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 DICK'S WANDEEING
 
 DICK'S WANDERING 
 
 BY 
 
 JULIAN STUEGIS 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 'LITTLE comedies' 
 
 'an accomplished gentleman' 
 ' john-a-dreams ' 
 
 IN THEEE VOLUMES 
 VOL. L 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS 
 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON 
 
 MDCCCLXXXII
 
 j 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 -•^ 
 
 ?i3 
 V. I 

 
 DICK'S WANDEEIXG. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The world had been very kind of late to 
 John Wilmading Kirby, Member for Ked- 
 gate. Mr Kirby was fond of acknowledg- 
 ino; the kindness of the world ; but he al- 
 ways added to this frank acknowledgment 
 an abrupt nod and a smile, which seemed 
 to hint that it would have o;one ill with the 
 world, if it had not been kind to him. It 
 was well for the world that (to use one 
 of the Member's good plain words) it had 
 squared Mr Kirby. Had it been necessary 
 for the success of this determined person 
 
 VOL. I. A
 
 dick's wandering. 
 
 that the framework of Society should fall in 
 ruins about him, he would have been found 
 amonof the shattered frao;ments of the Phil- 
 istine temple, still conscious of his justice 
 and of his uncommon tenacity. 
 
 Perhaps Mr Kirby had never been better 
 pleased with the order of the universe than 
 on this evening in April. The causes of 
 his contentment were many and sufficient. 
 In the first place Nature was doing her 
 duty. The evening was so soft and beau- 
 tiful, that one of the curtains of the dining- 
 room had been drawn aside and the long 
 window stood open to the air. The politi- 
 cian sitting at ease in a big arm-chair, with 
 his glass of good claret at his hand and 
 the wood-fire cheerful at his feet, in a com- 
 fortable corner where there was no suspi- 
 cion of draughts, allowed his eyes to rest 
 on the smooth lawn, where above the dark 
 mass of a great cedar a single star was 
 shining. Nor was his pleasure limited by his
 
 dick's wandering. 3 
 
 vision ; for his progressive mind went lei- 
 surely out into the twilight, and considered 
 the wide park, all grassy slopes and hollows 
 and majestic trees ; the stables ; the flower- 
 garden ; the kitchen-garden ; the orchard ; 
 the coverts ; the cricket-ground ; the pros- 
 perous farms whose occupants were punc- 
 tual with their rent. Now all these things 
 were very pleasant to this sanguine gentle- 
 man, though none of them would ever come 
 to him. It made him glow and chuckle 
 to think that this fine property was waiting 
 for his young cousin Dick Hartland; and 
 that every day of the boy's long minority 
 was increasing its value in the market. Mr 
 Kirby's heart, which always warmed towards 
 prosperity, glowed with sevenfold ardour 
 at the prosperity of a kinsman. He had a 
 very strong and genuine feeling for his kin. 
 He liked to push on a relation almost as 
 well as to push on himself. He could not 
 stand a fellow, as he would say with or
 
 dick's wandering. 
 
 without an oath, who would not stick 
 throuo^h thick and thin to his own flesh and 
 blood. In Mr Kirby himself the family 
 blood was of the reddest, and the family 
 flesh bountiful and firm. Too luxurious a 
 diet was not good for him ; and so it may 
 be said that the second cause of his con- 
 tentment on this April evening was the 
 care which he had taken of himself since 
 the end of last year's session. He had 
 been living in the bosom of his family, 
 taking regular exercise, avoiding political 
 discussion where there was any possibility 
 of irritating contradiction, eating less than 
 usual, and counteracting his moderate cups 
 with frequent bumpers of Vichy water. He 
 was like a giant refreshed ; and he had 
 brouo:ht his vioforous diojestion to a most 
 comfortable old English country - house, 
 where the cook was above criticism. More- 
 over, the lady of the house, his cousin, 
 mother of the heir (and this may be reck-
 
 dick's wandering. 
 
 oned as another cause of contentment), was 
 a cliarming hostess. He liked to say of 
 her that she was the nicest little woman 
 in the world. To the pleasant abode of a 
 most pleasant lady he had come without 
 his wife and with all the freedom of a 
 bachelor ; and the man, who had been 
 asked to meet him, was his old friend, Mrs 
 Hartland's brother-in-law, Hervie Langdon, 
 who, clever fellow though he was, liked 
 better to listen than to talk. 
 
 All these were causes of pleasure ; but 
 stronger than any one of these was the fact 
 that, after a silence long as the winter-sleep 
 of the dormouse, he was going to make a 
 speech, and to make it under the most 
 favourable conditions. He was to be con- 
 veyed in a comfortable carriage to the 
 neighbouring town of Eedgate ; and to 
 speak in the famous *' Institute," which he 
 knew to be well warmed and well venti- 
 lated. He knew the audience well too.
 
 dick's wandering. 
 
 and knew tliat they admired their stout 
 memloer heartily. He knew also that all 
 reporters were to be excluded. 
 
 Mr Kirby was happy. His glass stood 
 on a little table beside him ; his napkin lay 
 loose across his ample waistcoat ; his big 
 legs were pushed towards the fire. He was 
 every inch a prosperous gentleman — and 
 there were many inches. 
 
 " You may depend upon it/' said Mr 
 Kirby with a slow wink, " that they won't 
 last another session. Their policy is the 
 dam'dest stuff and nonsense. The country 
 is sick of it." 
 
 " And who is the country *? " asked Her- 
 vie Langdon, who was sitting on the other 
 side of the fire with one of his short legs 
 crossed over the other ; he was smiling 
 under his thick beard, as his manner was. 
 
 " Everybody's sick of them/' continued 
 the politician. " Society's tired of 'em, and 
 wants a change of performers ; the work-
 
 dick's wandering. 
 
 ing men hate 'em ; and the middle class 
 are angry, because trade's bad." 
 
 '* Is that the fault of the Government 1 " 
 
 Mr Kirby pulled himself up in his chair, 
 pulled down his waistcoat, took his coffee 
 from the footman, and finally winked. 
 " That's as may be," he answered. " Those 
 fellows don't discriminate. They ain't edu- 
 cated up to it. Nobody knows better than 
 you, my dear Hervie, what English middle- 
 class education is." 
 
 Hervie LauQ-don nodded and raised his 
 fine eyebrows. 
 
 ^' They are taught to calculate interest," 
 continued the other ; *' that's what middle- 
 class education is. And when they go into 
 business, they find tables where the interest 
 is calculated for them. They are strong 
 enough to smash this Government — or any 
 Government, if it comes to that — but they 
 are the stupidest class in Europe, bar none." 
 Here Mr Kirby paused, struck a match.
 
 8 dick's wandering. 
 
 lighted the cigar which he had been hold- 
 ing between two of his big fingers, blew a 
 light cloud, and then removing the cigar 
 from his lips delivered himself of this re- 
 markable statement — *' The middle class 
 are fools." 
 
 The smile which had been twinklinsr in 
 Hervie Langdon's eyes and lifting the cor- 
 ners of his moustache changed suddenly 
 into one of those hearty bursts of laughter, 
 which had never failed to surprise Mr 
 Kirby during a friendship of twenty years 
 or more. Mr Langdon lay back in his 
 chair, and laughed, as he never laughed at 
 any of his friend's jokes, till he was obliged 
 to wipe his eyes. As the noise of his laugh- 
 ter died away, a small boy who was half 
 hidden behind his chair asked innocently, 
 " Are they all fools ? " 
 
 " Hullo ! " said Hervie Langdon ; " what 
 are you doing here, young man ? Why 
 didn't you go with the other children ? "
 
 dick's wandering. 
 
 He put his hand back and drew his little 
 nephew into the fuller light. In this light 
 Dick Hartland's brown hair, which was 
 rather rough, showed a decidedly yellow 
 tinge. In his mother's possession was a 
 fine pale wisp, which proved to her satisfac- 
 tion at least that her baby had been a 
 golden-haired baby. Everybody liked the 
 boy's looks, though perhaps he had few 
 claims to beauty. His skin was clear if 
 somewhat freckled ; his forehead was wide, 
 and there was good space between his blue 
 eyes ; the cheek-bones looked as if they 
 might be prominent, when the cheeks had 
 lost their childish roundness, and the chin 
 was rather square. Dragged from his post 
 of observation this little hero showed no 
 embarrassment in the presence of his elders. 
 He looked his uncle Hervie in the face with 
 his inquiring eyes, as he answered him. 
 
 " I like to stay with the men," he said ; 
 "and I like politics."
 
 10 dick's wandeeixg. 
 
 " Ho, ho ! " cried Mr Kirby, who was 
 sucking at his big cigar; he blew a great 
 ring of smoke, and chuckled. 
 
 " But is it true, uncle Hervie," asked the 
 boy, " that all the middle class are fools ? " 
 Mr Langdon drew his nephew on to the arm 
 of his chair, and pointing his cigarette at 
 his distinguished friend, said shortly, " Ask 
 him ; he's a great Liberal ; he ought to 
 know." 
 
 *' I won't speak ex officio,'^ said Mr Kirby 
 with a wondrous knowino^ look : " not ex 
 cathedrd, as I may say, ha, ha ! " He 
 laughed, but on this occasion his friend 
 did not. 
 
 " You be off to your mother," Mr Lang- 
 don said to Dick ; '* and tell Ossie and 
 Betty to go to bed. Good-night, dear boy ; 
 and put off being a politician as long as 
 you can." 
 
 " Why ? " asked Dick, pushing his hair 
 back from his forehead and preparing to
 
 DICKS WANDEEING. 11 
 
 receive instruction ; but his uncle only 
 patted his cheek, and smiled as usual. 
 His uncle Hervie's smiles were very mys- 
 terious to Dick, in part perhaps because 
 they took place under cover of his beard. 
 They seemed to mean a great deal to the 
 little boy. He used to think about them, 
 when he was alone. 
 
 Now it happened that on that evening 
 Mr Langdon's son had not waited for his 
 father's commands, but had gone to bed 
 because he felt lazy, as he often did. 
 Therefore Master Osbert was already drift- 
 ing peacefully towards slumber, when he 
 was disturbed by the sudden entrance of his 
 cousin. Dick was very wide awake, and 
 seemed even more so ; he had the air of a 
 conspirator ; he advanced on tiptoe, and 
 spoke in a hoarse unnatural whisper; he 
 was possessed by a mighty purpose, intent 
 on great adventure. " Ossic, Ossie ! " he 
 whispered. There was no answer but a
 
 12 DICKS WANDERING. 
 
 kind of grunt. '' Get up," said Dick. There 
 came from under the bedclothes a sound 
 like '* Whoffor," 
 
 Encouraged by this sign of intelligence 
 Dick took a flying leap on to the bed. 
 " Oh do get up," he said dragging the clothes 
 from his reluctant cousin's chin ; " don't 
 be so awfully lazy. It's such a splendid 
 plan ; we'll get out, and get on to the 
 back of the carriage, and go to Kedgate 
 without old Peter knowing, and hear 
 him speak." Now " Peter " was the name 
 which these little boys for some humor- 
 ous reason only known to themselves 
 had conferred upon Mr John Wilmading 
 Kirby. 
 
 " There, isn't any fun in hearing a speech," 
 said Ossie sleepily. 
 
 **Not if we make a row in the middle of 
 it ? " asked Dick triumphantly. 
 
 ''Ah!" Ossie's interest was at last aroused, 
 but not for long. " It's very jolly here,"
 
 dick's wandering. 13 
 
 he said plaintively, after a minute ; " good- 
 night." He had been secretly getting a 
 good hold on the blankets. 
 
 ** Ah, would you ? " cried Dick, and with 
 a dexterous jerk he pulled all the bedclothes 
 on to the floor. 
 
 Thus suddenly deprived of the warmth 
 and drowsiness which he loved, defenceless 
 and almost naked, Master Osbert Lang- 
 don had a good chance of displaying his 
 extraordinary amiability. He sat up on 
 his bed, clasped his hands in front of his 
 shins, rested his chin on his knees, yawned, 
 and stared at his cousin with eyes which 
 seemed to be opened to an unnatural round- 
 ness. He even smiled as he said plaintively, 
 ^' You always expect everybody to do what 
 you want." 
 
 " No I don't," said Dick ; '' I only want 
 them to do what they ought. You ought 
 to get up. Oh do look sharp or we shall 
 be too late ; here's your shirt ; I'll help
 
 14 dick's wandering. 
 
 you/' As Ossie grew more wakeful, his 
 natural taste for mischief grew stronger 
 and stronger. It was not long before the 
 two little boys were stealing down the 
 passage with their shoes in their hands, 
 and the spirit of adventure in their hearts.
 
 15 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 Mr Kirby was in great force and knew it. 
 The sound of his own voice was pleasant 
 in his ears. It may be said that for six 
 months or more he had not heard that 
 voice raised to public pitch ; for during the 
 short session before Easter he had scarcely 
 opened his full lips. As he spoke, his 
 mind was half busy with fragments of other 
 speeches, which delivered in his other man- 
 ner would soon be persuading or denounc- 
 ing his fellow-members of the Lower House. 
 But if his thoughts strayed sometimes to 
 the more important arena, he continued to 
 address with due weight and friendly hearti- 
 ness his admiring audience of the Redgate 
 Institute.
 
 16 DICKS WANDERING. 
 
 The hall of the Institute was full and 
 fusty. Since the consumption of gas was 
 most liberal, it was hard to account for 
 the subtle smell of the smoke of cheap 
 candles. Hervie Langdon, who was fond 
 of speculating on matters of this sort, 
 connected it in some way with muffins 
 and tea in the parlour behind the shop. 
 Certainly the greater part of the audience 
 might well have come from such succulent 
 tea-tables as his fancy painted ; for the 
 small tradesmen of Red 2f ate were there in 
 force, and had brought with them their 
 wives and dauoiiters. Nor were these 
 latter slack in their zeal for the distin- 
 guished politician ; for if they held him 
 second to the itinerant conjurer, who some- 
 times appeared on that same platform, it 
 was only by so much as conjuring seemed 
 more important than politics. But though 
 the body of the hall was filled by Redgate 
 shopkeepers and their womankind, there
 
 dick's wandering. \7 
 
 was still room on tlie floor for a small 
 audience of a widely different character. 
 Behind the tradesfolk there was a small 
 company of labourers, who had plodded 
 in from a suburban beer-shop, under the 
 guidance of old Durley, professional rat- 
 catcher, frequent poacher, and occasional 
 sub - agent in seasons of political excite- 
 ment. Old Durley bore an unfortunate 
 likeness to one .of his own ferrets. It 
 is to be feared too that he regarded fer- 
 rets and politicians with somewhat similar 
 feelings ; he liked to see them at work, 
 and he loved to profit by their labours. 
 On the platform with the orator there 
 were, besides Mr Langdon, a gentleman 
 supposed to be of Portuguese origin, with 
 fat dark hands, who represented the landed 
 interest ; a very substantial farmer who 
 was Dick Hartland's chief tenant ; and the 
 Vicar, a large pale man determined not to 
 be fidgety, who in spite of his conscien- 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 18 dick's wandering. 
 
 tious efforts after an air of good-fellowsbip 
 and equality, could not but look like a 
 shepherd with a nervous eye upon his flock. 
 In the centre of the stage, with his broad 
 back turned to the picture of the late 
 Mayor, to whose munificence the town was 
 indebted for that useful building, stood Mr 
 Kirby and addressed his countrymen. In 
 every corner of the room before him was 
 brilliant light, except under the gallery 
 opposite, which had been designed for a 
 band, if ever a ball should be given in 
 that place. Under the gallery was dark- 
 ness, if not vacancy. 
 
 The orator had warmed to his work ; the 
 greater part of his task was done ; every 
 moment he became more knowing, more 
 friendly, more popular. *' It is no good 
 my trying to deceive you," he said — '* to 
 humbug you, if you will forgive the ex- 
 pression. You know as well as I do what 
 this Government has done ; or rather what
 
 dick's wandering. 19 
 
 they have left undone. It don't need much 
 of a man to tell us what they have done ; 
 for it's next to nothing. They tell us that 
 their great claim to our confidence is — that 
 they have let us alone — that they have not 
 worried our industries. But what I say — 
 and I am a practical man — that's my boast 
 — what I say is that we don't pay a lot 
 of fellows to do nothing. ('* Hear, hear/'" 
 cried one of the retail traders.) The public 
 servants must earn their wages. Then they 
 tell us that they have no time to do any- 
 thing for us. Why ? Because they are so 
 busy with foreign affairs. But I say that 
 it is time to let our neighbours alone. 
 Mind your own business, say I, and let 
 these foreio^ners alone. Do something: for 
 me — for us. We ain't foreigners. ("Hear, 
 hear," cried Mr Leon Gonzales, conscious 
 of his stake in the country.) 
 
 " Now perhaps you Avill ask me — for you 
 are sensible practical men, as I hope I am
 
 20 DICKS WANDERING. 
 
 — perhaps you will ask me what we — that 
 is, what our party will do for you, if we 
 come in — and come in we shall — and soon. 
 ("The sooner the better," cried Mr Hop- 
 kins the chemist, who frequently took part 
 in penny - readings and was not afraid to 
 be heard. This criticism from one of them- 
 selves was greeted with much approval, 
 and some cries of " 'Ear, 'ear, 'Opkins ; " 
 '' Good for you, Bill," and suchlike. Dur- 
 inof the clamour the orator had the air of 
 one who is agreeably surprised by the dis- 
 covery of extraordinary local talent.) Yes, 
 gentlemen, the sooner the better, if I may 
 borrow the felicitous phrase of my good 
 friend William Hopkins. (Applause.) Now 
 I have no right to speak for the coming 
 Government. (''Yes, you have," cried Mr 
 Hopkins.) No, no, my friend. I wish I 
 never had to disagree with you. I feel 
 safer when you and I are of one mind. 
 But I say, No. I speak to you as a plain
 
 dick's wandering. 21 
 
 man to plain men — a friend among friends. 
 And as a friend among friends — (applause) 
 — I may speak my mind freely. I'll tell 
 you what I think our people will do for 
 you, when they come in. I speak for 
 myself. I never was afraid to speak my 
 mind. I am not afraid now. (Hear, 
 hear.) What I think, I speak ; and what 
 I speak, may go forth from this place — this 
 beautiful hall of yours — (loud applause) 
 — may go forth I say, and be repeated 
 through the length and breadth and depth 
 and height of this great country. (Loud 
 applause and stamping of the feet, during 
 which demonstration the orator whispered 
 to Mr Langdon, " You are sure there's not 
 a reporter V " Certain," answered his 
 friend ; " Hopkins saw to it. Give it them 
 strong ; they like it." Hervie Langdon 
 seemed to derive a j)eculiar pleasure from 
 the performance.) It is not hard to tell 
 you what we — what they will do for you.
 
 22 dick's wandering. 
 
 They will institute a great policy of econ- 
 omy, a far-reaching and minute economy. 
 Everything shall be clone a little cheaper. 
 All of you shall be a little richer on account 
 of our care and pains. We are practical 
 men ; we appeal to your pocket. (Laughter 
 and applause. As the sounds subsided, Mr 
 Kirby caught the eye of old Durley the rat- 
 catcher, and he gave him something like 
 a wink as he began again.) But there is 
 something else which, unless I am much 
 mistaken — (" Not likely," said Mr Hopkins 
 with a knowing nod) — you will get out of 
 the Government which is to be. That some- 
 ihmcr is a 2:reat Liberal measure. I for one 
 am not afraid to trust the people of Eng- 
 land. There may be more prudent men 
 than I. Don't let us undervalue prudence. 
 (Applause from the body of the hall.) But 
 there are other virtues besides prudence. 
 There are courage and honesty. Give me 
 the honest and the brave ; and I will give
 
 dick's wandering. 23 
 
 them votes. (A voice, "And they'll give 
 their votes to you." It was the high pecu-* 
 liar voice of old Durley.) And I am not 
 above taking ^em. (Laughter.) Some people 
 want to draw nice distinctions. Some say, 
 — Give the vote to Tom, and not to Dick ; 
 or to Dick, and not to Harry. But I don't 
 value these nice distinctions. I am of a 
 wider generosity. My heart has room for 
 you all. I say, Give 'em all votes — give a 
 vote to Tom, to Dick, and to Harry. (Here 
 Diirley jogged the elbow of the man next 
 to him, and from his little knot of labourers 
 came presently a slow bovine cheer.) I 
 don't want to give a vote to the man who 
 pays £10, and to refuse it to the man who 
 pays £9, 10s. Some people value this sort 
 of wire-drawing business. I don't. I am 
 well content that the government of this 
 great country should be done by this great 
 people ; not by him who has so much, or by 
 him who has so little ; but by all who have
 
 24 dick's wandering. 
 
 that cliief possession — that inestimable 
 wealth — that proud title by which the 
 pomp of emperor and king grows pale — 
 the sacred name of Englishman. (The ap- 
 plause was led by Mr Gonzales, who in 
 the enthusiasm of the moment almost made 
 up his mind to double his subscription to 
 the Hunt.) But don't let us be in a hurry. 
 (Applause from the body of the hall, where 
 the enthusiasm had been visibly cooling.) 
 Fairly, and softly. When are we to have 
 this great democratic measure ? When ? 
 I can't tell you. Can you tell me '? You 
 can judge at least as well as I — you the 
 able and honest gentlemen whom I see 
 before me — you the representatives of that 
 commerce which is the pride and glory of 
 Eno;land — that commerce so safe and so en- 
 terprising — ("Hear, hear," from Peaseley the 
 grocer, who had just opened a little branch- 
 shop in the village of Glaring) — you who 
 are for reform without revolution, for pro-
 
 dick's wandeuing. 25 
 
 gress on the straight lines of the ledger — 
 you the bone and sinew of our country — 
 you the representatives of that great middle 
 class, from which I am myself so proud to 
 have sprung." 
 
 When the orator paused, there was a mo- 
 ment's sileuce, during which old Dunderd 
 the clerk woke with a start, and probably 
 under a false impression cried, "Amen." 
 Then laughter was smothered in applause ; 
 and boots and umbrellas thumped the floor. 
 As the surging sounds subsided, there was 
 heard a clear young voice calling — " Peter ! 
 Peter ! " Hervie Langdon leaned quickly 
 forward in his chair, and stared into the 
 darkness under the opposite gallery. Mr 
 Kirby, who was not very quick to hear, held 
 up a large hand with fingers outspread ; 
 and, when silence was secured, asked in his 
 fullest and most patronising tone, " Did 
 I not hear somebody ask a question ? " 
 He waited with a tolerant smile ; he had
 
 26 dick's wandering. 
 
 the air of one who was about to crush a 
 beetle in the kindest possible manner, but 
 to crush it. Then uttered in the same 
 clear treble came the words, "You said the 
 middle class were fools." 
 
 *'Eh? what? what?" cried Mr Kirby 
 astonished ; " what's that ? " 
 
 " Didn't he, uncle Hervie ? It was when 
 you were smoking after dinner. Didn't he 
 tell you that the middle class were fools ? " 
 
 After these words there was a remark- 
 able silence. Then old Durley's beery 
 chuckle was heard ; " So they be," he mut- 
 tered. Then Mr Langdon on the elevated 
 platform, in the face of that important as- 
 sembly of his countrymen, burst into an 
 uncontrollable fit of laughter. Still wiping 
 his eyes he rose from his chair ; and, while 
 the worthy tradesmen starred with profound 
 wonder at the extraordinary humour of the 
 thick-set bearded gentleman before them, 
 he called over their heads to his friend
 
 dick's wandering. 27 
 
 Durley. '' Durley," he said, '' just look 
 under the gallery for my nephew." The 
 venerable rat-catcher slipped back quick as 
 a ferret in a rabbit-warren ; but he pres- 
 ently emerged from the darkness with his 
 head shaking, and protested that he could 
 find nothing but an open window. The 
 solid shopkeepers were still staring suspi- 
 ciously at Mr Langdon ; and that gentle- 
 man now took his hands out of his pockets 
 and addressed them. *^ That was my 
 nephew," he said ; *^ he is a nice boy, but 
 mischievous. You all know what boys 
 are. You were boys yourselves — except 
 the best of you who were lucky enough to 
 be girls — are girls now if my short-sighted 
 eyes don't deceive me." This well-timed 
 allusion set all the ladies bridling and 
 2:i2f2flino:, while it turned the thouo^hts of 
 their male companions into a familiar chan- 
 nel of jocosity. After a time of nudging 
 and lauMiter, during which Hervie Lang-
 
 28 DICKS WANDERING. 
 
 don put his hands back in his pockets and 
 stood smiling, he wound up his oration with 
 great speed. '' One does not answer little 
 boys," he said, — "except with the birch- 
 rod. You know our distins^uished friend — 
 the great statesman who has talked to us 
 this evening. You know him ; and you 
 won't call him names ; nor he you. I need 
 hardly repeat that he won't call you names. 
 There is confidence and mutual respect be- 
 tween you. All I have to do is to ask you 
 to join cordially and unanimously with me 
 in passing by acclamation a vote of thanks 
 to our distinguished friend, the Member for 
 this enlightened borough, John Wilmading 
 Kirby." As he sat down, there was a great 
 moving of chairs, and the bustle of depar- 
 ture bes^an. With all this noise there was 
 enough applause to cover the retreat of Mr 
 Kirby. As the brougham w^as whirled 
 away from a side door, he said with a 
 thoughtful manner, " I think I'll make my
 
 dick's wanderixg. 29 
 
 subscription to that damned pump as much 
 as £50." It was thus that he spoke of 
 the new Gothic fountain, which was to be 
 erected in the market - place of Eedgate. 
 As they drove through Glaring Park, he 
 asked with some warmth, *' Why doesn't 
 Sophie Hartland send that boy to school ? " 
 " It is about time,'' said Her vie Langdon, 
 who felt himself richer by a memory which 
 he could laugh at when he was alone.
 
 30 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Sophie Hartland knew well that her boy 
 must go to school. It would have been 
 strange if she had not grasped the idea, since 
 she thought of Dick far more than of any 
 other person or thing in all the world. 
 From that awful day, when after a single 
 year of married life she was left a widow 
 and a mother, herself almost a child, her 
 son had been the most important of the 
 race of men. He had been a source of 
 streno-th too. AYhen she knew that her 
 husband, on whom she had already learned 
 to lean w^ith absolute trust, had been crush- 
 ed under his horse and was dead, she turned 
 to her baby with an instinct of self-preser-
 
 DICKS WANDERING. 31 
 
 vation. But for her baby she thought that 
 she should not be strong enough to live. 
 A helplessness greater than her own ap- 
 pealed to her. She prayed for her baby 
 before she prayed for herself. She prayed 
 that he might be like his father. 
 
 When the young mother could think 
 more calmly of her husband, her thoughts 
 passed always naturally from him to his 
 child. The sense of responsibility absorbed 
 her more and more. She felt as if she had 
 charge of a sacred creature, who was by 
 nature noble, and in whom any weakness 
 would be justly laid to her charge. And 
 this sense of responsibility made her strong- 
 er day by day. Her life was full of little 
 tasks ; she would do everything for her 
 boy. And so daily her confidence in her- 
 self increased. She found that she could 
 do what she set herself to do. She beofan 
 to value herself meekly on the power of 
 doing unpleasant things for Dick's sake ;
 
 32 dick's wandering. 
 
 and so, one after another, most of them 
 ceased to be unpleasant. She found a 
 quiet pleasure in planning, in arranging, in 
 managing. She was proud of the extreme 
 neatness of the fine old house, which be- 
 longed to her baby boy. She liked to be 
 consulted by the agent, who felt for her 
 a chivalrous devotion, and would scarcely 
 mend a gate without her sanction. She 
 troubled herself with the reckoning of many 
 figures, that she might foresee the future 
 value of Dick's property. She studied poli- 
 tical economy with the help of her brother- 
 in-law Her vie Langdon, who derived no 
 little amusement from her strange ambi- 
 tion ; and she learned to speak with intel- 
 ligence of freehold and copyhold, of the 
 natural law of rent, of the necessary limit 
 of wa^es. For the land laws of her coun- 
 try she acquired an immense respect, partly 
 due no doubt to the difliculty which she 
 found in understanding them, but partly
 
 dick's wandering. 33 
 
 also to that respect for all law and distrust 
 of change, which lie deep in all but the few 
 revolutionary women. 
 
 Out of doors Mrs Hartland rode about 
 the property, and saw things for herself. 
 She paid friendly visits to the farmers with 
 the grace and kindliness of a young queen. 
 She went more often into the labourers' 
 cottages, and would carry small gifts to 
 their wives and children. She was at home 
 in the village, which nestled at the park 
 gates ; and indeed she was seen so often 
 there, that people would have forgotten to 
 look at her, had she not been so pleasant 
 to the eye. For in spite of her Quaker-like 
 simplicity of dress, few women were pret- 
 tier than Sophie Hartland. The girlish 
 pouting lips had been schooled to an inno- 
 cent precision ; the cheek was a little thin- 
 ner and paler than it was on her marriage 
 morning ; not the lightest curl of the bright 
 brown hair was allowed to stray about the 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 34 dick's wandering. 
 
 temples. And yet the face of this wise 
 little mother, who so often tried to remem- 
 ber what was dignified and becoming in the 
 widow of Kalph Hartland, and who could 
 discuss compensation for unexhausted im- 
 provements and shake her head over trades- 
 unions, was still almost a child's face, when 
 her son was twelve years old. 
 
 Nevertheless it may be said that Sophie 
 Hartland was now so far from her former 
 self, that she had clean forgotten what a 
 helpless being Sophie Meryon was. The 
 girl Sophie had been praised for her yield- 
 ing disposition. She had had no voice in the 
 choice of her gowns ; she had had but little, 
 as it seemed, in the choice of her husband. 
 That husband she had nevertheless endowed 
 with every virtue ; and, if he were not the 
 Bayard that his wife saw, he was at least a 
 very fine young fellow, honest, brave, and 
 of such determination withal, that his friends 
 said that it was well he had married so gentle
 
 dick's wandering. 35 
 
 and submissive a girl. Now Sophie Hart- 
 land, when she was three-and-thirty, was 
 by no means submissive. She consulted 
 all sorts of people about her boy, his pro- 
 perty, and his education, because it was 
 her duty to have the best advice. But she 
 let nobody decide for her. She was jealous 
 of any interference betw^een her and Dick. 
 She watched this precious lad with a jeal- 
 ous eye. She loved him so much, that in 
 rare moments of weakness she feared that 
 her love would be punished by the loss 
 of him. She reorarded him at one moment 
 with religious awe, at the next with the eye 
 of parental authority. He w^as awful as the 
 representative of all the Hartlands, the man 
 who was to fill that large place in the 
 county — more awful still as the son of her 
 own saint and hero. On the other hand 
 he was her property, her best possession ; 
 he was something so precious that it was 
 her duty to keep him safe by exacting per-
 
 36 dick's wandering. 
 
 feet obedienee. Diek on his side was the 
 most amiable of little boys ; and he never 
 disobeyed his mother, unless, as little boys 
 will, he foro^ot her orders. He thouo:ht his 
 mother the best and most beautiful woman 
 in the world. He liked to see her smile ; 
 and he found that she smiled most sweetly 
 when he did what she told him to do. As 
 she was always devising pleasant things 
 for him to do, she had little cause to com- 
 plain of a want of prompt obedience. He 
 was not without friends. Under certain 
 conditions he was allowed to play with the 
 little boys in the village ; for the village 
 w^as a model, as Mrs Hartland's village was 
 bound to be. His cousins Osbert and 
 Betty Langdon were often with him. 
 Though he could play all day and never 
 tire, he early accepted his lessons as an evil 
 necessary for him. He knew that he must 
 learn ; for one of his first discoveries was 
 that he would be a person of great import-
 
 dick's wandering. 37 
 
 ance. Big men touched their hats to him ; 
 the mothers of his playfellows called him 
 " Sir/' and dusted the wooden chair before 
 he sat on it ; farmers and labourers alike 
 were pleased to call him, " The little Squire.'^ 
 Even in church he found that he and his 
 slight young mother sat in a pew twice as 
 big as any other pew. For him therefore 
 learning was necessary. He must know a 
 great many things, when he was a man. 
 When he was twelve, he thought that he 
 was almost a man, and that he knew a great 
 many things. Master Hartland was eager 
 to confront the world. He wanted to go to 
 school, in spite of his happy life at home, 
 in spite of his love for his mother. Per- 
 haps he was beginning, though he did not 
 know it, to rebel against petticoat govern- 
 ment. That, which he did know, was that 
 he wanted a lot more fellows to play with. 
 He thought that he should like to have 
 several hundred friends, who should all be
 
 38 DICKS WANDERING. 
 
 nearly as great friends as Ossie. Moreover 
 the unknown was irresistibly attractive. 
 He needed new things to examine — new 
 worlds to conquer. He was a small crea- 
 ture of excessive energy. And so the idea 
 of a great school, all full of boys, filled him 
 with delight. Of course he would be sorry 
 to leave his mother ; but it would be 
 fun to write her letters. He could send 
 messages to his pony Daisy, but then she 
 would not understand them ; that thouQ-ht 
 made it hard for a moment to say good- 
 bye to Daisy. 
 
 It is likely that the purchase of that 
 precious pony was the most heroic action of 
 Sophie Hartland's life. The acquisition of 
 that innocent little animal was not com- 
 pleted without agonies of fear, without 
 sleepless and prayerful nights. Of course 
 her boy must learn to ride. She never 
 hesitated, though she feared. The Hart- 
 lands had always been a riding family.
 
 DICKS WANDERING. 39 
 
 Her husband had been the finest horseman 
 in the county, or, as she never doubted, in 
 England. Yet it was his pride of horse- 
 manship with his indomitable will which 
 had caused his death. He had made up 
 his mind to subdue a horse, which nobody 
 could ride ; and the brute and he had died 
 together deep down in a gravel pit on the 
 hillside. And so between this young widow 
 and the happy child, who sat on his new 
 pony in the sunshine, was the vision of a 
 white young face with matted hair. Scarcely 
 less pale was she, and her knees trembled 
 under her ; but she smiled on her boy and 
 praised his courage, and bade him be care- 
 ful, as any other mother might have done. 
 
 As Sophie Hartland had forced herself 
 to buy a pony for Dick, so, when the 
 proper time came, she was ready to force 
 herself to send him to school. She felt as 
 if he would take with him a part of her 
 life ; as if the beautiful old park would be
 
 40 dick's wandering. 
 
 a waste in her eyes, and the home life a 
 dull mechanical routine. But of course she 
 must not keep him with her; for his father 
 had had the Englishman's sturdy faith in 
 the training of a public school. And so 
 the study of the public schools of England 
 had been begun by Mrs Hartland very soon 
 after the short-coating of her infant. From 
 that time forth she had lost no opportunity 
 of talking with fathers, mothers, pastors 
 and masters. She had consulted all sorts 
 of authorities ; she had made many notes of 
 measles, and of successes at the Universities ; 
 in a matter of such importance she felt it 
 a duty to spare herself no trouble. And yet 
 throughout all the period of earnest inquiry 
 and comparison she knew that she should 
 send Dick to Eton. His father had been at 
 Eton ; and a school, which had done some- 
 thing to form Kalph Hartland, was accord- 
 ing to his widow's simple faith good enough 
 for anybody. It was almost sacrilege to
 
 dick's wandering. 41 
 
 think otherwise. But she would not send 
 her boy to his father s tutor ; for she re- 
 membered with indignation some idle jest 
 of that venerable man about his former 
 pupil's want of scholarship. To Eton, how- 
 ever, Dick must go ; and this decision his 
 mother at last announced with due solemnity 
 to Hervie Langdon, who had enjoyed the 
 lion's share of consultation. Mrs Hartland 
 regarded it as a very great event for the 
 ancient College that Dick should become an 
 Eton boy ; nor was Dick's view of the 
 matter widely different from his mother's.
 
 42 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Dick went to Eton with a s^oocl store of 
 cheerfulness, the best intentions, and an 
 opinion of himself, which was at least 
 sufficiently high ; and in the long-run this 
 valuable equipment served him well. At 
 first he was doomed of course to some 
 experience of the rubs of life, and was a 
 little bewildered when he found himself of 
 no more importance than any other new 
 boy. But here his pleasant temper came 
 to his assistance ; and, thouo^h he thouo[ht 
 it very rude of young people to ask him 
 direct questions about himself and his pri- 
 vate affairs, he saw at once that such ques- 
 tions were part of the venerable customs of
 
 dick's wandering. 43 
 
 the place, and he bowed to them as such. 
 Perhaps, however, there was too evident an 
 air of self-respect about the little boy ; for 
 it is certain that he had not been many 
 days in the place, before he found himself 
 involved in a brisk skirmish with a dingy 
 and tormenting member of his tutor's house, 
 whose name was Dolamore. Dolamore had 
 not expected a fray ; he had only sought 
 a little cheap honour in the eyes of the 
 bystanders for the ingenuity of his petty 
 annoyance ; and when the new boy after a 
 period of perfect amiability suddenly went 
 at him with his head down, he was glad of 
 the arrival of the master, which put an end 
 to the conflict. Lack of science had pre- 
 vented much injury ; and Dick had a chance 
 of learnino^ that threats and boastino- are not 
 generally the prelude of vigorous action, 
 for though messages and even dirty and 
 twisted notes redolent of fire and fury 
 came thick to him durino; the school-hour,
 
 44 DICKS WANDERING. 
 
 yet when at the end of that time he walked 
 somewhat slowly out into the sunshine, he 
 found with a thrill of pleasure that the 
 enemy was nowhere to be seen. Dick, 
 though he was hot about the ears and sad- 
 dened by the discovery that anybody could 
 wish to be unkind to him, had made up his 
 mind to bear himself bravely ; but none the 
 less was he glad that, when next they met, 
 the untidy adversary seemed to have for- 
 gotten their quarrel and was deaf to the 
 hints of neutral onlookers. 
 
 But if Dick was a person of very small 
 importance at the outset of his Eton career, 
 it was not long before he began to make his 
 presence felt. He was still a neat little boy 
 with a white collar and a black jacket, when 
 other little boys similarly attired gathered 
 around him ; and when he was sixteen 
 years old, he exercised much influence in 
 his tutor's house, and was himself becoming 
 aware of his responsibility. Well - built,
 
 dick's wandering. 45 
 
 active and with abundant energy lie was 
 prominent in games ; and he conciliated 
 rivals by his unvarying friendliness and 
 his pleasant smile. Boys, even more than 
 other people, judge each other by the eye ; 
 they read characters, as they run ; and 
 Dick with his brightness, his activity, and 
 his honest looks, was a pleasanter object 
 than many handsomer people. If, as he 
 became known in the school, some fellows, 
 who were not among his acquaintance, 
 professed to hate him for his swagger, the 
 easy hatred of boys is for the most part 
 like the mist of the morning. Scarcely 
 anybody, who knew Dick, disliked him ; 
 and he was a favourite with the masters 
 as with his fellows. He never stayed out ; 
 he did his school-work respectably ; and he 
 did it all himself except a few Latin verses. 
 He had no talent for poetry. Perhaps the 
 discovery of his growing influence with 
 his peers, and the consequently increasing
 
 46 DICKS WANDERING. 
 
 sense of responsibility, would have made 
 Dick a prig for the time being, had he 
 not been so full of engrossing occupations, 
 that he had but little time for thinking 
 about himself. 
 
 If Dick felt to some extent responsible 
 for the views and actions of his fellows, he 
 felt far more strongly that it was his duty 
 to take care of his cousin Osbert Langdon. 
 He had taken care of Ossie, ever since with 
 the dignity of a full year's longer experience 
 of life he had assisted his tottering steps 
 across the nursery-floor. They were still 
 little boys at Eton, when Dick rebuked his 
 cousin one day for throwing his old fives- 
 balls at little cads, who struggled for them in 
 the dust. " But they like it/' said Ossie. 
 " But they ought not to like it," said Dick ; 
 " and you ought not to like to do it. It's 
 beastly bad form." Thus early did young Mr 
 Hartland show some va^-ue consciousness of 
 the dignity of man, and of the importance
 
 dick's waxdering. 47 
 
 of the mutual respect of classes. As they 
 grew up in the school Dick gave more and 
 more thought to Ossie, and found him more 
 and more puzzling. Other boys, though he 
 had not the advantao^e of knowinor them at 
 home, he was sure that he knew all about 
 without any trouble ; but he never could 
 be certain what Ossie would do next. This 
 character, which it was his duty to look 
 after, seemed ever chanmno^ its form. When 
 Dick was old enough to make theories, and 
 to regard them with satisfaction, he decided 
 that his cousin took the shape of the last 
 fellow, from whom he had parted. Never- 
 theless, though it seemed as if there were 
 many Ossies, there yet remained one Ossie, 
 whom Dick loved, and on whom he kept a 
 watchful eye. 
 
 The two boys, now grown to a position 
 of some dignity, were at breakfast one 
 summer mornini^. The fag^s had o-one, and 
 had left their portion of toast behind them.
 
 48 dick's wandering. 
 
 The window was wide open ; the early 
 lio'ht slanted and trembled in the flowers, 
 which made gay the plain face of the 
 opposite house ; a soft air stole pleasantly 
 into the room. The drowsiness of this air 
 had a very soothing effect on Langdon. 
 As he put out an idle hand to the jam-pot, 
 it seemed strange to him that any sane 
 creature should submit to the trouble of 
 training ; he could not help asking his 
 cousin, if he really intended to start in the 
 school sculling. 
 
 " Yes," said Dick with one eye on a small 
 manual of political economy. 
 
 "It's pretty fair cheek," said Ossie. 
 
 Dick laughed. " It's too good a chance 
 to be lost," he said. " Marlow has lent me 
 his boat ; and she's the best on the river. 
 She's too small for any of the other starters ; 
 it's just my luck." 
 
 " But w^hat's the good of giving up all 
 sorts of jolly things, and grinding every
 
 dick's wandering. 49 
 
 night round rushes, when you can't possibly 
 win ? " 
 
 " It's a good thing to do. One must do 
 something. Besides why shouldn't I win ? " 
 
 " Well, you have nerve ! Do you think 
 you can beat Brown ? " Now Brown was 
 Captain of the Boats that year, and it 
 will be readily understood that this question 
 was not to be lightly answered. Dick 
 smiled at his own boldness in not saying 
 ''No" on the instant. "He buries his 
 boat/' he said ; " and he's not taking any 
 care about his steering." 
 
 " If he doesn't win^ it's a moral for Cav- 
 endish." 
 
 " He's stale," said Dick with a knowing 
 nod ; "he has done too much. I think I 
 can beat him in Marlow's boat." 
 
 " I do like your cheek," said Ossie. 
 
 " I'm glad you like it," said Dick ; 
 " there's only a quarter of an hour before 
 construing." 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 dick's wandering. 
 
 " Oh, I'm sure not to be put on to-day." 
 
 " I'll give you a construe," said his 
 cousin with decision ; and he put away the 
 manual, which interested him a good deal 
 more than the classical authors. 
 
 " I don't mind, if you'll let me look over 
 you. I can't go all the way to my room 
 for my book." 
 
 Hartland took his cousin by the back of 
 the neck and shook him playfully. " I 
 wish you wouldn't be so lazy," he said. 
 "You look beastly seedy and good-for- 
 nothing. I wish you wouldn't loaf so 
 much, and go with Dolamore."* Then as 
 a new thought struck him, he asked more 
 anxiously — "You haven't been going any 
 more to that brute Isaacs', have you ? " 
 
 Langdon raised his eyebrows pathetically, 
 smiled, and whistled. 
 
 '^ Oh, Ossie, don't be such a fool," said 
 Dick ; " fancy running the risk of being 
 sacked for going to a filthy gin - and -
 
 DICKS WANDERING. 51 
 
 billiard hole like that ! The next fellow, 
 who's nailed, will go." 
 
 " Don't you be afraid," remarked Mr 
 Langdon with the air of a lazy sportsman ; 
 "they don't catch me. There's only five 
 minutes before construing." So Dick rushed 
 straightway into the business on hand, and 
 his cousin listened with an air of dignified 
 protest to a translation of some lines of 
 Horace. Later in the day, remembering 
 that he had not been called up in school, 
 he rebuked Dick pathetically for having 
 given him so much unnecessary trouble. 
 
 Having made up his mind to start in 
 the sculling, Hartland gave all his spare 
 energy to the task before him. It was a 
 point of honour with him to do as well as 
 he possibly could. He was in the boat, 
 which had been lent to him, as often as 
 possible. He soon felt himself at home in 
 her, and had learned to steer her over the 
 difficult course with the utmost nicety. He 

 
 52 dick's wandering. 
 
 was so busy with the important business of 
 getting himself into the best possible con- 
 dition, that for a time he saw comparatively 
 little of his cousin. If uneasy thoughts of 
 Mr Cleveland Isaacs occasionally visited 
 him, they were instantly thrust out by 
 more solemn considerations of speed or 
 endurance. 
 
 This Mr Cleveland Isaacs was a source 
 of uneasiness in the school. He had but 
 lately appeared in the town ; and the ele- 
 gance of his premises and of his manners 
 aroused a suspicion that he aimed at other 
 than town patronage. He was accused of 
 inciting not only to drink, but to secret 
 cards and dice. He had been but a short 
 time in his new abode, when he was in 
 such bad odour, that the head-master felt 
 justified in launching a special thunderbolt 
 against him. So there passed round the 
 school a very short notice, which inspired
 
 dick's wandering. 53 
 
 awe in little hearts by threatening instant 
 expulsion to any one who should hereafter 
 have any dealings with this fascinating 
 stranger. 
 
 Dick had looked once, and once only, on 
 the fascinating stranger, and had pronounced 
 him incontinently to be a repulsive cad. 
 He would have given him no second thought, 
 had he not an uneasy fear of any tempta- 
 tion to mischief, which might beguile his 
 incomprehensible cousin. Once, when he 
 was hurrying to the Brocas, he saw Lang- 
 don in affectionate conversation with Dola- 
 more, and he made up his mind to warn 
 him again against this dangerous friend. 
 But when he met him at lock-up, his mind 
 was so full of Brown's time round rushes, 
 of what Brown had said of Cavendish's 
 want of life, of Sambo's regret that Brown 
 would change his boat so short a time 
 before the race, that he clean forgot to find
 
 54 DICKS WANDEllIXG. 
 
 fault with Ossie. Once or twice lie felt 
 called upon to rebuke him for not eating, 
 and for being slack and feverish ; but Ossie 
 only complained of the heat ; and indeed it 
 was an unusually hot summer.
 
 55 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 It was the night of the final heat of the 
 school sculling, and Hartland to the sur- 
 prise of almost everybody was one of the 
 four competitors. He had come in second 
 to Cavendish in his trial heat, and he had 
 come in, as his shrewd friend on the bank 
 had not failed to observe, '^as fresh as 
 paint." And now, when the final heat 
 was to be rowed, the bank of the Thames 
 from the Rafts to Brocas Clump was crowd- 
 ed with boys. The evening light slanted 
 through them brighteniug the gay colours 
 of boating coats and caps, brightening 
 faces already bright with youth and laugh- 
 ter and the joy of the battle. Dick's heart
 
 56 dick's wandering. 
 
 was beating, as he stepped into his boat; 
 it was no small thing to be one of four 
 young heroes, who were to contend in 
 presence of that crowd so eager and so 
 quick of sympathy. The sunlight touched 
 his bright young head, as he sculled slowly 
 and in his best form to the starting-place. 
 The evening was still, the water oily calm ; 
 a moment of wonderful silence followed 
 the words " Get ready " — which words were 
 uttered, as the grandiloquent young writer 
 in the ' Eton Chronicle ' did not fail to re- 
 cord, " by the stentorian voice of the Second 
 Captain of the Boats." Then in the still- 
 ness sounded the one word ''Ofif;" and 
 thereupon arose a clamour, a high-pitched 
 shouting of youth, and straightway began 
 a rush of boys along the bank, as the four 
 boats leapt away together in the stream. 
 
 Brown, who had the best position under 
 the Eton shore, was soon leading, and 
 before he reached the Eailway Bridge, he
 
 DICKS WANDERING. 57 
 
 was steering across the other competitors 
 to Bargeman's bush. In this bush how- 
 ever the stalwart young Captain of the 
 Boats, who was attending too much to the 
 fellows behind him, caught his right scull 
 for a moment. He was instantly free 
 again ; but not before the pale and per- 
 severing Cavendish had come up to him 
 on the outside. Once at close quarters 
 Cavendish was hard to shake off; if his 
 sculling lacked life, his stroke never got 
 shorter, and his pluck had been praised 
 in many * Chronicles.' Deep-chested, round 
 of body and muscular of forearm, Brown 
 looked as if he must go right away from 
 his antagonist ; but though he spurted 
 opposite Hester's Shed, he could not draw 
 his boat clear of tJie other. He made too 
 wide a curve at Sandband, and Cavendish 
 was almost level with him after the turn. 
 And now the impetuous spirit of the Cap- 
 tain of the Boats was vexed within him ; he
 
 58 dick's wandering. 
 
 must be rid of this pertinacious fellow ; he 
 was not afraid of exhausting the strength, 
 which was so much admired in the school ; 
 he would show them what he could do. 
 He quickened his stroke, but in quicken- 
 ing he begun to hurry forward ; he gained 
 a little, but his boat began to jump and dip 
 beneath him. Full of the determination to 
 shake off Cavendish he paid no heed to his 
 course ; at Upper Hope he went right out 
 into the stream, and Cavendish, who had 
 no thought but to stick to his leader, went 
 with him. Now was the moment for 
 Dick's judicious friend and amateur trainer. 
 His approving eye observed that his man 
 was, as he said to himself, "still in it." 
 He lifted his voice and piped loud and 
 clear across the river. Dick who had been 
 sculling cleanly and carefully, and had 
 gained some lengths by his steering, now 
 allowed himself a single glance over his left 
 shoulder. With a quick throb of excite-
 
 dick's wandering. 59 
 
 ment he saw Brown and Cavendish close 
 together and right out in the bay. Steer- 
 ing^ close round the lons^ corner, restrain in g^ 
 a wild inclination to spurt, he waited till 
 his boat was straight, and then for the first 
 time he quickened a little. Then the boys 
 at Athens staring with all their eyes, saw 
 to their amazement that Hartland was in- 
 deed in it. They saw that it was a great 
 race ; they danced in their excitement about 
 the rails ; those who had breath yelled 
 for their favourites ; many were hoarse the 
 next morning. And now Brown was aware 
 that there was another with whom he must 
 reckon. He came bounding across the 
 river to his proper course ; he was strong 
 as a young bull and his boat leapt under 
 him ; to the ignorant eye it seemed as if 
 he must go right away from the slight 
 young boy, who was fully two years 
 younger. But he was hurrying with his 
 body and cutting his stroke ; as he slanted
 
 60 dick's wandering. 
 
 across the stream his boat became un- 
 steady ; his thoughts went back with a sigh 
 to the old craft which he had discarded. 
 
 It was a splendid race. As they neared 
 Eushes, Brown and Hartland were almost 
 level, and Cavendish little more than 
 a length behind. Dick was afraid of 
 being fouled in the narrow channel ; he 
 spurted and gained half a length ; he 
 slipped smoothly by the old bed of 
 reeds ; in a few seconds he was at the 
 ryepeck, and half the course was done. 
 He gained at least a length by his good 
 turn ; and now he was sailing away down 
 stream, with his eyes fixed on the land- 
 marks by whose aid he steered, and with 
 a very strong determination that nobody 
 should pass him ; he realised that he had 
 the lead, and he would keep it. Brown 
 was barely clear of Cavendish, when he had 
 turned the ryepeck ; his work was begin- 
 ning to tell on him ; as the young Johnson
 
 dick's wandering. 61 
 
 of the ^ Chronicle ' put it, '' his efforts had 
 been too great for the arms of any man to 
 endure." Indeed those swollen forearms 
 hurt him not a little ; again and again he 
 spurted with but small effect on the speed 
 of his boat. With set teeth and long 
 strokes Cavendish stuck to him ; at Hes- 
 ter's Shed the great Captain after a final 
 plunge accepted his fate ; his determined 
 antagonist drew himself clear and sculling 
 steadily down passed under AVindsor Bridge, 
 second to young Hartland. " Never," wrote 
 the Chronicler, whose magniloquent young 
 pen has recorded this contest, "never has 
 the aquatic world been astounded by a 
 result so contrary to what most fellows 
 expected. We have witnessed another 
 start, another race, and another finish ; the 
 Blue Kiband of the Eton Thames has again 
 been lost and won, and the winner has 
 turned out to be Hartland, whom we 
 warmly congratulate on his success."
 
 62 DICKS WANDERING. 
 
 After the race as Dick sculled up from 
 below the bridge, alone in triumph, he 
 could scarcely believe in his o^yn victory. 
 He seemed to be lifted out of himself, to 
 be movino; in some rforious dream fearful 
 of waking. The simple lad had never felt 
 anything like this ecstasy. He steadied 
 himself with an effort and thouorht about 
 the form of his sculling^. The water under 
 him was yellow with the last sunlight, and 
 the blades of his sculls were golden as he 
 feathered them ; the rafts crowded with 
 boys in gay flannels lay low to the water 
 like Chinese river-sfardens of brio'ht flowers; 
 there was an immense clamour, as the win- 
 ner came from the shadow of the brido;e. 
 As he stepped from his boat and made 
 his way through the crowd, they thronged 
 about him to pat him on the shoulder, to 
 touch the hero of the hour. It was intoxi- 
 cating ; it was lucky that the boy had 
 a steady head on his shoulders. He was
 
 dick's WANDEllING. 63 
 
 thanking everybody, and struggling to the 
 chano^ino:-room : he wanted to be alone — 
 to recover himself. 
 
 When he was dressed, the winner slipped 
 away from his friends, and started for his 
 tutor's. As he went, his feet moved 
 quicker and quicker. He wanted to talk 
 it all over with Ossie, to enjoy his ready 
 sympathy, to laugh at his wonder. He 
 laughed aloud, as he hurried on, at the 
 thought that it was really he who had won 
 this great race. Suddenly the laughter 
 was struck silent on his lips. Out of a 
 dark passage came somebody stumbling 
 against him. It was the passage into 
 which opened the attractive premises of 
 Mr Cleveland Isaacs. Dick turned cold 
 in an instant. The boy who had fallen 
 against him out of the darkness was his 
 cousin Ossie ; and it was clear that Ossie 
 was drunk.
 
 64 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The sweet air came over the valley, and 
 filled the long low drawing-rooms of Glar- 
 ing, which had opened all its windows to 
 the south. It was the drowsy time between 
 harvests. The hay was stacked and the 
 wheat was growing yellow. The valley, 
 which stretched away from below the south- 
 ern face of the old house into the dim dis- 
 tance, seemed twice as full of trees, for 
 every tree was growing round and full with 
 darkening foliage ; the broad acres of the 
 park were silent and sleepy ; it w^as the ful- 
 ness of summer. To Mrs Hartland, as clad 
 in her cool white c^own she moved throusfh 
 the long rooms, the great contentment of
 
 dick's wandering. 65 
 
 the morning was but another cause of irri- 
 tation. She touched and retouched the 
 fresh flowers, because she had a theory 
 about the beneficial efi'ect of occupation 
 on the distressed mind. Her distress was 
 caused by perplexity ; and, as she had 
 grown accustomed to the belief that she 
 always knew what to do, she was irritated 
 by doubt. She found herself at a loss, 
 and she did not like it. The subject of 
 her doubts was her son, and she liked that 
 still less. She was not sure, though she 
 had not acknowledged this even to herself, 
 that the decision remained wholly with 
 her; and this final doubt was unendur- 
 able. Dick had come home with all his 
 honours ; and had been received as a young 
 hero should be, who had won the scullinsf 
 when he was but just seventeen, got into 
 Pop, and brought an excellent character 
 from his tutor. It is true that the mother's 
 joy had been a little damped by the fact 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 66 dick's wandering. 
 
 that her brother-in-law Her vie Langdon 
 had been advised to take his boy away 
 from Eton ; but, though she was very fond 
 of her nephew, the misfortune of another 
 person's son cannot be wholly bitter to a 
 mother. The mood in which she sincerely 
 condoled with Mr Langdon was not far 
 removed from that, in which she clasped 
 Dick in her arms and breathlessly thanked 
 heaven that he had never done anything 
 to grieve her. On dear Ossie's case she 
 could be very sensible ; she made light of 
 his childish folly ; she pointed out to his 
 father how much worse it would have been, 
 if he had been expelled. If Ossie's fate 
 had befallen her own child, the light ^vould 
 have gone out of the world for her. But 
 Dick was a hero, a favourite with masters 
 as with boys ; no other woman could hope 
 for such a son. And now, when she was 
 telling herself this truth so full of comfort, 
 when she was hu2f£fino^ to her heart this
 
 dick's wandering. G7 
 
 chief possession, Dick had quietly told her 
 that he wished to leave Eton at Christmas. 
 Moreover he had not yielded at once, when 
 she showed him the absurdity of such a 
 course. Was it possible that there was a 
 flaw in his character '? Could it be that he 
 was self-willed ? 
 
 Mrs Hartland found no pleasure in the 
 placid beauty of the morning. She was out 
 of temper ; and as she had acquired a habit 
 of pitying and despising women who lost 
 their temper, the consciousness of her pres- 
 ent state was intensely irritating. She was 
 cross with herself for being cross. She knew 
 that she had spoken sharply to her mother, 
 who considered herself a soothing presence. 
 Mrs Meryon was staying with her daughter, 
 and had tried to comfort her for Dick's 
 folly by pointing out the misfortunes of 
 their common friends. Ever since the 
 death of her young son-in-law Mrs Meryon 
 had been given to sio^hin<]j over her dauohter
 
 68 DICKS WANDERING. 
 
 Sophie, at first on account of her helpless- 
 ness, and then more and more, as she found 
 to her great surprise that she herself was 
 not to have sole charge of the baby, on ac- 
 count of her strange indifierence to maternal 
 advice. She was perhaps too fond of ex- 
 pressing a hope, which was certainly real, 
 that Dick w^ould turn out well. For so 
 sympathetic a woman Mrs Meryon was 
 w^onderfully Avell preserved. The round 
 smooth face showed few lines, and the 
 smooth hair under the cap scarcely a trace 
 of grey. Her air of gentle melancholy made 
 many more cheerful w^omen feel vulgar. 
 She seemed to consent to live — to eat and 
 drink with a soft silent protest. She had 
 known sorrow. She was a widow ; and of 
 her two children Marion, Hervie Lang- 
 don's wife, had died young, and Sophie 
 would not appeal to her for comfort in the 
 trials of life. The comfort derived from 
 mingling tears was that nearest to the heart
 
 dick's wandering. 69 
 
 of Mrs Meryon. She had learned to expect 
 little. When the weather was fine, she was 
 not deceived by its treachery ; when the 
 weather was dull, that was more fitting. 
 She kept a store of other people's sorrows, 
 as a squirrel keeps nuts ; she loved to crack 
 them at strange moments. On festive occa- 
 sions she sighed most ; for then she could 
 not help thinking of that poor dear some- 
 body whom she remembered in such spirits, 
 or of that poor dear other one who would be 
 so happy if he could be there ; so would she 
 tone down the mirth till the atmosphere 
 was such as she loved to breathe. In times 
 of sorrow this lady was like a gentle shower 
 falling softly if superfluously in a season 
 of heavy rains. Her life was a peaceful 
 stream, and in its sliding grey she viewed 
 herself with no little satisfaction. 
 
 To this maternal being, who was ready 
 to sit down and cry with her, Sophie Hart- 
 land had been cross. She did not wish to
 
 70 dick's wandering. 
 
 sit down and cry ; she only wished her 
 own son to do that which she knew to be 
 for his good. Surely, as she told herself, 
 that was not unreasonable ; though she was 
 a woman, she knew what was reasonable. 
 Feeling that she must do something she 
 had sent for Hervie Langdon ; and he had 
 arrived in due course, and had brought 
 his boy and girl with him. Now, when 
 her friend and brother-in-law was here, she 
 shrank from consulting him. She had been 
 so proud of her management of her boy ; 
 and it seemed to her that she was about to 
 make a confession of failure. As she was 
 moving restlessly from jar to jar, Mr Lang- 
 don came in through one of the open win- 
 dows. He seemed to concentrate in him- 
 self the measureless content of the outer 
 world. He tossed his half-smoked cigarette 
 out on to the gravel walk, and smiled upon 
 his sister-in-law. " Please don't do that, 
 Hervie," she said ; " it looks so untidy ; it's
 
 dick's wandering. 71 
 
 such a bad example for the gardeners." 
 Still smiling, he stepped out again into the 
 sunlight, picked up the fragment of cig- 
 arette, and awaited further orders. ^' Oh, 
 put it anywhere," she said impatiently; 
 ** what can it matter ? " Then as she 
 caught his eye, she laughed and was angry 
 with herself therefor. " No, I am not 
 laughing/' she said ; " I don't see how 
 anybody can laugh in such a stupid world." 
 *' It is a highly comical world," said 
 Hervie Langdon, as he carefully buried 
 the offending tobacco in a big flower-pot 
 by the window. Then he came in, and, 
 as he felt sure that she wanted to talk to 
 him, he showed no consciousness of the 
 fact; he chose a chair, and picked up the 
 * Times.' " I think mamma has the most 
 depressing correspondence in the world," 
 said Sophie, still obstinately busy with her 
 flowers ; " her friends are always in mis- 
 fortune. Poor Mrs Trippet has twins
 
 72 dick's wandering. 
 
 again ; Emily Eustace's engagement is' 
 broken off; I don't know why she reads 
 me all these wretched things." 
 
 "Your mother thinks we are all awfully 
 hard-hearted/' said Hervie round his paper ; 
 " she gives us doses of other people's mis- 
 fortunes to stimulate our sympathy. It is 
 very good of her, if you look at it like that." 
 
 " I think she might have spared me this 
 mornino^. I have enouQ-h to trouble me." 
 
 Mr Langdon said nothing, but he threw 
 down his paper as if he had failed to find 
 any news. After a minute she said abruptly, 
 *' Dick wishes to leave Eton at Christmas." 
 
 Hervie showed a proper measure of sur- 
 prise and interest. " Does he give any 
 reasons *? " he asked. 
 
 "There can be no reason whatever," she 
 said, answering indirectly, as women some- 
 times will ; " he is doing very well in every 
 way. His tutor says that it would, be the 
 greatest pity in the world that he should
 
 dick's wandeeing. V3 
 
 leave now — just when he is beginning to ex- 
 ercise his proper influence ; that it would be 
 a very bad thing for the House — and for 
 the school ; and that it will probably be 
 the ruin of — of Dick/' 
 
 *'Not so bad as that I hope/' 
 
 ** Of course he does not say so in so 
 many words ; of course he softens it for 
 me, as if I were one of those weak silly 
 mothers. Perhaps I am a weak silly 
 mother. At any rate it seems that my 
 own child thinks so." 
 
 *' My dear Sophie, you are the best of 
 mothers. I am sure Dick knows that you 
 are the best of mothers. What does he 
 want to do ? '' 
 
 " Oh don't ask me. He is full of some 
 ridiculous ideas about studying political 
 economy, and history, and — and nonsense. 
 It is really too absurd in a boy of seven- 
 teen. He wants to prepare himself for 
 public life — for looking after his property
 
 74 dick's wandering. 
 
 — for doing his duty to the land — I don't 
 know what he wants." 
 
 Mr Langdon seemed to be thinking. 
 " He isn't much of a scholar, I believe 1 " 
 he said after a minute. 
 
 " He says that he will never be any good 
 at Latin and Greek, if you mean that ; but 
 I am sure I don't know why he shouldn't 
 be ; his father did well enough." • 
 
 Hervie Langdon had a lively recollection 
 of some peculiarities of his friend Ealph 
 Hartland's scholarship ; but he thought it 
 better to let that subject rest. He said 
 nothing, and Mrs Hartland presently be- 
 gan again in a more quiet tone. 
 
 *' I can't think what has made Dick so 
 conceited," she said. *'He was such a 
 gentle modest boy before he went to 
 school. It must be all the fault of that 
 horrid Eton." 
 
 Mr Langdon remarked to himself that, 
 if Eton was horrid, she should be glad that
 
 dick's wandering. 75 
 
 her son would leave it ; but lie thought it 
 wiser not to say this aloud. 
 
 " They must have flattered Dick," Sophie 
 Hartland said, " into thinking himself some- 
 thing: out of the common." 
 
 '' I am not sure that he isn't something 
 out of the common," said Mr Langdon. . 
 
 " No, Hervie/' his sister-in-law answered 
 with firmness, and an air of impartiality 
 which she felt to be worthy of a man — " No, 
 Hervie," she said, " I am not silly about my 
 boy. I know that Ealph's son cannot be a 
 fool ; but I don't mistake my geese for 
 swans. Dick is like other boys — no better 
 and no worse." 
 
 " No better than my poor Ossie, for in- 
 stance ? " 
 
 She did not answer his question precisely. 
 
 '' Poor Ossie !" she said ; " I am so sorry 
 for Ossie. I am sure nobody can be better 
 and nicer than he is here with us. He is 
 such a dear affectionate boy, and so fond of
 
 76 dick's wandepjxg. 
 
 Howers ; he has such nice tastes. It must 
 have been the fault of those horrid friends ; 
 Dick ought to have kept him away from 
 them.'' 
 
 " No, no," said Hervie ; " you mustn't 
 blame Dick. Ossie says that there is no- 
 body like Dick ; and that everybody in the 
 school says so." He looked at her keenly, 
 as he said this ; he fancied that the tone of 
 her next speech was a little milder. 
 
 " Then why does he want to leave ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 Mr Langdon thought that the question 
 had better be left without further ansAver. 
 He continued to praise his nephew ; and 
 Sophie Hartland objected, and by objection 
 encouraged him to fresh praises ; and by 
 this process the mother's heart was slowdy 
 but surely comforted. She even sat down, 
 and took up her work. " I wish you would 
 take my precious pair off my hands," said 
 Mr Langdon, perceiving that it w\as a good
 
 dick's wandering. 77 
 
 time for an effective contrast. " Ossie en- 
 tertains me with imitations of his friend Mr 
 Cleveland Isaacs; they are really extremely 
 clever ; he would do very well on the stage 
 — and so would Betty." 
 
 " Oh, Hervie, how can you talk like that?" 
 
 " They have taken to religion lately. 
 They are the most comical young creatures 
 in the world. They took me to church last 
 Sunday." 
 
 " I am very glad to hear it, Hervie," said 
 Mrs Hartland gravely. 
 
 " Ossie is going to sing in the choir, and 
 
 Betty has confided to me " here Mr 
 
 Langdon was rendered speechless by one of 
 his sudden attacks of laughter ; as soon as 
 he could speak, and still w^iping the tears 
 from his eyes, he finished his sentence — 
 " that she is in love with the organist." 
 
 '' Oh, Hervie ! " cried his sister-in-law. 
 
 " She has always fancied herself in love 
 wdth somebody, since she could see."
 
 78 dick's waxdeeixg. 
 
 " Eeally, Hervie, you ought not to talk so 
 of your daughter. You forget that she is 
 almost a woman." 
 
 " She can't be more than fifteen," he said 
 after a moment's thought. " She is cer- 
 tainly forward for her years. She has a 
 female friend, a certain Susan Bond, who 
 has just launched herself on the world ; and 
 this young person tells her that, though 
 men have given up religion themselves, they 
 won't marry women who haven't got it. 
 Did you ever hear anything like that from 
 a debutante ? You never saw such a letter 
 as she wrote to my little girl." 
 
 " Did Betty show you the letter 1 " 
 
 " Yes. They show me everything. Thank 
 heaven I we are the best of friends, my 
 children and I. They amuse me more than 
 anything in the world." 
 
 Mrs Hartland was not amused. She felt 
 that she ought to utter a protest. " You 
 know, Hervie," she said, " how much I have
 
 DICKS WANDEEING. 79 
 
 always disapproved your theories about the 
 bringing up of children." 
 
 " Look at the result," said he with an 
 easy smile ; " take the church for instance. 
 I never made them go to church ; and so 
 they like it ; and now they make me go." 
 
 " If Betty goes to church, because a silly 
 girl says that it's the way to get a husband, 
 I am afraid that she will not get much good 
 from it." 
 
 Hervie began to smile in his beard, and 
 she said a little more sharply, " I never 
 know whether you are in jest or in earnest ; 
 but I think that your daughter's future is 
 worthy of a little seriousness." 
 
 He became grave on the instant. " My 
 dear Sophie," he said, " I feel quite sure of 
 Betty. How can Marion's daughter be any- 
 thing but a good girl ? " 
 
 " Poor Marion ! " said Sophie and sighed. 
 " I do hope," she added, " that Betty will 
 be as good a woman as her mother."
 
 80 dick's waxdePvIxg. 
 
 " Never fear ! " said he stoutly. " And 
 let us hope that Dick will be as good a man 
 as his father." 
 
 Mrs Hartland shook her head. " That 
 he never will be," she said with decision. 
 " I can't understand Dick. Does he sup- 
 pose that I would ask him to do anything 
 which was not for his good ? " 
 
 " Perhaps he is beginning to think that 
 he knows what's best for him." Hervie 
 Lano-don said this : but he said it under his 
 beard, and nobody heard him. " Ah, look 
 at 'em," he said aloud ; " there they are. 
 Look at the young creatures." 
 
 Beyond the terrace the smooth turf sloped 
 gradually away to the wood, which stretched 
 down into the valley. Out of the wood came 
 Betty flushed and fair, and dragging after 
 her her brother, who hung back laughing. 
 
 *' Ain't they beautiful?" asked their father. 
 " They might have come to life from an old 
 Greek jar. It's a Bacchanal bit."
 
 dick's wandering. 81 
 
 Sophie Hartland said nothing. She was 
 staring at her own child, who came running- 
 out of the shadows in pursuit of his cousins. 
 To her he seemed more beautiful than they, 
 though he would have seemed so to very 
 few others. He shouted, as he saw her 
 framed in the tall window ; he ran up the 
 lawn with his honest blue eyes full of kind- 
 ness; though Sophie was not fanciful, she 
 thought that her son was full of the morn- 
 ing. And yet, as he kissed her lightly on 
 the cheek, she frowned a little, wondering 
 if this affectionate sweet-tempered boy could 
 be really obstinate. 
 
 " Dick," said Hervie Langdon smiling, 
 " it's a pity to give up being a boy before 
 you are obliged to. Experto crede ! " 
 
 " I mean to be a boy and a man too," 
 said Dick ; and he put his arm round his 
 mother with a manner affectionate and pro- 
 tecting. 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 82 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Dick left Eton at Christmas. Very soon 
 after tlie subject was first discussed be- 
 tween the mother and son, Mrs Hartland 
 made up her mind not to say another word 
 about it ; and it was only under pressure 
 of the strono*est feelinor that she ever de- 
 parted from this resolution. Sometimes 
 she felt, as she said, that she must speak. 
 She spoke strongly to her boy's tutor, and 
 that good man spoke strongly to his pupil. 
 Dick was perfectly amiable, and listened 
 with interest ; but he was not convinced. 
 Mr Kirby himself took the trouble to visit 
 Eton that he might put the thing to rights. 
 " I'll just run down," he said, "and talk to
 
 dick's WANDERINa. 83 
 
 the boy myself, and tell him not to make 
 a confounded fool of himself." Mr Kirby 
 went down and talked to the boy, who 
 received him with the pleasantest smiles. 
 In the course of his remarks the politician 
 made himself by degrees very red in the 
 face and very angry ; but he failed to per- 
 suade the boy. As he journeyed to London 
 in the train, his superfluous warmth escaped 
 in broken mutterings, as of a storm passing 
 away ; and among them an attentive ear 
 might have distinguished such words as 
 " spoiled," ^' prig," '^ conceited young ape," 
 joined all of them with strong epithets. 
 He was really sorry that his young kins- 
 man should insist on beginning life with 
 a mistake. He was fond of the boy ; had al- 
 ways thought that he would do him credit ; 
 had often pronounced him promising ; had 
 asserted warmly that he would push him 
 forward when the time came, as indeed 
 he intended to push him. Blood, in Mr
 
 84 dick's wandering. 
 
 Kirby's opinion, was a good deal thicker 
 than water. 
 
 Dick was sorry to grieve his mother ; 
 but he was sure that he was right. He 
 felt no shadow of doubt ; the matter 
 seemed clear as the day. He told himself 
 that for him at least further study of 
 dead languages was of no use ; that he 
 could fit himself better for his part in life 
 elsewhere than at Eton ; that of course he 
 ought to fit himself for that important 
 part as well as he could. He admitted that 
 he might have some influence among his 
 school - fellows ; but that must not be 
 weio'hed aejainst the wider influence which 
 he meant to have some day. Besides his 
 most useful occupation in the school was 
 gone when Ossie was taken from him. If 
 his cousin had been allowed to stay in the 
 school, he would have stayed to look after 
 him. But now, since Ossie had left, he felt 
 sure that he ou^fht to leave too. Moreover
 
 dick's wanderixg. 85 
 
 Dick's curiosity was growing with startling 
 ra^Diclity. He had a great desire to know the 
 real world, as he already knew, or thought 
 he knew so well its picture in little. He 
 wanted to understand men and their needs ; 
 to analyse those political and social diffi- 
 culties, which must be due, he thought, to 
 a strange stupidity. He was charged with 
 excessive energy, and was tired of expend- 
 ing so much of it in the games of boys. 
 There were so many new things to see 
 and to know ; and as he wanted to see 
 and know everything, it was certainly 
 time to begin. Sometimes he felt himself 
 already a man ; for the most part however 
 he was lucky enough to be a boy. 
 
 When the hours of discussion were over, 
 and the time for leaving had come, the 
 boy's courage almost failed him. Then he 
 felt, as he had never felt before, with what 
 imperial gentleness Eton held sway over 
 his heart. Of his own will he was going
 
 86 dick's wandering. 
 
 from so mucli friendship. In one of those 
 moments of superstition, of which there 
 were so few in his life, he felt fear lest he 
 should be punished for neglecting this great 
 gift; he thought that perhaps some day 
 he would need a friend. So many fellows 
 seemed to be sorry that he was leaving ; 
 it made him tender. As the train passed 
 slowly over the river Thames, which was 
 eloquent of his first and sweetest victory, 
 he felt the tears in his eyes ; he was 
 ashamed ; he said to himself that this 
 would never do; he must face the con- 
 sequences of his own decisions ; he opened 
 the * Times,' and disappeared in his corner 
 behind that voluminous sheet. ThouQ-h at 
 that time he had by no means outgrown 
 his respect for leading articles, yet it is 
 to be feared that he remembered but few 
 words of the printed wisdom, at which his 
 eyes gazed dimly during the journey to 
 London.
 
 dick's wandering. 87 
 
 Dick Hartland, when he had escaped 
 from the discipline of school, was confident 
 enough that he needed no help in conduct- 
 ing his further education. Nevertheless 
 having carried his point in the chief matter 
 he was ready to yield with a good grace 
 in that of less importance. He was pre- 
 pared to receive a tutor. He even pressed 
 his mother to find one for him, and so 
 allowed her to forget for a time that he 
 was passing from her control. She wrote 
 many letters, and made minute inquiries. 
 Meanwhile Dick troubled himself not at 
 all about his future instructor, for he had 
 made up his mind that he would learn only 
 what he wished to learn, and not a jot of 
 any other stufi" which it might please the 
 teacher to teach. A man, who could answer 
 all those questions, which he was eager to 
 ask, would be useful as a whole library of 
 books. A man, who failed to adapt him- 
 self to his pupil, would soon resign a most
 
 88 dick's wandering. 
 
 embarrassing position. It was easy enough 
 to manage that sort of thing, Dick said to 
 himself, and laughed. So he read his own 
 books and went his own way ; till by great 
 fortune he received a tutor, who adapted 
 • himself with a kind of fury to the demands 
 of his pupil. Fabian Deane had but just 
 taken his degree at Oxford, and was looking 
 about with excited eyes for something to 
 do. Suddenly he heard of young Hartland 
 as a promising youth in need of instruction ; 
 and obedient, as he loved to be, to the im- 
 pulse of the moment he wrote to Hervie 
 Langdon, who was an old friend of his 
 father, and claimed the position of tutor. 
 If the pupil was promising, the tutor was 
 interesting. " Interesting " was the epithet 
 most frequently applied to Mr Fabian Deane. 
 He was talked about more often than any 
 young man in Oxford. He had flung him- 
 self impetuously into many sets, and had 
 made himself at home, at least for a time.
 
 dick's wandering. 89 
 
 in all of them. He was always doing some- 
 thing, or going to do something; and the 
 something generally startled the onlookers. 
 The unexpected delighted him ; he loved it 
 for itself ; and moreover he liked to know 
 that one man said to another, " Have you 
 heard what Deane did ? '' or " Do you know 
 what that lunatic Fabian is going to do 1 " 
 He was naturally unlike other people, and, 
 as soon as he was old enough to be con- 
 scious of this unlikeness, he hugged it to 
 him with joy. He never made the slightest 
 effort to modify or to hide it; indeed it 
 may be suspected that he sometimes em- 
 phasised it a little. It is certain that some 
 blunt people among his Oxford contempo- 
 raries accused him of affectation ; but this 
 was a very crude estimate of a very interest- 
 ing character. He was naturally unlike other 
 young men ; and he liked to be unlike them. 
 As at different times Fabian flung him- 
 self into different sets of men, so with like
 
 90 dick's wandering. 
 
 ardour did he embrace now one occupation, 
 now another, and abandon in turn various 
 lines of study. Of history, to which the 
 life of his eminent father was devoted, he 
 was unreasonably impatient. But this was 
 almost the only field of study in which 
 he never urged his wild career. For two 
 years he abandoned himself to philosophy; 
 during that time he constructed the uni- 
 verse in three or four different ways, and 
 dissolved it as often. "When he had thought 
 enough about thought, he one day thought 
 about thinking about thought : in that im- 
 portant moment he decided that the occu- 
 pation was not for him : he, as it were, 
 burnt his books, and looked out of window. 
 For a time he examined man (and this was 
 the subject supremely interesting to him 
 in almost all his moods) with the purely 
 scientific eye. He inspected man's brain 
 in bottles, and wondered if he could think 
 with his back. But the pictures in the
 
 dick's wandering. 91 
 
 scientijSc books offended his eye, which was 
 greedy of beauty ; the mystery of the medulla 
 obloDgata failed to soothe his sensitive na- 
 ture. He turned with new zeal to art. 
 Now he became more Hellenic than the 
 ancient Greeks ; anon he was more medieval 
 than the early Italian painters. He began 
 to write a history of poetry. Suddenly it 
 occurred to him to write poetry instead of 
 its history ; but if he hated history, he 
 hated his own verses more ; as they cooled, 
 he was shocked by their deformity. He 
 denounced all sorts of things ; he denounced 
 all sorts of people ; he was powerful in 
 denunciation — a master of elaborate invec- 
 tive, and of fiery sarcasm, with which he 
 loved at times to sear his own breast also. 
 Yet in spite of the pitiful inadequacy of 
 mankind and of himself, he enjoyed a great 
 brightness of spirit, which was made only 
 more brilliant by brief hours of majestic 
 gloom. Disappointed in the studies which
 
 92 DICKS WAXDEPJXG. 
 
 had by turn attracted liim, he at last rushed 
 to that which commended itself as most re- 
 pulsive ; and after six months severe study 
 of law he surprised more methodical people 
 by appearing in the first class. Then he 
 tried with very small success to wait 
 patiently. He fumed and fretted among 
 his photographs from the works of Bellini 
 and Carpaccio ; he scowled at his two casts 
 from the antique, which appeared inhumanly 
 cold. He w^as in this mood of enforced 
 calm, smoking idly like Vesuvius and full 
 of fire within, when he first heard of the 
 existence of young Hartland. All his life 
 long from those days, which seemed so fair 
 as he looked back, when the chosen play- 
 mate of his childhood and best beloved was 
 a little fluffy dog, Fabian Deane had been 
 eagerly seeking a friend. In moments of 
 explosion he had often declared that he had 
 never found a friend. Perhaps he had 
 always asked too much. He wished to be
 
 dick's wandering. 93 
 
 loved, improved, guided by a perfect being. 
 When he heard of young Hartland's condi- 
 tion, an entirely new idea struck him. He 
 would abandon his wearisome search for a 
 guide, philosopher, and friend. It needed 
 but a moment's thought, and the object of 
 his life was reversed ; the whole thing was 
 upside down. He would be guide, philo- 
 sopher, and friend to somebody else. Fired 
 by this idea he wrote post-haste for the 
 place of tutor. Whatever else he might or 
 might not be, he declared that he was the 
 very man to open the mind of intelligent 
 youth. Indeed the only danger was that 
 he would tear it open by main force. Who 
 rode his hobby with Fabian Deane, was in 
 danger of being carried off the solid earth, 
 of careering through a very Walpurgis night 
 with a benevolent Mephistopheles for guide. 
 Dick's head was fortunately cool. 
 
 For three years the interesting tutor and 
 the promising pupil were constant com-
 
 94 DICKS WANDEEING. 
 
 panions. For months at a time they lived 
 a quiet life at Glaring, which Fabian pro- 
 nounced the most delightful place in the 
 world, as its mistress was the most charm- 
 ing woman. That Mrs Hartland could do 
 no wrong was one of the only two opinions, 
 which this eccentric genius never changed. 
 The other opinion was that in his pupil 
 he had found at last a friend. He found 
 Dick full of curiosity about his future 
 possessions, and his future duties — about 
 land and the people who lived thereon. 
 He showed him where to look for answers 
 to all, or almost all, his questions. He 
 caught the enthusiasm, as he always caught 
 an enthusiasm. He sought in the library 
 the standard works of economists ; and he 
 gathered the ephemeral pamphlets of poli- 
 ticians, and of agitators. He was carried 
 by his pupil to the houses of farmers, and 
 to the cottages of labourers ; and he puzzled 
 the occupants of both not a little by his
 
 dick's wandering. 95 
 
 impetuous sympatliy and fiery volubility. 
 He was introduced by his pupil to Emmens 
 the enlightened cobbler, who, having seen 
 nothing like him, regarded him with unde- 
 served suspicion. If he could not answer 
 Dick's question at the moment, he s^^ared 
 himself no trouble till he had collected many 
 answers. It seemed to him a great task 
 to explain the uses and the possibilities of 
 land to a wise young landowner. His eyes 
 were full of a future paradise; though its 
 form was ever changing with the last new 
 theory which he swallowed. He was ever 
 ready to swear that the question of land- 
 tenure was the one question of the day ; he 
 became fiercely contemptuous of all other 
 matters; he was fifty times as zealous as 
 Dick, who had first kindled his zeal ; he 
 delighted and amused the boy by his 
 ardour. 
 
 The friends spent much of their time in 
 travel, and devoted themselves abroad to
 
 96 dick's "WANDERING. 
 
 the same line of study, which they had 
 pursued at home. It is true that they 
 looked at famous buildiuQ[s and visited 
 famous picture-galleries; for Dick thought 
 it right to see these things, and liked to see 
 them too. Fabian, that whilom devotee of 
 Art, scoffed in the presence of cathedrals, 
 and fretted before pictures. '* Shadows of 
 shadows ! " he would say ; " I can't stand 
 this dead past, when the present is so full 
 of interest. What's the good of gaping at 
 these works of man, when there is man 
 himself to be studied ? " And he looked 
 with his fiery eyes as if he would not only 
 study, but was ready to devour his kind. 
 But the time which they spent in galleries 
 was as nothing to that, which they passed 
 among tillers of the soil. They abandoned 
 all the wonders of Eome that they might 
 ramble in the vineyards and olive-yards of 
 a land which was held on every conceivable 
 tenure. They turned their backs on the
 
 dick's wandering. 97 
 
 Acropolis ; and Fabian swore that no 
 flavour of antique Hellas pleased him half 
 so well as the coarse bread and resinous 
 wine of the country folk of a new Greece. 
 Nearer home they spent months in making- 
 friends with the small proprietors around 
 Hamburg ; and after a few weeks of Paris 
 they gave a long summer to walks and 
 talks in quiet country places by the Marne 
 and Saone. 
 
 So after much reading, and looking, and 
 talking with his friend, it came to pass 
 that Dick Hartland, as a tall boy of twenty, 
 knew more, than many prominent poli- 
 ticians, about land, and how men live on it. 
 He might already have adopted a theory, 
 had not the tutor's habit of swallowinsj 
 theories whole strengthened the pupil's 
 caution. The only definite purpose, which 
 he had formed, was that he would keep his 
 property, so far as he could, in his own 
 
 hands — that he would not limit in any 
 VOL. I. G
 
 98 dick's wandering. 
 
 way his power of doing, as he liked, with 
 this interestinoj land. He was delimited to 
 think how interesting it would be. Fabian 
 Deane was quickly coming to the conclu- 
 sion that this boy, whom he had promised 
 to instruct^ was the wisest of mankind. If 
 for a moment he was annoyed by his 
 caution, he regarded it for the rest of the 
 day with something like veneration. He 
 challenged the universe to show such an- 
 other lad, and such another friend. Indeed 
 this friend, whom he had found at last, was 
 more like the original object of his search, 
 than he himself quite realised. Fabian was 
 more of a philosopher, but in their studies, 
 as in their journeys, Dick was for the most 
 part guide.
 
 II.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 As the ceaseless roar of Niagara so is the 
 sound of London when her season is at its 
 height. To some this vast and complicated 
 machine for the production of pleasure 
 seems pitiless too as the great Fall, which 
 plunges down clear green behind her ever- 
 rising mists of rainbow spray, careless if she 
 bury deep below her weight of water a log of 
 wood, or a little child. To some, who have 
 suffered perhaps from too much machine- 
 made gaiety, such fancies may come ; but 
 happily not to a boy who with good health 
 and spirits, wide-eyed for simple pleasure, 
 feels himself on the brink of all delightful 
 possibilities.
 
 102 dick's wandepjxg. 
 
 Dick Hartland meant to enjoy the holi- 
 day, which he was sure enough that he had 
 earned. He had but just arrived in England 
 after an absence unusually long ; he had 
 parted from his tutor for a time. To-mor- 
 row he would embrace his mother, who un- 
 aware of his coming was spending the night 
 at Glaring. In a few weeks he would be 
 of age ; already he felt himself his own 
 master ; one would have thought from the 
 pleasure, which this feeling gave him, that 
 he had been kept under the strictest con- 
 trol. As he walked up the street to that 
 desirable Club, to which through the influ- 
 ence of his uncle Hervie Lan2:don he had 
 been elected in his absence, he was possessed 
 by a ridiculous sense of freedom. What 
 happiness was in store for him ! No car- 
 riage passed, which did not bear some happy 
 creature to a new enjoyment. He felt sure 
 that of such enjoyments he would receive a 
 liberal share. He took it for granted that
 
 DICKS WANDERIXG. 103 
 
 even strangers would treat him well. The 
 young man, who glanced at him from the 
 hansom, would probably be his friend before 
 the week was out. As for that glimpse of 
 somethino: white and fair in the old familv 
 chariot, what might not that mean % If it 
 were indeed a girl, who could doubt that 
 she was beautiful and tender and good ? A 
 vision and a wonder made his young heart 
 beat, and his foot more quick on the pave- 
 ment. When he passed through the doors of 
 the sober-seeming club, which had listened 
 to the wicked whisperings of generations of 
 old worldlings, and had ogled with its pro- 
 minent eye the beauties of a hundred sea- 
 sons, there was a light in the face of the 
 new member, which seemed somewhat pecu- 
 liar even to the porter of long experience. 
 
 Dick was pleased to find that the Club 
 dining-room was nearly empty. He felt 
 more shy than at any moment of his pre- 
 vious life ; and yet his shyness was so little
 
 104 dick's wandering. 
 
 painful that it seemed rather to intensify 
 his pleasurable excitement. He was in- 
 terested in a moment in the three young 
 men, who were the only other occupants of 
 the room. These were his natural associ- 
 ates; into such as these his boy friends 
 must have grown since he left school. Yet 
 it seemed hard to believe that a few years 
 could have changed the boys, whom he 
 remembered, into beings so polished in 
 appearance, into men of the world so com- 
 plete in every detail. The three compan- 
 ions had much in common. Their collars 
 were of the same pattern ; their coats had 
 been cut by the same hand ; their shoes 
 seemed to have been shaped on the same 
 lasts. Moreover they had the same air of 
 confidence ; of smartness tempered in dif- 
 ferent degrees by ease ; of youthful health 
 and vivacity toned more or less in each by 
 London and late hours. Yet thoue^h these 
 three young men seemed very much alike 
 at the first glance, all likeness was forgotten
 
 dick's waxdering. 105 
 
 at the second. Certainly the two, whom 
 Dick from his dining-table could see well, 
 made an effective contrast. The one was 
 tall, dark, and slight, with a peculiar air of 
 distinction, and features almost feminine 
 in their delicacy. The other was ruddy and 
 cheerful ; and his brown hair would have 
 curled like a mulatto's, but for its rigorous 
 and frequent cropping. He seemed full of 
 comical thoughts ; he had an unusual share 
 of that frankness and freshness, which make 
 very small jokes more acceptable than the 
 epigrams of ancient diplomatists, and which 
 win the smiles even of a weary world. 
 Of the third youth, who was dining with 
 these two, Dick Hartland could see nothing 
 but the back of the head, and this was very 
 black glossy and close-cropped. 
 
 Dick lingered over his dinner absorbed 
 in the contemplation of this young England, 
 which ought to be so familiar, and which 
 was so strange. His eyes were ever wander- 
 ing to them, and his ears w^ere open to their
 
 106 DICKS WAXDERIXG. 
 
 talk. After a long and silent observation 
 he would have gone away happy, had he 
 not been suddenly roused to fresh and less 
 agreeable interest by the subject of their 
 conversation. He had been listenino: to a 
 flow of strange language, in which one or 
 two phrases seemed every moment to recur 
 and to be greeted at each recurrence with 
 laughter ; of chaff more or less personal ; 
 of allusions to people and places, which 
 were still names of little meaning to him. 
 He had been listening like a spectator in 
 a foreign theatre, with an agreeable sense 
 that the performers were speaking charac- 
 teristically, when he was startled by the 
 sound of a name as familiar as his own. 
 
 *' What did Ossie lose last night ?" asked 
 the tall young man with the fastidious 
 expression ; " do you know. Regie ? " 
 
 *'Tliey tell me a thousand," answered 
 his friend of the fresh colour with a cfrav- 
 ity befitting the subject of losses.
 
 dick's waxderixg. 107 
 
 "More/' said the third gentleman with 
 a nod of the sleek head and a gravity of 
 tone even greater. 
 
 *' More ! " cried Eeo;ie. 
 
 "Oh, Dolamore always makes out the 
 worst about Ossie," said the first speaker 
 with a slight frown. 
 
 " I know this,'^ said Harold Dolamore 
 with the same cool air of superior informa- 
 tion — " I know that Ossie can't last at this 
 rate ; he ain^t a rich man. I'll bet you a 
 pony that Ossie Langdon is broke before 
 the 12th of August." 
 
 '' It isn't a thing I care to bet about/' 
 said the other shortly. 
 
 "Well, I can't help it," said Harold; 
 "I'm as sorry as anybody. If I wasn't 
 fond of Ossie, I should be sorry for his 
 sister's sake ; she's " 
 
 "All I have to say," said the other 
 breaking abruptly into Dolamore's speech, 
 "is that it's not Ossie's fault. He's weak
 
 108 dick's wandering. 
 
 as water ; and fellows take advantage of 
 his weakness." He frowned rather more 
 decidedly, and there was a slight flush on 
 his cheek. 
 
 "So she is," cried Reorie in his most 
 genial manner ; " Miss Betty's the prettiest 
 girl in London, bar none." 
 
 " Bar none ! " echoed Dolamore in a 
 more moderate tone, as he raised his wine- 
 glass to his lips. 
 
 " And you know it, old man," continued 
 Regie leaning forward and making a show 
 of whispering to his tall friend, who re- 
 mained obstinately silent on the subject of 
 Miss Lano^don's charms. 
 
 During: this conversation Dick Hartland 
 experienced a few minutes' great discom- 
 fort ; he was wholly ignorant of the man- 
 ners of clubs ; he did not know what to do. 
 However when the talk turned from Ossie 
 to his sister, he could not sit still. He left 
 his seat and walked across the room ; and
 
 dick's wandering. 109 
 
 then with a most boyish blush he said 
 rather hurriedly, " I think I ought to say 
 that you are talking about my cousins." 
 
 Kegie, who was in the middle of an anec- 
 dote, which Avith much laughter he was 
 pouring into Dolamore's ear gave vent to 
 a peculiar crow, of which he was justly 
 proud. " Ho ! ho ! " he cried out ; "so we 
 mustn't talk of the gentleman's cousins." 
 
 Dick turned upon the speaker with un- 
 feigned astonishment ; but the tall young 
 man put his hand on his arm, and said 
 rather crossly — " Don't mind Kegie ; he 
 always says the wrong thing ; nobody 
 minds Kegie ; you must know him, don't 
 you ? Everybody knows him ; he's Stan- 
 mere, you know." 
 
 " I think I remember him at Eton," said 
 Dick ; "but I shouldn't have known him." 
 
 " I thought I knew your face," said 
 young Lord Stanmere putting out his hand; 
 " you are Hartland ; I remember you ; you
 
 110 dick's waxdepjxg. 
 
 were a swell and I w^as a scug ; but I re- 
 member you. Come over here, and finish, 
 your dinner with us. We are going to the 
 play ; w^eVe got a box ; there's lots of room 
 for you. And you ought to remember 
 Harold too — Harold Dolamore. He was at 
 your tutor's." 
 
 Dick turned with surprise to the third 
 member of the party, who rose with much 
 politeness to shake hands with him. Cer- 
 tainly Dolamore was much changed from 
 the dingy loutish boy, who had attacked 
 Hartland on the first mornino- of his school- 
 life. He was the best-dressed man, the 
 neatest, and the sleekest of the party. 
 
 When Dick had seated himself at the 
 table of his new friends, Stanmere plunged 
 at once into school-talk. He certainly en- 
 joyed an amazing flow of words ; and he 
 now and then pronounced a sentence or 
 part of a sentence in a strange tone, which 
 implied powers of mimicry. Yet in spite
 
 dick's wandering. Ill 
 
 of the young lord's gaiety and frank enjoy- 
 ment thereof, Dick found it hard to laugh. 
 His mind was full of Ossie, and he was 
 already thinking how he could help him. 
 At the first opportunity he said to the 
 fastidious Torington, " I suppose my cousin 
 has been playing rather high '? " 
 
 Stanmere crowed aloud. " Plunging ! " 
 he cried ; " he's been plunging like the war- 
 horse." 
 
 "Oh, it's nothing," said Torington; "Ossie 
 has only been at the same game as every- 
 body else ; it's the thing just now ; every- 
 body's playing." 
 
 Dick determined to hope for the best ; 
 he wished to amuse himself for that even- 
 ing at least without uneasy thoughts of his 
 cousin. When Stanmere declared that it 
 was time to go, he asked what theatre they 
 were to patronise. " You never need ask 
 Eegie," said Harold Dolamore; " it's always 
 the Eenaissance. And it's Pattv Lane's
 
 112 dick's wandering. 
 
 benefit and the last night of tlie season, — 
 and he wouldn't miss the event for a 
 million, would you, Regie "? How many 
 times have you seen *the Beautiful Per- 
 sian,' old man ? " 
 
 " Give it up," answered Regie ; *' I can't 
 count over twenty." 
 
 " It's the usual Renaissance business," 
 said Toriugton rather plaintively ; *' Patty 
 Lane has got the best part she has had for 
 a long time ; everybody goes to see her ; 
 Regie has been every night." 
 
 ^' No, no," cried Stanmere ; " Patty's best 
 
 part was in Whatdyecallit What was 
 
 that thing they played last but one ? You 
 know, Dolly." 
 
 " Alonzo." 
 
 " Yes, that was her best part ; she was the 
 fair Emma Jane." He began to hum an 
 air from the extinct burlesque, but broke 
 off suddenly to say with much gravity, 
 ** She thinks it her best part ? "
 
 dick's wandering. 113 
 
 " Oh, she does, does she ? " said his friend 
 Dolamore, and he looked askance at Dick, 
 as if he would see what he inferred from 
 that statement. 
 
 And now Stanmere, who had scarcely 
 ceased for a moment the humming of friv- 
 olous melodies, broke at the approach of 
 coffee into actual song. This song appeared 
 to set forth at due intervals that he was 
 " a proper young man,'' and that among 
 other feats he " only kissed his cousins on 
 the sly." Perhaps it was not very brilliant, 
 but it seemed to give the singer himself the 
 liveliest pleasure, and the hurried delivery 
 of the word " cousins," which was copied 
 from a popular actor, delighted him by its 
 spirit and accuracy. 
 
 ^' You needn't sing to the waiter," said 
 Torington, as the cupbearer disappeared 
 with a smile of respectful amusement. 
 
 " Isn't Johnny Torington a duke 1 " said 
 Stanmere to Dick; "he's so proud, he won't 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 11-i DICKS WANDERING. 
 
 know you sometimes ; he's haughty sir, 
 doosid haughty." 
 
 " He's quite right, Eegie," said Dola- 
 more, "you are bad form. I shall have 
 to cut you." 
 
 ^'Oh no you won't," muttered Toring- 
 ton as he got up from his chair. 
 
 " Cut me ! " cried Stanmere ; " I mean 
 to cut you both, and reform." 
 
 " Like Prince Hal," said Dick. 
 
 The three young men stared at him as 
 if for an explanation. 
 
 " Prince which '? " inquired Eegie, and 
 so o^lided as^ain into souq- — 
 
 " ' He'll catch you a crack 
 In the small of the back 
 
 With his thundering great big stick ! 
 
 Isn't he splendid as the uncle 1" And 
 he began to walk round with his cane 
 under his arm, while the waiter with a 
 condescending smile stood ready to help 
 him into his coat.
 
 115 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 It was generally held to be too hot for 
 the theatres ; and yet the Renaissance on 
 the night of Patty Lane's benefit was full 
 in every part. It was the right thing to 
 do honour to that brilliant little lady. 
 Any woman, who was in Society, could 
 say with a sense of comfort that there was 
 scarcely a person in the house, whom she 
 did not know by sight ; though there were 
 some of her own sex with whom she must 
 have declined any more intimate acquain- 
 tance. To the eyes of Dick Hartland the 
 house was brilliant and beautiful as a 
 palace from the 'Arabian Nights.' Almost 
 the whole floor was covered by the smartest
 
 116 dick's wandering. 
 
 people male and female. Here and there 
 was a great lady made conspicuous by 
 the sobriety of her appearance ; but there 
 were others with complexions of perplex- 
 ing brilliancy and strangely flaxen hair. 
 There were young men of the same pattern 
 as Dick's new friends, whose presence was 
 acknowledged by short jerks of the head ; 
 but there were others, whose hair seemed 
 even shorter, canes and shoes brighter, 
 trousers stifier and coats tighter, and who 
 stood up more often to display their well- 
 tailored figures to the house. Clearly 
 distinguished from these were two gentle- 
 men of an aggressively artistic appearance, 
 who found it necessary to explain to them- 
 selves and to each other their patronage 
 of so frivolous an entertainment by des- 
 canting on the occult merits of Patty 
 Lane's performances. These subtle ones 
 were privileged to see deep meanings in the 
 little lady's tones and movements, and they
 
 dick's wandering. 117 
 
 regarded with cold antipathy the simpler 
 admiration of their cropped and careless 
 neighbours. There was even a metaphy- 
 sician in the midst of this gay audience — a 
 philosopher who came on principle, that he 
 might lull to rest the understanding, and 
 might stimulate the fancy to the recollec- 
 tion of agreeable shapes, with a view to 
 dreams. Such, with the inevitable sprink- 
 ling of commonplace if worthy people^ were 
 the occupants of the stalls of the Eenais- 
 sance Theatre. Stanmere and Dolamore 
 left their box when the curtain fell for the 
 first time, and came back after a rather 
 long absence, the young lord radiant with 
 the early knowledge of the last joke popu- 
 lar behind the scenes, and his companion 
 with an appearance of amusement more 
 decorously subdued. Dick was annoyed 
 with himself for being unable to put away 
 his old school prejudice against Dolamore. 
 He disapproved of prejudices in the ab-
 
 118 dick's wakdering. 
 
 stract, but was apt nevertheless to trust 
 his own until he could get better evidence. 
 He was confident that he would soon see 
 through this fellow ; for he held that men 
 were easily understood. Meanwhile he 
 was irritated by him, and annoyed with 
 himself for his causeless irritation. The 
 truth is that young Mr Dolamore affected 
 many men in the same manner. There 
 was something irritating in his repose, 
 which seemed too perfect to be wholly 
 natural. He had a manner not uncommon 
 in these days. It is the effect of a deter- 
 mination to be scrupulously gentleman- 
 like ; and deep in the soul of those, who 
 have cultivated it, one may suspect a 
 latent fear that, if they dared to be 
 natural, especially if they dared to be 
 naturally gay, some deep suppressed vul- 
 garity would spring to light. It is a 
 manner assumed by clever young men, 
 who have a taste for companions better
 
 dick's wandering. 119 
 
 bred than themselves, and a nervous fear 
 lest this taste should be confounded with 
 snobbishness. It is a coolly independent 
 manner ; it is very like nature ; it becomes 
 in course of time almost natural ; it is so 
 good that to those, who wear it well, one 
 may hear the name ^^ gentleman" applied 
 rather more often than is really flattering. 
 Harold Dolamore dressed a little better 
 than his constant companion Stanmere, 
 and a little more soberly ; he laughed 
 much less loud and less often. Though 
 his scrutiny was so cool as to be some- 
 times almost insolent, his manner in ad- 
 dressing an acquaintance was far more 
 polite than his friend's. Whether Stan- 
 mere was a good judge of Dolamore's 
 merits, or knew why he saw so much of 
 him, may well be doubted; but he had 
 been heard more than once to declare 
 that Dolly was the best fellow in the 
 world, because he was such a gentleman.
 
 120 dick's wandering. 
 
 As the curtain was rising on the next 
 act of this elaborate burlesque, a gentleman 
 and two ladies came into the opposite box, 
 which had been conspicuous as the only 
 empty box on the tier. In the first lady 
 Dick recognised a connection of his own. 
 This was Lady Eaeborough, Hervie Lang- 
 don's sister, and a very influential person 
 in Society ; and the man, who followed her 
 into the box, was her husband, the eleventh 
 earl, who seemed to concentrate in his heavy 
 form and perplexed face the weariness of 
 the ten who had gone before. There was 
 a Eaeborough lip, of which the family were 
 justly proud, but it was a lip which did not 
 lend itself easily to smiles. But neither this 
 man nor his wife kept Dick's attention for 
 more than a moment : it was the orirl, who 
 was with them, on whom his eyes were 
 fixed with wonder. " Who is it ? " he 
 said. 
 
 *' Don't you know Lady Eaeborough I "
 
 dick's wandering. 121 
 
 asked Dolamore, who was regardiDg her 
 with direct but respectful admiration. 
 " Yes, yes," said Dick ; " but the other ? '' 
 ** Well that's a good 'un/' said Stanmere ; 
 " don't you know your own cousin ? " 
 " My cousin ! Is that Betty 1 " 
 ^' That's Miss Langdon ; ain't it, Tory V 
 " Eh ? What ? " said Torington, who had 
 been looking across the house, and had 
 heard nothing of what the others were 
 saying. 
 
 During that act Dick's eyes wandered 
 again and again from the stage to the 
 opposite box. As he looked he recognised 
 the girl, whom he had known from child- 
 hood ; and yet he could scarcely be- 
 lieve that this young woman of the world 
 was she. It was not more than a year 
 since he had seen her ; and she was a dif- 
 ferent creature. To this simple youth, who 
 had no knowledo^e of the arts of the dress- 
 maker and hairdresser, and who had never
 
 122 dick's wandering. 
 
 considered the revolution which is effected 
 in a single day of a young girl's life by the 
 strange process of '^ coming out," the change 
 in Miss Langdon was inexplicable. He re- 
 membered a blooming young hoyden, rest- 
 less and lazy, in a rather shapeless school- 
 room frock ; and here before his eyes was 
 a beautiful young lady simply but ex- 
 quisitely dressed, who sat quite still to 
 look at the play. Instead of the rough 
 tumbled locks of old here was a fair head, 
 bright and smooth, save where the hair 
 was short and curly above the forehead. 
 Dick was amazed by her beauty. He had 
 always heard that she was pretty, and had 
 accepted the fact without doubt and with- 
 out enthusiasm. He remembered with a 
 sense of shame how untidy she used to be ; 
 and how passionately fond of chocolate. 
 With shame more acute he remembered 
 that he used to call her "Fatty;" that, 
 when she was lying in the hammock, half
 
 dick's wanderixg. 123 
 
 asleep, and with a flushed cheek nestled on 
 her arm, he had more than once recalled 
 her to the rude realities of life by an un- 
 looked-for swinmng. Was this fair beinof, 
 with the outlines of face so softly rounded 
 and the skin so dazzling, the same girl whom 
 he had dared to call " Fatty" ? Lived there 
 a man who would dare set swinD;inof the 
 hammock, in which this radiant loveliness 
 sought repose ? Great are the changes of 
 a single year in the history of a young 
 girl's life. Nature and art had combined 
 to adorn Miss Betty. Society and the 
 example of Lady Raeborough had changed 
 the schooloirl, whom Dick condescended 
 to notice when there were no boys about, 
 into the beautiful being, who when she 
 lazily turned her eyes from the stage as 
 the curtain fell, nodded and smiled to 
 her cousin with an air of good-humoured 
 protection. 
 
 When Dick had entered Lady Rae-
 
 124 dick's wandering. 
 
 borough's box, and he and Betty saw each 
 more nearly, they were both blushing — but 
 he blushed the most. Lady Eaeborough 
 received the young man with much kind- 
 ness. She liked boys, and she liked them 
 to have good manners and a good appear- 
 ance. If in addition to these gifts they 
 had money, she was pleased to take care 
 of them, to warn them against one female 
 friend, to throw them in the way of an- 
 other. Her influence with youth was so 
 great, that harassed mothers trembled at 
 her nod, and wily mothers paid assiduous 
 court to her. She had a very refined taste 
 for makino; marriaofes. She could com- 
 raand the attentions of the most agreeable 
 men in TiOndon. She called more men by 
 their Christian names than did any woman 
 of her acquaintance ; and yet not a woman 
 of them all had ever dared to breathe a 
 serious accusation as^ainst her. Indeed few 
 wished to accuse her, for she on her side
 
 DICKS WANDERIXG. 125 
 
 never spoke ill of anybody. As this is a 
 rare virtue in h^r sex, so is it a virtue 
 which never fails of its reward. AVomen 
 are very tolerant of a woman, whose tongue 
 they need not fear; for it is the fear of 
 being stabbed by her friend to - morrow 
 which makes many a woman stab her 
 friend to- day. Taught by their own 
 mouths how easily the tongue wags and 
 with what deadly effect, the weaker sisters 
 smile upon each other with terror in their 
 hearts ; each is nervously eager to an- 
 ticipate the other with some cruel speech. 
 Such are the weapons of the weak ; and to 
 such weak ones the rare woman, from 
 whom they feel absolutely safe, imparts a 
 restful feeling for which they are pro- 
 foundly grateful. Lady Eaeborough was 
 naturally good-natured ; and she was also 
 well aware that to her good -nature she 
 owed much of that freedom, which made 
 her life so pleasant, and which she had
 
 126 dick's wandering. 
 
 never abused. This popular and delightful 
 lady saw at a glance th4 young Hartland 
 would do her credit. She noticed in a 
 moment his neat figure, his pleasant smile, 
 his air of frankness and intelligence, and a 
 certain natural simplicity of one, who is 
 never obli^fed to think about his manners. 
 
 o 
 
 She liked his eyes too, though they were 
 perhaps a little too innocent. " I shall call 
 you Dick,'' she said ; " I am a sort of aunt ; 
 but it's a horrible word, and if you ever 
 talk about me as your aunt, I shall kill 
 you. And you must come to my dance 
 to-morrow ; I am giving a dance for this 
 child. Good-night." 
 
 " Yes, do come, Dick," said Betty, smil- 
 ino; : ^' o-ood-nio^ht."
 
 127 
 
 CHAPTEK X. 
 
 When Dick woke the next morning, his 
 first thouo:ht was of his cousin Ossie. He 
 rebuked himself for having thought so little 
 of him the night before. The light and 
 movement of the stage, the strange audi- 
 ence, the new friends, and above all the 
 surprising beauty of the culprit's sister, 
 had driven poor Ossie's troubles clean out 
 of his head. Now however he felt ready 
 for anything. He would dedicate the 
 morning to the discovery of his wayward 
 cousin, and of the true state of his fin- 
 ances. He sang, as he dressed himself, 
 happy as a happy warrior, with a task 
 which would tax his strength. All the
 
 128 dick's wandering. 
 
 morning lie could give to this good work ; 
 for his mother would not return from 
 Clarino: before luncheon. When his mother 
 came, he must think of her. Indeed he 
 was thinking of her a great deal already. 
 Everything in her small well-ordered Lon- 
 don house was eloquent of her ; the quiet 
 charm of her presence seemed to linger like 
 the scent of rose-leaves, though she had 
 gone away. As he sat alone at break- 
 fast in the pretty dining-room, he could 
 almost see his mother opposite, pretty and 
 demure in her fresh cap, so eminently neat 
 where everything about her was neat. He 
 made a little bow to the empty chair; he 
 laughed with a sense of his good fortune 
 in havins: a mother, of whom he could be 
 so proud. Not long after breakfast Dick 
 dashed out of the house, and hurried away 
 in pursuit of Ossie. Since nothing would 
 induce Hervie Langdon to sleep in town 
 in the season, and Lady Raeborough did
 
 dick's wandering. 129 
 
 not find it convenient to take in a nephew 
 as well as a niece, Ossie had secured for him- 
 self a couple of little rooms not far from 
 Piccadilly ; and thither Dick hastened with 
 the natural expectation of finding his 
 cousin in bed. He smiled to himself with 
 the pleasing thought that, if Ossie were in 
 bed, he could by no means escape from the 
 lecture which he deserved. He was ad- 
 mitted by a slatternly maid -servant, who 
 conducted him to his cousin's sitting-room. 
 The sitting - room was empty, and he 
 marched through it without ceremony into 
 the bedroom ; but here, also, there was 
 nobody. It looked as if the culprit had 
 escaped. The slavey was perplexed and a 
 little resentful when Dick questioned her 
 about the lodger's whereabouts ; but she 
 consented to see if Mr Langdon's servant 
 was in the house. Dick paced about the 
 little rooms, which were very untidy, and 
 showed a strausje mixture of the lod over's 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 130 dick's wandering. 
 
 sumptuous property, and the dingy dusty 
 goods of the landlady. A large dressing- 
 case ; a liberal display of ivory brushes, of 
 which a pair had strayed as far as the 
 fringed mantelpiece of the sitting-room ; 
 a silver cigarette-case ; a cane with a top 
 of Dresden china lying across the rickety 
 centre-table; an opera hat in the flabby arm- 
 chair; a smoking-suit of stamped velvet 
 on the dusty floor ; the florid frame of the 
 dingy looking-glass bristling with cards of 
 invitation ; these and other details made 
 Dick, in spite of his disappointment, smil^ 
 at their agreement with him, who ought to 
 have been the central figure in the picture. 
 The scene was provokingly characteristic ; 
 but where was the actor '? At last Ossie's 
 servant appeared, very respectful, but un- 
 luckily very ignorant. All that he knew 
 was that Mr Langdon had come in on the 
 previous day when he himself was absent, 
 had packed a few things with his own
 
 dick's wandering. 131 
 
 hands, forgetting, as the narrator did not 
 fail to observe with an air of decent regret, 
 some of the most essential articles ; and 
 that he had left word with the young 
 woman, who seemed to have forgotten the 
 fact since the night before, as indeed was 
 her invariable custom, that he was going 
 into the country. Neither the young 
 woman nor anybody else could say when 
 he intended to come back. 
 
 Foiled in his attempt to capture his 
 cousin in bed, Dick next proceeded to visit 
 all the clubs of which Ossie was a member ; 
 but at no one of them could he obtain any 
 news of this irregular member. Then he 
 went to Lady Eaeborough's house, on the 
 steps of which he encountered a young 
 palm-tree and a gay company of flowers, 
 who were the earliest and not the least 
 beautiful guests at the ball of the evening ; 
 but not even here could he gain any infor- 
 mation about the object of his search.
 
 132 DICKS WANDERING. 
 
 Upon this he made up his mind to rest for 
 a time; and since the luncheon hour was 
 past and he was very hungry, he jumped 
 into a cab and was driven homeward. He 
 had done a good morning's work ; and 
 though he had learned but little, his con- 
 science was at rest. He felt very happy 
 in these old streets, full of afternoon sun- 
 light and the comfortable sound of rolling 
 carriages. It was pleasant to feel himself 
 a part of this humanity, so pleasure-loving, 
 so leisurely active. Little notes were float- 
 ing over half London — invitations, entreat- 
 ies, refusals, regrets, rapturous acceptances 
 on fragrant note-paper. The solemn busi- 
 ness of dropping cards was already begin- 
 ning, and majestic butlers appeared framed 
 in majestic doorways. A brilliant lady 
 was carried by in her Victoria with her 
 collie grave-eyed beside her ; another no 
 less fair sat by her nurse and the baby, 
 who little knew the value of her own lace ;
 
 dick's wandering. 133 
 
 a third was glancing hither and thither 
 with bright eyes from her place between 
 her two little girls^ a very mother of butter- 
 flies. All such things, fleeting beauties in 
 the sunshine, passed the quick observant 
 eyes of young Hartland, who was de- 
 liofhted with the little comedies of life. 
 How pretty and gay it all was, and how 
 innocent it all seemed ! 
 
 When Dick had reached his mother's 
 house, he was told that she had arrived. 
 He ran quickly up- stairs. The door of the 
 drawing-room stood open, and in the door- 
 way he stood still with a feeling of surprise ; 
 for there was Ossie, whom he had been 
 seeking with such zeal. 
 
 Mrs Hartland was sitting in a low chair 
 by the open window ; and close beside her 
 stood her loving nephew, and neatly re- 
 arrano^ed the flowers on her little table. 
 They were so absorbed by their talk that 
 neither had heard the light quick step upon
 
 134 dick's wandering. 
 
 the stairs. Dick, as he looked with ad- 
 miration at the pretty group, felt something 
 like a pang. It struck him that such as 
 these were the little attentions which people 
 talked about as pleasing to women ; he 
 feared that he would be too forgetful of 
 them all his life. The next moment he 
 laughed at himself, and laughing stepped 
 into the room with the slanting sunlight on 
 his face. Ossie turned to greet him with 
 the greatest delight. He held him by both 
 hands and beamed upon him with an ex- 
 pression so child-like, tender, and innocent, 
 that Dick straightway forgot all the stories 
 of his wildness and high play. ^' Let me 
 go," said Dick; " I want to kiss my mother." 
 He kissed her very tenderly, and allowed 
 himself to be kissed on both cheeks. Then 
 he blushed a little under her calm maternal 
 gaze ; " Fm all right, mother, ain't I ? " he 
 asked : and then he besran to tell her all 
 that had befallen him since he came to
 
 dick's wandering. 135 
 
 London the day before. He praised Tor- 
 ington and Stanmere, his club and his 
 dinner; he praised the theatre and Lady 
 Eaeborough, who had been *^ awfully kind" 
 to him ; he expended a double portion of 
 praise on the beauty of Betty, at which her 
 brother Ossie, being now in a sentimental 
 mood, sighed gently. 
 
 ^' I am glad to see that you are as easily 
 pleased as ever," said Sophie Hartland, pat- 
 ting her son's cheek lightly. 
 
 "There's so much to be pleased with/' 
 said Dick largely. " But what I want most 
 now," he added, '' is a little cold meat. I've 
 been hunting for Ossie all the morning, and 
 I've had no luncheon." 
 
 " Ossie went down to Glaring with me," 
 said Mrs Hartland ; " he has been a dear 
 boy and a very good nephew. If you ring 
 the dining-room bell they will bring you 
 something to eat ; and take Ossie with you, 
 for I am going to be busy."
 
 136 dick's wandering. 
 
 Dick was starins: at his cousin and won- 
 clering. Was it possible that this was the 
 gambler of whose losses the clubs were talk- 
 ing'? Dick's long experience of the young 
 man oblis^ed him to confess that it was 
 possible indeed. 
 
 Dick did not think it wise to begin his 
 talk with scolding, and so, while Ossie sat 
 in the arm-chair and watched him eating his 
 late luncheon, he began to speak about his 
 companions of the evening before. " Tor- 
 ington's an awfully good fellow," he said. 
 " When the other fellows went off after the 
 play, he would walk home with me ; he 
 talked to me as if we had been friends all 
 our lives ; he told me all about himself ; he 
 talked about you as if he really cared about 
 you, and — what are you smiling at ? " 
 
 "You innocent old Dick/' said Ossie. 
 *'I am Betty's brother, and you are her 
 cousin. Don't you know that Tory is over 
 head and ears in love with Betty ? "
 
 dick's wandering. 137 
 
 '' In love with Betty ! " 
 
 " That's nothing to shout about. Every- 
 body's in love with Betty. She's the young 
 woman of the year. I wish she'd be a little 
 more careful." And here Ossie shook his 
 head slowly and with great solemnity. 
 
 " What do you mean V 
 
 *' I don't like the way she goes on. She 
 keeps poor dear Tory in a fever. One day 
 she's so kind that he thinks it all right; 
 and the next she yawns when he talks to 
 her. Then she flirts with other chaps ; she 
 will flirt with that fellow Dolly, though I 
 asked her not to." 
 
 "What sort of a fellow is he now ? " 
 
 "Oh, he's an awfully good chap, of 
 course ; but, of course, I wouldn't let 
 Betty marry him." 
 
 " Fancy little Betty breaking people's 
 hearts ! " said Dick after a pause ; and 
 he beo^an to lauo^h. " Unless she's much 
 changed," he added, " she won't ask your
 
 138 dick's wandering. 
 
 permission when she wants to marry 
 somebody." 
 
 "No; I am afraid not," said Ossie with 
 a chastened gravity. 
 
 "From what I hear, you don't take 
 any too good care of yourself. Torington 
 told me you'd been playing too high." 
 
 ''I've given it up now altogether," 
 answered Ossie with the same admirable 
 seriousness : "I was telling your mother, 
 when you came in, that I should never 
 touch a card again." 
 
 " Did you promise her ? " asked Dick 
 anxiously. 
 
 " She wouldn't let me promise. But 
 there's no need of promises : I don't care 
 a bit for play." He turned in his chair, 
 and laid a hand caressingly on his cousin's 
 shoulder as he added — "Nobody under- 
 stands me but you, Dick." 
 
 " I don't," said Dick. 
 
 " Oh yes you do," said Ossie, regarding
 
 dick's wandering. 139 
 
 him with extreme gentleness and with half- 
 closed eyes : ^' You always did understand 
 me. I don't really care a bit for cards ; 
 or betting ; or rowdy people ; or society ; 
 or anything of the sort. I am really do- 
 mestic. "What I like best in the world 
 is talking to some good woman like your 
 mother." 
 
 " That's right/' said Dick ; '^ you are 
 under the right spell there. She is a 
 good woman." 
 
 " I ought to marry a woman like that," 
 said Ossie sentimentally, — " a good, gentle 
 woman with sweet grey eyes. I would go 
 and live in the country — not at Windsor or 
 Ascot, or any of those cockney countries — 
 but far away in Cornwall or somewhere ; 
 and I'd farm ; I should like to farm. I 
 think I care more for flowers than for 
 anything in the world." 
 
 *' Well, before you quite give up the world, 
 Ossie, I hope you'll come with me to the
 
 140 DICKS WANDERING. 
 
 Eaeboroughs' to-night. I shall be shy, if 
 you don't." 
 
 " I can't," said Ossie shaking his head 
 once more ; '' I've promised to go and tea 
 with the Merdale children. Do you know 
 them ? They are the dearest children in 
 the world, and so fond of me ; they won't 
 let me go till any hour." 
 
 *' They'll be in bed before eleven ; they 
 won't keep you from the ball." 
 
 " I shouldn't be in the mood," said Ossie 
 gravely. Then as his dreamy eye happened 
 to wander to the clock, he jumped up in 
 a hurry ; " By George ! " he cried, " I shall 
 be late : I promised to go to tea with 
 Nelly H. P." 
 
 '' Who's Nelly H. P. ? " 
 
 " Hurte Parkinson ! You know Nelly 
 Parkinson 1 " 
 
 " I know her photograph," said Dick ; 
 " everybody knows that." 
 
 " She's the best fun in the world," cried
 
 dick's wandering. 141 
 
 Ossie with sparkling eyes — "but she's an 
 awful little cat. If I didn't make des- 
 perate love to her, she'd do Betty an ill 
 turn." 
 
 " AVhy should she want to harm Betty ? " 
 
 ** Oh, she's a great friend of Betty's ; 
 and Betty's so awfully thoughtless." 
 
 "A nice sort of friend she seems to 
 be," said Dick. 
 
 " Oh, she's all right ; she's perfectly good 
 form ; everj^body likes her. If I were to 
 throw her over this afternoon, she wouldn't 
 rest till she'd done Betty a bad turn ; 
 I have to be awfully devoted for Betty's 
 sake ; it's an awful bore ; I must rush ; 
 good-bye, dear boy ; I shall look you up 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Dick heard the front door shut behind 
 his cousin, and sat alone wondering what 
 he should do with him.
 
 142 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A DINING wit, who in spite of his youth 
 was a guest at many tables, once said that 
 her society lay in circles round Lady Eae- 
 borough, as the Inferno round Lucifer. 
 The comparison lacked grace, but was not 
 without truth. Indeed so vast and un- 
 wieldy has London society become, that 
 every year it tends more and more to form 
 itself anew into sets, each distinct thousfh 
 not exclusive of the others' members, each 
 composed of ring within ring ; and at the 
 centre of each — centre of the innermost and 
 most intimate ring — is a family, a house, 
 a woman. But as the moon is fairer than 
 the other beauties of the heaven, so did
 
 dick's wandering. 143 
 
 Lady Eaeborougli outsliine all other leaders 
 of society. The best people went to her 
 more gladly than to any other ; and those 
 happy men, who were admitted to the 
 smallest parties of all these eminent women, 
 had the name of Lady Eaeborough most 
 often on their lips. It was not her rank 
 which made this lady great, though the 
 earldom was one of the oldest in England; 
 it was not the family house, though few 
 could boast of finer rooms. A quick eye 
 for the more obvious traits of character, and 
 consummate tact in dealing with them ; un- 
 failing self-confidence, combined with femi- 
 nine charm ; the rare and natural good- 
 humour, which did not prevent her from 
 executing prompt justice on the wretch 
 whose offence against society could by no 
 means be ignored ; the hand of iron in the 
 Parisian glove ; the kind heart under the 
 Parisian gown ; the quick ear to hear ; the 
 tongue which was so often witty and so
 
 144 dick's wandering. 
 
 seldom cruel ; these were the gifts and vir- 
 tues which made this happy lady a queen 
 in the social world. Her very rivals were 
 not embittered by her success ; the coldest 
 among them but rarely cared to hint dis- 
 approval of her delightful gaiety and harm- 
 less freedom. Free and gay she sat upon 
 her social throne, and her society lay in 
 circles around her. Farthest from her, in 
 the widest circle, were people of all kinds 
 — political supporters of the Earl's brother, 
 country neighbours and their cousins, most 
 respectable ladies attended by Thomas, 
 Richard, and Henry — the great crowd who 
 three times a-year thronged the broad stair- 
 case, and jostled each other respectfully 
 under the wide ceilings, which had been 
 sumptuously painted by a modern imitator 
 of the Caracci. In this wide region priest- 
 esses of the innermost sanctuary met with 
 effusion ; but not one of those, who belonged 
 exclusively to this most distant place, might
 
 dick's wandering. 145 
 
 set foot a fourth time in the year within 
 that spacious marble hall. Three times 
 they were received with consummate grace ; 
 for the rest they were absent from that 
 lady's busy mind, but were present on her 
 list, till the hand of Death, or of the impla- 
 cable butler whose task it was to punish 
 the neglect of social duties, struck out their 
 names. Within this glacial circle were 
 regions, ring within ring, each more genial 
 as it lay nearer to the central glow ; and 
 the denizens of each enjoyed the privileges 
 of all outside them with some peculiarly 
 their own. Those came to smaller gather- 
 ings, and dined occasionally at the most 
 formal banquets ; these dined more often 
 and sometimes at more friendly dinner- 
 parties. Close around the centre of the 
 target, the very gold, the lady herself, were 
 the select, the chosen intimates, the dear 
 friends of the charming Countess of Raebor- 
 ough. Within this sacred circle a duchess, 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 146 DICKS WANDERING. 
 
 whose influence was confined too strictly 
 to her. county, might fear to tread ; but a 
 little lady, whom everybody knew, though 
 it was doubtful if even she knew her grand- 
 father, was one of its most sparkling orna- 
 ments. To these sacred precincts the dining 
 wit, who was but young to his work, stung 
 by some gadfly of a mad ambition, had like 
 the fabled fool rushed in. Around him was 
 babble of talk, which fell on his startled 
 ear as from an unknown tongue ; talk of 
 people called by Christian names or more 
 familiar abbreviations ; the last tale of 
 Charlie's wildness, or of Susan's extrava- 
 gance. Chilled by this rare atmosphere 
 the diner was deserted by his wit ; his 
 great loose lips hung dry and doleful ; 
 silence became intolerable ; calling all his 
 vanity to support him he plunged into a 
 story, which was not quite new, and which 
 was too broad for the occasion. It was at 
 some moment during the next twent3^-four
 
 dick's wandering. 147 
 
 hours that this unfortunate young man, 
 striving to solace his wounded spirit with 
 epigrams, chanced on that comparison of 
 Lady Kaeborough with the central figure 
 of the Inferno, which has been condemned 
 already as deficient in grace. 
 
 It need hardly be said that the ball, to 
 which Dick Hartland had been bidden, 
 was not one of the most exclusive gather- 
 ings. There was need of many people, 
 that the great rooms might not appear 
 uncomfortably empty. It was necessary 
 too that there should be troops of dancing 
 men ; and the majority of these had no 
 individuality in the eyes of their hostess, 
 who received them with such artful-artless 
 grace. Many a youth, whose name she 
 had never cared to ask, fancied that he 
 had made an impression : by such agree- 
 able means did Lady Eaeborough increase 
 without effort the general sum of happiness. 
 
 Dick had been commanded to come early,
 
 148 dick's wanderixg. 
 
 and he was one of the first to touch the 
 slender hand of his hostess, who stood like 
 a beniofnant eroddess at the head of her 
 great staircase. From Lady Eaeborough 
 his eyes turned to the girl who stood be- 
 side her. If Betty had looked beautiful in 
 the theatre, she looked twice as beautiful 
 now ; she was radiant in her new gown, and 
 with the prospect of pleasure. She greeted 
 her cousin with great good humour on his 
 first appearance in her little world. " Can 
 you dance '? " she asked. 
 
 "I think so," said Dick. 
 
 She gave a little laugh, which showed 
 her white teeth, as she said ; " If you 
 ain't sure, you had better talk to me 
 when I am not dancins;." Here her man- 
 ner changed, and she added with far more 
 emphasis, — " Please Dick ; ivhenever I am 
 not dancing; I've so much to tell you." 
 
 Dick was surprised by the change, 
 but, as he was about to question her, 
 he felt himself gently pushed aside.
 
 dick's wandering. 149 
 
 Torington was in his place, and was ask- 
 ing his cousin for a dance. " How are 
 you ? " said Dick cheerfully to his new 
 friend. 
 
 Torington nodded ; but the eye, which 
 he turned on Dick, was less cordial than 
 on the previous evening. 
 
 " No, I am not engaged,'' said Betty 
 lazily ; and as she moved away on Toring- 
 ton's arm she turned to say to her cousin, — 
 *' Eemember ! Directly after this dance ! " 
 
 '^ If you would rather not dance this — '' 
 began Torington coldly. 
 
 " Oh, I don't mind," she said ; '^ come 
 on ; somebody must begin." 
 
 And now the rooms began to fill more 
 quickly, and the babble of voices grew 
 fuller in the ear. Dick, who knew very 
 few people, drew back into a corner and 
 looked out with curiosity and excitement. 
 He seemed to be aware for the first time 
 of the beauty of women. He had talked 
 without a thrill with the peasant women
 
 150 dick's wandering. 
 
 of France or Holland ; he had chatted all 
 his life with the housewives of his native 
 village ; but it was hard to examine these 
 fair ladies with the same cool accuracy. 
 He was strangely uncritical that evening. 
 He gazed with admiration on complexions, 
 which deceived no one else ; he saw 
 poetry in the dark circles of Miranda's 
 eyes, nor suspected the soft touch of the 
 pencil. If on every side was abundant 
 hair flaxen, golden, or foxy-red, was he 
 not among his own fair countrywomen ? 
 When the dance was finished, he remem- 
 bered his cousin's commands and went to 
 look for her. She was standing in the 
 doorway; and exactly opposite to her and 
 talking to her was that most brilliant of 
 beauties, Mrs Hurte Parkinson. All about 
 the doorway men were looking and com- 
 paring ; behind Betty's elbow was Toring- 
 ton looking taller and paler than usual ; 
 for the rest a small space was left about
 
 dick's wandering. 151 
 
 the ladies. Mrs Parkinson's hair was 
 of the most becominor shade, her cheek 
 not too brilliant, her eyebrows not too 
 strongly contrasted with the fair fuzzy 
 curls on the top of her head ; her dress 
 was peculiar and yet strictly fashionable ; 
 her slim but remarkably pretty figure 
 was displayed to the best advantage. It 
 seemed to Dick that Betty was altogether 
 too cool under the direct and critical scru- 
 tiny of this little woman. He thought 
 too that Torington, who avoided his eye, 
 liked this little scene no better, than he did. 
 Mrs Parkinson stood with her head on 
 one side and dangling her large fan. 
 '' How lovely you look to-night," she said 
 with the prettiest emphasis on the adjec- 
 tive. The girl pouted and fanned herself. 
 She liked direct compliments ; she liked 
 the presence of men, who stood about 
 and admired her ; she was glad that Dick 
 was a witness of this little triumphal
 
 152 dick's wandering. 
 
 episode ; but the chief pleasure of the 
 moment was derived from the knowledge 
 that John Torington was close to her, and 
 could not tear himself away in spite of 
 his annoyance. Miss Langdon liked to be 
 the centre of a little scene, if it didn't 
 involve too much trouble. She loved 
 amusement, when it was brought to her. 
 On this occasion it was brought to her 
 in a most lively shape. Stanmere pushed 
 his way through the admiring men, and 
 his face was beaming like the sun. '* It's 
 our dance, Miss Langdon," he said ; " how 
 goes it Mrs Parkinson ? I suppose Miss 
 Langdon '11 throw me over as usual." 
 
 "No," said Betty smiling in her most 
 agreeable manner, and she went away lis- 
 tening to an animated flow of nonsense ; as 
 she went, she nodded to Dick ; but she 
 gave neither look nor word to Torington, 
 who turned gloomily away to the staircase. 
 
 " Of course you don't see poor me," said
 
 dick's wandering. 153 
 
 Miss Bond, as Torington almost stepped on 
 her ; " nobody sees me when all these beau- 
 ties are on the carpet ; I am only fit to be 
 trampled on." Susan Bond was a popular 
 girl, and even more clever than popular. 
 She was not pretty, but she was always 
 well dressed ; she danced well, and with all 
 sorts of partners ; she had good teeth, and 
 was given to much laughter. She could 
 play the piano, do conjuring tricks, ar- 
 range tableaux, and talk to almost any- 
 body about almost anything. She had a re- 
 putation for making things go off well. She 
 was such a nice girl to have in a country 
 house. ''Isn't Betty a perfect dear to-night?" 
 she said to Torington. She was given to rap- 
 ture about her girl friends ; and she knew 
 that this young man would like this sub- 
 ject, if somebody else would introduce it. 
 
 As Dick was looking and wondering, he 
 felt a' touch on his shoulder; he turned 
 and saw the smilinor face of his hostess.
 
 154 dick's wandering. 
 
 *' Who are you staring at ? '* slie asked, 
 and she held up a warning figure ; " have 
 you fallen in love with anybody ? " 
 
 " AYith everybody I " answered Dick 
 laughing ; " it's intoxicating ; I am in love 
 with them all." 
 
 " Them all ! " said drily the old States- 
 man, on whose arm Lady Eaeborough 
 was leaning; " We should have said 
 'you all/ and not excluded the most 
 charming woman in the rooms." The 
 old gentleman directed a skinny fore- 
 finger towards Dick's ribs, and chuckled. 
 " Dull dogs these boys, dull dogs ! " he 
 added to the lady, as they moved away 
 together. 
 
 A little later in the evening Dick found 
 himself with some surprise on the most 
 friendly terms with the fascinating Mrs 
 Parkinson. She was delighted with his 
 freshness ; she told him that he was cheru- 
 bic, and suggested that he should take her
 
 dick's wakdeking. 155 
 
 down to supper. When they entered the 
 dining-room, she gave a little cry of inter- 
 est. "There's your naughty little cousin 
 Ossie," she said. Ossie, in spite of his pro- 
 testations, was undoubtedly there ; though 
 he had not advanced beyond the ground- 
 floor. He had brought Dolamore to sup- 
 per ; and the friends were supping gaily. 
 
 '' You naughty boy ! " said Mrs Parkin- 
 son ; *^ why didn't you come earlier, and 
 dance with me ? " 
 
 " I couldn't," said Ossie gravely ; *' I've 
 been doing a Bear for the Merdale children." 
 
 " Are you a bear still 1 " asked the lady, 
 ''or will you ask me to dance now that you 
 are here ? " 
 
 " It can't be done," said Ossie ; " I've a 
 very particular engagement ; " and he shook 
 his elbow with a knowing air. 
 
 " Naughty boy I naughty boy ! " said the 
 lady archly. 
 
 '' Where's H. P. 1 " asked the boy ; " you
 
 156 dick's wandering. 
 
 know I've some peculiar tastes — I like 
 H. P." 
 
 "You are really too good," said Mrs 
 Hurte Parkinson ; " the poor dear has got 
 another of his colds ; he insisted on my not 
 staying at home." 
 
 " To tallow his nose. I should like to 
 see you doing the domestic." Ossie winked 
 slightly at Dick, and filled the lady's 
 glass with champagne. " And you came 
 here to see me ? " he asked with exaggerated 
 tenderness. 
 
 The lady laughed a most silvery laugh. 
 *' Eidiculous child ! " she said. " Take me 
 up-stairs, Mr Hartland, before your cousin 
 says anything wicked." 
 
 " Where are you going ? " asked Dick of 
 Ossie. 
 
 " To the club," said he ; " come on there 
 when Mrs H. P. is tired of you; I'm furiously 
 jealous of you ; come on Dolly ; you've had 
 enough to eat ; let's to business, my boy."
 
 157 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 When Dick went up-stairs after supper, he 
 found that the scene had changed. Many 
 people had gone, and others were refreshing 
 themselves in the dining-room. There was 
 no longer a crowd ; and the more serious 
 dancers were dancing with the religious 
 zeal of whirling dervishes. They assured 
 each other in the necessary pauses and with 
 broken voices that it was delightful to have 
 room to move, that the floor was perfect, 
 that it was the best house in London for a 
 ball. But, though these were warm in their 
 praises as in their blood, they were not 
 many enough to counteract the general air 
 of weariness. There were girls, to whom
 
 158 dick's wandering. 
 
 the right men had not been attentive ; men 
 who had missed expected pleasures or were 
 repenting neglected duties ; thin mothers 
 growing chilly at the approach of dawn, and 
 fat mothers half strangled by unconquerable 
 yawns. Even in Dick's eyes the fresh 
 beauty of many faces had faded like a 
 dream ; even he could hardly be blind to 
 powder deep upon the withered cheek and 
 little wrinkles at the corners of dark-rimmed 
 eyes. Something excessive in the bloom of 
 the lady, who was leaning on his arm, made 
 him avert his gaze, while he blushed at his 
 unmanly suspicion. As his eyes wandered 
 round the room, they met those of his cousin 
 Betty. Miss Langdon showed no sign of 
 fatigue. If she were a little less rosy, she 
 seemed the lovelier for this new refinement; 
 if her gown were a little less fresh, it draped 
 more exquisitely her beautiful form. 
 
 " Leave me on this chair, please," said 
 Mrs Parkinson with her quick bird-like
 
 dick's wandeeing. 159 
 
 glance and sudden smile ; '^ leave me ; your 
 cousin wants you ; go." 
 
 Dick bowed with a smile for her little 
 imperious manner. When he came to Betty, 
 she seated herself and pointed to the next 
 chair. 
 
 " You haven't been near me all the even- 
 ing," she said. 
 
 " I haven't had a chance," said Dick ; 
 "you've had an army of people running 
 after you. I can't get over it, Betty ; I 
 can't get over your being such a personage; 
 a young lady with a troop of lovers, 
 and " 
 
 " Hush ! " said Betty ; " you mustn't talk 
 like that. Suppose somebody heard you." 
 
 " There's Torington," said Dick, looking 
 with a smile to the opposite doorway, from 
 whence his new friend was surveying the 
 room. Torington wore an exaggerated 
 air of indifference, which seemed hardly 
 consistent with the nervous energy of the
 
 160 DICKS WAXDERING. 
 
 hands that were busily twisting bis gloves 
 into a confused knot. 
 
 "Don't look at him," murmured Betty 
 with her eyes fixed on the fan in her lap ; 
 "I want to talk to you." In spite of this 
 statement she seemed to have nothing to 
 say ; and after some minutes waiting Dick 
 said, " Tm off : I think Torington wants to 
 sj)eak to you/' 
 
 " Please ! please don't go ! " 
 
 There was no resisting this soft appealing 
 voice and the look, which came with the 
 words. Dick was bound to stay ; but he felt 
 that if he stayed, he ought to scold his cousin. 
 
 " Betty," he said in that tone, which 
 Ossie had known so well in Eton days 
 as the warning signal of an approaching 
 "jaw;"— "Betty," he said, "I feel as if 
 you were being awfully hard on Torington." 
 
 She looked at him with gravity and 
 regret, but there was promise of a demure 
 smile about the corners of her mouth.
 
 dick's wandering. 161 
 
 *' Everybody seems to know that he is in 
 love with you," he added severely. 
 
 " Hush ! " she said ; '* you really mustn't 
 talk in this shocking way." 
 
 "You ought not to behave badly," said 
 Dick warming to his work ; '' you know 
 what power youVe got ; and you ought not 
 to use that power just to make mischief — 
 to do harm in the world." 
 
 " Power ! I ! " she murmured. 
 
 " Oh, you know all about it," said. Dick ; 
 '^ you know well enough that you ought not 
 to play fast and loose with a good fellow. 
 You are bound either to take him, or to let 
 him go. Do you mean to take him ? " 
 
 ^'I don't know," she answered; "how 
 comical you are ! " and she laughed. 
 
 "You ought to know. You ought to 
 think of him." 
 
 " I think too much of him," she said and 
 sighed ; *' I'm tired to death of thinking 
 about him." 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 162 dick's wandering. 
 
 " Do you mean to marry him ? " 
 
 " Hadn't I better wait till he asks me ? " 
 she asked softly. 
 
 " You know he'd ask you fast enough, if 
 you gave him a chance." 
 
 ^' Please don't go ; Dick, please don't 
 leave me ; if you leave me for a moment, till 
 he's gone, I'll never forgive you. Please ! " 
 
 Miss Langdon threw so much expression 
 into the word ^' Please," that few men could 
 resist it. 
 
 " Should you like him to marry any one 
 else ? " asked the Inquisitor sternly. 
 
 " Susan Bond would suit him exactly," 
 she said demurely ; " Susan would like it." 
 Then she suddenly sat up straight and 
 laughed. " He's gone," she said ; "I know 
 his parting glance. Now you may go too. 
 You ought to go and look after Ossie. He 
 needs it a great deal more than I do : I am 
 so glad you've come back — because now you 
 can keep Ossie straight."
 
 dick's wandering. 163 
 
 Betty Lad grown up in the belief that 
 it was Dick's business to look after Ossie. 
 Ossie shared the belief; and, moreover, he 
 was fond of being looked after. He liked 
 to get lots of good advice, and felt an addi- 
 tional pleasure in neglecting it. 
 
 " Good-night, Betty," said Dick gravely ; 
 " and don't be too cruel. It never occurred 
 to me before what mischief oirls mi2:ht do." 
 
 She looked at him with a pathetic raising 
 of the pretty eyebrows, but made no other 
 answer : she looked provokingly comfort- 
 able. 
 
 "When Dick found himself on the pave- 
 ment with the first light of dawn about his 
 head, he was aware of a strong and healthy 
 inclination to go home and to bed. And 
 yet he had no thought of yielding to this 
 inclination ; he must look after Ossie ; the 
 mere sidit of Ossie had been enouirh to 
 double his old feeling of responsibility. 
 "When he reached the Club, he found it
 
 164 DICKS WAXDERIXG. 
 
 almost empty. The Head Waiter informed 
 him that Mr Lan2fdon had been there with 
 Mr Dolamore, and had gone away with the 
 same gentleman. Then with a manner at 
 once respectful and caressingly confidential 
 the waiter dropped his voice, and informed 
 ]\Ir Hartland that he rather thought that 
 Mr Lanofdon and Mr Dolamore mio;ht be 
 found at No. 17a in the next street. As 
 Dick looked doubtful, his informant added, 
 " It is a club, sir, recently opened ; many 
 of our gentlemen frequent it at present, 
 sir ; they go, I understand, to play cards." 
 
 No. 17a had been recently a private 
 house ; a short lease of it had been taken 
 by some enterprising gentlemen, and it had 
 been converted at once into a club, with 
 few if any changes of internal arrangement, 
 and with the readiest admission to all men 
 who wished to risk their money. Young- 
 men in dress clotlies were readily admitted 
 in the small hours ; and Dick was told at
 
 dick's waxdepjxg. 165 
 
 once that he would find Mr Langdon in 
 the front room on the first floor. Dick 
 disliked the look of the place. It was a 
 private house run to seed. The hall was 
 dingy, the banisters dusty ; and over the 
 marble mantelpiece was a great square 
 patch of darker colour, which had been 
 lately covered by an equestrian portrait of 
 a general long forgotten by an ungrateful 
 country, and recently disposed of — frame 
 and canvas and all. Throuo^h a door on the 
 left Dick saw a plentiful cold supper laid 
 out ; here and there was a dirty plate, which 
 told of some solitary feaster ; there were 
 pink shades over all the lights ; and on the 
 sideboard amid a great array of bottles 
 stood a cheap copy of the Venus de' Medici 
 in alabaster. This statue seemed to be the 
 only concession to artistic taste : it was 
 clear that the youngest of clubs relied for 
 its success on other and more dangerous 
 attractions.
 
 166 dick's wandering. 
 
 Dick did not linger amid the scant beau- 
 ties of the ground floor. He ran up-stairs, 
 and turnino; the c^ilt handle of the drawing:- 
 room door looked on a scene, which was 
 even less to his liking. Opposite to him 
 old curtains of red velvet had been drawn 
 across the tw^o high windows by some care- 
 less hand, and through the gaps the early 
 light stole faint and blue into the room, 
 and made the flames of the few candles 
 strangely yellow. Everything except the 
 heavy furniture had been removed by the 
 late occupants. Along one side of the room 
 two lono; brass-bound cabinets stood side 
 by side ; on them was nothing but dust, 
 and in them nothing but dusty shelves. 
 On the other side three sofas, which had 
 once been gorgeous, were pushed against 
 the wall ; and on these had been thrown 
 greatcoats, canes, silk scarves, and opera 
 hats in eleojant confusion. In the middle 
 of the room were a couple of card-tables ;
 
 dick's wandering. 167 
 
 and around one of these tables men were 
 standing, silent, intent upon tlie game. 
 When Dick had taken a few steps into the 
 room, he saw that the man facing him, the 
 boy with the flushed face and tumbled hair, 
 was Osbert Lang^don. 
 
 Presently the silence was broken ; the 
 men about the table strais^htened them- 
 selves, and all beo:an to talk at once. Ossie 
 dropped his cards with a laugh, and, as he 
 did so, saw his cousin. 
 
 '^ I can't go on any more," he said ; 
 " here's my nurse come for me." 
 
 Somebody laughed ; all faces were turned 
 to Dick, and Dolamore stepped forward 
 politely and shook the new-comer by the 
 hand. 
 
 *' Have a drink % " asked Ossie as the 
 cousins were eroino; down -stairs too;ether 
 " No ? Nor will I. I will go home to bed 
 like a good boy." 
 
 Dick blew a strong breath, as they step-
 
 168 DICKS WANDERING. 
 
 ped into the street ; " What a fusty life ! " 
 he said. 
 
 "Isn't it? ''said Ossie ; "it's beastly; I 
 hate it." After a pause he added, " I'm 
 clean broke, old man. I shall have to bor- 
 row a few hundreds from you. It's your 
 fault ; the luck was just on the change, and 
 I was in for a good thing, when in you 
 came ; and out went luck. I shall be un- 
 commonly glad when the season's over ; I'll 
 come and stay with you ; I always feel 
 good in the country ; when I'm with your 
 mother, I feel like an angel. She's an 
 angel, Dick, your mother is. I should 
 be awfully good if she was my mother." 
 
 Ossie's voice had become more and more 
 solemn : but Dick showed no siern of beinof 
 impressed. He strode along with his hands 
 deep in the pockets of his light overcoat. 
 He kept silence in spite of his cousin's 
 pathetic glances, till they reached the 
 house, where Ossie lodc^ed. Then, when
 
 dick's wanderixg. 169 
 
 the key was in the door, Dick said, — 
 " Look here, Ossie ! If I lend you money, 
 you must promise me to give up play. Will 
 you promise 1 " 
 
 Ossie left the key in the door, and turned 
 round on the step. His hat on the back of 
 his head had rather a rakish air ; but the 
 corners of his mouth were drawn down with 
 an expression sufficiently contrite. " Dick 
 my dearie," he said, and he laid his hands 
 on his cousin's shoulders with the caressing 
 manner of a child, — " Dickie old man, I'll 
 promise anything you ask me. But you 
 know, old chap, my promises ain't worth 
 much. I'd just as soon not promise." 
 
 *' I'll lend you the money," said Dick ; — 
 " and do try not to be such a fool." 
 
 " I'll try," said Ossie ; '* good - night, 
 Dickie, and thank you. I'm a poor crea- 
 ture ; that's the worst of it. Good-night ! "
 
 170 
 
 CHAPTER Xin. 
 
 Dick would have liked to celebrate his 
 twenty-first birthday as quietly as the 
 twenty which had gone before ; but when 
 he spoke on the subject with his mother, he 
 saw at once that there were certain cere- 
 monies connected with the cominof-of-aofe 
 of a Hartland, which she regarded with 
 religious veneration. " I had hoped," she 
 said with a slight tremor in her voice, 
 " that everything would be as it was when 
 
 your father " 
 
 Then Dick made haste to interrupt her. 
 " It shall be exactly as you wish, mother," 
 he said ; and after a minute he added more 
 quietly, " I only wish I was sure that it
 
 DICKS WANDERING. 171 
 
 would always be as easy for me to do what 
 you wish.'' 
 
 She gave him her hand without speaking. 
 Presently it appeared that with a view to 
 this important day in her son's life she had 
 treasured all the accounts of the festivities 
 which had been celebrated in honour of his 
 father. " It seems so strange to think," 
 she said with a sad smile, " that at that 
 time I had not seen your father. I found 
 these papers after we were married ; and I 
 kept them for you." After this Mrs Hart- 
 land indulged in no more reminiscences, 
 but busied herself with preparations, which 
 were to do honour to her boy. She left 
 London early in July that she might have, 
 plenty of time before the birthday, which 
 was in the first week of Auo^ust. 
 
 Dick felt sorry that the season was draw- 
 ins^ to a close. He had come to London so 
 late, that he had not had enough of the 
 movement and brightness of this fantastic
 
 172 dick's waxderixg. 
 
 world. People seemed to him so much 
 kinder and more natural, than his occa- 
 sional doses of cynical fiction had led him 
 to expect. One day, when he was holding 
 forth on this theme, he saw his cousin Ossie 
 regarding him with the tender superiority 
 of a friend who had lost his illusions. 
 
 " You old innocent," said Ossie softly ; 
 " do you suppose these women don't know 
 the acreage of Glaring, and how much 
 a-ycar you will put in your pocket ? " 
 
 "Pooh, pooh!" answered Dick loftily; 
 " some of the kindest are people for whom 
 I couldn't do anything, if I wanted to." 
 
 "But you are important, Dickie," said 
 the young man of the world ; " you are 
 somebody ; they like to know somebodies ; 
 it's comfortable ; they like to have 'em in 
 their houses." 
 
 " What right have you to talk this cyni- 
 cal stuff; I am sure people are kind enough 
 to you."
 
 DICKS ^YANDERIXG. 173 
 
 " So they are," said Ossie with a sigh ; 
 '^ and I give 'em nothing but anxiety." 
 
 However injustice to Mr Langdon it may 
 be said that after the night of Lady Rae- 
 borouo^h's ball his conduct for the rest of 
 the season was distinguished by unusual 
 moderation. 
 
 Dick almost forgot to look after his way- 
 ward cousin. With the din of London 
 Society thundering in his ears and his 
 memory busy with a thousand trifles, he 
 gave himself to the pleasure of the fleeting 
 moment, and went on his careless way 
 with laughter and an open heart. Never- 
 theless he did find time for an interview 
 with the family solicitor ; and for more 
 than one interview with a lawyer who was 
 a personal friend of his own. There was 
 one action, which is usually connected with 
 the majority of a land-owner, about which 
 the young squire had made up his mind 
 once and for ever. He had determined not
 
 174 dick's wandering. 
 
 to deprive himself of the power of doing 
 with his property whatever might at any 
 time seem good in his eyes. He meant 
 to keep his real estate in his own hands. 
 And now the great day was approaching ; 
 and the old house in Glaring Park w^as full 
 of guests. There was Lady Eaeborough, so 
 quick with life and energy that it seemed 
 as if she could begin another season on the 
 morrow. She had come wdth her husband, 
 her maid, her pug, and Mrs Hurte Parkin- 
 son, who was to amuse the Earl, until it was 
 time to carry him to Scotland. There was 
 Hervie Langdon with his son and daugh- 
 ter; Miss Susan Bond wdio was invited as 
 Betty's dearest friend ; the great Mr Kirby 
 but just freed for a time from the duties of 
 critical opposition, and accompanied on this 
 occasion by his silent little wife and that 
 one of his daughters who was most like her 
 mother. There w-ere Lord Stanmere and 
 John Torington as friends of the hero of the
 
 DICKS WANDERING. 175 
 
 occasion, and likely to amuse the girls ; and 
 Fabian Deane, who would have come from 
 the workVs end to do honour to his whilom 
 23upil. These — with Mrs Meryon, who would 
 on no account be absent from her daughter 
 Sophie at a time, which could not but be 
 eloquent of melancholy recollections, and a 
 small detachment of distant relatives, who 
 represented another branch of the Hartland 
 family — filled the old house from garrets to 
 cellars so full, that even the old Glaring 
 ghost could scarce find ¥oom to walk. 
 Everybody was happy in his or her peculiar 
 fashion. Everybody said how delightful it 
 was to get into the country again ; that the 
 weather could not be more favourable ; that 
 it was impossible for anybody to come of 
 age at a more convenient time. It seemed 
 impossible that anybody in such a place, 
 and under such a sky could be unhappy. 
 There was no room in so fair a world for 
 any grief more tragical than the soothing
 
 176 dick's waxdepjxg. 
 
 melancholy, which nourished the sympa- 
 thetic heart of Mrs Meryon. 
 
 The second day had been chosen for the 
 cricket match with the village. Dick had 
 gone off after breakfast with the younger 
 men to meet the rest of his eleven on the 
 cricket-ground ; and, after an interval long 
 enough to prove their independence, most 
 of the ladies had followed them. Sophie 
 Hartland, as she stood at the end of the 
 terrace looking westward, could see beyond 
 the gentle hoUJhv of the land the flasj flut- 
 tering on the top of the white tent, and 
 on the smooth -shaven green small fio^ures 
 in wdiite flannel. She could see moreover, 
 or thought that she could see, which of 
 the active youth was her own boy, for 
 whom, when but a baby, his father had 
 laid down that cricket ground, and had 
 boasted of the games which he and his boy 
 would play together. Mrs Hartland was 
 so intent upon the distant scene, and so
 
 dick's wandering. 177 
 
 full of the thoughts which that scene 
 aroused, that she did not hear the heavy 
 tread behind her ; she started as Mr Kirby 
 spoke close to her ear. 
 
 '^I am glad to find you alone," he said. 
 
 When she turned at the sound of his 
 voice, there was the broad red face so close, 
 that the little lady, obedient to an impulse 
 of which the next moment she was ashamed, 
 drew a little backward. Mr Kirby threw 
 the end of his cio:ar into a flower - bed. 
 He was wholly unconscious of the dislike 
 which he aroused in Mrs Hartland, whom 
 he alwavs extolled as ''a charminof little 
 woman ; " while she, for her part, had a 
 prodigious respect for the politician's prac- 
 tical sagacity. 
 
 '^I want to talk to you about Dick," 
 Mr Kirby began. "When are we to put 
 him into Parliament '? " 
 
 Now this question was by no means 
 unexpected. When Dick was a little boy 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 178 dick's wandering. 
 
 his motlier had decided that he was to 
 have a political career. In later days, when 
 her son was poring over political pamphlets 
 or volumes of political economy, she had 
 once or twice made a careless remark, 
 which was intended to invite confidence ; 
 but Dick had always treated the subject 
 as a joke, and made serious discussion 
 impossible by a declaration one day of 
 communistic principles — another, of his 
 determination to become Prime Minister. 
 And so Mrs Hartland had learned to refrain 
 from all allusion to politics. She did not 
 know what were Dick's intentions ; and 
 she was by no means content to be igno- 
 rant. So when Mr Kirby trod heavily upon 
 the subject, he aroused in her a tumult of 
 feelings which, had he suspected it, would 
 have filled him with amazement. She 
 grew pale, and then red ; and she moved 
 away to the garden-seat, which was close 
 at hand, with a sudden feeling of the
 
 dick's wandering. 179 
 
 necessity of support. As the politician 
 deposited his solid bulk beside her, she 
 was rapidly debating whether she should 
 tell him everything or nothing. He was 
 the last man to whom she liked to confess 
 that there was not perfect confidence be- 
 tween herself and her only son. On the 
 other hand, she declared to herself that 
 she must not sacrifice Dick's career, which 
 might de|)end so much on the help of this 
 man of political sagacity and experience, 
 to any foolish prejudice of her own. She 
 knew that people were always laughing at 
 women as irrational creatures. It seemed 
 that her own boy attached no value to her 
 advice. Nevertheless, she would try to 
 help him ; and thus she would prove to 
 herself once more that she could prefer the 
 sensible course to her merely feminine im- 
 pulse. Mrs Hartland need not have dis- 
 tressed herself. Her companion was more 
 inclined to deliver his views, than to listen
 
 180 dick's waxderixg. 
 
 to her confessions. He liked to sit in the 
 sun ; and he liked to say what he had to 
 say to an attentive listener and a charming 
 little woman. He preserved an air of 
 attention while the lady, with a successful 
 effort to appear calm, said that she could 
 not answer for Dick — that he was deeply 
 interested in political questions, but seemed 
 somewhat unsettled. 
 
 '' I rather think," she said with a little 
 laugh, " that Dick has some highly revol- 
 utionary tendencies." The little laugh had 
 no natural sound ; but Mr Kirby had no 
 ear for delicate distinctions in lauHiter. 
 
 " Revolutionary is he ? " he said ; and 
 he chuckled. "My dear lady, we like 
 that. That's just what we look for in a 
 young 'un. It frightens the women ; and, 
 of course, it's all the dam'dest nonsense — I 
 beg your pardon, but it is, you know — but 
 it's the riojht thino; at the rioht time of life. 
 It's the rash young 'un makes the good
 
 dick's waxdeeixg. 181 
 
 liorsemaiL That's what my sporting friends 
 tell me. Eadicalism should be taken young 
 like the measles — and first love, — and 
 things of that sort, eh ? " Here the great 
 man grew red with half -stifled laughter, 
 being mightily pleased to find himself in 
 so humorous a vein. " The great thing is," 
 he continued with a more solemn air, " to 
 get your Radicalism over early ; to take it 
 strong and get rid of it for ever ; to get it 
 clean out of the blood. Look at old Bur- 
 lingham ! He took it too late in life ; and 
 he has never got it out of his system. 
 Every now and then he has a touch of it ; 
 it spoils a Bill ; or it crops out unexpectedly 
 in a speech, and enrages a foreign power. 
 Don't you be frightened by Mr Dick's 
 radical nonsense ; there's nothing to steady 
 a man like such a bit of land as this." He 
 waved his heavy arm to the slope before 
 them, the wood and the rich valley below ; 
 but his companion's eyes wandered away
 
 182 dick's wandekixg. 
 
 to tlie right and rested somewhat wistfully 
 on the distant cricket-2:round. 
 
 *' It's the thing for a young man to be 
 revolutionary. You may believe me. We've 
 all been through that. Your boy is exactly 
 what I was at his ao;e." 
 
 A pang shot through the mother's heart, 
 and for a moment she turned her startled 
 eyes on her companion. He thought that 
 she could scarcely credit this great comfort- 
 ing truth ; and so flushed with kindliness 
 he repeated it with greater emphasis. '•' I 
 give you my w^ord," he said, as he laid a 
 large red hand on hers with a protecting 
 air ; "I give you my w^ord that he has 
 reminded me ao;ain and ao-ain of what I 
 was at his ao^e." 
 
 Mrs Hartland's eyes had wandered back 
 to the young figures scattered on the 
 distant green. She w^as reassured. She 
 felt a return of warmth. After all thino-s 
 might be much w^orse. It was clearly im-
 
 dick's wandering. 183 
 
 possible that Dick, that her husband's son 
 should ever become like John Wilmading 
 Kirby. 
 
 "You won't mind my speaking to the 
 boyV asked Mr Kirby, as the lady rose 
 from her seat. 
 
 " Of course not," she said smiling. '' Be- 
 sides," she added with a little laugh, in 
 w^hich a keener ear might have discerned 
 a pathetic sound, — " what have I to say to 
 it? In a few days Dick will be his own 
 master." 
 
 Meanwhile this young man, about whose 
 future many worthy people took thought 
 at least sufficient, was himself thinking of 
 none of these things. Affairs public and 
 private were alike absent from his mind. 
 He was standing up in the sunlight, with 
 the peak of his cap on the back of his neck, 
 and sloo'OTnoj the villaoje bowling; with entire 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " Did you ever see such energy ? " asked
 
 184 dick's wandering. 
 
 Ossie wearily, as he lay in the shadow of 
 the tent by the feet of Miss Susan Bond. 
 
 "You are not troubled with that com- 
 plaint," said the young lady, as she tapped 
 him playfully on the head with her large 
 parasol ; but Ossie only looked at her under 
 his drooping lids with tender reproach.
 
 185 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 Dick was returning from the village in the 
 highest spirits. He had been dining at the 
 Old Bear with his tenants, the prosperous 
 farmers who paid him rent. He declared 
 that he had enjoyed himself immensely ; 
 he had made a speech, which was received 
 with laughter and applause ; his health 
 had been drunk ; and he had left the 
 f casters at a comparatively early hour, 
 when wine had given place to spirits, and 
 cigars and pipes were lighted. It was time 
 that he should return to his other e^uests at 
 the house. 
 
 "What jolly fellows they are!" he said 
 to Fabian Deane,' as they walked back 
 to2:ether across the Park.
 
 186 DICKS WANDERING. 
 
 " Yes," said Fabian ; " they're jolly 
 enough, when they are gorging and guz- 
 zling at your expense. I wonder if their 
 labourers think them jolly fellows." 
 
 '' Good fellows they are," said Dick, " if 
 you know how to manage them ; and any- 
 body can manage them ; they have got 
 hearts, every one of them. They'll be 
 generous enough, if you don't bully them 
 into generosity." 
 
 " I. hate 'em," said Fabian briefly ; " they 
 are narrow and obstinate ; they eat too 
 much beef." 
 
 " Narrow yourself ! " said Dick, laughing ; 
 ''you ought to have dined at home, as I 
 advised you. Miss Susan isn't narrow." 
 
 '' That's a clever girl," cried Mr Deane. 
 " By George, she is a clever girl ! " he 
 repeated fiercely, as if somebody had con- 
 tradicted him. 
 
 The dinner at Clarino: had been less 
 noisy than on the previous evenings. There
 
 dick's wandering. 187 
 
 were many complaints of their young host's 
 absence. Even Stanmere had been rather 
 quiet ; and Torington had hardly spoken a 
 word. There was a certain uneasiness in 
 the air. All the women felt that some- 
 thing was going to happen ; that a crisis 
 was at hand in the w^orld of sentiment. 
 In the drawing-room the party became 
 even less lively. Lord Raeborough showed 
 unmistakable signs of the approach of bore- 
 dom ; he fidgeted, and looked again and 
 again at his wife with eyes heavy and re- 
 proachful. 
 
 '' Nellie, my dear," said Lady Raeborough 
 to Mrs Hurte Parkinson ; " do go and 
 amuse Davenant. He has got on new 
 shoes, and you haven't noticed them." So 
 little Mrs Parkinson crossed the room with 
 her fine eyes fixed on Lord Raeborough's 
 shining feet, and asked him how such a big 
 man could walk on them ; and she sat by 
 him, till he smiled unwillingly ; and then
 
 188 dick's wandering. 
 
 she tripped to the piano and sang the Last 
 new song from Italy, which expressed in 
 the conditional mood the passionate desire 
 of the composer to weep because the grass 
 was wet with dew, and to die because the 
 violets bloomed. The rest of the party 
 played a card -game, but without much 
 pleasure ; and nobody was amused except 
 himself by Stanmere's facetious cheating. 
 ^Irs Hartland felt that her guests were not 
 gay, and began to wonder what women of 
 the world did to make their parties go off 
 well ; she was vexed with her mother for 
 sitting close beside her, and growing more 
 and more peacefully happy as the social 
 barometer fell. 
 
 Into the midst of the party thus irration- 
 ally dull Dick came as a new excitement 
 with Fabian at his heels. " What on earth 
 are you staying in the house for ? " he 
 asked as he entered the room. ''Do you 
 know that it's the loveliest nio-ht of the
 
 dick's wandering. 189 
 
 year, with a moon sliining like — like any- 
 thing ? " 
 
 Everybody jumped up ; Stanmere threw 
 the cards up to the ceiling; half the 
 people began to question the new-comers 
 about the dinner and the farmers. 
 
 *' Oh may we go out, dear Mrs Hart- 
 land ? " asked Miss Bond with the pretty 
 deferential manner, which she never forgot 
 to use for the benefit of her gentle hostess. 
 
 "Go out'? of course," cried Dick, who 
 was just telling his mother that he had had 
 a OTeat success at his dinner : " come alono^ 
 Ossie, and get cloaks and things." Dick 
 was back in a minute with his arms full 
 of shawds and divers wraps. As he came 
 in, he passed a cloak to Torington with 
 a smile ; it was Betty's cloak. Torington 
 knew it well ; but yet he raised his eye- 
 brows as one who would ask a question, 
 and looked round as if to see who claimed 
 the garment. This tall handsome young
 
 190 dick's wandering. 
 
 man looked pale, and almost liaggard. He 
 had slept ill of late. He was in a condition 
 absurdly sensitive. He could not bear to 
 speak to anybody of his hopes and fears ; 
 and yet he knew every other moment that 
 nobody would be blind to his distress. 
 A neat, careful, and successful cricketer, he 
 had distinguished himself the day before 
 by making some wild hits off the best 
 villaofe bowlins^, and succumbino; iornomini- 
 ously to one of the slowest of the second 
 gardener's slow half-volleys. It could not 
 be concealed from the eyes of the old pro- 
 fessional, who umpired, that something had 
 gone wrong with this young gentleman. 
 Truly he was in a parlous state. "This 
 is yours I think ? " he said to Miss Lang- 
 don after a moment's elaborate indecision. 
 '' Thanks," she said ; '' that's too warm ; " 
 and she plucked a light shawl from under 
 Dick's arm, and so with a firm liold of 
 Susan Bond, vanished through the window.
 
 DICKS WANDERING. 191 
 
 " Not without your duenna ! " cried Mrs 
 Hurte Parkinson, and she rapped Ossie play- 
 fully on the shoulder as she followed the girls. 
 
 " Come on/' said Dick to Torington. 
 
 " No, thanks," said he with a voice un- 
 naturally languid ; "I have got hold of a 
 book that is awfully interesting." 
 
 Perhaps Dick would have expressed some 
 surprise at this new taste for literature, but 
 at that moment Stan mere clad in a long light 
 ulster rushed through the room, and swept 
 his host before him out of the window. Betty 
 was standing alone on the terrace ; the 
 moonlight softened and refined her extra- 
 ordinary loveliness ; Stanmere stopped short, 
 and expressed his admiration by a whistle. 
 
 " Lord Stanmere," cried Mrs Parkinson 
 from the end of the terrace on the left, 
 ^' come here directly, and help me to keep 
 Mr Osbert in order." 
 
 " Coming ! " said he, and with a profound 
 bow to Betty he trotted away.
 
 192 dick's waxdepjxg. 
 
 Miss Bond had carried off Mr Deane, 
 whom she had on that very day declared 
 by letter to be the most interesting man 
 that she had ever seen, so clever, so unlike 
 the general run of young men in Society. 
 Something to the same effect she had al- 
 ready hinted to the man liimself. Indeed 
 it must be confessed that she was given to 
 telling the man of the moment, even if he 
 were a young man in Society, that he was 
 so different from other young men. It was 
 easily said, and it had an extraordinary 
 effect upon her popularity. Fabian was 
 very happy. It was a delightful change 
 from the intolerant and beef-eatinor farmer 
 to moonlight and good manners. He liked 
 people who saw at a glance that he was not 
 like other people. It was clear that Miss 
 Bond thouQ;ht him interestino- : and it 
 seemed to him that there must be some- 
 thing great in a girl, who had seen so many 
 people in more than two or three seasons,
 
 dick's wandering. 193 
 
 and who was yet so ready for new ideas, 
 so quick to feel interest in any one who was 
 interesting. " Ha ! isn't she like Gretchen 1 " 
 he cried looking back to the terrace, where 
 Betty was standing with the moonlight soft 
 about her. 
 
 • *' Who is to be Faust ? " asked his com- 
 panion quickly — " ah 1 yes ; isn't that Mr 
 Hartland, who has just joined her ? " 
 
 " Dick "? My sometime pupil ? If my 
 pupil be Faust, what in the name of all 
 that is terrible am IV 
 
 " You must be the but no ! polite- 
 ness forbids me to say." 
 
 " The same power forbids me to compare 
 you with Martha." 
 
 Miss Bond had a pleasant laugh ; and 
 she laughed pleasantly, as she said^ " You 
 are much too literary." After a pause she 
 added, " Do you think it will be Dick — Mr 
 Hartland, I suppose I ought to say 1 " 
 
 *' Do I think what will be Dick ? " 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 194 dick's wandering. 
 
 Miss Bond laughed again, but she only 
 answered by nodding her head three times 
 towards the cousins. '"' Let us go on a little," 
 she said ; " old Martha is afraid of chills." 
 
 Betty stood motionless in the moon- 
 light, till Dick came to her. Then she 
 turned slowly, and walked by his side in 
 silence. 
 
 "Betty," he said suddenly, "you are 
 being very naughty." She answered noth- 
 ing, but sighed ; and Dick felt that it was 
 hard to scold her seriously. " Poor old Tor- 
 ington!" he said; "you are treating him 
 awfully badly. He's worn to a shadow." 
 
 At this she lauorhed, and her low lauohter 
 was so pleasant that he could not help laugh- 
 ing too. After all it was not unpleasant to 
 be privileged to scold this fascinating cousin. 
 Then she grew serious again, and laid her 
 hand trustfully in his arm. 
 
 " Why should one marry anybody ? " she 
 asked.
 
 dick's wandering. 195 
 
 «' Why indeed '? " asked Dick in return 
 and with some contempt. " However/^ he 
 added in a moment, " you won't be long 
 without a husband/' 
 
 " Why not '? " she asked innocently ; but, 
 as Dick only gave a short laugh for answer, 
 she said presently, " I think you are the 
 strangest man I ever knew." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Don't you think it's funny of you 
 to be lecturing me about another young 
 man ? " 
 
 "Not at al]," said Dick with decision; 
 " if I haven't a right to tell you, when 
 you are behaving badly, I don't know who 
 has." 
 
 She laughed a little under her breath. 
 " It is so hard to know what sort of man to 
 marry." 
 
 " A girl should marry the man she loves," 
 said Dick, as if it were the simplest thing 
 in the world.
 
 196 dick's wandering. 
 
 " Susan says that the nicest men don't 
 marry ; and that they won't take any notice 
 of us till we marry other people." 
 
 " Bah ! " said Dick : " pleasant for the 
 other people ! It seems to me that Miss 
 Bond is not a good friend for you." 
 
 " Susan's the nicest girl in the world," 
 said Betty calmly ; " but she's awfully 
 clever ; she understands life." 
 
 " The one plain question for you is 
 whether you like John Torington enough." 
 
 " How can I tell ? " asked she gently. 
 " You know you once told me that I ouo-ht 
 to think of him ; and when I do think of 
 him, I think that I ain't fit to be a poor 
 man's wife." 
 
 " A poor man ! " 
 
 '* Dick," she said, " you don't know 
 anything. His wife can't possibly have J 
 
 much to spend ; and she'll have to live ■ 
 a great deal in the country. I do get 
 so bored in the country ! " 
 
 1
 
 dick's wandering. 197 
 
 " That's thinking of him. I suppose/' 
 said Dick. "If you cared for him in the 
 right way, I suppose you would be will- 
 ing to live anywhere with him." He 
 spoke with less than his usual certainty. 
 
 '' Not anywhere," she said ; — " not in 
 the Eegent's Park for instance." 
 
 " You don't care for him," said Dick, 
 as if he would put an end to the matter. 
 
 " But I do care for him," she said ; 
 " only — only I am so afraid he wouldn't 
 be amusing." 
 
 Dick gave a short contemptuous laugh. 
 *' If you feel like that," he said, " don't 
 marry him." 
 
 Miss Langdon stopped, and stood still 
 with her hand still restins^ on his arm. 
 " That's your advice — really and truly ? " 
 she asked softly. 
 
 " Yes," he answered ; " it's kinder to 
 him to let him alone, and to let liim 
 know the worst." He was sorry for the
 
 198 dick's wandering. 
 
 poor youth, and yet half contemptuous of 
 him for allowinor himself to be brouo-ht to 
 such a woful state by one of these pretty 
 creatures. These pretty creatures seemed to 
 him like birds of gay plumage in the sun, 
 as simply eager for admiration, almost 
 as helpless. He felt a strong impulse 
 to take exclusive charge of this sweet 
 child, and to vanquish Miss Bond, whom 
 he regarded at the moment as the per- 
 sonification of evil influence. He would 
 be his cousin's a:ood ans^el : till on some 
 future day he could find for her some 
 husband, whom she could both love and 
 respect, and who would be strong enough 
 to rule her through her respect and love. 
 She was still standing by his side in 
 silence, as if she awaited further instruc- 
 tion. He looked down on her with unusual 
 tenderness ; and her eyes raised to his in 
 the shadows seemed very innocent and 
 pathetic.
 
 dick's wandering. 199 
 
 "I always like to do what you wish/' 
 she said softly. 
 
 He was still looking at her ; and he 
 forgot to speak for a minute. He felt 
 sure that he had given her the best advice ; 
 it was certain that she didn't care enough 
 for Torinp^ton. He beo^an to think that 
 she must have suffered much from her 
 doubts, and from her swain's attentions. 
 It mio^ht almost be said that Torino-ton had 
 persecuted the poor child. " Poor Betty ! " 
 he said in a low voice, and he laid his 
 hand on hers in a protecting manner ; 
 
 " Poor ah Fabian I Miss Bond ! where 
 
 did you spring from V 
 
 " I w^onder you didn't see us coming," 
 said Susan. " Mr Deane has been doino: 
 Mephistopheles for my amusement ; it's 
 capital."
 
 200 
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 Dick was out of doors next day before 
 any of the guests were stirring. He had 
 something pleasant to say to Mrs Emmens, 
 the wife of his old friend, the cobbler ; 
 and, as he stepped across the park and 
 met the fresh beauty of the morning, 
 he felt that he was giving himself a 
 treat. He ran across the short grass, 
 because he was too happy to walk, and 
 vaulted the gate for very lightness of 
 heart. Close to this gate lies the village 
 — the least formal of villa^fes. Cottaofes 
 are scattered along the country road ; 
 and even at the very centre of the phice, 
 where the Old Bear Inn stands with irood
 
 dick's wandering. 201 
 
 elbow-room at the crossing of the ways, 
 with its venerable sign planted far be- 
 fore it, — even there the fields push in 
 between the houses, and the hens walk 
 out into the dust, which is stirred by 
 few wheels between sunrise and sundown. 
 The village of Glaring has a comfort- 
 able air. Here and there is a small house 
 of red brick with a warm little yard be- 
 side it and a lean-to for the corn ; and 
 in one place an old wooden barn stands 
 with one corner in the street, and an air 
 of sublime indifference and repose. Be- 
 sides, though scarcely two of the la- 
 bourers' cottages are alike, they are all 
 alike in one point. They are all weather- 
 tight and wholesome, for they had be- 
 longed for generations to the generous 
 people of Glaring Park ; and to see that 
 they were kept in perfect repair had been 
 regarded as one of her chief duties by 
 the good little Lady Bountiful, who had
 
 202 dick's wandeeing. 
 
 gone up and down for years past with 
 kindness in her heart, and a passion for 
 order. Yery little business was transacted 
 in this model village ; for the thriving 
 town of Kedgate with its politics and its 
 paper was less than two miles distant ; 
 and Eedgate was ever eager to provide 
 the country round with its own beef and 
 mutton, with London soap and candles, 
 even with old furniture for the ladies 
 and old English china, and the very last 
 novelty in aerated waters. 
 
 Even Nicholas Emmens, who made 
 and mended the iron-bound boots of the 
 labourers, and now and then did a piece 
 of neater work for a farmer's wife, or a 
 servant-girl at the House, would have found 
 time heavy on his hands but for his interest 
 in social matters and in his patcli of garden. 
 Dick found the cobbler sitting in his low 
 window for the sake of lio^ht, and stitchincr 
 grimly. Nicholas was a little hurt by the
 
 dick's wandering. 203 
 
 young squire's delay in visiting him ; he 
 was too ready to see neglect in those who 
 might think themselves his superiors on 
 account of the accident of birth ; there was 
 much defiance in this silent man. He 
 bowed to his visitor without speaking, and 
 he did not lay aside the boot, which he was 
 patching. 
 
 Dick o:reeted his friend without embar- 
 rassment, and asked after his health, and 
 his children, and his wife. *'And I want 
 to see Mrs Emmens," he said ; ^' where is 
 she ? Is she busy '? " 
 
 " Ain't she always busy '? '^ asked her pale 
 husband with his repressed smile. 
 
 " She's a thundering good woman," said 
 Dick ; '^ and you ought to be grateful for 
 her." 
 
 " You needn't fear to say that she is 
 a good woman," said the other slowly. 
 "Perhaps there ain't many of your fine 
 ladies that would work, as she works ; with
 
 204 dick's waxdering. 
 
 -J 
 
 the house ; and the cooking ; and all the 
 children ; and she always cheerful, and 
 good-tempered ; and clean, and neat." 
 
 " She's all that," said the young squire ; 
 " where is she ? " 
 
 Mr Emmens did not move, but he lifted 
 up a voice, which was not very melodious, 
 and called, *' Caroline ! Caroline ! " 
 
 Mrs Emmens came from the other little 
 room at the back ; and as the door, through 
 which she came, gave a glimpse of wooden 
 tubs, it was likely that this was to be a 
 washing-day. She came in rubbing her 
 hand on her coarse apron, and smiling at 
 the sight of young Mr Hartland, which, as 
 she sometimes said, did her a deal more 
 good than the parson any day, though the 
 parson was a civil well-meaning gentleman 
 enough. Dick shook her warmly by the 
 hand, and asked after all the children by 
 name — a feat which filled their mother 
 with admiration of his cleverness. Then
 
 dick's wanderixg. * 205 
 
 he complimented her on the wonderful 
 neatness of the room, in which he could 
 but just stand upright ; on the cleanliness 
 of the red- brick floor with its loose piece 
 of coarse drugget ; on the polish of the old 
 deal dresser, whereon the crockery was 
 arranged in nice order. 
 
 "And now show me the garden," he 
 said, " and let me see if your husband 
 keeps it as he used to." 
 
 " That he does," said she ; and she looked 
 proudly at Nicholas, who would look as if 
 he did not hear their idle talk. 
 
 " Do you think I might make your hus- 
 band a present ? " asked Dick, as he stood 
 bv Mrs Emmens, and looked with admira- 
 tion at the little piece of earth, which seemed 
 to have been cultivated inch by inch. 
 
 She did not answer for a minute or two. 
 In spite of her great reverence for her hus- 
 band, she had her full share of that sense 
 of responsibility for him, which all good
 
 206 dick's wandering. 
 
 women of her class feel for their lords. 
 The belief in the weakness of man had 
 been born in her ; and after many years 
 of married life she was still surprised at 
 her husband's steadiness, and gave thanks 
 daily that he was not like other women's 
 husbands. She was dimly conscious of a 
 revolutionary element in him, which might 
 rouse him some day to fierce rebellion 
 against their narrow life. In a cramped 
 life the woman is almost always safer and 
 better than the man ; she acquires more 
 easily a love of routine for its own sake ; 
 in most cases she has less imagination. 
 Mrs Emmens was duly cautious ; she was 
 distrustful of gifts for her husband, who- 
 ever the giver. 
 
 " I have learned a good deal from 
 your husband in various ways," said 
 Dick. 
 
 '' Learned from him ! Have you now ? " 
 asked Mrs Emmens. " Well, I don't wonder
 
 dick's wandeking. 207 
 
 at it. There's a many might learn from 
 him in my opinion." 
 
 "Well," said Dick, "I have seen a lot 
 of what they call spade-labour ; but I have 
 never seen a little bit of this old world 
 kept so beautifully as your husband keeps 
 this ; and I mean to make him a free pre- 
 sent of it." 
 
 The woman looked up and down, and 
 laid her hand on the stuff bosom of her 
 gown as if her breath were failing. " And 
 pay no rent ! " she said with a gasp. It 
 was hard to conceive such a position. It 
 seemed as if there must be something 
 dangerous, or wrong about it. She was 
 shocked. " Here, come along, and speak 
 to him," she said. ' 
 
 *' Don't look as if you were dragging me 
 before a magistrate," said Dick, as she led 
 him back through the wash - house ; *' I 
 don't mean any harm." 
 
 "Now you tell him," said the woman,
 
 208 dick's waxderixg. 
 
 and she moved a little to one side ; slie 
 put the corner of her apron in her mouth 
 and bit it hard, that she might resist the 
 temptation to speak. 
 
 '* I've been telling your wife," said Dick, 
 "that I want to make you a present of 
 your cottage and garden." 
 
 Nicholas put down his boot. There was a 
 faint flush in his pale cheek : otherwise he 
 showed no extraordinary emotion. Natur- 
 ally his first attitude was defensive. " And 
 what am I to do for this 1 " he asked. 
 
 " Nothing," said Dick with a little impa- 
 tience in his tone ; " T want to give it you, 
 because I please — and because you take 
 such care of that garden, that you ought 
 to have it." 
 
 " And it won't bind me in any way ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Not to go round canvassing among the 
 working men, and such like — at election 
 times 1 "
 
 > 
 
 DICKS WAXDEPJXG. 2 09 
 
 " Do you think I'd bribe you 'i " 
 
 " You must excuse me, sir," said Nicholas 
 Emmens ; " but it does seem unaccount- 
 able ; and politics does do strange things 
 with you gentlemen ; and — but there — I've 
 never thought ill of you ; and if you mean 
 this, and if you abide by your meaning, 
 why, I " 
 
 He stopped short in his speech, and Dick 
 sa,w that he was shaking. 
 
 " There's nothing simpler in the world," 
 said Dick, who felt bound to say something ; 
 " you see you are different to all my other 
 cottage tenants, because they are all labour- 
 ers ; so there will be no jealousy. As for 
 the thing, it isn't worth thanking me for ; 
 it's a mere nothing to me. So it's all 
 settled — and good - bye." He took the 
 man's hand, which was still tremblinsf. 
 Nicholas was looking away through the 
 back-room and the low doorway to where 
 
 this little piece of bountiful earth lay warm 
 VOL. I. o
 
 210 dick's wandering. 
 
 in sunlight. " I can't thank you," he said 
 presently. "I'm just hungry for it. I'm 
 just hungry to call it mine." 
 
 Mrs Emmens had taken the corner of her 
 rough apron from her mouth and applied 
 it furtively to her eyes. " God bless you, 
 sir," she said. 
 
 Dick was ashamed of so much gratitude. 
 He pressed her hand, which was roughened 
 by much work. " Good-bye," he said hur- 
 riedly ; " good-bye, Nicholas ; I'm glad it's 
 settled ; " and he escaped into the road. 
 As he hurried home, his mind was full of 
 the good woman whom he had left. He 
 recalled her look, Avhen he told her of his 
 intention, a look almost of horror. He 
 could still see her standing there in her 
 stuff gown which stood out all round from 
 the pleats about her waist, with her hair 
 almost unnaturally smooth, with her mouth 
 opened wide with wonder. " It's better 
 to be good than pretty," cried Dick aloud ;
 
 dick's wandering. 211 
 
 and then he laughed ; and then he thought 
 of his cousin Betty, and laughed again. 
 
 As Dick stepped lightly across the park, 
 he was presently aware of a stolid figure 
 bearing down upon him, and then of a big 
 voice hailing him in a lofty but friendly 
 manner. He recognised the form as that 
 of Mr Kirby, and the manner was the same 
 as that with which this prominent politician 
 was wont to cry " Question, question ! " in 
 the House of Commons. 
 
 Mr Kirby did not hurry ; and yet, Avhen 
 he joined his young friend he was red in 
 the face, and he took the bisr cio;ar from his 
 lips and breathed heavily once or twice, be- 
 fore he spoke. When he did speak, he lost 
 no time in coming to the point. " When 
 are you going to join us in the House ? " 
 he asked^ and laid a large hand kindly on 
 his young kinsman's shoulder. 
 
 " There's plenty of time to think of that," 
 said Dick after a minute.
 
 212 dick's wandering. 
 
 " You can't begin too early," said Mr 
 Kirby, giving the shoulder, which he held, 
 a slight shake for emphasis : " the sooner 
 you begin to learn the game, the better/' 
 
 " What does one learn ? " As the poli- 
 tician was not ready with an immediate 
 answer, Dick laughed and added — " If you 
 step down to the village, and ask Nicholas 
 Emmens, he'll tell you that one learns to 
 say what one don't think, and to vote as 
 one's bid." 
 
 "And who the blank is Nicholas — 
 what ? " 
 
 " Emmens. Don't you know Nicholas 
 Emmens '? You shall. He's a wonderful 
 clever fellow ; he's the village cobbler ; he's 
 a tremendous politician. He ought to be 
 in the House, if you like." 
 
 "Never mind Mr — what's his name? 
 — Hemmings. You are quite right to 
 cultivate that sort of people. But just 
 now I want to talk about you. Of
 
 DICK S WANDERING. 213 
 
 course you mean to go into Parliament, 
 and " 
 
 " I don't know that," said Dick. " Isn't 
 it getting to be rather a bear-garden ? " 
 
 " And," continued Mr Kirby, paying no 
 attention to the interruption, — " it's a game 
 that should be learned young, like other 
 games. You've got to keep the game 
 going. The other side send the ball over, 
 and you put it back in the most awkward 
 
 corner." 
 
 The politician was rather pleased with 
 this illustration ; he put his cigar back in 
 his mouth, while he paused to consider it. 
 
 " That's doing your duty to your country, 
 is it '? " asked Dick innocently. 
 
 " That's the thing to do," said Mr Kirby 
 slowly. 
 
 "But suppose," said Dick, "you know 
 that the other side are rio;ht ? " 
 
 "They never are right," said Mr Kirby 
 with a wink and a chuckle. He turned
 
 214 dick's wandering. 
 
 towards the house, and the young squire 
 walked by his side. 
 
 '' Do you believe in manhood suffrage ? " 
 asked Dick presently. 
 
 " Eh ? What ? " asked the politician, 
 who did not often attend to the questions 
 of outsiders ; perhaps he tacitly expected 
 previous notice. '*' Eh ? what ? " he asked ; 
 *' manhood suffrage '? eh 1 Oh, yes, that's 
 all right. The bulk of them will vote the 
 right way." 
 
 " You mean they'll vote your way," said 
 Dick. FindiDo^ tliat this remark was iof- 
 nored, he added, '' Don't you think that 
 there are too many voters already who 
 don't care the chuck of a copper which way 
 they vote ? Ain't these indifferent voters 
 the chief cause of bribery — the puppets of 
 the wire-pullers ? " 
 
 " Our machinery is all right," said 
 the older man ; " I've been looking into 
 that myself. We shall be ready to work
 
 dick's wandering. 215 
 
 the machine in every village in Eng- 
 land." 
 
 Dick whistled doubtfully. ''Well," he 
 said after a minute, '' I don't think I believe 
 that all men are equal ; or that all men 
 have a right to vote ; or that all men 
 are anything. Most men are exceptions, I 
 think. I wouldn't give a man a vote, until 
 I knew he was eager to have it, and not to 
 have it to sell." 
 
 " So far as I follow you, my dear boy," 
 said the politician pettishly, "you seem to 
 be talking the dam'dest doctrinaire non- 
 sense." 
 
 " Not a bit," said Dick stoutly ; " it's all 
 this talk about Liberty and Equality that's 
 doctrinaire — at least if I know what the 
 word means. This divine right to vote, 
 and to sell your vote for a go of gin, seems 
 to me frothy French stuff. I've tried to 
 believe in it, but I can't." 
 
 *' Just you listen to me," said Mr Kirby
 
 '216 DICKS WANDERING. 
 
 stopping and again grasping his young 
 friend's shoulder. " I'll say this to you. Of 
 course I couldn't say it from my place in 
 the House ; but I'll say it to you. The 
 thing has got to come ; and if any young 
 fellow sets himself against it, it'll do for 
 him. Manhood suffrage has got to come." 
 
 "So has death," said Dick gaily; "but 
 that's no reason why you should help it 
 on." 
 
 Mr Kirby regarded his young kinsman 
 with a frown. Then he resumed his pro- 
 gress with due gravity. He felt that his 
 momentous confidence had been received 
 with improper flippancy. Dick on his side 
 felt contrite ; he told himself that it was 
 really very good of this great man to take 
 such pains with his political education. 
 Dick was rather pleased to think that Mr 
 Kirby, who now wore a very thoughtful 
 air, was pondering deeply the best means 
 by which his self-willed kinsman might be
 
 DICK S WANDERING. 217 
 
 brought into the proper frame of mind. 
 He did not know that the politician's 
 thoughts had already wandered from him ; 
 that he was thinking of his own digestion, 
 and considerino; the chances of roast chicken 
 for luncheon. 
 
 There was a roast chicken for luncheon, 
 and Mr Kirby was fortunate enough to 
 secure his favourite wing. The frown had 
 vanished from his brow, as he followed his 
 hostess from the dining-room to the hall. 
 
 In the hall Mrs Hartiand paused. " Did 
 you speak to Dick ? " she asked ; she was 
 careful not to seem anxious. 
 
 " Speak to Dick ? " said he ; " eh ? oh ! 
 yes. I spoke to the boy. I pumped him ; 
 pumped him dry. He told me everything. 
 Well make something of the lad, my dear 
 lady. He's very young ; but we'll make 
 somethino^ of him." Pie chuckled ac^ain, 
 and coughed. He thought it a most com- 
 fortable house to stay in.
 
 218 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 Sophie Haetland could spare but a mo- 
 ment for talk about her boy. She felt that 
 she had a thousand things to do before the 
 evening ; for in the evening there was to 
 be the great ball, and neighbours were 
 coming from all that side of the country. 
 It was a time of confusion in the old house. 
 Already the drawing-rooms and the library 
 had been cleared for action. Now, when 
 luncheon was over, the dining-room table 
 was being removed in fragments, to make 
 way for many little supper tables. Mrs 
 Hartland felt that she must keep an eye on 
 everything. She was happy when busy, 
 and happy too because for a time she could
 
 dick's wandering. 219 
 
 dismiss her guests from her mind with a 
 clear conscience. She had refused all offers 
 of help^ and was at last left alone. Lady 
 Eaeborough had sent her lord to drive ]\Trs 
 Hurte Parkinson in the phaeton ; and she 
 herself with great good-humour had gone 
 for a walk with that admirable little house- 
 wife, but silent companion, Mrs Kirby. 
 The young people had drifted out of the 
 disturbed house to the shade of the bis: 
 trees on the lawn ; and Mrs Meryon after 
 recalling for her daughter's sake some of 
 her old acquaintance, who would have en- 
 joyed a dance so much, had they only been 
 alive, had gone to her own room with the 
 intention of writing letters, and was there 
 sleeping like a child. So Mrs Hartland, 
 when she had ordered Ilervie Langdon to 
 keep Mr Kirby in the billiard-room, was 
 happy in a clear ground, and gave herself 
 to the task of minute supervision. 
 
 Betty and Ossie exhibited an infantine
 
 220 DICKS WANDERING. 
 
 delight in the state of affairs. The dis- 
 order inspired them ; and when the general 
 irregularity culminated in a dinner in the 
 servants' hall, their spirits were ready to 
 overleap) all bounds. Moreover space had 
 been found in the old house for a few more 
 men, who would be useful at the ball ; and 
 among these was Harold Dolamore, who 
 had a talent for amusing this young brother 
 and sister. 
 
 The ball was a complete success. Mrs 
 Hartland was condemned to hear a thou- 
 sand praises of the beauty of the rooms, 
 the excellence of the floor, the success of 
 all her arrangements. They praised her 
 for everything, including the cloudless sky 
 and the soft moonlight ; she almost felt 
 herself responsible for the lavish beauty of 
 the night. Indeed, as young people heated 
 with the joy of dancing strolled through 
 the open windows on to the wide terrace, 
 it was but natural that they should feel a
 
 DICKS WANDERIXG. 221 
 
 desire to express gratitude. It is likely 
 that their jokes were trivial enough, but 
 lovely was the low laughter in the moon- 
 light ; and some of many mean thoughts 
 and base ambitions were rebuked by the 
 still beauty of the world, or forgotten in the 
 wonder of the time. There were young 
 men and maidens, and the night was very 
 fair. Hervie Langdon standing in one of 
 the windows with his hands in his pockets, 
 found himself thinkino; such thoughts as 
 
 Q CD 
 
 these, and burst out laughing at himself. 
 Thus effectually aroused, he looked about 
 for his own boy and girl ; and while he was 
 looking for them, he ran against Dick. 
 Dick told him that he had not seen Betty 
 for at least an hour, and that Ossie was 
 behaving very badly. " He hasn't danced 
 w^ith a single neighbour," he said ; " he's 
 been trottino- about all the evenino; with 
 Miss Bond." 
 Mr Langdon put out a hand to detain
 
 222 DICKS WANDERING. 
 
 his nephew. '' That's delicious," he said ; 
 ''that's Betty's doing. She told me this 
 morniDg with the most delightful gravity, 
 that at her request Susan Bond, who it 
 seems is a wonderfully clever girl, had pro- 
 mised to take Ossie in hand, and to keep him 
 out of mischief. Now the joke is that that 
 girl is very fond — what they call deeply 
 attached — to my ridiculous boy." 
 
 ''Attached to Ossie ! It's impossible." 
 
 " Impossible, but true," said Hervie Lang- 
 don. 
 
 Dick could not stop to argue the matter. 
 He had been devoting himself without a 
 moment's rest to his duties as host; and 
 he was now in search of a distino-uished 
 dowager, who would never forgive the 
 House of Glaring, if she did not have an 
 early chance at the supper. 
 
 AVhen the ball was drawinsf to an end, 
 when carriages were rolling away, when 
 the pale light of dawn was creeping across
 
 dick's wandeeing. 223 
 
 the lawn and shining faintly blue on the 
 conservatory at the eastern end of the long 
 drawing-room, Dick, who at last found 
 time to rest from his labours, paused for a 
 minute among the hothouse flowers, and 
 looked into the room, where a few couples 
 were still dancing zealously. Miss Betty 
 was floating round in the arms of John 
 Torington, who danced well. When they 
 stopped, he stood looking down at her with 
 his dark eyes ; but she looked only on the 
 floor, smiling a little, and opening and 
 shutting her fan. Dick felt sorry for Tor- 
 ington. As he turned aAvay, he saw that 
 Stanmere and Dolamore w^ere standing on 
 the other side of a young palm-tree, and 
 were also staring into the room. 
 
 ''Is it to be a match ? " asked Stanmere. 
 
 " I wonder," said Dolamore. 
 
 " I hope so/' said the first speaker ; " the 
 dear old chap is awfully far gone." 
 
 " The lady is very apt to find people
 
 224 DICKS WANDEPJXG. 
 
 damned bores/' said Dolamore, in his 
 smooth careful manner ; " and poor dear 
 
 old Tory ." 
 
 Dick moved away ; there was something 
 in Dolamore's tone, which vexed him. He 
 knew that it was absurd to be vexed by 
 this man, who was without doubt a good 
 enough fellow in his way. As for the 
 chances of John Torington and Betty Lang- 
 don being happy together, he knew that he 
 need not trouble himself about that matter. 
 She could venture to be kind to the poor 
 youth on this evening, because her mind was 
 at last made up. What could be more nat- 
 ural ? Probably she had told him that it 
 could never be. Certainly he looked dismal 
 enough. And now the band, of which the 
 thriving town of Kedgate was justly proud, 
 could play no more. The last guests were 
 driven away in the morning light. The ladies 
 who were at home went blinking up-stairs ; 
 and silence and sleep settled on the house.
 
 dick's wandering. 225 
 
 The morning; after the ball was sacred to 
 repose. Breakfast went up to some people 
 on little trays ; others came down to break- 
 fast at irregular intervals. They seemed 
 to take but a languid interest in each other ; 
 and they scarcely noticed the absence of 
 their hostess and their young host. Mrs 
 Hartland was engaged in confidential talk 
 with the housekeeper ; and Dick was 
 riding about the property with his agent. 
 It was Saturday, and on that evening 
 the festivities would be finished. A dinner 
 was to be given to the labourers in a laro;e 
 tent, which was being erected in the park ; 
 after the dinner the park was to be open 
 to the village ; the Kedgate band would 
 return after a day's rest ; there would be 
 dancing on the green, lights in the trees, 
 and fireworks in the distance. Most of the 
 young people, who were staying in the 
 house, had appeared before noon ; and as 
 the day was hot, they gathered by degrees 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 226 DICKS WANDERING. 
 
 under the biggest tree on the lawn. Miss 
 Langdon seemed sleepy, but contented. 
 She sat in the most comfortable of the 
 straw - chairs, where she could listen at 
 her ease, and smile without fatigue. She 
 exerted herself so far as to keep in idlest 
 motion a large straw - fan ; and, as she 
 fanned herself, she allowed her eyes to 
 travel far away beyond the green turf, 
 which sloped downward to the climbing 
 wood ; and beyond the wood to the valley, 
 which lying far below and stretching 
 away into the distance, was crossed by 
 little lines of hedgerow, rich with full 
 rounded trees, and full that day, as a long 
 shallow vase with wine, of unaccustomed 
 sunlight. On her right was the wide park 
 with its soft hollows and long level spaces, 
 its great trees here and there, its cricket- 
 ground in the distance, and its coverts 
 beyond the cricket - ground. On her left 
 was the smooth - shaven lawn, and the
 
 DICKS WANDERING. 227 
 
 famous avenue, which led to the chief 
 entrance. 
 
 Betty did not talk about scenery ; but 
 though she had never troubled herself with 
 the comparison, it may be said for her that 
 she preferred the beautiful to the sublime. 
 A landscape full of warmth and richness 
 and repose was very pleasant to her. Her 
 eyes were half closed ; the fatigues of the 
 evening before had only given a new charm to 
 her beauty ; sitting in the shade she looked 
 out lazily and basked in the broad sunlight. 
 Her pleasure was not diminished by the fact 
 that Stanmere and Fabian Deane were both 
 looking at her. The latter was smoking 
 cigarettes fiercely, and flying through all 
 ages of literature to snatch fantastic com- 
 parisons for this lovely creature. Though 
 he reclined in his chair, a model of repose, 
 his mind was abnormally busy with this 
 fascinating task, and so absorbed, that he 
 heeded not a word of the talk of Stanmere,
 
 228 dick's wandepjxg. 
 
 who in a mood of gravity due to mucli 
 dancing was giving him his views of life. 
 
 Ossie was sublimely happy. Lying at 
 the little slippers of Mrs Hurte Parkinson 
 he watched the eyes of that lively lady ; 
 and Miss Susan Bond watched him. Mrs 
 Parkinson threw him fragments of talk, 
 while her large eyes now rested on him, 
 now wandered to other youth. However 
 ao-reeable the man, with whom she was talk- 
 ing, she almost always had the air of ex- 
 pecting another man. She only half-listened 
 to compliments, but rewarded them with 
 quick glances. If her ear was attentive to 
 the coming man, she had a peculiar light 
 laugh, which was fascinating in itself, and 
 was an answer good enough for the man at 
 her elbow. It was only when she had a 
 definite part to play, — when there was some 
 persons whom for social reasons it was 
 necessary to charm, — that Nellie Parkinson 
 was able to concentrate her attention. For
 
 DICKS WANDERING. 229 
 
 the most part she felt herself the pretty 
 centre of men's eyes ; and she plumed her- 
 self with birdlike movements of the head, 
 and with restless glances which took toll 
 from the spectators, as the organ-grinder 
 collects the smallest change. She liked 
 Ossie ; and he was so conveniently boyish 
 that she could treat him as a petted child 
 without fear of the censorious. Miss Bond, 
 who was clever, watched the two pretty 
 creatures^ as a collector with a card-board 
 box and camphor in his pocket might smile 
 on two light butterflies hovering and paus- 
 ing in the sun. If she wanted to secure 
 one of the butterflies, she had good store of 
 practical proverbs ; she knew that every- 
 thing comes to those who know how to 
 wait. She amused Mr Osbert Langdon 
 without eflbrt ; she took great pains never 
 to bore him. 
 
 If the group under the wide shade was a 
 picture of repose ; if the sole disquiet was
 
 230 dick's wandering. 
 
 in the wandering eyes of Mrs Hurte Par- 
 kinson ; yet there was one who came and 
 went unrestiDo:, one who was restlessness 
 from head to heel. John Torington was 
 in a pitiful state. He was an honest 
 youth ; yet he was acting, and knew it. 
 He was proud ; yet he was laying himself 
 open to the pity of all these people. It was 
 but too likely that his own servant, when 
 he brouorht his hot water in the morning^ 
 offered him pity therewith ; he was always 
 a considerate master. He was naturally 
 reserved ; yet he could not tear himself 
 from these young folk under the tree. He 
 came to them asfain and ao;ain ; he talked 
 twice as much as usual ; he was strangely 
 epigrammatic, and exhibited an uneasy 
 gaiety ; he made cynical allusions to 
 women, and then blushed ; he said he was 
 going and went not ; he forbore to look at 
 or to speak to Miss Langdon, as if by this 
 obvious forbearance he would prove to
 
 dick's wandering. 231 
 
 others, even to himself, his complete in- 
 difference. He congratulated himself on 
 his success ; but not for one moment did 
 he believe in it. He declared that he had 
 letters to write ; he repeated the declaration 
 three or four times ; nobody asked him to 
 stay. When he had gone, he reappeared 
 again to complain that the post had gone ; 
 one would have thought that on those un- 
 written letters depended the happiness of 
 his life. Indeed he tried to smile in a 
 knowing manner ; but nobody asked him 
 to whom he was so eager to write. He 
 brought a paper from the house, and from 
 it he read passages which interested nobody; 
 he had never done such a thing in his life 
 before. At last he undertook to show his 
 friends a gymnastic feat ; he twisted him- 
 self into a position, which he suddenly felt 
 to be ludicrous ; he untwisted himself cold 
 and nerveless ; he tried to smile when Mrs 
 Hurte Parkinson broke into silvery laughter.
 
 232 dick's wandering. 
 
 '' Tory is going mad," whispered Ossie to 
 the lady. " Isn't it the dog-days ? " asked 
 she. Miss Bond smiled at Ossie, as if she 
 would claim his sympathy for the unfor- 
 tunate youth. Certainly the proud and 
 dignified John Torington was strangely 
 unlike himself. Pretending to be absorbed 
 in his paper he slowly sank into the depths 
 of silent gloom. 
 
 That evening Dick Hartland was stand- 
 ing at the end of the Terrace. The park 
 before him was full of village people. Half 
 screened by some great dark trees on the 
 right was the tent, where the labourers had 
 dined, and had listened to the young 
 squire's few but friendly words. In the 
 distance by the cricket - ground, people 
 were dancing ; lights were shining and 
 moving ; and the music came to the house 
 with all the added beauty of the cool even- 
 ing air. Dick was thinking that it was a 
 great thing to be able to do something for
 
 dick's wandering. 233 
 
 all these people. He hoped and thought 
 that he would never be careless of their wel- 
 fare. What could be easier, he asked him- 
 self, than to do a good turn to one's friends ? 
 As he was thinking such thoughts, he felt a 
 light touch on his arm ; and turning he saw 
 his mother. He put his arm round her. 
 
 " They seem happy, don't they 1 " he said. 
 
 " Yes," she answered with a restrained 
 excitement in her voice, which surprised 
 him ; " but I have some news for you." 
 Then she paused. 
 
 " What is it ? " 
 
 " I think it is good news. I think you 
 will be pleased. I hope you will be pleased, 
 my dear, dear boy." She looked up at him, 
 and Dick could see in her upturned face 
 an unusual tenderness, which almost fright- 
 ened him. *' It is about Betty," she said. 
 
 " What about Betty ? " 
 
 "She has promised to marry Mr Tor- 
 ington."
 
 234 dick's wandering. 
 
 " Impossible ! It can't be." 
 
 "He has just told me. I do hope that 
 it is for the best. I think it a very good 
 thing that Betty should marry a really 
 nice man. He is nice, isn't he, Dick 1 " 
 
 " He's a first-rate fellow." 
 
 '' Dear Dick ! " she said leaninof a little 
 nearer to him. " I hope you are glad. I 
 have sometimes thought — it has crossed my 
 mind that you might like Betty — that she 
 and you might " 
 
 "I! What! Betty and I!" Dick 
 laughed, and his mother felt relief. 
 
 " I shouldn't have liked it," she said ; " I 
 don't think it would have been for your 
 happiness ; but I have fancied sometimes 
 that Betty — I do think that marriage will 
 im]Drove Betty wonderfully." 
 
 Dick laughed again, but not heartily. 
 ^'AVomen are certainly strange creatures," 
 he said ; " not you mother — but the rest."
 
 235 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Dick awoke next morning with mind per- 
 plexed. He could not understand Betty's 
 conduct. He hated the suspicion that she 
 had not been wholly honest, when she spoke 
 to him of Torin2[ton so short a time ao-o. 
 Since nothing was to be gained by wonder- 
 ing, he determined to trouble himself no 
 more, but to hope for the best. Surely 
 there were good grounds for hope. He 
 knew that prominent among his mother's 
 theories was that of the wonderful effect 
 of marriage on the female character. He 
 thought that his mother ought to be an 
 authority on this subject. He was inclined 
 to agree with her opinion, that Betty needed
 
 236 dick's wa^'depjxg. 
 
 some person of strong character to take care 
 of her ; though he was hardly certain yet 
 that John Torington was such a person. 
 Though he liked Torington, he had known 
 him but a short time. He knew that he 
 was a good fellow ; that he was regarded 
 by other good fellows like his friend Stan- 
 mere as comically scrupulous. But yet he 
 could not feel sure that among his friend's 
 merits was that strength of character, which 
 in this case was the thing most important. 
 He hoped that his mother might be right in 
 this opinion also ; but it occurred to him as 
 possible that women were apt to attribute 
 great force of character to any man, who 
 had a fine profile and a reserved manner. 
 One thing was clear ; there was no good 
 in crying over spilt milk. When Dick was 
 vigorously brushing his hair, hope was 
 plainly in the ascendant : when he entered 
 the dining-room, arrayed as befits a pros- 
 perous young Briton on Sunday morning,
 
 dick's wandering. 237 
 
 his mother looking up from the teapot felt 
 a quick throb of relief; he seemed in the 
 highest spirits. As he came to kiss her, 
 she thought that he looked more like his 
 father than he had ever looked before. 
 Perhaps Mrs Meryon, who enjoyed a tem- 
 perament quickly and subtly sympathetic, 
 recognised the thought in her daughter's 
 mind. Certain it is that amid the frivolous 
 talk, and above the home-made sausas^e 
 which she had but just secured, she directed 
 at Sophie Hartland a gentle sigh, which 
 was eloquent of the uncertainties of life. 
 Dick intercepted the soft glance, which 
 accompanied the sigh ; " how are you, 
 Granny ? " he asked with the careless con- 
 fidence of youth. He wrung the hand of 
 John Torington, who was trying not to 
 look too absurdly happy. He looked for 
 Betty ; but that inscrutable young person 
 had not appeared. About the other women 
 there was an air of suppressed excitement,
 
 238 \ dick's wandering. 
 
 and of mystery, for which there was not 
 the slighest reason. The younger men 
 had an appearance somewhat sheepish ; 
 while Hervie Langdon regarded the youth, 
 who had been so strangely eager to become 
 his son-in-law, with frank but not unkindly 
 curiosity. " How extremely funny it all 
 is," he observed in a whisper to his sister 
 Lady Raeborough. 
 
 '' Really Hervie," she answered, " I do 
 think that for this occasion only you 
 might take a serious view of somethinor. 
 Remember that you will have to arrange 
 about settlements." 
 
 Mr Lano-don laid down his knife and 
 fork, and groaned aloud. He was serious 
 enough now. " Shall I have to see my 
 lawyer 1 " he asked ; he had not thought of 
 this repulsive necessity; he looked across the 
 table at John Torington with active hostility; 
 then he groaned again, and then he laughed. 
 
 Dick was restless in church. He felt that
 
 dick's wandering. 239 
 
 he must have a talk with his cousin Betty, 
 and convince himself that this eno:ao:ement 
 was a good thing. In spite of himself his 
 thoughts returned again and again to this 
 subject. Moreover, his restlessness was in- 
 creased by the near neighbourhood of Mr 
 Kirby, who filled more than his share of the 
 seat, and who took part in the service with 
 unnecessary distinctness and emphasis. The 
 smug Sunday manner of the politician was 
 particularly irritating to Dick that morning ; 
 because he could not help contrasting it 
 with the mood of relaxation and the pon- 
 derous worldliness, which had been display- 
 ed by the same gentleman on the previous 
 evening. When the sports on the green 
 were finished, and the park was empty once 
 more, the men staying in the house had 
 repaired to the smoking-room ; and there the 
 statesman had so far condescended from his 
 sphere as to entertain his young friends 
 with equivocal experiences of his youth,
 
 240 V dick's wandering. 
 
 scraps of worldly wisdom which he owed to 
 the imperfect recollection of many French 
 novels imperfectly understood, and old worn- 
 out stories whose only claim to distinction 
 was that they could not appear in the 
 society of ladies. Such was John Wilmad- 
 ing Kirby's idea of the way to entertain 
 young men. He w^as proud of his skill in 
 adapting himself to any society. And yet 
 it may be doubted whether a single one of 
 his audience on that Saturday evening was 
 made happier by the playfulness of this 
 middle-aged gentleman, who was so excel- 
 lent a husband and father ; and Trhose wife 
 and daughter, sleeping the sleep of inno- 
 cence up-stairs, were haply dreaming of 
 him, seated on high in the House of Peers, 
 rewarded not too highly for all the virtues, 
 public and private. 
 
 Dick, who had small appetite for gar- 
 bage, was made uncomfortable by the close 
 proximity of so much Sabbath unction fol-
 
 dick's wandering. 241 
 
 lowing so closely on such a holiday mood ; 
 and presently this contrast put another 
 thought into his mind, which made him 
 more uncomfortable still. While he was 
 mentally accusing Mr Kirby of a sort of 
 dishonesty, it suddenly occurred to him 
 that perhaps he himself had not been quite 
 frank in his treatment of his mother. Wish- 
 ing to spare her as long as possible the 
 annoyance, which he foresaw, he had said 
 nothing to her of his intention of acquiring 
 the fee-simple of his real estate. He had 
 said to himself that there was no use in 
 troubling her, until she spoke to him on 
 the subject. In London he had wondered 
 why she did not question him about his 
 visits to the lawyers. Since they had been 
 in the country, he had expected every day 
 that she would make some allusion to the 
 making of a new settlement. It never 
 entered his head that the gentle little lady 
 had schooled herself to silence — that she 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 242 dick's wandering. 
 
 had determined that nothing should induce 
 her to thrust her advice on her boy, unless 
 he cared to ask for it. So with constraint 
 on her tongue she had busied herself with 
 all the preparations for this country-house 
 party. With a lurking fear in her heart 
 she had sought comfort in repeating to her- 
 self that of course Dick would settle the 
 property on his future son — that son whom 
 she had already sometimes pictured as 
 learning at his old grandmothers knee — 
 as all Hartlands had settled the land, since 
 there were Hartlands to settle anything. 
 
 Now, when it had once occurred to Dick 
 that his conduct was not absolutely frank, 
 he could scarcely sit still in his place in the 
 Parish Church. He had no doubt that he 
 had left his mother under a wrong impres- 
 sion ; and though he had been silent for 
 her sake, yet his passion for honesty was 
 straightway on fire for the destruction of all 
 delusions. He now felt certain that it was
 
 dick's wandeeing. 243 
 
 always better to proclaim his intentions 
 from tlie house-top. He drew himself as far 
 as possible from Mr Kirby ; he fidgeted 
 during the sermon of the excellent vicar, 
 who was a high-churchman of the precise 
 shade most agreeable to Mrs Hartland; he 
 made up his mind to speak to his mother at 
 the very earliest opportunity. This oppor- 
 tunity he did not find at once. Mrs Hart- 
 land walked home with Lady Eaeborough ; 
 and Dick stopped to talk with Mrs Emmens, 
 who came to church, though her husband 
 the cobbler did not. When he reached 
 home, Dick ran up-stairs hoping to find his 
 mother alone in her room ; but on the stairs 
 he met his cousin Betty face to face, and 
 his thoughts flew instantly to her engage- 
 ment. This was another matter, which it 
 was necessary to clear up. He could not 
 rest without being sure of Betty's happi- 
 ness. He looked at her with open ques- 
 tioning eyes.
 
 244 DICKS WAXDERIXG. 
 
 *' I hope you are contented Dick," she 
 
 said. 
 
 '* I hope you'll be happy," said he look- 
 ing up at her, for she stood a step or two 
 above him. He was thinking how lovely 
 she looked ; and then he wondered if she 
 did not seem too placid. 
 
 "Ain't you going to be kinder than 
 that 1 " she asked ; " I did it to please 
 you." 
 
 "Whatr' cried Dick; "Betty! you 
 mustn't say that." All his passion for 
 exact truth was up in arms in a moment. 
 " You mustn't say that, Betty. I begged 
 you not to marry him ; and you said you 
 wouldn't." 
 
 " Dick ! " 
 
 " It's true, Betty ; I remember perfectly. 
 You said you were afraid it would be a 
 bore ; and I " 
 
 He stopped abruptly, for he saw that her 
 great eyes were tearful.
 
 dick's wandering. 245 
 
 " Oh dear ! " she sighed. 
 
 " Forgive me, Betty," he said ; " I'm a 
 fool. I am awfully glad for his sake ; and 
 I am sure you are going to marry as good a 
 husband as could be found anywhere." 
 
 " I thought you would be pleased," she 
 said reproachfully. " You were always tell- 
 ing me that I was behaving badly, and " 
 
 *'Yes, yes. It was bad to keep him in 
 doubt. I said that you ought to say yes or 
 no — that you ought to say No, unless you 
 were sure you cared about him enough." 
 
 Betty was looking dreamy ; it was doubt- 
 ful if she followed him. " And now I have 
 behaved well," she said, " and you scold me 
 again." 
 
 " But, Betty, you ain't logical ; don't you 
 
 see 
 
 " I see that you are very unkind." Her 
 voice trembled a little, and the tears seemed 
 ready to fall. It was impossible to stand 
 lecturing this lovely girl on a staircase.
 
 246 dick's wandering. 
 
 " No, no," cried Dick, eager to console, " of 
 course you ain't logical; why should you beV 
 Then there came a pause, during which the 
 cousins looked at each other, and Dick 
 said to himself that this sort of thing was 
 what people meant, when they said that 
 women were not logical. He had heard 
 the statement a thousand times ; he had 
 even uttered it himself with a knowing air ; 
 but he had never felt its real force before. 
 "You are a great deal better than logi- 
 cal," he said presently with an air of con- 
 viction ; " you are going to be happy with 
 the best fellow in the world, and to make 
 him awfully happy — tremendously happy." 
 
 Betty smiled softly at the tremendous 
 emphasis. She seemed in a truly April 
 mood. 
 
 "Nothing could be better," said Dick 
 with more emphasis; "and I wish you joy 
 with all my heart." 
 
 " Thank you, Dick," she said, and she
 
 dick's wandering. 247 
 
 held out her cheek like a child. Years had 
 passed since her cousin had kissed her, and 
 he blushed as he kissed her now. She cer- 
 tainly was a sweet young creature. He 
 felt sure that she would make any man 
 happy. 
 
 They were still standing together, when 
 Mrs Hartland came down-stairs, and putting 
 her arm round Betty led her away with that 
 manner half protecting, half respectful, which 
 most women show to a girl who is going to 
 be married. 
 
 Dick looked after them for a minute with 
 affection and perplexity. Then he ran up- 
 stairs. 
 
 It was clear to him that the moment had 
 not come for disturbing this new happiness 
 of his mother. To-morrow the house would 
 be almost empty, and then he would find 
 a good opportunity for breaking to her his 
 intentions about the land. After all his 
 intention was merely to do nothing ; and he
 
 248 dick's waxderlntg. 
 
 trusted to his skill to put it in so clear a 
 light, that his mother would see directly 
 that he was only doing that which any 
 sensible man would do. To-morrow they 
 would laugh together at his scruples and 
 fears.
 
 249 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 The first thing that surprised Dick Hart- 
 land on Monday morning was the early 
 appearance in his room of his cousin Ossie. 
 Mr Langdon's hair was on end, and his eyes 
 were heavy with sleep ; but nevertheless 
 there he was, lightly but sufficiently attired 
 in a beautiful silken smoking-suit. He wore 
 moreover an air of solemnity, which taken 
 with the fact that he was out of bed at that 
 hour instantly aroused his cousin's curiosity. 
 Dick sat up in bed, rubbed his eyes, and 
 stared at Ossie, who subsided languidly into 
 the arm-chair and stared 'at Dick. 
 
 " Well ? " said Dick cheerfully. As Ossie 
 only looked at him with a sweet gravity, he 
 added, " What is it \ "
 
 250 dick's wandering. 
 
 *' Fm going away after breakfast," said 
 Ossie ; " and I don't know when I shall see 
 you again." 
 
 " In a day or two, I should think," said 
 Dick. 
 
 Mr Langdon took no notice of this 
 suggestion. " I have not had a chance," 
 he said, " of speaking to you about this 
 engagement." 
 
 " Oh that's all right," cried Dick, who 
 felt a strong dislike to re-open the question ; 
 " of course you like it ; Torington's a friend 
 of yours, and a capital good fellow." 
 
 " Of course I like it," assented Ossie seri- 
 ously. '' Tory is a dear old chap; but that's 
 not everything. I have been thinking about 
 it very seriously. I didn't sleep a wink last 
 night for thinking about our temperament 
 — the Langdon temperament." Here his 
 cousin burst out laughing, and flung a 
 pillow at him ; but Ossie laid the missile 
 on one side, and only looked at the aggres- 
 sor with silent disapproval. " I came to
 
 DICKS WANDERING. 251 
 
 ask you for advice," tie continued after a 
 short pause ; " I do wish you would not 
 always treat me as a baby." 
 
 '' Go on," said his cousin. 
 
 " I am convinced," said Ossie, " that mar- 
 riage — a prudent marriage — is the thing — 
 is what the Langdon temperament needs." 
 
 " And the Langdon temperament is going 
 to try it." 
 
 " I have made up my mind to turn over 
 a new leaf. I am tired of this danorlina 
 after married women. I have made up my 
 mind to do no more of it. I " 
 
 " Ossie ! It isn't you that's going to be 
 married, is it ? " 
 
 Mr Langdon coughed. " Not perhaps 
 immediately," he said. 
 
 Dick lay back in bed and abandoned 
 himself to laughter. When he was able to 
 speak, he said, '^ You are an infant ; and I 
 should forbid the banns." 
 
 Ossie rose with silent majesty; but, as he 
 rose, his scornful eye happened to rest on the
 
 252 dick's wandering. 
 
 pillow, which lay on the floor ; he could not 
 resist the impulse ; he caught the pillow up ; 
 " You old brute ! " he cried : he flungj the 
 pillow with a fine swing at Dick's head, and 
 darted for his life through the open door. 
 
 Dick had slept later than usual, and when 
 he went down-stairs, he found that Stanmere 
 and Torington were on the eve of departure 
 by the early train. They went back to the 
 dining-room with their young host, that they 
 might say good-bye to the ladies. Betty 
 looked up, as they came in ; "I thought 
 you were the hot toast," she said pouting. 
 She went on with her breakfast, and seemed 
 unaware that Torington was standing by her 
 chair. John Torington was decidedly un- 
 comfortable. He wished that she would come 
 to the front door with him, but did not like 
 to ask her. He was painfully conscious of 
 the presence of the butler by the sideboard. 
 
 " Good-bye, my darling ! " he whispered 
 as he stooped to her ear. 
 
 " Good-bye," she said not unkindly.
 
 „) 
 
 DICKS WANDERING. 253 
 
 " I shall see you to-morrow in your own 
 home,'' he murmured again. 
 
 She gave a little nod for answer. 
 
 *' Come on Tory/' said Stanmere ; '^ we 
 shall be late ; good-bye Miss Langdon ; I'll 
 watch over him." 
 
 " If I were John/' said Lady Eaeborough 
 when the two young men had gone and the 
 door was shut behind them, " I should 
 break it off by telegram." 
 
 Betty looked at her charming aunt, and 
 smiled before she answered. " He won't," 
 was all she said. 
 
 Then followed one of those uncomfort- 
 able mornings full of the bustle of depar- 
 ture. Flies arrived at the back door, and 
 carriao^es came round to the front. At 
 luncheon of all the guests, who had made 
 the old house so gay, not one was left but 
 Mr Osbert Langdon. Ossie had gracefully 
 refused to go with his father and sister. 
 He had conducted Mrs Parkinson and Miss 
 Bond to a later train ; and he had returned
 
 « 
 
 254 dick's wandering. 
 
 from the station smiling in a manner comi- 
 cally like his father's at some delightful 
 private joke. At luncheon he talked with 
 light-hearted ease, and seemed not to care 
 whether anybody answered him ; and this 
 was lucky, for neither Mrs Hartland nor 
 her son was in a mood for conversation. 
 
 Sophie with her delicate feminine instinct 
 was conscious of coming explanations. She 
 looked even more calm and unruffled than 
 usual as she sat at the head of the table ; 
 but she was lookins^ forward with eao^er 
 curiosity and anxious fear to the moment 
 when she would be left alone with her boy. 
 
 Dick was telling himself that after all 
 he had next to nothino' to tell her ; he was 
 repeating for the twentieth time that so 
 wise a woman as his mother could not fail 
 to see that he was going to do the right 
 thing — the thing which any sensible man 
 in his place would do. All this he had 
 been tellins^ himself asfain and af>:ain for 
 some time past; and yet he had not realised
 
 DICKS WANDERING. 255 
 
 how strong those doubts must be, which 
 required to be answered so often. 
 
 Luncheon was almost finished before 
 Ossie began to suspect that his cousin not 
 only did not answer him, but was not even 
 thinking of him. Now this was the sort of 
 thing which Ossie resented in Dick. He 
 had a rooted belief that Dick ouo;ht to be 
 thinking of him constantly. For a moment 
 he looked at him with pathetic reproach ; 
 then " ril astonish him presently," he said 
 to himself, and he smiled as he poured the 
 cream over his tart. 
 
 When Ossie had made an end of eating 
 and drinking, he embraced his aunt Sophie 
 with fervour and promised to write to her 
 frequently and to tell her everything. 
 Then, as the dog-cart was already at the 
 door, and his portmanteau in its place, 
 he put his arm round Dick in a confiding 
 manner and led him out of the house. When 
 he was in his seat and had taken the reins 
 from the groom, he seemed to remember
 
 256 dick's wandering. 
 
 something, which might as well be said. He 
 stooped towards his cousin who was stand- 
 ing by the wheel. " Oh — Dick — '' he said, 
 " have you heard of the engagement ? " 
 
 *' What do you mean, you goose ? " said 
 Dick ; "I've heard of nothing else." 
 
 " I mean the other eno^ao^ement." 
 
 " The what 1 " 
 
 '* Mine." Having uttered this little word 
 in his sweetest tone, he instantly chirped to 
 his horse and drove quickly away. 
 
 " Ossie ! Ossie, you idiot, come back ! " 
 shouted Dick, when he was able to speak ; 
 but Ossie only waved his whip in token of 
 farewell, and vanished behind the shrubbery. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AKD SONS.