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 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 NEW AND POPULAR NOVELS 
 
 AT ALL THE LIBKARIES 
 
 ONCE AGAIN. By Mrs. Forrester, author of ' Viva,' 
 
 ' Mignon,' ' My Lord and My Lady,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 THE SURVIVORS. By Henry Cresswell, author of 
 
 'A Modem Greek Heroine,' 'Incognita,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 A WICKED GIRL. By Mary Cecil Hay, author of 
 
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 OUT OF THE GLOAMING. By E. J. Porter. 
 
 2 vols. 
 
 HUEST & BLACKETT, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN 
 
 BY 
 
 A. PRICE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "a rustic maid," "who is SYLVIA?" 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1887. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 r.l 
 
 A WILFUL YOrXG WOMAX. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 * STUARTS ' AND ITS MASTER. 
 
 It is a good many years now. tliougli there 
 are people lining in the old AVest-country 
 town who recollect it still, since the time 
 when a prominent fignre in their midst 
 was John Ahv}'n, magistrate, counsellor 
 of the borough, counsel-man on matters 
 pecuniary, pei^onal, domestic, or civic, to 
 numberless fellow-burghers ; last surviving 
 representative of a high-class legal firm, 
 that through three generations had held 
 honourable rank in the county, and fore- 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 Y> A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 most place in the society of Stillcote- 
 Upton. 
 
 He was a tall, fine man, this lawyer, 
 bearing his more than half- century of life 
 with the ease of one who has always owned 
 perfect health, few cares, and a full purse ; 
 liberal-minded, as cordial intercourse with 
 every grade betokened ; trusted and trust- 
 worthy ; heartily respected by his mde 
 circle of acquaintance, heartily liked by a 
 smaller circle of intimates. 
 
 That this need not have been small goes 
 Avithout sa}dng, for not a house in Stillcote- 
 Upton but would gladly have welcomed 
 Mr. Alwyn for its guest — not a family 
 but would have been delighted to visit at 
 his red-bricked dwelling, ' Stuarts,' as it 
 had been named long ago, when for an 
 hour it sheltered a royal fugitive from a 
 fatal field ; and which, with front first-floor 
 dedicated to clerks and ofiices, stood at the
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WO^L^N. 3 
 
 main entrance of the town, faced by an 
 iron palisaded enclosure of smooth-shaven 
 lawn, through which curved a crescent 
 drive, beginning and ending mth tall 
 gates flanked by sturdy brick pillars, each 
 wearing as its crown a huge lichen-tinted 
 stone ball ; but the burden of general visit- 
 ing the master of his mansion had never 
 cared to incur. As a bachelor he had not 
 been expected to cultivate the art of enter- 
 taining. There were dozens of ways by 
 which he could — and did — requite such 
 hospitality as he received of other folks. 
 For the rest, he liked nothing better than 
 to keep his house as it had been in his 
 father s time before him, solid and hand- 
 some in all its equipments, unchanged by 
 fluctuating fashions of the day, and to 
 spend his evenings mostly in the solitude 
 — to him never wearisome — of a well stock- 
 ed library. 
 
 b2
 
 4 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 But this rule of life knew one exception. 
 Once every week post-prandial seclusion 
 gave place to another arrangement, which 
 might almost be called an institution. 
 
 On every Wednesday the leather-covered 
 table of the study retired to a bay-window 
 overlooking a long garden ; four stands, 
 which resided elsetime up four corners of 
 the room, were brought forth and set in 
 unvarying array before four chairs, which 
 would be presently tenanted by the host 
 and a trio as devoted to the intricacies of 
 classical instrumentation as he was himself. 
 
 Never had Beethoven a more devout 
 worshipper than the leader of this weekly 
 quartette, and never, perhaps, was his life to 
 know happier moments than those spent in 
 affectionate interpretation of some unspeak- 
 ably lovely adagio, some minuet as grace- 
 ful as the scent of a new-bloAvn rose is 
 sweet, or some rondo so crisp and fresh as to
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN, 5 
 
 put the long-drawn discords of latter-day 
 harmony to shame. 
 
 For three hours these coadjutors would 
 ply their bows, and then would follow 
 supper — plain, but excellent as epicure 
 could Avish ; and then, as the timepiece 
 between the windows rang forth '' Auld 
 Lang Syne ' and struck eleven, the party 
 would break up. Second violin and 'cello — 
 one the widower rector of the chief church 
 St. Clement's, the other a physician of 
 ample means and leisure — would go off 
 arm-in-arm towards the West-end of the 
 little town while the viola would turn 
 down High Street to a more modest abode. 
 
 Socially he was somewhat less than 
 the others ; by name Jacob Cheene, 
 chief of the copying and what may be 
 called ' general drudgery ' department in 
 Mr. Alwyn's office — a man of great devo- 
 tion to his employer, but of perhaps, ex-
 
 b A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 cept in one direction, no particular ability, 
 since lie gained no upward step in his 
 employment from youth to age, save that to 
 which long plodding service entitled him. 
 People were amused at the lawyer's pat- 
 ronage of his subordinate when it began 
 years before, and thought he might have 
 chosen, as sharer of his tastes and compan- 
 ion of his tAVO daily walks, some one more 
 suitable than an inferior employe. But Mr. 
 Alwyn had a habit of following his own 
 prejudices. Possibly he may have had 
 other reasons for taking to Jacob Cheene, 
 over and above their mutual love of one 
 harmonious mistress ; but, at any rate, his 
 kindly notice of the quiet, shy man never 
 slackened. By now the clerk's place in 
 the quartette was as well established as his 
 master's ; while year in and year out, as 
 half-past nine chimed from St. Clement's 
 Tower, the lawyer would emerge from hi&
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN, 7 
 
 door, and bend his steps east-ward as far 
 as Mr. Cheene's domicile ; then the two 
 would return, reaching the office invariably 
 at ten, reappearing to make precisely the 
 same journey at four o'clock to the minute. 
 
 Their comino- and o-oino^ was as 'natural 
 now as the sound of the church-bells them- 
 selves. Shopkeepers, postmen, policemen, 
 and habitues of the thoroughfare would 
 have felt any day begin awkwardly which 
 had not brought the pair by to receive the 
 well-differentiated bow and nod of greeting ; 
 and, if the custom ever evoked question 
 or smile, it was gravely explained as 
 'just one of Mr. Alwyn's pleasant bachelor 
 ways,' with which, of course, no fault could 
 possibly be found. 
 
 Indeed, no one ever found fault mth any 
 of the worthy gentleman's ways, except 
 that they loere bachelor ; and this fact had 
 been a thorn in the flesh to, and somewhat
 
 8 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 of a stigma on, the ladies of those parts for 
 the last thirty years. 
 
 That a man so eligible, so wealthy, and 
 so evidently born for domesticity, should 
 have escaped the snares of matrimony laid 
 incessantly with more or less craftiness in 
 his path was an enigma provoking to spin- 
 ster minds — a standing vexation to many 
 a would-be matron ! But the gentleman 
 was apparently invulnerable to female 
 charms. By now, all hopes of his changing 
 his condition were given up. ' Confirmed 
 old bachelor !' was the title freely applied 
 to him ; and people were beginning to won- 
 der who, in the absence of near relatives, 
 would be his heir, when at the precise 
 juncture he — or fate for him — upset every- 
 body's calculation in the most extraordinary 
 manner. In plain English, he got married. 
 
 The precise steps of this rash and mar- 
 vellous act were as follows : —
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 9 
 
 It has been said Mr. Abvyn never enter- 
 tained ; but one solemn annual festivity 
 was tbe exception which proved this rule. 
 
 In late June or early July, when the 
 long, splendidly-kept rows of strawberry- 
 beds in his big south sloping garden were 
 in full luscious bearing, when after much 
 netting and tending, and watching from 
 early dawn, to ' keep they brutes of black- 
 birds oif,' Bond, their guardian, would 
 pronounce them fit, and bid his master ' hev 
 'em eat !' then short-notice invitations went 
 forth, scarcely ever to meet refusal, for 
 every one was on the look-out for them. 
 Mr. Alwyn's four old servants awoke into 
 unusual activity. The large, rarely- used 
 dining and drawing-rooms were set in com- 
 pany order, brocaded curtains were shaken 
 out, dragon china was brought forth, such 
 silver Avas so polished that the tables looked 
 like an entano-lement of sunbeams : and
 
 10 A WILFI'L YOUNG WOiNIAX. 
 
 some four or five score guests made the 
 most of their host's rare hospitality, ate his 
 fruit, strolled about his broad paths flank- 
 ed by great bushes, guelder roses, and 
 such out-of-date flower-belles, and wished 
 that their chance of such a treat came 
 oftener. 
 
 It was at one of these strawberry gather- 
 ings that a stranger appeared. * An old 
 schoolfellow of mine whom I'd not seen for 
 years — not since she lost her husband; and 
 she is only ^\ith me for a short time, so I 
 ventured to bring her,' explained Mrs. 
 Morton, wife of the musical doctor ; upon 
 which Mrs. Yilliers, a most distinctly hand- 
 some woman of perhaps five-and-thirty. 
 drew near, made a very graceful bow con- 
 taining just enough timidity to be appeal- 
 ing, and ' did so hoj^e she was not intrud- 
 ing !' and John Alwyn, in his courtliest 
 manner, hastened to assure her he was
 
 A WILFUL YOUyG WOAfAX. 11 
 
 only too much lionoiirecl. and — two vears 
 short of sixty though he might be — certain 
 is it that for the first time in his existence 
 his fancy was caught, the heart that had 
 resisted every species of maiden bhandish- 
 ment succumbed to the widow I 
 
 What the hadv knew of him and his 
 position before her ^isit couLi not have 
 been much, but she skilfully made the 
 most of it on that June afternoon. 
 
 • Had Mr. Alwyn always lived here ?' she 
 asked, as he gallantly accompanied the 
 stranger of the party along the lime-tree 
 walk. • Oh. what a pleasure to feel rooted 
 to such a charming spot !' looking round 
 vdxh dark liquid ^\t>. ' Xow. she had to 
 live in London. Ah !" with a shrug of her 
 very handsome shoulders. ' the dust, the 
 noise, the unrest were fiightful. But.' 
 with quite a touching sigh. • she supposed 
 she was doomed to it. Poor people, such
 
 12 A WILFUL YOUNG WO^IAN. 
 
 as herself, had no choice. And were those 
 trees actually planted just when Mr. Alwyn 
 was born ?' as her host pointed out the 
 beauties of ^ Stuarts.' ' Why, how fast 
 they must have grown, then! To a smoke- 
 dried mortal like her' — with a becoming 
 blush at the self-uttered slander, for her 
 complexion was still brilliantly clear — ' the 
 place seemed a perfect paradise. But Mr. 
 Alwyn was a very naughty, naughty man. 
 ■' Why ?' ' Why, because,' indicating the 
 gay groups upon the lawn, ' among so 
 many charming friends he had chosen no 
 Eve!' 
 
 Perchance the bright audacity of the 
 lady's manner took the lawyer a little off 
 his head. He straightened himself up at 
 that suggestion about Eve, and began to 
 wonder within himself whether fifty-eight 
 could be called exactly ' old.' He looked 
 at his reflection in a deep-framed concave
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 13'^ 
 
 mirror over the sideboard when he took 
 his fair guest in for refreshment, and 
 flattered himself his diminished figure had 
 a decidedly juvenile air. Mrs. Villiers 
 was charmed with the cream, with the 
 china, with the spoons, with the room, 
 with everything ; and the more she admir- 
 ed his possessions the more he admired her 
 taste. She caught sight of musical 
 paraphernalia through the open door of 
 the librar}^, and must needs inspect his 
 Cremona : ' The only instrument on earth 
 worth studying!' she declared, admitting, 
 quite apologetically, that she could only 
 play upon those wretched things, pianos, 
 and sing — a little. ' Ah !' turning over a 
 well-used score, 'here was that delicious 
 thing of Beethoven's. How she loved the 
 " motif!" ' And with a voice rich and well- 
 trained she sol-faed forth the melody. 
 *But, oh, if Mr. Alwyn would play it!
 
 14 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 Where were the rest of the quartette? 
 Not all here ! Ah ! then she couldn't hear 
 it, and she was so sorry !' 
 
 But then and there her infatuated host 
 remedied the disappointment. 
 
 ' If Mrs. Villiers were remaining over 
 Wednesday, and with Mrs. Morton would 
 dine with him, he and his fellow-performers 
 would proudly do their best to please her.' 
 And the following week positively witness- 
 ed a stately dinner in the fascinating lady's 
 behalf, to the amazement and disgust of 
 the old servants, who saw in it only too 
 clearly the beginning of the end. 
 
 And such it was. 
 
 Mrs. Villiers, graciousness itself to every 
 individual of the quartette, preserved an 
 attitude of extreme interest through three 
 sonatas, and moved about the stately 
 drawing-room in the intervals, so charmed 
 with every piece of quaint old bijouterie,
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 1 5 
 
 looking herself so bemtching, in a long 
 gracefully-sweeping robe of soft dark satin, 
 that when she left, and her host returned 
 to the vacant room, it seemed as though 
 she alone, to the extinction of others' 
 presence, had been adorning it ; her single 
 absence left it desolate. 
 
 It was only a few days after that evening 
 that Stillcote-Upton was electrified by the 
 news that Mr. Alwyn was to be married, 
 and at once ! 
 
 The widow may have felt that all delays 
 are dangerous, and so prudently avoided 
 any when once her suitor was fairly at her 
 feet. A brother from the South of England 
 appeared upon the scene to attend to the 
 matter of settlements — ' for, please, don't 
 speak to me about them,' begged the lady, 
 'I'm such a baby about business !' but, as 
 her relative was quite the reverse, a very 
 handsome arrangement was made for the
 
 16 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 bride-elect, whose first husband, from his 
 Civil Service income, had left her but 
 slenderly provided for. 
 
 Now twelve thousand pounds were to be 
 hers and her one child's, Leonora Yilliers, 
 a little demoiselle of five : the interest, the 
 mother's solely as an independent income. 
 Six thousand more were placed with the 
 same trustees as part portion for any future 
 offspring, the interest to be the wife's only 
 till any such came of age. Further for- 
 tune for the same would, of course, be pro- 
 vided by will. And these deeds were 
 accomplished, the fair widow had returned 
 to town, Mr. Alwyn had followed her 
 there, and the wedding was a fact establish- 
 ed before people in general had left off 
 saying the whole report must be a prepos- 
 terous hoax. 
 
 But an early August announcement in 
 the ever-veracious Chronicle dispelled that
 
 A WILFUL TOUXG WOMAX. 17 
 
 notion. Mr. Alwyn was indisputably mar- 
 ried ; and, though there was not a soul 
 in the place but wished him personally 
 well, equally was there no single townsman 
 but expressed his opinion, more or less 
 bluntly, that there was no fool like an old 
 fool, and hoped, with foreboding shakes of 
 the head, that this autumnal wooing and 
 wedding might not turn out a tremendous 
 blunder. 
 
 It showed no signs of doing so just at 
 first. 
 
 Bride and bridegroom returned from 
 their honey-moon looking very handsome 
 and very self-satisfied : and, for a brief 
 season, the change effected seemed for the 
 better. 
 
 Hospitality opened the doors of the 
 old mansion oftener. Mr. Alwyn's many 
 friends gave receptions in his honour. 
 These were worthily returned, and the wife 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 appeared indefatigable in endeavours to 
 please eveywhere. For a few weeks the 
 lady's unvarying graciousness secured 
 universal applause, and Stillcote-Upton 
 considered the lawyer's matrimonial venture 
 a veritable success. 
 
 But gradually this feeling changed. 
 
 As a matter of course the old habits of 
 a quarter of a century had early to be dis- 
 carded. There could be no morning 
 traversing of the High Street now with 
 Jacob Cheene for Mr. Alwyn, when the 
 mistress of his table had hardly put in an 
 appearance for breakfast at the hour he had 
 been wont to start out, and all his after- 
 noons had to be devoted to the strange 
 arts of giving and receiving calls. And 
 the Wednesday evenings, which Mrs. Alwyn 
 had smilingly declared ' were never to be 
 disturbed — oh, never !' made but a brief 
 pretence of prolonging their existence.
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 19 
 
 They were attempted, truly, but at the first 
 the lady, less humble than of yore, desired 
 a share in the performance, and essayed an 
 accompaniment on a fine 'grand,' pur- 
 chased as soon as she came home, and the 
 time under her guidance got into per- 
 plexities, and an ' allegro finale ' stranded 
 them all in despairing confusion, and the 
 next week Mrs. Alwyn had a headache and 
 kept to her own room. A dinner-party 
 postponed the third. Then the clerical 
 second violin undertook some evening 
 services for a friend, the 'cello began to 
 fancy the night air bad for his bronchitis 
 (an ailment newly developed), and the 
 viola saw his once greatest delight melting 
 away with something of relief. The sensi- 
 tiveness of his lowlier sphere had early dis- 
 covered and winced under one quality of 
 the bride which the whole town found out 
 later on. The wife of the rich lawyer — his
 
 20 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 master — patronised her husband's clerk 
 with a condescension that would have poi- 
 soned the greatest kindness upon earth. 
 And so the quartette broke up, 'to meet 
 by special arrangement as often as we can, 
 you know,' said the leader, rather ruefully ; 
 but the meetings somehow never managed 
 to arrange themselves that first winter, 
 and by the second they were still more 
 impracticable. 
 
 For by then Mrs. Alwyn, having ^Yith. 
 much cordiality inspected the society of 
 Stillcote-Upton, had come to the conclusion 
 that it was not on the whole worth her main- 
 taining an amiable front to please. So she 
 took no pains to prolong her short-lived 
 popularity ; began to have serious doubts 
 as to whether the town suited her health, 
 grew quite certain that the south end of it 
 did 7iofj and between pretty persuasions, 
 which she still exercised over her elder-
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 21 
 
 ly husband, and persistent complaints, 
 at length induced Mr. Ahvyn to leave 
 ^ Stuarts,' the old home of three generations, 
 and rent some three miles countryward a 
 larger and far more pretentious dwelling, 
 known as Guysmck Hall. 
 
 Here the lady soared into high society, 
 and devised entertainments that included 
 few townspeople. The closer county circle 
 was her ambition, and into this, by dint of 
 some ability and good looks, plus her hus- 
 band's money and acknowledged standing, 
 she contrived to effect an entrance. 
 
 Under his wife's rule, which he never 
 combated till it grew past his control, the 
 lawyer had soon a marvellously fine 
 establishment, with horses, servants, equi- 
 pages such as he had never felt the want 
 of before, though he was now given to un- 
 derstand they were the merest necessaries 
 of life. Each day a smart groom drove
 
 22 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 him to his office at the old deserted house 
 (whose blank windows gazed at him so re- 
 proachfully, he knew no rest till he had 
 settled a chief clerk in residence, much to 
 Mrs. Alwyn*s annoyance — ^ As if we could 
 not afford to let it stand empty !' she said), 
 and every afternoon his wife's brougham, 
 with or Avithout herself, would fetch him 
 out. Of his four old servants all were 
 soon gone, to be replaced by double the 
 number of new faces. Of his old friends 
 he scarcely got a glimpse, except as busi- 
 ness brought them together. So much 
 change, much grandeur, much show of en- 
 joyment, and assuredly much use of riches 
 were imported into his life. Whether they 
 brought Avith them much comfort or much 
 happiness, was a point on which outsiders 
 indulged in stronger opinions than he per- 
 mitted himself. 
 
 But one thing the second year of his
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOI^IAN. 23 
 
 married life brought him which was a j oy 
 unquestionable — something to be wondered 
 at, admired, gloried in — in other words a 
 little daughter.
 
 24 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 life's FEBRUARY. 
 
 Now the advent of this little one was re- 
 garded by the father and mother in very 
 different lights. 
 
 To Mrs. Ahvyn it represented a certain 
 amount of care, which she minimised by 
 giving the child over chiefly to the tending 
 of servants : a temporary check to her gay 
 life which, however, she recovered as rapid- 
 ly as possible : and, gravest annoyance of 
 all, a claimant to a third of her marriage 
 settlement, which she had fondly hoj^ed to 
 keep intact in her own hands, an heiress 
 probably to a much larger sum which 
 otherwise might have become hers.
 
 A WILFL'L YOUXG WOMAN. 25 
 
 So a dreadful disappointment the arrival 
 of this small mortal was to the fashionable 
 and far-calculating parent, who, in some 
 sort, though maybe without premeditated 
 unkindness, always seemed to bear her 
 younger offspring a grudge for ha\ing pre- 
 sumed to enter into existence, and gave 
 her only a chill, perfunctory affection, very 
 different from the devotion which she 
 lavished on little Leonora, child of her 
 first, more loveful marriage. 
 
 Only in one respect did the mother treat 
 her children alike — in the matter of their 
 outward adornment. The spending of 
 money was a luxury neither her youth nor 
 her first matrimonial position had granted 
 her ; now she revelled in it, and the baby's 
 toilettes matched her step-sister's elaborate 
 costumes, receiving from her christening 
 appearance in white satin and swansdown, 
 through every stage of infant decoration,
 
 26 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 more maternal attention than all other 
 requirements put together. 
 
 This done, Mrs. Alwyn felt contentedly 
 that nothing more could be demanded of 
 her, and with Leonora for constant com- 
 panion troubled herself but little with 
 the unwelcome presence of her last-born. 
 
 JSTot so the father. He, poor man, had 
 found out well enough by now that he had 
 made an irremediable blunder, that he 
 himself had been a very secondary attrac- 
 tion to the lady who had accepted his name 
 for the sake of his purse. 
 
 But he bore his disappointment with 
 quiet stoicism, wisely resolving not to make 
 himself a further laughing-stock by com- 
 plaining of what could never be cured, and 
 the birth of his child seemed to him an 
 absolute recompense for all domestic 
 failures. 
 
 She was to him the most marvellous and
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 27" 
 
 delightful piece of creation upon earth. 
 Early morning, late night, found him with 
 his oiFerinej of o^rowino^ love at the cradle- 
 side of this dimpled, solemn-eyed miracle. 
 A whole vista of new joys opened upon 
 him with the first stammering utterance of 
 her baby tongue, and his only pang con- 
 cerning her was that life, which gave him 
 this treasure so late, would be closing for 
 him while her days were yet in their 
 spring-time. 
 
 His friends of bachelor years might have 
 inclined towards ridiculing the pride of 
 this first-time father of three-score, but it 
 was too genuine, and, counting the great 
 gap of age between sire and child, too 
 pathetic to be lightly jested at. So Mr. 
 Alwyn's baby-girl was accepted unreserv- 
 edly into the circle of all who would stand 
 well with her wealthy parent. Clients made 
 a point of inquiring as to her progress
 
 28 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAN. 
 
 on the world's first stage. Clerks, married 
 ones, were deeply interested when her 
 little pearly bits of teeth came through ; 
 sino-le ones were elated when she could run 
 ^lone. Xow and then the marvellous little 
 maiden would be brought to ' Stuarts ' and 
 exhibited in a sort of triumphal progress, 
 first to Mrs. Greaves, the manager's wife, 
 who, with many of her own, had still a 
 stock of enthusiastic admiration for this 
 one ; then to the old gardener, still retain- 
 ed, who ' blessed her pretty eyes, and never 
 shouldn't have thowt to see sich a sight as 
 she was, never !' and then to Jacob Cheene, 
 for whose grave, plain countenance the 
 little one soon showed a discerning affec- 
 tion, and would close one of her small, soft 
 hands round his long forefingers, and so 
 lead him about the place in a state of em- 
 barrassed pleasure, at which Mr. Alwyn 
 would chuckle with amusement.
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAX. 29" 
 
 ' Little Syd makes her choice early,' be 
 would say. ^ She takes the full responsi- 
 bilities of iDeirig the only young Alwyn, 
 and means to be true to old friends, like 
 her grandfather and great-grandfather !' 
 
 'Ay, and like her father,' would Mr. 
 Cheene answer, ' as there'll be plenty to 
 tell her, myself soonest if I live long 
 enough.' 
 
 At which his employer would reach over 
 his little one's head a remonstrating hand 
 on the speaker's stoo23ing shoulders, with — 
 
 ' Chut, chut, Jacob ! don't be personal ' 
 (the lawyer was proud of the esteem 
 attaching to his family, but never greedy 
 of compliment for himself) ; ' you teach 
 her her scales when she's big enough, that 
 will be undertaking: enouo;h for vou. I'll 
 buy her a violin as soon as she can hold it, 
 and we'll see if we can't play some trios to 
 our satisfaction yet !'
 
 "30 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 And the two grey-haired men would 
 laugh, almost forgetting the burden of 
 their years as they mapped out Sydney's 
 musical future, leading her uncertain steps 
 the while along the lime-tree walk, little 
 divining what chords, harmonious or dis- 
 cordant, their three lives would strike out 
 and sound upon men's ears in the unknown 
 by-and-by. 
 
 Meanwhile, while Sydney — or to give 
 the full baptismal title, bestowed in 
 remembrance of her father's mother, 
 ' Sydney Grey ' — Alwyn was growing out 
 of the vagueness of infancy into the more 
 definite shape of six or seven years old, 
 the home life of Guysmck Hall, if altered 
 in any respect, had altered for the worse. 
 Master and mistress were wide as the poles 
 asunder in their tastes. Practically, as 
 well as metaphorically, Beethoven was 
 shelved, and OiFenbach ruled in his place.
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 31 
 
 Mrs. Alwyn's brilliant little dinners, or 
 gay evening assemblies, were arranged 
 without regard to her husband's wishes or 
 engagements. If he appeared at them, so 
 much the better for the look of the thino;. 
 If he kept away, she had always some 
 ready excuse for his absence, and, shining 
 most herself when he was not by, so 
 exercised her powers of entertainment that 
 the elderly host was very little missed. 
 
 Splendidly dressed, lavish at all points, 
 patroness of every amusement in the neigh- 
 bourhood, quite clear now of the common 
 professional set to which her marriage had 
 first introduced her, the lady made a 
 point of enjoying life most thoroughly. 
 Her ponies, her brougham, her lace and 
 her furs, her orchids and ferns, her pug 
 dogs, and fifty other fancies, were food for 
 gossiping amusement to half the country- 
 side, and the only share her husband had
 
 32 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAN. 
 
 in these increasing luxuries was to find 
 the funds for their purchase. 
 
 Over this part of the business he had of 
 Late demurred more than once, the last 
 time with serious vexation, but with no 
 better success than to bring down upon 
 himself a prolonged dose of sullen indig- 
 nation and a heavy purchase of costly 
 Satsuma for the drawing-room shelves. 
 And possibly this state of things troubled 
 the lawyer more than he cared to confess, 
 or in fact had any one to confess to. But 
 it seems to Sydney that, just at this time 
 when recollection of her father begins, he 
 grew older and graver very fast indeed. 
 
 Other people were of the same opinion. 
 
 'You're not looking yourself, Alwyn,' 
 the rector of St. Clement's said, advancing 
 from his garden-gate one morning as the 
 lawyer drove by to his office, Sydney 
 perched by his side according to frequent
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 33 
 
 custom. ' I don't believe, after all, 
 Guysmck suits you half as well as " Stuarts" 
 did.' 
 
 'Half! no, not a hundredth, part/ 
 answered John Alwjn, hastily ; ' though,' 
 pulling himself up short, too proud to 
 parade his troubles, ' the place is well 
 enough in its way. Why don't you come 
 and see it oftener?' 
 
 ' Oh, you know,' evasively returned the 
 clergyman, ' I'm busy. My boy is back 
 from Oxford. I'm coaching him through 
 the " long." But I do want a chat mth you 
 about ' — droj^ping his voice and leaning 
 forward — 'that investment of mine. I'll 
 come round to your office soon. This 
 week, if it will suit you.' 
 
 ' Xext will do better,' said the lawyer, 
 gathering up the slackened reins, his fore- 
 head contracting, though he was not given 
 to signs of impatience. 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 A AVILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 ' Then next be it. And well, little maid,' 
 smiling at Sydney's gravely attentive face, 
 * what did you mean by not being a boy, 
 eh ? A lad could have been helping his 
 father by now, couldn't he?' 
 
 ' So can a girl ! So can I ; so I loillf 
 returned Sydney, her great dark eyes, 
 sometimes hazel, sometimes deepest blue, 
 dilating with a most unchildlike anxiety. 
 (' Why did everyone keep telling her father 
 he looked ill ?') ' Papa, may I stay with 
 you to-day, and sit by you and stamp your 
 letters? You like that sometimes, don't 
 you?' 
 
 ' Little goose,' he answered, fondly, 
 ' don't I like it always ? We'll indulge in 
 that treat soon, when we're not so full of 
 work.' 
 
 ' Nor so fall of cares,' thought the rector, 
 as he stepped back and let them drive on. 
 ' It strikes me, John Alwyn, that marriage
 
 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAN. 35 
 
 of yours was about the worst venture you 
 ever made in your life !' 
 
 Which was nearly, but unfortunately not 
 quite the truth ! 
 
 Two scenes of that the first summer 
 registered in Sydney's memory abide with 
 her, never to be effaced. 
 
 One is of a June evening, herself led to 
 a much-decorated dressing-room to say 
 formal good-night to her mother, who, very 
 dazzling and superb, is arrayed for some 
 evening visit. Her father stands by the 
 ■window. 
 
 ' It is the third time,' Mrs. Alwyn says, 
 in tones of annoyance that she does not 
 soften as the child enters, ' the third time 
 I have accepted for you to the Wynnes, 
 and you have always called off going. It 
 is most ungracious and provoking of you. 
 They may take offence. Lady Wynne 
 always looks incredulous when I say 
 
 D ^
 
 36 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 you are unwell, or sometMng of tlie sort.' 
 
 ' She need not be incredulous to-night,' 
 returns Mr. Alwyn, wearily ; ' there will 
 be no pretence about your apology for 
 once.' 
 
 Mrs. Alwyn flashes at him a doubting 
 glance. 
 
 ^ If you are not well, why did you stay 
 at your office so late?' 
 
 ^Expecting letters.' 
 
 ' And never gave a thought, of course^ 
 to my convenience ! You knew I should 
 wait till you came back, to see whether you 
 were going with me or not,' 
 
 ' I assured you I should not, before I left 
 
 this morning. They are people out of our 
 
 •^' . range. The effort of an evening there, now 
 
 when I'm harassed in all directions, would 
 
 have crazed me.' 
 
 His tone is so broken, so dejected, that 
 Sydney's eyes fill suddenly mth tears as,
 
 A ^^ILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 37 
 
 ^yiih a furtive side-look at her mother, she 
 •steals behind the dressing-table to lier 
 father's elbow. But Mrs. Alwyn's pity is 
 reserved for her oayu grievance. The 
 Wynnes are particular as to the pro- 
 prieties, and she is bent on dragging her 
 husband to their dinner. 
 
 ^ It is not at all agreeable for me to go 
 again alone. There may be busybodies who 
 will make impertinent remarks . You really 
 must exert yourself, Mr. Alwyn, and accom- 
 pany me sometimes, or ' 
 
 * Or,' he interrupts, looking with a faint 
 gleam of his old admiration at his wife, 
 handsome still — ' a splendid woman ' some 
 people yet called her — ' or else you must 
 give up some of your engagements and 
 stay at home Avith the old man you've tied 
 yourself to! Well, is that such a hard 
 fate ! Helen ' — he uses the name so sel- 
 dom, she starts to hear it, and draws a
 
 38 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN, 
 
 little back as he advances — ' I'm worried 
 now, and — and anxious. Could you not 
 forego this dinner ? Could you not stay 
 with me this evening ?' 
 
 She gathers up the long train of her 
 beautiful gleaming dress with a gesture 
 of irritation at such an inconsiderate 
 suggestion. 
 
 ' You hnow the St. Heliers are to be 
 there !' she says, with an emphasis which 
 seems to express that such society would 
 draw her from any duty on earth ; ' I am 
 alive to the compliment of being asked to 
 meet them, Mr. Alwyn, if you are not ! 
 Don't come down with me if you are not 
 well. Lettice will put my cloak on, thank 
 you. Good-night. And, Sydney,' just 
 stopping to let the child touch her cheek, 
 ' you may well be pale. You ought to be 
 in bed !' 
 
 The carriage wheels sound down the
 
 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAX. 39 
 
 sweep and past the chestnut drive, by the 
 curtseying women at the lodge ; and, quite 
 sure now that the house-mistress is gone, 
 Sydney caresses her father's listless hand 
 as he sighs heavily, and asks, 
 
 * Shall we go down, papa, to your dinner ? 
 And need I go to bed?' 
 
 He wants no dinner, he savs, and she may 
 stay with him a little while ; so they 
 descend too-ether to a small, west-frontino: 
 room, opening on a delicious piece of lawn 
 spangled ^^ith beds of blue forget-me-nots, 
 sheltered from the setting sun by wide 
 boughs of a glorious emerald-tinted beech. 
 
 The red light flickers through the leaves, 
 and sets the shadows dancing on the walls. 
 Chaffinches by dozens kept cheep-cheep- 
 che-e-ping outside. Sydney tells her father 
 the doings of the day : how her white rose 
 is out at last ; he is to have the first bud 
 for his button-hole to-morrow • and how
 
 40 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAX. 
 
 she can ride round the croft viitliout a 
 guiding-rein, and Havens, her coachman- 
 tutor, says she will be a credit to him. 
 Mr. Alwyn listens very silently, ready with 
 a smile when Sydney looks at him, not 
 smiling when released from her gaze. She 
 sees his thoughts are far aAvay, and present- 
 ly ceases talking. 
 
 The shadows from the beech are gone 
 now. Twilight fills the room as they still 
 sit on, and Leonora's evening practice 
 jingles on upstairs unceasingly. The child 
 is half asleep when a strange step on the 
 gravel sets the dogs barking, then the 
 butler brings in a lamp and something in 
 a pink envelope. 
 
 Sydney thinks she has tired her father, 
 leaning so long upon his arm, for his hand 
 trembles as he opens his missive. She 
 would read it too, but he puts her aside,
 
 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAX. 41 
 
 kisses her slowly once — twice — and bids 
 her go to bed. 
 
 Then he comes up for another good- 
 night, with a leather bag in his hand, 
 another coat upon his arm, and Sydney, in 
 a spasm of wakefulness, stifles her lamenta- 
 tions over his going a journey because he 
 looks so troubled, bids him be quick back, 
 and follows, a little, barefooted white-night- 
 gowned figure, to watch over the bannis- 
 ters for the last glimpse of him as he leaves 
 thus, in unexplained haste, his splendid 
 home at Guyswick.
 
 42 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A SHADOW OF THE FUTURE. 
 
 And this is tlie other scene which, misty 
 of detail, will haunt Sydney to the end of 
 time. 
 
 A pretty hamlet at a little distance from 
 Giiyswick. A grey old church looming up 
 across a rustic road, near by the fruit-trees 
 of a cottage-garden. A warm, sunny 
 afternoon, with a great humming of bees 
 and scent of stocks and wall-flowers in the 
 air. The constant sound of a busy hoe at 
 work, not far off, and the crooning of some 
 minor-keyed ditty by an old figure, dress- 
 ed quaintly in dark-coloured stuff, with
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 4^ 
 
 snow-white cap and kercliief pinned in 
 front, knitting diligently under shade of a 
 yellow laburnum. 
 
 This is ' Taffy,' or ' Mrs. Taverner,' affec- 
 tionately abbreviated, the nurse whose last 
 piece of official work was presiding over 
 Sydney's very earliest days, and who now, 
 with well-earned savings, takes the rest of 
 threescore years and ten. Her home is 
 with a daughter, once a servant at ' Stuarts,' 
 whose husband married from his post of 
 second gardener there to the dignity of a, 
 cottage and 'marketing' for Stillcote-Upton 
 on his own account. He is clerk of the 
 church close by ; a thrifty, hard-working 
 soul, plodding contentedly on from morn 
 till night, putting his few pounds by year 
 after year against a rainy day, or maybe 
 for a legacy to his good ' missus,' or a for- 
 tune for the lasses who are now doing for 
 themselves in honest service.
 
 44 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAN. 
 
 They are steady, sterling people all in 
 their way, and the elder dame is a prodigi- 
 ous favourite with all her children, as she 
 calls a goodly list, beginning with men 
 long since out of their teens, ending with 
 Sydney Alwyn. Her duties with the 
 brood whose first cries she hushed have not 
 finished with the nursery, as many of her 
 grown-up babies testify, for hopes and fears, 
 troubles and joys, loves and hates, find 
 their way to Tafiy's sympathetic confi- 
 dence often before the household the}^ 
 belong to half suspect them, and rarely a 
 week goes by without bringing a visitor 
 out of her old working circle to nurse's 
 cottage. 
 
 There Sydney, to her unfailing delight, 
 is sometimes allowed a sojourn. 
 
 When her mother takes Leonora to the 
 sea, when any epidemic is reported at 
 •Guys wick, or if any jar domestic lessens
 
 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAN. 45 
 
 the establislimeiit for a time, the child is 
 sent for a few days to Nurse. There her 
 father comes round morninoj or evenino; to 
 see her. There she revels in the freedom 
 of her oldest frocks, and learns the letters 
 and syllables so difficult to attain in the 
 school-room at home quite easily off the 
 tombstones in the churchyard under Taffy's 
 spectacled instructions. 
 
 Naturally, they make much of the little 
 lady at the cottage, for, over and above 
 their genuine fondness for her, the visits 
 of the rich man's child are pleasant little 
 windfalls to these frugal folk. So they 
 keep a tiny cupboard-like apartment, with 
 a diamond-paned casement that tiger-lilies 
 peep in at and monthly roses are always 
 blooming round, for her very own. They 
 mostly iind some infant chicks or downy 
 rabbits for her playmates. They fix a 
 swing for her in the big russet apple-tree
 
 46 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 and pluck for her any flowers her fancy- 
 fixes on. 
 
 She has a chain of double daisies round 
 her now, as with arms upward clinging to 
 the ropes she sits slowly swaying back- 
 wards and forwards in the chequered light 
 under the apple boughs, and her old guard- 
 ian, stopping the clicking of her bright 
 pins to watch her, thinks this last of her 
 foster flock is the fairest of them all, and 
 wonders what makes her changeling look 
 so very grave. 
 
 Presently Sydney calls to her — 
 'Taffy, when did I come here?' 
 
 * On Tuesday, my pretty.' 
 'And what's to-day?' 
 
 ' Friday.' 
 
 * And papa hasn't been to see me !' 
 ' Maybe he's not back yet, missy.' 
 
 ^ No, perhaps not,' says the child, slowly,
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 47 
 
 ' for,' brightening, ' he mil be sure to come 
 when he gets home.' 
 
 ' Sure,' repeats the old woman, confi- 
 dently ; and then adds, ' Was your mamma 
 gone out too. Miss Sydney ? Havens 
 didn't say.' 
 
 ^And — I don't know,' answers Sydney, 
 her voice dropping, as it always does when 
 she speaks of her mother, who never gives 
 the younger born more place in her pur- 
 suits than she does in her heart. Then, 
 still swinging softly, she thinks profoundly 
 a minute or two, and the outcome of her 
 meditation is, 
 
 'I wish, TaiFy, I always lived with you, if 
 papa came every day to see me.' 
 
 Which says more than she intends, for 
 nurse looks sorry as she answers — 
 
 ' Nay, my pretty. Mr. Alwyn couldn't 
 afford that noways !'
 
 43 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 ' Not afford it ! Do I cost so much to 
 keep?' 
 
 Nurse is glad of something to laugh at. 
 
 ' Why, aiford to spare you, Miss Sydney, 
 I mean. Your cost ain't much ! We 
 wouldn't mind keeping you for nothing.' 
 
 ' Oh, then,' says the child, ' if I ' but 
 
 she breaks off abruptly, disturbed by the 
 sound of an approaching step. 
 
 The little gate at the end of the garden 
 path is unlatched, and, striding between 
 sweet-williams and Canterbury bells, up 
 comes a tall, big-framed lad, with reddish- 
 brown curly hair and eyes, over which he 
 draws his darker brows as if to keep the 
 glare of sunshine off. 
 
 Sydney ceases swinging to watch, a trifle 
 jealously, as Taffy gets up and joyfully 
 greets this new-comer with, 
 
 ' Why, Master Bertie, back again from 
 school I Oh, I ask pardon, my old head
 
 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAX. 49 
 
 can't keep up with such a lot of new 
 names ; anyhow, back, and not grown 
 too proud to come and see me, I declare !' 
 
 'Back!' repeats the youth, as he gives 
 her welcoming hands a hearty shake. 
 ' Yes, and likely to keep back. But 
 proud !' — flinging himself on the end of the 
 bench under the laburnum — ' It's a little 
 too late in the day for me to set up in that 
 line, I promise you. For, oh, TaiFy, do 
 you know we are in a muddle, and no 
 mistake !' 
 
 Then he leans forward till he brings his 
 face, with the square-cut chin resting in 
 his large, nervous hand, close to Xurse 
 Taverner's shoulder, and plunges into the 
 story of whatever escapade or veritable 
 trouble he has just hinted at. 
 
 Sydney hears nothing of it all, for, when 
 assured that he is a stranger to her, or 
 nearly so (she has just a glimmering notion 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 she has seen him somewhere, in the town 
 perhaps), and that nurse and he want to 
 talk together, she intuitively turns her 
 back upon the pair, and gives her undi- 
 vided attention to a couple of black-caps 
 <ihasino; each other in and out anion o; the 
 apple leaves. But presently a startled 
 * Good sakes alive !' from the old woman 
 attracts her attention, and she looks round 
 while TaiFy says something else, of her 
 apparently, for most certainly it is at her 
 the boy's deep-set eyes flash the wrathful 
 glance she is just in time to catch, as he 
 exclaims, passionately, 
 
 ' An imp of evil ! I hate her !' 
 ^Oh, Master Bertie, do hush!' The 
 child's senses, on the alert now, hear her 
 old friend plead, and then she jumps down 
 from her swing, runs off past Mr. Lewis 
 hoeing French beans in his shirt-sleeves, 
 and hides herself and a babyish disposi-
 
 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAN. 51 
 
 tion to cry in a grove of currant bushes 
 at the furthermost corner of the garden. 
 
 Somebody says he hates her, and she 
 has never hurt that some one ! Why 
 does he hate her — her^ when she does so 
 love to be loved ? He has called her a 
 dreadful sort of name which she is positive 
 she cannot deserve. Will many people treat 
 her like this as she grows older ? A fright 
 of the future overtakes her. A great 
 qualm of aggrieved injustice sets sobs ris- 
 ing and falling under her fading daisy 
 chain, and her sensitive little soul, inured 
 by now to cold neglect, frets sorely at the 
 notion of active unmerited dislike. 
 
 In the midst of her distress the intrud- 
 ing origin of it, his conference with Taffy 
 at an end, stalks homeward bound along 
 the lane outside, and Sydney, no coward 
 howsoe'er soft-hearted, dries up her tears, 
 peeps at him over the hedge, and arrests 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILUNOIi.
 
 52 ■ A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 his steps before he has passed the bounds 
 of Mr. Lewis's tidy plots. 
 
 He is not by any means a grown-up man, 
 she thinks, manhood being identical, in her 
 mind, with grey hairs such as her father 
 has, so she has to choose a form of address 
 for him as she climbs over a. separating 
 stile ; which point settled she confronts 
 him and demands, with an odd mixture of 
 the imperious and the pleading, 
 
 ' Boy, why do you hate me ? Stop and 
 tell me, please.' 
 
 The lad colours awkwardly, and begins 
 to frown again, but looking from his great 
 height on the exceedingly anxious little 
 face upturned to him he relents and tries 
 to stave the matter off as a species of 
 joke. 
 
 '- Oh, that was nothing, little one ! Only 
 some of my — my nonsense. Don't you 
 trouble about anything you heard.'
 
 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAN. 53 
 
 * But I must trouble,' Sydney persists ; 
 ^ I didn't like it at all. You said I was a — 
 a — nymph of evil. Why T 
 
 The lad, hard pressed, catches at her 
 blunder. 
 
 ' I never said you were a " nymph " of 
 anything!' 
 
 'Well, something of that sort, you did 
 indeed; something — unkind !' the great, 
 sad eyes filling again with tears. 
 
 ' But I really never meant to be unkind 
 to you, honour bright I didn't,' cries the 
 lad, blinking down at her with very un- 
 certain gaze — truth to tell he would not be 
 -sorry to descend to her level, and, for all his 
 ^\Q feet ten inches, to let loose some of his 
 private vexations in a hearty good howl — 
 ^ but I am awfully bothered, and I — I was 
 angry with some one else, and I didn't 
 think of what I said. That is the truth. 
 So just you forget all you heard.'
 
 54 A WILFUL YOUNG WO:\IAX, 
 
 Sydney siglis, relieved, but not fully 
 satisfied. 
 
 'Then you don't liate me ?' 
 
 ' Xo, no, nonsense ! Certainly not.' 
 
 A great iDreath of growing content- 
 ment. 
 
 ' I am glad !' emphatically ; ' and you 
 won't be cross with me ever any more ?' 
 
 'Why should I?' 
 
 * But you won't?' 
 
 ' Well, I won't then.' 
 
 ' Thank you. Kow you may go away, 
 boy. Good-bye !' 
 
 She slips her threepenny -bit of a hand 
 into one of his huge ones, and makes her 
 farewell with such a gladdened altered 
 countenance that he is smitten with re- 
 morse for having vexed such a small 
 innocent thing. So he stoops down and 
 gives her a kiss, with a furtive glance 
 about as if afraid lest a bird on the wing
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG W0]\LA:N. 00 
 
 should catch sight of the harmless peace- 
 oiFering. 
 
 ' There, run off,' he says, lifting her clean 
 over the stile with one sweep of his great 
 strong arms ; ' go back to Taffy. Or no, 
 look here,' his brows knitting again, ' play 
 about first a few minutes. And, I say,' 
 holding her still by a great bunch of 
 hoUand frock and red sash, ' never you 
 mind if people are cross now and then. 
 Take my advice and don't care about it. 
 Good-bye !' 
 
 He stops to see her safely traverse Le^vis's 
 long garden, and when he has started turns 
 back once more to watch the dark-haired 
 child passing on through the orchard. 
 
 ' Poor little thing !' he mutters, though 
 his tone of pity is at variance with the 
 scowl that gathers on his face again ; 
 ^ poor little thing !' and for all the wrath 
 he may be nursing carries away vdih him a
 
 56 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 kindly recollection of the tender-spirited- 
 seven-year-old maid, whom, spite of all he 
 was to owe her, he was never in this world 
 to see again.
 
 57 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 MORE FAREWELLS THAN ONE. 
 
 Memory has a trick of placing her peo;s so 
 irregularly, especially in the brains of the 
 young, and hanging upon them incidents 
 so detached from their surroundings that, 
 while the afternoon recorded still stands 
 vi\idly in the foreground of Sydney's young- 
 days, its sequence of events faded clean out 
 of mind ; perhaps because changes came 
 thick and fast just then. 
 
 In point of fact, however, when the child 
 had strayed among the fruit-trees long 
 enough, according to her calculations, to 
 dry off the traces of tears upon her cheeks,
 
 58 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 and hide tliese signs of woe from Taffy's 
 sharp eyes ; and when she returned through 
 the back door of the cottage, between the 
 wash-tubs on their settles and the wheel- 
 barrow poised for the night on what she 
 called its ' hind legs,' to the flag-floored 
 room where tea was mostly ready by this 
 hour, she found, indeed, the meal prepared, 
 but, for a wonder, left unguarded, while, 
 taking joyful advantage of this negligence, 
 a marauding puss from a neighbouring 
 establishment was seated on the table, 
 alternately paying its respects to Mr. 
 Lewis's private dish of bacon, and dipping 
 her greasy whiskers in the milk-jug, and 
 the natural guardians of these viands were 
 standing far doAvn the path by the gate, 
 talking to no other than Havens, the Guys- 
 wick coachman. 
 
 ' Papa ! Where's papa ?' cried Sydney, 
 runninof forward. ' Is he come for me ?'
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 59 
 
 An instant silence fell upon tlie group. 
 Then nurse, shaking her head at the others, 
 came forward, explaining that Mr. Alwyn 
 ' hadn't come, but her little miss had got 
 to go home.' 
 
 ' So come along and let you an' me get 
 your things packed up, my deary,' said the 
 old woman, in rather a quavering voice 
 ('Nurse doesn't like my going,' thought 
 the child, and coaxed the old, wrinkled 
 hand caressingly) ; and together the two 
 speedily collected the small wardrobe, 
 though TaiFy was so absent-minded she 
 had to open the bag half-a-dozen times for 
 articles well-nigh forgotten. 
 
 Then she hugged Sydney wonderfully 
 tight, with sundry little half- whispered, 
 tender ejaculations, and kept close, though 
 somewhat trembling, hold of the child as 
 they left the tiny, white-walled sleeping- 
 room, not loosing her till she was safe
 
 €0 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAN. 
 
 bestowed in her nook by Havens' side, and 
 ready to start. 
 
 John Lewis and his wife talked, low- 
 voiced, to the man to the last moment. 
 Maybe they never noticed a small hand 
 stretched out, anxious for farewell, for 
 with puzzled aspect, they only drew back, 
 nodding to her as the pony trotted off, and 
 for the first time she left them without a 
 posy in her lap, or a cheery ' Mind you 
 come and see us soon again, Miss Sydney, 
 dear.' But nurse seemed crying, and this 
 tribute of love supplied all other omissions. 
 
 ' I'll tell papa you say I cost nothing to 
 keep, so he'll let me come back, Taffy 
 darling!' cried Sydney, and did just won- 
 der, with ever so brief a pang, when, instead 
 of the hearty responding ' Ay, that's right, 
 do !' they only signed a last good-bye, and 
 all turned slowly towards the cottage, talk- 
 ing so intently they never saw the smile she
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMi\:N. 61 
 
 twisted round to spend on them wliile tlieir 
 three forms were visible. 
 
 But the getting home and the next few 
 weeks were altogether so strange that these 
 first signs of something unusual afloat were 
 blotted out, and so failed to furnish warn- 
 ing of what came later on as most unwel- 
 come knowledge. 
 
 For her father, Havens said, was away 
 still ; and he was very ill, so Miss Foster,. 
 Leonora's governess, further informed her 
 as soon as she reached home. And Mrs. 
 Alwyn was away. 'Gone to him?' Miss 
 Foster was not sure. She supposed so ; very 
 likely they would hear to-morrow. And 
 to-morrow, from somewhere, came orders 
 for the children to travel to London, the 
 governess mth them. 
 
 Long did Sydney remember that journeyy 
 principally by reason of the overpowering 
 hunger she suffered through its tedious
 
 '62 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 length, and the disappointment that met 
 her at its end. For cook, for some unex- 
 plained cause, declined to send up a school- 
 room dinner before they started (she said 
 she ' hadn't time,' though that was clearly an 
 unkind invention, since, as the carriage 
 bore the children from Guyswick, the re- 
 calcitrant domestic was plainly visible in 
 company with two housemaids, a groom, 
 and a gardener, unblushingly feasting oiF 
 the early strawberries, to all seeming 
 jauntily enjoying unlimited leisure and 
 liberty !), and Miss Foster coldly turned a 
 deaf ear to suggestions of biscuits by 
 Leonora ; and at the end of all those weary 
 miles there was yet no father ! 
 
 Instead of his presence ensued a most 
 uncomfortable, dreary month at lodgings, 
 the governess still in not very amiable 
 or willing charge — Mrs. Alwyn sometimes 
 with them, oftenest away, always in a mood
 
 A T\'ILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 63 
 
 varpng between hysteria and ill-temper. 
 Then, after the transacting, apparently, of 
 much business — for backwards and for- 
 wards to Yere Street came constantly a 
 Mr. Russel, brother to Mrs. Alwyn, and a 
 Colonel Yilliers, similarly related to her 
 iirst husband — a move was made in another 
 direction. 
 
 'Are we going home to Guyswick?' 
 Sydney asked, and was answered by her 
 mother, wearing the aggrieved air habitual 
 in these last few weeks, 'Home, child, but 
 not to Guyswick.' 
 
 ' Then where to ?' 
 
 ' A different house : in Suffolk ; it be- 
 longs to your Uncle Russell.* 
 
 ' And papa will be there ?' kindling into 
 delighted expectancy. 
 
 ' Of course,' coldly ; ' but — ' hesitating, 
 looking dubiously at Sydney's eager, 
 radiant face, and then coming to some con-
 
 64 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAN. 
 
 elusion ; ' but listen to me. You must re- 
 collect,' very emphatically, ' he has been 
 very ill. You must never worry him. 
 Above all, Sydney, you are not to pester 
 him with questions about leaving Guys- 
 wick. You will make him worse, if you 
 do. Remember that ;' and the child faith- 
 fully promising obedience, never broke her 
 word, understanding all too soon her need 
 to kept it. 
 
 For when, soon after his wife, Mr. 
 Alwyn reached St. Clairs it was but the 
 shadow of himself that appeared — an old 
 white-haired man, with the icy-touch of 
 paralysis upon him ; a living encumbrance 
 that shrank willingly into the background 
 of the new menage ; a father whom Sydney 
 could still cling to, most dearly love, most 
 lovingly tend, but never, never vex by 
 reference to that recent past which seemed 
 so sorely to have tried him.
 
 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAN. Q5 
 
 ^ My poor husband is a mere wreck,' 
 was Mrs. Alwyn's formula concerning him 
 to the people who gradually proffered in- 
 timacy with them; first the few profes- 
 sional families round about the rambling, 
 town-like village, the vicar at their head ; 
 next the lesser, but more cautious county 
 folks. ^ It is the penalty, I suppose, of 
 stronof constitutions which never know an 
 ache or a pain all their lives through. 
 They break up all at once. It's extremely 
 distressing to be in the way of such cases, 
 especially when one knows, unfortunately, 
 nothing can be done to improve them.' 
 
 True enough, perhaps; but most certainly 
 with Mr. Alwyn nothing was attempted. 
 
 In a few short weeks he appeared to 
 have sunk from an important social factor 
 into a mere nonentity. To be sure he had 
 his food, his room, his clothing, and as 
 feebleness increased upon him a decent 
 
 VOL. 1. F
 
 66 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 body, mother of the young gardener at 
 ^ The Dale,' came daily to and fro as a 
 partial nurse. But Mrs. Alwyn never 
 altered one single line of her new life to 
 cheer or console the waning hours of her 
 husband's. The appliances his ever-fail- 
 ing state demanded were allowed so 
 grudgingly as to turn their bestowal into 
 perfect pain, and the sole bit of brightness 
 yet spared to the old lawyer's existence 
 was his child. 
 
 That, as he unweariedly thanked Heaven, 
 never failed him. Whatever slights mis- 
 fortune put upon him, her young presence 
 softened their keenest edge. With her 
 happy unsuspicious nature by to lean on — 
 lean on ! it had come to that ! — he could 
 rouse out of his clouded retrospect of pain 
 into almost cheerfulness, and could bear the 
 chill indifference of others with full 
 patience.
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 67 
 
 Witli too much patience it seemed to 
 Sydney, who, during the months they were 
 getting settled at The Dale, pondered over 
 and grew utterly puzzled by this state of 
 things. 
 
 Why was her father so little considered 
 now in the household, so all but deserted, 
 while her mother glided by degrees into 
 a circle of acquaintances and occasional 
 visits, and Leonora's fancies were hum- 
 oured to the full ? Why was their house, 
 smaller by far, but just as well arranged as 
 Guyswick, furnished, as time went on, 
 mth continually fresh bits of luxurious 
 prettiness, while that cheerless north room 
 upstairs, which Mr. Alwyn rarely quitted, 
 had such a meagre allowance of even com- 
 forts? And why, again, later on, was the 
 basket-carriage, purchased in their third 
 summer at St. Clairs, appropriated solely 
 to Mrs. Alwyn's daily drives and calls, 
 
 f2
 
 68 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 never to her father's more obvious needs ? 
 
 These and such things past count struck 
 Sydney's childish judgment as marked in- 
 justices, and once upon a time, when she 
 had borne with and meditated long upon 
 them, out of the rebellious fulness of her 
 heart she ventured to speak. 
 
 ' Mamma, may papa and I change 
 rooms ?' 
 
 'What for, Sydney?' 
 
 ' So that he may sit by the mndow and 
 look over the garden into the fields, 
 mamma. Now he can only see just the 
 bank of laurels and the wooden fence.' 
 
 ' I don't imagine your father would care 
 for gazing out of the window at any view, 
 Sydney. He is best quite quiet, and in the 
 room I chose for him.' 
 
 ' But Mr. Dacie ' (the village doctor, who 
 paid, not oftener than once a month, a 
 formal call) ' said yesterday he might be
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 69 
 
 better if lie had a cheerfuUer look-out, 
 mamma.' 
 
 ' You had no right to be upstairs when 
 Mr. Dacie called,' said Sydney's mother, 
 sharply ; * why were you not at lessons ?' 
 
 ' Because Miss Stevens ' (Miss Foster's 
 less costly successor) 'said she had no time 
 to hear me yesterday, she was so busy with 
 Leonora. But may papa have my room, 
 mamma?' 
 
 Honestly, there was no reason why he 
 should not. But Mrs. Alwyn's nature was 
 hard to cruelty. Kot even helplessness, 
 that stirs the depths of most true woman- 
 hood, touched her. In a fit of bitter, petty 
 retaliation on her husband for certain ills 
 she was compelled to share with him, she 
 had located him in the dreary north room, 
 and no softening of mood prompted her to 
 permit a change. 
 
 ' I would rather you both stayed as you
 
 70 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 are, Sydney,' she answered; ^altering- 
 would put me to some trouble, and — and,' 
 under her little daughter's clear, astonished 
 glance the lame excuse halted in utterance, 
 ' to a — to an — well,' impatiently, ' to some 
 expense.' 
 
 ^But, mamma,' with eyes opening ex- 
 tremely wide, ' would a little money be of 
 any consequence ? I always thought papa 
 had — oh, plenty !' 
 
 'Had, Sydney, but not has,' was the 
 emphatic reply, 'for — shut the door and 
 then come here by me ;' and this being done ; 
 ' for, now you are clever and old enough to 
 understand things, I may as well tell you 
 why we left Guys wick. Your father had the 
 fo ' Mrs. Alwyn stopped and substitut- 
 ed a second word for the one half spoken — 
 ' the misfortune to lose all his money, and 
 now he has actually nothing whatever of 
 his own.'
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 71 
 
 * Oh, mamma !' 
 
 * Nothing ! So now you comprehend why 
 I have to be careful of expenses.' 
 
 This was odd news to the child — at first 
 bemldering. It came like a chill wind on 
 her hopeful design, and for a minute she 
 lost heart. Presently a side eddy, an 
 up -wafting of observant common-sense, 
 brought consolation. 
 
 * But, mamma, we must have some 
 money,' she urged ; ^ rather a good deal 
 too ; for our house is so pretty — the 
 prettiest in St. Clairs, Mr. Dacie said yes- 
 terday; and everything is just as nice here 
 as it used to be at Guyswick.' 
 
 ' Nonsense, child, you can't remember. 
 That was ten times the place this is. We 
 had a dozen servants there, and only three 
 here !' 
 
 ' But we must have some money to keep 
 three, mamma ! And isn't it papa's ?'
 
 72 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 ' I have told you 7io, Sydney. All that 
 we have to live on — and it's little enough,' 
 (the lady spoke conscientiously, for seven 
 hundred a year — after her delicious ex- 
 perience of as many thousands — seemed a 
 dismal downfall) — 'is, for the present, mine.'' 
 The word shot out like a bolt to its 
 socket. Somehow Sydney did not require 
 the reasoning even of her eleven years to 
 point out that the syllable cut off all pros- 
 pect of outlay for her father's benefit. 
 Instinct told her that. And instinct, which 
 after this revelation bound her still more 
 
 closely to his side, made her now say very 
 
 wistfully, 
 
 ' Then he and I,' curious conjunction, as 
 
 if both were alien to her mother, ' have to 
 
 live off your money and Leonora's ! So, 
 
 of course — I see — we ought not to use it. 
 
 Did Leonora's father give it all to you, 
 
 mamma ?'
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 73 
 
 Here was a home- thrust, uttered in all 
 innocence, as keen as any age or ability 
 could have contrived. Mrs. Alwyn colour- 
 ed under the steady, waiting gaze, and 
 was angry with herself for so doing — 
 angry with Sydney for causing her con- 
 fusion. 
 
 But, however oblique her notions of 
 honour, she was not going to commit her- 
 self to a direct falsehood ; one, moreover, 
 which would infallibly be found out by- 
 and-by. So she answered shortly, 
 
 ^ No ; Mr. Villiers did not give it to me. 
 I had it from your father when I married 
 him — entirely for myself, though : to use 
 as I pleased. Now, instead of that, I have 
 to keep the whole of you, house and every- 
 thing, oiF it. And that is all you need 
 know or I shall tell you, Sydney. Remem- 
 ber you are to repeat nothing of all this to 
 anyone. Never mention your father losing
 
 74 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 liis property. It is no concern of anyone 
 but ourselves. Run away now, to your 
 father, if you like ; Miss Stevens is driving 
 Leonora to Hedyngham for her painting 
 lesson.' 
 
 But Sydney was tenacious of purpose. 
 Instead of going, she stood, tracing the 
 pattern of the table-cover with one fore- 
 finger, revolving all this information, not 
 seeing her way past it ; till suddenly a 
 happy thought flashed out of the con- 
 fusion. 
 
 '■ Mamma !' excitedly. 
 
 ' Well ?' impatiently. 
 
 'In the desk that I have had since I 
 was quite little there is some money. I 
 don't know who gave it to me, but it's 
 my own. May I change papa's room with 
 it?' 
 
 ' You are obstinate, Sydney,' said Mrs. 
 Alwyn, frigidly.
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 75^ 
 
 ^But may I ? Then papa will get the 
 last of the sunshine always. Oh, mother, 
 do say yes !' 
 
 Something in the imploring tone, the 
 anxious expectancy of attitude, atip-toe^ 
 with two hands half-opened, waiting to 
 seize consent, caught Mrs. Alwyn's fancy. 
 It is hard to rebuff a young voice that 
 says, ' Oh, mother !' as Sydney said it. 
 A most rare weakness overcome her, and, 
 as much to her surprise as Sydney's, she 
 yielded. 
 
 ^ As you like, then,' she said ; and the con- 
 test was closed by the victor's ruffling the 
 pleated lace upon her mother's neck with a 
 fervent, impulsive kiss. 
 
 So upstairs the alteration was effected, 
 swiftly and cheerily. It needed no vast 
 douceur from Sydney's slender fund to 
 secure the co-operation of Mr. Alwyn's 
 attendant, now with him every day ; and
 
 76 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 Maria, an active housemaid, entered zeal- 
 ously into tlie few hours' extra work, for 
 the housemistress was no favourite with 
 her servants ; ' and,' said this one to 
 her kitchen confidants, 'I'm right, right 
 glad Miss Sydney's got her way, that I am. 
 I heard 'em argufying about it till madam 
 bid her shut-to the door, and I was mortal 
 afraid she'd only get herself sat on, like 
 the rest of us. Her ma seems to think she 
 can harrow rough-shod over everyone's 
 head, like she do over the poor old gentle- 
 man's, and it's time she was learned differ- 
 ent, 1 says.' 
 
 By a wide, west, rose-shadowed window 
 the old lawyer sat now, day after day, 
 delighting childishly in the change ; and, as 
 kind Dr. Dacie commented approvingly, 
 ' The plan was capital.' Sydney had made 
 his evenings brighter by half than they 
 used to be.
 
 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAX. 77 
 
 ' Type of herself, sir, of herself,' said the 
 father, his hand fondly upon her head, and 
 the Avords emerged long after from memory, 
 helping her along a path by no means 
 smooth. 
 
 There was one other episode that 
 summer wherein her mother's will and 
 Sydney's had a smart tussle, and again the 
 child scored a ^dctory. 
 
 People began coming to The Dale for 
 afternoons of tennis, or of music, for 
 Leonora was eighteen now, and variety was 
 as the very salt of the young lady's ex- 
 istence. The mirth of many voices would 
 often float upwards to the west window, 
 where Sydney was mostly with her father, 
 and, though he rarely asked about these 
 gatherings, they always seemed to bring 
 an extra sadness to his deeply-lined face. 
 With so many to and fro, perchance the 
 neglect came home to him that the throng
 
 78 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 never spared him a half-hour's guest. So 
 Sydney interpreted his sigh one day, and, 
 with her little warm hand stroking his 
 white hair, asked — 
 
 ' Isn't there anyone, papa, you would like 
 to have come and see you some day ? Any- 
 one, I mean, you used to care for before 
 we came here ?' 
 
 She had hit on the very theme of her 
 father's thoughts. He answered instantly, 
 though slowly, for speech was difficult to 
 him now, and indistinct when hurried. 
 
 ' Yes, there is some one who would come 
 if I could ask him. I msh I could.' 
 
 'Who, papa?' 
 
 'You knew him. Do you remember him, 
 Sydney? Jacob — Jacob Cheene.' 
 
 ' Remember him ! Why, yes, papa. He 
 used to carry me about at " Stuarts," and 
 keep sweeties for me in his desk ! I am so 
 glad you want him. We'll get him here !'
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 79 
 
 And despite Mr. Alwyn's nervous, ' No, 
 no, child ; your mother wouldn't have 
 him !' Sydney lay in wait for the first 
 opportunity of petitioning for this visitor, 
 only, however, to be met by most positive 
 refusal. 
 
 ' It would be no pleasure to your father, 
 I assure you, Sydney. He can't possibly 
 desire to see this man. He is not fit to 
 receive anyone.' 
 
 ' But he said he did really wdsh for Mr. 
 Cheene, mamma; and,' piteously, ' he never 
 has anyone at all !' 
 
 ' You know perfectly well he is ordered 
 to be kept quiet. You have heard Dr. 
 Dacie say so over and over again !' 
 
 ' But Dr. Dacie says an old friend's 
 coming would not hurt him. I saw him 
 this morning, going past, mamma, and ran 
 out to ask him.' 
 
 ' You take too much upon yourself,
 
 80 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 Sydney,' rebuked her motlier, frowning. 
 Now, if this ^ old friend ' were not invited, 
 it would look as if she had negatived the 
 scheme. The Dacies' ' poor Mr. 7ilwyn ' 
 had had a ring in it she had not liked of 
 late. There was little love lost between 
 herself and the warm-hearted doctor, or his 
 family. 
 
 ^ You had no right to speak of anyone's 
 coming till you had named it first to me,' 
 she pursued, irritably ; ' I have no room 
 for such a visitor. He was only a clerk. 
 I couldn't have him at my own table, and I 
 certainly couldn't have him gossiping with 
 the servants !' 
 
 Gossiping mth the servants ! Not fit for 
 her mother's table ! Her father's one much- 
 desired friend ! 
 
 Sydney's temper rose with a vehement 
 gust. A rush of angry tears filled her 
 eyes ; by nature she had every generous
 
 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAN 81 
 
 impulse that in forner times had made 
 John i^lwyn such a universal faA^ourite. 
 Kow she could have flashed out at her 
 mother, said all manner of things more 
 pertinent than pleasant, and ended, pro- 
 bably, with a burst of weeping and a dis- 
 missal to bed at the early hour of six p.m. 
 But she recollected the old man upstairs, 
 who, she had pledged her childish word, 
 should have this one pleasure he seemed to 
 covet, and the restraint of tAvice twelve 
 years came over her. She swallowed a 
 great choking and urged bravely on : 
 
 ^ If Mr. Cheene may come, he can have 
 my room, and I will sleep Avith the 
 servants. If Maria may set his dinner 
 and whatever he wants in the school-room, 
 I'll wait on him myself. Papa wishes 
 for such a few things ; may he not have 
 this ?' 
 
 Mrs. Alwyn hated to be persuaded 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 against her inclination ; another more de- 
 cided negative was on her lips when — 
 
 ' May he not, mother?' said Sydney. 
 
 The word, so seldom used, dominated 
 her spite of herself. She wavered with a 
 gesture of annoyed perplexity, and Sydney 
 went on, sadly : 
 
 ' Hills said, when I told her I was going 
 to ask you, it would be a pity for papa not 
 to have just this pleasure, for he didn't 
 get much 1' 
 
 It was naive addenda^ but it gained her 
 cause. Mrs. Alwyn could have boxed her 
 young daughter s ears for putting the onus 
 of refusal so publicly upon her. No 
 woman of any age lets go willingly her 
 mantle of amiability, fit it never so 
 uneasily. 
 
 ' Oh, the man must come, I suppose, if 
 you are all so persistent about it,' she said, 
 testily ; ^ and, pray, Sydney, don't go lead-
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 83 
 
 ing people to suppose I msh. to stop your 
 father's pleasures.' 
 
 So, to the indescribable satisfaction of 
 the trusty old clerk, an invitation in Syd- 
 ney's unformed penmanship soon reached 
 him ; and he needed no reiteration of her 
 * Do come, please, for papa wants you,' to 
 bring him quickly to St. Clairs. 
 
 Arriving on foot from Hedyngham, he 
 was received by Mrs. Alwyn with a 
 dignified, 
 
 ' You are very good, Mr. Cheene, to 
 travel across the country for such a doubt- 
 ful pleasure as meeting poor Mr. Alwyn. 
 A mere wreck you will find him. Kindly 
 excuse my having many engagements ; I 
 am taking my daughter out both to-day 
 and to-morrow. Sydney, I hope, will 
 attend to you.' 
 
 Then the lady bowed herself away, no 
 whit less patronising than of yore, and 
 
 g2
 
 84 A WILFUL YOUNG ^YOMAN. 
 
 Jacob Cheene, his young hostess hovering 
 about him in shy delight, was taken up- 
 stairs to meet once more the old employer 
 from whom he had been parted by such 
 ill hap. 
 
 It was a curious re-union, fraught at 
 first with speechless pain, when the master, 
 fallen from his high estate of wealth, mute 
 now Avith struggling emotion, clasped 
 hands with his old clerk, and looked at 
 him with eyes that seemed to have for- 
 gotten how to be glad I Curious and 
 grievous. For Jacob Cheene, the once 
 shy dependent, had to keep calm and lead 
 the way to cheerfulness, when for thoughts 
 of the old placid past, and sight of the 
 shattered life before him, he could have sat 
 down and cried like any baby ! 
 
 But that was only for a little while, and 
 later on it was good to see them both, when 
 the ailing man's state was recognised by
 
 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAX. 85 
 
 bis guest ; for then all that was bright and 
 welcome did the clerk recall and recount, 
 speaking more and more freely as he found, 
 with relief, that the lawyer's memory was 
 a mere blank on some points. So he spoke 
 of ' Stuarts,' telling how well the house 
 looked with its rich new tenants, and related 
 much news, always pleasant, of old towns- 
 folk ; and if a question were put, with a 
 touch of half-frightened recollection about 
 some unsafe names, why, those, it so hap- 
 pened, Jacob Cheene had quite forgotten, 
 or knew nothing of but so-and so — and 
 then he led his listener on safer ground 
 again ! 
 
 Thus talked the two old men — the 
 feebleness of one making the other seem 
 almost youthful — till they must needs 
 revive old stories of the wondrous music 
 evenings ; and Sydney saw her father's face 
 light up, his lingers, white, wasted, nerve-
 
 86 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 less, stirring to the touch of invisible 
 strings as Jacob Cheene described that 
 great finale wherein the first violin had led 
 such a glorious presto as left them all exult- 
 ant, breathless, fit for never another chord 
 that night ! 
 
 That was the safest theme they found. 
 Pleased as a child, the host kept harping 
 on it, and the next day of Jacob's visit 
 Sydney found her father's violin (' It 
 must have been left behind, for some one 
 sent it to papa months after we got here,' 
 she explained. 'Wasn't it strange ?' and 
 Mr. Cheene said it was, very !), and the 
 much-loved instrument was tenderly laid 
 upon its master's knees, just, as it were, 
 for recognition, and leave to be touched by 
 another, and then the loose strings were 
 attuned, and the clerk played most rever- 
 ently a theme well known — so beautiful it 
 might have been some saintly funeral song.
 
 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAN. 87 
 
 But the delight was too vivid. It set 
 one hearer trembling past restraint. So 
 the notes, strange at The Dale, were 
 silenced. Only in cautiously chosen con- 
 verse of old times the rest of that day was 
 passed, and with the morrow Jacob 
 Cheene bade his master farewell. 
 
 Sydney, most constant and attentive 
 little handmaid to her father's friend, went 
 with him to the station at Hedyngham, 
 having secured the pony- carriage by a 
 stroke of genius (brushing Leonora's hair 
 overnight for an hour, and getting her to 
 ask their mother its loan !) and together 
 they talked as he waited for his train. 
 
 ' If ever chance brings you my way, 
 Miss Sydney, though it doesn't seem likely 
 to now, you'll be sure to come and see me.* 
 
 She promised ^ Yes; that she would.' 
 
 ' And you'll write to me and tell me 
 about your father?'
 
 88 A ^^ILFUL YOUXG ^'OMAN. 
 
 Again ' Yes/ most willingly. 
 
 ' For,' stopping as they paced tlie plat- 
 form to take one more long look at John 
 Alwyn's child, with something of a haze 
 about his own sight — ' for there never was 
 a kinder, truer, better friend than he was 
 to me !' 
 
 ' Yes, he is good, isn't he, Mr. Cheene ?' 
 Sydney breaks in, her lips trembling at this 
 praise — very sweet, though, alas ! almost 
 unheard nowadays by her jealous ears ; ' he 
 is so gentle ; you don't half know how 
 gentle and uncomplaining he is ! and he 
 was always — when he was well — good to 
 everyone, wasn't he, Mr. Cheene ?' 
 
 ' Ah ! that he always meant to be, I'll 
 stake my life,' returns her companion ; and 
 more he cannot say, for the train comes 
 shrieking up, he keeps shaking the little 
 child's hand till the guard hustles him into 
 his carriage, and in another minute he
 
 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAX. 89 
 
 is out of sight and out of questioning. 
 
 But that flying visit was a wondrous 
 pleasure to Sydney's father. He talks of it 
 morning, noon, and night for days after, 
 always with delight. 
 
 Always but once. An evening when 
 some fortnight had gone by, and Leonora 
 and her mother absent in the next village 
 at some festivity, the two at home sat to- 
 gether silently watching the sunset, a great 
 piled-up splendour of golden clouds above 
 a most peaceful sea of tender-tinted blue. 
 
 The old man had been happier, if more 
 strengthless, than for weeks that day. 
 But now he suddenly grew restless. 
 Pointing with shaking hand towards the 
 brillajit west: 'How shall I — reach it?' 
 he asked, looking straight forward with a 
 great anxious yearning ; * won't they — 
 stop me ?' 
 
 ' Who stop you, father?' cried Sydney,
 
 90 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 springinpj to her feet, to draw his white 
 head tenderly upon her shoulder. 
 
 ' Why, they !' he answered, gazing for- 
 ward, though the clear space was only 
 j)eopled by phantoms of his disturbed 
 brain ; * they will ! Oh, how I wronged 
 them ! But Sydney,' bringing his shaking 
 hands together with a piteous burst of 
 grief, ' I never meant to ! Jacob will tell 
 you — why didn't he tell you when he 
 came ? — God — God — knows I never meant 
 to!' 
 
 She held him to her most fondly, poor 
 child, frightened herself, but hushing, 
 soothing, quieting him ; saying he had 
 wakened up ; he had been dreaming, and 
 — there, there — he would be better now, 
 kissing the troubled face into peace again. 
 
 ' But I wronged them,' he kept half 
 whispering, the dream haunting him still. 
 
 ' Then I'll make it all right, papa,' said
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 91 
 
 Sydney, ' never fear ! You are only tired. 
 I have talked to you too mucli to-day, that's 
 what's amiss.' 
 
 ' You'll make it right ?' he echoed, look- 
 ing up at the child with most touching 
 wonder and trust. 
 
 ' Yes, that I will, father.' 
 
 ' Dearest and best ! You'll make it 
 right. My little girl. My only one. 
 Now God be praised. Help her to — to 
 make it — right !' 
 
 He murmured that again and again, with 
 intensest satisfaction, as he let his head slip 
 from her shoulder to the chair, and, still 
 with his face turned westward, fell into 
 restful slumber. 
 
 Sydney sat at his feet, holding his hand 
 that shivered twice or thrice, till it grew 
 dusk and towards the time for Mrs. Hill to 
 return for the night. 
 
 The woman for once was late. When
 
 92 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN". 
 
 she stole softly in at nine, she found the 
 young watcher sleeping beside her charge, 
 and, with an exclamation at her own 
 tardiness, essayed to wake them both. 
 One quickly roused out of the land of 
 dream. The other was beyond that land 
 — gone calmly to a region that mortality 
 kens nothing of.
 
 93 
 
 CHAPTER y. 
 
 A HOME UNHOMELIKE. 
 
 With but few beats of his wide season 
 wing, Time carried Sydney far past that 
 summer-tide of loss and sadness into a 
 o^irlhood lio'hter if lonelier, freer if less 
 gladdened with willing duties, than could 
 have been her fate if her father had lived. 
 Left now with his memory only, that 
 she cherished long and truly. Tender 
 recollection softened his patient, fading life 
 into something sacred, and the flawless love 
 between them set an ineffaceable mark on 
 her succeeding days.
 
 94 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 Years that transformed her from child 
 to woman in no way altered the position 
 between her mother and herself The fact 
 of her beino; fatherless kindled no fresh 
 spark of love maternal. She had her place 
 in the household ; studies strictly prescrib- 
 ed. For so many hours a day she inhabited 
 the school-room, the books Leonora had 
 thumbed and discarded before her, and 
 from these she was bidden to extract the 
 wherewithal for her education. An im- 
 pression was vaguely circulated that Mrs. 
 Alwyn and her elder daughter superintend- 
 ed these studies, and for some few minutes 
 each morning these ladies would indeed 
 look in upon the child stumbling along this 
 discursive road to learning; but as the 
 elder came always burdened with letters or 
 domestic accounts, and the younger 
 occupied the half-hour she was supposed to 
 be listening to Lectures Francaises in
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 95 
 
 pencilling enchanting fashions down tlie 
 margins of the pupil's themes^ why, Sydney 
 could hardly be said to profit much by 
 their company. 
 
 Circumstances truly offered her during 
 those years ample opportunity for growing 
 up splendidly illiterate ; liut such fate was 
 averted by the appetite she had inherited 
 with her name. The meals her scant 
 library provided she attacked vath. un- 
 appeasable vigour. Her dullest lessons she 
 invested with a species of romance — threw 
 into her untrained labours all the en- 
 thusiasm which had no other vent, and 
 determined not to let a power within her 
 rust ; but as her father would have desired 
 to see her, so, and none other, to be. 
 
 At which point, however, Mrs. Alwyn's 
 programme came into collision with her 
 daughter's, and, widening the gap between 
 them, earned for the girl that unenviable
 
 96 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 adjective wliicli to lier mother's mind mark- 
 ed her strongest characteristic. 
 
 It Avas the summer when Sydney was 
 sixteen that this noticeable difference of 
 oj^inion arose. 
 
 She was a lithcj dark-eyed lassie then, 
 with long, broadly-rippling hair it was a 
 slander to call black, so many shades of 
 light lurked among the abundant locks ; 
 clear-cut features, scarcely pretty as yet, 
 and a mouth too grave and firm for her 
 years but ready on occasion to curve into 
 smiles that lighted the face like sunshine. 
 
 ' Mamma,' she asked one morning, look- 
 ing beseechingly across a pile of well- 
 worn volumes at Mrs. Alwyn checking her 
 baker's bill, ' what am I to do now I have 
 finished these? Will you get me fresh 
 books to learn from, please ?' 
 
 Mrs. Alwyn paused, her forefinger on the 
 last checked item.
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG T\^OMAX. 97 
 
 ^"One peck, one and ten, June tlie 29tli." 
 What do you want, Sydney? I wish you 
 would avoid interrupting me. A girl of 
 your age should surely be able to study 
 alone.' 
 
 ' So I will,' returned Sydney, promptly, 
 ' if I have anything to study. But I really 
 do know all these books by heart. Or I 
 mean,' for she was strictly veracious, ' I 
 know all I can learn in them without a 
 regular teacher. And it's not much use 
 my going over them again if I can get no 
 more out of them; is it, mamma?' 
 
 ' Not much ; you are right there.' 
 Sydney's hopes rose. ' But, if you have 
 mastered these, why want more ? Where 
 Leonora left oiFyou can do the same !' 
 
 Oh ! down, down to despairing went 
 Sydney's hopes ; for well she knew how 
 grudgingly her mother's purse-strings 
 opened to any but channels of her own 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 choosing. Her face fell ; her lips grew 
 pale and rigid with the effort to keep them 
 from twitching, like a disappointed baby's. 
 
 ' "Two quarterns, tenpence. Rolls, six- 
 pence," ' pursued her mother, settling her 
 gold eye-glasses firmly on her rather 
 prominent nose, and resuming accounts as 
 though this interlude were ended. 
 
 In desperate rejection of such fiat, 
 Sydney slowly mustered courage and 
 spoke again. 
 
 ' Mamma,' appealingly, ^ you don't know 
 how ignorant I am !' 
 
 ' You said just now you had mastered 
 Leonora's books,' chided Mrs. Alwyn. ' If 
 1 consider that enough, vou should be 
 
 d"> 
 
 you 
 
 content. You are sixteen now, so put 
 aside childish lessons. It will leave you 
 more time for other things. You play 
 atrociously compared with Leonora.'
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 99 
 
 'I am not so clever as Leonora at music, 
 mamma,' murmured Sydney. 
 
 ' Perhaps not ; but industry improves all 
 things. Practice on this old piano three 
 or four hours a day. The bass is nearly 
 dumb, but that doesn't signify. You may 
 have a voice in a year or two, then you 
 can take up exercises. Meanwhile ' 
 
 'Yes, meanwhile, mamma!' said poor, 
 disappointed Sydney, most dejectedly. 
 
 'Well, amuse yourself somehow. Get 
 up your own lace, as Leonora does. Cuffs 
 and collars give you a housemaid look ; 
 come and talk to callers ; that is an essential 
 part of a girl's education. Xext spring I 
 can take you out when I pay visits ; 
 Leonora does not always care to go. 
 When you are seventeen there will be 
 garden-parties for you, and so forth.' 
 
 At each unfolding of this prospect 
 Sydney's heart sank lower. 
 
 h2
 
 100 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 Longliad she been in tlie background of 
 this routine. Well sbe comprehended the 
 frets and galls engendered by an invitation 
 more or less ; a fancied slight, a two-edged 
 compliment, one country dame's con- 
 descension, another's hauteur ; silently, 
 but with the quickness of new-springing 
 girlish instinct, had she watched the yet 
 unavailing efforts made to launch her 
 handsome step-sister on matrimonial seas. 
 Now she was to put the first step on this 
 same unsatisfying treadmill ! Alas ! she 
 had asked bread and been offered a stone ! 
 If Mrs. Alwyn had had tact and tenderness 
 enough to say, ' I want you by me !' — if 
 she could have drawn her child's face to 
 her, crying, ^ I'm jealous of your books !* 
 and, with a kiss, perhaps, called her 
 ' darling,' why, Sydney's plans would have 
 remoulded under her will, the coveted
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 101 
 
 •studies played second right joyfully to her 
 mother's wishes. 
 
 But no such note of sweetness summon- 
 ed Sydney to surrender. An unquenched 
 spirit of revolt forced out further petition. 
 
 ' Mamma, I'm not fit for calling and go- 
 ing out with you ' 
 
 ' You Avill be soon, Sydney !' im- 
 patiently. 
 
 *— And I should hate it !' 
 
 A shake of the head and an incredulous 
 smile. 
 
 ' — But, if you do not care to buy me 
 books, may I borrow them ? The Dacies 
 will lend me plenty. I've not complained to 
 
 them ' hurriedly staying an angry 
 
 exclamation; 'but I was just saying I 
 envied them so many I remembered papa 
 speaking of; and Mary said I could have 
 them over or read them with her. And 
 — dashing bravely on — ' Mr. Vaughan was
 
 102 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 there,' (the rector at St. Clairs), ' and, when 
 I said some names wrong, he asked if I 
 would be too proud to learn with his little 
 nephews, who have come to live with him. 
 Would I, indeed ! Oh, mother, let me. 
 I know papa ' — with an unconquerable sob 
 — ' would have liked me to get on ; so,' — a 
 couple of anxious tears splashing on a well- 
 worn ' Markham ' — ' so I must !' 
 
 'Singularly like "I will!'" said Mrs. 
 Alwyn, focussing the girl with chill dis- 
 approbation. ' Well, you have taken your 
 aiFairs so pronouncedly into your own 
 hands, I can only trust they may prosper 
 as you seem to expect. My own fear is 
 they will make you as conceited as 
 wilful 1' 
 
 Thereupon the field was left to the 
 victor. With this hardly-extorted consent 
 Sydney sought the offered tutelage of Mary 
 Dacie and the rector, gaining — plus a wider
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 103 
 
 rano;e of work cono-enial — two friends than 
 whom no girl could have desired better, 
 though, as she saw with covert pain, 
 neither found favour in her mother's 
 sight. 
 
 For the Dacies, to take them first, though 
 as simple, kindly a family as all Sufi'olk 
 contained, were unpretending and straight- 
 forward to a degree that stamped them 
 antagonistic to Mrs. Alwyn. 
 
 The Dales' new tenants had just arrived 
 when Dr. Dacie's promising career was check- 
 ed by an accident that left him lamed and 
 unfit thenceforth for any but a most limit- 
 ed circle of patients, and hereon had ensued 
 curtailment of income, a lowering of ex- 
 penses, a vast change of family prospects. 
 
 ' But,' said the doctor's boys, ' so long 
 as the dear old governor is all right we 
 won't mind !' And Mary Dacie had come 
 back from the costly school to share first
 
 104 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAN. 
 
 months of nursing, then the labours of the 
 one Phyllis they could now afford. And 
 Mrs. Dacie, the load of suspense off her 
 mind, her husband about again, pro- 
 mising ' the creaking gate hangs longest 
 on its hinges !' thanked God unwearied- 
 ly they were all left to each other still, 
 and never let a care for wealth that 
 might have been rankle in her grateful 
 mind, or plant a wrinkle on her comely 
 brow. So long as her good man had his 
 Norfolk cart and steady cob to trundle him 
 from one patient to another, the wife went 
 willingly afoot ; and if among her wide 
 range of cottage calls she outwalked herself, 
 why, then she would beg a lift, come 
 smiling home in a tax-cart (' she bowed to 
 me from the top of a truss of hay !' . said 
 Mrs. Alwyn once, with hugest scorn), with 
 air as serene as if in her own victoria, be- 
 hind a thoroughbred !
 
 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAN. 105 
 
 From the first of the Alwyns' residence 
 at St. Clairs this kind woman had taken to 
 the youngest of the new comers — the ail- 
 ing father's faithful shadow. She was 
 ready enough to be friendly to all, but 
 Mrs. Ahvyn kept her steadily at a distance. 
 A woman of her stamp might penetrate 
 to the seclusion of the invalid. ' Men in 
 Mr. Alwyn's state are given to indiscreet 
 confidences/ thought his wife, and deter- 
 mined he should be allowed no opportun- 
 ity for such ! So as the lady never 
 advanced beyond distant civility, and 
 Leonora was ready to ignore the existence 
 of people who wore the same bonnet sum- 
 mer and winter, Sydney was the only one 
 who grew intimate with the doctor's 
 family. 
 
 When she was still small, she strayed 
 one day into the big parish church and 
 stood, inquisitive, before a fine tomb of
 
 106 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 lord and lady, with effigies of children 
 carved on the panel beneath their recum- 
 bent figures, one little maid in quaint 
 garb bearing a skull in her outspread 
 palms. 
 
 ' What does sJie mean ?' asked Sydney of 
 Mrs. Dacie,' busy close by with harvest 
 decorations, and was answered, 
 
 ' It means that child died young, my 
 dear : underneath it says in Latin, " She 
 was a daughter most sweet, most dear, 
 whom to lose was to the father mortal pain, 
 to the mother as a foretaste of Death's dart 
 in her own breast." So,' wound up practical 
 Mrs. Dacie, ^ don't go home by the lower 
 houses, my dear. There's scarlet fever 
 there. If you caught it we might have 
 you ending just like that little lady with 
 the skull, you know.' 
 
 Sydney pondered gravely a minute, then 
 turned awav.
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 107 
 
 * Except that my motlier wouldn't so 
 mucli mind !' she said. And the naive 
 confession planted the little half-shorn 
 strayling firmly in Mrs. Dacie's pitying 
 regard. 
 
 Concerning her other tutor, Sydney 
 retains of him, from then till now, her first 
 impression as of some one saintly. A man 
 he was who, having lived to past his fifth 
 decade in a sphere of study he passionately 
 loved, felt then impelled to change this 
 peaceable retreat for the labours of an 
 obscure country parish. No rich living was 
 it Robert Vaughan took, but one poorly 
 endovv^ed, with scarce a being for miles 
 round on his own intellectual level. But 
 here a grand humility bridged what might 
 have proved an abyss of difiiculty to some. 
 Regretting solely that his powers were such 
 a feeble lever wherewith to raise his lowly 
 flock, he put his soul into his new task —
 
 108 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 fell at first into a sea of blunders ; preach- 
 ed far and away over liis people's heads ; 
 became the prey of the hypocritical, the 
 laughing-stock of the impudent in his 
 congregation ; then, after painful labour, 
 emerged from initial difficulties a parish 
 pastor, so whole hearted in devotion to the 
 power he served that St. Clairs ceased its 
 broad jokes at his high learning, thronged 
 his church, and vowed if every parson Avere 
 like theirs, chapels might keep their bolts 
 across their doors from year to year, they 
 might ! 
 
 Him, then, Sydney had to thank for 
 light in worlds of lore about whose very 
 entrance she could but have groped un- 
 aided and uncheered ; and never did she 
 leave the rectory without a deepening 
 reverence for the master whom her mother 
 and sister rated only poorly. For Mr. 
 Vaughan's broadcloth was often very
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG TVOMAN. 109 
 
 threadbare, and his tact so sadly at fault 
 that he treated any honest woman in the 
 parish with the same courtesy he accorded 
 Mrs. Alwyn's self! 
 
 Thus, when Sydney was twenty, her 
 pursuits had shaped out another barrier 
 between herself and the other members of 
 her home. Leonora treated them with 
 raillery ; her mother as subjects in which 
 she took no interest. And the s^irl n^rew 
 daily, under her own roof, shyer, more 
 reserved — or, as Mrs. Alwyn put it, more 
 sullen. 
 
 But there was no sullenness in the wistful 
 curve of a mouth beautifying in womanly 
 fulness, nor in the glowing depths of those 
 dark eyes ! Xo sullenness. Rather a 
 mute yearning after the something lacking 
 yet in her existence — a silent gathering 
 force of unused love, fed secretly by 
 Nature, waiting ^viih. hidden wealth to
 
 110 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 gladden the soul of some yet-to-be-discover- 
 ed fellow- wayfarer. 
 
 The first stir of this something indefin- 
 able may have lent a new charm to the 
 young face, for just now people found out 
 how decidedly attractive was Mrs. Alwyn's 
 second daughter, and the unjealous 
 security which Miss Villiers had hitherto 
 dwelt in was unpleasantly assailed. 
 
 Therefore was it that, after a huge parish 
 gathering, whither the rector had bidden 
 nigh the whole village come and keep his 
 sixtieth birthday, and when Sydney had 
 been his aide-de-canip from morn till night, 
 Leonora took her anxieties to her mother 
 and claimed help. 
 
 ^ Sydney was very active, mamma, yes- 
 terday.' 
 
 ' Very.' 
 
 ' And was a great deal noticed.' 
 
 'Naturally, Nora dearest, being always
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WO:\IAN. Ill 
 
 by Mr. Vaughan. Did you observe his 
 bat? It was a perfect scarecrow!' 
 
 ' Xo, I did not, mamma. Mr. Bruce ' — 
 a neigbbouring vicar — ' asked me who the 
 charming girl in white was — meaning Syd- 
 ney. And the Countess said she had the 
 prettiest, most natural figure she had seen 
 for a long time.' 
 
 ' Very polite of the Countess,' coldly. 
 
 *And Mr. Duvesne watched Sydney all 
 the time she played with the school-child- 
 ren at that idiotic " gathering nuts in 
 May !" After you brought him to me, he 
 hardly spoke. I don't think he Hstened 
 when I talked. I said I was tired, and 
 would he get me some tea? And,' finished 
 Leonora, shaking her elegantly-shaped 
 head very gravely, ' he went quite briskly. 
 But he never came back ! Instead, he 
 followed Sydney for an hour with a dish 
 of heavy cake !'
 
 112 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAN. 
 
 This was serious. 
 
 Mrs. Alwyn seated lierself for meditation^ 
 surveying the situation uneasily. Mr. 
 Duvesne, an honourable and reverend scion 
 of the great Comyngham family, was the 
 man whom she was ready to move heaven 
 and earth to gain for a son-in-law — a 
 husband for Leonora. But it was on the 
 cards that John Alwyn's daughter might 
 come most undesirably to the front, and, 
 once there, hold her own in any company. 
 The thought that the child, unwelcome 
 from her first breath, should oust the dar- 
 ling offspring of her first marriage was 
 intolerable. The mother, weighted with 
 uneven burden, puckered her brows, and 
 bit her lips, and sighed, but saw no light 
 through her difficulties — quick though she 
 mostly was at finding the straightest road 
 to her own advantage. 
 
 For once Leonora's unimajO^inative
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 113 
 
 self opened the way out of perplexity. 
 
 *It would be awkward, mamma/ she 
 said, plaintively, ^ if this sort of thing 
 always went on. I should dislike Sydney 
 — and I've no desire to do so. I can only 
 think of one plan to set things comfort- 
 able.' 
 
 'Ah!' Her mother looked up, anxious, 
 not hopeful. 
 
 ' And perhaps that isn't possible. But 
 would it not be very nice if we could get 
 Sydney pleasantly away ? Get her — mar- 
 ried, or going to be, so she wouldn't inter- 
 fere at all ? Could it be done ?' 
 
 Mrs. Alwyn got up and kissed her 
 daughter rapturously. 
 
 ' Done ! It's the very thing ! An ad- 
 mirably unselfish thought ! I fancy I see 
 my way. I believe I know the very man. 
 I won't lose a day, my love, in attending 
 to it.' 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 And, surely enougli, that same after- 
 noon's post bore forth the first move in 
 this newly-suggested family game.
 
 Ho 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 DELICATE ARRANGEMENTS AFOOT. 
 
 The missive calculated to intermeddle with 
 our heroine's fortunes was compiled with 
 much thought and care, addressed in her 
 mother's faultlessly correct handwriting to 
 one ' Major Villiers, Petersham/ and ran 
 thus : 
 
 ' The Dale, St. Clairs, 
 ' June 20th. 
 
 ' My dear Alfred, 
 
 ' It was only an hour ago, 
 when talking vnth Leonora, that it occur- 
 red to me your \'isit to us, postponed these 
 last two summers, ought surely to take 
 
 i2
 
 116 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 place this present one. Pai^don me for 
 not writing and pressing this before, but, 
 as you know, with all the weight of domes- 
 tic minutiae, and the cares inseparable from 
 the charge of two unmarried girls, my mind 
 is always on the stretch, and I fear I am 
 sometimes remiss where I ought to be the 
 very reverse. Your niece and I both hope, 
 however, that you will show you are not 
 offended, by coming to us as quickly as 
 possible. We shall be so glad to receive 
 you any time you may fix. I may add, if 
 you need further persuasion, that I have 
 much to consult you about, much to speak 
 of, whereon I feel that your advice will be 
 
 invaluable ' 
 
 ^Now that must mean,' quoth the Major 
 to himself, taking his cigar from his lips 
 and meditatively expelling rings of smoke 
 as he lounged, letter in hand, upon his 
 balcony, overlooking the calm beauty of the
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 117 
 
 Thames valley—' that certainly must mean 
 my clever sister-in-law wants to get some- 
 thing or other out of me. Let me see, the 
 last time she requested my counsel it turn- 
 ed out she wanted to stay at my Cousin 
 Sarah's in Piccadilly, and to get an in- 
 vitation for Miss Leonora to the Artillery 
 Ball. The time before it was Henley 
 
 Regatta : and before that Well,' w^ith 
 
 a great puff, ' I can't recollect ; but the 
 good lady's affection isn't disinterested as a 
 rule. However, I needn't cry out before I'm 
 hm^t. We'll see what's on the carpet now^ 
 "Advice " — h'm, h'm ! — " invaluable," — oh! 
 here's the place !' 
 
 ' Perhaps it may be as w^ell to name the 
 point that disturbs me now before we meet. 
 Candidly, then, it's about Sydney ; and 
 though she is no real relation to you, yet 
 as you are associated vdih my own brother 
 in the trusteeship of her little property
 
 118 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 (which charge will end next year, for she 
 is twenty now), I am sure you will not mind 
 my troubling you with what concerns 
 her ' 
 
 ^Twenty! Is she really?' pondered 
 Major Villiers, with another pause. ' How 
 time flies, to be sure ! And what's the 
 young lady up to, I wonder! Got into 
 some love-scrape, I'll be bound, as all girls 
 do. Except my niece Leonora, by the way. 
 She doesn't seem to hurry herself. Now, 
 Miss Sydney. At your service !' 
 
 ^ It is really quite a misfortune that all 
 my younger daughter's strongest character- 
 istics are at variance with her sister's; 
 but such being the case, more pro- 
 nouncedly so every year, you can conceive 
 the difficulty it is to me to do justice to 
 them both, especially as Sydney has not 
 that delightful pliability of disposition which 
 Leonora inherits from her dear father '
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 119 
 
 ' " DeHghtful pUability !" ' [muttered the 
 Major, his grey eyebrows comically raised. 
 ^Well, well, the dead know no wrong, but 
 poor Hal used to be dubbed as weak as 
 ditch-water when he was alive. I suppose 
 this is the same fact put politely.' 
 
 ' I find no fault with her. Pray don't 
 think I complain of her. She has qualities 
 which make her much liked by some. I 
 merely confide to you that I foresee many 
 embarrassments arising from my two 
 families, though each so small, especially 
 when another year makes Sydney mistress 
 of her six thousand pounds, and leaves me 
 so much the poorer ' 
 
 ^Oh, ho! The ladies don't hit it off, 
 that's it in plain English,' said the Major, 
 with a superior masculine chuckle ; ' but, 
 if my sister-in-law thinks I'm going to put 
 my finger into that description of family 
 pie, she's very much mistaken. Never was
 
 120 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 able to argue with a woman in my life. 
 They trip you up with the deuce and all of a 
 smile, or half-a-dozen tears, and then what's 
 a fellow to do ?' 
 
 ^ I am so anxious for my children's wel- 
 fare that perhaps I harass myself unneces- 
 sarily; but, looking to the future, I can see 
 my little home peaceful with your brother's 
 child alone, not (alas !) peaceful with her 
 and Sydney. Under these circumstances, 
 I am sure you will quickly see in what I 
 am trusting as a remedy ' 
 
 'No, that I'll be hanged if 1 can!' 
 muttered the Major, but was quickly 
 enlightened. 
 
 ' In marriage ' 
 
 ' Oh !' groaned the gallant officer ; ' what 
 schemers these women are !' 
 
 ' And here I think you and I may 
 possibly arrange something to our mutual 
 satisfaction '
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOI^IAN. 121 
 
 ' Why,' stammered the lady's confidant, 
 colouring up to the roots of his grey hair, 
 ' she doesn't mean to offer her daughter to 
 me, does she ?' 
 
 ^ For if your son Rupert ' (' — h !') ' is 
 still free and feeling any inclination to 
 settle in life, I frankly tell you he would 
 be a most acceptable son-in-law ' 
 
 The Major heaved a sigh of relief, look- 
 ed grave, and read on very seriously after 
 this. 
 
 'You, and he through you, know- 
 ing every circumstance connected with our 
 family affairs, would require no explana- 
 tion of past events, which in itself would 
 be a great relief to me. Sydney, if the 
 marriage were arranged, would, I trust, 
 settle happily into a suburban life. There 
 would be little likelihood of her returning 
 to her unfortunate father's neighbourhood, 
 which I have always felt most undesirable.
 
 122 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 Such a terrible collapse as his may even 
 yet be remembered there. And, lastly, 
 Mr. Rupert would secure a wife and an 
 immediate dower, neither of which, I think^ 
 is inferior to what he may have the choice 
 of in general society. Think this all over, 
 my dear Major, and if your judgment 
 agrees with mine, that the match is one to 
 be wished, come down and talk it over 
 with me. With 7??.^ only, of course. With 
 Sydney's tem]3erament it would be quite 
 unwise to let her have any suspicion of 
 our plan. She has a great tendency to 
 independence of action, but perhaps you 
 gentlemen might like her none the worse 
 for that. Looking impatiently for your 
 reply, with Leonora's kind love and my 
 own, 
 
 ' Ever, dear Alfred, 
 ' Yours very truly, 
 ^ Helen Alwyn.*
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 123 
 
 ^ " The truth, the whole truth, nothing 
 but the truth !" Now I wonder if this is 
 any or all of that,' mused the Major, treat- 
 ing himself to the unusual luxury of a 
 second cigar, to assist his cogitations. 
 'The worst of women is, they're so con- 
 foundedly crafty.' 
 
 Then he began his letter again, hummed 
 and ha'ed over the commencement, under- 
 lined with his massive gold pencil the fact 
 that Sydney's mother had no fault to find 
 with her, put a double mark under the 
 sum mentioned as coming into the girl's 
 control so speedily, emphatically scored 
 the admission of what would be a great 
 relief to Mrs. Alwyn, with rather a grim 
 smile, and ' No question she means that ! 
 But I don't know if we ought to blame 
 her. At any rate, it's all done with long 
 ago !' and finally, with head well back, and 
 steadfastly sky-gazing, he ruminated long
 
 124 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 over ' if Rupert is still free and feeling an 
 inclination to settle in life.' 
 
 Rupert, the one son tlie Majors brief 
 married life in India had bequeathed him, 
 was still free — rather more free, in fact, 
 than his father desired. Settling in life 
 would be a capital thing for him ; the 
 most admirable check that could be devis- 
 ed on certain tendencies the young man 
 was exhibiting for going a faster pace than 
 his means could afford. The salary of a 
 clerk in the War Office (Mr. Villiers' voca- 
 tion, for years before he had entirely refus- 
 ed to follow his father's ; ' going out to be 
 shot at wasn't in his line,' he said) was not 
 €alculated to keep up fashionable bachelor 
 apartments, membership of a select club, 
 a growing circle of town friends, and a 
 taste for amusements, desirable or other- 
 wise. If the allurement of a young wife, 
 a home, ^somewhere out this way,' thought
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 125 
 
 the Major, who was fond of his riverside 
 lodgings, and had vainly endeavoured to 
 entice his son into sharing them — if these 
 could attract him into the bondage of 
 domesticity, why, then good luck attend 
 the business, and bring it to a speedy con- 
 clusion. 
 
 ' It would finely ease my mind, I know,' 
 thought the father, a vision of such another 
 sheaf of bills as he had lately paid off for 
 his son floating ominously before him. 
 * And the boy has got his own income : not 
 large, but I'd double his allowance — put a 
 little on besides, perhaps; he — they — might 
 as well have it now as wait till I'm dead 
 and buried. And then this child, Sydney, 
 will have — have — ' (mentally doing a sum 
 in division) ' somewhere between two and 
 three hundred a year. Oh !' with a pro- 
 found shake of the head that seemed to 
 clench the matter, ' Rupert might indeed
 
 126 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 go farther and fare worse. I'll take the 
 11.40 up and have a talk with him.' 
 
 Which conclusion reached, the Major 
 stepped in-doors, changed his matutinal 
 alpaca for the soberest of well-cut tweeds, 
 informed his landlady, widow of an old 
 Scotch sergeant, that he should lunch in 
 town, sauntered by the waterside to Rich- 
 mond, over the bridge, and off via Victoria 
 to the club where he was likely to find his 
 son discussing chops and bitter ale at one 
 o'clock. 
 
 And, there, sure enough at his usual 
 table in the corner of the handsome 
 ^ Junior Midlands ' apartment, sat Mr. 
 Rupert Villiers, but seemingly not in the 
 best of humours. 
 
 His meal, only half finished, was push- 
 ed aside. His first pint of AUsopp already 
 consumed, a second was being uncorked 
 by a waiter as the Major drew near. So
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 127 
 
 pre-occupied was he in twirling the end of 
 his long brown moustache, and staring at 
 rather than studying the Tiines supple- 
 ment, that his father approached un- 
 noticed, and had^sat down in front of him 
 before he recoo^nised with a start who was 
 
 nigh, 
 
 ' Why, you want a whiff of fresh air, my 
 lad,' said the Major kindly, reaching over 
 the table to shake hands. ' London in 
 this hot weather is a teazer. Why don't 
 you run down and dine with me oftener ? 
 Eh?^ 
 
 Perhaps a perfectly candid answer to 
 this would have been awkward, or, so 
 suddenly questioned, Mr. Rupert had no 
 satisfactory excuse ready. Anyhow, he 
 returned only an uneasy laugh, and a dis- 
 jointed assurance that he was all right — 
 ' didn't feel the heat ; only happened to have 
 a plague of the headache this morning.'
 
 128 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAX. 
 
 * Then that won't cure it/ said the Major 
 pushing aside the ale. ^No, thanks; I 
 won't take it myself. I stick to my rule. 
 Nothing before dinner, very little after. I 
 learnt dietetics in India, you know, and 
 advise you to profit by my experience. 
 But you look out of sorts ' — anxiously, for 
 the old officer was very fond of his one son. 
 ' Are you getting late hours ? Is there 
 extra work on at the office ?' 
 
 ' Oh, no ! nothing particular doing 
 there,' returned Mr. Rupert, pulling himself 
 together under his father's scrutiny, and 
 judiciously answering the last clause of 
 his question. ' And I'm all right, I assure 
 you. What brings you up to-day ?' 
 
 Now the Major, like many a brave man, 
 was no social tactician. He had a trick 
 of going straight at his mark, which some- 
 times discomposed his son amazingly — the 
 present occasion to wit. Taking Mrs.
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAX. 129 
 
 Alwyn's letter from his pocket, he tapped 
 it, address downwards, with some solemn- 
 ity, and pushing aside cruets and covers, 
 leant forward with — 
 
 ' Here's what brought me. Something 
 rather serious I want a few words with 
 you over. The sooner the better.' 
 
 At these portentous sentences Mr. 
 Rupert Yilliers changed colour. More than 
 one spectral bill not included in the last 
 over-heavy schedule he had submitted to 
 his father reproached his memory. A 
 horrible dread stirred within him that a 
 certain florist's account might have got 
 round to the Major, for he had been ass 
 enough that season to beleaguer with 
 bouquets a fair cantatrice^ who never so 
 much as wasted a thought on where her 
 Marechale Niels and lilies and ferns came 
 from so regularly, nor had ever rej^aid his 
 costly offerings with a single special smile. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 A fear shot through him that a transaction 
 involving an I U to one young Tufter 
 — a friend the Major cared little for — 
 might have reached paternal ears ; and a 
 guilty recollection overcame him that he 
 had as good as given his word never again 
 to meddle with a fascinating game called 
 ^Nap.' 
 
 All these and many another qualm gave 
 the young man a bad sixty seconds, and 
 when the letter was passed over to him, 
 with a low but emphatic, ' Just read that 
 and let me hear what you have to say 
 about it,' the fingers with which he open- 
 ed Mrs. Alwyn's epistle positively shook 
 with apprehension. But the writing and a 
 rapid glance at the signature relieved him 
 unspeakably. The whole quickly scanned, 
 he breathed freely again, though a new 
 species of dilemma was now upon him. The 
 careless laxity of his life en gar con so un-
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 131 
 
 expectedly stormed, all the charms of that 
 unfettered condition shone forth bewitch- 
 ingly. All the entanglements he had just 
 now quaked at modestly betook themselves 
 to the background. He felt, if not 
 opposed to the project, in no way enthu- 
 siastic over it, and showed as much by the 
 shrug with which he refolded and return- 
 ed the letter to his father. 
 
 ' I've only a quart er-of-an-hour,' he said 
 taking out his watch. ' Suppose you 
 walk my way with me, sir;' and arm in 
 arm, the two descended the club steps and 
 betook themselves towards Pall Mall. 
 
 ' Well ?' said the elder man, impatiently, 
 before they had gone many paces — his 
 son's coolness nettled him. The matter 
 had appeared to him so supremely impor- 
 tant, he shouldn't have taken the offer of 
 a pretty girl and six thousand pounds 
 so calmly in his young days ! ' Well, 
 
 k2
 
 132 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 Rupert, what do you think of it all T 
 
 ' I think, sir, it is very kind and com- 
 plimentary of my aunt to wish to bestow 
 on me the daughter she evidently Avishes- 
 to be rid of!' 
 
 ^ Now, my boy, no joking ! The letter 
 is frank enough, and we'll treat it court- 
 eously, if you please. I've no doubt the 
 situation is awkward. Second marriages 
 always lead to something of the sort. 
 But do you feel any inclination to assist in 
 altering it? That's the question.' 
 
 *Well, you see, sir,' demurred Mr. 
 Rupert, ' I knoAV literally nothing of this 
 little Sydney. I daresay she mayn't be 
 little now, but she was when I was at St. 
 Clairs for a couple of days five years ago. 
 Just a slip of a girl, no particular beauty, 
 especially beside Leonora. Rather awk- 
 ward, and very shy !' 
 
 ' Oh, she'll be altered, she'll be altered I*
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 133 
 
 interposed the Major, who had pondered 
 himself into vehemently desiring the 
 match ; ' I shall see her before you make 
 the least sign, you know, and I promise 
 you 1 w^on't send you a- wooing unless I 
 like the look of the fair lady. Her father 
 was a handsome man, perhaps she has 
 o^rown like him. And then there's the 
 money to consider. Of course we must 
 tie it to herself, but a wife with an income 
 of her own is an excellent thing for a 
 young man, let me tell you. You'd best 
 not turn your back on a chance you may 
 never get again. Master Rupert. It 
 appears to me you treat this proposal too 
 oiF-handedly?' 
 
 'And it appears to me,' returned his 
 son, laughing outright at the elder man's 
 evident eagerness, ' that you are determin- 
 ed, my dear sir, on this young person and 
 myself becoming husband and wife ! May
 
 134 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 I ask if you've definitely determined on our 
 wedding-day ?' 
 
 ' Now, nonsense, nonsense, lad,' said the 
 father. * I'm neither such a donkey nor 
 despot ! I'm only putting the matter 
 before you as it's my duty to do. Why, 
 Sydney is only twenty. If you see her 
 and take a fancy to her, you'd have a year 
 to go love-making, off and on at your 
 leisure ; and I should think,' with a proud, 
 paternal look at the young man, who was 
 certainly good-looking, though the general 
 effect of his appearance might owe a good 
 deal to his tailor — ' I should think you 
 could get her to say ' yes ' in that time. 
 Then we could have the marrying, take a 
 little house up Richmond way, and I've 
 got a few pounds I could square your last 
 bachelor bills with, and you'd have as good 
 a prospect in life as I ought to expect, or 
 you ought to desire. So what shall it be ?
 
 A WILFUL YOL^G WOMAN, 135 
 
 Shall I -wTite back and chime in with your 
 aunt's idea, or shall I give the whole con- 
 cern the cold shoulder T 
 
 The Major had put the advantage of the 
 position very neatly. A glimpse in a 
 corner flower shop of a ravishing arrange- 
 ment of ferns and gardenias ordered by 
 himself the day before, and a significant 
 salutation wafted to him by his friend ' 
 Tufter, who just then whisked by in a 
 hansom, recalled sundry very present 
 and irksome obligations to Mr. Rupert. 
 The governor was a good old liberal soul, 
 he thought, ^vith some conpunction. And 
 a 3'ear, if he drew in directly, would give 
 him time to get quit of some of his 
 least mentionable debts out of his own in- 
 come. He'd better make a virtue of 
 necessity, then ! 
 
 * You and my aunt are a pair of con- 
 spirators,' he said, mth an air of ^ Well, to
 
 136 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 please you, I'll give in !' ' So go on your 
 visit of inspection, sir, by all means. But, 
 whatever you do, commit me to nothing 
 yet by so much as the shadows of a 
 hint. If you drop a line when you're 
 coming back I'll meet you and hear 
 your report. There's the workshop. This 
 is my door, good-bye, sir.' 
 
 And the Major, well pleased with this 
 first step of the negotiations, went back to 
 Petersham and wrote oiF to his sister-in- 
 law, fixing Monday in the following week 
 for his visit to St. Clairs.
 
 137 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 IN THE DO]MESTIC CAMP. 
 
 Following Iiis letter in due course, the 
 Major arrived at The Dale on what he 
 termed his reconnoitering expedition, and 
 being in most matters appertaining to the 
 opposite sex no more than what his son, 
 Avith the advanced Avisdom of a younger 
 generation, would have called ' an amiable 
 old muddle-head!' he failed at first to dis- 
 cover where lay the pressing need to alter 
 the household by marrying or any other 
 change. 
 
 But that was only in the earliest hours
 
 188 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 of his reception, at the very onset, when 
 Mrs. Alwyn was all graciousness, tempered 
 with a slightly nervous anxiety as to how 
 her overtures would be received and would 
 prosper ; when Leonora was posing as just 
 a slightly ill-used damsel, much tried, 
 but far too truly sweet to turn ill-tempered 
 on any provocation whatever ; and when 
 Sydney lingered more than ever in the 
 back-ground, with a proud and withal sad 
 reserve, begotten of her mother's injunction 
 just as their guest was coming — ' Remem- 
 ber Major Villiers is no relation of yours, 
 my dear. He is a kind-hearted man, and 
 would very likely be inclined to make no 
 difference between you and Leonora ; but 
 recollect he is her father's brother, not 
 yours.' 
 
 A very few days, however, under the 
 same roof somewhat lowered this stilted 
 style of intercourse. Li that time Major
 
 A WILFUL YOUXG WO^fAX. 139" 
 
 Yilliers took observations very diplomati- 
 cally ; made mental note of a bright, 
 eager-eyed intelligence that never missed a 
 single point in the old campaign stories lie 
 delighted in telling, though his own young 
 relative, pleating her pretty fineries, or 
 t"wisting her many rings about, would put 
 in her ' how horrids !' or ' how charmings !' 
 at exasperatingly wrong intervals ; brought 
 to bear upon the case a theory of his own 
 concerning the impossibility of perfect 
 amity existing between Celt and Saxon ;. 
 setting Sydney down as the type of one, 
 Leonora of the other, and secretly bestow- 
 ing his preference on the first ; and decided 
 to his own complete satisfaction that the 
 assumed element of discord in this house- 
 hold would become a tuneful enough key- 
 note in that other new home he had set his 
 mind on rearing. 
 
 At which point he offered to Mrs.
 
 140 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 Alwyn the opinion she had been awaiting 
 with profound impatience. 
 
 They were sitting, these two, discussing 
 -afternoon tea under the shade of a splen- 
 did lime upon the square of lawn which, 
 bordered by a tall hedge of yew, parted 
 The Dale from the dusty high road. With 
 judicial gravity, and a silence betokening 
 -something important at hand, the Major 
 had stirred his beverage, melted an extra 
 lump of sugar, watched the small seething 
 collection of bubbles thereupon gather and 
 disperse, and imbibed the contents of his 
 cup ; after which, setting it down, folding 
 his arms, and crossing his legs, he said 
 very deliberately — for hasty speech or 
 manner would, he conceived, be deroga- 
 tory to Rupert and himself, ' Well, Helen, 
 do you know, on the whole, I'm inclined to 
 think that arrangement you mentioned in 
 your letter to me a very sensible one?
 
 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAX. 141 
 
 Taking one thing vdih another, I might 
 almost say a desirable one. If the young 
 folks find it to their mind, I really may 
 as well say at once I shan't stand in their 
 way.' 
 
 Mrs. Alwyn felt as though, this first 
 step gained, the rest would surely follow in 
 its train. With a smile intended to con- 
 vey the gratification of a mother and the 
 gratitude of a sister-in-law, she answered, 
 
 ' Now, how very good that is of you, 
 Alfred. But I knew that though even 
 you cannot tell the wear and tear of nerves 
 brought about by constantly dwelling on 
 two daughters' futures, yet I was sure you 
 would enter into my cares. I was positive 
 you would see no indiscretion in my writ- 
 ing as I did ; that you would help me if 
 you could. Thank you,' laying her hand 
 effusively upon his arm. ' Oh, thank you 
 so very much !'
 
 142 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAX. 
 
 '"Well, there,' said the gallant Major 
 scarcely at ease under such a gush of 
 affectionate eloquence ; ' let's wait and see 
 what you have to be thankful for first. 
 You must bear in mind I can't force 
 Rupert's inclinations any more than you 
 can force Miss Sydney's.' 
 
 'And that would be quite impossible!' 
 put in Miss Sydney's mother, with em- 
 j)hasis. 
 
 * And right enough it should be so, I've 
 no doubt,' returned the old officer. ' I've 
 often heard that any halter's sure to hurt 
 if you don't slip your head through of your 
 own free will ! Still, I must say fairly that I 
 like this youngest girl of yours well enough 
 to wish for her for Rupert. Perhaps as 
 I've told you this without mincing mat- 
 ters you won't mind explaining how it 
 is she gets over the traces here at home ? 
 How she and Leonora contrive to fall out ?
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 143 
 
 Forewarned forearmed. Eh ? She doesn't 
 look to me an unmanageable lass.' 
 
 ' Unmanageable ! oh, dear no !' answered 
 Mrs. Alwyn, hastily — that term repeated 
 might scare Mr. Rupert. 'Pray, don't 
 think I ever intended to convey such a 
 thing. She is simply the complete oppo- 
 site of Leonora and myself To put it as 
 briefly and expressively as possible, a 
 thorough Alwyn. All our differences, all 
 our difficulties lie in that. Nothino: short 
 of living with us would open your eyes to 
 what that means. But, of course, I natur- 
 ally strive after Sydney's happiness, and I 
 confess I see it most directly, most clearly 
 in a suitable marriage.' 
 
 ' And you're not anxious to make Miss 
 Leonora happy in the same way ?' said the 
 Major bluntly, but a trifle puzzled. The 
 same end attained by the absence of either 
 daughter he couldn't understand why
 
 144 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMA^^ 
 
 seniority sliould not have priority in 
 matrimonal honours. ' There's no question 
 about 'my niece being uncommonly hand- 
 some. You don't intend her for an old 
 maid, do you ?' 
 
 The gentleman was nearer the root of 
 the matter than he suspected. Mrs. 
 Alwyn coloured and mounted her gold eye- 
 glasses, as she had a trick of always doing 
 if confused. 
 
 ' An old maid ! Oh, dear no !' she re- 
 turned, looking down and flicking bits of 
 lime blossom oiF her skirts. ^ There is no 
 likelihood of that, indeed. Leonora has 
 had more than offer from — or, well, as she 
 declined them, I need not say from whom.' 
 Thus the lady sailed away from explana- 
 tion of these suitors' ineligibility. ' And 
 now,' lowering her voice as Leonora 
 appeared in the distance, ' just at this time 
 there appears a great probability of her
 
 A ^VILFUL YOUXG WOMAX. 145 
 
 having a proposal which I think would 
 fulfil my best expectations for her. You 
 have heard me mention the Comyng- 
 hams?' 
 
 'What, the people at Oakleigh Place? 
 The Earl's family you were speaking about 
 j^esterday? You surely don't mean my 
 niece is going to marry one of them ?' 
 
 ' Gently, my dear Major. We must not 
 think, or even speak positively about it. 
 Only I felt I must admit you to my con- 
 fidence thus far. It's the second son : the 
 Honourable Edward Duvesne — Honourable 
 and Reverend, for he is rector of Oak- 
 leigh too. It's the family living — eight 
 hundred a year. So no doubt he was put 
 in the church on purpose to get it.' 
 
 ' I shouldn't have thought an earl's 
 second son would have needed that,' com- 
 mented the Major. ' I thought the Com- 
 ynghams were a wealthy family.' 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 ' Are, but not were,' explained Mrs. 
 Alwjm. ' This earl has only just got the 
 title, you know. The late one was his 
 cousin, and was expected to marry some 
 day, quite up to the time of his sudden 
 death. So these people — they used simply 
 to be the Duvesnes, ' Mr. and Mrs.,' not 
 even honourable — were really, considering 
 their birth, not at all rich, and were glad 
 enough to secure eight hundred a year 
 for their son. The old rector died just 
 after the late earl, most conveniently, 
 and Edward Duvesne read himself in at 
 Oakleigh a few Sundays before his father 
 came down to the place last spring.' 
 
 ' And you say this gentleman is making 
 up to Leonora?' 
 
 ' He certainly seems very much attract- 
 ed. We have attended his little church 
 lately — Leonora and L Sydney always 
 finds something to keep her to this place.
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 147 
 
 Oakleigh is less than a mile off, tlie quaint- 
 est little place, and so comfortable ; not 
 half so draughty as our larger, rambling 
 building, where I get neuralgia dreadfully. 
 Mr. Duvesne sent us hymn-books by the 
 clerk. He has called on us two or three 
 times, and often walks half-way home by 
 Leonora. Of course, I have called at the 
 Place, and the Countess has left cards 
 here. If nothing — if no one interferes, I 
 believe it will end in my dear child enter- 
 ino; the Comyng-ham circle. I think that 
 w^ould be a marriao;e we should have everv 
 reason to congratulate her and ourselves 
 on. Lord Comyngham is the seventh earl, 
 and his eldest son is single -^^oX! 
 
 Mrs. Alwyn dropped her glasses and 
 drew up her still handsome figure, all her 
 passion for position, once so grievously 
 humiliated, ringing out in her last words : 
 such a dazzling vista opening out for her 
 
 l2
 
 148 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 beautiful daughter, no wonder she under- 
 took to rough-hew from the path any 
 obstacle between her and the brilliant 
 goal. 
 
 Brilliant, indeed ! To the Major it 
 seemed rather impossibly so ; but it was 
 not his place to damp her by doubts, so 
 threading his Avay back through these 
 enchanting prospects to the point whence 
 he had started, he rather provoked his 
 sister-in-law by asking calmly — 
 
 * Will you excuse me for being ver}^ 
 stupid, but for the life of me I can't see 
 why you shouldn't settle off Leonora and 
 her ' honourable and reverend ' before 
 troubling yourself about little Sydney. 
 She doesn't interefere mth the illustrious 
 suitor, does she ?' 
 
 Mrs. Ahvyn bit her lip and tapped her 
 foot upon the grass impatiently. These 
 elderly men were frightfully dense — what
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 149 
 
 the natives of St. Clairs would call pig- 
 l^eaclecl ! 
 
 To admit Leonora the least fraction 
 jealous was not to be thought of; so with 
 the self-abnegation demanded occasionally 
 of maternal schemers she took the weak 
 point over as a private grievance and 
 answered accordingly. 
 
 ' Of course, Sydney doesn't wish to in- 
 terefere. I quite acquit her of any such 
 design. But you can see she is liable to 
 be present whenever this gentleman calls. 
 Is apt to be put forward by injudicious 
 friends of her own, as she was only the 
 other day by those people named Dacie, 
 and the Rector, at a sort of village feast. 
 I can tell you how presently. And 
 excuse me for sapngit, dear Major Villiers, 
 but a woman like myself, who has seen 
 much of the world, knoAVS how soon a 
 man's fancy is distracted, what trifles
 
 150 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 sometimes upset tlie chances of life-long 
 happiness. I felt I should never forgive 
 myself if I didn't smooth our Leonora's 
 way as much as possible ; and I felt, too, 
 that I was more than justified when at 
 the same time I was doing my best to pro- 
 mote Sydney's welfare. Oh ! I'm afraid 
 this all seems very perplexing to you, a 
 man ; but I do hope you believe and 
 trust me to be doing my best as — a 
 mother.' 
 
 It ivas rather perplexing, certainly ; but 
 while the lady was explaining and counter- 
 explaining herself out of the maze, and 
 rather obviously getting her guiding 
 threads into confusion, the Major had 
 mentally made an honest short cut, and 
 reached what happened to be precisely the 
 right conclusion. 
 
 ' Fact is,' he thought, ' she makes fish of 
 one and fowl of the other, as old Alister
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 151 
 
 would have said. That's about the long and 
 the short of it ;' and, metaphorically giving 
 himself a pat on the back for his acumen 
 in finding this out, he got up to close the 
 conference with a polite sj)eech. 
 
 'Oh, yes, yes! Naturally you do your 
 best all round, Helen, and certainly I msh 
 both your young folks good luck. And I 
 won't quarrel with the part of your plan 
 which offers one of them to my boy. Let 
 me see. Rupert is pretty well tied to the 
 desk, but he will have two or three clear 
 days in August^ May I tell him to run 
 down then?' 
 
 ' Certainly ! Before if he like. From 
 the Saturday evening to Monday morning. 
 We will send to meet him, and have him 
 driven back for the seven o'clock train from 
 Hemynford.' 
 
 ' I'll tell him, then, and you'll soon have 
 him over. And I'm not to give a hint of
 
 152 . A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN". 
 
 what lie comes for to my dark-haired friend 
 yonder?' nodding towards Sydney, who 
 had just entered the garden from the 
 village. 
 
 ^ Not for a moment. Xot a word, 
 please.' 
 
 ' So be it. This is a pretty place, this 
 Dale,' looking at the white-gabled house, 
 ivy up the front, clematis over the porch, 
 panelled doorway, and mullioned windows ; 
 * how came your brother to own it ? It 
 looks as though it should belong to some 
 squire of these parts rather than be a 
 loose bit of property to a man from 
 another county.' 
 
 ' It was once one of the Comyngham 
 residences,' explained ]\Irs. Alwyn : ' a 
 Duvesne lived here for generations, I 
 believe. But the last earl's grandfather 
 lost heavily at cards, and I've been told 
 that The Dale changed hands one night
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 153 
 
 over the whist table. Then it had two or 
 three different owners, and came into 
 the market when Wilhani was living at 
 St. Edmund's : so as he got it cheap he 
 bought it. You know he is ahvays ready 
 for a bargain by road, river, or rail.' 
 
 ' And mostly makes a good thing of it, I'll 
 warrant,' said the Major ; ' well, it came in 
 handily for you. Suits you admirably. 
 It's lucky Mr. Russell has not been tempt- 
 ed by a good offer to sell it over your 
 head, for you would hardly like to leave it 
 now.' 
 
 ' Xot under present circumstances,' re- 
 plied Mrs. Alwyn, with a glance at Leon- 
 ora among the flower-beds ; ' things have 
 been too depressed about here for WilHani 
 to sell profitably. But I've made him an 
 offer for The Dale myself, and I hope he's 
 likely to close with it. Of course it will 
 lessen the few thousands I shall have left
 
 154 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 to live on when Sydney takes her own. But 
 I think it a desirable investment for me and 
 Leonora.' Then after about ten seconds' 
 pause, ' The Comynghams, I believe, are 
 anxious for it.' 
 
 ' And you mean they may have it with 
 the young lady ; if not, go without it ! 
 Well devised,' laughed the Major ; but Mrs. 
 Alwyn, vexed with herself for shoA^dng her 
 cards so plainly in a boastful moment, 
 hurriedly changed the subject. 
 
 ^ Say nothing to Sydney of her little 
 fortune at present, please. There is no 
 need to explain till she is nearer of age ; if 
 on the eve of marrying, so much the 
 better. I have thought it over, and I am 
 sure this is best for all of us, Mr. Rupert 
 included.' 
 
 The Major could only bow acquiesc- 
 ence. For his own part he would have 
 preferred the girl to know her pecuniary
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 155 
 
 value before he sent his son a-courting. 
 But women ought to understand each 
 other best ; they had a circumlocutory way 
 of oroino; to work over trifles he couldn't 
 pretend to understand, and therefore had 
 best not interefere mth. So contented, 
 on the whole, with his confabulation, he 
 joined the young people, w^hile Mrs. Alwyn 
 wdth a satisfied smile w^nt in to dress for 
 dinner. 
 
 ' Much of gardeners, either of you ?' he 
 questioned, noticing, as he neared them, the 
 gTeat delight on Sydney's mobile face, as 
 she bent over a lovely half-opened rose, 
 bent till it met her cheek in w^hat seemed a 
 mutual caress ; ' it's fine exercise for those 
 that like it.' 
 
 ' Oh, will you persuade mamma so ?' 
 cried Sydney. ' I think it's work that 
 people in the country ought to be allowed, 
 don't you. Major Yilliers ? Somehow one
 
 156 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 feels the better for the very touch of a 
 flower,' and again she stroked the exqui- 
 site petals which she had watched day by 
 day from their first unfolding. 
 
 '• And are you of the same way of think- 
 ing ?' the Major asked his niece, who 
 answered, gracefully sheltering her face 
 from the sun's slanting raysmth a big straw 
 fan, ^ Oh, yes, I constantly feel a great 
 deal the better for them, uncle, especially 
 when they match one's dress so deliciously 
 as this darling does !' and stoo]3ing, her 
 taper fingers dexterously broke off the last 
 lovely ' La France,' and transferred it to 
 the folds of lace meandering down her 
 delicate pink robe. 
 
 Sydney almost visibly winced, crimson- 
 ed, and without a word turned off to the 
 house. Leonora looked after her with an 
 amused smile and a little shrug. 
 
 ' Now 1 suppose this was one of her
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG "WO^IAX. 157 
 
 pets, SO I've offended her,' she exclaimed. 
 ' She is so odd. I do wish Sydney could be 
 more like us !' 
 
 ' The same song her mother sings,'" 
 thought the Major, and whether by 
 accident or by design of Mrs. Alwyn to 
 demonstrate the difficulties she had com- 
 plained of, he heard during the next few 
 days a great deal more in the same strain. 
 
 ' May I appeal to you, dear Major 
 Villiers,' begged his hostess, as soon as he 
 appeared at the breakfast table next 
 morning, ^ as quite one of ourselves, will 
 you say whether her sister's wishes, or, I 
 may add, the wants of the household, or an 
 engagement of her own making, a fulfil- 
 ment of her own whim, should take pre- 
 cedence with Sydney. Perhaps she A^ill 
 pay your verdict the compliment of attend- 
 ing to it.' 
 
 ' Well, all depends on what the wisb^
 
 158 A AVILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 and the want, and the whim may be,' re- 
 turned the Major, rubbing his hands and 
 endeavouring to give the matter a jocular 
 turn, with a genial good-morning all round. 
 ' Details, if you please, ladies !' 
 
 ' Leonora particularly wants something 
 from Hemyngford. / ask Sydney to drive 
 in for it. Site prefers staying at home to 
 practise a so-called singing-class at the 
 church at noon.' 
 
 'Well, with a little accommodation 
 couldn't all be managed?' said the Major ; 
 the man of war was a most thorough-going 
 man of peace. ^ Couldn't the singing-class 
 be put off, or the drive take place in the 
 afternoon ? One or the other, surely.' 
 
 ' I require my commission executed 
 before luncheon,' said Mrs. Alwyn, very 
 positively, ' I should think the class can 
 be put oif, if Sydney chooses.' 
 
 ' Mamma,' said the girl, speaking as if
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 159 
 
 distressed at the altercation she was driven 
 to, 'you know Mr. Vaughan fixed noon- 
 time, it is too late for me to alter, if I 
 wished.' 
 
 ' Then send and ask Mary Dacie to take 
 
 it; 
 
 ' Her father is not so well. She has her 
 hands so full. I should be so glad if I 
 might ease her.' 
 
 ' At my expense ?' said Mrs. Alwyn, in 
 deeply aggrieved tones. 'Very well, 
 Sydney; if you will not alter your mind to 
 oblige me I cannot compel you. Tell Hills' 
 — to the servant just entering with the post- 
 bag — ' the pony will not be wanted this 
 morning. Leonora, darling, give your 
 uncle a cutlet. Sydney, if it is not too 
 much trouble, vnll you pass Major Villiers 
 the toast ? You will excuse my opening 
 this, Avill you not?' 
 
 And the ruffled hostess proceeded to
 
 160 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 disinter tlie correspondence of The Dale 
 from its leathern receptacle ; turning out, 
 as luck would have it, among papers, cir- 
 culars, and post-cards, one communication 
 that proved a fresh bone of contention. 
 
 ^From that old man again,' Mrs. 
 Alwyn exclaimed, tossing a letter over to 
 her younger daughter. ' My dear, dear 
 Sj^dney, will you never oblige me by let- 
 ting that correspondence drop?' (Sydney 
 stooped over her coffee, answering nothing, 
 her letter held tight beneath the table) ,- 
 ' Can you not, knomng my distinct desire, 
 leave this unanswered, and so put an end 
 to what I disapprove ?' 
 
 Sydney's head drooped lower, and the 
 painful colour deepened on her cheeks. 
 
 ' No, mamma, I cannot,' she said, her 
 voice low, but quite clear, and then after a 
 feint of swallomng her food, she got up, 
 with a little apologetic gesture, and left the
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 161 
 
 room before the tears, gathering in her 
 eyes, had time to fall. 
 
 ' The sort of thing I constantly have to 
 contend with !' said Mrs. Alwyn, plaintive- 
 ly. ^ But don*t let it spoil your breakfast. 
 Major. Take an egg.'' 
 
 Uneasy at all this electricity in the 
 domestic atmosphere, Major Villiers essayed 
 to carry off some of the over-charge by 
 a quiet talk with the rebel, and to that 
 intent, catching sight of her an hour 
 after at the furthermost end of the laurel 
 hedge, wiring a roving honeysuckle to a 
 rustic arch, he followed her there, and 
 with a fatherly pat on the shoulder, and 
 just a touch of reproach in his manner, 
 asked — 
 
 ' Well, now, young maiden mine, and why 
 couldn't you manage to put off other 
 friends and please that mamma of yours 
 this morning ? You'll forgive an old man 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 for lecturing, won't you, but people of one 
 house should try to be of one mind, my 
 child?' 
 
 At the kindly expostulation, the gentle 
 tone, Sydney dropped her coil of -wire and 
 turned impetuously round. 
 
 ' I do wish to. Major Yilliers, and I do 
 
 try. But somehow nothing seems to 
 
 answer ! I seem born to worry mamma. 
 
 Ever since I was quite little it has been 
 
 the same. Leonora has been her delight, 
 
 her comfort. I, her annoyance, her 
 
 trouble. Just as Leonora is so beautiful 
 
 and I am not,' (her listener turned his 
 
 glance full on the supple young form, 
 
 the flashing hazel-grey eyes, the red 
 
 sensitive lips, the well-poised head mth 
 
 coil after coil of dark locks twisted round ; 
 
 and quoth he to himself, ^ you're not so 
 
 far off that to my mind, my dear!') 'so 
 
 Leonora has naturally known how to
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 163 
 
 please in everything. I,' she let fall her 
 hands, extended in sorrowful eloquence, 
 * in nothing !' 
 
 The soft-hearted Major felt very uncom- 
 fortable. 
 
 • Oh, come,' said he, soothingly, ' you 
 are only feeling sore and unhappy now. 
 Miss Sydney ' 
 
 ' I msh you would call me Sydney,' she 
 interrupted. 
 
 ' Well, Sydney, then ; so you see things a 
 little crookedly perhaps. If you could 
 have yielded this morning, matters might 
 not have looked so gloomy. Xow, would it 
 not have been better to neglect outsiders 
 even, and done those commissions for your 
 mother ? Particular ones perhaps, as she 
 appeared to want them so much.' 
 
 ' Particular !' Sydney stopped as they 
 paced out of sight of the house now down 
 the shrubbery. And her look of distress 
 
 u 2
 
 164 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 vanislied in a gust of sudden laughter. 
 ' Particular ! oh, very indeed ! I should 
 have saved ' — calculating on her finger- 
 tips — ' on sugar, seven farthings ; on but- 
 tons — let me see, pearl — one dozen, I should 
 think three halfpence ! Yes, threepence far- 
 thing would have been the valuable result 
 of my drive. Now, to spare mamma's and 
 Leonora's pockets to that huge extent, do 
 you say T ought to have run off from what 
 I had promised to do, and left my best 
 friends in the lurch ?' 
 
 The Major evaded the question, preferr- 
 ing to ask who those best friends were, 
 and Sydney, glomng, gave him an 
 account of all the Dacies', all the Rector's 
 goodness to her, ending with, ' If it were 
 not for them I should be fifty times more 
 ill-tempered and incorrigible ! Knowing 
 what I am, think what that means, and 
 just consider whether I ought not to work
 
 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAN. 165 
 
 for tliem even at tlie appalling loss of 
 threepence farthing !' 
 
 The Major was old-fashioned enough to 
 be clear-headed on some points. 
 
 ' I do think, my dear,' he said, simply, 
 '• there's one thing you plainly ought not 
 to do. That is, show up your mother's or 
 Leonora's small economies, which I suppose 
 they feel bound to make, for the sake of 
 ridiculing them.' 
 
 All Sydney's nerves slackened under the 
 altered tone. Reddening ^\ith shame, 
 tears gathered thickly on her long black 
 lashes. She moved on very slowly. 
 Then— 
 
 ' I beg your pardon,' she said, quite 
 humbly. ' I know I ought not to have 
 
 done it. But — but ' shaking off the 
 
 twinkling drops, and clasping her hands 
 very tight behind her. ' I do get so beside 
 myself, so weary of it all ; for this morning
 
 166 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 is only just like most mornings. I am 
 always clumsy, always unlucky — at home. 
 Whatever I arrange interferes with some- 
 thing. Not a single taste have I that 
 mamma approves of. Where she is lavish 
 I should never spend. Where she is — 
 careful, I am — not ! If I could ever please 
 her really, ever make her fond of me, I 
 would try and try and never tire. But I 
 can't, so I suppose I seem to give up, 
 though I don't intend to do so. But 
 please — ' lifting a sad pair of eyes so 
 appealingly, the poor Major felt quite a 
 sympathetic haze over his own, ' will you 
 forgive me for saying all this ? I know 
 it's wrong to have complained. It's 
 horrible bad taste and very idiotic of me, 
 for it can't improve matters. But I never 
 said one syllable about it before to anyone 
 — not even Mary Dacie, and I never will 
 again. If you can forget my grumbling I
 
 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAN. 167 
 
 shall be most grateful. It's eased me ever 
 so much, and perhaps — ' straightening 
 herself with rather a poor attempt at a 
 smile, ^ perhaps I shall behave better after 
 
 it; 
 
 The Major took her hand, and, with a 
 kindly little pressure, drew it within his 
 arm. 
 
 ' I'm sure you mil, if there's need of it,' 
 he said, soothingly. ' I daresay there are 
 awkwardnesses for you all. But do your 
 best, my dear, and you'll get into smoother 
 waters before long. You'll not be always 
 here, you know. It's not to be expected 
 you should.' (The nearest hint of married 
 freedom he dared permit himself) ' But 
 as long as you live together sail as close to 
 your mother's wishes as you can. If you 
 have to vex her mth one thing, Avhy, 
 please her with another. Now, that letter 
 business. I don't want to know whom it
 
 168 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 was from, of course ; but couldn't you give 
 in to her there ?' 
 
 ' No !' cried Sydney, with a jerk of the 
 Major's gouty arm, that made him jump. 
 * I do want you to know who wrote it. It 
 was Jacob Cheene. My — my — father's 
 one old true friend ! The only person here 
 at St. C lairs I ever knew or ever saw who 
 spoke kindly of my father to me. He 
 came here eight years ago, just before — 
 before — that June. And his coming was 
 such a pleasure to papa. He was only a 
 clerk, but they had known, and trusted, 
 and cared for each other for years and 
 years. He asked me when he went away 
 to write to him, and I said I would. I 
 told papa I was going to, and it pleased 
 him. I know,' cried Sydney, gazing with 
 strangely flashing eyes into the blue sky 
 far away, as if somewhere there a visible 
 presence were animating her, ^ I know
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 169 
 
 papa would never have me give up Jacob, 
 so I — won't! I know he would always 
 have me keep true to his old companion, 
 so I — will ! Please, Major Villiers,' with a 
 swift turn, and sudden pleading, ' don't 
 be angry vnth me, but papa and I must 
 have our way in this !' 
 
 Then she picked up her trailing coil of 
 wire, smiled a half- defiant, half-beseeching 
 April smile, and ran off without biding 
 response or remonstrance, leaving her 
 would-be Mentor rather inclined to put 
 his sjonpathies in the same scale mth her 
 rebellious decision, and meditating, as he 
 strolled some half-hour among espaliers 
 and raspberry-canes, how this high, much- 
 hampered spirit could be toned down 
 admirably under tender influence, and 
 make a wife out of a thousand for his son 
 Rupert.
 
 170 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE COUNTESS RECEIVES. 
 
 That morning's storm seemed to clear the 
 air. Possibly suspecting, and desiring no 
 repetition of it, Mrs. Alwyn avoided dan- 
 gerous topics, while amply contented with 
 the opinion he had formed, Major Yilliers 
 attempted no more interference between 
 his sister-in-law and her daughters. By- 
 and-by, when the girls were married and 
 away, the frets and jars of daily contact 
 all removed, the mother would perchance 
 deal out more kindly justice to her 
 younger child. If not — well, Sydney
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 171 
 
 would be out of the way of any carping 
 criticism, sunning herself in more con- 
 genial atmosphere ! 
 
 So, on the principle of by all means 
 letting the sleeping dog lie, the Major 
 shirked any more tete-a-tetes for the re- 
 mainder of his visit. Steered clear of 
 aught but very general conversation. Led 
 warily from the heat in India to the heat 
 in town, and the advisability of his son 
 getting out of it, and inhaling the cool 
 breezes of St. Clairs now and again. Lis- 
 tened attentively to Leonora's bravura sing- 
 ing, resonant and metallic as machine-made 
 clockwork, and scarcely seemed to hear 
 the accompanying complaint. ' Sydney 
 had no patience to cultivate her voice like 
 this. She rarely attempts any but church 
 music, to please Mr. Yaughan, I suppose ; 
 but it is ruinous to good style !' Admired 
 Leonora amazingly in a great variety of
 
 172 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 becoming costumes, mightily gratifying 
 Mrs. Alwyn with a whisper behind his 
 newspaper, a propos to a beautiful toilet in 
 pale blue and creamy lace, that his niece 
 would grace a countesship if ever called 
 to that high estate ; and quietly observant 
 the while of Sydney, he marked with 
 satisfaction that such modest gifts as 
 usefulness and intuitive leaning to the 
 womanly labours of a home had not with 
 her, as with indolent Miss Leonora, yet 
 died a natural death ; but, thanks to 
 training outside The Dale, were all lying 
 in wait to supplement her fortune in hard 
 cash. 
 
 So the days went smoothly enough till 
 the last of the Major's visit was reached. 
 Then the calm which Sydney, from a cer- 
 tain proud penitence at having opened her 
 heart to a stranger, and Mrs. Alwyn from 
 a politic desire to preserve appearances, had
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 173^ 
 
 set themselves to keep, was threatened with 
 another upset. 
 
 It was the morning of a grand gathering 
 at Oakleigh Place, for which the Major 
 had been especially persuaded to prolong 
 his visit. An ofl&cer, pronouncedly a gentle- 
 man, and a good-looking man, was a most 
 desirable escort. So his journey to town 
 was postponed till the evening train, and 
 arrangements made to suit his departure 
 then. 
 
 ' If you will excuse it/ said his hostess, 
 * you shall have a sort of cold dinner^ 
 that can be ready the moment we are 
 back from Oakleigh. You will be sure, 
 Sydney, to see that we are not kept wait- 
 ing. A new parlour-maid is a great 
 worry, Major, which you are fortunate not 
 to realise.' 
 
 Sydney looked up perplexed and 
 reddening.
 
 174 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 '/ am to see about the servants, 
 mamma?' 
 
 * Yes. If you've no objection.' 
 
 'But I thought I was going to Oak- 
 leigh ?' 
 
 ' And I thought/ returned Mrs. Alwyn, 
 ' that as you generally care so little for 
 these afternoon parties, and always prefer 
 getting off them, you would positively be 
 glad to stay at home/ 
 
 ' So I should,' answered the girl, frankly, 
 ' if it were anywhere else ; but the Dacies 
 say the gardens here are glorious in July, 
 and I had been so looking forward to see- 
 ing them, mamma, as they invited me too, 
 that I ' 
 
 *Let Sydney go instead of me,' inter- 
 rupted the Major, ^ I don't care a straw 
 for the gardens. That's an excellent 
 amendment.'
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 175 
 
 ' Not to be thought of for a moment,' 
 said his hostess peremptorily. ' If Sydney 
 cannot possibly attend to my wish and your 
 comfort, of course she goes with us.' But 
 baffled in her project of letting Leonora 
 shine sola at Oakleigh, and warding off com- 
 parison between the ripened beauty of her 
 elder child, and the far fresher attractive- 
 ness of the younger, Mrs. Alwyn assumed 
 the heavy air of chronic dissatisfaction 
 Sydney knew so well and ached under. 
 
 * Indeed, mamma,' she said now, des- 
 perately anxious their kind guest should 
 not think her always an evil-dispositioned 
 marplot, ' I will show Philips anything I 
 can before we go, and help her if you will 
 tell me how 1 may. But I was wanting to 
 say that I almost must go to Oakleigh, for 
 I met Lady Comyngham yesterday, and she 
 stopped her ponies and said she hoped I
 
 176 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 would certaiDly be tliere. And I said^ 
 *' Oh yes," for I never imagined you didn't 
 want me to ' 
 
 ^ I must beg of you, Sydney, not to mis- 
 interpret me in that manner !' put in Mrs. 
 Alwyn, irritably, more out of sorts than 
 ever at this pointed politeness from the 
 Countess, ' go by all means ! Pray go ! 
 I'm only afraid, Major Villiers, you will find 
 it awkward driving with four in the 
 carriage.' 
 
 ' Not the least in the world,' protested 
 the gentleman, willingly. ' I prefer the 
 quartette, I assure you. Shouldn't half 
 enjoy myself if one were left out in the 
 coldj you know,' with a good-humoured 
 smile at Sydney who, on the verge at 
 answering, was stopped by Leonora, her 
 mouth slightly sullen, her cheeks tinged 
 with vexation. 
 
 ^ Mamma, we shall be intolerably crushed
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOIMAN. 177 
 
 two on the back seat. My skirt certainly 
 won't look fit to lie seen. I think T had 
 better stay at home.' 
 
 ' My dearest ' began Mrs. Alwyn, 
 
 but for once Sydney broke in vehemently. 
 
 ^ No, no, no, iN'orah ; you know that 
 couldn't be anvhow ! And there is no 
 need, for, mamma — I wanted to tell you 
 last night, only Leonora was singing, and I 
 couldn't speak — Dr. Dacie is not able to 
 go, he doesn't get a bit better, and his 
 wife will not leave him, of course ; but 
 they both so wish poor Mary to have the 
 pleasure, for she has not been out all the 
 summer. So I said I would ask if you 
 would let her drive me, and then she could 
 go in with our party. And may she ?' 
 
 ' Just another of those frequent cases 
 where I do wish you would think before 
 you speak, Sydney,' answered Mrs. Alwyn, 
 slowly ; she was mentally balancing pros 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 and CODS. Chaperoning Mary Dacie, in a 
 well-worn Sunday gown, was repugnant 
 to her, but the plan would give Leonora 
 space. Best agree to it then. So she 
 ended: ^ you have made it impossible for 
 me to say "no," however much I may 
 dislike your arrangement.' 
 
 ' Then I may say "yes,"' mamma, and go 
 and tell Mary?' 
 
 ' If you think she requires any telliog,' 
 said Mrs. Alwyn, rather sarcastically, and 
 with a sigh indicating she had much to 
 put up with. Which reluctant affirmative 
 gained, Sydney escaped to the Dacies, and 
 later in the day, from the doctor's house 
 and from The Dale, their respective 
 vehicles set forth to traverse the three 
 miles of lane and road that led to Oakleigh 
 Place. 
 
 Thither on that afternoon converged 
 such a stream of equipages as had not
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 179 
 
 waked up the rustics thereabouts to watch- 
 ing wonder for many a long year. For, as 
 Mrs. Alwyn had explained to her guest, 
 this Earl and this Countess were new to 
 titles and possessions, and over and above 
 a natural desire to shine in these strange 
 parts, they just now had double reason for 
 desiring good opinions in the expected 
 candidature of their elder son for the 
 southern division of the county. 
 
 Except as a name of long nobility and 
 ownership, the present generation of 
 Comyngham was little known near St. 
 Clairs. The late Earl had hated the tame 
 scenery of East Anglia ; had shut up Oak- 
 leigh Place for years, living mostly abroad, 
 or, when in England, on a more favourite 
 estate in Hampshire, and had scarcely been 
 seen personally by either tenants or neigh- 
 bours. 
 
 But the incomers meant to reverse all this. 
 
 n2
 
 180 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 With a large family and the prudence 
 engendered of long limited means, they 
 elected to keep up but one country house. 
 Their choice fell upon Oakleigh, and here 
 they determined upon making, in this first 
 festive meeting, a thoroughly favourable 
 dShut in rural society. 
 
 So the gardens, kept up through all 
 vicissitudes, were now set forth in July 
 perfection. The house, a stiff Georgian 
 building, with suites of stately, panelled 
 apartments, painted, mirrored, portrait- 
 hung, after the varying fashions of two 
 centuries, was open from end to end. 
 Every possible preparation was made to 
 ensure the day passing off well. 
 
 The Earl, schooled to phlegmatic calm 
 by serving iu a permanent Government 
 post under half-a-dozen different adminis- 
 trations, took the approaching reception 
 very coolly, but the Countess's feminine
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 181 
 
 nerves appreciated the complexities of 
 the situation, and were most actively on 
 the alert to prevent the slightest flaw in 
 her fete. 
 
 As four o'clock approached she sum- 
 moned sons and daughters about her in 
 the first reception-room, and favoured 
 them with final instructions, assisted by a 
 farewell peep at her visiting list. 
 
 'Francis,' severely dragging her hus- 
 band's attention from ' Harvest forecasts ' 
 in the Standard, 'you know Gerald sum- 
 marised that for you this morning. 
 ^' Wheat promising on the whole. Oats 
 light. Barley partial. Rain wanted 
 everywhere." Now just put the paper 
 down and attend to me. "When you've 
 said, ''How d'ye do?" to all the people, 
 mind and hunt up the Erpinghams, and be 
 particularly civil. He's very crotchety, I 
 hear, but his tenants are quite extraordin-
 
 182 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 arily attached to him, and wouldn't vote 
 against him on any account ; so, Gerald, 
 try and be in the way and give your arm 
 to the Dowager Mrs. Erpingham when 
 they leave. And then, Francis, look here ' 
 — indicating sundry dots and stars down 
 her lengthy catalogue — Mt's really quite 
 providential, as one may say, all the prin- 
 cipal people whose names begin with E and 
 L are Radicals or Liberals. Lermits, Ean- 
 somes, Radcliffes, and so on, you see ? 
 And the C's and T's are mostly Tories 
 and Conservatives, l^ow recollect that. 
 It's a great help, though even then you'll 
 have to be guarded. Crops and stock and 
 partridges are really safest. Gerald, don't 
 let the band be lazy. Tell the leader 
 supper will be served for them in the 
 steward's room before they go. And mind 
 you contrive to shake hands with the men 
 of each party as they arrive, and say you
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 18^ 
 
 particularly want to call on them before 
 shooting begins. Avena, my love' — to a 
 married daughter from Staffordshire, 
 hitherto more blessed with offspring than 
 income — * don't over-exert yourself. Keep 
 on the upper terrace, and tell the elder 
 ladies where to find refreshments. Ed- 
 ward and Gertrude will look after the 
 young ones. But mind now, Edward, no 
 flirting. None whatever, or you'll scan- 
 dalise the rest of your cloth. Margaret, 
 you and Rex must attend to the tennis. 
 And all of you talk to everyone. Choose 
 suitable subjects of course for different 
 folks. You'll know the clergy by their 
 coats and collars, and their wives always 
 keep close against them. If they are old, 
 ask about their schools and clubs ; if they 
 are young, inquire after the babies. Be 
 very civil to the Rector of St. Clairs. He's 
 a most estimable man, though he looks
 
 184 A WILFUL YOUNG WO^OlN. 
 
 shabby. And now 1 don'fc think there's 
 anything else, is there?' running an 
 anxious eye up her list. ' D. C. B. A. — 
 oh, A — Alwyn. Yes, Edward, be careful 
 nob to show more attention to either of 
 those good-looking girls than you do to 
 other people. It might be noticed, and it's 
 not advisable. Avena, the mother shall be 
 introduced to you. I have no idea who 
 they are, but they live at The Dale (which 
 you ought to get back, Francis, it was in 
 the family two hundred years), and seem 
 to be people of some standing. Mrs. 
 Alwyn undoubtedly enjoys the art of 
 dressing well, so you will find conversation 
 with her easy, Avena. Now, my dears, 
 there's the first ring. Do pray put plenty 
 of spirit into the next three hours, and as 
 we've undertaken this ''thing" let it be a 
 success ! 
 
 And a success it assuredly was, from the
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 185 
 
 arrival of the first carriage freight to the 
 departure of the last. A meeting that 
 well earned Oakleigh Place a character for 
 hospitality, and marked an era for more 
 than one of its guests. 
 
 For a long hour the roll of wheels 
 sounded unceasingly up the lime avenue. 
 From the yellow-bodied landau of the 
 Erpiaghams, their many-quartered shield 
 upon its doors, to the roughest of country 
 roundabouts, did gaily robed figures 
 debouch under the wide north portico. A 
 radius of twenty miles supplied the throng. 
 Squires, squiresses, squireens, professional 
 people few and well selected, parsons in- 
 numerable — rectors, vicars, curates — but 
 there the line was drawn. My lady said 
 they must stop somewhere, so they stayed 
 their biddings at curates. An occupier of 
 one of the largest neighbouring farms, who 
 by virtue of eminent respectability, and a
 
 186 A WILLUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 good balance at his bankers, had ventured 
 once upon a time to lift his eyes to Leonora 
 Villiers, drove by the Comynhams's gate 
 as Mrs. Alwyn turned in at the same, and 
 this practical exposition of her superiority 
 made her pulses beat all exultant, revived 
 the glories of her Guyswick reign, and by 
 a hundredfold increased the moment's 
 
 proud delight. If Leonora ! Ah 1 on 
 
 the wings of that 'if Mrs. Alwyn's 
 imagination took flight, and sent her in so 
 radiant, so dignified, that as she failed not 
 to note, eyes and lips were questioning 
 who she was the whole afternoon through. 
 Thoroughly delicious was the sweet July 
 air. A west wind softly swayed the full 
 foliage of giant oaks and beeches, without 
 waking one note of that foreboding rustle 
 which tells of autumn near. The old foun- 
 tains played upon the lower terrace, crowds 
 watching the fabulously ancient fishes that
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 187 
 
 swam, glittering, within their basins. 
 Through the splendid orangeries Oakleigh 
 was famous for, the most courtly of head 
 gardeners escorted admiring throngs, 
 exhibiting proudly his masses of bridal 
 bloom. From a grove of birch and ilex 
 gleamed the scarlet coats and sounded the 
 excellent music of the Fifty-first. So well 
 did the honourable sons and lady daughters 
 of the house obey maternal behests, that 
 four tennis sets were always on the way, 
 players faring luxuriously with plush- 
 breeched footmen at one court, gardeners 
 at another, grooms and stable-boys in 
 Sunday best at others, to ' field ' for errant 
 balls ; while lookers-on had seats of all 
 sizes, {' never let your people stand,' said 
 my lady, ' it makes them tired and cross !') 
 ices ad libitum, a discriminating share of 
 attention from one or other of the family,, 
 and all went merry as a marriage bell.
 
 188 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 As to the individuals we are bound 
 most to follow, Sydney, willingly released 
 by Mrs. Alwyn, found her way with Mary 
 Dacie among the wide south stretch of 
 flower parterres, and through the domed 
 conservatories, fragrant with waxen Ste- 
 phanotis, so completely charmed with the 
 novel scene, her face so full of bright 
 enjoyment, and her graceful young figure 
 so perfectly at ease, in, perhaps, the sim- 
 plest toilette present, that a battery of 
 admiring, approving glances followed 
 wherever she went, to her companion's 
 excessive satisfaction. ('I declare, mother, 
 her eyes were as blue as sapphires !' Mary 
 Dacie reported at home, ' I do wish you 
 could have seen her ! People kept want- 
 ing to wile her away from me, but the 
 foolish child wouldn't leave me once !') 
 
 The Eector of St. Glairs was standing at 
 the edge of Lady Comyngham's circle ; he
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WO^kL^^ 189 
 
 had just made his bow, apologising for 
 having brought with him a friend, a guest 
 of two days only, whom the Countess had 
 most cordially welcomed. Now, both men 
 leant on the grey terrace wall, watching 
 the moving, many-coloured throng. 
 
 'A sight worth looking at,' said the 
 stranger, 'and people too. Who are 
 those?' as a pair of figures approached 
 across the grass. ' A lady in a blue gown, 
 who smiles as if she didn't know what ill- 
 temper meant; and one in white, much 
 younger, uncommonly good-looking, but 
 totally different mettle.' 
 
 The rector laughed as he followed his 
 friend's glance. 
 
 * Much travelling sharpens one's skill in 
 observation I suppose, Drayton,' he said^ 
 ' for you are very right about those two. 
 The elder is our doctor's only daughter, 
 and a good one she is ; so good, I always
 
 190 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 wonder she's not been stolen away long 
 before now. The other — well, I call her 
 child, but she's that no longer, though she 
 brinofs me her Latin exercises twice a 
 week still ! — she's a young lady now, I 
 suppose, and I confess a marvellous 
 favourite of mine. If I'm not mistaken, 
 there's stay and spirit in her for more 
 than the likely possibilities of life.' 
 
 * Well, she's out of the way of unlikely 
 ones down here,' returned Mr. Drayton 
 (which showed him less a philosopher 
 than observer) ; ^ but if looks make one's 
 fortune she ought to secure a good one.' 
 
 'Then we'll wish her a safer road to 
 prosperity,' said the Rector, half jocose, 
 half grave, 'for her step-sister has not 
 achieved any grand coup at present, though 
 she is years older, and, most people say, far 
 handsomer.' 
 
 ' And is this last beauty present ?'
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 191 
 
 * Come this way, and I'll introduce 
 you.' 
 
 And moving on a few yards, the Rector 
 made known to Mrs. Alwyn and Miss 
 Yilliers, 
 
 ' Mr. Eichard Drayton, an old pupil of 
 mine, though — ' with a gleam of sedate 
 mischief — ' no credit to me.' And then he 
 had to break off his friendly slanders, to 
 shake hands, and talk the regulation two 
 minutes with the Earl. 
 
 'Quite unfair of Mr. Vaughan, I protest, 
 to take away your reputation among 
 strangers !' said Mrs. Alwyn, amiably. No 
 other gentleman was in attendance on 
 Leonora and herself just then. Major 
 Villiers having found in the senior officer 
 of the Fifty-first an old comrade, with whom 
 he was recalling Madras experiences. ' I 
 really consider such a slur demands ex- 
 planation !'
 
 192 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 * Which is easy enough, luckily. It 
 merely means that having head for neither 
 classics nor mathematics, I bade Oxford 
 good-bye in my first year, and took 
 myself out to find a fortune in foreign 
 parts.' 
 
 * Abroad ? Oh, really !' (' Which ac- 
 counts,' thought the lady, ' for your just a 
 little unkempt, un-English look, sir.') 'And 
 may I ask in what quarter of the world 
 you have been ?' 
 
 * South America. Chiefly Brazil.' 
 
 ' Most interesting. I am sure the 
 superb trees and plants here make anyone 
 long for the Flora of the Equator I 
 Leonora, dear, Mr. Drayton has actually 
 been fortune-hunting, as he says, in the 
 land of humming-birds !' 
 
 Leonora had taken the gentleman's 
 introduction with rather too obvious in- 
 difference. A badly-clad, middle-aged
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 193 
 
 man, was scarcely a desirable cavalier even 
 for a few minutes. Now, however, her 
 mother's tone warned her to be gracious. 
 So she donned an ever-ready smile, of 
 which an inexhaustible stock, as even and 
 expressive as a row of steel buttons, was 
 always in reserve, and repeated, 
 
 * In the land of humming-birds ! How 
 most sweet ! And did you find it?' 
 
 'Find — er — oh, I see! The fortune. 
 Not I !' Leonora's gleam of liveliness 
 died out instantly. *No, I came back, 
 after fifteen years, rich ia experience, but 
 very little else. Luckily a nest was pro- 
 vided for me here in the old country, or I 
 might have had to go on knocking about 
 to the end of my days.' 
 
 'A nest? You mean a home?' asked 
 Mrs. Alwyn, while Leonora yawned be- 
 hind her sunshade. 
 
 'Exactly so. A little property down in 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 Dorsetshire. Nothing grand, but more 
 than I ever expected from an old uncle. 
 At a place called Granfylde. Do you 
 know it ?' 
 
 A shadow of some disturbance passed 
 over the lady's countenance ; but she has- 
 tened to answer, 
 
 * Not the least. I never was near such 
 a place that I'm aware of. You intend to 
 live there ?' 
 
 ' Perhaps — or sell it. I've come down 
 to consult my old tutor. He's always 
 ready to help his men through any pro- 
 blem. There never was a kinder, wiser 
 head than Robert Yaughan's.' 
 
 ^Undoubtedly. Just so,' murmured 
 Mrs. Alwyn ; but her attention was all 
 astray. The next moment she rose, and 
 swept down, all a sparkle in satin and jet, 
 on a gentleman just passing. ' Oh, Mr. 
 Duvesne, can you tell us is that exquisite
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOI^IAN. 195 
 
 tree yonder a Cryptomeria Japonica ? You 
 don t know ? Oh, but you can see by the 
 little cones. My daughter does admire it 
 so. I have been wanting- her to go down 
 and examine it closely, but my foot is a 
 trifle sprained, and I have to spare it.* 
 
 ' Then will Miss Villiers go botanising 
 with me ?' said the handsome young 
 divine, and with a satisfied blush, and a 
 shake of her delicate grenadine plamage, 
 the young lady stepped daintily off beside 
 him, over the complete stretch of lawn, 
 vastly envied by most female observers. 
 
 Afraid of exhibiting her triumph in this 
 manoeuvre by too long gazing, Mrs. Al- 
 wyn turned to swell the group of matrons 
 about Lady Avena Massey's chair, thinking 
 placidly, ' One is best quietly rid of that 
 Mr. Drayton ' (an opinion she lived to 
 repent), while this gentleman, deserted, 
 after watching what he privately dubbed,
 
 196 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 Hbat extraordinarily elegant pink and 
 white piece of empty-headedness/ took a 
 couple of steps backwards, and was with- 
 in an ace of knocking Miss Mary Dacie 
 down the terrace slope. 
 
 ' Ten thousand pardons !' he exclaimed, 
 bat in hand. * What a dolt I was not to 
 look where I was going. I do hope you'll 
 forgive me !' 
 
 * Quite easily,' replied Mary Dacie, her 
 balance restored, her good-humour never 
 ruffled, ' all the more so because I think 
 you are our Eector's friend. Here he 
 comes.' 
 
 And Mr. Yaughan joining them, they 
 all fell talking together, and presently, 
 with peals of mirth floating by, Mary 
 made the very original remark that it was 
 hard to remember, in such festivities as 
 this, there was such a thing as trouble in 
 ,the world.
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 197 
 
 *]S[ow don't say that, Miss Dacie,' begged 
 Richard Drayton. ' It makes me feel 
 what a selfish brute I am for enjoying 
 myself, when an old chum of my young 
 days is in a most confounded plight. I've 
 been doggedly keeping the notion at arm's 
 length all the afternoon. Now you've 
 brought it to the front again. Our friend 
 here,' signifying Mr. Yaughan, ' knows all 
 about it. It's one of his old Greek class, 
 like me.' 
 
 'But he has lighted on worse times 
 than you, poor fellow !' said the old tutor, 
 sadly, ' It's desperately hard to be sure, 
 in the very prime of life, to be stranded 
 well-nigh helpless and hopeless. How 
 utterly impossible it is for us to fathom 
 the why and wherefore of such things !' 
 
 ' Helpless ! Hopeless 1' said Sydney, 
 softly, to Mr. Drayton ; a very tender, 
 womanly pity darkening her eyes and
 
 198 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 trembling on ber parted lips. ' Is your 
 friend's trouble so very beavy ? Cannot 
 anyone ease bim or bear it for bim?' 
 
 Eicbard Drayton looked kindly on tbe 
 young questioner. ' If I were ten years 
 younger Td fall in love witb tbis girl !' 
 be said to bimself ; but aloud, 
 
 'No, I'm afraid even time can't mend 
 tbis matter. As be used to say in our 
 old scbool-days, *'be's in a muddle now, 
 and no mistake !" But we need not worry 
 you witb tbe tale, Miss Alwyn, for you 
 cannot belp me any more tban our- 
 selves.' 
 
 ' I wisb I could,' sbe repeated, wistfully. 
 And wbafc — what cbord of memory bad 
 been toucbed ? Tbe band was playing 
 ' Auld Lang Syne,' ber fatber's old song^ 
 tbat be never wearied of baving ber sing 
 to bim in tbe twiligbt; but it was not 
 tbat, or not altooretber— ratber a some-
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 199 
 
 thing very dim, a sound out of a long, 
 long ago past, a ghost of some pain that 
 flitted by and made her turn aside to 
 hide the wave of inexplicable sadness 
 passing over her. The next moment 
 it had to be dispersed. Up came Major 
 Yilliers. 
 
 * Now, Miss Sydney, I'm commissioned 
 to fetch you. Miss Dacie, are you ready ? 
 Mrs. Alwyn is leaving,' and, with hand* 
 shakings and farewells, they separated, 
 Richard Drayton muttering as they left, 
 ' Alwyn, Alwyn ! I know I've seen that 
 name somewhere lately. "Where can it 
 be?' 
 
 A tide of adieux followed. In another 
 hour Lady Comyngham was resting from 
 her labours with, 
 
 ' Heaven be praised, the thing is over ! 
 I do trust we've contented everyone !' And 
 the memorable day was done.
 
 200 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SHADOWS BEFOREHAND. 
 
 Done but not by any means done with ! 
 
 Curious is it that now and then in one's 
 history a certain hour stands forth dis- 
 tinct, as gleaming crystal on some common 
 earthy track, and in it lie the germs of lik- 
 ings, loves or plans that are to guide us 
 for good or ill to ends, as yet, undreamt 
 of. But Lady Comyugham's 'at home' 
 was ordained to be one of these bright 
 particular spots, little as such was sus- 
 pected by Eichard Drayton, who returned 
 to St. Clair's rectory prodigiously amused 
 by this, his first renewal of English
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 201 
 
 society ; by Mary Dacie, who, aparfc from 
 6DJoyment of the pretty sight, was not 
 sorry to get away from a crowd where she 
 had felt herself a veritable Jenny Wren ; 
 by Sydney, though an undertone of pre- 
 sage ran through that constantly-recurring 
 ^ hopeless and helpless !' or last, not least, 
 by Mrs. Alwyn, who left Oakleigh Place 
 most opportunely supplied with fresh 
 means of attachment to the family she so 
 keenly desired an alliance with. 
 
 It was the morning after the fete. To 
 her surprise Sydney found herself alone 
 at the breakfast-table. ' Miss Leonora 
 had a headache,' Phillips said, ' a tray was 
 to be sent up to her and mistress in the 
 boudoir.' So the tray was duly dispatched, 
 and Sydney unceremoniously made her 
 own meal by the open window with no 
 voices about her save those of feathered 
 songsters.
 
 202 A WILFUL YOUNG WOSEAN. 
 
 But for some altogether intangible 
 reason, even their long, clear calls, and 
 sweet, responsive love-notes missed some- 
 thing of their usual jojfulness that morn- 
 ing. Their warbling seemed all pitched in 
 a mournful key. ' Hope — Hope — H-o-p-e- 
 less !' piped forth a great, well-to-do black- 
 bird in resonant, interrogative fifths ; and 
 * H-o-p-e-less !' trilled back his hidden mate 
 from the laurel-heds^e. The creatures 
 were out of tune to-day, or Sydney was. 
 The room to herself, so often a luxury, 
 seemed now disheartening, oppressive. 
 The west-wind in the tree-tops made her 
 shudder. She had an odd feeling of being 
 so badly wanted somewhere, by someone ! 
 'Hopeless! Helpless!' How those inar- 
 ticulate syllables tormented her. Off at a 
 tangent from them her thoughts strayed 
 to problems of suffering, of pain such as 
 never had and never might darken her
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 203- 
 
 own days, though their sting was felt by 
 thousands beside that one unknown, whose 
 mere mention yesterday had left her so 
 unreasonably sad. 
 
 But while, watching the fleecy cloudlets 
 speeding over the blue sky, she speculated 
 thus on questions insolvable and the great 
 mysteries of an ever-vanishing by-and-by, 
 minutes were fleeting. Phillips came in, 
 saying, * Please if Miss Sydney had finish- 
 ed would she go upstairs, her mamma 
 wanted her;' and, hastily finishing her cold 
 coffee, she obeyed the summons. 
 
 It was a small, south-east room which 
 Mrs. Alwyn had honoured by selection 
 for her boudoir ; one of the quaintest, quite- 
 the prettiest in the old-fashioned house. 
 Part of it, with a deep bay window, was 
 over the porch. Another window looked 
 over the rich swaying crops of the Suffolk 
 acres to the billowy green of Oakleigh
 
 204 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 Woods beyond. Each way the view was 
 charming, and all within matched every- 
 thing without. 
 
 On the walls hung a few choice paint- 
 ings, oval framed, small but excellent ; on 
 the china-tiled hearth stood a great pink 
 flowering pelargonium that reached its 
 blossoms up the satin draperies of the 
 mantel-piece above. There rested a dainty 
 time-piece, with a Puck-faced Cupid swing- 
 ing for a pendulum, and over the glass 
 which shaded this smiling love-god at his 
 labour, a shepherd and shepherdess in 
 purest Dresden politely offered to each 
 other fruits and garlands. There were 
 Sevres cups too, and choice bits of Benares 
 brass upon the shelf. Mirrors, whose 
 deep-cut edges gleamed and scintillated 
 like gems in the morning light, with 
 flowers cunningly arranged to admire their 
 beautiful selves therein. A soft square of
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOIMAN. 205' 
 
 deepest crimson Axminster on the polished 
 floor, a rug of restless, rich-tinted ostrich 
 feathers in the bay, just meeting one small 
 couch, which, with three most languor- 
 begetting easy-chairs, formed the only 
 seats the small apartment could well con- 
 tain. There was no article, no ornament 
 which was not choice of its kind, for the 
 entire establishment, as Mrs. Alwyn was 
 fully aware, owed much of its prestige to 
 this boudoir of hers, a feminine sanctum^ 
 as entirely different from the slipper- 
 bestrewn dressing-rooms of well-to-do halls 
 and manors round about, as it was from 
 the stiff, much-' antimacassared ' state of 
 the ordinary rural drawing-room. 
 
 To this elegant and inner privacy of 
 The Dale most of its mistress's circle had, 
 on one pretext or other, been introduced, 
 and had gone away more or less impressed 
 with the importance of a lady who counted
 
 206 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 such a room among her daily needs. Here, 
 this morning, some visitor was evidently 
 expected, for Leonora, not in the usual 
 cambric wrapper of her first uprising, but 
 in a long dressing-gown of blue cashmere 
 and ecru trimmings, was lying, hien arrangee 
 like some lazy young queen, upon the 
 sofa ; her mother in an admirably careful 
 neglig^ of claret silk and serge, was putting 
 some finishing sprays of acacia in the wall 
 baskets, and on the octagon table, all 
 gilt and ebony, the breakfast equipage was 
 replaced by sundry cedar boxes containing 
 coil after coil of lace. 
 
 The morning sun athwart the room set 
 every vantage point a-sparkling. A soft 
 breeze just swayed the curtains, bearing up 
 a breath of mignonette and jasmine from 
 below. Often as Sydney had entered the 
 room at the same hour, it struck her now 
 — in contrast perchance to her late fit of
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 207 
 
 musing — with a sense of its abundant ease, 
 and with her foot upon the threshold, she 
 stopped, saying frankly, 
 
 ' Mamma, how pretty ! Your boudoir 
 grows always nicer and nicer !' 
 
 ' If you hold the door open and let the 
 wind blow half the brackets down, Sydney, 
 I fear it will not improve very fast?' 
 returned Mrs. Alwyn, never ready to be 
 pleased by Sydney, even with a compliment. 
 * But now,' mollifying, as her daughter 
 promptly amending the momentary neglect, 
 came forward, appreciation in each glance 
 hither and thither, * I want you, my dear, 
 to help me with something for a very few 
 minutes, z/ you are not too much engaged.' 
 
 Sydney blushed furiously. Oh, could 
 her mother only have let old wounds heal, 
 how much more easily they could have 
 jogged on together ! 
 
 ' 1 am free enough to do anything you
 
 208 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 want till nooD/ slie said, * and after then 
 if you will only say you want me, mamma/ 
 
 ' Which I shall not, thank you. All you 
 have to do now is just to look through that 
 box of lace. Carefully, please ; the more 
 valuable the more fragile it is. I want some 
 Mechlin which I am certain is there some- 
 where. Leonora thinks in the square box. 
 She would have hunted it up, but the sun 
 made her eyes ache yesterday, so she is 
 better resting.' 
 
 ' Poor Norah !' commiserated Sydney, 
 smiling sympathetically at her sister, who, 
 for all her malady, looked very well at 
 ease in her becoming deshabille : ^ I'll do it 
 instead of her, but I don't know half so 
 much about lace as she does. Tm not 
 very positive about Mechlin.' 
 
 * Then take this for your guide,' and 
 Mrs. Alwyn spread on the black table a 
 splendid handkerchief, 'but the piece I
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 209 
 
 want is not nearly so deep as this. Still, 
 I fancy Lady Avena Massey is not furnished 
 with too much even of that, if one may 
 judge by her chagrin yesterday.' 
 
 * Lady Avena ? What has she to do 
 with it, mamma?' cried Sydney, searching 
 diligently on among pieces of all lengths 
 and breadths, from ' baby ' Valenciennes 
 to Brussels point a duchess might have 
 envied. 
 
 * Only what you would have heard if you 
 had not hurried off from the dinner-table 
 last evening to go and gather strawberries 
 for those Dacies !' ('It rained in the night 
 though, mamma, as I expected, and the 
 fruit would have all been spoiled,' apolo- 
 gised Sydney.) 'Merely that Lady Avena 
 was rising from her chair, where she had 
 been talking most agreeably with me, and 
 a wretched clumsy young woman's sun- 
 shade on the other side caught the lace on 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 that beautiful little fichu (cue her mother 
 gave her, I've no doubt,) aud not tore, but 
 absolutely jagged it off for fully a yard. 
 Poor Lady Avena looked so vexed, and 
 the young woman all but cried. Of course. 
 Lady Avena got round in a minute, and 
 declared it was no consequence ; but, as 
 she said ruefully to me as she and I walk- 
 ed away, ' JVe know that old Mechlin is 
 not to be had every day, do we not, Mrs. 
 Alwyn?* So then of course I made haste 
 to tell I had absolutely plenty of it, and I 
 believed exactly the same pattern, and she 
 must permit me the great pleasure of 
 repairing this damage. She wouldn't hear 
 of it at first, not till she saw I should be 
 hurt at refusal ; then she yielded, and her 
 maid brings the torn piece this morning 
 for us to match ; Lady Avena would have 
 come herself but she leaves to-day.' 
 
 Here was the mainspring, then, of her
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 211 
 
 mother's great complacency this morning. 
 Here the cause of the projected audience 
 in the boudoir. Not beino^ admitted to 
 her mother's confidence, Sydney couid only 
 dimly suspect the reason of her great 
 anxiety to promote their intimacy with the 
 Comynghams, but she could esily see how 
 this courtesy — this really valuable gift — 
 could be made helpful to such an end. 
 Whether the game were worth the candle 
 was not for her to calculate. Upon herself 
 it seemed to have no more direct bearing 
 than the temporarily pleasant one of 
 putting Mrs. Alwyn in excellent humour, 
 a mood she further promoted by genuine, 
 if indiscriminate, praise of the beautiful 
 fabrics she was fingering. 
 
 ' How lovely this Valenciennes is, 
 mamma ! It looks so innocent with the 
 little dots all over it. It's as fine as cob- 
 webs. I should be afraid to wear it. I 
 
 r2
 
 212 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 like it better than this ' — unfolding a 
 superb stretch of different make. ' This is 
 not Mechlin, is it ?' 
 
 * No — gently, child ; it is Alen^on point. 
 I don't imagine the Countess herself could 
 match it. Be careful.' 
 
 * If it is so tender, mamma ; I had best 
 put that which we don't want straight back 
 into the boxes, had I not?' questioned 
 Sydney, prudently anxious to put these 
 treasures safe out of reach of pins and 
 buttons ; but, 
 
 *No; just lay them across that chair,^ 
 her mother answered ; ' I can replace 
 them afterwards. If we are not quick 
 the maid will be here before we are ready.' 
 
 So squares and flounces, collars and ker- 
 chiefs, Avere spread in fine array over the 
 satin cushions. A filmy heap of Mechlin 
 was collected, the pieces likeliest to match 
 laid aside on Leonora's dark robe ; and.
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 213 
 
 ' What a quantity !' cried Sydney. ' I 
 never saw it all out before. Why, mam- 
 ma, it must be worth tens or scores of 
 pounds.' 
 
 ' If you said hundreds/ returned her 
 mother, suavely, *you would be more 
 correct. Lace was a weakness of mine 
 when I could afford to have weaknesses, 
 Sydney, which, however, is not since you 
 can remember. These are relics of times 
 when I was not doomed to think twice over 
 every pound I spent.' 
 
 This was a dangerous reminiscence. 
 Sydney became confusedly silent. Her 
 mother sighed. The moment's retrospect 
 pained both, though differently. A tap at 
 the door was welcomed with relief ; and 
 Phillips entering to announce that Lady 
 Avena Massey's maid was below with a 
 note, drove the impending gloom from her 
 mistress's countenance.
 
 214 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 With her blandest aspect to the fore 
 again : 
 
 ' She may come up here,' said Mrs. 
 Alwyn. 
 
 Then ensconcing herself in the yielding 
 depths of the very easiest chair, she 
 mounted her eye-glasses, cast a rapid and 
 thoroughly satisfied glance around, saw^ 
 that the coming scene was ' mounted ' to 
 perfection, and hastened to be rid of just 
 the one figure which she intuitively felt 
 might prove de trop» 
 
 ' Sydney, while I see this person will you 
 write out the list for Mudie's ? The cata- 
 logue is on my dressing-table.' And as 
 her daughter disappeared by one door, 
 the stranger-servant entered at another. 
 
 If Mrs. Alwyn had calculated on the 
 graceful picture exciting the admiration of 
 her aristocratic friend's messenger, she 
 was not disappointed.
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 215 
 
 The woman, despite the stolidity of 
 aspect good training is supposed to im- 
 part to her class, fairly stared open-mouth- 
 ed at the dainty elegancies of the tiny 
 room. Her gaze first falling on the piles 
 of all but priceless finery, next on Mrs. 
 Alwyn, next on Leonora, she uttered an all 
 but audible * Oh !' before she so far re- 
 membered herself as to make the regula- 
 tion greetings of respect. 
 
 This was delightful. Mrs. Alwyn well 
 knew the influence of the back stairs, and 
 felt assured such a report of her sur- 
 roundings would return to Lady Avena 
 as would satisfy her that her reverend 
 brother would take a wife nurtured to 
 delicacies equal to any his circle could 
 afford if he chose Miss Villiers. 
 
 With most dignified condescension the 
 young lady's mother stretched forth her 
 hand for Lady Avena's note, and prolonged
 
 216 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 its reading that the bearer might have 
 more time to satisfy her evident capacious 
 curiosity. 
 
 'Feel so greatly indebted/ murmured 
 Mrs. Alwyn, scanning her missive half- 
 aloud for Leonora's benefit. " So ashamed 
 to trespass on your kindness. Trust you 
 will on no consideration rob yourself. 
 Yery best thanks. Remembrances of our 
 united circle. Yours most truly, Avena 
 Massey." Sweet name Avena. Now,' 
 laying aside the note, and motioning the 
 servant to the table, ' if you have the 
 pattern I think we can match it here. 
 Your mistress is afraid I should rob my- 
 self, but I do not think there is much risk 
 of my doing so.' 
 
 ' I don't think there is, indeed, ma'am/ 
 said the maid, with emphasis. Then she 
 brought forth the torn fichi^, and with 
 some nervousness — for certainly her fin-
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 217 
 
 gers trembled — began to compare it with 
 piece after piece, scarcely able to stifle 
 an exclamation when now and then some- 
 thing especially rare was shaken out. 
 
 Mrs. Alwjm was supremely gratified. 
 
 ' You are a judge of these things, no 
 doubt. Of course, your mistress has 
 much superior to this, though.' 
 
 * Oh ! no, ma'am. Nothing to compare 
 with it. Her ladyship mostly dresses 
 very plain.' 
 
 ' Exactly my own taste !' agreed Mrs. 
 Alwyn, better pleased than ever. ' Buried 
 here in the country, I rarely use any 
 of this,' tossing a heap of ' Brussels ' care- 
 lessly aside, 'they lie away useless and 
 half-forgotten ; but, perhaps,' with a 
 visibly-suppressed smile and glance to- 
 wards her daughter, ' others may care for 
 them. They may be wanted and worn 
 again some day.'
 
 218 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 * If your young lady has to have a wed- 
 ding-gown soon,' said the woman, taking 
 the hint instantly, 'you can give her as 
 good as a princess's without going far to 
 fetch it, ma'am.' 
 
 (' She has certainly heard some gossip 
 in the servants' hall,' thought Mrs. Alwyn 
 elated, * family affairs are always known 
 there sooner than anywhere V) * "Well, 
 whenever it may be required/ she said 
 aloud, very graciously, 'one important item 
 of Miss Yilliers' trousseau will be ready.' 
 
 * And leave plenty for Miss Sydney too^ 
 ma'am !' said the woman. At whose 
 mention Mrs. Alwyn bethought herself of 
 rather a clever stroke. Things looked so 
 promising for that secondary scheme, she 
 might advantageously send forth a hint of 
 it ; then any incipient fancy of the Hon- 
 ourable and Reverend Edward's would be 
 nipped in the bud. So,
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 219 
 
 * Miss Alwyn can easily be spared 
 suflBcient/ she said, * and indeed,' sig- 
 nificantly, 'I don't know that I shall do 
 amiss by selecting some to-deiy, as it is 
 likely to be wanted before very long.' 
 
 The woman looked up from her search 
 interested, but Mrs. Alwyn was not going 
 to commit herself to particulars. So she 
 adroitly quitted the subject. 
 
 'Leonora, love, will you look at the 
 Mechlin I laid out by you. Has not the 
 longest strip a double thread round the 
 edge, with little loops and sort of trefoils 
 in the scallop ?' 
 
 * Yes/ Leonora, dropping Le Follet to 
 examine, thought it had, and, holding it 
 languidly up, * would this length be 
 sufficient ?' 
 
 Her mother and Lady Avena's maid 
 drew near to pronounce the match on close 
 inspection perfect, and the servant, despite
 
 220 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 an intimacy with the jewel case of an eaiTs 
 daughter, bestowed what Mrs. Alwyn took 
 for keenly appreciative glances on the four 
 splendid hoops, pearl, diamond, sapphire, 
 ruby, which adorned the young lady's white 
 hands. 
 
 The quest ended, nothing remained but 
 to fold up the parcel, but even this last 
 minute Mrs. Alwyn utilised to her own 
 purpose. 
 
 ' Lie down again, dear Leonora. My 
 daughter felt the heat so much yesterday. 
 You will tell Lady Avena we are all well 
 with this exception. (Then someone must 
 call to inquire for her,' she meditated 
 rapidly, ' Mr. Duvesne most likely !) Take 
 some eau-de-cologne, darling,' pouring it 
 freely on hands and handkerchief from an 
 immense gold-stoppered bottle. ' If Miss 
 Villiers should depart with all these,' sweep- 
 ing up the festoons of lace from the satin-
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 221 
 
 backed chair, and referring with motherly 
 benignity to the maid's former speech, ' I 
 must see that she goes where she will be 
 well taken care of. Anything less than 
 what she leaves would be quite impossible 
 for her.' 
 
 * I haven't a doubt of it, ma'am,' was 
 the reply, the speaker bending to tie her 
 parcel. 
 
 ' You are ready now ? Assure Lady 
 Avena I shall not even miss what I send 
 her. And — oh ! mind, mind my Chelsea 
 boy !' as an abrupt turn jeopardised a 
 piece of eighteenth century ware, 'I 
 couldn't replace it for fifty guineas ! It's 
 safe now. You will go down into the 
 hall, please. Phillips will show you out. 
 Good-morning.' 
 
 Sydney was just coming from her own 
 room as this early visitor quitted the 
 boudoir. Not particularly wanting to meet
 
 222 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 tbe stranger she drew back, and, herself 
 ■unseen, was witness of a most inexplicable 
 pantomime. For the stereotyped respectful 
 aspect of the woman changed as she closed 
 the door behind her. With a fierce 
 scowl of bitterest anger she clenched her 
 hand, and, her teeth hard set, seemed 
 furiously to menace the room she had 
 just left. Catching her breath she 
 seemed barely able to restrain vituperation 
 or sobs. One foot raised, as if she could 
 have stamped for very passion, was only 
 brought silently down by an effort that set 
 her trembling from head to foot. But a 
 sound in the hall below seemed to recall her 
 to her senses. With one great, quivering 
 breath she steadied herself, swept the back 
 of her gloved hand quickly over her eyes, 
 and, rapidly descending, left the house. 
 
 * I wonder, mamma,' Leonora was say- 
 ing as her step-sister entered, ' how that
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 223 
 
 servant knew Sydney's name. Did you 
 notice it ?' 
 
 ' Picked it up from fellow-servants, of 
 course/ was the quick rejoinder. ' Now 
 rest quietly, my dear, while I make haste 
 to Hemyngford. Leonora had best not be 
 disturbed, Sydney, till I come back/ 
 
 So Sydney w^as left with only her own 
 counsel to consult over that curious inter- 
 lude on the landing, and, since she could 
 not possibly either fathom or amend the 
 woman's singular excitement, she did her 
 best to put it from her mind. It might 
 have been illness, she thought. It could 
 have nothing to do with any of them at 
 The Dale. 
 
 But it had !
 
 224 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 BRINGS A WOOER TO ST. OLAIRS. 
 
 Mr. Richard Drayton's two days at St. 
 Clairs lengthened under hospitable pressm^e 
 into a week, and in that time it naturally 
 fell out that he saw something of what 
 Mr. Vaughan called his ^ lay-vicars.' 
 
 ' A multitude of small works mostly go to 
 the women of such homes as mine, Drayton,' 
 said the grey-haired rector to his quondam 
 pupil, the morning after the gathering 
 at Oakleigh Place ; ' and I give them 
 over to those two you talked with yester- 
 day. They can help a man of my years, 
 you know, without being suspected of
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 225 
 
 wanting to marry him ! That Sydney 
 Alwyn's adaptability is most amazing ; 
 give her anything to do for anyone she 
 likes, and she draws to the task like a 
 needle to a mao^net. And the other is an 
 invaluable girl — well, not girl exactly, for 
 she is ten years Sydney's senior ' 
 
 'And how old may ^V^^ be?' interposed 
 Mr. Drayton. 
 
 ' Twenty or thereabouts. So I'm rarely 
 fortunate to have such assistants.' (The 
 last thing to enter the rector's head would 
 have been any explanation of how his own 
 deeds had earned him these willing services. 
 That Mr. Drayton might find out !) ' But 
 mind you, every man hasn't such luck, 
 and recollect when you map out your home, 
 Drayton, you're not so fond of letter-lore 
 as your old tutor, so furnish yourself with 
 something that will brighten all your 
 evening-tides.' 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 ' Meaning a wife ?' 
 
 ' Right. And when yoa're determined 
 to take one, come here ' 
 
 ' To find her !' Mr. Drayton's brown 
 face reddened. 
 
 * No !' laughing. *But to hear the rest 
 of a bachelor's homily on married life ! 
 Who's there?' — a soft tap sounding on 
 the study door — ' Come in. What, you !' 
 as Sydney Alwyn entered, a basket of big 
 strawberries in one hand, a bunch of 
 honeysuckle in the other. ' Surely now 
 you are not come up in this heat just to 
 bring me those !' 
 
 ' Not that alone,' Sydney answered, set- 
 ting down her freight to shake hands with 
 Mr. Drayton, ' for I promised Harry and 
 Ben to come and help them with their 
 Euclid. At least/ blushing, ' to do it with 
 them. They expected to be at lessons 
 again to-day.'
 
 A WILFUL YOLTiG WOMAN. " 227 
 
 * Instead of which I've stopped their 
 industry,' said Mr. Drayton ; ' a drone in 
 the hive, I ought to be off.' 
 
 ' Nonsense V cried the rector, * they are 
 a pair of lazy little rascals. I set them 
 their work hours ago. They ought to have 
 stuck to it without me. But I suppose,' 
 to Sydney, ' they haven't ?' 
 
 In honesty she had to shake her head. 
 
 ' Playing !' with a groan, ' as if there 
 were no examination coming on in Septem- 
 ber.' Scholarships for these two orphan 
 lads lay heavy on the rector's mind just 
 then, and he looked vexed. Sydney as 
 little liked to see him troubled as to see 
 the lads, her very good comrades of four 
 years, in disgrace, so she hastened to 
 bespeak their pardon with a lurking 
 smile. 
 
 * Harry has been the soul of industry,' she 
 said, * in— drawing cats ! He's sketched 
 
 q2
 
 228 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 the tortoisesbell in fifty attitudes ; Ben 
 has written a poetical pendant to the pic- 
 ture, praising pussy's extraordinary mouse- 
 catching powers !' 
 
 Hereat her hearers broke out laughing, 
 and Sydney went bravely on. 
 
 ' So they are to be forgiven, please. 
 They are to make up for lost time next 
 week. And as Mr. Drayton will be here, 
 and of course you must be with him, may 
 I come down and be with the boys each 
 morning? They say they want me.' 
 
 The rector o^avc a covert o^lauce at his 
 friend. (' Just a device of that deep young 
 person's to set me free,' he explained after- 
 wards, * the lads work like Trojans if she's 
 present !) Oh, come by all means,' he 
 agreed, ' and I'll luxuriate in gossip with 
 this man. But stay' — as with this per- 
 mission Sydney w^ould have left — 'are you 
 going by the Dacies' ? Then will you take
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 229 
 
 The Standard aud these club papers ?' (It 
 was a poor folks' club, mainlj kept afoot 
 from the rector's pocket, one of the few 
 certain props of the doctor's lessening in- 
 come.) ' They've come to me in a muddle, 
 but I'll look in on Monday and set them 
 straight.' 
 
 ' That's how you are going to luxuriate, 
 is it?' laughed Sydney. Then setting the 
 honeysuckle in a plump brown jug, always 
 ready for the flowers she so often brought, 
 and bidding him be sure and eat his straw- 
 berries — for he had a great trick of for- 
 getting his food or giving it away — she was 
 renewing her good-byes when Mr. Drayton 
 was seized with politeness, and insisted on 
 carrying the account-books as far as the 
 Gate House ; he had seen Dr. Dacie once, 
 and promised to call to-day, so off the two 
 w^ent together. 
 
 The gentleman opened the conversation
 
 2e30 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 quite cleverly as soon as tbe Rectory door 
 was closed. 
 
 ' Mr. Vaughan,' said he, ' seems to find 
 plenty to occupy him even in this sleepy 
 little place ;' and Sydney, her lips 
 easily unlocked on such a theme, waxed 
 eloquent over the wide labours of their 
 mutual friend ; telling of his goodness to 
 the lads under his roof, and to herself, with 
 an animated warmth which was — so Richard 
 Drayton thought — extremely girlish and 
 extremely pretty. He brought her to a 
 check, though, by saying Mr. Vaughan had 
 boasted of having her to help him. 
 
 *Me!' cried Sydney, with a strong 
 suspicion she was being made fun of — her 
 home experience had ingrained in her 
 nature mistrust of her own powers — ' Me, 
 indeed ! I am afraid,' furtively eyeing this 
 middle-aged flatterer, ^you are joking !' 
 
 * Not at all,' Mr. Drayton hastened to
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 231 
 
 answer her, * I have been hearing of your 
 good offices in countless ways — yours and 
 Miss Dacie's !' 
 
 ' Ah ! Mary's now,' said Sydney, instant- 
 ly acquiescent. ' She is worth something ! 
 Why, Mary Dacie is right hand to father 
 and mother, and rector, and I don't know 
 whom besides. She is the cleverest of man- 
 agers and the very best of daughters, and 
 knows all about blankets and calicoes ; and 
 she can dispense too, she's half a doctor, 
 and,' blazoning out her friend's perfec- 
 tions with a triumph that lighted and 
 yet softened all her own features, ' she 
 is not like any one else I know ; she is a 
 heroine !' 
 
 ^ Have Miss Dacie's lines lain much out of 
 the common, then, to earn her such a title ?' 
 asked Mr. Drayton, vastly enjoying his 
 companion's enthusiasm, and quite ready 
 for more of it.
 
 232 A WILFUL YOUXG WOI\rAX. 
 
 Sydney turned to him her whole earnest 
 face. ' She has just lived through all her 
 girl-years without the least share of such 
 pleasures as most girls have. And all 
 through she has been just what I told you, 
 without ever flagging. They had a great 
 trouble, you know, once, when Dr. Dacie 
 was so hurt. Now, I'm afraid they have a 
 great many cares. Perhaps I ought not 
 to talk of them, though. But w^hatever 
 comes, Mary is always bright, always 
 brave, always patient. That's why I call 
 her a heroine.' 
 
 'Always patient, always brave !' repeated 
 Mr. Drayton. ' Ah, I suppose that com- 
 bination does make a heroine — or hero.' 
 And astride that phrase his thoughts 
 seemed silently to travel for some seconds, 
 whither, strangely enough, Sydney follow- 
 ed unerringly. 
 
 * You are thinking of that — was it a
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 233 
 
 scbool-fellow of yours? — you told me of 
 yesterday.' 
 
 'Yes. How did you find that out, Miss 
 Alwyn?' 
 
 ' Because I have been thinking of him 
 too, this morning. Perhaps — ' hesitating, 
 for she was on totally unknown ground — 
 ' whatever his losses are, they may turn 
 him into a hero. He may be glad some 
 day he had them.' 
 
 ' H — m !' — -Mr. Drayton smiled grimly — 
 'I can't imagine the dawn of that day yet. 
 I'm afraid it's easier for such as he to be 
 brave than to be patient. And he's 
 lost ' 
 
 His money, all of it ?' Sydney questioned ; 
 even her knowledge of life told her how 
 often that was the base of mankind's 
 w^oes. 
 
 ' Xot money alone. Worse.' 
 
 ' Xot^' she felt impelled to ask on, 'nob
 
 234 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 some one — or — no, not the only person he 
 loved ?' 
 
 Such an innocent lighting up of her 
 own heart's depths was here, Eichard 
 Drayton could have smiled at this revela- 
 tion, so purely womanly. But he answered 
 gravely — 
 
 * No, no, it is not that.' 
 
 ' Then,' said Sydney simply, with much 
 relief, ' he can't be hopeless ;' with which 
 dogma they turned in at the Dacies' gate, 
 and Mary, watching their approach, 
 thought the girl had caught some new 
 charm even since yesterday, and wondered 
 if this Mr. Drayton, looking down upon 
 her, saw it too. Then her own reflection^ 
 very visibly thirty, in a much-worn dress, 
 gleamed upon her from a mirror, and she 
 turned away with a rising pang. Com- 
 pared with Sydney, oh, how old, how plain 
 she looked ! For once she determined,
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOIMAN. 235 
 
 Tvitb unusual shrinkinor, she would not go 
 to meet her girl friend and — the stranger. 
 They could do without her ! But, alas I for 
 her plan, the next moment her father called. 
 Here were club papers she must take care 
 of, all to be examined before the rector 
 came on Monday ; so, with her most rare 
 qualm of jealousy quelled by Sydney's kiss 
 she shook hands with Mr. Drayton, and 
 while Dr. Dacie hunted out his leader in 
 the newspaper, explained pleasantly how 
 Miss Alwyn * spoils papa by reading to him 
 every day at noon, because his sight is 
 rather bad, and I have not always 
 time,' and then slipped unobtrusively 
 away to lure back her cheerfulness among 
 household cares, leaving the caller, by 
 special permission of the doctor and 
 Sydney, listener to the morning news, 
 observer of the delicate neatness of all 
 the well-worn furniture about him, as last
 
 236 A WILFUL YOUXG wo:\rAx. 
 
 night's liot debate was gone through, em- 
 phasised by growls of assent or grunts 
 of disapproval, according as his host's 
 political proclivities were tickled or tor- 
 mented. 
 
 That noontime reading — one of Sydney's 
 grateful new ways to pay her old debts to 
 the Dacies — must have been to Mr. Dray- 
 ton's taste. Oa three successive days in 
 the next week he appeared at the Gate 
 House by Sydney's side, the two always, 
 as Mary Dacie, with a faint aching not to 
 be stifled, used to notice, in lively conver- 
 sation, and on the last day he even took 
 his leave with her, claiming her company 
 from the doctor's house to the very gate 
 of The Dale, and they grew in a manner 
 confidential. 
 
 ' Mr. Yaughan,' he told her, as they 
 went along, ' wants to put an end to my 
 going abroad again. Old roving habits
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAX. 237 
 
 pull hard, Miss Alwyn. Yet his counsel 
 is always wise. Which shall I do ? Go 
 or stay ?' 
 
 ' Stay, certainly,' returned Sydney. 
 ' There's no place like home.' 
 
 ' But suppose I haven't a home ? Only 
 a house ?' 
 
 ' Make haste and find whatever you 
 want to — improve it.' 
 
 ' And you think' — with a side-glance as 
 if on her answer much hung — ' you think 
 I might — by-and-by — when I've turned 
 myself round at Granfylde, find what I 
 want to that end ?' 
 
 ' I really do.' 
 
 * Then,' said Richard Drayton, a sort of 
 shy pleasure beaming over his honest, 
 sunburnt face, 'yours be the casting 
 vote, I'll abide by it. When I've looked 
 Granfylde over and know how I stand, I 
 shall be paying St. Glairs another visit.'
 
 238 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 ' And I'll promise you one welcome,' 
 said Sydney, a speech he answered 
 with such a farewell handshake as left 
 her fino^ers tingling for ten minutes. 
 Certainly they understood each other ex- 
 tremely well. 
 
 From her boudoir window Mrs. Alwyn 
 could see, on the other side of the laurel 
 hedge, a masculine felt accompanying 
 Sydney's white summer straw. With a 
 disfavouring frown she watched the re- 
 treating shoulders of her daughter's 
 escort, asking, as Sydney entered irradiat- 
 ed with some pleasant thought, 
 
 ' Is that singular friend of Mr. Yaughan's 
 never going to leave? He fastens his 
 society on you in a very persistent manner, 
 one might say " ill-bred," as he is a per- 
 fect stranger.' 
 
 * He never feels that with me, mamma,'
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 239 
 
 apologised Sydney, prompt in defence, 
 * being both Mr. Vaughan's friends, we 
 seem quite used to each other. The boys 
 say he is a capital fellow, and I think they 
 are right.' 
 
 Leonora looked scandalised ; Mrs. Al- 
 wyn, affronted. 
 
 ' I consider, Sydney, that your mother's 
 opinion should certainly outweigh that 
 of a couple of raw boys! /look on this 
 Mr. Drayton as inquisitive and ill-man- 
 nered. Pray, did he investigate the 
 different parts of England you have 
 lived in, as he did with me on Friday?' 
 (a stretch of imagination justified under 
 Mrs. Alwyn's private code of the ad- 
 missible). 
 
 ' No, indeed, mamma, he did not. 
 We have only talked of St. Clairs and 
 — well, just the people we both knew
 
 240 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 here. Nothing else. And Mr. Drayton 
 leaves to-daj, so he won't annoy you any 
 more.' 
 
 The last intelligence was welcome ; a 
 wafting away of uneasy mists invisible to 
 other eyes than Mrs. Alwyn's. So Sydney 
 got lightly off for her misdemeanours, and 
 her mother resumed the grand suavity 
 which became her so well before the 
 after-luncheon hour was disturbed by a 
 visitor. 
 
 This was Mr. Edward Duvesne, bearer 
 of the expected inquiries as to Miss Villiers' 
 health, and of a message from the coun- 
 tess, over which Mrs. Alwyn silently sang 
 pasans. 
 
 ' Could she with her daughters spend an 
 hour or two at Oakleigh Place on Saturday ? 
 She had had no time to see through the 
 gardens properly last week. Lady 
 Comyngham so much hoped they would
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 241 
 
 pay her a second visit while the place look- 
 ed well.' 
 
 Here was a flattering discrimination, an 
 appreciative calling to come forth from the 
 common herd of last week's visitors, and 
 be honoured by reception into the inner 
 family circle, that rejoiced every ambitious 
 nerve in Mrs. Alwyn's system. Of course 
 she would go. No imaginable engagement 
 would have kept her away. But instant 
 acceptance would have been infra dig. So 
 the eye-glass went up to mask too evident 
 satisfaction : a well-simulated uncertainty 
 compelled a hunt through the dainty 
 morocco ' engagement ' book, and at last 
 the ' Thanks, I think we are free on 
 Saturday. "VYe shall be very happy,' was 
 delivered with the best assumption of just 
 moderate gratification Mrs. Alwyn could 
 master. ' Nothing at least,* she amended 
 her acceptance, * to deter my elder daughter 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 and myself. Miss Alwyn must remain 
 at home unfortunately. We positively' — 
 with an expressive glance at Leonora — 
 * could not take Sydney away. Rupert 
 would think it strange — a son, Mr. Duvesne, 
 of the Major Villiers who was at Oakleigh 
 with us. By marriage my nephew, but no 
 relation to my younger daughter — er — at 
 present. Lady Comyngham will kindly 
 excuse her, I am sure.' 
 
 And as the young lady was not there to 
 speak for herself, being upstairs construing 
 Caesar for her class-mates' edification, that 
 was the reply Mr. Duvesne bore away some 
 half-hour later, bearing also, as Phillips 
 opening the hall door observed, with a 
 secret snigger, a ' Madame d'Arblay ' carna- 
 tion worn by Miss Leonora at luncheon. 
 (' Hadn't the countess that shade ? Then 
 would he take it to her?') And Mrs. 
 Alwyn announced to Sydney, * Leonora
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 243 
 
 and I ^0 to Oakleif^h Place on Saturday, 
 so I must depute you to receive Mr. 
 Villiers. He writes asking for a peep of 
 the country. I don't fancy he is very 
 robust, so I hope he may enjoy the change, 
 poor fellow.' 
 
 Accordingly on the day fixed Mrs. Alwyn 
 drove off with her elder daughter, Leonora, 
 a most artistic study in cool draperies, a 
 bunch of innocent-eyed jasmine on her 
 bosom ; and Sydney, the road paved to 
 possible liking by pre-secured pity, was left 
 to meet the guest whose coming concern- 
 ed her so much more closely than she yet 
 divined. 
 
 Highly contented as the Major had gone 
 back to town, he had wisely refrained from 
 over-praise of Sydney in any form. A 
 hint or two that might come in useful as 
 to her disposition he had given — * Docile 
 in reality, I'm positive, but not common- 
 
 r2
 
 244 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 place " yea, nay," you know. Drive her 
 with the snaffle and not with the curb, my 
 lad ! her mother uses that too much ' — but 
 her personal charms he passed over with 
 ' You'll see her soon, and I needn't describe 
 her:' so the appearance of his young 
 hostess took Mr. Eupert as an agreeable 
 surprise. 
 
 As the Hedyngham cab turned in at 
 the leafy sweep of The Dale grounds, she 
 came to meet him from under the droop- 
 ing lime-boughs, the gracefulness of ready 
 greeting in her slender summer-clad 
 figure, the slight embarrassment that 
 flushed her cheeks and darkened her 
 serious eyes melting quickly as she fancied 
 she detected in the new-comer that 
 delicacy which her mother had fore- 
 shadowed. 
 
 Handsome after the type of his cousin 
 Leonora, whom he immensely admired,
 
 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAN. 245 
 
 she might not be, but well-bred to the 
 most careless observer, with 'points that 
 gain upon a fellow every time he looks at 
 her, you know !' Ah ! it took very few 
 seconds for Mr. Rupert to decide this 
 prize was worth pursuit, and, with the 
 pleasant pendant of ' six thousand,' should 
 be his in due time. 
 
 So he made the most of the mood in 
 which she met him. ' Was awfully 
 tired. Town with the thermometer at 
 ninety was slow suicide, but labourers 
 couldn't choose localities !' and after he 
 had disposed of travelling-dust he re-ap- 
 peared under the lime and took his tea 
 with a wearied-out sort of enjoyment in 
 the restful hour, that gave no hint of 
 others neither so early or so healthy, which 
 had emptied his pockets and paled his 
 complexion of late. 
 
 Apologies for Mrs. Alwyn's absence
 
 246 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 were received with great equanimity. 
 
 ' It's best to take one's pleasures by 
 degrees,' said Mr. Villiers, ^ and one's 
 relations too, though I'm not clear if I 
 may claim you in that list. What is 
 the etiquette of step-cousinship ? Does it 
 allow me to say " Sydney," for instance ?' 
 
 ' I don't think you called me " Miss 
 Alwyn " four years ago,' she answered 
 amused at this point of ceremony. ^ Speak 
 to me as you do to Leonora. Treat us 
 alike.' 
 
 'Then it will be "Sydney." Thank 
 you. I can treat you both alike, so far. 
 But as to four years ago being any prece- 
 dent, why, four years are a gulf at your age. 
 You have grown out of knowledge since 
 then.' 
 
 'In the same time most girls would 
 have done the same thing,' she answered^
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 247 
 
 calmly, letting a rather fervid glance sboofc 
 harmless by as she gave him another cup 
 of tea. 
 
 'Ah ! but you've done more than grow. 
 May I, without hopelessly putting my foot 
 in it, say how youVe improved ?' 
 
 'No, you may not,' said Sydney, 'for 
 you haven't been here long enough to 
 know whether I deserve the compliment. 
 Please make something besides personal 
 remarks, or else perhaps we shall quarrel.' 
 
 ' Which Fate forbid !' returned the gen- 
 tleman ; ' the last thing on earth I want is 
 either to begin with a quarrel, or,' very 
 pointedly, ' to end with one.' 
 
 But that shaft, too, glanced unnoted by 
 its aim, and Mr. Villiers was driven to 
 make himself agreeable for the next hour 
 on entirely new lines, with a companion 
 not to be ' fetched ' by any art of flirtation,
 
 248 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 a baby at coquetry, though out of her 
 teens, the like of whom in all bis London 
 life be bad never encountered before. 
 
 Determined on approval, however, he 
 found no fault with this specimen of a 
 new class. On the contrary, be liked the 
 change from every-day womankind, and 
 flattered himself that, keeping well in 
 sight a certain girlish dignity which 
 Sydney, at her frankest, always wore, he 
 made capital ' running ' in the time that 
 elapsed between their meeting and Mrs. 
 Alwyn's return. 
 
 From Oakleigh Place the ladies came 
 back in a state of honied sweetness. The 
 Countess had been charming. Leonora had 
 sung to her. Mr. Edward Duvesne had 
 turned the pages. Some one had compar- 
 ed her voice to Patti's. Now here at home 
 Rupert and Sydney were getting on 
 admirably. Every plan seemed prosperous.
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 249 
 
 Tor a whole evening Mrs. Alwyn was 
 superbly serene, and only once, when she 
 was showing her nephew the little con- 
 servatory where he might be permitted a 
 cigar, was the express object of his visit 
 touched upon. 
 
 * Leonora is handsomer than even Aunt 
 Helen,' said Mr. Villiers, 'and "little 
 Sydney," as we used to call her ' 
 
 ' Yes, Rupert. About her — what do you 
 think — altogether?' 
 
 ' That she's quite delightful. Developed 
 every way — beautified amazingly !' 
 
 This was warmer praise than Leonora's 
 — more than Mrs. Alwyn could stand. 
 
 ' I am relieved that you like her — at first,' 
 she said, her mouth drooping ominously at 
 the corners ; ' you will find out her best 
 and worst characteristics by degrees. You 
 may have to be careful, Sydney is so 
 decided — what some would call wilful.'
 
 250 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 ^So mucli the better,' laughed Mr. 
 Yilliers, ' if she takes wilfully in my favour. 
 I must try and make her.' 
 
 Then they said good-night, and no more 
 conversation on the subject was exchanged 
 for long. 
 
 But given a mother and suitor playing 
 judiciously into each others hands, the 
 game went on with every prospect of 
 success. Though Leonora and her mother 
 performed their devotions at Oakleigh 
 Church next day, Mr. Villiers elected to 
 walk with Sydney to St. Glairs', gravely 
 informing his companion that he thought 
 people should always attend their parish 
 church, though he would have been sorely 
 puzzled to tell where or what his was I 
 And, coached by the cunning Major, he 
 fearlessly attacked his aunt's prejudices on 
 feminine occupations, pronounced garden- 
 ing a most invigorating exercise, and only
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 251 
 
 wished he could shake off office drudgery 
 any day and come and help his ^ cousins ' at 
 the work. 
 
 ' But I shall be down again soon/ he 
 informed Sydney on the Monday morning 
 when his first visit ended, and she, at the 
 request of her mother, whose head did so 
 ache if she rose too early, attended their 
 guest's seven o'clock breakfast. ' I feel no 
 end better for this splendid air. I shall 
 soon repeat the dose if I don't outstep my 
 welcome.' 
 
 * There is no risk of that,' returned 
 Sydney, pleased at this tribute to St. Clairs' 
 curative powers, ' as mamma said last nighty 
 you must come soon and come often if it 
 does you good.' And of this invitation the 
 young man took full advantage. 
 
 ' Glad, I have no doubt,' said Sydney to 
 Mary Dacie, ' to get respite from that 
 grinding office. He seems to be not very
 
 252 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 strong, and I suppose they have to work 
 very bard.' 
 
 * According to his own account,' said 
 Miss Dacie, which was quite a vindictive 
 speech for her; but she had taken an 
 aversion to this rather 6/a5^'-looking young 
 man, with his mixture of Bond Street and 
 Madame Tussaud's personnel^ and feared 
 what people in the village began to gossip 
 might be true ; this frequent Sunday guest 
 at The Dale might be after taking Sydney 
 away. 
 
 But the suggestive confidences some 
 women delight in were not to Mary 
 Dacie's or to Sydney's taste. So the one 
 kept her fears to herself, and the other 
 never suspected their existence. Mr. 
 Villiers came some half-dozen times the 
 autumn through, and always left, if not 
 more in love, yet more thoroughly con- 
 vinced that this was the wife ordained for
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WO^^IAN. 253 
 
 him, though he still hesitated over bring- 
 ing matters to a crisis. He was hard 
 pressed for an announced engagement, for 
 Tufter's bill and sundry other accounts 
 grew clamorous for settlement. Yet 
 every day at The Dale showed him Sydney 
 was not a mere malleable piece of girlhood 
 to be had for the asking. If she said ' No ' 
 to him she would abide by that ' No.' So 
 it behoved him to feel the ground safe 
 under his feet. Those thousands of hers 
 were worth some pains, to say nothing of 
 herself. Therefore he pursued his woo- 
 ing with a cautious deliberation that 
 would have provoked Mrs. Alwyn, had not 
 side circumstances condoned delay. 
 
 The Comynghams had left Oakleigh in 
 September. A scare as to the water 
 supply at the House dispersed them till 
 the spring. 
 
 ' It's awfully provoking, especially for
 
 254 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 rao,' said the Honourable Edward, quite 
 sentimentally, taking leave at The Dale, 
 ^ for I wanted to hurry on those builders 
 at my nevv Rectory. The place ought to 
 be done by the spring. I hope Miss 
 Yilliers will show an interest in it then, 
 and tell me how it ought to be arranged.' 
 
 That speech was food for hope through 
 long winter weeks, when Oakleigh church 
 was supplied by a locuia tenens, and saw 
 little of Mrs. Alwyn or her daughter, 
 It might be well, too, the elder lady con- 
 soled herself with thinking, that this break 
 had occurred. Sydney's affair could now 
 be adjusted at reasonable leisure. Her 
 marriage-day might be decided on by the 
 time the Comynghams came back ; and 
 they would be without her through the 
 next summer's campaign, destined, the 
 mother fondly hoped, to briug the bride- 
 s^room of her desire to Leonora's feet.
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 255 
 
 Thus through his flying visits Mr. Ru- 
 pert's courtship was well seconded by his 
 aunt Helen and — without much difficulty 
 — the hours of his presence were made 
 brighter to Sydney than those of his 
 absence. 
 
 With some tact he watched her likings 
 and turned them to his own use. A ques- 
 tion of winter gifts was raised before him. 
 Sydney, disappointed, had to give up 
 most she desired to make. When Mr. 
 Villiers next presented himself he was 
 bewrapped in blanket-like rugs, purchased, 
 he declared, at Hedyngham, to protect 
 him from the east wind driving to St. 
 Clairs, but no more use to him, so would 
 Sydney dispose of them as she chose ? 
 Did he hear books mentioned, wished for, 
 by some fortuitous chance he was sure to 
 have such ' at home ' (meaning at a par- 
 ticular bookshop off Oxford Street), or
 
 256 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 could borrow them for ber easily ; and as 
 weeks slipped bj this prudent siege seem- 
 ed likely to take effect. 
 
 A charming work on plant-lore had of 
 late appeared. Knowing it to be of the very 
 kind Sydney would delight in, Mr. Rupert 
 brought it down, a Christmas gift, with — 
 not to be too marked — bangles for Leo- 
 nora, pheasants for his aunt. 
 
 Sydney, overjoyed at her prize, buried 
 herself in its fascinating pages, and at 
 the evening's end thanked the giver most 
 expressively. 
 
 ' You must read it yourself, Mr. Yiliiers, 
 to know what 1 have been enjoying,' she 
 said. 
 
 * I ! Why, I know as much of the sub- 
 ject as of the Homeric bards! Plainly, 
 nothing !' 
 
 * Oh ! but it makes you like it if you 
 will but begin.'
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 257 
 
 'Then will you teacli me?' 
 
 Gravely — ^ Yes, if you wish/ 
 
 * Then I am sure to like it.' 
 
 ' Precisely what I say.' 
 
 ^ With a difference,' said Mr. Rupert in 
 lowered voice, ^ which some time I must 
 explain to you.' 
 
 ' But not now/ replied Sydney, most un- 
 suspicious still, ' for I have read myself to 
 sleep. Good-night. And I don't know 
 when I've enjoyed a Christmas evening so 
 much. I have to thank you for it.' And 
 she bestowed on Mr. Rupert a full beam of 
 gratitude as he held the door open for her. 
 
 Leonora had gone to bed an hour before. 
 Watchinor another o^irl's love-affair was 
 very stupid work. Mrs. Alwyn alone was 
 left to mark the words and smile. 
 
 ' Well ?' she said, questioning her nephew 
 with a glance as he came back to the 
 hearth-rug. 
 
 VOL. 1. s
 
 258 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 * Well, Aunt Helen,' he said, ' I feel very 
 much jour debtor. It won't be my fault if 
 Sydney is not my wife long before next 
 Christmas time.'
 
 259 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A GEAND DISCOVERT. 
 
 Having come to which stage, Mr. Villiers 
 would probably have pressed his suit 
 rapidly to conclusion, but for sundry in- 
 terruptions unforeseen and unavoidable. 
 
 First came a month of snows and storms, 
 that made country roads all but impassable 
 even for journeys of profit, and utterly 
 tabooed the notion of traversing them on 
 journeys of pleasure. At least so Mrs. 
 Alwyn wrote to her nephew, opining per- 
 haps that an obstacle at this precise 
 juncture might make him more ardent on 
 
 his next visits. Then a political embroil- 
 
 s2
 
 260 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 ment with a cantankerous foreign Power 
 brought clouds of war on the nation's 
 horizon, agitated the "War Departnaent, 
 and gave Mr. Eupert a bond fide dose of 
 long hours. And with March came graver 
 delay. 
 
 One of what Mrs. Alwjn called Sydney's 
 'pretty warbling choir,' a worthy little 
 twelve-year-old Suffolk dumpling of the 
 female sex named Patty Peggs, was ' took 
 ailin,' and after vapouring through a 
 prelude, suspected of chicken-pox, ague, or 
 measles, developed by the end of a week 
 a fine case of malignant typhoid. Miss 
 Patty being the eldest of eight (the family 
 including two sets of twins, which, as the 
 poor mother said, ' du tell up so !') it may 
 be inferred without much imagination that 
 her share of daily bread was not super- 
 abundant, to say nothing of the food illness 
 needed.
 
 A WILTUL YOUNG WOMAN. 261 
 
 Fearless of disease, Sydney at first went 
 to the child with such supplies as Dr. Dacie 
 recommended and her own narrow purse 
 could furnish ; but when the malady was 
 duly declared, Mrs. Alwyn promptly forbade 
 these ministrations. Leonora, alarmed at 
 all fever, was infinitely terrified by a second 
 and third case, resolutely refused to go out 
 of doors or taste a breath of the air which 
 blew between the infected village and 
 *' their nobility," and so nearly alarmed 
 herself into illness of some sort, that her 
 mother decided on flight as the lesser of 
 two evils, sent the servants away on very 
 close board wages, shut up The Dale, and 
 carried her daughters off to the fresh 
 breezes of a southern watering-place. 
 
 Sydney pleaded dolefully to be left at 
 home, or with the Dacies. She might help 
 them or Mr. Vaughan if illness spread. 
 But her mother quickly negatived the
 
 262 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 petition. ' People would say I had more 
 regard for Leonora's health than yours/ 
 she said, ' and nothing should induce me 
 to leave you here.' 
 
 So, as an example of well-balanced 
 affection, Sydney was carried off, and had 
 to leave what the cottage neighbours call- 
 ed her ' poor little singin' mawther ' to 
 struggle through her phases of suffering 
 without further help from her than could 
 be trusted in the shape of shillings to Mary 
 Dacie. 
 
 This effort of maternal justice, however, 
 earned Mrs. Alwyn's amiability a long 
 rest. 
 
 She was sorely provoked to find at their 
 Bournemouth boarding-house that Syd- 
 ney's by now distinguished face and style 
 drew more attention than her sister's well- 
 preserved charms ; and by an attitude of 
 petulance, not positively unkind but in-
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 263 
 
 expressibly wearing, she made it manifest 
 to her younger child that as time went on 
 she became more and more the ' one too 
 many ' of their trio. 
 
 * If Leonora and I could have been 
 alone/ she complained, ' which of course we 
 could not be, as you were so much too 
 thoughtless to be left at St. Clairs — but 
 if we had been alone we might have spent 
 the spring in Paris. But travelling with a 
 third practically doubles one's expenses. 
 That has often kept me from a change 
 when I should have enjoyed it.' And 
 every item of each week's outlay was 
 scanned through the same medium, driving 
 Sydney into unavailing discomfort and 
 wistful quiet. 
 
 The little coterie of semi-invalids among 
 whom they were planted, watching the 
 new-comers with amusement, were puzzled 
 over the connection c f the three, till the
 
 264 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 widow of a City of London Knight, chief in 
 the band of permanent boarders, took the 
 bull by the horns, or otherwise accosted 
 Mrs. Alwyn in the drawing-room one 
 evening, and investigated the relationship. 
 
 ' What a particularly charming brunette 
 your younger — companion is !' she began 
 ingratiatingly, ' at least, we presume her to 
 be the younger — the one reading by the 
 table.' 
 
 Mrs. Alwyn looked deliberately through 
 her glasses as if to make sure of the person 
 alluded to. " Oh ! I see — Sydney — yes, 
 she is often admired.' 
 
 'You said "Miss Sydney," I think, did 
 you not ?' pursued the inquirer, not to be 
 daunted by Mrs. Alwyn's return to her 
 newspaper ; ' of course, Sydney is her 
 surname ?' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon. I said ' Sydney ' 
 merely. She is Miss Alwyn.'
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 265 
 
 ' The same name as jour own then !* 
 ' Certainly.' 
 
 ' Related, then, to your husband ?' 
 ' Yes, and — to myself.' 
 
 * Deceased wife's sister business,' thought 
 the astute questioner triumphantly, ' that 
 accounts for this woman's oddness !' — 
 * Your niece, I presume ?' she persisted, 
 aloud. 
 
 * My daughter, madam !' answered Mrs. 
 Alwyn, so sharply that her inquisitive 
 ladyship, who possessed a sense of the 
 ludicrous, couldn't refrain from laughter. 
 
 ' Why, bless the woman !' she cried, Mrs. 
 Alwyn looking daggers at the homely 
 expletive, ' why didn't you just tell me so 
 at first? I set myself to find out, because 
 I vowed 1 did hear her say "mamma," 
 though the rest protested that only the 
 other one belonged to you.' 
 
 And so often and so keenly did Sydney
 
 266 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 feel as if it were * only the other one ' who 
 belonged to her mother, that those sea-side 
 weeks dragged slowly along, and she 
 hailed with delight the first chance of re- 
 turning to the faces and occupations of 
 St. Clairs. 
 
 A clean bill of health was reported in 
 April, and Mrs. Alwyn, desiring to spend a 
 week at her brother's in Hampshire with 
 Leonora (three would be inconvieuent 
 again) Sydney was permitted to return 
 and stay with the Dacies before they all 
 re-united at The Dale, 
 
 Nowhere had the girl been more missed 
 than at the Gate House, where she shone 
 always at her brightest, paying them in 
 every coin she could conceive for their 
 kindness to her earlier girlhood. Now 
 Mary received her joyfully with, 
 
 ' How well you are looking, and how 
 glad I am to have got you back !'
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 267 
 
 And the traveller, with a hug and a 
 ' kiss, answered, 
 
 * Also, how glad I am to be back, but 
 how well you are not looking ! Whaf s 
 the matter, Mary ? Has anything gone 
 amiss while I was away ?' 
 
 * No,' Mary declared, ' nothing so very 
 particular,' but bit by bit, in the privacy 
 of upstairs unpacking, it came out how her 
 father was less equal to work than ever 
 that spring ; his lameness gained on him 
 so, and * mother,' who had never flagged, 
 but kept such a willing shoulder to the 
 wheel so many years, was not like herself. 
 The strain of all her middle-age was tell- 
 ing on her now. And the 'boys,' long 
 since men, two married, one in Canada, 
 were getting less able, between growing 
 families and uncertain business, to give 
 their small aids to the old home, and so, 
 confessed poor Mary Dacie — permitting
 
 268 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAX. 
 
 herself the extraordinary luxury of five 
 minutes' collapse — ^ It seems as if we are 
 all on the down-hill road togetherj Syd- 
 ney dear; and sometimes I'm such a 
 goose I get miserable over it.' 
 
 To which Sydney, who had long dreaded 
 this state of things, could only return the 
 comfort of caresses. The outlook was 
 gloomy, she knew, so uninviting that she 
 must have been glad to quit its contempla- 
 tion, for, after some minutes diligent 
 unpacking, she changed the subject by 
 asking, most irrelevantly, if Mr. Drayton 
 liad been to St. Clairs while she was 
 away. 
 
 It was not often Sydney showed such 
 lack of sympathy. Mary Dacie sighed as 
 she answered ' No,' and she sighed again 
 as she smoothed her ruffled brown hair, 
 and stroked out of sight a few obtrusive 
 silver threads. What a foil she looked to
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 269* 
 
 that girl in the sweet bloom of her twenty 
 years ! But she mustn't grow curmudgeon- 
 ly. Admirers ! Lovers ! these must he 
 pleasant pastures for young minds to stray 
 along. She wouldn't grudge them to 
 Sydney, even — with a sensation as of a 
 rising sob firmly subdued — even in the 
 shape of — Mr. Drayton, or Mr. Rupert 
 Villiers. 
 
 This latter gentleman, though debarred 
 from prosecuting his plans in person 
 through the spring, had not allowed him- 
 self to be forgotten. Early in the year 
 each note to his Aunt Helen had contained 
 some special message for Sydney, unfail- 
 ingly delivered. About that date in 
 February when feathered monogamists 
 select their spouses for the coming spring, 
 a florist of Petersham (a stroke to please 
 the Major, that!) packed off a splendid 
 mass of sweet-scented lilies of the valley,
 
 270 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 and the address, ' Miss Alwyn, The Dale, 
 St. Clairs/ was in Mr. Eupert's handwrit- 
 ing. Reviews to her liking, magazines 
 many, found their way similarly to the 
 young lady at Bournemouth, in company 
 with society papers for her mother and 
 sister. And now, definite desire and 
 intention of success strengthened by the 
 propitious Christmas visit, Mr. Villiers 
 felt no hesitation in assuring his anxious 
 father that, spite of postponement, every- 
 thing was going on as right as a trivet, 
 and the paternal purse would probably be 
 drawn upon for wedding garments shortly 
 after midsummer. 
 
 Meanwhile, as the season was gay, and 
 likely to be his last free entirely from 
 petticoat control, the young man took 
 licence to treat his good resolutions for the 
 future pretty freely. 
 
 The singer who had once enthralled him
 
 A WILFUL YOL^G WOMAN. 271 
 
 was far away now, enchanting dollars by 
 thousands from the rich citizens of another 
 continent, but her pedestal was not long 
 vacant. Small pink tickets for the Opera 
 Comique, and large, long bills for suppers 
 connected with the same ; companion 
 documents to Mr. Tufter's original one, 
 and a run of late hours over a green table 
 much best left alone ; these, to say nothing 
 of more legitimate indulgences, swelled a 
 debit account of considerable proportions 
 as weeks went by, and relied for settle- 
 ment mainly on Sydney's fortune. Since, 
 ' Hang it, you know/ thought Mr. Rupert, 
 ' five thousand, or four perhaps, will be 
 plenty to tie up. She'll like to do some- 
 thing towards starting the domestic mill, 
 that'll be only fair. The rest we'll leave 
 loose as a sort of general fund.' 
 
 And over the manipulation of that 
 general fund Mr. Rupert's fingers itched
 
 272 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 prospectively, after a fasbion that boded 
 ill for its long existence, while for his first 
 visit to The Dale in May he began to look 
 impatiently as for a serious crisis in his 
 fate. But this crisis was yet to be put off 
 by doings we must halt to explain. 
 
 Among the elements of uneasiness under- 
 lying Sydney Alwyn's young life was one 
 extremely common to mankind — the want 
 of money. Endowed with a quick eye to 
 other people's needs, a ready hand to help 
 them, it was no light bond to feel herself 
 always scantily provided with means to 
 this end, and in nothing was the contrast 
 of her nature to her mother s and sister's 
 more clearly shown than in this matter of 
 £s. d. 
 
 Mrs. Alwyn would nail down the charges 
 of a laundress to the lowest farthing, and 
 travel miles, metaphorically, to save a 
 mite; Leonora invariably had headaches
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 27S 
 
 on offertory Sundays at St. Glairs', and, as 
 Phillips would grimly say, was never 
 known to give away so mucli as her cast- 
 off frilling, and neither lady grudged any 
 domestic screwing which would supply 
 means of external display ; while Sydney's 
 economies, contrariwise, began and ended 
 with herself. All she could garner up 
 went in channels she was not in the habit 
 of talking about, and many a rueful hour 
 it cost her to think that these savings were 
 so provokingly small. 
 
 Mrs. Alwyn, however, took good care 
 that only a very small portion of her 
 income should be wasted through Sydney's 
 proclivities, and so it came to pass that 
 the girl had to tax her native ingenuity to 
 make the most of the little she possessed. 
 
 She was making, one May morning, an 
 after-breakfast inspection of last winter s 
 garments, pondering over what could be 
 
 VOL. L T
 
 274 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN» 
 
 spared to robe the convalescent Patty 
 Peggs, and two or three junior sisters, 
 lamenting secretly that she must not ven- 
 ture on slicing up a suggestively-useful 
 serge, for fear her mother might not see 
 fit to replace it before cold weather came 
 again, when Phillips entered, and explain- 
 ing, ' The bag was late this morning, miss. 
 Mistress sent this up here,' laid a letter on 
 the table. 
 
 Sydney's postal communications were 
 few. A glance at the old-fashioned business 
 envelope told her from whom this came — 
 Jacob Cheene. Glad to receive it alone, 
 since Mrs. Alwyn never saw the clerkly 
 superscription without annoyed comment, 
 she opened this missive of her father's old 
 friend, and prepared to read it undisturbed. 
 
 But the first sight of its news almost 
 took away her breath. 
 
 She always wrote to him simply and
 
 A. WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 275 
 
 freely, more freely perhaps than she could 
 ever speak to anyone at St. Clairs, and in 
 her last she had dwelt rather dolefully on 
 the poor famished home of her choir 
 invalid, wishing she could have given the 
 little pale-cheeked mortal a taste of sea- 
 breezes ; though, as she had ended, wishes 
 were, alas ! vain — the surplus of her allow- 
 ance would go such a little way. 
 
 Now, in Jacob's letter, came this re- 
 markable response : — 
 
 ' It is like your own father's child, Miss 
 Sydney, to be looking after the poor about 
 you. He was as free as the day as long 
 as ever he was able, and I will make bold 
 to say you will copy him when you take 
 your own money. Your birth-day comes 
 next month, I know. I remember when 
 you were (oorn as well as yesterday. I 
 wish I were not too old a man to travel 
 
 T 2
 
 276 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 over the country and bring you some 
 trifles you, and you only, would value. 
 But they shall get to you somehow, though 
 I may never live to shake hands again 
 with my dear master's daughter. And 
 please to remember that on June the 
 8th nobody prays more fervently for 
 prosperity to your six thousand pounds, 
 and for a long life for you to do good with 
 it, than 
 
 ' Your very true and dutiful friend, 
 
 * Jacob Cheene.' 
 
 Six thousand pounds ! Her six thou- 
 sand pounds ! 
 
 Whatever did the old clerk mean ? 
 
 Sydney flushed up and all her pulses 
 started off full gallop at the thought of 
 such wealth in her own hands. Patty Peggs 
 was clothed in blue serge instanter. The 
 damp, ill-drained domicile which the entire
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 277 
 
 family of Peggs inhabited was deserted : 
 tbey were transferred by magic, high and 
 dry, to a six-roomed house. The rector 
 had his blanket-club endowed, so he hadn't 
 to go begging every winter. The Dacies 
 — oh ! — with a great joyful inspiration — if 
 it were true ! But not a moment could 
 she wait without hearing if this extra- 
 ordinary fortune were really so near at 
 hand. Letter held tight, away she went 
 through her mother s boudoir, where she 
 heard voices. 
 
 The inner door was slightly ajar. Mrs. 
 Alwyn, reading aloud to Leonora some- 
 thing the post had brought, heard no- 
 thing of the light approaching step. Syd- 
 ney could not avoid catching the last 
 sentence. 
 
 * We mean no offence, but seein' one of 
 us is wholly laid by now, and you know 
 full well, ma'am, how we've bore up again
 
 278 A WILFUL YOUNG WOIVIAN. 
 
 our troubles from beginnin' to end, we 
 
 humbly ask a trifle now and Sydney T 
 
 — Mrs. Alwyn broke off, her face, in com- 
 mon parlance, as black as a thunder-cloud 
 * Why did you not knock ? Never — never 
 should you enter a room in that manner 
 when people are reading letters !' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, mamma. I didn't 
 mean to interrupt you. Is yours a trou- 
 blesome one?' 
 
 ^ Ye — es — no — oh, no ! That is, nothing 
 particular. Merely a begging letter. Is 
 yours more important?' 
 
 The girl's bearing was so wonderfully 
 bright, for a moment Mrs. Alwyn thought 
 Mr. Yilliers had proposed in writing and 
 was certainly to be accepted. 
 
 * It seems so to me, mamma. But if 
 you, for once, will read what Mr. Cheene 
 says, you can best tell me if it really is.'
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 279 
 
 Aud she laid the open epistle down for 
 perusal. 
 
 A suspicion of its contents came over 
 Mrs. Alwyn, but she read it slowly through 
 without a word, her face lowerinor at every 
 line. Then she folded and almost flung it 
 back to the owner. 
 
 ' Your true and dutiful friend is a most 
 meddlesome old man !' she said briefly. 
 
 * Then it is true !' cried Sydney ; her 
 delight in the news not to be quenched 
 even by this reception of it : * Where, oh 
 where does the money come from, 
 mamma !' 
 
 ' From me. That is, if you will kindly 
 have patience and listen — ' for Sydney 
 uttered a bewildered ejaculation, ' from the 
 sum secured to me by marriage settlement. 
 You would have heard all in due time if 
 this ridiculous interference had not fore-
 
 280 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 stalled the proper explanation. Merciful- 
 ly, your father put away a few thousands 
 for any family he might have ; until any 
 child or children came of age, the interest 
 was mine exclusively. I explained part of 
 this to you once before. Now when your 
 birthday arrives next month you are at 
 liberty to assume the control of the money, 
 six thousand pounds. I presume you will 
 expect to lay the interest out yourself 
 instead of leaving me to do so.' 
 
 Sydney looked almost aghast at the 
 prospect, after her very meagre allowance. 
 She felt such a person of property ! 
 
 *Why, however much will it be, 
 mamma ?' she all but gasped. 
 
 ' Between two and three hundred a year ; 
 huty as Sydney barely restrained a delighted 
 note, 'you must of course pay properly for 
 your share of this home : while you stay in 
 it.'
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WO]VIAN. 281 
 
 ' But that will leave me rich !' cried 
 Sydney, ' if you take half, or even more. 
 Oh, mamma,' venturing to let a hand 
 drop on Mrs. Alwyn's shoulder, ' I can't 
 help being very glad. I hope it doesn't 
 vex you.' 
 
 ^ Vex me ! Oh dear no,' so drawing 
 up her handsome figure as to rid herself 
 of contact with that warm, eager young 
 hand : ' But naturally I don't exult 
 as you do. In a certain way, remember, 
 your gain is my loss. Now — ' with just 
 the glimmer of a sneer, 'of course you 
 want to carry your news to those Dacies. 
 Be sure and say it was merely antedated 
 by that garrulous old man. And — 
 Sydney,' as the girl turned away, chilled, 
 subdued, somehow she and her mother 
 could never either rejoice or mourn together, 
 ' as you pass the post-office, bring me half- 
 a-crown's worth of stamps.'
 
 282 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 Thus did Mrs. Alwyn merge these won- 
 drous tidings in the current of the com- 
 monplace, effectually damping her daugh- 
 ter's pleasure for the hour. But it re- 
 newed itself before long, and during the 
 May days that followed many and many 
 a superb castle did Miss Sydney rear on 
 the solid foundation of those six thou- 
 sands. 
 
 It was while the full glamour of this 
 brilliant promise was upon her that Mr. 
 Villiers came down again, and felt himself 
 fairly checked by the frank innocence with 
 which his surprise and congratulations 
 were claimed. ^ I have such a piece of 
 news to tell you/ said Sydney, the first 
 minute she was with him alone. ' Some- 
 thing I really think you will like to hear. 
 In quite a very small way I am actually a 
 little bit of an heiress, Mr. Villiers. Value 
 six thousand pounds !'
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN, 283 
 
 Love would have made no stumbling- 
 block of that speech but it put interest into 
 a quandary. Guiltily conscious of having 
 been very much indeed aware of the grand 
 fact all the way through, Mr. Eupert ex- 
 pressed his satisfaction awkwardly and in 
 guarded phrase, (at which Sydney was 
 sorry, having counted on his sharing her 
 gratification more warmly ; she did so 
 want someone to be very glad at it,) and 
 the great question he had been determining 
 to ask her somehow stuck in his throat. 
 
 Holding conference with his aunt that 
 evening, 'Upon my honour,' he said, with 
 a sheepishness that was about the most 
 creditable trait yet recorded of him, ' when 
 a girl has just told you she is worth so 
 much a fellow can't decently make a dash 
 at it all in a moment. It would have been 
 better now if I'd spoken at Christmas. As- 
 I didn't I'll stake my luck on my next
 
 284 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 coming. I can get my holiday just about 
 the birthday week, Aunt Helen, and bring 
 everything to the right end then/ 
 
 And as a man cannot be forced into pro- 
 posing against his will, Mrs. Alwyn could 
 only acquiesce. 
 
 She bestowed anything though but 
 benedictions on Mr. Cheene for his share 
 in this further procrastination !
 
 285 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 
 
 Verily, during the next two or three 
 weeks anyone would have found a difficulty 
 in impressing upon Sydney Alwyn that 
 money is the root of all evil. 
 
 On the contrary, it seemed the root 
 whence flowers of delight and comfortable 
 fruits innumerable must surely spring 
 forth. At any rate her share of this 
 earthly pelf was destined to a joyful career, 
 and as if determined to lose no time in 
 starting her income on a happy mission, 
 Sydney actually went boldly to her mother
 
 286 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 the day after Eupert Villiers left, and 
 begged the loan of twenty pounds, to be 
 repaid out of the very first of those 
 mighty quarterly receipts she was antici- 
 pating. 
 
 This singular request arose out of an 
 -hour at the Gate-House that noon. 
 
 There, Mrs. Dacie instead of being as 
 usual actually at work or waiting on her 
 good doctor husband, was reported in- 
 visible : actually and confessedly not well 
 enough to be downstairs, and the sunny 
 sitting room looked sadly empty, the master 
 grievously hipped and lonely without her 
 cheery presence. 
 
 * She was not really ill. Oh, dear no !' 
 Mary said with anxious effort to believe 
 her own words, ' only tired : with the heat, 
 perhaps !' And Doctor Dacie watched his 
 thermometer, grumbling over the glorious 
 weather, very ready and desirous to
 
 A WHiFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 287 
 
 persuade himself that ten degrees less 
 warmth would quite restore his good wife, 
 deluding himself by any fictioD, rather 
 than confess that the labours of making 
 both ends meet through many years was 
 revenging itself now on mind and body. 
 
 But Sydney could well read between 
 these poorly deceptive lines, and began 
 casting about how her new power could 
 amend the situation. 
 
 ' If the mother had taken a holiday in 
 the spring,' fidgetted the doctor, dense as 
 men so often are to the possibilities of the 
 family purse, ' she might have been set up 
 for the summer,' and lo, here was the rich 
 young woman's opportunity. 
 
 * Why shouldn't she go now, Dr. 
 Dacie ?' 
 
 ' I want her to, my dear. Her sisters 
 in AYarwickshire would have her any day, 
 but '
 
 288 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 * But mamma couldn't go so far,' broke 
 in Mary hastily, the colour mounting over 
 the lines on her fair kind face, ' I don't 
 mean ' — as her father began ' pshaw !' — 
 ' I don't mean that she is too ill — but — ' 
 
 And Sydney comprehended those ' buts ' 
 as well as possible. The doctor had not 
 got all last Christmas's payments in yet, 
 few though they were. An active young 
 man from Edinburgh had settled at Oak- 
 leigh, and was diminishing the scanty list 
 of patients every quarter. There was no 
 hoard laid by for holidays. No fund to 
 furnish change for the house mistress. 
 ' Why,' thought Sydney, hiding the sparkle 
 of her swift design behind the outspread 
 Standard, ' it seems as if I were made rich 
 on purpose for this 1' And not an hour 
 had she lost in securing from Mrs. Alwyn 
 that advance which was to speed Mrs. 
 Dacie on her health-seeking journey.
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 289 
 
 That Mrs. Alwyn demurred at the 
 loan, goes without saying. But Sydney, 
 in the strength of her new position, was 
 irrepressible. Between entreaty and per- 
 suasion, backed by usurious offer, she car- 
 ried her point. 
 
 'If you lend me the money, mamma/ 
 she promised, when refusal seemed im- 
 minent, ' I'll give you that mirror from the 
 Hedyngham china-shop, with yellow roses 
 round it, for interest. Now !' and then, 
 pretending to joke at the bribe she had 
 every intention of accepting, Mrs. Alwyn 
 yielded. Off went Sydney, triumphant, to 
 Mary Dacie, and the upshot of a very 
 April interview was preparation for Mrs. 
 Dacie to have a whole fortnight's rest with 
 her sisters at Chaddeley, and the arch 
 conspirator's only regret was that nothing 
 could induce her friends to use more thau 
 half the sum she brought them. 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 'If we want more we will ask for it/ 
 Mary promised ; so the solitary note went 
 into liiding against possible requirements, 
 and Sydney, in most infectiously high 
 spirits, haunted the Gate-House till its 
 mistress, with Mary to drive her to the 
 nearest station, was fairly started for what 
 St. Clairs folk called ' the sheers !' 
 
 'Good luck for all of us go with yoUy 
 Moll,' cried the doctor as Punch trotted 
 off. 
 
 ' And better still come back V cried Syd- 
 ney (how often she remembered that vale- 
 diction later on!). And then she hovered, 
 as blithe as a bee, about the doctor, 
 beguiHug him into tales of when he and 
 his Moll were young, and what a pretty 
 woman she was, till by-and-by Mary came 
 smiliug back, reporting her mother gone 
 off looking better already, and an eloquent 
 clasp of Sydney's fingers sent the girl
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 291 
 
 away so brimful of contentment she could 
 almost have cried for gratitude over her 
 golden thousands. 
 
 An evil ! Nay, that was downright 
 slander. Money was delicious. Delicious ! 
 If this poor fraction had sent such circles 
 of relief rippling over one whole house- 
 hold, what might the rest do ? It coloured 
 with a rosy hue even the dull neutral 
 tints of her home. If her mother should 
 smile over a china-framed mirror she 
 would often have cause to smile ! 
 
 A great joyful perspective that ^ open 
 Sesame' of wondrous coin disclosed, and 
 the vanishing point was — Love! Surely 
 she could now do so much for so many, 
 and that should bo her payment. Such a 
 Jubilate stirred within her as she passed 
 the church as made the glitter of its win- 
 dows seem an invitation opportune and 
 not to be refused. A sacrilegious little 
 
 u2
 
 292 A AYILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 male Peggs, playing surreptitious leap- 
 frog among the tomb-stones, was captured 
 and set to work at the back of the oro^an 
 for the sum of twopence, and seated 
 before the keys Sydney herself, tears in 
 her eyes and her heart in her voice, sang 
 forth her gladness in a quaint psalm of 
 Bach's setting, found (incongruous enough 
 there) among her Father's few possessions. 
 
 Again and again the happy harmony 
 rang out. * Rejoice and be thankful ! 
 E-ejoice and be thankful !' And perhaps 
 in all the centuries that the wide- winged 
 oak-carved angels had looked gravely down 
 from the timber roof no truer votive notes 
 had risen from below than these of Sydney 
 Alwyn's unselfish exultation. 
 
 ' Are you as happy as you sound ?' said 
 someone close by as she ceased singing, and 
 she discovered the rector, unseen, had been 
 her audience.
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 293 
 
 * Well, I do believe I am,' slie answered, 
 blinking the tell-tale moisture from her 
 long lashes as she closed the organ and 
 released the curlj-headed Peggs. * You 
 don't think me utterly childish for it, do 
 you?' 
 
 ' Nay,' he answered very kindly, know- 
 ing, though not from her, something of 
 the Gate-House doings. ' You have every 
 right to revel in the present and what it- is 
 bringing you. Only take an old man's 
 counsel. Don't set your heart on it too 
 much. Riches sometimes make themselves 
 wings and fly away.' 
 
 ' Ah, but,' she answered, ' mine shall not. 
 I mean to be a penurious old lynx and 
 never exceed my income.' 
 
 'Good!' laughed Mr. Vaughan, Mong 
 may this wisdom last. But — ' lapsing into 
 seriousness, ' if ever this money of yours 
 eludes your vigilance, if it melts away, let
 
 294 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 the record of its use leave a pleasant 
 memory behind. For/ half soliloquising, 
 bachelor fashion, ' to have done 3^our best, 
 with all you had, so long as you were able ; 
 there's always comfort in that. Though/ 
 as Sydney's features reflected his grave 
 mood, ' I ought not to dose my pupil with 
 truisms to-day. I had been writing to 
 that friend Drayton and I spoke of and 
 fell quoting my attempts at consolation. 
 Now for something cheerfuller. Will and 
 Ben,' (the boys had got their scholarships 
 and were away at schoo],) 'are doing 
 famously. The impudent lads sent word 
 they'll coach you when they come home in 
 July!' 
 
 ' So they shall,' said Sydney gladly, 
 though the dim by-flitting of that other 
 sorrow-tried life had made her heart ache 
 for a minute, ' and they shall both have 
 Genevas with backs that won't bend and
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 295 
 
 crystals that won't break, for their pains. 
 Tell them so, please.' 
 
 * I shall do nothing of the sort, penurious 
 Miss Alwyn,' returned the rector, ' for fear 
 you should change your mind.' 
 
 * I change my mind !' reproachfully. 
 ' But, Mr. Yaughan,' stopping short in the 
 church porch, ' is — is Mr. Drayton ever 
 •coming to see you again ?' 
 
 ' He promised he would, but writes that 
 this property of his is in confusion. He 
 may turn out worth much less or much 
 more than he expected. I suppose he is 
 busy over that.' 
 
 ' I wish he would come,' said Sydney, and 
 the rector looked puzzled. 
 
 ' What, even now ?' he asked. 
 
 * More now than ever,' said Sydney ; and 
 then went off, leaving her old friend won- 
 dering what this wish for Richard Dray- 
 ton betokened, and whether it sounded
 
 296 A WILFUL YOUNG WOT^IAN. 
 
 auspicious for tbat dark moustached young 
 man so often at The Dale, at whom his 
 ' even now ' had pointed, a hint, perhaps, 
 too indefinite to evoke response. 
 
 But taking license from the inuendoes 
 sowed by Mrs. Alwyn as part of her 
 tactics, other tongues were more outspoken, 
 and speeches at first bewildering, clearer 
 later on, greeted Sydney even as she went 
 home that day. 
 
 ' I'm wholly fearful we'll be a-losin' of 
 ye now, Miss,' said old Mrs. Hills, her 
 father's last attendant, to whom, in pass- 
 ing, she mostly stayed and spoke. ' 'Taint 
 likely you'll be long here now.' 
 
 ^ Why not?' asked Sydney, unsuspicious- 
 ly. Some absurd version of her coming 
 fortune must have reached the old dame 
 she supposed. ' "Why should I go away ? 
 I don't want to.' 
 
 ' Ay, ay,' chuckled the old hody^ ' that's
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 297 
 
 on'y like the lady should say, but there's 
 them that won't fall in with it. "A thief," 
 askin' pardon for the sayin', " don't leave 
 his sack behind," now do he?' And then 
 Mrs. Hills, who was afflicted with asthma, 
 fell into such a fit of mirthful choking that 
 in simple charity her visitor nodded good- 
 bye and departed. Only, however, to 
 encounter equally mysterious words before 
 she had gone fifty yards further. For 
 round the corner of the village street 
 swept Lady Oomyngham's low phaeton, 
 herself, with the cockaded groom behind, 
 driving the handsome cream cobs, which, 
 much against their will, were reined in at 
 sight of Miss Alwyn. 
 
 *I have been at The Dale,' said the 
 Countess, leaning forward most amiably, 
 ' and was so sorry to miss seeing you. But 
 allow me to congratulate you now. I hope 
 this event will bring you much happiness.*"
 
 •298 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 It was curious, thought Sydney, for her 
 mother, who all too evidently grudged this 
 division o£ income, to speak of it to 
 strangers, but so she must have done ! 
 And, taking this as omen of pleasanter 
 feeling between them, the girl thanked 
 Lady Oomyngham with warmth, and hoped 
 she might use the change so that no one 
 would have to repent it. 
 
 'Very, very becomingly said,' approved 
 the Countess, giving Sydney's shoulders a 
 coax with her whip. ' I trust you'll pros- 
 per, I'm sure, though these matters are 
 dreadful lotteries, as I've told my girls.' 
 
 'When the Earl came into his fortune, I 
 suppose,' thought Sydney, answering with 
 such an air of unshakeable security, * I 
 hope there's not much of the lottery in my 
 case !' that the Countess, for all her fifty 
 years ups and downs, would not dishearten 
 her with any more wisdom of experience.
 
 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAX. 299 
 
 'Oh, well, well; she said ('Stand still, 
 Spitfire !'), * I presume this has been looked 
 forward to so long by all parties that you 
 feel safe of each other and sure of every- 
 thino^ going right. Make my felicitations 
 to — oh,' as the cobs took violent umbrage 
 at an approaching wlieelbarrow, * these 
 creatures won't let a v^oman speak ! Good- 
 bye, Miss Alwyn.' as the pair curvetted 
 off. ' Come to Oakleigh some Saturday. 
 Both of you.' 
 
 ' Leonora too/ mused Sydney. And fell 
 wondering whether success would attend 
 that lofty scheme of her mother's, which 
 by now she understood, though no confi- 
 dence on the subject was extended to her. 
 
 On that point Mrs. Alwyn's hopes were 
 now in the zenith of hopefulness, for Mr. 
 Duvesne had been among the first callers 
 after their return. Ostensibly he came to 
 thank her for certain weekly doles supplied
 
 300 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 from The Dale to an old couple in his 
 parish — Mrs. Alwyn's smallest light never 
 wasted a ray for want of being set on a 
 candlestick — but the delighted mother 
 marked how he reported progress of his 
 Eectory, lamented to Leonora that it was 
 not half what he wished 'for a lady.' 
 Would she look it through some day, with 
 Mrs. Alwyn and her sister ? Would she 
 tell him how it could be improved ? ' Of 
 course/ gazing about the handsome Dale 
 drawing-room, * it was nothing like this. 
 The old building and Miss Villiers' perfect 
 
 taste ' Mrs. Alwyn credited Leonora 
 
 with every suitable shape and shade on the 
 premises — 'had made this unmatchable. 
 Honestly, The Dale ought to be part of the 
 Oakleigh estate, but he supposed the absent 
 owner would say " no " to that.' 
 
 Hereupon his hostess had returned that 
 she 171 propria persona was proprietor of The
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 301 
 
 Dale now ; she had completed the purchase 
 of her brother. And she hoped never to 
 part from it except to her elder daughter. 
 So, unluckily, the place must be burdened 
 with her Leonora ! 
 
 'And a great improvement the burden 
 will be,' said Mr. Duvesne gallantly. *Pray 
 don't imagine I had any intention of rob- 
 bing these parts when I made my selfish 
 suggestion just now.' 
 
 With which the young clericus had 
 glided from the topic Mrs. Alwyn fondly 
 hoped he was approaching, into informa- 
 tion of a recent domestic event, interesting, 
 of course, to intimates only. His sister, 
 Lady Avena Massey, was the happy 
 mother of a little son, successor to four 
 sisters, the first grandson of the family, a 
 young man who had caused as much stir at 
 Oakleigh Place as in his native Stafford- 
 shire home.
 
 302 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAX. 
 
 'My mother,' said the Honourable 
 Edward, laughing, ' has been fussing over 
 silver mugs, and the girls have been stitch- 
 ing at some white garment long enough 
 for a grown-up ghost, and the people at 
 Barnes had been sending up gifts most 
 glaringly useless to a fortnight old baby — ^ 
 
 *And why,' exclaimed Mrs. Alwyn to 
 Leonora, as soon as their informer was 
 gone, ' why should not I send something 
 that ivill be useful! At such a time it 
 must be accepted as a compliment. A son 
 is all very well. Even a small squire like 
 Mr. Massey wishes for one, I suppose. 
 But they will have to save money for him 
 to spend by and by, and they'll value 
 money's worth now all the more.' 
 
 The consequence of which happy inspir- 
 ation was the packing off to Barnes of the 
 deep-pointed breadth of costly guipure that 
 long ago had raised many a grand dame's
 
 A WILFUL YOUXG WOMAX. 303' 
 
 envy when displayed upon some velvet- 
 fronted dinner dress, and with it went a 
 cleverly worded note, making the offering to 
 the ' new, most precious boy/ in terms that 
 quite affected the unconscious little animal's 
 mother, drawing from her a tremulously 
 penciled acknowledgment of this gorgeous 
 christening robe, which the giver modestly 
 styled ' a trifle, better put to this delight- 
 ful use than allowed to lie by till moth 
 made food of it.' 
 
 The immediate result of this little 
 manoeuvre was precisely what Mrs. Alwyn 
 had calculated on. The Countess had 
 called and been most affable. Then had 
 Mrs. Alwyn let fall those somewhat pre- 
 mature words concerning her younger 
 child, which she intended to turn to more 
 accounts than one. Ten days afterwards 
 a luncheon had followed at Oakleigh Place. 
 Quite a family affair. No other strangers
 
 304 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN, 
 
 than Leonora and her mother, Sydney (for 
 once to Mrs Alwyn s complete approval) 
 being* tied to an engagement in the parish ; 
 and Lady Comyngham had commented on 
 Leonora's pink and white colouring, ^ Apple 
 blossom/ she called it, adding, ' it was the 
 very complexion gentlemen admired. Her 
 son Edward had spoken of it. He fancied 
 he had particular reason to think it beauti- 
 ful. Some day Mrs. Alwyn would see if 
 he was right !' 
 
 In expectation of that day Mrs. Alwyn 
 had to wait, hiding intense excitement 
 under outward calm. But she drove her 
 pair of plans along the daily course with 
 the skill of a cool head and a firm 
 hand. It was desirable — best — kindest — 
 that Sydney should be detached from the 
 The Dale. This she never lost sight of for 
 a moment. And the sooner the better. 
 Theu, if this other business lagged she
 
 A WILFUL YOL^NG WOMAN. 305 
 
 could invoke the aid of little diplomatic 
 shifts, shadows of shams that the younger 
 daughter's honest-eyed presence made 
 difficult, or impossible. Sydney safely 
 away would be a restraint well gone. 
 Therefore, though the girl in her new-born 
 elation was difficult to depress, Mrs. 
 Alwyn took some pains to make her feel 
 that she considered the partition of pro- 
 perty a fresh partition of interests, pleas- 
 ures, affections, and let her distinctly fore- 
 see that the Sydney of the future would 
 be more isolated in her home than the 
 Sydney of the past. 
 
 So counter ran all this to the semi- 
 heiress's deepest desires — she who had so 
 yearned for love that even she wanted to 
 buy it ! — that there is small wonder if it 
 drove her straight on to the result intend- 
 ed, and if when Mr. Rupert Yilliers came 
 down armed — for this was to be his grand 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 attack ! — with the very rose she bad been 
 longing for, and the most attractive man- 
 ner be could don, she received him as 
 readily as thirsty leaves a shower ! 
 
 And well the young man played the last 
 round in bis band. Marriage, or some 
 means of clearing up with bis creditors, 
 was imperative. That remembrance filled 
 him with keenly nervous energy. By now 
 those often repeated insinuations were un- 
 folding their meaning to Sydney. 
 
 What did they mean to her ? Was she 
 glad, or sorry ? As yet she could tell 
 nothing. She was dazzled : bewildered. 
 But the new mood touched her with such 
 peculiar grace that Mr. Villiers's pre- 
 arranged attentions came very easy to 
 him ; and made the moment that should 
 end this Act the First seem very alluring. 
 
 Beyond his second day with them the 
 moment surely would not have been
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 307 
 
 delayed, delightful as was the dallying on 
 the verge of confident conquest ; but 
 once again accident played him an unkind 
 trick. 
 
 A line from the Gate-House called 
 Sydney there, and sent her back in 
 distress. 
 
 Mr. Villiers was on the lawn, watching 
 for her, she felt, as she returned, and to 
 him she confided the trouble. 
 
 ' Mrs. Dacie went out for a holiday that 
 
 was to do her so much good, now she is ill 
 
 and longing to get home. But her 
 
 sisters write that it is impossible for her 
 
 to travel alone, and ask if Mary can go for 
 
 her. But of course she cannot, for Doctor 
 
 Dacie is just helpless without her. Oh, 
 
 Mr. Villiers, I am so fond of Mrs. Dacie 
 
 and so sorry about it all. And I do so 
 
 want to ask mamma to let me go for her, 
 
 but — I dare not !' 
 
 x2
 
 308 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 
 
 And the beautiful eyes looking up under 
 their black fringe said "Ask for me !" A 
 petition that Mr. Yilliers, seeing in it 
 occasion out of which he could make capital, 
 answered promptly : 
 
 * Let me be your envoy to my aunt and 
 make it smooth with her. Where is she ? 
 I'll soon get her to say " yes." ' 
 
 And this, by what seemed legerdemain 
 to Sydney, he actually achieved, and 
 noon saw her off on the hasty Samaritan 
 journey. 
 
 Mr. Villiers drove her to Hedyngham, 
 Hills vis-a-vis tabooing all but common- 
 place talk. But when Sydney was 
 ensconced in the stuffy luxury of a first- 
 class, her charioteer leaned on the window, 
 reminding her : 
 
 ' You will be sure to return for Friday ?' 
 
 ' Before then, most likely,' blushing at 
 his anxious expression.
 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. 309 
 
 ' For I've something most particular I 
 want to give you then.' 
 
 ' I shall be home.' 
 
 'And I shall want to ask you something, 
 too !' 
 
 * Yes ?' nervous, and deeply crimsoning 
 again. 
 
 ' Do you think I deserve anything for 
 helping to send you away when I — wanted 
 you at The Dale ?' 
 
 ' You deserve a great deal for getting 
 me leave to go to poor Mrs. Dacie.' 
 
 * A great deal ? Then you are grateful 
 to me ?' The train was moving off, but he 
 paced by it, looking under the brim of her 
 brown hat at her downcast eyes. ' Grate- 
 ful ? Yes, very.' 
 
 ' Then, Sydney, when you come back I 
 shall ask for my reward !' 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON : PIIINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BLENHEIM HOUSE.
 
 ;;;^;;f,'l,^.^°^'uiNo,s-uRBANT 
 
 30112084218202 
 
 
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