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FOILED 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
NEW NOVELS AT ALL LIBRARIES. 
 
 ALSTON CRUCIS. By Helen Shipton, author of 
 
 ' Dagmar,' 'The Last of the Fenwickes,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 ONE WAY OF LOVE. By Constance Smith, author of 
 
 ' The Repentance of Paul Wentworth,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 NURSE ELISIA. By G. Manville Fenn, author of ' Mahme 
 
 Nousie,' ' The Master of the Ceremonies,' &c, 2 vols. 
 
 A WOMAN'S AMBITION. By Henry Cresswell, author 
 
 of ' A Modern Greek Heroine,' «fec. 3 vols. 
 
 SIR ANTHONY. By Adeline Sergeant, author of ' Caspar 
 
 Brooke's Daughter,' 'A Life Sentence,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 LONDON: HURST & BLACKETT, LIMITED. 
 
FOILED 
 
 BY 
 
 THE HON. MRS. HENNIKER 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "SIR GEORGE," ETC. 
 
 " Where sorrow treads on joy, 
 
 Where sweet things soonest cloy, 
 Where faiths are built on dust, 
 Where love is half mistrust." 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED, 
 
 L3, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1893. 
 
 All Eights Reserved. 
 
Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, 
 London & Bungay. 
 

 H3^E^ 
 
 ,^ 
 
 Oil 
 
 Deak Mr. Bret Harte, 
 
 You have shown such kindly and unfailing interest 
 in my earlier efforts as a humble recruit to the ranks of the 
 company which has long been proud to call you one of its 
 leaders, that I venture to dedicate to you the following story, 
 with feelings of wami friendship and gratitude. 
 Yours always sincerely, 
 
 FLORENCE HEXNIKEli. 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^^ 
 
 ^ 
 
CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. THE VILLA OX THE RHINE 
 
 II. MORE ABOUT FRANK HESSELTINE 
 
 III. " HAD WE NEVER LOVED SO BLINDLY 
 
 IV. A LONDON WEDDING ... 
 V. REMORSE AND REGRET 
 
 VI. "good-bye for EVER, GOOD-BYE " 
 
 3 
 31 
 57 
 
 75 
 
 97 
 
 127 
 
 PART II. 
 
 I. THE queen's ball ... 
 
 II. A SUNDAY IN THE SEASON 
 
 IIL A DINNER AND A PLAY 
 
 IV. A GLIMPSE OF HEATHER AND PINES 
 
 150 
 181 
 218 
 
 258 
 
PART I. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 B 
 
FOILED 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE VILLA ON THE RHINE. 
 
 The bronze clock, surmounted by a figure 
 of the Kaiser on horseback, struck three 
 in the little sitting-room of the Rheinischer- 
 Hof, occupied in Oct. 187 — by Frank 
 Hesseltine. It was the best room which 
 the primitive little inn contained, and the 
 worthy landlord had lately given an extra 
 coat of polish to the floor, and placed a 
 large nosegay of Michaelmas daisies and 
 grass on the sideboard to do honour to his 
 
 o 
 
 guest. The green shutters were more than 
 
4 FOILED. 
 
 half open, and a flood of sunshine, dazzling 
 enough to belong to an earlier period of the 
 year, poured into the room, which was so 
 spotlessly clean that the searching rays 
 failed to light upon a speck of dust. Frank 
 Hesseltine — who had eaten an excellent 
 luncheon of veal-cutlets and omelette some 
 two hours ago — pushed away the empty 
 coffee-cup at his elbow ; yawned, stretched 
 himself, flung Feuillet's latest work, face 
 downwards, on the table ; yawned again, 
 and finally rose from the green moreen 
 arm-chair, which he had found a sufficiently 
 comfortable sleeping-place. He sauntered 
 to the window, flung it still wider open, 
 and looked out. It was a very fair and 
 smiling landscape on which his rather sad 
 eyes rested. The noble river, wide as a 
 little lake, shining at his feet, beneath the 
 sloping sheet of vines ; here and there a 
 cluster of gabled houses, with broad wooden 
 beams inlaid across their walls, and patches 
 
FOILED. 5 
 
 of garden surrounding them. Beyond, more 
 vineyards, rising ever higher and higher, 
 until they seemed almost to meet the hill- 
 tops. AVhite smoke from a steamer leaving a 
 faint feathery track against the blue. Alto- 
 gether it was an ideal afternoon of still 
 golden autumn ; with no harsh sounds to 
 pierce the clear atmosphere, only now and 
 then a child's voice calling a playmate in 
 the garden below, or the lowing of a quiet 
 brown ox beino; led towards his stable. 
 '^ No one would talk of the cockneyism of 
 the Ehine if they had the sense to stop 
 at such charming little villages as this," 
 thoug^ht Hesseltine. ''And after all, as to 
 coQifort, what does one want more ? Keally 
 very fair cooking, and if the beds are short " 
 (oflancino; down at his boots some six feet 
 below him), " so much the more reason to 
 get up and go out early and see the 
 country. I must have walked a good 
 twelve miles this morninof. I shan't do 
 
6 FOILED. 
 
 more than sixteen a day; it was different 
 a long time ago, when Charley and I — " 
 
 He passed his hand with a half-impatient 
 movement over his forehead, in which two 
 horizontal lines were very clearly marked 
 above the dark brows, and he sighed heavily. 
 
 " Will this go on getting worse and 
 worse? This dreary sense of blankness 
 and hopelessness I If only Providence had 
 seen fit to deprive me of any other earthly 
 thing — health, money, anything, anything, 
 but my one real friend — " 
 
 His meditations were interrupted by a 
 tapping at the door. It was the landlord^ 
 with a smiling moon-face and gray whiskers. 
 " Would the ' gnadiger Herr ' wish one of 
 the children to show him the way to the 
 villa ? The lessons were over, and Kufina 
 and Anna w^ould be too proud if he w^ould 
 allow them to guide him." Trusting that 
 the Herr found his appetite good, and was 
 satisfied with his luncheon, the worthy 
 
FOILED. 7 
 
 man, bowing low, retreated from the thres- 
 hold. Hesseltine expressed himself as de- 
 lighted to accept the offer of the two 
 daughters of the house to show him his 
 way. So in ten minutes the young ladies, 
 one wearing plaits w^hich reminded Hessel- 
 tine of those affected by the immortal 
 family of Kenwigs, the other a child of 
 some eight years, with a smooth head 
 like a billiard-ball, came to the door, and 
 the Englishman followed them out into the 
 village street. 
 
 A quaint little place it was, with its old 
 gabled houses and primitive shops. The 
 carts made a loud rattling noise as they 
 bumped along over the rough paving-stones. 
 A load of little pigs, soon destined to supply 
 the Gasthaus with excellent sausages, 
 rumbled by with a sound of yells and 
 shrieks. Dozens of children, all wearing 
 blue pinafores, and all with the same 
 cropped heads, blocked up the footway, and 
 
8 FOILED. 
 
 stood staring at the tall English stranger. 
 Hard-featured women, with honest kindly 
 faces, were standing at their doorways, or 
 walking quickly past, carrying heavy basket- 
 loads on their backs. Hesseltine turned 
 the corner which led him past the main 
 street out into a broad road lined on either 
 side with chestnut trees. Some of the 
 leaves were turning brown and yellow, and 
 fell at his feet as he walked. 
 
 Eufma and Anna preceded him, keeping 
 up meanwhile a voluble conversation, so 
 that he was left very much to his own 
 thoughts during the walk of a mile and a, 
 half. On one side of the road was a new, 
 very smart villa, the property, he afterwards 
 learnt, of a rich German Jew. In a wire 
 arbour, looking for all the world like a 
 rather plethoric parrot in a domed bird- 
 cage, sat a stout lady in green and red, 
 with dark oily locks on her forehead. A 
 dachshund, nearly as fat as his mistress, 
 
FOILED. 9 
 
 looked at Hesseltine from the top of the 
 low wall, and yapped vociferously. He 
 passed the great gardens and the house half 
 hidden beneath a glorious crimson cloak of 
 Virginian creeper, and all along the road, 
 from window and turret, from wall and 
 railino;, the same masses of brilliant scarlet 
 foliage met his eye, flaming with more 
 dazzling lustre as the lowering sun sent his 
 rays under the chestnut leaves and dyed 
 them a richer blood-red. One more turning, 
 down a poplar avenue this time — sparser, 
 thinner trees these — through which the silver 
 river gleamed, and he found himself opposite 
 a tall gate of rusty iron. 
 
 "It is not locked," said little Rufina ; 
 " the other one is, but this is the side-gate 
 where the butcher and baker come in. Ah ! 
 there is Frau Korner with her apron full 
 of apples. Come quickly, quickly, Frau 
 Korner ! Here is an English gentleman to 
 see the villa." 
 
10 FOILED. 
 
 The old woman addressed turned a kindly- 
 weather-beaten face towards the visitors. 
 
 *' Ah, Rufina, you little chatterer ! You 
 here again — and Anna, my little one, how 
 goes it with you ? Welcome to the villa, 
 mein Herr ; but it is not what it was. 
 Ah, no, it is all lonely and deserted now ; 
 only me and my husband in the great 
 house, and so few men to keep the garden 
 up. Ah, it is sad, sad ! But the good times 
 cannot last ; we must make the best of 
 these, — isn't it so ? — and hope for better 
 still to come." 
 
 " Yes," said Rufina, with a sagacious 
 expression on her fat little face ; " when 
 the young count leaves his studies, and 
 the voung countess comes home too ; then 
 there will be company again, Frau Korner, 
 and cheerful times for you, Frau Korner — 
 is it not true 1 " 
 
 " Ah, well, well, who can say ? But 
 come in, sir, and we will show you all, all — " 
 
FOILED. 1 1 
 
 And the good old woman, who habitually 
 led a monotonous life, became greatly 
 excited at the arrival of this distinguished- 
 looking visitor. Had Frank Hesseltine been 
 a vain man, his head would have been 
 turned long ag:o bv the admirinsf deference 
 usually paid him by people of all degrees. 
 He was really neither handsomer nor 
 cleverer than many of his contemporaries ; 
 but he had certain special distinctions which 
 lifted him above the herd of ordinary 
 merely attractive men. He was tall, with a 
 head rather small for his height ; his face 
 of a clear healthy pallor ; his eyes dark and 
 thoughtful ; and his closely- cropped pointed 
 beard and delicately-shaped hands might 
 have belonged to a picture by Vandyke. 
 But it was his smile — a charming ex- 
 pression, half pathetic, half humorous — that 
 lingered long in the recollection of those 
 who could not accurately have described his 
 features, and perhaps too his peculiarly sweet 
 
12 FOILED. 
 
 voice, low, with a melodious ring in it — and 
 his laugh, which, like his smile, had nearly 
 always a touch of sadness in its merriment. 
 
 Until lately, however, Frank Hesseltine 
 had had little cause to complain of the 
 circumstances of his life. Succeeding very 
 young to large estates in England and 
 Scotland, he found that a careful guardian 
 had dealt so wisely and well by the pro- 
 perty that at the age of twenty-one he was 
 an extremely wealthy man. He had never 
 known a day's serious illness ; he possessed 
 a great capacity for enjoyment, and an 
 athletic frame that had won him laurels at 
 Eton and Christchurch. Added to this he 
 had a large fund of natural shrewdness, a 
 considerable power of work, and a retentive 
 memory that made study a genuine pleasure. 
 Perhaps one cause of the underlying vein of 
 sadness that was noticeable to his intimate 
 friends may have been the want of that 
 sympathy and purely disinterested affection 
 
FOILED. 13 
 
 that belongs only to those who have known 
 the love of parents and brothers and sisters, 
 and to yet another cause, the singularly 
 vivid imagination which compelled him to 
 realize with acute personal pain the sorrows 
 and the physical agonies as well as the 
 mortifications and disappointments of his 
 fellow-creatures. This tenderness of sym- 
 pathy extended to the woes of the low^er 
 creation as well. Though a keen and 
 skilful sportsman, he would suffer hours of 
 depression were he unfortunate enough to 
 wound a stag ; the cry of a wounded animal 
 gave him a positive stab of pain ; and he 
 would have been almost ashamed to own 
 the misery he would endure on a bitter 
 winter's day in London, in watching the 
 struggles of jaded horses on the slippery 
 roadways, and the starved birds, like little 
 fluffy balls, looking vainly for crumbs 
 among the blackened snow. Perhaps if he 
 had had in his youth a mother to whom he 
 
14 FOILED. 
 
 could have confided something of his per- 
 plexity and grief at the incomprehensible 
 problem of the whole creation groaning in 
 pain, he might have been happier in his 
 later years. But he was a very lonely 
 child. He still vividly remembered a night 
 of utter agony which he had endured in his 
 childhood after seeing an unfeeling game- 
 keeper put a live bird into his pet hawk's 
 cage. He had felt so powerleas to interfere 
 — so helpless and with such a feeling of rage 
 all the time at his poor little sore heart. 
 He was too reserved in the presence of his 
 uncle and aunt to speak of his trouble, and 
 his only other relation, a sister, was at that 
 time married and far away. So the poor 
 sensitive child hugged this grief, and many 
 another besides, in silence. Now that he 
 was grown to manhood, and a rich man 
 moreover, he gave largely to appeals for 
 help on all sides — often with a feeling of 
 half hopelessness, but not perhaps with the 
 
FOILED. 1 5 
 
 one of despair that had weighed down his 
 spirit in early youth. 
 
 After this dio;ression on Hesseltine's 
 character, it may be easier for those who 
 never saw him to understand somethino^ 
 of his gift of sympathy which won him 
 all hearts. He was the adored of tenants 
 and servants ; the true friend and 
 counsellor to men both older and younger 
 than himself ; and he had been like a 
 brother once to poor Charley Marsham, 
 who had been brought home hopelessly 
 maimed from hunting some eight months 
 ago, with crimson stains on his clothes 
 brighter in colour than the mud-stained 
 red of the coat which he wore. 
 
 And now as he stood at the gate of the 
 sunny villa in this pleasant Ehine-land, a 
 vision of that last good-bye to his old friend 
 flashed over Frank Hesseltine's brain. 
 
 " Poor boy ! — the place must have looked 
 just as bright that autumn when he came 
 
16 FOILED. 
 
 here to see her once more." And then the 
 gate creaked on its rusty hinges, as the tall 
 Englishman passed into the garden, under 
 the loaded apple-trees, and past the trellises 
 of changing vines. 
 
 Good Frau Korner was quite determined 
 that no single feature of this garden should 
 escape his notice ; and so when Rufina and 
 her small sister ran shouting off to make 
 further explorations, he listened kindly and 
 sympathetically to her flow of conversation. 
 There was the trained pear-tree, — stretching 
 so far— so very far across the flower-beds — 
 the poor Frau Grafin had been so fond of 
 that pear-tree. Then there was the long 
 walk — '' wunderschon, prachtvoll " — under 
 the roof of trained vines all along by the 
 sunny river. And how calm that broad 
 expanse of limpid water seemed ! Flowing on 
 and ever on, heedlessly, smilingly, past the 
 homesteads which would one day grow old, 
 and crumble and fall ; past toiling, tired 
 
FOILED. 17 
 
 human beings, whose span of life would be 
 as a moment in comparison with its long 
 existence ; past scenes of tumultuous grief 
 and rapture ; of death, and love stronger 
 than death. Flowing all unheeding of 
 change, and pain, and decay, towards the 
 waste of the greater sea. And as Frank 
 Hesseltine's eye rested on the mighty river, 
 for which millions of true men would sive 
 the last drop of their heart's blood, his own 
 heart swelled with a sort of sympathetic pride, 
 the common possession of loyal souls which 
 makes one brotherhood of brave men over 
 all the world. Side by side they walked 
 through the green trellised alley, the English- 
 man with the grave kindly face, and the 
 toil-worn but cheerful old German woman. 
 The garden was not very well kept up, and 
 here and there weeds struggled among great 
 lilac tufts of Michaelmas daisies, variegated 
 grasses, and scarlet begonias. But it seemed 
 
 a sweet place, nevertheless, to rest in, under 
 ■ VOL. I. c 
 
1 8 FOILED. 
 
 the glow of ttie autumnal skies ; and the air, 
 whicli was soft enough for an afternoon in 
 July, was full of a faint fragrance of flowers, 
 mingled with an odour of over-ripe fruits 
 and of stray leaves dying, or even now 
 dead. 
 
 In front of the villa, the green shutters 
 of which were almost all closed, was a 
 colonnade with steps leading to a broad 
 terrace overlooking the river. Both under 
 the arches, and outside on the gravel paths, 
 were small iron tables, chairs with thin legs 
 and worn silk cushions, waiting apparently 
 for visitors who would never come. To 
 Hesseltine the feeling of silence and deser- 
 tion seemed more pathetic in this modern 
 sunny villa than it would have been in a 
 grander and older house under the gray skies 
 of his own England. There was something 
 almost pitiful in these little groups of rather 
 tumble-down chairs drawn round the bare 
 tables, waiting expectant for unknown 
 
FOILED. 19 
 
 guests ; laughing girls, perhaps, with shady 
 hats and bright-coloured draperies ; olhcers 
 in blue and red with handsome faces, and 
 swords that would clank against the seats 
 and footstools. Years ago, no doubt, such as 
 these had really sat here, but now the day 
 w^ould fade into the gloaming, then the new 
 moon would look down upon the dark water, 
 and on the empty chairs that would still be 
 there, grouped together in the ghostly light ; 
 while no voices would ring through drawing- 
 room or colonnade, and no pairs of happy 
 lovers would sit, silent and entranced, to 
 w>tch the gathering stars. 
 
 Frau Korner pushed aside the window 
 which led into the principal sitting-room, 
 and followed her guest within. Hesseltine 
 found himself in a dim drawing-room, 
 wherein a faint odour of old rose-leaves and 
 musty draperies was perceptible. There 
 were beautiful pieces of old marqueterie 
 furniture, all most carefully dusted, in the 
 
20 FOILED. 
 
 corners and in the centre of the polished 
 floor. A screen of faded green tapestry, on 
 which a simpering lady in a shepherdess 
 costume played the lute to an ecstatic 
 young man with a crook, stood behind a 
 tall white china stove. 
 
 Photographs, faded mostly, but here and 
 there strangely modern in appearance, stood 
 on consoles and tables. In one corner was 
 a spinning- wbeel ; in another a piano, closed, 
 but with a piece of torn yellow music lying 
 on it. In another a book-shelf, half full of 
 volumes, and other books were lying about 
 everywhere. Hesseltine opened one at 
 hazard, turned mechanically to the fly-leaf, 
 and suddenly bit his lip as if in physical 
 pain. He read, in a clear handwriting, 
 which was very familiar to him, the in- 
 scription — "Thecla, from C. M. In memory 
 of Oct. 186—." 
 
 Frau Korner had bustled ofl* with a view 
 to fetching some light refreshments for the 
 
FOILED. 21 
 
 visitor, so that lie was now alone, and the 
 expression on his face had passed unnoticed. 
 The silence and warmth of the closed room 
 became suddenly almost intolerably oppres- 
 sive. The only noise was the buzzing of 
 numberless flies, misled by the sunshine 
 into imaoinino' themselves once a2;ain in 
 summer. Far away from over the stretches 
 of vivid green Indian corn by the river, 
 came voices of people at work, but faint 
 as in a dream. And Frank Hesseltine 
 lifted his eyes from the book, which he still 
 held in one hand, to a ^^icture which hung 
 upon the wall between the windows and the 
 empty stove. 
 
 It represented a youug woman of perhaps 
 some two-and-tw^enty years, and, from the 
 fashion of the white muslin dress which she 
 wore, had probably been painted some ten 
 years ago or more. It was easy to see that 
 she had been proud of the slenderness of 
 her waist, and of the very small hand which 
 
22 FOILED. 
 
 held a pink rose. Without being a first- 
 rate work of art, the portrait possessed an 
 undeniable charm, which seemed to grow 
 upon the gazer the longer he looked at it. 
 The artist had taken especial pains with the 
 crepe locks of silky flaxen hair, and with 
 the expression of the mouth — a rather weak 
 mouth it was, with a full under lip. The 
 eyes were small, but of an attractive form, 
 sloping a good deal downwards ; the eye- 
 lashes delicately pencilled ; the nose small 
 and retrousse. Perhaps the distinctive 
 beauty of the woman lay in the exquisite 
 poise of the small head. The complexion 
 was fair, like the inside of a shell ; the ears 
 beautifully modelled. 
 
 *' So that was she," said Frank Hesseltine 
 half aloud, and he sighed. " Poor old 
 Charley ! " so his thoughts ran; " no wonder, 
 perhaps, that she fascinated you ; there must 
 have been a strange charm about that face. 
 And she looks sad too, poor little soul ! 
 
FOILED. 23 
 
 Thinking of him perhaps half the time, and 
 the other half whether the artist was doing 
 
 o 
 
 justice to the fit of her gown. How pretty 
 those little silk waves of hair are ! Poor 
 Thecla, you hadn't very long to enjoy the 
 power your beauty gave you. And now 
 there is nothing left of your smile, and of 
 your graceful curls under the stone where 
 I shall go one day to look at your last 
 sleeping-place. You did love him, I 
 believe, very dearly, and so I too must love 
 your memory for that. I suppose you were 
 rather vain and silly sometimes, like most 
 women. Yes, there is no depth in those 
 blue eyes, no firmness in that soft chin and 
 babyish mouth ; but you spoilt the life, 
 nevertheless, you poor child, of the best 
 fellow in the whole world." 
 
 Hesseltine turned away, pushed the 
 shutter a little further back to let a fuller 
 light stream in, and turned again towards 
 the picture. He could almost fancy that 
 
24 FOILED. 
 
 the flaxen head was about to move, that 
 the little hand would drop the rose at his 
 feet. But no, only silence, immobility, and 
 underneath the waning glory of the day, 
 the sense of a past tragedy pervading all 
 things. 
 
 Frau Korner was back again. 
 
 " Ah ! the Herr is looking at the poor 
 Grafin's picture, so like her, her very self, 
 painted a year before she died. And the 
 room is just as she left it, excepting that 
 she always had bouquets of flowers every- 
 W'here, all over the room." 
 
 And now, thought Hesseltine, there was, 
 nothing but the smell of the dead roses in 
 the china bowls. 
 
 "And which is the Herr Grafs portrait?" 
 asked Frank. 
 
 " There, in the next room — in uniform, 
 the Herr will see." 
 
 And she led him up to an oil painting 
 of a singularly handsome man, a Hussar, 
 
FOILED. 25 
 
 bronzed and bearded, with cold, half- 
 smiling eyes. 
 
 " Ah ! a fine-looking couple they were, 
 on their wedding-day, when he brought 
 his bride home. She so young and fair, 
 he so grand and tall. Who would have 
 thought what would happen ? There was 
 fault, no doubt, mei7i Hei^r, on both sides. 
 The Herr Graf left her too much alone, and 
 then the troubles began. Ah ! what a day, 
 when we found her ..." 
 
 The door creaked and Herr Korner, the 
 steward, in his working dress, looked in, and 
 gave warm greetings to the stranger. And 
 the worthy pair led Hesseltine out on to 
 the terrace towards one of the little iron 
 tables. He saw that a neat white cloth 
 had been laid upon it, also a bottle of white 
 w^ine ; a glass and fruit, bunches of little 
 black grapes, and others turned golden ])y 
 the last sun-rays, were placed there for his 
 benefit. He smiled a pleasant thanks to 
 
26 FOILED. 
 
 the good old couple, and seated on a creak- 
 ing iron chair he eat his fruit, and watched 
 the beauty of light and shade on the vine- 
 yard slopes and the broad sweep of river. 
 After a time Herr Korner came smilins^ 
 back again, and Hesseltine, who spoke 
 fluent German, asked him to share his 
 excellent Rauenthaler with him. As they 
 sat together, the old man became more and 
 more expansive, and told him many stories 
 of the villa in the times long since past 
 and gone ; of the parties of gay people who 
 
 would come from Bad ■; of the brilliant 
 
 dinners in the now silent dining-room ; of 
 the band which played on the terrace by 
 moonlight ; of the dancing afterwards, and 
 the couples who would saunter arm-in-arm 
 through the trellised walks. And always, 
 said Herr Korner, the Frau Grafin was the 
 most lovely woman there. No one could 
 come near her. They did say that most 
 of her dresses came from Paris. It was 
 
FOILED. 27 
 
 because she was so pretty, no doubt, that 
 envious people said wicked things of her. 
 She was always so good, too, to the poor. 
 Ag^ain and agrain she would gro out in rain 
 or cold to see a sick or dying person. Ah ! 
 it was a sad, a terrible storv." 
 
 " Were you here when — when she died, 
 poor woman ? " 
 
 "" Ah ! yes, indeed. She went over to 
 
 Bad and said she had a bad toothache. 
 
 What nonsense, with that lovely row of 
 white teeth ! But she got the chloroform, 
 and two days after she had been at a great 
 
 ball at Bad , her maid came in at eight 
 
 o'clock and found her, mem Herr, quite 
 stiff and white. Her beautiful yellow hair 
 was strewed over the pillow. On her chest 
 was a handkerchief, and they smelt the 
 chloroform verv strongr. How the maid 
 screamed ! — and we all came running in. 
 But it was too late. Her hands were 
 crossed on her breast, like white wax. And 
 
28 FOILED. 
 
 she looked very calm. On the dressing- 
 table was a note for the Herr Graf." 
 
 " He was away ? " 
 
 ''Yes, away hunting. He was never 
 much here those last two years. There 
 were things said of him too, but I do not 
 know the truth." 
 
 "It was a terrible tragedy ! " 
 
 " Yes, indeed, and it breaks my heart, 
 and my wife's, who have known the family 
 so long, to think what she must have 
 suffered before she made up her mind to 
 die. So young, and so lovely, and with 
 those sweet little children. Countess Leon-, 
 tine was not two years old, and the young 
 Graf three years, I think. What a wrench 
 to leave them ! People say that she was so 
 unhappy too at the way she was treated at 
 
 the great ball at Bad 1 Some spiteful 
 
 ladies had spread evil reports of her, and 
 she found a difference in the manner of the 
 guests. She was proud, and felt it so 
 
FOILED. 29 
 
 much. Then she came home, looking very 
 ill and white, and two nights afterwards 
 she destroyed herself ! " 
 
 " Did you guess that she was unhappy ? " 
 " Ah, weli," the old man grew a little 
 more reserved, " we may have thought 
 something. But she was so young — it 
 might all have passed away." And he 
 nodded oracularly over his glass. "You 
 see, mein Herr, people were against her too, 
 from the first ; she was not of the same 
 noble family as the Graf and his relations. 
 And that made other ladies more jealous 
 and inclined to see faults." 
 
 " How did the Count bear the news ? " 
 The old man shrugged his shoulders. 
 " Alw^ays proud and reserved, the Herr 
 Graf. But those who knew him best saw 
 that he was changed. And he fell, as you 
 know, in the war, after distinguishing him- 
 self much, they say." 
 
 The evening: was closing^ in, and with a 
 
30 FOILED. 
 
 warm hand-shake, Hesseltine left old Korner, 
 and sauntered home towards his hotel. 
 
 He pondered, as he went, upon those 
 three wasted lives ; on the woman lying 
 cold in the villa on the Rhine — on the 
 handsome German Hussar, fallen amid 
 blood and smoke, with a bullet through 
 his brain — and of his own friend, sleeping 
 far away under the immemorial yews of 
 an English God's-acre. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 MORE ABOUT FRANK HESSELTINE. 
 
 Frank Hesseltine had been almost as 
 surprised himself as were his numerous 
 friends, when he had finally decided to 
 give up Scotland this year and go abroad 
 alone. There had been two or three reasons 
 for this step, the chief one being the fact 
 that he dreaded the beginning of another 
 autumn in the forest where he and Charles 
 Marsham had been so happy during the 
 preceding year — all the more cheerful, no 
 doubt, because it was like old times to be 
 together again with Charley en g argon, 
 Lady Mary having gone on a long visit 
 
82 FOILED. 
 
 to her own relations. Hesseltine was an 
 excellent shot with a rifle ; but perhaps 
 the reason he had always most valued his 
 deer-forest was for the power it gave him 
 of amusing Charley for some two months 
 in the year, as much as he ever could be 
 amused in those days. And they had had 
 wonderful sport, those two — the wind, most 
 days, the right way, the stags abundant. 
 Frank, looking back, felt that he could 
 never, in the coming future, even when be 
 knew that something of the early sting of 
 grief would be healed, enjoy anything as 
 he had enjoyed the stalking during that 
 past autumn. So it was with scarcely a 
 feelinsf of reojret that he had let Strath- 
 rowan, for a merely nominal rent, to his 
 two friends. Gore and Peploe, and taken 
 the boat for Flushing, en route to a quiet 
 Ehenish village. There was another reason, 
 too, why he felt it incumbent on him to 
 be alone. Of late the feeling had been 
 
FOILED. 33 
 
 strongly borne in upon him that his was 
 a life of wasted talents and opportunities. 
 His intellect was too much accustomed to 
 lie fallow ; he had fallen into a prolonged 
 course of mental self-indulgence. While 
 the blow of his friend's death seemed at 
 times to be most crushing, he had also felt 
 sure that work — real hard work — would 
 somewhat alleviate the acute pain. A few 
 months after Charles's death, an enterpris- 
 ing literary friend of Hessel tine's broached 
 to him the sus^g-estion that he should 
 contribute a volume to a series of political 
 biographies, which he had undertaken to 
 edit. Frank at first demurred ; he had 
 ,never attempted literary work of any sort, 
 and he was always modest about his own 
 powers ; but at last, by dint of persuasion 
 following on the idea that he could go 
 quietly away somewhere for a few months 
 and write, he consented. He had long 
 wished to visit the spot associated with 
 
 VOL. L D 
 
34 FOILED. 
 
 some of the most important events in the 
 life of his dear friend ; he knew that the 
 air there was singularly pure and invigorat- 
 ing and conducive to brain work, and 
 moreover that there he would find no risk 
 of being disturbed either by importunate 
 friends, or by the ubiquitous British tourist. 
 The day after his visit to the villa, Frank 
 Hesseltine, having done justice to an eleven 
 o'clock breakfast - luncheon, arranged his 
 papers and books of reference on the round 
 table in the middle of his sitting-room. He 
 had strong eyes, so sat facing the window, 
 through which balmy little gusts of air 
 floated in. There was a knock, and the 
 round-faced maidservant brought in letters. 
 Among the heap there was one from 
 Strathrowan, from his friend Gore. 
 
 "My dear Feank, 
 
 "Here we are, enjoying ourselves 
 like steam. Weather simply ripping. 
 
FOILED. 35 
 
 Splendid on the hill yesterday. We had 
 a first-rate day ; I got two, good beasts both 
 of them, weights fifteen and sixteen stone. 
 One ten points, the other my first Eoyal. 
 Peploe got a fairish beast — eight points, 
 after a hard stalk, and yesterday two — 
 nine and eleven points. Colin is a ripper, 
 and takes no end of trouble. Wishes you 
 were here — so do we. Tuesday I got a 
 splendid beast, the heaviest stag I ever 
 shot — just turned eighteen stone. Hud- 
 dersfield is at Benvrachie, so w^e asked 
 him over for a stalk. He is fatter than 
 ever, and got very tight after dinner. 
 Such a pity at his age ! Old Tom Gregson 
 is here too ; the fellow, you know, who was 
 at Christchurch with you. The stalkers 
 did not know what to make of his jokes. 
 They wanted to take him up rather a stiff 
 climb, so he pretended he was giddy and 
 had lost his head, and clung with both 
 hands to a rock. He says he nearly burst 
 
o6 FOILED. 
 
 out laughing when the stalkers seized his 
 feet, one by one, and lifted them carefully 
 down on to the flat. Then of course they 
 took him round, as he intended they should, 
 by an easier way ! I don't think there is 
 much more news. Hope the book progresses. 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 "Anthony Gore. 
 
 '' P.S. — We can't thank you enough for 
 letting us have this ripping place. Peploe 
 has just come in, nicely soaked, from head 
 to foot. Got a good beast, with rather a 
 jolly head — horns awful width across." 
 
 Hesseltine laid the letter down and 
 smiled ; for a moment he, too, was far 
 away from the little Khenish hotel, thinking 
 of his friends crawling — crawling on their 
 chests through peaty golden burns, and 
 rough tussocks of fading heather. He 
 pictured Colin's constrained excitement, 
 the supreme moment of taking aim, the 
 
FOILED. 37 
 
 sharp crack of the rifle, and the feeling of 
 tremendous triumph, mixed with just a 
 faint tinge of regret, at the knowledge that 
 one more stately animal lay low upon the 
 purple hill some hundred or so of yards 
 beyond. Then he thought of Charley — 
 what an extraordinarily fine shot he was ! 
 Better than he himself, though he, Frank, 
 had owned a deer-forest all his life. But 
 in almost all sports, though Hesseltine no 
 doubt excelled the greater number of his 
 contemporaries, Charley was always just 
 a little better. Both had been in the 
 Eton eight, but Marsham was the stronger 
 physically in those days, and unquestionably 
 the finer oar. Then he was also the best 
 racquet player in the school, and Frank 
 was never much good at racquets. In the 
 matter of ridincy to hounds, there was 
 perhaps not so much to choose between 
 the two, but then Frank had had fifty 
 times more practice. And with a gun, 
 
38 FOILED. 
 
 Frank was a good shot — his friend much 
 quicker and more brilliant. Then Charles 
 had the great advantage of an imperturba- 
 bility of temper which Hesseltine never 
 acquired. Frank used to say, laughing, 
 that he had in his day smashed more 
 racquets than Charley had ever bought. 
 He was always furiously angry with himself 
 when he shot badly, while the other, if he 
 felt that he was less certain than usual, 
 never seemed to mind it. He used only 
 to laugh and say that he had drunk too 
 much overnight. No ; Frank had never 
 seen him really angry except once, yeara 
 ago, when he had tried to give him a little 
 good advice. Marsham, already embittered 
 by other causes, had said some cruel things 
 to his friend ; and for some time there had 
 been a little cloud between the two. Thank 
 God, however, it had melted away long 
 before the end. And Hesseltine's tender 
 sympathy, his tact and his unfailing gener- 
 
FOILED. 39 
 
 osity, had helped to smooth away the 
 sorrows of the none too happy years of 
 his friend's married life. 
 
 The flies droned on in the quiet little 
 sitting-room. From far away came a sound 
 of men's voices singing a chorus in parts, 
 and the crack of a whip in the road down 
 below. It was very difficult certainly to 
 slave at a political biography while the 
 landscape smiled and beckoned to him with 
 its wealth of gold and green, when such a 
 brilliant panorama lay before his eyes, and 
 when the gentle wind softly ruffled his hair 
 and rustled the blotted sheets of manuscript. 
 He shut the biographical dictionary with a 
 loud bang, upset the ink over the shiny 
 floor, took up his hat and stick, and started 
 out for a long walk. 
 
 He was beginning to know his way in 
 the immediate neighbourhood. He went 
 down the cobbled streets, past the primitive 
 little shops, out into the open country. A 
 
40 FOILED. 
 
 long cart drawn by two black and white 
 oxen came up the dusty road. Then followed 
 a woman with a wrinkled face and a hand- 
 kerchief bound over her brows leading a 
 smaller cart, this one dragged by a great 
 rough dog with a patient face. He walked 
 on between an avenue of apple-trees, laden 
 with crimson fruit. Birds, fancying perhaps 
 that it was summer, once more twittered in 
 a high treble among the leaves. At the 
 bend in a road a Calvary stood out clearly 
 defined against a sky blue enough for Italy. 
 Hesseltine stopped and read the inscription, 
 telling of the sorrow that exceeded all human 
 sorrow, and passed on. These outward 
 acknowledgments of faith, these symbols of 
 an earnest belief existent in the midst of 
 these simple country people, — belief in a 
 dimly realized future of peace and glory 
 after their lives of commonplace toil and 
 pain and sin, touched and pleased him. 
 Christianity, it seemed, was as much a living 
 
FOILED. 41 
 
 power here as when its Founder walked in 
 other vineyards and cornfields of a far-off 
 country many centuries ago. Hesseltine 
 turned ujd a narrower road, and found himself 
 at the outskirts of another village, smaller 
 and more primitive than the one from which 
 he had come. And away to his right, in 
 the middle of the sunny vines, the scene of 
 labour and activity, was yet another Crucifix, 
 with two rudely-carved stone figures of 
 women at the feet gazing upw^ard. In front 
 he recocfnized in the old church standing on 
 an eminence, the shrine of a famous saint to 
 which hundreds of pious pilgrims yearly 
 came, and where, his landlord had told him, 
 many wonderful miracles had been wrought 
 only last year. It was a quaint building, 
 part of it some eight centuries old, part of it 
 spoilt by a weU-meaning restorer, who had 
 also in the fervour of his piety filled in many 
 of the windows with glass of the crudest 
 colours. Some twenty feet from the walls 
 
42 FOILED. 
 
 the Stations of the Cross, in rudely sculptured 
 figures, were placed at regular intervals. 
 Hesseltine inquired for the crutches left by 
 the favoured pilgrims on whom cures had 
 been wrought, and was told they were kept 
 carefully locked up, and only exhibited when 
 the great yearly assemblage of the faithful 
 took place. He spent some time in the 
 dimly-lighted building, and more in wander- 
 ing round the walls before he retraced his 
 footsteps. He was surprised how much 
 pleasure he found in this his own pilgrimage, 
 for he had never considered himself a very 
 religious man, but the atmosphere of simple, 
 childlike faith which he breathed seemed to 
 soothe the restlessness of his mind, and to 
 bring a strange calm into his heart. 
 
 The sun was sinking as he came slowly 
 home to his lonely little room. The friendly 
 passers-by wished him a cheerful good-night ; 
 the birds, preparing to roost, twittered more 
 loudly than ever amongst the apples. Flying 
 
FOILED. 43 
 
 beetles came out, and brushed against his 
 hair. The oxen, the rooks, the women bend- 
 ing beneath heavy shoulder-loads, were going 
 home. The gaunt stone Crucifix was backed 
 now by a marvellous sky of purple and pale 
 primrose colour. And behind him from the 
 church on the hill, he heard the Angelus 
 ringing out, followed by the slow bell for 
 the souls of those departed. The world 
 seemed very calm and peaceful. He felt as 
 if he were himself no longer, but some one 
 passing through a dream. What was he 
 doing here in this sweet sunny vine-clad 
 country ? Suddenly in a vivid mental flash 
 the picture in the villa seemed to start into 
 being before his eyes. It was as if he had 
 found a companion in his walk, as if the face 
 with its wavy flaxen aureole of hair smiled 
 at him, as if the little white hand led him 
 down the road. 
 
 " I wonder why she has made such an 
 impression on me," he thought. " Perhaps 
 
44 FOILED. 
 
 she and Charley are somewhere near me now, 
 come back to the places where they used to 
 walk together." 
 
 Before Frank reached his hotel the prim- 
 rose and violet of the heavens had melted 
 into a lurid sea of purple, in which the moon 
 was sailing. On the doorsteps the little 
 German maid was standing, sobbing bitterly, 
 and excited German voices, some half-dozen 
 in number, were talking in chorus within. 
 
 *' What has happened ? " said Frank. 
 
 And amid her tears, the kind-hearted girl 
 told him that just an hour after he had gone 
 out walking, the " kleiner Erwin," the land-, 
 lord's only boy, had been run over, almost 
 within sight of his home, by a heavy cart, 
 and that they did not know whether he 
 would live or die. Hesseltine loved children, 
 and his heart sank at the thought of the 
 little flaxen-haired fellow in bitter pain. 
 His sympathetic hand-shake sent the poor 
 father into a fresh convulsion of grief. It 
 
FOILED. 45 
 
 appeared that the child had several ribs and 
 a coUar-boDe broken, that he was bruised 
 from head to foot, and constantly crying out 
 if any one touched him. 
 
 ** You shall have the best surgeon to be 
 got," said Frank, kindly. " I'll go and fetch 
 
 him myself to-morrow from Bad by the 
 
 very first train. No, no, of course it will 
 be no expense to you. I'll arrange all that. 
 Poor little man, I only wish I could do more 
 for him." 
 
 And the next day Frank left his hotel in 
 the fresh early morning, and had secured 
 the services of an eminent surgeon by ten 
 o'clock. Having sent him off he wandered 
 about the fashionable watering-place, bought 
 half a dozen presents for the children at the 
 Rheinischer Hof and a walking-stick for 
 Herr Korner of the villa, and by twelve 
 o'clock found himself ready for luncheon. 
 
 Sitting at a marble table in the best 
 restaurant that he could find, with a bottle 
 
46 FOILED. 
 
 of Johannisberg and an omelette in front of 
 him, lie recognized an old friend in a man 
 with a long fair beard seated at a similar 
 table at the other side of the room. He 
 did not feel much inclined for conversation, 
 so merely nodded, but the countenance of 
 his acquaintance lit up into a cheerful smile, 
 and he rose from his seat to walk up to 
 where Hesseltine was sitting. 
 
 " You at Bad , my dear fellow ! " he 
 
 said, with a slight foreign accent. " I wish 
 I had known that before. And now you are 
 in Germany you are not to shirk a visit to 
 me. I have plenty of shooting for you — 
 spoilt as you are — roe, hares, rabbits, foxes. 
 Come to me when you have made your 
 cure." 
 
 " I am not doing a cure," said Hesseltine, 
 smiling. "My dear Stolzenfels, I should 
 have been delighted to come to your Schloss 
 if I could possibly have managed it. But 
 my time isn't my own. I have some 
 
FOILED. 47 
 
 literary work — you'll smile at the idea — 
 to do, before I return to England the 
 beginning of November. And so you had 
 better come to me there instead, again, and 
 pay me a long visit. I hojDe it will be less 
 sad this time," and he sighed. 
 
 " And where are you staying ? " 
 
 " Not at Bad at all. At a quiet 
 
 village on the Rhine, three-quarters of an 
 hour from here." 
 
 ''So!" 
 
 " Yes ; and I really like the life. I just 
 came over here for the day, that is all." 
 
 Luncheon over, Hesseltine and Prince 
 Stolzenfels strolled into the Kursaal gardens, 
 and sitting by the lake, exchanged past 
 experiences since they had last met in 
 London. 
 
 " And poor dear Marsham," said the 
 Prince. "He is gone ! That was a charm- 
 ing man. I knew his early love, the Griifin 
 Wartburg, very well." 
 
48 FOILED. 
 
 Hesseltine winced. 
 
 " You knew her ? " lie said, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " My dear boy, I should say so ! A 
 really lovely woman ; what a figure ! some- 
 thing; wonderful ! But a little — how do 
 you call it ? — tete-montee. Poor Wartburg, 
 he was one of my best friends, but as a 
 husband — ah 1 not suited, perhaps ! " And 
 the Prince shrugged his shoulders suggest- 
 ively. " The daughter will be a beauty, they 
 say. She is at her convent, but either her 
 aunt, who is by marriage my connection, or 
 perhaps Countess Valendar, will take her 
 out, some day, when she grows up." 
 
 Frank sig-hed. 
 
 " Have you seen the child ? " 
 
 '' I ? — no. But my sister says she is most 
 handsome ; and has eyes, well, that will 
 make the despair of all the young men 
 some day." 
 
 Frank took leave of his friend an hour 
 
FOILED. 49 
 
 later, after many reiterations of regret that 
 this year, anyhow, it would be impossible 
 to visit him at his Schloss. 
 
 " Well, it must be for another year. But 
 you will not shoot a fox — ah ! no ? Then I 
 must come over to you instead, and hunt 
 them. Yours is a charming place." 
 
 On his return to the Kheinischer Hof, 
 Hesseltine found the child better and the 
 parents delighted, in the midst of their grief, 
 at the visit of the great doctor. And as the 
 time went by, the improvement was main- 
 tained, and Frank was allowed to pay a short 
 visit each day to the little patient, who soon 
 began to regard him with a kind of devotion. 
 The child would grow anxious and restless 
 if he were half an hour late, and his white 
 face would look more drawn and weary 
 than before. Then when his friend came in, 
 it was pathetic to watch how the tired eyes 
 and the parched lips would smile, as he 
 
 placed his wasted fingers within the strong 
 VOL. L E 
 
50 FOILED. 
 
 ones of the man bending down to kiss him. 
 And sometimes, for an hour or more, Frank 
 sat on in the close bedroom, stuffy from the 
 oppressive stove heat, and with air and 
 sunlight alike shut out, the child's hand in 
 his, until the little fellow dropped off to 
 sleep. His friends Gore and Peploe, who 
 were enjoying a magnificent finish to the 
 stalking season, would have been surprised 
 enough could they have seen him. But 
 perhaps in his own way he was as happy as 
 they. The days passed by, and his literary 
 work progressed better even than he could 
 have hoped. The vineyards grew more 
 golden, and the leaves of the Virginian 
 creeper were beginning to lie in little 
 scarlet heaps in the roads. Erwin slowly 
 recovered, and became the proud possessor 
 of every toy and game that his heart could 
 desire. 
 
 And throughout the Ehenish village 
 Hesseltine played the part of an unconscious 
 
FOILED. 5 1 
 
 liero, a sort of benevolent providence of 
 boundless wealth and yet greater heart, 
 who had come among the people from no 
 one knew where, to give them help when- 
 ever it w^as needed, and those greetings so 
 well described as — 
 
 " Kind words, so short to speak, 
 But whose echo is endless." 
 
 One evening Frank, after helping Erwin 
 to unpack an enormous paper parcel con- 
 taining a regiment of tin soldiers, a camp, 
 and cannon, started off to pay a visit to 
 the last resting-place of the poor little 
 yellow-haired Grafin. He found the church- 
 yard badly kept, the grass long and tangled 
 — many of the shabby wooden crosses 
 broken or prostrate on the turf, with the 
 brass figures of the Christ that had been 
 fastened on them bent and loosened from 
 the woodwork. The contrast between some 
 of these neglected graves, and those covered 
 with fragrant wreaths and growing flowers, 
 
52 FOILED. 
 
 seemed to him very pitiful. He stooped 
 here and there, and tried to raise these 
 poor broken memorials again, to fasten the 
 brass figures in their original place on the 
 crosses. But they would not stand ; and 
 regretfully he was forced to lay them down 
 again on the rank turf — sad symbols of the 
 ^shortness of memory, and the brief duration 
 of human love and regret. At last he 
 found in one corner of the churchyard the 
 sleeping-place which he had come to seek — 
 bare and flowerless between two oftener- 
 visited tombs on which fresh wreaths had 
 been lately laid. No words of hope had 
 been read over her, who had hurried so 
 rashly into the unknown ; only at her head 
 the marble crucifix — a silent prayer for 
 mercy — was raised. And Hesseltine found 
 something like a petition to that compassion 
 that never fails in man's hour of bitterest 
 despair, rising to his own lips, as he 
 looked at the desolate grave where she, 
 
FOILED. 53 
 
 who had greatly loved and sinned, was 
 lying asleep. 
 
 Hearing a light footstep on the grass 
 behind him, he turned his head. A woman, 
 young, and he fancied pretty, from the 
 graceful pose of the head and figure which 
 were turned away from him, was bending 
 over a tomb some ten yards off, and pluck- 
 ing the straggling weeds which grew upon 
 it. These she put into her apron, and then 
 she raised the drooping heads of a few 
 flowers DTOwinpr under the cross. 
 
 The lowering sun fell upon a thick twist 
 of hair of a rich golden bronze, worn low on 
 her slender neck. Hesseltine, who had a 
 keen sense of beauty, waited with a feeling 
 of pleasurable anticipation for the fair head 
 to turn round. In a few moments the 
 woman rose from her stooping position, 
 gathered her apron in one hand, and came 
 slowly towards him. Frank started ; the 
 face, which ought to have been, and perhaps 
 
54 FOILED. 
 
 had been beautiful, was cruelly disfigured 
 by the fell disease of cancer. The outline of 
 her nose had lost all shapeliness, and a broad 
 scar ran across the cheeks. 
 
 A feeling of deepest pity smote his heart 
 as he looked at this desolate young figure 
 among the graves. It seemed to him as if it 
 typified the inevitable end of all beauty and 
 youth and joy. When on his return to the 
 hotel he came to inquire more of her, he 
 found that she had been beautiful only a few 
 years back ; had married, and was beloved and 
 happy. Then the terrible hereditary malady 
 had laid its grasp upon her ; her husband 
 died, and she was left alone in poverty and 
 suffering. The priest gave her a small sum 
 to look after the graves, but she was too 
 weakly to keep them in order, and it was 
 chiefly as an act of charity that he had 
 deputed her to do so. 
 
 With a kindly dread lest she should 
 think that he avoided her from a feelinsf of 
 
FOILED. 55 
 
 repulsion, Hesseltine advanced towards the 
 woman. 
 
 " If you come to look after the graves, 
 will you do something for me ? " he asked. 
 
 The woman bent her head and held her 
 apron so as partially to hide her face. 
 
 " That tomb," said Frank, pointing to the 
 Grafin's, "has no flowers on it. If I give 
 you a sum of money now, and send you the 
 same every year when I am gone away, will 
 you put some on it every week ? " 
 " Certainly, certainly." 
 " And you must let me, of course, give 
 you a little trifle for your trouble," glancing 
 at the ring on her thin hand ; " have you 
 children ? " 
 
 " One little boy — always a cripple ; he is 
 failing fast, because I cannot — he cannot 
 have the things he should." 
 
 She hesitated, and a deeper colour came 
 into her poor scarred face, and the tears 
 into her eyes. 
 
56 FOILED. 
 
 " He shall have whatever he wants ; you 
 must let me help you. Tell me your address 
 — and for the present you will keep this for 
 the flowers this year — and whatever is left 
 over is for you." 
 
 Out of Hesseltine's pocket came more 
 sovereigns than the poor woman had ever 
 seen before. 
 
 " There are only about ten weeks till the 
 end of the year. For, say four marks, you 
 will buy enough flowers for the week. Then 
 there will be, yes, five, six pounds here for 
 you to get something for the little boy. 
 And you must make yourself quite happy 
 about him. I have no children of my own," 
 said Hesseltine, with his kind smile, " but 
 other people's are generally great friends of 
 mine." 
 
 He raised his hat, leaving the woman over- 
 powered with joy and gratitude, and with 
 one last look at the marble cross in the 
 corner by the wall, he turned homewards. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 "had we nevee loved so blindly." 
 
 Should there be any person who takes 
 interest enoug;h in Frank Hesseltine's life to 
 care to know what befell him in the future, 
 such a one may perhaps have patience also 
 to look backward for a short space, and to 
 hear something of the man whose friendship 
 had filled up such a large part of his exist- 
 ence. I will ask the reader to be content 
 for a little while to imagine himself in the 
 villa by the sunny Rhine some ten years 
 before Hesseltine came, in sadness of soul, 
 to visit its deserted precincts. It is October 
 too, sultry for the time of year, aud the 
 
58 FOILED. 
 
 windows of the drawing-room are thrown 
 wide open to the ground. A steamer, with 
 its feathery smoke-trail, passes by — then a 
 long raft with three men straining muscles 
 and sinews over their punt-poles. Masses of 
 cut flowers, begonias, ferns, and geraniums, 
 and great pots of heliotrope are to be seen 
 within the room on marble and inlaid 
 marqueterie tables. A piece of embroidery 
 has fallen on the floor, for the worker, who 
 is looking out of the window, is apparently 
 in an idle or even restless frame of mind. 
 
 The piano is open, and a song, dog*s-eared 
 at the corner, rests upon the stand. The 
 lady has been singing it three times over, 
 half an hour since, for it is the favourite 
 song of some one who is coming soon, and 
 who ought to be here now. She turns 
 again to look at the clock, which marks five 
 minutes to three. Why is he not here ? 
 
 Very faintly comes the noise of a slow 
 solemn bell from the village church. It is 
 
FOILED. 59 
 
 Friday, and at the hour of the death of 
 Christ a solemn requiem is being tolled, a 
 reminder to the self-absorbed, the sinful, of 
 the eternal things which they may some- 
 times hope and struggle to forget. The 
 lady sighs, half impatiently, half sadly ; 
 pushes back a stray curl of flaxen hair, picks 
 up the discarded embroidery, and sits down 
 once more in a high-backed chair, covered 
 with an old green brocaded silk. Her face 
 is pale, too pale to harmonize with the 
 yellow locks and the long narrow light blue 
 eyes, which have such dark circles beneath 
 them. She is dressed in white, for it is 
 wonderfully hot for autumn, and a pink 
 rose is half hidden among the creamy 
 lace at her breast. Long ruflSes fall over 
 the small wrists ; small embroidered shoes 
 cover a pair of tiny feet, one of which 
 taps impatiently at intervals upon the 
 shiny boards. The scent of the flowers is 
 oppressive and overpowering ; perhaps a 
 
60 FOILED. 
 
 storm is brewing under this unnatural 
 sultriness. 
 
 Suddenly some colour comes into the 
 young lady's face, spreading over the 
 slender neck as well. She starts to her 
 feet — there was certainly a ring, yes, 
 and steps, drawing now nearer and nearer. 
 The door of the small outer drawing- 
 room is thrown open, and a footman an- 
 nounces in a strong foreign accent, ''Captain 
 Marsham." 
 
 He is here at last, and paler than ever 
 now — with tears starting to her eyes — she 
 has gone towards him. Charles Marsham 
 was a head and shoulders taller than she, 
 and he almost lifts her off her feet into his 
 arms. For several minutes they do not 
 speak. Then she lifts her face, down which 
 the tears are running fast, up to his, thinks 
 that he looks handsomer, nobler even than 
 in the past ; that she loves him more madly 
 than she has ever done before, and that he 
 
FOILED. 61 
 
 has come to say the cruellest word ever 
 uttered— ''Good-bye." 
 
 His arm round her slender form, Charley 
 Marsham leads her towards the window. 
 Then he takes both her hands in his, and 
 standing a little w^ay off looks down, a 
 passionate expression in his dark blue eyes, 
 into the face that is so white and sad. 
 Thouo^h he is handsomer than ever, he has 
 certainly grown much older in these last six 
 months, and there is even a little gray 
 among his very closely cut dark hair. He 
 feels as if he could not speak one word, for 
 he has sworn to himself that he will not 
 break down during this last farew^ell with 
 the woman whom he loves. So, still gazing 
 despairingly at the face that he will see — 
 never again perhaps after two short days are 
 passed — he stands silently, listening to the 
 beating of his own heart. 
 
 " Charley, Charley, it cant be true ! " 
 And her burning tears fall among the roses 
 
62 FOILED. 
 
 and the lace at her breast, and her poor 
 little mouth is twisted with anguish. 
 
 " Do say that it is all a bad dream — that 
 you will not marry that English- woman ! 
 You will still come here to me again ! Oh, 
 Charley, speak to me — dear, dear friend ! 
 Let us come out together as we used to do 
 into the garden, and sit in our old seat near 
 the pear-tree — and you will remember all 
 the past, and feel then that you cannot, 
 cannot go ! '' 
 
 "My poor child — my dear little one — 
 what can I do ? It makes no difference to 
 my love for you, can't you understand that ? 
 Neither parting, nor marriage, nor death 
 will separate us really. But for your sake 
 things can't go on as they have done — I 
 have spoilt your life, and I have nothing to 
 give you in exchange. I can't stay with you ; 
 I can't even see you for more than a few days 
 during the whole gloomy year, and as time 
 goes on that will be still more impossible." 
 
FOILED. 63 
 
 She held her fingers over her lips, so 
 that he might not see the convulsive move- 
 ment which twisted her mouth. Then she 
 turned sharply away and buried her poor 
 foolish little head among the green cushions. 
 Her figure was shaken with the violence of 
 her weeping. Charles Marsham knelt down 
 beside her, tried to draw her into his arms, 
 and to lay the flaxen curls on his breast. 
 But he had no consolation to ofi'er. Deeply 
 and passionately as he still loved her, he 
 knew in his inmost heart that this love 
 could only be the brightest dream — the 
 happiest episode in his life — which must 
 resolve itself sooner or later into the prose 
 monotony of an ordinary commonplace 
 existence. But she had seen so much less 
 of the world, and could not understand. 
 # ^ ^ # 
 
 Charles Marsham spent one more day at 
 the villa ; and he and Thecla — whose more 
 violent grief had gradually changed into a 
 
64 FOILED. 
 
 silent despair — went for a last visit to one 
 of their favourite haunts on the Khine. 
 Sitting side by side under a bower of scarlet 
 leaves, they drank their coffee, and to the 
 eyes of passers-by might have been a 
 married couple, or a pair of legitimate lovers 
 enjoying the golden evening. But a close 
 observer would have noticed signs of recent 
 passionate grief in the drawn face of the 
 pretty fair-haired woman, clad in a simple 
 black dress ; and in the eyes of her com- 
 panion, whose tall figure and singularly 
 handsome face always attracted attention 
 wheresoever he went. 
 
 " It is a mercy the inevitable perspiring 
 tourist has gone," said Charley, with a half 
 smile. "Fancy if I had met an English 
 acquaintance ; the parson and his daughters 
 of our parish, for instance ! " 
 
 "Did your friend, Mr. Hesseltine, know 
 you were coming here ? " 
 
 " No, no. I was very angry with poor 
 
FOILED. 65 
 
 old Frank, for the first and only time in 
 my life, a few weeks ago. I resented what 
 I considered his interference and advice. 
 Then I was too proud to ask him to help 
 in the way of money, and you know the — 
 the result." 
 
 A cynical expression, very unlike his 
 usual bright smile, came over Marsham's 
 face. He sighed deeply, and dashed his 
 hand violently down on the little table, 
 making the cups clatter. '^ So I took the 
 only way — and a damned hard one," he 
 said in a low voice. 
 
 She was not looking at him, but biting 
 her lips, and with a strange far-away ex- 
 pression watching the curling smoke of one 
 of the steamboats. 
 
 " Oh, my darling ! " he said quickly, 
 below his breath, " I am as madly in 
 love with you as I ever was, and after 
 to-night I shall never, never tell you so 
 
 again." 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
66 FOILED. 
 
 He saw how her chest heaved, how she 
 clasped and wrung her hands together. 
 
 " Sometimes," he went on, *' I wish to 
 God I had never come abroad to see those 
 German relations. Do you know, I didn't 
 want to come — and till just the week before, 
 I tried to get out of it. But I went, after 
 all. Then we came home from shooting, 
 and I saw you in the fir woods. You had 
 on your dark green hat that I liked you in 
 so much. We went in to dinner together, 
 and after that it was all over with me, I 
 suppose." 
 
 She was looking back too. How well 
 she remembered the group of men comiug 
 towards her up the broad green drive ; her 
 husband leading the procession with Prince 
 Stolzenfels, then the handsome Englishman 
 walking with Count Yalendar, then two 
 or three young officers, whom she had 
 hardly looked at. And she had been so 
 astonished to find how well the English 
 
FOILED. 67 
 
 Guardsman spoke German. He told her how 
 he had learnt it from his sister's governess ; 
 and then, laughing and talking, they had 
 walked a long way together through the 
 fir woods, till they reached the carriage 
 drawn by four handsome chestnut horses. 
 
 As she drove away she had felt that 
 those dark blue eyes were following her, 
 until the char-d-hanc turned the corner and 
 they came out into the open country again. 
 And since then, three years ago, they had 
 often met. Marsham had found excuses 
 to travel abroad whenever it was possible ; 
 and after a favourite uncle's appointment 
 as First Secretary to the Embassy in Berlin, 
 there had always been a good reason for 
 going to Germany. 
 
 But now Jlnis was to be written at the 
 end of the idyll that had been so sweet ; and 
 this moonlight journey homewards on the 
 river was to be the last that they would 
 ever take together. 
 
G 8 FOILED. 
 
 Side by side they sat on the bridge of 
 the steamer, as the white light crept over 
 the little wooded islands, and the late rooks 
 hurried towards their nests. A long trail 
 of silver beams, like a jewelled necklace, 
 stretched across the dark water. One lonely 
 star twinkled over their heads. The air 
 grew chilly, and Charley wrapped the 
 little Grafin's fur cloak tenderly about her 
 shoulders. They were alone in their corner, 
 and he held her hand fast locked within his 
 own. He felt how cold the fingers were. 
 Her face looked unnaturally white under 
 the moon, with a pitiful scared expression, 
 on it. The water was shallow, and the 
 steamer moved very slowly, but still all 
 too fast for the two who would never more 
 be alone together. There were one or two 
 halts before they reached their destination, 
 and could see the villa lights half a mile 
 beyond. He gave her his hand over the 
 bridge ; and then, her arm within his, they 
 
FOILED. 69 
 
 slowly and silently walked across the stone 
 paving, through the dark village streets out 
 into the country. There was only a stray 
 oil-lamp flickering here and there, for the 
 country folk had, rightly perhaps, refused 
 to have their pure and invigorating air 
 sullied by gas, so Marsham and Thecla 
 walked unnoticed out into the open country. 
 A brighter light pierced through the win- 
 dows of the church, which was a curious old 
 building with a tiled roof and high turret, 
 and flooded a stretch of pavement at their 
 feet. The sound of voices chanting the 
 Litany of the Blessed Virgin floated towards 
 them. Charles felt his companion's hand 
 tremble on his arm. 
 
 "It is a reproach to me to hear the 
 singing," she said, with a despairing ring in 
 her voice. " I seem to be losing faith in 
 everything. I am not fit, and never shall 
 be again, to go and kneel among those good 
 simple people. If they knew me to be 
 
70 FOILED. 
 
 what I am, they would turn from me with 
 horror. And prayers and litanies seem to 
 be no comfort to me now." 
 
 "My dear — my own dear — why do you 
 say such things ? You are not to be 
 blamed. If it hadn't been ordained by 
 Fate that you and I should meet — " 
 
 " No, no, it is not Fate. I ran with open 
 eyes into the temptation ! You know what 
 my life was ; married as a child to a man 
 in a different sort of society to myself, I 
 merely felt pleased and flattered at the 
 change in my position, and never thought 
 it necessary to try to love him. I found 
 him, it is true, pleasant, handsome, and with 
 beautiful manners ; so for a time it was all 
 right. But I think he soon saw that I had 
 no real aff'ection for him, and that disgusted 
 him. He became colder, and used to go 
 away for a long time together. If I had 
 really cared about him, he would have been 
 softened, and, I think, a good husband. 
 
FOILED. 71 
 
 But it revolted him to find that a person 
 whom he had thought merely an innocent 
 child, had been as worldly and calculating 
 as any of the women who had made up to 
 him among his own set of friends. He felt 
 that he had given me all for nothing. So 
 he behaved as many men would have done, 
 and met with other people who consoled or 
 pretended to console him. Then, Charley — 
 I found you. And after, well, two days, I 
 knew that you were my whole world. I 
 did not try to avoid you ; on the contrary, I 
 got my friends to invite you, and when my 
 husband was away, you know how often I 
 persuaded you to come to my own home. 
 I repent it all in 07ie sense : I loathe and 
 despise myself ; and yet I know that I would 
 do it all, all, over again ! " Her voice broke, 
 and she ended the sentence in a sob that 
 was almost a moan. 
 
 They had reached the gate of the villa, 
 the large iron gate which was to open to 
 
72 FOILED. 
 
 admit Hesseltine one day in the far-off 
 future. The pale moon shone upon the 
 gravel walks, where a few red leaves and 
 apples lay scattered. Its rays lit up the 
 bushes of Michaelmas daisies, the thick 
 shrubs with snowy berries, the feathery 
 grass. Among the trees in darkness beyond 
 lay the house, and the moon looked down 
 calm and impassive at the two figures by 
 the gate. What did it signify to her if 
 their hearts were breaking ? That sort of 
 thing had happened a myriad of times 
 before in all centuries, in all lands. And 
 it was only for such a moment, after all ! 
 Before many more moons had set and risen, 
 they, and their children after them, would 
 be indifferent all to pain and change — to 
 remorse and regret of earth, having solved 
 the great riddle — having found, we trust, 
 rest at last. But meanwhile how they, the 
 children of this strange world, must suffer ! 
 How they must beat their breasts, and 
 
FOILED. 73 
 
 wring their hands in impotent anguish. 
 There is a picture of poor little Love, his 
 face distorted with agony, and with tiny 
 arms trying to beat back the remorseless 
 and giant figure of Death. We do not 
 know, as we look, if he will triumph, or 
 whether the ghastly visitant will force his 
 way in through the door at last. 
 
 And Death may come in other guise than 
 as the cause of mere physical dissolution. 
 He is the conqueror sometimes of Hope, as 
 well as of brave little Love himself ; but let 
 us struggle to hold fast the belief, only for 
 a little while. 
 
 Tv- ^ -7v" w ^ 
 
 To the man and woman standing outside of 
 what had been to them as Eden, the garden 
 of God — the bitterness of death, perhaps, 
 was in one sense passed. They could never 
 know again another half-hour of torture 
 such as this of their last good-bye ; but it 
 would have been well for both if in their 
 
74 FOILED. 
 
 despair at the irreparable they had recog- 
 nized the fruit of their own sowing, rather 
 than the hand of a blind fate, in the crop 
 of rank weeds and blighted blossoms that 
 had sprung up within their paradise. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A LONDON WEDDING. 
 
 It was half-past eleven. 
 
 A string of carriages was drawn up in 
 long procession in front of St. George's 
 Church, Hanover Square. It stretched down 
 Conduit Street, almost into Bond Street, 
 for during a hard frost in January, London 
 is often full, and a wedding of such interest 
 as that of the popular Captain Marsham, of 
 the Coldstream Guards, and an heiress — the 
 greatest probably to be found out of Man- 
 chester or America — does not often take 
 place. 
 
 At ten o'clock a feeling of despair had 
 smitten the hearts of invited guests when 
 
76 FOILED. 
 
 they had vainly tried to see the houses of 
 their opposite neighbours through an orange 
 fog of the consistency of butter ; but towards 
 eleven a few watery sunbeams began to 
 struggle over damp roofs and blackened 
 chimneys. The sparrows began to hop 
 with increased cheerfulness, and the footmen 
 to turn out the eras in dining;-rooms and 
 passages. But a smell of fog pervaded all 
 things, and many an invited guest laid aside 
 her best wedding garment, to put on some- 
 thing darker, dirtier, and more suited to the 
 atmosphere. A large house in Grosvenor 
 Square had been, at an early hour, a centre, 
 of interest in that distinguished part of the 
 West. There was a huge striped awning 
 over the doorway, and four or five footmen 
 in scarlet breeches were hurrying through 
 hall and offices, exchanging facetious repar- 
 tees with various female domestics, who 
 appeared, one and all, to be victims to 
 excitement and agitation. 
 
FOILED. 11 
 
 In a large bedroom on the first floor, a 
 young lady, in an unbecoming mustard- 
 coloured dressing-gown, was sitting at the 
 looking-glass. A French maid, with a very 
 short neck and smart apron, was twisting, 
 curling, and arranging her lady's rather limp 
 brown locks. 
 
 " Would Miladi be so kind as not to turn 
 her head — it was impossible to give any 
 cachet to her coiffure if she would move 
 every moment. And would she like the 
 veil ^ut on now at once ? Miladi should 
 take a glass of wine, or a little eau-de- 
 Melisses. It would do the circulation good, 
 and the nerves." 
 
 Lady Mary, w^hose head had been turned 
 now and again to look at a photograph of 
 a very handsome young man in the undress 
 uniform of the Guards, cast her eye upon 
 her own less ao;reeable image as reflected in 
 her mirror. The east wind and fog; were 
 not becoming to her complexion. Should 
 
78 FOILED. 
 
 she powder her nose or not ? Yes, under 
 the veil it would look all right. How ugly 
 it was to have no eyebrows, and no chin ! 
 Poor Lady Mary was surveying her profile 
 with the aid of a silver-mounted hand-glass. 
 Henriette, her mouth full of pins, wished to 
 know if Miladi liked a fine hair-net over the 
 toupee which she was holding aloft ? 
 
 " I don't really care," said poor Lady 
 Mary. "Mind that yoa pin it all on 
 tightly, that's all. Yes, I really do look 
 better now, with my hair high." 
 
 A tapping was heard at the door, and a 
 very fat lady, resplendent in heliotrope 
 velvet, waddled in. She sank into the 
 largest arm-chair, and sighed heavily. 
 
 "Well, my darling, could you eat any 
 breakfast ? The chef is really insupportable. 
 He has no variety. Always oeufs ci la 
 Bechamel. And the cutlets like leather. 
 Papa has spoilt him whilst I was at 
 Kissingen. He has never been the same 
 
FOILED. 79 
 
 since. Your dress is lovely. But you are 
 right not to wear your tiara. It is much 
 more comme-il-faut for a bride to be simple. 
 I hope Charley won't be late. That is a 
 charming person, that Mr. Hesseltine, the 
 best man. And he has a wonderful cook, 
 they tell me. 1 must just go and have a 
 bouillon now, my darling, as we shan't sit 
 down to breakfast till late." 
 
 And good Lady Eastbourne panted, rose 
 with difficulty from her chair, and with very 
 small steps toddled out of her daughter's 
 room. 
 
 Another knock at the door. Poor Lady 
 Mary was beginning to feel worried and 
 nervous. 
 
 " It is only papa," said a cheerful, rather 
 hoarse voice from the landing. And 
 Henriette expressed a fervent wish that 
 Milord would not come bothering in during 
 the important ceremony of the toilette. But 
 he did nevertheless, and kissed his daughter 
 
80 FOILED. 
 
 with such heartiness that her toupee of 
 plaits lurched a little over to one side. 
 
 " Well, little woman, how do you feel ? — 
 pretty bobbish — hay, what ? " And he 
 pinched her ear. " All the ladies are 
 jealous, you know, you marrying the best- 
 looking man in London. My little girl 
 carries him off — hay — ha-ha 1 " 
 
 And Lord Eastbourne slapped his chest, 
 and laughed. He was a very fat gentleman 
 of about sixty, with thin red hair that stood 
 on end, and two or three chins. Very 
 kind-hearted, and of remarkably slow intel- 
 lect. He wore an enormous button-hole^ 
 and a blue coat much too tight for him. 
 
 Lady Mary returned her father's kiss, and 
 told him, in a rather cold, indifierent voice, 
 that she would be late if he stayed in her 
 room. But she did not feel indifferent, 
 poor little woman. Only her nerves were 
 so tightly strung, she was sure that she 
 must cry if she said much. She was im- 
 
FOILED. 8 1 
 
 mensely in love with her future husband, 
 and restlessly afraid that she might not be 
 pleasing in his eyes, a circumstance far from 
 improbable. Even on this, her wedding- 
 morning, she was tormented with inward 
 questionings as to whether it were not 
 unwisdom after all to link her lot with his 
 — a man so handsome, so sought after, so 
 admired by women more attractive than 
 herself. But tlie clock went on slowly 
 tickino^ on her dressins^-table, brino^inof her 
 nearer to the irrevocable hour. 
 
 Henriette was standing behind her, to 
 help to exchange the mustard-coloured 
 cashmere for a gorgeous garment of white 
 satin and priceless yellow lace. The maid 
 was in despair — le chignon de Miladi (it 
 was in the days of chignons that Lady 
 Mary's wedding took place) was a travers / 
 And it only wanted twenty minutes to 
 eleven. Mon Dieu ! — there were the shoes 
 not come after all ! " 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
82 FOILED. 
 
 " It don't matter," said Lady Mary, 
 stolidly — ''lace me up as quickly as you 
 can, Henriette. No one sees my feet" 
 — which was not strictly true, as she took 
 " sevens " in boots. 
 
 The dressing was at last completed ; and 
 Lady Mary, her nose decidedly red, her 
 hair tightly dragged into twists and coils, 
 her gown too narrow for comfort across her 
 chest, stood silently looking at herself 
 before the long glass. 
 
 Henriette, a powder-puff in one hand, a 
 fan and gloves in the other, to all appear- 
 ance far more excited than her lady, w^as 
 flying from one end of the room to the 
 other. A gigantic footman tapped at the 
 door. 
 
 Ah ! le bouquet / . . . And an armful of 
 white flowers and ferns, tied with satin 
 ribbons, was handed in, while the servants 
 exchanged grimaces of amusement. Lady 
 Mary took her Jiance's gift in her shaking 
 
FOILED. 83 
 
 hand, and smelt the rich perfume of 
 gardenias and tuberoses. There was a 
 sound of carriage-wheels at the door. She 
 looked from the window at the chestnuts 
 clanking their bits, at the magnificent 
 coachman in a new wig, at the footmen 
 wdio were to mount behind. Lord East- 
 bourne's " turn-out," be it remarked, as 
 seen on state occasions, was considered one 
 of the best in London. 
 
 A gallery of maids were craning their 
 necks over the banisters as the bride went 
 slowly down the red velvet steps — Henriette 
 behind, holding up her train. There was 
 quite a crowd of people round and outside 
 the awning, all on the broad grin, from the 
 respectable father of a family holding a 
 child by either hand, to the ragged ground- 
 sel-seller whom the policeman was advising 
 to ''move on." The carriage-door shut 
 with a bang. Lady Eastbourne's velvet 
 robes threatening to crush the poor little 
 
84 FOILED. 
 
 bride's white draperies ; the footmen, holding 
 canes, sprang up behind, and there was a 
 suppressed cheer from the crowd. Lady 
 Mary felt very cold, very dazed and giddy, 
 as leaning on her father's arm she walked 
 up the carpeted church steps, under the 
 portico, into the building. 
 
 Close to the doorway were the brides- 
 maids, ten in number, one and all better- 
 looking than the bride, and two small pages 
 with yellow locks, the nephews of the bride- 
 groom, keeping up an animated conversation 
 with a little maiden as to how long the 
 bride's train would be, and whether they 
 shall stamp on it or no. A strong and 
 rather sickly scent of stephanotis and 
 gardenias pervaded the mxusty building, in 
 which the fog was yet hanging. Two pew- 
 openers, in clean caps, were beginning to 
 lose their tempers, as was also a gentleman- 
 like person in black who had imperative 
 orders " only to admit people with tickets." 
 
FOILED. 85 
 
 There was a loud crash from the organ, and 
 necks and bonnets, bald heads and heads 
 with smooth and wavy locks^ were craned 
 to watch Lady Mary as she came up the aisle. 
 
 "Poor dear, she has got a chilblain on 
 her nose," said Mr. Wyllie-Popham of the 
 Tuberose club to Miss Van Loon, the new 
 American beauty. 
 
 " Can you see the bridegroom ? " 
 
 " Yes, of course, there, talking to the 
 old Duke of Middlesex. What a good- 
 looking man he is, but uncommonly dissi- 
 pated ; you can see it in his face. I should 
 think he and our excellent old Duke have 
 a fellow-feeling for one another." 
 
 " Her lace is lovely, and wonderfully 
 well arranged." 
 
 " Yes, and mercifully very thick over her 
 face." 
 
 Conversation was becoming audible in 
 almost every pew at the further end of the 
 church. 
 
86 FOILED. 
 
 "Who is tliat vulgar old man wtio 
 has squeezed himself in among the rela- 
 tions?" 
 
 "Which? Oh, yes— that one. He's 
 Crabbe, the member, don't-yer-know, for 
 Upper Tooting. Neighbour of Marsham's 
 in the country. Those are his girls ; very 
 handsome, but rather of the cad class. 
 Known as the ' Z7n-dressed ' Crabbes, don't- 
 yer-know ! " 
 
 " How funny ! And the youngest was 
 in love wdth Charley, wasn't she ? Who's 
 the best man ? — how^ good-looking ! The 
 tall man with the pointed dark beard ? " 
 
 " Oh, that's Hesseltine — the man that 
 Strathrowan belongs to. Eolling in money." 
 
 " Don't talk so loud, the bishop will hear 
 you." 
 
 " How ghastly pale and gloomy Marsh am 
 looks ! Well, I don't wonder ; I do think 
 Lady Mary is rather a stiff 'un." 
 
 " Hush, that's a cousin ; they'll hear. Do, 
 
FOILED. 87 
 
 please, not talk so loud. And what a bore 
 to have all these hymns ! " 
 
 " Look at Lord Eastbourne — how red his 
 neck is ! I should think he'll have apoplexy 
 before the year's out, poor old boy." 
 
 The sweet voices of a full choir burst into 
 a hymn. Hesseltine, whose face was nearly 
 as pale as the bridegroom's, followed the 
 words attentively. " What a hideous 
 mockery to sing all this at this sort of 
 wedding ! " was his thought. He glanced at 
 Charley standing rigid by the side of the 
 little white figure. How dreadfully changed 
 he was ! — he looked positively haggard. 
 Why, in God's name, should he tie himself 
 down in this way ? And as clearly as if the 
 words were sounded in his ear, he heard 
 Charley's voice as he had spoken them 
 this morning before they started for the 
 church. 
 
 " My dear old boy, don't make yourself 
 anxious. Now my little Thecla is dead, I 
 
88 FOILED. 
 
 shall probably go to the devil anyhow. So 
 I may as well get all the good I can out of 
 this filthy money — eat, drink, and be merry 
 — drown all feeling as much as I can — and 
 afterwards — well, what odds is it ? Don't 
 you know those lines — 
 
 " ' The chances are I go where most men go ' ? " 
 
 And he had laughed aloud. 
 
 Hesseltine shivered as he stood in the 
 church behind his friend. 
 
 The names were signed, the bride kissed 
 by relations, and congratulated by the 
 bishop, and to the loud crashing of the 
 famous march, the pair came down the aisle 
 arm-in-arm, through the oppressive, perfume- 
 laden air, past rows of smiling faces, out 
 into the cold orange fog, which had become 
 quite thick again. 
 
 Every one said that the breakfast in 
 Grosvenor Square was admirable. Small 
 round tables, and " such good waiting that 
 
FOILED 89 
 
 it was really over, my dear, in less than half 
 an hour." Lord Eastbourne, in a state of 
 great hilarity, seemed to pervade the whole 
 room. Having at last, after at least two 
 years of opposition, given his consent to his 
 daughter's marriage, he was determined to 
 prove now that it was the one wish of his 
 heart that it should take place. Besides, 
 circumstances had materially altered since 
 Charley, a dissipated and penniless Guards- 
 man, had proposed to his only child. The 
 elder son of the house of Marsham had died, 
 leavinor Charles heir, if not to a o^reat 
 fortune, yet to a large country-house and a 
 rental that, but for mortgages, would have 
 been considerable. So Lord Eastbourne, who 
 could not help being personally attracted 
 by Charley, had given a formal consent to 
 the union. Now he trotted round the 
 dining-room, his red hair carefully combed 
 and standing on end, his face beaming with 
 smiles. 
 
90 FOILED. 
 
 " Well, Miladi, you have forgotten your 
 doctor's orders, I see ! Ha-ha, — no cham- 
 pagne and no entrees. Lucky for you, 
 you are not in Paris, feeding on rats and 
 mice — hay ! Poor devils ; fancy it in this 
 weather ! " 
 
 And Lord Eastbourne rubbed his hands. 
 
 The Duke of Middlesex, a famous gourmet, 
 who was now almost choking over foie gras, 
 said " he believed that a ' mouse on toast ' 
 wouldn't be half bad." 
 
 " Have your sympathies been always with 
 the French, Duke 1 " asked Lady Eastbourne, 
 nodding assent to the waiter, who stood over 
 her with champagne. 
 
 " Yes, always. I lived in Paris a good 
 deal once, and have lots of friends there. 
 And I like the French women — and have 
 known a good many pretty intimately." 
 
 And a half smile of retrospection stole 
 over his wrinkled face. 
 
 " But German women are really much 
 
FOILED. 9 1 
 
 better looking, and some of them dress 
 almost as well." 
 
 The bridegroom, who was sitting at a 
 little table near his mother-in -la w% dropped 
 a fork, and poured out another bumper of 
 champagne from a glass jug at his elbow. 
 Lady Mary looked painfully flushed. She 
 had begged to be allowed to have her 
 luncheon up-stairs, but her father insisted 
 upon her presence among the guests. 
 Charley had hardly spoken to her once 
 during the drive from the church, and he 
 looked so ill, and yes — really cross now. 
 She noticed that he eat nothing, but went 
 on drinking champagne. 
 
 Lord Eastbourne took out his watch and 
 consulted the groom of the chambers. 
 
 " Time to go and change, Molly," he said. 
 " All the finishing touches, you know ; 
 cosmetics and powder and paint, ha-ha ! 
 Trot away, little w^oman. You have got 
 barely three-quarters of an hour." 
 
92 FOILED. 
 
 Lady Eastbourne was torn between con- 
 flicting feelings. She would have liked to 
 accompany her daughter, but there would 
 be a long flight of stairs to mount ; and 
 besides, a really excellent Parmesan- cream 
 ice had just been handed to her. So she 
 remained below with the Duke, and Lady 
 Mary went up alone. She longed, poor girl, 
 to tear off" her finery, to throw herself on 
 her little pink bed, and to cry long and 
 bitterly. She dreaded having to go away 
 alone with Charley, if he was to be always 
 like to-day — perfectly courteous and civil, 
 it is true, but as if his thoughts were very 
 far ofi*, and the sight of her bored him. 
 
 A magnificent sealskin cloak, which would 
 cover her from head to foot, lay upon the 
 bed, and her hat and travelling dress. The 
 room was full of yellow fog, the bare boughs 
 in the square dripping with moisture, and a 
 penetrating cold made her feet and fingers 
 and nose ache. Two starved sparrows 
 
FOILED. 93 
 
 were huddled up in one corner of the 
 window. 
 
 " Tell Jane to be sure and feed the birds 
 when I am gone," said Lady Mary, in a dreary 
 voice. 
 
 She dressed and went down -stairs, and 
 found the hall already full of people. Miss 
 Van Loon had managed to get herself in- 
 troduced to Hesseltine, and the two were 
 standing together near the doorway. 
 
 Lord Eastbourne, who was old-fashioned 
 in his tastes, had insisted upon the house 
 being ransacked for white satin shoes, one 
 of which he now held in his fat hand. And 
 Hesseltine was armed with an enormous 
 dish of rice. 
 
 *' I'm wild about weddings," exclaimed 
 Miss Van Loon. "I go round to every 
 wedding I can. And Captain Marsham is 
 the most lovely man I have ever met. 
 Don't you feel envious, Mr. Hesseltine, 
 when you see all this going on, and 
 
94 FOILED. 
 
 wish you were going to be married 
 too ? " 
 
 " No," said Frank, with a smile, *' I have 
 always understood that Freedom was the 
 best of all Heaven's gifts." 
 
 " How weird ! " said Miss Van Loon, with 
 a laugh. 
 
 Lord Eastbourne bustled up, shoe in 
 hand. 
 
 " Look sharp," he said to Charley, who 
 was being helped into a fur-trimmed great- 
 coat. " You haven't got any too much 
 time ! Don't cry, Miladi, they'll be back 
 again directly, and pay us a long visit.. 
 Come on, Molly, my dear. You can't kiss 
 everybody — express trains wait for no man. 
 Here's some rice. Miss Van Loon, and a 
 shoe — rather a grubby one — Popham, for 
 you. Good-bye, Molly, my child. There, 
 there, don't give way, dear — we shall see you 
 again soon." 
 
 A loud cheer from outside, Charles, 
 
FOILED. 95 
 
 looking very handsome and disdainful, and 
 rather cross, does not find his temper 
 improved when Mr. Popham's dirty shoe 
 hits him on the nose ; and rice thrown 
 from all sides makes his eyes tingle, falls 
 down inside his coat-collar, and remains 
 obstinately clinging to his fur cuffs. 
 
 The horses champ their bits and paw the 
 frosty ground. A small figure swathed in 
 sealskin gets into the brougham, followed 
 by her husband, and the air becomes full of 
 gigantic snow-flakes in the shape of shoes, 
 as the brougham drives away. 
 
 " You ought to have sent one on to the 
 top of the carriage for luck," said Lord 
 Eastbourne, rubbing his fat hands. 
 
 " They've got rather a beastly day for 
 their journey," said Mr. Popham. " But I 
 suppose," with an imperceptible wink at a 
 second edition of himself with a high collar, 
 '' under the circumstances it is always sun- 
 shine." 
 
96 FOILED. 
 
 Hesseltine turned sharply away, and 
 without waiting for many farewells, called 
 a hansom and drove to his club, feeling 
 wearied in mind and body, and sick at 
 heart. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 REMORSE AND REGRET. 
 
 ** It is strange how every year of one's 
 life one's power of enjoyment grows less 
 and less. This is about the finest run of 
 the whole season, and I had the best horse 
 you could meet in a day's walk ; yet, fifteen 
 years ago, I really believe I found a mere 
 gallop over a ploughed field on some pulling 
 brute, or beastly-tempered animal, better 
 fun!" 
 
 The speaker was Charles Marsham, a 
 good many years older than when we last 
 saw him on his wedding day, but a re- 
 markably handsome man still. He was 
 VOL. I. n 
 
98 FOILED. 
 
 sitting, or rather lying, in a huge arm- 
 chair almost as big as a sofa, with his 
 muddy boots stretched out towards the 
 fire. His red coat and leather breeches 
 were spotted with mud, and he looked 
 fagged and tired. There was a round table 
 at his elbow, on which stood a huge tumbler, 
 bottles, and cigars. The atmosphere of the 
 room smelt strongly of leather, mingled 
 with tobacco-smoke. 
 
 At a writing-table, busily employed in 
 answering letters, sat Frank Hesseltine, 
 also in scarlet, booted and spurred. There 
 is a little gray in his short dark hair and 
 beard, but he looks a younger man than 
 his friend, and certainly a happier one. 
 
 "Well, I don't know," he said, "about 
 pleasure exactly. But one becomes less 
 bored, more tolerant and kindly disposed, 
 I think, in one's old age. You see you 
 expect less ! " 
 
 Charles was staring into the fire. He 
 
FOILED. 99 
 
 was mentally weighing the sum of enjoy- 
 ment which he had found in his yacht, his 
 house in London, his place in Norfolk. 
 Was it enough to counterbalance his wife's 
 oppressive fits of affection, alternating with 
 those of still more annoying "nagging" — 
 for the ever-increasing weariness which he 
 experienced in her company — for the years 
 of half-concealed remorse and regret ? Again 
 and aofain he wished that it was all over. 
 Just for one thing only — rest, as happiness 
 could never be his. 
 
 The brightest hours in his life now were 
 those spent with his old friend Frank, in 
 whose luxurious Yorkshire house he was 
 at present staying till the end of the 
 hunting season. But this time Lady Mary 
 had provokingly insisted upon joining the 
 party. She had a sincere regard for Hessel- 
 tine, who, some instinct told her, was her 
 best friend, as well as her husband's ; and, 
 moreover, she did not choose that Charley 
 
100 FOILED. 
 
 should amuse himself with his charming 
 German cousin, Countess Valendar, or the 
 sprightly Mrs. Adeane, during her absence. 
 For during her nine years of married life, 
 Lady Mary's best qualities had not found 
 opportunity to develop, and her worst 
 ones had begun to acquire an undue pro- 
 minence. Jealousy, for instance, a temper 
 more sulky and brooding than impatient, 
 and an intense love of giving good advice 
 and setting people to rights. 
 
 She was rather handicapped during her 
 visit to Yorkshire by a bad cold which kept 
 her indoors, while Louise Valendar, who 
 was, she knew, to arrive this evening, 
 was always well and lively, and never 
 tired. 
 
 Lady Mary had but small powers of 
 conversation, and no accomplishments, 
 while Mrs. Adeaae played the banjo, danced 
 "pas seuls after dinner, and could give 
 Charley ten in a hundred at billiards, and 
 
FOILED. 101 
 
 beat him. Hesseltine was the one person 
 who was always kind to his friend's wife, 
 intolerably tiresome as he thought her in 
 his inmost heart. In theory, indeed, he 
 held that it was contemptible for a man 
 to marry a woman for her money, obtain 
 all the good possible therefrom, and neglect 
 her meanwhile ; but practically his sympathy 
 was almost entirely with Charles. Frank 
 was always inclined to underrate women. 
 In his earlier days his morals had not l)een 
 stricter than those of most of his friends ; 
 but he had never formed any permanent 
 ties. And, as a rule, women of his own 
 class amused him for the moment merely, 
 but failed to exercise any permanent in- 
 fluence over him. It may have been his 
 innate goodness of heart, rather than any 
 high moral principle, which would have 
 prevented him from trying to win the 
 affection of any one whom he would not 
 have chosen to make his wife ; and up to 
 
102 FOILED. 
 
 the present time he had never seen one 
 g-irl of whom he could feel sure that he 
 should not weary. With the society of 
 his men friends, the management of his 
 large property, his love of sport, his interest 
 in politics and letters, his life went by, 
 fully occupied and sufficiently happy, if 
 not completely satisfied. But he would 
 have given up its best years if by that 
 means he could have brought joy and peace 
 into those of his friend. 
 
 Charles was dropping off to sleep in his 
 arm-chair, his head resting on one hand ; 
 and Frank, having finished his letters, and- 
 gone over to the fire, could not help think- 
 ing how old and worn he looked for his age. 
 There were deep hollows under his eyes, 
 the skin round his chin loose where the 
 flesh had fallen away, the hair scanty on 
 his forehead, with gray threads thickly 
 strewn among it. Hesseltine gazed at him 
 with something of the tenderness of ex- 
 
FOILED. 103 
 
 pression that a father might bestow upon 
 a favourite and suffering child, and sighed. 
 
 There was a loud ring at the door, and a 
 crunching of wheels on the gravel, and two 
 or three carriages apparently drawing to- 
 wards the stone portico. 
 
 " Who on earth can all these people 
 be ? " said Hesseltine, aloud. " There is 
 only Countess Valendar coming." 
 
 And Charles awoke with a start. " What 
 the devil is all that noise outside ? " he 
 said. " It sounds as if you were giving an 
 evening party." 
 
 And the two men went out into the front 
 hall, where the doors were open, four or 
 five servants running about, and a blast 
 of cold air whistling in, and making the 
 log-fire blaze higher. Hesseltine's brougham, 
 drawn by a pair of good-looking chestnuts, 
 was before the door, and out of it lightly 
 came a well-dressed lady of some five-and- 
 thirty years. She was smoking a cigar, 
 
104 FOILED. 
 
 and carried a fox-terrier under her arm. 
 Frank's face lighted up when he saw her, 
 for Countess Valendar was a great friend 
 of his, capital company, and in addition 
 he thought her a cheering companion for 
 Charles. 
 
 " Delighted to see you, my dear Countess," 
 he said, kissing her hand in German fashion. 
 " But who have you brought with you 
 besides Bobbie, who I am always charmed 
 to meet ? I see your luggage on the 
 omnibus — but what are the two station 
 flys ? " and he patted Bobbie's smooth white 
 head. 
 
 " I am afraid," said the Countess, laugh- 
 ing, and throwing away the remains of her 
 cigar, " that they are mine too. I was 
 obliged to order them, and that has made 
 me a little late. You see I have got — 
 well, yes — fifteen boxes — oh ! I beg your 
 pardon — eighteen, with the smaller ones ; 
 and as I am strongly against all cruelty 
 
FOILED. 105 
 
 to animals, I couldn't put them all on one 
 bus. Ah ! there's Charles. My dear cousin 
 — this is very pleasant. And how is your 
 wife ? Oh ! there she is coming across the 
 halL" 
 
 Lady Mary, with a Shetland -woollen 
 scarf wrapped round her head, and a pocket- 
 handkerchief at her nose, was hurrying up- 
 stairs to dress for dinner, but Countess 
 Valendar was across the hall in a second, 
 and shaking her warmly by the hand. 
 
 " I will put off dinner till eight-forty- 
 five," said Frank. " You won't mind, Lady 
 Mary ? For the Countess has brought 
 eio^hteen boxes — and think of the un- 
 packing ! " 
 
 Lady Mary, who could never resist the 
 temptation to give good advice, said she 
 always tried to avoid giving trouble to 
 other people's servants, and a friend of 
 hers had an odd-man whose back had been 
 strained by carrying heavy luggage. 
 
106 FOILED. 
 
 " I'm afraid mine is heavy," said the 
 Countess, ruefully. " You see, I always 
 carry my own jug and washing-basin about, 
 in silver, and my large silver looking-glass, 
 and beakers for drinking-water — and silver- 
 gilt boxes and things. Dear Mr. Hesseltine, 
 I am afraid I shall be a bore ! " 
 
 ''Never — never. I only wish you were 
 going to stay longer." 
 
 And Lady Mary, on hearing this last 
 remark, felt inwardly thankful that perhaps 
 Charles would not see so much of Countess 
 Yalendar as she had anticipated. He had 
 looked rather too much pleased to meet her 
 now, she thought. 
 
 " Did you have a good journey ? " 
 
 " Well, yes, but I nearly missed a train. 
 You see, by mistake I got into a carriage 
 numbered thirteen. Well, with my views, 
 it was impossible, you know, to stay in it. 
 I jumped out, and got, just as the train was 
 moving on, into a smoking carriage with a 
 
FOILED. 107 
 
 cross old clergyman, or bishop, and trod on 
 his toes. He was more annoyed than ever 
 when he saw my cigar-case. I felt happier 
 though when we saw a piebald horse on 
 the left hand at one of the small stations." 
 
 Countess Valendar spoke English fluently, 
 with a very pretty foreign accent. 
 
 " You don't mean to say," came Lady 
 Mary's rather stufiy voice from the top of 
 the stairs, "that you really are guided by 
 these extraordinary superstitions ? They 
 must make your life a misery." 
 
 It was rather fortunate that she did not 
 hear her husband's answer, spoken quite 
 under his breath. But Hesseltine did. 
 
 " Well," he remarked, laughing, " I 
 w^onder what luck is in store for me. I 
 passed a flock of sheep to-day on the left 
 — and, remembering you, Countess, waved 
 my hand three times to the shepherd, when 
 he wasn't looking, as I don't want it to 
 get about among my tenants that I have 
 
108 FOILED. 
 
 taken to drink. Now you must come and 
 see your room. I have given you a little 
 boudoir to write in, next door, and I have 
 put a box of Egyptian cigarettes all ready 
 for you." 
 
 Lady Mary, in a high sage-green tea- 
 gown, narrow where it should have been 
 loose, and in creases where it should have 
 fitted, was in the library before the other 
 guests came down to dinner. She was 
 feeling very unhappy, and remorseful too, 
 poor little misguided woman, under the 
 consciousness that she had really made 
 herself unduly disagreeable to Charley, half 
 an hour ago. She hoped that he would, 
 come down first, so that she might tell him 
 that she was sorry. But no, fate was 
 against her. There was a swish of a long 
 silk train coming through the hall, a light 
 step, and Countess Valendar, clad in a 
 lovely lilac poplin garment, fresh from 
 Doucet, made her appearance. 
 
FOILED. 109 
 
 " I hope," said the latter, after they had 
 exchanged a few conventional remarks about 
 the east wind, the intricacies of Bradshaw, 
 and other equally interesting topics, " that 
 we may really get to know each other well 
 while we are here. Charley has always been 
 one of my favourite cousins, and he used to 
 stay with us so often at Schloss Waldenfels 
 before he married." 
 
 " I don't quite know what the relationship 
 is." 
 
 " Oh, his grandmother was a German ; 
 she and my husband's mother were sisters. 
 We have got a portrait of an ancestor 
 so like dear Charley — the same beautiful 
 eyes." 
 
 Lady Mary retreated still further into her 
 shell. 
 
 " I haven't been much abroad," she said, 
 " only to Kissingen with mamma, when she 
 made her cures." 
 
 "By the way — talking of cures reminds 
 
110 FOILED. 
 
 me of good dinners. Hasn't Mr. Hesseltine 
 a wonderful cook ? " 
 
 '' I really don't care for that sort of thing. 
 As loDg as I have plain roast and boiled 
 meat, and everything cleanly cooked, it is 
 all I want. Indeed, it seems to me almost 
 wrong to think of one's dinner such hours 
 beforehand " 
 
 ''The chances are that one is constantly 
 reminded of it for hours afterwards if it 
 isn't properly done," said the Countess ; 
 *' but perhaps you never have an indiges- 
 tion ? Ah ! here is our kind host. Mr. 
 Hesseltine, Lady Mary has been expressing 
 all manner of heresies about eating; but you 
 and I are fond of our food, aren't we ? And 
 you are satisfied with your chef? Well, 
 after dinner, — dechiquetons-le.'' 
 
 The second gong rang, and the guests 
 assembled round the fire. Mrs. Adeane 
 in yellow and white — there were only 
 three ladies altogether; a neighbouring 
 
FOILED. Ill 
 
 squire with whiskers like stove-brushes ; old 
 Lord Dullingham, who had been the dearest 
 friend of Frank's father ; a couple of young 
 Guardsmen ; Prince Stolzenfels, who was 
 living in a continual state of enthusiasm 
 about English fox-hunting ; and lastly, 
 Charles, in a red coat, looking tired and 
 bored. 
 
 Poor Lady Mary tried to catch his eye, 
 but he walked straight up to Countess Val- 
 endar, and she saw that they smiled as if 
 they had perfectly understood one another. 
 
 During dinner Charley hardly spoke at 
 all. His left-hand neighbour, Mrs. Adeane, 
 was completely absorbed in an animated 
 discussion with the Prince, as to the way in 
 which the German women were regarded by 
 their husbands. On his right hand, the 
 younger of the two Guardsmen, who had 
 a profound admiration for Charley, was too 
 shy to do much more than answer a very 
 occasional question of his. Countess Yal- 
 
112 FOILED. 
 
 endar and her host discussed alternately the 
 dishes, and people whom they had mutually 
 known and liked abroad. The elder Guards- 
 man tried laboriously and vainly to engage 
 Lady Mary in conversation. As he after- 
 wards expressed it, it was like riding a lame 
 horse through plough. Her eye was always 
 resting on Charles, while she answered him 
 at random. By the time the men had 
 drunk their fourth, and the ladies their 
 second, glass of champagne, things appeared 
 to brighten. The Prince began to smile 
 leniently and compassionately upon Mrs. 
 Adeane. 
 
 "What we like in women," he said, ''is 
 domesticity. So long as they are faithful 
 wives and devoted mothers, and good man- 
 agers of the household, Ave ask nothing 
 more. We do not wish them to attract 
 other men, or to discuss politics and subjects 
 that do not concern them. They have their 
 own topics — the education of children; the 
 
FOILED. 113 
 
 settling of domestic details ; their needle- 
 work ; if you like, the management of their 
 gardens ; also the condition of the poor in 
 their immediate neighbourhood." 
 
 "But surely the more a woman knows — 
 provided that she is not a prig — the greater 
 must be her hold over her husband ! Men 
 are all very much alike, I find. The wisest 
 cannot resist charm when they meet it, and 
 their practice is usually diametrically opposed 
 to their theory ! " She was so excited that 
 she was almost out of breath. The Prince 
 looked at her admiringly out of the corner 
 of his eyes. 
 
 " Intellectual, and what you call fasci- 
 nating, women, are not usually a success 
 with us," he said, smiling. " But perhaps 
 it is because we are afraid that they will 
 pervert our judgment. We wish to be 
 masters, you see, Mrs. Adeane. If it is 
 our lot to meet one who combines beauty 
 
 and vivacity and intelligence, who can say 
 VOL. L I 
 
114 FOILED. 
 
 where, against our will, she will not lead 
 us ? " And he looked at her affectionately. 
 
 Mrs. Adeane began to think that after all 
 she might be the exception that proves the 
 rule, and be very happy with a husband 
 whose ideas were opposed to her own. The 
 late John Adeane Esq., of Malpas Castle, 
 had invariably agreed with her on all points 
 — and oh, how dull he had been ! 
 
 '^ Tell me some more about your lovely 
 old place," she said, in a low voice, looking 
 meekly up under her eyelids at Prince 
 Stolzenfels. '' It came to you in the female 
 line, did it not ? I must buy the Almanack 
 de Gotha, and read all about your family 
 in it. The court-yard with the clipped 
 limes, and that dear, beautiful river sound 
 to me so fascinating, like a dream." 
 
 '' Excellent, excellent ! this Ecume aux 
 PecheSy " said Countess Valendar to her 
 host. " You have got a treasure." 
 
 " Yes, I've been to the Court — and the 
 
FOILED. 115 
 
 St. James's," remarked the elder Guardsman 
 to Lady Mary. " Eipping piece at the 
 Court ; makes you laugh till you feel sick. 
 I nearly fell out of my stall. Mrs. John 
 Wood is—" 
 
 Lord Dullingham eyed the young soldier 
 through his spectacles. 
 
 " It does not seem to take much wit to 
 amuse young men of the present day," he 
 remarked, pompously. " In my time we 
 had Liston and Yates ; that was the sort of 
 thing really to entertain intelligent persons. 
 But where is humour ? Dead, surely. What 
 do they give us now as a substitute for wit ? 
 Oh sont les neiges dJaiitan ? " 
 
 Captain Sturgess, who had not the re- 
 motest idea what Lord Dullingham meant, 
 got rather red and said — 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course, of course, the man 
 who wrote Black Sheep ; we can't touch 
 those sort of chaps." And the subject 
 dropped, on his part at least, while Lord 
 
116 FOILED. 
 
 Dullingham, skimming lightly through the 
 history of the English Stage, hovered 
 round the doubtful plays of Shakespeare, 
 bestowed a few words of commendation on 
 Webster and Yanbrugh, and finally arrived, 
 breathless and puffing, at the condition of 
 the drama when he was still a young man 
 about London. There was a good deal of 
 music after dinner ; Mrs. Adeane lured 
 Prince Stolzenfels into a far corner, and 
 sang Volksliede with a twanging banjo 
 accompaniment. This instrument was 
 scarcely as yet the fashion in England, 
 and quite new to her German admirer. 
 Captain Sturgess whistled rather out of tune 
 to the piano, and his brother officer sang 
 patriotic songs in a throaty voice, winding 
 up with the Wacht am Rhein in com- 
 pliment to the Prince. 
 
 Charley and the Countess sat quite far 
 away in a corner of the drawing-room. 
 And Lady Mary, twisting her thin red 
 
FOILED. 117 
 
 hands nervously, watched them, and paid 
 but scant attention to the well-meant obser- 
 vations of her host. She need not have 
 been anxious, for there was assuredly no 
 cause for jealousy in the friendship between 
 her husband and Louise Valendar. No 
 woman had ever shown more repulsion 
 towards what, for want of a better word, 
 must be called fastness. Possessing great 
 kindness of heart, and knowledge of the 
 world, she yet drew a strict line as regarded 
 her own actions and those of her female 
 friends, which she did not ever permit 
 herself or them to pass. 
 
 " You dwell too morbidly upon what is 
 over and done," she was saying ; " you have 
 repented enough, and suffered enough 
 remorse, believe me. Try and shake off 
 some of these despairing feelings. I do not 
 blame you as you blame yourself ; I mean as 
 regards your later conduct. The first step, 
 the irreparable, — what a terrible word that 
 
118 FOILED. 
 
 is ! — I say nothing about that now. But 
 it would have been of no use had you lived 
 on unmarried — had you gone on seeing our 
 poor little Thecla." 
 
 A spasm of pain twisted the lower part of 
 his face. 
 
 *' You never read her last letter," he said. 
 " I read, it nearly every evening. It is 
 awful to me. I am not religious, but the 
 notion of a living soul hurling itself reck- 
 lessly into the dark on my account, is 
 something I feel I cannot bear. The weight 
 is perpetually on me. Where is she now ? 
 Suffering, do you suppose, and reproaching 
 me ? It would be a cruel injustice, wouldn't 
 it ? God knows I still love her — more than 
 ever — more than ever." 
 
 His head was bent low on his breast. 
 
 " I believe with my whole heart and soul 
 that she is forgiven. There was so much 
 that was good and tender in her. Oh ! my 
 friend, God is surely more merciful than 
 
FOILED. 119 
 
 man : let us not be afraid of fallino^ into His 
 hands." 
 
 And from the other end of the room came 
 snatches of laughter and song. Charles was 
 so far away in thought, that the incongruity 
 hardly jarred on him. 
 
 " Sing another German song ; or you 
 shall whistle when I play ? " 
 
 " Who's for a rubber ? — or piquet ? Lord 
 Dullingham, will you join us ? " 
 
 " Sturgess is such a nailer at it, I can't 
 play with him." 
 
 Another voice called out — 
 
 " Sing Ach ! tvie isfs moglicli dann f — 
 awfully touching don't-yer-know ! / don't 
 feel sentimental enough to-night." 
 
 " Give Countess Valendar a cigar ; you 
 don't mind smoking, Lady Mary ? Ah ! I 
 am afraid from your face you do ! Never 
 mind, we'll go into the library — " 
 
 "My dear Charley," continued Louise, 
 " do try and become more hopeful. Interest 
 
120 FOILED. 
 
 yourself more in your everyday life. And, 
 forgive me for a word of advice ; I believe 
 your wife does care to please you. She is 
 sad, I am sure of it, because she can't do so 
 sometimes. If you were to show her a 
 little more — well — " 
 
 " I can't and won't show her what I don't 
 feel. Ah ! I understand your meaning. 
 You would like to say, I married her for 
 her money, and I don't treat her with 
 common civility ; I dare say you are right. 
 But I feel sometimes an absolute brute when 
 I'm with her." 
 
 " Ach ! wie ist's moglich dann, 
 Dass ich dich lassen kann ? " 
 
 sang Mrs. ildeane's clear voice. And then 
 Charles covered his drawn face for a moment 
 only with both hands. 
 
 Lady Mary went up feeling very tired 
 and sick at heart to her large bedroom 
 looking over the deer-park. It was a 
 comfortable abode, with chintz-covered arm- 
 
FOILED. 121 
 
 chairs, muslin liangiDgs, and an imposing 
 fom'-post bed. Charles occupied his old 
 room — the one in which so many of his 
 boyish days had been spent, far off in another 
 wing, where Hesseltine also slept. Lady 
 Mary knelt down in her solitude by the fire, 
 and warmed her thin red fingers over the 
 blaze. She had sent her maid to bed, for 
 her wispy hair did not require much brush- 
 ing. The tears welled into her eyes as they 
 stared into those golden caverns made by 
 the hot coals. She seemed to see a whole 
 city of shiuing streets, with little temples 
 and burning shrines. There was a knocking 
 at the door. 
 
 "Who's there?" asked Lady Mary, 
 hurriedly wiping away her tears. 
 
 "It is Charley," said a voice from out- 
 side. " May I come in ? " 
 
 And in a minute he was standing beside 
 her. 
 
 " It has seemed to me, Molly," he said. 
 
122 FOILED. 
 
 looking away from her, " that you — that I 
 — that you — I mean — I have been rather 
 a brute to you lately. I don't feel as if I 
 had behaved like a gentleman. I haven't 
 answered you often when you spoke — I 
 — I have said things which I — which I 
 regret. Upon my soul I do. Will you 
 forgive me ? " 
 
 IShe was standing beside him, trembling 
 all over. 
 
 " Of course, of course I forgive you," she 
 said, with a lump rising in her throat. But 
 it was rather characteristic of the woman 
 thut she did not own that she had often 
 been in the wrong too. 
 
 He took her cold hand in his. 
 
 " Let us try to get on better," he said, 
 calmly and kindly, but with no love in 
 his accents. " Good-night, Molly." 
 
 And he bent down and kissed her — on the 
 forehead — for the first time for many, many 
 months. In after years, when she was in a 
 
FOILED. 123 
 
 softened mood, Ladj Mary liked to think of 
 that kiss. It seemed to make life easier to 
 bear, somehow. 
 
 " Good-night, good-night, Charley — " 
 And he was gone once more, back to 
 his own lonely little room, where we will 
 follow him. 
 
 He shut the window, poked the fire into 
 a blaze, and having taken off his blue satin 
 smoking suit, he sat down in a large arm- 
 chair with his feet on the fender. Presently 
 he rose, unlocked a drawer, and brought 
 out a small tin box. He turned the key 
 and took out two — three bundles of letters. 
 A dried pink rose fell out of one of them on 
 to the floor. He picked it up and kissed it, 
 holding it tightly pressed to his lips. Then 
 he took out a letter, lying by itself at the 
 bottom of the box. He knew it by heart — 
 every word of it. He could see how the 
 characters looked even with his eyes closed, 
 and the blot at the bottom of the first pnge, 
 
124 FOILED. 
 
 the erasures on the last. Every line was 
 burnt into his brain as if with a hot iron. 
 But he read it through once more all over 
 again — 
 
 " I told you I would never write, but 
 this is the very last time. When you read 
 these words, my fiugers will be stiff and 
 still. I cannot, I cannot go on living any 
 more, Charley. It is like being in hell — 
 the loneliness, the remorse, the pain. I tried 
 to go into society, to see people, to laugh 
 and talk. What do you think happened to 
 
 me at the ball at Bad two nights ago ? 
 
 Women who had been my friends pretended- 
 not to see me. Not one came near to talk 
 to me. I saw one or two whispering with 
 their partners. Men were, I thought, familiar, 
 and different from what they used to be. I 
 could have cried ; I was so tired, so miserable. 
 Other people have done wrong, but they are 
 not looked coldly on. Why am I worse ? I 
 know these women were always jealous, and 
 
FOILED. 125 
 
 they rejoice at having stories against me to 
 tell each other. I am tired of life. I will 
 not go on like this — having to endure 
 contempt from others as well as my own 
 suffering. So I have decided to die — to go 
 to sleep to-morrow — and never to wake. It 
 is only a few hours off now. Good-bye, 
 Charley. Sometimes I feel that I do l:>elieve 
 in the power of prayers, and then I think I 
 must ask you to pray for little Leontine, 
 that she may not be like her miserable 
 mother. She has your eyes, and will 
 grow up perhaps beautiful. God keep 
 her from a fate like mine. Once more, 
 good-bye. It is easier to say it on paper 
 than it was a few months ago. Oh ! my 
 darling, my darling, don't quite forget me ! 
 Thecla." 
 
 ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 The fire in Charles Marsham's room was 
 dying out. He had fallen asleep on his little 
 narrow bed, and his candle was guttering 
 
126 FOILED. 
 
 in the silver candlestick before giving a last 
 spurt and sinking into darkness. 
 
 A quantity of white ashes, among which 
 here and there a few fragments of paper 
 were visible, lay under the bars of the grate. 
 Just by the fender was the leaf of a dried 
 pink rose. And on one scorched corner of 
 an old letter, which had fluttered away from 
 the rest of the gray heap, was written and 
 still legible the word '' Good-bye." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " GOOD-BYE FOR EVER, GOOD-BYE." 
 
 " Shall I drive you to the meet, Countess 
 Valendar ? You won't be cold, I hope, as 
 it is a very still day. Scorby Moor is only 
 three miles off. Mrs. Adeane, you'll ride ? 
 Prince Stolzenfels, you will look after her ? 
 It is very vexing that I can't hunt, only 
 this tiresome business is a thing that won't 
 be put off. I must be back here by one. 
 Capital scentiug-day too — nice muggy air. 
 I hope, Stolzenfels, we shall be able to show 
 you some more sport." 
 
 The speaker was Frank Hesseltine, seated 
 at a small round table, of which there were 
 
128 FOILED. 
 
 three in the breakfast- room. He v:sis bolt- 
 ing his food, and casting furtive glances 
 at the Yorkshire Post spread out at his 
 elbow. 
 
 Charles, booted and spurred, was at the 
 other end of the room, in company with 
 Louise Valendar, and the squire with the 
 stove-brush whiskers, a very taciturn person, 
 but respected throughout the Riding for his 
 wonderful knowledge of the country, and 
 the way hounds work. The two Guards- 
 men, very neatly got up, were civilly trying 
 to pay some semblance of attention to Lord 
 Dullingham, who was describing at length 
 some of the old English sports and pastimes. 
 The person who looked most entirely con- 
 tented was Mrs. Adeane, clad in the neatest 
 of brown habits, and sitting as usual by her 
 Prince. The latter appeared to be equally 
 satisfied with this arrangement, to judge by 
 the expression of his handsome face. 
 
 Countess Valendar rose from the table, 
 
FOILED. 129 
 
 lighted her cigarette, and went iip-stairs to 
 dress, returning shortly in a long coat 
 trimmed with magnificent sables. She then 
 got into a high phaeton with her host, and 
 the two drove along through the damp 
 freshness of an ideal huntinor-mornino^. The 
 ash trees were still covered with green 
 leaves, and in the flower-beds frost-nipped 
 begonias and geraniums still kept up a 
 semblance of summer, although it was the 
 middle of November. Dew-drops shone on 
 the hedges, where a few blackberries hung 
 among cobwebs and yellow bramble. It 
 was a cheerful, but hardly a pretty country, 
 for although the direction in which they 
 drove led them away from the chimneys 
 and coal-mines that hemmed in one side of 
 Hesseltine's property, there was little of the 
 picturesque either in the stretch of fields 
 bounded by bare coverts, or in the villages 
 with their little slate-roofed srardenless 
 houses. They crossed a bridge with wide 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
130 FOILED. 
 
 arches, spanning a stagnant black river ; 
 and half a mile of broad road — the coach- 
 ing-road of the early part of the century — 
 brought them to the Black Swan Inn at 
 Scorby Moor, where the meet was held. 
 
 Mrs. Adeane and the Prince had ridden 
 by a short cut across fields, and were 
 already there ; he with the winter sunshine 
 illuminating his blue eyes and yellow beard ; 
 she with a still brighter light in the dark 
 eyes which were constantly lifted to his. 
 Charles, on a powerful brown animal, was a 
 little way off, talking to a local horse-dealer 
 and the Squire who was Hessel tine's guest. 
 He was unquestionably the most striking 
 figure of the group, thought Frank and his 
 companion, though neither of them ex- 
 pressed their thoughts aloud. He pointed 
 out some of the local celebrities to Louise. 
 
 " The lady with the weather-beaten nose 
 is a Mrs. Jack Foxley. She is really a 
 wonderful horse-woman, though she always 
 
FOILED. 131 
 
 looks as if she had one shoulder higher than 
 another. She is speaking to a well-known 
 book-maker, whom you may have seen at 
 Newmarket. That puflfy little man — ^just 
 listen to his brogue — commands the Depot 
 near here. As there are only about six 
 men in it, he may perhaps be equal to the 
 task. That's his wife in the waggonette. 
 Why do soldiers pick up those extraordinary 
 women ? But she was considered a beauty, 
 I am told, at Poonah, or some such place. 
 Shall we drive on a little way when they 
 start ? I am afraid there is not a great 
 deal of time. I shall have to entrust Lady 
 Mary and Lord Dullingham to you, which 
 I am afraid isn't a lively prospect, but I 
 shall hardly have a moment to myself all 
 day." 
 
 Fifteen minutes more, and the lively 
 group had stretched itself into a long line 
 of horsemen and horsewomen, smart dog- 
 and pony-carts, and high shabby traps, 
 
132 FOILED. 
 
 drawn by rough animals. The wintry sun 
 shone on faded and new scarlet coats, on 
 spotless white leather breeches, on the sheet 
 of smooth grass that led out of the lane 
 into the first covert. And Hesseltine's eyes, 
 with an expression of disappointment very 
 visible in them, followed the retreating 
 figures. It was hard luck to miss such a 
 day as this ; but underneath the feeling of 
 regret was an odd presentiment that some- 
 thing would happen to spoil it, a strange 
 weight which hung over his spirits, and 
 which made his conversation with Louise 
 singularly flat and dull. They both watched 
 Charles, galloping over the grass ; even from 
 a distance it was easy to see what a beauti- 
 ful seat he had on a horse. Yes, and there 
 were the Prince and Mrs. Adeane, tittuping 
 along side by side in the easy canter only 
 to be enjoyed on two hunters with good 
 mouths and perfect manners, kept always in 
 sufficient exercise. One by one the figures 
 
FOILED. 133 
 
 dwindled into little black and red patches. 
 The sound of the horn came faintly towards 
 them. A few dark clouds crept over the 
 wintry sun. The hedges, with the light no 
 longer on the dew-drops and red berries, 
 began to look merely dripping and sodden. 
 As Hesseltine turned his horses homewards, 
 the sense of decay and approaching winter 
 was palpable ; once again came the sound 
 of a distant horn, very faint now, dying 
 away over copse and covert and plough. 
 An old beggar, sitting on a stone-heap, with 
 a dirty piece of bread in his hand, rose up 
 and asked an alms. Hesseltine flung him 
 half-a-crown, with a calm disregard of all 
 principles inculcated by the Charity Organiz- 
 ation Society. The venerable man's bless- 
 ings were lost in the tramp of the hoofs, but 
 not in the conversation of the two who were 
 driving, for both had become entirely silent. 
 Countess Valendar shivered a little, and 
 drew her sables tightly over her chest. 
 
134 FOILED. 
 
 Lady Mary was down-stairs to meet them, 
 a little more cheerful and less argumentative 
 than usual. The recollection of her inter- 
 view with Charley of the preceding evening 
 seemed to brighten her day. It was not 
 much, perhaps, regarded as a proof of a 
 husband's affection, yet after the weeks and 
 months of ever-increasing estrangement and 
 desolation it was worth something. She 
 was really in a good temper until after 
 luncheon, when the sight of Countess Valen- 
 dar's cigar produced the usual ruffling effect 
 on her nerves, which was not mollified when 
 Louise offered to lend her a new Frencb 
 novel that had been making a sensation of 
 late. 
 
 " Thank you, I always avoid that class of 
 books. I don't see why any woman should 
 read them. It surely must produce a 
 deteriorating effect." 
 
 " But this is not a bad book. Sad, 
 very likely, but a picture of life as it is, and 
 
FOILED. 135 
 
 with no tendency to make vice attractive. 
 AYhj not know the real world ? It is 
 no use pretending to think w^e are liv- 
 ing in a milieu of St. Anthonys or Sir 
 Galahads. You can't influence people if 
 you don't know the real facts of their 
 daily existence." 
 
 " I don't w4sh to know them. I would 
 rather go straight on doing, I hope, my 
 duty, and shutting my eyes to what does 
 not concern me. I find the stories I read 
 in the school-room and soon after I came 
 out quite sufficient in the way of fiction. I 
 am sure you would be happier if you knew 
 less of what you call the world. It is all 
 horrible ; and if I thouojht about disaorreeable 
 things, I should feel uncharitable towards 
 most people." 
 
 Louise Valendar looked at her pursed-up 
 lips and cold eyes that seemed to accord 
 so well with her precise and self-sufficient 
 voice. And this w^as the woman to whom 
 
136 FOILED. 
 
 poor Charles, passionate, impulsive, tender- 
 hearted, was to be tied for ever ! Lady 
 Mary was beginning to irritate her beyond 
 measure, but she was determined to try and 
 be kind. So she proposed an afternoon 
 tete-d-tete walk. Lord DuUingham being 
 absorbed in the composition of a dull 
 dedicatory preface to one of the works 
 which he always published at his own 
 expense. This seemed likely to keep him 
 employed for many days to come, for he 
 wrote and re- wrote his stilted sentences till 
 his blotting-paper was black and his waste- 
 paper basket overflowed. 
 
 The two ladies started after luncheon for 
 their walk in the woods. Louise felt in a 
 state of strange restlessness. Any sudden 
 noise jarred her nerves, and the atmosphere, 
 deprived now of the last sun-rays, seemed 
 to her acutely depressing. A sense of 
 lassitude stole over her as she walked with 
 Lady Mary down the spongy green wood- 
 
FOILED. 137 
 
 land drives, picking her way over broad 
 ruts where the heavy carts had been. The 
 boughs were loaded with moisture. Large 
 drops hung on the black yews, and dripped 
 from the bare larch boughs on to their 
 heads. 
 
 They came at last out of all the sombre 
 leafage, into a road, wooded only on one 
 side, and bare on the other, where a 
 ploughed field stretched away towards a 
 deserted lime-kiln. The far horizon was 
 heavy with smoke, which had turned the 
 red chimneys gray, the small yellow^ 
 cottages black, the tree-stems into a 
 uniform leaden duskiness. A thin horse 
 was straining every nerve and muscle along 
 the muddy towing-path, dragging a green 
 barge loaded with coal ; and winding on 
 past silent farms, and collieries that sent 
 up heavy puffs of smoke, was the sluggish 
 river, once a limpid stream among meadows 
 and green bushes, now — 
 
138 FOILED. 
 
 " From the black blot up the stream 
 The funeral barges glide, 
 And the waves part as in a dream 
 
 From broad bow and sunken side ; 
 And 'tis " greed, greed ! " hisses from coal and 
 from steam, 
 Foul freightage and turbid tide." 
 
 '* Are you very tired ? " asked Lady 
 Mary. "You look so pale and cold. Let 
 us turn back. They ought to be home soon 
 from hunting." 
 
 " I don't know why I feel so done up. 
 But one mustn't give way to it. Perhaps 
 it is the heaviness of the air. I shall be all 
 right when I get back to my cheerful fire — ■- 
 and my French book ! Oh dear, there 
 are pigs over there, being driven by a boy ! 
 That is awfully unlucky. I must run to 
 that railing and touch it. Don't you know 
 that when you see pigs you must always 
 touch iron ! " 
 
 " How can you remember, or believe, all 
 those foolish things ! Charley always takes 
 
FOILED. 139 
 
 off his hat to a magpie, and I tell him it 
 is idiotic." 
 
 Louise took out her cigarette-case, and 
 the fragrant scent of smoke soon rose into 
 the damp air. The walk home through the 
 rustling leaves and through the growing 
 darkness was depressing ; and it was with 
 a feeling of satisfaction that they caught 
 sight of the distant house-lights. 
 
 " I didn't know any one else was 
 coming," said Louise. "There's a fly at 
 the door — oh, how cold it is!" And she 
 began to shiver violently. 
 
 Evidently some one on the watch had 
 seen the ladies coming, for the shutters had 
 not been closed over the hall-door, and it 
 was flung open before they walked up the 
 wide steps. There were several servants 
 in the hall, all looking scared and mys- 
 terious, and Prince Stolzenfels was talking 
 in a low tone to one of them. He turned 
 sharply round. 
 
140 FOILED. 
 
 *' What has happened ? " cried Countess 
 Yalendar, looking blankly at his white face. 
 
 " Hush ! " he said, and then coming 
 towards her — " Take Lady Mary into the 
 library ; Hesseltine will see her — and — 
 and—" 
 
 The tears stood in his blue eyes. 
 
 Lady Mary had lingered near the door, 
 and was divesting herself of several un- 
 becoming WTaps ; so she had taken note of 
 nothing. 
 
 " Oh, for Heaven's sake, say what it is ! 
 But I know ; it is Charles Marsham. Is he 
 dead?" 
 
 " No — no — but he must die. It is only 
 a question of days — hours. And the pain 
 — oh, my God ! it is awful that he should 
 suffer so. Take care — there's his wife — I 
 can't tell her ; dear Countess Valendar, can 
 you ? — or will you wait for Frank ? He 
 is perfectly heartbroken. He looks the 
 most terrible of the two." 
 
FOILED. 141 
 
 Some one was slowly coming down the 
 stairs ; some one whose face the two in the 
 hall below did not for the first moment 
 recognize. It was Hesseltine. To say, in 
 conventional language, that he looked ten 
 years older, and that his countenance was 
 livid, does not in the least explain the 
 change that had come upon him. He was 
 a different man from the one who had 
 driven Countess Valendar to Scorby Moor 
 some seven hours ago. And whatever of 
 joy the far future might bring to him ; 
 whatever of healing. Time and Work and 
 Love miofht and must have in store, there 
 was an expression of dumb grief now in his 
 eyes that would never quite leave them, 
 and there were new lines in his face that 
 would never be smoothed till he should be 
 lying in his last dreamless sleep. 
 
 For him. Youth had died suddenly — 
 stricken down by a sharp unexpected blow ; 
 and which of us quite knows how much 
 
142 FOILED. 
 
 of hope and zest of living he carries away 
 with him ? From Frank Hesseltine, per- 
 haps, whose deep affections were concen- 
 trated on but few objects, more than from 
 most. From that hour, though good things 
 doubtless came to him, they were always 
 unlooked-for, unexpected, and difficult at 
 first to grasp and realize. 
 
 Louise, looking on his face, said no word. 
 But she pressed both his cold hands in her 
 own. The Prince had followed Lady Mary 
 into the library. 
 
 After a minute Hesseltine spoke, in his 
 every-day voice, clear and firm — 
 
 " She must be told now, at once ; I will 
 go myself. Charley is unconscious now, 
 thank God. Why did it all happen when I 
 could not be with him at once ? No ; I 
 don't mean I could have helped in any way, 
 but I should have been near him ... for 
 just an hour more. He is awfully hurt and 
 crushed. Any doctor is powerless. We 
 
FOILED. 143 
 
 have sent for more advice — the best from 
 London. But it is practically all over now. 
 Oh, Louise — Louise — he said ... a day 
 or two ago ... he wanted . . . this ; 
 but why should he have to bear all the 
 pain ? " 
 
 He wruncr his hands toQ-ether till the 
 joints cracked. The cold perspiration stood 
 in drops on his forehead, but his eyes, with 
 that terrible expression of misery in their 
 depths, were dry. There was a sort of 
 scream from the library. 
 
 '' He has told her ! " 
 
 And Lady Mary, her fingers over her 
 face, her hat awry, her figure shaken with 
 sobs, came running out into the hall. The 
 Prince strode after her. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, dear Lady Mary, 
 try to be calm. He is not suffering much 
 now," he said, and the tears ran down on 
 his fair beard. 
 
 Hesseltine went up to her and passed 
 
144 FOILED. 
 
 her arm within his. Louise could not hear 
 what he said, but the two went slowdy up 
 the stairs. Louise sat dow^n on the lower 
 step, and burst into violent weeping. 
 
 " I wonder how Lady Mary found it 
 out '? " she said after a minute. 
 
 " Some intuition — my face showed, I fear ; 
 I would have let our good friend Hesseltine 
 tell her. But perhaps the sooner over the 
 better." 
 
 And up-stairs some of the servants were 
 hurrying to and fro with jugs of water, and 
 towels and basins, and a few stood silently 
 at the door of Charley's little room. They 
 had drawn a screen round his bed. And 
 his poor crushed figure, seven hours ago 
 strong and vigorous, was hardly recogniz- 
 able in the dim light. His face was not 
 marred, but barely visible under the 
 bandages round his head ; the hair damp 
 and matted under blood-stained handker- 
 chiefs. His hands were spread out stiff and 
 
FOILED. 145 
 
 motionless on the counterpane, and the 
 eyes were closed. Till a hospital nurse 
 could arrive, Frank's old housekeeper had 
 offered to give what help she could, and 
 was creeping about in a pair of list slippers. 
 Bandages, towels, and bottles were scattered, 
 without much method, about the room. 
 Charley's valet was breaking up ice into 
 small pieces. There was a smell of brandy 
 and drugs in the room, mingled with the 
 sickly odour of chloroform. 
 
 The doctor, a short man, with a strong 
 face, and a practical knowledge of his pro- 
 fession, was standing by the bed ; his eyes 
 bent upon his patient, his fingers on the 
 pulse. He had long ago won Frank's heart 
 by an eloquent pamphlet against experi- 
 mentation upon living animals ; and the 
 former having once sent for him, in pre- 
 ference to the more celebrated practitioner 
 of a neighbouring large town, had found 
 no after reason for ceasing to employ him. 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 FOILED. 
 
 He felt confident that his best friend might 
 be safely entrusted to him. Hesseltine 
 came almost noiselessly into the room; Lady 
 Mary, her face distorted and tearful, cling- 
 ing to his arm. At the corner of the screen 
 she stopped. 
 
 " I can't, I can't look at him, Mr. 
 Hesseltine ; I should break down, or have 
 hysterics, I know I should. I can't be any 
 use to him. Oh ! it is all so terrible ! I 
 shall faint, I know I shall, in this dreadful 
 room. Take me away, Mr. Hesseltine ! " 
 
 The doctor eyed her with a contempt 
 that was, however, entirely lost upon her. 
 
 *' If I could do any good ? But it is all 
 so miserable and harrowing. I never could 
 bear to see any one suffer." 
 
 And she laid her hand on the door. 
 
 "You'll send word to me about him — 
 often ? I shan't go to bed, of course. Oh ! 
 how hard it is to bear such things ! " 
 
 A moment afterwards, and seized, perhaps, 
 
FOILED. 147 
 
 with a feeling of compunction, she was 
 back again, with her handkerchief at her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Of course I will try and control myself, 
 and stay if I am wanted." 
 
 Hesseltine did not answer. He was 
 kneeling down by the bed, holding Charley's 
 hand, and looking blankly at the white face. 
 And Lady Mary went slowly away to her 
 own room. 
 
 For some hours the injured man remained 
 unconscious. The examination had been 
 made under chloroform. Three of the ribs 
 had been broken, one of which had per- 
 forated the right lung ; and it was suspected 
 that some of the internal organs were 
 severely crushed. 
 
 And the fiat had gone forth that the case 
 was entirely hopeless. He might live two 
 or three days, or the sufferings might not 
 last even thus lone^. And knowing^ what 
 the end must be, Hesseltine hungered for 
 
148 FOILED. 
 
 just a word of recognition, for a look of 
 consciousness in tliose deep blue eyes so 
 soon to be darkened for ever. In the 
 cold dawn, before the birds awoke, and 
 while the fog lay wreathed over the park 
 and the black trees, Charles moved and 
 groaned — a low groan of pain that went 
 through the watcher's heart. 
 
 " Dear old boy — does it hurt very, very 
 much ? " 
 
 He spoke like a nurse to a little sick 
 child, as he stroked the clammy hand of 
 which the fingers moved convulsively. 
 
 '^Oh, God! I should think i^ did!'' and 
 he groaned his teeth and moaned again. 
 
 " I say, Frank — good old Frank — did 
 they say they can do — nothing ? " 
 
 His voice was so low and hoarse, that 
 Hesseltine, whose face was close to him, 
 hardly made the words out. 
 
 " They will inject morphia, as much as 
 they can. And — and you'll feel free from 
 
FOILED. 149 
 
 pain then." There was a choking sound in 
 his throat as he ended. 
 
 A silence, broken only by the ticking of 
 the clock and the housekeeper's footstep on 
 the other side of the screen. The doctor 
 had risen from the arm-chair by the fire, 
 and came towards the bed. 
 
 " Have you anything to say to your 
 friend — or your — your wife ? " he asked. 
 
 The sick man, his mouth distorted by 
 pain, his fingers moving and twisting against 
 each other, said something, the purport of 
 which they could not catch. 
 
 " Charley, do you want to see any 
 one ? " said Hesseltine, smoothing the 
 pillow. 
 
 '•' Let . . . the doctor ... go away . . . 
 one minute." 
 
 Hesseltine signed to the latter to move 
 behind the screen. Then he knelt down 
 again and put his arm on the pillow round 
 Charley's bandaged head. 
 
150 FOILED. 
 
 *^ Don't speak if it hurts you," he 
 whispered. 
 
 " 1 must tell you ... I never did . . . 
 I have a little daughter . . . twelve years 
 old last . . . last . . . week. If you see 
 her ever . . . look after ... be kind . . ." 
 
 Hesseltine thought he was wandering. 
 
 " Yes, yes, of course, old boy." 
 
 "She is like her — her mother," said 
 Charley, making an effort to speak louder ; 
 and Frank bent down to wipe a little blood 
 off his lips. 
 
 "Don't talk, Charley. He'll inject this 
 stuff, and then you'll get some sleep. I'll 
 put the pillow a little better." 
 
 The doctor looked round the corner of 
 the screen, and Frank signed to him to 
 come near. 
 
 " For Cod's sake," said poor Hesseltine, 
 almost angrily, "do something to alleviate 
 the pain. It is awful to see him like this ; 
 and he was always the pluckiest chap." 
 
FOILED. 151 
 
 " I will, I will ; but you understand," 
 and he lowered his voice, " that that will 
 be the end. He will sink away in his 
 sleep ; I thought you, or his wife, might 
 have something to say to him, or he to you, 
 poor fellow." 
 
 The housekeeper, noiseless but for the 
 creaking and heaving of her black silk 
 bodice, was clearing some things off a table, 
 to make way for bottles and cups. She 
 took up a Bible, bound in shiny black, such 
 as is found occasionally in old-fashioned 
 country-house bedrooms, and more often 
 found probably than read, and put it 
 down with some other things on the 
 floor. 
 
 For some reason a sort of qualm of 
 conscience came over Hesseltine. Where 
 would Charley, the friend he loved best, 
 be within the next twenty-four hours ? 
 What had religion meant to him ? And 
 to Frank came a mental vision of Charles 
 
152 FOILED. 
 
 as he had looked as a boy in Eton chapel, 
 handsome and bored ; then as he had 
 appeared in later years in the parish church, 
 taking out his watch every five minutes, or 
 lolling in a corner during the Litany. 
 Would these things count against Charles 
 hereafter ? He felt almost savage at the 
 thought ; and yet with a burning wish to 
 be assured that it would be well with him 
 wherever he was going. 
 
 He knew that, in books, when people 
 were dying, some one always read to them 
 out of the Bible, or said a prayer. He 
 could do neither of these things. Strange,. 
 in the midst of his misery, to have this 
 feeling of shyness and self-consciousness. 
 If the doctor and old Mrs. Eogers had not 
 been there, he could perhaps have done 
 something of the kind. He was not sure 
 whether he hated or was grateful to them. 
 And then doubtless Charley was too ill, too 
 far gone, to understand. His head was 
 
FOILED. 153 
 
 turned away, and the doctor was about to 
 make him utterly insensible. 
 
 Frank stooped down and gathered up 
 the books that the housekeeper had left on 
 the floor, the shiny black volume at the top. 
 Half superstitiously he opened it, trembling 
 at what he might read. This is what met 
 his eyes — 
 
 '' For Thou lovest all the things that 
 are . . . never wouldst Thou have made 
 anything, if Thou hadst hated it. . . But 
 Thou sparest all : for they are Thine, 
 Lord, Thou lover of souls." 
 
 And the tears came into them, so that 
 the letters moved and danced up and down 
 on the page. And then from his inmost 
 heart he prayed for the bruised and tortured 
 body, for the unprepared spirit, maybe, of 
 the friend who was dearest to him in all 
 the world. 
 
 TV^ * TT Tr TT 
 
 And, like a horrible nightmare, by the 
 
154 FOILED. 
 
 silent form on the bed, the watching seemed 
 never-ending. As in a dream, Hesseltine 
 saw Lady Mary, her face swollen with 
 crying, come softly round the screen, kneel 
 down by her husband, kiss his senseless 
 face, and go silently away. Then shortly 
 afterwards — and this somehow touched him 
 more — the door opened to admit the figures 
 of the old stud-groom, who had helped to 
 teach Charley to ride, and the keeper, who 
 had been for thirty years and more a 
 servant in Hesseltine's family. Both men, 
 he observed, had their shoes off, although 
 they need not have feared to arouse him 
 whose eyes would never more open to smile 
 at his old friends. They came softly in, 
 tears running down their weather-beaten 
 old faces, to say good-bye. And noiselessly, 
 after one long look at him who would never 
 mount horse or take gun in hand again, 
 they went out into the dark passage. 
 An owl hooted from one of the elms near 
 
FOILED. 155 
 
 the house. Frank drew aside the curtain, 
 and looked out upon the cold dawn. The 
 mist still hung over the park and woods 
 and the distant river. One last star 
 twinkled in the black sky. 
 
 # # # , # # 
 
 When the fog had melted, and a cold 
 yellow sky shone out behind the bare woods, 
 Charley Marsham was lying quite still in 
 the narrow bed where he had slept as a 
 boy. And Hesseltine, bending tenderly 
 over him, thought that the expression of 
 the mouth, calm and placid, Avith the lines 
 smoothed away, reminded him of what he 
 had looked in the old Eton days, when he 
 had fallen asleep after a hard day on the 
 river. Yes, quite calm, quite happy at last — 
 poor Charles ! He had been engulphed in 
 the quicksands of life, wrecked on its 
 troubled seas. Surely he was at peace in 
 some far-off port, or he could not possibly 
 have looked as he did now ? And Frank 
 
156 FOILED. 
 
 also would find him again, perhaps, and 
 they would talk over all the old sports and 
 pleasures that would lose half their zest 
 now that he had gone away ; all the little 
 trivialities that were interesting because 
 they had both taken a share in them, 
 " when they were young and together." 
 
 And through the windows of the silent 
 house the wintry yellow sunlight streamed 
 in for the last time upon the faces of the 
 two friends. 
 
PART II. 
 
CHAPTEE I. 
 
 THE queen's ball. 
 
 The red-coated band in the gallery was 
 doing the fullest justice to one of Sullivan's 
 operettas, in the form of a pot-pourri 
 quadrille, to which many of the most beauti- 
 ful women and some of the most popular 
 men in London were dancing. Frank 
 Hesseltine was not, however, on this occa- 
 sion numbered among the latter, for his 
 tall figure, in his deputy-lieutenant's uni- 
 form, was standing alone on the top step 
 of the tier of seats which surround the 
 large ball-room at Buckingham Palace. He 
 was conspicuous for his height and for his 
 
160 FOILED. 
 
 good looks, but even more for the expression 
 of amiable boredom and apathy which his 
 countenance usually wore at all festivities. 
 
 At this particular moment, when more than 
 one young lady was thinking how well the 
 background of crimson-brocaded wall became 
 his handsome face, with its closely-trimmed 
 Vandyke beard, he was hardly conscious 
 even of their presence. He had fallen into 
 one of his dreamy, abstracted moods, and 
 in point of fact his meditations were very 
 far away from the brilliantly -lighted room 
 with its glassy floor, and its throng of 
 bejewelled ladies. Just for one instant, 
 when a popular newly-married duchess, 
 crossing over in the " ladies' chain," suddenly 
 raised her eyes to his with a smile, he 
 came back to the present, with a little 
 sigh of half regret, half relief; he did not 
 feel sure at the moment which it was. 
 
 For two seasons Hesseltine had been 
 counted among this young lady's ardent 
 
FOILED. 161 
 
 admirers. Without being deeply in love with 
 her, he had recognized her as typifying the 
 qualities which he considered should be 
 possessed by all women in general, and the 
 future Mrs. Hesseltine in particular. So 
 he had broken through his rule of never 
 going to balls, and had followed her from 
 one to another, always sure of a warm 
 welcome from her smiling blue eyes. Every 
 woman was flattered when Frank paid her 
 attention ; for, though courteous in manner, 
 he was obviously markedly indifferent to 
 their fascinations. Mothers with half- 
 fledged daughters had long ago almost 
 ceased even to bow to him whenever he 
 did appear. They shook their heads, 
 remarking that after that poor Colonel 
 Marsham's death he had become so melan- 
 choly and dull that he had much better 
 stay at home ; saw that of course he must 
 have an attraction somewhere — " A man so 
 immensely rich, and very handsome in his 
 
 VOL. L M 
 
162 FOILED. 
 
 own line. It was really no use papa asking 
 him to dinner, excepting for one of his 
 dull dinners for politicians ; it would be 
 much better to invite Lord Strathmashie, 
 who did occasionally think it worth while 
 to address a remark to the girls." 
 
 But Hesseltine, for once in his life, had 
 certainly been more than commonly civil 
 to Miss Montagu. And he had quite made 
 up his mind to propose to make her his 
 wife, in a certain conservatory with palms 
 and ice-blocks, when he had come suddenly 
 upon her and a popular young duke sitting 
 in a far corner under one of the trees, so 
 engrossed with one another that they seemed 
 oblivious of humanity in general, including 
 Frank Hesseltine. He had been long 
 enough a student of human nature to 
 recognize the meaning of the light shining 
 in Miss ]\Iontagu s blue eyes, of the quiver 
 on her lover's lips, as he said something 
 in a low voice close to her ear. Hesseltine 
 
FOILED. 163 
 
 was perhaps, after all, not quite so invul- 
 nerable as people gave him credit for being, 
 for he had turned sharply round, laughed 
 aloud — a short sarcastic laugh ; crushed a 
 scarlet camellia — poor harmless little flower, 
 that had fallen off some one's dress — with 
 the heel of his polished shoe, and without 
 waiting for supper, had gone down the 
 marble stairs out into the street. The 
 mocking sound of a popular comic song, 
 arranged as a polka, floated down after him 
 as he went. He wondered if he w^as really 
 in love w^ith Cecily Montagu, seriously 
 angry with her, or only with himself for 
 being such a fool. 
 
 " Wait till you come to forty year," he 
 thought. " Well, I have just passed that 
 philosophic age, so ' ere yet ever a month is 
 gone' I shall forget her, and congratulate 
 myself, very likely." 
 
 And w^hen another season came round, 
 and he found himself smiling benevolently 
 
164 FOILED. 
 
 down upon the lovely young duchess, whom 
 he had almost imagined himself to have 
 loved, he began to think that the cynic 
 was right after all. 
 
 The Eoyal Quadrille over, the dazzling 
 square of uniforms, stars, and diamonds 
 having dissolved into units, Hesseltine 
 came down from his post of vantage, with 
 a view to finding some man who might 
 perhaps feel inclined to have a talk, and a 
 glass of hock-cup in his company. He 
 was not long in discovering a friend. 
 
 " Hallo, Gore ! where have you been 
 hiding all this time? Oh yes, of course, 
 I remember, you are back from India and 
 Japan. I hope you found the letters of 
 introduction all right ? Come and have a 
 drink." 
 
 Mr. Gore was a tall young man, in an 
 ill-fitting Yeomanry uniform. His pleasant 
 square face lighted up when he recognized 
 Hesseltine. It may be remembered that he 
 
FOILED. 165 
 
 had hired Strathrowan a few years since 
 from the latter at a merely nominal rent, 
 and this was only one of many acts of good- 
 nature for which he was sincerely grateful 
 to his friend. The two men walked into the 
 tea-room tog;ether. Above the rattlinsj of 
 the tea-cups a prim voice was audible. 
 
 " No, thank you, no hock-cup. I never 
 drink anything of that kind. I do think 
 tea so much the best restorative. It is 
 such a pity, isn't it, that habit people have 
 of takinor alcohol between their reo;ular 
 meals, even at a ball-supper "? Yes, thank 
 you, just two little lumps, and a little 
 cream ; thanks — thanks ! Oh dear, Mr. 
 Prosser, I would rather not stay here if 
 Lord Huddersfield is coming this way. He 
 looks so dreadfully odd and heated. How 
 distressing ! — and he is such a young, good- 
 looking man. He is my distant cousin." 
 
 " How do you do. Lady Mary ? " said 
 Hesseltine. 
 
166 FOILED. 
 
 His friend's wife was very little changed. 
 A little fatter and more matronly since slie 
 had been left a widow, six years ago ; a 
 little more self-possessed and consequential, 
 with the same flushed and rather chaotic 
 features, surmounted on this particular 
 evening by one of the finest tiaras in 
 London. 
 
 " I am so delighted to see you, Mr. 
 Hesseltine. Do come to Grosvenor Square 
 one of these days for luncheon ! Poor 
 mamma is not at all well, and Dr. Dobson- 
 Bruce has put her on such a strict diet. 
 She will have to do a severe cure at Carlsbad-, 
 I am afraid, poor dear. Papa is here ; have 
 you seen him ? He looks so flourishing, 
 and he is very much excited about some 
 new beauty or other, who is here to-night 
 with Countess Yalendar." 
 
 " You don't mean to say Countess Valendar 
 is here ? What an extraordinary place this 
 is for missing people ; I must go and look 
 
FOILED. 167 
 
 her up. Come on, Gore, now, shall we ? 
 Oh, is that the beauty ? " 
 
 A few more people were strolling into 
 the tea-room. First came young Lord 
 Strathmashie, pacing alongside Lady Walter 
 Percival [nee Miss Van Loon, of New York), 
 and behind this pair, a tall, dark girl, very 
 simply dressed, upon whom Hesseltine's 
 eyes rested approviogly. He was not 
 entirely sure whether he thought her really 
 beautiful ; but hers was a strange and 
 attractive face, so unlike ordinary types 
 that it was impossible to pass it unnoticed. 
 Long, dark eyes, such as those that Da 
 Vinci painted, a low forehead, an upper 
 lip short to a fault, with a curious half- 
 smile about the corners of the mouth. 
 Hair almost black, worn in a knot low 
 upon the slender white neck. And in 
 curious contrast, a brilliant pink flush upon 
 the cheeks, and lips red as a pomegranate 
 flower. Hesseltine was looking attentively 
 
168 FOILED. 
 
 at the young lady, so lie did not notice 
 that Mr. Gore had become very white, and 
 that his hand shook so much that he nearly 
 dropped his half- emptied glass. 
 
 '^ No,'' said Lady Mary, " that is not 
 papa's beauty.. This girl with Lady Walter 
 — fancy choosing Lady Walter as a 
 chaperon ! — is a Miss Morant. I believe 
 her mother was a Southern American. I 
 can't admire her. The young lady with 
 Countess Valendar is ever so much prettier 
 than that. Have you seen her, Mr. 
 Prosser ? " 
 
 Mr. Prosser was a gentleman reputed 
 to be doing very well at the Chancery 
 bar, and was considered to be a possible 
 Solicitor- General of the future. It was 
 supposed that he admired the rich widow, 
 Lady Mary Marsham, and that she thought 
 him such a very sensible and excellent 
 person. He smiled down now upon Lady 
 Mary, his hands folded upon his waistcoat, 
 
FOILED. 169 
 
 which viewed sideways appeared a little 
 too convex to be graceful. 
 
 " I have found our conversation so inter- 
 esting," he said, '' my dear Lady Mary, that 
 I fear I have not had my eyes about me. 
 Won't you come and rest a little while on 
 one of the sofas in another room ? The 
 ball-room is hot, and you might feel faint. 
 While you are under my care," and he gave 
 the faintest pressure to her thin arm wdth 
 his black velvet sleeve, " I want you always 
 to feel C[uite comfortable and happy." 
 
 Hesseltine w^atched them Q-oino: into one 
 of the large, nearly empty rooms, and smiled 
 bitterly. " To think of a woman who was 
 married to Charley letting that snob make 
 up to her," he thought. Mr. Gore had 
 meanwhile left him, to hurry in fact after 
 the young lady with the dark eyes and 
 smiling red lips. Later on, Hesseltine 
 found him again, evidently less happy in 
 mind than during the earlier period of the 
 
170 FOILED. 
 
 evening. Mr. Gore was biting his nails, 
 while the perspiration stood upon his fore- 
 head. He stood in a doorway leading to 
 one of the narrow corridors in the Palace, 
 and on a seat a stone's-throw away was 
 Miss Morant, plucking out scarlet flowers 
 from her bouquet, and smiling that curious 
 quiet smile of hers at Lord Huddersfield, 
 who was seated beside her. It was obvious 
 that the hock-cup and the still champagne 
 had found favour in his eyes, for his hand- 
 some face was flushed, and his manner, 
 Hesseltine thought, disagreeably familiar. 
 But Miss Morant did not seem to mind- 
 She was very quiet and self-possessed, and 
 the gaze of her long eyes seemed to exert a 
 sort of fascination over Huddersfield, allow- 
 ing him, so to speak, to go thus far, but no 
 further. Poor Gore did not even see his 
 friend ; he left off biting his nails, and began 
 tearing and twisting his pocket-handker- 
 chief ; and Hesseltine, half sorry, half 
 
FOILED. 171 
 
 amused, left him to bis melancholy medita- 
 tions. 
 
 *' At last, at last ! " said Countess Valen- 
 dar, coming suddenly round a corner, on 
 the arm of an ambassador blazing with stars 
 and ribbons. " You are just the one person 
 I wanted to see ! And I am so anxious to 
 introduce you to my young lady. She is so 
 very much in request, I don't know where 
 she is at this moment, but if you will 
 come in ten minutes to the door of the 
 big ball-room, you'll find us." 
 
 " To be sure I will. And so you have 
 married both your daughters since I saw 
 you. Lucky woman ! " 
 
 " Yes, indeed. But it is dreadful to 
 be a grandmother ! Think of that, mon 
 cher, a grandmother at forty-one." 
 
 " A woman is only as old as she looks," 
 said Frank, gallantly. "But who is this 
 lovely young lady with you ? Is she a 
 German, or English ? " 
 
172 FOILED. 
 
 " Countess Leontine Wartburg," said 
 Louise Valendar, with a keen look straight 
 into his eyes that spoke volumes. 
 
 He started, and murmured something 
 about having a talk with her soon, and 
 walked away. And suddenly something 
 more surprising befell him than the piece of 
 news which he had heard. As he came 
 into the wide passage leading to the prin- 
 cipal flight of stairs, his eyes rested upon 
 the figure of a girl standing in one corner. 
 She was not paying much attention to her 
 partner, who happened to be Lord Strath- 
 mashie, but looking down absently at a 
 loosely tied posy of pale pink roses which 
 she held. 
 
 Frank started as if he had been shot. 
 
 The broad red corridor, the figures of old 
 and young men in uniform, of decolletee 
 dowagers, of laughing girls, all disappeared 
 as if in a dream. He saw instead a small 
 sunny room in a deserted villa by the 
 
FOILED. 173 
 
 Rhine, the boats sailing on the breast of the 
 
 shining river past the open windows, and 
 
 a picture on the wall in front of him. He 
 
 even seemed to smell the musty odour of 
 
 dried rose-leaves, of old furniture and 
 
 brocades, to hear the buzzing of a thousand 
 
 sleepy flies. Before him stood the lady of 
 
 the portrait, difi'erent only because this one 
 
 had bare white arms and shoulders. But 
 
 the head was the same — that small flaxen 
 
 head — 
 
 "Like a bell-flower on its bed ; " 
 
 the little mouth with its full underlip, the 
 cheeks of pale shell-pink, the long slender 
 throat. And the attitude was almost iden- 
 tical ; one tiny hand holding the flowers, 
 the other hanging listless by the slender 
 waist. Suddenly the girl Hfted her eyes, 
 and Frank Hesseltine saw that they at 
 least were different from those of the 
 portrait. They were large and very dark- 
 blue, with long eyelashes — the eyes of a 
 
174 FOILED. 
 
 friend of his, dead long ago. He hardly 
 knew whether this recognition was to him a 
 source of pain, or of a curious joy — a sort 
 of happiness that was new to him. He 
 went slowly back to the ball-room, and 
 there, at the doorway, was Countess 
 Valendar. 
 
 '' I have seen her," he said, laconically. 
 
 " You have 1 And isn't she lovely ? 
 What I call a ' keepsake ' face." 
 
 Frank smiled. 
 
 " It is a startling likeness to the picture ; 
 and, ah ! the eyes remind me so of some 
 one we both knew and cared for very 
 much." 
 
 A clear voice sounded at his elbow — a 
 sweet voice with a little foreign intonation. 
 
 " I am back again, dear countess. Have 
 I been too long ? " 
 
 " Well, I think you have. You are not 
 to adopt English ideas, Leontine, my 
 darling, because you are in London for five 
 
FOILED. 175 
 
 weeks. Did you find Lord Strathmashie 
 very entertaining ? " 
 
 " He says nothing. But when I speak, 
 he makes a funny noise, something between 
 a bleat and a neigh." 
 
 " Well, here is some one who will talk 
 sense, who writes books and makes speeches. 
 Leontine, let me introduce Mr. Hesseltine." 
 
 The dark-blue eyes rested on his. 
 
 " I don't know about that," said Frank. 
 " I wrote one political biography, Countess, 
 which I believe is now selling satisfactorily 
 in the form of waste-paper ; and I moved 
 the Address some years ago in the House 
 of Commons. The only thing which my 
 speech conclusively proved, was the useless- 
 ness of a new Memoria Technica system, for 
 I had learnt my oration oif by heart, in the 
 form of a series of riddles, and I found when 
 I got on my legs that I had forgotten all 
 the answers. So it had to be an impromptu 
 after all." 
 
176 FOILED. 
 
 " Shall we talk English or German ? " 
 said the little Countess to her new acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 " Whichever you like. But your English 
 is perfect. One would think you were — " 
 and he hastily corrected himself — " that you 
 had lived over here." 
 
 '' I have had always an English nurse and 
 an English governess." 
 
 " I won't ask you to valse, because, as 
 one of my tenants' daughters gracefully 
 put it, I am not good at * close dances ' ; 
 but shall we take a turn throuo^h the 
 rooms ? " 
 
 " May I stay a little longer, Countess 
 Valendar '? " said the girl, as she laid her 
 fingers on Hesseltine's arm. 
 
 " Certainly — certainly. You had better 
 have some supper, you look pale." 
 
 And little L^ontine Wartburg had cer- 
 tainly become white at that moment. Lord 
 Huddersfield, holding Miss Morant's arm 
 
FOILED. 177 
 
 very tightly, had come into the ball-room 
 with a rather unsteady step. His hand- 
 some face changed too when he saw 
 Leontine. 
 
 "I have been looking for you — foraperfect- 
 age," said he rather incoherently, running 
 four words into one. 
 
 The girl bit her lip. If she had been 
 near the great chandelier, Hesseltine might 
 have seen that there was a liquid look, as of 
 possible tears, in her lovely eyes. 
 
 "I am going directly," she answered, 
 coldly. 
 
 And Miss Morant, still smiling, was greet- 
 ing Countess Valendar. 
 
 " I am rather tired, I think. Countess 
 Valendar," said little Leontine, abruptly. 
 " May I put off our dance, or supper, Mr. 
 Hesseltine, for some other ball ? " 
 
 " Certainly," he said, a little coldly, drop- 
 ping her hand and his arm. " But you'll 
 
 let me take you down to your carriage ? " 
 VOL. I. N 
 
178 FOILED. 
 
 He was very silent as he helped Countess 
 Valendar to put on her sables. The niglit 
 was chilly for the month of May, but in 
 spite of the cold they w\aited a long time 
 upon the red staircase, Leontine looking 
 tired and white as the ostrich feather trim- 
 ming of the cloak which she wore. Lord 
 Huddersfield, in a Hussar uniform, came 
 clanking down the steps. He was alone, and 
 apparently fairly sober now. 
 
 " He is pulling himself together to talk 
 to her," thought Hesseltine, for Hudders- 
 field began to speak in a low, earnest 
 tone to the little countess. Frank could 
 not hear the words, but they seemed to 
 gratify Leontine, for her eyes softened, and 
 she looked at the young Hussar with 
 a radiant smile. Countess Valendar also 
 noticed the fact, and did not feel altogether 
 pleased. 
 
 ''How tiresome this waitins; is!" she 
 exclaimed. " It is positively Arctic here, 
 
FOILED. 179 
 
 with the east wind blowing in. Can't you 
 persuade Leontine to come here, higher up, 
 away from the doorway ? " 
 
 Hesseltine went down three steps. 
 
 "Countess Valendar is afraid you will 
 catch cold," he said kindly. 
 
 Huddersfield looked round with a rather 
 insolent expression on his handsome face, 
 and Leontine seemed also a little impatient 
 at being interrupted. 
 
 " Thank you, I am all right here," she 
 answered shortly, and turned her flaxen 
 head away. 
 
 *'The Duchess of Middlesex's carriage 
 stops the way ! " shouted a stentorian voice 
 from the door. And down the steps came 
 Frank's old love, brilliant and happy, foil owed 
 by her husband. She did not happen to 
 see Hesseltine, althouo'h he was standinof 
 close to her. The latter shrugfaed his 
 shoulders, with a gesture that showed him 
 to be a little out of temper. 
 
180 FOILED. 
 
 " Decidedly I am no success with women," 
 he thought, rather bitterly. 
 
 And all this indignation was because a 
 little flaxen-haired girl, just out of her 
 convent school, had snubbed him for the 
 sake of a younger and better-looking man. 
 Surely he had long ago passed the age of 
 being affected by such trifles ! He got into 
 his brougham, and drove off to Pratt's, 
 where he was fully persuaded that he amused 
 himself far more than he had done during 
 the three hours spent at the Queen's Ball. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 A SUNDAY IN THE SEASON. 
 
 It was Sunday, a day on which a large 
 number of visitors usually called at tea-time 
 upon Lady Eastbourne. Up to five o'clock, 
 however, she and Lady Mary had found 
 themselves alone. The weather was decidedly 
 unpleasing for the " merry month of May," 
 the biting east wind with its consequent 
 accompaniment of whirling dust-clouds not 
 being favourable to hilarity of spirits. But 
 a splendid fire blazed in Grosvenor Square, 
 and on the table every variety of cake and 
 scone and bun might have been noticed, 
 together with piles of little expectant plates, 
 
182 FOILED. 
 
 and old Worcester tea-cups. Lady Mary 
 wore her best puce-coloured velvet gown 
 and her tightest shoes with steel buckles, 
 from which facts her mother deduced that 
 she expected a visitor of some interest — to 
 her, at any rate. 
 
 " Do, please, Molly, my dear," she said, 
 " read me over Dr. Dobson-Bruce's directions 
 before anybody comes." 
 
 "I think, mamma, you really worry your- 
 self too much about eating and drinking." 
 
 " I did not ask your opinion ; I asked 
 you to read what this man says. He has 
 managed me admirably, but — " 
 
 Lady Mary, with heightened colour and 
 compressed lips, began rather huffily — 
 
 "No bacon, no pastry, no jams — " 
 
 " Ah," said Lady Eastbourne, with a sigh 
 of relief, " he says nothing about home-made 
 marmalade — go on, go on." 
 
 " No curries, cayenne, or pickles — " 
 
 " That's nonsense. I eat three of Baptiste's 
 
FOILED. 183 
 
 croutes a rindienne last niglit, and am none 
 the worse excepting for a slight pain before 
 breakfast ; go on." 
 
 '' No creams." 
 
 *' That's absurd,'' said Lady Eastbourne, 
 who was covering a scone with Devonshire 
 cream at the moment. 
 
 ** Countess Valentine," announced a foot- 
 man, who had given up the pronunci- 
 ation of the name of a second lady in 
 despair. 
 
 " Dear Countess Valendar, this is charm- 
 ing. I heard you were here, and that you 
 and Countess Wartburg were at the Queen's 
 Ball. Molly, you know papa has talked of 
 nothing else ever since. Come here, my 
 dear child, and sit down. Will you have 
 some tea or some chocolate *? These little 
 cakes with orange on the top are tres 
 appetissantsy 
 
 Countess Valendar shook hands cordially 
 with Lady ^lary, thinking as she did so 
 
184 FOILED. 
 
 and introduced her young lady, what a 
 curious world it was. 
 
 " After travel in far lands, 
 After touch of wedded hands, 
 
 Strangers yet ! " 
 
 What did poor Lady Mary know of her 
 dead husband's life ? She gave no start of 
 surprise when L^ontine's wonderful eyes of 
 dark-blue met her own pale and prominent 
 ones. 
 
 The little Countess was picturesquely 
 dressed in green, a shady hat covered with 
 bunches of lilac resting on her flaxen hair. 
 Lady Mary was quite affable and pleasant 
 for a time, and inclined mentally to confirm 
 papa's verdict about the pretty German girl, 
 but she became absent and incoherent when 
 the door-bell rang again, and steps were heard 
 advancing. Her countenance fell a little, 
 however, when the footman announced " Mr. 
 Hesseltine," the while Countess Valendar 
 brightened visibly. 
 
FOILED. 185 
 
 " I suppose Sunday is almost your only 
 free day ? " she said to Frank, after the first 
 o^reetinors. 
 
 " I have to think more or less of my con- 
 stituents, you see," he answered, *' though 
 I am still the veriest cypher in the 
 house." 
 
 "Nonsense, you are sure to be Under- 
 Secretary for something or other when your 
 party comes in." 
 
 " Yes," said Lady Eastbourne, " we shall 
 have lots of friends in the Government then. 
 Mr. Prosser is sure to be given an important 
 post ; they tell me his speech the other day 
 about Ireland was very remarkable. He 
 got a seat in the House for Molly, and gave 
 her tea and cutlets afterwards ; didn't he, my 
 dear ? T don't fancy the buffet in the House 
 is good, but he had dinner ordered before- 
 hand, and — " 
 
 " Mr. Prosser ! " 
 
 Lady Mary gave a start, and upset an 
 
186 FOILED. 
 
 eatire plateful of little sugary cakes on her 
 puce-coloured velvet. 
 
 The eminent Q.C., who seemed less 
 vulgar in his frock-coat than in his court 
 dress, bustled in. His manner was always 
 a little too civil and anxious to please ; in 
 fact, as Hesseltine said to Countess Valendar, 
 when in his own house, you always expected 
 him to dust the seats of the chairs, draw up 
 the blinds, and smooth out the antimacassars, 
 before he settled down to talk. But " papa " 
 havino^ taken it into his head that he was 
 intellectual, and a bulwark of the Con- 
 servative party. Lady Eastbourne had 
 become convinced that he was a person to 
 be cultivated. 
 
 " Mr. Gore ! " and a tall young man, 
 very shy and awkward, made his way 
 through the labyrinth of arm-chairs. He 
 said * how do you do ' three times over to 
 Countess Yalendar, and in his confusion 
 forgot to make the same remark once to 
 
FOILED. 187 
 
 Lady Mary, who wondered why he had 
 called. The fact was that a certain young 
 lady had told him that j905si6/?/ Lady 
 Walter Percival might take her on Sunday 
 to see Lady Eastbourne, and that was the 
 reason why, w^ith a feverish colour in his 
 honest face, and his square hands dreadfully 
 in the way, he sat on for more than an 
 hour, spoiling his dinner by eating little 
 cakes, and the temper of his friends by his 
 very tactless and irrelevant remarks. And 
 she never came after all ! 
 
 Hesseltine had asked the little Countess 
 to cross over to the other side of the room 
 to see a picture by a clever modern artist, of 
 The Haystack in the Floods. 
 
 " Look," he said, " at the expression of 
 her face. It is the most beautiful and 
 terrible thing 1 have seen for a long time. 
 You feel that she would sell her soul to give 
 her lover just one farewell kiss. And see 
 the devilish triumph in his enemy's eyes ! 
 
188 FOILED. 
 
 I dreamt of that picture all night after I 
 saw it for the first time.'* 
 
 " I always cry over the poem," said little 
 Leontine. " Some one lent it to me the 
 other day, but Countess Yalendar has asked 
 me to give up the book to her. People 
 are very strict, you know, with girls in 
 Germany." 
 
 ''I am all for that," said Hesseltine, 
 looking down at the flaxen curls half hidden 
 under the shade of the hat with its lilac 
 blossoms. ''But tell me, what poetry do 
 you read ? Looking at the pretty flowers 
 in your hat, which seem to be hardly- 
 artificial, I keep thinking of Sully Prud- 
 homme's lyric. It has been set to music, and 
 you should sing it. But you are too young 
 to understand its beauty and its sadness." 
 
 " Oh no, I am not," she answered, 
 quickly. " I am a very sad person, though 
 I look cheerful ; I annoy my brother because 
 I crv so much over books." 
 
FOILED. 
 
 *' You cry over books because you are 
 so happy in other ways," said Hesseltine, 
 smiling. "When I read a very miserable 
 story written by a young person, I know 
 that that particular youth or girl is probably 
 especially happy and prosperous. And in 
 the same way, I am less touched by fiction 
 than I used to be, because my life has 
 known so much real grief." 
 
 He was hardly conscious perhaps how 
 far he spoke thus on purpose to awaken 
 that wonderfully tender, sympathetic Jook 
 in her eyes. They rested on him com- 
 passionately. 
 
 " I am so sorry you have been so un- 
 happy," she said, in a low voice, with the 
 naivetS of a child. 
 
 " Thank you ; it is very good and kind 
 of you to feel any interest. But I am not 
 in the eyes of the world a gloomy person, 
 I assure you. On the contrary, rather a 
 matter-of-fact, cheerful one." 
 
190 FOILED. 
 
 Leontine felt pleased that he should 
 begin to show his real self to her, on so 
 short an acquaintance. And Countess 
 Valendar, although she disapproved of long 
 tete-d-tetes as a rule, appeared on this 
 occasion to ignore the circumstance that 
 her little friend seemed to be interested in 
 Hesseltine. She allowed them to sit down in 
 an embrasure in a bow- window a long way 
 from the tea-table. And during the next 
 half-hour they got on surprisingly well. 
 They discovered that they were both 
 devoted to children and to animals and 
 birds ; that they found Bret Harte's Hoio 
 Santa Claus came to Simpson s Bar really 
 the most pathetic story in the world ; that 
 they both loved the Khine, and hnd all 
 sorts of romantic feelings about it. And 
 Hesseltine, that despiser of girls, that 
 critical man-of-the- world, took no small 
 trouble to express himself in careful, almost 
 poetical, language on all these points ; to 
 
FOILED. 191 
 
 recommend books to his little ncOive new 
 friend ; to express a hope that she and 
 Countess Valendar would come and stay 
 with him this year in Yorkshire, and that 
 then thev mig^ht read, and walk, and ride 
 too^ether. By the time the clock struck six 
 they had become quite intimate, but then 
 their conversation was abruptly disturbed 
 by the entrance of Lord Eastbourne. 
 
 *' How-de-do, how-de-do, Countess Yal- 
 dar ; how-de-do, my dear Prosser ? You 
 gave it them the other nig;ht ! That's what 
 I like. You broug^ht it home to them ! 
 All this shilly-shallying, backing out, 
 whirling round, why, it's the most rotten 
 government we've ever had. That's what 
 / say. Rotten to the core. Always 
 changing and chopping round. You were 
 there, Molly ; you heard Prosser ? He was 
 too much for them, that's what I say ; wasn't 
 he ? We want a Bismarck — that's what I 
 tell people. Some one to put his foot 
 
192 FOILED. 
 
 down, you know — stop all these meetings. 
 Some one who'll say, ' I'll have none of all 
 this Socialistic nonsense/ And it's spreading, 
 it's spreading, every day. That's what I 
 tell them." 
 
 Mr. Prosser expressed himself as gratified 
 that his speech had satisfied Lord East- 
 bourne. 
 
 '' But it was badly reported, and one or 
 two quotations garbled. Lady Mary did 
 me the honour of coming down to the 
 House, and she would no doubt notice that 
 it was altered in the papers ? " 
 
 •' And you gave her tea and cutlets," 
 murmured Lady Eastbourne, approvingly 
 — '' so kind of you." 
 
 " That's neither here nor there," said 
 Lord Eastbourne, crossly ; " what I say is, 
 there's a dearth of gentlemen now in the 
 House of Commons. They can't make their 
 voices heard. If it wasn't for men like 
 Prosser we should have no chance. He 
 
FOILED. 193 
 
 understands the land question, and he has 
 the tact and courage of his opinions, that's 
 what I say — the tact and courage of his 
 opinions. This game of ' beggar my neigh- 
 bour ' has gone on too long. You are deuced 
 lucky, Prosser, to have no Irish property. ..." 
 
 The extent of land owned by Mr. Prosser 
 was two fields in the immediate neighbour- 
 hood of Peckham Eye. He was, metaphori- 
 cally speaking, waiting meanwhile to see 
 where it lay, after he should have proposed 
 to Lady Mary. Should she despise his 
 suburban villa, it would be the easiest thing 
 in the world for him, with his and her large 
 fortune in hard cash, to buy her a deer park 
 and a complete Elizabethan house. And he 
 found himself inwardly murmuring, " Mr. 
 and Lady Mary Prosser have left London 
 for their seat in Cheshire." 
 
 Hesseltine accompanied Countess Val- 
 
 endar and her young lady on to the 
 
 doorstep, and helped them iuto their 
 VOL. L o 
 
194 FOILED. 
 
 brougham, in spite of the presence of Lord 
 Eastbourne, who was very much excited 
 at the appearance of his new beauty. He 
 proceeded to walk across the park to pay 
 a visit of duty to a relation in Belgravia. 
 The biting east wind nipped the faces of 
 the passers-by and whistled round his head. 
 Clouds of dust came flying into his face, 
 pricking his eyes and getting down his 
 throat. The sun still shone, and people in 
 shut carriages might almost have persuaded 
 themselves that it was an agreeable spring 
 day. Strange to relate, Hesseltine, although 
 on foot in the wind, was almost of the same 
 opinion. He pondered as he went on the 
 strangeness of the fact that the pleasure 
 which he had experienced in the society of 
 little Leontine, had almost outweighed the 
 original poignant sadness aroused by her 
 resemblance to his dear old friend. Why 
 was it ? Partly from good -humour, partly 
 in absence of mind, Hesseltine found him- 
 
FOILED. 195 
 
 self o'ivino; half a sovereio^n to an old 
 Belgravian crossing-sweeper, whose face 
 looked pinched and blue. He hardly heard 
 the shower of blessings poured in conse- 
 quence upon his head. And as he passed 
 Belgrave Square, and his eyes fell upon a 
 large bush of dusty lilacs, he actually 
 smiled, and thought of their artificial pro- 
 totypes in somebody's black hat. This led 
 him to make a mental retrospection of how 
 the little rings of fair hair were arranged 
 on her forehead and neck. And then he 
 found that after all he had passed his 
 relation's doorstep, and was going calmly 
 and cheerfully back again towards Mayfair. 
 At the corner by Stanhope Gate he met his 
 friend Anthony Gore, who seemed unusually 
 dejected in his mind. He was walking 
 very slowly, his eyes bent on the ground, 
 and his stick stuck horizontally under 
 his arm, to the peril of the eyes of the 
 passers-by. 
 
196 FOILED. 
 
 " Will you come and dine with me to- 
 night, Anthony, if you have nothing better 
 to do?" 
 
 " All right — nothing I should like better. 
 I say, Frank, do you think it's too late to 
 go and call on anybody ? It's close on 
 seven ? " 
 
 " It depends how intimate you are with 
 the lady?" 
 
 Mr. Gore blushed, and began tracing 
 geometrical figures on the gravel with his 
 stick. 
 
 " She is very pretty ! " laughed Hesseltine, 
 unable to resist a little mild chaff. 
 
 " How on earth do you know who it is ? " 
 
 " My dear boy, remember that since you 
 were a good little chap of ten at a private 
 school, I have had the privilege of studying 
 your expressive and ' mobile countenance,' 
 as they say in books." 
 
 " Don't go on bothering. Just tell me 
 if you think it looks odd to call now ? It's 
 
FOILED. 197 
 
 close here, T mean only Clarges Street — ten 
 minutes' walk or so." 
 
 *' No, not a bit ; I'll walk with you. And 
 as we go you shall tell me all about Miss 
 Morant." 
 
 Poor Anthony's face was crimson. 
 
 " I don't know what you mean ! " 
 
 " Where you met her, and who her 
 relations are, and so forth ? " 
 
 '' Well, if you must know all about it, 
 her father has a small property in Surrey. 
 He is very badly off, I am afraid. There 
 was some beastly unfairness in the will — 
 the money was left over his head to a 
 younger brother. Her mother was an 
 American lady." 
 
 " She is a beautiful girl," said Hesseltine. 
 
 Anthony's honest face brightened. 
 
 ** Isn't she ? Do you know, no less than 
 four artists have wanted to paint her picture 
 this year ! It is such marvellous colouring. 
 Spiteful people say she paints, but it isn't 
 
198 FOILED. 
 
 true. She has a great deal of foreign blood 
 in her veins — because Mr. Morant's mother 
 was a Greek. I believe it is through her, 
 that grandmother, that she inherits that 
 brilliant colour." 
 
 " Well, my dear boy, all I say is — 
 heaucoup de succes. I think Miss Morant 
 a very lucky girl. Let me know when the 
 event comes off." 
 
 " It's no good your talking like that ! 
 Very likely I haven't a chance ! Why 
 should I ? I am nothing, except a devilish 
 stupid fellow, not particularly well off — 
 whom nobody cares much about." 
 
 " Oh yes, a ' man of no account ' of 
 course," said Hesseltine, "but all the same 
 I shan't be surprised if the young lady says 
 'yes.'" 
 
 Mr. Gore's forehead was covered with 
 perspiration. 
 
 " Do you honestly mean that, Frank ? " 
 
 "Why not? You are a real good chap, 
 
FOILED. 199 
 
 xlntliony, and lots of people are aware of it. 
 Besides, you are quite well off enough to 
 justify your proposing to any girl, a 
 penniless one in particular." 
 
 Mr. Gore began to walk very quickly, 
 swinging Ins stick backwards and forwards, 
 a smile lighting up his entire square face, 
 and making it quite pleasant to look 
 upon. 
 
 They reached the door of a small hotel in 
 Clarges Street. 
 
 "Well, good-bye till eight-thirty, Anthony. 
 Don't forget the hour in the midst of your 
 agitation." 
 
 Mr. Gore made no answer, but he rang 
 the bell with a violent pull, and became 
 scarlet to the roots of his hair, then white, 
 when a waiter appeared in answer to his 
 summons. 
 
 " Is Miss Morant at home ? " he said in a 
 very loud tone, because he seemed suddenly 
 to lose all control over his vocal organs. 
 
200 FOILED. 
 
 And when the answer was given in the 
 affirmative, he trembled from head to foot 
 as he walked up the narrow staircase. 
 
 Miss Morant was standing by the fire, 
 reading a letter, as he entered. Some 
 perfume, with a delicious subtle odour, had 
 been burnt in the room. The blinds were 
 drawn, though it was not long after 
 sundown ; and although it was an hotel 
 sitting-room, there were many bunches of 
 cut flowers on the tables, and two or three 
 large palms in one corner. The young lady 
 wore a clinging gown of soft white silk, cut 
 low to show her neck, which was almost as- 
 dazzling as her draperies. A broad gold 
 band encircled her waist, but she wore no 
 jewels of any kind, except a comb also of 
 gold which held the knot of hair together. 
 Her cheeks seemed brighter than ever, 
 and she laughed with her eyes as much as 
 with her lips when she saw Anthony. 
 
 " You are a very late visitor ! " 
 
FOILED. 201 
 
 ** Am I in your way ? — please don't let me 
 keep you if you are busy." 
 
 " Oil dear no ; I am dressed for dinner. 
 Two people are coming, but not till eight- 
 thirty. We shall have soup made of Liebig, 
 and whiting^s in bread-crumbs with tails in 
 their mouths. Afterwards soppy cutlets, 
 and a Cabinet pudding. Doesn't it sound 
 nice, and don't you wish you were 
 coming ? " 
 
 " Indeed I do," said poor Gore, fervently, 
 wondering if she meant to ask him, and if 
 Hesseltine would mind his throwing him 
 over. 
 
 She laughed. " Some other time perhaps, 
 then, if you'll come. I don't fancy it would 
 amuse you to-night." 
 
 '• Why didn't you come to tea with Lady 
 Eastbourne ? I sat there for ages, so 
 hideously bored, expecting you." 
 
 "Because my father wanted to go into 
 the park. I always do what he wishes. I 
 
202 FOILED. 
 
 care more for my father than for all else 
 in the world." 
 
 ^' I don't believe you care for another 
 soul ! " 
 
 " I dare say not. Most people begin by 
 amusing me, and then bore me after a week." 
 
 Poor Gore became a shade paler. " You 
 don't really mean that ? " 
 
 "I do ; it is absolutely true. All my 
 friends have tricks and habits, and mono- 
 tonous little ways that agacer me when I 
 see much of them ; but as a rule I take care 
 not to do that. I am perfectly happy alone 
 with my father." 
 
 " You seemed amused enough at the 
 Queen's ball ! " 
 
 " Did I ! Oh yes, I think there was 
 some one there who hasn't begun to bore 
 me yet. Were you pleased with it ? I 
 didn't think you looked very lively." 
 
 " I don't see why I should have been ; 
 you seemed to prefer every blasted — " 
 
FOILED. 203 
 
 " Please, Mr. Gore, don't swear ; I detest 
 that sort of expression/' 
 
 " I beg your pardon ; only you look so 
 calm and smiling when you say things 
 especially to annoy me." 
 
 " I am so sorry, I really am. But it is a 
 way I have. My brother, who does fairly 
 like me, says I have the knack of making 
 him more furious at times than any other 
 human being whom he ever met." 
 
 She sat down, looking into the fire, and 
 not at all at Mr. Gore, waving meanwhile 
 a hand-screen of peacock's feathers up and 
 down. The firelight shone on her brilliant 
 cheeks, and on the gold comb in her 
 hair. 
 
 " You try me very high," said poor 
 Gore. " You know as well as possible what 
 I feel about you. You drive me almost to 
 madness. No fellow can go on bearing the 
 strain. I would kneel down and kiss your 
 feet when you insult me most; I grovel like 
 
204 FOILED. 
 
 a cur before you, and despise myself, and 
 yet I can't help it." 
 
 He had risen from his chair and was 
 looking down at her radiant beauty. His 
 kind, sensible face was white, and his tall 
 awkward figure shook from head to foot. 
 This woman who held his life in her hands 
 surveyed him with that quiet smile still on 
 her lips. 
 
 *' I believe you do care for me," she said, 
 slowly. 
 
 " Eenee — Renee, have pity on me ! Try 
 and like me ! Don't send me away ! I 
 have so little to offer you, I know, but" 
 don't despise the entire devotion of a man's 
 life — a man who has never liked any other 
 woman in the world." 
 
 " They all say that," she answered. 
 
 Mr. Gore, half ungainly, half pathetic, 
 had knelt down on the shabby rug, and was 
 trying to take her hand. Miss Morant, for 
 her part, had not changed colour in the 
 
FOILED. 205 
 
 least. She calmly took his hand in 
 hers. 
 
 *' No," she said, "don't kiss me. I have 
 not accepted you yet. I will take a week 
 to consider. How cold your hand is ! Do 
 you know it is ridiculous of you to tremble 
 like that!" 
 
 *' I believe you have not a scrap of heart ! " 
 he answered, almost angrily. " And yet I 
 don't want you to be different in the 
 smallest particular from what you are. I 
 feel I must have you for my wife, or I — 
 shaU— " 
 
 " Don't say ' or shoot yourself,' because 
 that is rubbish. You will do nothing of 
 the sort. If I refuse you next week, you 
 will go abroad for a year, then marry some 
 well-meaning mrl with a raeanino^less face, 
 and settle down at — Crabston Hall, isn't 
 that your place ? — and have at least ten 
 children." 
 
 " If you were a man, I should say you 
 
206 FOILED. 
 
 know all that to be a lie. But, darling, 
 you haven't said No ; I shall think of you 
 all day and all night during these five — 
 six days, and you will say Yes — on the 
 sixth day." 
 
 *' Do get up ; my father is coming in 
 directly, and my guests for dinner. Please 
 go away now, Mr. Gore, and don't write 
 me any notes or letters, or come again till 
 I send for you." 
 
 Mr. Anthony Gore wended his way back 
 to his lodgings, feeling in a dream. And 
 meanwhile, the matter-of-fact young lady, 
 whose radiant image accompanied him 
 everywhere, scarcely gave him a thought 
 during the whole course of the succeeding 
 evening. Some ten minutes after he had 
 given a fervent pressure to her slim hand 
 and wished her good-bye, her father came 
 into the room. He was a tall, careworn 
 man, with a sweet face, and eyes like his 
 daughter's, but softer than hers. The 
 
FOILED. 207 
 
 latter, though he had only left her an 
 hour since, flung her arms round his 
 neck. 
 
 " You are not tired, darling, after your 
 walk V* she said. 
 
 " Just a little ; I am always more or less 
 tired now, my childie. Have you had any 
 visitors ? " 
 
 "Only that Mr. Gore." 
 
 " He seemed to me a very nice young 
 fellow ; a straightforward gentleman, I 
 should say, with no nonsense about him." 
 
 Een^e was standing at the glass, looking 
 dispassionately at her striking face. 
 
 " Should you be satisfied with me if I 
 married him, dear ? " she asked. 
 
 Her father hesitated. 
 
 " I don't know the man who is good 
 enough for you all round," he said, " but 
 I always think that if you were desperately 
 in love, it might not last. You have too 
 critical a mind ; you would see faults where 
 
208 FOILED. 
 
 other people did not discover any. Is Gore 
 well off?" 
 
 "I know all about him; he has four 
 thousand a year, or perhaps five. A square 
 house, called Crabston Hall, belongs to 
 him. It stands, as the agents say, in its 
 park-like grounds, for I have seen the 
 photograph. The trees are all small, and 
 it is built on a clay soil, and is damp and 
 unpleasant, like Mr. Mantalini's body. The 
 village, and the rectory, and the school 
 are within a few minutes' walk. The 
 church is small and mouldy, and contains 
 several laudatory monuments to the Gore 
 family. The general aspect is dull, and 
 Anthony Gore is the dullest feature of it all." 
 
 Mr. Morant was leaning back in his arm- 
 chair, looking into the fire. 
 
 " If you talk like this, you had better not 
 marry the poor man." 
 
 " I am not likely to find any one who 
 would suit me better." 
 
FOILED. 209 
 
 " Then why do you ask Lord Hudders- 
 field to come and dine in this intimate 
 way ? " 
 
 She made an impatient movement with 
 her pretty head. 
 
 " He amuses me." 
 
 '' You tokl me you spent most of your 
 evening at the Queen's ball with him, and 
 Lady Walter said — " 
 
 " She doesn't understand, papa. He is 
 not in the least devoted to me, really. I 
 interest him, but that is all. Ah ! there 
 is the door-bell. He must be comiug ! " 
 And her cheeks grew still more brilliant. 
 
 The door opened to admit a handsome 
 
 man of about thirty, with straight features, 
 
 and a fair moustache. He was followed 
 
 by a young American, a distant cousin of 
 
 Eenee's, who had been asked solely to talk 
 
 to Mr. Morant. Lord Huddersfield held 
 
 Eenee's hand for a moment in his. 
 
 "It is too nice and kind of you asking 
 VOL. I. p 
 
210 FOILED. 
 
 me to come, Miss Morant. I am going 
 back to Aldershot to-morrow, worse luck, 
 and shan't be up again, I fear, at present." 
 
 " Could you go to the play with us on 
 Saturday ? " 
 
 He changed colour a little. 
 
 " I am so sorry I am engaged to go with 
 some other people that night." 
 
 There was no expression of mortification 
 or disappointment on Eenee's face. She 
 was a young woman who had early learnt 
 to conceal her feelings. The only visible 
 change came over her features when her 
 father complained of fatigue before dinner 
 was over. 
 
 " You don't feel faint, darling ? Shall 
 I fetch you anything ? " and her whole 
 face softened as she looked at him. The 
 tenderest corner in her heart, the most 
 unselfish and disinterested love that she 
 was ever to feel was for him ; and an 
 affection something akin to it was that 
 
FOILED. 211 
 
 which she bore for her old nurse, and for 
 a little child of her l^rother's, whose mother 
 had died when he was born. Another 
 kind of love, passionate, reckless, and de- 
 spairing, she was fully capable of knowing ; 
 but at the same time her self-control might 
 be great enough to keep the object of it 
 in doubt. 
 
 Lord Huddersfield, looking at her with 
 a smile on his handsome, insolent face, 
 which was curiously in contrast, by the 
 way, to the gentleness of his voice and 
 manner, had an inkling of her feelings 
 once or twice when her eyes met his with 
 a peculiar long gaze. But the next moment 
 she would become cheerful and cynical, and 
 almost indififerent. And he felt puzzled, 
 although he had had a varied experience 
 of women, and was a careful student of 
 their peculiarities. 
 
 '' Has she forgotten the past — is she 
 really indifferent now ? " he thought. " By 
 
212 FOILED. 
 
 the way," he said, aloud, ''I have just 
 been having my character described by 
 a phrenologist. He punched my head for 
 half an hour, and told me a good many 
 unpleasant things. What should you say, 
 Miss Morant, were my chief vices ? " 
 
 " You might not like it if I told you.'' 
 
 " Well, I know your besetting sin, at all 
 events." 
 
 " Mine ! Well, you are quite at liberty 
 to tell me, although I should not have 
 imagined that insight into character was 
 your forte." 
 
 " Jealousy." 
 
 " You are quite right," she answered, 
 with heightened colour, looking at him 
 quickly under her eyelids, " but not the 
 vulgar, ordinary jealousy. I am delighted 
 to hear another woman's beauty and charm 
 praised, and am the first to recognize either. 
 But I should feel murderous if some one 
 eut me out when I had made up my mind 
 
FOILED. 213 
 
 to succeed about anything. My chief 
 pleasure in life is, I know, in getting a 
 hold over people. Talking, by the way, 
 of beauty, I was much struck by the girl 
 who is going out now with Countess 
 Valendar." And she smiled as she fin- 
 ished her sentence, seeing that it was his 
 turn to blush now. 
 
 "There can be no two opinions about 
 Countess Leontine Wartburg," he answered, 
 shortly. And then he turned to Mr. 
 Morant, and asked him what play they 
 had thought of going to see on Saturday. 
 
 "I am not going ; my daughter was 
 thinking of joining Lady Walter, and they 
 hoped you would come." 
 
 " I am so sorry," and his face flushed 
 deeply, as he felt that Kenee's eyes were 
 fixed upon him, '' that I have a previous 
 engagement." 
 
 " Are you only going with one or two 
 men J 
 
214 FOILED. 
 
 "No," he answered, throwing a rather 
 defiant glance at Miss Morant, *' I am 
 going with Strathmashie, and he has asked 
 Countess Valendar and one or two others." 
 
 Miss Morant said nothing, but she 
 became a little more silent during the 
 rest of dinner. And when Lord Hudders- 
 field asked her afterwards to sing, she 
 refused on the ground of fatigue. When 
 the guests were gone, she drew a stool 
 near to her father's arm-chair, and laid 
 her hand upon his knee. 
 
 " Darling, you really need not have had 
 all that good champagne for those two" 
 men. It is a horrid expense to you being in 
 London at all. Let us go home next week." 
 
 '' I thought you were so happy, and 
 enjoying yourself, little Renee ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, so I am. But, as you know, it 
 is my Avay to become tired of things. Be- 
 sides, if I marry Mr. Gore, I can come up 
 for the whole season another time." 
 
FOILED. 215 
 
 Her father sighed. 
 
 " You are too unselfish about me, dearie. 
 Of course it is worrying being so short 
 of money. But if you have young men 
 to dine, and give them a horribly bad 
 dinner — " 
 
 " Yes," interrupted his daughter, " unfit 
 for human food — " 
 
 " You must have decent wine. I have 
 got six bottles left. Do you seriously mean, 
 dear, you wouldn't dislike coming to the 
 country again now '? " 
 
 ''I do. I am always glad to be back 
 with Nanny, too, now she is getting so old. 
 And we can have little Jos with us for a 
 long visit." 
 
 Her father stroked her hair, and she 
 raised her face to kiss his. 
 
 Miss Morant sat up long that night in 
 her dreary little bedroom. She heard the 
 roll of wheels growing fainter in the streets 
 below, the occasional voice of a drunken 
 
216 FOILED. 
 
 man or of an angry woman now and then 
 breaking in upon the growing silence, the 
 tramp of a policeman marching up and 
 down on his beat. Sittino; in her dressing- 
 gown by the window, Eenee, her face many 
 shades paler than it had been a few hours 
 ago, watched the night changing into dawn, 
 the awaking into life of the sombre city. 
 With the early morning cold rain fell upon 
 the pavement, and she shivered as she drew 
 the curtain, and prepared to throw herself 
 for a short time upon the bed. 
 
 Flinging herself upon her knees, she 
 prayed first, passionately and fervently, for- 
 her father, and for some one else perhaps, 
 almost more dear. Two or three tears 
 trickled through the fingers which were 
 pressed over her face. Then she rose, 
 wiped them away, with a tightening of the 
 lips, and a defiant expression in her eyes. 
 Her sense of religion, which was more of 
 superstition than anything beside, had not 
 
FOILED. 217 
 
 hitherto much affected her conduct, but in 
 some fashion it served to comfort her 
 during this night and dawn of mortification 
 and pain. 
 
 " I would rather he were dead than that 
 he should ever know that I still care so 
 desperately about him, — if he has forgotten," 
 she thought. And as she fell into a troubled 
 sleep, the refrain of a sad German valse 
 floated through her ears, and she dreamt 
 that his arm was round her, and that he 
 and she were dancing madly, wildly to its 
 strains, while the ball-room, the lights, and 
 the ladies in tlieir jewels were crumbling 
 away into dust before their eyes. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 A DINNER AND A PLAY. 
 
 " Only a week more in London ! " sighed 
 Leontine Wartburg. 
 
 " It has gone indeed very quickly," said 
 Countess Valendar. "Four weeks yester- 
 day. And has your little season come up 
 to your expectations 1 " 
 
 " I hardly know." 
 
 '' What did you want more ? You have 
 been to two or three excellent balls every 
 week — you have had ten or eleven charming 
 dinners, and are to go to another one to- 
 night. You went to all the best plays — 
 you— 
 
FOILED. 219 
 
 *' Yes, yes, dearest Countess, please 
 don't think me ungrateful. I fall into odd 
 fits of depression sometimes, that's all — and 
 then I have a longing to be back in 
 Germany, to go and settle with Anton on 
 the Khine, to see the vineyards, and all 
 the old people about the place again." 
 
 "But why should you be homesick 
 already ? You are not going to be an exile 
 much longer. In two or three years, if you 
 are not married, you and Anton can settle 
 down together." 
 
 " I certainly shan't be married." 
 
 The two ladies were sitting at luncheon 
 in their sitting-room at Brown's Hotel. 
 Countess Valendar looked perhaps the 
 graver of the two, for things had not as 
 yet turned out as she had intended they 
 should. And she was not quite certain 
 how far she might question little Leon tine. 
 
 " It is so kind of Mr. Hesseltine to ask us 
 again to dinner at the Bachelors' Club ! This 
 
220 FOILED. 
 
 makes the third time. He is very different 
 from the ordinary run of men one meets ; 
 he really does read and think. And his 
 manners are beautiful. So courteous to 
 bores and old frumps. Don't you find 
 him very superior to most of your 
 partners ? " 
 
 "Anybody can talk about books," said 
 Leontine, " or politics, if you sit all the 
 afternoon in the House of Commons. And 
 I don't care for any politics but those of my 
 own country. Besides, I think a man ought 
 to be a soldier." 
 
 "I am sure when you go out in Berlin 
 you will get tired of hearing of nothing but 
 regiments, and promotions, and so on." 
 
 "It is much more interesting to hear 
 about soldiering than about Land Bills and 
 allotments." 
 
 " I am sure Frank Hesseltine never bores 
 about those things." 
 
 " I don't say he does, but you are always 
 
FOILED. 221 
 
 hintine: that lie is the most interestino; and 
 superior man in London." 
 
 " You evidently don't find him so ! " 
 said the Countess, sharply. 
 
 And Leontine blushed, over her cheeks, 
 and under the flaxen rings on her forehead. 
 She was sure that her friend was too 
 matter-of-fact to appreciate what was pass- 
 ing in her mind. For this young woman, 
 like many another before her, and many a 
 one yet unborn, most likely, had come to 
 the conclusion that she had a much more 
 important mission in life than that of 
 captivating, or of brightening the life of 
 an excellent and prosperous gentleman like 
 Frank Hesseltine. No ; she felt sure that 
 her special gifts lay in her powder of reform- 
 ing and enlightening another very faulty 
 and unsatisfactory person ; some one who 
 had hinted that she, and she alone, could 
 make him repent of his past indiscretions, 
 and refrain from committing further follies 
 
222 FOILED. 
 
 in coining years. He had put all this, it 
 is true, with a certain vagueness before her ; 
 but the visionary prospect was nevertheless 
 more attractive than the certainty of tran- 
 quil happiness with Countess Valendar's 
 ideal. 
 
 " I don't think I do," said the girl, in 
 answer to her chaperon's remark. 
 
 '* Well, you are just a little ungrateful, 
 Leo. He is going to give us a farewell 
 dinner to-night, so please be nice to him. 
 I hope, too, that we shall, or that you 
 anyhow, will meet him in Germany this 
 autumn. He tells me he is going to the 
 Stolzenfels', and I have told the Princess 
 that I will bring you there or let you go." 
 
 '^ It is very kind of you." 
 
 '* By the way, I never told you that Lord 
 Huddersfield wrote and asked us to go 
 down to Aldershot for a field-day, or some- 
 thing. I refused, because you have been 
 looking tired lately." 
 
FOILED. 223 
 
 " Hoiv tiresome ! I am not a bit tired. 
 Well, if I am, I won't dine out to-night. 
 I will rest, and we can go to Aldershot this 
 week." 
 
 Countess Valendar looked keenly at her 
 face, which was flushed and almost tearful. 
 
 " My dear child, you couldn't throw over 
 the dinner. Besides, I may as well be 
 honest with you. Don't be angry — and 
 don't interrupt me, please. I am sure Lord 
 Huddersfield likes you, but he is a poor 
 man, and not likely to marry ; and even if 
 he did wish that, you could never think 
 of a man of his character. You know, as 
 well as I do, his tendency to drink too 
 much ; I believe his father did it before 
 him, which may be an excuse, but — " 
 
 " It is so cruel and unfair ! I know that 
 he is trying so hard, so hard, to get over 
 that. And lately he has never taken any 
 
 wine — " 
 
 " You know all about it, evidently." 
 
224 FOILED. 
 
 ** I do ! And it is a great shame to give 
 a man no chance. Why are you against 
 him ? Only because he is poor, and likes 
 soldiering, and has no large ugly country 
 place that I would hate ! " 
 
 " It's of no use, L^ontine, you're getting 
 so dreadfully excited. You know, even if 
 he wished to marry you, your relations 
 would not hear of it. And I shall not, 
 especially after to-day, let you see much of 
 him." 
 
 Leontine pushed away her plate of apple- 
 tart. 
 
 " I will not care to go to any more 
 parties," she said, in a low voice. 
 
 Countess Valendar got up from her chair 
 and kissed her little friend. 
 
 " Don't be silly, Leo. You know I only 
 want you to be happy. But under my 
 charge as you are, I must see tbat you don't 
 commit irreparable follies." 
 
 " Of course I like Mr. Hesseltine verv 
 
FOILED. 225 
 
 much," said the girl. " I don't mean to 
 underrate him. He is charming and hand- 
 some, and kind to me. But if you want me 
 to say I am in love with him, once for all, 
 I am not. And now forgive me for being 
 cross and sulky. I will go out wherever 
 you wish, of course." 
 
 At a few minutes before eight, Frank 
 Hesseltine was wandering restlessly back- 
 wards and forwards in the down-stairs 
 sitting-room of the Club where he expected 
 his oruests to dine. There was a worried 
 expression in his eyes, and a tendency to 
 absence of mind in his manner when 
 any one spoke to him. Just the faintest 
 flush came over his face when the only two 
 ladies who w^ere to be of the party arrived. 
 Leontine was dressed in rose-colour, with a 
 spray of pink orchid and some sweet- 
 smelling verbena pinned into the lace on 
 her breast. She carried a large fan of pink 
 
 ostrich feathers, which had been given to 
 VOL. L Q 
 
226 FOILED. 
 
 her, or ratlier was the result of a bet at 
 Sandown Park between her and Lord 
 Huddersfield. It is doubtful whether she 
 noticed the anxious, pained look in Frank's 
 eyes as he watched her. 
 
 " Our play doesn't begin till nine," he 
 said, " so we shall have time for a 
 moderately comfortable dinner. And you'll 
 come to supper afterwards ? " 
 
 Countess Valendar cheerfully assented. 
 And then Lord Strathmashie and Captain 
 Sturgess made their appearance, and the five 
 went up-stairs to dinner. A rather hilarious 
 party were sitting at the other end of the 
 room, at a round table — Lady Walter 
 Percival, a good deal decolletee, two 
 other American ladies, an Austrian attache, 
 a well-known gentleman-rider, and Lord 
 Huddersfield. The latter had one arm rest- 
 ing upon the chair of the lady next to him, 
 and he was apparently in full enjoyment of 
 a lively anecdote which she was relating. 
 
FOILED. 227 
 
 He started when Frank's party took their 
 places at the other end of the room, and his 
 laughter ceased abruptly. The American 
 lady next to him gazed at Leontine through 
 her pince-nez. 
 
 " Who is the ingenue, over whom Mr. 
 Hesseltine is w^atching so tenderly ? " 
 
 Huddersfield drank off a large glass of 
 champagne at one gulp, 
 
 " She is a German young lady. Now, 
 Lady Walter, wdio were you wdth in a 
 four-w^heeler last Tuesday ? Don't try to 
 back out of it, because there are several 
 witnesses." 
 
 Leontine shook her head when one dish 
 after another was handed to her. 
 
 " I am afraid, Countess Leontine, you 
 have been overtiring yourself. I wash I 
 had known what you would have liked ! 
 Do tell me now^ wdiat I can order ? Do you 
 think this champagne good, or shall I send 
 for some better claret ? " 
 
228 FOILED. 
 
 " Oh ! thanks, I really never eat much 
 dinner. You see at home we dine at six. 
 And I don't fancy your hite hours ! " 
 
 " But you'll be so tired at the play ! " 
 And Hesseltine looked quite distressed. 
 
 Countess Valendar, who did not find Lord 
 Strathmashie amusing, watched her charge 
 rather anxiously. 
 
 " What do you think of your friend's 
 engagement ? " she asked her host. 
 
 " Oh ! good old Anthony. Well, he is 
 almost off his head with delight. I hope, 
 I'm sure, that it will turn out well. I hardly 
 know that young lady, but they say her 
 father is a very nice sort of man, and that 
 she seems devoted to him." 
 
 " Thundering pretty girl," said Lord 
 Strathmashie in his languid voice, and with- 
 out apparently moving a feature. " Has 
 Gore any oof 1 — has the bird perched ? " 
 
 Countess Valendar looked puzzled, and 
 her host explained to her the meaning of 
 
FOILED. 229 
 
 the expressive language of the nineteenth 
 century. 
 
 " Old Morant quite stony," continued 
 Lord Strathmashie, relapsing into a sort of 
 coma. " Brother wolfed money, thundering 
 hard luck, — good chap, — Anthony." 
 
 And he did not speak again till the end 
 of dinner. 
 
 " I do sincerely hope she likes old 
 Anthony," said Frank. " He strikes people 
 as dull, but he really knows a lot. He has 
 a very good head on his shoulders. I don't 
 know a sounder opinion about agricultural 
 questions. You are laughing. Countess 
 Leontine, which means to say that that don't 
 prove him to be an amusing companion. 
 Well, granted he isn't, for the wear and 
 tear of life he'll make a capital husband." 
 
 " How long ago has it been settled ? " 
 
 " I believe several weeks, but it is only 
 just given out. I think Mr. Morant is very 
 seedy, so they'll be married quietly, and go 
 
230 FOILED. 
 
 down at once to Crabston, where the father 
 will live with them a good deal." 
 
 The party at the other end of the room 
 had finished their dinner a short time 
 before Hesseltine and his guests. As they 
 passed out, Lord Huddersfield stopped by 
 L^ontine's chair. He greeted the others at 
 the table, but said something in quite a low 
 voice to her. And as she was putting on 
 her cloak in the drawing-room afterwards, 
 he sauntered up and said something more. 
 And this time she blushed brilliantly. But 
 she could not find an opportunity to 
 answer him at length, for Hesseltine, with" 
 that worried look still in his eyes, was 
 not far off, waiting to help her into the 
 carriage. 
 
 "I am not sure if I ought," she mur- 
 mured ; "you know Countess Yalendar 
 would be very vexed." 
 
 "Just this once," he pleaded. "I shall 
 be off to Aldershot, and you back to Ger- 
 
FOILED. 231 
 
 many, till when ? Give me just a chance of 
 explaining things to you ! " 
 
 " Very well then, come." 
 
 He cast a grateful look at her. Hudders- 
 field, although he had had a fair share of 
 champagne, was perfectly sober. And it 
 must be owned that there was much charm 
 about his gentle manner and low voice, which 
 was the more impressive from being allied to 
 a naturally coarse type of good looks. But 
 the looks, such as they were, were undeni- 
 able. He had straight features, reckless 
 brown eyes, perfect teeth ; an insolent 
 sensual expression about the mouth ; and 
 fair hair, with a tendency to curl, cut very 
 close, and growing scanty already about the 
 temples ; and a tall figure, with very broad 
 shoulders. He and Frank exchanged a few 
 words, for they were on friendly terms. 
 Captain Sturgess and Strathmashie were 
 talking to the American ladies about Miss 
 Morant's marriage. 
 
232 FOILED. 
 
 " She ought to have clone better," said 
 Lady Walter. " She has been going round 
 everywhere since April, and its June now, 
 and the season nearly over." 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Lord Strathmashie, 
 " devilish poor marriage ; dull dog. Gore, 
 but good chap. Not in the same street 
 with Miss Mo rant." 
 
 " I hope she likes him, poor devil," said 
 Sturgess. 
 
 Lady Walter shrugged her white shoulders. 
 
 " I should say Mr. Anthony Gore '11 have 
 a real handful," she laughed. 
 
 And then Frank and his friends started' 
 for the theatre. Oftentimes during the 
 play he glanced at Leontine, silently sit- 
 ting in the stall beside him. The electric 
 light was trying to most of the women, but 
 it could not diminish the beauty of her 
 fresh face, with its shell-pink cheeks. The 
 flaxen curls were arranged in a triumph of 
 graceful hairdressing. Her round chin and 
 
FOILED. 233 
 
 the back of her neck were those of a child, 
 or a little Cupid. Never had Hesseltine, 
 who was an artist in his way, seen such 
 a perfect ear, excepting in that picture to 
 which she bore such a marvellous re- 
 semblance. He sighed, and it was such a 
 heavy sigh, that Leontine turned and looked 
 at him. 
 
 " Are you bored, Mr. Hesseltine ? I 
 think it is such a very pretty play." She 
 was in much better spirits now than she 
 had been at dinner. Evidently she had not 
 been amused with his own conversation, 
 thought Frank, for he had begun of late 
 to develop the quality of humility over- 
 much. 
 
 " No, not at all ; but it is rather a sad 
 story, don't you think ? " 
 
 " To me, no, — for the woman is becoming 
 fond of her husband ; one sees that. She 
 doesn't snub him now, and she lets him 
 kiss her." 
 
234 FOILED. 
 
 " A great concession, wasn't it ? But I 
 think I should have been tired out in the 
 man's place. He must have had such a 
 wearisome existence, going on trying to 
 make his wife in love with him ; he must 
 have hungered for a little demonstration 
 of affection on her part, and she never 
 showed him any." 
 
 Hesseltine was looking earnestly at the 
 young girl. 
 
 " Why," he said, " is this such a univer- 
 sally true story ? Why do we all, day after 
 day, year after year, waste our love upon 
 those who don't even thank us for the' 
 gift ? Why can't we be content to enjoy 
 the good things nearest to us — those ' close 
 about our feet ' ? — why do we always value 
 a thing in proportion as it is inaccessible — 
 unattainable ? " 
 
 Leontine looked down at her pink feather 
 fan. 
 
 '' I think it is partly a form of vanity. 
 
FOILED. 285 
 
 One can't stand being beaten. But look ! — 
 there is some one who has got all he wants, 
 and more than he expected. There is your 
 friend, Mr. Gore ! " 
 
 And truly, at the far end of the row 
 of stalls behind them sat Anthony, his 
 face one smile from eyebrow to chin, his 
 fiancee by his side. Hesseltine gave him 
 a congratulatory nod, and Mr. Gore seemed 
 almost unable to remain quiet in his place. 
 He was so overflowing with joy, that he 
 longed to be able to pour some of it forth 
 in rapturous phrases ; to find some one who 
 would sympathize, who would tell him aloud 
 what a prize he had won. Miss Morant was 
 dressed extremely simply, in black, without 
 one jewel. She carried a scarlet fan, and 
 wore geraniums of the same colour on her 
 gown. 
 
 ''Darling," whispered Anthony, "I must 
 get old Frank to be best man." 
 
 " I have changed my mind about having 
 
236 FOILED. 
 
 the wedding next month ; I can't leave 
 my father so soon." 
 
 Anthony grew pale. ''This is a new 
 departure ! " he cried, in despair. 
 
 ''If you talk so loud, I will leave you, 
 and go home in the first growler I can 
 find. Do look at the stage ; it is so idiotic 
 to keep on staring at me all the evening." 
 
 " But I have hurried all the people at 
 Crabston ! They have promised to do the 
 carpets and curtains — " 
 
 " I don't care two straws about either ! " 
 
 " I thought you did when you chose the 
 patterns ! " 
 
 "Well, my dear boy, I was obliged to 
 prevent you from ordering a grocer's-blue 
 carpet for the drawing-room, and a magenta 
 and green chintz to go with it." 
 
 " I didn't. You are always so hard on 
 me. Why do you want to alter all the 
 plans ? " 
 
 '' Souvent femme varie, and I have settled 
 
FOILED. 237 
 
 I shall spend July with father in Surrey. And 
 you will only be invited for the Sundays." 
 
 " You are cruel to me, Kenee." 
 
 She laughed, turned her head away, and 
 studied her programme. The scene con- 
 cluded by the husband on the stage, at last 
 reconciled entirely to his wife, falling at her 
 feet and embracing her. 
 
 "It is very improbable that she would 
 have ended by liking him," said Miss 
 Morant. "He was too tiresomely good, 
 and he moralized, and gave her advice. If 
 you give me advice, Anthony, I shall be 
 back in Surrey the next day, and you will 
 find a note on your pincushion." 
 
 " You'll come to-morrow with me to the 
 jeweller s ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, of course ; that will be the 
 only really entertaining morning we have 
 had. You trod on my toes all day at the 
 pictures, and you were a dreadful bore 
 walkincr in Eotten Kow. From starino^ so 
 
238 FOILED. 
 
 nmcli at me, you were always colliding 
 against people, and annoying them." 
 
 Countess Valendar was meanwhile asking 
 Captain Stnrgess a few questions about 
 Miss Morant. 
 
 " How very odd a girl coming to the 
 play without a chaperon ! " she said. 
 
 " Well, she isn t conventional. She is 
 half American, you see." 
 
 " I always find American girls very nice, 
 and not faster than English ones." 
 
 '' Well, old Morant is always seedy and 
 down on his luck. Kather a kill -joy, I 
 should say. Too bad to go out. Good- 
 looking girl, ain't she ? Such extraordinary 
 red cheeks with that white skin." 
 
 " I thought,'' said Countess Valendar in 
 a confidential voice that Leontine could not 
 hear, " that Lord Huddersfield was supposed 
 to admire her ? " 
 
 '' Well, he admires any woman who isn't 
 too plain about the head. But marriage 
 
FOILED. 239 
 
 ain't in tiis line. He can't resist a good- 
 looking girl." 
 
 *' I thought not. I suppose Miss Morant 
 has an odd fascination for men ? " 
 
 " You bet she has ! " remarked Lord 
 Strathmashie, with fervour. 
 
 The curtain drew up for the last act, 
 which most of the spectators agreed was 
 superfluous. 
 
 " One don't want to see that pair of 
 blazing asses billing and cooing," said Lord 
 Strathmashie, with a slight confusion of 
 metaphor. Hesseltine turned suddenly to 
 Countess Valendar. 
 
 " I have been ruminating over a plan," 
 he said. " Don't you think you could bring 
 Countess Leontine to Strathrowan this 
 September, after you have spent soQie time 
 in Germany ? And then we might all 
 return to the ' Vaterland ' together. I am 
 by way of going to stay with Stolzenfels 
 for part of October." 
 
240 FOILED. 
 
 " It would be too cliarmmg. But I shall 
 have to consult my young lady's relations. 
 She, I am sure, would say yes, if it 
 depended on her." 
 
 " It is very kind of you, Mr. Hesseltine. 
 I do want to see the Highlands," said 
 Leontine. " But Anton may not like me 
 to come over again." 
 
 '' Do try and persuade him," he said, with 
 great earnestness in his voice, and a plead- 
 ing look in his dark eyes. " I will do all 
 I know to amuse you both, and your 
 brother too, if he would come and try the 
 stalking. And," lowering his voice, "it 
 will do away with much of the sadness of 
 ' good-bye ' if I have such a September in 
 prospect." 
 
 Leontine turned her head a little away. 
 *^ I am much sharper at seeing our friends 
 than you are. You have never made 
 out, I am sure, Lady Eastbourne and 
 Lady Mary, and that fat gentleman with 
 
FOILED. 241 
 
 the gray whiskers up above there in a 
 box ? " 
 
 Frank turned. Yes, there was indeed 
 Lady Mary and her mother, attended by 
 Mr. Prosser. 
 
 " Another wedding, perhaps," laughed 
 Countess Valendar. 
 
 Lady Mary did not approve of this 
 play. 
 
 " I think," she was saying to Mr. Prosser, 
 who w^as all attention, " that this kind of 
 story about married people is so unpleasant. 
 I don't like their disputes brought on the 
 stage. And what a mistake to brinof oirls, 
 like that little Wartburg child, to see such 
 a piece ! " 
 
 "Dear Lady Mary, how unfailing your 
 
 judgment is ! " said the Q.C. '' These little 
 
 ins and outs, these errors of taste, escape, 
 
 perhaps, the coarser minds of us men. We 
 
 come to you to tell us what we should like 
 
 and admire and approve." And he folded 
 VOL. I. K, 
 
242 FOILED. 
 
 his hands placidly on his prominent waist- 
 coat, and smiled benignantly. 
 
 ''I am so pleased, Mr. Prosser, that you 
 don't despise women in the way that so 
 many clever men and great politicians do. 
 I always feel at my ease with you — you 
 understand me." 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, dear Lady Mary, I 
 think I should do so. I have often now 
 had the privilege, the inestimable boon of 
 being your escort to the House, of sitting 
 beside you at dinner, of meeting you at 
 your dear father's. These hours, I may 
 say," and Mr. Prosser became impressive 
 and oratorical, " these hours have been to 
 me an oasis in the desert of life, a place of 
 refreshment in the midst of toil, earnest 
 toil, for my country." 
 
 Lady Eastbourne, who had been asleep 
 behind the curtain, awoke, and fell heavily 
 against Mr. Prosser. This recalled him to 
 the world of prose once more. But as he 
 
FOILED. 213 
 
 helped Lady Mary into the large landau 
 which awaited her, he murmured — 
 
 *' Thank you, thank you, for a bright, 
 happy evening. May I call on you — Satur- 
 day ? I am desirous of a quiet interview." 
 And he pressed her hand. 
 
 Mr. Prosser, Q. C, was certainly the 
 happiest of the three lovers present at the 
 Criterion Theatre on this particular evening. 
 Anthony Gore had fallen into a state of 
 despair since his fiancee had imparted to 
 him her decision of putting off the wedding. 
 Frank Hesseltine was anxious and depressed. 
 His little supper-party was a failure ; Leon- 
 tine obviously wished to avoid a tete-d-tete 
 conversation ; Countess Valendar was find- 
 ing Strathmashie monotonous, and Captain 
 Sturgess wearisome. 
 
 " May I come and see you before you 
 start for Germany ? " asked Hesseltine. 
 
 " Yes, but not to-morrow. Leontine is 
 to be all day at tailors' and dressmakers'." 
 
244 FOILED. 
 
 Frank walked slowly home to his house 
 in St. James's Place. A s^reat feelino- of 
 sadness overpowered him. One after 
 another, recollections of the sorrows of 
 his youth and middle life came before him 
 with strange vividness. He thought of his 
 lonely boyhood ; of his childish doubts and 
 questionings concerning the perplexities and 
 cruelties of the world about him ; of his 
 love for his friend Charles Marsham, and 
 the last scene by his deathbed. Just a few 
 months ago, a new zest of living, fair hopes 
 perhaps for the future, had been his, but 
 to-night these seem to be extinguished in 
 utter darkness. Evidently, he mused, he 
 was destined always to travel on alone. A 
 heart-ache, almost like physical pain ; a 
 feeling of passionate desire, never, he felt, 
 to be gratified ; these would be with him 
 always through the solitary journey. He 
 wondered if he would have strength, never- 
 theless, to keep a brave front and a smiling 
 
FOILED. 245 
 
 face before the world's eyes. Alas ! Frank, 
 
 for 
 
 " The tragedies that underlie 
 The laughter of a London June ! " 
 
 At tlie corner of a street a woman accosted 
 liim. Hesseltine, never discourteous to the 
 lowest refuse of humanity, answered her 
 gently, and passed on his way. The girl 
 follow^ed him. He saw that she had a 
 young face, not much older than one which 
 was often haunting him now, and curly 
 flaxen hair — a face more sad and tired 
 than vicious. Pity w^as always a stronger 
 feelinor in Frank Hesseltine's heart than 
 repulsion, and in this case there was no- 
 thing repellent in the unhappy creature 
 who laid her hand on his arm. Certain 
 problems of social morality had not often 
 greatly troubled him ; he had considered 
 some evils in the light of melancholy neces- 
 sities ; and it was only when now and then 
 an especially tragic case had come before his 
 
246 FOILED. 
 
 notice, tliat he had experienced (j[ualms of 
 conscience. But of late, the softening in- 
 fluence of his love — for surely it was that ! 
 — for a woman had wrought, unknown pro- 
 bably to him, some sort of change in his 
 feelings. He stopped a moment, and spoke 
 to the girl in the tawdry dress who had 
 dogged his footsteps. Not much, maybe, 
 in the way of a sermon, but kind, sensible 
 words nevertheless. And taking money 
 from his pocket he put it into her hand. 
 Then, half ashamed, half glad, he huriied 
 homewards. 
 
 *' I dare say she'll laugh over me after- 
 wards for a damned fool," he thought. 
 *' But it don't matter ; it was for her sake, 
 for my little L^o." 
 
 On the morrow after the play, Leontine 
 Wartburg went dutifully to tailors and 
 dressmakers and bootmakers during the 
 whole morning. So that, by luncheon- 
 time, she could honestly tell Countess 
 
FOILED. 247 
 
 Valendar that she was too tired to go out 
 
 & 
 
 again. 
 
 " What a pity, L6o I Do come in the 
 victoria ! We might drive quite late, and 
 end by sitting a little while in the Park. 
 It looks so lovely with that blaze of sweet 
 orange and yellow azaleas." 
 
 " No, thank you, I think I will finish my 
 book. I have a comfortable sofa here in the 
 sittiug-room, you see ; and I really have 
 been so busy all the morning." 
 
 When her friend was o^one, L^ontine pfot 
 up, and went to the looking-glass. She 
 was not vain, and she was certainly not 
 untruthful, but to-day she felt that she was 
 both of these thino;s. " It was horrid of me 
 to stay ! How shall I ever tell Countess 
 Yalendar ! " She looked at her reflection 
 in the unflattering mirror of an hotel 
 sitting- room. But even under these cir- 
 cumstances it was not unpleasing. Her 
 pale gingham gown was well suited to her 
 
248 FOILED. 
 
 fair hair and skin, and the masses of soft 
 lace round her throat framed in a face that, 
 if not faultless, was wonderfully sweet. , She 
 only looked for a minute at it, however, 
 then she went across to the fireplace and 
 rang the bell. With very pink cheeks she 
 addressed the waiter who answered it. 
 
 " I expect Lord Huddersfield here at four 
 o'clock. Please show him in. I am at 
 home to no one else ! " 
 
 Then, interesting as was the novel which 
 she was reading, she flung it face downwards 
 on the sofa, and sat, one elbow resting 
 on her other hand, absorbed in her own 
 thoughts. The sound of the clock — a tire- 
 some playful one that rang a peal of bells 
 before striking the hour — awoke her from her 
 reverie. Two — three — four. And she heard 
 footsteps on the landing, and the creaking 
 of the baize double-door of the room. 
 Leontine was white now ; the colour had 
 even left her lips, and her hands were icily 
 
FOILED. 249 
 
 cold. Nervously twisting lier lace lianclker- 
 chief, she stood upright by the chimney- 
 piece. Lord Huddersfield, very well dressed, 
 very handsome, with a curiously triumphant 
 expression in his eyes, came in. 
 
 " How dear and good of you to let me 
 come ! " He spoke very low, and held the 
 icy fingers in his for a minute. 
 
 She laughed nervously. " I ought not 
 to have allowed you to come ; you see in 
 Germany things are different, and I could 
 not see visitors when I am by myself." 
 
 " But /am not like an ordinary visitor ? " 
 His reckless eyes looked her over from head 
 to foot. '^ You must not think of me as a 
 stranger. We are real friends now ; aren't 
 we, Countess Leontine ? " 
 
 Something in the expression of his face 
 frightened her. She shrank a little away 
 from him. 
 
 " Don't look at me as if you disliked me ; 
 don't you remember what I told you the 
 
250 FOILED. 
 
 other night at the Middlesex's dance, Leo ? " 
 And he came very close to her. 
 
 *' Yes, yes, I remember." 
 
 " I told you, and I do again, that you are 
 the only woman who can do anything with 
 me. I would obey your lightest word. 
 Heaven knows, I am not a good man, I 
 never profess to be, but for your sake I 
 would give up what you dislike ; I would 
 try all day to please you. When I am 
 gone, don't think of me, Leo, as I am ; think 
 of me as what I wish to be ! " 
 
 She trembled very much. 
 
 " I am sure you are speaking the truth. 
 I know you will go on trying to do right." 
 
 '' For your sake, yes ; darling, I have 
 tried ; you " mustn't believe all that people 
 say of me. You know what my great 
 temptation is. I make no secret of it 
 with you, because you sympathize with me. 
 But I am not responsible altogether. Some 
 things are hereditary ; I would only say 
 
FOILED. 251 
 
 this to you, and it is awfully hard to try 
 and get over it. But I do, I will go on, 
 for your dear sake." 
 
 Leontine's eyes were filled with tears. 
 She sat down on the end of the sofa, and 
 looked at him with the pure innocent ex- 
 pression that always touched and softened 
 the man beside her, sensual and unprincipled 
 as he was. He sat down also and took her 
 hand. 
 
 " Listen," he said ; " I feel I am a cad to 
 come and talk to you as I do — when I — 
 when — I hardly know how to put it — when 
 I cannot say all I would like to say. My 
 one desire — the only thing I shall ever 
 really wish for in life again — would be to 
 ask you to help me, to be with me always ; 
 but it is impossible ! " And as he spoke, 
 Leontine began to cry bitterly. 
 
 The sight of her weeping was more than 
 he could bear. She snatched her hand 
 away, and put both over her face. 
 
252 FOILED. 
 
 " My darling, my darling, don't cry ! 
 Hear me out ; I would give all I possess if I 
 could have the right to comfort you. But 
 you don't understand — how should you, 
 innocent and good as you are ? — what a man's 
 life is. There may be fetters and shackles 
 that he can't break. He may not be his 
 own master. He may have notions of honour 
 very different from your pure standard of 
 what is right, which are yet better than 
 nothing, and which he can't see his way 
 to break through. Some day things may 
 change, and I may come to you again, not 
 telling you that I love you more than I do 
 now, for that is impossible, but daring to 
 ask you if you would let me hope in 
 return ? " 
 
 Leontine looked at him with scared eyes. 
 Her face, like a child's, was puckered with 
 crying. Some instinct told her that no 
 man who did not ask her to be his wife had 
 any right to speak to her as did the one 
 
FOILED. 253 
 
 beside her. She was puzzled, mortified, 
 miserable. But she loved him, and therefore 
 she forgave him. So she only answered 
 gently, instead of showing indignation like 
 a conventional heroine — 
 
 ^' I know you are unhappy, and I don't 
 ask you to tell me anything. I am very, 
 very glad if I have helped you in any way. 
 But you must go now, and never, never 
 come and see me again. What is the use of 
 meeting ? It makes us both sad, and can 
 do no good. It was very wrong of me to 
 let you come." 
 
 " I can't say good-bye to you ! " he cried, 
 and tried again to take her little hand in 
 his. She rose, and went across to the 
 fireplace. 
 
 '' If you do care for me," she said, in a 
 shaking voice, ''you will do what I ask. 
 And I shall never forget you. But we must 
 not see each other any more." 
 
 " Hou^ can we help meeting ? We have 
 
254 FOILED. 
 
 got all the same friends ; and besides, some- 
 thing tells me that your path and mine will 
 cross each other at last, however wide apart 
 they may seem now." 
 
 She leant her little head wearily against 
 the chimney-piece. Lord Huddersfield, who, 
 to do him justice, was entirely in earnest, 
 held out his hand. 
 
 " Good-bye, good-bye. Countess L^o. 
 Forgive me for having behaved, I know, 
 very badly. Please don't think of it any 
 more. Sometimes a man is so carried away 
 by his feelings that he don't know what 
 he says and does. It shall not happen 
 again." 
 
 She put her cold hand into his. He raised 
 it respectfully to his lips, and kissed it once 
 only. And when she lifted her head, he was 
 gone. 
 
 #At *iif ^ 1^ 
 
 •TV" •TV" TV* W 
 
 " How tired you look, L^o ! " 
 
 It was Countess Valendar who entered, 
 
FOILED. 255 
 
 followed by the waiter bearing three band- 
 boxes and five parcels. 
 
 " I have had such fatigue. And there 
 was no time to go and sit in the Park, after 
 all. You will laugh when I tell you what I 
 did in Sloane Street. I saw a chimney- 
 sweep the other side of the road, so I 
 jumped out of the carriage, ran across it, 
 and rubbed my shoulder against his. It 
 is tremendously lucky ! He looked rather 
 surprised." 
 
 '' How can you do such extraordinary 
 things 1 " 
 
 " It don't matter. Nobody noticed it, 
 and it has put me into good spirits for the 
 day. How tired and pale you look, Leo ! 
 It is want of fresh air ! Have you finished 
 your book, darling *? " 
 
 " Dear Grafin," said the girl, slowly, " I 
 have been behaving shamefully. Don't be 
 angry — please — please don't I " 
 
 *' What's the matter ? " 
 
256 FOILED. 
 
 " I — I — have seen Lord Hudclersfield 
 here ! " 
 
 " Leo ! " 
 
 " I know it was horrid of me, and 
 deceitful ! " 
 
 Countess Valendar walked to the window 
 and looked out at the carriages streaming 
 down towards Bond Street. '' I never could 
 have thought this of you." 
 
 Leontine began to cry. ^^ I have no 
 excuse to offer — but — but I was going, and 
 he said — he said — " 
 
 " Did he propose to make you his wife ? " 
 
 There was no answer. Countess Valendar 
 shrugged her shoulders, and began re-arrang- 
 ing a bouquet of flowers in one of the glasses. 
 
 " If you knew all the details of Lord 
 Huddersfield's private life you would not 
 wish to see so much of him ! " 
 
 " I don't want to know them. He is not 
 coming any more." 
 
 " I should imagine not ! Look here, 
 
FOILED. 257 
 
 Ti^ontine, you are a good child, as a rule, and 
 truthfulness itself, so I forgive you this once. 
 But I must say I am glad we have got our 
 tickets for Flushing. Come and kiss me, 
 and we will close the subject." 
 
 VOL. L 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A GLIMPSE OF HEATHER AND PINES. 
 
 "Any more for the Aldershot train?" 
 A porter with a face shining crimson under 
 the July sun was running up and down 
 on the platform as the engine steamed in. 
 A young lady standing at the bookstall 
 thereupon laid down a number of the 
 popular Society journal called TJie Liar, and 
 looked up at the long row of carriages. 
 Behind the station were stretches of purple 
 heather, groups of firs, and little red villas, 
 their windows all twinkling and blazing 
 in the sun. The breeze, or rather a hot 
 current of air, stirred the papers on the 
 
FOILED. 259 
 
 stall ; but Miss Moraut's face was not 
 flushed, the distinction between the red 
 and white of her complexion being just 
 as it should be. 
 
 The train drew up with a grunting noise, 
 and the station-master, who had come out 
 of his office, wiped the perspiration from 
 his forehead. Two young men, in a first- 
 class smoking compartment, looked out of 
 their window. 
 
 " E-otten old South-Western," said Lord 
 Strathmashie, fanning himself with a news- 
 paper ; " stops at every station. Hi, boy ! 
 fetch me the ' Pink 'un ! ' — look sharp, young 
 JuQ:rins ! " 
 
 Lord Huddersfield, who was his com- 
 panion, and on the point of returning to 
 his military duties, got up, and leant out 
 of the window. 
 
 '' By Jove ! " he exclaimed, and there- 
 upon opened the door, and was out upon 
 the platform in a second. 
 
260 FOILED. 
 
 " How are you, Miss Morant ? What 
 are you doing liere ? / am going back to 
 serve an ungrateful country. I hope your 
 father is better ? " 
 
 She had changed colour for one in- 
 stant, but she spoke in her usual calm 
 voice. 
 
 " Yes, thanks ; he is better. Eather sad, 
 of course, at the idea of losing me." 
 
 Lord Huddersfield looked keenly at her 
 and laughed. 
 
 "I suppose you live not far off? Is 
 Gore down here too ? Have you come to 
 meet him at the station ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. He is big enough to 
 take care of himself. I have come to fetch 
 my brother's little boy. His train is almost 
 due." 
 
 " Kotten old line ! " called out Lord 
 Strathmashie, taking off his hat at the 
 window. 
 
 '' I must be off now, Miss Morant. May 
 
FOILED. 261 
 
 I ride over and see you one of these days ? " 
 And Huddersfield looked into her eyes and 
 spoke in his gentle, caressing voice. 
 
 " If you wish. My home is two miles 
 from here. It is getting spoilt now, because 
 so many retired oil and soap manufacturers 
 have taken villas in the neighbourhood." 
 
 " Yes, and chalk Generals," said Lord 
 Strathmashie from his window. 
 
 "Exactly — so it isn't what it used to 
 be. But from one side of the house we 
 have still a lovely view over heather and 
 blue hills, and a real forest of pines. 
 Will you come over to luncheon, Lord 
 Huddersfield ? " 
 
 " Certainly. Let me see, Friday is my 
 first free day. My kind regards to your 
 father." And he leapt into the train again, 
 and smiled as he lit a cigar. 
 
 " Eum girl," remarked his companion ; 
 " knows her way about, I should say — ^ 
 queer look in her eye — wouldn't like 
 
262 FOILED. 
 
 to have row with her." And he drew 
 down the blinds and composed himself to 
 sleep. 
 
 Eenee, a curious hard expression on her 
 lips, stood by the book-stall, her newspaper 
 turned upside down in front of her. When 
 the second train came in, however, the 
 defiant look had left her face, and she ran 
 towards the door of a third-class compart- 
 ment. A little boy, whose long golden 
 curls floated on his shoulders, and a rather 
 shabbily-dressed nurse were the only occu- 
 pants. Een^e took him in her arms, lifting 
 him off the ground, and kissed him over- 
 ^and over again. 
 
 " My little Jos ! How well he looks, 
 Jane ! His hair is longer and more silky 
 than ever. I have got the pony- carriage here, 
 and will drive you back. . . ." And then, 
 hand-in-hand with her small nephew, Renee 
 like a child herself ran out of the station, 
 where a basket-carriage, greatly the worse 
 
FOILED. 263 
 
 for wear, and drawn by a rough pony, was 
 awaiting them. 
 
 And as they drove down the white road, 
 between the villas and the fir-trees, up 
 steep, dusty hills into the country, she and 
 little Jos chattered and laughed, and made 
 plans for the future. 
 
 '' You shall have a donkey and learn to 
 ride, grandpapa says, and you may order 
 your own dinner twice a week ! " 
 
 Jos said " he should like to have mince 
 every day, and rice and prunes." And 
 then they watched the birds hopping in 
 and out of the fir-branches, and the school- 
 children, who for some odd reason never 
 appeared to be inside their school, skipping 
 and racing in the yard. The steep climb 
 over, a more thoroughly rural road branched 
 off to the right, with a wide expanse of 
 purple moorland on one side ; and shortly 
 afterwards they reached an iron gate leading 
 to a small enclosed plantation of firs, and 
 
264 FOILED. 
 
 a dilapidated house, which was the residence 
 of Charles Morant, Esq. Grandpapa, look- 
 ing a little stronger for the bracing Surrey- 
 air, stood at the door, also a single-handed 
 man-servant in a dirty livery, and old 
 Nanny, who had a sweet face, and the 
 whitest of caps. Een^e ran round the 
 group, kissing her father and Nanny, patting 
 the rough pony, and swinging Jos at intervals 
 backwards and forwards through the air. 
 
 "Miss Eenee, you are in spirits to-day. 
 There's no 'oldin' you ! " said her old nurse, 
 looking proudly at her. "I suppose, my 
 dear, we shall have Mr. Gore here to-. 
 morrow too ? " 
 
 " I really don't know, Nanny ; I shall 
 see plenty of him after the fifteenth of 
 August. Now I want to talk to you — and 
 Jos. I shall teach him the song about 
 * the frog who would a- wooing go.' Wasn't 
 his name Anthony too ? " 
 
 Nanny only nodded and smiled at her 
 
FOILED. 265 
 
 young lady. As she remarked, it didn't 
 do to believe all Miss Renee's nonsense, 
 and she trotted indoors, while Mr. Morant 
 ordered tea to be brought out on to the 
 lawn. There was a narrow terrace at the 
 back of the house, a space of garden below 
 it bounded by heather and moorland, and 
 far away a blue outline of hills. The 
 dark fir-woods to the right were singularly 
 cool and peaceful to the eye dazzled by 
 the vivid azure of the sky, and the glare 
 of the afternoon sun. There was one cedar- 
 tree on the grass, and under this Mr. 
 Morant and Een^e and Jos sat round the 
 tea-table, unconscious of how picturesque a 
 group they made — the old man with his 
 high-bred, pale face ; the brilliant girl, full 
 of life and grace ; the golden-haired child 
 just emerging from babyhood. 
 
 "By the way, is Anthony coming to- 
 morrow ? " 
 
 " Dieu soit loue — no ! He has found 
 
266 FOILED. 
 
 out that the main sewer at Crabston, which 
 is apparently situated under my future 
 boudoir, needs the presence of his ever- 
 watchful eye — and nose. He will come late 
 Saturday. Let me see, to-day is Tuesday. 
 Oh, by the way, darling, I saw Lord 
 Huddersfield at the station this afternoon. 
 He purposes to come over to luncheon on 
 Friday." 
 
 Mr. Morant took off the large hat, of 
 Panama straw, that Nanny always described 
 as his " paramour hat," and sighed. 
 
 " It will be rather an expense if we begin 
 giving luncheon parties. I haven't paid, 
 off the Clarges Street bills yet." 
 
 ''Never mind, dear, for once. After the 
 fifteenth you can advertise the house * to 
 be let,' and come to us as soon as ever 
 you can. We don't want a honevmoon. 
 My Jos is coming too," and she stroked 
 his hair that shone like golden wire. 
 
 "I am sure Anthony is very good to 
 
FOILED. 267 
 
 everybody. And to take Nanny too, as 
 well as your maid. He is always obliging." 
 
 '' Oh yes, he is. I have warned him I 
 shall quarrel with the cook. He has no 
 notion of food. I said, ' Now, Anthony, 
 tell me honestly what you order for dinner 
 when you are alone,' and he said, ' Yeal 
 and ham pie generally, and slices off a 
 hot joint.'" 
 
 " I hope you won't upset everything, and 
 offend the servants." 
 
 *' And he has been accustomed to ask 
 the Vicar and his wife to dine in the middle 
 of the day every Sunday. Then they go 
 to evening church, and have a sandwich 
 and tea — under a cosy — at half-past eight. 
 Now and then there is a dinner-party on a 
 week-day. Then we have the Rector again, 
 and the doctor with his deaf and dumb 
 son, and a country squire or two. And 
 two old Miss Gores, Anthony's aunts, who 
 live in the village. One is also deaf — so 
 
268 FOILED. 
 
 she and the doctor's son talk on their fingers. 
 The other has got aphasia, and has lost 
 her memory for all events since the Queen's 
 accession. Won't it be lively, papa ? I am 
 afraid the excitement may tell on my health." 
 
 " You talk great nonsense, Kenee. I 
 suppose you, as Anthony's wife, will lead 
 the life of an ordinary woman who marries 
 a country gentleman. Anthony will let 
 you ask any one you like to stay ; and I 
 am sure he has been most generous in 
 doing up the house for you." 
 
 " How I shall miss my dear old garden ! " 
 said the girl, stretching out her arms. " I- 
 know almost every flower in every bed. I 
 have arranged and directed every bit of it. 
 And how I shall hate saying good-bye to 
 the heather — and the fir- wood — and my 
 beloved Surrey hills ! " 
 
 ''It is a little late to think of all this. 
 But it would be just the same whoever 
 you married." 
 
FOILED. 269 
 
 " Would it ? " And she smiled a curious 
 smile, and moved her arms restlessly above 
 her head. Jos had finished his tea, and 
 was sitting on a rug in the shade, his face 
 very solemn, his fat little fingers making 
 up a nosegay of grass and daisies. 
 
 " A married life is the best for all 
 women," said Mr. Morant. " You will have 
 children of your own, something to live for 
 when I am gone away — and Nanny and Jos. 
 For you can't keep any of us with you for 
 long. Much as you love the little man, 
 his father may marry again, and take 
 him always to live with a new mother. 
 Nanny was seventy-eight last birthday, and 
 I . . ." 
 
 " Miserable, miserable world ! " said the 
 girl, passsionately, looking, as she spoke, 
 far ofi" towards the hills. And all the time 
 the sun was shining on the scarlet and 
 yellow flowers, on the slope of lawn and the 
 distant moorland, and on the golden head 
 
270 FOILED. 
 
 of the little child ; while birds flew joyously 
 over the belt of firs. 
 
 For some moments father and daughter 
 sat on in silence, a stillness broken only by 
 the twitterino^ of a chafiinch, and the cawinor 
 of a file of rooks wending their way across 
 the tree-tops. 
 
 " The world is very much what we choose 
 to make it, Kenee. But I am afraid I have 
 only learnt the lesson myself too late. I 
 started in life expecting all things to turn 
 out as I wished. And one by one most 
 of the best were taken from me — your 
 mother, health, friends, money. And yet 
 I am in some ways better ofi" than I ever 
 was before. I expect nothing. As the 
 days go by without bringing any special 
 grief, any care harder than the ordinary 
 anxieties of existence, I call myself a happy 
 man." 
 
 " But that is all very well when one is 
 old. Though / should have said — 
 
FOILED. 271 
 
 ' Not to hope, because all is taken, 
 Is the lowest depth of human pain ! ' 
 
 It is a dreadful theory ! I cannot content 
 myself with a cahn present. I long madly 
 to be happy, and I always shall long, 
 although I know as certainly as that you 
 and I are sitting side by side under this 
 cedar, that life has got nothing much more 
 to offer me. Every time I lay my head 
 on the pillow I think that you and Nanny 
 are one day older, that I am twenty-four 
 hours nearer to solitude. The mere fact 
 of Jos growing out of what he is now is 
 sad to me. I want him always as he is, 
 with his yellow curls, and his funny way 
 of pronouncing words all wrong. Do you 
 think, besides, that I have anything to look 
 forward to, papa, in my married life ? I 
 can't be content with mere peace ; — I crave 
 — I hunger to be happy ! " 
 
 Mr. Morant's worn face looked troubled. 
 
 " It is not too late, Ren^c, to break off 
 
272 FOILED. 
 
 your marriage. I never urged you to it 
 in the least. I said, and do now, that I 
 think Anthony a good, straight, generous 
 man, who is devoted to you. But you are 
 only twenty-four ; you have years before 
 you in which you will still be admired, 
 and loved, and sought after. Why tie 
 yourself down ? I know you care for me 
 too much to have any Quixotic foolish 
 notion that you must marry to benefit me. 
 We can rub on comfortably as we have 
 done. We are very happy in our simple 
 way, I am sure. And we can always give 
 up late dinners, and make other little^ 
 economies if necessary." 
 
 Kenee threw her arms round her father 
 and kissed him tenderly. 
 
 ^' Of course, darling, I don't marry from 
 any idea of that kind. But I know a great 
 deal of the world and of men, for my age. 
 I think if a woman is morally sure that she 
 will not marry the man she cares for — he 
 
FOILED. 273 
 
 may be poor, or perhaps the husband of 
 some one else, who knows ? — she is wiser to 
 marry a man who loves her, and who is 
 easy to manage, and will give her entire 
 liberty. Also, a fair amount of money is 
 indispensable. All these desirable qualities 
 I find in Anthony Gore." 
 
 The sun was sinking behind the black 
 firs, and a cool breeze shook the cedar 
 boughs, and played with Jos's curls. 
 
 " I can't allow either of you to catch 
 cold," said Eenee, and she put Jos's battered 
 straw hat on his head, and her arm within 
 her father's to lead him indoors. They 
 both turned and looked at the sky as they 
 went in — a blood-red lake meltinor into 
 orange and saffron clouds, and these in turn 
 changing into rose-pink and lilac. The 
 rooks cawed loudly as they went home 
 across the pines, and over the small lake 
 by the woods, which was crimson too now 
 as the sky. Kenee ran up-stairs to tell 
 
 VOL. L T 
 
274 FOILED. 
 
 Nanny to be sure and look at the sunset ; 
 and then, alone at her own open window, 
 she sat on till the glories of crimson and 
 gold were dead, and the heavens were one 
 stretch of a uniform daffodil hue. 
 
 Her little room was small, but comfort- 
 ably arranged, and full of cut flowers from 
 the garden in which she took so much 
 interest and pride. The literature on 
 shelves and tables consisted chiefly of 
 poetry and French novels — de Maupassant, 
 Bourget, Belot ; of poetry, such as Baude- 
 laire and Gautier. Not an ideal education, 
 certainly, for a girl of Kenee Morant's 
 sensuous and passionate temperament. In 
 curious contradistinction, one or two story 
 and picture books belonging to Jos lay 
 among the works of the above-named 
 writers, and one of his broken dolls on the 
 floor at her feet. On her writing-table 
 stood his photograph in all stages of his 
 short existence, and one of her fcither. 
 
FOILED. 275 
 
 Lord Huddersfi eld's, iii Hussar uniform, was 
 on tlie chimney-piece, also others of him 
 in stalking-cap and knickerbockers, and in 
 yachting dress. All these in silver frames. 
 Propped up against an old Bradshaw and 
 the invaluable Whitakers Almanac, was 
 one of Anthony Gore, unframed, and con- 
 sequently very dusty. There was a large 
 smut on his square nose, which Eenee had 
 not cared to brush off; or maybe it had 
 escaped her notice, for she certainly never 
 looked at her fiances portrait. 
 
 " Ah," she thought, " how many hours 
 is it exactly before one o'clock, or half-past 
 one next Friday ? If I can't sleep I shall 
 look fao^o^ed and tired. I will resolve to 
 put the idea quite away from me directly I 
 get into bed — if I can — if I can ! What 
 
 o 
 
 will happen after the 15th of August ? Will 
 Anthony ask him to Crabston ? I shall 
 see them together ; and, oh heavens ! the 
 contrast between the two 1 What would 
 
276 FOILED. 
 
 papa think if he could read my heart? 
 Poor old darling, he never will. If that 
 girl with that flaxen head and baby face 
 would only never come back to England — 
 or marry somebody ! As a married woman 
 she would be too excellent and pious to 
 interfere. It would shock her that any 
 man should make love to her. How funny 
 that women should mind ! " 
 
 Then she took Huddersfield's photograph 
 off the chimney-piece, kissed the face, and 
 held it with both hands tightly against her 
 heart. 
 
 " What an emotional fool I am ! " she 
 said out loud, and her eyes danced, while 
 the colour o^rew more brilliant with the 
 beatino^s and throbbino^s at her side. " No 
 one knows the capacity for wickedness that 
 I feel ! No one perhaps but he ; I think he 
 does by the way he looks at me." 
 
 AVas it well for Anthony" Gore, who at 
 that moment was querulously arguing with 
 
FOILED. 277 
 
 the village plumber at Crabston, that he 
 did not see his Jiancees face just then ? 
 If he had done so, some inkling perhaps of 
 the fate in store for him might have been 
 his. Or would he still have thought the 
 " world well lost " for the tumultuous 
 happiness of calling that woman — for a day 
 only — his own ? — for the joy of one kiss 
 from those perfect lips ? 
 
 At five o'clock on Friday morning Kenee 
 was awake. Alas ! there was a sound of 
 dripping rain on the windows. She looked 
 out to see the fir-boughs heavy with drops, 
 the gravelled paths soaked, the grass one 
 large wet sponge. The purple heather 
 tussocks were blanched by the mist over- 
 spreading them. On the window sat a 
 little sparrow, so drenched that he appeared 
 in a state of utter stupefaction, and allowed 
 Reuee to touch him as she put her hand 
 through the casement. One by one the 
 cold drops fell on the lace of her night-dress 
 
278 FOILED. 
 
 and on her outstretclied fingers. The sky 
 was a uniform gray, and the mist seemed 
 to be increasing. She shut the window with 
 a bang, and stamped her foot on the floor. 
 
 "How hard ! — how maddening ! Of course 
 he won't ride over twelve miles ! I am 
 furious ; T shall not say any prayers, I am 
 much too angry." 
 
 It was impossible to go quietly to rest 
 again, so she dressed, knotted her coil of 
 dark hair on her neck, took one last look 
 at Lord Huddersfield's photograph, and 
 went off to little Jos' s room. Jane, without 
 her plaits of false hair, was still in bed. 
 
 " Put on your dressing-gown, Jos, and 
 come to my room, and I will tell you a 
 story." 
 
 The little fellow was still half asleep, his 
 curls plaited to keep them out of his eyes. 
 He stretched his arms and yawned. Kenee, 
 without more ado, wrapped him in a warni 
 dressing-gown, and carried him off to her 
 
FOILED. 279 
 
 room, where she tucked him up comfortably 
 in a chair. She stroked his golden head, 
 and unplaited his curls. 
 
 " Shall I tell you a story, Jos ? " 
 
 "Yes, a funny story." 
 
 " I don't feel funny at all. But I will 
 tell you one. There was once a Princess 
 who lived in a house by a wood. She was 
 very beautiful." 
 
 '' And good ? " suggested J os, yawning 
 still, and rubbing his eyes. 
 
 " Not especially. Now she was obliged 
 to marry a very ugly, stupid giant." 
 
 Jos became very wide-awake. 
 
 " Why did she have to marry a stupid 
 giant ? " 
 
 " Oh ! because, because — I really don't 
 know why. But she had. And there was 
 a very handsome Prince, with fair hair, and 
 strong and brave, all dressed in scarlet and 
 gold, and who told the Princess he loved 
 her very much. But there was another 
 
280 FOILED. 
 
 lady who was not nearly so nice as the 
 Princess, and she tried to get him away. 
 Why, Jos, you are going to sleep ! " 
 
 " How does the story end, Aunty 
 Kenee '^ " 
 
 " I am not quite sure yet. But I think 
 the Princess punished the lady, and got rid 
 of the giant, and then she and the Prince 
 lived happy ever after." 
 
 " How did she make the giant go ? " 
 
 "I believe she ran away from him — 
 so far, so far, that he couldn't catch 
 her." 
 
 '' That's a stupid story," said little Jos. 
 
 " So it is, but I told you I wasn't feeling 
 funny. Jos, I think the rain is stoppiiig ! " 
 The child's sleepy head was resting against 
 her shoulder, his long fair curls sweeping 
 her breast. She took him in her arm^s 
 again, and carried him back to his nursery. 
 And before long she might have been heard 
 singing to the piano down-stairs and thereby 
 
FOILED. 281 
 
 annoying people who wislied to be left in 
 peace in their beds. 
 
 " Ninon, Ninon, que fais-tu de la vie ? " 
 
 rang out her voice, loud and sweet. 
 
 The sky grew clearer towards breakfast- 
 time, and a mellow watery light slowly 
 overspread the moor, melting the mist and 
 stealing over lawn and garden. The rain- 
 drops shone like gems on every bough, and 
 on the pebbles on the path. Jos's canary 
 began to sing loudly at the nursery window. 
 Een^e watched the clouds moving like a 
 flock of sheep over the blue. The sun was 
 driving them before him helter-skelter 
 across the tree-tops. 
 
 The wet dawning of the day was going 
 to turn into a real summer's mornins^ after 
 all. Sing, little canary-bird — louder and 
 ever louder — float, yellow light, over the 
 flowers bathed in dew ! Gladden as best 
 you may the last hours of unalloyed 
 
282 FOILED. 
 
 happiness that will shine for the young 
 girl who is drinking in the freshness of this 
 July day ! 
 
 Mr. Morant — who always breakfasted in 
 a dressing-gown patched with squares of 
 varied materials — was sitting at the table, 
 crackino^ an es^of, when his dauo-hter came in 
 through the French window opening into 
 the garden. Her hands were full of 
 flowers, all wet with the rain, and smelling 
 wonderfully sweet. Jos looked up at her 
 from his work at his brick castle and held 
 out his hand for one. 
 
 " What a colour you have got, Renee ! " 
 said her father. And indeed her cheeks 
 flamed like the geranium in her hand, her 
 eyes shone above them like twin stars. 
 
 '* It is so heavenly out in the garden ! 
 It cleared up at eight o'clock, and though 
 everything is dripping with wet, it is going 
 to be glorious ! I shall tuck my frock up 
 very high, and go for a race over the moor I " 
 
FOILED. 283 
 
 She was back at twelve o'clock, and had 
 changed her wet skirts, and was in the small 
 drawing-room, when she heard the squelch- 
 ing sounds of a horse's hoofs coming up 
 the drive towards the house. And in a few 
 minutes, a handsome man, wearing gaiters 
 and a brown pot-hat, had dismounted at the 
 door. 
 
 Mr. Morant's greeting to Lord Hudders- 
 field was not especially cordial. He was, 
 for one thing, feeling very tired and 
 depressed ; and moreover he thought his 
 visit unnecessary. But Jos approved 
 greatly of the tall soldier who took him out 
 to see his horse, and who let him sit on its 
 back. x4nd Eenee saw the little boy coming 
 from the stables, hand-in-hand with Lord 
 Huddersfield. Then she came forward with 
 a few words of greeting. Huddersfield 
 made himself very pleasant during 
 luncheon, talking chiefly to Mr. Morant, 
 only glancing occasionally at Renee with 
 
284 FOILED. 
 
 that half-amused, altogether confident 
 expression of his. This meal over, Mr. 
 Morant went to his own room to lie down, 
 and the two younger people were left 
 alone. 
 
 " Come and sit in the garden," said 
 Renee — " or shall we walk down the fir- 
 wood a little way ? " 
 
 " Whichever you like. Whatever you 
 wish pleases me. Perhaps the garden for 
 choice. You will find the woods still 
 wet." 
 
 So they walked along the rather badly 
 kept gravel, brushing against the damp 
 box-borders, towards a rustic seat out of 
 sight of the house. Behind it was a small 
 group of yew-trees ; in front another path 
 led towards the flower-garden, and through 
 the boughs of various evergreens shone 
 little patches of colour — scarlet, yellow, and 
 pink — where the verbenas and sweet- 
 williams and nasturtiums were growing. 
 
FOILED. 285 
 
 Huddersfield threw his arm along the 
 back of the rustic seat, and looked long and 
 earnestly at his companion. She, for her 
 part, did not try to avoid his gaze, though 
 her lips quivered and her figure trembled a 
 little. 
 
 " So you have made up your mind to 
 throw yourself away ? " he asked. There 
 was an ease, verging on insolence, in his 
 manner, though his eyes spoke nothing but 
 admiration. 
 
 " Why not ? It does not signify what 
 becomes of me ? " 
 
 " You don't mean that. You think it 
 signifies a good deal, you little humbug. 
 You are marrying Gore so as to have entire 
 liberty to do what you like afterwards." 
 
 " You are not speaking like a gentleman. 
 Because I was idiot and fool enough to 
 believe things you told me last year in 
 Paris, and this year in London, — because I 
 did not repel you as you deserved to be 
 
286 FOILED. 
 
 repelled, you do not treat me with ordinary 
 respect." 
 
 Huddersfield smiled. " You were not 
 so disdainful to me when we drove in the 
 Bois de Boulogne," he said in a low voice, 
 trying to take her hand. 
 
 " Because I thought — I was an abject 
 fool — but I did think you meant what you 
 said. Thank God, I have ceased to care 
 now whether you speak the truth or 
 not." 
 
 '' Have you ? " And he put his arm 
 round her. " Renee, you are a witch. You 
 have an extraordinary fascination for me. 
 Whenever I see you, it holds me fast, 
 whether I will or not. What happy days 
 we had in Paris ! Your dear old father let 
 us do pretty much what we liked ! Do you 
 remember Auteuil, — and St. Cloud, — and 
 that day at Fontainebleau ? " 
 
 She had withdrawn herself resolutely 
 from his arm. 
 
FOILED. 287 
 
 " You are infamous — you are a liar," she 
 said, quite calmly, her face growing white. 
 " Why do you say one thing one day, or 
 one year, and during another show me that 
 it means nothing ? But I know wdiy — I 
 have found out what your life is. You 
 have no sense of shame ! You allow a 
 woman w^ho cares for you in her own 
 miserable, violent way to help you with 
 money. You have tied yourself to her, 
 because you are so mean ; I will never 
 allow you to come and see me again. And 
 then you pose as wishing to be reformed to 
 some one else, whom you think fascinating 
 and lovely, but w^hom you have no more 
 idea of marrying than you have of marrying 
 me!" 
 
 " Eenee, you are an extraordinary girl to 
 dare to speak to me like this ! " 
 
 " I am not afraid — I despise a man of 
 }'our character — I — " 
 
 She burst into tears. And Huddersfield, 
 
288 FOILED. 
 
 who, as we know, was easily moved by the 
 sight of beauty in distress, especially when 
 he himself was the origin of the grief, 
 softened visibly, although Kenee's covert 
 allusion to Leontine Wartburo^ had orone 
 near to making him very angry. He was 
 in a perplexing position. There were three 
 women who loved him, he was sure ; one 
 faded now, and hardly fair, but whose 
 passionate devotion yet touched him against 
 his will ; this one by his side, more 
 beautiful, and perhaps fully as reckless : 
 and yet another, the thought of whose 
 image made his heart swell. He could 
 not give up either of the three for ever, 
 although he only loved one ; both his 
 vanity and his pity were touched. So he 
 determined to console the one nearest to 
 him. 
 
 '' Little Renee, don't be too hard on 
 me. I was not lying when I told you in 
 Paris how dear you were to me, and 
 
FOILED. 289 
 
 what a fascination you exercised over me. 
 And you do so still — upon my life you 
 do/' 
 
 " I believe that with you there is * 7ii 
 foi, ni hi ' — that you are incapable of 
 constancy, as you are of remorse." 
 
 " My child, you don't think that. You 
 have said the cruellest things to me to-day, 
 things that I would forgive from no one 
 else. But I will try and forget them. Let 
 us always be friends — all through our sad 
 lives that we must spend apart from each 
 other. You know — I can't imagine who 
 in Heaven's name told you — why I don't 
 feel that I could marry any one — now. But 
 we can be near each other, can't we, always 
 in thought, all the same ? " 
 
 Lord Huddersfield drew her towards him, 
 
 she unresisting now, and he kissed her many 
 
 times on her brilliant face. Poor girl, she 
 
 did not know, that to the woman whom lie 
 
 really loved he had only given one cold kiss 
 VOL. I. u 
 
290 FOILED. 
 
 on her little hand ; that it would have 
 seemed to him a sacrilege to treat her as he 
 had treated the one who sat beside him. 
 Her only feeling was one of wild joy, of 
 desperate longing to be always beside him, 
 to hear him speak again thus gently and 
 kindly, to feel his arms round her. And 
 to those who would have shrunk from her 
 and judged her harshly, let it be said 
 that she had never had a chance of 
 knowing what a good woman should be, 
 that no one had tried to soften her will 
 or curb her passionate desires, to teach 
 her the great life-lessons of self-sacrifice, 
 and truth. 
 
 The two came slowly homewards. And 
 at the door stood Mr. Morant. 
 
 "A telegram for you, my sweet," he 
 said to his daughter. '^ I opened it. It is 
 from Anthony, and he will be here in half 
 an hour." 
 
 She turned a little pale. 
 
FOILED. 291 
 
 "So he has bested the main drain, I 
 suppose," she answered calmly. " Poor old 
 Anthony ! How shall we amuse him ? 
 Oh, I know ; well give him a hammer and 
 some nails, and he can mend the wooden 
 donkey for little Jos/' 
 
 END OF VOLUME I. 
 
Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, 
 London & Bungay. 
 
 * 
 
M'.V}