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 LI E> R.AR.Y 
 
 OF THL 
 
 UN IVERSITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 R43|s 
 
 V. \
 
 SUSAN DRUMMOND.
 
 SUSAN DRUMMOND 
 
 Jl "gloocl. 
 
 EY 
 
 MES. J. H. EIDDELL, 
 
 AUTHOK OF " THE SENIOR PARTNEn, " GEOEGE GEITH, 01 FEN COURT, ' ETC. 
 
 IX THBEE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LO>'DON: 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY& SOX,NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 ^abiis^trs in ^rbinarg to ^er JJlaj^stg Ibe Quccit. 
 
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 [The right of Translation and all other rights rescrval.']
 
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 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGR 
 
 I. — Ax Off Day ix the Paek .... 1 
 
 II. — Sir Geoffrey Chelstox .... 30 
 
 III. — Gayre, Deloxe, Eyles, axd Gayre . . 64 
 
 IV. — Mr. Gayre's Brother-ix-Law ... 88 
 
 v. — A Possible Samaritax 117 
 
 VI. — Eliza Jubbixs 138 
 
 ML— ^ViLL He Propose ? 167 
 
 VIII. — Father, Daughter, Uxcle . . . 197 
 
 IX.— SusAX '2m 
 
 X. — Mr. Sudlow is Advised for His Good . 248 
 
 XI. — " Should Auld Acquaixtaxce be Forgot " . 267 
 
 XII.— High Festival 233
 
 SUSAN DRUMMOND 
 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 AN OFF DAY IN THE PARK. 
 
 OWX in the country the meadows 
 gP were yellow with buttercups, the 
 hawthorns were in full blossom ; in the 
 Hertfordshire woods, sweet-scented white 
 and purple violets literally carpeted the 
 turf; beside the meandering streams of 
 Surrey wild flowers were spreading and 
 blooming ; but still the spring had been 
 late and ungenial, the accustomed easterly 
 winds had held a longer carnival than usual, 
 vegetation, on the whole, was backward ; and 
 as a natural consequence, Hyde Park, which 
 seems specially sensitive to the influence of 
 
 Vol i. 2
 
 2 ^^ USAN DR UMMOND. 
 
 weather, could not, in the May of 1874, be 
 considered looking its very best, as is some- 
 times the case in that "merrie" month sacred 
 to catarrh, rheumatism, and bronchitis. 
 
 The winter of 1873-74 was what is 
 generally called " singularly mild." It was 
 singularly disagreeable, at all events : snow 
 and frost held aloof, and bitter blasts and 
 raw unwholesome mists and damps prevailed 
 instead. That season will in one district of 
 London be ever held memorable for a most 
 dense and awful three days' fog, during 
 which period a darkness like unto that of 
 Egypt spread its pall over the whole of the 
 East end. 
 
 On New Years' night 1874, indeed, it 
 seemed as though the Enghsh climate had 
 determined to turn over a fresh and satis- 
 factory leaf. Such a fine evening was surely 
 never known before on any 1st of January; 
 so magnificent a moon rarely, even in August, 
 has shone on fields where the grain was ripe
 
 ^V OFF DAY IX THE PARK. 3 
 
 for the reaper's sickle ; but, like too many 
 good resolutions made that day, the pro- 
 mise of amendment led to no lasting im- 
 provement, and winter dragged itself into 
 the lap of spring; and the spring itself was 
 late and dreary ; and in the May of that year 
 Hyde Park was not looking its best. 
 
 Hyde Park is a place which appears to 
 greatest advantage when seen in full dress, 
 when the trees are full of leaf and the flowers 
 in full bloom, and the Drive full of carriages 
 and the Eow full of riders, and the whole 
 scene one of incessant motion, and constant 
 change, and shimmering colour, and vary- 
 ing effects. 
 
 At some periods and under certain con- 
 ditions it looks more mournful than a deso- 
 late heath or a wide expanse of lonely moor- 
 land. There is a sky under which its aspect 
 is depressing in the extreme. Even in the 
 " season " there are times when the very 
 
 genius of desolation seems to be brooding 
 
 2—2
 
 4 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 over the grass, and the trees, and the mud- 
 coloured Eow, and the Drive whence the last 
 carriage has departed. 
 
 It is then, plodding his lonely way home- 
 ward, the whole show over, with the sun 
 setting behind him, and night coming on 
 apace, the pedestrian who is not rich or 
 fashionable or prosperous feels a fine des- 
 pair oppressing him, and is inclined, as a 
 comforting exercise, to recite aloud six verses 
 taken from the ninth chapter of Ecclesiastes. 
 
 Judging from the face of a lady who was 
 walking her horse along the Eow, she had 
 compassed this state of mind little more 
 than an hour after noon on that specially 
 dull May day in the prosperous year of grace 
 eighteen hundred and seventy-four, when 
 my story opens. Tittlebat Titmouse himself 
 could not have looked more dissatisfied. 
 Her expression was gloomy as the aspect of 
 the heavens, which seemed to betoken rain ; 
 and her listless dejected attitude accentuated
 
 ^V OFF DAY IN THE PARK. 
 
 the desolation of the Park, which was al- 
 most empty. 
 
 A Drawing-room had drawn nearly all 
 the rank and fashion in town off to St. 
 James's ; and the few who at an earlier 
 period of the day graced the Eow were 
 now gone home for luncheon, leaving but 
 one solitary rose to bloom, almost unseen, 
 in a desert peopled apparently only by nurse- 
 maids, children of tender years, and Life- 
 guardsmen. 
 
 And this was not a rose that liked to 
 blush unseen. SoHtudes were not places 
 she would have affected of her own free 
 will. She preferred to be amongst her kind, 
 more especially when that kind included a 
 considerable number of male admirers. A 
 quiet life would certainly not have been 
 her choice, and yet for the twenty years 
 she had lived in this world a quiet hfe 
 chanced to be her portion. 
 
 She was a very singular-looking girl to
 
 6 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 be riding in the Park, apparently a total 
 stranger. She seemed unknown, even by 
 sight, to those who, had, earlier in the day 
 passed and repassed her, and who now were 
 gone away. Not a woman had spoken a 
 word to her, not a man raised his hat. 
 She had walked and cantered her horse 
 round and round the Eow, evincing a curious 
 tendency to " hug " the railings, instead of 
 venturing out ii;to the middle of the ride. 
 A gray-haired groom attended upon her, 
 keeping closer to his mistress than is the 
 usual habit of grooms ; and the discontent 
 which clouded her face assumed on his the 
 proportions of absolute ill-humour. 
 
 Yet, if beauty count for anything, she 
 was a lady most grooms would have felt 
 proud to follow! 
 
 As has been said, the Park was singu- 
 larly empty. There were not any equipages 
 worth noticing ; the few equestrians had 
 gone away, either because they feared rain
 
 ^.Y OFF DAY IN THE PARK. 7 
 
 or were hungry; the usual loungers were 
 elsewhere ; but still the young lady rode 
 up and down, and round and round, with 
 the dull steady persistence of a person on 
 the treadmill. 
 
 That she was not enjoying herself in the 
 least might have been patent almost to a 
 superficial observer ; the groom, who was 
 enjoying himself even less, knew wherefore, 
 and wondered why she did not end the 
 ordeal and go home. 
 
 Ko fairer face was seen in the row that 
 season. One man, leaning upon the railings, 
 decided no fairer face ever could have been 
 seen anywhere. It was quite new to him. 
 He had not beheld it before, and, while he 
 stood watching her as she passed, he mar- 
 velled more and more who she could be, 
 what she was, and whence she came. He 
 was a man of thirty, with closely-cut light- 
 brown hair, and rather starved mou.stache. 
 He had the look of a man about town ;
 
 8 S USAN DR UMMO^D. 
 
 and, while evidently captivated by the girl's 
 appearaace, he eyed her with a critical in- 
 vestigating glance, which spoke more for 
 the coolness of his head than the warmth 
 of his heart. 
 
 He seemed to have no appointment to 
 keep, or anything particular to do, for he 
 waited on and on, watching lady and groom 
 with a puzzled expression that certainly did 
 not betray the full extent of the admiration 
 he felt. 
 
 To him, over the grass, there came, with 
 a quiet but not stealthy step, a man much 
 his senior, who, saying, " Well, Sudlow, as 
 usual, admiring rank and beauty," took up 
 a position beside the person he so addressed. 
 
 "I do not know much about the rank," 
 answered Mr. Sudlow, " but the beauty is 
 undeniable ; " and he fastened a bolder gaze 
 than he had previously ventured upon the 
 girl, who was passing at the moment. 
 
 She saw this and coloured, and yet there
 
 AN OFF DAY IX THE PAHK. 9 
 
 was a look in her eyes — a downcast, in- 
 definable look — which told she did not feel 
 wholly offended. 
 
 The new-comer followed her progress 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " She can't ride a bit," he remarked. 
 
 Mr. Sudlow made no answer, but he 
 turned his head and stared hard and in- 
 quiringly at the speaker, who, though no 
 question had been asked, replied, "I should 
 say not," and then they both remained silent 
 till after she passed again, which she did 
 this time at the side of the Eow furthest 
 from where they stood. 
 
 "She is very beautiful," said Mr. Sudlow. 
 
 "No doubt, to those who admire that 
 sort of thing." 
 
 " What sort of thing ? " asked the younger 
 man. 
 
 " If you can't see for yourself, it would 
 be useless to try to explain," answered his 
 friend, in a tone which had something an-
 
 lo SUSAy DRUMMOND. 
 
 iioying in its very calmness ; " but the girl 
 is good-looking — beautiful if you like." 
 
 " I wonder who she is ? Did you never 
 see her before ? " 
 
 The other shook his head. 
 
 " Never ; and it would not grieve me if 
 I never saw her again. What have we 
 here ? " he added, as two persons, riding 
 very fast indeed, came at a hard trot 
 down the road leading across the Serpen- 
 tine. " You'll get yourselves into trouble, 
 my friends, if you don't mind what you are 
 about," he added. 
 
 But apparently the pair knew very well 
 what they were about, for, reining in their 
 horses, they walked as quietly down the 
 Eow as if they had been riding lambs 
 instead of powerful hunters, that looked 
 ridiculously out of place in Hyde Park, and 
 carrying such hght weights. 
 
 There was a lovely flavour of the country 
 about the new-comers. One, a lady, was
 
 ^Y OFF DAY AY THE PARK. ii 
 
 mounted on the heavier of the animals — a 
 roan with black legs, a grand chest and 
 splendid action, well up to fifteen stone. 
 
 For a moment Mr. Sudlow's acquaintance 
 wondered why she rode the roan instead 
 of the magnificent bay, upon which he fas- 
 tened an appreciative gaze, but his wonder 
 was not of long continuance. Just as the 
 horses were passing the spot where they 
 stood, the bay took umbrage at the sight 
 of a stone roller which lay at the side of 
 the Eow. If it had been a wild beast he 
 could not have made more fuss about the 
 matter ; he shied almost across to the op- 
 posite . railings ; he got up on his hind legs, 
 and reared as if he meant to fall right over 
 on his back ; then he put down his fore 
 legs and kicked, till Mr. Sudlow felt sure 
 his rider's last hour was come; after that he 
 tried to get his head and bolt ; and when 
 he was balked of this intention he seemed 
 for a minute to lift all his four feet off .the
 
 12 SUSAN BRUMMOND. 
 
 ground at once, and dance upon nothing 
 in the air. 
 
 Meanwhile the gentleman sat the horse 
 as if he had been part of him, and his 
 companion looked on without evincing the 
 slightest discomposure or anxiety. 
 
 " By Jove ! " said the elder of the spec- 
 tators under his breath, with an admiration 
 which was as involuntary as it was genuine. 
 
 " People shouldn't bring such brutes into 
 the Park," observed Mr. Sudlow, who had 
 turned quite white, and who would, indeed, 
 have speedily placed himself beyond all risk 
 of danger had not his dread of ridicule 
 been greater even than his cowardice. 
 
 Then the centaur patted his horse on the 
 neck as if he had done something praise- 
 worthy, and the bay and the roan proceeded 
 peacefully on their way side by side. 
 
 At the same moment, the girl who had 
 been for so long a time exercising herself 
 on the Hyde Park treadmill, and who was
 
 AN OFF DAY IN THE PARK. 13 
 
 just then retracing her way from Albert 
 Gate, shrank past the pair, putting all the 
 width of the ride between them. 
 
 No words could adequately describe the 
 agony of terror into which the scene had 
 thrown her. She had been coming on to 
 meet the new-comers when the horse shied, 
 and during his varied performances she sat 
 with her eyes fastened on the rider, fright- 
 ened almost to death, afraid to turn back, 
 afraid the creature would rush madly upon 
 her, afraid her own steed might next take 
 alarm, suffering a thousand agonies in the 
 space of about a minute, and for once in 
 her life utterly unmindful of who might be 
 looking at her, or how she looked. She 
 had never even cast a glance at the roan, 
 all her attention being concentrated on the 
 bay, which she regarded in the light of a 
 four-footed demon ; nor, indeed, did the 
 lady on the roan particularly regard her : 
 but as they passed the groom a sudden
 
 14 SUSAN DBUMMOND. 
 
 light seemed to dawn upon her mind, and 
 she looked back. 
 
 " Why, that must be Lavender ! " she 
 exclaimed; "and, yes — certainly — that is 
 Margaret Chelston ; " and without more ado 
 she wheeled her horse round, and, riding 
 after the girl, said as she got close up to 
 her, ''Who would have thought of our 
 meeting here, Margaret ? " 
 
 " That settles the matter," remarked Mr. 
 Sudlow's companion to that gentleman ; and 
 Mr. Sudlow somewhat shakily answered, 
 " Yes." Evidently there had been a doubt 
 of some sort in the minds of both men 
 which was now laid at rest. 
 
 " I wonder who she can be, Gayre ? " said 
 Mr. Sudlow. " Are you sure j^ou have 
 never seen her before?" 
 
 " Quite sure ; and yet, oddly enough, her 
 face seems familiar to me. Oh, look ! this 
 is very funny." 
 
 It was rather funny. The girl on the
 
 AN OFF DAY IN THE PARK. 15 
 
 hunter had put up a warning hand to keep 
 lier companion at a discreet distance, and 
 then, placing the object of Mr. Sudlow's 
 admiration in safety between herself and 
 the railings, proceeded with her conversa- 
 tion, whilst the man who was thus debarred 
 from the delights of feminine society philo- 
 sophically fell back on Lavender, to the 
 manifest discomfort of a groom who " knew 
 his place" and "had been accustomed to 
 what was fitting," 
 
 "It is long since I beheld so lovely a 
 woman," observed Mr. Sudlow. 
 
 "I never did," answered Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " It is a pity you so seldom speak 
 seriously." 
 
 " I fail to see the particular application 
 of your remark." 
 
 "Why, it is not ten minutes since you 
 said she might be very well for those who 
 hked that sort of thing ; now you declare 
 she is lovely."
 
 1 6 5 US AN DR UMMOND. 
 
 "0, I was talking of the other one.' 
 
 "Pooh!" exclaimed Mr. Sudlow. 
 
 "There is no accounting for tastes," 
 remarked Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " So it seems," was the curt reply. 
 
 " You need not be angry with me be- 
 cause I have not fallen in love with your 
 beauty," said the elder man. " She is a 
 very nice thing in girls, indeed. I should 
 say she is not long from the country; but 
 she will soon know her way about town. 
 I daresay, Sudlow, you may meet her at 
 some party or other before you are much 
 older." 
 
 "Do you really think it likely?" 
 
 "I do, indeed. I should not mind buy- 
 ing that horse," he added, following the 
 bay with the eyes of a person who under- 
 stood horse-flesh. 
 
 " What a curious seat the fellow has ! " 
 observed Mr. Sudlow, trying to emulate his 
 friend's critical manner.
 
 ^V OFF DAY IN THE PARK. 17 
 
 "Do you know the reason?" asked Mr. 
 Gayre, cruelly throwing him at once. 
 "No; do you?" retorted Mr. Sudlow. 
 " Of course ; he has been accustomed to 
 ride buck-jumpers." 
 
 "And what the deuce are buck-jumpers?" 
 " It is a pity your grandfather is not 
 alive to tell you," observed Mr. Gayre; 
 which was an extremely unkind cut, had 
 Mr. Sudlow clearly understood the full 
 meaning of his friend's remark. 
 
 "What are you going to do with your- 
 self this evening ?" asked Mr. Gayre after 
 a pause, which Mr. Sudlow had devoted to 
 the consideration of that conundrum con- 
 cerning his grandfather. 
 
 " I do not know — nothing." 
 "Come and dine with me, then." 
 The fashion of Mr. Sudlow's face in- 
 stantly underwent a change. It lighted up 
 with pleasure and surprise, and he an- 
 swered heartily, 
 
 Vol. i. 3
 
 1 8 5 US AN DB UMMOND. 
 
 "I shall only be too glad. How very 
 kind you are to me ! I can't imagine why 
 you should be so kind." 
 
 " Neither can I," was the answer. " You 
 do not amuse and you do not instruct me. 
 I have no daughter I want you to marry, 
 and I have enough money of my own with- 
 out trying to rob you of any of yours. 
 Farewell, then, till eight. If in the mean 
 time you discover why I am civil to you, 
 tell me." 
 
 Left thus to follow his own devices, Mr. 
 Sudlow, after a moment's hesitation, turned 
 and walked after the lady who had at- 
 tracted his admiration. 
 
 "I knew it," said Mr. Gayre, glancing 
 back ; and then, with a cynical smile curl- 
 ing his lip, he pursued his way, which 
 happened to be Citj^ward. He was ac- 
 counted a great man in the City ; he was 
 a great man anywhere, indeed, if money 
 and greatness can be considered synony-
 
 ^.V OFF DAY IX THE PABK. 19 
 
 moiis terms. If a stranger had asked 
 any one of the many persons who touched 
 hats to him, and waved hands at him, and 
 made point of stopping to sa}^ " How d'ye 
 do ? how are you ? "—as if their own 
 existence depended upon hearing that the 
 state of his health was satisfactory — who 
 he was, the answer would have been, 
 
 " That, sir, is ^Ir. Gayre, the banker — 
 Gayre, Delone, Eyles, and Gayre, Lombard 
 Street." 
 
 Utterly ignorant of the wealth and 
 wisdom they had passed by unheeded, the 
 two young ladies rode slowly on, talking 
 as they went. 
 
 "Who in the world, Susan, is that 
 person you are with ? " 
 
 It was Miss Chelston who asked this 
 
 question the moment the '* person " thus 
 
 spoken of was relegated to the improving 
 
 society of Mr. Lavender. 
 
 " He is my cousin," answered Susan. 
 
 3—2
 
 20 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 "0, indeed! which of them?" 
 
 "Mrs. Arbery's son. He has just come 
 back from Australia." 
 
 " Did he bring his steed with him ? " 
 
 "No," said Susan, laughing; "that pretty- 
 creature and this," stroking the roan as she 
 spoke, " belong to a neighbour, who lets 
 us exercise them." 
 
 " Does he wish them exercised in the 
 Eow ? " asked Miss Chelston ; " because if 
 he does, I will never venture into it again." 
 
 " No, it is too far for us," was the 
 reply ; " but we should not do any harm 
 to any one if we did come. Are you as 
 timid about riding as you used to be ? " 
 
 The beauty shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "I hate it," she answered. 
 
 " Why do you ride, then ? " was the 
 natural question. 
 
 "Why do we do a hundred and fifty 
 things every day of our lives we would 
 rather not do ? " she retorted. " Susan,
 
 ^.V OFF DAY IN THE PAHK. 21 
 
 pray keep your horse a little further off. 
 He has not a nice expression of face at 
 all. He looks as if he would bite. I can't 
 think what could induce you to mount 
 such a monster." 
 
 "He is tall," agreed the other indiffer- 
 ently; "but a hand or two does not much 
 signify." 
 
 "And where have you been living since 
 your uncle's death ? " said Miss Chelston, 
 giving two young men who met them at 
 the moment a full view of her face turned 
 towards her companion, and her eyes raised 
 with a bemtching expression of interest and 
 sympathy. " You dear old thing, it was 
 hard for you to have to leave the Hall." 
 
 " It was not so hard for me to have 
 to leave the Hall as for you to have to 
 leave the Pleasaunce, Maggie," answered 
 the other, with straightforward frankness 
 and good sense. "I knew the day must 
 come when it would be necessary for me
 
 22 SUSAN BRUMMOKL. 
 
 to go; but you— 0, I felt so sorry for 
 you!" 
 
 "Yes; but, after all, I don't think things 
 are much worse with us than ever . they 
 were. Indeed, I think on the whole they 
 are better. As for you, it is simply 
 dreadful— to be brought up . as you were 
 and then left without a sixpence. I call 
 it disgraceful of your uncle." 
 
 " Don't say anything against uncle, please, 
 to me," said Susan, involuntarily tightening 
 her rein, and so causing the roan to spring 
 forward, which movement elicited a little 
 scream from Miss Chelston ; " and I am 
 not left without sixpence/' she added. "I 
 have two thousand pounds saved from the 
 wreck of my father's fortune. If uncle 
 had known sooner that great India house 
 was going to fail, he would have arranged 
 to leave me something ; but as it was^ " 
 
 " I know," interrupted Miss Chelston ; "he 
 always: intended you to marry his son."
 
 ^Y OFF BAY ly TEE PAHK. 23 
 
 "Who came home with a wife and two 
 children," added Susan. " Dear uncle — 
 dear, kind uncle I " 
 
 "That is all very well," said ^liss 
 Chelston ; " but he might have left you 
 some practical proof of his kindness. Even 
 my father, who, as you know, is not 
 remarkable for the interest he takes in the 
 troubles of any one excepting himself, says 
 it is a shame for you to be left out in the 
 cold — a very, very shame ; " and Miss 
 Chelston nodded her pretty head to italicise 
 the naughty words she would not utter in 
 their native force and integrity. 
 
 " How is your father P " asked Susan ; 
 then, without waiting for a reply, she 
 added, " the first ride I ever had in my 
 life was on his old horse. Wild Indian. Do 
 you remember Wild Indian.^ It was 
 my fourth birthday, and he took me all 
 across the park and up the long beech 
 avenue."
 
 24 S US AN DE UMMOND. 
 
 " And he has told me often enough since 
 you were not frightened, and that you 
 ought to have been his daughter instead 
 of me. I wish with all my heart you had 
 been." 
 
 They did not speak for a minute ; each 
 apparently was busy with her own thoughts ; 
 then Susan, looking at her old friend, said 
 suddenly, and as if the fact had only just 
 struck her, 
 
 "You are prettier than ever, Maggie." 
 
 "Do you think so?" answered Miss 
 Chelston. 
 
 "Yes, I always thought you were the 
 most beautiful creature in the world ; but 
 you are more beautiful now than you 
 used to be. It is London, I suppose, and 
 dress." 
 
 "Dress improves every one," said the 
 young lady, as a sort of general statement 
 which she immediately applied to a parti- 
 cular case by asking.
 
 ^V OFF DAY IN THE PABK. 25 
 
 "What could induce you to come out 
 in that hat and habit?" 
 
 "What is the matter with them?" 
 asked the other. 
 
 "Matter! Why, they must be ten years 
 old!" 
 
 " I daresay they are, or more ; they are 
 not mine. I tore my own habit to rags 
 almost in Ireland." 
 
 " Have you been staying in Ireland ? " 
 
 "Yes, with the Dudleys. By the way, 
 I wrote to you from their place, but I 
 suppose you never got my letter. The 
 girls hunted, and of course I went with 
 them." 
 
 "Of course you did. Does Mrs. Arbery 
 hunt ? " 
 
 " Good gracious, no ! Why, she must 
 be nearly sixty." 
 
 " I didn't know. I only thought that 
 might be her habit. Seriously, Susan, you 
 must buy yourself something fit to wear."
 
 26 . SUSA^' DRUMMOKD. 
 
 "It is not .worth while. . I shall not 
 have the chance of riding even borrowed 
 horses long." 
 
 " Dear me ! what will you do ? " 
 
 "Do without." ■ 
 
 "And you so fond of galloping about 
 the country." ; 
 
 "A niaii may be very fond of champagne, 
 and still find himself able to exist without 
 it. Will Arbery says where he is, out in 
 the Bush they drink nothing but tea." 
 
 "Will Arbery is this latest cousin, I 
 suppose ; any tenderness there ? " 
 . "Not the slioiitest. He has come home 
 for a wife, I may tell you, and that intended 
 wife's name is not Susan Drummond." 
 
 "Most unfortunate Susan! whose cousins 
 won't marry her, and who, for all her 
 knowledge of horseman — or rather, horse- 
 womanship — has not, I see, yet learnt to 
 hold her reins properly." 
 
 "Yes, is not it stupid of me? I have
 
 ^V OFF DAY IS THE PAEK. 27 
 
 tried to break myself of that old trick ; 
 l)ut, do you know, I do not feel as if I 
 had the slightest power over my horse 
 when I itake them the other way. . Where 
 are you living now, Maggie?" 
 
 " We have only a friend's house for a 
 short time," was the reply. " When we are 
 settled you must come and spend a long 
 day." 
 
 'M shall be dehghted," answered Miss 
 Drummond. " You kno^v Mrs. Arbery's 
 address, don't you ? " 
 
 " Yes ; Enfield, is it not P " 
 
 "Enfield Highwa}^" corrected the other. 
 
 '^ Good heavens ! have you ridden all 
 that distance to-day P " 
 
 " It is not so very far," laughed Miss 
 Drummond. 
 
 "And don't you want to get back before 
 night ? " 
 
 " There are many hours before night," 
 answered Susan. " Still we ought to be
 
 28 S US AN DB UMMOND. 
 
 making our way home. Just let me 
 introduce Will to you. Sultan is perfectly 
 quiet, I assure you." 
 
 ^'Well, I don't know; however, if I am 
 killed my death will He at your door. 
 Your cousin won't come very near me, 
 wiU he?" 
 
 The introduction was effected without 
 any mishap, Sultan comporting himself 
 during the ceremony as if he had never 
 stood on his hind legs or hfted his hind 
 heels in his hfe. Then adieux were ex- 
 changed, and Miss Drummond and her 
 cousin, having announced their intention 
 of returning home vid Camden-road, turned 
 their horses' heads towards Stanhope Gate, 
 and were soon out of sight. 
 
 With a sigh of relief Miss Chelston 
 pursued her way to the Marble Arch, 
 thinking pensively as she rode slowly along 
 that it was a pity Susan Drummond had 
 not the slightest idea of making herself fit
 
 AN OFF DAY IN THE PARK. 29 
 
 to appear in decent society, and wishing 
 she felt as Httle afraid of horses as that 
 young lady. 
 
 " Who do you think the girl is we saw 
 in the Park to-day?" Mr. Sudlow asked 
 Mr. Gayre the same evening, as they sat 
 tete-a-tete over their wine. 
 
 " Which of them ? " returned the 
 banker. 
 
 "0, the one with the dark hair, and 
 the dark-blue eyes, and the long lashes, 
 and the damask-rose complexion." 
 
 " Yes, go on ; who is she ? " 
 
 " Miss Chelston, the only daughter of 
 Sir Geoffrey Chelston, of the Pleasaunce, 
 near Chelston." 
 
 " Of Sir Geoffrey Chelston ! " repeated 
 Mr. Gayre, setting down his claret. "God 
 bless me ! " 
 
 " Why, do you know him ? " 
 
 "I used to know him," was the unex- 
 pected reply. " He married my sister.''
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 SIR GEOFFREY CHELSTON. 
 
 IHEEE have been, since the institution 
 
 of that order, all sorts of baronets — 
 even good. To the latter class, however, Miss 
 Chelston's father certainly did not belong. 
 He said himself he " was a good deal better 
 than some, and not nearly so bad as 
 most ; " but, then, no one who was for- 
 tunate enough to be acquainted with Sir 
 Geoffrey attached much weight to any of 
 his statements. Had this estimate of 
 himseK been true — which it was not — the 
 moral condition of the rest of the world 
 must have been, indeed, regarded as 
 lamentable in the extreme ; for Sir Geoffrey 
 had, since his boyhood, been in the habit
 
 SIR GEOFF REY CHELSTOX. 31 
 
 of doing those thino-s which he ought not 
 to have done : whilst those ' thinsfs which 
 he ouofht to have done he did not. 
 
 Geoffrey is not a name which suggests a 
 taste for the Turf, a fondness for the so- 
 ciety of jockeys, blacklegs, and gamblers ; 
 an almost inconceivable amount of ignorance, 
 except on the subject of "sport," horses, 
 games of chance and skill — an abundance 
 of that disreputable lore which a man who 
 has alwavs been knocking^ about the world's 
 least desirable haunts cannot fail to accumu- 
 late ; to say nothing concerning a distaste, 
 which almost amounted to hatred, for the 
 pursuits, trammels, and traditions of a de- 
 cent and orderly life. 
 
 There was no shame about the man, and 
 there was no hope whatever of repentance 
 — unless it might be a poor makeshift death- 
 bed repentance, with a wasted life stretching 
 behind, and an unknown eternity yawning 
 in front. So long as a " chance remained
 
 32 8 US AN DB UMMOND. 
 
 for him" — a chance, that is, of returning 
 to the mud in which he loved to wallow — 
 remorse was not likely to fasten its tooth 
 upon him. His doings, his sayings, his sins, 
 his shortcomings, were enough, in very truth, 
 to have caused the scholarly ancestor from 
 whom he inherited his name to rise from 
 the grave, sold by this degenerate descen- 
 dant to strangers, and return to see the 
 ruin wrought by one man — one solitary 
 man. 
 
 There had been spendthrifts aforetime 
 amongst the Chelstons, but no spendthrift 
 like unto this. There had been sinners — 
 wicked, godless, graceless sinners ; but either 
 they died young, or, taking thought to 
 their ways betimes, reformed and settled 
 down ere age came upon them. There had 
 been misers who grudged themselves food 
 and the poor a farthing ; but it was left 
 for Sir Geoffrey to spend freely on his own 
 pleasures, and rob both rich and poor of
 
 SIB GEOFFREY CHELSTOX. 33 
 
 that which of right belonged to them. His 
 inherited title — won by a certain Ealph 
 Chelston on a battle-field, where the fate of 
 the day was changed by a mere handful 
 of gallant soldiers — he dragged like a worth- 
 less garment through the mire of the 
 kennels ; while his name, one of the oldest 
 in the kingdom, had become a mock and a 
 byword amongst the vilest of women and 
 the worst of men. 
 
 He was not born to poverty like many 
 another, who, with equally little satisfaction 
 to himself or any other human being, has 
 travelled the road to ruin. It was not 
 necessity which first made him acquainted 
 with strange bedfellows. No impulsive gene- 
 rosity, no desire to serve a friend, no* 
 boyish prodigality in the way of giving 
 great entertainments, or wild desire to 
 scatter gifts around, brought him into early 
 contact with the Jews. If he had desired 
 a father's help and counsel, he could, till 
 
 Vol. i. 4
 
 34 SUSAN BRUMMOKD. 
 
 he was nearly twenty-six, have obtained 
 both from a parent wise as loving. So far 
 as man could tell there was not an excuse 
 for the bad mad race on which he entered. 
 Some said he " cast back " to a certain 
 Elizabeth Hodwins, who was raised by a 
 former baronet from the condition of a 
 fisherman's daughter to the rank of Lady 
 Chelston ; but those best learned in the 
 family lore shook their heads when they 
 heard this theory ; for Elizabeth, possessing 
 for her dower as much sense as beauty, 
 had proved the saviour both of her hus- 
 band and his fortunes. When she married 
 him he was, with other gay gallants of his 
 time, running a muck ; but she took her 
 husband well in hand, and brought him out 
 of the ordeal safe, though not unscathed. 
 She wore her honours with a splendid meek- 
 ness, winning respect rather than compelling 
 it. She had, as one, who knew her well, 
 chronicled, a " smile for the rich and a
 
 SIR GEOFFREY CHELSTON. 35 
 
 tear for the poor ;" in all ways an excep- 
 tional woman, who once, it was recorded, 
 saved a child's life at the peril of her own. 
 Except as regards mere brute courage, Sir 
 Geoffrey did not own a trait in common 
 with his brave and beautiful ancestress, but 
 he had one good quality — physically he was 
 no coward. 
 
 People marvelled a man of such ancient 
 lineage should play the pranks he did. 
 
 " Why, don't you know," said a farmer 
 once in the village tap-room, " ' the older 
 the seed, the worse the crop.' " 
 
 Sir Geoffrey was an awful crop for any 
 house to have to gather home within its 
 records. With him the race seemed des- 
 tined to die out. Slightly varying the 
 words of James V. of Scotland, it might 
 have been said of the wealth of the Chel- 
 stons that it had " come with a lassie" and 
 that the name "would go with a lassie." 
 The king who conferred the baronetage on 
 
 4—2
 
 36 SUSAN DB UMMOND. 
 
 Ealph the soldier added the hand of an 
 heiress, who was nothing loth to wed the 
 handsome hero. Since that time heiresses 
 had come and gone, adding their fortunes 
 to the Chelston coffers ; but now the coffers 
 were all empty, and Sir Geoffrey owned 
 no lands, or houses, or money, or son, or 
 anything save one fair daughter and a 
 pile of debts that never could be paid. 
 
 Well might men wonder where the 
 money had gone. There was nothing 
 whatever to show for it. Sir Ealph had 
 bought the estate, adding to his own 
 small patrimony many a broad acre and 
 goodly manor ; Sir Charles built the great 
 rambling house, and laid out the quaint 
 gardens, and planned the terraces from 
 the west front to the river Chel ; Sir 
 Eruce built the stables and kennels, and 
 then, when he tired of dogs and horses, 
 purchased the pictures and statues which 
 made the Pleasaunce a show place. Then
 
 SIR GEOFFREY CHELSTON. 37 
 
 there was the Sir Ealph who entertained 
 royalty; and Sir Geoffrey, who spent his 
 life in collecting blackletter and rare edi- 
 tions, and who wrote a book full of 
 useless learning, of which he printed but 
 one hundred copies ; and then came the 
 saintly Sir Francis, who, after a youth of 
 sin, devoted his old age and his money 
 to ecclesiastical purposes, rearing and en- 
 dowing one of the loveliest churches in 
 the whole of England ; then there was 
 another Sir Charles, who performed great 
 deeds at sea, and died an admiral ; and 
 a Sir James, who was a great politician, 
 and rose to be a foremost man in the 
 councils of the nation ; and then there 
 came Sir Cecil, with the scholarly tastes 
 of his progenitor, Sir Geoffrey, which he 
 entirely failed to bequeath to the son he 
 named after that "lover of the best 
 thoughts of older minds." 
 
 Never, surely, was there such a man
 
 38 SUSAN DBUMMOND. 
 
 for getting fortunes and wasting tliem as 
 Sir Geoffrey the second. Before lie was 
 seven-and-twenty he came into possession 
 of the Pleasaunce, a large sum in ready 
 money, pictures, plate, horses, carriages, 
 everything necessary to the establishment 
 of a gentleman of rank and position. 
 When he was thirty his mother, who 
 had been an heiress, died, and he got 
 her money. Two years later he married 
 Miss Gayre, dowered with a fortune of 
 thirty thousand pounds, which was so 
 settled, the lawyers declared, that a coach- 
 and-four could not be driven through it. 
 When matters came to be investigated, 
 however, it was found that if a coach- 
 and-four had not scattered her fortune. 
 Sir Geoffrey had burrowed a way into 
 the money. Four years afterwards his 
 grandmother left him a satisfactory sum 
 in ready cash, and this legacy was soon 
 after followed by one from his only uncle.
 
 SIE GEOFFREY CHELSTON. 39 
 
 But all these legacies were mere drops in 
 the ocean ; Sir Geoffrey went through them 
 at a hand-gallop ; and when he finally sank 
 in a very rough sea of well-nigh unlimited 
 liability, there was not a thing left to show 
 for the money that had sifted through his 
 hands but piles on piles of writs, and 
 lawyers' letters in sufficient quantity to 
 have papered the walls of the new " thieves ' 
 kitchen " hard upon Temple Bar. 
 
 Everything saleable was sold ; everything 
 go able was gone — books, pictures, statues, 
 horses, lands, furniture, stock, timber. If 
 he had been able to dispose of his title, 
 that would have followed in wake of his 
 other possessions. In less than thirty years 
 from the time of his father's death he had 
 not a rood of his own ground left, not 
 even the family burying-place ; not a roof 
 to cover his head belonging to himself ; 
 not a chair to sit down on, or a table 
 to dine at ; not even old Chelston Plea-
 
 40 S US AN DR UMMOND. 
 
 saunce — with its moss-covered avenue, and 
 its rusty gates, and its park, kept latterly 
 like a meadow, and its garden, where the 
 roses were trailing across the paths — to go 
 down to, when London life grew for him 
 very hot indeed. 
 
 To say that in any one respect, whether 
 personally or mentally, Sir Geoffrey even 
 faintly resembled a gentleman, would be to 
 libel a class not accustomed to flattering 
 similes. 
 
 Of course when people heard he was a 
 baronet, and had run through hundreds of 
 thousands of pounds, they declared there 
 was " something about him," that " blood 
 would tell," and all the rest of it; but 
 meeting him casually " knocking about," it 
 never occurred to any human being to 
 suspect he was other than some disreputable 
 horsey individual who frequented racecourses 
 and stables, who affected very tight trousers, 
 who was a proficient in bad language, who
 
 SIB GEOFFREY CHELSTOX. 
 
 wore his white hat a good deal on one side, 
 who walked with his legs wider apart than 
 is the custom of those who have not spent 
 best part of their waking hours on horse- 
 back, and to whom no respectable landlady 
 in her senses would have let her first floor, 
 even if furnished with the best references 
 and offered a month's payment in advance. 
 
 It had happened to Sir Geoffrey in his 
 comparatively palmy days to be taken for 
 what he looked like ; and as he never after- 
 wards hesitated to tell the story himself, 
 there can be no harm in repeating it here. 
 
 One day wanting something in a hurry, 
 he called at the shop of a saddler with 
 whom he had never before had any deahngs, 
 was shown what he required, and marvellous 
 to relate, laid down a sovereign in pay- 
 ment. 
 
 The price of the article was one pound 
 precisely, but the shopkeeper handed him 
 back two shillings.
 
 42 S USAN DR UMMOND. 
 
 ''What's this for?" he asked. 
 
 " 0, we always allow ten per cent, to 
 grooms^' was the answer. 
 
 " Do you ? " said Sir Geoffrey, coolly 
 pocketing the two shillings. " I think I'll 
 patronise you again." 
 
 Which, indeed, he did to some purpose ; 
 for when the final settlement of his bad 
 debts came about, it so happened he 
 owed that particular tradesman something 
 like four hundred pounds. 
 
 It is delightful to think of the charming 
 manner in which favoured persons can incur 
 debts they know they will never be able to 
 discharge, and how easy it is for any man 
 with a handle to his name to cozen the 
 British tradesman. 
 
 You and I, my friend, with the hmited 
 income, might wait a long time for a loaf 
 of bread unless the B.T. were well assured 
 the wherewithal to pay for it would be duly 
 and truly forthcoming. But a baronet, or
 
 SIB GEOFFREY CHELSTON. 43 
 
 a knight, though he may not have a lucky 
 penny to bless himself with, need not, even 
 at this present incredulous period of the 
 world's history, want any manner of earthly 
 thing that is good. 
 
 As regards Sir Geoffrey Chelston, he was 
 one of those men out of whom no created 
 being seems able to make money. He had 
 no steward or lawyer or agent, or mistress 
 or boon companion, who waxed fat while 
 he grew lean. He was not systematically 
 robbed or persistently cheated. His tenants 
 were harassed, his solicitors worried, his 
 friends victimised, his servants' wages left 
 unpaid, and, as has been said, at the end 
 of it all there was nothing to show for the 
 princely estate mortgaged, for the fortunes 
 gone, for the pictures and the books and 
 the jewelry and the timber, any more than 
 might have been the case had the whole 
 been swallowed up bodily on one disastrous 
 night in the Goodwin Sands.
 
 44 S US AN BR UMMOND. 
 
 Nay more, misled by the Baronet's easy 
 indifference, by his gross ignorance of 
 matters with which most men are conversant, 
 by his " devil-may-care " manner, by a certain 
 fatalist warp of mind which had descended 
 to him not from the fair Elizabeth, and by 
 the impossibility of conceiving that it was 
 absolutely necessary such wide estates and 
 such an old title should "go down into the 
 pit," many hopeful persons had tried whether 
 "something could not be done." 
 
 Joyfully Sir Geoffrey surrendered the helm 
 to each in succession : the credulity of any 
 fresh fool concerning the future, meant ready 
 money to him in the present. That it also 
 meant loss to the fool did not affect the 
 Baronet in the least. 
 
 " They speculated for a rise," he was wont 
 to say laughingly, " and the stock fell — that 
 was all." 
 
 The stock did fall indeed ; there is no 
 quotation known on 'Change that could
 
 SIB GEOFFBEY CHELSTON. 45 
 
 adequately represent the fall in the Clielston 
 stock as it appeared eventually to those who 
 had felt quite sure they would be able to 
 make a crood thincr out of it. 
 
 If I had not to write this book about 
 quite other people than Sir Geoffrey Chelston 
 and his dupes, or rather the dupes of their 
 own imagination and self-confidence, who, 
 setting out to shear, came home shorn, an 
 instructive history might be compiled for the 
 benefit of sohcitors, bankers, money-lenders, 
 and others, who were each and all repre- 
 sented on the bankruptcy schedule when the 
 Baronet went airily into Portugal Street with 
 a rose in his buttonhole and a straw in his 
 mouth to pass his examination. Liabilities 
 scarcely to be recorded in figures : assets 
 available for the benefit of the unsecured 
 creditors — nil. 
 
 Take one pleasing instance as an illustra- 
 tion — but a poor illustration, it must be 
 confessed, because it is sketched from a
 
 46 SUSAN BE UMMO ND. 
 
 landscape over which the evening shadows 
 were drawing rapidly down. 
 
 A smart young lawyer, who thought all 
 the wisdom of his predecessors folly, bought 
 a practice in the market-town of Chelston, 
 near the Pleasaunce. There he heard a 
 great deal about Sir Geoffrey, his debts, his 
 recklessness, his rent-roll, his mortgaged 
 acres, his embarrassments, his one daughter, 
 till he got nearly beside himself with the 
 magnitude and originality of the design he 
 had conceived. 
 
 He possessed a few thousands ; he believed 
 he could reckon on a few thousands more 
 from his relations. He knew a man who 
 was enormously rich and the father of an 
 extremely plain daughter ; the " oracle " 
 might be worked, he considered ; so with- 
 out more to-do he set 'himself to work it. 
 
 Sir Geoffrey was not difficult of approach 
 — bless you, not he ! The young lawyer did 
 not experience much trouble in boarding
 
 SIR GEOFFREY CHELSTON. 47 
 
 the good old ship Chelston, in enticing the 
 Baronet into his pretty Httle parlour, in 
 introducing that worthy to his 'blue-eyed 
 wife, in walking down the street to the 
 Golden Stag, where Sir Geoffrey put up ; 
 the talk between them being all the while 
 as " pleasant and familiar as talk could 
 be." 
 
 After a short acquaintance, he began 
 dexterously to feel his way. 
 
 "Your affairs have been mismanaged, Sir 
 Geoffrey, I am afraid," he suggested. 
 
 "They have, damnably," agreed Sir Geof- 
 frey, with agreeable frankness ; but he did 
 not say by whom. 
 
 " It seems to me that all they require is 
 a Httle systematic arrangement," observed 
 the adventurous young man. 
 
 "That's all they ever wanted," answered 
 Sir Geoffrey with another oath. 
 
 "If a person were to devote time and 
 energy to the matter, they could soon be
 
 48 SUSAN DBUMMONB. 
 
 put in train," observed the lawyer ten- 
 tatively. 
 
 "They might," replied the Baronet; but 
 it is only justice to add his tone was 
 dubious. 
 
 There was nothing more said then. They 
 went, of course, into the Golden Stag, 
 where Sir Geoffrey asked his new friend 
 what he "would take;" and the wine 
 which the landlord produced having been 
 duly added to an already long score, the 
 nominal owner of Chelston Pleasaunce got 
 on his horse, and rode back to that place, 
 leaving the lawyer well satisfied with the 
 progress he had made. 
 
 Not a fortnight elapsed before he was 
 installed as Sir Geoffrey's legal adviser, of 
 whom that gentleman had already about 
 a hundred. He was told just as much as 
 the Baronet chose to tell him ; he paid 
 out a couple of small but very pressing 
 ■executions ; he wrote to several persons
 
 >S7Z? GEOFFREY CHELSTON. 
 
 49 
 
 who had issued writs ; and he began to 
 find his affable cUent in " pocket money." 
 
 That was Sir Geoffrey's hvely way of 
 putting the obligation, and you may be 
 sure the young lawyer laughed loud and 
 long at the pleasantry. 
 
 The Baronet wanted so much pocket- 
 money, however — or, as he put the matter, 
 " he had such a confoundedly big hole in 
 his pocket " — that ere long his accommo- 
 dating friend thought it might be better 
 to expedite affairs a little ; so one day 
 he went across to the Pleasaunce, where 
 he found Sir Geoffrey seated in the library, 
 the portrait of his scholarly ancestor sur- 
 veying, from its frame above the mantel- 
 piece, long lines of well-nigh empty book- 
 shelves ; a small dog lying on the table, 
 and a large one stretched on the hearth- 
 rug ; brandy and soda-water on a tray 
 beside him ; and a number of unopened 
 letters littering the blotting pad. 
 
 Vol. i 5
 
 50 SUSAN BRUMMOND. 
 
 " All duns," said the Baronet, sweeping 
 them carelessly on one side. "Well, and 
 what has blown you over? Some good 
 wind, I am sure : for I was just wonder- 
 ing where I should get enough money to 
 carry me to town." 
 
 The lawyer took a seat, and commenced, 
 with diplomatic caution, to unfold his plan. 
 
 "You'd like to be rid of all this an- 
 noyance, Sir Geoffrey?" 
 
 It was thus he opened his first parallel. 
 
 " Indeed, I should well like to be rid 
 of it," answered the Baronet ; " and if any 
 
 way out of the mess has occurred 
 
 to you, I shall be only too glad to discuss 
 it when I return from London." 
 
 He had gone through too many inter- 
 views of the same sort not to have learnt 
 his best wisdom lay in deferring the final 
 hour of explanation. Explanation, bitter 
 experience had taught him, meant a sudden 
 stop in the supplies.
 
 SIE GEOFFREY CHELSTON. 51 
 
 " When do you suppose you will be 
 back ? " asked the lawyer. 
 
 " 0, in a few days ; a week at farthest," 
 said Sir Geoffrey ; " and I want to start 
 this afternoon, if I can anyhow raise 
 funds." 
 
 "I have not much money with me," 
 observed the lawyer. 
 
 " I can take your house on my way 
 to the station," suggested his client. 
 
 " Before I leave I should like just to 
 ask you one question," ventured the other. 
 
 " Ask away," said the Baronet, graciously. 
 
 " Should you have any objection to re- 
 settle the estate ? " 
 
 Sir Geoffrey stared at him. 
 
 " How the deuce could I do that," he 
 asked, " when it's as good as out of my 
 hands altogether ? " 
 
 '' But if it were back in your hands ? " 
 
 "That's quite another matter. I'd do 
 
 anything in reason, I'm sure, to get out 
 
 5—2 
 
 UNivERsmr m wmn
 
 52 S US AN DB UMMOND. 
 
 of this blank blanked continual hot water. 
 I can't see, however, where the good of 
 resettling would be now. As you know, 
 or as, perhaps, you don't know, there is 
 not a male left to come into the title 
 after me ; and there was no remainder to 
 females in the patent." 
 
 The Baronet took great credit to him- 
 self in that he never, in his later years, 
 told his legal advisers a syllable he could 
 not swear to. He did not count silence 
 any falsehood. So long as they asked no 
 questions he held is tongue; when they 
 put a thing to him plainly, time had 
 proved it was better to answer without 
 equivocation. Then if they liked to go on 
 deceiving themselves — which they generally 
 did like — it was their own fault, not 
 his. 
 
 For which reason he told this latest 
 adviser a fact " any fool," to quote Sir 
 Geoffrey, " could find out for himself from
 
 SIE GEOFFEEY CHELSTOX 53 
 
 the Eed Book in a minute." There was 
 no heir to the title. 
 
 " I am aware of that ; 0, I am quite 
 aware of that,'' answered the other. 
 
 " All I want is everything to be fair 
 and above board," said the Baronet, with 
 a genial frankness. " I don't know how 
 you mean to help me ; but I take it for 
 granted you have some project maturing 
 in your head, and all I can assure you 
 is, you won't find me stop the way if you 
 are able to find an outlet. Only don't 
 ask me to listen to any details now ; for 
 it is of vital importance that I should get 
 into town by the afternoon express." 
 
 Sir Geofirey was detained so long in 
 town by reason of what he called a 
 " stroke of luck," that his new friend 
 deemed it prudent to follow and "put 
 matters in train." 
 
 He found the Baronet, who had won 
 something considerable on the Turf, in the
 
 54 S US AN BE UMMOND. 
 
 highest spirits. His talk was of a certain 
 outsider who had come in first; and it 
 proved somewhat difficult to get him to 
 listen to all the other had to say. 
 
 Divested of verbiage, the lawyer's pro- 
 position was this : 
 
 He knew a gentleman who had made 
 his money in trade — " never mind what 
 trade," he said, hesitatingly. 
 
 "That does not matter in the least," 
 observed Sir Geofirey, in a truly liberal 
 spirit. 
 
 " If there were one thing this man adored 
 beyond all other things, it was rank. He 
 would, in a way of speaking," declared the 
 lawyer, " part with all he possessed for a 
 title." 
 
 "Well, that's odd too," commented the 
 Baronet. " I'd sell my title and " — but I need 
 not particularise the other adjunct Sir Geoffrey 
 offered to throw in as a mere makeweight — 
 "for a few thousands, cash down."
 
 SIR GEOFFREY CHELSTON. 55 
 
 " He has a daughter," went on the lawyer. 
 " She is not handsome, certainly. I suppose, 
 however, you would not allow that to influence 
 you much." 
 
 " I always did prefer a pretty woman to a 
 plain one ; but what has she to do with all 
 this ? Her good or bad looks can't signify to 
 me." 
 
 " I thought you would take a sensible view 
 of the matter," observed the other. " JSTow, I 
 believe — indeed, I know — a marriage might 
 be arranged which would at once relieve you 
 from your more pressing embarrassments, and 
 induce my millionaire — " 
 
 " Stop a minute," said the Baronet. " Do 
 you mean a marriage with me?'' 
 
 " I could not mean one with anybody else," 
 was the reply. "You see no objection, I hope?" 
 
 "There is only one objection; but I am 
 afraid it is insurmountable, unless you are 
 able to find a way out of the difficulty. We 
 can't get rid of Lady Chelston."
 
 56 S US AN BE UMMOND. 
 
 "What Lady Chelston?" 
 
 " My wife." 
 
 " But you have not got a wife." 
 
 "Haven't I?" 
 
 " She died fourteen years ago." 
 
 "Did she?" 
 
 "You — you haven't married again, Sir 
 Geoffrey, have you ? " 
 
 " No, faith ! One wife at a time is enough 
 for any man." 
 
 " But you were left a widower fourteen 
 years ago, when you came back from abroad 
 with your httle girl, dressed in deep mourn- 
 ing ; and you said then, ' Poor Maggie has 
 lost her mamma.' " 
 
 " So she had. When we were on the Conti- 
 nent my wife and I parted for ever. My 
 daughter and I were in mourning, I remem- 
 ber ; but it wasn't for Lady Chelston." 
 
 " And do you mean to tell me Lady Chel- 
 ston is still alive ? " 
 
 " And likely to live, so far as I know."
 
 SIB GEOFFREY CHELSTON. 57 
 
 "And has there never been anything to 
 enable you to get a divorce ? " 
 
 " My good fellow, do not ask such ridicu- 
 lous questions." 
 
 "And you are tied hand and foot matri- 
 monially as well as pecuniarily ? " 
 
 "Your statement of the position is pain- 
 fully accurate." 
 
 " And how am I to get back the money I 
 have advanced you?" 
 
 " If you advanced it in the expectation of 
 being repaid on my marriage with your friend, 
 who is, as you say, not handsome, I really 
 have not an idea." 
 
 " But I can't lose my money because you 
 happen to have a wife living when every- 
 body thought she was dead." 
 
 " If you like to take your chance of hang- 
 ing, you can get rid of her." 
 
 Then the lawyer broke out. Sir Geoffrey 
 himself could scarcely have indulged in worse 
 language, in more futile and frantic profanity.
 
 58 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 He would expose the Baronet. England 
 should ring with an account of the transac- 
 tion. He had been swindled ; he had been 
 robbed ; he had been dealt with most treache- 
 rously ; his pocket had been picked by a 
 person who called himself a gentleman, but 
 who was in reality no better than a common 
 thief and swindler. 
 
 "He goes on in this way because I won't 
 commit bigamy," said Sir Geoffrey, addressing 
 the imaginary jury the lawyer had summoned 
 to sit in judgment on so heinous a criminal. 
 
 "But surely in common honesty you will 
 pay me ? " said this irate creditor. 
 
 " Pay you ! how in the world am I to do 
 that?" 
 
 " Why, you have won a lot of money, you 
 say." 
 
 "0, but I want that for myself; besides, 
 there is very little left. You talk about being 
 deluded and disappointed. You have not 
 been half so grossly deluded as I have been.
 
 SIR GEOFFREY CHELSTON. 59 
 
 What is your disappointment compared to 
 mine? I made sure you had hatched some 
 scheme for cheating the Jews and giving me 
 my own again, and now the whole thing 
 •resolves itself into an impossible marriage. 
 Gad, if I had been free I'd have got a rich 
 wife for myself long ago ! You may be 
 very sure I never should have employed a 
 lawyer to look one out for me." 
 
 Perhaps this matter hastened the end a 
 Httle ; but, under any circumstances,' that end 
 could not have been long deferred. There was 
 a rush down to the Pleasaunce, a race as to 
 which creditor should get his man into posses- 
 sion first ; but they all got there too late. Sir 
 Geoffrey had " taken the wind out of their 
 sails " by begging a Jew to whom he owed a 
 large sum of money to petition the court, and 
 the court sent down a messenger, who was 
 comfortably installed at the Pleasaunce when 
 the representatives of the two chosen tribes of 
 Israel, and various so-called Christians, who
 
 6o 8 US AN DE UMMOND. 
 
 may have been, and very probably were, des- 
 cended from the other ten sons of Jacob, put 
 in an appearance there, only to be immediately 
 turned out again. 
 
 There was wailing and gnashing of teeth 
 amongst bailiffs and sheriff's officers, and law- 
 yers and creditors ; but the Baronet remained 
 nobly serene. 
 
 "It was bound to come," he explained to 
 the friends who offered him their condolences. 
 "I don't really know that I can be much 
 worse off than I was ;" and seeing the resigned, 
 not to say cheerful, manner in which Sir 
 Geoffrey bore his misfortunes, people came to 
 the conclusion there was something in the 
 background, that he had prepared a feather 
 bed to fall on, satisfied of which good manage- 
 ment on the part of the Baronet, society re- 
 frained from giving him as cold a shoulder as 
 it might have done had that amiable abstrac- 
 tion beheved he was an honest man. 
 
 " I shall have to take a house in London,"
 
 SIR GEOFFREY CBELSTOX. 6i 
 
 he remarked, not because at the moraent he 
 had the slightest intention of doing anything 
 of the sort, but merely for the reason that he 
 thought the statement sounded well ; " a fur- 
 nished house, till I can pull myself together a 
 little." 
 
 Then upspake young Aloreby, who had 
 been causing the large fortune left by his 
 papa, a great colliery proprietor, deceased, to 
 disappear like dust before the wind, till his 
 mother, the widow Moreby, who, though some- 
 times doubtful in her English, had a thorough 
 knowledge of business, came to town, and, 
 assuming the conduct of affairs, as she had a 
 right to do, being not merely executrix, but 
 part-owner of all the coal-pits whereout old 
 Moreby had extracted his money, announced 
 her intention of taking liim abroad away 
 from " all his vicious companions ;" upspake 
 this youth, who had not been blest with Sir 
 Geoffrey's friendship for more than a few 
 months, and said.
 
 62 S USAX BR UMMOXD. 
 
 " My crib in the Eegent's Park would be the 
 very thing for you, Chelston ;" and then there 
 ensued a little chaff and various allusions to 
 Mrs. Moreby and another very different sort 
 of lady who had exercised the mind of the 
 worthy widow in no slight degree, which need 
 not be more particularly chronicled here ; 
 and Sir Geoffrey made himself very agreeable 
 while these themes were in progress, and 
 any one might have imagined the last thing 
 he had in his thoughts was of the house in 
 question, or of taking in young Moreby. 
 
 But somehow he just stepped into the 
 "crib" as it stood — fully furnished — and, 
 when he was fairly in residence, said quite 
 calmly to his youthful friend, 
 
 "I do not know how to thank you suffi- 
 ciently for lending me your house. It 
 shall be taken good care of, 1 promise 
 you." 
 
 Now young Moreby had never dreamt 
 of lending Sir Geoffrey anything without
 
 SIB GEOFFREY CHELSTON. 
 
 63 
 
 being paid for it ; but he found the 
 Baronet's understanding so dense on the 
 subject, he was forced to yield the point 
 with such grace as was possible under 
 the circumstances. 
 
 % J,"
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 GAYRE, DELONE, EYLES, AND GAYRE. 
 
 ^HE Spirit of Improvement, taking a 
 K walk about the middle of the year 
 1857 down Lombard Street one day, bethought 
 itself that the banking-house leased by 
 Gayre and Co. from the gentleman whose 
 fleshly tenement was temporarily occupied 
 by the meddlesome sprite referred to, ought 
 to be rebuilt. 
 
 Nothing less to the taste of the old 
 firm could readily have been suggested. 
 Ancient ways seemed good in their sight ; 
 spick and span new edifices savoured, ac- 
 cording to their ideas, of shoddy com 
 panics, limited liabihty, tricks of trade,
 
 GAYRE, BELONE, EYLES, AND GAYBE. 65 
 
 bankruptcy, and various other matters hate- 
 ful to honest men. 
 
 More, to rebuild would cost much money, 
 and Gayre and Co. did not like parting 
 with even a Httle money, unless, like 
 bread on the waters, it was sure to come 
 back to them after many days with in- 
 terest from date added. Eebuilding would 
 inconvenience them, and that was even a 
 more serious consideration than the pecu- 
 niary outlay ; rebuilding was unprofitably 
 laying down gold at some ridiculous rate 
 per foot on the property of another man ; 
 and the fuss and bustle, the hoarding, the 
 scaffolding, the masons and labourers, the 
 mess and lime and confusion, and utter 
 demoralisation of the integrity of their dear 
 old dirty den, woul prove annoying, not 
 to say intolerable, to their clients, who 
 were mostly slow-going people of title and 
 old-fashioned City merchants, whose fathers 
 
 and grandfathers had trusted their money 
 Vol. i. e
 
 66 SUSAN BRUMMOXD. 
 
 to Gayres' keeping, and never found cause 
 to repent of the confidence reposed. 
 
 If a bank, and all a bank's customers, 
 dislike change, cleanliness, and convenience, 
 it is evident that without great external 
 pressure things are likely to remain in 
 their original condition till the crack of 
 doom ; but when this pressure did come 
 in the shape of an expiring lease, and a 
 ground landlord who would not be diverted 
 from his purpose even by the offer of 
 money, old Mr. Gayre, who was then 
 alive, and Mr. Edwin Gayre, his son, set 
 their wits together to try how little they 
 could do in the way of making their 
 bank look like any other bank of recent 
 date as possible. 
 
 It is only fair to say they succeeded in 
 their endeavour. Even to the present 
 hour Gayres' is a model of what a count- 
 #ing-house ought not to be. An old build- 
 ing at the back, which chanced to be
 
 GAYRE, DELONE, EYLES, AXD GAYRE. 67 
 
 their own freehold, was left untouched, 
 and in a portion of that edifice the Gayre 
 of to-day gives audience to the few per- 
 sons who ever ask to see him, and transacts 
 the little business it is necessary for him 
 to attend to. Gayres' have not gone on 
 with the times ; but they feel no desire 
 to do anything of the kind. 
 
 Banks have come and banks have gone, 
 but Gayres' still holds on the even tenor 
 of its respectable way. Though the main 
 part of the bank abutting on Lombard 
 Street was, as has been stated, brand-new 
 less than twenty -five years ago, it has 
 managed somehow to acquire during that 
 period quite a look of antiquity. For one . 
 thing, it was built on the old lines, and 
 kept rigidly free from any improvements of 
 structure or originality of design. It is as 
 square as the shape of the ground would 
 permit ; it has steps up to the door, ap-» 
 
 parently with the intention of checking 
 
 6—2
 
 68 SUSAN BBUMMONB. 
 
 the ardour of any stranger who might 
 feel disposed to rush in and open an ac- 
 count ; the exterior is utterly destitute of 
 ornament, and the inside as plain as Dis- 
 senting chapels used to be. It is badly 
 lighted and not ventilated at all. The 
 way to the strong room is encompassed 
 by as many traps and perils as those 
 which beset Christian on his road from 
 the City of Destruction to the better land ; 
 and there is a dark step down into Mr. 
 Gayre's own especial sanctum which has 
 nearly ended the earthly career of more 
 than one intending client. 
 
 Any one who by some rare piece of 
 good fortune gets a cheque to present 
 across Gayres' counter feels as the narrow 
 half-door swings behind him that he has 
 stepped out of Lombard Street and the 
 modern days of hansom cabs, railways, 
 and electric light, into the seventeenth 
 century, and he half expects when he steps
 
 GAYBE, DELOKE, EYLES, AS'D GAYBE. 69 
 
 out again to see the old signs which de- 
 noted the goldsmiths' whereabouts in the 
 days when Mr. Francis Child, the first 
 regular banker, married Martha, only- 
 daughter of Eobert Blanchard, citizen, and 
 Hved with his wife, business, and twelve 
 children in Fleet Street, where, to quote 
 Pennant, " the shop still continues in a 
 state of the highest respectability." 
 
 The Gayres were goldsmiths also about 
 the same period, and had been notable 
 people in the City even before the time 
 when their relation. Sir John Gayre, was 
 Lord Mayor of London. Xo mushroom 
 house this, eager to extend its credit by 
 means of cut stone and ornamented pi- 
 lasters, or to flaunt its wares in the face 
 of the pubHc through plate-glass windows, 
 or reflect the faces of dupes in French 
 polished mahogany counters and brass 
 knobs and rails. It was quite enough 
 satisfaction for any man to know himself
 
 70 S US AN BR UMMOM). 
 
 m the books of tlie firm, without looking 
 upon his own distorted likeness in shining 
 furniture and glittering lacquer. 
 
 Gayres were by no means anxious to 
 open accounts " on the usual terms ; " in- 
 deed, their terms, according to modern 
 ideas, were most unusual. They did not 
 even care for the " best bills ; " upon the 
 whole they preferred that bills of all sorts 
 and descriptions should be negotiated else- 
 where, and he would have been a rash 
 man who had ventured to ask Gayres' 
 manager to discount even the finest mer- 
 cantile paper. 
 
 Conservative in their ideas of trade, 
 though, following civic traditions, perhaps 
 somewhat independent and radical in poli- 
 tics, Gajrres' notion of banking was emi- 
 nently primitive. According to the tradi- 
 tions of their house a banker was a man 
 of substance and repute, who took care of 
 money for his customers. Gayres professed
 
 GAYEE, BELOSE, EYLES, AXJJ GAYRE. 71 
 
 to do little more than this. Like their 
 predecessors the Lombards, they could, 
 though rarely, be induced to accommodate 
 a well-known customer ; but the whole 
 transaction was fenced about with such 
 forms and ceremonies, prefaced by such 
 details, and requiring such an expenditure 
 of time, legal advice, and thought, that 
 " the business " was, as a rule, transferred 
 to some house accustomed to more rough- 
 and-ready methods of procedure. 
 
 Time, to ]\Iessrs. Gayre, Delone, Eyles, 
 and Gayre, might have represented eternity, 
 to judge from the deliberation of their move- 
 ments. To take, say, one hundred pounds 
 in five notes over their old Spanish maho- 
 gany counter occupied more time than the 
 cashing of ten thousand might at Glyn's. 
 
 But then Gayres' looked down on Glyn's, 
 as it did on Child's. Gayres represented 
 itself as being more respectable than any 
 other banking-house in London.
 
 72 SUSAN DRUMMONB. 
 
 " Nell Gwynne banked there, did she ? " 
 said a Gayre, long and long anterior to 
 the date at which this story opens ; " and 
 Childs are proud of the fact, are they? I 
 wouldn't have let the hussy set foot 
 across our threshold." 
 
 Which remark may give the key to 
 Gayres' policy. Eespectable, decorous, sound ; 
 if you had wound Gayres up at any 
 minute in the twenty-four hours, enough 
 would have been forthcoming to satisfy 
 everybody and leave a balance. 
 
 Yes, even in the year 1874, when the 
 Gayre in whose veins flowed the blood of 
 all the Gayres since 1647, to say nothing of 
 many previous generations, laid down his 
 claret, and astonished his guest by de- 
 claring his sister had married Sir Geoffrey 
 Chelston. 
 
 As has been said, banks had come and 
 banks had gone, and, it may be added 
 banks were going; but GajTes' knew no
 
 GAYBE, DELOXE, EYLES, ASD GAYRE. 73 
 
 anxiety as regarded its financial position. 
 The heads of the firm had not appropriated 
 their customers' title-deeds — a favourite form 
 of latter-day banking dishonesty; the se- 
 curity on which their good money lay at 
 interest they had never found need to 
 mortgage. All their business lives for a 
 couple of centuries, at least, they had been 
 quiet, honest, orderly people, living well 
 within their income, owing no man more 
 than they could conveniently pay, eschew- 
 ing speculation, holding aloof from the rail- 
 way and other manias, that beggared and 
 crippled so many large houses in the years 
 preceding the gTeat show in Hyde Park. 
 
 And yet Gayres' was not what it had 
 once been. It could not have counted 
 down guineas with some of the great banks, 
 as it might formerly. The principals had 
 not gone on with the world ; and so the 
 world, which latterly has got into the habit 
 of travelling very fast indeed, made no
 
 74 S US AX DB UMMOXD. 
 
 scruple about leaving Gayres' behind. 
 Some even of their titled customers, find- 
 inor the old bank allowed them no interest 
 on balances, were contracting a nasty habit 
 of transferring two or three thousand pounds 
 at a time to the London and Westminster, 
 or Xational Provincial, or any other great 
 bank which had the knack of being more 
 considerate. They kept their accounts 
 still at the " old shop," which once hung 
 out a tortoise for its sign ; but even 
 country squires and Tory noblemen were 
 learnincr a few thino-s their ancestors chanced 
 to be ignorant of, and seemed as anxious 
 and greedy to make a " tenner " as a lad 
 to toss for tarts. 
 
 City wags occasionally suggested it 
 would be the most fitting of all fitting 
 things if Gayres' were to hunt up the old 
 tortoise out of their cellars, and hang it in 
 the sun. Scofiers declared " Gayres' was 
 the slowest coach going in the city." They
 
 GAYBE, DELOyE, EYLES, ASL GAYBE. 75 
 
 wondered why, if Gavres' would not amal- 
 gamate with a bank that •' had some life 
 in it," Gayres did not shut up. and cut the 
 City altogether ? 
 
 "And there is only this one fellow left, 
 and he not married," was the remark 
 generally made. "Why, he must be as 
 rich as a Jew ; " which did not happen to 
 be the case. Mr. Gayre was well off, very 
 well off, but he could not be called a 
 millionaire for all that. 
 
 Nicholas Gayre came of a stock more 
 famous for saving money than making it. 
 To pitch thousands about, to see gold flung 
 recklessly into this venture and that, would 
 have seemed criminal in the eyes of men 
 who esteemed riches a possession to be 
 desired, more especially when accompanied 
 by a good name. Thus, if they had lost 
 little or nothing, they had not made 
 fortunes in a day, like their neighbours up 
 and down the street. They took few
 
 76 SUSAN BR UMMONB. 
 
 measures to extend their connection ; and 
 so it occasionally happened that, as the 
 heads of a family died off, the younger 
 branches carried their accounts elsewhere. 
 
 Banking, in a word, had changed its 
 character, and as Gayres' refused to veer 
 round at the bidding of the banking world 
 the old house came gradually to be pushed 
 up into a quiet business corner, like a 
 dowager at a ball, " whose dancing days 
 are over." 
 
 But it was while Jeremy Gayre and his 
 son Joshua — whose name figured at the 
 tail-end of the firm — were the actual heads 
 of a house in which Delone and Eyles had 
 long ceased to be anything save sleeping 
 partners, that a blow was dealt, sufiicient 
 to have destroyed a business built on any 
 other foundation than the rock of honesty. 
 
 First, Delone elected to be paid out, and 
 then Eyles. For long previously they had 
 both been drawing the full share of the pro-
 
 GAYBE, DELONE, EYLES, AXD GAYRE. 
 
 fits, and when the opportunity occurred they 
 gladly said, paraphrasing the words of the 
 Prodigal Son, " Give us the portion that 
 falleth to us." Unlike the prodigal, how- 
 ever, they did not waste their money in 
 riotous living ; they bought estates, and 
 went into mining and other speculations, 
 and added to their store, and married 
 heiresses, and took up their position among 
 the first in the land, while Gayres' was 
 left with a decreasing business and a re- 
 duced capital. Well was it for the bank 
 that the then principal in the firm had al- 
 ways lived, not merely well within his in- 
 come, but so as to save largely out of it. 
 Jeremy Gayre was, indeed, one to have satis- 
 fied the author of Banks and Banking, who 
 thus drew, in pen and ink, a type of a 
 class now well-nigh extinct : 
 
 " He " {i.e. a banker of the old school) 
 " bore little resemblance to his modern 
 successor. He was a man of serious manners.
 
 7 8 .9 US AX DB UMMOyn 
 
 plain apparel, the steadiest conduct, and a 
 rigid observer of formalities. As you 
 looked in liis face you could read, in in- 
 telligible characters, that the ruling maxim 
 of his life, the one to which he turned all 
 his thoughts and by which he shaped all 
 his actions, was, that he who could be 
 trusted with the money of other men 
 should look as if he deserved the trust, 
 and be an ostensible pattern to society of 
 probity, exactness, frugality, and decorum. 
 He lived, if not the whole of the year, at 
 least the greater part of the year, at his 
 banking-house ; was punctual to the hours 
 of business, and always to be found at his 
 desk. The fashionable society at the 
 West-end of the town and the amusements 
 of high life he never dreamed of enjoy- 
 ing." 
 
 Times, even during the noon-day of Mr. 
 Jeremy Gayre's existence, had changed so 
 far that few merchants in a lame wav of
 
 GAYRE, DELOXE, EYLES, ASD GAYRE. 79 
 
 business resided on their City premises. 
 The upper portions of their houses couhl 
 be utiUsed much more profitably, it had 
 been found, than as mere dwelhngs ; and 
 Mr. Gayre, who understood the full import 
 of that old Scotch saw which tells how 
 "many a pickle maks a mickle," when 
 he married let off part of the Lombard 
 Street establishment, moved " west of 
 Temple Bar," and took up his abode in 
 one of the old roomy houses in Xorfolk 
 Street, Strand. 
 
 There was no Embankment then, or 
 thought of one. At high tide the water 
 came lapping up to the railings at the 
 bottom of the street ; and, save at the 
 Strand end, there was no exit. Cabs and 
 vans did not go tearing and rattling over 
 the pavement, as is the case now ; and 
 the dwelling Mr. Gayre bought was as 
 quiet as though it had been situated in 
 some retired City court.
 
 8o S US AN DR UMMOND. 
 
 When in good course of time Joshua 
 Gayre, the son, took unto himself a wife, 
 he set up housekeeping in Brunswick 
 Square, where four sons and one daughter 
 were born and bred. Of these four sons, 
 Jeremy, the eldest, died before he came of 
 age. Edwin in due time went into the 
 bank, in which, while still young he was 
 associated as partner. John elected to take 
 orders ; and, in compliance with the bent 
 of the youngest son's inclinations, a com- 
 mission was bought for Nicholas in a 
 cavalry regiment. 
 
 The three were all good men and true. 
 They sowed no crops of wild oats for their 
 father and themselves to reap. Edwin 
 took kindly to banking, John to the 
 Church, Nicholas to the army. The latter 
 rose rapidly in the service ; he went 
 through the Crimean campaign; and his 
 regiment, crowned with distinction, had 
 just returned to England, when the Indian
 
 GAYEE, DELONE, EYLES, AND GAYRE. 8i 
 
 Mutiny caused it to be again ordered off 
 to the East. 
 
 Five years elapsed before young Gayre, 
 who had fought his way to the rank of 
 colonel, saw his native country once more ; 
 then he came back in obedience to a 
 summons from his father. 
 
 Great trouble had fallen upon the head 
 of the now elderly banker. Edwin was 
 dead, and Margaret had left her husband. 
 Mr. Gayre did not see how the Lombard 
 Street business was to be carried on with- 
 out help, necessitated by the state of his 
 own broken health. 
 
 Should he take a partner, or amalgamate 
 with some other firm ; or would iSTicholas 
 leave the army, and fill the place left 
 vacant by the death of his elder brother? 
 Xicholas took a week to consider, and then, 
 to his father's infinite joy, signified his 
 willingness to devote himself to commerce. 
 
 With a clear head and a stout heart he 
 
 Vol. i. 7
 
 82 5 us AN DB UMMOND. 
 
 set to work to master the mysteries and 
 intricacies of banking ; and if Gayres' had 
 been a different establishment, one in which 
 the energies of an active man might have 
 found full scope, there can be little question 
 he would in the commercial world have 
 risen to eminence. 
 
 But without changing entirely the lines 
 on which the business had hitherto been 
 conducted, he soon saw it would be vain 
 to attempt to make the old bank a monetary 
 power in the City. It might preserve its 
 character for unspotted respectability, and 
 for a lonof time be made still to return a 
 fair income ; but no great financial future 
 could be hoped for a house which had 
 voluntarily dropped behind in the com- 
 mercial race, and wilfully shut its eyes to 
 the great changes for good or for evil 
 being permanently wrought by steam, 
 electricity, luxury, limited liability, the 
 destruction of old landmarks, the extrava-
 
 GAYRE, DKLONE, EYLES, ASD GAYRE. 83 
 
 gance of the Upper Ten, and, in the lower 
 
 stratum of society, the determination of 
 
 Jack to be as good as his master. 
 
 All this did not trouble Mr. Nicholas 
 
 Gayre to any very great extent ; and yet 
 
 it would be idle to deny that it was a 
 
 disappointed man who, leaning over the 
 
 railings in Hj^de Park on that May day 
 
 when Mr. Arbery's bay mare indulged in 
 
 such wild antics, saw Susan Drummond 
 
 for the first time. When he unbuckled 
 
 his sword and took up the pen, when he 
 
 exchanged the saddle for a seat in his 
 
 father's office, there can be no question he 
 
 relinquished a great deal ; but till he tried 
 
 the experiment he fancied he should be 
 
 able to find sufficient excitement in the 
 
 heart of the City to compensate him, in 
 
 part at least, for the career in which, 
 
 when he abandoned it, he had so rapidly 
 
 been rising to distinction. 
 
 By degrees he learnt he and his people 
 
 7-2
 
 84 S USAN BR UMMONB. 
 
 were not made of the stuff out of which, 
 at this time of the world's history, celebrated 
 financiers are fashioned. The game was 
 to be played, but not by him. Great 
 things were possible, but not to Nicholas 
 Gayre ; aud so, feeling he was out of the 
 running, he stepped quietly aside and 
 watched the mercantile game, where, as a 
 rule, the stakes were power or poverty, 
 wealth or bankruptcy, a baronetcy or 
 outlawry, with a certain cynical pleasure 
 he might not have derived from the con- 
 templation of greater things. 
 
 Never, perhaps, in the history of the 
 City of London was there a better time 
 for observing the humours of commercial 
 speculation than the years immediately 
 following his introduction to business 
 life. 
 
 The wild speculation, the reckless private 
 expenditure, the sudden madness of all 
 classes ; the swamping of little men, the
 
 GAYBE, DELONE, EYLES, AND GAYRE. 85 
 
 absorption of small concerns into large, 
 the wholesale annexation of many Naboth's 
 vineyards in order that the great houses 
 might have even " larger gardens of 
 herbs; the pulling down and the rearing 
 up ; the pomp, the pride, the extravagance ; 
 the belief that the tide of apparent pros- 
 perity, then running so strong, would never 
 turn — these things, and many more of the 
 same kind, were for a time — only a short 
 time, though — stopped by the collapse of 
 
 In one minute, as it seemed, the Corner 
 House tottered and crashed in ; and for 
 a while banks kept failing, firms stopping, 
 old-established businesses tottering. Through- 
 out the whole of England — from orphans 
 who were left penniless, from widows 
 stripped of their incomes, from country 
 rectory and hall and cottage — arose an 
 exceeding bitter cry of "mourning and 
 desolation and woe '*
 
 86 SUSAN DBUMMOND. 
 
 " See the end of these men, Nicholas," 
 said old Mr. Gayre to his son. The pros- 
 perity of many a mushroom concern had 
 tried the banker's faith — indeed, it is not 
 too much to say there were times when he 
 felt he " had washed his hands in innocency 
 in vain ; " but now, as he looked at the 
 commercial ruin hastened by the collapse 
 of the Corner House, he shook his head 
 gravely. " ' I have seen the wicked in great 
 power,' he quoted, ' and spreading himself 
 like a green bay-tree. Yet he passed away, 
 and, lo, he was not : yea, I sought him, 
 but he could not be found.' We have 
 great cause for thankfulness," added Mr. 
 Gayre, after a moment's pause;- and truly 
 such was the case. 
 
 Weighed in the balance of that terrible 
 panic, Gayres' was not found wanting. 
 Every security was safe in the strong- 
 room ; the bank needed no help — na}^ it 
 found itself able to give assistance ; through
 
 GAYRE, BELOSE, EYLES, ASD GAYBE. 87 
 
 the ordeal it passed in quiet triumph ; and 
 yet, eight years later, Mr. Nicholas Gayre 
 could not be regarded as a perfectly con- 
 tented man. 
 
 His being a nature which coveted success, 
 it was scarcely to be expected he should 
 feel satisfied with having merely compassed 
 safety. " And yet," as himself remarked, 
 " safety is a very good thing when it means 
 the possession of a comfortable income." 
 
 i ay/
 
 CHAPTEE rV. 
 UTi. gayre's brothee-in-law. 
 
 ^pALKING leisurely towards that 
 JyMg "crib" hard by the Eegent's Park 
 which Sir Geoffrey Chelston had appro- 
 priated as coolly as the cuckoo does the 
 hedge-sparrow's nest, Mr. Gayre employed 
 his niind in dissecting the motives which 
 were taking him to North Bank. Love 
 for his brother-in-law could certainly not 
 be reckoned amongst them. In every 
 capacity of life — as man, as gentleman, 
 as baronet, as husband, father, friend, 
 relative — Sir Geoffrey was distasteful to 
 him. Only for one thing had Mr. Gayre 
 ever felt grateful to the well-born sinner. 
 Sir Geoffrey's life had been so openly shame-
 
 MR. GAYEE'S BBOTHEE-IX-LAW. 89 
 
 ful that it was vain for him ever to think 
 of suing for a divorce. Lady Chelston was 
 Lady Chelston still — living abroad in the 
 strictest retirement on a pension duly paid 
 to her every half-year by the solicitors of 
 Messrs. Gayre and Co. The scandal, now 
 an old story, was confined to the know- 
 ledge of a very few persons ; it had never 
 been a nine days' wonder or a case for the 
 courts. Sir Geoffrey held his tongue about 
 the woman who had made such a wreck 
 of her life, and society did not trouble it- 
 self to ask whether the disreputable Baronet 
 were married or a widower. It knew in 
 either state he was not fit to associate with. 
 Voluntarily he had placed himself outside 
 the pale as well of intimacy as curiosity, 
 and no one thought of being inquisitive con- 
 cerning him. To the Gayres the Chelston 
 connection had ever been a source of loss, 
 annoyance, and disgrace, and it was not 
 love for his brother-in-law that could be
 
 90 S USAN BR UMMOND. 
 
 one of the reasons now drawing Mr. Gayre 
 to the unaccustomed pastures of the Eegent's 
 Park. 
 
 Given to sarcastic analysis of the motives 
 of others, no one could accuse Mr. Gayre 
 of undue lenity towards his own. It was 
 not as a censor he regarded the foibles of 
 his fellows ; on the contrary, his great fail- 
 ing happened to be that he looked on life 
 — unconsciously, perhaps — as a bystander 
 at a game. He knew all the moves and 
 tricks and subterfuges, and he watched the 
 play with a cynical interest which even 
 extended to the working of his own 
 heart. 
 
 Surprised perhaps at finding a Jiuman 
 weakness in that great citadel, he would 
 trace its birth and career with a curious and 
 intelligent attention. As some persons have 
 a mania for the study of bodily disease, 
 his craze was to watch the manifesta- 
 tion of mental sin and folly. Making due
 
 MB. GAYBE'S BBOTHEB-IN-LAW. 91 
 
 allowance for original temperament, it might 
 be said his nature had grown up malformed 
 by reason of two accidents in early life. 
 There was good m him and there was bad, 
 and he would have assured any questioner 
 solemnly there was neither bad nor good, 
 that he was an utter negative ; that he had 
 no pleasure except in watching a woman 
 spin a web, and then invite some fly who 
 thought himself ver}^ clever to walk across 
 and see what a beautiful web it was, or, 
 greater ecstacy still, noting the process by 
 which one big thief was robbed by a bigger. 
 Finding so little to do in Lombard Street he 
 had turned his attention to these matters ; 
 and having at length decided to go to Xorth 
 Bank, it was most unlikely he would arrive 
 there till he had ascertained why he had 
 decided to call. 
 
 " Given," he thought, " ten parts, there 
 is one to form some slight conjecture how 
 my precious brother-in-law, without a penny
 
 92 S US AN DR UMMOND. 
 
 of visible income, without property, clia 
 racter, or friends, manages to shuffle along. 
 Shall we say one for that, or is it too 
 much ? We'll say one. Two — because I 
 reaUy can look no longer at my sister's 
 child making such an exhibition of her- 
 self, and feel constrained to stretch out a 
 hand which may save her or — may not. 
 Then there is Sudlow worrying me to death 
 to introduce him. We'll put a half for that 
 — three and a half out of ten ; how much 
 is that per cent, in City phrase ? Never 
 mind ; it leaves six and a half for the girl 
 with the brown eyes, and the wonderful 
 hair, and the pure complexion ; that is a 
 large proportion. Nicholas, my friend, you 
 had better mind what you are at. It's a 
 case, I'm afraid, of either kill or cure ; 
 you'll either find the first half-dozen words 
 you hear her speak disenchant you totally, 
 or else — you've met your fate. But I haven't 
 met her yet," he added more cheerfully —
 
 MH. GAYEE'S BUOTHER-iy-LAW. 93 
 
 " only seen her once with the breadth of 
 the Eow between us — and for that matter, 
 I may never meet her anywhere, or see 
 her again." 
 
 Having arrived at which conclusion, he 
 turned down Xorth Bank, and sought the 
 residence of his kinsman. 
 
 Everyone acquainted with North Bank 
 knows exactly the sort of house, secluded 
 inside high walls, which obtains on the 
 preferable or canal side of the way ; the 
 mysterious postern-gate that, being opened, 
 discloses three yards of gravelled path, a 
 few evergreens, some trellis-work, and a 
 peep of greensward and water beyond ; 
 houses small, it may be, but capable of 
 being in their style made anything — which, 
 indeed, they often are — save respectable. 
 
 Mr. Gayre smiled grimly as he recognised 
 the type of dwelling, and asked the irre- 
 proachable Lavender, who, in striped waist- 
 coat, without his coat, and in what he
 
 8 US AN BR UMMOND. 
 
 modestly called his " small clothes," answered 
 the bell, 
 
 "Is Sir Geoffrey in?" 
 
 Lavender did not know in the least who 
 the new-comer might be ; but he looked 
 at the erect carriage, the trim cut-away 
 coat, not half an inch too wide, not a 
 quarter of an inch two small ; at the 
 cropped head, the military moustache, the 
 quiet tie, the trousers and waistcoat en 
 suite, the command in the cold gray eye, 
 and decided, 
 
 " Here at last is somebody decent come 
 to see master." 
 
 "Well, sir," he answered, shocked at 
 his deshabille and the consciousness there 
 was no one to do the honours, " Sir 
 Geoffrey is in, but he's not up. He did 
 not come home till late last night, and 
 he has not yet rung his bell." 
 
 Which was, indeed, within the letter of 
 truth ; for Sir Geoffrey had not come
 
 MR. GAYRE'S BROTHEB-IN-LAW. 95 
 
 home till so late last night that the water- 
 carts were abroad before he made his 
 appearance, and when he did come was 
 so drunk Lavender had no expectation of 
 hearing his bell till late in the afternoon. 
 
 "I ought to have taken that first check," 
 said Mr. Gayre to himself in the days to 
 come ; but he did not, and went on, '' Is 
 Miss Chelston at home ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered Lavender ; " but — " 
 
 "If you take in my card, she will see 
 me," said Mr. Gayre ; " I am her uncle." 
 
 "I knew it," affirmed Lavender, subse- 
 quently ; " I knew it was somebody decent 
 come to the house at last." 
 
 "If you'll walk in, sir, please," he ob- 
 served to Mr. Gayre; and that gentleman 
 was consequently shown into the morning- 
 room of young Mr. Moreby's lady-love — 
 that lady-love whose doings, and more 
 especially whose spendings, had so distracted 
 the soul of Mrs. Moreby, widow.
 
 96 5 US AX DB UMMOXD, 
 
 "Humph!" reflected Mr. Gayre, looking 
 round the apartment, which was about 
 eleven feet by seven ; "a fool and his 
 money are soon parted." 
 
 " If you will be pleased to walk this 
 way, sir," repeated Lavender, who, having 
 seized the opportunity of donning a coat, 
 now felt himself quite a master of the 
 ceremonies ; then, flinging wide the draw- 
 ing-room door, he announced " Mr. Gayre." 
 
 There was something so ludicrous about 
 the whole business that Mr. Gayre could 
 have laughed in his sleeve, had he not 
 felt it was bad form on his niece's part 
 to wait till he had crossed the small hall 
 and entered the charming apartment over- 
 looking the canal ere coming to make his 
 acquaintance. 
 
 "She is not a duchess," he thought ; 
 " and, considering where I find her, she 
 might be a little more natural. How- 
 -ever — "
 
 ME. GAYRE'S :^JJTHEB-iy-LAW. 97 
 
 " And so at last I see my niece," he 
 said aloud ; and then Lavender discreetly- 
 closed the door, and Mr. Gayre found 
 himseK alone with a most lovely young 
 woman, who, in the shyest manner, gave 
 him her hand and timidly held up her 
 face, so that he could kiss her if he 
 liked. 
 
 Which he did, though with no very 
 great good-will ; and yet there were ten 
 thousand young men in London, to say 
 the least of it, who would have availed 
 themselves of such a chance with effu- 
 sion. 
 
 Well, well, thus runs the world away, 
 and it is only natural that it should. 
 
 " And so at last I see my niece," Mr. 
 Gayre repeated, which, for so usually 
 ready an individual, seemed a needless 
 waste of words. " Let me look at you 
 in the light ; " and, framing her cheeks 
 between his hands, he drew her towards 
 
 Vol. i. 8
 
 98 SUSAN B^UMMOND. 
 
 one of the windows. " If you are only 
 as good as you are pretty," he said, 
 releasing her. 
 
 "0, I • don't think, uncle, I am so very 
 bad," she answered, with delightful con- 
 fusion. 
 
 " How far are you off your copy-book 
 days?" asked Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " What a funny question ! Nine or ten, 
 I suppose." 
 
 "Then you remember self-praise is no 
 recommendation." 
 
 " 0, how dreadful, uncle ! I did not 
 mean to praise myself. no ! I'm very, 
 very sure of that, because — " 
 
 " What is your name, my dear ? " he 
 interrupted. 
 
 " Marguerite," she answered. 
 
 " And your mother was called Margaret. 
 Well, perhaps better so." 
 
 They talked together in the house for 
 a while ; then they walked out on the
 
 MR. GAYBE'S BROTHER-IN-LAW. 99 
 
 sharply sloping lawn for a time longer, 
 she with a dainty parasol over her wealth 
 of dark-brown hair, he bare-headed. Then 
 they returned to the drawing-room, and 
 after she had drawn the blinds half-down 
 they exhausted, as it seemed to Mr. Gayre, 
 all topics of ordinary interest, and he was 
 just racking his brain to think what he 
 should say to her next, when the door 
 opened and Sir Geoffrey Chelston — clean, 
 clothed, and in his right mind, and on 
 his very, very best behaviour — entered the 
 apartment. 
 
 "I take this very kind of you, Gayre," 
 he said — " deucedly kind indeed," he added- 
 And soothed and cheered by these ameni- 
 ties, Mr. Ga^Te resumed his seat. 
 
 By dint of long endeavours to keep 
 
 his hat on three hairs, Sir Geoffrey had 
 
 contracted a habit of shaking his head, 
 
 which caused many persons when first 
 
 introduced to imagine (erroneously) he was 
 
 8—2
 
 loo SUSAy DEUMMOM). 
 
 afflicted with palsy or some other disease, 
 which had somewhat impaired both his 
 bodily and mental powers. 
 
 Under this impression they were wont 
 to challenge him to play billiards and 
 other games, to take his bets, and all 
 that sort of thing, and come signally to 
 grief. 
 
 If subsequently they departed cursing 
 him, surely Sir Geoffrey was not to blame. 
 It was only a habit ; but some men's 
 habits are useful, and his proved emi- 
 nently so. 
 
 "This is your first introduction to your 
 niece, isn't it ? " observed Sir Geoffrey, 
 after a few interesting remarks had been 
 made about the weather and the locality. 
 
 " Well, and what do you think of her ?" 
 he went on, with a knowing twitch of 
 his head, when his brother-in-law had sig- 
 nified acquiescence with the previous pro- 
 position. "She's not so bad, is she?"
 
 ME. GAYEE'S BEOTHEE-IX-LAIV. loi 
 
 " I have already taken the liberty of 
 remarking to her that if she is only as 
 good as she is pretty — " 
 
 " Ay, that's the thing," interrupted Sir 
 Geoffrey ; as though he himself were such 
 a paragon of virtue, the mere idea of 
 naughtiness proved repugnant to his moral 
 sense ; " that's what I used to say to 
 her and Susan, ' Beauty's only skin deep,' 
 ' Handsome is as handsome does.' Haven't 
 I told you so a hundred times over, 
 Peggy, when you were going to fly at 
 Susan and scratch the ten commandments 
 over her face because I said she was 
 prettier than you ? " 
 
 " I feel no doubt you have," answered 
 Peggy, with a tender smile, which was 
 somewhat belied by a look in her eyes 
 that made Mr. Gayre fancy in her heart 
 she desired nothing better at that moment 
 than to grave some lines on Sir Geoffrey's 
 sallow cheek.
 
 I02 SUSAN DRUMM02iD. 
 
 "Who was Susan?" asked the banker. 
 " I always thought you had never but 
 the one daughter." 
 
 " That's right enough — no more I had. 
 Who was Susan ? why, the merriest Httle 
 lass in the whole world, and fond of me, 
 too — far fonder than my own child ever 
 was. Lord ! it seems no longer ago than 
 yesterday when she used to come running 
 across the lawn, aud say to me, with 
 both her little arms round my knees, 
 "Dive me a wide, papa Geoff ; didn't 
 she, Peg?" 
 
 "I have no doubt she did," Peg rephed, 
 with another smile. 
 
 "Doubt!" repeated Sir Geoffrey; "why, 
 you know she did, just as well as you 
 know what a nice passion you used to get 
 into when anybody said she had a better 
 complexion than you." 
 
 " I was only a child, papa," reminded 
 Miss Chelston.
 
 MR. GAYRKS BROTHER-iy-LAW. 103 
 
 "Ay, only a child," agreed the Baronet, 
 with another indescribable twitch ; " and 
 now you're a young woman, there's no 
 need for you to be jealous of anybody, 
 though I say it. And that brings us back 
 to what your uncle remarked, that he 
 hoped you were as good as you were 
 pretty." 
 
 " Well, you are a strange pair," con- 
 sidered Mr. Gayre, contemplating parent 
 and child with admiration. 
 
 " And this Miss Susan," he suggested — 
 " is she not pretty now ? " 
 
 " yes, she is," said Sir Geoffrey, *' but 
 she's not as handsome as my girl there. 
 Those very fair children somehow don't 
 look so well at twenty as at six. I can't 
 tell why. Susan's good, though, that 
 she is." 
 
 Having dealt his daughter which back- 
 handed compliment, and leaving both his 
 hearers to take whatever meaning they
 
 1 04 S USAJS' DR UMMOND. 
 
 pleased out of it, the Baronet proposed an 
 adjournment to the next apartment. 
 
 ''You must have a glass of claret, Gayre, 
 after your walk." he declared, with the 
 hospitable warmth of a man who gets his 
 claret for nothing. Mr. Gayre did not want 
 the wine, but he accepted the proffered 
 civility, as he wished to speak to his 
 brother-in-law alone. 
 
 "Xow look here," exclaimed Sir Geoffrey, 
 piloting the way to the dining-room, " take 
 some champagne, do — claret's an un-English, 
 ungenial sort of tipple, except when one 
 can't get anything else. I have some first- 
 rate champagne, as you'll say when you 
 taste it, and I'm going to have some my- 
 self. Champagne and soda-water is the 
 best " pick up " I know, and, to tell 
 you the truth, I feel I need a pick up 
 of some sort. We did keep the ball 
 moving last night. I'd have been right 
 enough if I'd never gone to bed ; but now
 
 MR. GAYRE'S BROTHER-iy-LAW. 105 
 
 my head seems spinning round and round, 
 like a coach-wheel. You'll have cham- 
 pagne? That's right, with just a dash of 
 brandy in it. I always advise the brandy; 
 champagne's cold without, and, some people 
 find, absolutely unwholesome too." 
 
 Mr. Gayre said he would venture upon 
 the champagne minus the brandy ; and this 
 point being amicably settled, Sir Geoffrey, 
 to show he was not recommending what 
 he feared to practise, followed up the first 
 prescription he ordered for himself with 
 that he advised for his brother-in-law ; 
 after which proceeding, regarded by Mr. 
 Ga^re with curiosity, not to say awe, the 
 Baronet stated he felt much better — "fit 
 for anything, in fact." 
 
 "You've dropped into a nice place here," 
 said the banker, as he and Sir Geofirey 
 sauntered down the garden. "You might 
 be a hundred miles in the country." 
 
 " Yes, it's quiet enough in all conscience,"
 
 io6 5 USAy I)R VMM oyjj. 
 
 was the reply ; " fact is, it's too quiet and 
 out^of-tlie-way for me. Still, we can't have 
 everything ; and the little cottage costs me 
 nothing. Moreby — capital young fellow — 
 lent it to me." 
 
 " So I heard," remarked Mr. Gayre ; and 
 he might have added he had also heard 
 how Mr. Moreby came to lend it. 
 
 " His mother took him abroad all in a 
 hurry, and not an hour too soon," explained 
 the new occupier, in the tone of a man 
 who is paid for denouncing vice at the 
 rate of about a guinea a word. " He was 
 going a pace! Why, just look how this 
 house is furnished ! I only wish I had the 
 money it must have cost him." 
 
 Eeally, to hear Sir Geoffrey talk, any 
 one might have imagined he had never 
 possessed a spare sixpence or been given a 
 solitary chance in Iiis life. 
 
 "It was too good an opportunity to let 
 sHp," he went on, finding his brother-in-law
 
 MR. GAYKE-S BliOTHEE-lS-LAW. 107 
 
 made no comment on the desire last ex- 
 pressed, " for I had not a roof to put 
 my head under. Don't think that would 
 have troubled me^ though ; I can live any- 
 where and on anything. I'd as soon sleep 
 on the floor as not ; and nobody ever 
 heard me object to gin when I could not 
 get Cliquot ; " and having, in the con- 
 templation of his own self-denial, almost 
 dropped his hat. Sir Geoffrey shook it on 
 again with the conscious rectitude of a 
 person earning two pounds per week by 
 hard labour, and contriving to save fifteen 
 shillings out of it. 
 
 "But it was my daughter," he said, after 
 a slight pause. " I couldn't let the girl 
 remain without a shelter, however willing 
 I might be to make shift myself." 
 
 "It was a difficult position, certainly," 
 observed Mr. Gayre, feehng this concession 
 could not compromise him. 
 
 " Difficult ! I believe you ! Give you
 
 io8 S US AN BE UMMOND. 
 
 my word, I could not sleep o' nights 
 wondering what on earth I was to do with 
 her ; " a statement which, as Sir Geoffrey 
 very rarely slept of nights, usually soundly 
 reposing by day, meant less than it might 
 otherwise have done. 
 
 " You called her Marguerite, she tells me." 
 
 " Faith, that I did not, or anybody else, 
 so far as I know, except herself. Her 
 right name is Margaret, of course, but she 
 thinks Marguerite fits her better, somehow; 
 and if it pleases her, I am sure it may 
 please me." 
 
 " Has she many friends in London ? " 
 asked Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " Many ! — not a soul ; I don't know what 
 to do with her, or how to set about 
 getting her acquaintances. Time slips away; 
 and I can't tell how long I shall be able 
 to keep this house. It's confoundedly 
 awkward altogether, for something ought 
 to be doing."
 
 MB. GAYRE'S BEOTEER-IN-LAW. 109 
 
 " You want to get her married, I sup- 
 pose ? " 
 
 " If I can," answered Sir Geoffrey, break- 
 ing off a bay-leaf and eating it with great 
 apparent relish. 
 
 "You'll not compass your object, I'm 
 afraid, by sending her out in the Park." 
 
 " Have you seen her there, then ? " said 
 Sir Geoffrey, reddening under his brother- 
 in-law's steady gaze. 
 
 " Yes ; that is how I knew you were 
 in town. You had better let her abandon 
 equestrian exercise. In the first place, she 
 can't ride." 
 
 " JSFo, indeed, she can't," groaned Sir 
 Geoffrey ; " if she could she'd have been 
 worth a fortune, in a way of speaking. 
 But she'll never be of any use to me — 
 not the least in the world ; she hasn't 
 a notion of making herself useful. Why, 
 with her appearance — " 
 
 " You will have to be careful what you
 
 1 10 S USAN BE UMMOND. 
 
 are about," interposed Mr. Gayre, with 
 decision. "You must get some lady of 
 position to introduce her." 
 
 "I don't know who that lady is to be, 
 then," retorted Sir Geoffrey. " If you can 
 find her, I shall feel mightily obliged to 
 you. It's all very easy to talk, but I can 
 tell you it's not so easy to do. Why, 
 there's my own second cousin on the 
 mother's side. Lady Digley. When I was 
 a boy the old people thought it would be 
 a fine thing to make up a match between 
 us ; and she was brought down to 
 the Pleasaunce on view. But I couldn't 
 stand her nose — too much of the Corio- 
 lanus, Eoman-senator-business, about that 
 nose. However, as I was saying, I wrote 
 to her, telling her my daughter was in 
 London, and mentioning the girl's good 
 looks, and so on, and in plain words 
 asking would she take her up." 
 
 " Well ? " inquired Mr. Gayre.
 
 MR. GAFEE'S BROTHEH-iy-LAW. iii 
 
 "The old hag sent an answer by return. 
 Lady Digley presented her compliments, and 
 the rest of it, and Lady Digley regretted to 
 say circumstances over which she had no 
 control compelled her to decline the honour 
 of making the acquaintance of Miss Chelston. 
 Damn her ! " added Sir Geofirey, with great 
 fervour, referring to Lady Digley, and not to 
 his own daughter. 
 
 Mr. Gayre made no remark for a few 
 minutes, but stood looking thoughtfully down 
 upon the canal. 
 
 The situation undoubtedly was awkward ; 
 and it did not seem as if any fresh revelation 
 was likely to improve its aspect. 
 
 "Why did you bring her to town at 
 all at present ? " he asked, after a pause, 
 during which Sir Geoffrey, looking as much 
 unhke a dove as possible, plucked another 
 leaf. 
 
 " Why ? " repeated that gentleman ; "be- 
 cause I had no other place to leave her. It
 
 112 S USAX BR UMMOyj). 
 
 seems to me, Gayre, you don't at all under- 
 stand how I am situated." 
 
 "I think I do," was the reply; "but had 
 you no friends near your old place with 
 whom the girl could have stayed for a 
 while ? " 
 
 " Deuce a friend," answered Sir Geoffrey. 
 "Believe me, my dear fellow, when a man 
 has got to the bottom of the hill, those 
 who were civil to him at the top find it 
 convenient to forget the fact of his exist- 
 ence." 
 
 " But your daughter," urged Mr. Gayre ; 
 " young people form acquaintances for them- 
 selves, and, as a rule, the young are not 
 mercenary. Was there no single door held 
 wide to welcome my niece ? " 
 
 "Not one." 
 
 "But think — for example, that Susan you 
 were speaking of just now, did she hang 
 back ? " 
 
 " Susan Drummond ? No, she did not
 
 MR. GAYBE'S BROTHER-IN-LAW. 113 
 
 hang back ; but she had nothing in her 
 power. You see, about the time that things 
 got to the worst with us her uncle died, and 
 she had to clear out. She wrote me as nice 
 a letter as you could wish to read. She was 
 always fond of me, poor Susan! I know 
 she thought a deal of me," added the Baronet 
 almost sentimentally. 
 
 Mr. Gayre looked askance at Sir Geoffrey, 
 and wondered what in the world any girl or 
 woman could see personally or mentally to 
 admire in the disreputable jockey and bat- 
 tered roue. 
 
 "There is no accounting for the caprices 
 of the sex," he decided, and reverted to the 
 original question. 
 
 " It will save us both a great deal of time 
 if I am quite plain with you," he said, almost 
 smiling as he spoke in Sir Geoffrey's slowly- 
 lengthening face. " I don't mean you to 
 dip deeper into my pocket than you have 
 done ; but as regards my niece, I should 
 
 Vol. i. 9
 
 1 14 5 us AN DR UMMOND. 
 
 like her, at all events, to have a chance of 
 making something better of life than an utter 
 failure. For this reason I will see whether, 
 amongst my own connection, I cannot find 
 some one to chaperone her ; you must do 
 your part, however. Keep her in the back- 
 ground till she can come to the front pro- 
 perly. Could you not, meantime, get some 
 lady to reside in the house, as governess or 
 companion, eh ? " 
 
 " Well, I'm afraid not," answered Sir Geof- 
 frey. " We've tried that sort of thing before, 
 and though I am sure I was always most 
 courteous and careful, still, ' once give a dog 
 a bad name,' you know ; the respectable ones 
 wouldn't stop, and — " 
 
 Mr. Gayre laughed outright. "We 
 need scarcely pursue the other side of the 
 question," he said, a decision which, on 
 the whole, proved rather a relief to the 
 Baronet. 
 
 "If your daughter had even some young
 
 MB. GA YRE 'S BRO THEB-IX-LA W. 1 1 5 
 
 friend stopping with her for a time," sug- 
 gested Mr. Gayre. " Where is that Miss 
 Drummond ? wouldn't she come ? " 
 
 " I daresay she would ; she spent more 
 than half her time at Ch els ton Pleasaunce. 
 Yes, she'd come fast enough ; but then, you 
 see, I don't know where she is." 
 
 "But your daughter does, no doubt." 
 Sir Geoffrey shook his head dubiously. 
 " I don't think so," he said. 
 
 "Ask her," advised Mr. Gayre ; " there 
 she is." 
 
 And, indeed, there Miss Chelston was, 
 framed within an open window, to which 
 her father at once advanced. 
 
 " Where is Susan Drummond now, do you 
 know ? " he asked ; and Mr. Gayre, standing 
 a step or two behind, watched her face as 
 she answered, 
 
 " Susan Drummond, papa. I haven't an 
 idea. She was in Ireland, staying with some 
 
 people who live near Killarney." 
 
 9—2
 
 1 1 6 iS USAN DB UMMONB. 
 
 "But you've an address where you can 
 write to her ? " 
 
 Miss Chelston lifted her beautiful eyes and 
 looked at her father, as she answered, in the 
 accents of utter truthfulness, "She did tell 
 me where an aunt lived who would always 
 forward on any letters ; but I have mislaid 
 the direction, and quite forget what it was." 
 
 " After that ! " thought Mr. Gayre ; and his 
 meditations as he strolled through Eegent's 
 Park homeward, were of a more unpleasant 
 character than those with which he had 
 amused himself a couple of hours previously.
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 A POSSIBLE SAMARITAN. 
 
 ^T is one thing to ask friends to " take 
 up " a girl, and quite another to get 
 to do it. 
 
 This was Mr. Gayre's experience, at all 
 events. He went very heartily into the busi- 
 ness, in the first instance full of faith and 
 hope, and later on with a species of despera- 
 tion. 
 
 " Margaret's child ! " repeated his brother, 
 now a great dignitary of the Church, with 
 a town house in Onslow square, Eector 
 of Little Fisherton, Canon of Worcester 
 Cathedral, Chaplain to the Queen, and 
 Heaven only knows what besides — ''Mar- 
 garet's child ! Ask Matilda to invite her to
 
 1 18 S USAN DR UMMOND. 
 
 this house and introduce her to our friends ! 
 My dear Nicholas, the thing is an utter im- 
 possibihty. I would not for any considera- 
 tion prefer such a petition to my wife." 
 
 " Why not ? " demanded Mr. Gayre. 
 
 "It is a matter into which I really must 
 decline entering. Your own usually excel- 
 lent sense should tell you it is out of the 
 question persons in our position could for 
 a moment entertain the idea of bringing for- 
 ward the child of our unfortunate sister, 
 and the daughter of that mbst disreputable 
 reprobate Sir Geoffrey Chelston. Our dear 
 Fanny and sweet Julia are not aware even 
 of the existence ot such a cousin. And you 
 say she is in London ; what a dreadful mis- 
 fortune ! " 
 
 Every one was in the same story ; the words 
 might be different, but the sense proved the 
 same. Sir Geoffrey rich might have managed 
 to slip his daughter through a camel's eye 
 into the social heaven presided over by Mrs.
 
 A POSSIBLE SAM ABIT Ay. 119 
 
 Grundy ; but Sir Geoffrey without an acre of 
 land, with no balance at his banker's, Hving 
 on his wits, regarded by gentlemen of his 
 own order as a very leper, had not a 
 chance. 
 
 "I reckoned without mine host," said Mr. 
 Gayre to the Baronet Cagot. "It is not to 
 be done." 
 
 " I told you so at the beginning," 
 answered Sir Geoffrey, who, if he had 
 learned nothing else from experience, could 
 not help knowing the sort of reception any 
 creature belonging to him was likely to meet 
 with from the fashionable world. " You 
 meant it all kindly, Gayre, I know ; but there 
 is no use in trying to kick against the pricks. 
 You had better stop in your own comfort- 
 able home, and not trouble about us out- 
 at-elbow folks up here. If Margaret and I 
 cannot swim together — and it seems we can 
 neither of us do that — we must sink; and 
 the Baronet, as he concluded, regarded his
 
 1 20 S us AN DE UMMONB. 
 
 brother-in-law furtively out of the corner of 
 one knowing eye, for he was wondering what 
 on earth this latest benefactor meant to do, 
 if not for him, for his daughter. 
 
 " Confound him ! " considered Sir Geoffrey, 
 " why does he not adopt her ? If he took 
 her to Wimpole Street, and got some dashing 
 widow to matronise her, and hinted he meant 
 to give her a handsome dot^ he might pick 
 and choose a husband for her. Ah, if I 
 had only in my power what he has in his, 
 I'd soon bring the old dowagers who have 
 sons about me, begging and praying for my 
 daughter's company! But he's only a duffer, 
 that's what he is, spite of his military 
 achievements and the old bank at his 
 back. Lord, how lucky some men are ! " 
 and Sir Geoffrey, with his hat more on one 
 side of his head than ever, wended his 
 virtuous way to pluck the latest pigeon 
 good fortune had made him acquainted 
 with.
 
 A POSSIBLE SAMARITAN. 121 
 
 '' K Gayre were in my shoes he'd starve, 
 that's what Gayre would do," he decided ; 
 and he walked along thinking what a clever 
 fellow Sir Geoffrey Chelston was, and what 
 a fool Nicholas Gayre. "Still, I should like 
 to know his notion about Peggy, because he 
 has some notion, I'll swear." 
 
 Sir Geoffrey would have been ver}^ wrong- 
 in swearing anything of the kind. Mr. 
 Gayre had no fixed notion whatever con- 
 cerning the divine Marguerite. He wanted 
 her to marry well ; but he failed exactly to 
 see how, weighted as she was, she could 
 marry at all. 
 
 " I should say," was the result of Mr. 
 Gayre's mental reflections, " That she is as 
 awkward a girl to get ' settled ' as ever I 
 saw in my life. India would be the place 
 for her ; and yet I don't know. She might 
 get a husband on the voyage out, most 
 likely ; but then it is not every husband 
 that would suit her. If she could have been
 
 122 SUSAN DBUMMOXD. 
 
 properly brought out in London — but I see 
 that is not to be thought of." 
 
 There was one way this might have been 
 accomplished — one way which would have 
 suited Sir Geoffrey and his niece extremely 
 well ; but it is only justice to that excellent 
 sense Canon Gayre, in his suave voice and 
 best pastoral manner, declared Nicholas 
 possessed, to say the idea of adopting his 
 niece had never once crossed the banker's 
 mind. 
 
 Even had he taken to her, which indeed 
 was not the case, he would have thought 
 a long time ere installing himself as a 
 parent to another man's child, and that man 
 Geoffrey Chelston. About Nicholas Gayre 
 there was nothing much stronger than his 
 strong common sense — that sense which 
 induced him, when he went down to war 
 amongst the City Philistines, to drop the 
 title of Colonel, and sink into simple Mr. 
 Gavre.
 
 A POSSIBLE SAMAEITAX. 123 
 
 " I've seen," he said, " vans going about 
 the City with ' Dr. Hercules Smith, blood- 
 manure manufacturer,' and ' Sir Eeginald 
 Jones & Co., patent stench-trap makers,' 
 painted upon them. Thank you, nothing of 
 that sort for me. I have no fancy to figure 
 as Colonel Gayre, banker, like the fellow 
 in the Volunteers who puts on his busi- 
 ness-card, ' Major Eobinson, waste-paper 
 dealer.' ' 
 
 Upon the whole, excessive virtue has a 
 great deal to answer for. Its action, as re- 
 garded Margaret Chelston, had certainly the 
 effect of making Mr. Gayre wonder whether, 
 after all, there might not be some merit 
 in vice. 
 
 '' I need no man to remind me " — thus 
 ran his thoughts — "what a black, disreput- 
 able, sinful old sheep Chelston is ; but hang 
 it ! surely if John's religion has any reaHty, 
 that ought to make him more anxious to 
 help the girl. She is not answerable for
 
 1 24 S USAN DR UMMOND. 
 
 her father's faults ; and after all, she is 
 Margaret's child." 
 
 During the course of the stormy corres- 
 pondence which ensued on the Marguerite 
 question between the Canon and his brother, 
 the banker made some unpleasant remarks, 
 which the Eev. John took as personal 
 injuries, concerning the priest and the 
 Levite who past by on the other side, and 
 left to a Samaritan their proper work of 
 tending the man who had fallen among 
 thieves. 
 
 Nicholas, being at the time not merely 
 very angry, and greatly disappointed, but 
 possessed by a gibing devil, which at times 
 " rent," and caused him to foam at the 
 mouth," ransacked the New and Old Testa- 
 ment for texts concerning the pride and 
 worldliness of priests and Levites, to hurl 
 at his brother's head. The Canon simply 
 " ducked," and declined the contest ; he 
 would not argue, he said, with a man in so
 
 A POSSIBLE SAMARITAN. 125 
 
 " unfit " a state of mind. He promised to 
 remember him in prayer. He alluded to St. 
 Paul's oft-quoted statement concerning evil 
 communications corrupting good manners, 
 and mildly hinted he feared communication 
 with that evil thing Sir Geofirey Chelston 
 was corrupting the small amount of morality 
 Nicholas had brought with him out of the 
 army. 
 
 In good truth, John Gayre was as furious 
 as a Christain and a canon of Worcester 
 might be. In orders he had done remark- 
 ably well ; yet, since the death of his eldest 
 brother, he had often felt that, but for 
 orders, he might have done much better. 
 Further, he never really loved Nicholas ; and 
 Nicholas, on his part, had not fraternised 
 with " canoness " Gayre and the mnior 
 canonesses Gayre as he ought to have done. 
 When dear Julia published a song for the 
 benefit of the Lambeth Shoe and Stocking 
 Society, Nicholas suggested, first, it was
 
 1 26 >S us AN DB UMMOND. 
 
 brought out less to benefit bare-footed 
 Lambeth than as a bid for a future primacy ; 
 and then offered to buy up the edition and 
 sell it for waste paper, on condition she 
 forswore musical composition ever after ; 
 whilst he criticised so mercilessly some 
 " angelic " hymns written by our sweet 
 Fanny, that the Canon's favourite child, 
 feeling all moderate Church views vanity, 
 and meeting with a sympathetic " priest," 
 was for some time in danger of going over 
 to the Eitualists, which would indeed have 
 proved a most grievous slap in the face 
 for that party from whose hands Canon 
 Gayre hoped some day to receive a mitre. 
 
 Altogether, a great division seemed im- 
 minent in the Gayre camp one morning, in 
 the fine June following that late May when 
 Mr. Sudlow, leaning over the rails in Hyde 
 Park, admired rank and beauty as, embodied 
 in Miss Chelston, it rode timidly along the 
 Eow.
 
 A POSSIBLE SAM ABIT AN. 127 
 
 Mr. Gayre, banker, walking Cityward, had 
 left an extremely nasty letter behind him in 
 Wimpole Street, emanating from Mr. Gayre, 
 Canon. It went into money matters, always 
 a fatal and terrible subject to salect for 
 family correspondence. It expressed quite 
 plainly, grievances which had never before 
 been more than hinted at. It referred to 
 one topic, regarding which Nicholas desired 
 forgetfulness ; and it said a man who 
 voluntarily permitted himself to become 
 entangled for a second time with Sir Geoffrey 
 Chelston could only be considered a fit can- 
 didate for the nearest lunatic asylum. 
 
 " Moderate," proceeded Canon Gayre, 
 " as you must be too well aware, my means 
 are, in comparison with what I expected, 
 and had a right to expect, they would prove, 
 I should not have hesitated joining you in 
 settling a small annuity on the daughter of 
 our unfortunate and erring sister ; but to be 
 exposed to your insolence because I refuse
 
 128 5 USAN DB UMMOKD. 
 
 to disgrace my cloth by taking, as a mmate 
 of my house and the associate of my wife 
 and daughters, the child of a blackleg and 
 a woman who forgot what was due to her 
 name and her sex, is more almost than I 
 can bear. Happily, however, I am not vin- 
 dictive, and I shall earnestly pray you may 
 never hereafter find some of the texts of 
 that Scripture you now so painfully wrest, 
 applicable to yourself. — Faithfully your 
 sorrowing brother." 
 
 There was so much " excellent sense," com- 
 mon sense, worldly sense, plain useful sense, 
 in this epistle, that it stung Nicholas to the 
 quick. So far as money matters went, he felt 
 himself blameless. He knew, if no one else 
 did, his father had made a fair will, and left 
 John as much or more in hard cash as the 
 business would stand. He remembered the 
 annuity paid to his sister came out of his 
 own pocket ; he was aware that, had he 
 not given up a profession to which he was
 
 A POSSIBLE SAMARITAN. 129 
 
 devoted, Jolin's large income Avould have 
 been considerably smaller ; he understood 
 perfectly what his brother wanted was a 
 share in the bank, if not for himself, at least 
 for one son-in-law, or perhaps two sons-in- 
 law. It was not as regarding £ s. d. the 
 letter irritated, though it hurt ; no arrow 
 the Canon shot really found its mark, save 
 that which criticised the prudence of his 
 conduct regarding Margaret No. 2. 
 
 He was well aware he had acted on an 
 impulse he was powerless to control, and 
 Mr. Nicholas Gayre did not hke to act on 
 impulse. 
 
 Canon Gayre himself could not have looked 
 with more disfavour on such a freak than 
 the banker of Lombard Street. 
 
 " However," thought that gentleman, " I 
 have gone in for my niece, and I shall try if 
 I cannot ' see her through.' The materials 
 are not promising; nevertheless, I thmk 
 something may be done. The world is not 
 
 Vol 3. 10
 
 1 30 8 US AN DB UMMOND. 
 
 bounded by my own social horizon, and it is 
 inhabited by a good many other people 
 besides Canon John and Lady Digley — only, 
 who is going to play the part of good Sa- 
 maritan ? " 
 
 A pertinent question, truly. Mr. Gayre 
 had gone the round of his own friends, and 
 met with " No," for answer in every tone 
 and every form of words a negative could 
 be uttered. It was clearly of no use ex- 
 pecting help from Sir Geoffrey ; and so far 
 the young lady herself appeared either 
 unable or unwilling to mention the name of 
 any person with whom she could take up 
 her abode, or who might be induced to 
 enter the gates of North Bank as an honoured 
 guest. 
 
 " Still," considered Mr. Gayre, " the 
 thing is to be done, and I must do it, if only 
 to take the canoness ' down a peg ;' " in- 
 spirited by which idea, the banker mended 
 his pace, and, walking briskly Cityward,
 
 A POSSIBLE SAMAEITAN. 131 
 
 reached Lombard Street just as the clock 
 of St. Mary Woolnoth chimed half-past 
 eleven. 
 
 On the top step of the three which at 
 Gayres' afforded departing customers that 
 number of chances for breaking a Hmb the 
 banker beheld an apparition which filled 
 him with ire. It took the bodily form of 
 Lavender, but behind it Mr. Gayre knew 
 stood the prompting figure of Sir Geoffrey. 
 Now, he had told that worthy in plain and 
 unmistakable language he must not ask him 
 for money or appear at the bank. "Here 
 is the first breach of our convention," he 
 muttered, acknowledging with but scant 
 courtesy Lavender's pleased and respectful 
 greeting, and receiving the letter written by 
 the Baronet's own hand in a somewhat un- 
 gracious manner. 
 
 "I took it to Wimpole Street, sir," ex- 
 plained the man, "but you had just left; 
 
 and as Sir Geoffrey he wanted an answer 
 
 10—2
 
 1 32 SUSAN BE UMMOND. 
 
 very particular, I got on a bus, and came 
 here as fast as I could." 
 
 "Don't stand there," answered Mr. Gayre 
 testily. " I can't attend to you for a few 
 minutes — wait inside till I am at leisure." 
 And having thus successfully snubbed poor 
 Lavender, and permitted the bank porter, 
 and consequently every clerk in the estab- 
 lishment, to see there was " something up 
 with the governor," he walked into his own 
 room, still holding Sir Geoffrey's envelope 
 unopened in his hand. 
 
 There was a pile of letters awaiting his 
 attention, and to these — laying aside the 
 Baronet's epistle, as though some serpent 
 might be expected to crawl out of it — he 
 first addressed himseK. 
 
 Almost at the bottom of the heap he 
 came upon a tinted envelope, with an im- 
 posing crest wrought in silver for seal. The 
 banker smiled as he drew out the enclosure, 
 and read :
 
 A POSSIBLE SAMABITAK. 133 
 
 '' Brunswick Square, Wednesday, 
 "Deak !Mr. Gayre, — As usual, I am in 
 trouble, and also as usual I ask you to advise 
 and help me. 
 
 " My poor little Ida is still ailing, and 
 Dr. Tenby says I must get her out of town. 
 He does not want her to go far away, as it 
 will be necessary for him to see her fre- 
 quently. He recommends me to take a 
 house in the country, and yet near London — 
 for, sweet darling, she is so delicate, she re- 
 quires every possible home comfort. There 
 is a place to let near Chislehurst (fur- 
 nished) which, from the description I have 
 received of it, would, I think, suit her 
 exactly; but, alas, I am chained to the sofa 
 with a sprained ankle. There is no hope 
 of my being able to walk for weeks ; and 
 the agent writes that the house is sure 
 to be snapped up immediately. What 
 am I to do? Have you any elderly 
 and reliable clerk who could go down
 
 1 34 aS USAX DE UMMoyD. 
 
 and bring back a faithful report of "The 
 Warren ? " 
 
 " Of course, whatever expenses might be 
 incurred I should' be only two happy to 
 pay. I am always encroaching on your 
 kindness ; but I know you ^vill forgive me. 
 Is not the weather lovely now? It does 
 seem so dreadful to be pent indoors, with 
 the sun shining and the birds singing. — 
 Yours very sincerely, 
 
 " Eliza Jubbijs'S." 
 
 "Eliza Jubbins will be the Good Samari- 
 tan," said Mr. Gayre aloud in triumph. "I 
 wonder how I could be so stupid as never 
 even to think of her ; " and seizing a pen, 
 he wrote back : 
 
 '" Dear Mrs. Jubbixs, — I will go to Chisle- 
 hurst for you with much pleasure. Tell 
 me to whom I must apply for an order. 
 When I call with a full report I shall hope 
 to find you and Ida much better. — Yours 
 faithfully, I^icholas Gayee.
 
 A POSSIBLE SAMABITAX. 135 
 
 " XoTT to see what Chelston wants. I 
 wish he had not selected this particular 
 time for beginning to worry me ; " and, 
 seizing the Baronet's epistle, he tore it 
 open with the air of a man determined to 
 to face the worst. 
 
 And behold, after all, there was nothing 
 so very terrible — only a crossed cheque, 
 with a good signature attached, which Sir 
 Geoffrey wanted his brother-in-law to cash. 
 
 " For I have no banking account," he 
 explained ; " and if I took it to any of 
 the tradespeople I should perhaps be ex- 
 pected to leave most part of the change 
 behind me." 
 
 Mr. Gayre pressed his bell. 
 
 " Spicer," he said, " send in the person 
 who has been waiting for me, and tell 
 Hartlet I want him." 
 
 Doubtful, perhaps, of the reception he 
 might meet with. Lavender hung beside 
 the door till the banker, with all his usual
 
 136 S US AN DB UMMOND. 
 
 affable frankness when addressing those 
 inferior to himself restored, bade him come 
 forward ; and while Hartlet was absent 
 getting fifteen ten-pound notes, the precise 
 form Sir Geoffre}^ had requested the change 
 might take, asked how Miss Chelston was, 
 and remarked on the fineness of the weather, 
 and altoo^ether relieved and satisfied the 
 
 man. 
 
 " 0, by-the-bye," said Mr. Gayre at last, 
 " do you remember one day when you 
 were in the Eow seeing a gentleman's 
 horse shy at a stone roller ? It was a 
 hunter — ^bay, with black legs." 
 
 " Yes, sir, well ; he was riding with Miss 
 Drummond. I don't know if you noticed 
 her horse — a very handsome animal too." 
 
 "It was the bay took my fancy," an- 
 swered Mr. Gayre. " Do you happen to 
 know the rider's name ? " 
 
 " No, sir, I never saw him before ; but 
 he was a free-spoken sort of gentleman,
 
 A POSSIBLE SAMARITAN. 137 
 
 not long back from the Colonies, as he 
 gave me to understand, and, if I remember 
 right, he said he and Miss Susan had ridden 
 across from a place I think he called Enfield 
 Highway. I don't know if I am quite right 
 in the name." 
 
 " There is an Enfield Highway," remarked 
 Mr. Gayre ; and then he put up the notes 
 in an envelope, which he handed to Laven- 
 der, smiling to think hovr far matters seemed 
 to have advanced in the course of a single 
 morning. 
 
 " I'll see, my dear niece," he decided, 
 " whether I cannot ascertain Miss Drum- 
 mond's address, which you say you have 
 forgotten."
 
 CHAPTEE YI. 
 
 ELIZA JUBBINS. 
 
 jHEN Colonel Gayre decided to ex- 
 change his sword for a pen, he 
 took up his residence in Brunswick Square 
 with old Mr. Gayre, who had long deter- 
 mined not to remove from that central 
 and convenient locality till the time came 
 for him to be carried to the Gayre vault 
 in Highgate Cemetery. 
 
 The house was situated on the north, or 
 quietest, side of the square. IN'o fault 
 could be found with the number or size 
 of the rooms, the healthfulness of the situa- 
 tion, or the general air of comfort pervading 
 the whole dwelling. Nevertheless, Mrs. 
 John Gayre and her husband both professed
 
 ELIZA JUBBIXS. 139 
 
 themselves surprised at tlieir father elect- 
 ing to stop in a house where he had known 
 so much trouble. His wife and son both 
 died in it ; and there, also, he faced that 
 bitter sorrow concerning his daughter. 
 
 John urged the old man to make his 
 home with them, or, at least, to move 
 further westward, and " away from all the 
 sad memories which clustered around Bruns- 
 wick square ; '' but his parent asked in re- 
 turn, "Where could I go that it would be 
 possible for me to forget ni}^ dead ? " 
 
 Those were the days ere it had become 
 a fixed belief of the Enohsh nation that 
 happiness and health are to be compassed 
 by eternal change of residence ; but yet 
 John Gayre felt it very unreasonable for 
 any one to refuse the delights of constant 
 clerical companionship and those intellec- 
 tual pleasures only to be found in the more 
 fashionable parts of London. He and his 
 wife became more exercised in their minds
 
 I40 S USAN DR UMMOND. 
 
 than ever as to whether the sole-survivmg 
 member of the Gayres meant to take a 
 certain "designing" manager into partner 
 ship. Long previously Mrs. John had set- 
 tled future banking arrangements entirely 
 to her own satisfaction. Her brother was 
 to put in a certain amount of money ; and 
 then his son would marry dear Julia or 
 Fanny, and so " preserve " Gayres for the 
 family. John had been " pushed forward " 
 in the Church in a truly "miraculous man- 
 ner," but his wife wished him to be pushed 
 forward a great deal more. 
 
 A most worldly and ambitious woman, 
 she was constantly trying to manage an old 
 gentleman who erred, perhaps, on the side 
 of fancying that all his life he had con- 
 trived to manage exceedingly well for him- 
 self. Mr. Gayre, however, utterly declined 
 to be managed. He got very tired, he 
 said, of general society, and, resisting all 
 attempts to induce him to change his abode.
 
 ELIZA .JTCBBIXS. 141 
 
 he " shut himself up," to quote Mrs. John 
 Gayre's own words, "to question the justice 
 of the Ahnighty." But in this statement 
 she was quite wrong. Mr. Gayre was a 
 much truer Christian than his daughter-in- 
 law had ever been. He had lost, but he 
 did not sorrow as one who has no hope ; 
 disgrace had touched him, but he went 
 among his fellow-men and transacted his 
 business notwithstanding. As for other 
 matters, he still maintained his custom of 
 giving four formal dinner-parties each year ; 
 and if the guests who accepted his invita- 
 tions seemed to Mrs. John " dreadful people," 
 they suited the banker a vast deal better 
 than the folks he met when seduced to an 
 " at home " in Onslow-square. 
 
 They might not know much of Court 
 or the " dear Queen," or dukes and duch- 
 esses, but some of them were acquainted 
 with Baring and Eothschild ; and if they 
 could not talk about the latest pieces of
 
 142 SUSAN BRUMMONB. 
 
 fashionable scandal, they were aware how 
 stocks stood, and shook their heads mourn- 
 fully over Jones's huge failure, and told 
 how Smith had netted fifty thousand 
 at one transaction. Further, at his dinner- 
 table he delighted to see the clergyman 
 from the church situate in Eegent Square, 
 just at the back of his own house, and 
 any officer or civilian to whom Nicholas 
 asked him to show a little attention. 
 
 There was plenty to eat in Brunswick 
 Square, and of the best quality, Mr. Gayre's 
 spreads differing in this respect from the 
 Onslow Square parties, where, as once was 
 said, a fellow never got anything except 
 " water ices and iced water." 
 
 Mrs. John Gayre had, indeed, reduced 
 gentility to a science. Her " social gather- 
 ings " finally became so eminently genteel, no 
 one who could help it went to them twice. 
 Mr. Gayre had reason when he objected to 
 drive all that distance and stand "in a
 
 ELIZA JUBBIXS. 143 
 
 crowd" with nobody he knew near him, 
 and get nothing in the way of food save a 
 morsel of sandwich and a wine-glassful of 
 claret-cup. ^Vhat he enjoyed, and what 
 really kept him in Brunswick Square, was 
 the companionship of a few old friends, 
 who liked their rubber and a bit of sup- 
 per to follow, and something hot and com- 
 fortable in the way of punch as a genial 
 good-night ; all Hghts out by half-past 
 eleven, and the whole household warmly 
 asleep before twelve. Insomnia was not a 
 thing Mr. Gayre knew much about, and 
 he did not want to know about it. 
 
 " The modern manner of living," he was 
 wont to declare, "brings all sorts of evil 
 in its train ;" a sentiment his friends in 
 Bedford and Eussell Squares and Gower 
 and Guildford Streets were quite willing to 
 echo so long as old-fashioned customs pre- 
 sented so pleasant an aspect as they did in 
 the hospitable banker's house.
 
 144 S USAN DB UMMOSB. 
 
 Amongst the friends who for many a 
 long year after Mrs. Gayre's death had 
 helped to soothe the widower's loneliness by 
 taking a hand at a rubber was a certain 
 Mr. Jubbins, who, ^though not old in com- 
 parison with most of the worthies wont to 
 assemble in the comfortable drawing-room, 
 was certainly by no means youthful. His 
 father had been a well-to-do oil-merchant 
 in a very large way of business ; and Mr. 
 Samuel Jubbins, devoting his attention to 
 the same line of money-making, contrived, 
 through some process, either chanced upon 
 by himself or devised by another person, 
 literally to turn oil into gold. Give him 
 the dirtiest, thickest-looking stuff imaginable, 
 and it came forth from his warehouse 
 clear and beautiful, a tiling to be admired, 
 an article to be paid for. 
 
 This wonderful process seemed also to 
 have produced a similar effect on Mr. Jub- 
 bins. All the oil of his nature was ^ood
 
 ELIZA JUBBINS. 145 
 
 and pleasant and genial. No better, or 
 honester, or kinder man ever cut for deal. 
 He was good to the poor swarming in the 
 courts off Gray's Inn Lane, and other neigh- 
 bourhoods adjacent to his house ; and he 
 bore the tyranny and the tantrums of an 
 elderly maiden sister, whose bitter tongue 
 was the terror of Bloomsbury, with a 
 patience which should have secured him 
 canonisation. 
 
 Amongst his many friends was a solicitor, 
 who lived in great style at a corner house in 
 Bedford Square, having offices in Bedford 
 Eow. This solicitor owned one child, a 
 daughter ; and Mr. Jubbins had dandled 
 this young lady when she was a baby, and 
 won her childish heart with presents of 
 fruit and cakes and confectionery. Her 
 name was Eliza Higgs ; and it may safely 
 be said, as a girl, no greater hoyden ever 
 existed. 
 
 When they were all little folks together, 
 
 Vol. i. u
 
 146 SUSAN DBUMMOyD. 
 
 she and the smaller Gayres were close 
 friends ; and on wet days they were wont 
 to play at battledore and shuttlecock in 
 the wide hall of the Bedford Square house, 
 and drive imaginary coaches and tandems 
 up and down stairs, to the distraction of 
 their elders. 
 
 Eliza Higgs was the youngest and worst 
 of the trio. She had a hard, well~filled-out, 
 good-natured, lively face ; wonderful brown 
 hair ; as stout and straight a pair of legs 
 as ever gladdened a parent's heart ; activity 
 which seemed simply inexhaustible ; and a 
 capacity for getting into mischief which 
 could only be regarded as miraculous. 
 She was in love with Nicholas Gayre, and 
 used to kiss him in a manner the boy re- 
 sented with many shoves and angry remon- 
 strances ; but, on the whole, he liked Eliza 
 very much indeed, and preferred her com- 
 panionship, when any deed of daring was in 
 question, to that of his more timid sister.
 
 ELIZA JUBBiyS. 147 
 
 When Nicholas Gayre returned home for 
 good he found the bouncmg Eliza, Mrs. 
 Jubbins, and the mother of several tallow- 
 faced and delicate children. Mr. Higgs' 
 affairs had arrived at such a state of en- 
 tanglement that he tried to hang himself. 
 Being cut down just in time, Mr. Jubbins 
 stepped forward to the rescue, and proved 
 the splendid fellow everybody had always 
 thought him. He took the Higgs helm, 
 arranged with Higgs' creditors, found money 
 for the Higgs establishment ; and finally, 
 one Sunday morning, when he was escorting 
 Eliza back from St. Pancras church, asked 
 her if she would marry him. 
 
 Had Miss Jubbins known she had kept 
 
 her brother single till he was fifty years 
 
 old, only in order that he might propose 
 
 for her god-daughter, she must have risen 
 
 from her grave ; but she did not know or 
 
 hear Miss Higgs' murmured "Yes." 
 
 The young lady had been warned by 
 
 11—2
 
 T 48 8 us AN DB UMMOND. 
 
 her mamma that a proposal was imminent, 
 and told on no account to indulge in any 
 little affectations or pretences. 
 
 " Our position is too serious, my dear, to 
 be trifled with," said the astute lady ; and 
 accordingly Eliza — who could not forget the 
 shock her papa had given them all, or the 
 mere thread which stood between her and 
 beggary, or, to do her justice, Mr. Jubbins' 
 kindness — gave her lover to understand she 
 would marry him with great pleasure. 
 
 When the happy man reached Bedford 
 Square, he had one of those kisses Nicholas 
 Gayre once received with such disfavour. 
 
 " God bless you, dear," he said ; and 
 went away because he wanted to be alone 
 with his bliss. 
 
 That same afternoon, Mrs. Higgs, who 
 was an eminently practical person, with no 
 tendency to let the grass grow under her 
 feet, called on Mr. Gayre, and had a 
 long chat with that gentleman.
 
 ELIZA JUBBINS. 149 
 
 " I left Liza crying," she said, with a 
 cheerful countenance, after she had told 
 her good news, "and you'd never guess why." 
 
 "Perhaps," suggested the banker — who 
 thought the whole arrangement most sensi- 
 ble and proper, and ' evincing a right feel- 
 ing ' — " because he is nearly thirty years 
 older than herself." 
 
 " dear, no," answered Mrs. Higgs ; 
 " she does not mind that at all." 
 
 " Had she any other lover ? " 
 
 "Not that she cared for." 
 
 "Was she fond of any one who was not 
 fond of her ? " 
 
 "Good gracious! what ar6 thinking of? 
 Certainly not, Mr. Gayre." 
 
 " Then, as I have exhausted all my 
 guesses, will you tell me why your daughter 
 was crying when you left her ? " 
 
 " Because her name would be Jubbins. 
 ' Higgs,' she said, ' was bad enough, but 
 only to think of Jubbins ! ' "
 
 1 50 S us AN BE UMMOND. 
 
 "Ah, those novels, those novels!" ex- 
 claimed Mr. Gayre ; and then with a glad 
 heart, he offered Mrs. Higgs a glass of 
 wine, for the banker was a very kindly 
 man, and sincerely lamented the misfor- 
 tunes of his friends, when they did not 
 ask him for any money to tide them over 
 their troubles; and he thought reverses in 
 a certain rank of life were most lament- 
 able, and that if any one member of a 
 family could help the remainder to regain 
 their former position, it was the duty of 
 that individual to make even a great 
 sacrifice in order to avert the social scandal 
 of wealth being reduced to poverty. 
 
 In the matter of Eliza Higgs, as wife, 
 mother, and widow, she behaved precisely 
 Avith that admirable feeling and excellent 
 sense Mr. Gayre expected. She could 
 scarcely have been human, and failed to 
 prove grateful to the man who thought 
 her perfection, and deemed nothing in the
 
 ELIZA JUBBINS. 151 
 
 world money could purchase, or love think 
 of, too good for his young and handsome 
 wife. 
 
 Xo happier couple could have been found 
 in the whole of Bloomsbury, where Mrs. 
 Jubbins was pointed out as an example 
 to refractory misses, and a rebuke to 
 skittish matrons. 
 
 She learnt to play whist almost as well 
 as her husband, and Mr. Gayre often 
 crossed the square in order to play a 
 rubber, and spend a quiet evening in the 
 Jubbins house, which was ordered on the 
 same lines as found favour on the north 
 side. 
 
 Mr. Jubbins, making money a vast deal 
 more rapidly than Mr. Gayre, spent but 
 a small proportion of his income, and in- 
 vested the rest in good undertakings. He 
 looked up to the banker as his superior 
 in age, rank, and wealth, and Mr. Gayre 
 liked to be so looked up to; therefore the
 
 152 S USAN DR UMMOND. 
 
 intercourse between the two houses grew 
 closer and closer. 
 
 Things were in this state when Nicholas 
 Gayre commenced, under his father's tute- 
 lage, to learn the knowledge and mystery 
 of banking ; and though he never associ- 
 ated freely with, or took kindly to, the 
 Bloom sbury connection, it was impossible 
 for him to avoid seeing a great deal of it. 
 
 "Where could you find kinder or more 
 excellent people ? " asked the old man, who 
 saw, or fancied he saw, a sign of the 
 cloven foot — the West-end mania — in his 
 son. 
 
 "All your friends, sir," answered Mr. 
 Gayre, jun., " do, indeed, appear to be 
 most kind and excellent persons." ("At 
 the same time," he added mentally, " it 
 is quite possible to see too much of 
 them.") 
 
 He made no mention, however, of this 
 feeling to his father. Long habits of mili-
 
 ELIZA JUBBIIs^S. 153 
 
 tary dLscipline, and sincere affection and 
 profound respect for a parent who had 
 always acted kindly and liberally towards 
 him, tied the ex-officer's tongue concerning 
 questions far more vexed and important than 
 the choice of acquaintances or the selection 
 of guests. 
 
 He did not abandon his own circle, but 
 he concealed the weary impatience he felt 
 of the Bloomsbury dinner-parties and social 
 evenings. The Israehtes never could have 
 loathed the wholesome manna and the too 
 plentiful quails to the same extent that 
 Nicholas Gayre learned to hate whist and 
 port-wine and whitebait and lark-pudding 
 and City talk ; but in a most difficult posi- 
 tion he behaved himself remarkably well, 
 and though his father's friends never, per- 
 haps, felt themselves quite at ease when he 
 was of the company, they liked to speak 
 about young Gayre, who, in spite of his 
 having " been at Balaclava, you know, and
 
 1 54 S US AX DB UMMOXD. 
 
 all through the Mutiny, had given up liis 
 profession and his brilliant prospects to please 
 his father, and was settling down in Lombard 
 Street as if he had been sitting behind a 
 desk all his life, like one of our own sons, sir." 
 Years had come and years had gone, 
 since the days when Nicholas and his sister 
 and Eliza Higgs romped through the large 
 house in Bedford Square ; but the first thing 
 Colonel Gayre thought of, when he saw Mrs. 
 Jubbins in the bosom of her family, was 
 concerning those sounding smacks she had 
 been in the habit of bestowing so lovingly 
 and lavishly upon him. He had forgotten 
 all about them and her, till his father piloted 
 him across Brunswick Square, and took him 
 up into the great drawing-room, the windows 
 of which almost faced those of Mr. Gayre's 
 own house, and said proudly, " I have 
 brouo'ht an old friend to see vou, Mrs. 
 Jubbins. I do not suppose you remember 
 my son Nicholas."
 
 ELIZA JUBBIXS. 155 
 
 Did she not, poor soul ? Had not a wander- 
 ing thought gone forth to him across the 
 seas even on her wedding-day? — though 
 Heaven knows there was not a taint of dis- 
 loyalty in her thought to the best husband 
 that ever lived. 
 
 " I am so glad you have come back to us, 
 Colonel Gayre," was her greeting. 
 
 Then it all returned to him — the battle- 
 dore and shuttlecock, the mad galloping up 
 and down stairs, the surreptitious descents 
 to the kitchen, the visits to the housekeeper's 
 room, the kisses, the quarrels, the jam, the 
 scoldings, the delights snatched with a fear- 
 ful joy and terror from under the very eyes 
 of Higgs pere. The change was so complete 
 and so absurd, Colonel Gayre felt the corners 
 of his mouth twitching under the shelter of 
 that friendly moustache, which had so often 
 protected his character for gravity ; but he 
 managed to say what he ought to have said, 
 and say it well. And then ^Ir. Jubbins
 
 iS6 SUSAy BEITMMOND. 
 
 appeared, and the visit passed off pleasantly ; 
 and the Jubbins' children, who were supposed 
 by a Bloomsbury fiction, to inherit the beauty 
 of their mother and the virtues of their 
 father, were introduced, and politics, as well 
 as more material fare, were discussed ; and 
 the head of the house hoped Colonel Gayre 
 would never feel a stranger in it. 
 
 Then once again the years went by, and 
 during the course of them Mr. Jubbins 
 waxed richer and richer, and Mrs. Jubbins 
 comelier, and the Gay res got a little poorer ; 
 and everything seemed going on in the same 
 monotonous groove much as usual, when 
 one day in the spring of 1865, Mr. Jubbins, 
 returning home from the City somewhat 
 earlier than usual, complained of having 
 caught a cold and not feeling very well. 
 
 Ever after he never felt very well, and 
 it was during the long and painful illness 
 which supervened, and eventually carried 
 him where there is no more pain and
 
 ELIZA JVBBINS. 157 
 
 no more sorrow (and Mr. Nicholas Gayre 
 hoped no more whist), that Mrs. Jubbins 
 won her golden spurs as a wife. 
 
 Nursing him she lost flesh and colour, 
 but never cheerfulness. To the last she 
 took a smile with her into the sick-room ; 
 and when Mr. Jubbins died, it was with 
 his poor wasted hand clasped tight in hers. 
 
 " The best woman in the world ! " said 
 old Mr. Gayre enthusiastically, an opinion 
 his son did not feel inclined to controvert. 
 
 He considered Mrs. Jubbins' conduct to- 
 wards her husband unexceptionable ; and 
 if she failed to interest her old playfellow, 
 it was rather because of some deficiency 
 on his part than any shortcoming on hers. 
 
 After the death there ensued more than 
 a nine days' wonder. With the exception 
 of a very small sum secured to the children 
 and a few legacies of no great amount, 
 everything was left unconditionally to the 
 widow.
 
 158 >S US AN DR UMMOXD. 
 
 "Literally everything," said Mr. Gayre 
 senior, who was executor. 
 
 " She'll have the whole City of London 
 asking her in marriage," thought Mr. 
 Nicholas ; but he did not say so. 
 
 He knew nothing vexed his father to 
 such an extent as any reflections on the 
 City ; therefore, if the Lord Mayor and 
 Aldermen and every member of the Cor- 
 poration had come courting to Brunswick 
 Square, he would have refrained his tongue 
 from comment. 
 
 But, as a matter of fact, nobody did any- 
 thincf of the sort. Mrs. Jubbins afforded 
 the many admirers she no doubt possessed 
 small chance of declaring their sentiments. 
 
 For a year she lived in the strictest se- 
 clusion, having Mrs. Higgs, now also a 
 widow, resident with her, seeing no one 
 except a few old and intimate friends, and 
 mourning most deeply and unaffectedly for 
 the husband whose loss, as she told Mr.
 
 ELIZA JUBBISS. 159 
 
 Gap'e, she felt more deeply day by 
 day. 
 
 This was all as it should be ; yet at the 
 end of a twelvemonth, ^Ir. Gayre decided 
 there is a limit even to mourning and pro- 
 priety, and that it would be a serious loss 
 to the world if such a woman took her 
 grief to nurse for ever. 
 
 " It is time she began to wean it," thought 
 the banker. This was after the great crash 
 of 1866, and his attention had been 
 directed even more than usual to the solid 
 advaatages conferred by a large income. 
 " She's the very wife for Nicholas, if he 
 can only be brought to think so. What 
 is there against the match ? Nothing. 
 What is there in favour of it ? Every- 
 thing." And indeed so many golden rea- 
 sons seemed to point to the Jubbins-Gayre 
 alliance as a most desirable one for both 
 parties that the banker decided some step 
 ought to be taken, unless Nicholas meant
 
 i6o SUSAN BRUMMONB. 
 
 to permit such a prize to slip through his 
 careless fingers. 
 
 So entirely at length did this idea take 
 possession of his mind that he determined 
 to broach the subject to " my son 
 Nicholas." 
 
 It was one Saturday morning, and senior 
 and junior were alone in the private room 
 at Gayres', when the old man, without any 
 leading up to the question, asked, 
 
 " Do you never think of getting married, 
 Nicholas ? " 
 
 " Well, no, sir," answered Nicholas ; " at 
 least, for a long time past I have not. 
 Once in a life, surely, is enough for a man 
 to make a fool of himself ; " which remark 
 had reference to a wild romantic passion 
 of the speaker's youth which had come to 
 a disastrous conclusion. 
 
 " Ah, you must forget all that," said Mr. 
 Gayre. " I am sure you would be a great 
 deal happier married. All men should
 
 ELIZA JUBBINS. i6i 
 
 marry, more particularly men who, like your- 
 self, have an old name to transmit, and an 
 old business to bequeath. I know nothing 
 which would give me such pleasure as to 
 see you united to a good wife. You have 
 been such a dutiful son, Nicholas, you de- 
 serve to meet with a woman who could 
 give you more love even than your old 
 father has done." 
 
 There was a touch of deep feeling in 
 Mr. Gayre's voice as he spoke ; and as 
 Nicholas did not know very well what to 
 answer, he only said, 
 
 ''Thank you, sir." 
 
 " And there is a woman," proceeded the 
 banker, "who, I am sure, would make you 
 happy, and I think would take you if you 
 asked her." 
 
 " Indeed ! " exclaimed his son. 
 
 "Yes, Eliza Jubbins." The plunge was 
 made, and Mr. Gayre felt he could go on. 
 " A most suitable match in every respect, 
 
 Vol. i. 12
 
 i62 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 Mcholas. She is a few years younger 
 than yourself. She is still a very hand- 
 some woman ; you know how she ac- 
 quitted herself as a wife. You remember 
 what a daughter she was. She has — 
 but there, I won't mix money matters 
 up with the business. If she had not a 
 penny a year, she would still be a 
 treasure in herself. We know all about her 
 since the day she was born. No after-clap 
 can come in that quarter ; and I believe — 
 I do believe — she always felt a great re- 
 gard for you." 
 
 It would be idle to state that so astute 
 a man as Nicholas had not known for some 
 time previously whither his father's desires 
 were drifting. Nevertheless, this plain in- 
 timation of what Gayres expected from 
 him in the way of a fresh sacrifice came 
 with the force of a blow. 
 
 Marry Eliza Jubbins ! — become stepfather 
 to the young Jubbinses ! — son-in-law to clever,
 
 ELIZA JUBBINS. 163 
 
 manoeuvring Mrs. Higgs ! Settle down for 
 the term of his natural life among the 
 Bloomsbury connection — go voluntarily into 
 the penal servitude of eating, drinking, 
 sleeping, thinking, visiting, with a class he 
 knew he could never really care for, seemed 
 to this man too dreadful a doom to hear 
 mentioned by another. 
 
 Nevertheless, he did not say " No." Long 
 experience of his father had taught him 
 the wisest policy in all family games was 
 to play not trumps, but the most insignifi- 
 cant and inoffensive card he could find in 
 his hand. 
 
 One of those he threw out now. 
 
 " It is early days to talk of anything 
 of that sort," he objected. " She has not 
 been a widow much more than a year, 
 and her tears are not dry yet." 
 
 " Dry them yourself, my boy, then," re- 
 commended Mr. Gayre, with a chuckle of 
 delight at finding Nicholas took his sug- 
 
 12-2
 
 i64 S USAN BR UMMONB. 
 
 gestion so coolly. " There is no time for 
 winning a woman equal to that while her 
 eyes are still wet. Besides, I feel sure 
 she has a fondness for you. I am old, but 
 I can see ; bless you, I have not lived all 
 these years with my eyes shut." 
 
 " That I am certain you have not, sir," 
 repUed Nicholas, in a tone in which re- 
 spect and a pleasant flattery were dex- 
 terously blended. "Yet I must confess it 
 seems to me premature to discuss such a 
 matter." 
 
 " Not in the least — not in the least. 
 Jubbins has been dead over a twelvemonth." 
 said the banker, practically " going into 
 figures." 
 
 "Still — to say nothing of my own ob- 
 jections — I do not think Mrs. Jubbins would 
 feel grateful if she knew we were already 
 disposing of her in marriage." 
 
 " There may be something in what you 
 remark," agreed Mr. Gayre. " Spite of
 
 ELIZA -lUBBiyS. 165 
 
 her excellent sense, Eliza was always a little 
 given to sentimentality. We'll speak no 
 more about the afiair, then, for the present ; 
 only, Nicholas, you will promise me to 
 think about it." 
 
 " Yes, I will do that, on the condition 
 that no word is dropped to Mrs. Jubbins. 
 I must feel myself quite free ; for, to be 
 quite plain, I do not beheve I shall ever 
 marry." 
 
 "That is simply nonsense, my son. 
 You owe somethiug to your family. You 
 are almost the last of the Gayres. John 
 has no sons ; we have not even a distant 
 relation of our own name. If you do not 
 marry, and have children, who is to carry 
 on the business ? " 
 
 Mr. Nicholas made no reply to a ques- 
 tion his father evidently considered crush- 
 ino" ; but he thought two things — one, that 
 the future might safely be left to look 
 after its own affairs ; and another, that if
 
 1 66 
 
 SUSAN BEUMMOND. 
 
 things went on in Lombard Street as they 
 were going, at the end of another thirty 
 years they would be no business called 
 Gayres' to carry on.
 
 CHAPTEE YII 
 
 WILL HE PROPOSE? 
 
 'T was to the house in Brunswick 
 Square, which had for years been 
 tenanted by the Jubbins', that Mr. Gayre 
 repaired on the afternoon following his 
 visit to .Chislehurst. Opinion in Blooms- 
 bury was divided as to whether the banker 
 had proposed to the widow and been 
 rejected, or was still making up his mind 
 to put the momentous question. 
 
 Concerning the first alternative, Mrs. 
 Jubbins could have enlightened her friends ; 
 but with regard to the second it was im- 
 possible for her to say, even mentally, 
 aught save "I hope and I fear." There 
 were days when she hoped, and there were
 
 1 68 >S US AN DR UMMOND. 
 
 days when she feared ; yet as months and 
 years ghded away, she grew very sick with 
 " hope deferred." She beheved the man, 
 the only man she had ever truly loved with 
 the one love of a woman's heart, would 
 some day ask her to be his wife ; never- 
 theless, she did not quite understand him; 
 surely that wound, which had changed the 
 frank, brilliant, charming youth into a still 
 more interesting, if less comprehensible, 
 man, ought to have been healed long 
 ago ? 
 
 Mrs. Jubbins had some reason for believing 
 he meant to marry her. Old Mr. Gayre, 
 keeping to the letter of his promise, if not 
 to the spirit, confided to Mrs. Higgs that 
 " my son Nicholas was thinking seriously 
 of her daughter, and he, Mr. Gayre, should 
 feel glad if the young man proposed, and 
 Mrs. Jubbins accepted him." To Mrs. 
 Higgs, the idea of her daughter wedding 
 into the Gayres seemed a thing almost too
 
 WILL HE PROPOSE! 169 
 
 good to realise, and in her exultation at 
 the suggestion she forgot to maintain that 
 reserve Mr. Gayre had stipulated on. So 
 Eliza was given to understand Nicholas 
 had intimated he meant to " think of her : " 
 and Nicholas, like his father, fulfilling the 
 mere letter of his promise, did for a whole 
 year think of his old playfellow with an 
 ever-increasing dislike towards the connec- 
 tion. He did not want directly to cross 
 his parent's wishes, but he felt to make 
 Eliza Jubbins his wife would be to settle 
 his own future in an utterly distasteful 
 manner. 
 
 He liked the lady well enough — but 
 liking is not love — and though he knew 
 her money would be of use, both to 
 himself and the bank, those thousands, 
 made out of oil, repelled rather than attracted 
 him. Then there were the juvenile 
 Jubbins — commonplace in mind and features, 
 spoiled, delicate, antagonistic, to his per-
 
 1 70 S us AN DR UMMOND. 
 
 liaps over-fastidious taste. Though the 
 Bloomsbury world, or that other world quite 
 away from Bloomsbury, with which he 
 still kept up a friendly intercourse, did 
 not suspect the fact, he had long outlived 
 the old attachment Mrs. Higgs and her 
 daughter often talked about with bated 
 breath. 
 
 He was single, not from any actual 
 objection to the married state, or fancy 
 for one especial fair, but simply because 
 no woman calculated greatly to delight so 
 stern and cynical a judge of the sex had 
 crossed his path. Possibly he was looking 
 for perfection. If so, he had certainly as 
 yet not found it. Upon the other hand, 
 seeing that mediocrity and common-place 
 virtues are often supposed to form a very 
 good embodiment of a higher ideal, it 
 seemed really hard he could not please his 
 father and delight Mrs. Higgs, and return 
 Mrs. Jubbins' attachment and reward her
 
 WILL HE PROPOSE! 171 
 
 constancy ; but all this appeared to Mr. 
 Gayre impossible. The more he thought 
 the matter over, the longer he contemplated 
 himself hedged in by City notions, sur- 
 rounded by a mere moneyed chque, tied 
 to the apron-strings of Bloomsbury gen- 
 tility — travelling life's road in company 
 with the men he had to meet in business, 
 and acting the part of a model stepfather 
 to the Jubbins' brood — the more truly he 
 felt that, putting all question of romance, 
 or love, or the glamour which does encircle 
 some women, totally aside, such a marriage 
 was, for him, out of the question. 
 
 At the end of a year from the time his 
 father first broached the subject he was 
 still " thinking the matter over ; " after 
 which period all necessity for him to think 
 about it ceased — his father died. 
 
 For six months after that event, Mr. 
 Nicholas Gayre, a wanderer here and there, 
 debated what he should do with his life ;
 
 1 72 S USAN DB UMMOND. 
 
 then all in a hurry he made up his mind ; 
 sold the lease of the Brunswick Square 
 house, took another in Upper Wimpole 
 Street, removed the furniture, books, plate, 
 and china left to him under his father's 
 will, and, with the help of three old ser- 
 vants, soon found himself much more at 
 home than had ever been the case since 
 he left the army and took to banking. 
 
 It was about this time Mrs. Jubbins' 
 hopes revived. During the period when, 
 according to his father's desire, he had 
 been thinking of the widow as his future 
 wife, Mr. Nicholas Gayre's manners became 
 quite unconsciously cold and distant to 
 the constant Eliza. Now no longer bound 
 by his father's old-world notions ; free from 
 the Bloomsbury servitude, wherein he had 
 duly fulfilled his term ; free to think and 
 talk of other things besides money, and 
 stocks, and investments, and commercial 
 imprudence, and mercantile success ; free.
 
 WILL HE PROPOSE! 173 
 
 further, to marry whom he chose, or no 
 one at all, Mr. Gayre grew quite amiable, 
 and fell easily back into the familiar, though 
 not close, intimacy which had marked his 
 intercourse with the Jubbins family after 
 his return from soldiering. 
 
 As a matter of course, the good-looking 
 Eliza took it for granted he would step 
 into his father's place as adviser-in-chief 
 concerning the Jubbins property. 
 
 The title-deeds, the scrip of all sorts, 
 the • shares, the trade secrets, were under 
 lock and key in Gayres' strong-room. At 
 Gayres' Mrs. Jubbins continued the account 
 her husband formerly kept there. Had he 
 felt curious about the matter, Mr. Nicholas 
 Gayre might have ascertained almost to a 
 penny what she spent, and how she spent 
 it. There was nothing which pleased the 
 lady so much as getting into a muddle, 
 and being compelled to ask Mr. Gayre to 
 help her out of it.
 
 1 74 -S USAX BE UMMOXD. 
 
 She made mountains of mole-hills in order 
 to write notes to him, and, herself a most 
 excellent manager and capital Avoman of 
 business, tried to pass for one of the most 
 incompetent of her sex. Mrs. Higgs died, 
 and then, of course, Mrs. Jubbins needed 
 advice more than ever. Two of her young 
 people, spite of money and doctors and 
 care, and everything which could be thought 
 of to restore them to health, drooped and 
 died. All these events retarded Mr. Gayre's 
 proposal, no doubt ; still, there were times 
 when Mrs. Jubbins doubted whether he 
 ever meant to propose. Had she known 
 as much of the world as Nicholas, she 
 would have understood friendliness is the 
 worst possible symptom where a man's 
 heart is concerned. Mr. Gayre had as 
 much intention of proposing for one of 
 the princesses as for the widow. Prepos- 
 terous as the idea seemed in his father's 
 life-time, it seemed trebly preposterous now.
 
 WILL HE PROPOSED 175 
 
 He did not exactly know what slie expected, 
 though indeed he guessed ; but he had 
 long before made up his own mind that, 
 so far as he was concerned, Mrs. Jubbins 
 should remain ^Irs. Jubbins till the end 
 of the chapter. 
 
 A longer interval than usual had elapsed 
 without his seeing her, when he turned his 
 steps in the direction of Brunswick Square. 
 As he approached the familiar door Mr. 
 Grayre surveyed Mrs. Jubbins' residence with 
 an amount of interest and curiosity he had 
 never before experienced, and he certainly 
 felt a sensation of pleasure at the sight of 
 windows clear as whiting and chamois and 
 that other commodity, better than either, 
 vulgarly called "elbow-grease," could make 
 them, enamelled boxes filled with flowers 
 on the sills, curtains white as the driven 
 snow and of the best quality money could 
 buy, spotless steps, polished knocker, and 
 all those little et-ceteras which point to
 
 1 76 S us Ay DR UMMOXD. 
 
 money, good servants, and a capable 
 mistress. 
 
 "It is not Onslow Square, certainly," 
 thought Mr. Gayre, " but we will see what 
 we can do with it." 
 
 " Now, this is really kind of you ! " 
 exclaimed Mrs. Jubbins — a handsome and 
 well-preserved woman on the right side of 
 forty — stretching out a white plump hand 
 in greeting. "You see, I am still unable to 
 move," she added, with a laugh which 
 showed an exceedingly good set of teeth, 
 pointing as she spoke to a stool over which 
 a couvre-pieds was thrown, in the modestest 
 manner possible. "Why, it is quite an age 
 since you have been here !" 
 
 "Yes, indeed," he answered, in his suave 
 decisive manner — " almost three months. 
 I fear you have been suffering much 
 anxiety. Why did you not send for me 
 sooner ? " 
 
 " Well," she began to explain — " well — "
 
 JVILL HE PROPOSED 177 
 
 Then, after a pause, " I know you must 
 have so many engagements." 
 
 " None," he answered, '• believe me, that 
 could ever keep me absent if you said 
 you needed my poor services." 
 
 Mrs. Jubbins had been a bold child, but 
 she was not a forward woman. Quite the 
 contrary. Supposing she could have won 
 Mr. Gayre by saying, " Will you marry 
 me ?" he must have remained unwon for 
 ever, and for this reason she did not take 
 advantage of his pretty speech, but merely 
 inclined her sleek head in acknowledgment, 
 as she asked, 
 
 "Have you been able to go to Chisle- 
 hurst?" 
 
 "Yes," he said. "And The Warren is a 
 most lovely place." 
 
 " Which you would advise me to take ?" 
 
 " If you really wish to go out of town 
 for the summer, certainly." 
 
 " Tell me all about it, please ;" and the 
 
 Vol. i. 13
 
 1 78 S USAN BR UMMOND. 
 
 Jubbins relict leaned back on the sofa, 
 crossed her hands, and closed her eyes. 
 
 She was worth — heavens, ladies, how 
 much was she not worth ? — and could 
 consequently, even in the concentrated 
 presence of Gayre, Delone, Eyles, and Co., 
 lean back, cross her hands, and close her 
 eyes to any extent she liked. 
 
 Mr. Gayre looked at her not without ap- 
 proval — looked at her comely face, her 
 broad capable forehead, her straight well- 
 defined brows, her wealth of hair — not 
 combed over frizettes, a fashion then still 
 much in favour, but taken straight off her 
 face to the back of a shapely, if somewhat 
 large head, and there wound round and 
 round in great plaits almost too thick and 
 long even for the eye of faith. 
 
 Such hair — such splendid hair — as Mrs. 
 Jubbins possessed, quite of her own and 
 altogether without purchase, belongs to 
 few women.
 
 WILL HE PROPOSE! 179 
 
 Mr. Gayre knew it to be perfectly 
 natural. He had been well acquainted 
 with it in his youth, and in his experienced 
 middle age he could have detected a single 
 false lock ; but there was nothing false 
 about Mrs. Jubbins. All she had was as 
 genuine as her money, as the Spanish 
 mahogany furniture which had belonged to 
 her husband's grandfather. 
 
 " The Warren," proceeded Mr. Gayre, " is 
 simply charming. A cottage in a wood ; 
 but such a cottage, and such a wood! 
 Lord Flint, it seems, bought about twenty 
 acres covered with trees, cleared a space 
 on the top of the hill, and built a summer 
 residence for his bride. Shortly afterwards 
 he succeeded to the earldom ; but still 
 spent some portion of each year at the 
 cottage, laying money out freely on the 
 house and grounds. He died last summer ; 
 and as the widow does not now like the 
 place — whether she liked it when her 
 
 13-2
 
 I So S US Ay DB UMMONJ). 
 
 husband was living, I cannot say — she 
 wants to let it ; so there the house, fully 
 furnished, stands empty for you to walk 
 into, if you like." 
 
 At the mention of a lord, Mrs. Jubbins, 
 who dearly loved nobility, old or new, 
 opened her eyes and assumed an upright 
 attitude. 
 
 " A place of that sort would be too 
 grand and fine for me," she objected, in the 
 tone of one who wished to be contradicted. 
 
 "It is not at all grand," answered Mr. 
 Gayre, " and the furniture is not fine. I 
 daresay it cost a considerable sum of 
 money ; but really everything looks as 
 simple and homely as possible." And then 
 he went on to talk of the gardens, and 
 grounds, and terraces, and woods, finishing 
 by remarking, " Though quite close to 
 London, one might be a hundred miles 
 away from town, the air is so pure and 
 the silence so utter."
 
 WILL HE PEOPOSE? i8i 
 
 For a few moments Mrs. Jubbins made 
 no reply. Then she said, with a delighted 
 little laugh, 
 
 " Only fancy me hving in the house of 
 a real lord — not a lord mayor, but a 
 peer !" 
 
 " It is a very nice house for any one 
 to live in," observed ]\Ir. Gayre, wondering, 
 if she rented the residence, how often in 
 the course of a month she would mention 
 Lord FHnt, and the Earl of Merioneth, 
 and- her ladyship the Countess. 
 
 "Who would beheve it!" exclaimed ^Irs. 
 Jubbins. "And yet, do you know, I think 
 I must have been dreaming of something 
 of this sort. I have had the strangest 
 thoughts lately. Whether it is this lovely 
 weather following the long dreary winter, 
 or being kept a prisoner by my ankle, or 
 what, I am sure I cannot tell ; but often 
 of late I have found myself wondering 
 whether I was doing right in staying so
 
 1 82 S us AN BE UMMONB. 
 
 mucli at home, and spending so little 
 money, and making no new acquaintances, 
 and continuing the same round from year's 
 end to year's end, as though Brunswick 
 Square were the world, and no other place 
 on the face of the earth existed except 
 Bloomsbury." 
 
 Mr. Gayre smiled, and hazarded the re- 
 mark that neither of them ought to 
 speak against Bloomsbury. 
 
 "No, that is quite true," agreed the 
 lady ; " but yet, you see, you have gone 
 west, and everybody else seems going 
 west, or buying places out of town, 
 except myself. The Browns have taken 
 a house in Porchester Terrace, the Jones 
 have gone to Bournemouth." 
 
 "And the Eobinsons no doubt will fol- 
 low suit," suggested Mr. Gayre, forgetful 
 that Mrs. Jubbins' circle of friends did 
 include a family of that name. 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Eobinson is building himself
 
 WILL HE PROPOSEl 183 
 
 quite a mansion down at Walton-on- 
 Tliames, and they expect to be able to 
 move in August. I tell her she won't 
 like it — that there is no place on the 
 Thames to equal London ; but they all 
 seem eager to go ; after a time there will 
 be nobody left in Bloomsbury but me ; " 
 and Mrs, Jubbins sighed plaintively. 
 
 "You will not be left if you take the 
 Warren," said Mr. Gayre. 
 
 "I can't stay at The Warren for ever," 
 she answered ; "I shall have to come back 
 here some day, unless — " 
 
 "Unless what?" asked Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " Unless I sell the lease of this house, 
 and remove altogether. I really think 1 
 ought to make some change. The children 
 are growing up, and ought to be in a 
 neighbourhood where they could form 
 pleasant acquaintances. Bloomsbury is all 
 well enough for elderly persons ; and the 
 tradespeople are very good ; I don't think
 
 1 84 S us AN jDR UMMOND. 
 
 you could get better meat anywhere than 
 Grist supplies ; and though Ida is not 
 strong, I fancy that is only natural 
 delicacy, and has nothing to do with the 
 air. But still—" 
 
 " If I were you," interrupted Mr. Gayre, 
 who always waxed impatient under details 
 that had seemed both instructive and 
 agreeable to his father, " I should take 
 this Chislehurst place for a year ; at the 
 end of that time you could decide 
 whether it would be best to return here, 
 or remain on there, or buy a house at 
 the West End. What lovely flowers ! How 
 they transform this dear old room ! It 
 looks quite gay and bright — ." 
 
 " They make a dreadful litter," remarked 
 Mrs. Jubbins, who was a very Martha in 
 household details, though to hear her talk 
 at times any one might have supposed 
 Mrs. Hemans took a healthy and lively 
 view of life in comparison with the
 
 WILL HE PBOPOSE? 185 
 
 buxom Eliza — " but they certainly do light 
 up a house. The day before I sprained 
 my ankle I went over to Porchester Ter- 
 race, and, dear me, I thought what a 
 difference between the West End and 
 Bloomsbury ! When I came back our 
 square seemed quite dingy ; so I told 
 Hodkins to arrange with some nurseryman 
 to keep me supplied with plants. At first 
 it did seem a dreadful waste of money, 
 and I could not help wondering what 
 your poor father would have said to such 
 extravagance ; but there, the world goes 
 on, and one can't stand still and be left 
 all behind, can one ? " 
 
 " Gracious Heavens ! " considered Mr. 
 Gayre, " if I had married her I should 
 have been compelled to hsten to this 
 sort of thing all the days of my life ; " 
 then he said aloud, " Talking of my father, 
 I want you to grant me a favour ; will 
 you?^'
 
 1 86 S US AN DR UMMOND. 
 
 " Certainly ; need you ask ? What is 
 it ? " And then Mrs. Jubbins paused ab- 
 ruptly, as the notion occurred to her 
 that perhaps the long-deferred hour was 
 at last on the point of striking. 
 
 But Mr. Gayre's next words dispelled 
 the illusion. 
 
 " You remember Margaret ? " 
 
 Hot and swift the tell-tale blood rushed 
 up into Mrs. Jubbins' face, and as she 
 said, " Yes, is she in London ? " a duller, 
 but not less painful, colour mantled Mr. 
 Gayre's brow. 
 
 "I do not suppose Margaret will ever 
 come to London," he answered ; " but her 
 daughter is here, and I should consider 
 it a great kindness if you would pay the 
 girl a little attention. You l^now — or pos- 
 sibly you do not know — what a miserable, 
 hopeless, irreclaimable sinner the father is. 
 His own relations have cut him adrift : 
 mine will have nothing to do with him ;
 
 WILL HE PBOPOSE? 187 
 
 consequently, through no fault of her own, 
 my niece is, by both sides of the house, . 
 left out in the cold. I should like her 
 to be intimate with a good sensible woman 
 such as you are ; but perhaps I am ask- 
 iuCT too much." 
 
 "Too much! I shall be enchanted to 
 do anything in my power for Margaret's 
 daughter. Is she like her mother, poor 
 dear Margaret ? " 
 
 "My sister was pretty," answered Mr. 
 Gayre, with a feeling of deep gratitude 
 swelling in his heart for the friendly 
 warmth of Mrs. Jubbins' manner. " My 
 niece is beautiful. Her face does not 
 seem so sweet to me as Margaret's ; but 
 most persons would admire it far more. 
 She is, in fact, so beautiful, so lovely, 
 and placed in such a painful and excep- 
 tional position, that I shall not know 
 a moment's peace till she is suitably 
 married."
 
 1 88 S US AN BR UMMONJ). 
 
 " Dear, dear ! " exclaimed Mrs. Jubbins ; 
 " I would go to her this moment if it 
 were not for this tiresome ankle. Could 
 she not come to me, though, Mr. Gayre? 
 I am such an old friend of your family, 
 she might dispense with ceremony, and let 
 us make acquaintance at once. If she 
 spent a few days here, for instance, and 
 then supposing I were to take Lady Merio- 
 neth's house, that would make a little 
 change for her." 
 
 " You are the kindest person in the 
 world," said Mr. Gayre, with conviction. 
 
 " No, indeed I am not ; only think, 
 you know, if it were one of my own 
 daughters. I am sure I quite long to see 
 the dear girl. Wliat a thing for poor 
 Margaret to be parted from her only 
 chHd ! " 
 
 "My niece believes her mother is dead, 
 and there seems to me no necessity to 
 enlighten her."
 
 WILL HE PBOPOSE? 189 
 
 " Ah ! that makes it all the worse. 
 When I remember — when I look back, 
 and recall her lovely face framed in those 
 sunny curls — " 
 
 "Looking back is worse than useless," 
 interrupted Mr. Gayre, speaking hoarsely. 
 " We cannot undo the past ; the best 
 plan is to act as prudently as possible in 
 the present. That is why I ask your 
 help — why I want you to look a little 
 after the child of my unhappy sister." 
 
 "And that I will," declared Mrs. Jub- 
 bins, heartily, " It will be like having a 
 daughter given to me in the place of 
 my darling Clara ; a daughter to think 
 and plan for and love. How I long to 
 see her ! When do you think she can 
 come here ? Will you bring her? — or 
 shall I send a fly and Hodkins? You 
 know he really is a most superior and 
 respectable person." 
 
 This time Mr. Gayre forgot to smile
 
 1 90 S us AN DB UMMOND. 
 
 at Mrs. Jubbins' singular way of putting 
 things. 
 
 " I will arrange the visit with my niece," 
 he said, " and give you due notice when 
 you may expect to see us. I am a bad 
 hand at returning thanks; but I feel your 
 kindness more than I can express." 
 
 " It is nothing," she answered vehemently, 
 " nothing at all ; it is I who am obliged. All 
 my life I have been receiving favours from 
 your family, and doing nothing in return. 
 You have made me so very happy. I wonder 
 if you would mind my consulting you con- 
 cerning another little matter I could not 
 avoid thinking about while tied to this 
 sofa?" 
 
 "I am all attention," Mr. Gayre declared. 
 " What is this matter ? Are you thinking of 
 setting up a carriage ? " 
 
 "Well, you must be a wizard!" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Jubbins. " Do you know, often lately 
 I have been wondering whether my poor
 
 WILL HE PROPOSE? 191 
 
 husband and your dear father would think 
 a single brougham and a very plain livery 
 too great an extravagance. You see things 
 have changed so much during the course 
 of the last few years. There was a time 
 when all one's friends lived close at hand; 
 but now one must have a fly to pay visits ; 
 and really a carriage and coachman of one's 
 own would not cost so very much more." 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Jubbins," said Mr. Gayre, 
 "you talk as if you had to economise upon 
 five hundred a year instead of being obhged 
 to starve on fifteen thousand." 
 
 " Yes," she answered ; " but there are the 
 children, and I do so want to be a faithful 
 steward, Mr. Gayre, and justify the trust re- 
 posed in me. Yet there are two sides to the 
 question, I am sure. Our fathers moved with 
 their times, and, as a mother, I ought to move 
 with mine ; and that brings me to what I 
 wished to say — not about the carriage, it can 
 wait ; but — '.'
 
 192 SUSAN DRUMMONB. 
 
 " Yes ? " said Mr. Gayre, interrogatively. 
 "You must promise not to laugh at 
 
 me." 
 
 " I am very sure I shall not laugh at what 
 you say." 
 
 "Well, then I have been thinking most 
 seriously whether, if I take a house out of 
 town — and the doctor says I must — it would 
 not be a good opportunity for changing my 
 
 name." 
 
 " / heg your pardon ! " 
 
 No italics could indicate the astonishment 
 expressed in Mr. Gayre's tone. 
 
 " Are you thinking of marrying again ? " 
 he went on — severely, as the widow imagined, 
 but really in a mere maze of bewilderment. 
 
 "No — no," she said, hurriedly. "It is 
 not likely I shall ever marry again---I am 
 certain I never shall ; but I cannot blind 
 myself to the fact that the name of Jubbins 
 is in many ways a bar socially. Put it to 
 yourself, Mr. Gayre — Jubbins ! Awful ! All
 
 WILL HE PBOPOSE? 193 
 
 the years I have borne it have never recon- 
 ciled me to the name. Higgs was not beau- 
 tiful, but Jubbins is worse." 
 
 " ' A rose by any other name would smell 
 as sweet,' " quoted Mr. Gayre, resolutely re- 
 fraining even from smiling. 
 
 "Not if it was called Jubbins," answered 
 the lady almost tearfully. 
 
 " Yes, it would," persisted the banker ; 
 " but whether or no, there are for the pre- 
 sent, at all events, good and sufficient reasons 
 why your late husband's known and honest 
 name should be preserved. As you are 
 aware, the formulae for making those won- 
 derful oils lie at our bank. When your sons 
 come of age they will want to make use of 
 them. The name is associated with the pro- 
 duct. It is of pecuniary value. The De 
 Yere Oil, for example, would not command 
 any market. I have always admired many 
 traits in your character, but none more than 
 your excellent feehng. Give that fair play 
 
 Vol. i. 14
 
 1 94 >S US AN BE UMMOND. 
 
 now. Just think what the name you bear 
 has done for you." 
 
 " I know — I know." 
 
 " And do consider that, although you have 
 an undoubted right at any moment to change 
 your own name by marriage, you really have 
 no right to change the name of jour chil- 
 dren." 
 
 " Mr. Gayre, how good and clever you 
 are ! How clear you make everything ! " 
 
 "And speaking for myself," added the 
 banker, warming to the subject, " I can only 
 say that, though I liked ]\Iiss Higgs much, 
 I like Mrs. Jubbins more." 
 
 " You are kind ! " exclaimed the widow, 
 while the colour once more fluttered in her 
 face, and, spite of her declaration that she 
 would never marry again, she began to con- 
 sider such an event not quite impossible. 
 " What, must you go ? Well, you have given 
 me a great deal of your valuable time, and I 
 am very grateful to you."
 
 IVILL HE PBOPOSE? 195 
 
 She could not rise on account of that 
 troublesome ankle, and, as Mr. Gay re held 
 her hand while he spoke some words of 
 thanks, he was obliged to stoop a little, and 
 — unconsciously perhaps — fell into an almost 
 tender attitude. 
 
 Mrs. Jubbins' heart beat so fast and so 
 loud, she felt afraid he would hear it. The 
 long-expected declaration must surely be 
 hovering on his lips ! 
 
 That was a supreme moment. Xever 
 before had he retained her hand so long ; 
 on the contrary, he had ever previously held 
 it as short a time as possible. Xever had he 
 before regarded her with a look of such ad- 
 miration; never had his lone been so low, 
 or his words so earnest, or — 
 
 Just then a tremendous double knock — pro- 
 longed, ear-splitting, infuriating — resounded 
 through the house. Was ever knock before 
 so unexpected and so loud ? Mrs. Jubbins 
 gave a start, which almost threw her oH" the 
 
 14—2
 
 1 96 S us Ay BR UMMOND. 
 
 sofa. Mr. Gayre dropped her hand as if he 
 had been shot. 
 
 And, after all, it was no one coming up ; 
 only Mrs. Eobinson's card, and kind inquiries 
 after dear Mrs. Jubbins' ankle. Mr. Gayre 
 saw that card lying on a salver as he passed 
 out, excellently contented with his afternoon's 
 work, but, upon the whole, not quite so well 
 satisfied with himself.
 
 CHAPTEE Yin. 
 
 FATHER, DAUGHTER, UXCLE. 
 
 your Father at home, Margaret ? " 
 It was Mr. Gayre who asked this 
 question. He had gone straight from Bruns- 
 wick Square to Xorth Bank, debating that 
 matter of his own conduct all the way. 
 
 When he left the City he fully intended 
 to have " a few words " with his niece ; but 
 he did not feel his own hands quite clean 
 enough at the minute to cast stones at her, 
 and accordingly would have deferred the 
 operation till a more convenient season but 
 for the action taken by the young lady 
 herself. 
 
 " Yes ; papa has not gone out yet," she 
 said, in answer to his inquiry. " I will tell
 
 1 98 *S USA^' DR UMMOND. 
 
 him you are here ;" and she left the room, 
 but, changing her mind, returned almost im- 
 mediately, and, closing the door, observed, 
 with a confusion which for once was not 
 feigned, 
 
 " I want to say something to you, uncle." 
 
 " Say on then, my niece," he returned. 
 
 But she hesitated, looking at him piteously 
 for help, till at last he felt compelled to ask, 
 
 "Well, what is it?" 
 
 " Can't you guess ? " 
 
 " Whether I can or not, I decline to do 
 anything of the sort. Come, say what you 
 have got to say, and let us be done with 
 the matter." 
 
 "It is — about — Susan Drummond." 
 
 "Yes; what about her?" 
 
 For one moment Miss Chelston doubted 
 whether he remembered, and lamented her 
 own folly in not letting a sleeping dog lie ; 
 but the next she felt sure he could not 
 have forgotten, and said.
 
 FATHER, DAUGHTER, US CLE. 199 
 
 "You must have thought it so odd that 
 I did not tell papa I had seen her." 
 
 " Did I ? Xo, I do not think I did. 1 
 'vonder now why you told him such an 
 untruth ; but I presume you had some 
 leason, good or bad, for not wishing him 
 to know." 
 
 "I was wrong," she confessed, in a tone 
 of the deepest humihty ; " but indeed I 
 acted from the very best motives." 
 
 " It would be interesting to know what 
 those motives were ; but I suppose you 
 won't tell me." 
 
 " yes, indeed — indeed I will ; I have 
 been longing to tell you. Susan and I are 
 the oldest and dearest of friends — I may 
 say ■ she is the only friend I have ni all 
 the wide world. I understand her perfectly : 
 and the reason I did not want papa to sus- 
 pect she was in London — " 
 
 " Out with it," advised Mr. Gayre. 
 
 "Well, you see, at the time I thought
 
 200 SUSAN DBUMMOND. 
 
 things would be different here. Papa told 
 me we should have a great deal of com- 
 pany, and that I would be asked out to 
 parties and — and — all that sort of thing; 
 and I knew, since her uncle's death, poor 
 dear Susan could not afford to dress — as — 
 as people have to dress if they go into 
 society ; and I thought asking her to come 
 to us would only vex and place her in a 
 false position." 
 
 "Anything else?" suggested Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " Yes ; but you must not be vexed witli 
 me. I do hate riding, and I was sure papa 
 would be wanting me to go out with Susan; 
 and I dare not — 0, I dare not ! That 
 horse you so much admired almost fright- 
 ened me to death." 
 
 "You are quite sure you have nothing 
 more to tell me ? " said Mr. Gayre, as she 
 came to a full stop. 
 
 " Quite sure — quite sure, indeed." 
 
 Mr. Gayre looked her over with an
 
 FATHER, DAUGHTER, UXCLE. 201 
 
 amused smile. She did not lift her eyes to 
 his, but stood Avith them cast penitently 
 downwards, waiting for any comments he 
 might have to make. 
 
 " I think," he began at last, " there is 
 some truth in what you have just been 
 saying, but I fancy there is not much. 
 Now let me give you a little advice. Don't 
 try to hoodwink me. In the first place, 
 it is a mere waste of time ; and in the 
 second, you will find it to your advantage 
 to work with, instead of against, me. All 
 I desire is your good. You are placed 
 in a most difficult and exceptional position, 
 and you have not so many friends you 
 can afford to quarrel with any of them, 
 more especiaUy a girl like Miss Drum- 
 mond." 
 
 "Quarrel, uncle! I wouldn't quarrel with 
 Susan for all the world ; but how could 
 I know living in London would turn out 
 so different from what I expected — so
 
 202 S US AN BR UMMOXD. 
 
 miserable ? " ended Miss Chelston, with a 
 gasping sob. 
 
 "You expected, perhaps, to be pre- 
 sented at Court?" hinted Mr. Gayre, with 
 bitter irony. 
 
 "I did not think it was at all impos- 
 sible," she answered. 
 
 "And what do you think now?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " That I have been very silly ; and 0, 
 it's all such a dreadful disappointment ! " 
 and, covering her face with her hands, 
 she left the room fairly in tears. 
 
 "It is hard on the girl," thought Mr. 
 Gayre, " and why should I have expected 
 straightforwardness from her ? The father 
 does not know the meaning of the word ; 
 the mother was a poor weak timid fool ; 
 and I — well, my friend, I don't consider 
 you have much reason to be proud of 
 yourself." 
 
 " So you have sent Peggy off crying,"
 
 FATHER, DAUGHTER, UNCLE. 203 
 
 said the Baronet cheerfully, opening the 
 door at this juncture; "I am very glad 
 of it. Hope you gave her a good scold- 
 ing. As I told her yesterday — for I had 
 an appointment after I got back from 
 Enfield the other day, and was not home 
 till long after she had gone to bed — as 
 I told her, there is nothing in the world 
 I detest like a falsehood. Let a man or 
 a woman only speak the truth, and I 
 do not much care how bad he or she 
 may be in other respects, though no one 
 who does speak the truth can be very 
 bad." 
 
 "I think we may let the affair rest 
 now," remarked Mr. Gayre. "More par- 
 ticularly as Miss Drummond ought never 
 to know Margaret's silence was other 
 than a piece of carelessness. It will be 
 a great matter for your daughter to have 
 so nice a friend staying with her. Have 
 you settled when she is to come ? "
 
 204 S US AN BE UMMOND. 
 
 " Yes. Peg wrote her as pretty a note 
 yesterday as you'd wish to read. 0, she 
 was humble enough, 1 can tell you. It's 
 not often I do come the stern parent 
 business, but I did speak out. I said, 
 " If you think because Susan has only 
 got a poor couple of thousand pounds 
 she is not as welcome to my house as 
 though she had millions, you are very 
 much mistaken, that's all. I'm sorely afraid, 
 Peggy," I went on, " you're an arrant 
 little snob ; and you don't inherit that 
 failing from me any more than your want 
 of candour. No one can say I ever held 
 myself aloof from any man because he 
 was not rich or well-born. What's the 
 use of being well-born if one can't shake 
 hands with a beggar ? No, that girl of 
 mine wants taking down. She does think 
 so confoundedly much of herself." 
 
 " It seems to me she has been taken 
 down a great deal," observed Mr. Gayre.
 
 FATHEE, DAUGHTEE, UNCLE. 205 
 
 " She evidently came to London expecting 
 to carry all before her ; and, spite of 
 your agreeable manners and large circle 
 of desirable acquaintances, she finds her- 
 self alone in a great city, without a soul 
 to speak to. However," added Mr. Gayre 
 hurriedly, to prevent his brother-in-law 
 once again taking up his parable, " I 
 have at last succeeded in getting her one 
 invitation, which I hope will lead to more. 
 As we can't induce rank to notice her, 
 I determined to try money. Mrs. Jubbins 
 of Brunswick Square, a lad}^ I have known 
 all my life, will be delighted to do any- 
 thing and everything she can for Margaret." 
 
 " Come, that's encouraging," exclaimed 
 the Baronet, "though Jubbins does not 
 exactly seem a name one would find in 
 Burke, and Brunswick Square is a little 
 —eh?" 
 
 " If you mean that it is not Belgravia,. 
 you are right ! but as no duchess has
 
 2o6 S US AN DR UMMOND. 
 
 rushed forward to chaperone your daughter, 
 it may be prudent to try and make the 
 best of rich respectability." 
 
 " Why, my dear fellow, how you talk ! 
 Any one, to hear the way you go on, 
 might imagine I was particular ! Thank 
 God, I am no such thing ! I do not 
 worship rank or money. And so your 
 friends are very rich. What is the hus- 
 band?" 
 
 " I don't know what he may be at 
 present ; he is dead ; he was a most ex- 
 cellent person when living." 
 
 " Widow ! Bless me, why don't you 
 make up to her, Gayre ? " 
 
 "Well, there are several reasons. One, 
 however, may seem sufficient. She says 
 she is not going to marry again." 
 
 " Pooh ! " commented Sir Geoffrey, with 
 an airy incredulity. 
 
 " At all events, she has let seven years 
 pass without making a second choice."
 
 FATHER, DAUGHTER, US CLE. 207 
 
 " The right man has not asked her," 
 remarked the Baronet, with decision ; and 
 he shook his head with such emphasis 
 that Mr. Gayre knew he was thinking if 
 his wife " gave him a chance," and the 
 fortune proved sufficient, he himself woukl 
 attempt Mrs. Jubbins' conversion, and with 
 brilhant success. 
 
 " She is a truly admirable woman in 
 every relation of life," said Mr. Gayre. 
 
 "I am thankful to hear it — most 
 thankful," answered Sir Geoffrey, solemnly. 
 " What a fortunate fellow you are, Gayre, 
 not to be saddled with the responsibility 
 of a daughter! I declare the future of 
 mine is getting to be a nightmare to me. 
 What on earth would become of poor 
 Peggy if I died?" 
 
 " It is extremely difficult to say," 
 observed Mr. Gayre, too wise to be 
 entrapped into any promise by his simple 
 brother-in-law.
 
 2o8 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 " And we must all die," pursued the 
 Baronet, tentatively. 
 
 " So it is said ; but there is no rule 
 without an exception, and you may prove 
 that exception." 
 
 Sir Geoffrey digested this remark, and, 
 deciding he would not make much out of 
 Mr. Gayre on such a tack, said, in a frank 
 sort of manner, as if the idea had only just 
 occurred to him, 
 
 "I really don't know that I should object 
 to a City man as a husband for my girl if 
 he could insure her a proper establishment." 
 
 " It is extremely good and wise of you 
 to say so." 
 
 " You see I can give her no fortune." 
 
 " And, as a rule, money expects money 
 nowadays." 
 
 "Upon the other hand," proceeded Sir 
 Geoffrey, " she is my daughter." 
 
 " So she is ; that is a great advantage," 
 said Mr. Gayre.
 
 FATHEB, DAUGBTEE, VSCLE. 209 
 
 For a moment it occurred to the Baronet 
 that his brother-in-law was openly gibing at 
 him ; but looking sharply up, he could see 
 no hint of laughter in the calm, cold face. 
 
 "And a title must always carry a certain 
 weight," he ventured. 
 
 "But your daughter has no title, and as 
 for yours — knights and baronets have in 
 the City become somewhat of drugs in the 
 market. What can Margaret, without a 
 penny of dowry, do for any man ? You 
 have no property left for him to talk 
 about. Your daughter has no social stand- 
 ing ; she possesses the manners of a gentle- 
 woman, I admit, and is extremely good- 
 looking. Nevertheless — " 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Gayre, don't make 
 me more wretched than I am ! It was my 
 misfortune, not my fault, I did not marry 
 into my own rank of life, in which case 
 my relations must have seen to the girl. 
 But as matters stand — " 
 
 Vol. i. 15
 
 210 5 US AN DR UMMOND. 
 
 " I think, Sir Geoffrey, I will wish you 
 ' good- afternoon,' " interposed Mr. Ga3n:-e, 
 rising in hot wrath, and striding across the 
 small room to the door, with the almost 
 forgotten military gait. 
 
 But ere he reached it, Sir Geoffrey caught 
 him. 
 
 " My dear, dear Gayre — " he began : and 
 then, as his dear Gayre wrenched himself 
 from his detaining grasp, and reached the 
 hall, the Baronet, once again seizing his 
 sleeve, went on, " You have misunderstood 
 me, quite." 
 
 Mr. Gayre, however, was not so easily to 
 to be appeased. Standing in the middle of 
 the gravelled path, sheltered from the 
 vulgar gaze by that high wall already 
 mentioned, he delivered his parable. He 
 rehearsed the righteous doings of the 
 Gayres, and the sins of Sir Geoffrey. 
 
 " Good God ! " he cried, and certainly, 
 as a rule, Mr. Gayre was no profane
 
 FATHER. DAUGHTER, UXCLE. 211 
 
 swearer, " if my father had Hkecl he could 
 have given you seven years' penal servi- 
 tude over that matter of my sister's settle- 
 ment. But he refrained ; and yet now you 
 talk as if you had made a mesalliance by 
 entering a family able to trace a longer 
 pedigree than your own." 
 
 Through a little pantry-window, almost 
 screened from the sight of visitors by a 
 goodly arbor vitce. Lavender watched the 
 progress of this wordy war, saw Mr. Gayre's 
 impatient and angry movement, and his 
 master's deprecating gestures, and the 
 humble and almost cringing servility of 
 his manner. 
 
 " Sir Geoffrey's gone and done it now," 
 he considered. " Ah ! I knew it was too 
 good to last. He'll be off in a minute 
 more, and I suppose we'll never set eyes 
 on him here again." 
 
 And indeed departure seemed imminent. 
 Mr. Gayre had his hand on the lock of 
 
 15—2
 
 212 S US AN BE UMMOND. 
 
 the gate, and, spite of Sir Geoffrey's efforts 
 to detain liim, was evidently bent on 
 making his way into the road ; but just 
 as he had turned the handle, and was on 
 the eve of leaving Mr. Moreby's borrowed 
 villa for ever, Margaret, her eyes still a 
 little red, but her dress as usual perfect — 
 Margaret, with one rose in her hair and 
 another in her girdle, looking fair and 
 fresh, and pathetically humble, came round 
 the end of the house, and exclaiming, " 
 uncle ! you won't go without a cup of tea," 
 changed her own destiny as well as that 
 of others. 
 
 "You can't refuse A^?%" remarked Sir 
 Geoffrey sotto voce. " Upon my soul and 
 honour, you took quite a wrong meaning 
 out of what I said ; and hang it, whatever 
 I may be, she's your sister's child." 
 
 " Have you two been quarrelling ? " asked 
 Miss Chelston, in quick alarm. "Don't do 
 that, don't — just, too, when I had made up
 
 FATHEE, DAVGHTEB. UXCLE. 213 
 
 my mind to be so good and nice and 
 sweet to you both and everybody. Uncle, 
 you mustn't mind papa. Eeally he was 
 quite unpleasant to me yesterday. Papa, 
 uncle, is in a bad humour : he scolded me 
 half-an-hour ago till I had to go upstairs 
 and have a good cry by myseK. Xow 
 come in to tea, both of you," she finished, 
 with a pretty, imperious, and yet caressing 
 air which became her wonderfully, and 
 caused Mr. Gayre to consider, " After all, 
 something may be made of her." 
 
 " Come," she repeated, taking Mr. Gayre's 
 arm and leading him towards the house ; 
 " and you may follow us, you bad man," 
 she went on, addressing her father, who, 
 for answer, put his fingers within the bit 
 of black velvet she wore round her neck 
 and gave it a twdst. 
 
 Father and daughter did not exactly pull 
 together, yet still, upon the whole, they 
 understood each other pretty well.
 
 214 S US Ay DB UMMOXjD. 
 
 Though the tea was lukewarm and ex- 
 tremely bad Mr. Gayre swallowed one cup, 
 exactly as he would have with some wild 
 Indian smoked a pipe of peace. Sir Geoffrey 
 refrained from partaking of the beverage 
 offered for delectation, remarking his " liver 
 wouldn't stand it," which, considering v\'hat 
 he forced his liver to stand, seemed on the 
 part of that organ an extraordinary act of 
 rebellion ; but he was orood enouo-h to £^o 
 into the dining-room, and prepare a brew 
 for himself that did not err on the side of 
 weakness. This he drank a good deal faster 
 than Mr. Gayre did his tea, while he drank 
 communicating the good news of Mrs. 
 Jubbins' invitation to his daughter, telling 
 that young person she could never suffi- 
 ciently prove her gratitude to the best of 
 uncles, and, durino- the course of the con- 
 versation which ensued, artlessly inducing 
 his brother-in-law to state many iacts in 
 connecticm with the state of the Jubbins'
 
 FATHEB, DAUGHTEE, UXCLE. 215 
 
 finances he had not thought of imparting 
 previously. 
 
 " By Jove, what a chance ! " considered 
 the Baronet ; and then he proceeded to 
 think, "if her ladyship would only be kind 
 enough to quit a world she never reall}^ 
 adorned, I'd have a try for that quarter 
 of a million — buried in the earth, as one 
 may say — and I'd get it, or else know the 
 reason why." 
 
 Which only proves that even baronets 
 may be liable to error. Sir Geoffrey 
 thoroughly understood the weakness of 
 human nature, but most certainly he failed 
 to estimate its strength. 

 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SUSAlf. 
 
 I^^EATED in his library — a room which, 
 ^^^ in a bachelor's establishment, ever 
 seems the pleasantest and most comfortable 
 in the house — ^Mr. Gayre, on the evening of 
 that same day when he fought Sir Geoffrey 
 on his own ground, and felt perhaps, 
 ashamedly conscious of having led Mrs. 
 Jubbins astray, or at least allowed her to 
 stray, permitted his own soul the luxury of 
 a day dream. During the course of his 
 life he had not indulged in many ; and now 
 and then a doubt would intrude as to 
 whether anything could come of this vision, 
 or if it would end like the others in grief and 
 humiliation and disappointment. But in that
 
 SUSAN. 217 
 
 quiet twilight hour doubt seemed exorcised. 
 After all, why should happiness not be his? 
 If in some things he had failed, in others 
 he had succeeded ; in no respect could he 
 be accounted an unfortunate man. The 
 stars in their courses had not fought against 
 him as they did against Sisera. ''I ought 
 to have no quarrel with Fate," he thought, 
 " for Fate has done a great deal for me ; 
 and, perhaps," he went on, contemplating 
 his air-castle with an eye of faith, '* she has 
 been keeping the great blessing of a good 
 pure wife for the last." 
 
 Dreams, fair dreams ! Were they only, 
 after all, to be dreams? Was his day to 
 end in darkness, unillumined by the golden 
 beams of a mutual love? Was life to hold 
 nothing for him of the beauty and the 
 glamour which only a woman can shed over 
 it ? " Ah, no ! " he murmured ; and through 
 the gloom it seemed to him that a figure, 
 clad all in white, came gliding to his side ;
 
 2i8 SUSAN DEUMMOXJ). 
 
 that a delicate hand lay clasped m his ; that 
 a pair of tender brown eyes looked wist- 
 fully in his face ; that a soft touch smoothed 
 the coming wrinkles from his brow ; and that 
 at last, tremblingly, he clasped to his heart 
 the wife he had Avaited through the long 
 lonely years to meet. 
 
 Already he felt as if he must have 
 known her always. They were strangers 
 no more. He heard her speak, and her voice 
 sounded familiar to him. She smiled, and 
 the waters of his soul reflected back the 
 pleasant sunshine. 
 
 Had they, in some former and happier 
 state of existence, wandered side by side 
 through flower-decked meads and winding 
 leafy lanes, it could not have seemed more 
 natural to him than it did to find himself 
 pacing the never before trodden fields of 
 Enfield Highway, in which the mowers were 
 busy with their scythes, filling the air with 
 the delicious perfume of recently-cut grass.
 
 SUSAN. 219 
 
 Her little tricks of manner and speech and 
 look and movement struck bim witli no 
 sense of novelty. 
 
 " I must have been acquainted with Susan 
 Drummond the whole of my life," he 
 decided ; " that is to say, for a good many 
 years before she was born." Her very name 
 sounded to him accustomed; homelike seemed 
 its simple melody. Susan — Susan — Susan — 
 Susan Drummond, with her fair honest face ; 
 with her hair, which was neither brown nor 
 yellow nor red, but a marvellous mixture 
 of all three ; with her exquisite complexion 
 and sweet tender mouth — he recalled them 
 all ; and yet each individual and to be par- 
 ticularised beauty faded into nothingness 
 beside the intangible and indefinable charm 
 which had its source no man could tell 
 where. 
 
 Had she been smitten with smallpox, or 
 lost a limb, or become suddenly old, Susan 
 would have been Susan still. There are
 
 220 SUSAN DBUMMOND. 
 
 women who retain, whether in youth or 
 age, some subtle and inexplicable essence of 
 womanliness as far beyond analysis as the 
 scent of a rose. Whatever the fashion of 
 the earthly tabernacle her soul inhabits, 
 nevertheless from the windows of even the 
 poorest habitation some passer-by catches the 
 glimpse of a countenance never for ever to 
 be forgotten. 
 
 Mr. Gayre at all events felt he could 
 not, while life lasted, forget riding along the 
 Green Lanes and through Southgate, and 
 thence, ^^ many devious roads, into Enfield 
 Highway. 
 
 " Are you quite sure where you're going, 
 Gayre ? " asked his interesting brother-in-law 
 Sir Geofirey, whom he had seduced into 
 setting off on a wild-goose chase after a 
 fellow who owned a wonderful hunter on 
 the London side of Waltham. 
 
 " JS'o, indeed, I am not," answered Mr. 
 Gayre despondently ; " but I mean to in-
 
 SUSAX. 221 
 
 quire about my man at each " public " we 
 pass." 
 
 Which performance, greatly to the 
 Baronet's satisfaction, was gone through 
 duly and truly with negative success, till 
 the pair reached a certain hotel, noted in 
 the old days, that still did a roaring trade 
 by reason of excursionists to the Eye House 
 and Broxbourne Gardens. 
 
 "Does I know a gemman as owns a 
 'ansome bay 'unter? Why, in course I 
 does — Squire Temperley, of Temperley 
 Manor. But, Lord love you, sir, it ain't of 
 no manner of use riding on to see 'im ! 'E's 
 been away — let's see — a matter of three week 
 with the gout, which do nip him up sore." 
 
 Mr. Gayre mused. It was not his fashion 
 to rush into dialogue. 
 
 " What sort of looking man is your 
 Squire ? " he asked at length, while he 
 slipped half-a-crown into his informant's 
 hand.
 
 222 SUSAN DEUMMOND. 
 
 " Well, sir, 'e's not unlike yourself in 
 build and fio^ure, only 'eavier and a trifle 
 more advanced in years " — Mr. Gayre 
 winced ; " a very pleasant gemman, and 
 most out-and-out rider ; didn't mind taking in 
 'and any 'oss — got the most splendid 'unter 
 to be seen in all these parts — a regular 
 wild one ; no person can, to say, really ride 
 'im but 'imself and young Mr. Arbery." 
 
 "Young Mr. Arbery? Who is he? Not 
 Squire Temperley's son, of course ? " 
 
 ^^^o^^ sir ; Mr. Arbery is the son of Mrs. 
 Arbery, Granston 'Ouse, just above 'ere. 
 'E's just back from the Australies, and we 
 'aven't seen yet the 'orse could throw 'im." 
 
 Having with a commendable pride finished 
 which statement, the ostler, whose manners 
 happened to be of a more free-and-easy 
 description than obtained in Lombard Street, 
 was good enough to " throw his eye over 
 Mr. Ga}Te's steed," and remark " she was 
 a tidy sort of beast, who I dessay can go."
 
 SUSAX 223 
 
 "Well," asked Sir Geoffrey, coming out 
 of the bar, where he had been taking some- 
 thing " just for the good of the house," 
 "have you dropped on your friend's track 
 
 yet?" 
 
 " Yes, I think so," answered 'Mr. Gayre ; 
 and having received some further informa- 
 tion on the exact position of Granston House, 
 the pair departed, only walking their horses 
 up the Great Xorth Eoad, but nevertheless 
 eliciting an observation from the ostler that 
 " he hoped he might be blanked if those 
 gents didn't know something about riding." 
 
 On they went past the church and into 
 the older part of the village, which even so 
 late as 1874 was little more than a mere 
 straggling street. They had got into the 
 region of a few unpretentious shops, when 
 Mr. Gayre started so suddenly that his 
 mare sprang forward with a bound which 
 elicited a profane inquiry from Sir Geoffrey 
 as to "what the ailed the brute."
 
 224 S US AX BR UMMOSB. 
 
 His brother-in-law did not answer. Ap- 
 parently he was devoting his whole attention 
 
 to " the brute," but in reality his eyes 
 
 were following two persons who chanced 
 to be sauntering slowly along the footpath ; 
 one was a lady wearing a white straw hat 
 and pique dress of the same colour, both 
 trimmed with black ribbon ; the other the 
 young fellow he had seen in the Park. 
 
 He had found his quarry, and yet, though 
 He^^passed the pair so close that he could 
 almost have laid his hand on Mr. Arbery's 
 shoulder, he did not pull up and accost him. 
 
 Shyness was a fault from which, as a 
 rule, the banker might be considered per- 
 fectly free ; but at that moment he felt it 
 impossible even to tnrn his head in the 
 direction of the very persons he had come 
 to seek. 
 
 Not so Sir Geoffrey. That woman must 
 indeed have been old at whom he would 
 have failed (to use his own expression) to
 
 SUSAX. 
 
 225 
 
 take a squint ; and, following his usual 
 practice, he proceeded to honour with a 
 hard stare a girl whom he had already de- 
 cided possessed " a deuced good pair of 
 ankles ; " then, 
 
 " Lord bless my soul I " he exclaimed, in 
 a tone loud enough for all the village to 
 hear, "if it isn't Susan Drummond ! " and 
 Mr. Gayre, at last looking back, beheld Sir 
 Geoffrey standing in the middle of the road, 
 with his horse's bridle slipped over his arm, 
 shaking both Miss Drummond's hands, and 
 expressing his delight and wonderment at 
 meeting her in such an out-of-the-way place 
 so volubly that he was well-nigh unintel- 
 ligible. 
 
 " Gayre, Gayre," he cried, " stop a minute 
 — this is Susan ; Susan Drummond, you 
 know. By Jove, who'd have thought of 
 coming across her here ? Susan, this is 
 my brother-in-law ; gad ! I never was so 
 surprised in all the days of my life ! What 
 
 Vol. 1. 16
 
 226 SUSAy DRUMMOND. 
 
 in the world are you doing in Enfield High- 
 way ? " 
 
 Watching her, Mr. Gayre saw a shadow 
 of disappointment creeping over her face, 
 lit up the instant before with a delighted 
 smile of pleasure. 
 
 " Did not Maggie tell you I was here ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " How should she know ? " demanded the 
 Baronet. 
 
 \^^' Why, I saw her one day in Hyde Park, 
 about a month ago ; didn't she tell you ? " 
 repeated the girl. 
 
 " Not a word ; if she had you may be 
 very sure I'd have been down here before 
 now. I — " and Sir Geoffrey was about to 
 plunge into the whole story of Peggy's 
 statement that she did not know even the 
 address of her old friend, when a look from 
 Gayre arrested the words on his tongue. 
 
 " You know what a careless forefetful 
 baggage it is," he said, with great presence
 
 SUSAN. 227 
 
 of mind, " and how much fonder she always 
 was of telling things to other people than 
 her own father ; however, now I've found 
 you, I won't lose sight of you again ; you 
 must come over and see Peg, and have all 
 out with her. Come and pay us a long 
 visit." 
 
 But Susan made no answer except, " You 
 are very kind, but you always were kind 
 to me. Sir Geoffrey." 
 
 "Papa Geoff," amended the Baronet. 
 " Where are you stopping ? Who are you 
 with? What are you doing? I am amazed. 
 Who'd have thought of seeing you here ? " 
 
 "There is nothing remarkable in seeing 
 me here," she answered, " but it is astonish- 
 ing to see you. I should just as soon 
 have expected to see Chelston Church spire 
 coming up Enfield Highway as you. What 
 can have brought you to this part of the 
 world?" 
 
 "My brother-in-law wanted to find some 
 
 16-2
 
 228 5 USAN BR UMMOKB. 
 
 fellow about a hunter — ''' Sir Geoffrey was 
 beginning, when Mr. Gayre interposed. 
 
 "This is the very gentleman I wanted to 
 see, I think," he said, looking towards Mr. 
 Arbery, who had stepped into the back- 
 ground. " As I did not know your name," 
 he went on, speaking to Miss Drummond's 
 companion, " we have had a great deal of 
 trouble in finding out who you were and 
 where you Hved." 
 
 " Well, it's all right now, isn't it ? " ex- 
 claimed Sir Geoffrey. " Susan, my dear, I 
 am so glad we came ; you can't think how 
 pleased I am to see you again." 
 
 "This is my cousin, Mr. Arbery," she 
 said, acknowledging the Baronet's hearty 
 words with a smile which chased the 
 shadows from her face ; and then, with a 
 pretty grace, she introduced him to Mr. 
 Gayre, which ceremony duly performed, 
 they all walked on together to Grans ton 
 House, where the young man said his
 
 susjy. 229 
 
 mother would be delighted to see them. 
 It is more than doubtful whether Mrs. 
 Arbery was anything of the kind ; never- 
 theless, she received the unexpected visitors 
 with a good grace, and asked them to stop 
 and take early dmner. 
 
 " We always dine early," explained Will 
 Arbery, " but you can call it luncheon ; " 
 and then, while Sir Geoffrey was making 
 himseK agreeable to Mrs. Arbery, Avhom 
 he afterwards spoke of as " shaky — deucedly 
 shaky," and Susan left the room, probably 
 to add a few touches to the appointments 
 of the dinner-table, Mr. Arbery and Mr. 
 Gayre talked, not merely about Mr. Temper- 
 ley's hunter, but other equine matters. 
 
 At the meal to which they all subsequently 
 sat down the conversation was general. It 
 turned a good deal on Australia, and Mr. 
 Arbery, who found much to say, and said 
 it well, interested Mr. Gayre considerably 
 withliis account of hfe on a great sheep-run.
 
 230 SUSAK DBUMMOXD. 
 
 He had three brothers settled in Austraha, 
 and one sister — all married. " So when I 
 get back," he added, " there will be five 
 of us out there, old married folks. If we 
 could only induce my mother to come too, 
 we should be as happy as possible." 
 
 Mr. Gayre looked at Miss Drummond, 
 who smiled amusedly in reply, while Mrs. 
 Arbery said, "I shall never cross the sea," 
 in a tone which told the banker this was a 
 sore subject in the family. 
 
 " But 'pon my soul," exclaimed Sir Geof- 
 frey, " it seems to me a splendid idea. Why 
 can't we all go ? What do you say, Susan — 
 will you pack up and let us leave England 
 together?" 
 
 " Ko," she answered ; " like my aunt, I 
 never mean to take so long a voyage." 
 
 "I have asked her already, and she re- 
 fused me," declared her cousin. 
 
 " That is very true. Will," she said ; 
 "but perhaps, if you had implored me to
 
 SUSAN. 231 
 
 share the sheep-run instead of helping to 
 catch wild horses, my answer might have 
 been different." 
 
 At which they all laughed — Mrs. Arbery 
 a little sadly, Mr. Gayre with a sense of 
 relief. Sir Geoffrey delighted to find his 
 old favourite " as saucy as ever," and Will 
 Arbery after the fashion of a person who 
 felt himself fairly hit. 
 
 " Xo, Susie, it wouldn't," he said, look- 
 ing at her with fond, but merely cousinly, 
 affection. *' You are far too much of a 
 ' bloated aristocrat ' for Austraha ; you like 
 purple and fine linen, and servants, and 
 regular meals, and nice furniture, and " 
 
 " I like civihzation, if that is what you 
 mean," she summed up. "I think a sheep- 
 run in Cumberland or Wales, or even 
 Ireland, might be all very well ; but I 
 confess I should not care for it a thou- 
 sand miles from a post-office." 
 
 Hearing which declaration Mrs. Arbery
 
 232 S US AN DR UMMOND. 
 
 sighed deeply, and Mr. Gayre drew his 
 own conclusions. He understood there sat 
 the wife Mrs. Arbery would have liked 
 for her son, and he could not exactly 
 understand why " cousin William " had 
 elected to go further afield, till a few 
 weeks afterwards, when Susan was good 
 enough to enlighten him. 
 
 " I don't fancy," she said, slyly, one day, 
 " men usually fall in love with a woman 
 because their mothers think the particular 
 ' she ' will make a good daughter-in- 
 law." 
 
 After dinner they went out on the lawn, 
 which was perched high over the road, 
 and where the whole "Way" might have 
 watched them promenading had it chosen ; 
 then they wound round the house to a 
 pretty trim flower garden, laid out in the 
 Dutch style, and from thence Susan, and 
 Mr. Gayre, and Sir Geoffrey, and young 
 Arbery strolled down the pleasant meadows,
 
 susAy. 233 
 
 in which the grass was being cut and the 
 hay being made. 
 
 A stream bordered by pollards meandered 
 at one side of the fields ; large Aylesbury 
 ducks were disporting themselves in the 
 water ; afar off, beyond the level marshes, 
 rose the rising ground, near Sewardstone 
 and Chingford ; there was a great silence 
 in the air, and it seemed to Mr. Gayre as 
 if suddenly he had left some old life of un- 
 rest behind, and entered a land where 
 trouble could not enter. 
 
 Even Sir Geoffrey assumed quite a diffe- 
 rent aspect sauntermg through those Elysian 
 Fields with his hat off, discoursing learnedly 
 with young Arbery about country affairs, or 
 turning to speak to Susan as she and Mr. 
 Gayre lagged behind. 
 
 " You wouldn't like to jump that stream 
 now, would you, Susie ? " he asked, as they 
 came to a standstill at one particular bend 
 of the river.
 
 234 S US AN BR UMMOND. 
 
 " No," she laughed. " I do not feel so 
 young as I did once, and besides, this is 
 wider than the Chell even at the Pleasaunce." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that," said the 
 Baronet, surveying the sluggish water dubi- 
 ously. "Well, perhaps you are right. Lord, 
 Lord ! shall I ever forget that day when I 
 was out in the Long Meadow looking at 
 Lady Mary — do you remember that chest- 
 nut filly, Sue? — the prettiest thing, the 
 very prettiest! — seeing you come tearing 
 down the green walk, Avith Lai Hilderton 
 behind you, racing like two mad things ! I 
 shouted out to you to mind the river ; but 
 you just gathered your skirts about you 
 and took it like a deer. Gad, I never saw 
 a patch upon it before or since ! And, 
 afterwards, you stood mocking Lai, he on 
 one side, and you on t'other." 
 
 " He did not follow, then ? " suggested 
 Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " If he had, he'd have pitched right in
 
 SUSAK. 235 
 
 the middle of the water. Lai was no 
 jumper." 
 
 "Ah, but couldn't he pamt, Sir Geoffrey?" 
 said Susan, with just the faintest mockery 
 of an Irish accent as she uttered a com- 
 pletely Irish sentence. 
 
 •' Yes, certainly he was clever with his 
 pencil," agreed Sir Geoffrey. 
 
 "And who was this Mr. HildertonP" 
 asked LIr. Gayre, feeling really he could 
 contain himself no longer. 
 
 " 0, an old neighbour," answered Susan 
 carelessly. "He was intended for the Church, 
 but preferred art and went to Eome to 
 study. For the credit of Chelston, we hope 
 he will be a great man yet. About three 
 years ago he was good enough to come 
 down to see us aborigines, and caused 
 quite a sensation in a velvet suit and a 
 red tie." 
 
 "And all the ladies fell in love with 
 him, I suppose ? " said Mr. Gayre bitterly.
 
 236 SUSAy BRUMMOND. 
 
 " I think a great many did," agreed Miss 
 Drummond. " He really is very handsome." 
 
 What a strange girl ! — one who spoke 
 of men and life and wooing and marrying 
 as if she were seventy years of age ; who 
 addressed the representative of Gayre, Delone, 
 Gayre and Co. as though she had frisked and 
 frolicked about Chelston Pleasaunce with 
 him ! How frightfully easy were her man- 
 ners ! — well, perhaps not so easy as in- 
 different ; and 3'et — and yet who was the 
 only woman that since that crazy fancy of 
 his youth, had ever seemed winsome to him. 
 
 Already he loved her distractedly ; already 
 he felt, on the slightest provocation, madly 
 jealous. The first six words she spoke had 
 not disenchanted him — quite the contrary. 
 She was different from the girl he expected 
 —■stronger — a woman better worth loving 
 and winning — a woman such as, in all his 
 previous experience, he had never before 
 met, and —
 
 SVSAK 237 
 
 "I think, Gayre, we must be seeing now 
 about getting back to town," said Sir 
 Geoffrey, who, fond though he might be 
 and was of Susan, fek the pastoral business, 
 unenlivened by champagne and the hope of 
 a dupe, wonderfully slow. 
 
 To this proposal Mr. Gayre at once 
 assented. He felt that, whatever his own 
 wishes might be, he and the Baronet could 
 not stay at Granston House for ever ; and 
 accordingly, declining young Arbery's 
 hospitable suggestion that they should stop 
 and have tea, and ride home in the cool 
 of the evening, it was finally settled their 
 horses were to be saddled and taken to the 
 back gate, where Susan undertook to pilot 
 the visitors in ten minutes. 
 
 " The back gate is really the carriage-gate 
 here," she explained ; " only we have no 
 carriage, and nothing in the stable, except 
 a cow and a donkey." 
 
 Killing that ten minutes — a process
 
 238 SUSAN DRUMMONB. 
 
 which Sir Geoffrey thought occupied about 
 ten hours — they paused beside a Marshal 
 Niel which ran over the drawing-room win- 
 dow. 
 
 " Give me a rose, Susie," said the Baronet ; 
 and then, as she compUed, added ; " Give 
 Gayre one, too. Now," he went on, " you 
 must fasten it in my coat, in memory of old 
 times. What jolly little buttonholes you 
 used to make up for me at Chelston ! Only 
 look at Gayre — see what a mess he is making 
 of the performance. Better let Susie take 
 your rose in hand " 
 
 Now, the fact was that Mr. Gayre had 
 never in all his life worn a flower in his 
 coat. Affecting a severe simplicity, he 
 eschewed jewelry, perfumes, buttonholes, 
 and every vanity of latter-day male life ; 
 but not knowing what on earth to do with 
 the rose Susan had given him, feeling he 
 could not go about dangling it in his 
 hand, he was, when Sir Geoffrey spoke,
 
 SUSAN. 239 
 
 vainly attempting to coax it to stay in his 
 left-hand lapel. 
 
 " Will you really take pity upon me ? " 
 he asked ; and the blood came up into his 
 face as he put this question. 
 
 " 0, certainly ! " said Susan ; and while 
 fastening the stem, she looked up at him, 
 blushing too, but with a merry light in her 
 brown eyes. 
 
 " Gad," exclaimed Sir Geoffrey, com- 
 placently surveying his decoration, " they'll 
 think along the road we've been to Brox- 
 bourne Gardens ! " a remark which induced 
 such an expression of disgust on Mr. Gayre's 
 countenance that Susan laughed outright, 
 and explained the correct form of bouquet 
 generally borne home in triumph from that 
 place of gay resort. 
 
 " Wliat people will imagine, Sir Geoffrey, 
 is that you must be a great rose fancier, 
 and are returning from Paul's at Waltham," 
 she said ; which suggestion of his brother-
 
 240 S US J N DR UMMOND. 
 
 iu-la.w being mistaken for a florist so tickled 
 Mr. Gayre's fancy that, his good-humour 
 quite restored, he joined in Miss Drum- 
 mond's merriment. 
 
 " You are a bad, bad girl ! " declared 
 the Baronet, pinching her cheek. " Come 
 now, before we leave, you must tell 
 me what day I am to drive over for 
 you." 
 
 Then instantly Susan's manner changed. 
 She didn't know ; she was afraid she could 
 not go ; perhaps Margaret might be able 
 to arrange to run down by train and spend 
 a day with her ; excuses Sir Geoffrey cut 
 short by saying decidedly, 
 
 " Now look here, my girl, no use our 
 beating about the bush ; you're huffed, 
 that's what you are, but you needn't be. 
 Peggy will be only too glad if you'll come 
 and stop with us — not for a night or two, 
 remember, but on a long visit. She's just 
 as lonely a girl as you will find in London,
 
 SUSAX. 241 
 
 and she has not a friend on earth she likes 
 as she does you. Of course, you know, 
 we are down in the world a bit, but 
 you cannot be the Susan I know if that 
 makes any difference." 
 
 " I was sure the poverty touch would 
 fetch her," he remarked afterwards to Mr. 
 Gayre ; and it did " fetch " Miss Drum- 
 mond so far as to induce her to say 
 " she would try to go and see Maggie," if 
 that young lady would write and name an 
 hour when she should be likely to find 
 her at home. 
 
 "I think I did that pretty well," 
 
 remarked the Baronet, as he and his 
 
 brother-in-law rode straight down the wide 
 
 Highway to Edmonton, cheered by Mr. 
 
 Arbery's parting assurance that whichever 
 
 road they took back they would fancy 
 
 the longest. " I think I did that pretty 
 
 well, considerinc: we had nothim? but water 
 
 at dinner. How people can drink water. 
 Vol. 1 17
 
 242 S US AN DB UMMOKD. 
 
 as if they were beasts of the field, beats 
 me altogether." 
 
 " If you were on the march, and 
 couldn't get any, you might change your 
 opinion." 
 
 " I might," said Sir Geoffrey, in a tone 
 which implied he did not think such a 
 change very likely. 
 
 " However," he went on, " I am going 
 to stop here for a minute to ' bait ;' " 
 and suiting the action to the word he rode 
 up to the door of the inn, where he had 
 previously partaken of spirituous refresh- 
 ment, leaving Mr. Gayre to walk slowly 
 on and admire the prospect of flat country 
 which alone met his eye, look where he 
 would. 
 
 "I feel another man now," declared the 
 Baronet, when he overtook his brother-in- 
 law. " Well you haven't told me yet what 
 you think of Susan." 
 
 " She seems a very nice girl," answered
 
 SUSAX. 243 
 
 Mr. Gayre, coldly as it seemed to Susan's 
 enthusiastic admirer. 
 
 " Xice ! I believe you. There's not a 
 dark corner about her. I've known her — 
 how long haven't I known her? — the 
 dearest little woman ! I used to think it was 
 a pity I could not harness her and Peggy 
 when they were children ; such a pair 
 they'd have made — Susie in blue shoes, 
 and my young one in red ; blue and red 
 sashes, blue and red necklaces to match ; 
 and later on, while Peg was posturing 
 before a looking-glass — if you believe me, 
 from six years of age she was always 
 putting flowers in her hair and smiling at 
 her own reflection — Susie would be out in 
 the paddocks with me, or sitting in the 
 dining-room while I told her stories." 
 
 " Stories ! " repeated Mr. Gayre in amaze- 
 ment, wondering what sort of fairy-tales 
 the Baronet's repertory contained. 
 
 "Yes, stories," said Sir Geoffrey, defiantly. 
 
 17—2
 
 244 -5 US AX BR UMMOND. 
 
 " I don't mean, of course, nursery-tales 
 or foolish stuff such as most children are 
 crammed with ; but good sensible stories 
 about duels, and races, and shooting, and 
 spins across country — things likely to im- 
 prove her mind. Lord, how she used to 
 drink them in ! holding her breath almost 
 till we got to the end of a run, and 
 clutching the arms of her chair with both 
 hands, and well-nigh gasping as I told her 
 about flying over hedges and taking bull- 
 finches, and all the rest of it. She'd never 
 have been what she is if it hadn't been 
 for me. One evening I made a great mis- 
 take. I don't know how I happened to 
 get upon Dick Darrell, who was the hard- 
 est rider and the wildest devil I ever did 
 come across. He was going to be married 
 and settle down, and the young woman 
 was stopping at Darrell Court with the 
 father. Dick thought he'd have a burst 
 with the hounds ; and if you believe me,
 
 SUSAK 245 
 
 when I came to where at the last fence 
 he went clean over his horse's head and 
 broke his neck, Susan fell to crying to 
 such an extent my housekeeper wouldn't 
 let her go back to the Hall that night. 
 Ay, it seemed a hard thing to take Darrell 
 home stiff; such screaming and weeping 
 and wailing I never heard — the old man 
 childless and the bride a widow, as one 
 may say." 
 
 " What became of the bride, as you 
 call her ? " asked Mr. Gayre, with some 
 interest. 
 
 " 0, she stayed to comfort the Squire ; 
 and comforted him to such purpose that 
 they made up a match between them." 
 
 " I thought as much," remarked his 
 brother-in-law sardonically. "Where's your 
 rose, Chelston ? " 
 
 " Faith, I don't know," answered the 
 Baronet, glancing at his coat, and for the 
 first time noticing the flower had disap-
 
 246 S USAN BR UMMOXB. 
 
 peared. " I must have knocked the head 
 off as I was mounting this fidgety beast." 
 
 Mr. Gayre smiled, but said nothing. 
 On the whole he was not perhaps dis- 
 pleased that Sir Geoffrey had lost his Marshal 
 Mel, as he had already lost the whole of 
 his other possessions. 
 
 Seated in the twilight then, it was of 
 Susan Drummond and Enfield Highway and 
 fields of emerald green, and a blue sky 
 just flecked here and there with snow-white 
 clouds, and the air filled with the fragrance 
 of new-mown hay, that Mr. Gayre thought, 
 as he dreamed his day-dream, and built fancy 
 castles with towering pinnacles that glittered 
 in the sun. Why should he not win and 
 wear her? Why should he not marry and 
 be happy? Why should she not come 
 steahng to him through the gloom, and 
 fill his empty heart, and change his lonely 
 life into one of utter content? 
 
 She was young, very young, no doubt ;
 
 susAy 247 
 
 and he was old — yet not so old, after all. 
 She was poor, and he was rich enough to 
 orive her all he fancied she could desire. 
 
 o 
 
 Women had figuratively torn caps about 
 him ; why should he despair of awakening 
 an interest in Susan Drummond? She had 
 no lover — he felt sure of that ; quite sure 
 the depths of her nature had never yet 
 been stirred. 
 
 The twilight deepened ; it grew so dark 
 he could not see the objects surrounding 
 him ; and yet he dreamt on, till suddenly 
 the door opened, and an old servant, who 
 had been with him " through the wars," 
 said, 
 
 "Mr. Sudlow, Colonel, wishes to know 
 if he can see you." 
 
 "Yes," answered the "Colonel," coming 
 back to earth and its reaHties. "Ask him 
 to walk in ; and brincr Hcrhts and coffee." 
 
 ' DC
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 MR. SUDLOW IS ADVISED FOR HIS GOOD. 
 
 gl^pIGHTS and Mr. Sudlow appeared 
 IjbSk together — the former in tall silver 
 candlesticks, massive, and of an antique 
 pattern ; the latter in all the splendour of 
 evening dress. As they shook hands Mr. 
 Gayre surveyed his visitor. 
 
 " Going to some scene of gay festivity ?" 
 he inquired. 
 
 Mr. Sudlow coloured a little. 
 
 " No, nowhere very particular," he 
 answered. " I just looked in on — on my 
 way. 1 thought you would not mind. I 
 have called so often lately and always 
 found you out." 
 
 " Yes, it has been unfortunate," remarked
 
 MR. SUDLOW IS ADVISE!) FOR HIS GOOD. 249 
 
 the banker, ; but he did not proceed to 
 indulge in expressions of regret, or tender 
 any explanation of— or apology for — his 
 absence. He only asked Mr. Sudlow if he 
 would take some coffee, and while he 
 sipped his own stood leaning against the 
 mantelpiece, looking thoughtfully down on 
 the flowers that filled the wide hearth. 
 
 For a few moments the younger man 
 did not speak ; then he said, as if in a 
 sort of desperation, 
 
 "Mr. Gayre, when are you going to 
 introduce me to your brother-in-law?" 
 
 Mr. Gayre, thus directly appealed to, 
 laughed, took another lump of sugar and 
 stirred his coffee, before he answered, 
 
 " 1 am sure I cannot tell ; fact is, the 
 more 1 see of the worthy Baronet the less 
 I consider his acquaintance a blessing to 
 be desired." 
 
 " But you promised me," expostulated 
 Mr. Sudlow ; " you did — you know you did ! "
 
 25 o S USAN DB UMMOND. 
 
 " Did I ? Well, perhaps so ; only circum- 
 stances alter cases, and with the fresh 
 understanding I have recently gained of 
 Sir Geoffrey's character, I should certainly 
 advise any one able to keep him at 
 arm's length to do so." 
 
 "But it is not Sir Geoffrey I want to 
 know — it is his daughter." 
 
 "My dear fellow, don't excite yourself; 
 of course, I understand it is the daughter. 
 But you can't make her acquaintance 
 without at the same time makins^ that of 
 the father, and, as a friend, I say have 
 nothing whatever to do with Sir Geoffrey 
 Chelston. You think you can take care of 
 yourself, I know," went on Mr. Gayre ; 
 " that the owner of Meridian Square will 
 be more than a match for the Baronet, 
 without an acre of land or a house of his 
 own. On your own head, then, be it. 
 You shall become acquainted with a 
 gentleman who, to quote those words of
 
 MB. SUDLOW IS ADVISED FOB HIS GOOD. 251 
 
 Mr. Pickwick which so deceived the widow 
 Bar dell, will teach you more tricks in a 
 week than you would ever learn in a year." 
 
 " And when ?" asked Mr. Sudlow, sugges- 
 tively. 
 
 " Only to consider the impatience of 
 youth !" exclaimed Mr. Gayre. " Perhaps 
 you imagined I Avould take you to call 
 this minute," he added, with cruel irony ; 
 "but I won't hurry you along the road to 
 destruction. One of these afternoons we 
 will search out Sir Geoffrey, about the time 
 he arises from slumber and before he goes 
 forth to seek whom he may devour. But 
 one word of caution, Sudlow," went on 
 Mr. Gayre, with a short bitter laugh ; 
 " don't let him choose you a horse." 
 
 " You may be very sure I won't " 
 returned Mr. Sudlow, with energy. 
 
 " I am aware you think you play 
 billiards pretty well^still, were I in your 
 place, I would not pit my skill against the
 
 252 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 Baronet's. Further, do not lend him any 
 money ; do not let him persuade you to 
 put your name to paper; be very wary of 
 all games both of chance and skill ; refrain 
 from laying or taking odds — " 
 
 "Anything else?" asked Mr. Sudlow a 
 little sulkily. 
 
 " Well, no, except that you would do 
 well to have nothing whatever to do with 
 Sir Geoffrey Chelston." 
 
 " You must permit me to be the best 
 judge of that." 
 
 "All right, so you shall; only I should 
 be very sorry to see Meridian Square, and 
 all the other elegant and convenient, if less 
 profitable, properties you possess, converted 
 into ducks and drakes ; and that is a 
 conjuring trick the Baronet will perform 
 with incredible rapidity unless you are very 
 careful." 
 
 •' I believe he has bit you,'' said Mr. 
 Sudlow, with a certain triumph.
 
 MR. SUDLOW IS ADVISED FOR HIS GOOD. 253 
 
 "You are mistaken in that belief," 
 answered Mr. Gayre, the coldness which 
 liad characterised his manner during the 
 interview deepening into displeasure. " In 
 which direction are you going, Sudlow ? I 
 will walk part of the way with you. I 
 want a stroll and a cigar." 
 
 In some places and with some people 
 Mr. Sudlow was often bold, not to say 
 arrogant ; but the banker exercised a deter- 
 rent influence over him, which he felt 
 perhaps rather than understood. 
 
 With almost any other man he might 
 have prolonged the conversation, and in- 
 dulged in further argument ; but since his 
 youth he had looked up to and feared Mr. 
 Gayre. Habit accordingly proved stronger 
 than indiscretion, and muttering something 
 about the Strand, and looking in at one of 
 the theatres, he took the hint so plainly 
 given, and rose to go. 
 
 They passed together into the quiet street.
 
 254 S US AN DR UMMOND. 
 
 and under the peaceful stars sauntered 
 slowly along, speaking no word for some 
 little time, each busy with his own 
 thoughts, whatever those thoughts might 
 be. 
 
 It was Mr. Sudlow who broke the 
 silence, and his first remark proved he had 
 been considering how to give Mr. Gayre a 
 rap over the knuckles. 
 
 " I was surprised to meet Miss Chelston 
 the other day." 
 
 "In the Park?" 
 
 " No, I have not seen her there for a 
 long time. At Baker Street Station." 
 
 "Eomantic," commented Mr. Gayre, who, 
 had he spoken frankly, would have said he 
 felt a great deal more surprised than Mr. 
 Sudlow. 
 
 "A railway-station is as good a place to 
 meet a lady as any other in these days," 
 retorted the younger man. 
 
 "It may be, you ought to know."
 
 MR. SUDLOW IS ADVISED FOB HIS GOOD. 255 
 
 " She was going to Kew." 
 " You mean my niece, I suppose ?" 
 " Yes ; and we travelled down in the 
 same compartment." 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " She went to one of the old houses on 
 the Green." 
 
 "Once more referring to Miss Chelston?" 
 
 " Of course ; I did not know it was 
 
 necessary to go on repeating a woman's 
 
 name in conversation, like ' my lord ' in 
 
 an official letter." 
 
 " ! " and Mr. Gay re walked on, smoking 
 steadily, and refused utterly to ask a single 
 question, though Mr. Sudlow waited and 
 longed for him to do so. 
 
 "True love will excuse many things," 
 began the banker at last ; " still, as neither 
 Sir Geoffrey nor his daughter is aware you 
 fell in love with my niece the first day you 
 saw her riding remarkably badly in the 
 Park, I really do not think I should ever
 
 256 S USjy DB UMMOND. 
 
 mention that you followed Miss Chelston 
 in the manner you seem to have done. The 
 Baronet might think you had been — spy- 
 
 mg. 
 
 " How do you know I was not going to 
 the Green too, on my own business ? " 
 
 " I do not know, of course ; I only sup- 
 pose. And under any circumstances I 
 should not advise you to mention the 
 matter — I really should not." 
 
 "I only mentioned it now to show 
 you-" 
 
 "To show me what?" asked Mr. Gayre, 
 as the other paused and hesitated ; " to 
 show you could form my niece's acquain- 
 tance without my help. Make no mistake 
 on that point, my friend — you might get 
 to know a milliner's apprentice by travelling 
 in the same compartment with her to Kew 
 on Whit-Monday, but not that of a girl in 
 a higher rank of life." 
 
 "You are always so hard upon me,"
 
 ME. SUDLOW IS ADVISED FOR HIS GOOD. 257 
 
 complained Mr. Sudlow. "You generally 
 take a wrong construction out of what I say." 
 
 " Then learn to express yourself in such 
 a way that misconstruction is impossible," 
 returned Mr. Gayre, sternly. " At all 
 events, understand clearly that though Sir 
 Geoffrey Chelston is an unprincipled roue^ 
 his daughter has never caught even a 
 glimpse of Bohemia, and I mean to take 
 very good care she never shall. Fortunately 
 she has not the slightest inclination in that 
 direction ; I believe a girl never lived more 
 capable of understanding and resenting the 
 impertinence of modern puppyhood than 
 my niece." 
 
 " Do you suppose I was going to offer her 
 any impertinence ? " 
 
 "How can I tell? All I know is you 
 had better not." 
 
 "Mr. Gayre, on my honour — " 
 
 " Your honour ! Well, well, let that pass ; 
 proceed." 
 
 Vol. i. 18
 
 258 SUSAN BRUMMOyn. 
 
 "I wish you would not so constantly 
 catch me up — you make me forget what 
 I intended to say." 
 
 " That is a pity, for you were, if I mistake 
 not, about to remark you admired the 
 calm dignity of Miss Chelston's manners, 
 when answering the observations made to 
 her by a gentleman ' who travelled in the 
 same compartment all the way to Kew,* 
 as much as her beauty. Come, Sudlow, 
 confess my niece snubbed you effectually." 
 
 "She did not do anything of the sort." 
 
 " Do you expect me to believe she talked 
 to you?" 
 
 "No, no! 0, no! She did not talk, but 
 she was quite polite. Said ' no,' and ' yes,' 
 and ' thank you,' and that." 
 
 " Evidently regarding you as an outer 
 barbarian all the time," suggested Mr. 
 Gayre, with relish. " Yes, I know her style. 
 Frankly,' he added, 'for your sake I am 
 very sorry this has happened ; why can't
 
 MR. SUDLOW IS ADVISED FOB HIS GOOD. 259 
 
 or won't you remember all girls are not 
 barmaids, and that the fascinating manner 
 and brilliant conversation which prove so 
 effective across a marble-topped counter 
 are really worse than useless with young 
 ladies who have been discreetly brought up? " 
 
 " You are always preaching to me," 
 observed Mr. Sudlow. 
 
 " And with so little result I think I 
 shall leave off preaching altogether." 
 
 " You are offended, and I declare nothinof 
 in the world was further from my intention 
 than to annoy you." 
 
 " We had better let the subject drop." 
 
 "But you will introduce me to your 
 niece ? " 
 
 "I shall have to reconsider that matter. 
 Second thoughts are often best." 
 
 "But, Mr. Gayre, indeed, I meant no 
 harm. Pray do not speak to me in that 
 tone. You know I would not voluntarily 
 vex you for the world." 
 
 1?— 2
 
 26o S US AN DE UMMOND. 
 
 Mr. Gayre burst out laughing. It was 
 the best thing possible for him to do under 
 the circumstances. 
 
 " Three quarrels in one day ! " he ex- 
 claimed. "It would be wise, I think, to 
 get me home and send for a doctor. Never- 
 theless, Sudlow, it was truth that I told 
 just now. You must mind your p's and q's 
 when I introduce you to Sir Geoffrey 
 Chelston." 
 
 "I'll take good heed to every letter in 
 the alphabet, if that is all," exclaimed Mr. 
 Sudlow, relieved. Yet as he walked away, 
 after parting from Mr. Gayre, who seemed 
 disposed to carry out the programme he 
 had indicated, so far as hieing him back 
 to Wimpole Street was concerned, he 
 muttered under his breath, "0, if I only 
 once could get the chance of giving you 
 change in your own coin, I'd make your 
 ears tingle ! I wonder what has come to 
 you lately ! You always were given to
 
 ME. SUDLOW IS ADVISED FOB HIS GOOD. 261 
 
 gibing, but since the Baronet appeared 
 on the scene you have grown unbear- 
 able." 
 
 Once rid of his companion, Mr. Gayre 
 only retraced the way for a short distance 
 towards Wimpole Street. Instead he turned 
 in the direction of Manchester Square, 
 and walking evidently for the sake of 
 walking, and not because he desired to 
 reach any definite goal, occupied himself 
 in reflections upon the occurrences of the 
 afternoon, devoting a considerable amount 
 of attention to that statement of Mr. 
 Sudlow's concerning Miss Margaret's visit 
 to Kew. 
 
 "I wonder who it is she knows at 
 Kew?" he thought. "Shall I try to get 
 her married ? " or, following the Canon's 
 sensible advice, settle a small annuity on 
 her and wash my hands of the whole 
 business ? Heavens ! what dirty water I 
 always seem to be dabbling in now! There
 
 262 SUSAN DRUMMOND, 
 
 was a time when I would not have soiled 
 the tip of my finger Avith it. Alas ! and 
 alas ! Nicholas Gayre, Love has, I fear, 
 played you a scurvy trick once more. 
 You had better don cap and bells at once, 
 for you are a far greater fool than Sudlow, 
 and all for the sake of a woman concerning 
 whom you know next to nothing. I 
 wonder if she will be able to sweeten this 
 Marah — extract any healing out of such a 
 Bethesda ? " 
 
 For, indeed, when Mr. Gayre exhausted 
 the subject (and his mind was so constituted 
 he could not help exhausting any subject 
 which concerned himself, whether agreeable 
 or the reverse) he found he had since that 
 memorable day in May, when the horse 
 Mr. Arbery was riding shied at a steam- 
 roller, been travelling across a wilderness, 
 in which the few springs were very bitter 
 and the pools brackish, and playing an 
 extremely risky game. What he said was
 
 MR. SUDLOW IS ADVISED FOE HIS GOOD. 263 
 
 quite true. There had been a time when 
 he would not have meddled in Sir Geoffrey's 
 concerns for any consideration. You can- 
 not touch pitch and not be defiled was a 
 truth the Gayres never cared to forget, and 
 Nicholas Gayre could not disguise from 
 himself the fact that his brother-in-law 
 could in no moral sense be regarded as 
 clean. The more he saw of him the more 
 hopelessly disreputable did the man appear. 
 Washing an Ethiop white would have been 
 a possible task in comparison with taking 
 even a part of the stain out of the Baronet's 
 nature. 
 
 In the days gone by, when Sir Geoffrey 
 kept his account in Lombard Street, on the 
 first occasion of his drawing below the large 
 amount which Gayres expected to be kept 
 as a balance, a letter was despatched to Chel- 
 ston Pleasaunce, directing his attention to 
 the fact, and begging that the mistake might 
 be rectified ; but, finding the same " mis-
 
 264 S US AN DB UMMOND. 
 
 take " repeated, Mr. Gayre, Senior, requested 
 that the account might be closed. 
 
 This was the beginning of a coolness which 
 lasted up to the time when Mr. Nicholas 
 Grayre sought out his relative in North Bank 
 — a coolness which Sir Geoffrey's own conduct 
 intensified into total estrangement. The 
 banker thought of all this as he walked along 
 the London streets under the quiet stars, and 
 a feeling not unlike shame oppressed him as 
 he considered how utterly at variance his own 
 conduct had of late been with the traditions 
 of his house. 
 
 " And all because of a woman's face," he 
 decided. " Well, I can't draw back now. 
 I went into the Chelston pest-house with my 
 eyes open, and whatever happens I have only 
 myself to thank. Sir Geoffrey is not any 
 better than I expected to find him ; and my 
 niece is not much worse than I expected to 
 find her. She is false ; but she is not fast, 
 thank Heaven. I wonder who it is she knows
 
 ME. SUDLOW IS ADVISED FOE HIS GOOD. 265 
 
 at Kew ? She ought not to be runnmg about 
 London by herself; but I do not see that I 
 can interfere in the matter." And having, 
 just as he reached his own door, arrived at 
 this sensible conclusion, Mr. Gayre put his 
 key in the lock, and passed into the hbrary, 
 where he saw a letter lying on the table. 
 
 " It is from Sir Geoffrey, Colonel," said his 
 servant ; "a messenger brought it up from 
 the club. He did not know whether any 
 answer was required ; so I told him you were 
 out, and that I had no idea when you would 
 be back, but if a reply was expected I could 
 take it myself." 
 
 Mr. Gayre made no comment. He only 
 lifted the note with the usual dread and 
 repugnance with which he always approached 
 the Baronet's communications, and, tearing 
 open the envelope, read : 
 
 " Deae Gayee, — Peggy is certainly turning 
 over a new leaf. What do you think she 
 proposed this evening ? Why, that we should
 
 266 S US AN BE UMMOND. 
 
 both run down to Enfield early to-morrow 
 and look up Susan. I can't tell you how 
 pleased I am. I have promised to be a good 
 boy and get home betimes to-night, so as to 
 be in condition for the journey. 
 
 ''Yours, G. C." 
 
 " Now what is the Enghsh of this move ? " 
 marvelled Mr. Gayre. But he need not have 
 exercised his mind over this question. For 
 once Miss Chelston was playing a perfectly 
 straightforward game. " Circumstances atler 
 cases," and she felt as anxious for Miss Drum- 
 mond's company as she had once been de- 
 sirous of avoiding it. 
 
 ^^^hk^^^ 
 
 -^^f^t^
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT ? " 
 
 ^EACE reigned in Mr. Moreby's villa. 
 Tlie summer glory lay golden with- 
 out, sunshine dwelt within. Susan had come, 
 and the house seemed transformed. The 
 rooms were the same, the furniture was the 
 same, and yet everything looked different ; 
 the place had that charm of home it never 
 possessed before. Susan was there — with her 
 bright cheerful face, her pleasant laugh, her 
 useful hands, her constant thoughtfulness, 
 her unselfish heart, her tireless consideration 
 for others. Mistaken ! Ko, Mr. Gap-e un- 
 derstood here at last was a woman sound to 
 the core ; a woman a man would be safe in 
 loving, and who herself could love till the
 
 268 S US AN DR UMMOND. 
 
 last hour of her hfe. Already he felt as if 
 he had known her for years — as if there 
 had never been a time when he and Susan 
 Drummond were total strangers. 
 
 They sat at tea in the charming room over- 
 looking the lawn ; sun-blinds excluded the 
 glare of light and heat, the windows were 
 filled with flowers. Sir Geofirey lay almost 
 at full length in an easy-chair ; his daughter 
 was looking her best, and trying to seem 
 demurely unconscious of Mr. Sudlow's admir- 
 ing glances. 
 
 Miss Drummond presided over the tea 
 equipage, and Mr. Gayre was taking her 
 part against the apparently good-natured 
 accusation of extravagance which Miss Chel- 
 ston was bringing against her. 
 
 But Susan needed no champion, she was 
 perfectly well able to defend herself. 
 
 " If one is to have tea at all one may as 
 well have it good, and I am very sure the 
 extra cost cannot be a shilling a week. 1
 
 ''SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FOR GOT." 269 
 
 excessively dislike tea that has been 
 ' brewed.' " 
 
 "So do I, Susan," exclaimed Sir Geoffrey, 
 who had been coaxed into accepting a cup 
 of the refreshing beverage, and was con- 
 sidering how to escape drinking it. " I'd just 
 as soon take a dose of senna." 
 
 " Your tea is certainly extremely nice," 
 capped Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " We are all teetotallers at Enfield, you 
 see," went on Susan, in calm explanation — 
 "my cousin from choice, my aunt on prin- 
 ciple, and I and the servants from necessity." 
 
 " Susan, how can you say such things ! " 
 expostulated Miss Chelston, shocked. 
 
 " Have I said something very dreadful ? " 
 asked Miss Drummond of the company gene- 
 rally. 
 
 " No, faith," cried Sir Geoffrey ; " after the 
 wine your uncle used to have at the Hall 
 you must find water an awful cross to bear." 
 
 " Happily the water is very good at Enfield.
 
 2 70 S US AN BR UMMOXD. 
 
 But what I meant to say was, that as we have 
 no other extravagance we surely are justified 
 in making good tea." 
 
 " You shall make it as you like here, 
 Susan. That lazy little minx always leaves 
 it to the sevrants, and nice stufi* they turn 
 out ;" and the Baronet set down his cup and 
 took a little stroll to the window, and peeped 
 under the sun-blind and remarked he thought 
 a breath of air was stirring, and then asked 
 Susan when they were to have a long ride 
 together. "I'll find you a mount," he added. 
 
 " I think there is one of my horses Miss 
 Drummond would like," remarked Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " 0, you don't want to ride, do you, dear?" 
 suggested Miss Chelston softly. 
 
 " Yes, I do, very much indeed. But I must 
 first oret a habit ; I won't bring; eternal dis- 
 grace upon you, Maggie, by wearing that 
 old thing I had on when we met in the Park." 
 
 " It was a horror," said Miss Chelston. 
 
 " Ah, well, it won't offend your eyes
 
 ^'SHOULD AULD ACQUJIXTAyCE BE FORGOT:- 271 
 
 again. I mean to have one of the latest 
 fashion, short and narrow, so that if I 
 am thrown I sha'n't have a chance of 
 helping myself." 
 
 " Order it from my tailor, Susan," ad- 
 vised Sir Geoffrey ; " he never expects to 
 be paid under six years." 
 
 " You had better have it from mine, 
 Miss Drummond," said Mr. Sudlow ; " he 
 is a very good man, and allows fifteen per 
 cent, for cash with order." 
 
 " What a pull you rich fellows have 
 over us poor devils !" groaned Sir Geoffrey; 
 " we are forced to pay through the nose 
 for everything." 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Sudlow, for your sug- 
 gestion," answered Susan ; " but I am 
 having the habit ' built,' as my cousin 
 phrases it, by the ' local practitioner.' " 
 
 " Good gracious, Susan, you might just 
 as well put your money in the fire ! "' 
 said Miss Chelston.
 
 272 S US AX BR UMMOXJ). 
 
 " Wait till you see this great work of 
 art," advised Susan. " I ventured to pay 
 the old man a compliment about the fit, 
 which he received with lofty indifference, 
 merely saying, " Yes, I think we are pretty 
 good sculptors ! ' " 
 
 Mr. Gayre laughed. Miss Chelston looked 
 disgusted, and Sir Geoffrey declared, "By 
 Jove, that wasn't bad ! " 
 
 "What is the colour of the thing?" 
 asked Miss Chelston. 
 
 " The colour of the uniform of the Irish 
 Constabulary," said Miss Drummond, " in- 
 visible green. I am not going to enter 
 into competition with you, though I do 
 think that precise shade of blue in your 
 habit divine." 
 
 " And so becoming," added Mr. Sudlow, 
 as a general sort of statement which he 
 made particular by a look at Miss 
 Chelston. 
 
 " And so becoming, as you truly re-
 
 " SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT:' 273 
 
 mark," observed Miss Drummond, lauo-hinof, 
 " to some persons y 
 
 At this juncture Sir Geoffrey bethought 
 him that the room was unbearably hot, 
 and that he would take a turn round the 
 garden to " stretch his legs a bit." 
 
 It was some time before he appeared 
 sauntering over the lawn, for it had been 
 necessary for him to pause in the dining- 
 room and refresh exhausted nature from a 
 convenient decanter. 
 
 Shortly Mr. Gayre joined him among 
 the flowers, and then learned his brother- 
 in-law was deuce dly sorry, but he had an 
 appointment he could not possibly miss. 
 
 " Don't let me drive you away, Gayre, 
 though," he said. " Make yourself as much 
 at home as you can ; and look here you 
 bring your friend up some evening to 
 dinner. The girls make luncheon, dinner 
 when I am out ; but name your day, and 
 I daresay we can manage something fit to 
 
 Vol. i. 19
 
 274 S USAN DE UMMOND. 
 
 eat. Susan and Mrs. Lavender shall go 
 into committee." 
 
 " Are you going to instal Miss Drum- 
 mond as housekeeper?" asked Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " Bless you, she has installed herself. 
 Peggy will do nothing but dress. There 
 never was such a girl for finery. She'll 
 have to marry somebody rich, for she'd 
 very soon bring a poor man to the work- 
 house. Has it struck you that Sudlow's 
 mightily taken with her ? " 
 
 " He seems to admire her very much." 
 
 " Well, then, clearly understand, if he 
 means business I won't stand in the way. 
 Anybody with half an eye can see there's 
 not a bit of breed about him, but you say 
 he's well ofi*; nobody without money need 
 think of Peggy. It would be a great re- 
 lief to me to have her well settled ; so now 
 you know my views, and, as far as I am 
 concerned, your friend can propose as soon 
 as he likes."
 
 " SHO ULD A ULD A CQ UAINTANCE BE FOB GOTr 275 
 
 " But, good Heavens, he was only intro- 
 duced to her the other day ! " 
 
 " I know that ; but ' happy's the wooing 
 that's not long of doing ; ' and between 
 you and me, the sooner we can get her off 
 our hands the better. A great deal of run- 
 ning could be done in a short time ; and 
 the days slip away when you are living in 
 a borrowed house and have to trust to 
 your wits for money. I thought I would 
 just give you a hint of what is in my mind." 
 
 " Most kind of you, I'm sure." 
 
 " Well, my idea is a man can't be too 
 straightforward, and I may tell you the 
 sooner Peggy is married the better I shall 
 be pleased." 
 
 " Surely you don't want, though, to 
 throw her at the head of the first person 
 who seems to admire her ? Don't be in 
 such a hurry ; give the girl a chance. 
 She may meet plenty of men more desirable 
 in every way than Mr. Sudlow." 
 
 19-2
 
 276 S US AN DB UMMOND. 
 
 " She may," agreed Sir Geoffrey, " and 
 also she may not ; besides Gayre, a ' bird 
 in the hand,' you remember ; and don't 
 you make any mistake about sentiment, 
 and all that sort of thing, as regards 
 Peggy. She is as cold as a stone. She 
 cares for nothing on earth but herself. 
 K she had been different she might have 
 done well for both of us." 
 
 " Then you had some plan in your 
 head when you brought her to London," 
 thought Mr. Gayre, " which she has 
 baulked." 
 
 " And she's not a bit clever," pursued 
 Sir Geoffrey, anxious, apparently, tho- 
 roughly to convince Mr. Gayre of the 
 desirability of closing with the first eligi- 
 ble offer. " All that can be said in 
 her favour is she's pretty, and she knows 
 how to dress herself." 
 
 " Two very good points about a woman," 
 commented Mr. Gayre.
 
 " SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT:' 277 
 
 " Well, well, I only tell you for your 
 guidance." 
 
 " But, Sir Geoffrey, she is not my 
 daughter ; if you want to get married 
 you had better set to work for yourself, 
 had you not ? " 
 
 " I ! What can I do, a poor fellow 
 out at elbows with Fortune, who has had 
 the devil's own luck in life ? Besides, it 
 is not from my side of the house she 
 gets her selfishness and want of brains. 
 If I had thought more of myself and less 
 of other peo|)le I should not have been 
 placed as I am. I have been too con- 
 siderate, too honest, Gayre — that is about 
 the state of the case. Ah, if I had to 
 begin life over again, I would act very 
 differently!" 
 
 " I wouldn't vex myself about your own 
 perfections, "were I you." 
 
 " No ; it's of no use crying over spilt 
 milk. But, to come back to what we
 
 278 S USA^^ BE UMMOND. 
 
 were saying, you keep that matter in mind, 
 and remember if your friend likes to pro- 
 pose I shall make no objection. Some 
 men would want to know a lot about 
 family and all the rest of it, but, thank 
 Heaven, I have no prejudices. Everybody 
 must have a befifinninof, and all I shall 
 require to be satisfied about is, can he 
 pay her milliner's bills and keep her as a 
 girl with such a face ought to be kept ? 
 All, talk of the — here she comes ! Well, 
 Peggy, how are you going to amuse your 
 uncle ? for I must be off. I am so sorry 
 Mr. Sudlow — confoundedly sorry ; but Gayre 
 has promised to bring you up to dinner 
 some day very soon. You'll come, quite 
 in a friendly way, won't you ? We are 
 very plain people, but sincere. I never 
 ask any man to the house I don't want 
 to see." 
 
 In which statement there was so much 
 truth Mr. Gayre felt that even mentally he
 
 ''SHOULD AULD ACQUAiyTAyCE BE FOBGOT" 279 
 
 could not controvert it, while Mr. Sudlow, 
 almost trembling with pleasure, said he 
 would be only too delighted to accept the 
 invitation. 
 
 " That's all right, then," said the Baronet 
 heartily. " Xow I really can't stop another 
 minute. "You'll excuse me, I'm sure, Mr. 
 Sudlow. Till our next merry meeting, 
 Gayre. Farewell, Peggy. You'll see the 
 last of me, I know, Susan ; " and he 
 turned back a pleased face to his brother- 
 in-hiw as Miss Drummond shpped her 
 hand through his arm and went with 
 him into the house. 
 
 Something in that action seemed to 
 touch Mr. Gayre to the heart. He had 
 heard ere then of guardian angels, but 
 never previously did it fall to his lot to 
 see a pure and lovely woman taking charge 
 of such a sinner as Sir Geoffrey Chelston. 
 
 " We must also be thinking about 
 going," he said ; but Miss Chelston pleaded
 
 28o S US AN DB UMMONB. 
 
 SO prettily for a longer visit that the 
 gentlemen consented to remain tiU nearer 
 dinner-time, and finally it was arranged 
 they should all go out for a turn in 
 Eegent's Park. 
 
 " 0, delightful ! " exclaimed Susan, when 
 the question was referred to her. " I do 
 think this part of the park so exquisite." 
 
 Half-an-hour later they were all stroll- 
 ing along together — Susan in a black silk 
 dress, Margaret in a brown, which became 
 her as well as the blue cloth habit had 
 done. Eegent's Park was looking its very 
 best ; the ornamental water shimmered 
 and glittered under the beams of the 
 evening sun. The leaves of the trees 
 were fresh and cool, and free from dust ; 
 the birds were singing in the mimic plan- 
 tations ; there was a great peace in the 
 hour and the scene, which seemed to lay a 
 soothing hand on the hearts of two, at all 
 events, who looked wistfully at the landscape.
 
 ''SHOULD AVLD ACQUAINTANCE BE FOBGOT." 281 
 
 "It is very, very pretty," said Susan 
 to Mr. Gayre ; and, looking in her face, 
 he agreed with her ; it was, indeed, very, 
 very pretty. 
 
 "Are Kew Gardens well worth seeing," 
 asked Susan, after a minute's pause. 
 
 " Yes ; I like the wild part best, how- 
 ever, where one gets away from the ex- 
 cursionists." 
 
 " Maggie and I are going down to Kew 
 to-morrow ; perhaps we might be able to 
 see the gardens." 
 
 " They are open every day," said Mr. 
 Gayre. 
 
 " It was not that I meant ; we intended 
 to visit two dear old ladies that we used 
 to know at Chelston. They are the sisters- 
 in-law of the former Eector. They used 
 to live with and keep house for him. 
 Such charming ladies! You can't think 
 how lovely they were ; the pink in their 
 cheeks was so delicate, and their eyes so
 
 282 S US AN DE UMMOXD. 
 
 clear and blue, and tliey dressed so 
 plainly, yet so spotlessly, if you know 
 what I mean ; and the poor loved them 
 so much, and with reason. Well, the 
 Eector died. But I am afraid I tire you, 
 Mr. Gayre." 
 
 " Tire ! Your story enchants me." 
 " The Eector died, and then it seemed 
 such a terrible thing for them to go 
 into lodgings and live on their poor little 
 income. I am sure I lay awake at nights 
 crying about them, for they were such 
 darhngs. And then, in a minute, like 
 something in a fairy-tale, a distant rela- 
 tion died, and left them a house on Kew 
 Green for their lives. They took their 
 lovely china and Indian curiosities up 
 there. I helped them pack. And a niece, 
 a widow, lives with them ; and they put 
 their incomes together ; and it really is a 
 delightful . ending to what might have 
 been a sad tale. They have a nephew,
 
 "SHOULD AULJD ACQUAISTAyCE BE FORGOT. 283 
 
 an artist. I think you heard Sir Geoffrey 
 mention him." 
 
 " Is he the son of the widow," asked 
 Mr. Gayre. 
 
 " Xo ; his mother died loner and Iodo- 
 
 ago. 
 
 " And is he still in Eome, or has he 
 returned to England ?" 
 
 " I have not heard anything about him for 
 a long time. I shall know all to-morrow." 
 
 " At last," thought Mr. Gayre, " I have 
 met a woman in whom is no ' shadow of 
 turning.' She is as transparent as glass. 
 She is frankness and truth itself." And he 
 felt mightily relieved ; for, after all, there 
 seemed no wrong in his niece's trip to Kew. 
 
 " Save that she ought not to have gone 
 alone. But then, if she never went out ex- 
 cept with a chaperon, she might stop at 
 home for the term of her natural life." 
 
 Altogether it was an anomalous position. 
 Mr. Gayre, when he considered the matter
 
 284 S US AN DR UMMOND. 
 
 dispassionately, found it extremely difficult 
 to define the rank to which his niece be- 
 longed. 
 
 " How fond, Miss Drummond," he said, 
 " you seem to be of every thing and person 
 connected with Chelston !" 
 
 " If you only could imagine," she an- 
 swered, " how happy I was there, you would 
 not wonder at my loving even the vagabond 
 curs running about the roads." 
 
 Chelston, she went on to tell him, was 
 the loveliest place in all the wide world. 
 Had he ever been there ? Yes, once. Did 
 he remember this, that, and the other about 
 the Pleasaunce, the yew hedges, the fish-ponds, 
 the cherry orchard, the great mulberry-trees, 
 the vineries, the billiard-room, the library? 
 
 " At one time I used almost to live at the 
 Pleasaunce," she explained. " Sir Geofirey 
 was good to me ;" and then in a few words 
 she told how, when but two years of age, 
 her father died out in India, and her mother
 
 ^^ SHOULD AULD ACQUAIXTANCE BE FORGOT." 285 
 
 drooped and pined, and was buried in Chel- 
 ston churchyard six months afterwards. 
 
 " I never knew what it was, though, 
 really to miss my parents," she said. 
 " Everybody was so kind. I do not think 
 any child could have been more petted and 
 spoiled than I. My dear uncle would not 
 even let me go to school to be taught, as 
 poor old nurse used to lament, to be like 
 other young ladies ; and I am very sure 
 Maggie is right in saying I did not learn 
 much from the governesses, who were sup- 
 posed to teach useful knowledge. Dreadful, 
 was it not ? " 
 
 And Miss Drummond, remembering many 
 pleasant speeches Miss Chelston had made 
 to her in Mr. Gayre's presence, turned a 
 mischievous laughing face to that gentle- 
 man, who, though he only smiled in answer, 
 thought if his companion were to be 
 regarded as an example of total ignorance, 
 education might be dispensed with.
 
 286 SUSAN DRUMMONB. 
 
 "I used to hear so much about you," 
 Susan went on, " I feel as if I had known 
 you all my life. And then — papa was an 
 officer too." 
 
 "I wish I were an officer now," answered 
 Mr. Gayre heartily, " only that in such case 
 I might not have had the pleasure of mak- 
 ing your acquaintance. Should you like 
 to go back to Chelston, Miss Drummond ? " 
 
 " I think not," she said, with a sad 
 dreamy look in her wonderful eyes. "You 
 see we cannot take up the past again just 
 as it was. It is like reading a book a 
 second time, or hearing a song, or seeing a 
 sunset. It is never the same twice. My 
 past was very beautiful, but it is ended. 
 You can't put last year's leaves on the 
 trees, and we — we can't stay children and 
 girls for ever. Pretty nearly all the people 
 I loved are dead or gone. No, I should 
 not care for Chelston without my kind old 
 uncle, and Sir GeoiTrey, and all the other
 
 " SHOULD AULD ACQUAIXTACXE BE FORGOT." 287 
 
 friends I was so fond of." And for a 
 moment Susan turned aside, while Mr. 
 Gayre, who had his memories of loss, if not 
 of love, walked on in silence too. 
 
 Just then, while Mr. Sudlow and his 
 companion were gravely discoursing con- 
 cerning the latest on dit — the Queen and 
 Koyal Family, the picture of the year, 
 and the play which was considered most 
 amusing, or the book attracting the great- 
 est attention — Mr. Gayre saw a gentleman 
 striding along the path, who, with eyes 
 bent on the ground and hat pulled over 
 his brow, passed beautiful Miss Chelston 
 without a look, and would have served 
 Miss Drummond in hke manner had that 
 young lady not arrested his attention with 
 a cry. 
 
 "Lai!" she said, "Lai!" and then they 
 grasped hands, both hands. 
 
 " 0, I am so glad ! " she went on, " I 
 am so glad ! "
 
 288 S US AN DE UMMOND. 
 
 "Where in all the wide world, Susan, 
 did you spring from ? " he asked, his face 
 radiant with pleasure. " It is like the 
 good old long ago, meeting you again." 
 
 "I am stopping with the Chelstons," 
 she answered. " Mr. Gayre, would you 
 mind telling Margaret this is Mr. Hilderton ? " 
 
 Sweetly and decorously, without any 
 undue haste or excitement, came back 
 the fair Marguerite. She did not call the 
 young gentleman "Lai." She did not greet 
 him with effusion ; she only said, " How 
 very odd! We intended to go to Kew 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Susan's friendship, however, was of quite 
 another kind. No cause to complain of 
 the warmth of her greeting. She insisted 
 on knowing " Where he was," " What he was 
 doing," "How he was doing." Wliile Miss 
 Chelston seemed to be considering how 
 she could most gracefully efface herself, 
 Miss Drummond asked fifty questions.
 
 ''SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FOB GOT." 289 
 
 "I have a studio in Camden Town, 
 Susan," said the young man, " and your 
 face is in a picture there. Come and see 
 it— do." 
 
 " Certainly I will," she answered. " Not 
 to-morrow, but the day after. Is it not 
 wonderful to have met you ? " 
 
 " I don't know," he answered ; " I live 
 not very far away." And then, raising 
 his hat to the rest of the party, and 
 shaking hands with Susan, he was gone. 
 
 "How could you," asked Miss Chelston, 
 chidingiy — "how could you think, dear, 
 of saying we would go to Mr. Hilderton's 
 studio? The thing is utterly impossible." 
 
 Sir Geoffrey's daughter tarried behind 
 Mr. Sudlow to make this remark, and 
 her friend retorted, 
 
 " I never said you would go ; but / 
 shall." 
 
 " Now, Susan darling ! " 
 
 " Now, Marguerite ! " 
 
 Vol. i. 20
 
 290 S U8AN DR UMMONB. 
 
 And the two women stood tall and 
 lovely and defiant in the evening light. 
 
 " If you would accept of my escort, 
 Miss Drummond," said Mr. Gayre, softly. 
 
 " 0, how very, very good you are ! " 
 exclaimed Susan, turning towards him with 
 that charming smile which seemed her 
 greatest possession ; " I should be so glad 
 if you would go with me. Not because 
 I mind what Margaret says in the least. 
 She knows, nobody better, that Lai and 
 I have been good brother and sister al- 
 ways, and shall be the same, I hope, 
 till the end of our days. But if you 
 went with me, you might see some pic- 
 ture you admired, and then you could 
 talk of it to your friends, and, perhaps, 
 somebody might buy it. Lai is very, very 
 clever ; but — " 
 
 "Is that the Lai who did not jump 
 the river at Chelston?" asked Mr. Gayre. 
 
 Miss Chelston had, apparently in stately
 
 " SHOULD AULD ACQUAiyTAXCE BE FOEGOT." 291 
 
 disgust of her friend's frivolity and im- 
 propriety, resumed her walk with Mr. 
 Sudlow. 
 
 " Yes. Poor Lai ! I am afraid he will 
 never jump any river anywhere," said 
 Miss Drummond, sadly. "Don't you know 
 that sort of man ? But, of course, you 
 must be acquainted with all sorts of men. 
 There are people who can write books, 
 and paint pictures, and compose music ; 
 and yet not sell a book, or a picture, 
 or a song. I am afraid Lai won't do 
 much good so far as making money is 
 concerned, and yet he has such genius. 
 He did a crayon likeness of uncle, which 
 was, indeed, his living seK. Poor, poor 
 Lai ! Isn't he handsome ? " 
 
 With a hght heart Mr. Gayre agreed 
 the young man was uncommonly hand- 
 some. 
 
 "I do not think it is well for men to 
 
 be so very good-looking," observed Miss 
 
 20-2
 
 292 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 Drummond. " I know his beauty has 
 been Lai Hilder ton's ruin. His aunts de- 
 nied him nothing, and the women about 
 Chelston, young and old, thought he was 
 a nonsuch. Poor Lai! I have often felt 
 sorry for him. You will look at his pic- 
 tures, won't you, Mr. Gayre?" 
 
 If she only could have realised the fact 
 she had but to speak a little longer in 
 similar terms to insure the purchase of Mr. 
 Hilderton's whole collection!
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 
 
 ly^AYS swept by. Since Mr. Gayre left 
 ^I^P the army, days had never sped along 
 so quickly. All his scruples vrere gone, 
 his painful self-examinations ended. He 
 almost lived at Xorth Bank ; he walked and 
 drove and rode with his niece and her 
 friend. Save for an uneasiness he could 
 not explain, an occasional doubt which 
 would intrude, he was perfectly, utterly 
 happy and content. 
 
 For some reasons best known to himself 
 — most probably because he wished at once 
 to begin operations upon the widow's heart 
 — Sir Geoffrey decided to accompany " his
 
 294 S VSAN DB UMMONB. 
 
 girls " to Brunswick Square when the 
 luncheon " came off." 
 
 "I think it would be only a fitting mark 
 of respect to your kind friend," he ob- 
 served to Mr. Gayre ; who merely said 
 "Very well," and having duly apprised 
 Mrs. Jubbins of the pleasure in store for 
 her, announced that he would defer his 
 own visit till some future occasion. 
 
 According to the Baronet's account every- 
 thing went off delightfully. He knew he 
 had made himself most agreeable. Mrs. 
 Jubbins' acquaintance with that class of 
 " nobleman " (brought prominently before 
 the public by the Tichborne trial) was 
 of the slightest. Indeed, she had never 
 before known but one " Sir " intimately, and 
 he was only a red-faced, snub-nosed, loud- 
 talking gentleman in the tallow trade, who 
 had been knighted upon the occasion of 
 some royal expedition to the City. In com- 
 parison with him Sir Geoffrey's manners
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 295 
 
 when on good behaviour must have seemed 
 princely. Truly, as the widow told Mr. 
 Gayre afterwards, his brother-in-law was 
 " most affable," " and I am quite taken with 
 your dear niece," went on Mrs. Jubbins. 
 " She is a most lovely girl, and so sweet 
 and winning ; but I can't say I care for her 
 friend. What do you suppose she asked 
 my maid ? " 
 
 " I really cannot conjecture. Was it 
 something very dreadful ? " 
 
 "Very impertinent, at any rate," declared 
 Mrs. Jubbins ; " she asked her if my hair 
 was all my own'' 
 
 " Miss Drummond," said Mr. Gayre, when 
 he next went to North Bank, " may I 
 inquire what induced you to put such a 
 singular question to IMrs. Jubbins' maid as 
 you did about that lady's hair ? " 
 
 " It was not Susan, it was I," interposed 
 Miss Chelston. " I did not mean any rude- 
 ness, though it seems LIrs. Jubbins is verv
 
 296 S USAN BR UMMONB. 
 
 angry with me. So she has been com- 
 plaining to you, has she ? " 
 
 " Yes, but she said it was your friend. 
 Miss Drummond, what are you laughing at? " 
 
 " I can tell you," said Miss Chelston, 
 as Susan murmured " Nothing." " She is 
 wondering if Mrs. Jubbins let down her 
 back hair to prove to you it was ' all 
 real, every bit of it ; ' for that is what 
 she did the other day, when expressing 
 her righteous indignation to Susan." 
 
 " My acquaintance with that back hair 
 is of too long a date for practical assur- 
 ance to be necessary," answered Mr. Gayre, 
 joining in Susan's mirth, which was now 
 uncontrollable. 
 
 " Her hair is as coarse as a horse's 
 mane," put in Miss Chelston, spitefully. 
 
 " no, Maggie. It is not as fine as 
 yours, but it is magnificent hair, for all 
 that," said Susan. 
 
 "I do wish you would call me Mar-
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 297 
 
 guerite ! " exclaimed that young lady. " I 
 haTe told you over and over again I detest 
 hearing Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, from 
 morning to night ! " 
 
 " I'll call you Griselda, if you like," 
 said her friend slyly. 
 
 " What I cannot conceive," remarked 
 Mr. Gayre, " is how Mrs. Jubbins came to 
 imagine you were Miss Drummond, and 
 Miss Drummond you." 
 
 " It was all papa's fault," answered Miss 
 Chelston. " You know the ridiculous way 
 he talks about Susan being his own girl 
 and his favourite child, and his two 
 daughters, and all that sort of thing ; 
 and poor Mrs. Jubbins, whom I really do 
 not consider the cleverest or most brilliant 
 person I ever met, got utterly bewildered. 
 Besides, Susan set herself to be so very 
 agreeable that I know I must have seemed 
 a most reserved and unpleasant young 
 person by comparison ; and, of course, Mrs.
 
 298 S us AN BE UMMOND. 
 
 Jubbins imagined Mr. Gayre's niece could 
 not be other than delightful. She still 
 believes Susan to be me. For some reason, 
 when Susan called the other day to inquire 
 concerning the health of Mrs. Jubbins' 
 ankle, she did not think it necessary to 
 explain the mistake." 
 
 " I thought it would be wiser to give 
 her time to forget that little matter of 
 the hair," observed Miss Drummond. 
 
 " You had better try to make your 
 peace, my dear Marguerite," suggested Mr. 
 Gayre, a little ironically. "I know no 
 kinder or better woman than ]\irs. Jub- 
 bins ; and it will grieve me very much if 
 she and you do not get on well together." 
 
 "If I can make her credit I am really 
 your niece she will forgive me readily," 
 said Miss Chelston, in a tone which told 
 Mr. Gayre she understood the widow's feel- 
 ings towards her uncle, and did not ap- 
 prove of them.
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 299 
 
 Indeed, the whole question had been very 
 freely commented upon by Sir Geoffrey and 
 before Miss Drummond. 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder," declared the 
 Baronet, "if they make a match of it yet. 
 I think she'll bag her bird, after all. He's 
 a strange fellow, but I daresay he'll settle 
 down in the traces one of these days. I 
 am sure he might have her for the asking, 
 and I don't think it would be a bad thing 
 for him, eh, Susan ? " 
 
 " It does not strike me as very suitable," 
 answered Susan. 
 
 " She's not exactly his sort, but she'd 
 make him comfortable, I'll be bound. 
 With such a lot of money any woman 
 must be considered suitable ; besides, Mrs. 
 Jubbins is not bad-looking, and she's a 
 good soul, I feel satisfied." 
 
 " Is not Mr. Gayre rich enough ? " asked 
 Susan. "I should have thought it was not 
 necessary for him to marry Money."
 
 300 SUSAN BEUMMONB. 
 
 " Bless you, my girl, noboby is rich 
 enough. Gayre must have plenty ; but I 
 daresay he could do with more, and it 
 would be an actual sin to let such a 
 fortune slip out of the family." 
 
 Susan did not say anything further, but 
 she thought a great deal ; and she often 
 afterwards looked earnestly at Mrs. Jub- 
 bins, wondering whether Mr. Gayre would 
 ever marry that lady, and supposing he 
 did how his notions and those of his wife 
 could be made to work harmoniously to- 
 gether. She hked Mr. Gayre immensely ; 
 but somehow she felt she did not hke him 
 quite so well since the Baronet broached 
 that idea of marrying the widow for the 
 sake of her money. 
 
 And yet he was so kind and considerate. 
 It was he who made her visit utterly 
 delightful. Margaret and she had their 
 little tiffs and misunderstandings. Sir Geof- 
 frey — well, Sir Geoffrey did not seem to
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 301 
 
 her quite the Sir Geoffrey of old. " We 
 go on," as she observed so truly to Mr. 
 Gayre ; and oftentimes we find old friends 
 do not suit us if they have not gone on 
 our way. 
 
 Much as faces change — age, sadden, alter 
 -^they do not change half so much as 
 souls. This is what makes it so hard to 
 take up a friendship again after a long 
 separation. We may get accustomed to 
 gray hair that had kept its sunny brown 
 in our loving memory — to wrinkles — to 
 dim eyes — to the bowed head and the 
 faltering step ; but what we never grow 
 reconciled to are the moral changes wrought 
 by time, the faults which have become 
 intensified, the latent weakness we never 
 suspected, the falsehood where we would 
 have pledged our lives there existed only 
 truth, the frivolity and the selfishness 
 where we never dreamed to find other than 
 high aims and noble aspirations.
 
 302 5 US AN DB UMMOND. 
 
 To the young the process of disillusion 
 seems terrible, and Susan found that to be 
 forced to see her friends' faults was very 
 bitter indeed. 
 
 Nevertheless, spite of Sir Geoffrey's 
 eternal Jeremiads on the subject of money, 
 and his daughter's jealousy, irritabihty, and 
 lack of ordinary straightforwardness, Susan 
 did enjoy stopping at North Bank. It was 
 such a deUghtful change from the deathly 
 quietness and dull monotony of Enfield 
 Highway, from her aunt's lamentations, 
 and the conventionality, not to say stu- 
 pidity, of her cousin's intended wife. 
 
 Constant variety was the rule at Sir 
 Geoffrey's : except when Margaret and she 
 were alone together, Miss Drummond never 
 felt dull. 
 
 "I daresay I should tire of the Hfe after 
 a time," thought Susan ; " but a little of it 
 is deUghtful." 
 
 Flower-shows, concerts, exhibitions — Mr.
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 303 
 
 Gayre took the girls to everything that 
 was going on. Sometimes Mr. Sudlow was 
 of the party, but the banker never seemed 
 particularly desirous of his company. He 
 was waiting to see whether some better 
 chance might not open for liis niece. The 
 closer he came in contact with that gentle- 
 man the less he liked him, " and yet he 
 is good enough for her," was his dehberate 
 conclusion. 
 
 Happiness, in those bright sunshiny days, 
 made Mr. Gayre almost amiable. Dimly it 
 occurred to him that if he married Susan 
 he could then give Margaret the opportu- 
 nity of meeting men of a different class and 
 stamp altogether. He had quite made up 
 his mind to ask Susan to be his wife; but 
 he did not want to be precipitate. He 
 wished to woo her almost imperceptibly, to 
 make himself necessary to her before he 
 spoke of love, and win her heart, if slowly, 
 surely, and run no risk of even a temporary
 
 304 S US AN DB UMMOND. 
 
 rejection. He could not do without her. 
 She was the woman he had been waiting for 
 through the years — sweet, tender, spirited, 
 truthful. Life seemed very beautiful to him 
 then — well worth living, indeed. 
 
 Properly speaking, Miss Drummond's so- 
 journ at North Bank was rather a succession 
 of short visits than one continuous stay. 
 Every alternate week she returned to En- 
 field, remaining there from Friday till Mon- 
 day — sometimes for a longer period ; besides 
 this, she and Miss Chelston went to stop a 
 little time with their old friends at Kew ; 
 and when Mrs. Jubbins took up her abode 
 at Chislehurst she often had both girls stay- 
 ing there. 
 
 The widow was in a state of the highest 
 excitement concerning a great party she 
 meant to give. The Jones had celebrated 
 the change to their new house with a ball ; 
 the Browns had got up a picnic really on 
 a scale of unprecedented magnificence;
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 305 
 
 whilst it was known the Eobinsons intended 
 to ask all the world and his wife to a tre- 
 mendous entertainment, when their new 
 " mansion " at Walton was ready for occu- 
 pation. 
 
 " So I really must do something," declared 
 Mrs. Jubbins to Mr. Gayre ; "it would be 
 a sin and a shame to have such a house 
 as this and not ask one's friends to it." 
 
 "Better give a garden-party," suggested 
 the banker ; " and then the young people 
 can have a dance in the evening." 
 
 So said, so done ; the invitations were 
 written and posted. Every one Mrs. Jub- 
 bins had ever known was asked, and a 
 great number she never had known. 
 
 Sir Geoffrey begged her to give him 
 some blank cards, and promised to secure 
 the presence "of a few young fellows well 
 connected, and so forth." 
 
 The Jones, Browns, and Eobinsons, and 
 
 many other rich families — all of the same 
 Vol. i. 21
 
 3o6 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 walk in life — had each two or three in- 
 timate friends who wanted, of all things, to 
 make dear Mrs. Jubbins' acquaintance. 
 
 Mrs. Jubbins even asked Canon and 
 Mrs. Gayre and the Misses Gayre, and re- 
 ceived by return of post an emphatic re- 
 fusal. The widow was unwise enough to 
 mention that she expected Sir Geoffrey 
 Chelston and his beautiful daughter to be 
 of the company. 
 
 " What a set your brother has got 
 amongst!" said Mrs. Gayre to her husband. 
 "I should not be at all surprised to hear 
 any day he had married that Jubbins woman." 
 "Neither should I," groaned the Canon. 
 "There is one comfort, however, she is 
 enormously rich'' 
 
 " O, I don't believe in those City fortunes," 
 retorted Mrs. Gayre : " look at your father !" 
 " My dear !" exclaimed the clergyman, less 
 in a tone of endearment than of mild re- 
 monstrance.
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 307 
 
 The garden-party, to which Mrs. Jubbins 
 had bidden a crowd of people, and with which 
 she intended to inaugurate a new epoch, 
 wherein "she should enjoy her money, and 
 have some good of her life," promised indeed 
 to be a unique affair. Where expense is no 
 object it is comparatively easy to compass 
 success ; and on this occasion, if never on 
 another, the widow announced her intention 
 of not troubling her head about sixpences 
 — a resolution which met with unqualified 
 approval from Sir Geoffrey. 
 
 " In for a penny, in for a pound," he said, 
 in his off-hand, agreeable way ; and then he 
 asked Mrs. Jubbins how she " stood " for 
 wine, and offered to take all trouble con- 
 cerning her cellar off her hands, by having 
 anything she wanted sent down by his own 
 wine-merchant, "who supplies an excellent 
 article," finished the Baronet, " and is a 
 deuced nice sort of fellow." 
 
 "Affable," however, though the Baronet 
 
 21—2
 
 3o8 S USAJ^ BR UMMOND. 
 
 might be, friendly as well, and indeed on 
 occasions homely in his discourse, Mrs. Jub- 
 bins was not to be enticed into taking her 
 custom away from the houses that had won 
 the favour of Mr. Jubbins deceased, and 
 Mr. Jubbins' father before him. She would 
 as soon have changed her church ; sooner 
 indeed, because in her heart of hearts she 
 inclined to a moderate ritual, while the Jub- 
 bins had always pinned their simple faith 
 to black gowns, bad music, high pews, and 
 the plainest of plain services. 
 
 At every turn Sir Geoffrey's proffered sug- 
 gestions met with a thankful but decided 
 rejection. 
 
 For the commissariat department, con- 
 cerning which the lady's ideas were of the 
 most liberal description, Mrs. Jubbins felt 
 that she and her butler and her cook, and 
 the City purveyors, would prove equal to 
 the occasion. 
 
 " I am not afraid of being unable to feed
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 309 
 
 my friends," she said to Sir Geofirey ; " only, 
 how am I to amuse them?" 
 
 "Let them amuse themselves," answered 
 Sir Geoffrey. " Gad, if they can't do that 
 they had better stop away." 
 
 He had laid out his own scheme of en- 
 tertainment, and also given a private hint 
 to Miss Chelston it would be wise for her 
 to make " some running with that Sudlow 
 fellow." "Kemember the crooked stick, my 
 girl," he advised, " and while we are in 
 comparatively smooth water try to get a 
 bit ahead. You mind what I say to you. 
 If you don't, the time won't be long coming 
 you'll repent having neglected my advice." 
 
 Plants by the van-load, muslin by 'the 
 acre, relays of musicians, luncheon and sup- 
 per from a firm of confectioners well known 
 to City folks, waiters whose dignity would 
 not have disgraced a Mansion House dinner : 
 The Warren looking charming in its setting 
 of green trees, guests alighting as fast as
 
 3 lo aS USAIi DE UMMOND. 
 
 the carriages could set down, a hum of 
 voices, dresses of every possible fashion and 
 colour, ladies young and old, winsome and 
 passee, girls and matrons, gentlemen in 
 every variety of male costume, people who 
 had respected Mr. Jubbins, and people who 
 respected Mr. Higgs' daughter ; the com- 
 bined odours of all the flowers on earth, 
 as it seemed, mingling with the sound of 
 rattling china and jingling glass ; every- 
 where a Babel of tongues : guests saunter- 
 ing solitary over the gardens, wondering 
 how they were to get through the next 
 few hours ; groups chattering on the lawns ; 
 sunshine streaming on the grass through a 
 tracery of leaves and branches ; rabbits 
 scudding away into the plantations ; win- 
 dows open to the ground ; light curtains 
 swaying gently in the summer air ; white 
 pigeons with pink feet and wondering eyes 
 looking down on the company from the 
 roof; milhonaires exchanging words of
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 311 
 
 wisdom about " stocks," and " Turks," and 
 " Brazils," on the terrace which once " his 
 lordship " had no doubt often paced ; Mrs. 
 Jubbins nervous, triumphant, handsome ; her 
 'children in a seventh heaven of delight ; Sir 
 Geoffrey Chelston in a perfectly new white 
 hat and pale-blue necktie, talking to every- 
 body his discerning glance told him might 
 be made worth the trouble ; Margaret radi- 
 antly beautiful, in a dress which suited her 
 hopes and expectations ; Susan more simply 
 attired in accordance with her certainties ; 
 Mr. Arbery escorting a young lady whose 
 ultimate destination was Australia ; Mr. Lai 
 Hilderton looking handsome, forlorn, and dis- 
 contented ; a sprinkling of clergymen ; a few. 
 unmistakable West Enders ; this was what 
 Mr. Gayre saw when he walked up from 
 Chislehurst Station to The Warren on that 
 glorious afternoon in August. 
 
 The number of persons who declared it 
 was " a perfect day " could only have been
 
 312 >S US AS BE UMMOND, 
 
 equalled by those who talked about Lord 
 Flint and the Earl of Merioneth and the 
 widowed dowager. Though all dead or 
 absent, the " noble family " seemed to per- 
 vade the whole place. 
 
 The rooms were inspected, their appoint- 
 ments criticised, the style of architecture 
 examined in detail. Opinions differed as to 
 the convenience of the residence as a family 
 mansion ; but every one agTeed it was just 
 the place for a party. Such a number of 
 rooms, and all on the ground-floor ! 
 
 "It is like wandering through the courts 
 in the Crystal Palace," said one young lady. 
 
 " As fine a bUliard-room as I'd ever wish 
 to see I " exclaimed Sir Geoffrey. 
 
 " Never could have believed any man out 
 of Bedlam would build such a place; it is 
 offering a premium to burglars," grumbled 
 an old alderman. 
 
 "Dear me, I should not care to sit in 
 these great drawing-rooms by myself ! " cried
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 313 
 
 a portly dowager, who, next rainute, confided 
 to all whora it might concern, " I am such a 
 poor timid creature, though — a mere bundle 
 of nerves." 
 
 "Just fancy lying awake at night and 
 listening to the wind howling through the 
 trees I I would as soon hve in the middle 
 of an American forest," ventured a lackadai- 
 sical miss to her neighbour, with a shudder. 
 
 " I like it," answered the neighbour, who 
 happened to be Susan Drummond. 
 
 " You don't mean to say you live here ? " 
 in a tone of mingled awe and horror. 
 
 "No, but I stay here sometimes." 
 
 " And where do you sleep ? Surely not 
 in one of those dreadful rooms with only a 
 pane of glass between you and robbers ! " 
 
 " I am not afraid. For twenty years I 
 resided in a much more lonely house than 
 this." 
 
 " Eeally ! I wonder how any one can do 
 it ; I could not ! I should die ! "
 
 314 -S USAN LB UMMOND. 
 
 " Come into the garden, do," entreated a 
 voice at Susan's elbow ; and, turning, she 
 saw Lionel Hilderton. 
 
 Crossing the spacious hall, they walked to- 
 gether to the gardens, which were curiously- 
 planned on sloping terraces, rustic steps, 
 formed of logs laid lengthwise, leading from 
 level to level. 
 
 " What a rambling sort of place this is ! " 
 remarked the young man irritably, as he 
 regarded the evidences of wealth which met 
 his eye at every turn; "and these huge 
 gatherings are a complete mistake. I don't 
 know a soul here." 
 
 " You know m^," said Susan, mildly. 
 
 " Yes, you of course ; but then everybody 
 wants you ; and what a set of people they 
 are ! '' 
 
 " Some of them seem very nice, I think," 
 dissented his companion. 
 
 " 0, you find good in every one ; but they 
 are a lot of dreadful snobs, you may depend.
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 315 
 
 Of course I liave not a word to say against 
 your friend Mrs. Jubbins, though she has 
 about as much appreciation of art as that 
 cow ;" and Mr. Hilderton pointed down to 
 the plantations, where a milky mother was 
 seeking food under difficulties calculated to 
 try her patience. " She — Mrs. Jubbins I 
 mean, not the cow — asked me the other day 
 what I would charge to paint her a picture 
 exactly a yard long. I found out she wanted 
 it to put in a frame she had by her not 
 worth twopence. Of course I said I could 
 not paint to measure. If these sort of 
 people do not know better they ought to 
 be taught." 
 
 " I think I should have taken the order," 
 said Susan. 
 
 " I would not, then. If I have no respect 
 for myself I have for my art. To please you 
 I consented to paint her prosaic self and 
 hideous children, but I feel I can't stand 
 any more of that sort of thing."
 
 3 1 6 S US AN BE UMMOND. 
 
 " You know I did all for the best." 
 " Of course I understand that ; and I am 
 most grateful to you ; but you cannot think 
 how trying it is. You remember- that picture 
 of ' Esther ' for which your friend, Mr. Gayre 
 said he would try to find a purchaser ? Well, 
 he sent a dealer — actually a dealer, a man 
 with dirty hands and diamond ring, and 
 heavy gold chain and thick nose, a Jew of 
 the worst type — who had the impudence to 
 criticise my work. He was good enough to 
 say ' Esther ' herself was not so bad, and 
 he was willing to buy that painting, though 
 the perspective was defective and the minor 
 figures unfinished. I told him he must take 
 'Mordecai' as well — that I could not part 
 the pair. He declared he would rather be 
 without ' Mordecai ' if I gave him the picture ; 
 but at last, finding me firm, offered eighteen 
 shillings extra!" 
 
 "Poor Lai! What did you do?" 
 
 " Do ! I ordered him to leave the studio,
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 317 
 
 and next day had a note, saying I could 
 send a line ' to his place ' if I thought better 
 of the matter." 
 
 " So you failed to sell ' Esther ' after all?" 
 
 " I was forced to take his terms. I had 
 not a sovereign left." 
 
 They went a httle further without speak- 
 ing a word ; then Mr. Hilderton took up his 
 parable again. 
 
 "And to see all these people absolutely 
 wallowing in wealth! It is utterly heart- 
 breaking! Don't you think so, Susan? — 
 now, honestly, don't you ? " 
 
 " Well, no," she answered. " If they can 
 derive happiness from money and you from 
 art, surely it is better they should have 
 their money and you your art." 
 
 " But I can't be happy without money. 
 I want ever so much. I'd like to be as 
 rich as Rothschild, if I could." 
 
 "In that case would it not be wise to 
 accept as many commissions as you can
 
 3 18 8 US AN DB UMMOND. 
 
 get, even if the people who give them are 
 not particularly interesting? Were I you 
 I should try to paint Mrs. Jubbins and her 
 children as well as possible, and then she 
 might get you more orders. To be quite plain, 
 Lai, as you are in such want of bread-and- 
 butter, you ought not to quarrel with it." 
 
 What answer the artist might have made 
 to this extremely wise speech will never 
 now be known, for at that moment their 
 iete-d-tete was interrupted. 
 
 " 0, here are the truants ! " exclaimed 
 Miss Chelston, gaily : she and Mr. Sudlow 
 coming from an opposite direction, met 
 Susan and Mr. Hilderton somewhat unex- 
 pectedly. "We could not think where you 
 had gone ; Mrs. Jubbins has been sending 
 in all directions after you. Aren't you 
 tired of walking about? You missed some 
 exquisite singing ; dancing will commence 
 presently — ^you had better come in and get 
 cool."
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 319 
 
 " I am not at all too warm," answered 
 Miss Drummond ; " but I won't miss the 
 dancing as well as the singing." 
 
 " And remember I am to have the first 
 waltz," said Mr. Hilderton. 
 
 "You shall have it, though you did not 
 ask me before," she laughed. 
 
 And then they all bent their steps in 
 the direction of the house, Mr. Hilderton 
 drawing his companion a little back in 
 order to ask, 
 
 " Who on earth is that man, Sudlow ? " 
 
 "Haven't an idea," replied Miss Drum- 
 mond, in the same low tone ; " some one 
 Mr. Gayre knows." 
 
 " He is rich, too, I suppose ? " 
 
 "I fancy so, but I don't know." 
 
 "He has eyes for nobody but your friend 
 Miss Chelston." 
 
 " Your friend, too, or at least she used 
 to be." 
 
 "Ah, she is like every one else in this
 
 320 SUSAN DRUMMOND. 
 
 vile place. She cares for nothing but 
 money." 
 
 "I am sure you wrong her," said Susan. 
 
 "It does not much matter whether I do 
 or not. I am only a struggling artist. You 
 see she scarcely speaks to me." 
 
 " It is her quiet manner ; she does not 
 mean to be unkind." 
 
 As they stood near one of the windows 
 watching the quartette slowly ascending from 
 terrace to terrace, Mrs. Jubbins was saying 
 at that very moment to Mr. Gayre, "Judge 
 for yourseK'; I feel positive my idea is correct." 
 
 " I should not have thought it ; but 
 ladies no doubt understand all these matters 
 better than we do," answered the banker, 
 courteously. 
 
 "And it seems such a pity, for she is so 
 good and charming, and he is so poor and 
 so impracticable." 
 
 " We must try if we can't do something 
 for him."
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 321 
 
 "Yes, you are always thinking how you 
 can serve others." This was quite a stock 
 phrase of Mrs. Jubbins, and one which Mr. 
 Gayre had long ceased to deprecate. "But 
 I really can't see how he is to be helped ; " 
 and then the widow went on to relate the 
 " painting by measure " episode, and also 
 another painful experience she had under- 
 gone in her efforts to "bring the young 
 man forward." 
 
 " Dear old Deputy Pettell came down to 
 call on me the other day, and you know 
 what a judge he is of pictures; he has bought 
 thousands of pounds' worth one time and 
 another. Well, I had got Mr. Hilderton to 
 take my darling Ida as a shepherdess with 
 a crook and sheep — such a pretty idea — 
 and there was the portrait m the smaller 
 drawing-room, and Mrs. Eobinson and her 
 nephew Captain Flurry and Mr. Hilderton 
 in the other. Of course the painting in- 
 stantly arrested Mr. Deputy. ' What have 
 
 Vol. i. 22
 
 322 S USAN DR UMMONB. 
 
 we here ? ' he asked ; and he put on his 
 spectacles, and I was just going to remark 
 I hoped to introduce the artist, who fortu- 
 nately was at The Warren, when he said, 
 ' My dear Mrs. Jubbins, where did you 
 get this awful daub from ? It is one of 
 your girls, isn't it? I suppose that long 
 stick she is balancing over her shoulder is 
 meant for a crook ; but those things can't 
 be sheep — they have not even the remotest 
 resemblance to that animal.' " 
 
 " What happened then ? " asked Mr. 
 Gayre, as the widow paused in her im- 
 petuous narrative. 
 
 " From the next room," answered Mrs. 
 Jubbins, " there came this, quite loud and 
 distinct : ' The man only knows a sheep hy 
 its head and trotters I ' I declare, Mr. Gayre, 
 I thought I should have dropped ; and I 
 felt so angry with Mrs. Eobinson for laugh- 
 ing outright — you are aware the Eobinsons 
 never liked the Pettells. But don't men-
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 323 
 
 tion the matter before Miss Drummond," 
 added Mrs. Jubbins, hurriedly, as that young 
 lady, leaving her friends, turned to enter 
 by the window. " I wouldn't have her 
 vexed for the world ! " 
 
 Time — relentless time — flew by. The 
 afternoon had gone, the evening was going, 
 the time for the last train coming. Every- 
 where, as it seemed, there was dancing — 
 in the dining-room, the larger drawing-room, 
 the library, so miscalled from the fact of a 
 few volumes of forgotten magazines being 
 there imprisoned within glass cases, locked 
 and bolted as though each book were valu- 
 able as some old Elzevir. 
 
 The musicians were placed in the wide 
 corridor which divided the private part of 
 the house into two portions ; and in the 
 various rooms set apart for their use light 
 feet twinkled in the mazes of the dance, 
 and light hearts grew lighter and bright 
 eyes brighter as the old, old story, which 
 
 22-2
 
 324 S US AN DR UMMOND. 
 
 will never stale till the heavens are rolled 
 up as a scroll, was told in words or imphed 
 in glances more eloquent than any form of 
 mortal speech. 
 
 "There never was such a party." At 
 last everyone seemed agreed on that point 
 — the many who approved of the afiair, and 
 the few who did not. As a "social gather- 
 ing " it proved a supreme success. No 
 stand-aloofism ; no proud looks and uplifted 
 noses ; no " How the deuce did you come 
 here, sir ? " sort of expression. The City 
 did not seem antagonistic to the West, or 
 the West supercilious to the City ; while 
 the latest fashion in suburbs did not disdain 
 to ask a few kindly questions concerning 
 " dear old Bloomsbury." 
 
 There a High Church clergyman was ex- 
 changing confidences with a wealthy Dis- 
 senter, who had given Heaven only knows 
 how much to the destitute and heathen. 
 Young Graceless was dancing -with Miss
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 325 
 
 Eeubens, who was reported to have a 
 fortune of a hundred and fifty thousand. 
 Beamish, the author of Fashion and Fancy ^ 
 brought to Chislehurst by Mr. Hilderton, 
 was showing some tricks in the card-room, 
 to the great mental disturbance of a few 
 old stagers, who looked upon levity in the 
 midst of a game of whist as a sort of act 
 of bankruptcy ; while Sir Geoffrey Chelston 
 having button-holed Mr. Jabez Fallis, the 
 great match manufacturer, who was then 
 running a tremendous opposition to Bryant 
 & May, had just concluded a deal with 
 him for a pair of carriage-horses, subject 
 to inspection and a vet.'s approval. 
 
 " The price may seem stiff," remarked 
 the Baronet (at the same time confidentially 
 recommending Mr. Fallis to try some spark- 
 ling hock ; " the very best I ever tasted ; 
 and I thought I knew every vintage worth 
 talking about " ) ; " but there is not such 
 another pair or match in London — three
 
 326 SrSAy DBUMMONB. 
 
 parts thoroughbred ; action perfect, temper 
 ditto ; except that the mare has a star on 
 her forehead and the horse hasn't, might be 
 twin brother and sister. Now I tell you," 
 and the Baronet dropped his voice confi- 
 dentially, "how they come to be in the 
 market. Bless you, I know all the ins 
 and outs of these things ; " and as he 
 made this perfectly true assertion. Sir 
 Geoffrey poured his new friend out a 
 fresh beaker of ILrs. Jubbins' wonderful 
 hock. " Graceless — that young fellow coming 
 along now to get an ice for the pretty ghi 
 he has been waltzing with — who is she, did 
 you say? — had, owing to a little misadven- 
 ture — young fellows will be young fellows, 
 but you can't make old dowagers understand 
 that — got into the black books of his gTeat 
 aunt the Dowager Countess of Properton. 
 Well, he knew her ladyship's one weakness 
 was horseflesh ; so as a sort of propitiatory 
 offering, he got over from Ireland two of
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 327 
 
 the sweetest things ever put into harness. 
 They were just a bit wild at first, as all 
 Irish horses are ; they need coaxing and 
 humouring, like the Irish women, and then 
 they'll go through fire and water and to 
 death for you, if need be. He and I 
 trained them : took them here and there, 
 first wide of London, then nearer and 
 nearer, and into the Park, till they were at 
 last well-nigh perfect ; then what d'ye think 
 happened P " 
 
 " I can't imagine ; perhaps one on 'em 
 fell lame," said the match-maker, lapsing 
 into a once-accustomed vernacular. 
 
 " Lord, no," said Sir Geofirey ; " but the 
 Dowager died. When Graceless went down 
 to the funeral, he found his name not in 
 the will. That was last week. There are 
 the horses eating their heads off; and to 
 come to what I said, ]Mr. Falhs, if they 
 don't do their twelve miles, half country and 
 half over the stones, in less than forty
 
 328 SUSAN DBUMMOND. 
 
 minutes, why, I'll eat them, and that's all 
 about it." 
 
 The hall was set about with great banks 
 of flowers. Sitting, half hidden by ferns, 
 palms, begonias, and a hundred sweet- 
 scented flowers, that certainly were that 
 night not on deserts wasting their perfumes, 
 Mr. Gayre at length espied Miss Drummond, 
 whom he had for some time past been seek- 
 ing. She was nestling behind a great ole- 
 ander, with a scarlet shawl wrapped around 
 her shoulders, her hands idly crossed in her 
 lap, and her head resting against the wall. 
 Her whole attitude was one of listless weari- 
 ness ; and it seemed so strange to see Susan 
 Drummond, of all people in the world, sitting 
 apart idle and silent, that Mr. Gayre was 
 about to approach and ask if she felt ill, 
 when Mr. Hilderton, hastily brushing past, 
 exclaimed, 
 
 " Come, Susan, this is our dance." 
 
 " I think not," she said ; " but, in any
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 329 
 
 case, I mean to dance no more to- 
 night." 
 
 " The translation of which is, you don't 
 mean to dance with me." 
 
 " I intended you to understand my words 
 
 literally." 
 
 ♦/ 
 
 " K I were Mr. Sudlow your answer 
 might be different." 
 
 " As you are not Mr. Sudlow, and as he 
 will certainly not ask me, there is no use 
 speculating about my possible answer." 
 
 " K you will not dance, then, come and 
 have an ice." 
 
 " No, thank you. Like a dear good Lai, 
 do leave me in peace. I want to be quiet 
 for a few minutes. I really am very tired." 
 
 "The next time I ask you to do any- 
 thing for me — " began the young man. 
 
 "I'll do it if I can possibly ; but not to- 
 night." 
 
 "That is all very fine. I am going, 
 Susan."
 
 330 S US AN DE UMMOND. 
 
 " It delights me to hear it." 
 
 " Perhaps some day you will feel sorry 
 for this." 
 
 " I do not imagine I shall ; but you had 
 better leave me now to try to get up 
 strength to bear the regret you prophesy is 
 in store." 
 
 "Susan, I never thought I should almost 
 hate you." 
 
 " Neither do you hate me seriously, 
 Lai ; you will regret your words to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Is Miss Drummond not well ? " asked 
 Mr. Gay re at this juncture, calmly and 
 innocently, as though he had just come 
 on the scene. 
 
 " I am only tired, Mr. Gayre," Susan 
 answered for herself; while, without deign- 
 ing an answer of any sort, Mr. Hilderton, 
 an ugly scowl disfiguring his handsome face, 
 turned away abruptly, and strode out of 
 the hall.
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 331 
 
 " I fear greatly you are ill," persisted 
 the banker anxiously. 
 
 "No, indeed ; but I do feel very very 
 tired. I have been standing, talking, 
 or dancing all day, and am beginning to 
 think with Mr. Hilderton, these continuous 
 parties are mistakes. One has too much 
 for one's money," she added, with a laugh. 
 
 •^You are about the only person here 
 who thinks so, I imagine," said Mr. Gayre. 
 " Let me get you a little wine. Sir Geoffrey 
 has been chanting the praises of some 
 hock, as though he had a cellar-full to 
 dispose of. Will you try its virtues? " 
 
 " Not even on Sir Geoffrey's recommen- 
 dation," she answered. " I think I will try 
 instead the efficacy of night air. Anything 
 to be quiet for a short time ; anywhere to 
 get away from the sound of those eternal 
 waltzes and mad galops." 
 
 " May I — will you allow me to accom- 
 pany you ? " and the banker's courteous
 
 332 S US AX DE UMMOND. 
 
 manner formed a marked contrast to the 
 rude familiarity which had characterised 
 Mr. Hilderton's speech. 
 
 " I should be very glad ; but I do not like 
 taking you away from your friends." 
 
 " I have not many friends here," he 
 answered ; " and if I had — " But he stopped 
 in time, and drawing her hand within his arm 
 in the paternal manner he affected, led her 
 out on to the drive. 
 
 " The terrace is crowded," he explained ; 
 " which way shall we go ? " 
 
 " Down towards the Hollow, please," said 
 Susan ; and accordingly, winding round the 
 end of the house, they struck into a nar- 
 row tortuous path which led to the plantations. 
 
 " How pretty it is ! " remarked Susan, look- 
 ing up at the lighted windows, from which 
 the music floated out into the peaceful night, 
 and sank tenderly down into the heart, 
 softened as music and bells always should 
 be by distance.
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 333 
 
 " Yes, not a bad sort of ' Love in a 
 cottage ' place." 
 
 " Too large for that," she answered. 
 
 " What a bad character to give Love ! 
 Do you think he could not fill all those 
 great rooms ? " 
 
 " He might ; but still The Warren does 
 not fulfil one's ideal — at least my ideal — 
 of Love in a cottage : three small sittino^- 
 rooms, if Love were inclined to be extra- 
 vagant, a tiny tile-paved kitchen with 
 latticed casement, a thatched roof, m the 
 eaves of which martins and swallows make 
 their nests — it is said martins will never 
 build where man and wife disagree — a 
 trellis-work porch covered all over with 
 honeysuckle and jasmine — roses, crimson, 
 white and pink, peeping in at the windows. 
 No, The Warren is too stately a cottage 
 for ordinary lovers. The very place, of 
 course, for folk of high degTee, but not 
 £or common mortals. Do vou know, I
 
 334 SUSAN BBUMMOIs'D. 
 
 liave often wondered how a lord makes 
 love." 
 
 " Very much like anybody else, I should 
 think," answered Mr. Gayre. 
 
 But Susan shook her head in dissent. 
 
 " I should say not, though of course I 
 am no judge ; for I never knew but one 
 lord, and he was a dreadful old man. 
 People said he beat his wife, and certainly 
 she looked miserable ; and I knew— for I 
 saw it — that he kept a book in which 
 every household item was entered. You 
 would hardly believe that the diary ran 
 something in this fashion : 
 
 " ' At luncheon to-day : Mr. Gayre, Mrs. 
 Jubbins, Sir Geoffrey Chelston, Miss Chel- 
 ston. Miss Drummond. Game-pie, cutlets, 
 blancmange, stewed fruit : nothing sent 
 down.' " 
 
 " You cannot mean that ! " exclaimed Mr. 
 Gayre in amazement. 
 
 "Indeed I do. The book had been
 
 HIGH FESTIVAL. 335 
 
 handed to the housekeeper to convict her 
 of some sin regarding three sponge-cakes, 
 I think, and she showed it to me. I 
 looked at a page or two, and saw my own 
 name with this comment : ' Miss Drummond 
 was helped twice to cold heef! ! and I 
 remember also : ' Mem. — Never to ask 
 young Hilderton again ; he drank three 
 glasses of old madeira.'' And poor Lai 
 really did not know what he was drinking." 
 
 "By the bye, I wanted to speak to you 
 about Mr. Hilderton," began Mr. Gayre. 
 "I could not avoid hearing what he said 
 to you in the hall just now." 
 
 " Yes ! " said Susan, surprised ; and she 
 waited for the next words her companion 
 should utter. 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
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