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 NOR WIFE NOR MAID
 
 At all Libraries. 
 In Three I'olumes. 
 
 NOT ALL IN VAIN. 
 
 BY 
 
 ADA CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 Scotsman.— ' The story is delightful reading, and some of 
 the scenes and situations are sketched with that charming 
 regard to detail which has been an outstanding merit of our 
 best women novelists.' 
 
 Maftchester Guardian. — ' The character - drawing is 
 excellent. Mrs. Cambridge's power is beyond dispute. 
 Nothing can be better than the voyage to Australia, the 
 drama enacted by the passengers, the cabin cabals, and the 
 deck flirtations.' 
 
 By the same Author. Price 2^. 6d. each. 
 
 A MARKED MAN. 1 THE THREE MISS KINGS. 
 
 LONDON : 
 WM. HEINEMANN, 21, BEDFORD STREET, W.C.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. HUNGERFORD 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 PHYLLIS,' 'molly 15AWN,' ' APRIL's LADY,' 'a MODERN CIKCh:,' ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON 
 WILLIAM HEINEMANN 
 
 1892 
 
 \_Aii rights reserved \
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/norwifenormaid01duch
 
 8S.3 
 v.l 
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 'She was a worthy woman all her life.' 
 ' Full rich she was y-stored privily.' 
 
 -=§ ' An invitation to the palace for Friday even- 
 ri ing'/ says Mrs. Seatoan, glancing up from the 
 ' letter she has been reading. She is looking a 
 ^ little more severe than usual. Her lank figure 
 ^. seems to have taken on an extra des^ree of 
 ^ leanness. By this they all know that she is 
 -^ pleased. Mary smiles. The Archdeacon, 
 © pushing away his breakfast cup in a little 
 3 dreamy way he has, says : 
 
 VOL. I. 1 
 
 3
 
 Z NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 ' For Friday ?' as if trying to impress the 
 date on his memory. 
 
 * Music, of course/ says Arabella — 'music 
 and frumps. I do hope when I am going out 
 next j^ear, there will be something better 
 worth going to than a Bishop's " at home." ' 
 
 ' I hope next year when you come out — at 
 a sadly early age as it seems to me ' 
 
 'Early ! At seventeen ! Why, Lena and 
 Mary went to dances when they were six- 
 teen!' 
 
 * True ! your father then had no one to look 
 after your interest,' says ,Mrs. Seatoun, the 
 stepmother air full upon her. ' It is fortunate 
 for you that I am now here to arrange what is 
 best for you.' 
 
 Arabella's brilliant dark eyes gain some- 
 thing in fire, and she looks up as if to say a 
 good deal, but Mary's glance checks her. 
 
 ' Music is always delightful ; you will go ?' 
 says Mary, smiling at her stepmother. 
 
 ' I sup230se so. You,^ says Mrs. Seatoun,
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 6 
 
 putting up her pince-nez, and again reading 
 the letter, ' are specially invited.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes, I'm glad of that,' says the Arch- 
 deacon, turning a quick, pleased glance on his 
 favourite daughter. ' The Bishop likes you, 
 Mary ; I have often noticed it.' 
 
 ' Naturally he Avould be desirous of having 
 her at his party,' says Mrs. Seatoun tartly, 
 with a view evidently to taking down any 
 conceit that Mary may be feeling. 
 
 ' Why ?' asks Mary, raising her charming 
 face, and letting her pretty lips widen into 
 an amused smile — 'to excommunicate me?' 
 
 ' Not so bad as that,' says her father. ' To 
 hear you play the violin, more probably.' 
 
 ' That is almost worse. However ' — re- 
 flectively and honestly — ' it is flattering. 
 Do I ' — anxiously — ' really begin to play 
 well?' 
 
 ' All, you began that a long time ago !' 
 cries Arabella enthusiastically, who adores 
 Mary and thinks there is nobody like her.
 
 4 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 * But even if you didn't play at all, if you 
 didn't know a note of music, if you were as 
 little moved with concord of sweet sounds 
 as Shakespeare's man himself, still I don't see 
 why the Bishop shouldn't be delighted to ask 
 you to his horrid dull old parties.' 
 
 ' I don't know what that outburst may 
 mean, Arabella,' says Mrs. Seatoun, turning 
 a freezing glance on her, ' but if it is meant 
 to convey to your sister that I thought she 
 would not be invited to the palace under any 
 circumstances, you ' 
 
 * Oh no ! Bella did not mean that,' says 
 Mary quickly ; ' and after all, is it so xery 
 sure — is it to be a musical affair?' 
 
 ' There is music in the corner,' says Mrs. 
 Seatoun, glancing at the card. 
 
 ' Superfluous !' says Arabella, witli a tilt 
 of her already too upward-curving chin. 
 
 * What else can they do, poor people ! dancing, 
 theatricals, everything worth having, being 
 
 ,denied them.'
 
 NOR AVIFE NOR MATD 5 
 
 ' Arabella !' says her stepmotber. 
 
 'Friday, did you say?' asks Mary witb 
 tbat pretty vagueness, inherited from the 
 father, that marks her. 
 
 ' Yes, Friday ; you Avill come witb your 
 mother and me?' asks the Archdeacon 
 anxiously. 
 
 ' I think so ; I shall like it, I dare say. 
 The last one was not so bad.' 
 
 * You will have to bring your violin witb 
 you, remember,' says Mrs. Seatoun, her tone 
 an aggravation in itself. 
 
 ' No great hardship,' says Mary. ^ 
 
 ' Even without it I dare say they'd admit 
 
 you/ says Arabella, w^ho is plainly in one of 
 
 her w^orst moods. 
 
 * Arabella, don't be flippant !' says her 
 stepmother. ' What was meant to be under- 
 stood was, that your sister's talents would 
 naturally be recognised by so cultured a man 
 as the Bishop.' 
 
 * Ah ! who's flattering her now ?' says
 
 b NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 Arabella, who has the face of an angel and 
 the tongue of an im}). 
 
 ' I never flatter,' says Mrs. Seatoun, who 
 is not clever enough to understand that to 
 argue with Arabella is to give the latter her 
 dearest delight. ' I am simply just !' 
 
 * Just what ?' asks the latter mischievously. 
 
 ' Just ? Honest ' — explaining herself with 
 severity. ^ And, after all, this party may not 
 be of the despicable musical order to which 
 you so object.' This with withering sarcasm. 
 
 * jSTo — no — sure to be music,' says the Arch- 
 deacon, who has caught the last sentence, and 
 rouses himself from his perusal of the Saturday 
 Review, to edge in a word or two. 
 
 ' Same old game !' says Arabella, letting 
 her white lids drooj) mournfully over her 
 gleaming eyes. 
 
 * Arabella ! no slang, I beseech of you !' 
 
 ' Is that slang ?' asks Arabella — a touch 
 of open rebellion in her thin sixteen-year- 
 old face. ' I heard Lena say it yesterday.'
 
 NOR- WIFE NOK MAID 7 
 
 ' Your eldest sister, being a married woman, 
 thinks she may now say what she pleases,' 
 says Mrs. Seatoun ; ^ you, however, are not 
 married, and ' 
 
 ' Oh, hoAv funny !' says Arabella, as she 
 laj^s down her knife, and gives way to a 
 sudden sweet ringing peal of laughter. ' It 
 is so ridiculously absurd a thing to think of 
 her ever being married. So flu*-otf a thing — 
 so odd — so impossible !' 
 
 ' I suppose we shall meet Lena on Friday 
 evening,' says Mary, coming again to the 
 rescue. * Don't you think so, papa ?' 
 
 ' Yes, my dear, almost a certainty, I should 
 say.' 
 
 ' James is such a flivourite with the 
 Bishop !' 
 
 'James is clever,' says Mrs. Seatoun, in a 
 rather impossible tone. 
 
 ' Oh, I don't tliink it is tlitity says Mary. 
 ' James is so good, rather — such a perfect 
 Rector ! and how kind to his curates !'
 
 8 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 * He can afford it/ says Mrs. Seatoun. 
 
 * Very many people can afford to do kind 
 things — yet never do them,' says Mary 
 thoughtfull}^ * James has done a great deal. 
 How few people would have sent off that 
 poor Mr. Seagrove to Italy for a year, because 
 his lungs were bad !' 
 
 • ' He didn't feel it — his purse is long,' says 
 Mrs. Seatoun. 
 
 ^ Not so long as that — he must have felt 
 it, because he engaged no other curate while 
 Mr. Seagrove Avas away. He did all the duty 
 himself.' 
 
 ' Lena didn't like that ; do you remember ?' 
 says Arabella. 
 
 * Yet she said nothhig to prevent Mr. 
 Seagrove' s going. She didn't like the arrange- 
 ment, only because she knew James would be 
 overworked.' 
 
 ' I think James should have considered his 
 duty to his family,' says Mrs. Seatoun 
 austerely. * To give away what he must
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 9 
 
 know will be Avanted by the children by-and 
 by, and to imperil his health to the extent 
 of almost making his wife a widow, may seem 
 to some people noble, but to me, I confess, 
 only quixotic/ 
 
 ' How difficult it is to be kind !' says Mary, 
 Avith a quick sigh. ' To help one person is 
 
 to injure another ' 
 
 ' Mary, you will grow, into a pessimist if 
 you give w^ay to that train of thought/ says 
 her father, laying down his paper, and rising 
 from the table. ' My dear, if one is honestly 
 kind, one injures no one. As to James's 
 children, I do not think they will suffer, even 
 though James has given away a whole year's 
 income to save a young life from the grave. 
 And' — with a nod and a smile to his second 
 wife that reaches her at the right side of the 
 urn — ' I believe your mother agrees with me, 
 in spite of all declarations to the contrary.' 
 
 The Archdeacon is perhaps the only one in 
 the household who understands Mrs.* Seatoun.
 
 10 NOK WIFE NOR MATD 
 
 He had married her about two years ago, 
 when his first wife, to w^horri he had not been 
 particularly attached, but who had been 
 designated by society a charming woman, had 
 been dead fifteen years. She had died, indeed, 
 a year or so after giving birth to Arabella, 
 and the Archdeacon, who w^as then only 
 Rector, had remained single, until the ' bab}',' 
 as Arabella had been called for a long time, 
 had risen to the dignity of her sixteenth year. 
 The new Mrs. Seatoun was elderly, gaunt, 
 distinctly severe, and of no family at all. 
 Why the Archdeacon had married her re- 
 mained a mystery to everybody. She had 
 money certainly, but not sufficient to tempt 
 a man like the Archdeacon into the toils of 
 matrimony ; and, besides, the Archdeacon 
 was above suspicion. That she got on 
 notoriously badly with her step-children was 
 known to most people, but to the Archdeacon 
 it was conceded she was all things. She was 
 a clever woman in her way, and well-read,
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 11 
 
 and of use to him in various ways. As a 
 fact, he was extremely fond of her, and but 
 for the feuds now and again arising between 
 her and the young Seatouns, would have led 
 a thoroughly easy-going happy life with her. 
 Whether it was the fault of the youngsters 
 or the second Mrs. Seatoun was difficult to 
 discover. 
 
 Lena, the eldest girl, had been married two 
 years before her father brought her stepmother 
 into the family. She had married a clergy- 
 man, to the surprise of her friends, who had 
 prophesied a more worldly career for her, one 
 more distinguished. James Egerton was 
 plain, ten years older than Lena Seatoun, 
 and beyond question a very quiet man, 
 whereas Lena was beautiful, and gay to 
 frivolity. Still, the match, so far, had been 
 a successful one ; and Lena Egerton, now a 
 little fuller, but not less lovely, seems per- 
 fectly contented Avith her lot. Her round, 
 ripe figure, so suggestive of vigour; her soft,
 
 12 NOR WIFE NOR MATD 
 
 merry face, her pretty plump white hands — 
 all declare her as happy a woman as one may 
 hope to meet. 
 
 Mary, the second girl, is of a diiFerent type : 
 tall, pale, slight, and so calm, so wonderfully 
 calm, without being exactly quiet. Mrs. 
 l^^gerton is beyond doubt the handsomer of 
 the two, but there is something about Mary 
 that catches you and holds you, and brings 
 you a captive to her gentle bow before you 
 recognise the fact that so mild a creatare 
 could possess a bow at all. Be sure she 
 would never have fitted the arrow to it with- 
 out great reluctance. 
 
 Her eyes are dark, her hair is a soft nut- 
 brown, her expression earnest. It is im- 
 possible to look at her, and not know that 
 a gentle soul dwells beneath that gentle 
 exterior, gentle but steadfast. Something in 
 the sweet firmness of the mouth suggests the 
 idea of strength. 
 
 The only son belonging to the Archdeacon
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 13 
 
 is a year y Ganger than Mary, who is twenty - 
 one. There had been a great gap between 
 the birth of Arthur and that of Arabella. 
 Arthur is tall, like Mary, but not like her 
 or any of them — a slight young man, with a 
 vivid face, and eyes black as night, and a 
 restless movement for each word. His father's 
 desire that he should follow in his footsteps, 
 and in those of his grandfathers for two 
 generations, had sent him to Cambridge. He 
 had been studying theology now for some 
 time, but, so far as anyone could see, was 
 little the better for it. He was of a slightly 
 whimsical turn of mind. The follies of his 
 fellows amused rather than annoyed him — his 
 sisters were deeply attached to him. A good 
 sign ! 
 
 As for Arabella, the fourth child, she is 
 a mixture of all the others : dark as Arthur, 
 sensitive as Mary, and as decided, too, but 
 with more openness, and gay as Lena. A 
 pretty creature, wild and free and fresh, and
 
 14 NOR AVIFE NOR MAID 
 
 ready to chafe at each slightest chain that 
 holds her. 
 
 * Yes, I hope Lena will be there on Friday 
 evening/ says Mary again presently. 
 
 ' Is that yonr one hope ?' asks Arabella. 
 ' I should be hoping that some delightful 
 Prince Charming would be there. I suppose 
 you heard that Mr. Garden has come back to 
 live at the Priory ; nurse told me. ]^)Ut, of 
 course, he is an old fogey like the rest of 
 them. He is a widower, isn't he ?' 
 
 ' 1 believe so,' says Mary indifferently. 
 
 'Old and married! Pouf!' says Arabella 
 contemptuously. 
 
 ' To be old and married, Arabella, is not 
 to be despicable,' says Mrs. Seatoun, rearing 
 her crest, and looking volumes ('all sermons, 
 too,' as Arabella said afterwards). 'Your 
 father is married, and — er — elderly. AYould 
 you despise him f 
 
 At this Arabella gives way to untoward 
 mirth.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 15 
 
 * Would I, pappy ?' asks she, whereupon 
 the Archdeacon laughs a little too, and so 
 lightly that one can see he and his youngest 
 born are so much en rapport one with the 
 other that for one to be offended with the 
 other would be impossible ; if he loves Mary 
 best, certainly iVrabella amuses him most. 
 
 * If it is the Garden I mean,' says the Arch- 
 deacon, 'he must be rather advanced in years. 
 He was the old m.an's brother, and came in 
 for the property wdien James Garden died. 
 I)ut he always lived abroad — in Venice, I 
 think — and we knew little of him. A peculiar 
 man, I've heard, w^ith a terrible temper, and 
 a dislike to society. He was a great reader; 
 went in for Garlyle, Gomte, Mill, and so 
 forth. His wife died very soon after their 
 marriage.' 
 
 ' Xo wonder!' says Arabella. 
 
 ' Lena said James was ^oino; to call on him 
 this afternoon,' says Mary. ' I wonder why he 
 has come back to England now ?'
 
 1(3 NOll WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 ' A last craze,' says Arabella. ' It will 
 finish him. Let us hope the late fogs will 
 settle in his throat, and ' 
 
 ' Arabella !' says Mrs. Seatoan. She explodes 
 this little lirework at intervals, with a view to 
 bringing Arabella to her senses, though she 
 w^ould have scorned to admit that Arabella 
 has any senses to stray away from. 
 
 ' I say, Mary, what gown will you wear?' 
 asks Arabella with an impatient shrug. ' Your 
 pink ?' 
 
 ' I — yes — I dare say ' says Mary. 
 
 ' Certainly not,' says Mrs. Seatoun with her 
 severest air ; ' you wore that when you were 
 there last, Mary! I remember it distinctly. 
 I must beg you will not wear it there again.' 
 
 ' But what, then ?' asks Mary with a little 
 smile, but a lifting of the broAvs that betrays 
 perplexity. 
 
 ' Leave that to me,' says Mrs. Seatoun, 
 looking even more forbidding. Her mouth, 
 indeed, has taken a terrible form. ' I shall
 
 NOR WIFii: NOR MAID 17 
 
 see that you are properly gowned. Be ready 
 to come with me to town at four o'clock 
 to-day.' 
 
 It is plain to everybody that she is going to 
 give Mary a new frock. A cause for rejoicing, 
 one would think, but not here. The painful 
 severity that accompanies the command to 
 march to town with her at a certain time mars 
 the growth of gratitude that should have 
 arisen. This is Mrs. Seatoun's way of making 
 a present. 
 
 Mary flushes, and says ' Thank you !' in a 
 very depressed tone. The Archdeacon looks 
 suddenly depressed, too, as well as speculative. 
 Why can't this good woman betray the natural 
 kindliness of her heart, and why can't the 
 children read between the lines ? It is a 
 small mystery. 
 
 One of the children is, how^ever, openly and 
 wonderfully grateful ; Arabella has turned her 
 gleaming eyes upon her stepmother, as well as 
 a lovely smile. 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 lO NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 * Well, I call that good of you !' says she ; 
 
 * Mary could not have bought a new one out 
 of her allowance just now, and ' 
 
 ' You think too much of dress, Arabella 1' 
 interrupts her stepmother severely. ' Devote 
 your mind to books, to music, to drawing 
 (though T confess I see no talent in you (^f 
 any kind), and try to forget the foolish adorn- 
 ment of the body.' 
 
 ' I'll try !' says Arabella meekly, but in so 
 peculiar a tone, and one so suggestive of bomb- 
 shells underneath, that Mary takes up the 
 conversation with an unmistakable touch of 
 haste. 
 
 ' Come upstairs, Bella, and help me to look 
 up my fan and gloves. You are too kind,' 
 turning to her stepmother, with the rather 
 strained amiability of one who is making an 
 advance to a possibly militant companion. 
 
 * Thank you a thousand times !' 
 
 The gratitude is a trifle forced ; it is, at all 
 events, distinctly nervous. If Mrs. Seatoun
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 19 
 
 had not been Mrs. Seatoun, Mary would 
 probably have given her a kiss for the 
 promised gown ; as it is, 
 
 ' It is my pleasure to see you properly 
 dressed,' says Mrs. Seatoun in her stiffest 
 tone, repudiating any further gratitude on the 
 spot.
 
 CHAPTEK II. 
 
 ' Lo, suche sleightes and subtilities 
 In women be — ' 
 
 The Archdeacon's house stands well back from 
 the row of houses on either side of it, making 
 an omission, as it were, in that side of the 
 square. A huge old house, gray and moss- 
 grown in parts, and with a big courtyard in 
 front of it ; a solid block of a building of the 
 formation of those decided dwellings we all 
 drew on our slates long ago ; with three 
 windows to the east, and three windows to 
 the west downstairs, and six windows to cor- 
 respond with these upstairs, and a door in the 
 middle of the lower six with a fanlight, and 
 over that a round window, staring out like an 
 observant eye upon an inimical world.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 21 
 
 In the courtyard four tall elms grow 
 statelily ; one opposite the farthest of the two 
 drawing - room windows, one opposite the 
 morning-room. Of the two others, one stares 
 in at the further window of the dining-room, 
 and one into a room beyond it, that is called 
 the girls' room by the family. A delightful, 
 nondescript apartment, replete with odds and 
 ends of work of all kinds, from half- finished 
 paintings and drawings, to half-knitted socks 
 for the innumerable babies that adorn the 
 lower parts of the town, and with a liberal 
 sprinkling of music-sheets, and always Mary's 
 two old violins somewhere : the last grand 
 one has flung them into disrepute, and they 
 are now more used as artistic lumber than for 
 anything else. The new violin, a very gem, 
 had been a present from her father on Mary's 
 last birthday. 
 
 The four elms grow far apart. Through 
 the middle ones straight up to the hall-door 
 steps — a flight of ten — the carriages can
 
 22 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 drive, imd, turning, can go away again past 
 those down on either side. This fine old 
 house had belonged to the Seatouns for many 
 generations, most of the heads of which family 
 had been, as I have hinted, in the Church. 
 There had been Deans and Bishops among 
 them, but perhaps the present head, the Arch- 
 deacon, was the only one who had been able 
 to secure a living in the town where he wa.s 
 born and bred. When he had been called 
 from the North of England to accept his 
 present appointment in the Cathedral tow^n, 
 so dear to him from boyhood, he knew one of 
 the chief joys of his life. It had been a keen 
 delight to him to bring back his children to 
 the old home, to find that he might serve in 
 the old Cathedral from that moment till his 
 life's end. The sleepy town, so brilliant with 
 sunshine, so smothered in greenery, gave him 
 a sense of rest that bordered on luxury. 
 Here, he told himself, no harm could befall him : 
 all round him were former friends of his : the
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 23 
 
 children were all good, Grod bless them ! and a 
 comfort, and — and he could bring them up in 
 his own way. He had just lost his first 
 wife. 
 
 Even when he married the second Mrs. 
 Seatoun, this strange sense of security, im- 
 manity from evil (in a world made up of 
 troubles) never left him. And, indeed, there 
 was no reason why it should. In spite of the 
 incessant bickerings between her and Arabella, 
 and, indeed, between her and Lena, then Mrs. 
 Egerton, the Archdeacon's life was a calm 
 and contented one. There could be no real 
 bitterness, he told himself, between Susan — 
 Mrs. Seatoun — and the children. It was a 
 mere light skirmishing, that would end some 
 day when each had learned to know the other's 
 worth. Mary he depended upon to lead the 
 way to this happy result. He little guessed 
 or fancied in what shape the reconciliation was 
 to be effected.
 
 24 NOR WIFE NOK MAID 
 
 The Bishop's handsome reception-rooms are 
 beginning to fill. The grave and courteous 
 host, standing amidst a group of his friends, 
 is beaming kindly upon them through an 
 exquisitely-mounted pince-nez. A Bishop is 
 at all times an object of reverence. A bachelor 
 Bishop, although well into the sixties, is even 
 more than that : he is an object of interest. 
 
 The rooms are full of light ; a few shaded 
 lamps are here and there, but for the mo^^t 
 part the brilliancy is given by wax candles — 
 there is no hole, no corner, where they are not 
 to be found shining. In the conservatory, 
 indeed, the rays are rose-hued, and come from 
 hanging lanterns ; but, as a fact, the Bishop 
 inclines towards the pure and godly wax — a 
 sign, say some, of his evident and fatal leaning 
 towards the Church of Rome. Flowers, too 
 — another sign of laxity, according to the Low 
 Church party — flowers are everywhere. If 
 anything, there is perhaps an over-abundance 
 of them, a little matter that betrays the want
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 25 
 
 of a woman's hand in the more delicate 
 arrangements of the palace. This is a fault, 
 however, to Le forgiven. 
 
 Mrs. Egerton, sitting on a low fauteuil, 
 with her soft fan unfurled, is gazing round 
 her. xln amused smile is curling her lips. 
 She is looking more than usually charming, 
 her blue eyes and fair hair being flung into 
 bold relief by the deep carmine of the Indian 
 silk gown she is wearing. A rather daring- 
 dress for the wife of the Rector, no matter 
 how w^ell off, but it suits Lena admirably, 
 and lends a last charm to her piquante 
 face. 
 
 She is rather a majestic young woman, in 
 spite of her gaiety ; her blue eyes can be 
 cold enough, and her complexion, that looks 
 like nothing so much as cream and roses, 
 can grow pale at times, and the pretty 
 laughing mouth has known its haughty 
 curves. But to-night she is all smiles. Her 
 rich golden hair is falling in a cleverly
 
 20 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 careless abandon over her white forehead, 
 and the very laziness of her position, pictur- 
 esque as it is to a degree, betrays the satis- 
 faction of her quiet spirit. She is slightl}' 
 Rubenesque, perhaps, and though very little 
 taller than Mary, who is five feet five, she 
 seems always to tower over her. This 
 perhaps because Mary is so very slender. 
 
 Both sisters are handsome in their own 
 way, but Mrs. Egerton would doubtless 
 with a casual observer carry the palm. 
 
 The young man who had been leaning 
 over Mrs. Egerton and talking to her has 
 suddenly turned his eyes to the lower door. 
 There is expectancy in his somewhat vacant 
 face. 
 
 ' Your sister is late,' says he. 
 
 ' Yes,' says Mrs. Egerton ; she raises 
 herself, and the smile fades from her lips, 
 and in her turn she stares at the door as 
 though she would push the people thronging 
 there to one side, that she may the better
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 27 
 
 see if anyone is coming. ' it is absurd being 
 so late at an affair of this kind. To come 
 early and to go early is the clever thing : 
 why waste too many hours of sleep over a 
 mere understudy of gaiety such as this ?' 
 
 ' Yes,' says her companion vaguely. ' It is 
 plain he is not listening.' 
 
 ' Go and see if they are coming/ says Lena 
 kindly, who knows what he wants to do, and 
 who, in truth, is tired of him. 
 
 Lena, settling herself down with a sigh of 
 relief, is preparing to criticise those passing 
 to and fro before her, when suddenly a well- 
 known step comes up behind her, and the 
 frou-frou of a soft silken skirt makes itself 
 heard. 
 
 ' Here you are, Lena,' whispers Mary, 
 bending over her and surreptitiously giving 
 her ear a little flick. 
 
 'Oh, is it you?' says Lena. 'I like your 
 fashionable tendencies — eleven, if it is a 
 minute! Really papa ought to be spoken
 
 28 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 to ; such reprehensible conduct in a pillar of 
 the Church should not go unnoticed. Shouldn't 
 wonder if the Bishop gave him a good 
 scolding.' 
 
 * I should,' says Mary. ' What have you 
 got on that flaming frock for ? I shouldn't 
 wonder if the Bishop gave you a scolding.' 
 
 * The Bishop knows better, if you don't. 
 Come round here, Mary ; I can't see through 
 the back of my head, and I want to know 
 how you look.' 
 
 ' Well, aren't you thunderstruck V says 
 Mary, coming round as desired, and slipping 
 into the chair beside her. ' Did you quite 
 grasp it before T 
 
 ' What ?' 
 
 ' Why, how handsome I can be to order. 
 Mrs. Seatoun gave me this gow^n. She feared 
 I should disgrace her in my old ones, and 
 you know the reverence she has for his lord- 
 ship.' 
 
 Mary, too, it seems, could be unjust.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 29 
 
 * People devoid of grandfathers always go 
 on like that. However, I like that gown,' 
 sajs Mrs. Egerton, examining her critically; 
 ' though I think the pink would have been 
 more becoming. No matter, white always 
 carries the day. If I'd had a moment, I'd 
 
 have gone over this afternoon to How 
 
 d'ye do, Mrs. Mordaunt. Pretty song that 
 last, wasn't it ?' 
 
 ' Was it ?' says Mrs. Mordaunt, a big florid 
 woman, dressed in emerald green, who is 
 passing up the room with three terrible 
 replicas of herself behind her. * It might 
 have been pretty ten years ago ; but, really, 
 Mrs. Blount ought to give up that sort of 
 thing now. She suggests a perpetual ques- 
 tion — Where has her voice gone to ? Ha ! 
 ha! a trifle severe, eh? but really deserved, 
 eh?' 
 
 ' I always like to hear her sing,' says Lena 
 calmly, looking a little through the big body 
 before her as she delivers her little snub, and
 
 30 NOR WIFE NOK MAJD 
 
 Mrs. Mordannt passes on, the three editions 
 of her own huge self behind her in tow. 
 
 ' Detestable woman !' says Lena, when they 
 are barely out of earshot. ' Never a good 
 word for anyone.' 
 
 ' A common failing. Yes, she is horrid. 
 But why were you bent on coming over to us 
 this afternoon?' 
 
 ' To give you a hint — a word. Even one 
 to the wise, you know, is sufficient.' 
 
 ' But a word about what ?' 
 
 ' You haven't heard, then, that Marcus 
 Garden has come home ?' 
 
 ' Of course we heard ; but ' 
 
 ' He will \:e here to-night !' 
 
 ' My dear Lena, are you going in for 
 private theatricals ? What a tragical ex- 
 pression! Why shouldn't that old person 
 come here this evening without your giving 
 me a hint — a word ?' 
 
 She mimicked successfully her sister's air 
 and manner.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 31 
 
 ' Old/ — he is not old! He is young — quite 
 young. Arid such a charming place, and in- 
 come, and property ! My dear Mary, you must 
 see that to live at the Priory, to be mistress of 
 it, would What's the matter with you ?' 
 
 Mary has, indeed, given way to undisguised 
 laughter. 
 
 ' You do it so funnily,' she said at last, 
 still struggling with her mirth. ' You will 
 hardly make your fortune at match-making : 
 young, quite young ! old^ not a bit old ! And 
 papa tells me — or, at least, has given me the 
 impression — that he and your protege are of 
 the same age.' 
 
 * That's the mistake, you know ; I went 
 there to call with James, quite under the 
 impression, too, that I should see an ante- 
 diluvian, but — Ko, no, thank you,' smiling up 
 with a charming friendliness at the Bishop, 
 who is bending courteously over this, the 
 handsomest member of his flock. ' Not now, 
 not yet — a little later on.'
 
 32 NOR WIFB NOR M.\ID 
 
 The Bishop nods in his kindly fashion, 
 accepts the refusal of his ices in the room 
 beyond (perhaps he would have liked a little 
 chat with her in that tea-room), and goes on. 
 
 ' Well/ says Mary, ' instead of the ante- 
 diluvian, you found ' 
 
 * A young man I' 
 
 ' He must have discovered the elixir of life, 
 then.' 
 
 ' He need not discover it — he has it. The 
 fact is, that poor old Marcus whom papa 
 remembers, and who, by all accounts, is better 
 under the earth than on it, died a year ago, 
 and here suddenly appears his son in his 
 place. An excellent exchange, one must 
 confess. He is about thirty-three, as I have 
 said, and so interesting !' 
 
 * He ought to be,' says Mary, laughing. 
 ' That delicious old face of his is interesting 
 enough for two. It seems a scandalous waste 
 of charm to give an interest both to it and 
 to its owner. However, you know, Lena,'
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 33 
 
 with sisterly impertinence, ^ your geese are 
 always swans.' 
 
 * Xot this time/ with equanimity. ^ Mr. 
 Garden is a hond-jide swan.' 
 
 ' Well, I'm sorry I didn't Avear the pink,' 
 says Mary ; * I might have made a conquest 
 of him and his Priory. Mrs. Seatoun has 
 marred my life.' 
 
 ' He's ever so nice, really,' says Lena con- 
 fidentially. ' AVe had him to dinner last 
 night — quite an unexpected affair. James 
 just marched him in — to my horror — because 
 there was nothing on earth but a little soup, 
 and a loin of mutton, and a ridiculous 
 pudding, and I might have had an entree out 
 of the cold chicken if I'd had a second. But 
 you knoAV James I Met him in the road, it 
 seems, and insisted on bringing him home. 
 I felt so angry !' 
 
 ' I wonder if anyone really ever felt angry 
 with James,' says Mary. ' Well, and ' 
 
 ' He proved delightful. Not James, you 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 know — Mr. Garden. He said he was dying 
 of loneliness at the Priory, and hoped I would 
 excuse want of evening clothes and all that. 
 I did. And I think he enjoyed himself. I 
 was so sorry you were not with me, but it 
 couldn't be helped ; you were as unattainable 
 as the entree. If I had only been given an 
 hour I could have had both ; you know what 
 men are,' with a shrug of her handsome 
 shoulders — ' all fools !' 
 
 ' Mr. Garden included ?' with a mischievous 
 glance. 
 
 ' I dare say, but you must not think so — 
 at all events, until you ' 
 
 V Marry him?' calmly. 
 
 ' Well, yes.' 
 
 Here both sisters laugh in a soft, irrepressible 
 sort of way. 
 
 'I'm afraid it won't come off,' says Mary 
 after a while. ' You have made a fatal 
 mistake in showing me where my duty lies. 
 I hate doing my duty. Even if your ultra-
 
 NOK WIFE NOR MAID 35 
 
 charming old-young man were to lay his 
 hand and fortune at my feet, I feel I should 
 be perverse enough to refuse both of them. 
 By-the-bye, he's married, isn't he?' 
 
 * Was — ivas,' in a low tone ; ' and not very 
 much at that ! It seems to have been a very 
 unfortunate affair all through. They didn't 
 get on, and there was a talk, it appears, of a 
 legal separation just before she died, and — 
 you aren't listening, Mary ! AVhat a visionary 
 you are, with no thought for anything but 
 your violin and your poor ! You never take 
 into consideration the griefs of your better 
 acquaintances.' 
 
 ' They aren't always better,' says Mary with 
 a laugh. ' And as for your Mr. Garden, he 
 isn't an acquaintance at all.' 
 . * But he will be. And, honestly, when one 
 comes to consider it, the more prosperous ones 
 of the earth are often those w^ho demand our 
 heartiest commiseration. They feel more, 
 therefore they suffer more. The poor — or
 
 36 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 what is usually called the common people — 
 do not know the pangs that afflict the souls 
 of the educated classes.' 
 
 * Oh, Lena ! What a sentiment coming 
 from the lips of a Rector's wife !' says Miss 
 Seatoun, turning her charming face half-way 
 to her sister with a touch of amusement in 
 her eyes. ^ Aren't you afraid that ' 
 
 * I'm afraid of nothing/ says Mrs. Egerton 
 doughtily and trul}'. * Even a Rector's wife — 
 cast into the furnace as the poor creature 
 always is — must have an opinion of her own. 
 She may conceal it — she often does, poor thing ! 
 — but it is there all the same. I don't believe 
 in the poor ; you do. The whole argument 
 lies in a nutshell. I believe in sorrow every- 
 where, but not in singling out this class or 
 that for special sympathy.' 
 
 ' Oh, I know what you mean,' says Mary. 
 ' There are, of course, those who think a 
 princess cannot feel, and there are those who 
 think a peasant cannot feel, either. They go
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 37 
 
 Oil the principle, I presume, that extremes 
 meet.' 
 
 ' Well, they do,' says Mrs. Egerton. * And 
 it is a safe principle enough ; but, given 
 certain circumstances, very erroneous. Pos- 
 sibly now and again there may be found 
 amongst the lower classes a mind formed for 
 suffering, and amongst the high ones of the 
 earth just such another ; but, as a rule, I 
 should say that the peasant knows less of the 
 acuter griefs — those of the mind — than the 
 princess.' 
 
 ' I notice you put no faith in princes^ says 
 Mary mischievously. 
 
 * Oh, men /' says Mrs. Egerton contemp- 
 tuously. ' What have they got to do with it ? 
 They don't feel.' 
 
 ' Don't they ?' suppressing a laugh. * And 
 yet I thought you were advocating the cause 
 of ' 
 
 ' I was advocating nothing,' says Mrs. 
 Egerton severely, seeing her mistake, but
 
 38 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 refusing to acknowledge it, ' save the injustice 
 of pitying one class of society, and refusing 
 pity to the other.' 
 
 ' Oh, I see P says Mary, who is laughing 
 still, and who has on her all the air of one 
 who agrees through politeness only. ' Then 
 what has all this to do with Mr. Garden ?' 
 
 ' Well, his marriage was unhappy — and w^e 
 have been dwelling on feeling — and we have 
 never heard the actual truth about it ; 
 but ' 
 
 ' One so seldom hears that^' says Mary 
 senteiitiously. 
 
 * But I am sure he was not in the wrong, 
 Avhoever else was.' 
 
 ' For " whoever" read the late Mrs. Garden. 
 If spirits can hear, Mrs. Garden must be in a 
 distinctly bad temper to-night.' 
 
 * Nothing unusual, so far as she was con- 
 cerned — at least, so I have heard,' says Mrs. 
 Egerton. ' She was one perpetual firework 
 when alive; let us hope she is resting calmly
 
 NOR WIFE NOR. MAID 39 
 
 now. By-the-bye,' casting a quick glance 
 round her, ' how late he is !^ 
 
 ' Are you sure he is coming ?' 
 
 ' Quite sure. He told me so himself.' 
 
 ' One should sit up at that rate/ says Mary 
 in a rather frivolous manner, it must be con- 
 fessed. ' A hero of romance such as he is, 
 a modern Apollo, a man with a history ' 
 
 ' And a very considerable rent-roll,' puts in 
 Mrs. Egerton materially. 
 
 ' Ah, you spoil it,' says Mary, with a faint 
 shrug of her soft shoulders. 
 
 * Mr. Denny is here too.' 
 
 ^Another rent-roll!' says Mary. 
 
 ' Do you know, Mary ' — severely — ' when 
 you have got the sarcastic stops out, there is 
 no pleasing you. Surely poor Mr. Denny 
 has a personality of his own. One shouldn't 
 mix him up so entirely with his money.' 
 
 ' Why not ? He wants a help,' says 
 Mary. 
 
 ' You are very unkind to him, considering
 
 40 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 all thino's. However, he can go/ says Mrs. 
 Egerton suddenly. 
 
 ' Can he ? What a relief for him and me !* 
 says Mary, turning an amused face to her 
 sister, who refuses to see the amusement in it. 
 ' But why may he go now ? Why am I now 
 to be forgiven for my obstinacy in not seeing 
 that Mr. Denny would make an excellent 
 parti? Come, Lena, make a confession — ex- 
 plain yourself.'
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ' That fairer was to seen 
 Than is the lily upon his stalke green, 
 
 And fresher than the May with flowers new, 
 For with the rose colour strove her hue. 
 
 I n'ot which was the finer of them two.' 
 
 Whatever embarrassment Mrs. Eoferton misht 
 have felt at being thus suddenly brought to 
 bay is never known. A most welcome inter- 
 ruption conceals it effectually. One of the 
 Bishop's chaplains, a * fat, fair, and forty ' 
 sort of man, coming up at that moment, 
 addresses Mary. The Bishop has sent him, 
 it appears, and will Miss Seatoun be so very 
 good as to give them one of her delightful 
 studies on the violin ? The young lady now 
 singing will soon have finished her song, and 
 the Bishop
 
 42 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 But the Bishop here takes up the text ; he 
 has come u^) to Mary and the breathless pleni- 
 potentiary. 
 
 * Will you be good to us, Miss Seatoun ?' 
 says the portly prelate. * Will you delight us 
 with that violin of yours ? I am afraid I ask 
 a great deal, but ' 
 
 ' I shall be very glad indeed — very glad to 
 help you in any way I can,' says Mary, smiling 
 sweetly at him, if a little nervously, and rising 
 to her feet. * If jou will take me ' — turning 
 her eyes to the upper part of the room — 'over 
 there to where I can see Mrs. Seatoun stand- 
 ing, I shall be ready to play something for you 
 presently.' 
 
 * When Miss Montgomery has finished. 
 Thank you — thank you,' says the Bishop, 
 speaking always in a subdued tone, as though 
 he fears Miss Montgomery can hear him, 
 which possibly, indeed, she might have done, 
 as her voice is no hindrance to hearing of any 
 kind, even the worst. Her little soft murmur
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 43 
 
 is now almost dying away, and Mary, accom- 
 panied' by the Bishop, moves across the room, 
 and stops short beside her stepmother. Her 
 vioHn is lying on the piano close by ; the 
 Bishop has bowed himself away, with another 
 mild expression of gratitude. Miss Mont- 
 gomery's last weak note has sounded. Mary 
 feels a little thrill of nervousness ; there is, 
 however, a minute or two still in which to 
 breathe before the ordeal of playing to as 
 many of the British public as is here congre- 
 gated need be encountered. 
 
 * There is Lena in another new gown,' says 
 Mrs. Seatoun, drawing close to her. ' Such 
 extravagance ! really deplorable ! James, 
 though well off, Mary, can scarcely be called 
 a millionaire.' 
 
 ' Well, he isn't so called,' says Mary, smiling. 
 
 ' Oh, of course you will back her up — that 
 is to be expected. Still, you must see that 
 there is reason in what I say.' 
 
 ' As well as in roasted eggs,' says Mary
 
 44 NOR AVIFE NOR MAID 
 
 gaily, determined not to make a big thing out 
 of a trifling matter. ^ And if James is satis- 
 fied, and if he likes to see Lena well gowned, 
 why ' 
 
 * It is no affair of mine, you would add. Of 
 course not ; but when I married your father I 
 undertook to feel an interest, atleast^ in all his 
 people/ 
 
 ' That was very good of you,' says Mary 
 gently — there is not the least touch of sarcasm 
 in her sweet voice. ' But Lena is all right — 
 she is indeed ; you need not fear she will 
 hurry James into difficulties. And it isn't 
 quite new, either ; she wore it at the Mor- 
 d aunts' last week. 
 
 ' The Mordaunts ! If you had said the 
 Stewarts, I could have understood it. Any 
 gown, however pronounced, would suit them, 
 even a scarlet one ' 
 
 ' Lena's is red, not scarlet,' says Mary. * It 
 is such a pretty colour, I think. Look at it 
 again, and see.'
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 45 
 
 They both look across the room to where 
 Mrs. Egerton is sitting still alone, but even as 
 they look, someone comes up to her and 
 claims acquaintance with her in a cordial 
 fashion. 
 
 It is, indeed, the latest addition to the neigh- 
 bourhood who is now bending over Lena. 
 
 ' I hope you have not forgotten me already/ 
 says Mr. Garden. 
 
 ' You have come, then/ says Lena, beaming 
 on him, as is lier way with all men. ' The 
 thought of a musical party hasn't frightened 
 you? You have a strong mind, I suppose.' 
 
 ' On the contrary, I am weak — weak as 
 water in some hands. I will make a confes- 
 sion to you. I received the Bishop's invita- 
 tion, and, like the bad man we all know of, 
 had accepted it, meaning not to go ; but in 
 the afternoon it so chanced that the Bishop 
 and I met in the gardens beyond, and we hob- 
 nobbed a bit, and finally he told me in such 
 friendly terms that he was glad that I was to
 
 46 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 be one of the guests this evening, that I hadn't 
 the pluck to stay away. I fancied it was 
 going to be an entirely stupid affair, yet I 
 risked it. Now,' with a glance at her, ' I have 
 my reward.' 
 
 ' That last song wasn't much, was it ?' says 
 Mrs. Egerton, who is accustomed to glances of 
 all sorts, and who takes this one and throws 
 it over her shoulder, as it were. * I must 
 again ask the eternal question, Wh}^ will 
 people sing to you when Providence has 
 refused them a voice ?' 
 
 ' It is unanswerable,' says the new-comer ; 
 ' I propose we give it up. Eventually there 
 will be light somewhere, I suppose. If not an 
 answer, a remedy will be found for this evil. 
 It will take the form of an asylum, and will 
 be called " The Home for Voiceless Songsters." 
 If still alive, you and I will give a large dona- 
 tion towards it. There will be many wards, 
 notably one for those who take a halt-note 
 lower than they intend, and one for those who
 
 NOR W1F1<: NOR MAID 47 
 
 go a trilie sharp, but none for those who 
 bellow I You have heard one or two, no 
 doubt — of the bellowers, I mean. They are 
 of the masculine gender — the bulls of Bashan, 
 you see, and must go out and perish ; there 
 will be no home for them. But I think the 
 institution, on the whole, will be generously 
 supported.' 
 
 ' I commend it to the notice of Mr. Walter 
 Besant,' says Lena. 'Well/ regarding him 
 frankly, ' I am glad j^ou have come here to- 
 night.' 
 
 ' I thank you/ said Garden, looking a little 
 amused. * Whether I dare believe it or not, 
 that is a very friendly speech, and a homeless 
 creature such as I am cannot afford to pick 
 faults ; I accept it as it stands. May I sit 
 down beside you ?' 
 
 * You may indeed,' says Mrs. Egerton very 
 graciously. 
 
 She draws her skirts aside, and Mr. Garden 
 seats himself on her couch.
 
 48 NOR WIFE NOll MAID 
 
 ' The reason why I am glad you are here/ 
 says she, directmg a straight glance at him, 
 that kills at once ideas of an incipient flirta- 
 tion, ' is because I think presently you will 
 hear a little music that will be above the 
 average — music that will have a suspicion — a 
 small one, but certainly a suspicion — of genius 
 about it. It will redeem such singing as Miss 
 Montgomery's ; it will also ' 
 
 ' Who is that ?' exclaims Mr. Garden sud- 
 denly, interrupting her with decided rudeness^ 
 it must be confessed. 
 
 His whole expression has changed ; the 
 lightness, the vague suggestion of boredom, of 
 his having come here sorely against his will 
 and his better judgment — even the vision of 
 his library, and the lounging-chair, and the 
 cigarettes, and the books that have been 
 haunting him since his arrival — all have 
 vanished. He is now transformed into a sur- 
 prised, eager man, all astonishment, all de- 
 light. His soul lias come into his eyes as he
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 49 
 
 looks down towards the end of the room. 
 What a creation ! Avhat a lovely face ! 
 
 Mrs. Egerton follows his eyes, and forgives 
 him. It is on Mary he is gazing ! 
 
 Mary — standing a little forward in her 
 white gow^n, and with a few pearls round her 
 neck. She is looking taller than usual, and 
 paler, and her eyes are shining ; the lids 
 come and go over them, the calm proud 
 mouth is prouder than usual, yet one can see 
 there is a little nervousness there too. 
 
 One foot, clad in its pretty bronze shoe, is 
 thrust a little forward ; the faultless arm, 
 naked to the shoulder, is curved gi-acefully ; 
 the bow is between the fingers of the slim 
 white hand. 
 
 Somebody is playing a prelude on the 
 piano, but to Garden, watching thus intently, 
 there is no man at the piano — nobody in all 
 this big room, save that white dream over 
 there with the shining eyes and the proud, 
 soft, nervous lips. 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 NOR WIFE NOK MAID 
 
 But now his vision has waked to Ufe ; 
 swiftly, delicatelyj the beautiful fingers that 
 seeui scarcely to touch the quivering bow 
 draw it across the strings of tlie violin, and 
 music stirs within the room. 
 
 It is music indeed. A faint anger towards 
 Mrs. Egerton, who, in her fear of over-rating 
 Mary's genius, had depreciated it, swells 
 within his heart. A mere ' suspicion/ said 
 she, a mere ' suspicion of genius ': and here is 
 the real thing, there is no mistaking it. 
 
 Wild and passionate, and fraught with 
 deepest melancholy, the notes fill the room, 
 straying through the open windows into the 
 cold moonlight outside, where those walking 
 up and down the gravelled walks and ter- 
 races, hearing them, stand still to listen, and 
 one or two of them say softly : 
 
 ' Ah, that is Mary Seatoun.' 
 
 And now, indeed, Mary Seatoun is playing 
 her best. The spirit of the music has entered 
 into her, and all is forgotten, the nervousness,
 
 NOJl WIFE NOR MAID 51 
 
 the shyness — ^nothing is remembered save the 
 delight of these rich sounds that she — she — is 
 giving to the air. If Garden, gazing at her, is 
 alone in his thoughts with her, she is alone 
 entirely, heart-whole and fancy-free. She is 
 able to give herself in a rapturous complete- 
 ness to the musical spirit within her. 
 
 She has come a little more forward, as it 
 were, though she has not seemed to stir. A 
 delicate flush has dyed the whiteness of her 
 cheek ; her head is lifted up : there is almost 
 a smile on the pretty proud lips. In the nut- 
 brown recesses of her hair a little diamond 
 star is resting ; it gleams and gleams again 
 with each movement of her lithe body, but to 
 the man watching her it seems dull to the fair 
 splendour of the eyes beneath. 
 
 'Who is that exquisite creature?' asks he, 
 turninof eaoerly to Mrs. Eo^erton. 
 
 UNrVERSITY OF 
 ILLINOIS LIBRARY
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ' Love if thee list — 
 And soothly, leve brother, this is all. 
 Here in this prison miisten we endure, 
 And each of us take his a venture.' 
 
 ' That exquisite creature is my sister,' says 
 Mrs. Egerton, with a little subdued but irre- 
 pressible laugh. Really, it is all going very 
 well, and he is one of the richest men in the 
 
 country, and Mary Well, the richest man 
 
 in the world would be almost too poor for 
 Mary. ' Xo, you need not look at me as if 
 you had committed murder — and, worse, been 
 found out. Consider how much more un- 
 comfortable you would have felt if 3^ou had 
 said, " Who is that terrible young woman 
 over there ?" But then ' — smiling — ' you
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 53 
 
 could not liave said that of Mary, could 
 you ?' 
 
 * Is her name Mary ?' asks Garden, his eyes 
 always on that white figure at the end of the 
 room. He has taken no notice of Mrs. Eger- 
 ton's persiflage ; he has heard only that one 
 word ' Mary ' — it has caught and held him. 
 ' It suits her/ says he slowly. 
 
 ' Yes? You think so ! Names generally do 
 suit people, I think, and Mary is such a beau- 
 tiful name. Lord Byron, you remember, had 
 a passion for it. For myself, I believe it 
 must always be a good woman who bears it. 
 James — my husband — who is rather Pligh 
 Church, says that I am right in so thinking, 
 but tliat I haven't quite grasped the meaninij 
 of my thought.' 
 
 ' And that is ' 
 
 * That it was the Virgin's name, and there- 
 fore consecrated to good for evermore,' says 
 Mrs. Egerton. ' Ah, now my Mary has 
 finished. Well,' as the fashionable sounds of
 
 54 NOPt WIFE KOR MAIL) 
 
 applause, rather more marked now, more 
 healthy than usual, die a^Yay, ' I am glad you 
 have heard her. It will convince you that 
 even down in the country we can have occa- 
 sionally some hond-jide music' 
 
 Now that the music and applause alike are 
 at an end, a strange silence fills the room. It 
 is broken to Mrs. Egerton and Garden by the 
 sound of a profound sigh, uttered just behind 
 them. Mrs. Egerton, turning abruptly, finds 
 herself face to face with the young man who, 
 in the beginning of the evening, had been so 
 anxious about the coming of ]\Iary. 
 
 He is a short young man, woefully tliin, 
 with no chin to speak of, and a white mous- 
 tache that need not be spoken of, either. A 
 more purposeless-looking person it would be 
 hard to find, and yet he seems full of earnest 
 purpose now as he leans forward staring at 
 j\Iary Seatoun. 
 
 ' It was a charming little piece, ^vasn't it, 
 .rM Denny ?' says Lena, with delightful hon-
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 55 
 
 homic. * A trifle melancholy, perhaps ; but 
 Mary runs that way. You liked it? You 
 will make nie think you have a very serious 
 affaire de coeur pressing on you if you give 
 way to sighs such as the last. I quite heard 
 it. It ' — she breaks suddenly into the laughter 
 that is consuming her — ' it nearly blew me 
 out of the window !' 
 
 This is all rather cruel, and perhaps meant 
 to be so. Mr. Denny must learn now once 
 finally that Marj- is not for him, and Mr. 
 Garden must know that Mary is not intended 
 for such a silly suitor as Mr. Denny. N^ature 
 has been extravagant in her gifts to Lena ; she 
 has not only given her good looks — generally 
 considered a handsome dot in itself — but has 
 added on to them cleverness and wit, and, au 
 fond^ a ver}^ kindly nature. 
 
 ' Oh, I wouldn't injure you,' says Mr. 
 Denny, his general pallor taking a sudden 
 warmth.
 
 56 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 It is impossible to Mrs. Egerton to refrain 
 from the little glance she now sends to Garden. 
 It says quite plainly, ' No, because I am Mary's 
 sister. But for that he would gladly strangle 
 me.' 
 
 Garden smiles. He has scarcely heard her. 
 however ; he is watching that tall, graceful 
 creature who has just been playing to them. 
 She has put away her violin now ; a stout, 
 pleasant -faced young man has taken it from 
 her with evidently many words of praise and 
 admiration. Garden feels he hates that young 
 man. And now — now she is coming down 
 the room to Avhere her sister is sitting. 
 
 Some words half forgotten rush to Garden's 
 mind as slowly — stopping every now and 
 then to receive a pretty speech from someone 
 — Mary Seatoun advances. 
 
 ' As spring comes up this way !' 
 
 Truly a fresh, sweet spring she is, renewing 
 all things ; flowers should rise within her 
 wake. And has no flower arisen ? What is
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 57 
 
 this sudden, strange, half-terrible, half- rap- 
 turous feeling within Garden's breast ? 
 
 There is no time now for analysis ; Mary is 
 here! Denny makes a movement towards 
 her, and Garden rises to his feet. She will 
 probably like a seat near her sister. 
 
 ' I am so glad you w^ere pleased,' says Mary 
 to Mr. Denny, who is mumbling all sorts of 
 flattering things. ' But you are all too kind 
 to me, I think.' 
 
 ' I wish I might be kinder,' says Denny, in 
 what he fondly believes to be a whisper. An 
 erroneous belief. Mrs. Egerton turns her fair 
 head suddenly. 
 
 * Tired, Mary ?' says she ; * come and sit 
 down here ; see, Mr. Garden has given you 
 his place. Ah ! I forgot you do not yet 
 know Mr. Garden ; I have been ' — laughing 
 as if in deprecation of her own stupidity — 
 ' talking so much of you both, to you both, 
 that a formal introduction seems unneces- 
 sary.'
 
 58 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 ' I am taking your seat,' says Mary to 
 Garden, after the faintest salutation. Her 
 tone is cold and clear ; it seems specially 
 indifferent after Lena's lightness. Garden 
 makes a movement of dissent. 
 
 * I dislike sitting in a crowded room/ he 
 saj^s ; ^ T much prefer standing.' 
 
 ' I am under no compliment, then,' says she, 
 with a faint flicker of her eyelids that might 
 mean amusement. 
 
 ' Mr. Denny,' says Lena, turning her charm- 
 ing head over her shoulder, ' do you think 
 you could get me an ice ? Yes ; how sweet 
 of you ! After all,' rising briskly, ' I don't 
 think T shall give you the trouble to go, and 
 come again, if you will take me to the buffet ; 
 it is all I shall ask of you.' 
 
 In this barefaced fashion she forcibly re- 
 moves the raging Denny, beaming on him 
 beautifully all the time, and apparently utterly 
 oblivious of the storm that is tearinsf his
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 59 
 
 foolish heart. * After all,' argues she to her- 
 self, ' I am but doing him a good turn, if he 
 only knew it. Mary would never look at 
 him, and the sooner that idea is fired into 
 his head the better. It will take a big gun 
 to do it,' thinks she, with a small rueful shrug, 
 'and that's where /come in.' 
 
 It must be acknowledged that Mrs. Egerton, 
 in her confabulations w^th herself, is a trifle 
 wanting in the more decorous modes of speech. 
 She has plenty of time just noAv for thought, 
 as Denny, beyond a sullen monosyllable here 
 and there, refuses conversation. 
 
 Given her ice, and a cosy chair, and one 
 of the Stewart boys, who, as a rule, are 
 generally to be found, as they themselves 
 would have expressed it ' all there,' Mrs. 
 Egerton gives the sulky Denny his coiifje ; she 
 beams upon him once more, that is, and tells 
 him she will not trespass any longer on his 
 forbearance. To herself she says that Mary
 
 60 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 and Mr. Garden will by this time have wearied 
 of that heated room, and will have wandered 
 into the cool night air outside, where moon- 
 beams are lying lovingly on terraces and 
 flowers and banks.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ' Oh fy for shame ! they that have been brent 
 Alas ! can they not flee the fires heat V 
 
 Lena has proved herself a prophetess. Left 
 to themselves by that skilful sibyl's manage- 
 ment, Miss Seatoun and Mr. Garden grew 
 gradually towards a friendly understanding. 
 By degrees, too, the}^ feel the heat of the room 
 become too much for them, and the faint 
 glimpse that every now and then they get of 
 white forms moving to and fro upon the 
 balcony outside completes the desire for 
 change and coolness that has seized upon 
 them. 
 
 * Why should they appropriate to them- 
 selves all the good of the night ?' asks Garden,
 
 62 NOli WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 indicating by a glance one of the lia])py people 
 sauntering in the moonlight. 
 
 ' Why, indeed !' says Mary, smiling ; 'and 
 then/ longingly, ' it must be cool out there.' 
 
 ' One can never be sure of anything without 
 experience/ says Garden. ' Will you come 
 out and try if it is really as cool as it looks 
 out there ?' 
 
 ' Well, I should like it, 1 think,' says Mary, 
 rising ; ' and we shall be close to the windows, 
 so that ' — with a rather remorseful glance at 
 the piano where Miss Montgomery stands 
 ready to sing again — ^ we shall lose nothing.' 
 
 * No, we shall lose nothing,' says Garden, 
 with a little leaning towards sarcasm, hardly 
 unpardonable. 
 
 Outside, what a night I This little gentle 
 breeze that is blowing is so soft, so rich with 
 fragrance stolen from the flowers below, that 
 one hardly knows it is a gentle wind, save 
 for the dainty chill it leaves upon the air. 
 All the f^rreat heaven is bright with light ; star
 
 NOK WIFE NOR MAID 63 
 
 upon star decks it, and in its midst rides tlie 
 moon, queen regnant. 
 
 The quiet gardens stretch from east to 
 west, running down to the river that flows 
 through the town, and out there, too, far 
 away, where the moonbeams seem most to 
 congregate, and where the ocean swells and 
 suro^es. On the rioht the dark woods of 
 Steyne, the Stewarts' woods, show dark 
 against the hills beyond, and in those woods 
 they hear 
 
 ' A nightingale so lustily sing, 
 That her clear voice she made ring 
 Through all the greenwood wide.' 
 
 It is, in truth, a lovely night. Miss Sea- 
 toun, leaning her bare arms upon the railings 
 of the balcony, looks down upon the sleeping- 
 earth. The flowers, deadly drowsy though 
 they be, still call for attention. Beyond, very 
 far away, the ocean glitters, while just 
 here
 
 64 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 ' Would you be afraid to venture down ?' 
 asks Garden at this moment. 
 
 ' It is lovelier here/ says she, in a little 
 pleased tone. ' What a perfect night !' 
 
 ' Perfect/ returns he, looking, however, at 
 her rather than on the lovely landscape. 
 
 ' There are beautiful things in this old 
 w^ork-a-day world,' says she, still gazing south- 
 ward at the ocean. 
 
 ' There are indeed,' says he, still gazing at 
 her. How faultless her profile shows in this 
 clear light ! 
 
 ' M^ill you make a long stay in the country ?' 
 asks Mary presently, more, perhaps, through a 
 desire to make conversation than from actual 
 curiosity. 
 
 ^ I hardly know. I have been so unused 
 to a resting-place of any kind that ' 
 
 ' Ah, yes ! I can understand it. Here to- 
 day, and gone to-morrow — an existence full 
 of pleasure,' says she softly. 
 
 'Is that how you regard it? Well,' as if
 
 NOR AVIFE NOK MAID 65 
 
 determined to be quite fair with his fate, 
 * there has been some pleasm'e.' 
 
 * Your words and your tone do not agree,' 
 says Mary slowly ; she turns lier eyes to his, 
 and regards him in a grave, sweet fashion. 
 Then quickly regret grows within her. ' Ah ! 
 I had forgotten — forgive me,* says she — ' you 
 were married.' 
 
 ' True.' His tone is curiously cold, almost 
 sneering. ' I am therefore, no doubt, to be at 
 all times regarded as an object of commisera- 
 tion.' 
 
 ' One must be sorry for you,' says Mary 
 gently. ' When I said you were married, I 
 
 meant ' She hesitated, a little dismayed, 
 
 perhaps, by that coldness of his. 
 
 ' That I had lost my wife. Yes ; I under- 
 stand,' says he quietly. * Well, other men 
 have lost theirs, and have lived.' 
 
 Something in his manner disjDleases Mary. 
 
 ' I have made a mistake/ says she ; ' I feci 
 I should not have spoken to you of — of 
 
 VOL. I. . 5
 
 QQ NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 your ' — growing confused—' of anything but 
 ordinary matters ; but, of course, I had heard 
 of you — and ' 
 
 ' Had you heard of me ?' 
 
 ' Naturally/ smiling ; ' in a small place like 
 this we are glad to have something to talk 
 about ; and your people, if not you. were very 
 widely known here at one time. At least, so 
 I gather from my father/ 
 
 ' The Archdeacon ? I met him once a long 
 time ago, too long to safely remember. My 
 father brought me over to this part of the 
 world once to see my uncle, but it was a 
 first and last visit. Well ' — abruptly — ' and 
 so you have heard of me. What, may I 
 ask?' 
 
 ' I don't think you may,' says Mary, with a 
 swift, half-mischievous glance at him. 
 
 ' No ? Now you whet my curiosity — now 
 you must speak.' 
 
 ' xMust ?' 
 
 ^ I entreat you,' says he.
 
 NO II WIFE NOR MAID 67 
 
 ' Ah ! that is different. Well, if you will 
 know what I heard ' 
 
 ' You give in, then ? It grows portentous ! 
 Come, sit down here,' pointing to a seat that 
 stands beneath the myrtle -trees that are 
 flowering luxuriantly in their green tubs. 
 ' You, of course, require no support, but I 
 feel I shall require any amount of it after your 
 confession has been made.' 
 
 ' It is not a confession,' says she, following 
 him to the pretty bower that is half formed of 
 nature, half of art. ' I give you what you 
 crave, of my own unbiased will.' 
 
 ' Of your own .^weet will,' says he lightly, 
 yet there is meaning in his lightness as his 
 eyes rest on her. ' And now for a beginning; 
 how was it ?' 
 
 ' Why,' says she, and not -without a touch 
 of mischief, in spite of her beautiful serenity, 
 ' I heard, for one thing, that you were old!' 
 
 ' Old !' says he, first as if a little surprised, 
 and then, ' Old ! Well, so far gossip told the
 
 68 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 truth. I believe I am a rival of the Wander- 
 ing Jew himself. I don't fancy there is any- 
 one in the world as thoroughly old as I am.' 
 There is a touch of angry sadness in his tone. 
 ' Well, what more ?' 
 
 ' That you Avere ill-tempered.' 
 
 ' There I plead guilty too. Your gossip 
 seems to know his business, and tells the 
 truth.' 
 
 There is some bitterness mingled with the 
 jesting of his tone. 
 
 ' A gossij) is always .s7/e,' says Miss Seatoun. 
 ' Did you forget that ? Did you forget also 
 that women are no great believers one in 
 another ?' 
 
 * Thank you,' says he ; ' you give me a new 
 phase of my life. And so you don't believe 
 that ? And what more ?' 
 
 ' The third answer bears upon the first. I 
 was told that not only were you old, but that 
 you were of one age with my father.' 
 
 She gives way here, and laughs outright.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID Gl) 
 
 * What of my gossip now ? Is he so rare a 
 one as you fancied ?' 
 
 ' I will cast no discredit on him as yet. 
 Honestly, I think that, of your father and I, he 
 is the younger man. Have I Jiot told you I 
 am the oldest man alive ?' 
 
 ' There is still more,' says slie, ' and it is 
 the crowning evil.' 
 
 ' Let me hear it. I think T would rather 
 sink under it than be left in ignorance.' 
 
 ' Call up all your courage, then. They tell 
 me ' — with a charming ghnice — ' that you 
 hate the society of women !' 
 
 ' Ah ! there they wrong me,' says he, with 
 some vehemence. He has abruptly forgotten, 
 indeed, that the whole thing is a jest. 'Why 
 should I despise the best gift of life ? Surely ' 
 — with something of reproach in his tone — 
 ' they have maligned me sufficiently in their 
 three fir^t comments without adding on that.' 
 
 ' It is evident you have quite made up your 
 mind to the " thev," ' says she; Mt was he a
 
 70 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 moment since, and now it is they: and who 
 are theijT 
 
 ' A large race, the largest in all the world, 
 and so full of energy, neither time, nor place, 
 nor rank daunts them ; w^e bow before them ; 
 in fact, in the mystic '" they " is incarcerated 
 all the venom, and mischief, and bitterness 
 that lays desolate the world. Ah !' — quickly 
 seeing how her lovely face has changed from 
 gaiety to w^ondering surprise — ^ all this has so 
 little to do wdth you that you don't under- 
 stand it/ 
 
 ' That the Avorld is cruel, I know,' says she, 
 ' but that you should feel it so !' Uncon- 
 sciously there is flattery in her tone and 
 words. This man, so good to look at, so 
 desirable in many ways, how should the world 
 treat Mm unkindly ? ^ Ah ! you have a grief?' 
 says she, thinking always of that poor dead 
 wife who, no doubt, was dear to him, and 
 who had died so wonderfully soon after her 
 marriage. Daunted, however, by his late
 
 NOR AVIFE NOR MAID 71 
 
 acceptance of her sympathy, she comes to a 
 dead stop here, and, colouring, softly looks 
 away from him down the quiet meadows to 
 where the ocean glistens bravely. 
 
 ' Grief is a common possession,' says 
 Garden. 
 
 There is something that suggests defiance 
 in his tone, and more than that. He hesitates, 
 struggles with himself, and then, as if impelled 
 by a force beyond his control, says abruptly : 
 
 ' You think I am always grieving for my 
 wife's death ?' 
 
 It is very bald. Miss Seatoun, bringing 
 her eyes back from that dim view of the calm 
 moonlight landscape, regards him curiously, 
 yet unwillingly. 
 
 ' I ' says she ; ' we You are such 
 
 a stranger, and ' — nervously — ' w^e know so 
 little, and ' 
 
 ' Oh, we — ice /' exclaims he, with a frown. 
 ' Let us put " w^e " and " they " but of our 
 sight. It is to you I speak, if — pausing
 
 (Z NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 suddenly, and growing' all at once as nervous 
 as she is — ' if you will listen ' 
 
 ' Listen to what ?' Her voice is very low. 
 
 ' To this : When people tell you I am old, 
 i 11-tempered ' 
 
 ' Mr. Garden/ she says, interrupting him 
 quickly, * is it possible you thought I meant 
 all that? Why, it w^as all a mistake! My 
 father, when he heard of the arrival of a 
 Garden at the Priory, thought it was your 
 uncle wdi(3 had come. He ' — wdth a shadow^ of 
 
 a smile — ' he I am not sorry about that, 
 
 too ; but I am afraid he bore no great love 
 towards your uncle ; of that you can judge 
 for yourself, by — by the character I have 
 foolishly given you, a character meant for 
 him; but I thought you would have under- 
 stood.' 
 
 ' I understand now% at all events. But 
 still ' — slowly — ' there is something you do 
 not know. You said just now you were 
 sorry for me because I had lost my wife ; well'
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 73 
 
 — there is a long pause ; he had been looking 
 away from her, but now he turns and almost 
 compels a return glance — ' don't be sorry,' 
 says he abruptly. 
 
 Mary makes a little gesture ; it might mean 
 anything. Mr. Garden regards it as con- 
 demnatory. 
 
 ' You think I should not tell you this, that 
 I should keep silence for ever. And I agree 
 with you. I have kept silence for so long- 
 that I wonder at myself for speaking now, and 
 
 yet Forgive me, I ' — hurriedly — * I 
 
 have suffered many things, I have pretended 
 many things, I have been false to most of my 
 friends, when they would have led me to tell 
 the truth of my married life ; but to-night, I 
 cannot explain it, but ' — with a sharp and 
 heavy sigh — * I feel I must tell the truth to 
 you.' 
 
 ' But why — why ?' says she impulsively, yet 
 always in that strangely low tone, as if to 
 raise her voice would be impossible to her.
 
 74 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 ' Ah, ivhy — who shall tell me that ? My 
 marriage,' says he quickly, impatiently, * was 
 
 a mistake — a failure— a ' He stops short. 
 
 ^ That is enough,' says he, ^enough to lay the 
 truth bare to you.' 
 
 ' A sad truth,' returns she slowly.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ' Diverse delights they found themselves to please. 
 The while her lovely face 
 The flashing blood with blushing did inflame.' 
 
 It is a heavenly day, most sweet, most fair, 
 and, like the Laodiceans, neither hot nor cold. 
 There lies its charm. The glowing sun above 
 glows just enough, and not too much ; the 
 wild and fragrant breeze, blown upwards from 
 the sea, has grown softer and tenderer in its 
 journey, and falls upon their heads like a fond 
 benediction. 
 
 ' Bright was the day and blue the firmament ; 
 Phoebus of gold his streamiis down had sent 
 To gladden every flower with his warmness.' 
 
 The flowers are indeed doing him all justice. 
 To-day at Steyne they flame gaily, catching
 
 76 KOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 the eye at every turn, and in a happy-go-lucky 
 fashion, that shows them true members of the 
 Stewart family ; they flaunt themselves abroad, 
 and seem to laugh merrily at life and all its 
 terrible possibilities. 
 
 Here and there groups may be seen hiding 
 under tents, or else trying to sustain life 
 beneath umbrellas widely spread. Calm as is 
 the sun, it still, in its early summer stage, is 
 strong enough to frighten complexions and to 
 lead the owners of them to reo^ard with affec- 
 tion those branching boughs of beech and fir 
 that stand round the tennis-courts. 
 
 Yet the whiteness of the three or four little 
 
 canvas tents seems to attract nothing but heat. 
 
 It is warmer inside them than out here in the 
 
 open air, if one could only believe it. Here, 
 
 where the birds are singing merry catches 
 
 from tree to tree, 
 
 ' There was many a lovely note ! 
 Some sange loud as they had plain'd 
 And some in other voice feigned 
 And some all out with full throat.'
 
 NOn WIFE NOK MAID 77 
 
 ^ I always think it is a pity we can't have 
 fhme all the year round,' says Miss Stewart, 
 dropping smartly on to the ground next to 
 Alary Seatoun's chair, and thereby showing a 
 considerable amount of leg above a well-sized 
 tennis shoe, which she seeks leisurely to hide 
 by throwing the tail of her gown across it. 
 
 ' rd give you three Junes in succession to 
 be heartily sick of them,' says her brother, the 
 ' Stewart boy,' a young man of about twenty - 
 seven, who has also slipped down by Alary 
 Seatoun's chair, as if well accustomed to the 
 place, as indeed he is. He is a tall young 
 man, wonderfully youthful for his age, as are 
 all the Stewarts, and at this time glad in the 
 belief that his affection for Alary Seatoun is 
 eternal. He had scrambled through his 
 dinners, and become in time (a long time) a 
 full-blown barrister, and had now settled 
 <]own at Steyne as its master, his father having 
 died three years ago. 
 
 His mother, Lady Emily Stewart, a big
 
 78 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 woman with a merry eye, who had offended 
 all her people in her youth by marrying Mr. 
 Stewart (a commoner, though one of good 
 family), is still alive, and the very heart and 
 soul of the 'festivities going on to-day. She 
 is smiling now, indeed, as she sees her eldest 
 born slip into his place beside Mary. He has 
 plenty of money, and the Seatouns are good 
 all through. Mary, though penniless, is a 
 pretty creature, and if Archie likes her — via 
 tout! Lady Mary's easy-going spirit accepts 
 the penniless daughter-in-laAv without a single 
 arriere 2?ensee. 
 
 She is, perhaps, the lightest-hearted of her 
 family, a goodly one, and tremendously lively 
 into the bargain — the girls three in number, 
 the boys two, but they might as well have been 
 all boys ! Hilda, the eldest girl, can land her 
 salmon better than most men, and the other 
 two can hnnt three days out of their week in 
 the season, and sometimes four, without turn- 
 ing a hair. They can all play tennis to per-
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 79 
 
 fection, they are perfect adepts at rounders, 
 hockey is not unknown to them, and at flirting 
 they can give any other girl of their acquaint- 
 ance big odds and beat them. Cricket they 
 despise, as feeling themselves unable to beat at 
 this game the tyrant man! 
 
 ' Oh ! would you ?' says Hilda Stewart, 
 answering her brother's last remark with a 
 scornful uplifting of her chin. 
 
 ' Yes, I should. Why, if it Avere always 
 June, where would your skating go ?' 
 
 ' It might go anywhere it liked — useless to 
 say the bad place, as there it would melt ; 
 but June would give me my fishing every 
 day, and ' 
 
 ' And therefore spoil the enjoyment of it,' 
 says Mary. ' I like June well enough myself, 
 though I think August a better month ; but 
 
 toujours perdriv ! And besides How^ d ye 
 
 do, Mr. Denny — ^just come ?' 
 
 She smiles softly up at Denny, who is bend- 
 ing over her.
 
 80 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 ' This moment,' says he breathlessly. He 
 has, indeed, all the appearances of one who 
 has been running. 
 
 ' And this moment I'm afraid you must go,* 
 says Hilda Stewart a little sharply — a little 
 boyishly, one might have said — pointing to 
 Avhere her mother is standing at the opening 
 of one of the tents, and beckoning with her 
 umbrella in a wild and airy fashion to Denny. 
 • Mamma wants you.' 
 
 ' AVhat a godsend !' says Archie, who has 
 raised himself on his elbow to see his mother's 
 umbrella and Denny's obedience to its wave. 
 
 ' Dullest chap I know. I wonder ' He 
 
 stops abruptly, but still stares at Mary, as 
 though he would like to say to her what is on 
 the tip of his tongue, but dares not. 
 
 ' Wonder at wdiat ?' asks she. 
 
 ' Oh, nothing,' says he confusedly. 
 
 ' He is wondering how you can be so civil 
 to such a creature,' says Hilda contemptuously. 
 ' And really, Mary, how you can passes my
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 81 
 
 comprehension also. Of course, if you are 
 going to marry him ' 
 
 ' Marry him ; I'm not going to marry him !' 
 says Mary, raising her brows. ' I don't see 
 why you should say all that to me.' 
 
 * You must be mad, Hilda! Fancy Mary 
 marrying him !' says her brother, flushing 
 darkly to his brow. He throws back his 
 handsome head with a curious gesture, that is 
 as suggestive of pain as of contempt. 
 
 ' Then why do you smile at him as if you 
 loved him ?' demanded Hilda sharply, address- 
 ing Mary. ' If I despised a man as you do 
 him, I should take care to be a great deal less 
 kind to him. I should let him know just 
 what I thought of him ; I ' 
 
 ' You would be infernally rude,' says her 
 brother, with all a brother's charmmg frank- 
 ness. 
 
 ' Oh, Archie !' says Mary softly, but with 
 reproach. She has put out her hand, as though 
 to check the punishable word upon his lips, 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 and now he catches the hand and surrepti- 
 tiously presses a kiss upon it. Mary laughs. 
 This boy ! she has known him so long, they 
 have grown up together as it were, though he 
 is quite six years older than she is ; and, in 
 spite of that six years, is not she older of the 
 two? 
 
 ' Mary darling,' says he under his breath, 
 ^ will you give me the next set ?' 
 
 ' I can't/ says Mary, still laughing ; ' I've 
 promised it.' 
 
 • To whom ?' asks Hilda, leaning towards 
 her. 
 
 ' To Mr. Garden.' 
 
 ' The new man ? You've met him, then ? 
 Oh, Mary ! and what is he like ? Archie 
 called, of course, but he was out ; and we 
 hea?' he is very interesting, and of course 
 he ought to be, with such a history. And 
 his wife was a beast, wasn't she? An 
 actress, or something dreadful of that kind, 
 and he '
 
 NOK WIFE NOR MAID 83 
 
 ' I say — here he is,' says her brother, in a 
 low tone. 
 
 It is indeed Mr. Garden, who, with Lady 
 Emily, is passing just behind them. Miss 
 Stewart has turned a lively crimson ; Mary has 
 oTown pale. He has stopped. 
 
 ' You will not forget that you have promised 
 me the next game?' says he, coming straight 
 up to Mary. 
 
 ' I shall remember,' says she slowly. 
 
 She looks lovely with that little touch of 
 pallor. 
 
 ' There will be a vacant court in two or 
 three minutes,' says he, passing on. 
 
 * He is with mother ; mother seems to like 
 him. He is very good-looking. 7^ that 
 Mr. Garden ?' asks Hilda breathlessly. ' How 
 white you are, Mary I did he frighten 
 you ?' 
 
 * Yes, we had been talking of him ; I was 
 afraid he might have heard. It would have 
 been very unpleasant/ says Mary nervously,
 
 S4 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 whilst trying to be natural and conscious all 
 the time that Archie's eyes are on her, reading 
 her. Reading what? 
 
 'Oh, I like him!' says Hilda. 'What a 
 kind face, yet how sad, how melancholy!' 
 
 * Quite a hero of romance,' says her brother 
 with a sneer. 
 
 'Why, there's Arabella!' says Hilda sud- 
 denl}' ; ' I had no idea Mrs. Seatoun would 
 have allowed her to come.' 
 
 ' There was rather a tussle about it this 
 morning,' says Mary quickly, as if glad of 
 the change in the conversation ; ' but your 
 mother made such a point of her coming in 
 her invitation that papa rose to the occasion, 
 and said Arabella should come. I was so 
 glad. Mrs. Seatoun is always kind — always ' — 
 pausing and looking up as if for inspiration — 
 ' always careful, but, you see, Arabella is 
 seventeen, and ' 
 
 ' And so she came,' says Archie, laughing. 
 'More power to Arabella! Why, here she is.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 85 
 
 So you fought it out, Bella, vanquished the 
 dragon, smote her hip and thigh — oh, good 
 
 Lo ! How d'ye do, Mrs. Seatoun ; 
 
 heavenly day, isn't it ?'
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 * We seeke fast after felicity, 
 But we go wrong full often timely.' 
 
 Mrs. Seatoun, who returns Stewart's * how 
 d'ye do' in a manner somewhat short of 
 grace, is accompanied by a man who might 
 be extremely young, or else verging on 
 middle age. A tall preternaturally thin man, 
 with keen brown eyes and a big nose, and the 
 calm far-off look of one who reads, or has 
 read, a good deal. As a fact, Lord Rilminster 
 is only twenty-seven, but to accept this fact 
 requires courage. 
 
 He is standing on Mrs. Seatoun's right 
 hand, Arabella on her left, as Mrs. Seatoun 
 stops short near Mary. 
 
 ' Yes, a charming day,' says Mary in answer
 
 NOK WIFE NOR MAID 87 
 
 to Lord Ril minster's rather awkward address. 
 He has just put forth the usual remark about 
 the weather to Mary in an unnerved jerky 
 sort of way, and immediately afterwards has 
 turned to Ara!)ella as though the ' child ' (as 
 Mrs. Seatoun calls her) might help him to 
 an escape from a lengthened conversation 
 with this beautiful soft-eyed girl, who is 
 regarding him with a glance that has perhaps 
 a touch of amusement in it; evidently he is 
 not afraid of Arabella. 
 
 ' Would you like to look at the conserva- 
 tories ?* says he, turning abruptly away from 
 Mary, and looking at the family hoyden. 
 
 ' I've seen them,' says Arabella ungraciously, 
 who is of that age when a lord or commoner 
 is much the same to her. She has come here 
 to-day to play tennis, not to be marched 
 through hot places by stupid old things like 
 Lord Rilminster. 
 
 ' You would like to see them again, I'm 
 sure, Arabella,' says Mrs. Seatoun, with a
 
 88 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 .severe and warning glance at her. ^ Thank 
 you, Lord Rilminster ; it will he quite a treat 
 for Arabella to study the flowers under your 
 guidance. Arabella, let Lord Rilminster show 
 them to you.' 
 
 Mary smiles a little. But Arabella, though 
 furious, and in spite of her years, is quite 
 equal to the occasion. 
 
 ' Come,' says s-he, slaying the unfortunate 
 young man with a glance, * /'// show them 
 to yoii.^ 
 
 They move out of sight down the broad 
 gravel path in the direction of the green- 
 houses. 
 
 ' Nice young fellow, Lord Rilminster ! so 
 kind, so natural,' says Mrs. Seatoun, as though 
 young Earls as a rule are unnatural — ' so 
 affable !' 
 
 Mary writhes again, and feels thankful for 
 small mercies when Mrs. Seatoun moves on, 
 puffed out with pride, in the thought that 
 Arabella at all events is in aristocratic society.
 
 NOR, WIFE NOR MAID 89 
 
 How fortunate that she had brought her ! the 
 Seatouns, in spite of all their faults, are 
 certainly beyond doubt fit to meet with the 
 highest ! This, however, she would have died 
 rather than confess to the younger branches 
 of the Seatouns. 
 
 ' Arabella is growing up,' says Archie, 
 following Arabella's thin figure as it moi^t 
 unwillingly disappears behind the laurels ; 
 * we shall be afraid to chuck her under the 
 chin presently. When such superior stars as 
 young lords prostrate themselves before her, 
 we poor earthlings must take a back seat, 
 and acknowledge to ourselves that we forgot 
 to make the running in time.' 
 
 ' Poor thing ! she looked sorry, I thought,' 
 says Hilda, with a sort of honest regret in 
 her tone. ' Mrs. Seatoun made her go with 
 him.' 
 
 * Ah — yes !' says Mary, sorry, too, in her 
 heart for Arabella, who had been so wild with 
 delight when her father gained permission
 
 90 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 for her to come here to-day, and who now 
 must be wishing herself at home again. ' He 
 is so terribly stupid in spite of his learn- 
 ing.' 
 
 ' Or because of it !' says Stewart. ' Too 
 much of that sort of thing is generally sup- 
 posed to make one mad.' 
 
 ' Well, you re all right,' says his sister. 
 * So far as that sort of thing is concerned we 
 need not fear for your reason !' 
 
 ' My reason for what ?' promptly. 
 
 ' Pouf, you know ! that's what I call a 
 mean way of getting out of it ; but if 
 you will have it, learning won't make you 
 mad.' 
 
 ' I hope not ' — calmly. ' Do you, with a 
 severe glance, ' ivant me to go mad? My 
 dear girl, think !' 
 
 ' I hope Arabella is not mad just now/ 
 says Mary, laughing ; ' if she is, I pity Lord 
 Rilminster.' 
 
 *It was all Mrs. Seatoun's fault, says
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 91 
 
 Hilda ; ' she pushed them together; she might 
 have seen poor little Arabella didn't want to 
 go, but she ' 
 
 * " Dearly loves a lord !" ' quotes her brother 
 under his breath, and so as to be heard by 
 her alone. 
 
 At this moment Mr. Garden comes up to 
 them again. 
 
 * Now is our chance,' says he, pointing to 
 a vacant court just below them.' 
 
 ' Is it ?^ says Mary, smiling — hardly at him, 
 however ; she has let her eyes wander down 
 to the court in question. A strange shrinking 
 from going there or anywhere with him is 
 making her tone cold, yet her heart is beating. 
 Perhaps some last proud clinging to the 
 liberty of soul that up to this moment has 
 been hers is now holding her in thrall. ' It 
 is so lovely here,' says she in a low tone. 
 
 Stewart, catching her words, feels a throb 
 of hope within his breast. 
 
 * So lovely that I can understand your
 
 92 NOK WIFE >JOR MAID 
 
 desire to remain here/ says Mr. Garden so 
 genially that no one can suspect the disappoint- 
 ment he is feeling. Will you give me a small 
 corner near you? I shall not be in your way, 
 shall I.^' 
 
 ' Oh no,' says Mary. 
 
 She draws her skirts a little to one side, 
 as if to give him permission to sit on the grass 
 beside her. 
 
 ' Miss Seatoun, this is our game, I think,* 
 says Mr. Denny, rushing up in a hurried 
 fashion. 
 
 'Ours?' 
 
 She looks up at him with all the air of one 
 surprised beyond measure. 
 
 'You know.' says he — 'you must remember. 
 That time when you arrived you said you 
 would give me the first available game, the 
 first set, the — I ' — growing very hot and 
 daunted by the appreciation of his lucidity 
 so eloquently depicted on the faces of those 
 around him — ' I may not be able to say what
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 93 
 
 I want to say in — er — er — a say able form, 
 but ' 
 
 ' Good gracious ! why say it at all ?' says 
 Miss Stewart^ with an irrepressible little 
 grimace, but so softly that the suggester of 
 her little remark never hears it. 
 
 ' Did I really promise you ?' says Mary ; 
 ' I am afraid T had forgotten — so far, indeed, 
 that I had even promised Mr. Garden this 
 game.' 
 
 ' Oh ! pray don't mind me/ says Garden. 
 
 ' Thank you,' says Mary. Perhaps she had 
 expected some other answer from him : she 
 rises at once, and tells Denny where to find 
 her racket. She smiles with extraordinary 
 radiance upon that ugly young man. 
 
 ' Now Denny is happy for ever,' says 
 Stewart, rising on his elbow, and looking 
 after Denny, as the latter and Mary go down 
 towards the court below them. ' What an 
 ass that fellow is !' 
 
 ' I hear he is a very good hand at tennis —
 
 94 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 that is the best game he plays,' says Garden, 
 determined to be fair even to so contemptible 
 a rival. Not that he deems him contemptible. 
 The honest lover is ever far too many fathoms 
 deep himself in love's stream to be able to 
 reofard any man as below him. And Garden, 
 shice that first night he met her, has learned 
 the meaning of the word rival ! 
 
 ' Oh no, not the best,' says Stewart 
 gloomily, 
 
 * What is his best, then — what can he play 
 better ?' asks Garden, somewhat impatiently. 
 
 ' The fool !' says Stewart, springing to his 
 feet, and turning deliberately away. 
 
 He is not, indeed, quite sure whether Garden 
 or that ass Denny is the most hateful to him. 
 He has walked a long way through the shrub- 
 beries and gardens, when, in one of the houses 
 on his right hand, he hears voices — iVrabella's 
 and Lord Rilminster's. 
 
 ' She is still alive, then,' thinks he, with a 
 passing gleam of amusement.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 * And had a great opinion 
 That if I might escape from prison 
 Then had I been in joy and perfect heal 
 Where now I am exiled from my weal.' 
 
 Arabella is indeed alive, though bored to 
 the verge of death ; yet it is, however, pro- 
 bable that she is scarcely so disconcerted as 
 her companion. Rilminster, in spite of his 
 twenty - seven years, and his distinguished 
 college career, knows as little about making 
 himself interesting to a young girl, as this 
 young girl, at all events, knows about making 
 herself fascinating to him. The fact that he 
 is an Earl bears no weight with her. She has 
 come here to-day to play tennis, to talk and 
 to laugh, to watch the ' grown - up's ' (an
 
 96 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 enchanting amusement in itself) ; and instead 
 of all this she has been compelled by her step- 
 mother to wander stupidly through glass- 
 houses, with the stupidest creature on earth — 
 thus she stigmatizes Lord Rilminster. 
 
 As for him, poor man ! he is at his wits' 
 end. He had begun to suffer many things 
 when Mrs. Seatoun had introduced him to 
 this lovely child beside him, and now he is 
 ■finishing his sufferings. He, the book- worm, 
 who has held himself aloof from society since 
 his boyhood, who has been unable to conquer 
 the shyness that renders him mute in the 
 presence of strangers of both sexes, in spite 
 of his ancient title and enormous rent-roll — 
 what can he find now to say to a little girl 
 of seventeen, who has never read anything in 
 her life beyond novels carefully selected, such 
 as Jane Austen's, and the delightful author 
 of ' Cranford,' and so on, with latterly a few 
 thrown in by her sisters ? What on earth can 
 he say to her f
 
 NOR WIFE NOR ]\[A1L) 97 
 
 Why on earth can't she say something to 
 him? This thought occurs to him with a 
 groan as he arrives at the fifteenth stand of 
 blossoms, and has found himself weary of 
 telling her the Latin names of every plant 
 she has deigned to admire. It is uphill work 
 — it is positively monotonous. The settled 
 conviction that the tall, slender, pretty child 
 beside him is angry with him for being the 
 cause of her wanderings through these most 
 uninteresting houses is adding to tlie nervous 
 distress he is feeling. 
 
 Pausing before a monster tree-fern, be stands 
 silent, oppressed by a growing, feeling of 
 bitterness. AYhy should he tell lier the name 
 of it ? Of wliat good is all his learning to 
 himl It cannot help him to nmuse, for one 
 short half-hour, one little girl I 
 
 ' You haven't told me the name of this,' 
 says Arabella demurely,. There is mischief 
 in her seemingly simple tones. The mischief 
 reaches Ril minster, and irritates him still 
 further. 
 
 Vol. 1. 7
 
 98 NOR WfFE NOR MAID 
 
 ' I don't know it/ says he stolidly. 
 ' No ? I thought you knew everything,' 
 says Arabella, demurely still. 
 
 * I know nothing,' returns he, the feeling of 
 bitterness growing on him. 
 
 ' Nothing ?' She turns her flower-like face 
 to his in great amazement. 
 
 * Nothing that is of any consequence — I 
 don't know this, at all events,' says he, per- 
 sisting somewhat doggedly, Avhilst grieved at 
 heart. 
 
 * Perhaps you woitt know it,' says she, with 
 a Dflance at him out of the corner of her dark 
 
 o 
 
 eyes. She seems on the point of laughter. 
 She is looking ridiculously young to be any- 
 where but in her nursery ; and yet (the 
 thought is Rilminster's) what a pity that she 
 should be hidden away in a nursery, or any- 
 where ! 
 
 She is looking strangely pretty, too — a soft 
 study in white ! White hat, white gown, 
 white gloves ! Out of this snowy envelope
 
 NOli WIFE NOK MAID 99 
 
 her big, dark eyes, and hair the colour of 
 copper with the firelight on it, shine 
 brilliantly. 
 
 ' You know it, but you don't w^ant to tell 
 me ; you are tired of me,' says she, with all 
 the audacity of childhood. 
 
 ' Tired ?' says he, amazed, He pauses, as 
 if to take in this tremendous thought. 
 
 ' Yes, tired ; that is why you won't tell me 
 the name of that fern. Do you think I can't 
 see it ? I suppose you fancy because I am 
 so stupid and so ignorant that> I can't know 
 that you are bored to death.' 
 
 * 1 don't think it is I whx) am bored/ says 
 Rilminster, feeling as if heaven and earth are 
 giving way. 
 
 ' Oh yes, it is. And if so, why did you 
 aj-k me to come here with you ? I ' — angry 
 tears gleaming in her lovely eyes — ' I was 
 quite content over there ; I didn't want to see 
 the flowers and things ; I wanted to watch 
 them playing tennis, I '
 
 100 NOR WIFE NOK MAID 
 
 * Well, you know, 1 said it wasn't 1 who 
 was bored,' .says Rilminster, who should have 
 taken her anything but seriously, but who is 
 evidently terrified. He adjusts his glasses, 
 and looks at her. ' I'm very sorry about it/ 
 says he. 
 
 ' So am I,' says Arabelhi indignantly, de- 
 termined not to be outdone. Then a little 
 silence follows — a little silence that compels 
 her to think, for one of the few times in her 
 young life. What is it all about ? Why is 
 he sorry ? She finds she knows nothing 
 about it. ' What are you sorry about ?' asks 
 she slowly, yet curiously. 
 
 ' About this.' 
 
 ' But what is this ?' 
 
 ' That I have brought you here.' 
 
 ' Oh !' says Arabella. She gives voice to 
 this ejaculation absently, as one awakening 
 to a strange fact. To say it to her like that., 
 though — quite calmly — without so much as 
 even a careless attempt at concealment ! Poor
 
 NOR WIFE NOK MA.1D 101 
 
 man I he, too, then, has been longing to be 
 back bn the tennis-grounds watching the play, 
 or else wanting ,^.0 be somewhere else, loitli 
 somebody else. What a troublesome woman 
 Mrs. Seatoun is ! she has spoiled two people's 
 sport. Arabella begins to feel quite sorry for 
 Lord Ril minster. 
 
 ' So that is it,* says she. ' Why didn't you 
 say so at first ?' gazing at him with growing- 
 contrition. ' I'm sure I should have been 
 delighted to have helped you to get rid of 
 me. Why, we might have pretended to Mrs. 
 Seatoun to go to the houses, and when we 
 came to those barberry bushes we might have 
 slipped out of each other's way, and then you 
 would have been free from me for the rest of 
 the day. After all,' regarding him with 
 sincere compassion, 'you are just as much to 
 be pitied as I am.' 
 
 . This ndire confession reduces her com- 
 panion to silence — a silence born of depres- 
 sion..
 
 102 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 * You see it, don't you T says Arabella, 
 nodding her head — such a charming head ! 
 ' You couldn't hear the idoa of bringing me 
 here, could you ? and yet ' 
 
 * Good heavens ! is that how you look at 
 it? How could you have thought I meant 
 that !' cries Rilminster. 
 
 In his disgust and agitation he drops his 
 o'lasses, and beoins to fumble for them in the 
 vague, impossible way that belongs to short- 
 sighted people. 
 
 Arabella, in spite of her wrath, or perhaps 
 because of the beginning of that prospect of 
 his, or perhaps through the instinctive desire 
 to help that is born in most people, catches 
 hold of the dangling pince-nez and restores it 
 to its owner. 
 
 ' Why, didn't you mind, really T asks she 
 anxiously, then gazing at the restored pince- 
 nez now once more upon its owner's nose. 
 ^ What funny things those are! Papa wears 
 the ugly ones with the wires on his ears, you
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 103 
 
 know. But jours — do you really want them, 
 or are you like Mr. Denny ? He sticks one 
 in his right eye, and then he can't see at all/ 
 
 * I am afraid I wear mine because I must/ 
 says Ril minster. 
 
 * And you really don't mind having Avasted 
 half an hour here with me ?' 
 
 * I haven't wasted anything/ returns he 
 slowly. 
 
 ' Well, that is good of you!' says she quite 
 gratefully. 
 
 She gives him a little fleeting smile. She 
 even forgives him on the s])ot the fact of her 
 own wasted half-hour, though still secretly 
 conscious of a desire to get back again to the 
 world outside. Flowers are one thing, people 
 another ! Though considerably less beautiful, 
 she prefers the latter to the former ! She is, 
 of course, very young.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 • But since that he was fallen in the snare, 
 He must endure (as other folk) his care.' 
 
 She has moved towards the door of the house 
 in which they have been standing, and is 
 looking down towards the courts, tliat seem 
 quite a long way from them. 
 
 * Now that we hioiv,' says she, looking 
 back at Rilminster over her .shoulder, ' why 
 shouldn't we both go back again ? Do come ' 
 — coaxingly — * it is such fun watching them. 
 1 "dare say ' — thoughtfully — * it is better fun 
 plaijing ; but Mrs. Seatoun says T am very 
 young, so I must only watch.' She is silent 
 for a moment, her eyes on his, and then, ' But 
 you,' says she, ' you play, perhaps ?' 
 
 There is hope in her tone.
 
 NOR WIPE NOR MAID 105 
 
 ^ xsTo,' says Rilminster, with distinct reluct- 
 ance. 
 
 Oh, why has he given up his best years to 
 dull searchings after things cold and dead and 
 gone — thhigs without eyes that smile or flash 
 with rage ; things without sweet, happy lips, 
 without hair that drops with idle beauty upon 
 a soft, childish, snowy brow? 
 
 ' But that one doesn't, does not alwa\'s 
 mean that one cant^' suggests she. ' Perhaps ' 
 — eagerly — ' you could, but you won't, eh ?' 
 
 'No/ says he miserably; 'it means that I 
 never learned tennis — that I never had a 
 racket in ni}^ hand in my life.' 
 
 ' What a pity !' says Arabella quickly. She 
 waits awhile as if thinking, and then, quite 
 simply, and in utter ignorance of the impossi- 
 bility of her remark, ' If you could learn to 
 hold a racket, and use it, you would not look 
 so old as you do.' 
 
 ' Old !' He repeats tlie word as if startled 
 by it. He pauses irresolutely. Old ! It had
 
 106 NOK WIFK NOR MAID 
 
 not occurred to him that he was old. ' Do I 
 look old ?' asks he suddenly. 
 
 Something in his expression dispels Ara- 
 bella's ignorance, and wakens her to the fact 
 that, though unintentionally, she has been 
 distinctly rude. 
 
 ' Oh no, not that way,' says she, growing 
 incoherent as well as verj^ red. ' ISTot like 
 papa or the Bishop, but old — older than I am, 
 you know. You ' — with a futile attempt at 
 reinstalling herself — * you are older than I am, 
 aren't you ?' 
 
 ' I am/ says Rilminster, with conviction. 
 Then, after a little pause, he says apologetic- 
 ally, ^ I am twenty-seven.' 
 
 ' No ! Is that all, really ?' asks the younger 
 Miss Seatoun, with wide eyes of astonished 
 inquiry, eyes so wide, indeed, that they 
 entirely destroy all her just uttered well- 
 meant attempts at an apology. 
 
 * How much more do I look ?' asks he rather 
 uneasily — a little sorrowfully, indeed.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 107 
 
 The good that accrues to youth — mere idle, 
 foolish youth — has never shown itself to him 
 until this moment. 
 
 * Oh, I don't know/ says she bashfully, now 
 dreadfully ashamed of her disgraceful open- 
 ness of sj)eech, and yet always a little angry 
 — unreasonably angry — with him for having 
 been the cause of it. * Why need you ask ?' 
 
 He gives her no answer to this ; he is, 
 indeed, lost in that speculation about youth. 
 Is it the chief good, after all ? If not, what is 
 better than it ? The wild rushing after hidden 
 knowledge, the searching for wisdom in the 
 dark difficult books of old? He is awakened 
 from the beginning of a reverie, that threatens 
 to be lengthy, by an impatient voice at his 
 elbow. 
 
 ' Why don't you speak ? Why can't you 
 answer me ? I suppose you think if you 
 remain quite silent I shall go away. But * — 
 with a trembling lip — ' I can't ; Fd be afraid 
 to go back to them all alone.'
 
 108 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 * Don't talk to me like that,' says the 
 embryo savant, with a suspicion of haste that 
 no one would have suspected from him. But 
 now he is aroused. Hitherto he had clung to 
 books as the one good gift of life, and now a 
 little, idle, frivolous, inconsequent child — a 
 girl half formed, a thing more child than 
 woman — has destroyed his strongest beliefs. 
 
 ^ AYell, somebody must talk,' says she 
 naively, tilting a cross little shoulder, and 
 frownino' throuo-h the doorwav. 
 
 ' True,' says he, sighing, ' and at that art 
 1 am nobod3^ Let me take you back to the 
 others.' 
 
 He draws back the door for her, and follows 
 her into the sunshine beyond. 
 
 ' I am afraid I have destroyed your chance 
 of a partner for this game,' says he, looking 
 across to where the courts are filled wnth busy 
 ])layers. 
 
 * Don't be unhappy about that,' says she
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 109 
 
 grimly. ' I never dreamt of playing when J 
 came here to-day ; I'm too young, you know/ 
 with a confidential nod at him. ' They 
 
 wouldn't ask me. Mrs. Seatoun says 
 
 Never mind her, however.' 
 
 ' I don't believe that,' says he slowly. 
 
 ' AMiat ?' 
 
 ' That they wouldn't ask you to play.' 
 
 * Well, it's true,' says Arabella, sighing. 
 ' They never do, and I've been at three 
 parties. AVould you ' — turning suddenly and 
 gazing at him — * if you could play, would 
 you ask me ?' 
 
 ' Yes,' says Rilminster stupidly. 
 
 He would have liked to have said a great 
 deal more, but the words that lie in the books 
 he reads lead the mind more towards death 
 than life. 
 
 ' Oh, K'hy haven't you learned ?' says she 
 reproachfully. 
 
 ' I have had no time,' slowly and with
 
 LIO NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 knitted brows, as though now regret is 
 burning in him. 
 
 * But there is yet time/ says she, turning a 
 brilliant eager face to his ; ' 3^0 u might learn 
 even now.^ 
 
 'Now? Impossible!' says he. '1 should 
 this moment be at my work.' 
 
 ' Your work !' 
 
 ' Yes ; even if I can't play tennis I can do 
 something else/ says he, with a curious smile 
 that is devoid of satisfaction : ' yet I wish 1 
 could play tennis.' 
 
 ^ And your work ?' 
 
 * It would not interest you, it would not 
 interest many,' says Rilminster, a sudden dis- 
 content waking within him. ' I am writing a 
 treatise on the old Egyptian gods, their in- 
 fluences, their special aptitudes for good and 
 evil.' 
 
 ' What for ?' asks she. 
 
 ' Eh ?' 
 
 Rilminster stares at her. Such an extra-
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 111 
 
 ordinary question had not been put to him 
 before. He paused again. It is a speciality 
 of his to pause, and ponder, and lose himself 
 now and again. What for, indeed ! 
 
 * Such a waste of time,' says Bella calmly. 
 ' Why don't you give it up ? If you did you 
 might learn how to play tennis. Ah, there is 
 Mary. AVho is with her? Do you know 
 him? /don't. See!' — excitedly — 'he is 
 asking Mary to have the next game with 
 liim. What a nice face he has! Xow,' 
 turning reproachful eyes on him, ' if you 
 only knew how to play, you might per- 
 haps have asked me to join you, and we 
 should have been their opponents ; but you 
 don't — you don't know about anything but 
 mummies. Though, after all ' — with a touch 
 of melancholy — ' if 3'ou coidd play, I don't 
 suppose you would ask me to be your 
 partner.' 
 
 * I should,' says Eilminster. ' But would 
 j/ou be my partner ?'
 
 112 NOK WIFE NOK MAID 
 
 ' Oh, just learn and ask me/ says Arabella, 
 Avith a merry little laugh, l^hen, with a quick 
 turn of her head, ' Where is Mary now, 1 
 wonder ? Ah ! there she is over there.'
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ' My wit is great, though that I bourde and play.' 
 
 ' With Garden, yes,' says Lord Ril minster, 
 after an exhaustive stare through his glasses. 
 
 ' You know him ?' 
 
 ' I met him last year in the East. Very 
 good sort of fellow, I thought, but very silent, 
 very ' He hesitates. 
 
 ' Perhaps there were mummies where you 
 met him/ says Arabella. ' They seem to have 
 a talent, in spite of their early decease, of 
 rendering people very silent, and also the 
 other " very." ' 
 
 Her little impertinence, instead of annoying 
 Rilminster, seems to amuse him in a calm 
 way. He smiles, removes his glasses, and re- 
 places them, but says nothing. 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 114 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 ' Of course,' says she, tilting her delicate 
 chin, ' you are a friend of the mummies, so you 
 won't speak.' 
 
 • Naturally, a friend of the mummies would, 
 according to your showing, be the most silent 
 of mortals. Why should I speak ?' 
 
 ' If only to amuse me,' says she. 
 
 ^ Ah ! Perhaps my silence amuses you still 
 more,' replies he sloAvly, the truth of which 
 answer reduces her for a moment to silence of 
 her own and a covert contemplation of him. 
 Did he mean much — anything ? Those foolish 
 creatures who pore over books from morning 
 till night, and lose themselves in mouldy 
 research, never, as a rule, see an inch before 
 their noses ; so, at least, she has heard ! But 
 this bookworm, what of him? It occurs to 
 Arabella that he may be a rare specimen of 
 his species — one with brains ! 
 
 ' I don't thhik you amuse me at all,' says 
 she, a little pettishly. 
 
 ' If I could be quite sure of that, I should
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 115 
 
 feel happier,' returns he in perfect good faith, 
 Arabella gives him a swift, uncomfortable 
 glance. 
 
 * I don't think I like people whom I can't 
 understand,' says she at last nervously, and, 
 therefore, resentfully. 
 
 ' Then I hope you understand me,' says he, 
 almost as nervously as herself, fumbling for 
 the once-more-lost eyeglass vainly. 
 
 The nervousness is lost on i\.rabella, who 
 looks as she feels — indignant. 
 
 ' I wish to go to Mary,' says she, with much 
 dignity. 
 
 ' I am afraid Miss Seatoun is just going 
 away from us towards the gardens with 
 Carden,' says Eilminster, who has recovered 
 his glasses, and is now peering anxiously 
 through them. But — er — Mrs. Seatoun I 
 think I can see over there on that bench under 
 the willow. Shall I take you to her ?' 
 
 Arabella turns on him two large pathetic 
 eyes, wet with tears of angry reproach.
 
 116 NOR WIFE NOR MATD 
 
 * You may be sure I understand you now' 
 says she ; ' you are the unkindest person I 
 ever met !' 
 
 To say that this accusation is Greek to 
 Rilminster would be to wrong him, be- 
 cause, had it been so, he could have read it 
 easily. As it is, it sounds to him like a 
 strange language ; and though, as a rule, 
 strange languages possess a special charm 
 for him, he would gladly have had the key 
 to this one without the preliminary joys of 
 study. 
 
 * It is I who do not understand now,' begins 
 he miserably. ' I assure you I ' 
 
 * Such a mean way to be revenged !' says 
 Arabella, with flashing eyes. ' If you were 
 angry with me for what I said about your 
 horrid old mummies a moment ago, you 
 might at least have said so decently, and not 
 try to punish me.' 
 
 * But, Miss Seatoun, I didn't know, I assure 
 you, I '
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 117 
 
 ' Oh, didn't you !' says Arabella. ' 1 could 
 see it in your eye.' 
 
 To argue with this half-grown-up baby is 
 impossible. Rilminster gives in. 
 
 ' We may be able to overtake your sister if 
 we hurry,' says he. Light has dawned on him 
 so far, that he knows it will be unwise to 
 mention Mrs. Seatoun's name again. 
 
 ' No !' says Arabella. ' I dare say she doesn't 
 want me — either ' (the either is quite uncalled 
 for, but is delivered with much acrimony, and 
 wdthers the hearer, as is intended). ' I don't 
 want to have unkind speeches made to me by 
 two people in one day.' 
 
 'But if you would let me say one 
 word ' 
 
 ' You have said a great many words, and 
 I haven't liked any of them !' says Arabella 
 severely. ' 1 shall go over there where Archie 
 SteTvart is sitting, and talk to him. He is 
 never rude.' 
 
 ' Your sister is here still,' says he, somewhat
 
 118 NOR wifp: nor maid 
 
 vaguely, if anxiously. The anxiety is a 
 wonder, even to himself. Why should he 
 wish her to go to her sister, rather than to 
 
 ' Mary looks preoccupied,' says the younger 
 Miss Seatoun with her best air. ' I shall not 
 trouble her.' 
 
 And, indeed, Mary is preoccupied. A 
 moment ago Garden had again come to her, 
 the calumet in the shape of a racket in his 
 hand. He is smiling. It is easy to see he 
 bears no ill-will for that last little slight she 
 had shown him. He had recognised, perhaps, 
 that it was scarcely meant. 
 
 ' Shall I be more fortunate this time ?' asks 
 he, stopping short before her, and looking very 
 handsome in his flannels. 
 
 * You want me to play this set ?' asks Mary 
 in turn, raising her face to his — a lovely face, 
 with the first soft dawn of a blush upon 
 it, that deepens delicately as her eyes meet 
 his. 
 
 * If the idea seems good in your sight,' re-
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 119 
 
 turns he, smiling still, his eyes catching and 
 holding hers. 
 
 Mary hesitates. 
 
 The day is drawing quickly towards even- 
 ing now, the light is growing yellow, touches 
 of night lie in all the distant corners of the 
 far-oiF meadows. 
 
 Here, however, the sun is shining still in a 
 glad, glorious fashion, lighting up the roses in 
 the gardens, and the velvet pansies and the 
 tall bride gladioli, that all fling out their rays 
 of colour to him as if in welcome ; whilst 
 below on the tennis-courts, and here and there 
 amongst the shrubberies, those gaudiest and 
 most fragile flowers of all, the dainty women 
 and girls of the county, move lightly up and 
 down, the rustling of their light gowns 
 making pleasant music on the air. 
 
 ' You have secured a court ?' asks she, rising. 
 She has got over that first curious shyness, 
 that almost amounted to fear — a fear that 
 seemed to stifle her. During the last hour
 
 120 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 she has brought herself to analyze it, and 
 arrange for it in her own mind. It was 
 nothing, she tells herself, but a touch of that 
 old nervousness that used to attack her Avhen 
 she was a mere child — at least, only a mere 
 girl come out (come out before her time, she 
 thinks now), and afraid of every shadow^ 
 After all, perhaps Mrs. Seatoun is right about 
 Arabella. It is bad for a girl to come out too 
 young. She herself had suffered from it ; it 
 had been terrible to her, the introduction to 
 each stranger. And, naturally, something of 
 that old strange shyness still clings to her. 
 
 It was absurd, that little frightened clutch 
 at her heart that had caught her when first he 
 appeared this afternoon. It had mastered her 
 then, but she would take care it shouldn't 
 master her again. It arose, perhaps, from — 
 fi'om what ?' 
 
 After all, what could he have had to do 
 with it ? The idea that he could so far touch 
 her is hateful to her. She — she who has never
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 121 
 
 cared ! She tells herself she is growing mor- 
 bid, fanciful. It seems to her that she is almost 
 finding fault with herself for feeling a vague 
 friendship towards this stranger ; yet why 
 should she not like him. Yes, it is all absurd ! 
 
 Her smile is soft and calm as she returns 
 his glance. 
 
 ' I have,' says Garden. ' But if you are 
 tired — if you would prefer to come for a walk 
 instead ? I hear the houses are charming.' 
 
 There is entreaty in his eyes. 
 
 ' I think I should like that better/ says she, 
 rising. 
 
 'Evidently your sister preferred it also to 
 tennis,' says Garden, walking beside her on 
 the smooth turf. 
 
 ' What ! a walk to tennis? It is a simple 
 thing to see that you do not know Bella/ says 
 she, with a touch of amusement. 'I am 
 afraid that last walk of hers was taken hon gre, 
 mal gre.^ 
 
 ' Mal gre, and with Rilminster ? I
 
 122 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 Perhaps I am mistaken. Irkton is new 
 ground to me so far as its inhabitants are 
 concerned. But that tall young lady over 
 there is your sister ?' 
 
 ' Yes, that is Bella,' says Miss Seatoun, 
 directing her gaze at her younger sister, just 
 at the moment when the latter is giving way 
 to her feelings about Rilminster's meanness in 
 wanting to take her to her stepmother. ' She 
 — I fear she ' 
 
 ' I fear Ril minster is having a bad time/ 
 says Garden calmly. ' Poor old boy ! he isn't 
 used to women.' 
 
 ' Are you ?' says Mary, ever so gently. 
 
 ' No,' replies he shortly, as if someone had 
 struck him. 
 
 It is the most curious suspicion of anger, 
 half subdued, half there — more than half there, 
 perhaps. Mary, catching the fact of it without 
 the meaning, steers for another course. 
 
 ' You knowg Lord Rilminster ?' says she, in 
 a carefully indifferent tone.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 123 
 
 'Pretty well. He seems to admire your 
 sister/ 
 
 ' That should not surprise you,' says Mary 
 loyally, though in her own heart she is won- 
 dering how a man like Rilminster — a clever 
 man, a man well known to the world, one 
 likely to make his mark in the scientific world 
 — could have spent so much time with that 
 pretty trifler, that mere child, Arabella! 
 
 ' No, indeed. Who could fail to admire 
 her ? She is charming ! What a young face, 
 yet so strong in its own way, like the dawn 
 wdth the strength of the coming morn in it ! 
 She must be a revelation to Rilminster. I 
 don't think I ever saw him talk to a girl 
 before.' 
 
 ' You describe a misanthrope. You knew 
 him abroad ?^ 
 
 ' I met him abroad. Our acquaintance was 
 a mere passing one, and I always think 1 bored 
 him a good deal ; but he found no fault, he 
 endured me manfully.'
 
 124 NOR WJFE NOR MAID 
 
 * Perha]DS he liked you,' hazards Miss Sea- 
 toun mildly. 
 
 They have come to a garden- seat by this 
 time, and she, unmindful of the houses he had 
 suggested to her as objects worthy of her 
 regard, sits down. 
 
 ' Perhaps he did,' says Garden. ' You will 
 sit here ?' It is a very desirable place. ' Well, 
 perhaps he did like me, who shall say ? I 
 was the dullest person alive. You ' — turning 
 suddenly to her with a light smile — *can 
 understand that. But we got on together 
 capitally, in spite of all.' 
 
 ' He is very clever, is he not ?' asks she. 
 
 Garden had expected nothing when he had 
 made that modest speech of his, so he is not 
 disappointed. 
 
 ' Very, and eccentric almost, in little ways, 
 but, au fojidj he is flawless.' 
 
 ' Glever people are generally eccentric' 
 
 ' Do you think so ? I don't. However, 
 Kilminster is out of the common clever.'
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 125 
 
 ' I wonder ' begins Mary, and then stops 
 
 short. 
 
 ' At what ?' 
 
 ' At ' 
 
 She hesitates again. 
 
 ' Yes ?' with large encouragement. 
 
 * At what on earth he can possibly have 
 found to say to Bella/ says she at last, with a 
 soft, sweet, irrepressible laugh, * or she to him.' 
 
 * Ah ! that goes beyond wonder. Yet ' — 
 with a glance at Rilminster, who is now, very 
 much against his will, escorting Arabella to 
 where the Stewart party are lounging — ' he 
 does not look so disofusted as one mio^ht ex- 
 pect ; a little sorrowful, but not contemptuous. 
 He must be clever indeed to conceal his 
 emotions so successfully. For a growing 
 savant to be given over for fully half an hour 
 to the tender mercies of a child like that ' 
 
 * Like that ! In such a situation the grow- 
 ing savant should count himself lucky. Evi- 
 dently this one does.'
 
 126 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 ' Still, a child's tender mercies, like those of 
 the wicked, may be cruel. — Perhaps he is in 
 love with her,' says Garden abruptly. 
 
 ' Impossible I A baby — a foolish child like 
 i )ella ! Besides, he never saw her until 
 to-day.' 
 
 ' Does time count when love is in question ? 
 It should not, I think. Love is the chief 
 good — all things should give way to it.' 
 
 ' Is it the chief good ?' asks she, looking up 
 at him suddenly with a light, casual smile. 
 But is there inquiry in her eyes ? 
 
 ' You ask that ! Don't you think so ?' 
 
 * I know nothing about it,' says she, shaking 
 her lovely head. 
 
 ' Nothing ?' asks he, a little eagerly, perhaps. 
 
 * N"othing at all ' — smiHng still. * But you 
 - — you, of course, do.' 
 
 It is a direct allusion to his late married 
 state, and in some odd, quick way it enrages 
 him. Love ! love I What had the hateful 
 contract that had destroyed his best days to
 
 NOR WEFE NOR MAID 127 
 
 do with love ? Yet he had thought in that 
 far-past time that he had caught and held 
 it I He must have been mad then without 
 knowing it. Mad people never know when 
 they are mad — sometimes a mercy. 
 
 ^ I ? No!' says he sternly. 
 
 His brows knit, his mouth takes a set 
 expression ; Miss Seatoun, watching him, 
 grows surprised, and perhaps something more 
 than that. 
 
 ' And yet?' persists she, with the prettiest, 
 most careless air in the world. 
 
 ' I am like you, I know nothing about it,' 
 persists he, speaking sharply, and with a 
 frown. 
 
 * Then how do you know it is the chief 
 good ?' asks she demurely, pulling to pieces as 
 she speaks the red rose in her hand. Half- 
 way through her massacre, she lifts- the 
 despoiled flower, and, laying it against her 
 lips, looks at him. ' How do you know there 
 is such a good at all ?'
 
 128 NOK WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 ' Tradition is an eloquent orator,' says he ; 
 * and, besides, there must be compensation of 
 some sort to make up for all the wretchedness 
 in this wide terrible world.' 
 
 ' Tradition is nothing,' says she ; ' one 
 must feel, know, learn through one's self 
 before one can thoroughly believe in any- 
 thing.' 
 
 ' Yet, without feeling or knowing, I do 
 most thoroughly believe in it, though I dare 
 say ' — with a little uncontrollable saddening 
 of voice and eye — ' it will never come my 
 way. The good things of this life do not 
 always ' — with a sudden, rather forced, as- 
 sumption of gaiety, that makes him even 
 sadder in the eyes of his companion — ' go to 
 the best people.' 
 
 ' Why should they not ?' says she. ' As for 
 me ' — with a half- laughing, half- deprecating 
 intonation — ' I always expect the good things 
 of life to fall to my lot.' 
 
 ' You are to be envied,' says he.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 129 
 
 * And you ?' She pauses, and turns her 
 eyes towards the setting sun. ' It has oc- 
 curred to me,' says she softly, as if a Httle 
 frightened, yet hurried on by some impulse to 
 speak what lies in her — * I mean — that is ' — 
 nervously — ' I often think you talk very sadly 
 _as if ' 
 
 * Many people talk sadly,' interrupts he 
 lightly. *It is quite a fashionable thing to 
 give way to morbid griefs nowadays. Believe 
 me, I am not the only sad person you 
 know.' 
 
 * Would you have me think,' says she, 
 her voice a little offended, *that you pose, 
 pretend, create a situation to make yourself 
 attractive ? Oh no !' 
 
 She has risen ; her eyes are seeking his — 
 his that are so ready to respond. 
 
 * Think what you will,^ says he, rising too, 
 ^ but do not let my sadness, real or assumed, 
 weigh upon your life. Let it go by you. If 
 your acquaintance with me is to give you 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 nothing but a glimpse at the knowledge of 
 evil, you will end by having only unkind 
 thoughts of me. Forget me, and let us 
 return to our argument : you have forgotten 
 that, too, by this time, perhaps ?' 
 
 ' No ; my memory is good.' 
 
 ' You remember, then, I was saying that 
 love is the one good thing we mortals are 
 ever blindly seeking for during the few short 
 hours given us in whicli to live. Butterflies 
 all ! our grasp of this earth, so slight as it 
 is, should be enough to render us callous to 
 suffering ; yet we do suffer, and to ease that 
 suffering we turn to love. It is the one 
 solace of our unending pain.' 
 
 ' Truly, you are love's trumpeter,' says 
 she, and pauses and plays a little with the 
 now dilapidated rose, and finally, after a last 
 struggle with her better feelinge, bursts out 
 laughing — a merry, hearty little laugh : even 
 though it is against him, it sounds like music 
 to the man beside her.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 131 
 
 *To laugh like that is to be heart-whole,' 
 says he. > 
 
 ' You are in an aphoristic mood to-day,' 
 says she. * Perhaps, if one could read you, 
 you yourself are an aphorism ! And why 
 should I not be heart-whole ?' 
 
 * But are you ? asks he eagerly — too 
 eagerly. 
 
 She draws back a little, and looks round 
 her. 
 
 ' I have said so,' she answers, but coldly 
 now, and her late friendly smile has given 
 way to a society one, slight and indifferent. 
 ' Ah ! here is Arabella,' says she sud- 
 denly. 
 
 There is unmistakable relief in her tone. 
 Arabella has, indeed, come up to them flushed 
 and anxious. 
 
 ' Mrs. Seatoun has sent me to say it is 
 time to go home, just when I was beginning 
 to enjoy myself, too ! So like her ! I thought 
 that perhaps you ' She stops as she
 
 132 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 glances from face to face, and hope falls 
 dead within her. * I thought you two would 
 have helped me/ she says ; ' but you look 
 even more anxious to get away than Mrs. 
 Seatoun/
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ' Amiddes of the temple sat mischance, 
 With discomfort and sorry countenance. 
 Beware from ire that in thy bosom sleeps.' 
 
 ' Is she waiting for me ? asks Mary quickly, 
 alluding to her stepmother. 
 
 ' Nothing so mild as that ; she is hunting 
 for you all over the place. She thinks you 
 are with Archie Stewart.' 
 
 ' Well !* says Mary, regarding her with cold 
 displeasure. 
 
 Something in Arabella's tone, in the ir- 
 repressible little laugh that accompanies her 
 words, is suggestive of a very distinct mean- 
 ing — of one or two very distinct meanings, 
 in fact ; for one, that it is a usual thing to
 
 134 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 suppose she might be with Archie Stewart, 
 and, for another, that her stepmother would 
 disapprove of such a supjDOsition. 
 
 ' Well, she is angry, that's all,' says 
 Arabella uncomfortably, Mary's tone having 
 frightened her. 
 
 She adores Mary, and to be scolded by her 
 even by one look and one word is terrible to 
 her. 
 
 ' Why should she be angry because I was 
 with Archie ?' persists Mary, now more 
 oj^enly angry, and rushing on her fate with 
 bright eyes and daintily-flushed cheeks. 
 
 If she had not grown confused, she would 
 have known better than to put such a 
 question to Arabella. 
 
 * Because she is afraid you will marry him,' 
 says Arabella, unnerved and puzzled, and 
 hardly knowing what to say. 
 
 ' Arabella !' says Mary hurriedly, in a little 
 shocked, hurried way. The delicate flush has 
 now become a brilliant crimson. ' You — ^you
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 135 
 
 must be mad to talk like that. He — even if 
 Archie had ever — but he never has — and — it 
 is a most unwarrantable liberty to take — with 
 his name — and besides ' 
 
 ' I only meant,' begins Arabella, now ter- 
 ribly distressed. 
 
 ' I know what you meant,' says Garden, 
 breaking in Avith a kindly smile upon her 
 halting words, and thus coming to her rescue, 
 though, in truth, his face had grown a little 
 pale ; ' you mean that to you your sister is 
 irresistible — is not that it ? Your sister 
 .should be the first to forgive that.' 
 
 * Yes, I think so, and ' — here she flounders 
 again hopelessly — ' and Archie thinks like 
 that, too, and so do lots of others. There's 
 Mr. Denny, and ' ^ 
 
 * Legion is their name, apparently,' says 
 Garden calmly, once more stepping into the 
 breach. He pauses, and looks at Mary. ' I 
 hope you feel properly ashamed of yourself,' 
 says he; at which, in spite of herself, and
 
 136 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 because of the nervousness that has been 
 consuming her, she gives way to sudden 
 laughter. 
 
 Arabella, delighted to find she has not 
 altogether disgraced herself, joins in heartily, 
 and Garden follows suit. He has time to see, 
 however, that Mary's mirth carries bitterness 
 with it, and that tears stand thick in her eyes 
 — angry tears, perhaps, yet tears. 
 
 ' Come, come, let us make haste,' says she, 
 hastening down the path^vay. ' Mrs. Seatoun 
 must be tired.' 
 
 ' And I feel as if I had only just come !' 
 says Arabella, with a sigh. 
 
 ' But there will be all the other days,' says 
 Garden to her kindl}'. 
 
 * Kot for me. Mrs. Seatoun never takes 
 me anywhere, unless people send me a special 
 invitation, and that is so seldom !' says Ara- 
 bella sorrowfully. ' I think they might, you 
 know ; don't you 1 Vm not a bit of trouble ! 
 I don't even ask to play. Tm quite content
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 137 
 
 to sit in a corner and watch them playing. I 
 don't see what harm that can do them ! Even 
 if they want the seats, I'd sit on the grass. 
 Anything * — pathetically — * is better than stay- 
 ing at home/ 
 
 ' I dare say/ says Garden. 
 
 * This is my one chance, and now she goes 
 home at half-past six !' says Arabella, in an 
 aggrieved tone. ' She thinks that fashionable. 
 / think it abominable ; and so would you, if 
 you knew your last party was coming to an 
 end; 
 
 * But ' — smiling — ' there will be other 
 parties.' 
 
 ' Yes, for others,' says Arabella, in a dis- 
 gusted tone. ' There are so many girls about 
 here that they hate to add to them. No ' — 
 dejectedly — * the Stewarts' party was my one 
 chance.^ 
 
 'But there are some people in the world 
 besides the Stewarts,' says Garden, smiling. 
 ' If I might hope you would come to me *
 
 138 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 * Ell ? says Arabella. ' To you ? Are you 
 going to give a party ? Are you going to 
 ask me ?' 
 
 'I shall be so glad if you will come to me,' 
 says Garden ; ' you and ' — with a swift glance 
 at Mary — ' your people.' 
 
 'Oh, you mean it!' says Arabella. 'How 
 lovely of you! I always said I liked you, 
 didn't I, Mary ? And — and — you won't forget 
 to mention me, loarticularly, will you?' 
 
 ' I shan't indeed !' 
 
 ' And when is it to be ?' 
 
 ' Really, I do think, Bella ' begins Mary 
 
 miserably. 
 
 * Let her speak to me,' says Garden quickly ; 
 ' why should she not ? Next Friday * — 
 turning to Arabella, who is delightfully 
 oblivious to everything but his answer — ' I 
 thought of asking you all to come over to — 
 not to a party — ^just to luncheon, and to look 
 at the old place, and give me a hint as to the 
 improvements necessary.' Here again he
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 139 
 
 looks at Mary, who refuses to see his glance. 
 ' And to have a little tennis, and * — he laughs 
 — ^ go home again. I'm afraid there doesn't 
 seem to be anything more to do.' 
 
 * It will be beautiful,' says Arabella gaily. 
 * I've always wanted to get a good run over 
 
 that nice old Priory, and to By-the-bye, 
 
 can we walk across those high stones that 
 lead from the little beach to the island ?' 
 
 ^ Certainly you can.' 
 
 ' Oh, Mary ! don't you wish to-morrow 
 could be Friday?' cries she with a light 
 ecstatic little laugh that grows suddenly 
 subdued as Mrs. Seatoun appears coming- 
 round the corner with Mrs. Egerton beside 
 her. 
 
 The former's countenance, naturally austere, 
 is now at its highest pitch of severity. Lena, 
 on the contrary, is evidently in her liveliest 
 mood, and is insisting on posting up her step- 
 mother in all the latest gossip of the day. 
 That her stepmother is thus unwilling to be
 
 140 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 coached is nothing to Lena, who goes airily 
 through her performance from start to finish — 
 or at least would have done so, had not she 
 lighted upon Mary at this moment. 
 
 ' Here you are, Mary !' cries she lightly ; 
 ' Mrs. Seatoun thought you lost, or gone 
 before, I don't know which. At all events, 
 she has been in quite a little affectionate pucker 
 about you.' 
 
 * Your sister exaggerates,' says Mrs. Seatoun 
 with evident annoyance. 
 
 She casts an indignant glance at Lena, who 
 casts a beaming glance back at her in return, 
 and laughs gaily. 
 
 Lena is the sharpest thorn in Mrs. Seatoun's 
 side. The others, though hardly inclined on 
 her marriage to welcome her with rapture to 
 the home circle, are now at all events civil to 
 her. They are besides — in a measure — in her 
 power ; she can order them to and fro, and 
 exercise a certain amount of authority over 
 them, though, to do her justice, such orderings
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 141 
 
 are most infrequent. But Lena, married, and 
 with a house of her own, is at liberty to resent 
 the intrusion into her family (where all the 
 members are well-born) of one outside the 
 pale of so-called decent birth. She — Mrs. 
 Seatoun — had money, no doubt, but it was 
 money wrung from trade ; and, besides, she 
 was old-maidish and unbeautiful, and too 
 sharp of tongue, and had too many faults 
 for youth to forgive. As a fact, Lena's step- 
 mother does not get on w^ith her ; she thinks 
 her frivolous, and sometimes, after a skirmish 
 between them (one of more than ordinary 
 bitterness, and such skirmishes are not in- 
 frequent), she will speak of Lena's husband 
 as *poor James,' though a more contented 
 husband than * poor James ' could hardly be 
 imagined. 
 
 Lena's attitude towards her can hardly be 
 called more friendly. She steadily refuses 
 to see any good in her, and, indeed, Mrs. 
 Seatoun's misfortune lies in the fact that
 
 142 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 Nature has so mismanaged her that few can 
 see the kindliness that runs beneath her frozen 
 exterior. 
 
 Her appearance, as has been hinted, is 
 sadly against her ; she strikes one as looking 
 cold and difficult of approach. The last faint 
 touches of 3^outh that still remain with her 
 only serve to accentuate the fact that youth 
 has deserted her. Those vague departings 
 sit but badly on her. One can see she has 
 not mellowed. 
 
 Always terribly in earnest about every- 
 thing, even the merest trivialities of existence, 
 she takes life hardly. There is little lightness 
 in her, and no laughter, nor the toleration 
 of it. Her eyes are dark, and glow ever 
 with the fire of battle ; she is always on 
 the defensive, eager for the fray ; those 
 restless eyes of hers seek always cause 
 for contention. 
 
 Her manner is harsh. And yet — oh, the 
 sadness of it! — the woman's soul is full of
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID l43 
 
 love, and the desire of it — that best desire 
 of all — the desire to do good to one's kind. 
 Yet who can help her to the accomplishment 
 of this desire, since she cannot help herself ? 
 
 * I am sure it must be late,' says Mary 
 gently. 
 
 She so manages as to join her stepmother 
 and leave Lena to talk to Garden. At the 
 door the carriage is waiting for them, and, 
 just as they step into it, having made their 
 adieux to Lady Emil}^, Eilminster comes up. 
 
 ' Good-bye,' says he, smiling at Arabella, 
 and at once, as might be expected of him, 
 dropping his glasses ; ' I am going home too — 
 to learn tennis.' 
 
 ' Waste of time,' says she saucily. 
 
 'Am I never to hear you say anything 
 to me that is not unkind ?' asks he, fumbling 
 hopelessly for the pince-nez. 
 
 ' Who can tell ?' cries she gaily, the 
 growing coquette in her betraying itself in 
 the quick glance she casts at him — a glance
 
 144 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 half saucy, half kindly ; ' why tempt fortune ? 
 Better keep to your mummies ; they will never 
 say anything unkind. ' Do you — do you,' 
 leaning forward, ' know why T 
 
 'Because they can't, I suppose,' says he 
 humbly. 
 
 ' Ah, you've guessed it !' says she, making 
 him a little moue, ' You may go up one.' 
 
 ' I don't want to go anywhere,' says he 
 vaguely; 'and,' making a last frantic effort 
 to find his glasses, ' in spite of what you say 
 I shall tempt fortune again.' 
 
 * Good-bye,' says she ; * if it is your glasses 
 you are looking for, they are on your left 
 shoulder ; let me restore them to you.' 
 
 ' Thank you — thank j^^ou !' says he ; and 
 having perched them once more on his goodly 
 nose, he watches the carriage as it drives away 
 with Arabella inside it. 
 
 ' Extremely nice young man !' says Mrs. 
 Seatoun, looking back to where Garden and 
 Rilminster are still standing.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 145 
 
 ' Yes, isn't he ?' cries Arabella enthusiasti- 
 cally — ^ the nicest man I have ever met, at 
 all events.' 
 
 ' The fact of his having shown you some 
 slight kindness, Arabella, is not a reason for 
 your declaring such a vivid interest in him,' 
 says Mrs. Seatoun severely. 
 
 ' I don't call it a slight kindness,' says 
 Arabella. ' I think when a person, and a 
 perfect stranger too, asks you to go to his 
 house ' 
 
 ' WhatT says Mrs. Seatoun, sitting up in 
 the carriage and glaring at Arabella. * Do 
 you mean to tell me that that young man 
 had the audacity to ask you — a child — a 
 ridiculous infant — a ' — with a final and crush- 
 ing scorn — ' little fool, to go to his house, 
 and he a bachelor ! Arabella ' — sternly — 
 ' collect yourself !' 
 
 * There's nothing to collect,' says Arabella 
 indignantly. 
 
 * Fatally true !' says her stepmother, * if 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 you allude to your brains ! But I must insist 
 on having the truth of this matter. Lord 
 or no lord, if he had the impertinence to 
 invite you, the Archdeacon's daughter, to 
 his ' 
 
 ' Lord ! — he is not a lord,' says Arabella. 
 
 ' He is more than that, Arabella,' says her 
 stepmother solemnly, to whom a title is as a 
 sacred name. ' He is an Earl /' 
 
 ' Indeed he isn't,' says Arabella ; ' he's 
 only a plain mister. Why, ha, ha, ha ! 
 1 do believe you thought I was speaking of 
 Lord Rilminster ! Fancy my calling him. the 
 nicest man I ever met !' 
 
 ' Then to whom, may I ask, are you 
 alluding ?' 
 
 * To Mr. Garden, of course.' 
 ' And he ' 
 
 * It was in the course of a conversation 
 with me,' puts in Mary hurriedly, afraid that 
 Arabella's injudicious mirth and manner 
 generally will destroy all her chance of being
 
 NOR WIFE NOK MAID 147 
 
 allowed to accept Garden's invitation, ' that 
 Mr, Garden mentioned he was going to give a 
 garden-party, or a luncheon-party, or some- 
 thing, next week ; and he very kindly said he 
 should like Arabella to come with us — with 
 you and me and papa, I mean. He was spe- 
 cially nice aboat it, and so I thought, as he is 
 a new-comer, you would not like — you would, 
 perhaps, think it ungracious — to refuse a first 
 request of his. Of course I didn't promise 
 lor Bella until you had first been consulted, 
 but she is sure to meet nice people there, 
 and ' 
 
 She pauses and smiles at her stepmother, 
 who grows suddenly mollified. Mary is the 
 one stepchild who can please her, as it were, 
 and get her to do as she wishes. 
 
 ' H'm !' says Mrs. Seatoun grimly. ' Well, 
 we shall see about it — I shall think it over ; 
 but in my opinion Arabella is too young, too 
 unformed, to go into society ; she takes 
 everything too much for granted. Even the
 
 148 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 extreme kindness shown to her by Lord 
 Rilminster has not impressed her. From a 
 word she dropped just now, it seems to me 
 she has not appreciated the fact of his having 
 given her a whole hour of his society.' 
 
 * An hour ! Your watch must have run 
 down,' says Arabella. ' Three hours would 
 be nearer the mark.' 
 
 ' An liour^ says Mrs. Seatoun unflinchingly. 
 
 ' The three single gentlemen rolled into one 
 
 was a fool to it,' says Arabella idly. ' I 
 
 thought it would never come to an end — that 
 
 hour, I mean. He prosed, and he prosed, and 
 
 he prosed, until ' 
 
 ' He is a very distinguished young man ; 
 naturally, you did not understand his conver- 
 sation. It was above your head/ says Mrs. 
 Seatoun. 
 
 • I'm glad it wasn't on it,* says Arabella. 
 ' It would have finished me. It was as heavy 
 as lead, what there was of it. But that isn't 
 worth mentioning. His conversation is made
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 149 
 
 up of pauses, and is as dry as his own 
 mummies.' 
 
 ' To be pert, Arabella, is not to be clever ! 
 That Lord Rilminster should condescend to 
 speak to you at all, a little girl like you, sur- 
 prises me almost beyond belief; but that you 
 should not regard his kindness in a proper 
 light surprises me still more. It argues you 
 brainless.' 
 
 * Oh, hardly that,' says Mary; ' young ^ if 
 you will, but — and, besides, I dare say a man 
 like Lord Rilminster would hardly be re- 
 garded as a desirable companion by a quite 
 young girl like Bella.' 
 
 ' I can't see that I'm so very young,' says 
 Bella, turning most ungratefully on Mary. 
 ' I'm old enough to know a stuj^id person 
 when I see one, and ' — pouting — ' I saw one 
 to-day, any way.' 
 
 * You saw a very learned young man,' says 
 Mrs. Seatoun sternly. 
 
 ' Then I hope I'll never see another,' says
 
 150 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 Arabella fractiously, in spite of Mary's warn- 
 ing frown. * A learned young man is just 
 another name for a hore ; I think Archie 
 Stewart is twice as nice as ever he was,' 
 
 ' Archie Stewart ! What do you mean, 
 Arabella ?' 
 
 ^ Just what I said,' says Arabella rebel- 
 lion sly. 
 
 * Mr. Stewart, though no doubt an estimable 
 young man enough, is hardly to be compared 
 to an Earl,' says Mrs. Seatoun — the ' E ' for 
 Earl being a huge capital. 
 
 'Arabella doesn't understand you,' says 
 Mary quietly, coldly ; her voice is as low, as 
 gentle, as ever, but perhaps a little haughty. 
 ' Any esthnable young man may surely be 
 compared at any time with any Earl. What 
 you mean is that Lord Rilminster's intellect 
 raises him above the average young man. 
 Still ' — softly — ' that should not make one 
 despise Archie, or another.' 
 
 • I like Archie,' begins Arabella stormily.
 
 NOR WIFE NOK MAID 151 
 
 Mary checks her with a glance that is now 
 at last compelling. 
 
 ' We ail like him,' she says ; ^ you and I, 
 and papa, and Mrs. Seatoun ; and not him 
 only, but all his family — especially Lady 
 Emily.' 
 
 The title is an effective cure ; it sinks into 
 Mrs. Seatoun's soul. 
 
 ' Lady Emily is delightful,' says Mrs. 
 Seatoun. ' Did you notice how she singled 
 me out amongst the others when tea was 
 ready ? So kind, so attentive, and so sorry 
 your dear father wasn't able to be hereto-day. 
 Eeally, I do think ' 
 
 Mrs. Seatoun is fairly started ; the re- 
 mainder of the drive is free from contentious 
 matters of any description.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ' He woulde sowe some difficulty 
 Or springe cockle in our cleane corn, 
 And therefore, Host, I warne thee beforn.' 
 
 * Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines.' 
 This is one time assuredly. Although morn- 
 ing is at an end, and noon well on with us, 
 Phoebus Apollo's strength is unabated. 
 
 Last night had been a night of rain un- 
 ceasing. Heavily dripped the drops from 
 eaves and branch and bough, but with the 
 dawn came peace to Nature's breast. Her 
 weeping stayed once more, her head uplifted ! 
 
 ' Sorrow may endure for a night, 
 But joy Cometh in the morning.' 
 
 Yet memories of that late tempest still re- 
 main upon the air. The noon is languorous,
 
 NOR WIFE NOK MAID 153 
 
 sweetly sad, and delicately bright, as might 
 beseem the waking from a past great grief. 
 The flow^ers, rain-w^ashed, still hang their 
 pretty heads, and from the valleys below the 
 mists are still clambering busily up the sides 
 of the hill. 
 
 Luncheon is at an end. It is quite four 
 o'clock. On the tennis-courts and in the 
 more shady corners of the beautiful old 
 grounds of the Priory people are moving 
 in pairs, in threes and fours, in groups. The 
 groups are not so popular ! 
 
 The burning sun hangs heavily over all. 
 Over the little white tents and the girls' 
 irocks, and the lazy reaches of the river run- 
 ning so swiftly to the ocean far away down 
 there. It is almost a relief to turn one's eyes 
 to the big wood that lies upon the left : 
 
 • In which were oakes great, straight as a line, 
 Under which the grass, so fresh of hue, 
 
 Was newly sprung, and an eight foot or nine 
 Every tree well from his fellow grew 
 With branches broad, laden with leaves new
 
 154 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 That sprangen out against the sunne sheen 
 Some very red, and some a glad light green.' 
 
 The ' t^lad light green ' is, indeed, solace 
 now to the eye tired by the sun's hot rays. 
 Ever fiercer glows the god of heaven, striking 
 even to the heart of the soft pool filled with 
 the moving sedges that lies behind the alders, 
 and glittering in dazzling fashion on the bosom 
 of the lake that sways and shivers idly be- 
 neath its burning caresses. The very ocean 
 itself — ^just seen behind the eastern meadow- 
 land — lies silent, sleepy, motionless, lulled to 
 an unknown tranquillity by the dull torpor of 
 the day. 
 
 Some people had been asked to come up to 
 tennis in the afternoon, and the walk and 
 terraces are now growing full. Tlie young 
 people are proof against the heat, though, for 
 the most part, the girls, after a set or two, 
 look very much the worse for Avear ; but the 
 old people &eek the shade, either to doze 
 gently with open eyes — an achievement known
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 155 
 
 only to the old — or else gossip vigorously 
 about their neighbours : the latter amuse- 
 ment, needless to remark, owns the most 
 votaries. 
 
 ' He has made himself quite remarkable 
 with her/ says Mrs. Mordaunt, speaking in a 
 heavy whisper to Mrs. Montgomery, who is 
 her companion on the garden-seat. 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery is a tiny-faced little 
 woman, with a weak mouth and no chhi to 
 speak of, but a tongue long enough to make 
 up for all deficiencies. 
 
 ' Not an enviable position for her,' says she, 
 wagging her small head, that always looks as 
 if it ought to have a cockatoo's crest upon it ; 
 ' no, no — not enviable !' 
 
 ' I hardly follow you there,' says Mrs. Mor- 
 daunt. 'Lots of money, I hear, more than he 
 knows what to do with. You know, the first 
 wife was enormously rich, and ' 
 
 * You don't mean to say there was a 
 second ?'
 
 156 Is OR WIFE NOH MAID 
 
 ' Oh no, not yet,' with a fat smile. ' I 
 spoke idly, with a bare suggestion of what the 
 future may bring us after to-day's experience! 
 I was merely going to say that his first wife 
 was a woman of enormous wealth — rolling in 
 it, I've heard — and that he inherited all 
 after her death, which, together with his own 
 
 wealth ' She breaks off suddenly and 
 
 leans towards Mrs. Montgomery. ' They do 
 say that he — you know ' 
 
 ' No r says Mrs. Montgomery, growing 
 quite brisk. ' That's he F 
 
 'Oh! Well.' 
 
 ' Made away with ' 
 
 ' I dare say it isn't true ; but it has been 
 said, however.' 
 
 * And to think of that poor girl falling a 
 victim to his wiles ! She ought to be warned,' 
 says Mrs. Montgomery, who would have given 
 the little finger on her right hand to see her 
 daughter- — the girl with the noiseless voice we 
 heard sing some time ago at the palace — the
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 157 
 
 fiancee of the man in question. ' Her people 
 ought, at all events.' 
 
 ' I dare say they know,' says Mrs. Mor- 
 daunt. 
 
 She, too, moves her head in a confidential 
 aside ; but it is her second chin, not her head, 
 that wags. It is a splendid chin of its kind, 
 large and full, and very superior. At the 
 present moment it certainly would have added 
 to her dignity, but for one unfortunate occur- 
 rence. A gold chain, worn round the neck 
 below it, has wandered out of its riohtful 
 domain, and has most impertinently perched 
 itself upon the chin's admirable proportions, 
 embracing it, as it were, to the huge delight 
 of Archie Stewart and Arthur Seatoun, who 
 are sitting on the grass some yards away, and 
 who are now freely betting as to whether it 
 will fall off of its own accord — the chain^ not 
 the chin — and resume its proper position of 
 itself, or be forcibly removed by its owner. 
 The fact that the owner seems unconscious of
 
 158 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 its present position greatly adds to the base 
 hilarity felt by these miscreants. 
 
 ' Well, I really can't say I think it will be 
 a good step for her,' says Mrs. Montgomery, 
 in the weak tone that suggests where her 
 daughter's thin little voice has come from. 
 * 1 should be very sorry indeed to see my 
 Daisy engaged to any man whose antecedents 
 were not — not — well, all they ought to be 1 
 And how Mary Seatoun ' 
 
 * She's getting on. you see — well past 
 twenty,' says Mrs. Mordaunt, whose own 
 three impossible girls will never see thirty 
 again — who have, indeed, been so effectually 
 thrust across the Rubicon that divides youth 
 from age, by Time's unfriendly hand, that 
 there is no recalling them. ' She is wise, 
 perhaps, in spite of the many tales told about 
 him — and all unpleasant ones, as far as I can 
 remember.' 
 
 ' All ?' 
 
 * Distinctly unpleasant ! Marcus Garden
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 159 
 
 and his wife, it is well known, lived on the 
 very worst terms. She was half foreign. Her 
 mother, I think, was a Russian, or her father, 
 I forget which, and through the foreign 
 ingredient — however it came in — she became 
 heiress to great w^ealth.' 
 
 ' And she died ?' asks Mrs. Montgomery, 
 leaning forward. 
 
 ' Yes, abroad somewhere. There was a 
 scandal before that. They were separated — 
 why^ I don't know ; but of course it was 
 nothing creditable either to her or to him. 
 Of course they were both in fault,' adds 
 Mrs. Mordaunt, making the condemnation 
 double with great gusto. ' Anyhow, they 
 had ceased to live together for some months, 
 and then quite suddenly came the news of 
 her death.' 
 
 ' He was with her when she died ?' 
 
 ' Oh dear no ! I tell you they liadn't been 
 on so much as speaking terms for some time 
 before.'
 
 160 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 ' But I thought you hinted just now that 
 there were unpleasant suspicions with regard 
 to him — and her death ?' 
 
 ' Sh ! Tut ! Those thino^s can be manasfed 
 without one's being on the spot, especially in 
 Rome or Venice or Constantinople,' says Mrs. 
 Mordaunt mysteriously, who evidently still 
 believes in the mask, the cloak, and the 
 dagger, 
 
 ' Oh, we mustn't be uncharitable,' simpers 
 Mrs. Montgomery, who has now come to the 
 conclusion that there is nothing more to 
 hear. 
 
 ' Certainly not. I ' — with a vindictive 
 glance at her companion — ' detest that sort of 
 thing. ''Live and let live " is my motto. Ah ! 
 here comes Lady Emily with that poor little 
 Mrs. Lawson, the new curate's wife. Shouldn't 
 wonder if Lady Emily did her to death some 
 day; 
 
 ' Lady Emily is so overpowering/ says 
 Mrs. Montgomery faintly, sniffing at her
 
 NOK WIFE NOR MAID 161 
 
 scent-bottle, as if quite overcome. ' Once she 
 begins with her everlasting stories of her 
 innumerable friends, I give myself up for lost. 
 How she remembers all their names is a 
 marvel. Dear m.e !' — putting up her pince- 
 nez as Lady Emily draws nearer — ' how 
 terribly stout she grows ; really, the great 
 leviathan of whom we read could hardly 
 have presented a more impogsing appear- 
 ance !' 
 
 ' Oh, }ve mustnt he uncliavitahle^ says Mrs. 
 Mordaunt, with a bitter little laugh at her 
 repetition of the other's words. The ' stout ' 
 subject is a sore one with her. 
 
 Lady Emily Stewart, all unconscious of 
 their criticism, sweeps past them with a beam- 
 ing bow little Mrs. Lawson in tow. She 
 (Lady Emily) is as usual talking with all her 
 might. Just beyond where Mrs. Mordaunt 
 is sitting with Mrs. Montgomery, a group is 
 arranged on the grass-bank overlooking tlie 
 tennis-courts just below. Arthur Seatoun, 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 162 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 who is in the middle of it. looks up as Lady 
 Emily approaches. 
 
 ' Here's your mother,' says he to Hilda 
 Stewart, who is sitting near him, her brother 
 Archie being next to her, and now busy 
 teasing Arabella, who, with Lord Rilminster, 
 is standing looking on at the game below. 
 Mary Seatoun, with Mr. Denny in attendance, 
 is on their left. 
 
 ' Yes, I see,' says Hilda carelessly. In 
 truth, it is always easy to see Lady Emily. 
 She is a large, handsome woman, of an extra- 
 ordinarily kindly disposition, Avho knows 
 everyone, and not only knows them, but 
 is hail-fellow- \\'ell-met with them all at once. 
 
 To like you, with Lady Emily, is to 
 instantly learn your Christian name, and to 
 call you by it within the first half- hour of 
 your acquaintance. Being fond of diminutives, 
 she will probably have thought it out, and 
 discovered a pet name for you by the next 
 time of meeting ; so that, if your mother calls
 
 NOR WIFE NOK MAID 163 
 
 you Robert, she will undoubtecllj address you 
 as ' Bohby.' Lady Emily is so good-natured 
 that it is impossible to be niggardly with a 
 return of the kindliness that she so bountifully 
 pours on yuu. With the young, therefore, 
 she is an immense favourite, although to laugh 
 at her and her eccentricities is the fashion 
 amongst them. Young men in especial give 
 her their first, best affections. 
 
 Her acquaintance, as may be imagined, is 
 a huge one. There is, indeed, hardly a 
 respectable family of note within the United 
 Kingdom that Lady Emily could not tell you 
 all about at a second's notice. Beyond that 
 happy hunting-ground, I am bound to say, 
 she is nowhere — French, German, and Italian 
 languages being as unknown to her to-day as 
 they Avere on that good day, sixty years ago, 
 when she was born. 
 
 But in England she is ' all there,' as her 
 eldest son Archie irreverently, if affectionately, 
 puts it, and the number of people she knows,
 
 164 NOR WIFE NOK MAID 
 
 and whose names she can crowd into a five 
 minutes' conversation, whether you know 
 them or not, is perfectly astounding. 
 
 Just now she is in full swing, her large, 
 handsome face heaming with benevolence as 
 she declaims to the curate's wife (who walks 
 beside her, hopelessly dwarfed, both bodily 
 and mentally) of such and such doings, in 
 such and such families, who live heaven knows 
 why or where ! 
 
 The wind is softly blowing towards the 
 groups on the grass, and Lady Emily's 
 resonant voice falls clear on the ambient air. 
 
 * So Dicky insisted on her going to town, 
 and very rightly, too ; she was wdthin a 
 fortnight of her time, you know, and Billy 
 had been telling Bobby that the village doctor 
 (Dr. Mason, little Charlie Mason), was of 
 no good at all, you know — too nervous. 
 Not that I agree with Billy L estrange. 
 Charlie Mason is by no means such a fool as 
 he looks, eh ?*
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 165 
 
 * Xo, no,' says Mrs. Lawson, a little weak- 
 looking woman, with sandy hair, and the red- 
 brown eyes that so often accompany it — she 
 speaks faintly. 
 
 ' Well, Billy persisted, and finally frightened 
 poor Bobby so much — you know W'hat a dear 
 inconsequent, delightful creature Bobby is — 
 that he gave in, and nearly worried poor little 
 Emmy to death, until she consented to go up 
 to town.' 
 
 ' Emmy ?' questions the curate's wife more 
 faintly still. It is evident, so far as she is 
 concerned, Emmy is an unknown quantity. 
 
 ' Why, little Emmy — his w^ife, you know. 
 Well, up she went to town to stay wdth 
 Tommy — not the Tommy who is Harry's son, 
 but the Tommy wdio married Edie, you 
 know.' 
 
 ' Ye — es,' says Mrs. Lawson, in a trembling 
 tone. It is plain that she is now^ tottering 
 on the verge that divides sanity from the other 
 side.
 
 166 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 ' Well, as it happened, neither Tommy nor 
 Edie was at home ; but Bessie- — you remem- 
 ber Bessie, don't you ?' 
 
 ' I — it — it is very warm, isn't it ?' says the 
 curate's wife, looking wildly round her. ' I — 
 1 feel ' 
 
 * Faint ?' cried kind Lady Emil\\ ' My dear 
 child ! I quite forgot about you ; you should 
 never stand in the sun. So dmjracefully 
 thoughtless of me ! Come, come at once ! 
 I see Ettie over there with Lucy ; w^e'll go to 
 them, kind little souls ! and j^erhaps they will 
 tell Sammy, whom I see unfurling that big 
 white umbrella, to ' 
 
 She is out of hearing at last, carrying with 
 her (more than leading) Mrs. Lawson, w^ho 
 has now lost all hold of her intellect, and is 
 wandering in a strange land, where Billys and 
 Bobbys and Tommys and Harrys are career- 
 ing madly betwixt earth and sky. 
 
 ' I w^onder how she does it ?' says Arthur 
 Seatoun pensively. He is watching Lady
 
 NOR AVIFE NOR MAID 167 
 
 Emily's departing' figure. ^ It's the cleverest 
 thing I know. Just fancy being able to 
 distinguish the Tommy who is Harry's son 
 from the Tommy who married Edie — it's 
 amazing !' 
 
 ' I won't let you make fan of my mother,' 
 says Hilda, who has been roaring with laughter 
 over her mother's late achievement. 
 
 * I'm not making fun of anyone; I'm merely 
 admiring a gigantic intellect. The two 
 Tommys were tremendous enough, but that 
 last Bessie !' 
 
 ' There ! Stop !' says Miss Stewart, throw- 
 ing up her smart little head. ' You know in 
 reality nobody loves mother better than you 
 do.' 
 
 ' Why should I not ? She is almost all 
 the mother I've had for some years. Be- 
 sides ' — mildly — * she's your mother, isn't 
 she ?' 
 
 * I've heard so ' — contemptuously ; the con- 
 tempt is all for him — ' you can laugh at her
 
 168 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 now if you like, but T wonder why you come 
 up so often to Steyne to consult her about 
 all your — your ' 
 
 ' Misdeeds ?' — calmly, helpfully. ' Because 
 //on live there, naturally.' 
 
 ' Pshaw !' says Miss Stewart, springing to 
 her feet and walking away. 
 
 ' 'Twas ever thus,' quotes he, edging along 
 the slope upon which he has been sitting, with 
 the assistance of his hands, until he reaches 
 Arabella, who is labouring painfully through 
 a conversation with Lord Rilminster. 
 
 ' IVe been ill-treated, Bella,' says he. ' I've 
 come to you. Will you take care of me?' 
 As he makes this tender appeal to her better 
 feelings, he leisurely pulls out one side of her 
 skirt, and carefully seats himself upon it. 
 
 ' What are you doing, Arthur ?' cries she. 
 
 ' I hate damp grass, don't you ?' saj s he. 
 
 ' I hate having my frock spoiled a great 
 deal more ' — irately. ' Get up, Arthur ; get u[) 
 at once !'
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 169 
 
 'Get up. But why?' — in tones of large 
 amazement. 
 
 ' You know very well. It is my best frock.' 
 
 ' Best thing in the world for it — good as an 
 iron. It will come out as fresh as a daisy 
 after the impression I shall leave upon it' 
 
 ' I never knew you leave anything but a bad 
 impression behind you,' says Bella, who is in 
 a bad temper. ' Get up, do /' 
 
 ' Am I to understand/ says Arthur, in an 
 aggrieved tone, ' that you think more of your 
 gown than of me 7 
 
 ' Certainly.' 
 
 ' Consider, Arabella !' — severely. ' A bit of 
 stuff like that' — taking up a pinch of the 
 stuff in question, and examining it with slow 
 interest — ' cannot surely be as precious to you 
 as the health of your only brother ?' 
 
 ' Nonsense !' says Arabella. 
 
 ' What do you think, Rilminster ?' asks 
 Arthur, appealing in a calm fashion to Lord 
 Rilminster.
 
 170 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 ' I think Miss Seatoun had better come for 
 a walk with me,' says Rilminster, laughing. 
 * Will you come ?' — turning in a rather diffident 
 manner to the angry girl. 
 
 ' Oh, anything Avill be better than this !' 
 says she, and, extricating herself from Arthur, 
 she follows Jlilminster across the lawn to 
 Avhere the small river is flowing at the very 
 end of the courts. 
 
 ' I shall have to turn Trappist ; no one will 
 speak to me,' says Arthur mournfully. 
 
 ' I will,' says Mary, coming up to him, glad, 
 perhaps, of an excuse for leaving Denny, who, 
 however, follows her — the more determinedly 
 in that he sees Garden approaching. ' There's 
 a rug here ; bring it over, and give me half of 
 it. Don't stir, Archie ' — to Stewart. ' I have 
 more room here than I require.' 
 
 ' Miss Seatoun, won't you let me get you a 
 garden chair?' says Garden, who has just come 
 up. ' You must be wretched sitting there.' 
 
 ' So I should think.' says Hilda, who has
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 171 
 
 returned with him. She casts a swift, provo- 
 cative glance at Arthur as she speaks. Mar\' 
 is sitting quite close to her brother. 
 
 ' Oh no,' says Mary to Garden. 
 
 ^ Mary is always happy when with me,' 
 says Arthur, with a delightful return smile at 
 Hilda, who scorns it. 
 
 ' Here is a chair, Miss Seatoun,' says Denny, 
 hurrying up with one. ' When one is not 
 ornamental — ha, ha! — one may as well be 
 useful. Whilst others talk, / work — ha, 
 ha!' 
 
 ' Thank you,' says Garden courteously. 
 
 ' You really teach us all a very necessary 
 lesson, Denny,' says Stewart, with an amia- 
 bility suggestive of murder. 
 
 Arthur Seatoun gives way to laughter. 
 
 ' You must teach me your pretty manners. 
 Denny,' says he. 'Well, Mrs. President' — to 
 Mar}^ — * are you not going to " take the chair " 
 after all ?' 
 
 ' i^o, thank you,' says Mary, with a slight
 
 172 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 smile to Denny. ' I prefer this rug, although ' 
 — with a little soft laugh given to Hilda — 
 ' Arthur possesses half of it/ 
 
 ' I really think, Denny, you had better have 
 that chair 3'Ourself,' says Arthur. * ^N'obody 
 else wants it ; such universal bad taste ! Fd 
 accept it with pleasure, only it's such a trouble 
 to rise. Where have you been, Garden ? You 
 look a little run out.' 
 
 ' I have been showing Miss Montgomery 
 the orchid-houses,' says Garden. ' She ex- 
 pressed a wish to see them, and it gave me 
 much pleasure to take her to them.' 
 
 * Little boys, when they tell lies, are always 
 told they will go to hell,' says Arthur Seatoun, 
 aproj)os of nothing, apparently. ' I wonder 
 Avhere grown-up boys go to ? You will find 
 out, Garden.' 
 
 ' Yes, of all the awful dull girls I know, 
 give me Daisy Montgomery !' says Stewart. 
 ' It takes a pickaxe to get a word out of her.' 
 
 * You wrong her. It requires no pickaxe
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 173 
 
 to get a word out of her, if you ask her to 
 sing,' says Arthur. 
 
 ' I really beg to disagree with the verdict — 
 ha, ha !' says Denny ; ' even when she's sing- 
 ing one doesn't hear a word, eh ? Eli^ now, 
 Miss Seatoun ?' 
 
 He looks all round him, and especially at 
 Mary, as if he has said something bril- 
 liant. 
 
 ' She has a nice little voice, I think,' says 
 Miss Mary uncertainly, but kindly, 
 
 ' Mary, hypocrites, like liars, come to a bad 
 end,' says her brother. ' However, defend her 
 voice as you will, you must acknowledge that 
 Providence has not been kind to her with 
 regard to her nose.' 
 
 ^ It is red, certainly,' says Hilda Stewart a 
 little regretfully, but as if forced to give a 
 truthful decision. 
 
 ' What a pity it is ! Why, there she is !' 
 says Mary, looking suddenly down below her, 
 where Miss Montgomery is crossing one of the
 
 174 XOK WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 courts under a fire of subdued wrath from the 
 players. 
 
 ' AVe modest c rim so?} -t\i)\)ed flowers,' quotes 
 Arthur sotfo voce, who, too, has leaned forward, 
 and is now, with much secret mirth, watching 
 Miss Montgomery's anything but triumphal 
 march across the court below. 
 
 ' She's very Avell connected/ says Mr. Denny, 
 his little thin body vibrating at every word. 
 ' I know a cousin of hers, Lord Alston — cousin 
 of mine, too, by the way ; nice fellow, very !' 
 
 ' Has he a red nose ?' asks Archie Seatoun 
 with distinct aggression in his tone. 
 
 ' Can't say, really ; haven't seen him for 
 some time. May have developed one since 
 last I met him — ha, ha !' says Mr. Denny, the 
 vacuous laugh that distinguishes him breaking 
 forth once more. ' But he is cousin to the 
 Duke of Leighton, who was a first cousin of 
 my father's, and a very good sort of fellow, 
 too, I'm told ; no pride about him.' 
 
 He smiles with a little condescension round
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 175 
 
 him. He is the kind of man who spends a 
 good deal of time telling you about those fortu- 
 nate people in the peerage who can la}' claim 
 to him as being their thirty -first cousin, as if 
 to prove their respectability ; or is it to prove 
 his? It is evident, at all events, that he 
 thinks very highly of himself, with regard to 
 both body and mind, though where the latter 
 comes in 
 
 * No pride ? None ?' says Archie Stewart, 
 lifting his brows. It is a joy to him at all 
 times to tackle Denny in open ground. ' That 
 Duke of yours must have l)een rather of a 
 poor sort, eh ? We are all allowed a certain 
 amount of pride, surely. To be utterly bereft 
 of it argues one's self wanting.' 
 
 ' I don't think the Duke was wanting in any 
 way,' says Denny in a very superior tone. 
 He is distinctly annoyed. " He was a man of 
 culture and refinement.^ This is meant as a 
 cut of the deepest dye. * I ' — pompously — 
 *knew him well at one time.'
 
 176 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 ' Welir 
 
 ' Extremely well ' — with increasing pom- 
 posity. 
 
 ' You must have been a very precocious 
 child,' says Archie, with a benevolent smile at 
 Denny ; ' because the peerage, so beloved of 
 you, declares the late Duke died when you 
 were exactly two years old.' 
 
 * The peerage !' stammers Denny. 
 
 ' Ah, yes ! what a sad liar it is I' says 
 Stewart, looking him straight in the face. 
 
 ' By-the-bye,' says Garden lightly, who 
 thinks it is high time to interfere, * were you 
 not surprised, on reading of his death yester- 
 day in the papers, to see that old Brereton 
 was so young a man ? I would have given 
 him eighty, and thought myself charitable.' 
 
 ' A man is as old as his feelings — a woman 
 as old as she looks,' returns Arthur Seatoun. 
 ' You ' — to Hilda — ' mast be ninety.' 
 
 ' Thank you.' 
 *Vhen you look at me ! When you look
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 177 
 
 at happier people, you are barely your own 
 age — fifteen.' 
 
 * Thank you again ' — calmly accepting the 
 four years taken off her real age. 
 
 ' Most sincerely this time, perhaps.' 
 
 " Perhaps.' 
 
 ' Then why don't you always look at me as 
 you look at the happier ones ?' 
 
 ' Because ' — disdainfully — ' you are not as 
 they are, probably.' 
 
 ' You're the nicest girl I know/ returns 
 Arthur, with effusion. 
 
 ' Is that Arabella down there ?' asks Mary 
 suddenly, pointing to the tiny river, in the 
 centre of which an island stands, small in 
 proportion. 
 
 ' Yes, with Lord Rilminster.' 
 
 ' How lovely it looks down there ! Are 
 those stepping-stones to the island that glisten 
 so whitely in the sunlight ? I h:ive seen 
 them from the opposite shore, but never from 
 here until now.' 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 NOR WIFE NOR MAID' 
 
 ' Never till now ?' asks Garden, wondering. 
 
 ' It sounds absurd, doesn't it ? but I have 
 so seldom come to the Priory, and never to 
 this part of it until to-day. I have often 
 thought of coming, have often wished to 
 come, but always seemed to put it off until 
 the morrow.' 
 
 ' " To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to- 
 morrow," ' quotes Denny sententiously, his 
 small head poised well on one side, the air of 
 the 'man of letters ' all over him. 
 
 ' And the next day,' says Stewart, getting 
 up quickly, with a glance of disgust at the 
 speaker, 'and the day before yesterday, and 
 the year before last — they are all equally 
 interesting.' 
 
 He saunters moodily away. 
 
 ' Would you like to come down and cross 
 over to the island ?' asks Garden, turning to 
 Mary.
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 ' Of all the remnant of mine other care 
 No set I not the mountance of a tare, 
 So that I could be aught to your pleasance.' 
 
 When they get down to the small beach, it is 
 deserted. The water is running so low that 
 the stepping-stones, though dangerously un- 
 even, are so far above the water that they 
 show white and dry, and seem very possible 
 as a means of getting across to the island. 
 Arabella, at all events, had found them pass- 
 able. A little shout from her makes Mary 
 turn to see Bella standing on a tiny hillock 
 on the island, and beckoning to her. 
 
 ' Come over. It is so pretty here ; and it's 
 quite safe — even Lord Rilminster didn't fall
 
 180 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 in,' with a mischievous glance at the com- 
 panion standing beside her, who is so far 
 mistaken as to take this speech in good part 
 and laugh over'^'it. If he had been angry, 
 Arabella could have forgiven him. 
 
 ' Will you come ?' asks Garden. 
 
 Mary hesitates, and casts a glance behind 
 her. It shows her the whole of Irkton, or, at 
 all events, the recognised portion of it, stand- 
 ing, sitting, and walking on the lawns and 
 terraces above. A little startled feeling that 
 they are watching her, talking about her, un- 
 nerves her for a moment ; and in another 
 moment an angry revulsion of feeling seizes 
 her. Why should they talk ? What is Mr. 
 Garden to her, or she to him ? 
 
 ' I should like it, I think,' says she, her 
 tone carefully indifferent. 
 
 ' Well, give me your hand. In spite of 
 your sister's assurance, I think those stones 
 look nasty. There, take care,' as she slips on 
 a huge boulder in the centre of the river, and
 
 NOK WIFE NOR MAID 181. 
 
 is only just save(i from falling by his tirm 
 grasp of her. 
 
 In another moment she has jumped lightly 
 on to the small island, which ife hardly worthy 
 of being dignified by so big a word. In fact, 
 it is only by bringing themselves to very 
 close quarters that the four can stand together 
 on it. 
 
 ' It is pretty, isn't it ?' says Bella, to 
 whom the smallest novelty is a delight. 
 'Just look at those large lily-leaves over 
 there.' 
 
 Looking at the river from its central point, 
 it is indeed lovely. The large leaves of the 
 water-lily that has struck Arabella's vagrant 
 fancy are tossing on the stream, glinting and 
 glancing as the languid current stirs them. 
 The banks on either side are crowded with 
 yellow iris, standing very upright in its own 
 obstinate sort of way. Smaller lily-leaves are 
 floating farther down, and on the grassy sur- 
 face of the river some gaudy flies are dipping
 
 182 NOJEl WIFE NOK MAID 
 
 their bright wings whilst hurrying from 
 flower to flower. 
 
 A pale blue haze lies over all, born of the 
 strong warmth of the day ; a purple mist is 
 encircling the hills beyond, and down there, 
 very far away, a deer has come to a creek in 
 the riverside to quench his thirst. He throws 
 up his head as the vague sound of their voices 
 comes to him, and after a second — the shortest 
 second on record — bounds away into the 
 wood behind him. From that wood great 
 wealth of music comes : 
 
 ' No tree whose branches did not bravely spring, 
 Ko branch, whereon a fine bird did not sit. 
 
 No bird, but did her shrill notes sweetly sing. 
 No song, but did contain a lovely ditt. 
 
 Trees, branches, birds and songs, were framed fit 
 For to allure frail mind to careless ease.' 
 
 ' It is more than that — it is lovely,' says 
 Mary. 
 
 ' A loveliness that might be discussed on 
 more comfortable standing ground,' says 
 Garden.
 
 NOR WIFE NOH MAID 183 
 
 ' Ah ! you are a sybarite,' says Mary. 
 
 ' There is reason in him, however,' says 
 Arabella. ' Let us go back ; we can see it all 
 just as well from that hill up there.' 
 
 ' Why didn't you think of that before ?' 
 asks Eilminster, who had suffered a good deal 
 in the crossing over, each stone being invi- 
 sible to him, until a gentle Providence placed 
 his foot upon it. ' I wonder why you came ?' 
 
 ' For the pleasure of going back again,' 
 says she lightly. ^ I like running about in 
 queer places.' 
 
 Lord Rilminster suppresses a groan, and 
 nobly offers her his hand to recross the river. 
 
 ' No, no,' says Arabella ; * I feel always 
 safer by myself, and I am certain I can do it 
 in half the time you can. Will you try? 
 Will you race me ?' 
 
 She is standing like a new Atalanta, her 
 slender figure poised ready for the word to 
 start, her glance cast back at him over her 
 shoulder ; her eyes are bright, expectant.
 
 184 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 Rilminster laughs, and, laughing, drops his 
 glasses as usual, and, as usual too, commences 
 at once a vigorous search for them. 
 
 ' Never mind,' says Arabella with saucy 
 sympathy ; ' 77/ help you over. Let your 
 second sight alone, and give me your hand.' 
 
 * How good of you !' says Rilminster, 
 laughing still, and, nothing loath, holding out 
 to her the hand she had demanded. 
 
 She takes it with a grimace. He is hope- 
 less, she tells herself. A man who can't even 
 see when insults are being showered upon 
 him ! She revenges herself by dancing aci'oss 
 those treacherous stones at a breakneck pace, 
 he beside her, and perforce performing the 
 wild fandango she has improvised. Heaven 
 alone may be thanked for their safe and dry 
 delivery on the bank opposite. Here they 
 both look back at the two left on the islet, 
 wdth eyes light with laughter, and breath 
 coming short and scant. 
 
 *I suppose we must follow !' says Garden.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 185 
 
 * It is all that is left us,' says Mary ; ' but 
 not in their footsteps, surely !' 
 
 ' Not in such mad haste I No ! Will you 
 let me help you ?' 
 
 ' Do you know, I think not,' says she. ' I 
 agree with Arabella : one feels safer alone.' 
 
 ' Always ?' 
 
 ' Well, on such an occasion as this, at all 
 events.' 
 
 ' You are afraid to trust yourself to me,' 
 says he gaily, yet with a painful gravity in 
 his eyes. 
 
 ' Why should I not ?' says she, in a tone as 
 gay as his own, though her eyes refuse to 
 meet his. ' Do you recollect our coming 
 here ? I trusted you then, and nearly came 
 to grief.' 
 
 ' True !' says he. ' And yet 1 was not 
 altogether useless, was I V He draws back a 
 little. ' Well, at all events, accept a word of 
 warning from me. You see ' — smiling — ' you 
 are light not to trust me ; only one's disagree-
 
 186 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 able acquaintaDces warn one ; but do mind 
 that big stone in the middle. I came to grief 
 on it last week, and you were nearly its victim 
 just now.' 
 
 ' I shall remember,' says she, and, lightly 
 as Arabella herself, springs on to the first 
 stone, and from that to the second, and so on 
 until the centre of the river is reached, and 
 the stone in question stands before her. 
 
 I^ow, whether the stone is really dangerous, 
 affording no safe foothold, or whether she has 
 been a little unnerved by her first trial of it, 
 and later by his warning, at all events, as her 
 foot touches it, she slips again, and tries to 
 recover herself ; sways 
 
 A sharp but subdued cry is on her lips, 
 when his arms close round her. For a second 
 there is an uncertainty as to whether on this 
 slippery stone he can uphold both her and 
 himself ; and then it is all over. They are 
 both standing on that wretched boulder, 
 balanced and safe. It is all nothing, of
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 187 
 
 course — a mere step into the river up to their 
 knees would be the worst thino- that would 
 come to them ; but, then, the unpleasantness 
 of it, the annoyance^ the loss of dignity ! 
 
 His arm is still round her ; she is a little 
 pale as, leaning back against him, she uplifts 
 her eyes to his. Her eyes are wide ; her soft 
 hair is blown delicately across her temples. 
 Was there ever so lovely a face ? The ex- 
 treme fairness of her seems to enter into his 
 very soul. His arm tightens round her, and 
 then trembles. 
 
 ' But for you ' says she, with a little 
 
 gasp, and a quick brilliant smile. 
 
 ' And yet you would not trust me,' says 
 he, in a breathless fashion. 
 
 A second later he has landed her on the 
 beach beyond.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ' For how might ever sweetness have been know 
 
 To him that never tasted bitterness 1 
 And no man knows what gladness is, I trow, 
 That never was in sorrow or distress.' 
 
 The people up above on the terraces have 
 been much edified. To the very few, the 
 scene below has been a cause of mild amuse- 
 ment ; to the many, a cause of smothered 
 wrath. 
 
 ' A disgraceful exhibition !' says Mrs.'Mor- 
 daunt, turning a florid, indignant face to Mrs. 
 Montgomery, the chin trembling with rage. 
 ' Did you see ? — a literal flinging of herself 
 into his arms !' 
 
 ' I saw ! If it had been that little hoyden 
 Arabella (who, in my opinion, ought to be in
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 189 
 
 her schoolroom instead of being allowed to 
 annoy Lord Rilminster as she does), I should 
 have said nothing. But really, Mary, at her 
 age, should have a greater sense of — of— ' 
 
 ' Common decency. I entirely agree with 
 you.' 
 
 ' Oh, but, mamma,' chirrups a high, thin, 
 birdlike voice behind Mrs. Montgomery, * you 
 should not be so severe on Mary — you 
 should not, indeed ; or you either, Mrs. Mor- 
 daunt,' with a would-be timid smile at that 
 apoplectic person. ' You know how unhappy 
 dear Mary is at home with that stepmother, 
 and ' — effective pause — ' it is horrible, too 
 horrible ! to think of — but no doubt she looks 
 gladly at any chance of release from her love- 
 less surroundings.' 
 
 ' Dear Daisy ! — darling child I — always so 
 charitable !' crows darling Daisy's mother. 
 
 '• But of course without meaning it,* says 
 Mrs. Mordaunt, with a deadly glance at the 
 charitable Daisy, ' you have suggested to us
 
 190 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 that Mary Seatoun is acting a very worldly 
 part, ^o doubt you are right, and you must 
 let me congratulate you ' — with a smile that 
 resolves itself into a glare — 'on your astute- 
 ness, your wisdom, that fills me with admira- 
 tion as being so far beyond anything my 
 young creatures could show.' 
 
 Her young creatures are even older than 
 Daisy, which is saying a good deal for them. 
 
 ' Oh, dear Mrs. Mordaunt, you will frighten 
 my Daisy !' cries Mrs. Montgomery, in an 
 affected tone. ' Wisdom of the kind you 
 ascribe to her is beyond her — beyond her 
 altogether. She knows nothing, suspects 
 nothing ; it is her beautiful simplicity, her 
 sweet pity for Mary, that led her to interjiose 
 just now.' 
 
 ' You should love your mother, Daisy,' 
 says Mrs. Mordaunt, her voice taking a 
 caustic note. 
 
 ' Oh, so I do P murmurs Daisy ecsta- 
 tically.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 191 
 
 Meantime, ' poor dear Mary ' is standing- 
 on the beach below laughing at her own dis- 
 comfiture. She is smoothing back her pretty 
 hair with both hands, and talking to Arabella, 
 who is making pretty loving fun of her in 
 her idle childish way. 
 
 ' Oh, I'm so glad I didn't fall in !' says 
 Mary. 'It would have been nothing, of 
 course — nothing as a tragedy ; but to get all 
 wet, to have one's skirt all destroyed, to be 
 pitied — oh, it would have been too dread- 
 ful !' 
 
 She makes a little movement of her 
 shoulders, and lifts her brows. Her eyes 
 persistently address themselves to Arabella, 
 though apparently she is talking to all three. 
 It becomes noticeable even to Arabella at 
 last that she refuses to look at Garden. And 
 what is this strange new beautiful expression 
 on her face, this touch of happy shyness ? 
 Really, if Mary is going to develop any 
 farther, there will be no understanding her.
 
 192 NOK WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 ' I want to see the swans,' says Arabella, 
 turning impatiently, even imperiously, to her 
 host. 
 
 In some undefined way she feels he is the 
 cause of this new departure of Mary's. 
 
 • I shall be so glad to take you to them,' 
 says Kilminster ; and Arabella, with a glance 
 at Mary, reluctantly leaves her, and follows 
 Rilminster across the sandy beach, and to 
 the meadow-land beyond, that leads direct 
 to where the swans sail ever on the placid 
 lake. 
 
 ' And you V asks Garden, turning to Mary 
 again as they find themselves alone. 
 
 There is passion in the ring of the sub- 
 dued voice ; passion unsubdued in his dark 
 eyes. 
 
 ' Mrs. Seatoun will be expecting me,' says 
 Mary, making a violent effort to resist the 
 entreaty of the voice and eyes. 
 
 ' Not yet — surely not yet. She has you 
 always ; she can spare you for a moment or
 
 NOK WIFE NOR MAID 193 
 
 two. Come !' He lays his hand upon her 
 arm as if to lead her towards the wood near 
 them, and then : * Oh no,' says he, taking 
 away his hand ; ' not unless you wish it. 
 But ' — turning a pale, anxious face to hers — 
 ' you do wish it V 
 
 ' That w^ood has always an attraction for 
 me,' says Mary very calmly, and with a 
 successful smile. 
 
 Her face has lost its faint colour. With 
 a half-knowledge that there is delight and 
 triumph in thus giving in to him, owning him 
 her conqueror, she goes with him into the 
 soft sweet recesses of the wood beyond — a 
 wood dyed deep with tender memories for 
 liim and her from this day forth — memories 
 never to be forgotten. 
 
 The path they tread leads but a small way 
 into the leafy retreat that spreads itself before 
 them. A turn to the left will bring them 
 presently to the upper tennis-court once more, 
 and the groups upon the terraces. Coming 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 194 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 to this turn, Mary glances backwards to see 
 Arabella in the distance toiling up a steep 
 incline with Rilminster beside her. Arabella 
 is evidently laughing. 
 
 Mary, as though that far-off, unheard 
 laughter is a near and understood thing, 
 laughs too. 
 
 ' What is it ?' asks Garden. 
 
 His eyes, following the direction hers have 
 taken, see Arabella too. The girl is now 
 springing up the steep little hill — a piece of 
 an embankment thrown up — and is looking 
 back at Rilminster, and holding out her hand 
 to him as though in saucy mockery of his 
 inferior athletic powers. 
 
 Garden smiles. 
 
 ' He seems to like being teased,' says Mary, 
 alluding to Rilminster. 
 
 ' He seems to like your sister !' 
 
 ' Yes ; that is the strange part of it. I 
 don't mean his liking Arabella — she is 
 delightful always to those on her own level —
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 195 
 
 but his liking her for so long a time together. 
 Doesn't she bore him ? He is a genius, is he 
 not?' 
 
 *A genius may also be a man, I sup- 
 pose !' 
 
 ' But Arabella — such an inconsequent 
 creature ! I dare say he is making a study 
 of her.' 
 
 ' A dangerous pursuit sometimes. Well , 
 perhaps so. He rather prides himself on 
 being a careful student of Nature/ 
 
 ' He has Nature there, certainly,' says 
 Mary, with a last glance at Arabella. 
 
 The latter has now reached the top of the 
 little hillock, has graciously given her hand 
 to Rilminster, and in a good sturdy fxshion, 
 with no nonsense about it, hauled him up 
 beside her. 
 
 ' To be both natural and beautiful,' says 
 Garden, 'why, that is a great deal. Your 
 sister is lovely. You seem' — with a pause, 
 but without looking at ber — ' to have a
 
 19G NOR WIFE NOR MATD 
 
 iiionopoly of beauty in your fainil}^ Mrs. 
 Egerton has a charming face.' 
 
 ' I like to look at Lena/ says Mary, with a 
 little swift enthusiasm. ' But we have not so 
 complete a monopoly of beauty as you think. 
 You have seen Arthur? He' — smiling — 4s 
 not beautiful.' 
 
 ' Well, no,' says Garden, almost regretfully. 
 
 Arthur's face rises before him ; the square 
 set, decided, almost dogged cast of the features 
 precludes the idea of distinct comeliness. The 
 nose is too big, the eyes too small, the brow 
 too broad, too high- — all leaving a good deal to 
 be desired where beauty is concerned. Arthur 
 Seatoun, though not ugly enough to be repul- 
 sive, is quite sufficiently plain to put him 
 beyond the pale of good looks for ever. 
 
 ' No,' says Garden, after a moment's thought. 
 * It must be conceded, I suppose, that your 
 brother is not handsome. But, then, how 
 interesting he is ! AVhat a strong face for so 
 Aoung a man ! how full of possibilities ! One
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 197 
 
 might easily prophesy a distinguished career 
 for him. He looks better than handsome — he 
 looks clever.' 
 
 ' Oh, he is clever,' says Mary ; ' too clever 
 in some ways ' 
 
 She checks herself suddenly, and a little 
 troubled expression falls into her eyes. 
 
 ^ He has been studying for a profession ?' 
 
 ' Yes, the Church. It was — it is my father's 
 great desire that he ' 
 
 She pauses. 
 
 ' I see — I understand,' quickly. 
 
 ' No, you do not — you coidd not, unless 
 
 It is so difficult to explain,' says she, with a 
 touch of nervous impatience. ' But, as I have 
 hinted, it is my father's greatest longing to see 
 him ordained. When I tell you my great- 
 grandfather was a Dean, and my grandfather a 
 Bishop, and my father, as you know, an Arch- 
 deacon, you will understand how he, my 
 father, is so wedded to the service of the 
 Church that he would give all he possesses to
 
 198 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 see his son in holy orders. It is' — rather 
 sadly — ' a little craze with him to have the 
 Church represented by some member of the 
 
 family, and Arthur being the only son ' 
 
 She pauses. 
 
 ' You think your brother has not ' 
 
 ' Oh, I don't know what to think.' 
 She had interrupted him nervously, but now 
 herself seems hardly to know how to go on. 
 She stops, and suddenly looks straight at 
 him. 
 
 ' Do you think a man should enter the 
 Church unless fully, fully persuaded it is the 
 one profession he cares for ?' 
 
 She is standing still in the middle of the 
 path, her eyes earnest, her look expectant. 
 That she is placing direct confidence in him 
 comes home to him with a little shock of 
 strange joy. She is not the one to take her 
 troubles here and there ; she is perhaps even 
 a little over-reserved, over-reticent for so 
 young a woman, and yet to him she has turned
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 199 
 
 for advice, has opened her heart to him on 
 this matter. It is but a small matter ; but a 
 heart once opened may open again, and — to 
 enter it ! 
 
 Something in his own eyes as they return 
 her regard grows suddenly so full of this high 
 delight that is filling him, that instinctively 
 she moves somewhat away from him, and, 
 letting her hand fall into a bunch of wild 
 berries growing in a dwarfed bush near her, 
 trifles with them nervously. 
 
 ' No,' says Garden slowly, giving more 
 thought perhaps to the graceful pose of her 
 drooped head, and the delicate tremulous 
 hand, than to the question at issue, and yet 
 quite alive to the importance of it. ' Ah ! no 
 man should enter on so great an enterprise 
 unless he has given beforehand heart and soul 
 to the longing for it. For the redemption of 
 the hearts and souls of others, one can give 
 nothing less than one's own heart and soul.' 
 
 ' Ah, you think that ?' In her eagerness
 
 200 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 she has forgotten that late terrible shyness 
 that has oppressed her, and now looks up at 
 him with clear and lovely eyes. ' That is as 
 I think/ says she, ' and I hope that Arthur 
 thinks so too/ 
 
 * You mean that you hope he ' 
 
 ' Will give up all thought of the Church,' 
 says she quickly. ' In that way, at least. He 
 is a believer ; he will continue so, I think — I 
 pray; but to control others, to lead souls to 
 heaven — that is a special gift, or should be ! 
 It is P — eagerly. * Oh !' — turning to him — 
 ' I am glad you said all that. It is only what 
 I have always thought myself ; but at home 
 they grow frightened, and poor father ■ — it is 
 sad for him — but it is the right view, and I 
 wanted to hear somebody say \V 
 
 ' Well, but tell me,' says he, with exquisite 
 sympathy ; ' your brother rejecting ordina- 
 tion, how will it be with your father ?' 
 
 ^ A disappointment ! a terrible disappoint- 
 ment — one I dread to dwell upon ! My poor
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 201 
 
 father ! Lena says I am foolish to think so 
 sorrowfully about it, but she doesn't know 
 him as I do. She married, you see, and went 
 away, whereas I — well, I have been always 
 with him.' 
 
 * Better a small disappointment now than a 
 worse one later on,' says Garden. 
 
 * It is true,' agrees she quickly, * quite true. 
 That is what gives me courage. Now you 
 understand.' She gives him a sudden brilhant 
 grateful smile. There is some moisture in her 
 eyes ; they are shining. Her sensitive face is 
 all gladness. 'And, besides,' with an eager 
 intonation, and a glance towards him, ' it isn't 
 as if he couldn't do something else.' 
 
 * He looks as if he could do a good deal,' 
 says Garden. ' If not destined to be an Arch- 
 bishop, he still looks as if he might be — I 
 suppose I mustn't say something greater ?' 
 
 ' I suppose not.' 
 
 She smiles again, as if in humour with him, 
 but the smile is complicated.
 
 202 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 *Is he in love with Miss Stewart?' asks 
 Garden presently, in the idlest way. 
 
 ^ In love !' She looks startled. * No, I 
 think not — at least, I don't know.* Then 
 quickly, * Oh no, of course not/ 
 
 ^Why?' 
 
 ' Why ? in my own turn.' 
 
 ' She is very pretty/ 
 
 ' What a stress you lay on beauty !' says 
 Mary, smiling always, yet with a sharp mean- 
 ing in her tone. 
 
 She is conscious of a sudden quick pain at 
 her heart, and hates herself for the conscious- 
 ness. Why should he not think Hilda pretty ? 
 
 * Beauty sways the world/ says Garden, 
 with the light air of one w^ho doesn't expect to 
 be taken au grand serieux. 
 
 * So we are told/ says she ; * it is a saying 
 to which we all bow down. What exceeds 
 beauty ? And Hilda — you have knowledge 
 indeed — she is pretty. I hesitated for a 
 moment only, because I had forgotten about
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 203 
 
 her. I had grown so accustomed to her 
 charm. That is the worst of familiarity, it 
 destroys appreciation. But now that you put 
 it to me, yes, she is pretty indeed, and even 
 better than that.' 
 
 * So much ?' asks Garden, in an amused 
 tone. ' Do you know, it is very hard to be 
 better than pretty. There is only one thing 
 harder, and that is to be lovely.' 
 
 His tone is jesting, but his glance is not. 
 Mary returns it calmly. 
 
 ' I meant that Hilda has a very desirable 
 nature,' says she, somewhat coldly. * You 
 see, she is in possession of a great deal.' 
 
 ' More than you have said. She possesses 
 something infinitely more precious than either 
 good looks or a good heart,' says he lightly. 
 He is vexed indeed with himself because of 
 that uncontrollable glance of his that so ob- 
 viously offended her. * She has a friend in you.' 
 
 ' Certainly,' returns Miss Seatoun, still very 
 coldly.
 
 204 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 * I have made you angry ' — turning quickl}' 
 to her. 
 
 ' Angry !' 
 
 She is angry now indeed. Her brows are 
 contracted. Her whole air betrays a certain 
 irritation. 
 
 ^ Forgive me/ says he ; ^ I had no right to 
 say that.' His manner shows how terrible it 
 would be to him to fall under her displeasure. 
 ' It was a mistaken thought of mine ; you must 
 forgive it. How should I have the power to 
 make you angry ? And yet your voice — it 
 sounded like ' 
 
 ' Like what ?' 
 
 ' Shall I tell you ? Better not !' 
 
 ' Tell me !' peremptorily. 
 
 ^ Well, it was unkind. Let it rest there. 
 If you knew,' says he, speaking with anima- 
 tion, ' if you could only know how few friends 
 I have ever had, and how I have hoped for 
 friendship from you, you would, it may be, 
 have softened that last tone.'
 
 NOE WIFE NO II MAID 205 
 
 To this she makes no re23ly. and a silence 
 falls between them that lasts a long time as 
 they walk through the tinted leaves that 
 summer in its cruel plenitude has cast upon 
 their path. 
 
 ' You do not look as if life had denied you 
 friends,' says she at last. 
 
 ' Life has been generous about acquaint- 
 ances/ says he. ' But friends ! What man 
 has many friends ? As for me, I want but 
 one !' He pauses, and turns to her. ' I have 
 never before cared to have a friend, I do care 
 now. I ' — pausing again, and now looking 
 directly at her — ' I have not had a happy life ; 
 many things have been wanting to me. But 
 I can afford to forget all that if you will give 
 me your friendship.'
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ' Ye slay me with your eyen, Emily, 
 Ye be the cause wherefore that I die.' 
 
 Mary Seatoun looks at him frankly. 
 
 ' I should like to be your friend,* says she, 
 with a certain gravity ; ' but, as you put it, it 
 seems to mean a great deal, and we are such 
 strangers.' 
 
 ' Do you feel that ? 
 
 ' Well, I have seen so little of you, and I 
 know nothing. I,' turning away her eyes, 
 and speaking very gently, ' would like to 
 know more, if I might. Just now you said 
 something about your life.' 
 
 ' That it was unhappy ?' 
 
 * Yes,' in a low tone. ' If it would make
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 207 
 
 you unhappy to dwell upon it, don't say 
 another word/ 
 
 * There is so little to be said/ replies he 
 bitterly. * It lies in a nutshell, and is such 
 an old, worn-out story, not worth the trouble 
 of perusing. Besides, surely you have heard 
 all about it from your neighbours.' 
 
 ' I have heard nothing, really, and yet,' 
 slowly, ' too much !' 
 
 *I see! '' Les absents,^^ Well,' he draws 
 himself up and together, as it were, and 
 makes a little quick movement with his stick, 
 as if to fling off something unpleasant, ' you 
 have heard a good deal, at all events/ 
 
 ' Nothing, really,' says she. * Nothing that 
 should make you unhappy, beyond the fact 
 that,' nervously, * your wife died/ 
 
 ^ Nothing but that ?' says he, ' Why,' with 
 a short laugh that somehow frightens her, 
 * you have indeed heard nothing !* 
 
 * I heard that you had lost your wife/ 
 repeats she steadily.
 
 208 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 ' For which I thank Heaven every day of 
 my life/ returns he calmly. 
 
 Mary glances at him involuntarily in a little 
 startled fashion. 
 
 ' You are shocked,' says he. ' You look 
 troubled, as you did on that first evening at 
 the palace, when we sat together in the con- 
 servatory. You remember ?' 
 
 He pauses, and, getting no reply : 
 
 'You do remember ?' persists he, Avith a 
 vehemence that appeals to her. 
 
 ' I remember,' says she, as if forced to 
 say it. 
 
 'Ah, I have had, then, so much of your 
 thoughts ! Well, I saw by your eyes that 
 night that you condemned the careless way in 
 which I spoke of — of what other men are 
 liappily able to call a loss — the loss of a man's 
 whole life, if things go well Avith hiai.' 
 
 ' And you ?' 
 . The question is asked almost before she has 
 realized the enormity of it»
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 209 
 
 ' It was not well with me, and therefore my 
 loss was all pure gain,' says he slowly, care- 
 fully, but with such a harsh, grinding in-* 
 tonation that it seems to eat into her very 
 soul. 
 
 To forget his answer would be impossible, 
 or the manner of it. 
 
 ' You sadden me,' says she, a little impul- 
 sive rush of tears darkening her eyes. 
 
 ^ I am glad of that ; in some way 1 hold 
 you. AYell, let me tell you.' He sighs heavily, 
 and straightens himself ' For years I have 
 been a wanderer on the face of the earth, 
 forming no ties, no friendships, caring to form 
 none until now. Happiness I had begun to 
 disbelieve in.' 
 
 *Why should you speak like that?' says 
 Mary gently. ' You are too young a man to 
 let such fancies sway you.' 
 
 ' I am the oldest man alive, I think/ returns 
 he bitterly. 
 
 ' That you certainly never will be, jf you 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 give way to melancholy/ says she, with a 
 half- smile. ' Care is the cankerworm we most 
 should dread. And, besides, what have you 
 so much to complain of ? You have health, 
 strength, wealth, and the world before you. 
 What have you to complain of ?' 
 
 ' The past,' says he moodily. 
 
 * Oh, let it he past. Put it behind you. 
 Why for ever dwell on what is done with ? 
 Rejoice rather in the knowledge that it lies 
 behind you.' 
 
 ' Ah, to forget !' says he. ' I don't know 
 how it is, but my past haunts me ; and yet the 
 fault of it was surely not all mine. They say 
 remorse makes a past, but I feel no remorse, 
 and yet Do you know,' says he, chang- 
 ing his tone abruptly, ' I am behaving unfairly 
 towards you ! It seems to me that I am 
 trying to buy your good-will through your 
 good heart. After all, why should I trade 
 upon your pity T 
 
 ' How do 3'OU know you have it ?' says she.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 211 
 
 with a sudden soft gleam of a smile that dies 
 almost at its birth. 
 
 ' By your face. Well, never mind, will you 
 accept me as I am, and be my friend T 
 
 ' Too soon/ says she, shaking her head. 
 * Thinh ! How long is it since we met ? 
 
 ' Ten days ! A lifetime sometimes.' 
 
 * But not in this case.' 
 
 * Not to you, perhaps. To me — to me it 
 has been the beginning of a new life. A most 
 blessed one ! I ' — he stops short, and a bril- 
 liant light flashes into his eyes — ' I ' 
 
 What was he going to say ? 
 
 Miss Seatoun puts up her hands quickly, 
 impulsively. It is a command. For a 
 moment they face each other silently. She 
 is the first to recover herself. 
 
 ' Let us return to the others,' says she, 
 quite calmly now — so calmly that it is im- 
 possible to know how madly her heart 
 is beating, the heart that for twenty-one 
 years has gone so smoothly, so steadily,
 
 212 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 without undue haste, without tremor of 
 any sort, untroubled absolutely by the wild 
 fretfal fever that is now consuming it and 
 is sending the blood coursing through her 
 veins. 
 
 Her large dark eyes perhaps would have 
 betrayed her, but she then carefully turned 
 towards the opening in the shrubberies they 
 have now reached, outside of which one of the 
 courts lies open. Arabella with Archie Stewart 
 is walking slowly in their direction, though 
 without seeing them. 
 
 ' Come,' says Mary, moving forward. 
 
 ' A moment,' says Garden. ' I shall meet 
 you at Lady Emily's to-morrow evening ?' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 She parts the foliage near her, and advances 
 towards Arabella. Almost at the same moment 
 Denny comes up hurriedly. 
 
 ' Oh, there you are !' says he, speaking 
 without the slightest attempt at control. 
 
 His face is white, his manner unsettled.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 213 
 
 He gives the impression that he has been 
 searching for her. 
 
 ' You were looking for me,' says Mary, in 
 her usual gentle way. ' Mrs. Seatoun, per- 
 haps ' 
 
 ' No, I was not looking ; no one sent me,' 
 returns he incoherently. His slight, insigni- 
 ficant figure seems to have shrunk ; his eyes, 
 small and narrowly set, are glowing. 
 
 ' You seem out of breath,' says Arthur 
 Seatoun, who, with Archie Stewart and Ara- 
 bella, have come up with the group. 
 
 ' I seem a lie, then,' says Denny, with such 
 an uncalled-for vehemence, and so near an ap- 
 proach to premeditated discourtesy, that they 
 all stare at him. 
 
 ' A living lie is an abomination,' says Arthur 
 blandly. ' In your case it would have all its 
 arms and legs about it. Dont be a living lie, 
 Denny ; be something else.' 
 
 ' Ah, sermons belong to your line !' says 
 Denny viciously. * You are going into
 
 214 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 the Church, aren't you ? Nolens volens^ 
 eh?' 
 
 Arthur chang-es colour 
 
 ' Am I ?' says he contemptuously. That he 
 is cut to the heart by the question, however, is 
 proved by the fact that he goes back a step or 
 two, and finally walks away. At this Mary's 
 soft eyes grow anguished, and Stewart, who 
 understands a good deal, and who, no doubt, 
 loves her very dearly in his own way, feels a 
 passion of anger against Denny. 
 
 * Are you going to the house ?' asks he, 
 addressing Mary. 
 
 ' Yes, it must be time to go home,' says 
 Mary. All her spirit seems to have deserted 
 her. That last glance of Arthur before he 
 turned away has upset her terribly. * I am 
 afraid, in spite of what Mr. Denny said, Mrs. 
 Seatoun must be tired.' 
 
 'Not so much tired as full of astonish- 
 ment/ says Denny daringly. He bursts out 
 into an idle laugh. * She thought a while ago
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 215 
 
 that you had consented to drown yourself with 
 our host here.' A shrug of his shoulders 
 denotes Garden. 
 
 * Do you really think Mrs. Seatoun meant 
 that ?' says Garden in a cold but dangerous 
 tone. * If so, you must be a greater fool even 
 than you look.' ^ 
 
 Denny's eyes grow smaller. Archie Stewart, 
 taking possession of Mary, promj)tly removes 
 her. 
 
 ^ What do you mean by that, sir ?' demands 
 Denny, trying to bring his diminutive form 
 into some sort of decent height. 
 
 ' Oh, go to the devil !' says Garden, without 
 giving himself the trouble even to raise his 
 voice.
 
 CHAPTER XYL 
 
 * What ? Pardie ! I am not religious. 
 
 So may I say, thou art a proper man, 
 And like a prelate, by Saint Ronian.' 
 
 * Well ?' says the Archdeacon, beaming at 
 him over his spectacles. 
 
 A touch of keen regret touches Arthur 
 Seatoun s heart as he advances up the library 
 and seats himself at his father's writing-table, 
 just opposite to him. 
 
 What a kind old face ! Elderly perhaps the 
 Archdeacon should be called, rather than old. 
 His spare, tall figure is still full of vitality ; the 
 dark eyes, so like Mary's, are still wonderfully 
 bright ; the gentle, thoughtful mouth is firm. 
 His hair, however, is quite white.
 
 NOR WIFE NOK MAID 217 
 
 He is smiling now at Arthur — the soft, 
 beautiful smile that bespeaks such perfect love 
 and trust and hope ; and the young man, 
 smiling back at him, grows all at once faint- 
 hearted. To disappoint him ! to chill that 
 kindly smile ! 
 
 Yet it has to be done. 
 
 ' You can spare me a moment or two ?' asks 
 Arthur. 
 
 * As many as you like. You have some- 
 thing to say to me ?' 
 
 ' Why, it is just this, dad,' plunging into his 
 subject roughly, through despair of finding 
 words delicate enough to explain himself harm- 
 lessly. ' You won't like it, I'm afraid, but 
 I've made up my mind to — ?iot to enter the 
 Church.' 
 
 ' What ! What !' says the Archdeacon, 
 pushing back his chair. He stares at his son 
 in blank amazement, that presently gives place 
 to terrible distress. 
 
 * I knew you wouldn't like it,' says Arthur,
 
 218 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 grinding his hands together under cover of the 
 table, but outwardly assuming a calm he is 
 far from feeling. * But the fact is, I think the 
 Church would be slow/ 
 
 * Slow !' 
 
 ' Yes, slow.' 
 
 * Dull, do you mean ?' asks the Archdeacon 
 in a tone impossible to translate. 
 
 * Well, no/ says xVrthur. * I meant the 
 word in its ordinary sense for once. I have 
 thought out the j)rofession, and it seems to me 
 it takes a deadly long time to get on in it. In 
 fact, as far as I can see, most fellows never get 
 on at all — never rise from the ranks. An 
 Archbishop is a rare bird. Curate once, curate 
 always, don't you know.' 
 
 ' One doesn't think of that,' begins the 
 Archdeacon, and then stops, as if choking. 
 
 * I should. I'm sorry about it, dad — more 
 sorry than I seem to say. I wish, with all my 
 soul, I had gone into the army at the first. I 
 should have been off your hands now, and I
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 219 
 
 shouldn't have wasted so much of your 
 money.' 
 
 ' Never mind,' say the Archdeacon ; ' never 
 mind the money ! But waste of time ! Do 
 you call theology waste of time ?' 
 
 * So far as I am concerned, yes. I tell you 
 I have looked into it, and I see plainly that if 
 a fellow hasn't the "gift of the gab," as they 
 call it, he is nowhere in the Church.' 
 
 ' Arthur 1' says his father in a sharp, 
 horrified voice. 
 
 * Yes, yes ; I know,' says the young man 
 hurriedly, and with a sort of agony, ' I am 
 hurting you, but it is better now than later. 
 Such worldly thoughts of mine have no part, 
 should have no part, in the desire of him who 
 deliberately goes in for ordination. That is 
 quite my own opinion. You will agree with 
 me ' — looking earnestly at his father — ' that 
 the religious hypocrite is the worst sneak in 
 the world.' 
 
 * Yes, yes,' says the Archdeacon, putting up
 
 220 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 his hand as if in pain ; ' but — you^ Arthur — 
 you a hypocrite !' 
 
 * Wei], you see I am not one,' says Arthur, 
 smiling brightly. 
 
 ' You talk of having gone into it,' says his 
 father, in a low tone. ' But liave you V 
 
 ' I have, indeed. You might not believe it, 
 to look at me ' — resting his elbows on the 
 table, and his chin on his palms, and regarding 
 his father with a queer quizzical smile on his 
 ugly lean face. * But I've gone regularly into 
 it, and I've come out again with my mind made 
 up on this point, at all events, that I could 
 write a sermon, and deliver it well enough ; but 
 that to stand up before a reasoning congrega- 
 tion and preach one straight off the reel, as 
 some fellows can, would be beyond me.' 
 
 ' You seem to consider the ** gift of the 
 gab "to be everything,' says his father, with 
 a very sad smile. 
 
 ' Well, isn't it V 
 
 ' No, no !' says the Archdeacon.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 221 
 
 * You are the last man who should say that,' 
 says his son affectionately. ' I know few men 
 so eloquent as yourself, and fewer who have 
 done so much good by their eloquence, both 
 in the pulpit and in private.' 
 
 * Now, now, now I' says the Archdeacon, 
 who, even in his grief, cannot entirely refuse 
 to be comforted by this honest tribute from 
 his son. To be a prophet in your own 
 country is rare indeed. 
 
 ' Well, if oratory isn't the whole thing, it's a 
 good half, any way. The eloquent man might 
 almost persuade a man to be a Christian ! Xow, 
 /could never even almost persuade anybody.' 
 
 ' There are better things than eloquence,' 
 says his father. ' The example of a good life, 
 for one!' 
 
 ' Well, but one needn't go into the Church 
 for that.' 
 
 'No, of course.' 
 
 ' I know a fellow, a chum of mine at Oxford, 
 reading for the Bar ; and for clean living and
 
 222 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 charity, and righteous living all round, he'd 
 lick half the clergymen T know.' 
 
 ' A friend — a chum of yours ?' asks the Arch- 
 deacon eagerly. 
 
 ' My greatest friend.' 
 
 ^ Why don't you ask him down here, 
 Arthur ?' says his father anxiously. ' He 
 must be of advantage to you — a man like 
 that. Your f/rcatest friend, you say ; and yet 
 — luliij could he not have kept you firm ? 
 Well, well ! I am glad your chief assomate 
 
 is so o'ood a fellow : but ' He breaks 
 
 off abruptly, and, rising, goes to the 
 window. 
 
 Silence follows. The Archdeacon is drum- 
 ming idly on the window-pane. 
 
 ' I confess, Arthur,' says he at last, speak- 
 ing in a rather muffled tone, ' that this is 
 a disappointment to me — a — a trouble. I had 
 thought of you always as ' 
 
 ' I know, dad. Do you think I have not 
 given many hours and days to the working
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 223 
 
 out of it, to the knowledge that some day — 
 this day — I should have to cut you to the 
 heart ? Cut you ! But look here ' — he rises 
 abruptly, and, going over to the window 
 where the Archdeacon is standing, flings his 
 arm around his shoulder — ' you shouldn't 
 take it like this,' says he. 
 
 * There w^as your great-grandfather a Dean, 
 and your grandfather a Bishop, and your 
 father an Archdeacon — God knows, a most 
 unworthy one ' — with a deep sigh — ' and I 
 had always thought of you — hoped of you — 
 as ' 
 
 * I know — I know !' says the younger man, 
 as if touched to the quick. 'But surely you 
 would have been more disappointed still had 
 I gone to the Church unworthily, unwillingly 
 — just to please you ?' 
 
 ' Oh, God forbid that I should coerce you !' 
 says the Archdeacon hurriedly. 
 
 There is a pause here. Arthur, tightening 
 Iiis arm round his father, draws him to him ;
 
 224 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 and presently the Archdeacon, turning sud- 
 denly, clutches his son by both shoulders. 
 
 * Arthur, you are my son — my one son,' 
 says he slowly, tremulously. ' Tell me the 
 truth, even though it kill me — you believe in 
 God and our Lord Jesus Christ ?' 
 
 ' Even as you do,' says the young man 
 quickly. ' I'm sound enough, if that is any 
 comfort to you — I could hardly be anything 
 else with such a father !' 
 
 ' Comfort,' says the Archdeacon. He draws 
 a long breath, pauses awhile, and then, laying 
 his hand upon his son's arm, leads him back 
 to the table, and presses him into a seat beside 
 him. 
 
 ' You see,' says Arthur, laughing, but 
 nervously, and with tears in his eyes, 'my 
 family has been too much for me — it has 
 discouraged me. There has been a Dean, a 
 Bishop, and an Archdeacon, and, should there 
 be a curate now, it would rest there. A 
 " perpetual curate " as a son w^ould be a dismal
 
 NOR WIFE ^OR MAID 225 
 
 thing. Would you have me disgrace my 
 illustrious lineage ?' 
 
 ' Still If, Arthur,' says the Archdeacon, 
 
 after some thought, 'you are determined on 
 abandoning the life I had laid out for you, why 
 — what, then, lies before you ?' 
 
 * Give me a try at the Indian Civil, will 
 you?' 
 
 ' And is this to be the end of it ?' says the 
 Archdeacon sadly, thinking of the destruction 
 of all the fond hopes built round Arthur. 
 ' And how am I to know you would be more 
 steadfast about that than ' 
 
 ' It suits me, somehow — it takes me/ says 
 Arthur. ' I've been with fellows studying for 
 it, and I like the law.' 
 
 * But not the Prophets,* says his father, with 
 a curious smile. 
 
 ' Better a good judge than a bad curate,' 
 says Arthur, glad of his father's smile, even 
 though it is so sad. 
 
 'Well,' says the Archdeacon slowly, 'we 
 VOL. T. 15
 
 226 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 must think over it — pray over it.' His eyes 
 iire expressive of deep melancholy. ' You will 
 pray over it, Arthur T 
 
 Arthur laughs lovingly. 
 
 'If you do the praying,' says he, *I expect 
 I shall have a better chance of getting through. 
 As for me, I'll do the thinking. That may 
 save you something.' 
 
 Soon afterwards, leaving the room, he meets 
 Mary in the outer hall ; he had confided to her 
 what he meant to tell the Archdeacon, and she 
 has been moving from morning room to hall 
 and back again in a nervous fashion for the 
 last hour, waiting to learn the result of the 
 interview. 
 
 ' Well ? asks she, coming up to her brother 
 now, rather breathlessly. 
 
 ' Well, I told him. Dear old dad ! he took 
 it as he takes everything.' 
 
 ' He said ' 
 
 ' Oh, nothing — nothing ! Not a word of 
 blame. If he had said something — something
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 227 
 
 abusive, I mean — I should not have felt so 
 badly about it ; but he refrained from censure 
 of even the lightest kind. I'd have loved him 
 to swear at me.' 
 
 ' And you can go in for the Indian Civil ?' 
 
 ' Yes, as soon as I like.' 
 
 * Arthur !' earnestly — very earnestly. She 
 moves to him, and lays her slender, beautiful 
 hand upon his arm — the hand that so ex- 
 quisitely suits her, slender, pliable, firm. 
 
 ' Go on,' says he. 
 
 'Don't disappoint him again.' 
 
 * Do you think I am a hrute T says he 
 sharply.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 * And sickerly she was of great disport, 
 And full pleasant, and amiable of port/ 
 
 The rooms were filling rapidly. Everybody 
 in Irkton who is anybody has been invited to 
 Steyne this evening. Steyne is, indeed, the 
 happy hunting-ground for all the young 
 people around. ' Liberty Hall ' they call it, 
 in thought, if not in word. 
 
 It is a musical party. For once Lady 
 Emily, genial as she is, has laid herself open 
 to objurgations of various kinds. Why 
 couldn't she have given a decent dance, and 
 be done with it ? Why not even tableaux ? 
 Why not private theatricals ? though that 
 would be falling low, indeed. Still, anything^
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 229 
 
 think the younger members of Irk ton, would 
 be better than to sit and listen for hours to 
 the squalling and howling (the criticism is 
 theirs, not mine) of a lot of idiots. Again I 
 repudiate the last word. 
 
 A little soft humming as of many voices 
 vibrates through the rooms. Everyone seems 
 to be talking all at once, though everyone 
 seems to be sternly bent on silence. The 
 elderly women make the corners of their 
 mouths into queer shapes, and through these 
 contortions manage an immense amount of 
 conversation ; but they, as a rule, are found 
 out. The younger women, especially if they 
 have men beside them, manage much better. 
 They look down at their fans, and seem to be 
 pensively bent on listening with all their 
 might to the music just going on. Their 
 lips move faintly, evidently in an ardent ad- 
 miration of the performance to which they 
 are listening. The}^ seem thoroughly im- 
 pressed with the benuty of it, and the men
 
 230 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 next them seem to be equally given over to^ 
 enthusiasm. In like manner their lips move 
 too. Their eyes are on their boots. A sort 
 of gentle frenzy has evidently caught both. 
 They whisper to their boots and their fans 
 the deep joy they are no doubt deriving from 
 the musician who is at present warbling at 
 the piano. 
 
 The little humming sound goes on. It is 
 like the subdued murmuring of bees in 
 summer-time. 
 
 Miss Montgomery is at the piano, that is, 
 standing near it, whilst a portly matron plays 
 her accompaniment. The first bars are over 
 - — not without a hitch here and there — and 
 Miss Montgomery has now begun to wander 
 down a mountain -side. Evidently the descent 
 must be steep beyond all preconceived ideas of 
 sides, as she arrives so breathless at the 
 bottom of it that her voice can no longer be 
 heard. 
 
 The pianist does her part admirably, filled
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 231 
 
 with a desire, no doubt, to conceal the dying 
 pangs of the descendant, and most successful 
 are her efforts. Miss Montgomery's depart- 
 ing sighs are unheard even by her nearest 
 neighbours. 
 
 ' Eeally, it is absurd!' says Hilda Stewart, 
 who, with Arthur Seatoun, is standing near 
 the door, where her mother is still receiving 
 the coming guests. ' It is more than one 
 bargained for. Such nonsense, asking that 
 girl to sing ! She has as much voice as a 
 grasshopper !' 
 
 ' AVho are you speaking of, darling ?' asks 
 Lady Emily, who, resplendent in gray and 
 silver, is saying innumerable ' How d'ye do's ' 
 to late comers, and who, therefore, has been 
 dead to that fatal wandering that has occurred 
 at the upper end of the room. 
 
 ' I am talking of Daisy Montgomery. Such 
 a ridiculous exhibition she makes of herself I 
 I wonder how you can ask her to sing, 
 mamma.'
 
 232 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 * Oh, no^y, Hilda !' says Lady Emily re- 
 proachfully. ' That poor dear little Daisy ! 
 And you know she likes to sing so much/ 
 
 ' Never mind,' says Hilda ; ' mamma ' — 
 turning to Arthm' — ' is not equal to the 
 Daisies of this world ; but by-and-by, when 
 ]\Iary has given us some real music, I will 
 make mother sit down to the piano and play 
 us a waltz, and we shall get up a little dance, 
 eh ? That will be better, eh ?' 
 
 ' If the waltz may be mine,' says Arthur, 
 looking at her. 
 
 ' If you like,' carelessly. 
 
 ' But is it a sure thing ? Will Lady Emily 
 countenance it ?' 
 
 ' I'll make her,^ says Hilda, with a touch of 
 sauciness that makes her face delightful. 
 
 She turns to look for Lady Emily, who, 
 being released from duty at the present 
 moment, is standing somewhat back from her 
 guests, half hidden by a hugh myrtle that 
 stands in its pot close to a Japanese screen.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 233 
 
 ^ Mamma/ says Hilda, twining her arm 
 round Lady Emily's neck, and pressing her 
 soft cheek against the older, but scarcely less 
 soft, cheek of her mother, ' after a little, little 
 while, when all your poor performers have 
 annoyed us sufficiently, will you — you will 
 now, won't you ? — you will play us one of 
 vour delicious waltzes ?' 
 
 * Certainly, my dear ; but why T 
 ' Well, we can dance in the hall, can't we ? 
 And then people won't go home saying that 
 this was a horrid, dull take-in of an evening.' 
 ' What a little cat you are, Hilda !' says her 
 mother, laughing the round rich laugh that 
 belongs to her, and patting the head leaning 
 against her own. ' An artful pussy ! When 
 you begin to w^heedle me like that, you know 
 you can do w^hat you like with me. You are 
 all spoiled, you children ; there's no doubt of 
 that' 
 
 ' It is a promise, then, isn't it, mammy ?' 
 ' There, there ! go away ; you all know I
 
 234 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 can't refuse you anything. What would have 
 become of you, if I hadn't been your 
 mother T 
 
 What, indeed ! This remarkable question 
 still remains unanswered ; the problem it 
 suggests must rest for ever unsolved, as at 
 this moment Lady Emily is called away to 
 receive fresh guests, and Hilda, with a quick 
 triumphant glance at Arthur, hurries aw^ay in 
 another direction to give notice of the impend- 
 ing dance to her sisters. 
 
 Arthur remaining where he is, Lady Emily 
 presently returns to him, having said as many 
 pleasant things as she knows to the new- 
 comers. 
 
 ' Still here V says she to Arthur, as if 
 pleased. She glances round the room and 
 lets her gaze stop at last at the upper end of 
 ir, where Miss Seatouii is standing with 
 Marcus Garden beside her. ' How^ charming 
 dear Marykins is looking this evening !* says 
 she slowly.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 235 
 
 And, indeed, Mary tc-night is well worth a 
 glance. She is dressed, as usual, in white, 
 and her tall, slight, graceful figure seems to 
 have been entered by the very spirit of joy. 
 Her gown is made high to her throat, but she 
 has no sleeves, and a few soft pearls round 
 her neck seem to throw out the delicate lustre 
 of her skin. She is standing in an easy atti- 
 tude, with her lovely head slightly thrown 
 back, as she listens to Garden, who is talk- 
 ing to her in an earnest, absorbed sort of 
 way. 
 
 ' Well, I have always thought there is 
 something rather special about Mary,' says 
 her brother, giving his criticism with a 
 thoroughly disinterested air. 
 
 ' That's very good of you,' says Lady 
 Emily, who sometimes has glimpses of 
 humour. ^ Not being her brother, I can see 
 that she is lovely. It gives me the purest 
 delight to look at her.' There is honest 
 admiration in her eyes.
 
 236 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 '■ It seems to give Garden pure delight too,' 
 says Arthur quizzically. 
 
 ' One can see that, and no wonder! Tell 
 me, Artie dear,'is there any truth in the report 
 that — eh ? you know what I mean. I do 
 hope so ; she is so sweet a creature, and he 
 is the very dearest fellow ; everyone likes 
 Marcus Garden.' 
 
 Garden's Ghristian name has been a great 
 trial to Lady Emily. So far as she is con- 
 cerned, it has proved a distinct failure. Nothing 
 could be made of it. It had absolutely de- 
 clined t6 lend itself to a diminutive. 
 
 She had tried ' Marky,' but thought it 
 sounded queer : and ' cuss,' but that sounded 
 rude. It was. She grieved over it, and 
 thought it out in the midnight hours, but it 
 had been too much for her ; and, with much 
 secret reluctance, she had at last abandoned 
 all hope of reducing it to reason. Whilst 
 feeling that she is failing disgracefully in 
 friendship towards Garden, she still makes
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 237 
 
 up her mind to leave his name as she 
 found it. 
 
 Arthur is spared an answer to the trying 
 question put to him by the arrival of Mrs. 
 Mordaunt, with her three graces in tow^ 
 
 ' Too, too fashionable/ says Lady Emily, 
 rushing towards them^with a beaming smile. 
 Lady Emily is always delightful to every- 
 body, and is incapable of seeing harm even 
 in her worst neighbours. ' So glad to see 
 you, however ; and I hope Selina has brought 
 her music. Daisy Montgomery has just been 
 singing, dear girl ! Always so good about 
 that sort of thing.' 
 
 * Too good,' replies Mrs. Mordaunt with 
 grim meaning as she marches onward.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 * Everyone is as God made him, and oftentimes a 
 great deal worse.' 
 
 ' Charming style, Mrs. Mordaunt's I Don't 
 you think so ?' says Arthur, as Mrs. Mordaunt 
 tramps out of view. 
 
 ' Eh ?' says Lady Emily, as if a little 
 puzzled. * Well, she — she — oh ! Tut, tut ! 
 I see now what you mean,' with the air of 
 one who has made a remarkable discovery. 
 * Now, you know, Artie dear, it is wrong of 
 you young people to be so intolerant, and 
 really poor Mrs. Mordaunt doesn't mean half 
 what you think ; she isn't really ill-natured, 
 she is only unfortunate in her manner. You 
 could hear for yourself how kindly she spoke
 
 NOR WIFE NOK, MAID 239 
 
 of dear Daisy's usual willingness to help at 
 musical affairs of this kind.* 
 
 This is too much for Arthur. In spite of 
 himself, he gives way to open and hearty mirth. 
 
 * True, true !' says he. feeling at the same 
 time very much ashamed of himself 
 
 ' Just so/ says Lady Emily sweetly. 
 ' Well, never mind that now ; let us go back 
 to Marykins. There is one good thing about 
 her ' 
 
 * Only one ?' 
 
 * Xonsense I About her and Marcus Garden, 
 1 was going to say. There is no question 
 of marrying for anything but love there. For 
 the others I am always sorry. To marry 
 for money — it is terrible !' 
 
 * Yet to marry without it ?' ventures Arthur 
 most unwisely. It brings down upon him 
 a perfect avalanche of recollections. 
 
 ' Oh, my dear boy ! do not, I implore you, 
 let your mind wander that way. Now, there 
 was Harry Deyncourt, cousin of yours, I
 
 240 NOR WIFE NOE, MAID 
 
 think. Well, any way, his father, Sir Montague, 
 died young, after marrying three times. Think 
 of that ! First, Susy Warrenne, and then 
 Cissy Loryat — one of the Warwickshire 
 Loryats, you know — and afterwards Minnie 
 Blount. She^ poor thing ! wasn't much ; and 
 at last he ' 
 
 ' Who ?' asks Arthur, not inexcusably. 
 
 *Why, Harry Deyncourt. You're not 
 listening, my dear boy ! Harry came in for 
 the baronetcy on his father's death, of course ; 
 and Lady Deyncourt — Minnie Blount, you 
 know (we were children together), not the 
 Minnie Blount who nursed her mother throuo-h 
 
 o 
 
 the small-pox, and then took it herself and 
 died, poor girl ! but the Minnie Blount whose 
 sister was Flora Ashton afterwards, and who 
 ran away wath her brother-in-law — lovely 
 creature with auburn hair ! some people called 
 it red, but I couldn't. Perfect shade all 
 through, I thought it. Such a sweet girl 
 she was r
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 241 
 
 ' Must have been,' says Arthur mildly. 
 
 ' Yes — yes. A pleasure to talk with you, 
 Artie dear ; you always seem so to under- 
 stand. Well, where was I ? About Fanny 
 was it, or — eh? No, Minnie.' 
 
 ' Minnie's son. Sir Harry,' says Arthur, 
 who has reduced himself to a state where 
 features and expressions are of no conse- 
 quence. 
 
 ' Of course. Poor Sir Harry ! They per- 
 sisted in saying he was very wild, poor dear 
 fellow ! but I could never believe anything 
 against him, his eyes were so beautiful, and 
 his nose — pure Greek ; who could be- 
 lieve ' 
 
 ' In him ?' says Arthur. * Not a soul,' 
 with cheery sympathy. 
 
 * Nonsense, now, Artie ! You know what 
 I mean. I assure you he was the kindest 
 boy. Well, Minnie Blount, his mother, you 
 know (they called her worldly, poor thing ! 
 but I really believe she meant it all for the 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 best), wanted to marry him to Ellie Smith — 
 one of the Manchester Smiths, you know/ 
 
 * I've heard the name, I think/ says Arthur 
 with puzzled brow. 
 
 ' Oh, you must ! She was a great heiress, 
 you know ; tremendous lot of money, and 
 a good girl, too, though — well, not exactly a 
 beauty, you will understand. But she had 
 good points too, though her left eye certainly 
 did — you know what I mean, Artie dear, 
 though it is horrid to say it ; and her nose — 
 well, at all events, she had a great deal of 
 money.' 
 
 * Oh, Lady Emily !' 
 
 ' And an exquisite temper. But Harry 
 didn't care for a good temper, it seems, or 
 a fortune ; and, besides, he had met, down 
 in Cornwall, little Birdie Treherne, and ' 
 
 Here, mercifully, another guest arriving. 
 Lady Emily has, perforce, to forego her recol- 
 lections, and turn to receive him. 
 
 Arthur, seeing the opportunity, stands to
 
 NOll WIFE NOR MAID 243 
 
 one side, and at once makes a successful bolt 
 of it. 
 
 Mopping his brow, lie moves, quickly 
 through the hall outside, and as he goes, 
 thoughts many and various crowd his brain 
 — the principal one I give. In the years to 
 come, when Hilda is her mother's age, will 
 Hilda indulge in recollections ? It is an 
 awful question, filled with terrible possi- 
 bilities. 
 
 45- -55^ ^'t ^i 45- 
 
 Miss Montgomery, tired, no doubt, by her 
 late journey down the mountain, has sunk 
 exhausted into a lounging chair ; and a young 
 man, tall and gaunt, with sunken cheeks and 
 chest, and the general appearance of having 
 only an hour or so to live, is roaring at the 
 top of his lungs for somebody to man a life- 
 boat, and come to the assistance of his ' woife 
 and choild.' As he is popularly supposed to 
 be a bachelor, a touch of mystery, not un- 
 alloyed by impropriety, heightens the attrac-
 
 244 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 tions of his appeal. He is growing frenzied, 
 and no wonder. Of all those assembled round 
 him — all witnesses of his distress — not a 
 soul stirs hand or foot to man that lifeboat 
 (lying no doubt round the corner), and come 
 to the rescue of those precious ones so near 
 and dear to him. Fie upon humanity ! In 
 sight of land are these miserable ones to 
 drown for want of a little help ? 
 
 The consumptive young man puts on a 
 fresh spurt ; his yells grow terrific, but pre- 
 sently something or other happens to save 
 the family, and the fond parent consents to 
 be led away by Archie Stewart to the buffet. 
 
 Then Miss Seatoun moves towards the 
 piano and says a word or two to Hilda, w^ho 
 is preparing to accompany her, and, raising 
 her violin, plays to them. Exquisite, delicious 
 almost to pain, are the notes that thrill the 
 air. It is a little soft, tender, tremulous thing- 
 she plays, half a smile, as it were, and half a 
 tear, and altogether lovely. Too socn it comes
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 245 
 
 to an end, ceasing abruptly, as all good things 
 do, making one wish for more. 
 
 Mary lays down her violin. Her sonata is 
 over, almost before one imas^ines it beofun. It 
 is like a dream, a happy dream, from which we 
 wake too soon. 
 
 And now there is a little bustle in the room, 
 and in the hall outside. Lady Emily, with 
 a little protest here and there to the more 
 sombre of her guests, is pushed down by loving 
 hands on the piano -stool, and presently a 
 crisp inspiriting waltz rises from beneath her 
 large kindly fingers. 
 
 Garden turns to Mary. 
 
 ' You will dance this with me ?' 
 
 ' AVith pleasure,' says Mary, flushing 
 slightly. Dances in Irkton are few and far 
 between, and to dance for the first time with 
 the man one loves is always an anxiety. 
 Mary's heart beats a little quicker. Will he 
 think she dances well or ill ? If he should 
 think her awkward !
 
 246 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 The first step or two puts all that at an 
 end. Ah ! this is waltzinsf indeed. When 
 they stop they look instinctively at each 
 other's eyes, and smile a little and sigh softly, 
 happily. Behind them is an open window, 
 beyond that a veranda. And over every- 
 thing the moonlight is streaming. 
 
 ' Come out ! come out !' says Garden gaily, 
 persuasively. The spirit of his first fresh 
 youth seems to have returned to him.' He 
 leads her to one of the open windows. 
 
 ' What a moonlight !' says Mary in a soft, 
 rapturous way. She turns to him, and to- 
 gether they step into the shadows of the 
 lovely night.
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 ' Of all the paths lead to a woman's love, 
 Pity's the straightest.' 
 
 There is something about moonlight un- 
 utterably sad; that, perhaps, is why lovers 
 love it so. 
 
 ' There's naught in this life sweet, 
 If man were wise to see't, 
 But only melancholy ; 
 O, sweetest melancholy,' 
 
 sings Fletcher, and, indeed, that delicate sug- 
 gestion of grief that is without the pangs of 
 it and yet is part of it, and that has been 
 called melancholy, is dear to the heart of 
 those touched by love's arrows. 
 
 Gaiety seems to forsake Garden as he steps 
 into the mystic beams, the desire of his soul
 
 248 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 beside him. The moonlight has entered into 
 him, and a certain troubled feeling that is full 
 of the wildest longing and delight leaves his 
 heart sad. 
 
 ' Shall we sit here ?' says he, indicating a 
 seat on which Diana's rays fall full. 
 
 * It looks a charming seat,' says she. 
 
 * Or here ?' asks he restlessly, pointing to 
 a seat a little farther off — a little more remote 
 from the brilliant room within. A seat un- 
 touched by the moon, lying hidden away 
 between two huge flowering shrubs in painted 
 tubs. 
 
 ' Yes ; it seems cooler here,' says Mary. 
 
 Her voice has fallen into a minor key, yet 
 every sense is filled with a fresh deej) joy, a 
 happy expectation, a content perfect as her- 
 self. Yesterday, when he would have spoken, 
 she was frightened. All last night she lay 
 awake hoping, fearing — hapjDy and unhappy. 
 Now she has no fear, no unhappiness ; she is 
 all hope.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 249 
 
 ' AYhat a perfect view ! says she, glancing 
 down the incline of the meadows before her to 
 where in the distance the ocean is swaying, 
 and gleaming and glinting. 
 
 ' What is it like ?' asks Garden looking, 
 however, not at the scene before him, but at 
 her. 
 
 * Like a young fresh life,' says she slowly. 
 
 ' No, no !' sharply—' like a life just past. 
 Night cannot last for ever ! The dawn is at 
 hand ! And when it comes it will kill that 
 sickly pallor.' He turns to her with a pas- 
 sionate cry, ' Mary I Mary !' 
 
 He has risen, and is looking down at her. 
 He is very white, and the strong lean hand 
 touching the arm of her chair is gras2:)ing it 
 with a nervous force. 
 
 It seems to him that her lips move, but 3^et 
 no sound comes from them. 
 
 ' Let me speak to you,' says he. ' Let me 
 tell you how it was. My marriage — — ' he 
 breaks off. It is plain that he is growing
 
 250 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 horribly nervous. Mary, with a little quick 
 heavenly impulse, holds out her hand to him 
 — such a cold trembling hand ! As it lies in 
 his burning grasp, he can feel the throbbing 
 of it. 
 
 ' You think I loved her,' says he, ' but I 
 never did. Never ! I know that now, but 
 only now ; only since I met you. Mary, you 
 will believe that! you must! I thought, I 
 
 fancied ' He draws back from her, his very 
 
 lips whitening, then goes on again as if com- 
 pelled : ' It was a month's madness at most, 
 and — it is no excuse to say that I was young. 
 She was young too, and handsome, and rich, 
 and of old family, nothing against her, you 
 see. She was partly foreign. Her mother 
 was a Russian, and possessed large tracts of 
 land there ; in Russia, I mean. And she — 
 my — she had been brought up abroad. It was 
 in London I met her, and I thought — it was 
 madness, but I did think that ' 
 
 * Oh there ! I know, I know everything,*
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 251 
 
 says Mary, with an almost passionate longing 
 to save him from the pain he is endming. 
 
 * No, let me go on. We were married. All 
 the world thought her charming, and so did I 
 for — one month. What she thouorht of me I 
 don't know, but I am sure she tired of me 
 within that time. Her nature was violent, 
 vehement, in a sense untamable. She should 
 never have married. I do not know if she 
 was unfaithful — forgive me, Mary ! but, at all 
 events, she hated me even before I began to 
 hate her. What a life it was !' 
 
 Dropping Mary's hand, he strides in a rapid 
 way up and down the veranda. Presently he 
 stops before her. 
 
 * Until I met you, I never knew how she 
 had ruined me. My life (my young life before 
 I knew her) rose before me then, and I re- 
 membered many things I had almost forgotten 
 — things I had forgotten with determination. 
 There was a time when — you will not believe 
 it, will you ? — when 1 was the gayest, the
 
 252 NOE, WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 lightest-hearted of my fellows. That is all 
 gone.' 
 
 ' Something else is gained,' says she with a 
 little quick breath. If she means anything, 
 he does not dare to understand her. 
 
 * Oh much — much ! but all to the bad. I 
 have grown morbid, impatient of control, 
 suspicious, careless of many things one should 
 hold sacred. I hardly knew how it was with 
 me ; it had all grown in me so imperceptibly ; 
 but in that first hour when I met you — I 
 knew. I saw myself ! The deterioration I 
 Everything ! I felt I was unworthy of you. 
 How should I dare to offer you the remnant 
 
 of a life ? And yet — yet ' With an 
 
 uncontrollable outburst he holds out his 
 hands to her. 'Oh, Heart ! can you love 
 me?' 
 
 ' You know, you know !' 
 
 ' I know nothing ; I will not until you tell 
 me. Sometimes, indeed, I have dared to hope, 
 but very faintly, and not often.'
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 253 
 
 ' Wli}^ will you not believe ?' says she in a 
 little broken tone. Her hand is lying on the 
 iron arm of the chair, holding it with such a 
 nervous clasp that the pretty nails have grown 
 quite white. Garden unclasps it and holds it 
 between both his own. His whole manner is 
 full of passionate reserve. 
 
 * Then — will you ?' asks he. 
 
 Her eyes alone are a sufficient answer. The 
 tears standing in them make them shine like 
 stars. Her lingers cling to his. 
 
 ' It is not pity V asks Garden again. 
 
 ' Yes, it is,' says she. ' Pity the deepest, 
 the most perfect.' 
 
 ' Oiily that ?' 
 
 * Must I tell you that I love you ?' says she 
 reproachfully. 
 
 ' Ah, you must ! How should I dare be- 
 lieve unless ? And do you Mary, really? 
 
 ' Oh, I do, I do !' cries she softly. ' But 
 to say it !' She struggles with herself and 
 bursts into tears, but as his arms close around
 
 254 NOll AVIFE NOR MAID 
 
 her the terrible anguish of her gladness leaves 
 her, and only peace remains. 
 
 ^ It is true, then/ says Garden. Who shall 
 
 describe his tone ? ' You are mine ; you 
 
 It is hard to believe. And am I right in 
 this ? To attach your bright life to mine ? 
 And yet without you. ... It is a sacrifice 
 I demand. Mary ! I am too old for you, at 
 heart, if not in years. You know I told you 
 before I was older than most people. I have 
 known too much.' 
 
 ' Suffered too much,' amends she sweetly. 
 ' Well ' — with a swift sigh — ' you shall suffer 
 no more.' 
 
 She throws up her head, leaning back from 
 him, and the glory of the moon falls full upon 
 her. But there is yet a greater glory lying 
 on her lovely face — the glory of a first deep 
 love, and that imperishable. 
 
 ' My darling ! My delight !' says Garden 
 passionately.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 255 
 
 When tliey return to the dancing-room the 
 music is still at its height. Mrs. Egerton, 
 standing at the open window, glances curiously 
 at Mary as she goes by her. It is plain that 
 Mary does not see her. 
 
 ' Does she see anyone ?' asks Lena of her- 
 self, and suddenly a quick, gratified smile 
 illumines her delightful face. 
 
 Something has happened ! Marj^ could not 
 look so pale, so dreamy — Garden could not 
 look so altogether lost to earth's trials and 
 difficulties unless — unless — oh ! of course it 
 is all settled. 
 
 Mary and Garden have joined the dancers. 
 The tem23tation to hold her in his arms even 
 in this public fashion had been too strong to 
 be resisted, and perhaps Mary had been glad to 
 be so held. Xever on earth were there lovers 
 so glad, so full of joy unspeakable. Their 
 return had been unremarked save by three 
 in the room. By Archie Stewart, who had 
 turned away as if shot after the first glance
 
 256 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 at tlieir faces; hy Lena, as we know ; and by 
 Mr. Denny. 
 
 The latter was dancing when they came in, 
 but over his partner's shoulder — one of the 
 Denvers (famed for their stature, and naturally 
 a fine girl) — had watched them across the 
 room, and now a somewhat evil expression 
 settles on his face. 
 
 To him, too, it is apparent that love the 
 mighty lord has spoken to these two, and not 
 in vain. 
 
 He continues his dance, however, to the 
 intense gratification of Arthur Seatoun, who 
 takes a"^ keen delight in his performance. 
 Indeed, Mr. Denny when dancing has an 
 unfortunate resemblance to that good old 
 monke}^, dear to our youthful days, who 
 jumped up and down a stick, and sometimes 
 over it. Mr. Denny jumped up and dow^i 
 too, so vigorously, that often when his partner 
 was of the ordinary height he threatened to 
 jumj) over her. To-night, after seeing Mary's
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 257 
 
 return, a very demon of elasticity seems to 
 have entered into him. 
 
 ^ What the deuce is the matter with that 
 fellow?' says Stewart, who has come back look- 
 ing pale, and frowning. ' If he can't dance 
 any other way but that, what on earth * 
 
 * Don't you admire him V says Arthur. 
 * I do. I am riveted. High stepper, / call 
 him — great action ; ought to fetch a good 
 price !' 
 
 ' He'd be dear at the lowest coin,' says 
 Stewart, who is apparently in a bad temper. 
 
 At this moment an old lady, coming up to 
 Arthur, la3^s her hand upon his arm. 
 
 ' I see your sister is not dancing now, 
 Mr. Seatoun; do you think she might be 
 tempted to play to us again 1 I am an old 
 woman, but once I could do a few things. I 
 could sing ; I could even handle a fiddle, but 
 not like her. Would ' 
 
 ' What is it. Lady Elizabeth V asks her 
 hostess, coming up at this instant. 
 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 :^58 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 Arthur explains. 
 
 T am sure Mary will play for you/ says he. 
 
 And Mary, when he crosses the room and 
 asks her to play once more to them, to oblige 
 the pretty old woman near Lady Emily, at 
 once says yes. Garden would have prevented 
 her, thinking she might over-fatigue herself, 
 but, w^ith a lovely smile at him, she persists, 
 stepping lightly to where her violin rests on 
 the piano ; she draws it to her shoulder and 
 plays to them. 
 
 She plays as surely she never played before. 
 They who tell us love means death to art, 
 lied in her case. With her love her soul 
 seems to grow, and rich and splendid is the 
 fruit of it. Quivering, dying, growing, 
 fading:, the notes thrill to the bosoms of all 
 present. Never was that night's music to 
 be forgotten by the dwellers in Irkton. 
 
 And as for the girl herself, was she ev^er to 
 be forgotten? Standing there in her white 
 <j'own, with her beautiful earnest face uplifted,
 
 NOR AVIFE NOR MAID 259 
 
 and her red lips just parted as though her 
 heart's throbs could not be all supj^ressed. 
 Deep is the meaning she flings into the wild 
 au' she gives them, strange is the rendering 
 of it. She — she herself is speaking, and each 
 and every note is a word spoken from the 
 soul within. 
 
 And how is it with her ? High joy and 
 triumph proclaim themselves in the music 
 that comes from each bend of the supple 
 wrist. It cries aloud, it calls to those who 
 hear, to mark it well. And yet, underlying- 
 all, what is there ? A profound sadness. 
 Thus life asserts itself. Joy dwells with 
 grief! Underneath the sunshine lies the mist, 
 and it is the sun that draws it up. 
 
 With a sudden harmonious crash the wild 
 strange music comes to an end. Mary a little 
 white, curiously exhausted, smiles her thanks 
 to those around her. The old Lady Eliza- 
 beth says something charming, and Mrs. 
 Egerton, going quickly up to Mary, draws
 
 260 NOR WIFE NOH MAID 
 
 the girl away and into the cloak-room, and 
 from that sees her safely into her step- 
 mother's brougham. 
 
 ' It is well with you, Mary V asks she, 
 as a last word, holding her sister's hand, and 
 smiling at her with a suspicion of tears in 
 her eyes. 
 
 ' Oh, Lena !' says Mary, returning the 
 grasp nervously. 
 
 Mrs. Seatoun is still bidding last adieux 
 at the door, and explaining to Lord Rilmin- 
 ster that Arabella is too young to go to 
 evening entertainments. She omits to add, 
 however, that the young woman had gone 
 to bed in a flaring temper. 
 
 * Come to luncheon to-morrow ; I shall ask 
 him, too,' says Lena softly.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 * Be wisely worldly, be not worldly wise.' 
 ' Take the good that God provides thee.' 
 
 When women find out a man is indifferent 
 to all their sex save one, they regard him 
 with coldness. When they find that he is 
 indifi'erent to all alike, their disgust is hardly 
 to be put into words. 
 
 Like lightning, the suspicion that Mr. Car- 
 den has finally committed himself with Mary 
 Seatoun (that is how the women put it) flies 
 through Irkton. The very next morning 
 after the impromptu dance at Lady Emily's, 
 even the village dressmaker is beginning to 
 wonder whether the shnpler parts of the 
 trousseau will be entrusted to her care.
 
 262 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 ' Well ? And so I suppose you think you 
 are dreadfully in love with him,' says Mrs. 
 Egerton, when she has kissed Mary and with 
 more than her usual tenderness removed the 
 girl's wraps. Her tone is mocking yet 
 affectionate. 
 
 Mary looks up at her. It is a swift ner- 
 vous glance, as if the owner of it hardly 
 knows what is expected of her. The colour 
 rises to her usually pale cheek, and instinctively 
 something of appeal widens her eyes. She 
 looks distinctly shy. To see Mary, the calm, 
 proud Mary, look shy is a revelation. Jt 
 makes her a little more delightful than ever, 
 however, and it occurs to Lena, watching her, 
 that she would dearly like to kiss her, but 
 that J decides this astute matron to herself 
 would be destroying every chance of getting 
 any further enlightenment on the all-absorb- 
 ing topic. Any little show of emotion now 
 would put Mary on her guard against senti- 
 mentality of any sort, and it would be inte-
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 263 
 
 resting to get, if possible, a glimpse at her real 
 feeling. 
 
 ' I don't know that I have thought about 
 it,' says Mary, looking down. 
 
 ^ Not even when you found yourself alone 
 last night in 3'our own room?' 
 
 * It was not that I. thought of. It was ' 
 
 * Your hesitation is a tribute to your 
 modesty/ says Lena mockingly; * you thought 
 only, of course, whether he could indeed love 
 you ! He who is so immeasurably above you 
 in every way. I've never been through it 
 myself — having always considered myself 
 quite sufficiently good for James — but I am 
 not without imagination. After all, it was 
 foolish of me to think you could have 
 descended from the seventh heaven yet ; it is 
 early in the day.' 
 
 * It is one o'clock,' says Mary, with a little 
 show of strength. ' I don't know what you 
 are talking about.' 
 
 ' I know what I am trying to talk about.
 
 264 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 Your engagement to Marcus Garden. I sup- 
 pose I shall have to call him Marcus now ? 
 How funny ! It seems as if he only came 
 yesterday.' 
 
 ' Oh ! does it V asks Mary, as if sur- 
 prised. 
 
 ' Not to you ! I never suggested that. Of 
 course you and he are now quite persuaded 
 that you never lived until you met. But — 
 you haven't answered me, hoAvever. Are you 
 in love with him V 
 
 ' How can you be so unkind !' says Mary 
 reproachfully, and then, ' It isn't like you !' 
 
 * There you are wrong ; it is the image of 
 me,' says Mrs. Egerton, giving way to mirth. 
 * Never mind. I can see you are ashamed 
 
 of it; 
 
 ' Of what ? Ashamed of—of ? Why should 
 I be ashamed of the best thing that has ever 
 fallen into my life .^' Mary glances at her 
 sister, and asks this question with eager, angry
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 265 
 
 (' N"ow it is coming,' says Mrs. Egerton 
 comfortably, to herself.) 
 
 ' Of course 1 love him. I ' Mary stops 
 
 short as if choking, and a sudden rush of tears 
 to her eyes awakes remorse within the hard- 
 ened breast of her torturer. 
 
 * Never mind me, Mary — I'm a wretch !' 
 The ' wretch ' is on her knees beside her victim 
 now, and is fondling her hands. ' Don't say 
 another word.' 
 
 ' Yes, I will. After all, I thmk I like to 
 speak of it, only at first — to begin — is dread- 
 ful. But there is one thing, Lena. A strange 
 feeling I have ' 
 
 ' What is it, dearest V 
 
 ' There is fear in my heart,' says Mary, with 
 a nervous little laugh. ' I love him so much 
 that I am afraid.' She leans forward and 
 clasps her hands across her knees and gazes 
 vSteadfastly at her sister. 
 
 Mrs. Egerton, on her knees beside her, draws 
 back and looks up at her.
 
 266 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 ' Afraid of what?' 
 
 ' Of death/ says Mary in a quaking voice. 
 ' I am too happy ! — so happy that it seems to 
 me as if misfortune must be on the look-out 
 for me/ 
 
 ' Morbid, morbid I' cries Mrs. Egerton gaily, 
 springing to her feet. ' You are morbid ; 
 that is all. Oh, you lucky girl ! Is that all 
 you have to fear? You will get over it, 
 believe me. To do Marcus credit, he doesn't 
 look at all like the wasting - away - in - a - 
 decline sort of young man. Think of some 
 more likely misery if you want really to enjoy 
 yourself in that line. Set your mind upon 
 the fancy that he may prove false to you. 
 That sort of fooling can go on for ever. 
 There is a fund of amusement in it, and no 
 end to the heart-rending scenes to be got out 
 of it both before and after the Discovery — 
 with a big, big D. Now, death is a simple 
 thing, over and done with in no time. It 
 gives no scope for the imagination, and there
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 267 
 
 is only one last crowning scene — your wither- 
 ing away to an untimely end, and being found 
 by the faithful servitor in the cold light of an 
 early dawn upon the grave of the Beloved — 
 with a big, big B, this. Forget death ; take 
 to the falseness of the loved one. It will repay 
 you better.' 
 
 ' Oh nol' says Mary, a beautiful light in her 
 dark eyes. 
 
 ' I see !' says Mrs. Egerton, pinching her 
 ear. ' Such conceit I Couldnt be false to 
 you. To anybody else, if you like, but not to 
 you ! If such perfect trust is a sign of being 
 in love, I must be in love with James to a 
 perfectly wild degree.' 
 
 ' So you are,' says Mary, with conviction. 
 
 ' Eh V says Mrs. Egerton. 
 
 ' You think you are not, but you are.' 
 
 ' You don't say so. Is it your private 
 opinion publicly expressed ? After all,' medi- 
 tatively, * perhaps I am, but why f that is the 
 question.'
 
 268 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 * Eeally, Lena,' with a touch of indignation, 
 ' sometimes I think that, plain as he is, and 
 lovely as you are, you are unworthy of that 
 man!' 
 
 ' Meaning, presumably, James. But what 
 an undignified way of explaining him. Really 
 Mary,' copying Mary's tone exactly, ' some- 
 times it has occurred to me that possibly you 
 may be right. Well,' says she, with a sudden 
 gay recovery of her usual self, ' never mind 
 "that plan." Let us get on to the subject in 
 hand.' 
 
 ' You mean Marcus V says Mary. * Well, 
 what of him ? Except that I am too, too 
 happy. It isn't right to be so happy, is it, 
 Lena? It ' — nervously — ' it isn't lucky !' 
 
 Mrs. Egerton turns sharply to her sister. 
 
 ' What nonsense you go on with, Mary ' 
 Why can't you accept a happiness given you 
 without trying to find a flaw in it ? It is 
 horrible. And you, too — you who seem 
 made for happiness !'
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 269 
 
 * Oh, there you are wrong,' says Mary 
 faintly. ^ How does anyone dare to be happy 
 in this world ? The greater the happiness, 
 the greater the grief, because all things end. 
 Death, Lena, destroys life.' 
 
 ' For a bride-elect,' says Lena, ^ you are 
 the most dismal person I ever met. If his 
 influence on you is only to have the effect of 
 making you wretched, throw him over/ 
 
 ' Wretched ! He makes me happier than 
 I have ever been. It is not he, but the 
 happiness itself, that frightens me. Lena ' — 
 laying her hands suddenly on her sister's, 
 and looking at her with great gleaming eyes 
 — ' sometimes it has occurred to me that 
 happiness is not my portion in this life — that ' 
 — she pauses — ' that ' 
 
 ' What ?' asks Mrs. Egerton, clasping the 
 other's hand closely, and looking rather 
 frightened. 
 
 ' Oh no I it is nothing,' says Mary. She 
 releases herself from Lena, and, getting up,
 
 270 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 goes over to the chimney-piece, and there 
 stands leaning against the mantelpiece. ' It 
 is madness. I really think ' — turning to 
 Lena with a sort of passion — ' that this (you 
 know what 1 mean) has upset me. It is 
 dreadful to be as happy as I am, isn't it ?' 
 
 * You make it dreadful,' says Lena. * You 
 think too much, my dearest. Be happy ; 
 surely Heaven is not all unkind. Good 
 gracious ! where is James ? He would be 
 splendid at this sort of thing. But he is 
 never to be had when wanted.' 
 
 Here they both laugh, and Mrs. Egerton, 
 catching her sister in the humour for it, 
 carries her mind with her to other sub- 
 jects. 
 
 ' I'm so glad !' says she, pressing a kiss on 
 Mary's cheek. ' It's delightful to think you 
 are going to be married to the man of your 
 heart. Xot that it is so unusual an occur- 
 rence as you seem to think. Many a girl 
 marries the man she loves, and the men don't
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 271 
 
 always die. So much for your point of view, 
 Mary ; and now something for mine. I must 
 say it is a blessing that one of us is making a 
 departure from the orthodox line that distin- 
 guishes our family. I feared we were all 
 doomed to the ministry — that is, to the 
 canons, and curates, and deans, and vicars of 
 our Church. You, I must say, have made a 
 noble departure — the nobler in that we have 
 undoubtedl}' got Church on the brain. Even 
 /, who had vowed to marry a tinker, a tailor, 
 a soldier, a sailor, anything but a clergyman, 
 found myself at last hopelessly embedded in 
 the bosom of Mother Church.' 
 
 ' Is that another name for JamvCS ?' asks 
 Mary, with a little laugh. ' I don't believe 
 one could marry one's mother — the law would 
 forbid it I' 
 
 ' Mary/ says her sister solemnly, ' this 
 new departure of yours has had a bad effect 
 upon you ; you grow frivolous.' 
 
 ' Not all the departures in the world coukl
 
 272 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 make me as frivolous as you are. How James 
 can — eh ? What's that, Lena ?' 
 
 ' Only a knock at the hall-door,' says Mrs. 
 Egerton maliciously. ' His knock, I pre- 
 sume, by your air of abject submission. Glad 
 to see he has you in such control. Hq — oh, 
 how d'ye do, Mr. Garden ? Lovely morning, 
 isn't it ? Mr. Egerton will be home directly ; 
 but in the meantime may I leave you to 
 Mary's tender mercies ? I have one or two 
 things that must be seen to, and she ' — with a 
 little delicate smile of comprehension to him 
 — ' has kept me prisoner here for the last 
 hour.' 
 
 * You know, then ?' says Garden, in a 
 man's straightforward way, going up to her, 
 and taking her hand afresh after the first 
 greeting. 
 
 * I know a little — as little as Mary could 
 help,' says she, for which Mary blesses her 
 secretly. 
 
 Oh, that he should think she could speak
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 273 
 
 to anyone, even her nearest and dearest, of 
 the sweet, glad, perfect things that passed 
 between him and her ! 
 
 * You know this much, at least — that I 
 aspire to be your brother?' says Garden, 
 with an answering smile. 
 
 ' So much— yes. You may know a little 
 more — that I am very glad to be your 
 sister.' 
 
 She beams on him again, presses his hand, 
 and goes to the door. 
 
 ' A last word, and a needful one,' says she, 
 looking back at the two she leaves behind. 
 * Luncheon will be ready in ten minutes ; 
 ril try to make it fifteen, but beyond that I 
 cannot go.' 
 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 ' Kissing her hair, I sat against her feet, 
 Wove and unwove it, wound and found it sweet, 
 Made fast therewith her hands, drew down her eyes, 
 Deep as deep flowers, and dreamy like dim skies ; 
 With her own tresses bound and found her fair, 
 Kissing her hair.' 
 
 Luncheon is a marked success. James, having 
 been initiated in the mysteries of this new, 
 delightful affair, has said a pleasant word or 
 two to Garden — a word that has met with a 
 most cordial reception. Mr. Egerton's strong- 
 plain face had been lighted by a smile all 
 through luncheon — so much so, indeed, that 
 later on, when alone with him, his wife had 
 likened it, in a distinctly frivolous manner, to 
 a ' birthday illumination/ 
 
 After luncheon Mrs. Egerton devoutly
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 275 
 
 hoped that Providence might put it into the 
 lovers' heads to go to the garden. The 
 garden is always the correct place for lovers. 
 It is the time - honoured spot where they 
 are always supposed to give voice to their 
 choicest inanities. The garden, as a rule, is 
 all roses, and honeysuckle, and arbours, and 
 earwigs, and such-like delicacies ; but to the 
 garden to-day these lovers decline to wander. 
 
 Why, there isn't the slightest excuse, for 
 the day is lovely beyond its fellows ; the 
 last roses of summer are rendering the air 
 sweeter than usual ; the tiny summer-house 
 at the end of the rows and rows of exquisite 
 flowers is in perfect order, and so stands that 
 not a window of the house can overlook the 
 inside of it. It has been newly done up, so 
 that there isn't a hole anywhere w^here prying 
 eyes could peer. Not even the children — 
 three in number — could see into that perfect 
 arbour without being themselves first seen. 
 
 Yet in a desultory way the lovers drift
 
 276 NOR WIFE JSOR MAID 
 
 into the drawing-room. It is a charming 
 room, certainly, and is the next best thing 
 to the garden — as we all know — where the 
 newly-affianced are concerned. The best room 
 in the house is the one they usually choose in 
 which to seclude themselves, on the principle, 
 doubtless, that nothing is too good for the 
 blest. 
 
 Mrs. Egerton gives way to a loud sigh and 
 a suppressed bad word as she sees them wend 
 their way thither. People are sure to call 
 this afternoon, and to enter that room is to 
 bring down black looks and muttered anathe- 
 mas upon her head. Why on earth couldn't 
 they have gone into the garden ? James is 
 in the library (busy, he says), so nobody can 
 be shown in there ; and the morning-room 
 has been turned out by that troublesome 
 under - housemaid, who is always being 
 officiously energetic just when she isn*t 
 wanted to do anything but keep herself 
 quiet.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 277 
 
 To the drawing-room, in spite of all that, 
 Mary and Garden go. It is a charming room, 
 soft, subdued, full of flowers, with nothing of 
 the air of the ordinary parsonage about it. 
 Mr. Egerton is too well off for that, having 
 a considerable private income of his own. 
 In all the deep embrasures of the windows 
 are tall stands of scented blossoms, with 
 easy - chairs beside them that the hanging 
 curtains of rich Indian stuff almost hide. 
 The furniture is exquisitely set out, the 
 screens being neither too many nor too high, 
 and the lights beautifully arranged. There 
 are a few choice water-colours on the walls, 
 and a good deal of splendid Oriental work in 
 cabinets and china. Mr. Egerton, before his 
 marriage, had been something of a traveller. 
 
 ' You have a delightful sister,' says Garden, 
 when they find themselves alone, and a few 
 preliminaries have been gone through. 
 
 * I'm so glad you like Lena. Some people 
 dorCt^ you know — they think her satirical; but
 
 278 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 she isn't. She is nothing if not really kind 
 and good in every way.' 
 
 * Well, I could fancy her satirical.' 
 
 * I know what you mean ; but it is only to 
 those who are really horrid — people who 
 offend her. To her friends ' 
 
 * She is all things?. I can fancy that, too. 
 I hope she will make me her friend. I can't 
 tell you how I admire her. I think her ' 
 
 ' Don't say it.' 
 
 * Say what V 
 
 * That you think her the most charming 
 person you ever met.' 
 
 ' Oh, nonsense !' 
 
 He laughs, and so does she, and after 
 another preliminary she goes on again : 
 
 * She is very glad about — about — us, you 
 know,' hurriedly. I assure you, M — I assure 
 you ' — hurriedly — ' she said all sorts of nice 
 things about it.' 
 
 * I can't think, darling,' in an aggrieved 
 way, ' why you find a difficulty about calling
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 279 
 
 me by my name. Do you know, Mary, I 
 used- to call you by yours — to myself, of course 
 — from the very first time I saw you. Mary ! 
 What a name it is ! But you — I don't believe 
 you used to think of me at all — in any 
 way.' 
 
 * Ah, I thought of you too much,' says she, 
 smiling, whilst her lovely, gentle eyes fill witli 
 tears. * So much that I was afraid to think 
 of you. That sounds like nonsense, I know, 
 but it is quite, quite true. I should not have 
 dared to call you Marcus to myself, or to any- 
 one else. Oh, certainly,' with a quick blush, 
 ^ never to myself.' 
 
 ' But now.' 
 
 ' Oh! Now V She laughs. and hesitates. 
 
 ' Say it, Mary.' 
 
 She puts up her hand to keep him off. 
 laughing and protesting still, and then sud- 
 denly * Marcus, Marcus, Marcus !' cries she, 
 Jand runs into his arms. 
 
 * But to return to Lena,' says she presently.
 
 280 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 ' You know now — from this out ' — with a 
 little glance and a pressure of his hand — ' I 
 shall tell you everything, because,' sweetly, 
 * you are just the same as myself. Well, Mrs. 
 Seatoun can't bear Lena. That distresses me, 
 because you must know that I like Mrs. Sea- 
 toun in a way, and that she should not like 
 Lena seems so odd I If I hated Mrs. Seatoun, 
 of course, it would not matter, I should not 
 feel it then ; but as it is ' 
 
 ' I shouldn't bother about it/ says Garden. 
 ' If Lena — you see how brotherly I am getting 
 — has only one person to hate her in the 
 whole wide, militant world, she is the most 
 fortunate person I have ever met.' 
 
 • Oh, there are others, of course. But ' — 
 with a shrug of her pretty shoulders — 'they 
 don't count. There is Mrs. Mordaunt, for 
 
 example, and Quick ! Go over there, 
 
 far away ! Go /' 
 
 As Lena, with much trepidation and a truly 
 amazing number of turns of the door-handle,
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 281 
 
 enters the rooui, accompanied by Mrs. Mor- 
 daunt, of all people, she finds her sister care- 
 fully watering the plants in the upper window, 
 Avith Mr. Garden at a respectful distance dis 
 coursing to her of the latest Parliamentary 
 news. 
 
 Poor Lena casts an apologetic glance at 
 Mary, but nothing more can be done. Mrs. 
 Mordaunt opens up quite a flood of conversa- 
 tion upon Garden, who, to judge by his 
 appearance, is becoming rapidly drowned by 
 it. Under cover of this deluge Mary ap- 
 proaches her sister. 
 
 * Don't be so unhappy!' says she in a light 
 whisper, that is tinged with a pretty mockery. 
 ' We shall survive it. Only, Lena, do take 
 her ofl" the poor fellow's shoulders until we 
 can make our escape.' 
 
 * Make it soon !' says Lena. 
 
 * As soon as ever we can. But you know 
 how that woman talks, and we don't want to 
 be — how is it ? — well, you know, asked
 
 282 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 questions yet. Oh, Lena, we are giving you 
 a great deal of trouble, aren't we 1 But, you 
 know, there is nobody but you, and ' 
 
 * Not a bit, not a bit,' genially. ' Just cut 
 away whenever you can, and thank Heaven 
 that you have left her behind you. Now ' — 
 indignantly — ' what could have brought her 
 here to-day of all days ? She must have got 
 an inkling somewhere !' 
 
 She steps lightly across the room to where 
 Mrs. Mordaunt and Garden are standing ; the 
 latter as silent as courtesy will permit, the 
 former full of play. 
 
 ' Looking at that cabinet, Mrs. Mordaunt '? 
 I knew you would notice it. Isn't it charm- 
 ing, unique, cA^c, or whatever the most 
 fashionable word now is ? Come over here 
 and examine it more closely. You have a 
 pretty taste in this sort of thing, I know.' 
 
 Mrs. Mordaunt had once bought a second- 
 hand mahogany tal-boy at an auction in 
 Irkton, which she persists in looking upon as
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 283 
 
 a receptacle for insects, seaweed, birds' eggs, 
 and nauseas of all kinds. 
 
 * Very nice, very nice indeed/ says Mrs. 
 Mordaunt, who has been led astray by that 
 crafty allusion to her as a first-class con- 
 noisseur in bric-a-hrac. 
 
 ' Yes ; isn't it perfect ? A very heart, / 
 call it ! T fell in love with it one day when 
 last I was in town, and James bought it for me.' 
 
 'What a delightful husband!' says Mrs. 
 Mordaunt, with a rather set smile. 
 
 'No, no,' laughing, and gradually edging 
 Mrs. Mordaunt away from the spot Avhere 
 that fateful window can be seen with its two 
 anxious occupants ; ' you mustn't run away 
 with that idea. I fancy Mr. Egerton knew he 
 should not have a single quiet moment until 
 the cabinet was under his roof, and so for his 
 own soul's peace he bought it for me.' 
 
 * It is a very pleasing bit of furniture,' says 
 Mrs. Mordaunt, just as if the priceless article 
 in question was a serviceable chest of drawers.
 
 284 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 * Yes, isn't it V as genially as if the praise 
 of her cabinet had been all it ought to be, 
 and talking against time. ' It has been quite 
 a joy to me since it walked in the doors, and ' 
 — quaintly — ' a joy to the household too. 1 
 have forgotten to scold anybody since its 
 arrival, James included. The children, the 
 servants — all — now go scot-free. I haven't 
 the heart to make anyone sad when I myself 
 feel so happy.* 
 
 She smiles at Mrs. Mordaunt in a brilliant 
 fashion, and casts a slight glance at the one 
 window on which her mind is set. Those 
 two idiots, are they still there ? Yes, they 
 (ire / Good heavens ! If she had been in 
 Mary's place, what a little time it would have 
 taken her to jump from the window-sill to the 
 grass plot beneath ! The world is growing 
 old. 
 
 * Dear Mrs. Egerton, to feel so much plea- 
 sure in a bit of wood and — er ' 
 
 ' Oh, it isn't so much the wood and— er/
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 285 
 
 says Mrs. Egerton, smiling beautifully. * It is 
 just the fact that I liked it. It might be 
 cheap or hideous to other eyes, or misshapen 
 — anything — but I fancied it. Someone has 
 said that, as we grow old, we give up toys. 
 That someone is a fool, and his remark un- 
 worthy of notice. Do we ever abandon our 
 toys ? Do we not adore them' and cling to 
 them all our lives in one shape or another ? 
 And, still continuing like children, is it not 
 true that the more battered our to3^s are the 
 more we love them V 
 
 Having given this question to Mrs. Mor- 
 daunt, she again casts a hasty glance at the 
 window. Still it is darkened by two figures. 
 In a sort of frenzy she goes on : 
 
 ' Yes, battered — that is how we like our 
 toys nowadays. I wouldn't have this darling 
 old cabinet without its broken corner for any- 
 thing. That corresponds to the good old doll's 
 broken nose, doesn't it ? It makes it all the 
 dearer.*
 
 286 NOR WIFK NOR MAID 
 
 * In every sense, no doubt/ says Mrs. Mor- 
 daunt, with a sniff. 
 
 * True, true ' — gaily — ' though I am afraid 
 you have spoilt my simile. Battering does 
 not make the dolly " dearer " in your sense of 
 the word. Still, I maintain we keep children 
 always, so far as toys go. This * — patting the 
 cabinet with h pretty affectation of affection — 
 ' is my last toy.' 
 
 ' I thought the baby would have been 
 that,' says Mrs. Mordaunt slowly, reprov- 
 ingly. 
 
 *Pouf ! what a mad fancy!' cries Liena, 
 with an air of disdain, who in reality is the 
 tenderest mother alive. ' Babies are to be 
 seen every day, but a cabinet like this ' 
 
 She pauses ; surely she has given them 
 sufficient time now to make their escape ; if 
 they have not profited by it, their loss be on 
 their own heads. To the utmost limit her 
 patience, her powers of conversation, have 
 been stretched. After this (if they have not
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 287 
 
 vanished through the window), the deluge, 
 or, in other words, an hour of Mrs. Mordaunt. 
 She glances quickly round ; the window is 
 open, the window-recess is empty — so is -the 
 room, save for Mrs. Mordaunt and herself. 
 
 * How time has flown !' says Lena brightly. 
 * Mary and Mr. Garden have evidently gone 
 into the library to look for their tea. We 
 generally have it there when James is at 
 home. Come, let us join them.' 
 
 * Dear me !' says Mrs. Mordaunt, with a 
 shiver, 'was that window open when first I 
 came in ? Do you know, I should never have 
 thought it.' 
 
 # # ^ # # . 
 
 * Now go — go — go !' Mary is saying to 
 Marcus, in the garden, whither they were 
 driven. ' Mrs. Mordaunt must have finished 
 her tea by this time, and she will say all sorts 
 of dreadful things if I am not en evidence 
 before she leaves.' 
 
 * Let her say them.'
 
 288 NOK WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 * But there is Lena ; she might be 
 vexed.' 
 
 * Well, I'll go in with you.' 
 
 *No, you must not indeed !' colouring 
 warmly. * Do you want them all to be 
 talking about us — and for so long a time, 
 too?' 
 
 ' There will be no long time !' 
 
 * Well, of course ' — growing confused — ' not 
 long, certainly, but ' 
 
 * However short the time, I confess it will 
 be long to me. And a month means thirty 
 days, at the lowest.' 
 
 ' A month !' 
 
 * Mary, why 7iot ? If we are to spend our 
 lives together, if we want to spend our lives 
 together, why put off the commencement of 
 the thing we most desire? Why waste the 
 precious moments? Mary, think how short 
 the longest life must be, and ' 
 
 * You don't let me think,' says she, laying 
 her hand upon her heart.
 
 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 289 
 
 He takes it from A^r heart and lays it over 
 his own. 
 
 ^ Why should you think ? It is all true 
 what I have said, is it not, my beloved ? We 
 want to spend our lives together ; let us begi n 
 the spending soon, then.' 
 
 Her face is a little pale, her eyes brilliant, as 
 she looks at him. 
 
 'There is one thing,' she says, smiling: 
 ' you will always have everything your own 
 way.' 
 
 ' Because,' pressing her fingers to his lips, 
 
 * that will be yow way.' 
 
 * Ah, sophist ! Well/ with a quick sigh, 
 
 * I must think it over, in spite of all you have 
 said.' 
 
 'You are as obstinate as Arabella. Did I 
 tell you what she said to me yesterday ?' 
 ' Yes, you told me.' 
 
 * Ah, did I ? I grow stupid ; I can re- 
 member only one thing now.*
 
 290 NOR WIFE NOR MAID 
 
 ' And that ?' glancing shyly at him, as if 
 anticipating the reply. 
 
 ' That I love you !' 
 
 ^ It is enough !' says Mary, turning upon 
 him a soft, lingering, beautiful smile. 
 
 H- 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BILLING ANI> SONS, FllINTKilS, GLiLDKORP.
 
 UNIVERSm OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 079561723