THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY From the collection of Julius Doerner, Chicago Purchased, 1918. S&-3 at TWO KISSES; author of "from post to finish/’ "a false start,” " STRUCK down/* “LONG ODDS,” “ BAD TO BEAT,” “ A RACE FOR LIFE,” " BREEZIE LANGTON,” M BELLES AND RINGERS,” “ AT FAULT,” “ COURTSHIP,” ETC. “ Two Kisses,” Hawley Smart’s masterpiece, is certainly one of the most absorb- ing and fascinating heart romances ever published. The ladies will undoubtedly devour it with the utmost avidity, such a thorough revelation is it of the little arts of flirting and gossip. Cissy Hemsworth, afterwards Mrs. Gore, Mrs, Paynter and Bessie Stanbury are the heroines. Cissy has what the French call a past, and Mrs. Paynter is a woman of the world, to whom flirtation comes as natural as life, but Bessie is a charming young creature, full of innocence, though spirited and gay as well. Cissy and her second hus- band have a terrible misunderstanding which threatens tragic results, and Bessie’s little love affair with Charlie Detfield is about as piquant an episode as the most exacting could desire. Claxby Jenkens, Mr. Roxby and Mr. Turbottle represent the villainous element with marked capability, but Jenkens has a redeeming trait, and Mr. Turbottle is not altogether bad. There is considerable humor in the delightful novel, and it is lit- erally packed with dramatic situations. "Two Kisses” is a romance sure to please everybody. The scene is laid mostly in London amid fashionable surroundings* OR, TO BY HAWLEY SMART. NEW YORK: THE F. M. LUPTON PUBLISHING COMPANY, Nos. 72-76 Walker Street, ®9frYniQWv, 1883 , By T. B. PETERSON & BBO^HHRg, Two Ki&ge* £ L CONTENTa 4 0 -> Q 00 - — Chapter I. MAJOR JENKENS .... II. THE BANKRUPT’S WIDOW III. NOTTINGHAM GOOSE FAIR . . IV. MR. TURBOTTLE’s STORY . Y. MRS. PAYNTER AT HOME . . VI. THE MAJOR’S BUSINESS . VII. HE MUST MARRY MONEY . VIII. ON' THE VERGE , , IX- IN THE TEMPLE . X. THE MISSES STANBURY . XI. GOOD COUNSEL .... XII. TO WED OR NOT TO WED XIII. THE BALL AT ROSENEATH HOUSE XIV. WILL YOU GIVE ME YOURSELF? XV. A SOCIAL OBLIGATION. XVI. A QUIET WEDDING . XVII. ON A BICYCLE .... XVIII. THE MAJOR’S MEDITATIONS XIX. MRS. PAYNTER’s SACRIFICE XX. AFTER THE HONEYMOON . Page 3 8 13 21 25 32 38 41 47 52 57 63 69 77 82 86 90 96 100 105 ( 1 ) >96244 Contents* 2 XXL A QUINTETTE .... O • • 111 XXII. CHARLIE DETFIELD’s AFFAIRS . • • 117 XXIII. WHOM DOES HE COME TO SEE? • • 9 123 XXIY. A FATAL KISS . . • . 128 XXY. CHARLIE DETFIELb’s WOOING 0 s 133 XXVI. AN EMBARRAS DE RICHESSE - • 139 XXVII. THE PUMPING OF MR. TURBOTTLE # • 146 XX YU I. MONTAGUE GORE REMONSTRATES • . 152 XXIX. WIIAT SHOULD YOU CALL RICH? . • . 158 XXX. MR, ROXBY AS A GUARDIAN . • 162 XXXI. A KISS WITH A STING IN IT • . 168 XXXII. CISSY LEAVES HER HUSBAND » 174 XXXIII. THE MAJOR’S ADVICE . . * 180 xxx r v. AUNT MATILDA SIDES WITH THE LOVERS 184 XXX Y. WHICH ABOUNDS IN PLAIN SPEAKING . • 191 XXX VI. BROODING ON VENGEANCE . . • 196 XXXVII. AT BROMPTON-SUPER-MARE . . 201 XXXVIII. coleman’s ..... © • 206 XXXIX. BRINE AND TURBOTTLE MEET AGAIN <9 . 210 XL. NEMESIS . • • 216 XLI. ANALYZING A KISS . • . 221 XLII. THE MAJOR DOES HIS DUTY BY ROXBY c. 228 XLIII. MR. ROXBY ’S CONVERSION • • . 234 XLIV. THE EXPLANATION* * • 240 XL V- 4 GAY WEDDING . * 0 • 246 ^J.VL RECONCILIATION . , , • % m TWO KISSES CHAPTER I. MAJOR JENKENS. The I iinford races are just over. The bulk of visitors have hied them home by the six train, and the city generally has emptied itself of the influx that the races always attract ; for Linford is a meeting of some celebrity, and always freely patronized by the followers of the turf. Still, the city has not as yet settled down. The retiring tide has left shallows and channels behind it that yet eddy and ripple in memory of the fiei ce rush of waters. The billiard-room of the “ Reindeer ” indeed is still bubbling with excitement. A somewhat noisy and tumultuous pool is going on there, very different from the quiet six-penny game usual among its habitues. Shilling lives and much venturing of half- crowns is the order of the evening ; yet it is easy to see the players are chiefly towns- folk, or young farmers from the surrounding district, winding up their two days* outing for the most part. The sharks, with keen, avid eye for the country minnow, that follow in the wake of most race meetings, have taken their departure. Those flashily-dressed men, so anxious to lay against everything and anything, who filled the room the pre- vious night, are no longer there. Away in the whizzing special, with their foul pipes and fouler language, in pursuit of fresh prey ; speeding towards London, in search of other victims with fatuous fancies for backing the favorite, solacing themselves mean- while with flasks of strong waters, such games as maybe accomplished by the dim light of the carriage lamp The billiard-room is heavy with tobacco-smoke, and reeking with the steam of hot and strong potations. The babble and laughter wax louder, and vociferations to wage half-crowns are shouted incessantly as the game fluctuates. " Red upon green, black your player,” calls the wizened, rat-like marker in monoto- nous tone, and a slight, neatly-dressed man, of medium height, wearing spectacles, advances to the table, almost mechanically chalking his cue as he does so. He hesi- tates a little and seems undecided what to play for. 4 Two Kisses. 44 I’ll take your two crowns to one you don’t hold it, sir,” exclaims a flushed, fresh colored young man from the bench that runs round the room. “ If you like,” replies the player, 44 but I don’t care about betting — I only play foi amusement.” 44 Come, sir, that won’t do, you have picked up a goodish few of my half-crowns to-night, to say nothing of other people’s.” 44 As you like,” replied the player again, with a deprecatory shrug of his shoulders. 44 He’s got to the end of his nerve, Tom,” cried the young man, somewhat boister* ously, 44 and my silver’s coming back to me.” 44 I don’t know,” remarked the other; 44 he’s seemed a bit nervous all along, but he hasn’t missed much.” 44 Life off green,” cried the marker in his usual monotone, as that ball rolled gently into the pocket, and the red came slowly back down the table. “ Stroke and division Take your stroke, sir.” 44 1 don’t know. Yes, I think so. I must be off to bed now, gentlemen, so I’ll have the shot.” The hazard he had just made was by no means a difficult one, but that which now presented itself was. To be made undoubtedly. What is not at billiards ? But cer- tainly not one that anything but a fine player could expect to accomplish without much favoring of fortune. Had there been a shrewd observer present, he might have noticed that the elderly gentleman, just before playing, invariably gave his spectacles a slight hitch, and that when he struck his ball a marvellously keen pair of black eyes peered forth below them. But there was little chance of that being noticed in the noisy company. As he again chalked his cue preparatory to his final stroke, his former antagonist exclaimed, in somewhat irritable tones : — 44 Come, sir, you have had the best of me all night. I lay you two sovereigns to one you don’t hold the black.” 41 You cannot expect me to take that,” returned the other, quietly. 44 This is a very difficult stroke ; and though I could play a little once, I can’t see very well now. We won’t have a bet this time.” 44 Nonsense. You’ve won several times of me, and say you’re going. I insist upon a last chance. I’ll lay you three sovereigns to one you don’t hold it. In these parts we play on the square, and always give a fellow his revenge.” 44 Do you mean to say, sir, that I don’t play on the square ? ” retorted the elderly gentleman, sharply, and bringing the butt of his cue angrily on the floor. 44 No, of course not,” stammered his antagonist, considerably taken aback by this demonstration on the part of one whom he had fancied might be bullied with impunity. 44 1 only meant — in short, you ought to give me another chance for my money, you know.” “Very good,” replied the other quietly. 44 1 take your three sovereigns to one, 5 Major Jenkens. then. But, recollect, I may win, and if you can’t afford to lose, you had better not bet. It is only school-boys that cry out when they lose. What is it to fye, sir ? Bet or no bet ? ” The altercation had attracted some attention in the room by this time, and the young fellow on the bench, who was, if truth must be told, one of Messrs. Cullington’s (they kept the leading drapery establishment in Linford) young men, felt ashamed to withdraw his offer. lie aspired to being regarded as fast among his compeers — an ambition that o’erleaps itself in much higher circles than his. The eyes of his com- rades were upon him. He felt it was impossible to go back, although he was already impressed with the conviction that the elderly gentleman in spectacles would assuredly hold that ball, and that his slender purse, on which the night had already made considerable inroads, would be still further impoverished. “ Of course, I stand by what I said,” he at last replied, sullenly, with that dogged persistence so often the characteristic of men when they feel they are getting the worst of it. “ Of course you do, Jack,” chorused some of his friends. “ A fellow always stands by his opinion who is anything like a good plucked one. Why, it’d be ten to one against Cook himself holding that ball.” Though slightly comforted by such friendly assurance, the somewhat crestfallen layer of odds could but recollect that these peremptory arbiters of Cook’s capabilities had never enjoyed the privilege of seeing that artist play, and what Cook could or could not do was not of so much importance to him just then, as how far the talent of his spectacled opponent extended. For a minute or so the room was hushed as the elderly gentleman poised his cue. Another moment, and he had proved to the spectators that whatever odds it might be against Cook, it was no safe three to one against him ; for, playing with tolerable strength, he drove the black ball into the top corner pocket, and left his own spinning in its place. “ Not lost my game so much as I thought,” he remarked blandly, as he pushed hi» spectacles once more well down upon his nose, and handed over his cue to the marker. “Yes, quite right, thank you,” he continued urbanely, as that functionary handed him over the pool. “A trifle for yourself, my man. Three sovereigns, thank you, sir. You are unlucky ; I don’t suppose I should make that stroke once in ten times. Your friends estimated the odds very (with considerable inflection on the first syllable) correctly. Good-night, gentlemen.” “ Who is he ? Where did he come from ? Did you ever see him play before ? ” asked half-a-dozen impatient mouths as the door closed behind the triumphant pool- player. “He’s a Major Jenkens, as has been staying here the last three days,” returned the marker, laconically, “and I never saw him touch a cue till to-night, but it’s my belief, gents, he’s had one in his hand pretty often, looking at his style ; he weren’t 6 Two Kisses. showy, but he were very sure — never played a fancy shot the whole evening trD the last. \ '‘He’s a regular leg, that’s what he is,” exclaimed the victim, “ and if the old s coundrel hadn’t slunk off to bed, I’d have told him so.” Even as he spoke, the door opened, and the major re-entered the room. “ I have left my spectacle-case on the mantel-piece. Ah, yes, that’s it, thank you. Once more good-night. I trust, sir, you will be more fortunate in the next pool,” and the major looked very straight through his spectacles at his utterly confounded antagonist. Mr. John Silk, of the house of Cullington and Co., did not express his private sen° timents on this occasion ; but better men than he had before now failed to tell the major their private opinion of him when it came to that point. It did not seem quit* so easy to call that cool, self-possessed, gentlemanly man, clothed in the panoply of his spectacles, a swindler to his face ; and yet people, with considerable more experi ence of Major Jenkens than Mr. John Silk, had come at times very much to that opinion concerning him. The major, meanwhile, lights his candle, and betakes himself to his bedroom, with very little anxiety as to what the company in the billiard-room may think of him. Not much wont to trouble his head about such small matter as the suffrages of his fellows is Major Jenkens, — treating them indeed for the most part as sent into the world expressly to minister to his wants and necessities, imbued, I am afraid, with flight respect for the general intellectual powers of mankind, but powerfully impressed with belief in their gullibility. Having gained his chamber, the major proceeds to wind up his watch with due deliberation, and then, turning out his pockets, counts their contents in a quiet, busi- ness-like fashion. u Six pounds eleven and six,” he mutters. “ Not a bad night’s work for a country billiard-room, and will pay my hotel-bill handsomely. I picked up a little, too, on the race-bourse. No ; I have not succeeded in finding the man I wanted, but fortune has been kind to me. Yes, the trip doesn’t owe me anything. My eye and hand, though not true enough for London, are good enough yet another half-dozen years in the provinces. But, really,” he continued, with a deprecatory elevation of his eye- brows, “ country practice is not ‘ worth the candle.’ Pour passer le temps , perhaps, but not a serious avocation for a man of ability. Dear me, how spectacles always do bamboozle people ! Because you wear glasses, they always conclude you can’t see.” Major Jenkens was busied, while thus reflecting, in packing up his belongings preparatory to an early start. It wfis curious how neat and precise he was in all his arrangements. He folded such garments as he placed within his portmanteau with scrupulous care, placed his watch and purse by his bedside, and even disposed his Major Jenkens. 7 brosues. P^ctaclcs and razor, with almost mathematical regularity on the dressing- table. It >rtis singular to remark how deft and dexterous his supple fingers were in all these i-rrxfe xninutiae, how quick and decided he seemed to be on every point ; how the nervous, diffident manner which had so characterized him in the billiard-room seemeu to have ^appeared. There were people who, mistrusting Claxby Jenkens, declared that this nervousness of manner was assumed at will for purposes of his, Claxby Jenkens , own. But the major always vowed that he was shy among strange com- pany ; tfc<«t it was a weakness of his boyhood, which he had never succeeded in shak- ing off — ue supposed he never should now. Certain it was that this shy, hesitating manner \%as invariably to be observed in the major on first making his acquaintance, and yet it was equally worthy to be noted what cool requests this diffident gentleman sometimes proffered at short notices to people of whom he knew but little. His belongings being in what the major would have termed due “ marching order,” that gentleman sought his pillow with the calm satisfaction of a man who had done his duty to himself, a matter of considerably higher import in his eyes than any exertion on that point regarding his neighbor. To tell the truth, the major was a little apt to regard his neighbor as an undeclared enemy, seeking to obtain some slight advantage over him, an advantage which the major had long ago decided that his duty towards his neighbor required him to keep entirely on his own side the ledger, — a conclusion which he had contrived to cany out with tolerable success. Those that could say they had been vouchsafed the best of their dealings with Major Claxby Jenkens were not numerous. Plausible and liberal as he had sometimes seemed in matter of help to his fellows, wonderful as had appeared his disinterestedness to both men and even women at times, yet it was remarkable how the quid pro qu^ } the return for his exertions on such occasions, had come about. The recipients of his help sometimes ground their teeth hard when the reckoning came, and they discovered what it was he required of them for such assistance ; but they usually did his bidding, the fact being that refusal in some cases was next door to impossible. Claxby Jenkens was very fond of succoring his neighbor in the hour of trial ; but, impressed with the frailty of human nature, Claxby Jenkens was wont to take stringent precautions that his neighbor should never fall into the sin of ingratitude. “ Men are so apt to forget those who have befriended them,” quoth the major. “1 am singularly fortunate ; those I have had the good luck to be of service to never forget me.” He was right; they must have been much favored of Providence, or entirely gulfed 'neath life’s stormy waters if they did. Assistance from the major was a thing certain to have to be accounted for in due course, and likely to bear exorbitant interest. Meanwhile Major Claxby Jenkens, anxious even in his slumbers not to be got the best of, takes it out of the sheets and blankets of the “ Reindeer,” as if still bearing 8 Two Kisses . In mind that, having to pay for the bed, it behoved him to get as orach sleep m he could out of it. There are not many pleasanter situations in London than Hanover street, Hanovei square, west ; more especially if you are located on its north side, and so get the advantage of what that neighborhood regards as the morning sun. For Regent street and its tributaries do not pretend to much necessity for sunlight till between nine and ten ; of course it is well it should be out and warming the day, taking the chill out of the night-air and so on ; but the people who live on those pleasant first- floors of the streets running west of the great artery are not wont to trouble them- selves regarding tea and rolls much before the latter hour. Certainly you have more seclusion, magnificence, and are altogether more flavored with aristocracy, if you take up your abode in Belgravia or its vicinity ; but what is so delightful as a stroll down Regent street on a sunny May morning ? The throng, the shops, the broad, well- swept causeway — is there anything approaching to it for an idler in all London ? It is rather soon for the park, perhaps, and even if it were not, to your inveterate street-lounger Rotten Row is a comparatively dreary entertainment. But Regent street, the noblest lounge of all the civilized world, to which the Grand Boulevard of Paris, or the Broadway of New York, are as nothing, there is always a romance, a picture, a story, or a jest, to be found there ; much food for reflection to be got out of a walk up that regal promenade, take it when you will. In the window of a prettily furnished sitting-room in Hanover street are seated two ladies, looking lazily out on the passers-by, — striking women both of them, dressed with admirable taste, and in the extreme of the fashion. One wears a widow’s weeds ; but the richness of her well-fitting robe, the soft folds of her crape, and the delicate coquettish cap half concealed in the wealth of her rich dark tresses, augur of well- to-do sorrow by no means incapable of consolation. A tall, shapely woman she looks, as she lies indolently back in her chair, displaying a neatly turned ankle and buckled shoe. Her companion is more vivacious in appearance, more impetuosity visible in the very wlnsk she gives to her well-flounced skirts, as she settles herself more easily in her seat and observes : — “ So you’re a widow, Lizzie. Well, my dear, considering what we know your late lamented was, I don’t know that I feel altogether called upon to condole with you.” “ Perhaps not. I am not going to pretend to you that 1 could have any love for Mr. Hemsworth. I married him as a child, and he took good care that I should form no CHAPTER H. THE BANKRUPT’S WIDOW. f The Bankrupts Widow. heroic conception of him afterwards. We will not touch on that, please Mark Hemsworth is gone, and though he never took any pains to gain my affections, yet he sheltered me for five years, and he was my husband, remember.” “ Yes, he was,” retorted Lizzie Paynter, viciously; “I am not likely to forget it, nor you either, for the matter of that. I have seen him recall the fact to your recol- lection pretty often, my dear, in days gone by. If I had been in your place, the lamented Mark would have found his fingers in hot water many a time, but you — M and Mrs. Paynter shrugged her shoulders as though to say there are women who will submit to anything. “ Do please let bygones be bygones, Lizzie. How Mark treated me surely concerns only myself now. I don’t know,” she continued, plaintively, “ that there ever was any one else it mattered to. You see from the day of my marriage I have never had a friend to appeal to. From that moment my father vanished, and I don’t even know whether he is dead or alive.” “ No ? ” ejaculated Mrs. Paynter, sitting bolt upright in her chair with astonishment. “ It is the fact, though,” said Cissy, sadly. “ I haven’t a friend in the world, unless I may call you one. You were very kind to me the year before last in Paris. I know that doesn’t mean much, but you told me to come and see you if ever I came to Lon- don, and I felt so lonely when I arrived here that I scribbled you a note yesterday. I haven’t, to my knowledge, another acquaintance, even in town, and I don’t know what to do.” “ Do, my love ! ” retorted the vivacious Mrs. Paynter, although a little melted by the widow’s melancholy tones. “ Why, you must do just as well-jointured ladies in your position do. Make the best you can of life for a year or so, and then, perhaps, Cissy, my dear, we may find some one to take care of you.” Cissy Hemsworth paused for some few minutes as if lost in thought ; at last, raising her head, she said, in a somewhat hesitating fashion : — “ But suppose I am not well-jointured ? ” A slight expression of astonishment flashed across her visitor’s face, and she replied, quietly : — “ Well, it is difficult to say, considering the establishment I last saw you at the head of, what your views may be on such a subject ; but I should imagine, Cissy, that you are left pretty comfortably off.” Again the widow hesitated, and as the sun shone in upon the soft, girlish face, it seemed almost impossible to realize that she had been five years a wife. To Lizzie Paynter, who had seen somewhat of her brief married career, it seemed marvellous that she could retain such an appearance of innocence and freshness. That worldly- minded lady had seen poor Cissy in her Paris home, — mistress of a saloon frequented by roues , gamblers on the Bourse, and at times invaded by ladies with reputations not altogether unsmirched. Mrs. Paynter, Bohemian in her tastes, and by no means scrupulous with whom she mixed, had found Madame Hemsworth’ s receptions arnus* 10 Two Kisses. mg. That was quite sufficient for her. She liked to talk, to valse, to flirt, to b* amused, and there was no house open to her during her sojourn in Paris in which she so readily attained this pleasant combination. Of course she paid great court to he* hostess. In due return for her hospitality, in the first instance ; because she really grew to like her, in the second. But Mrs. Paynter, to the very last, never could de- termine whether Cissy Hemsworth was the most innocent or most artful woman of her years that she had ever come across, and she wa9 still undecided on this point. That her husband treated her with almost brutal indifference was palpable ; but that she consoled herself for his neglect was at all events not visible. Yet she had no lack of admirers to choose from. Young, graceful, mistress of a handsome establishment, with a husband at no pains to conceal his want of regard for her, and in Paris, it would have been odd if there had not been plenty of aspirants for her favor. What was odd, was her superb indifference to all these danglers. These baffled adorers declared Madame Hemsworth to be an animated iceberg, to be destitute of esprit, wit and humor. But if Cissy shone with no peculiar brilliancy in conversation, she was eminently graceful in her manner, she was always extremely well dressed, and showed quite sufficiency of tact. A beauty she was not exactly, but with a magnificent figure, a profusion of rich, dark hair, youth and good eyes, she might very well pass for one. Deeper than any woman I ever met, or with a far-away love affair in the back- ground, was Mrs. Paynter’s final verdict, after much unavailing attempt to compre- hend her friend’s character during that Paris intimacy of some eighteen months or so ago, and great had been that lady’s astonishment upon receiving a note the previous day from Cissy Hemsworth, requesting that she would call upon her. She had overlooked the notice of Mr. Hems worth’s death in the papers, and had no idea, till she arrived in Hanover street, that Cissy was now a widow. “ I think I had better tell you all,” said Cissy, slowly, after a lengthened pause. “ I have just a thousand pounds left in the world.” To say that Mrs. Paynter was astonished, would convey a very feeble notion of that lady’s bewilderment; she was simply thunderstruck. That the widow of Mark Hemsworth, whose establishment in Paris, not two years ago, must have required something like four or five thousand a year to maintain, should assert that she had but a few hundreds left was inconceivable. “ My dear Cissy, what can you mean ? ” she exclaimed at last. u What I say,” replied the widow, quietly. “ Mark was a very daring speculator, it appears, and I presume had been unfortunate of late. All I know is, that no sooner was his death noised abroad than creditors sprang up from all directions. I can’t understand it even now. I ought to have had a settlement, they say ; but it seems I had not. All I could make out was that everybody who had any claim upon him came before his wife. They said he had behaved disgracefully, and that my people must have been very foolish. If he has behaved badly to me, that, as I said beforq, The Bankrupts Widow. 11 concerns nobody but me. All these people got their money, and more than theil money, I believe.” But are you sure, Cissy, that there was no settlement made upon you at the time of your marriage ? ” inquired Mrs. Paynter. “ I am told not. But I don’t profess to understand it all. I don’t think I ever should have got things settled at all, if it had not been for an English barrister, who turned up, I still scarcely know how.” “Ah! we are coming to a man amongst all the tangle at last,” thought Mrs. Paynter. “ I always knew there must be a * him ’ in the background somewhere. An old friend, I suppose, Cissy.” “No, there you mistake,” returned the widow. “I never saw him till about a fortnight before poor Mark’s death.” “Poor Mark, indeed ! ” muttered Mrs. Paynter to herself; “ a brute, a bear, and she pretends to regret him. What can she mean ? And how did you make his acquaint- ance, then ? ” “Beally, I almost forget. Somebody brought him. You remember how people Oid come to my evenings. But he called afterwards, and when he saw what trouble I was in, he asked if he could be of any assistance. I was really so puzzled that I felt grateful for his offer, and told him so. Well he did — I don’t know what he did, but at last he said if I would give him authority, he would do his best to put things straight for me, and the end of it all was he informed me that I had been grossly taken advantage of in every way, robbed in fact ; that he unfortunately had interfered too late, but that there remained to me, out of the scramble, about a thousand pounds.” “ And what do you mean to do now ? ” inquired Mrs. Paynter. “ Marry the chivalrous barrister ? ” “ No,” returned Mrs. Hemsworth, with a faint smile. “ I don’t think he’s likely to ask me ; but I suppose I must marry somebody before veiy long. What else can I do ? I must have some one to take care of me.” She said this in quiet, matter-of-fact tones, as if marriage was to be adopted as a profession ; spoke of it as a girl left in bad circumstances might talk of going out as a governess ; as if there could be no difficulty about it ; as if it was an aifair that would come to pass a few months hence in the usual course of things. If Hanover street had been blocked up with suitors for her hand, she could not have alluded to taking a second husband with more complete calmness and assurance of its being so. A thorough woman of the world was Mrs. Paynter, conversant with not a little of the wickedness of the world to boot, given to flirtations and other amusements that strait-laced people held highly indecorous. There was a strong dash of Bohemian- ism in her set ; junketing? to Cremorne in the summer months, and lively dinners down the river they specially affected. It must not be supposed that Mrs. Paynter was a woman without the pale for one momm t. That merry lady would go considerable lengths, and did dearly love to 12 Two Kisses. make society hold up its hands, raise its eyebrows, and prophesy infinite trioulation, as the final result of her “ goings on.” But for all that, when society had called her a most outrageous flirt, stigmatized her as fast, flighty, and frivolous, society had alleged all that society was strictly entitled to state concerning her. Of Gourse society insinuated rather more, and pitied the blindness of her unfortunate husband ; but those who knew Mrs. Paynter best told a different story, and vowed that she was far too confirmed a flirt even to be capable of a grande passion. At all events, her easy-going husband seemed to understand her, and, though she would plunge into the most audacious flirtations at times under his very nose, never manifested the slightest symptoms of jealousy. Of course, Mrs. Paynter had seen people in search of eligible matrimonial compan- ions many times — had indeed lent assistance more than once to the riveting of the chains called by courtesy golden ; albeit the occasional clanking of such chains on society’s ear would now and then lead to reflections of their being at times composed of somewhat baser metal. But it did strike Mrs. Paynter that for cool, deliberate assertion of such purpose, she had never heard anything to equal Cissy Hemsworth. The quiet audacity of the intention, too, rather amused her. This girl of twenty- two, widow of a fraudulent bankrupt, as it would seem, with just a thousand pounds left, and not an acquaintance in all London but herself, announced her design of marry ing again, as if she had nothing in the world to do but sit in that pretty room in Hanover street till she gave permission to somebody (somebody peculiarly indefinite at the present) to carry her to St. George’s Church, close by. “ Well, my dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Paynter, at length, “ I am not going to say you are not right ; but, Cissy, has it never occurred to you that husbands, to use a homely expression, don’t grow on every bush ? You are veiy attractive and charming and all that, and I am sure look wonderfully pretty in your mourning. But then you see it is a mercenary world that we live in, and the men — the wretches ! — will inquire what sort of dot they are to get with their wives.” “ Yes, I know it is so with many ; but there are always some ready to take you for yourself — at least, I should think so. Don’t you imagine, Lizzie, that as there are women who want taking care of, so there are also men who want some one to take care of ? ” “No, indeed, I don’t,” rejoined Mrs. Paynter, bluntly. “ Oh, well, we shall see. It will be so with me,” replied Cissy, dreamily, as she leant her cheek upon her hand. “She’s a fool — a downright fool,” thought Mrs. Paynter. “She seems to think that Mrs. Hemsworth in lodgings in London, knowing nobody, occupies the same position as Madame Hemsworth, at the head of one of the pleasantest houses in Paris. That Cissy Hemsworth, with a few hundreds only remaining to her, is the same woman as Cissy Hemsworth, with carriages, servants, horses, and unlimited credit at Worth’s. Well, it will be an awakening when it does come, and, poor thing, I shall 13 Nottingham Goose Fair. be sorry for her. How I ever could have thought her — thought whs t I did think •bout her. Deep — I feel ashamed of myself in face of such innocence.” “ I must be going,” observed Mrs. Paynter, at length, “ but you must come and dine with us to-morrow. If I was not going out, I’d say to-night. I want you to know my husband. He always likes every one I like, and sometimes, though not often,” she continued, with a little grimace, “ some people I don’t. He knows how kind you were to me in Paris, and that is quite sufficient to ensure his being partic- ularly attentive to you. Good-by, dear ; I must endeavor to find somebody to take care of you, for I really can’t see how it is to come about unless I do.” “ Oh, it will come time enough,” returned Cissy, smiling, as she embraced her visitor. " I am afraid she thinks me very foolish,” mused the widow, as she gazed out of the window after Mrs. Paynter’s carriage ; “ eveiybody always has. Father first, then my husband, and I wonder how many more of all those people in Paris. I am sure the men seemed to think me a perfect idiot ; at all events, that I didn’t know right from wrong, nor clap-trap sentiment from genuine love-making. I don’t think I do know anything about the last, though I suppose there really is such a thing.” CHAPTER m. NOTTINGHAM GOOSE FAIR. It is doubtful whether any town in England boasts of a more magnificent market- place than Nottingham. See it on an ordinary week-day, and you will own it is a noble square. See it on a market-day, and you will reflect what a deal of business must be doing amongst that busy crowd. Nothing to be seen much then of the lace- makers, stocking-weavers, etc., which represent so large a portion of the industry of the metropolis of the dukeries. The agriculturists, on such occasions, seem to have it all their own way, and you would deem corn, stock, and wod the special com- modities in which Nottingham deals. No sign much of that great manufacturing population that, after all, makes Nottingham the city that it is. A somewhat rough, out-spoken people these last when excited about election matters — not yet quite for- gotten a taste for prize-fighting, and other barbaric pastimes of that nature, but withal showing rapid signs of succumbing to more gentle culture. A disposition for the cultivation of roses, and the more peaceful relaxation of fishing, decidedly visible amongst those tempestuous weavers of late. The former in great measure attributable, perhaps, to a famous rose-grower of those parts, whose delightful books would make any one believe that the production of a perfect bloom is to taste 5$fetbomable bliss. 14 Two Kisses. But to see Nottingham market-place in its glory, you must see it during the sat- urnalia of its goose fair; when the pens are filled with the famous bird of the cap- itol. Small, poor, draggled geese, that have been travelled there from remote parts of Ireland, are penned next to big, bumptious, corpulent birds, that are fresh from the Lincolnshire fenlands; stubble-fed, white-plumed, strong fellows, with a great deal to say for themselves, casting a contemptuous eye on their poor Irish cousins. No beasts, no sheep in the market town now, nothing but geese — geese everywhere — and you carry not home a Michaelmas goose with you, well, you have not done what Nottingham expects of you. Shows there are everywhere. Fat ladies, learned pigs, giants, dwarfs, merry-go- rounds, canvas galleries wherein you shoot for nuts with a gun that must be constructed with a curve in it, so far does it project its steel-tipped dart to the right or left of the target. Theatres of the kind to which Richardson has bequeathed his immortal name, — or is that vagrant Thespian still tramping it in the flesh like another wandering Jew? Wild beast shows, Wombwefl’s — the original Wombwell’s — no connection with Wombwell’s — with the hairless horse of the Pampas, w T ith the three-horned rhinoceros, with the only black South American panther ever exhibited. Sound the trumpets, beat the drums, — “ Here you are, now’s your time ! All in, and a-going to begin immediately. Walk up, ladies and gentlemen. This performance is unparal- leled — it never was paralleled — it never can be paralleled — that it should ever be paralleled is a parabolical impossibility. What is sixpence for such an unparalleled exhibition ? Dash me, but I’d rather lend you the money than you should miss this unparalleled opportunity.” Cackle, cackle, cackle, go the bipeds in feathers, gabble, gabble, gabble, go the bipeds without, and from the great market-place of Nottingham one stupendous babble resounds through the air, and proclaims that “ the goose fail- ” is in full blast, — a wild confusion that might drive a quiet stranger well-nigh out of liis senses. Not- tingham, too, is all abroad — in high spirits, in eveiy sense of the term — here with a laugh and a jest in it, there with a hiccup and a reel in it, but merry, yes, decidedly merry, whether treating its sweetheart to the shows, or treating its cronies to beer or strong writers. For it is a fete day at Nottingham this, and her citizens c.f all kinds respond nobly to her summons to give themselves up to diversion, and let labor go hang for the present. Apt indeed to let labor go hang on this occasion considerably longer than is good for those dependent on them. Like much more saturnalia, it opens with feasting and finishes with fasting in many a household. At a corner of the market-place, evidently not the least dismayed by the turmoil around him, stands on the top of the bench a plump little, dark man, indulging in most voluble harangue to the crowd that surrounds him ; a sleek, clean-shaved, little man, with a keen, twdnkiing black eye, and an expression of such imperturbable good-humor and self-satisfaction, that a lounger with money in his pockets would have felt almost impelled to spend a trifle with him. He was of the Cheap Jack genus Nottingham Goose Fair. 15 — dealing apparently in everytliing, and was vaunting his wares with a flow of language that seemed inexhaustible. “ Why won’t I part with this here valuable cameo ? Why not, indeed ? Now, I’ll tell you : cos I’ve just got a telegraph from the Empress of Peru to say she’ll take it on my own terms — ‘Your own terms, Mr. Turbottle,’ that’s what the orgust lady says; but I always have dealt straight with Nottingham, and I always will. Spring sixpence, say four shillings, and the brooch is yours, sir. What, you won’t ? W ell, : I’ve a good mind to give it away. But come, I can do better with you than that,. Short of money, are you ? That’s what’s the matter, is it ? Blessed if I didn’t fancy it might be so. Trade’s trade, says I, and money must be turned over somehow. What constitootes the prosperity of England ? Why, trade. Block thesources of trade, and you bust up, that’s what you do. Now, look here, this is a half-sovereign, this is, no nonsense about it, a genuine half-sovereign. I’m going to sell a lot of them at nine shillings apiece, just to put a little heart in you. Who’ll have the first ? What, you’re afraid, are you ? Now, sir, you look like a man with an account at your banker s ; just oblige me by examining that article.” The lounger addressed was a tall, dark-bearded man, attired in a shooting-jacket | and low-crowned hat, who, together with a companion, had been idly listening with | much apparent amusement to the voluble discourse of Mr. Turbottle. Thus appealed to he stepped forward and took the proffered half-sovereign, examined it carefully, and, with a laugh* said, “ Good enough for me — there’s your nine shillings.” “ Thank you, sir,” replied Mr. Turbottle, gracefully lifting his hat. “ It’s a com- fort to get some one to believe in one anyhow, in this here stiff-necked, incredulous city. Now, you scoffers, and scorners, you hear what the gentleman says. Who’s for I the next ? Here you are again, — a real, genuine half-sovereign for nine shillings. I’m i bound to sell if I can ; so let’s be quick and have done with ’em. You can’t expect me to waste time ovei a losing lot like this.” Here a country-looking fellow took heart and purchased a half-sovereign, amid con- siderable i#erest and misgiving amongst the crowd. But thi3, too, was perfectly genuine, and readily converted into ten shillings at an adjoining shop. The demand for half-sovereigns at nine shillings apiece waxed brisk, and Mr. Turbottle had no occasion to make use of his oratory in furtherance of his trade for the present, and in every instance did the purchased coin prove a veritable half-sovereign. But that worthy after disposing of a dozen on these terms, curtly announced that he j had no more. “Not my fault, gentlemen,” he exclaimed, “ I took all they had at the Bank of England ; but as the manager says, — says he to me, ‘ Mr. Turbottle,’ — which these are his words, — ‘ you know what Nottingham Goose Fair is — you know there’s nothing like it ia all England ; and there aint. Well, Mr. Turbottle, it draws us diy, — that’s wot it does, — and if there was any call in partickiar on the nation that week — well, Mr. Tnr- m ' % 16 Two Kisses. bottle, the nation would bust up, that’s what it would do, unless Nottingham came to the front, which in course we both know Nottingham alway has and al way will.’ ” As he uttered the above, he was busied about the packages in front of him, for he had descended from his elevation while disposing of the half-sovereigns. At last he had apparently got things to his satisfaction, for he once more jumped up on his bench and exclaimed : — “Now, my independent citizens, here you are again. Talk about buying half- sovereigns at nine shillings apiece, that aint good enough for you. It aint good enough for me , — shall I tell you why ? If I can’t make my fortune quick, I aint agoing to take twelve months to get ruined. That’s where it is. Sudden death, says I, and no dying by slow consumption. It’d take me a year or two to get through my prop- erty at that rate. Now you see this ? What is it ? Why, a toasting-fork, aint it 1 It s not a very good un, it aint a very bad un. Now, I’ll sell this for one shilling, neither more nor less. Too much, — wait a moment, and hear me out. Who says a shilling for the toasting-fork, and I’ll give the buyer half a crown for luck, and if that hurts you, you are sensitive. What, you’ll have it ? There you are, my dear, and if the fork aint all it should be, the half-crown ’ll make up for it.” The crowd flocked around the giggling, blushing countiy-girl who had purchased and once more were they nonplussed ; whatever you might think of the toasting-fork^ the half-crown was unmistakably as genuine as the half-sovereigns. Nobody was perhaps more amused at this new development of the game of humbugging your neighbors, than that black-bearded lounger, who had bought the first half-sovereign. A shrewd and rising London banister, Montague Gore, had come down to Notting- ham on professional business, and so found himself a spectator of the Goose Fair. “ Stay,” he exclaimed to his companion, who manifested signs of impatience. “ We have nothing to do now, you know, but enjoy the humors of the fair. It’s not often I get a holiday. I am curious to see how this clever scamp proposes to recoup himself One can’t suppose that he intends the crowd he has collected to go away scatheless. You’re no fisherman, Fox, or you would understand what ground-baiting a hole means. That is what this man is doing just now ; but, my life on it, he sticks the hook pretty sharply into some of their gills before he’s done with ’em.” “ Think the whole thing rather a bore myself,” replied Mr. Fox Brine ; “ most things are ; still I don’t know that witnessing that sleek little ruffian in grass-green, with the gold-banded hat, consummate his elaborate villany would weary me more than anything else. Stay! Certainly, by all means, if it interests you — always stay when anything does that. I can’t say I feel any curiosity about his fraudulent pro- ceedings (they’re sure to become fraudulent) at present ; but I may. Having bought that half-sovereign below its current value, he will probably appeal to you to bail him out, when the indignant public hand him over to the police. The present public, by the way, are likely, I should imagine, to pound him to a jelly, as soon as they discover bis of course ultimate intention of getting the best of them.” Nottingham Goose Fair. 11 “ Listen to him,” replied Gore ; “ look, lie puts up a frying-pan.” “ Here you are again, — a frying-pan that takes the change out of nature altogether — a pan, bless you, that multiplies the rasher you put into it. An article like this ♦wants no talking about. Going for one shilling. I’ll take neither more nor less, and I’ve a present for whoever buys it,” cried Mr. Turbottle. “ What is it ? Well, it’s not as heavy as the income tax, nor as light as most of your pockets. Who’ll have the frying-pan ? Thank you, sir, and there’s that invaluable article, and a bright new shilling to boot in exchange for your own dirty one. Here you are again ; quick, always go on when you’re in luck ; it’s real bargains I’m selling you. Go on ? — yes, I’m bosnd to go on ; who ever heard of any one pulling up on the road to ruin ? Dash it a. ! let me get it over. Here’s-half a-dozen plates; who takes them at a shilling, with faith in my generosity ? Now, don’t stop, thinking about it ; I’ll grow avaricious if I’m kept waiting.” Again was the stipulated shilling tendered, and this time Mr. Turbottle threw in a glass bottle, evidently quite worth the money. In a similar manner he disposed of some half-dozen more lots, but all manifestly to the buyer’s advantage considerably. The crowd gathered thicker and thicker round the bench from which such good things were distributed. “Bah!” exclaims Mr. Turbottle, at last; “getting monotonous, aint it? We’ll change the game, eh ? “ * Safe to win when I begin, Tommy Dodd ! Tommy Dodd I Glasses round, cigars as well ; Tommy Dodd ! Tommy Dodd ! “ * Now, my boys, we’ll ail go in, Tommy Dodd ! Tommy Dodd ! We’ll clean him out— -yes, just about; Hurrah for Tommy Dodd * tr It is impossible to describe the unction with which Mr. Turbottle trolled out this flash music-hall chorus to his hearers, or to express on paper the humorous wink he favored them with as he concluded it. “ Tommy Dodding again, my dears. Lor, wot a game it is ! Here’s the next invest- ment in the programme. Making your fortin aint accomplished by looking on, and I shan’t manage a ruining of myself if you don’t tumble up to buy quicker than you’ve been doing, you know. Here you are! What is it? Well, it’s a lucifer match ; and I don’t warrant it to go off unless you hold it to your sweetheart’s eyes, and then, if he’s true to you, rockets aint nothing to it. I’m going to sell sixty of these matches, invented by Professor Pelligrinismolensko, at sixpence a piece ; and I’ll give you a silver thimble in. No sale till I get sixty sixpences. Money returned if (8 Two Kisses. there aie only fifty-nine. Now, young ladies, this is your chance. If you can’t trust your sweethearts, don’t buy, that’s my advice to you. What’s a silver thimble com* pared to a sore heart ? Quite right, sir ; don’t let her buy one,” he suddenly exclaimed, pointedly addressing a rough-looking countryman, with a fresh, rosy- heeked girl clinging to him. “ My lucifers won’t go off at such eyes as yours ; hey’ve been wandering all round the fair.” A roar of laughter welcomed this little personality. It always does upon such iccasions, and is one of the usual tricks of these traders. “ I’m a good mind to breaak every boane in his body, Molly,” growled the assailed, with all the natural urbanity of the English agriculturist. “Hush, Tom, hush!” whispered the girl, nudging him. “I’m going to buy a match.” “ If thee does, thou’rt a fool,” replied her lover in a hoarse whisper. What will not woman dare in pursuit of such dangerous intelligence ? Despite her lover’s rough remonstrance, Molly, nothing doubting and curious, led the way. Both men and women swarmed up to follow her example. In less than ten minutes at least eighty people were walking away with a lucifer match and a small, elaborately done-up parcel, supposed to contain the silver thimble. The trade was brisk past con- ception, and, relaxing from his oratory, Mr. Turbottle gravely supplied his customers with matches. But, clear of the crush, Molly opened her parcels, as did many others, and it became manifest at once that these thimbles were of Brummagen manufacture, and with slight pretension to silver ; being, in good sooth, worth at the outside about a penny a piece. Then slowly but surely rose a murmur of wrath against the vendor, in which those who had profited by his previous sales joined quite as readily as those who were the victims of his last exposition of the interesting game of Tommy Dodd. Did they expect that the benevolent Turbottle was never to sell except at a dea d loss ? It seemed so. For cries of Sharper ! Robber ! Cheat ! commenced to be rife among the crowd. Still Turbottle seemed equal to the occasion. “ Come, my turbulent pippins,” cried that orator, once more mounting his bench, '* you mus’nt cry out before you’re hurt. If them thimbles aint silver, they’d deceive , the Prince of vVales himself, — which here’s long life to him ! IIow about the matches ? You can’t try ’em except in the dark. There’s no deception about them. Mark my words, you men who’s dissatisfied are afraid of your sweethearts’ lighting ’em, — that’s what you are. You can’t except to play Tommy Dodd always on your side, can you ? Here we are again. You’ve had your turn ; I’ve had mine. Now I’ll tell you what I’ll do with you.” “ And I’ll show you what I’ll do with you, mister,” growled an ominous voice fiom just below the speaker’s post of vantage. It w&s the cross-grained laborer, upon whom Mr. Turbottle had exercised his humor, Nottingham Goose Fair. 19 that spoke. He had a sullen, savage expression in his face that boded mischief. A common type of his class, excess of beer went through an established course of fer- mentation within him ; four distinct stages of intoxication invariably visible, the supply of malt not being cut off, the loquacious, the quarrelsome, the boisterous and jocular, and the maudlin. He had only attained the second phase of beer at present and consequently was in the mood to resent Mr. Turbottle’s jokes fiercely. Utterly %noring his sweetheart’s successful purchase of the toasting-fork, he deemed that the little disappointment concerning the silver thimble was due warrant for giving vent to his wrath ; and, despite Molly’s entreaties, had pushed his way back through the crowd for the express purpose of what he termed “ having a settlement with that green-coated chap.” “Nonsense, my man,” retorted Mr. Turbottle, loftily, “ if you go for bargains at public auctions, you gets ’em or you doesn’t, as is very well known. Your young woman anyways has no call to find fault. That’ll do, I ain’t going to have you coming up here.” But whether Mr. Turbottle was going to have it or not apparently did not rest with Mr. Turbottle. The countryman, with his heavy frame and brawny shoulders, was hardly to be kept at bay by the plump little pedier. Luckily help was at hand. “ Come on, Fox,” exclaimed Montague Gore. “ I won’t see our little friend put upon by that great hulking brute,” and he pushed his way rapidly towards the bench which formed Mr. Turbottle’s rostrum. “Where Don Quixote leads, I suppose Sancho Panza must follow,” replied Fox Brine, quietly. “How nice you’ll look in court with a black eye next Wednesday, philanthropically gathered, too, in preventing a cheap jack from receiving the due reward of his mendacity ! Push on ; when you sober people do make fools of vour- selves } r ou always go in a cracker, / have observed.” By the time they had worked their way through the crowd to the centre of action, it was evident that the countryman was not without supports, in vain did Mr. Turbottle appeal to the British spirit of fair play. Tlsre was an undeniable disposi- tion apparent to handle him foughlv and cap»ize his stand. It was useless for him to argue crmld net expect that there should be no blanks among the prizes ; that tney could hardly suppose he was always to be disposing of his wares at considerable sacrifice ; that he must have his little innings at the game of Tommy Dodd _as well as themselves. They did not see it, and they were not to be induced to see it. He had said he meant to ruin himself. Well, they would take care he should be for the present, pretty effectually. Nottingham affected not to understand chaff in his case, and repudiated all notion that his statements should be taken otherwise than en vtritt. It promised to go hard with Mr. Turbottle, when Montague Gore and his friend sud- denly appeared by that disconsolate trader’s side. “ Come, my men,” exclaimed Gore ; “ no violence. You’ve nothing to complain of. If he had the best of the la3t venture, you had the pull of those before.” so Two Kisses. “ Who be you, Fd loike to know ? ” retorted Tom, grimly, thrusting himself forward. “ I must trouble you, my clumsy friend, to mind where you are putting your hoofs,” observed Fox Brine, in his most nonchalant manner. “ I’ll be putting ’em on your faace, my foine fellow, if you doan’t quit that,” rejoined the countryman, fiercely. “ My good man, you’d really better go home. I shall be put to the trouble of knocking you down if you’re insolent, and the police will most likely take you up for creating a disturbance if you assault our little friend here.” All the savage instincts of the countryman’s nature were roused by Brine’s con- temptuous retort. He lowered his head and rushed in on his opponent like a bull. But Fox Brine had been an athletic in his university days, and had learned, among other diversions of that nature, to use his fists. The old training and his constitutional coolness stood him in good stead now. It all happened in a moment, but the country- man’s rush was stopped by a quick one, two, that threw his head up, and before he’d time to recover himself, what the fancy would designate as a neat upper cut caught him just under the chin, made his teeth rattle like a box of dominoes, and stretched him half senseless on the ground. The situation still looked awkward for Mr. Turbottle and his champions, but the mob hesitated as mobs always do on receiving a prompt repulse in the first instance. Before the redoubtable Tom was reinstated on his feet the police intervened, and that hero was given into custody by Fox Brine for assault. His followers disappeared with exceeding rapidity, and Mr. Turbottle and his allies were left masters of the field. “ A bad business, very,” exclaimed the little man, shaking his head! “ Confound it ! ” rejoined Montague Gore ; “ I don’t think you’ve much cause to complain. If it hadn’t been for my friend here, you were likely to have been in a parlous state before another five minutes had gone by.” “ Gentlemen, I thank you both much. If it hadn’t been for your interference, 1 don’t deny but it might have gone a little rough upon me. But you see my pitch is done for the day. I’ll sell nothing more here this afternoon, and I’d have done a deal in duffer brooches, car-rings, and so on, if it hadn’t been for this here unlucky mis- understanding, which it can’t be helped, anyway. They were rising, too, beautiful. All the salt had taken extraordinary well. Beg pardon, gents, but that’s what we call the bargains we always begin with.” “Well, come up to the ‘ George,’ and ask for me, as soon as you have packed up your traps ; there’s my card. You can start again in the evening, you know,” said Gore. “ That’s so,” responded Mr. Turbottle, blithely. “ I’ll look in and thank you kindly, gentlemen both.” “ Think our friend will turn out amusing in the social circle ? ” inquired Fox Brine, as they walked away. Mr. Turbottle's Story. 21 “ I can’t say, but I am curious to have a talk with him. As for you, Fox, who are always about to perpetrate a novel or a drama, you ought to regard him as a study. He may prove quite a valuable character for you.” Fox Brine made no reply. Gore’s remark exactly described him. A clever man, whom his friends were always expecting to do something ; but he had never done it. He had projected novels and plays without end ; but unfortunately he always stopped there. He never worked out these conceptions. He was always whispering promising plots, tremendc us tableaux, and striking situations, into the ears of his intimates ; but the eggs never got hatched somehow. It was said of him that he was a man of ideas, and that his nearest approach to becoming a veritable author had been the writing of a pi eface for a novel which he had never commenced. Possessed of just sufficient means to scramble along on as a bachelor in chambers, Fox Brine never could harden his heart and sit down really to work. Had he been a poorer man, he might perhaps have made his mark and achieved some success in literature. As it was, he had got no further than always intending to do so. There were times when he half believed that he really was doing something — when he got out sheets of paper and sketched out wondrous stories and plays. Then he would talk complacently to his friends of these, as things done, but they never were done ; never, indeed, got further than this. Still Fox Brine always considered himself affiliated to literature. Musing over his friend Gore’s last remark, he felt now quite prepared to accept Mr. Turbottle from an artistic point of view. CHAPTER IV. MR. TURBOTTLE’S STORY. Satiated with the humors of the Goose Fair, Gore and Fox Brine were whiling away an hour over a cigar in the George Hotel, preparatory to an early dinner, when Mr. TurbotUe was announced. The little man had evidently indulged in much brushing and ablution since the adventure cf the morning, and raised his gold-banded hat with a most jaunty air as he entered the room. There was something irresistibly comic in his appearance : in the bright-green coat, with its gilt buttons, in the rather high shirt-collar, in the twinkling black eyes, in his generally plump, jovial figure. You felt certain that if there was nothing particularly funny in what he said, there would be in his way of saying it. We have all seen this. We have all met noted causeurs , renowned for the humor of their story-telling. As a rule their stories have very little in them. It is the way iZ Two Kisses. they tell them It iu not till the neophyte narrates the tale he has learned from the® lips that you see how much it owed to the original teller. “ I have looked in, gentlemen both, agreeable to invitation. Mr. Gore, sir, allow me to thank you once more for interfering in my favor ; also the t'other gentleman, whose name I haven’t the pleasure of knowing, but who popped in in his right so handily at the critical moment.” “ Sit down, Mr. Turbottle, and have something to wash the dust out of your throat.” “ Thank-you, sir, thank you. Something cooling would be grateful. The ingrati- tude of the populace is still sticking in my gizzard. To think of their turning rusty over the match trick. The unruly passions of the multitude are always upsetting trade, which is the science of doing or being done by your neighbors. The great game of Tommy Dodd requires level temper on the part of all parties concerned.” “But,” rejoined Fox Brine, “it might occur to a gentleman of your powers of observation that the British public is wont to wax wroth when he finds himself done.” “ What business has the B. P. to do anything of the sort. They couldn’t suppose I was going to lose money by ’em all day,” retorted Mr. Turbottle, hotly ; “ I act strictly on principle. I sells ’em bargains to start with to establish a connection, and then I sells ’em precious hard bargains to make my living by afterwards. They needn’t buy unless they like — there’s their remedy. They aint no business to cut up lumpy cos they don’t always win, that’s what I say ; ” and the little man threw him self back in his chair with the air of a man who has propounded a regular clincher. “Were you always in your present line?” inquired Gore, much amused at his guest’s theory of trade. “ By the way, what do you call yourself ? ” Mr. Turbottle sat straight up in his chair, looked his interlocutor very direct in the face, like a man who felt that his statement might be challenged. “ I am a travelling merchant, sir, although the ribald multitude usually think fit to call me a ‘ Cheap Jack.’ That for the ribald multitude, as a rule,” continued the little man, snapping his fingers ; “ but they had me this morning, and no mistake.” It had struck Brine more than once that there was some incongruity in this man’s talk. Sometimes, though rather inflated, his language was so much better than at others. “But you were not always a — a — cheap — I mean travelling merchant, were you ? ” V “ No,” replied Mr. Turbottle, “ no, my noble gladiator, I wasn’t. I’ve tried a many trades in my time. I began life on this very circuit as a boother. But I suppose I hadn’t what they call histrionic talent, for I never rose veiy high in that profession. My manager paid me the compliment of sajdng, that nobody ever learnt his word? quicker or delivered them worse than I did. He said I hadn’t voice enough, but thought if I’d study up for the big drum, I’d make myself heard. Well, I thought • Mr Turbottle's Story. 28 pound a week for towelling the sheepskin wasn’t a big thing to look forward to; besides it spoils your carriage, you know, and I always went in for elegance in those days, so I told him that wasn’t good enough for me.” “ Might we inquire what did seem good enough in ) 7 our eyes ? ” asked Fox Brine, with just a touch of sarcasm in his tone. There was an angry flush on Mr. Turbottle’s face as he replied : — “ Yes, gentlemen, I don’t mind telling what my life’s been, unless I’m a -boring people.” If he hadn’t seen Brine develop in the morning that there was plenty of the real grit in him, the little man would have probably stopped short in his communicative* ness. Like most of his class, he had a perfect horror of being drawn out for the amusement of what he called a swell, when off his rostrum. There it was fair give and take. You drew him out then at your own risk, and required to be a past master of chaff to hold your own ; but here it was different. Montague Gore saw something of this, and at once interposed. “ Let me order another glass of that mixture for you, Mr. Turbottle, and then, if it isn’t asking too much of you, to tell us a little more of your adventurous career, you will be conferring a real favor on the pair of us.” Mr. Turbottle’s indignation was easily appeased, and having been supplied with a fresh jorum of his favorite beverage, he immediately continued : — “Well, gentlemen, when the big drum is the only thing put before you as a careeu selection is difficult. I went as assistant to a tobacconist in this veiy town. I knew as much of the business, at all events, as I did of the big drum. My master had two daughters, the elder, plain and practical ; the younger, a beauty, and frivolous. I fell in love with the younger, and she with a young artillery officer quartered here. She went off with him, and then the elder married me, because she chose to do so. I never did quite know how it came about, but she made a real good wife as long a3 she lived, poor soul. Here’s her health, anyway,” said the little man, plaintively, “ though she was a bit aggravating at times. But she kept me straight, gentlemen. She wouldn’t have no late hours, — not she. None of your ‘jolly companions every one,’ nor anything of that sort would she stand. Well, I went on Tommy Dodding in that line for some years, selling prime Havanas at fourpence, which I got from Liverpool for a penny, and did well. It’s a paying business, is the cigar trade, if you’ve got a connection ; and ours was not a bad un. Then Ike old man died, which he had got that contrarious of late years, it was getting time he took hisself off to something that suited him better, and about five years back, my old lady followed him. ‘ Timothy,’ says she to me, at the last, ‘ you’ll never get along in the cigar line without me ; you’d better give up the business and try something else.’ I took her advice, and did; but I think she was wrong, I’ve never settled to anything since. I’ve tried half-a-dozen trades, and have been for the last eighteen months in my present one.” Two Kisses . f * “ Thank 3 ou,” replied Gore. “ I suppose you always travel the circuit ? ” “ As a rule, yes, sir ; I’m as reg’lar as if I belonged to the Midland Bar. Warwick, Derby, Leeds, I’ve a tujn at ’em all at times. I’ve many a friends in this town, and only I missed m} r usual pitch, } T ou’d not nave seen ’em turn lumpy as they did this morning. They didn’t quite know me at that end of the market-place. Wish you good-da3 r , gentlemen.” entertainers rose and shook hands with him, a compliment at which the little man was much gratified, and with wishes expressed on both sides that they might meeWigain ere long, Mr. Turbottle and his hat, it really did seem a most important part of him, took their departure. “ Which is he, Monte,” asked Brine, as their guest’s steps died away in the distance, “ most knave or fool ? ” “ He’s certainly no fool, and in spite of his peculiar commercial ideas I don’t think he is a knave. He’s a rare study for you, my artistic friend. My belief is this, that though he would do you unscrupulously in the way of business — he has already told us 3 r ou must do or be done — you would otherwise find him a perfectly honest, con- scientious man. He struck me a3 one of the most singular combinations of shrewd- ness and simplicity I have ever met.” “ Did he ? I only wish he had interested me half as much. He merely struck me as one of the most loquacious, drinking old fools I ever came across.” “ No wonder you don’t get oh in your trade, Fox, if you can’t see material when you come across it.” It was rather unkind. It was piercing Brine in the most sensitive part of his cuticle to insinuate that he could overlook character in any shape ; then to mix up with it the self-evident truism that he had not got on in his profession. He un- doubtedly professed literature, and undoubtedly could point to no work satisfactorily achieved in that direction ; but did not every one know that he only did so in a dilettante way ? And 3 T et it was sometimes a sore subject with Fox Brine that he had done nothing. It was not that he had tried and failed — it was simply he had lacked energ)~ to try . The belief in himself had not as yet been knocked out of him, and our capabilities in literature we usually rate pretty high, till failure has convinced us that we are not quite the shining lights we once thought ourselves. “ I can quite agree wdth you, Montie,” he rejoined, lazily, at length, speaking indeed with more than usual deliberation, as self-contained men are apt to do, when their assailant’s arrow has hit the bull’s-eye. “He’s but a tj^pe of his class — no unusual one, I fancy.” ‘ But what an eccentric class it is for one thing ; you’re wrong about him, I suspect ior another; he’s not a common specimen. There’s a story behind what we have heard, I’d lay my life. If we could have ventured to inquire the fate of the runaway sister, for instance.” “He’d have known nothing,” returned Brine. “ Her history, probably, would be Mrs. Paynter at Home . 25 that of most young women who have run away with men socially above themselvfc? — bad to investigate.” “ You’ll never be a novelist, Fox, or a dramatist. You are wanting in imagination. I believe I could have been both if I had ever had time to go in for it.” “ Most people do ; and when they go in for it, they become aware that it’s not quite so easy a business as tliey-deemed it. The reviewers disabuse their souls of infatua- tion with small ceremony. Reviewing must be rather jolly,” continued Brine, medi- tatively ; “ you pitch in with no risk of being pitched into.” “ Pooh ! the critics do their duty to the best of their ability. They have a good deal of rubbish to adjudicate upon, and can do no less than say that they think it so.” “ Yes ; but when it happens to be your rubbish, you'd like to argue the point with them.” “ Of course,” replied Gore, laughing ; “ but I am afraid the public would not care to hear that argument. At all events editors don’t think they would. But here's dinner, and by the time we have finished it our train will be pretty well due.” “ Hum ! sole result of Nottingham Goose Fair, which, you villain, you swore was amusing, is that I have ascertained I have not quite lost the art of boxing. As well, perhaps, I met a most unscientific antagonist, or I might have been much less pleased with myself.” And, with this philosophical reflection, Mr. Fox Brine seated himself at table. CHAPTER Y. MBS. PAYNTER AT HOME. Mrs. Paynter was mistress of a very pretty house out by the Regent's park ; and there was no pleasanter lounge in all London, vowed those privileged of the entree. The hostess had a large and heterogeneous acquaintance. There were her husband’s city friends, who somehow never felt quite at their ease in her bright drawing-rooms ; there were her own rather Bohemian acquaintance, composed principally of artists, authors, two or three theatrical ladies, rising barristers, etc., but mostly people with something in them — with talent, if it was only that of making themselves disagreeable. Either man or woman who can do that has established a footing in society. Every one abuses them ; but then every one invites them for fear of the consequences of leaving them out. Then there were stray people whom Mrs. Paynter had picked up on the Continent, and in divers places. That lady repudiated exclusiveness, and was utterly indifferent as to what public opinion might murmur regarding her receptions. She numbered, too, a few of society’s creme de la crime on her visiting list — men princi pally, it must be admitted ; but these were rather proud of the entrie of Mrs. Paynter'a 26 Two Kisses. salon, and would often throw over very grand invitations indeed for one of Lizzie’* charade parties, little dinners down the river, or gay dances. She never gave balls , but what she airily denominated “just a valse or two on the carpet and supper,” was worth a dozen regular balls. It is the pleasantest time of the year in London, — the beginning of October; just a crackle of frost in the morning air, perhaps to be followed by bright sunshine and a crisp atmosphere ; much ozone in these early October days that quickens the blood in the veins, and makes the pulses tingle. Men are dropping back from the long vacation, bronzed and braced from moor and mountain; refreshed, regenerated from strand and stream. Hearty hand-grips are being exchanged in street and chambers, as the busy toilers of professional London once more put their necks to the collar. Mi’s. Paynter designates this the theatrical season. She is particularly fond of making up little cosey parties for an early dinner, and a box at the theatre afterwards — a quartette which her husband may join if he thinks fit, is Mrs. Paynter’s idea of seeing the drama. John Paynter thinks theatricals rather a bore, and seldom takes advantage of such opportunity. To get up anything like a dinner for the widow was, of course, preposterous ; her crape was a3 yet too deep to admit of her joining in such festivity. But just two cavaliers to take care of them to the Gayety, she surely couldn’t mind that. She could sit as far back in the box as she liked, and really she could have nothing but the proprieties to think about. It was quite impossible she could have had any regard for Mark Hemsworth ; and, at all events, there had been three months to get over such regrets as might have been. Mrs. Paynter, reflecting in this wise as she drove away from Hanover street, on arriving at her own house, thought she could do no better than scribble a couple of notes. The first came glibly enough, and was directed to Captain Detfield, of Her Majesty’s Guards. lie was her favored cavalier for the time being, and, as she knew he was in town, who shall say how much that fact had to do with the programme ohe was making out for Cissy Hemsworth’s delectation ? “ Now,” muttered Mrs. Paynter to herself, “ comes the difficulty. Who’s to be the other? As far as a dangler to flirt with for the night goes, there’s half a dozen I might write to, and they generally come when I send for them if they can ; but I should like to put a substantial admirer in her way at once if I could, — some one that would do for a husband if she subjugated him ; and if the way the men ran after her in Paris may be taken as a test, she’ll not want adorers here. Dear me, who shall I get ? There’s Mr. Brufflcs, — he’s awfully rich and awfully stupid ; but then Cissy can’t expect everything. No, he won’t do ; at all events for to-night. Charlie Det- field always makes such fun of him, and though he don’t see much, I think he does eee that. Old Sir Mannaduke Rivers, — dreadful old man ! — he’s on the look-out for a third wife ; — but I’m not sure he’s in town. Stop, I have it ! Montague Gore, if I can catch him, — he’s the man. He is really nice, and they say making over two thousand a year now, and his practice increasing every day ; not very impressible though/ Mrs. Paynter at Home. 27 mused Lizzie, with some recollection of haying signally failed upon one occasion t« entangle that gentleman in a flirtation, — a rebuif that she had always felt a little aggrieved about, although they still remained good friends ; but a woman never quite forgives a man for having been insensible to her fascinations, and Lizzie Paynter always felt she should be tempted to make another assault, if opportunity offered. Not that she was smitten with him, but he had declined to take advantage of the opening she had given him at a certain water-picnic a year ago, — instead of flirting with her he had been simply courteous and polite, — insensibly stupid, Mrs. Paynter called it. That lady had far too good an opinion of her personal attractions to believe a man could really refuse such a challenge from her, save on the score of great density, or want of savoir vivre . “ Yes, he will do. I suppose he always carries his musty old law business in his head, which accounts for his not comprehending us. I will write to him. ,, As Lizzie Paynter glides into her drawing-room to be in readiness to receive her guests, she certainly looks as if she had fair grounds for being wrathful with any man who might refuse to do homage to her charms. Tall and fair, with a lovely com- plexion, limpid blue eyes, and a very pretty mouth, she is decidedly a very attractive woman ; just at the age, too, when a woman is in the meridian of her beauty, and thoroughly understands making the veiy most of her personal advantages. With plenty to say for herself, and spirits that rarely flag, no wonder that Lizzie Paynter is popular. She is, undoubtedly, with men, and to a certain extent with her own sex, for she is good-natured. But then she has terrible piratical tendencies. She is much given to lure both husbands and lovers from then’ allegiance. She is coquette from the crown of her head to the rosettes on her slippers, and would flirt with an arch- bishop if placed next him at dinner. She never got hurt herself in all this irregular warfare. She could get so sweetly sentimental, and fancy, for the time being, that she was really deeply interested, — it was the main business of her life ; but she never lost her head, nor made the mistake of falling seriously in love. Her husband probably understood her ; at all events he was of a phlegmatic disposition, and took her escapades easily. Scrapes, of course, she now and then got into. Admirers would, occasionally, become too much in earnest, and that wa3 awkward. She was a clever woman in her way, and rather enjoyed a scene, perhaps, than otherwise, providing there were no spectators ; but then, as she would say, plaintively, “ Men will be so foolish sometimes, you know,” and occasionally she had gone so far as to be unable to recede without some difficulty. Lizzie is musing over her programme. She has had no answer from Montague Gore, which a little troubles her. True, the invitation was so short that she could scarcely expect one. She has not heard from Charlie Detfield ; but that doesn’t dis- compose her at all. She would have had a note ere this, had he been on Hey Majesty’s employ, — the only duty she allowed as excuse for failing in duty to herself* 28 Two Kisses. “But if Mr. Gore doesn’t come, it will be awkward. I shall have to make John come. One gentleman to two ladies is so eminently unsatisfactory. At this moment the door opened, and Cissy Hemsworth swept into the room, and Lizzie advanced to meet her. “ So very glad to see you, dear. You are to look upon this house as you taught me to regard yours in Paris the year before last, — one where I was always welcome, come when I would.” “ You are very kind to me,” replied Cissy, softly ; “ but then I knew you would be.” “This is my husband,” continued Mrs. Paynter, “and this, John, is the Mrs. Hemsworth, who I told you made Paris Elysium for me the last time I was there.” John Paynter welcomed the young widow in genuine hearty fashion. It was quite sufficient for him that anybody had been kind or even civil to his wife to insure that much at his hands, for, in his quiet, undemonstrative way, he was strongly attached to his vivacious partner. But Cissy had a further claim upon him. He knew that she was left unprotected, and also in indifferent circumstances, and that appealed irresistibly to a man of his generous, chivalrous nature. As a matter of course, Lizzie had taken this opportunity to run her guest over. How well she looks, and how beautifully she is dressed, she thought. I never could have imagined that widow’s weeds could be so becoming. I declare I think she never looked handsomer ; but here the thread of her meditations was severed by the announcement of Captain Detfield. Ten minutes’ desultory conversation, and then Mrs. Paynter announced that she would wait no longer for Mr. Gore. With a theatrical engagement afterwards it would be absurd, she said, to say nothing of having had no answer from him. “ Who’s the widow ? ” asked Charlie Detfield, as they ascended to the dining-room. “ Didn’t I tell you, sir, I had something to show you, and isn’t she worth looking at ? You’re only to admire, you know, not worship. You’ve quite enouglf to do in that way at present, recollect.” “Is it likely that I should forget ? Is it likely that I should admire any other woman in your presence ? ” whispered the guardsman, sentimentally. Mrs. Paynter looked at him for a moment, and, as they entered the dining-room, retorted : — “ Yes ; I think you’re quite capable of it.” Charlie Detfield laughed ; that scapegrace guardsman could take very fair care of himself. He was always engaged in a desperate flirtation with some woman or other ; perhaps rather harder hit than usual just now ; but the pair were not badly matched, though Lizzie Paynter was a cleverer practitioner in the art of philandering than any he had as yet encountered. “ I am going to carry you off to the Gayety Theatre, Cissy, as soon as dinner is over. You won’t mind, will you ? ” “No; I shall be only too glad. I find my own rooms so dreadfully lonely in the Mrs. Paynter at Ifome. 29 evening. It is a great change, you know, from my old life. I suppose it is very stupid of me ; but I have been so used to s&ing lots of people. that I can’t help feeling it. I don’t get on well by myself, Lizzie. Shocking, isn’t®lf, Mr. Paynter, that a woman should have to acknowledge nerself so # destitute of resources ? ” “Well, of course, it must come hard upon you at first, Mrs. Hemsworth,” returned her host ; “ you will soon get used to it.” ® “Not she, you dear, stupid old John,” thought Mrs. Paynter. “Don’t seem to try, either.”^ “I am afraid not,” rejoined Cissy, quietly. “ I have had people amuse me all my life. I make a very bad hand of amusing myself.” “Don’t think so badly of London as all that, Mrs. Plemsworth” (he had got the name now), interposed the guardsman, laughing. “ There are plenty of us will only be too happy to try our utmost in that respect. Only wait till you know us, and you will have no cause to complain.” Cissy smiled, and a very sweet smile i£ was. She was one of those women who do great execution ip silence. “Really, Captain Detfield, I must protest,” cried Mrs. Paynter, laughing. “I know the chivalry of your nature invariably prompts you to succor the afflicted ; but, sir, your sole mission has been to amuse me, of late,” and, continued Lizzie, with a little moue , “ I can hardly give you a character for being successful.” “ I suppose not ; anxiety to succeed always mars our most strenuous efforts. The more we try, the more we don’t do it. Whenever we are very keen to win, we always lose; — moral, nil admirari ; — but then, Mrs. Paynter, you should not make such a point of always upsetting it.” “ Very pretty ; how often, pray, have you said that to us before ? But it’s time to start. You will come with us, John ? ” “Yes, of course,” returned Mr. Paynter, recognizing and responding to the matrimonial signal ; “ I’ll ring for the carnage at once.” “ Ah ! that’s good of yoii. We really, Cissy, could hardly trust Captain Detfield to entertain the two of us between the acts.” “ I am sure Captain Detfield would take excellent care of us,” replied Mrs. Hems* worth, “ but I don’t think we could do without Mr. Paynter, also. You will be sure to enjoy it.” Very considerable misgivings on that point had good-humored John Paynter, but ne was loyal as an Arab to the laws of bread and salt, and little likely to let Cissy Hemsworth want a cavalier, even had he not received his wife’s hint. Half an hour more, and they were all at the Gayety, listening to the pretty music, and laughing at the fun of the Princess of Trebizonde. Mrs. Paynter was carrying on an apparently deeply interesting conversation with Charlie Detfield ; Cissy gazing, with a smile on her face, at the business of the stage, whij© John Paynter, at the back of the box, was alternately pinching himself to keej 30 Two Kisses. awake, and stifling a most irordinate craving for tobacco, when the door of the box quietly opened, and Montague Gore, stepping in, greeted his hostess that should have been, and apologized for not having joined her party sooner, on the grounds that he did not receive her note till too late to allow of his doing so. Mrs. Paynter received his excuses graciously, and then said, “ Cissy, let me intro- duce you to Mr. Gore.” “ Mr. Gore and I are old friends, if he will allow me to call him so,” replied Cissy, as she extended her hand. “ If it had not been for his unwearied kindness a short time back, I don’t know what would have become of me.” “ Good gracious ! Mrs. Hemsworth! ” exclaimed the barrister. “ I little dreamt of meeting you to-night.” “ Here, take my place, Gore,” murmured John Paynter. “ It’s just charity, for I'm froze for a cigar ; ” and, vacating his seat, he slipped out of the box. “ And he was your barrister, was he, Cissy ? ” thought Mrs. Paynter, smiling. 4< Ah ! my dear, it’s a great relief to me to have come to the * him ’ at last. Now, unless you have that mysterious other that I have always dimly suspected in the far background, you two would suit admirably. You should reward the knight that rescued beauty in her difficulties with your fair, but penniless hand. Those dragons of the early ages, I suspect, were only metaphorical representations of the relentless ci editors of the nineteenth century.” “ Tell me, Captain Detfield, don’t you think the ogre of our childhood typical of the money-lender, the hydra of the ancients, their mythical idea of compound interest ? I have heard it said you should be a judge of such things.” Charlie started ; there wa3 a bitterness in his companion’s tones, such as he had never heard before. Again, although his pecuniary difficulties were no secret among his intimates, yet he was immensely surprised to hear them thus hinted at by Mrs. Paynter. There are troubles men do not confide to the women they love, unless they are tlieir wives. Money troubles are of this nature. “ I don’t know,” he said, after a slight pause, “ who has been good enough to tell you that I am to some extent involved. If it was a man, he’s a fool, and a mischievous one ; but I won’t pretend to you that it i3 not the case. Yes, Mrs. Paynter, compound interest is very like consumption : a complaint that a man don’t often get the better of. “ Poor Charlie ; I’m so sorry to hear that it is true,” murmured the lady, softly. “ It’s well worth being in the toils to hear you say so,” herejoined, in a low whisper. “ Hush ! I want to hear this,” replied Lizzie ; and, having flashed a quick, responsive glance up into his face, she turned towards the stage. “ And so you are in London, Mrs. Hemsworth ; for how long ? ” inquired Gore. “ 1 don’t know,” returned Cissy. “ I never did know, you remember, anything about my own affairs. But I am settled in Hanover street for some little time now, where,” she continued, looking gravely up at him, “ if you will come and see me, I mil try to thank you properly for all yor have done for me, A very modest estab Mrs. Paynter at Home . 3] fishment indeed. You understand, none better, that I can afford no other now, — only lodgings. It is a change after being used to a big house of one’s own,’ she con- cluded, plaintively. “You know, Mrs. Hemsworth, nobody could be more sincerely sony for you than myself.” “ I know,” replied Cissy, “that no one took half the pains to assist me that you did. There were many old friends who professed much sorrow for the tribulation I was in, but the only person who came to my succor was a comparative stranger, — yourself. I am never likely to forget that.” “ You give me more credit than I deserve,” replied Gore, quietly. “ I happened to be a man of business. Your friends probably were not.” “ Oh, yes, plenty of them were. I think, you know,” she continued, slowly, “ that they thought I was not worth helping, — that I should never entertain them again. What did it matter what became of me ? I know I am not clever ; but I fancy society don’t care about you when you are in trouble.” “ We won’t discuss that, Mrs. Hemsworth ; but I did want to know where you were.” Cissy raised her eyes and looked at him. “ Yes,” he continued, rapidly, “ I have got a clue ; it is a mere thread as yet, and I don’t know what may come of it. I have an idea ; a wild idea, perhaps I had better call it, — but still an idea that there is some property belonging to you in this country. I can’t say how much. I can’t guess as yet how much, — big or little, I can’t say, — but still something. I shall work it out though, if you will give me authority to do so. It was that I wanted from you. You can trust me, can you not ? ” Cissy extended her hand ; and, as he clasped it, replied : — “ Thoroughly. Come and see me, and you shall have full credentials.” “It’s just over,” exclaimed Mrs. Paynter. “Let us get away before the crush comes. Would you go and look for the carriage, Captain Detfield, please ? And John, he’s betaken himself to a cigar, I know.” But, at this moment, Mr. Paynter re-entered the box, and announced that he had already accomplished that eirand. “ Then the sooner we depart the better,” exclaimed Mrs. Paynter, as she took the guardsman’s arm. “We will put you down, Cissy, on our way.” “Good-night, Mr. Gore, and don’t forget your promise,” said Cissy, once more extending her little hand, as she stepped into the brougham. Montague Gore stood for a moment looking after the receding carriage, but hi meditations were speedily interrupted by Charlie Detfield, who, having lit a cigar, suggested they should adjourn to the “ Aluminium ” for a quiet smoke. 3 Two JCtSMS , as CHAPTER VI. THE MAJOR’S BUSINESS. Major Claxby Jenkens had offices in John street, Adelphi, though what busmen* it was that the major earned on in those two dingy, barely-furnished rooms, w T as still a mystery to those who had puzzled their brains concerning it. The major’s business hours were not of long duration. He arrived every morning at twelve punctually, and left between three and four. His clients, though not numerous, w r ere usually young and well-dressed, and although, as may be supposed, principally of the male sex, were not so altogether. Trailing robes of silk and satin had swept those stairs ere this, in their anxiety to persuade the major to do his duty towards his neighbor. Claxby Jenkens was a tolerably well-known man upon town, and yet nobody ever felt very sure that they knew anything about Claxby Jenkens. He was of somewhat doubtful status in society. He belonged to two or three tolerable clubs, but nobody could tell you anything about his early career. He called himself late of the Indian army ; but it was curious that no old Indian officer ever could remember meeting him. Colonel Prawn, late of the Bombay Fusileers, whom the major had offended past for- giveness by selling him one evening at pool, declared : — 44 By G — d, sir ! the d fellow never was in the service at all ! ” General Hamrice, whom the major had handled rather severely at icarti , stated as his opinion : — 44 Jenkens — yes, sir — oh yes, he was in the service ; but he’s a long-headed fellow, Jenkens, — he found he wasn’t getting on, so he left ; and as the Horse Guards had neglected to promote him, Gad, sir ! he didn’t bother them, but just gazetted himself. Indian service, — no, no, that won’t do. Why, Prawn there will tell you that he doesn’t know the difference between a bungalow and Bangalore.” Still, when the major took a turn in the park of an afternoon (he was seldom seen there in the morning) , there were plenty of men, well known in the fashionable world, who nofded to him, and occasionally a lady bowed. He was not a man that you would expect to find at balls, routs, the opera, etc., but he turned up at mixed dinner- parties sometimes. On these occasions he usually contented himself with a double gold-rimmed eyeglass, in lieu of spectacles, and seemed to be perfectly able to get along with that. The major’s clients rarely alluded to their connection with him. They made no pretence of knowing what his business was. If you had asked them, they would probably have answered you in this wise : — “ Oh, he’s a doosid good fellow, you know, old Claxby Jenkens. What does he do ? The Major's Business. 33 Blessed if I know. Whether he deals in flax or fluids, I haven’t an idea. I went to him upon quite another matter altogether.” The major usually described himself as a general dealer, who bought upon com- missic n. What did he buy ? Anything ? Perhaps he might ; still you never came across any one who had employed Claxby Jenkens very much in that way. True, here and there he had conducted a negotiation for the purchase of a house, a pair of carriage-horses, etc. ; yet he hardly did sufficient in that way to warrant his regular attendance at his office. But it was whispered among the impecunious of the fashion- able world that Major Jenkens was the man of all others who could put you in the way of raising money at short notice ; not that he was a money-lender, — nothing of the sort. Young men who had gone to him with that idea had often descended those dirty stairs in John street quite overwhelmed with the major’s virtuous indigna- tion at their hinting such a thing. Neophytes these, who usually came back when they had learnt their lesson better. Claxby Jenkens didn’t lend money; but if you were worth, or likely to be worth anything, he could and would introduce you to those who did. The major, in short, was simply an agent to some of the leading money-lenders, and received a handsome bonus for every introduction he furnished. Living muck in the world, and an astute man to boot, he knew pretty well those who were likely to prove profitable to hi3 employers, — those who were not worth wasting powder and shot over. The bill-discounters placed immense confidence in him. It was seldom that he estimated a borrower at his wrong value. The secret was well kept, and of the many who passed through his hands, there were few suspected that he had any interest in, or made profit out of, their necessities. To those who came to him properly tutored, he was quite fatherly in his advice. “ My dear boy,” he would say, “ do without it if you can, — ask your own people for it, — anything. When you once pay over five per cent, for money, it’s only a matter of time. You’re bound to be broke.” But of course the major knew they couldn’t do without it, and that they could not ask “ their own people ” for it, or they would not have been in John street ; so, finally he furnished them with the address of one of his employers, and felt tranquilly that he had done his duty towards his neighbor and himself. To older and more hardened offenders the major naturally took a different tone. “ Sorry to hear you want it,” he would say, “ but it’s no use preaching. I should think you would find Simeon Levi, in Gray’s inn, as reasonable as any one, and he’d most likely accommodate you; but his price is ruinous, of course. They all are. I found them so to my cost, years ago ; and I don’t suppose you will fare better than I did.” The major, too, had other ways of working out his nefarious livelihood. In spite of his gentlemanly exterior and courteous address, there was no more unscrupulous scoundrel in all London, tad yet this man passed as a gentleman in society. Those 4 Two Kisses . within his power naturally made no protest. The secret of his inner life was we3 kept, and though the Colonel Prawns and General Hamrices of this world might murmur against him, and speak dubiously of his military career, yet he held his own bravely. Little did those gentlemen think how veiy much even their estimate of Major Claxby Jenkens was above the reality. It is always curious to reflect upon in club life how utterly ignorant we are of the real history of those w r ith whom w r e associate. The man w r hom you chat with, dine with, smoke with, and who generally forestalls you in the rush for the evening papers, may be miserably impecunious, and living in an adjoining garret, or he may be revelling in a luxurious house and table, with forgery as a profession. We dc have an explosion every now and then, which floods the journals ; but there are a good many surprises, the story of which is only whispered with bated breath in those conventual establishments. The major is sitting at his desk wrapped in a brown study. A pile of letters lies beside him, for his correspondence is usually both voluminous and varied. One is spread opened before him, and it is that, apparently, which has plunged him ink) such deep reverie “Dear Jenks,” — it ran, — “have been away to St. Petersburg on a private errand the last four months — only got back here the night before last. The news is probably stale to you ; but as you asked me always to let you know anything about the Hems- worths, at the risk of repetition I send it. I suppose you know M. II. died three months ago or more. I always told you he over-speculated. I was right ; he did, and his widow is left penniless. What you may not know, is that she suddenly left Paris, and has gone nobody knows where. What do you think of Peruvians your side of the channel ? and what, you old fox, would you discount the Prince Imperial’s prospects at ? He’ll be worth backing before the Septennate is out. Tniers will hardly witness that, though some people vow it wont require to live very long to see the finish of it. Rouher will be the best man when the scramble comes, and that, of course, means the empire again. Bien I we financiers never made money as quick as under Louis Napoleon, so I say Vive V Empereur l As for the Orleanists, they com- mitted political suicide when they made up a quarrel of forty odd years standing with the elder branch. How Monsieur le Comte de Chambord could ever have been consi tered a political fact puzzles extremely, “ Yours sincerely, “ Adolphe Rather. “ Paris, October 6, 1874.” The major twisted and twirled this epistle between his restless fingers. It so hap- pened the intelligence of Mark Hemsworth’s death was news to him. It had never been copied into the English papers. Why should it ? Mark Hemsworth, though ai The Major's Business. 85 Englishman by birth, had been long resident in Paris. If he had relatives in his own country, he had utterly ceased to hold any communication with them. He had been of the Bourse of Paris for many years, so thoroughly identified with the French Stock Exchange that his nationality would hardly occur to the journalists. At all events, his decease had occasioned no comment in the English papers. There had been no scandal connected with his death, — nothing to make it worth the notice of the correspondents of the “ Times,” Telegraph,” “ Standard,” etc., to call' attention to. No wonder the major, like Mrs. Paynter, had npver heard of it; and yet Claxby Jenkens had an interest in knowing how it fared with Mark Hemsworth and his wife. “ Poor child ! ” he murmured, “ I wonder where she is. I did it for the best, and yet she must want help now ; ” and this battered, hardened old marauder dropped his head upon his hands, and, if he did not actually weep, exhibited signs of genuine emotion, such as would have shaken the confidence of his employers sadly. Indul- gence in emotion is quite incompatible with the profession of money-lending. “ She must be found,” he muttered, at length. “ I will write to Kayner. If she is still in Paris, and she may be, he won’t be long before he knows where. The police there keep a more stringent eye on people’s movements than we do, and Madame Hemsworth was too well known to disappear easily. If she has left — well, even then they may have a clue as to where she left for. Penniless ? I am not so sure of that. I think not, if I could but find her. There’s another man, too, I shall have to hunt up about this business ; but he ought not to be difficult to put my hand on. Well, now for the rest of them,” he continued, turning towards his letters once more. “ Hum ! 1 Will call in at twelve. Yours truyl, Charlie Detfield.’ But Detfield must know that he has got to the end of his tether, and that the money-lenders 'will have no more of him. Of course he seeks to prolong the agony — they all do, just as a man who can’t swim struggles when drowning is inevitable. What’s this ? ” “ Dear Jenkens : — I’ve a young lady to dispose of, good looking, and with a tidy bit of money, say thirty thousand pounds or so. She has just made her courtesy to society. Her lamented fathey made his fortune in cheese, and she is living with two maiden aunts at Islington. As her guardian, I think the sooner she is married the better. With a little coaching, she would be quite presentable at the West in no time, for she’s a quick, clever girl. If you’ve an impoverished swell on hand, we might make up an eligible match. She finds the money ; he posHion, Drop me a line. « Yours, “ James Koxby “ 16 Fenchurch street.” “ Now,” mused the major, “ if ever two letters fitted in beautifully, it’s these. If Charlie Detfield, when he comes here, is not prepared to take up the bills he has out* 86 Two Kisses. instead of wishing to do others, I shall put this strenuously before him. Why, IPa the very thing for him, and in his own interest as well as mine ; I shall give Simmonds a hint to put on the screw if he pleases. It’d put him straight, put her into society and put something very comfortable into Roxby’s pocket, and mine, no doubt. Under such circumstances, we can’t have any nonsense about feelings, etc., and if he ha3 any other att^hment, unless it’s a very satisfactory one, well, he must just swallow it at once, and have done with it. He’s too deeply dipped to indulge in sentiment. Matrimony with him must mean money, and the latter he must come by pretty quickly. His prospects of marriage won’t improve by having to leave the Guards.” Suddenly his clerk glided into the room with u Gentlemen to see you, sir,” and placed in his hand the card of the subject of his meditations. “ Show him in,” replied the major, throwing himself back in his chair, and beginning rapidly to run over in his mind the arguments he intended urging. “ How are you, Jenkens ? ” said the guardsman, as he entered the room, with a nonchalance sadly suggestive of its being neither his first visit, nor the doing of his first bill. “ Good-morning, Captain Detfield; charmed to see you. You’ve come, I suppose, about those horses of Packenham’s ; there’s one would suit you well, perfect hack, and can jump a bit besides.” The major kept up the fiction of being a general commission agent, with wonderful pertinacity, and unless you humored him in this particular you were little likely to get anything else out of him. But Detfield understood this thoroughly, and replied as if the acquirement of that identical hack was the sole thing wanting to complete his happiness. “ Just what I wanted to talk to you about; only two questions. Is it sound in its wind ? Would he look at a hundred guineas ? ” “ Sound as a bell, I believe ; but I think he’d want a trifle more than that.” “ I was afraid so ; it’s beyond my figure, then, for the times are hard, and, in my profession, we can’t indulge in the luxury of strikes, although the pay of the British officer has remained stationary for hard on to a century, and the agricultural laborers’ grievances are nothing to ours.” “ Never mind — it is sufficient that I know you want a hack ; there are plenty more horses than Packenham’s. I undertake to find you a hack before the month is out, that shall suit in every respect ; including price.” “ Thanks; and now by the way, Jenkens, do you think Simmonds would be good fur another three hundred ? I must have it, and it’s better not to break fresh ground if one can help it.” The major put on his spectacles with great deliberation, lnd then commenced stabbing his desk slowly with a small penknife. The Major's Business. 37 “ Excuse me, Captain Detfield,” he said at length, “ but what do you suppose will be the end of this ? ” The young man’s face flushed, and he drew his breath hard before he replied : — “ What’s to be the end of it, major ? Well, unless I’ve a turn at Newmarket, I suppose a pretty general smash will be the end of it. I shall have to realize the commission, and leave the dear old corps.” “ Well, why don’t you pull up ? ” inquired the major, as innocently as if in ignorance of the “ why.” “ Pooh ! you know all about it. I’m going down hill with no skid on, and there’s no stopping the coach then till you get to the bottom.” “ But if a way was pointed out to you of escaping all this,” observed the major, impaling a small wafer-box with his penknife. “ I’d say I’d come across a conjuror,” interposed Charlie Detfield, quickly. ‘‘Well, I don’t claim to be that,” replied the major, smiling. “But did it never occur to you to mend your fortunes by matrimony ? f Why don’t you marry ? ” “ What, a pot of money ? ” said Charlie, after a short pause. “ No, I don’t think that would do,” he continued slowly, as his thoughts reverted to the object of his present infatuation. “ Why shouldn’t it ? A man in your position has lots of opportunities.” “You mistake there. If you mean that I know plenty of girls with money, you arc right ; but if you think the authorities would allow them to marry a penniless devil like' myself, you’re pretty considerably out. I can’t say I ever thought about it. It never occurred to me to get out ot the wood in that way ; but I do know that it’s none so easy, even if I cared to try.” “But,” retorted the major, “ supposing I could introduce you to a nice girl, with a very pretty fortune ; would you try then ? ” “Hum! I can’t say,” answered Charlie, slowly. “I don’t quite like the idea. It’s rather mean, marrying a girl for her money.” “ It’s done every day, and you would give something on your side to balance it, — position.” “She’s easily contented, if she thinks being wife to a subaltern in the Guards position,” laughed Charlie. “ But it would be to her,” exclaimed the major, quickly. “ Your connections are good ; your people of good status in society.” “ Bather sounds as if she and her belongings were very much the reverse,” observed Detfield, dryly. “Just so; you don’t expect to get everything for nothing. If her people made their money in trade, what has that to do with it ? Everybody is going in for trade nowadays, or business, as they prefer to term it. Same thing, only it sounds bettei in conversation. What do you say to it ? ” Two Kisses. M I don’t know. Of course, I couldn’t say anything- till I had seen the young lady, at all events. But on the whole, I think I’d rather not have anything to do with it.” The major said nothing, but continued lazily to stab his desk with his penknife, though ever and anon he shot a keen glance at Detfield from under his spectacles. . “Well, do you think I had better try Simmonds again, or not ? ” inquired Charlie, after a pause of some seconds. “ Certainly, try him ; but unless you can point to some forthcoming improvement in your prospects, I think he’s likely to turn rusty — ” “ And unaccommodating, eh ? Well, it will be a bore that, because I must have the money somehow.” 44 Why not think over what I’ve been saying to you ? ” “ Because I don’t fancy it a bit. No ; if I’m to go a mucker, as I suppose I am, I’ll not get out of it that way,” said Charlie, rising. “ Good-by ; ” and having shook hands with the major, Detfield took his departure. Claxby Jenkens stabbed his desk somewhat viciously, as the door closed on his visitor. “ Young idiot ! ” he muttered. “ Salvation is offered him, and he literally turns up his nose at it. I suppose there’s a woman in the case. I must find out who she is for one thing, and recommend Simmonds to be tolerably hard on him, for another. When he finds the screw put on, he’ll be more amenable to reason. The idea of the young fool not actually jumping at such a chance as I placed before him ! Well, I suppose at five-and-twenty we haven’t as yet learned what is best for us. But I’m going to be a good friend to you, Charlie Detfield, whether you will cr no, and for Hie best of all possible reasons, that my interest requires me to be so.” *0^00 CHAPTER VII. HE MUST MARRY MONEY. 44 1 really can’t make up my mind about her,” mused Mrs. Paynter, as she sat dawdling over her tea and toast, a few days after her visit to the Gayety Theatre. “John says she’s charming, and took the earliest opportunity of going off for a cigar; but then John always does that. It was odd that Montague Gore should turn out to be the man who came to her assistance in Paris. Well, that’s a great point in her favor. She’s intimate with him to start with. I thought it might do before ; I am sure it would now. And how beautifully she carried it off last night ! IIow inno- cently she asked him to come and see her! Upon my word, I don’t know at this minute whether she’s the deepest woman I ever met, or next door to a fool. She fpeaks with a confidence about her future that can only be the result of intense re) .ance 39 He Must Marry Money. on her own capabilities, or utter ignorance of the world. Surely she’s lived too much in it to be the latter. Yet there are few women, who, brought up ir luxury, on finding them- selves thrown pretty well friendless upon their own resources — for what is a thousand pounds ? — who wouldn’t blench at the prospect. And yet she does not. Poor Charlie, too ; if all I hear’s true, his circumstances are getting desperate. I don’t quite care about him to the extent he thinks, but I’m fond of him in my way, and am very sorry to discover that he’s in the hands of the Philistines. Oh, dear ! I don’t know how it is, but it’s one’s pleasantest acquaintance that come to grief always. Bah ! ” she exclaimed, with a little grimace, “ there are a good many people I know, who I’d insure from trouble on those very grounds.” At that instant a servant entered the room, and, presenting a visiting card on a salver, said: — “ The gentleman begs to know if you can see him, madam, for a few minutes.” " ‘ Major Claxby Jenkens.’ I never heard of him in my life. Never mind ; show him up, William.” The major was not the man to let the grass grow under his feet when he had once decided upon anything. He had determined that Charlie Detfield should marry this Islington heiress, and at once set to work to see how it was to be brought about. It was not difficult for a man like the major to find out, in the course of a couple of days, a good deal about Detfi eld’s life and habits. He was not long before he heard that Charlie was at present epris with that pretty Mrs. Pavnter, over whom society was habituated to sigh and shake its head a good deal. The major knew Mrs. Paynter perfectly by sight, though he had never taken any veiy great notice of her so far ; but the major knew a wonderful lot of people in this fashion, and could have written slight biographical sketches of many of them besides. It does not follow that he had any wish to make their acquaintance ; still he did quite consider it part of his business to know everybody about town by sight, and to know as much more about them as he could manage to pick up. Pie thought he could form a pretty correct estimate of Mrs. Paynter, and he conceived the bold design of enlisting her as an ally in his scheme. At all events, he resolved to call upon her ; how far he should take her into his confidence, circumstances must decide. Lizzie gazed a little curiously at her visitor, as she motioned him to a seat, — a neatty-dressed, gentlemanly-looking man, hair somewhat shot with gray, and wearing gold-rimmed spectacles. “ Mrs. Paynter will, I trust, excuse the liberty I have taken, but I have come to solicit her influence in a scheme that I have strongly at heart.” The major paused to give Lizzie an opportunity of reply. u Let her say anything,” he thought ; “ it will pave the way, at all events, and give me some notion if I am right in my ideas about her.” But Mrs. Paynter only bowed her head slightly, in a manner which distinctly indicated that he should proceed. 40 Two Kisses. “ I am given to understand that Captain Detfield is a friend of yours,” observed the major, at length. “ May I go so far as to say, an intimate friend of yours ? ” Though much astonished, Lizzie had lived too much in the world not to be able to repress any sign of such astonishment. She replied, quietly : — “ Yes, I know Captain Detfield very well ; intimately, if you like.” “ May I ask if you are aware that his affairs are extremely involved ? ” “ I have heard something of the kind, but you can scarcely suppose Captain Deb- field would make me his confidante in matters of that sort,” retorted Lizzie, a little sharply. “ No, perhaps not. I am also told that you have considerable influence with Cap- tain Detfield.” “ Whoever your informant may be, sir, it strikes me that he has been taking most unwarrantable liberties with my name,” exclaimed Lizzie, indignantly. “I know Captain Detfield, as I know many other people in society, veiy well. But I have nothing to do with Captain Detfield’s affairs, and I am sure he would be the first person to tell you so.” “ Captain Detfield is veiy foolish as regards his own interests, and will not listen to the advice of his friends,” said the major, slowly. “ Really, I can see no use in this discussion.* I have nothing to say to Captain Detfield’s private affairs. I have neither right nor inclination to interfere in them,” replied Lizzie, settling herself with considerable demonstration in her chair. The major quietly took the hint and rose ; he had not expected that it would be all ^asy sailing at this first interview. “I can only apologize for this intrusion,” he said. “ You speak, Mrs. Paynter, as the friends of a man in difficulties generally do speak. They are always very punc- tilious about their right to interfere.” The blood rushed into Lizzie’s face at the taunt, and her eyes sparkled. Coquette she might be, she was not the woman to turn away from a friend in need. “Stop, sir! Are you aware that I am neither relation nor connection of Captain Detfield ? ” “ Perfectly,” returned the major. “ And you ! May I ask if you are a friend of his ? ” “ The most practical one he happens to have just now, though perhaps he would not admit it.” “ And what on earth is it you suppose that I could do to assist him ? ” “ You could give what he needs much just now, — good advice,” replied the major, as he resumed his seat. “ He might listen to you, although he won’t to me.” “ This is getting interesting,” thought Lizzie. “ I don’t think I ever set up in this line before. Giving good advice to an admirer is quite a new sensation.” “ And what, pray, may I ask is it that you want me to recommend to him ? ” “ To marry,’ returned the major, tersely. On the Verge. 41 " Good gracious, whom ? ” exclaimed Mrs. Paynter, fairly surprised oat of her usual sang-froid . “ Who is she ? Whom do you want him to many ? ” “ That, madam, I shall have the honor to explain to you a little later, if you will allow me. At present, I only wish you to, if possible, persuade Captain Detfield that the only way out of his present difficulties, the only way to avert the ruin that so speedily threatens him, is to marry money . It will be my business to find him a bride.” “ I won’t move a step in the business till I know who she is. I won’t say a word on the subject till I have seen the lady,’’ retorted Mrs. Paynter, quickly. “I never thought of it before, but I dare say I could find a wife for him easily enough.” “ If Mrs. Paynter will undertake the mission of finding a wife for Captain Detfield with thirty thousand pounds, then I need trouble myself no further,” said the major, rising. “ No, I don’t know, I don’t altogether say that. I won’t promise to do anything.” “ But you will think over what I have said, Mrs. Paynter. Bemember, I only wish to pull Detfield through his difficulties, and I see nothing for him but to marry money , and that right soon. If you can manage this for him, well and good. If not, would it be too much to ask you to let me know ? You have my card and address.” “ I will think over it, and you shall hear from me when I’ve made up my mind,” replied Lizzie. “ I have the honor, then, to wish you good-morning, and success in your charitable endeavors,” replied the latter, as, with a low reverence, he left the room. “Well,” said Mrs. Paynter, throwing herself back in a chair, “ this really is quite a new experience. The idea of looking out a wife for one of one’s own peculiar properties. If anybody but that cool, clever, audacious gentleman, who has just left, had proposed such a thing to me, I don’t think he would have forgot it in a hurry. I wonder how he came to know about my intimacy with Charlie. Not that there’s anything I need fret about in that, but he evidently doe3 know Charlie is a favored adorer. Now, as he is not in the least in my set, how did he come by that knowledge ? I feel just a little afraid of a man who possesses so much information about one. Who is he, — this Major Claxby Jenkens ? I must ask Charlie that, and I wonder what he will say when I do.” CHAPTEB VTEl. ON THE VERGE. Montague Gore has paid more than one visit to Hanover street since he encoun tered Cissy Hemsworth at the “ Gayety.” A cool, shrewd hamster, and generally immersed in business, he is little given to sentiment, and "yet be begins to find a strange fascination in Cissy’s society. She is always unfeignedly glad to see him. She makes no secret, that in spite of Mrs. Paynter’s kindness, — and she admits that it 42 Two Kisses. is impossible to be kinder than Lizzie is to her, — she finds London a little triste. Much occupied as his time is, he contrives to spare some of it to the following up of a sus- picion that occurred to him in Paris. He believes that Cissy Hemsworth had a settle- ment at the time of her marriage, although he has found no trace of such a deed. Still, among the dead man’s papers he had come across a mysterious memorandum, that if he had read it aright "seemed to hint at such a thing. In a sort of pocket diary, in which Mark Hemsworth had apparently been accustomed to roughly jot down his day’s business doings, he had found the following entry : — “January 28th. — Received per bill on Coutts, £576, half-yearly payment on C.’s settlement.” Very vague, indeed, this. C.’s settlement might, of course, mean anything, but coupled with the term half-yearly payment, Gore had jumped to the conclusion that it did refer to a settlement made on Mrs. Hemsworth at her marriage. Still, if so, where was the property ? Who were her trustees ? He could not find a trace of either. Carefully and patiently as he had unravelled the tangled skein of Mark Hemswortli’s affairs, he could discover not another word that could possibly refer to this property. And yet it must be worth close upon twelve hundred a year, if it existed. Had Mark Hemsworth made away with it? — the trustees consenting rathei from ignorance, or in collusion with him. That was possible, quite possible ; but still not to be taken for granted till the said trustees had been discovered. Of course, it was but too likely that Hemsworth, so terribly involved as his death showed him to have been, should have laid hands upon the money if he could. But except through fraud, or very great negligence on the part of the trustees, a marriage settlement holds its own pretty tightly. Gore was pushing his inquiries in every direction, but so far had met with no success. Of course he had gone to Coutts’ in the first instance. Little difficulty there in tracing the bill, but unfortunately that told nothing. The bill had been drawn by a sporting stockbroker, but for £500, had been presented by a gentleman, wdio, paying in the balance of £76 in cash, had asked the favor of another for £576 to transmit to Hemsworth et Cie., Paris. The stockbroker w~as a regular customer of theirs ; but about the gentleman that changed the bill they knew nothing. The stockbroker, upon being interrogated, refused to give any information in the first instance ; but, at last admitted that he paid it away to a well-known turfite in settlement of his losses over the Croydon steeple-chase. There all traces vanished, when the aforesaid specu- lator was appealed to; he could recollect nothing. He was always paying and receiving money. Yes; he betted pretty largely, and a betting-book didn’t last him long. No, he didn’t keep his old betting-books, unless he had some special reason foi doing 30 . He hadn’t got that one now. He remembered he won some money from Mr. Jay, the stockbroker, at Croydon, but he couldn’t say how much. He thought he was paid by a check. Well, yes ; it might have been on Coutts. What did he do With it ? Paid it away, and he’d be considerably dashed if he could recollect to whom On the Verge. 43 Somewhat discouraging, this ; but Montague Gore knew as well aj any one the patience and perseverance imperative to the solving of a problem of this nature, — how, when the clue seems within your hands, it often leads to nothing. A man of tough material, of dogged, invincible resolution, who had made himself, who had started in his profession with small means, but great energy and capacity of work ; clever, certainly, but who owed his success more to toil than genius; possessed specially of the faculty of always finding time to do what he wanted, — a faculty which is the result principally of method and determination. He was a man who mixed but sparingly in society. A terrible catastrophe, in early life, had steeled his heart against the love of woman. Over the writing-table in his chambers hung the picture of a fair girl whom Montague Gore, some dozen years ago, had thought to make his bride. A light muslin dress and a treacherous fire had shivered that dream. A few hours* agony, and the original of that picture had yielded her soul to her Maker, and left her betrothed with the life crushed out of him to con- tinue his struggle for fame and fortune alone. Gore stifled his sorrow by hard work; as the years rolled by, the first fierce anguish mellowed down naturally to tranquil resignation ; but no woman had seemed fair to Montague Gore since that terrible day when a telegram had summoned him only just in time to receive his love’s last sigh. The hapless victim of this tragedy had been Fox Brine’s sister. Now, once again, he was beginning to feel the fascinations of a woman. He could not deny to himself that Cissy Hemsworth’s society had unwonted attraction in it. He had not at all made up his mind what was to come of it. He was of an age now when men take a wife with due consideration, or are, at all events, supposed to do so. Charming as he thought Cissy, yet he was not blind to one thing, — that was her ex- travagance. He knew, of course, perfectly, that she had but a few hundreds left, and yet Cissy lived as if she had no care for the future. Her cool indifference to that future staggered him. He had once hinted that the apartments she occupied were expensive, more than her means justified. “ Ah, yes,” replied Cissy, “ living is terribly expensive in London. My poor rooms do cost more than I can afford ; but what would you have ? I must live somewhere. I don’t think I could get anything decent for less than I pay here, and the people are very civil. I do not understand the economies.” And she, — how did she regard him-? — he wondered. She made no disguise of how pleased she was to see him. She was frankness itself on that point, but then it was qualified by the admission that she had so few friends, and felt so utterly lost in this big London. “ Then, you know,” she would say, with the sweetest smile, “you are my advocate, and it is such a comfort to have some one to talk over my miserable prospects with.” And yet she was as radiant over these “ miserable prospects,” as if her chance of being absolutely penniless in little more than a twelvemonth was a fact that had no existence. 44 Two Kisses. To understand Cissy Hemsworth it is necessary to look back upon hei former life. It had been instilled into her, from a child, that she must look upon a good marriage as her provision in life. At sixteen she was introduced to Mark Hemsworth as her future husband. She had been for the half-dozen preceding years educated in a con- vent in France, so that there was nothing repugnant to her in the idea. Her school- fellows were all brought up with similar notions. When her father announced to Cissy that her marriage was arranged, she accepted it as a matter of course. She felt nothing more than a little natural curiosity to see her fianc6. If she was not violently struck with his appearance, she certainly felt no distaste for the marriage. She supposed all girls were married in this wise. She had never heard it said that marriages were made in heaven, or of love and esteem being supposed to enter into their composition. So she was wedded, and found herself at the head of a fine house in Paris. She had nothing to say to it ; her husband managed everything. From the day he took her, a child-wife, from the altar, to the day of his death, he had treated her as a child. He alternately petted or scolded her, just as his capricious temper might dictate; treating her at times, indeed, almost brutally, when the battle on the Bourse had gone hard with him. But she had carnages, servants, and every description of luxury at her command. On one point Mark Hemsworth was consistent ; however ill it might fare with him in the financial fray, he never stayed his lavish expenditure. Cissy had never heard the word economy even whispered* Her husband was ahvays very authoritative concerning her dress. She might spend what she pleased, apparently, but it was high misdemeanor that he should see the same robe too often, or find that his wife’s was not one of the notable toilettes at a fashionable assembly. So far as this last went, Mark Hemsworth had little reason to complain. Nature had endowed Cissy with great taste, and a superb figure. When to such gifts is added carte blanche at a Parisian modiste’s, a woman is not likely to be worsted by her compeers. Madame Hemsworth had established a reputation in this respect, and was wont to see her toilet quoted in the journals. Our own papers after Ascot and Goodwood gen- erally rave more or less of millinery, and no wonder. One can easily imagine, with such training as this, that Cissy Hemsworth had no more conception of how to commence living economically than a child. She thought she was economizing. She was living in lodgings instead of a house of her own. She had no servants but her oWn maid. She had no carriage, and, as she said, naver sent for a brougham except it was an absolute necessity. Cissy really did not see how her expenses were to be much further curtailed. Dress, — well she had spent nothing on that, she insisted. The elaborate mourning outfit she had ordered in Paris had so far been sufficient. She was gratified by discovering that her mode was, at all events, scarcely to be met with in London, as yet ; but, as she said to Mrs. Paynter, u It will be terrible next spring, when I go into half mourning, — I shall want such a *©t of things,” On the Verge. 45 Cissy had borne neither love nor esteem for her husband. lit had never sought to inspire the first, and, far from taking pains to gain the latter, had alienated it by harsh, coarse, capricious, brutal tr eatment. Mark Hemsworth was by no means a faithful consort, and had taken little trouble to hide his infidelities from his wife. Cissy had jegarded him with some aversion and some awe. Still, though she feared him, she had upon occasion shown a spirit which had, at all events, compelled Mark Hemsworth to acknowledge that there was a limit to what insult his wife would submit to. It is easy to conceive what such training had made of Cissy Hemsworth. She had grown up a woman accustomed to adulation, to unlimited luxury, to unstinted means. Now she was called upon to confront the world, and to get her living as best she could. Such was the view of her position as it would naturally appear to any one conversant of the circumstances. The only person it did not seem to strike was Cissy herself. True, it might be said in her favor that she had conducted herself very well under considerable provocation; that, with great temptation, no one could breathe an aspersion on her fair fame ; that, as a neglected and ill-used wife, she had been ever loyal to her husband. Yet this was hardly the woman a prudent man would select for his bride ; and still a shrewd, hard-headed man of the world, like Montague Goref was, at this moment, debating this question with himself. He saw it all, too, so clearly. He knew she was unfitted for his wife. He could not even flatter himself that he had gained her love. He was too quick not to under stand that her very frankness with him was an unfavorable sign. He knew well that when a woman’s heart is touched there is a certain reticence, a slight embarrassment of manner, at Limes even an inclination to be almost brusque and rude to the man she favors, but has not yet admitted her passion for. He felt that if she did marry him it would be because she was in want of a home, a protector ; and still, in spite of all this, Montague Gore continued to visit her constantly, ever turning over in his mind whether he should ask her to be his. An infatuation, no doubt ; but when men verging on the forties fall in love they usually do so with much earnestness of purpose. Montague Gore had never thought to love again. We do make such mistakes, and feel somewhat puzzled when the celibacy we have mapped out for ourselves seems liable to depend once more upon a woman’s yes or no. Montague Gore, as he walks down to Hanover street, is still revolving in his mind this question that has so much disturbed him the last two or three weeks. Cissy’s face has got mixed up with his business in strange fashion of late. Her lustrous eyes and dusky tresses seem to flit across his briefs in a way most unfavorable to a clear com- prehension of their contents. He feels it imperative to see her on business, although it would scarcely occur to him that it was necessary to see any other client under the same circumstances. He has nothing to impart ; but it has suddenly occurred to him that it would be advisable to learn something of Cissy’s childhood if possible. So he strides along, through the thick November fog, until he arrives in Hanover street. V 46 Two Kisses * “ Ye3, Mrs. Hemsworth is at home, and will see him.” Gore ascends to the pretty sitting-room that he knows so well, and is greeted with great cordiality. “ So very kind of you to come arid see me such w T retched weather,” observed Cissy, as she seated herself comfortably in an arm-chair. “ I shall never have courage to go out such a miserable day. You know you are always welcome, but with your usual tact you have timed your visit so as to ensure both thanks and gratitude to boot. Now you shall tell me your news ; you’ve none, I fear, favorable to my own imme diate interests.” “ Nothing, I regret to say,” replied the banister. “ Do you know, I’ve come down to ask questions ? ” “What about ? ” returned Cissy, laughing; “ but remember, Mr. Gore, it must be question for question. I can’t guess what you want to know, but I also have panga of curiosity at times.” “Well, I think, Mrs. Hemsworth, — it struck me in short,, the other night, that it might facilitate the inquiry I am making upon your behalf, if you would not mind telling me as much as you can remember of your early life. Your life, I mean, previous to your entering that convent.” Cissy’s face fell, and for some seconds she made no reply. At last she said, slowly : — “ I hope it will not stand in the way of such prospects as I may have ; but, Mr. Gore, I do not think I can tell you that.” The barrister started ; he had no anticipation of such an answer. It was not that he expected to gain much from hearing the history of Mrs. Hemsworth’s childhood, but still it might afford a hint of some new direction in which to prosecute his search. What objection could she have to reveal it ? The first eleven or twelve years of her rife, surely there could be nothing to conceal about. “ I don’t say that it will ; but you will also, very probably, decline to tell me anything about your parents, — that may hamper me considerably,” he observed at length. “ I have no recollection at all of my mother. She died when I was quite a shild,” replied Cissy. “But your lather; surely I understood you that it was he who arranged your marriage, and gave you away,” exclaimed Gore, in much bewilderment. “ Yes,” rejoined Cissy, quietly. “And of him ? ” “ I will tell you nothing,” interrupted the widow. “ I cannot ; I don’t wish to make any mysteries of my early years. I am sure I cannot see anything to make a mystery about ; but I have promised to keep my lips sealed concerning them, and I intend to Keep my word.” Montague Gore felt uneasy, disconcerted. What reason could Cissy’s father have In the Temple. 47 for keeping- so entirely in the background. He was already aware that he should commit a great imprudence if he married Mrs. Hemsworth. What she now told him was certainly not calculated to remove his misgivings ; and yet so completely was he fascinated with her, that it was odds, had Cissy given him any encouragement, that he would have asked her to be his bride in the course of this interview. But she did not. . She was simply frank and cordial; and, after some further desultory con- versation, Gore took his departure, the momentous words still unspoken. CHAPTER IX IN THE TEMPLE. Mb. Fox Brine pursued his arduous literary career in very comfortable chambers in the Temple. It was there he sketched out these thrilling romances, sparkling comedies, tremendous dramas and smashing articles which never received embodi- ment. The nether regions are reputed paved with good intentions; Mr. Brine’s chambers were carpeted with undeveloped ideas. The very walls and book-shelves bore witness to the multiplicity of his conceptions. Here hung a chart of the Mull of Cant ire, which he had procured with some difficulty when he had thought of that great drama on the Irish Rebellion. At the time that he was overwhelming kis friends with that idea, it had been mildly suggested to him that the French did not disembark in that vicinity. To which Mr. Brine had loftily replied that art could not be trammelled by history, and that, if Hoche did not know where he should have landed in a dramatic point of view, he (Fox Brine) did, and intended to correct such mistake. There hung an ordnance map of the county of Devonshire. Mr. Brine had once conceived an elaborate notion of a novel connected with that county, and commenced collecting materials accordingly. With similar view of writing articles on the French dramatists, he had got together a pretty extensive library of their works. Biographical dictionaries, dictionaries of dates, classical dictionaries, dictionaries of all kinds were strewn about the room ; for with so undetermined a bent of genius, Mr. Brine argued he never could be certain what books of reference he might require. The nattiest of writing-tables stood in one of the windows, furnished with material of every description ; foolscap, journalist slips, note-books, cahiers, pens, and pencils of all sorts ; for Mr. Brine was quite as much impressed at this minute, as he had been on leaving the University, that he was just about to begin. He still sprang from his bed, lit a candle, and rushing to the writing-table, dashed off some crude idea for play or story as he was wont to do some seven years ago, with equal belief that it would develop into something that should make the town ring again. Continual 4 48 Two Kisses. failure is apt to discourage a man ; but Fox Brine had never encountered that, for the best of all possible reasons, — that he had never yet solicited the suffrages of the public. That his ideas always ended in dreams, never seemed to dispirit this philosopher in the least. He felt quite as confident of success, whenever he could find time, as ever. What stood in the way of his finding that precious necessity he did not condescend to explain, but his intimates were not sanguine of success ever attending his search for that requisite leisure. Mr. Fox Brine, clad in smoking-jacket and slippers, and stretched at full length on his sofa, is tranquillizing his jaded mind with a cigarette and a French novel, when some one knocks sharply at his door. “ Come in,” cries the literary theorist, raising his head slightly ; and, obedient to the command, Charlie Detfield enters the apartment. “ Hard at work, Fox, as usual, I see,” observed Charlie, grinning, and throwing his hat and gloves carelessly on the table. It is a little joke amongst Brine’s friends always to affect a belief that he is over- whelmed with work. “ Halloa, Charlie ! ” returned that gentleman, making a supreme effort, and thereby attaining a sitting position. “ You find me ‘j oaresseux comme un vrai artiste .’ What brings you to the East so early ? It looks bad, young man, when Her Majesty’s guardsmen are doing business in the city at these, for them, abnormal hours. There is a suspicion of looking after money in unwholesome localities about it.” “ I don’t know that I should quarrel much about the locality, Fox ; if I could but discover a Tom Tiddler’s ground, I’d not be very particular as to the where,” replied Detfield, as he threw himself wearily back in a chair. They were old college friends these two, and had been sworn allies ever since. Though running in very different grooves, yet both were essentially London men, and consequently they often met. The guardsman was always delighted if he could induce Brine to join his dinner on the Bank guard, and knew that his friend was equally pleased whenever he invaded his rooms in the Tc mple. “ Financial tightness, eh, Charlie ? ” replied Brine, lazdy. “ I tell you what it is, — it’s all nonsense to talk of the unpleasantness, but really there’s nothing like suffering the pomp of respectable poverty. Now I put it to you. It has happened to me in the month of August to have predilections in favor of dining at Itichmond, or down the river, when the state of the exchequer has compelled me to devour a chop at the i Cheshire Cheese ’ instead. I really doubt whether I did not suffer as much, men- tally, as disreputable poverty which didn’t dine at all.” “ Yes, old fellow, but you had somewhat the pull of them physically, you know,” rejoined Detfield, helping himself to a cigar from a box on the table. “ Physical suffering dulls mental,” responded Fox, dogmatically. “ And, therefore, if you had only abstained from gratifying your unholy appetite- sept, in short, the fast which your circumstances demanded — you wouldn’t have had In the Temple. 49 your mind harassed and perturbed by visions of Richmond park and the silvery Thames. But I want to talk to you, Fox.” “ Well,” replied Mr. Brine, languidly, “ talk. If you’re going to rave about fem- inine attractions, don’t be offended if I doze. If you’re in a scrape, with a woman at the bottom of it, don’t ask my advice, because I know by experience a man always goes his own way under such circumstances ; if it’s a financial scrape, my sympathy and name are at your service. ‘ I give you all ; I can no more.’ As regards more substantial help, imagine me, as our transatlantic friends say, 1 * * 4 cornered.’ I presume you can’t have come to grief except through love or paper.” “ Never mind my love affairs ; they’re not likely to hurt me.” “ I have heard that you were carrying on with Mrs. Paynter more than our grand- mothers would approve,” observed Brine, meditatively. “ Don’t be a fool, Fox,” retorted Charlie, laughing. “Do you want to know the worst ? I admire Mrs. Paynter, — I like her better than any other woman in London, and, just at present, she condescends to approve of me ; but, old fellow, she’s not likely to lose her head, supposing even that I did ; no harm, believe me, will come of that flirtation.” “ God bless me ! how can you go on with it, then ? ” exclaimed Brine. “ It must be 80 very insipid. Flirtation I always understood to be “ ‘ A chase of idle hopes and fears, Begun in folly, closed in tears.* I never go in for it myself, and I’m glad now I don’t. I always looked upon it like playing with fire ; that there was all the excitement of a possible conflagration — ” “ Do hold your tongue, Fox ! I want to ask you a question. Do you know any thing about Major Claxby J enkens ? ” “Well, I might say no further than that I do know him by sight; but I’m not quite clear, if I thought it all out, that I couldn’t tell you something about him.” “ Then think it all out, because he’s becoming rather a prominent fact in my some- what disordered affairs, just now, and I should like to know what I can about him. Is he a money-lender ? in the first place ; has he a daughter ? in the second ; and, thirdly, who the devil is Claxby Jenkens ? ” “No, I don’t quite think he’s a money-lender, Charlie,” replied Brine, as he threw his cigarette into the grate; “and as to who Claxby Jenkens is, I fancy none but Claxby Jenkens can inform you. As for daughters, he may have a dozen, for all I know. What do you want to know for ? ” “Well,” said Detfield, “ if not of the tribes, he’s in alliance with them. I happened to see him on business the other day, and he not only proposed matrimony as a cure for my liabilities, but offered to find the lady.” “ The devil he did ! ” exclaimed Fox Brine, starting up with considerable animation. 4 This becomes interesting. By Jove ! there’s a drama to be got out of this. Ac* Mie 50 Two Kisses. First. — On the road to ruin. Act the Second. — Ruined, despair, suicidal thoagH*. Act the Third. — Salvation, and marriage with Rebecca, daughter of Isaac. Think of the tableaux, my boy,” he continued, enthusiastically. “ Epsom Downs for the fall of the drop in Act I. Waterloo Bridge by moonlight, for Act II. ; of course you’re eared by the policeman; no, perhaps you had better go over the parapet, and be rescued by the jolly young waterman and Rebecca, who happens to be taking her pleasure on the river just then ; water scene that would beat the ‘ Colleen Bawn * hollow. Act III., Tableau — A Jewish wedding, with Moorish ballet; quite per- missible, if not quite correct. Art, sir, cannot be fettered by accuracy of detail. All right, Charlie, my boy ; we’ll get a drama out of it any way, and pay all our debts. I’ve got two or three veteran creditors we shall probably kill. They dun me when- ever their livers are out of order and the gout threatens them. I’m a sort of open sore that carries off their noxious humors. When they’ve nobody to bully they’ll probably cease to exist.” “ Well, now, Fox, if you have done raving,” observed Detfield, who could not help laughing at seeing his friend so fairly off on that visionary hobby, that he had never ceased riding since he had commenced keeping his terms for the bar; “I shoull like — ” “Raving, and you’d like — ” interrupted Brine, with mock solemnity; “what would you like, sir ? What more would you have ? You come to me, a votary of art, with your petty, worldly grievances, and I reduce them, by the inspiration of mj genius, to a dramatic poem, — a conception calculated to make not only you but ah London weep at the story of your woes. Great heavens ! when I propose to harrow the whole metropolis with the histoiy of your wrongs, what more would you have, ingrate ? I have done. Now, you soulless being, what’s the row ? ” “ That which yourself has raised chiefly,” replied Charlie. “ I only want a quiet talk, and I should like — ” “ To have it all to yourself,” interrupted Brine. “ No, I’ll not submit to the monologue. Do you think I also have not ideas, and that it does not occur to me to express them ? ” “ No, by Jove, I don’t, nor any one else that knows you ! But still I should like — ” “ Of course you would,” again interposed Brine. “ Why on earth can’t you say what you would like at once, instead of beating about the bush in this manner ? ” “ Something to drink,” replied Charlie, grinning. He knew Fox Brine thoroughly, and was not to be extinguished by his badinage. “ And why couldn’t you say so before ? There never is any bringing you military men to the point,” rejoined Brine, with the utmost gravity. “ Well, I don’t think if you put that point to my company, Fox, you’ll have much cause of complaint. Meanwhile, give me some claret and soda, and I’ll tell you soma news for it.” “ What’s that ? ” inquired Brine, as he produced the required bererage. “I think Montague Gore is in a fair way to get married.” 51 In the Temple. 41 Montague Gore married! Pooh, my dear Charlie! What put that into your head ? Don’t you know the story of my poor sister ? ” 44 Yes, I have heard the history of that tragedy of his early days,” replied Detfield ; 44 but you must remember that was a good while ago. He is pretty hard hit now, I fancy ; and so think better judges than I.” “The better judges in this case being Mrs. Paynter,” observed Brine, without ever glancing at his companion. 44 Well, it’s a thing I’d sooner have a woman’s opinion on than a man’s, if you’re quite sure that you have really got it. But ladies sometimes predict what they wish on this point. You see I’ve known Gore all my life, and, although he is a dozen years my senior, intimately. He was always kind to me when I was a little beggar. We came from the same neighborhood, and are in a way con- nected. Now, who’s the lady ? ” 44 A Mrs. Hemsworth, a widow; and further than that her late husband w r as in business of some kind at Paris. I can tell you nothing ; stay, yes, I can : the widow is a deuced good-looking, attractive, lady -like woman.” 41 That’s all you know, eh ? ” inquired Brine. 44 All ! ” replied Detfield, tersely. 44 Very good ; now we’ll discuss your own marriage.” 44 1 say, hold on ; what are you talking about ? ” cried Charlie, hurriedly. 44 This little prescription that Doctor Jenkens has prescribed for you. He is a clever man that. I really don’t see, my dear Charlie, if you’re in the difficulties I deem, what you could do better. There’s only one thing puzzles me, — what the deuce makes him take such a fatherly interest in you ? I shouldn’t have supposed, from what I have heard of him, that there was much of the philanthropist about the major.” 44 But you don’t suppose, Fox, I’m going to undertake to marry a woman in that sort of way ; a girl whom I’ve never seen ? ” 44 Well, why the deuce don’t you see her ? She may be a vision of light, an em- bodiment of grace and beauty, a perfect houri, for all you can tell.” 44 But I tell you 1 don’t want to marry.” 44 My dear Charlie, it’s no use at your time of life talking about what you don’t want to do ; we’re all the victims of circumstances. The world, in the shape of your creditors, requires you to sacrifice yourself on what is usually termed the hymeneal altar. Don’t be indecorous ; you’ve had your fling. It’s quite time you were settled.” 44 How nice you talk ! ” said Detfield, laughing in spite of himself. 44 1 wonder how you’d like it ? ” 44 1 might not like it, sir,” replied Fox, with the utmost gravity ; 44 but if it was imparted to me that a bride and riches were awaiting my acceptance, I should certainly display resignation, and think it my duty to society to throw no obstacles in the way of what society would, no doubt, deem so desirable.” 44 Very well, old fellow, I shall be delighted to resign in your favor. In the mean time, remember I w r ant to know what you can make out about Claxby Jenkens. New I must be going.” 52 Two Kisses. “ Yes ; but, Charlie, you’re not in a condition to resign. Resignation in youi casa means not going to the country, but going to that most unappeasable constituency, your creditors. Bribery is the only thing that will content them. Bribery is a question of money ; so go, my friend, bow to your destiny, and marry.” “No, Fox, I’ll leave that to you,” said Charlie, gayly, as he took up his hat, “ and in the mean time — ” “ You’ll probabty make a further mess of it,” observed Brine, quietly. “ Play the devil with the third act, in short ; perhaps so ; we shall see ; ” and vith i careless nod Detfield took his departure. “ It’s a rum thing ; but then rum things are always coming about,” mused Mr Brine. “ Old Jenkens interesting himself in Charlie Detfield is what may be denomi- nated an uncommonly rum thing. But as for drama, Charlie’s not going to spoil that. I’m not going to be confined to facts, and I’ll marry him on paper, in the third act, whatever he may think fit to do in reality.” CHAPTER X. THE MISSES BT ANBURY. Bransbury park, Islington, is a thoroughfare of unmistakable respectability. The houses all look well-to-do, as if they were the homes of thriving citizens, with comfortable balances at their bankers. Plenty of plate-glass to be seen in the dressing- room windows ; flowers carefully cultivated on the balconies. The gardens running up from the roadway to the front door are all neat, trim, and natty, bright with blossom in the summer-time, and filled with shrubs in the winter. Barnsbury park is evidently addicted to floriculture, and makes the most of the limited ground at its command. One house in particular there seemed to pride itself upon its garden, its windows, and a small conservatory that was built over its porch. It the season it was gay past conception with roses, azaleas, and all sorts of hot-house plants ; the balconies were filled with them, the little garden was a blaze of color, and the aforesaid conservatory thronged with delicate ferns and other rare specimens. In the winter- time the cunning of the gardener filled the beds with dwarf hollies all glittering with .heir crimson berries, with glossy-loaved Portugal laurels, and other evergreens, so that even then it did not look bare, dank, and melancholy, as gardens are wont to do at that time of year. In the house, as was well known to the neighborhood, resided two maiden ladies, of the name of Stanbury. Of the Misses Stanbury’s antecedents Bransbury park knew nothing, and cared less. They had taken possession of Roseneath House some ten or twelve years back, were evidently possessed of ample means, paid their bills regularly, and attended church with undeviating punctiliousness ; had indeed rather a penchant The Misses Stanbury. 53 far clergymen's society, were thought to hold themselves somewhat high, and were vaguely reputed to be of good family. In fact, the Misses Stanbury were sometimes considered to give themselves airs on the strength of their presumed aristocratic connections ; otherwise they were two harmless, elderly ladies, with a great love for gossip, cards, and rather full-flavored religion. Of course they were not altogether alike ; no two people ever are in this world, much as their tastes may assimilate. Miss Matilda was the less worldly ot the two; more given to gossip and good works than her sister. Miss Clementina had carnal inclinations with regard to cards and light suppers in a more pronounced degree than Miss Matilda. But on two points there was not a pin to choose between them, namely, their extreme passion for flowers, and their preposterous admiration of their niece Bessie. It is true that there were extenuating circumstances ; but still the way these two old ladies did combine to pet and spoil Bessie Stanbury, just turned of eighteen, was a sorrowful sight to see. Bessie, with her quaint, whimsical ways, had not altogether succumbed to it as yet ; but who shall say how long, at her age, it will be before she deteriorates ? There is not an atom of selfishness about Bessie ; and that is a consider- able safeguard to her, under the circumstances. Meanwhile, in her own airy fashion, she tyrannizes over her supposed guardians to their extreme delectation. A good-looking girl one would say, regarding her as she sits sipping her tea, this dull November afternoon. Her close-fitting riding-habit shows a neat, trim figure, and, as she has thrown off her hat, the thick coils of her brown hair are exposed to view. A bright, quick face, lit by laughing hazel eyes, straightish brows, nez retrousste, and a very pretty mouth, — such is Bessie Stanbury. “ Yes, Aunt Clem, I did enjoy my canter. I always do, you know, but as I said before, Barnsbury park is a little dull.” “ Why, my dear child, what would you have ? I'm sure we are always going out.” “ Exactly ; but then, you see, Aunt Clem, your goings out and my goings out are not quite the same things. You know I like dancing better than cards. Now Barns- bury park, like that dreadful dragoon regiment, I forget which it was, don’t dance.” “ You’re a great deal too volatile, Bessie,” interposed Miss Matilda, laughing. “ A round game and people to talk to was considered quite dissipation enough for a puss of eighteen in my time.” “But, Aunt Matilda,” rejoined Bessie, with mock gravity, “things are changed since your time, and really in these days it is a slur upon a young woman not to have indulged in a little valsing. I do think you will have to give a ball on my account.” “ A ball ! ” exclaimed Mjss Matilda. “ My dear Bessie ! ” ejaculated Aunt Clem. “ Well, you know, it needn’t be quite a ball. We’ll call it a dance, and then it won't sound so tremendous.” “ Good gracious ! what would Mr. Holdenough say ? ” cried Miss Matilda. M And Mr. Boxby,” chimed in Aunt C lem. 34 Two Kisses. “ Say nothing, but come, if we invited them. That’s not the difficulty. It Is much more serious. Where are we to find the young men ? ” “ I won’t have any young men about my place,” observed Miss Matilda, with a tosa ©f her head. “ ‘ Oh dear ! what’s to become of me, Oh dear ! what shall I do? * ” sang Bessie, with eyes brimming over with laughter. “ You must, Aunt Tilda. I know they are objectionable. They will light theii cigars in the hall, — horrid things ! — as they go away ; but you see we girls can’t get on without them when it comes to dancing, and they are useful in other ways, you know.” “ In what way, miss, I should like to be informed ? ” demanded Miss Matilda, austerely. “Well, auntie, I can’t say exactly; but they get tickets for things, you see, and they tell us what is going on, and — and — and — in short, there is a good deal of in- formation to be picked up from them,” concluded Bessie, with a peal of laughter, — clear, ringing, musical laughter, that spoke of youth with high hope and trust in the world before it. “ Mr. Iioxby was saying the other day that we ought to mix more in society, on Bessie’s account,” observed Aunt Clem, meditatively. “ Never mind Mr. Boxby,” returned that young lady, gayly. “ Don’t trouble your heads on Bessie’s account, till Bessie herself begins chattering about what she wants. As you know by sad experience, Aunt Clem, she calls out pretty soon for anything she fancies. You needn’t be afraid she’ll leave you in ignorance. There’s a kiss for you,” continued Miss Stanbury, giving her aunt a hug, “ and now I must run away and take off my habit.” “ I dare say it is rather dull for a bright young thing like her,” said Miss Clementina, as the door closed on Bessie. “ Our little card parties and so on can’t be much fun for her.” “ Yes, sister, I’ll admit that,” returned Miss Matilda, “ but we really cannot have a ball here. It’s preposterous ; not to be thought of.” “ I don’t think Bessie quite meant that,” observed Miss Clementina, with a quiet smile. “ It was only her fun.” The two aunts differed very much in this. Miss Matilda never could see through her niece’s badinage, but took it all quite seriously, while Miss Clementina did in great measure understand it, and enjoyed it in her quiet way immensely. There is usually a suspicion of truth in most badinage, and in many cases a good deal more than that. Few of us but can recall schemes or ideas mooted in jest, which after events showed the speaker must have had very much at heart. “ You see, Matilda,” continued Aunt Clem, after a short pause, “ although I don’t think Bessie the least in earnest about a ball, I do think she would be very pleased if The Misses Stanbury . 55 We gave 8 little dance, though I don’t believe she really dreams of our doing such a thing.” “ But we cannot have a lot of supercilious young men about here, sneering at our quiet, old-fashioned arrangements, and the young men of these days are incessantly turning up their noses ; nothing is ever good enough for them, and their noses never come down. They are very inferior to the young men of our day, Clem.” Alas ! it always is so, everything deteriorates as youth ebbs from us. “ The cows gave then a sweeter cream, And swifter ran the miller’s stream ; Far larger grapes from vines were swung ; For boys were braver to all eyes, And girls did not poor youth despise, In twenty-two, when I was young.” u I don’t know,” replied Aunt Clem, smiling. “ Luckily Bessie can’t compare them and see how inferior they are. Besides, Matilda, how is she ever going to get a husband if she doesn’t meet with young men ? ” “ A child like her doesn’t want a husband. I do hope, Clementina, you haven’t been putting ridiculous ideas into her head.” “ Oh, dear ! ” laughed Aunt Clem, “ such ideas want no putting into a girl’s head ; they’re implanted there by nature. But though she mayn’t want a husband yet, still she will some day. Remember she’s an heiress, and ought to have more opportunity of selection than our humdrum life affords her.” “ I don’t consider our life humdrum, and have no doubt that Bessie will find a wooer quite soon enough,” retorted Matilda, with much asperity. u What’s that about, Bessie ? ” exclaimed the young lady in question, as she ones more entered the room. “ What’s Bessie done, or about to do ? ” “ Take a book, and hold her tongue, I trust,” retorted Miss Matilda, tartly. The girl opened her eyes, and glanced with mute inquiry to Miss Clementina; but that lady only shook her head, and elevated her eyebrows slightly. Bessie paused for a second, then marched deliberately across to Miss Matilda’s chair and knelt beside it. “ Now, aunt,” she said, gayly, “ let’s have it out at once. What have I done ? I’D not be in disgrace without knowing why. What is it ? ” Tenable to confront are these frank, direct people. To state in precise terms the attending of all those who incur our displeasure would occasion a good deal of hum- ming, hawing, and, it is to be feared, invention on the part of most of us in the course d{ twelve months. When we have wrought ourselves up to the pitch of a very pretty luarrel, it is dreadfully embarrassing to be called on to state our grounds for it. Miss Matilda felt nonplussed. . She had a vague feeling of being aggrieved, and * Jtill more misty ide* that Bessie was the culprit _J3he felt a little out of tempev, andl 5 * Two Kisses. wanted a scapegoat, that was all. But here was the terrible scapegoat requesting an abstract of the charges preferred against her. Who ever heard of such conduct on the part of a scapegoat ? For my part, I quite feel for Miss Matilda. I don’t see how ill-humor is to be vented, or how we can ever quarrel comfortably with our neighbors, if an explanation is to be insisted on in the very first stage. We cannot humbug ourselves about the real reason then, usually entirely different from that we have taught ourselves to believe some few weeks later. “ Done, child ? ” said Miss Matilda ; “ nothing ; that is to say, more than I am ac- customed to on your part. You’ve talked nonsense.” “ Oh, my! aunt; if that’s all,” laughed Bessie, “I don’t think I can be in such disgrace. But what was it ? ” “ Well, I can’t have any dancing here, sauce-box,” replied Miss Matilda, melting rapidly, as her niece fondled her hand. “ Oh, that’s it, is it ? ” returned Bessie, springing to her feet. “ Now, Aunt Clem, you will have to subdue your thirsting for a quadrille. And, as for me, I must exorcise those ‘ Fille de Mme. Angot valses ’ from my brain. Here’s the head of the house says she’ll have none of such frivolities. I tell you what, Aunt Matilda, either sell or make fire-wood of the piano. We’ll put away all temptation from within the gates, and give the street organs notice of legal proceedings if they come here with their jig-a-jig tunes. We’re going to be good — very good — good surpassing all calculation. What would you have me wear, aunt, during that period of repentance ? ” “ Sit down, and let’s have a truce to your nonsense,” replied Miss Matilda, smiling, and with an inward conviction that Bessie would prove too much for her, and that Roseneath House would entertain dancers after all. “ Ah, yes, Aunt Clem and 1 must commence reformation henceforth. Peas in their shoes is the only fit punishment for people with such dreadful ideas.” “ I don’t see why we shouldn’t give a little dance,” said Miss Clementina, musingly. “ My dear Clementina ! ” said Aunt Matilda, in tones of expostulation, a good deal Jaore mellowed all the same, than those in which she had met the first proposal of such a thing. “I’m shocked at you, Aunt Clem,” said Bessie. “ I trust the head of the house doesn’t think I’m an abettor of your dissipated views ; ” and the girl threw herself back in a chair, and indulged in a low, gurgling laugh, irresistibly catching. The elder ladies gradually took the infection and joined in it. “ It’s the old story, Clementina,” cried Miss Matilda, at length. " I suppose this spoilt child must have her own way.” “No dancing on my account, please,” retorted Bessie, demurely. “ Life has, I am aware, higher objects than pointing your toe. Still, if you insist upon giving a ball, Aunt Matilda, I know I shall do my duty, and I can valse if required.” “ Oh, well, Bessie, if you really don’t care about it — ” “ But I do care about it, you dear old aunt,” cried Miss Bessie, springing to her feet, and making a tumultuous da9h at Miss Matilda. “ There,” she continued, kissing Good Counsel. 87 her , “that’s settled, we’re to have a dance. How big, we don’t know — nobody ever does, I believe, when they first contemplate taking up the carpet.” “ Take up the carpet, my dear Bessie ? — I didn’t intend that.” “ No, but you see it would be so bad for the carpet if it was left down ; we might dance holes in it. Think of that. Now, if we come to the boards, we shall only dance boles in our shoes.” “ We had better do the thing properly while we are about it,” chimed in Aunt Clem. “ Oh, yes,” exclaimed Bessie, “ and it won’t bother you a bit, Aunt Matilda. It’s only locking yourself up in your bedroom for two days, or having a couple of after- noons at the South Kensington Exhibition.” Miss Matilda, her little fit of ill-temper now thoroughly dissipated, could not help laughing at her niece’s proposition, but rejoined : — “ No, Bessie, I think I had better stop and help superintend the arrangements. My old head may turn out useful.” “ Of course you will be useful, invaluable,” cried Bessie. “ What fun it will be, planning it all ! Why, we shall have two or three days’ immense amusement contriving before this comes to pass. You, I, and Aunt Clem, how busy we will be ! ” and then the girl stole her arm gently round Miss Matilda’s waist, and said softly, “ and how good you both are to me.” “ Go away with you, you little wheedler,” rejoined Miss Stanbury, wdth a mock affectation of austerity. “ I have always remarked that concession invariably leads to further requirements where you are concerned; you get no more out of me to- night, miss. Heaven only knows what you’ll be wanting next ! Coote and Tinney’s band, or some similar absurdity. Yon had best try what you can make of Aunt Clem, now, and I give her warning,” continued Miss Matilda, raising her voice, “ that what she pledges herself to, she does upon her own responsibility, and at her own personal risk and expense.” “ I can’t do anything more with her to-night,” cried the girl, laughing merrily. “ She’s pledged to give a ball, and that’s enough for the present. If she’s mean, Aunt Clem, when it comes to details, you and I will have to run our credit in the neighbor- hood. For the Roseneath ball must not, shall not, and cannot prove a failure.” And so came about a ball which will have something to do with the course of this history. Mrs. Patnter has thought a good deal over her interview with Major Claxby Jenkens. She has questioned Charlie Detfield pretty sharply about his relations with that gallant officer, but is fain to confess that she has not gathered much informat/on concerning them. CHAPTER XI. GOOD COUNSEL. 58 Two Kisses. “ Yes,” Charlie said, “ of course he knew him, — one of those sort of fellows every- body knew. Who was he r That was just w T hat it was. Kind of fellow you never did know anything about. He had had some sort of business transactions with him ; was talking to him the other day about buying that horse of Packenham’s, but they couldn’t deal. Jenkens does a good deal on commission in the buying and selling way,” remarked Charlie. “ Well, but is he a friend of yours ? ” inquired Mrs. Paynter, pertinaciously. “ Certainly not,” replied Detfield ; “ an acquaintance, nothing more.” “ It’s very odd,” thought Mrs. Paynter. “ It’s very odd,” thought Charlie Detfield ; “ what has put this idea into her head ? * and in his turn he inquired “ what she knew about Major Jenkens.” But Mrs. Paynter had not as yet made up her mind, and she refused to tell him anything ; laughed it off, and said that was her secret. One of these days, perhaps, he would be married, and then she would confess it all to his wife. To which Charlie had promptly replied, that, though he had no intention of committing matrimony just then, he’d prefer that these secrets of his bachelor days should be buried in oblivion ; although what this particular secret might be he did not pretend to guess. Still Mrs. Paynter, working out this problem with all a woman’s quiet, steady persist- ency, did easily arrive at the certainty of what she had already suspected ; namely, that Charlie Detfield was in desperate difficulties ; in short, as one of her informants told her, “ had shot his bolt.” Coquette, yes, she was, and could not help it. The game of flirtation was the essence of life to her; but for all that she was not a bad woman. She was not of that kind who, merciless in their hour of triumph, look with pitiless disdain upon their writhing victim. Lizzie was wont to be stricken with remorse when her admirers were too seriously wounded. She didn’t mean that. Why could they not content themselves with a little sentiment, as she did, instead of making the terrible mistake of getting so dreadfully in earnest ? Although, as before said, she was too hardened a flirt not to somewhat enjoy a scene at the time, yet she had her moments of penitence afterwards ; more especially, too, was she always anxious to pari friends on these occasions ; and, as a rule, she succeeded. She was a very curious combination of good and evil, a combination much more common in this world than perhaps is usually credited. People in their inexorable judgment of appearances will be hard of belief that one of the most reckless flirts it is possible to conceive could in reality be true and loyal to her husband. And yet they -will readily admit similar social problems without question. When one of our commercial lights has first flirted, and finally run away with other folks’ moneys, there are never wanting friends to descant on his domestic Virtues. Still, as the costermonger remarked, upon selling the pineapple, “ everything in this world goes by appearances ; ” and if you would be credited with virtue, you must, at all events, give no occasion for scandal. Mrs. Paynter, too, is iust now extremely interested in Montague Gore’s palpable Good Counsel. 59 devotion to the fair widow, and awaits the denouement with considerable impatience. ** Quite evident,” thinks Lizzie, “ that he will speak whenever Cissy chooses to mak' him. Why does she delay ? It is true that they couldn’t be married for another six months. I suppose the proprieties must be observed, even when your late husband was an ill-tempered, ill-bred brute. But with her miserable prospects I should think it would be a comfort to get something definitely settled ; and yet she goes on as calmly confident about her future as if the whole thing was assured. Poor darling ! Why, she hasn’t even got a parish to come down upon ; for she has no idea where she was born, beyond that it was in England.” And once more Mrs. Paynter’s mind was exercised as to whether Cissy was deep, past all calculation, or next door to a fool. “ And yet she can’t be the latter,” thought Lizzie. “I never hear people complain that she cannot talk ; that they are unable to get on with her. On the contrary, wherever 1 have taken her, people seemed charmed with her piquant, graceful manners. It is true, in consequence of her mourning, I have not been able to do much for her in that line as yet ; still I know, from what I have seen, that society hold her quick enough.” But Mrs. Paynter’s attention was destined to be, for a little time, thoroughly absorbed in Captain Detfield’s affairs. Although she had boldly asserted to the major that, if Charlie’s extrication from his difficulties was to be accomplished by matrimony, she was quite as capable of finding him a wife as any one, yet, when she came to reflect upon it, she was forced to admit that she could not call to mind any eligible lady just at present. She could not make up her mind as to whether she would ally herself with the major or not. If she could but be certain that he was honestly striving to help Charlie in the only feasible manner that occurred to him, well, then she would exert all her influence to induce that impoverished guardsman to comply with Major Jenkens’ wishes. “ Yes,” she said, with a sigh, and putting on an aspect of touching resignation, “ I will sacrifice my own feelings to save him. He shall marry this red- haired, red-elbowed woman, who has been discovered for him, and I trust he will be happy and — more prudent.” Why Mrs. Eaynter should picture the unknown heiress as possessed of these unpre- possessing attributes, one can’t say ; but she derived much comfort and support from having so imaged her. She had worked herself quite up to the belief that she was about to make a stupendous sacrifice for the sake of the man she loved, and pleased herself by picturing up a most pathetic parting scene with Charlie Detfield. There was more imagination than heart in Lizzie’s affaires de cceur always, but one thing she was in earnest about. She was willing to resign her admirer for his own interest; but she kept back, even from herself, as yet, one important condition, namely, that it must be to a woman whom she could not possibly regard as a rival. She had told Major Jenkens that she would see this bride he had elected for Detfield, and still held firmly to that idea as a sine qua non of giving him her support. She had said that she would write to him when she had made up her mind, but of course she had not done so, and had good grounds for refraining. It was evident, from what she had gathered* that this man was no friend of Charlie’s. What, the®. 60 Two Kisses. made bim take such an interest in this marriage ? She had lived too much in the world not to suppose that he must have some scheme of his own to serve in doing so, and naturally divined that this might not tend very much to Captain Detfield’s advan- tage. Once make her clearly understand that it really was for his benefit, and Lizzie was just the woman with generosity to ignore herself and not stand in the way. She knew perfectly, that her influence, at present, over Charlie was quite sufficient to crush such a design easily ; but then, though she liked him, it was in her own butter- fly fashion, and her feelings were by no means so deeply involved as to-prevent her proving a true friend to him, should circumstances give opportunity. A month and more has gone by since the major’s visit, and Lizzie has almost for- gotten it, though she had thought much over it for some days after it had occurred. One morning she received a note, which brought back the affair vividly to her memory. Persevering as a mole this major, and like that mysterious 9 aimal, strong, pugnacious, unscrupulous, and given to underground practices. Lizzie opened her note and read : — u Madam, — Not having had the honor of hearing from you, it is fair to presume that you do not as yet see your way into supplying Captain Detfield with that great desideratum of all men’s lives — money. I did myself the honor to point out to you, in the interview you were so good as to accord me, that it was not only an essentia], but a speedy essential, to him. On the supposition that you have no scheme in hand for his relief at present, would you undertake to persuade him to accept the accom- panying invitation ? It can do him no harm ; it may benefit him considerably. ‘ ‘ Trusting that you will abstain from mentioning my name at present in this matter, “ I have the honor to be, “ Your obliged and obedient servant, “Claxby Jenkbns. “ 6 Charles street, Berkeley square.” “Well,” mused Mrs. Paynter, “ no harm can come of his accepting an invitation to a — , what is it ? Let me see,” and Lizzie took up the accompanying card. “ ‘ The Misses Stanburys at home. Dancing at nine. Roseneath House, Barnsbury park, Islington.’ This is getting mysterious. Who ever would have dreamed of seeking an heiress out Islington way ? Yes ; Charlie must go. Right or wrong, we must inves- tigate this. I am getting horribly curious to have a look at this daughter of ingots. Charlie can’t come to grief in attending a dance, I think ; but, to make all things safe, I’ll attend it too. I’ll take veiy good care that he don’t propose that night, at all events. Impudent thing ! — perhaps she’ll ask him. Well, if she does, I’ll undertake he says no. Oh dear ! this will be tremendous fun. Who ever heard of a woman chaperoning an admirer before ? — and that’s what I intend to do. Now for my friend the major. I dare say he thinks I shall commit myself, more or less ; but he’ll be mi* Good Counsel. 61 taken ; ” and then Lizzie laughed, and, sitting down at her desk, politely informed Major Jenkens that she regretted she could be of no assistance to him in this matter. “ Had I been fortunate enough myself to receive a card for the Misses Stanburys’ dance, I might, perhaps, have asked Captain Detfield to accompany us ; but as things are, I am sorry to say I can render you no help whatever “ A clever woman,” muttered the major, when he received this note, “ and deter- mined to see , evidently. Now I’d rather she didn’t, for, from what Roxby tells me. Miss Stanbury’s a trifle too good-looking to enlist her sympathies. Well, it cuts both ways ; if it makes it more difficult with Mrs. Paynter, it’ll smooth matters with the captain. Hum — yes, by Jove! I’ve an idea. I don’t know, madam, but I think Claxby Jenkens may prove just one too many for you all the same ; ” and the major chuckled to himself with considerable gusto, as he enclosed a card for the Roseneath dance to his fair but dubious ally. Of course, Mrs. Paynter felt pretty well assured that this would come. The next thing to be done was to entrap the unconscious victim. “ Not much difficulty about it,” thinks Lizzie. “ If he doesn’t turn up for afternoon tea to-day, he will to-morrow, most probably.” Charlie is pretty regular in his devotion, and seldom allows two days to pass without doing homage at the tea-table of his fair enchantress. A3 Mrs. Paynter anticipated, a little after five Captain Detfield is ushered into her cosey drawing-room, and, having made his salutations, proceeds to establish himself in an arm-chair near the fire that he particularly affects. “Yes; you will do there very nicely,” remarked Lizzie, laughing. “I have noticed that when you are installed in that seat you are usually too lazy to get out of it, unless either force of circumstances or peremptory commands impel you to the effort.” “ It is a very comfortable chair; and you know, lady fair, that I am never so happy as when basking in the sunshine of your presence.” “ Ah, well ! you are at liberty to bask for a little, because, you see, I have some- thing to say to you. Will you come with us to a dance Friday week ? ” “ Only too charmed to attend any festival in your society, as, however dreary such festival may ultimately turn out, I, at least, shall be safe,” replied Charlie. “ Very good, sir ; then we will give you some dinner here on Friday, and after- wards you shall accompany us to the wilds of Islington.” “ Islington ! what on earth takes you to Islington ? Deuced odd, I've got a card from some Strawberries, — no, — Cranberries, to a dance up that way.” “ Stanburys you mean ; the very people.” “ But how did you come to know them ? ” inquired Charlie, with some little curiosity. “ I don’t know them as yet ; but I hope to make their acquaintance by attending their dance. Very rich people, I’m told.” “ I never heard of them before, and have no conception what induced them to Two Kisses. honor me with an invitation. Not likely I should have troubled them, if it had nai been for the unexpected inducement you hold out.” •‘But you know you, ought to go eveiy where,” replied Mrs. Paynter, gravely. “ So I do,” laughed Charlie ; “ nobody can accuse me of playing the misanthrope.” “ Yes,” continued the lady, in serious tones. “ It is getting time you were settled. You. know you are getting desperately hard up, Charlie. Marriage is the only thing to give you a fair start again ; so, of course, you must marry.” “ This from you ! ” interposed Detfield. “ Naturally, who should you expect good advice from, if not from me ? Young ladies of fortune require looking for ; therefore, I repeat, your duty to yourself is to go everywhere — ” “ And give young ladies of fortune an opportunity of selection,” retorted Charlie, laughing. “ Still, I never thought you would take an interest in my marriage.” “ A woman always takes an interest in the future of a man who has been interested in her,” observed Mrs. Paynter, demurely. “ Oh ! you admit I have been that.” “Yes; will go further, and say you are still. Stop! ” she continued, with an im- perious gesture of her hand, as she saw he was about to speak. “ I don’t think you have ever been seriously ipris with any woman. Of course, I admit your devotion to myself is the exception ; out I am afraid that you might manage even to get over that in a case of emergency.” “ And you are prepared t£ resign my homage at any moment ? ” “I must not think of myself,” rejoined the lady, plaintively. “It would be for your own good, you know.” Detfield paused for some minutes before he answered, gazing steadily into the fire meanwhile. He knew, in good truth, that this was no more than one of those butter- fly liaisons in which his whole life had been passed ; but it was a blow to his self-love to think that his devotion could be resigned so lightly. It was the first time he haa encountered a woman so completely of his own calibre ; a more thorough practi- tioner, indeed, in the science of flirtation than himself ; a clever woman, too, whom he felt read him at sight. Still he had flattered himself that she would be wroth, at all events, at the bare idea of his seceding from his post of cavaliere servente — and yet she herself was coolly recommending that he should marry. Women don’t do that if their feelings are much involved, Charlie knew full well. He was not anxious, per- haps, that Lizzie should arrive at that point regarding him. He had more than once encountered the difficulties of too exigeante a passion, and was aware that a woman’s jealousy may ruffle the rose-leaves of life considerably. If you embark in illicit flirtation, you must encounter these experiences. Still he was not prepared to submit quietly to curt dismissal. “ I don’t know about my own good at all,” he replied, at length, somewhat brusquely. * It would seem that you, at all events, wish to get rid of me.” She had been studying his face keenly. She had guessed pretty well what wa« To Wed or Not to Wed. 63 running through his mind, but she was bent on carrying out her whim. She had no thought as yet of aiding the major’s scheme, further than that she would satisfy her own curiosity, and see this girl it was proposed should be Detfield’s bride. “Unjust! unjust !” she murmured. “You’re all alike, you always are. When we stifle our own feelings in order to honestly serve you, then you call us heartless, callous flirts.” “ I did not say that,” replied Charlie, quickly. “ As if it was necessary to be rude enough to say so,” retorted Lizzie, petulantly ; “ as if a glance, a gesture, could not insinuate such meaning to any woman not also- futely a fool ; as if, Captain Detfield, you had not, in your own mind, accused me of being all three during the last few minutes,” concluded Mrs. Paynter, defiantly. He knew that it was so, and rejoined, somewhat coolly : — “ Your alarming interest concerning my marriage naturally led me to think that you wished to be rid of me.” “ Don’t be foolish,” she broke in, quickly. “ I only wish to ext* .cate you from your involvements; and even then, mind, I shall withhold my permission, unless she possesses one most necessary qualification.” “ And that is ? ” “Being tolerably plain,” retorted Lizzie, laughing. “I don’t want you to be able to break my chains altogether, you see. And now we are friends again, are we not ? And you will come with us to this dance on Friday next ? ” “ Certainly, if you wish it ; though what has put it into your head to conspire to many me to a Gorgon, I can’t conceive,” remarked Charlie, rising. “ Your creditors, of course,” retorted Mrs. Paynter, laughing; “but it’s not so bad as that. I only insist on some one who shall not eclipse me . But I may make my mind easy. Wealth and beauty are not often found awaiting a wooer, and when they are — well, they expect a good deal in exchange. Good-by ! ” “ It seems to be growing on the community, generally, that I am to many an El Dorado,” mused Charlie, as he walked leisurely homewards. “ Well, as the public seem to have taken my case up, I shall leave the public to settle that arrange- ment if they can. Personally, 1 decline to interfere with inevitable destiny in that fast ion. I have remarked that some of those I know have not become particularly fight-hearted after achieving it ; not so cheery by half as they were in their old days of chronic insolvency.” CHAPTER XH. TO WED OB NOT TO WED. To vanish from the world we live in ! — a thing at once so easy, so difficult of achieve- ment. I am speaking of disappearance from that narrow circle which constitutes the World to most of us, not of leaving this terrestial globe of ours for the unknown land 5 64 Two Kisses. that lies beyond. You shall try to be lost to all whom you have hitherto known; to cast behind you, to bury in oblivion, the life you have hitherto led. You shall take incredible precautions to leave no trace of where you have betaken yourself, and before six weeks are over some one or other of the most obnoxious of your acquaint* ance has stumbled upon your retreat and published it far and wide. Your motive foT such retirement matters not. Whether you had a poem to complete, a great scientific discovery to work out ; whether you had quarrelled with your wife, could no longer hit it off with your creditors, or were simply bored, — veritably sick of the old jog trot circle in which you happen to move, — the fact remains the same; you wished to be lost and you failed utterly. Again you shall depart from your home openly and avowedly for three days. Chance or caprice shall lead you to extend your holiday to six weeks. You shall take no care in the world to conceal your movements. You are simply too lazy to communicate with your friends, and you have vanished utterly from the knowledge of your own circle. Advertisements in the “ Times,*’ keen-eyed policemen dragging water where you are not, even the famous Pollaky himself, one and all are useless Not a trace, not a sign, not a rumor of you, till you once more cross the domestic door-sill and send the wife of your bosom into hysterics. Why is this ? How is it that it would seem so much easier to disappear without taking precaution against being tracked, than when we seek to obliterate our foot steps ? It is singular, Mr. Bauer, who went to Euston square with his portmanteau in broad daylight, telegraphing to his business friends in Manchester to advise them of his coming, is as completely lost as if the earth had opened and swallowed him ; as indeed perhaps it may have done. On the other hand, those splendid criminals, the Bidwells, in spite of precautions, most elaborate plans, long before devised and care- fully considered, fell one and all in the course of a few weeks into the hands of the hunters. Over-anxiety to succeed is constantly fatal to success ; too great elaboration has marred many a promising conception, and it may be that such excessive care to leave no trace behind is the very thing that brings detection, that gives the clue so laboriously sought to be destroyed. Major Claxby Jenkens had anticipated little difficulty in discovering Mr. Hems* worth’s retreat, after reading that letter from his correspondent in Paris. The major had reasons of his own for wishing to know what had become of the widow, and never dreamed but such would be a very simple matter. To a man of his business habits and somewhat dubious pursuits the putting the necessary machinery in motion was very simple. He knew where to make inquiries in numberless channels, that it is not given to most people to be acquainted with ; where to lay his hand on all sortq of agents that the world generally wotted not of. lie had no trouble at all in finding out that she had left Paris for England, in ascertaining the very boat in which she had crossed the channel, and that she had taken a through ticket for London. But there all trace of her was lost* The huge city had swallowed her up, and beyond that the major could not ge + r< To Wed or Not to Wed. 65 It puzzled him this. “ What reason could she have for concealment ? ” argued the major, putting the ease hypothetically to himself, one morning, in his office. “ Clearly none — at least, that I can imagine/’ he subjoined with habitual caution, “ because one never can be sure what maggot may not have entered a woman’s brain. She certainly took no trouble to conceal her movements, as, again, why should she ? Left Paris suddenly, — well, after the utter smash consequent upon her husband’s death, that was very natural. But why did she come to England ? That I can’t understand. Her disap- pearance here, I take it, is a matter of accident, not design. She’s probably in Lon- don this moment, and a more difficult place to find any one you may want there doesn’t happen to be in the universal globe. “ I don’t think they’d find me in Lon- don,” mused the major, with a pleasant smile,” if ever I should take a fancy to turn hermit. But this won’t do. The logic of the case is what I must attend to. Of course, I might advertise ; but that’s clumsy, very ; ” and the major shook his head deprecatingly, as if the suggestion had come from some neophyte in the science of doing your “ duty towards your neighbor.” “ No ! who on earth would she be likely to communicate with in this countiy ? that is the question. — She might, — yes, by Jove ! she might, — no, that’s not probable, either ; at all events, I could soon ascertain that. Stop! Doesn’t Rayner say that he understands an English barrister had a good deal to do with the winding up of her affairs ? Where’s the letter ? ” and the major turned sharply to his desk. Little trouble had he in finding the letter he sought, amid those regular, carefully labelled pigeon-holes. A man, this, of methodical, orderly habits, docketing his very invitations to dinner. “ Yes, I thought so ; but Rayner does not mention his name. Don’t know it, per- haps. Still, if he was arranging her affairs, there must be plenty of Mark Hems- worth’s creditors who do ; there can be little difficulty about getting at that. I will write to Rayner to-day, and tell him to ascertain all he can, and let me know as quickly as possible. That affair’s disposed of for the present. Now for the other ; ” and the major fell into a deep reverie. “ Yes,” he muttered, at length, “ I think that will do if I can come to terms with Roxby ; that sanctimonious old sinner is harder to deal with than any other man I ever came across yet. There are not many men who can say they’ve had the best of Claxby Jenkens since he cut his wisdom-teeth, but he happens to be one of them. No, if we are to be partners this time, I’ll have my fair half of the stakes, or throw up my hand before the game’s played out. I’ve put it all in training and hold the strings; but the puppets shan’t dance, my dear Roxby, until you have thoroughly sat- isfied me. You’re a most excellent man, a man, no doubt, held in high esteem by your neighbors,” continued the major, with a low chuckle ; “ but your neighbors don’t know you quite so well as I do. I could imagine you taking just a * leetle ’ advantage of an old friend, if you saw your way. It will be my business to put temptation out ®f yoiu i each. Yes c my dear Roxby r FU ti© you up pretty tight this time, you m ay 66 Two Kisses, rest assured ; ” and the major’s eyes glittered with a brightness suggestive of jpec- tacles being a most unnecessary adjunct to their capacity for looking into things. “As for Captain Detfield,” continued the major, still pursuing his vein of thought, “ he is much too deep in the hands of the money-lenders to refuse to do what he is bidden. It is not putting anything unpalatable to him, when you simply require him to marry a pretty girl with a fortune, and so discharge his liabilities. I can only saj> if he does give trouble, he’ll find it unpleasant ; ” and the major’s lips tightened in an ominous way, as he reflected on the possibility of contumacy on the part of Charlie Detfield. “ It’s dangerous working with such an uncertain ally as Mrs. Paynter, no doubt ; but, bah ! you must risk something. My interview the other day told me two things : first, that her regard for Detfield was one of those illusive passions which women take up, as they do a new fashion ; secondly, that the excitement of intrigue is the dominant force in her character. I intend to gratify it. I could hardly have managed Detfield cleverly at this stage of the business without assistance. The next thing will be to hoodwink her, or else she will spoil my game, probably. She’s a clever woman, but I flatter myself when she drives home from Roseneatli House next Friday, she will be committed to a little conspiracy which she will be far from comprehending. Might be awkward, indeed, if' she did understand it prematurely,” thought the major. But while Major Jenkens is making such strenuous search for Mrs. Hemsworth, comfortably located, as we know, within a mile of him, Montague Gore is also straining every nerve to trace the antecedents of Mark Hemsworth. It is curious these two men have never met, although they have more than one mutual acquaintance, and yet at the present moment, each is in possession of the information for which the other is so diligently seeking. Such things occur more often in life than would be credited. Have you never anxiously sought for information in every direction, and finally discovered that the most unlikely man of your acquaintance was perfectly competent to tell you all that you wanted to know? Have you ever spent days searching for a quotation that has caught your fancy, and after ransacking all likely writers in vain, suddenly met it again in some newspaper or periodical, with the name of the author tacked comfortably to it ? There are some people whom you can never move without meeting, Piccadilly or Palmyra, Ascot Heath or the Arctic seas, you know you are certain to come across them. There are others you hear about all your life, and never see. All your friends know them. You are continually leaving a house forty-eight hours before their arrival, or arriving forty-eight hours after their departure. You have been asked to meet them time after time, in all sorts of ways; but you have never met. It has looked a certainty very often that you would do so, but somehow it has never come to pass. If you are of a reflective turn of mind you know now that it never will. Your kismet is written, and among other things, it is preordained that you and they shall never clasp palms. Montague Gore has made but slight way in his inquiries as yet. Cissy can give him no information as to what part of England her husband had belonged t©. Sfe® To Wed or Not to Wed. 67 knew, indeed, nothing of his life previous to their marriage. Mark Hemsworth had treated her always as a mere child; whether she were in favor or disgrace, it made no difference. She w r as to him not a wife, but a plaything. When he was in good humor he would lavish jewels and laces upon her. When things crossed him he would spare neither gibe nor jeer at her expense. In spite of its outward luxury Cissy’s life had been no bed of roses. In all that gorgeous glitter in which her last five years had been passed there had been a cynical worldliness that had often repelled her. She had craved, as women always will, for sympathy of some sort. She had made no friend in all that time to whom she could speak unreservedly — there was no one of her own sex to whom she could open out her heart. Frank as she was in manner, yet hers was one of those self-contained natures that keep their feelings under control, and show but rarely the inner springs that move them. They yield not their confidence lightly, and make no parade of such sorrows as may befall them. It was partly the isolation of her lot, and Mrs. Paynter’s caressing manner that had attracted her towards that lady, when she first made her acquaintance in Paris. Then, too, Lizzie was English, and that had some influence over her ; for in the set in which Cissy habitually lived, English ladies were not much wont to mingle. If the society in which she mixed was wealthy, it savored very much of the Bourse, and rather lacked refinement. It had taught her in five years two things : to dress and to spend money; a University education in our own country produces at times no more definite results. It was a good deal to the credit of Cissy’s natural disposition that it had taught her to do no worse. Quite possible to have come out of such an ordeal vicious, instead of merely frivolous. Cissy regarded life, at present, as a scene in which it was incumbent upon her to be always well-dressed and well-mannered. She fears ennui at twenty-two considerably more than she does destitution, and this in the cir- cumstances in which we know she is placed ; and yet this woman is not a fool. But she has never known so far what it is to have to think about money, and is as calmly convinced that some one will marry her and spare her all trouble on that head, as if she were already affianced to a millionnaire. Kemember, she married as a portionless girl, without the slightest difficulty ; that she has been f4ted all her life ; that she has been accustomed to hear of large sums made daily by those with whom she associated ; that she has constantly seen her hus- band’s reckless speculating friends choose for their brides, pretty, dowerless girls, and the thing becomes not altogether so unnatural as it at first sounds. Cissy, judging by the lights of her own world, thinks that the acquirement of riches is a very easy and every-day affair. She would, perhaps, sum up her ideas in this fashion : “ that when a man wants money, he goes into business and makes it.” The going forth in search of wool and coming home shorn is a phase of commercial transactions of which she has no experience. The free lances of the Stock Exchange, like “ tne plungers ” of the turf^ are jubilant in their hour of triumph, but mute when the battb goe* 68 Two Kisses. against them for the most part. It is the men, too, who are always lamenting theii losses that wax rich steadily. Montague Gore is busily engaged in trying to trace out Mark Hemsworth’s family in England. This he thinks is the first thing to be done, in order to clear up that doubtful point, as to whether Cissy ever had a marriage settlement. Evidently no trace of such a settlement is to be got out of all that Paris tangle ; nothing, indeed, to warrant such a notion, but that one memorandum of the dead man’s. What irri- tates him and troubles him considerably is Cissy’s resolute refusal to tell him her father’s name. Where he may be, she admits she has no conception ; but that he could determine this matter stands to reason. What can be her object in declining to tell his name ? He has pressed this more than once, pointed out that it is so obvi- ously the most direct way to get at what they want. But Cissy is inflexible. She has her reasons, she says ; is very grateful for what he has already done, but help him in that way she cannot. If that is a necessity, if he sees no other way of arriving at the truth save by that channel, well, then he must abandon his exertions in her behalf. She is very firm on this point. Equally reticent, too, concerning her early days ; of her life previous to entering the convent Cissy will say nothing. The more he looks at it from the worldly and common-sense point of view, the more convinced Montague Gore is of the madness of his infatuation for Cissy Hems- worth. But it is not to be supposed that common sense is likely to be an antidote to the fatal philtre of the love-god. She is extravagant, she is half his age, and is no one knows who. If he marries, he should obtain either money, connection, or at least congenial companionship. There are fifty reasons why he should not marry Cissy ; there is but one why he should. He loves her — and in the meridian of life, is that to be deemed valid excuse for imprudent marriage ? He argues the case over and over again with himself, dwelling sternly on each objection the match as he recapitulates them ; but his going up to Hanover street daily is that pennyworth of fact which is ever worth all the theories in the world. When a man argues about the imprudence of becoming lie with a woman, and continues to frequent her draw- ing-rooms, he can bamboozle no one but himself. He offers but another sad example of theoretical wisdom and practical folly. Still Montague Gore hesitates to speak. He has not resolution to fly temptation, though his eyes are open to the imprudence of what he half contemplates doing. He soothes himself with the idea that it is necessaiy that he should see Mrs. Hemsworth constantly on business ; though, considering that the very little she has to tell she systematically refuses to open her lips about, and that his inquiries have as yet come to nothing, there does not seem much necessity for continual consultation between them. Sometimes he wonders what answer Cissy would make to him. He has the field all to himself, which is something, and she always welcomes him warmly, it is true ; but Montague Gore cannot as yet flatter himself that Cissy’s feelings are involved, as far as he is concerned. Her bright smile, frank, out-stretched hand, and soft voice greet him with evident pleasure whenever he calls ; but the voice n*,ver falters, the The Ball at Roseneath House. 69 cheek never changes, the hand never trembles. Montague Gore read aright, when he downed Cissy’s heart still in her own keeping. CHAPTER XLLL THB BALL AT ROSENEATH HOUSS. “ Time treads o’er the graves of affection; Sweet honey is turned into gall; Perhaps you have no recollection That ever you danced at our ball.” Roseneath House is a blaze of light, and a perfect grove of evergreens. Once Miss Matilda had made up her mind that a dance should be, and she was just the woman to throw herself heart and soul into it. An energetic woman, not liking to be thrown out of her groove to start with, but that difficulty once overcome, one who determined that what she undertook should be carried out thoroughly. Bessie’s trustee, Mr. Roxby, a great authority with her, had pronounced strongly in favor of the dance when consulted. That Mr. Roxby had his own ends to serve we know, but of course Miss Stansbury did not. He said it was only right that his ward should see a little more of the world, and hinted that it was Bessie’s aunts who should afford her some opportunity of doing so. Mr. Roxby’s word was law with Miss Matilda. His verdict being for a ball, Miss Stansbury made up her mind that Roseneath House should entertain on a grand scale, and led her sister and Bessie a troublous time of it. And yet they enjoyed it thoroughly. Although the preparations involved, as Bessie had laughingly predicted, picnicing at uncertain hours, bivouacking on staircases, and all those attendant sor- rows inseparable from small establishments when they plunge into large entertain- ments, still Miss Matilda was in great force. She quite harried Aunt Clem and Bessie, hideed, in her ceaseless supervision, making those two originators of the affair race up and down stairs till they declared they could do so no longer ; dashing into their bedrooms, at untimely hours, with new conceptions, and accusing them of laziness and lukewarmness concerning the whole thing, in a way that made Bessie declare she knew Aunt Matilda looked forward to dancing all night. When you have infinite wealth at your disposal, you simply say : 41 Let there be a ball, and there is a ball.” But to smaller people, a ball involves much thought, ma- nipulation, worry and upsetting of the establishment. However, the ball at Roseneath House is now a fact accomplished. The lamps are lit, the floors are swept, the band is tuning its instruments, and the hostesses, clad in silks and satins, are awaiting their guests. There is a considerable difference in the age and appearance of the spinsters. Aunt 70 Two Kisses. Matilda, turned of forty, and arrayed in stately lace and velvet, awaits the coming of «ne multitude with serene composure. Aunt Clem, a good half-dozen years her junior, is dressed more youthfully, in satin, and exhibits some tremor and nervousness. Aunt Clem does not consider her dancing days over as yet — has, perhaps, indeed, a still lurk- ing idea that she has not yet passed the marriageable age, and who shall say what to- night may bring forth. Indeed, she carries her years well, and might pass easily for somewhat less than she actually is, — a pleasant, fair face, with kindly, honest, blue eyes shining out of it. A middle-aged man might do worse than ask Aunt Clem to tread life’s path with him. But then, middle-aged men have always a tendency to select a bride from the juvenile ranks, — a mistake usually paid for on one side or the other. As for Bessie, arrayed in a cloud of white tarlatan, trimmed with forget-me-nots and rosebuds, only an art-critic or a misogynist would deny her title to be called a pretty girl to-night. But now begins the rumbling of wheels, and the faint rustling in the hall that heralds the arrival of the guests. Foremost among these is Mr. Boxby, a tall, pompous man, with an amount of starched neckcloth round his throa + that nothing but an unusually long neck enables him to look over, exhibiting a most capacious white waistcoat and voluminous shirt-front, with an air of paternal conde- scension. die makes his obeisance in a manner that indicates he takes the whole arrangements on his shoulders from this out ; that he throws the aegis of his protection over the house for the night ; shakes hands with the elder Misses Stanbury with lofty patronage, and touches Bessie’s cheek with his lips, as if he did her much honor by so doing. His whole manner indicates that really this is a frivolous affair, in which he rather protests against being mixed up, but to oblige his old friends he will see that it goes off satisfactorily. Mr. lioxby is a man of eminent respectability, — what men of the world sometimes call rather too respectable, having recollections of what dreadful backslidings such extreme respectability is occasionally convicted of. Mr. Boxby had started in life in a very humble way; he was not clever by any means. He had achieved success simply because he was so plausible and so respectable, and, though it would astonish his admirers considerably to learn it, so unscrupulous. Divested of his w T hite waist- coat and paternal manner Mr. Boxby was a fraudulent humbug. He had never scrupled to turn money over any transaction that passed through his hands. He was just one of those men whom people are so fond of picking out as executor, trustee, arbiter, etc. Boxby had been continually figuring in one or other of these capacities all his life, stood indeed, at this present moment, as trustee to half-a-dozen different people. He generally contrived that all such appointments should conduce more or less to his advantage. Not that he ever made away with moneys that did not belong to him, he is too cautious for that ; but he did usually contrive to have very tidy pick- ings out of such business as necessarily passed through his fingers. Mr. Boxby, in pursuance of that unspoken pledge which had marked his greeting, takes up his position by Miss Stanbury, and proceeds to assist in the reception of the guests. So benignantly patronizing is he in that situation, that the strange element The Ball at Roseneath House. 71 which always turns up at a London dance, entertain no manner of doubt but that he is the master of the house, and do salutation accordingly. Even some of his friends who know the exact state of the case cannot refrain from complimenting Mr. Roxby on the tasteful arrangements, so completely has he taken the house under the pro- tection of his capacious white waistcoat. Several invitations have indeed been sent out at bis suggestion, and he has further been furnished at his own request with a few blank cards. Among the early arrivals is Major Claxby Jenkens. The indefatigable major deems that the little drama he contemplates will need his immediate supervision. The major is not wont to leave any affair, that he may take up, in other hands than his own more than is absolutely necessary. This, he considers, requires delicate manipulation, and, with the distrust he entertains of Roxby, it is not likely that he will take him into his confidence one iota more than he is obliged. The major’s idea is simply to throw Detfield and Miss Bessie together, and trust in the first instance to the girl’s making a favorable impression. He has arrived at a pretty correct notion concerning Detfield’s liaison with Mrs. Paynter, and deems that a fresh face might easily extinguish that flirtation, providing Lizzie is not aroused into active opposition by jealousy of her rival. He is quite aware that her influence, at present, would be sufficient to hold Detfield to his allegiance, if she chose to exert it. But the major is a born intriguant. Such finessing as he contemplates affords him much amusement, and he is rather looking forward to his match with Mrs. Paynter than otherwise. He enters quietly, his keen, restless eyes veiled beneath his delicately gold-rimmed spectacles, and says, “ How d’ye do ? ” to Roxby, who presents him to his hostess and their niece. The major pays a few well-turned compliments to the elder ladies, studying Aunt Clem with considerable attention ; then he glances at Bessie, threading the entanglements of the Lancers. “ A very pretty, graceful girl,” he mutters, “ and the aunt quite passable, and } r oung enough for my purpose ; two honors in my hand the first shuffle t>f the cards,” and the major, rubbing his hands softly, said, “he should like just a word with Mr. Roxby.” “ What is it, my dear friend ? ” inquired the latter, as they drew a little on one side. " Be as quick as you can, please, as I am pledged to assist the Miss Stanburys in receiving their guests.” “ One word only. Don’t interfere with my proceeding in any way, and don’t allow Mrs. Paynter to talk with the Miss Stanburys in the first instance. I think I see our way pretty clearly. You and I will talk things over later.” Bestowing on the major a smiling nod of acquiescence, which almost amounted to a benediction, Mr. Roxby once more resumed his post near Miss Matilda. He had received his cue, and knew now that it behoved him to take charge of Mrs. Paynter as soon as she should arrive. Lizzie’s entrance made rather a sensation. Not only was she a very striking Woman anywhere, but her toilet, always in the extreme of fashion, was calculated to somewhat dazzle Islington in its magnificence. Mrs. Paynter piqued herself on 72 Two Kisses. dressing from Paris direct. “ Just a season ahead of London,” she was wont to observe to her intimates. “ You will all be wearing next year what I do this.” Whether she was right in such prophecy I can’t say ; but certain it was that Lizzie was always somewhat original in her dress, and, being gifted with excellent taste, never relapsed into the vulgarism of being outre as well as original. Mr. Roxby received her with easy assurance, and having presented her to Miss Matilda, — Aunt Clem being, by this, involved in a quadrille, — offered his arm for a tour of the rooms. Mi’s. Paynter was gracious in the extreme, admired everything and everybody, and honestly t hought the decorations very pretty. Still this was not precisely what Mrs. Paynter had come out to Islington to see, and her eyes rolled somewhat restlessly round in search of the n^sterious Major Jenkens. That worthy was by no means idle. He had marked her entrance, but purposely avoided her notice. No sooner had he seen her move off, under Roxby’s escort, than he pounced upon Charlie Detfield, and proposed to find him partners. Though out of his element, Charlie was quite ready to plunge into the festivities of the occasion, and at once yielded to the solicitations of the major. “ Of cqurse you won’t mind going through a quadrille with one of the ladies of the house, to begin with ? ” suggested that astute veteran; “ and then I’ll find you metal more attractive. There are plenty of good-looking girls here to-night ; ” and, before Charlie had further time for reflection, he found himself standing up with Aunt Clem. That satisfactorily arranged, the major hurried off in search of Mrs. Paynter. He found that lively lady already getting very tired of Mr. Roxby’s ponderous conversa- tion, and was greeted with a most gracious smile of recognition. Dismissing her former escort with a slight bow, Mrs. Paynter took the major’s arm, and without further preface said : — “ Of course 1 expected to meet you here to-night, and equally, of course, I expect to have this bride you have selected amongst you for Captain Detfield, pointed out to me.” “ I feel honored by the confidence you repose in me,” observed the major, “ and have to thank you for bringing him.” “ Enough, sir ; now for the lady. It was quite as much to gratify my own curi- osity as anything else that I interfered in your behalf. You owe me but little gratitude.” Lizzie felt a little angry with herself at having yielded to the persuasion of guch an utter stranger ; but the temptation of seeing this heiress with her own eyes had proved irresistible. “If you will step into the next room, I can point her out to you at once,” rejoined the major. “ Captain Detfield is dancing w r ith her now.” u And does he know that she is his intended bride ? ” “ Most certainly not, and 1 must throw myself upon your mercy not to divulge a kint of any such arrangement being in contemplation. It may probably all end to The Ball at Roseneath House. n nothing, and as the lady is as ignorant of the design as Captain Detfield, it is only fair to her to keep it a secret. 1 may rely upon your silence, may I not ? ” “ Let me see her,” replied Lizzie, curtly. As she spoke they entered the adjoining room, and Mrs. Paynter beheld Charlie gayly laughing and talking with Aunt Clem. “ And that is the lady ? ” “ That is Miss Stanbury,” replied the major, diplomatically. “Why, she’s much too old for him! She’s five -and- thirty if she’s a day,” rejoined Mrs. Paynter, sharply. “ You hardly do her justice, madam. Turned of thirty, say. But what would you have ? — you can’t have everything.” “ But he is only six-and-twenty,” murmured Lizzie ; “ and has contrived to accu- mulate any amount of debt in that period.” “ What are four or five years between them ? ” exclaimed the major. “ More especially when the lady brings as many thousands as years to the wedding.” “ That may be ; but that match will never take place.” “ Probably not, if you exercise your influence to prevent it,” rejoined the major, with considerable intention, and stealing a keen glance beneath his spectacles at his companion. “ I shall interfere neither for nor against it, sir,” retorted Mrs. Paynter, haughtily. “ Captain Detfield’s matrimonial arrangements are nothing to me.” “ But I may rely on your silence concerning such an idea ? ” “Yes; ” and now the quadrille being over, and Aunt Clem satisfactorily disposed of, Mrs. Paynter signalled Charlie with her fan, and prepared to indemnify herself for her researches on his behalf by a galop. There i3 no denying that it is a very lively ball, with a swing and go in it that many a West-end dance might envy. As for Charlie, he has plunged into the whole thing con amove , and, though he has done a good deal of waltzing with Mrs. Paynter, has by no means restricted himself to one partner. The major has been veiy attentive to him in that respect, and he now finds himself whirling round £he room with Bessie. The girl dearly loved dancing, and made no scruple about showing it. Detfield, as may be supposed, was a good performer, and could not help smiling at the frank manner in which she expressed her gratification. Faster and faster goes the music of that galop finale, only the most reckless dancers can keep pace with its flying time, when it suddenly ends -with a tumultuous crash of brazen instruments, and the hot and thirsty guests troop downstairs to supper. “ There, Miss Stanbury, I think we shall do here,” said Charlie, as he ensconced his partner in a snug corner behind the door of the supper-room. “ The only thing that weighs upon my mind is, whether, as the young lady of the house, you are justified in submitting to so lowly a situation. Only say the word, though, and we will gain tha head of the table, or perish in the attempt.” u Two Kisses. “ Oh, no,” laughed Bessie, u I am quite content as I am, and will leave such honoi to my grave and reverend seniors.” “ I quite agree with you. One’s chicken and champagne is best consumed in shad* and tranquillity. I always pity royalty, because quiet corners are things known to them only by hearsay.” “ And you go to all the court balls, I suppose,” inquired Bessie, who having dis- covered that her partner was a guardsman, looked upon him as moving with the elite of the land. “ I enjoy that privilege sometimes -when on duty,” replied Charlie, much amused. “ That is one of the sights I should like to see ; but unfortunately there are so many things I want to see, and apparently may want to the end of the chapter.” “ I don’t think you need be despondent at your age,” rejoined Detfield, laughing, “ you’ve plenty of time before you.” “ Oh, yes ! and I’m not in the least despondent,” replied Bessie, merrily. “ I dare say 1 shall have lots of fun, if I never see half the things I want to. Next to riding I love dancing, and I shall manage to get my share of those two amusements, at all events.” “ Do you ride often then ? ” “ Yes, nearly every day. There are plenty of pleasant rides out Hampstead way, and a good canter I do think beats a good valse.” “ Don’t you ever ride in the park ? ” “ Very seldom. I have no one to go with, and it is not nice riding there with only a groom. People look at you, as much as to ask who on earth you belong to. I tided it twice, but don’t think I shall repeat the experiment.” “ But isn’t it rather dull work riding alone ? ” “ Oh dear, no! Velvet — that’s my mare — and I get on capitally together. You see there is one advantage, I can go my own pace, — pelt along when I’m in spirits, or walk soberly when I want to think. Don’t you look upon horseback as a famous place for reflection, Captain Detfield ? ” “ No, I can’t say I do ; but then you see my experiences are so different from yours. When I ride in town, it is usually with other people, and I am engaged in conversa- tion. When I ride in the country, it is usually to hounds, and then all my energies are absorbed in beating somebody else, striving to make up for a bad start, wondering whether my horse will last another ten minutes, if it’s a cracker, or some equally important problem. Ah ! you may laugh, Miss Stanbury, but all the points I have mentioned are subjects of stupendous gravity to a man when hounds are running.” “ No, nothing more, thank you,” said Bessie, as Charlie offered to replenish her wine-glass. “ 1 will ask you to take me upstairs now. I hear the music again.” Detfield complied, and begged for another dance when they regained the ball- room. The band was playing that very Yalse de Fascination which Bessie had declared she really must try that afternoon when the idea of the ball was first mooted. Without giving her time to consult her card, Charlie whirled his fair companion into ^he midst of the throng. That first after-supper valse is always the cream of tiho The Ball at Roseneath House. 75 evening to those who really love dancing, and the guardsman, perhaps, enjoyed it almost as much as his partner. But Bessie was speedily claimed when the music ceased, and, as Detfield lounged leisurely to a seat, he met Mrs Paynter. “ I don’t want to crush such a promising flirtation as you seem to have established with that pretty little thing in forget-me-nots and rose-buds ! ” exclaimed Lizzie, laughing ; “ but if you are disengaged for a few minutes I’ll get you to find John, and tell him I am ready to go. We’ll take you or not, just as you please.” “ I am quite at your orders, and we’ll be off as soon as I can find the brougham.” That and Mr. Paynter were quickly discovered, and a few minutes more saw the trio speeding rapidly westward, immersed in their own reflections. “ Charlie will never be brought to many that Miss Stanbury,” mused Mrs. Paynter. “ Rather nice, that little Stanbury girl,” reflected Charlie. “ What a confounded nuisance all balls and evening parties are ! ” thought Mr. Paynter, in his semi-moments of consciousness. But the gods were merciful to him, poor man, in the main, and he slept peacefully for the most part during the homeward drive. Talk of peas in the shoes, what is that to the purgatory of tight boots, and extreme boredom, to the man who is craving for a smoking-jacket, slippers, and a cigar ? Verily, matrimony hath its burdens, and escorting the wife of one’s bosom into society that pleasureth us not is, by no means, one of the lightest. But, while Mrs. Paynter’s brougham rattles gayly over the stones of the Euston road, while the band pours out its most spirit-stirring melodies, two gentlemen are engaged in earnest conference in the well-nigh deserted supper-room. “ I have put the whole thing fairly in train,” observed the major, helping himself to a glass of champagne ; “ all I ask is that you don’t interfere, but let me pull the strings. The number of marriages that come to nothing annually, because one or other, or both, of the innocent victims suddenly discover that they are being thrown together with intention, is inconceivable.” “ My dear major, I have the most perfect reliance on your tact and discretion,” replied Roxby, in unctuous tones. “ What Claxhy Jenkens undertakes to do every one knows is as good as done.” “Hum! what Claxby Jenkens undertakes to do, my friend, has generall} some reference to his own interest. Let us waste no time beating about the bush, but come to the point at once. What benefit am I to derive from this match ? ” “The gratification, my dear friend, of having promoted the unicn of two young people in every way suitable. I might go further and say, formed, made for one another,” replied Roxby, benignantly. The major grinned. The plausible scoundrel with whom he was conversing, h© knew, even to a confederate, never altogether dropped the hypocritical veil with which he was wont to gloss over his villanies. “ And what else ? ” he inquired at length. “ My dear Jenkens,” returned the other, “ my interest in my charming ward is c$ great that i. would give five hundred pounds to see her happily married.” 76 2 wo Kisses. “ Lodged to my account at Herries & Co.’s, the day before the wedding,” said the major, laconically. « Dear, dear, you will have ycur joke,” responded Mr. Roxby, as he nodded assent. The major knew his man, and knew that the bargain was concluded between them, as well as if it had been couched in more direct language. But he wanted to know more. “ And you, what are you to get out of this affair l ” he continued, looking his com- panion steadily in the face. “A release from my trust in great measure, and the approval of my own con- science,” replied the other, with a low laugh. “ Another glass of wine, my dear friend. Here’s the health of the young couple.” “ That is no answer to my question,” said the major, doggedly. “ If you won’t be satisfied with that, I can’t help it. But, hark you ! ” continued Mr. Itoxby, with a sudden change of tone; “ there are plenty of young men in the world, besides Captain Detfieid, who would be glad to take a pretty girl, with^a good fortune, to wife, and there are plenty of other people, besides Claxby Jenkens, who might be induced to lend me a hand in finding her a husband. You are clever, and, therefore, I make choice of you ; but, my dear major, if I find you too clever, I shall call in somebody else ; have fresh advice, as the doctors say. “ And suppose I tell what I know ? ” replied the major, fiercely. “ Suppose I make public that you wish to make capital of your ward’s hand ? ” « I couldn’t entertain such an absurd supposition for a moment,” rejoined Mr. Roxby, once more relapsing into his usually bland moment. “ Hipping up old stories is always bad taste ; and what you and I might say to each other’s discredit would be pretty equally balanced. No, my friend, you’ll not do that when you think over it. You’ll do your utmost to promote this marriage, I’m sure ; and nobody possesses such tact and finesse for carrying out a delicate arrangement of the kind as my friend, Claxby Jenkens. But it is dry work talking, — let’s have another glass of wine. No more, eh ? Then let us go upstairs.” -J As the major drove home to his lodgings, he ruminated much over the events of the evening. He did not feel so certain of having the best of Mr. Roxby as he had done, when thinking over the affair in John street. That pull over his neighbor, such a desid- eratum in the major’s eyes, was not to be obtained in this case apparently. Still the douceur was handsome, and the first act of the comedy had been most successfully brought about. “ I should like to know though,” muttered the major, “ what Roxty expects to get eut of this, and how he means to get it.” Will You Give Me Yourself t 77 CHAPTER XIV. WILL YOU GIVE ME YOURSELF? To suppose that Cissy Hemsworth is blind to Gore’s admiration for herself would be absurd, — a woman is never blind to that ; a foolish woman will sometimes fall into the opposite extreme, and rate a man’s attentions higher than his intentions concern- ing her, but she rarely makes the mistake of overlooking the effect of her attractions on the male sex. She knows by instinct when she has achieved a success of that nature. But Cissy was very far from guessing what wild work her charms had wrought in the barrister’s heart. She little dreamed of the passion that he had con- ceived for her. Reticent by nature, reticent from professional training, Gore had so far succeeded in masking the tumult that filled his veins from her notice. If Cissy thought that he admired her, she certainly had never thought that he was likely to ask her to marry him. Indeed, considering that she openly avowed that it was a necessity for her to marry, it was surprising how very little reflection she gave concerning it. Her per- fect nonchalance on this point was a source of perpetual astonishment to Mrs. Paynter. That energetic lady could not understand it. Cissy would refuse her invitations, even when she came to Hanover street herself with them, and declared that she had “ some one who would be just the thing,” coming to dinner. “ I can’t help you, my dear, if you won’t help yourself,” cried Mrs. Paynter, wrathfully, on one of these occasions. “ What is the use of my parading all the eligible men I can lay hands on, if you won’t come and meet them ?” To which Cissy replied : — “ Don’t be angry, but I really do not feel up to going out to-day.” “ Well,” mused Mrs. Paynter, as she took her departure, under the circumstances above mentioned, “ I don’t see what’s to become of her, unless she pronounces herself ill, and then makes les beaux yeaux at her doctor ; how she is to arrive at a husband is quite beyond me. I would do my best for her if she would but let me, but she won’t ; and she is so nice, and so attractive, that she might really do well if there’s any taste left in mankind. Mercenary wretches ! ” continued Mrs. Paynter, with a solemn shake of her pretty head, “ they always mix up matrimony with money nowadays. Dear old John didn’t, though, when he took me, precious bargain as I have been to him ; ” and a soft smile suffused her face, such as not one of her many admirers had ever won from her, plead as they might. Montague Gore, still trying to disentangle that question of the settlement, for the second time has it pointed out to him that there is a family of Hemsworths settled in Nottinghamshire. Information this from the chief constable of that county. It ia curie us ? he was told the same quite incidentally at a dinner-party at which he happened 78 Twe Kisses. to mention his quest in the very first stage of his inquiries. He made that trip down to Nottingham at the time of the Goose Fair, on purpose to investigate that statement, and he found that there had been Hemsworths in the neighborhood, but were none now. It was odd, he had sent round a circular to all the chief constables in England, , requesting information on the subject ; and, save from Nottingham, reply there was none. Now it was not to be supposed that Hemsworths grew only in Nottinghamshire. Gore knew this fact well. Take the most uncommon English name you will, and you shall discover it in three or four different counties in England. Pick out any name, as striking you as peculiar, that you have never heard before, keep that name in your mind, and it is astonishing how often you will meet it in the next two years. He thought it singular that the only county from which he received a reply should be the only county in which he had ascertained there were no Hemsworths. True, he admitted that his search had been but hurried and cursory. He had felt too little reliance on the accuracy of his information to waste much time upon it. As a bar- rister, he should have known better. The major would never have made such a mistake. In pursuing an investigation of this nature, information can only be classi- fied under two heads, — reliable or unreliable. If deemed the former, too much pains cannot be taken to sift it thoroughly ; if the latter, put it away completely at once. Half measures are useless. Gore was too clever a man not to know this, but the fact was he had interested himself in lukewarm fashion in the search to start with. Now it was different; he was working in Cissy’s behalf with all the keenness and perseverance of a bloodhound. He thinks it necessary to go and sec her upon the point. “ She may remember some allusion of her late husband’s to that county,” argues Gore, speciously, to himself. When a man of mature age falls in love injudiciously, however much he may ponder over his imprudence, he is more likely to end in matrimony than if he were still young. Ways and means is a question that sometimes curbs youthful passion, but a man in his prime has generally achieved an income of some sort, which may enable him to cany the affair to a conclusion. In Gore’s case it was decidedly so. He was of inexpensive habits, and making a large yearly income in his profession. The idea of marriage had seldom crossed his brain since the terrible catastrophe that had ruined his life. When it had, it was to marriage of the most conventional kind that he had looked forward. Now, he knew well that he had cast that idea to the winds. He would fain wed a penniless bride, of whese antecedents he could learn nothing, a woman of no family ; fortunate, indeed, if she proved literally of no family, and that relations of the most inconvenient description should not discover themselves afterwards. Then, again, he was by no means certain that Cissy would say him yes, should he put his fortune to the test. Though she avowed her intention to many, though he knew that her circumstances made it almost imperative on her to accept the first eligible offer she should receive, still there was that about her which made him uncertain as to whether she might not say no to him. Cissy he could but own Will You Give Me Yourself t 79 Was something of an enigma. A woman likely to face desperate straits with the Btoicism of an Indian, or to succumb with the passionate despair of a child. He could not make up his mind about her. He would have been in no way surprised at her taking the failure of her scanty resources in either light. Her quiet confidence that something would turn up in her favor amazed him as much as it did Mrs. Paynter. What could she count on ? Such reflections brought Montague Gore to Hanover street. As his hostess received him with her usual frank manner, Gore thought she never looked so hand- some. Her bright face flashed and sparkled as he began to tell of this fresh informa- tion, and she murmured : — “ How kind you are to take so much trouble in my behalf! ” As he continued, she listened with evident interest ; but when he mentioned Not- tinghamshire as the probable county from which her husband sprung, she gave an unconcealed start of surprise. From that moment, she listened in an anxious and yet preoccupied manner that it was impossible should escape his notice ; interested, evidently, to hear what he had to tell, and yet at the same time haunted with memo- ries of bygone years. “ Ho you know anything of Nottinghamshire yourself ? ” inquired Gore, in con- clusion. Cissy hesitated, and appeared troubled for a moment, as if thinking how she should frame her reply. “ 1 am sorry,” she said, at length, “ but I can give you no answer to that question. It seems so ungrateful, too, after all the trouble you have been taking ; and it grieves me dreadfully you should think me that. Why, oh why,” she continued, passion- ately, “ do you not give my affairs up ? You have been so very kind to me ; and yet, when you are doing your best, I have to refuse you information wuich, though slight and of little account, you have a right to demand.” It was the first time he had ever seen Cissy moved, and it made his pulses tingle. The sight of emotion in the woman we love is wont to occasion tumult in the system. “ I am only too glad to be of assistance to you,” he replied, in constrained tones. “KI ask for information on subjects painful to you to refer to, believe me it is from no idle curiosity, but simply because I think it would be useful.” “ Yes, I know it,” interposed Cissy, hurriedly. “ I should be mad to think other- wise. But I have given my word, as I told you before, to keep silence on this past life of mine, and I will abide by that pledge. Don’t, pray, think that there is anything I have cause to conceal. If the poor history of my childhood were published at Charing Cross, to-morrow, there is nothing I should feel cause to blush for.” She had spoken with much earnestness, and the color came into her cheeks as she finished. She knew this man admired her. She knew that he had taken infinite pains and trouble in her behalf. She was thinking no whit of him as a husband or lover, but she was anxious to justify herself in his eyes as far as she might. She felt that this reticence concerning her early days told against her, was liable t© be miscQig 6 80 Two Kisses. strued, and she wished that Montague Gore should think well of her. She had sr few friends that she could not afford to lose one lightly, and if she had no love, ye* Cissy had great esteem for her adviser. His reply came at last in low tones, swift and steady : — “ It is a pity that you should have made such a promise ; but I will not urge you to break it. I entertain no doubt, whatever, that there is nothing in your past would shame you to speak of. One thing I may say. Do you think the person to whom you made that pledge would not absolve you from it now ? The circumstances in which you stand could never have been contemplated, and I am only stating my honest conviction, when I say that the clue I seek will be probably found, if it exist, in some trivial incident of the past life of yourself or your husband. ,, “ I cannot see that. What could you hope to discover from my early days ? ” interposed Cissy. “ Simply this ; if I knew with whom you lived and associated in England, I should very likely get a hint as to who were likely to be trustees to any marriage settlement you might have, — very probably discover your father.” “ That is a conclusive reason for giving you no information on the subject,” cried Cissy, quickly. “ As I thought,” murmured Gore to himself. “ It is to that father she has pledged her silence. I wonder what his object was in exacting that promise ? ” and then he could not help further reflecting that a father with private reasons for courting ob- scurity was not calculated to make Cissy more eligible as a wife. “ There is no more to be said, then,” he replied, at length. “ I must work out this affair as best I can. “Yes, there is more to be said,” exclaimed Cissy, with animation. “I have to thank you yet again, for devoting so much of your time to assisting a woman who must appear to be throwing all the impediments she can in your wa}\ I can’t help it. I counsel you to give it up. But, believe me, when I say I am truly grateful for all you have endea^red to do for me.” “ I shall not give it up. Keep your gratitude, Mrs. Hemsworth, until I succeed; I may perchance test it then. It is contrary to all rule, I know, and yet I might even ask some recompense at your hands, should I fail; ” and he rose as he spoke, and stood facing her. “From me ! ” said Cissy, looking up at him. “I don’t know what you could ask from me, I have so little to give.” “You have that to give which any man would prize,” returned Gore, in low, earnest tones, his passion completely overmastering him. “You know what I would ask. There is no need to tell you that I love you. You must have known it these weeks j ast. Cissy, will you give me yourself ? Can you trust me to take care of you for the rest of your life ? ” BJie was a little astonished. She had not expected this, although conscious of hi* Will You Give Me Yourself ? 8 ) admiration. She had never taken into consideration that he might ask her to marry him. She liked him very much, but she was not the least in love with him. “You have taken me by surprise,” she said, slowly. “You offer me love instead of friendship. Are you sure that it is not pity for my loneliness makes you speak thus ? ” “ I know that the hope of calling you my wife is the dearest wish of my heart at this moment ! ” he retorted, passionately. “ Cissy, can you love me ? ” For a few seconds her face was troubled. Then she replied : — “ You won’t be angry, you won’t think badly of me if I tell you the truth. I wish to answer you honestly, and yet I do not wish to be unkind.” She paused here, and toyed nervously with her rings. “ And my answer ! ” he exclaimed, impatiently. “ Can you love me ? ” “I don’t know. Stay!” she exclaimed, extending her hand to him. “Don’t quarrel with me, don’t be angry with me because I tell you the truth. I do not love you — I have never loved any man. No man has ever been such a friend to me as you ; but when you ask me if I can love you, I can only reply, I don’t know.” He was holding her hands in his as she spoke, and when she finished, he bent down over her and said : — “ I will put my request in other words. Will you marry me ? ” and then he released her hands, and stood silently awaiting her reply. She bowed her head for a few seconds, then, raising it, looked frankly but stead fastly up into his face, and said quietly : — “Yes, if you wish it.” “ My darling,” he replied, “ I will be content with that for the present. It will be my business henceforth to teach you to love me.” Cissy smiled. “ I don’t know,” she said, “ whether I possess such a faculty. I like you and esteem yo\i veiy much. If you are willing to take me, I will marry you ; but I warn you, I cannot simulate what I do not feel. Friendship I can promise, — true and thorough friendship ; but love, I do not know whether I am capable of such a feeling. My ideal is so very different from what I have seen termed such, that perhaps it is beyond my comprehension. I am always considered stupid, you know.” “You are quite wise enough forme,” replied Gore, in jubilant tones, “ and they who deem you otherwise are those who cannot read aright.” Half an hour afterwards, and Gore, having made his adieux, has once more gained the street. He walks with head erect and sparkling eye, as men do who have sped well in a love-suit. To have won assent to our wooing sufficeth most of us for the time. Whether our passion be prudent, whether the woman we have asked to tread life’s path with us is likely to be approved of in our maturer judgment, we reck little. She is the one woman in the world, as far as we are concerned just now ; and has she not pledged herself to be so always ? The plunge is over ? and there can be no further debate about the wisdom of marry- 82 Two Kisses. ing Cissy Hemsworth. The word spoken never comes back, saiththe proverb; and Montague Gore is light of heart as he thinks that Cissy is his plighted wife. Tine, she has told him that she does not love him. What of that ? It was scarce likely that he could have won her love on so short an acquaintance. That would come. Let her but once be his wife, and he had no fear of gaining her affections. As if it is in the power of woman to bestow her affections exactly where she will. A woman who marries without giving her love is like one who sails on a long voyage with no anchor on board. It may be prosperous, the winds fair, and the anchor never required. But should the winds prove contrary, should treacherous currents sweep silently but swiftly towards the breakers, then they must anchoi be wrecked. When they have nothing to hold to in their extremity, God help them CHAPTER XV. A SOCIAL OBLIGATION. Mbs. Paynteb sits dawdling in her drawing-room, the morning after the dance at Roseneath House, in that somewhat distrait manner we are wont to wear when a solitary breakfast has succeeded to our night’s dissipation. Her husband has departed as usual to his business, and Lizzie is musing upon the matrimonial scheme that has been confided to her. That men many for money nobody knows better than Mrs. Paynter ; but she cannot think Charlie will harden his heart, and take that Miss Stan- bury to wife in spite of all the money he is to get with her. A passable-looking woman enough, thinks Mrs. Paynter, but old enough to be his mother. Judging poor Miss Clementina rather hardly this, for that lady is by no means so advanced in years as that comes to. “Well,” thought Mrs. Paynter, “if it is for his good, let it be so. I’ll interfere about it neither way. I don’t think I shall ever feel jealous of Miss Stanbury, which is a consolation. And if that odious major is right, I’m like to lose an admirer in any case, — -whether it be by matrimony, or the effects of money troubles. Poor Charlie ! I am very sorry for him, but that he was on the verge of a crash I have suspected for some time. The nicest people always are so unfortunate ; nobody ever dies oppor- tunely and bequeaths them handsome legacies. It is the detestable folks one is always meeting and wishing one didn’t that grow rich by inheritance. Look at that little wretch, Edw r ard Bunbury, for instance, who exacts the very last yard from a cabman, and then gets out and walks to save the extra sixpence. lie’s as rich as Croesus already, with no idea of how to spend what he has ; yet a venerable aunt betook herself off the other day, and left him I don’t know how many more thousands. There is something very -wrong in our social arrangements,” muttered Mrs. Paynter, eravely ; « though \ Jop’t know that l ought to grumble* 4t $U events, when we A Social Obligation. 83 get our rights, whatever they may be, I don’t mean to vote for a new distribution of property. 0 Here her meditations were cut short by the opening of the door, and the announce- ment of Mrs. Hcmsworth. “ Delighted to see you Cissy, dear, 0 exclaimed Mrs. Paynter, as she rose to welcome her guest. “I am ‘ all in the downs ’ this morning, as men say, when they have re- mained up over night longer than is good for them. You will brighten me up, anh have come to pass the day, I hope. Selfish, of me, very, I know; but I plead guilty to always entrapping pleasant people when I have a chance.” “ Yes, I have come for a long talk, 0 rejoined Cissy, a3 she sank quietly into an easy- chair. “ To begin with, I have something to tell you.” “ Nothing disagreeable, I trust,” said Mrs. Paynter, quickly. “ I don’t feel equal to bad news this morning.” “ No,” replied Cissy, with a low, rippling laugh. “ It’s not bad news, and it’s not at all disagreeable. Likely to turn out very much the reverse, I hope. I am going to be married.” “You are ! I am so glad ; but who to ? ” cried Mrs. Paynter, breathlessly. “ Mr. Montague Gore. He asked me yesterday, and I said yes.” “Montague Gore ! My dear, I congratulate you with all my heart; but how did it come about ? I had no idea you had seen much of him lately.” Mrs. Paynter, quick as she was about such things generally, might well be blind to this. She had no knowledge of the barrister’s constant visits to Hanover street. She had only encountered him there twice, and then with a long interval between. Cissy rarely mentioned his name, and then only as her professional adviser regarding some property it was thought she might be entitled to in England. Mrs. Hems worth colored slightly as she answered : — “ I have seen him a good deal lately, on that business I told you of, and though I knew he admired me, yet I never thought of his wishing to marry me till yesterday. But I like him very much, and I am so entirely alone that I can only be grateful to him for undertaking the care of me. Don’t laugh, please ; but,” continued Cissy, with a slight sob, “ if you had ever known what it was to stand so utterly alone as I have done the last few months, you would understand what a relief it is to have some one you have a right to lean upon.” “I do understand perfectly,” replied Mrs. Paynter, gravely, “and I have often been troubled about your future, Cissy. But I think we need fret about that no more. Montague can well afford to take care of a wife, is a most agreeable man, and I have no doubt will make you an excellent husband. Why,” continued Mrs. Paynter, recovering herself, “ he was one of the first eligibles I paraded for you, if you remem- ber ; but I must say, of late, I thought nothing would come of it. Why, you’ll be a rich woman again, Cissy. Your betrothed is making no end of money in his pro- fession.” “ Shall I ? ” replied Mrs. Hemsworth, simply ; “ I am glad of that, fbr I don’t’ think 84 Two Kisses. I should be a good wife to a poor man ; but I can’t say I ever gave his income a thought, when I agreed to marry him yesterday.” “ What, are you so much in love with him that you could think of nothing else ? ” rejoined Mrs Paynter, laughing. “Iam not in love with him the least, and told him so ; but he offered to take care of me, and I thought I could trust him.” Mrs. Paynter eyed her guest narrowly. That a woman of the world — as Cissy Hemsworth, from her past life, could not possibly help being — had accepted a husband without considering whether he had an income to support her, was a little beyond that lady’s power of believing. Either Cissy was playing the role of the ingenue with a vengeance, or was a simpleton past all understanding. “ You told him you didn’t love him ? ” said Lizzie at last, speaking very slowly, and almost dropping out her words. “ I think I would have left that out if I’d been you. And you’d no idea whether he was rich or poor ? ” u I told him the truth. It is best so. He has been too true a friend not to deserve that much at my hands. I never thought about his income. I supposed, as he had asked me to marry him, that he had enough for us to live upon. No one can know better than he that I have nothing.” Mrs. Paynter could not understand this at all. She was morally incapable of understanding such a character as Cissy’s. It was not that her disposition was false, but it was soft. Driven to bay, and Lizzie would have displayed plenty of hardihood ; but she detested unpleasantness, she always glossed over disagreeable facts. She would not actually lie, but she would undoubtedly distort circumstances that she deemed might be unpalatable to her hearers. When she confessed her sins to her husband, which she never did till necessity compelled, it was only by hint and innuendo extending over two or three days, mingled with penitent self-accusation, in a queer, bewitching fashion all her own. To tell an admirer that she didn’t care about him would have seemed to Lizzie needless brutality. “ He can’t help it, you know,” she would say, with the most perfect naivett ; u so why ill-treat him ? ” But to tell the man "that you were about to marry that you didn’t love him, was in her eyes extremely foolish. It had a savage candor about it, repugnant to Lizzie’s caressing nature. There was a vein of truthfulness and chivalry in Mrs. Hemsworth that she could hardly understand. Lizzie would stand by her friends stanchly enough in difficulties, but it must be in her own indirect fashion. She had hardly moral fibre sufficient to face the world boldly in their behalf. With all her audacity and Bohemianism, Mrs. Paynter did respect the world’s opinion. She rather liked astonishing society, nay, even shocking it in her proceedings ; but she was specially careful not to go too far. Flirt she would, flirt she did, but she contrived to avoid that scandal should thoroughly fasten on her. She might be talked about ; but she took heed that no sentence of ostracism should be promulgated concerning her, though her passion for intrigue had more than once led her into grievoufl difficulties. A Social Obligation, 85 Whether Cissy is deep past all conception, or innocent to an extent unheard of, puzzles Mrs. Paynter not a little, as she asks quietly, “ And when is the wedding to take place ? ” “ Very sog^.” replied the widow, shading her fair face from the firelight. “ Mon- tague wishes it should be so, and I think, too, it would be best. I am weaiy of fight- ing the world alone, and there is no reason for delay, unless he sees such. You will, perhaps, think I ought not to many before my year’s widowhood is out ; but then I arc peculiarly situated, remember.” “ I think you have no one to take care of you at present, and the sooner you have the better,” replied Mrs. Paynter, promptly. “But here is luncheon; come along, Cissy, and get something to eat, and give me the opportunity of drinking your Health.” When Mrs. Paynter, at dinner, confided to her husband the information she had received, that gentleman received it with much astonishment. “ I never thought Gore would ever marry,” he said ; “ and, if he did, I should have thought Mrs. Hemsworth the last person he would have chosen for a wife. I have nothing to say against your friend, Lizzie, — she’s charming ; but I don’t think she’s suited to him. Of course, it’s a good thing for her, and I hope it will turn out happily. But — ” “ None of your buts, sir,” replied his wife. “ Of course it will turn out well. Why shouldn’t it, I should like to know ? ” “ Well, I’ve an idea that Mrs. Hemsworth has no conception about managing a house, except in rather princely fashion. Gore is making a good income, no doubt; but one that a woman with extravagant views, like yourself, for instance, could soon knock holes in.” “I am sure I’ve been very good lately,” retorted Lizzie, resenting the hit at herself with great promptitude. “I haven’t come to you for extra money thia quarter.” “ My telling you it wasn’t to be had may have something to do with that,” rejoined her husband, laughing. “ However, never mind,,! am very likely all wrong, and no one can wish them happiness more sincerely than I do.” “They will do veiy well, you will see; but, John dear, you know this will cause considerable expense to me f and therefore I shall have to come to you before long.” “ Why, what on earth has Cissy Hemsworth’s wedding to do with your expenses ? ” inquired John Paynter, brusquely. He was a most indulgent and liberal husband ; but Lizzie sometimes tried him hard on this point. No matter what amount her purse was furnished with, Mrs. Paynter was one of those women who are always in difficulties about money matters. “ Why, you dear old goose, don’t you see I must have a new dress for the wedding ? And then, of course, I must make Cissy a wedding present, and you wouldn’t like me to do that shabbily, I am sure.” * O Lord ! ” returned John Paynter, “ I didn’t know, when I wished her happi- 86 Two Kisses. ness, that I was to pay for it, besides. I shall preach celibacy to all our friends, out of due regard for my own pocket, in future. But you shall have something to buy them a present with, little woman ; and, you’re right, I should like it to be good As for a dress, — ridiculous ; you’ve plenty. Go in any of them. I’ll find no money for that.” “ But you must,” cried Lizzie, laughing. “ Your wife attend her friend’s wedding in an old gown ? My dear John, you’d be hooted out of all society. It would come under the head of cruelty, and entitle me to separate maintenance, at the very least, sir.” “ Ah ! you’d find separate maintenance difficult to get along on, Lizzie, however high it were rated. But I’m froze for a cigar. If you’re not going out to-night, let’s have coffee in the smoking-room.” Mrs. Paynter smiled assent. When she received special invitation to that sanctuary, she knew her ends were achieved. CHAPTER XVI. ▲ QUIET WEDDING. At last the major has received the intelligence so anxiously awaited these weeks past. His Parisian correspondent, M. Rayner, was a man not easily baffled ; but he was utterly nonplussed in the first instance. He had expected little trouble in ascer- taining Mrs. Hemsworth’s London address. Some of her friends were doubtless acquainted with it, — probably corresponded with her. But when he came to make inquiries, it appeared that none, even of those she was supposed to be most intimate with, were even aware that she had left for England. Some would have it that she was still in Paris ; others that she had taken a small house at Versailles. In shoH, he already knew more than any one else concerning her. It piqued him. He was a man who prided himself on never being beat about the unravelling of a mystery. Still, this certainly did seem a hard nut to crack, that his old friend Jenkens had given him, — to ascertain the whereabouts of a woman in London, from inquiries prosecuted in Paris. M. Rayner ruminated a good deal over this problem. One evening, while smoking his cigar, sipping his coffee, and musing over it for at least the hundredth time, he had an inspiration, — one of those flashes that constitute high detective art, or acute analysis of character. Mrs. Hemsworth, he argued, was rather celebrated for her sneers de toilette . A woman who has achieved fame in that respect will never abandon the foible of being well-dressed. A Parisian will never be satisfied with an English modiste ; sooner or later she will send to the artiste she employed here. There is only to discover that artiste, which is simple, and, pov/> it is a question of time. 87 A Quiet Wedding. To discover the modiste that the fashionable Madame Hemswortl had employed was, of course, a very easy matter. Some weeks elapsed, and then a note from the lady in question informs Mr. Rayner that she has received an orde/ from her old customer, and that when completed it is to be forwarded to No. — Hanover street, Hanover square, London, W. M. Rayner sends off this information to xVtajor Jenkens in his airy, swaggering manner. “ Anything more that I can do for you, mon cher , major ? ” he asks ; u the amateur detective is a favorite role of mine ; command me, if you seek knowledge about any one. I will back myself to ascertain anything for you, with this exception, namely, how many weeks our present government will last, and who will succeed M. le Marechal.” The major smiles as he peruses this letter. It astonishes the veteran intriguer little to find that the lady he sought is living within a mile of his offices. His experi- ence teaches him that the clue to most information you require is usually very close to your hand, if you did but know where to look for it. Curious that Montague Gore, also seeking information, should be similarly impressed with the idea that the key to his mystery of “ the settlement ” is not far off, though he has no conce>don of its whereabouts. Then, again, the major always had held that Cissy was in London, and, that being the case, there was nothing surprising about the locality * a which he found her. Claxby Jenkens is very busy about the little pigeon-holes in his desk this morning. He unties more than one neatly docketed little packet, reads, and ponders over its contents. There are one or two things not working altogether to the major’s satis- faction. That his dear friend Roxby is so utterly beyond his control troubles him not a little. He had so made up his mind to have just a trifle the best of him upon this occasion, and behold the crafty Roxby seems less within his grip than ever; has given him, indeed, pretty frankly to understand that, unless he submits to play the subordinate part assigned to him in this matrimonial speculation, his services will be dispensed with. To a man like the major, accustomed to be the ^prime mover in all such mysterious transactions as he may engage in, this itself is galling. We do not like to descend to Cassius after having been wont to play lago. The major is as thoroughly addicted to intrigue as Mrs. Raynter to flirtation. It is open to question whether a hundred pounds acquired by legitimate means would have had the same value in his eyes as a less sum obtained by very dubious finesse. The major was at heart a social marauder, and despised the legitimate trader with all the scorn of the buccaneers of days lang syne. Another thing that moves his wrath is that one of his puppets in this approaching drama shows signs of much contumacy. Charlie Detfield has written a curt refusal to dine with Mr. Roxby, — a dinner designed by the conspirators to throw him once more across Bessie Stanbury ; and that a man so entirely in the hands of his creditors should presume to thwart their endeavors to obtain their own again is most grievous Insubordination in the major’s eyes. 88 Two Kisses. " 1 take measures for the young sinner’s relief, and he has the audacity to throw obstacles in the way,” murmurs the major, softly. “It is always the case whenever you try to do good to your fellow-creatures ; they always meet your exertions with the grossest ingratitude. Our pauper population are never satisfied with those insti- tutions which a paternal government has organized for their reception, turn up their noses at the porridge provided for them, and make outcry at being separated from the wives of their bosom ; and here is an aristocratic pauper showing equal ingrati- tude, refusing the baked meats we would serve up to him, and declining to take a wife to his bosom. Does he think property is acquired without some incumbrances ? To be sure lie is not altogether in the secret as yet. I have been fool enough to trust to nature as a confederate ; as if people ever did fall in love, where it was clearly their duty to do so. No, I’ll have recourse to human agency again. Nature is a prepos- terous imposition, that requires to be curbed, that stimulates people to all kinds of imprudences, that rarely suggests scientific selection in marriage, and may be gen- erally considered as an antediluvian humbug. Nature, in Detfield’s case, has apparently suggested getting your living by bills. Captain Detfield, it is time you were made to feel the bit a little. I shall just drop Simmonds a line to hint that he had best press for a settlement.” That little transaction neatly executed in the major’s clear, precise caligraphy, and that gentleman, after some further reference to his pigeon-holes, thinks he will walk up to Hanover street, and make a few inquiries concerning Mrs. Hemsworth; see her, perhaps, if it seems judicious ; will be guided a little by circumstances on that point, thinks the major. A few final directions to his clerk, and then the major carefully adjusts his hat, draws on his gloves, grasps a good, serviceable umbrella, and sallies forth, — a well- preserved, middle-aged gentleman, of military bearing, but yet with a dash of the city about him ; chairman or director of half-a-dozen companies now, you would not be surprised to hear, though an officer in Her Majesty’s service in his younger days. Head erect, glaring sternly through his spectacles, and handling his umbrella as if it usurped the place of the accustomed bamboo, the major strides up Regent street. It is not often that he leaves that web of his in John street, where, like a dropsical spider, he sits awaiting the flies, so early ; but he has his reasons. He is interested concerning Mrs. Hemsworth, and wishes to know as much about her as he can. St. Martin’s Church clanged hali-past eleven as he went past the portico ; and, though the major’s gait has a touch of military deliberation, yet there is grafted on it the city man’s restless activity. Claxby Jenkens combined swiftness and dignity in his footsteps, and was not long before he turned into Hanover street, and knocked at No. — with that imposing air of authority habitual to him. There was considerable delay in responding to his summons. In fact the major had appealed to the knocker in still more authoritative fashion more than once, before the door was opened by a young woman, in a state of fluster, giggle, and white rosettes, who exclaimed, upon seeing him : — A Quiet Wedding. 89 a Beg pardon, sir, but I was so busy I dfdn’t hear you before.” “ Mrs. Hemsworth lives here, I believe ? ” inquired the major. “ Yes, sir; at least, that is to say — I mean, of course she does,” replied the waiting* maid, with further accession of giggle, accompanied by confusion. “ Is she at home ? ” But this interrogation seemed altogether too much for the damsel ; and it was only with much smirking and blushing that she blurted forth at length : — “ La, sir ! don’t you know ? She’s gone to St. George’s.” “St. George’s!” replied the major, blankly. “St. George’s what — hospital? What the deuce do you mean ? ” “ No, sir ; oh, dear, no ! ” and here the young lady’s risible faculties were so exquisitely tickled at the idea of the hospital, that she was unable to make further response. \ “ Confound the girl ! ” muttered the major to himself. “ When will the grinning idteLst qp laughing ? Excuse me,” he said, blandly, “ I have not met Mrs. Hemsworth for many years. Where is she gone ? ” “ I beg pardon, sir, but it did sound so absurd. Hospital ! Ob, dear, I thought you were joking. Missus has gone to St. George’s Church. She’s being married this morning.” “ How long has she been gone ? ” asked the major, sharply. ' “ About ten minutes, sir.” Claxby Jenkens twisted sharp on his heel, without another word, and made the best of his way to St. George’s. He entered the church, and walked quietly up the aisle. He could see there was a group in front of the altar as he did so. When he came near, he stepped into a pew and gazed attentively at the scene before him. Clad in rich white silk, and bonnet to match, he recognized Cissy Hemsworth at once. A little behind her stood Mrs. Paynter. Of the half-score people present, these were all he recognized. The officiating clergyman was in the middle of the marriage service. The major listened to it at first somewhat lazily. He had never thought of this. But he leaned forward eagerly as there smote upon his ears the words : — “ Wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance, in the holy estate of matrimony ? ” and heard Cissy reply in clear, reso- lute tones, “ I will.” A few seconds more, and he heard the bridegroom recite in dull, monotonous fashion : — “ I, Montague, take thee, Cecilia, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, etc.” “ Montague ! ” muttered the major, “ I shall remember that name, I think ; but still it is well to be business like ; ” and, producing a memorandum-book, he made a brief entry of the marriage, names, date, etc. That done, and he watched the conclusion 9 0 Two Kisses. of the ceremony with the cool, critica T eye of a connoisseur; did such recognition to Mrs. Paynter’s tasteful toilet as would have much gratified that rather mortified lady, had she but known it. For Lizzie was really quite put out at the exceeding quietness of the wedding. “ When she said it was to be a very quiet affair,” whispered Mrs. Paynter to her husband, “ I could not possibly understand that it was to be clandestine, you know. It is ridiculous their getting married as if they were ashamed of it. I wonder they didn’t go to a registry office.” “ Yes, it is a pity that we weren’t better informed. You might have saved the expense of that new dress, for instance,” retorted Mr. Paynter, with a quaint twinkle in his eyes. “ Oh, a good dress is never thrown away,” rejoined his wife, smiling. “ Of course, it*s a disappointment that there is no one to see its dibut , but it will come in useful.” Gore had pleaded for no fuss, and Cissy had wisely replied that she, too, wished a quiet wedding, albeit she felt it incumbent to send to Madame Helders of the Hue de la Paix, Paris, for her wedding-robes, due to which circumstance was Major Jenkens’ attendance at her bridal. The benediction is spoken, the registry signed, and Cissy having received the con- gratulations of the Paynters, Fox Brine, and the half-dozen other people who had been present at the ceremony, walks down the aisle leaning on her husband’s arm. A rather solemn breakfast in Hanover street, and then a carriage bears away the newly married couple en route for Brighton. One of the wedding party lingered behind in the church, — it was the unbidden major. No sooner had the remainder crossed the door-sill, than issuing from his pew he made his way rapidly to the vestry. The clergyman was already gone, but the clerk still lingered and willingly allowed him to inspect the register. *• Montague Gore, Ilarc Court, Temple,” said the major, as he once more had re- course to his memorandum-book. “ Oh, well, there will be very little difficulty, I imagine, in finding out all about him ; but this marriage may make a considerable difference in my plans ; I must think — I must inquire. I would have given a thou sand pounds to have known of this a month ago.” CHAPTER XVIL ON A BICYCLE. It took Roseneath House almost a week to settle down after that momentous event, — the ball. When your lot is cast where the stream runs strong, and you are per- petually battling with the waters, you can form no conception how little will create a turmoil in the still pools of existence. As Aunt Clem said. “ after the last wreath. 91 On a Bicycle. ■he last sconce had been removed from the walls, the house still savored of dissipa- •ion ” The maids, too, seemed bitten with the “ Valse de Fascination, and hummed it over their daily labors in a manner that scandalized a domestic martinet like Miss SL grossly. The knocker also seemed “always on the rap,” as the same lady ^maitol “What with peoole fetching away things I had no idea we had ever borc ovred,' and receiving calls and cards from people I never heard of before, a nap before dinner has become a luxury of the past. , . But these cards and visits were a source of considerable amusement and speculation to Bessie and Aunt Clem. That close upon the moiety °f the gue^s sh°u strangers to their hostess is not remarkable at a first dance m London. As Bessie had s°aid, they would have been sore put to it to find dancing men a ^ e “ dancing women, without extraneous assistance. It was the puzzling who that afforded such fun to Bessie and Aunt Clem. They were very curious to see that handsome Mrs. Paynter again, though how she doomed to disappointment. Mrs. Paynter left cards without asking to be let in. Very problematical, indeed, whether her carnage contained Mrs. Paynter upon that occasion. Captain Detfield, too, had called and stopped for five-o clock tea, and both ladies were highly interested in his visit. He had danced with both of them, and his easy liriit-liearted talk had made a favorable impression. Moreover, a guardsman M a lira Iris in Islington circles, and Bessie’s immediate intimates had manifested much curiosity concerning him, both at the ball and since. That young means insensible to the Mat attending such an acquaintance, and disposed to keep up, should opportunity be forthcoming. . .. « It must not be supposed that Bessie had conceived any particular admiration for Detfield She was very young, and her knowledge of men and the woild, so fa , Very limited ; but she did perceive that Detfield was of a different class from those she had at present met. His quiet, easy, polished manner contrasted considerably with that of the few young men she knew. The self-contained bearing, the habiturf repose of one who mixes in good society, invariably displays a striking dissimilarity to those who, immersed in the business of life, have no such- opportunities. Women note these things keenly; especially do they regard the carriage of those whom they believe to mingle in circles above their own. This is why Mrs. Paynter and Detfield were objects of interest to Bessie and Aunt Clem. As for Miss Matilda, she had take no recognition of them. The giving of a ball had absorbed all her faculties. Tha the ball had been a success had swallowed up all minor details concerning 1 . the consequences of the ball seemed never-ending, as regarded cafiers and the humming of the “ Valse de Fascination ” by her maids, had produced a bilious imta bility of temperament in Miss Matilda, which imparted a crispness to hfe atEoseneath Ilouse not altogether pleasant to the dwellers beneath its roof. Miss Matilda declared vehemently she would never hear of such a thing taking again; that shews a foolish old woman to have ew flowed herself to ^ Two Kisses. 92 cajoled — very fond of this world just now is Miss Matilda — into such nonsense by a chit of a child just loose from a boarding-school, backed up, too, by one who ought to have known better. And here Miss Matilda would glance reproachfully at her sister. Still, when the knocker had been moderately quiet, and Miss Matilda had leisure to read peacefully, as she expressed it, which meant indulge in her usual afternoon nap, then over a cup of tea the good lady would laugh and chat with her niece and Aunt Clem, and revel in recapitulating the triumphs of the evening, till an arch demand from Bessie as to when the next was to take place, would once more remind her that she had set her face against all such nonsense for the future. But the ball had produced one result which had been barely foreseen by the ladies of Roseneath House. It had shown to the neighborhood, and also to people some- what beyond the immediate neighborhood, that the Misses Stanbury entertained, and that very handsomely ; also that there was a young Miss Stanbury who was a very pretty girl ; and, further, it was whispered about that Miss Bessie Stanbury was a young lady with gold galore and cash in the bank, — an heiress, in short ; though from whom or how she inherited her riches was not quite so clear. But still, two ladies who gave balls, — Miss Matilda’s determination luckily not being made known to the public, — and who had a pretty niece with a fortune, were decidedly worth cultivating. Tiro Misses Stanbury found themselves suddenly inundated with invitations. Bessie, under the chaperonage of Aunt Clem, took to going out a good deal. Miss Matilda, pronouncing them a couple of fools, stayed at home with her book for the most part, but showed considerable interest in the history of their proceedings the next morning all the same. Bessie speculated at times as to whether she should come across Detfield on these occasions. It was very natural ; no more than a girl wondering whether she shall meet a favorite partner, and girls are accustomed to indulge in such reflections with out their feelings being at all interested. We all muse a little upon whom we are likely to meet when we contemplate going into society, and calculate whom it may be our lot to be paired off with at dinner now and again with no little anxiety. You may do pretty well what you like in a ball-room, but at a dinner-party you are the slave of your hostess. It is in her power to make the next two hours those of pleasure or boredom ; no manoeuvring on your part can avert her decree. If rank has its advan- tages it certainly also has its drawbacks ; and there are occasions when the possession of a coronet is fraught with inconvenience to the wearer. Bessie, for instance, would be a pleasanter companion than deaf old Lady Slowborough ; but noblesse oblige , and young Lord Martello, however he may deprecate the arrangement, finds himself compelled by the laws of society to take charge of that venerable and by no means amusing old peeress under such circumstances. Still Bessie troubles her head very little about Captain Detfield. She had thought him nice, that he waltzed to perfection, that he was amusing. She would rather have liked to come across him again. Not at all insensible was Bessie to the distinction of On a Bicycle. 93 haring such a cavalier in her train, but she had built up no romance concerning him, as girls sometimes do about a man they have met in this way. Bessie took the world as it came, and enjoyed herself as one only does at eighteen. Cantering briskly home from a long scamper over Hampstead Heath one February afternoon, Velvet gives a tremendous start, rather shaking her young mistress, quite unprepared for such a misdemeanor on the part of her favorite, in the saddle. As Bessie recovers herself she looks round to see what has frightened her mare. The light is failing rapidly, but she speedily makes out a man seated by the roadside with a machine of some kind by his side ; almost as she catches sight of him he springs to his feet, and, slightly raising his hat, regrets to have been the involuntary cause of her horse’s misbehavior. “ Can he be of any use ? ” and as he asks the question he pats the mare’s neck, and leads her back into the centre of the road again. “ You were fortunately too good a horsewoman to take any harm from the shy, and no doubt your mare has recovered her manners by this, and is as ashamed of herself as I am,” said the stranger, once more raising his hat. “Yes,” replied Bessie, with a light laugh ; “I don’t doubt she is ; but she has an excuse. Captain Detfield seated by the roadside, apparently in company with a knife-grinders’ barrow, would have startled me as much as it did Velvet, had I seen it without some little preparation. “ Miss Stanbury ! ” exclaimed the guardsman ; “ the light must be my excuse for not recognizing you in the first instance. I am really shocked to think that I should have affrighted you and Velvet; but, on my word,” ho continued, laughing, “you owe me some amende too. Fancy calling my new hack a knife-grinder’s barrow ! ” “ Well, what is it you have got there with you ? ” “ Mind, I swear you to secrecy, Miss Stanbury ; but I am giving my whole mind up to economy this winter. I have awoke suddenly to the fact that a horse may be defined as an animal that always eats and is always lame ; such is my experience of that perverse quadruped of late. That barrow, Miss Stanbury, is my bicycle, a hack, I am assured, when I have once learned to ride it, that can go faster and go furthei than any horse foaled, — that is never lame, never hungry, but which, to wind up with, u vkes you think to be across the worst you ever rode would be elysium compared to it.” “ But you are not going to leave your — hack — bicycle, what am I to call it, there, are you ? ” said the young lady, merrily. “ No ; now I am rested a little we are about to recommence our doleful progress. If you can reconcile Velvet to my company I shall be proud to be your escort into town.” “We will try. Velvet has, of course, a proper contempt for all machinery ; but I don t think she will object to your new steed, when she thoroughly sees what it is. We often encounter them.” ° ikavo, Miss Stanbury! ” replied Detfield. “No,” he continued, jumping on 94 Two Kisses. bicycle, “ we will push along, nominally because it is getting late, but in reality because this affair usually upsets when I try to go slow on it.” Detfield had attained very fair proficiency, and kept alongside Velvet's easy canter without difficulty; that high-bred quadruped, after a disdainful snort or two, making no objection to the arrangement. “ It is a good while since we met, Miss Stanbury,” observed the guardsman ; “ but I’m afraid we have few mutual acquaintances.” “ Yes, that is likely,” rejoined Bessie. “ London is very big, and my acquaintance not very extensive. You see I have not been what is called ‘ out ’ very long ; and, though I’ve been to a good many parties this winter, I suppose our paths lie wide apart.” “ I don’t know about that," replied Charlie, somewhat mendaciously ; “ it is mar- vellous how people run across each other in London.” " Then I suppose, Captain Detfield, the fates have been against it in our case ? ” “ It would seem so. Fortune has treated me scurvily of late in many things. I hope she will behave better in future ; ” and here Charlie bethought him what an inconvenient thing a bicycle was from wffiich to sustain a conversation with a lady. They were now nearing Liverpool road, and had arrived at the tramway that enters the suburb on the north. Bound the turn in the road came the gleaming lights of the cars. Calling to his companion to pull to one side, Detfield turned his bicycle to the other, but the big wheel caught in the iron grooves of the tram, and, with a heavy crash, Charlie came to the ground. Though a little shook he had sense enough left to roll clear. Another second, and the heavy car smashed his overturned bicycle to shivers. With a passing malediction the driver pursued the even tenor of his way, and, covered with mud, Detfield sprang to his feet. Bessie, passing the car upon the opposite side, saw nothing of this accident. She looked round when she cleared it, and, missing her companion, at once reined up her mare. It was getting dark now, and she could see nothing of him. She sat still and waited. The bicycle, needless to say, did not appear. Then Bessie turned her horse and walked it slowly along the road. Before she had gone a hundred yards she met Detfield. “ What is the matter ? ” she exclaimed. “ And where is this economical hack that is to wear down poor Velvet ? ” “ Dead ! ” replied Charlie, laughing ; “ he’s been run over and killed by the street- cars. No commiseration, Miss Stanbury ; you can’t think how glad I am he’s gone. It’s such a comfort to find the thing as liable to accident as horse-flesh. You’re witness I’ve tried economy, and that it turned out a failure. I shall sue the company for damages next week, and buy a hack with the proceeds.” “ But you are covered with mud ! ” cried Bessie, as a street-lamp revealed the state of Detfield’s dress. “ Are you sure you are not hurt ? ” “ Not a bit, except in regard to my vanity. I know I’m not looking my best for a lady, and that is always painful to bear.” « Nonsense 1 ” returned Bessie “ but here is p&y groom. What can he do for you \ v On a Bicycle. 95 “ Let him ride on and get me a cab, and allow me to walk alongside you to your dwn door. It’s no distance now — ” “ And your bicycle ? ” “ Let its bones lie where it fell. I am well rid of it. Velvet was right in her con- victions ; they are things to be fought shy of.” Bessie laughed, as she gave her henchman his orders, and walked her mare slowly homewards, while Detfield strode by her side. ' “It is well it is dark, Miss Stanbury, or I should compromise you fearfully. The neighborhood would say that you came home accompanied by a crossing- sweeper.” “ I don’t care much what the neighborhood think,” replied Miss Besse, proudly. “ Oh, please don’t say so,” rejoined Charlie, earnestly. “ No woman, and espe- cially a young one, can ever afford to say that. Ten thousand pardons, Miss Stan- bury, I have no business to preach. I apologize, but I know the world better than you.” “You fancy, then, that I ought not to be seen coming home with you in this way,” said Bessie, somewhat bitterly. “ No ; don’t mistake me. I was only jesting at my own disreputable appearance ; * but you spoke so boldly about defying your neighbors — excuse me, I was wrong, I always am — taking to a bicycle, for example. Pray forget and forgive my unfortu- nate remark.” A guardsman of twenty-six, preaching sermons to a girl of eighteen, — the thing was an anomaly. They walked on in silence. Detfield striding steadily along by Velvet’s side, wondered what could have possessed him to begin moralizing. But his reflections were speedily brought to a close by their arrival at the Misses Stanburys* door, where Bessie’s groom and a cab were awaiting them. Charlie lifted his fair com- panion from her saddle, declined coming in on the plea of his bespattered habiliments, and, expressing a hope that he might have the good fortune to meet Miss Bessie again ere long, took his departure. Bessie amused her aunts at dinner with a laughing account of the guardsman’s misadventure ; but more than once that evening she knit her brows, and the color in ^ her cheek deepened as she thought of Detfield’s remark. It angered and annoyed her. She deemed that he had misunderstood her; that he had taken her half-jesting, half-petulant little speech seriously. A frank, free, unaffected English girl, Bessie had no desire to be included in the category of “ fast young ladies,” neither was she given to such habitual contempt of the convenances as her retort would imply. The young lady felt a little indignant that Detfield should have taken her so literally. She did not want him, or, for the matter of that, any one, as she remarked to herself, to think of her in that way. She had done herself an injustice, and she knew it. She certainly did not merit to be regarded in that light. Why had he taken up her foolish speech so quickly ? Then she wondered what had surprised him into speaking no earnestly. It had been but a few words, apologized for as soon as uttered, brief as 96 Two Kisses. a ripple on the water ; and yet Bessie thought she had caught a glimpse, in those half-dozen seconds, of a chivalrous manhood, under the guardsman’s usual light, nonchalant manner, such as she would fain know more of. CHAPTER XVIII. THE MAJOR’S MEDITATIONS. Thinking that you have game in your hand, and playing your cards boldly, it is rather a shock to find that you have miscalculated trumps. Deeming that you have considerably the best of your neighbor, and suddenly awaking to the fact that it is he, on the contrary, who is in a position to dictate terms to you, is also apt to disturb the equanimity of practitioners like Major Jenkens. Men who live by the weaknesses of their fellovrs are wont to be much put out, on finding themselves in contact with a bird of prey stronger in the wing than themselves. The major cannot get over Mr. Roxby’s curt, decisive ultimatum. It is all very well to say that he will be amply recompensed for his share in the arrangement of Miss Stanbury’s marriage, but the major had fully intended to be a partner in such spoil as might accrue from the successful negotiation of that affair ; evident now that Mr. Roxby will have nothing to say to him concerning it, unless he enacts the role of a subordinate. This is precisely what the major specially objects to do. It is a blow to his amour propre. He is not particular, as we know. He will stick at little that does not place him within the clutches of the law ; but he does like to pull the strings himself. He chafes at being a mere puppet in the hands of another. He knows Roxby w r ell ; he knows that eminent city financier to be as bold as unscrupulous. Twice has he had transactions with him ; and upon each occasion, clever as the major was, he had found himself thoroughly outwitted, and a mere tool at the last in the hands of his crafty and audacious coadjutor. This had irritated the major much, and he had vowed that the day should come when it should be he that would dictate how .affairs should be carried out to Roxby. When that gentleman wrote him that little note to John street, Major Jenkens conceived liis day was come ; but the ball in Barnsbury park had rather dissipated that opinion . Major Jenkens occupied chambers in a first floor in Charles street, Berkeley square, plainly but handsomely furnished rooms, and pervaded by their occupant’s love of order. From the trim writing-table to the dwarf book-case, from the lounging-chair to the comfortable sofa, everything was arranged with almost mathematical precision. You saw no volumes upside dowm, or a second volume in place of a third in that book- case ; no answered letters or loose note-paper were scattered about that table. Long experience had taught the major the precise angle at which that lounging-chair got most benefit of the fire, and least possible draught from the window ; where the sofa The Major's Meditations. 97 and the other furniture figured to the greatest advantage. Having made up his mind on these points, he permitted no shifting of his movables from the places assigned to them. “ The furniture, sir, in these rooms,” he was wont to observe, “ has been arranged after considerable study of their natural disadvantages. It is absurd to -think you can place a chair here so cleverly as I can. Those who live in a place understand where the draughts and other drawbacks lie. All houses, chambers, lodgings, etc., have their weak points, blemishes not to be counteracted. Sit where I put you, and you will be comfortable. Move your chair according to your whim, and don’t blame me if you have a crick in the neck.” It was true that the major was not given to entertain visitors. It was only upon rare occasions that he invited a guest even to smoke a cigar in his chambers ; and, social buccaneer that he was, yet he was scrupulous as an Arab under his own roof tree. If you dined with him at his club, and hinted at ecarM to pass away the even- ing, you would find him a dangerous antagonist, albeit he did not play very often ; but nobody had ever succeeded in making the major produce cards in his own rooms. It was probably matter of calculation. When the major played, it was in the way of business, and he scorned to play for sugar-plums ; but he was too well aware of what the world would say of a man like himself, who should win a big stake in his own chambers. The major thought rightly that he had a character to maintain. There were not wanting scandal-mongers, who would have retorted that he had a character to obtain. The major, enveloped in a well-wadded dressing-gown, i3 ensconced in that most scientifically disposed lounging-chair, and immersed in thought. He is stimulating his intellect with a large “ cabana,” and some cognac and seltzer, — aids to reflection by no means to be despised upon occasion. He is gradually piecing out why it is that Mr. Roxby appealed to him at all about finding a husband for Bessie Stanbury, and he has arrived at a very fair guess at the truth. “Yes,” he mutters, slowly ejecting a long wreath of tobacco-smoke, “ he must in- tend to seize upon a good slice of that girl’s money on her wedding, and I suppose he thought rightly, if she was snapped up by any of his business friends, or any young fellow in that way, that the settlements would be looked pretty sharply after. If, on the other hand, he can marry her to some broken-down swell from this end of town, he doubtless reckons on his being a man too needy to inquire very closely into things, and too anxious for the marriage to dare to quarrel with his bride-e]££t’s guardian,— one who could put his veto on the match for the next three years, at all events, and without whose aid and countenance the wedding would in all probability never take place. Possible,” continued the major, musingly, “ that my esteemed friend, Roxby, has already made away with a considerable portion of that thirty thousand pounds. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least. However, it’s not likely that he will allow a glim- mer of that to leap out. This young Detfield, too, apparently, is not disposed to lecond my exertion* on hi* behalf, — a piece of imbecility on his part that I shall havf 98 Two Kisses. to counsel Simmonds & Co. to put a speedy stopper on. 1 don't know, but it cer tainly does occur to me that Roxby might find him out not quite so docile, when it comes to the point, as he reckons upon. Rather a self-willed young man. Hum ! I don’t know that I have made a very good selection, and yet at the moment he seemed the veiy man. Absurd, situated as he is, that he should presume to differ from bis advisers. It’s ungrateful, that’s what it is,” growled the major wrathfully. But, as he thought it over, the major’s face cleared a little. True, at the first glance, it would seem very much against his, the major’s, interest, if Detfield should decline to woo the heiress pointed out to him ; yet if he should do so, and then prove refractory at the last moment ; suppose he should win the girl’s consent, and decline to accede to old Roxby ’s conditions, whatever they might be. The major rather chuckled at the idea. He had already perceived that, difficulties or no difficulties, Detfield had a will of his own, and was capable of facing all the consequences of his embarrassments sooner than extricate himself by a distasteful marriage. It was equally probable that Roxby’s proposals, when he should come to hear of them, would strike the guardsman in quite another light from that in which the financier viewed them. The major had no idea what they would be, but it did occur to him that what Roxby would airily designate a little business transaction, Detfield might apply a very different epithet to “Yes,” mused the major, “that really would suit me better than anything else. If he should win the girl and come to loggerheads with old Roxby about the settle- ments, my fee certainly would be in danger, but the old fox would have to show his hand, and I might pick up a little information that would give me the whip-hand of my dear friend Roxby for life. 1 should think that cheap at £500. But confound that fellow, Detfield, how’s he to win a girl if he won’t make love to her ? — and he’s refused all the invitations Roxby has sent him. We must make him feel his diffi- culties a little; he must understand that Simmonds requires to be humored; that whatever his ultimate intentions may be, 1 going in ’ for a wealthy marriage is the only thing, except a settlement, to pacify that Christianized Jew just now, and I must ti*ust to the girl herself and Mrs. Paynter’s counsels to do the rest. It was a mas- terly conception that of deceiving her with regard to which Miss Stanbury was the heiress. Such a coquette as Mrs. Paynter would never resign an admirer to a pos- sible rival ; I have only to take care that she does not discover the mistake until too late.” The major was an artist in social intrigue. He revelled in it, and wove or repaired the broken threads of his numerous schemes with all the patience and industry of a hungry spider. He had always been particularly fortunate in the delicate operation of bringing two people together with a view to matrimony, and rubbed his hands softly as he looked back upon more than one successful negotiation of that description. “ Hum, that’s settled,” murmured the major, gently throwing himself back in hit chair, and watching the smoke-wreaths as they curled above his head; “that is t# The Major's Meditations. 99 say, I'/e decided how I’m to play my game, and what will be the most profitable result 1 o Claxby J enkens, — the only person I have to care about in the affair. Now,” continued the major, knocking the ash of his cigar carefully into a little china saucer, “ I have two other bits of business that require immediate attention. Item first, the Montague Gores have returned from their wedding trip, and I must see Mrs. Mon- tague. It is a thousand pities I found her too late. If I could have spoken to her before that marriage ! What sort of a marriage is this that she has made ? How came it about ? Psha ! ” he muttered, “ what nonsense ! don’t I know ? Left as she was, poor child, what else could she do, but accept the first man that offered her a home ? — and I had intended that it should be so different. I had meant that Cissy should choose whom she liked this time. I chose for her the first ; I thought I had insured her wealth, at all events. I think if I had met Hemsworth a year or two ago, knowing what I do now, he would not have lived as long as he did. I suppose he would have fought if collared, and by my soul he’d have a fair chance to judge of my shooting ; ” and the major’s eyes gleamed with a savage light, such as men’s cany when the thirst for blood possesses them. “I kept away from them; I thought it best ; what have I on earth to love but her ? Well, I didn’t want — no, of course ; I’m a disreputable old vagabond, and the world says hard things of me, — would say harder, perhaps, if it dared. I didn’t want my darling to be clogged with an old father, of whom such queer stories are afloat. I dare say she thought me unkind. They call me hard; I am; but it’s all for her. Cissy, I must see you again, my child, if only to hear from your own lips that you are happy.” No one of Claxby J enkens’ acquaintance would have recognized their cool, cynical friend in the man who, with eyes suffused with tears, bent over the fire and gulped down a rising sob or two with difficulty. Yet it was so. The battered old heart, hard as granite to the world generally, had this one soft spot in it, an oasis in the desert. Claxby Jenkens, in all his scheming, plotting, and plundering, had ever an eye to leaving a snug fortune to his daughter. His one anxiety for some years had been to get the girl settled in life. He knew too well what sort of reception a daughter of his was likely to receive in society. When he had married her to Hemsworth, he deemed hi3 end accomplished. He had looked more at Hemsworth’s position than at hi* character. It was the light in which a man like the major would be sure to regard a narti for his daughter. He disappeared immediately after the wedding ; his reasons we already know. It was well, perhaps, that it had been so. The major would have been likely to call Hemsworth sternly to account for his neglect of his wife, a father-in-law with whom quibble or evasion would have scarce passed current. Mark Hemsworth had been just the man to have cowered before him, but to have brutally avenged himself on Cissy afterwards. However, that was a past now dead and buried. It was the future that was to be looked to ; and no fond and respectable father of a family ever felt more anxious about the happiness of his favorite daughter than did this world-worn social marauder. * Xes,” he muttered, “ I must see Cissy in the first place ; not much diificulty about 100 Two Kisses. that Ik the second. I must find Tim Turbottle. Who could have dreamed of t is leav the old cigar-shop, and taking it into his head to wander about the countiy ? However, **f course he is to be found ; it is only a question of time. It will be as well uot tc be in a hurry. I shall be better able to form an opinion of Mr. Montague Gore after a little. If you have made as great a mistake for yourself, child, as I did for you, it wul be well that you should have something to fall back upon.” With whk h reflection the major emptied his goblet and betook himself to bed. Claxby Jenkins thinks, like many other intriguers, that he holds the strings that shall guide the destinies of three or four persons in this history ; but it may likely prove the old story, that those he deems his puppets will not dance to his pipe. It occurs to these diplomatists, at times, to find that they have failed to gauge the course that man or woman will take under certain conditions. We know what we ourselves would do under such circumstances, but forget that others may regard things in a different light. We scheme to make the happiness of our friends, perhaps, and go a long way to make them miserable. Ideas of Elysium do not always coincide. Above all, we do not agree with our intimates concerning what is best for us. The major would fain smooth Cissy’s path in this world, and yet he had failed signally so far. It possible that his further manoeuvres may prove equally unsuccessful. Still he is so wedded to his accustomed mole-like strategy that he could hardly be induced to try a straightforward and above-board course; so impressed with the mr,xim that his neighbor is continually striving to do ’his duty by getting the better of him, that it behoves him to work with secrecy and caution. Much exercised in hi? mind and strengthened in his creed by the conduct of neighbor Roxby at this tin e, and feeling that mankind is less than ever to be trusted, and that his designs and intentions cannot be too carefully shrouded from those whom they may concern, the fates are working for him more than he knows ; but your social diplomatist is only too apt to mar what he would fain achieve by injudicious interference. The major is an artist, it must be admitted, but the man who trusts nobody invariably pays the penalty of misconstruing human nature. CHAPTER XIX. BIBS. PAYNTER’S SACRIFICE. Mrs. Paynteb has hardly yet got over Cissy’s wedding. That lively lady alludes to it with a mock pathos, irresistibly ludicrous. “ A nice thing for her, of course it is, poor darling ! She had nothing, you know, and will make Montague Gore a charming wife.” Mrs. Paynter is apt to be a little incoherent when excited, and speaks as if poverty was a necessary ingredient of a charming wife. “ But the ceremony was dreadful. It was quite shocking to be loi Mrs. Pay nter's Sacrifice. married in that way ; really, you know it might as well have been all done at a registrar’s office. Nobody there, and I in such a lovely dress, — it was quite sinful not to be seen in it. Yes, we stole into church as if engaged in some criminal proceed- ing ; if we had been after the communion plate it would have been impossible to have felt more guilty. I was conscious of a creeping sensation all the time, such as I presume accompanies infringement of the law. I cowered beneath the eye of the beadle, and shouldn’t have been surprised if I had been taken into custody at the church door. No,” Mrs. Paynter would conclude, with a shrug of her shoulders and upraising of her delicate brows, “ I can’t say what I may take part in before I die, but I’ll never, never, have anything to do with a quiet wedding again.” “ Well,” replied Charlie Detfield, when this sad story was unfolded to him, “ all weddings are rather melancholy affairs, — don’t you think so ? ” “ Certainly not,” retorted Mrs. Paynter, her blue eyes dancing with mirth; “I expect yours to be rather good fun. When do you marry your grandmother ? Beg pardon, Charlie, I mean the Islington woman.” I should think never,” retorted Detfield, brusquely t •* But you must, you know,” said Mrs. Paynter, gently. “ How are the debts ever to be settled, if you don’t? You won’t tell me much; men never do about such troubles ; but, my poor Charlie, 1 know all, — never mind how. Many money you must, and that very soon. She is not so very old, and she looks a nice, good-natured woman. It will all do very well.” “ Ah ! you know I’ve the rope round my neck, do you ? ” exclaimed Detfield, bit- terly. “ Doesn’t it ever strike you that there may be other ways of escaping from my troubles ? That one can sell out, cut London, and begin life anew ? ” “ Yes, Charlie, I have thought of all that,” replied the lady, in a voice so low that it was scarce above a whisper. “ Begin life again, eh ? But how ? It is so difficult for such as you. ” Coquette as she was, Lizzie was thoroughly in earnest. She felt keenly for Det- fiteld, and, perhaps, realized the hopelessness of his position better than he did. She was very fond of him in her way. Do you ask, did she love him ? No. Lizzie Paynter’s heart was in the safe-keeping of the last man society would have suspected of pos- sessing it, — her husband. But that did not in the least prevent her having a tendreze* for some one of her admirers ; besides, Lizzie invariably had a ciscebo , and Detfield at present was in possession of that post. Charlie was silent. He, too, when he had thought over his future, had sometimes wondered what there was that he could turn his hand to. It is not so easy to say, after half-a-dozen years of a military life, how best to set about earning your bread “No, believe me,” continued Mrs. Paynter, at length, “this marriage is the best thing for you. She is certain to be married, and may light upon a veiy much worse husband than you. Of course, she is a little old for you, but you can’t have every* thing. She, at all events, will have a gentleman for a husband; and I don’t tliink, Charlie, you could ever ill-treat a woman.” 102 Two Kisses. “ Does it ever strike you that all this sounds somewhat singular from your lips ? ” “ Yes ; but it is for your own good. Do you think, if things were otherwise, 1 would let you marry if I could prevent it ? No, Charlie, I am giving up something too. We must buiy the past. I shall wear mourning for — :or what’s been fora little ; and then we shall be friends, stanch friends, you know, :for life.” And Mrs. Paynter bowed her head in attitude of the prettiest resignation. It was a curious thing, but Detfield had fallen by accident into the same mistake that Mrs. Paynter had been intentionally led into by the major. He had thought rightly, that Bessie Stanbury was the heiress, in the first instance ; but Mrs. Payntel had laughingly pointed out Aunt Clem to him, in the course of that evening at Barnsbury park, as the lady who possessed thirty thousand pounds. Charlie, very careless about the matter, and having little intention of getting out of his difficulties m such fashion, had at once imagined himself mistaken. He thought it so much more probable that the elderly spinster was the wealthy bride recommended to his notice, than that pretty girl in all the flush and excitement of her first ball. Detfield was quite as convinced that Miss Clementina was the lady rejoicing in all these golden allurements as Mrs. Paynter herself. To him Aunt Clem represented the Miss Kil- mansegge of Islington. He did not think it necessary to mention his last meeting with Bessie. Men are shy of mentioning their discomfitures to the woman they love, we know, and the bicycle business was likely to evoke more laughter than sympathy. To express admiration for one pretty woman to another is usually considered inju- dicious, but it certainly requires a clear conscience. Charlie was dimly aware of thinking rather more about Bessie Stanbury than his allegiance to Mrs. Paynter quite warranted. “ I suppose it must be so, sooner or later,” he replied, at length. “ I have got pretty near to the end of my tether ; and, whatever may be my destiny, I am not likely to see much more of you. Yes, I’m about broke. You’ll miss me a little, Lizzie, I think.” “ You know I shall,” interposed Mrs. Paynter, rapidly. “ You knew I would do anything in my power to help you. Advice is all I have to give, and once more I say emphatically, marry the heiress.” “ Suppose the heiress won’t marry me ? ” returned Detfield, smiling. “ I shall suppose nothing of the sort, sir, till you have tried. I think, Charlie, you could make love rather nicely if you gave your mind to it.” “Ah! you think so.” “ You don’t deserve an answer, but just for once I’ll say I know it,” returned Mrs Paynter, with an arch flash of her "bright eyes. “ And knowing that ? ” “ I say go away and do it.” “ I don’t see the necessity of going away.” “ But I do,” cried Mrs. Paynter, springing to her feet, and giving an impatient stamp of her little foot. “ What fools you men are ! Charlie, if I didn’t care for you, 1 thould let you keep philandering about me to the last. But it can’t be. You must 103 Mrs. Paynter' s Sacrifice. think of yourself. Leave me now, and next time I see you tell me you are engaged to the heiress. You’ll have no truer or stancher friend than Lizzie Paynter. Do you understand me now ? ” “ Not in the least,” replied Detfield, curtly. “ I have a strong idea that I am dis- missed, — to make way for somebody else, I presume.” “ Unjust!” she cried, and fora second she turned her face from him and leant upon the mantel-piece. “Well, let it be so, if you misunderstand me now,” she con- tinued, facing him, and rearing her head haughtily, “ Miss Stanbury will gain a worse husband than I thought.” “ Pardon me,” he said, in a low voice, after a short pause. “ The bitter idea of parting with you must be my excuse for my brutal remark. I would I could recall I do understand you, and if I don’t do what you wish, believe me, I recognize you would banish me for my own good.” “ That’s like your old self, Charlie,” exclaimed Lizzie, extending her hand. “ Now say good-by, and remember, firm friends ever.” He pressed her hands passionately, raised them for an instant to his lips, then mur- mured, “ Firm friends ever,” and was gone. Mi’s. Paynter threw herself back in her chair, and mused very sadly over the scene she had just gone through. Her life was passed in these flirtations, yet she was always to a certain extent quite in earnest at the time. She had been very fond of Detfield, — that is to say, in her way. He had suited her exactly. He had never made an attempt to pass that indescribable boundary at which Mrs. Paynter consid- ered her admirers’ homage ought to stop ; that her admirers should sometimes not quite recognize this particular point was scarcely to be wondered at. But Mrs. Paynter was very impatient with any mistake concerning it. She had been most thoroughly truthful in what she had told Detfield. If she had cared about him less, she would have kept him dangling about her. She dismissed him, because she hon- estly thought that was the only thing to save him. It may sound like an anomaly to say that a woman entertains a sincere love and esteem for her husband, and yet lives a life of perpetual flirtation — is never satisfied without an admirer at her side ; but the thing is. There are women such coquettes by nature that they crave admiration as an opium-eater does the fatal drug. It becomes ingrained into their very being. Their heart is never involved, their feelings, perhaps, slightly, their vanity consid- erably. The parading an admirer before the world is a great gratification to such women. They have no desire that their affairs should be hid from society. Society usually has its mouth very full of them, but, after all, it is generally their more demure sisters who occasion society to hold up its hands, and make moan over their back- slidings. “ It might all fit in so very nicely,” thought Mrs. Paynter. “ If he would but try in earnest, he would be sure to succeed. Women at that age, unless they are purse- proud, are apt to get a little uneasy lest they should not get married at all. She didn’t give me the idea of being puffed up by her riches. A pleasant, good-tempered body, 104 Two Kisses. I should say A little old for Charlie, perhaps ; decidedly so indeed, — might almost ba his mother ; but wc could soften it down a good deal if we got her into the hands of * West-end modiste. These fifteen years might be toned down to seven or eight (about the actual difference between them) with a little attention to the toilet, — a mere nothing. But he ! there’s the difficulty, — he’ll not make an effort. I am sacrificing myself for nothing, and he is so very nice. These men they never do understand what’s good for them. He’d rather — hem ! talk to me, than make love to Miss Stan- bury,” and here Mrs. Paynter rose, and, crossing the room, deliberately contemplated her pretty face in the glass. The result was apparently satisfactory, for, after gazing at herself for some sec- onds, an arch smile stole over her countenance, and, with a light laugh, she ex- claimed ; — “ Perhaps he’s right. If I were a man, I think I also should prefer it.” Of a verity, the major secured a valuable auxiliary when he conceived the bold idea of calling upon Mrs. Paynter. As for Detfield he is at present something like the Irishman’s pig, that allowed itself to be driven so peaceably towards Cork, because it was under the delusion that its owner wanted it to go to Limerick. This marriage is very distasteful to him ; he had declared he would not repair his broken fortunes in that way. But men have made such resolutions before, and yielded at last to the special pleading of friends, and to the force of circumstances. In the mean while, under the impression that she is a portionless girl, Charlie bids fair to glide into a flirtation with Bessie Stanbury. Of course there is every possible reason for his not doing so, regarding Bessie as he does ; but the perversity of pigs is often paralleled in human nature. A tendency to fall in love with those they ought not has been a common frailty of humanity since the world began. He meditates a good deal upon wooing the Islington heiress, as he strolls leisurely down Portland place. It is so very odd, he thinks, that Lizzie Paynter should advo cate it so warmly. It is rather unlike her. Curious it was, with the Paynters he first made his bow in Barnsbuiy park. By the way, now he comes to think of it, it was Mrs. Paynter who had made him accept that invitation. How came she to be thus travelling out of her usual sphere ? What took her into a society so foreign to her accustomed haunts ? As Charlie reflects on this, he begins to have a vague suspicion that there is a conspiracy to many him to Miss Clementina. But then how came it that the major and Mrs. Paynter should be engaged together in such a scheme ? Why, they were not even acquainted. Suddenly flashes across him a shadowy recollection of seeing them talking together at that ball. He cannot remember dis- tinctly, yet he has an impression that it was so. Well, suppose he swims with the stream and tries his luck ? “ I shan’t break my heart if she says No, that’s one comfort,” he muttered, with a grim smile, “ and I shall feel tolerably mean if she chances to say Yes. Of course, it’s done every day, and I don’t suppose I am j istifkd in refusing good counsel. Why 105 After the Honeymoon. shouldn't I also go in for money ? There is one thing, — it would necessitate visiting a good deal in Barnsbury park, and I shall see something more of Bessie Stanbury, which will be pleasant, if nothing else is. Settled, earned, no one dissenting. I am to make love to the old lady, — a matter of business, and if I have a chance to flirt a little with the niece ; well, I am a weak mortal, and shall really deserve some slight relaxation. I shall come to grief over it, I know. I’ve a conviction I'm opening the campaign on wrong principles, and shall be eloquent in the wrong place. lYhat 1 have been trying to say all day to the aunt will come blundering out to the niece in the e/ening, and I shall wind up by proposing to the wrong woman. Well, it’s a consolation to think that I can’t be in a bigger mess than I am now, and if I do lose my head, and ask Miss Bessie to marry me, we can’t get any further. We can’t wed upon my debts, and, by Jove ! that’s about all the property left me. Paragraph for the < Post ' : i We regret to announce that Captain Detfield, of the Household Brigade, has succumbed to the prevailing epidemic. His resources proving unequal to the demands made upon them, after a lingering and painful struggle, he departed (tor the Continent) tranquilly this morning. His loss will be much felt (for forty-eight hours) in the fashionable world, in which he was an universal favorite.' ” And then Charlie indulged in a low laugh at his own little jest, — such laughter as men make when they mock their own miseries ; such laughter as rings cracked and hollow on the ear, and prefaces at times criminal solution of the knot men’s follies have tied. Charlie Detfield spoke of his difficulties lightly, but they were gnawing sharply at his heart-strings nevertheless, and the bitterest drop in his cup, perhaps, was the thought of leaving his regiment. He loved the old corps very dearly, and regretted much that his days in it were already numbered. --—+o>9 want money ; there’s plenty of advice about, if that’s any good to itjoat. -<• sometimes. You prescribed for me the other day, you Kaov* -t a 9 ksr t rat all the friends who are aware of how awfully hard up I am, gr** w n. *arae advice.” “ What, — uO marry money ? ” “Just so. I didn’t take kindly to the idea at first, but desperate causes demand desperate remedies. 1 have made up my mind.” “ Good ! you are going in for an heiress,” remarked Brine, sententiously. “ Now, there’s very often a terrible flaw in the advice your friends give you on that point. My prescription, I remember, was deficient in one necessary ingredient. People tell you to many an heiress ; that indefinite article is the devil. If they would point out the heiress.” “I can’t complain on that point. The lady has been indicated. I have been properly introduced. I am making love to her now,” rejoined the guardsman, languidly. “ You are ? ” said Brine, eying him keenly. “ If you don’t throw a little more steam into talking to her than you do into talking of her, I wouldn’t take twenty to one about your chance, my boy.” “We are only in the early stage of courtship at present,” replied Charlie, speaking as tranquilly as if he was talking of something in which he had no personal concern. It would never do to frighten the old lady by being too demonstrative.” “ Ah ! she’s a little old, is she ? What do you call old now ? ” “ Well, you see, I don’t know her age exactly. Mrs. Paynter vows she’s old enough to be my mother ; but that’s a libel. You know how women talk. She’s a good bit older than me, though.” “ Of course, if you go for money, you can’t have everything. By the way, I dam say you met Mrs. Gore before her marriage ? ” “ Yes, two or three times, when she was Mrs. Hemsworth. She was a good deal at the Paynters*.” “ What do you think of her, Charlie ? ” “ I thought her a particularly agreeable, graceful woman. I should fancy Core a fortunate man in his wife.” -Oi cj “ I’m glad you think so. He’s a very dear friend of mine. Should have been tomething nearer, as you, of course, know. But I can’t say I did fancy Mrs. Gom 121 Charlie Detfield's Affairs. '/hen I met her the other night. However, that’s neither here nor there, and I hope I’m all wrong in the opinion I formed of her.” “ I haven’t a doubt of it. She’s as pleasant a woman to talk to as I ever met, and I am not quite sure whether she isn’t a very handsome one to boot; I know if ever I thought she wasn’t, I always recanted after talking to her for five minutes. Did you ever make out anything about Major Jenkens for me ? ” “ No,” replied Brine, with considerable animation. “ The major is dark — very dark. I have talked to a good many people regarding him. That he’s a rather shy lot, I’ve no doubt ; but I can’t pick up anything tangible about him. There are men who abuse him freely, and hint that he has been guilty of all sorts of enormities ; but, when you come to go into particulars, they can only whisper mysterious accounts of his having now and then won goodish stakes at play, and that he is well known to the bill-discounters. Sharp practitioner they call him, but nobody seems able to allege any instance of peculiarly sharp practice on his part. That he’s a bird of prey I think probable ; but, at all events, he does his ravening decorously. Don’t under- stand his taking such an interest in your marrying, Charlie.” “ Nor I. He certainly never lent me money ; but, of course, he may be a partner in the transaction. He told me who to go to, but affects to have nothing to do with it. Professes simply to buy and sell on commission anything, — houses, horses, carriages, white elephants, or white mice. You’ve seen him, I think you said ? ” “ Yes ; two or three times in the park, — the other afternoon only.” “ Was he wearing spectacles ? ” asked Charlie, laughing. “ No, certainly not. Does he sometimes ? ” “Yes; and I’d almost bet you a sovereign you wouldn’t know him when thus decorated. I never saw a man that it made such a difference to. I don’t believe the old villain wants them at all, and when he has got them on I defy you to make any- thing out of his face.” “ It didn’t strike me as a face you would make much out of any way,” rejoined Brine, meditatively. “ But as far as he bears on your affairs there is no more to be said at present. I should like to know something more of this wooing of yours.” “ It goes on smoothly and tranquilly. I pay my visits to Barnsbuiy park whenever I am not on duty or specially engaged.” “ And you find you progress favorably with the old — beg pardon, I mean the lady ? ” s< Yes. I assure you she’s a very nice person. I like her immensely. Very pleasant to talk to. She suits me admirably in every respect but one.” “And that is ? ” “Well, she’d make such a charming aunt or mother-in-law, it seems a pity that necessity compels me to make hen a wife. I could get so fond of her from any othei point of view. But what must be, must, I suppose.” “ You find it rather hard work, I presume, then ! ” exclaimed Brine, laughing. “ Not at all ; as I said before, shejs remarkably pleasant. Then the elder sister it 122 Two Kisses. extremely amusing, quite a character; and as for the niece, — Bessie Stanbury is simply charming ! You never saw such a sweet girl, Fox. Her figure is perfect, and her eyes simply swim in their own loveliness,” concluded Charlie, after a short pause. “ Holloa ! I say, this won’t do, you know ! ” exclaimed Brine, springing up from his sofa. “We know perfectly well what the result is in all comedies, when a man makes love to the aunt, and a bewitching niece appears upon the scene. My <£ear Charlie, if this is your idea of going in for money, you won’t make much of the speculation.” “ By Jove ! you should see her on horseback, old fellow ! She can sit her horse, and never looks better than she doe3 in her riding-habit.” “ I have no doubt Miss Bessie Stanbury is all you describe her ; but it strikes me you are making a fool of yourself,” said Brine, gravely. “ Under the delusion that you are laying siege to the aunt, it looks as if you were falling over head and ears in love with the niece. That’s not whist, Charlie.” “ Pooh ! nonsense ! I know what I am about,” rejoined Detfield, pettishly. “ Of course I must talk to the girl when she is present. Besides, it is not forbidden, even when married, to admire a pretty woman when you meet one, much less when you are only going to be.” “ If you don’t confine your admiration to the woman you seek to marry, it’s odds she is never your bride, Master Charlie. You don’t suppose the aunt will approve of your making sheep’s eyes at the niece, do you ? and you can’t be such a fool as to suppose a woman will overlook that ? ” “ Never you mind, Fox,” replied Detfield, lazily. “ It’s no use your preaching. Depend upon it, if a man can’t manage to win a woman himself, no male creature can teach him the trick of it. Besides, Miles Standish always made a great impression on me. I determined long ago never to ask masculine help in my wooing. It’s awkward when the lady makes response to such assistance with * Why don’t you speak for yourself, John ? ’ You leave me to manage my own affairs.” “ Why, you ungrateful beggar ! ” exclaimed Brine, bursting into a roar of laugh- ter. “ That’s the way of the world all over. You come here bothering for advice, and wind up by requesting I’ll leave you to manage your own affairs. It’? too absurd.” “ So it is,” replied Charlie, joining in the laugh against himself, “ and we have arrived at the old conclusion, as you said we should, to wit, * that I am past redemp- tion;’ further than that we never get. I tell you what, old fellow, the luxury of talking ’em over with a sympathetic friend is just the one pull of being in difficulties.” “Hear him!” cried Brine. “The serene philosophy of a virtuous nature that — “ * Bee* sermons in stones and good in everything.' Whom Does He Come to See? 123 One o’clock, by Jove ! I must put up my traps. I’m off to Nottingham this after- noon on business.” “ Pack away,” observed Charlie, placidly. “ I’ll look on.” Brine’s arrangements were soon made, and the myrmidon despatched for a cab. As the two friends shook hands, Brine paused for a moment, and then said : — “ This is not advice, Charlie, but prophecy. Mark me, you’ll marry the wrong lady.” “ What, of those two ? ” ** Of those two. Of course, I speak with regard to your difficulties.” “ Exactly. I’ll bet you five pounds I don’t.” “ Done ! ” replied Brine ; and his good-by was lo9t in the rattle of the hansom’s wheels. CHAPTER XX I II. WHOM DOES HE COME TO SEE ? Charlie Detfield, as may be easily surmised, has paid a good many visits to Barnsbury park lately. He has, moreover, contrived to meet Bessie on several occasions in her rides, and has substituted a neat hack for the unfortunate bicycle, — his “ first attempt at economy,” as he observes, pathetically, “ crushed beneath the wheels of the people’s Juggernaut.” Miss Bessie, who detests street cars, instigated thereto in some measure by Velvet’s disdain of those vehicles, vows that expression is most poetical. But that young lady is scarce to be counted a fair judge of Charlie Detfield’s sayings and doings just now. She has met him, too, it more than one dinner and dance, contrived by the. sagacious Robxy with a view of throwing the oung couple together. Charlie no longer despises invitations beyond that famous outpost, “ the Angel.” “ It is his duty to continue his pursuit of Aunt Clem,” he says to himself. “ That Bessie should always figure at these entertainments under her wing is a coincidence. Coincidences have considerable effect on our lives, but people never realize nor dream how they themselves contribute to coincidences.” Although Detfield invariably paid Aunt Clem great attention, it cannot be suppose that Bessie attached much significance to that. What tact he had, she thought, thu to propitiate her chaperone ; and Miss Clementina, pleased as she was at the studied courtesies of the young guardsman, only considered them an indirect tribute to her pretty niece. If Aunt Clem did not consider that her dancing days were over, and that matri- monial chances were not as yet altogether beyond her attainment, still she had never pictured a man of Charlie Detfield’s years as an aspirant to her hand. If the elder Misses Stanbury were not so rich as their niece, yet they had a comfortable ten thou- 124 Two Kisses. sand pounds apiece ; and Aunt Clem did know that there were middle-aged men wh4 would consider that and a good-natured woman of her years a most desirable acquisition. But Captain Detfield’s frequent visits began to attract the attention of Miss Matilda. She liked the young guardsman, dropping in with his light, lively gossip. He always paid her a deference, which impressed her very favorably towards him. Suddenly the idea flashed across Miss Matilda : — “ What does he mean by all this continuous calling ? Young gentlemen of his age don’t come twice a week or so to see a lady of my years, be she ever so lively.” And Aunt Matilda considered that she could talk, although such frivolous conversation as held sway when Charlie Detfield was in the drawing-room was rather beneath her. M Now, which was it, — that giddy-minded sister of hers, or the child, that was the attraction ? ” Miss Matilda always regarded Aunt Clem as a flighty woman, who ought to be slightly ashamed of herself for her caprices ; not too old to marry, by any means, but who ought really to think of giving up dancing, and so on. As for Bessie, she persistently looked upon her as a girl too young for any man to think seriously about ; but she had observed, she thought, a levity about Captain Detfield that made it just possible he might be amusing himself by flirting with the child. Miss Matilda conceived that it was her duty to clear up all doubts on the subject forthwith. “ The sooner the better,” she said to herself. " Unpleasantness, if it’s going to b* unpleasantness, like meat in hot weather, gets very, very unpleasant the longer you keep it.” At five-o’clock tea that day she opened her battery. “ Young women,” she observed, — “ though to call a chit like you a young woman, Bessie, is a moral absurdity, — I want to know who it is that Captain Detfield comes here to see.” “ I suppose all of us,” replied Aunt Clem, laughing. “ Give me some more sugar, Bessie.” “ Do you ? Then i regret to say, Clementina, you’re a fool. He doesn’t come here to see me.” “ You’re not polite; and you are not all of us,” rejoined Aunt Clem, flushing I lightly. “ You think he comes to see you, then ? ” inquired Miss Matilda, sharply. “ I have never thought at all about it, and most assuredly never that,” returned Miss Clementina. If her aunt had flushed Bessie Stanbury had felt that she was becoming scarlet all over at Miss Matilda’s abrupt interrogatories. But the youngest women are cunning of fence, when you touch upon their affections. She turned her head after a second or two, and said, demurely, — the little hypocrite ! — “ Well, Aunt Clem, I think you ought to take this into consideration. He does pay you a deal of attention, you know.” Whom Does He Come to See f 125 There was a merry twinkle in Miss Clementina’s eyes, as she repJed, with great solemnity : — “ Now I reflect upon it, he does. Matilda is convinced that she is not the attraction. Bessie seems to think I am. I suppose, then, I am the one that he comes to see.” « Good hoavens ! Clementina, and, thinking that, what do you mean to do ? ” inquired Miss Matilda, breathlessly. “ It is a veiy difficult question to answer. I really don’t know. I should like to know what you both think ; for at present nothing occurs to me beyond being always glad to see him ; and, terrible to confess though it may be, I am.” “ What ! — you think of marrying that boy ? ” shrieked Miss Matilda. “ He’s not a boy exactly,” observed Bessie, laughing. “ And, oh, dear ! he hasn’t asked me yet,” exclaimed Miss Clementina, with an arch glance at Bessie. “ Do you think he will ? ” “ Yes, I do,” retorted that young lady. “ And he won’t take 1 No ’ for an answer, Aunt Clem ; and you’ll not give him * No ’ to take, — that’s another thing. And mind, I will be a bridesmaid.” “ You won’t, my dear,” cried Aunt Clem, throwing herself back in her chair, and indulging in a peal of laughter. “ Clementina, your conduct is positively indecent,” said Miss Matilda, drawing her- self up in her most stately manner ; and how stately she could be, when irritated, was scarcely to be conceived. Nothing ever did exasperate the good lady so much as a dim idea that a joke was being carried on at her expense. u What ! ” replied Miss Clementina, recovering her gravity ; “ because I am reflecting what answer I am to give to an important question ? ” “It must be entirely your own fault if a boy like that presumes to ask such a question,” retorted Miss Stanbury, sniffing with indignation. Aunt Clem stole a sly look at her niece as she said : — “ But young men in these days are so presuming, — are they not, Bessie ? ” “ It’s not much to be wondered at, when the girls are so forward. When I came out — don’t laugh, you chit ! Do you suppose I was born two-and-forty ? — young men paid us attention ; but I see the young ladies of the present day have reversed all that. I’m sure at our dance I saw two or three young women who had put themselves in their partner’s place on that score. I suppose next I shall find that you and Bessie are paying attention to somebody or other.” “ Aunt ! aunt ! what a shameful libel ! ” cried the gild. “ You have no right to heap up fresh charges without any foundation, in this manner.” “ Thank you for the hint,” replied Miss Stanbury, dryly ; “ we have rather wan- dered from the point. The question is, whom Captain Detfield comes here specially to see. He doesn’t come to see me, and, much as I regret to wound Clementina’s vanity, I’m not altogether clear that it’s her.” Bessie repented her interference, and hung out palpable signals of distress at this Unexpected change of Miss Stanbury ’s views. That lady, though she had bee^ 126 Two Kisses. carried away for the moment, was much too shrewd to be long deceived by her niece’s joke. She was indignant at the presumption of the pair in attempting to mystify her for a moment, and disposed to punish the delinquents, for one of whom, at all events, she had a rod ready to her hand. “ Pray,” she continued, turning abruptly to her niece, “ whom do you suppose to be the loadstone that attracts Captain Detfield to Barnsbury park, eh, miss ? ” But Aunt Clem came gallantly to the rescue, and took the answer to that question upon herself. “ My dear Matilda, she has told you already that 1 am the loadstone. Goodness i I thought we settled that some time back. The question was, what was I to say to my admirer if he ventured to propose.” “ The question rather is, what you can have said to induce him to take such a liberty,” retorted Miss Stanbury, so fiercely that her sister began to think that the joke had been carried a little too far. “Don’t be angry, Matilda,” rejoined Aunt Clem, in pleading tones. “Let us suppose it is Bessie.” “ No, pray don’t,” exclaimed the girl, blushing. “ You have no right to suppose so. I have no right to think so. Captain Detfield has said no word to me as yet that would justify me in such belief. Don’t be cruel, Aunt Matilda,” continued Bessie, springing suddenly from her chair, and coiling herself up at her aunt’s feet. “ You never tease me, you know, and you are doing so now. It’s not fair. I don’t like it, and,” she added, as she fondled Miss Stanbury’s hand, looking up into her face with a mutinous pout, “ I won’t bear it.” Miss Matilda’s face softened, as she stroked the girl’s shining tresses. “ There’s plenty of love made that’s unspoken, my dear,” she replied, after a short pause. “ And young ladies, for the most part, bear it very patiently, even when it is, although it may be by the wrong man. None of our sex ever were, or ever will be, indifferent to a love-tale, even though our sympathies should not be with the teller. Bessie, my pet, I think you will tell your old aunt when the right man speaks, be he who he may. Now run away, child ; I want to talk to Clementina, and not to you.” Bessie’s sole reply was to give her aunt a great hug, two or three kisses, leave a tear on her cheek, and vanish. But if Miss Stanbury had melted momentarily to her niece, it was not to be sup posed that austere lady was altogether pacified. Ashamed a little at her own momen tary weakness to Bessie, she resolved to give away to nothing of the kind with hei sister. “Well, Clementina,” she remarked, with the sharpness of a detonating pistol, as the door closed ; “ what have you got to say ? ” “ Nothing,” replied Aunt Clem, meekly. “ Nothing ? And you have allowed this to go on under your eyes all the time, and tell me you’ve nothing to say. Here’s Bessie as good as engaged. Pooh! don’t tell me,” she cried, as Aunt Clem made a deprecatory gesture; “ when a girl blushes, as Whom. Does He Come to See f 127 ihe did just now, at the man’s name, he’s only to ask and to have, did he but know it. It’s to be hoped he don’t. Now we know literally nothing of this Captain Det- field. Military morals I believe to be of the most unsatisfactory description. Officers, usually, I have heard, are addicted to all manner of unrighteousness. I don’t pro- fess to know much about them, but I have no reason to think that the Household Brigade, to which Captain Detfield says he belongs, are more piously brought up than the other, — horse, foot, or artillery.” And, having so said, Miss Stanbury sat bold upright and glarea defiantly at her unfortunate sister. She was speaking the exact truth concerning the army, according to her own lights. She did know nothing about them, and looked upon them all as wine-bibbers, etc. Miss Clementina bore her sister’s attack in silence. That Detfield admired her niece, and paid her considerable attention, she was aware ; but that anything serious was likely to come of it had never before entered her head. She felt dreadfully guilty, as if she had neglected a trust confided to her care. They did know next to nothing of Captain Detfield; it was too true. Again, was Bessie’s heart out of her own keeping already, as Miss Matilda asserted ? She began to fear it was so. “ I can’t help it,” she murmured at length. “ I never thought of his caring for Bessie, in that way, and I couldn’t inquire into the history of every man who asked the child to dance, or handed her down to dinner.” “ But when you saw her perpetually dancing with one young man, I presume you might have made inquiries about him.” “ I’m sure I don’t know who from. I declare I don’t know who to ask about him now. I haven’t the least idea of how to make inquiries about Captain Detfield ! I can think of nothing but writing to the colonel of his regiment, and I don’t suppose that would do,” rejoined Aunt Clem, somewhat dolefully. “ Besides, he dances a good deal with me.” “ I dare say. If you observe, you will notice young men usually are very attentive to their intended mothers-in-law,” retorted Miss Stanbury, spitefully. But flesh and blood could not stand this innuendo. Aunt Clem started to her feet, and with flushed cheeks exclaimed : — “ I’ll not stay here to be insulted, Matilda. I suppose it’s not too late to make in- quiries about Captain Detfield, even now. Besides, you began by asking whom he comes here to see.” “ True. Sit down, Clementina, and let’s talk the thing over quietly,” interposed Miss Stanbury, who saw that she had gone too far. “We must get somebody to ascertain all about Captain Detfield’s family and prospects for us. Bessie’s guardian is, of course, the proper person. I shall send for Mr. Boxby.” “ Yes, that will do nicely,” replied Miss Clementina, much mollified ; “ but there’s a wide distinction between aunts and mothers-in-law, I’d have you to know. I never saw a young man dancing with his mother-in-law, though, perhaps, you may ; ” and 9 128 Twc Kisses. so Baying, Aunt Clem swept out of the room, with a dignified rustle of her skirt* most unusual. Miss Stanbury made no reply, but could not refrain from indulging in a grim smile as she saw how her shot had told. Verily, it was the old habet of the arena. CHAPTER XXIV. A FATAL KISS. Cissy has made her appointment, and the morning has arrived on which she is to keep it. That she is fluttered and excited about this meeting is only natural. She has never known a soul in whom she could place implicit reliance, from the time her father so mysteriously vanished, until she married Montague Gore. She is just begin- ning to think she can do so in him ; to feel that his presence is a protection from all ills in this world. She murmurs to herself at times, “ I feel so safe now Montague has charge of me. If I did get into a scrape he would pull me through it.” It is an immense thing for a woman, who has known what it is to want a protector, to find herself once more in safe anchorage. To feel that there is some one to take care of her ; some one on whom she can thoroughly depend. He may not inspire any feel- ing of love, but he must of esteem and gratitude ; and these Cissy had most thor- oughly conceived for her husband. True, Mrs. Paynter had been a great friend to her, — really the one friend of ket own sex she had ever known ; but no woman can ever stand to another in the light of a protector, even though she be her own mother. It is the prerogative of man, although there is a section of sexless women who apparently do not think so. That third sex, “ the Lady Mary Montagues,” has always existed ; but I think they must have been pleasanter in the days gone by than they are in the present, if one may judge by their recorded sayings and doings. Cissy has selected Montague square for her interview. She does not know any- thing about it, further than that it appears to her to be always deserted. There are certain spots in London which one might almost presume to be uninhabited. Mon- tague square is one of these. The dwellers therein seem to leave and regain their homes in stealthy and mysterious fashion, and are never seen to take exercise in their own square. Cissy has merely noticed that it appeared to be a quiet place ; that it had the advantage of being near her own home. She has no thought concerning her- self in this respect, but she does look upon it that her father must have strong reasons for not wishing to be recognized, though what those reasons may be still puzzles hei considerably. She did not understand his note on that point one iota. At the hot* tom of her heart she thought he had been very cruel to leave her all these years. How many times she had wanted him, he could never know. But her belief in him was unbounded, and ho doubtless had good cause for his apparent desertion. A Fatal Kiss. 129 Her husband has gone off to his chambers, and Cissy sallies forth to her appoint* ment. arrayed in the latest Parisian mode, — one of those women with whom to dress well is as a thing of course. Like Marie Stuart, Cissy would have been dressed becomingly if treading the path to the scaffold. She understood economy little in any shape, but as regards her personal attire, not at all. She had always been taught not only to be well-dressed, but strikingly well-dressed. To accomplish that requires a good deal of money. But Cissy would have conceived her husband infinitely more entitled to find fault with her appearance than with her milliner’s bill' — an idea born of her first marriage, but which a husband of more limited income, and with certain scruples as regards exceeding it, might be apt to demur to. Montague Gore has already had a slight revelation on this point, but Cissy knows well that, sooner or later, she will have to bring accounts for his settlement of this nature that will open his eyes considerably. She does not trouble her head much about it as yet. She does not know whether he will care much when she does. These moderate means that he alludes to are so very vague. Some people call them- selves paupers on ten thousand a year ; but that a husband must wish his wife to be well-dressed is a fixed fact in Cissy’s creed. “Well, that cannot be without some expense,” reflects Mrs. Gore. “ It is unfortunate, but my style does require good things. Little women can do with cheap materials. I can’t.” Mrs. Gore’s lesser sisters would have probably felt considerable wrath had they known her sentiments. No woman that lives ever considered herself unfitted for rich attire ; but Cissy kept her opinions on dress locked within her own bosom, which, when you have conceived heterodox notions, is undoubtedly the most judicious thing to do. Usually we are anxious to promulgate them ; and what very hot water we find ourselves in by so doing ! She arrives at Montague square, and has scarcely traversed one side of it before the well-knit figure she knows so well approaches her. The major has no spectacles on upon this occasion. For, once in a way, the veteran has lost sight of doing what he conceives his duty by his neighbor, and is fairly and honestly entrapped into genuine emotion. Midst the sullen, solitary life of plunder he habitually leads, thi 3 is the one soft spot, the one human affection he cherishes. For Cissy he has made the one stupendous sacrifice of his life. For her he has triumphed over that innate selfishness, characteristic of love of all kinds. She thinks he was cruel to desert her. She little knows what it cost him ; how long he wavered and pondered over this, t& him, terrible step, before he determined upon it. “ But no,” he thought at length, “ she is well and fairly launched upon the world ; she shall not have a questionable father flying in her face.” None knew better than Major Jenkens how quietly but bitterly society can allude to doubtful relations or antecedents. But they have met, and the major, clasping Cissy’s two hands in his own, gazes anxiously into her face, as he exclaims : — u 1 see you once more, my darling ! Well, happy, — is it so ? ” * Why did you le^ye me* father, all these years ? What had your child doae 130 Two Kisses. yon should treat her so cruelly ? No,” she continued, hurriedly, noticing the troubled expression of his face, 44 I don’t mean that exactly. Of course you had good reasons \ but it came hard, you know, on me. I knew nothing.” 44 No, nor I either, Cissy,” he replied, hoarsely. “ I never guessed I had married you to a blackguard. Nay, don’t interrupt,” he went on, sis his daughter made a slight deprecatory gesture. 44 I don’t want to pain you by abuse of Mark Hemsworth. You know what he was as well as I do.” " He was my husband,” interposed Cissy, gently. “True; we’ll allude to him no more,” replied the major, as they passed slowly along the pavement. “ First, I want to know whether you are happy in this second marriage. Is Gore kind to you, child ? ” 44 Yes, and more than that, considerate. I am his wife. I was Mark Hemsworth’s plaything. Ah ! there is such a difference. He loves me so, it is a shame I cannot care more for him. I suppose it is not in my nature. Books tell me that women love once at least, but I don’t think that hour will come to me ; at least, not as I have pictured it to myself. I like him, I esteem him, but,” said Cissy, dropping her voice, 44 I sometimes wish he would never kiss me.” “ But why, child ? — there is surely nothing repulsive in the kiss of one we only like.” “ I can’t tell you,” she replied, blushing, “ further than I feel I have no answering kiss to give him back. I was honest with him, father ; I told him I had but liking to give, and he said he could be content to wait till he could win more. I blame myself that he has not done so, but I cannot help it.” 44 And you were obliged to many him, of course ? ” 44 Yes ; what else could I do ? I was grateful to any one who would take care of me. You know I have no choice. I am a lucky woman to have fallen into the hands I have.” 44 But suppose, Cissy, it should turn out that you have a moderate fortune of your own, — what then ? ” 44 I should be very glad, for my own sake and Montague’s. I don’t know what his income is, and I don’t like to ask him ; but I am afraid I am spending more than he will quite like. I know he has an idea that I have a marriage-settlement of some kind from Mark, if he could find out about it ; he always said you would be sure to know ; ” and Cissy looked a little inquisitively into her father’s face. 44 You have,” he rejoined, shortly ; “ I do know all about it, and it is not gone in the general crash. I took care of you in that respect. It was tied up beyond Mark Hemsworth’s control, and is on land in England.” 44 1 am so glad ! ” cried Cissy ; 44 so pleased to think that Montague will find I have not come to him empty-handed, after all.” The major paused for some few moments before he replied. To have a pull over his fellows was so incorporated with his very nature that it was not in him to relin quish it all at once, even thoagh Cissy might desire it. “ Listen,” he said, at length, 44 You can’t suppose that 1 wish to defraud you of A Fatal Kiss. 181 what is yours. The world calls me hard names, — many because I perceive and take advantage of its weaknesses and selfishness. Unscrupulous is, perhaps, one of tne mildest epithets they attach to me. They have good reason. I don’t stand at trifies when it is to serve my own ends. I am not likely to flinch when it is to serve your interests. I prefer to keep all knowledge of this property of yours to myself for the present. I mistook Hemsworth ; let us wait and see how this new husband of yours turns out.” “ I can trust him thoroughly,” cried Cissy, proudly, as she reared her head. “ He may never win my heart, if I have such a thing ; but I believe implicitly in his honor and rectitude. Montague would never iii-treat me, — would scorn to make away with any money of mine.” “ My dear,” returned the major, dryly, “ if you don’t love your husband, you are in a very fan* way to do so.” u I am nothing of the sort,” returned Cissy, with flushed cheeks. " I wish I were. But I can’t imagine him doing anything mean.” “ No,” replied her father, sententiously, “ perhaps not. I have lived longer than you, and know what flaws there are in the finest-looking diamonds when tested. You can never quite calculate upon how a man will take getting into difficulties, for instance. Don’t think, Cissy, I am insinuating for one instant that your husband is likely to do so. But I prefer to wait a little, and see how you get on together, before I hand over this nest-egg of yours to his control. Remember, it is his to do what he likes with when he only knows of it.” “ It shall be as you wish,” replied Cissy, “ though, I assure you, I have no doubt of Montague. I don’t think it is quite fair for an extravagant wife, such as I am to him, to keep back any little property she may be possessed of.” “ Ah ! he calls you extravagant, eh ? ” rejoined the major, as he peered curiously into her face. “ Not exactly that; but he did say the other day that there must be bounds to our expenditure.” “ And you, no doubt, have a heavy milliner’s bill or two that you don’t feel quite comfortable about handing over to him ? ” “ I won’t admit that altogether,” returned Cissy, half laughing, yet with some increase of color at the same time ; “ but I do wish they weren’t quite so big.” “ What ! — you have married a miser, then, this time, instead of a spendthrift ? ” inquired the major, sharply. “ Indeed, I have done nothing of the kind ! ” cried Cissy, warmly ; “ but my hus- band has not so much money as Mark had, nor is he so reckless regarding it.” " You are learning what it is to be without money in your purse, my dear ? ” “ Well, not exactly ; but I am learning to feel the want of it, — that is, I haven t so much to spend as I should like.” “ Mrs. Hemsworth could have formed but little ideas of economy,” observed the ■Utyor, musingly. 188 Two Kisses. “Mrs. Hemsworth is dead,** replied Cissy, pettishly; “and a very foolish and rather unhappy person she was. I hope Mrs. Gore may be wiser, even though she be a little extravagant. But, father, I want to know why you have abandoned me all these years.” “ Humph l ” replied the major, as he carefully removed a piece of orange-peel from the pavement with lii9 walking-stick. “ I will tell you. I have said they call me hard names, — gambler, adventurer,” he continued, bitterly, — “with some amount of truth it may be ; but there are more than I, who sit in high places and move among the elect of the land. If you live by your wits, as it is termed, this stigma always attaches itself to you unless you are registered in the * red book.’ My darling,” he went on, with a softened voice, “ I didn’t wish that you should suffer for your father’s sins. I had no wish that you should learn to blush when you heard him mentioned, — to dread his appearance in your drawing-room.” “ Do you think I could ever do that ? ” cried Cissy, as she passed her aim through his. “ I don’t care what you may have done, if it was fifty times worse than any- thing you have hinted ; to me you are still the indulgent father, who humored my every childish whim, who never was unkind till he deserted me. You must never do •o again,” she added, with a slight sob, raising her moistened eyes to his. “ I think not,” replied the major, caressing the hand that laid within his arm, to the evident astonishment of a stray passer-by. “ It wasn’t altogether a successful experi- ment last time, my dear, was it ? But, Cissy, it is still best I should keep away from you. We can write, meet now and then; but let me still remain unknown to your husband. Believe me it is best so, for the present. You will know always where to find me now. I am close at hand if you want me.” “ I shall often want you, father, dear, though not in the way you hint,” rejoined Cissy. “ I don’t anticipate more than a slight lecture from Montague, whatever my offending. But it is hard you will not set foot in my house.” “ No, child, no, decidedly not. Don’t let me make discord between you and your husband. You must be content to ignore your old father, except troublous times should come upon you. No remonstrances, Cissy ; it must be as I say. And now, good-by, dear.” “ It shall be as you wish,” she returned, meekly. “ I suppose you know best ; but I think you are wrong, father.” And, as she spoke, she lifted her face to receive his kiss. The major laid his bps lightly on her brow, and then said, once more : — “ Good-by, child. Remember, if the inilbners’ bills get alarming, I have money, — ay, money of your own, when you choose to ask for it. Now, you had best trot home/* Cissy dropped her veil, pressed his hand, and then walked swiftly away. As she passed out of the square a gentleman half raised his hat to her, but, absorbed in her own thoughts, Mrs. Gore never noticed him. Muttering a slight ejaculation of aston- ishment, he pushed briskly onwards until he overtook the major, sauntering slowly Charlie Detfield's Wooing. 183 towards Oxford street. He honoied him with a tolerably comprehensive stare, of which the major, thinking over his interview with his daughter, was quite unconscious. It was the identical passer-by who had appeared astonished when he had seen the major caressing his daughter’s hand ; and now his astonishment had changed to a look of troubled anxiety. 4< It was Mrs. Gore,” he muttered, as he strode rapidly down Gloucester place. <; The other was Claxby Jenkens; and — ! if I didn’t see him kiss her, I’ll mistrust my eyesight forever. My poor, dear Montie, I never liked the marriage ; but I little thought she would play you false before the chime of your wedding-bells had died out of our ears.” Deserted as I have described Montague square to usually be, it may be deemed a Curious coincidence that the major and Cissy should be thus recognized. But the wrong person turning up at the wrong time, in the wrong place, is an experience that has happened to most of us. Chablie Detfield has arrived at one of those crises which will occur in the lives of those who live not wisely, but too well. He has been looking forward to it for some months, with the imperturbable sang-f r ,n-super-Mare felt there was something wrong, and it behoved them to ascertain the truth of it. The hot weather and the dead season in London scatter the habitues of the clubs in. all directions. To many of these the loss of their accustomed lounge is a sore depri- vation. They do not shoot ; they don’t care about the Rhine or Switzerland, still they At Brompton- super-Mare. 203 must go somewhere ; they hate the country, even if they are lucky enough to have free quarters awaiting them. They are essentially club-men. Banished by painting, cleaning, or it may be only custom, from their accustomed haunts, such usually seek the nearest approach to their elysium. The watering-place presents this, and also usually extends the attraction of a small club, not difficult to join temporarily for a man accredited from any one of the London establishments. Colonel Prawn had selected Brompton-super-Mare in which to pass his six weeks of exile. He, of course got himself elected to the club there as speedily as possible, and became at one au courant with all the gossip of the place. We have heard this gentleman before express opinions strongly unfavorable to the major. lie was little likely to hold his tongue now. He knew certainly nothing very tangible about Claxby Jenkens, though there were ugly rumors afloat concerning him in the London world, with regard to play-affairs and other over-sharp trans- actions, — quite pegs enough for the colonel to hang his innuendoes upon. He detested the major, and whispered quite enough concerning him to make Brompton-super-Mare regard him as possessed of a very tainted reputation indeed, albeit he had always just contrived to escape being kicked out of society altogether. To Colonel Prawn the mystery of Mrs. Gore was intensely exciting, and he penned letters to all the scandal-mongers of his acquaintance concerning her. “ Doosid handsome woman, by Jove ! What could have made her take up with such an old reprobate as Jenkens ? ” The colonel was at least half-a-dozen years older than the subject of his abuse, and by no means as well preserved, looking his age eveiy day, which the major certainly did not. But we never do see the encroachments of the fatal scythe-bearer on ourselves, keenly as we note them on our contemporaries. If Gore was not a man of mark as yet, he was at all events in very good practice, and looked upon as likely to become so in his profession before many years were over. Hi3 sudden disppearance from work just before the long vacation, at a time when professional men find it all but impossible to get through their engagements, attracted attention. Then it oozed out that he was very ill. Two or three intimate friends not only called, but asked if it was possible to see Mrs. Gore for a few minutes. They were informed thas she was not there, and that the master of the house was down with brain fever. Strange that a wife should be absent from her husband’s bedside at such a time ! There were too many conversant with the real state of the case for the affair to remain a secret long, and, ere many days were over, it was whispered about that Mrs Gore had fled from her husband’s roof ; but with whom was still a question. In due course this intelligence reached the ear3 of one of Colonel Prawn’s correspondents, who immediately imparted it to that gallant officer. “ Wheugh ! ” ejaculated the colonel, as he perused his letter. “ A handsome woma* like that, and actually bolted with old Jenkens ! Well, she might have done better, Q&P would think 5 ” and that improper old warrior pulled up his shirt-collar, winked 204 Two Kisses. at himself in the glass with a bloodshot eye, and looked altogether a very fit mode* for Silent! s Here wa s a dainty bonbon to take down to the club. For one day at least, Colonel Prawn meant to be the lion of that establishment. Although his correspondent’s information was of the briefest, and he owned he had no notion of who was the part- ner of Mrs. Gore’s flight, yet the colonel felt he knew all the particulars, and could supply the smallest details from the stores of his imagination. He certainly had fair grounds for suspicion, but it might have struck him as sin- gular that having eloped together they should be living apart. Little likely, though, that the colonel, with such a tit-bit of scandal to communicate, should sift the truth of it very closely. Before the sun went down, Brompton-super-Mare was aware that the purity of its promenade was sullied by the presence of a runaway wife and her paramour ; Bromp- ton-super-Mare felt, truth to tell, a little relieved. It had been so convinced that there was something wrong about that Mrs. Gore, it was quite comforting to know at last what it was, though it couldn’t well be worse. As old Mrs. Mufflington remarked to her special crony, Miss Vilejuice : — “ I always said, my dear, that there was more brazenry than beauty about that woman.” Cissy, with her frank, free carriage to be accused of brazenry ! Cissy, with her pride so cruelly wounded by what she deems the discovery of her husband’s perfidy ! Cissy, who has awoke to her passionate love for her husband only to see how she has thrown her heart away ! What will she say when this shall come to her ears ? — when she shall find that the world holds her a degraded, worthless woman, false to the vows she took upon herself but a few months back ? Cissy has got a lesson to learn, to wit, that it takes a marvellous short time for a woman to lose a reputation. Cissy was extremely miserable, she yearned so for tidings of that husband she had deserted. She knew now how very dear he was to her, and though he had wronged her grievously, still she could not but love him. Her father, too, had somewhat stag- gered Cissy in her justification of the line of conduct she had thought proper to pursue. The major — after hearing as much of her story as she thought fit to disclose, she could not bring herself to tell him the exact grounds of her jealousy — shook his head v and hoped she had not been hasty. “ It would have been better* I think, Cissy, to have had some talk with your hue* band first.” “ Impossible !” she replied; ‘‘lie could not deny his infidelity; to discuss such a subject could only be painful to both of us. I could have forgiven him all, if he had not taught me to love him,” she concluded, in a low murmur. Fox Brine had taken complete charge of his friend and his affairs, and no sooner had he procured satisfactory nurses, and seen that all the appliances of the sick-room were in thorough working order, than he determined that the next thing was to At Brompton-super-Mare . 205 tain what had become of Mis. Gore. Nothing could be easier; so little mystery had Cissy made of her elopement that she had even taken her maid with her ; the maid had since written to her fellow-servants, and therefore it was known amongst the household that their mistress was at Brompton-super-Mare. Much as he mistrusted Cissy, still Brine did feel that this sounded hopeful. “ It may be only some misun- derstanding, after all,” he muttered ; “ of course she’s been foolish, but perhaps not criminal. Confound it ! a woman don’t elope so publicly as she seems to ,^ave done. As for poor, dear Montie, the doctors say the fever must run its course ; he’s likely to be some days yet before he comes to himself. I wonder whether Mrs. Gore knows how ill he is. Hang me if I don’t run down to Brompton-super-Mare, and, subject to circumstances, tell her.” Having come to this decision, Brine lost no time in carrying it out. Brompton- super-Mare was barely two hours from London ; a little more than three and Brine was safely deposited thereat. Mrs. Gore’s address was easily attainable, and Fox Brine was speedily on his way to Denbigh Terrace. Mrs. Gore was out, but would be in to luncheon. Would the gentleman leave his card ? No ; but he would call again. To kill time, Brine turned on to the promenade, and, before he reached its end, encountered the lady he had come to see, escorted by Claxby Jenkens. Cissy bowed as they passed, and felt her cheeks tingle, as she marked the stiff, curt recognition with which Brine returned her salute. She saw now, how her husband’s friends regarded her conduct, clearly. She was prepared for it. She knew too well that in cases of separation each side has its own partisans. She was too proud also to make her story public in her own justification, and therefore quite resigned to have society’s verdict registered against her. As for Fox Brine, with a stifled implication, he made the best of his way back to town, believing the worst possible things concerning Mrs. Gore and her proceedings. It so happened the major followed his example the next day ; his numerous schemes requiring the master-hand to keep them going. Forty-eight hours after, Mrs. Gore received the following note : — “ 6 Charles street, “Wednesday. u Dear Cissy, — Your husband is very seriously ill, and has been for about a week Is your quarrel such that it forbids you to go to him now ? Mind, he is in danger ; 1 know for certain. “ Ever youi affectionate father, “ Claxby Jenkens.” “ Montague ill ! Montague in danger and I here ! God forgive me ! ” cried Cissy, passionately, as the tears welled into her eyes. “Justine, I am going to town by th but even Miss Matilda thinks it necessaiy to make much of him. Very angry is Miss Matilda with Roxby for refusing his consent to her niece’s ■ marriage; that he supported his decisiou by irrefutable arguments only made that lady still more wrathful. “As if a woman’s instinct wasn’t worth more than a man’s reasoning,” quoth Miss Matilda. “ But I have not quite done with Mr. Roxby yet ; ” and here the good lady would shake her head, and look so very mysterious, that Aunt Clem and Bessie entertained shadowy hopes that Miss Matilda had some subtle design in the back - ground, destined % o cover the inflexible Roxby with confusion. Coleman's, 207 As may be supposed Miss Matilda had sought an explanation concerning the accusation Bessie had hurled at Roxby in that memorable interview of a week ago ; and the girl had told her aunt frankly what had taken place between that gentleman \nd Charlie : how that his consent might have been easily purchased had Charlie been as great a scoundrel as himself ; how the two had quarrelled over the rascally proposition ; and how Charlie had told Mr. Roxby, in the plainest possible language vhat he thought of him. Miss Matilda’s amazement knew no bounds ; that the decorous, respectable Roxby hould turn out such an unscrupulous villain ; that his specious arguments should be dl a sham, and that his ward’s hand was simply for sale as far as he was concerned, locked Miss Matilda greatly. She wrote Mr. Roxby a most severe letter on the subject, in which she pronounced him unworthy of the trust reposed in him. Mr. Roxby took no manner of notice of this epistle. Henceforth, Miss Matilda, as before said, gave vent to mysterious hints about “ not being quite done with Mr. Roxby.” On two points the ladies were unanimous : that Roxby was a monster, and that Charlie Detfield had behaved most nobly. Poor Charlie ! — he had only acted according to his training, and behaved like a gentleman ; but how the women who love us can glorify our most simple actions. The blow so long expected descends at last. Charlie Detfield has not got fifty yards from his rooms one morning, when he feels a hand upon his shoulder. Turn- ing sharply to confront his assailant, he find himself face to face with a shiny-hatted, slovenly-dressed man, who carries his calling impressed legibly on his countenance. No necessity for his gruff “ Prisoner, captaing,” to tell Detfield what he is. He grimly exhibits a strip of parchment, and then says, sententiously : — “ Cab, of course, captaing ? ” Detfield nods, and his taciturn captor hails a passing four-wheeler, in which they place themselves. “’Spose you’ll go to Coleman’s? — they mostly does,” lemarked the officer, in an abstracted manner, as if wearied of speculating where they went to, after his villain hand had once been laid upon them. What Coleman’s might be, Detfield did not altogether understand; but he con- ceived it were as well to leave his destination to his captor for the present. The cab, meanwhile, rumbled along slowly eastwards, and, after a drive of some- thing over half an hour, stopped in a narrow, dingy street, somewhere off Ilolborn. Here the officer got out, rang at a low door-way, and called upon Detfield to follow him. Charlie eyed the house with unmitigated disgust: a tall, mildewed-looking building that had not been touched by the painter for veiy many years ; the windows, lx), appeared to be equally innocent of soap and water for a similar period ; one peculiarity about them was, they were all barred. But here the opening of the door cut short* further criticism on the exterior of Coleman’s, and Charlie followed his guide up a narrow staircase, hearing the ominous clang of the massive lock behind him M he did so. 14 208 Two Kisses. Arrived at the first floor, his guide threw open the door of a good-sized, but dingy fitting-room, and, muttering something to the effect that Coleman would be there directly, withdrew. Thus left to himself, Charlie began to take stock of the apartment. A dingy picture of the bay of Naples hung over the fireplace, and four or five old coaching prints, yellow with age, and stained with smoke and dirt, decorated the walls. In the centre of the room was an infirm loo-table, upon which lay a newspaper and two or three dog’s-eared volumes. On either side of the fireplace was an arm-chair, covered with torn and soiled Utrecht velvet, the original color of which it was very hard now to determine. Some half-dozen chairs of various patterns and in varying stages of decay were placed primly against the walls. A bloated, dropsical sideboard, whose polish was considerably impaired by its dissipated life, and a huge sofa, originally, it may be presumed, part of the same suite as the arm-chairs, but looking, if possible, still more dirty and dilapidated, consti- tuted the remainder of the furniture. Anything more depressingly dingy and mouldy than this apartment it was scarce possible to conceive. Yet this was known as “ the saloon,” in Coleman’s, and the privilege of using it was rated at about the price you would pay for a good sitting-room at the Grosvenor or Langham. By this time Charlie had discovered he was not alone. Stretched on the sofa was a plump, clean-shaved little man, who was regarding him out of a pair of quick, beady, black eyes, with no little curiosity. “ Servant, sir ! ” exclaimed the little man at last, bringing himself into a sitting position. “ Our friend Coleman’s is not exactly the sort of house to bid a gentleman welcome to; our friend Coleman being, between ourselves, about as filthy and extortionate a beast as ever I came across. Lord ! to play the game of Tommy Dodd to perfection, you should have your fellow-creatures under lock and key. No com- petition. You sells ’em an imitation of what they want at your own price. If Cole- man aint made his fortune, then Coleman gambles, — that’s what’s the matter.” Although Charlie was by no means in the best of spirits, he could not resist smiling at the little man’s pettish outbreak against his janitor. “ Have you been here long ? ” he inquired courteously. “ About a week. I am here because I won’t be put upon. Here have I been deal- ' mg with old Chowner, of Birmingham, for fancy goods, the last three years, and blest if he didn’t refuse me a little time, though I told him I’d had a bad season What do you think of that, young man ? ” inquired the stout little gentleman, sharply. “Well,” replied Charlie, who had a vague idea that a man who refuses tune regarding the payment of a debt must be in the wrong, “ it sounds hard, — yes, devilish hard ! ” • “ Of course it was,” continued the little man, excitedly ; “ it was disgraceful . i If you don’t pay I’ll sell you up, sure as my name’s Chowner,* says he. ‘ Only be selling your own property,’ 6ays I 5 * and it won’t fetch half as much as if I do it,’ WeH* Coleman's. both stuck to our words. I didn’t pay, he sold me up, and here I am for the valance and costs.” |8 \ Here their conversation was inteiTupted by the appearance of the proprietor of the den. Mr. Coleman was not a prepossessing gentleman in appearance by any manner of means. His physiognomy was unmistakably Jewish. His attire, like his furni ture, was tawdry and somewhat stained. He was great in the matter of velvet collar and waistcoat, and wore a diamond ring or two on his dirty fingers ; a very shiny hat, very much curled in the brim, gave a finish to his attire. Coleman’s principle was very simple. As long as his lodgers had money, it was, of course, his interest to detain them at his house as long as possible. Their money gone, Coleman felt he could not be rid of them too quickly. But he comes forward with an obsequious smile to confer with Detfield, and speedily arranges to let him what Mr. Coleman designates as “ a bedroom fit for a lord, s’help me,” and the use of the saloon for a sum that would have caused astonishment at a West End hotel. “ Now, then, capting, I dessay you’d like to send for your traps. We’ve a trust- worthy messenger on the premises. Just a line, perhaps, to your solicitor, — it’s the usual thing. Blesh you, you’ll find yourself as right as ninepence to-morrow. Any- thing we can do for you, Mr. Turbottle, this evening ? ” “ Yes, Coleman, you can. I’ll trouble you to select a considerable younger chicken for my dinner than I had last night. I should think you brought that bird with you when you first came here.” " Ah ! I can’t think, s’help me, how that happened. So particular as Mrs. Coleman is, too. You’ll, of course, have a bit of dinner, capting. I’ll go and see about it ; ” and so saying, Mr. Coleman bowed himself out of the room. Detfield sat down and wrote a letter. It was not to a solicitor ; he had accom- plished his entanglements all unaided of that profession, and it did not occur to him that a lawyer might be useful in putting his liabilities at all events fairly before them, nc sought advice from his old counsellor. He wrote to Fox Brine to advertise him that the crash had come at last, and asked him to come and see him. Mr. Brine has his hands pretty full just now. He has established himself in Park Crescent, and constituted himself head-nurse at Montague Gore’s bedside. Much too wise is Mr. Brine not to have other and more efficient help in that respect. He can depend on his own untiring vigilance, but is aware that, as a nurse, he is infinitely clumsy. He has two skilled professionals, who relieve each other at intervals, and over these Mr. Brine exercises ceaseless supervision, gliding noiselessly into the room at all hours of the day and night; for, despite the fact that these two women have been sent with highest recommendations from a leading London hospital, Mr. Brine can- not divest himself of the idea that all nurses have a dash of Sairy Gamp in their composition, which it behoves him ever to be on the lookout for. However, as he Sept this theory carefully locked in his own bosom, and always found the aurses alert 210 Two Kisses. and watchful, no harm came of it; but those skilled, patient watchers would have been very angry had they suspected the distrust with which they were regarded. Still does the fever-stricken man toss to and fro on his pillow, and pour forth inco- herent babble, in which his wife, his business, and his boyish days are strangely mingled. Eight days has he lain in this state, and the doctors look very grave now. It has come to this with their patient ; if he gets no sleep within the next two or three days, the fever will wear him out. Continually do the nurses force stimulants beneath the white, unconscious lips, feeding the low-burning fires of life with such fuel as they can. But Montague Gore’s weakness is now something pitiable to witness. Brine, perhaps, alone of the watchers round the sick man’s couch is still sanguine of his recovery. As Brine with anxious face comes out of his friend’s chamber in company with the doctor, the butler puts a note into his hands, marked “ Immediate,” and which has been forwarded from the Temple. It was from Detfield. “ Unlucky, by Jove ! ” muttered Brine, as he read it. “ As if I hadn’t trouble enough in hand here. Well, I must go and see him; but what I can do for poor Charlie I haven’t the faintest conception, beyond telling him to keep his courage up.” Mb. Brine was a man of action. Intimating to the household that he should be back in a couple of hours, he sallied forth, hailed a passing hansom, and ordered the man to drive him to Cursitor street, best pace. “ All right, sir,” replied the man, touching his hat, with a grin; “but you’re the fust gemman ever gave me such orders. It’s generally coming away gents are in such a confounded hurry.” “ Go ahead, and don’t talk,” responded Mr. Brine, tersely. The cabman accordingly did go ahead, relieving himself for having been snubbed by disregard for human life at the crossings most edifying to witness. However, thanks to their own activity, none of her majesty’s lieges were crushed beneath the wheels of this modern Juggernaut, and in a very short time he pulled up at Cole- man’s evil-looking portal with a jerk. It was a sinister door that, — a low r , beetle- browed doorway; a sneaking-looking doorway. It looked as if cognizant of criminal practices. Brine could not help thinking as he rang the bell that the place savored if “ difficulties.” lie is ushered into the saloon by a shock-headed myrmi- don, who, after glancing vaguely round, intimates that he will let Captain Detfield know he is here. Only one gentleman present, and he, seated near the window, is apparently engaged chapter xyyre . BRINE AND TURBOTTLE MEET AGAIN. Brine and Turbottle Meet Again. 211 ill the perusal of the day’s paper. Mr. Brine casts a keen glance in his direction, starts, looks again earnestly, and then exclaims : — “ Mr. Turbottle, by the immortals ! ” “ Eh ! no, what is it ? no, it can’t be ! ” exclaims the little man, starting to his feet. “ Yes, it is, the noble gladiator.” “Just so,” replied Brine; “and sorry to come across you in such disagreeable quarters.” “ Oh, pooh ! don’t you mind me. I could go out to-morrow if I chose ; I’m he/e on principle. I won’t be put upon by old Chowner ! no, nor any other man.” Brine looked inquiringly, and Mr. Turbottle proceeded to relate his grievances in re Chowner at length. In conclusion, it appeared that he derived immense gratification from the fact that Chowner had only recovered about half of his debt by the sale ; that as the goods had been surrendered, he, Mr. Turbottle, was held acquitted of the whole, and was now simply undergoing incarceration on account of the costs, which he obstinately refused to pay. “ And now, Mr. Turbottle, to return to our conversation at Nottingham.” “ Certainly, sir, certainly,” replied the little man, with a merry twinkle in his eye. “ 1 have often thought of your last remark : i A remarkable pleasant liquor, Turbot- tle ; yes, very much so, and calculated to promote pleasant dreams, and refreshing slumbers ; taken temperately, Turbottle, taken temperately. But shun excess ; excess terminates in fever, crime, and remorse. Beware of excess, Turbottle, I’m sorry to observe a tendency that way in you ; a disposition to fill your glass twice to your companion’s once. Curb such unholy appetites, Turbottle, and beware of excess.’ ” “ Confound you, stop your accursed reminiscences ! ” exclaimed Brine, laughing, when he was at length able to get a word in, for the little man had rattled out his speech with such volubility and gesticulation that for a few seconds Brine was positively speechless. “ That were your last observation, sure as I’m pitting here,” replied Mr. Turbottle, demurely. “ Bah ! I don’t want to know what nonsense I talked after that confounded gin- punch got into my head. Will you tell me what you know about Mark Hemsworth, deceased ? ” “I never said I knew anything about him,” replied Mr. Turbottle, eying his interlocutor, steadily. “ It’s news to me that he is dead.” “ Then you do know something of him ? ” ; I know now he’s dead,” returned the little man, with a provoking grin. “You need cst jssi on the subject,” said Brine, sharply. “There’s property involved in this inquiry, and I consider you quite worth putting in the witness-box.” The iocularitv died out of Mr. Turbottle’s countenance, and it was somewhat sulkily He retonsa . — “ This is a nice sort of way to turn round on a gemmam you’ve spent % pleaw»* evening with. There’s one comfort, when you’ve had me in the witness-box yam } u 212 Twc Kisses. be satisfied there aint much to be got out of me. With which somewhat equivocal remark Mr. Turbottle resumed his paper with much ostentation. Brine hesitated as to what line he should take next. Quite evident that the threat ©f the witness-box had simply raised Mr. Turbottle’s bristles ; not probable that he would be induced to speak now. “ What a fool I was to lose my temper ! ” he muttered ; “ as if I was likely 1 9 get at what I wanted, except through patience and fair speaking.” “ Well,” he continued aloud, “ I don’t know what your motive may be for with- holding the information you possess, but it’s devilish hard no one will help poor Mrs Hemsworth to come to her own.” Mr. Turbottle turned his head sharply at Brine’s last words. “ What’s that he said ? Do you mean that Mark Hemsworth’s widow is in trouble about getting her own ? ” “ Of course I do. Didn’t I spend the whole night at Nottingham drumming it into your head ? — only I suppose the punch muddled your ideas, and you couldn’t take it in.” Mr. Turbottle’s visage relaxed, he closed his right eye, laid his forefinger to the side of his nose, and gave vent to a short, sharp cachinnation. But at this moment Detfield entered the room, and Brine, of course, turned to greet him. “Well, Charlie,” he said, “I’m awful sorry, old fellow, and when I’ve said that, 1 don’t know what else to say.” “We never made much of my difficulties as often as we discussed them, Fox, did we ? ” replied Detfield, with a smile. “ I don’t think talking over them will be much use now. 1 sent for you, because I have a commission I want you to do for me in the first place, and one or two things I want you to consult you about besides. First, here is a queer note I got this morning from Claxby Jenkens. I went to have a talk with him after my row with Roxby, as I told you. He politely expressed his opinion that I was a fool; but in the end told me if ever he could do me a turn, in re Koxby, he would; adding, ‘ Mind, I don’t play Roxby till I’ve a strong hand.’ Read it : ” — “ 6 Charles street, “August 10th. “ Deak Detfield, — You’ll, no doubt, think it very strange, but I am going to play Roxby — odder still, very much to your interests. I’m worth backing, as I told you I should be if ever this event came off. I hold a trump or two he has little idea of. The result concerns you so nearly, that you will know speedily whether I win or no. Meanwhile, adieu. ' l Yours sincerely, “Claxby Jenkens.” “ Why, the scoundrel was down at Brompton-super-Mare not two days ago ! ” ex- tlaimed Brine. “ Charlie, I wouldn’t pin much faith upon this man. A bigger villain Brine and Turbottle Meet Again . 213 doesn’t walk than Claxby Jenkens,” and here Brine stopped abruptly, as he remem- bered that, though no doubt it was whispered abroad that Mrs. Gore had left her husband, yet, so far, no name had been coupled with hers as reason for her doing so. She was held to have separated, not eloped, from her husband, save by Montague Gore himself, Brine, and the good people of Brompton-super-Mare ; indebted these last for their belief to that scrofulous-minded old warrior, Colonel Prawn. Brine had raised his voice as he finished his speech, his indignation against the major carrying him away for the moment. Now he was aware that not only Detfield was looking at him with some curiosity, but that Mr. Turbottle had suddenly wheeled his chair round, and was staring at him with the utmost amazement. “ Bah ! Charlie,” he continued, “ I said more than I should have done. Only, I wouldn’t put much faith in the major, if I was you ; he’s a bad lot.” “ All the better fitted to tackle Koxby,” replied the guardsman. “I can’t fancy an honest fellow having much chance. It’s odd, — I dare say foolish ; but I can’t help thinking the major will do me a good turn, though for the life of me I can’t guess how. There, never mind ; we’ll say no more about it. The next thing, Fox, is, you must find me a lawyer.” “ All right, and mind you make a clean breast of it with him. They can’t keep you boxed up very long, you know. What would pull through, Charlie ? ” “ I don’t know exactly, — between five and six thousand, I suppose.” “ Well, you and your solicitor had better give your minds to ascertaining that sum exactly. Now, is there anything else ? Because poor Montie Gore’s down with brain fever, and I don’t like to be long away from him. It’s a case of touch and go.” “ Yes, there is one thing more,” replied Detfield, in rather a hesitating manner; “ and busy as you are, Fox, you must spare me an hour for this. I want you to deliver this note with your own hands. Explain to Bessie that I am not in a dungeon, and that I shall be released in a few days ; of course, I’ve said all that, but she’ll be more reconciled if she hears it also from you who’ve seen me. Not a pleasant place to date one’s love-letters from. Not a pleasant subject to have to write about to the girl one loves,” added Charlie, bitterly. “No,” replied Brine, gently, “and it’s not exactly a pleasant commission you’ve given me ; but I’ll do the best I can with it. Now, good-by,” and the friends clasped hands. “ Good-by, Mr. Turbottle.” “ One moment, guv’nor, one moment. You said Mrs. Hemsworth was in trouble to come at her own, — that’s gospel truth, eh ? ” “ Undoubtedly it is.” “ And you said Claxby Jenkens was the biggest villain ever walked; that’s a factf too, aint it ? ” “ Most decidedly, to the best of my knowledge and belief.” “ You mean it every bit ; and you’ve something to go on, eh ? ” “ I mean it thoroughly, and have very guod reasons for so doing.” $14 Two Kisses. fi Very gx>d. I suppose you’d come here again if you thought I’d anything to tell you ? ” “ Certainly.” “ All right. I must think out things a bit. He knows where you live, I suppose ? ” said Mr. Tnrbottle, jerking his thumb in the direction of Detfield. “ Curious I can’t recollect your telling me all that at Nottingham, aint it ? ” and Mr. Turbottle winked knowingly. “ Remarkably pleasant liquor is cold punch, — taken temperately, mind, taken temperately. Good-by, sir,” and here Mr. Turbottle chuckled till he positively turned purple. Ere he recovered, Fox Brine was gone. “ Well,” said that gentleman, as he whirled up Farringdon street in a hansom, “ if I’m not collecting material for .a play or novel just now, it can’t be done by observa- tion. Act I., The Sponging-house ; Act II., The Boudoir ; arrival of male confidant. The heroine ought to be dressed like Tilburina, in white satin. I hope she’ll have her hair down ; and of course she ought to faint. Rather she didn’t, though ; it’s all very well on the stage, but in real life I never saw the man yet whom it didn’t frighten. Roseneath House, — here we are.” Mr. Brine jumped out, knocked, and sent in his card. Of course his name was well-known to Bessie. She had heard Charlie speak of him often, and she gave instant directions to show him up. The girl divined at once that he brought her evil tidings. Mr. Brine was a little taken aback as he entered the room. Very little indeed of Tilburina was there in the slight, dark-eyed girl, draped in simple muslin, her rich brown tresses braided in a simple knot, who, with pale cheeks and rather compressed lips, advanced to meet him with outstretched hand. “ You bring me bad news, I know, Mr. Brine ; but Charlie is well ? ” and the brown eyes looked a little anxiously up at her visitor. 4 4 Perfectly ; I bring you a note from him. It was only that he thought you might like to put a question or two to a friend who has seen him in his captivity that caused me to be the bearer.” 44 It’s very kind of you,” replied Bessie, as she broke open her lover’s note. 44 Pray sit down.” At this instant Miss Matilda entered the room, and of course Brine had to be presented. 44 Well, sir,” commenced that lady, 44 you, of course, bring evil tidings of Captain Detfield. We are quite prepared; ever since we adopted a scapegrace into the family we have expected disastrous news of him by every post and every visitor.” 44 Aunt ! ” exclaimed Bessie. “ Pooh ! you chit ! of course we have. Didn’t he tell us that he expected what he deli- cately termed ti mble every day of his eventful life ? I suppose, Mr. Brine, it’s come ? ’ Fox bowed. u Well, I have no doubt you will think me a veiy foolish old woman, Mr. Brine frut, you see, I’ve somehow got fond of the child there, and I don’t want the sunshine 215 Brine and Turbottle Meet Again. to die out of her face ; and then I don’t know how it is, but I have got to like Charlie Detfield for himself. I suppose it’s because he’s the greatest ne’er-do-well I ever came across.” By this time Bessie had stole across to her aunt, slipped her hand into Miss Matilda’s, and seated herself on a low chair close by that lady. “ I don’t know,” continued Miss Stanbury, slowly ; “ but I think there’s good stuff in him. I think, if he were once clear of the follies of his youthful days, he would keep out of debt in future, and make Bessie a good husband. The long and short of which, Mr. Brine, is this, that I’m a very foolish old woman, and would help Captain Detfield out of his difficulties if I could. Now, if you can let me know how much is wanted, then I should be able to say if it were within my power to assist him.” “ I don’t know how to thank you for Charlie, Miss Stanbury,” replied Brine, “ It’s a magnificent offer ; but it cannot be, you know.” “ And why not, sir ? ” retorted Miss Matilda, sharply. “ Because I don’t quite think Charlie would allow you to pay his debts for him,” said Brine, slowly. “ It has been the special prerogative of all aunts and uncles in every play I ever saw, — in every novel I ever read. If not his aunt yet, I am able to state, on the very best authority, that I am about to be ; ” and here Miss Bessie received a pinch that made her ear tingle. “Well, we must think about it, Miss Stanbury,” replied Brine, guardedly. “Whatever Charlie may decide, his gratitude to you must remain unbounded.” “ I suppose he would have allowed his wife to pay his debts ? ” retorted Miss Stan- bury, with some asperity. “ I can’t see much distinction.” Brine was conscious that he was involved in a veiy awkward argument, and only wished himself well out of it. He had dim memories of the schemes with which Charlie had first sought Boseneath House, and felt that he was taking higher ground than circumstances quite warranted. “ When he asked Miss Bessie to marry him, he didn’t know she was an heiress,” said Brine, at length. “ No, that was very like him ; as if he would ever have married her if she wasn’t,” observed Miss Stanbury. “ Then he could not withdraw his words without the lady’s consent, which he will never have,” interposed Bessie, with a slight blush. “ And, therefore, you see it is all different,” continued Brine, speaking veiy fast ; “ and, after all, it is Charlie has got to decide, not me. I’ll find out what you want, Miss Stanbury ; and in the mean time I’ve a lot to do, and must say good-by ; ” and, before Miss Matilda could collect herself for another attack, he had shaken hands, and left the house. “ Wheugh ! ” he muttered, when he got outside. “ What a fool I was to give my opinion, as if it isn’t all Charlie’s business. There’s plenty of men would find no fault With anybody who paid their debts, — let it be who it might.” 216 Two Kisses. CHAPTER XL. NEMESIS. Cissy, buried in the corner of a first-class carnage, is a victim to the siddest reflee tions as she hurries to town. She has forgotten, for the present, all her conceived wrongs. She remembers nothing now but that the man she loves lies -wrestling with death; has lain, her father writes word, for days past, -waging fell struggle for exist- ence, — and she has not been by his pillow. She blames herself bitterly. He, ever so kind and thoughtful of her, yet the first time she in her womanhood is called upon to be a true wife to him, she was absent from his side. “ No, I was -wrong to part in that way, to leave him without a word. My God ! shall I ever hear him whisper my name again ? To think that I may be too late ; that the lips which had always soft words for me may be closed forever ; ” and Cissy’s eyes filled. It was, indeed, only by a violent effort she refrained from a very tempest of tears. Arrived in town, she drove straight to Park Crescent and rang. The tan in front of the house, the blinds but half drawn up, all spoke vividly of sickness within. Houses are wont to assume an aspect of woe -when some one of their inmates lies stricken nigh to death. Houses have physiognomies, and a house that holds a flicker- ing life within it is easy to recognize. Cissy shivered, warm summer day though it was, as she stood on the door-step awaiting an answer to her summons. She felt as if the dread shadow of the destroyer were already on her home. But the door opened, and the butler appeared, only to be thrown into a state of imbecility and confusion by the apparition of his mistress that was painful to witness. To her quick, anxious inquiry after her husband, he faltered out the parrot-likf rejoinder, “ Master’s pretty much the same, ma’ am,” which he had dispensed to ail callers for the last four or five days. But what did utterly puzzle him was where he was to show his mistress. He had a sort of undefined idea that his duty required him to say, “ Not at home ; ” that some- how Mrs. Gore ought not to come there; but then, again, how was he to refuse admission to his mistress ? Cissy relieved him of this dilemma by brushing rapidly past him, and ascending the stairs. The butler was recalled to himself by the exi- gency of the situation; he followed hi3 mistress rapidly upstairs, and exclaimed, as they gained the landing : — “ Please step into the drawing-room, ma’am, while I send upstairs to say you are here. Master is allowed to see no one ; and really it would be more prudent that the Surses, and so on, should be let know of your arrival.” There was reason in this. ' Nemesis. 217 “ Yes, it would be best. Send quick ; at once, you understand, Benson,” replied Cissy, as she threw herself upon a fauteuil. Now, it must be remembered that the domestics in Park Crescent were quite unaware of the blacker accusation that , had been levelled against Cissy. They believed simply that a violent quarrel had taken place between their master and mis- tress, and that the latter, in her anger, had suddenly betaken herself to Brompton- 8uper-Mare. In their own set in London, this was the accepted version of Mrs. Gore’s abrupt disappearance from her home. True, there were the cynics, as there always will be, who held that when a woman ran away from her husband there was always another man at the bottom of it. But those who could give a personality to this man were very few, if we except the well-informed population of Brompton-super-Mare. We know that both her husband and Brine, unfortunately for Cissy, are two of the firmest believers in her guilt. John Paynter shakes his head, as he talks the thing over with his wife, and says he hopes it may come out all right, “But there was a mysterious stranger, you know, Lizzie.” “And I don’t care if there were fifty mysterious strangers,” retorted Mrs. Paynter, impetuously, “ and if Cissy was always meeting them. I tell you, John, she loved her husband very dearly, though she didn’t quite know it. She’s run away alone • take my w'ord for it.” Mr. Brine, when he received the intelligence that Mrs. Gore was in the drawing- room, was as much taken a-back as his informant, the butler, had been previously To him there was something revolting in the effrontery of this woman, who could come from the side of her paramour to sit by what would probably be her husband’s death-bed. There lingered no doubt of Cissy’s guilt in his mind ; had he not been down to Brompton-super-Mare and seen for himself ? She had fled from her husband’s home. She was there with Claxby Jenkens. There could be but one inference drawn from that. Mr. Brine by no means fancied the interview that laid before him ; but he had made up his mind fully, and intended to swerve not one bit from his decision. Mrs. Gore must be made to understand that she had forfeited the shelter of her husband’s roof ; that her presence in that house was an insult past toleration ; in short, that she must leave it, and at once. All this Brine had determined to explain to her thoroughly, — gently, if that would suffice; but in curt, forcible English should it be necessary; and to a woman who could act, as in his eyes Cissy had acted, Brine thought it very possible it would be to the latter method he should be called upon to resort. “ I suppose it will end in a scene,” he muttered, as he slowly descended the stairs ; u but stay in this house she shan’t, I’m determined. What the deuce is her motive, I wonder ? Some scheme concerning the proprieties, I suppose. I shouldn’t be sur- prised if she’s speculating upon how many hours poor Montie has still to live, — the Jezebel ! ” He opened the drawing-room door. Mrs. Gore sprang quickly from her seat, as the handle turned, and advanced to meet the new-comer. 218 Two Kisses. “Mr. Brine;” she exclaimed, in tones of visible disappointment, as she bent haughtily towards him. She had not forgotten the stiffness with which he had acknow ledged her salutation at Brompton-super-Mare. “ I suppose,” she continued, after a few seconds’ hesitation, “ that I may now go to my husband.” “ I regret to say, Mrs. Gore, that is quite impossible,” replied Brine. “ Impossible ! how so ? Surely my presence can do Montague no harm, — how is he ? is he still delirious ? does he know people ? ” 11 Poor Montie has recognized nobody for days.” “ I have but this morning heard of his illness,” continued Cissy, in a low, passionate whisper. “ I hurried up from Brompton-super-Mare immediately. Surely, Mr. Brine, the doctors can have no valid reason for refusing his wife her privilege of nursing him. Do not be afraid that I shall break down, or do anything foolish; believe me, I have plenty of command over myself. I blame myself severely that I should have been away when it happened ;” and as she finished, Cissy brushed the tears from the wet lashes, and looked almost pleadingly up into his face. “ A consummate actress, this woman,” thought Brine. “ Mrs. Gore,” he replied, “ pray don’t oblige me to speak more plainly ; but surely you must see that your remaining in this house, after what has taken place, is an impossibility.” ‘ 1 Ah ! you have heard that Montague and I have quarrelled. I might have guessed as much from your manner. But is a quarrel, that might have been already healed had Montague not been struck down, to debar me from my right to tend him now he is sick ? ” “ Such quarrel as there is between you two undoubtedly does,” replied Brine, bitterly. “ I deny it. You have always disliked me. I could see it the first evening we ever met, though ignorant of the cause of my offending. And now,” continued Cissy haughtily, “ I challenge your right to come between us. By what authority, sir, do you take it upon yourself to interpose between husband and wife ? ” As she con- cluded, Cissy drew herself up, and her gray eyes flashed defiance at her adversary. “ I interpose as Montague Gore’s most intimate friend, — as one to whom he con- fided the shameful story of his wife’s desertion ; as one who has since verified the story for himself. I act for Montague as he w r ould for himself, could he understand your presence in this house. Don’t question my authority,” added Brine, sternly. “ I do, and more than ever now,” returned Cissy. “ Montague tell you why I left him ! I’ll not believe it. Shameful ! ” she exclaimed, scornfully ; “ his conscience told him why ; but, ah ! ” she continued, dropping her voice, “ this is no time to blame him ; but believe me, Mr. Brine, what shame there might be, rests net with 2*^.' Fox Brine stood for a momeM almost stupefied by what he conceived this woman’s extraAra;«ojy audacity ; then he replied, in alinoat menacing tones : — — 'pt for all. wiL 1 yen take mf advice, and leave this house quieay i i am loath, to speak to you plainly.” Nemesis. 219 " Speak, sir ! * replied Cissy, as she reared her head, proudly. “ I should like to hear upon what grounds you conceive yourself entitled to forbid me my own house. I can imagine your having been at some pains to rake up stories to my disadvantage.” The contemptuous tones, the final taunt, were not calculated to make her adver saiy stay his hand. Brine, moreover, looked upon this woman as utterly false ; still there was more of sadness than bitterness in his voice, as he replied, quietly : — “ You would hear the charges against you summed up ? You would know what version your husband and his friends have of your sudden flight ? ” Cissy winced a little even at this word. “ For weeks past, then, it has been known to your husband and his intimates, that you were in the habit of giving clandestine rendezvous to a stranger. I, myself, upon one occasion, saw you part with this man in Montague square, and allow him to kiss you in so doing.” Cissy could not repress a movement of surprise. “ Your husband expostulates ; a few days after, you leave your home, and, when next heard of, you are established at Brompton-super-Mare, with this identical stranger as your companion. The stranger is identified as Major Claxby Jenkens, — a man more known than respected about town. There is but one conclusion the world can draw from this stoiy, and if you could have heard the current gossip at Brompton-super-Mare you would have found that there, at all events, they had drawn that deduction.” Cissy had thrown herself on a sofa, and, with face buried in her hands, lay literally cowering under the foul charge on which she stood arraigned. As if a veil had been torn from before her eyes, she suddenly recognized how her conduct could be judged by her acquaintance ; could be, forsooth ? — had been. She saw how plausible the whole story was. She could understand how Brine had been led to believe in it. But, Montague, ah! Montague should have known her better; he ought not to have judged her so hastily. Then it flashed across her how she had judged him ; had she not deemed him false upon even more slender evidence ? She had convicted him upon a kiss, while she, herself, had been found guilty upon a train of circumstantial evidence of which a kiss was but a link. It occurred to her that she had wronged Montague, verily, as she herself was foully wronged at that moment. Brine remained silent. A few minutes, and Cissy raised herself, pushed back the dark masses of hair from her temples, and looked gravely at him. There was no defiance now in her attitude ; her face was very still, though her lips trembled slightly as she spoke. “ Mr. Brine,” she said, gently, “ I have heard this terrible charge for the first time You have seen me overwhelmed by it. A woman may well be that, although inno- cent ; and I tell you I am innocent. I tell you I can disprove the whole story in the course of a day or two. But so cleverly have appearances combined against me I gan hardly blame you for holding me guilty, as I see you do. It is useless for me to 220 Two Kisses. ft ay more at present. Major Jenkens shall explain what the relations between us really are, and, believe me, this hideous accusation will then tumble to pieces like a house of cards.” Brine was struck by the change in her manner. The first shock at hearing the charge made against her overcome, and she met it in quiet, resolute, steadfast fashion ; not defiantly, nor yet lightly ; but as a woman might, who, thoroughly impressed with the gravity of her situation, yet felt no manner of doubt about clearing herself in the eyes of all men, and that right speedily. She was silent for a little ; then once more she looked beseechingly at him, and her voice shook a little as she spoke. “ You are prejudiced against me, Mr. Brine ; but when I pledge you my word that this calumny not only can be, but will be almost immediately, refuted, do you still dare to refuse me my place by my husband’s sick-bed ? ” Brine was staggered. He had entered that room with no doubt of this woman’s guilt. He had entertained no doubt of it, when he summed up so tersely the evi- dence against her. He had deemed her acting a part all through the first portion of their interview ; but Cissy’s last words had the ring of truth in them ; and her quiet, earnest, self-sustained manner assuredly carried no consciousness of guilt about it. “ Mrs. Gore,” he replied, at length, “ I don’t think I’m prejudiced against you, but I will own, fairly, that I have judged you as the world has judged you till the last few minutes. No man, I think, could have heard you assert your innocence of that of which you are accused, without at least pausing to rellect whether he may not have been mistaken.” “ Thank you, Mr. Brine,” replied Cissy, with a grateful smile; “then admit my right to go to my husband.” She was thinking more even now of regaining the privilege of watching and tending the sick-bed of the man she loved than of re-establishing her fair fame. “ I am afraid that cannot be,” replied Brine, uneasily. “ Why not ? ” asked Cissy, eagerly. “ You said you held me innocent.” “ I didn’t quite say that. I said I thought I had been mistaken. I say now, I devoutly trust that before forty-eight hours Mrs. Gore will have triumphantly refuted all the scandal at present associated with her name. Nobody will be more delighted than myself; nobody will more humbly apologize for having for a little doubted _ , her.” “ I still do not see why I may not go to my husband,” cried Cissy, imploringly. “ It is no guilty woman who asks you. Do you think, if I were, I could dare set foot in his house ? It is a wife who asks to tend the husband she loves with her whole heart, in his hour of need. I must, I will go. It’s God’s truth, I’ve done nothing to forfeit the rights my marriage vow gave me ! ” and, starting to her feet, Cissy would have left the room, had not Brine interposed. “ Impossible ! For your sake as much as his.” he cried “ My sake ? ” exclaimed Cissy, Nemesis. 221 “ Yet , can you mot see it ? Surely, you don’t want to force the brutal explanation from my lips ? ” “ I don’t understand you,” said Cissy, her gray eyes open wide with astonishment. “ Cannot you fancy what the world will say, if you stay here before your innocence is established ? ” “ No. What scandal can come of my nursing my husband ? ” Brine’s face flushed, and his voice came thick with shame, as he said : — “ Don’t blame me. The world will probably say that you took advantage of your husband’s prostration to obtain pardon of your sin.” Cissy started, and literally trembled from head to foot. “I thank you, sir,” she said, after a slight pause. “I had needed to have been, indeed, the guilty woman you think me to have dreamed that it was possible to take that view of my return. You handle the knife ruthlessly, Mr. Brine ; you lay open wounds and spare not. I understand now, — I am not fit to be beneath my husband’s roof while this foul stain rests upon me. A few hours, and you yourself shall apolo- gize for the wrong you have done me. Poor Montague ! I don’t think he would have judged his foolish wife so hardly. I think he would have taken my word for my innocence without waiting for the proofs. He did love me.” “ If I have spoken harshly, Mrs. Gore, forgive me. If you are an innocent woman, believe me, it is all for the best.” “ I will try to think so. One thing you cannot refuse me, — you will send me word cf any change to the Langham Hotel. And, Mr. Brine,” continued Cissy, as her voice dropped to a whisper, “ remember, should it be — should it be for the worse, guilty or not guilty, I must bid him good-by. You cannot stand between us at such a moment.” “ No. You shall be sent for,” replied Brine. u You promise.” " I swear it.” u Good-by,” and, with a slight inclination of her head, Cissy took her departure. CHAPTER XLL ANALYZING A KISS. Cissy, on leaving her husband’s house, drove straightway to the Langham Hotel, engaged a room, and telegraphed to her maid to join her there next day. She had chosen this hotel because it was but little distance from Park Crescent. Moreover, there were porters up all night, and, in the event of that terrible summons arriving for her, she thought she could count upon being speedily aroused, should it CGme to her in the night-time 222 Two Kisses. Very, very sad was Cissy. It was terrible to think that Montague coul 1 have believed all this of her ; frightful to think that he might die and never hear her expla- nation. Saddest of all was it that she should be deemed to have forfeited hei right to watch over him in his illness. Then she thought once more over the scene she had witnessed in his chambers between him and Lizzie Paynter. If it was possible her own conduct could have been so misconstrued, might she not also have built up her theory regarding her husband’s relations with Mrs. Paynter upon equally unsub- stantial grounds ? ” What was it she had seen ? An earnest conversation between them, at the termi- nation of which Montague had kissed her. She had been unable to hear what they said. She had imagined a love-scene between them, but was forced to confess it was founded entirely upon that one kiss. Yet, even in her penitence and humility, Cissy felt that it was a kiss she had a right to demand explanation of. She would. From her husband it was impossible ; but she would have the whole affair out with Lizzie Paynter to-morrow. A somewhat hazardous experiment this. Difficult to say how Mrs. Paynter would take such an attack. For Lizzie was a woman cunning of fence, and the opportunity of carrying the war into the enemy’s countiy, should she wax angry, was only too obvious. In the mean time Mrs. Gore despatched a messenger with a note to Charles street, begging her father to call upon her the first thing the next morning. When the messenger returned, he brought back word the major had gone out of town for a day or two. The Fates apparently were against Cissy. To clear her fair fame it was essential that the major should bear testimony. He not only could state, but prove, that she was his daughter. However strong his reasons for keeping in the background, Cissy had little fear but that he would come forward when he heard of what she was accused. It was in her eyes of vital importance that she should clear herself at once. Not so much on account of the scandal, — Cissy’s lip curled contemptuously as she thought how surely she could demolish that piece of malicious gossip, — but till she could do so, she was still banished from the place she now most coveted on earth, — the side of her husband’s couch. Who has not at some time known that terrible torture of waiting, with idle hands, for the hourly bulletin of the health of some one veiy dear to us ; when you can dc nothing ; when medical skill confesses the issue to be in the hands of the Creator ; when there remains nothing we can do to alleviate, nothing we can do to assist the sufferer in his grim wrestle with death; when you sit with folded arms awaiting ttie result of the struggle in which all power to help is denied you ? Even then, where one loves deeply, it is something to be able to smooth the pillow, to bathe the patient’s brow, to moisten the parched lips. To those that sit patiently vitbin call of the sick-room, and simply await t the pain is infinitely more than to tbos$ Analyzing a Kiss. 223 who are performing such simple and perhaps useless offices. To stand motionless, a mere spectator of the fight, is always a lot hard to bear. Cissy is doomed to stand quite aloof, and wait for tidings, — she whose loving hands should have performed those tasks now left to professional nurses. She had lain down dressed on her bed, so as to be ready at a moment’s rotice. In her state of anxiety sleep was an impossibility. -She descended from her room as soon as the hotel recognized that the day had begun. A cup of strong coffee braced her nerves a little, but the waiting soon became past bearing. A messenger from Brine informed her that there was as yet no change in her husband; that the doctors looked more anxious than ever, and said he must sleep soon, or sleep the sleep that knows no waking. The waiting became unendurable ; the tension on the nerves could be borne no longer. She must do something ; action of some kind was imperative ; she would carry out her last night’s idea. She would go and see Lizzie Taynter. Ordering a brougham to be ready at a moment’s notice, she gave the clerk special directions to send it after her with any messenger that should arrive, and then, getting into a hansom, drove rapidly off to Mrs. Paynter’s. Lizzie’s astonishment knew no bounds when her visitor was announced, but she sprang up to receive her with genuine pleasure. “ I knew I was right,” thought Lizzie ; “ if the whole story had not been a dreadful calumny, she wouldn’t have come to see me.” “ My dear Cissy ! ” she exclaimed, seizing her visitor by both hands, “ I am charmed to see you. You so persistently refused to have anything to say or to do with me before you ran, — I mean left town, that I could only infer I had offended you in some way.” “ It may be you had,” replied Cissy, quietly releasing herself ; “ we ’will come to that presently. I want to have a talk with you.” “ With pleasure One moment, while I tell them I am not at home ; ” and Lizzie rang and gave the answering footman the necessary instructions. u There, now I am at your disposal until luncheon, for which the court must adjourn, you know, and then I’m ready to gossip again till dinner-time.” “ I’m in slight humor for gossip,” replied Cissy. “ Do you know that my husband is dying ; that I am told it is almost hoping against hope to think otherwise ? ” Lizzie bowed her head in assent. “ And do jm know what the world has thought fit to charge me with ? ” continued Cissy, in the same hard, mechanical tones she had used throughout. i4 Yes, I have heard it ; and, as John will tell you, have pronounced it a foul lie from the beginning, — a charge that you could speedily clear yourself of when it came to your ears ; and I am right, Cissy, am I not ? ” exclaimed Mrs. Paynter, vehemently. “ Yes, thank you for your belief in me. It is something to have had one friend who held me not utterly worthless.” “ My darling ! ” cried Mrs. Paynter, impulsively, “ that there was someth’ ng wrong 16 224 Two Kisses. between you and Montie, I kae w ; but that what was said of you was false I could swear.” A jealous twinge ran through Cissy at nearing her husoand so familiarly alluded to, but she gulped it down determinedly, and in the same calm, steady voice said : — “ Did you ever guess what was wrong between Montague and me ? ” “ I think so,” replied Mrs. Paynter, softly. “What?” “ This is not quite a fair question, Cissy. I may be mistaken, you know, and my •uimise might only make you angry. I can see quite clearly that you have something against me as it is, and mark me, I want to know what ? ” For a moment Mrs. Gore eyed her hostess keenly, and then said slowly : — “You are sure of that ? ” “ Quite,” replied Mrs. Paynter, nestling still further into the embraces of the luxuriant arm-chair in which she was seated. “ Then, before we come to that, you must tell me what you think Montague and I quarrelled about. Afterwards, as you happen to be mixed up in it, I will tell you why I left him.” “ Me ! — I have anything to do with your running off to Brompton-super-Mare ? ” exclaimed Lizzie, with unfeigned surprise. “ You w r ill see ; answer my question.” “ I thought this, although you didn’t quite know it, my dear,” replied Mrs. Paynter, not without a soupcon of malice in her voice, — “ you had just fallen madly in love with your husband. He expostulated with you about some queer acquaintance you had, — a relic, I suppose, of your old Paris days, — and in your anger at finding your love so little understood and believed in, you took high dudgeon, and wont off with your maid.” Cissy blushed crimson at finding that her secret had been so cleverly read ; that this great love of hers had been patent to her friend, even before she was aware of it herself. . “ You’re right in part ; but only in part. That I love my husband passionately, I am proud to avow. I left him, as I thought, upon much stronger grounds than those.” Lizzie’s open blue eyes and eager face expressed how interested she felt in the coming revelation. “ Do you remember going to see my husband at his chambers ? ” asked Mrs. Gore. Lizzie could not repress a slight start. She had deemed that a circumstance utterly unknown to her visitor. “ You do, I see ; and you probably remember all that took place there,” continued Cissy. “ Ah ! you saw that interview, then,” replied Mrs. Paynter, nestling once more into the depths of her chair, with apparently intense enjoyment. She felt quite easy now she knew where the attack was to be made, she knew how facile it was to explain it all; but she had hardly been woman if she had not determined that Cissy should be exer* cised a little upon what she considered must have been unfairly acquired knowledge. “ I saw the finish of it, at all events,” returned Mrs. Gore, with some asperity. 225 Analyzing a Kiss. “ Where were you ? ” inquired Lizzie, with a naivett almost ludicrous. “ That matters little. I wish you to explain why you went there.” “ To see Montie Gore,” replied Mrs. Paynter, maliciously. “ But where were you ? Did he know you were there ? ” “ Will you tell me why you were there ? ” asked Cissy again, with a decided tremor in her voice. “ In your interest, my dear; and I fancy I served you pretty well, although has all come about in a very different manner from that I intended.” “ Do you understand that I saw all that took place between you and my husband ? ' exclaimed Cissy, passionately. Mrs. Paynter gave a quick little nod of assent, and then became, to all intents, lost in admiration of the lace of her pocket-handkerchief. “ You understand this,” continued Cissy, in quick, vehement tones ; “ and you think I am fool enough to believe that you were studying my interests in stealing my hus- band’s love from me ! ” “ I what ? ” interrupted Mrs. Paynter, with great elevation of her eyebrows. “Did your best to steal my husband’s love from me,” reiterated Cissy, hotly; “ how far you have been successful I dare hardly think. I know I have been a fool ; that I have been induced to withhold from him a confidence I should not ; that I have tried his love hardly. Surely he did love me once. Was it for you, who I believed my friend, to take advantage of our misunderstanding, — to snatch at what I in my madness had treated with disdain ? God help me ! Lizzie, but I had deemed you true to me, at all events.” A slight sob shook Cissy’s voice as she finished ; and even the arch-coquette opposite her felt a little uncomfortable as she witnessed her visitor’s unmistakable emotion; but Lizzie was determined to play her game out for more reasons than one. “ An ugly vice that jealousy,” thought Mrs. Paynter; “ a sharp lesson will benefit you, my dear ;” and then the vivacious lady, who, good-natured though she was, had a slight dash of the cat in her disposition, could not forbear the pleasure of teasing her friend just a little longer. “ I really don’t know what you mean,” replied Mrs. Paynter, at length. “ Don’t equivocate,” returned Mrs. Gore, fiercely. “ I saw Montague kiss you with my own eyes.” “ Ah 1 it was very lucky you did, you know.” “ What ! ” cried Cissy, starting to her feet. " Vei T lucky,” returned Mrs. Paynter, demurely. “ You would never have found out you loved your husband if you hadn’t. There, sit down, do, and I will tell you all about it. I’m tired of teasing you, you foolish child ! ” Cissy dropped once more into her chair, and stared through her wet lashes in mute astonishment at her tormentor. Mrs. Paynter had not quite meant to let her off so cheaply; but Cissy was so evh dently in such sore distress that her better nature overcame her love of fun. Two Kisses. 826 “Yon saw Montague kiss Due,” she said, after a short pause; “well, I’ll own to to you, in the first place, I do not think he could have well helped it. It is possible, my dear, to put a man in such a situation that, unless he’s an utter barbarian, he can do no less. Montague, not being an irreclaimable savage, bowed to circumstances. Do you understand that ? ” “ No,” returned Cissy, shortly. “ Did you see how it came about ? ” “ I fancy so.” “ I don’t think you did quite. Well, as I said before, it was my caprice of the minute to make your husband kiss me. Without being veiy gauche he could hardly have done otherwise. What did it mean ? About as much as if he had shaken hanils with me. No colder kiss was ever laid on woman’s cheek. I had brought him what he deemed very good news. I had poured balm into a bleeding wound, ma mie, that you refused to bind up. It was my whim, never mind why, to have a kiss for my fee. You needn’t look anxious, I’ve no wish to repeat the experiment. Being kissed by a statue is all I can compare it to ; and if you think we are the least bit in love with each other, you mistake. Come, I’ll confess I’d just a tiny bit of pique to gratify.” “ But still, what led you to go down to his chambers ? ” “ Because I wanted to see him,” replied Mrs. Paynter, with a little grimace. “ But why didn’t you call in Park Crescent ? ” persisted Cissy. “ Because, you noodle, I wanted to see him alone ; because I wanted to explain to him that he was laboring under an egregious misconception.” “ What was that ? ” Mrs. Paynter’s blue eyes sparkled mischievously. “ I wanted to tell him something that you wouldn’t; something that he was fretting his heart to know. Can you guess what it was, Cissy ? ” 0 Cissy’s face flushed rosy-red. She answered nothing, but looked mutely at her friend. “ Well, what I did tell him was this : That his wife loved him very dearly, and that he was making a very great mistake in supposing she didn’t ; and that I was getting quite wretched at seeing two people, whom I knew to be really attached to each other, drifting apart from some miserable misunderstanding that I was unable to fathom. I know,” continued Mrs. Paynter, with mock humility, “ that I did very wrong ; one should never interfere between husband and wife. John told me so, and John’s always right. Can you forgive me ? ”• “ Forgive you ! ” cried Cissy, springing from her seat, crossing and throwing her arms round her friend. “ Can you forgive me, Lizzie, for having so cruelly doubted you ? If I had never come to Montague’s chambers that morning, I should have saved both myself and him much misery ; looking back, I understand it all now. I comprehend all his efforts to come to an understanding with me ; how patient he was mder my coldness and insolence; I, at the time, thinking I was doubly betrayed; 22 ' Analyzing a Kiss. wronged by my friend, wronged by my husband ! the dupe, the mere cat’s-paw of you both. Fool that I was ! And yet, Lizzie, I had some slight excuse, — that scene had made most wives jealous.” Yes,” replied Lizzie, “ but who was to guess you were looking on ? ” “ If I looked, I suffered,” replied Cissy, simply. “ I’m afraid you did ; and was that the reason you took yourself off to Brompton- super-Mare ? ” Cissy nodded. “ Ah, well ! I think I’ll never plot again. It’s all very well for the dramatists, who can settle their last act beforehand ; but in real life our dramas don’t quite come off as we intend them. But, Cissy, are you sure you have quite got over it ? ” “ Got over what ? ” “ The — the — you know.” “ I don’t.” “ Well, that kiss,” said Mrs. Paynter, her eyes dancing with fun. “ It was a very wee one, you know, because you saw it.” “ Yes, I forgive Montague, because I believe such temptation to be beyond man’s strength,” replied Cissy, smiling, “ when you play temptress.” “ That’s not forgiving me,” laughed Lizzie. “ No ; but I can afford to forgive you in one sense. You did deserve it for what you tried to bring about.” “ And why not pardon me altogether ? ” asked Mrs. Paynter, curiously “ You couldn’t expect me to.” “ But why ? ” A gleam of the old humor flashed over Cissy’s face as, putting her lips down to Mrs. Paynter’s ear, she whispered: — “ You can’t expect me to forgive you for not appreciating what you got, you know. I consider them valuable.” “ It’s all very well,” laughed Mrs. Paynter. “ I’m afraid these men are all alike, and, after the manner of dishonest tradesmen, keep them of two qualities.” “ I must go, Lizzie. You have taken a load off my heart ; but I am in sad trouble still.” “ Of course, you must be,” replied Mrs. Paynter, suddenly sobered, as she thought of poor Montague battling for life. “ Hope for the best, Cissy. I know, poor fellow, he hangs between life and death ; still, though I don’t know why, I have a presentiment he will pull through, and that there are many happy years in store for you.” “ That he should die and never know the truth about me is what seems to me so terrible,” replied Cissy, tearfully. “ You mustn’t think of that. I’m anxious almost as you can be, and send every morning to inquire. Good-by, my darling,” and, with a warm embrace, the two reconciled friends separated. Two Kisses. CHAPTER XLH. THE MAJOR DOES HIS DUTY BY ROXBY. Major Jenkens, as we have heard, was out of town. Unfortunately, too, foi Cissy, on his return next morning, he drove straight to his office in John street instead of to his chambers in Charles street, Berkeley square. The major had been down to confer with one of his principal employers, to receive final instructions on a rather delicate piece of business, which that worthy had thought fit to confide to him. Of all his employers, of all the men he had ever been engaged in business or nefarious transactions with, this man Simmonds was the only one for whom the major had conceived a positive awe. Of him he had almost a superstitious dread. He had witnessed so much of Mr. Simmonds’ malevolence, been so astonished at his multi- plicity of resource, at the boundless information he appeared to procure, that the major had registered a solemn vow always to be perfectly straightforward in all deal- ings between them. He was the one man Claxby Jenkens owned he dared not quarrel with ; the one man he never attempted to get the best of. Roxby, he admitted, was clever, very clever, — not easy by any means to get the weather-gauge of Roxby. That eminent financier had proved too many for him more than once ; but still, give him a sufficiently strong hand, and the major was ready to fight his battle over again with Roxby at any time. With Simmonds it was different. He felt that the truculent money-lender was too much for him, too cunning of fence for him to venture to cross swords with. Claxby Jenkens was too astute a man to overrate his own capabilities, and he acknowledged that Simmonds was beyond him. Mr. Simmonds, it may be remembered, was the principal holder of that luckless insolvent Detfield’s bills. If there was one point on which Mr. Simmonds was per- fectly inflexible it was the having his own again, with all the profits accruing from the lending of money upon doubtful security. In Captain Detfield’s case, that, at present, looked far from hopeful ; at all events, for a considerable period. Mr. Simmonds, turning the matter over in his own mind, arrived at the conclusion that it was possible to procure a settlement of this most unpromising account very speedily. Pressure, no doubt, would have to be applied, and it was manifest that it was useless to exercise it further on the guardsman himself. “ Necessary,” argued Mr. Simmonds, “ to squeeze somebody in his behalf, and, as luck will have it, I fancy I can give a turn of the screw to some one who has it within his power to put things straight for the captain. We will see.” He had one or two conferences with the major on this point, and finally he asked him down to dine and sleep, at a small villa he owned at Medenham, to talk it over The Major Does His Duty by Roxby. 229 for the last time. Do not think that the usurer had any admiration for the silver Thames, and the lovely sceneiy of its banks, — he was dead to all such feelings as an oyster. He had got the cottage in part payment of a bad debt, and thought, having failed to let it, that he might as well live in it for the summer months. The major had returned to town, highly jubilant. He was instructed to have another little game with his friend Roxby, and Mr. Simmonds had furnished him with a trump or two, that he flattered himself would considerably astonish that gentleman. Having deposited his travelling-bag, and looked through his letters in John street, the major jumped into a cab, and drove off to Eenchurch street. He sent up his card, and the busy financier received it with more attention than he had done Det- field’s. He had little time to wait before a clerk intimated that Mr. Roxby would see him. “ Good-morning, Jenkens ; sit down and let’s know what it is you’ve come about,” said Roxby, cheerfully, as he extended his hand. “ No need to tell you that time is always precious in these parts.” “ I know,” replied the major, tersely, as he seated himself. “ You must spare me a few minutes, though, all the same. I’ve come down on Simmonds’ behalf. You know he holds some stiffish bills of Captain Detfield’s ? ” “ Of course I do,” replied Roxby, as an evil expression came over his countenance. “ It was I recommended him to stand no more nonsense about them, but to have his money, or push things to extremities.” “ But,” said the major, diffidently, “ you surely didn’t imagine that Detfield could pay ? ” “ I knew, sir, that if he hadn’t been a puritanical, insolent young prig, he could have paid, and that he deserved to feel that he was not quite his own master,” returned Roxby, savagely. “ Still you were quite aware that Simmonds’ chance of getting his money was not im- proved by such proceedings,” observed the major, blandly, as he adjusted his spectacles. “ That’s as may be; but you see, my dear Jenkens, whether Simmonds gets his money or not is a matter that don’t very much concern me.” “ Hum ! I don’t know. Simmonds is a little sore about your advice ; says you misled him, to gratify some private pique of your own. Dangerous man to quarrel with, don’t you think ? ” “ I’ll tell you what I think,” replied Roxby, suavely, — “ that our mutual friend Sim- monds never took advice from any one that his own judgment didn’t indorse. If he followed my hint, it was because he thought it seemed to offer the best chance of recouping himself.” “Well, he has got another idea in his head now. He has heard all about Detfield’s engagement to your ward ; of course he sees if that marriage comes off, he would be tolerably certain to get his money at once.” " Ah, you had better tell him not to speculate on improbabilities,” rejoined Roxby, with an ironical smile. 230 Two Kisses. “ That’s just where it is, — he insists that, if you would only give your consent, it might take place in a few weeks.” '‘Then you had better inform him, my dear Jenkens, that I never give anything away for nothing, except my blessing,” replied Roxby, in the most unctuous tones ; “ and tell him, moreover, that if I had not depended upon a blundering confederate to pick a suitable partner for her, my charming ward would have been married tome weeks back.” “ I did my best,” said the major, deprecatingly. u Dear me,” replied Itoxby, rubbing his hanpls, softly, “ to think of a man of the world like you being so deceived ! Of course, it is impossible for any guardian to give his consent to a wealthy ward’s marriage with a broken-down spendthrift. I cannot countenance anything so preposterous ; no, not even to oblige my dear friend Simmonds.” “ You won’t think me taking a liberty,” said the major, with an accession of ner- vousness and humility that should have put his imperious companion on his guard, “ if I point out something to you.” “ Oh, dear, no,” replied Itoxby, with a benignant smile, “ unless you are about to indicate another wooer for Miss Stanbury . You can’t expect me to believe in your selections, after the precious mess you’ve made of things so far ; ” and, in spite of his smile, there was a vindictive gleam in the financier’s eyes as he concluded. “ No ; I was about to point out that you can hardly hope to make money of the disposal of your ward’s hand in future.” “ Who told you, sir, that I ever contemplated such a rascally arrangement ? ” returned Itoxby, loftily. The major deliberately adjusted his spectacles, and stared at his companion. It was a bit of hardiesse , of impudent effrontery after his own heart. He saw that the financier deemed it possible he did. not know the exact truth. “ Who told me ? ” he said, gently, — “ Captain Detfield. What was the price ? Five thousand. What was his answer ? Tolerably personal, contemptuous, and in the negative. How do things stand at present ? I know no more than this. It is very unlikely you will be able to induce Miss Stanbury to accept any one else for a hus- band before she is twenty-one. Conclusion, your ward’s hand is no longer sala- ble.” “ Ha ! that is the way our bankrupt young friend accounts for his repulse, is it ? A venomous young scorpion, who would blacken respectable people’s characters, eh ? And you think this an additional reason why I should oblige Simmonds ? Jenkens, my worthy friend, you grow old, to put it mildly. You showed unmistakable signs of approaching your dotage when you selected Captain Detfield as a fit husband for my ward.” “ Did I ? ” returned the major, quietly ; though there was a contraction of the muscles about his mouth that augured he was not insensible to Hoxby’s taunts. “ I Venture to remark your instructions were not sufficiently explicit.” The Major Does His Duty by Roxby. 231 “Clear enough to any one with average comprehension,” replied Roxby, con- temptuously. “ No, when you wanted a thorough blackguard, why couldn’t you say so ? they’re by no means scarce.” “ Enough’ of this,” cried Roxby, in a voice thick with passion. “ Whatever I wanled, I did not want a nincompoop as confederate. Further discussion is useless. I have lots to do.” “ I must trespass a few minutes more on your time, nevertheless ; we have a little wandered from the point. Simmonds, anxious to recover his money, wishes you to give your consent to this marriage.” “ And as I don’t care a rush whether Simmonds recovers his money or not, I shall do nothing of the kind. There is no more to be said,” and Mr. Roxby threw himself back in his chair with the air of a man wearied by a fruitless discussion. “ A dangerous man to offend, Simmonds,” observed the major, dryly. “ No doubt, if your head is under his belt, as Detfield’s happens to be ; but you see I chance to be quite as big, I might say a bigger man than Simmonds in the city. An ill-disposed money-lender is a bugbear I can afford to laugh at. He neithei holds nor is likely to hold bills of mine. Now, I really have a lot of business to get through.” “ Then I may tell him that is your fixed determination,” said the major, rising. “ Most certainly.” “ It’s an odd coincidence after what you’ve said,” observed the major, carefully flicking some dust from his hat with his pocket-handkerchief; “but Simmonds happened to mention he held a bill of yours for two thousand.” “ He hold a bill of mine ! ” ejaculated Roxby, with evident astonishment. “ Yes ; accepted by old Muddlehurst. However, you needn’t trouble your head about it; Simmonds is not uneasy. He knows your name’s good enough, to say nothing of having Muddlehurst’s at the back. He’s not afraid but what it will be met when due. It was only then it struck me as odd when you said he would never hold a bill of yours. Good-by.” *• Stop a moment. How did that bill come into Simmonds’ hands ? ” and an acute observer might have detected a slight shade of anxiety in Roxby’s tone. “ Graves and Downham, who always discount my paper as they do hundreds of others, are celebrated for being close men, who hold it themselves till due. They owe half their business to that one thing. Men engaged in as many financial schemes as I am don’t like their bills hawked about the market. We pay a shade more to Graves and Downham for that veiy reason.” “ Of course, I know all that ; but it seems they have just taken in a new partner. He, seeing the firm rather pressed, thought there could be no harm in circulating a few of the best bills they had in hand. A mistake, of course.” “ It’s an infamous breach of faith,” exclaimed Roxby, angrily. “Well, it is rather; but it can’t matte* to you, of course,” and as he spoke he 232 Two Kisses. eyed his companion keenly from beneath hi9 spectacles. The major rejoiced in the conviction that he was about to do his duty towards his neighbor in a somewhat satis factory fashion. “ No ; though that doesn’t make it any the less a scandalous piece of work on the part of Graves and Downham,” retorted Roxby, with evident uneasiness. “ Well, good-by,” said the major, as he turned towards the door; “I mustn’t take up any more of your time. I shouldn’t like to quarrel with Simmonds myself, especially when you’ve nothing to get by it. He’s a dangerous enemy; but, of course, you know your own affairs best.” “ Good-by,” replied lloxby, shortly. But the major was not gone yet ; he paused with his hand on the door, and then, as if it had just occurred to him, exclaimed : — “ By the way, Muddlehurst’s been veiy ill lately, hasn’t he ? ” “ Not that I’m aware. Whaf makes you ask ? ” “Oh, nothing. Simmonds thought his signature looked wonderfully shaky, that’s all.” Roxby’s florid face blanched, his lips trembled, and his hands toyed nervously with the pen they had taken up. The two men had changed parts ; it was Roxby now who was the irresolute, hesitating mac. As for the major, his face was set hard, his lips were compressed, and his dark eyes gleamed beneath his spectacles with that cruel, savage light you may see in a cat’s eyes before she springs. “ What the deuce do you mean ? ” stammered Roxby, at last. “ What do I mean ? ” he said, in a deep, low voice, as he walked swiftly from the dor r, placed his hands upon the desk, and leaned over the cowering coward seated behind it. “ I mean this, — that Simmonds doesn’t believe Muddlehurst ever signed his na 'ne to that bill ; is so doubtful of the fact, indeed, that he means to ask him the question to-morrow.” “ Spare me ! Tell him I can and will meet it, so help me God. It will ruin me if he makes inquiries ; ” and the wretched forger dropped his head upon his hands and literally grovelled before his antagonist. The major contemplated him for a moment with cynical contempt. He despised utterly a man who could not face the consequences of his misdeeds with perfect coolness. The major reckoned courage, or, as he would have termed it, “ pluck,” one of the highest of human attributes. If, like the wolf, you live by rapine, it behoves you to die like the wolf, mutely fighting, when your time comes. Such was the major’s pagan creed, and he faced the consequences of his own escapes ever with the utmost hardihood. “ Ruin you ! ” he said, at length. “ If what we suspect is true, it wouIcT be twenty years’ penal servitude for you at least, my friend. Stop! hold your tongue!” he cried, seeing that Roxby was about to speak. “ We don’t know, mind, ttjai it is not Muddlehurst’s signature ; and, providing you do what you’re told, we don’t want to know. You’ll pay when the time comes, somehow or other, we’ve no doubt, and if 233 The Major Does His Duty by Roxby. you did not, Simmonds would not lose over it. Graves and Downham would have to make it good. But, mark me, you will do what we wish, or — ” Roxby raised his face inquiringly. “We shall make inquiries of Muddlehurst,” concluded the major, dryly. The utter collapse of the specious scoundrel was almost painful to witness. He was but as dough now in the hands of his iron adversary. The major was quite put out at finding himself pitted against so flaccid a foe. He could not help marvelling how he had ever allowed such a craven to get the best of him. For once in his life he had been most thoroughly deceived in his estimate of his neighbor. He had deemed Roxby as hard and unscrupulous a rascal as it was possible to meet. As he said afterwards to his employer : — “ I did think he’d have shown fight, but he gave in without a ghost of a struggle.” “ What is it you want of me ? ” inquired the utterly broken-down financier humbly at length. “ I am in your hands to write, sign, or do what you will.” “ You’re so far lucky that we don’t want much of you,” returned the major. “ You will write at once to Miss Stanbury to say you regret you have been mistaken in your opinion of Captain Detfield’s character ; that you have been misinformed ; that he may have been a little imprudent, like other young men, but has doubtless seen his folly ; has had a severe lesson, in short ; and, as you find your ward’s feelings are really involved, you have no hesitation about giving your consent. There, you know the sort of letter to write well enough. To do you justice, nobody understands the intensely plausible business better than you do.” “ What else ? ” “ Nothing beyond a note to me to say that you have done so. You get off cheap ; it will cost you nothing, but swallowing a little ill-temper with regard to Detfield, whom, of course, we shall stay all proceedings against.” “ It shall be done,” replied Roxby, in a low voice ; “ but what security am I to have that all shall end here ? ” “ None, — you’re in no position to demand any ; but you may rest assured, that as long as you meet this bill when due, and throw no obstacles in the way of this mar- riage, you are perfectly safe. And now, once more, good-by.” “ Good-by,” said Roxby, faintly. But again did the major turn with his hand on the door. “ One bit of advice before I go. I don’t recommend you either to delay or humbug about that letter, because I shall know the truth almost immediately. And, further, I’d advise you to be straight in your dealings in future ; you haven’t pluck to turn rogue successfully.” With which parting shot the major jubilantly closed the doc/ behind him. He had done his duty by Roxby at last. As for the latter, he remained long seated at his desk, struggling with the contending passions of rage and fear ; furious at the idea that he must succumb to Detfield, the man who has told him without scruple that he was a scoundrel ; furious at the thought «f that five thousand pounds which had slipped through his fingers; furious tb** 234 Two Kisses. Claxby Jenkens, whom he had long regarded as his tool, should have suddenly developed into his master ; but too utterly cowed to think of resisting Simmonds , ultimatum . Still a cowardly rogue is ever a slippery customer to deal with, and it may be that Roxby will prove too many for his adversaries yet. As far as the forgery went, it was by no means his first offence. When pressed for money in his business, he had often drawn bills, and written some well-known city man’s name as the endorser. As such bills had lain quietly at Graves and Down- ham’s till due, and then been always promptly met, no question had ever been raised concerning them. But for the mistake of a partner, not quite, as yet, conversant with the business of the firm, that fatal note had never been in Simmonds’ hands. CHAPTER XLHI. MB. ROXBY’S CONVERSION. Roseneath House has been somewhat sad these last few days. Bessie is in dire tribulation about her lover. Were he in the dungeons of the Inquisition, and liable to be “ put to the question,” she could scarce take a more gloomy view of his incar- ceration. It is natural ; imprisonment to the imagination of a girl of eighteen, of Bessie’s class, is apt to be associated with bolts, bars, the vaulted cell, scarce glimmers of daylight, fetters, and bread and water. She thinks Charlie and his friend, Fox Brine, both in league to conceal from her his sufferings. She knows he must be enduring hardships too dreadful to think of. She is anxious, very anxious, to visit him in his dungeon ; very emphatic always on that epithet i3 Bessie in pleading with Miss Matilda to accompany her on this mission. Soft-hearted Aunt Clem sympathizes thoroughly with her niece ; but Miss Matilda is inexorable, bids the girl have a little patience, and she will find all will come right. “ But it’s so heartless not to go and comfort him,” cries Bessie. “ Most unladylike to go trapezing about a debtor’s prison,” retorts Miss Matilda. “ A wife cannot stop to think of such conventionalities when her husband is in trouble,” urges Bessie. “ And am I not, or should I not be, the same to him now ? ” “ It is hard upon the child, Matilda, not to let her pay her betrothed one tiny visit,” interposed Aunt Clem. “You’re quite as big a baby as she is, Clementina,” replied Miss Matilda, austerely, ° and know nothing at all of what is fitting under such circumstances. I am doing my best both for him and for her.” Miss Matilda, indeed, had sundry long interviews with her lawyer at this time. She had desired him to put himself in communication with Captain Detfield’s man of business, for the chivalrous old lady contemplated nothing less than that she and Aunt Clem should discharge Detfield’s liabilities, Bessie giving her an assurance that •uch monev should be paid back when she came of age. Mr. Roxby's Conversion. 235 She had sai J nothing of this to her sister, but she felt quite sure of her acquies- cence A3 the stronger mind, she had thoroughly controlled Miss Clementina all her life. Mis# Matilda was far too good a woman of business not to know how worthless a minor’s guarantee would be in the eyes of the law ; hut she was far too good a judge of character to doubt for one moment that it would be paid when Bessie came into possession of her own. It was due principally to Miss Matilda’s business habits and conservative tendencies that Bessie’s fortune had not before this slipped through the fingers of the plausible Roxby. Often had that specious gentleman urged upon his co-trustee the advisability of transferring Bessie’s money into far more profitable investments, — pointed out the absurdity of being content with four per cent, when concerns returning six were plentiful as blackberries. But Miss Matilda invariably quoted the Duke of Welling- ton’s dictum, that high interest meant bad security, and vowed no risk should be ran with the trust while she had aught to say to it. “ Poor James invested it carefully for his little girl, when his health obliged him to give up business, and he knew what he was about,” Miss Stanbury would observe, dryly. “ Let it be.” The Stanbuiys were of fair family. There had been three of them to start with, — the two maiden ladies we know, and a brother, Bessie’s father, long since dead. They had inherited ten thousand pounds apiece. The sisters lived quietly and com- fortably on the interest of their money. The brother embarked in business, married, had one child ; lost his wife, and then, having turned his ten thousand pounds into thirty, fell into a rapid consumption, which carried him off in something less than two years. He left Bessie, then about ten years old, to the joint guardianship of his eldest sister and Boxby. That he had dealt in cheese, among other things, was undoubtedly true ; but it had been on a large scale, and as a mere part of a large business, and scarce warranted Roxby’s flippant assertion that he had made his fortune “ in cheese.” There are coal-dealers and coal-dealers, from the Marquis of Silkstone, who sells by the hundred thousand tons at the pit mouth, to Bob Ackers, who vends them by the pound, or shovelful, in the neighborhood of Newport Market. That Miss Matilda was engaged in come deep, mysterious scheme of her own was, of course, palpable both to her niece and sister ; that it had reference to helping the lovers out of their present embarrassment, they had her own word for, — the embar- rassment, by the way, Charlie Detfield’s solely, in reality ; but then man’s embar- rassment always extends to the woman attached to him. His male friends may grieve, be sorry for him, but it is the women who carry sore hearts on such occasions. Poor Bessie was in no unmaidenlv hurry for her marr age, but it seemed so hard to the frank, true-hearted girl, that she could not make use of a part of all this money to free the man she loved so dearly, from his entanglements. Still, there was the she could do nothing ; was not even allowed to go and see him in his trouble. 236 Two Kisses. It never occurred to any of the ladies at Roseneath House that Clarlie Detfieh* had been anything but imprudent and unfortunate. They connected hi 3 arrest vaguely with his quarrel with Roxby, upon which occasion they considered he had behaved “ nobly.” That his difficulties were the result of extravagance and self- indulgence they would have put aside, with much disdain, had it been suggested to them. Bessie and Aunt Clem arc sitting rather moodily over their breakfast, when Miss Matilda enters and exclaims : — “ Good-morning, Clementina. Good-morning, Bessie. What will you give for my news this morning ? ” and she waved a letter she held in her hand triumphantly before them. That Miss Stanbury was the herald of good tidings, her jubilant manner left no doubt about, and “ What is it ? ” burst simultaneously from the lips of her hearers. “ Mr. Roxby has taken his time to reply to my letter, there’s no denying, but it seems to have had the desired effect at last. There, Bessie,” she continued, tossing the missive she had flourished so ostentatiously, across to her niece, “ that’s his con- sent to your marriage. Now, you know, you have only me to deal with.” The astonishment of Aunt Clem and Bessie was unbounded ; they read the letter twice over together before they could believe it. The major was right when he had told the financier that he was a master of the plausible business, — nothing could have been more suasive, nothing more oily, so to speak, than Roxby’s epistle. He had embodied the major’s suggestions in honeyed terms, winding up with an elabo- rate apology that too much zeal for his ward’s interests should have betrayed him into intemperate language. He could not give better proof of his penitence, he conceived, than by promoting as speedily as might be the marriage which, under mistaken notions, he had so ran- corously, — yes, he must confess, rancorously opposed. Captain Detfield’s difficul ties, he had heard from good authority, were all in process of arrangement, and would be speedily settled. As for Miss Matilda, she attributed all this change in Roxby’s views to that sharp letter with which she had favored him, and which had so long remained unanswered. The good lady plumed herself not a little on having brought her recalcitrant co-trus- tee to his bearings, and conceived her dignified but stinging rebuke quite accounted for the humble peroration of his courteous epistle. That she should dissert a little on her own talents, for dealing with people who required both reprimand and convinc- ing of the errors of their opinions, was but natural, and Aunt Clem was lost in reaj admiration of her sister’s cleverness. But Bessie could not help thinking of Mr. Roxby’s rascally proposition co Charlie Detfield ; then she mused on his coarse, violent behavior to herself and Miss Stan- bury, on the occasion of his last visit, and, the girl felt intuitively that some other Influence had been brought to bear upon her unprincipled guardian to make him eat his words in this fashion. She could not help feeling some mistrust of this suddrs Mr. Roxby's Conversion. 237 assent to her marriage, couched in such honeyed terms. To use homely words, it sounded too good to be true. But it was not only in Barnsbury road that Mr. Boxbv’s conversion had made a stir. In that dingy, window-barred house in Cursitor street, over which the usurious Coleman held sway, there was much marvel. Charlie Detfiela, though naturally sanguine in temperament, had not placed much faith in the major’s letter. There is something demoralizing, I mean to the animal spirits, in imprisonment in the first instance, be that imprisonment made light as may be. When, like Sterne’s starling, man first awakes to the fact that he “ can’t get out/' he droops, mopes, and becomes despondent. Time alleviates this, and it is possible, nc doubt, to arrive at the supine selfishness that Mr. Dorritt attained after some years’ experience of the Marshalsea. But in the beginning the bolts bite, the bars gnaw, and to the generality of men comes great depression. The prison listlessness steals over them. Capacity for work evaporates, and the mental languor increases daily. It is good for our criminals that they are compelled to labor. Imprisonment for any length of time without “ Labor, the symbol of man’s punishment,” is to slay him morally and intellectually. There are exceptions, of course. Strong minds are exceptional. Detfield, fast succumbing to this apathy, is aroused once more by a second letter from the major, which he reads again and again, and still can hardly believe in : — “John street, Adelphi, “ Friday. “ 1)ear Deteield, — Boxby and I have had our little game ; I beat him, as I told you I should, and he had to make terms. That your affairs can interest me will, no doubt, puzzle you ; but It so happens they do. Your one thousand to fifteen chance has come off, and you vill find that Boxby has given unqualified consent to your marriage. This I need scarcely point out, places you in a very different position, and your lawyer, r . r man of business, will find Simmonds now easy to deal with. Willing to give time, apply for remission of sentence, in fact facilitate your views in every way. I speak with authority; to say nothing of its being so obviously his best chance of getting his money, that he would be mad to act otherwise. “ Accept my congratulations on your bridal, and remember you are somewhat indebted to me should I ever require a favor at your hands. “ Yours sincerely, “ Cla xb y Jenkens.” Although his battle with Boxby had been a labor of love, and fought strictly in the interest of his employer, Simmonds ; yet the major could not resist putting in bw 238 Two Kisses. claim for recompense of some sort to the man who would so much benefit by his victory. He had no particular idea just then of what it was that he would have, but he would have deemed he was failing in his duty to himself had he not sought to establish a pull of some kind over Detfield. Major Jenkens was conscientious past all conception in doing his duty to himself. Circumstances make men intimate, whom it is hard to conceive amalgamating. It Is wonderful what that necessity for “ talk,” common to the run of mankind, will do in this way. Who, that has travelled, has not seen scores of instances of this ? The railway traveller that unbosoms himself, and blurts out his whole family history between London and York, is an every-day type. You must be terribly morose, or clothed in surpassing hauteur, if you have never become the recipient of such con- fidences. One has been asked to lunch, to dine, even to stay, the first time you should be in the neighborhood. You may take such protestations cum grano salis y or you may take them en verite. I declare, when taken as the latter, I don’t think you would be deceived in most instances. Charlie Detfield in the, to put it delicately, close seclusion of Mr. Coleman’s mansion, has fraternized strongly with Mr. Turbottle. Wide as the poles, the status of a dandy of the Household Brigade and a “ Cheap Jack.” True, equally wide the position of a peer of the realm and a ci-devant pot-boy, of a baronet and an ex-stable lad. Still, in the now extinct plunging era, such instances were. The turf leads to queer fraternization ; so did the railway mania. The Stock Exchange boasts, doubt- less, of similar incongruities. The only true republic is that of money-getting, in which the peasant is kotooed to and respected by the peer, should the latter hold the former’s information superior to his own. The old Railway King could have told some strange stories had he liked. I have known a bookmaker who has been requested to mark a marchioness’ racing card Defore the day’s sport began. There is not, therefore, so much cause for astonishment as might be at first supposed for the fraternization of Detfield and Mr. Turbottle. The turf has been spoken of as a leveller of classes. A sponging-house acts upon its inmates pretty much as a steam-roller on the newly metalled road, — apt to weld its inhabitants together. Mr. Turbottle, with his quaint humor and racy observations on men and manners, had done much to lighten the weary hours of Detfield’s imprisonment. That eccentric worthy had conceived a strong liking for his fellow-captive, whom he graphically described as “ not half a bad sort, considering he was born a swell. It does come a little rough on them, you see, when they find ’emselves in Queer street. They aint used to it; at all events he aint as yet.” Mr. Turbottle happened to be in high force the morning on which Detfield received the major’s letter “ What a blessing it is, captain, having plenty of time to read the papers, isn’t it ? 4nd what a blessing it is for old Coleman, having inmates who will see ’em,” he Mr. Roxby's Conversion. 239 remarked, turning over the “ Telegraph.” “ Charge one sixpence a day for this here pennyworth, he does, so help me. A man who can’t make capital out of his mis- fortunes aint fit to be in ’em. I tell you what I mean to do,” and here Mr. Turbottle indulged in a perfect volley of winks. “ As soon as I’m out I shall set up in this line ; it’s the most screamirlg trade ever I saw drove. If you can’t make a fortune at this game, why, you never will ; as an old pal, captain, you give me a turn if ever you’r® Cursitor street way again. What, you won’t ? ” continued Mr. Turbottle, in answet to Detfield’s smile, and relapsing into the patter of his own trade. “Well, I’ll tell you what I'll do with you. I’ll do you half price, and throw you a Sunday dinner in r Aint that good enough ? Well, you settle up with Coleman before you say no.” “ This letter I’ve just received tells me that I shall be released in a few days. 1 own I don’t quite understand how, but I presume my lawyer, when he comes, will be able to explain.” “ What, going out ? Dash it all ! be a man, captain. Blessed if J didn’t think you’d tnade up your mind, like myself, not to part with a mag, but to serve your time out.” Mr. Turbottle labored under a delusion not easy to dissipate ; namely, that com- pleting his term of imprisonment would effectually wipe out the costs for which he stood committed, keeping that money out of the pocket of the man whom he con- sidered had dealt unfairly with him was the sole reason of his obstinate resolve not to pay. Like the immortal Pickwick, he was in prison on principle. “ I shan't stay here an hour longer than I can help,” replied Charlie, dryly. “ I have good reasons for wishing to be at liberty.” “ Oh, there aint much difficulty about finding reasons for that,” retorted Mr. Tur- bottle. “ You might want to stretch your legs, or require change of scene. I never was in a place that furnished so many reasons for wishing to be away from it. I don’t want to be inquisitive, nor to squash the hope that springs perennial, — I mean is always cropping up in the human bosom, as Shakespeare has it, but hope’s a rum ’un at telling ‘ a flattering tale much longer than my arm,’ you know.” “ I think I can put faith in my correspondent,” replied Charlie ; “ Claxby Jenkens don’t make many mistakes, and he happens to know tho, oughly how I am situated.” “Claxby Jenkens ! ” exclaimed Mr. Turbottle, bouncing off the sofa. “Yes; do you know him ?” inquired Detfield, somewnat curiously. “ Oh, I know him, and he knows me,” replied the litt e man, somewhat abstractedly. ‘ But surely your friend spoke of him as a scoundrel t ue other day. What, pray, do you think of him ? ” “ Well, he’s a man the world throws hard names at ; but he has alwa) r s dealt fairly by me, and, if I may trust his letter, has done me a real good turn now.” “ I haven’t seen him for a good bit, but it strikes me I must. You don’t think him an out-and-outer, then, eh ? ” and Mr. Turbottle peered inquisitively into his com- panion’s face. “ I have told you fairly what I know of him ; but there’s no doubt many people^ like Fox Brine, judge him much more hardly than I do,” 16 240 Two Kisses. u I must see him — I must see him,” murmured Mr. Turbottle. “ Surely, he’d never play Cissy false. If he has, he might be pretty certain I wouldn’t stand her being put upon.” “ Going out, eh?” he continued, once more addressing himself to Detfield. “ What’s it feel like ? A skin full of gin-punch aint a circumstance to it, I s’pose. Blessed if one understands liberty till one’s been under the lock. “ ‘ I’m for freedom of opinion Throughout this here dominion ; ’Bout paying one’s debts, especially let’s Have freedom of opinion,’ ” sang Mr. Turbottle con spirito , and then betook himself seriously to smoking. CHAPTER XLIV. THE EXPLANATION. There are crises in history when events follow each other with startling rapidity, when we may almost, as in the days of the terrible French and German struggle, be said to listen for the moaning of the wires ; to strain our ears for the wailing of the (Eolian harp of the nineteenth century, — the electric telegraph. Did the harp of old ever send forth sadder music than the mournful story of Sedan or Gravelotte, as wafted to us by the flashing strings of that of our day ? So in the lives of us all comes the time when we live years in hours. In the most prosaic existence there has happened what has seemed to it a convulsion. Cissy is living such a life now. To her every twenty-four hours is loaded with hope, with terror. She is sanguine of clearing her fair fame ; she trembles for that flickering life she loves so well ; for the fruition of that love she has awoke to, it may be too late. Much gratified has she been this morning (it is the day after her visit to Lizzie) by a call from John Paynter. Lizzie Paynter, with all her faults, could be a veiy true friend. She had always refused to entertain a doubt of Cissy’s innocence; after their mutual explanation, she was, of course, more firmly convinced of it than ever. Her first impulse had been to ask Cissy immediately to come and stay with them till she was able to re-enter her husband’s house, with all that miserable scandal refuted. But Mrs. Paynter remembered that she also had a husband, and that, easy- going and far from straight-laced as John Paynter was, he could upon occasion put his foot down firmly. There had been a case or two in which people of reputation, rather more tainted *ha n careless, good-natured Lizzie had been aware of, had obtained a footing in her The Explanation. 241 house, and she recollected the peremptory manner in which they had been struck off her visiting list. John Paynter interfered but little with his wife, yet he was too much about the world of London not to know, very shortly, all about those who might cross his threshhold; not the man to tolerate characters past all bleaching in his drawing- room. Lizzie, of course, knew that her husband took a different view from herself con- cerning Cissy’s conduct; but she knew, also, that it was no strongly prejudiced opin- ion regarding it. If he thought the worst, it was sorrowfully, and with regret that the facts, so far as he knew them, enabled him to come to no other conclusion. Lizzie invaded the sanctuary of the smoking-room that night, with bold, deliberate intention ; an intrusion which, wise in her generation, she never committed, save on great occasions. Did wives comprehend what sparing use of such invasion may be made, they would treasure up the “ insidious charm ” carefully. It bears not always rubbing, like Aladdin’s lamp ; use it too often, and its efficacy wanes, waxes weaker and weaker, and at last dies out. Like those other “ charms,” opiates, alcohol and nicotine, ’tis the abuse, not the use, that brings us to woe and utter discomfiture. Lizzie, at all events, thoroughly comprehended the advantage of keeping such bat tie-ground for grand assaults, and not wasting that opportune position in conjugal skirmishes. Her husband knew well that when Lizzie ascended to the smoking- room she had something serious to unbosom herself of. She told him Cissy’s story in her own quaint, though not quite sincere, fashion. It was hardly likely that she would reveal that scene at Montague Gore’s chambers, in all its integrity, for instance. Still she did make him understand that interfering between them, in defiance of his advice, she had so far further complicated matters as to make Cissy jealous of herself. That, combined with Montague’s jealous innuen- does, had driven Cissy wild, and, in a moment of passionate excitement, she had levanted to Brompton-super-Mare “ As for Major Jenkens, she says that within a day or two he shall himself declare what the mysterious relation between them is, and that it will leave no ground for the shadow of suspicion when you do but know it ; and John, dear, as I have been in some measure the cause of her trouble, I do hope you will let me ask her here. It’s so shocking to think of her refused admission to her husband’s house ; a husband, mind, as I’ve told you all along — and I’m right here — that she is passionately attached to. If you wouldn’t mind, it would please me so very much. Had you only seen her to-day, I am sure you would have done it yourself. Do it now, for my sake,” and Lizzie laid her hands on her husband’s shoulder, and looked wistfully down into his face. John Paynter threw his cigar into the fire, and exclaimed : — “ You know, Liz, it came very much against the grain with me to think -wrong of Cissy Gore. I’m uncommonly glad to think I’m mistaken, and that she at all events, cau flatly deny the scandal. I’ll call upon her myself, to-morrow, and ask her here. 242 Two Kisses. It will snow people that we no longer credit it, any way. Still, she must right ner« self, remember. ,, “ And she will, and that speedily,” cried Lizzie, jubilantly. “ I don’t know quite what to call you, John, without being slang ; but you’re a dear, good fellow, if that will do, — and that.” John Faynter bore his salutation calmly, — husbands, I suppose, do, even when their wives are not wont to be effusive, — but he was prompt to his word, and called on Mrs. Gore at the Langham, next morning. But Cissy was firm in her refusal of his invitation. That she was extremely pleased with it, she made no disguise. “ It is very kind of you,” she said. “ It is a great comfort to me to think that you believe me guiltless ; that you credit me when I say I can dissipate this infamous scandal before the week is out. Yet I’ll not so far take advantage of your compas- sion as to become your guest while this stain rests upon my name. Nay, further; one moment, please,” she cried, seeing that he was about to speak, “ I’ll be no one’s guest till my right to the shelter of my husband’s roof is once more established. You won’t deem me ungrateful* I know. Think for two minutes, and you will say, — if she is innocent, she is right.” “You are,” returned John Paynter, warmly. “Not that I am withdrawing my offer for one instant, but your woman’s wit serves you better than our blundering, though good intentions. Remember, I’ll stand by you all I can, and so will Lizzie.” “ Thank you, Mr. Paynter, I know it,” replied Cissy, softly ; “ but you can only aid me in this matter so far. It is for me to justify myself; I can — I shall. But I cannot wait till my husband is fit to hear my exculpation, — my post should be at his side now. I am anxious — anxious indeed, I am frantic — to resume my rights. If Montague should die without my hand to smooth his pillow, to solace his last moments, I shall never hold my head up more ; when I think how far my foolish- ness may have occasioned his illness, I don’t think I could even then. What I have to ask of you is this. Will you and Lizzie consent to hear my justification, and take care that Mr. Brine is present ? You three thoroughly satisfied, and no one shall say me nay about claiming my undoubted right to watch over my husband.” “ Of course, certainly ; as I said before, command me in any way,” replied Jdan Paynter. “ To-morrow, then, expect me with my evidence. I myself will write to Mr. Brin© to meet me at your house at twelve.” “ All shall be as you wish, Mrs. Gore ; and no one can more sincerely wish you well through all your troubles than I do. Good-by.” “ Good-by, Mr. Paynter,” replied Cissy. And then that gentleman resumed his way to the city, prepared to stake his existence on the innocence of the woman whom twenty-four hours ago he had held guilty past all dispute. So often as people are condemned, socially, without evidence, it is well, perhaps, that they should be occasionally also exculpated on similar foundation. A shrewc^ The Explanation . 243 Gfigacioiis man is John Paynter, but, logically, he has less reason to acquit Cissy than he has to consider the charge against her proven. An innocent woman we know her ; but John Paynter has changed his views on nothing more than his wife’s cajoleries, and Mrs. Gore’s bold denial of the scandal concerning her. Such proofs would have done little to convince him on a matter of business, yet cleverer men than he would have believed as he did in this instance. A note, the first thing next morning, from Brine, told Cissy that sleep, so long prayed for, had at length sealed her husband’s eyelids. The crisis of the fever, the deathlike slumber, when the poor, troubled brain at last ceases to wrestle with the phantoms that possess it, has come ; that phase of all cerebral excitement, when the watchers can mutely and nervously but wait the awaking of the sufferer. If sense accompanies not the cessation of slumber, then indeed the patient’s hold of life waxes slender. If it should, then infinite is the care necessary o withdraw the stricken one from the Valley of the Shadow of Death, to nurse back into a flame those faint embers of life that such terrible struggle with the Destroyer has left. Cissy knew all this well. She had consulted doctors and books on brain fever during the last forty- eight hours. It was good news that at last he slept. The awaking was in the hands of Him wtio ruletk all things. Those who remembered Cissy in her Paris days would have been struck speechless with astonishment if they could have seen the energetic, calm woman she had become in her trouble. Forced to think now entirely for herself, she is foreseeing self-reliant, and patient. One idea possesses her. She must win Montague back, must clear herself of all stain in his eyes. If the precious boon of his life is not to be granted to her, then in pity’s sake let it be conceded that he should understand she was guiltless, if foolish ; let him kiss and forgive her before he should be torn from her. Time is precious ; — this terrible fever, who shall say how it may terminate ? She wants all her faculties. She must be sitting by her husband’s bedside when he awakes. Loth as he was to leave his friend at such a crisis, yet Fox Brine saw at once that his duty to his friend was to restore his wife to him before all things, if possible. Prejudiced strongly against Cissy he had been, no doubt, but his opinion concerning her had been much modified by their last interview. “ She spoke like an innocent woman,” muttered Fox to himself. “ If she can in the main substantiate her story, I would acquit her, and trust to time to clear up some little discrepancies, if such there be.” Leaving stringent orders that word should be instantly despatched to him of Montague's awaking, Mr. Brine betook himself to the Paynters. lie found Lizzie in a state of great agitation. Honest anxiety for her friend, leavened with a perfect tremor of curiosity, had reduced Mrs. Paynter to that state in which to sit still becomes an impossibility. Her husband, though much calmer, as behoved his masculine dignity itill awaited Cissy’s promised explanation with considerable interest. A few minutes past twelve and a servant announced Mrs. Gore 244 Two Kisses. Cissy, very quietly dressed, entered the room, followed by a gentleman who was at once recognized by all. She bowed generally to the trio, and with a motion of her hand checked Lizzie, who was coming forward to greet her. “ Allow me to introduce to you, Major Claxby Jenkens,” she paused for a moment, and then added in clear, steady tones, — “ my father.” Taking no notice of the varied signs of astonishment visible in the faces of her hearers, she continued, — “I shall leave my exculpation in my father’s hands. Will you be kind enough to listen to his story ? *' Claxby Jenkens advanced a step or two, and quietly took off his accustomed spectacles. “ I shall not,” he said, “ detain you long. Let me say in the first place that my daughter has been loyal to a promise I exacted from her under other circumstances, but which I still gave her positive injunctions to respect, namely, the concealment of my very existence from her world. I have been an intriguer, a schemer, all my life ; but that the world could ever put me down as my daughter’s lover I must own never entered my head. The old story,” he said sadly, — “we never can see anything except from our own point of view.” “ But are you really Cissy’s father ? ” exclaimed Lizzie, who could restrain herself no longer. “ Hush ! ” said her husband, as he laid his hand on her arm. “ I must go back a good bit,” replied the major, taking no manner of notice of the interruption, “ but I promise to be brief. Some five-and-twenty years ago I was a subaltern of artillery, quartered at Nottingham. I fell in love with a very pretty girl there, the daughter of a tobacconist it ended in my running away with and marrying her. “ My commanding officer was very wroth with my escapade , so were the towns- people generally, — he, because I had made her an honest woman ; the latter, because they persistently maintained I had not. Neither she nor I had a very pleasant time of it, and after a little I determined to leave the service, and resigned my commission accordingly. We went abroad; how we lived matters little, we scrambled along somehow; but at the end of three years I lost her, and I can say honestly the saddest day of my life was when I laid her in her grave at Pere-la-Chaise. “ She left me one child, — the woman who now stands before you. What was I to do with a little thing two years old ? What I did, was to take her back to Nottingham, and place her with my wife’s sister, who was by that time married, and whose husband was assisting his father-in-law in the management of the shop. If she was rather hard, she was a just woman, and I knew I could rely upon her to do her duty by my child. “ As for my own relations, they were not many. I had alienated them by various escapades, and they were only too glad to make mymamage an occasion for breaking with me altogether.” “ Stop ! ” exclaimed Brine. “ You and Turbottle married sisters, by Heaven ! and therefore you know — ” The Explanation. 245 “ A good deal. Mr. Brine, you wish to learn, if you will only allow me to tell it,” replied the major, blandly. “ It always is hard to induce people to listen patiently, even to that.” “ Please be quiet,” interposed John Paynter. Cissy, hex hand graspingthe back of a chair, listened with unmoved countenance to her own bYgrapliy. What did it all matter to her ? It was but a means to an end, reconciliation with her husband, — reconciliation with the man she loved, permission, nt f , the right to sit by his sick-bed. How tedious her father was, she thought ; but her faith in his talents and knowledge of the world never swerved. It was necessary, she supposed, this weary recapitulation, if he thought so. For herself she deemed, when she had said this is my father, when he had said this is my daughter, everything was made clear. The major knew better. “ For ten years,” he continued, “ Cissy lived there ; then I took her abroad and placed her in a convent at St. Germains. She left that only to be married to Mark Hemsworth. From that date she was before the Paris world, as Mrs. Paynter can testify. I can see you believe me, but I am a man of business. Unwittingly I have raised a terrible scandal against the one being in this world I have to love. Her innocence cannot be made too clear. Here are my proofs. There is an attested copy of my marriage with Cecilia Blackburn, at St. Sepulchre’s Church, Holborn, — easy to verify that within two hours. This is an attested copy of Cissy’s birth in Paris, the truth of which can be ascertained in a couple of days. Is that sufficient ? ” “ Certainly,” replied John Paynter. “ Mrs. Gore, I humbly ask your pardon ! ” said Fox Brine. “ Cissy, my darling ! ” cried Lizzie, advancing towards her. “ One moment, please ! ” exclaimed the major, in sharp, peremptory tones. “ You deem that enough ; I don’t. I can afford to leave no link wanting in this evidence. If Mr. Paynter will favor me by ringing the bell and telling sbme one to ask the gentleman below to step up, I shall introduce to you an irreproachable witness of my story. No one more capable of pronouncing on his veracity than Mr. Brine.” John Paynter gave the necessary order, and, like his wife and Brine, awaited with intense curiosity the appearance of the new-comer. Another minute, and a. sleek, bright-eyed little man entered the room, bowed respectfully to the company, and, then crossing over, drew Cissy’s arm within his own. “ Mr. Turbottle ! ” ejaculated Brine, with the utmost amazement. “ Exactly,” interposed the major; “also the uncle with whom Cissy was brought up ; also the co-trustee with myself to that settlement for which you have been so long searching. He told you and Mr. Gore the whole stoiy about a year ago, if you iemember ; when neither of you were aware of my existence, nor dreamed that my daughter would ever be Mr. Gore’s wife. The settlement-deed, lying at Firth and Chillingham’s bank in Nottingham, would alone be indisputable evidence.” “ How do you do, Mr. Turbottle ? ” exclaimed Brine, as he crossed to shake hands 246 Two Kisses. with that worthy. “ I certainly can vouch to having heard this story at the Georg* Inn, Nottingham. Don’t think I have a doubt; but how did you turn up so oppor- tunely ? ” “ I knew where he was as well as you did,” replied the major. “ I went to him last night, and we had a long talk together. It was not likely that he would fail Cissy in her trouble any more than myself.” “ No,” replied the little man, huskily. “ It went ag’in’ the grain to give in to that Chowner, of course ; but when the child I had dandled so often on my knee wanted me, I was bound to come, naturally, at any sacrifice. Reg’lar bit of the old business, sir,” he continued, turning to Brine, — “ giving up the money, and paying, leastways Coleman, very handsome to take it.” But here Mrs. Paynter dashed swiftly across the room, and caught Cissy in her arms just, as with a slight gurgle in her throat, she was on the point of swooning. “ Help me to put her on the sofa, John, and then take them all downstairs, and send Justine here. She is only a little bit hysterical, and will be right again in a few minutes. You will not go, Mr. Brine ? ” “ Not without Mrs. Gore, if possible.” Lizzie nodded, and turned towards her patient. Mrs. Paynter was right. A few choking sobs, a short burst of tears, and then, after swallowing a stiff dose of sal-volatile and water, Cissy pronounced herself able and anxious to leave. “ You are satisfied, are you not ? ” she whispered to her friend. “ They all are, — is it not so ? And I may go to Montague at once ? ” “ Yes, dear. I never doubted you myself,” replied her friend; “and as for the others, Mr. Brine is waiting below to conduct you home. God bless you, Cissy, and grant that your husband may be restored to you ! Come ! ” “ Mrs. Gore,” said Fox Brine, as he handed her into the brougham, “ I have just received a note to say that Montague has awoke, and is conscious. Remember, he is weak as a child. You will want all your self-control. Can you trust yourself? ” “ Yon shall see,” replied Cissy, softly, her face irradiated with a smile of inex- pressible sweetness. “ I have gone through my hour of agony ; I feel that he will come back to me. Don’t fear that my nerves will fail me again.” CHAPTER XLV. A GAT WEDDING. Charlie Detfield is again at liberty. He has shaken the dust from his shoes , and crossed the threshold of the rapacious Coleman with a sense of inexpressible relief. He hardly knows how it has all come about, but most assuredly beneficent fairies have come to his assistance in a manner that his merits little warrant ; in a A Gay Wedding. 24 ? fashion that rarely happens to the impecunious of these days, reminding one of the stock-uncle of the old comedies. “ Always possessed Of fortune so truly romantic, Of money so ready that, right or wrong, It always is ready to go for a song, Throwing it, going it, pitching it strong, They ought to have purses as green and long As the cucumber called the gigantic.” There were one or two mysterious conferences betwixt Miss Stanbury’s lawyer and his own man of business ; and then the latter announced to Detfield that all his diffi- culties were settled. “ I have succeeded in borrowing as much money as will suffice for the present, sir,” said Charlie’s solicitor, “ at five per cent. ; but do you know that the person advancing this sum and your principal creditor, Simmonds, both make the same stipulation ? ” “ What’s that ? ” inquired Detfield. “ Ha ! ha ! it’s rather an odd condition ; but I have already pledged myself for your compliance with it.’ “Well?” “ Ha ! ha ! they insist upon your being married within six weeks.” “ Quite right, as far as I am concerned ; but you see it doesn’t altogether depend upon me.” “ Hum ! I don’t know. They say, Captain Detfield, you are engaged, and that you can easily be married in that time, if you choose.” “ I don’t see what that beast Simmonds can know about it,” replied Charlie. “ But you may tell him, for his comfort, that I shall bring it about as soon as I can.” “ Within six weeks, if possible, then, I may say ? ” inquired the lawyer. Detfield nodded. “ If I can only persuade Bessie,” he muttered, “ it certainly shall be within that time.” When he put that question to his fiancee a day or two later, the girl hesitated for a moment, then blushing slightly, said : — “ I have never made a secret of my love, Charlie. I told you when all went wrong I would wait, and now I’m yours whenever it pleases you to take me.” Bessie, you see, has really no personal dignity, or maidenly reserve, whatever; she loves with all that innocent frankness which poets suppose to characterize the milk- maid. Better still, she loves as a fair, honest English maiden may, with her very heart upon her lips, and all her soul shining out of the truthful brown eyes. But then Bessie suggested, she didn’t know what Aunt Matilda might say to it, “ And she’s been so kind, Charlie, of late, that I really cannot go against her, you know.” 248 Two Kisses. However, Miss Stanbury accepted the proposition most graciously; said she was no advocate for long engagements ; that, as for Captain Detfield, the sooner he was bound over in his good behavior, the better ; that, as for Bessie, well, it was best so too. “ You couldn’t depend on a soldier, of course. Next time he was in difficulties it was as well she should be licensed to visit him, and not threaten to outrage all the proprieties, as she had done only a week or so back.” Bessie bore her aunt’s jokes meekly. She was too happy to quarrel with anybody just at present. Now that he was to be married immediately to an heiress, of course Detfield would have had small difficulty in settling with his creditors ; still it was Miss Stanbury who smoothed matters, and became security for him, thereby enabling his solicitor to arrange things upon much more favorable terms than he could have otherwise obtained. Charlie did not know this till many months afterwards. There was one thing which did weigh heavily upon his mind, and that was leaving the old corps. Of course, he had not been gazetted out as yet. Was it practicable to withdraw his papers ? The first thing to be ascertained was whether 44 Chummy Vernon ” would let him off his bargain. The chummy, so-called in accordance with some one of those unaccountable caprices which give a man a nickname in the service, was the officer who had agreed to purchase his step, and to him Charlie confided his desire to cancel the arrangement. 44 All right,” said the 44 chummy one,” 44 I’d rather have you still with us than get your step. Deuced glad to hear you’ve pulled through, old fellow ! It’s rough, too, Charlie, you know, because you’re getting married, beside, they tell me, and’ll never really go to hounds again ; or else a man who rode and drove so hard as you did, gave a chance eveiy hunting season.” 44 Don’t you be afraid,” laughed Detfield ; “I shan’t be further from the hounds because I chance to be a trifle better mounted. The first time we meet at the cover side, chummy, you don’t cut me down for a tenner.” 44 Done,” replied the other, grinning ; 44 mind I don’t land both the step and the tenner.” A popular man in his regiment, and strongly backed by his chief, Charlie had not much difficulty in recovering his papers. Gayly go on the preparations for the wedding meanwhile. If there had been excitement at Roseneath House prior to the ball, there was simply delirfum now. Aunt Clem was in a state of perpetual flutter, while the way Miss Matilda harried the lawyers, dressmakers, outfitters, etc., all that multitude of people who never keep time, and without whose assistance matrimony is supposed to be unattainable, was a sight to behold. As Charlie irreverently whispered to his fiancee : — 4 ' If she was going to be married herself, she couldn’t be more desperately in earnest.” " It is very well she is, sir,” replied Bessie, with a saucy toss of her head, 41 that is A Gay Wedding. 249 if you are. I’m sure tlj things would never be ready for months, if it was not for the way she worries people.” “ And I suppose you couldn’t be married without them ? ” inquired Charlie, with an affectation of gravity. “ No,” replied Bessie, solemnly, “ quite impossible ; no girl was ever married till her things were ready.” Miss Stanbury had her own reasons for hurrying on this wedding. To tell the truth, she dreaded that Mr. Roxby should revoke his decision. Although she believed that it was her own fervid appeal and severe rebuke that had made him yield his consent, and write in the conciliatory way he had done, still Miss Matilda mis- trusted Mr. Roxby. She thought that in his desire to be once more reconciled with herself and Rose- neath House, he had hastily assented to this marriage as the easiest way of becoming so ; but that he would probably invent some pretext for objecting to it very shortly, had indeed already some half-developed scheme to that effect. Miss Stanbury con- ceived the best way to prevent any insidious attack of this nature was by hurrying the marriage as much as possible. After the manner of Napoleon, Miss Matilda intended to give her adversary no time to reform, little dreaming that he was morally annihilated, and utterly at the dictation of men who had this marriage as much at heart as herself. It had been decided emphatically by Aunt Matilda that it should be a very gay wedding, if she could make it so. “ We’ve no other niece to many, Clem, so we’ll do the thing royally, this once. Then it’s a real love-match, without being a pauper affair,” continued Miss Stanbury. “ The savings of Bessie’s minority will about pay his debts, and they’ll have a very nice income to set up house on. We will marry Bessie with all the honors.” There was a large muster at St. Mary’s Church, Islington, one bright autumn morning, and amongst the throng are several of those who have figured more or less prominently in this history. Notable amongst them is Mr. Roxby, with a bouquet in his button-hole, a vast expanse of light blue silk waistcoat, and an ah’ of universal benevolence. He has presented Bessie with a magnificent bracelet, and claimed the right of giving her away. Nobody could look the character of father to the bride more completely. Mr. Roxby shakes hands with the wedding-guests generally, patronizingly ; if a dearly loved daughter had been about to be married to the son-in- law of his choice he could not have been more effusive. He has taken the whole ceremony under his immediate protection, and seems to be bestowing his benediction on mankind generally in honor of the occasion. Mr. and Mrs. Paynter are of course there. Charlie has pledged himself to the lady that there is to be nothing clandestine about his marriage ; that there are to be six bridesmaids, and a tremendous breakfast to follow. Mr. Paynter has once more found himself constrained to open his purse-strings, and vow that he will never more attend such ceremony ; while Lizzie is divided between critical reflections on her own 250 Two Kisses. toilet, a iid curiosity to see her old admirer wedded to Clementina Sta&bnfjr, spinster. Lounging in one of the pews near the altar is a little man, in a green coat with gilt buttons, holding in his hand a white hat. Mr. Turbottle considers this last addition to his attire quite in the aspect of a wed- ding garment. He associates festivity and light-heartedness intimately with the head covering, and has exchanged the gold-banded sombrero of his professional life for the white hat, with much deliberation. Strange to say, Bessie has received no hand- somer present than a necklace of pearls from Mr. Turbottle. “No duffers, you know, captain,” said the little man, when he slipped them into Charlie’s hand. “They aint part of the stock; never saw Birmingham, that lot, bless you! You give ’em your young woman, with my respectful compliments. They all likes a bit of jewelry. I knows ’em. And if you wouldn’t think it a liberty, captain, I should like just to see you turned off.” The eccentric little man was really worth a tidy bit of money, and could well afford to indulge such a whim, when he took the fancy. He had conceived a great liking for Detfield, during the two or three days they had spent together under the roof of the rapacious Coleman, and took this opportunity of showing it. But now the bridal procession sweeps up the aisle, and groups itself round the altar. Mrs. Paynter leans forward to have a good look at the bride, but Bessie’s face happens to be a little averted, and is also somewhat masked by the veil, so she does not succeed. “ ’Pon my word ! she looks marvellously young,” muttered Mrs. Paynter to herself. “ Whoever made her up deserves great credit. It will all do very well ; there’s much virtue in a decent milliner.” The ceremony commenced ; and, as the officiating olergyman recited the words, * If either of you know any impediment why ye may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony,” Lizzie gave a tremendous start. She had just discovered Aunt Clem and her sister standing below the steps of the altar, a little in the background. “ John,” she whispered, clutching her husband’s arms, “ stop him. lie ought to be stopped ; he’s marrying the wrong woman.” “ She evidently came here to be married, if her get-up goes for anything,” chuckled John Paynter, “ and Detfield looks as if he thought it all right.” “ But it isn’t ; that’s not the heiress. W r ho on earth can it be ? ” At this minute, in answer to the minister’s summons, Mr. Roxby advanced to give Bessie away. It occasioned a slight change in her position ; the veil fell rather more back, and her face was turned towards Mrs. Paynter. “ A sweetly pretty girl,” murmured the lady eotto voce ; “ but who c an she be ? That’s not Miss Clementina Stanbury.” x “ It must be,” replied her husband. “ But listen.” Mrs. Paynter did, attentively, until she heard Bessie, in low, tremulous tones, repeat : — 251 A Gay Wedding. “ I, Elizabeth Jane, take thee, Charles,” etc. “If this is a Miss Stanbuiy, John, I never heard of her,” she whispered, stlemoly. “ Poor Charlie ! he’s made a mess of it, as usual. That girl’s far too pretty to be an heiress. Depend upon it, he’s marrying just what will pay his debts, instead of the nugget he ought to have done. So like him,” she continued, with a slight touch of asperity ; “ always caught by a good-looking face to the utter destruction of his real interests. ’ The ceremony is over, and the guests crowd back to Roseneath House for breakfast. Mr. Roxby proposes the health of the happy couple in a glowing speech, dwelling much upon the amiable and endearing qualities of the bride. He gives the company to understand that she has been to him as a daughter, and that the only consolation he has on parting with her is, that he gives her to the man of her choice, — his noble, manly-hearted, gallant young friend, Captain Detfield; with which peroration, and cowering his face with a white handkerchief, Mr. Roxby sits down. There is a slightly humorous smile on Charlie’s lips as he presents his wife to Mrs. Paynte: some few minutes before their departure. “ A very old friend, Bessie, who, I trust, will allow us to call upon her on our return.” Lizzie bows, smiles, expresses a hope of making Mrs. Detfield’s acquaintance really, when she gets back again, and cannot refrain from shaking her head in mock admo- nition of her whilom admirer. “ Much too nice for you, sir,” she murmurs, as she bids him good-by. “ I only hope, Charlie, she has some money. Miss Clementina looks so much more like it.” Wedding breakfasts are not usually festive entertainments. Sustained by copious libations of champagne, we always endeavor strenuously to suppose they are ; but who is there over thirty that does not shiver at the idea of having to assist at one ? Still this was marked by some hilarity. Mr. Roxby naturally conceived that the -whole affair was under his special patron- age. He became simply speechless with wrath when Mr. Fox Brine, who had figured in the character of best man, took the whole conduct of the feast completely out of his hands; insisted, contrary to all etiquette, upon proposing the health of the brides- maids ; and then called upon Mr. Turbottle (who he had already whispered it about was a rich, but eccentric cousin) to return thanks. How Mr. Turbottle, warmed with wine, entered heartily into the spirit of the pro- ceedings, and, falling back upon his old profession, commenced disposing of the bridesmaids as so many lots, till compelled to sit down by the ubiquitous Brine, mus have been seen to be believed. At last the bride descends, attired for the road. A tear or two glisten in Misa Matilda’s eyes, and Aunt Clem gives vent to palpable sobs ; hearty hand-squeezes, a somewhat faltering cheer; an old shoe, maladroitly thrown, catches Mr. Roxby, posed majestically at the carriage-door, in the waistcoat; crack goes the whip, and Captain and Mrs. Detfield have departed for the Continent, Two Kisses. 252 CHAPTER XL VI. RECONCILIATION. As may be supposed, Fox Brine’s intelligence was correct. Montague Gore had awoke, and was in possession of his senses ; that is, so far as a man reduced to utter prostration can be said to be possessed of them, — possession, in his case, mean? ng little more than an indistinct craving for nourishment and stimulant, coupled with a decided and overpowering desire for more sleep. When Mrs. Gore assumed her place at her husband’s bedside, he was once more far away in the realm of Oneiros, and some hours elapsed before he again opened his eyes, and looked dreamily about him. Too weak almost to whisper, too weak almost to move, yet there was a soft gleam of recognition in his dark eyes, and his wife’s heart filled with exultation as the pale lips faintly syllabled : — “ Cissy.” He had for the present utterly forgotten all the suspicious complications that hat preceded his illness ; he recognized nothing but that the woman he so passionately loved was watching over him ; that it was her hand that smoothed his pillow, her hand that lifted the cup to his lips. Days roll by, and inch by inch Montague Gore wins his way back from the dread border-land, where he has lingered so long. Ever, as he recognizes the untiring devo- tion of his wife, does he strive to put on one side those dim memories of some grave wrong done to him by Cissy before he fell ill. It is not all clear to him yet, but recollection is slowly returning, and troubles him like a horrible nightmare. Indeed he tries to persuade himself that the whole thing is a mere phantasm of the brain, — a lingering remnant of the delirium that had possessed him. Cissy, with her keen, watchful, loving glance, is not blind to what is passing within her husband’s mind. She herself is thirsting for an explanation, and only awaits his being stronger to make full confession. But she judges rightly ; it is best not to hurry such. “ It must be of that sort,” thinks Cissy, “ which shall leave no room for another as long as Montague and I may live.” The time comes, one bright day at the beginning of October. Montague has been out for a drive, and the crisp, sharp air has sent the sluggish blood once more like quicksilver through its channels; one of those days upon which we feel our vitality; when the animal runs riot in our veins ; when we revel in sheer consciousness that we are alive; one of those days when a convalescent gulps down huge draughts of strength and health, and literally leaps, instead of progresses, towards recovery. Reconciliation . 253 Montague Gore is sitting by the window, looking lazily out at the passers-by, when he is aroused from his abstraction by the light touch of his wife’s hand. “ Montie,” she says gently, “ I want to talk to you. I think now you are strong enough to hear what I have in my heart to say to you; what I have been yearning to say to you for weeks past.” He said nothing, but the dark eyes gazed curiously into her face, and there was a troubled expression about the brow. “ I know,” she said, “ now, of what the world held me guilty, when I left you, just before your illness. I had no idea what was thought of my flight then, but my eyes have been fully opened since. Montague,” she continued, taking his hand between her own, “ that I am innocent of aught but foolishness, my being here this instant is proof. Were I a guilty woman, I should never have dared enter your presence again. I am free to speak now ; to tell you that my supposed lover is my father Remember, it might well never occur to me that you should attribute such a character to him. As soon as the scandal reached our ears, my father came forward and told our story to your most intimate friends, and they at once did me justice. Why he wished his existence kept a secret he shall explain to you himself shortly.” “ But what made you run away ? ” inquired Gore. “ Because I was desperately in love with my husband,” replied Cissy, blushing. “ A most singular way of showing it,” said Montague, smiling. “ But you know it is so ? ” exclaimed Cissy, eagerly. “ I know that you have taken very great care of me lately, and are the best and dearest nurse in England,” said Gore ; “ but still I don’t understand why, loving me, you should run away.” “Because I was a goose — because you shouldn’t have glass doors in your cham- bers — because I was jealous — because you have no right to — ” and here Cissy crimsoned to the roots of her hair. “ No right to what ? ” inquired Gore, fairly bewildered. “ No right to kiss any woman but me.” What Mrs. Paynter would have thought, had she known it, one can’t imagine ; but, sad to say, Montague, at the moment, had really forgotten all about that unlucky salute, which had led to so much mischief. Had there been an}^ remnant of jealousy still lurking in Cissy’s breast it must have been dissipated by the utter want of comprehension visible in her husband’s countenance. Lizzie had undoubtedly told her the truth ; it was palpable that kiss earned no recollections with it. “ I don’t understand, Cissy,” he murmured, at last. " Ah ! you will, if you think of the day Lizzie Paynter came down to see you in the Temple, and reflect that you have badly glazed doors to your rooms. I shall run •way now, Montie ; when I come back, you will know all about it.” When Cissy returned, her husband had remembered all ; but it made their recon- ciliation no less complete, and Montague Gore knew that his wife’s heart was his at f|*fc 7 ' 777 * 254 Two Kisses. A little later, and the major called and told his story, explained his somewhat far- strained reasons for keeping his existence so long a secret, and handed over his trust. WhatS7er his intentions might at one time have been concerning it, he had been scrupulously honest, and the moneys derived from the big farm in Nottinghamshire, which constituted Cissy’s settlement, were lying untouched in the names of himself and Mr. Turbottle at the Nottingham bankers’, to whom they had been paid of late. During Mark Ilemsworth’s life they had, of course, been lodged in his name. It was only after his death, and in complete ignorance of what had become of the widow, that the bankers had opened an account with the trustees. Of these, of course, the major had been the most active agent ; and it was not till Fox Brine’s vituperation of him at Coleman’s that Mr. Turbottle conceived it was possible that he could meditate wronging his daughter. The little man had been much disturbed at that idea, and had meditated putting himself into communication with Brine, when the major’s sudden visit, prior to the explanation at the Paynters’, had once more convinced him that Claxby Jenkens was loyal to Cissy. Mr. Roxby had, at one time, conceived serious thoughts of levanting to America ; but he reflected that there was an extradition treaty with that country, and that Simmonds was likely to be a relentless foe. He accordingly stood to his bargain, and is yet a shining light in the financial world. Simmonds and his old friend, Claxby Jenkens, alone being aware how near he once was to obtaining “ permanent employ- ment” in one of her majesty’s convict establishments. In conclusion, I can only add that Mr. Fox Brine’s novel is still anxiously awaited by his friends and acquaintance. Perhaps, with the American humorist, he holds that if to publish seldom be good, to publish seldomer must be better. . v* ' liyi I i j * M.' ^ *■ 1 ^wm ■ --m . n