his arms and 
 kissed her; then they gazed into each 
 other's gloried countenance. Something 
 of the heart-stirring atmosphere of that 
 moonlio^ht nio;ht when he had rowed down 
 the river, to hear a promise whispered 
 from a latticed window, came into Dick's 
 life again as his lips touched the lips of 
 the 2firl. 
 
 ' Sweetheart,' he whispered, ' I know 
 I'm earlier than I said, but my sister had 
 laid a trap for me, and, if I hadn't sneaked 
 
 p 2
 
 212 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 out when I did, I should have been obliged 
 to invent some awfully bald excuse for 
 coming. There were piles of books she 
 had got out for me to help her look through, 
 but luckily Hedworth called in to ask 
 about a hymn, and while she was out of 
 the room I bolted.' 
 
 'You couldn't come too early for me, 
 Dick.' 
 
 ' Bless you, my dears,' said the harsh 
 voice of Mrs. Drinkwater suddenly. 
 
 Richard threw back his head in a 
 hearty, happy laugh. 
 
 ' That's the first blessing we've had so 
 far, isn't it, Mattie ? and I'm not sure when 
 we shall 2:et the next.' 
 
 ' Give Mr. Richard some tea, Mattie ; 
 the best china is in the corner cupboard 
 under the stairs.' 
 
 'Why, you're never going to get out
 
 A woman's LOVE-LESSON. 213 
 
 best china for me, as though I were a 
 stranger, Mother Drinkwater ! I don't 
 allow it. There's a jubilee mug on the 
 mantelshelf; mayn't I drink out of that?' 
 
 ' 'Twas the parson himself as gave it to 
 me,' cried the old woman, rocking herself 
 backwards and forwards in her delight. 
 * He httle thought that you would come 
 here to drink my god-daughter's health 
 out of it. Oh, it's a queer world, a queer 
 world, but I thank heaven I lived to see 
 this day, and I pray that I'll see the day 
 you two are married. But, young sir, the 
 wedding won't take place in Maycross 
 parish church, — you mark my words. If 
 I thought it would, I'd promise to listen 
 to one of parson's sermons. Ha, ha, ha !' 
 
 Dick was sitting on the head of the old- 
 fashioned horsehair sofa close by Mattie. 
 Olancing proudly down at her, he thought
 
 214 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 
 
 her the most beautiful refined lady he had 
 ever met, and knew that she was the 'good 
 woman ' Philip Hedworth had advised him 
 to win. His heart swelling big with the 
 resolution that he would leave off being a 
 reprobate in order to be a worthy husband 
 for her. his eyes suddenly grew dim with 
 tears, and his hands trembled so much as 
 to have endangered the safety of the jubi- 
 lee mug had he not hastily put it down 
 on the table. 
 
 ' As God sees me, I will be good to you^ 
 dear !' 
 
 ' Oh, Dick, I know you will.' 
 His arms went round her again, and her 
 head nestled on his shoulder. 
 
 Mrs. Drinkwater forgot her sj^ite for a 
 second in pure sympathy with the romance 
 of this boy and-girl j)assion ; thereby pay- 
 ing love a great tribute.
 
 A woman's LOVE-LESSON". 215 
 
 In order to hide the emotion he could 
 not at once subdue, Dick began to rattle 
 off the history of his adventures, telling 
 anecdotes with such vivacity that he held 
 his auditors' interest spell-bound. The 
 meal did not end for quite half-an-hour, 
 but Dick enjoyed his cold tea and thick 
 bread-and-butter with that grateful appe- 
 tite which only overwhelming contentment 
 
 gives. 
 
 When he had finished, Mrs. Drink water 
 proposed that he and Mattie should go 
 into the garden. 
 
 ' The parson will be passing in a few 
 minutes, and he might look through the 
 window; but, if Mr. Richard will sit on 
 the wooden seat round the mulberry-tree, 
 his head won't show over the wall.' 
 
 ' Bless you, Mother Drinkwater !' cried 
 Dick. 'You make me remember with
 
 216 A wo:\rAN's love-lesson. 
 
 shame that years ago I used to deprive 
 you annually of a few mulberries.' 
 
 ' And the parson found out and paid 
 for them after giving you a flogging, young 
 sir.' 
 
 ' Paid for them, yes ; lout out of my 
 pocket, not his own.' 
 
 ' And Mattie cried all night about your 
 bruises.' 
 
 ' You darling, did you really ?' 
 
 ' Of course I did, Dick. I was fonder 
 of you then than of anyone else in all the 
 world !' 
 
 ' Xow go along with you both !' said 
 Mrs. Drinkwater, ' or the parson will catch 
 you.'
 
 217 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Left to herself again, the old clamc turned 
 to face the window, watching for Mr. 
 Broughton's appearance, listening for his 
 step, which her enmity had taught her to 
 distinguish from the step of any other 
 man in Maycross. The children who were 
 playing in the roadway looked at the 
 malicious face at the window and won- 
 dered, awestruck, what ' The AVitch ' was 
 thinkino; of. Mrs. Drinkwater did not 
 love her neighbours' children as a rule, 
 and knew the name by which they spoke
 
 218 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 of her, but to-night the softer influence 
 which had worked upon her feelings made 
 her tolerant. She watched their games 
 smilingly, and when a small urchin ' tum- 
 bled down and hurt his crown,' she threw 
 him a lump of sugar by way of solace. 
 
 Meanwhile Richard and Mattie, in the 
 shelter of mulberry branches and high 
 wall, sat on the wooden bench and built 
 fair castles in the air for one another; 
 Richard built one for Mattie, Mattie a 
 glorious one for Richard, and they were 
 joint-architects of one named 'Love,' the 
 tower of which touched Heaven, and in 
 which they meant to reside together all 
 their years of life. 
 
 Mattie said she had never been out on 
 such a beautiful evening, and Richard 
 declared the sunset finer than any he had 
 seen in Switzerland.
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 219 
 
 When the sunset faded and cool grey 
 clouds covered the sky, when no shadows 
 lay over the prhn garden paths, and moths 
 were about instead of bees, when the 
 evening star twinkled between the branches 
 and the birds were silent, they agreed that 
 the change from day to night was prefer- 
 able. 
 
 ' Dick, do you think your mother will 
 be very angry with us ?' 
 
 The timid question set Dick's heart 
 beating quickly. 
 
 ' No, Mattie. My mother's just an 
 angel of goodness to me ; if she knew 
 what you really are, if you could talk to 
 her, she would love you almost as much 
 as I do.' 
 
 ' But she can't know me ; I can't talk to 
 her.' 
 
 ' That's the worst of it. — I promised I'd
 
 220 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 tell lier all my secrets, but I made the 
 provision that she shouldn't hear any that 
 would worry her. But I tell you what we 
 will do, Mattie ; — when the pater has been 
 told and is in a rage, as he's sure to be at 
 first, we'll watch for an opportunity when 
 he's out, and I'll take you to see my 
 mother.' 
 
 'Won't you be in London, Dick?' 
 
 ' I can come down. I exjject I shall 
 come home one day to tell about our 
 engagement, for it'll look so beastly cow- 
 ardly if I write the news. I'd go right in 
 and out with it now, this very moment, if 
 it weren't that I must have some work to 
 do, and if the governor were in a rage he 
 might refuse to find me any.' 
 
 ' Have you spoken to him about work 
 yet, Dick?' 
 
 ' No, darling, he was out Avith Anna this
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 221 
 
 afternoon ; I'll do that to-morrow morning.' 
 
 ' Have you any idea what sort of work 
 it will be ?' 
 
 • He wanted me to go into the Church, 
 you know, but I knocked that plan on the 
 head lonc^ ao;o. I'm not a humbuo;, with 
 all my faults, pet, and so I can't be a 
 clergyman when I don't feel like one.' 
 
 ' I don't believe you have any faults, 
 Dick !' 
 
 Dick grew very grave, an expression of 
 horror coming into his eyes. 
 
 ' You mustn't say that, darling, or 
 you'll make me so awfully ashamed of 
 myself that I shan't be able to look in 
 your dear face ! — Mattie, 3^ou don't know, 
 thank God you don't, what temptations a 
 fellow, who's a bit wild by nature, has to 
 fight with when he goes into the world. I 
 could loathe myself now for even having
 
 222 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 tliouglit of tliem, only I know that knock- 
 ing about has made a man of me ; — but, 
 . . . when you try to make out I'm good^ 
 . . . confound it, my darling, you really 
 mustiit r 
 
 ' Very well, Dick,' said Mattie, submis- 
 sively ; ' but I can't help my thoughts. I 
 think good people are always good in spite 
 of things. — Oh, I can't explain just what I 
 mean, — but if a hero can't be a hero until 
 he's been tried somehow, how can anyone 
 be quite good until he's seen badness ?' 
 
 Richard was much struck by this 
 observation. 
 
 ' My darling, how clever you are !' 
 
 ' And pretty, Dick ? — Do say you think 
 I'm j^retty.' 
 
 ' You're more,' said Richard. 
 
 For a few minutes they did not speak ; 
 and the sky darkened quickly as night
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 223 
 
 grew older. The leaves rustled together 
 in the cool breeze that was blowing, bring- 
 ing the scent from near hayfields to add to 
 the frao^rance of the cottage flower-garden. 
 
 The cries of the children at play by the 
 roadside reminded Mattie and Dick that 
 they ought to whisper their conversation, 
 particularly when steps were heard going 
 by on the gravel path outside the wall. 
 
 ' You haven't told me what work you 
 are going to do, Dick?' 
 
 ' What does it matter ? 1 should be 
 happy doing anything for you.' 
 
 ' I hope it will be work you can like for 
 its OAvn sake.' 
 
 ' My uncle, the pater's brother, is 
 some kind of merchant in the City, and 
 he is willing to take me as clerk, I know, 
 so j^robably that will be my rank and 
 occupation, dearest.'
 
 224 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 
 
 ' Then you will please him so well that 
 he will confide important business to you, 
 and end by taking you into partnership ! 
 That is what ought to happen, Dick, as 
 he's a relation.' 
 
 ' Fellows who get taken into partnership 
 usually begin by marrying their employer's 
 daughter, Mattie.' 
 
 ' Oh, but you mustn't marry anyone but 
 me, Dick !' 
 
 ' As though I would ! Not a Venus 
 made mortal, not a Helen, not a Diana !' 
 
 Mattie was surprised, but she was wise 
 enough to take care not to show her ignor- 
 ance, only her small amount of knowledge. 
 
 ' The moon is called Diana, isn't she, 
 Dick?' 
 
 Richard was just about to quote Keats, 
 when an interruption occurred. 
 
 At the base of the wall an oval hole had
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 225 
 
 been made to allow the rain-water to drain 
 from Mrs. Drinkwater's garden into the 
 gutter of the road, and through this hole 
 came slowly old Xeptune, the rector's 
 water-spaniel. 
 
 Waddling on decrej)it limbs to Richard's 
 feet, the dog gave a whine of satisfaction, 
 and paid no attention to the whispered 
 command, ' Home, Nep, home at once !^ 
 nor to a whistle from without, which Dick 
 recognised as his father's. 
 
 In another moment the rector's head 
 appeared above the wall. 
 
 Mattie started up with a shrill little 
 scream ; Richard stood and faced his 
 father, Avhile his expression had that 
 equivocal shame and the ruddy colour 
 which usually mark the countenance of a 
 transgressor discovered in the act of 
 transo-ressino^. 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 ' Richard, what are you doing here ?' 
 
 The words were spoken in the rector's 
 most severe tones, those that Dick most 
 often heard. 
 
 ' I called to see Mrs. Drinkwater, and she 
 sent me to see her garden ; Miss Purvis had 
 been showing me the — the mulberry-tree.' 
 
 Dick was profoundly aware of the ab- 
 surdity of the explanation, but it was the 
 best he could make at the moment. 
 
 The rector eyed him steadily, and pre- 
 served his own temper by a worthy effort, 
 which was dictated by a sense of j)ropriety 
 and wisdom, as well as by conscience. To 
 have expressed dismay or anger at finding 
 his son with Mattie, before Mattie's own 
 eyes, would have been ' putting ideas into 
 the young woman's head.' For Mr. 
 Broughton, while susjDecting his son of 
 indaloins: in a diso^raceful flirtation, had
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 227 
 
 not imagined that a solemn betrothal had 
 already come to pass. That consummation 
 to a love-affair he intended to prevent. 
 Perhaps Purvis's daughter was trying 
 artfully to ensnare Dick ; — that was ano- 
 ther thing. The rector did not believe that 
 Dick was yet ensnared. 
 
 ' As it is rather late, Richard, vou had 
 better accompany me home.' 
 
 Pichard, whose feeling of being a trans- 
 gressor was leaving him, was prepared to 
 defend his lady-love had the rector said a 
 single word that he could have taken 
 offence at on her behalf, but while Mattie 
 was merely ignored he had no excuse for 
 defence. 
 
 ' As you like, sir. I must go through 
 the house to say good-night to Mrs. Drink- 
 water, but ril be with you in a moment.' 
 
 Mattie had already disappeared. The 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 
 
 rector, wlio was hanging on the wall by 
 both hands, found out that his position 
 lacked dignity, and fell back on to his feet, 
 Neptune having consented to return to 
 heel. 
 
 Dick joined his father, expecting a lec- 
 ture which might force an explanation, but 
 Mr. Broughton dismissed the matter in a 
 few words. 
 
 '- 1 hope you will not countenance Mrs. 
 Drinkwater's rebellion against me, Richard; 
 she has been exceedingly impertinent all 
 the year. I cannot approve your famili- 
 arity with her, or with Mattie Purvis, 
 because they are relations of the man who 
 has made himself my foe in my own 
 2)arish.' 
 
 'What has the captain been doing?' 
 asked Dick, quickly. 
 
 ' He has to-day disseminated hand-bills
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 229 
 
 throughout Maycross and Huntstown, an- 
 nouncing that a socialist meeting will be 
 held on Church-green on Sunday morning 
 at eleven.' 
 
 ' That is because you've vexed him by 
 closing " The Four Stars' Inn?" ' 
 
 ' Because I have done my duty,' cor- 
 rected the rector. 
 
 ' I knew he'd be even with you in some 
 way ; he is not the kind of man to submit 
 tamely.' 
 
 ' Your prediction has scarcely been 
 verified as yet, Richard. It is not likely 
 that the authorities will permit the Sab- 
 bath to be dishonoured, and my congrega- 
 tion disturbed and scandalised, by social- 
 istic gatherings in the immediate vicinity 
 of my church.' 
 
 ' If you had not closed the inn Purvis's 
 men would have been content to air their
 
 230 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 eloquence there ; you know, sir, nothing 
 aids a cause so much as martyrdom among 
 its members.' 
 
 ' Your language is ridiculously strong : 
 you speak as though the Riot Act were 
 about to be read and the people dispersed 
 by the bayonet.' 
 
 ' Well, sir, how else can they be dis- 
 persed ? Only by the flat of a policeman's 
 truncheon, and that is a weapon not to be 
 despised. If they choose to resist to the 
 uttermost — and they will if the captain can 
 manage them — I don't see how any arrests 
 are to be made without force being called 
 in.' 
 
 ' We are not in Ireland, Richard.' 
 
 ^ Perhaps you mean to get Purvis him- 
 self arrested?' 
 
 ' That will depend upon the circum- 
 stances.'
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 231 
 
 Dick shrugo;ed his shoulders, and 
 changed the subject of conversation. 
 
 ' I've been wanting to speak to you about 
 myself, sir, and this seems a favourable 
 opportunity.' 
 
 ' I am surprised that you should wish to 
 do so. You expressed a desire to go to 
 the devil, when we last spoke of your 
 future.' 
 
 ' I was annoyed beyond endurance. 
 The truth is, sir, I shall do no good 
 while I'm at home ; everything is against 
 me.' 
 
 ' It is not certain that you did any good 
 while abroad.' 
 
 ' For the same reason,' cried Dick, hotly ; 
 ' because I was watched day and night, was 
 denied any freedom, was made to feel that 
 I wasn't trusted.' 
 
 ' There may have been adequate motive
 
 232 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 for suspicion and supervision, Richard, but 
 I will say nothing of that at the moment. 
 What do you wish ? You have probably 
 formed some plan.' 
 
 ' Leaving the details to you, sir. I want 
 to set to work — in London, I should 
 prefer.' 
 
 The rector eyed his son keenly, medi- 
 tating upon the possible ulterior motive 
 which influenced him; but Dick's face 
 betrayed nothing more than did his 
 words. 
 
 ' If you are earnestly trying to turn over 
 a new leaf, there is no one who desires 
 more to see you a reputable, successful 
 man than I, your father. To-night you 
 have been behaving foolishly enough.' 
 
 ' I don't admit that, sir.' 
 
 ' There are two considerations which 
 induce me to help you in attaining your
 
 A woman's love-lesson. :233 
 
 object, Richard ; firstly, I am anxious not 
 to discouraoje your higher ambitions ; sec- 
 ondly, if you are determined to disgrace 
 yourself, I would rather you should do it 
 in London than in my own parish. Now, 
 don't speak for a moment, until I have fin- 
 ished my explanation. You are now 
 beginning your manhood, choosing either 
 honour or dishonour, making a choice 
 which will- influence your whole life. I am 
 willing to believe that you choose honour, 
 therefore you shall begin a more respon- 
 sible existence as soon as you please. My 
 brother Charles is ready to receive you, as 
 clerk, into his office.' 
 
 Disrespectful Dick thought to himself 
 that it was a wonder ' the old boy's prosing 
 had ended so satisfactorily.' 
 
 ' Thanks, sir,' he answered. 'Then, if 
 the mater is willing I'll go on Monday.
 
 234 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 It's not my way to make promises and pro- 
 testations, but if you knew all that's in my 
 mind you'd understand that I'm quite a& 
 anxious to settle down, and earn my own 
 living, as you can be for me.' 
 
 ' Very well, Richard, I am glad to hear 
 it. 
 
 Anna met her father and brother as they 
 entered the house. Her eyes looked re- 
 jjroach at Dick, and flashed a glance of 
 contrition at the rector. 
 
 ' Oh, Dick, you promised to help me with 
 those books, and I had no sooner gone out 
 of the room to speak to Mr. Hedworth than 
 you ran away !' 
 
 ' My dear Nan, the truant's come back, 
 you see. I'll do the books for you after 
 supper.'
 
 235 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Anna's exalted mind liad been sobered by 
 ber father's caution respecting Barbara 
 Morne's probable influence upon her ; the 
 remembrance of Richard's unworthy ro- 
 mance had produced even more chilling an 
 effect; yet she was no sooner alone than 
 her thoughts began to wander further 
 and further into forbidden lands of con- 
 jecture, until she was herself the heroine 
 of some possible love affair, the victim of 
 strange fates, encompassed by changing 
 fortunes. Girls who leave these dreams- 
 to take place when they are no longer in
 
 236 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 their first youth, find them all the stronger 
 ivhen they do happen, just as the measles 
 is a mild illness for a child but serious for 
 an adult. No doubt there is an element 
 •of romance in every heart ; but dreams of 
 the kind Anna dreamt are likely to cul- 
 tivate every tender impulse, encourage 
 every sentimental fancy. 
 
 Because her existence had always been 
 prosaic she enjoyed her imaginations 
 keenly now they were sufficiently strong 
 to seem real at times ; household cares, 
 Richard's presence, her father's glance, 
 had power as yet to drive all fancy far 
 from Miss Broughton's mind, but the efi*ect 
 of none of these contradictions lasted 
 during solitude. 
 
 Instead of going to bed and to sleep as 
 soon as possible after going to her room, 
 Anna sat by the window and thought.
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 237 
 
 Barbara's portrait was still on the man- 
 telshelf, and Barbara's personality per- 
 vaded Anna's reflections. She began by 
 saying to herself, ' Poor Barbara,' and 
 soon arrived at envying her. Barbara was 
 free, very free ; Barbara was clever, bril- 
 liantly clever ; Barbara had seen the 
 world. 
 
 And many of Anna's most rebellious 
 longings to-night were due to the simple 
 fact that Mr. Hedworth had seemed more 
 the anxious father than the earnest lover ; 
 little Trot was still feverish, her symptoms, 
 though a repetition of countless former 
 symptoms, had engrossed Philip's interest. 
 
 Anna knew that Mr. Hedworth was an 
 excellent man, guessed that he loved her 
 truly, but she could discern little romance 
 in his affection. She was quick to find 
 or miss some kinds of sentiment, while
 
 238 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 slow to appreciate true pathos until it was 
 pointed out to her. 
 
 The rectory was very quiet at night. 
 Anna felt strangely conscious of her com- 
 plete isolation and distance from her 
 family, as she sat in the moonlight. The 
 turning of a door-handle, one call down 
 the corridor, and her father would have 
 answered her by an anxious enquiry as to 
 what ailed her ; but this help could only 
 be summoned for physical dangers, not 
 for mental loneliness. 
 
 It was not so much that her surround- 
 ings were cramping, as that she was 
 beginning to feel out of them. The haven 
 of home was only secure while she shel- 
 tered in it, and she was floating in un- 
 known waters now. She would never 
 again be quite satisfied with the extent 
 of the harbour.
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 239 
 
 What experiences Barbara had been 
 throuo^h ! Anna thouo-ht about the curate 
 and Mr. Chester ; those two episodes in 
 her friend's adventurous life could not 
 fail to interest her. She remembered, 
 with compunction, that she had forgotten 
 to beg Barbara to come to church on Sun- 
 day, and if Mr. Calkin's pew were empty, 
 right under the pulpit, how ashamed she, 
 Anna, would feel ; what a bad impression 
 would add to her father's disaj^proval of 
 Barbara. 
 
 It was a new necessity that made Anna 
 plot. Should she write to her friend ? 
 ' Please come to church and hear father 
 preach,' sounded foolish, would look worse 
 written, whereas a w^ord or two let fall in 
 conversation, ' Oh, you will come to 
 father's church on Sunday, won't you ? 
 I want you to see the carvings,' would
 
 240 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 arrange the matter satisfactorily. To- 
 morrow was Saturday. Anna determined 
 to go and see Barbara for a few minutes 
 in the evening, if they did not meet before 
 then. Her father would be surprised at 
 her wishing to go to the Hollies again so 
 soon ; she might be obliged to parry his 
 questions ; but her motive was undeniably 
 good. 
 
 Anna shed a few tears before saying 
 good-night to the moonbeams. Her usually 
 placid nature was upset, introspective re- 
 flections were such a novelty to her that 
 they made her feel morally disorganised, 
 as a child, after first studying anatomy, ex- 
 periences the unpleasant notion that body 
 and limbs are wrongly put together. As 
 the child also fears to move, anticipating 
 possible ill effect, so Anna believed that, 
 unless she exercised great care, dreadful
 
 A woman's love-lesson, 241 
 
 evils threatened her moral existence- 
 Move a child must, — Anna could not con- 
 tinually check her psychological develop- 
 ment ; the future and its possibilities were 
 unavoidable. 
 
 With the morning her hope that Barbara 
 might come to the rectory in the course of 
 the day kept down Anna's troublesome 
 thoughts ; and her mind had other affairs to 
 consider. It was comforting to hear that 
 Richard had made a resolution to be^rin 
 life seriously ; when he left Maycross 
 all anxiety about his liking for Mattie 
 would be at an end. Mr. Hedworth came 
 in to say that Trot was decidedly better, 
 and expressed warm gratitude to Anna 
 who had advised some simple remedy. A 
 few pleasant incidents make a day delight- 
 ful, for as the sorrow is very real which 
 is made up of pin-prick troubles, so 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 happiness is often formed of simple things. 
 
 The afternoon came and brought no 
 visitor to the rectory, but Anna found her 
 purpose easy to achieve, for her father was 
 shut up in his study with Mr. Hed worth, 
 both being busy over some important 
 work concerning Purvis's defiance and 
 objectionable proclamation. 
 
 In the carriage-drive of the Hollies 
 Anna met Mr. Calkin, who shook hands, 
 and regarded her with mild interest. 
 
 * A very fine day we have had, to be 
 sure. Miss Broughton, but I should not be 
 surprised to see rain within the next 
 twenty-four hours.' 
 
 ' Not to-morrow, I hope ; a wet Sunday 
 disappoints so many people,' she answered. 
 ' I have come to see Barbara ; . . . I hope 
 you do not mind my calling in this very 
 unceremonious manner.'
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 243 
 
 Mr. Calkin looked thoughtfully at 
 her. 
 
 ' You are very welcome at all times, my 
 dear. Babara is attached to you, you 
 know.' 
 
 Anna did know, but she blushed with 
 pleasure at the remark. As she walked 
 on, she said to herself that reallv Mr. Cal- 
 kin was a very wise man, for a kind dis- 
 position is worth more than cleverness ! 
 She was spared the necessity of asking for 
 Miss Morne, by seeing her in the garden. 
 
 Barbara was walking away down one of 
 the shady alleys of the unkempt shrubbery, 
 and though Anna followed as fast as she 
 could, she presently lost sight of her friend 
 among the bushes. There was a regular 
 maze of paths, separated one from another 
 by overgrown privet hedges which had 
 reached the heis^ht of trees and tano;led 
 
 R 2
 
 244 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 their branches together over-head. Per- 
 plexed, Anna paused, was just making up 
 her mind that she had better call aloud^ 
 when she heard a movement coming from 
 the near turn of the path. Walking on a 
 few stej^s she emerged into an open space 
 where two garden-chairs were set upon 
 a mossy square of ground, and found her- 
 self suddenly in the presence of a man. 
 
 Basil Morne was alone, — or had been a 
 moment earlier; — he was leaning back 
 with his arms folded on his chest, and his 
 eyes fixed upon a yew bush close before 
 him. Written papers were lying on his 
 knee, but he was not reading, though his 
 lips were moving. 
 
 Anna was seldom shy, yet she felt so 
 now. Should she speak, wait silently 
 until Mr. Morne looked at her, or steal 
 away ? If she spoke, words were diffi-
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 245 
 
 cult to choose and would sound startling ; 
 if she waited in silence he might wonder 
 how long she had been watching his 
 reverie, and think her fooUsh or ill-man- 
 nered; worst of all would be to be seen 
 stealing away, as though too shamefaced 
 to confront the awkwardness of the situa- 
 tion into which trespassing had brought 
 her. 
 
 Basil began to mutter ; he was repeat- 
 ing something by heart; presently he 
 spoke aloud, with declamation worthy of 
 an actor. 
 
 ' Be you not troubled with the time, which drives 
 O'er your content these strong necessities ; 
 But let determined things to destiny 
 Hold unbewailed their way.' 
 
 ' I must beg your pardon,' said Anna, 
 ut I . . . I was looking for Barbara.' 
 Basil Morne was not a creature of quick
 
 246 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 actions. For a half-minute he looked at 
 Anna, then rose. 
 
 She had time to notice that he did not 
 mind having been overheard, and that his 
 eyes were pale blue, too pale for his dark 
 face, before he lifted his hat, and an- 
 swered; while slijDping a leaf among his 
 papers as a marker, 
 
 ' Barbara was here a moment or two 
 ago, and she will soon come back. Will 
 you sit down and wait for her ? She has- 
 only gone as far as the orchard.' 
 
 ' If I am not disturbing you.' 
 
 He smiled. Having handed her a 
 garden-chair, he remained standing, re- 
 garding her keenly. 
 
 'I was not busy; I had been giving 
 my sister a resume of a political speech 
 I have to deliver at Walminister, — per- 
 haps you know that she takes interest in
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 247 
 
 sucli matters? — and, in her absence, I 
 was learning a quotation which occurs 
 in it. We politicians can never get away 
 from work.' 
 
 'You never forget your Cause?' she 
 asked. 
 
 Basil nodded. 
 
 Anna could not help admiring the 
 single-mindedness of this faith on his 
 part. She was beginning to recover her 
 natural calmness, and returned Mr. 
 Morne's scrutiny gravely, as she often 
 scrutinized the faces of the young women 
 of her class. 
 
 These two were mildly curious about 
 each other, though the man did not admit 
 to himself that his sister's friend was a 
 subject of interest to him. He was un- 
 embarrassed, although he had been found 
 declaiming verse to the air. In all matters
 
 248 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 he was ' to himself a law rational.' Be- 
 cause it was he who had declaimed, the 
 action had been exempted from any 
 absurdity, in his opinion. 
 
 Basil discovered that this strange girl 
 bore inspection well, neither simpering nor 
 blushing. Her j)erfectly frank eyes met 
 his without faltering. He was pleased 
 with her; so smiled again, pleasantly. 
 
 ' You are Miss Broughton ?' he remark- 
 ed, needing no answer. ' My sister says 
 that we are to be friends, you and I.' 
 
 The sentence from some lips would 
 have been mere impertinence ; from 
 Basil's it was condescendingly amiable. 
 
 ' If we do not succeed in becoming 
 friendly I fear Barbara will give me up,' 
 said Anna, with a return smile ; ' for I 
 know she is greatly influenced by you.' 
 
 ' There is trust between us ; it dates
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 249 
 
 back to childhood. A woman can't be 
 too much influenced by anyone she trusts 
 absolutely. In proof of which, Barbara 
 has gone to gather cherries as I advised ; 
 — now you will be able to share the 
 feast.' 
 
 Laughing, Anna explained how she had 
 seen Barbara's skirts in the distance and 
 had followed them until the maze of paths 
 had made j^ursuit impossible. 
 
 ' Bab was acting the will-of-the-wisp,' 
 Basil replied. ' She wanted to call on 
 you this evening, but I dissuaded her, 
 believing that Saturday is a busy time at 
 a rectory.' 
 
 ' That was thoughtful. I have been 
 hoping all day that Barbara would come ; 
 still, I should have been sorry had mother 
 not been able to welcome her, and mother 
 is ill to-day.'
 
 250 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 
 
 ' Mrs. Broughton is an invalid ?' 
 
 'Yes, but she does not suffer much, I 
 am thankful to say ; and she is nearly 
 always cheerful. My brother is staying 
 with her this evening ; he is going to 
 London on Monday — she is happiest when 
 Richard is with her. When he has gone, 
 I shall give her one of Barbara's books to 
 read.' 
 
 Basil was amused at the simplicity of 
 this explanation, and the implied compli- 
 ment to the work of fiction. 
 
 'You care for the stories?' he asked. 
 
 ' For the only one I know — '' Janet 
 Wilbraham's Sacrifice." ' 
 
 '"Janet Wilbraham's Sacrifice"!' he 
 repeated, amazed. ' Ah ! I remember now. 
 Bab made you promise not to read her 
 later wcrrks. Well, it was all for the 
 best.'
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 251 
 
 ' Is it possible that you do not approve 
 of Barbara's writing, Mr. Morne?' 
 
 ' Xot altogether. I regret its cynicism. 
 Success and fame are only obtainable by 
 compromises, moral sacrifices sometimes. 
 Men should be left to struggle for them : 
 a Avoman ought to be perfectly true to 
 herself.' 
 
 'You mean that Barbara is not cynical^ 
 though she Avrites cynically?' 
 
 ' Exactly. A cynical style has made the 
 success of many an unliterary book, — it 
 buys popularity ; and I am not certain 
 that Bab's talent is strong enough to stand 
 alone.' 
 
 ' But she is very clever.' 
 
 ' A clever woman is not necessarily a 
 born novelist.' 
 
 'You think that novelists must be born, 
 not made?'
 
 252 A W03»IAX's LOYE-LESSOX. 
 
 * Great novelists, not merely successful 
 ones.' 
 
 * Oh, your opinions are very depreci- 
 atory !' said Anna. ' I have been accus- 
 tomed to consider as great any novelist 
 who vrrites thorous^hlv interestins: books.* 
 
 ' You have much right upon your side ; 
 for after all, though critics prate solemnly, 
 the- novelist's first object is to produce 
 interest.' 
 
 The conversation had been conducted 
 on the lines of an ' interview.' This is 
 usually the case when a girl talks with a 
 ma:. :: whose abilities she has resj)ect. 
 
 * What an age Barbara is !' he added, 
 liorhtlv. * She must be eatino: all the 
 cherries.' 
 
 * That is a libel !' cried Barbara's voice 
 close behind them. * Mv dariino^ Anna, I 
 shall never fororive vou for discoverinor
 
 A woman's love-lessox. 253 
 
 Basil for yourself. I meant to parade him 
 down to the rector}^ and show you some 
 of his good points before you found out 
 his bad ones.' 
 
 Anna's eyes brightened with pleasure at 
 her friend's arrival. 
 
 ' You have yourself to blame, dear,' she 
 answered, ' for you would not let me 
 catch vou. — vou disappeared in this labv- 
 rinth of paths, and if I had not found Mr. 
 Morne I might have been still wandering 
 among them.' 
 
 'We call this maze "Vanitv Fair," so 
 you were indeed out of place in it.' 
 
 ' After Thackeray's novel," said Anna, 
 thouo-htfullv. ' I have not read it.' 
 
 The brother and sister looked at each 
 other and smiled. 
 
 * Let us return to idvllic attractions ' 
 sus^o-ested Miss Barbara, lanauidlv. 'BasiL
 
 254 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 silly boy, go and gather a cabbage-leaf for 
 a plate for Anna.' 
 
 Anna begged Mr. Morne not to trouble, 
 but he went readily to do tiis errand, and, 
 as lie walked away, Barbara, leaning 
 forward in her chair, whispered eagerly, 
 
 ' Anna, isn't he handsome ? I firmly 
 believe he is the only thoroughly lovable 
 man in the world. If I'm grateful for 
 anything, I am for the possession of such 
 a brother.' 
 
 At that instant Barbara was ' true to 
 herself.' 
 
 Anna was bewildered by the strange 
 question. Handsome ? — yes, she thought 
 Basil Morne handsome, now that her 
 opinion was asked. He was such a man, 
 for all his good looks ; it would never 
 have occurred to her to notice that his 
 features were of classical form. His whole
 
 A woman's love-lessox. 55 
 
 personality was impressive, no detail 
 claimed attention — unless it was the vague 
 fact of his exceeding darkness. 
 
 Now she was obliged to watch him as 
 he returned down the path ; to note the 
 strong: lines about his firm mouth and the 
 deep shadow round his eyes — the slight 
 bend of his eyebrows, which gave a certain 
 sternness to his expression. She wondered 
 how old he was, and whether he had ever 
 been in love. On the whole she was in- 
 clined to think he had — and to pity 
 him. 
 
 ' He ... is the most handsome man I 
 ever saw,' she answered, slowly, feeling it 
 almost an impertinence to speak of the 
 man who was so near, yet beyond hearing. 
 ' Is he happy?' 
 
 The question escaped her lips ; she was 
 shyly sorry she had asked it, but Barbara,
 
 ^56 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 though she had only time to answer in a 
 monosyllable, did not resent the inquiry. 
 
 ' No.' 
 
 The evening passed very fast to Anna, 
 and it was late, according to her ideas of 
 lateness, when she had parted from her 
 friends and was hurrying home. But her 
 visit had been a distinct success, for she 
 had asked Barbara to come and hear 
 ' father's sermon to-morrow,' and Barbara 
 had promised to bring Basil. 
 
 Of all the impressions Anna carried 
 away with her from that visit, the strong- 
 est was contained in the knowledge that 
 Mr. Morne was not happy. A girl natu- 
 rally loves to ponder on a mystery, espe- 
 cially if she suspects that it be connected 
 with the tender passion ; and this girl, as 
 we know, was just awakened to conscious- 
 ness of the universality of romance, there-
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 257 
 
 fore sought everywhere for evidence of it. 
 She had forgotten the rector's sage coun- 
 sel that, in his opinion, the Monies were 
 * worldlings ;' that romance was leading 
 her brother astray ; that Mattie Purvis 
 existed ; that she was not to allow herself 
 to be influenced by worldly wisdom, but to 
 remember always that she was her father's 
 daughter, and that the eyes of the j^arish 
 were upon her. 
 
 Moonlight was just beginning again, and 
 it seemed to have strange power over poor 
 Anna. As she hurried homewards, her 
 lips were parted with a smile, her heart 
 was beating fast more with excitement 
 than with the exercise. 
 
 In the dimly-lighted hall of the rectory 
 she ran as-ainst her father. He cauo^ht her 
 by the arm, looking keenly into her 
 brilliant eyes. 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 ' Anna, where is your brother ? Was 
 he not with you?' 
 
 She started. 
 
 ' No, father; I have been to the Hollies.' 
 
 ' You have not kept your promise, Anna. 
 Yesterday-night you allowed Richard to 
 give you the slip, and to-night you have 
 not attempted to keep him indoors.' 
 
 ' I am ver}^ sorry. I thought he was in 
 mother's room. Are you sure he is not?' 
 
 ' He has not been there for the last 
 hour.' 
 
 ' But he is going away on Monday.' 
 
 'All the more reason why you should 
 have exerted yourself to carry out my 
 wishes during the short time that re- 
 mained.' 
 
 'What can I do now ?' 
 
 ' Nothing. At least, you may give me 
 my supper ; it is time.'
 
 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSOX. 259 
 
 Anna did not venture to ask any more 
 questions, but threw aside her hat and 
 gloves and followed the rector into the 
 dining-room. The meal took place in 
 depressing silence. When it was over 
 father and daughter went out under the 
 verandah in the front of the house to wait 
 for the truant. 
 
 Mr. Hedworth passed by, along the road, 
 going home, and Mr. Broughton called 
 him. 
 
 Philip's face looked troubled, as he 
 crossed the lawn and stood in the stream 
 of light coming from the open window of 
 the library. 
 
 'You have been into the town?' asked 
 the rector. 
 
 ' As far as Huntstown,' was the answer ; 
 * I promised to take Matthew Lane a pair 
 of boots, that he may be able to attend 
 
 s2
 
 260 A t\"oman's love-lesson. 
 
 church to-morrow ; and I ... I went to 
 see Purvis.' 
 
 'To see Purvis! After his insulting 
 reply to our letter!' cried the rector. 
 
 The curate explained, in his quiet, con- 
 vincins:. earnest tones. 
 
 ' I felt that I was taking a great deal 
 upon myself, but I was careful to explain 
 that I Avas acting on my own responsi- 
 bility. Knowing what a terrible annoy- 
 ance his conduct is to you, I was anxious 
 to spare no effort. But he will not hear 
 reason, I am sorry to say.' 
 
 ' You saw him in his home ?' 
 
 ' I went there, but he was out. I saw 
 him in the field near the tow-path.' 
 
 ' And he insulted you, I suppose?' 
 
 ' He spoke insulting words, not applying 
 them to me exactly. He seems a very 
 violent man.'
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 261 
 
 ' Your zeal is praiseworthy, Hedworth, 
 and I commend your endeavour. We 
 must await to-morrow's events, and trust 
 that the police authorities will attend to 
 my application. — I wished to ask you if 
 you had seen my son this evening' ?' 
 
 Philip looked sadly at his rector. 
 
 ' Yes, I saw him half-an-hour ago. He 
 said that he was coming straight home.' 
 
 ' Where was he?' 
 
 ' In his boat, — on the river.' 
 
 The clear whistle of a popular tune was 
 heard in the lane, and Richard opened the 
 garden gate and entered. 
 
 As he came into the circle of light his 
 radiant young face showed a little em- 
 barrassment but more happiness. 
 
 ' I've not kept you up, I hope, sir,' he 
 •said, looking at his father. ' I can bolt
 
 262 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 my supper in no time, and I don't think 
 you go to bed as early as this.' 
 
 ' Whom have you been with, Richard V 
 
 The rector's question fell like a bomb 
 among the trivialities of polite excuse. 
 
 Dick's face paled, his eyes flashed. 
 
 Anna peeped at him over her father's- 
 shoulder, conscious of a conflict in her 
 own heart between love of docility and 
 longing for freedom. Philip looked more 
 pained than the culprit. He had great 
 fear lest Dick, to whom he was sincerely 
 attached, should dishonour himself by 
 lying. 
 
 But the young man had no idea of 
 doing so ; his silence was innocent. He 
 fullv realised that the moment had come 
 for truth-telling, that his secret was forced 
 from him too soon by a power beyond his 
 control.
 
 A woman's love -lesson. 263 
 
 ' I have been talking to Mattie Purvis, 
 sir. She is my promised wife.' 
 
 The words came trembling from his lips^ 
 and, at the moment, Dick wondered why 
 he could not control this evidence of his 
 strongly- wrought feelings. It was not 
 courage or determination that he lacked, 
 nor honest pride in the love of his dear 
 one. 
 
 The rector turned to Philip. 
 
 ' You saw them together and you did 
 not tell me ?' 
 
 ' I answered your questions truthfully.' 
 
 ' You have deceived and clisaj^pointed 
 me.' 
 
 ' You're a brick, Hedworth !' cried 
 Richard, grasping the curate's hand. 
 
 ' Oh, Dick, you can't mean to marry her !^ 
 said Anna, in a voice of horror. 
 
 ' Richard,' asked the rector, sternly, ' is
 
 264 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 this what you meant by your promise to 
 turn over a new leaf?' 
 
 ' It is, sir, and if you'll give me the 
 chance I'll show you it is. I've been spied 
 upon and distrusted at home, but I have 
 found another woman besides my mother 
 who is willing to place her faith in me ; 
 and, by God, I will be true to her, — she 
 shall not repent.' 
 
 ' Profanity is not argument. You are 
 too excited to-night for common-sense to in- 
 fluence you, but to-morrow evening, when 
 you have had time for reflection, you will 
 inform me of your final decision, — whether 
 3' ou choose to give up this low-born woman, 
 the child of a disreputable socialist, or to 
 give up your home ties. Both you cannot 
 have. Xeither can I ask my brother to 
 sanction your rebellion. If you choose to 
 order your own life, throwing off parental
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 265 
 
 authority, you need not expect your uncle 
 to provide you with the means of liveli- 
 hood. Let me hear no more of this until 
 six o'clock to-morrow evening, and do not 
 tell your mother, — she is ill.' 
 
 ' Richard,' said the curate, with a hand 
 grasping the young man's arm, ' will you 
 not tell your father what you told me, that 
 you went to Purvis's house to see him, to 
 try, as I tried, to persuade him to give up 
 this meeting on the Green to-morrow ?' 
 
 ' Xo, I will explain nothing,' said Dick, 
 between his teeth. — ' I will do as you wish, 
 sir, tell you my decision to-morrow even- 
 ing. Now I suppose we may consider this 
 interesting scene ended?' 
 
 The young rebel was very hot ; Dick felt 
 a burning longing to appeal, if not for his 
 own sake, at least for Mattie's, but his pride 
 kept him quiet, just as it kept tears back.
 
 266 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 He passed indoors, and went up to his 
 own room. Food just then would have 
 choked him. 
 
 ' He means no harm, sir,' pleaded the 
 curate to his rector. ' Can you not give 
 him a chance to change his mind, time to 
 make sure if his love for this girl is abso- 
 lute ? And she is a good girl, — may not 
 her influence over him act for his benefit 
 after all?' 
 
 Anna had never seen such a scene be- 
 tween her father and Hedworth. The 
 younger man, profoundly conscious of his 
 impertinence, was trying to make his elder 
 see himself in the wrong. Anna was not 
 sure she did not admire Philip more than 
 she had done before, but her sympathy 
 was all with her father's conduct as far 
 as opposition to Richard was concerned. 
 This was because the girl Dick loved was
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 267 
 
 Mattie Purvis. Small facts alter the com- 
 plexion of a woman's judgment. 
 
 The rector's face was worth studying ; his 
 temper, in its restraint, magnificent. No 
 one could say that this man did not live 
 up to his Christian principles. 
 
 ' Good-night, Hedworth,' was his sole 
 reply, before entering the open door of his 
 home. 
 
 ' Good-night, sir,' the curate answered ; 
 then, after pressing the hand Anna 
 stretched out to him, went home in sorrow.
 
 268 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ' Your father seems troubled this morn- 
 ing, Richard.' 
 
 Mrs. Broughton was lying on her couch 
 near the open window; from that position 
 she could see the church-spire and hear 
 the bells, — the nearest approach she 
 could make, except by private prayer, 
 towards sharing in the Sunday devotions 
 to-day. 
 
 It was half-an-hour before service-time, 
 and Dick had come in to spend all his 
 spare moments with her.
 
 A woman's love-lesson, 269^ 
 
 His own spirits were not particularly 
 depressed this morning, for he was buoyed 
 up by the novel excitement of defending 
 some one weaker than himself. Mattie 
 looked to him as to a protector whose 
 faith would never fail, and while she 
 2;ave him her trust he would behave man- 
 fully in all matters concerning her. There 
 was another aspect in which his conduct 
 could be viewed, the aspect taken by his 
 father and sister, which made his firmness 
 appear rebellious obstinacy. But Dick's 
 own opinion of himself was favourable to- 
 day, he had got a cause to fight for, was 
 personally certain of the worthiness of 
 that cause, and proud of the manner in 
 which he faced the foe without flinching. 
 
 His defence as yet had consisted solely 
 of keeping a brave front, for at breakfast 
 the rector had not spoken to him at all,
 
 270 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 and Anna had not mentioned Mattie or 
 the quarrel of the previous night. A truce 
 had been declared ; it would last until six 
 o'clock that evening ; and Dick showed no 
 fear of the approaching moment for match- 
 ing^ the forces of his determination and 
 pride against those of his father's argu- 
 ments. 
 
 Little Mrs. Brought on, gazing as usual 
 into her dear boy's eyes, found new capaci- 
 ties for tenderness in them, and flattered 
 herself by believing they had developed 
 out of his ever-increasing love for her. 
 Certainly no mother ever had a more 
 alFectionate son. 
 
 Dick was leaning against the window- 
 frame, looking down at her. 
 
 ' Sunday sermons aren't enlivening, 
 either to those who preach or those who 
 have to listen to them, dear; and there is
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 271 
 
 c][oin2: to be a Socialist meetino^ on the Green 
 during church hours.' 
 
 ' Then no wonder your father is wor- 
 ried. Perhaps that is why he would not 
 let me try to go to church this morning ; 
 he usually urges me to make an effort.' 
 
 ' Effort indeed ! you make too many. If 
 I had the right to take care of you always, 
 I wouldn't allow any efforts. But the 
 pater's hard by nature ; I suppose he can't 
 help it.' 
 
 ' Oh, Dick, you mustn't speak disre- 
 spectfully of your father.' 
 
 ' Be sure, dear, I shall never want to 
 speak so of my mother.' 
 
 Mrs. Brouo^hton thou^^ht she had no 
 right to smile with pleasure at this assur- 
 ance, but she did so, both with lips and 
 eyes. 
 
 ' That's riofht !' cried Dick, ' a sunbeam
 
 272 A woman's love -lesson. 
 
 fell on your face then. Do you know^ 
 little mother, I'm awfully cut up at having 
 to go away from you again so soon.' 
 
 ' But you must go, darling. Why, you 
 are a man, and men are not happy in dull 
 country villages.' 
 
 ' Some are ; look at Hedworth.' 
 ' You could not make yourself like Mr. 
 Hedworth, not if you tried for a lifetime, 
 Richard. I am glad, really glad for you. 
 to go and have your chance. It is a great 
 pity it is so, but I am afraid you do not 
 always get on well with your father; I 
 fancied I heard him scolding you last 
 night : and I am often terrified by my 
 imaginations of what you might do. Dick, 
 I have crept to the door, often and often, 
 after you have been scolded, to listen for 
 your step about the house. Once, years 
 ago now, I heard you rush out of doors.
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 273 
 
 and then I believed my worst dread liad 
 come true.' 
 
 ' Poor little woman ! What was the 
 worst dread T 
 
 * That you would enlist.' 
 
 Dick laughed soothingly. 
 
 ' Why, what a baby you must think me. 
 I'm too ambitious to do that. To drudge 
 in the ranks until youth is past, and get 
 to be a lieutenant when grey hairs have 
 come. No, indeed ! I mean to be a suc- 
 cessful business man, if I can manage to 
 get a start.' 
 
 ' Your uncle will give you that.' 
 
 Dick was silent. After a while he said, 
 decisively, 
 
 ' A man who is willing to work, never 
 has to starve for want of a start, I'm sure 
 of that. There, the bells are beginning, I 
 haven't many more minutes to stay with 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 A WOVAX'S LVZ-LZSSOy. 
 
 J01L. Mother, d: 
 
 se TO write to 
 
 me ai leasi rT^ — 
 
 : r-:r^- "h- Tin 
 
 away?' 
 
 
 * Richie, do vou seriously think it 
 Deoessary to ask zz^ ihat?^ 
 
 is a dreadfully serious 
 ^. Supposing the pater 
 were to forbid you to write ?' 
 
 * He would not.* 
 
 ' Can't you suppose ?' 
 
 Her pale li^^Ie face clouded, her eyes 
 looked fiigi: ' I . 
 
 *I . . . I - _ iseyoii to write . . . 
 I do pr:imse. " t, by my love 
 
 for Tou !' 
 
 Dick gazed at her attentiTely. and un- 
 derstood that Tviiich was not spoken. 
 Bluntly he put it in:o words. 
 
 * You mean that he won't dare to forbid 
 you to break a promise? There — don't
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 2 75 
 
 answer . . . Til only say, God bless you 
 for it I I won't try to come between you 
 and him.' 
 
 ' Yon ought to make some promises to 
 me, Dick, now you are o^oino^ awav aorain.' 
 
 Dick sat down on the window-ledge, 
 turned his face slicrhtlv from her, and 
 watched the birds at play on the lawn 
 below, while he asked, lauo^hinsflv, 
 
 7 7 O <_ » 7 
 
 ' Don't I know what the first promise is 
 that YOU want me to make ? That I'll take 
 great care of myself, eh, mother?' 
 
 ' You are making fun of me, but I don't 
 mind. Last autumn you caught a serious 
 cold by forgetting to take to your warm 
 clothes ; you know you did, Dick, and you 
 haven't lost the couirh vet.' 
 
 ' You can remind me in the letters.' 
 
 ' So I can, that is a comfort. But dear, 
 there is another thing, — you will keep
 
 276 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 steady ? A youno^ man alone in London 
 has so many temj^tations. I don't mean to 
 preach to you as . . . as . . .' 
 
 She hesitated, and Dick smiled 
 mischievously. 
 
 ' As some parents do, you mean. In my 
 worst moods I've never kicked against 
 your preaching, and I never will, not if 
 you want to lecture me when I'm sixty ! 
 As to the temptations, little mother, they 
 won't appeal to me now, for I've got other 
 things to think of I really feel in a 
 position to defy the devil and all his 
 works.' 
 
 ' Dick !' 
 
 ' Isn't that an appropriate Sunday sen- 
 timent ? But what are the other promises 
 you want out of me ? In five minutes I 
 must be in the family pew helping Anna 
 to sustain the credit of the Broughtons.'
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 277 
 
 ' Promise to write me real letters, all 
 about yourself, not about other people.' 
 
 ' I may be very anxious to write about 
 some one else,' said Dick. 
 
 ' If you fall in love. Oh, you have done 
 that already ! I can see it in your face.' 
 
 ' What a tell-tale countenance mine 
 must be !' he exclaimed playfully, turning 
 towards her again ; ' for you could only see 
 one side of it. Dear, don't question me 
 now, for I've been ordered not to trouble 
 you with my concerns, — you're not well 
 enough, the pater says.' 
 
 ' Are you happy, Richie? Tell me just 
 that?' 
 
 ' My face isn't tell-tale if it doesn't make 
 that question superfluous.' 
 
 'She loves you, Dick? Really . . . 
 fondly . . . faithfully?' 
 
 He had come nearer to her, and held
 
 278 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 
 
 her hand while he stood by the head of the 
 couch. 
 
 ' Yes, mother; as I love her.' 
 
 ' My boy . . . my man ! . . . Oh Dick, 
 a mother is a very jealous creature ! such 
 news is sweet and painful at once to her. 
 Can any woman care enough for you, care 
 more than I do ?' 
 
 ' Perhaps not — to the latter question — 
 but my . . . my betrothed cares for me a 
 o^reat deal more than I deserve. Haven't 
 I always been a scapegrace ? But I don't 
 know how it is, women seem kind to 
 scapegraces ! You must let me go now, or 
 I shall tell you all about her.' 
 
 She pulled down his face, and held it 
 between her two thin hands while she 
 studied his eyes. 
 
 ' This dear face ... to think that an-
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 279 
 
 other woman has kissed it . . . Why, Dick, 
 how you blush !' 
 
 ' No one on earth has power to put you 
 out of my heart, little mother.' 
 
 ' I know it, my darling. — Dick, you're 
 in trouble with your father about this.' 
 
 ' I don't care, and you mustn't. He 
 can't do me any harm ; I'm above being 
 injured by his opinions, scoldings, and 
 punishments.' 
 
 ' But he is your father.' 
 
 Dick was silent. He gave his mother 
 a farewell kiss ; which she returned, 
 whispering proudly, 
 
 ' You have grown handsome, Richie. 
 You were beautiful as a baby.' 
 
 The young man laughed heartily. Wav- 
 ing his hand to her, he hurried out of the 
 room.
 
 280 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 Mrs. Broughton lay back among her 
 pillows. Tears came into lier eyes as she 
 remembered those long-past happy days 
 when Dick had been at the crowing, help- 
 less stage of infancy, when he had depended 
 so absolutely upon her, and she had never 
 realised that a day would dawn when an- 
 other woman would be dearer than she to 
 him. 
 
 ' I'm just a hard-hearted, jealous, selfish 
 little woman,' she reproached herself; and 
 dried the tears quickly in a shamefaced 
 way, thankful that she had kept them from 
 showing when Richard was in the room. 
 Then she began to speculate upon the 
 personality of her boy's sweetheart. — She 
 was some girl of the neighbourhood ; she 
 was not the wife the rector would have 
 chosen for his son; she was good, because 
 she cared very, very much for Dick ! ' I
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 281 
 
 wish I could see her !' cried little Mrs. 
 Broughton, in her heart. ' I would tell 
 her all Richard's best traits of character. 
 I would find out how to make her care for 
 me a little. I would learn to love her 
 dearly . . . for his sake !' 
 
 The door opened, and the rector looked 
 in. 
 
 ' Good-bye, Alice.' 
 
 ' Good-bye, Robert. Thank you for 
 coming . . . Aren't you late ?' 
 
 ' It is my rule never to be late ; I have 
 only to cross the churchyard.' 
 
 ' I meant that you usually are in the 
 vestry many minutes before this.' 
 
 ' I have a good reason for altering my 
 rule on this occasion. Is your head any 
 better, my dear ?' 
 
 ' Oh, so much ! I shall be quite well 
 hy this evening.'
 
 282 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 Mr. Broughton shut the door softly, and 
 looked through the staircase window for a 
 second before hurrying downstairs. His 
 worried expression told of surprised 
 anxiety. 
 
 Through the clear air came the sound of 
 the clanging bells, and a murmur as of 
 excited voices. 
 
 The rector took out his watch. Eleven 
 o'clock exactly — and he was not in the 
 church. There was no way of escape from 
 his duty, for the curate was conducting 
 service in a neighbouring parish to oblige 
 an absent vicar, but, at that moment, Mr. 
 Broughton longed for some excuse to dis- 
 appoint his expectant parishioners who 
 were awaiting his coming. 
 
 The truth of the matter was this — he 
 could not reach his church without cross- 
 ing the Green, and 'Captain' Purvis's
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 283 
 
 Socialistic meeting was in active progress. 
 For some unaccountable reason the police 
 authorities had not acted upon the rector's 
 suggestions ; he had planned a success for 
 the opponents of socialism to-day, and now 
 had to bear with a defeat. Instead of 
 marching across the Green to the discom- 
 fiture of a half-dispelled crowd, as he had 
 intended, he was obliged to make his way 
 to his church with the ' Captain's ' rhetoric 
 assaulting his ears, and the jeers of the 
 victorious mob exulting over his failure. 
 
 Proudly he bore himself, but in his soul 
 was bitter mortification. 
 
 Purvis was mounted upon a waggon* 
 He was a tall, stout man, owning a voice 
 of exceptional volume ; his red hair made 
 a glowing spot of colour as the sun shone 
 on it; his pale face was admiringly watched 
 by half a hundred pairs of eyes. Some of
 
 284 A woman's love-lessox. 
 
 the spectators had been brought from a 
 distance, some were women and children, 
 but the meeting had assumed dimensions 
 hitherto unknown at Socialist gatherings 
 in Maycross. 
 
 All the pairs of eyes were turned upon 
 the rector, as Purvis called attention to 
 him. 
 
 ' There goes the man, calling himself a 
 man of peace, who tried to get the police 
 to drive you to-day off your own village 
 Green, — who has closed the " Four Stars " 
 because he wants to close the mouths that 
 argue against injustice, — who refused a 
 poor aged woman her joint of Christmas 
 beef because she wouldn't listen to his 
 sermon every Sunday . . . Don't hurt him, 
 my friends, — don't even throw mud at him, 
 he isn't worth it, — but give three cheers 
 for Socialism, which makes the poor man
 
 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSOX. 285 
 
 the equal of tlie rich in power, and con- 
 quers all oppressors !' 
 
 The cheers hurt the vicar more than 
 stones could have done. Then. some mem- 
 bers of the crowd became self-assertive. 
 
 ' Three cheers for Mother Drink water !* 
 cried one man. ' Down with all hypo- 
 crites !' shouted another; while lads ran 
 after Mr. Broughton to the very doors of 
 his church, asking questions, such as 
 ' Don't yer see the p'lice comin' ?' . . . 
 ' Won't yer get up on the waggon an' be 
 photergraphed ?' . . . 'Aren't yer goin* 
 ter give us a sermon, mister ?' 
 
 The rector's only comfort was that he 
 knew these were not Maycross boys. 
 
 Inside the church was whispering and 
 excitement. The bells had not stopped 
 rinorinof for the word of command had not 
 
 CD C' 
 
 been passed to the men in the belfry, but
 
 286 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 every man and woman knew that eleven 
 o'clock had sounded some minutes ago. 
 
 The rector's appearance did not improve 
 affairs, for, above the sounds of the ser- 
 vice, louder than his most impressive 
 tones, more piercing than the treble of 
 the choir-boys, rose the roar of Purvis's 
 half-hundred followers. — Hymns were in- 
 audible when the mob outside the church 
 began to sing in accompaniment to the 
 strains of a brass band all the popular 
 and not too reputable comic songs of the 
 day. The sermon was preached, but not 
 even Anna and Richard in the front pew 
 could distinguish one sentence from 
 another. 
 
 In the free parts of the church people 
 were f>:io^odino: and talkino;. 
 
 Barbara had kept her word, had brought 
 her brother to church ; and, now and again,
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 287 
 
 peeped across sympathetically at poor 
 Anna's flaming cheeks and downcast eyes. 
 
 Dick looked pale and stern, with his 
 eyes also cast down ; but he was thankful 
 to have seen Mattie in her usual seat. He 
 blessed her in his thoughts ; her presence 
 showed that she did not sympathise with 
 her father's insulting defiance. 
 
 Basil Morne felt for the rector. He 
 was not in the habit of o-oino; to church ; 
 being ' to himself a law rational,' he be- 
 lieved that to acknowledge the law of re- 
 ligion as expressed in any creed was 
 derogatory to his superior knowledge. 
 Others might bend the knee to their 
 Maker, but he preferred to forget that he 
 had not made himself. Others might 
 pray for grace to live uprightly, but 
 he did not care to own that Providence 
 had poAver to rule or help him.
 
 288 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 In the full strength of his manhood 
 he did not realise that power, moral and 
 physical, is God-given. 
 
 ' This is scandalous 1' he whispered to 
 Barbara, who responded, 
 
 ' Poor Anna !' 
 
 This made him watch Anna, and he 
 made the discovery that her face was like 
 a picture of ' Innocence ' he had once seen 
 in some foreign gallery. With the form 
 of a woman she had the eyes of a child. 
 This interested him.
 
 289 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 When service was over, — a service at 
 which not one fervent j^rayer had been 
 said, — Barbara and Basil walked boldly 
 into the vestry. Anna, who was waiting 
 for her father, eyed this proceeding with 
 anxiety. 
 
 The rector told his daughter afterwards 
 that Mr. Morne had spoken ' as a Christian 
 should.' 
 
 The dispersed congregation was not in- 
 terfered with by Purvis's men ; this was 
 entirely owing to the' Captain's' moderation, 
 but the scene upon the Green was one 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 which Maycross haclnever before witnessed, 
 and which Maycross never forgot. The So- 
 cialist manoeuvre had been quite successful. 
 
 Anna, Richard and the rector walked 
 home together, hearing, but pretending 
 not to hear, the insulting remarks of ill- 
 disposed persons. Mr. Broughton's aiFect- 
 ation of cheerfulness was admirable : in 
 forgetfulness he addressed some genial 
 sentences to his son ; Dick, however, was 
 not deceived into imao^inino; that he mi^'ht 
 expect leniency that evening. How, in 
 the name of reason, could he expect the 
 insulted rector to welcome Purvis's daus^h- 
 ter as a future member of his own family ? 
 
 Directly the house was entered, the faces 
 of the three Broughtons underwent changes. 
 Anna's eyes filled with tears ; she kissed 
 her father, whose white stern countenance 
 told of inner fires . of righteous anger ;
 
 A woman's love-lessox. 291 
 
 Dick frowned. He was thinking that 
 Purvis had done Mm the worst injury. 
 
 ' Oh, father, it was splendid to see you 
 facing that dreadful ordeal so bravely !' 
 
 ' Xonsense, ray dear; there was nothing 
 about the miserable scene that could be 
 called splendid.' 
 
 But thouo'h the rector contradicted his 
 daughter's praise of his conduct he was 
 soothed by the reflection that he had borne 
 himself bravely, and that someone had 
 noticed this. His opinion of Anna rose a 
 great deal, which was the natural sequence 
 to her admirino; affection for him. Not 
 since he had preached his first sermon, 
 with a ragged London congregation trying 
 to find amusement in the strange ' enter- 
 tainment,' had he experienced as bewilder- 
 ing a difiiculty to express himself as he 
 had done to-day, when those howls of 
 
 u 2
 
 292 A woman's love-lessox. 
 
 derision and mocking songs had disturbed 
 his country parishioners at their devotions. 
 Seeing their mingled horror and amusement 
 he had nearly broken down, so bitter had 
 been the knowledge that the words by 
 which he would have made Purvis's con- 
 duct appear in its true colours could not 
 reach their ears. A dignified expression 
 of regret that religion should have to fight 
 against opponents so disgraceful had passed 
 his lips, but no one had heard it. His 
 sermon had been coherent, showing his 
 mastery of his human passions, yet no man 
 or woman Avould give him credit for his 
 lucidity. Had he been talking Greek they 
 could not have noticed tlie innovation. 
 
 Not caring to meet his wife's questions^ 
 which, out of her love, would be searching 
 ones, he sent Anna into the invalid's room 
 to give an account of the morning's deplor-
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 293 
 
 able incidents ] and shut himself into his 
 study. Richard, left to his own thoughts, 
 lauf]jhed over them. Fortunately his levity 
 was known to no one else, so passed un- 
 rebuked. A young man who loves and is 
 loved is not easily made to take keen inter- 
 est in the concerns of other men. Dick 
 was sorry Purvis had been so foolish, that 
 his own father had been insulted ; but 
 directly he was left to idle meditation the 
 affair began to appear ridiculous to his 
 judgment. 
 
 As he sat in the dining-room awaiting 
 the mid-day meal, Neptune waddled up to 
 him, thrusting a wet nose between his 
 fingers with the familiar confidence of an 
 aged pet not accustomed to rebuffs 
 
 ' Ah, NepV murmured Dick, ' you're an- 
 other creature against whom I might bear 
 malice .... but I don't.'
 
 294 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 The dinner, always a solemn meal at the 
 rectory, was eaten almost in silence to-day. 
 The man-servant who waited had been to 
 church, so knew all about the Socialist 
 meeting, and was not surprised to see that 
 the rector's appetite was not as hearty as 
 usual. Any conversation there was was 
 due to Dick, who, though in disgrace, was 
 not abashed. But, as his well-meant re- 
 marks received only monosyllabic answers, 
 he soon gave up the attempt, and fell to the 
 more congenial occupation of meditating 
 upon the inexhaustible subject of Mattie. 
 
 At dessert the rector asked, 
 
 'Will you take a pear, Richard?' and 
 Dick accepted the offer. 
 
 Then he felt a sudden wish to express a 
 sentiment which should please his father. 
 
 '' I daresay you won't be inclined to be- 
 lieve me, sir,' he blurted out; 'but I'd give
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 295 
 
 twenty pounds that this morning's work 
 shouldn't have been done !' 
 
 Mr. Broughton pursed up his lips, as 
 this abrupt allusion to a distressing subject 
 made him speak of a matter upon which 
 speech was painful. 
 
 ' It is not at all difficult for me to believe 
 in the genuineness of your regret, Richard ; 
 though I doubt whether you possess 
 twenty pounds. There is no need for us 
 to discuss this morning's occurrence ; that 
 man Purvis will find that the law will not 
 sanction his conduct.' 
 
 Dick looked up quickly ; checking an 
 exclamation of sur^^rise as he saw the 
 rector's forbidding air of having dismissed 
 the subject of conversation. So the power 
 of the law was to be invoked against the 
 captain, as the police had failed to break up 
 the meeting ? Dick gave a low whistle.
 
 296 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 The afternoon passed very slowly. 
 Ao:ain Ricliard was left to amuse himself: 
 not being able to go to his mother s room, 
 as she was lying down trying to sleep oif 
 her headache, he sauntered on to the ve- 
 randah and sat down. Through the spaces 
 between the tree-trunks, looking over the 
 low paling round the garden, he could see 
 a few scattered figures on the Green. All 
 day long curious eyes would watch the 
 white stone walls of the rectory, and the 
 windows would be regarded with keen 
 interest, particularly if a head appeared at 
 any one of them. It was seldom that 
 Maycross history became sensational, and 
 the most trivial episode of this great 
 quarrel. Rector versus Purvis, would afford 
 excitement over countless Sunday dinner- 
 tables. 
 
 The sunshine was hot. Dick basked
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 297 
 
 in it, as did Xeptune at his feet on the 
 flagstones. ^N^evertheless, hours seemed 
 to elapse before the position of the sun in 
 the heavens shifted, and the leno^thenino; 
 shadows foretold the death of the day. 
 
 As the heat lessened and the wind sprang 
 lip Dick became less somnolent. He was 
 confronted by the first great crisis of his 
 career, though, until now, he had not told 
 himself so in so many words. The future 
 was unpleasantly undefined; nothing about 
 it was plain to him, but his resolution to 
 marry Mattie as soon as he could earn a 
 home for her, and his understandins; that 
 he would be obliged to leave the rectory 
 hurriedly. 
 
 Beginning to consider the choice of pro- 
 fessions open to him, he realised that most 
 trades need men of special education to 
 make them profitable ; or, failing this, the
 
 298 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 men must possess caj)ital in coin instead of 
 in brains. Dick's idle school-boyhood and 
 empty pockets were against him. 
 
 At this juncture of reflections, Dick's 
 father came upon the actual scene, and 
 called him from the open French window 
 of the library. 
 
 ' Richard, it is six o'clock.' 
 
 ' Coming, sir.' 
 
 As he passed by the front door Anna 
 ajDpeared to tell him that tea was ready,, 
 but he waved her away. 
 
 ' Not for me, old girl, thanks.' 
 
 Anna glanced up at the clock in the 
 hall. The sight of the hand pointing to 
 six enlightened her as to Dick's meaning. 
 Running on to the verandah, she caught 
 him by the sleeve, crying, 
 
 ' You must give her up, Dick ! It is 
 preposterous to think of your being
 
 A woman's love-lessox. 299 
 
 in love with quite a common girl.' 
 Richard, stung by this opprobrious de- 
 scription of his lady-love, laughed defiantly 
 by way of answer. Anna watched him 
 enter the library, and longed to follow^ 
 but dared not. The rector was standing 
 by the hearth ; his son stood facing him. 
 There was in both their minds a strange 
 consciousness that this solemn interview 
 was quite unnecessary, an anti-climax to 
 last night's scene between them. The 
 door of the room was open, showing a 
 vista of the inner hall and staircase. 
 
 Richard waited for his father to speak 
 first. 
 
 ' You have had ample time for re- 
 flection ' beo^an Mr. Brouo'hton. * I da 
 not know how, after Purvis's beha- 
 viour to-day, you, my son, can possibly 
 contemplate accepting him as a rela-
 
 300 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 tive. It only remains for me to repeat 
 the terms I offered you before, — if you 
 will give up this foolish fancy for a pretty 
 but vulgar girl, I will help you, as far as 
 I can, to make a worthy career for your- 
 self. If you choose to link your fortunes 
 with those of these Socialist persons, I can 
 do nothing for you, and my doors must 
 remain closed to you. At your age, 
 Richard, many a young man has ruined 
 his life by a low marriage. If you obey 
 me now, you will be grateful to your own 
 common-sense, as well as to me, when you 
 are a man of middle age.' 
 
 This temperate tone made Dick calm. 
 
 ' I am engaged to Mattie, and I can't 
 give her up, sir ; but I will promise to 
 wait for her until I am able to earn my 
 own living.' 
 
 ' That will not do, Richard. I cannot
 
 A ^Y0MAN'S LOVE-LESSON. 301 
 
 countenance the engagement, as you call it/ 
 
 ' Good heavens, sir, do you want me to 
 jilt her?' 
 
 ' The affair might be arranged. Of 
 course I should shrink from the publicity 
 of a breach of promise suit, but I would 
 pay a sum down privately to rescue you 
 from this unfortunate entanglement.' 
 
 ' That I should listen tamely to such a 
 suo^o^estion is an insult to her.' 
 
 ' Apart from that, Richard, would you 
 not be glad to be rid of her?' 
 
 ' I would rather be rid of . . . of . . .' 
 
 ' Of me, of your sister, of your home^ 
 and of your mother.' 
 
 ' I shall never be rid of my mother !' 
 cried Dick, hotly ; ' the rest of you may 
 desert me, sir, but she never will !' 
 
 ' You believe that she will accept that 
 common young woman as a daughter?'
 
 302 A WOMAN S LOVE-LESSON. 
 
 ' Mattie is a lady by birth, and has the 
 instincts of one. That the captain has 
 come down in the world and taken to bad 
 Avays is not her fault.' 
 
 ' Do not speak hastily. It is ray duty 
 to ask you for a definite answer, but you 
 need not hurry. Take five minutes' con- 
 sideration while I answer this letter.' 
 
 The rector sat down to his desk and 
 wrote. Dick watched the pen travelling 
 over the paper, and wondered whether he 
 would ever long to be back in this fami- 
 liar room, or whether he would find the 
 world and the struggle for life entrancing. 
 All his associations with this study were 
 not pleasant ones ; here he had come to 
 be caned for childish sins, to be repri- 
 manded for youthful pranks, to be lectured 
 upon the subject of ihe virtues expected 
 of a young man who was born the son of
 
 A WO^FAN S LOVE-LESSON. 303 
 
 a rector. He was just remembering the 
 changed feelings with which he had en- 
 tered the room on his last return from a 
 long absence, how his old sense of awe 
 at the sif^ht of the carved desk and hio;h 
 elbow chair of his father had deserted 
 him, — when the rector signed his name 
 to the letter, and turned round from the 
 table. 
 
 ' This is to your uncle Charles, inform- 
 ing him of what has taken place, and re- 
 questing him to give you no assistance. 
 He would not be likely to countenance 
 your rebellion against my authority. — 
 Well, Eichard, what is your choice? — Is 
 the letter to go?' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' You refuse to give up Miss Purvis?' 
 
 ' I do, sir.' 
 
 Mr. Broughton folded the letter, placed
 
 304 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 it in an addressed envelope, and affixed a 
 stam]3. 
 
 ' You will repent this.' 
 
 ' Never, sir.' 
 
 ' When you do you may come home 
 again.' 
 
 ' When do you wish me to leave, sir ?' 
 
 ' As to-day is Sunday you may wait for 
 the eight o'clock train to-morrow morning.' 
 
 ' I shall not Avait, I will go . . . now.' 
 
 ' If you find yourself in danger of 
 starving at any time you may apply to me 
 for some slight assistance.' 
 
 ' You are very generous !' exclaimed 
 Dick, sarcastically. 
 
 Mr. Broughton nodded. 
 
 ' I am, Richard. But I do not wish ill 
 to befall you : you inherit your mother's 
 unfortunate weakness of constitution, and 
 are therefore unfitted for a hard life ; — I
 
 A woman's love-lesson. 305 
 
 only dt^sire to prevent you from marrying, 
 as I conclude that the Purvis girl will not 
 accept love in a garret. She willingly 
 accepts my heir, but she will probably 
 throw you over when she understands 
 that I have done with you.' 
 
 ' You wrong her.' 
 
 ^ That remains to be seen. — You are 
 going ? — Do not distress your sister by 
 making any scene.' 
 
 ' I am going to say good-bye to my 
 mother.' 
 
 ^ I cannot allow you to do so. I will 
 break the bad news gently to her. She 
 is restino^, and must not be disturbed.' 
 
 A trembling, faint voice from the door- 
 way cried, 
 
 ' Dick ... oh, my Dick !' 
 
 Both men looked into the hall. Little 
 Mrs. Broughton had crept down the stairs, 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 and was standing at their foot, clinging 
 with both hands to the banisters. Mother 
 love had warned her by a strange kind of 
 intuition that her boy was in trouble. 
 Anxious she had been all day on account 
 of the few words he had let fall about 
 his love for some un-named girl, and his 
 father's anger. Having heard voices in 
 the study, her fears had tempted her to 
 make an effort she had not made for years, 
 and, reaching the last step safely, she had 
 listened to her husband's prohibition. 
 Richard was to go away without saying 
 good-bye to her. 
 
 The son was quicker than the father. 
 He was by his mother's side in a moment, 
 with his arms about her waist, almost 
 carrying the slim, light figure ; while his 
 curly brown hair nestled against her fair 
 plaits.
 
 A woman's love-lesson. ■ 307 
 
 'Never mind, little mother; — I'm not 
 going far, you know, only to London ; no 
 man can stop at home always.' 
 
 ' Alice,' said the rector, ' you have been 
 very imprudent ; you might have fallen, 
 trying to come downstairs alone. Let me 
 take you back to your room. Richard 
 has seriously displeased me, and is leav- 
 ing home to-morrow morning early.' 
 
 ' To-night,' contradicted Richard. 
 
 He was oblio^ed to let his mother's lio^ht 
 weight be taken from his arms by those of 
 his father, but he held her hand still, and 
 kissed her lips tenderly. 
 
 ' Good-bye, Dick, my boy !' 
 
 ' Good-bye, darling.' 
 
 That was all that was spoken, but in 
 the mother's heart were unsyllabled prayers 
 for him. 
 
 He was going into his room to pack his
 
 308 A woman's love-lesson. 
 
 few possessions, but he looked back from 
 the door to wave his hand, and smile 
 radiantly at her. 
 
 ' Don't worry about me, dear, I shall get 
 on famously in London !' 
 
 ' God bless you, Dick, and God bless — ' 
 
 The last word was lost, for the rector 
 hurried his wife into her room and shut the 
 door ; but Richard understood his mother's 
 meanino:. With the courao^e of a timid 
 creature who is roused to the defence of a 
 loved one, she had been about to proclaim 
 her entire sympathy with the culprit. 
 
 ' She was o-oins; to bless her?' cried Dick 
 to himself. ' Had ever another fellow such 
 a mother ?' 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 London : Printed by Duncan Macdonald, Blenheim House,, W.
 
 
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