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 "LI E) RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 UN IVLRSITY 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
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 NO HERO, BUT A MAN. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 NO HERO, 
 
 BUT A MAN 
 
 a IRovel. 
 
 BY 
 
 ANNIE THOMAS 
 
 (Mrs Pender- Cudlip) , 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 DENIS DONNE,' 'THE HONOURABLE JANE,' *A GIRL'S FOLLY, 
 
 ' UTTERLY MISTAKEN,' ETC., ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 F. V. WHITE & CO., 
 
 14 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C. 
 
 1894
 
 
 TO 
 
 ISABEL CONRY, 
 
 WITH WARM AND SINCERE GRATITUDE FOR INNUMERABLE 
 KINDNESSES, THIS STORY IS 
 
 2)eDicatcO 
 
 BY HER FRIEND 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 '0 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 FELLOW-TRAVELLERS ..... I 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 treville's new neighbour . . . . 20 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A SINNER ^S 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 'they're not lovers' 53 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MRS HARLBY, WIDOW ..... 69 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MATERNAL SOLICITUDE ..... 87
 
 viii Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 'duchess' and 'fairy queen' . . .107 
 ^. . 'I^C H A P T E R VIII. 
 
 A CREATURE OF IMPULSE . . . .129 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE doctor's wife 1 48 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A FAIR GHOULE 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 WELL MATCHED 
 
 169 
 
 190 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 that's OVER 214
 
 NO HERO, BUT A MAN 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 F E L L O W-T RAVELLERS. 
 
 Three hansoms dashed up smartly and 
 simultaneously to the great western 
 departure entrance at Paddington, and, 
 presently, after a breathless rush for 
 tickets and luggage labels, the three 
 fares, all strangers to one another, 
 found themselves the sole occupants 
 
 VOL. I. A
 
 2 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 of a first-class carriage, in a train 
 bound for the extreme west country. 
 
 The train was steaming out of the 
 station before the trio had recovered 
 their respective breaths, or were able 
 to take any but the most casual notice 
 of each other. Then, as their pantings 
 ceased, and their flurry subsided, the 
 attention of two of them was with- 
 drawn from themselves and each 
 other and concentrated on the 
 third. 
 
 He was a well -grown, fair, florid 
 man of forty, with light blue, pro- 
 minent eyes, and a mouthful of large, 
 white, well-kept teeth, which were 
 bordered by extremely red gums. He 
 was not a handsome man, but there 
 was about him a power of attraction 
 which many a far better - looking man
 
 Fellow- Travellers. 3 
 
 lacks. He talked and laughed loudly 
 and much. 
 
 When his two companions had looked 
 at him as long as was consistent with 
 the canons of civility, they turned 
 covert glances upon each other, and 
 this is what they saw. 
 
 In the right - hand corner, with her 
 face to the engine, a lady, whose age 
 might be anything from twenty-five 
 to thirty-five. Her face was pale, 
 complexion medium, neither fair nor 
 dark, but creamy, and free from blot 
 or blemish. Eyes, long, dark, grey ; 
 eyebrows and lashes, black, long, and 
 well defined ; nose, slightly stuck out 
 and irregular in outline, inquisitive 
 rather than contemplative ; mouth well 
 modelled, flexible lipped, sensitive and 
 loving.
 
 4 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 Her hair, which was very dark brown, 
 was skilfully twisted, in an indescribable 
 way, very neatly round a well-held head. 
 On it she wore a graceful white felt 
 boat-shaped hat, with a white wing in it. 
 Her dress was white serge, exquisitely 
 cut, fitting her slim, well - developed 
 figure to perfection. Her long, slender 
 hands were cased in white Swede gloves. 
 By her side, confined by leather straps, 
 was a dust-cloak of silver-grey silk. This 
 was a deliciously cool arrangement with 
 which to travel on this broiling August 
 day. She made the young man who 
 observed her think, with joyful anticipa- 
 tion, of the refreshing ''white horses" 
 which would probably greet him on 
 his entrance into Cawsand Bay that 
 evening. 
 
 The man who contemplatively re-
 
 Felloiv- Traveller's. 5 
 
 garded her thus from the opposite 
 corner was rather well worth looking 
 at himself. Like the florid-haired and 
 complexioned child of the sun (who 
 has already been described, and whose 
 round, projecting blue eyes were rov- 
 ing complacently over the delicate face 
 and form of his lady fellow-traveller), 
 this man was well grown. He was 
 equally tall, standing at least six feet 
 in his stockings, and, additionally, he 
 was better built. His shoulders were 
 squarer, he moved with broader, freer 
 ease than the blonde man did ; and 
 the lady in the corner, who saw every- 
 thing, though she looked at nothing, 
 noticed that he was better kempt about 
 the hair and moustache, better groomed 
 about the collar, cuffs and necktie, than 
 the other one.
 
 6 No Hero, hut a Man. 
 
 They were hardly clear of the 
 station — London's grimy chimneys were 
 still in sight — when the blonde man 
 began to open his heart — and mouth. 
 
 * Phew ! ' he began with a whistle 
 that made the lady start, and the 
 other man wish to knock him on the 
 head. ' Just saved this train by the 
 skin o' my teeth, which aren't so bad, 
 considering I've been trying 'em on 
 buffalo hide for the last ten years. 
 *You had to run for it, too, I saw,' he 
 added, impartially addressing both his 
 fellow-passengers. 
 
 ' I don't know why I '' ran " for it, 
 the other man laughed languidly. * I'd 
 just as soon be here as there, or any- 
 where else.' 
 
 * Going as far as Plymouth 1 ' the 
 blonde man asked.
 
 Felloiv- Travellers. 7 
 
 ' Further,' the other man answered 
 laconically. 
 
 ' Well, now, I am going as far as 
 Plymouth, and you'd never guess (so 
 I won't keep you in suspense) why 
 I'm going,' said the blonde man bene- 
 ficently. ' I'm the last of my race, 
 so I had the pleasure of being in- 
 formed a day or two ago by the 
 family lawyer. A damned bad race 
 it seems to have been ; but I am the 
 last of it to-day, so I'm going to 
 start it fresh, with more moral and 
 physical capital, d-yer see.^^ and make 
 the name of Harlby one to conjure with 
 again in the West.' 
 
 He smiled, and shook himself like 
 a great affable, Newfoundland dog 
 pining to save some wandering, lost 
 one ; and the lady in the carriage
 
 8 No Hero, hit a Man. 
 
 looked at him sympathetically, but 
 curiously, as she said, — 
 
 * How sweet it must be to be 
 the last surviving representative of 
 an old race, and to feel that you 
 can kill that race altogether by 
 dying yourself, if it is ignoble, or re- 
 suscitate it by living a manly, noble. 
 God-fearing life.' 
 
 ' By Jove ! madam, you're the 
 woman to make a man do the 
 last that you've said ! ' exclaimed the 
 blonde man, and the other man 
 fidgeted restlessly in his corner. It 
 seemed to him that the conversa- 
 tion was taking a crude, uncivilised 
 turn. 
 
 ' You counsel suicide or saintliness, 
 madam,' he began, looking at her 
 out of a pair of penetrating brown
 
 Fellow- Travellers. 9 
 
 eyes that reminded her of moss 
 agates. 
 
 * On the contrary, I counsel common 
 sense,' she said quietly. 
 
 Then she took a yellow-back from 
 her travelling-bag, and neither man got 
 another look or word from her until 
 the train stopped at Bath, where she 
 got out, after one brief glance at 
 the Gladstone which was on the 
 seat close to the florid man, on 
 which was painted in white the 
 words ' Herbert Harlby.' 
 
 By the side of the other man 
 there was a roll of newspapers and 
 a silver flask, on which, without 
 thinking about it, she noticed the 
 initials ' H. H.' As she stepped 
 out on to the platform she straight- 
 way forgot all about her fellow-
 
 lo No HerOy but a Ma7t. 
 
 travellers, for she was met by 
 friends who were anxious to hear 
 what her life had been since she 
 went out of theirs, five years ago, 
 to be English governess in a French 
 family in Paris. 
 
 * Dear, sleepy, hot old Bath. It 
 looks just the same as it did when 
 I left you five years ago,' she said, 
 as a couple of nice - looking women 
 encompassed her round about, and 
 gave her words and hand-shakes, 
 that she felt to be too warm for 
 the weather. 
 
 ' And you, Frances, look five years 
 younger than when you went away,' 
 the elder of the two ladies said, 
 admiringly gazing with flattering ap- 
 proval at the well-turned-out and 
 speckless traveller.
 
 Fellow- Travellers. 1 1 
 
 ' Thank you, Aunt John ; it's pleas- 
 ant to have one's efforts at self-pre- 
 servation appreciated, even by a woman,' 
 the lady in white said affably. 
 
 Then she carefully counted her tra- 
 velling gear, and was presently seated 
 in an open carriage behind a pair 
 of fat, comfortable horses, rolling to- 
 wards the residence of her two aunts, 
 Myrtle Lodge, in one of Bath's 
 highest and breeziest suburbs. 
 
 * It will do us both good to have a 
 young element in the house again. 
 Jane and I are so happy and com- 
 fortable, and so sympathetic in our 
 habits and tastes, that we are in 
 danger of growing fat and lazy/ the 
 lady, who had been addressed as 
 'Aunt John,' said cheerily. 
 
 ' Yes, Frances, it is a good thing
 
 1 2 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 you have come home to stir us up, 
 and give us something to think of 
 besides ourselves,' Jane Woodford, the 
 maiden member of the sisterly firm, 
 put in briskly ; ' not but what we 
 have plenty of society, my dear. 
 Don't fancy that we lead dull or 
 stagnant lives ; but you will give us 
 fresh interests, and bring a breath 
 of new life into our home.' 
 
 Frances was touched to the extent 
 of colouring faintly with pleasure. 
 
 ' You dear, kind things,' she said with 
 more animation than she had displayed 
 hitherto ; * you want to make me feel 
 that I am not a self-invited intruder 
 in your sweet, happy home. Well, my 
 dear aunts, I promise you not to feel 
 it, but to be just exactly as glad to 
 be there at rest, as you, I know, are
 
 Fellow- Travellers. 1 3 
 
 to have me. But — ! don't be dis- 
 appointed ! I shall not be with 
 you long, not for more than a 
 month or two. 
 
 ' Frances ! ' burst from the lips of 
 both the aunts, ' you're not going out 
 again .-^ You're not going to deprive us 
 of the pleasure of doing what is 
 right by our only brother's only 
 child ? ' 
 
 ' Dear Aunt John, I am going out 
 again, but not in the way you mean. 
 I am going to be married.' 
 
 ' My dearest child, not to a French- 
 man, I trust } ' 
 
 Frances laughed, and shook her head. 
 
 ' No, indeed, to the veriest John 
 Bull out. A "yeoman," I suppose he 
 would be called. A gentleman farmer, 
 who has a small estate of his own,
 
 14 ^0 Hero, but a Man. 
 
 and hires a lot of land besides. A 
 dear fellow ! not at all the kind of 
 man I meant to marry when I first 
 thought of marriage, but a dear, 
 straightforward, good-tempered, manly- 
 fellow, who will take care of me, and 
 be kind to me, and make me behave 
 myself 
 
 Aunt John sighed. 
 
 * My dear, they all promise all that 
 before marriage' she said softly. 
 
 * Didn't Uncle John keep his pro- 
 mise ? ' she asked laughingly. 
 
 ' He was straightforward enough, and 
 he made me behave myself; but the 
 less said about his temper the better, 
 my dear. He may have considered 
 it good ; but I used to be astonished 
 to see how, strong man though he was, 
 he gave way under the weekly bills.
 
 Fellow- Travellers. 1 5 
 
 Now, tell us what is the name of 
 your future husband ? and where does 
 he live ? ' 
 
 * His name is Treville, and he lives 
 at a place called Wingates, three miles 
 from a station. That's the awful 
 part of it. Three miles from the 
 means of getting away rapidly from 
 the region.' 
 
 ' But you will have a carriage of 
 some sort, surely, dear } ' 
 
 ' Oh, yes, I shall do very well,' 
 Frances Woodford said, with a sudden 
 change of manner. ' Don't let us talk 
 about him or my marriage any more. 
 I felt bound to tell you of it ; but I 
 am past the age when a girl feels a 
 rapturous delight in being garrulous 
 about her engagement.' 
 
 *The deeper the happiness the less
 
 1 6 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 one speaks about It,' Aunt John — other- 
 wise Mrs Gray — said, looking from her 
 niece to her sister for the approbation 
 which she felt sure such a thoroughly- 
 irreproachable solution of Frances's silence 
 deserved. 
 
 * Exactly so. Aunt John ; if I remember 
 rightly, you spoke very little about the 
 happiness you enjoyed with Uncle 
 John.' 
 
 There was the slightest possible 
 shadow of a sneer upon Frances Wood- 
 ford's lip as she dealt her verbal stab ; 
 but Aunt John did not see it. The 
 late Mr Gray had departed this life 
 long enough for the memory of all that 
 had not been ' sweet and pleasant ' in 
 him to have become very indistinct, 
 while his rare virtues had gained 
 lustre.
 
 Felloiv- Travellei's. 1 7 
 
 * You are quite right, my dear, 
 I never boasted or pretended that 
 my husband was better than other 
 men,' Aunt John remarked cheer- 
 fully ; and Frances was sincere as 
 she replied, — 
 
 * Common-sense is evidently an attri- 
 bute of the Woodfords. How delightful 
 it is to be here again.' 
 
 * And, see ! the myrtles are in 
 finer flower than they have been in 
 for years. I said to Jane this 
 morning, it must mean that there 
 will be a wedding in the family 
 soon,' Aunt John said, as the car- 
 riage rolled between the huge shrubs 
 which guarded the gates on either 
 side, and gave its name to the 
 pretty verandahed house whose French 
 windows were wide open, giving 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 1 8 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 glimpses of a fascinatingly cool and 
 prettily furnished interior. 
 
 ' Welcome home, Frances,' the widow 
 lady said, kissing her niece, affection- 
 ately. ' You must let me write and 
 ask Mr Neville to come and stay 
 with us. Of course, you have his 
 photograph ? I am quite anxious to 
 see what our future nephew is 
 like.' 
 
 ^ He is one of the best men in 
 the world, take my word for that. 
 I am not an enthusiast, as you 
 know, so you may believe me when 
 I declaim on the sterling worth of 
 my betrothed. But he is not beau- 
 tiful to look upon,' she added with 
 a laugh. ' I have no likeness of 
 him — excepting the one that is en- 
 graven on my heart.
 
 Fellow- Travellers. 1 9 
 
 The aunts looked at each other 
 
 uneasily ; and said no more about 
 
 one of the best men in the world 
 to their niece that day.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 treville's new neighbour. 
 
 When Frances Woodford got out 
 at Bath, both the men whom she 
 left in the carriage watched her 
 with interest, till she became absorbed 
 in the throng on the platform, and 
 was lost to sight. 
 
 Then the florid man, who had 
 described himself as the last of his 
 race, commenced speaking volubly, 
 while he rolled a cigarette with nerv- 
 
 ous fingers. 
 
 20
 
 Trevilles New Neighbour. 2 1 
 
 * Stunning woman, that ! in the 
 market to ! She shall be Mrs 
 Herbert Harlby before the year is 
 much older.' 
 
 ' What the devil are you talking 
 about, sir?' the other man asked 
 haughtily. 
 
 Everything annoyed him in con- 
 nection with this fellow-traveller of 
 his, who breathed hard, threw out 
 heat, and spoke with loose flippancy 
 of a woman who had won admiring 
 regard from the quieter and more 
 fastidious man himself. 
 
 * I'm talking about the lovely 
 creature in snowy robes who has 
 just left us — took off her glove for 
 a minute, and I saw she had no 
 wedding-ring on. I tell you, sir, 
 there was no damned bar of gold
 
 2 2 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 intervening between me and my fixed 
 determination to make that woman 
 my wife. I'm the last of my race. 
 I am going down to interview a 
 cursed lawyer, who won't let me 
 have a sou of the money that's 
 mine till he has seen the papers, 
 which are my sole proof that I am 
 the real man, and which are in 
 my big trunk in the luggage van 
 at the present moment. I have a 
 dog, too, in the dog van. Such a 
 fine fellow ! lamb to me, lion to 
 every other d — d fellow who tries to 
 take liberties with him. Answers to 
 the name of ** Cavae," sir. Cavae 
 means ''hurry," you know, if you know 
 anything about it, and my dog — 
 greyhound, touch of kangaroo hound 
 in him, is always ready to ' ' hurry
 
 Trevilles Neiv Neighbour. 23 
 
 up'' and — I say ! are we in a tunnel, 
 or is the light out ? ' 
 
 * You're not well,' the other man 
 cried, starting up and crossing to the 
 assistance of his fellow-passenger. 
 
 ' I am well, I tell you. It's the 
 heat. I'll go to sleep, and dream 
 of the woman who shall be Mrs 
 Herbert Harlby.' 
 
 He put his head against the 
 cushioned back, pressing hard against 
 it, as if he could find no support. His 
 eyes closed, he had turned very pallid. 
 The other man looked at him with 
 distaste, and determined to change 
 into another carriage at Bristol. But 
 at Bristol, as his obnoxious companion 
 still slept calmly, he changed his mind, 
 remained where he was, and fell asleep 
 himself for hours.
 
 24 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 When he woke, a quick glance 
 showed him that the train was near- 
 ing a large town. Looking at his 
 watch and time-table, he saw that it 
 was the city of Exeter, and he half 
 resolved to remain there for the night, 
 forfeit the remainder of his ticket, 
 and go on to Cornwall the following 
 day. His fellow-traveller would prob- 
 ably wake up, and would want to 
 talk and render himself generally ob- 
 noxious. 
 
 As he thought this, he looked unwill- 
 ingly at his companion. The latter 
 had not moved, there was no sound 
 of breathing, the face that had been so 
 florid, looked like clay. 
 
 * Great Heaven, he is dead ! ' 
 
 The words were shrieked out as the 
 train stopped, and in another moment
 
 Trevilles Nezu Neighbo^Lv. 25 
 
 the door and the carnage were sur- 
 rounded and filled by an eager, gasping, 
 curious and horror-stricken crowd. 
 
 Some station-official asked presently, 
 — 'Which was the dead man's luggage?' 
 and the man, upon whom was the awful 
 curse of a terrible temptation, pointed 
 (he could not speak) to the paper 
 roll and the silver cigarette case. 
 
 ' Then you are the owner of this ? ' 
 the official said, pointing to the Glad- 
 stone, and a constable immediately 
 made a note of the name. 
 
 ' You will be wanted at the inquest, 
 Mr Harlby,' he said. ' Have you come 
 alone with the poor gentleman all the 
 way '^. I see he's come from Pad- 
 dington 1 ' 
 
 ' Yes, alone all the way,' the one 
 addressed as Mr Harlby said quickly.
 
 26 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 He had a dim idea that by making 
 this statement he was saving that sweet, 
 deHcate-looking woman, who had left 
 them at Bath, from the horrors of the 
 publicity attending an inquest. 
 
 There is no need to dwell on those 
 horrors here. The coroner found that 
 the gentleman, name unknown, whose 
 initials were ' H. H.,' and who had no 
 luggage, save a small portmanteau in 
 the rack, containing a few articles 
 of clothing, and a silver cigarette case 
 thus marked, had died of natural 
 causes, and the jury found a verdict 
 to that effect. No one appeared in 
 response to numerous advertisements to 
 endeavour to identify the dead man ; 
 so he was buried at Exeter, and much 
 commendation was bestowed upon 
 Mr Herbert Harlby for the generous
 
 Trevilles New Neighbour. 27 
 
 way in which he came forward and 
 stood the expenses of the funeral of 
 the unknown, whose death had been 
 such a shock to him. 
 
 Immediately after the funeral, he 
 went on to Plymouth with the grey- 
 hound Cavae, the luggage that was 
 marked Herbert Harlby, and the cre- 
 dentials that substantially established his 
 right to a fine property on the Cornish 
 side of the Tamar. 
 
 Frances Woodford, in her aunt's 
 bright, sunny Bath home, read of the 
 sudden death in the railway carriage, 
 of the inquest, and evidence of Mr 
 Herbert Harlby. She remembered the 
 latter well, and thought what a pity it 
 was the florid, aggressively confidential 
 man had not been the one to leave 
 the world with such startling sudden-
 
 28 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 ness, instead of the other man, whose 
 appearance and manner had distinctly- 
 interested her. It rather staggered her 
 when she read that Mr Herbert Harlby 
 had stated at the inquest that he had 
 been the unfortunate unknown's sole 
 companion all the way. 
 
 ' He stared at me so, that it's not 
 possible he can have forgotten me,' she 
 said to Aunt John ; and the latter con- 
 jectured that probably his design had 
 been to spare her (Frances) unnecessary 
 pain and trouble. 
 
 ' I should hardly think him so chival- 
 rous as that,' Frances said ; and then 
 she dismissed the subject from her 
 mind. 
 
 She had a great many things of far 
 more importance than the sudden death 
 of a stranger to think about in these
 
 Trevilles New Neighbour, 29 
 
 days. In the first place, she was get- 
 ting together the most interesting col- 
 lection of clothes which a woman ever 
 acquires — namely, her wedding trous- 
 seau ; and as she was fastidious by 
 nature, and economical through stress of 
 circumstances on compulsion, the work 
 of selecting materials and having them 
 made the most of, and constructed to 
 the best advantage, was an arduous one ; 
 though her best efforts were ably sup- 
 plemented, and her most intricate ideas 
 admirably carried out by that firm in 
 Milsom Street, Messrs Kring & Co., 
 who are such liberal instructors in the 
 fine art of dress. 
 
 In addition to the mental strain and 
 physical toil, which were involved in the 
 fulfilment of this pleasing task of out- 
 fitting herself for her embarkation on the
 
 30 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 unknown ocean of matrimony, Frances 
 had to think how best to treat the rather 
 delicate situation of a pre-nuptial vis'it 
 to her aunts' house of Mr Treville him- 
 self. 
 
 She felt prophetically that, elderly as 
 these ladies were, they would expect 
 more demonstration of affection, to say 
 the least of it, in the relations be- 
 tween John Treville and herself than 
 either were at all disposed to display. 
 
 (' I know him ; he is good and 
 honourable, and will be kind to me 
 while I deserve his kindness. ' Pray 
 God I may never forfeit my right 
 to it; for if I did — Well! I won't 
 speculate on what might happen if I 
 did. But I know Aunt John has 
 conjured up a vision of a superior 
 being, who would be much more lenient
 
 Trevilles New Neighbour. 3 1 
 
 to any errors of judgment his depend- 
 ants make, than John Treville would 
 ever be to mine.') 
 
 She would say this jestingly to her- 
 self one hour ; and the next, after 
 another interview with the aunts, she 
 would be inclined to think, that if any- 
 thing went wrong or fell short of what 
 was anticipated in such a sanguine 
 spirit by the hospitable ladies, when 
 the lover, who was already the family 
 man of the future in their eyes, arrived, 
 then it would be her own (Frances') 
 fault. " 
 
 And this feeling made her rather 
 humble. 
 
 All the household arrangements went 
 like well-regulated clock-work at Myrtle 
 Lodge. The carpets always came up, 
 and well - beeswaxed and turpentined
 
 32 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 floors reigned in their stead at the 
 right moment in early summer. In late 
 autumn the carpets went down again, 
 neither a day too soon nor too late. 
 Both cleanliness and Condy's Fluid had 
 it all their own way in the house in 
 the summer months, and these resigned 
 gracefully in favour of warmth, comfort, 
 cosiness and equal cleanliness in winter. 
 Frances felt the beauty, peace and 
 harmony of it all, and shivered at 
 the thought of disturbing it vicariously. 
 
 {' I should have been wiser to have 
 let them see him first in his wedding- 
 garment, and immediately after that as 
 their host at Wingates. He will shine 
 on both these occasions, I feel sure ; 
 but- ! ') 
 
 She did not finish her sentence, even 
 to herself. That 'but,' which was in-
 
 Trevilles New Neighbour. '^y'i) 
 
 voluntarily wrung from her, told her 
 emphatically that she had no hope of 
 his shining in the character of lover and 
 guest in the aunts' establishment. 
 
 They had so petted and made much 
 of her since she came back to them, 
 that an indescribable sensation of being 
 younger and more reliant on other 
 people than she had been for the last 
 five years, set in. It was a debilitat- 
 ing feeling, and made her fear, what was 
 the truth, namely, that her nerves were 
 weakened by some conscious dread 
 which assailed her when she was either 
 just dropping off to sleep or half 
 awakening. She could not grasp or 
 define it. It was gone almost before 
 she knew that it had been there. But 
 there it had been, and it was sapping 
 her moral and mental strenoth. 
 
 o 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 34 ^0 Hero, but a Man. 
 
 The preparations which . the aunts 
 made for the reception of the first 
 male visitor who had stayed with 
 them since they had set up house 
 together were prettily done, in a pros- 
 perous, open-handed spirit, that showed 
 Frances how thoroughly in earnest 
 they were in their desire to do all 
 due honour to their future nephew. 
 
 The best guest - chamber, which was 
 always the sweetest, quaintest sanctu- 
 ary of freshness, comfort, lavender and 
 old china, received some indescribable 
 touches, that made it fit for the occu- 
 pation of a prince of the blood-royal. 
 
 Frances shivered as she stepped over 
 the silver - grey grounded carpet, on 
 which pale pink roses were grouped, 
 to the dressing-table, which was draped 
 with pink satin, that would have stood
 
 Treville s New Neighbour. 35 
 
 alone If th^ table had not lent it sup- 
 port, and fine old lace that had 
 covered their grandmother's court - train 
 when she had been presented to Queen 
 Charlotte. She shivered even more 
 when she looked at the old Italian 
 mirror, framed in burnished glass, which 
 stood in the centre. She felt sure 
 that John Treville would ruthlessly 
 drag it into a better light to shave 
 by, or fling his keys and loose coin 
 down on its stand, and hate and 
 despise it as a fragile and frivolous 
 piece of tomfoolery, on a table intended 
 for a man to use. 
 
 The hour of his arrival had been 
 well timed by Frances. He was to 
 reach Bath by a 6.30 train, and the 
 dinner hour at Myrtle Lodge was half 
 past seven. There would be some-
 
 ^6 No Hero, but a Man, 
 
 thing definite for him to do as soon 
 as he came. He must dress, and he 
 would be less likely to break the Vene- 
 tian mirror by daylight than by lamp 
 or candle light. 
 
 Frances drove down to the station 
 to meet him. She was standing on 
 the platform when the train drew up, 
 and, as it happened, he got out of a 
 carriage immediately opposite to her. 
 As he stepped out, she looked past 
 his tall figure to that of another man, 
 who was leaning forward to say good- 
 bye to him — a man whom, with a sud- 
 den, vivid intensifying of the morbid 
 dread that had assailed her in half- 
 unconscious, sleepy moments lately — 
 she recognised as the good - looking 
 man who had travelled down to Bath 
 with Mr Harlby and herself, and whom
 
 Trevilles New Neighbour, 2>7 
 
 she believed till this moment to be 
 dead. 
 
 His eyes met hers in an instant, 
 and he drew back hastily. The train 
 rushed on, and John Treville greeted 
 her hurriedly, then busded about to 
 look after his luggage. When it was 
 found, he had time to remark that she 
 'was looking very ill.' In reply to this, 
 she asked, — 
 
 * Who was the man who said good- 
 bye to you ? ' and he replied, — 
 
 ' My new neighbour, at Gunwalloe 
 Place, Mr Herbert Harlby.'
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A SINNER. 
 
 The man who went on in the train 
 to London, when John Treville left 
 it at Bath, found plenty of embar- 
 rassing, not to say painful, food for 
 reflection as he jonrneyed after that 
 momentary encounter with the lady 
 whom he rightly guessed to be Tre- 
 ville's future wife. Treville's future 
 wife, and consequently his own 
 nearest lady neighbour. Only three 
 
 miles lay between Gunwalloe Place 
 
 38
 
 A Sinner. 39 
 
 and Wingates, and already he had 
 fallen into the habit of friendly inti- 
 macy and frequent intercourse with 
 John Treville. There would be no 
 excuse to be made for dropping that 
 intercourse when Treville married. 
 
 Already the latter had spoken freely 
 of Miss Woodford, the lady to 
 whom he was engaged. Already he, 
 Herbert Harlby, the new owner of 
 Gunwalloe Place, had said he hoped 
 that Miss Woodford, who would be 
 Mrs Treville by that time, would do 
 him the honour of acting as hostess 
 to the acquaintances and neighbours 
 whom he intended inviting at Christ- 
 mas. It was the cruellest irony of 
 fate, that she should turn out to be 
 the only woman in the world from 
 whose sight and knowledge he was
 
 40 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 desirous of concealing himself for 
 ever. 
 
 He tortured himself by conjectur- 
 ing the many ways in which she 
 would extract from Treville all the latter 
 knew or had heard about him — Herbert 
 Harlby, the man who had seemed to 
 drop from the clouds into that fair 
 Cornish inheritance. He shrank with 
 something worse than fear, from the 
 thought of how she would then tell 
 her lover all that had transpired in 
 the course of conversation between the 
 trio on that memorable day before 
 she had left them at Bath. She, with 
 that sweet, lovely face of hers, which 
 had haunted him ever since that awful 
 day, would probably be the means 
 of placing him in a felon's dock or a 
 convict's cell. Worse even, she might
 
 A Sinner, 41 
 
 be the means of attaching the sus- 
 picion of his having murdered the 
 real — he meant the other — man, and 
 so getting him hanged. 
 
 At one moment he made up his 
 mind to rush back to Bath by the next 
 train, see her, and find out what was 
 the worst she suspected, and the worst 
 she meant to do. The next, he shuddered 
 at the idea of ever seeing her again, 
 and determined to go out of the 
 country to some obscure spot, where 
 he might Hve out his harassed Hfe un- 
 known and unrecognised. Then again 
 this resolution would be followed by 
 one to wait and let Fate do her 
 worst. 
 
 He was not a London man, he had 
 never belonged to any of the clubs, 
 nor during his fitful and brief sojourns
 
 42 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 in the Metropolis had he been a con- 
 stant frequenter of any of the best 
 known cafds or restaurants. His 
 evenings had always been spent at the 
 theatres, when he had been in town. 
 His days on the river in summer, and 
 in the city in the winter on the busi- 
 ness of a house in Liverpool, in which 
 his father had been a junior partner 
 and he himself a clerk at one time, 
 before he took to roving and earning 
 a precarious living, sometimes by acting 
 as agent for richer men, sometimes by 
 doing secretary's work for busy students, 
 sometimes by teaching his own language 
 to French pupils and French to Eng- 
 lish ones. Ah ! would that he were 
 living that fearless open life now ! 
 would that he had never heard of 
 Gunwalloe Place !
 
 A Sinnei\ 43 
 
 Habit drew him to the theatre, the 
 play deah with a woman's deception, 
 detection and despair. There was no 
 similarity in their cases, yet every an- 
 guished throb of remorse or dread of 
 detection and downfall that wrung her 
 breast, caused a corresponding emotion 
 in his. He felt it to be more than 
 likely that he would end as she does 
 in the story. He went away from 
 the theatre a more madly, miserable man 
 than he had been when he entered it. 
 
 How drearily, desperately, despairingly 
 long the watches of that night were. 
 Even if a few brief moments of sleep 
 were granted him now and again, he 
 was never oblivious of the fact that 
 he was in great misery and direful 
 danger. He rose early the next morn- 
 ing, because there was no rest for him
 
 44 No Hero, but a Man, 
 
 in the bed ; then he longed to go to 
 bed again, for there was no rest for 
 him up. Looking in the glass, he saw- 
 that he looked ten years older than 
 he had done on the previous day before 
 the train ran into Bath. The only 
 thing for which he could thank God 
 fervently this day was, that no letters 
 could reach him, as not being sure of 
 where he would put up, he had not 
 left an address behind him or given 
 one to Treville. 
 
 John Treville's attention was fully 
 engrossed by Bath's handsome streets 
 and charming outskirts, as they drove 
 from the station to Myrtle Lodge. All 
 he had seen of the beautiful old city 
 previously had been from the train 
 on his way to and from London. The
 
 A Sinner. 45 
 
 floweriness and rare trees — fulness of the 
 suburban gardens and parks, struck him 
 forcibly, for the part of Cornwall in which 
 Wingates was situated was rather barren, 
 arid, and windy, as the name of his 
 house signified. 
 
 He did not, after that one brief 
 glance, and the remark that she was 
 looking very ill, study his betrothed's 
 face again until they reached home, 
 and Frances showered mute blessings 
 on him for this inattention. 
 
 A terrible feeling had taken hold of 
 her, that she had known all along that 
 the revelation which had been made 
 to her this day would be made. There 
 had been a look in the eyes of the 
 man who was called Herbert Harlby, 
 which seemed to claim and establish 
 a confidence and a comradeship between
 
 46 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 them. There had been confession, ap- 
 peal, entreaty and trust In that one 
 look he had given straight into her 
 eyes, and down, as it seemed to her, 
 into her heart. She knew that she 
 would never betray him, however much 
 or however little there might be to be 
 betrayed. She knew that the secret, 
 of however little or great importance 
 it might be, would shadow and environ 
 her for life. That she would never be 
 able to get away from its influences — 
 never forget that it was there, and 
 that she was the only person in the 
 world, beside himself, who knew that 
 it existed. 
 
 A great feeling of compassion for 
 him and for herself welled up in her 
 heart, and drove out all thought of 
 and consideration for other people be-
 
 A Sinner. 47 
 
 fore it. He could be but little older 
 than herself, she knew, yet something 
 of the divinely protecting love of a 
 mother for a faulty and greatly- 
 endangered son filled her whole soul, 
 as she realised what agony he must 
 have endured when he saw her, and 
 knew that John Treville would soon 
 tell her his name and station. 
 
 * Will he understand me as I do 
 him? Will he fear and hate, or will 
 he trust me ? ' she thought over and 
 over again as the carriage rolled along, 
 and John Treville made short, sharp, 
 incisive remarks about the various 
 places as they passed — remarks which 
 reached her ears but not her under- 
 standing, — the whole of that was ab- 
 sorbed in the attempt to work out 
 the problem of what he and she
 
 48 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 would do when they met — as 
 they must meet, inevitably, before 
 long. 
 
 But the drive came to an end, and 
 with it that blessed ability to be 
 silent which she had enjoyed while 
 it lasted. 
 
 The aunts were at the door under 
 the verandah, joyfully expectant of the 
 welcome stranger who was so soon to 
 be one of them. He received their 
 flattering greetings complacently, but 
 not effusively. He had met Frances 
 Woodford, as a governess, in the 
 family with whom he was staying in 
 Paris, on the occasion of his taking 
 over some agricultural implements, which 
 he had exhibited at one of the machin- 
 ery and implement expositions which 
 were held in that city. Miss Wood-
 
 A Sinner, 49 
 
 ford's employer had bought his patents 
 and popularised his inventions, received 
 him into his house, shown him great 
 hospitality, and generally impressed him- 
 self upon John Treville as a superior 
 person of some importance. 
 
 For a time he had scarcely regarded 
 the lovely English governess of this 
 superior person at all. But her potent 
 charms worked upon him at last to 
 such an extent, that, though he dis- 
 liked the idea of marrying a woman 
 who had occupied 'a dependent 
 position' in a friend's house, he 
 proposed to her, and she accepted 
 him. 
 
 At the same time, he had not 
 forgotten, and was never likely to 
 forget, that she was only a governess, 
 and that no former Treville, as far 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 back as he could trace them, had ever 
 married a governess before. 
 
 When he had thought about them 
 at all, he had thought that Frances' 
 relations, about v^hom she had been 
 very reticent, v^ere probably good, de- 
 serving, middle-class people of moderate 
 means, v^ho had made money sacri- 
 fices to give their niece the excellent 
 education which had enabled her to 
 support herself, and fill the situation 
 in which he found her. The carriage 
 had rather shaken him in this sup- 
 position, and now the beautifully-kept 
 gardens and exquisitely-ordered house, 
 to say nothing of the unmistakable 
 air of prosperity which sat with the 
 graceful ease of custom upon the two 
 handsomely-dressed elderly ladies, con- 
 victed him decisively of his error.
 
 A Sinner, 51 
 
 They and their estabHshment aston- 
 ished him. He could not under- 
 stand how it was that Frances had 
 never told him her aunts were wealthy 
 women. 
 
 Perhaps his astonishment at sight of 
 them scarcely equalled theirs at sight 
 of him. They had been prepared to 
 see a bluff, hearty, country gentleman, 
 with a ruddy, healthy, open face, and 
 a fine, athletic form. Instead of this 
 they saw a tall, spare man, with a 
 slight stoop at the shoulders, which 
 seemed to betoken more a sedentary 
 than an out-door life. His face had a 
 quick, inquiring expression ; and his 
 clothes, though unmistakably of country 
 make, were the clothes neither of an 
 athlete nor a sportsman. 
 
 He betrayed a good deal more 
 
 UNIVERSITY ^^ "»rM«ff.
 
 52 No Hero, b7it a Man, 
 
 anxiety and impatience about getting 
 his luggage conveyed upstairs into his 
 bedroom than men usually show on 
 first arriving at the house of a stranger. 
 He cut the aunts' salutations rather 
 short, in fact, and told Frances that he 
 would have a chat with her when he 
 had unpacked, as he had the model 
 of a patent horse-clipper with him, in 
 which, with the aid of a bit of copper 
 wire, he could make an improvement 
 which had occurred to him on the way 
 up, in the spring-action. Then, again 
 remarking, * How fearfully ill your' re 
 looking,' he went upstairs, and the 
 three ladies were left free to express 
 and hear opinions concerning him.
 
 CHAPTER l\\ 
 
 'they're not lovers.' 
 
 The one feeling Frances Woodford 
 had when Mr Treville hurried off to 
 unpack his model, while his last idea 
 for improving it was hot within him, 
 was that of intense, poignant relief ai 
 being relieved from the presence of her 
 lover. 
 
 He had only looked into her face 
 twice in a casual way, yet he had seen 
 enough to make him say that she 
 'looked very ill' Had it not been that 
 
 53
 
 54 -^0 Hero, but a Man. 
 
 outward attention was being given to 
 the strange scenery through which he 
 was passing, while his innermost 
 thoughts were revolving round that 
 merciful little model, he would assuredly 
 have noticed that her illness was of 
 the mind rather than the body, and 
 would have questioned her concerning 
 it in the masterful, iron-clad and in- 
 tensely exasperating way which she 
 already knew so well. 
 
 She stood resting one hand on the 
 mantelpiece, pretending to be engaged 
 in no more serious work than that of 
 inhaling the odour of a yellow rose, 
 and extracting all the sweetness that 
 was buried in its heart. In reality, she 
 was questioning herself as to whether, 
 with a terrific secret in her breast, she 
 was justified in playing on in what she
 
 ^ They re not Lovers! 55 
 
 now felt to be the hollow farce of an 
 engagement, which must end in the 
 tragedy of marriage with John Treville. 
 
 Over and over again she told herself, 
 as she stood there sniffing at the rose, 
 that she was *a fool,' worse than that, 
 a mad, criminal fool, to suffer pangs of 
 pity and remorse, because a man was 
 alive and calling himself ' Herbert 
 Harlby,' whom, she had believed, had 
 died and been laid quietly to his rest 
 in an Exeter churchyard many weeks 
 ago. The pity and remorse would go 
 on sweeping over her soul in alternate 
 waves, and it was with a jerk, such as 
 one experiences on a return to con- 
 sciousness after a fainting fit, that she 
 caught on to the conversation which 
 was being carried limply on between 
 her aunts.
 
 56 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 In the warmth of their dear, kind 
 hearts, they were trying to cover the 
 disappointment they felt at the manner 
 and appearance of their niece's lover, 
 under an exaggerated anxiety for his 
 comfort. 
 
 ' He must be so tired after his 
 journey, poor man. Railway travel- 
 ling on such a hot day as this is 
 most fatiguing,' Aunt Jane was saying, 
 when Frances came back from her day 
 dream. 
 
 ' Mr Treville is never tired or hot,' 
 Frances assured them, with a rueful 
 laugh ; ' don't disturb yourselves about 
 him.' 
 
 ' Do you think he would like a 
 warm bath before dinner .^^ A warm 
 bath is so refreshing after a journey ; 
 or shall I send Price up with a
 
 ' They re not Lovers' 57 
 
 glass of sherry ? ' Aunt John per- 
 sisted. 
 
 ' He would tell Price that he never 
 drank between meals, and send it 
 down again. I am sure you may 
 rely on his looking after himself, Aunt 
 John. He dislikes a fuss being made 
 about him.' 
 
 ' That comes from his having lived 
 alone for some time, I suppose,' the 
 elder Miss Woodford said softly. 
 ' When he has a dear, kind, little 
 wife to make a fuss about him he 
 will like it.' 
 
 ' I shall never make a fuss about 
 him ; I should never do it about any 
 man,' Frances said, dreamily. 
 
 Then she went away to dress for 
 dinner, and there was silence in the 
 room for a few moments.
 
 58 No Hero, hit a Man. 
 
 It was broken by Aunt Jane. 
 
 'They are not like lovers,' she 
 said. 
 
 ' They are not in love,' Aunt John 
 replied, rather sadly. ' But if she 
 esteems him, perhaps it will be as 
 well.' 
 
 * So pretty as she is, too, so grace- 
 ful and fascinating, and so good. One 
 would have thought a man would feel 
 that he could never make enough of 
 her.' 
 
 The widowed sister smiled and 
 sighed. 
 
 * Very few men are oppressed with 
 the difficulty of doing that in real life, 
 my dear,' she said, with the oracular air 
 of one who knew. 
 
 * Can it be his position and place 
 that made her accept him '^. ' conjectured
 
 ' They re not Love^^s! 59 
 
 Jane ; * or do you think she has had 
 a disappointment ? ' 
 
 * I think she has never cared for 
 anyone, and let us pray now that 
 she never may,' Aunt John murmured 
 fervently. All their elation at the 
 prospect of entertaining the future 
 man of the family had vanished. 
 
 Meantime, John Treville had un- 
 packed his model, put the Venetian 
 mirror face upwards, in a slanting 
 position on the pillows, from whence 
 it was likely to slide if there was the 
 slightest vibration in the room, and 
 covered the pink satin and old lace- 
 draped table with bits of steel, copper 
 wire and innumerable tools. 
 
 He took off his coat, and set to 
 work so earnestly, that, when the 
 dinner-bell rang, he had not com-
 
 6o No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 menced his dressing operations ; con- 
 sequently, the dinner had to be put 
 back, thus upsetting the cook's arrange- 
 ments for the evening. Such a thing 
 had never happened at Myrtle Lodge 
 before, during the whole term of her 
 nine years' residence with Mrs Gray 
 and Miss Woodford. The enormity 
 of the innovation upset her nerves to 
 such an extent, that the soup and 
 several other things were either burnt 
 or half cold. And John Treville did 
 not omit to candidly mention that they 
 were so, and to express an opinion 
 to the effect that ' a cook who spoilt 
 good food was as bad as the dry-rot 
 in a house.' 
 
 To do him justice, when he had 
 made his protest against the wrong 
 done to domestic economy by the
 
 * Theyh'e not Lovei's! 6i 
 
 spoiling of good food, he showed that 
 it was not merely fastidiousness, but 
 a genuine rigid regard for right-doing, 
 even in small matters, which had dic- 
 tated his remark. 
 
 He ate heartily, and was rather dis- 
 posed to censure Frances for not doing 
 the same, prophesying at the same 
 time, that when he * got her down in 
 Cornwall, the air there would soon give 
 her an appetite for healthy food, such 
 as pasties, leeky-pie and the like.' 
 
 * Have you brought us a photo- 
 graph of Wingates? I begged Frances 
 to write and ask you for one,' Aunt 
 John said cheerfully, when they were 
 left with the fruit and wine, w^hich 
 was neither burnt nor half cold. 
 
 ' I did write and ask you ; did I not, 
 John ? '
 
 62 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 *You did, and as it happened, Harlby 
 was with me when your letter came. 
 He said he would take a photograph 
 of it, and make a sketch of the old 
 place as well, and I have both in my 
 portmanteau upstairs. Capital photo- 
 grapher is Harlby, good draughtsman, 
 too. He has drawn out the details of 
 some of my implement inventions very 
 cleverly.' 
 
 'And who is Mr Harlby?' Aunt 
 John asked. 
 
 ' Man who has just come into a very 
 nice property down next door to me ; 
 surely you must have seen something 
 about him in the papers a short time 
 ago? He was travelling down to take 
 possession of the property, and a poor 
 fellow (no one knows who he was) 
 died in the same carnage. There
 
 ' They're not Lovers' 63 
 
 was an inquest, of course. It might 
 have been awkward for Harlby, but 
 he came out of it splendidly. He paid 
 all the funeral expenses ' (added Mr 
 Treville thoughtfully) ; ' shows what a 
 good fellow he must be to do that for 
 a perfect stranger, who was inconsiderate 
 enough to die in a railway carriage 
 in which Harlby and he were travel- 
 ling alone.' 
 
 ' Oh ! 710W I remember ! ' Aunt John 
 said, with the satisfied air of one who 
 already knows some of the details of 
 a popular gruesome story. ' Frances 
 travelled with them from Paddington. 
 How extremely odd and interesting.' 
 
 'Frances travelled with them,' Mr 
 Treville questioned with severity. 'Why, 
 Harlby has always stated that he 
 travelled alone with the poor fel-
 
 64 ^0 Hero, but a Man. 
 
 low who died, from Paddlngton to 
 Exeter.' 
 
 ^Probably Mr Harlby either didn't 
 notice me, or forgot me,' Frances said, 
 with lips that seemed to herself to 
 crumble and writhe. In reality they 
 did not even quiver. 
 
 ' He couldn't have forgotten you, even 
 if you were insignificant In appearance ; 
 and you're certainly not that.' 
 
 Mr Treville leant back in his chair, 
 and fixed his eyes steadily on Frances. 
 
 ' Can't make it out at all,' he went 
 on, not addressing anyone in parti- 
 cular, but apparently annoyed that 
 no one volunteered a solution of the 
 mystery. 
 
 'Perhaps he wished to spare a lady 
 the pain of giving evidence on such 
 a distressing circumstance,' Aunt John
 
 ' They re not Lovers.' 65 
 
 suggested, harking back to her original 
 opinion. 
 
 * Nonsense ! ' said Mr Trevllle sharply, 
 ' if I had been travelling with Frances 
 on such an occasion, I shouldn't have 
 told a lie to spare her feelings. Why 
 should he do it? A stranger to 
 her.' 
 
 No one answered him. 
 
 * I shall speak to Harlby about it 
 when I see him,' he went on, looking 
 round the table defiantly. 
 
 *You might spare my feelings to the 
 extent of letting a matter alone that 
 does not concern you,' Frances said 
 quietly. 
 
 ' I tell you it does concern me, my 
 dear, that a man with whom I am 
 on friendly and neighbourly terms should 
 have told a lie on a very serious sub- 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 66 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 ject. Did the poor fellow who died 
 so soon after you left the carriage look 
 ill ? ' 
 
 ' I have no recollection of him,' she 
 said coldly. 
 
 ' Did you recognise Harlby when 
 you saw him at the station to-day ? ' 
 
 She hesitated for a moment, and 
 then said firmly, — 
 
 * No ! I did not recognise Mr 
 Harlby.' 
 
 ' Your memory must be very badly 
 cultivated,' he said reprovingly. ' I 
 have always made it a point, from my 
 boyhood, to recall at the end of every 
 day every incident that has occurred 
 during the day before I sleep. I'll get 
 you into the same habit, you'll find 
 it such a useful one.' 
 
 ' I am sorry to leave you alone, Mr
 
 ' They re Jiot Loz'crs.' 67 
 
 Treville,' Aunt John said gently, rising 
 as she spoke ; ' we would have asked 
 some other o-entleman to meet vou. 
 but we thouo-ht vou would rather we 
 made it qtcite a family party the hrst 
 night, as you have not seen Frances 
 for some mionths.' 
 
 'Thanks — exactly so," he replied, 
 following them out of the room. '' No. 
 I won't have any more wine, thank 
 you. I must have another go at my 
 model for an hour or two. as I mean 
 to take it up to town and patent the 
 improvement to-morrow.' 
 
 If ]\Ir Herbert Harlby had only 
 heard this conversation, he would not 
 have writhed in ano'uish on account 
 of Frances Woodford. But perhaps 
 he would have suffered almost as much
 
 6S No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 In anticipation of John Treville's un- 
 called-for interference. 
 
 But before the burden of this new 
 terror was laid upon him, he received 
 another unexpected and far more 
 dangerous shock
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MRS HARLBY, WIDOW. 
 
 Lying at the bottom of the Gladstone, 
 on which was painted the name of 
 ' Herbert Harlby,' there was the photo- 
 graph of a young and pretty girl. 
 There was no signature to it, nor was 
 there the name of any photographer 
 on the mount. Apparently it had been 
 taken by an amateur, for instead of 
 being stippled up out of all resemblance 
 to the original it was untouched, and 
 one or two blemishes in the lovely face 
 
 were left distinctly visible. 
 69
 
 yo No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 When the new owner of Gunwalloe 
 Place had unpacked the Gladstone, his 
 first impulse had been to frame the 
 lovely face and put it on the oak 
 mantelpiece of the library in which he 
 generally sat. But a second thought 
 decided him to lock it up. It is awk- 
 ward to be unable to give a name to 
 the original of a striking photograph 
 to which you have given a prominent 
 position in your favourite sanctum. 
 
 About the same time that the master 
 of Gunwalloe Place encountered Frances 
 Woodford for the second time, and 
 endured untold agonies on account of 
 that encounter, a beautiful young 
 woman, accompanied by a nurse, a 
 baby, a maid, and a van-load of 
 luggage, arrived at The Langham 
 Hotel, took a suite of rooms, and gave
 
 Mrs Harlby, Widow. 71 
 
 the name Mrs Harlby, Gunwalloe 
 Place, Cornwall, to be entered in the 
 hotel books. 
 
 She was young, very vivacious, very 
 lovely, and very heartily devoted to 
 the baby boy. The daughter of an 
 English officer, she had lived nearly 
 all her grown-up life in India, until 
 two years before her appearance on 
 the stage of this story. Her father 
 had then taken her to New York, 
 where business relations were established 
 between himself and a fine, fair, florid 
 Englishman, called Herbert Harlby. 
 Shordy after this Colonel Sheldon died, 
 and his only child. Rose, married the 
 fine, fair, florid Englishman, because 
 she was homeless, and he was kind 
 enough to offer her one. 
 
 There had not been a particle of
 
 72 No Hero, btU a Man, 
 
 romance in the affair. He was an 
 emotional, boastful, intensely egotistical, 
 excitable man, who would do very 
 liberal and generous deeds when the 
 doing them conduced either to his own 
 glorification or pleasure. In marrying 
 lovely, penniless Rose Sheldon, he 
 gratified himself hugely. He gained 
 great credit from everyone to whom 
 he told the story, — and he told it to 
 everyone he met, — for his munificence 
 in endowing his deceased partner's 
 pauper child with himself and all his 
 worldly goods. And, at the same time, 
 he became the legal possessor — un- 
 trammelled by any scruples as to his 
 own fidelity — of the prettiest, brightest 
 girl to whom he had ever had the 
 opportunity of making love. 
 
 He wearied of her beauty and
 
 Mrs Harlby, Widow, 73 
 
 brightness as quickly as he had done 
 of the charms of every other woman 
 whom, he had fancied, wooed and won 
 in his Hfe. But as the marriage tie did 
 not fetter him in the sHghtest degree, 
 he continued to treat her kindly in a 
 casual sort of way, and gave her 
 absolute freedom of action and plenty 
 of money to do as she pleased with. 
 
 How long this state of affairs would 
 have continued without an explosion 
 need not be considered now. Business 
 called him to England, and the state 
 of her health rendered it desirable that 
 she should remain in New York. He 
 did not think it necessary to tell her 
 what the business was, and she had 
 not the faintest desire to know. He 
 had a variety of lady friends in New 
 York, with whom it was important (he
 
 74 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 thought) to make elaborate arrange- 
 ments for future and frequent corre- 
 spondence, so his time was too much 
 taken up for him to have any oppor- 
 tunity of taking Rose into his confidence. 
 They parted with cordiality and com- 
 posure — that he did not exhibit this 
 latter quality in his partings with several 
 of the aforesaid lady friends is beside 
 the point — and she never saw him 
 again. 
 
 But she heard from him once. He 
 wrote in scrawling spasmodic haste to 
 tell her that his claim, as the only living 
 representative of the ancient Cornish 
 family of Harlbys, was established, and 
 that he was on the point of starting 
 that very day to see the house and 
 property which was called Gunwalloe 
 Place. He added, that when things
 
 Mrs Harlby, Widow. 75 
 
 were a little settled, he would send or 
 come for her ; that he had lodged a 
 large sum for her in a New York 
 Bank ; and wound up by expressing a 
 hope that he should find some pretty 
 women among his new county neigh- 
 bours. 
 
 He posted his letter, started on his 
 journey, and died suddenly in the 
 railway-carriage near Exeter. But she 
 was ignorant of this when, in a fit 
 of caprice, she came to England and 
 quartered herself and child at the 
 Langham Hotel. 
 
 From there she wrote to her husband, 
 having first found out to which port- 
 town in Cornwall Gunwalloe Place was 
 nearest. Then, without any impatience 
 for an answer marring her intense 
 enjoyments of the novel sights which
 
 76 No Hero, bttt a Man. 
 
 met her eyes at every turn, she shopped, 
 drove, rode, dined, went to theatres 
 and concerts, v^ith the zest which a 
 tyro in London blessed with the 
 holiday - nature only can experi- 
 ence. 
 
 Her letter, with others, was forwarded 
 to Herbert Harlby, Esq., the Junior 
 Conservative Club, Piccadilly. It ran 
 as follows : — 
 
 ' Dear Herbert, — Baby was born 
 just a fortnight after you left me in 
 New York. He is such a dear little 
 fellow, rather red, but quite pretty, with 
 big blue eyes, and a little fluff of 
 yellow hair. He knows me already. 
 Shall I wait here till you come and 
 fetch me 1 I have brought Sanders 
 with me, and of course a nurse for
 
 Mrs Harlby, Widow. jj 
 
 baby. I have called him after you 
 and papa. — Your affectionate Wife, 
 
 ' Rose Harlby.' 
 
 The man who received this letter 
 read it, and was filled with deeper pity 
 for the one who had penned it than 
 he had previously felt for himself. 
 Poor woman ! She was evidently the 
 wife of the other Herbert Harlby — the 
 wife of the man who had died so 
 suddenly in the railway carriage. She 
 was the mother of that man's child, 
 probably she loved that man dearly, 
 and would fight for his child's rights, 
 or claims, rather. He substituted the 
 word ' claims ' for * rights ' with a mental 
 apology to himself for his verbal inac- 
 curacy. There was no one of course 
 with any rights regarding Gunwalloe
 
 78 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 Place save himself, Herbert Harlby, the 
 last of the race. 
 
 It would be a suicidal policy to 
 avoid the widow who bore the same 
 name as himself. He would see her 
 with as little delay as possible, and 
 inform her as fully as was expedient 
 of the circumstances attending her late 
 husband's death. He hoped she would 
 not give way to an uncontrollable burst 
 of grief, when he told her that not 
 only was her husband dead, but that 
 he had deceived her while living, with 
 respect to being the heir to the Gun- 
 walloe property. Poor thing, it would 
 wring his own heart to face her with 
 these painful facts ; but if he did not 
 do it speedily, he would probably have 
 to face something even more person- 
 ally unpleasant before long.
 
 Mrs Harlby, Widow. 79 
 
 He was making his way slowly 
 with reluctant feet from the Metropole, 
 where he was staying, towards the 
 Langham Hotel, where the wife and 
 child were awaiting the husband and 
 father. In Regent Street, to his in- 
 tense chagrin, he met, and could not 
 avoid, John Treville. In all his pre- 
 vious life he had never shrank from 
 or feared a meeting with man or 
 woman. It was only since he had 
 been the lucky, envied owner of Gun- 
 walloe Place that he had experienced 
 the sensation of nervous agitation at 
 the sight of a fellow-creature. 
 
 'You're the very fellow I wanted 
 to see,' Treville began, emphatically. 
 ' I am very much surprised at hear- 
 ing from Miss Woodford, the lady I 
 am engaged to, that she travelled
 
 So No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 down from Paddington to Bath In the 
 same carriage with you and the poor 
 fellow who died at Exeter. You 
 said at the inquest that you had 
 travelled alone with him the whole 
 way ? ' 
 
 ' I was thrown out of gear alto- 
 gether at the time, by the shock. 
 I forget what I said at the inquest,' 
 Harlby said, impatiently. 
 
 ' But, my good fellow, you could 
 not have forgotten at the inquest 
 that you had a lady fellow-passenger 
 more than half the way?' 
 
 ' I suppose at the time I had a 
 vague idea of sparing the lady the 
 annoyance of having her name mixed 
 up in such a painful matter.' 
 
 'Now I shouldn't have acted in 
 that way,' John Treville persisted ;
 
 Mrs Harlby, Widow. 8i 
 
 'much better to have let the lady- 
 bear her share of the temporary 
 annoyance, than lay yourself open 
 to suspicion by concealing the fact of 
 her having been there.' 
 
 ' Does the lady blame me for my 
 consideration for her feelings?' Harlby 
 asked, reddening. 
 
 ' Not at all. She seems to dislike 
 the subject, and I can't get a word 
 from her about it, without positively 
 dragging it out. She wouldn't have 
 told me she was in the same carriage 
 with you, only her old aunts let the 
 cat out of the bag. By the way, I 
 am staying with the old ladies at 
 Bath, only just ran up to London 
 to-day, about some of my inventions. 
 I wish you could come with me and 
 look at a direct infringement of one 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 82 No HerOy but a Man, 
 
 of my patents. I am going to run 
 a big firm for selling it, and shall 
 most likely get heavy damages.' 
 
 ' Nothing would give me greater 
 pleasure/ 
 
 Harlby managed to say this 
 quite heartily. His spirits had risen 
 since finding that the woman, whose 
 sweet face had haunted him, ever 
 since that fateful day on which he had 
 seen her first, had not betrayed him. 
 
 ^ Well, come along then, I'm bound 
 for Longacre.' John Treville marched 
 briskly onward, and Harlby had to 
 follow him hastily to explain. 
 
 ' I should be delighted, but I have 
 a pressing engagement, and, as it is, 
 I am rather late for it. When do you 
 go down ? Can you dine with me to- 
 night at the Metropole ? '
 
 M7's Harlby^ Widow. Z^ 
 
 ' I go back to Bath by the four 
 train. When are you bound for Gun- 
 walloe ? ' 
 
 ' To-morrow, I hope. I'm sick of 
 town. I suppose your movements are 
 uncertain ? ' 
 
 ' No ; I have arranged to go back 
 next week, and I shall take the old 
 aunts and Miss Woodford with me. 
 We all think that it's better she should 
 see the place, and look round the 
 furniture before she goes there for 
 good. It hadn't occurred to me that 
 Wingates would need redecorating and 
 refurbishing when I set up a wife, 
 but the lady seems to hold a different 
 opinion. She doesn't like the name 
 " Wingates." I shouldn't wonder if she 
 tries to persuade me to do some plant- 
 inof at the east end of the house to
 
 84 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 keep off the east wind. We feel them 
 a good deal. My poor mother wasted 
 a lot of time in trying to persuade 
 my father to protect that end of the 
 house with trees and high shrubs. 
 But he was not going to shut out the 
 view for the sake of keeping off the 
 wind. Neither am I.' 
 
 Mr Harlby meditated over this con- 
 versation after they parted. To please 
 her, to give that sweet, serious - faced 
 woman, who had bewitched him, one 
 hour's gratification, he would have cut 
 down every tree on Gunwalloe, or 
 undertaken to make forests and pleas- 
 aunces flourish in the wilderness! God 
 bless her ! for her noble reserve and 
 disinclination to chatter and gossip 
 about the events of that awful day on 
 which his fellow - passenger had died.
 
 Mrs Harlby, Widow. 85 
 
 God bless her for that one look of 
 heart-aching sympathy which she had 
 given him a day or two ago at Bath ! 
 
 All fear and distrust of her had van- 
 ished. He found himself longing to 
 look upon her again. Longing to hold 
 her hand for an instant in his ; to meet 
 the steady glance of those grave, earnest 
 eyes, that held such a rich promise of 
 loyalty, tenderness, and stability in their 
 beautiful depths. He longed to get her 
 unspoken pledge to be his friend, to 
 honour him with her interest and sym- 
 pathy, and to give him the incentive 
 to lead a useful, honourable, clean, and 
 straightforward life in order to retain it. 
 He longed — ! 
 
 His thoughts were wrenched away 
 from her suddenly as he found himself 
 in the hall at the Langham, and re-
 
 86 No Hero, hit a Man. 
 
 membered that he had come to see a 
 Mrs Harlby, and that his appearance 
 and name would probably give her an 
 awful shock. 
 
 Mrs Harlby was disengaged, and 
 quite ready to receive the gentleman, 
 who had sent no name up, merely 
 stating that he had come from Gun- 
 walloe Place on business.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MATERNAL SOLICITUDE. 
 
 As Mr Harlby stepped into a private 
 sitting-room, the bright, young beauty, 
 which he instantly recognised as the 
 original of the photograph found at the 
 bottom of the Gladstone, came forward 
 to meet him. 
 
 She was dressed charmingly In a 
 light, greyish - blue summer cloth cos- 
 tume, and she looked the embodiment of 
 
 happy, careless, graceful youth. Could 
 87
 
 88 N'o Hero, but a Man. 
 
 she have loved the coarse, lonely, florid, 
 boastful man who was dead? 
 
 ' You are an ambassador from my 
 husband? I felt that he would depute 
 the troublesome task of coming to fetch 
 baby and me to some one else.' 
 
 She spoke with the utmost indiffer- 
 ence of her anticipation of her hus- 
 band's neglect, and this gave Mr Harlby 
 a sense of relief. He would not have 
 to control the expression of profound 
 and overwhelming woe when circum- 
 stances led up to the announcement 
 of that husband's death. 
 
 ' On the contrary,' he said, very 
 gently and respectfully, ' I have called 
 on you in consequence of having re- 
 ceived this' (he handed her her own 
 letter, which she had addressed to Her- 
 bert Harlby, Esq., Gunwalloe Place,
 
 Maternal Solicihtde. 89 
 
 Cornwall). ' I am Herbert Harlby, of 
 Gunwalloe Place, Cornwall. Your letter 
 has — has staggered me.' 
 
 This was true — it had staggered him 
 pitiably. 
 
 Without speaking, she turned and 
 rang the bell, in answer to which a 
 well-appointed, responsible -looking maid 
 appeared. 
 
 ' Get Mr Harlby 's photograph, San- 
 ders ; it's somewhere in baby's room, 
 and his last letter, the one in which 
 he tells me he was on the point of 
 starting for Gunwalloe Place,' she said ; 
 and when Sanders vanished on her 
 mission, the young lady resumed with 
 extraordinary calmness, — * I am not 
 astonished at there being some con- 
 fusion about this matter. There always 
 is confusion where my husband is con-
 
 90 No Hero^ but a Man. 
 
 cerned. Will you not sit down, Mr 
 Harlbv ? ' 
 
 She beat her fingers sharply and im- 
 patiently on the table, and remained in 
 deep thought for a few moments. 
 Then she roused herself and said, smil- 
 ing very sweetly, and with an evident 
 desire to relieve the embarrassment of 
 her wretched guest, — 
 
 ' You will see, when Sanders brings 
 his photograph and last letter to me, 
 what an inconsequently sanguine man 
 my husband is. Still ! I can't under- 
 stand his having deceived himself in 
 such an extraordinary way about a 
 business matter, such an important 
 business matter, too, as the succession 
 to a valuable property. Oh ! here is 
 Sanders ; this is my husband, and now 
 you shall read the letter.'
 
 Maternal Solicitude. 9 1 
 
 She paused abruptly, for Mr Harlby 
 had dropped the photograph as if it 
 had burnt him. 
 
 ' Pardon,' he said agitatedly. ' I re- 
 cognise this as the likeness of a man 
 whom I saw once only, but then under 
 circumstances that imprinted his like- 
 ness on my memory indelibly.' 
 
 ' Yes ; tell me more.' 
 
 She had risen, and now stood, 
 young, slender, and strong, her un- 
 conquerably bright spirit shining out 
 through all her anxiety. 
 
 ' Let me speak ; let me explain 
 matters first to your companion here,' 
 he said, indicating Sanders, with a 
 movement of his hand. 
 
 * No ! no ! no ! Sanders shall stay and 
 hear everything, but so will /.' 
 
 ' Have you happened to see in any
 
 92 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 papers an account of a dramatic, a 
 tragic, circumstance that occurred in a 
 railway carriage on the Great Western 
 line on the day on which this letter is 
 dated?' 
 
 ' I have not. Go on quickly. Say 
 what this dramatically-tragic circum- 
 stance was. It concerned my husband, 
 I am sure.' 
 
 ' Oh, that day the original of this 
 photograph and I were travelling to- 
 gether in the same carriage. A lady, 
 who had come with us from Paddington, 
 got out at Bath. I must soon have 
 fallen asleep after she left the car- 
 riage. When I awoke we were at Exeter, 
 and I thought my fellow-traveller had 
 fainted.' 
 
 He paused, and pressed a handker- 
 chief to his brow and lips. The young
 
 Maternal Solicitude. 93 
 
 lady was looking at him so pityingly 
 that he wished he had been the 
 man to die that day instead of the 
 other. 
 
 ' Instead of his having fainted, what 
 — what was it, sir?' Sanders faltered. 
 
 'He was dead!' said the owner of 
 Gunwalloe Place. 
 
 ' Dead ! ' 
 
 ' Madam, every effort was made by 
 the medical men, who were on the spot 
 within five minutes, to revive him. 
 Those efforts were all in vain. So 
 were all the efforts we made to dis- 
 cover his name and friends. His 
 initials were the same as mine, '* H. H." 
 His cigar case, and a few other trifles, 
 are in the possession of the Exeter 
 police.' 
 
 * My dear little boy has no father, so
 
 94 ^0 Hero, but a Man, 
 
 I must do the more for him myself. It 
 was all a mistake, then, on Mr Harlby's 
 part that he was the heir to a great 
 property ? Oh, I wish that had been 
 true. My baby would have been a 
 great English gentleman if it had been, 
 instead of being only my baby, as he 
 is now. But you can't help it, Mr 
 Harlby ; don't look so distressed, pray 
 don't. It is unjust and unreasonable 
 of me to bemoan my baby not having 
 what he never had a right to. Fool 
 that I was, to rely for a moment on 
 any statement made by — ' 
 
 She checked herself in some con- 
 fusion, at having allowed her naturally 
 candid and veracious spirit to run 
 away with her to the extent of ex- 
 pressing her genuine opinion of her 
 late husband to a perfect stranger.
 
 Maternal Solicitude, 95 
 
 But the strano-er was not thinkinor 
 her imprudent. He was trying to 
 solve a torturing problem which he 
 had put before himself, and this 
 was : How could he best, without 
 alarming that quick, proud, sensitive 
 nature, serve herself and her child for 
 the rest of his life ? 
 
 ' You are so kind, and so sorry for 
 my disappointment about my baby not 
 being the heir to a fine English pro- 
 perty, that you are exaggerating my 
 troubles in your own mind, Mr Harlby,' 
 she said, softly and earnestly. ' After 
 all, I have very little to grumble at. 
 I should have been happier if my 
 husband had died in a less trag^ic 
 way, and if I could have helped to 
 make his last hours happier. But the 
 tragedy of it is felt by me only, not
 
 g6 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 by him. And I have the boy, and, I 
 believe, plenty of money to spend on 
 him ; and you — you will be my friend, 
 won't you ? ' 
 
 ' God helping me, / will,' he said 
 so fervently, that, touched by his 
 emotion, she again reverted to what 
 would have been their parts in the 
 natural order of things, and essayed to 
 comfort him. 
 
 ' I am so sorry for what you must 
 have felt just now, when you recog- 
 nised my husband's photo, and realised 
 that you had to tell me you saw him 
 die.' 
 
 ' Is there anything I can do for 
 you — anyone I can find and bring to 
 you ? ' he asked eagerly. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 ' No. Baby and I are quite alone
 
 Maternal Solicitude, 97 
 
 in England, as far as relations or 
 friends go. I have some acquaintances 
 in New York — but I never wish to 
 see any of them again,' she added 
 hastily, thinking of the numerous 
 syrens, whose strains of false senti- 
 ment had found echoes in her husband's 
 falsely susceptible heart. 
 
 ' Will you let me be of use to you 
 and your child ? ' he pleaded. 
 
 ' Yes, I will. When I have had 
 time to think, you shall write for me 
 to my husband's business - people in 
 New York, and make them tell me 
 exactly how I stand. My husband 
 was a rich man ; he need never have 
 let himself be deluded by a similarity 
 of name into coveting your property, 
 and pretending to think it was his. 
 By-and-by you shall take me to the 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 98 No Hero, but a Man, 
 
 place where he is buried, and then, 
 when my boy is old enough, he 
 will see that his mother did all the 
 honour she could to his father's 
 memory.' 
 
 He felt that he could not stand 
 the strain of further intercourse with 
 this guileless, generous, unsuspicious 
 nature any longer. What a worthless 
 hound the man must have been to 
 have been careless of her, as he 
 evidently had been. 
 
 * May I call again to-morrow } you 
 may have some commands for me ? ' 
 he asked, rising up. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 * No, not to-morrow. I know what 
 England is,' she said, smiling rather 
 sadly ; * and now, more than ever, 
 I must never do anything that baby
 
 Maternal Solicitude. 99 
 
 wouldn't like to hear I had done, 
 when he is older. All the people in 
 the hotel will know that I have heard 
 to-day, for the first time, that I am 
 a widow. I must behave well, as my 
 father would have had me behave if 
 he had been alive. My father is the 
 standard I have always set up for 
 my rule of right and wrong, Mr 
 Harlby,' she said wistfully, and then, 
 with a sudden little spasm of happy 
 pride, she added, — ' I wish you could 
 have known my father. You would 
 have liked him so much, he was such 
 a splendid man and soldier, and such 
 an honourable gentleman. If God is 
 good enough to let my boy grow 
 up, and grow up like my father, what 
 a happy woman I shall be. Sha'n't 
 I, Sanders ? '
 
 lOO No Hero, btit a Man, 
 
 The childish appeal to her servant 
 for support of, and sympathy with, 
 her sentiments, struck Mr Harlby as 
 being one of the prettiest bits of pathos 
 he had ever witnessed. It made him 
 wish, with more remorsefully-passionate 
 force than ever, that he had not hap- 
 pened to be a fellow-traveller with the 
 other Herbert Harlby when the latter 
 reached the bourne from whence no 
 traveller returneth. 
 
 * If I had only know^n that day that 
 he had a wife and son,' he kept on 
 saying to himself as he wandered 
 about town, making all manner of 
 business for himself, in the desperate 
 desire to get rid of the most de- 
 pressing companions he had ever been 
 afflicted with, his own thoughts. 
 * Heaven help and forgive me ; I
 
 Maternal Solicitude, loi 
 
 should have been a different man 
 this day if I had only known he had 
 a wife and son. Is it too late to undo 
 — to retrace the erring steps — to — what 
 an ass I am ! The law would be on my 
 side, I'm confident, if — I hadn't made 
 that one false step.' 
 
 ' Poor fellow ! poor fellow ! Sanders, 
 I shall go to him at once and nurse 
 him if he wants nursing — ' 
 
 * Miss Rose, are you off your head ? ' 
 Sanders asked this quite shakily. 
 Mrs Harlby's words and manner were 
 inexplicable. The usually sweet, bright, 
 vivacious young widow, whose whole 
 soul, up to this morning, had seemed 
 to be wrapped up in her baby, was 
 standing now before Sanders, tears 
 streaming plenteously and unbecomingly
 
 I02 No Hero, btU a Man, 
 
 from her pretty eyes, while she pointed a 
 shaky finger at a paragraph headed : — 
 
 * Shocking Accident to a Cornish 
 Gentleman ! ' 
 
 ' I can't read it, Miss Rose, without my 
 glasses, too ; they're left in the nursery 
 because you shrieked that wildly, that I 
 thought the place was on fire, or that 
 you had blown your face to pieces with 
 them horrid methylated spirits you curl 
 your hair with. As will happen one 
 day, I'm sure, if you won't be warned in 
 time, and drop them for Hinde's curlers, 
 which cant explod — ' 
 
 * Oh ! never mind my hair exploding, 
 dear old Sanders, this is awful! Mr 
 Harlby, of Gunwalloe Place, was out 
 shooting with a large party of gentlemen 
 at Wingates yesterday, and was acci- 
 dentally shot in the face by one of the
 
 Maternal Solicitude. 103 
 
 number. Mr Harlby is now lying in 
 a precarious condition at Wingates, 
 the seat of his friend, Mr Tre- 
 ville/ 
 
 ' I've always said snares was far safer 
 than guns ! ' Sanders observed senten- 
 tiously. ' Poor gentleman ! he had a 
 pleasant face, too. 'Tis a pity that he 
 wasn't shot in the leg, or the arm, or 
 somewhere, where it wouldn't show so 
 much.' 
 
 ' Sanders, I shall go down and nurse 
 him ! You see it says his condition 
 is precarious ! What a friend he has 
 been to me ! How he has looked after 
 baby's interests. You and baby and 
 nurse and I will all go down to Win- 
 gates to-day, and see if we can be of 
 any use to him.' 
 
 ' And it's my belief, if we do that, his
 
 I04 ^^0 Hero, but a Man. 
 
 friend Mr Treville will send us straight 
 off to the County Asylum as a lot of 
 wandering lunatics/ Sanders said, press- 
 ing her lips together, till the thin red 
 line they made expressed disapproba- 
 tion more emphatically than any words 
 could have done. 
 
 ' I shall go and nurse him ! he won't 
 think me a lunatic. It's what my father 
 would have done for any man, woman, 
 or beast who had ever been kind to 
 him. We'll pack up and be off at 
 once.' 
 
 ' Miss Rose — Mrs Harlby, I mean — ' 
 Sanders began imploringly, ' you can't 
 go trapezing into a stranger's house, 
 baby, and baggage, and all, after a 
 strange gentleman, who's nothing to 
 you,' Sanders expostulated, wringing 
 her hands and almost weeping.
 
 Mate^ma I Solicitude. i o 5 
 
 In a moment Rose's arms were round 
 the old servant's neck. 
 
 ' He is something to me ; he has been 
 a friend to me, and has taken care of 
 baby's interests much, muck better than 
 I could have done. How kind he was 
 when he came and told me of my dis- 
 appointment about Gunwalloe Place for 
 baby, and it wasn't his fault that I was 
 disappointed. There were tears in his 
 eyes, tears of pity for me, a stranger, 
 and my little child. I should be an 
 ungrateful wretch if I didn't go to him, 
 now that he is ill and in danger. I 
 should think any woman a beast who 
 won't come to my boy, by - and - by, if 
 he's sick and / am not with him. Mr 
 Harlby has neither mother nor sister — 
 he told me so — I'll go and be both to 
 him.'
 
 io6 No Hero, hit a Man. 
 
 ' Lord bless your Innocent heart ! ' 
 Sanders thought, as she went away to 
 pack. ( ' Mothers and sisters for gen- 
 tlemen like Mr Harlby aren't made of 
 such as you ! ')
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ' DUCHESS ' AND ' FAIRY QUEEN.' 
 
 It was the biggest shoot John Treville 
 had ever had at Wingates. He had 
 bred and preserved pheasants enough 
 to make themselves heard of very 
 creditably in the neighbourhood, and 
 he wished to show Frances and her 
 aunts, who were staying there, that he 
 could get good men to shoot them 
 too. 
 
 He had invariably spoken of Win- 
 gates in a singularly unpretentious way, 
 107
 
 io8 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 saying it was ' comfortable, roomy, put 
 together in the good old way, before 
 jerry-building came into vogue,' and he 
 had added, that the ' furniture was not 
 made of the modern imitation-of-every- 
 known period stuff, but substantial, plain, 
 useful articles, that had been in daily 
 use in his great-grandfather's time, and 
 had never wanted the aid of glue-pot 
 or nail to keep it together since it had 
 first been made.' 
 
 It had been a pleasant surprise to 
 the aunts, after hearing Wingates 
 spoken of in this way, and seeing a 
 photograph of it, taken from the worst 
 point of view, badly focussed and im- 
 properly developed, to find it a fine 
 imposing, granite mansion, the larger 
 portion of it dating from James the 
 Second's reira ; and the latest additions
 
 'Duchess' and 'Fairy Queen' 109 
 
 of it having jbeen made in the palmiest 
 days (architecturally speaking) of good 
 Queen Anne. It was a handsome 
 house, standing well up on a high 
 level in the midst of handsome, well- 
 kept gardens, surrounded by walls 
 fifteen, and in some places twenty, feet 
 high. 
 
 The aunts had experienced sensations 
 of surprise and delight at sight of the 
 place, which was so far superior to 
 anything they had indulged themselves 
 in expecting to see ; but Frances had 
 felt neither of these emotions. She 
 was not 'surprised,' because she had 
 grasped the fact, that Mr Treville 
 always rather understated and under- 
 rated things belonging to himself, with 
 the exception of his inventions. She 
 was not ' delighted ' because — but we
 
 I lo No Hero, but a Man, 
 
 shall gather better from an observation 
 of her own manner, and an attention to 
 her own words, than from anything 
 that can be said or conjectured by a 
 third person, why she was not ' de- 
 lighted' with anything she saw at 
 Wingates. 
 
 It had been an easy thing, compara- 
 tively, to tell herself in the first flush 
 of her reactionary feeling against her 
 projected marriage, that she would 'free 
 John Treville and herself by breaking 
 off the engagement' In theory the 
 thing was practicable enough, but the 
 knowledo^e that she had no reason which 
 she dared assign for her change of in- 
 tention checked her. 
 
 Moreover, when John Treville came 
 back from town, and after telling her 
 of his chance encounter with Mr
 
 ' Duchess ' and 'Fairy Queen! 1 1 1 
 
 Harlby, forbore to make any unpleas- 
 ant inquiries, or to condemn either 
 Harlby or herself for not having pro- 
 claimed from the house-tops that she 
 had been in the carriage from Padding- 
 ton to Bath with the unfortunate man 
 who had died just after she left it, she 
 felt warmly grateful. She attributed to 
 consideration for herself what was in 
 reality only his intense concentration of 
 interest in some of his latest inventions. 
 If there had not been a screw loose in 
 the spring action of an implement that 
 was a mongrel among implements, 
 being a combination of harrow, plough 
 and tormentor, he would thoroughly 
 have investigated the case, though he 
 had nothing whatever to do with it. 
 As it was, he resolved to let it lie 
 fallow for a time, but he had no in-
 
 112 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 tentlon of letting that bit of the dead 
 past bury its dead. On the contrary, 
 he fully intended to resuscitate the un- 
 pleasant corpse by - and - by, when 
 Frances would be his wife, and, of 
 course, amenable to his discipline, and 
 ready to confide everything to him. 
 Meantime, he got up a shooting-party, 
 and invited Mr Harlby to it, and to 
 dinner at Wingates afterwards. 
 
 A little boy, the son of Mr Treville's 
 gamekeeper, was one of the beaters 
 that day. A good-looking, sharp, bright 
 little fellow of twelve, whose hereditary 
 taste for and love of sport was only 
 equalled by his appetite for chestnuts, 
 thousands of which were ripening 
 rapidly in John Treville's woods. He 
 was just beginning to swarm up the 
 trunk of a tree close by to where
 
 ' Duchess ' and ' Fairy Queen' 113 
 
 • 
 
 Mr Harlby was stationed, when the 
 latter saw a gun carried by a pro- 
 verbially short-sighted man pointed at 
 the lad, evidently under the mistaken 
 impression that he was a pheasant. In 
 a flash Mr Harlby remembered that 
 the boy was the only child of his 
 parents, and in the same moment 
 he sprang between the boy and the 
 purblind man who was taking aim at 
 him, with the result that he (Harlby) 
 received the contents of the gun full 
 in his face, and the little boy was 
 saved. 
 
 They carried him back to Wingates 
 on a gate, not knowing whether it was 
 a living man or a corpse that they were 
 carrying, for he was steeped in a death- 
 like unconsciousness, from v/hich he did 
 not emerge for many a weary hour. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 114 ^0 Hero, but a Man. 
 
 And while he was lying there mutilated, 
 and to all appearances dead, Frances 
 Woodford realised that she belono-ed 
 to him whether he lived or died — 
 whether he ever would or would not 
 claim her, whether he loved her, or was 
 indifferent to her, or hated her! She 
 belonged to him, and she would never 
 be John Treville's wife. 
 
 It came about quite naturally that she 
 and Mrs Gray should constitute them- 
 selves his nurses. Mr Treville himself 
 seemed to expect that she should act 
 precisely as if she were already mistress 
 of Wingates and the wounded man's 
 hostess. Aunt John, scenting the truth, 
 and tremblingly contemplating pitiless 
 consequences, was still soft - hearted 
 enough to aid and abet the unauthorised 
 cause, and facilitate the development
 
 * Duchess ' and ' Fairy Queen' 1 1 5 
 
 of a fondness which she felt to be 
 foolish, but had not the heart to kill. 
 
 As far as the fulfilment of John 
 Treville's reasonable hopes and expecta- 
 tions were concerned, nothing could 
 have been more inauspicious that this 
 accident, which had happened to his 
 friend and neighbour Harlby. Courage 
 and unselfishness are qualities which in- 
 variably appeal to a woman, more 
 especially if they are exhibited by a 
 man in whom she has no right to take 
 a strong interest. Mr Harlby had 
 exhibited these qualities to a marked 
 degree. He had deliberately risked 
 his own life to save that of a child of 
 whom he knew nothing, excepting that 
 he was the only son of his parents. He 
 had not lost his life by the action, but 
 he had probably lost the good looks
 
 1 16 No Hero, btit a Man. 
 
 which had formerly distinguished him, 
 and been his passport to the favour of 
 every woman who had met him ; and 
 he had certainly lost the sight of one 
 eye. Frances Woodford had wrestled 
 with the regard which she could not 
 help feeling for him before these things 
 happened. But now she felt that he 
 was the one man for whom she could 
 either live or die. 
 
 The little boy whose life had pro- 
 bably been saved by the action, 
 which was injurious to the best in- 
 terest of so many worthy people, 
 rivalled Frances in devotion to the 
 injured man. He was a good-looking, 
 well-grown, healthy-minded boy, whose 
 boards-chool life had not injured him ; 
 its influences having been counter- 
 acted by a conservative father, who
 
 * Duchess ' and ' J^azry Queen! 117 
 
 had a good deal of the real feudal 
 feeling hanging about him. As far 
 back as either employer or employed 
 could trace, the Tregooses had been 
 gamekeepers to the Trevilles. To 
 
 follow his father and succeed to the 
 post had hitherto been Tommy Tre- 
 goose's highest ambition. But from 
 the moment Mr Harlby stopped the 
 shot that would otherwise have ended 
 Tommy's earthly career, the ambition 
 that was the offspring of heredity died, 
 and a new one, the earnest desire to 
 in some way serve Mr Harlby, reigned 
 in its stead. 
 
 October was in its infancy when the 
 accident happened, and the month 
 was on its last legs before Mr 
 Harlby came back from the debate- 
 able land in which people who,
 
 1 18 No Hero, biU a Man. 
 
 are neither quite dead nor quite 
 alive, wander. 
 
 While he had been wandering there, 
 other figures had been sketched in on 
 the canvas, whereon some of the pass- 
 ing follies and faultinesses of the 
 people with whom this story deals, 
 were portrayed. 
 
 Mr Harlby was still unconscious of 
 the hopes and fears, the loves and 
 hates and indifferences of those around 
 him, when very unexpected visitors 
 arrived at the great massive granite 
 house, one of whom clamoured so 
 prettily for admission, that John 
 Treville's barrier of strong sense broke 
 down. He let the intruders in, and 
 directly he had done so he, for the 
 first time in his life, felt that he had 
 done a weak thing.
 
 ' Ditches s ' and ' Fairy Queen' 1 1 9 
 
 From the average observer's point 
 of view, the intruders were not very 
 alarming people. A young, charm- 
 ingly pretty woman in widow's weeds, 
 and a severely respectable attendant, 
 who might be either a housekeeper 
 or a lady's maid. They were both 
 very tired, for they had come by 
 train from London to Fowey, and 
 from Fowey by a hired carriage that 
 day. And the leading spirit of the 
 little party was a trifle incoherent, on 
 account of her great anxiety. 
 
 She claimed and gained admission 
 on the ground of Mr Harlby being 
 the best friend she and her baby 
 (whom she incidentally mentioned here 
 she had 'left with his nurse at 
 Fowey,') had ever had or ever could 
 have. In the hurry and confusion,
 
 1 20 No HerOy but a Man. 
 
 the turmoil and excitement, John 
 Treville forgot to ask her name, and 
 she forgot to mention it, until she 
 was standing over a blazing log-fire 
 in the comfortable, well-lighted hall. 
 Then, as she shed some of her 
 travelling wraps, and warmed her 
 daintily-shod delicately slim feet and 
 ankles, she shattered John Treville to 
 his foundation by saying, — 
 
 *I am Mrs Herbert Harlby. Of 
 course, he has told you about me, 
 and about all his goodness to me 
 and to baby ? Will he know me, do 
 you think? Will he — ' 
 
 ' Are you his wife ? ' 
 
 Her starry eyes opened wider, but 
 did not drop for a moment. 
 
 * Not his wife, only the widow of 
 the other Herbert Harlby, of the
 
 * Dnchess ' and ' Fairy Queen! 1 2 1 
 
 one who died in the railway carriage, 
 you know ! ' 
 
 * The widow of — the other — the man 
 who died. Was he Herbert Harlby 
 too?' 
 
 'Yes, yes,' she said impatiently. 
 ' You know he married me in New 
 York. I really a77t his wife, I mean 
 his widow. You are doubtful of me ; 
 but I was really married to him,' she 
 drew herself up proudly as she 
 added, 'or I shouldn't be here with 
 a baby.' 
 
 'I am not doubtful of you,' John 
 Treville said, more gently than he 
 had ever spoken to a strange young 
 woman before in his life. Then 
 he added, in a very low key, 
 ' God knows, I'm not doubtful of 
 you ! '
 
 122 No Hero, but a Man, 
 
 As they stood there, one on either 
 side of the great hearth, where huge 
 dogs supported the blazing logs, with 
 the old expectant servant Sanders 
 standing a little apart from them, 
 Frances ran down the stairs and was 
 in their midst before she knew any- 
 one was there. 
 
 * I want Aunt Jane to come up — ' 
 She was beginning, when her dazzled 
 
 eyes grew accustomed to the light, 
 and she saw that Mr Treville had 
 strangers with him. 
 
 * I beg your pardon, John,' she 
 added hastily. ' Coming from a dark- 
 ened room, I did not see for 
 the moment that you were not 
 alone.' 
 
 ' This lady is Mrs Herbert Harlby,' 
 John Treville said bluntly. * She
 
 * Duchess ' and ' Fairy Queen' 123 
 
 has come down, as I understand, 
 to take the task of nursing our 
 unfortunate friend into her own 
 hands.' 
 
 No woman could mistake for an 
 instant the true source of the horror 
 and grief-stricken accents in which 
 Frances repeated the name. 
 
 ^Mrs Herbert Harlby!' 
 
 But they fell unrevealingly and un- 
 instructively on John Treville's ears. 
 
 ' I am not his wife,' the beautiful 
 young stranger said quickly, and 
 cordially, though a flatness, for which 
 she was at a loss to account, had 
 fallen over her own spirit. She took 
 it for granted at once that the grace- 
 ful, rather sad-faced, sweetly pretty 
 woman, who addressed Mr Treville 
 as ' John ' was his sister. She took
 
 124 ' No Hero, but a Ma7i. 
 
 it equally for granted that the sad- 
 faced, sweetly pretty woman was nurs- 
 ing Mr Harlby, and that she took 
 rather more than a nurse-like interest 
 in her patient. 
 
 It was only ' pure womanly ' that 
 these two, Frances Woodford and Rose 
 Harlby, brought together by stress of 
 circumstances, in a common cause which 
 involved the warmest and deepest feel- 
 ings each was capable of entertaining 
 should be antipathetic to one another 
 from the first. 
 
 If pure reason had reigned in both 
 their minds, each ought to have been 
 delighted that the injured man had 
 created such an intense interest in the 
 other breasts. But, somehow or other, 
 neither of them felt this delight. At 
 the same time each admitted to
 
 ' Duchess' and ' Fairy Queen! ■ 125 
 
 herself fully and generously the great 
 claims her rival had to any man's 
 regard. 
 
 ' Sanders,' said Mrs Harlby, directly 
 she found herself alone with her old 
 servant in one of the many guest- 
 chambers which John Trevill's house- 
 keeper prided herself on always having 
 ready, — ' Sanders, that young lady who 
 came down from Mr Harlby 's room 
 is just what a great English gentle- 
 man's wife ought to be. She looks 
 like a young duchess! I've never 
 seen a duchess, but she looks like 
 what I think duchesses ought to look 
 like.' 
 
 ' And you look like a well - grown 
 fairy queen ; there's none of your 
 duchesses, nor anyone else, can come 
 near you, Miss Rose, when you look
 
 126 No Hero, but a Man, 
 
 happy.' (' And you don't look that 
 to-night'), the old servant added men- 
 tally. 
 
 About the same time Frances, stand- 
 ing with extreme reluctance in the 
 hall, while her thoughts, heart, and 
 attention had all wandered back to 
 Herbert Harlby's bedside, was saying, — 
 
 ' What an exquisitely dainty bit of 
 porcelain she looks. What has brought 
 her here, John ? ' 
 
 * Saw an account of the accident, 
 and being plunged up to the hilt in 
 gratitude already, she has now steeped 
 herself deeper still in pity. You know 
 what pity is akin to?' he added, 
 with a grim smile. 
 
 ' Love, of course ! ' she answered 
 tersely. 
 
 * Exactly so ! Love, of course, on
 
 ' Duchess ' and * Fairy Queen' 127 
 
 her side only, perhaps, so far ; but if 
 he recovers, the best thing for all 
 parties is, that it should be on his 
 side too, and that the}' should marry, 
 and so make an end of a story that 
 isn't very clear reading at present. I 
 think you had better leave this nursing 
 business to the others now, Frances. 
 You haven't picked up a bit in either 
 plumpness or colour since you came 
 down, and this air ought to put flesh 
 on to any woman's bones, and paint 
 in roses on any woman's cheeks.' 
 
 ' I am afraid I shall never please 
 you by getting fat or red,' she said, 
 moving away to the drawing - room. 
 Then she paused a moment, to add 
 wearily, — ' I came down to look for 
 Aunt Jane. I wanted her to relieve 
 Aunt John. Yes, I will leave the
 
 128 ^No Hero, but a Man, 
 
 nursing to the others. There Is no 
 fear of his being neglected, now Mrs 
 Harlby has come.' 
 
 ' Not the least fear,' he responded 
 heartily. ' Poor fellow ! such a hand- 
 some chap as he was, too ! Pollard 
 says he will be fearfully scarred.' 
 
 * And every scar will remind those 
 who look at him of his unselfishness 
 and bravery,' Frances said aloud, and 
 to herself she whispered, — ' And dis- 
 figurement will make him dearer to 
 me than he was before. Heaven help 
 me ! What ought I to do now ? Die, 
 and leave him to her!'
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A CREATURE OF IMPULSE. 
 
 While Mr Harlby was lying senseless 
 and shattered at Wingates, a lady, 
 who had often seen him in the days 
 of his health and handsomeness, but 
 who had never gained to intimacy or 
 even speech with him, developed one 
 of those dark determinations, to make 
 up for lost time as soon as he should 
 be well again, which do occasionally 
 aofitate the female breast. 
 
 This lady was Mrs Pollard, the 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 130 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 wife of the leadinor medical man in 
 the neighbourhood of Gunwalloe Place 
 and Wingates. *A woman of parts,' 
 old-world novelists would probably 
 have termed her, and so she was. 
 A woman of various parts, indeed ; 
 some of which were merely highly 
 unpleasant, others deadly dangerous. 
 
 She had been a handsome woman 
 long years ago, and now, though she 
 owned to having been a citizen of this 
 world for over half-a-century, she was 
 a striking and attractive woman still. 
 Where Mr Pollard had made her 
 acquaintance history sayeth not. All 
 that his country neighbours knew 
 about the matter was, that one summer 
 he went away for his well-earned 
 holiday a brisk, happy-hearted bachelor, 
 and that he came back at the end
 
 A Creature of Impulse. 131 
 
 of two months with a sobered mien 
 and a Mrs Pollard. 
 
 Whether she had been wife, widow, 
 or maid he never stated, and no one 
 either cared or dared to ask. She 
 was a large, light-hearted, loud woman, 
 who laughed with everyone at every- 
 thing, and at everyone to everyone 
 else when the other's back was turned. 
 She had a tall, largely-developed 
 figure, which looked well in loose 
 garments in the house, and long, 
 straight - lined cloaks out of it. A 
 face that had been fair before, she 
 had cold-creamed, powdered and painted 
 it out of any resemblance to anything 
 human. Hair that was sometimes 
 carroty, and at others a greenish- 
 yellow. And small penetrating deep- 
 set grey eyes, that never by any chance
 
 132 No Hero, but a Man, 
 
 rested on the face of, or met the 
 eyes of, the one she was addressing. 
 
 She had given out broadly, when 
 she had come to the Httle Cornish 
 town in which Dr Pollard's quaintly 
 picturesque old house and gardens 
 were spread out on a sunny slope, 
 that she did not care for society as 
 it existed here. She was devoted 
 to gardening, the breeding of poultry 
 and greyhounds, and anxious above 
 all things to acquire the fine arts of 
 riding and driving. She spoke vaguely 
 of having at some remote period been 
 a sort of female Centaur. But not 
 even her husband believed her when 
 she hinted this. 
 
 Her tastes, declared as above, were 
 faultless enough. No one could say 
 that they were anything but healthy
 
 A Creattire of Impulse. 133 
 
 and expedient in a woman full of 
 nerve and vigour, who was obliged 
 to live in the country, and on whose 
 hands time would probably have pressed 
 heavily, if these resources had not 
 made her independent of other people 
 for her amusements. 
 
 But after awhile, it transpired that 
 she had other resources for beguiling 
 the time besides these innocent ones. 
 She was an inveterate gossip, and her 
 proclivities were the more dangerous, 
 as she had an appalling habit of 
 foisting her own remarks, conjectures 
 and suspicions upon other people. 
 
 The accident to the fine, handsome 
 man who had recently dropped from 
 some unknown sphere into the owner- 
 ship of Gunwalloe Place was a god- 
 send to Mrs Pollard, who was feeling
 
 134 ^0 Hero, but a Man, 
 
 rather dull at the time. In a burst 
 of what she intended to appear as 
 good Samaritanism, but which her 
 husband rightly enough divined to 
 be mere curiosity, she besought him 
 to let her go to Wingates and 
 constitute herself the sufferer's head 
 nurse. 
 
 * You say those old ladies are 
 half-senile, and that the younger one 
 will most likely throw over Mr Treville 
 and ensnare Mr Harlby if she's let 
 nurse him. Much better that I — ' 
 
 ' Good heaven ! Augusta, what are you 
 saying ? ' the harassed doctor inter- 
 rupted angrily. ' I have never said or 
 thought the elder ladies senile, or the 
 younger one a schemer. It was you 
 yourself who hinted at these things 
 last night.'
 
 A Creature of Impulse. 135 
 
 'You are either an inveterate liar, or 
 your memory is so bad, that you must 
 be imbecile/ the wife replied fiercely 
 and loudly — so loudly, in fact, that 
 Dr Pollard, who guessed that his 
 assistant and the servants would hear, 
 closed the argument by saying meekly, — 
 
 ' Well, well, my dear Gussie, I sup- 
 pose that my memory is not quite as 
 good as it was for trifles.' 
 
 * Then take care how you contradict 
 me again,' she said stormily. * I can 
 read people through and through at a 
 glance, and as soon as I saw that Miss 
 Woodford in church last Sunday I 
 fathomed her character. As you said, 
 she is one of those demure, sly people, 
 who try to throw one off one's guard, 
 by being apparently all sweetness and 
 gentleness. Adventuress is stamped on
 
 136 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 the woman's face, and poor Mr Treville 
 will rue the day he ever met 
 her.' 
 
 ' I never said she was sly and demure,' 
 the doctor o-runted. 
 
 ' Really, Dr Pollard, I cannot submit 
 to being made out a liar, because you 
 haven't the courage of your opinions,' 
 she said, with a great air of hardly- 
 suppressed, furious indignation. ' If you 
 didn't say it, who did, I should like to 
 know ? Don't try to foist your opinions 
 on me ! How could I form one about 
 the girl when I've never even spoken 
 to her?' 
 
 * Your imagination runs away with 
 you at times.' 
 
 ' My imagination ran away with me, 
 indeed, when I imagined I should ever 
 receive from yotc, a mere country
 
 A Creature of Impulse. 137 
 
 apothecary, the consideration which a 
 gentleman would feel bound to show to 
 his wife.' 
 
 'As for that a country doctor, with 
 a practice such as mine, was not a bad 
 forlorn hope for a woman In your posi- 
 tion to snap up,' he said, roused to 
 anger and unwary recrimination at last. 
 
 Then the storm burst, and over the 
 scene that followed a decent veil shall 
 be drawn. 
 
 The end of It was as usual. The 
 doctor, sorely against his better judg- 
 y'ment, gave in to his wife's determina- 
 tion to effect an entrance into Wingates, 
 and offer her services as nurse dominant 
 to Mr Harlby. She had by this time 
 quite convinced herself that young Miss 
 Woodford was an unscrupulous and de- 
 signing person, against whom In behoved
 
 138 No Hero, but a Man, 
 
 her (Mrs Pollard) to caution Mr Harlby, 
 and put Mr Treville on his guard. Her 
 soul was eager for the fray ! It was so 
 long since she had been blessed with 
 an opportunity of making mischief in a 
 way that brought her own name well 
 into publicity. 
 
 Having gained her point, and crumbled 
 the opposition of the marital power into 
 dust, she recovered her good temper, 
 and arrived at Wingates a day or two 
 after Mrs Herbert Harlby's advent in 
 a hilarious frame of mind. 
 
 Rose Harlby had already won the 
 good - will of everyone in the house — 
 with one exception. The old aunts 
 succumbed to her at once, the very first 
 night of her appearance among them. 
 Her candour, and the natural gaiety of 
 heart, which shone through all her
 
 A Creature of hnpulse. 139 
 
 actions and words, were much more 
 in accordance with their ideas of what 
 was suitable in young womanhood, than 
 the stately reserve and unemotional de- 
 meanour of their own niece. It was to 
 the warmly - demonstrative elderly ladies 
 a delightful and hitherto untasted experi- 
 ence, to have a young and charming 
 girly showering affectionate attentions on 
 them, sitting on low stools at their feet, 
 while they knitted or embroidered, and 
 reading them all the news that inter- 
 ested them, and that tried their eyes to 
 decipher for themselves. 
 
 Before she went to bed that first 
 night at Wingates, Aunt John and 
 Aunt Jane were in full possession of 
 all the main in^^idents of Rose's career. 
 They glowed sympathetically when, in 
 fluent, forcible, heartfelt words she gave
 
 140 No Hero, but a Alan. 
 
 them a word - portrait of her father, 
 Colonel Sheldon. They kindled with 
 admiration at the description of his 
 manly stature, dignified, handsome face, 
 and soldierly bearing. They were quite 
 ready to drop the silent tear over his 
 death and burial. And when she spoke 
 of her marriage, and the reasons that 
 had actuated her In making it, they 
 gazed at her with fond commiseration, 
 and heaved sighs of perfect understand- 
 ing at each other. 
 
 Aunt John had never been a mother 
 herself, and it is needless to say the 
 same of Aunt Jane. But they were 
 both women in whom the maternal 
 Instinct was strong, and when she told 
 them about her baby, and her brief 
 bright dream of his being a ' great 
 English orentleman,' and of how she was
 
 A Creatu7X of Impulse. 141 
 
 awakened from that dream on meetino- 
 with her now dearly valued friend, they 
 were reduced to what Frances sorrow- 
 fully called pulp. 
 
 Frances had shrank away from her 
 post in the sick-room, and into herself 
 more than ever, since the widow with 
 the winning mixture of womanly reliance 
 in herself, and child - like trust in 
 every one else had arrived. The 
 bright stranger had the better right to 
 minister to the needs of the uncon- 
 scious man than she (Frances) or any- 
 one else had. She admitted this fully, 
 but the admission was a grim one to 
 make. Mrs Herbert Harlby and the 
 sufferer bore the same name. Oh ! what 
 a spasm of agony contracted Frances 
 Woodford's heart as she thought 
 this ; and how she hated and feared
 
 142 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 the name, in spite of what she felt for 
 the masculine bearer of it. 
 
 She was standing out on the 
 terrace, which ran along the severely 
 substantial and plain south front of 
 the house, wondering what the aunts 
 and John Treville himself would say 
 when she told them that she re- 
 nounced all intention of marrying him, 
 and becomino- that house's mistres. 
 
 The prospect of doing this had no 
 charms for her. There are some girls 
 so peculiarly constituted, that however 
 kind - hearted they may be in other 
 matters, they feel a positive thrill of 
 ecstasy at the idea of being spoken of 
 as ' the girl who threw poor So-and-so 
 over.' But Frances was not cast in 
 this common-place cruel mould. She 
 felt the same contempt for herself, for
 
 A Creature of Lnpitlse. 143 
 
 her change of feeling and breach of 
 faith and honour as she would have 
 felt for any other jilt, male or females. 
 
 She did not think of the man who 
 had asked her to marry him, whom 
 she had accepted, and whom she 
 was now preparing to throw over as 
 'poor' John Treville ! She knew that 
 he would be hurt, disgfusted and in- 
 dignant with her, and he would be 
 justified in doing so. At the same 
 time she knew that her defection 
 would not materially affect his life, and 
 would not alter the manner of it at all. 
 The things that occupied his time 
 and engrossed his attention now would 
 continue to do so then. He would 
 not whine and pine, or go heavily 
 for a time on account of having lost 
 her. But he would feel with all the
 
 144 ^0 Hero^ but a Man. 
 
 force of his moral rectitude that she 
 had broken her part of a serious and 
 important agreement, and that he had 
 been defrauded. 
 
 Day after day, hour after hour, 
 minute after minute nearly since Mr 
 Harlby had been brought back 
 wounded and in danger, she had re- 
 solved to make a clean break - of and 
 have done with the engagement, which 
 she had already broken in spirit, at 
 once. And day after day she delayed, 
 because of her faulty feeling, that she 
 could not bear to leave until Harlby 
 was out of danger. This day, however, 
 the sense of her own meanness had 
 made the condition of things unbearable 
 to her. She vowed that she would speak 
 to John Treville that afternoon, and rid 
 him of a fraudulent presence before night.
 
 A Creature of Impidse. 145 
 
 Waiting on the terrace, intending to 
 intercept and confess to him as he 
 came home from shooting, she saw 
 coming up the long fir-tree avenue the 
 doctor's well - known smart dog - cart 
 and fast-trotting mare. She saw, but 
 took no particular notice of, the lady 
 by the doctor's side, for Mrs Pol- 
 lard's personality was unknown to 
 her. 
 
 Frances kindled into happy anima- 
 tion, and one of her rare smiles 
 glorified her face at once. Doctor 
 Pollard had treated the ' case,' which 
 was absorbing the current interest of 
 every one of the inhabitants of Win- 
 gates with great skill. From the first 
 he had said more about the possi- 
 bilities that were in it of Q^ood or 
 evil results to Frances Woodford, than 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 146 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 he had said to anyone else. A tacit 
 understanding existed between them, 
 that whatever happened, she was not 
 to be lulled into a false security, or 
 kept in the dark in any way. She 
 always felt stronger and more hope- 
 ful after Doctor Pollard's visits. 
 To-day, especially, her smile showed 
 that she was glad. 
 
 Mrs Pollard saw the glad smile of 
 greeting, and appropriated it to her- 
 self 
 
 ' She is flattered at my having 
 come, takes the call to herself, and 
 is pleased. There's good in the girl 
 after all, and I won't hear a word 
 against her from anyone! 
 
 Parenthetically it may be mentioned, 
 that no one had ever hinted a dispar- 
 aging hint, or uttered a disparaging
 
 A Creature of Impulse. 147 
 
 word about John Treville's bride-elect, 
 save Mrs Pollard herself. 
 
 ' I'll put her on her guard against 
 the flighty young widow, as she calls 
 herself, from New York. Probably it's 
 she who is the adventuress/ the 
 doctor's wife thought excitedly. And 
 filled with this benign intention she 
 entered the house.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE doctor's wife. 
 
 The two elder ladles, Mrs Gray and 
 Aunt Jane, were out driving- in the 
 comfortable easy - springed carriage, 
 which Mr Treville had put at their 
 disposal, and which could be opened 
 and closed at pleasure. They were 
 innocent - minded, unselfish women, 
 both of them, whom it was delight- 
 fully easy to entertain. In these 
 October days, to drive about roads 
 
 that were new to them, and come 
 
 148
 
 The Doctors Wife. 149 
 
 upon little unexpected villages, and 
 farm - houses surrounded by orchards, 
 in which each individual bough on 
 every tree was a thing of apple- 
 laden beauty, gave them unceasing 
 pleasure. The fresh air from the 
 sea on one side, and the moors on 
 the other, was a combination of 
 nectar and quinine. They talked to- 
 together quite cheerfully, as they were 
 driven along the lovely roads, of how 
 delightful it would be to come down 
 here every autumn (Mr Treville had 
 proved himself a perfect host), and 
 witness Frances' happiness and con- 
 tent, and take in a stock of health 
 that would enable them to enjoy the 
 festive Bath winter. 
 
 They were out on one of these 
 little driving excursions this day when
 
 150 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 Mrs Pollard called, with a motive. 
 Some thriving young Cornish jUly- 
 flower apple trees had attracted their 
 attention in a market - garden, and 
 they were bent on becoming the posses- 
 sors of these, and sending them up 
 to their Bath garden, to be planted 
 without delay. 
 
 Consequently, when the doctor went 
 up to see his patient, Frances was 
 left alone to entertain the doctor's wife, 
 to whom, at first, she (Frances) gave 
 a fitful attention, as her mind was 
 absent, without leave, fatiguing it- 
 self with vain speculations as to 
 what was going on in the sick- 
 room. 
 
 Suddenly she recollected that she was 
 neglecting a visitor of Mr Treville's, 
 who had called, doubtless, for the
 
 The Doctors Wife. 151 
 
 amiable purpose of showing them all 
 courtesy. 
 
 Simultaneously with the recollection 
 of her own social duty, she heard Mrs 
 Pollard saying, — 
 
 ' The new and uninvited addition to 
 the household here (as my husband 
 tells me she is) must add consider- 
 ably to the embarrassment and trouble 
 which Mr Harlby's accident has al- 
 ready caused Mr Treville.* 
 
 * Mr Treville is the last man in the 
 world to feel either embarrassed or 
 troubled by any call on his friendship 
 and hospitality,' Frances said stoutly. 
 
 ' Oh, of course/ Mrs Pollard laughed 
 out with more noise than mirth. ' Mr 
 Treville is too kind - hearted not to 
 make the best of things while that 
 zmfortunate man is unable to act for
 
 152 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 himself. But it shows gross want of 
 consideration for you all, that this 
 woman from New York should have 
 borne down upon you here while 
 Harlby is still unable to act for 
 himself.' 
 
 ' Mrs Harlby is showing the sweetest 
 consideration for everyone, and grati- 
 tude which is as beautiful as it is 
 rare to Mr Harlby of Gunwalloe, for 
 his kindness to her when she came 
 over a stranger in the land expecting 
 to rejoin her husband, and abruptly 
 learning that she was a widow.' 
 
 Frances said this with angry emphasis. 
 How dared this strange woman come 
 and unjustly malign lovely loving 
 Rose Harlby, though she (Frances 
 herself) was already unjustly jealous 
 of her.
 
 The Doctors Wife. 153 
 
 'My dear child (I can speak to 
 you in this way, as I am older than 
 you are), I am afraid you are easily 
 deluded. If Mrs Harlby, as she calls 
 herself, came over from New York 
 to rejoin a husband, she has rejoined 
 him.' 
 
 'You don't mean — you don't imply 
 that she is this Mr Harlby's wife?' 
 Frances said coldly and calmly. But 
 her equanimity was upset and blown 
 into atoms by Mrs Pollard's next 
 words. 
 
 'My dear Miss Woodford, your 
 memory must be wandering! / mean, 
 / imply! Why it is you yourself who 
 have implied and meant that you regard 
 the relations which you say are existing 
 between Mr Harlby of Gunwalloe and 
 this woman, who says she is another
 
 154 ^0 Hero, but a Man. 
 
 man's widow, as compromising, to say 
 the least of it.' 
 
 ' I have never even thought of such 
 a thing, much less meant or implied 
 it/ 
 
 Then, as Mrs Pollard proceeded to 
 assert and fulminate in a strident 
 style, Frances went on clearly and 
 incisively, — 
 
 ' I am not a garrulous, not a gossip- 
 ing woman, and I am a very accurate 
 one. Besides this, other people's 
 affairs have no interest whatever for 
 me ; apparently they have for you, 
 as you have tried to discuss those 
 of these strangers with me.' 
 
 These words were uttered under the 
 influence of the instinct of self- 
 preservation merely. They were 
 defensive, not offensive. But Mrs
 
 The Doctors Wife, 155 
 
 Pollard had a weirdly, hungry desire 
 to put this last interpretation upon 
 them. 
 
 ' Really, Miss Woodford,' she began, 
 speaking in a very high voice, and 
 glancing fitfully from the left ear 
 down to the shoulder and up again 
 of the young lady whom she ad- 
 dressed, but avoiding the latter's eyes, 
 — ' Really, Miss Woodford, I must say 
 you are both unjust and unreasonable. 
 I came over here to-day actuated by 
 a spirit of kindness, and now, you, 
 after having spontaneously given me 
 your opinion about this woman, who 
 called herself Harlby, and about whom 
 I know nothing, and would not hazard 
 an opinion on any account, you draw 
 back and accuse me of gossiping inter- 
 ference and libellous assertions. You — '
 
 156 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 ' I had better leave you to the 
 society of the Persian cat, Tito,' 
 Frances said quietly, rising up and 
 making for the door. ' He will care 
 very little what words you put Into 
 his mouth.' 
 
 It was an injudicious speech. Frances 
 thought it was one before she had 
 finished it. 
 
 She ordered that tea should be taken 
 into the drawing-room for Mrs Pollard, 
 and waited herself on the landing out- 
 side Mr Harlby's door until the doctor 
 came out. Then she asked her usual 
 question, — 
 
 ' Tell me exactly how he is 1 ' 
 
 And in listening to Dr Pollard's 
 reply, she forgot all about his wife's 
 errors of taste against her. 
 
 It was the first really satisfactory
 
 The Docto7^'s Wife. 157 
 
 account that the doctor had been able 
 to give, and Frances feh all her own 
 merely personal anxieties and troubles 
 melt away as she listened to it. She 
 never could be utterly unhappy again, 
 now that she heard this stranger, whom 
 she had only seen three times before 
 his accident, would in all probability 
 retain possession of his eye, though he 
 would lose the sight of it. Further, 
 that though there was a big flesh 
 wound athwart his cheek, and the 
 lower portion of one ear was muti- 
 lated past mending, there was no in- 
 jury to the bones of the head and 
 face, and the brain was untouched. 
 
 ' He won't be a beauty man any 
 more, but he'll always be a fine 
 manly-looking fellow, and, please God, 
 he'll live to see his sons shooting
 
 158 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 pheasants In spite of old Bellair's 
 blunder,' Dr Pollard said heartily, 
 and for once, in spite of the cheerful 
 prognostication, Frances thought the 
 kind old man coarse and frivolous. 
 
 ' He never was a beauty man ; that 
 phrase is suggestive of a vain empty- 
 headed fop,' she said coldly. 
 
 'To be sure, to be sure,' Dr 
 Pollard agreed, promptly ; but it's a 
 satisfaction to think that he won't be 
 seriously disfigured, poor chap. There 
 will be nothing repulsive about his 
 appearance. Not that I suppose it 
 would make much difference to that 
 dear devoted little nurse of his if 
 there was.' 
 
 ' Why should it concern her ? ' 
 Frances asked quickly. The doctor 
 was putting on his gloves and pre-
 
 The Doctor s Wife. 159 
 
 paring to go. But she stopped him 
 to ask the question, though she 
 dreaded the answer. 
 
 'Why? Well, I suppose the roman- 
 tically-begun story will have the pro- 
 per ending. He'll owe as much to 
 her tender unceasing solicitude as he 
 will to my skill, and the best re- 
 ward he can offer her will be his 
 hand and heart. She has his name 
 already, oddly enough ; that's where 
 the romance comes in.' 
 
 * Yes, that's where the romance comes 
 in. As you say, the story can have 
 but one ending. Good-bye.' 
 
 ' Good - bye, Miss Woodford, I hope 
 your aunts are well 1 My wife will 
 think I am lost. Good-bye.' 
 
 He hurried downstairs, and Frances 
 went to her own room. She had
 
 i6o No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 heard her aunts drive up and come 
 into the house, and she felt incap- 
 able of going down and lending a 
 patient ear to the stream of chatter 
 that would surely commence flowing 
 when the old ladies and Mrs Pollard 
 met. 
 
 The end of the story ! the fitting 
 end ! By concluding in the way the 
 doctor had suggested, the owner of Gun- 
 walloe Place would be making restitution, 
 would be partially expiating his fault. 
 
 ' What nonsense I am allowing my- 
 self to think,' she declared to herself 
 impatiently and angrily. Then she 
 knelt down and tried to pray that the 
 story might end as Dr Pollard thought 
 it would. 
 
 Mrs Gray and her sister had come
 
 The Doctor s Wife, i6i 
 
 into the drawing-room, bringing with 
 them a good deal of the cheery brisk- 
 ness of the October atmosphere, and 
 pleasant expectations of finding Rose 
 Harlby, as well as their niece, waiting 
 tea for them. 
 
 It was a surprise, and not a pleas- 
 ant one, to find a large lady with an 
 aggrieved expression, the only occupant 
 of the room. 
 
 She regarded them superciliously, for 
 she knew they were the aunts of 
 the young lady who had refused to 
 allow her words and meanings to be 
 twisted into a scandalous tangle for 
 Mrs Pollard's pleasure. To this young 
 lady Mrs Pollard had taken a sus- 
 picious dislike. Illogically she was quite 
 ready to extend the feeling to the 
 aunts. 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 1 62 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 Their own perfect sincerity and gra- 
 ciousness made them apologise to her 
 for her having been left alone, with a 
 courtesy that disarmed her, and made 
 that restless tiger, her ill-tempered vanity 
 and selfishness, lie down for a time. 
 Moreover, curiosity, an insatiable desire 
 to be in the know about everyone 
 with whom she came in contact, and 
 so acquire power over them, was as 
 strong a passion with her as was 
 savagely vain selfishness. 
 
 She could be very pleasing — more 
 than this, very charmingly attractive 
 — when she liked, to both men 
 and women. To gain a very small 
 end, she would slip on the cloak of 
 desire to please, and be pleased, over 
 wounded vanity, baffled ambition or 
 curiosity, and even the offensive ferocity
 
 The Doctors Wife, 163 
 
 which was always aroused by any 
 opposition to her wishes, whims, and 
 plans. 
 
 She slipped this convenient garment 
 on now, and Aunt John and Aunt Jane 
 both thought it a most admirable one 
 and saw nothino^ beneath it. 
 
 In return for the courteously cordial 
 greeting which the old ladies gave to 
 the lady, whom they found sitting in 
 solitude in their future, nephew's draw- 
 ing-room, she briefly introduced herself, 
 and apologised for not having called on 
 them before. 
 
 •'But the fact is,' she added, * before 
 I had time to do so (my time is very 
 fully occupied. I rarely have an hour 
 to waste in the tomfoolery of calling, 
 or going to those dreary functions, ''At 
 Homes"), this accident happened, and
 
 164 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 other strange things which naturally 
 made one rather dubious about com- 
 ing!' 
 
 ' Other strange things ! ' Aunt John 
 repeated wonderingly. 
 
 ' Yes, according to rumour, but then 
 we all know how rumour lies. Probably 
 there was no truth in that one young 
 lady constituting herself Mr Harlby's 
 head nurse until an altogether un- 
 expected another young lady appeared 
 upon the scene and ousted the first 
 one from her post ! ' 
 
 'It is quite true that my niece, my 
 sister, and myself did all we could in 
 in the way of nursing Mr Harlby 
 when he was brought here wounded, 
 and, as we all thought, dying. It is 
 also quite true that our services have 
 not been needed since a very sweet
 
 The Doctor s Wife. 165 
 
 young creature, the widow of another 
 Mr Harlby, a lady to whom this Mr 
 Harlby has been more than kind, came 
 to try and repay him, as well as she 
 can, by nursing him in his hour of 
 need.' 
 
 Aunt John spoke seriously and with 
 dignity. Neither the seriousness nor 
 the dignity impressed Mrs Pollard. 
 That lady threw her head back and 
 laughed long and loudly. 
 
 ' You would baffle the Lord Cham- 
 berlain himself if you were going to 
 write a risky story for the stage,' 
 she said, at last checking her ebulli- 
 tion of mirth in a way that engendered 
 a suspicion as to its being genuine. 
 
 ' I don't understand,' Aunt John 
 protested in bewilderment, at which 
 Mrs Pollard laughed again, and de-
 
 t66 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 clared it was all awfully amusing to 
 her, and that she should watch the 
 unravelling of various mysteries with 
 much amusement. 
 
 'What are the mysteries? We know 
 of none,' Aunt Jane asked stiffly. 
 
 * Well, in the first place, we simple 
 country folks ' (Mrs Pollard curled 
 her supple lips into a sneer of 
 utter contempt at the idea of any- 
 one being fool enough to fancy 
 that she belonged to the order of 
 'simple country folk'), 'we're a 
 good deal staggered at the appear- 
 ance of an heir to Gunwalloe Place, 
 after one had been advertised for 
 unsuccessfully for more than five 
 years ; and, in the next place, it is 
 curious, isn't it, that a Mrs Herbert 
 Harlby, with a baby Harlby, should
 
 The Doctor s Wife. 167 
 
 turn up, and devote herself to 
 Harlby of Gunwalloe, and yet say 
 she is not his wife, but the widow 
 of another man.' 
 
 ' It is odd,' Aunt John unwarily 
 admitted. 
 
 ' I saw your niece just now,' Mrs 
 Pollard went on with an air of 
 noble savage candour. ' I am afraid 
 I wounded her feelings terribly by 
 something I said relative to the 
 extraordinary devotion exhibited by 
 this widow from New York to Mr 
 Harlby. I spoke quite innocently, 
 but your niece so evidently identifies 
 herself with Mr Harlby's cause, that 
 I am quite sorry I spoke.' 
 
 * It's absurd to say that our niece 
 identified herself with Mr Harlby's 
 cause,' Aunt Jane answered angrily,
 
 1 68 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 'She is going to be married very 
 shortly to Mr Treville." 
 
 ' Is she ? ' Mrs Pollard interrupted, 
 with another burst of laughter. 
 
 ' And as a future neighbour, and a 
 friend of her future husband's, she 
 naturally takes an interest in Mr 
 Harlby,' Aunt Jane wound up tri- 
 umphantly. Mrs Pollard raised her 
 voice and was replying when she 
 was untowardly interrupted.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A FAIR GHOULE. 
 
 The untoward interruption was caused 
 
 by the entrance of Dr Pollard, closely 
 
 followed by Mrs Harlby, who had 
 
 rushed down to ask him 'If he 
 
 thought she might with safety leave 
 
 her patient for a few hours the 
 
 next day in order to go over to 
 
 Fowey to see her baby ? ' 
 
 'Certainly! certainly! I'm sure you 
 
 may with safety trust our good friend 
 
 to the care of Miss Woodford, and 
 169
 
 170 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 these dear ladies here,' he added, as he 
 caught his wife's quick, shifty glance. 
 
 Then, as Rose came further into 
 the room, Aunt John rose to meet her, 
 and said tenderly, — 
 
 ' You dear child, it's a treat to hear 
 that you will go out to-morrow. 
 Frances and Jane and I will take 
 it in turns to look after him. Let 
 me give you some tea, dear.' 
 
 ' This is Mrs Harlby, I feel sure, 
 but no one seems to think it worth 
 while to introduce me to her, though 
 my call is intended to be on you as 
 well as on these other ladies,' Mrs 
 Pollard put in suavely. 
 
 Rose responded to the suavity at 
 once, as soon as she found that the 
 affable stranger was the wife or the 
 earnest, devoted, skilful doctor who
 
 A Fair Ghottle. 171 
 
 had treated Mr Harlby so success- 
 fully. 
 
 ' How good of you to come,' Rose 
 said gratefully ; ' but everyone is good 
 to me in this dear old country.' 
 
 ' Do you contemplate remaining here t ' 
 Mrs Pollard asked blandly. 
 
 * Here ? do you mean in England ? ' 
 Rose asked. 
 
 ' Yes ; but I suppose that would 
 be too great a sacrifice to expect of 
 you. You must have so many ties, 
 so many interests in New York.' 
 
 'Oh! I hated New York,' Rose cried 
 with energy. ' I have no ties, no in- 
 terests, no friends there ; I never had 
 any from the time my father died." 
 
 ' I suppose Mr Harlby was neces- 
 sarily much away from you, then .'^ ' Mrs 
 Pollard said significantly.
 
 172 No Hero, but a Man, 
 
 ' No ! ' Rose blushed at being caught 
 out in this way, but would not retract 
 her words ; ' but he had friends, and 
 interests, and ties of his own which 
 were independent of me,' she added, 
 with a light laugh, at the recollection 
 of the many tearful farewells that had 
 been spoken between her husband and 
 his company of fair ones before he 
 left New York the last time. 
 
 ' You will soon form fresh ones in 
 England, I feel sure,' Mrs Pollard said, 
 rising in obedience to her husband's 
 signal for departure. Then she went 
 away well satisfied with her visit, and 
 in perfect peace and charity with her- 
 self, for she saw possibilities of extract- 
 ing a good deal of pastime of an 
 exciting nature from the party at Win- 
 gates before it broke up.
 
 A Fair Gkoule. 173 
 
 ' One ought to take one's words out 
 of one's mouth and look at them before 
 one utters them to Mrs Pollard,' Aunt 
 John remarked, more testily than she 
 had ever spoken in her life before. 
 
 ' She seems suspicious of everyone,' 
 old Miss Woodford said meditatively. 
 
 'I wonder if it was "suspicion" of 
 me which made her ask me so many 
 questions about myself?' Rose asked 
 lightly. 'If I had thought it anything 
 but kindness, wotildnt I have baffled 
 her, and sent her off on all sorts of 
 wrong scents.' 
 
 ' She has evidently taken a dislike 
 to Frances. I suppose Frances was 
 cool and stand-off to her ; she is to 
 some people, you know.' Aunt John 
 spoke the last words apologetically to 
 Rose.
 
 1 74 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 ' I know/ Rose said, nodding her 
 head slowly in meditative assent ; ' but 
 she would never be cool or stand-off 
 unreasonably ; there must always be 
 something at the bottom of it to 
 make her so/ 
 
 ' I wonder what's at the bottom of 
 Mrs Pollard's attempts to make us feel 
 uncomfortable this afternoon ? Could it 
 be only want of tact ? or was it want 
 of heart ? ' Aunt John suggested hazard- 
 ing the paraph rasical quotation with a 
 modest little smile of deprecation. 
 
 'It's the first time I've heard any- 
 one's motives questioned since I've 
 been here. I hope she won't come 
 again. If it's want of tact we'll for- 
 give her. A woman had better never 
 be born than be born without tact. 
 If it's want of heart, the less we see
 
 A Fair GJioiile. 175 
 
 of her the better. Now I am going 
 to read the doings of the day to you. 
 It's so funny to me to read about 
 the movements, as if they were of vital 
 importance, of people of whom one cares 
 nothing, and for whom one cares less,' 
 Rose said, as she picked up the World 
 and turned to what Atlas says. 
 
 ^ I must confess,' Mrs Gray said, after 
 three or four paragraphs had been read, 
 ' that I do like to hear how and where 
 the Queen is, and how the Princess is 
 looking. I remember seeing the Prince 
 of Wales and the Duke of Edinburgh 
 (Prince Alfred he was then) in kilts, 
 at a review at Aldershot. Dear little 
 boys they looked, with such pretty legs ! ' 
 
 * I wonder how they would look in 
 kilts now ? ' remarked Rose. 
 
 * And I always take an interest in
 
 1 76 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 what the prime minister's wife is do- 
 ing — whoever the prime minister may 
 be,' said Aunt Jane ; ' the strain upon 
 them must be dreadful at times, especi- 
 ally when they're getting on in years, 
 and the opposition journals pick holes 
 in their husbands' policy.' 
 
 ' But you don't care to hear what 
 Lady Crooke wore at church parade on 
 Sunday ; or that Lady Libertyhall, in 
 sapphire velvet and diamonds, looked 
 lovelier than her superbly - beautiful 
 youngest daughter at Mrs de Shoddy's 
 ball, do you?' Rose asked. 
 
 * Well, I don't know. One hears of 
 these people — at least, one sees their 
 names in the papers constantly, and 
 it seems to make them more real and 
 life-like when one hears what they 
 wore.'
 
 A Fair Ghoule. 177 
 
 'Then I'll go right through the 
 fashionable intelligence with pleasure, 
 if it gives you a minute's satisfaction,' 
 said Rose heartily. * Let me see ! 
 First I'll read what the fashions are, 
 and then, when w^e're posted up in 
 the "dress article," I'll go on to 
 where people are, what they're doing, 
 and what they're on the brink of 
 wearing. There are awful depths of 
 fatuously bad taste into which women 
 with no heaven-born feeling for dress 
 may tumble this coming winter season. 
 Listen ! 
 
 ' '' We learn on the best authority — 
 namely, our own observation — that the 
 neat, tailor-made, serviceable girl will 
 be altogether out of it this year at 
 the ' meets ' both of foxhounds and 
 beaorles, as also on the ice, should 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 178 No Hero, but a Man, 
 
 King Frost re-introduce the fashion 
 of skating - parties. It it may be re- 
 marked, in passing, that no woman 
 who respects herself will measure 
 more than twenty inches round the 
 waist ; but from shoulder to shoulder 
 (extreme points) she must be at least 
 a yard across — or contemptible.'" 
 
 ' I think we wont trouble you to 
 read us any more verbiage of this 
 kind, Rose. Tell us now what people 
 are doing/ Aunt John said, as she 
 leant back in a cosy chair and pre- 
 pared to doze while the exciting in- 
 telligence was read to her. 
 
 Rose skimmed lightly over the 
 lightly - written paragraphs. The aunts 
 heard how one notable lady had lost 
 her jewels, another her reputation, a 
 third her title to estates, which her
 
 A Fair Glioide. 179 
 
 besotted old husband had not had 
 the right to leave to her. 
 
 Rose's light-laughing, clever, sweetly- 
 bitter commentary ran like a thread of 
 silver through it all. 
 
 Suddenly the silver thread snapped, 
 as her eyes rested on a paragraph 
 which concerned herself, and was of 
 an utterly different character to the 
 flimsy, fashionable frivolity from which 
 she had been extracting amusement 
 for her dear old ladies. 
 
 To the majority the paragraph in 
 question would have been singularly 
 uninteresting. It ran as follows : — 
 
 ' Mrs Gaston, a wealthy and well- 
 known New York hostess, has arrived 
 in London. The lady, though on 
 pleasure bent, seems determined to
 
 i8o No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 combine business with it, as she 
 has already started inquiries relative 
 to the death of a certain gentleman 
 who left New York some months 
 since, avowedly to take possession of 
 some family property in England. 
 Mrs Gaston is a handsome woman 
 of — any age she pleases, as she brings 
 no daughters to date her.' 
 
 Rose Harlby read and re-read this 
 paragraph with quickened breath and 
 dilating eyes. She had neither loved 
 her husband, nor tried to lie either 
 herself or other people into the belief 
 that she had done so. But she had 
 always acted in a way that left the 
 world no opportunity of saying that 
 she did not respect him. Her blood 
 boiled now with young, fresh, honest
 
 A Fair Ghoule. i8i 
 
 rage when she read that this ' handsome 
 woman, who w-as any age she pleased,' 
 had come over to disinter the soiled 
 and soiling reputation of the boastful 
 braggart who had been as openly at 
 ]\Irs Gaston's feet as he had been 
 at those of half-a-dozen other popular 
 and pleasure - giving women. The 
 
 audacity of the move, which aimed 
 at taking what should have been her 
 (Rose's) work, if it had to be done 
 at all, out of her hands, outraQ^ed 
 her almost beyond silent endurance. 
 Yet some undefinable feelino^ of cau- 
 tion, which was altoofether foreign to 
 her free, open nature, restrained her 
 from saying a word relative to the 
 subject of her annoyance to any- 
 one. 
 
 ' I must w-ait till he is better and
 
 J 82 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 able to advise me. How angry he 
 will be, that I should be subjected to 
 such an insult from one of those hor- 
 rible women.' 
 
 'You look quite white and tired, 
 dear/ Aunt Jane said presently, led by 
 the silence to look at the one who had 
 been leading so buoyantly two or three 
 minutes ago. 
 
 ' How selfish we are, of course ; the 
 dear child is tired,' Aunt John put in, 
 bending down to look at the pretty 
 agitated face. 'Shut up in that room 
 watching poor Mr Harlby ! it's too bad 
 of us to have made you read. A run 
 up and down the terrace before dinner 
 will freshen you up. And think, you'll 
 see your little boy to-morrow.' 
 
 ' I wish L could see him now. I hope 
 no horrible woman will ever take him
 
 A Fair Ghoule. i8^ 
 
 \j 
 
 from me/ Rose said, with seeming irre- 
 levance, as she rose up and sent the 
 paper, which contained the offensive 
 paragraph, whipping away over the floor 
 into an obscure corner. Then she went 
 out and tried to walk off her mortifica- 
 tion at this uncalled-for interference of 
 Mrs Gaston's, until the dressing - bell 
 rang. 
 
 The aunts, meanwhile, having mis- 
 taken the cause of her emotion, re- 
 solved to make a final appeal to their 
 future nephew that very night, to in- 
 duce him to ask the Harlby baby and 
 its nurse to come and stay at Win- 
 gates. 
 
 ' She has borne up bravely, but she 
 is evidently fretting for her child,' they 
 said to Frances, when the latter came 
 down dressed for dinner.
 
 1 84 No Hero, bttt a Man. 
 
 ' If absence from her child is so 
 painful, it's rather strange she should 
 stay away from it voluntarily,' Frances 
 replied. Then, ashamed of her own 
 unjust jealousy, she added quickly, — 
 
 ' Not but what I should do exactly 
 what she is doing, if I felt grateful, as 
 she does, to Mr Harlby.' 
 
 ' He certainly has behaved nobly — 
 nobly!' Aunt John, who had got hold 
 of several frayed-ends of the story, said 
 warmly, ' paying the last tokens of re- 
 spect that can be paid to the dead to 
 her poor husband, and then looking after 
 her child's interests.' 
 
 Frances winced, and interrupted the 
 stream of eulogy. It was the first 
 time in her life that she had been 
 guilty of the solecism of interrupting 
 anyone who was speaking. But Aunt
 
 A Fair Ghoule. 185 
 
 John's words, innocently spoken, cut 
 her to-day. 
 
 'John is late? or is it that the after- 
 noon has been made unusually long by 
 the invasion of that awful person, Mrs 
 Pollard. Where's the World, I wonder? 
 Have you seen it. Aunt John?' 
 
 ' Rose was reading it aloud to us 
 before she went out. She threw it 
 over there somewhere.' 
 
 The old lady indicated a dark space 
 where the shaded lamp - light failed 
 to penetrate. Frances got up and 
 groped about in search of the paper 
 in the semi - darkness. In doing this 
 she knocked over a small stand 
 which sustained a huge Doulton ware 
 pot, in which a fine thorn - fern, 
 which was specially prized by John 
 Treville, was growing. The pot was
 
 1 86 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 broken, and the fern shot out and con- 
 siderably bruised and soiled by the 
 mould. Naturally this incident did not 
 tend to restore Frances's unsettled mood 
 to fair. 
 
 ' I wish Mrs Harlby would not gaily 
 and girlishly throw newspapers into 
 space when she has done with them, 
 but would put them down on a table, 
 as other grown-up and merely common- 
 place women do,' she said, pettishly, as 
 she came back into the lieht. 
 
 *She is little more that a child,' Aunt 
 John said, with injudicious kind-hearted- 
 ness ; 'besides,' she added, launching 
 a ready tear, 'she is an orphan/ 
 
 * Oh ! we're all orphans as far as 
 that goes,' Frances said impatiently. 
 Then the absurdity of allowing herself 
 to be upset by these minor miseries,
 
 A Fair Ghoule. 187 
 
 while there were so many more im- 
 portant matters at stake, struck her, 
 and she added laughingly, — ' I had 
 better ring and have the ruin I have 
 made swept up. John will not feel for 
 his fern so much if he doesn't see its 
 broken fronds, and Til ofo to Falmouth 
 to-morrow and match the pot before he 
 knows that this one is no more.' 
 
 * I am sure Mr Treville regards 
 everything in the house as yours as 
 much as his, already,' Aunt Jane said 
 cheerfully. Whereat Frances shrugged 
 her pretty, white, chiffon-frilled shoulders, 
 as she said, — 
 
 'Not at all. He has a strong sense 
 of what belongs to posterity. Win- 
 gates, and all that appertaineth there- 
 unto, belongs to the Trevilles that 
 are yet unborn. If we were married
 
 1 88 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 to-morrow, John wouldn't be silly enough 
 to say, "All that's mine is thine, 
 lassie," and as we may never be married 
 at all—' 
 
 ' Frances ! ' 
 
 '"'Twixt cup and lip there's many 
 a slip," ' Frances quoted, as she sunk 
 back on a grandly carved, quaint old 
 Jacobean chair, and dipped into the 
 columns of the World. 
 
 Coming home from some preserves, 
 which he had rented on the other 
 side of the little town - village where 
 Dr Pollard lived, John Treville turned 
 in at the doctor's door to ask for the 
 latest information concerning his friend 
 and guest Mr Harlby. Mrs Pollard 
 advanced from the drawing - room to 
 meet him, still with her hat and 
 cloak on.
 
 A Fair Ghotile. 189 
 
 ' Mr Pollard is in the surgery. He 
 will be here in a minute. Come in, 
 Mr Treville, and warm yourself by 
 the fire, while I get you a glass of 
 cherry brandy,' she said heartily, for 
 she wanted to drop a word or two 
 into his ear. 
 
 'Thanks, I'll stand by the fire for a 
 minute or two, but no cherry brandy, 
 please. I never drink between meals. 
 Pollard been over to Wingates this 
 afternoon ? ' 
 
 * Yes, and I went with him, and 
 really, Mr Treville, as your friend, I do 
 not feel justified in keeping something 
 I observed to myself. I must tell 
 you.'
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 WELL MATCHED. 
 
 Mrs Gaston had liked the loud laugh- 
 ing, large-teethed Englishman as well 
 as she had liked any of the many men 
 who had won her temporary favours, 
 and shown themselves ready to ' part ' 
 freely for her pleasure. But her reason 
 in making as much noise as she could 
 in the society papers, about her resolve 
 to track out the manner and the 
 
 means of his unexplained disappear- 
 190
 
 Well Matched. 191 
 
 ance from the ken of herself and 
 others of the New York queens of his 
 soul, was not disinterested regard 
 for him. She wanted to ' boom her- 
 self,' as she phrased it, and it occurred 
 to her that the most efficacious mode 
 of doing this would be to ventilate 
 the case of a vanished man, who had 
 confided to her in a letter which she 
 had kept, that he ' was the heir to a 
 fine old property in one of the west- 
 ern counties of England.' 
 
 To ' boom ' herself and go up aloft 
 into that uppermost circle of London 
 society, in which royalty revolved, 
 was her desire and intention. Even 
 if she exploded when she got up there 
 was not of much consequence. Nothing 
 could really shatter her. She had more 
 money than even her wastefulness could
 
 192 No Hero, hit a Man. 
 
 seriously diminish, for her husband was 
 always making fresh piles, and so long 
 as she forebore to ask him awkward 
 questions, he let her help to spend 
 these piles with both hands. 
 
 Needless to say, she forebore to ask 
 awkward questions. 
 
 In addition to the delicious sensation 
 of booming herself, by means of her 
 publicly - expressed curiosity respecting 
 the fate of Mr Herbert Harlby, of 
 New York, Mrs Gaston had the 
 pleasing anticipation of mortifying Mr 
 Herbert Harlby 's widow. She (Mrs 
 Gaston) knew that the man who had 
 loved whate'er he looked on, and whose 
 looks had gone everywhere, had reposed 
 the same half-insulting, half-flattering 
 confidences respecting his hopes and 
 intentions to a dozen other women
 
 Well Matched. 1 9 3 
 
 besides herself. She also knew that 
 his wife had not been among this 
 dubiously-distinguished dozen. 
 
 Mrs Gaston knew that when she had 
 well stirred up the smouldering fire 
 of gossip and conjecture concerning 
 the fate of Harlby, of New York, that 
 some of the smoke would inevitably 
 hang about, and possibly cloud and 
 slightly defile her name and reputation. 
 But this was a contingency that did 
 not alarm her in the least. She had 
 absolutely nothing to lose ; so she was 
 able to assume the virtue of absolute 
 fearlessness. The conveniently - absent 
 Gaston had made her independent of 
 the world, including himself. She was 
 thickly environed by satelites who 
 amused her, and whom she liked, and 
 these she knew would stick close to 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 194 ^0 Hero, but a Man. 
 
 her as the limpet does to the rock, 
 while she had the power of sustaining 
 them (monetarily). The English set 
 into which she aspired to get was 
 more likely to accord her a free pass 
 into its sacred precincts, if a savoury 
 scent hung around her name, than if 
 it were impregnated with the * holier 
 odour — the odour of pansies.' Under- 
 standing all this she put forth her 
 paragraphs, and waited. 
 
 She had not to wait long. A kin- 
 dred spirit, of whose existence she 
 was unconscious yet, read and re- 
 sponded to the wily note of defiance 
 which she had sounded in the weekly 
 press. 
 
 The response came in* the shape of 
 a type - written anonymous letter, and 
 as it was posted in St Martin's - le -
 
 Well Matched, 195 
 
 Grand, it would have been a difficult 
 matter to track it to its source, even 
 had Mrs Gaston desired to do so. 
 As a matter of fact, she did not 
 desire to do this. She knew that if 
 she waited, the source would come to 
 her. 
 
 * Mrs Gaston is informed ' (so the 
 letter ran) 'that Mrs Herbert Harlby, 
 of New York, widow, is nursing Mr 
 Harlby, of Gunwalloe Place, bachelor, 
 who is lying dangerously ill from the 
 effects of a gun accident at Wingates, 
 the house of his friend Mr Treville, 
 near Fowey, in Cornwall. Harlby, of 
 New York, died in a railway carriage 
 under suspicious circumstances. No one 
 knows anything of the present owner 
 of Gunwalloe Place. A letter addressed 
 to " Justitia, Poste Restante, Plymouth,"
 
 1 96 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 will be replied to by one who abhors 
 false pretences.' 
 
 Mrs Gaston addressed a letter to 
 ' Justitia,' asking for fuller information 
 on the subject of the New York 
 widow, the present owner of Gun- 
 walloe Place, and the death in a 
 railway carriage of a man called 
 Harlby. 
 
 In reply to this there came another 
 type-written letter from ' Justitia/ recom- 
 mending a brief sojourn at Cawsand 
 to Mrs Gaston, and hinting that from 
 that secluded and safe Vantage-ground 
 inquiries, which might lead to exciting 
 results, could be pursued with safety. 
 The names of a Mrs Jones, of The 
 Breakwater View Cottage, was given 
 as that of a highly desirable landlady, 
 and Mrs Gaston was adjured, in con-
 
 Well Matched, 197 
 
 elusion, to be ' unhasting, unresting 
 in pursuit of her God-given quest.' 
 
 Mrs Gaston read this letter atten- 
 tively, laughed at the evident animus 
 of the writer against some of the 
 people concerned, and as she liked 
 exciting results, and longed to boom 
 her name in connection with a pos- 
 sibly criminal case, wrote again to 
 ' Justitia,' saying that she would be 
 at Cawsand in a week's time. 
 
 Accordingly, within a week, another 
 announcement appeared in the society 
 papers with regard to Mrs Gaston. 
 
 ' The beautiful Mrs Gaston, of New 
 York, is driving her numerous ad- 
 mirers wild with despair by her de- 
 termination to bury herself for a time 
 in the remote little Cornish fishing 
 village of Cawsand, where she hopes
 
 198 No Hej^o, but a Man, 
 
 to obtain from some living repre- 
 sentatives of the Harlby family some 
 information respecting the last days 
 and sad end of Mr Harlby, of New 
 York, who died (It is stated) under 
 mysterious circumstances in the past 
 summer. Mrs Gaston regards this as 
 a sacred duty, as the deceased gentle- 
 man's widow Is apparently too crushed 
 by sorrow to take any steps towards 
 elucidating the mystery. Mr Harlby 
 was the last survivor of the old race, 
 and heir to Gunwalloe Place.' 
 
 ' That will be a bad one for all 
 whom it may concern,' Mrs Gaston 
 thought, as she sent off duplicates 
 of this paragraph to several of the 
 weekly papers. But if it was a ^ bad 
 one' for several people, it was a 
 good one apparently for Mrs Pollard,
 
 Well Matched, 199 
 
 who seemed to have an instinct fcr 
 finding it out, and teaching it unctu- 
 ously with dramatic emphasis to her 
 husband. 
 
 * There will be a terrible, terrible 
 scandal at Wingates and Gunwalloe 
 Place before long, I feel sure. 
 Happily, / have done my best to 
 avert It, by trying to open the eyes 
 of that poor bat, John Treville,' she 
 said, with a strident laugh to her 
 husband one day after having pursued 
 him into the surgery to read the 
 local papers copy of the paragraph. 
 
 'You'll be good enough, perhaps, 
 not to mix yourself up with this 
 woman and her investigations, Augusta? 
 I know you often find your life 
 dull, but, for God's sake, don't try 
 and enliven it by throwing mud at
 
 200 No Hero, hU a Man. 
 
 people, and dragging me through 
 
 It; 
 
 The harassed doctor spoke warmly 
 and manfully. It quite cheered her 
 to find that she had discovered a new 
 mode of tormenting, and so bending 
 him to her will. 
 
 * I like Americans, and shall cer- 
 tainly call on this Mrs Gaston,' she 
 said, loudly and defiantly. ' She 
 
 must be a grand, brave woman to 
 risk being misunderstood in the cause 
 of friendship, by taking up the work 
 that that nasty little giggling, flirty 
 widow of his ought to have done. 
 I think it's perfectly disgusting that 
 the woman should throw herself at 
 Gunwalloe In the way she does, for, 
 of course, It's the place, not the man, 
 she wants.'
 
 Well Matched. 201 
 
 * Why, the other day you were 
 saying that you believed she was this 
 Harlby's wife ! ' the doctor was goaded 
 into saying. 
 
 ' May you be forgiven the atrocious 
 falsehood,' she cried, with strongly 
 simulated indignation. ' It was yott 
 who made the suggestion to me, and 
 coming from you, who pride yourself 
 so much on your caution, I admit 
 I did entertain the idea for a time. 
 But now I feel it was a poor 
 error, one of those coarse blunders 
 you are so apt to make. I have 
 no doubt as to her beinor the widow 
 of the poor man who lost his life 
 in the railway carriage in which 
 he and your precious patient were 
 travelling alone, and I feel sure 
 that the woman who has entrapped
 
 202 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 poor Mr Treville is an accom- 
 plice/ 
 
 * Have you ever heard of such a 
 thing as an action for Hbel ? ' Doctor 
 Pollard asked savagely. Whereupon his 
 stalwart better half threw her head 
 back and laughed loudly and long. 
 
 * You would be the defendant in 
 the case, my dear,' she said at last. 
 ' For I get all my information from 
 you, and I should give up my in- 
 formant without scruple.' 
 
 ' You would ruin me ! ' he said 
 aghast ; and she, seeing that her 
 threats had power to alarm him, as 
 he was honourable, conscientious, and 
 altogether without reproach in the 
 matter of preserving professional con- 
 fidences, blurted out with coarse merri- 
 ment, —
 
 Well Matched. 203 
 
 'Without hesitation, my friend, in 
 order to save myself. I only married 
 you to save myself, for, before I did 
 so, I knew you to be a white-livered 
 hound, who pandered to Mrs Grundy 
 and respectability. / care for neither 
 of these powers, and if, with the 
 aid of Mrs Gaston, I can find a 
 weak place in the armour of your 
 county swell at Gunwalloe Place, / 
 shall do it. Now, how do you 
 propose putting the drag on my de- 
 termination ? ' 
 
 * You stagger me, Augusta. I have 
 loved and trusted you, but you are 
 shocking me out of all affection or 
 respect' 
 
 Back went her head, and out rang 
 the cruel insulting, coarse laugh. 
 
 ' I'll stagger and shock you more
 
 204 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 before I've done with you, if you defy 
 or annoy me,' she said, as she flung 
 out of the room, banging the door 
 behind her In a way that made all 
 the medicine bottles jump. It took 
 him some little time to quiet these and 
 his own perturbed spirit. When he 
 had done this latter, by dint of re- 
 peatedly assuring himself that 'Augusta 
 never meant half she said,' he went 
 out on one of his longest and dullest 
 ' rounds,' winding up for mental and 
 social refreshment with a call in at 
 WIngates, where he found Mr Harlby 
 sitting out of bed for the first time, 
 and Rose Harlby reading to him. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs Pollard had taken the 
 train to Plymouth, crossed from the 
 Admiral's Ward to Cremyl, driven In 
 a waggonette, behind a long horse
 
 Well Matched, 205 
 
 thinly covered with hair, to Cawsand, 
 and was now walking up the zig-zaggy 
 little street to Breakwater View Cot- 
 tage to call on Mrs Gaston. 
 
 It was a queer little place in which 
 to look for the ' beautiful popular/ and 
 it may be added, ' flashy ' — New York 
 society woman. 
 
 A little wicket-gate admitted the 
 visitor to a steep flight of steps which 
 led down into a trimly kept little 
 garden in which stood the neat little 
 square cottage called Breakwater View. 
 The entrance door in the centre opened 
 straight upon a steep staircase. To 
 the right was a tiny dining-room. To 
 the left an equally tiny drawing-room. 
 Above these were two bedrooms com- 
 manding magnificent views of the har- 
 bour and the opposite Devon coast.
 
 2o6 No Hero, bttt a Man. 
 
 These were the apartments devoted 
 to the use of Mrs Gaston and her 
 maid. They had been there twelve 
 hours, and were already heartily sick 
 of the picturesque and healthy little 
 Cornish fishing village. 
 
 ' I have come on a fool's errand 
 after all,' Mrs Gaston was saying dis- 
 contentedly to herself when the door was 
 cautiously opened by her quiet little 
 landlady, who murmured discreetly, — 
 
 * A lady to see you, ma'am. She 
 would not give her name, so I did 
 not admit her ! ' 
 
 'Quite right! I mean, show her in,' 
 Mrs Gaston said hurriedly. The next 
 moment a large fair woman made a 
 dramatically effusive entrance, saying 
 emphatically, — 
 
 * I am Justitia ! you, I presume.
 
 Well Matched. 207 
 
 are my unknown correspondent, Mrs 
 Gaston ? ' 
 
 She asked the question in a way 
 that subtly conveyed to Mrs Gaston 
 that she (Justitia) did not entirely en- 
 dorse the press verdict, which declared 
 the fair New Yorker to be ' beautiful 
 and attractive.' 
 
 'I don't like Justitia; she's too egotis- 
 tical to be pleasant, but she'll play the 
 game for me if I let her think I'm 
 wax in her hands,' Mrs Gaston thought 
 as she was saying, — 
 
 * I guessed you'd be what you are, 
 a real woman of the world, with '* talent" 
 stamped on every square yard of you. 
 You're one of the great county ladies, 
 I'm sure ; I know the sort though I've 
 only been in London society a few 
 weeks, and I'm real glad to see you.'
 
 2o8 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 ' The late Mr Harlby was a friend 
 of yours ? ' Mrs Pollard asked signifi- 
 cantly. 
 
 The other lady smiled. * Friendly as 
 far as I'd let him be/ she said briefly. 
 
 * And his wife was not ? ' 
 
 ' She didn't come into the case while 
 he was alive. But if you pan out as 
 well as you have led me to think you 
 will, she will come into the case now,' 
 Mrs Gaston replied, with a pale smile 
 playing over her face. ' But, before we 
 go any further, what's your motive ? 
 
 ' I am tired of leading a useless in- 
 active life,' Mrs Pollard began warmly. 
 'If I can help you to right a wrong, 
 I shall do so without any hope of a 
 reward. I am a very independent 
 woman, Mrs Gaston, but when people 
 come to me for advice, I give it to them
 
 Well Matched. 209 
 
 straight out from the shoulder. I never 
 betray a confidence ; your secret with 
 regard to the late Mr Harlby, of New 
 York, is quite safe with me.' 
 
 ' My secret ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, yes,' Mrs Pollard laughed out 
 hilariously. * I read between the lines. 
 My dear Mrs Gaston, you may quite 
 rely on my sympathy, support, and dis- 
 cretion. The mere fact of your re- 
 sponding to the letters signed * Justitia,' 
 show how deeply involved your heart 
 and interests were with the dead man. 
 Trust me ! Avoid holding any kind of 
 communication with his widow and the 
 man who owns Gunwalloe Place. My 
 husband is professionally mterested in 
 the case ; in fact, he is a surgical 
 specialist, and has been consulted about 
 the gun accident.' 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 2IO No Hero, hit a Man. 
 
 ' The country doctor would be more 
 useful to me,' said Mrs Gaston slyly. 
 ' A London specialist won't know all 
 the family ins and outs.' 
 
 ' We — my husband and I — live in 
 the country near Wingates and Gun- 
 walloe Place,' said Mrs Pollard loftily. 
 * He is not the less a specialist because 
 he lives in the country.' 
 
 * We shall get on now,' Mrs Gaston 
 said, with cheery malice. ' While I 
 thought you a great county lady, I 
 was on my P's and O's, but now I 
 know you're only the local doctor's 
 wife, I feel better. You've offered me 
 your services, Justitia, by letter, and 
 I've kept the letters, and you have 
 come here in person to repeat the offer. 
 I'll have your services. What do you 
 want for them ? '
 
 Well Matched. 
 
 211 
 
 ' My services ! ' gasped Mrs Pol- 
 lard. 
 
 ' Yes, your services ; if you didn't 
 mean to give them, why have you 
 interfered in this matter ? You're a 
 very clever woman, but you're out 
 of your depth now ! I have your 
 letter ; you have come here and re- 
 fused your name to my landlady, but 
 you've admitted you're * Justitia ' to me. 
 You're a big, fair, painted-up woman, 
 who would be remarked by everyone. 
 You don't want to be exposed as 
 an amateur detective and anonymous 
 letter - writer in your own neighbour- 
 hood ; but, unless you work on my 
 lines, I'll expose you.' 
 
 ' You're a dangerous, intriguing 
 woman!' Mrs Pollard raved loudly 
 in her anger and amazement, think-
 
 2 1 2 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 ing by that a show of fine frenzy she 
 could bluster down her opponent. 
 
 Her opponent only smiled. 
 
 ' Tell me all you know of the 
 antecedents of this Mr Harlby of Gun- 
 walloe Place .•* ' 
 
 ' I know nothing. He dropped from 
 the clouds, or some other sphere 
 equally unknown, apparently. He is 
 very reticent.' 
 
 ' You must break through that 
 barrier. You're evidently not a timid 
 woman,' Mrs Gaston said, smiling still 
 more sweetly than before. ' Tell me, 
 who came with him from the unknown 
 sphere ? ' 
 
 ' No one ; he came alone — that is, 
 a dog came with him, a grey- 
 hound.' 
 
 ' A greyhound ! What colour, what
 
 Well Matched. 2 1 3 
 
 name ! ' Mrs Gaston asked, kindling up 
 and ceasing to smile. 
 
 * A golden yellow, very large hound ; 
 his name, I believe, is Cavae. I am 
 interested in him, as he is a 
 splendid dog, and I breed grey- 
 hounds.' 
 
 ' And I am interested in him, as I 
 bred such a dog as you describe, 
 called him Cavae, and gave him 
 to my late friend, Mr Herbert 
 Harlby.'
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 that's over. 
 
 John Treville had gone home after 
 
 the ten minutes' conversation with Mrs 
 
 Portland, which that lady had inveigled 
 
 him into, with a doubt in his mind for 
 
 the first time as to the wisdom of his 
 
 choice of a wife. 
 
 The doctor's wife had fluently hinted 
 
 at several unpleasant things in the 
 
 course of that brief interview. She 
 
 had dwelt on the marvellous, almost 
 
 magnetic, attraction which Harlby of 
 214
 
 Thafs Over. 215 
 
 Gunwalloe Place obviously possessed 
 for all the women folk then assembled 
 at Wingates ; and while affecting to 
 deplore her sex's infatuation, she gave 
 him to understand that it was one from 
 which it was next to impossible they 
 could ever recover. 
 
 ' That frivolous, fast little widow 
 from New York is almost indelicate 
 in her devotion to her late husband's 
 namesake,' Mrs Pollard declared em- 
 phatically, and John Treville listened 
 and said nothing. 
 
 * Miss Woodford is so nice in every 
 respect, I am sure, that I should be 
 quite sorry if the glamour were thrown 
 over her also, but naturally you would 
 be alive to the possibility of such a 
 catastrophe and avert it.' 
 
 She spoke eagerly, in quick, incisive
 
 2 T 6 No Hero^ htt a Man. 
 
 tones, and John Treville thought pity- 
 ingly of his old friend the doctor who 
 was mated to, and so in a measure 
 responsible for, the utterances of this 
 mischief-maker. 
 
 ' I am so alive to everything that 
 concerns Miss Woodford and her well- 
 being, that I'll say good evening to 
 you, Mrs Pollard, before you have time 
 to say anything more about her,' he 
 said coolly ; then, before she could 
 excuse herself, or accuse anyone else, 
 he walked away out . of her house, 
 leaving her with the baffled feeling of 
 not having made as mischievous a 
 mess of things as she had intended 
 doing. 
 
 All the way home Mr Treville 
 thought of Frances, and of Frances 
 only. He had been fond of her in
 
 Thafs Over. 2 1 7 
 
 his cool, rather dry way for a long 
 time, ever since he had taken the step 
 of asking her to marry him, in fact. 
 But now this woman's idle words had 
 made him comprehend how very dear 
 Frances was to him. He was not an 
 emotional man by any means, but he 
 felt his eyeballs grow hot, and a chok- 
 ing sensation in his throat, as he 
 thought that if it was with Frances, as 
 that interfering woman had hinted, it 
 was his plain duty to offer to release 
 her, and so give her the chance of 
 being happy in her own way. 
 
 He had been so absorbed by other 
 things lately, that he had not been very 
 observant of Frances ; but now, look- 
 ing back upon her manner by the 
 light of Mrs Pollard's remarks, he saw 
 that she had been quieter and more
 
 2 1 8 N'o Hero, but a Man. 
 
 reserved even than usual, and she had 
 always been a quiet and reserved girl. 
 But latterly this reserve had amounted 
 to absolute depression. He understood 
 it all now, so he thought. 
 
 He had not entered into the en- 
 gagement in a romantic spirit, as has 
 been already told. But he was aware 
 now that his heart had become very 
 closely bound to the woman he had 
 been reQ^ardinor as his future wife for 
 so many months. It was insupportable 
 and cruelly unjust that this stranger 
 should have won her from him without 
 an effort. 
 
 He did not, for a moment, attach any 
 blame to her, or feel any scorn for 
 what some men would have termed her 
 fickleness. His great desire was that 
 she should be happy. It would have
 
 Thafs Over. 219 
 
 been his joy and pride, in an unob- 
 trusive way, to have made her so, 
 had he been allowed to try, but, 
 as it was — well, he would offer no 
 obstacle to the other fellow doing 
 it. 
 
 Would the other fellow embrace the 
 opportunity that he (John Treville), 
 resolved to give ? Yes ; he felt sure 
 that the opportunity would be embraced. 
 Frances was not a girl to entertain 
 an unrequited affection for any man. 
 It was astonishing, now that he 
 was about to lose her, how clear-visioned 
 he became about her character, and 
 how thoroughly he gauged it. 
 
 The house party had hardly got over 
 Mrs Pollard's call by the time the 
 master of the house entered. The doc- 
 tor's wife had jarred upon them all,
 
 2 20 No Hero, but a Man, 
 
 and set all the finer chords in their 
 natures jangling out of tune. That 
 curious mixture of apparently irre- 
 pressible frankness, and apparently irre- 
 pressible suspicion in her manner, had 
 affected them more than any one of 
 them would have liked to admit, and 
 made them distrustful of the others. 
 Even the dear old aunts felt that it 
 would have been better, perhaps, had 
 Mr Harlby been taken to Gunwalloe 
 Place after the accident, and that 
 Frances had not come to Wingates till 
 she came as Mrs Treville. As for 
 Rose, they could not make up their 
 minds to wish she had never left 
 New York. But in view of the de- 
 pression which reigned throughout 
 dinner that day, they thought several 
 things ' a pity ! '
 
 That's Over. 221 
 
 Mr Treville had made up his mind 
 to speak straightforwardly to Frances 
 in offering her the release from their 
 engagement. He would be lucid, leav- 
 ing nothing to be ' understood ' or 
 * misunderstood.' He thought Mrs 
 Pollard a garrulous, interfering, mali- 
 cious-minded woman for havinor hinted 
 
 o 
 
 to him that a glamour had been 
 thrown over the girl he was en- 
 gaged to by another man. But he 
 would not work like a mole in the 
 dark. She should have ample oppor- 
 tunity of weighing the hint at its 
 due worth, and refuting it if she felt 
 so disposed. 
 
 ' One thing, I shall take her word 
 for anything against Mrs Pollard or 
 the whole world as far as that s^oes,' 
 he thought. ' She will never deceive
 
 22 2 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 me. If she has taken a fancy to 
 Harlby, she will tell me so.' 
 
 He was not a man to halt on the 
 brink, when a plunge into troubled 
 waters was either compulsory or 
 desirable. He made a move into the 
 room where he kept his guns and 
 fishing - tackle, foxes' brushes, otter 
 heads and skins, stags' antlers, 
 and other trophies of his bow and 
 spear. When the ladies had gone 
 to the drawing - room after dinner, 
 he sent a message asking Frances to 
 come and speak to him, and Frances 
 obeyed the summons without an in- 
 stant's hesitation. The time had 
 come, she felt, for her to tell him 
 that she must give up the idea of 
 marrying him. 
 
 It struck her as strange that he
 
 Thafs Over. 223 
 
 should not have his cigarette between 
 his lips when she went in. It was 
 their custom to spend twenty minutes 
 or half-an-hour together in the gun- 
 room every evening, and he generally 
 smoked and talked about his inven- 
 tions all the time. This evening he 
 was neither smoking nor bending over 
 his models. He was standing by the 
 mantelpiece looking down into the 
 fire, wondering why it was that he 
 had never known how happy he had 
 been till the continuance of this happi- 
 ness was threatened. 
 
 She went up to him unfalteringly, 
 looking sweeter and more graceful in 
 her white dinner - dress than she had 
 ever looked before, he fancied. His 
 eyeballs grew hot again as he 
 looked down into the eyes that
 
 2 24 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 had taken an extra tinge of sadness 
 lately. 
 
 ' I was coming when you sent for 
 me/ she began ; ' I was coming to tell 
 you that I can't be cruel and unjust 
 enough to marry you, John. Through 
 no fault of mine or yours, I am placed 
 in a position that leaves me no choice. 
 I must go out of your life.' 
 
 ' Then it's true ? ' he said piteously. 
 
 'What is true?' 
 
 ' What that woman, Mrs Pollard, has 
 been suggesting to me this evening, 
 that you're infatuated with Harlby. 
 There, Frances, I have told you what 
 I would give a year of my life not to 
 believe to be true.' 
 
 ' I am not indulging in any foolish, 
 unwomanly, unsought feeling for Mr 
 Harlby, as that woman has dared to
 
 That's Over. 225 
 
 hint to you,' she said proudly. ' In 
 breaking off my engagement with you 
 — in putting myself to exquisite pain, 
 and, I am afraid, hurting you who are 
 so good to me, I shall break with 
 every tie and every acquaintance I have 
 formed down here.' 
 
 ' But it is — is it '^. — love for him which 
 makes you do it } ' he urged. 
 
 ' No ! ' she said firmly, throwing up 
 her head, and meeting his miserable 
 eyes steadily. 'If I had weakly let 
 myself be treacherous enough to love 
 and idolise him, I would have killed 
 the silly sentiment and never let you 
 suspect it. I would have married you, 
 and been a good wife to you, if it had 
 only been love for Mr Harlby.' 
 
 *What is it, then? Frances, tell me 
 all that's in your mind. Think of the 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 2 26 No Hero, but a Man. 
 
 waste my life will be without you. 
 Let me try to make you happy, dear. 
 I won't ever again ask you, as I did 
 a minute ago, to tell me what this 
 spectre is that you have raised ! With- 
 out seeing or knowing it, I will defy 
 it for you.' 
 
 ' Think of what I shall have to go 
 back to, and then ask yourself if I 
 would give up the peace, and comfort, 
 and luxury, and power of making other 
 people happy, which a marriage with 
 you would imply for any, but the 
 strongest reasons '^, My aunts will want 
 me to live with them, and be treated 
 as their daughter ; but I should hate 
 to be dependent, so I shall go back to 
 work that never has been and never 
 will be congenial to me.' 
 
 * Harlby will never let you do that.
 
 That's Over, 227 
 
 If I am to lose you, I won't be cur 
 enough to grudge you happiness with 
 the other man.' 
 
 ' I hope I may never see him again, 
 John. There is no power on earth 
 would make me marry Mr Harlby, 
 even if he wished it, and that he will 
 never do.' 
 
 He turned to the table and swept 
 aside impatiently a number of little 
 delicate models in brass and steel. 
 
 * I have been working for fortune, for 
 you. These things may go now. I 
 want nothing more for myself.' 
 
 *You will want it in time for some 
 better woman than I am,' she said, 
 so earnestly and so affectionately, that 
 the tension was too strong for him, 
 and tears fell from the hot, aching 
 eyeballs.
 
 2 28 No Hero, hit a Man. 
 
 * No better woman, or worse woman, 
 or woman of any kind, will ever come 
 to Wingates as my wife if you give me 
 up. I am not a young man, but until 
 I met you I never knew what it was 
 to think of a woman, or wish her to 
 think of me, and I shall never do it 
 again when you leave me.' 
 
 * Think me an ungrateful fool — hate 
 me!' 
 
 ' My dear, if I could do that, I 
 should be a poor sort of fellow, not 
 worthy of having won even so much 
 regard from you as I have. Here, 
 now ' (as she turned away with a 
 heart-felt sob of sorrow, which was, per- 
 haps, more for herself than for him), — 
 ' here, now, we'll say no more about 
 it. Don't let the last thing I do for 
 you be to make you cry.'
 
 That's Over. 229 
 
 ' You are a good man, and a kind 
 one. I will not hurt you more than I 
 have done already. I will get out of 
 your sight to-morrow, and I pray that 
 you will soon put me out of your 
 memory.' 
 
 ' Gently, my dear. We must think 
 of the others. If you go, your aunts 
 will go, and how about poor little Mrs 
 Harlby then ? She can't stay here ; at 
 least people like Mrs Pollard may talk 
 if she does.' 
 
 And is it necessary she should 
 stay } ' 
 
 ' Till he is better, poor fellow ; it 
 would be hard to rob him of all his 
 nurses at once ; and he doesn't seem 
 to have any relations to whom I could 
 send.' 
 
 * No, he is a sadly, solitary man/
 
 230 No Hero, but a Man, 
 
 * So, for his sake, you must sta)^ 
 here till he needs no more nursing, and 
 try and feel that you are In the house 
 of a man who will regard you as a 
 sister, if you won't let him regard you 
 as anything nearer. I'll not worry you, 
 Frances. After to-night I will not put 
 you to the pain of saying " No " to me 
 again. But just once more to-night — 
 is your reason for giving me up one 
 that can never be 2"ot over ? ' 
 
 ' It is one that can never be got 
 over, John ; it is one that must cloud 
 my life.' 
 
 She turned to go out of the room, 
 and he held the door open, standing 
 with his head so bowed as she passed, 
 that her heart smote her, and spoke 
 more warmly for him that it had ever 
 done before.
 
 That's Over. 231 
 
 * That's over ! and I am more 
 unhappy than I was before ; but — 
 I have done what Is best for John 
 Treville,' she kept on telling herself, 
 even while she was trying to carry on 
 the ' cosy chat ' which her aunts always 
 insisted on having with her before 
 they went to bed. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 COLSTON AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
 
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