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 JAN 2 4 19(0 
 
 L161— O-1096
 
 k 

 
 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET.
 
 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 % ^torg. 
 
 PEECY FITZGEEALD, M.A., 
 
 AUTHOR OF " BELLA DONNA," " NEVER FORGOTTEN," ETC. 
 
 IN THEEE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 TINSLEY BEOTHEES, 18, CATHEEINE ST., STEAND. 
 
 1867. 
 
 [TJie Right of Translation is reserved.]
 
 LONDON ; 
 BRADBrRY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRI
 
 « 
 
 ^ 
 
 8ZS 
 
 fsiSs 
 
 INSCRIBED 
 
 TO 
 5IY DEAR BBOIHER, 
 
 THOMAS C. FITZGERALD, 
 
 FANE VALLEY.
 
 ADVEETISEMENT. 
 
 Lest the reader should suppose that the 
 author was " trading," as the phrase goes, on 
 the indulgent reception of a former work, he 
 thinks it right to state that neither " Jenny 
 Bell," nor the present story, was meant to be 
 a " sequel" to ''Bella Donna." All three make 
 up one story — deliberately planned at the out- 
 set, and thus subdivided for the sake of con- 
 venience.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 
 
 SIR JOHN DIGBY. 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 I.— DIGBY 1 
 
 11. — DIGBY AND ITS GUESTS 12 
 
 III. — THE VALLEY 38 
 
 TV. — THE NEW AEKIYALS 51 
 
 V. — " LOED JOHN" 73 
 
 VI. — IN THE LIBRARY— " THE SHORT way" . . . 79 
 
 VII. — LORD JOHN AND MRS. LEPELL . . . . 9Z 
 
 VIII. — THE DRIVE 101 
 
 IX. — PLANS FOR THE NIGHT 119 
 
 X. — THE DINNER PARTY 135 
 
 XI. — TH:2 CHARADES 149 
 
 XII. — FRESH ARRIVALS 178 
 
 XIII. — THE NEW GUESTS 204 
 
 XIV. — A LONG DAY 218 
 
 XV.— AN EXPLOSION 226 
 
 XVI. — BREAK UP 249 
 
 XVII. — SIR JOHN GOES HOME 268
 
 BOOK THE FIEST. 
 
 SIR JOHN DIGBY.
 
 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE 
 STREET. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DIGBY. 
 
 It was now a gray evening, when a clay in a 
 Christmas week was all but done, when the air 
 was fresh and cool, and of that pleasant tone 
 which seems almost the colour of aluminium — 
 the most delightful hour in the day for brisk 
 walking — when, too, there was a little stiff film'of 
 frost rather than snow on all things, a crackling 
 under foot, faint edging, and the finest lines 
 of white, tipping every branch, with an exqui- 
 site delicacy that no human touch could ever 
 hope to imitate ; and when the plantations, 
 stripped of every leaf, standing out on the 
 white background, seemed to be distant shipping 
 
 VOL. L B
 
 2 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 with masts and dark net-work of fine rigging, 
 lying up in great docks. Sometimes a faint 
 breath of air came, and a light shower of white 
 snow floated down leisurely and softly. The 
 pond near the mill, partly frozen, looked like a 
 sheet of cold, polished black marble. Already 
 on the hill side, was a light or two twinkling; 
 and on what was called in summer " the green 
 lane," the wheels of the doctor's gig were clat- 
 tering afar off as if on a causeway of steel. 
 
 About an hour before, the guns had been 
 heard in the plantation. Hodge and his friend 
 sauntering home beside the heavy cart — a two- 
 horse cart in tandem fashion — had said to each 
 other that '' they were shootin' up i' the Bigger " 
 — meaning a pet and costly plantation where 
 IDheasants lived crowded together rather too 
 closely for comfort. The Bigger was certainly 
 some three or four miles from " th' 'Ouse," as 
 the chief mansion of the district was called, and 
 between it the country eddied up and down a 
 good deal — up, to the swelling hill, the top of 
 which was capped by a sort of dark ];)lantation,
 
 DIGBT. 6 
 
 but looked like a fortress, it was so straightly 
 enclosed with a stone wall ; and down again in- 
 to the open valley and the brook, now caught 
 in the cold gripe of the frost and kept pri- 
 soner. The gentlemen from " tli' 'Ouse " were 
 seen afar off (by another Hodge with his cart) 
 coming down slowly, a little scattered — some 
 four or five — a couple of keepers with guns 
 and dogs, and behind all some half a dozen 
 serfs or beaters, who had run the risk of 
 their lives several times in that day from the 
 guns of a raw and agitated young sportsman. 
 Above all there was a large bag; for many a 
 noble bird — black, rich, and solid of plumage, 
 had come staggering down heavily; who as he 
 lay plunging and dying on the ground, fixed on 
 his destroyers a glowing, glittering eye as bright 
 certainly as many a human eye. 
 
 Tv/o of the gentlemen were walking together 
 in front. They were the freshest of the party. 
 They were talking eagerly. The one who spoke 
 most was a young man of about twenty, with a 
 very Italian face, with black hair and moustache, 
 
 B 2
 
 4 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 and a handsome, olive-toned face. His friend 
 was a very strong and robustly-made man, good 
 looking from mere excess of health. He was 
 about five -and -twenty. "We have done very 
 well for Sir John's birds, at least for one day," 
 said the dark young man. " I really enjoy 
 it. I feel happy — ready to set off, and run, and 
 shout." 
 
 The other was lighting a cigar in a very pon- 
 derous and leisurely way — a plain, satisfactory 
 man, of little speech, who helped on a talk by 
 the lever of a word or two, that somehow was as 
 useful as a sentence. 
 
 " Wish I could feel like that," he said. 
 
 " So you do, Selb}^," said the young man, "and 
 so you can ; so can anyone. It is as easy to be 
 happy as miserable. Charming world — delicious 
 world. It seems to me there is nothing but love, 
 money, health, books, travels, enjoyment — in too 
 much abundance." 
 
 The other nodded. 
 
 " Eight enough," he said. 
 
 "And do you know this — what do ycu make of
 
 DIGBY. 5 
 
 the shabby scoundrels that abuse it, that talk of 
 it as a hollow world, and a cold world, and empty 
 world?" 
 
 •' Apples of the Dead Sea, eh ? " said Selby, 
 with a cough. 
 
 " No ridicule, sir, of my Great Thinker," the 
 young man said, half seriously. " There are good 
 apples, too. Cold, hollow, and empty ! Why, I say 
 it is warm, round, and full — so full — too full." 
 
 " Regular Epicurean, I declare, Severne," said 
 his friend. 
 
 " I am, I boast. I have never had an hour's 
 trouble in my life ; and I assure you a great deal of 
 that is from a purpose not to let myself be put out 
 in any way. I began that at school, my dear fel- 
 low, and never had a day's trouble. What was the 
 result ? My school-days were the happiest in the 
 world ; and I go back there, and shall go back there 
 every year of my life. When we meet each other 
 we have plays and games, and are boys again." 
 
 "All right/' said the other; " quite right." 
 
 " To be sure it's all right," said young Severne. 
 "I have been happy ever since, too; and by Jove
 
 6 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STEEET. 
 
 on high, I am so happy to-night — ^hang all bash- 
 fulness and shyness. You know me like a book, 
 Selby — you do." 
 
 " Well, I know about that" said Selby. " Pal- 
 mers coming — aren't they ? " 
 
 " They are,'' said the young man ; " that is, 
 Alice Palmer ; for her mother, to tell you the 
 truth, depresses me— that air of ' seen better 
 d^ySj' you know. Someway when people have 
 seen better days, I always get impatient. Why 
 couldn't they keep them ? " 
 
 *^ You'll have better days in plenty and keep 
 them too. That's the thing,'' said the other. 
 " When are they due ? " 
 
 " For dinner, they said," answered Severne. 
 " Don't you think they'll come ?." 
 
 " Well, I suppose they will," said the other ; 
 " people always like to be in for dinner. Come 
 from Boulogne, don't they, all the way ? " he asked. 
 
 " To be sure they do," answered the other, 
 warmly. "And look here, Selby, you stout 
 fossil of a bachelor — ^you don't know what may 
 come of all this."
 
 DIGBY. 7 
 
 " I don't know, indeed/' said the other ; '* on 
 my soul I don't." 
 
 "No you don't," said the other, gaily; "how 
 should 3^ou ? You were never struck down in a 
 raging French town by a sun-stroke, and picked 
 up and carried into an English house, to be 
 nursed for six weeks by as charming a blossom, 
 as divine an angel, as ever got furlough from 
 Heaven's chancery." 
 
 " Ah, this is Keats and Tennyson line," — said 
 his friend. 
 
 "I want to be happy, you know. Every fellow 
 that wants to be happy should marry young. My 
 father married young ; so did his father ; so did 
 
 his " 
 
 " But what wiir mamma sa}^ my dear fellow ? 
 she means you to be a Cabinet Minister, 
 Governor- General of India. You knoiu she 
 does.'' 
 
 " Pooh ! my dear clear-eyed friend. Don't 
 you know that what I like is what she^ likes ? 
 That I am a joss or an idol for her; that if she 
 was asked for a joint of every limb to secure me
 
 y SEVENTY-FIVE BKOOKE STREET. 
 
 an additional week's life she would give it ? — I 
 am safe there, my dear friend/' 
 
 " Glad of it," said his friend, " I am rather 
 stupid. Hallo, Peters, you went near singeing 
 me to-day. You really must take care. No 
 gentleman can go out with you with comfort to 
 his life. You sent all the blood to my face.'' 
 
 This was addressed to a very tall and limp 
 youth, who, however deficient in some portions 
 of the pastime, was certainly scrupulously correct 
 in costume, or in all points that might be re- 
 garded as the materiel of shooting. If knicker- 
 bockers and heather mixture stockings, and 
 straps and pouches, and boxes, could make a 
 man shoot, he was an admirable shot indeed. 
 His name was Peters. 
 
 " I didn't know you were so near," said Peters, 
 screwing his glass into his eye, to look at his 
 piece, " and these Le Faucher guns " 
 
 *' Now don't lay it upon the poor gun," said 
 a strong thick-set well-knit officer, who came 
 walking up quickly. " I say, just see the way he 
 is looking at it, as if it was a mad dog or a
 
 DIGBY. 9 
 
 restive horse. They're good guns enough, though 
 they are made by a Frenchman ; but the old 
 English rifle for me. I tell you, you were 
 near making potted ham of me at the corner of 
 that hedge. I give you my honour I heard the 
 shot in the bushes. Look here, Mr. Peters, 
 either you or I stay at home to-morrow.^' 
 
 " PhiliiDs, now let Peters alone,''' said young 
 Severne, good-humouredl}^ " recollect we all had 
 to begin." 
 
 " Then I wish he'd begin with some one else 
 but me. It's no joke at all. I was as near 
 being missing for Mrs. Philips and the children, 
 about 3 P.M., this day, as ever I was." 
 
 Captain Philips, quartered not far off, with 
 Mrs. Philips and the children, was a specimen of 
 the comfortable married officer — a race that cared 
 more for comforts than for amusements, and are 
 to the mass of officers what a country gentleman 
 is to ordinary young men. He therefore vigor- 
 ously resented this " attempt on his life," as he 
 always would call it (alluding to it afterwards in 
 the smoking-room), making a sort of grievance.
 
 10 SEVEKTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 *' He should get himself taught, just as we send 
 men into the school to ride. You know a fellar 
 of that sort is a public enemy. Wh}^, what would 
 my insurance agent say to me if I was to tell 
 him I habitually went out with an unskilful 
 fellar of that sort ? It would vitiate the policy 
 on the spot. I vow to you, Miss Fenton, here 
 was I at the turn of the road just where I made 
 Wilkin s put me ; and I heard the bird coming 
 on through the wood, and would have nailed him 
 as he came out, when there came a whisking 
 sound in the bushes, not a yard from my elbow. 
 I declare it gave me a turn. If the man had 
 fired at me directly, I don't think he'd have gone 
 nearer, or perhaps so n^ar — ha, ha ! But it 
 won't do, you know. Not at all/' 
 
 Now they were passing through swinging gates, 
 getting into paddocks and farmyards, and still 
 greater courts, where there were the offices, and 
 forges, and stabling, and a sort of little domestic 
 town, with a tall tower, in the middle of which 
 the pigeons and a great clock were tenants in 
 common. This was towards the back of Digby;
 
 DIGBY. 1 1 
 
 and by the old clock, whose striking was a little 
 interfered with by the fluttering of the x^igeons, 
 it was past six o'clock. Then they were pre- 
 sently going along the whitewashed, almost sub- 
 terranean passages — for Digby was a great estab- 
 lishment — to the gamekeepers' room, where they 
 gave up their guns. 
 
 "Now to dress," said Severne, " and not 
 much time either." They turned out again into 
 the open course round by the front of the house. 
 It was a shorter and more agreeable way to the 
 rooms, and on the ste^os were met by the master 
 of the house, Sir John Barton Digby, of Digby, 
 as he used to sign himself, and as indeed he was 
 set out in Sir Bernard's excellent Liber Aureus ; 
 leaning, too, on the arm of his friend, the Dean 
 of Bermondsey. 
 
 " Hallo ! " cried the baronet. " How's the 
 shootin' been ? I hope you have sacked my 
 birds ? One bag ? Ah ! Bags — bags, sir, used 
 to be the way; and bursting bags, too."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 DIGBY AND ITS GUESTS. 
 
 DiGBY was rising over their heads as they 
 stood on the steps, and quite overshadowed them. 
 A kind of half Italian building, a square centre 
 tower with an archway leading into a court, and 
 two stone wings, ended by smaller square towers. 
 From the centre rose two open cupolas or bel- 
 fries, capped by great stone eagles. It was a 
 fine building. Looking into '^Dutton's County 
 History," the reader will find a whole account of 
 what Button calls "this spacious pile," with its 
 date, circa Charles the Second, its architect, 
 Vecchi, then held in much fashion and repute, 
 and a very minute account of its labyrinths, gar- 
 dens, ponds, statues, &c., laid out in the French 
 manner, under the direction of Van Citters, pupil, 
 it was said, of the famous Le Potre. In return
 
 DIGBY AND ITS GUESTS. 13 
 
 for this description of his house, the Bigby of 
 Button's day could not do less than take ten 
 large paper copies of Button's work. 
 
 Already were the red curtains drawn across, 
 and lamps hghted in all the bedrooms ; and the 
 dispensary doctor, whose horse's hoofs were 
 chinking musically down the long bare avenue 
 between the porches, might have comforted him- 
 self by fancying he was drawing near to a glow- 
 ing fireplace, crossed by the mullions of the old 
 windows as if they were bars. 
 
 The pleasant sight was in the square court, into 
 which looked what was called the Long Room or 
 Picture Gallery, which ran down a whole side. 
 This was a sort of drawing-room, a little 
 " draughty," perhaps, in these frosty times ; but 
 Sir John Bigby insisted always on this tribute 
 being paid to old customs, piled up a good fire 
 with dried logs from his plantation, and gathered 
 in his guests here for ten or twenty minutes or 
 so before breakfast and dinner. The guests were 
 now dropping in. 
 
 Captain Philips almost first down, and sitting
 
 14 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 in a leather-backed arm-cliair — well into the fire 
 — alone, audibly objected to this arrangement. 
 
 *' I don't see the point of it,''' he said, *' forcing 
 a lot of ladies and gentlemen into a great vault 
 like this. It ain'tjfair, you know. ''Pon my word, if 
 I get back my lumbago this winter, I know on 
 whose shoulders to lay it. Ugh ! Now that little 
 snuggery on the stairs is just the thing — just the 
 thing. Why should we be getting cold in our 
 joints — all from an old, absurd custom? Dinner 
 seems later to-day, I think. How's time, Dean ? '* 
 
 Dean Burnaby was entering, had come up 
 gratefully to the fire, shivering a little, and then, 
 as it were, opened out all his arms and large 
 figure to take in all its warmth. He was a very 
 gigantic, florid-faced dignitary, almost awkward 
 and unwieldy from his size. It was pleasant to 
 see him walking, rolling, and swinging along ; 
 and he was certainly the tallest ecclesiastic of his 
 diocese. 
 
 " Well," he said, " Captain Philips, we are a 
 little late. Our ladies are getting on their mar- 
 riage garments— Ha— hem ! " he added, breaking
 
 DIGBY AND ITS GUESTS. ]5 
 
 into a soft smile, " I recollect so well at Cross 
 Towers, the old lord, who always said whatever 
 came into his head — a little coarse and strong, 
 between you and me — but a good man, long gone 
 to his account. 'Well,^ he said, on a similar 
 occasion, * don't hurry the girls. You wouldn't 
 have 'em come down — in their smocks ? ' " And 
 the dean looked round cautiously, to be sure that 
 no one was listening. (He had one long leg up 
 on the hob.) 
 
 "Ah, Miss Fenton, yoic are in excellent 
 time." 
 
 The two sisters came rustling in — gay, lively, 
 " officer's girls " — excellent furniture for a 
 country house, — with a cowed and helpless 
 mamma. " Rattlers," some called them, and 
 " good jolly girls ; " and other critics — female 
 chiefly — lifted up their eyes with a ''Well, I 
 suppose it is all right ; it will come all right." 
 They were thoroughly business-like, and were 
 even careful as to the objects of their conver- 
 sation ; for words, we know, are sometimes as 
 dear as gold and silver; and time, again, is
 
 16 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 money ; and many an opportunity is lost and 
 wasted unprofitably, which might have brought 
 all manner of blessings. 
 
 " We had a very pleasant day," said the elder, 
 Isabella, settling down her dress, and taking a 
 twisted view, down her back. 
 
 " Very pleasant, indeed. Mr. Canby rode 
 over from Kipley, and we took him over the 
 place, and — and do you know — such a funny 
 thing,'^ interrupted her sister, " we got shut up 
 in the tower ; the old door got fixed in some way, 
 and I assure you Mr. Canby with all his strength 
 could not stir it.'' 
 
 " You should have all tried together," said the 
 Dean. " Union, you know, is strength. You 
 remember the story of the faggots — a man '' 
 
 " Oh, Isabella was on the other side of the 
 door," said her sister, laughing. *' I and Mr. 
 Csinbj had run on in front. She could not keep 
 up with us." 
 
 Here were more guests. Their cowed mamma 
 — delicate and timid, ''enjoying'' wretched 
 health ; an agreeable and youngish barrister —
 
 DIGBY AND ITS GUESTS. 17 
 
 Vernon Jones — better known and in sharper 
 practice at country houses than at Westminster ; 
 a London doctor — " young Peters " — who had 
 been so wild in his shooting in the morning; 
 Mr. Monkhouse, M.P., a tall, pink-coloured 
 bachelor, with a large, rudely-cut nose, and the 
 old " mutton-chop " whisker; and Mrs. Severne, 
 the mother of the young man who had been out 
 shooting — a woman, graceful, elegant, and with 
 this grown-up son, looking absolutely no more 
 than five-and-thirty, with a small head and face 
 exquisitely shaped, fair features, shaped like a 
 cameo, and the full cheeks of a girl ; this was the 
 well-known Mrs. Severne, who had been a sort of 
 political beauty years ago, whose husband had 
 been Secretary at War in a Cabinet of thirty 
 years ago, and who, herself, was said to have 
 " pulled the wires " in all sorts of combinations, 
 and very many of those wires too. Last of all 
 came in Sir John Digby himself, in a blue coat 
 and gilt buttons, and an enormous white stock of 
 the days of Lord Melbourne or Canning. 
 
 "Dinner, eh! All right," he said. "Now, 
 
 VOL. 1.
 
 18 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 Mrs. Severne — these Palmers will not be here to- 
 night ; omnibus has just come back from the 
 station." 
 
 They went on in a long procession through the 
 galleries, lit up here and there with a stray oil- 
 lamp, but rather dark. As the way was long, 
 they marched quickly. 
 
 " We are like a regiment going to a review," 
 said Miss Fanny Fenton to Mr. Canby. 
 
 " By Jove, yes," said the gentleman. "Isn't 
 it ? Quick march ! Left shoulders forward ! 
 Dress by your right there ! " And the wit, throw- 
 ing his hearer into [^ convulsions, proceeded to 
 work his joke all the way. Captain Philips had 
 put the collar of his coat up about his neck as 
 he went along. 
 
 " Well have pains in our bones all next week 
 for this," he said. "Hot air apparatus don't 
 cost so much after all; and if people will ask 
 peo]3le to these old-fashioned, rambling dens of 
 discomfort, they should warm 'em up a bit. 
 Why, there's Smith and Lankester, Soho, 'ill put 
 you up the whole affair, pipes, biler " (so he pro-
 
 DIGBY AND ITS GUESTS. 19 
 
 nounced it), "hot wharter " (so lie pronounced 
 it), '^lock, stock, and barrel comiDlete, for, I sup- 
 pose, one hundred and fi%. Ugh, there, it's 
 down my back again." 
 
 This was all addressed to the timid mother of 
 the Fentons, who agreed that Smith and Lan- 
 kester, Soho, should have been called in. » 
 
 When they were arranged on both sides of the 
 long table in the large hall, and half of that room 
 cut off by huge curtains, and two great fires roar- 
 ing away like blast furnaces at each end, the 
 Captain let down his collar, and said that this 
 was " more Christian-like. Still," he added, 
 settling his napkin, preparing his bread, glasses, 
 &c., so as to be commodious and handy for the 
 meal — " still, it's not the place for human beings 
 to dine in. What's this ? " he added, distrust- 
 fully, as two plates were held over his arm. 
 " Clear soup — get me the clear. Take my 
 advice, Mrs. Fenton — have clear soup. His 
 cook can do that." 
 
 At the other end of the table was Sir John 
 himself, with his leading guests about him — Mrs. 
 
 c 2
 
 20 SEVENTY-FIVE BEOOKE STREET. 
 
 Severne, Dean Burnaby, and lower down, Severne, 
 his friend Selby, and some " locals," as the 
 young men called guests from the district — 
 beings known by numbers merely in the rolls of 
 social life, but to whom the young men were 
 very attentive. Mrs. Severne's fine face, as 
 seen illuminated by the soft lamplight, struck 
 these honest rustics ; and a stout young 
 farming gentleman, in a torrent of enthu- 
 siasm, asked, "Who that lovely girl up yonder 
 was ? " 
 
 Sir John's voice was heard very often, and very 
 loud, and his tall, thin figure gave him facilities 
 for projecting it down the table. 
 
 " I don't know what it will come to," he said ; 
 *' they may make ducks and drakes of the 
 country if they like for what I care. There's no 
 iwinciple now in the Government. I declare to 
 you, Dean, it's frightful — frightful. It keeps me 
 awake in my bed. There's that man at the 
 Exchequer — a fellow that I wouldn't trust to go 
 in with a cheque to the next market — a fellow 
 that, in a lower rank of life, I would take and
 
 DIGBY AND ITS GUESTS. 21 
 
 put on the wheel, and give seven years to over 
 and over again." 
 
 " There is indeed a want of principle in our 
 rulers of to-day," said Dean Burnaby, placidly, 
 " and I recollect the present Lord Anglestre 
 making a remark of the same sort in his oicn 
 library, just standing before the fireplace ; " and 
 seeing a rustic lady greatly impressed by this 
 last part, he added softly, " and on the rug." 
 
 *'0h, that's yevy well — very well," said Sir John, 
 angrily. " Anglestre and his whole gang may 
 talk that way, but it^s their own infernal doing. 
 It's got among them like a rot, sir. Liberal, in- 
 deed ! Liberal ! That^s the name ! I say it's 
 low, mean, vulgar, crawling, and immoral. I call 
 spades spades. It's a disgrace to these men — 
 men of good blood — bowing down to take up low 
 filthy blackguards, that you wouldn't ask into 
 your house, or be seen speaking to ! — Equality ! 
 Faugh ! But wait, I say, until these creatures 
 rise up and massacre us all." 
 
 Mrs. Severne now spoke in a wonderfully sweet 
 voice.
 
 22 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 "I hope we shall not live to see these hor- 
 rors," she said ; " but I wish our people could 
 get in. We are famishing in sight of meat and 
 drink. I am praying and pining for it, for the 
 most unselfish motives." 
 
 " You may pray and pray, my good madam," 
 said he to her ; " it will be no use. I say the 
 country is going clean to pot. It^s all the fault 
 of our men sitting down to dinner, talking with 
 rascals that by-and-by will be taking my land 
 and your land, and dividing it among 'em. Some 
 Manchester blackguard will be sitting here in 
 this chair one of these days/' he added, excitedly. 
 
 The other laughed. 
 
 *' It's a very serious thing, sir," said Sir John, 
 with more feeling. " I suppose it will last out my 
 day. But the poor old country, I am very sorry 
 for it. I, sir, have seen the good old days when 
 we were all gentlemen, and you sat down with 
 gentlemen, and rascals were kept down well in 
 their X3laces. My goodness ! — to think I should 
 have lived into such times. But after that fatal 
 step of PeeFs in '39," added the Baronet, drop-
 
 DIGBY AND ITS GUESTS. 25 
 
 ping his voice, " what could you expect ? We 
 are handed over, bound neck and crop, to — 
 Rome." (This dreadful word the Baronet always 
 pronounced in a low broken voice, as if it was 
 spelt " Row-home.") 
 
 *' The encroachments of that Power," said the 
 Dean, " are certainly calculated to afford grave 
 alarm. It was only last week that Sir Henry 
 Plumer, who, as we all know, is a man of ad- 
 vanced liberal principles " 
 
 " Liberal grandmother ! " said the Baronet, 
 really angry; "I am surprised at you. Dean. 
 This man^s a disgrace, a dishonour to his name. 
 He's lost his caste. When I meet him I declare 
 to heaven FU cut him like this bit of salmon. 
 Why, sir, if he was in India he might stick those 
 hooks into liis armpits, and be swung up, and it 
 wouldn't give him back his caste. He's a dirty 
 fellow, and I always said so. Mark my words, 
 you'll hear of that man in — er — something with 
 the police. I say nothing now." 
 
 He had said a good deal, but the Dean struck 
 in, softly —
 
 24 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 " I was a little surprised at the change in his 
 opinions ; but I suspect he is sorry now." 
 
 "Finds his fingers dirty, and wants to wash 
 'em," said the Baronet, contemptuously. " Let 
 him, if he can." 
 
 " But when are we to be in ? " said Mrs. 
 Severne ; '' that is what I am dying to know." 
 
 " When we learn to behave as gentlemen and 
 associate with gentlemen," said the baronet, "it'll 
 come round by itself. That young fellow of yours, 
 I am glad to see, he is a gentleman still. How 
 long he may stay so, heaven knows." 
 
 " I have no fears about him," said Mrs. 
 Severne. " My dear Sir John, we have an in- 
 ducement to retain our principles, not given to 
 all. Harold is to have a little office when we do 
 come in." 
 
 "I have no doubt that but Mr. Harold Severne 
 has a very brilliant career before him. Only last 
 month the present Bishop of Leighton Buzzard 
 — Brindley, you know, who was fellow and tutor 
 of All Souls — spoke really in a very high manner 
 of him."
 
 DIGBY AND ITS GUESTS. 25 
 
 "As for that, Dean," said Mrs. Severne, 
 smiling, *' I don't at all take it as a compliment. 
 He's a most singular genius, is Harold. Anj^- 
 thing he chooses to turn his mind to, he can 
 shine in. As for Double Firsts and Wranglers, 
 I don't mind that. There are hundreds of your 
 dull men have done that sort of thing." 
 
 " A mistake, my good lady," said the Baronet ; 
 " look at Peel, before he fell ; look at Eldon ; 
 look at Percival ; look at "Wellington — every man 
 of 'em — read their classics, and made their verses 
 like gentlemen ; and every one of 'em wasn't 
 ashamed to take his glass of old wine. Now we 
 must learn to speak Frog French and Dutch. 
 
 And Castlereagh was the man. *D n their 
 
 lingo ! ' said he once to old Sir Tatton, when he 
 was going out to Vienna. ' I'll make 'em under- 
 stand me,' and faith he did. But your Harold 
 there — now that I think of it, I don't quite know 
 his principles — what he's at. The j^oung fellows 
 of this day may be all Jesuits, for what I know.'' 
 
 "He is rather reserved," said Mrs. Severne, 
 rather warmly ; " even with me. Of course, I
 
 26 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 know he'll go with anything his father thought 
 right ; hut, as he says, very properly, he should 
 like to study it, and make himself up in the 
 matter hefore starting, and that seems only rea- 
 sonable." 
 
 " Reasonable ! I don^t know that,'^ said Sir 
 John, with a growl. " Why shouldn't he know. 
 I don't understand thinking and looking about 
 one in such things. Suppose he comes next to 
 make up his mind about our glorious religion, as 
 by law established. Must we give him time for 
 that?'' 
 
 " God forbid !" said the Dean. *' The extent 
 to which those impious persons push their doubts 
 is appalling, criticising the sacred ■" 
 
 *' They ought to get the cat's tail, and a warm 
 scourging once a week ; that would text them. 
 But I tell you what, ma'am, there must be no 
 mistake about our young friend. No milk and 
 water here. None of your weak tipple of ' ad- 
 vanced' Conservatism and rubbish. He must be 
 sound wind and limb, ma'am." 
 
 "The fly of the apothecary, Mrs. Severne,"
 
 DIGBY AND ITS GUESTS. 27 
 
 said the Dean, pleasantly ; "we know the results 
 as regards the ointment. No, our young friend, 
 so brilliant and clever beyond his years, has, I 
 have reason to know, the soundest principles— 
 the good stern old sense of W7iflinching, una 
 promising duty/' 
 
 "You should marry him, ma'am,'' said the 
 Baronet; "plant him firmly down in a sound 
 family. You know what I mean." 
 
 "Not much money," said Mrs. Severne, 
 smiling ; " but enormous influence, good name 
 and connection." 
 
 " Influence is better than money," said the 
 Dean, plaintively ; " for connection is as good as 
 — let me see — say thousands a-year." 
 
 "To be sure it is," said the Baronet, in 
 better humour. "We'll talk to him. Never 
 fear ; he's a fine fellow ; we'll get him somebody 
 — that is, if he is sound, you know." 
 
 " We have thought of all that. Sir John," said 
 Mrs. Severne, confidentially. " You know the 
 Lindens ? Well, a younger daughter — niece to 
 the Buryshafts — they can do anything, you know."
 
 28 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 Then the conversation went off on Lord Bmy- 
 shaft, who, the Baronet said, had the " true 
 stuff" in liim, and who the Dean pronounced to 
 be " a truly apostolic man/' " I never heard a 
 layman read prayers like him. Such soul in his 
 voice^ you know. No wonder,^' added the Dean, 
 looking round mysteriously ; " the}'' consider him 
 in the Appointments. I met him once at Lord 
 Henry's, and had a great deal of conversation 
 with him. Oh! a great deal. Lord Henry said to 
 me, as we went in to dinner, * That man is the 
 salt of England.' I thought it a very happy ex- 
 pression.'' 
 
 Thus the dinner went on. Harold Severne 
 got rather silent towards the end. He was dis- 
 appointed, perhaps, that the expected guests had 
 not come. There was, indeed, another train, 
 towards eleven, and the omnibus was to go down 
 again. It was a j)rivate station, literally forced 
 on Sir John, to his infinite disgust. Every day 
 that he heard the shriek of the passing train, he 
 uttered a solemn malediction on the company. 
 
 "We are expecting some friends. Miss Fenton;
 
 DIGBY AND ITS GUESTS. 29 
 
 said Harold, in explanation ; " all the way from 
 France. I can assure you I should not be sit- 
 ting here but for them — not that that concerns 
 anyone beyond myself." 
 
 "Oh! and Mrs. Severne," said the junior Miss 
 Fenton. " She would be miserable if anything 
 happened to you, Mr. Severne."" (This was said 
 with an air of a complaint.) 
 
 Seveme smiled over at his friend. "I think 
 she icould be a little distressed, Miss Fenton. 
 But I do hope they will come to-night. Every- 
 one in the house will like them, I know; and as 
 for the daughter, Miss Palmer, every man here 
 will be in love before morning.''^ 
 
 Miss Fenton's ears seemed to quiver uneasily, 
 as a dog's would at the sound of an approaching 
 step. 
 
 " Oh ! indeed," she said, drily, *' a beauty 
 coming here ! This is a surprise. So the 
 regular ladies of the house must prepare to 
 be neglected and given U2:>. Isn^t it cruel, Mr. 
 Canby ? " 
 
 'With the pitiless selfishness of ball-room
 
 30 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 friendship, that gentleman showed an anxiety 
 about the coming lady. 
 
 " We all get our turn," he said ; " one day up, 
 another down. Tell us about her, Severne." 
 
 *' You will be one of the first victims, Mr. 
 Canby," said Miss Fenton, with some faint hope 
 that she would be contradicted. 
 
 "Depends," he answered, carelessly; "we 
 must see before we give in. What's your friend 
 like, Severne ? " 
 
 " Fancy," said the other, with a little eager- 
 ness, " only fancy this ! a girl almost tall, her 
 head laden with heavy black hair, her face bright 
 and all colour " 
 
 *' All colour ! " said Miss Fenton, with a 
 " giggle " of derision, " dear me ! " 
 
 " All colour," repeated Harold, gravely, " like 
 an old picture. It is so rich and gorgeous, that 
 it is like a feast — a bit of fruit — and taken with 
 her wonderful eyes, large and deep, she lights up 
 the room, and furnishes it with a feast of colour. 
 Then she has a figure like a classic statue — 
 quiet, yet at every movement falling into some
 
 DIGBY AND ITS GUESTS. 31 
 
 graceful attitude. She walks like a Cleopatra. 
 It seemed to me, as I lay on the sofa in their 
 house, even her dress made no rustle as she 
 walked. Her touch was like velvet. She is my 
 Paul Veronese, and until I saw her I did not 
 believe that human colouring could come so near 
 to the gorgeous colours of the brush. But you'll 
 see her to-morrow, and be dazzled for your- 
 selves." 
 
 " What a description ! " said Miss Fenton. 
 " "What shall we do when this paragon comes ? 
 Has Mrs. Severne seen her ? " she added, mali- 
 ciously ; for she had noticed that his mother, 
 looking down, had caught some words of his 
 rapturous declaration. 
 
 Of young Severne, both the Fentons knew 
 they could have no reasonable hopes, and so 
 could only look on him " as a brother." 
 
 " No," he said, quietly, *' she has not. She 
 was ill herself at the time, and she never knew 
 anything until I was well. You will see her em- 
 brace her though for all that, and treat her like a 
 daughter."
 
 32 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 Again Miss Fenton simpered and *' giggled." 
 " Like a daughter ? " she said ; " how funny \" 
 " It is funny," said Harold, laughing. " I beg 
 pardon for being so old-fashioned. I am a poor 
 young lad from Oxford, and the old childish sim- 
 plicities are only partially knocked out of me. But 
 never mind, my dear Miss Isabella ; what does 
 that fogie Shakspere say about ' making the body 
 rich ? ' Mental qualifications will hardly do to 
 set up a girl in life. But he spoke according 
 to his lights. But now I give all the ladies here 
 due notice, when she comes they will find it hard 
 to hold their own. A wonderful girl, I can tell 
 you. Not disputatious, you know, which is odious 
 in a woman, but a quiet weight of manner, which 
 will astonish you. I think it fair," he added, 
 laughing, "to put you all on your guard. She 
 will be a social queen here." 
 
 " And will you be her minister — he ! he ! — 
 Mr. Severne ? " simpered Miss Fenton, her 
 mouth tightening a little with vexation. 
 
 " No," he said, seriously. " I fear she will 
 not do that. The minister must be at least
 
 DIGBY AND ITS GUESTS. 33 
 
 equal to his queen. That post, Miss Fenton, is 
 reserved for a cunning man — a genius, perhaps 
 — a man that has seen the world, and knows it 
 off by heart like his prayers ; like Canby. Eh, 
 Canby ? " 
 
 That gentleman accepted the compliment in 
 good faith. "No, 'pon my word — ah, you are 
 joking," he said. " I shouldnH object though. 
 Like to be councillor to any pretty girl, you 
 know. Your description has made me rather 
 curious." Here was social heartlessness again 
 — signs of hollow infidelity, and Miss Fenton's 
 lips tightened yet more. 
 
 Thus the dinner went on. Often Sir John 
 came back to his hopeless despairing of the 
 Eepublic, and through the pleasant clatter of 
 voices was heard a snatch of his desponding 
 vaticination. 
 
 " I'll soon have to be looking out for a decent 
 corner to live in. As for old England, I give her 
 up. I'm getting choked with your infernal cotton- 
 spinners. Why, there's Austria bound neck, hand, 
 foot, and crop, and everything, to * Row-home.' 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 SEVENTY -FIVE BKOOKE STREET. 
 
 You can^t wink there, without leave from a parson. 
 But 3^ou must respect them, ma'am. They're 
 gentlemen all the time. The nobles keep up. 
 The scum is kept well in its place. You don't 
 catch them shakin' hands with a low soap-boiler, 
 or sitting down to dinner with a feller that has 
 made the stuff in the very shirt on your back. 
 You don't Hallo ! what's Harold at now ? " 
 
 A servant had been whispering to Severne for 
 some moments, and that young man had jumped 
 up eagerly, and was hurrying to Sir John. 
 
 " My dear guardian," he said, " here's a busi- 
 ness ! Jordan's come up with news that there's 
 been an accident on the line down near Gorse 
 Point, four miles from the station. I hope to 
 heaven it's not the down train; — the Palmers, 
 you know " 
 
 " I shouldn't be surprised. Since these in- 
 fernal screaming nuisances have come cutting 
 through the place, anything may happen." 
 
 " But we must send help, guardian, and at 
 once," said the young man, hastily ; " there may 
 be people killed, or dying, or hurt. I shall go
 
 DIGBY AND ITS GUESTS. 35 
 
 myself in the waggonette, and — and bring some 
 of the men/^ 
 
 " Do, Harry," said Sir John, earnestly. " See 
 Filby the steward, he'll give you everything ; you 
 had better take a crowbar or two and a hammer." 
 
 " Leave it to me. Sir John," said the young 
 man, going ; " we shall be there in a quarter of 
 an hour. Get out the waggonette, d'ye hear, 
 and Nelly the trotting mare; and look sharp, 
 Duncan.^^ 
 
 " She is coming round, sir," said Duncan, 
 quietly ; " I thought you'd be going down." 
 
 " Sensible fellow, Duncan ; I am obliged to 
 you; that was very thoughtful, Duncan." 
 
 " And perhaps, sir," said Duncan, in the same 
 quiet way, " the Doctor, sir " 
 
 " Ah, very good too — more thoughtful still, 
 Duncan. Doctor, you must leave your wine, and 
 sit in the back seat. Nelly can take a dozen of 
 us, and find no difference. There is sure to be 
 a job of some sort for you. There — is there 
 anything else anyone can think of ? " 
 
 There was a little flutter of excitement and 
 
 D 2
 
 36 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 curiosity in the party that remained behind ; but 
 it soon subsided, Mr. Canby prophes3dng that it 
 would all turn out " a bottle of smoke/' Captain 
 Philips shrugged his shoulders, and holding his 
 full glass between him and the light, asked his 
 neighbour, in an utterly unimpassioned way, 
 " what they were all fussing about ? " When he 
 was told 
 
 " Oh, one of those smashes," he said ; '* a 
 goods train gone into a coal truck, or into some 
 slow second-class train. Very likely a couple of 
 old women well squeezed, and serve 'em right ; 
 why couldn't they travel by the reg'lar express ? 
 Everything, you know, must keep out of the way 
 of that." 
 
 Then he dwelt on the folly of making up wild- 
 goose chases after such things — " packing out " 
 in a night like that, when the Company had its 
 own fellers paid, " and deucedly well paid, I can 
 tell you," to look after such jobs. " Well," he 
 went on — and in truth he was a little annoyed at 
 the interruption to what he was saying — " Well, 
 as I was saying, there was no better place.
 
 DIGBY AND ITS GUESTS. 37 
 
 Capital prime beef and mutton, at eight pence 
 a pound — for the good pieces, mind — noble 
 fish," &,c. 
 
 The waggonette and Nelly was drawn up at 
 the great archway. The lamps were lighted. 
 It was a fine, clear, fresh night, with frost out. 
 The gentlemen got up. Nelly was shaking a 
 necklace of Norwegian bells that she wore round 
 her handsome neck, and was impatient to get 
 away. The music sounded melodious in the 
 night air. Cigars were lit, and without a touch 
 of the whip they were skimming along the iron 
 roads like a Canadian sledge. They w^ere in 
 spirits even. Looking behind, the red lights of 
 the shadowy Digby glowed through the darkness. 
 The doctor alone, with a strangely unprofessional 
 feeling, seemed to regret the pleasant board he 
 had left behind. 
 
 *' If I could only get off my mind," said 
 Severne, anxiously, " that it wasn't the down 
 train, with the Palmers in it, I should almost 
 enjoy the whole business."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE VALLEY. 
 
 They had to drive several miles — further, in- 
 deed, than had been announced. The intelligent 
 Duncan, who stood up behind, looking out, as 
 from a watch-tower, soon made out lights. 
 
 " There they are, sir,'' he said. " We must 
 leave the mare and carriage at the next turn, and 
 shall have to climb up the cutting, sir." They 
 had to do so. They had to scramble down again, 
 a very high hill and cutting, to get on the line, 
 and there they found the scene of the accident. 
 
 No time had been lost. They had met a 
 stray passenger or two hopelessly trying to scale 
 the sides of a gorge, filled with terror and con- 
 fusion. Below they saw the red light of the en- 
 gine, which was blowing and dripping steam and 
 vapour like a dying steeple-chaser. Lights, Ian-
 
 THE YALLEY. 39 
 
 terns, were dancing about spasmodically below, 
 and to the gentlemen now hastily descending, 
 that little amphitheatre — at perhaps the loneliest 
 part of the line — seemed to be crowded with dark 
 figures, and heavy buildings as dark — which 
 were the carriages. Confused voices and mur- 
 muring rose up and met their ears as they came 
 down. 
 
 After all, it was not a very serious accident. 
 It was after the usual formula — a long, long lug- 
 gage train, winding and bending round the 
 curves like an enormous snake, to whom life — 
 and the lives of all that have to do with it — was 
 a burden, had to skulk and creep along the 
 roads like an escaped felon — haunted by the fear 
 of pursuing express trains. And one unlucky 
 one, half overtaken — panting to get forward, for 
 the bare life, had at last been run down by the 
 fier}^ I'acer that had so long been at its heels. 
 It was not a very violent collision ; one first- 
 class carriage had been shattered, the passengers 
 sadly shaken, and some hurt. But the unhappy 
 coal waggons were " smashed " into firewood,
 
 40 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 twisted, chopped, bent into a shape that no 
 known human process could purposely reduce 
 them to. 
 
 The young men were welcomed like saviours. 
 Agitated women came fluttering round them beg- 
 ging aid. ThcAj were the first signs of human 
 assistance. The local doctor put them all aside. 
 *' Come, now," he said, " who is hurt ? Show 
 me the way. Where are they? Any serious 
 fractures— limbs to be set, eh?'' The guards 
 came running to him. " You a doctor, sir ? " 
 they said. " Then come this way. There is a 
 
 gentleman here, and a lady, and a child " and 
 
 the doctor, much relieved in his mind — for all 
 the way he had thought that "a job " would be 
 the only thing that would compensate for the 
 pleasant joys he had left behind — bustled away 
 after them with much alacrity. 
 
 The two young men did all they could to re- 
 assure the others. There were very few passen- 
 gers, at least of the first class. There were some 
 commercial gentlemen who were very noisy, and 
 troublesome on their wrongs. " Always this
 
 THE VALLEY. 41 
 
 wa3%" said one; "as sure as my name is Coxe, 
 ril have my action- at-law. This is the third 
 time this infernal com2:)any has served me in this 
 way. I was due to-morrow at Stamford by six 
 thirty, a.m. Confound 'em, I'll have damages for 
 this, or my name^s not Coxe." But this gentle- 
 man was quietl}" and promptly rebuked by Mr. 
 Selby, who told him to "hold that noise, and 
 that it was a shame for him not to be grateful for 
 standing there in a whole skin, and no broken 
 bones — instead of grumbling, as he did." This 
 blunt correction tranquillised him at once. 
 
 Young Seyerne was a true Samaritan — so 
 friendlj^ — so useful — so kindly in tranquillising 
 fears. He was much relieved when he had 
 found that those whom he had expected were not 
 /in the train. Another train was due in about 
 half an hour, and a man had been sent down the 
 line with a lantern to stop it. It would take on 
 all the present passengers. 
 
 A bright lady — as well as he made out — in a 
 velvet hat, and seal- skin cloak, had passed 
 Severne two or three times wringing her hands.
 
 42 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STEEET. 
 
 He went after her. " You are looking for some- 
 thing ? " he said. " You are not hurt I hope ? " 
 Severne was in a rough Irish frieze coat. In the 
 darkness she took him for a sort of countrj^man. 
 
 " Oh," she said, " what shall I do ; there it is 
 gone ! Some one has stolen it — do stir and try 
 and find it for me." 
 
 " What ? " said he. 
 
 *' Oh, my dressing-case, my little dressing-case, 
 with everything I have in the world in it — -jewels, 
 everything. I would not lose it for any money. 
 Please tr}^ exert yourself, and find it." 
 
 "Oh, is that all," said he. "No douht it is 
 quite safe ; hut, ma'am, there are other things to 
 he considered first — human life and human suf- 
 ferings before dressing-cases." 
 
 " Oh, of course, of course, sir,^^ she said, plain- 
 tively, now seeing that he was no countryman, 
 " quite right, indeed. My head seems to go 
 round ; I donH know what I am saying or doing, 
 and my husband — you have not seen him, sir ? — 
 Where is he ? Do tell me, quick. I am sure he 
 is hurt."
 
 THE VALLEY. 43 
 
 Severne was about to laugh, but checked him- 
 self. 
 
 "We must try and find him for you," he said. 
 
 " Find him — find him then, quickly,^' she said. 
 *' Oh, where is he ? Lead me to him ! " 
 
 " Come," said Severne, " this way then." He 
 saw the doctor at the end of the bank, with a 
 lantern beside him, bending over some one. 
 
 " Ah, there he is," said the lady in an agony of 
 grief, and cast herself down on the ground beside 
 the figure. 
 
 It was a tall gentleman, with eyes closed, and a 
 grizzly grey beard and hair. He seemed half 
 insensible, and now and again gave a groan. 
 
 "There is something damaged internally," 
 said the doctor to Severne. " I can t make it out 
 here ; no conveniences you know. No arm or 
 leg broken, however. Now, my good madam, 
 please. You can give no assistance with that 
 sort of thing — so please." 
 
 "I say — a dressing-case has been found," 
 Selby said. " The guard has got it. So you 
 need have no anxiety."
 
 44 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 The lady did not hear this speech. "What 
 are we to do ? " she said, as if to herself, " he 
 will not speak to me. He does not know me." 
 
 *' He is coming round," said the doctor. 
 " Give him a little time, you know. Something 
 about the ribs, I suspect. Often happens in 
 these cases." 
 
 " But there is nothing serious ? '* the lady 
 said, now down on her knees in an agony of sus- 
 pense. ''He is not hurt ? He will recover? " 
 
 Selby came up again at this moment. " Here," 
 he said, " I have got it. Here, ma'am, is your 
 dressing-case, quite safe." 
 
 Severne, fond of a little sarcasm at all inap- 
 propriate times, even, said, "li is not hurt; it 
 will recover,'''' 
 
 "What is to be done, though," said Selby, 
 hastily, " with this poor gentleman ? Where can 
 he be taken to? We cant have him lying 
 here." 
 
 " There's no house nearer than the 'all, sir," 
 said Duncan, touching his hat. 
 
 *' Look here, Harry," said Selby, taking him
 
 THE VALLEY. 45 
 
 by the arm, "just a word. I think you must 
 offer these people some shelter. The poor man 
 is seriously damaged, I can see — too much so to 
 go on by the next train ; and I think Sir John 
 would not " 
 
 " I am afraid he would," said Severne, a little 
 shortly. " You see, there are the women — per- 
 haps maids, friends, and what not. It's exactly 
 the thing that he would object to." 
 
 *' Good gracious, Harry ! " answered the other 
 warml}^ " and so you mean to say you would let 
 a poor soul lie in the snow there — die in the 
 snow, perhaps — all because " 
 
 " You old enthusiast," said Severne, laughing, 
 " how you take up things ; no one is going to 
 die. Well, you must have everj^thing joxxv own 
 way." He turned round, and went back to the 
 group. The gentleman was half sitting up — 
 his eyes were open. " I think," said Severne, 
 " it would be better if he was taken away out 
 of this." (At this moment the sound of Nelly's 
 bells came faintly through the frosty air.) " We 
 have a carriage waitinsf that will take us home
 
 46 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 in ten minutes, and if this gentleman, and this 
 lady — your husband, I presume — " He looked 
 at her interrogatively. 
 
 "Yes, yes," she said, eagerly. "Of course; 
 but he will recover. I know he will — see, he 
 opens his eyes." 
 
 " Then I suppose it would be the best 
 course ? " he said, still coldly, and turning to 
 the doctor. 
 
 " Well," said that gentleman, " I would re- 
 commend it, as there is no other place near." 
 
 " Very well," said Severne, shortly, " let us 
 lose no time then. We can carry him 
 up readily. Perhaps this lady — perhaps you 
 would explain to him — he seems conscious 
 now." 
 
 The lady went down on her knees again in the 
 snow. " Dearest," she said, her face close to his, 
 "how are you now? Would you like to be 
 moved to the house and shelter this good gentle- 
 man so kindly offers ? " 
 
 As his full eyes met hers, they drooped, and 
 he did not answer.
 
 THE VALLEY. 47 
 
 " Do 3'ou hear that ? " said Severne, starting. 
 " There it is at last ! " 
 
 Far off through the night came a succession 
 of short screams and interrogative whisthngs. 
 This was the coming train snorting indignantly^ 
 expostulating at being obliged to stop short, 
 and demanding explanation. Lanterns were 
 seen waving and fluttering violently far away, 
 as if blown by the wind ; and the glowing, crimson 
 light of the engine came gliding on, and at last " 
 stopped short in a white cloud of its own steam. 
 
 The commercial gentleman, still indignant, 
 said it was all fine enough — and it was well 
 they weren't run into again ; it was no fault 
 of the company if they weren't. But the point 
 was, where would he be by six-thirty to-mor- 
 row morning? Others of the passengers, still 
 much fluttered by their escape, shrank away 
 from exposing themselves to this second risk, 
 after such an escape ; and some ladies and 
 children were crying. But the guards came up 
 with their old business-like cry, " Now, then, 
 take your seats, please ! " and it seemed better
 
 48 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET 
 
 to be taken away at all risks, than left in a 
 defile like that. Besides, as the commercial gen- 
 tleman remarked, " TheyM hardly do the thing 
 over again — at least on that night ; though he 
 wouldn't put it past 'em, mind." Finally they 
 were all got in — to the surly expostulation of 
 the newly-arrived passengers who were much 
 crowded in consequence — and who also hinted at 
 some sort of punishment to be inflicted on the 
 compan}' — the programme of which was arranged 
 between them and the commercial gentleman all 
 the way up to town. 
 
 The cutting was now deserted. Hodge and a 
 friend or two, who had come up too late for 
 profit, were gaping down from the top of the 
 hill, and could make nothing of the business. 
 But they saw the little party coming up, the 
 injured gentleman a little restored by this time 
 — Cleaning on two gentlemen : and Hoclge, as 
 though he were a stage rustic, said to his friend, 
 "Eh, laws ! but that be young Squoire." 
 
 "And young Squoire's friend," added the com- 
 panion, " he wi' the lang legs! "
 
 THE VALLEY. 49 
 
 "Squoire's friend" was helping up a lady. In- 
 deed the sides of the cutting were as steep as a 
 hill, and it was very hard work. Nelly was still 
 shaking her bells, having lost all patience, and 
 with head turned round, was taking a wricked and 
 suspicious side-look at the increased party. 
 Young Severne was in command, as it were, and 
 issued orders authoritatively. 
 
 " Carefully now," he said ; " some one must sit 
 on each side of him, Duncan, you must get 
 back as you can, or stand on the steps, if you 
 like. Selby, you and this lady go inside, and, 
 doctor, you with me on the box. How do you 
 feel now, sir ? " 
 
 The iron-grey head — it was a little stooped 
 between the shoulders — gave a sort of courteous 
 bow. " A little better/' he said, faintly. " Only 
 something here," he said, putting his hand on his 
 chest. His wife was looking from side to side, 
 with a sort of glance of half despair. " Oh, you 
 are better," she said. " Tell me so." 
 
 "Your dressing-case is quite safe," said Se- 
 verne, with the reins now in his hand. " I saw 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 SEVENTY-FIVE BKOOKE STREET. 
 
 it put in myself. All right behind there ? Go, 
 Nelly." And immediately the bells began to 
 jangle, and the wheels to " thrum " monotonously 
 along the white frost-bound roads, furnishing to 
 the bell music what seemed to be the drone of a 
 bagpipe.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE NEW ARRIVALS. 
 
 It was past ten o'clock when they came can- 
 tering up towards the glowing red lights of 
 Digby. Severne on his box heard the lady 
 behind him murmuring her astonishment and 
 wonder at the pile of building now approaching. 
 She was literally confounded — as, indeed, were 
 many tourists who saw it for the first time — at 
 its grandeur and imposing character. 
 
 They all got down ; the servants came out. 
 Behind them was the long figure of Sir John, 
 who from the drawing-room had heard Nelly's 
 beUs. 
 
 Severne ran to meet him with a hasty whisper. 
 
 " All right, quite right," said Sir John, *' w^here 
 
 are they ? " 
 
 LIBRARY E 2 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
 
 62 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 Then he went forward to meet them with a 
 warm hospitality. 
 
 " So sorry," he said. " Hope, sir, you are not 
 hurt seriously ? These new-fangled railways will 
 kill us all one day. And you, madam, very glad 
 to see 3^ou, too." 
 
 " Oh, sir,'' said the lady, humbly, "your good- 
 ness overpowers us quite." 
 
 *' You are most kind," said the gentleman, still 
 in evident pain. " But I am afraid I am hurt 
 seriously.'' 
 
 *' Look here, Harry," said Sir John, " we can 
 put them in the Palmers' room for to-night — 
 fires burning and all ready. Just the thing. 
 Lean on me, sir. There. We'll take care of 
 you and make you snug. And, Doctor, you may 
 as well come too." 
 
 Then this hospitable old gentleman bestowed 
 his new guests, and presently the gentleman was 
 laid in bed, in the snuggest apartment in the 
 world, and the Doctor was busy making what he 
 called an " official examination." 
 
 " Just what I suspected," he said — " coming
 
 THE NEW ARRIVALS. 53 
 
 home in the carriage : a rib gone — touching the 
 lung. Can be raised very favourably though. Do 
 it at once — judicious bandaging and splints." 
 
 The faithful wife alone was present, waiting 
 eagerly for this verdict. She gave a half- 
 scream. 
 
 " There's no danger, ma'am," said the Doctor, 
 roughly ; " more inconvenience than danger. 
 Take my advice, and go down to the ladies. 
 Get them to give you a glass of Sir John's old 
 particular green wax. Say I ordered it, if you 
 like. These things give an imperceptible shock, 
 you know." 
 
 " Do," said the husband, faintl}^ " go down, 
 please." She yielded. She glided lightly into 
 the room that had been laid out for Mrs. Palmer, 
 took off her bonnet, smoothed her hair, bathed 
 her face hastily, gave some hasty touches to her 
 dress here and there, re-tied a ribbon or two, 
 and choosing a flower out of a bouquet fresh 
 pulled, that was on the table, contrived somehow 
 to work it into her system. Then she backed a 
 little before the glass, advanced, retreated, and
 
 54 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 advanced again — touching and retouching. She 
 was at last satisfied, and went down. 
 
 That room was in one of the towers. At the 
 bottom of the stair, which wound a little, there 
 came a long oak corridor, with many doors. It 
 was natural that a mere stranger should be be- 
 wildered ; and Selby, who had run to his room 
 to fetch something to amuse the ladies, and 
 was scampering back, singing and whistling like 
 a schoolboy, came suddenly upon the new lady, 
 helpless in the windings of a strange house. 
 
 " My goodness," he said, a little confused. 
 " Of course, we should have thought of this, and 
 sent some one. I am very sorry — it was so 
 stupid of me." 
 
 " Stupid ! no," said the lady. " But I am so 
 glad I met you. It is all so awkward — so 
 wretchedly awkward entering, meeting a crowd 
 of strange faces in this painful way. I dread it. 
 I shrink from it. What shall I do ?" 
 
 " Don't mind," he said, hastily ; " you are a 
 guest, you know. Why, they are all so glad. I 
 am sure they are."
 
 THE NEW ARRIVALS. 55 
 
 " A guest ! No," she said, sacll3\ " We have 
 no business to be here. We are intruders on 
 your delightful party. I at this moment," and 
 she stopped undecidedly, '* ought to be at his 
 bed-side. Naturally it looks unfeeling. Indeed 
 I ought to go back. You must let me." 
 
 It then occurred to Selby that he ought not to 
 let her go back. 
 
 " You must not go," he said, with gentle firm- 
 ness. " The doctor will look to everything. 
 Women, you know, are always in the way. I 
 mean — confound it ; no, I mean, in that sort of 
 place. Come in with me; we can go in together. 
 This is the way." 
 
 The door was only a short way off ; they heard 
 the merry voices, the more cheerful and polite 
 din, the ringing of ladies' laughter. She held 
 back a moment, with her hand pressing her 
 waist. 
 
 " How can I face them all," she said, '' and he 
 lying there !" 
 
 Selby opened the door, and said, gently — 
 
 " Courage ! "
 
 56 SEVENTY-FIVE BKOOKE STKEET. 
 
 There was a huge fire-place, like a great arch- 
 way, where a log fire was burning noisily. The 
 company was gathered round it, the ladies seated, 
 the gentlemen flitting about among them, and 
 the tall, gaunt Sir John standing up in the 
 centre, like a colossal statue. The Dean, in one 
 of the tall-backed arm-chairs, lay placidly with 
 his hands before him, and in the full and en- 
 couraging blaze, which lit up his face like a 
 glor}^ and, at the same time, induced a percep- 
 tible drowsiness, while the baronet, standing up 
 over him, still dwelt on the " awful " signs of 
 the times. Mrs. Severne, always tranquil and 
 " sweet," was busy with some work. But the 
 two Fentons, untiring and untired, whether it 
 was the work or play of life, as fresh now as 
 they were at breakfast time, as eager now to 
 work out their earthly salvation as at the in- 
 spiring hours of morning, still sent forth the 
 merry peal of appreciation, and by an amazing 
 assiduity were actually making some impression 
 on that worldly and selfish Canby, who was their 
 idol.
 
 THE NEW ARRIVALS. 57 
 
 " tell— tell that again, Mr. Canby," said Isa- 
 bella ; " indeed 3'ou shall, and you must ! I never 
 heard anything so funny ; and Mrs. Severne, too, 
 must come over and hear it. The best thing you 
 ever heard in your life, Mrs. Severne ! You must 
 come over ! " 
 
 That lady rose at once, for the engaging young 
 girl had gambolled over to her side. 
 
 *' I must not lose an opportunity that may 
 never occur again," said Mrs. Severne to her 
 neighbour, without any malice, " of hearing the 
 best thing I may ever hear ! " 
 
 " ! I declare, 'pon my v^ord," said Mr. Canby, 
 in some confusion at this publicity, " it ain't fair." 
 
 At this moment the lady entered. 
 
 Sir John stalked forward good-naturedly to 
 meet her. " I hear everything is going on well," 
 he said. " You must sit down here, and warm 
 yourself, and make yourself quite at home ; we 
 shall have supper very soon now." 
 
 There was a general disarrangement and move- 
 ment. All faces were turned towards that one 
 face. It looked very different now from what it
 
 58 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 had done down at the " cutting," in the shadow, 
 or under the lantern-light. It was a round, 
 brilliant, full, and well- coloured face ; with good 
 hair, fine eyes, and a sort of delicate embonpoint 
 about the figure. " In a vulgar creature, my 
 dear " (looking at her, from an old-lady point of 
 view) — these would have been the elements for 
 brazen effrontery ; but she had such an air of 
 modesty and retirement that they became a fresh 
 charm. The Fentons, interrujoted at a critical 
 moment when they had their sickles in the corn, 
 as it were, looked at her with the instinct of 
 hostility — and the Dean, bestirring himself with a 
 sort of shiver, for he had been wakened from a 
 sweet dream, in which he had the good Lord 
 Buryshaft's hand upon his cuff, and the good 
 lord's voice in his ear, " My dear Burnaby, 
 Loughborough is failing every day, and when 
 
 Chester is vacant " saw the new arrival, very 
 
 indistinctly. Mr. Canby had his glass in his 
 eye, for the new lady's attractions were of the 
 effective music-hall pattern — only refined — and 
 half rose to get nearer.
 
 THE NEW ARRIVALS. 59 
 
 The lady was presently seated among them, 
 and rather astonished Severne and his friend by 
 her quiet composure. She was soon telling the 
 whole story of her sufferings, in a very low voice, 
 and, certainly, without any sensational heighten- 
 ing. "We were coming home from the Conti- 
 nent," she said, " and the passage had been ex- 
 quisite, not a ripple on the water. Every one 
 was so happy ! I sat on the deck, and saw that 
 gay, lively Boulogne grow indistinct in the 
 distance. One always feels regret at leaving 
 a place where one has had such happy happy 
 days." 
 
 (Every one present accepted this as a truth, 
 which had an air of novelty from the plaintive 
 tone with which it was spoken ; though, indeed, 
 it would seem an obvious truism enough.) 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said Severne, eagerly. 
 " So you came from Boulogne by to-day's 
 packet ? " 
 
 "Yes," said the lady, gently; "I think so.'' 
 
 " Dear me," said Severne, eagerly. " Then 
 you may have met them — the Palmers. Did you
 
 60 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 remark a lady and her daughter — a very striking 
 looking girl — ' tallish/ brilliant colour ? " 
 
 " What ! with a sort of widow lady ? " 
 
 " Exactly ; rather French." 
 
 " A vision — a vision ! " said the lady, with an 
 enthusiasm that became quite dazzling. " I 
 never saw such a magnificent creature. She sat 
 on the deck the whole time. A feast to the eye 
 — indeed she was. I never saw any one to com- 
 pare to her. Even my husband, who from his 
 affection has his own foolish standard — even he 
 — ah, but I little thought then what was in store 
 for us ! ^' 
 
 There was a silence of respect for a moment. 
 Even the Dean, though the glow of the fire was 
 wooing him back to sweet dreams again, was 
 listening, and at the first convenient opening, 
 had a parallel passage ready from his own 
 life ; as when Lord Edward Somersault came 
 over with him in the Calais packet — let him 
 see — in the disastrous year '29 — the year when 
 the landmarks of the Constitution were " swept 
 away " —
 
 THE NEW AKRIVALS. 61 
 
 "And you spoke to them?'' said Severne, 
 eagerly ; " you sat near them ? " 
 
 *' Oh dear, yes," said the lady ; " charming 
 people they were." 
 
 *' I am so glad of this," said Severne. " It 
 turns out quite fortunate. They will he here 
 to-morrow. You will renew your acquaintance." 
 
 The lady gave a little start : " Acquaintance," 
 she said, sorrowfully. " Oh no, no ! they will not 
 recollect that. We know what a packet-acquaint- 
 ance is — faces pass hy, and we forget, and never 
 see them again. No : there was a French gen- 
 tleman who was very, very kind to the young girl. 
 So devoted, and kind, and considerate — not at 
 all like a Frenchman*" 
 
 " Infernal monkeys," said Sir John. "An Eng- 
 lishman would thrash a room-full. Eat them up, 
 as dog Toby did the rats.''' 
 
 But Severne was a little uneasy, and said no 
 more. The sisters Fenton looked at each other 
 with a little enjoyment; but Canby was evidently 
 interested. "Most curious,'' he said; "and so 
 you were all on board the packet ? "
 
 62 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 The lady turned to liim gratefully as if this 
 help had made her statement more lucid. 
 
 *' Yes, we were in the packet. Then came the 
 railway — the carriage — the dreadful carriage'' — 
 and she shut out the view with her hands. 
 
 " ''Spress, of course," said Mr. Canby, en- 
 couraged by his success. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said she, grateful for the correc- 
 tion ; " you are quite right. It was the express. 
 "We came on — up through the charming English 
 country — the grand fields lying out under the 
 sun — the grand English oaks — some way,'' she 
 added, with a sort of naivete; "it looked so 
 bright and sound and flourishing after the 
 French country.'' 
 
 " Ah, ha ! ma'am," broke in Sir John ; " very 
 good of you ! Old England for ever still ; you 
 can't compare 'em ; their mean, mangy patches, 
 at which they go fiddling, fiddling with bodkins 
 — wretched scrubby things ! " 
 
 '* It was such a bright, encouraging day," went 
 on the lady ; " and we all felt so happy at get- 
 ting home again ; and then it began to grow
 
 THE NEW ARKR^ALS. G3 
 
 dark, and he — my dear husband — was talking 
 fondly of our expected fireside, the hearth swept 
 up — our 0^671 home, never yet seen, for we have 
 been married but a short time " 
 
 Gradually a perfect silence had been estab- 
 lished, and every one, even the reluctant Fen- 
 tons, had been drawn in to listen to this natural 
 history. It was impossible not to be interested. 
 Mr. Monkhouse and Captain Philips, the two 
 epicureans of the house, coming in with good 
 spirits from the billiard-room, were awed into 
 decorum by reproachful glances. 
 
 " We were talking," went on the lady, " of 
 what days of happiness were before us, — what 
 quiet joys and innocent pleasures. He had said 
 to me in his kind way, * You must enjoy your- 
 self ; see what there is of life — for my sake. I 
 have long ceased to care for things of that kind.' 
 But what am I talking of? " And in great con- 
 fusion she stopped. Severne smiled. 
 
 " By the way," he said — *' excuse me for inter- 
 rupting you — you got the dressing-case safe ? 
 Selby had charge of it, you know."
 
 64 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 *' It was taken to the room," she said, hastily ; 
 " and I am so much obliged to Mr. Selby for the 
 trouble he took, and to you, too." 
 
 " Oh ! not at all," said Severne, " we all saw 
 that you w^ere so exceedingly anxious about it." 
 
 *' Indeed I was," she said, with her eyes on the 
 oaken floor; ''it contained two little pictures 
 that I would not have lost for the world, and 
 some letters — some dear letters " 
 
 " And jewels, I think you said ? " 
 
 "Harold," said Sir John, a little grulffly; "see 
 and push on supper, will you ? we are all getting 
 hungry. Well, you were talking, you say, ma'am, 
 about old England?'' 
 
 " Oh, yes," she said ; " and we had just caught 
 a glimpse of red lights glittering afar off. Oh, it 
 must have been this house." 
 
 " Was it where there was a break in the hills, 
 near the pond ? " asked Sir John, eagerly. 
 
 "Yes, yes," she said, eagerly; " a pond — there 
 was — exactly." 
 
 "I knew it," said Sir John; "it's the best 
 view of the place ; you shall see it in the morn-
 
 THE NEW ARRIVALS. 65 
 
 ing. I made that myself thirty-five years ago ; 
 and these rascals came with their infernal line 
 and cut it all up." 
 
 " The very place," said the lady. '' How strange 
 that you should know ! Then, as we were speak- 
 ing, came a crash, — and oh !" She covered up her 
 face. There was a silence. The two Fenton 
 girls looked at each other, and rustled their 
 dresses with impatience. One tried to catch Mr. 
 Canhy's eye, but that gentleman was absorbed 
 by the new Scherazade, and the labours of a 
 hard day — the ascent up the tower, &c. — had all 
 been spent in vain. 
 
 "Don't think of it,'' said Sir John. "It will 
 all come right again. We'll make him well ; only 
 I hope in God," said the Baronet, with infinite 
 energy, ■" you'll have your action against 'era. 
 I'll speak to him to-morrow." 
 
 " Lord Campbell's Act — " said the barrister, 
 who practised at country houses ; " quite sure to 
 get damages; jury always find against the com- 
 pany." 
 
 " Glad to hear it," growled Sir John ; " hope
 
 66 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 they'll salt 'em. Look at these pictures, ma'am," 
 he went on, lighting a candle. " No mushrooms 
 here ; every one of 'em true blue, and gentlemen 
 to the backbone ; no cotton-spinners on my walls, 
 ma'am ; look at that — and that — you won't find 
 a Digby here, ma'am, that soiled his finger with 
 infernal ledgers and figures, — no, no." 
 
 The lady was charmed with these fine old por- 
 traits, and every fresh one to which she was intro- 
 duced brought new surprise. They had, indeed, 
 all the grim wooden-look of regular ancestry — with 
 a polite scowl, and stony contempt — seeming 
 also too heavily encumbered with fine clothes to 
 do any work. 
 
 " 'Pon my word, you had a narrow escape," 
 said Sir John, as they went down the room a 
 little. "Look at that, now. Bishop Digby. 
 That's ' Digby's Short Method with Dissenters ' 
 in his hand. I'll show it you in the library — 
 the finest work ever written. He kept your 
 mean, unmannerly, pot-house Dissenters in their 
 places. None of your fiddle faddle complaints, 
 and scrape me, scrape you, ideas. They were not
 
 THE NEW ARRIVALS. 67 
 
 gentlemen, ma'am," said Sir John, angrily, as iishe 
 had said they were, " and he didn't want to know 
 'em, or see 'em, or be conscious of their existence." 
 
 " Oh ! It is dreadful,'^ the lady said, reflectively. 
 
 "It is, and was, ma'am,^' said Sir John; "you are 
 perfectly right, and, I tell you what, we have not 
 seen the end of it yet. By the way,^' he added, 
 changing his tone, " What's 'er name, ma'am ? 
 They told me below; but I have the worst head 
 for names." 
 
 "Lepell!" said the lady, softly; "Mr. and 
 Mrs. Lepell." 
 
 "Lepell!'^ said he, almost joyfully; "no — 
 very good, very good indeed. There's the true 
 ring in that, ma'am. There's Lepells in York- 
 shire, and I knew a Lepell in Warwickshire — a 
 real gentleman, was in the House with me, and 
 walked into the lobby with me against Peel's 
 infamous measure of '29." 
 
 The lady started — something like delight came 
 
 into her eyes, " Why that was his cousin, sir, — a 
 
 noble-hearted man. I have often heard him 
 
 speak of him." 
 
 f2
 
 68 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 *'My dear madam, I am so glad/' he said, in 
 real enjoyment ; " let me welcome you to Digby. 
 I hope you will stay with us some time. He's 
 dead, I know, poor Jack Lepell. Between you 
 and me he took that vile selling the pass of 
 Peel's to heart; a low swindle, ma'am, and 
 served us all right for sitting down to table 
 with a fellow of that kind. You know the reeking 
 kind of effluvia in those cotton places. It makes 
 me sick. Faugh ! And now, who has the place 
 after Jack — your husband ? " 
 
 ** No,'' said she, softly, as if this were a trial 
 too ; " the Colonel : he is out in India ; they say 
 has embarrassed the property." 
 
 " Ah ! that was poor Jack's doing — a true 
 gentleman, above your low accounts and ledger- 
 ings ! and so they swindled him ? And you, 
 my dear madam ? Forgive me if I am inqui- 
 sitive." 
 
 **I was Miss Bell — Jenny Bell," she said, as 
 it were, in terror ; " of a good family, too, sir — 
 indeed, yes, but not rich." 
 
 " What harm in . that ? " said Sir John ;
 
 THE NEW ARRIVALS. 69 
 
 " nothing to be ashamed of. Some cotton black- 
 guard, I dare say, has been too much for them, 
 eh?" 
 
 *' Oh, sir," said Mrs. Lepell, starting, " how 
 did 3'ou know — who tokl " 
 
 " It's the okl story, my dear," he said ; " I 
 hear of these things. Bell is a good name — 
 egad, now that I think of it, the bishop there 
 married some Bell or other. Til look it out. 
 By the way, ask me to show you his book to- 
 morrow — as fine a work as ever you read." 
 
 They were still opposite the bishop, a grim 
 prelate — with an enormous wig that seemed like 
 two down pillows, with huge white sleeves, that 
 seemed like two more, with his right hand rest- 
 ing on a great quarto, sloped at an angle : just 
 as the General, a short way doAvn, had his baton 
 sloped at an angle. This massive volume was 
 labelled " Short Method," &c. 
 
 Sir John put out his candle and led her back 
 to the company. " My dear madam, here's a 
 discovery. Our friend up stairs is cousin to an 
 old friend. This is Mrs. Lepell ; no one knew
 
 70 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 Jack Lepell better than I did. I am so glad. Let 
 me introduce to you his cousin's wife." 
 
 Mrs. Severne got up with alacrity, and with a 
 beaming face. " I am so glad," she said, taking 
 her hand, '' it has turned out in this way.'' 
 
 (Mrs. Severne always did the right thing, and 
 with true breeding would be almost rustic in her 
 welcome, when an occasion required.) 
 
 "Jack Lepell was one of the old Guard — a true 
 man, until Peel and his gang broke his heart, I 
 do believe. Mrs. Lepell here knows it well. By 
 Jove, I must go up and see Lepell and talk to 
 him." 
 
 " He's asleep," Sir John, said Severne, " and 
 supper's coming up." 
 
 " That's not at all a bad notion," said Captain 
 Philips, brightening up, "I was just thinking of 
 something hot and comfortable. We're all getting 
 so proper and decent, people '11 be ashamed to be 
 seen eating a cutlet by-and-by." 
 
 ** Not in this house, sir," said Sir John, " nor 
 o sit down to it either." 
 
 "Ah ! that's a very good notion, too," said the
 
 THE NEW AKRIVALS. 71 
 
 officer, coolly. " One get's hungry so soon in 
 these airy houses. Then to be huddled in to a 
 sideboard, to pick a bit here and a bit there — '' 
 
 " Ah ! that's the new school," said Sir John. 
 *' Ah ! there it is at last. Take my arm, Mrs. 
 Lepell. I am very glad to have you here. I am 
 indeed. You must be hungry; and if you don't 
 take jouv glass of Burgund}^ and two wings of 
 the roast wild duck, we shall quarrel, I warn 
 you " 
 
 " You are so kind. Sir John,'' she said, " I 
 almost feel getting into spirits "again — which I 
 ought not to do." 
 
 They passed out of the drawing room into a 
 " snug " little octagon room, where there was a 
 fire and a round table. It was reached by no 
 draughty passages, infinitely to the satisfaction 
 of Captain Philips, who had not to put up his 
 coat collar. " Our friend has his sensible points ; 
 and really I don't object to this bit of Old Times. 
 Something very savoury," added the captain, 
 sniffing, " seems like game — eh, Monkhouse ? 
 Ther'll not be room for us. Come quick to the
 
 72 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 side -table — out of the way, you see, and room for 
 your arms; and I am sick of talking to the women 
 — and we'll get a bird or so, quietly, over for our- 
 selves." And there was presently a cheerful and 
 noisy party about the large round table; and 
 precisely as he had arranged. Captain Philips, 
 with apparent self-sacrifice, was bestowed at the 
 side -table, where he received greater attention 
 than anyone in the room.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LORD JOHN, 
 
 Again a pleasant scene had set in ; this was 
 what he called cozy, Sir John said, and he was 
 fairly right, if there was "coziness^' in a warm 
 room with a shai'p frost outside, and light, and 
 cheerful faces, and an unfashionable appetite. " I 
 can tell you," said Captain Piiilips, "this is an 
 uncommonly good bird. They have done him not 
 a minute too long. Here ! don't take that away," 
 (this was to the servant carrying off the bird), 
 " and see, get a lemon here, will you — and the 
 Harvey sauce, will 3"ou?" 
 
 At this moment the door was opened softly, and 
 a red, elderly face, much heated, was put in. The 
 eyes of the red face were a little strained and 
 bloodshot, but there was a gay, rollicking twinkle 
 in the eyes. "Ah ! at w^ork," said the voice
 
 74 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 belonging to the face, " and uncommonly good 
 work, too ; am I in time, eli ? " 
 
 *' Come in, come in, Lord John !'' said Sir John, 
 heartily ; " you are in time, and I am glad of it. 
 Put down your coat in the corner there." 
 
 Lord John came in at once, pulling off gloves 
 and a comforter and a coat. 
 
 " I was dining with them at the barracks, and 
 couldn't pass the house — -just for a finish. I told 
 them below to put up the gig." 
 
 Captain Philips had looked round with disgust 
 the moment he saw the red face. 
 
 " Here's that drinking Lord ! Close up well, 
 can't you, or they'll be sticking him in beside us. 
 Keally, it is too bad ! No room for a man's arms ; 
 always the way in these houses ; can't let you eat 
 your bit in comfort." 
 
 " Over there. Lord John," said Sir John, heart- 
 ily, " next to Philips. He'll make room for you." 
 
 Lord John had gone over. 
 
 " Push up, will you ? " he said, dragging in his 
 chair. Send that bird here, PhiUps ; don't swallow 
 him all up, you know. Wait and I'll begin with a
 
 " LORD JOHN. 75 
 
 nip of the brand}' to drive the frost out of my 
 chest. Here, Sam, cordials down here.'' 
 
 Captain Philips said nothing, but with yet 
 more marked disgust moved awa3^ 
 
 " Just let me ," he said, retaining the bird, 
 
 " before you begin ; I had this breast half off be- 
 fore 3'ou came in," 
 
 " It is an infernal night out," said Lord John; 
 " not sorry I took that nip now. I wanted some- 
 thing warm inside." 
 
 This was Lord John Eaby, an elderly bachelor, 
 who had a small box close by, where he lived a 
 great deal, and to a far greater extent ranged the 
 country, preying on his neighbours, and dropping 
 in without ceremonj^ at all hours, and with the 
 same freedom, always asked for " something 
 warm.'' He had been in a fast cavalry regiment, 
 and was said to have done something about which 
 hung a little mist that was disreputable. He 
 had lived much in Paris when he was young, 
 was full of strange stories, and had a curiously 
 free manner. 
 
 They were very gay at the round table. Mrs.
 
 76 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 Lepell, the new guest, was now quite at home, 
 unrestrained, and very amusing. She said she 
 was not ashamed to own that she was very hungry, 
 for they had had a very long and weary day of it. 
 
 ''I am glad you are hungry — very glad," 
 said Sir John, " and have the sense to say so. I 
 like a woman that is not ashamed to take her food. 
 All the fine young girls of my day eat plenty, and 
 got all their good looks from eating, I can tell 
 you." 
 
 " I begin not to care what they say,'' said Mrs. 
 Lepell. " We were always Conservatives in that, 
 as in other points. And I always think and say, 
 in my little ivay, that you should be consistent, Sir 
 John, and carry out whatever you believe, even 
 in small details. That is our creed, is it not, Sir 
 John?" 
 
 " It is ! " said he, with delight, " 'pon my soul 
 it is ! No shamming and skulking for us ! Be 
 whatever you are to the very backbone." 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Lepell, " I would have it even 
 in the colour of our dress. Sir John." 
 
 Mrs. Severne smiled.
 
 ^^LORD JOHN.'* 77 
 
 " Keally you are quite an ardent believer," she 
 said. 
 
 " It is quite refreshing to meet such enthusi- 
 asm," said her son. " You put our sluggish con- 
 sciences to the blush." 
 
 " Who is she. Philips ? " asked Lord John ; 
 " where did he pick her up ? Fine woman, I 
 say ; I like her tournure.'" 
 
 " Came to-night," said Captain Philips ; " if 
 you're quite done with that sherry wine, you 
 know — thanks. No bread in the room," he 
 added, getting up ; " every one must learn to 
 wait on himself in this house." 
 
 In a few moments the ladies had gone, and it 
 was past midnight. The gentlemen had risen. 
 " Just one snip more, Digby ; want lining sadly 
 in this frost, and then for the gig." 
 
 " Let the gig stay where she is," said Sir 
 John, " take m}^ advice ; there's a room ready 
 with a fire and a bed, so you may take it or not, 
 as you like." 
 
 " Egad then, I will," said Lord John. "You 
 make your house too snug, Sir John. That
 
 78 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 notion of the fire did the business ; quite a pic- 
 ture, you see, and with a cigar " 
 
 " Here, and take the balance of that cognac. 
 You may as well." 
 
 " Egad then, I will," said Lord John. " ' For 
 these and all other blessings. Dean,' Bless the 
 cheerful giver, I say. Good night to every one. 
 You shouldn't have mentioned the fire. Sir John. 
 That did the business ! " 
 
 " You'd better look after his curtahis," said 
 Captain Philips. "You can tell Duncan, or 
 some of them. He'll fuddle himself and set the 
 place on fire. You may as well. I won't sleep 
 comfortable unless you promise me. That 
 beast ! " he said, later, as he went to his room, 
 " a greedy, guzzling, selfish sot. Took the whole 
 of the breast of that bird, without a word. He 
 has taken to driving over to our mess at ten and 
 eleven at night. But I'm never at home. And 
 as I told him plainly last week, I don't keep a 
 club or a bar. The other fellers may do as they 
 please. Goodness, what a ramshackle house 
 this is!''
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 IN THE LIBRARY " THE SHORT WAY." 
 
 Next morning every one was down betimes — 
 a point on which Sir John was a little particular 
 — a point, too, at which Captain Philips grumbled 
 a good deal. " It did well enough," he said, 
 " fifty years ago ; but really forcing people out 
 of their nightgowns, with a fire just lit, and in 
 weather like that, was rather too much," &c. 
 Every one was in the breakfast room in time, 
 excepting the Miss Fentons, and another lady ; 
 indeed Sir John strictly required attendance at a 
 sort of ritual which he performed himself ; but, 
 as Captain Philips said, " he supposed he knew 
 how to say his ' Our Father,' at least without 
 going to school again; and to be tumbled out 
 from your warm sheets at that hour ! " &c., &c. 
 The Miss Fentons fluttered in when breakfast
 
 80 ' SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 was half over in the most unconcerned way, 
 although Sir John's eyes were upon them, and 
 he bade them good morning very testily. 
 
 " It's no use scolding us, Sir John,^' said the 
 younger ; " we do our best, you know ; and if 
 you keep us so agreeably ever}^ night, we can't 
 help it. Why, we are not half of us down ! 
 Where is Mrs. Lepell ? " 
 
 This was not an unskilful diversion ; and at 
 the moment Mrs. Lepell entered, very demure, 
 and with an expression that might be composed, 
 or sad, or sober. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Lepell," called out Sir John, in 
 his hearty way, " come up near me. (You are 
 late, but this is your first morning.) Now, how 
 is the patient ? '^ 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. Sir John," she answered, 
 settling her napkin. " A very wretched night — 
 restless and troubled. He may be better, and he 
 says he is.''' 
 
 " Oh, come," said Sir John, " that looks well." 
 
 Severne was at a side-table helping some cold
 
 IN THE LIBRARY — ^" THE SHORT WAY." 81 
 
 " A wretched night, and looks better. I don't 
 think that promises well. We had better send 
 for the doctor." 
 
 " He is to be here, you know," said Mrs. Le- 
 pell, " the first thing in the morning, without 
 losing a moment." 
 
 " Yes," said Severne, cutting up briskly, " it 
 was the last thing I said to him." 
 
 " There's a fellow riding up the avenue now," 
 said Captain Philips. " By the way, will you " 
 — he never addressed the host as Sir John — 
 " will you let me get some toast done ? I always 
 like it very thin] and sliort, you know ; and Td 
 recommend you to have it that way. You see," 
 he added, bending a piece with a sort of half- 
 restrained disgust, " it gets soddened and damp 
 this way. It is quite as little trouble for them, 
 you know." 
 
 It was the doctor, who came in cheerily in a 
 few minutes. Mrs. Lepell rose nervously. "Now 
 we shall know," she said, in a low voice. 
 
 " Well, Watson," said Sir John, "been up ? " 
 
 " Yes," said the doctor, who walked in without
 
 82 SEVENTY-FIVE BEOOKE STREET. 
 
 notice. *' Bad night, lie says, i^ain here. But 
 all that's natural, Sir John, after a shock of that 
 kind. We want a little fillip, you know. I have 
 no doubt he'll be all straight in a day or so." 
 
 There was great delight in Mrs. Lepell's face. 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! " her neighbour heard her 
 murmur. 
 
 *' I am glad of it — very glad, to hear this," 
 said Sir John ; " poor Jack Lepell's cousin, too. 
 Vl\ just step up and say good morning to him." 
 
 Mrs. Lepell rose hastily. "We shall go to- 
 gether, Sir John,^' she said with a smile. " If 
 you will take me — that is. I should lose my 
 way in these wonderful rooms and corridors. It 
 bewilders me ! Everything is so vast and long !" 
 
 " Then you must stay here until you learn 
 them by heart, ma'am," said Sir John, gallantly. 
 " You must take me with you now, to show you 
 the road." (It almost seemed as if it was Mrs- 
 Lepell had proposed to go and see her husband, 
 and that Sir John wished to go with her.) 
 
 He entered the bedroom cheerfully. " Well, 
 how are Ave to-day ? '"* he called out. " Better, I
 
 IN THE LIBRARY- 
 
 am told. Nothing but a rib gone, after all. It's 
 happened to me over and over again — huntin', 
 3^ou know, and egad we'll have you huntin', sii', 
 before the week's out — that is," he added, a little 
 gravel3% " if this frost ivould go.^' 
 
 A sad-looking, dejected, classical head lifted 
 itself from the pillow. It had a deep iron-grey 
 beard and moustache ; the e^^es were soft and 
 melancholy ; there were lines of care about the 
 cheeks, but over all was a sweet, gentle expression, 
 full of nature and simplicity and kindliness. The 
 age of that face was about forty-five years. 
 
 He spoke now, but with some pain. *' I don't 
 know how to thank you, Sir John, for this good- 
 ness. I only heard this morning where I was — 
 in what good hands." 
 
 " We'll take care of you, never fear," said Sir 
 John. " Of course you've heard Jack Lepell speak 
 of me?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Mrs. Lepell, " indeed, yes. 
 You recollect, dear ? " 
 
 Mr. Lepell put his hand to his forehead. " It 
 seems like a dream to me that I have heard the 
 
 Q 2
 
 84 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 name before, somewhere. I saw him very 
 little/' 
 
 "But you told me, dear," said Mrs. Lepell, 
 reproachfully, "just think — ^you recollect " 
 
 " Then I knew him well," said Sir John, " and 
 I helped him, too, and a fine fellow he was. No 
 matter, I tell you what, we must put you on your 
 legs. We are sending in — and there is the county 
 doctor there. Lord Bulstrode always has him — 
 fine fellow, Bulstrode — goes up to town, literally 
 roaring, ma'am, with his gout — not able to stiffen 
 his back — to fight against that — that Maynooth 
 thing!'' 
 
 "Dreadful — oh, dreadful!'* said Mrs. Lepell, 
 in protest against that foundation. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, I could tell you stories about the 
 intrigues of men that should know better. -*■ 
 assure you, sir, she is sound ; and I congratulate 
 you, for in these days the women do mischief 
 enough. I tell you what, Lepell — will you get 
 up •? — try, you know, it may do you good, fighting 
 against a thing/' 
 
 " I am afraid," said Mr. Lepell, trying to move.
 
 IN THE LIBRARY— "the SHORT WAY." 85 
 
 "Yes, try, dear," said she, laying her hand on 
 his shoulder. "As Sir John says, make an effort. 
 I am afraid we shall be such a constraint." 
 
 But an expression of pain came into his face. 
 
 " If you could,'' said Sir John. "We have a 
 party to-da}', you know. No, no ! it's not to be 
 thought of. I'll send you up lots of books to 
 amuse you. I'll take Mrs. L. to the library — fine 
 standard collection — and she shall pick you out 
 something. By the way, Fireirons sent me in by 
 this morning his great book, 'England in the 
 Leprosy/ a fine thing, but I haven't had time to 
 cut the leaves as yet. Come, ma'am." 
 
 She fluttered back a moment. " Let me put this 
 pillow higher, dear." But the classic iron-grey 
 head seemed to shrink away from any alteration 
 in his position. Then they got in to the old 
 library, whose walls were comfortably clothed with 
 books, perhaps the warmest of all furniture, and 
 with books whose backs were all rusted and oxy- 
 dized. 
 
 "Here's 'England in the Lepros3%"' said Sir 
 John. "We'll send it up to him at once. See
 
 86 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 here — look here, Mrs. Lepell. Pitt's Life, five 
 volumes ; Sir Robert Inglis's pamphlets, all bound 
 together, very fine reading, I can tell you ; Hume 
 and Smollett. Here's good Constitutional reading 
 to put into the hands of the young, not the swash 
 and water of that low Whig, Mac. — Mc. — what's 
 his name ? " 
 
 Mrs. Lepell was delighted with these treasures. 
 She looked at the first volume of Hume, his 
 binding and his type and paper, with an interest 
 that was not unnatural, considering the praises 
 bestowed on that fine master of writing. Then 
 she recollected herself. 
 
 " Oh, Sir John, you promised last night — 
 you know you did — that charming picture of 
 the Bishop in your family — ' The Sure Way to 
 Heaven.* " 
 
 " I know,'^ Sir John had said with enthusiasm, 
 and was at the end of the room on a ladder drag- 
 ging down Bishop Digby's work before he had 
 heard Mrs. Lepell's most natural mistake as to 
 the title of the book. 
 
 *' Here it is ! A great work—' The Short Way
 
 IN THE LIBRARY — '^ THE SHORT WAY." 87 
 
 with Dissenters/ I tell you what, ma'am, if the 
 Bishop's plan had been followed — and it would 
 have been, onl}^ there was a gang of schemers 
 governing the country at the time — England 
 would have been a different place from what it is 
 now. Take it to your room, ma^xm, and read it 
 (every word is worth gold in these times), and tell 
 me what you think of it," and Sir John placed 
 " The Short Way,'' — an old calf-bound, dingy, 
 dusty book, as yellow as the Bishop's own face in 
 the picture — in Mrs. Lepell's willing arms. She 
 received it with delight. 
 
 At this moment Severne and his friend Selby 
 came in. 
 
 " Have you seen his lordship, Sir John ? No ; 
 I dare say he's not down yet." 
 
 " He was not at breakfast," said Sir John ; " I 
 must go round the farm though. Will you look 
 after Mrs. Lepell here ?" 
 
 That lady was left suddenly with the two 
 gentlemen. 
 
 " Well, what do you wish to do? " said Severne; 
 " Rome of us are going to skate. By the way, that
 
 88 SEVEKTY-nVE BEOOKE STREET. 
 
 looks an appalling volume j'ou have got there. 
 What is it — a Latin dictionary ?" 
 
 Mrs. Lepell almost hlushed as he took it from 
 her : he looked at her with an amused look. 
 
 " What! 'The Short Way ! ' Oh, Selby, look 
 
 here, my friend ! So jou are going to read ' The 
 Short Way'?" 
 
 Selby smiled too. She bit her lip, and coloured 
 yet more. | 
 
 "He luished me to read it,^^ she said. "Of 
 course it would not be much in my way ; perhaps 
 I would not understand a word of it. But still, I 
 think there would not be much harm in trying, 
 especiall}^ as it is a little fancy of his, and he has 
 been so kind to us " 
 
 "Well, after all," said Selby, "where's the 
 crime? I had to take it once; but a page was 
 about the allowance I could manage." 
 
 "Who talks of crimes?" said Severne, with 
 gaiety. " Heaven forbid that I should interfere 
 between Mrs. Lepell and her ' Short Way' ! Will 
 you come down end see us skate ? — at least such 
 of us as don't tumble flat ; a pretty exhibition it
 
 IN THE LIBKARY — ^^ THE SEORT WAY." 89 
 
 v,\]l be. There's a sleigh, too, with bells, if you 
 like going down in that. The carpenter knocked 
 it up yesterday, out of an old gig, I believe; but 
 we have grand Russian furs to cover up the mul- 
 titude of sins — that is, the old leather." 
 
 Mrs. Lepell shook her head sadly. "I am to 
 be a nurse to-day. To-morrow, perhaps." 
 
 "And you have 'The Short Way' also," said 
 Severne ; " I forgot that. Very well ; I must go 
 and look up the skates.^' He went away joyously. 
 
 Selby approached her a little shyly. " Severne 
 is such a rattling fellow ; says whatever comes into 
 his head. You mustn't mind him. And as for 
 *The Short Way'"— he added, hesitating, "I 
 suppose it is a good book." 
 
 They both laughed. 
 
 *' You understand me," she said. " It is Sir 
 John's little fanc}-, and I am not ashamed to 
 humour it. It will give me a little trouble, I 
 confess, and it is not quite so j^leasant as a French 
 novel — I mean, as a novel. But still, Mr. Selb}', 
 he was a bishop, and a good and a holy bishop, and 
 this seems a good thick book, and with some
 
 90 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 reputation ; and, surely, in all these pages there 
 must be some sense, or something that could 
 improve one, or be profitable. That is my little 
 view, Mr. Selby." And with a heightened colour 
 and a toss of her head she passed out of the room, 
 carrying her tawny volume with her. Selby looked 
 after her in a dreamy way, then went out slowly by 
 another door. 
 
 The ice was on the two long Dutch ponds, 
 between which ran the avenue. They looked now 
 as dark as ebony, and any one coming down the 
 avenue — Hodge, perhaps, with his team — heard 
 the faint grinding on the ice, like the clicking and 
 whirring of wheels. Stopping a moment, he saw 
 some little black figures, like flies, fluttering up 
 and down — swooping, soaring — in that most 
 marvellous of human motions. One or two were 
 twirling like tops, waltzing, spinning, and per- 
 forming the most surprising evolutions. The 
 clergyman's son, the doctor's brothers, a com- 
 mercial traveller up from the village — for a pond 
 is a republic, and skating the very essence of 
 democrac}^ — were all busy with this delightful
 
 IN THE LIBRARY- 
 
 exercise, with the feelhig that Christmas-day had 
 been but yesterday ; that the holly was still fresh 
 and green, that the great house was full, and that 
 there were cheerful evenings to come, when the 
 red curtains would be drawn. Fresh days, flowing 
 days, with a sense of healthful enjoyment, born of 
 this delightful exercise; which to some schoolboys, 
 home for a week to the clergyman's house, and 
 barely over the rudiments, getting terrific falls, 
 and cruel injuries, and not in the least daunted, 
 seemed almost paradise upon earth. The gentle- 
 men found it " well enough" for an hour or two ; 
 but these lads had begun with the light, and would 
 go on until darkness came ; and, certainly, of a 
 fresh, bracing evening, when the shadows were 
 drawing on, and a cold, steel blueness was settling 
 down, and a light or two was twinkling up and 
 down in the house, the ponds stood out like a 
 great sheet of frosted cake, the skating acquired 
 a new charm from this time, and it seemed 
 almost impossible to tear oneself from its fasci- 
 nations. 
 
 But Severne was soon tired of it. " What shall
 
 92 SEVENTY-FIVE BKOOKE STREET. 
 
 we do now?" lie said, dragging off his skates. 
 *' Good gracious ! How frantic I used to be about 
 this sort of thing at college ! Let us take a gun, 
 and take a shooting stroll, without any men, fuss, 
 or preparation, after the rabbits." 
 
 " Or take the ladies a drive," said Selby. " We 
 ought to make ourselves civil and useful in some 
 way." 
 
 "Do you mean my mother, or the Miss 
 Fentons?" said Severne, with a curious look; 
 " you are getting quite devoted. I must go and 
 tell her. I can go shooting by myself. Hallo ! 
 what is this now ? '* 
 
 They heard the jingling of the Norwegian bells, 
 and saw the improvised sleigh, covered up in the 
 rich furs Severne had spoken of. There were two 
 horses cantering along, and a lady and gentle- 
 man. They stopped a moment to look at the 
 skating. 
 
 "Why, I declare, it's that woman," said Severne, 
 " and Lord John ! "
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 LORD JOHN AND MRS. LEPELL. 
 
 Mrs. Lepell went back to her husband's room, 
 but soon returned to the library. Perhaps she had 
 forgotten " The Short Way ;''or perhaps the patient 
 had fallen into a doze. It was a little hard to 
 expect *'afine, fresh, young woman to be chained 
 to a bed-side, in this fine stirring weather.^' This 
 was the view of Lord John, who had lain long in 
 bed, as was his wont — had had his "morning" 
 very late, also his wont ; and was now, as he said, 
 all fresh and light for the day — as if the day itself 
 was a serious Herculean labour, to be faced. 
 He was roaming through the house trying 
 to find some one to " have a turn at the cues " 
 with — for he felt his hand tolerably steady now 
 — when he came upon Mrs. Lepell in the library. 
 He was not in the least likely to be put off his
 
 94 SEVENTY- FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 centre bj^ such a meeting, though he had not yet 
 spoken to her. In fact, he entered with great 
 confidence, and said " Good morning,'^ with the 
 greatest heartiness and delight. " How are you? " 
 he said, " very glad you have come — will shake 
 us up a bit here. You saw me come in last night. 
 Lord John, you know. Digby has sent over for 
 my little kit ; so they're going to make me stay." 
 
 Mrs. Lepell was not in the least disturbed. 
 She met him in the same cordial fashion. "I 
 am so glad, too," she said, smiling. " We shall 
 be here some days, I suppose. It depends " 
 
 *' By the way,'' said Lord John, " how is him- 
 self ? as they say in Ireland. Egad, Fm only down 
 myself ten minutes. What with the sitting up 
 last night and the other things, it's impossible to 
 do it. Besides, why should one ? I don't want 
 to make my soul in that sort of way — prudence, 
 temperance, and the rest — frankly confess it 
 wouldn't repay, you know. Leave all that to 
 the professionals. Shocked, eh ? " 
 
 But the lady was not in the least shocked. At 
 least she was so amused at Lord John's droll
 
 LORD JOHN AND MRS. LEPELL. 95 
 
 profanity that with the best intentions to re- 
 prove, her lips gave way. " I am afraid, Lord 
 John, you have not much reverence. Those 
 French men of the world are dreadful people." 
 
 " Are they ? '' said he, " are they now ? My 
 dear child, if you only knew the French women 
 you would say they were funny people to send 
 a poor boy over to be instructed by. Yet that's 
 what my unnatural parents did to me.'' 
 
 *' Now you mus^ not, Lord John," said she. 
 *' No wicked French stories." 
 
 Lord John laughed loudly and took a chair. 
 " Nothing you'd like better, Mrs. L. I see it in 
 your eye ; and a very fine one it is — as fine as 
 any French one." 
 
 *' Now Lord John, you are getting bold ; you 
 will have to be scolded." 
 
 " Scold away, my dear woman." (Lord John 
 was noted for these little familiarities, but every- 
 body made allowance — French life, &c.) " What 
 are you doing among these old fusty books here? 
 This isn't the place for you, Mrs. L. You are 
 out of keeping."
 
 96 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 "Bat I like reading, Lord John; I do, 
 indeed.'' 
 
 " She does, indeed ! " repeated he, with great 
 enjoyment. '* Oh, listen to her ! Of course she 
 does. Likes the Fathers, Til swear. Prefers St. 
 Chrysostom and what's St. his name to George 
 Sand. Maybe you'd oblige a friend with the loan 
 of an odd volume of St. Thomas — come, only for 
 ten minutes ? Why shouldn't I make my soul 
 as well as another man ? Come, give it. I 
 declare I see it in your pocket there." 
 
 Mrs. Lepell half rose. Perhaps she was a 
 little alarmed at his familiarity. 
 
 Very naturally she hesitated. " I don't think 
 I can," she said. "What would they say. Lord 
 John ? Alone with you, and no other lady. 
 No; I cannot." 
 
 He laughed. " Uncommon good, and why should 
 you be afraid of me now ? Have they been telling 
 you any stories ? But I assure you I am not 
 the man I was; I am not, indeed. I have turned 
 over a new leaf, I have indeed. I am converted. 
 You may see me with a gown on one of these
 
 LORD JOHN AND MRS. LEPELL. 97 
 
 days. My brother has two livings, you know, 
 and his own regular fellow is seventy-eight, if he 
 is a day." 
 
 This wicked lord was so diverting and in such 
 good spirits this morning, that even with a wish 
 to reprove, the lady could not help smiling. 
 
 " Well, come now," he said, " donH let us be 
 squeamish ; and I tell you what, they've a new 
 horse that I chose for the baronet, and he'll go 
 nobly under the sleigh. Old Sir John doesn't 
 like him, I believe ; but that's not much. At 
 this moment there isn't a judge of a horse under 
 the roof but myself; and do you know I begin to 
 think you have an eye for a bit of blood — I mean 
 in horses. On my soul I do. By my old grand- 
 mother (who left me only an old prayer-book in 
 lier will, an old skin-flint !) I think you have. 
 I see it in the corner of your eye ! Hallo, Sir 
 John, we are going to have out Toby under the 
 sleigh." 
 
 " Then take Mrs. Lepell a turn round the 
 park. The very thing, and I say — go up by the 
 pond, where there is a good view of the house." 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 '^8 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 " All right, sir," said his lordship, " she knows 
 about horses, too." 
 
 " I am sure she does/' said Sir John. "Every 
 Lepell I ever met, did. Not, understand me, 
 living in stables with grooms and jobbers, which 
 they tell me is the fashion now ; but enough to 
 have a pretty seat in your saddle, and know a 
 fine horse when you see one. Yes, you must go, 
 Mrs. Lepell; take her round by the pond and 
 the high plantation, then by Mangerton, whence 
 you get another capital view of the house. Then, 
 let me see " 
 
 "All right," said his lordship, winking, "leave 
 us to ourselves. We'll pass round by Man- 
 gerton, depend upon it." 
 
 " But I think. Sir John," said she, timorously, 
 **I could hardly see beauties of nature with 
 Xiord John ? — perhaps Mrs. Severne would be 
 coming ? " 
 
 " Egad, and you have been telling her some- 
 thing, Digby," said his lordship, in convulsions 
 of enjoyment. " But it's a hard case now that 
 the wild oats should be brought up against a man
 
 LORD JOHN AND MRS. LEPELL. 99 
 
 in this way. Tell her I'm like a child at a 
 mother's knee, or next door to a bishop. I am, 
 on my soul." 
 
 Sir John looked grave. Bishops were part of 
 the State. " I have met many a bishop at your 
 brother's table," he said ; " men of real sound 
 principle. The sleigh only holds two. So there 
 would not be room. I want you to see this view, 
 ma'am, and you were so wishing it yourself last 
 night.'' 
 
 "Indeed I do," she said, eagerly, "and I am 
 sure, by daylight — " 
 
 "By the way, how far have you got in the 
 bishop's book, ma'am ? " said Sir John, looking 
 down suddenly. 
 
 " I have not begun yet, Sir John," said she, 
 smiling ; " I am keeping it for a quiet moment 
 at the fire, when I shall have it all to myself — 
 the curtains drawn — a regular honne bouchey Sir 
 John." 
 
 " You must take care of it," said he, a little 
 testily. "Don't hold it in that way, please." 
 
 (Mrs. Lepell was supporting the " Short Way"
 
 100 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 under her arm, with her fingers absently playing 
 among the leaves.) 
 
 "I suppose if anything happened to this I 
 should not know where to look for a copy. This 
 is worth gold, ma'am, so please take care. Well, 
 you won't go and see the views ? " 
 
 " Nothing I should like more," said she. " Do 
 let us go, Lord John, I am sure I should enjoy 
 it." 
 
 " Well, then, let us look sharp," said his lord- 
 ship, " or it may be gone before we get there ; 
 ha, ha ! I declare. this is great, great ! " and 
 with much secret enjoyment he went out of the 
 room to order the vehicle round, leaving the lady 
 a little disquieted as to what he was alluding to 
 as " great, great ! "
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE DRIVE. 
 
 In a few moments it was at the door, with 
 Lord John, in an enormous cloak with capes, 
 (which he may have borrowed from the coach- 
 man, or had made for himself on the coachman 
 model,) busy examining the legs of the new horse, 
 Toby. Sir John came out with them. 
 
 " You can't patch him up into a gentleman," 
 said he; "he's a low horse, low in cut and 
 blood." 
 
 "You are out. Sir John," said the other; "I 
 know a horse as well as my own head, and this 
 fellow is as good a beast, as you are a Conserva- 
 tive. Why Mrs. Lepell here gives it against 
 you.'' 
 
 That lady started. 
 
 " Indeed I do not,'' she said, warmly.
 
 102 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 "But you did, you know, up in the library 
 there. Come jump in and make yourself snug. 
 I tell you what, Sir John, Toby's been badly 
 driven by some Radical on the box. Ill make 
 him go. Though as for that there's not a horse 
 born that I wouldn't make go, — or mare either. 
 Fuah ! Get up ! Go away from his head — 
 stewpid ! " And with a grinding not unmusical, 
 the sleigh started off very smoothly, and Toby 
 in particular more than bore out his purchaser's 
 warrant. 
 
 " There ! what did I say ? " said his lordship. 
 " That old Tory thinks he knows wine and 
 horses, and he's as ignorant as an owl. And 
 politics, too. It makes me sick to hear him 
 talk! He's damaging the party, he is, with 
 those old saws and screws. Upon my soul I 
 believe he'd put us into wigs and steel chokers 
 to-morrow. How would you like me, Mrs. L., 
 in a wig or a steel collar ? Speak out, my dear 
 lady, you know we're in confidence here. Let 
 me tuck this rug about you, and we can both be 
 snug together ! "
 
 THE DRIVE. 103- 
 
 But he was mistaken if he fancied they were 
 both to be snug together. 
 
 " I am not cold," she said, with a voice that 
 was a little decided ; " nor am I Lord John's 
 dear lady. You must call me Mrs. Lepell, Lord 
 John, in future, if you wish us to be good 
 friends." 
 
 Lord John burst into a roar, and gave Toby 
 a sudden " cut " that made him fling his heels 
 well up. " O Lord ! this is great, great ! " 
 
 *' In fact, I must lecture you a little," she said^ 
 in the same grave tone ; " as I say, to prevent us 
 coming to a quarrel later. In the first place, 
 what is great ? Though I think I know what 
 you mean." 
 
 *' Bet you a sovereign you don't," said his lord- 
 ship, again cutting at Toby, who really did not de- 
 serve such persecution, and resented it as before. 
 
 " I suspect," said she, *' you mean some re- 
 ference to my sincerity — that I am acting a part. 
 You are amused at the notion, and laugh in my 
 face. Not very respectful to poor me, Lord 
 John."
 
 104 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STIIeET. 
 
 " What an odd woman you are ! " said Lord 
 John. " On my soul I never met your match, 
 and I have met lots." 
 
 "There again, Lord John,^' she said; 
 " * woman,' you know, to a lady whom jou have 
 spoken to for the first time to-day. I am afraid 
 you must think not very complimentarily of me, 
 or else I must think " She stopped. 
 
 "Not very complimentarily of me, eh? Go 
 ahead ; don't be afraid. You won't catch me 
 blushing. Look at that virgin cheek ! Why, 
 my dear gir — Mrs. Lepell, I mean (I was near 
 stumbling then) — I have had too much of that 
 sort of thing to mind, and if I chose at this 
 moment I could astonish you — I could. There 
 was a woman I once knew in Paris " 
 
 " I don^t want to hear about her,'' said Mrs. 
 Lepell, with a half comic air of reproof. " You 
 are incorrigible. Lord John, I fear, and will die 
 impenitent." 
 
 " It's uncommonly likely," said his lordship, 
 gravely. " I suppose they'll put on the parsons, 
 you know. I sa}^ what did I say about Toby?
 
 THE DRIVE. 105 
 
 Isn't he going nobly ! And to think of the old 
 baronet talking about gentlemanly horses. I say 
 that was very good about the old bishop's book. 
 Why didn't you take it out in the sleigh with 
 you?" 
 
 They were coming to the skaters. The gen- 
 tlemen were just leaving the pond when the 
 sleigh came up. 
 
 "We can take this turn if you like," he said, 
 " if you don't wish to face them. It'll be half-a- 
 mile round." 
 
 " Not wish to face them ! Wh}- should we do 
 that?" she answered, in wonder. *' What do 
 you mean I am to be afraid of, Lord John ? " 
 
 " Confound it," said he, a little impatiently 
 (and again lashing Toby). "You must be won- 
 derfully simple, or just out of school, or brought 
 up in a convent. You don't take a hint ; but 
 must have everything explained to you in black 
 and white. Are you a shepherdess, eh ? ' Phyllis 
 is ray only joy ! Eum ti-ti, rum ti-ti.' Well, 
 well ! After all, one sees droll things every day, 
 if one only keeps his eyes open. Of course I
 
 106 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 mean that tumbling on his nose there. Thus 
 you go smash, stupid, and crack your nose ! 
 You're not the first." 
 
 Mrs. LepelFs face changed. There was a 
 maliciousness in his face that showed he was not 
 to be trifled with. " I am afraid you are a little 
 unkind," she said ; " or ta,ke dislikes, and have 
 some special dislike to me." 
 
 " No," said he, carelessly. '* But let me give 
 you a little advice. Don't be too cautious. Now 
 see here. A woman of the world would have 
 liked to have seen the vieiv round there, and 
 avoided those ponds, which are flat and poor ; 
 especially a lady who is so fond of views. Besides 
 that's the way to Mangerton, as Sir John desired 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, then, let us go, Lord John," she cried, 
 hastily. 
 
 " No, no, too late now ! " said Lord John, de- 
 cidedly. 
 
 " But then you will tell me I like ' a Short way,' 
 Lord John," she said, slily, with her eyes down 
 on the fur.
 
 THE DRIVE. 107 
 
 Lord John nearly choked with laughter, and 
 with genuine laughter. "Ah, that's good — really 
 good. Oh, I see we^ll do! You said that uncom- 
 monly well. Ah ! Mrs. Lepell, you're very smart 
 — not a shepherdess, exactly. Very far from it. 
 No offence, I hope ? ^' 
 
 Mrs. Lepell looked at him a little puzzled, and 
 with an expression of dread. " I am afraid you 
 are vindictive/' she said. 
 
 " Not I,'' said his lordship, again dealing 
 severely with Toby, against whom he had con- 
 ceived some sudden animosity. " I don't know 
 what's the matter with this brute to-da3\ I'll 
 make him go, though ;" and he began scourging 
 the round quarters of the horse with fresh vigour. 
 Toby's companion was speeding along with great 
 gravity and earnestness ; but Toby himself — no 
 " gentleman," indeed, as Sir John had said with 
 perfect truth — he had the " low drop " in him, as 
 he presently showed by stopping short with sud- 
 den violence, flinging his head into the air, and 
 setting his fore feet firmly against the ground, as 
 if to resist the efforts of some one dragging him
 
 108 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 down into the bowels of the earth. That unjust 
 lashing of his sides was beginning to bear fruit. 
 His lordship grew angry. 
 
 "What a brute — an ill-conditioned brute!'' 
 he said. " Did you ever see his like ? I wish 
 to heaven I had brought a good cutting whip.^' 
 (His lordship was so confident of the merits of 
 the animal he had chosen, that he had declined 
 to take a whip of that sort.) 
 
 Then began a struggle which alarmed the 
 lady not a little, for the consort of the " brute " 
 was willing to go forward, and at every stroke 
 that fell upon him, his companion made a plunge, 
 thinking that it was intended for her, and at 
 each plunge Toby made a corresponding motion 
 to keep himself in position, and set his legs more 
 firmly to resist the powers who were striving to 
 drag him below. ^ 
 
 Was that an oath that Mrs. Lepell fancied she 
 heard upon his lordship's lips ? "I think I had 
 better get out,'' she said, timoroi|$ly. "I do, 
 indeed." 
 
 "Do as you like, ma'am," said he, rather ex-
 
 THE DRIVE. 109 
 
 cited by his struggle. " I won't be beaten by any 
 brute, man, woman, or animal. Stay where you 
 are, I recommend you. Til just get a stake out 
 of the hedge here that^ll make him go, I promise 
 you. You hold these." 
 
 He jumped out and put the reins into her 
 hands. She was alarmed but said nothing. 
 Lord John walked on, stamping with cold and 
 vexation, for the hedge was but ill-stocked with 
 suitable stakes ; but there was a cottage a little 
 way on, and he should find something that would 
 do there. In a second Toby had looked back 
 over his shoulder, saw that his enemy was gone, 
 and being a " low " fellow, shabby, and with the 
 bad plebeian " drop '' in him, thought he would 
 take advantage of a lady and escape. In another 
 moment he had given up struggling against the 
 underground powers, had tossed his head, flung 
 up his heels, to the speechless consternation of the 
 poor lady, and, with some secret understanding 
 with his companion, had started at full speed. 
 
 The road was narrow. It was more a " green 
 lane " than a road ; about wide enough for a
 
 110 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 single cart. His lordship was about twenty 
 yards in front. He turned and saw the sleigh 
 coming furiously down on him. There was 
 hardly a second to prepare or devise a plan; 
 but still, with presence of mind, he had time to 
 throw himself into the ditch against the hedge, 
 and let the sleigh and its unhappy freight 
 dash by. 
 
 (His lordship often told the story afterwards, 
 in Paris and to Frenchmen, but always substi- 
 tuting a gentleman as the tenant of the sleigh : 
 " By G — d, my presence of mind saved me. It 
 shaved me as close as this table. Luckily I had 
 my wits about me, or I shouldn't be telling you 
 the story or drinking this cognac of yours, mon 
 cherr) 
 
 Our poor Mrs. Lepell, what nerves could there 
 be left to her if a fresh accident was to be in 
 store for her every day? Her rosy cheek seemed 
 almost ghastly to the cottager as she flew by him, 
 the sleigh bounding and tossing in the air as if 
 it were of indiarubber. She did not let go the 
 reins — not from presence of mind, poor woman,
 
 THE DRIVE. Ill 
 
 but merely because they happened to be in her 
 hand. Toby, the " brute," was as " mad as any 
 hatter," and was really enjoying his furious race. 
 The cottager, looking after them, scratched his 
 head doubtfully, and said " It wur a bad job." 
 
 So it was, or would have been, but for a gen- 
 tleman who was coming down the narrow road. 
 He, too, had plenty of presence of mind, and 
 would have plenty of time to get over the hedge 
 into the field, and let the dangerous vehicle go 
 safely by. The road here got even narrower, 
 and when cart met cart, one had to go back, at a 
 great inconvenience, which led to angry passions 
 on the part of the carters. But the behaviour of 
 the gentleman was different ; he stood in the 
 middle of the road, shouting and tossing his 
 arms wildly, even jumping into the air — all 
 which behaviour was meant to scare Toby. For 
 a little behind him the road turned sharply, and 
 here directly in front, was that pond which Mrs. 
 Lepell was so anxious to see, as being the point 
 from which was the very best view of the house. 
 Toby did not in the least heed this protest,
 
 112 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 but came on as if lie were cavalry making a 
 charge. Then the gentleman, with extraordinary 
 dexterity, jumped aside lightly, as if he were a 
 matador at a bull fight, and let Toby pass him 
 for a second, in another second had caught 
 Toby's bridle, but in a third had lost his foot- 
 ing, and was being dragged along almost on his 
 back, hanging to Toby's rein. The screams of 
 the lady were now piteous, for the weight at his 
 head had dragged Toby out of the straight course, 
 and it seemed that the sleigh was about being 
 overset. But luckily this getting out of the 
 straight course drew Toby himself into the hedge, 
 and the whole was now stopped, a mixed mass — 
 hedge, Jenny, Toby and companion, and the gen- 
 tleman somewhere underneath. But in a moment 
 he had struggled to his feet, a little confused, and 
 was feeling his arm. Mrs. Lepell had recovered, 
 and with presence of mind jumped out. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Severne ! Mr. Severne ! " she cried, 
 running to him. " You are not hurt? " she asked, 
 in a sort of agony. " Oh, my saviour ! my brave, 
 gallant deliverer ! " and in the instinct of the
 
 THE DRIVE. 113 
 
 moment she caught his arm tenderly, (the cloth, 
 we understand) — and then, with an instinct as 
 sudden, let it go, and stood blushing, terrified, 
 and confused before him. 
 
 "Don't be frightened," he said, "compose 
 yourself now — are you all right yourself — no- 
 thing hurt? I am a little crushed here," he 
 added, touching his arm, " that brute must have 
 stood on me, I think. Where's Lord John ; was 
 he flung out ? " 
 
 Here was Lord John, hurrying on from behind 
 to reach the wreck. As he came up he slack- 
 ened his pace, and looked at them with a sort of 
 defiant self -justification. " It was all that beast's 
 fault. I couldn't help it, Mrs. Lepell. You may 
 say what you like ; but you know number 
 one " 
 
 She interrupted him eagerly. " Indeed it was 
 not your fault. Lord John. I saw you try and 
 clutch at the rein as it passed ; and, oh ! Lord 
 John, I was so frightened ! I thought you would 
 be down under the horses' hoofs." 
 
 Lord John looked at her inquiringly, and with 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
 f
 
 114 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 a very curious glance ; then said, " Well, I did 
 my best, you know. The fault was in my get- 
 ting down at all. If I could have just reached 
 the rein; but I missed it — by, I suppose, a 
 quarter of an inch." 
 
 " I saw it, indeed," said the lady. " How you 
 escaped was a miracle. Oh ! Mr. Severne, 
 what shall I say — what shall I do — to my de- 
 liverer — mp two deliverers ? " 
 
 Lord John laughed. "That's good. No, no; 
 I ain't a hero. Our friend there was more in 
 luck. Thank him. We must get this thing 
 straight. Here, you fellow " — this was to the 
 cottager — " stir yourself, can't you ? Why didn't 
 you come up ? I suppose you'd stand by, and 
 see us all killed, before you'd hurry yourself. 
 Don't stand gaping there, you bumpkin, but put 
 your shoulder to it." 
 
 Thus rebuked, the rustic set to work to disen- 
 tangle the mass, under his lordship's direction. 
 " Loose that rein first, stupid ! Don't you 
 see a buckle there ? D'ye want to break the 
 horse's leg — do you ? Here, let me. I
 
 THE DRIVE. 115 
 
 believe you don't care if you smash the whole 
 thing," &c. 
 
 The lady's soft eyes were on Severne, and 
 there was real feeling in her voice — "I don't 
 know what to say to you — your bravery, your 
 nobleness, and gallantry. Only for you I might 
 be insensible at this moment, or lying at the 
 bottom of that pond. Not so much matter, you 
 will say. After all, it is a little hard — like a per- 
 secution; yesterday one escape from death, to- 
 day another. Who knows what to-morrow may 
 bring ? " 
 
 There was something piteous in this com- 
 plaint. It did seem a little more than just 
 measure that this poor lady should be pursued 
 with accidents. He spoke to her softly and 
 kindly. " I am very sorry, indeed, very," he 
 said ; " and very glad I came up so opportunely. 
 Here, take my arm. No wonder you are flurried. 
 We shall have to walk some way. Or stay ; let 
 us look at this. You must have frightened these 
 horses. Lord John ? " 
 
 " Not I," said his lordship ; " it's this infernal 
 
 I 2
 
 116 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 savage system of driving. Who ever heard of 
 such a thing ? Does well enough in Russia." 
 
 " And does well enough here," said Severne, 
 ** if it gets fair play. Steady, Toby. Poor old 
 hoy ! Come up. Good fellow. That's it. I 
 tell you what, it's two miles to the house, 
 and very rough walking; so what do you 
 say, Mrs. Lepell — will you try again, and trust 
 me?" 
 
 She turned pale, and shrank hack. Lord John 
 laughed. " Not she, indeed. Burnt child, you 
 know. I don't blame her." 
 
 " ril take you back; yes," said Severne, pat- 
 ting the horses, *' as if we were going over the 
 lawn. No ? Well, then, you and Lord John 
 must walk part of the way, and take care of each 
 other, and Til send the carriage." 
 
 " But you won't go yourself," said Mrs. Lepell, 
 in great terror. " Those dreadful horses ! No ; 
 you must not." 
 
 " Foolhardy, my friend," said Lord John, 
 taking out a cigar case. 
 
 " Then Til change my mind," said she ; " I'll
 
 THE DRIVE. 117 
 
 go. I should like it ; nothing shall prevent me. 
 I am not in the least afraid." 
 
 " I was only joking," said Severne, a little 
 sur^jrised. " You had better go with Lord John. 
 You had, indeed." 
 
 But Mrs. Lepell was excited. '' I shall have 
 my own way," she said. " Forgive me for being 
 so positive. I want to redeem my character, 
 and show you that I am not such a dreadful 
 coward." 
 
 "Well, with all my heart," said he, looking 
 mystified. " I don't quite follow. I don't think 
 there is much danger; but still " 
 
 She had got in. " No room for you, Lord 
 John," he said. 
 
 " No one can turn me out now," she said, look- 
 ing round and smiling. " As for Lord John, he 
 has run sufficient risk alread}-. I would not 
 hear of him" 
 
 " Now then," said Severne. " Good Toby ! 
 Good Toby ! Get along. That's it." 
 
 And Toby, after a moment's hesitation, and a 
 sudden impulse to launch out as he had done
 
 118 SEVENTY-FIVE BEOOKE STREET. 
 
 before, thought better of it, and assuming a niore 
 sober carriage, began to canter along swiftly, with 
 the sleigh grinding on musically behind.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 PLANS FOR THE NIGHT. 
 
 Lord John walked on by himself. After 
 three quarters of an hour he got to the house, 
 and as he crossed the hall, he saw Mrs. Lepell 
 flitting down the other end. She stopped when 
 she saw him, and ran to him. " I have a favour 
 to ask," she said, *' a little favour. Not to make 
 any fuss about our little adventure to-day. It 
 will come on me — on poor me ; and they will 
 laugh at my ill-luck, you know. You understand 
 that view, Lord John — yesterday in the railway, 
 to-day in the sleigh. Mr. Severne agrees with 
 me, too." 
 
 Now, Lord John coming home had been turn- 
 ing the thing over very impatiently. " They will 
 be examining and cross-examining — and why
 
 120 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 this and why that ? I should like to know am I 
 to have my bones broken for a creature I only 
 met yesterday ? Catch me at it, indeed ! '' Now 
 he entertained much more favourable views of 
 the creature he met only yesterday. *' Anything 
 you like," he said, " I am willing, God knows. I 
 think, too. Sir John wouldn't be pleased to hear 
 Toby behaved so badly." 
 
 " Exactly," said she. *' Though, indeed, we 
 ought not to pass over your behaviour. Lord 
 John, and your bravery in trying to save me." 
 
 He looked at her suspiciously. " To save you. 
 How ? " 
 
 " Ah ! I saw what you did. Lord John, as we 
 flew past, though there were a hundred things 
 dancing before my poor eyes. Did you grasp at 
 the reins of that wild creature, and did you not 
 fall back exhausted, and in peril of your life ? " 
 added Mrs. Lepell, slowly, and putting her hand 
 to her forehead, *' or was it all a dream ? You 
 won't admit that ! I must run away now, though. 
 They are planning something for the evening, 
 and oh ! Lord John," she added, coming back.
 
 PLANS FOR THE NIGHT. 121 
 
 *' you will be glad to hear he is mending every 
 hour — every momentr 
 
 She was gone, and Lord John looked after her 
 with more wonder than was ever seen in his face. 
 " She heats little Tourlou," he said. (This was 
 a reference to some passage in his lordship's past 
 life.) 
 
 Mr. Canby did not cultivate skating, and had 
 said early in the day that " he could not see what 
 was in it." Of course, " if you liked sticking 
 your legs here and your legs there, and going 
 along like a postman," it was all right. In this 
 view the Misses Fenton cordially concurred. 
 Skating, therefore, with them became a pastime 
 that degraded the human mind, to be classed 
 with drinking. " By the way," said he to the two 
 young ladies, " where is she — the woman out of 
 the accident ? I was greatly taken with her last 
 night. I was indeed." 
 
 " I saw you were/' said the younger, taking a 
 bold line. " She is something in your style, Mr. 
 Canby ? " 
 
 Mr. Canby looked up to the ceiling, as if he
 
 122 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 was searching for the style there. *'I declare 
 yes," he said, " she is, more or less, you know. 
 I admire that sort of sparkle. Oh, a clever 
 married lady, there^s nothing like it. If ever 
 I was to marry, ha, ha — you laugh at the notion 
 — I'd like to marry a clever married lady. But 
 that wouldn't he allowed, you know — against the 
 laws!" 
 
 The sisters were ruefully amused at this 
 notion. Encouraged, the gentleman went on — 
 
 " 'Pon my word, I am serious ! You know, 
 about girls there's a kind of a nursery business 
 — want training and wisdom. I like wisdom. Oh 
 no, I should never dream of marrying a girl. A 
 widow, perhaps — though there are objections 
 there. Money could get over a good deal. 
 Well now," said he, dismissing the subject 
 wearily, " what's this about to-night ? Plays 
 and that sort of thing ! But who's to do it ? 
 you know. Have you got a programme made 
 out?" 
 
 " The very thing ! " they both said together, 
 for they had trained their ideas to move in com-
 
 PLANS FOR THE NIGHT. 123 
 
 mon, and the sudden force and unanimity of the 
 two sisters was often found to produce a good 
 and startling effect. " We wanted to talk it over. 
 It will be such a surprise. No one is to know 
 anything about it except Sir John and the 
 actors." 
 
 " That's all very well, now," said Mr. Canby, 
 full of " common sense ; " " that's all very well ; 
 but you should have a programme. As for going 
 on without a programme, we might all be as well 
 at sea ! " 
 
 It all burst with a flash on the elder sister. 
 She had never thought of that. No one would 
 ever have thought of it, had not Mr. Canby 
 been providentially there and suggested it. 
 " We forgot that," she said despondingly, " but 
 there may be time yet to have them printed." 
 
 The younger sister saw the error ; but Canby 
 struck in first with " common sense." 
 
 " Printing ! '^ he said, " what would you print? 
 Of course, if any one likes it, gratify 'em by 
 all means ! '' The two sisters laughed in happy 
 concert until that periodical "dying" came on
 
 124 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 and the subsequent liappy resuscitation. Tlieir 
 laughter was so hearty and genuine, the young 
 ladies holding on by the chair and the wain- 
 scot, and suffering so acutely, that his features 
 relaxed. '' You know it seemed so absurd," he 
 said, good humouredly. " A programme isn't 
 the thing a fellow gives you at a concert, and 
 for which you give Jiim a shilling. You should 
 have a plan of action — know where you are — like 
 the fellows in Parliament. When a minister 
 comes in, you know, he has to make out a line of 
 business in his head, and tell his fellows, or they 
 won't stick by him, you see. That's a pro- 
 gramme." 
 
 The sisters followed this professorial explana- 
 tion with wonder, and looked at each other 
 with speechless delight, as if the Philosopher's 
 stone had been suddenly revealed, or rather, as 
 other ordinary persons would have looked on 
 such a communication ; for, to say the truth, the 
 sisters had no great interest in the grand arcana 
 of Nature ; and v/ould have received the polari- 
 sation of light, the new metal, the electric tele-
 
 PLANS FOR THE NIGHT. 125 
 
 graph, Sec, with no surprise, and only a pleasant 
 smile. They then fell to talking on the project 
 for the night, into which Mr. Canby entered 
 graciously, and with more alacrity. 
 
 The sisters were clever in their way, and had 
 already in their room settled a "programme" 
 of their operations. They, indeed, had arranged 
 it all diligently in their rooms; had in fact some 
 " stock " charades, which they carried about with 
 them from house to house, having the "busi- 
 ness " well in their minds,- and being ready to 
 " mount " them at an hour's notice. 
 
 " Flirtin' would be a good word," said Mr. 
 Canby, reflectively. " A lady and gent, you 
 know, going on in a room, saying the regular 
 thing, and then some one would come and ring a 
 bell, and away they'd cut, alarmed, you know, 
 afraid of being caught." 
 
 The two sisters screamed with delight : Flirt — 
 ting — ting-ting of the bell, don't you see? It 
 was so new and so original. Well, yes, it was. 
 He had lain awake half the night at the barracks 
 making it out, but it was well worth it. Still in
 
 126 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 their secret hearts the sisters were embarrassed, 
 because, to say the truth, the word was defective. 
 The reader will see that a certain violence would 
 have to be used to carry out Mr. Canby's view, 
 and get the two words out of " Flirting," to say 
 nothing of the " whole " being the same as the 
 first word. Yet the young ladies seemed to be 
 indulgent enough to pass by these little defects, 
 and accept it for ail and all. 
 
 " There now," said Mr. Canby, " you work it 
 between you. I have started you, you see, and 
 shall go and have a pipe." 
 
 When he had gone they looked at each other 
 with contempt. 
 
 *' What a ridiculous, nonsensical notion! He'll 
 spoil everything. Why it's no word at all.'' 
 
 *' Then why did you take it up so greedily ? " 
 said her sister. " I shan't stand up to be made a 
 fool of acting such nonsense — ting-ting, indeed ! " 
 
 Severne now came up. 
 
 " What's this you have planning ? " he said. 
 " I hear you are going to entertain us to-night — 
 how good-natured of you."
 
 PLANS FOR THE NIGHT. 127 
 
 ** No, indeed," they said together ; " only a 
 notion of Mr. Canby's/' 
 
 " Oh, has he a hand in it! Poor Canby! Then 
 it will be great fun ; make him come forward." 
 
 " But you must help, indeed you must ; and 
 Captain Philips, and Mr. Selby, and everybody/' 
 
 *' Nonsense," said Severne, " we are all mere 
 country rustics. You are well trained, and will 
 show us how to do it properly. The carpenter 
 is at work already, and at your orders ; a very 
 smart fellow, and will do whatever you tell him. 
 By the way, I'll tell you now — engage that Mrs. 
 Lepell, she's clever and a half, I can tell you, 
 and will act like a professional." 
 
 *' Oh, Oh, Mr. Severne ! " the two young 
 ladies broke out, with that almost supernatural 
 entente which has mystified us so much before ; 
 " how wicked of you ! How shamefully wicked!" 
 
 " How ? No, not I," he said, calmty. " Shame- 
 ful I wicked ! what odd words ! Canby can be 
 wicked in that way. I mean merely the plain, 
 practical sense of the thing. I'll stake my repu- 
 tation — which is not much, however — and my
 
 128 SEVENTY-FIVE BEOOKE STREET. 
 
 judgment — if I have any — that she has great 
 powers, and you could not do hetter than secure 
 her." 
 
 But the sisters did not receive this proposal 
 with alacrity. 
 
 " We could hardly, I think,'' said one. " You 
 know, her husband — it would be unfeeling.'^ 
 
 Now came up Selby. " I hear of a surprise 
 for to-night. Mum's the word ; but I onl}^ hope 
 it's true.'' 
 
 " All right, Selby," said his friend, '* and we 
 owe it all to these young ladies — manageresses 
 and everything, who have planned it all sitting 
 at home here, while we, selfish beasts, have been 
 amusing ourselves." 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad ! " said Selby, with immense 
 animation; " and I'll tell you what I was think- 
 ing of as I came along the gallery — what will 
 carry the thing off and bring down the House — " 
 
 " Oh tell us, Mr. Selby," said the two girls, 
 smiling and delighted. 
 
 He looked round mysteriously, and with a 
 little shyness said — " Get that clever Mrs. Lepell
 
 PLANS FOR THE NIGHT. 129 
 
 to do something. She will carry it all through 
 for you. I know she can act." 
 
 " There ! What did I tell you ? " said Severne. 
 *•' General opinion seems to run that way." 
 
 A curious expression came into the faces of 
 the two Servants of Society, as we may without 
 disrespect call them. For a moment their disci- 
 pline gave way. " Mrs. Lepell seems to be 
 everything now," said one. 
 
 "Well, she is clever," said Severne, gravely. 
 " I would recommend you to secure her. Of 
 course if you want the thing to fall through " 
 
 "Yes! and I tell you what," said Selby, very 
 eagerl}', ''I'll manage it. I'll go and find Sir 
 John, and make him ask her. She can't refuse 
 him, you know. I know where he is now," and 
 Selby ran off. 
 
 It seems a little hard certainly that these 
 faithful Servants of the World should by some 
 fatality come in always for such rude knocks. 
 For one would think by the tone of the two 
 gentlemen that the girls, instead of trying to 
 contribute a little to the entertainment of the
 
 130 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 house, were carrying out some interested scheme 
 of their own. No doubt the faithful Virgins and 
 Martyrs of the World are more than indemnified 
 by secret transports and comforts, of which we 
 have no conception. 
 
 But alas ! were there not yet greater trials to 
 come ? Before long they saw the lad}^, at the 
 end of the long gallery, with at least four gentle- 
 men about her, all apparently remonstrating and 
 pressing some request eagerly. One of these 
 was Sir John, and another the " white-livered " 
 Canby. The spectacle was not agreeable, and 
 they turned away. But in a short time Selby 
 was eagerly hunting for them, and, out of breath, 
 came rushing to find them. " You are wanted," 
 he said, brusquely — here were more of the cruel 
 trials of the world — " come quick. She has agreed 
 to do it. We managed it. Come along. There^s 
 no time to be lost. We are keeping her waiting.'* 
 But the sisters, though suffering — they could not 
 have been mortal else — went away with alacrity. 
 Too much capital had, so to speak, been sunk in 
 the officer — he was of the Norfolk Canbys, son
 
 PLANS FOR THE NIGHT. 131 
 
 to Sir John Canby, wlio owned Cauby House, 
 and Conservative colleague to Lord Toleper, of 
 Toleper's Barn, and who had his twelve thousand 
 a year " if he had a penny," only one brother, 
 and no mother living — to allow it all to be lost 
 through being disheartened. 
 
 There was a busy council being held. Mrs. 
 Lepell in a moment had struck out brilliant 
 ideas. She gently put aside Mr. Canby's scheme. 
 " It is very clever, so dreadfully clever," she 
 said, in deep thought, " Oh, so clever ! But I 
 am afraid, you know. — There are the servants 
 and the tenants, I believe, and they will want 
 something that appeals more -to their sense. 
 Nothing so refined and elegant — something 
 coarser, I fear, will only do.^*^ Then in a mo- 
 ment she had mapped out a scheme certainly 
 more practical than Mr. Canby's. That gen- 
 tleman accepted the withdrawal of his piece 
 with perfect good humour. He seemed to see 
 an intelligence in Mrs. Lepell's eyes, as who 
 should say, " Later and privately I will explain 
 the greater reasons." 
 
 K 2
 
 132 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 On that night the table was very full. Sir 
 John had asked a dinner party, and a very large 
 one, of squires and their wives ; good " sound ^' 
 men, who would " stand by the ship," — at least 
 in the sense of what he defined standing by the 
 ship. — " Though, God knows,^' said Sir John, 
 *' the poor ship is in a pretty way ! " 
 
 There was a clergyman, a doctor, and some 
 young men whose profession was hunting or 
 cattle, and who delighted in the companionship 
 of the beasts of the field. 
 
 Sir John went up to talk with poor Jack 
 LepelFs cousin just before dinner — arrayed in 
 his best high-collared " skimpy " gilt-buttoned 
 coat (same as in the picture painted for the old 
 anii-Reform Association, temp. 1830, by Skrine, 
 E.S.A., then much in fashion for political por- 
 traits). 
 
 *' My dear fellow," he said, "how are you? I 
 wish to God you were up, and could come down ; 
 it would do your heart good to see the men I 
 could show you at my table to-day — real '88 
 men — the bone and sinew, sir — men of the
 
 PLANS FOR THE NIGHT. 133 
 
 stamp that got us Habeas Corpus and Magna 
 Charta, and went down to Torbay, sir, to meet 
 their King. But a few left, sir, now — only a few. 
 There's not encouragement to be loyal. Well, 
 how are you getting on ? " 
 
 But Mr. Lepell was not well enough to stir, 
 even for this view of his moral interests. He 
 was, indeed, a little feebler than in the morning, 
 being tired out with the day. 
 
 "Well, well, perhaps it is better,^' said Sir 
 John. " We'll send you something. The John 
 Bull ought to be in now. Ah ! They know 
 how to write in that paper. There was an 
 article, let me see, yesterday or the day before, 
 called * The Whig Murrain,' as well done as 
 Junius, every bit ; I'll get it from Duncan. He 
 devours it, and to tell you the truth I encourage 
 it among them and subscribe for another copy 
 for the servants' hall. It keeps up a good, pure, 
 moral tone among 'em. Yes, I'll tell Duncan. 
 There's to be some sport to-night. I gave 'em 
 the use of the carpenters, and, egad, they've put 
 up a stage-play-house thing. Goodness! it makes
 
 134 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 me think of poor Perceval, as true and pure a man 
 as ever stepped, whom those vile Whigs got shot 
 in the lobby. Not two years before he died he 
 had some of these stage plays at his house (read 
 his Bible, though, twice a day). Your wife, I hear, 
 is wonderful at them. I can tell you I begin to 
 like her, for she is sound wind, limb, and body — 
 aH the women, sir, are forced to be the other 
 way now- a- days to get a husband at all — all them 
 low, wandering Whigs, without an acre, except 
 what they'll just get to bury them, and too good 
 for them," &c. 
 
 Thus did the baronet ramble on, as he always 
 did when this subject seized on him. Mr. Lepell, 
 ill and weary, listened patiently and with what 
 appeared to be devotion.
 
 CHAPTEK X. 
 
 THE DINNER PARTY. 
 
 Down in the drawing-room the guests were 
 coming in. The Bonds, of Bond Hall ; Clay- 
 more, of Bushmills ; Charley Ridge; Sir Thomas 
 Hall, of Stonehall ; Rev. Mr. Bush, &c., Sec, &c. 
 There were a great many, and besides, that 
 "bone and sinew" class to which Sir John 
 had alluded, to whom we were indebted for the 
 Habeas Corpus, landing at Torbaj^ &c., and 
 amongst whom were to be found the saviours of 
 the country. Sir Thomas Hall, of Stonehall, who 
 was to be chief saviour, and whose ancestor had 
 been on the shingles at Torbay, from his appear- 
 ance, seemed hardly up to the physical standard — 
 being a small, red-faced, cheerful gentleman, with 
 a red bald head, and two flat brushes of hair on 
 each side, like the winkers of a horse, or as one
 
 J 36 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 of the facetious young jesters of the party likened 
 them to, the two tufts on each side of the clown's 
 head in a pantomime. 
 
 They sat down " positively two and thirty 
 strong," in the large hall. Captain Philips took 
 in a clergyman's wife, whom he very soon found 
 out to he a thrifty, housekeeping woman, and who 
 had all need, poor soul, for such gifts, having 
 some seven or eight children to housekeep for. 
 Still her delight was in making *' good .things," 
 and " our clotted cream, you know. Captain 
 Philips, has a regular name about here. We send 
 it over to Sir John here regularly at Christmas 
 and Easter, with currant jelly and marmalade." 
 Captain Philips, who had been letting " the 
 woman talk on,^' as he said, (" always my way,'^) 
 now pricked up his ears, and turned from his 
 plate to look at her. 
 
 " Oh, that was yours, was it ?" he said ; " un- 
 common good, I can tell you, if you could get 
 enough of it. The women here at breakfast are 
 so greedy, there is no getting a chance. The 
 marmalade was really fair, had flavour, and not
 
 THE DINNER PARTY. 137 
 
 too thick or gi'easy. The Scotch, I am told, 
 thicken it with lard — only fancy ! " 
 
 The clergyman's wife's cheeks glowed with 
 pleasure. 
 
 " I am so glad you liked it. If you were at all 
 near us, I am sure we should be delighted to " 
 
 " Well, I am," said the other, — " quartered in 
 the town, you know. I have a house there 
 Mrs. Philips and the children ; a low, beastly den, 
 for which, of course, we have to pa}- double for 
 wdiat we would do in Town. If you would, I 
 should really be much obliged to you. A few 
 pots, you know." 
 
 " Oh, the moment I get back," said the lady, 
 eagerl}', " Til make up a little hamper." 
 
 *' Just a few pots, you know — no, by the way, 
 better make two parcels, you know. The cream 
 might catch the taste of the other — it does, some- 
 how. It's very kind indeed of you. I'll send 
 over my man." 
 
 " No trouble, I assure you,'^ said the lady, 
 more delighted. " We can put it in the gig — he 
 passes the door, you know."
 
 138 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 " No, better say my man," said Captain Philips, 
 firmly. " Til lay it out that way." He afterwards 
 said, truly enough, that he saw what the woman 
 was at. *'Mrs. Philips, you know — too old a 
 soldier to be brought into an acquaintance with a 
 parson's wife for a pot of jam." 
 
 Sir Thomas Hall, of Stonehall, was fluently 
 talking at the end of the table, illustrating his 
 talk with great gesticulations. He was very 
 pleasant and fluent, and laughing cordially in 
 every sentence he delivered. He liked his joke, 
 and could joke even on sacred subjects — i.e. 
 Conservatism, &c. 
 
 " I am always open to the mess of pottage, you 
 know," he said. " Wlien a man gives that out 
 without disguise there is no harm in it ; and yet 
 they have never tried to corrupt me. I suppose 
 if they had I should have done like every other 
 man they have tried to corrupt. Hey, Sir John ? " 
 
 Sir John knew he was " sound in wind and 
 limb ; " " right to the back bone ;" " would stand 
 by the poor old ship;" so he could have every 
 indulgence for these sportive sallies.
 
 THE DINNER PARTY. 139 
 
 Sir Thomas Hall went on, in the same strain 
 — " Every man has his price, you know ; not in 
 money down, my dear Sir John, or in a cheque 
 on Coutts ; hut there is something that will huy 
 us all, you know. For instance, Sir John, there 
 —if they repealed that thing of twenty-nine, and 
 passed an Act that no Whig should ever hold 
 office — that might be Sir John^s price." 
 
 Sir John laughed. " Ah ! my dear friend. They 
 hounded on the mob to shoot poor Perceval, a pure 
 man, that served his Sovereign," &c. 
 
 There was a sort of coterie near the top of the 
 table. Lady Hall, of Stonehall, was next Sir 
 John ; Mrs. Severne, Severne himself. Lord John, 
 Mrs, Lepell, and that good-natured friend of 
 Severne's, who was actually next to her. 
 
 Mrs. Lepell had changed wonderfully within a 
 day. She was no longer timorous and shrinking, 
 as some of the ladies would have put it (modest, 
 her friends would have called it), but could take 
 her place " firmly, like the wife of Jack Lepell's 
 cousin." 
 
 She was cettinf:j on in the house. She was
 
 140 SEVENTY -FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 telling her adveDture of the day , but presently 
 Severne began to cross-examine : 
 
 " It was a wonderful escape," he said, looking 
 round. ''I know I performed prodigies; and 
 must write up and claim the Humane Society's 
 medal. Such dashing gallantry — such splendid 
 chivalry should get something. But Lord John, 
 let us hear how does he come in ? because he 
 did his part too, you know, or tried to — did he 
 not ? " 
 
 " Oh, bless your soul, leave me out of it," said 
 Lord John, a little disturbed. " I claim nothing, 
 recollect." 
 
 " No — I know that," said Severne, *' but from 
 mere curiosit}-. Seriously, I want to know how 
 it took place ? Who frightened the horse ?'' 
 
 '' I didn't, I'll swear," said Lord John. "All I 
 know is, I did my best to stop him. Some fellows, 
 my boy, get into a better line for that sort of thing. 
 I was pulling a stake out of the hedge at the 
 time ; and it was well the pole didn't drive right 
 through my back." 
 
 "Lord John did all that a brave gentleman
 
 THE DINNER PARTY. 141 
 
 could do," said Mrs. Lepell in her calm, quiet, 
 almost reproving tone. Then she went on, as it 
 were, with a narrative. " He got down to trj^ and 
 do something with the horses. There was a 
 switch in the hedge " 
 
 " Then God bless me," said Sir John, " where 
 was the whip ?" 
 
 " The whip was of no use," said she, " Sir John. 
 We had tried everything with the horses. The 
 question was, were they to master Lord John, or 
 he them ? He was actually pulling a switch out, 
 which at the moment I really thought had been 
 put there by Providence, when the horses gave a 
 plunge, and oh" — Mrs. Lepell covered her eyes 
 a moment. 
 
 " Quite an adventure," said Sir Thomas Hall ; 
 "how dreadful!" 
 
 " I assure you. Sir Thomas Hall," she con- 
 tinued, turning to him, " the carriage flew past 
 Lord John as close as that glass is to that. You 
 could not have put a sheet of paper between. My 
 eyes seemed to swim ; I thought I should have 
 fainted ; but, Lord John, I must tell this in spite
 
 142 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 of all your looks and nods, and cautions, as I say 
 though there was a mist before my eyes, I saw an 
 arm strike out wildly at the reins — and " 
 
 "Pooh, pooh," said Lord John, heartily; "non- 
 sense. It was self-defence. I was frightened out 
 of a year's growth. I'll never get to my full size, 
 and you are the cause, Mrs. L., and no one else." 
 
 " Ah ! you may laugh. Lord John," she said, 
 excitedly, " you may, indeed, and make little of it, 
 and I know to save a poor weak woman from a 
 horrible death, is only a trifle, but I think it no 
 trifle, and never shall. You would have passed 
 it over, and not said a word about it ; but I could 
 not in conscience." 
 
 " Ah, stop, madam," said his lordship, " you 
 are making my virgin cheeks blush." 
 
 Severne was looking on with great amusement, 
 and yet with a little pique. 
 
 " Why, it seems it is Lord John should get the 
 medal after all — not I ; quite right too. He is a 
 Preserver also." 
 
 Lord John laughed loudly. 
 
 " There's a fix for you, Mrs. L. Egad, yes, it
 
 THE DINNER PABTY. 143 
 
 comes to that ; and nothing for the fellow that 
 really saved her. Oh, uncommon good !" 
 
 Mrs. Lepell looked down on her plate sadly ; 
 she stole a look of reproach at Lord John, but 
 said nothing. Suddenly Selby broke in with 
 great warmth — 
 
 "I understood," he said, "I followed quite. 
 Never mind, Mrs. Lepell, I know what you mean 
 as well as if I was there. None of us here un- 
 derstand you, except — except ." He stopped 
 
 and coloured. 
 
 " Except you ! Well done, my Knight," said 
 Lord John ; '' spoken out like a man. ■'Pon my 
 word, this is coming out." 
 
 They all laughed ; even Mrs. Lepell could not 
 but smile at such advocacy, which only made her 
 ridiculous to a certain degree, as we can all un- 
 derstand. But the result was, this honest fellow 
 was overwhelmed with confusion. After, all the 
 best-intentioned of the community ; even the 
 righteous by profession, resent this indiscreet 
 advocacy and panegyric, and reasonably, because 
 it frustrates its own ends, and makes the object
 
 144 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 a little ridiculous. Thus the dinner passed on, 
 and Sir John took up politics, and Sir Thomas 
 Hall, dismissing his bantering manner, began to 
 talk of " the count/," and then of the " election." 
 
 The country gentlemen then became very wise 
 and eager. 
 
 "As for young Groper/' said Sir Thomas, 
 " he be hanged. What does the old lord mean 
 forcing his lad on us ? Does he think he has 
 got one of his rotten boroughs here, to stuff one 
 of his relations into ? " 
 
 " I tell you what," said Sir John ; " I found 
 out old Groper ten years ago ! He^s a mere 
 shopman, sir — would sell you and me, sir, and 
 the party, over his counter. He's all things to 
 all men. He's unsound, sir, wind and limb — a 
 mere discounter in politics." 
 
 " I suspected that, do you know," said Sir 
 Thomas ; " but I think we can guess where to 
 light on the right man for the right place/' and he 
 looked round meaningly at Severne. " Unfurl 
 the blue flag, rally your trae men, Sir John.'' 
 
 " Save England, sir," said Sir John ; " nail
 
 THE DINNER PARTY. 145 
 
 our colours to the mast, and no surrender, and I 
 don't care who you put in." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Sir Thomas ; " that's the tune. 
 There can he no mistake in this house. We 
 know the sort of article that can be got here, the 
 true sample, sir, and of the right stuff. My dear 
 Sir John, we will bring him in, in a canter. Eh, 
 Severne ? " 
 
 Sir John looked delighted. All turned to 
 Severne as if expecting a rapturous profession of 
 faith, in reference to his nailing something to 
 that wonderful mast which by this time must be 
 almost " honeycombed," with the holes of nails 
 that have been driven in, and invisible from 
 the shreds of old bunting. But Severne only 
 laughed. 
 
 " I'll make a very poor hand of it. I haven't 
 energy to fight for the poor old Constitution. I 
 don't know how to stop the leaks. I don't see 
 any mast. You'd better have young Groper." 
 
 " How modest we are," said Lord John, sneer- 
 ingly. " I declare it's charming." 
 
 " The true Blue is always modest,'' said Sir
 
 146 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 John ; " wait until you hear him on the hustings. 
 He'll give you doctrine. Come, my lad, speak 
 out. Good sound stuff, sir, the real old 
 port." 
 
 "Ah, if he could give us that/' said Lord 
 John ; " it would be worth all the politics ever 
 bottled or unbottled. Eh, Mrs. Lepell? Sir 
 John says you are a rank Tory. I don't believe 
 it ; and as to Severne, there, why I'll wait till we 
 get him on the hustings ; and until he prints his 
 address. I doubt," he added, in a low voice, " if 
 he'll turn out quite as blue as we all think. Our 
 friend wasn't born during the Flood. I should 
 say he'd go with the young hounds, and run a 
 regular buck on 'em. However, that^s their look 
 out, not mine. I must give him my vote any 
 way, for I owe Groper a grudge, an impudent, 
 upsetting beggar, and as greedy as a pike. Egad, 
 Mrs. L., you'll canvas for us. Vm. going to start 
 myself one of these days. At this moment I 
 know a fellow looking out for a borough as rotten 
 as old cheese — the more rotten the better — you'll 
 come down and canvas for me, wonH you, for the
 
 THE DINNER PARTY. 147 
 
 man, you know, that saved you .^ Eh, you follow 
 me, don't you ? " 
 
 Lord John was in a half -jocose, half- malicious 
 humour ; but those who knew him well held that 
 this tone was a sign of favourable disposition 
 towards those to whom lie employed it. He was, 
 indeed, much pleased with Mrs. Lepell about the 
 little affair of the sledge, and after dinner told 
 Captain Philips, to that officer's open disgust, 
 that " she was the top lot of the whole fair.-*' 
 
 It was now close on nine o'clock. From the 
 dining-hall they heard the gigs and carriages 
 driving in. Sir John had asked all within a 
 radius of ten miles, and those who were asked 
 came. The doctor and wife and daughters ; 
 more clergymen, more wives and daughters ; 
 Hubbard of the mills, and his wife and daugh- 
 ters. '' What, Sir John, and one of those milling 
 scoundrels under your roof ? ^' 
 
 "Nothing of the kind, sir. He knows his 
 place — as humble as ni}^ groom there. That 
 man used to drive a little donkey-cart with tur- 
 nips. I respect a fellow that raises himself and 
 
 L 2
 
 148 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 knows his place, and sticks to his mills, and don't 
 go buying land, and trying to become a gentleman. 
 No, I can distinguish." And Sir John did dis- 
 tinguish with great warmth ; but at this moment, 
 Mr. Hubbard, the ''milling scoundrel," stimu- 
 lated, it must be said, by Mrs. Hubbard, who was 
 yearning to become "a lady," had actually given 
 orders to a London agent to keep an eye out for 
 an eligible thing, in the way of an estate, about a 
 hundred and twenty thousand or so.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE CHARADES. 
 
 In the drawing-room they found a very great 
 company assembled. Those who were to pla}' 
 had flitted off to get ready dresses, &c. But 
 those active organizers, the Misses Fenton, well 
 trained to such offices, had left the dinner-table 
 early to get properties and dresses, and had 
 worked promptly and efficiently; so that every 
 one found in his or her room what was required, 
 neatly folded up and ready. Now that busi- 
 ness had asserted its claims, they showed all 
 the virtues of steady industry, forethought, and 
 diligence. Every one was astonished, everything 
 was provided, and even the sisters' needles had 
 been at work, sewing on frillings and furbelows. 
 
 The barrister who practised at country houses 
 had been found invaluable : and showed a pro-
 
 150 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 found acquaintance with at least this branch of 
 The Bar. He showed himself indefatigable, 
 and had co-operated with the Misses Fenton in 
 a very hearty and skilful way. At last word was 
 brought, very mysteriously, to Sir John, that all 
 things were now ready, and the curtain about to 
 rise, and there was a mysterious flutter round 
 the room. It was time to begin. 
 
 " Hah, indeed,^' said Sir John ; " very good, 
 then ; I suppose we had better move on." 
 
 He then told this news, and went round the 
 company, and the agricultural ladies and gentle- 
 men gathered together, with a strange flutter and 
 eagerness. They had but a dreamy idea of what 
 manner of entertainment this might turn out 
 to be. • 
 
 Sir John's carpenters had indeed done won- 
 ders. They had taken much delight in the 
 office ; and one, a " handy man,^' prided himself 
 specially upon the skill with which he had con- 
 structed a real curtain, that went up and down 
 on true theatrical principle. All through the . 
 night this handy man kept his eyes upon his
 
 THE CHARADES. 151 
 
 work, superintended its going up and down with 
 delight, and at the close joined respectfully in 
 the general felicitation on the success of the 
 whole, saying that "there adn't been a single 
 hitch,^' meaning to refer to his curtain. Chairs 
 had been set in front in rows ; chairs certainly a 
 little irregular in symmetry ; for even the high- 
 backed Cattermole chairs liad been brought in 
 out of the outer hall. 
 
 Sir John Digby and Lady Hall, and the other 
 distinguished Conservatives, sat in front. Behind, 
 the servants, the steward, the more comfortable 
 of the labourers, and the keepers, crowded in. 
 Captain Philips and another gentleman — a young 
 fellow going into the army — were not present. 
 The former had surveyed all the company filing 
 off, with unconcealed mistrust and dislike — then 
 said to Lord John — 
 
 "I say, you going with the rest, to see the 
 children ? " 
 
 " Egad I am," said Lord John ; " I wouldn't 
 miss it. The women are going to dance and 
 show off, my boy; and our sick friend's wife too
 
 152 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 — poor devil. She may come out in tights on 
 us, my lacl, for all you or I know." 
 
 " O, that's the way, is it ? " said the other, 
 with more disgust. " Take care you're not roar- 
 ing with that lumbago in the morning — at your 
 age, you know. I was thinldng of a quiet game 
 with the balls, while the}^ were at their foolery, 
 and a snug cigar, with something warm, you 
 know." 
 
 " All very good," said Lord John ; " but won't 
 do at i^resent, you see. I've travelled, my friend, 
 and got up in the morning, and paid for my 
 schooling, eh ! " and Lord John fell into a series 
 of intelligent contortions. *' You follow, eh? " 
 
 " Indeed I do not," said Captain Philips, 
 turning away. 
 
 He then caught the young gentleman, whom 
 he addressed with a sort of cold command. 
 
 " I suppose you'll go and look on at their 
 grown-up tumblers, eh ! I am going to have a 
 game, quietly, with a cigar. Don't you be a fool 
 — stay, if you like." 
 
 He was in great awe of Captain Philips, and
 
 THE CHARADES. 153 
 
 his knowledge of the world ; and though dying 
 to see the " show," yet wished to show that he 
 was not quite ignorant of the world. He re- 
 mained, played, was treated injuriously by his 
 companion, who was free and sarcastic on him, 
 and when he had no further occasion for his ser- 
 vices, after the game was done, sat down to enjoy 
 his cigar, and declined to fatigue himself talking 
 to " a young cur " of that sort, as he afterwards 
 happily described him. 
 
 At the extemporised stage it was wonderful 
 how much had been " got up " in the time. 
 The young barrister — Mr. Weeder — who was " in 
 such business at country houses," had done much 
 and had taken a great burden on himself. A bell 
 was heard to ring behind, the curtain was drawn 
 aside, and he came out in front to speak a Pro- 
 logue. 
 
 " Such a clever thing," every one said after- 
 wards, " and — would you believe it ? — he just sat 
 at a side-table, and knocked it off in about ten 
 minutes. It would have made you die with 
 laughter," people said later, telling the story to
 
 154 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 their friends, " and all impromptu, you know, not 
 a line of it thought of before three o'clock, and 
 then he just sat down at a side-table, and 
 knocked it off." And yet, if the truth must be 
 told, it was not such a feat in our barrister — if 
 we consider that he took about with him on his 
 " circuit " at country houses, a sort of " common 
 form,^' for these sort of things, just as other 
 lawyers take about " Davidson's Precedents," and 
 a very little adaptation made it fit all occasions 
 excellently. He came out in a grotesque dress, 
 began with a shy start of surprise, which threw 
 everybody into convulsions of laughter : — 
 
 *' Lord, what a crowd ! I'm really quite alarmed, 
 Inclined to run away — yet no — I'm charmed ! 
 Such grace, such beauty, must all fears dispel ; 
 Eemove all doubt, and makes me feel — quite well! 
 
 (These last words spoken with infinite roguish- 
 ness, which provoked a titter.) 
 
 *' But what's the play to-night ? Macbeth ? Well, well, well ! 
 Tell, then, you ask — Not surely William Tell .? " 
 
 (A. roar of laughter, which obliges the humourist 
 to stop ; but he is all the while looking on with
 
 THE CHARADES. 155 
 
 good-humoured toleration. He goes on, when 
 order is -restored, in the same pleasant and ani- 
 mated way.) 
 
 ' ' And what's the si^ort ? — a farce— a comedy ? 
 A sol — emn tra — ge — dy ? 
 
 (Here the hollow cavernous tone of the speaker 
 caused fresh amusement). 
 
 " Once more do try ! 
 Some like a speech — some like the charming Bards ; 
 Some like hard chairs, and others like chairhards." 
 
 There w^as a moment''s hesitation ; the speaker 
 paused with a look of intense amusement ; but 
 he knew it would come, as he told them behind 
 the curtain. " I let 'em take their time, and 
 thej' got it at last." So they did, for some one 
 said, in a delighted whisper, " Chair hard. Hard 
 chair ! don't you see ? " and the burst of com- 
 prehension spread like an Atlantic wave over the 
 room. It had to be explained, however, labori- 
 ously to the country gentlemen. 
 
 " Uncommonly good, that, you know ; a very 
 clever young fellow from circuit, and said one of 
 the best things I ever heard — the difference be- 
 tween a hard chair and char-ade. Eeal wit, sir."
 
 156 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 These lines had strictly followed the Common 
 
 Form, and had been delivered to many audiences 
 
 in many country houses. But presently came 
 
 a little change — a slight variation, which might 
 
 still be considered a common form : — 
 
 ' * Who are our actors ? fairly will you ask, 
 "With whom you now attempt your arduous task ; 
 All, ladies fair, behind this curtain guess, 
 "We really have embarras de Richesses. 
 And one great aid we surely must have leant on, 
 Those fascinating stars, the Misses Fenton. 
 
 {A roar.) 
 Nor must I pass her by, the fair Lepell, 
 "Whom we may fairly call — a railway belle. " 
 {Another roar.) 
 
 And most natural one. For every one had been 
 talking of the accident, and had heard of the 
 hapi^y escape of the lady. 
 
 " Uncommonly good that," the country gentle- 
 men said. " You heard, didn't you — the bell, 
 you know, of the railway station ? A clever 
 young fellow as ever I met, you know." 
 
 " So with the rest : and say what must that man be, 
 "Who would not be content with — martial Canby. 
 But, oh, our bliss would be complete from stem to stern. 
 Could we bring here that charming stream, Severne ! " 
 
 And the knowing fellow looked gallantly among
 
 THE CHAKADES. 157 
 
 the audience for the lady alluded to. The house 
 
 *' came down." He then concluded with these 
 
 two happy Hues : — 
 
 ** Now burnt to aslies may my horse-hair wig he, 
 All luck attend our brave old host of Digby ! " 
 
 This was touching the true chord. Every one 
 understood that, and something like a cheer 
 arose for the sentiment. Sir John was pleased. 
 ** He has great talents," he said to his neigh- 
 hour ; " shouldn't be surprised if he were a judge 
 one of these days. His great uncle, ma'am, was 
 a baron of the Court of Exchequer, and though 
 as great a Tory as ever stepped, the Whigs had 
 to put him in. They positively couldn't get a 
 decent fellow out of their own gang. A very 
 fair young fellow indeed, and with good prin- 
 ciples, and I hope he will do well." 
 
 Hush ! The curtain is going up. Loud ap- 
 plause, and richly deserved — for here is a room, 
 a regular room, with a bar in the centre, con- 
 trived cleverly by two Indian folding screens, 
 and with a barmaid in the bar, looking out as if 
 through a window, and a porter machine, with
 
 158 
 
 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 handles for *' pulling," glasses, bottles, everything 
 complete ; and a sign, painted cleverly on a bit 
 of old newspaper — 
 
 THE 
 DIGBY ARMS. 
 
 This one touch — due to Miss Fenton, it must 
 be said — made the whole world there akin. 
 Every one knew that hostelry, and this counter- 
 feit presentment seemed to embody the relations 
 of employer and employed — a kind landlord, good 
 and faithful tenants. Every one, as they ap- 
 plauded, were affected, except of course Lord 
 John, who said, " Egad, I never saw a Sign in- 
 side a Public before." But the barmaid's cap, 
 ribbons, apron, everything was charming. Sepa- 
 rate applause for Miss Canby, the j^ounger, as 
 she came out of her bar. Perfectly at home, 
 never at a loss for a word, she tossed her head, 
 and told her little story. 
 
 Sairy the harmaid. — " Lord, I am sure the
 
 THE CHARADES. 159 
 
 Digby Arms never was so full before. Folks 
 will come during the race-week, and fuss a bodj^ 
 so, one loses one's little wits quite. Lord, a 
 deary me, what am I to do, and where am I to 
 put the folks ? Here's a letter from Lord Tim- 
 bertoes, two rooms. Lady SnuiBfle Buffle (this 
 comic name was coined, invented, and patented 
 by the clever young barrister — ' only think, J/(st 
 as we were going on'), Mr. and Mrs. Manjack, 
 two rooms — and here, I declare, yes, a note from 
 Sir John, wanting two himself. Bless his dear 
 'art," added the charming barmaid, kissing the 
 letter, and simulating a Cockney accent, " the 
 ^ole set shall pack out, every one on 'em, bag and 
 baggage, afore I'd bring myself to disappoint 
 that dear good Sir John Digby." 
 
 Need we say that the performance had to be 
 suspended, to give an opening for the burst of 
 applause at this happy allusion. The tenants at 
 the distance, who understood the Sign-board and 
 the Bar, thoroughly, thundered an agricultural 
 applause with a " the'er be t'ould Sir John ! 
 Hooray ff No real live barmaid, it was pro-
 
 160 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 nounced, could do the thing better ; and above all, 
 no one enjoying the young lady's intimacy in 
 domestic life, could believe that she had this gay 
 vein undeveloped beneath. 
 
 But what was this to the next incident, when 
 the lively barrister, with a real apron on, and an 
 old blue jacket, which he had actually gone down 
 to the town to borrow — for " Realism" is the soul 
 of these things — and a genuine strap of pewter 
 pots on his back, came pattering in with the brisk 
 walk of a waiter, and with a smart " Coming ! 
 coming, sir ! " — proceeded to draw the beer — real 
 beer, mind you — and contrived to get a good 
 " head " on the pewter pot, which he held with 
 infinite dexterity, and without spilling a drop. 
 
 Barmaid. — "Well, William, any signs of the 
 company ? Lawk ! how I am worrited." 
 
 William (wiping his forehead with the corner 
 of his apron, which produces a roar). — " Yes, in- 
 deed, marm. I never gets no rest now at all. 
 Have to sleep, marm, in the tap. (Roar again). 
 Hope, marm, Sir John be coming ? A kindly, 
 civil-spoken gentleman, marm. That I do hopes,
 
 THE CHARADES. 161. 
 
 marm, they'll make a nobleman of one of these days, 
 and no man deserves it better." — (Fresh applause.) 
 Then the bells begin to ring, and all behind to 
 stamp and shout, a token of carriages and com- 
 pany arriving ; and really words could not de- 
 scribe the capital picture of ludicrous confusion 
 into which the two servants were thrown. They 
 went backwards and forwards, flying to this 
 side and that, running to the right and to the 
 left ; rushing up against each other, answer- 
 ing with a sort of competition, " Here, sir ! " 
 " Yes, marm ! " until after ten minutes or so, 
 when the barmaid was leaning faint and ex- 
 hausted, with her hand on her waist against the 
 wall, and the waiter, in his hurry, had purposely 
 tripped, and tumbled down flat, human nature 
 could not resist any longer, and the house rose 
 at them. " Talk of Listen and Munden," said 
 an old country gentleman, with his golden glasses 
 in his hands, '' I saw 'em, and I assure you that 
 young fellow is very much in their way — uncom- 
 mon good." Lord John was growling. He was 
 getting tliirsty, perhaps. " That's fine acting, 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 SEVENTY-FIYE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 isn't it ? " lie said ; " uncommon fine selfishness, 
 too. They are not going to give any one else a 
 chance. We'll he all night here at this rate. 
 What a witty cuh that is. Dam 'em, do they 
 mean to get on to-night ? " 
 
 Then came in the guests, a motley crowd, 
 made up in the most comic dresses, old white 
 hats, capes, wrappers, and huge mufilers — carry- 
 ing white handboxes and paper parcels, like old 
 nurse-tenders' umbrellas, in short, as some one 
 remarked, " dressed exactly as we see the travel- 
 lers on the railway any day of our lives." All 
 these were vociferating, speaking together, com- 
 plaining, shouting, expostulating, and making a 
 most amusing Babel of sounds. Several of this 
 class were naturally inclined to distinguish them- 
 selves a little, and get a small share of the favour 
 of the audience — a not unreasonable claim ; but 
 such was the enthusiasm, the perfect identifica- 
 tion of themselves with their parts that possessed 
 both waiter and barmaid, that they unconsciously, 
 perhaps, absorbed all the dialogue of the little 
 piece. This bore a little hard on one gentleman,
 
 THE CHARADES. 163 
 
 who had been at great pains to get himself up as 
 a travelling old gentleman, with the invariable 
 broad brimmed Quaker's hat and coachman 
 cloak, large stick and spectacles, with which old 
 gentlemen always travel, and who had indeed 
 prepared some capital things. 
 
 " It was an infernal shame," this ill-used 
 player said afterwards ; " that greedy beast thinks 
 nobody has a tongue but himself. Gabble, 
 gabble. Infernal, so it is. Calling this sort of 
 thing charades. Pooh." 
 
 At the proper point the " handy man " let 
 down the curtain, which descended beautifully 
 and without a hitch. The point now was to 
 guess what was it. " Bar, eh ? THe lawyer, you 
 know. ' Brought up to the bar.'' Ha, ha ! very 
 good ! — uncommon good ! Papa, papa ! do you 
 know what Mr. Sweetman says ? " Mr. Sweet- 
 man was the new curate, sly and shy, and de- 
 mure, and always saying " good things " in his 
 own sly and shy way ; Papa was the one who had 
 seen Liston and Munden — " Mr. Sweetman says 
 that it is 'Brought to the Bar.' " 
 
 M 2
 
 164 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 " Brought up" said Mr. Sweetman, softly. 
 
 " My God ! " said Lord John, standing up and 
 stretching himself before the whole company, 
 " to think that we are all grown up people here, 
 and supposed to be sensible men and women ! 
 — which we are, my dear young creature, of 
 course." 
 
 " I know you have guessed it. Lord John," 
 said the dear young woman. " I am sure of it." 
 
 " Why, must we guess, too ? " said he. *' They 
 want to put that on us, do they ? a charade is 
 it ? To be sure. Don't you see ? Hotel, hotel 
 — inn — there, there, that's it ; that's the regular 
 word. Bless you, my dear, these creatures have 
 their regular stock-in-trade and fixtures, and 
 something or other. The next word will be mate, 
 or something of that sort. My goodness ! talk 
 of the nineteenth century, and here we are, 
 tumbling like children in a nursery ! " 
 
 Lord John was now getting very dry indeed 
 about the throat, and in a few moments had 
 " slipped out quietly " towards the housekeeper's 
 room. He used to take Mrs. Hardcastle under
 
 THE CHAEADES. 165 
 
 the chin sometimes, in that amazingly free way 
 of his, which is passed over in Lord Johns, 
 and told her she put him in mind of " a devilish 
 fine woman at Mr. Roche's ten years ago. And 
 let me tell you, my dear creature, I was the 
 man in the place she cared least for — of 
 course I was. Treated me like a dog — eh ? 
 Of course she did. My dear child, quick with 
 that brown gruel of yours; I'm scalding down 
 the red lane here. Ah ! that's soft and sugary." 
 
 Though he was away a long time, the cur- 
 tain had not risen when he came back. " Always 
 the way," said Lord John. " Bet you a sovereign 
 they are smirking together at this moment, hob- 
 nobbing over their drink. ' Oh, you were capital.' 
 And the other one tells liim, 'And you were 
 so funny — never heard anything better ! And 
 how the audience laughed.' ' It's going capi- 
 tally.' That's the word — ' going capitally.' This 
 is absurd, waiting in this way ! I'll just go and 
 speak to the baronet." And he actually did; and 
 in a moment a message arrived behind the scenes 
 from Sir John, hoping that they were ready.
 
 166 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 Lord John's penetration was wonderful, for 
 they were actually, as he described, telling each 
 other that it was " Going capitally." But they 
 were ready now, and the curtain rose slowly, and 
 showed a study — a little darkened, but laid 
 out with taste. The room of a virtuoso : 
 books, drawings, a picture on an easel, crimson 
 draperies, and a small female statue out of the 
 gallery, at one side. A lamp was burning, and 
 Severne, in a black velvet robe, with a very low 
 collar, and looking specially handsome, was sit- 
 ting, his hand to his forehead, reading and study- 
 ing. The courtesy that could grudge this good- 
 looking apparition the cheap tribute of a round of 
 applause, must have been of a poor sort. Some- 
 thing in the management of the lights gave a rich 
 hue to the whole, and made it seem like a picture. 
 
 " Egad, that's not so bad," said Lord John to 
 his neighbour ; " there's a touch of the what-ye- 
 may-call-it in that ; " wdio or what he alluded to 
 the neighbour did not know, but it is likely that 
 he meant something artistic. 
 
 Presently Severne rose, and began in a dreamy
 
 THE CHARADES. 167 
 
 way to talk of something that was past. Then 
 the clock was heard to strike. 
 ~ Severne. — " Midnight ! one more day gone with 
 the rest, yet the end seems as far away as ever ; 
 yet it must be coming. 0, how I long for the 
 peaceful quiet of the grave ! sweet, happy, long 
 expected hour, when I shall rejoin her, that dear 
 innocent — the darling long-lost maid — she whom 
 I so cruelly betrayed." Then he began softly 
 and _ melodiously a well-known monody. The 
 rustics high and low were impressed by it, and 
 stretched their necks to make out that raven 
 which they were sure was over the bust of 
 Pallas. Indeed the barrister was even eager that 
 some concrete realization of this X3art of the 
 poem should be carried out. 
 
 " The thing won't go off at all, Severne," he 
 said ; "just clap a stuffed bird up there and give 
 him a go of paint, and you'll see if that doesn't 
 touch 'em up ; and I tell you what, my boy, we 
 might have a black thread to his wings and not a 
 soul 'ud see it, and we could make 'em flap at the 
 proper points. See here :
 
 168 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 " And tlie Eaven said — 
 
 'Never more.'" 
 
 Thus flap ! flap ! My goodness ! Why, they'd rise 
 at you ! " But Severne could not enter into this 
 hrilliant picture. 
 
 " They'd only laugh,'^ he said ; " it would turn 
 it into a hurlesque. No, no, leave it to me and 
 Mrs. Lepell ; you concentrate yourself on the 
 husiness of the piece.'' 
 
 He went on : " What is there for me now ? 
 What remains hut misery and agony, and an end 
 too long delayed ? When will it come ? — when 
 will she come ? " 
 
 Suddenly was heard soft and ravishing strains 
 of celestial music — in fact, a very costly har- 
 monium touched by the fingers of one of the 
 Miss Fentons. They had sent up, in a hurried 
 manner, to Mr. Sweetman for a " book of the 
 anthems, dear Mr. Sweetman ! " (That clergy- 
 man, from the spasmodic and agitated spirit that 
 governs all theatrical manners, thought it was a 
 concern of life and death, and that he was
 
 THE CHARADES. 169 
 
 summoned to attend a sick bed.) And then, 
 before the music had died away, api^eared a 
 vision — in a snowy dress — with long hair down 
 on her shoulders, a gold fillet on her forehead, 
 and her arms stretched out, with a smile of most 
 bewitching and forgiving invitation. The rustics 
 — gentle and simple — remarked a sort of hazi- 
 ness, almost spiritual, about this despairing 
 vision — a softness, and at the same time a 
 brilliancy — a mistiness of outline which seemed 
 supernatural, and was certainly wanting in the 
 ruder vision that had appeared before. They 
 did not know that gauze had been cunningly 
 stretched between them and the figures — which, 
 it is notorious, has a surprising effect. Down 
 sank the student slowly on his knees. The 
 soft music rose and fell, the soft smile — 
 was it of forgiveness or happiness? — played 
 on that face, the arms wound in graceful atti- 
 tudes — whispers went round, " Who ? who 
 is it ? " 
 
 *' Mrs. Lepell ; don't you know ? " 
 
 "Fine creature — the accident;*' and then from
 
 170 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 Lord John, "Egad — she does it uncommon well. 
 She knows how to work those arms of hers. Egad, 
 ma'am, the stiff creatures of this town may take a 
 lesson." 
 
 The student had risen and sunk on one knee 
 before this apparition. " Who are you," he said, 
 " that comes to disturb this miserable solitude ? 
 Eeave me — leave me to my own troubles. 
 Neither light nor comfort suit with this dreary 
 heart. Leave me — I implore, leave me to dark- 
 ness and misery ; or if you be an angel that 
 brings blessings, send me at least a quick deli- 
 verance, and hurry on the end that I sigh for." 
 
 Applause — the music rises and falls dismally, 
 being, in fact, the famous tremolo ritournelle to 
 which the two unhappy Corsican gentlemen used 
 to visit each other. 
 
 The vision shook its head. " No," she said, 
 sadly, " what you say is folly. Ah, why waste 
 precious hours in misery ? I have come to tell 
 you it is the worst and most unacceptable homage 
 you could pay to her whom you have lost. You 
 are longing to meet her again. Ah, you know
 
 THE CHARADES. 171 
 
 not what a waste of this morhid affection there 
 is in the world. It would fill the ocean, while 
 she, perhaps at this moment — the lost Lenore — 
 may be tripping through the ball-room of the 
 Elysian fields, sitting in a corner half-way up 
 the stairs, with a handsomer spectre, carrying on 
 a shadowy flirtation. Do you know, foolish man, 
 that living or dead women are all the same ? 
 They must live, and breathe, and flirt, or die ; 
 and all the lost Lenores in the world, whom 
 foolish men are frantically bewailing, are at 
 this consoling themselves in London or in 
 Paris, in the parks or at the ball, or, perhaps, 
 even in a raikvay carriage hurrying here from a 
 foreign country — admiration is always welcome — 
 always." 
 
 And the vision stopped short with a smile, 
 half encouraging, half satirical. There was loud 
 applause, though w^e are bound to say it was 
 not understood by the rustics. 
 
 Lord John was seen clapping his hands with 
 enthusiasm : "Bravo! capital! well put, Mrs. L. 
 That's one two, for him — I didn't think she
 
 172 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 could be so smart. Don't you see she is touch- 
 ing up our young friend's vanity off the stage ? 
 She means that for a girl he's after ! Egad, and 
 I think he feels it too." 
 
 The lover was indeed looking at his visitor, a 
 little perplexed. Pie went on : 
 
 Severne. — *'I thought you were a messenger 
 from heaven, with comfort and divine consolation ; 
 but your comfort is of the world — worldly. It is 
 tinged with a cold, unkind philosophy, which I do 
 not care for. I have faith, and that is all I want." 
 
 The vision ivith a hurst of laughter. — " So had 
 Don Quixote in his windmills. How much you 
 are to be envied, seeing angels everywhere, as 
 you walk along, creatures bathed in golden light, 
 models of perfection, while the prosy men and 
 women about you only see — men and women. 
 Oh ! " added the vision, in a feigned rapture, 
 ''how charming is a child-like unsophistication ; 
 how delightful a perpetual infancy, that is all its 
 life just eight years old, and sitting in the front 
 row, with its little fingery-pingery in its mouth, 
 looking on at a pantomime ! "
 
 THE CHARADES. 173 
 
 Even the rustics understood this, and laughed ; 
 Lord John was in an ecstasy. 
 
 " My Lord have mercy ! you saw that ! she's 
 given it to him, back and front, up and down, 
 knocking the wind out of him ; my dear ma'am, 
 our young friend wanted a lesson." 
 
 This was to the clergyman's wife, who was to 
 send Captain Philips the cream. 
 
 " It is very clever," she said. '*He has treated 
 her badly in her life -time, and " — she stopped, a 
 little doubtful. 
 
 " Who, ma'am ? " said Lord John. 
 
 " The lost Lenore.^' 
 
 " The lost Foundling, ma'am," said Lord John, 
 contemptuousl3\ " Pish ! There, ma'am, look ; 
 I declare he doesn't know what to say. The 
 feller's dumbfoundered. Suck your fingery- 
 pingery. Ha ! ha ! " Severne had risen. 
 
 "If! was to choose," he said, "I would sooner 
 be a child all my life, taking the pantomime for 
 real angels and real gold and silver, than be one 
 of the cold sect of philosophers to which you, cold 
 spectre, belong. It is easy to laugh at every-
 
 174 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STKEET. 
 
 thing, and I congratulate you, a happy spirit, on 
 these fortunate gifts. You will flit over the 
 earth, from city to city, from street to street, 
 from house to house. A happy life is before 
 you; you can visit a hundred moody, foolish 
 sufferers like me, boys of thirty, and sitting at 
 their first pantomime, and believing everything. 
 Your mission may be to console them, by teach- 
 ing them to feel the scenes, and show them that 
 the gilding on the gingerbread is only tinsel. 
 You will succeed of course with some. But I 
 do not envy you your mission, lovely and incom- 
 parable spirit." 
 
 Mrs. Lepell (assuming a wonderful expression 
 of wounded sorrow, and drooping her head). — 
 " Ah ! this is the way, always the way. Poor 
 me, with the best intentions in the world ! I 
 
 came from Paradise to console " 
 
 Severne (scornfully). — " From Paradise ? " 
 
 Mrs. Lepell (bending low). — "Poor me! again. 
 
 Thanks for the charming compliment. Well, I 
 
 must go back to one or other of those two places. 
 
 Better, certainly, she did not come, if she has
 
 THE CHARADES. 175 
 
 been filling up her hours of sorrow with the 
 miserable distractions of society and flirtation " — 
 (the spectre now assuming a very scoffing tone) 
 — "I leave you the dear little boy, in his jacket 
 and frill, looking on at his pantomime. Sweet in- 
 nocence — how charming, how delightful a picture 
 — what a pastoral life — going to college — elected 
 a member of parliament, and going into society, 
 and all the time a little boy. Adieu, adieu ! 
 Will it not have its sugarstick, or will it tell its 
 papa of the naughty unfeeling spectre that came 
 to trouble him and make it cry, perhaps ? Dry 
 its eyes. It is, it is all real gold and silver. It 
 is, indeed. Adieu ! " — and with a scornful laugh 
 the strange vision disappeared. 
 
 " By the Lord," said Lord John, almost 
 aloud; "she is one! how she gave it to him — 
 turned him inside out. Did you ever hear 
 such a scolding ? " But to say the truth, the 
 company were puzzled to know what it all 
 meant. " It was uncommon clever, you know, 
 but what was all that about the boy at a 
 pantomime — a very smart creature ? — and
 
 176 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STKEET. 
 
 she made him out rather a poor figure, you 
 know/^ 
 
 Sir John was greatly pleased, and understood 
 it fairly. " Well, you see, ma'am, she's a very 
 clever creature, and Harry and she are always at 
 it. A little sparring, and I declare I think she 
 sent him to the wall, ma'am. As clever and 
 deeply read a woman as youM pick out. She's 
 now at work, ma'am, on a fine hook, good, 
 old, solid reading. Bishop Digby — my ancestor's 
 Short Way with the Dissenters — I'm dying to 
 hear her on it. I expect she'll talk like a 
 bishop.^^ 
 
 Mrs. Severne, the charming mother, looked 
 disturbed and annoyed. She did not seem to 
 enjoy it, like Sir John, and indeed it must be 
 said that there was an indistinct impression 
 abroad that, in Sir John's phrase, *' our friend 
 there had cut rather a shy figure, you know." 
 
 And while they were getting ready for the 
 third piece, it was thus freely criticised. 
 
 Lady Hall, though, had seen some life in town, 
 and took a kind of surprised and amused tone.
 
 THE CHARADES. 177 
 
 which, it may be added, is a dangerous weapon if 
 skilfully used. 
 
 *' Really," she said, " it is quite surprising, a 
 jjerson to be so much at home before such a 
 crowd. I should faint. It is so unusual you 
 know to meet it. You can't get people generally 
 to come forward in that way." 
 
 " Oh, she^s very clever," said Sir John, in pro- 
 found admiration; "knows the world so well." 
 
 " So I should say," the lady answered, with a 
 smile ; " it's a great treat. I never saw such a 
 thing before, and so severe, and ready with her 
 sharp things. I must take care not to quarrel 
 with herJ* 
 
 VOL. I
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 FRESH ARRIVALS. 
 
 The Barrister was now very busy behind " the 
 scenes " (as it was complimentarily called, though 
 there were no scenes properly), getting ready 
 "for their turn." To say the truth, he and Mr. 
 Canby, and the Miss Fentons, pronounced that 
 that last scene " rather hung fire, you see." It 
 was rather too metaphysical; and that sort of 
 thing didn't do for charades — all that " hair- 
 splitting " and special pleading ; yoa must have 
 " business." 
 
 *' Never mind," said the Barrister ; " can't be 
 helped — we must put our shoulders to the wheel, 
 and stir 'em up this time. Look here, Canby ; 
 I've a capital notion, only just come into m}- 
 head. I'm to come rushing in, carrying a jug of 
 milk, and not see you, and come bolt against you,
 
 FRESH ARRIVALS. 179 
 
 and then we must both tumble over together, and 
 smash the jug — and you'll see how they'll roar. 
 We had it at Lady Oysterman's, and thought 
 they'd never stop laughin'." 
 
 The reader will, no doubt, have guessed the 
 two syllables of this clever charade. " Inn " 
 was, of course, the first, and a very little consi- 
 deration will help them to the second. " It was 
 uncommonly good," every one said — Inn, the 
 hotel, you know, and spectre, a ghost coming 
 back from the other world. But how would they 
 manage the " whole — Inspector ? " 
 
 *' Oh, my dear," said one country old lady; 
 "leave it to them; they'll manage it, I warrant 
 you, never fear ; they're clever enough." 
 
 And this was the way they managed it — at a 
 railway- station ; there was an idea. It was the 
 cleverest, com'pletest thing " you ever saw in the 
 whole course of your life." You'd just fancy you 
 were walking into the waiting-room at Datchle}', 
 and the whole thing positively " knocked up," as 
 Mr. Canby assured us, with his own lips, " in less 
 than half an hour." But the secret is, you know, 
 
 N 2
 
 180 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 "you must have an eye for this sort of thing.*' 
 You hit it off at once, or miss at once ; whereas 
 common bunglers, with all the painters and car- 
 penters in the universe, and a whole month, 
 would break down. Strictly speaking, there was 
 nothing special ; but it was the air of a station — 
 everything was perfect, even to the newsman, who 
 was done by the Barrister, who, indeed, did fifty 
 characters, with a surprising versatility, and who 
 called " Times, Post, Telegraph, and mornin' 
 pipers " — observe " pipers " — enough, as a coun- 
 try gentleman remarked, " to make you split." 
 What shall be said when he came in as an 
 elderly passenger, with a white hat, carrying a 
 heap of luggage, which he dropped again and 
 again, and had a dispute with a porter ? " Now, 
 that was as like what youM hear on the platform 
 as 'you could guess." But what was this to his 
 sudden change ? When he came on again, 
 having merely turned up the collar of his coat 
 and painted on a number, he was there utterly 
 changed — an inspector, with the hall-bell in his 
 hand, and calling, *' Take your seats, please ; now
 
 FRESH ARRIVALS. 181 
 
 then, tickets, please ; passengers for London, 
 Liverpool, and the Bilberry Junction. Take 
 your seats.'' The capital he made out of this 
 feat was, indeed, surprising ; the vivacity — the 
 constant current of conversation, or rather mono- 
 logue, he kept up was extraordinary. Indeed, 
 Mr. Canby, who had laboriously got himself up 
 in a porter's dress, had at times to remonstrate 
 under his breath — '•' Oh, I say, confound it, do 
 give a fellow a chance you know." But this 
 chance Mr. Canby never got. He had not that 
 readiness which is born of constant practice; 
 although he had, with great toil in his own 
 chamber, elaborated some jests about " bujBfers " 
 and "bilers," which did not get the fair play 
 they ought to have had, and were overborne by 
 
 the obstreperous raillery of the Barrister , 
 
 who, as the applause rose, grew more and 
 more grasping, — almost forgot his partners — 
 gave no time for a word in reply, and carried 
 the whole thing through on his own shoulders. 
 He was everything and everywhere, and in the 
 grand melee which wound it up, when the pas-
 
 182 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 sengers, all growing riotous, crowded round the 
 " Inspector " in a perfect Babel of tongues, 
 nothing could be happier than the speech he 
 made them — all impromptu, of course — and 
 nothing could be neater than the allusion to the 
 Hall at the end : 
 
 "My head's quite goin'," said the Barrister; 
 " there's about fifty parcels and 'ampers inside, 
 d rected to Sir John Digby. O ! Digby. Ah, 
 there's a man for you, a true gent ! Ladies and 
 gents, Fve dined there once or tivice " (great 
 laughter; a country gentleman explains to his 
 wife — "Capital. You know he dines there every 
 day,'0 — " ^^<i J^^ never saw such 'ospitality. A 
 splendid fust-class engine that, sir — good, solid, 
 sound work — no tricks in him. Goes as steady 
 as a rock ; and, ladies and gents, I hope that 'ere 
 engine '11 continue to run on the Digby line for 
 many and many a long year to come." 
 
 Could anything be neater or happier ? It was 
 capital. It was hard to say whether the applause 
 was for Sir John or for that clever Barrister, of 
 whom the country gentleman again prophesied —
 
 FRESH ARRIVALS. 183 
 
 " Mark my words, that young fellow will be on 
 the bench yet." 
 
 The company now broke up. The soft tones 
 of the harmonium were heard from behind the 
 curtains; Miss Fenton had run to it under a 
 happy inspiration, swelling out our noble National 
 Anthem, which " makes every true Briton's heart 
 beat, sir;" and, it might be added, is recognised by 
 those who have not a note of music in their con- 
 stitution. On the harmonium, however, it be- 
 came a little hard to distinguish from the Old 
 Hundredth. 
 
 They poured out of " The Theatre "—so we 
 may call it still, slight compliment enough after 
 such labours. There was to be a supper in the 
 small dining-room; and here was Captain Philips 
 very fresh and in good humour, after a short nap 
 and a tranquilhsing smoke — " for once in his 
 life he had got a fair cigar at the moment he 
 wanted it" — and he was now well inclined for 
 " his " supper. 
 
 The guests were really delighted. " I assure 
 you, I have seen worse at a London Theatre."
 
 184 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 " I can tell you, that young man would make his 
 fortune on the boards." Happy young man, who 
 had thus no less than two careers before him, 
 and the very highest places in those careers. 
 
 There was to be a sort of dance after the sup- 
 per. The young barrister came down modestly 
 among the crowd, and was followed wonderingly 
 by many rustic eyes. " There he is," he heard 
 many times as he passed. " Look, my dear." 
 He was just like you or me, or any one else. It 
 is only weak natures that are overset by triumphs 
 of this sort. 
 
 *' O you are very good to say so, just a little 
 thing knocked up in half an hour. If one had 
 had time you know. But, I must say, we pulled 
 through very fairly." 
 
 There, too, were the Miss Fentons, who had 
 kept on their dress of office, the charming bar- 
 maid, for whom rustic youths sighed, and to 
 whom they were introduced with hot cheeks 
 and much confusion. Captain Philips sauntered 
 about with an air of amused tolerance. 
 
 ** I am sure it was all very grand. I can take
 
 FRESH ARRIVALS. 185 
 
 your word for it. It was, of course, the finest 
 thing ever done on any stage. Our friend there, 
 of course distinguished himself. The Lord 
 Chancellor will hear of it, and make him At- 
 torney-General. Between you and me, this is 
 the worst ordered house I ever was in — not Sir 
 John's fault, of course. But, I bet you half a 
 sovereign, those beasts of servants have supper 
 cooling on the table, and don't think it worth 
 theii' while to come and tell us, I suppose jab- 
 bering over this tomfoolery." 
 
 The Captain was quite right, for in all matters 
 connected with the table, he had an instinct that 
 was almost certainty. 
 
 But for the charming vision who had been so 
 witty, so piquant, and — though the gauze had 
 such an air of divine spirituality — the graceful 
 creature, who had played, with such a just title to 
 the part, the comforter from the skies — hers 
 was the real triumph of the night. She shrank 
 from wearing that graceful white robe, with the gold 
 edging, as entailing almost too great a publicity. 
 
 " Dont ask vie, please," she said, almost pite-
 
 186 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 ously. " I dont like ; and after all he said and 
 did. Oh, I must have lost my head.^^ Well, 
 surely we could compound the matter — concede 
 something; and it was agreed that the head- 
 dress — the gold fillet and the hair down on the 
 shoulders, should be retained, as a concession to 
 public feeling. How the rustic eyes followed her as 
 she walked through the crowd on Sir Jolm's arm. 
 
 " You did it really very well, ma'am — so un- 
 common ready ; and you touched him up nicely. 
 It made me laugh. I assure you a month of 
 that sort of thing will do him — good training, 
 you know — teach him to put down those infernal 
 flippant Eadicals." 
 
 "Ah, Sir John, what. praise ! You overpower 
 me ! It's too kind of you ! But he / Oh, Sir 
 John, I am so sorry I did it, for he will never 
 forgive me — never." 
 
 "Tut, tut," said Sir John, in high good humour; 
 '• to be sure he will. And he shall, too. Let us 
 go and find him now. Tell me now, where did 
 you pick it up ? For. to tell you the truth, L 
 didn't believe, you know- "
 
 FRESH ARRIVALS. 187 
 
 "Exactly, Sir John. I didn^t think myself. 
 I suppose," said she, a little slyly, and putting 
 back the long hair; "I was reading, Sir John, a 
 chapter of your bishop, just before dinner; and 
 I believe I must have caught up some of his 
 smart capital style " 
 
 Sir John stopped to laugh loudly. " Oh, good, 
 good, good," he said. "What! reading 'The 
 Short Way ? ' I knew you^d like it. Yery good 
 indeed. I am glad of this. And so jou picked 
 up those smart things from the bishop, eh ? Sly 
 of you though." 
 
 " Oh, it was dehghtful. Sir John. So funny, 
 too.'^ 
 
 Sir John became grave and almost discom- 
 posed. 
 
 *'I mean so lively and severe. Do you re- 
 member. Sir John, where he says how dreadful 
 Dissenters, ai'e? Now let me remember the exact 
 words. Yes — ' The very Black Beetles of Sedi- 
 tion that creep, yea and crawl over this fair land 
 of England.' Is not that good. Sir John ? " 
 
 " Oh, fine, fine," answered Sir John, " and
 
 188 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 how you [pick it up — how very good ! the Black 
 Beetles — so they are." 
 
 " Oh, and again, Sir John — let me think," she 
 went on, putting her hand to her forehead to 
 recollect. " Ah, yes, where he says that those 
 who would introduce forms, you know, Sir John, 
 and ceremonies into our holy churches, they do 
 remind me of those young sparks in our civil 
 train bands, who ape the air and bearing of His 
 Majesty's troops." 
 
 Sir John looked at her with wonder. "She 
 has it by heart," he cried. " Upon my word you 
 delight and surprise me, ma'am. I tell you what 
 Fll do ; I'll write to London to-morrow morning, 
 and you must let me get you down a little pre- 
 sent. I must gratify myself in this — not a word. 
 I'll just write to Johnson, a smart fellow in Pic- 
 cadilly, and make him hunt high and low, and 
 scour London for a copy of the bishop ; and you 
 must leave me your address, and he'll send it ; 
 but it's very scarce." 
 
 We may conceive how gratifying was this to 
 our heroine. The bishop was scarce, and " un-
 
 FRESH ARRIVALS. 189 
 
 told gold," according to Sir John. She thought 
 for the moment, though, from the manner and 
 form of words used, that it was to have been an 
 ornament, or some such vulgar decoration. Dis- 
 appointed; no 
 
 And here was Severne. " Come here, sir," 
 said Sir John, in high good humour. " Come, 
 sir, show yourself to this lady. She's done you 
 a world of good already." 
 
 Mrs. Lepell shrank away. "0, he will not 
 speak to me, and no wonder. I lost my head. I 
 did indeed. I forgot what I was about, and said 
 such things." 
 
 There was an air of vexation about Severne 
 mixed with an attempt at good humour. " Good 
 gracious ! " said he, " how — why? Surely it was 
 all fun. You had the best of it, certainly ; but 
 then, to tell you the truth, I was taken by 
 surprise." 
 
 " Indeed I saw that," she said, sadly, " as well 
 you might be. Oh, some wicked spirit came and 
 took possession of me." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! " laughed Sir John, " then I can
 
 190 SEVENTY-FIVE BKOOKE STREET. 
 
 tell you what that was. Onl}^ think, my boy, that 
 was all the bishop.^' 
 
 " The bishop ! " said Severne, in wonder. 
 
 '' The bishop's doing. ' The Short Way,' my 
 friend ; she's full of it. Has it by heart. Can 
 say it backwards. Can't be kept from it — say 
 that, ma'am, about the black beetles for him.'' 
 
 *' that's it,'' said Severne, with a strange 
 look in his eyes, and in perfect good humour 
 now. *'Dear me, so that explains it. Devour- 
 ing the bishop ! ' The Short Way '—ha, ha ! " 
 
 Mrs. Lepell put aside her hair, and looked at 
 him with that calm steady gaze of misunder- 
 standing, which she sometimes used on such 
 occasions. " No," she said, shaking her head, 
 " I can't follow. He laughs at me for reading 
 serious books. Sir John, I am sure at this mo- 
 ment he thinks I am iwetending. And yet I 
 would put this book into his hand this moment, 
 and let him examine me as they do at Oxford. 
 Is there any crime in us poor women reading 
 these serious books ? As the poor bishop said, 
 '' we poor women are in the militia, Sir John,
 
 FRESH ARRIVALS. 191 
 
 and I suppose Mr. Severne thinks we are aping 
 the line." 
 
 Sir John nearly fell down with laughter at this 
 clever turn. " O, now you may give up, Harry/ 
 he said : " you can't do it, you know. She's too 
 much for you — there, Mrs. Lepell, go with him 
 and get your supper comfortably. There's roast 
 wild duck down here. I must look after my 
 Lady Hall.*' 
 
 There was a pause. Severne gave her his 
 arm. 
 
 *' Sir John is right," he said ; " you are too 
 much for me. The fact I confess at once. I 
 am all out. I am a mere babe in judging.'' 
 
 Mrs. Lepell looked round nervously. " Now," 
 said she, " I can speak. And oh I I was longing 
 to speak to you quietly, and without any one 
 being by." 
 
 " 0, goodness, why should you think of that?" 
 he said. " Much more to the point. Here we 
 are at the ducks. Will you have a wing ? " 
 
 "Anything — any part," said she, in the same 
 hopeless tone, and holding out her pLite. " You
 
 192 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 don't understand me/' she said, " as you say, 
 most truly; and it is most natural you should 
 not. I don't expect any one to take the trouble. 
 Why should I ? But I merely wanted to explain. 
 You thought I was forward, unfeminine, smart, 
 flippant, and all the rest of it. You did, I know. 
 I saw it in your face.'' 
 
 '* That most expressive face." 
 
 ''Well, yes," she said, calmly, "if you like; 
 but I merely want to explain, and We shall not 
 say anything more after this ; and you can believe 
 me or not, as you please." 
 
 " dear me," he said. " Why, this is the play 
 going on still." 
 
 " Yes, believe me or not, as you please. You 
 don't believe me about that book of Sir John's. 
 You know you don't. I can't help that. But I 
 wish to say this — I assure you, when I stepped 
 upon that stage to-night, I no more meant to 
 speak in that way — and I say this from my heart 
 —than I— than I " 
 
 Sev.erne waited a moment. " That form is 
 always hard to finish," he said, smiling, " unless.
 
 FRESH ARRIVALS. 193 
 
 indeed, you can bring in that something unborn, 
 who has done such duty before now '^ 
 
 Other guests at the supper were looking at 
 her almost Pagan figure, the fillet and the long 
 hair, and the tragedy-earnestness in her eyes. 
 He saw she was a little put out at his coldness 
 and wit, and was pleased. 
 
 " Just let me finish then," she answered, " and 
 you can make fun of me then as much as you 
 like. When I stood there, everything .came 
 rushing on me — your manifest dislike to me from 
 the first " 
 
 " Goodness, Mrs. Lepell ! " 
 
 " Yes ; let me finish — your repugnance to let 
 me into the house — a mere wanderer — an adven- 
 turess, perhaps — though recollect. Sir John knows 
 all our family. Your making me an object for 
 that keen wit which Mr. Severne means later to 
 treat the House of Commons to, and those little 
 whispers about poor me, and my reading ' The 
 Short Way,' which is one of kind Sir John's most 
 natural hobbies — I say I thought of all this, at 
 that single moment, and I could not resist trying, 
 
 TOL. I.
 
 194 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 you know, Mr. Severne, in my weak way, to 
 make some little defence. I was very absurd, 
 and very foolish, and very pert and arrogant — 
 whatever you like — and I can only beg pardon 
 very humbly." 
 
 And a portly gentleman, in a white waistcoat, 
 with a plate in his hand which he was trying to 
 get. rid of over somebody's shoulder, saw the 
 brilliant lady whom he had so admired on the 
 stage, with a suppliant expression, and her hands 
 put together in an attitude of prayer. 
 
 " Good gracious ! " said Severne. " Nonsense 
 —now don't. Why you make too much of every- 
 thing. I wanted to turn you out of the house ! . 
 Nothing of the kind. As you ask me, I do say 
 I don't quite believe in your frantic enthu- 
 siasm for * The Short Way.' But now, admit I 
 am not to be in the best and most favourable of 
 humours, after the public attack you made upon 
 me — which, however, I don't complain of, as I 
 brought it on myself." 
 
 " Very well," said Mrs. Lepell, hastily; "let us 
 say no more ; you have humiliated me in addition
 
 FKESH AERIVALS. 195 
 
 by making me ask i^arclon. That fat gentleman 
 going away saw me. No matter. It is another 
 lesson. Let us he on the old terms until I go, 
 at least." 
 
 " What do you call the old terms," he said 
 much interested, '^ a kind of half and half tole- 
 ration — neither war nor peace? " 
 
 " Give me a little of that duck, please," said 
 she, very pleasantly; "away with sentiment. No, 
 I prefer war. No half-and-half measures with 
 me. It must he war or peace, Mr. Severne. So, 
 make up your mind." 
 
 He paused. 
 
 " Do you know," said he, " and forgive me 
 for saying it, that you are a very extraordinary^ 
 person ? " 
 
 " Another compliment," said she, smiling. 
 " Could you get me a little wine, Mr. 
 Severne ? " 
 
 *' I mean," he said, hastily, " an out-of-the 
 way character — one that you don't meet every 
 day." 
 
 " A crime ? " said Mrs. Lepell.
 
 196 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 " No," he said, gravety. " As for war ; no, 
 of course not, or rather — let me think it 
 over." 
 
 " There's Lord John," said she, eagerly. 
 " Hes my friend ! Ah, Lord John, I saw you 
 applauding — it was very good of you ! " 
 
 "It was," replied Lord John. "Come with 
 me now, and take a turn round the place, I want 
 to talk to you. You have done enough to him ! 
 Here, take this arm." 
 
 " Delighted, Lord John," she said, and put- 
 ting her plate into Severne's hand, went off 
 eagerly, leaving him a little astonished. 
 
 " I am quite pleased with you, you know," 
 said his lordship ; "3'ou're an uncommon game- 
 some creature, and the way you dressed up that 
 lad delighted me." 
 
 "Everybody is telling me this. Lord John," 
 she said, with a look of pain, " and I can't make 
 it out. Surely it was only a play." 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Innocence," he said, laying his 
 hnger to his nose ; " that does well enough for the 
 soft ones. Oh, you're a deep little sharp-shooter ;
 
 FRESH ARRIVALS. 197 
 
 you were not brought up on gruel and weak 
 tea." 
 
 "Now, Lord John/' she said, gravel}', "none 
 of these freedoms. I had to scold you to-day, 
 recollect." 
 
 " Oh, my dear !" said Lord John, putting on a 
 low bass voice, highly comical — " of course — of 
 course, to be sure, I kiss the rod that smites me, 
 and a very nice rod it is — eh ?" 
 
 Mrs. Lepell took no notice of this. 
 
 "Who are you, now?" said Lord John, in a 
 gay, airy way (he had been obliged to " oil " his 
 throat all that night. He felt, he said, as if 
 he was in a flour-mill). "Confide in me — in 
 ' Pappa Johnny,' as some young friends of mine 
 in Paris used to call me. It was very pretty to 
 hear them trying the English in an infantine way 
 — 'Pap-pa Jeanny;* all tricks, j^ou know, but it 
 was very nice. Come, tell me now about yourself. 
 Where do you come from? Who are you? There 
 has been some little fun in your life, my dear girl. 
 Better out with it at once. By the Jingo, that'll 
 come for me one of these davs in a black coach
 
 198 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 with sulphur and brimstone — ril make it out 
 for myself. Now I'm serious : I give you fair 
 warning, my Httle child." 
 
 Mrs. Lepell drew her arm away quickly, and 
 looked at him courageously. 
 
 "I am sure you are not in earnest. Lord John. 
 You could not speak in that way to anyone, if you 
 were serious. Speak so, sir, if you like, to the 
 creatures you taught to call you ' Pappa Johnny:' 
 hut not to an English lady, whose helpless hus- 
 band lies sick up-stairs, unable to protect her." 
 
 Lord John dropped back in a sort of convulsion 
 of delight, and caught at the wall. " If she goes 
 on, she'll kill me ! This goes beyond all the 
 beyonds ! Why, you beat Pappa Johnny to sticks. 
 You'd sew us all in a sack, before I could say 'Jack 
 Robinson.' Well, I won't worry you ; but, hang 
 it, why can't you gratify a curious and engaging 
 young creature like me ? You see, my dear, I 
 wouldn't for the world pry into female history — 
 the Lord forbid and guard us !" added his lord- 
 ship, in a chanting tone ; '* but, you see, the way 
 is, I know every man, woman, and child on God's
 
 FRESH ARRIVALS. 199 
 
 earth for the hast twent}^ j-ears — every soldier, 
 horse and foot — every Jack traveller, man and 
 child — men of all kinds, shapes, sizes, and 
 classes ; and women — well, hem ! — no matter 
 ahout that (see how nice I'm behaving — I'll be 
 saved yet, my dear). "Well now, knowing all this, 
 and with such opportunity — why, the What's-his- 
 name himself, my master — ahem ! — must be in it, 
 if the story doesn't get to me in some way of itself, 
 without my moving a limb or stirring a hand. 
 Dont you see that, my dear ? Think it over. As 
 it is, I have put two and two together already." 
 
 He paused. A little trouble and uncertainty 
 came into her face, and her eyes fell upon the 
 ground. Lord John smiled and winked to him- 
 self. They were walking along one of the long 
 galleries that ran round the house, and were 
 coming into the hall. 
 
 " Why, what in the name of gluttony," said 
 Lord John, "is all this about ? Trunks coming 
 in, and women's trunks, too. Ask Pappa Johnny 
 to tell you the difference. Who is running from 
 the bailiffs now ? More company coming to gorge.
 
 200 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 God help the host. My dear, I congratulate you, 
 heart and soul, body and bones. You'll be top- 
 sawyer in this house, if you play your cards well. 
 Why, old Sir John there, you'll twist him about 
 your thumb like a bit of black ribbon ; and as for 
 that donkey, Severne, you rolled his nose in the 
 mud. Well, well, my dear ; but I forgot our poor, 
 poor helpless husband lying up stairs, sir. ' You 
 dare not do it, sir!* Capital ! Ha, ha ! You'll be all 
 right bere, my dear; and — here's more, I declare. 
 Here they come, after their trunks ! Duncan, who 
 in the name of Satan is coming in now?" 
 
 Duncan answered, as if this was the correct 
 form by which servants of quality should be 
 addressed — " The ladies, sir, that have been 
 expected — Mrs. Palmer, sir." 
 
 *' Good again," said Lord John, " I must have 
 a good stare at them as they come in. Would you, 
 sir?" — this to a stout gentleman, and lady as 
 stout, who were coming from " their " supper in 
 great good-humour. 
 
 Through the open hall -door came a rather 
 tall and slight ladj^ sweeping the oak hall with a
 
 FRESH ARRIVALS. 201 
 
 large Indian shawl. Behind her walked timidly 
 a young girl, tall also, with black hair and rather 
 brilliant cheeks. The wondering company, idle, 
 and listeners — stopped to stare, and almost made 
 a sort of lane. 
 
 Duncan came to Lord John : 
 
 " Would you, my lord," he said — '' I can't find 
 Mr. Severne or Sir John — would you speak to 
 the ladies, sir, while I run and look ? " 
 
 " All right," said Lord John, and again with a 
 " Will you, my good sir ?" to the stout gentleman 
 in front, was making towards the two ladies, who 
 were standing irresolute. Suddenly Lord John 
 drew back and turned away sharpl}-, "By the 
 Immortal !" he said. "What the devil !" 
 
 He drew away Mrs. Lepell, and walked down 
 the gallery, smiling and muttering to himself, 
 "God Almighty! after tliat — among decent 
 women, too \" 
 
 Mrs. Lepell wondered. " You know them, Lord 
 John ? '^ she asked. 
 
 He did not hear her, and was smiling to himself, 
 "Well! well!" Then he suddenly stopped and
 
 202 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 released his arm. " My dear woman," he said, "you 
 know the road — on as straight as a whip. Follow 
 that nice little nose of yours. I've something to 
 do — letters to write, of course." 
 
 He left her there ; but he was wrong. She did 
 not know the road ; and now, here was Severne 
 hurrying down from the other end. 
 
 '*I have lost my waj^/' she said, smiling, "and 
 Lord John has very unhandsomely " 
 
 "Did you hear they had come?'' he asked, 
 hastily. " Which way ? Where are they — in the 
 hall ? Quick ! Ah, I see," and he was gone in 
 a moment. 
 
 And a charming little speech about " our 
 reconciliation" perished on her lips. She was 
 annoyed by these two ungallant desertions ; and, 
 indeed, she saw that Severne was now possessed 
 with but one thought — the brilliant creature (for 
 Mrs. Lepell had to own this to herself) who had 
 arrived that night. 
 
 But already it was breaking up. The carriages 
 were galloping on the gravel. There was a crowd 
 of fluttering figures in the hall. There were the
 
 FRESH ARRIVALS. 203 
 
 heartiest and most grateful good-byes. The 
 young barrister is shawling, or rather, to use his 
 own droll phrase, *' opera-cloaking" a young lady ; 
 and we can see one of the stout gentlemen of the 
 country speak to him. 
 
 " My name is Barrow, sir. You delighted me, 
 sir. Excuse me, but if you are down here again, 
 hope you will look in at Barrow^cliff. We shall 
 see you on the woolsack yet, sir." 
 
 " You do me proud, sir," the young man 
 answered, in a pleasant and humorous way; 
 " and when I am sitting in the House, if you 
 have any little case, we'll manage it, and coach it 
 through;" and the young advocate laid his finger 
 to his nose with infinite humour. , 
 
 " Ha, ha ! very good, sir." 
 
 And going home in the carriage, he entertained 
 " his ladies " with an account of the interview. 
 It was a very pleasant night indeed. It was 
 known that there were two *'new Jadies" arrived, 
 but they had gone straight to their rooms.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE NEW GUESTS. 
 
 At breakfast, the next morning, every one was 
 looking anxiously for the new arrivals. They 
 were a little late, and came in with Severne, who 
 introduced them in a perfect flutter. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer had a firm, steady face, with glossy 
 black hair, laid very flat to her forehead, which 
 gave her an almost " hard" look. Her eyes were 
 quick, and periodically travelled from face to face. 
 The flat, black hair she often smoothed, during 
 which operation she did not droop her eyes, as 
 some may do ; but peeped through her fingers as 
 if they were chinks — at least, Lord John was 
 heard to vow to his God that he had caught her 
 very often. 
 
 But more troubled and restless eyes were bent 
 on the daughter. The Miss Fentons looked at
 
 THE NEW GUESTS. 205 
 
 her askance, and with suspicion. This gorgeous- 
 ness of colour, brilliancy of eyes — so wonderful 
 — were dangerous. When she spoke, her voice 
 was like a stream of music ; but she kept so 
 tranquil and composed and unexcited, that a 
 gleam of hope came to them, and they began 
 secretly and joyfully to entertain the idea that 
 she was a girl who could only fall into attitudes, 
 and " look pretty." We must recollect that 
 these poor Fentons, like the little Arabs and 
 *' codgers'' of the street, had their wits prema- 
 turely sharpened, and were trained never to lose 
 a chance. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer, the mamma, was a " comfortable 
 woman," and eat with great heartiness — speaking 
 as she went on : 
 
 " This is most kind of you. Sir John Digby," 
 she said, " and we are so glad to see Mr. Severne 
 strong again. We had some very pleasant weeks 
 when he was with us. We can only stay a couple 
 of days. Sir John, and must pack up our camp- 
 kettles on the day after to-morrow — mind, dear, 
 you have notice."
 
 206 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 Mrs. Lepell caught Captain Philips' eye, and 
 smiled at him — perhaps an incredulous smile. 
 Mrs. Palmer saw it, and went on quite calmly. 
 
 *' We knew a very witty Frenchman," she said, 
 *' Baron Mole, who had been an envoy in Italy, 
 who said that vampires were all fables and non- 
 sense ; but that the real vampire was the guest 
 that was going every day, but remained every day. 
 What was that story he told us, dear, of the 
 French Countess that got thrown from her horse 
 at his palace-door, and was convalescent every 
 night in time for dinner, but had a relapse every 
 morning, and stayed six weeks altogether ? " 
 
 This anecdote — accidental, no doubt — came in 
 very awkwardly ; but did not make Mrs. Palmer 
 feel awkward. 
 
 "Would you be kind enough?" she said to 
 Mrs. Lepell across the table, "just that clotted 
 cream near you. Captain Philips has been 
 praising it so " 
 
 This was given like an order; and Mrs. Lepell, 
 in some haste dropped the knife, &c., off the 
 plate.
 
 THE NEW GUESTS. 207 
 
 Now entered Lord John. " You have left a 
 trifle, I hope, for a hungry man. Ain't I early, 
 eh ? I'll save my soul, my boy — cold pheasant, 
 yes — save my soul and be sitting in Paradise yet, 
 with a crown on my head, when all the bishops 
 are howling. Mrs. L., there's room next you, I 
 see — down here^ I mean — ha, ha ! " 
 
 "I say," said Sir John, " you see we have new 
 friends — Mrs. Palmer, Lord John Raby — IMiss 
 Palmer, Lord John." 
 
 Both ladies bowed with ceremony. Lord 
 John nodded to Mrs. Palmer, but stared at Miss 
 Palmer. 
 
 " I saw you come in last night," he said to her. 
 " Funny time to arrive, wasn't it ? with the 
 
 fiddles scraping like all the cats in ahem ! — 
 
 broke loose. What did you take us for ? " 
 
 The young lady looked at him gravelj^, and 
 with a repulsion so unconcealed, that, as was 
 evident to all round, it made his lordship blush a 
 little. 
 
 " Are we Tonga Islanders ? " said he, rather 
 wickedly, " or have I seven heads ? Will you
 
 208 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 count 'em, please ? How you do look at me ! 
 What's the matter, now ? " 
 
 The colour came to the young lady's face very 
 fiercely. 
 
 " I did not understand your allusion," she 
 said. " It is, as you say, the language of the 
 Tonga Islanders to me." 
 
 "My dear!" said her mother, with warning; 
 then in a whisper to Lord John—" She is so im- 
 pulsive — flames up at the least word." 
 
 Severne had just come in and stood at the 
 door, listening. There was great delight, and 
 almost pride, in his face — as, indeed, Mrs. Lepell 
 and Lord John saw. 
 
 Lord John said nothing, but turned to his 
 neighbour — " Look at hiiiij' he said. " Just look 
 at his soft sucking looks of love. There'll be 
 fine work by-and-by, mark me. He's taken it 
 hot and strong, he has." 
 
 That day, however, was a day of departures. 
 Captain Philips was " obliged to go." If he re- 
 mained, as he told Lord John, in what was little 
 better than an open shed, he might as well take
 
 THE NEW GUESTS. 209 
 
 to his bed ; as it was, among them all, with their 
 l)as3ages and infernal baronial nonsense, they 
 liad left him the beginnings of a lumbago for 
 next spring. 
 
 " Take my advice," he said to Sir John, " and 
 do get the thing modernised — these passages cut 
 up, and double doors everywhere. Of course it's 
 no affair of mine, but they'll be bringing in man- 
 slaughter against you, if you don't mind, one of 
 these fine mornings. I've had a knife down my 
 back ever since I came." 
 
 Sir John never knew how to answer this cool 
 officer, though he did not like his tone. 
 
 " Not offended, I hope," said Philips. " You 
 know it ain't my affair noiv. If every guest you 
 had were bellowing with rheumatics, of course 
 that would be their own business. Good-bye 1 
 Now driver, don't dawdle, but touch up your 
 cattle well." 
 
 The Dean went also ; so did the young officer 
 who had caused such uneasiness in the shootinof 
 to Captain Philips. Selby remained for "one 
 more day'' though he had fixed on going. 
 VOL. I. ' r
 
 210 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 "You may as well," was Sir John's sincere, 
 though careless invitation. " There's no one for 
 your room, and we shall be glad to have you, sir 
 — so please yourself." 
 
 But the fact was, Mrs. Lepell had met him in 
 the corridor which had been so fatally "draughty" 
 to Captain Philips. . 
 
 " Are you sorry, Mr. Selby," she said, with grief, 
 " at leaving us ? " 
 
 " Yes," he had said, nervously, " I have been 
 here too long. I am not wanted. I must go. 
 No one will miss me ? " 
 
 This was put as a question. 
 
 " Oh, yes," answered she, gravely, " I shalh I 
 tell you so, Mr. Selby. And I would like you to 
 stay — I really would. You are one of my friends 
 — a very small circle, recollect — so I like to keep 
 them about me." 
 
 Her look was so open, and there was such 
 candour in this avowal, that Selby was hardly 
 pleased. He would have preferred less speech 
 and more confusion. 
 
 " I should like to remain," he said, irresolutely.
 
 THE NEW GUESTS. 211 
 
 " Good-bye, then, if you must go," said Mrs. 
 Lepell, whose eyes had been wandering down 
 restlessly to the end of the gallery. " I hope we 
 shall see you again some of these days — good-bye." 
 
 " I should like to stay," said Selby, wistfully. 
 
 " Stay then," she said, with a little air of mys- 
 tery and confidence which was always very be- 
 coming to her. " Take my advice. There " — 
 and she was gone. Whoever was waiting, was, 
 no doubt, impatient. 
 
 Mr. Selby, of course, remained. 
 
 "WeU, Sir John," he said, " I should like to 
 stay, you know." 
 
 " All right," said Sir John, coolly. " Then tell 
 Duncan not to have the carriage round." 
 
 At lunch that day they all met again. The 
 ladies were present. Miss Palmer seemed every 
 moment to be growing in confidence. She talked, 
 in her low, musical voice, on subjects above the 
 common level, with an enthusiasm that was not 
 pedantic, and made every one listen. Even her 
 phrases and choice of words were more or less 
 exaggerated : and yet it was an exaggeration thai 
 
 p 2
 
 212 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 seemed only refreshingly quaint. A little sneer, 
 or contradiction only " warmed her up," as Lord 
 John said ; and she " put down " that nobleman 
 more than once in a very effective way. 
 
 Mrs. Lepell was silent, and looked at her 
 with surprise — not unnaturally, lifting her eye- 
 brows at this forwardness in one so young. 
 She was sitting next Sir John. 
 
 " What do you think of her — confidentially, 
 you know ? " said he. 
 
 Mrs. Lepell looked at him slyly. " May I tell 
 you ? " she asked, a little timorously. 
 
 *' Certainl}', ma'am," he said. 
 
 " Well, then, Sir John, she reminds me of 
 what a certain writer once said — a little wickedlj^ 
 — of a terrible man that flourished long ago. 
 * His tongue seemeth to caper hard against his 
 mind, but leaveth the latter-named in the 
 ditch.' " 
 
 Sir John laughed. *' Not bad," he said ; "but 
 where did you pick that up, ma'am ? " 
 
 " Where would you think. Sir John ? " and the 
 eyes fell demurely.
 
 THE NEW GUESTS. 213 
 
 Suddenly Sir John burst out with a laugh of 
 delight. " What ! not in the bishop, eh ? You 
 don't say so. Famous — capital! Oh, I must 
 tell that ! The tongue capering up to the mind, 
 and leaving the whole lot in the ditch. Now 
 that you do say it," added Sir John, listening to 
 Miss Palmer, "it hits our young friend off 
 exactly. Oh, after lunch, you must come into 
 the study and show me the very place ; and we'll 
 get down the bishop and have a good, long hour's 
 study at him." 
 
 Mrs. Lepell shook her head. " As for finding 
 that" she said, " it is a very big folio, recollect, 
 Sir John. Just turning over the leaves m}'' eye 
 fell on the passage." 
 
 Afterwards, Sir John put on his spectacles, 
 and took the book on his knees, as if it was 
 a child; and searched every page, but never 
 could find the remark. It was a pity, for many 
 visitors were deprived of the correct shape of 
 " one of the hest things you ever heard in the 
 whole course of your life. The soul and body 
 cutting capers together and tumbling into a 
 ditch!"
 
 214 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 As lie was laughing over this, and Lord John 
 was growling to his neighhour that it was only 
 one of the old two-penny-halfpenny jokes, a ser- 
 vant came in with a letter, and said that a man 
 on horseback was waiting to take back an answer. 
 Sir John turned it over again and again, and laid 
 it down on the table while he got out his glasses. 
 
 " Why," said he, " it^s from old George Lee ! 
 Did he say Mr. Lee had come back ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; came back last night.^' 
 
 "Phew! what's in the wind now?^' said Sir 
 
 John, reading. " I declare " he sto^^ped and 
 
 read. " Here, Duncan, get out the phaeton and 
 l^air, and tell the man I'll be over as soon as he is. 
 What can be up ? George Lee down from London, 
 when I thought he was speaking to the House of 
 Commons for his country — wants to see me on 
 particular business. Says he's not quite himself. 
 D'ye hear, Harry ? — I'm going over to Leefield — 
 what d'ye say to that, sir ? " 
 
 Severne, whispering in a low voice to Miss 
 Palmer, started. " Mr. Lee down here," he said. 
 " What can he want ? "
 
 THE NEW GUESTS. 215 
 
 "Never, mind, sir/^ said Sir John, rising, 
 *' We'll see to-night. Don't wait dinner for me, if 
 I don't turn up at seven. I have my suspicions — 
 but no matter. All in good time, my boy. I declare, 
 fancy Lee sending for me ! " 
 
 Sir John was gone, in good spirits. Severne 
 looked after him with a little disquiet. 
 
 " Who is this Mr. Lee," asked Mrs. Lepell, 
 softly. 
 
 " Member for the county," said Lord John. 
 " Hot and strong. Tory — rank to a degree — knock 
 you down — butcher every Whig in the country. 
 No wonder the baronet runs to him." 
 
 " I must go now,^' said Mrs. Lepell. " Nurse 
 is wanted;" and then went up to her sick husband. 
 
 He was much better that morning, and there 
 were hopes of " getting him'' down for a walk in 
 the sun, or, perhaps, an easy drive along the 
 smooth avenue. Nurse went up to her duty. 
 
 Selby looked after her with deep and sad ad- 
 miration, and said, " There was a faithful wife ! " 
 He never saw such unobtrusive, unostentatious 
 devotion !
 
 216 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 ** Such unobtrusive, unostentatious devotion !'' 
 repeated Lord John, looking at him from foot to 
 head. " That's a good one ! I suppose that can 
 be said of you, too. It's like the knights, ain't it? 
 Soul of honour, and all that. Not daring to lift 
 our eyes, you know, but still worshipping secretly 
 and virtuously, eh ? No harm in that ; eh, my 
 friend ? " 
 
 The broad-shouldered young man coloured. " I 
 never understand your jokes. Lord John," he said; 
 " and don't care to be made the subject of them.'^ 
 
 Lord John turned on him at once. *' Oh, don't 
 you?" he said. "But, my dear Knight Templar, 
 / never consult people on the matter. I give you 
 fair notice. If you wish to do battle for your 
 divine ladye, then with all my heart. There's the 
 bowling-green behind ! Come ! No ? My poor 
 boy," added his lordship, soothing, " don't let it 
 be angry or too thin-skinned. I say, look at him," 
 said Lord John, laughing loudly and pointing to 
 him. " I declare, if he ain't in earnest. Look at 
 his cheeks, I say ! Oh, by the Lord ! — this is 
 worth coming to Digby for ! "
 
 THE NEW GUESTS. 217 
 
 This was a malicious turn of his lordship's, who 
 was accustomed to fall thus savagely on any one 
 who crossed his humours. Selby was a little 
 awkward, and stood there glowing, and literally 
 not knowing how to answer.
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 A LONG DAY. 
 
 The snow had begun to fall. About two hours 
 later Mrs. Lepell came down looking for the 
 party, or for some of them, but could not find 
 them. The servant told her they were not out. 
 She tried the various large galleries, but without 
 success ; and, w^ondering very much, was about 
 going to the garden, when, as she passed the door 
 of one of the small rooms, she thought she heard 
 the sound of voices, or of a voice. It seemed to 
 her — oddly enough — as if some one was reading 
 prayers aloud for the household, like Sir John in 
 the morning. She opened the door and saw a 
 curious scene. A young girl, eager, excited, with 
 flushing cheeks and flashing eyes, was standing 
 up in the centre of the room, with a shawl draped 
 about her very picturesquely. The whole com-
 
 A LONG DAY. 219 
 
 pany was sitting round, and as Mrs. Lepell 
 entered somebody motioned to her with a hand, 
 to get to a chair and make no noise. Lord John 
 looked over at her, and patted the seat of one next 
 him, into which she accordingly stole — but with 
 some reluctance. 
 
 It was Miss Palmer reciting " Lady Clara Yere 
 de Vere" — it had come about in the most natural 
 way. Her mother had insisted — and she, know- 
 ing that delightful social truth, that nothing is 
 worth *' making a fuss about,^' had consented, 
 very naturally and without affectation, just to 
 amuse them until the snow was over. It was 
 really a dramatic performance, full of soul, and 
 earnestness, and feeling, with a deep and mourn- 
 ful pathos in her voice which touched them. 
 Severne's face was turned towards her with de- 
 light ; Selby's was looking down with suspicion ; 
 the mother's was full of pride. As soon as she 
 was done there was loud applause. 
 
 " Bravo ! " cried Lord John, aloud. " Kachel 
 couldn't touch it." Then, to Mrs. Lepell — " My 
 dear lad}^ you have onh^ come in time — this girl
 
 220 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 is gradually taking the wind out of your — I mean, 
 out of all our sails. Slie^s working up to be first 
 fiddle here/' 
 
 Mrs. Lepell bit her lips for a moment. Lord 
 John watched her, then said, quietly, — 
 
 " Well, after all, it's very much of the school- 
 room, this sort of thing. You should stand up, 
 my dear, and do your spouting-piece. You know 
 what I mean ; and, between ourselves, I liked the 
 way you put our friend yonder in the sack last 
 night fifty times better." 
 
 Then Miss Palmer was begged to give a little 
 more, which she did in the same good-natured wa}' . 
 
 She struck into the " Lament of a Jewess " — a 
 poem about one of that tribe who had been wooed 
 and won, and deserted, by a Christian. It was 
 written by " the Rev. Archer Longman," Canon 
 of Middlesex, and was called — 
 
 ** ESTHER. 
 
 ** Thus far on my road— the place is nigh — 
 
 The wretched Jewess wanders back to die ! 
 
 This is the spot, the grove, the little gate, 
 
 Where, of a summer eve, I used to wait, 
 
 Watching the dying sun — the netted trees 
 ****** 
 
 " Where is the winding path— the shady wood "
 
 A LONG DAY. 221 
 
 It went on in this strain for many lines. The 
 way she crawled and crouched, the fierce defiance 
 in her eye, the vengeance, the play of passions 
 were surprising. There was loud applause. 
 
 " Egad, we'll be nowhere by-and-b}^" whis- 
 pered Lord John ; " that is, our side of the house ; 
 but how long is this to go on ? Well, I have 
 had enough to do me for three weeks — she's 
 gathered a million of cobwebs in m}^ throat, I 
 can tell you," and his lordship rose and stretched 
 himself. 
 
 " What did I tell you ? " said Severne, coming 
 round enthusiasticall3\ " Did I say a word too 
 much ? " 
 
 Indeed, the performance had produced a pro- 
 found impression ; and Mrs. Lepell was left there 
 standing without anyone having noticed her en- 
 trance. This is always an awkward and trying 
 situation. She might not feel awkward, or have 
 not a notion of a rivalry, but we know people 
 think there is such a feeling in our hearts, and 
 hence our awkwardness. Indeed, for the rest of 
 that day Miss Palmer seemed to go about at-
 
 222 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 tended by a train, drawn after lier by a sort of 
 attraction. 
 
 Lord John snarled — " That young jack of a 
 Severne seems to be her showman, like the wax- 
 work fellow. I'll ask him why he don't get a 
 wand and say, ' Observe the movement of the 
 eyes. Please take notice of the graceful curve of 
 the arms."* Ah, my dear girl " (Mrs. Lepell had 
 long since found it useless to protest against this 
 familiarity), " I'd like to describe you with a 
 wand ! What a showman I'd make ! Ladies and 
 gentlemen, observe that fine cheek — those round 
 brilliant eyes, in — in which ■" 
 
 "Now, Lord John, j^ou are beginning " 
 
 " In which, I say — don't interrupt — you can 
 see the usual pupils, iris and all that sort of thing. 
 Observe I mean no compliment. Observe, too, 
 that round, cozy little " 
 
 Mrs. Lepell coloured. " I must go away, Lord 
 John. I see you don't mind a word I say." 
 
 " With all my heart," he said, following. " I'll 
 continue the description before these people. I 
 know you'd like that better."
 
 A LONG DAY. 223 
 
 Mrs. Lepell turned back irresolutely. 
 
 " Oh, hang it," added his lordship, stretching 
 his arms, " what rubbish I talk ! This is weary 
 work, my dear." 
 
 Dinner hour arrived. They waited a quarter 
 of an hour ; then a second quarter, for Sir John ; 
 then sat down. They had a merry banquet. 
 Still Miss Palmer reigned. Mr. Selby had, by 
 some providence, as it seemed to him, got next to 
 Mrs. Lepell ; but she was *' in low spirits," she 
 said. He was much put out of humour by Lord 
 John, who was more lively than his wont, and 
 gravely called him through dinner ''King Arthur." 
 " Ah, you\l like a ' Bound Table,' my friend." 
 
 The evening wore on, and at last, about ten, 
 the sounds of wheels were heard. Sir John came 
 in joyously and triumphantly, and with pink 
 cheeks, and in great excitement. 
 
 " Don't mind me,^' he said ; " I am all right. 
 I have dined, and dined well ; and put in as good 
 a day's work as ever was done. Leave sherry in 
 the study, Duncan, and you, Severne, my dear 
 boy, come with me. I have something to say to
 
 224 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 you, my lad, that will make you jump in your 
 very boots." 
 
 Severne went out without saying a word, and 
 without reflecting this joyful mood of his relation. 
 All present wondered. 
 
 Lord John whispered to Mrs. Lepell — '^I bet 
 you there's something coming for our friend. I 
 never saw the old man in this way before. He's 
 as down as anything, did you see ? " 
 
 By-and-by the company, after waiting with a 
 curiosity that was pardonable enough, began to 
 drop away to bed. Mrs. Palmer and her daughter 
 remained ; so did Mrs. Lepell. The latter lady 
 said she never could bear to go to rest until mid- 
 night. Near that hour, at last came up Severne, 
 with a troubled face and excited in his manner. 
 
 " I thought I should find you here alone," he 
 said to the Palmers. " No matter — in the morn- 
 ing it will do." 
 
 A little wounded, Mrs. Lepell rose up without a 
 w^ord, and went to get her candle. He saw her look, 
 and was filled with compunction. He ran to her.
 
 A LONG DAY. 225 
 
 " I did not mean that," he said; " indeed, no ; 
 but this is something that concerns them and 7ne. 
 You understand." 
 
 She laughed good-humouredly. 
 
 " Quite right," she said. " I have no right to 
 know your secrets. Good-night. Good-night, 
 Mrs. Palmer." 
 
 " Ah, you are angry," said Severne. She went 
 away without answering. Thus the day ended.
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 AN EXPLOSION. 
 
 Next morning were to be more departures. 
 Lord John was to go that evening. 
 
 " I have ordered the trap," he said, at break- 
 fast, " for five. You'll be all crying after me, won't 
 you ? Here's Mrs. Lepell been awake all night — 
 to my certain knowledge." 
 
 But there was a little gloom on Severne's face. 
 He was restless, and almost nervous. Sir John 
 was very boisterous, and in good spirits. Mrs. 
 Lepell, no doubt, wondered what was this myster3^ 
 After breakfast was over she went up to her hus- 
 band — to dut}^ No wonder Sir John said that a 
 more faithful and dutiful and steady little wife 
 he had never met, and with such good sound 
 tastes. That woman was " well grounded" when 
 she was young. We can guess pretty well the
 
 AN EXPLOSION. 227 
 
 "sound" tastes to which he was alluding. When 
 she came down again, she happened to look into 
 the librarj^ and in a moment Severne came hur- 
 rying through with his hat in his hand. 
 
 " Sir John not here ? " he said, and was going 
 away, but a soft voice called him back. 
 
 " Mr. Severne," she said, " I am afraid " 
 
 "Afraid of what ? '' said he bluntly. 
 
 " Nothing ! " she answered ; " but will you for- 
 give me ? I hope there has been no bad news." 
 
 " Bad news ! " he answered hastily. " What 
 made jon think of tJiat ? Wait though," he said, 
 closing the door. " Sir John says you are such a 
 monument of sense, and perhaps — ah ! Mrs. 
 Lepell," he said, throwing himself into one of the 
 great chairs, " I am in a miserable dilfficulty. I 
 don't know what to do or where to turn to.^' 
 
 She went over to him very kindly, and sat down 
 on the sofa opposite. 
 
 "I am not a monument of sense," she said, 
 smiling, " as no one knows better than you. 
 That is some of the old sarcasm. But if I can 
 help by my little advice, indeed I shall try, and if 
 
 <j 2
 
 228 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 sympathy and good-will can do anything — and 
 perhaps a little sense — we might strike out some- 
 thing between us." 
 
 "You are good, after all," he said, eagerly, 
 " and I shall stop all my nonsense. In a few 
 words, then, do jon know what has turned 
 up since last night? That old Lee, who is 
 our Conservative member — a wretched, narrow- 
 minded, bigoted, ignorant old man, who thinks 
 that ' the Glorious Constitution' means a slavery 
 and oppression worthy of the worst days of Spain 
 — this model man has found out that there is 
 something wrong with his heart, and that the agi- 
 tation of parliamentary life, or rather the disap- 
 pointment at seeing concessions made to his 
 fellow-subjects, is too exciting. He is going 
 abroad, and is going to retire. Do you see any- 
 thing now ? It is hardly fair to ask you as yet — 
 so " 
 
 " He wishes you to take his place," Mrs. 
 Lepell went on very readily and calmly, " and 
 assumes that you will take up his principles. 
 You would like his place and scorn his principles.
 
 AN EXPLOSION. 229 
 
 Further, this old Tory has a daughter or niece, 
 one out of a dozen, and Sir John wishes to fasten 
 3^ou into his princii^les by a good stout chain — of 
 marriage ? " 
 
 Severne looked at her wondering. 
 
 " You are extraordinary. Why, you have got 
 the whole story. I was half an hour getting the 
 Palmers to understand. My dear Mrs. Lepell, 
 advise ; say, what you would do ? I have seen 
 this coming for a long time. I knew it must come 
 at last, and that I would have to face it. Sir 
 John must have an answer to-day. Indeed, he 
 wonders at the delay. But the truth is, as you 
 have guessed, this is not my way; my principles 
 are formed ; I will never be one of those vile, old- 
 fashioned Tories. I will starve first. I have 
 been weak enough to keep all this from Sir John. 
 You know what his views are. And now I see 
 that there is a regular crash coming, and how am 
 I to meet it ? " 
 
 His head drooped, and he looked quite worn 
 and dejected. 
 
 "May I go on and guess again?" sli9 went
 
 230 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 on, timidly. "There is another difficulty, too. 
 These Pahners, whom you met abroad — there is 
 some entanglement " 
 
 He looked a little confused. 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Lepell, I may as well tell you 
 everything ' out of the face,' as the Irish say. 
 You guess wonderfully. Well, yes. There is 
 something I am more or less — that is — what is 
 the word ? " 
 
 " Committed," Mrs. Lepell said, smiling ; " that 
 is what the worldly people would call it. There 
 has been no time lost, I see. After all, it is a 
 pity. Because these long engagements are so 
 many weights and drawbacks, on a clever and 
 brilliant young man, who has laid himself out to 
 succeed with every advantage — it is hard enough, 
 there is such competition; but disadvantages 
 make it harder ; still, a handsome and clever 
 
 girl But the thing now is, what is to be 
 
 done ? What did that clever Mrs. Palmer say ? " 
 
 "Ah! exactly; and I just consulted them to 
 see, you know. Miss Palmer was for the straight- 
 forward course, to go at once to Sir John. To tell
 
 AN EXPLOSION. 231 
 
 everything boldly, and say that my mind was 
 made up, that I would never sacrifice my prin- 
 ciples, and all that. Now, what do you say ? " 
 
 Mrs. Lepell remained silent. 
 
 " Well," he repeated, " what do you say ? " 
 
 " What do you think ? " she said, smiling ; 
 " are you inclined to adopt their advice ? It is 
 the noblest and most chivalrous course." 
 
 "Ah! exactly; but '' 
 
 *' But a very simple one. It is one about which 
 there can have been no difficulty from the begin- 
 ning. You and I, Mr. Severne, know very well, 
 also, what will be the results of that course, 
 which no doubt Miss Palmer, with her foreign 
 education, did not see — and naturally did not 
 see." 
 
 " No," said Severne, enthusiastically, " that is 
 her charm. She is the most unworldly, unliack- 
 neyed, freshest creature this earth ever saw ! " 
 
 *'AVell, then, I tell you," said Mrs. Lepell, 
 bluntly, "if you go straight to Sir John with 
 chivalry and plain-speaking, you must make up 
 your mind to lose everything. This fine old
 
 232 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 place, your future seat in the House, fortune, 
 success, life, everything. After all, a fresh and 
 charming girl, as unsophisticated as we may 
 imagine, is a real compensation ; but the first 
 thing is, you must choose between the two." 
 
 " Then what would you recommend ? " said 
 Severne, uneasily. 
 
 *' Well, at the risk of being called sophisticated 
 and worldly, and wanting freshness, I would say, 
 take a middle course. First, i^. there not a way 
 of subscribing the Thirty- nine Articles, with a 
 reserve and a half sense? You sign them all 
 nominally, but with a meaning of your own— — " 
 
 " Nothing can be more base," said Severne, 
 starting up — '' more dishonourable. You w^ould 
 not have me surely " 
 
 " Sign Articles ? — certainly not," she said, 
 calmly. *'Were you thinking of that as a re- 
 source ? No ; what I meant was, that as politics 
 stretch now-a-days, and there are such colours 
 and shadings, and gradations — such Liberal- 
 Conservatives and Conservative-Liberals — I was 
 thinking "
 
 AN EXPLOSION. 233 
 
 *' All cloaks for dishonesty, eveiy one of them ; 
 so they are, as I live ! " 
 
 "And so long as I live I should never ask you 
 to adopt such a course ! AVe only come back to 
 this, however ; if you go chivalrously to Sir John, 
 I think you see, with me, it will be ruin — utter 
 ruin. Now, forgive me for speaking freely. I do 
 not think you are called on to adopt such a 
 chivalrous and dangerous course. There is no 
 such hurry. We are not called on to abdicate all 
 sense, and rush headlong on to destruction. We 
 are allowed time to look about us. We do not 
 live in the Middle Ages. You are not required to 
 get up in the morning happy and full of hope, and 
 go to bed that same night miserable and ruined. 
 Would you be advised by me, a mere worldling, 
 as you will call me, but one who has a sincere 
 interest in your hopes, your welfare, and your 
 success — in your natural ardour, and brilliancy, 
 and enthusiasm ? Let me advise you, now. Let 
 us consult together — gain time — temporising a 
 little, for a few weeks ; and then see what is to 
 be done. Suppose I speak to Sir John ? I am
 
 234 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 rather a friend of his. There was some little use 
 in * The Short Way,' after all." 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Lepell," he said, warmly, *' I 
 think you have a great deal of sense and wisdom, 
 which is not worldliness ; and I see your views 
 perfectly. And what is more, too, you have a 
 great deal of forgiveness and good -nature, and 
 are really heaping coals of fire on my head. 
 Come now, let us draw our chairs together and 
 have a regular council." 
 
 Before the sound of the castors of the chairs 
 had died away they heard a rustle and looked up. 
 
 There was the glowing face — the flashing eye 
 — looking down on them. There was a statuesque 
 attitude, as of some indignant goddess ; and 
 there, on the lips, was a look of open scorn and 
 indignation. Severne started up as if he had 
 been rebuked. 
 
 " I have not heard anything," said Miss 
 Palmer, " beyond a single word ; but that tells 
 me what sort of advice this is. I say again, Mr. 
 Severne, the straight course is the best and the 
 noblest, and that I conjure you to take. It will
 
 AN EXPLOSION. 235 
 
 be the best in the end. Have no secret schem- 
 ing ; I conjure you go straight to Sir John. 
 Tell him your story and he will like you the 
 better for it. You must — you must do nothing 
 else, no matter who attempts to persuade 
 you! 
 
 Both looked at her with wonder — Severne, 
 perhaps, with a little confusion. 
 
 "I declare," he said, at last ; " I believe you are 
 right. The straight course is the best always. 
 Mrs. Lepell and I have been in council, and we 
 were thinking that as Sir John is so hasty and 
 excitable, though with as true a heart as ever 
 Englishman had, that perhaps it might be better 
 to wait. But, after all, if I know him at all, he 
 would be more pleased by our going straight to 
 him, and telling him all at once." 
 
 " Ah, I knew you would do what is right and 
 noble," said the young girl, clasping her hands. 
 " That dear Sir John will like and love you the 
 better. Go, Severne ; lose not a moment. He 
 is in his study now. And I will answer for the 
 result."
 
 236 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 Severne started up. " It does seem like an 
 inspiration," he said, eagerly. "I shall go at 
 once. Mrs. Lepell, she is right, after all." 
 
 Mrs Lepell merely shrugged her shoulders. 
 " I have no right to interfere ; but I have seen a 
 little of the world, and I, too, have my secret 
 convictions. If you ask me, I must tell you, 
 you are going to commit a mistake. Wait even 
 until to-night. Nothing can he compromised by 
 that.'' 
 
 " No, no ! " said Severne. " Let us have it 
 over ; by lunch, we shall be all talking happily 
 together, and have it off our minds. A thousand 
 thanks, my dear Mrs. L., for your kind advice. 
 I know you meant it ever so kindly ; but I think 
 little worldly tactics would fail here. Come, 
 dear," he said. 
 
 As they left the room the young girl flashed 
 back at Mrs. Lepell, who was standing with her 
 hands resting on a chair, what seemed a look of 
 triumph. Mrs. Lepell only smiled. When they 
 were gone she said aloud to herself, " half an 
 hour, and we shall see."
 
 AN EXPLOSION. 237 
 
 She waited there very patiently. Suddenly 
 the door was opened and Lord John looked in. 
 
 An idea seemed to flash on her suddenly. 
 " Lord John/' she said, " will you tell me some- 
 thing — as a great favour ? You know you are 
 going away." 
 
 "Not yet, my dear," said his lordship, drop- 
 ping into a chair. " Not just yet, my dear. My 
 hour is not yet come. But now, what's this? 
 What can I tell you, my dear, that you don't 
 knoiv, eh — you innocent, guileless, unworldly 
 little thing ? " 
 
 " I want you to tell me very much," she said, 
 taking no notice of this compliment, " something 
 about those new people — the Palmers. You 
 know everything about ever}^ one, and I am sure 
 there is a little history about them." 
 
 "And now what on earth are they to you, 
 eh ? " asked he. " Come ! " 
 
 " Nothing in the world 1 what is any one to 
 me, except my husband ? " said she, looking 
 down; " but shall I confess. Lord John, I don't 
 quite like them ? "
 
 238 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 " I don't like *em either. The young one's a 
 stuck-up thing ; and I should like to see her get 
 a lesson." 
 
 " Oh, you could give her that,'' she said. 
 " She shrank from you at hreakfast. She is so 
 ready with her tongue." 
 
 " Indeed I know 'em, as well as — that is, as I 
 did — my old grandmother. There is not a man, 
 woman, or child in the kingdom that I couldn't 
 turn inside out if I chose ! Bless you, I've seen 
 the world. Mrs. P. had better keep quiet, and 
 regulate her young cub, who, I think, ice see is 
 flying at good game. They won't be out of this, 
 mark me, ma'am, for a month yet. I know their 
 trick, bless you, and what's more, could put a 
 spoke — ay, half a dozen spokes — in their two- 
 penny-halfpenny wheels, ma'am." 
 
 Lord John had, indeed, come fresh from Mrs. 
 Hardcastle, who had the best cherry brandy " on 
 the face of God's earth." " Where is the whole 
 pack now ? " he asked. 
 
 " May I tell you a secret. Lord John ? " she 
 said, in a low voice. " He, Mr. Scverne, is gone
 
 AN EXPLOSION. 239 
 
 to tell Sir John that he is a Whig, or a Eadical, 
 and that he can't " 
 
 " What ! " said Lord John, starting up, " is 
 the murder out at last ? Has our friend to un- 
 kennel his fox ? Oh, I knew it would come to 
 this — I knew it would, and I always said so. 
 Why, there'll be the most infernal Belzebubian 
 row that this house has ever seen, even when old 
 Cromwell and his Quakers came down here — 
 that is, my dear, if you believe that lie. O Lord, 
 Lord ! " and Lord John rubbed his hands with 
 delight. " I won't go till I see it out. It's 
 worth staying for. My dear woman, there'll be 
 fun — fun, don't you see ? and I like a piece of 
 fun. I declare I could just put my arms — 
 ahem ! — round that screen, I am so pleased. 
 You are a great little woman, and I like you, I 
 do indeed. There's a pluck and game of your 
 own about j^ou ; and a spice of the AVhat's-his- 
 name in your eye " 
 
 "Now, really, Lord John," she said gravely, 
 " only that you're going away " 
 
 " Fiddle-dee — on my grandmother's face. (Ah,
 
 240 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 we were all happy innocent cliilclren once; and 
 eat our pudding with a sense of innocence — you 
 know ?) That won't make so much matter, for 
 I won't lose sight of you, Mrs. L. Where are 
 you in London, you smart, roundabout — ahem ! 
 — cushion ? — this cushion, ma'am : ah, you 
 won't catch me. Eound it is, and no one can 
 deny it.'' Mrs. Hardcastle's liqueur was mount- 
 ing higher every moment. " Come, out with it, 
 where are you to be ? you and poor Shadrach 
 upstairs, or Abednego — whatever was his name ? 
 It's no use hiding it ; for, by the living thingamy, 
 I'll unearth you. I have been looking for j^ou 
 the last half hour, to tell you all this — only that 
 woman Hardcastle got me into her den there." 
 
 "I don't know whether I ought to," she said 
 gravely ; " but as I know it is of no use to hide 
 anything from you, I must tell. Well, Mr. 
 Lepell has taken a house — a small house — 
 number 75, Brooke Street." 
 
 " Mr. Lepell and I — ha, ha ! that's not so bad 
 — always awake ! knowing, kilo wing little — ahem ! 
 Well, I'll drop in verj^ — very often, if 3^ou behave
 
 AN EXPLOSION. ' 241 
 
 — that is, mind, no forwardness — nothing to 
 shock a mind of tender years, 5'ou know — maxima 
 dehetur, you know. Positively, if I hear a word 
 likely to endanger my faith or morals, that mo- 
 ment I run out of the house." 
 
 Mrs. Lepell could not hut laugh at this comic 
 notion. 
 
 His lordship laughed too. 
 
 " Yes, I'll come often — very often. When lies 
 put to heel ril drop in, and won't we have our 
 cup of tea together — No. 75 — I won't forget, I 
 declare. I am sorry to go off to-day, hut I must. 
 See here — perhaps, one of those evenings, when 
 you are making a cup of tea for me at Brooke 
 Street, I'll tell you about our friends ; a story, 
 ma'am, that will make that little figure of yours 
 jump out of its arm-chair, eh ? Egad, I must go 
 and get all my traps together. I'll see you again, 
 though." He went out, leaving Mrs. Lepell 
 ruminating deeply. No one came for at least a 
 quarter of an hour. Suddenly the door was 
 opened, and Severne, pale, agitated, and miser- 
 able, strode in. 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 ** It is all over," he said. " You were too 
 right — God knows ! Now, what is to he done ? " 
 He was very wild. " I can't stop now," he said. 
 " It's all at an end — now, and for ever ! There's 
 been a dreadful business. You ivere right in tvhat 
 you said, but I am not ashamed of what I have 
 done. It's all over now, and I shall only see you 
 for a few hours more." 
 
 " Why — ^tell me, what is all this ? " she said in 
 alarm. " What has happened ? Oh, I am so 
 grieved." 
 
 " It is not your fault — quite the contrary — if I 
 had listened to you — but I thought he was one 
 of the fine old stock, that liked what they called 
 ' manly candour ' and hearty English straight- 
 forwardness. Ah ! " said he, ruefully, " my manly 
 candour has done for us, I am afraid. Still I am 
 not sorry. There was but the one course for a 
 man of honour." 
 
 " But something could be done," said Mrs. 
 Lepell; "surely something. He is generous 
 and good, though hasty, and that charming 
 girl "
 
 AN EXPLOSION. 243 
 
 He laughed. " The charming girl — and she is 
 one — would he like a hit of scarlet cloth to him. 
 He has just spoken to Mrs. Palmer in a way that 
 we could not expect from him, a true country 
 gentleman. He has forgotten his hospitality and 
 politeness, I am afraid, and they are going away 
 at once." 
 
 " This is all dreadful," said she, clasping her 
 hands. " Who would have thought this ? " 
 
 " Well you did," said Severne, with a forced 
 laugh. " You saw further than the wise man. 
 No matter. I have done for myself. But we 
 must all get rubs at some time of our life. I am 
 now free ; to tell you the truth, that state of even 
 partial subservience was odious to me. I can 
 now breathe and stretch my arms." 
 
 He did draw a long breath, and affected to 
 stretch his arms, but not with the enjoyment 
 that he professed — that simple operation did not 
 seem fraught with such exquisite pleasure, or 
 worth the price that had been paid for it. 
 
 Mrs. Lepell was left in a fit of abstraction — 
 was she thinking how this convulsion would affect 
 
 R 2
 
 244 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 her ? — when the door was hastily opened, and Sir 
 John looked in. 
 
 His face was hot, and almost contorted. When 
 he saw Mrs. Lepell alone there, he turned back 
 and went out of the room, banging the door 
 behind him. Then he found perhaps that he 
 would have to walk round a long way, so he 
 returned and came through once more. She saw 
 him muttering, and his eyes fell on her w4th a 
 fixed stare of unconsciousness. 
 
 *' Sir John," she said, in a soft voice. 
 
 He stopped short before her. " Do you want 
 anything ? " he said rudely. " Then ring the bell, 
 ma'am. I have no time to talk. That fellow 
 has destroyed me. — He has driven the blood up 
 to my very head. A low, grovelling, mean- 
 souled ostler — that's what he is. He hasn^t a 
 thought that's fit for a gentleman. On my soul, 
 I believe he wants to kill me. But Til take care 
 he shan't ! " 
 
 She ran to him, for Sir John had dropped into 
 a chair helplessly. 
 
 " Do you know what the scoundrel has done ?
 
 AN EXPLOSION. 245 
 
 Do you know wliat he has been skulking through 
 the house doing ? It makes me ill to think of it. 
 There is a strain across here, ma'am. It seems 
 I have been fattening and pampering a low 
 plebeian Radical all this time. A low, illegi- 
 timate, sneaking AVhig, that would level us all 
 down to the boors in the fields there, and cut up 
 my land. Those are sweet pretty principles to 
 have under my roof ! But they shan't stay there 
 an hour longer, not one of ^em — not a day 
 longer. He shan^t have a cut at my land in any 
 way. He may go among the rabble if he likes, 
 and stir them up to come and mob me and stone 
 me — as I suppose he will I But out of this he 
 packs. And on the top of all, a marriage, no 
 less, with a creature that he has picked out of a 
 French caffy or a bully var. My God Almighty," 
 said he, starting up, " that all this should have 
 come on me in a day ! JVhy, they'll point at me 
 all over the country. Vm disgraced — disgraced, 
 ma^am — and, curse me ! — I beg your pardon for 
 the swearing before you — if I don't go down to 
 my grave without forgiving it."
 
 246 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STKEET. 
 
 " But, sir," said the lady, " I am sure it can be 
 explained ; lie may have been hasty." 
 
 ''I don't care,^^ said the baronet; "let him. 
 He has chosen, and he may stay so. It's not 
 that. It's the low, un gentlemanly, systematic 
 hoodwinking and deception that has gone on for 
 years. Shamming a good Tor}^ he and that soft 
 mother of his : and all this time I have been 
 pampering and petting a ruffian that will cut all 
 our throats on some morning and divide our 
 T)roperty. It's horrible — base and horrible — and - 
 infernal cruel and ungrateful too, though that's 
 the least. For I was always kind and indulgent. 
 But, thank God, I've found him out in time, and 
 before I made my will too. I am glad of that. 
 I'll set about it in the morning, and the lowest 
 charity school shall have every stick in the place 
 before it shall go to him, or near him;" and 
 exhausted by this denunciation, Sir John sank 
 again into a chair, and sat there staring wildly. 
 " Now, not a word for him ; I won't listen to it 
 — not a word now," he said, starting up again 
 and leaving the room.
 
 AN EXPLOSION. 247 
 
 Mrs. Lepell was aghast, and sat there long 
 wondering at this mysterious change. Afar off 
 she heard the series of doors " banging," as the 
 angry lord of the house went his way to his 
 study. Servants came by and looked in with 
 gloom and doubt on their faces, for in a sur- 
 prisingly short space of time it had spread 
 through the house that there had been " a hawful 
 blow up" between Sir John and his nephew. 
 It seemed as though there had been a death in 
 the house. 
 
 Never were there such gloomy hours. 
 
 Severne came back later, and found Mrs. 
 Lepell in the same place. 
 
 *' This is life," he said dismally. " However, 
 I was quite prepared for all this. I knew it was 
 coming, and was ready to go through the conse- 
 quences. I am very glad it has come. It was a 
 degrading position to be in, and it has been 
 hanging over me like a weight. I am now free. 
 Thank heaven, I can carry out my own prin- 
 ciples, and carry out my promises, independent 
 and unshackled. I shall work my own way and
 
 248 sEVE:NTY-rivE brooke street. 
 
 my own fortunes at the Bar, or in any other 
 opening/^ 
 
 " Would it not be better/' said Mrs. Lepell 
 gently, " without, of course, any sacrifice of prin- 
 ciple — to temporise, not to be in quite such a 
 hurry? Nothing is gained by haste — nothing 
 is lost by delay. You might wait until 
 to-morrow, or say you would consider the 
 matter." 
 
 " And would not that be temporising and 
 truckling, Mrs. Lepell?" he said. "No, no! 
 I don't think you mean that. I cannot sacrifice 
 my principles, even a hair's-breadth.'''
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 BREAK UP. 
 
 Long was that clay recollected at Digby. 
 Duncan, the serving-man, told what he had seen 
 and heard to the little communitj^ — with some 
 more, perhaps, which his instinct furnished him. 
 
 " Sir John be wus than I have ever known him 
 in my life/^ 
 
 This was at the lower ladies' and gentlemen's 
 table, when they were dining at two o'clock. 
 Duncan, Sir John's " hown man," the butler, 
 and Mrs. Hardcastle, with another select menial 
 or two, were taking that meal together. 
 
 " IMarkt my words, Mrs. 'Ardcastle, if some- 
 thing won't bust on us before long. Severne's 
 been doin' something that's worked him. Markt 
 my words " — this was a phrase which Mr. Dun- 
 can heard a Conservative Member — who was
 
 250 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 auguring the downfall of England — use very 
 often, and it seemed to him very " fine" — " Markt 
 my here words, all this 'ill hust afore long, 
 but it '11 clear the hair — clear the hair " (another 
 phrase also used by the Member). ''He's 
 a packing at this moment," went on Mr. Dun- 
 can, "not the 'eavy things, you know — they'd 
 fill chests, — but merely the pus'nal necessaries 
 — throwing a few indispensables into a port- 
 manter. I know what all that means, Mrs. 
 'Ardcastle. As for Sir John, he's a filing 
 against the bars of his cage, in a hopeous con- 
 dition. I pity him, I do. As for Severne, he's 
 aimerbel enough, but, as I said all along, wants 
 ballus — wants ballus sadly.'' 
 
 Mrs. Hardcastle, still discussing the crisis, 
 thought darkly it was all along of the " pranker- 
 ing " woman upstairs, who was scheming the 
 whole house into mischief. "An artful, ob- 
 skewer person, as no one knew where she come 
 from, or where she'd go to, respectably." She 
 must say, must Mrs. Hardcastle, that she were 
 surprised at Sir John taking in persons of that
 
 BKEAK UP. 251 
 
 sort, off the road, as it were, and slie knew at 
 the time — nay, had she not distinctly prophesied 
 it the first day ? — that no good would come of 
 it. But here Mr. Duncan must " reerly " inter- 
 pose. He could not coincide in that harsh view. 
 He was a man of the world, was Duncan, and 
 had travelled with the young Lord Tipton to a 
 great capital called '' Parse," where — as Duncan 
 often told — they had remained a fortnight at the 
 " Hotel Mirreyboo," in the " Plarse Vaughan- 
 dum,^' and he considered Mrs. Lepell to be a 
 " fine woman," on the French pattern, and 
 " genteel " on the whole. To say the truth, our 
 heroine, who had a surprising instinct in reading 
 off the humours and prejudices of those about 
 her, had correctly interpreted the feelings of 
 that gentleman, and wishing no doubt to con- 
 ciliate all his little offices in favour of the poor 
 helpless invalid upstairs, had paid him special 
 attention. The result was frequent discussions 
 at table between the superior ladies and gentle- 
 men downstairs, in which much female acerbity 
 was displayed, and in which Mr. Duncan, as a
 
 252 SEVEXTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 travelled man of the world, and confessing to a 
 weakness for " fine women," was " constreened," 
 as he called it, to range himself on the side of 
 Mrs. Lepell. 
 
 He had, indeed, happily described the miser- 
 able state of things upstairs. It was indeed the 
 longest day ever known at Digby; it seemed 
 actually to trail by. Those who were in the 
 house, when long after they looked back to these 
 days, could only recall a weary fevered " day 
 before execution," with a vision every now and 
 then of a strained old man's face, with staring 
 eyes, and flaming cheeks, which every now and 
 again burst out upon them from some door, and 
 withdrew again, after some frantic ravings. 
 Mrs. Lepell saw many of these visions. It 
 flashed out also, very unexpectedly, on the two 
 strange ladies, who had arrived so recently. He 
 was passing through the room, as usual, when 
 his eye fell on them. 
 
 *' What are you doing here, women?'* he said, 
 stopping short, and looking from one to the 
 other. " Why aren't you with him — why don't
 
 BREAK UP. 253 
 
 you give him some more of your French instruc- 
 tions—eh ? " 
 
 The ladies looked frightened. " I don't un- 
 derstand, Sir John," the elder answered, with 
 dignity. 
 
 " Don't you, then ? " answ^ered he, in one of 
 his hursts of fury ; " I do then ! You have made 
 up a nice game between ye, a nice plot — catch- 
 ing a boy out in a foreign country, when he's sick 
 
 and helpless ; not that I care one d " and Sir 
 
 John caught himself in time ; " you're welcome 
 to him now, ma'am — the whole right and title of 
 him, and can take him with you when and where 
 you like. The French game hasn't quite an- 
 swered, 3^ou see." 
 
 " Mamma," said the young girl, rising, " I 
 think Sir John Digby forgets — and is doing us 
 great injustice. Let us go away." 
 
 Sir John tried hard to sneer. 
 
 " 0, very good — very good, and very cool. 
 More of the French! I don't forget. Of 
 course I am a boor, and you or any of his 
 friends can tell me anything. I don't pro-
 
 254 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 fess to command words, ma'am. I have always 
 been accustomed to speak plainly ; and if I am 
 blunt, I have provocation for it. It's a shame — 
 a crying, infernal shame, and I tell you so plainly 
 — interfering in families in your French Jesui- 
 tical way, for it is interfering. If you only knew 
 how I have looked to, and built on this low 
 fellow to do something for the family, and for 
 the country, which is going to ruin — and it may 
 now, as soon as it likes, for it is not worth 
 saving — I say, if you only knew — but you did 
 know, ma'am — what I had laid out for this 
 fellow ; a seat ready for him to walk into ; a 
 family that was proud to have him, not for his 
 sake — don't think so — but for mine, ma'am ; that 
 would have made him a gentleman, which he's 
 not (and he may go to the poorhouse if he likes), 
 and if you knew what Lord Buryshaft said to 
 me — and hell be in the Government by-and-by. 
 Why, we could have had a peerage, ma'am ; and 
 I had the title ready settled on, and all ; and 
 
 you come here — you and your . Wh^^, it's 
 
 enough to drive a man stark staring out of his
 
 BREAK UP. 255 
 
 wits. What d'ye mean by it ? What, in the 
 devil's name," went on the poor Baronet, now 
 very wildly indeed, and losing all restraint, 
 " brought you here on that infernal night ? Did 
 I do you any injury in all my life — did I, I 
 say ? " 
 
 " Sir John Digby," said the lady, with great 
 dignity, " I can make great allowance for your 
 feelings. I will say nothing of the way you have 
 spoken to us — scarcely becoming an English 
 gentleman, or suitable to ladies from any country, 
 even France. When you are cooler you will do 
 us justice, and find that we have nothing to do 
 with this unfortunate business. Mr. Severne 
 is a free agent. He is able to judge for him- 
 self." 
 
 " I don't believe it, ma'am," said Sir John, in 
 a wild fury. " I don't care to mince words with 
 yon. It's all folly to be going on with polite- 
 ness and such stuff. You put him up to it — 
 set him up to it — you know you did." 
 
 " I say again," said Mrs. Palmer, " I can 
 make all allowances and pass this by; but I
 
 256 SEVENTY-FIVE BKOOKE STREET. 
 
 repeat, you do us injustice. You impute to us 
 behaviour of which neither I nor my daughter 
 are conscious. "We did what we could, in a little 
 way, for Mr. Severne. Of course, I make nothing 
 of that — it was what any Christian ought to have 
 done. It was he who asked us here, who forced 
 us here. He assured us of a kind and a polite 
 welcome." 
 
 " Oh, of course,'^ said Sir John, with eyes 
 wandering from one to the other. " And you 
 received it, ma'am, I hope, eh ? This is an 
 English gentleman's house, ma'am ; and if s 
 owner knows how to treat ladies and gentlemen, 
 and you might have stayed here on and on and on 
 again, until your dying day, and done as you 
 liked. But when I caught you tampering and 
 
 plotting with d d low French arts, stirring 
 
 him up " 
 
 " I repeat," said Mrs. Palmer, haughtily, " we 
 did nothing of the kind, neither I nor my daugh- 
 ter." 
 
 " Neither you nor your daughter, ma'am,'^ re- 
 peated Sir John, with a rueful sneer. " Of
 
 BREAK UP. 257 
 
 course not. I'll believe that of her, of 
 course.*' 
 
 " I" did, mamma," said the young girl, ^'ith 
 her eyes upon the ground. " I confess it 
 openly. I advised him to the manly, ho- 
 nourable course, not to sacrifice his princi- 
 ples or the happiness of his life to interest 
 or money." 
 
 " You hear her," almost shouted Sir John. 
 " This is infernal impudence ! She boasts and 
 brags of it ! " He stamped with rage. " It's 
 a conspiracy — a low Jesuit conspiracy ! Go 
 away, go along ! Out of my sight ! Don't 
 come near me. Don't let me see you. Infer- 
 nal brazen effrontery ! I'm in a nice way," he 
 added piteously. " They own it ! A nice gang 
 I've let in on myself. God help me ! But go 
 now, both of you. Pack — without an hour's 
 delay, or the servants shall " 
 
 *' Our things are ready," said Mrs. Palmer, 
 calmly, " and the chaise has been ordered an hour 
 ago. We entered this house on ^our invitation, 
 and we leave it of our own motion, after a day or 
 
 VOL. I. »
 
 258 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 so's hospitality^ The obligation is not very 
 great/' 
 
 He could hardly speak; but pointed to the 
 door. 
 
 Again Mr. Duncan, much excited, brought 
 down news to the superior sitting-room below of 
 every stage of the business. 
 
 " There's a fly ordered from the Lion," he said, 
 " for the French ones. They have got their 
 kongee," said Mr. Duncan, pleasantly. In due 
 time the ^' fly " came, and he was at his duties, 
 which he discharged respectfully; but came 
 down to the saloon below full of warm enco- 
 miums, as to their being " ladies," and that he 
 knew it from the first, and was now sorry that 
 they had got their kongee. 
 
 By-and-by came another departure : very pale 
 and very agitated, Severne came down. His 
 packing had not taken long ; yet he had on a 
 fine Roman manner, and a bearing of pride and 
 excitement. Mrs. Severne, whom Sir John had 
 unreasonably included in his condemnation, was 
 going away also. She was quite overwhelmed
 
 BREAK UP. 25 
 
 by this sudden turn, for her whole heart was in 
 the advancement of her son, which up to that 
 morning she had looked on as securely and as 
 finally settled as though he had been born heir 
 to all the estate and title of Digby. She flitted 
 about the house quite helpless, not able to speak, 
 or make any effort to avert what was coming on 
 them. 
 
 " We are all ready now,'' said Severne to 
 Mrs. Lepell, " to be ejected. "Who would have 
 thought it would have come to this yesterday ? 
 Not that I care so much. I am a free man 
 now, and can stretch my arms " (this was to be 
 his favourite idea). " The slavery was getting 
 intolerable. Though it is a little mortifying 
 to be drummed out — eh ? — and before these 
 people below, who I suppose know all about it 
 — eh ? They have a wonderful instinct these 
 creatures — eh ? " He put these questions in a 
 restless way. " What a world it is ! '' he went 
 on, impatiently ; " to think of our being so plea- 
 sant and happy yesterday, and all turned upside 
 down now. Not, mind, that I regret it a moment ;
 
 260 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 for to be a man you must be free — have your own 
 responsibility. I can breathe and stretch out 
 my arms now, which I could not do before. Ah ! 
 but the problem now is, how are we to keep 
 those arms strong and healthy ? / really don't 
 see the way at this moment; and these poor 
 Palmers miles away I suppose by this." 
 
 She gave a little stamp. *' I never can forgive 
 them/^ she said, impatiently. " Now they are 
 gone, I can speak of them freely. The^ brought 
 all this mischief about. The^ hurried on things, 
 when a little time would have saved everything 
 — coldj unfeeling, selfish foreigners." 
 
 " No, no," said Severne, " I think not. They 
 meant well." 
 
 " Ah, yes," said she, still impatiently, " that is 
 your generosity. But the fact remains behind — 
 meaning well or ill, thet/ have destroyed you. I 
 can never think of them with patience. We had 
 a charming house here — we were all so happy, 
 and getting to be so happy; we were beginning 
 to know each other — to like each other; the days 
 were running by so charmingly. That night
 
 BREAK UP. 261 
 
 when we had our little battle was one of the 
 happiest I ever knew. A charming party. To 
 look back, it seems like fairy-land. And yet on 
 that night they come, and destroy all. They 
 plant themselves — this woman and her daughter 
 — in our happy little community, like two Upas 
 trees, and destroy all." 
 
 Severne was silent, and looked ruefully on 
 the ground. This picture seemed to him a 
 little faithful. For a moment he did not speak, 
 when the door suddenly opened. They started. 
 The inflamed wild face of Sir John looked in. 
 It saw who was there, and was withdrawn. 
 
 " Poor, poor Sir John," said Severne, bitterl}^ 
 " it goes to my heart — his look shocks me. If I 
 go to him and say something — I will,'' he added, 
 starting up. 
 
 Mrs. Lepell caught his arm. " No," she said, 
 *' be advised by me. Leave it to time — to a little 
 time. This is a very bad moment." 
 
 " You are wrong. I can see he is suffering. 
 Yes, it is an inspiration. He likes me in his 
 heart. He cannot snap asunder the ties of years
 
 262 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 in that rude and summary way. Yes, tliis is the 
 moment." 
 
 " No, no," said she yet more eagerly. " You 
 will ruin all. Leave it to your friends who stay 
 after you. I conjure you, do this." 
 
 Again the door opened, and Sir John stamped 
 in. 
 
 '' This is my own house, you will leave me 
 some corner of it ? " he said. " I am not to be 
 skulking from my own rooms because other 
 people choose to stay. It is not quite come to 
 that as yet." 
 
 With an uncontrollable impulse Severne, see- 
 ing the old face worn and inflamed, ran to him 
 and took his arm. 
 
 " Dear, dear sir," he said, " this is all 
 cruel. We must not leave each other in this 
 way. It has been a mistake, all through. 
 I love you, and always have loved you, and 
 I know in your heart you still like me with 
 all my follies ; and I am sure everything 
 can be explained and arranged, and if you 
 will only bear with me for a little, and
 
 BREAK UP. 2G3 
 
 make allowance, we need not push matters 
 to " 
 
 Sir John looked at Inm for a moment, speech- 
 less, then dashed away Severne's hand. 
 
 " Why d — n your impudence and your infernal 
 airs ! What do you speak to me for, sir ? ' You 
 need not push matters.' Needn't you. Curse 
 your heart, what d'ye mean ? How dare you 
 talk to me that way, with your free-and-easy 
 airs ! Get out of this — out of my house, where 
 you have feasted, and fattened, and been made 
 too much of, you ungrateful, low, beggarly, ill- 
 conditioned, unfeeling, damned . I beg your 
 
 pardon, ma'am, I do indeed," added poor Sir 
 John, his face working. " I forget my manners, 
 but I am forgetting everything with this mean, 
 whinging fellow, that you see would now be 
 under my feet to get back to his place — his 
 place, ma'am, for he has been living, on me all 
 this time. You have, my genteel fellow. He 
 might have been in the street, but for me. Yes, 
 you would, you low, mean plebeian, you, that — 
 mark my words — will die in a ditch yet ! What
 
 264 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 d'ye stay here for, sir, in my house ? Didn't I 
 tell you to take yourself off ? Go — quick ; you 
 poison the air ! I want no Jacobins or levellers 
 here, and you tcere one all this time," added Sir 
 John, speaking with a slow bitterness, " you 
 sneaking — deceitful — ungentlemanly — fellow. 
 Look here — look at this. I am glad you 
 are not gone, for I wanted you to see this. 
 And you look too, ma'am, and be witness — 
 you know what this is — and you, too, ma'am 
 — look! look!" And with great trembling 
 and tugging he got out a large parchment 
 bundle, thick, and tied up with green ribbon, 
 and looking like a deed. " It is not long ago," 
 he went on, " since this was done. It took 
 a very long time — and cost a good deal too — but 
 I shan't be long getting rid of it. There — there 
 — there — that settles that, Mr. Severne ! " And 
 with a knife which was on the table he cut and 
 hewed the bundle of psirchment across again and 
 again, as if it was a piece of wood, until it lay 
 on the ground in ribbons. These he gathered 
 up with fingers that trembled, and thrust into
 
 BREAK UP. 265 
 
 the fire. Then looked at Severne with a sort of 
 triumph. 
 
 Severne stood there, pale and agitated too. 
 He knew perfectly what this meant. For this 
 destruction seemed to be a sort of final and 
 irrevocable ceremony, which brought home to 
 him — never with so much force until that 
 moment— the palpable fact of his disgrace. At 
 that moment he felt that it was all over ; and Sir 
 John, standing before him, and looking at him, 
 saw that. There was triumph in his eye. 
 
 '' You haven^t thrust me into my cofi&n yet," 
 he said, " you and your levelling gang. And 
 you and they may come as soon as you like now. 
 It'll not do you much good." 
 
 Severne could say nothing. He was quite 
 crushed. 
 
 " Now begin to whine : — * Now — now — don't 
 go on this way.' How dare you ! Curse your 
 impudence ! Not a shilling — not twopence -half- 
 penny, sir ! " went on Sir John ; " and you little 
 know what I had done for you in that — that 
 thing. Ah ! you ungrateful, low Jacobite — Ja-
 
 26Q SEVENTY -FIVE BKOOKE STEEET. 
 
 cobin! — you had always the bad drop in you — 
 and they told me so, and I didn't believe 'em." 
 
 Mrs. Lepell went forward to him suppliantly. 
 
 *^ Oh, Sir John, Sir John," she said, " this is 
 all dreadful — it is terrible, that things should 
 have come to this." 
 
 " And who brought them to this ? " said he, 
 turning sharply on her. " It's my own, thank 
 God, every stick and stone in this place ; and I 
 bless my stars that I have lived to keep him out 
 of it. What are you staying for, sir ? I thought 
 you had some pride in you still. / wouldn't wait 
 to be turned out of a house. I suppose the 
 company you keep have taken that out of you." 
 
 Severne coloured, but said nothing. He 
 turned to go. He was quite overwhelmed, 
 speechless, crushed — by the savage vindictive- 
 ness of the other. Sir John looked after him 
 with a sort of triumph. At that moment entered 
 Duncan, who announced, with all the respect due 
 to dignity in adversity — 
 
 " Things is all in, sir." 
 
 Severne bowed to Sir John, and turned to go.
 
 BREAK UP. 267 
 
 Mrs. Lepell ran to him at the door, and 
 whispered — 
 
 " Keep up hope ; you leave a friend behind 
 who will work for you."
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 SIR JOHN GOES HOME. 
 
 The house was now all but deserted. The 
 Lepells alone remained ; and they had fixed to 
 go next morning. Mr. Lepell was infinitely 
 better, though he did not come down. 
 
 What remained of the day was oppressive. 
 Sir John had again retired into his den, and was 
 not to be seen. The air seemed charged with 
 gloom, as though it were the day before the 
 funeral ; and yet it cannot be said that one in 
 so awkward a position as the guest spent it 
 sorrowfully or found it dull. She went out to 
 get some fresh air in the grounds, in the un- 
 rivalled old English gardens, and got a bit of 
 bread from Mr. Duncan " to feed the fish." In- 
 deed that gentleman insisted on carrying it out
 
 SIR JOHN GOES HOME. 269 
 
 himself on a plate, and spoke very feelingly and 
 confidentially of the late events. 
 
 It was most dishasterous, he said, and one of 
 the most awkerd countertongs that had ever 
 occurred. Observe, he hadn't a word to say 
 against Mr. Severne, who had always behaved 
 to him pussonally in a gentlemanly and feelin' 
 manner ; and a more impartial witness might 
 say that never had Severne been more " like a 
 gentleman" than at his leave taking. "The 
 whole thing was most peenful," Mr. Duncan 
 added, *' to any looker on with feelings." He 
 wouldn't like to pass through it again : and he 
 feared looking Mrs. Lepell in the face ; " the 
 britch was now all past accommodation." Mrs. 
 Lepell feared so too. These jars in families, 
 Mr. Duncan thought, were always so painful. 
 However, it would do Sir John good ; he was 
 always better for " a fill-up." Mrs. Lepell was 
 not a-goin' too ? "I hope we'ent a-goin' to lose 
 you, ma'am ? " went on Mr. Duncan, with a 
 gallant smile. " We should look back to this 
 'ere unfortunet business, with a double vexation,
 
 270 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 if it were to deprive us of hall of our guests. I 
 'ope not." 
 
 Our Mrs. Lepell answered this kind wish with 
 much good humour, and said, with a sigh — 
 
 " I grieve to say we have to go to-morrow 
 morning, Mr. Duncan. I am sorry for it, we 
 have been very pleasant here; and to go away 
 at such a moment in such confusion is very 
 bad." 
 
 "'Tis fearful," said Mr. Duncan, reflectively. 
 ** But you must come to us again, Mrs. Lepell. 
 Sir John 'ill be lookin' out for you one of these 
 mornings. We shall miss you, indeed. And I 
 assure you, speaking from my 'art now, that 
 night when j^ou did the ch'ardes " — did Mr. 
 Duncan mean the little plays they had given ? 
 — " it was, rerly now, a thing to look back to ; it 
 were indeed. And you give to him so well — 
 rerly." 
 
 " Thank you very much, Mr. Duncan. I am 
 very glad you were pleased. I assure you I 
 value your praise highly. I am afraid I must 
 go in now ; " which she did.
 
 SIR JOHN GOES HOME. 271 
 
 In the drawing-room belowstairs Mr. Duncan 
 told the ladies and gentlemen of his own circle, 
 with unconcealed exhilaration and, it is to be 
 feared, not a too strict adherence to the truth, 
 that " she'd asked him out into the garden. 
 Fine woman ; revly, now ; but for'ard — devilish 
 for'ard." 
 
 The dinner that day was a very odd spectacle, 
 only Sir John and Mrs. Lepell partaking of it. 
 Sir John came down with the flushed cheeks and 
 the troubled eyes searching suspiciously round 
 the room, as if he were going to say — " Where 
 the devil have you hid him ? If he's skulking 
 here " 
 
 Mr. Duncan and the under-footman, the coach- 
 man and the boy, all waited with a superabun- 
 dant pomp of attendance, just as usual when 
 eighteen or twenty sat down. There was a deli- 
 cacy, and almost tender, though suppressed 
 gallantr3% in the manner of Mr. Duncan towards 
 the lady ; he waited on her himself, " pussonally " 
 and exclusively ; and once when the coachman, 
 heavy and rustic in his motions, had changed
 
 272 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 Mrs. Lepell's plate, in what he believed to be the 
 natural round of his duties, Mr. Duncan reproved 
 him outside the door, with much heat, wishing 
 to know what he meant by thrusting " hisself on 
 ladies, like a beast, a smellin' o' 'osses, as he 
 was ; " a remark that brought on a very painful 
 scene downstairs, between the two gentlemen. 
 
 Sir John ate nothing, and scarcely spoke. 
 Mrs. Lepell spoke a good deal, and with great 
 art contrived to keep up a conversation in which 
 she only was the speaker. Neither did she make 
 little of the delicacies which Mr. Duncan took 
 care to offer to her, for she had always a good 
 appetite, and now merely seemed bound, as she 
 kept up the conversation unassisted, to keep up 
 also the meal itself, unassisted. 
 
 It was done at last, and she had fluttered away 
 to the drawing-room, carrying out the fiction of 
 " leaving the gentlemen to their wine." Leaving 
 poor Sir John to his wine indeed ! He sat there 
 long, with the same glassful before him that he 
 had filled when the cloth was taken away, and 
 with his eyes fixed on the wainscot. He still sat
 
 SIR JOHN GOES HOME. 273 
 
 on until very late, when, with a start, he rose up 
 and stamped away to his study, with his now 
 usual accompaniment of loud banging doors. Mr. 
 Duncan finished, or rather began, the glass, sit- 
 ting down in his master's chair to sip it. He 
 accompanied it with a toast need we say it was 
 to " a fine woman ! " 
 
 Mrs. Lepell sat in the drawing-room, a little 
 restless. What could she be waiting or, for ex- 
 pecting — not surely what her generous female 
 friends would have called " an old beau ? " 
 Towards ten. Sir John, restless also, came in 
 with the same uneasy look in his eye. '^ I don't 
 like being alone," he said, " though, indeed, I 
 must now accustom myself to that nice pass 
 they have brought me to ! Now that we have a 
 fine clear house, thank God ! do you. know, I feel 
 the air clearer." 
 
 " Sit near the fire, Sir John," said Mrs. 
 Lepell, in a kind and cozy manner ; " draw in 
 vour chair ; it's a very cold night.^' 
 
 " I don''t find it so," said he, " they've warmed 
 me enough for to-day. Do you know what I
 
 274 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 have been doing in the study — writing an 
 Address." 
 
 " An address ! " repeated she. 
 
 " Yes ; an address. Don't j^ou know what that 
 is ? — it's not seven heads ! — ^Yes, an address to the 
 electors. I must drag my old bones to the 
 hustings. It's a duty I owe to the poor country, 
 and to the county. I'll stop the leak, and take 
 care the}^ don't hand it over to some low scoun- 
 drel that will come and chop up our estates. 
 That's part of the game, ma'am. I daresay it 
 will kill me with all the fuss and noise ; but, 
 after all, it's in a good cause." He paused and 
 went on — " That's a nice spectacle at my time of 
 life ! I haven't strength for it, but 111 go through 
 with it if I drop down on the boards before them. 
 I won't let this old country be disgraced ; and 
 I've money enough, too, to fight the battle. No 
 weavers, or tailors, or spinners, shall get in here. 
 At my time of life, with my poor old limbs, to be 
 going through all this worry ! It's infernal cruel 
 — it's cruel — I'll never get through it." 
 
 It was hard not to pity this ancient Con-
 
 SIR JOHN GOES HOME. 275 
 
 servative of the Old Guard. Mrs. Lepell, 
 really moved, drew over softly, and took liis 
 hand. 
 
 " Now, Sir John," she said, bluntly, " I'm not 
 going to mind what you say a bit. But I tell 
 you this one thing, scold me and abuse me as 
 you like, the whole of this, I am afraid, is a little 
 your own fault." 
 
 " My fault, ma'am ? " said Sir John, drawing 
 away his hand — '' my fault, ma'am? " 
 
 " Yes, your fault. Sir John," she went on ; 
 " you have been too hasty in all this. I think 
 so, indeed, and that's my opinion, and I say it 
 out, as I am going away to-morrow ; so I have 
 no object, you see." (Mrs. Lepell did not see 
 there was some bad logic here.) '' You have 
 been very hurried in this business — and I have 
 been thinking it over all the night — and a little 
 harsh." 
 
 " Why, ma'am," said Sir John, getting warm, 
 " what the " suddenly he stopped. 
 
 "Well, you know how young he is — a mere 
 boy — that has neither sense nor experience." 
 
 T 2
 
 276 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 *' Indeed he has not, nor grace either — never 
 was a truer word." 
 
 " Men of that age," she went on hurriedly, and 
 l^leading very hard, "rarely know their own 
 minds — they know nothing of the world — nothing 
 absolutely. They are obstinate, and the more 
 you reason with them the more you fix their 
 pride." 
 
 " Well, ma'am," said Sir John, with a sort of 
 suspicious surprise, " and what's all this coming 
 to ? What the devil are you driving at now ? 
 What trick is in the wind ? I tell you what, 
 Mrs. " 
 
 " Sir John," said Mrs. Lepell, rising with great 
 dignity, " I thought you belonged to the old 
 rldvalrous school, that set an example to our 
 days. I can make every allowance for your 
 trials ; but still I think I owe something to my- 
 self, for you have been kind to me and I feel 
 kind to you, and that it is better for me to — go 
 to bed." 
 
 Sir John was confused 
 
 ** Why do you take me up so, ma'am ? I can't
 
 SIR JOHN GOES HOME. 277 
 
 speak by the card. Haven't I reason to be sweet 
 tempered to-day, and you can make no allow- 
 ance ? But who does for an old man like me, 
 God help us ! I didn't mean — I " 
 
 " Not a word, dear Sir John," she said, with 
 delight, " not a syllable more. It was, indeed, I 
 — I am touchy, and only meant to say that I 
 thought you were a little hurried ; that if you had 
 given Mr. Severne a little time he would have 
 reflected — seen what he was losing, and decided 
 wisely. Now his pride is touched." 
 
 " And let it be," said Sir John, vindictively. 
 " But what did I do ? Why d ye say I did it ? 
 Didn't he go away himself? Did I turn him 
 out ? Who asked him to go ? God knows he 
 might have stayed here as long as he liked, or if 
 he wanted time to think, of course, anything in 
 reason. Though would you have me take in a 
 pair of beggars, like that woman and her child, 
 off the street — eh, ma'am ? — is that what you 
 are at ? " 
 
 " They ! " said Mrs. Lepell, with great con- 
 tempt. " Vd have had them taken by the shoul-
 
 278 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 ders the first night they entered this house, and 
 packed hack into their chaise again. They were 
 common people out of the street. I said that 
 openly, and made no secret of it. It was the 
 most foolish, mad idea in the world. You were 
 quite right Sir John, to send them out — ]pack 
 them out." 
 
 " I was — I know I was," said he. " Tm glad 
 I did it, too." 
 
 " I know a little of human nature," went on 
 Mrs. Lepell^ a little mysteriously. " The sight 
 of them will always be associated with the loss of 
 all his hopes and prospects. In a week he will 
 he disgusted with her. Don't you see ? There- 
 fore I say, Sir John, don't — don't he hasty. 
 Don't he hard on an unfortunate, foolish youth, 
 who is no wiser than others of his age." 
 
 Sir John paused. There was something in 
 this. Suddenly he hurst out again : 
 
 " It's not that, ma'am. As for marrying, I 
 should not so much mind that if he got a virtuous 
 well-conducted young woman ; and, of course, 
 with good, sound connections ; but it's not that.
 
 SIR JOHN GOES HOME. 270 
 
 Was I to put up with a damned pestilential 
 Eadical under my to have a fellow breath- 
 ing his vile doctrines under my roof, cor- 
 rupting my servants, and teaching them to cut 
 our throats ? Never — never, ma'am ; I won't 
 have it — never ! " 
 
 "There again, j^ou are wrong, too, dear Sir 
 John," said she, firmly, " and I take the liberty 
 of telling you so. All young men are that way 
 at first. Was not the great Mr. Pitt so. Sir John, 
 when he was a young man?" (where did Mrs. 
 Lepell learn that bit of history ?) " So was — was 
 Eldon ? and so was" — (she could not recall any 
 more instances, and put it generally) — " so were 
 hundreds more. It would have worn off, Sir John. 
 These are mere childish fancies, and should be 
 treated like a child's. You are a man of the 
 world, Sir John, and have met all sorts of men. 
 I declare I am a little angry with you, though I 
 know I shall make you angry with me for saying 
 so, for the county has lost a capital candidate, 
 and a capital marriage, which would have kept 
 the place and the property."
 
 280 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 Sir John looked down. This view had not 
 struck him. 
 
 " That is all very well. How am I to know 
 these things/' he said ; " I only take fellows as 
 I find 'em. I am too old to begin arguing 
 with, and waiting on boys. Though it does 
 break my heart to think of the old place, that 
 I know and recollect these sixty-five years, 
 every day of it, being broken and going to 
 rack and ruin. For I won't let the other Digbys 
 in — no, Vm not come to that. Fine fashion- 
 able London people, ma'am, that would pull 
 down every stick of these old rooms and build 
 a plaster villa." 
 
 " Ah, do think it over again. Sir John — night 
 brings counsel, you know. Instead of misery 
 you will have happiness once more. Indeed 
 I am principally thinking of you, Sir John, and 
 of the certain unhappiness that will come into 
 this dear house. I speak disinterestedly, for we 
 shall be far away to-morrow, and may never see 
 you again. Sir John, or — talk over ' The Short 
 Way.'"
 
 SIR JOHN GOES HOME. 281 
 
 Something like a rueful smile came to Sir 
 John's face. 
 
 " Indeed, no, ma'am, you must not leave us 
 yet. I am greatly obliged to you, for this sort 
 of talk is a comfort to me. Of course I can be 
 just and make allowance, ma'am, and if the 
 fellow is sincerely sorry, and recants his errors — 
 fully, ma'am, mind, and no casuistical reserve, 
 ma'am — and comes back and says he will do 
 everything, wh}^ why " 
 
 " Thank you, thank you. Sir John,*' she cried. 
 "How kind, how generous, how forgiving. 
 this, indeed, is noble. But then. Sir John— ah ! 
 think of what you did to-day so very hastily. 
 Stern justice, certainly, which I fear can't be 
 recalled." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Sir John, with satisfaction. " He 
 felt that. I can do what I like with my own still. 
 He saw that. It had a good effect on him, ma'am, 
 I think. He cowered under it. He thought he 
 had some poor fogie to do with. It went home. 
 Though as for that matter, between you and 
 me, it doesn't make so much difference."
 
 282 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 Mrs. Lepell looked up in astonishment. 
 
 " No difference, Sir John ? " 
 
 " Why, not exactly," he said. " The fact is— I 
 just thought of it — I have another in that drawer 
 much to the same tune, ma'am. There were 
 some legacies which I wished to alter, and so 
 I had another made — bran new. You're a sen- 
 sible woman, ma'am, and I admire you. I do, 
 indeed. There's a good deal of what's rational 
 in what you say. There's no such violent hurry 
 after all. It's not life and death, eh, ma'am ? 
 The gallows isn't waiting for us all to-morrow. 
 We are not obliged to make up our minds in a 
 second ? " 
 
 " Exactly, Sir John," said she, humbly, " you 
 l)ut it in the right view. There is no such great 
 hurry. He can be punished — cut off, as he de- 
 serves to be, a week or a fortnight hence all the 
 same." 
 
 *' So he can," said Sir John, moodily. " Of 
 course I don't want to be unjust to any man, 
 woman, or child. God knows we all want time 
 for repentance — every one of us, ma'am. And
 
 SIR JOHN GOES HOME. 283 
 
 there is little enough allowed to us. I don't 
 want to be harsh with him. Let him make 
 submission to me — if he likes. Let him fix any- 
 reasonable time he pleases to make up his mind 
 in, and I am content. I am a gentleman — the 
 old school they call it, ha ! — and don't want to 
 take any one short, and I shall die a gentleman, 
 I hope. They may call us — as the fashion now 
 seems to be — stupid and mule-headed — nice and 
 pretty language that, ma'am ; but we're not 
 ashamed to do the right thing, and the gentle- 
 manly thing; pay our way, ma'am, which of 
 course may be mule-headed and all that. AVell, 
 now — after all this — I'll go to bed, now, for to 
 tell you the truth, I have gone through a great 
 deal to-day ; my head feels very weary, and I 
 shall be glad of a good sleep.'' 
 
 " Good-night, then. Sir John," she said, taking 
 his hand, warmly ; *' and you are not angry with 
 me — poor me — for speaking so freely, and on a 
 matter I had no business with ? " 
 
 " Not at all, not at all, ma'am," said he shortty. 
 " Good-night." Then he went to the door. He
 
 284 SEVENTY-FIYE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 came again, however, and said very warml}'. 
 " No, but I am obliged to you. I am, indeed. 
 Do you know I have been dreading this going to 
 bed all day, and now I don't mind it at all. I 
 feel lighter about the heart. For you know it 
 was a miserable thing to look forward to — spend- 
 ing the rest of my old days alone and deserted. 
 And with all my faults, my dear, I don't deserve 
 it. I don't think I do. Though I have my sins 
 and faults, I shall be very glad, indeed, if the 
 foolish lad comes back, and he shall have every 
 allowance. Of course I don't want him to be 
 with my Lord Eldon and the like, for of course 
 the times have changed a little, and we must go 
 a little with them. But I am obliged to you. 
 I am indeed, madam, and you mustn't leave us 
 just yet. And I assure you, you have given me 
 a great deal of comfort to-night." 
 
 Then the figure of the old Baronet passed out. 
 Mr. Duncan was waiting to light his candle for 
 him. Mrs. Lepell was left behind in the library. 
 She stayed there a long time by the fire ; and 
 Mr. Duncan, who came in on pretext of looking
 
 SIR JOHN GOES HOME. 285 
 
 .after the " winders," observed a smile of great 
 pleasure on her face. At first he naturally put 
 that down to his own presence, and made a light 
 and pleasant remark, in reference to the relation 
 between them, but Mrs. Lepell answered very 
 abstractedly. She was thinking of other matters, 
 and, utterly unconscious of his presence, went 
 over to the writing-table and began a letter. By 
 this proceeding she fell considerably in the 
 affections of that officer. She was a " wuiidlin,' " 
 he feared. The letter was to Severne, no doubt 
 to tell him of the joyful news, and kind office 
 she had done for him. She may have been a 
 " wurldlin','' but still she found pleasure in this 
 task. It was carefully written, and she took 
 some time over it. By the time she rose to go 
 to bed it was nearl}^ one o'clock. 
 
 Somehow she also had found it a weary day. 
 Like Sir John, agitation of any sort wearied her 
 bodily frame. So she lay down to rest very 
 pleasantly, perhaps saying her prayers, and 
 taking credit in the daily account for the Sa- 
 maritan office of reconciling a good but " mule-
 
 286 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 headed " old gentleman, and a " fine young man," 
 perhaps as "mule-headed" in his particular way: 
 and musing on these events, she went off to 
 sleep, and from sleep to dreams the most tranquil 
 and complacent in the world. Perhaps she was 
 huilding up a whole city of castles on this foun- 
 dation, and most naturally too. To a young 
 married woman, just launched in London, with 
 an invalid husband, what an advantage in a 
 young man of fortune, with ancestral honours, 
 and reasonably bound to her by all the ties of 
 honour and gratitude ! Such a young man, well 
 favoured, brilliant, and clever, would soon enter 
 on a brilliant course, " cut his bright way 
 through^' into the "first circles" — Oh! those 
 gorgeous " first circles ^^ — and where he led he 
 surely could put out a kindly hand to show her 
 the way ; and perhaps then she would be on a 
 level with the fine ladies who might have hitherto 
 been a little too fine ; perhaps then she would 
 be seen at the " best houses," " taken up " by a 
 dowager of rank, who would take her out, a 
 charming, good, and pliant old dame, with whom
 
 SIR JOHN GOES HOME. 287 
 
 she could go upstairs in the ball, whose name 
 she would hear announced, and her own after it, 
 shouted from menial to menial, shouted again 
 and again, so frantically, so loud that 
 
 She had started up in bed, for she did hear 
 her own name called again and again, through 
 the door, while some one knocked violentl}^ It 
 flashed on her at once the house was on fire, and 
 with a bound she was on the ground. It was 
 Mr. Duncan's voice that she heard through the 
 door. " O git up, ma'am," he said, " and tell 
 us what we are to do. Poor Sir John, Mrs. 
 Lepell, ma'am "• 
 
 Mrs. Lepell's instinct helped her to the con- 
 clusion at once, there was no fire. " Wait," she 
 cried. " Mr. Duncan, I shall be ready in a mo- 
 ment," and with surprising rapidity, had hurried 
 on a dress. In a moment she opened the door. 
 
 " Is he very ill," she asked ; " have you sent 
 for a doctor ? " 
 
 " A man a-'orseback have gone off. I sent 
 him myself, but I fear indeed, Mrs. Lepell, 
 ma'am — " and Mr. Duncan shook his head.
 
 288 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 " Goodness ! " cried she, in real alarm. 
 ** What does all this mean ? Let me go to him," 
 and she set off hurriedly along the corridors and. 
 passages which led to Sir John's room. But 
 Mr. Duncan was up with her in a moment, and 
 in the hall placed himself before her. 
 
 "No, ma'am — Mrs. Lepell," he said, "it's better 
 not for you — indeed no. I were in there myself; 
 and I fear that the doctor — 0, ma'am, Mrs. 
 Lepell," added Mr. Duncan, with some genuine 
 feeling, "he was a very good gentleman, and 
 kind to us all. I wish — I wish, ma'am, he 
 had not been quite so 'short' with Mr. 'Arold." 
 
 Mrs. Lepell stopped. She had a positive 
 distaste, as indeed she often admitted, to " pain- 
 ful scenes." Sir John ill indeed — but dying — 
 or dead — or in that mysterious, doubtful con- 
 dition in which Duncan had shadowed him forth, 
 she could not endure that. It was not more 
 than half-past three ; a light was burning here 
 and there, for it was just the same as the dead 
 of night. A herd of frightened women, whom 
 tlie news had roused, half-dressed, flitted about,
 
 SIR JOHN GOES HOME. 289 
 
 or gathered near the fatal chamber. It was 
 whispered that the coachman, Wilkins, " was 
 with Sir John ^' — that is to say, in the room with 
 the living spirit that was Sir John Digby, or the 
 earthly remnant which only deserved the title 
 from courtesy. 
 
 It was very cold, and freezing hard outside. 
 It seemed like the middle of the night, as indeed 
 it was to all intents and purposes. Into the cold 
 library, where the fire had long since smouldered 
 out, Mrs. Lepell withdrew, and wrapping a black 
 shawl about her, over her white dress, sat down 
 in an arm-chair to wait for news. A single 
 candle lit the room. She felt both sick and cold ; 
 for this being roused in the night " upsets " 
 many. The others flitted about the house ; the 
 white crbwd gathered upon the stairs and pas- 
 sages, yet no one had courage to resolve all 
 doubts by going in to see the coachman who was 
 with Sir John. They all carried out the sham 
 — the fiction of clinging to the hope of the 
 doctor coming. Ah ! poor Sir John, how many 
 hundred thousand fanciful miles is he away by 
 
 TOL. I. u
 
 290 SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. 
 
 this time ; no earthly doctor, even though he be 
 flogging his smart horse along, and is at the 
 gate, can ever overtake him now. He is long 
 since at his journey's end, and knows secrets 
 which neither Tory nor " vile Eadical " can 
 divine. 
 
 Mr. Duncan told the story very often and to 
 several audiences during these moments of sus- 
 pense. He had woke up ; he could not say why 
 or wherefore — but then he was wakening and 
 wakening, and then he heard Sir John's bell 
 agoin' so, and agoin. Then, as by some sort of 
 "instink,^' he knew that something was wrong, and 
 leaped up. In after life, and in other " services," 
 he told the story very often, though he added 
 another remarkable particular — that it was " a 
 woice '' that called suddenly and roused him. 
 
 But another sound was now heard — sounds of 
 wheels were now heard through the night, and 
 Mr. Duncan ran out to the hall, shading a candle 
 with his hand. There was the doctor's gig, and 
 the doctor himself, who had so cheerfully dined 
 at Digby not many nights before, and who, going
 
 SIR JOHN GOES HOME. 291 
 
 home that night, had vainly prophesied to Mrs. 
 Doctor that " old Sir John was good for ten 
 years to come." Mr. Duncan led him away with- 
 out a word to the chamber of — to Sir John^s — 
 and from thence he came out in two minutes to 
 the crowd of women, and the men from within 
 and without, and from even the farm, a mile and 
 a half off; for news of this sort travels by some 
 enchantment; and he said to them in a low 
 voice — 
 
 " My good people, I can do nothing here. 
 We have all lost a dear, good, kind friend ! " 
 
 END OF VOL I. 
 
 BRADBURY, EVANS, AKD CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIAR3
 
 ,„ "NIVERSITY OF ILLIN0I8-URBANA 
 
 lllllililiilii 
 
 3 0112 045838643