L I B R.ARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVERSITY 
 
 or ILLI NOIS 
 
 8Z3
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/goldengirls01muir
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS, 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 NEW AND POPULAR NOVELS 
 
 AT ALL THE LIBRAEIES. 
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. By the Author of 
 
 'Queenie,' ' Orange Lily,' ' A Jewel of a Girl,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 PEARLA. By M. Betham-Edwaeds, author of ' I^tty,' 
 
 ' Doctor Jacob,' • Bridget,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 JUNE. By Mrs. Forrester, author of 'Viva,' 'Mignon,' 
 
 ' My Lord and my Lady,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 ADRIAN BRIGHT. By Mrs. Caddy, author of ' Artist 
 
 and Amateur,' ' Lares and Penates,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 SQUIRE LISLE'S BEQUEST. By Anne Beale, author 
 
 of ' Fay Arlington,' ' Idonea,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 HURST & BLACKETT, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS 
 
 BY 
 
 ALAN MUIR 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 ''lady beauty," "children's children,' 
 
 &c., &c. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL, I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1883. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 8S3 
 
 GOLDEX GIRLS, 
 
 IXTRODUCTOHY. 
 
 A PROLOGUE SPOKEN BY MR. AUTHOR. 
 
 1 HAVE to tell you the story of two girls 
 -^ who, in early childhood, were left without 
 -J.- father or mother, and at the same time 
 4 inheritors of a vast fortune. These children 
 ^ were placed under the guardianship of a 
 : distant relative, who had neither moral nor 
 ^ intellectual qualities to fit him for his im- 
 'l-portant trust. The facts of their fortune 
 ^were unhappily well known, and from the 
 '^first day they were left orphans the two 
 
 i"-^ VOL. I. B
 
 2 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 were made victims of various plots, each of 
 which had the same end — the acquisition of 
 the property of the children. These plots 
 were scarcely the less dangerous to the 
 young girls' peace because the method by 
 which the schemers hoped to secure the 
 money was, in every case, the marriage of 
 the girls to certain chosen persons. Now, 
 here, in a few words, is the argument of 
 this novel of ' Golden Girls.' How can I tell, 
 reader, whether I shall secure your atten- 
 tion or not ? The opening chapters must 
 in any case be dull, for the interest will en- 
 tirely depend upon the characters, and to 
 awaken interest in characters all at once is 
 as hard as to establish a true and rational 
 friendship in a railway-carriage. Accord- 
 ingly, I begin my story with great diffi- 
 dence ; and this feeling is increased by ray 
 consciousness that the undertaking itself is 
 apt to lead to satirical and even ill-natured
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 6 
 
 comments on men and women and human 
 life. Lest, then, I should be thought a 
 cynic, I may tell you, reader, that after hav- 
 ing passed many years in attentive study of 
 mankind I am growing less disposed to mis- 
 anthropy every year that I live. I have, in- 
 deed, found that in the best characters — the 
 most sincerely self-forgetting and religious 
 — there are ineradicable blemishes ; but I 
 have found, too, that none are wholly bad, 
 a discovery which gives more comfort than 
 its opposite can possibly give pain. I find 
 the humorous view of life, let serious people 
 say what they please, wholesome in many 
 circumstances, second onl}' in value to the 
 pathetic. I laugh and weep alternately as 
 1 write. Reader, if I can but move you to 
 one-tenth of the merry or serious emotion 
 that I feel as I write, believe me when you 
 lay down this book you will say, ' This 
 author is no bad fellow.' One thins I 
 
 b2
 
 4 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 promise you — you shall not be entrapped 
 into a moral tale. Exactly what happened 
 I will tell you, quite irrespective of any 
 possible moral or immoral lesson. Reader, 
 if by a tweak of the nose I could transform 
 one of ray characters from a villain to a 
 hero, I would not tweak his nose. In this 
 story men and women shall seem what they 
 are, and speak as they spoke. 
 
 Now, I shall, with your permission, set 
 before you three short introductory scenes, 
 disconnected from each other, but still ser- 
 viceable to the narrative ; and this done, we 
 shall start fairly on our story of ' Golden 
 Girls.' 
 
 II. 
 
 A FIGHT OF LOVE WITH FATE : FATE WINNING. 
 
 A Swiss-Italian lake. On the very edge 
 of the waters stood a large house, and the 
 waves kept rising and falHng with the ut-
 
 GOLDEN GIELS. 5 
 
 most gentleness against its walls. The air 
 was full of summer, and far away, beyond 
 the great space of still hot atmosphere, the 
 white majestic line of the Swiss Alps dimly 
 traversed the sky. All was quiet, for it was 
 the heat of the day, and man and Nature 
 alike were lulled in a warm sleep. 
 
 Only in a room of this lake-house, where 
 an open window showed a stretch of quiet 
 water, were three people who had nothing 
 either of Switzerland or Italy about them. 
 The first was a lady of about seven-and- 
 twenty, of rare beauty, with the whitest 
 skin, the softest chestnut hair, the loveliest 
 eyes of blue. Her face and form might 
 kindle many an enamoured thought in a 
 man's breast, were it not for an unearthly 
 look which pervaded her whole aspect. 
 Her face w^as fined by wasting disease ; the 
 colour on her cheeks which kindled her 
 loveliness into such brightness was the fire
 
 6 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 of death ; the brilliancy in her great eyes 
 was of the sort that must soon be quench- 
 ed ; the hand lying carelessly on the satin 
 coverlet had been chiselled to its delicacy 
 by consumption. Yes ; ^every thought of 
 life and love would die in your breast as 
 you regarded her ; for her marvellous beauty 
 was so full of decline and early sunset that 
 you would think no more of tender vows, 
 or stolen kisses, or wedding-bells, but of 
 the unseen kingdom to which the lady is 
 going, where they neither marry nor are 
 given in marriage. 
 
 Beside the sick lady stood a small child's 
 bed, and on it lay a little girl of five or six, 
 with hair which fell down in great dark 
 tresses, big soft eyes of grey, and an al- 
 mond-shaped face which, touched as it was 
 with melancholy, seemed remarkable in so 
 young a creature. This child was sick too, 
 and her toys were spread on the quilt be-
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 7 
 
 side her, and she was busy arranging one of 
 her dolls on the pillow, talking to it all the 
 while with great volubility. 
 
 The second girl was older — nine perhaps 
 — and of a true English style like the sick 
 lady, chestnut and blue, only her beauty 
 did not promise fully to equal her mother's. 
 She was hard at work sewing an apron for 
 the doll which her sister was composing to 
 sleep. 
 
 ' Mildred,' the mother said, speaking in a 
 faint and weary voice, ' I want to say a few 
 words to you and Violet. I may not be 
 strong enough to-morrow. I am going 
 away from you both, darlings.' 
 
 The elder crirl bent over her sewinsr, as if 
 she knew something ; but the little one stop- 
 ped in her play with the doll and looked 
 up in great surprise. 
 
 ' Going away, mamma ? But you will not 
 be long ?'
 
 8 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 ' I shall not see you, darlings, not either 
 of you, for a long time,' the sick lady 
 answered, taking little Violet's hand in her 
 own. ' God is going to take me away to 
 heaven.' 
 
 'Can't we go too, mamma?' asked little 
 Violet, looking at her mother in fixed won- 
 der. ' You never go anywhere without us.' 
 
 ' After a little while,' the mother replied. 
 
 'To-morrow, I daresay, perhaps this 
 evening,' little Violet said, quite comforted, 
 and turning to her doll again. ^ Now, dolly, 
 lie still where I put you.' 
 
 ' Mildred,' the mother said, addressing 
 the elder girl, who still bent over her little 
 bit of sewing, so that her face could not be 
 seen, ' when I am taken away, you and little 
 Violet will go back to England, and you 
 will live near the church where dear papa 
 is buried : and they will carry me and put 
 me beside him, and you and Violet can
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 bring flowers and lay them there on sum- 
 mer evenings.' 
 
 ^ And you will see us then, won't you, 
 mamma?' little Violet asked, looking up 
 from her doll, for the last words caught her 
 ears. 
 
 ' I shall be far off,' the mother answered. 
 * lam going to papa, Yiolet. God is going 
 to take me away to him.' 
 
 ' And why won't God take us too, mam- 
 ma ?' asked Violet, who had lost all interest 
 in her doll for the time. ' Then we should 
 all be together again, and papa would ride 
 me on his shoulder.' 
 
 ' And, Mildred, you must try to remem- 
 ber what I am saying to you,' the dying 
 lady continued, speaking with diflSculty, for 
 a cough harassed her at every breath. * You 
 and Violet will be very rich, and you will not 
 have papa or myself to take care of you ; and, 
 darling, you will have to take care of little
 
 10 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 Violet as she grows up, and try to make her 
 stronger, and see that she has always nice 
 things to eat ; and you must promise me that 
 every morning you will make her kneel 
 down with you, and then you and she are 
 to say that little prayer I taught you about 
 being good and kind, and asking God to 
 keep you from what is wrong and naughty, 
 and to bring you at last to papa and 
 mamma.' 
 
 'Will He?' asked little Violet, whose 
 grey eyes were full of wonder. ' Will it be 
 a nice place, as nice as this T 
 
 'A great deal nicer than this, Violet,' 
 the mother answered, holding her little 
 girl's hand very fast. * The sun is always 
 shining, and the people are always sing- 
 ing, and nobody ever is sick, and nobody 
 ever cries ; and then we shall all four be 
 quite happy, and never leave each other 
 again.'
 
 GOLDEN GIELS. 11 
 
 ' But why can t me and Millj g^-^pw, 
 mamma ?' little Violet persisted. 
 
 ' Because, my darling, you have to live 
 here for a long time, and be very rich, and 
 know a great many people, and do all sorts 
 of things, and you will be very, very happy, 
 I hope ; and then, when it is all over, if you 
 have been very good, God will bring you 
 safe to papa and myself.* 
 
 For the moment little Yiolet was satisfied, 
 and the mother once again tried to speak to 
 Mildred. 
 
 * You must take care of Yiolet, darling ; 
 you are the elder ; you understand a great 
 deal more than she does. You must be 
 like mamma to little Yiolet when mamma 
 herself is gone for ever.' 
 
 Violet was her mother's darling, and now 
 the poor lady's voice began to tremble and 
 to break. 
 
 Brave little Mildred, who realised the
 
 12 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 dreadful truth, had all this time been bend- 
 ing over her work, and with great firmness 
 had been biting her lips and keeping back 
 her tears. But now her resolution quite 
 gave way ; the tremor of her mother's voice 
 overcame her. Throwing down the apron, 
 she cast her arms about her mother's neck, 
 sobbing piteously. 
 
 ^ Mamma, mamma ! don't go ! Don't 
 leave us ! stay a little longer ! Oh, mamma, 
 mamma !' 
 
 At sight of her sister's sorrow little Violet 
 burst out crying too, and the mother, unable 
 any longer to restrain her own grief, bowed 
 her head over Mildred, caressing the child, 
 but weeping as she did so. There these 
 three sorrowing creatures were. Outside 
 spread the still waters and the bright sun- 
 shine, and far away the belt of snowy hills ; 
 but they heeded not the language of glory 
 and peace. Why should they? And yet
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 13 
 
 the whole scene might have been taken for 
 a figure of what our good poets sing — that 
 outside and around the great spectacle of 
 earthly sorrow there lies, unseen, an em- 
 bracing circle of divine love and joy. 
 
 III. 
 
 A FIGHT OF FLATTERY WITH FOLLY : FLATTERY 
 WIXXIXG. 
 
 The suburb of an Encrlish town. In a 
 handsome drawing-room furnished, how- 
 ever, with more profusion than taste, four 
 persons sat together — a tall, imposing, old- 
 fashioned, elderly man ; a woman about 
 thirty-five, richly clad, and of a very good 
 style of matronly beauty ; a meagre, pinched 
 man of fifty, with shoulders shrivelled up 
 very high, and a general expression which 
 suggested that he chose this w^ay of keeping 
 his ears warm, because it was cheap; a small 
 boy of a dollish prettiness, who occupied
 
 14 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 himself with card castles, and was occasion- 
 ally regarded with great interest by the 
 three elders. 
 
 * Oh, Jerome,' the lady said, with a bland 
 and sycophantic smile, ' you are too clever — 
 too severe ; one feels quite afraid of you.' 
 
 This insinuating speech was an answer 
 to some remark made by the old-fashioned 
 gentleman ; he seemed much gratified. 
 
 ' Do not say clever !' he cried, chuckling 
 with much enjoyment. ' Do not say severe. 
 You don't mean it. Beatrice,' he added, 
 looking at the lady, ' do you really think, 
 now, that I am clever and severe ?' 
 
 ' I know what Daniel and I always say,' 
 Beatrice replied, judging a little bit of work 
 as she spread it out on the table before her ; 
 ' we always say ' 
 
 *What?' the old-fashioned gentleman 
 asked, greatly interested, and the more so 
 because she stopped.
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 15 
 
 ^ Why,' Daniel remarked, rising from an 
 account-book over which he had been por- 
 ing, and walking to the fireplace, where, as 
 if by habit, he put his hands behind his 
 back, although it was summer, ' we alwaj's 
 say that for a clear head, a cool judgment, 
 and a sharp eye for a knave or a fool, 
 there is nobody in England like Jerome 
 Dawe.' 
 
 *That is what you say, is it?' Jerome 
 Dawe exclaimed, roaring with laughter, and 
 slapping his knee in his delight. ' But you 
 don't really mean it, Daniel — not alto- 
 gether! A cool head! a clear judgment! 
 a sharp eye for a knave or a fool! — eh? 
 Well, I won't say, but I have put my finger 
 on a fool or two in my life — and a knave 1' 
 
 ' This I can say,' Daniel continued, speak- 
 ing slowly and checking off his thoughts on 
 his fingers to mark the accuracy with which 
 his mind was working, 'in the course of a
 
 16 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 long life I have never, never met your 
 match, Jerome, so far as headpiece goes.' 
 
 Jerome Dawe burst put laughing anew, 
 and slapped his leg once more. 
 
 ' You don't mean it, Daniel ! I do not 
 believe you mean it ! I should like to hear 
 you say it again, just to see if you mean it. 
 So far as headpiece goes — eh? Well, well, 
 I will not say that I have not something of 
 the kind between my shoulders.' 
 
 * I know this,' Beatrice said, looking up 
 at Jerome Dawe with great composure, ' if 
 you could but hear what Daniel says of 
 vou in private ! He won't now, when you 
 are here ; but, if you heard him in private, 
 I think you would be flattered.' 
 
 'Flattered, should I?' repeated Jerome 
 Dawe. ' Don't repeat anything to me, 
 Beatrice, for I hate flattery ! What he says 
 of me in private, eh ?' 
 
 * Shall I tell you what he said last night?'
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 1 7 
 
 the lady rejoined, looking candour itself as 
 she fixed her eyes on Jerome Dawe. 'We 
 were talking about yourself and your bro- 
 ther, and Daniel said ' 
 
 ' Beatrice !' Daniel called out from the 
 hearthrug, 'I will not allow this. I forbid 
 you to say another word.' 
 
 The lady laughed with great good- 
 humour. 
 
 * Shall I obey him, Jerome ?' she asked. 
 
 *It's a delicate matter,' replied Jerome, 
 jocosely. '"Xever interfere between man 
 and wife " is my rule. Still, Beatrice, if 
 you don't mind whispering in my ear ' 
 
 So, entering into the humour of his sug- 
 gestion, Jerome Dawe bent his head close 
 to Beatrice, while Daniel called out again, 
 in a serious voice, 
 
 ' Now mind ! I have said you shall not 
 repeat it.' 
 
 However, beyond this, Daniel made no 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 18 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 movement to interfere, and Jerome Dawe 
 put his ear close to the lady's lips, like a 
 pitcher to a dropping well, and she whis- 
 pered a long sentence. 
 
 ' What was the last word ?' inquired 
 Jerome Dawe, having missed one particular 
 morsel. Beatrice repeated something in his 
 ear. 
 
 ' Said that,- did he ?' Jerome Dawe ex- 
 claimed, lifting up a face radiant with 
 delight. ' Daniel said that to you ? Last 
 night, too? Oh, Daniel, you dog, what 
 a judge of character you are !' 
 
 In the abundance of his gratification 
 Jerome Dawe made as if he would give 
 Daniel a fictitious poke in the ribs, an 
 overture which Daniel received sulkily. 
 
 *I don't approve of this sort of thing,' 
 he said. 'It was wrong of Beatrice, and 
 wrong of you, Jerome.' 
 
 ' Why, how do you know what she has
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 19 
 
 been saying ?' Jerome Dawe replied, more 
 facetiously than ever. ' Perhaps she only 
 told me the day of the month !' 
 
 ' There he goes again, Beatrice !' Daniel 
 remarked to his wife, quite struck by this 
 clever diversion on the part of Jerome 
 Dawe. ' You cannot have him ! You 
 cannot have him !' 
 
 He struck his palm with his* knuckles to 
 express his admiration with greater force; 
 and Jerome Dawe chuckled and rubbed his 
 hands toorether and twinkled his eves and 
 looked a wondrous clever fellow, wnth a 
 dash of good-nature about him, strong and 
 apt, and facetious through it all, you know. 
 
 * Now, Jerome,' Daniel remarked, as- 
 suming a business face all at once, ' I want 
 to have a little talk with you about these 
 Walsingham children. How is the mother?' 
 
 * She died last week,' Jerome Dawe an- 
 swered. 'I was iust croincr to tell you. I 
 
 c2
 
 20 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 had a letter from her maid this morning.' 
 
 ' And those poor orphan girls — where are 
 they?' inquired Daniel. 
 
 ' On their way to England,' the other 
 replied. ' I must take them in for a few 
 days, and then make arrangements for the 
 future.' 
 
 'You are sole guardian, I believe?' 
 Daniel remarked, interrogatively. 
 
 ' Sole guardian,' Jerome Dawe answered, 
 with importance. 'And let me tell you, 
 Daniel, where such a great fortune is 
 concerned guardianship is no trifle.' 
 
 ' What may the fortune be ?' Daniel 
 asked, seeming, however, to lose interest 
 in the conversation, for he returned to his 
 account-book, and weighed its columns, and 
 calculated with his lips. 
 
 'One hundred thousand apiece — that at 
 this moment,' said Jerome Dawe. ' In ten 
 years' time, when the money has rolled
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 21 
 
 over and over, no one can say what it wil 
 be.' 
 
 'A fortune like that — rolling over and 
 over,' Daniel remarked. 'Five and five 
 are ten, and five fifteen' — for so little did 
 he seem to care about the fortune that he 
 fell back into his own figures. ' A fortune 
 of this kind, rolling over and over, as you 
 say, might in ten years amount to a quarter 
 of a million. By the way, Jerome, did you 
 not mention that one dausjhter is delicate ?' 
 
 ' Yes, the younger — Violet. The mother 
 told me some time ago that she was afraid 
 Violet would never live to be a woman.' 
 
 'In that case,' replied Daniel, still figur- 
 ing away and inserting small addition sums 
 in his talk, ' the other girl will be worth 
 — four and three are seven — a quarter of 
 a million when she comes of age — five 
 from eight leaves three. A nice fortune for 
 somebody.'
 
 22 GOLDEN GIKLS. 
 
 But Daniel did not manifest any interest 
 whatever in this quarter of a million. 
 It was no concern of his. Of course 
 not. 
 
 *How old is the elder girl?' Daniel asked 
 once more, after fresh acts of addition and 
 subtraction. He glanced at his little son, 
 who was absorbed in his card castles. 
 
 'The elder girl is nine,' replied Jerome 
 Dawe. 'Nine and one month.' 
 
 'Just two years younger than Eugene,' 
 Daniel remarked, still with his eyes on his 
 son. ' Yes, as you say, Jerome, it will be 
 a charge — an onerous charge. I am glad 
 it is you, not me, who has the care of those 
 children.' 
 
 * Nonsense, Daniel !' Beatrice cried out, 
 interposing with an air of impatience. 
 * Charge, indeed ! As if Jerome were not 
 equal to such a thing ! Some men might
 
 GOLDEX GIRLS. 23 
 
 blunder. Jerome will be father — mother 
 — guardian — friend — everything to those 
 girls.' 
 
 *You think so. Beatrice, do you?' Je- 
 rome Dawe remarked. ' You think I will 
 manage ? Father — mother — guardian — 
 friend — eh ? Well, perhaps I will. Some 
 men might blunder — eh ? Well, per- 
 haps they might, Beatrice — perhaps they 
 might.' 
 
 ' But this is such a very extraordinary 
 case,' Daniel replied, shaking his head with 
 an air of mistrust. ' How to bring those 
 girls up — how to shield them from design- 
 ing people and adventurers ; why, they w^ill 
 be courted before they are in their teens ! 
 Where there is money, Jerome, people will 
 do anything. Oh, money, money !' 
 
 ^ Leave the girls to me,' Jerome Dawe 
 said, confidently. '■ I have my own plan
 
 24 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 for bringing them up ; my own settled plan 
 for keeping them in seclusion and out of 
 harm's way. I will tell you what it is, and 
 you will not call me a stupid fellow.' 
 
 Daniel looked blank at this announce- 
 ment. 
 
 ' Settled a plan already, Jerome ?' 
 
 'Yes, settled a plan already,' answered 
 Jerome, triumphantly. ' Listen to it ' 
 
 ' I have found you out !' the lady ex- 
 claimed, interrupting him suddenly, and 
 throwing up her hands in admiration. ' 1 
 know the plan ! Well, Jerome, for a far- 
 sighted man you exceed everybody I have 
 ever met.' 
 
 *You cannot know my plan, Beatrice,' 
 said Jerome Dawe, looking at her in sur- 
 prise. ' That is impossible.' 
 
 ' I know it, Jerome,' she answered. ' I 
 see it all. Splendid idea ! Capital idea ! 
 Just such an idea as would occur to a man
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 25 
 
 like yourself. Still, Jerome, there will be 
 obstacles in the way : I see obstacles in the 
 way.' 
 
 ' Beatrice,' cried Jerome Dawe, ' you 
 cannot know my plan. It does not concern 
 anybody with whom you are acquainted. 
 1 will tell you all about it in ten words, 
 and then you will see ' 
 
 * I know ! I know !' the lady cried, run- 
 ning on in great haste, and determined that 
 he should not have the first word. ' You 
 want Daniel and myself to bring up the 
 children. You have settled that we are to 
 take them. Oh, Jerome, what a man you 
 are ! It is really dangerous to have to do 
 with you, you are so clever in all you do !' 
 
 * Beatrice,' cried Jerome Dawe again, 
 and this time solemnly, ' such an idea never 
 entered my mind.' 
 
 ' Look at his eye, Daniel !' the lady cried. 
 She was now at Jerome Dawe's side,
 
 26 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 caressing him. ' Look at the twinkle in his 
 eye ! Which are we to believe ? The 
 tongue or the eye ? the clever tongue or 
 the twinkling eye ? Oh, Jerome, Jerome, 
 not to tell us before !' 
 
 Jerome Dawe did not speak for a min- 
 ute, and was apparently collecting himself 
 for an effort. 
 
 Then, looking at the lady with a roguish 
 expression, he said, 
 
 ' You think it was clever, do you ?' 
 
 ' Oh, Jerome, Jerome !' she cried again, 
 as if regular speech would fail to measure 
 his craft. * You are too deep for us alto- 
 gether r 
 
 * I kept ray secret well, did I ?' Jerome 
 Dawe asked, seeming more and more to 
 recover himself. * You guessed nothing ?' 
 
 * Never, till ten minutes ago,' she an- 
 swered. 
 
 ' I am a sly fellow, am I ?' Jerome Dawe
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 27 
 
 inquired, chuckling. ' You would call me 
 a sly fellow, eh ?' 
 
 * Too sly for me,' Daniel remarked, in a 
 tone of unfeigned admiration. ^ But it will 
 not do, Jerome. We could not take these 
 children.' 
 
 'Why not, Dan?' asked Jerome Dawe. 
 ' Your reason ?' 
 
 ' Well, you see/ replied Daniel, in a hesi- 
 tating way, ' there are threescore and ten 
 objections. It would be — it would seem — ■ 
 well, T do not quite know where to begin. 
 Perhaps I may be wrong. Only I do not 
 like the thing, Jerome — I do not like the 
 thing.' 
 
 ' Daniel,' said Beatrice, v/ith a reproving 
 air, 'if Jerome thinks it wise, we may trust 
 his judgment. What is the use of saying 
 every day that we rely on his opinion, and 
 then refusing to act upon it at the first mo- 
 ment of apparent difficulty ?'
 
 28 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 * Well,' Daniel replied, pondering hard, 
 ^ we must think it over. We must be guided 
 by Jerome. There is one thing, the elder 
 girl would be a nice playmate for Eugene.' 
 
 Every reader has seen that the idea of 
 thus providing for his wards had never even 
 crossed the mind of Jerome Dawe. And 
 yet now he half believed that the arrange- 
 ment, into which he had been thus blandly 
 and scientifically inveigled, was of his own 
 devising. And this pompous, shallow, and 
 ductile Ass is the keeper and the guardian 
 of our dear little Golden Girls ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 A FIGHT OF A GREAT MAN WITH A SMALL BOY : 
 NEITHER WINNING. 
 
 In one corner of an ill-furnished bed-room, 
 which the slanting ceiling showed to be at 
 the top of a house, there stood, in a sullen 
 attitude, a boy of eleven or twelve. Sullen
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 29 
 
 is the word to describe both his attitude and 
 his face, and yet he seemed a lad not ignoble 
 by nature. His hair was matted over his 
 forehead, as if he had been strusforlincr and 
 crying; his dress was dusty and disordered ; 
 and his hands and cheeks alike were sorely 
 in need of washins^. Yet it was a taking^ 
 face after all. ready for good-nature, and 
 lit by a pair of eyes of honest brown. The 
 lad's frame, too, was a fine one, broad- 
 chested, and with many a sign of approach- 
 ing manly vigour. Such a boy one of our wise 
 and thoughtful English mothers would regard 
 with anxiety and reflection, and would re- 
 solve to cruide him now with indulcrence and 
 now with kind repression, kindling his affec- 
 tions, guiding his strong physical nature into 
 wholesome channels, and driving backward 
 the brutish part of his disposition. For in 
 this boy any penetrating eye can see there 
 is what, for lack of a finer word, one must
 
 30 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 call a brutish part ; and the next few yeans 
 will either draw it into ruinous predom- 
 inance, or ^K it within safe boundaries of 
 self-restraint and virtue and honour, making 
 it the spring of energy for a noble and 
 happy life. 
 
 For this boy there was at present no 
 motherly care. He stood crouched in the 
 corner, dirty, savage, glaring. The brutish 
 part was coming out pretty strongly at that 
 particular moment. 
 
 Opposite to him, a black stick held menac- 
 ingly in his hand, his whole bearing ex- 
 pressing aversion and reproof, stood the 
 portly Jerome Dawe. Mingling with his 
 punitive air there was something of alarm, 
 as if the boy were a kind of wild cat, who 
 might make a sudden leap and do mischief 
 
 'You are a rogue,' said Jerome Dawe. 
 ' Roguery, roguery is a detestable thing.' 
 
 * I am not a rogue, no more than you !'
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 31 
 
 the boy answered, in just the tone one 
 would expect. 
 
 ' You took that five-shilling piece off ray 
 library table this morning,' Jerome Dawe 
 continued. ' Don't add sin to sin, Sholto. 
 You know you took it.' 
 
 ' I never saw it,' the boy cried. ' I did 
 not go into the library all day.' 
 
 ' You took that five shillings !' Dawe re- 
 peated, with dogged grandeur. ^ I am as 
 sure that you took it as if I had seen you. 
 How do you know, Sholto, but I did see you.' 
 
 ' You could not have seen me !' the boy 
 answered back, furiously, ' and you could 
 not say you saw me without telling a lie.' 
 
 ^ For daring to talk to me about telling a 
 lie,' retorted Jerome Dawe, with awful so- 
 lemnity, ' you shall stay here till this time to- 
 morrow, and live on bread and water. If you 
 had confessed and been repentant, I might 
 have forgiven you. x\s it is, here you stay,
 
 32 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 Sholto, and we will see if you talk about 
 telling lies to-morrow.' 
 
 ' I tell you what,' shrieked the bo}^ as 
 Jerome Dawe was preparing to leave the 
 room, ' you are what my father always call- 
 ed you.' 
 
 ' What was that?' Jerome Dawe demand- 
 ed, indignant, but curious. 
 
 ^ A bully, selfish, cruel, vain !' the boy 
 went on, almost insane in his fury and 
 grief. ' He said you cared for nobody 
 but those Ruddocks; and that for them 
 you would sacrifice everybody you knew ; 
 and that you only cared for them be- 
 cause they flattered you ; and that they 
 could flatter you as much as they liked, you 
 are such a fool — there !' 
 
 ' Did your father, did my brother, say all 
 that?' Jerome Dawe asked, thunder-struck 
 by this cannonade of compliments. ' Did he 
 dare to say all that ?'
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 33 
 
 ' Yes, and it's true, every word !' the boy 
 answered, still in the same headlong way. 
 *And that is just how you treat me. 
 Eugene is everything, and what is Eugene 
 to you ? And, no matter what I do, I can- 
 not please you, and I will never try again 
 as long as I live.' 
 
 ^ Eugene is a gentleman,' said Jerome 
 Dawe, ' and a boy of honour. You, Shol- 
 to, are a savage, and you will go to the 
 devil, as savages invariably do. For what 
 you have said to me now you shall have an- 
 other day here ; after that ' — this was said 
 with some jocosity and sprightliness — * per- 
 haps you will know how to behave !' 
 
 ' I won't stay — I won't stay !' the boy 
 shrieked ; and he made a dash at Jerome 
 Dawe, and wound about his leg, and tore at 
 his coat like a savage indeed. Jerome 
 Dawe turned pale, and seemed for a mo- 
 ment disposed to let the boy carry his point, 
 
 A'-OL. I. D
 
 34 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 when suddenly poor Sholto, making a false 
 move, let go his uncle's leg. The uncle, 
 with great celerity, whipped through the 
 door, and locked it on the other side. Then 
 in reply to the volley of kicks which rattled 
 on the panel, Jerome Dawe, having recover- 
 ed his dignity and courage, called out, in a 
 tremendous voice, 
 
 ' There you stay, Master Sholto, on bread 
 and water, until you tell me you are sorry. 
 Oh, kick away, my boy !' he cried, becom- 
 ing quite facetious, after feeling his leg and 
 finding that he was not really bitten or 
 lacerated; 'when you kick through the 
 door I shall let you off the rest.' 
 
 The reply from within to this sarcasm 
 was such a renewal of kickins;, that it seem- 
 ed as if Jerome Dawe's good faith would 
 soon be put to the test ; and he himself 
 waited to see if the door was as strong as
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 35 
 
 he thought. Presently the kicks relaxed in 
 vigour somewhat, which Jerome Dawe 
 noticing, with a humorous expression went 
 proudly downstairs, with the air of a man 
 who has tamed a lion. 
 
 At the foot of the first flicrht he met his 
 housekeeper, an elderly wizen-faced woman, 
 dressed in an absurd travesty of fashion and 
 affectation of youth. 
 
 'What can the matter be?' she asked. 
 Her preposterous air exactly suited her pre- 
 posterous appearance. 
 
 ' That boy again/ replied Jerome Dawe. 
 ' He stole ^ve shillings off my library table 
 this morning.' 
 
 ' That he did not/ the woman ex- 
 claimed, snatching at the opportunity of 
 correcting her master. ' I have the money 
 in my pocket. It was not safe to leave 
 it about.' 
 
 d2
 
 36 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 ' You took the five shillings, did you, 
 Matty ?' asked Jerome Dawe, with the voice 
 of a man who might scold. 
 
 * I did,' she retorted, boldly. ^ What right 
 have you to leave money about in that way ? 
 You ought to know better !' 
 
 * Perhaps I ought,' Jerome Dawe replied, 
 all the premonition of scolding vanishing. 
 ' But what am I to do with Master Sholto ? 
 I have shut him up for to-day and to- 
 morrow.' 
 
 ' Leave him shut up,' the woman answer- 
 ed, insolently. ^ He will want it for some- 
 thing else. Come down; your dinner is 
 ready.' 
 
 'You are quite right, Matty,' Jerome 
 Dawe answered. ' He will want it for 
 something else. Besides, it would never 
 do to confess to the fellow that we had 
 made a mistake. At the same time, Matty^ 
 let him have some dinner.'
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 37 
 
 ' Leave his dinner to me/ Matty replied, 
 in her impudent way. 'You go and eat 
 your own.'
 
 38 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A PICTURE OF AN OLD-FASHIONED GENTLEMAN — 
 SHOWING Y^AT STRANGE PEOPLE FOUNDED 
 GOOD FAMILIES, AND WHAT ODD DESCENDANTS 
 THEY BEGOT. 
 
 'To bed, Sholto, do you hear? To bed 
 this minute !' 
 
 ' Eugene, my boy, you may sit up if you 
 choose.' 
 
 These sentences came not from two 
 speakers, but from one. Because they were 
 divided by a pause, and more sharply divid- 
 ed by a change of tone from snappish to 
 caressing, I have written each by itself.
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 39 
 
 But who was this speaker with two voices 
 issuing such contrary commands ? 
 
 He was none other than the Jerome 
 Dawe who has already figured in our Intro- 
 duction, but who has not yet been fully 
 described. A tall, elderly gentleman he 
 was, of portly figure, which was well 
 fashioned in spite of the large bones that 
 framed it. Jerome Dawe had a grand- 
 looking head, and his spacious forehead was 
 the more suggestive of mental power be- 
 cause his hair was brushed upward and 
 stood straight in air, disclosing two fine 
 temples. His shirt was frilled in the an- 
 tique style ; his massive seals hung from the 
 now-forgotten fob ; and his well-shaped legs 
 were breeched to the knees, and thence clad 
 in silk stockings. He was to the eye a 
 gentleman of the old school. Possibly at 
 that date three or four dozen like himself 
 in the United Kingdom clung to the attire
 
 40 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 of the past ; but he had become now such a 
 palpable antiquity, such a visible anachron- 
 ism, that people stared at him as he walked 
 b}^, and wondered if he were come from a 
 masquerade. His imposing step, his mag- 
 nificent carriage, his dignified air, arrested 
 any tendency to mirth ; while his long ebony 
 stick, with Shakespeare's head carved on 
 the handle, suggested that it would in any 
 case be prudent not to smile until he had 
 fairly passed by. 
 
 He was not walking now, but sitting in 
 his arm-chair, erect and imperative. His 
 voice was strong and clear, and he had al- 
 together a leonine appearance, which might 
 be described as formidable, and the growl 
 with which he ordered Sholto to bed car- 
 ried out the leonine resemblance with great 
 vivacity. 
 
 Of Mr. Jerome Dawe, my reader, I am 
 sure you are anxious to hear something
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 41 
 
 more. Accordingly, I shall begin with his 
 pedigree, which was of historical importance. 
 By birth he was a gentleman, as indeed his 
 attire, however fantastic, proclaimed. His 
 descent was long and fully ascertained. 
 Read in the light of plain fact, his first 
 known ancestor was a person of good wind 
 and muscle, not over-nice as to the distinc- 
 tion between mine and thine. This original 
 Dawe fell in with a great political character 
 and conqueror who was also renowned for 
 his wind and muscle, and still more for 
 the rapidity with which he deprived other 
 people of the use of theirs. This conqueror 
 was no creature of fiction, but a man with 
 a real name and address like you and me; 
 and some people say he w^as a saint, and 
 some people say he was a villain ; but for 
 my part — not having been in the conquer- 
 or's mind — I cannot tell which he was, nor 
 does the question in the least concern us.
 
 42 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 What does concern us is that Dawe the 
 First, who came from nowhere, made him- 
 self useful to the conqueror, and for so 
 doing got a large slice of land which a fort- 
 night or so before had been in the peaceful 
 and undisputed possession of a third party. 
 This third party happening to disagree with 
 the conqueror on some little point of order, 
 found himself all of a sudden swinging 
 from a tree, with every alternative of be- 
 haviour over at once and for ever. Having 
 in this gratifying way been installed in re- 
 spectable landed society, the Dawes set 
 about behaving themselves, and, after Fal- 
 staiF, living cleanly as noblemen should. 
 They became generals, and deans, and 
 magistrates, and whatever beside was 
 dignitied. They wore scarlet, and gold, 
 and fur, and lawn. They preached before 
 kings. They sat on judicial benches and 
 sent evil-doers to prison. And now there
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 43 
 
 was such a perspective of Dawes in a long 
 ancestral line, with collateral branches, that 
 it was quite a procession. There were mili- 
 tary Dawes, naval Dawes, judicial Dawes, 
 canonical Dawes, decanal Dawes, even 
 episcopal Dawes. There were Dawes who 
 lay in Westminster Abbey. There were 
 Dawes who had died bravely in defence of 
 their country, watering foreign clay with 
 good English blood. There were Dawes who 
 had been gentlemen of England and lived at 
 home at ease. There were Dawes who had 
 been fruitful and multiplied and replenish- 
 ed the Dawe. And in this brilliant crowd 
 there could scarcely be seen skulking far 
 behind the figure of the first Dawe of 
 them all : which indeed was fortunate for 
 the rest of the family. The less that was 
 seen of that personage the better for all 
 who bore his name. 
 
 By many generations of this respectability
 
 44 GOLDEN GIRLS. ^ 
 
 was our Jerome Dawe separated from his 
 renowned original ; and the grave and por- 
 tentous elderly man who now inherited the 
 name was in many ways what is called a 
 gentleman. He had certain ideas which 
 are peculiar to gentlemen, and he had been 
 associated with gentlemen all his life. 
 
 This majestic and remarkable man sat 
 now gazing at two small boys. One was 
 our little Eugene, a slender delicate lad, 
 with white cheeks, neat features, regu- 
 lar teeth, and remarkably thin hands ; the 
 other, that same Sholto whom we before 
 saw in a condition of unmerited disgrace. 
 Little Eugene stood near to Mr. Jerome 
 Dawe, regarding him with the confidence 
 of a favourite, while Sholto kept prudent- 
 ly on the opposite side of the table, casting 
 an occasional misgiving glance at the stick 
 Shakespeare, which lay dangerously close 
 to the great man's right hand.
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 45 
 
 ' To bed, Sholto/ Mr. Jerome Dawe re- 
 peated, with increased severity — ' to bed 
 this instant, sir !' 
 
 Whereupon Sholto made a dash out of 
 the room, shutting the door as he went with 
 a crash which shook the house to its 
 foundations. 
 
 ' Back, sir !' roared Jerome Dawe, turn- 
 ing purple with passion — ' back here, sir, or 
 
 rii_rii ' 
 
 What he would do he either left to the 
 boy's imagination to supply, or found his 
 own unable to invent ; but his terrible voice 
 followed the flying youth up-stairs, and 
 brought him back to the room half-tremb- 
 ling, yet not w^holly able to keep his coun- 
 tenance, and so giving way to covert explo- 
 sions of laughter, which little Eugene 
 marked with evident wonder and fear. 
 
 ' How dare you slam the door, sir T 
 roared Mr. Jerome Dawe.
 
 46 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 'Please, sir — ' 
 
 Sholto cast an eye at Shakespeare and 
 hesitated ; then his face lit up with a joke. 
 
 ' It wasn't me, uncle ; it was the wind.' 
 
 At which impudent falsehood he hastily 
 put his hand to his mouth and tried to stifle 
 another eruption of mirth. 
 
 'I tell you what it is, Sholto,' the uncle 
 said, raising Shakespeare in the air in a way 
 which reduced the youth to instantaneous 
 and unfeigned sobriety, ^ that is what I shall 
 do.' 
 
 He smote the air three times in a very 
 suggestive way ; but, satisfied for once with 
 the threat, waved his left hand and said once 
 more, 
 
 ^ To bed, sir — to bed this instant.' 
 
 At the word, Sholto bounded through 
 the door and up-stairs with the rapidity of 
 a hare and the noise of a war-horse. His 
 feet were heard crashing two flights over-
 
 GOLDEN GIKLS. 47 
 
 head before his uncle quite realized that he 
 had left the room. 
 
 'That boy is incorrigible,' cried Mr. 
 Jerome Dawe, now addressing little Eu- 
 gene. ' Call him — he has left the door 
 open now — call him back, Eugene. The 
 fellow must be cured.' 
 
 ' Oh, let me shut it,' cried little Eugene, 
 anxious, it seemed, to save Sholto's bones, 
 for vShakespeare was again working through 
 the air in a most menacing fashion. ' He 
 will only slam it again.' 
 
 And with an affected dancing sort of step 
 he tripped across the room, and closed the 
 door as gently and carefully as if it had 
 been a lady sealing a love-letter. Then he 
 came over and seated himself daintily. 
 
 ' Now, Eugene,' Jerome Dawe said, ' take 
 down your fiddle, and you shall have a 
 lesson.'
 
 48 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IN WHICH MRS. SALLY BADGER INVADES THIS 
 HISTORY. 
 
 ' Elbow down, Eugene. Mind your bow 
 arm. Fingers there — so. The thumb just a* 
 little more over. There ! now you may begin.' 
 So little Eugene with the fiddle tucked 
 under his chin, and looking very deformed 
 and uncomfortable, began slowly drawing 
 the bow across the string, and * Rousseau's 
 Dream ' dimly emerged from the concord of 
 sound. Jerome Dawe watched him with 
 great interest, holding an imaginary fiddle 
 — his own priceless Cremona lying mean- 
 while on the floor — and moving an imagin-
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 49 
 
 ary bow, as a model for the little pupil, 
 who, trying to secure his violin with his 
 chin, and casting his eyes upward to watch 
 his preceptor, was an illustration of embar- 
 rassnaent not easily to be paralleled. 
 
 To add to the poor boy's perplexity, 
 while he was so engaged the door reopened 
 softly without attracting Jerome Dawe's at- 
 tention, and there, on the mat outside, stood 
 Sholto, reproducing each of his uncle's mo- 
 tions with the most laughable fidelity, 
 while by a significant twist of his nose he 
 symbolised the noise which he dared not 
 make. The three stood in this way ; little 
 Eugene fiddling; Jerome Dawe fingering 
 the air, and drawing his bow with the ut- 
 most elegance ; and Sholto, on the mat, 
 gesticulating and grimacing with a violence 
 which made the absolute noiselessness of 
 his proceedings more comical than anything 
 else he did. At last poor little Eugene, 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 50 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 who long had struggled with his feelings, 
 could hold out no longer. He broke into a 
 fit of laughter. 
 
 ' What is the matter, Eugene ?' Jerome' 
 Dawe asked, his eyes twinkling, however, 
 for he liked to see his favourite enjoy him- 
 self. ' There is nothing to laugh at, that I 
 can see.' 
 
 ^ The fiddle tickled me,' replied the boy ; 
 and, with a despairing glance at Sholto for 
 mercy, he shoved the instrument under 
 his chin again, and recommenced his 
 playing. 
 
 Jerome Dawe, with great gravity and in- 
 terest, postured himself anew, and once 
 more, with his Barmecide fiddle and bow, 
 modelled himself before his tortured 
 nephew's sight. And Sholto, on the mat, 
 turned his uncle's every posture into some 
 monkey antic, until poor Eugene was on the 
 verge of another outbreak. But relief
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 51 
 
 came unexpectedly. Sholto vanished all at 
 once, and, for a moment, inexplicably. The 
 appearance of Martha Spring, however, ex- 
 plained his flight ; and that estimable wo- 
 man walked into the room with her nose 
 high in the air, emblematic of scorn, and a 
 backward glance of her eyes which betoken- 
 ed fear. 
 
 * Mr. and Mrs. Badger,' she announced ; 
 and with a prudent depression of her nose 
 before the visitors could observe that fea- 
 ture she took herself off. 
 
 The visitors entered in the following way : 
 Mrs. Badger, a tall woman with a hooked 
 nose and heavy eyebrows, advanced with a 
 military step and a general air of command. 
 She exhibited that kind of manner which 
 we observe in pictures of battles, where a 
 commander with lifted sabre leads his men 
 into the heart of the conflict. Upon her en- 
 sued Mr. Badger — a man as small as his 
 
 e2 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 liUNOlS LIBRARY
 
 52 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 wife was tall — plump, easy-going, with a 
 meek and sleek face. He sidled, rather 
 than walked, into the room ; his hands hung 
 beside him with a limpness which told of 
 feebleness of soul ; he said, ' How do you 
 do, Jerome ?' in a conciliating voice ; and 
 he sat down on the edge of a chair with an 
 apologetic air, as if he might be expected 
 to have chosen the floor. After him came 
 a boy of ten or twelve — a boy with a spa- 
 cious and round face — flat, like a cheese, 
 but with immense colour in it. Mrs, 
 Badger, having emitted a salutation like the 
 crack of a pistol, seated herself with a 
 sharp, decisive action, sudden, angular, and 
 alarming. 
 
 ' This is a warm evening, Jerome,' Mr. 
 Badger remarked, in a soft and affable tone, 
 quite a pipe of peace. 
 
 ^Yes, Samuel—yes,' Jerome Dawe re- 
 plied, assenting to the statement, but with
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 53 
 
 stateliness, 'it is a warm evening — very 
 warm.' 
 
 ' It is nothing of the kind !' said Mrs. 
 Badger, dashing into conversation in a 
 gladiatorial manner which made Jerome 
 Dawe jump : but Samuel Badger smiled in 
 unruffled placidity. 
 
 ' / consider,' Mrs Badger said, looking 
 round to see the effect of her behaviour — 
 ' T consider the evening sweetly mild. I 
 do wish,' continued Mrs. Badger, looking 
 straight at Jerome Dawe, — 'I do wish peo- 
 ple would find something to talk about be- 
 sides the weather.' 
 
 Jerome Dawe shifted in his chair and 
 still looked very uneasy. Mr. Badger sat 
 with the same fat smile upon his face. If a 
 fly had hummed past his ear he might have 
 showed more uneasiness. 
 
 'Jerome,' the lady said, after this pause. 
 She ejected the two syllables in her mill-
 
 54 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 tant way, and made the great man jump 
 again. 
 
 'Yes, Sally.' 
 
 'What time does that boy go to bed ?' 
 
 * Well, Sally/ Jerome Dawe replied, in 
 the hesitating and ambiguous manner which 
 he greatly affected, ' you see I can scarcely 
 say that I have any fixed rule.' 
 
 ' You ought to have a fixed rule,' was the 
 retort. ' Send him to bed now.' 
 
 'Eugene,' Jerome Dawe said, with as 
 imperial an air as he could assume under 
 the circumstances, * go to bed, my boy.' 
 
 Whereupon little Eugene, setting his fid- 
 dle carefully on the floor, and going round 
 the room with much address, said good 
 night to everybody, including Master Bad- 
 ger. Mrs. Sally Badger regarded his out- 
 stretched hand with uncertainty for a mo- 
 ment, but took it at last, and used it like 
 the handle of a pump. Little Eugene then
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 55 
 
 walked out with an elegant air, closing the 
 door gently as he went. 
 
 ' A very well-behaved lad,' Jerome Dawe 
 remarked, noting the little fellow's behaviour 
 wuth gratification — 'an uncommonly well- 
 behaved boy.' 
 
 * That is your opinion, Jerome,' the lady 
 said. 
 
 And simultaneously her conciliating hus- 
 band ventured to sa}-, 
 
 * I quite think with you, Jerome.' 
 
 Upon which his lady, wheeling upon him 
 with great asperity, called out, 
 
 ' Samuel, please wait till you are spoken 
 to!' 
 
 Her whole behaviour produced a visible 
 effect upon Jerome Dawe. By this time he 
 showed scarcely a trace of his habitual 
 pomp and dignity, and could hardly be 
 identified with the terrible rebuker who 
 had so lately threatened his nephew. And
 
 56 goltjen girls. 
 
 Mrs. Sally Badger, who through all her ag- 
 gressions of manner and speech kept her 
 eyes keenly set on Jerome Dawe, marking 
 every change of his features, said here, in 
 the same minatory style, 
 
 ' Now that the boy is gone, Jerome, I 
 have something to say to you/
 
 57 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 SHOWS BT EXPERIMENT THAT A FTDDLE CAN SOME- 
 TIMES MAKE AS MUCH NOISE AS A DRUM. 
 
 ' Sally,' said Jerome, with deepening un- 
 easiness, ' I am always delighted to bear 
 anything you have to say.' 
 
 * She speaks so to the point, you see,' 
 Mr. Badger interjected. 
 
 * Samuel,' his wife said, more determined 
 than ever, ' z(;27/ you wait till you are spoken 
 to.' 
 
 ' I was only making a little preface to 
 your remarks, my dear,' poor Samuel re- 
 joined, trying to cover his humiliation with 
 a witticism.
 
 58 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 'Thank you,' retorted his wife. 'I can 
 make my own prefaces.' At which word 
 she fixed her gaze on Jerome Dawe with 
 significance, and saw that he shifted in his 
 chair a third time. 
 
 ' You are appointed guardian to the little 
 Walsinghams ?' 
 
 The question was inflected interrogative- 
 ly, so Jerome Dawe answered, 
 
 'lam.' 
 
 ' Of course you will have to place them 
 under the care of some experienced person 
 who will bring them up ?' 
 
 ' So it appears,' he replied again. 
 
 ' Jerome,' the lady said, ' I will take 
 charge of those children.' 
 
 This might appear to be an offer, but the 
 tone in which it was delivered showed 
 that it was an announcement. 
 
 'Sally,' Jerome Dawe replied, turning red 
 with confusion, 'I must consider the matter.'
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 5^ 
 
 'Nothing of the kind,' she answered, 
 with astonishing decision. ' We are poor. 
 The money allowance will be of great im- 
 portance to us ; and, being your relatives, 
 nothing is more likely than that we should 
 undertake the care of your two wards.' 
 
 ' That is quite true,' the unhappy Jerome 
 Dawe said, ' but ' 
 
 'But!' the lady cried, catching him up. 
 * Shall I tell you, Jerome, what is on the 
 other side of that "but"? You have prom- 
 ised the care of the children to your dear 
 friends the Ruddocks !' 
 
 * Oh, no, Sally,' he answered, speaking 
 for the first time with some sign of courage, 
 ' I have not promised.' 
 
 * Something very like it then,' she retort- 
 ed, scornfully. She was not going to split 
 straws with him. ' ISTo matter: the chil- 
 dren shall not so to the Ruddocks.'
 
 60 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 ' You think not, Sally ?' said he, submis- 
 sively. 
 
 * If she says " not," ' Samuel remarked, 
 with the air of a man of experience, ' *' not " 
 it will be.' 
 
 ' Samuel,' his wife cried, angrily, ' hold 
 your tongue ! I was going to say, Jerome, 
 that Ruddock and his wife think themselves 
 very clever. I see through their plan. 
 These girls are to be brought up in their 
 house. In due time one girl is to marry 
 Eugene.' 
 
 * Now really, Sally, with your good 
 sense, to talk of marriage, when the boy is 
 twelve and the girl not ten !' 
 
 ' It is not my good sense that is con- 
 cerned,' Mrs. Badger replied, sarcastically. 
 ' However, I came here to-night to tell you 
 that it will not do. People would talk. It 
 would make a scandal. Besides, we want 
 the money allowance, Jerome,' she said,
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 61 
 
 looking hiai full in the face. ' You 
 promise the care of those children to me 
 before I leave this room !' 
 
 It was a curious study. Jerome Dawe was 
 masculine, wealthy, pompous, and with a 
 reputation for moral as well as physical 
 courage. Mrs. Badger was only his niece ; 
 she was poor ; she had lowered herself by 
 her marriage. All the odds in a struggle 
 of this kind were against her; and yet so 
 well did she know her relative, and so 
 daringly had she reduced him to an 
 extremity of fear, that she was altogether 
 his mistress. It was most awkward for 
 Jerome Dawe. He knew that he had vir- 
 tually, if not literally, promised the care of 
 the children to the Ruddocks. The inter- 
 est of the Ruddocks he had really at heart, 
 and even now one syllable delivered with 
 proper emphasis would set him free of this 
 oppressive Sally Badger. But Jerome
 
 62 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 could not frame that s^^lable, and Mrs. 
 Badger knew he could not, and she kept 
 her gaze set upon him with unrelaxing 
 severity. 
 
 ^ You promise, Jerome ?' 
 
 ' Yes — T promise.' 
 
 ^Samuel and myself are to have charge 
 of those children until they come of age.' 
 
 ' You are to have charge of those 
 children until they come of age.' 
 
 Jerome Dawe attempted to say this with 
 something of the air of a free agent. Even 
 in his extreme subjection he clung to the 
 fiction of independence. 
 
 ' You hear, Samuel?' the lady said, regis- 
 tering a witness of the contract on the 
 spot. 
 
 ' Oh, yes, I hear,' her husband answered. 
 * You see, my dear, Jerome has a particu- 
 larly clear voice, I have repeatedly noticed 
 Jerome's particularly clear voice.'
 
 GOLDEN GIELS. 63 
 
 ^I have to call on the Ruddocks iu the 
 Tnorning,' the managing woman continued, 
 reading her relative's thoughts. ' I shall 
 tell thenl of this arrangement.' 
 
 ^ You will?' exclaimed Jerome Dawe, 
 expressing his relief at this offer, before he 
 saw how humiliating it was to himself. 
 ^That will be kind, Sallv.' 
 
 ' They will be angry,' the lady said. "' I 
 like to see such people angry. They will 
 storm ; so they may. If they do not storm, 
 and pretend to be satisfied, they will dislike 
 this upset all the more. It is not the first 
 time I have made these people feel, and it 
 shall not be the last. However, Jerome, I 
 will say you have acted most handsomely.' 
 
 Before Jerome Dawe could taste the 
 flavour of a compliment for which he must 
 pay so dearly, a singular and alarming noise 
 outside attracted their attention, and imme- 
 diately the door was thrown open, and
 
 64 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 Sholto was seen on the threshold desperate- 
 ly engaged with a cock and a hen. He had 
 been trying to put the fowls into harness 
 for the purpose of driving them in* triumph 
 round the parlour, and the birds objecting 
 to the preliminary arrangements a disturb- 
 ance arose. 
 
 The upshot was that the door flew 
 open, and the cock and hen broke loose, 
 and dashed wildly into the room with a 
 most maddening flutter and clutter. All 
 was confusion in an instant. Mrs. Badger 
 jumped on a chair, and began to gesticulate 
 as if she were delivering a public oration ; 
 her husband tried to secure the hen ; Sholto 
 tore wildly after the fugitive cock ; and Je- 
 rome Dawe caught up ^ Shakespeare ' and 
 made after his nephew. The results were 
 dreadful. 'Shakespeare' was used with 
 terrific effect ; Sholto yelled ; the cock and 
 hen cluttered and zig-zagged in all direc-
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 65 
 
 tions ; and finally, as Jerome Dawe was 
 pursuing his nephew round the table, the 
 boy stumbled and fell right upon the Cre- 
 mona, which with a terrific crash ceased as 
 a musical instrument to be. This was like a 
 stroke of enchantment. The whole company 
 stood still ; the very cock and hen stopped 
 in their wild career, and seemed afraid even 
 to wink ; Jerome Dawe stood petrified, and 
 ' Shakespeare ' fell from his hand ; and poor 
 Sholto, who had turned as pale as death, 
 after a second's irresolution, bolted from the 
 room. 
 
 Mr. Badger was the first to speak. He 
 took up the shattered violin, which was 
 smashed like a bandbox and hopelessly 
 ruined. After regarding the crushed car- 
 case in silence for a full minute, Mr. Badger 
 said, in his pacific way, 
 
 ' Do you know, I don't really think — I 
 don't really think ' — he said this for the 
 
 VOL. I. V
 
 66 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 second time with the most milky mildness— 
 « that this instrument will ever be of any 
 great use again.'
 
 67 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TWO VERY YOUXG GENTLEMEN, SITTING ON THE 
 END OF A BED, DISCUSS A VERY ANCIENT 
 QUESTION. 
 
 It was late that night, and poor Sholto had 
 received such discipline as effectually pre- 
 vented sleep from closing his eyelids. He 
 had crept into little Eugene's room for 
 sympathy, and Eugene had inspected with 
 great commiseration certain weals which his 
 friend bore as remembrancers of the even- 
 ing's frolic. The fact was, Jerome Da we 
 had tried to make the boy cry, which Sholto, 
 being a stout-hearted little fellow, would 
 not do. He bore his castigation patiently 
 enough, knowing he deserved it ; but not a 
 
 F 2
 
 68 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 groan could his uncle flog out of him. Now, 
 Jerome was hot-tempered, and moreover 
 very valiant, and he went on flogging until 
 the thought struck him that it might be 
 awkward if he had to explain his proceed - 
 ^ ings at length before a coroner. This no 
 sooner occurred to his mind than with great 
 expedition he hurried his nephew off to bed. 
 Sholto's punishment had indeed been cruelly 
 severe, and was the less to be justified as it 
 had turned out that the crushed violin was 
 not the Cremona after all, but only that on 
 which Eugene was learning his notes, which 
 was worth no more than a few shillings. 
 
 However, by this time Sholto had recov- 
 ered from the severer pains, and little Eu- 
 gene had expressed all the sympathy he 
 could ; and now the two small boys were 
 sitting perched on the bed in their night 
 attire, with their hands clasped round 
 their knees, looking like the pictures
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 69 
 
 of penguins in the natural-history books. 
 
 ' Are you fond of girls, Eugene ?' asked 
 Sholto, when some previous subject of con- 
 versation was exhausted. 
 
 ' Girls !' exclaimed Eugene. ' Fond of 
 girls ! No, I hate girls !' 
 
 'I don't,' replied Sholto, thoughtfull3^ 
 'Not altogether. I think they are rather nice.' 
 
 ' Oh, I hate them,' little Eugene said, 
 emphatically. 
 
 ' There is rather a nice girl at the haber- 
 dasher's shop on the hill,' Sholto continued. 
 ' I think she is the daughter of the shop- 
 man, and I know her name is Ellen. She 
 has got very nice eyes ; I don't exactly 
 know the colour, but they look capital. I 
 don't know that she cares for me, but 1 go 
 and buy tilings of her ; only last time she 
 charged me sixpence for a threepenny bottle 
 of scent. I don't think that was fair; do 
 you, Eugene?'
 
 70 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 ^ Certainly not,' Eugene replied, ener- 
 getically. ' Catch me buying scent of any 
 girl !' 
 
 ' However,' said Sholto, ^ I did not say 
 anything, because I did not want her to 
 think me mean. I am not quite sure that I 
 would like to marry her after that.' 
 
 ' What are you going to be, Sholto ?' 
 Eugene asked. The question was suggested 
 by Sholto's mention of matrimonial en- 
 gagements. 
 
 *An officer,' Sholto replied. 'I want to 
 be in battles and that sort of thing. I 
 should like to be at the head of my men, 
 you know, leading them on to victory.' 
 
 ' I should not care for that,' little Eugene 
 remarked, shaking his head : * besides, 
 Sholto, have you money enough to be an 
 officer ?' 
 
 ' What does an officer want with money ?' 
 Sholto demanded.
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 71 
 
 *0h, I don't know,' practical little Eu- 
 gene replied. ' I hear papa and mamma 
 talk about it sometimes, and they say an 
 officer wants all sorts of things, and has to 
 spend a lot.' 
 
 * Now what can an officer want ?' Sholto 
 argued. 'Let us see. He wants liis 
 sword — and his bed — and he miojht have a 
 war trumpet, you know — and a chair — and 
 a table.' 
 
 ' But suppose you married Ellen ?' sug- 
 gested Eugene. 
 
 *Then,' Sholto answered, gravely, 'we 
 should want another chair.' 
 
 This reply seemed so fit and final that 
 little Eugene did not venture to question it, 
 and for a moment the conversation flacrcred 
 until Sholto took it up again. 
 
 ' It is no use, Eugene, your talking about 
 hating girls, because you have got to marry. 
 I heard uncle talking w^ith your father, and
 
 72 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 they were saying that some girl they were 
 speaking about would make a capital wife 
 for you. They called her Mildred and they 
 said she would be very rich.' 
 
 ' I should like her to be rich,' remarked 
 Eugene. 
 
 ' I should not mind,' Sholto said. ' What 
 has a soldier to do with money ? His 
 wife must be ready to go with him, you 
 know; and when they are on campaigns 
 they cannot spend much, even if they try, 
 because there are no shops, you see.' 
 
 ' But you will not be on campaigns all 
 the time,' Eugene replied, having evidently 
 a more accurate foresight of life than his 
 elder. 
 
 *Then,' retorted Sholto, ' the rest of our 
 time we should live in barracks.' 
 
 ' Sholto,' little Eugene said, after a pause. 
 He did not seem to have noticed the last 
 remark.
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 73 
 
 ' Yes, Eugene.' 
 
 ' Did they say that girl is very rich ?' 
 
 ' Oh, immensely rich, I heard my uncle 
 say. She has a sister called Yiolet, and my 
 uncle said, '' Poor Violet, none of the 
 money will come to her; all will go to 
 Mildred." Do vou know, Euf^^ene, I felt 
 very sorry for Violet. I wonder what she 
 has done that she is to have no money? I 
 took a dislike to Mildred when I heard it, 
 and I wanted to help Violet.' 
 
 ' Perhaps Mildred had nothing to say to 
 it,' Eas^ene suai^ested. ' I do not see that 
 she is to be blamed, and I do not see what 
 we have to say to helping Violet.' 
 
 ' Anyhow, Mildred ought to give up half 
 to Violet; Sholto said. 
 
 ' Perhaps she will give her some,' Eu- 
 gene answered. 
 
 Upon this followed a long pause. 
 
 ' Sholto,' Eugene called out.
 
 74 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 ' Yes, Eugene.' 
 
 ' I like Mildred.' 
 
 ^ And I like Violet.' 
 
 ' I am getting tired, Sholto.' 
 
 * So am I. Good night.' 
 
 ' Good night.' 
 
 And that very night, while these two 
 little boys lay sleeping, a steam-packet was 
 ploughing its way across the water from 
 France to England. The sea was smooth, 
 except where the prow of the swift ship 
 parted it into dividing waves, which fell 
 back in great rolls of spray that glistened 
 like snow in the full moonlight. The sky 
 was like the water, clear and still. In a 
 little berth of the ladies' cabin the two small 
 girls, Mildred and Violet, were lying side 
 by side, Violet sleeping, and Mildred wide 
 awake. The little creature sometimes 
 watched the slumbering figures around her ;
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 75 
 
 sometimes wondered what the occasional 
 footsteps on the deck meant — was it the 
 captain taking care of them all r sometimes 
 she tried, by the dim lamplight, to decipher 
 the carved woodwork on the other side of 
 the cabin ; sometimes she shrank back, half 
 in wonder, half in fear, to see through the 
 little round window the white foam go 
 dashing by. Then she looked at Violet 
 sleeping peacefully. Frail and sad was that 
 white face with its long eyelashes and its 
 mass of dark hair. Mildred noticed that 
 her sister's shoulder was uncovered, and 
 softly drew the blanket over it to keep her 
 from the cold. Then she thought of the 
 wide lonely sea, the land they were going 
 back to, the darkness of the night, the 
 strange people that would soon be taking 
 care of them both, and her eyes filled 
 up. 
 
 She hid her face in the quilt to stifle
 
 ^^ GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 her crying, lest Violet should hear; and 
 she sobbed out the sorrow of her lonely 
 heart, 
 
 'Oh, naamma, mamma.'
 
 77 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MR. JEROilE DAWE AT H03IE : GARDEN-PARTY. 
 
 Mr. Jerome Dawe resided in the suburb of 
 Middleborough. His house was a cosy 
 little box, with a window on this side of 
 the door and on that, and three trim win- 
 dows above, all well painted, well cleaned, 
 and notable for shining brass and fresh 
 white curtains ; for, although Jerome Dawe 
 was a miser, this does not imply that he did 
 not live like a gentleman. 
 
 The instincts of the Dawes were high-bred, 
 and while Jerome would go a long way to 
 save a sixpence, yet he had his ideas about 
 social requirements, and these he would
 
 78 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 carry out. His house was the house of a 
 gentleman, and his dress the same ; his ser- 
 vants were neat and orderly in appearance ; 
 his garden, front and rear, was tidy in 
 winter and blooming in summer. In 
 dinners and suppers, in coals and candles, 
 in a thousand like matters which the social 
 eye sees not, here it was that Jerome Da we 
 exercised his passion for saving. His fa- 
 vourite maxim was that every penny should he 
 looked to, and, after making a due allowance 
 for the manner of life which he judged 
 reasonable, he applied this maxim with 
 merciless severity. By thus living upon 
 one-third of his income, and letting the rest 
 roll up year by year, Jerome Dawe was 
 fast passing from the state of comfort to the 
 state of opulence. What satisfaction this 
 gathering treasure brought with it readers 
 will see as time goes on. 
 
 His adviser, comforter, and adjutant in all
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 79 
 
 his stingy plans was bis housekeeper. The 
 name of this excellent female was Martha 
 Spring. She was an unmarried lady, of 
 blameless life and yellow complexion. She 
 clad herself in garments of youthful colour 
 and cut, and wore particularly short skirts, 
 allowing her ankles to be fairly seen, thus 
 imparting a girlishness to her appearance. 
 Her atre miojht be fiftv-five or more, but 
 she was juvenile in her tastes as well as in 
 her petticoats, professing to read Sir Walter 
 Scott, and often quoting his lines, 
 
 ' O woman, in our hours of ease 
 Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,' 
 
 which she used to say were truly poetical. 
 Sometimes, after her morning consultation 
 with her master concerning dinner, when 
 the pair would spend a quarter of an hour 
 debating which half of a small codfish would 
 be best for salting, Martha w^ould skip like 
 an ancient lamb out of the room, her nose
 
 80 GOLDEN GIKLS. 
 
 raised towards the skies, and a literary 
 vivacity in her expression, as, unconsciously 
 to herself, she repeated, 
 
 ' O woman, in our hours of ease.' 
 Invariably when this happened, Jerome 
 Dawe would sink back in his chair, and say^ 
 reflectively, 
 
 * Cultivated woman, Matty — for her sta- 
 tion.' 
 
 Indeed, the relations between Matty and 
 her bachelor master, though quite innocent, 
 were of an intimate kind ; so much so that 
 occasionally one or other of his friends 
 would ask him in a jocular way how Martha 
 was this morning, a familiarity which Jerome 
 never resented, but rather enjoyed. In 
 reply he always assumed a rakish air, and 
 used to say, * You see, you dog, I was in- 
 tended for the army,' leaving a gulf of sug- 
 gestion concerning both the military and 
 himself yawning before the inquirer's mind.
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 81 
 
 In his pleasant back garden, on a sunny 
 September morning, quite a little party had 
 met together. On the centre of the lawn 
 stood a long wicker ^vheel-chair, in which 
 lay the frail and sickly Violet, looking sad 
 sweet, and likely enough to fulfil the pre- 
 diction of Jerome Da\ve, which poor Sholto 
 had overheard and misunderstood. A little 
 way off her sister sat apart, playing with a 
 small dog, and calling Sholto to see it jump 
 through her hands. Sholto, very busy mak- 
 ing a nosegay, would not look up from his 
 work, although Mildred called him repeat- 
 edly. Little Eugene stood close beside her, 
 proffering her many civilities with the best 
 ^race in the world, for indeed the little 
 fellow had a charming manner. But Mildred 
 would not repay him, not by a syllable nor 
 a glance. 
 
 Sally Badger, with her husband and her 
 son, had just entered the garden. At sight 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 of her Jerome Dawe was seen to turn pale. 
 Beatrice and Daniel Ruddock, who were 
 already in the field, exchanged looks which 
 signified mistrust and fierce dislike of Sally. 
 As for Samuel Badger, who slunk timidly 
 across the lawn like a beaten dog, and as 
 for Master Badger, whose countenance was 
 rounder and flatter and redder than ever, 
 and who carried a great dog-eared book un- 
 der his arm — upon these two Mr. and Mrs. 
 Ruddock glared such open and blazing scorn 
 that the father especially felt like a man sub- 
 jected to rays from burning-glasses. But Sally 
 Badger dealt a defiant salute at the Rud- 
 docks, and then marched up and stood beside 
 Jerome Dawe as if he were a wicket, and 
 she a famous cricketer who had just gone 
 in, and was more than ready for the bowling. 
 Indeed the situation of the Ruddocks 
 was critical. For years they had regarded 
 Jerome Dawe's wealth as their lawful in-
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 83 
 
 heritance, and lately tliey had fixed their 
 covetous eyes on little Mildred. Things 
 looked promising. Jerome was weak, vain, 
 and ignorant. This worthy couple had flat- 
 tered and caressed him time out of mind ; 
 they had fed his every weakness ; they had 
 pampered his vanity with outrageous com- 
 pliments : thev had sraduallv crot dominion 
 over him in many directions. And all had 
 been done with words and ways as soft as 
 oil. Lately, however, there had appeared 
 on the scene this terrible cousin, Sarah Bad- 
 ger. She was poor and uninfluential ; she 
 had made a bad marriage, and was bur- 
 dened with an uninteresting son ; in a word, 
 she was everything that Daniel and Bea- 
 trice Ruddock could successfully ridicule and 
 that Jerome Dawe would naturally despise. 
 But she knew human nature, this Sarah 
 Badger ; and she knew Jerome Dawe's 
 nature from the surface to the core. Sha 
 
 g2
 
 84 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 had read his weakness and his cowardice, 
 and now she was beginning to assert 
 authority over him simply by the force of 
 will and temper. Horrible to tell, Jerome 
 was beginning to yield in places, like a 
 frozen lake in early thaw. The Ruddocks 
 were appalled. What could they do ? It 
 was impossible to begin bullying Jerome 
 like this audacious woman : first, because it 
 would be a reversal of their entire policy, 
 which had been softness and flattery ; 
 secondly, because if they had adopted such 
 a line Sally Badger might outwit them by a 
 stroke of generalship, and, becoming soft 
 herself, carry Jerome away for ever. Bitter 
 was the animosity that lay beneath the smile 
 with which the Ruddocks returned • Mrs. 
 Badger's salute. Sally's nod had been a 
 perfect missile, delivered with a defiance, a 
 * do-your- worst ' air, which, coming from a 
 woman who probably had not more than
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 85 
 
 three gowns in the world, and had not paid 
 her butcher's bill for six months, confound- 
 ed these good people who believed that 
 money alone is power. 
 
 So Beatrice and Daniel walked apart in 
 anxiety and even discomfiture; but, as 
 Daniel marked Mildred playing with her 
 dog, his ruling passion overcame him. He 
 forgot Sally Badger and Jerome Dawe and 
 the impending peril. 
 
 'See, Beatrice,' he said, indicating the 
 child with a nod of his head, ' one day that 
 girl will be worth two hundred and fifty 
 thousand pounds !'
 
 86 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 IN WHICH CROSS-PURPOSES CHEQUER CHILDISH 
 LOVE. 
 
 Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds I 
 Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds, 
 got by any means whatever — only, got! 
 Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds, 
 whether in possession, reversion, remainder, 
 or expectancy ! Oh, miracle of money, two 
 hundred and fifty thousand pounds ! 
 
 That tall, slim, chestnut-haired little girl, 
 as she walked, or stood, or laughed, or 
 ran, or talked, or was silent, or smiled, or 
 frowned, was watched, not alone by Daniel 
 and his wife, but by everybody on that
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 87 
 
 little lawn. Two hundred and fifty thou- 
 sand pounds seemed to encircle her head 
 like the aureola of a saint. Her step sug- 
 gested two hundred and fifty thousand 
 pounds ; her voice, her looks, everything 
 she was, and said, and did, in one way or 
 another, expressed — two hundred and fifty 
 thousand pounds ! 
 
 One exception should be made. The 
 widowed mother of Sholto had just come to 
 fetch her son, having heard of his misdeeds. 
 She now made one of the party. Margaret 
 Alexander was a widow, poorly clad, and 
 with signs of privation and care upon her 
 face, but her aspect was full of indepen- 
 dence. Somehow, in that group of money- 
 seekers, she presented, even to the eye, an 
 expressive contrast. There was nothing sly 
 in her look, no side glances, no angry dart- 
 ing of the eyes. She talked freely with 
 everybody, and her conversation was spirit-
 
 88 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 ed and her manner easy ; for she too was a 
 Dawe, and of gentle nurture. She had no 
 designs on Jerome's wealth, though she 
 was his niece. She had no line baited to 
 catch little Mildred and her quarter-million 
 of gold, though she too had a son to ad- 
 vance in life. Everybody knew that Mar- 
 garet Alexander was clear of such designs, 
 her reputation for independence and integ- 
 rity being settled. Curiously enough, each 
 of these plotting people respected her be- 
 cause she was too high-souled to stoop to 
 the meanness which themselves were prac- 
 tisinoj. Daniel Ruddock declared with 
 truth that he enjoyed talking with her. 
 Beatrice treated her with marked consider- 
 ation. Jerome Dawe was constantly asking 
 her opinion, and deferring to it. Even 
 Sally Badger took her by the arm and 
 walked about with her, with powerful 
 strides, as great cricketers do in pauses of
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 89 
 
 the game. Indeed, to do doughty Sally 
 justice, she by no means felt the scorn and 
 dislike for Margaret which she so visibly 
 manifested for the Ruddocks. Margaret Alex- 
 ander was on her own ground. She was a 
 blood relation and no interloper. Sally 
 Badger was indeed ready, if matters went 
 that way, to wage war with Mrs. Alex- 
 ander ; but it would have been honour- 
 able war, and Sally would have fought 
 fairly. 
 
 For the Ruddocks she had no such 
 feeling. She hated them. There was no 
 weapon she would not have used against 
 them. And, under existing circumstances, 
 the weapon she chose was open defiance, 
 contempt, and dislike, which she took good 
 care should be constantly on the ver}' 
 verge of rudeness, absolute quarrel, and 
 such a complication that either she or the 
 Ruddocks must quit the premises. The
 
 90 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 Ruddocks felt all this, as we have seen, and 
 they trembled before her courage : and 
 Sally knew they trembled. 
 
 All this time there was one person to 
 whom everybody was kind. Little Violet 
 was petted, caressed, and pitied, as one 
 who is unconsciously passing away from a 
 world whose sweets have never been tasted. 
 And Violet, who had the most loving heart, 
 replied to each endearment with so much 
 sweetness, such bright little smiles of grati- 
 tude, and with a tinge of humour too, that 
 even the worldly people around felt touched 
 and had better thoughts as they looked on 
 the wee white face, and thought of certain 
 words about young children, which were 
 spoken by the best Friend children ever 
 had. And Margaret Alexander, who, like 
 all the Dawe famil}^, had religious zeal in 
 her nature, sat down by the child, and, 
 thinking in her good motherly heart that
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 9 t 
 
 this frail being could have but a short time 
 here, she spoke to her seriously about ' the 
 better land ' where mamma was ; and tender 
 little Violet's grey eyes filled with tears, and 
 she asked the lady to come another day and 
 talk to her about mamma. 
 
 Mildred who, hard and arid to others^ 
 was passionately fond of Violet, had stood 
 close by during this little conversation, lis- 
 tening with wide big eyes ; and she stole 
 softly after Mrs. Alexander, and slipped a 
 flower into her hand and ran away, leaving 
 the widow in wonder. For already Mildred 
 had impressed everybody with a sense of 
 her independence, of her imperiousness, and 
 her wilfulness. She had snubbed Daniel 
 Ruddock, who bad tried, in his vulgar way, 
 to caress her. She had flatly refused to do 
 something which Sally Badger had asked 
 her, which astounded Sally more than if the 
 law of gravitation had been suspended.
 
 92 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 Two minutes after, Mildred had sent 
 Jerome Dawe to fetch her maid. All she 
 did, however, was submitted to without a 
 murmur, because of the two hundred and 
 fifty thousand pounds. But when she was 
 seen stealing across the lawn, and putting 
 this flower into Mrs. Alexanders hand, 
 everybody wondered, and everybody fear- 
 ed ; and yet nobody thought of charging 
 the widow with any design on the little 
 heiress. 
 
 Side by side with this manoeuvring of the 
 elders, a curious game of cross-purposes was 
 being played by the children. 
 
 Little Eugene had caught the spirit of his 
 father and mother and patron. The two 
 hundred and fifty thousand pounds magne- 
 tised him like the rest. He danced in his 
 graceful way after Mildred, paid her a 
 thousand pretty little compliments, antici- 
 pated her wishes, and was in all points as
 
 GOLDEX GIRLS. 93 
 
 nattv a flatterer as a erown man. But it 
 availed nothing. Mildred treated him 
 with haucrhtv disresrard, and, indeed, snub- 
 bed him mercilessly. Everyone except 
 Mrs. Alexander noticed that v/herever that 
 ill-conditioned Sholto raicrht be, looking: like 
 a ragged terrier, there Mildred was sure to 
 be seen ; and that if she snubbed Eugene, 
 Sholto amply avenged his friend by snub- 
 bing her. 
 
 He was still busy at hi? nosegay, tying it 
 up, taking it to pieces, and rearranging it 
 with endless pains. Mildred hovered about 
 him. She showed the greatest interest in 
 the nosec'av. She even went so far as to 
 suggest that one particular rose should be 
 placed in the centre, not at the side. 
 
 'There is where / should like it,' she 
 said. 
 
 * Very well, ' blunt Sholto retorted : 
 * there are lots of flowers, make a nose-
 
 ■94 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 gay for yourself, and put roses where you 
 please.' 
 
 ' I wonder whom it is for ?' Mildred said, 
 daringly. She was a daring girl, and part 
 of her story will show it. 
 
 ' You wonder who it is for ?' Sholto 
 said, looking up, with a laugh, 'just wait 
 and see.' 
 
 ' I think 1 know now/ Mildred answered, 
 apparently much gratified by some infer- 
 ence of her own. She skipped across the 
 grass, and for the first time that day 
 seemed to be pleasant with little Eugene ; 
 but she cast her eye back at Sholto as if 
 computing how soon the nosegay would be 
 finished. 
 
 It was set in order, and tied with a piece 
 of stout packing-thread ; the thread was 
 cut with a knife the size of a gardener's ; the 
 nosegay was ready for delivery. Sholto 
 leaped on his feet.
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. JO 
 
 Mildred had been talking to little Eugene, 
 but her eyes were on the nosegay all the 
 time, and she saw the last touch given to 
 it. Eugene wondered wliy she looked 
 about her in so strange a manner ; he 
 could not make her listen. 
 
 Presently Sholto came across the lawn. 
 
 ' What do you say to thai T he cried to 
 Mildred, holding up the nosegay. ' Pretty, 
 now, ain't it ?' 
 
 ' Lovely ! lovely !' she replied. ' Oh, thank 
 you, thank you.' 
 
 ' 'Tisn't for you,' Sholto called out, scorn- 
 fully. ' Did you think it was for you ? I 
 was not making it for you.' He repeated 
 this * for you ' in a very injurious way. ' This 
 is for Violet.' 
 
 And he ran across to the sick child, and 
 tossed the nosegay upon her coverlet, and 
 little Violet took it up with the brightest 
 and sweetest smile Sholto had ever seen
 
 96 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 anywhere. The child was really pleased 
 with the act of kindness ; and such was the 
 look of-pleasure and gratitude she beamed 
 at Sholto that he turned quite red, and 
 found that he had an organ in his breast 
 which was capable of a sensation altogether 
 new to him, but very delightful. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mildred proudly walked off 
 in another direction, and stood with her 
 back to all the compan}^, doing nothing at 
 all, but fixed like a statue. Such a proceed- 
 ing on the part of a young lady who, in 
 all probability, would one day be worth tw^o 
 hundred and fifty thousand pounds, was by 
 no means likely to pass unnoticed in a well- 
 bred company. The result of Mildred's odd 
 and alarming behaviour caused so sudden 
 and general a movement that the next 
 minute all the people on the lawn were ex- 
 claiming to each other, in a momentary 
 fellowship, that the heiress was crying !
 
 97 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WHICH GIVES A PICTURE OF A SHABBY-GENTEEL 
 WOMAN STRUGGLING WITH GOOD SOCIETY. 
 
 The relations of Sally Badger with the 
 great Dawe family ought now to be delin- 
 eated. Sally was the daughter of our great 
 Jerome's younger sister. This Susan Dawe 
 married a captain in the navy, who died at 
 the age of fifty-five, and left his large family 
 in poverty. When Sally came to woman's 
 estate she saw that her chances of matri- 
 mony were of the most precarious and 
 spiritless kind. She was not handsome, she 
 was not accomplished, she was not rich. 
 True, under such circumstances, ten thou- 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 sand women have worked their way on to 
 brilliant marriages ; but such women have 
 easy tamper, complaisance, and address. 
 Sally had none of those things. Defiance 
 was wrought into her soul of souls. She 
 loved command. Not to have won the 
 heart of a prince could she have fawned, or 
 sweetened her talk with compliments, or 
 affected compliance where she did not feel 
 it. And Sallv knew of what material she 
 was made. So, counting up her defects of 
 face, fortune, and temper, one day, when 
 she was touching the age of twenty-eight, 
 she said to herself, ' Sarah Dampier, you 
 will die without changing your name.' She 
 pronounced this with the most dogmatic air, 
 all alone as she was. Then, like other dog- 
 matists, whose way is sometimes to annex 
 a note of qualification to their utterances, 
 she added, 'Unless — ' Here she paused 
 again, and, drawing herself up to her full
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 99 
 
 height, regarded with sternness the image in 
 her poor looking-glass, and questioned it : 
 * Unless what, Sarah Dam pier ?' 
 And Sarah Dampier the actual answered 
 Sarah Dampier the optical, in tones of ma- 
 thematical conviction, 
 
 ' Unless you marry Samuel Badger.' 
 Samuel Badger was a clerk in a Govern- 
 ment office, earning something like two 
 hundred a year. He admired Sally. He 
 was a meek young man, too fat for his age, 
 of fair family, and spotless reputation. 
 Sally Dampier's calculation was that, if she 
 married him, the Dawe family (who would 
 never help her in a pecuniary way) might, 
 by their influence, advance her Samuel in 
 the public service. Acting upon this hope, 
 Sarah Dampier changed her name to Sarah 
 Badger just three months later. 
 
 Then began one of those lives of penury 
 where the strusde for prentihty on scantv 
 
 CO O J •/ 
 
 h2
 
 100 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 means makes comfort hopeless. The in- 
 come of the Badgers was not quite two 
 hundred a year, and it never increased. 
 Had Sally Badger been able or willing to 
 forget that she was a lady born, or could 
 she have repressed her ambition, she might 
 have been domestically comfortable. I be- 
 lieve there is no more terrible tyranny on 
 earth than that social requirement which 
 insists that folks such as the Badgers shall 
 wear the face of gentility. This is just 
 what makes their whole life one long bitter 
 fight. For house and food and raiment 
 they have sufficient ; but when it comes to 
 keeping a drawing-room, and genteel cloth- 
 ing, and higher education of their children, 
 why, I believe only God, who surely hears 
 the groans of these prisoners of fashion, 
 knows what misery ensues. 
 
 The'struggle to give the sons a professional 
 education, and to keep the daughters on
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 101 
 
 such a footing that they may hope to marry 
 respectably — in how many small houses in 
 England to-clay is that fight maintained by 
 parents whose meagre lives, as we survey 
 them, seem utterly unheroic ! Oh, world, 
 who knowest not thy heroes ! I believe 
 that the soldier, with his wild leap into the 
 smoking breach, where sure death is grin- 
 ning at him, or the captain calmly standing 
 on the sinking ship watching till the last 
 man and woman are safe in the boats, then 
 going bravely down, make not such martyrs 
 to duty and idea as these shabby, unin- 
 teresting people do for years of dreary 
 life. 
 
 Here was Sally Badger, stationed in a 
 small tenement, with a little drawing-room 
 on one side of the door, and behind that a 
 little dining-room, in the rear a kitchen and 
 scullery which ran out into the back-garden, 
 and three or four bed-rooms overhead.
 
 102 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 Sally Badger ! She who had a share in the 
 traditions of the Dawes ; who had some- 
 times been a visitor at the house of the 
 great head of the family; who had sat 
 down at table with lords and earls ; and who 
 would often tell her wondering son that 
 once upon a time the Duke of Berkshire 
 had helped her to marmalade at break- 
 fast. 
 
 These grand traditions ruled the life of 
 Sally, and the little entrance-hall was kept 
 bright from year to year, and the little 
 drawing-room smart in summer and warm 
 in winter, perhaps from a kind of idea that 
 the Duke of Berkshire might one day re- 
 member the episode of the marmalade and 
 drop in to call. If he did, Sally resolved 
 that, even in her little house, there should 
 be visible signs that hers was no vulgarian's 
 poverty. His Grace never called, but Sally 
 had now and then a blue-blooded visitor to
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 103 
 
 encourage her. The Dawes had one curi- 
 ous trait, that they never snubbed poor 
 branches of the family. Of course Sally 
 Badger was not asked to dinners, nor to 
 pay long visits ; but the Dawe blood in her 
 was recognised by an occasional call or let- 
 ter, and these were cordials for the woman 
 in her life of struggle. 
 
 Her husband tired her. Do v/hat she 
 Avould, Sally could not drive ambition into 
 him. His living was not expensive, for he 
 was fond of bread-and-butter and would 
 eat it three times a day, and he never drank 
 anything but water, and certainly made his 
 clothes last wonderfully. Still Sally w^ould 
 have preferred an extravagant man, or an 
 intemperate man, who had movement and 
 ambition, to this bread-and-butter Samuel, 
 who smiled for ever, and could not be put 
 in a passion. His disposition was ruinously 
 contented and easv-fzoin<z. Even when a post
 
 104 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 in the office fell vacant slightly superior to 
 his own, he was not a candidate for the 
 promotion, but let another man be run into 
 the situation over his head. 
 
 ' Samuel,' Sally called out in agony, when 
 she heard it, ' why did you not apply ?' 
 
 * You see, my dear,' he answered, ' Martin 
 is such a passionate man that if he had 
 missed the post there never would have 
 been peace in the office again ; and it is only 
 twenty pounds a year more, my love, and 
 blessed are the peacemakers, you know, 
 Sally.' 
 
 ' Blessed are the milksops !' Sally cried 
 out, in great vexation. She was not a pro- 
 fane person, but, in truth, she would not 
 acknowledge the propriety of her husband's 
 quotation. ' You are no peacemaker, 
 Samuel. If peace were really wanted, you 
 would not manage it. Oh, Samuel ! twenty 
 pounds would have nearly paid our house-
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 105 
 
 rent, and I am worn to death slaving and 
 pinching. Peacemaker, indeed. You are 
 no peacemaker.' 
 
 ' Well, perhaps I am not, dear,' Samuel 
 replied, as he buttered his bread. * I Tvill 
 not say I am.' 
 
 As another sample of the home conver- 
 sation of this pair, and as a fresh glimpse of 
 their characters, I set down a few words 
 which they exchanged when — five years 
 after marriage — Sally presented her lord 
 with a diminutive Badger. 
 
 ' I want to choose a name for him/ 
 she said, looking at the little sleeper 
 who lay beside her. ' I wish,' she sighed, 
 and her face was full of foreboding — 
 * I wish he was not such a quiet infant. 
 He never screams and always seems satis- 
 fied.' 
 
 Mrs. Badger gazed up at her husband's 
 sleek face, and sighed again, as she said,
 
 106 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 ' I am really afraid, Sammy — I really am 
 afraid — he has got your nose.' 
 
 Mr. Badgqf rubbed that feature, as if 
 reproaching it for being what it was, but he 
 judged that silence was his best policy. His 
 wife ruminated awhile, and said again, as 
 much to herself as to him, 
 
 ' What shall we call him ?' 
 
 ' Suppose we try Samuel, for an experi- 
 ment,' the father said, shyly. 
 
 * I hate the name !' exclaimed Sally, 
 vehemently. * You must think of another.' 
 
 ' Now, do 3^ou know,' remarked Mr. Bad- 
 ger, not speaking to his wife in particular, 
 but, as it seemed, addressing the general 
 order of things, 'it is most extraordin- 
 ary that just at this particular moment 
 all the Christian names seem to have gone 
 out of my head. How very singular ! The 
 only name I can think of is ^'Tobias." 
 Would Tobias do, my love ?'
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 107 
 
 ' Samuel !' exclaimed Mrs. Badaer, in a 
 loud voice; 'you will make me scream. 
 Tobias ! Tobias Badger ! It would be like 
 
 v.- • 
 
 a name in a play.' 
 
 * Then, do you know, my dear,' said 
 Samuel, with the air of one who all of a 
 sudden makes a discovery, * I think the best 
 way will be for you to think the matter 
 over quietly — alone. Something may come 
 into yonr head, my love, when you least 
 expect it.' 
 
 * What I want,' continued Mrs. Badger, 
 in the same audible soliloquy, 'is a name 
 with force in it. A name that will make a 
 boy think about being something and some- 
 body. Such a name as would suggest a man 
 who can get into a passion, and contradict, 
 and push other people aside, and lead the 
 way and fight for his own !' 
 
 ' Don't you think you had better have 
 several names, my love?' suggested the
 
 108 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 father. ' It would be rather much to ex- 
 pect all that out of one. We should never 
 be unreasonable, Sally, my dear !' 
 
 ' I have it !' cried Sally, triumphantly ; * I 
 have the very name I want — Hector !' 
 
 * Hector was a pagan, my love !' 
 
 ' What of that ?' retorted Sally, boldly ; 
 ' better be a pagan than a fool !' 
 
 So Hector was the chosen name ; and 
 thus the names of the family into which our 
 little Golden Girls entered, were Samuel, 
 Sarah, and Hector Badger.
 
 109 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WHICH ENDS IN GENERAL LAUGHTER. 
 
 A FEW days after the scene in the garden, 
 the modest mansion of Sally Badger was 
 signalized among the neighbouring houses 
 by the unusual spectacle of a carriage and 
 pair standing before it. Out of the carriage 
 stepped little Mildred, and she, turning 
 round to the servant who was with them, 
 said, with an air of authority, 
 
 'Lift Miss Violet gently.' 
 
 And so little sick Violet was lifted out 
 in the maid's arms. Her white face looked 
 very lovely, for the air had painted upon it 
 a most delicate vermilion, which lit all its
 
 110 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 melancholy grace into particular beauty, 
 like one streak of sunset in a pensive west- 
 ern sky. There was expectation in the 
 child's face ; she wanted to see her new 
 home. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mildred, with imperial steps, 
 walked up the little flagged way that led to 
 the front door, and at the entrance Sally 
 Badger stood ready to greet her, smiling 
 with wondrous complaisance. 
 
 ^ How are you, my dear ?' 
 
 * Pretty well,' Mildred replied, curtly. 
 ' Is this the house you live in ?' 
 
 ' Yes, dear — at present.' 
 
 'Why, it is just the size of the house 
 where papa's gardener lived,' Mildred 
 remarked. 'Not quite so good, I think.' 
 
 ' We are going to a much larger house 
 very soon,' Mrs. Badger said ; ' in about 
 three weeks, dear.' 
 
 ^But you have lived here until now,'
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. Ill 
 
 Mildred rejoined, fixing her searching eyes 
 on Sally. ' Is it because Violet and I have 
 come that you are going to a nicer house ?' 
 
 Sally Badger affected to be busy with 
 the trunks, and made no answer, but she 
 took note of this shrewd question. 
 
 ' I tell you what, miss,' Sally said, under 
 her breath, ' you are not a simpleton. You 
 will need manasrincr.' 
 
 * Oh, what a dear little house !' cried 
 Violet, who came up just then. '* Look, 
 Mildred, at those pansies, and that little 
 white pussy. I think this is a dear little 
 house. May I play with the pussy?' 
 she asked, addressincr Mrs. Badc^er. 
 
 * Pansies or pussies, or whatever you 
 like, darling,' cried Sally, quite delighted 
 with the child. ' You shall play with any- 
 thing and everything.' 
 
 ' Are you going to take care of us ?' the 
 little creature asked, curiously, struck with a
 
 112 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 new thought. * Will you be kind to us? 
 Do you know mamma has gone to heaven, 
 and left us?' 
 
 * I will be kind to you, dear/ Sally Bad- 
 ger replied, with great energy, bending 
 down to kiss the child. ' Who could be 
 anything else?' she murmured to herself, 
 marking the white transparent cheeks and 
 the thin hands and the little porcelain teeth 
 which seemed to indicate a frail and perish- 
 ing frame. ' You shall not shed many 
 tears under this roof, and what you shed I 
 shall wipe off.' 
 
 The little girls were soon led up to their 
 bedroom, where Mildred, after her fashion^ 
 found fault with most things, and Yiolet, in 
 her way, was constantly coming upon what 
 was pleasant or whimsical or funny. Mil- 
 dred's severity gave way before Violet's 
 simple delight, and once or twice she even 
 broke into a little laugh. For Mildred,
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 113 
 
 amidst all lier austerity, seemed to consider 
 Violet before herself, and to reo;ard things 
 as pleasant or the reverse according as she 
 judged them agreeable or disagreeable to 
 her little sister. 
 
 Down into the small dinins^-room the 
 two children "were brought after a time, 
 Violet holding her nurse's hand to sup- 
 port her feeble steps, and Mildred walk- 
 incj in with her erect figure and Diana 
 step, and curious, searching, yet uncon- 
 cerned gaze. 
 
 Here sat Hector, poring over a book, and 
 looking sheepish and uncomfortable, when 
 the strangers entered. 
 
 'Reading again, Hector !' exclaimed his 
 mother impatiently. ^Always reading! What 
 good will ever come of that, I wonder ? 
 Do either go on one side or the other ! 
 Now, Mildred, this way.' 
 
 Mr. Badger was in the room also, waiting 
 
 VOL. T. I
 
 114 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 for his dinner. He rose and greeted the 
 children. 
 
 * How do you do, my dears ? How are 
 both of you ? You look very good little 
 people, I am sure.' 
 
 'Samuel,' said Mrs. Badger, decisively, 
 ' that will do.' 
 
 So they sat down to dinner, and the first 
 dish was a beefsteak pudding served in a 
 sort of white basin, and certainly not appe- 
 tising to the eye. Mildred regarded the 
 dish with an open stare which was immense- 
 ly expressive. Little Violet broke into a 
 laugh full of music and fun, but strange by 
 contrast with her delicate suffering face. 
 She clapped her hands ; and her sweet grey 
 eyes filled with the pleasantest mirth. 
 
 ' Look, Milly, just look, what a funny 
 thing ! Oh, I want some of that ; when my 
 turn comes, I mean.' 
 
 Shocked at her own boisterousness, she
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 115 
 
 dropped her outspread hands under the 
 cloth, and put on such a Quaker face that 
 even Master Hector, whose round visage 
 seemed for the most part as incapable of 
 expression as a pasteboard face in a panto- 
 mime, was moved to irrepressible admira- 
 tion. As to Sally Badger's countenance, 
 which turned in delight upon tlie child, it 
 was like the shinin^r sun. 
 
 'Have some, dear,' Mrs. Badger said to 
 Mildred, as she sent her knife into the 
 pudding, from which the rich brown gravy 
 poured. 
 
 ' Well,' replied Mildred, ' a very, very 
 little, please.' 
 
 ' I assure you, my dear,' said Mr. Badger, 
 addressing Mildred at this point, ' you will 
 find it very good eating; especially the 
 gravy. Do you know, my dear, I am very 
 fond of gravy, and have been since I was 
 your age.' 
 
 1 2
 
 116 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 Mildred set her eyes upon him, but 
 spoke not a word. 
 
 'Samuel/ his wife said, emphatically, 
 ' have I not said that will do T 
 
 The meal proceeded. Mildred toyed 
 with her portion very like a high-bred child, 
 but with suppressed discontent in every 
 feature. Violet ate away quite heartily, and 
 the only time Mildred looked pleased was 
 when her sister asked for some more. 
 
 'I am so hungry,' she cried ; ' it is so 
 nice.' 
 
 'I am quite glad to hear you say so,' re- 
 marked the irrepressible Mr. Badger, look- 
 ing up from his plate. ' It is an excellent 
 dish, and especially the gravy, as I said 
 before. Gravy,' continued Mr. Badger, 
 warming with his subject, and addressing 
 Violet as a hopeful disciple, ' is such a help 
 with the bread. There it is you will find 
 it useful. I assure you, my dear, if you
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 117 
 
 cultivate a liking for gravy you will never 
 regret it. As you go through life, you Avill 
 find gravy a wonderful help ; one of your 
 best friends, in fact.' 
 
 It was a sign of the subordinate place 
 which Samuel Badger occupied in his own 
 house that he invariably sat at the side of 
 his table, near to his wife. Xow, it may 
 surprise the reader that he should have been 
 allowed to ramble on for so long a time 
 unrebuked. The fact was his wife, who did 
 not like to be perpetually reproving him 
 before the children, especially the first day, 
 had tried to reduce him to silence by nudging 
 him suggestively under the table with her 
 foot. Unfortunately, she had mistaken the 
 leg of the table for that of her husband, so 
 that her nudges produced no impression, 
 and, her temper being roused by his insen- 
 sibility, she at last delivered an honest kick, 
 xis she supposed, into her husband's shin.
 
 118 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 The wood of the table being a substance not 
 so yielding as Mr. Badger's flesh, and Sally 
 having an irritable and ill-protected corn, 
 she inflicted on herself at that moment a 
 blow she never forgot. In her anguish 
 she uttered an ejaculation, which was de- 
 livered so heartily that everybody looked 
 up. 
 
 ' What is the matter, my dear ?' her hus- 
 band asked, perceiving by something in her 
 actions that the cause of her disquiet was 
 under the table. ' Is that troublesome cat 
 there again ?' 
 
 ^Samuel!' his wife ejaculated, and no 
 more. But she cast this verbal javelin with 
 such an eye of fire that her husband did not 
 speak again for a long time. 
 
 ' What a funny spoon !' cried Violet again, 
 when pudding time came. The spoon was 
 German silver, and yellow with service. 'I 
 never saw a spoon like this before.'
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 119 
 
 * Never mind, dear,' replied Mrs. Badger ; 
 ^things will be very different to-morrow. 
 Everything will be different to-morrow. 
 New knives are coming, and forks and 
 spoons, and I don't know what beside.' 
 
 Just at this moment the pudding was set 
 upon the table. It was a long pudding, and, 
 like the rest of the entertainment, not over- 
 tempting to a fastidious person. But both 
 Samuel Badger and his round-faced son re- 
 garded it with evident interest, as a luxury, 
 and to them a toothsome morsel. 
 
 ' Now, Violet,' said Mrs. Badger, wielding 
 her knife, ' have some of this pudding, my 
 dear.' 
 
 ' What sort of pudding is it ?' the child 
 asked. 
 
 ' We call it " dog in a blanket," ' replied 
 Mrs. Badger, gravely. 
 
 She had not calculated upon the effect of 
 this surname upon her little guest. Mildred
 
 120 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 maintained her usual air of aloofness, just 
 touched with disdain; but little Violet, 
 tickled by the idea in the words, broke into 
 a hearty laugh. 
 
 ' Milly ! Milly !' she cried, almost faintly 
 from her excessive mirth, ' dog in a blanket, 
 Milly ! Look at it !' 
 
 Off the little delicate creature went in 
 miniature peals of laughter, with such a 
 note of humour in every silvery round that 
 the contagion was irresistible. It was plain 
 that this sickly child had an acute sense of 
 fun. The rest had to confess her power. 
 First Master Hector, after ineffectually 
 trying to quench his laughter by the 
 ingenious method of thrusting a large Ger- 
 man-silver spoon into his mouth, let his 
 merriment have free way. Then Samuel 
 Badger, after a moment's hesitation, spent 
 in glancing at his wife, followed by a series 
 of long buttery laughs, drawn in with one
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 121 
 
 breath and sent out with the other, like the 
 bray of a donkey, a performance which re- 
 doubled little Violet's merriment. Mildred, 
 after pulling Violet's skirt softly as a hint not 
 to be so demonstrative, caught the infection 
 also, and began to laugh for herself. Finally 
 Sally, surveying this laughing quartette, set 
 her knife and spoon down, and closed the 
 procession with a peal of her own, which 
 certainly was not the least hearty. ]\Iany 
 a year had the Badgers lived in that little 
 house, and many a meal had they eaten in 
 that little dining-room, but such a sound 
 of mirth the walls had never echoed as on 
 this day, when frail, sickly Violet Walsiug- 
 ham led the laughter.
 
 122 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 POSSIBLE LEGATEES IN THREE POSTURES : GREEDI- 
 NESS, ANXIETY, AND NOBLE REPOSE. 
 
 It may be thought a bad way, but in telling 
 a story my custom is, instead of occupying 
 the early chapters with a long preliminary 
 account of the place in which the action 
 lies, and the antecedents of leading char- 
 acters, to introduce both to my readers bit 
 by bit as occasion requires. Surely it is in 
 this way, reader, that real life makes us 
 acquainted with towns and houses, and men 
 and women. Little by little, through days, 
 or weeks, or years. 
 
 Accordingly, I think it quite time enough
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 123 
 
 to tell you now that the present action of 
 this story lies in the suburban part of that 
 pleasant town of Middleborough. In ten 
 minutes, with moderately fast walking, you 
 could put a girdle round the houses in which 
 Jerome Dawe, Sally Badger, Mrs. Alexan- 
 ander, and the Ruddocks severally resided. 
 These people all knew each other, and were 
 all upon speaking terms with each other, 
 dealt at the same shops, attended the same 
 church, and talked the same talk day by 
 day. They also called each other by their 
 Christian names, being everyone related 
 more or less closely; for Beatrice Ruddock 
 had a remote connection with the Dawes ; 
 and in virtue of his wife's affinity Daniel 
 too was admitted to the honour of this 
 familiar appellation. So when these people 
 met the talk was full of 'Daniel,' and 'Sal- 
 Iv,' and 'Marcraret.' and 'Jerome,' and 
 ^ Beatrice,' giving a friendly air to the inter-
 
 124 . GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 course. Alas ! there was much plotting 
 underneath. For this, it must in truth be 
 said, the Ruddocks were to blame, They, 
 who of the coterie were the most remotely 
 connected with Jerome Dawe, had long 
 marked his fortune for their own. Until 
 lately they had resided in the country, and 
 used to have Jerome staying with them for 
 long visits, by which device they secured 
 opportunities of gaining influence over him. 
 
 Proud Margaret Alexander, poor as she 
 was, never even resented Jerome's open pre- 
 ference for these designing people, whose 
 mean arts she scornfully deciphered from 
 the first. She treated him with the same 
 half-daughterly affection which she had al- 
 ways shown to him. 
 
 Not so Sally Badger. Sally repeatedly 
 remonstrated with Margaret, clenching her 
 fist, and declaring that if she could get at 
 those Ruddocks she would soon make them
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 125 
 
 know their place. But the Ruddocks lived 
 far off, and Sally had little power over 
 them, until the schemers, affecting weari- 
 ness of rural life, but in reality fearful of 
 Sally's possible counter plots, resolved to 
 take a house in Middleborough, close to 
 Jerome Dawe. By this means they hoped 
 to bring Jerome entirely under their influ- 
 ence. They did not perceive that this new 
 policy must give Sally many openings for 
 warfare. The first intimation of the mis- 
 take they had made came when Sally, by sheer 
 stress of determination, swept Mildred and 
 Violet out oftheirhands. Daniel and Beatrice 
 turned green with vexation that day, and 
 in their hearts cursed Jerome Dawe for a 
 pliant fool, forgetting that were he not a 
 pliant fool they could have no power over 
 him. But Daniel, after sitting for two 
 hours in his contemplative posture, with his 
 shoulders up about his ears, said to his ^vife,
 
 126 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 ' The whole question lies in a nutshell, 
 Bee. Are we, or Sally, best able to man- 
 age Jerome ?' 
 
 ' We/ answered Beatrice, with a laugh 
 full of self-reliance. 
 
 'I am not quite sure of that.' Daniel 
 replied. ' Sally is a tigress. And it is 
 never wise to be too sure when you are 
 dealing with a tigress.' 
 
 ^ We shall have our way at last,' said his 
 wife, so safe in her grand conclusion that 
 she disdained argument in detail. 
 
 ' I hope we may. We must be civil to 
 Sally.' 
 
 ' Civil to Sally, Daniel ! Of course we 
 must. That is what cuts her. That 
 is what will defeat her. Civil ! I should 
 think so !' 
 
 Beatrice laughed maliciously, and Daniel, 
 looking up at her gravely at first, caught 
 her mood, and took his part in the laughter
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 127 
 
 as if it were a concerted piece of music. 
 Their hope was that they might so pro- 
 voke Sally, that she, in her rage and fury, 
 might rush into some desperate position, 
 and declare war upon them, they, of course, 
 maintaining a pacific aspect. To effect this 
 with more apparent sincerity, they must 
 never be ruffled by Sally's rudeness ; in fact, 
 they bore her outbursts with a Christian 
 meekness, which Jerome Dawe did not fail 
 to mark. All was done that when they 
 struck they miglit strike indeed. As yet, 
 however, they had made no way. Sally 
 had a formidable ally in Margaret Alexan- 
 der. Jerome really respected this niece, 
 and wondered that she, poor and a widow, 
 should yet so nobly disdain the money which 
 was his god. Jerome had a strong tincture 
 of religion in liis constitution — superstition 
 might be a fitter word — and Margaret 
 Alexander was really pious. The up-shot
 
 128 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 was that, so far as legitimate and honest 
 influence went, no one had such power over 
 Jerome Da we as Margaret Alexander. And 
 Margaret liked Sall}^ She deplored her 
 cousin's eagerness for earthly things, but 
 her honesty she admired ; so that, as often 
 as Jerome mentioned Sally's name, Mar- 
 garet said something handsome, and these 
 few tributes were just sufficient with a weak 
 man like Jerome to frustrate the efforts of 
 the Ruddocks, who worked night and day 
 to edge Sally altogether out of his favour. 
 
 Let justice now be done to Sally Badger. 
 She had the money-hunger of a poor and 
 struggling housekeeper, unchecked by the 
 finer sentiments of her cousin. Still, there 
 was no wish on her part to take an unfair 
 advantage of Margaret. Had Jerome's 
 wealth been prospectively divided in equal 
 parts between herself and^ Margaret, she 
 would have been perfectly satisfied. But
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 129 
 
 Margaret absolutely refused to lift a finger in 
 the matter, though she had to pinch hard to 
 keep herself and her boy respectably, and 
 so Sally was forced, in the language of the 
 whist-table, to play for her own hand. 
 
 'All I can say is, Margaret,' Sally re- 
 marked one day, ' if you are going with 
 your fine scruples to let this money slip 
 away I am not, at least not without a fight 
 for it. Oh, Margaret ! if those Ruddocks 
 get uncle's property, I shall die. I shall 
 die, Margaret !' 
 
 ' Live for something that won't disap- 
 point you, Sally,' replied her grave cousin, 
 who that very morning had been compelled 
 to give up the dress she had hoped to buy 
 because Sholto's education was becoming so 
 expensive. ' Choose the better part, Sally. 
 Choose the one thing needful, Sally.' 
 
 'The one thing needful for me,' replied 
 Sally, unconsciously anticipating a modern 
 
 VOL. 1. K
 
 130 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 witticism, * is ready cash. We are in great 
 straits this quarter.' 
 
 ' So am I — often,' replied Margaret. 
 
 * And what is your way out of the fix ?' 
 asked Sally, a little sullenly. 
 
 She could tell what Margaret's answer 
 would be. 
 
 'I trust God,' the other answered, with 
 simple cheerfulness. 'And I am not going 
 to soil my fingers by trying to grasp uncle's 
 money ;' which the brave woman said with 
 an air of lofty purpose, that showed how 
 the blood of that original rascal Dawe had 
 been fined by time and transmission. 
 
 * Margaret,' Sally retorted, getting a little 
 brighter in prospect of her joke, but still 
 with a grim smile, * if there was nothing 
 except money to soil my fingers, I should 
 not have to wash my hands very often !'
 
 131 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A CURIOUS VIEW OF MUTUAL SOCIETY, HELP, AND 
 COMFORT. 
 
 The Ruddocks, as we have said, lived not 
 very far from the humble tenement which 
 at present housed the Badger family. Our 
 action now flits to the dining-room of this 
 mansion, where were seated after breakfast 
 Beatrice and her lord. Daniel Ruddock 
 sat at the table with his open desk be- 
 fore him, and his warped figure and high 
 shoulders gave him a remarkable and almost 
 deformed appearance. He was busy at 
 his accounts, and although the morning was 
 warm he w^as wrapped in a great shawl, 
 which by no means lessened the oddity of 
 
 k2
 
 132 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 his aspect. It was a pinched face and a 
 forbidding, which, with a curious, tense 
 look upon it, pored over the figures ; and 
 the dry, thin lips moved in inaudible cal- 
 culations, as his pen travelled slowly down 
 the column. Beatrice reclined in an easy- 
 chair. Her attitude was careless, even in- 
 elegant, as if posturing were not worth 
 thinking of now; yet she looked a hand- 
 some matron, and, when contrasted with 
 her husband, the wonder arose how she 
 could ever have linked her comely self 
 to so meagre a creature. But there they 
 were ; and to do Beatrice and Daniel 
 justice, they maintained the matrimonial 
 relation in greater harmony than many 
 better people can. They had the great 
 bond of union in their tastes. Daniel was 
 not only fond of his wife, but respected 
 her too, and, after his kind, he was affec- 
 tionate with his son and daughter. His
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 133 
 
 master-passion was love of money. Beatrice 
 was as fond of money as he ; she loved 
 her son ; and her pride — disappointed in 
 Daniel — was now awaitingj in a mood of 
 deferred expectation for the time when 
 little Eugene — and perhaps the daughter 
 Lucy — would make a figure in society. 
 Daniel loved money for money's sake ; 
 Beatrice loved it for the sake of the posi- 
 tion it gave, and most of all for the sake 
 of little Eugene, whom the ambitious mo- 
 ther hoped might one day be a peer, and 
 she alive to see it. The peerage ran in 
 the heads of all the Dawes, even in the 
 remote collateral branches. 
 
 As Daniel was just carrying ' one,' ' ought,' 
 ' nine,' which for some reason he pronounced 
 aloud, he was seized with a violent fit of 
 coughing, which shook his paltry frame as a 
 strong wind shakes a vile shanty. He threw 
 himself back, exhausted with the effort, and 
 panted for breath.
 
 134 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 *I am a poor sickly devil!' he said, as 
 soon as he could speak. And then, repeat- 
 ing the words more easily and deliberately, 
 'A — poor — sickly — devil.' 
 
 Beatrice looked at him with an expression 
 of anxiety, and Daniel, with his keen eyes, 
 caught the look, and changed colour. 
 
 ' What does the doctor say of me, Bee ?' 
 he asked. 'Tell me, without any reserve, 
 what does the doctor say ?' 
 
 ' He says you must be careful,' Beatrice 
 answered, with hesitation : ^ very careful in 
 the winter.' 
 
 Another onset of coughing racked his 
 frame, and for several minutes he could not 
 speak. 
 
 ' I doubt if any care will keep me here 
 long,' he said. ' However — business — 
 business !' 
 
 And he bent over his accounts again. 
 
 ' I have been thinking, Bee,' he said, look-
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 135 
 
 ing up as he sank back in his chair, and 
 putting the feather of his pen to his lip, ' I 
 shall reduce Gaby's wages eightpence a 
 Aveek.' 
 
 'Do you think so, Daniel?' she remarked. 
 ' He keeps the garden very neat.' 
 
 ' He will keep the garden as neat on 
 fourteen and four as on fifteen,' replied 
 Daniel. 
 
 ' His wife had another child last week/ 
 she remarked. 
 
 * My dear, if I were to give eightpence a 
 week to every labouring man whose wife 
 had another child last week, I should have 
 to pay a pretty penny. Why did his wife 
 have another child ? I should have thought 
 four enough. It is a curious thing,' Daniel 
 said, playing more actively with the feather, 
 as if to stimulate his mind, ' gardeners al- 
 ways do go on having children. I suppose 
 because Adam was told to multiply, and
 
 136 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 they think they have succeeded to the 
 business.' 
 
 He sniggered over his joke, at which 
 Beatrice smiled complaisantly. Then she 
 said, 
 
 ' Eightpence a week is scarcely worth men- 
 tioning.' 
 
 Daniel rose up in his chair, his face all on 
 the alert, and his expression that of a man 
 who has got an opening for a favourite 
 argument. 
 
 * Eightpence a week not much !' he cried. 
 * Let me show you what eightpence a week 
 is. It is one pound fourteen shillings and 
 eightpence each year. That is not much, 
 you say. There we don't quite agree, but 
 pass that by. In forty years, what will 
 eightpence a week amount to ?' He had 
 the figures ready, for out the sum came 
 without any computation. ' It will amount 
 to sixty-nine pounds six shillings and ten-
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 137 
 
 pence. There is more than that. Keep 
 investing your few pounds from time to 
 time as they roll up — investing judiciously — 
 and, at the end of the forty years, you may 
 have not sixty-six, but one hundred pounds 
 saved!' 
 
 ' One hundred pounds saved after forty 
 years, Daniel !' Beatrice said, shaking her 
 head. ' It is not much, after all.' 
 
 ' Yes ! yes ! yes f cried Daniel, eagerly, 
 ' but go on saving eightpences ! Save ten a 
 week ; one in coals, one in candles, one in 
 note-paper and envelopes, one in the kit- 
 chen, one in the dining-room, and so forth. 
 In forty years your saved eightpences alone 
 will amount to one thousand pounds ! One 
 thousand pounds, Bee. That is the way 
 fortunes are made. That is the way money 
 rolls up. Look at me. I am only fifty to- 
 day. I may live to be ninety. Many peo- 
 ple do. And at ninety, there would be my
 
 ]138 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 thousand pounds, made up of saved eight- 
 pences. How a man would feel in his old 
 age, to see one thousand pounds in gold ly- 
 ing on the table before him, and he able to 
 say to it, " There you lie, great heap of 
 shining gold ; hundreds would risk their 
 necks to get you off that table. You would 
 start a man in life well. For the sake of 
 you, ten thousand men in England to-da}'- 
 would lie, swear, steal, cheat, forge, risk 
 their lives by sea or land, in fair ways or 
 foul ; but you are mine, mine, mine, with- 
 out wrong or danger — one thousand pounds 
 in shining gold."' 
 
 The sick man grew quite eloquent, struck 
 his hands together, and a flush stole out 
 upon his pallid cheek as he depicted this 
 triumph. Then, sinking back once more in 
 his chair, he feebly said, 
 
 ^ Yes, I shall reduce Gaby eightpeuce a 
 week.'
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 139 
 
 A little pause followed upon this instruc- 
 tive dialogue, and Daniel, looking up at his 
 handsome wife, began a new subject. 
 
 ' Sally has played us a fine trick about 
 those girls.' 
 
 ' Odious woman !' Beatrice remarked, 
 with a most honest expression of dislike. 
 *How can she have any good blood in 
 her !' 
 
 ' Come ! come !' Daniel cried, interrupt- 
 ing her. The subject of good blood he 
 would never listen to, except^under compul- 
 sion. ' There is nothing to be got by calling 
 Sally names. She plays her game. We 
 must play ours, Bee.' 
 
 ' What is our game to be?' Beatrice ask- 
 
 I— > 
 
 ed, sulkily. 
 
 ' I am going to tell you,' Daniel replied, 
 glancing round to see if the door was shut. 
 ' I have my plan for getting those gu"ls"out 
 of her clutches and into our hands. It is a
 
 140 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 plan that cannot fail. With decent caution, 
 it cannot fail/ 
 
 * What can it be ?' Beatrice asked, greatly 
 interested, and knowing that her crafty hus- 
 band would not speak in this way without 
 good reason. ' Oh, I shall be glad to out- 
 %vit her !' 
 
 ' Come here/ Daniel said, ' and sit beside 
 me.' 
 
 Beatrice went to his side, and, seating 
 herself on a footstool, threw her hands 
 carelessly about him ; and he, pleased with 
 the attention of his handsome wife, caressed 
 her affectionately, and for a few moments 
 his thoughts ran in another direction. 
 Then, all at once, his face puckered up 
 into the most plotting look. A wicked 
 expression stole out on his features just as 
 a look of suffering might appear on one 
 suddenly smitten with an acute pang. 
 
 Full of the matter, he bent low down
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 141 
 
 and was beginning thus : ' I can tell you the 
 whole plan, from beginning to end, in five 
 minutes,' when, as if to warn him that other 
 circumstances were at work in human affairs 
 than he was taking into account, the maid 
 tapped at the door, and, throwing it open, 
 announced, 
 
 ' Major Sanctuary, if you please, sir.'
 
 142 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ' MAJOR SANCTUARY, THE QUIDNUNCS CLUB, 
 199a, PICCADILLY. 
 
 Major Sanctuary entered. He was a tall 
 man, with hair rapidly turning from iron- 
 grey to white. His face was thin, perhaps 
 with meagre living, or possibly from lean- 
 ness of constitution. He wore a frock-coat 
 buttoned tiditlv round his thin frame, and 
 his whole attire, cravat, linen, and boots, 
 while marked by the most scrupulous neat- 
 ness, set forth either extreme stinginess 
 or genteel poverty. His voice was loud, 
 even blustering, and there was a kind 
 of Pistol swagger about him which contrast- 
 ed strangely with his thread-bare coat, and
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 143 
 
 yet more strangely with an air of good 
 breedingr which no eccentricitv of dress and 
 manner could quite efface. 
 
 'How d'ye do, Ruddock?' he called out, 
 catching that gentleman's eye first. 'Mrs. 
 Ruddock, I am delighted to see you look- 
 ing so well — so charming — this disagreeable 
 weather.' 
 
 Saying this, Major Sanctuary leaned on 
 his cane and surveyed his friends with a 
 rigidity and erectness of posture which 
 might have done credit to a monument. 
 
 * Very pleased to see you, Major,' Daniel 
 called out, with a face which threw doubt 
 upon the assertion. * Where will you sit ? 
 Not sit at all ! Just so. But dear uie, 
 Major, I am afraid I can't quite return 
 your compliment to Mrs. Ruddock as to 
 healthy looks.' 
 
 Daniel was very fond of talking about 
 health.
 
 144 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 'You don't look quite the thing. A little 
 yellow. Liver, eh ?' 
 
 ' No, no, no,' the Major answered, with 
 great spirit : ' nothing of the kind, Ruddock 
 — nothing of the kind. It's the Quidnuncs^ 
 sir.' 
 
 * The what ? ' Beatrice asked, wonder- 
 ing. 
 
 'The Quidnuncs, ma'am/ the Major re- 
 plied, revolving on his axis to address Mrs. 
 Ruddock with greater ease, but still keeping 
 his monumental attitude. ' The Quidnuncs 
 is my new club, 199a, Piccadilly, and a 
 very pretty situation too 1' 
 
 ' Another club. Major !' Beatrice ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 'Yes, ma'am, another club,' the Major 
 answered, rapping with his right hand on 
 the table. *And the best of all, I assure 
 you. Small. Tidy. Well-ventilated. Good 
 company. And special privileges.'
 
 GOLDEN GIKLS. 145 
 
 The Major delivered these statements 
 separately, and in jerks, giving one the 
 idea of a man reading down a column. 
 
 'This makes twenty-one clubs, does it 
 not, Major ?' Beatrice inquired, more, it 
 seemed, for something to say, than from 
 curiosity. 
 
 * Twenty-one, ma'am, exactly/ Major 
 Sanctuary answered. 'Reminding one of 
 the old adage, "If at first you don't suc- 
 ceed, try, try, try again." I have been 
 trying London clubs for years, ma'am, 
 spending a mint of money, and always 
 getting disappointed. But I went on at 
 it, and I have found what I want at last. 
 The great feature about the Quidnuncs is, 
 that members can introduce lady friends 
 to have a bit o' lunch. A sreat con- 
 venience to a dog of a bachelor like me, 
 who knows half the town, and is invited 
 by half the town, but who, living in lodg- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 ings, is not able to return civilities under 
 a roof of his own.' 
 
 ' So you entertain ladies at your club ?' 
 Beatrice remarked, in the listless way in 
 which, for politeness, people keep up an 
 uninteresting conversation. ' How very 
 pleasant !' 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 'Remember, ma'am/ the Major continued, 
 with severity, noticing her ironical look, 
 ^ they must he ladies. Nobody question- 
 able, and nobody of inferior social position. 
 Oh dear, no, not for a moment ! Let me 
 give you an illustration. There is ray friend 
 Thristle, a very well-meaning man, but not 
 altogether as sharp as an attorney-at-law. 
 Some weeks ago Thristle asked two lady 
 friends to lunch with him. It came out — 
 or people thought it came out — that on the 
 reputation of one of these ladies there was 
 a speck. Now, Mrs. Ruddock, don't frown.
 
 GOLDEN GIKLS. 147 
 
 I assure you, ma'am, it was not even alleged 
 to be more than a speck. I should forfeit 
 my life if it was more than a speck. Very 
 well. The lunch passed off. Next morn- 
 ing our secretary, Jones, meets Thristle in 
 the entrance-hall, which, by the way, is 
 marble, maam, and as slippery as ice, as 
 I shall show you by another pleasant anec- 
 dote another day. Jones is an out-spoken 
 man, who takes his bull by the horns. 
 
 * " Sir," says Jones, addressing Thristle, 
 "can you give me the name of the lady 
 who lunched with you yesterday ?" 
 
 ' " Certainly," replies Thristle. 
 
 * *' How did you make her acquaintance, 
 sir ?" asks Jones. 
 
 ' " Sir," Thristle answers, " she was once 
 very kind to my wife's mother." 
 
 ' " All I can say is, sir," replies Jones, 
 ^' she has been very unkind to your wife's 
 mother's son-ia-law." (Jones has that way 
 
 l2
 
 148 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 of tossing your words up in the air like a 
 juggler, and catching them in another shape 
 as they come down.) 
 
 '"What do you mean, sir?" asks 
 Thristle. 
 
 ' " Simply this, sir," Jones answers, *' that 
 you will be scratched off the list of this 
 club in about as short a time as it takes 
 to dip the pen in the ink and take it out 
 again!"' 
 
 Major Sanctuary paused here and left 
 a blank in his narrative. Then he resumed : 
 
 * Thristle is a timid man, and would not 
 face the affair. And as sure as I am stand- 
 ing here, alive, before you, this morning, 
 ma'am ' — the Major said this with another 
 little axial movement to settle the fact 
 of his being alive — 'there is no saying 
 where the thing would have stopped. Now, 
 how do you think it all arose ? Hoio do 
 you think it all arose ?' the Major repeated.
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 149 
 
 rapping the table with great asperity, as he 
 repeated the question. 
 
 ^ I cannot possibly say,' Beatrice replied. 
 
 * The letter S, ma'am,' the Major continu- 
 ed — Hhat single letter, ma'am. The fact 
 was, a careless correspondent wrote Tomki?z, 
 when he should have written Tomkms. His 
 charge was levelled against one Mrs. Tom- 
 kin. Thristle's most reasonable and crush- 
 ing reply was to the efect that his friend's 
 name was Mrs. Tonakins. The thing was 
 cleared up, and we gave Thristle a dinner 
 last night, and what with our fine dishes and 
 our rare wines, ma'am, and the desire to 
 blot the thing out of Thristle's memory, no 
 wonder if I am a little yellow this morning. 
 Yellow, ma'am ! the wonder is that I am 
 not purple and scarlet as well. Such a 
 night is enough to turn a man into a rain- 
 bow.' 
 
 Major Sanctuary did not give the impres-
 
 1£0 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 sion of high feeding or deep drinking 
 either ; indeed, as he nervously remarked a 
 button of his coat which threatened to come 
 off, and tried to conceal it by putting his 
 hand upon his chest in a careless way, he 
 looked much more like a needy gentleman 
 than the dashing member of twenty-one 
 clubs. 
 
 ^ And what has brought you down here 
 so early, Major?' asked Daniel Ruddock, 
 perceiving that the story was concluded. 
 
 'Just dropped down to see my little 
 creature,' the Major replied, with an air of 
 mingled importance and indifference ; ^ I 
 just came to see that my rooms are aired, 
 you know, and all going on well. I return 
 to town to-morrow; you are too still for 
 me here — upon my life you are far too 
 still !' 
 
 ' I hope you find your daughter well ?' 
 Beatrice remarked, in her uninterested way.
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 151 
 
 ' I have not seen Victoria for a long time.' 
 'Just what I was thinking,' the Major 
 cried, like a man who has got an opening 
 for something he wants to say. ' And I 
 have been scolding Victoria for not avail- 
 ing herself more of your kindness. I as- 
 sure you, Mrs. Ruddock, nothing gives her 
 father so much pleasure as to hear that she 
 has been entertained by you. She will learn 
 much from you, ma'am, which a girl ought 
 to know ; learn it imperceptibly by mere 
 contact' — the Major said this with a gal- 
 lant bow — ' and besides, ma'am, there is 
 your charming boy. A most engaging little 
 fellow, upon my life. A perfect man of the 
 world in an Eton jacket. Quite a minia- 
 ture Chesterfield. Ah, Mrs. Ruddock,' the 
 Major said, significantly, 'he is a delightful 
 companion for my daughter Victoria. Such 
 a companion as I should choose from ten 
 thousand.'
 
 1 52 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 Beatrice exchanged a very significant 
 look with her husband as the Major paid 
 her son this compliment, and she bit her 
 lip, and so hid a smile. 
 
 ^ In fact, ma'am,' the Major continued, 
 emboldened by the progress he had made, 
 and this time not noticing the lady's ironical 
 lip, ^ that was the reason of my visit this 
 morning. I wish to say that whenever you 
 ask Victoria she will be delighted to come, 
 and that I, as her only parent, highly 
 esteem the opportunities which your pleas- 
 ant hospitalities offer to my girl.' 
 
 Major Sanctuary still maintained his 
 monumental posture ; but, though he looked 
 from one face to another with great alert- 
 ness, he neither drew any inference from 
 the cold keen eyes of the lady, nor per- 
 ceived her veiled satiric expression. He 
 did not even see that Daniel Ruddock put 
 his hand to his face to cover an undoubted
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 153 
 
 grin. For five minutes longer the conver- 
 sation was kept up with the Major's unfail- 
 ing vivacity, and then, with many a bow 
 and smile and civil speech, he took his 
 leave.
 
 154 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 IN WHICH IT IS AS WELL FOR MAJOR SANCTUARY 
 THAT HE IS ON THE OUTER SIDE OF THE 
 PARLOUR DOOR. 
 
 ' Poor fool !' Daniel said, politely, as the 
 door shut upon the Major. ' I wonder 
 does he think anyone believes him ?' 
 
 Beatrice laughed as she arranged the 
 table-cloth, which the eloquent Major had 
 displaced in one of his flighty passages. 
 
 * Twenty clubs !' continued Daniel, scorn- 
 fully ; * more likely one ; and pretty well 
 he takes the worth of his money out of that. 
 I am told that he has one bed-room at the 
 top of a house in the Strand, and that liter-
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 155 
 
 ally he passes his whole waking life in the 
 club, never disappearing except at dinner- 
 hour, and then only when there is no chance 
 of an invitation.' 
 
 * Did you not remark what he said about 
 Victoria ?' asked Beatrice, who had let her 
 imprisoned lip go free, 
 
 * Rather !' replied the polished Daniel. 
 
 * And our miniature Chesterfield ?' con- 
 tinued Beatrice, scornfullv. ' He would 
 like to sow the seeds of an affair between 
 Eugene and Victoria. Oh, the impudence 
 of some people !' 
 
 ' Better put a stop to it at once/ Daniel 
 said, angrily. ' Better give him the cold 
 shoulder — cut him dead ; you know how.' 
 
 ' I cannot cut him, my dear.' 
 
 ' No ? why not, pray ? 
 
 ' Do you not see ?' replied Beatrice^ 
 calmly. ' Sir John is the Major's first 
 cousin, and it is through the Major we get
 
 156 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 admission to the Hall. Quarrel with the 
 Major, and we lose hold of Sir John. 
 Now, my hope is that by management Bob 
 Sanctuary may fall in love with our Lucy. 
 I should like to see my daughter Lady 
 Sanctuary. You see, Daniel, the thing is 
 possible. We have money, and when Je- 
 rome dies we shall have more. The Sanc- 
 tuarys are poor. The day may come when 
 Lucy Ruddock, with thirty thousand pounds, 
 may be an acceptable wife to a young baro- 
 net with an encumbered estate. Oh, no ! 
 we must not break with the Major.' 
 
 ' If you do not break with him,' said 
 Daniel, ' perhaps the Major will be too 
 many for you. Eugene may be hooked 
 and landed before you can prevent it.' 
 
 'Leave that to me, Daniel,' his self-re- 
 liant wife replied. ' If Eugene is caught 
 by Victoria, or by Victoria's father, I will 
 forgive the catcher, that's all.' 
 
 ' It is confoundedly impudent of the
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 157 
 
 Major/ Daniel remarked, "with an air of 
 reflection, ^ and impudence I cannot stand.' 
 
 * Well, well !' Beatrice said, impatiently, 
 'leave the Major to me. I want you to 
 think about the future. Here is my scheme. 
 Let us get Eugene engaged to Mildred. 
 That I can manage through Jerome. Then, 
 if we can gradually contrive to get up a 
 little attachment between Lucy and Bob 
 Sanctuary ' 
 
 'Who will be Sir Robert Sanctuary," 
 remarked Daniel. 
 
 * If Eucrene has ^ot a wife so enormouslv 
 rich, we shall have money to spare for 
 Lucy. Oh, we can make Lucy such a 
 prize that the Sanctuarys will hunt us 
 instead of our hunting them.' 
 
 ' We have not secured Mildred yet,' 
 remarked Daniel. 
 
 ' Not yet ; but did you not say you had a 
 plan?' 
 
 * I did !' cried Daniel, and his face gleam-
 
 ] 58 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 ed with satisfaction. ' I have such a plan, 
 Bee, such a plan ! To defeat Sally. To 
 get the children into our hands. To secure 
 virtually the guardianship of them. And 
 all in such a way that not Margaret, nor 
 Jerome, nor even Sally herself, will sus- 
 pect that we had a hand in it. Oh, it is — 
 it is a plan !' 
 
 He laughed almost in an ecstasy, and 
 rubbed his hands together ;. but in the midst 
 of his mirth a fit of coughing seized him 
 and changed his manner in a moment. His 
 thin frame doubled together, and the vio- 
 lence of the cough threatened to throw him 
 into a convulsion. Faint and breathless, at 
 last he sank back in his chair, and, motion- 
 ing with his hand towards the sideboard, he 
 gasped, 
 
 ' A drop — a drop — of brandy ; never 
 mind the water. I think I am going to 
 die.'
 
 159 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 * ONE OR TWO WORDS WITH YOU.' 
 
 I HAVE come to the conclusion that I ought, 
 at this point, to let my readers know the 
 plot of the story. There are novelists — 
 and very great ones — who artfully keep 
 their readers in suspense, about all sorts of 
 matters, right on to the last chapter. Who 
 administered the poison — who used the 
 poinard — who forged the signature to the 
 last will and testament — whether the hero- 
 ine's father is the good man of high degree, 
 with light hair and an amiable face, or the 
 dark, low-browed villain who has been 
 prowling about the piece from the begin-
 
 160 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 ning — all these matters are left unsettled^ 
 . keeping the student in most agreeable un- 
 certainty. 
 
 To this fine art I make no pretence. In 
 fact, my theatre is not of sufficient size for 
 spectacle and heavy melodrama. I am far 
 more like the travelling performer, who 
 spreads his bit of carpet in the street, drops 
 on his back, shoots his heels into the air, 
 and then, with the assistance of his little 
 family, proceeds to entertain his patrons. 
 Accordingly, I tell all whom it may con- 
 cern that this is a novel about marriage. 
 The motive of this piece is to exhibit the 
 singular results which may be obtained by 
 judicious experimenters who plan marriages 
 ten or fifteen years before the actual cere- 
 mony can take place. There you have the 
 plot in a nutshell. Excepting, perhaps, a 
 vshipwreck and a trifle of bigamy, there will 
 not be an event which might not have hap-
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 161 
 
 pened in a six-roomed house. There will 
 not be a crime which would have cost the 
 offender half-a-crown in any court in the 
 kingdom. The whole affair will be quiet 
 as a minuet. Accordingly, if any reader 
 wants sensation, I advise her to close this 
 novel and wait for my next, when I mean 
 to surprise the public generally. 
 
 By the greatest luck I have managed to 
 hit upon the character of a young woman 
 who v/ill go right through the Ten Com- 
 mandments and the law of England, break- 
 ing everything, and at the end will — not 
 die penitent, which is really getting worn 
 out — but turn into 2i res-pectable elderly female 
 living on an annuity. Together with this 
 there will be a thrilling underplot, all mur- 
 ders and marquises. I have also in my 
 desk a secular extravaganza, the most 
 fanciful and prettiest ever written ; all the 
 babies ride thorough-breds and leap five- 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 barred gates, and the middle-aged men use 
 pap-boats and go-carts ; and, besides the 
 original subject, the handling is so facetious 
 that my publishers assure me I am safe for 
 twenty editions. Till these performances 
 appear, at which I am labouring night and 
 day, I advise ray sensational and romantic 
 readers to seek their mental meat else- 
 where. The present story is intended for 
 that limited class, young gentlemen and 
 ladies who want to get married themselves ; 
 and that other limited class, elderly gentle- 
 men and ladies who want to get other 
 people married ; and, besides these, for 
 that very limited class indeed who are 
 spectators of life, and amuse themselves 
 with their neighbours' follies. 
 
 The story is, in fact, very like a game of 
 chess. Here are Jerome Dawe, Daniel 
 and Beatrice Euddock, Martha Spring, Sally 
 Badger, Major Sanctuary, and his brother
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 163 
 
 the baronet ; these are the players. Here 
 are Violet and Mildred, Sholto and Eugene, 
 Hector Badsrer and Bob Sanctuary iunior, 
 Lucy Ruddock and Victoria Sanctuary ; 
 these are the pieces. .At the present mo- 
 ment, in the plot and anticipation of one or 
 other of the players, each of these young 
 people is to marry a particular person. Will 
 he or she do it ? Were the plotters wise 
 enough or too wise ? What if, at some 
 juncture of the game, the pieces begin to 
 dispose of themselves, skipping from square 
 to square, while the players, perhaps, are 
 laboriously pondering the next move ? 
 Out of such few and modest threads I am 
 to weave ray novel of ' Golden Girls.' 
 
 m2
 
 164 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MR. DANIEL RUDDOCK TRIES A BIT OF FLIRTATION, 
 AND DELIVERS HIS SENTIMENTS ON FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Mr. Jerome Dawe was standing in his 
 dining-room, his hat upon his head, his 
 trusty stick Shakespeare in his hand, and a 
 paper between his fingers, upon which were 
 written certain commissions he had to exe- 
 cute ; for it was Monday morning, and. he 
 was off to do his week's shoppino^. Martha 
 Spring, flourishing a clothes-brush in her 
 hand, hovered about him tenderly ; and, 
 as she saw opportunity, she made dabs at 
 various portions of his person with such 
 zeal that Jerome Dawe shifted backward a 
 little each moment, and was making his
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 165 
 
 way to the door by a series of retreating 
 shuffles. 
 
 ' Gently, Matty, gently,' he exclaimed, as 
 that devoted female, spying a mark upon 
 his left shoulder, pounced upon the place ; 
 Uhat hurts.' 
 
 ^ Where will you get anyone to take such 
 care of you as your old Matty ?' the warm- 
 hearted creature observed, falling back a 
 step or two, and taking in the general effect 
 of his appearance. 'There ! you look tidy 
 now. Pity such a man should ever go 
 about a sight. Lor,' said Martha, becoming 
 reflective, ' to think of that figure being 
 unmarried ! Where's the women's taste ?' 
 
 * Matty,' Jerome Dawe remarked, with 
 impressiveness, ^ the women's taste is not 
 the .only matter which goes to determine 
 matrimonial connections. There may be 
 men who don't choose to marry ; or again ' 
 — Jerome was a widower himself, and his
 
 166 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 first wife had in her day played the mis- 
 tress over Martha so sharply that her name 
 was carved on that abigail's memory as on 
 marble — ' there may be men who have 
 tried once and have not succeeded, and are 
 not going to try again.' 
 
 ' And there may be men/ Matty rejoined, 
 resting her clothes-brush upon the table, 
 and, while she stood in this statuesque atti- 
 tude, gazing at him like a parchment Venus, 
 ' there may be men who will meet their 
 fellow at last, and be happy in their old 
 days, with some one to sympathise with 'em 
 and to mend their stockings, and to tend 
 'em when they have a cold in the head, and 
 so on. Do you believe now, sir, that 
 matches are made in heaven?' 
 
 * Matty,' said Jerome Dawe, gravely, 
 * that is a theological question. Ask me 
 next Sunday, if 3'Ou please.' 
 
 During the course of this improving dia-
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 167 
 
 logue there passed in front of the house Mr. 
 Daniel Ruddock. He, glancing through the 
 window, and seeing Jerome Dawe, did not 
 (as we might have expected) hurry in to 
 greet his dear friend. On the contrary, 
 he walked rather hastily away, as if 
 wishing to get out of eyeshot of his 
 dear friend. Daniel generally managed 
 to accomplish anything of the kind when 
 he tried, and so it was now ; for, as Jerome 
 Dawe turned one corner of the road, Daniel 
 peeped out from another corner, turning 
 his head this way and that, like a rat look- 
 ing out of his hole. 
 
 Two minutes after, Daniel was standing 
 in Jerome Dawe's dining-room, where 
 Martha Spring was now engaged brushing 
 the crumbs from the cloth. 
 
 *Out, is he?' said Daniel Ruddock. 
 ' Dear ! dear ! dear ! What a pity I missed 
 him ! When will he be at home ?'
 
 168 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 ^Four/ replied Matty, tartly, being a 
 little exasperated by a crumb which was out 
 of her reach, though she stretched across 
 the table. ' There, I have got you for all 
 that !' which triumphant utterance she ad- 
 dressed to the captured crumb. 
 
 Daniel Ruddock had taken his favourite 
 place on the hearth-rug, and was regarding 
 Martha with a crafty look. This look he 
 exchanged all at once for a jocose ex- 
 pression. 
 
 * Matty/ he said, stepping forward, and 
 poking her in the side, ' you are an un- 
 common fine woman !' 
 
 Perhaps Martha Spring had experience of 
 Daniel Ruddock's ways ; or perhaps her 
 experience of mankind at large prepared 
 her for this kind of compliment. She did 
 not manifest any great alarm, although she 
 coloured a little. 
 
 ' Goodness gracious me !' she exclaimed ;
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 169 
 
 ^how many people say that to me one time 
 or another !' 
 
 'No wonder, Matty,' said Daniel, ad- 
 vancing closer to her, while she showed 
 symptoms of dodging him round the table, 
 after the exao^ple of Daphne and other re- 
 nowned ladies of the ancient Avorld. ' Don't 
 go away, Matty ; I have something to say 
 to you.' 
 
 * Get along with you, do !' Martha said, 
 with maidenly coyness ; and as Daniel came 
 near she retreated, until, unluckily, his 
 advance was arrested by an asthmatic fit, 
 which forced him to throw himself into a 
 chair, where he coughed until he was quite 
 exhausted. 
 
 ' Poor fellow !' Martha ejaculated, stop- 
 ping in her retreat as perhaps Daphne 
 would have done had Apollo pulled up in 
 mid-chase. ^ Pity you don't take more care 
 of yourself — or have more care taken of
 
 170 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 you. Thafs the fault. You ought to have 
 your black-currant tea, and your woollen 
 socks, and your comforters, and your what- 
 nots ; and many a wife would take care you 
 had 'em too. But Lor', 1 don't know I 
 Once they are married to a man, they care 
 no more for him than if he was a stock or 
 a stone. There are women that would, 
 though — ' at which Martha sighed. 
 
 In justice to Mr. Daniel Ruddock it must 
 be said that he was as constant a husband 
 as ever breathed, and, had he been the re- 
 verse, it could be by no means likely that 
 he would cheat his wife of any endearments 
 for the sake of bestowing them upon Martha 
 Spring. Long ago, however, Daniel had 
 been under-clerk to a pettifogging attorney ; 
 and, in the service of writs and other minor 
 legal undertakings, he had learned that 
 female vanity can be played upon with 
 great effect, where ulterior ends have to be
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 171 
 
 gained. But when he saw that Martha 
 blushed and simpered he — being not a rash 
 man — resolved to oro no further in this 
 direction. For all that, he meant to im- 
 prove the complaisant mood he had 
 awakened. 
 
 'Matty! Matty!' said Daniel, looking at 
 her in a plaintive way, ' you have been 
 shockingly used of late. I do really feel 
 for you.' 
 
 What this meant Martha could not ima- 
 gine, but, determined not to cast away the 
 sentiment her circumstances had inspired, 
 she shook her head, sighed again, and 
 looked as if she knew all about it. 
 
 ' After all your years of faithful service — 
 after your devotion and integrity — to have 
 the chance of making your fortune, and 
 then to have it all pick-pocketed, if I may 
 say so, and you left penniless ! 0, though 
 I don't pretend to be what you call a feel-
 
 172 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 ing man, I feel this, Matty ; I do indeed !' 
 
 Daniel gave a sympathetic sniff as he 
 said this, and rubbed the corner of his 
 eye. 
 
 Curiosity in Martha's breast got the better 
 of policy, and she looked straight at him, 
 and said, 
 
 * Whatever do you mean ?' 
 
 'Mean, Matty?' he answered; *do you 
 know — of course you cannot know — that 
 when those two wealthy children were first 
 left in Mr. Dawe's keeping his intention 
 was that you — you, Martha Spring — should 
 have charge of them ?' 
 
 ' I never !' exclaimed Martha, holding up 
 her hands. 
 
 Undaunted by her wonder and incredulity, 
 Daniel proceeded to lay before her a whole 
 scheme (purely imaginary, it need scarcely 
 be said) which he declared was the original 
 idea of Jerome Dawe. Jerome was to
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 173 
 
 have moved to a larger house ; a wing of 
 this was to have been set apart for the 
 children and their governess; Martha was 
 to have been entrusted with the manacre- 
 raent of their domestic expenditure. Daniel 
 easily convinced the woman, who listened 
 Avith greedy ears, that in a few years she 
 would have saved a lar^e sum. ' Some- 
 thing to marry on,' he said, with a compli- 
 mentary grin. Besides, Daniel went on to 
 show that, by ingratiating herself with the 
 young heiress, Matty would probably secure 
 for herself an annuity when Miss Walsing- 
 ham came of age. All this was impudent 
 invention, but Daniel knew what he was 
 about. He warned Martha that he had 
 only surmised all this ; still, his surmises 
 were certainties. Jerome Dawe had really 
 formed the plan ; only Martha must be 
 prepared to hear her master deny the 
 whole. She knew his way, did she not?
 
 174 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 Meanwhile, Daniel charged her not to drop 
 the faintest hint that she had ever sus- 
 pected anything. And so, having fired her 
 covetousness, and at the same time fenced 
 her in with secresy on all sides, when Dan- 
 iel felt he had worked her on to the right 
 point, he inquired, abruptly, 
 
 * Who, think you, Matty, snatched this 
 prize out of your hands ?' 
 
 ' How can I tell ?' Matty replied. 
 
 ^ Mrs. Badger !' cried Daniel, with an in- 
 voluntary eruption of hatred, which ho 
 thought not quite prudent, until he was re- 
 lieved to see an equal look of enmity on 
 Martha's face. ' Mrs. Sally Badger !' 
 
 ^ I cannot bear that woman,' he added. 
 * Mind, Matty, I am a man of the world. I 
 am what people call a selfish man, Matty. I 
 don't pretend to love you more than I love 
 myself, Matty. I do not wish Mrs. Badger 
 to get the influence over your master which
 
 GOLDEX GIRLS. 175 
 
 she is trying for. That would be bad for 
 me, and bad for you, Matty ; worse for you 
 than for me. You and I understand each 
 other. What is your interest is my interest ; 
 what is my interest is your interest. Talk 
 as you will about trust and honour, Matty, 
 there is no foundation for mutual confidence 
 like that. Now, Matty, if you are wise, and 
 silent, and do as I wish, why, you will be- 
 fore long have afortuneof your own, as sure 
 as my name is Daniel Ruddock and your 
 name Martha Spring.' 
 
 Here followed a long dialogue, full of 
 point and business ; but as the issue of the 
 affair will sufficiently inform readers of its 
 substance, and as we are tired of this disa- 
 greeable pair, we close the chapter.
 
 176 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 IN WHICH SALLY BADGER SUCCUMBS TO PROVIDENCE 
 --SAMUEL BADGER RECALLS PRO V^IDENCE — MAR- 
 GARET ALEXANDER TRUSTS IN PROVIDENCE — 
 AND DANIEL RUDDOCK APPEALS TO PROVIDENCE. 
 
 Sometimes, when an express train is stop- 
 ping at a station, we who pace the platform, 
 waiting for the starting-bell, notice the 
 careful driver with a long-necked oil-can, 
 like a tin giraffe, letting subtle drops into 
 the machinery here and there, which are to 
 ease the movement when the train sets off 
 again. To this prudent workman I now 
 compare Daniel Ruddock, who, for a time 
 to come, we must fancy employed upon the 
 machinery of his friendly little plot. Now a 
 word, now a smile, now a shrug of the 
 shoulders, bolder strokes at times — so Daniel
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 177 
 
 busies himself, through it all contriving the 
 defeat of Sally Badger, and the capture of 
 the Golden Girls. 
 
 Him we leave and return to Sally Bad- 
 ger s modest little house. Great is the stir, 
 mighty is the bustle, in which Mrs. Badger 
 lives herself and makes her household live. 
 A new house has been taken, of larger size 
 and better appearance, and Sally is working, 
 morning, noon, and night, at furniture and 
 furnishing plans. What bits of carpet, 
 nearly trampled out in the old house, can 
 be cut or fitted to rooms and passages of 
 the new ; where fresh must be bought ; 
 whether the furniture of the present draw- 
 inoj-room will be crood enoudi for the future 
 parlour ; how the drawing-room itself can 
 be most cheaply arrayed in splendour : these 
 are the problems Sally Badger revolves. 
 Day and night wonderful Sally goes about 
 with pencil and paper ever in her pocket, 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 and when she gets a new idea down it goes ; 
 and she has awful columns of figures on the 
 paper, and the figures get dim with time 
 and the friction of Sally's bunch of keys ; 
 and Sally at last confounds the subtraction 
 and addition columns, and thinks all at once 
 that she has fifteen pounds more to pay 
 than she calculated. Down she sits sudden- 
 ly on a box, and puts her hand to her brow 
 and feels she had better give up the battle 
 of life once for all. 
 
 ' Sally, my dear one,' said Mr. Badger, 
 who happened to be at hand on this appal- 
 ling occasion, ' do not give way.' 
 
 ' Oh, Sammy, Sammy,' she cried, moved 
 by the pathos of the occasion to confide in 
 him, ' I have made a dreadful mistake. We 
 want fifteen pounds more. Oh, what shall 
 we do?' 
 
 ' Now, my dear,' cried Samuel, almost 
 vivaciously, for he saw her mistake, and his
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 179 
 
 bosom was glowing to think that he, her 
 humble husband, would for once correct 
 and re-inspirit her, ' you have added seven- 
 ten, when you should have . subtracted 
 seven-ten. Look there. The total is sixty- 
 five ; just what you always said, my dear. 
 You never are wrong — in the long-run. 
 The total is just sixty-five.' 
 
 ^ So it is !' Sally exclaimed, joyfully. 
 ^ Oh, what a relief! Sammy, after all I 
 could not get on without you !' 
 
 N'ever, during their married life, had she 
 paid her husband such a compliment. It 
 quite lifted him up. He went down to the 
 bank that morning with head so erect that 
 his friends thought he had been having his 
 boots new heeled ; and when he heard a 
 barrel organ playing ' See the Conquering 
 Hero comes,' Samuel thought that inanim- 
 ate things were breaking forth in praise of 
 him and his achievement. 
 
 n2
 
 180 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mildred and Violet had 
 taken quite a fancy to the Badger house- 
 hold and ways. At first Mildred had been 
 inclined to regard the whole concern with 
 disdain, a mood in which she was encour- 
 aged by her maid, who heartily despised 
 the poverty of the people and the place. 
 But gradually Mrs. Badger gained an influ- 
 ence over this singular child. 
 
 Mildred was haught}^, unbending, and 
 imperious, and both her own qualities and 
 those of her new guardian seemed to prog- 
 nosticate disputes and dislike. The event 
 was just the reverse of such an expectation. 
 Sally Badger's inflexible and outspoken 
 character inspired even Mildred with awe, 
 but in the awe there was a germ of liking. 
 Mildred would listen with the utmost atten- 
 tion while Sally delivered her opinions or 
 her commands. In every juncture of the 
 little household life, the child waited until
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 181 
 
 she saw what Mrs. Badger wished to be 
 done, and she acquiesced in this with per- 
 fect confidence. Sally Badger, without at 
 all judging the child's character, or ground- 
 ing her opinions on any theoretical views, 
 but moved only by the force of similitude, 
 began to like Mildred heartily. 
 
 'That child never disobeys me,' she used 
 to say, with warm approval. * In my sight 
 or out of my sight, I can trust her wherever 
 she goes.' 
 
 This was quite true. Sally's dogmatic 
 character had so impressed Mildred that 
 Sally herself was in her eyes the embodi- 
 ment of rectitude and wisdom, and, while 
 more than ever apt to be wayward and 
 haughty with others, she surrendered her 
 will wholly into the keeping of the potent 
 Mrs. Badger. 
 
 It was immense fun for the children — 
 especially for Mildred — to follow all the
 
 182 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 details of the furnishing of the new house. 
 Mildred went to all the shops with Mrs. 
 Badger, marked her choice of patterns, lis- 
 tened while she cheapened the goods, and 
 actually once or twice managed to correct 
 her in small mistakes of memory. Mrs. 
 Badger received the correction not only 
 with submission, but in a mood of gratifi- 
 cation. 
 
 ' I wish, Milly,' she cried, ' that you had 
 been my own child. Look at Hector over 
 there !' 
 
 Master Badger was perched on the top 
 of a roll of carpet, deep in a book, and his 
 mother regarded him with despair, and 
 talked to Mildred as if she were a woman 
 grown. 
 
 ' He never does anything else but read ! 
 I believe if the sky were to fall that boy 
 would look up from his book for a minute 
 and then turn over the leaf. Oh, that
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 183 
 
 Providence had given me a practical son I 
 But I foresaw all this even while he was a 
 baby. You are quite right, dear, it ivas the 
 brown carpet I chose for the little bed- 
 room.' 
 
 And Sally beamed approval at Mildred, 
 who felt the honour as much as if she had 
 been a sheriff receiving knighthood. 
 
 Meanwhile, whenever it was possible, 
 little Violet was allowed to share in the fun 
 of the furnishing; only, as for the most part 
 she was wheeled or carried, her movements 
 were circumscribed. But she had plenty 
 to say, and would find a similitude for 
 every wall-paper and carpet, likening one 
 to a field with daisies, and the other to a 
 spreading tree. She had the funniest little 
 comparisons for all she saw : a curiously 
 shaped coal scuttle reminded her of a gon- 
 dola, and the shovel was the gondolier. 
 Pealing into tiny laughter at each conceit,
 
 184 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 and looking so frail, and so frolicsome, 
 and so exquisitely lovely, she suggested the 
 absolutely new idea of a merry angel. But 
 often, in the very midst of a laugh, the little 
 creature would stop and pant, and then put 
 her white hand to her forehead with a 
 weary sigh, looking older and wiser and 
 sadder than a child should. 
 
 Poor Sally Badger, weighted by her in- 
 dolent husband and her abstracted son, tug- 
 ged and pushed at her furnishing with 
 amazing energy. All day long she was 
 fitting, measuring, planning; and far into 
 the night she sat sewing carpets together, 
 and working out the contrivances which 
 she had devised during the day. She tried 
 to make the meals comfortable, but scarcely 
 ate a morsel herself; and in vain would 
 Samuel Badger, looking up from his plate, 
 beseech her to take * some support for the 
 system, Sally, my love.' She would be off
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 185 
 
 to her stitching ; and Samuel, seeing that 
 she could not be persuaded, would settle 
 himself comfortably down to the table and 
 start afresh. Mildred, as soon as possible, 
 would steal away and stand beside Mrs. 
 Badger, marking every motion of her active 
 fingers, and noting every expedient with 
 which she faced the simultaneous difficulties 
 of floor and carpet. 
 
 At last everything was ready, and Satur- 
 day night came. They were to move early 
 on Monday morning, and Sholto and Eu- 
 gene had come in to tea, and to have a 
 game with the little girls. Sally, after a 
 fatiguing day, set herself to muster up such 
 preparations as she could for the evening 
 meal, and, until the table was set and the 
 children seated round it, her feet never 
 rested. Then she sat down. 
 
 * Now, Sally, my love/ Mr. Badger said, 
 * have a little bread and butter. Do you
 
 186 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 know,' addressing the company at large, 
 ' there are few things more reviving than 
 bread-and-butter — in a quiet way.' 
 
 Mrs. Badger sat resting her cheek upon 
 her hand, but did not speak. There was a 
 strange look in her eyes, and a deep flush 
 upon her cheek ; and, after the meal had 
 proceeded a little while in silence, she threw 
 herself back in her chair, and her arms fell 
 to her side — useless, it seemed, these untir- 
 ing arms. 
 
 * Sammy,' she called out, ^ my head feels 
 so heavy. The room is going round. 
 Sammy ! I am falling off my chair.' 
 
 ' Nothing of the kind, my dear,' replied 
 Samuel, reassuringly. ' It is only nervous- 
 ness. If you would try a little bread-and- 
 butter, and some nice hot tea, my dear, 
 you would be better in a very short time.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Badger is falling !' cried Sholto ; 
 and, leaping up actively, the little fellow
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS- 187 
 
 was at her side, propping her up just as 
 she fainted away. Luckily she had not 
 slipped quite off the chair, and the sturdy 
 lad held her up bravely. 
 
 All was confusion. Even the sluggish 
 Samuel Badger grew alarmed and bustled 
 about, and Mildred turned very pale, while 
 Violet, in vague alarm, began to cry. 
 
 ' I think, Hector,' Mr. Badger said at 
 last, ' if this croes on verv much lonsrer. 
 you had better run for the doctor.' 
 
 ' Let me, sir,' cried Sholto, eagerly ; ' I 
 run faster than Hector.' 
 
 And, scarcely waiting for authority, Sholto 
 started off, while Mr. Badger, with the help 
 of his son and little Eugene, managed to 
 move the now unconscious Sally to the 
 sofa. 
 
 The doctor lived close at hand, and pant- 
 ing Sholto returned with him in a few 
 minutes. Mrs. Badger had revived before
 
 188 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 he appeared, and was able to answer his 
 questions. But as he made his examina- 
 tion a grave look passed over his face. 
 
 'She must be put to bed immediatel}^,' 
 he said, in a low voice, to Mr. Badger. 
 ' This is a serious case. It is the old story ; 
 more spirit than strength.' 
 
 'Yes/ Samuel Badger replied, in one 
 of his audible whispers ; ' I quite under- 
 stand. A medical gentleman once gave a 
 similar opinion in my case. His remark 
 was, '' Badger, you are not only a sword, 
 you are a sword far too keen for 
 your scabbard." He was by no means 
 sanguine of my recovery, entirely on that 
 account — keenness ; however, by the inter- 
 position of Providence, I rallied.' 
 
 ' Let Mrs. Badger be put to bed at once,' 
 the doctor said, rather tartly. 'I shall 
 look in again in two hours' time.' 
 
 It was curious to see Mildred, with fear
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 189 
 
 in her face, standing at Mrs. Badger's side, 
 and not heeding the solicitations of her 
 maid that she would come up to her own 
 room. In these exhortations little Eugene 
 joined with great politeness. 
 
 * You know, Mildred,' he said, 'it cannot 
 be good for you to be v/atching anybody 
 who is so very ill.' 
 
 ^ I don't see what you have got to do 
 with it,' Mildred replied, extinguishing him 
 with one of her fixed looks. 
 
 *Look here,' said Sholto, thrusting him- 
 self before Mildred in his blunt wav, 
 'Eugene and I must be off. T\^here is 
 Violet ? I must say good-night to Violet ;' 
 and he ran into the passage, where, find- 
 ing the timid creature in silent tears, * Oh, 
 don't cry, Violet,' said he, taking her hand ; 
 'you know people are often ill this way, 
 and they always get well next morning.' 
 
 'Good-bye, Mildred,' Eugene said, for
 
 190 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 she had followed them into the hall. 
 
 She did not answer, and the two were 
 starting off, when Mildred called out, 
 
 ^ Sholto ! you never said good-bye to 
 me.' 
 
 ' I never did !' he answered. ' I always 
 do forget you, Milly. Good-bye. Mind 
 you tell Violet not to cry.' 
 
 The two boys raced homeward, breaking 
 from each other when they came to the 
 cross-road. 
 
 'Mamma! mamma!' Sholto cried, dash- 
 ing into the house, ' Cousin Sally is very ill. 
 She fell off her chair at tea — nearly off, I 
 mean ; and the doctor came, and he says it 
 is very serious.' 
 
 Worthy Margaret Alexander went 
 straight to her room and put on her bonnet 
 and shawl. 
 
 'We must hope that, by the mercy of 
 Providence, she will be spared,' the good
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 191 
 
 woman said, and she offered up a prayer 
 for her cousin as she made ready. She 
 knew how great a catastrophe Sally's illness 
 at such a time would be, and the good- 
 natured Sholto, alarmed afresh by his 
 mother's alarm, returned with her to the 
 disturbed house of the Badgers. 
 
 Almost at the same moment Eugene 
 walked daintily into the room where his 
 father and mother were sitting. 
 
 ' Mamma/ he said, in his polite way, but 
 with conscious importance, ' I have news 
 for you. Mrs. Badger is ill — very ill indeed, 
 the doctor says.' 
 
 The boy guessed that this piece of intelli- 
 gence would interest his father and mother, 
 and, in reply to their questions, he gave 
 them a full account of what had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 ' Sad for poor Sally,' Daniel remarked, 
 rather late in the conversation, however.
 
 192 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 ' Why did she work so hard ?' Beatrice 
 said, harshly. It seemed she cared less for 
 appearances than he did. 
 
 *Papa,' Eugene asked, ' if Mrs. Badger 
 got very ill, or if she died, then, I suppose, 
 Mildred and Violet would be taken away, 
 would they not ?' 
 
 Daniel looked at his son, then at his wife ; 
 at the boy with admiration, and at the 
 mother with symptoms of an impending 
 wink. 
 
 ' There is half a-crown for you, Eugene,' 
 he said, having rummaged for the coin in his 
 pocket. ' Go and play your fiddle. Aha, 
 Bee !' he said to his wife, as the door closed 
 upon the hope of their house, ' that is a 
 clever lad. He sees the consequence, does 
 Eugene. Sally ! Sally ! you are not so 
 powerful as you fancy. Things are not to 
 be all your own way. Do you know, Bee, I 
 feel better to-night than I have done for
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 193 
 
 six months, Soho, Mrs. Sally ! I rather 
 think we shall find means to fit you out, 
 strong as you think yourself. What do you 
 say, Bee, to a stroll over to see Jerome ? 
 We might feel our way a little further after 
 this bit of news. Soho, Mrs. Sally,' — he 
 could not resist the temptation of address- 
 ing her in this visionary fashion — ' you 
 baited your hook. Very good. Your fish 
 nibbled. Very good again. You landed 
 your fish safe and sound, didn't you ? Very, 
 vein/ good ! But who carried the fish home, 
 Mrs. Sally ? Who cooked it ? Who ate it ? 
 Oh, Sally, Sally,' cried Daniel, falling into 
 a moral vein, 'have you never heard of 
 Providence? Have you never heard that 
 man^;?'6*poses, but God r/z'^poses ?' 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 IN WHICH DANIEL RUDDOCK FALLS DOWN AND 
 BREAKS HIS CROWN; AND MARTHA SPRING 
 HAS A TUMBLE AFTER. 
 
 While our two little Golden Girls lay 
 sleeping that night, twined in each other's 
 arms, as their habit was, wily Daniel Rud- 
 dock began to spin a web around them. 
 They might have been two gay little flies, 
 with bright bodies and gauzy wings, crea- 
 tures framed for sunlight and calm, and he 
 a greedy ugly spider making the snare 
 ready for them, although — as is the spider's 
 way — he seemed wholly intent on lawful 
 business. One wonders what the spider
 
 GOLDEN GIliLS. 195 
 
 thinks of himself. Does he ever reflect, ^ I 
 am a bloodthirsty wretch, living on weak- 
 ness and innocence '? Or does his self- 
 knowledge express itself in this form, ' I am 
 a highly respectable and laborious member 
 of society, and integrity, ingenuity, and in- 
 dustry have made ray fortune '? 
 
 Think the spider what he may, Daniel 
 Ruddock never once suspected that he was 
 a mean scoundrel. His view of human life 
 made it a game of skill, where one player 
 has to hold his own against all the world. 
 Having regard to these tremendous odds, 
 Daniel Ruddock held that, in certain junc- 
 tufes of the game, you must lie to the 
 powerful, cheat the wise, and bully the 
 feeble; and in this he no more thought 
 himself a wrongdoer than a soldier considers 
 himself a murderer when he sees the enemy 
 drop to the crack of his rifle. Daniel 
 judged that he was rather a good man on 
 
 o2
 
 196 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 the whole. The fault lay in the game, not 
 in the player. 
 
 Accordingly, he and Beatrice strolled 
 over to Jerome Dawe, and the harmonious 
 pair executed a kind of duet of flattery, ex- 
 tolling the mind, the face, the character, the 
 habits of their dear friend ; always managing 
 in the old way to be tell-tales upon each 
 other ; Daniel letting Jerome know some- 
 thing which Beatrice had said the night but 
 one before, Beatrice protesting against the 
 breach of confidence ; then Beatrice, in 
 laughing revenge upon her husband, de- 
 claring that she would repeat one of his say- 
 ings, which she did, in spite of all his ex- 
 postulation. Each of these disclosures went 
 to show that Daniel and Beatrice believed^ 
 in their inmost souls, that such a man as 
 elerome Dawe never had lived before, and 
 never would live again. Meanwhile, Je- 
 rome Dawe, inhaling this delightful incense, 
 became, to drop into a modern comparison,
 
 GOLDEN GIELS. 197 
 
 very like a man who is judiciously treated 
 with laughing-gas. His spirits rose im- 
 mensely. He laughed aloud. He slapped 
 his knees until his palms tingled with the 
 stroke. Altogether, he believed himself to 
 be a pillar of manhood, and that these two 
 people were forced, by the supremacy of 
 his character, to gaze up at him as they 
 did. 
 
 It was a picture. The tall, imposing, 
 elderly gentleman, with twinkling eyes, in- 
 cessant smiles, and face turning about with 
 delighted rapidity from flatterer to flatterer. 
 The handsome woman, with speech as soft 
 as oil, and not a solitary defaulting feature 
 to show that she was playing a part ; well- 
 dressed, easy in her posture, one white soft 
 hand caressing the hand of Jerome, so nat- 
 urally that you might have sworn she was 
 doing it unconsciously. Daniel himself, 
 crabbed, croaking, with serpentine subtlety 
 in every line of his hard face, fawning, jok-
 
 198 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 ing, and sniggering until, at the wittiest 
 points, the tops of his shoulders touched the 
 tips of his ears. 
 
 Daniel at last rose to go. His wife look- 
 ed at him as if he had forgotten something ; 
 but as he did not regard her she wisely 
 concluded that, for some good reason of his 
 own, he had postponed the business of the 
 night. Jerome was reluctant to part with 
 them, but Daniel said they must go. 
 
 ' In fact,' he said, ' we only strolled out 
 for a mouthful of air, as I had been in the 
 house all day.' 
 
 * And for something more,' his wife added. 
 ' Because you were tired of work, and tired 
 of me, and you said, *'Let me hear one or 
 two of Jerome's sood stories." ' 
 
 * Tired of you, eh ?' cried Jerome, enrap- 
 tured afresh. ^ And wanted to hear one of 
 my good stories? Well, perhaps I do 
 know a good story or two.'
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 199 
 
 ' It's your memory, you see,' Daniel said, 
 shaking his head in hopeless envy of that 
 prodigious faculty. * Good night, Jerome.' 
 
 Daniel was half-way down-stairs, and 
 Beatrice, wondering still at his policy, had 
 said her own good night, when Daniel came 
 up again. 
 
 ' By the way, I quite forgot, poor Sally 
 is very ill.' 
 
 * Sally !' exclaimed Jerome. ' Why, she 
 was here this morning.' 
 
 ' She won't be here to-morrow morning,* 
 replied Daniel, with a curious blunt air; 
 ' and she won't be here the morning after 
 that. The doctor orives a bad account of 
 her. I have seen it coming on for a long 
 time. That woman will die, Jerome ! 
 Good night again.' 
 
 Simple-minded Daniel began to descend 
 the stairs again ; Sally Badger's illness being 
 obviously no farther concern of his, except
 
 200 GOLDEN GIKLS. 
 
 on grounds of philanthropy and relationship 
 • — Sally being a human being, a friend, and 
 a family connection. 
 
 ' Stop, Daniel, stop !' Jerome Dawe called 
 out, in great excitement. ' Don't go away 
 in such a hurry. If Sally is taken ill it will 
 be a serious matter for me. I must talk 
 this over. T must have your advice.' 
 
 ' He must have my advice !' cried Daniel, 
 from a dark depth of the stair. He laid 
 emphasis on the pronouns in jocose com- 
 parison of his own mental feebleness with 
 Jerome's immeasurable strength. 'My ad- 
 vice ! That is a good one ! He, he,' he ! 
 I ought not to laugh, though, and poor 
 Sally in such danger.' 
 
 Whether at this point Fate inserted a 
 twitch of conscience or a false step is un- 
 certain, but the event is simple matter of 
 history. Daniel missed his footing ; and he 
 performed the remainder of the downstairs
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 201 
 
 journey with amazing rapidity, being in- 
 stantaneously heard in collision with vari- 
 ous portions of the wood and masonry; and 
 finally he produced sounds, as if he were 
 sliding across the floor-cloth ; and he wound 
 up with a bump, as if he had been skating. 
 Through accident, or from habits of stin- 
 giness, the hall lamp had not been lighted ; 
 and now silence and darkness reigned for a 
 moment. Then a door was hastily thrown 
 open below, and Martha Spring, with a 
 candle in her hand, rushed upon the scene. 
 It appeared, from her movements, that this 
 learned lady believed the noise to have 
 come from overhead, for she held her 
 candle aloft, and looked at the ceilini?. 
 This being so, and her progress being 
 rapid, she came upon the prostrate body of 
 Daniel before he had time even to groan. 
 Daniel, moved by fear of being trampled 
 to death, seized her by the leg, which was
 
 202 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 descending upon his chest like a steam 
 hammer. The consequence of this purely 
 self-defensive movement was that Martha 
 swung with fearful velocity downwards ; the 
 candlestick departed into the air, where it 
 performed a series of evolutions, and finally 
 announced the return of darkness with a 
 crash, as it fell upon the floor ; simultane- 
 ously the falling head of Martha cracked 
 against the fallen head of Daniel, with a 
 noise as if two wooden basins had met in 
 mid-air, and with such realistic and persist- 
 ent optical effects upon the patients that 
 neither of them had the least suspicion that 
 the candle had gone out. 
 
 The reign of silence was then renewed, 
 like that of darkness, until Beatrice, flying 
 into the drawing-room, came back with a 
 light. A most sorrowful picture was now 
 revealed. Daniel Ruddock, whose reason 
 appeared to have taken an everlasting
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 203 
 
 flight, was still grasping Martha by the 
 ankle, while she, on her part, struggled 
 fearfully, being well assured that she was 
 in the hands of a burglar, and that it was 
 a question of life and death. Even when 
 the dim candlelight enabled her to recocj- 
 nise Daniel, her conduct was still governed 
 by the conviction that he had deliberately 
 planned an act of violence ; and between 
 Daniel's anguish and Matty's indignation, 
 and the confusion of their joint faculties, 
 there is little doubt that in a few seconds 
 the two would have been cuffincr and 
 scratching each other, had not Jerome 
 Dawe by this time descended to the scene. 
 Like all blockheads, Jerome Dawe enjoyed 
 the minor misfortunes of his friends, and 
 indeed he was not greatly to blame for 
 bursting into a loud laugh at the spectacle 
 which lay at his feet. He touched Martha 
 with his foot in a facetious way.
 
 204 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 'Well done, Matty, I declare!' he said. 
 * Daniel, my boy, you tripped her up clever- 
 ly. You never went downstairs faster 
 than that in your life !' 
 
 Daniel rose, not particularly soothed by 
 observing that even his wife smiled at his 
 woeful appearance. Matty, whose temper 
 was acrimonious, got upon her feet with 
 difficulty, and eyed about her, as if looking 
 for some one with whom she might safely 
 engage in battle. But Daniel and Matty, 
 like many incensed persons of greater figure, 
 were forced to smother their rage in their 
 own breasts; and at last, by exquisite 
 efforts, each managed to squeeze out a 
 smile. 
 
 This deplorable accident need not have 
 been described, only that it passed into 
 the action of this history. The four stood 
 in the passage, Jerome Dawe, Daniel and 
 Beatrice Ruddock, and Martha Spring, the
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 205 
 
 latter beino; allowed to remain as some 
 compensation for the indignities she had 
 suffered. The talk soon turned on the 
 illness of Sally Badger, and the probable 
 consequences of that catastrophe. Here- 
 upon Daniel Ruddock became civil to 
 Martha Spring, and with an appearance 
 of accident, which, as a feat of representa- 
 tion, cannot be too highly praised, he gradu- 
 ally opened out, before Jerome and Martha, 
 a well-articulated scheme for the defeat 
 of Sally Badger and the capture of the 
 Golden Girls. This scheme Daniel repre- 
 sented as coming into his head, bit by bit, 
 while they talked ; in reality it had been 
 long and well prepared. Jerome listened 
 with his air of pompous profundity. Matty 
 devoured the whole greedily, and grinned 
 in silent recognition of the speaker's clever- 
 ness. Daniel hooped his shoulders, and 
 crossed finger upon finger, and croaked as
 
 206 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 if he were a human raven ; Beatrice stood 
 by, bland, handsome, dangerous. A quar- 
 tette, reader, a quartette ! 
 
 And still in each other's innocent arms, 
 unconscious and peaceful, the little Golden 
 Girls lay sleeping.
 
 207 
 
 CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 IN WHICH SIMPLE SA:MUEL MEETS A DANIEL WHO 
 LETS HIM TASTE HIS WARES. 
 
 Sally Badger was very ill. Her labours, 
 her anxiety, and the poverty which aggra- 
 vated all she went through, had so lowered 
 her system that she sank into a fever, from 
 which her doctor prognosticated the worst. 
 She lay half unconscious ; but whenever she 
 roused out of stupor her talk was business, 
 the children, the new house, the furniture, 
 and how^ soon she must get about again ! 
 Only once or twice she added, gloomily, 
 'That is, if I ever get about again at all.' 
 How unprotected are poor people from
 
 208 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 misfortunes of every kind ! The same 
 penury which had sloped poor Sally's way 
 down to this fever, had also left her affairs 
 dangerously open to the sinister plots of 
 Daniel Ruddock. Poor Sally had not ten 
 pounds of ready cash in the whole world. 
 To furnish her new house she had been 
 under the necessity of drawing heavily upon 
 Jerome Dawe; that is, she had asked him to 
 advance certain portions of the allowance 
 which he proposed to make for the main- 
 tenance of the Golden Girls. This advance 
 he had promised, but the money was not 
 yet paid, and, in fact, the furniture had been 
 bought, and the new house had been taken, 
 partly in the great name of Jerome Dawe. 
 Sally's payments were often behind, and 
 she would have found it hard to get any- 
 thing like large credit in Middleborough. 
 Thus it came to pass that the house and the 
 furniture were in a manner under the con-
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 209 
 
 trol of Jerome Dawe ; and Daniel Rud- 
 dock, who v/ell knew this, saw here an 
 avenue to the accomplishment of his great 
 design. 
 
 First of all Daniel shuffled oif to Samuel 
 Badger, and, with a face of the utmost con- 
 cern, made inquiries about Sally, winding 
 up this way, 
 
 * As the new house is ready, Samuel, and 
 as quiet is so essential for Sally, do you not 
 think that the children—Mildred and Vio- 
 let, I mean — ought to be moved in ? Mrs. 
 Spring will take charge of them till Sally is 
 well again.' 
 
 'Upon my word,' Samuel Badger ex- 
 claimed, ' that is the cleverest suggestion 
 I have ever heard. It shall be done. 
 Sally wull be so much obliged to you. I 
 will go and tell Sally at once.' 
 
 ' Stay a moment,' cried Daniel, catching 
 the tail of his coat in great trepidation. ' If 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 I were you I should not mention it to 
 Sally. Sick people worry so. Do not 
 give Sally the least idea of what you are 
 doing.' 
 
 * Upon my word,' exclaimed simple 
 Samuel again, ' this is a cleverer sug- 
 gestion than the other. I shall not let 
 Sally know the children have gone out of 
 the house.' 
 
 So that very afternoon the Golden Girls 
 were conveyed to the new house, which 
 was glowing with fires, and looking very 
 comfortable; and Martha Spring stood in 
 the doorway, already in her own fancy the 
 mistress of that proud abode. As Mildred 
 entered, the engaging virgin caught her, 
 and administered a hug which she thought 
 would be agreeable to the child. 
 
 'Let me go!' cried Mildred, furiously; 
 and extricating herself, she stamped in the 
 hall with passion. * How dare you touch
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 211 
 
 me, you horrid old woman ! Are you an- 
 other servant ?' 
 
 Martha released the little girl, greatly 
 amazed and incensed at her boldness. Inly 
 she vowed that when her authority had 
 been fully established she would pay this 
 impudent miss handsomely for her insulting 
 behaviour. At present miss seemed to 
 have the best of it, for, wheeling imperious- 
 ly round as Yiolet came up in her maid's 
 arms, Mildred called out, 
 
 ' Little, see that woman does not touch 
 Miss Violet !' 
 
 And this fairy empress walked into the 
 dining-room, the door of which lay open, 
 while Martha Spring stood in the passage, 
 clenching her fists as if she w^ere a prize- 
 fighter. 
 
 At that moment Daniel Ruddock was 
 seen coming up the gravel walk, and imme- 
 diately Martha flew to meet him, and 
 
 p2
 
 212 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 the excellent couple became absorbed in 
 conversation. 
 
 ' See how advantageous your position is^ 
 Martha,' said Daniel. ' It is not every wo- 
 man I would have done this for. Nor any 
 woman except yourself, Mat. And why 
 you? Because I love you, Matty ? Be- 
 cause I love you better than myself, eh, 
 Matty ? Not a bit of it !' cried Daniel, 
 frankly. 'I do it because I want your 
 help, and you want mine. And we can 
 trust each other, because we each want 
 each other. Oh ! Matty, that is the founda- 
 tion for true friendship, believe me. And 
 what would life be without friendship? A 
 wilderness, Matt}^, a howling wilderness ! 
 See what a position yours is. You have 
 not even to give up Mr. Dawe's situation. 
 Only two minutes' walk between the two 
 houses ! You can do your housekeeping 
 over there ; then on with your bonnet and
 
 GOTxDEN GIRLS. 2j3 
 
 shawl, or in clamp weather take your um- 
 brella, and here you are for the arrange- 
 ments in the morning. The walking will 
 do you good, Matty — the little bit of walk- 
 ing. Walking is so good for the whole- 
 somes. It will add years to your life. 
 And you will have these children for ten 
 years or more if you play your cards well, 
 and then, whatever happens, Matty, you 
 will be a rich woman ; and riches, flatty, 
 riches, what is life without riches? Another 
 wilderness, Matty, howling louder than the 
 first one.' 
 
 'That eldest girl is a little viper/ said 
 Matty, vindictively. * If it was only safe, I 
 would ' 
 
 ' It will be safe soon, Mat,' Daniel re- 
 plied, with a soothing and hopeful air. 
 ' Perfectly safe. Only not just yet. You 
 may do many a thing when you are in the 
 saddle which could not be done when you
 
 214 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 have only got your foot in the stirrup, and 
 many a kick that would knock you off 
 before you get on — you know what I mean 
 — when you are well mounted only makes 
 the gallop pleasanter.' 
 
 ' Very well ; I'll wait,' Matty remarked, 
 grimly, ' till I'm in the saddle.' 
 
 ' Do so, Matty. Now mind, you must 
 keep Mr. Dawe up to it. The business 
 part — the house-letting, the furniture — I 
 shall manage. It must be your part to see 
 that Mrs. Badger never sets foot on that 
 brass ;' Daniel pointed to the threshold. 
 ' Remember, once she sets her foot on that 
 brass you will be dished, and I will be 
 dished — in fact, everybody will be dished. 
 I am now speaking on the supposition that 
 Mrs. Badger recovers ; if it should please 
 Providence not to bless the means used for 
 her restoration ' — Daniel looked serious
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 215 
 
 here — ^ why then, Matty, all our anxiety 
 will be over.' 
 
 ' I am not afraid of Mrs. Badger,' said 
 Martha, defiantly. ' Sally Badger !' — she 
 gave an insolent laugh — ' I shall be one too 
 many for her, I promise you.' 
 
 *Well, if you are going to be one too 
 many for Mrs. Badger,' retorted Daniel, 
 with a serious air, ' you must be at least 
 thirteen to begin with, for she would match 
 any dozen women I ever met.' 
 
 ' Leave Sally Badger to me,' replied 
 Matty. She found an insolent pleasure in 
 this freedom with the name. 
 
 ' You may talk to her out of the window,' 
 said Daniel, rather uneasy, it seemed, at his 
 confederate's self-confidence. ' But once 
 
 you open the door to her However, 
 
 Matty,' he added, breaking off with a new 
 thought, * one thing is certain — she can't 
 come here for long enough yet.'
 
 216 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 *What does my master say to all this?' 
 asked Martha, changing the conversation. 
 ^ Is he agreeable ?' 
 
 ' Partly he is/ replied Daniel, * altogether 
 he will be. We have to manage that, you 
 and me. Mat. And I have asked him to 
 look in and meet me here this afternoon, 
 about this hour. Why, Mat, as sure as I 
 live, there comes his hat ! Now mind, 
 Matty, we must persuade Mr. Dawe. You 
 know what I mean. We must manage 
 him. We understand each other, and we 
 are useful to each other, are we not, Matty, 
 you and me ?*
 
 17 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 IX WHICH .lEROME DA WE, DAXTEL RUDDOCK, AND 
 ]MARTHA SPRING ROAR WITH LAUGHTER. 
 
 Had there been an}- spectators of classical 
 education to consider Mr. Jerome Dawe as 
 he walked with stately step up the garden, 
 these, markincr his awful visacre, his masni- 
 ficent head, his world-subduing stride, and 
 the roll of his commanding voice, might 
 have pronounced him a good modern image 
 of the thundering Jove of heathen times. 
 And if — as is perfectly possible — the thun- 
 derincr Jove of heathen times was little bet- 
 ter than a pompous impostor, whose grand 
 display of parts was a sham and a deceit
 
 218 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 played off on mankind, the instructed spec- 
 tator would have judged the image abso- 
 lutely perfect. In fact, when Mr. Jerome 
 -Dawe rested Shakespeare in the gravel, and 
 inclined the weight of his body thereon^ 
 and gazed round him with an air of majes- 
 tic contemplation, he might have been 
 Olympian Jove modernised, in stockings 
 and breeches and a frilled shirt, with a 
 trace of snuff on the front of his waistcoat 
 to complete the illusion. 
 
 ' Daniel, my boy/ said the Olympian 
 Jove, with a movement as if he meant to 
 recover his perpendicular, and, having done 
 so, poke Daniel in the ribs with Shake- 
 speare, ' this is a pretty sort of place. Sally 
 has lighted on her feet.' 
 
 ' Sally ! Ha ! ha ! ha !' cried Daniel^ 
 suddenly struck with a droll fancy, and 
 making abrupt movements of his body as he 
 laughed, until, between his action and the
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 219 
 
 sound he sent forth, he produced the gen- 
 eral effect of a sawver ^oingr throudi a 
 knotty plank. ' Sally ! Yes ; I see. Ha ! 
 ha! ha!' 
 
 ' Daniel,' said Jerome Dawe, solemnly, 
 * I hope your reason is not affected.' 
 
 ' Ha ! ha 1 ha !' cried Daniel again. ' He 
 hopes my reason is not affected ! His ain't, 
 that's cock-sure.' 
 
 ' Matty,' said Jerome Dawe, turning to 
 his housekeeper with some concern, 'can 
 you explain this ?' 
 
 He pointed Shakespeare at Daniel Rud- 
 dock as if he were a lecturer and Daniel a 
 subject. 
 
 ' Explain it,' replied Martha Spring, titter- 
 ing ; * not I. How should I know the 
 goings on you two have between your- 
 selves?' 
 
 Martha Spring burst out laughing after 
 this playful rejoinder; and Jerome himself,
 
 220 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 looking grave and full of wonder for a 
 moment, as well he might, suffered his 
 features to relax, and at last broke into a 
 knowing snaile. 
 
 'You call me a clever fellow at a joke, 
 Daniel ?' he said. * A downright clever 
 fellow at a joke, eh ?' 
 
 Jerome put this question not because he 
 had the faintest idea what the joke was, 
 but because he was unwilling to lose praise 
 from any source. 
 
 ' Honestly now, a real laughable joke, eh, 
 Dan?' 
 
 Daniel began laughing himself, and 
 Martha joined in, and finally Jerome Dawe 
 himself brought up the rear with a tremen- 
 dous peal of self-approving mirth. The 
 three stood thus, laughing one against the 
 other like buffo singers. Jerome Dawe felt 
 that the louder and the longer laughter, 
 the greater the testimony to his power as
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 221 
 
 a mirth-producer ; so he resolved to encour- 
 age the others, and went on laughing, peal 
 after peal, and Daniel Ruddock was forced 
 to follow on until he could laugh no 
 more. 
 
 This prologue having been finished and 
 gravity resumed, Daniel proceeded, with 
 infinite audacity, to tell Jerome that he 
 had perceived — and that Martha, who still 
 stood with them, had also perceived — that 
 the two girls were to be removed from the 
 charge of Sally Badger, and handed over 
 to Mrs. Spring. That a more suitable 
 arrangement the wit of man could not have 
 devised. That this house and its furniture 
 were, to all intents and purposes, the pro- 
 perty of Jerome Dawe. That Sally was 
 too poor to be able to object practically to 
 the arrangement. That in any case her 
 recovery was uncertain. That Martha would 
 still be able to retain her post as house-
 
 222 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 keeper in the establishment of Jerome him- 
 self. That the girls would be truly happy 
 under the regulation of that excellent 
 creature, Martha — he would say it twice 
 before her face — that excellent creature, 
 Martha ! That a better woman, a more 
 refined being, a more motherly individual, 
 a more entertaining and naturally genteel 
 person than Martha Spring did not walk 
 upon this earth. That it was to Daniel a 
 great effort to say all this in her presence. 
 But that where duty called Daniel, Daniel 
 always answered duty. Finally, that the 
 whole of this arrangement, which, for 
 sagacity, far surpassed ordinary human 
 skill, was devised by Jerome Dawe himself, 
 alone and unaided ; a man who could plan 
 his secret, and then step calmly into affairs, 
 and execute his designs without any appar- 
 ent effort. 
 
 From first to last, this mendacious ad-
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 223 
 
 dress was delivered with the most stacrcrer- 
 
 CD 
 
 ing effrontery, and Martha Spring acted as 
 chorus, coming in at the end of every para- 
 graph with a fervent expression of assent. 
 Only, when Daniel spoke of her own virtues, 
 the accomplished lady blushed with honour- 
 able shame ; and when he bes^an a second 
 paragraph of panegyric, she yielded to the 
 promptings of her natural vivacity, and said 
 to Daniel Ruddock, * Go along, do !' an ad- 
 dress which she enforced by a lady-like dig 
 in the ribs, which dig being delivered in a 
 moment of exalted feeling, and being, by 
 the finger of Fate, directed to a sensitive 
 part, made Daniel sore for a week. How- 
 ever, with this exception, the entire per- 
 formance was got through with great suc- 
 cess, and Jerome Dawe was half convinced 
 that he had really made this fine arrange- 
 ment in the secresy of his own capacious 
 head !
 
 224 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 ' Come in, then/ cried he. ^ Come into 
 the house. Let us see how the children 
 are getting on.'
 
 225 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 IN WHICH A TOUXG CHILD AXD A SICIv WOMAN ARE 
 MORE THAN A :\L\TCH FOR TWO KNAVES AND 
 A FOOL. 
 
 Into the house they came. And, turning 
 into the dining-room, they found Mildred 
 with her maid, and little Violet lying 
 fatigued on a sofa. Mildred was engaged 
 in an argument with the woman. 
 
 'When is Mrs. Badger coming here?' she 
 asked, in a passionate voice. ' Little, you 
 must tell me !' 
 
 ' Mrs. Badger is very ill, miss,' Little re- 
 plied. Here she gave a knowing look at 
 Martha Spring, for the two were already 
 friends, and Little knew there was some- 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 thing in the wind. 'I know nothing much 
 about Mrs. Badger — and I care less, miss,' 
 she added, with a curious desire to be im- 
 pudent towards Mrs. Badger and humble 
 to her young mistress in the same breath. 
 
 Mr. Jerome Dawe entered the room at 
 this moment, and Mildred marched up to 
 him, with erect step and clear resolute eyes. 
 She spoke, however, with respect, for not 
 only did she know that Jerome Dawe was 
 her guardian, but there was in his manner 
 something which the high-bred child recog- 
 nised as of a higher note than the behaviour 
 of the rest. 
 
 ' I f^want to know, if you please/ she 
 said, ' when Mrs. Badger is coming to this 
 house ?' 
 
 ^ Eeally, child,' replied Jerome Dawe, 
 ' that is what nobody can say. She is so 
 very ill, you see.' 
 
 ^Does Mrs. Badger know that Violet and
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 227 
 
 I have come to this house ?' the child asked, 
 with remarkable energy and sharpness. 
 
 Two replies came in the same breath. 
 
 ' Of course she knows all about it.' 
 
 So said Daniel Ruddock. 
 
 'Mrs. Badger does not knov/ you have 
 come to this house.' 
 
 So said Jerome Dawe. 
 
 This coincidence of truth and falsehood 
 was a little embarrassing, especially to 
 Daniel Ruddock ; but as, by education and 
 habit, he was thoroughly used to lying, 
 and not altogether unaccustomed to being 
 found out, he managed to add, with toler- 
 able composure, 
 
 ' I meant to say Mrs. Badger does not 
 know.' 
 
 Mildred stood in the centre of the room 
 with her tall slender frame and fearless 
 face, a splendid specimen of a little patri- 
 cian ; and Violet, with her wondering eyes 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 set on her sister, made a most striking con- 
 trast. Round the two children all these 
 deceitful, plotting people were grouped, 
 and not one of them ashamed at what they 
 felt or saw. 
 
 ' I think,' Mildred said, looking at Jerome 
 Dawe, ' if you please, we will go back to 
 Mrs. Badger's house.' 
 
 Now, it was not in Jerome's nature to 
 make decisive replies ; and in answer to this 
 he only said, 
 
 ' Well, Mildred — we shall see — we shall 
 see what can be done.' 
 
 This evasive answer led to a complica- 
 tion. For Daniel Ruddock began to fear 
 that the wdiole plot might fail, and resolved 
 by bolder strokes to make an end of oppo- 
 sition. 
 
 ' You have got to stay in this house, 
 little missy !' he said. ' Mrs. Badger is 
 nobody here, and you must do what you 
 are bid.'
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 229 
 
 It was a fine sight to see the child re- 
 garding this creeping fellow with a look of 
 courage and disdain quite beyond her years. 
 Even Daniel felt uncomfortable, and wished 
 the affair over. 
 
 ' You have no right to speak to me,' 
 Mildred said, imperiously. Then she turned 
 again to Jerome Dawe. 
 
 ' We are to go back to Mrs. Badger, are 
 we not? You want to go, don't you, 
 Violet?' 
 
 Violet with her wondering eyes still fixed 
 on her sister's face, and too timid to speak 
 aloud, made a movement of her lips for 
 yes. 
 
 * She savs ves,' Mildred cried, eacrerlv. 
 ' We both want to go back. Oh, we are 
 to go back, are we not ?' 
 
 This was addressed to Jerome Dawe, and 
 Daniel, now seriously afraid that all his 
 labours might be undone by the spirit of
 
 230 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 the child, caught her by the wrist, and, in 
 an angry voice, said, 
 
 ' You are only a baby, you ! You must 
 do what you are told, little missy ! do you 
 hear?' 
 
 Mildred wrested her hand out of his rude 
 grasp, and, with a cheek on fire, she looked 
 at him, irresolute for a moment. 
 
 'I know what to do,' she said at last. 
 ' I remember what mamma did once.' 
 
 She walked to the bell and rang it, and 
 then, looking at the group again, and seeing 
 her maid, 
 
 'Little,' she said, *show that person out.' 
 
 She indicated Daniel Ruddock with a 
 queen-like wave of her hand, and so stood 
 in the midst of the amazed group, every 
 one of whom was too mean to be struck by 
 the ludicrous side of the scene. For a 
 moment, Mildred stood with her hand 
 raised, and Violet was just beginning to
 
 GOLDEN GIKLS. 231 
 
 cry for fear, and even Daniel was checked. 
 But be roused himself, and now, with direct 
 brutality and consciousness of strength, he 
 called out, 
 
 ' You minx ! You saucy girl ! You shall 
 see who is your master.' 
 
 But little Mildred was not to be left any 
 longer to struggle alone. 
 
 As Daniel Ruddock advanced towards 
 her, the door of the room was suddenly 
 flung open, and staggering, rather than 
 Avalking, Sally Badger herself came in upon 
 them. Fever was in her face, and her 
 whole look was death-like, and so thunder- 
 struck were all the group as, with an un- 
 earthly gaze, she looked round upon them, 
 that no one saw Margaret Alexander, who 
 followed her cousin into the room, and 
 stood in the background silent. 
 
 ' Who — has dared — has dared to do 
 this ? asked Sally Badger, delivering her
 
 232 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 question with an emphasis which was the 
 more terrible from the very fact that she 
 was visibly struggling against mortal weak- 
 ness. 
 
 She looked upon them all, and no one 
 dared to speak ; only little Mildred walked 
 to her side, and, taking her hand, 
 
 'Oh, Mrs. Badger,' she said, in a low 
 voice, ' I am so glad you have come.' 
 
 *Who has dared to do it?' demanded 
 Sally again ; and, with the fever blazing on 
 her cheek, the awful light in her eyes, and 
 the tremor of her frame, she was indeed a 
 terrible spectacle. 
 
 Nobody spoke. Then, with terrific 
 rapidity, Sally turned round on Daniel 
 Euddock, and stretched out her thin 
 shaking hand. 
 
 ' Uncle Jerome did not do this !' she 
 said. ^ It is you, you plotting, skulking 
 reptile !'
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 233 
 
 Daniel Ruddock, in his early days, bad 
 often faced women desperate through 
 poverty and oppression, and he knew that 
 their rage is invariably too great for their 
 strength. So now, emboldened by the very 
 intensity of affairs, he resolved to stamp 
 Sally down and w^in the day by force. 
 
 'I did,' he replied. 'You ain't fit to 
 take charge of those girls ; nobody is fit, 
 except Mrs. Spring. And they are going 
 to be taken off your hands, and this house 
 too, and Mrs. Spring will manage them 
 from this day !' 
 
 ^Will she?' Sally asked, with a sudden 
 quietude, which Daniel understood to sig- 
 nify an onset of weakness. * Matty ! — she ! 
 — will she ? — indeed !' 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Daniel, growing milder for 
 policy's sake now that his point was about 
 to be gained. ' It is kindly meant to you, 
 Sally. You ought to be in your bed. It
 
 234 GOIiDEN GIRLS. 
 
 is all kindly meant. We must do our duty 
 by everybody, and of course you cannot 
 attend to those young girls. Now, you go 
 home and go to bed, Sally, and cover up 
 warm, and take something hot. It's as 
 much as your life's worth is this walk, you 
 know.' 
 
 ' Will you listen to me ?' cried Sally, 
 with a feeble fierceness that was dreadful 
 to see. * I have made arrangements for 
 the children. I have provided a protector 
 for them.' 
 
 ' The protector is Jerome's business/ re- 
 marked Daniel, growing angry again. 
 * Jerome can provide protectors for him- 
 self 
 
 ' Hold your tongue !' retorted Sally, 
 fiercely. ' Uncle,' she said, turning to Je- 
 rome Da we, ' I have asked Margaret, and 
 she is going to take charge of the house and 
 the children for the present.'
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 235 
 
 Daniel leaped with surprise. Till now 
 he had not observed ^Margaret Alexander, 
 but, looking round, he saw her calm face 
 and composed attitude, and he knew that 
 all was lost. Sally had chosen her ally 
 welL Margaret Alexander was at this mo- 
 ment irresistible. Jerome neither could 
 nor would refuse the proposed arrange- 
 ment. Crafty Daniel was utterly and 
 hopelessly beaten, and he knew it ; and, 
 with a murderous malice in his heart, he 
 stood biting his nails and trying to cover 
 his rage and disappointment. And supple 
 Martha Spring, knowing how matters would 
 turn, resolved to extricate herself from the 
 complication. 
 
 ' It's very kind of you, ma'am,' she said, 
 fawning upon Mrs. Alexander ; ' 1 am sure 
 the young ladies will like it.' 
 
 This was the finishing stroke for Daniel 
 Kuddock. He realised with renewed rage
 
 236 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 that his mean confederate was leaving him 
 to bear alone the disgrace and the vexation 
 of the position. 
 
 ' What do you say, Jerome?' asked Sally, 
 now in a breaking voice. ' You have con- 
 fidence in Margaret, have you not ?' 
 
 'Perfect confidence! perfect confidence!* 
 replied that great man. ^Nothing can be 
 better. I am satisfied, Matty is satisfied, 
 and — and — and Daniel is satisfied !' 
 
 ' In that case,' Sally Badger said, with a 
 last effort, ' we had better get home. This 
 has been too much for me. You can all — 
 you can — all — go.' 
 
 And at this word Sally Badger sank down 
 swooning in the centre of the floor.
 
 23! 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 IX WHICH IS DESCRIBED A MOST EXTRAORDINARY 
 MEETING OF PHARISEE AND PUBLICAN IN THE 
 STRAND, LONDON, W.C. 
 
 It was three o'clock one dull afternoon, and 
 a young gentleman was walking down the 
 Strand. Many other gentlemen, old and 
 young, were doing the same, but our eyes 
 follow this one in particular. 
 
 He was of small stature, and the word 
 diminutive would well describe him ; for 
 not only was his height stunted, but his feet 
 were small, his hands almost woman-sized, 
 and his features curiously minute. We 
 often see men of short stature, who, by 
 breadth of shoulder, strength of limb, or
 
 238 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 bigness of head, oiake up for deficiency of 
 height; but this young fellow was, through- 
 out, a miniature. His face was finical, not 
 to be impressed with any vigorous emotion. 
 You could fancy the lad dancing prettily, 
 or perhaps writing poetry, or composing 
 songs ; but the greater activities, the more 
 forcible deeds of mankind, were not for his 
 handling. 
 
 Gracefully enough he made his way 
 through the crowd, with an occasional bow 
 of apology as he jostled a passer-by, or was 
 jostled himself. He was dressed with much 
 care, and, though his steps were bent east- 
 ward, his dress and tie and gloves were of 
 the fashion of the West-end. There was 
 nothing of the city about this fine young 
 man. 
 
 While he thus pursued his way eastward, 
 another young fellow was coming westward, 
 on the same side of the street. He was a
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 239 
 
 Striking contrast to our beau. Moderately 
 tall, of broad strong build, and with a manly 
 step, so he walked along. It was a good 
 face, too, one would say, with latent humour 
 in it, kindliness, and candour ; but the marks 
 of dissipation were plainer than anything 
 else. Besides, the young man's dress was 
 shabby and disordered, as if he had put it 
 on hastily ; his hat was dusty and unbrushed, 
 he carried a rough stick in his hand ; and 
 altogether his appearance was disreputable. 
 With a look of recklessness and uneasiness 
 oddly mingled, and with eyes cast upon 
 the ground, this youth made his way along, 
 and whomsoever he jostled or whoever 
 jostled him, he held his way straightforward, 
 and noticed nothing. 
 
 In a few seconds our trim little beau, 
 whose eyes were all about him, spied this 
 other advancing towards him ; and the beau, 
 by one or two expressive movements, made
 
 240 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 it quite plain that he wished to escape no- 
 tice. He glanced across the street to mea- 
 sure the possibilities of flight ; but a great 
 van was passing and the way was muddy, 
 and, casting a fond look at his nether attire, 
 he decided that this movement could not be 
 effected. Next, he hoped to pass boldly by 
 unseen, and this he had nearly done when 
 our shabby figure raised his eyes and ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 ' Eugene !' 
 
 And Eugene Ruddock, with obvious dis- 
 comfort, replied, 
 
 ' How are you, Sholto ?' 
 
 In spite of Sholto's shabby and dissipat- 
 ed look, there was in his greeting a taking 
 frankness. He was glad to see an old 
 friend ; glad, with that ready pleasure which 
 shows a warm and companionable nature. 
 It never struck Sholto that he was such a 
 disreputable figure. These honest hearty
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 241 
 
 folks never do understand when they are not 
 wanted. Spruce Eugene could not refrain 
 from considering his friends' discreditable 
 exterior, and he did so with such uncon- 
 scious openness that had Sholto been ob- 
 serving and sensitive, he must have felt 
 affronted. But Sholto, being glad to see 
 his old friend, did not reflect that his 
 old friend might be sorry to encounter 
 him. 
 
 The two young men talked together for 
 a few minutes, during which the momentar}^ 
 gleam that had lighted up Sholto's face 
 died out and he resumed his preoccupied 
 and distressed expression. Then, pointing 
 to a tavern close at hand, he asked Eugene 
 to step in and have a glass of beer. 
 
 ' I never drink beer,' Eugene replied, with 
 superfine scorn. 
 
 'Well, we might sit down and have a 
 chat,' said Sholto, with a heavy sigh. * I 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 am worn and weary. Nobody will be there 
 at this time of day.' 
 
 ' I think I must be walking on,' Eugene 
 replied, hoping to shake off his friend. 
 
 ' If you are walking on/ remarked Sholto, 
 not seeing the other's drift, ' I will walk 
 with you.' 
 
 'Oh, never mind/ replied Eugene, dread- 
 ing the tavern less than the promenade. ' I 
 can wait a bit ; let us turn in here. You 
 can have your glass of beer.' 
 
 So in they went, and down the narrow 
 sawdusted passage which led the way to 
 what was called the private entrance, as dis- 
 tinguished from the 'bottle and jug' de- 
 partment, at sight of which Eugene shud- 
 dered. Sholto trod the sawdust like one 
 used to it, but Eugene went delicately, con- 
 soling himself with the thought that they were 
 going to a retired part of the establishment.
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 243 
 
 To his dismay, when the ^ private ' glass 
 door was thrust aside, instead of either soli- 
 tude or respectable company, he beheld an 
 unmistakable cabdriver drinking with a 
 young man whose professional or social 
 position was not discernible by the eye, but 
 who was clad in a summer suit very old and 
 very soiled, a greasy black hat, and a red 
 necktie. This young personage, having 
 seated himself on the counter, gave all who 
 entered a full opportunity of seeing his 
 trousers, shoes, and stockings, which were 
 all very flashy, very worn, and very dirty. 
 
 * Have you such a thing as a penny 
 smoke, miss?' asked the young man, who 
 had something of a provincial address. 
 
 • Not I,' the young lady answered. ' Here 
 are some twopenny cigars.' 
 
 'Good quality, miss?' asked the young 
 man, doubtfully. 
 
 r2
 
 244 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 'They are talked up wonderful/ the 
 young lady replied. 
 
 ^ What I says is this/ the cabman remark- 
 ed, now taking up an interrupted conversa- 
 tion. ^ The party that puts victuals into 
 my stomach is the party for me. 
 
 "Empty stomach, empty purse, 
 May be better, can't be worse.'' ' 
 
 And the speaker drained his glass with 
 the air of a man who had made a display of 
 argument and literature. 
 
 ' Is this a private room ?' Eugene asked, 
 in a disgusted whisper. 
 
 Sholto, colouring a little, whispered back 
 in his friend's ear, 
 
 ' Rather a rough sort of place ; but we 
 medicals are not particular, and cannot be. 
 They give you a roll and a glass of beer 
 here, and I often make that my lunch, you 
 know. What will you take ?' 
 
 * Nothing, thank you/ Eugene answered,
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 245 
 
 fastidiously, moving as far from the young 
 man on the counter as possible, while the 
 youncr man regarded him with a stare. 
 
 JO «-^ 
 
 ' Don't let me hinder you.' 
 
 So Sholto called for a glass of beer ; and 
 as the cabdriver and his friend now left 
 the place, and the young lady retired to 
 her seat, the two friends were free to con- 
 verse. 
 
 ' I have a world of news to tell you, 
 Eugene/ Sholto said : * I am so glad we 
 have met. Come and sit down here.' 
 
 'I will not sit down, thank you,' Eugene 
 answered, with another shudder. ' I can 
 listen while I stand.' 
 
 They retired to a corner. Eugene held 
 his natty cane to his mouth, and kept his 
 chin in the air, trying by his posture to 
 proclaim to anyone who might enter that 
 he was there out of his element, a stranger 
 and a superior. Sholto, who was full of
 
 246 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 eagerness to unburden his mind to his 
 friend, did not notice these symptoms, but 
 began to speak.
 
 247 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 IN WHICH FOLLY, VICE, SORROW, DEATH^ AND 
 REPENTANCE ARE BRIEFLY SEEN. 
 
 'Eugene,' Sholto began, 'I am unhappy 
 — oh, very unhappy !' 
 
 ' Are you ?' replied Eugene, sucking his 
 stick. ' Sorry for that.' 
 
 ' I have been living a bad life,' the other 
 continued, with a sort of frank shame about 
 him that was creditable. * I have been 
 breaking my old mother's heart.' 
 
 ' Have you ?' replied Eugene, putting his 
 cane to the other side of his mouth for a 
 change. ' Sorry for that.' 
 
 'You know I have l' Sholto rejoined.
 
 248 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 * You have heard all about me, have you 
 not?' 
 
 ' A good deal, I must say,' Eugene an- 
 swered. 
 
 ' Well, Eugene,' Sholto went on, with a 
 trembling voice, ^I came to myself last 
 night. I am going to do better.' 
 
 * Better, you say ?' replied Eugene, again 
 making a face, as he whisked a trace of 
 sawdust from his coat. ^ Have they a 
 clothes-brush here ?' 
 
 Sholto appeared not to have heard this 
 remark, for he continued with undiminished 
 earnestness, feeling sure that Eugene must 
 be interested in his story. 
 
 ' You remember when mother and I left 
 Middleborough, now ten years ago — more 
 than ten, I believe, I was an idle, good-for- 
 nothing boy then ; but I became more anx- 
 ious to succeed in life after we left. I 
 believe,' Sholto said, with something like a
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 249 
 
 blush, * that a sort of boyish attachment 
 stirred me up. I wanted to rise in life, and 
 marry, and all the rest. I resolved to be a 
 doctor, and my mother favoured the idea, 
 and for several years I worked hard. We 
 met once or twice during that time, you 
 remember. My mother went to live with a 
 sister who was as poor as herself and inval- 
 ided as well. However, we were happy 
 enough, and I worked on, and do you 
 know, Eugene, for years that silly, childish 
 love-dream was the motive which urged 
 me on ! At last I came up here to King's 
 College, and entered the medical school. 
 It was hard work for poor mother to pay 
 for me ; but she did it without a murmur — 
 indeed, joyfully. For a time I worked on 
 in London steadily enough ; but at last one 
 unlucky day I failed in an examination — 
 failed badly — and I was greatly dispirited. 
 A fellow whom I knew well seeing my de-
 
 250 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 pression, advised me to go in for a little 
 gaiety, and unfortunately I took his advice. 
 You know how strictly I had been brought 
 up. I had never seen the inside of a thea- 
 tre, and of what is called " life " I knew no 
 more than a baby. It was like a burst of 
 enchantment to me, when all at once I 
 plunged into the gaiety of London — at least, 
 into such gaiety as a poor medical student 
 could command. Perhaps had I been ear- 
 lier made familiar, even slightly, with the 
 scenes on which I now entered, the effect 
 upon me would not have been so great. 
 Being what I was — a raw country lad, with 
 a sharp appetite for life and its pleasures — 
 I was dazzled and overcome. I need not 
 tell you all that followed. I went downhill 
 rather fast, Eugene. You know there is 
 always a wild set among medicals, and the 
 wild set I had hitherto kept clear of Now 
 I went in for them with a rush. I forgot
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 251 
 
 everything I had been taught, and ever}'- 
 thing that I really loved in my heart. For 
 the next few months I was not myself — and, 
 oh, Eugene ! when I think now of the life 
 T led, so miserable in its very excitement — 
 miserable even wdiile 1 was leading it — and 
 so degrading to look back upon, I some- 
 times feel ready for very shame to go on at 
 it again — anywhere — anyhow — and end as 
 I began !' 
 
 ' I should not advise you to do that,' Eu- 
 gene remarked, with great composure. ' It 
 would be foolish.' 
 
 ' Upon various pretexts I got money from 
 mother,' continued Sholto. ' I squandered 
 it in dissipation — wrote begging for more — 
 described myself as working hard when I 
 was doing nothing, left my fees unpaid, 
 made out lists of expensive books which I 
 wanted, and, having got the money, had 
 another fling until it was spent. That has
 
 252 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 been going on for several months, and the 
 reading I have done is next to nothing. 
 Only two days ago mother enclosed me ten 
 pounds, telling me that it was the last she 
 could send me for a long time, as she had 
 actually sold her watch and chain to get it 
 for me» Now think how I must be falling ! 
 I had begun betting in a small way, and a 
 few occasional successes had led me to 
 imagine that I might fill my purse by this 
 means, and I resolved to have a try that 
 night. With my mother's money ! The 
 price of her watch ! Think of it, Eugene ! 
 I was just starting from home when a man 
 looked in upon me, who a few months be- 
 fore had been one of our fast fellows. He 
 was kind-hearted, I fancy, but after living 
 a reckless life, he had finished by marrying 
 a penniless girl before he had *' passed," and 
 the result was that he never passed at all, 
 and was now living almost in beggary with
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 253 
 
 a delicate wife and two hungry children. 
 After telling me a pitiful story of his dis- 
 tress (and indeed he looked like death at 
 the moment) he ended by asking if, for the 
 love of God, I could lend him live pounds 
 to prevent his wife and children being turn- 
 ed in to the street. I had the two fives in my 
 pocket, and I wanted a good margin to be 
 able to stand against temporary loss until luck 
 turned ; but somehow I could not resist his 
 hollow voice and death-like face. I gave 
 him one bank-note and kept the other for 
 myself; and he went to his family and I to 
 my companions.' 
 
 Sholto paused for a few minutes. Then, 
 bending his head a little towards Eugene, 
 he said, 
 
 ' At half-past three this morning I found 
 myself opposite this very house — half drunk, 
 and yet growing sober by the very pres- 
 sure of shame and misery — with just one
 
 254 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 shilling in my pocket, and not a farthing 
 in the world besides. I had passed the 
 worst night I had ever known — the 
 wildest — the most wretched to look back 
 upon.' 
 
 Sholto's head fell on his breast, and Eu- 
 gene regarded him with pity, interest, and 
 aversion all in one look. 
 
 ' Do you know, Eugene, my first thought 
 was Westminster Bridge ! I even took my 
 mother's letter out of my pocket and tore it 
 up, so that I might not be identified. I 
 •wandered wildly along, making, as I sup- 
 posed, for the river, until I was in one of 
 the low streets of Pimlico. Then I was 
 somewhat aroused from my stupor by no- 
 ticing that I was passing the house where 
 my friend lived — a miserable place, where 
 they were crowded together, children and 
 all, in two wretched parlours. A light 
 burned in the window, and a woman was
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 255 
 
 hurrying in at the door as I passed. I can- 
 not tell why, but I followed her into the 
 house, and she, turning round, recognised 
 me by a candle which burned in the 
 hall. 
 
 * " Go in," she said, in a low voice ; " go 
 in at once." 
 
 'I went into the parlour. By the dim 
 light that streamed in from the bed-room I 
 could see two children huddled upon the 
 «ofa and sleeping. Looking into the bed- 
 room itself, this is what I saw. My friend 
 lying in his bed at his last gasp, and his 
 poor wife beside him holding his hand and 
 wiping his forehead, while the tears ran 
 down her cheeks — tears which he would 
 never notice more. He had caused her to 
 shed many. I suppose she thought I was 
 the doctor, for whom she had just sent, for 
 she motioned me with her hand to make no 
 noise, in the way people do when they mean
 
 256 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 that the last moment of the dying must not 
 be disturbed. 
 
 ' I walked to the other side of the bed. 
 The brandy was still in my head. My steps 
 and sight were uncertain, and my reason 
 was only half ray own. But even to my 
 blunted faculties the contrast was awful. 
 The white face, with the last flicker of life 
 upon it ; the thin woman holding back her 
 tears for love of the man who had squand- 
 ered away her happiness as well as his own ; 
 the miserable room ; and then, what was 
 still in my brain and printed on my sight, 
 the laughter and the oaths, the glare of the 
 rooms I had lately been in, the faces, the 
 wild carouse ; oh, it was such a contrast as 
 might make a hell, and the imaginary scene 
 was to me as vivid as the real one before 
 my eyes. 
 
 ' " Hush !" the woman said, in a low, pierc- 
 ing whisper. " Be still !" she held up her
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 257 
 
 finger. Then I saw her clasp his hand 
 tighter and bend down over him ; she knew 
 that he was gone and with a cry, '^ Oh, EcU 
 ivard, my Edward T she cast herself on his 
 vacant breast, just as if he had been the 
 guide and the joy of her life, and had de- 
 parted in honour and peace. 
 
 ' I comforted her as I best could ; and I 
 left the house in a state of feeling such as I 
 could not have believed possible had I not 
 experienced it. But amidst all there was 
 one ray of comfort. I had not refused my 
 friend his last miserable request ; he had 
 not died through my selfishness ; and re- 
 membering this I got my first touch of relief, 
 and as I walked the lonely street I cried 
 like a child. 
 
 ' I think now those tears saved me from 
 madness or from suicide. I managed to 
 get back to my lodging, where as I arrived 
 the servant was opening the house. I 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 rushed to my room and cast myself on the 
 sofa, where I must have lain two hours, not 
 asleep, but like one stunned, or suffering 
 from brain-concussion. 
 
 ' As I came to myself somewhat, I saw 
 lying on the table before me a letter from 
 my mother. I must have been still under 
 the influence of drink, for I looked at the 
 envelope for a long time, wishing to know 
 what it contained, and yet never stretching 
 out my hand for it. At last I opened it. 
 The letter was occupied with a few gentle 
 remonstrances concerning my extravagance, 
 and ten times as many words of trust and 
 tenderness. These touched me even then, 
 but not most deeply. The letter enclosed a 
 photograph which mother (it must have 
 been for reasons of her own) had procured 
 for me ; and if she judged that the sight of 
 it would move me she judged rightly. Only
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 259 
 
 she could not have known that I should see 
 it at this dreadful hour. 
 
 ' Eugene/ said Sholto, bending towards 
 his friend again, 'all these years I have 
 been in love with a g^irl — 1 have not seen 
 her more than twice in five years — I don't 
 suppose there is the least chance that I 
 shall ever know her, much less marry her. 
 She is a wealthy girl, a prize for a peer, out 
 of my reach in many ways.' 
 
 (Sholto did not observe an ironical smile 
 playing upon his friend's lip.) 
 
 ' But I love her. She is the image of 
 goodness and truth to me ; and when this 
 morning I took that photograph in my 
 hand, and looked at her sweet face full of 
 grace and purity and affection, I think I felt 
 for the first time what vice and shame really 
 are. I hated myself. I felt as if I were 
 shooting down some precipice of guilt and 
 
 s2
 
 260 GOLDEN GIRLS, 
 
 disgrace, and she standing immoveable 
 above, a figure of celestial purity. 
 
 ' I clenched ray hands. I loathed my- 
 self. For another moment the thought of 
 the river came over me, and an end which 
 would for ever wipe out my shame. But 
 again my eyes fell on the picture. 
 
 ' Ii was like an angel's face. It seemed 
 to be shaping itself into love and pity. It 
 seemed to say that I had not yet fallen so 
 far but there was still hope and the love of 
 the good for me. 
 
 ^ A living face could not have been more 
 expressive. An audible voice could not 
 have been more intelligible. I caught the 
 picture up, and kissed it, and for the second 
 time that morning I burst out weeping. 
 When I was a little recovered I saw the 
 photograph all stained and blurred with ni}^ 
 tears. 
 
 ' But I was forgiven ! I had hope and
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 261 
 
 Strength in ray heart. I stood up and 
 raised my hands to heaven, and I accepted 
 the forgiveness which God, throuorh His an- 
 gel, had sent to me. I resolved that I 
 would never again think of the black past, 
 and that life should be wrenched from me 
 before I again allowed vice to have the 
 mastery over me. 
 
 ' Penniless, wretched as I was, dark as 
 were my prospects, I felt brave and happy. 
 The new thouorht w^ithin me was crreater 
 
 o o 
 
 than any outward circumstances. I felt as 
 if I had conquered life already. It was 
 wonderful the thoupjhts that ran through 
 me — the ecstacy ! the resolution ! the fear- 
 lessness ! 
 
 * And now, Eugene, my better life has be- 
 gun. I am glad to tell you all this because 
 we have been friends so long ; and, besides, 
 it does me good to open my heart to any 
 one. Now you can do me a great kindness.
 
 262 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 I am without a sovereign in the world. I 
 dare not write to my mother. Can you — 
 will you — lend me ten pounds to help me 
 until I have made my way a little ? I know 
 you can, and will.' 
 
 * You may be sure I would if I could,' 
 replied Eugene. ' I have been greatly in- 
 terested in your story, Sholto. I think you 
 need not have reproached yourself so much ; 
 but look here — ' Eugene opened his purse 
 carefully, not letting Sholto see its con- 
 tents. 'Yes, I have one sovereign. That 
 I can lend you. Pay me when you please.' 
 
 Sholto, with a downcast face, took the 
 sovereign, thanking his friend, and, before 
 he could, speak again, Eugene looked at his 
 watch and exclaimed, 
 
 ' I am late, Sholto. I must run. Good- 
 bye. Write to me some day- ' 
 
 And he was off, almost before the other 
 could wish him farewell. So Eugene Rud-
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 268 
 
 dock, well dressed and refined, went his 
 way. His business was the purchase of a 
 diamond ring, and already he was imagining 
 the effect of it upon his white finger. Sholto, 
 looking depressed and disappointed, stepped 
 out a moment later, and paced his way 
 back to his lodging. Already that sovereign 
 in his pocket was suggesting a return to the 
 haunts of the night before, while Eugene's 
 cuol selfishness was raising every rebellious 
 impulse of his nature. There were better 
 thoughts in poor Sholto's breast, too — strug- 
 gles, wishes, and prayers. 
 
 ' What a wreck Sholto is !' Eugene 
 thought. ' I wonder these fellows cannot 
 see that vice does not pay.' 
 
 And Sholto, pacing along the Strand, and 
 feeling his tempter upon him once more, 
 was grasping at his good resolution like a 
 man who is drowning. 
 
 Oh, how many thousand, thousand times.
 
 264 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 under various costumes, has the same sol- 
 emn Comedy been gravely performed since 
 the day when All-seeing Eyes marked ' two 
 men ' going up into the Temple to pray !
 
 265 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 SOCIETY : GOOD, BAD, AND INDIFFERENT. 
 
 ^ A WAGER of twenty to one, madam ! 
 gold against silver ; in other words, shil- 
 lings against sovereigns — twenty sovereigns 
 against twentv shillings, madam ! And 
 your obedient servant, sitting here before 
 you was down for the twenty sovereigns, 
 while little Merrythought might win gold 
 but could onlv lose silver.' 
 
 At a large garden-party at Sir John 
 Sanctuary's, our former acquaintance, Ma- 
 jor Sanctuary, in great spirits and full of 
 talk, was enlightening an admiring circle 
 which had gathered round him. There
 
 266 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 was a kind of glossy shabbiness about the 
 Major, an appearance of having burnished 
 up old clothes with care for a grand occa- 
 sion. Otherwise Major Sanctuary looked 
 but little changed — a trifle grayer, a shade 
 more gaunt, but nothing else. 
 
 ' Merrythought is only our nickname for 
 him at the club. His real name is Russell/ 
 he continued, looking round with great ani- 
 mation. ' A more gambling little dog you 
 could not meet. This is how it came about. 
 Merrythought and I had been sitting on 
 Brighton promenade — King's Road, you 
 know — watching the people walk and drive 
 up and down. Says he, "I know half the 
 company." " Merrythought," I said, ''it is 
 impossible at your time of life that you can 
 know as many men as I do." "Two to 
 your one," says he. "Merry," I answered, 
 " I deny it." " Not the first time a fact 
 has been denied," he replies. " Tell you
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 267 
 
 what," said I, '' I'll wager you twenty 
 sovereigns to twenty shillings that more 
 acquaintances of mine than of yours pass 
 this seat in the next half-hour." "Done!" 
 cried Merrythought. " What time is it?" I 
 asked." " Eight minutes to one," says he, 
 "Good!" cried I; "we shall go on to 
 twenty-two minutes past." We began, 
 madam. At first I went off well, for who 
 should go by but old Lady Dolly Vernon 
 and her three daughters, maypole girls, 
 but I was pleased to see 'em just then. 
 " How d'ye feel. Merry ?" says I, when 
 begad, madam, before the words were out 
 of my mouth, five young bucks w^alking 
 abreast came up and saluted him! "Ha, 
 ha. Major !" says he. However, at the end 
 of ten minutes I was nine ahead. Good I 
 But next minute I saw a girl's school com- 
 ing our way — more pairs of skirts than I 
 could count. You w^ill scarcely believe if,
 
 268 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 madam, but Merrythought bowed to every 
 
 girl of 'em, and the girls to him ; and the 
 
 fellow told me he knew every girl of 'em, 
 
 his second cousin having been at school 
 
 there. '* Merry," said I, " I wish my old 
 
 regiment was quartered here 1" Well, 
 
 madam, to make a long story short, at 
 
 seventeen minutes past, Merrythought was 
 
 seven ahead, and the company getting thin. 
 
 '' Hand over," he calls out. " Wait," I 
 
 said. Just then I saw a little girl, daughter 
 
 of a friend, running up to me. '' How are 
 
 you, dear ?" I said. '' One more, Merry — 
 
 How is your mother?" " Oh, mother is 
 
 over there," the child answered, '' and all 
 
 of us are with her." " All of you !" I said. 
 
 "Fanny," I continued, whispering the child, 
 
 " run and tell mother I have got a touch of 
 
 the gout, but I want to see her and all the 
 
 children — mind you say all the children — 
 
 and at once, for I have to leave." Off the
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 269 
 
 child ran. Up comes the mother pleased 
 at the attention, and all her brood with her, 
 Ladies and gentlemen,' the Major said, now 
 addressing the whole group of listeners, 
 ' you will hardly believe it, but I won by 
 the baby, a child not two months old ; and 
 the last of the shillings is in my pocket this 
 moment !' 
 
 With a jocose and opulent air the Major 
 rose from his seat and Avalked with a fine 
 step across the lawn^ shaking with laughter 
 over his own story, and the little group 
 that had gathered round him melted 
 away. 
 
 As most of our old friends, and some 
 new ones, are in the company, we have 
 here a convenient opportunity of renewing 
 our several acquaintances. And we may 
 mark what ten years have done for our 
 Golden Girls and their anxious friends. 
 
 First let us introduce ourselves to Sir
 
 270 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 John Sanctuary himself, who stands at the 
 foot of a flight of steps receiving his guests. 
 Sir John was an undersized man, squab, 
 with a red face and one sleeve pinned 
 against his breast. As he welcomed each 
 successive visitor he spoke in a short scold- 
 ing tone, snapping his words, which were 
 uttered in a very loud key. There was a 
 curious resemblance to the manner of his 
 cousin the Major, with this difference, that 
 while the Major's address had something in 
 it of effort and imitation, the Baronet's was 
 plainly original, unstudied, and the outcome 
 of an eccentric character. But amidst his 
 abruptness he was well-bred, and he man- 
 aged to make his guests feel at ease, when 
 that might have been least of all expected. 
 
 Beside him stood his son, Robert Sanc- 
 tuary. He was a tall, raw-looking youth, 
 with red hair, freckled complexion, great 
 sunburnt hands, and a loud voice, such as
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 271 
 
 might have been trained in the fields. 
 There was animal strength about the young 
 fellow, and he had a good-natured aspect ; 
 but culture had done nothing for him. 
 Perhaps Esau was something of his type, 
 for young Sanctuary was without doubt 
 endowed with animal qualities both in vir- 
 tue and in vice. Yet even in him there 
 was some trace of the ease of good society, 
 and like his father he was able, when he 
 chose, to make strangers feel at home. 
 
 Close at hand stood two girls, one dress- 
 ed in dark blue and the other in pale 
 green, the blue girl being attired with great 
 richness, while her companion's dress was 
 far from new. These girls were talking 
 together with the air of bosom-friends, and 
 while the girl in blue seemed to have an 
 eye upon young Robert Sanctuary, he — 
 never glancing at her — would often ex- 
 change a word with the girl in green. And
 
 272 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 the girl in green always brightened up 
 when Bob Sanctuary spoke to her ; and 
 when her face brightened in this way, it 
 was a taking face, lit up by actual good- 
 humour or the resolve to appear pleasant. 
 No wonder that Bob Sanctuary when he 
 looked once looked twice, and when he 
 looked twice looked as many more times 
 as he decently could. 
 
 The brightly-dressed girl in blue was 
 Lucy Ruddock, and the poorly-dressed girl 
 in green was Victoria Sanctuary. Victoria 
 the far-sighted Beatrice Euddock long ago 
 perceived to have been destined by her 
 father the Major as future wife for Eugene. 
 Lucy, her fond mother hoped, would one 
 day be presented at Court as Lady Sanctu- 
 ary. For ten years have not altered the 
 plans of these plotting parents, and on this 
 very day, and in this very garden. Major 
 Sanctuary and Beatrice Ruddock are hoping
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 273 
 
 that tlieir separate little schemes will be 
 brought nearer to success. 
 
 For though ten years turns boys and girls 
 into men and women, it is surprising how 
 lightly such a period deals with those who 
 are men and women already. Beatrice 
 Euddock at forty-five is changed from what 
 she was at thirty-five ; but the change is not 
 very marked. She is still a handsome 
 woman. Daniel, who is- at her side, some- 
 what afraid of the fine company, is only a 
 little more round-shouldered, and a shade 
 more cunning in the face. And Jerome 
 Dawe, who is here also, has accomplished 
 the journey from eight-and-fifty to eight- 
 and-sixty with small outward signs of wear 
 and tear. Jerome's legs still do their work 
 well; his portly trunk and large head are 
 still erect. A few specks of snuff lie on the 
 frill of his shirt, just as when we saw him 
 last. Even the ebony stick Shakespeare has 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 suffered no more serious change than the 
 loss of a little colour on the crown of the 
 head — growing bald, like the original. For 
 anything appearances tell, Jerome Dawe 
 might have been an eighth sleeper these ten 
 years, and the spell might this moment have 
 been broken. 
 
 Now over all the gay company a flutter 
 passes. Every eye turns towards the flight 
 of steps, where four visitors have all at once 
 appeared. First comes a tall young lady 
 with light, strong step, and eyes that some- 
 how fix you before you mark any other 
 feature : clear, brave eyes, nobly set, which 
 look as if they could equally express truth, 
 courage, or anger, but never a base emotion. 
 
 * How do you do, Miss Walsingham ?' Sir 
 John says. ^Very pleasant to see you. You 
 are a stranger in my house.' 
 
 For Mildred Walsingham is a Golden 
 Girl, and even the blunt baronet, who is
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 275 
 
 one thing to all men, grows deferential as he 
 salutes the great heiress. 
 
 ' Where is your sister ?' he asked, look- 
 ing round. 
 
 ' Violet must not walk, Sir John,' Mildred 
 answered, with a touch of sadness in her 
 manner. ' She has gone round in her chair. 
 and will be here presently.' 
 
 Behind Mildred came our old friends the 
 Badger family. Sally, happily recovered 
 from her fever, for the past ten years had 
 fought the battle of life, which was still 
 radncr sore around her. Sallv's hair had 
 grown grey, and her features were more 
 marked ; but her carriage was as vigorous 
 and as emblematic of a warlike character as 
 ever ; while her dress, though somewhat im- 
 proved from former days, still showed signs 
 of poverty. Samuel Badger had scarcely 
 changed a hair or a feature ; but Hector 
 was grown a young man, ill-dressed, awk- 
 
 t2
 
 276 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 ward, and plainly not at ease in prospect of 
 the fine company. 
 
 ' Sammy, Sammy !' Mrs. Badger whis- 
 pered, before they reached the Baronet^ 
 ^ you have sat on the tail of your coat ! It 
 is so dreadfully creased. How could you 
 doit?' 
 
 'My love,' Samuel Badger replied, trying 
 to twist his head over his left shoulder. ^ I 
 don't see any crease.' 
 
 ' You are looking over the wrong 
 shoulder, Sammy,' retorted his wife. 
 'There is a crease that might have been 
 made with a mangle.' 
 
 ' That's the worst of a tail,' remarked 
 poor Samuel Badger, in semi-soliloquy. 
 ' Do what you will, your tail always gets on 
 the chair before yourself. I declare, Sally, 
 I will begin to wear cutaway coats !' 
 
 'Not while I am spared,' rejoined Mrs. 
 Badger. ' Hector !' — she spoke in the same
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 277 
 
 fierce sort of whisper — 'do hold up your 
 head. And in the name of gracious good- 
 ness, Hector, what have you got in your 
 pocket ? You stick out like a carpet- 
 bag !' 
 
 ' Only a book, mother,' Hector replied, 
 looking thoroughly miserable. 
 
 ' Only a book ! What do you want with 
 books now ?' his mother answered. ' By the 
 look of your coat I should think it must be 
 a family Bible.' 
 
 ' No such thing, mother,' retorted Hector, 
 resenting this sarcasm. ' It is only a vo- 
 lume of Johnson's Dictionary J 
 
 ' A volume of Johnson's Dictionary !' his 
 mother repeated, raising her eyes, as if ap- 
 pealing to some superior being for sympathy. 
 Then she addressed her son with scathing 
 irony, ^ I suppose you are going to ques- 
 tion the company. Hector, to see how they 
 spell ?'
 
 278 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 ' I only wanted to look into it, mother, 
 for one or two things, if I had a spare 
 moment.' 
 
 ' I do think,' Sally Badger exclaimed, 
 ' Providence ought to help me. It is out of 
 all reason. Husband and son ! Never was 
 a woman so distracted !' 
 
 Happily for all parties they had now ad- 
 vanced to where the baronet was standing, 
 and salutations had to be performed. 
 Through this part of the ceremony Sally 
 went with considerable dignity ; but when 
 her husband, responding to Sir John Sanc- 
 tuary's welcome, said, ' How do you do, Sir 
 John? Allow me to congratulate you upon 
 your pelargoniums,' Sally managed to pull 
 him away forcibly, but with such adroitness 
 as not to attract attention. 
 
 *They are not pelargoniums at all,. 
 Sammy.' 
 
 ' My love, I thought they were.'
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 279 
 
 Meanwhile Hector, in a state of nervous 
 confusion which almost amounted to the 
 abolition of reason, made his obeisance ; but 
 while executing his part of the performance, 
 the unhappy young man trod upon the 
 baronet's toe. Sir John Sanctuary mani- 
 fested so much anguish and Hector was so 
 horrified that, to avoid a repetition of the 
 mishap, he made a wild circular leap away 
 from his host. The rapidity of his move- 
 ments brought the pocket with the diction- 
 ary flying out from his person in a kind of 
 outer circle ; and the volume struck Sir 
 John smartly in the ribs, disturbing his 
 bodily equilibrium, and leaving him in mo- 
 mentary doubt whether or not he was the 
 victim of an assault. 
 
 Sally saw all in a kind of controlled 
 delirium. 
 
 'Now will you both,' she said, following 
 her husband and her son, and addressing
 
 280 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 them with the composure of one who mas- 
 ters strong emotion — 'will you both go 
 somewhere, and keep quiet till I come to 
 you ? Any corner will do.'
 
 281 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 IN WHICH OUR GOLDEX GIRL IS SURROUNDED BY 
 
 LOVERS AND WORSHIPPERS. 
 
 Eyerybody for ten miles round was at Sir 
 John Sanctuary's garden-party. It w^as a gay 
 scene enough. Two or three croquet sets 
 and one or two crames of Badminton were 
 going on ; and there was also a band which 
 enlivened the air with music, not of very 
 fine quality, but still the sound was agree- 
 able. Amidst all the flutter of the well- 
 dressed crowd, however, and their vari- 
 ous amusements, one peculiar circumstance 
 was to be noticed. There was a constant 
 tendency among the visitors to gather
 
 282 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 into small knots, these knots being clus- 
 tered at a civil but interested distance 
 round one central group, which, by the go- 
 ing and coming of different people, main- 
 tained its size undiminished. So we have 
 seen a princess making a circuit of a pic- 
 ture-gallery with her attendants, and behind 
 these a following of the curious, who may 
 talk to each other, but their eyes and 
 attention are upon the princess. In our 
 central group tliere was no princess, but 
 what in Middleborough formed an excellent 
 substitute — a Golden Girl. 
 
 Mildred Walsingham was charmingly 
 dressed. Her gown was white, with maize 
 trimmings, and she wore the most coquettish 
 little straw hat that ever was seen, flat in 
 the crown, with two broad white streamers, 
 understood to be strings. It was one of 
 those costumes that look sweetly simple 
 and even inexpensive, but the practised
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 283 
 
 female eye would have recognised it at once 
 as a costly bit of simplicity. In fact, it was 
 the dress of the day ; all the women said 
 so, and, being conspicuous, it enabled ad- 
 mirers to find Mildred wherever she might 
 be. The girl looked very handsome, and 
 wlien the young men, mindful of her incal- 
 culable fortune, marked her queenly figure 
 and her patrician face, oh, believe me, many 
 hearts beat hio^h at the si^ht of her. And 
 many young fellows pictured themselves 
 seated beside Mildred, with flying steeds of 
 glossy coat in front and clouds of dust be- 
 hind. Carriage and horses paid for with 
 her money. The world all before the 
 bridegroom and the bride. The world 
 paved with the gold of the Golden Girl ! 
 And were these vouns: fellows wronsj? I 
 hope not. 
 
 Why, this novel of 'Golden Girls' was 
 written to teach young gentlemen to catch
 
 284 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 heiresses ; and some day it shall be followed 
 by another didactic history, called Golden 
 Boys ; and when these two works are com- 
 plete, every lad in England will be able to 
 hook a rich wife ; and every lass will be 
 able, by lifting her little white hand, to se- 
 cure a carriage fortune. So, young ladies 
 and gentlemen, do not waste your time over 
 merely amusing novels like those of Mr. 
 Payn or Mr. Black, which only make you 
 forget yourselves. Study me, a dull, plod- 
 ding penman, who work my way to a 
 useful end, like a mule on a country 
 road. 
 
 These young gentlemen just described, 
 on the principle of ' Nothing venture, no- 
 thing have,' addressed Mildred Walsingham 
 as often and as winningly as possible. She 
 did not repel these advances, but a smile 
 played over her lip at times when her young 
 admirers were most pressing. A young
 
 GOIiDEN GIRLS. 285 
 
 admirer, quick to draw conclusions, might 
 not have been encouraged by the smile. 
 There was a tincture of cynicism in it. 
 Mildred was too shrewd for the flatteries 
 poured upon her. A simpleton might have 
 thought herself beauty's queen ; but observ- 
 ing Mildred noticed that a neighbour's 
 governess, the orphan of a clergyman, a girl 
 of great loveliness, was left alone all that 
 afternoon. The voung^ men followed Mil- 
 dred. 
 
 Mildred said to herself, 
 
 * It is not my looks, for 1 am not so 
 pretty ; nor my manner, for I am not so 
 engaging. Aha ! it is my money these lads 
 love.' 
 
 In short, had any young fellow flirted 
 with the governess, and devoted himself to 
 her, he would have been the man v/ho that 
 day would have made the most effectual 
 inroad upon the affection of Mildred Wal-
 
 286 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 singhao]. No young fellow knew that 
 secret. Every young fellow fluttered like a 
 moth about the Golden Girl. 
 
 By-and-by Mildred sauntered across the 
 lawn to where her sister's invalid chair 
 was drawn up, close beside the band. All 
 signs of cynicism vanished as she came 
 beside her sister and took the thin hand 
 caressingly. 
 
 ' Little one ' — she often called Violet so — 
 *are you enjoying yourself?' 
 
 Violet Walsingham was a young woman 
 now, and inexpressibly lovely. There was 
 a depth of expression in her eyes, which 
 were a kind of porcelain blue, deep, still, 
 and exquisitely clear. She had a wealth of 
 dark hair, wonderfully long eyelashes, and 
 her lips could run into the archest smile. 
 But she still looked frail and ready to van- 
 ish ; and there was a sadness in her face 
 which that arch smile relieved only as one
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 287 
 
 rav breakinoj throuc^h a rent in the cloud 
 relieves a sunless sky. 
 
 'Little one, are you enjoying yourself?' 
 It is a beam of sunshine indeed that comes 
 across her face ; it is a celestial light that 
 passes into the deep eyes. It is a smile of 
 heavenly sweetness that plays upon her lips. 
 Mildred is all in all to the sick girl. She 
 does not tell Mildred so, lest she should 
 weary her, but there is no brightness for 
 Violet when Mildred is away. She has been 
 following the white gown all over the lawn, 
 watching its every turn, delighted if Mildred 
 seems happy, but always with a kind of 
 hope, not expressed to herself, that Mildred 
 will not forget her, as she lies there alone. 
 And Mildred does not forget, and her cold, 
 icy expression melts the moment she meets 
 her sister's eyes, and the two take hands 
 with a natural tenderness which is pleasant 
 to see.
 
 288 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 * It, is such fun here,' cries Violet. ^ I 
 have been watching that old gentleman ; he 
 gets so angry if they croquet his ball, and 
 that girl in pink seems to delight in teasing 
 him. There she goes again ! Oh, do look 
 at him !' 
 
 How quickly the plaintive face lights up 
 with fun ! how pleasantly her voice tinkles 
 with merriment ! Mildred catches the in- 
 fection and laughs too, but there is a sound 
 of pure fun in Violet's laugh which Mildred 
 cannot reach. And now the knots of peo- 
 ple begin to melt into one ; a circle forms 
 around the Golden Girls ; actually there 
 stand in it Hector Badger, Bob Sanctuary, 
 and Eugene Ruddock. In its outer ring 
 are Major Sanctuary, Sir John, Beatrice, 
 and the fearless Sally Badger. Now, for 
 this little bit of sport — plot and counterplot, 
 attack and defence — I must and will have 
 a fresh chapter. Just as in a well-arranged
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 289 
 
 comedy each set of actors come to the front 
 in turn, and have the stage to themselves, 
 so we shall give a separate space to fathers, 
 mothers, lovers, and Golden Girls, playing 
 their successive parts. 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 IN WHICH ELDERLY LOVERS OF THE WORLD ARE 
 SEEN DOING THEIR KIND. 
 
 The elders first. 
 
 * Dear Sir John,' Beatrice Euddock said, 
 ill her blandest voice, *I wish above all 
 things to see your paintings. I am positively 
 dying for a sight of them.' 
 
 'I am no painter,' the Baronet replied, 
 ^ —not by education. I love the art, but I 
 was never taught how to hold a brush or 
 mix a colour. Still I have a few daubs, 
 and my friends are good enough to be 
 pleased with them.'
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 291 
 
 ^ And your son, Sir John ; he is an artist, 
 is he not ?' 
 
 Clever Beatrice knows well that the 
 dream of Sir John's life is that his son shall 
 be a great painter, and she knows, too, that 
 Bob Sanctuary is as likely to turn out a 
 painter as a colt is likely to play the fiddle. 
 But Mrs. Ruddock takes good care never to 
 hint that the fond father, who hopes that 
 time and study may develop genius in the 
 lad's breast, is nursins; a delusion. Mrs. 
 Ruddock has a meaning in everything she 
 says and does. So she asks if Bob Sanc- 
 tuary be not an artist, and waits for the 
 answer in sweet simplicity. 
 
 ' In time I hope he will paint,' Sir John 
 answered. ' I am croin^ to take him the 
 round of the Continental galleries, and to 
 try to develop his taste.' 
 
 * How delightful !' murmured Beatrice ; 
 
 u2
 
 292 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 'Muaich, Dresden, Milan, Ronae. Oh, it i& 
 quite a Paradise of an idea !' 
 
 'Hope we shall enjoy it,' the Baronet 
 said, bluntly. 'Hope it will turn out 
 well.' 
 
 ' Do you know, Sir John,' Beatrice con- 
 tinued, sweetly, ' my daughter Lucy is just 
 beginning to show the prettiest and the 
 most interesting fancy for art. I want to 
 give her a little training too ; but my lazy 
 husband will not leave home, and so Lucy 
 and I must make our little tour as best we 
 can. We might meet. Sir John, some- 
 where ; and while the two young people 
 sauntered round the galleries, why, Sir 
 John, you and I — sober, old-fashioned 
 people — might sit together and entertain 
 each other with our neighbours' failings and 
 our own virtues. Might we not ?' 
 
 Which little question Beatrice put laugh- 
 ingly and insinuatingly.
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 293 
 
 * Upon my word/ the Baronet cried, 
 looking with animation into the lady's 
 handsome face, ' I consider it a capital 
 thought. Stay,' he added, humorously, ' I 
 wanted to study a little myself. I am 
 afraid, under the circumstances you propose, 
 I should forget the pictures altogether !' 
 
 The Baronet made a bow very gallant 
 and facetious, and Beatrice responded with 
 just the little laugh and hint of a blush that 
 befitted the occasion. And Sir John Sanc- 
 tuary thought at the moment that perhaps 
 in such society his son's dormant love of art 
 might be quickened. Had Sir John been a 
 woman he would have seen matrimony in 
 Beatrice's dulcet phrases, as plainly as a 
 marksman sees his target. But Sir John 
 belonged to the sex that is not always on 
 the look-out for love and marriage, and 
 which accordingly is sometimes gently and 
 delicately fooled into a trap with eyes wide
 
 29 i GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 open. Oh, winsome, specious Beatrice 
 Ruddock ! Oh, rare novel mine of Golden 
 Girls, which shall teach all the world how 
 to marry or not marry, but wisely either 
 way ! 
 
 While this ingenious dialogue went on.. 
 Major Sanctuary made his way to the side 
 of Eugene. 
 
 ' How d'ye do, my boy ?' he said, laying 
 his hand on the young man's shoulder. 
 ' Done with Oxford yet ?' 
 
 ' Not yet — not for eighteen months,' 
 answered Eugene, who was adjusting his 
 necktie and working his chin about in his 
 finical way. 
 
 * And when you have done, what then, 
 my boy ? Church ? State ? Army ? 
 Navy ? Physic ? Law ? In a word, 
 sir,' the Major called out, as if irritated at 
 the number of alternatives he had run up, 
 ' what are you going to be ?'
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 295 
 
 * Never thought about it,' replied Eugene, 
 with a languid and superfine air. ^ Xevaw,' 
 was his reply, phonetically. ' Scarcely know 
 — you know.' He looked approvingly at the 
 toe of his faultless boot. 
 
 *Tell you what, sir,' the Major cried, ' you 
 ought to live in town, sir. Get in among 
 people of fashion, sir. With your air and 
 your habits — confound it, sir !' the Major 
 said, with an air of exasperation, ' you ought 
 to be among people of fashion ! I could 
 introduce you to dozens of men in my set ; 
 spirited, well-behaved men ! It is an expen- 
 sive set, mine ; money flies like — ' Here 
 the Major nervously twitched a frayed shirt- 
 cuff out of sight, and, not finding the simile 
 for which he sought, wound up in this 
 way : ' They are spirited, well-behaved men, 
 sir, and you ought to be among them.' 
 
 Eugene not entering into this dashing 
 proposal, a pause followed, which enabled
 
 296 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 the Major to remember something all at 
 once. 
 
 ^ I quite forgot ! With this lively conver- 
 sation, I quite forget ! My daughter — Vic- 
 toria — asked me to coax you to be her part- 
 ner in * a croquet set. I said, "No, make 
 your sets for yourselves," said I. But here 
 she comes, and she will never forgive me if 
 I have not secured you.' 
 
 As a matter of fact, Miss Sanctuary was 
 standing perfectly still, with her back full 
 upon Eugene, and she and her cousin Bob 
 were talking together in an interested w^ay, 
 so that the Major was forced to call out, 
 
 ' Victoria ! Victoria ! Mr. Ruddock is wait- 
 ing for you.' 
 
 * Papa,' the girl whispered to him, re- 
 proachfully, ' I don't want to play with Mr. 
 Ruddock. Bob and I were going to look 
 at the horses. It is provoking !' 
 
 The Major did not say.
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 297 
 
 'Victoria, your cousin Robert will be a 
 poor baronet one day, and there could be 
 no greater madness than for you and him to 
 fall in love. Eugene Ruddock will be a 
 man of fortune, and just the husband for 
 you. Therefore I, your anxious parent, am 
 trying to disentangle you from your cousin, 
 and to entangle you with my excellent 
 young friend,' 
 
 The Major did not say this — in fact, the 
 Major did not say anything at all, for a spy 
 was watching them, and at this point an 
 adroit and fearless player entered into the 
 little matrimonial game. 
 
 ' Eugene,' Mrs. Ruddock said, laying her 
 hand on her boy's shoulder, ' I think Miss 
 Walsingham rather wants to make up a set 
 for Badminton. Go and ask if you can be 
 of use to her.' 
 
 Off Eugene darted, well pleased to escape 
 from the Major's rather too artful snare.
 
 298 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 Off went Victoria and Bob, laughing and 
 manifesting a tendency to lay their heads 
 side by side ; and they disappeared round a 
 little plantation and were gone. 
 
 The Major looked very blank. 
 
 'This woman can turn one's little plans 
 topsy-turvy when she pleases/ he said to 
 himself. The wonder is he did not say it 
 aloud, for in his vexation he struck the grass 
 with his cane. 
 
 But adroit and fearless Beatrice Ruddock, 
 vigilant still, was not going to vex the Major 
 more than was absolutely necessary, not 
 she. 
 
 * You see, Major,' she said, continuing her 
 speech with the lightest and most unembar- 
 rassed of laughs, ' if we old people did not 
 look after these boys and girls they would 
 never speak to each other, but would draw 
 up in opposite lines, finger in mouth, like
 
 GOLDEN GIRLS. 299 
 
 at a school-treat before the cake comes in!' 
 
 * Well now,' the Major said to himself, 
 * this is uncommon effrontery. This is a 
 very impudent woman.' 
 
 But he was no match for Beatrice. Look- 
 ing straight into his disturbed face, with 
 the blandest unconsciousness that anything 
 could possibly have happened to vex him, 
 and with the most artless assumption 
 that he was in a sportive mood, she put 
 her arm throusfh his and rambled lausrhins;- 
 ly on, 
 
 ' It was not our way. Major, when we 
 were boys and girls long ago. We did not 
 need much prompting, did we T 
 
 The Major looked at her — indignant still. 
 But her complete innocence, his own gal- 
 lantry, and besides a natural humour of 
 good-fellowship which he could never quite 
 overcome, all fought for her.
 
 300 GOLDEN GIRLS. 
 
 * You are right, raa'am,' he cried, with his 
 usual gaiety. ' We had ten times the life 
 of these young sparks in our day.' 
 
 END OP THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BT DUNCAN MACDONyiLD , BLENHK5M HOUSE.