LI E) RAFIY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVE.R.SITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 p9G7o
 
 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 ^ fioM. 
 
 BY 
 
 M RS. PULLEYNE. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I, 
 
 LONDON: 
 CHAPMAN & HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 
 
 187^. 
 
 Ail rights resei-ved.
 
 A 
 
 x3
 
 p3G7xr' 
 
 
 ^0 
 
 
 HER HIGHNESS 
 
 
 THE 
 
 
 PRINCESS DE NAR-BEY, 
 
 
 IN 
 
 
 GRATEFUL REMEMBRANCE 
 
 > 
 
 OF 
 
 i 
 
 MANY KINDNESSES. 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 
 ,7 

 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE. 
 
 I. "and all went merry as a marriage 
 
 bell" ----- I 
 
 n. mother and daughter - - 19 
 
 in. RUBESTOWN - - - - - 41 
 IV. ISABEL HARRINGTON - - - 66 
 V. THE BALL AT BINGLEY TOWERS - ' 9^ 
 VI. "COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BE- 
 FORE them" - - - - 115 
 
 VII. LIFE AT FERN COTTAGE - - - 1 42 
 
 VIII. THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO - - 1 73 
 IX. ROBERT BURTON - - - - 223 
 
 X. "the picture by murillo" - " 251
 
 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 *'and all went merry as a marriage 
 
 BELL." 
 
 Most novels end with a marriage. 
 
 Mine commences with one. 
 
 It is not the adventures of a love-sick 
 maiden I am about to relate. 
 
 It is the story of a woman. 
 
 A woman whose life only began when 
 the plain gold circlet was placed upon her 
 finger, whose past had not been life at all, 
 but a dreamy existence, a sweet summer 
 idyl spent among the sunny lanes and 
 pleasant places of her native land. 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 2 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 The music of wedding bells floats across 
 me as I write — floats over moor and 
 meadow, suburb and city, now soft and 
 low, now indistinct, now clear, ringing out 
 with quick defiant joyousness on the calm 
 still air, dying in mournful cadences as 
 the wind bears it away. 
 
 Life and death, sunshine and cloud, all 
 the great mysteries of human existence, 
 have an affinity with the bells ; rich and 
 poor, high and low, all have fellowship 
 with the bells. 
 
 They herald the birth of the new-born 
 heir. 
 
 They toll for his father's death. 
 
 A vein of sadness runs through their 
 sweetest chlrnes, and the martial pesen that 
 proclaims the conqueror's triumph Is but 
 the requiem of the slain ! 
 
 To me the music of the bells is ever 
 akin to sorrow. 
 
 I never hear them as I do now, rlncrlno- 
 out on the clear cold air, without tears 
 starting to my eyes ; some secret chord.
 
 AS A MARRIAGE BELL. 3 
 
 some undefinable tone pervades their 
 merriest peal, as the faint sweet notes of a 
 favourite air steal through the bars of an 
 opera, as the echoes of the bells steal 
 throuorh the life of the woman whose 
 history I am about to relate. 
 
 They are ringing now loudly and joy- 
 ously on Beatrice Hyde's wedding-day. 
 The little church of St. Stephen's, the most 
 fashionable church in the most fashionable 
 London suburb, is crowded with a gay and 
 aristocratic assemblage ; one more victim is 
 being sacrificed on the altars of Vanity 
 Fair — a young girl hitherto, unnoticed by 
 the elite of society is wedding the best 
 parti of the season. Sir Reginald Slade. 
 
 Not that Beatrice Hyde was considered 
 in the light of a victim either by herself or 
 her friends. 
 
 Her male acquaintances declared her, 
 and her female thought her, a "deuced 
 lucky girl." 
 
 Cautious old dowagers and match-making 
 mothers stigmatised her amongst them- 
 
 I — 2
 
 4 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 selves as an artful designing young person, 
 who had evidently taken poor Sir Reginald 
 in. 
 
 They had fired off their daughters for 
 several seasons at his head ; they had 
 angled and fished for the wealthy young 
 baronet, without ever getting him on the 
 hook ; and when suddenly he announced 
 his intention of marrying a pretty, but 
 portionless girl, they vented their anger 
 and disappointment in secret on the head 
 of the innocent bride. 
 
 They came to her wedding nevertheless^ 
 and courted and congratulated her; their 
 daughters declared her an accomplished 
 coquette, despite her demure behaviour, but 
 went into raptures about her rich trousseau 
 and costly presents, having an eye (as all 
 luell-bred girls should) to the gay enter- 
 tainments and fashionable receptions of the 
 future Lady Slade. 
 
 Sir Reginald's friends held divers 
 opinions on the matter. 
 
 Those whom he knew well thought him 
 a fool.
 
 " MERRY AS A MARRIAGE BELL." 
 
 Those who knew him well thought he7^ a 
 fool. 
 
 They were delighted, however, to come 
 to the wedding, and drank the health of 
 the bride and bridegroom with as much 
 apparent cordiality as any one there. 
 
 As for Beatrice, she was proud and 
 happy, and very grateful to Sir Reginald 
 Slade for choosing her out of so many rich 
 and beautiful girls. She had hitherto led 
 such an isolated life that the world seemed 
 turned suddenly into fairy land, and If she 
 did not love Sir Reginald so much as she 
 fancied in her girlish dreams she could love 
 the man of her choice, well, she cared for 
 no other man, and was determined to make 
 him a good and devoted wife. 
 
 I want my readers to look at the bridal 
 party as they stand round the altar rails. 
 
 I want my readers to photograph them 
 on their memory, for we shall meet them 
 often in the pages of this history ! 
 
 Place aux dames, Messieurs. 
 
 A tall slight figure, a pure pale face, soft 
 dark eyes, and waves of chestnut hair, a
 
 6 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 vision of white shimmering silk and rioh 
 creamy lace, such is Beatrice, the orphan 
 daughter of Colonel Hyde, and grand- 
 daughter of the Earl of Clanricarde. Left 
 without father or mother at an early age, 
 Beatrice and her sister Catherine have 
 been brought up under the care of a 
 maiden aunt, whose principal amusement 
 was to pet and spoil her two nieces to 
 her heart's content, and to instil into their 
 youthful minds the former grandeur of their 
 departed race, and the value of good birth 
 over every other consideration. Poor they 
 Avere but proud — sometimes the necessity 
 of the sisters having to earn their bread as 
 governesses was hinted at, but their fond 
 old aunt would not hear of it, poverty 
 was no disgrace, but teaching was, in 
 the nineteenth century ! So they passed 
 their girlhood midst the wild thyme-scented 
 slopes and sunny lanes of Moorshire, 
 having few companions and fewer friends ; 
 seeing nothing of society except what an 
 occasional county ball or croquet-party 
 might give them, and knowing no more of
 
 " MERRY AS A MARRIAGE BELL." 
 
 the world than was contained in the last 
 new novel from Mudie's. 
 
 Was it a wonder then, when Sir Reginald 
 Slade, down for the hunting season, fell in 
 love with the gentle beauty and unassuming 
 manners of Beatrice Hyde, he was accepted 
 with delight, not only as an eligible suitor, 
 but as a means of placing the two girls 
 in that society which was their right 
 and from which poverty alone withheld 
 them ? 
 
 Close behind Beatrice, as chief brides- 
 maid, stands her sister Catherine Hyde ; 
 her loveliness is of a far different type — 
 masses of golden hair crown the aristo- 
 cratic little head, her eyes are blue and 
 large, shaded with long dark lashes, her 
 nose Roman, her forehead high — a half 
 scornful, half triumphant smile curls round 
 the corners of her mouth, her white teeth 
 firm and regular beam like pearls between 
 her parted lips ; she holds her head erect, 
 gazing more at the stained glass window 
 above the altar, than at the altar itself; 
 her body is well poised, and there is an air
 
 8 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 of determination in the very clasp of her 
 small and delicate hands that speaks more 
 than words can express. She would do for 
 a picture of Marie Antoinette, but it would 
 be Marie Antoinette in the plenitude of 
 her greatness, not the pale mourner of the 
 Temple. 
 
 Slightly to the left of the bride, past 
 the bevy of smiling bridesmaids, whose 
 blue and white dresses set off the fairness 
 of their complexions, stands Mrs. Stanley 
 Harrington, v/ife of the Member for Moor- 
 shire, whose estate joins that of Sir Regi- 
 nald Slade. Mrs. Harrington is a slight 
 petite brunette, a first glance at her face 
 gives you the impression of positive plain- 
 ness, a second, and you would be struck 
 with the varied expressions that flit over 
 her features, the lights and shadows that 
 come and go in the flashes of those dark 
 passionful eyes. 
 
 She is not more than five-and-twenty, 
 and report says when Isabel Beaufort was 
 single, she was madly in love with Sir Re- 
 ginald Slade, and only accepted Mr. Stanley
 
 A MARRIAGE BELL. 9 
 
 Harrington in a fit of jealous rage. Be 
 that as it may she has come to see Sir 
 Reginald married now, and stands behind 
 his bride, with an air of well-bred indiffer- 
 ence on her dark smiling face. She is 
 attired in the height of fashion, every move- 
 ment one of studied elegance, the heavy 
 folds of her green velvet dress, bordered 
 with silver fox, fall around her lithe and 
 graceful figure ; round her throat is clasped 
 a necklace of opals set in the form of a ser- 
 pent, whose ruby eyes gleam and glitter 
 with every turn of her lissom form. By the 
 side of his wife is Stanley Harrington, M.P. 
 for Moorshire (conservative of course), a 
 tall lanky fair haired swell, whose titled 
 connexions have got him into the House, in 
 which he only makes himself conspicuous 
 by his absence. He looks awfully bored 
 and languid now, as he studies with his 
 eye-glass the various inscriptions round the 
 chancel. Looking awfully bored and lan- 
 guid is his role, he is never himself 
 in any other character. 
 
 " Weddings are demm'd nuisances," he
 
 lO OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 remarks, sotto voce, to the next man to 
 him. " Why should a fellow have to dress 
 up like a jack-pudding when he ought to be 
 in bed ? Why should he be forced to eat a 
 dinner they call breakfast at that ungodly 
 hour ? It's so deuced flat too, one 
 cannot for decency's sake get screwed at 
 that time of the day ; give him a good solid 
 funeral, there was a chance of coming in for 
 something there, besides assisting at a jolly 
 row between the disappointed relatives. He 
 wouldn't have been in the church to-day, 
 but his wife — ah, well, his wife !" 
 
 Sir Reginald Slade is apparently a man 
 about thirty years of age, of middle stature, 
 light hair, eyes of cold steely blue ; his 
 mouth though partially hidden behind a soft 
 silky moustache compressed and cruel. 
 Even now when the consummation of his 
 wishes is at hand, there is a hard stony ex- 
 pression on his otherwise agreeable face, 
 and the smile that illumines it as he gazes 
 on his bride is as sunlight on marble, 
 lighting it up, but never warming — there is 
 an air of restlessness about him which is
 
 "MERRY AS A MARRIAGE BELL. I I 
 
 self-evident to those near the altar rails, but 
 which at a distance is taken for becoming 
 nervousness — his eyes flash quick impatient 
 glances on the officiating minister ; like his 
 friend Stanley Harrington, he is evidently 
 bored to death by the whole proceeding — 
 a registrar's office and one or two 
 witnesses would have done the business 
 quite as well, *' Why women should be so 
 confoundedly prejudiced and want all this 
 bother about nothing, he cannot con- 
 ceive." 
 
 By his side, in the character of best man, 
 stands Lord Arthur Trelawney, Sir Regi- 
 nald's boon companion and chosen friend, a 
 polished, accomplished man of the world ; 
 men call him a roue and a scamp, women 
 a darling and a naughty boy ! Both are 
 right ; women certainly have the advant- 
 age as they possess more opportunities of 
 judging. H e is handsome and dark with the 
 beaute de diable ; his voice is low and 
 trainante, his figure manly and imposing^ 
 he has a way with him no woman can 
 resist, and no man has ever insulted him
 
 I 2 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 twice. As he stands now, his arms 
 folded across his chest, he resembles the 
 statue of a young Hercules, but there is a 
 cynical smile round his finely chiselled lips 
 that spoils the otherwise perfect beauty of 
 his face. 
 
 Beside him is a very different personage, 
 Mr. Plantagenet Jones, the opulent banker, 
 and justice of peace for Moorshire, a stout, 
 red-faced fussy little man, with a bald head 
 and iron-grey hair, and a shiny round face 
 radiant with smiles. 
 
 Although a widower with two grown-up 
 daughters amongst the bridesmaids, Mr. 
 Plantagenet Jones affects juvenility, shaves 
 off his whiskers and his beard, dresses in a 
 style suitable to three-and-twenty ; wears 
 diamond studs and diamond rings in the 
 morning, and smirks at the girls like a young 
 buck of the reign of George the Fourth. 
 
 Who Mr. Plantagenet was, nobody 
 knows, and nobody cares ; men like Stanley 
 Harrington, with little money and less 
 brains, call him '' that cad Jones," but 
 they are nevertheless ready enough to eat
 
 "MERRY AS A MARRIAGE BEL].. 1 3 
 
 his dinners, and drink his wines, and vote 
 him a jolly good fellow over the suppers 
 for which he pays. 
 
 Plantagenet Jones is a millionaire ; the 
 probability is he could buy and sell a 
 dozen times over any one in the church at 
 the present moment ; and, as some one has 
 wisely observed, that '' the only distinction 
 now-a-days is money," Plantagenet Jones 
 comes in for a very large share of it 
 
 All that is known of his antecedents is 
 his having entered as a clerk early in life, 
 into the firm of Bullion & Co., Bankers, of 
 Rubestown in Moorshire, where his pluck 
 and perseverance, together with a little 
 natural audacity, carried him on until he 
 married his master's daughter, and became 
 junior partner in the firm. His wife was a 
 vain intriguing woman — his talent and her 
 unscrupulous energy swept all before them, 
 till one morning he found himself by old Bul- 
 lion's death at the top of the tree, and worth 
 nearly a million-and-a-half of money. Some 
 stories got afloat, God only knows how 
 such stories do get afloat, of a poor old
 
 14 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 father dying In a workhouse in Wales, 
 but — bosh, that was pubHc calumny. Mr. 
 Plantagenet Jones was the very es- 
 sence of generosity, — subscribed largely 
 to public Institutions, gave the largest 
 dinners and best fetes in Moorshire, had 
 all the aristocracy of the county, at times, 
 at his house ; nay, even royalty had 
 condescended to lean on his arm when he 
 organized a charitable bazaar, for the 
 benefit of the county hospital ; and it was 
 even reported that Her Gracious Majesty 
 intended to confer on him a baronetcy, for 
 his speech at a public dinner, in praise of 
 model lodging-houses. 
 
 He had long been a widower, but did 
 not seem anxious to enter again the bonds 
 of Hymen. I fancy he rather enjoyed 
 emancipation from the Iron rule of the late 
 Mrs. Jones, who was both a tartar and a 
 vixen, — at all events, Plantagenet, though 
 a shocking flirt, never attempted to give 
 her a successor; but lorded itabout London, 
 and in the clubs, to the infinite disgust of 
 men who could date some eight centuries
 
 " MERRY AS A MARRIAGE BELL. 1 5 
 
 back, but whom his money threw com- 
 pletely into the shade. 
 
 Plantagenet Jones possessed one re- 
 markably good quality, — he was never 
 known to be out of temper ; he swallowed 
 chaff as easily as he did green peas, and 
 was never more at home than In the midst 
 of some festive gathering, or as when, on 
 this occasion, he was acting as father to 
 the young girl who was his daughter's 
 favourite companion, and who, as the 
 monarch of Moorshire, he felt it his duty 
 to patronize and befriend. 
 
 One more picture, and I have done. 
 
 It is that of the young officiating priest ! 
 
 St. Stephen's is a highly ritualistic 
 church, and her ministers, both Rector and 
 Curate, strongly Imbued with the like prin- 
 ciples. The Rector (the Honourable Hugh 
 de Grey) having been seized with a sudden 
 attack of illness on the morning of the 
 marriage, that Important duty has been left, 
 perforce, to his Curate, the Rev. Adrian 
 Hope. 
 
 The pretty little church, quite Gothic in
 
 1 6 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 its Style of architecture, is decked with 
 evergreens and holly, for the season of 
 Christmas is not yet passed. 
 
 On the altar stands the crucifix, the 
 blessed symbol of man's redemption, sur- 
 rounded by lights and flowers. Some 
 parts of the church are shrouded in gloom, 
 but the cold wintry sun streams in through 
 the painted windows, and falls on the <7 
 drooping figure of the bride, the fair ^'^^^ 
 patrician beauty of Catherine Hyde, the 
 pale ascetic countenance of Adrian Hope. 
 
 His large dark eyes, burning with in- 
 ward fire, are sunk deeply beneath his 
 heavy brows, his cheeks are slightly hollow, 
 his figure spare, his hands small and deli- 
 cate as a woman's, attenuated even to 
 painfulness : yet there is a nameless grace 
 about him, an almost divine beauty in his 
 face which makes the observer feel he is 
 no ordinary man ; his white robes throw 
 out the paleness of his features. He looks 
 like an ascetic monk stepped out of some 
 mediaeval picture, or one of those ardent
 
 17 
 
 spirits out of which the Church of Rome 
 has ever formed her saints. 
 
 Something in the slow impressive 
 manner in which he reads the service, 
 something in the deep sonorous tones of 
 his voice, or, perhaps, the painful glare of 
 the sunlight through the painted windows, 
 causes Catherine Hyde to lower her gaze, 
 which has hitherto been concentrated on 
 the stained glass representation of the mar- 
 tyrdom of St. Stephen. 
 
 As her eyes fall on the young priest, 
 apparently for the first time, a flush of 
 crimson suffuses her cheeks, and she almost 
 starts at his strange resemblance to the 
 pictured martyr above. 
 
 All the pride, all the scorn vanishes out 
 of her face ; an expression of matchless 
 tenderness and beauty lights up her 
 features, softening the hardness of her 
 Roman profile. She listens attentively to 
 the holy mysterious marriage service — that 
 symbol of the union of Christ with His 
 Church — and then, when the last words 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 1 8 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 are uttered, the last blessing given, she 
 follows the bridal party into the vestry, 
 walking as though she were walking in a 
 dream.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 *' I HEAR they are coming home at once." 
 
 '' Who, mamma ?" 
 
 " Why, Sir Reginald and Lady Slade. 
 Dear me, Rosamond, how stupid you are ! 
 I do wish you would put that book down, 
 and pay attention to what I am saying. I 
 have told you twice Sir Reginald and 
 Lady Slade are coming home directly." 
 
 "Well, I'm sure I don't care if they 
 are," replied the girl her mother addressed 
 as Rosamond, as, lolling back in a chair 
 before the fire, her feet upon the fender, 
 she continued the perusal of the obnoxious 
 volume. 
 
 You don't care ;' that is a very rude 
 
 2 — 2 
 
 t( I
 
 20 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 remark to make, Rosamond, when you 
 know how anxious I am about it, and how 
 so much depends upon it ; but it's just hke 
 you. Never mother was so disappointed 
 and thwarted in a child as I am in you. I 
 wish that trash was behind the fire, I do.'' 
 
 " Really, mamma, I cannot for the life of 
 me see what Lady Slade's coming home 
 has to do with us," answered Rosamond, 
 laying down her book and shrugging her 
 shoulders, '' or why you should be so 
 anxious about it." 
 
 " You never see anything," replied her 
 mother, angrily ; '' you are so wrapped up 
 in those rubbishy novels, you can never 
 attend to matters of real life. How are you 
 ever to get into society if I don't make an 
 effort ?" 
 
 The Q^irl— she w^as little more than 
 sixteen — shook back a mass of tawny hair 
 from her low square forehead as she 
 laughed scornfully, — 
 
 '' Into society ? Poor dear mamma, you 
 have been trying that little amusement ever
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 21 
 
 since I can remember. I don't think Lady 
 Slade will help much to that end." 
 
 ''You know nothing about it, Rosamond," 
 replied her mother, whose eyes were full of 
 tears. " Pray, why should we not be in so- 
 ciety as well as any one else ? Your dear 
 father is an officer, and I was a colonel's 
 daughter, and my mother was a lady." 
 
 " Well, mamma ?" • 
 
 " Well, Rosamond, does not that prove 
 to you we are quite as good as our neigh- 
 bours, and have quite as much right to high 
 society as they have ?" 
 
 " We may have the right, but I don't see 
 the means. What is the use of being ladies 
 if we cannot keep up the position ? It's no 
 use talking, mamma, we have no money 
 and no clothes : you cannot get on without 
 both in these days." 
 
 " You speak painful truths, my dear," 
 fretfully replied pale delicate little Mrs. 
 Etheridge, " but in my day it was no matter 
 about money or clothes, so long as people 
 behaved themselves, and were of good 
 family."
 
 22 OUT OF SOCIETY, 
 
 "Your day!" retorted her daughter, 
 scornfully tossing her head. " What can 
 be the use of talking of the past ? My day 
 is coining now, and a black one it's likely to 
 prove, for all that I can see in the future !" 
 and the girl flung herself back in the arm- 
 chair, and relapsed into the perusal of her 
 novel. 
 
 " Rosamond, Rosamond," cried her 
 mother, "how can you be so perverse ? Am 
 I not doing all I can for you ? if you will 
 only be guided by me now that these people 
 are coming home. You are very ungrate- 
 ful ;" and the poor woman fairly burst into 
 tears. 
 
 " No, indeed, I'm not," replied Rosa- 
 mond, letting her book fall off her lap as 
 she jumped up impetuously and kissed her 
 mother. " I am very grateful to you, indeed, 
 I am ; but, oh ! mamma, I'm so sick of all 
 these shams. Why cannot we be contented 
 to remain as we are, and acknowledge our 
 poverty ? Why must we be for ever pre. 
 tending to be well off, when you know the 
 misery it causes afterwards ? I am sick of
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 23 
 
 seeing you continually put to such straits 
 to keep up appearances," she added, with a 
 gesture of impatience. *' I wish I were a 
 boy, and could get away and earn my own 
 living. 
 
 " That is nonsense, my dear," said Mrs. 
 Etheridge, drying her eyes ; '' you know all 
 my exertions are for you and your brother 
 Jack, and it pains me so dreadfully when I 
 fancy you are ungrateful, or — " 
 
 *' Silly mamma !" cried Rosamond, car- 
 ressingly stroking her mother's face ; " you 
 know how dearly I love you ; I don't wish 
 you to put yourself to all these annoyances 
 for me ; why, I am only sixteen," she added, 
 laughing ; " thousands of things may happen 
 before the year is out ; papa may get his pro- 
 motion, and then — " 
 
 '' Ah ! I wish your dear father was at 
 home now," sighed Mrs. Etheridge. 
 
 " I don't," replied his daughter, doggedly. 
 " I don't think he would find things very 
 comfortable here." 
 
 '* At all events we should have him to 
 advise and console us," returned her mother.
 
 2 4 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 *' Ah ! my dear, I was never so happy as 
 when I was in barracks with your dear papa 
 — that was Hfe if you Hke ;" and the poor> 
 weak-minded woman sighed again as she 
 thought of the questionable pleasure of a 
 barrack life with a poor lieutenant. 
 
 Rosamond had heard so much of this 
 enviable existence, that, not knowing any 
 better, she took for granted her mother's 
 statement of the affair, and wished, if it 
 would please Mrs. Etheridge, they could 
 return to the life she only recollected 
 as a little child. She had reminiscences of 
 a good deal of grandeur and military glory, 
 of drums beating and colours flying, and of 
 being petted and spoiled by a number of 
 handsome men and gaily-dressed ladies. 
 She had recollections of large numbers of 
 people gathering out to see them wherever 
 they went, and much shouting and laughter, 
 but that was all. Rosamond's experiences 
 of a military life were confined to her child- 
 hood, and her mother's morbid and exag- 
 gerated regrets. 
 
 Oswald Etheridge was the senior captain
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 2$ 
 
 in a marching- regiment, which had been 
 for the last ten years in India, whither Mrs. 
 Etheridge's dehcate health, and the care of 
 her children, would not permit her to follow 
 him. 
 
 The poor woman had been leading a life 
 of continual struggle at home, striving to 
 ofive her children the best education in her 
 power, and to keep up the appearances of 
 the glittering show she so much regretted, 
 on means wholly Inadequate to the attempt ; 
 the consequences were debt, difficulty, and 
 a continued fretfulness on the part of Mrs. 
 Etheridge, which all the buoyant spirits of 
 her children could never utterly repress. 
 
 Jack and Rosamond had received a toler- 
 ably good education, and, In fact, a far better 
 one than their mother s means could afford ; 
 she spent the whole of the poor captain's 
 allowance on the two children, living her- 
 self on a small annuity of her own, eked out 
 by occasional help from friends. 
 
 Jack and Rosamond were more or less 
 spoiled. Jack had just entered himself as 
 a midshipman, having preferred a seafaring
 
 26 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 life to any other mode of existence ; and 
 Rosamond had just returned from boarding- 
 school to Fern Cottage, where she augured 
 well to become both her mother s torment 
 and delight. 
 
 Mrs. Etheridge had been married when 
 quite a girl herself, in fact, not seventeen ; 
 the consequence was that both her grown- 
 up son and daughter treated their weak- 
 minded mother as they would an elder 
 sister — with slight deference and more fami- 
 liarity, and a great deal of petting and 
 fondling whenever they wanted to get any- 
 thing out of her. Not that they were not 
 fond of her in their way ; they would have 
 done anything to have made her happy, and 
 to see her smile, but they were self-willed, 
 refractory, disobedient children ; Rosa- 
 mond by her superior intellect, and Jack 
 by his mother's foolish fondness, ruling the 
 nervous timid woman to their heart's 
 content. 
 
 Jack had declared his intention of going 
 to sea, and to sea he went, despite his 
 mother's tears and prayers. Rosamond
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 27 
 
 Steadily refused to return to boarding- 
 school, and at home she stayed, dividing 
 her time between roaming in the fields and 
 reading novels, heedless of Mrs. Etheridge's 
 well meant remonstrances. Rosamond 
 listened to all her mother had to say, 
 shrugged her shoulders, and stopped from 
 school ; Jack kissed his mother, expatiated 
 on the advantages of the naval over the 
 military service, looked handsome, and 
 went to sea. 
 
 Mrs. Etheridge had come into Moorshire 
 when her husband sailed for India, having 
 some relatives in Rubestown, and had taken 
 the little dwelling dignified by the name of 
 Fern Cottage, which was situated on the 
 outskirts of the town — a sort of half-way 
 house between the county people and the 
 bourgeois. Here she contrived to live as 
 she called it " like a lady," and kept up a 
 sort of bowing acquaintance with the gentry 
 in Rubestown, and the wealthy families who 
 had their seats in the neighbourhood. She 
 managed to meet them at balls, concerts, 
 charitable bazaars, and other occasional
 
 2 8 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 festivities that enlivened the monotony of 
 Rubestown. 
 
 Some who knew her In other days would 
 stop their carriage at the little cottage in 
 the valley to enquire after the health and 
 welfare of one who, however foolish she had 
 been In her marriage, was yet of their order. 
 Some few would ask her on rare occasions 
 to their houses, and Mrs. Etheridge lost 
 no opportunity of improving any chance 
 acquaintance that might come in her 
 wa}\ 
 
 *' It Is all for my poor girl's sake," she 
 would say to her intimates, " for myself I 
 have given up all pleasure long ago, but I 
 owe it to my child to go as much as I can 
 Into society ; it will be of such benefit to 
 her hereafter." 
 
 Rosamond, however, was not as grateful 
 for her mother's exertions, asshe should have 
 been, she was a self-willed, self-opinionated 
 girl, whose mind had been more or less 
 perverted by a series of light objectionable 
 reading ; but who, nevertheless, had com- 
 mon sense enough to see the hollowness of
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 29 
 
 the life her mother presented for her imita- 
 tion. She was blunt and straight-forward, 
 disliking everything in the shape of shams 
 or falsehoods, and preferring a wild coun- 
 try existence, to the trammels of that so- 
 ciety of which she had seen so little, but 
 heard so much. 
 
 At the period of which I am writing, 
 Rosamond Etheridge was by no means a 
 nice girl to know ; she was in the habit of 
 speaking her mind a little too freely, and 
 giving her opinion unasked in a way that 
 caused her delicate sensitive mother to 
 blush with pain ; no one fell more severely 
 under the lash of her criticisms, than that 
 fond and foolish woman herself Yet Rosa- 
 mond dearly loved her mother, she would 
 willingly have made any sacrifice for her 
 had it been in her power ; what she hated 
 was, to see her mother so much the slave 
 of her own weak mind and exaggerated 
 ideas on the subject of society. 
 
 Jack Etheridge was a good natured gen- 
 tlemanly youth, a year older than his sister, 
 full of fun and frolic as all boys should be,
 
 yj OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 and the secret idol of his mother's heart. 
 She had shed many bitter tears when the 
 year before he first announced his intention 
 of going to sea, and positively refused her 
 consent ; but when Jack threatened to run 
 away from school, she relented, and when 
 after his first voyage he returned safe and 
 sound, looking handsomer than ever, Mrs. 
 Etheridge calmed her agonies, and was 
 rather proud than otherwise of the gallant 
 young middy whom everybody liked, and 
 who had a good word for everybody. 
 
 Rosamond adored her brother, she could 
 get on so much better with him, than with 
 her mother, the frank fearless nature of the 
 boy agreed with her own straightforward 
 character, there was no specious glossing 
 over, no halfways, or petty disguises, with 
 the bold young midshipman. Rosamond 
 wished with all her heart she had been a 
 boy, and could have followed her brother to 
 sea or have entered the army, like her 
 father. It was this feeling, always upper- 
 most in her mind, that made her say so
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 3 1 
 
 bitterly and earnestly on this particular 
 occasion, that she wished she could "go 
 away and earn her own living/' 
 
 " It is no use talking like that, Rosa- 
 mond," repeated her mother, *' there is only 
 one way a lady can work, and that is by 
 being a governess ; but in the first place you 
 are too young, in the next you would lose 
 caste altogether. What would your father 
 say," added Mrs. Etheridge with a glance 
 of indignant reproach at her refractory 
 child, " if I allowed you to go out as a 
 governess ?" 
 
 '* He would say you did perfectly right," 
 replied positive Rosamond, '' if you cannot 
 afford to keep me at home ; but, as you say, 
 mamma, it's no use talking about an impos- 
 sibility, no one would have a girl like me, 
 even if I knew enough, which I very much 
 doubt," and Rosamond laughed saucily as 
 she rocked herself to and fro in her chair. 
 
 *' There is no knowing what there may 
 be in the future," said her mother. '' Why 
 this very Lady Slade was no one in par-
 
 32 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 ticular, and they say she hadn't a penny 
 in the world when Sir Reginald proposed 
 for her." 
 
 " I don't suppose there is another Sir 
 Reginald waiting for me/' remarked Rosa- 
 mond, turning over the pages of her book. 
 ** She's very pretty, isn't she, mamma ?" 
 
 " Not at all," replied Mrs. Etheridge; 
 " her sister Miss Catherine Hyde is, but the 
 one Sir Reginald has married is not fit to 
 hold a candle to her, a pale face, brown 
 hair ; rather elegant-looking certainly, but 
 when you have said that, you have said 
 all." 
 
 *' Why did he marry her ?" asked Rosa- 
 mond simply. 
 
 " Well, I suppose he was in love with 
 her, my dear ; men generally are, or fancy 
 themselves to be, when they marry a 
 woman. Perhaps her aunt, Miss Betty Hyde, 
 made up the match ; she looks like one 
 of that sort." 
 
 ** Where did you first meet them, 
 mamma ?" 
 
 " I met them at the horticultural show
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 33 
 
 last summer, and afterwards at the Hunt 
 Ball in the autumn, I could not compre- 
 hend for the life of me what Sir Reofinald 
 found to fancy in that pale, insipid-looking 
 creature ; her sister really is a beauty." 
 
 " What is Miss Hyde like ?" questioned 
 Rosamond, interested as all women are in 
 the charms of their sex. 
 
 '' Oh, fair as a flower, with the loveliest 
 golden hair and blue eyes in the world ; in 
 fact, my dear, she puts me in mind of what 
 your poor dear grandmamma must have been 
 when a girl. There was a picture of her 
 at home after the style of Sir Joshua Rey- 
 nolds, such a pretty little pet she must have 
 been. I took after my father,'' added Mrs. 
 Etheridge, quite an unnecessary reminder 
 to Rosamond, for her mother, though still 
 pretty, was a perfect brunette ; '' I cannot 
 imagine whatever made Sir Reginald fancy 
 Lady Beatrice, when her sister was by her 
 side." 
 
 " Perhaps the sister wouldn't have him," 
 laughed Rosamond. *^ I would not marry 
 a man just because he was rich," said the 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 girl with the thoughtless decision of youth. 
 — " Lady Beatrice, it is a very pretty name, 
 much prettier than Catherine, perhaps he 
 imagined Lady Beatrice would sound better 
 than Lady Catherine." 
 
 ** Don't talk such nonsense, Rosamond !" 
 cried her mother, *' she is Lady Slade, not 
 Lady Beatrice, she is not a lady in her own 
 right. I hope she will give nice parties," 
 added the officers wife meditatively. 
 
 ** Why ? do you think we shall be in- 
 vited, mamma ?" 
 
 " Of course we shall ; I must call and 
 leave cardsonthe poor young thing; shedoes 
 not look as if she were capable of much, but 
 she must ask us to her receptions if she 
 returns the visit." 
 
 '* Which she will be sure to do," com- 
 mented the provoking Rosamond with a 
 satirical smile. 
 
 *'I don't see the sure, you disagreeable 
 girl," retorted her mother snappishly. ''For 
 what reason, pray ?" 
 
 But Rosamond, who saw she had again 
 " put her foot into it," as her brother ex-
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 35 
 
 pressed it, did not feel inclined to continue 
 the discussion, so ignored the question by 
 asking, ''If we go, whatever are we to 
 wear? We haven't a dress fit to be seen in." 
 
 "Oh, leave that to me," replied Mrs. 
 Etheridge, '' all I ask of you is to be civil, 
 and not to spoil all my exertions by your 
 rude remarks. If Lady Slade has felt the 
 want of money, as people say she has, she 
 will know how to make excuses for others." 
 
 *' Now it's just those kind of people who 
 never do ; they look down upon any one who 
 is poor when they become rich themselves, 
 at least so books say," added Rosamond, 
 seeing the look of annoyance depicted on 
 her mothers face. " Never mind, mamma, 
 I will go where you go, and promise not to 
 be rude, but I am certain I shall hate them 
 for all that." 
 
 " There seems to be no one you do 
 like," observed Mrs. Etheridge plaintively. 
 "I never saw such a girl in my life." 
 
 Rosamond planted her feet on the fen- 
 der, threw her arms over her head, and 
 stared meditatively at the ceiling for some 
 
 3—2
 
 36 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 seconds. " Very few, I'll allow ; I certainly 
 shall not like Lady Slade if she is at all like 
 Mrs. Stanley Harrington, but I really don't 
 see, mamma, what it matters in the least ; 
 perhaps they won't like me." 
 
 This possible contingency had evidently 
 not suggested itself to Mrs. Etheridge, for 
 she stared at Rosamond for a moment in 
 silence, and then answered sharply, " You 
 are talking foolishly. They are sure to 
 like you if you behave properly, and don't 
 call people by vulgar names. Where you 
 learnt such behaviour I don't know." 
 
 " I don't know myself," said the girl, 
 laughing, ''unless from Jack; but there, 
 mamma dear, I am quite tired of discussing 
 these Slades. It might be the Princess of 
 Wales coming into Moorshire, instead of a 
 paltry Baronet's wife ! Now may I read 
 my book ?" 
 
 *' Certainly, Rosamond. You see, my 
 child, one has very little to interest one in 
 Rubestown. It is such a dead and alive 
 place, and this young bride will be quite an 
 addition to our little circle."
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 2>7 
 
 " That depends upon circumstances/' 
 said positive Rosamond ; '' she may be 
 nice, or she may not." 
 
 " Well, the Joneses think her nice ?" 
 
 *' The Joneses are fools," promptly re- 
 turned Rosamond. 
 
 Mrs. Etheridge raised her hands. 
 
 *' Rosamond ! your great friends !" 
 
 " Fools for all that, mamma. They are 
 for ever taking up and patronizing some 
 people or other in whom they see imagi- 
 nary virtues. I like the Jones girls well 
 enough, and they don't patronize W — 
 with a meaning glance at her mother — 
 "but that's no reason why I should 
 swallow all their acquaintances." 
 
 "Well, Lady Slade was stopping with 
 them last summer." 
 
 " When I was racking my brains to 
 death at that horrid old school !" 
 
 " Exactly, my dear ; but your brains (or 
 rather the want of them) have not suffered 
 much by the exertion !" replied her mother, 
 quickly. 
 
 " I never intended they should," laughed
 
 38 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Rosamond ; " but now, mamma dear, let 
 me finish my book. It's so much more 
 interesting than Lady Slade, who will, no 
 doubt, be far too grand even to notice us." 
 
 " If s getting dark ; let us have tea 
 first," replied Mrs. Etheridge, ignoring her 
 daughters last remark. 
 
 ''As you please, mamma," replied the 
 girl carelessly, rising from her seat, and 
 laying the book down. 
 
 " And, my dear, if it's the last novel that 
 came in the box from Mudie's, you might 
 read a little of it aloud to me. I have got 
 as far as the second volume." 
 
 " Exactly where I am myself. What 
 page did you leave off at, mamma ?" 
 
 " Oh, where the Earl, seeking for his 
 lost bride, comes upon the bandit's cave in 
 the forest. I rather like the style," said 
 poor weak little Mrs. Etheridge. 
 
 " Thrilling, deliciously thrilling, isn't it !" 
 exclaimed Rosamond, excitedly ; "we will 
 have tea at once, mamma. I am dying to 
 finish it, it is so much nicer than those 
 stupid novels of Sir Walter Scott's."
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 39 
 
 " Why, my dear, they are standard litera- 
 ture," cried her astonished mother, looking 
 with dismay at her daughter. 
 
 " Standard fiddlesticks ! Awful old pro- 
 ser. I like something sensational, in the 
 Braddon style ; something that makes your 
 flesh creep when you go to bed at night." 
 
 " Oh, you dreadful girl !" said her 
 mother, smiling admiration at her, never- 
 theless ; " you put me in mind of my young 
 days, when Mrs. Ratcliffe's romances were 
 all the rage. I believe it was those books 
 that first put it into my head to run away 
 with your poor dear papa. He was so like 
 Vivaldi in the * Italian.' " 
 
 " Well, I don't think any book would 
 induce me to follow your example," said 
 Rosamond ; '' I have never yet seen a man 
 I could like, much less run away with. I 
 don't know what I might do if I were 
 tempted," added the girl, meditatively. 
 
 " Oh, dear me, Rosamond ! don't frigh- 
 ten me !" cried the mother in alarm, 
 stopping in the midst of her operations 
 of clearing the table to gaze at her
 
 40 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 thoughtless daughter. " Don't you go and 
 follow your brother's example." 
 
 *' Oh, you silly old mother ; how can you 
 be so foolish. I shall be an old maid, and 
 live with you always. Let me get your 
 tea, now, darling, and then for the ' Lost 
 Bride of Eversleigh.' "
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 RUBESTOWN, 
 
 RuBESTOWN, as Mrs. Etheridge had justly 
 remarked, was in want of some exciting 
 element in its fashionable circle. It was, 
 like all provincial towns, very dull, very 
 flat, and very stupid. It had a Market, a 
 Town Hall, and Assembly Rooms. The 
 Market was used once a week, the Town 
 Hall every day, and the Assembly Rooms 
 on grand occasions. It had one long 
 narrow street, dignified by the name of 
 High Street ; it had various bye ways and 
 turnings — it had a river, a bridge, and the 
 Parish Church ; in fact, for so small a place 
 it had a great number of churches, and a 
 greater number of public houses, and its
 
 42 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 inhabitants were consequently very reli- 
 gious and very dissipated. 
 
 There were Meeting Houses and Chapels 
 of every denomination — Baptists, Metho- 
 dists, Roman Catholics, and Quakers. 
 
 One would have thought, looking at the 
 designations of the different sects inscribed 
 in the guide book, It was the most tolerant 
 town In all England, whereas. In reality, it 
 was quite the reverse, and its various con- 
 gregations hated and reviled each other as 
 only Christian congregations can. 
 
 It had Its Botanical Gardens also, where 
 the Annual Flower Shows were held, 
 and Its Races, when the refuse of all the 
 adjoining villages and towns poured into 
 the quiet little city ; and on such occasions 
 the public houses had the better of their 
 rivals the churches, drawing by far the 
 larger audiences. 
 
 For four months of the year it was 
 intensely dull ; the remaining eight were not 
 quite so bad, for then most of the county 
 families were at their seats, and there was 
 seldom a day without a drag or barouche
 
 RUBESTOWN. 43 
 
 putting- up at the " Black Eagle," the chief 
 hotel in Rubestown. 
 
 Its staple trade being agricultural, there 
 were no smoking manufactories to blacken 
 the air or disturb the calm of the inhabitants, 
 and the railroad was at present too far 
 away to spoil the serenity of the quiet 
 little streets by the weekly cargo of trip- 
 pers. 
 
 In short, Rubestown — given, a nice 
 house, agreeable society, and a capacity for 
 enjoying life — was not by any means a bad 
 spot to spend a few months in the year. 
 
 The shooting and fishing were both 
 excellent; the hunting the best in the 
 kingdom. It was within reasonable reach 
 of some of the larger provincial cities, 
 and the society around consisted of the 
 noblest and wealthiest families in the 
 county. 
 
 There was a good library, capital club, 
 and excellent swimming baths. There was 
 the bank, of which Mr. Plantagenet Jones 
 was the head, and over whose counter poor 
 little Mrs. Etheridge had her quarterly re-
 
 44 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 mittances shovelled by a dapper little clerk, 
 whose sole idea of human bliss was, to be 
 able to shovel gold about as if it were so 
 much dirt, and to bang down a pair of 
 scales, with the startling consciousness of 
 having achieved something great. 
 
 There was the post-office — a real post- 
 office, not a counter in a grocer's shop, 
 where you had to wait for a letter while he 
 weighed out two ounces of tea, but a 
 building of its own, with a staff of clerks 
 and letter carriers attached, and telegraph 
 office at the side. 
 
 Rubestown possessed, also, a guildhall 
 and corporation, and boasted somev/hat 
 of its various benevolent societies, as tend- 
 ing greatly to the well-doing of the town 
 and its inhabitants. 
 
 Progress had not made rapid strides 
 in Rubestown ; the place had remained 
 stationary for the last twenty years, and 
 seemed likely to do so for twenty more. 
 Now and then some enterprising builder 
 startled the inhabitants by erecting a stately 
 mansion on the outskirts of the town, or
 
 RUBESTOWN. 45 
 
 ran up a new street of pretty cottages, 
 where dirty hovels had formerly reigned, 
 but these innovations were regarded as in- 
 novations by the good folks of Rubestown, 
 who turned out en masse to see them, and 
 gave it as their opinion " it wouldn't pay." 
 
 An atmosphere of stagnation seemed to 
 pervade the place ; everything went on in 
 the same dull routine as it had done for 
 years. The races, the flower-shows, the 
 hunt and county balls were held at their 
 appointed times ; but the only new element 
 in Rubestown was the decided Ritualistic 
 tendencies of some of the last-appointed 
 curates, and the consequent faction fights 
 between the churchwardens and their 
 ministers and the fair members of the low 
 and Anglican congregations. 
 
 The " views" held by such and such a 
 parson, the disputes between some hot- 
 headed rector and his bishop, the falling-off 
 in attendance of parishioners of the estab- 
 lished principles, — these formed a constant 
 subject of conversation, not only in the 
 houses of the faithful, but also in the
 
 46 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 various benevolent and Dorcas societies of 
 which, as I said before, Rubestown boasted, 
 and vv^hich were extensively patronised by 
 the county ladies, who took up the quarrels 
 of their favourite preachers with the zeal 
 and animosity such important disputes in- 
 variably engendered. 
 
 Chesham Court, the residence of Sir 
 Reginald Slade, was situated just on the 
 outskirts of Rubestown, and Harrington, or, 
 as the country people called it, " the Hall," 
 adjoined it on the other side. 
 
 Over the river, at the opposite end of 
 the town, on a rising slope, in the midst of 
 a lordly park, was " BIngley Towers,'' the 
 palatial residence of Mr. Plantagenet 
 Jones, which, like everything belonging 
 to Mr. Jones, was large, magnificent, 
 and orororeous. 
 
 It was something between an old baro- 
 nial castle and an Italian villa; for Mr. 
 Jones, with a sovereign contempt for all the 
 laws of architecture, had his house built 
 according to his own ideas ; and whenever 
 he saw anything particularly striking in
 
 RUBESTOWN. 47 
 
 his neighbour's territory, had it immediately 
 adapted to his own. 
 
 His rooms were filled with some of the 
 most beautiful paintings and exquisite 
 statuary in the world ; every chef (Toeuvre 
 of art that he fancied, he bought ; there 
 were galleries and galleries of pictures, 
 crowded together without the slightest 
 regard to order or time, — a Murillo and a 
 Paul Veronese hanging side by side with 
 the works of Frith or Faed. There were 
 statues from Greece and marbles from 
 Rome, mingling with nineteenth century 
 bronzes and vases of terra cotta. Some 
 rare specimens of Dresden or Sevres 
 would ornament a table filled with a 
 modern service of silver plate : and costly 
 tapestry curtains, or antique lace, decorate a 
 boudoir fitted up in the last gimcrack style 
 of bastard French upholstery. 
 
 One would almost have thought, at a first 
 glance at these rooms, one had suddenly 
 dropped in the storehouse of some gigantic 
 curiosity dealer, or into a vast museum 
 that was waiting classification and arrange-
 
 4^ OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 ment, the confusion was so great and the 
 mass so heteroeeneous. 
 
 Mr. Plantagenet Jones led his guests 
 with conscious pride through the halls and 
 galleries of his princely home, expatiating 
 on the merits of this, the demerits of that; 
 taking care to inform every one of the 
 exact cost of such and such a picture, such 
 and such a mosaic ; the actual value, in his 
 eyes, being the actual price he had paid for 
 them. 
 
 Plantagenet Jones was wise in his 
 generation. He observed that a certain 
 respect was paid to the possessors of articles 
 of vertic that was not accorded to other 
 men, however wealthy they might be. He 
 felt it was the thing to have such articles 
 about him ; and, picking up a smattering 
 of knowledge from the various dealers he 
 purchased them from, together with the in- 
 formation he gained in foreign travel, he 
 was enabled to converse on the subject in 
 a manner that completely deceived the 
 casual observer. 
 
 It was only men who possessed real in-
 
 RUBESTOWN. 49 
 
 formation on the subject who saw how 
 shallow and superficial his knowledge really 
 was, and who were disgusted with the 
 coarseness of the mind that valued a picture 
 for the money it had cost, quite overlooking 
 the genius that wrought it. 
 
 Plantagei^et Jones had two daughters — 
 Maria and Jane — jolly buxom girls, full of 
 good nature and high spirits ; short and 
 stout, like their father, with round smiling 
 faces, and coils of red hair. 
 
 They were liked by every one, for their 
 kindness of heart and invariable good 
 humour; nothing ever seemed to come amiss 
 or become a trouble to them. They were 
 the best horsewomen in the county, gener- 
 ally following the hounds with their father. 
 They could row, skate, and shoot as well 
 as any man within ten miles of their estate, 
 and, at the same time, they were indefatig- 
 able in attending their schools and Dorcas 
 societies, and getting up bazaars and fancy 
 fairs for the poor of Rubestpwn ; in fact, 
 there was very little that the Jones girls 
 could not, or did not do ; though some con- 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 ceited young fools spoke of them as " awful 
 good fun." 
 
 Maria and Jane visited in, and were 
 visited by, the very best society. Nobody 
 had an ill word for them. They were 
 thought rather fast, and a wee bit vulgar, as, 
 like their father, they affected a loud style 
 of dress and wore an abundance of jewel- 
 lery ; but their merry ways and unaffected 
 sincerity won every one who knew them. 
 
 They were perfectly aware their father 
 was the richest man in the county, and 
 honestly believed (not without reason) their 
 wealth gave them an equal standing with 
 the oldest family there, but they neverthe- 
 less had none of the parvenus contempt 
 for poverty. The poorest family, so long 
 as it was family at all, had a place at their 
 table, an invitation to their balls. 
 
 It was owing to them, "so they said," that 
 Sir Reginald Slade first made the acquaint- 
 ance of Beatrice Hyde, as the Hydes, aunt 
 and nieces, were staying at Bingley Towers, 
 when Sir Reginald came down to his seat 
 to shoot. Be that as it may, the two good-
 
 RUBESTOWN. 5 1 
 
 natured girls certainly gave the young 
 orphan every chance of winning her titled 
 husband, and were as delighted to be her 
 bridesmaids as they would have been to be 
 his bride. 
 
 A distant cousin of her mother's, a Miss 
 Sarah Archer, lived with them in the capa- 
 city of chaperone and lady housekeeper. 
 She was a person of uncertain age, whose 
 temper having been slightly soured in early 
 life by the failure of a love affair, visited the 
 consequences on her young relatives when- 
 ever she had the chance. 
 
 Maria and Jane cared very little for Miss 
 Sarah's tantrums, they invariably left her 
 to herself whenever she had an especial fit 
 of the blues ; and, as she was extremely 
 useful In other ways, relieving them from 
 all the arduous duties of housekeeping and 
 entertaining, interfered very little with her 
 arrangements. 
 
 Miss Archer went in strongly for religion. 
 She, like her young charges, frequented 
 All Saints', the principal Ritualistic 
 church of Rubestown ; "it was so much 
 
 4—2
 
 52 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 more genteel to be high church," said Maria 
 Jones, in answer to a friend s enquiry con- 
 cerning her rehgious '' views." " No one 
 but a set of old fogies patronised the 
 Evangelicals." 
 
 The Rector of All Saints' was a good- 
 tempered old clergyman, who left the man- 
 agement of his choir and services principally 
 to his parishioners. He cared very little 
 with how many lights and flowers his altar 
 was decorated, so that he was not worried, 
 and allowed the young Anglicans and their 
 cousin, the demure and proper Miss Sarah 
 Archer, to superintend both church and 
 schools, on the consideration that the whole 
 affair was mainly supported by old Jones's 
 money. 
 
 It was not very clerical, and it was not 
 very dignified, but the golden key can un- 
 lock a church as well as any other door, and 
 the she curates did an immensity of good 
 in their way, distributing no end of coals 
 and blankets in the winter, besides giving 
 away soup and bread to all who chose to 
 come for them.
 
 RUBESTOWN. 53 
 
 " They are really very good girls, and it 
 is an amusement for them," said the Rector, 
 when some zealous brother minister remon- 
 strated with him on the subject. "It would 
 be well if all our young ladies followed the 
 example of the Joneses, instead of thinking 
 of nothing but dress and sweethearts." So 
 he smiled at their religious fervour, ate their 
 father's dinners, and intoned as many ser- 
 vices as they pleased. 
 
 The Rector was failing in health himself, 
 and did not care to be bothered with un- 
 necessary church work ; Maria and Jane 
 attended to the sanctuary, filled the vases 
 with flowers, scraped the candles for the 
 candlesticks, decorated the pillars and 
 aisles with holly and paper roses at Christ- 
 mas, and spent their leisure hours in em- 
 broidering altar cloths and banners for pro- 
 cessions. 
 
 Miss Sarah Archer also devoted herself 
 mainly to this kind of work — it was her 
 hobby. She seldom, or never, accompanied 
 her young cousins to London during the 
 season, preferring, like Caesar, to be mon-
 
 54 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 arch over a small village, rather than be 
 second in Rome. 
 
 All Saints' and the district appertaining" 
 thereto was a region over which, on the 
 strength of her connection with Mr. Plan- 
 tagenet Jones, she held unlimited sway ; her 
 word was law in either church or parish 
 matters, and to do her justice, she exercised 
 the authority she possessed to the benefit 
 both of the parish and church. 
 
 It is true there were some amongst the 
 humbler members of the congregation who 
 disliked the arbitrary manner in which Miss 
 Archer entered their little dwellings, and 
 rated them soundly on their non-attendance 
 at evensong, or the customary Wednesday 
 litany, or objected to having the manner in 
 which their poor homes were conducted 
 made the subject of discussion with a 
 stranger; but they soon discovered the 
 more services they attended, the more 
 money they got, and the better chances 
 their wives and children had in the half- 
 yearly distribution of clothes and other 
 necessaries of life.
 
 RUBESTOWN. 55 
 
 So they put up with her ways for the 
 sake of the good things they fell into, and 
 contented themselves with calling her an 
 "interfering old cat," and making a grimace 
 whenever her carriage happened to pass 
 their way. 
 
 Miss Sarah Archer was, as I said be- 
 fore, of an uncertain age. She was not 
 good looking, nor had ever been so, her 
 eyes were small, her nose retroussi ; but 
 she, like her cousin Plantagenet, affected ju- 
 venility in her mode of dress — wore sashes, 
 with large bows tied behind, and pre- 
 served a rigid simplicity of style in contra- 
 distinction to her youthful cousins. Simple 
 muslins or small-checked silks were her 
 forte ; and she persisted in wearing her own 
 hail*, poor and thin as it was, without any 
 addition of pads or puffs. She always 
 prayed with her eyes closed, and the tips 
 of her fingers joined together, gener- 
 ally shook her head solemnly over any- 
 thing particularly touching in the old 
 Rector's sermons, and flashed severe glances 
 from her little green eyes on any small
 
 56 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 delinquent caught looking behind, or titter- 
 ing over its prayer book. Yet, though 
 so sedate in church. Miss Archer was not 
 averse to innocent ahiusements at home. 
 When not in heT tantrums, she entered 
 with spirit into the, projects and plans of her 
 two merry mad-capped cousins, and con- 
 ducted the household of the magnificent 
 Plantagenet Jones in a style that caused 
 many to have the suspicion that Miss 
 Sarah Archer would not object to console 
 the millionaire for the loss of his departed 
 Matilda. 
 
 Plantagenet Jones himself took little or 
 no notice of the religious element in his 
 household ; he went to church on Sundays 
 as a matter of course, and gave his sove- 
 reign in the offertory, and his hundred 
 pound cheque at Easter. He subscribed 
 to the choir and altar society, gave large 
 donations to the schools, and came down 
 handsomely for the model lodging-houses 
 and the alms-houses for the aged poor, 
 which he was building at the east end of
 
 RUBESTOWN. 5 7 
 
 the town, and which he intended to fill 
 with his own farm labourers, but which his 
 daughters secretly determined should be 
 occupied by their Ritualistic poor. 
 
 He went to church because it was the 
 proper thing to do, and to the high church 
 because his daughters said it was the most 
 genteel ; but for real religion, for the spirit, 
 that teaches humility and kindness, that 
 delights in hidden deeds of charity, and 
 blushes to find itself praised, Mr. Jones was 
 as innocent as the stones of the building in 
 which he worshipped. 
 
 "He had a fine mind — a large mind, sir. 
 He knew there must be some sort of re- 
 ligious obligation, or people would go to 
 sixes and sevens. A certam kind of 
 spiritual rule was necessary to keep the 
 lower orders in subjection, but for all 
 that mummery and tomfoolery — psha ! his 
 ideas went with the times, and there 
 would soon be no more of that nonsense 
 except for women and children. He 
 was perfectly aware of the existence of a
 
 58 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 greater Power, a ruling Element, which 
 kept all things straight, and watched 
 especially over the firm of Bullion & Co. 
 but money, sir, — money is the thing now- 
 a-days ; hang religion ! a man without 
 money is nothing in this world, and money 
 will help him to a very good place in the 
 next, or I am very much mistaken." 
 
 Nobody could say Plantagenet Jones 
 was not generous, he threw his money about 
 as if it were so much dirt. He was always 
 ready with his fives or tens if required by 
 the corporation, and had done more for 
 Rubestown than any man before him — 
 there was not a list or subscription which 
 his name did not head in flaunting letters ; 
 yet report said his clerks were badly paid, 
 and there was never an instance known of 
 a shilling being given to a poor beggar who 
 happened to meet Mr. Jones alone. That 
 was only a rich man's idiosyncracy — the 
 poor benefited by his charity in many other 
 ways, and if they were not satisfied, why 
 there was the workhouse ready to receive 
 them.
 
 RUBESTOWN. 59 
 
 The Etherldges were great friends with 
 the people at '' Bingley Towers," — Maria 
 and Jane Hked both Rosamond and her 
 brother Jack, and little Mrs. Etheridge 
 found a sympathising friend in Miss Archer, 
 who deplored with her the untowardness of 
 the people of the present generation, and 
 the total absence of that spirit of deference 
 to authority that was the characteristic of 
 the good children in the early ages of the 
 Church. Mrs. Etheridge looked up to her 
 wealthy and influential friend with a species 
 of awe and veneration, and was ever ready 
 to back Miss Archer in all matters per- 
 taining either to church or state. 
 
 Plantagenet Jones did not quite approve 
 of his household's familiarity with the people 
 at the cottage. He always objected to 
 knowing persons who had in any way de- 
 scended in the social scale ; but his girls, 
 both headstrong and self-willed, insisted on 
 the acquaintance being kept up, and sup- 
 ported Rosamond Etheridge in her blunt 
 disregard of conventionalities, generously 
 overlooking her thoughtless criticisms on
 
 60 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 their devotion to their Anglican principles. 
 For Rosamond, though she sang in the choir 
 on SundaySjCould never be persuaded to rise 
 from her comfortable bed for the early Matin 
 service in the week-days, or lose a ramble in 
 the fields for the sake of an afternoon Litany. 
 
 She infinitely preferred a novel from 
 Mudie's to all the spiritual books in the 
 world ; she went to " All Saints," because 
 she liked the singing and knew most people 
 there, but would have equally gone to the 
 '' Little Bethel," if her friends had asked 
 her. Still, girls were not very plentiful in 
 Rubestown, and as Maria and Jane said, 
 " We must know some one, and Rosamond 
 Etheridge is a young lady!" Mr. Planta- 
 genet Jones overlooked her poverty for the 
 sake of her birth. 
 
 Mrs. Harrington, who lived on the other 
 side of the town, belonged to the Low 
 Church party, that, in spite of Mr. Jones's 
 money, being the most influential body in 
 Rubestown, and giving her husband the 
 greatest number of votes ; the ladies, there- 
 fore only, met in the usual course of visit-
 
 RUBESTOWN. 6 1 
 
 ing, or at occasional swell and heavy- 
 dinners. Mrs. Stanley Harrington secretly- 
 hated the Joneses — she stigmatised the 
 girls as vulgar, Miss Archer as an old 
 hypocrite, and the gorgeous Plantagenet 
 himself as a coarse low-minded parvenu. 
 
 She was intensely bitter and sarcastic in 
 expressing her opinions to her intimates ; 
 but, nevertheless, deemed it the better policy 
 to keep in with the millionaire's family, and 
 to swallow his dinners and her pride at the 
 same time. It would not do, she thought, 
 wise little woman as she was, to be on 
 terms of enmity with so influential a person 
 as the monarch of Moorshire. He would 
 be setting up some partizan of his own to 
 represent the county instead of her Stanley. 
 Besides, there was not a ball or entertain- 
 ment within twenty miles round, to which 
 the Jones girls were not invited ; and 
 it would be intensely disagreeable to be 
 ill friends with people whom she met so 
 frequently, and who gave such splendid re- 
 ceptions as Plantagenet Joneses ? 
 
 Vulgar they might be, but no one could
 
 62 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 be long angry with the rosy-cheeked, red- 
 haired, good-natured damsels, who would 
 not take an affront, and never felt a sar- 
 casm, however pointed. 
 
 What did it matter ? they had no end of 
 nice people always staying at their house, 
 and you were not obliged to mix with them 
 more than was necessary. She found 
 plenty at " Bingley Towers " ready to agree 
 with her sentiments as to their host and 
 hostesses, and to laugh at her covert sneers 
 and witty sarcasms, launched at their un- 
 conscious entertainers. The next best 
 thing to eating a man's dinner is to be able 
 to make fun of him behind his back. 
 
 Maria and Jane intensely admired Mrs. 
 Harrin^on's style of dress, and mode of 
 arranging her house, they endeavoured in 
 vain to imitate her, but their imitations 
 were all miserable failures ; the short stout 
 girls in their flaming silks, and thick gold 
 bracelets and chains could never approach 
 the quiet and elegant Mrs. Stanley Harring- 
 ton in her soft clinging draperies and black 
 lace mantilla, with the wonderful opals
 
 RUBESTOWN. 63 
 
 clasped round her dark olive throat, the 
 fire of the rubies reflected in her lustrous 
 flashing eyes. They were both first rate 
 horsewomen, yet lacked the exquisite grace 
 with which the lithe and lissom Mrs. Har- 
 rington sat her splendid bay. They could 
 dance capitally, were never tired of whirling 
 their partners through the mazy intricacies 
 of the waltz, but were nowhere when the 
 graceful form of Mrs. Harrington was seen 
 floating through the ball-room, her face a 
 marvel of cool placidity compared with their 
 flushed and heated countenances. They 
 felt it was useless trying, they could never 
 be like their member's wife, if they tried for 
 years. All their father's money seemed to 
 lose its attraction and influence when pitted 
 against the suave manner and irrepressible 
 style of Mrs. Stanley Harrington. 
 
 They might be the richest girls in Moor- 
 shire ; but beside the poor and plain woman 
 who led the conversation wherever she was, 
 and congregated around her chair the best 
 and cleverest people in the room, they 
 seemed completely in the shade.
 
 64 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 It was she who was followed by a train 
 of brilliant and wealthy cavaliers ; but, 
 though Maria and Jane saw all this, their 
 innocent hearts never grew the heavier ; 
 they were young enough yet, and lovers 
 would come in time. Their wealth would 
 be sure to secure them rich, if not titled, 
 husbands, and they did not envy the little 
 lady her brigade of adorers ; as one thing 
 was certain — they could never marry her. 
 
 Miss Archer saw a deal, and thought the 
 more. 
 
 That respectable middle-aged female 
 was shocked with what she called the 
 unbecoming levity of Mrs. Stanley Har- 
 rington. 
 
 ** I wonder her husband permits it," she 
 said, as she watched that sleepy-headed, 
 indolent young man with her green envious 
 eyes. "But what can you expect, my 
 dear," she remarked to Mrs. Etheridge, ''of 
 a woman who never goes to church but 
 once on a Sunday, and then to a place 
 which is more like a barn than a sacred edi- 
 fice, and where the service is mumbled out
 
 RUBESTOWN. 65 
 
 by a stupid drone who sends them all to 
 sleep." 
 
 It was useless appealing to the ainour 
 propre of Stanley Harrington. That worthy 
 young senator regarded his wife as the 
 model of everything excellent, and gazed 
 with admiration at the way in which she 
 managed her train of satellites. 
 
 He deemed himself deuced lucky in 
 securing such a clever little woman for his 
 partner in life, and did not feel the least 
 inclined to put a stop to the harmless flirta- 
 tions with which Mrs. Harrington wiled 
 away the stupid time in Moorshire. 
 
 " She knew," he said, " what she was 
 about ; he'd got the truest little woman that 
 ever lived for a wife, and if men were such 
 fools, as to burn their fingers at another 
 man's candle, why, they were confounded 
 idiots, that's all he could say." 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ISABEL HARRINGTON. 
 
 This was the place then, and these the 
 people, to whom Sir Reginald Slade 
 brought home his bride after the conven- 
 tional month on the Continent. 
 
 Beatrice enjoyed herself immensely 
 during her honeymoon, Sir Reginald had 
 been so kind to her; and, never having 
 been abroad before, everything, as a matter 
 of course, was new and delightful. The 
 young bride felt quite sad when Sir 
 Reginald informed her, that parliamen- 
 tary matters necessitated his return to 
 England. 
 
 What the parliamentary matters were 
 Beatrice never knew. He was not in the
 
 ISABEL HARRINGTON. 67 
 
 House himself, nor did she know any one 
 who was, except Mr. Stanley Harrington. 
 But she was not familiar enough with her 
 husband to ask him questions on subjects 
 with which she was not acquainted ; so, like 
 a good wife, she merely smiled, and said, 
 
 '* Very well, Reginald, I'm ready when- 
 ever you please." 
 
 They went down to Moorshire for a 
 couple of months, before commencing the 
 season in town, and Rubestown turned out 
 its inhabitants to meet them, and bid the 
 bride welcome. They took the horses 
 out of the carriage and drew it to the 
 Court, and Lady Slade passed to her 
 future home amidst the cheers and ac- 
 clamations of the people, the firing of guns, 
 and the ringing of bells, — bells that 
 seemed almost to deafen her with their 
 joyous clamour. 
 
 Often, in the years that came long after, 
 she thought of those bells, how their echoes 
 lasted through the night, waking her up 
 with tearful pleasure. 
 
 Catherine Hyde accompanied the bride 
 
 5—2
 
 6S OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 and bridegroom to Chesham Court ; Lady 
 Slade having obtained her husband's per- 
 mission that her sister should make her 
 future home with them ; their aunt, Miss 
 Betty Hyde, retiring to a small villa she 
 possessed on the sea coast, not far from a 
 celebrated watering-place on the outskirts 
 of Moorshire. 
 
 It went sadly to the kind old lady's 
 heart to part with both her beloved chil- 
 dren at once, but Beatrice could not 
 bear separation from her dear and only 
 sister; and Miss Betty thought it her 
 duty to relinquish her personal feelings 
 for the good of her beautiful Catherine, 
 on whose aristocratic head she already 
 saw the incipient stawberry leaves. 
 
 Catherine Hyde herself was in no way 
 loth to share the good fortune of her sister. 
 She had felt far more keenly than Beatrice, 
 the comparative poverty to which they had 
 been reduced, by the folly and extravagance 
 of their father. Colonel Hyde; and her mind 
 had imbibed more strongly than Beatrice's
 
 ISABEL HARRINGTON. 69 
 
 the lessons their aunt had inculcated, on the 
 value and importance of good birth above 
 everything else in this world. 
 
 Catherine Hyde looked upon money as a 
 necessary evil, out of which she had been 
 unjustly defrauded. She felt herself ag- 
 grieved by its non-possession ; but, at the 
 same time, was perfectly aware that the 
 want of it took nothing from her posi- 
 tion as grand-daughter of an earl on 
 her mother's side, or from the blue blood 
 that ran in her veins. 
 
 She was, therefore, pleased and proud 
 that her sister's lucky marriage had placed 
 them both again on the eminence from 
 which their father's fault had cast them 
 down, and entered on her new career as 
 sister of the wealthy Lady Slade with far 
 more conscious superiority and pride than 
 did the gentle Beatrice, who was almost 
 bewildered by this sudden addition of 
 riches. 
 
 Beatrice accepted as a favour what Cath- 
 erine received as a right.
 
 70 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Beatrice was grateful to her husband for 
 exalting her to the position of his wife. 
 Catherine felt the obligation was on Sir 
 Reginalds side, and that Beatrice's birth 
 and beauty far surpassed the baronet's 
 money bags. She was right, they did, but 
 society does not always see things in the 
 light in which Catherine viewed them. 
 Society cares very little really for blue 
 blood and taper fingers, society cannot 
 manufacture dinners out of ancient pedi- 
 grees, or keep up its round of folly and 
 fashion on an unstained name. 
 
 Blue blood is all very well when it has a 
 yellow halo round it, but without that — 
 bosh, red blood does quite as well when 
 there is a good balance at its banker's. 
 
 There was quite an influx of visitors at 
 Chesham Court the week Lady Slade came 
 home, the Duchess of A — and her daugh- 
 ters came in their old fashioned family 
 barouche. The Earl of Mountcastle, and 
 Lord Arthur Trelawney were amongst the 
 earliest arrivals. 
 
 The Plantagenet Joneses of course were
 
 ISABEL HARRINGTON. 7 1 
 
 the first to rush to their " dearest Beatrice/* 
 their dearest Lady Slade, and overwhelm 
 her with kisses and questions — How did 
 she like Paris ? What did she buy at 
 Nice ? How long was she going to stop 
 in Moorshire ? And would she give 
 many parties in Belgrave Square ? They 
 were so glad to see her back again, 
 their sweetest pet ; how well she looked ! 
 and did she mean to hunt this season 
 or not ? 
 
 Lady Slade could scarcely answer ; 
 they both talked together, put so many 
 questions, and waited for so few replies. 
 
 " They were going to give a ball, of 
 course they were going to give a ball, 
 in honour of her return, and no end of 
 dinners were on the tapis to introduce 
 the young bride into society ; in fact, she 
 would be fully occupied every day for 
 two or three months, did she do all 
 and go everywhere that was expected of 
 her." 
 
 Poor Beatrice had not quite recovered 
 from the effects of her journey, and would
 
 72 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 have been glad of a week or two's rest ; but, 
 no ! Society demands it of you, my dear ; 
 people will say your marriage is not a 
 happy one, if you do not go out — so 
 society had to be gratified. 
 
 Amongst Lady Slade's first visitors came 
 Mrs. Stanley Harrington and her good- 
 natured, foolish-looking husband, who made 
 his exit from the drawing-room as quickly 
 as he could, under the pretence of going 
 with Sir Reginald to look over the stables. 
 
 "It was such a bore talking to women," 
 he said ; " they thought of nothing but 
 scandal and fal-lals. He never knew what 
 to say to them next, besides he wanted to 
 be quiet, and study his speech for the 
 House, — deuced bore that." 
 
 Mrs. Harrington had driven him over in 
 her pony chaise, drawn by a pretty pair of 
 greys, — Stanley being far too indolent to 
 drive himself, and his wife rather liking the 
 office. She now sat in her comfortable set 
 of Russian sable, cosily beside the sweet 
 smelling pinewood fire, while she prattled 
 to the young bride.
 
 ISABEL HARRINGTON. 73 
 
 " You'll find it awfully slow and stupid 
 here, my dear," she said, in her soft plain- 
 tive voice, '' after the first eclat of your 
 marriage has subsided. Of all the dull coun- 
 ties of England, Moorshire is the dullest, 
 and Rubestown the slowest. We would 
 not live here at all, but Stanley is obliged to 
 do so for the sake of his interest, — live, do 
 I say ? It is not living at all, it is vege- 
 tating." 
 
 Beatrice remarked that she was fond of 
 the country, and did not think it at all dull. 
 
 " Ah ! that is because the place is fresh 
 to you, and at present you are the ' ob- 
 served of all observers,' " replied the litde 
 lady, shrugging her graceful shoulders. 
 *' But wait a bit, my dear, you'll find it 
 out to be what I say, the most stupid place 
 on earth." 
 
 Beatrice smiled, '' I must like it, what- 
 ever it is," she said ; " I have come prepared 
 to do so." 
 
 Mrs. Harrington opened her dark eyes. 
 ** You don't say you are going in for the 
 goody goody lot," she cried, with an ex-
 
 74 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 pression of pity and surprise on her olive 
 face ; " the model wife, and all that kind of 
 thing ? " 
 
 Beatrice felt slightly annoyed, yet could 
 not tell why. '' I don't know exactly what 
 you mean by * goody goody,' and ' model 
 wives,' " after a little pause, " but I hope to 
 do my duty as far as I can." 
 
 " Very proper, my dear, I am sure," re- 
 plied Mrs. Harrington with a mocking 
 smile, *' but you will tire of it, nevertheless. 
 Moorshire is not the place to practise 
 any virtue in, except patience, and you can 
 do that to your heart's content. You 
 will belong to the High Church party, 
 of course ?" she added, turning suddenly 
 round on her hostess, **and you will 
 go to 'All Saint's,' the Joneses' great place?'* 
 
 " I believe so," returned the puzzled 
 bride ; " it is our parish church, is it 
 not ?" 
 
 " Parishes don't matter, every one goes 
 by their feelings, or their interests, here, 
 — I belong to the Low Church, myself," 
 explained the visitor, "not because I like
 
 ISABEL HARRINGTON. 75 
 
 it, but Stanley's supporters affect that 
 kind of worship ; as for myself I would 
 go anywhere, and I don't object to the 
 high square pews, they are awfully nice if 
 you happen to be sleepy." 
 
 Catherine Hyde, who had just entered 
 the room, looked dreadfully shocked. - 
 
 " Don't look so terrified, child, / never 
 sleep, it's only Stanley does that ; I alter 
 my bonnets there." 
 
 " Do what f exclaimed Lady Slade. 
 
 " Alter my bonnets, dear; not really, you 
 know, but imagine styles to suggest to my 
 maid afterwards — you have no idea what 
 exquisite fabrications have come out of 
 those stuffy old pews. The prettiest hat I 
 eyer wore in my life was suggested by the 
 way the ivy was wreathed round the top of 
 one of the pillars, it was a work of art — 
 perfect, I assure you." 
 
 Lady Slade could not forbear laughing 
 heartily. Over the lovely patrician face of 
 Catherine Hyde there stole an expression 
 of infinite disgust. 
 
 '' I cannot imagine," she said, with the
 
 76 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 faintest curve on her proud lips, " any one 
 professing Christianity forgetting them- 
 selves in the House of God." 
 
 Mrs. Harrington leaned back in her 
 settee, and gazed calmly for a few moments 
 at the young girl from under her long dark 
 lashes. 
 
 " Couldn't you, dear ! how curious ! Well, 
 I fancy I entertained the same opinions 
 once when I was young. It is wonderful 
 how we alter with time," said this woman of 
 five-and-twenty,with a mocking smile on her 
 face. " You'll be an ornament to Rubes- 
 town, Miss Hyde, if you continue to enter- 
 tain these sentiments ; but I think you 
 will change like the rest of us." 
 
 *' I hope I shall never change from what 
 is good and true," cried Catherine, indig- 
 nantly. " I should hate myself if I thought 
 I should ever arrive at the indifference you 
 describe, Mrs. Harrington." 
 
 ** I hope you never will," replied the 
 visitor, composedly. ''It isn't a pleasant 
 state of things." 
 
 " Now let us talk of something else.
 
 ISABEL HARRINGTON. 77 
 
 There is to be a grand ball at Bingley, on 
 the 27th, in honour of your arrival, Lady 
 Slade. I don't know whatever I am to 
 wear, you cannot get a respectable thing 
 in this horrid place. I must send to Paris 
 for a dress, I suppose." 
 
 *' Won't that be very expensive ?" ques- 
 tioned Beatrice, who, having always had to 
 practise rigid economy, was as yet un- 
 accustomed to the pleasure of wasting 
 money. 
 
 Mrs. Harrington shrugged her pretty 
 shoulders. 
 
 " I dare say it will, but ' que voulez votes'] 
 it is all very well for you who have plenty 
 of nice dresses in your trousseau ! We 
 aborigines must use our inventive genius, 
 or rather that of our neighbours over 
 the water." 
 
 " Do the Joneses get their things from 
 Paris ?" enquired Lady Slade. 
 
 The little brunette fairly shook with 
 laughter, the merry peals of her silvery 
 voice echoing through the room. " Lady
 
 yS OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Slade, for pity's sake don't kill me," she 
 cried. " Have you known them so long, 
 and not discovered their clothes to be of 
 true British manufacture ? No doubt their 
 milliner, whoever she is, persuades them 
 they come from Paris, but she only deceives 
 themr 
 
 *' I should think they are quite able to 
 get their things from Paris, if they chose," 
 interrupted Catherine Hyde, whose grow- 
 ing antipathy to Mrs. Harrington increased 
 with the conversation : and who disliked 
 to hear her friends laughed at. 
 
 *' Of course they are !" returned Mrs. 
 Harrington, not in the slightest discom- 
 posed by Catherine's indignant outburst. 
 ^* They have only to ask to have. Old 
 Jones, with one touch of his magic wand, 
 could get them dresses from India, and 
 scarves from Cashmere. I have no doubt 
 he has heaps of such things in his treasury 
 at this moment, but the poor girls don't 
 know how to wear them ; they have neither 
 style, nor taste."
 
 ISABEL HARRINGTON. 79 
 
 " They are dear good girls," exclaimed 
 Catherine, warmly. 
 
 "Darlings! so gushing and fresh. Don't 
 look at me in that way. Miss Hyde, I mean 
 what I say. I have the greatest admira- 
 tion for your young companions, but you 
 must not expect me to admire their dress, 
 that would be too great an infliction." 
 
 " They have no mother, poor things," 
 sighed the gentle Beatrice. '' They have 
 no one to advise them." 
 
 '* Excepting their vulgar old father — 
 pardon me. Lady Slade, he is vulgar, mil- 
 lionaire or not ; but the man did not make 
 himself, and he is only a man after all. 
 You must take those girls up," added Mrs. 
 Harrington, with a winning smile. '' Give 
 them a little of your own exquisite taste" 
 (with a covert compliment to the elegant 
 toilette of the bride). 
 
 Lady Slade blushed. " I don't really 
 see how I am to improve them, if you have 
 failed," she said, pleased in spite of herself 
 at the delicate insinuations of her visitor.
 
 8o OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 ** I ? I never tried !" replied Mrs. Har- 
 rington. '' We are the opposition party, 
 you know ; besides, my dear, I'm poor ; it 
 is a marvel how I manage to dress at all on 
 my allowance ;" and she glanced compas- 
 sionately down on her rich black velvet 
 dress, with its trimmings of costly fur. 
 
 It was a marvel ; and so the innocent 
 Beatrice would have thought, had she 
 known how little that allowance really was, 
 and how expensive her robes. 
 
 But the bride only smiled assentingly, 
 and gazed with admiration on the graceful 
 form of her visitor, as she rose from her 
 seat, and held out the tips of her daintily 
 gloved fingers. ** I must ask you to ring 
 for my pony carriage," she said, in her 
 soft voice. " I have stopped here an un- 
 conscionable time, but you don't know how 
 refreshing it is to talk to any one out of the 
 common run. One gets so tired of the 
 good people of Rubestown, with their 
 troubles and their platitudes," she added 
 wearily.
 
 ISABEL HARRINGTON. 8 1 
 
 Lady Slade felt quite sorry her visitor 
 was departing, in spite of the concealed 
 sneers in her speeches. Beatrice felt drawn 
 towards her by a magnetic charm. " I wish 
 you were not obliged to go so soon," she 
 said, with an appealing glance out of her 
 shy brown eyes. 
 
 " I wish I were not," replied Mrs. Har- 
 rington, with charming politeness. '* But 
 the fact is, we have other calls to make, and 
 it is getting so late." 
 
 " But you'll come again soon, won't 
 you ?" eagerly questioned Beatrice, holding 
 both her hands. 
 
 ** Of course I will, my dear. We are 
 next door neighbours, you know ; your 
 estate joins ours. Oh, I intend us to be 
 great friends, you know," she added, looking 
 winningly at the little bride. *' I mean us 
 to be inseparables ; and you also. Miss 
 Hyde," turning round to where Catherine 
 — an expression of astonishment and curi- 
 osity on her face — was standing near the 
 long French windows, " you also, when 
 you know me better, will forgive me all my 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 heretical opinions. I'm not really bad 
 at heart," continued the coquettish little 
 woman, placing her soft fingers in Cathe- 
 rine's hand, and letting her dark eyes, full 
 of penitent pleading, rest on the girl's per- 
 plexed face. 
 
 '' Dear Mrs. Harrington," said Catherine, 
 eagerly, anxious to repair the fancied 
 injustice she had done the lady. " You 
 mistook — " 
 
 " Did I, child ? Then I'm very sorry. 
 You will come with your sister to see me, 
 won't you ?" 
 
 Catherine promised she would. The 
 inexpressible charm this woman exercised 
 over all she chose, was having its effect on 
 Catherine Hyde. 
 
 Mrs. Harrington walked gently across the 
 room. The sweep of her sable garments 
 had the undulating grace of a snake. " I 
 wonder where Stanley can be," she mur- 
 mured, as she stood with the bride and her 
 sister at the window, overlooking the 
 grounds. " He is perfectly dreadful when 
 he gets amongst the stables. I can never
 
 ISABEL HARRINGTON. S^ 
 
 get him away. His brains run continually 
 on horses and dogs." 
 
 " Then I am sure he will suit Sir Reoin- 
 aid," cried Beatrice, delightedly ; " my 
 husband talked of nothinof but horses the 
 whole time we were abroad." 
 
 '' How extremely interesting to a young 
 bride," said Mrs. Harrington. 
 
 Beatrice flushed ; feeling she had said 
 something she should not. 
 
 " I am fond of horses myself," she stam- 
 mered, apologetically, 
 
 Mrs. Harrington observed her confusion, 
 and came to the rescue in a moment. 
 
 ** Are you, Lady Slade ? I am so glad ; 
 they are quite a weakness with me. What 
 a charming: idea ! We shall be able to ride 
 and drive together ; I shall call for you fre- 
 quently. What I meant to observe was : 
 it is so dreadful when a man has no idea 
 but horses, like poor Stanley. You don't 
 always wish for the perfume of the stables 
 in the drawing-room." 
 
 " Here they come," cried Beatrice, sud- 
 denly, as the figures of her husband and 
 
 6—2
 
 84 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Mr. Stanley Harrington emerged from the 
 shrubbery in front of the house. 
 
 A crimson tide swept over Mrs. Har- 
 rington's face, and her eyes glowed for an 
 instant like coals of fire. It was only for 
 an instant ; the next moment she was as 
 calm and self-possessed as ever. 
 
 " Just look at Stanley," she cried, indig- 
 nantly ; " one would think that all the 
 world belonged to him, as he lounges 
 along, with that indolent air. Faugh !" 
 exclaimed the little woman, aroused for a 
 moment from her self-possession, — *' I wish 
 I were a man ! I would make a name in 
 the world, or I would die." 
 
 The two men approached. Stanley wdth 
 his lazy, high-bred, sleepy walk; Sir 
 Reginald with a quick, nervous, impatient 
 tread. 
 
 Beatrice opened the windows, and the 
 women stood out on the terrace in front of 
 the mansion. It was cold and frosty, but 
 the air was bright on that February day ; 
 and Lady Slade threw a soft, white.
 
 ISABEL HARRINGTON. 85 
 
 fleecy shawl around her head and shoul- 
 ders, as she stepped out of the warm 
 room. 
 
 " By Jove, but she's good form !" mut- 
 tered Stanley Harrington, as the men came 
 up the avenue in front of the house. 
 
 *' Eh, — who ? Oh, my wife. Yes, I 
 think she'll do, after a time," replied the 
 baronet, with a cold complacent smile. 
 
 '' I should rather think she would," re- 
 torted Stanley warmly, surprised out of his 
 usual indifference by his admiration of his 
 friend's wife. " You are a lucky fellow, 
 Slade ; by Jove, you are." 
 
 *' Stanley, dear," purred his own spouse, 
 when the men were near enough to speak, 
 " have you seen the ponies ? We must be 
 going, it is getting so late." 
 
 " They are coming round now," replied 
 Mr. Harrington, pointing to where, in the 
 distance, the pair of pretty steppers were 
 seen trotting up the drive ; then, turning to 
 Beatrice : *' I have been admiring your 
 horses, Lady Slade. I had no idea Slade
 
 86 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 went In for that kind of thing so strongly. 
 You have some splendid flesh down here." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose they are nice," said 
 Beatrice, with a little laugh, and a timid 
 glance at her husband. '' We are going to 
 run some at the next races ; are we not, 
 Reginald, dear ?" 
 
 "If all goes well, we shall," he replied. 
 " I have a couple in training at Newmarket 
 which I mean to enter for the autumn 
 meeting." 
 
 " How nice," sighed Mrs. Harrington, 
 drawing on her little pearl grey gloves. 
 " I dote on horses myself ; but we can only 
 afford to keep four — these ponies and our 
 two saddle hacks. I've been telling Lady 
 Slade," she continued, turning with ani- 
 mation to the baronet, " that I intend to 
 fetch her out constantly to ride and drive 
 with me. We are going to be great 
 friends." 
 
 " I am delighted to hear it," said Sir 
 Reginald, bowing ; " Beatrice knows so 
 few people in this part of the county. It 
 will be both kind and considerate of you."
 
 ISABEL HARRINGTON. 87 
 
 " Nonsense, Sir Reginald," laughed Mrs. 
 Harrington ; " the kindness is on Lady 
 Slade's side of the question. We are to be 
 great cronies, are we not, darling ?'' she 
 added, as she took the unresisting hand of 
 the bride and glanced up in her face with 
 her most winning smile. 
 
 ** If you wish it, I shall be very happy," 
 said Beatrice, gently. 
 
 Sir Reginald stood watching his wife and 
 her new friend with a curious mixture of 
 uneasiness and anxiety on his face. He 
 was evidently satisfied with the result, for 
 he smiled more gaily than usual as Mrs. 
 Harrington kissed Beatrice three or four 
 times before stepping into her pony car- 
 riage. 
 
 ** I must say it is very good of you to 
 come over so soon," he repeated earnestly, 
 as he handed the little brunette into her 
 seat and gave her the reins. 
 
 ** Don't stop out, you will catch cold, 
 dear Lady Slade," cried Mrs. Harrington^ 
 taking no notice of his speech. *' Now 
 Stanley, are you coming ? Do be quick.
 
 SS OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Good-bye, Lady Slade ; good-bye, Miss 
 Hyde ; pray go in. Come, Stanley." 
 
 But Stanley was still staring at Lady 
 Slade. When his wife spoke, he started. 
 
 " Yes, you will take cold, standing there,'* 
 he cried. "How awfully stupid of me to 
 allow you to do so. Permit me," he con- 
 tinued, giving her his arm to lead her back 
 into the room she had just quitted. " Miss 
 Hyde, may I trouble you to open the 
 window for your sister ?" 
 
 Catherine did as she was requested, 
 gazing anxiously into her sister's pale 
 face. 
 
 But Beatrice only laughed at their fears. 
 
 " I am as strong as a little horse," 
 she exclaimed, glancing shyly up in the 
 honest languid face bent so earnestly over 
 her. 
 
 " You have no right to endanger your- 
 self if you are," he said. " Slade will call 
 you to account." 
 
 But Slade at that moment was arranging 
 the fur skins round the dark fairy in the 
 pony carriage, while she lay back, watching
 
 ISABEL HARRINGTON. 89 
 
 his movements from under her long lashes. 
 How it happened I don't know ; but as he 
 did so, their hands met, and a flush swept 
 over her olive skin. 
 
 "Is all forgiven, then, Isabel ?" he whis- 
 pered hurriedly, fearful lest the dapper 
 groom might overhear what he said. 
 
 " All forgiven, long ago." 
 
 " I am so glad. I was afraid — " 
 
 " Of what ? Your wife is to be my 
 dearest friend," she laughed, showing her 
 little pearly teeth ; but the laugh was some- 
 what bitter and cruel. 
 
 Sir Reginald looked uneasy. 
 
 '' Have no fear, man," she cried, still 
 under her breath ; " I don't play with 
 weapons like those. Are you coming, 
 Stanley?" she repeated, louder, as her tall 
 lazy husband emerged from the drawing- 
 room window. '' I cannot hold these brutes 
 in if you are not quick." 
 
 Mr. Stanley Harrington thought his wife 
 intended the ponies to run away. She 
 lashed them so unmercifully with her whip 
 when they emerged from the avenue of
 
 90 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Chesham Court that he remonstrated with 
 her for her cruelty. 
 
 " Don't hit so hard, Isabel," he cried ; 
 '* you almost take away my breath." 
 
 " I wish I could take away some one's," 
 she muttered between her set teeth ; but 
 her reply was inaudible to her husband, 
 who wondered what sudden fit of excite- 
 ment had taken possession of his vivacious 
 little wife.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE BALL AT BINGLEY TOWERS. 
 
 The ball at Bingley was a great success. 
 
 Mr. Plantagenet Jones was in his ele- 
 ment. 
 
 All the ilite of Rubestown were there. 
 
 All the best people in the county were 
 there. — From the Duke and Duchess of 
 A — , down to the rector of " All Saint's," 
 from the colonel and officers of the crack 
 cavalry regiment, stationed at the chief 
 town, some ten miles from Bingley Towers, 
 to poor little Mrs. Etheridge and her 
 daughter Rosamond — all were there. 
 
 The hospitable mansion of Mr. Plan- 
 tagenet Jones had its rooms and portals 
 thrown open to receive his guests, and from
 
 92 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 the octagon chambers In the turrets, down to 
 the great kitchens, was full to overflowing. 
 
 The ball and the several reception-rooms 
 were marvels of decorative art. He had 
 put them into the hands of a celebrated 
 Avest end upholsterer, and a well-known 
 florist, and the result exceeded his most 
 sanguine expectations. 
 
 It was more like fairy land than a sober 
 English country house — more like a bril- 
 liant tropical evening, than a cool, not to 
 say frosty, February night. Rich exotic 
 plants — foreign trees of wondrous foliage, 
 lined the sides of the galleries and corridors 
 through which the guests passed, be- 
 tween whose bright-green leaves the ex- 
 quisite whiteness of Parian marble statues 
 gleamed in perfect loveliness. The walls 
 were hung with pale pink, and pale blue 
 satin, edged with silver lace — festoons of 
 water-lilies, terminated in stars of waxen 
 lights, and the ceilings, arabesque and 
 painted, rivalled the gorgeous conceptions 
 of Titian in the Doge's Palace at Venice. 
 
 In fact, the ceiling of the amber drawing-
 
 THE BALI. AT BINGLEY TOWERS. 93 
 
 room was said to represent the family of 
 the worthy Plantagenet Jones. It was 
 mythological, portraying Jupiter sur- 
 rounded by his Court. 
 
 The mighty Jove was personated by 
 Plantagenet Jones himself, whose jolly 
 rubicund countenance was imperfectly dis- 
 guised beneath the frowning visage of the 
 Thunderer. By his side sat the departed 
 Mrs. Jones in the character of Juno, — stern, 
 commanding, queenly, her peacock at her 
 feet, her jealous eyes, flashing with invisi- 
 ble lightnings, turned on her rival Venus, 
 as represented by her own daughter, the 
 fair Maria whose fat podgy proportions 
 were toned down by the skilful hand of 
 the painter, and who certainly resembled 
 the Goddess of Beauty, in the scantiness of 
 her drapery. 
 
 The other daughter, Jane, famed for her 
 profusion of flowing red hair, was depicted 
 as Diana attired for the chase, and as the 
 hair in this instance was transformed into a 
 bright Venetian gold, it did her good ser- 
 vice, as represented floating on the wind.
 
 94 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 At the foot of the steps leading up to the 
 throne of Jove, In the attitude of addressing 
 the King of the Gods, stood Minerva, 
 otherwise Miss Sarah Archer, her helmet 
 surmounted by a Gorgon's head, and the 
 owl by her side. 
 
 This was considered by the artist, and 
 indeed by Jones and his friends, as the 
 chef (TcBUvre of the whole set — the likeness 
 was perfect — the figure perhaps a little too 
 commanding ; but the resemblance of the 
 curled snakes of Medusa's head, to the 
 ringlets of the fair Miss Archer, was life- 
 like in the extreme. 
 
 Plantagenet Jones was justly proud of 
 this family group ; he had taken his ideas 
 from the ceiling in the Vatican, the 
 Doge's Palace, and the galleries of the 
 PItti Palace at Florence ; and as the little 
 man, who was both intelligent and obser- 
 vant, lost no opportunity of turning the 
 knowledge he obtained on his Continen- 
 tal tours to his own advantage, his own 
 family were perpetuated in this allegorical 
 group.
 
 THE BALL AT BINGLEY TOWERS. 95 
 
 There were other characters and rela- 
 tives, but as we shall never meet them in 
 this story, it is needless to describe them. 
 Rumour spoke of a grand historical paint- 
 ing destined to hang in the dining-room 
 at Bingley Towers, representing the coro- 
 nation of Richard the First and his Queen, 
 but as, soon after its commencement, Mrs. 
 Jones had taken it into her head to leave 
 the good things of this world for the better 
 things of the next, the character of Beren- 
 garia was at present incomplete, and the 
 picture consequently unfinished. 
 
 The floor of the ball-room was of 
 polished aromatic wood that emitted a de- 
 licious fragrance, when heated by the feet 
 of the dancers. That of the retiring-rooms 
 of mosaic marble. In the centre of one 
 of these a crystal fountain sparkled and 
 bubbled into a basin of alabaster, at the end 
 of the other a miniature waterfall rushed 
 over tiny rocks, covered with feathery ferns 
 and bright green moss, studded with a 
 thousand beautiful orchids. 
 
 Tall palm trees waved over seats and
 
 •96 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 bowers, curiously contrived to imitate the 
 grassy retreats of nature — the air was 
 heavy with the odorous scent of flowers, a 
 cool soft breeze caused by an unseen pun- 
 kah, gently stirred the gigantic leaves of 
 the tropical plants, while a mellow sub- 
 dued light pervaded the apartment, giving 
 the idea of an Indian forest, bathed in de- 
 licious shade. 
 
 Each of these rooms led into the conser- 
 vatories, where oranges and citrons bloomed 
 in Continental luxuriance, and the rich 
 purple of grapes studded the fretted roof. 
 
 Here the flowers almost dazzled the eye 
 with the intense brilliancy of their colouring, 
 almost overpowered the senses with their 
 intoxicating perfume, and beyond all these 
 were covered balconies, fitted with the 
 softest velvet lounges, from whence the 
 heated Terpsichoreans could enjoy the cool 
 night air, and fairy-like prospect in the dis- 
 tance. 
 
 Every tree in the park that stretched out 
 in front of Bingley Towers, had more or 
 less coloured lamps glittering like varie-
 
 THE BALL AT BINGLEY TOWERS. 97 
 
 gated stars suspended "somewhere in their 
 midst. 
 
 No matter that the branches were bare, 
 their dark leafless arms gave a more weird 
 aspect to the whole — every available point 
 was covered with flags, and a grand trium- 
 phal arch was erected at the entrance gates 
 of Bingley Towers, bearing the inscrip- 
 tion ** Cead mille fealthe!' on the top. 
 What connection that Irish inscription had 
 with the entertainment no one knew, every- 
 one there being either of Saxon or Norman 
 descent. The bride was not Irish, nor had 
 any of her ancestors ever been Irish — her 
 husband was Saxon of the purest type — 
 Plantagenet Jones was a Welshman, as his 
 name attested. 
 
 The fact was, it was the only form of 
 greeting in a foreign tongue, with which 
 Plantagenet Jones was acquainted, so he 
 insisted on having it put up as being much 
 more appropriate and classical than the 
 common English " Welcome.'* It was a 
 great fund of amusement and speculation to 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 the good folks of Rubestown, who gathered 
 round and stared at it, till their eyes ached, 
 during the day, and shrieked with delight 
 when in the evening it was lit up with 
 coloured fires. 
 
 '' It had summut to do wid t' bride," they 
 were sure ; but what it was, " dang d if they 
 could mak oot." 
 
 At all events, it looked very pretty and 
 very imposing, standing out in bold relief 
 against the clear bright sky, with the turrets 
 of the feudal castle in the background. 
 The soft eyes of Beatrice Slade filled with 
 sudden tears of gratitude and pride, as the 
 inscription, which she readily deciphered, 
 met her view, and a blaze of fireworks an- 
 nounced the approach of her carriage. 
 
 " What a cursed fool the fellow is !" was 
 her husband's comment, as they passed 
 under the triumphal arch, with its roses, 
 its flags, and bright green leaves ; but 
 Beatrice saw nothing of the incongruity of 
 the quotation ; she only felt the kindness 
 that had prompted the design. 
 
 Plantagenet Jones, gorgeous with dia-
 
 THE BALL AT BINGLEY TOWERS. 99 
 
 monds and radiant with delight, met them 
 at the top of the marble staircase, and gave 
 his arm to the bride. Sir Reginald followed 
 with her sister, the beautiful Catherine, 
 who looked like some lovely ** Undine/' in 
 her delicate pale blue robes, with a wreath 
 of silver water-lilies crowning her golden 
 hair. 
 
 A suppressed murmur of admiration ran 
 round the rooms as the two sisters — 
 Beatrice in her bridal white, Catherine in 
 her diaphanous drapery — were conducted 
 by their host to the end of the ball-room, 
 where a sort of dais in crimson and gold 
 had been erected, and where the members 
 of his family and the nobility present were 
 waiting to receive them. 
 
 The sweet strains of music from some 
 unseen orchestra floated through the 
 spacious ball-room. 
 
 Dancing soon commenced, Mr. Planta- 
 genet Jones leading out the bride; Sir 
 Reginald claiming the hand of the fair 
 Maria. 
 
 The scene was one of unrivalled bril- 
 
 7—2
 
 lOO OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 liancy and splendour. Beatrice gazed with 
 wonder and delight on the tableaux, the 
 magnificence of which surpassed all she 
 had ever before beheld, and which even 
 the discursive reminiscences of her aunt, 
 Miss Betty Hyde, had never approached. 
 
 And it was all for her! she was the 
 mainspring that had set this wonderful 
 machinery in motion, the effects of which 
 were so marvellous and grand. She was the 
 sun round which revolved so many satel- 
 lites, each with a brilliant orbit of its own ; 
 or rather, she, with her soft pale beauty, 
 was the moon, and these the stars adorning 
 the splendour of that sweet spring night. 
 
 Her heart was full of almost child-like 
 pleasure and gratitude for the kindness 
 shown to her in her new home. 
 
 She regarded Mr. Plantagenet Jones in 
 the light of a benevolent magician, who 
 had conjured up these marvels for her 
 especial entertainment, and never ceased 
 thanking him and expressing her delight, 
 till she observed the eyes of her husband 
 fixed upon her with ill-concealed annoyance.
 
 THE BALL AT BINGLEY TOWERS.' lOI 
 
 Poor Beatrice blushed and trembled. 
 What had she done amiss ? 
 
 It was the first shadow over her happi- 
 ness. 
 
 She could not get near Sir Reginald, to 
 ask, and it made her uneasy and abstracted 
 for a time ; but when she saw him laugh- 
 ing heartily with some friends, and he 
 addressed a few kind words to her in pass- 
 ing, she forgot all about her momentary 
 vexation, and entered as gaily as ever into 
 the spirit of the evening. 
 
 The night was wearing on, and, tired 
 with dancing, Beatrice was seated, almost 
 alone, near the wonderful cascade, when a 
 soft voice behind her whispered, — 
 
 " Lady Slade — and alone ! What is the 
 world about that it has lost its queen ?" 
 
 Beatrice started, turned, and laughed. 
 " Mrs. Harrington, I have been looking for 
 you all the evening." 
 
 " Fruitlessly, of course. Who, amongst 
 yon galaxy of beauty and fashion, could 
 possibly discover poor little insignificant 
 me ? But a truce to jesting, my dear. I've
 
 I02 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 been vainly endeavouring to reach your 
 Majesty's throne myself ; the crush is so 
 great, the people round you so dense, there 
 is no chance for your friends." 
 
 '' They are all so good and kind to me," 
 murmured Beatrice. '' It is a splendid 
 ball, is it not, Mrs. Harrington ?" 
 
 "Splendid! Did I not tell you old 
 Jones was a wizard, and could raise all 
 manner of enchantments by one wave of his 
 wand." 
 
 '' I am more than grateful to him. I 
 know not how to express my sentiments," 
 said Lady Slade, enthusiastically. " Do 
 you know, Mrs. Harrington, you will think 
 me very silly ; but I really feel as if I 
 should like to go somewhere and have a 
 good cry." 
 
 Mrs. Harrington's silvery laugh rippled 
 over and over, mingling with the plashing 
 of the waterfall, dying away in the soft 
 echoes beyond. 
 
 '' Oh, Lady Slade, don't kill me," she 
 cried, when she was able to speak. 
 
 " Why do you laugh ?" questioned
 
 THE BALL AT BINGLEY TOWERS. IO3 
 
 Beatrice, slightly annoyed. " I know it is 
 foolish, but I feel it for all that." 
 
 " Delicious innocent ! Pray forgive me ! 
 but the idea of your thinking this is all 
 done for you individually ! Don't you 
 know, my dear, the man makes use of you 
 as a peg on which to hang his grandeur : 
 that you represent to him so much capital, 
 by means of which he can blazon forth his 
 magnificence and riches to the world ?" 
 
 " Ah ! You take away all my pleasant 
 thoughts ; you destroy all my sentiment," 
 replied Lady Slade, reproachfully. " Don't 
 you think you are very unjust, Mrs. Har- 
 rington ?" 
 
 " Unjust to you, perhaps, you pretty 
 little simpleton. It might have been kinder 
 to have left you still in your blissful ig- 
 norance, which is at once so charming and 
 so naive',' returned Mrs. Harrington, a vein 
 of sarcasm running through her tones ; 
 " but not unjust to Mr. Plantagenet Jones. 
 The man's artifices are so shallow, all the 
 world can see through them." 
 
 " I won't believe you. People are not
 
 I04 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 SO bad as that," cried Beatrice indignantly, 
 half turning away. 
 
 " Bad. I never said the man was bad, 
 did I ? On the contrary, I think him very 
 clever and wise. I only wish to imbue 
 you with a little of his worldly wisdom, 
 and I get scolded for my pains." 
 
 Lady Slade played with the long tall 
 grasses that fell over the sparkling cas- 
 cade. 
 
 " I don't want such wisdom," she said, 
 after a moment's pause. *' I don't want to 
 think there is neither truth nor sincerity in 
 human nature." 
 
 " As you will, ma chere. You will find 
 it out yourself, by-and-by. Go on in 
 your present illusion, thinking the world 
 and every one in it created for you, and 
 you alone, having you for the centre of their 
 motives and actions, and you will one day 
 come tumbling down with a heavy fall from 
 your pedestal." 
 
 Lady Slade rose from her seat and bent 
 over a cluster of beautiful exotics.
 
 THE BALL AT BINGLEY TOWERS. IO5 
 
 *' You make me feel very humbled and 
 ashamed of myself," she murmured, hiding 
 her blushing face ; *' but indeed I believed 
 it was all done for me. I knew I was 
 not worthy, and now you have made me 
 ridiculous, both in my own eyes as well as 
 in yours, for being so foolish and vain 
 as to imagine myself of so much conse- 
 quence." 
 
 The brunette took hold of her hands. 
 
 '* You are of consequence, darling," she 
 said softly ; *' of far more consequence than 
 you will ever suppose yourself What I 
 want you to do is to estimate others at 
 their proper value, without which you will 
 always be in trouble. I want to be your 
 friend," continued Mrs. Harrington, speak- 
 ing with animation ; *' you are so young 
 and inexperienced. You have come 
 amongst a set of people of whose manners 
 and ways — forgive me — you are utterly ig- 
 norant ; and I want to rescue you from the 
 shoals which you will inevitably encounter 
 if you do not have some careful guide."
 
 I06 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 She spoke so earnestly, so pleadingly- 
 looking up into her face, with her dark 
 passionate eyes. Lady Slade was touched. 
 She had been almost angry with this woman 
 for destroying all her pretty theories, and, 
 behold, she was the true friend, coming to 
 help the little friendless bride. 
 
 With a sudden impulse she stretched 
 out both her hands. *' Forgive me, Mrs. 
 Harrington," she exclaimed, penitently. 
 " I am not used to the world. I did not 
 know." 
 
 " I know you did not," replied Mrs. Har- 
 rington, archly. " And when I would 
 advise you, you turn on me indignantly, 
 and then — " 
 
 ** Don't, pray, don't say any more," ex- 
 claimed the distressed Beatrice. " I am so 
 sorry. I spoke hastily." 
 
 The brunette kissed her soft white hand. 
 ** Don't fancy I do not like the world," cried 
 she, laughing. "I do ! It's a beautiful 
 world ; and as for society, I dote on it ; it's 
 half my life. But then I know how to use 
 it, and don't let it use me. As for the ball,
 
 THE BALL AT BINGLEY TOWERS. lO/ 
 
 I would not have missed It on any con- 
 sideration." 
 
 '' I^ady Slade, you are looking charming 
 to-night," she continued, with a sudden 
 burst of admiration. " How well that white 
 becomes you. How soft that lace appears, 
 seen in this mellow light, behind those 
 lovely ferns. Ah ! do let me admire you. 
 I am only a woman, you know. You 
 should reserve those blushes for men ; they 
 would appreciate them. I think you per- 
 fect," she added, meditatively, as Beatrice 
 stood half-confused, half-amused, before her. 
 " I would give anything to possess your 
 beauty." 
 
 " Mrs. Harrington, what nonsense !" 
 
 *' I never talk nonsense You are beau- 
 tiful, though it may not be the style most 
 men admire — a trifle too pale, perhaps," 
 continued this connoisseur in female charms 
 — ''just a soupgon of rouge would now — " 
 
 ** Mrs. Harrington !" exclaimed the as- 
 tounded Beatrice. 
 
 " Improve you immensely," went on Mrs. 
 Stanley Harrington, taking no notice of
 
 I08 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 her companion's indignant remonstrance. 
 " And the faintest pencil line under your 
 eyes " 
 
 " I would never put such stuff on my 
 cheeks/' interrupted Lady Slade, vehe- 
 mently. 
 
 Mrs. Harrington regarded her with a 
 curious expression. "Wouldn't you now ? 
 Well, perhaps it is a little too soon. 
 Women should not, as a rule, commence 
 that kind of thing till after thirty. A 
 smooth skin and absence of wrinkles atone 
 for a great deal of want of colouring." 
 
 " Paint ! I paint ! I would rather die 
 first," exclaimed Beatrice, flushing at the 
 very idea. 
 
 *' Don't be so silly, child. You would 
 do nothing of the sort. But you have no 
 occasion to use cosmetics at present ; those 
 exquisite natural blushes quite do away 
 with the necessity of artificial bloom. You 
 will lose them after a time, and then you 
 will tell a different story. Don't look so 
 horrified. / don't paint; I only wish I 
 could ! it would be of no use on my swarthy
 
 THE BALL AT BINGLEY TOWERS. IO9 
 
 skin ; but I certainly would if I thought it 
 would be the slightest improvement. You 
 have never told me how you like my dress," 
 she cried, suddenly jumping up from the 
 mossy bower in which she was ensconced. 
 *' Do, there's a dear. I rather fancy it 
 myself;" and she turned herself round and 
 round, for the bewildered Beatrice's in- 
 spection. 
 
 Mrs. Stanley Harrington's meditations on 
 dress had not been without a triumphant 
 result ; whether it was the product of the 
 stuffy old pews, the development of her 
 own imaginative brain, or the work of the 
 French artiste to whom she applied, the 
 effect was marvellous — magnetic. 
 
 Something black, gauzy, soft, floated 
 round her in dark diaphanous clouds, 
 spangled with myriads of fire-flies. 
 
 At first Beatrice imagined they were 
 artificial compositions, created to imitate 
 life, but as she inspected them closer, she 
 discovered they were real insects imprisoned 
 in bags of gauze, stitched on to the dress. 
 The heat of the rooms had deceived them
 
 no OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 into Imagining they were in their own 
 sultry climate, and they shone and sparkled, 
 emitting a wondrous light. 
 
 On her arms, and in the coils of her raven 
 hair, were stars of rubies and diamonds ; a 
 large cluster of the same brilliant gems 
 fastened her zone, and round her neck was 
 the wonderful necklace of opals, its ruby 
 eyes flashing with every turn. 
 
 As she stood there amidst the ferns and 
 the grasses, and the drooping bell-like 
 flowers, she might have been taken for the 
 queen of the fairies — so small, so dark, so 
 elfin did she look, the mocking smile on her 
 curved red lips. 
 
 Beatrice was spell bound in mute admi- 
 ration. The rooms were full of beautiful 
 women ; lovely forms, fit for Mahomet's 
 Paradise, met her on every side ; her own 
 sister Catherine, fair as an angel, surpassed 
 them all in exquisite beauty and grace ; but 
 none of them, not even Catherine, could 
 compare with the matchless witchery of this 
 singular woman, who had not one perfect
 
 THE BALL AT BINGLEY TOWERS. Ill 
 
 feature in her face, but around whom hung- 
 some undefinable fascination that partook 
 of the nature of diablerie. 
 
 " Poor little creatures," cried Beatrice, 
 touching the fire-flies with mingled feelings 
 of admiration and surprise. " Do you not 
 hurt them when you sit down ? You must 
 certainly crush some, Mrs. Harrington ?" 
 
 ''Very likely," replied the brunette, laugh- 
 ing. *' But what does it matter, they are 
 holocausts to fashion — victims sacrificed on 
 the altars of Vanity Fair." 
 
 " Oh, I should be miserable," cried Bea- 
 trice, " if I had to wear such a dress." 
 
 '* What nonsense," replied Mrs. Harring- 
 ton, contemptuously. " They are only 
 insects after all. . . Here they come," 
 she suddenly continued, as a number of 
 men appeared at the doors at the further 
 end of the room, peering anxiously Into the 
 shady gloom of the palm trees. '' Behold 
 the charge of the six hundred ! They have 
 missed their queen, and, like bees In a hive, 
 are going mad In consequence. Go and
 
 I I 2 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 enjoy your ball, ma bellel' she cried. "You 
 won't see many grander than this, in 
 the course of your little existence. Don't 
 look as if we had been talking seriously," 
 she added, smiling. " But take the good 
 the gods give in the spirit in which it is 
 offered ;" and with a farewell laugh, she 
 disappeared amidst the trees, sending down 
 a shower of petals from the crimson exotic 
 flowers, filling the air with fragrance as she 
 passed. 
 
 " Lady Slade, Lady Slade," cried half a 
 dozen voices. '* Where have you hidden 
 yourself ? We have been looking for you 
 everywhere." 
 
 Beatrice rose from her mossy retreat, and 
 advanced to meet them. 
 
 *' It is the last dance before supper," cried 
 Mr. Plantagenet Jones, as he came forward, 
 smiling and smirking. " And I am to have 
 the honour, am I not 1 I had no idea your 
 ladyship was here." 
 
 '' I came in for a moment to cool myself," 
 replied Beatrice. *' And the deliciousness 
 of the atmosphere tempted me to stay —
 
 THE BALL AT BINGLEY TOWERS. I 1 3 
 
 what a lovely abode it Is. That cascade is 
 a perfect marvel of beauty." 
 
 " Pretty, is it not ?" returned her host. 
 '* I spared no expense over it, I assure you. 
 " Was not that Mrs. Stanley Harrington 
 who was with your ladyship when I 
 entered ?" he questioned. 
 
 " Yes, we were talking together.'' 
 
 "Ah ! I thought so. Delightful woman, 
 one of the most fascinating creatures I ever 
 met. Don't you agree with me, Lady 
 Slade ?" 
 
 *' Certainly I do," assented Beatrice. '' I 
 am delighted we are such near neighbours." 
 
 " Great muff her husband, good sort of 
 fellow, too, when you know him," went on 
 Mr. Jones ; " does very well for Moorshire 
 at present, but they'll find the need of some 
 more enlightened individual by-and bye." 
 
 ** I suppose when that necessity arises 
 the man will be found," suggested Beatrice, 
 half afraid of the opinion she broached and 
 longing to catch Sir Reginald's eye. 
 
 ** Exactly, my dear lady," cried Planta- 
 genet Jones, casting admiring glances on 
 
 VOL. 1. 8
 
 114 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 her. " You have hit the very mark ; when 
 the necessity arises the man will be found " 
 — he might have added, " here/' but he kept 
 that little secret to himself — the time was 
 not yet ripe for action. 
 
 So he led Beatrice into the ball-room and 
 down to supper, where the splendour of 
 the banquet rivalled the rooms they had 
 quitted ; but alas for Lady Slade ! the 
 pleasure had departed which she first ex- 
 perienced, the dew was off the flower, the 
 bloom had left the peach, everything around 
 was apparently unaltered, but to her it was 
 no longer the same, the serpent had crept 
 into her Paradise leaving its trail on the 
 flowers, and the leaves, and the happy 
 human hearts. It was the second shadow 
 on her evening's enjoyment.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS 
 BEFORE THEM." 
 
 Catherine Hyde was the centre of a circle 
 of admiring men and women, grouped near 
 one of the large oriel windows. 
 
 Lord Arthur Trelawney leaned over her 
 chair, criticising the company with the 
 ease and freedom of a man of the world, 
 making her laugh, despite her natural dis- 
 like to amusement at the expense of others, 
 by his witty remarks and careless sar- 
 casms. 
 
 Maria and Jane Jones both hovered near 
 their friend, admiring her beauty and dress, 
 and with their usual unselfish generosity 
 diverting the attention of their own cava- 
 
 8—2
 
 Il6 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Hers to the superior attractions of the 
 lovely Catherine. 
 
 *' Isn't she beautiful !" cried Maria in an 
 audible whisper to the man with whom she 
 was dancing. 
 
 "Well — hum — haw — wevy," replied the 
 gallant Plunger, languidly stroking his fair 
 moustache, and looking at Catherine as he 
 would at a horse. 
 
 *' And she Is going to live always at 
 Chesham Court, and she'll set Moorshire 
 mad," went on the enthusiastic champion of 
 Catherine's charms. 
 
 "Weally — haw — pleathant for Moor- 
 shire." 
 
 *' Isn't It now ? and she can ride and 
 hunt almost as well as we can." 
 
 '' Weally— shouldn't have thought it/' 
 remarked the astonished Plunger, who did 
 not look astonished by the way. " She 
 looks too fwagllle for that sort of thing — 
 too bwlttle you know." 
 
 " Do you think she would break ?" 
 laughed the merry Maria.
 
 COMING EVENTS. I I 7 
 
 ** Well — haw — not exactly," returned the 
 Plunger, vainly endeavouring to fix a glass 
 which kept bobbing about in his right eye. 
 He never explained what he did mean, but 
 Maria Jones appeared to understand him, 
 and continued her catechism. " Won't she 
 make a sensation in the Row in the sea- 
 son ?" 
 
 " Shouldn't wonder if she did." 
 
 *' They will go up to town, of course. 
 Lady Slade will be presented on her mar- 
 riage." 
 
 " Weally, of courth." 
 
 " I shall never be surprised to find 
 Catherine the belle of the season," con- 
 tinued her devoted admirer. 
 
 " Haw, not if you're there. Haw," 
 whispered the Plunger with a simper at 
 his own wit. 
 
 " Stupid !" laughed the buxom damsel, 
 as the music commenced and she whirled 
 him off on another prance. 
 
 Three turns round the room brought 
 Maria and her Plunger back to the same
 
 Il8 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 place, where the gallant officer seated his 
 partner on a satin couch, he standing in 
 -front mildly mopping his face with his 
 delicate handkerchief and tugging at his 
 moustache. 
 
 " Dwedful pathtlme, dancing ; almost as 
 bad as a widing-school." 
 
 *' I think it delightful," said Maria, fan- 
 ning herself with a Chinese fan of painted 
 feathers. " But you don't mean to say you 
 go to riding-school now, Captain Vivian ?" 
 
 **Ton honour do — awful bore, intheth 
 it — ought to be put a stop to. If a fellow 
 knows how to wide, he knows how to 
 wide," remarked this logical scion of the 
 aristocracy. 
 
 '' I should say he ought," replied Maria 
 Jones, glancing up at him from over the 
 top of her fan. 
 
 " Demmed shame. Beg pardon, but our 
 Colonel inthiths on the widing-school three 
 times a week, thometimes oftener." 
 
 '' Oh dear, how dreadful." 
 
 '' Ithn't it now," said the gallant captain, 
 quite delighted to see the sympathising
 
 COMING EVENTS. IIQ 
 
 looks cast upon him by his fair consoler, 
 and taking a chair by her side. 
 
 " But that^s nothing to inthpection days. 
 Have you ever been at an inthpection, Mith 
 Jones ?" 
 
 Maria replied she did not know what an 
 inspection was, but she had once been at a 
 review. 
 
 " Haw — well — an inthpection ith a small 
 weview, a weview of a fellah's own wegi- 
 ment, when a thwell fellah comes down 
 from town to find faulth." 
 
 '' What a shame," cried Maria, turning 
 her blue eyes full on her companion. 
 
 ** It was dwedful when I was in the 71st 
 Hussars," went on the Plunger, charmed to 
 find a feminine listener to his military 
 grievances. " We were worked for weeks 
 before the inthpection came off, till I was 
 just like a tkeleton, and then the fellah that 
 came down thwore at us all, and bullied our 
 Colonel dwedful, and thed we were not any 
 better than yeoman wy !" 
 
 " How shamefully cruel," murmured 
 Maria.
 
 I20 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 " We did him, though," cried the Plunger, 
 smiling blandly over the recollection of the 
 event. 
 
 "Did you, now ! 
 
 " Yeth, we did." 
 
 ** What did you do ?" questioned Maria, 
 fully anticipating the account of some 
 dreadful judgment visited on the head of 
 the offending general. 
 
 " We gave him a thplendid hcnch /'* 
 
 The young lady's blue eyes expressed 
 the utmost astonishment — she evidently 
 did not understand the joke. 
 
 ** Haw — yeth, we did — haw," continued 
 the gallant Captain ; "• and by Jove! wathent 
 there a weport of us went up to the Horth 
 Guards — it thaved the wegiment, it did." 
 
 Maria smiled — " Why didn't you stop in 
 the Hussars, Captain Vivian ?" 
 
 "Why you thee," said the Plunger, con- 
 fidentially, " / wathent quite sure the we- 
 port was wight, and it was loothing catht 
 you know to stop with fellahs who did not 
 know how to wide." 
 
 " And you like the Dragoons better ?"
 
 COMING EVENTS. 121 
 
 ''Like them ? They are thplendid ! Doo- 
 thed expenthlve tho', but our meth is the 
 finest in the cavalwy. The Guards can't 
 hold a candle to our band, you mutht hear 
 our band, Mith Jones/' 
 
 Maria declared that she would be de- 
 lighted. 
 
 " You muth get your papa to bring you 
 to Barchester, there will be an inthpection 
 in the Spwing — you can hear our band 
 then." 
 
 Miss Jones promised she would use her 
 influence with her father, and induce him 
 to come to Barchester. 
 
 " And I'll look out for you, and get you 
 cloath to the flag thtaff — beth pothition you 
 know." 
 
 " How kind you are," murmured Maria, 
 her eyes meeting the vapid blue ones of the 
 Plunger. 
 
 " I'th a plethure, pon honour," he replied, 
 squeezing one of her little fat hands. 
 
 "What an idiot that fellow is," said 
 Lord Arthur Trelawney in his soft low
 
 122 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 voice, as he directed Catherine's eyes to- 
 wards the pair. 
 
 "Yes!— why?" 
 
 *' Because if he wears Her Majesty's 
 uniform, he ought to speak Her Majesty's 
 English — and of all the confounded non- 
 sense you ever heard a man utter, commend 
 me to Captain Vivian." 
 
 " He's a man of good family too, is he 
 not ?" 
 
 '' Family yes — he's a nephew of old 
 Lord Richard, but that does not hinder his 
 being a fool — it's my belief he could speak 
 as well as you or I if he chose." 
 
 " I suppose," said Catherine smiling, **he 
 thinks it pretty to lisp." 
 
 " Polly Jones seems to think it pretty 
 too!'* 
 
 *'Lord Arthur Trelawney ! Polly Jones." 
 
 " Didn't you know we called her Polly ? 
 I forgot you were new in this part of the 
 world, Miss Hyde !" 
 
 " I don't like to hear men speak disre- 
 spectfully of my friends." 
 
 " Beg pardon, won't offend again — well,
 
 COMING EVENTS. I 23 
 
 Miss Jones seems to think it pleasant — 
 shouldn't wonder if it were to be a match, 
 she is just the style for a military life." 
 
 Catherine half turned and looked at the 
 speaker, she could not tell from his tones, 
 if he were jesting or not, the dark hand- 
 some face was smiling at her, but wore no 
 expression save one of amusement. 
 
 " I hope if she marries him, he will make 
 her a good husband," said Catherine, 
 warmly. 
 
 *' He's sure to do that, military men al- 
 ways do — don't you know the proverb 
 about reformed rakes. Miss Hyde ?'* 
 
 Catherine looked slightly annoyed. 
 
 *' If he is a connexion of Lord Richard, 
 he is most likely well off," she said, 
 after a pause. 
 
 '' Not a stiver — poor devil, all his money 
 goes on his regimentals, and his mess ex- 
 penses. What does that signify ? Jupiter 
 has plenty, and what fitter consort for Ve- 
 nus than Mars," he said, with a covert 
 sneer at the painted ceiling. 
 Catherine Hyde could not forbear smiling.
 
 124 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 *' Look at Mars, now, how carefully he is 
 pulling that silky moustache, no doubt he 
 is telling the fair Poll — beg pardon, Venus, 
 all about his warlike campaigns — how like 
 Desdemona she hangs upon his words, see ! 
 he is calling a brother officer to Introduce, 
 take care Mars, or Adonis will cut you 
 out." 
 
 ''What nonsense you talk, Lord Ar- 
 thur," exclaimed Catherine Hyde laughing. 
 
 " Do I not ? It's my trade, my profes- 
 sion, talking nonsense to pretty women — ex- 
 cepting your own fair self, whatever other 
 language do they understand ?" 
 
 " You except me, and yet talk nonsense 
 to me, that Is a distinction without a differ- 
 ence. Lord Arthur." 
 
 " Pardon me, till this evening, I was not 
 aware that you were superior to the rest of 
 your charming sex ; superior in beauty 
 you have always been," added he, bowing 
 with courtly grace — ''but the charms of 
 the mind have to be learnt to be appre- 
 ciated." 
 
 Catherine Hyde felt disconcerted, this
 
 COMING EVENTS. I 25 
 
 man with his dark handsome face, his 
 suave manners, troubled her because of the 
 sarcastic ring in the high-bred tones of his 
 low sweet voice. 
 
 She wished he would move away from 
 her chair. '' I dislike compliments, es- 
 pecially open ones/' she replied colour- 
 ing. 
 
 " Said I not so ? Was I not right 
 when I proclaimed you superior to the 
 rest of your sex ? Perhaps, Miss Hyde, you 
 have been satiated with them ; compli- 
 ments, however true, nauseate you. One 
 wearies even of good things in time, like the 
 Cornet who said at his first mess dinner he 
 had been so bored with good wine he pre- 
 ferred bad — shouldn't wonder if that wasn't 
 our friend Vivian now." 
 
 Catherine tried to look grave, but could 
 not. 
 
 " There didn't I tell you so — Venus has 
 taken Adonis's arm, and left Mars in the 
 lurch. What devils those fellows are, 
 always trying to cut each other out." 
 
 " The officer you call Adonis, is Captain
 
 126 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Vivian's greatest friend, Major Fitzbrace, 
 he is in the same regiment/' said Cath- 
 erine. 
 
 Lord Arthur laughed sarcastically. ''And 
 you call them friends. Oh, Miss Hyde, how 
 innocent you are ; shall I tell you where 
 Captain Vivian would like best to see his 
 dearest friend ? taking possession of his 
 ancestral estate, a piece of territory, six 
 feet by two feet six; don't look so horrified," 
 as Catherine uttered a faint cry — '' it's the 
 way of the world — the greatest friend stops 
 the promotion of the regiment, and Vivian, 
 for all his braggadocia about the j oiliest 
 fellow on earth, would secretly like nothing 
 half so well, as to command the firing 
 party over that fellow's grave. " 
 
 " What dreadful things you say," cried 
 Catherine, turning pale at the very idea. 
 
 " Fact, I assure you. Shall I tell you 
 what the army is, Miss Hyde, apart from 
 Its glitter and show ? It's a school In which 
 each man is trying to overreach the other 
 — in which each man regards those above 
 him as so many Interlopers, keeping him
 
 COMING EVENTS. 12/ 
 
 out of his fancied rights. Talk about 
 brotherly love, and esprit de corps, there 
 is nothing of the sort — the happiest mo- 
 ments of their lives are those in which 
 they see a brother officer's name in the 
 obituary or gazette." 
 
 Catherine Hyde turned round on the 
 cynic, indignation flashing out of her 
 beautiful eyes. 
 
 *' I do not believe you," she exclaimed — 
 " my father was an officer and a gentleman, 
 and but for his one fault, the noblest man 
 on earth. Sir, do you dare to tell me, the 
 service that produces such men as he, is 
 not what I've ever believed it, the finest in 
 the world ? Would you have me think the 
 gallant, high-minded officers who were his 
 companions and friends would ever stoop 
 to such thoughts and actions as you repre- 
 sent 1 Fie upon you, Lord Arthur, I will 
 not listen to you any more." 
 
 Lord Arthur Trelawney sank back in his 
 soft fauteuil, smilingly regarding the flushed 
 and agitated girl. 
 
 *' Beautiful enthusiast," he whispered, '' it
 
 128 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 is worth while broaching any opinion, were 
 it only to hear you refute it. I forgot for a 
 moment your father was one of the gallant 
 corps. Forgive and forget ; it is scarcely 
 the subject for a ball-room, I own ; let us 
 talk of something else. See, Mars has 
 soon consoled himself for the loss of Venus. 
 Who is that queer little girl with whom he 
 is waltzing, — the girl with ^the pale face 
 and towy hair ?" 
 
 Catherine glanced at the couple indi- 
 cated. 
 
 ** I do not know," she said. 
 
 '' She is only a child ; but what wonder- 
 fully soft grey eyes, what light and expres- 
 sion in her mobile face. I do not remember 
 seeing her before. Where the devil can 
 Vivian have picked her up ?" — this in an 
 undertone to himself 
 
 " Oh, I know now," suddenly exclaimed 
 Miss Hyde, a faint curl of contempt on her 
 beautiful red lips ; "Jane Jones introduced 
 her as we entered the room. She is a Miss 
 Etheridge ; her mother is the wife of a poor 
 officer ; they live somewhere in Rubestown.
 
 COMING EVENTS. 1 29 
 
 It is her first ball, I believe/* continued 
 that young lady, supremely indifferent. 
 
 " It is easy to see that," replied Lord 
 Trelawney. " Just look with what spirit the 
 child is entering into that dance ; one 
 never sees such a sight in a London ball- 
 room." 
 
 " There is Beatrice," said Catherine, after 
 a pause, not at all interested in Rosamond's 
 movements. 
 
 Lady Slade was just entering the room 
 on the arm of Plantagenet Jones. 
 
 " Then it is the last dance before supper, 
 and Croesus is to have the bride. See how 
 he smiles with conscious pride ; how his 
 jolly rubicund countenance is irradiated 
 with delight. Happy Plantagenet ! de- 
 scendant of a race of kings. Miss Hyde, I 
 am to have the honour of this quadrille. I 
 envy no man his partner now." 
 
 The supper was gorgeous, like every- 
 thing else about that remarkable entertain- 
 ment, and after supper the dancing was 
 resumed, with far greater spirit and eclat 
 than before. 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 People met people they had not seen at 
 the beginning of the evening — new friends, 
 new acquaintances, were made. Men 
 became more tenderly familiar under the 
 influence of champagne, and women were 
 no colder for their little tastes of jelly and 
 their little sips of wine. 
 
 The dowagers and chapero7ies were all 
 the better that their inner woman had been 
 comforted and sustained. They crowded 
 together in coteries, in the corners of the 
 rooms, and pulled the reputations of their 
 friends to pieces, as a sort of dessert after 
 that sociable meal. 
 
 The men hung about the retiring rooms 
 and doorways, in a way that men have of 
 doing during the small hours. 
 
 There were numberless buffets stationed 
 here and there, where gentlemen might 
 take their fair partners to be refreshed with 
 an ice or a glass of wine during the 
 dancing ; but the men, from shamefaced- 
 ness, had seldom troubled those buffets. 
 But now, as it were, they had "tasted 
 blood," and relays, or detachments, of the
 
 COMING EVENTS. I31 
 
 *' lords of the creation " were to be found 
 in these snuggeries just taking another 
 refresher before '' that confounded waltz 
 begins." 
 
 Amongst these men Sir Reginald Slade 
 and Stanley Harrington were conspicuous. 
 Stanley — big donkey as he was — boasting 
 for ever of the House, the speeches he 
 made, and the speeches he didn't make, but 
 intended to — which were by far the more 
 numerous — and voting balls and entertain- 
 ments a " bore," — " things devised by the 
 devil to keep a fellow out of bed when he 
 ought to be in it ; for what does a fellow 
 want in the country but to go to bed. He 
 was forced to sit up all night in London ; 
 and, by Jove, sir, it's no sinecure, sitting up 
 all night in the House. 
 
 " Dancing, — he hated dancing. Fit only 
 for a lot of Hottentots. He thought those 
 countries much more sensible where they 
 hired people to dance for them. He had gone 
 through a quadrille when they first came 
 into the room, just for appearance sake; 
 but it had nearly been the death of him. 
 
 9—2
 
 132 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 He left dancing to his wife ; she could do 
 enough for both of them. And, as for 
 women, — didn't see any woman worth a 
 second look, except Lady Slade, and there 
 was no getting near her." 
 
 He little knew at that moment Beatrice 
 was standing alone in the conservatory 
 overlooking Bingley Park. 
 
 Sir Reginald Slade, who had imbibed 
 as much wine as was good for him, was 
 the centre of a little knot of men, who, 
 despite their evening-dress, had a certain 
 horsey appearance. He was discussing, 
 with much animation, the probable starters 
 for the next Derby, and expatiating on the 
 merits of the animals he meant to run in 
 the autumn at the Rubestown races. 
 
 He was hot, flushed, and excited ; and 
 when the inviting notes of a gallop sum- 
 moned most of the men back to the ball- 
 room, said he would have just another 
 split soda, and join them in a second. 
 
 Lady Slade had been dancing until she 
 was fairly exhausted. With the exception of 
 her rest in the waterfall room with Mrs.
 
 COMING EVENTS. 1 33 
 
 Harrington, and the hour during supper, 
 Beatrice had done her duty like a true born 
 EngHsh woman, — danced with every one 
 whom she felt she ought, and a great many 
 more to whom she was under no such obli- 
 gation ; for, in spite of the shadow Mrs. 
 Harrington had cast over her joy, Beatrice 
 could not help feeling and acknowledging 
 the ball was for her, and that the whole of 
 the company, from the great Jones himself 
 
 to the Duke of A , had their thoughts 
 
 and attention concentrated on the timid 
 unsophisticated bride, whose cheeks were 
 by this time almost as white as her dress. 
 
 Beatrice had a loving grateful heart ; 
 and was not above being delighted by the 
 magnificent entertainment given in her 
 honour. As for Mr. Jones's private inten- 
 tions, what had she to do with them ? his 
 public ones were to give her pleasure : and 
 pleased she felt, in spite of everything. 
 
 One thing only troubled her : her hus- 
 band's apparent indifference and uncon- 
 cern. From the first dance, in which he was 
 in the same set as herself, she had scarcely
 
 134 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 ever seen him, except at a distance. He 
 appeared to be enjoying himself as much 
 as she ; he smiled at her kindly whenever 
 she passed, — but there was something 
 wanting. She wished to share her pleasure 
 with him, — foolish little bride ! She wanted 
 to whisper her delight in his ears, to draw his 
 attention to this thing and that, to have him 
 direct her attention to objects of interest, 
 to see his looks of approbation at her 
 being made, as she was, Queen of the 
 Revels. 
 
 It was beautiful, it was fairy-land, but it 
 lacked the life in the statue, the pulse in 
 the heart, it wanted the warm pressure of 
 her husband's hands, the loving light in her 
 husband's eyes, her soul longed for his soul 
 even among the follies of the world. 
 
 Stupid little woman, why long for what 
 the man does not possess ? 
 
 She turned away in meek resignation. "It 
 was not high-bred ; it was not good style 
 she supposed for husbands and wives to 
 mix together in fashionable society. She
 
 COMING EVENTS. 1 35 
 
 would get used to this kind of thing by- 
 and-by, and be able to go her way with the 
 same indifference as the men and women 
 around her. In the meantime she must 
 not vex her aristocratic husband by any out- 
 ward exhibition of her old-fashioned ideas." 
 
 So she asked the Duke of A , with 
 
 whom she had been dancing, to take her 
 into the retiring room, for she felt tired 
 and weary, and then to fetch her husband 
 and sister, as it was high time now they 
 were taking their leave. 
 
 The Duke, with the courtly grace of a 
 peer of the realm, apologising for leaving 
 her alone in the almost deserted room, 
 hastened away to fulfil her behest. 
 
 Beatrice sat for awhile, and then, suddenly 
 turning faint, went through the conserva- 
 tory out into the covered balcony over- 
 looking the park. 
 
 She was quite worn out, poor child — she 
 was so unaccustomed to so much display and 
 dissipation. It had been a hard night for 
 her ; so many to dance with, so many to
 
 136 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 talk to, it was over at last. She had danced 
 all her dances, said all her pretty sayings, 
 she was only waiting now to lay her tired 
 little self down to sleep, and dream it all 
 over again. 
 
 She leaned over the balcony, the cool 
 air fanning her aching brow. It was still 
 dark on that early spring morning, the flick- 
 ering variegated lamps on the trees in the 
 park were dying out one by one, the flags 
 on the triumphal arch looked listless and 
 drooping as they flapped lazily backwards 
 and forwards. Behind her the lights of 
 the castle gleamed as if Bingley Towers 
 was on fire, the sound of music came sofdy 
 and sweetly through the curtained doors. 
 She could see the shadows of the dancers 
 reflected on the windows, the noise of 
 revelry and merriment reached her ears by 
 fitful gusts. Beneath her lay the ornamental 
 gardens of Bingley Towers, a thick shrub- 
 bery interspersed with shady walks inter- 
 secting them here and there ; the murmur 
 of voices reached her from below and uncon- 
 sciously Lady Slade looked down.
 
 COMING EVENTS. I37 
 
 Two figures, evidently preferring the 
 cool night air to the heated and over- 
 crowded ball-room, were emerging from 
 the shrubbery, engaged in earnest conver- 
 sation. The gentleman was bending so low 
 over his companion that Beatrice could 
 not distinguish him at all, but there 
 was no mistaking the lady. Her light 
 musical laugh rippled out on the air, 
 the fire-flies gleamed and glistened on 
 that dark undulating form, the lustre of 
 the opals was perceivable even from the 
 balcony. 
 
 " How strange," thought Lady Slade, 
 ''for Mrs. Harrington to choose such a 
 place as that for a private conversation, 
 when there were plenty of quiet nooks 
 in the house. Could it be Stanley who was 
 with her ?" 
 
 A turn in the path brought the pair right 
 in front of the balcony, under the light of a 
 waning lamp. Beatrice started and caught 
 hold of the cushions on which she leant. 
 *' Surely she knew that studied walk, that 
 quick nervous tread, that fair hair."
 
 138 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 ''Could it be Sir Reginald — her own hus- 
 band, who was walking in the shrubbery 
 with that dark fascinating woman ?" 
 
 The back of the man being turned 
 towards her, she tried in vain to recognise 
 his face. She could hear the murmur of 
 their voices, but could not distinguish a 
 single word. 
 
 " What could her husband have to say to 
 Mrs. Harrington, that Beatrice might not 
 hear ? and if it were he, why was he bend- 
 ing so tenderly, so familiarly, over her ? 
 Why was she hanging so lovingly on his 
 arm ?" 
 
 A strange sensation of giddiness and pain 
 came over the little bride. She uttered a 
 moaning cry like that of a wounded animal. 
 She turned sick and would have fallen, 
 when a voice beside her exclaimed : 
 
 " Lady Slade, shall I get you a chair ? 
 Don't you feel well ?" 
 
 She turned, startled back to life by the 
 voice, it was that of a girl almost a child, 
 with a pale eager face and large frightened 
 eyes.
 
 COMING EVENTS. 1 39 
 
 " Yes ! a chair, quick ! The heat over- 
 came me, I think," cried the agitated Bea- 
 trice, pressing her hands to her burning 
 forehead. " Who are you, child ? where 
 did you come from ?" 
 
 " I am Rosamond Etheridge," replied 
 the girl, looking at Beatrice with wonderful 
 pitying love. "Miss Hyde asked me to 
 come and see if you were here. I hope I 
 did not alarm your ladyship. They are 
 all waiting, and the Duke of A is in 
 
 ** In fits, child ! Oh ! I hope not," cried 
 Lady Slade, starting to her feet in terror. 
 
 ** Not really, you know," replied Rosa- 
 mond, laughing, " but terrified because he 
 has lost your ladyship. I knew where to 
 find you if he did not," added Rosamond, 
 nodding knowingly. 
 
 '' Did you ?'' 
 
 " I've watched you all the night !" cried 
 Rosamond, earnestly. " Oh, Lady Slade, 
 pray do forgive me." 
 
 " Forgive you for what, my poor girl ?" 
 said Beatrice with a wan smile, casting one
 
 140 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 nervous look over the balcony. The couple 
 had disappeared. 
 
 ** Beatrice ! Beatrice I" cried the voice of 
 her husband close beside her, " where have 
 you hidden yourself ? I wish, my dear, you 
 would not do such outrageous things, the 
 carriage has been waiting half-an-hour ; we 
 have been seeking you everywhere." 
 
 '' I did not know," faltered the bewildered 
 Beatrice as she took his arm, " I thought 
 you " 
 
 "You shouldn't think!" he cried, in an 
 angry whisper. " Recollect, Lady Slade, 
 every eye is upon you. You cannot afford 
 to absent yourself like this." 
 
 "It was only for a moment, Reginald," 
 murmured Beatrice, the tears starting to 
 her eyes at his cross words, and her con- 
 science reproving her with her unjust 
 thoughts. 
 
 "It was not ^e then. How foolish, how 
 wicked had she been to think so." 
 
 " I felt faint, dear Reginald, and the 
 Duke said he would fetch " 
 
 " Oh, madam ! are you there ? I am
 
 COMING EVENTS. I4I 
 
 charmed, delighted. I was in a perfect 
 agony when I found you had flown," 
 
 exclaimed the Duke of A , as Beatrice 
 
 and her husband emerged into the open 
 room, and a bevy of friends surrounded 
 them. " Permit me to escort you to your 
 carriage." 
 
 " Pardon me, your grace ; all other things 
 I accede, but this is my privilege," cried 
 Plantagenet Jones, bustling up pompous 
 and fussy, almost pushing the aristocrat 
 away in his haste. 
 
 " Permit me, Lady Slade." 
 
 Beatrice, quickly recovering her com- 
 posure, smilingly took his arm. 
 
 '' Make way for my Lady Slade, good 
 friends. My Lady Slade's carriage stops 
 the way !"
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 LIFE AT FERN COTTAGE. 
 
 '' Well I never was at a nicer ball in my 
 life." 
 
 ** No, mamma !" 
 
 " Never, Rosamond, not even in the 
 palmiest days of the 200th. I really must 
 say Plantagenet Jones spared no expense 
 to make the thing go off well, and it did 
 him credit." 
 
 ** It was simply delightful," said Rosa- 
 mond ; " I think I shall never forget it, I'm 
 so glad, mamma, we were asked." 
 
 '' My dear, they could have no justifiable 
 reason for leaving us out of the invitations," 
 replied Mrs. Etheridge, drawing herself up
 
 LIFE AT FERN COTTAGE. 1 43 
 
 proudly ; " it would have been a positive 
 insult, had they done so." 
 
 " Oh, mamma, Maria and Jane would 
 never have insulted us ; I did not mean 
 that, but there were so many grandees 
 there one could scarcely expect " 
 
 " My dear Rosamond, you are talking 
 nonsense as usual, those people are no 
 better than ourselves, simply because they 
 have money and a handle to their names." 
 
 "Well, I'm glad we went," said Rosa- 
 mond hastily, fearful lest her mother 
 should get on her favourite topic, and 
 dreading a dissertation on good birth and 
 breeding ; '' the girls were very kind to me, 
 and I am young you know to go to a ball." 
 
 '' Decidedly you are, my dear, but you 
 look a great deal older than your age, you 
 are taller than I was at fifteen, and I don't 
 think I ever grew after fifteen." 
 
 Mrs. Etheridge and Rosamond, the morn- 
 ing after the ball at Bingley Towers, were 
 sitting in the best room at Fern Cottage, 
 which Mrs. Etheridge called the drawing- 
 room, and her friends the front parlour.
 
 £44 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 It was a pretty little room, for Mrs. Ether- 
 idge possessed a good deal of taste in the 
 arrangement of her household gods, and 
 there was an air of refinement over the 
 shabby genteel furniture, that made you 
 regret it had not a larger sphere of action. 
 To-day the small sitting-room presented a 
 rather untidy appearance ; the trophies of 
 last evening's engagement were strewn 
 about on the chairs ; a fan, a smelling 
 bottle, a little scarlet opera cloak, (Rosa- 
 mond's property), were in one corner of the 
 room, while a bundle of warmer wraps, an 
 imitation gold bracelet, and a pair of pink 
 satin boots, betokened where Mrs. Ether- 
 idge had rested her tired little feet, and set 
 her corns at liberty. 
 
 • The ladies on this occasion were in loose 
 dressing-gowns, poor Mrs. Etheridge 
 looking pale and sickly, from the effects 
 of the unaccustomed dissipation, but Rosa- 
 mond fresh as a daisy — her eyes spark- 
 ling brightly with the recollection of her 
 past* enjoyment. 
 
 ''It was a delightful ball," reiterated
 
 LIFE AT FERN COTTAGE. I45 
 
 Rosamond with marked emphasis, " I wish 
 I were going again to-night, for I am sure 
 I should never be tired of dancing, mam- 
 ma. 
 
 " Ah, I told you how it would be," 
 cried Mrs. Etheridge, with a knowing 
 smile and a nod at her daughter. "I knew, 
 young lady, you had only to go into society 
 to appreciate the pleasures of it ; you see 
 now how perfectly right I have been in 
 struggling on, to keep things together. If I 
 had not made an effort, Rosamond, you 
 would never have gone to Bingley 
 Towers." 
 
 " Dear old mother," cried Rosamond, 
 kissing her, " you were indeed good 
 to allow me to go, and I am sure that 
 white dress of mine must have cost you a 
 great deal." 
 
 "Never mind what it cost," replied her 
 mother with a satisfied air, '' it will have to 
 last you many times more, there is nothing 
 nicer for a young girl than white, and 
 your scarlet ribbons set it off greatly." 
 
 ** Fancy old Archer getting herself up 
 
 VOL. L 10
 
 146 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 in white," cried Rosamond, with a con- 
 temptuous laugh, '' and a mauve sash too ; 
 was there ever anything so ridicu- 
 lous ?" 
 
 Mrs. Etheridge looked annoyed. '* I do 
 not see the ridiculousness," she said, stand- 
 ing up for her friend ; *' white is becoming 
 to all ages — Lady Slade was in white." 
 
 " Lady Slade ! the bride, why she can- 
 not be more than three-and-twenty, and old 
 Archer is fifty if a day." 
 
 " Rosamond, Rosamond, I will not have 
 you speak of people in that low and vul- 
 gar manner, recollect that Miss Archer is 
 my friend, and to be treated with proper 
 respect." 
 
 ** I beg pardon, mamma ; I forgot for a 
 moment she was your friend, but the idea 
 of comparing a hideous old maid to Lady 
 Slade, the loveliest woman on earth," and 
 Rosamond clasped her hands with the exu- 
 berant enthusiasm of youth. 
 
 " Dear me, Rosamond, how you do exag- 
 gerate !" exclaimed her mother ;\' Lady 
 Slade is not bad looking ; who would be,
 
 LIFE AT FERN COTTAGE. 1 47 
 
 with all that lace and diamonds on them ? 
 but she is not fit to hold a candle to her 
 sister. I have seen many beautiful girls in 
 my time, but I never saw one to equal Miss 
 Hyde ; she looked like an angel last night, 
 with all that lovely golden hair flowing 
 down her back ; why Lady Slade is wishy- 
 washy beside her." 
 
 " Catherine Hyde's not bad," replied the 
 pert Rosamond, " but she's too cold and 
 proud to suit my taste. Maria and Jane 
 tell me she is always like that, thinks no- 
 thing of nothing." 
 
 " My dear ! what grammar." 
 
 " Well, you know what I mean," replied 
 Rosamond tartly ; " you are not remarkable 
 for grammar yourself, mamma," added this 
 amiable daughter. 
 
 *' If I am not, it is not your place to 
 correct me," retorted her mother, flashing on 
 her an indignant glance, "• but it is exactly 
 like you, Rosamond, you will never cure 
 yourself of this shocking habit of answer- 
 ing." 
 
 " I don't suppose I shall," said Rosamond, 
 
 10 — 2
 
 148 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 carelessly, as she poked the fire and took 
 up her book ; " however, mamma, I don't 
 think Miss Hyde is to be compared with 
 Lady Slade." 
 
 " A child's opinion is not worth having," 
 Mrs. Etheridge remarked, with an angry 
 sneer, naturally put out by her daughter's 
 rudeness, after which trite observation, 
 both mother and daughter relapsed into 
 silence. 
 
 They were aroused from this pleasant 
 position of affairs, by the sudden entrance of 
 of the one female domestic, who did duty 
 at Fern Cottage, and who was never very 
 remarkable for either cleanliness or polite- 
 ness ; she burst upon their reverie by an- 
 nouncing that the ring at the bell, which 
 had been unnoticed by the refractory 
 couple in the drawing-room, was caused by 
 the advent of the tax-collector, who made 
 his third application for the poor's rate, and 
 moreover signified his intention of not 
 calling again." 
 
 Mrs. Etheridge jumped up in a state of 
 nervous trepidation.
 
 LIFE AT FERN COTTAGE. 1 49 
 
 " Oh, dear me, Rosamond, what shall I 
 do ?" she exclaimed, forgetting her quarrel 
 with her daughter in her new anxiety ; " I 
 havn't the money in the house, why did 
 you let him in ?" turning round sharply on 
 the maid-of-all-work. 
 
 ** I could not help him, ma'am, he would 
 come in," replied the terrified domestic. 
 
 " Would come in ? what nonsense ! " 
 cried Mrs. Etheridge, pressing her hand to 
 her forehead. "Oh, Rosamond, Rosamond, 
 whatever shall we do ?" 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know, mamma," said 
 Rosamond, looking anxiously at her 
 mother. 
 
 " You never know anything ; you can 
 never help any one out of a scrape.'' 
 
 " Don't talk so loud, mamma — the man 
 will be sure to hear you," cried Rosamond 
 in a half whisper. 
 
 But Mrs. Etheridge had been struck with 
 a brilliant idea. '' I know what to do," she 
 said. " Here, Harriet, go and tell the man 
 that the ladies were at the ball at Bingley 
 Towers last night, and cannot be disturbed.
 
 150 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 The idea of expecting one to be up at this 
 hour of the day — twelve o'clock !" she added, 
 indignantly. 
 
 ** How could the man suppose we were 
 at the ball ?" laughed Rosamond, when the 
 servant had departed on her errand. " It's 
 the last place I dare say he thought we 
 should be at." 
 
 '' He will find out his mistake, then," 
 replied her mother, drawing herself up 
 proudly ; " and will learn to treat us with 
 a little more respect in future. There he 
 goes," she cried, as peeping behind the 
 curtain, she watched the form of the dis- 
 comforted tax-gatherer retreating down the 
 gravel path in front of the cottage. ''He 
 is soon dismissed. Well, Harriet," as that 
 grinning individual re-entered, her appear- 
 ance rendered more ludicrous by the addi- 
 tion of black smuts on the side of her nose, 
 " you have got rid of him. What did he 
 say ?" 
 
 " He said as how he shouldn't wait no 
 longer than Monday, ma'am." 
 
 ** The impudent fellow ; but you gave him
 
 LIFE AT FERN COTTAGE. 15I 
 
 my message, didn't you ? You told him 
 we were at the ball at Bingley, didn't 
 you r 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " And what did he say to that ?" cried 
 Mrs. Etheridge, swelling out in conscious 
 importance beneath her faded Cashmere 
 dressing-gown. 
 
 Harriet glanced at Rosamond, who, 
 amused at the whole affair, was lolling back 
 in her arm chair, her hands behind her 
 head. " He said, ma am," hesitated Harriet. 
 
 " Well ? What ? You are not deaf, are 
 you ?" cried Mrs. Etheridge, who was con- 
 vinced she had got the tax-gatherer, as 
 Shakespeare has it somewhere, " on the 
 hip." 
 
 "He said, ma'am, he didn't believe as 
 you was /" blurted out Harriet, retreating 
 to the kitchen. 
 
 Rosamond burst into a fit of boisterous 
 laughter. 
 
 Mrs. Etheridge threw a glance of indig- 
 nant contempt on her daughter, and pro- 
 ceeded to gather up her various pieces of
 
 152 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 finery before retiring to her bed-room, when 
 another loud peal at the front bell arrested 
 her midway in the passage, and sent her 
 flying back in trepidation to the sofa she 
 had just quitted. 
 
 " Whoever can that be ?" she exclaimed. 
 "Say we are not at home, Harriet," she 
 continued, in a low whisper, as that young 
 woman emerged from her den at the back 
 of the cottage, vainly endeavouring to 
 secure the crochet d'oyley she called her 
 cap, on the top of her untidy head. 
 
 Mrs. Etherldge was wise in her genera- 
 tion, and feared the information of her being 
 at Bingley the previous night might not 
 take more effect on the new comer, than it 
 had done on the tax-gatherer. 
 
 *' Keep back, do," she cried, in an agon- 
 ized whisper, as Rosamond, with the heed- 
 less curiosity of youth, was advancing to 
 the window. ** They'll be sure to see you, 
 and will insist on coming in. Get behind 
 the curtains, there's a good child, if you 
 must look. Oh, dear me," peeping out 
 herself, *' what a fool that Harriet is. Why
 
 LIFE AT FERN COTTAGE. 1 53 
 
 doesn't she send the man away ? What is 
 the use of her standing arguing there ? 
 She will be sure to let out something, if she 
 doesn't come in." 
 
 But the poor little woman's agony was 
 destined to be worked up almost to a frenzy, 
 for the imperturbable Harriet, with the gate 
 open half way, seemed to be determined on 
 having a regular confab with the myste- 
 rious visitor. 
 
 All her mistress could perceive from her 
 station of observation was, that the girl was 
 first quarrelling and then laughing with her 
 interrogator. 
 
 " Who was it ? What kept you so long, 
 Harriet ? Why did you not come in }'' 
 were the questions with which the girl was 
 assailed, when, after a lapse of moments 
 that seemed ages to the frantic woman, 
 she returned to the cottage. 
 
 " Please, ma'am, he wouldn't go." 
 '' He wouldn't ? Who was he ?" 
 **Why, Larking's the grocer's young 
 man. He said the bill had been owing for 
 six months, and his master wouldn't give
 
 154 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 no more credit. He said you must send 
 him summut to-day." 
 
 Harriet stood eyeing her mistress with 
 the cool insolence of low vulgarity. 
 
 Mrs. Etheridge turned first crimson and 
 then pale. " What shall I do, Rosamond ?" 
 cried she, when the girl had departed again 
 to the kitchen. 
 
 " Can not you send him something, 
 mamma ?" 
 
 " Impossible, my dear. I've only fifteen 
 shillings in the world; and I don't know 
 what I shall do if your uncle does not 
 answer my letter soon. There's this man 
 to-day, and the tax-man on Monday, besides 
 all our other expenses." 
 
 Rosamond rocked herself backward 
 and forward — her usual manner when 
 annoyed. " It's awfully tiresome, mam- 
 ma. It's a dreadful state of things to be 
 in." 
 
 " It is, my dear," returned her mother, 
 fretfully. " But I cannot help it now. The 
 thing is, how are we to pacify that dreadful 
 man ? I must write him a letter. Here,
 
 LIFE AT FERN COTTAGE. 1 55 
 
 Rosamond," she added, " I feel so tired, you 
 might just write to him for me." 
 
 '' Very well," said Rosamond, sullenly 
 rising and getting out her desk, with no 
 very gracious air. ''What am I to 
 say ?" 
 
 " Say, my dear ?" replied Mrs. Etheridge, 
 meditatingly. " Say that I've received his 
 message, and am sorry to keep him waiting, 
 but that I am in daily expectation of a 
 remittance from India ; and as soon as it 
 arrives, he shall have a cheque." 
 
 " But you're not, are you ?" questioned 
 Rosamond, putting down her pen and look- 
 ing at her mother. ** Didn't papa send the 
 allowance last month ?" 
 
 '' Will you write what I tell you, miss ?" 
 cried Mrs. Etheridge, stamping her foot, 
 and flushing crimson beneath her daughter's 
 glance. '' Things have come to a pretty 
 pass, when children can call their parents to 
 account." 
 
 " Oh, mamma ! mamma !" exclaimed 
 Rosamond ; but she wrote as her mother 
 dictated, nevertheless.
 
 156 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 The girl rose up and walked to the win- 
 dow, her eyes full of mortified tears. ** Was 
 it worth it all," she thought, ** all the 
 misery, the degradation, the shame ? Was 
 not the splendour of the previous evening 
 dearly bought by the bitterness of such 
 scenes as these ?'* 
 
 Oh, Society ! Society ! What an z^nts 
 fatuus art thou ! What a will-o'-the-wisp, 
 dancing for ever before the eyes of thy 
 votaries, leading them on to folly and sin — 
 perhaps to destruction. 
 
 Rosamond Etheridge was young, and her 
 fits of annoyance soon over. The sight of 
 her little scarlet opera cloak recalled the 
 pleasurable reminiscences of the previous 
 night. From the windows of Fern Cottage 
 could be seen, though the garden was en- 
 closed, the distant road winding up the hill 
 that led to Chesham Court, and Rosamond's 
 thoughts naturally flew to the lovely woman 
 who had spoken so kindly to her at the ball. 
 
 " Dear Lady Slade," she murmured, 
 tapping with her fingers on the glass. ** I
 
 LIFE AT FERN COTTAGE. 1 57 
 
 wonder, mamma, if she has ever suffered as 
 we do ? She looked so pale and mourn- 
 ful, though all that^ grandeur was for 
 her.'* 
 
 **You may depend upon it she has," 
 replied her mother. " You have no idea 
 to what straits genteel people are some- 
 times reduced in order to make an appear- 
 ance in society. I dare say, if we only 
 knew Miss Betty Hyde, we should hear a 
 fine tale of the various shifts she was put 
 to, in order to bring out those two girls ; 
 however, I must say they do her justice," 
 added Mrs. Etheridge, decisively. 
 
 " Poor Lady Slade ! how I pity her," 
 was Rosamond's comment. 
 
 " Pity her, my dear !" almost shrieked her 
 mother ; " with all that fine property, and 
 a good-looking husband too. It's Miss 
 Betty who has to be pitied, if anyone has. 
 No doubt she's living in cheap lodgings in 
 London, if the truth were told. But I think 
 the girls ought to take care of their aunt, if 
 there is such a thing as gratitude in girls,"
 
 158 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 said Mrs. Etheridge, with a meaning glance 
 at her daughter. 
 
 Rosamond was quite accustomed to these 
 side stabs from her mother, so took not the 
 shghtest notice of that lady's observations, 
 but continued to gaze up the distant 
 road. 
 
 " There's the Slades' carriage," she sud- 
 denly cried ; " I know the livery, mamma. 
 How early they are out ; it's only two 
 o'clock. They must be coming into the 
 town." 
 
 " And we are not dressed !" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Etheridge, in dismay, glancing down 
 at her dressing-gown and then at her 
 daughter. ** If we had only been ready, 
 we might have been out in the garden, and 
 then they must have seen us. Lady Slade 
 has never returned my visit, and it might 
 have given her a hint." 
 
 " It's Lady Slade and Miss Catherine 
 Hyde," cried Rosamond, from her position 
 of vantage ; " and oh, mamma !" continued 
 the girl, excitedly, " I believe they are
 
 LIFE AT FERN COTTAGE. 1 59 
 
 coming here. They are, — the carriage has 
 stopped. There's the visitors' bell !" 
 
 " Oh, what shall we do ?" — pouncing like 
 a thief on her several articles of attire, and 
 clutching them up in her arms. *' Rosamond, 
 you really ought to have been ready before 
 this !" turning fiercely on her bewildered 
 child. *' Just look at your hair ; how un- 
 tidy you are !" 
 
 " Perhaps they won't come in ; only leave 
 cards," replied Rosamond, in a hurried 
 whisper, nearly knocking her mother down 
 in her anxiety to pass her on the stairs. 
 
 Mrs. Etheridge tumbled over her dress. 
 
 ** Don't make such a noise, Rosamond ; 
 they will hear you. Oh ! they will be sure 
 to come in," she cried, in agony, peeping 
 over the bannisters on the landing. " That 
 fool of a Harriett has no tact. She would 
 never dream of saying we were tired. Yes, 
 here they are!" she added, with a faint 
 scream, as the sweeping robes of the ladies 
 were perceived close to the cottage door. 
 " Be quick, Rosamond !"
 
 l6o OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 And mother and daughter nearly tumbled 
 over each other in their eagerness to reach 
 their respective rooms. 
 
 "You get dressed first, and entertain them 
 until I come down," said Mrs. Etheridge, 
 slipping off her dressing gown, and fighting 
 with her back hair ; '* Til be as quick as 
 ever I can." 
 
 " All right, mamma : they won't expect 
 us in apple-pie order, after last night." 
 
 " It's a queer day to come, — just after 
 the ball," cried Mrs. Etheridge. " What a 
 fluster it puts one into ! Here, Harriet," 
 as that young woman appeared, holding 
 two cards in her grimy fingers, " give me 
 my black silk dress ; it is soonest put on. 
 Where did you put them ?" 
 
 " In the drawing-room, ma'am," replied 
 Harriet, in a gruff undertone. 
 
 " Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! Was there ever 
 anything so unlucky ?" cried Mrs. Ether- 
 idge, struggling violently to get her dress 
 to meet. " There goes a button, — and I 
 have got my old stays on, too — I shall 
 never get it fastened. It's the first day
 
 LIFE AT FERN COTTAGE. l6l 
 
 I have ever been caught like this. Oh, 
 Rosamond !" she screamed, as, white with 
 terror, she sat down on the edge of the 
 bed. 
 
 " What is the matter, mamma ?" cried 
 Rosamond, rushing towards her, fearful her 
 mother was hurt. 
 
 " Oh ! I have left my best chignon on 
 the top of the arm-chair, just where I took 
 it off last night," exclaimed Mrs. Etheridge, 
 looking at her daughter with an expression 
 of horror. " Oh ! what shall I do ? They 
 will be sure to see it." 
 
 Rosamond's fright exploded in fits of 
 smothered laughter, in which she was joined 
 by the grinning servant. 
 
 *'You go down, Harriet," said Rosa- 
 mond, when she could speak ; " tell the 
 ladies we shall be with them in a moment, 
 and try if you cannot hide it under your 
 apron." 
 
 *' And my gold bracelet is there," cried 
 the agonised matron, " and if they should 
 look at it they will see it isnt gold, and it 
 has such a brassy sound. Oh, Rosamond, 
 
 VOL. L II
 
 1 62 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 are you not ready ? Tm in such a fluster. 
 Do go down, there's a good girl." 
 
 " All right, mamma," cried the girl, in a 
 hurried whisper, as she ran to her own little 
 dressing-room. 
 
 Mrs. Etheridge succeeded in getting into 
 her black silk dress, after pulling open all 
 her drawers and turning the contents on to 
 the floor, in order to find a collar and pair 
 of cuffs to match, and making a noise over 
 the heads of the visitors as if some one was 
 removing all the furniture in the room. 
 
 She then descended to the drawing- 
 room, putting on a face of as much uncon- 
 cern as she could, and endeavouring to 
 appear not got up for the occasion. 
 
 Here she was doomed to afresh addition 
 of horror, — for, on the sofa, close to Lady 
 Slade, sat Rosamond — her hair smooth, 
 certainly, but in the identical old dressing- 
 gown she had worn in the morning, exam- 
 ining her mother's bracelet with Beatrice 
 Slade. 
 
 '' I thought I had better run down as I 
 was, mamma," she said, as the visitors rose
 
 LIFE AT FERN COTTAGE. 1 63 
 
 to shake hands with her mother. '' I was 
 sure Lady Slade would excuse me, when I 
 told her we were indulging after last night s 
 dissipation." 
 
 '' It is we who ought to apologise, Mrs. 
 Etheridge," said Beatrice, advancing, with 
 a sweet smile, to where the poor woman 
 stood, trying to conceal her dismay. "It is 
 too bad of us to intrude on such a day ; 
 but the fact is, we were coming into Rubes- 
 town, and I had never returned your kind 
 visit." 
 
 She spoke so gently, so kindly, holding 
 both the little lady's hands in her own, 
 Mrs. Etheridge would have been at peace 
 directly, had it not been for the proud, half- 
 scornful smile on the face of Catherine 
 Hyde. 
 
 As it was, she blushed, and stammered 
 out a dozen excuses for not being ready to 
 receive them, and for the untidiness of the 
 room. 
 
 "If you say any more we shall go at 
 once," said Lady Slade, anxious to put her 
 at her ease. 
 
 II — 2
 
 164 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 " Oh, don't do that," cried bold Rosa- 
 mond. 
 
 Lady Slade looked kindly down on the 
 girl's eager face, and touched her pink 
 flushed cheeks, while Mrs. Etheridge went 
 through a frowning pantomime, behind 
 Miss Hyde's back, intended to reprove her 
 daughter for her forwardness. 
 
 " What a pretty little cottage this is," 
 said Beatrice, advancing towards the 
 French window, "the prettiest in Rubes- 
 town, I fancy. Do you know, Mrs. Ether- 
 idge, it puts me so much in mind of my 
 own dear home before I was married, it 
 was not a bit larger than this ; was it, 
 Catherine ?" turning to her sister. 
 
 '' A little, perhaps," replied Miss Hyde, 
 glancing superciliously over the garden ; 
 ^' ours was in a different style : I do not see 
 the comparison." 
 
 The haughty tones in which she spoke 
 added not a little to Mrs. Etheridge's con- 
 fusion. Lady Slade laughed quietly. *' I 
 think it is very — Catherine," she said, " but 
 I am in the habit of seeing likenesses where
 
 LIFE AT FERN COTTAGE. 16$ 
 
 Other people don't," she added, unwilling to 
 let Mrs. Etheridge feel pained by her 
 sister's manner. *' Rosamond has been tell- 
 ing me how much she enjoyed the ball. 
 Did she tell you how kind she was to me?" 
 
 "Kind! Lady Slade," exclaimed Rosa- 
 mond, devouring her idol with her large 
 grey eyes. 
 
 "Yes, kind child ; I believe I should have 
 fainted, had you not brought me a chair, 
 the heat was so intense." 
 
 " It was such a pleasure," murmured 
 silly Rosamond. 
 
 "We are going down to All Saint's," 
 said Lady Slade ; " we have promised to 
 meet the Joneses there ; they are anxious 
 I believe to enrol us in one of their sister- 
 hoods." 
 
 " They seem to do a great deal of good," 
 said Miss Catherine Hyde, thinking it was 
 about time she made a remark. 
 
 " Oh, no end of good," replied Mrs. 
 Etheridge, her eyes wandering nervously 
 round the room to discover if anything was 
 amiss. "Miss Archer is a sweet woman*
 
 1 66 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 and spends her whole life in the service 
 of the church and poor." 
 
 *' She could scarcely spend it better," 
 said Miss Hyde. 
 
 Rosamond's face was a study. 
 
 " You sing at All Saints', do you not ?" 
 questioned Lady Slade, turning to the 
 girl. 
 
 *' Sometimes," replied her mother, speak- 
 for her. " I am sorry to say, Lady Slade, 
 Rosamond is not half so religiously in- 
 clined as I could wish." 
 
 Catherine Hyde looked proudly severe. 
 
 Lady Slade smiled, " I'm afraid Rosa- 
 mond and I shall agree," she said ; " I 
 am not at all religious myself." 
 
 " That is no reason you should boast of 
 it, Beatrice, if you are not," interrupted 
 Catherine sharply. 
 
 " Well, darling, I suppose not," replied 
 her sister gently, '* but it doesn't alter 
 facts." 
 
 ** Facts are not always pleasant things," 
 said Catherine, a shade of annoyance on 
 her lovely face.
 
 LIFE AT FERN COTTAGE. 1 67 
 
 *' Mrs. Etheridge, do you belong to the 
 Dorcas Society ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," delightedly responded Mrs* 
 Etheridge, quite charmed that her beauti- 
 ful visitor should condescend to address her. 
 
 " Oh, then you can tell me something 
 about it." 
 
 ** I can tell you all you wish to know," 
 replied the officer's wife ; '' but I fancy Miss 
 Maria Jones would be a better exponent, 
 she understands the ins and outs of every- 
 thing connected with it." 
 
 " Dear Maria," sighed Catherine, " she 
 is indeed a good girl, a wee bit too worldly 
 perhaps." 
 
 ''Well, poor things, they have to get 
 married, you see," said little Mrs. Etheridge, 
 " and they could not do that if they were at 
 All Saints' all day." 
 
 '' Certainly not, it is very praiseworthy of 
 them to do all they do. I am delighted 
 we have come to live so near them." 
 
 *' You will be a great assistance in the 
 ^ood work. Miss Hyde," ventured Mrs. 
 Etheridge.
 
 1 68 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 ** I will try and add my little mite," said 
 the fair Catherine, blushing sweetly, **butl 
 fear it is only a little, it is a great pleasure," 
 she added, "to find congenial spirits to 
 work with." 
 
 " There is ample scope for all in Rubes- 
 town," suggested the officer's wife ; " it is the 
 poorest, and the wickedest place on 
 earth." 
 
 " It is, mamma, look at all the public- 
 houses,'' exclaimed Rosamond, having 
 caught a thread of the discourse. 
 
 Mrs. Etherldge frowned. 
 
 Catherine Hyde's beautiful eyes looked 
 as if they would annihilate the offender. 
 *' We must all of us join in a crusade to 
 render things different," she said to Mrs, 
 Etheridge, ignoring Rosamond altogether ; 
 *' so much can be done when people unite ; 
 for my part, although it was to do honour 
 to my sister Lady Slade, I could have 
 wished last night half that money had been 
 given to the poor ; it seemed such a waste 
 to me."
 
 LIFE AT FERN COTTAGE. 169 
 
 "Oh, Miss Hyde," cried Mrs. Ether- 
 idge, not knowing what else to say. 
 
 " It always seems such a shame," con- 
 tinued the lovely enthusiast, " to give din- 
 ners and suppers to people who can get 
 them at home. I should like to give 
 dinners to those who cannot afford them, 
 who never taste such things as entrees 
 and trifles." 
 
 ** They would be sick if they did," 
 cried Rosamond, growing bolder every 
 moment under Lady Slade's kind glances ; 
 "fancy old widow Horrigan, with some 
 of that whipped syllabub or orange 
 souffle we had last night." 
 
 " Oh, you dreadful girl," laughed Lady 
 Slade. 
 
 " Rosamond ! " exclaimed her mother, 
 reprovingly. 
 
 Rosamond only laughed, twirling her 
 mother s sham bracelet round and round 
 on her finger, to the mortal terror of 
 Mrs. Etheridge, who expected every mo- 
 ment to see it fall on the floor.
 
 170 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 " I think we ought to be going, Bea- 
 trice," said Miss Catherine Hyde, rising, 
 her face the picture of haughty disgust, 
 "it is getting quite late," looking at her 
 little enamelled watch, "and we have so 
 much to do." 
 
 " I have been arranging with Rosamond," 
 said Lady Slade, "to come and spend a 
 day with me at Chesham Court, if you will 
 allow her, Mrs. Etheridge." 
 
 The mother's face shone with proud 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " I shall be delighted, honoured. Rosa- 
 mond, have you thanked her Ladyship ?" 
 
 " There are no thanks necessary," hastily 
 replied Beatrice ; "it is to be a mutual 
 pleasure, isn't it, Rosamond ?" 
 
 The girFs grey eyes were fixed on her 
 in grateful worship. 
 
 Beatrice saw their expression and smiled. 
 
 " Very well, it is settled then. Let me 
 -see, to-day is Tuesday. Will Friday suit 
 you : 
 
 " Any day will suit her. Lady Slade," 
 cried her pleased and happy mother.
 
 LIFE AT FERN COTTAGE. 171 
 
 ** Think of yourself, do not allow her to 
 interfere with your arrangements." 
 
 '' I have none for Friday," said Beatrice, 
 consulting her tablets. '' I want Rosamond 
 to show me a little about the place. I know 
 scarcely anything of Rubestown or its en- 
 virons.'' 
 
 " Rosamond can do all that," said Mrs. 
 Etheridge, " she knows every hamlet and 
 village for miles round, and all the people, 
 too." 
 
 " Then she will be the very person for 
 me," laughed Beatrice, " a sort of female 
 Speke." 
 
 It was settled then, and the two ladies 
 took their leave, Beatrice giving Mrs. 
 Etheridge a pressing invitation to come 
 and see her soon. 
 
 " I shall want all the friends I can make," 
 said she, with a pensive look in her soft 
 brown eyes. '' I know no one intimately, 
 except the Joneses and the Harringtons. 
 I want everyone to like me if they can,'* 
 she added, with a winning smile. 
 
 " That will not be very difficult," replied
 
 172 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 the gratified little woman, *' everyone must 
 like you, Lady Slade." 
 
 " I don't see that," returned Beatrice, 
 and as she spoke her eyes rested on the 
 upturned face of Rosamond Etheridge; 
 " there is one who loves me already," she 
 thought, *' but she is only a child." 
 
 " I like that girl," said Lady Slade, pur- 
 suing her meditations when the carriage 
 drove away from the cottage ; " she is so 
 original." 
 
 '' It is to be hoped she is," replied Cathe- 
 rine, dryly ; '' I don't like her at all !"
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 
 
 It was a great day for Rosamond Ethe- 
 ridge and her mother, when she went to 
 Chesham Court From the moment Lady 
 Slade left the cottage, till Rosamond started 
 off in a fly from the " Black Eagle," Mrs. 
 Etherldge never ceased talking about the 
 coming event. 
 
 The poor little woman saw all her dreams 
 and anticipations about to be realized, and 
 her daughter launched Into that society, 
 which was her Ideal of all human happiness. 
 
 To think that after all, Lady Slade, about 
 whose advent Rosamond was so perversely 
 indifferent, should be the very person to 
 take her up, and not only that, but that Rosa-
 
 174 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 mond, who disliked everybody, and scarcely 
 treated her friends with common civility, 
 should have been seized with this wonder- 
 ful infatuation for Lady Slade, was a state of 
 things that almost passed Mrs. Etherldge's 
 comprehension. 
 
 Rosamond, of all people In the world, 
 the girl who had been hitherto more like 
 a young bear than a civilized maiden of the 
 nineteenth century, to be going simply mad 
 over the goodness and beauty of a Baronet's 
 wife, who. In the eyes of her mother, pos- 
 sessed no greater attractions than her title, 
 her handsome house, and her well-filled 
 purse. Attractions quite sufficient to render 
 her a most desirable acquaintance, but not 
 to account for the rhapsodies and ecstacles 
 displayed by the self-willed Rosamond. 
 
 However, girls will be girls, and Mrs. 
 Etherldge was only too pleased to see her 
 refractory daughter taking an interest In 
 anything likely to conduce to her future 
 advantage, to stem the torrent of praises 
 and admiration, that flowed unceasingly 
 from Rosamond's lips.
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 1 75 
 
 At times a pang of something like 
 jealousy would cross the poor mother's 
 heart, as she heard expressions of love 
 and devotion, (never applied to herself), fall 
 from the unthinking girl. She would sigh 
 in her foolish maternal fondness to see how 
 soon a stranger, with a few sweet words 
 and a winning smile, could win from her 
 daughter affection, that she had struggled 
 and striven for so many v/eary years to 
 obtain ; apparently all in vain, for Rosa- 
 mond, up to the present time, had treated 
 her mother almost with indifference, only 
 giving way at odd moments to spasmodic 
 expressions of love and gratitude, which 
 were as effervescent as they were enthusi- 
 astic. 
 
 The mother consoled herself with think- 
 ing that this sudden fancy of her child 
 might be as little lasting as any of her 
 other vagaries, and that the best way was 
 to " Make hay while the sun shone," and 
 turn this freak of the wayward Rosamond 
 into some profitable channel. 
 
 Lady Slade had evidently taken a great
 
 176 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 liking to Rosamond Etherldge. " There 
 is a tide in the affairs of men which, 
 taken at the flood, leads on to fortune/' 
 and the fond mother fancied she saw the 
 path open before her child, which, if seized 
 on at once, might lead to prosperity. 
 
 Lady Slade was, by her rank and position, 
 a far better chaperone for Rosamond than 
 the two flighty Joneses, whose kindnesses 
 were fitful in the extreme, and whose in- 
 vitations few and far between. They came 
 frequently to the cottage and met Mrs. 
 Etheridge and Rosamond at church and 
 Dorcas meetings ; but Mrs. Etheridge was 
 never asked to Bingley Towers, except on 
 grand occasions, to swell the number of 
 their guests. 
 
 For all their good nature and familiarity 
 Mrs. Etheridge could not help seeing the 
 Joneses patronized her. 
 
 The poor little woman, who, with all her 
 scheming and poverty, was a lady, felt the 
 smart at times very bitterly. She said 
 nothing to Rosamond, of course ; on the 
 contrary, reproved her daughter whenever
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 17/ 
 
 she made fun of the girls or their 
 father. 
 
 She strove with all her might and main 
 for Rosamond to be invited to the ball at 
 Bingley Towers, and was continually in terror 
 lest Rosamond, by any of her thoughtless 
 abrupt sayings, might offend people of such 
 importance as the Joneses ; but she never- 
 theless often winced at the cavalier manner 
 in which she and her daughter were treated 
 by the thoughtless off-hand moneyed girls, 
 whose vulgar parent her father would not 
 have tolerated inside his doors. 
 
 Mrs. Etheridge was a weak-minded little 
 fool, no doubt, and her strong-headed 
 daughter had a very good idea of the fact : 
 but that did not prevent her possessing the 
 natural feelings of a woman. 
 
 A great deal of her sensitiveness was 
 doubtless owing to the natural nervousness 
 and weakness of her character. She made 
 imaginary troubles where none existed, and 
 magnified those that did into avalanches, 
 which threatened to overwhelm her at 
 every turn. 
 
 VOL. L 12
 
 173 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 She suftered as only such characters can 
 suffer — none the less bitterly because she 
 was a fool. 
 
 Is it always the great sorrows of our lives 
 that are hardest to bear ? 
 
 People will talk and tell us of some ter- 
 rible grief that has turned their joy into 
 mourning, their light into darkness ; that has 
 crushed them to the earth beneath its over- 
 whelming force. If we meet these people 
 a few years after, in all probability time will 
 have softened their dreadful sorrow, what- 
 ever it might have been ; smiles will 
 irradiate the faces that once seemed plunged 
 in perpetual gloom. 
 
 It is the minor worries of existence, the 
 constant stinging of the gnat, that wear 
 the life away ! that eat away the heart 
 strings the greater blow is powerless to 
 sever. 
 
 Mrs. Etheridge had been in a perfect 
 fever of agitation ever since Lady Slade 
 expressed her desire to have Rosamond at 
 the Court. 
 
 No sooner had the ladies departed than
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 1 79 
 
 the mother's first thought was, what was 
 her daughter to wear. 
 
 Rosamond's wardrobe was at all times a 
 scanty one ; and now at the end of winter 
 her dresses were beginning to look very 
 shabby. Rosamond was careless and ex- 
 travagant. She never thought of chang- 
 ing her costume when she came in-doors, 
 or wearing an older one in the house. She 
 liked to put on a dress and wear it out. 
 
 *' What is the use of keeping one's 
 clothes ?" she said. " I'm still growing, 
 and they will become too small and old- 
 fashioned for me." 
 
 There was some sense in her remarks, 
 but none in tearing her things and never 
 repairing them. None in spilling grease 
 over her skirts and never taking it out. 
 
 Her mother would storm and scold in 
 her feeble little way, but it generally ended 
 in the girl wearing her best dress, and her 
 mother having a good cry to herself in her 
 bed-room. 
 
 " I won't have a Sunday frock like a 
 tradesman's daughter," cried pert Rosa- 
 
 12 — 2
 
 iSo OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 mond. " I'm a lady ; and ladles wear the 
 same clothes Sundays and week days alike ;" 
 in which theory her mother was obliged to 
 acquiesce, though the practice did not hold 
 good in Rosamond's case. 
 
 But now, when it was a question of visit- 
 ing a lady of rank, poor Mrs. Etheridge 
 was at her wit's end how to make Rosa- 
 mond present a becoming appearance. 
 There was no time to make a new dress, 
 even if she could afford to buy one, which 
 she could not ; and Rosamond's old brown 
 merino was scarcely fit to show in before 
 the mistress of Chesham Court. 
 
 Mrs. Etheridge turned out her own small 
 stock of finery, and insisted on Rosamond, 
 much to her disgust, trying on the whole 
 repertoire. 
 
 ** We can easily have one altered for you, 
 my dear," cried her mother, throwing over 
 her daughter's head a black watered silk — - 
 once the pride of the grand field days of 
 the gallant 200th. '' I don't think that 
 would look so bad, Rosie, with a little 
 alteration."
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. l8l 
 
 " My dear mamma, do you want me to 
 look like a grandmother at a fancy ball ?" 
 laughed Rosamond, strutting up and down 
 the room, and glancing over her shoulder 
 at her train. " I only want a blond lace 
 cap and a pair of mittens to be perfect." 
 
 Mrs. Etheridge smiled ; her daughter s 
 saucy face looked anything but like a grand- 
 mother's. " Perhaps it is a leetle too old," 
 she said, doubtfully. " Try this one, Rosa- 
 mond." This one was a crimson tabinet, 
 trimmed with a profusion of dirty white 
 bugle lace. 
 
 " Oh, mamma !" shrieked Rosamond. 
 
 *' Be quiet, my dear. Do let me have 
 my way, and don't you be so obstinate. I 
 am sure this will fit you very well, if the 
 sides are taken in, and the sleeves altered.' 
 
 " I won't wear it," cried Rosamond, push- 
 ing it away in disgust. 
 
 " Why not ? You aggravating girl, I 
 tell you it will do very well. I can take 
 some of that lace off, and then — '' 
 
 '' It looks as if it came out of an old 
 clothes shop," exclaimed the indignant
 
 1 82 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Rosamond. '' I won't be made such a Guy 
 for anyone." 
 
 " Then you will have to stop at home," 
 cried her angry mother, almost ready to cry 
 with vexation. '' If I am wilHng to lend 
 you my beautiful things, surely you ought 
 to be willing to wear them." 
 
 ''It is very kind of you, mamma, but I 
 am not going to be made a fright of, even 
 for Lady Slade. I shall go in my old 
 brown dress." 
 
 " What I that thing you wear every day?" 
 " Certainly. Lady Slade will have to 
 see me in it hundreds of times. It is better 
 to begin as we intend to go on. What is 
 the use of us pretending to have fine clothes 
 if w^e haven't ? There will be plenty to tell 
 her how poor we are," added the girl, 
 bitterly. 
 
 " It is impossible ! You cannot go in 
 that dress," cried her mother. '' Oh, dear ! 
 oh, dear ! What shall I do ? And there's 
 no time to get another made." 
 
 " It will do very well indeed, mamma," 
 said positive Rosamond. " Do listen to
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 1 83 
 
 reason. Harriet shall give it a good brush- 
 ing, and I will put a nice clean frill round 
 the neck and sleeves, and I can wear my 
 little gold cross. I am not to be there till 
 twelve ; and after lunch we shall go out for 
 a drive, and then it will soon be dark. It 
 does not look bad at all by candle-light. 
 I'm sure it will do, mamma." 
 
 " You are very obstinate, Rosamond," 
 cried her mother. " I'm sure you are going 
 mad. But if you do not mind the disgrace, 
 I don't see why / should care. How can 
 you tell whom you will meet there ?" 
 
 '' I don't care whom I meet. No one 
 who was not at the ball, I suppose ; and 
 they could see I wore an expensive dress 
 last night," replied Rosamond, tossing her 
 head. 
 
 ''Well, Rosamond," said her mother, 
 rather mollified at this suggestion. *' I sup- 
 pose you must have your own way, as you 
 always do. But I might trim it up a little 
 for you. I have some beautiful old Chan- 
 tilly lace, that was given me by your poor 
 dear grandmamma, years ago ; ^/la^ might
 
 184 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 improve It," she continued, meditatively, 
 holding up the frock in question for exam- 
 ination. 
 
 " You shall do no such thing, mamma," 
 exclaimed Rosamond, snatching it from hen 
 *' Fancy Chantilly lace on an old brown 
 merino ! Lady Slade would think we had 
 gone demented." 
 
 *' She would do nothing of the sort, you 
 perverse disagreeable child," retorted her 
 mother, putting away her discarded robes. 
 
 Rosamond gained the victory, not, how- 
 ever, without many more struggles on her 
 mother s side, who vainly endeavoured to 
 persuade her to wear a black velvet circu- 
 lar cloak, trimmed with Maltese lace, in- 
 stead of her own little cloth jacket, and 
 who positively insisted on inserting a pale 
 blue feather in Rosamond's brown straw 
 hat — much to the girl's annoyance. 
 
 The effect was not bad, however, when 
 finished, and it was a happy roguish face, 
 that looked out of the fly, and nodded adieu 
 to Mrs. Etheridge, as the carriage drove 
 off to Chesham Court.
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 1 85 
 
 Lady Slade received her with great 
 kindness, and Rosamond soon forgot, if in- 
 deed she remembered at all, her mother's 
 anxieties concerning the little brown 
 dress. 
 
 Beatrice herself was almost as plainly 
 attired ; a walking costume of light coloured 
 home spun, fastened at the throat, a white 
 linen collar and plain gold brooch, com« 
 pleted her simple toilet. 
 
 There was no other person present, ex- 
 cept Lord Arthur Trelawney (who was 
 staying in the house) and her ladyship's 
 sister Catherine Hyde. 
 
 Miss Hyde was certainly in morning 
 costume, but it was one of studied elegance. 
 A dove-coloured Cashmere, trimmed with 
 white swan's-down, and soft pink ribbons, 
 floated around her graceful form, and her 
 lovely hair was confined in a golden 
 net. 
 
 For Catherine Hyde knew that she was 
 beautiful. It is only in books that virtuous 
 young women are unconscious of their at- 
 tractions. Miss Catherine Hyde was as
 
 1 86 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 proud of her beauty as the veriest coquette 
 on earth, and lost no opportunity of en- 
 hancing her charms. 
 
 She did not care for Lord Arthur Tre- 
 lawney ; on the contrary, she rather disHked 
 him, but he was a man, and was therefore 
 bound to succumb to her beauty, so Cathe- 
 rine Hyde arrayed herself in the most be- 
 coming style of morning neglige her French 
 maid could devise, and descended to the 
 morning-room, determined on subduing 
 her visitor. 
 
 To a certain extent she succeeded — for 
 Trelawney was a connoissetir In female 
 charms, and the exquisite loveliness of this 
 fair languid w^oman delighted the eye of 
 the man of the world. His practised 
 glance took In every atom of her toilette 
 in a moment, and a smile of approval 
 crossed his lips, as he rose to hand her 
 a chair. 
 
 He felt convinced that all this pre- 
 paration was for him, and with the over- 
 weening conceit of his sex, felt proud of 
 this tribute to his superior attractions.
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 1 87 
 
 He was wrong — Catherine Hyde would 
 have dressed herself as perfectly if she had 
 been going to receive a tradesman. It 
 was part of the woman's natural character, 
 never to be seen at a disadvantage ; she 
 cared no more for Lord Arthur Trelawney 
 than she did for her sister's groom. He 
 was a man, and she was beautiful — that 
 was the whole secret of the affair. 
 
 " Beatrice does such ridiculous things," 
 she cried in a tone of annoyance, as 
 Rosamond's fly was seen coming up the 
 drive, and Lady Slade went out into 
 the hall to receive her guest. '' Fancy 
 her asking that child at Fern Cot- 
 tage to spend the day here ! I suppose 
 we shall have all the little beggars in the 
 village next ;" and the haughty beauty's 
 lips curled with contemptuous scorn. 
 
 " What ! The girl with the grey eyes, 
 who enjoyed the ball so much ; I am 
 delighted, we shall have such capital 
 fun ;" and Lord Arthur threw himself 
 back in his chair, and chuckled with 
 pleasure.
 
 1 88 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 " I don't see the fun," said Catherine, 
 coldly. 
 
 " Don't you ? That girl is an original, 
 I'm sure of it ; we will have her in and draw 
 her out." 
 
 " I fancy you will not gain much by that 
 manoeuvre," replied Miss Hyde. *' Fro 
 what I have seen of the young lady, I do 
 not think she is a subject to be drawn out." 
 
 " No ? It will be all the better fun then ; 
 but who in the world is she ? A lady or a 
 beggar ? You suggested both just now ;" 
 and Lord Arthur glanced at Catherine, 
 with his mischievous black eyes. 
 
 Catherine Hyde was not the least dis- 
 concerted. 
 
 " She is both," she replied quietly. '' Her 
 father is a poor officer in India, I believe, 
 and her mother just manages to keep body 
 and soul together." 
 
 '' Poor devil — she has plenty of com- 
 panions in that little trade," cried Lord 
 Arthur with a bitter laugh ; report said 
 his Lordship was often at his wit's end 
 to make both ends meet.
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 1 89 
 
 ** And what is Lady Slade's attraction to 
 the girl ?" he resumed. 
 
 " I don't know," replied Miss Hyde. " I 
 believe like yourself, she thinks Rosamond 
 Etheridge an original, and the girl has 
 taken a fancy to her, or something of the 
 sort. Beatrice is so silly, she believes all 
 people say to her," added this worldly 
 wise young lady. 
 
 " And yo2i^ do not, of course ?" 
 
 " I should be very foolish if I did," cried 
 Catherine, laughing and colouring at the 
 remembrance of the very pointed compli- 
 ments she had allowed him to pour into 
 her ears. 
 
 '' Wise young woman," commented Lord 
 Arthur, with the faintest possible sneer on 
 his countenance when he spoke. 
 
 Lady Slade and Rosamond now entered 
 the room ; Rosamond had taken off her hat, 
 and the wind had blown her fluffy hair all 
 about her rosy little face. The girl was 
 blushing with excitement, which improved 
 her appearance, for she was apt to look too
 
 190 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 pale at times, and a slight colour lightened 
 up her large grey eyes. 
 
 Catherine Hyde just held out the tips of 
 her delicate fingers ; but Lord Arthur 
 Trelawney bowed as though he were re- 
 ceiving a princess, and brought forward a 
 chair for the agitated girl. 
 
 " May I get you something ? A glass of 
 wine ? — or a biscuit ? the luncheon is not 
 quite ready," he said. 
 
 " No thank you, sir," replied poor Rosa- 
 mond, nervously. 
 
 " Don't say si'r, Rosamond, that's like a 
 shop girl," cried Catherine, in an under- 
 tone, sharply. 
 
 Rosamond wished herself out of the 
 room, especially as she fancied she de- 
 tected a smile on the handsome gentle- 
 man's face ; her ears burned and her face 
 flushed scarlet. Beatrice came to her 
 protegees relief. 
 
 " Have you quite recovered your fatigue 
 from the ball ?" she asked. " How is your 
 mamma, my dear ?"
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. I9I 
 
 " Mamma is quite well, and she sent her 
 love — no — her kindest regards to your 
 ladyship," cried trembling Rosamond, mak- 
 ing it worse and worse every moment ; 
 " and I was not fatigued at all, Lady Slade." 
 
 " I am sure you were not/' interrupted 
 Lord Arthur Trelawney. " I watched your 
 dancing, and I never saw anyone enjoy 
 themselves so much in my life." 
 
 Rosamond wondered if that was wrong, 
 she had an indistinct notion of her mother 
 telling her well-bred people never showed 
 any emotion in society — was the dark 
 gentleman laughing at her? She looked him 
 full in the face with her larae fearless 
 
 o 
 
 eyes. ** It was my first ball," she said 
 simply, '' and I did enjoy myself very 
 much ; I was never at anything so nice 
 before." 
 
 " You were perfectly right in doing so," 
 said Lady Slade, gravely ; ** unalloyed plea- 
 sure comes to us but seldom in this life." 
 
 She was thinking of the shadows that had 
 crept over her own enjoyment on that me- 
 morable evening.
 
 192 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 "You live in Rubestown, Miss Ether- 
 idge ?" questioned Lord Arthur. 
 
 '' Always. We are too poor to live any- 
 where else till papa comes home," replied 
 Rosamond, gradually recovering her self- 
 possession. 
 
 " And will Colonel Etheridge return 
 soon ?" 
 
 " Papa is not a colonel ; he is only a 
 captain," said Rosamond, determined to 
 fight him with her own weapons. " I hope 
 he will not come back just yet." 
 
 '' No ? May I ask why ?" 
 
 The eirl was silent. How could she 
 reply truthfully without revealing some- 
 thing: of the anxious life at home ? 
 
 " Papa has not yet got his promotion, 
 and does not wish to return until he has," 
 she said, at last. 
 
 Lord Arthur Trelawney felt sure this was 
 not her real reason, but was too much of a 
 gentleman to distress this little country girl 
 unnecessarily ; so he rose, and placed a 
 chair for her at the table — on which the 
 butler had just laid luncheon — between
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 1 93 
 
 himself and her hostess ; the fair Catherine 
 occupying the opposite side. 
 
 Here Rosamond was in a fresh dilemma. 
 
 Fish came on. She took up a fork and 
 a piece of bread, as she had been accus- 
 tomed to do at home ; when, to her horror, 
 she perceived her companions were using 
 the silver knives that she supposed were 
 intended for dessert. 
 
 I n her confusion, she dropped her bread 
 on the floor, and was stooping, covered 
 with blushes, to pick it up, when Lady 
 Slade said, kindly, — 
 
 "Never mind, Rosamond, *Fido* will 
 be glad of that. Higgs, get Miss Etheridge 
 another piece of bread." 
 
 '' Chablis or Sauterne, Miss ?" 
 
 Here was another difficulty. 
 
 She had never before heard so much as 
 the names of these wines, and, in the rapid 
 way in which the butler pronounced them, 
 quite forgot what he said. 
 
 She turned round timidly. 
 
 '' A litde out of that botde, if you please," 
 
 VOL. I. I-;
 
 194 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 pointing to the one with a long neck and 
 silver cork. 
 
 The man poured it out gravely; but 
 poor Rosamond was overcome with con- 
 fusion on meeting Miss Hyde's well-bred 
 stare from the other side of the table, and 
 the mischievous twinkle in Lord Arthurs 
 eyes. 
 
 "Oh, dear! I wish I hadn't come until 
 after lunch," thought the poor child, almost 
 choking herself with cayenne pepper, which 
 she had taken in absence of mind. There 
 was a whizzing noise in her head, and 
 her heart palpitated violently. 
 
 The fish was followed by entrees. 
 
 Here Rosamond felt herself quite at 
 home, for she had tasted these at the 
 Joneses ; but, after taking some of a de- 
 licious sweetbread, covered with fragrant 
 white sauce and garnished with mush- 
 rooms, she was dismayed at perceiving 
 Miss Hyde, her plate empty, gazing 
 at her with severe condemnation in her 
 looks. 
 
 What could be the matter now ?
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 1 95 
 
 She glanced at Lady Slade. That lady- 
 was enjoying her sweetbread with a knife 
 and fork, Hke Rosamond. 
 
 A hot feeling crept up her back ; her 
 ears tingled. 
 
 '' Surely it could not be the proper thing 
 to use a spoon." She peeped from under her 
 long dark lashes sideways at Lord Arthur 
 Trelawney. That gentleman was leisurely 
 wiping the white sauce from off his black 
 moustache. 
 
 She was not doomed to remain long in 
 ignorance. 
 
 '' This is simply delicious," cried Lord 
 Arthur, helping himself to more of the 
 sweetbread. " Miss Hyde, you are not 
 taking any, — let me persuade you. Higgs, 
 take the sweetbread round to Miss 
 Hyde." 
 
 The beauty drew herself up in offended 
 dignity. 
 
 " Lord Arthur, this is Friday I' she 
 said. 
 
 " Well ; what of that ? I know it is," 
 he replied. 
 
 13—2
 
 196 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 " I never eat meat on Friday." 
 
 " Don't you ? Beg pardon. I think 
 you're to blame ; but I was not aware of 
 your scruples," replied Lord Arthur Tre- 
 lawney, quietly helping himself to game. 
 
 '* I knew you were not, or you would not 
 have asked," returned Miss Hyde, her eyes 
 still rivetted on the conscious Rosamond. 
 ** I do not expect persons apart from us to 
 observe the Fridays ; but one looks for it 
 from members of one's own congrega- 
 tion." 
 
 " I thought only Roman Catholics fasted 
 on Fridays," remarked Lord Arthur, with 
 a sly glance at Lady Slade. 
 
 "• I wish people would understand the 
 difference between fasting and abstaining," 
 retorted Catherine, still severely stern, — 
 " Abstaining is going without flesh meat ; 
 fasting is going without food altogether." 
 
 "It will be a long time before they get 
 me to do either," replied Trelawney, laugh- 
 ing. ** Don't you agree with me, Miss 
 Etheridge ?" 
 
 Rosamond, who had now discovered the
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 1 97 
 
 cause of her offence, murmured, *• she did 
 not think it any harm." 
 
 " I imagined you belonged to * All 
 Saints/ " cried Miss Hyde, trying to anni- 
 hilate the offender with her looks. 
 
 " So I do, Miss Hyde," stammered Rosa- 
 mond. 
 
 '' Well, I should not have supposed so," 
 retorted her tormenter. 
 
 " You see she belongs to ' All Sinners/ '' 
 laughed Lord Arthur, secretly delighted at 
 the discomfiture of the lovely Catherine. 
 " Have another piece of this pheasant, Miss 
 Etheridge ; it is the last you will get this 
 season." 
 
 " Don't tease the child," cried Lady 
 Slade ; " let her enjoy her lunch. What a 
 torment you are, Catherine, with your Fri- 
 days and your fasts. God meant us to eat 
 everything that is good, or He w^ould not 
 have sent it. Go on, Rosamond dear, and 
 never mind them. The carriage is ordered 
 at two for our drive." 
 
 Rosamond Etheridge was overjoyed 
 when the carriage drove up, and she took
 
 198 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 her seat in it next to Lady Slade ; Miss 
 Hyde and Lord Arthur preferring to 
 ride. 
 
 A great deal of her timidity had worn off 
 under the increasing kindness of Lady 
 Slade, and she felt quite her free frank self 
 again as she sat beside her new found 
 friend, away from the mocking glances and 
 haughty sneers of Lord Arthur Trelawney 
 and Catherine Hyde. 
 
 She found courage even to steal her 
 hand into the sealskin muff of Lady Slade, 
 and returned the warm pressure of her 
 ladyship's fingers, and she chatted and 
 talked about Rubestown, its inhabitants, 
 and its manners, as if Beatrice and she had 
 been school companions, instead of a high- 
 born married lady and a wild little country 
 girl. 
 
 There was many a merry laugh issued 
 from the stately barouche as they drove 
 through the lanes and over the moors, and 
 Rosamond pointed out to her companion 
 all that was worth seeing or knowing about 
 that part of Moorshire.
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 1 99 
 
 It was a bright spring afternoon, the 
 hedges were bursting into pale green buds, 
 the wheat just peeped above the ground, 
 and the wayside banks were studded with 
 clusters of primroses and early violets. 
 
 Rosamond clapped her hands with 
 delight as they passed whole patches of 
 these, and cried " Oh ! oh !" to the great 
 amusement of Beatrice, who, but for fear of 
 the impassible powdered footman and coach- 
 man on the box, would have stopped the 
 carriage to allow her young companion to 
 gather a posy of the sweet wild flowers. 
 
 " Never mind, Rosamond," she said, as 
 Rosamond turned regretful glances on the 
 pretty simple things. "When the summer 
 comes we will have some picnics in Ches- 
 ham woods, and will gather as many wild 
 flowers as we please." 
 
 And Rosamond turned a loving look on 
 the gentle high born lady who liked the 
 fields, and the flowers, and the simple 
 things of this life as dearly as she did her- 
 self. 
 
 It was a very charming country that sur-
 
 200 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 rounded Rubestown. That ancient town 
 lay in a valley encompassed by hills on 
 every side, and the fresh breezes from the 
 moors caught the fair faces of the two 
 occupants of the carriage, and crimsoned 
 them with life and health. Their drive 
 took them through woods, where the now 
 leafless branches met overhead, but where 
 the tall dark firs and cedars, and the ivy 
 and mossgrown trunks relieved the other- 
 wise barren aspect of the place. Then 
 out into sweet country lanes, skirting the 
 various parks and homesteads, diversifying 
 and enlarging the prospect as they went. 
 
 Rosamond prattled away in her gay and 
 careless manner, telling the history of this 
 place, the legend of that, inducting Lady 
 Slade into her new territory with the un- 
 thinking freedom of a child, who dis- 
 cussed the people of whom she spoke 
 with litde regard to their morals or their 
 manners. 
 
 As the travellers emerged from out the 
 shadow of a dense wood (which Rosamond 
 confided to Lady Slade was famous for
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 20I 
 
 nuts) they came suddenly upon a man who^ 
 leaning over a stile, was surveying the ad- 
 jacent fields with absorbed attention. 
 
 As the sound of the carriage wheels 
 rolling over the soft turf reached his ears, 
 he turned and respectfully taking off his 
 hat held it in his hand till the ladies had 
 passed. 
 
 He was a man of apparently forty years 
 of age, dark eyes and hair, a strong, well 
 knit, manly figure. He was dressed in a 
 suit of shooting clothes of some woollen 
 material, such as gentlemen usually wear 
 in the country, and the hat he held in his 
 hand was of felt, the shape commonly called 
 a wide-awake. 
 
 All these things Beatrice observed at a 
 glance, and when the carriage had passed 
 turned to her companion and asked, " Who 
 is that gentleman, Rosamond ?" 
 
 " Gentleman ! He isn't a gentleman," 
 exclaimed Rosamond, laughing. " Is it 
 possible. Lady Slade, you do not know ? 
 He is your own steward." 
 
 " I have never seen him before, and he
 
 202 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 looks like a gentleman," said Beatrice, 
 blushing slightly at her mistake. 
 
 " He is not, he Is 'Out of Society I you 
 know, but your ladyship must have seen 
 him often ; he was one of those who pre- 
 sented the address when you first came to 
 Chesham Court," exclaimed Rosamond. 
 
 " Very possibly, my dear, but I saw so 
 many people then I have almost forgotten 
 them all." 
 
 *• He's been ever so many times up at 
 the Court to see Sir Reginald," went on 
 Rosamond. 
 
 " I never notice my husband's visitors, 
 and I should scarcely be likely to notice 
 his steward," replied Lady Slade proudly, 
 half-annoyed with herself for remarking a 
 person so totally inferior to her In position. 
 
 " He's not bad-looking for an old man," 
 continued Rosamond, glancing back to 
 where the steward, hat in hand, was still 
 gazing after the carriage. 
 
 At this observation Lady Slade laughed. 
 
 " An old man, Rosamond ? he did not 
 appear old to me," she cried.
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 203 
 
 " He is, though," replied Rosamond. 
 "He must be forty if he is a day, and 
 his mother is the dearest old woman in the 
 world." 
 
 ** Do you know them, Rosamond ?" asked 
 Lady Slade, but quite indifferently ; the 
 existence of her husband's steward was to 
 her a matter of supreme unconcern. 
 
 ''Know them! I should think I did," 
 replied the girl with enthusiasm. " They 
 have the finest strawberry gardens near 
 Rubestown. Jack and I (when Jack's at 
 home) go constantly there in the summer, 
 and we eat as many as ever we like, and as 
 much cream, so thick and delicious, as ever 
 we can swallow. I do like Mrs. Burton," 
 rattled on the girl ; " she is the dearest, 
 nicest, best old woman in the world ; don't 
 tell mamma, though," she cried, turning to 
 Lady Slade with sudden fright, " I believe 
 mamma would faint if she thought I ever 
 spoke to the Burtons more than with com- 
 mon civility." 
 
 Lady Slade, highly amused, promised 
 she would never tell.
 
 204 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 " We go heaps and heaps of times, Jack 
 and I/' went on Rosamond, encouraged in 
 her confidences, *' and we have tea and 
 cakes, and strawberries and cream, and 
 when they are over, apples and grapes, 
 and Mr. Burton lets us ride his pony in 
 the fields, and sometimes he gives me a 
 pheasant or a partridge to take home as 
 a surprise to mamma. Oh, he is so good 
 and so kind to his mother, you don't know," 
 said Rosamond, forgetting her own short- 
 comings on that point. 
 
 " Tm glad to hear it, I'm sure, my dear," 
 said Lady Slade, gently, feeling as much as 
 if she had been told her footman was kind 
 to his wife. 
 
 " He keeps his mother entirely, and will 
 never marry, though many girls would be 
 delighted to get him, old as he is," cried 
 Rosamond ; " and oh. Lady Slade, see, 
 they live in that cottage down by the 
 wood," pointing to where the smoke of an 
 ivy-covered farmstead curled on the frosty 
 air. " I do wish you would come in the 
 summer and have strawberries and cream.'*
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 205 
 
 Beatrice smiled at the girl's enthusiasm. 
 
 *' We will have the strawberries and 
 cream sent for to the Court, Rosamond," 
 she said ; *' it would hardly do to take tea 
 at one's steward's. Would it ? You shall 
 come to the Court and have them there." 
 
 Rosamond's excited countenance fell. 
 
 " It wouldn't be quite the same," she 
 
 faltered. 
 
 " No, much nicer," replied Beatrice. " I 
 shall get quite jealous of the steward and 
 his mother if you praise them like this, 
 Rosamond." 
 
 " Oh, Lady Slade," exclaimed Rosamond, 
 kissing her hands, '' you are not in earnest, 
 as if I could like common people as I like 
 you. It was not them, it was the straw- 
 berries," she added, laughing roguishly. 
 
 *' All the worse, Rosie, to sell me for a 
 mess of pottage," cried Beatrice, in mock 
 reproach as she stooped and kissed the 
 girl's upturned face. 
 
 At the moment of this little episode, a 
 
 turn in the road brought them in full view 
 
 } carriage and its occupants, Mr.
 
 206 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 and Mrs. Stanley Harrington, Mrs. Harring- 
 ton as usual driving her indolent husband. 
 
 As they passed the Slades' barouche, Mrs. 
 Harrington smiled and kissed the tips of 
 her fingers to Lady Slade, but neither 
 Beatrice nor Rosamond could forbear see- 
 ing the look of undisguised astonishment 
 with which Mrs. Harrington regarded 
 Rosamond, nor the expressive shrug of 
 her shoulders as she whipped her ponies 
 to make them go quicker. She had evi- 
 dently witnessed the little passage of affec- 
 tion between Rosamond and her friend. 
 
 " I hate that woman," exclaimed Rosa- 
 mond Etheridge, after Mrs. Harrington 
 had passed. 
 
 *' Rosamond, my dear !" 
 
 Lady Slade could not help feeling shocked 
 by Rosamond's emphatic expressions. 
 
 *' I do, she's a beast /" cried heedless 
 Rosamond. 
 
 " Rosamond ! Rosamond ! You really 
 must not make use of such dreadful lan- 
 guage," said the gentle Lady Slade, turning
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 20/ 
 
 her hazel eyes on the girl, full of horrified 
 alarm. 
 
 " Oh, Lady Slade, I know she's horrid," 
 cried the girl persistently. 
 
 ** I am not aware of your reasons for 
 saying so, but I think she is very nice, and 
 she is my friend," said Lady Slade, gravely. 
 
 " Yozir friend, Lady Slade ? Oh, I hope 
 not," continued Rosamond. " Pray forgive 
 me for speaking so plainly. Tve been ac- 
 customed to Jack, you see. I didn't mean 
 to offend you. I wouldn't offend you for 
 the world, but I do hate her." 
 
 " But why, child ?" asked Lady Slade ; 
 ** you have surely some reason for making 
 such assertions. What has she done to 
 you : 
 
 " Oh, nothing to me, and I have no 
 reasons," replied the illogical girl ; "but I 
 don't like her." 
 
 " That is no justification for the strong 
 language you used," replied Beatrice. '' I 
 think Mrs. Harrington an extremely nice 
 and ladylike woman, and I shall be quite
 
 208 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 pained, Rosamond, if I hear you speak of 
 her in that manner again." 
 
 " I won't, Lady Slade, — dearest Lady 
 Slade !" cried the penitent girl. " Pray 
 forgive me this once, and I will never do 
 it again !" 
 
 She looked so imploringly up into 
 Beatrice's face that Lady Slade laughed. 
 
 *' I have nothing to forgive, child. You 
 have a right to your own opinions ; but I 
 want you to be a good little girl, and speak 
 in the language of good society. Who is 
 this dreadful Jack, who teaches you such 
 expressions ?" 
 
 " Jack is my brother," replied Rosa- 
 mond, blushing ; " the dearest boy in the 
 world ; but he is a middy, you know, and 
 they learn all kinds of things at sea." 
 
 " Well, we cannot have Mr. Jack retail- 
 ing them to young ladies at home, or what 
 will people say of v^ij protegee f" 
 
 The protegSe laughed and smiled again, 
 and pressed the hand of her kind admoni- 
 tress to her lips. 
 
 She would try and be civil to Mrs.
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 2O9 
 
 Harrington for the future, she determined. 
 She would have been civil to a demon, if 
 she thought it would please Lady Slade. 
 
 The dinner at Chesham Court was a 
 formal stately affair, though there was only 
 Sir Reginald in addition to the luncheon 
 party. 
 
 Rosamond would gladly have been 
 excused, pleading that her mother would 
 expect her home at dark ; but Lady Slade 
 would not hear of it, and promised to send 
 the groom down to Fern Cottage with 
 a message to relieve Mrs. Etheridge's 
 anxiety. Then Rosamond pleaded she 
 had no dress ; but this Lady Slade over- 
 ruled. 
 
 '' There is only our own family," she 
 said ; '' and how could you dress when you 
 have nothing here ? I will send my maid 
 to you, my dear ; you won't know yourself 
 by-and-by." 
 
 This was the truth, for Matilde just 
 opened the front of Rosamond's dress, and 
 with the aid of some soft white tulle and a 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 2IO OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 brown velvet sash, transformed it into quite 
 a passable dinner toilette. Then she 
 brushed the girl's shaggy hair into soft 
 bright waves, and fastened a white rose on 
 one side and another at her waist, and 
 ** Voila, Mademoiselle, votes etes bienjolie /" 
 exclaimed the French maid, as she held 
 the mirror before the blushing girl. 
 
 Rosamond stole quietly down into the 
 drawing-room, where Sir Reginald and 
 Lady Slade were already waiting. 
 
 Lady Slade took the girl's hand and in- 
 troduced her to her husband. Sir Reginald 
 at once entered into an easy conversation 
 with Rosamond, whom he regarded in the 
 light of an overgrown child ; and the three 
 were laughing gaily over the events of the 
 week, when Catherine Hyde, in all the 
 glory of Chambery gauze, floated into the 
 room. 
 
 She appeared to the bewildered eyes of 
 the unsophisticated Rosamond, far more 
 richly dressed than she really was. Cathe- 
 rine's dress was perfect, as all about 
 her ; but it was the perfection of simplicity.
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 211 
 
 She was quickly followed by Lord Arthur 
 Trelawney, and, dinner being announced, 
 Sir Reginald, at a sign from his wife, gave 
 his arm to the little girl in brown, who 
 commenced trembling again as they passed 
 through the double row of powdered foot- 
 men. Lord Arthur took in the lovely 
 Catherine ; Lady Slade laughingly insisting 
 on bringing up the rear. 
 
 '' You ought to have asked some other 
 man to dinner, Beatrice," remarked Sir 
 Reginald after grace was said. 
 
 ** I never thought of it ; in fact I did not 
 know whom to ask," replied Lady Slade, 
 glancing at Rosamond as though she would 
 have been puzzled to find a congenial com- 
 panion for her young visitor. 
 
 " Five spoils the table," said the Baronet, 
 with the slightest shade of displeasure on 
 his countenance, and Rosamond heartily 
 wished herself away. 
 
 She felt sure he meant her ; it was all 
 Aer fault, she thought. This time, also, 
 she had the mortification to find herself 
 alone on one side of the table, with (as she 
 
 14—2
 
 212 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 fancied) two pairs of curious eyes watching 
 her movements. She tried to escape Lord 
 Arthur by hiding behind a huge epergne ; 
 but, in so doing, found herself full in 
 front of Catherine Hyde, who, she was 
 certain, was looking at her with proud 
 disdain. 
 
 She was never more mistaken in her 
 life ; for, after the first glance, Miss Hyde 
 was supremely unconscious of her existence 
 during the whole of the dinner, — never 
 giving her so much as a passing thought. 
 
 Rosamond, with a girl's self- conscious- 
 ness, felt herself to be the object of 
 universal attention, and determined to 
 escape from her difficulty by keeping her 
 eyes fixed on her plate, and never raising 
 them except when spoken to. . This she 
 was able to do easily, for Sir Reginald, 
 after the first few moments, addressed the 
 whole of his conversation to his sister-in- 
 law and his wife ; while Lord Arthur 
 devoted himself exclusively to Catherine 
 Hyde.
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 213 
 
 Rosamond was heartily glad when dinner 
 was over ; her face, what with the fresh air 
 of the drive and her increasing agitation, 
 was crimson and burning. She did not 
 mend the matter by imagining, though she 
 did not see him, that Lord Arthur, while 
 talking to Catherine, was in reality watching 
 her. She felt she hated him, — she felt she 
 hated them all, except Lady Slade. She 
 would like to have told them so to their 
 faces, if she dared. 
 
 The very footmen, in their gorgeous 
 liveries, were a distraction to the girl. She 
 was sure they were watching all her move- 
 ments, noting all her gaucheiaes, as they 
 moved about with steady solemn tread, 
 theirwhite silkstockings and shiningbuttons. 
 
 She dared not take half the viands 
 offered, because she had no conception 
 what they were, and was certain the 
 men would laugh, and talk about it after- 
 wards, in the servants' hall, — " How Miss 
 Hetheridge didn't know how to heat her 
 dinner, like my Lord and Lady." 
 
 The poor child rose from the table feeling
 
 214 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 quite hungry. She had all the appetite of a 
 growing girl rendered keener by the bracing 
 air of the moors. The delicious fragrance 
 of the French made dishes taunted and 
 tantalized her as she resolutely turned them 
 away. 
 
 Those horrid servants would persist in 
 coming to her after Lady Slade ; if they 
 would but help the others first, she would 
 then see how they ate the tempting morsels 
 placed before them, and might venture to 
 take a piece now and then ; but, no : 
 she dared not touch anything with which 
 she was not acquainted, and dined off a 
 small slice of lamb and a tiny bit of wild 
 duck. 
 
 As for wine, she ventured on nothing but 
 champagne ; and that stood her in good 
 stead, for it gave her the courage she lacked, 
 and enabled her, when dessert came on, to 
 chatter away to Lady Slade, quite regard- 
 less of any one being in the room but 
 themselves. 
 
 When the ladies retired. Lady Slade 
 dispensing with the farce of nodding to
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 215 
 
 Rosamond, the girl had one half hour 
 more of perfect enjoyment, for Miss 
 Hyde, throwing herself on the lounge, 
 was quickly absorbed in the contempla- 
 tion of a book, and the caressing of her 
 pet toy terrier, and Lady Slade drew her 
 settee close to the fire — motioning Rosa- 
 mond to a stool at her feet. 
 
 Here the girl went off into dream-land 
 again, listening to the murmur of Bea- 
 trice's gentle voice, holding her soft hand 
 — watching the pictures in the fire. 
 
 She could have sat so all night, and never 
 wearied, but the entrance of Sir Reginald 
 aroused the women from their lethargy, 
 and warned Rosamond it was time to be 
 returning home. 
 
 She rose from her seat, and reluctantly 
 wished her friends good-night. She was 
 sorry after all she was going home — it had 
 been such an exciting day — how small 
 — how insignificant, how shabby would 
 the rooms at Fern Cottage appear com- 
 pared with the splendid ones of Lady 
 Slade.
 
 2l6 OUT OP^ SOCIETY. 
 
 Rosamond began to think she could even 
 endure Miss Hyde's haughty contempt, for 
 the pleasure of being always in this beauti- 
 ful house, with Lady Slade. 
 
 But go she must, Beatrice bidding her 
 come in to say a last good-night, when her 
 hat and jacket were on, and promising to 
 call at the Cottage the first day she went 
 into the town. 
 
 Rosamond flew across the wide vestibule, 
 and up the stairs she thought she de- 
 scended when she came down to dinner, 
 and was just entering a room, which to all 
 appearance w^as the same as that which had 
 been appropriated to her use during the 
 day — when the door suddenly opened and 
 she was just caught In the arms of Lord 
 Arthur Trelawney. 
 
 " By Jove ! the Lily of the valley," he 
 exclaimed, detaining her round the waist, 
 with a strong firm grasp, " To what am I 
 Indebted for this honour, pretty damsel ?" 
 
 '' Oh, Lord Arthur," cried Rosamond, 
 with an agonized glance, " Let me go, 
 pray do.''
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 21/ 
 
 " What ! as coy as shy ?" he cried, smiling 
 insolently. " Do you think I am going to 
 allow you to escape — till you tell me what 
 you came for." 
 
 ** I came for my hat — for my things," 
 she exclaimed, struggling violently in the 
 strong man's arms. " Let me go, sir — I 
 beg — I insist — how dare you — how dare 
 you }'' but she was powerless as an infant in 
 his arms. 
 
 " Not till I've had a kiss, pretty one, if 
 I die for it," he exclaimed, his handsome 
 face flushed with wine and excitement. 
 ''Rosamond, you are as lovely as a tigress, 
 and almost as fierce." 
 
 " Oh, let me go ! Oh, let me go !" cried 
 the terrified girl—'' I'll call Lady Slade, I'll 
 scream." 
 
 " Scream away," he replied, with the 
 utmost sang froid, his bold passionate eyes 
 rivetted on her face. " No one will hear 
 you here, why did you come to the bache- 
 lor's quarters, if you didn't want to find 
 me ? tell me." 
 
 Rosamond's heart beat fast with agony ;
 
 2l8 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 she half comprehended the truth, she had 
 mistaken the stairs — she had come to the 
 wrong wing of the house. She strove to 
 tear herself away, fighting him with all her 
 feeble strength, striking him with her 
 childish hands. " If you don't let me go, 
 I'll kill you,'' she cried. 
 
 " Delicious little demon — what a pleasant 
 death it would be. I tell you, Rosamond, 
 you are far more charming than all the 
 cold proud beauties in the world — hit 
 away, Baby, I can stand a great deal of 
 thumping. I'll stop here till you are tired, 
 my pretty Rosamond." 
 
 " Oh, sir, if you are a gentleman," she 
 cried, her voice hoarse with her continued 
 struggles, '' do let me go — you know I 
 did not mean to come up these stairs — you 
 know it is a mistake. Lady Slade may not 
 believe me, but God knows it's the truth," 
 exclaimed the agonised girl, bursting into 
 tears. 
 
 Lord Arthur relaxed his hold, " There, 
 Baby, don't cry," he said, soothingly. " I 
 didn't mean to wound you, it was all a piece
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 219 
 
 of fun — give me one little kiss, and I will let 
 you go at once. Nay more, I'll show you 
 the way to your own room." 
 
 But Rosamond shrank from his fierce 
 licentious gaze. 
 
 " No, no," she cried ; " I hate you — I hate 
 you." 
 
 *' Well, I suppose you must have it your 
 own way," cried Lord Arthur, with a care- 
 less laugh ; " women always do with me, 
 though they say Fm such a roue. Here, 
 child, take the first turning to the right, and 
 cross that gallery, and you will find Lady 
 Slade s room. I suppose yours is not far 
 away. What ! you ungrateful little monkey, 
 not one word of thanks, not even a civil 
 good night ? Ah ! mechante, you are like 
 the rest of your fair sex, ungrateful to the 
 core." 
 
 Rosamond scarcely heeded what he 
 said, but, liberated from his grasp, flew 
 across the corridor, and luckily reached her 
 chamber without meeting anyone. Here 
 she bathed her agitated face in a basin of 
 cold water. She was trembling all over
 
 220 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 from her recent fright, but managed to 
 put on her hat, and fasten her jacket, and 
 look as httle discomposed as she could, 
 when she found her way back to the draw- 
 ing-room. 
 
 " Oh, that dreadful man !" She deter- 
 mined to tell Lady Slade, but could not 
 do so when Sir Reginald and Miss 
 Hyde were there — they might not believe 
 her story — and perhaps Lord Arthur 
 would come in and contradict all she 
 said. 
 
 " How rude he was — how dare he speak 
 to her as he did — the bad wicked man. 
 Did all gentlemen behave like that in 
 society ? Ah, no, he would never dare to 
 treat ladies so ; he thought she was a 
 child — a nobody, but she would let him 
 see. Her mother ! no, she must not tell her 
 mother ; she would never let her come to 
 Chesham Court again, and, after all, she 
 thought — he might have meant it all in fun 
 as he said — gentlemen in society did such 
 funny things, she read of them in books — 
 and then he was kind at the very end of
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN MERINO. 221 
 
 all, and showed her where to find her room, 
 and he called her pretty too — what could 
 he mean by that, she was not pretty she 
 knew quite well, but she wondered if he 
 really thought so." 
 
 All these imaginations flew through the 
 busy brain of the little maiden, as she re- 
 entered the drawing-room, where Lady 
 Slade, wondering at her long absence, was 
 just coming to look for her. Rosamond 
 stammered out some excuse about not 
 finding her room, and Sir Reginald gave 
 her his arm to lead her to the carriage, 
 w^hich was waiting ; Beatrice, after the man- 
 ner of women, smothering her with kisses 
 and adieux. 
 
 Miss Hyde had disappeared, and Lord 
 Arthur, to Rosamond's great relief, was 
 nowhere to be seen ; but, just as the foot- 
 man w^as shutting up the steps, his dark 
 handsome face appeared at the opposite 
 side of the carnage window. 
 
 ** Say good night, and that you forgive 
 me, Rosamond," he whispered, in his low 
 sweet voice, holding out his hand.
 
 22 2 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 " Good night, Lord Arthur," replied 
 trembHng Rosamond, not daring to meet 
 his eyes. 
 
 " I'm going away to-morrow, and I am 
 not likely to offend again," he said ; and 
 then the man shut the door, and the car- 
 riage was whirled away. 
 
 " I'll do it again though, if ever I get the 
 chance," he muttered to himself, as he stood 
 on the steps of the house, finishing his 
 cigar. " What a cursed fool I was to let 
 her go, the lovely litde witch."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ROBERT BURTON. 
 
 I'm obliged to come down. I must de- 
 scend from my pedestal. I've been riding 
 the high horse ever since I commenced this 
 book, and now, behold, I am forced to dis- 
 mount from my Pegasus, and travel about 
 a little on Shanks's pony. 
 
 '* It's a dreadful bore," as Stanley Har- 
 rington would say. 
 
 You and I, my friends, have been flut- 
 tering about like butterflies in the summer 
 garden of fashionable life, living with lords 
 and ladies, going to grand marriages, and 
 balls, and entertainments, riding in car- 
 riages, and having our meals served to 
 us on golden plates, by powdered flunkies ;
 
 2 24 ^UT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 and now we have to come "Out of Society" 
 into the ordinary hum-drum world. 
 
 What a shame it is ! You and I were so 
 happy while in the midst of all these fine 
 people — so much at home ; their tastes, 
 their feelings, their ideas, were all so tho- 
 roughly cT accord with ours. We shall have 
 to lift up our skirts, and hold our noses, 
 while we pass through the mire of this 
 lower existence, into the land of the " Great 
 Unwashed." 
 
 It is so nice to be in " good society," to 
 hob-nob with dukes and earls, to have the 
 
 Marchioness of D Insisting on your 
 
 coming to her little reception, or the Lord 
 
 of F inviting you on board his yacht. 
 
 There is such a tone of high breeding, of 
 sincerity, about it all ; such an air of refine- 
 ment and bon-hommie ; what a pity it is 
 we cannot live in it always, without coming 
 in contact with the canaille at all. 
 
 I wonder if there will be a better status 
 of things when the millennium arrives ? At 
 present one comes, cheek by jowl, with these
 
 ROBERT BURTON. 225 
 
 dreadfully disagreeable people at every step 
 we take. 
 
 If we pay our penny for our chair in the 
 park, any low person who possesses one of 
 Her Majesty's effigies can take the next 
 chair, and overpower us with the perfume 
 of tobacco or onions. If we go to Hur- 
 lingham, some horrid creature, ''God alone 
 knows how," has crept in there. If we go 
 to the opera, we may be close to them in 
 the stalls, or hustled by them on the stairs. 
 
 They have followed us even abroad. If 
 we go up the Rhine, or over the Pyrenees, 
 ten chances to one but we find our tailor or 
 our hatter lodged in a better suite of apart- 
 ments than our own, at the first hotel in the 
 place. Our sacred eyes are insulted by a 
 familiar bow and smile from our tailor as 
 we stand on the steps of St. Peter's at Rome. 
 And our daughters refined ears are shocked 
 at. the table d'hote by hearing Mrs. Hatter 
 describe " How she walked over the Halps 
 with a H alpine stock, while Brown, he 
 would ride in the conweyance." 
 
 They, the lower million, seem, like horse- 
 
 voL. I. 15
 
 2 26 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 radish, to take root and multiply every- 
 where. 
 
 The only place I know where we are 
 quite safe from their intrusion, is in our own 
 sanctum-sanctorum. There, in the softest 
 of velvet arm-chairs, with the last fashion- 
 able novel in our hands, we can revel at 
 our ease in the society of marquises and 
 viscounts, and live that life which is 
 necessary to our happy existence, and for 
 which alone we were born. 
 
 What a mistake it all is ! I don't wish 
 to be irreverent, but if we had had a 
 finger in the creation, what a very different 
 world it would have been ! 
 
 There would have been no poor — at all 
 events they would have had an island to 
 themselves, somewhere a long way off, 
 where we could neither have been contami- 
 nated by their touch, nor offended by their 
 misery. 
 
 Never mind, as we didn't make the 
 world, we shall have to put up with it, such 
 as it is, hoping for a better state of things 
 in the next.
 
 ROBERT BURTON. 227 
 
 Put on your roughest dress, your thick- 
 est boots, and come and tramp with me for 
 a little while in the fields that are '' Out of 
 Society." 
 
 Sir Reginald Slade's steward stood, hat 
 in hand, gazing at the carriage long after it 
 had passed. 
 
 What induced him to do so, on a cold, 
 frosty afternoon, was a mystery that has to 
 be explained. 
 
 It could not be that he had never seen a 
 carriage before, because a great many car- 
 riages often came into Rubestown, and he 
 was perfectly well acquainted with this 
 particular one, having himself given direc- 
 tions for its being newly painted, just before 
 Sir Reginald's marriage. 
 
 Then as to Lady Slade, though her 
 ladyship's hazel eyes had never, to her 
 knowledge, rested on him before, he had 
 seen her often enough — both on the day of 
 her coming home and when she had been 
 driving through the town ; besides, was not 
 he, with a number of others, in the house- 
 
 15—2
 
 228 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 keeper's room at Bingley Towers, the night 
 of the ball ? And didn't he, from behind a 
 a pillar, watch Lady Slade aSj clad in 
 bridal white, she ascended the staircase on 
 the arm of Plantagenet Jones ? 
 
 It could not be her ladyship he was sur- 
 prised to see, and as for Rosamond, little 
 Rosamond Etheridge, he had known her 
 ever since she was a child, and being aware 
 that she visited the people at the Towers he 
 was not at all astonished at seeing her out 
 driving with Lady Slade. No, it was some- 
 thing deeper than all this, that stirred the 
 inmost feelings of the steward's heart, and 
 caused him to brush his hand across his 
 eyes, before he resumed his inspection of 
 the land he had been studying so atten- 
 tively. 
 
 It was the remembrance of a grave, 
 lying far away In the busy manufacturing 
 city where the black smoke hung heavily on 
 the air, and the ceaseless tramp of feet, the 
 constant babel of voices, were all about 
 the church-yard where the silent sleeper 
 lay. It was the recollection of a white
 
 ROBERT BURTON. 229 
 
 face, and soft brown eyes, of a slight 
 attenuated form that grew thinner and 
 whiter each day, till it faded altogether : 
 of a sweet voice and a tender smile, 
 that would never murmur or smile for 
 him again as long as life should be life 
 on earth. 
 
 She was only a girl of the people, a 
 poor weaver's daughter, who worked in his 
 father s mill, but she had proud sweet ways, 
 and a gentle loving heart, and she was fairer 
 and better in his eyes than all the women 
 in the world. They were engaged, for, 
 poor as she was, Robert Burton's parents 
 preferred the purity and modesty of the 
 weaver's child to any other dower a richer 
 girl might have brought their son. A few 
 brief months of untold happiness, and then, 
 on the eve of their wedding-day, Lucy 
 Gaythorpe lay cold and still, claimed by 
 another bridegroom — Death. 
 
 The long long years of hard toil had 
 done their work. The poverty, the hunger, 
 the suffering, each set their mark. The 
 seeds of consumption sown in early youth
 
 230 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 were brought to fruition by constant ex- 
 posure to cold and damp, and the patient 
 worker merely folded her hands and fell 
 asleep, with a prayer on her lips for her 
 lover's welfare. The man, whose life she 
 had left desolate, turned away from her 
 grave in the heart of the busy city, and 
 worked harder than he had ever done be- 
 fore ; but the smiles of no other maiden 
 consoled him for the loss of his dead Lucy; 
 he was faithful to the memory of his buried 
 sweetheart, his one only love. 
 
 When years passed on, and the mill, 
 once so prosperous, was ruined by constant 
 strikes, and the trades' union broke the 
 heart of honest Richard Burton, who had 
 risen boy and man till he took possession 
 of his former master's mill, Robert, his 
 son, sick of the life that had killed his 
 Lucy, and dragged his father to a prema- 
 ture grave, having a little learning and a 
 good knowledge of figures, and a few 
 pounds accumulated by careful saving, 
 sought for and obtained, through the in- 
 terest of a wealthy merchant, the position
 
 ROBERT BURTON. 23 I 
 
 of under-bailiff to Sir Geoffrey Slade, Sir 
 Reginald's respected father. This situation 
 he held for many years, to the mutual satis- 
 faction of his employer and himself; and 
 at the death of the steward was promoted 
 to his present place. 
 
 Robert Burton brought his mother, whom 
 he had supported since his father's death, 
 to the cottage or farmstead, at the entrance 
 of Chesham Woods. The old lady kept 
 house for him during all this time, her son 
 never as much as dreaming of bringing a 
 rival to her home. Not that his mother 
 would have objected, for she was getting 
 infirm and old, and often mourned over her 
 son's obstinate determination to put no one 
 in the place of his lost Lucy, or that the 
 girls of Rubestown and adjacent villages 
 did not try all they knew to attract the 
 attention of the good-looking steward, who 
 was reported to have a " pot of money " 
 saved up somewhere, besides a snug little 
 farm and homestead into the bargain. But 
 though he laughed with them, chatted 
 with them, nay, even flirted with some of
 
 232 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 the prettiest, Robert Burton was at forty 
 an unmarried man and a confirmed old 
 bachelor. 
 
 He was a grave studious man, fond of 
 books and thoughtful reading, eschewing 
 the amusements generally sought after by 
 those of his own walk in life. When he was 
 younger, he had joined a great deal in 
 athletic sports, and was especially fond of 
 the good old English game of bowls ; 
 but as years crept on, confined himself 
 wholly to looking after the management 
 of Sir Reginald's estates, and devoted his 
 evenings to his books and his mother. He 
 was fond of riding, of which exercise he 
 naturally took his share, having a great 
 expanse of ground to travel daily in the 
 way of business and seeing after his men. 
 
 He sometimes dropped in at Bingley 
 Towers to have a chat with the steward, 
 (who was very well informed, having 
 travelled a good deal abroad), and into the 
 coffee-room at the '' Black Eagle," where 
 he was always welcome, and where he was 
 sure to find some congenial spirits with
 
 ROBERT BURTON. 233 
 
 whom he could smoke a pipe and discuss 
 the affairs of the place. 
 
 Rubestown was wise in its generation 
 and noted the progress of its rising men 
 with especial interest and attention. The 
 elders of that very important town would 
 nod their heads at each other significantly 
 as the grave form of the steward on his 
 little black mare would pass them when 
 standing at their shop doors or in the 
 market-place. 
 
 The march of intellect had not pro- 
 gressed so far into Moorshire, that the 
 honest burghers of Rubestown were all 
 good classical scholars. School-boards had 
 not been invented then, and some of the 
 good folk, though they could sell a 
 stack of corn, or cheapen a load of hay, 
 could scarcely write their own names, 
 much less read the price of their own 
 cheeses. Robert Burton was a sort of 
 oracle amongst them, when, paper in hand, 
 he stood at the corner of the 'Change in 
 the morning, and quoted the latest prices in 
 the London market.
 
 234 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 " Thou nows, ma lad," (it was always 
 '' ma lad " in those parts, be the person 
 addressed ever so old). '' Mee feyther was 
 oo'er poor to give uz the eddication he'd 
 liked, an hae's been tu throng all ma life 
 to tak' up wi' it me-sen, so read uz a bit, 
 that's a good lad, and tell uz what the're 
 aboot in Lunnun toon, and ' Robert ma 
 bairn,' what's t'price of courn to-day, and 
 be there ony tidings of t'strikes at pits, 
 and what does t'members it Hoose say 
 about t'war with Roosha ?" 
 
 Such were the greetings with which he was 
 generally assailed whenever he went into 
 Rubestown ; he took them all in good part, 
 giving the poor folks the information they 
 asked for and gladdening the heart of many 
 an old dame by reading her the particulars 
 of the last horrible murder or latest sensa- 
 tional elopement. 
 
 It was something, then, in the chiselled 
 profile, or soft brown eyes of Lady Slade, 
 that struck to the heart of the steward as 
 her carriage rolled away, and reminded him,
 
 ROBERT BURTON. 235 
 
 (as a bar of music heard in distant lands 
 brings sudden tears of recollection to the 
 eyes of the listener), of the dead face lying 
 cold and still in the far off manufacturing 
 city, where the children played amongst the 
 grass-grown graves, and the ceaseless whirr 
 of the mills disturbed the smoky air. It 
 was this that caused him to brush his hand 
 across his eyes, and for a moment the land- 
 scape stretching out before him to become 
 blurred and dim, and the church steeples, 
 quiet villages, and ancient gables, all resolve 
 into a misty heterogeneous mass. For a 
 moment a choking sensation filled his 
 throat, and then the sweet spring sunshine 
 was glinting on the copses and the mea- 
 dows again, and the dark earnest eyes of 
 Robert Burton were fixed on the azure sky 
 overspread with fleecy clouds. 
 
 '* My Lucy !" he murmured, and a lark 
 rose out of the young green wheat, and 
 went trilling, trilling, on, higher and higher 
 still, singing its wondrous song of gratitude 
 to God. 
 
 I don't think Robert Burton was a reli-
 
 236 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 gious man ; In fact, I am sure he was not, 
 at least, not religious in the sense Miss 
 Sarah Archer and the young ladies at " All 
 Saints " would have interpreted it. When 
 he went to church at all, (and, it is to 
 be regretted, that was very seldom), he 
 generally frequented the old ivy-covered 
 building that stood on the edge of the 
 Chesham Court estate, and was patronised 
 by Mrs. Stanley Harrington. This was 
 attended principally by the farmers and 
 their families, — all good old-fashioned 
 Church of England folks, who thought 
 there could be no finer music than the Old 
 Hundredth Psalm ; nothing grander than 
 the Vicar's droning sermons. 
 
 It was the church they had been accus- 
 tomed to go to for generations back ; their 
 fathers, mothers, and children, were all 
 buried in the churchyard, through which 
 they passed twice a day each Sunday ; and 
 their opinions and principles were as fixed 
 as their high-backed pews, and quite as 
 ancient. " They didn't want any new- 
 fangled innovations, they didn't ! the grand
 
 ROBERT BURTON. 237 
 
 high church in the town might do very 
 well for the gentry and grand folks ; but 
 it smacked rather over much of popery 
 for them, and they had read all about that 
 in Foxes Book of Martyrs, — which, with 
 the Family Bible and Pilgrim's Progress, 
 set off with various goblets of antiquated 
 glass, generally ornamented every side- 
 board in a well-appointed farmhouse. 
 
 Robert Burton — to the scandal of his 
 more pious neighbours — usually preferred 
 roaming about the meadows, especially in 
 summer on a Sunday morning, or lying at 
 ease, with a pipe and a book, under the shade 
 of an oak or elm, by the side of a wood- 
 land tarn. 
 
 If he were questioned — as he often was 
 by those who knew as well as he where he 
 had been — under whose minister's exhor- 
 tations he had sat, he would gravely reply, 
 with a twinkle in his eyes, that he had been 
 to Dr. Greenfields', and had listened to the 
 finest sermon he had ever heard preached 
 in his life. 
 
 If they pressed him further, as to the
 
 238 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 text or matter, he would tell them how the 
 daisies, and the foxgloves, and the sweet 
 wild convolvuli, told of the goodness and 
 wisdom of the great Creator ; how the birds 
 and the streamlets sang hymns together ; 
 the oxen, with their large brown eyes, lowed 
 out the chorus, and the little lambkins 
 danced in very thankfulness of life. 
 
 He would tell them how the mountains 
 and the hills, and the ceaseless running 
 river, praised God through all creation, as 
 they had done in the beginning ; how the 
 lilies of the field in their spotless loveliness 
 and purity, witnessed still against man's 
 vanity and ambition, as they did in those 
 old, old days, when the mournful gaze of the 
 Son of Man rested with satisfaction on their 
 wondrous beauty. 
 
 His hearers would often laugh and shake 
 their heads, — 
 
 " Nay ; nay, ma lad 1 doon't think to 
 cheat uz so ; thou's fun that oo't o' books 
 thou reads, or oot o' thee own 'ead." 
 
 Robert Burton would smile, and tell them 
 to go and hear Dr. Greenfields for them-
 
 ROBERT BURTON. 239 
 
 selves, if they disbelieved what he said : 
 and bade them come in, and have a glass 
 of home-brewed ale and a pipe, and not 
 bother themselves about his opinions or his 
 views. 
 
 " He believed what his father had done," 
 he said ; " and his mother prayed enough 
 for both of them." 
 
 After a little more examination of the 
 meadows and crops that lay before him in 
 the mellow light of the afternoon sun, 
 Robert Burton turned aside, and crossing 
 the road, opened a little gate, and walked 
 leisurely up the white stone footway that 
 led to his cottage door. 
 
 There was a neat trim garden on either 
 side the path, which at this season of the 
 year was full of crocuses, primroses, and 
 early tulips. Behind the house stretched 
 another and a longer garden, where the 
 strawberries grew; and beyond that, the 
 farm with its meadows, its orchards, and 
 its stacks of hay and corn. 
 
 There was an unusual air of listlessness 
 and weariness about him as he hung up his
 
 240 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 hat and his coat on a peg In the passage, 
 changed his boots, and entered the long 
 narrow room, that went by the name of the 
 living room, that attracted the attention of 
 his mother, causing her to lay down her 
 knitting and peer anxiously at her son from 
 over the top of her spectacles. 
 
 *' Isn't thee well, Robert ?" she said, after 
 a pause ; as, instead of talking, as was his 
 wont, he merely smiled and took up the 
 newspaper. 
 
 *' Quite well, mother. Why ?" 
 
 " Thee dosn't seem well." 
 
 " Don't I, — I feel so, — appearances are 
 sometimes deceitful, mother mine." 
 
 Mrs. Burton looked at her knitting, then 
 at the fire, on which a bright copper kettle 
 was singing gaily ; then at the table, with 
 its blue-and-white tea service. 
 
 '' A cup of tea will do thee a power of 
 good, Robert," said the housewife ; " the 
 kettle is just on the boil, and Annie is 
 baking the cakes." 
 
 " I shall be glad of tea, but I'm quite well
 
 ROBERT BURTON. 24 1 
 
 nevertheless," returned her son, with a 
 smile, still perusing his paper. 
 
 " Thou's been oversetting thee sel, as 
 usual," went on Mrs. Burton, never heeding 
 his remark ; " mebbe, a slice of ham and 
 eggs would set thee up ; the brown hen 
 has laid some beauties this week." 
 
 " I can eat ham and eggs anytime in the 
 day," laughed Mr. Burton ; " but I assure 
 you, mother, I don't need them after the 
 hearty dinner I made. As for oversetting 
 myself, I've only been round the lower 
 field and through Bromley Wood this after- 
 noon." 
 
 The good wife made no reply, but laying 
 down her knitting, busied herself about the 
 tea table, cutting bread-and-butter, and 
 placing it, wiiih some fresh cresses from the 
 brook hard by, close beside her son. 
 
 Mrs. Burton was a comely little body, 
 with a soft round face, shrined in a frame- 
 work of silver hair ; her cheeks were like 
 two dried rosy apples ; her eyes were dark 
 and piercing, like those of her son. It was 
 difficult to guess her exact age : she might 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 have been sixty ; she might have been 
 more ; but did not look older than fifty-five. 
 She had a quick sharp way with her as she 
 bustled about the room that might have 
 belonged to a still younger woman. Her 
 dress was of plain black material. Over 
 her matronly bust she wore a snow-white 
 muslin handkerchief, after the manner 
 of the "Society of Friends." During the 
 week she wore a blsck cap with a full 
 border, but on Sundays it was changed to 
 white, with pale lavender ribbons — the only 
 colour Mrs. Burton was ever known to 
 favour. 
 
 The room was as neat and cleanly as its 
 mistress ; the chairs, and the table, and the 
 wainscoting shone till the grain of the 
 wood could be clearly distinguished. The 
 few pictures hung round the walls were of 
 a sacred character, not remarkable either 
 for execution or design. These were re- 
 lieved by guns, fishing-rods, stags' heads, 
 and foxes' brushes, arranged in artistic 
 fashion between the divers plates. 
 
 The world and the church contended
 
 ROBERT BURTON. 
 
 243 
 
 even in the steward's humble cottage, and 
 the devil claimed his share in the form of 
 a silver drinking goblet, won in a rowing 
 match, and two enormous meerschaum 
 pipes, one representing '' Bacchus," the 
 other '' Undine." 
 
 The stove was as bright as only coun- 
 try fire-places ever are, and the kettle hang- 
 ing from the polished steel bar across the 
 chimney hissed out its delight after the 
 manner of kettles, when at full steam. 
 
 After the tea was poured out, and the 
 steward had nearly demolished his ham 
 and eggs, Mrs. Burton looked across at 
 her son and said, 
 
 '' Wasn't that a carriage that went down 
 the lane, a bit before thee came in ? 
 I thought I knew the sound of t' wheels." 
 
 '' Aye, mother, it was Sir Reginald's 
 carriage, and his wife was in it, and Rosa- 
 mond Etheridge." 
 
 " And how is me leddy looking now ? 
 poor bairn," asked Mrs. Burton, helping 
 herself to cream. She had been at the 
 gathering of the tenants when the Slades 
 
 16 — 2
 
 244 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 came into Rubestown, and Beatrice, tired 
 and pale faced, had excited her motherly 
 compassion. 
 
 " Better, a deal better, mother," replied 
 the steward, a slight flush on his dark face, 
 ■** she's getting used to the gaieties now." 
 
 '•' Aye, there's no fear but she'll soon get 
 used to them — sic fooleries is the marrow 
 of grand folks' lives — she'll hold her own 
 with the rest of 'em, na doot." 
 
 '* Well, and why shouldn't she ? If 
 a young bride with plenty of money at 
 her back shouldn't enjoy life, who should ?" 
 He spoke as if he felt slightly annoyed, 
 taking up the cudgels for his young mistress 
 there and then. 
 
 " Nay, nay, I said nought aboot enjoy- 
 ment — did I ? thou tak's me up too 
 sharp, ma lad ; what I spoke of was the 
 follies and nonsense which the gentry calls 
 pleasure." 
 
 " Well, I suppose it is pleasure to them." 
 
 " Oh, aye," cried the old woman — croon- 
 ing over her tea, '' so is the tankard to the 
 drunkard — the dice box to the o^ambler ;
 
 ROBERT BURTON. 245 
 
 but they all end in the same way, sin and 
 death — sin and death." 
 
 " Don't preach us a sermon, mother," 
 cried the steward, pushing his chair away 
 from the table and reaching his pipe 
 down from the mantle shelf, " I've not been 
 overblessed with merry thoughts to-day. 
 I wonder if Sir Reginald will make 
 that poor young thing a good husband," 
 he continued — more as if he were perus- 
 ing the current of his own ideas than 
 addressing his mother. 
 
 ''Good Lord, save us, and why not ?" 
 " I don't know ; but though he is my 
 master, and I have no reason to find fault 
 with him myself, I should think he was any- 
 thing but fitted to make a woman happy." 
 
 " Weell, she's made her bed, and maun 
 lig in it, as the saying is — but Td be sorry 
 if ony grief were to come to her bonny 
 face," replied the widow commiseratingly. 
 " I hope he will treat her well." 
 " Treat her well — he'll be sure to do 
 that, he'll never fling it in her face that 
 she had na fortune."
 
 246 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 By which speech it may be discovered 
 the state of Lady Slade's finances \vas 
 pretty well known to her dependents. 
 
 " A man may do worse things than 
 that, mother. I don't like the way Sir 
 Reginald is Sfoinof on at all — he sent me 
 w^ord to day, to cut down Bromley wood." 
 
 '' To cut down Bromley wood ?" almost 
 shrieked the old woman, '' thou is joking, 
 sure lie." 
 
 " I wish I were," replied the steward 
 sadly, I don't like to see the old sticks 
 going like this ! what Sir Reginald wants 
 with the money, I don't know, his income 
 is large enough and to spare for all his 
 needs." 
 
 " Mebbe he's been at great expense wi' 
 his wife," suggested Mrs. Burton ; ** men, 
 when they get new-fangled wi' a girl" — 
 
 'T don't think Sir Reginald is the man 
 to be ' new-fangled,' as you call it, with 
 anyone ; he has most likely bought his 
 wife as he would buy a horse, or anything 
 else he took a fancy to." 
 
 " Well, she looks a bonny lass, and it's to
 
 ROBERT BURTON. 247 
 
 be whoped she'll mak a good mistress to the 
 tenantry — there's plenty o' poor for her to 
 try her hand upon. She had Rosamond 
 Etheridge with her, did fsay ? I'm reet glad 
 on it — that poor lass has need of some- 
 body to be kind to her, poor bairn." 
 
 "Mother, you forget Mrs. Etheridge; 
 I'm sure she's kind enough to Rosamond." 
 
 " Eh — you're just like the rest of the 
 men ; thinking kindness is stuffing a girl's 
 mouth with sweets, and letting her hev 
 her ain way. I tell thee, lad, Rosamond 
 Etheridge stands in need of mair kindness 
 than her poor silly mither can giv — the 
 kindness of good sound advice, and a word 
 of reproof when she's ganging wrong." 
 
 *'Why, mother, I thought Rosamond 
 was a favourite of yours," cried Mr. Bur- 
 ton in astonishment 
 
 " So she is, poor bairn — but can't I see 
 the faults of them I luv ?" 
 
 " You never see any in me." 
 
 Mrs. Burton shook her head in smiling 
 reproof. 
 
 '' Ah, Robert, 'thou only hast one."
 
 248 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 **And that, mother?" 
 
 **Thou won't wed thee with a wife — 
 what is the use of this fine house, and all 
 the farm, if there's nabody to ha' it when 
 I am gone ? When wilt t'gladden my old 
 eyes with the sight of a daughter's face — 
 the patter of baby feet aboat the barn ?" 
 
 Mrs. Burton looked anxiously and 
 lovingly at her son. 
 
 *' Why, mother," he cried, laying down his 
 pipe, and laughing, " are you getting tired 
 of me, that you want a parcel of women 
 and children about the place ? the old 
 home wouldn't look half so nice and clean, 
 if there were a lot of bairns to smear 
 the walls with their greasy fingers — you 
 are quite enough wife for me, mother 
 dear." 
 
 " Nay, I'm not," replied the old woman, 
 shaking her head, " thee cannot put me 
 off wi words like these. ' It is not good 
 for man to live alone.' I cannot reckon on 
 many mair years to live — God has been 
 very good to spare me sa lang ; but the 
 summons will come full soon, and I maun
 
 ROBERT BURTON. 249 
 
 be ready — I maun be ready," she mut- 
 tered in a hushed voice. " Robert, I'd like to 
 bless the girl thou chooses for thee wife, 
 and kiss my grand children before I die." 
 
 Mr. Burton paced up and down the 
 room — " Mother," he said, after a pause — 
 " don't you know this is a settled subject 
 between us ; why press me on a matter 
 for which I have no inclination ? besides,'^ 
 he added, with a forced laugh, '' who would 
 have me ? who would look at me, now I 
 am old, and my hair is turning grey ?" 
 
 " Plenty, plenty," cried his mother, 
 eagerly, ** there's Millicent Smith, the 
 brewer's daughter." 
 
 '' An idle thriftless jade." 
 
 " And Winnie Saltmarsh, at the Hollow 
 Farm." 
 
 " She thinks more of flaunting her 
 ribbons, than milking her cows ; I'll have 
 nothing to say to either of them. Why, 
 mother," he cried, stopping suddenly in his 
 walk, and crossing the room to where she 
 stood, " you're going demented. What 
 better wife could man want, than you.
 
 250 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 the kindest, dearest old woman in the 
 world ?" 
 
 The pleased mother tapped his cheek. 
 
 **Thou art as saucy, lad, as ever thou 
 wert ; but I live in hopes." 
 
 *' Not of a wife," responded her son, 
 kissing her cheek. '' Why should you seek 
 to make me dissatisfied with the bless- 
 ings I have — a good mother, a good 
 income, and a good house ? What more 
 could I possibly desire ?" 
 
 " What God has given me." 
 
 " Why, what is that ?" cried he, in as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 '*A good son, — His holy name be 
 praised," said Mrs. Burton, raising her eyes 
 reverently to Heaven, and laying her hands 
 on Robert's head.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 *'THE PICTURE BY MURILLO. 
 
 When Lady Slade and her sister drove over 
 to the Towers, about a week after Rosa- 
 mond's visit to the Court, they found the 
 household there in a terrible state of distress. 
 
 The Rector of All Saints had been seized 
 with an attack of paralysis, and conse- 
 quently there had been no morning service 
 at that fashionable church, nor did there 
 seem likely to be any for many mornings to 
 come. 
 
 Maria and Jane were in despair. Their 
 matins were as much a necessity of exist- 
 ence to them as their breakfast ; and, to do 
 the girls justice, they really and sincerely 
 felt that day badly spent, when they went
 
 252 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 without their customary prayers. No 
 matter how early, no matter how un- 
 favourable the weather, the little brougham 
 from Bingley was always to-be seen outside 
 the church door, and the two girls inside, 
 praying with all the energy of their pious 
 little hearts. They were generally accom- 
 panied by their cousin. Miss Archer, who 
 performed her devotions in the exemplary 
 manner already recorded, and who fre- 
 quently did not return to the Towers till 
 she had gone her customary round of 
 charity and inspection. Maria and Jane 
 would be steeped to the lips in worldly 
 frivolities before their amiable cousin came 
 back from catechising the little Rubes- 
 townites, or setting the households of their 
 parents by the ears. 
 
 The girls would pay flying visits to their 
 schools or societies on certain appointed 
 days ; but they usually ended in stuffing the 
 children with cakes and sweets, or promis- 
 ing the old women an extra allowance of 
 tea; and so undoing all the good Miss
 
 253 
 
 Archer had done before. The children were 
 always delighted when the ladies from 
 Bingley came to the schools : they knew it 
 invariably meant a half-holiday, or, at least, 
 an exemption from punishment. But the 
 church occupied, as I said before, all the 
 spare time of the Joneses' establishment, 
 and the girls grudged neither work nor 
 money to render the house of God fit for 
 His holy presence. 
 
 Here now was a contretemps. The 
 venerable old Rector was seriously ill, and 
 neither church nor schools could go on 
 properly without him. 
 
 Miss Archer, who had already spent 
 nearly all the morning at the Rectory, was 
 deeply engrossed in the study of a doctor s 
 book on medicine and diseases, out of which 
 she hoped to get something that would do 
 her Rector good. All in vain. The de- 
 scription of so many diseases tallied exactly 
 with the Rector's symptoms, that it was 
 difficult to discover whether it was para- 
 lysis or apoplexy, coma, or gout, that
 
 254 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 had so suddenly deprived her of his spiritual 
 ministrations. 
 
 She read till her eyes ached, every new 
 chapter producing fresh thought, till she 
 would not have been surprised to hear that 
 it was not paralysis at all, but a sudden 
 attack of measles or Bright's disease that 
 had laid him low. 
 
 Maria and Jane were unaffectedly con- 
 cerned. Poor Maria's merry round face 
 was as long as a fiddle, Avhile the quieter 
 Jane sought in prayer the remedies she 
 failed to find elsewhere. 
 
 " He will be such a dreadful loss," said Jane 
 Jones, her blue eyes full of genuine tears. 
 
 ** I'm sure there's no one In Rubestown 
 fit to supply his place," cried Maria, with 
 more truth than politeness. 
 
 *'The saints are always taken first," 
 piously remarked Miss Sarah Archer, 
 turning up the whites of her eyes ; an ob- 
 servation that, considering the good old 
 Rector's sixty-seven years, was certainly 
 open to discussion.
 
 255 
 
 " Someone must be sent for," said Cathe- 
 rine Hyde, decisively ; " the church can 
 never be closed on Sundays." 
 
 " Ah ! no, my dear," replied Miss Archer ; 
 *' the services must be conducted, even If 
 that sweet saint is breathing his last. It 
 behoves us all to unite in fervent prayer 
 that our beloved pastor may be spared to 
 us for many years to come." 
 
 " I am sure I will pray," cried Catherine, 
 earnestly; "poor old gentleman; It was 
 only the other evening he seemed so well 
 and happy. Do you not remember 
 him, Beatrice, speaking to us at the 
 ball ?" 
 
 " ' In the midst of life we are in death !' " 
 piously ejaculated Miss Sarah Archer. 
 " What a warning, my young friends, for us 
 all." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Archer, let us hope Dr. 
 Bingham will not die. I have heard of 
 people passing years between the first 
 and second strokes," cried Beatrice, hope- 
 fully
 
 256 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Miss Sarah shook her head ; she always, 
 if possible, looked on the darkest side. 
 
 " He will never be the same, Lady 
 Slade. I am afraid he is too old to 
 rally ; his health has been failing for some 
 time past. My great anxiety now is who 
 is to succeed him, who will finish the good 
 work begun, and conduct his ministrations 
 in the self-same spirit ? There is no know- 
 ing what ' views ' the new curate may not 
 hold." 
 
 '* I don't see It much matters, so lone as 
 they are good views," remarked Beatrice. 
 " I believe Dr. Bingham has not done very 
 much for years." 
 
 Miss Archer, horrified, held up her 
 hands. 
 
 *' Oh ! Lady Slade, whoever has instilled 
 such dreadful ideas into your head ? Dr. 
 Bingham is a perfect saint." 
 
 " Is not perfection a state of repose ?" 
 questioned Lady Slade, laughingly. 
 
 " Not such perfection as our dear 
 rector's," returned Miss Sarah, sharply. 
 *' He may have been content to rest out-
 
 "the picture by murillo.'* 257 
 
 wardly, knowing on whom he could depend 
 for work, but his beneficent heart was ever 
 in motion, ever praying and acting." 
 
 " The question is, who are we to 
 get to replace him ?" interrupted Maria, 
 who looked at the practical side of it. 
 ** There is a litany and procession on 
 Sunday evening. Who will take the ser- 
 vices ?" 
 
 " Mr. Thorpe/' suggested Jane. 
 
 *' Mr. Thorpe ! a confirmed Evangelical ! 
 I w^onder at you, Jane, proposing such a 
 man." 
 
 '' Mr. Thorpe is a very nice young man," 
 cried Jane Jones, tossing her head. 
 
 *' Very nice in following the hounds and 
 playing croquet, but his voice. Oh, Jane, 
 did you ever hear him sing ?" 
 
 " I have heard him attempt," replied 
 Jane, laughing. 
 
 The momentous question was decided 
 by the entrance of Mr. Plantagenet Jones, 
 who had driven up from the bank in a dog- 
 cart, and burst into the room radiant 
 and smiling, his stout proportions encased 
 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 in a long coat, now commonly known as an 
 " Ulster," elaborately trimmed with seal- 
 skin. 
 
 *' Delighted to see you, Lady Slade. 
 Miss Hyde,' you are looking quite charm- 
 ing this morning," he exclaimed, rushing 
 impulsively at his daughter's visitors. 
 ** Cold ? it's very cold. There's a sharp 
 sting in the air to-day. Wind's easterly, 
 I think. You have heard the news, 
 of course, Lady Beatrice. Sad loss — ter- 
 rible loss ; awfully sorry, poor Bingham 
 has cut up so." 
 
 *' Is there no hope, papa ?" cried Jane. 
 
 ** None at all, my dear; merely a question 
 of time ; the next attack may come at any 
 moment." 
 
 " Oh, poor Mr. Bingham. What shall 
 we do ?" cried all three women in chorus. 
 
 Beatrice and Catherine looked their 
 regrets. 
 
 *' Do ! why do without him," exclaimed 
 Plantagenet Jones, as he proceeded to rub 
 his little red hands, glittering with dia- 
 monds, over the blazing fire.
 
 259 
 
 " There's as '^ood fish in the sea as ever 
 came out of it,' eh, Miss Hyde ?" 
 
 Catherine blushed at the man's coarse 
 vulgarity, but made no reply. 
 
 *' I suppose you women are all mourning 
 over your ' functions,' — or what d'ye call 
 them ? You fancy you won't be able to do 
 so much bowing and scraping, — eh, young 
 ladies ? but you will. What will you give 
 me for my news ?" 
 
 " Oh, do tell us, papa," cried both his 
 daughters, hanging on him. 
 
 ** I've a great mind not, only you will find 
 it out for yourselves. My friend, the Duke 
 
 of A , was in the bank this morning, 
 
 he had heard the news, (queer thing how 
 news does travel) and came rushing down 
 at once to solicit my interest for a proUge 
 of his own, some young fellow related to 
 the family, I believe." 
 
 "And you gave it, papa?" inquired Maria, 
 full of curiosity. 
 
 ** Wait a bit, my dear," waving her off. 
 *' His grace wished me to write to the 
 bishop about his friend, and he was pleased 
 
 17 — 2
 
 26o OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 to add," continued the banker, puffing with 
 conscious pride, *' that he was sure my word 
 would be law with the bishop." 
 
 " Fm sure it will," cried Beatrice. 
 
 *' I have the vanity to believe it will, 
 Lady Slade. When a man has done as 
 much for a church as I have, he ought to 
 have a voice in the appointment of her 
 ministers. Don't you think so, Lady 
 Slade?" 
 
 Beatrice replied she perfectly agreed 
 with him. 
 
 " And I've done my share towards * All 
 Saints',' I can tell you !" he added. " A 
 pretty penny that little edifice has cost P. J. 
 Well, well, my girls tell me I shall have 
 my reward in the next world, but I would 
 like a little of it in this, just to make sure," 
 and the banker winked, actually winked, at 
 Catherine Hyde. 
 
 " Who is the clergyman, papa ? What 
 is his name ?" cried his loving daughters, 
 crowding round him. 
 
 "God bless my soul, I've forgotten all 
 about his name," he exclaimed, fumbling in
 
 " THE PICTURE BY MURILLO." 261 
 
 his long pockets, " I've left his card on my 
 desk. When a man has his head full of 
 business, Lady Slade, it is so difficult to 
 remember these little trifles. Let me 
 see. Adair — Adair something, I believe. 
 Never mind the man s name, you1l know- 
 that soon enough. He's an out and outer 
 at your little game, nearly got suspended at 
 one place for his goings on, but the family's 
 good, and the Duke assures me he is really 
 a very estimable young man." 
 
 '* A young man ?" questioned Miss Sarah 
 Archer, doubtfully. 
 
 " Well, turned thirty, I believe, but quite 
 young enough for you girls to lose your 
 silly hearts about him." 
 
 '' Oh, papa !" 
 
 " I'm joking, of course, my dears. A 
 curate of even good family is no match for 
 my daughters," cried the banker pompously ; 
 " but he will do to work slippers for, and 
 dress up in petticoats, much better than poor 
 old Bingham, who is half superannuated." 
 
 " Papa !" exclaimed Maria and Jane, in- 
 dignantly.
 
 262 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 " Plantagenet !" cried the shocked Miss 
 Sarah. 
 
 Beatrice laughed, and Catherine frowned. 
 
 " Oh, you women, you women, you will 
 not see my little jokes. Miss Hyde, you 
 spoil that lovely face of yours by frowning. 
 I intended no disrespect either to the church 
 or to my dear old friend. I shall lose many 
 a pleasant chat, many a good game of chess 
 unless he rallies, which he cannot do except 
 by a miracle ; but, ' such is life,' my dears ; 
 ' tempus fugit,' as some one says ; it is a 
 warning to us to have our ledgers ready 
 when the day of reckoning comes ;" and the 
 banker gazed pleasantly round on his Lares 
 and Penates. 
 
 " It is, indeed," sighed Miss Archer pen- 
 sively. 
 
 " Well, I'm glad we are to have some 
 one," said Maria Jones in an accent of relief. 
 " I don't care if he is young or old, so long 
 as he can officiate properly." 
 
 '' I'm glad, too," replied Lady Slade ; '' it 
 would have been a great pity to close the 
 church."
 
 "the picture by murillo/' 263 
 
 " Fancy ' All Saints' ' without a priest," 
 cried Jane ; *' it would be like the middle 
 ages when the kingdom was placed under 
 an interdict." 
 
 " But those were Catholic times," said 
 Catherine Hyde. 
 
 "Well, we are Catholics, Anglican 
 Catholics." 
 
 " A distinction without a difference that* 
 Jenny." 
 
 " Nothing of the sort, papa. Roman 
 Catholics are utterly different." 
 
 "Well, I know I'm not a holy Roman," 
 cried the banker, laughing, "and what is 
 more, I don't wish to be. How is my 
 friend Sir Reginald, Lady Slade ? I did 
 not see him in Rubestown this morning." 
 
 Beatrice explained that her husband had 
 gone over to the next town to look at a horse. 
 
 " What a devil of a fellow — beg pardon 
 Lady Beatrice — he is for a horse. It was 
 only the other day he gave two hundred 
 guineas for the one he is now riding. You 
 must look after him, my lady, money soon 
 flies when a man goes in for horseflesh !"
 
 264 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 " Sir Reginald is the best judge of his 
 own affairs, Mr. Jones," repHed Beatrice, 
 rather proudly. There was a slight flush 
 on her cheeks as she spoke, she did not 
 quite like Plantagenet's manner of speak- 
 ing. 
 
 " Of course, of course," returned the 
 banker, holding up his hand to admire his 
 diamond rings. " IVe no wish to interfere. 
 Lady Slade, but you are young beginners, 
 you know, and I've always looked upon 
 you like one of my own daughters." 
 
 Beatrice relented in a moment. '* Tm 
 sure you meant it kindly," she said, smiling ; 
 "but if Sir Reginald chooses to waste his 
 money on horses, I scarcely think he would 
 like me to interfere ; besides we have 
 ample room for more, the stables at Ches- 
 ham are not half full — Sir Reginald gives 
 me all I want," she said, blushing, *' why 
 should I find fault with him, for indulging 
 his pet amusement ?" 
 
 *' Very prettily spoken. Lady Slade," 
 replied Plantagenet Jones; **if all husbands 
 and wives held the same opinions, there
 
 "the picture by murillo." 265 
 
 would be less domestic unhapplness in the 
 world." 
 
 Beatrice coloured at the compliment. 
 
 Plantagenet Jones walked to the window, 
 and stood gazing out for some moments in 
 silence, possibly he was thinking of the 
 life his own spouse was supposed to have 
 led him ; people used to say, (for all his 
 pride and arrogance now), he then could 
 not say his soul was his own ; that might 
 be as it may, there are always plenty of 
 evil-disposed persons ready to swear to 
 anything, provided it is against some one 
 more up in the world than themselves. 
 The banker looked anything but a hen- 
 pecked man, judging by his round smiling 
 face and comfortable appearance. He 
 turned to where Catherine was standing, 
 examining a portfolio of water-colours. 
 
 *' Have you seen my last picture by 
 * Murillo?' " he asked; ''you are fond of 
 paintings, are you not, Miss Hyde ?" 
 
 Catherine replied that she was, and 
 that she had not seen the Murillo. 
 
 *' Then you must all of you come with me
 
 266 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 now," he cried, as he led the way into the 
 picture gallery. " I picked it up the other 
 day, and I fancy I have got rather a good 
 thing." 
 
 It was a good thing, a genuine Murillo, 
 the face of a Spanish gipsy, dark and 
 swarthy, with large passionate eyes, and 
 wavy blue black hair. 
 
 " There, look at that," exclaimed the 
 banker, throwing himself into the attitude 
 of a connoisseur. *' Is not that a gem, if you 
 please ?" 
 
 They all said it was a gem, to Planta- 
 genet's great delight, who expatiated on 
 its merits, as though he had painted it 
 himself. '* I knew you would like it, Lady 
 Slade," he cried ; '' I gave a lot of money 
 for it ; I flatter myself Plantagenet Jones 
 knows a good thing when he sees it." 
 
 *' I fancy I've seen it somewhere before," 
 remarked Beatrice. 
 
 ** Not this identical. Your Ladyship 
 may have seen a copy, but the original 
 belongs to me. I will hang it in the draw-
 
 " THE PICTURE BY MURILLO." 267 
 
 ing-room, I think, it is lost up here, — what 
 say you, Lady Beatrice ?" 
 
 Beatrice replied, '* She fancied it would 
 show to more advantage in the dining- 
 room, though it was surrounded by art 
 treasures where it was." 
 
 " I know who it is like," cried Catherine, 
 suddenly, she had been regarding the 
 picture for some time in silence. " It is like 
 Mrs. Harrington." 
 
 " So it is," exclaimed the delighted mil- 
 lionaire. What wonderful eyes for penetra- 
 tion you have. Miss Hyde. " God bless 
 my soul, it never struck me before, — it is 
 like Mrs. Harrington." 
 
 Catherine was right — there was the same 
 dark olive skin, the soft wavy hair, the 
 burning lustrous eyes. They were all as- 
 tonished at the extraordinary likeness, the 
 speaking eyes of the gipsy seemed to re- 
 gard them with a living look, the mocking 
 smile hovered on the red parted lips. 
 
 " By Jove, if Stanley saw it, he would 
 never let me rest, until he got it from me,'*
 
 268 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 cried Plantagenet Jones ; " it is the very 
 image of his charming wife." 
 
 " Mrs. Harrington is not half so hand- 
 some," said Catherine coldly ; " it is the 
 pretty likeness of a very plain woman." 
 
 " Oh, fie, Miss Hyde," cried the banker, 
 smiling, turning round to where Catherine 
 stood, and shaking his forefinger at her. 
 " Beautiful women should never be jealous 
 of each other." 
 
 *' I am not jealous," replied Miss Hyde, 
 proudly, " I merely expressed my opinion ; 
 I was drawing no comparisons." 
 
 " I do not think Mrs. Harrington at all 
 plain," remarked Beatrice ; " beauty after all 
 is a matter of taste, and expression. I 
 think I never saw a more expressive face 
 than Mrs. Stanley Harrington's." 
 
 " Women are all charming to me," said 
 the banker ; " I love all the sex." 
 
 "I think Mrs. Harrington sweetly pretty," 
 interrupted Jane Joi)es. 
 
 *' I think she is nice looking, but certainly 
 not pretty," said Maria. 
 
 " There, young women, you are all at
 
 269 
 
 variance, after the manner of your Interest- 
 ing sex. What Is your opinion, Sarah ?" 
 
 "I think no one handsome who Is not 
 religious," repHed Miss Archer, severely. 
 '* Beauty with me consists In the soul." 
 
 " Then you must be very lovely, Sarah, 
 my dear," exclaimed Plantagenet Jones, 
 with a hearty burst of laughter, while on 
 every other face beamed a smile of amuse- 
 ment. The discomfited Miss Archer 
 walked away, casting a glance of Indigna- 
 tion on her cousin. 
 
 " * Handsome Is as handsome does,' that 
 is the motto with our Sarah," said the 
 banker. ** Poor little soul, she would never 
 believe in a ' Lovely Devil.'" 
 
 *' I do not know who would," remarked 
 Catherine Hyde, a look of scorn on her ex- 
 quisite face. 
 
 ** Not such asyou,my dear — Godforbid — 
 but I've met a few in the course of my 
 life," replied the millionaire, smiling. 
 
 Beatrice told the story of the painting to 
 her husband that evening over dinner, and
 
 270 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Sir Reginald said he would go over to the 
 Towers in the morning, and take a look at 
 the wonderful picture. 
 
 Beatrice laughingly advised him to take 
 Stanley Harrington with him, as it would 
 be such fun if he wanted to purchase it 
 from Mr. Jones. 
 
 Sir Reginald promised he would ; but 
 the next day he told her, with a flush on 
 his face when he spoke, that he had got 
 old Jones to sell it to him, — he, (Sir Regi- 
 nald) not possessing a Murillo, and Planta- 
 genet having three or four. Besides, Miss 
 Archer, for some unaccountable reason, ob- 
 jected to its being hung in the dining- 
 room." 
 
 " There's no accounting for women's 
 whims," observed the baronet 
 
 *' But, my dear," ventured Lady Slade, 
 with the faintest shade of surprise in her 
 eyes and voice, '' do you not think it is 
 more fitted for the Harringtons than for 
 us ? The likeness to Mrs. Harrington is 
 so great, I am sure her husband would wish 
 to possess it. I like Mrs. Stanley very
 
 "the picture by murillo." 271 
 
 much indeed as an acquaintance, but 
 I do not see what we want with her 
 portrait." 
 
 " Hang the portrait," exclaimed Sir Regi- 
 nald, with a frown of annoyance. " What 
 the devil does it matter who it's like, so 
 long as it is a Murillo, Harrington buy it ? 
 Not he ; why he hasn't half its value at his 
 bankers !'* 
 
 Lady Slade did not see the Joneses again 
 till Sunday, when (being a fine day) the 
 whole of the congregation turned out to 
 welcome the new incumbent of ' All Saints'.' 
 Dr. Bingham being pronounced so seriously 
 unwell as to preclude every possibility of 
 his ever being able to officiate again. 
 
 He was greatly beloved by his parish- 
 ioners, but that did not prevent them being 
 interested in his successor ; like the rest of 
 this volatile world, the good folks of Rubes- 
 town were always ready to turn to the 
 rising sun. 
 
 Le Roi est mori, vive le Rot ! was their 
 motto, as well as their neighbours'. The 
 advent of a new Anglican minister was the
 
 272 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 source of endless conversation, not only 
 amongst his future congregation, but also 
 outside that particular church. What stand 
 he would take ; what " views " he would 
 hold ; what special " work " he would do in 
 the parish ; what innovations he would 
 introduce ; or what customs abolish. 
 
 The older inhabitants intended to stand 
 no nonsense, but to give him a piece of 
 their mind, if he happened to prove refrac- 
 tory. The younger members were secretly 
 delighted at the thought of having some- 
 thing more sensational in the way of ser- 
 mons, than the prosy compositions of the 
 poor old Rector. 
 
 It had already got whispered abroad, that 
 the future incumbent was a distant connex- 
 ion of the Duke of A , and it was at 
 
 the recommendation of the opulent banker, 
 Jones, that he had been appointed to ' All 
 Saints'.' They knew also he had been offici- 
 ating lately in, or near London, and had left 
 in consequence of some quarrel with the 
 churchwardens, respecting the number of 
 candles and flowers he put on the altar. 
 
 ^*\
 
 "the picture by murillo. 273 
 
 He would not be restricted here, the fair 
 hands of Maria and Jane would adorn his 
 church with as many as he pleased, and the 
 devout eyes and tongue of Miss Sarah 
 Archer keep all his little ragamuffins in 
 order. He could have " districts," and 
 " work " and exercise his charity in a thou- 
 sand manifold ways. 
 
 If he behaved h^'mself according to their 
 ideas, well and good ; but should he become 
 refractory, woe betide him. The Rubes- 
 tow nites would have him out, in spite of the 
 
 Duke of A and the Monarch of 
 
 Moorshire. 
 
 The first person Lady Slade saw on 
 entering the church, was little Rosamond 
 Etheridge, who was preparing to take her 
 accustomed place in the choir. Lady Slade 
 stopped in the porch for a moment to speak 
 to her favourite. Catherine Hyde swept on 
 calm and stately to her seat. Rosamond 
 caught hold of Lady Slade's hand. 
 
 '' I've seen him," she whispered, with a 
 knowing smile. 
 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 274 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 " Seen whom, dearest ?'* 
 
 " Why, the new Curate to be sure. He 
 is awfully good-looking — just like a picture 
 in a book." 
 
 Lady Slade smiled. 
 
 " My dear Rosamond, I never saw you 
 so enthusiastic before — about parsons.'' 
 
 " I don't like them as a rule, but this 
 one's a darling — so pale and thin, and such 
 lovely dark eyes." 
 
 " Hush, Rosamond. You must not 
 speak like that in church." 
 
 " But he is," persisted Rosamond, not at 
 all daunted by her ladyship's grave manner. 
 *' I'm sure I shall never be able to sing 
 to-day for looking at him. Won't all the 
 girls run after him ?" 
 
 " Oh, you naughty child. What do you 
 know about such things ?" cried Beatrice, 
 in a frightened whisper. ''Go to your 
 seat, and let me hear you sing your 
 best." 
 
 *' I will if I can, to please you, dearest 
 Lady Slade," said Rosamond, with another 
 squeeze of the hand. ** But I'm sure I
 
 *'the picture by murillo. 275 
 
 shall be looking at the Curate all the 
 time." 
 
 Sir Reginald Slade and Catherine Hyde 
 were already in their places when Beatrice 
 arrived. The church was very full, and the 
 congregation very orderly, considering they 
 were all on the tiptoe of expectation. 
 
 Beatrice felt unusually grave ; the coming 
 of this young minister was not of the 
 slightest interest to her, but she never 
 entered the house of God without a feeling 
 of the most intense reverence — her gentle 
 soul bowed itself before its Maker in 
 the meekest spirit of self-abnegation. Of 
 religion Lady Slade knew very little; it 
 had not formed part of her education, but 
 she felt sufficient to cause her to prostrate 
 herself before the Crucifix that adorned the 
 altar, with the simple faith of a child — 
 loving, and desiring to be loved ; grateful, 
 and acknowledging her own unworthiness. 
 Catherine Hyde knelt as she always knelt 
 — composed, absorbed, recollected. 
 
 The girl was an enigma. 
 
 Proud, selfish, vain, in the church she 
 
 18—2
 
 276 OUT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 was a different being ; all the coldness and 
 hardness of her face disappeared in the sweet 
 ecstatic look she bent on the altar and its 
 precious symbol. There seemed no pride, 
 no haughtiness, in the graceful drooping 
 figure — the small clasped hands. No mat- 
 ter what cause, nothing ever disturbed the 
 recollection of her manner, the intenseness 
 of her devotion ; she always appeared as if 
 there was no one save God and herself in 
 the church. 
 
 She was kneeling thus, when the swelling 
 notes of the organ rolled through the gothic 
 aisles, and, following a troupe of white 
 robed choristers, the young Anglican 
 minister issued from the vestry, and 
 ascended the reading-desk. 
 
 Then, as the lovely eyes of Catherine 
 Hyde fell upon him for the first time, she 
 gave a little start, and clasped her sister's 
 arm. 
 
 Beatrice, astonished at this unusual 
 emotion on the part of her sister, looked up 
 quickly, and recognized in the new Curate
 
 "the picture by murillo." 277 
 
 of "All Saints' " the young clergyman who 
 had united Sir Reginald Slade and herself 
 in marriage three months before. 
 The Reverend Adrian Hope ! 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 Bllljyo AKD POKS. PKINTERS. CKILDTORD. SCBRBV^