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 4i.
 
 THE IDES OF MARCH 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 NEW NOVELS AT ALL LIBRARIES. 
 
 THE GAMBLER S SECRET. By Percy Fendall, 
 
 author of ' Spiders and Flies,' &c. 2 vols. 
 
 FROM HARVEST TO HAY-TIME. By Mabel 
 
 Haet, author of ' '1 wo English Girls.' 2 vols. 
 
 ONE REASON WHY. By Beatkick Whitby, author 
 
 of 'The Awakening of Mary Fenwick," &c. 2 vols. 
 
 PEGGY'S PERVERSITY. By Mrs. Conney, author 
 
 of 'A Lady Horsebreaker, ' 'A Line of her Own,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 CHARLIE IS MY DARLING. By Anne Beale, 
 
 author of 'Fay Arlington,' 'Courtleroy,' &e. 2 vols. 
 
 LONDON : HURST & BLACKETT, LIMITED.
 
 THE IDES OF MARCH 
 
 BY 
 
 G. M. ROBINS 
 
 AUTHOR Or 
 
 THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE," 'A FALSE POSITION,' ETC. 
 
 IK THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON : 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1892. 
 
 All Rights Reserved.
 
 I/. ( 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 
 I. 
 
 i.^ 
 
 11. 
 
 ^*\ 
 
 
 
 111. 
 
 I 
 
 IV. 
 
 i 
 
 V. 
 
 ^ 
 
 VI. 
 
 
 Vil. 
 
 .•^ 
 
 
 1 
 ^ 
 
 Vlll. 
 
 ^ 
 
 IX. 
 
 M 
 
 
 
 X. 
 
 
 XL 
 
 ^ 
 
 XII. 
 
 '^ 
 
 XIII. 
 
 rs 
 
 ^ 
 
 XIV. 
 
 XV. 
 
 \ 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 His Father 
 
 a general practitioner . 
 
 Hope 
 
 Leo as Hostess . 
 A Sunday Moon 
 
 ' I THINK YOU KNEW A FrIEND OF MiNE 
 
 A Declaration of War . 
 
 a norchester festivity . 
 
 Mr Westmorland's Hopes Rise 
 
 MOLLIE .... 
 
 ' I Want to take you all back with 
 
 Leo goes into High Society 
 
 Tableaux Vivants . 
 
 The Major to the Rescue 
 
 A Designing Girl 
 
 1 
 
 23 
 
 41 
 
 59 
 
 76 
 
 99 
 
 118 
 
 140 
 
 161 
 
 179 
 
 202 
 
 219 
 
 242 
 
 263 
 
 279
 
 THE IDES OF MARCH 
 
 \ 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HIS FATHEK. 
 
 Absolute, — Sure, sir, this is not very reasonable, to 
 summon my affections for a lady I know nothing of ! 
 
 Sip. Anthony. — I am sure, sir, 'tis more unreasonable iu 
 you to object to a lady you know nothing of ! 
 
 Feverell Chase, in all the comfort and 
 solidity of its compact antiquity, nestled in 
 its obscure position, rather too far below 
 the brow of the hill, as modern sanitation 
 would opine. At the base of its gardens, 
 and clearly discernible from its windows, 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 THE IDES OF MAKCH. 
 
 flowed the Bourne, a considerable tributary 
 of the Severn. 
 
 This morning the waters were flashing 
 and dimpling in all the radiance of a cloud- 
 less day ; and formed a lovely prospect for 
 the two people seated at the small, sunny 
 breakfast- table in the window of the big 
 hall. 
 
 There were four windows along this 
 warm, south side of the hall. Three of 
 them were tall, double lancet shafts, reach- 
 ing almost to the vaulted ceiling with 
 its fan tracery ; and were blazoned with 
 coloured glass coats of arms belonging to 
 all those women who had married into the 
 Westmorland family, so that the morning 
 sunshine flung crimson, purple, emerald, and 
 amber stains upon the black and white pav- 
 ing-stones, and the Indian rugs, and on the 
 backs of the sleepy, basking dogs who were 
 grouped about thefloor in various attitudes 
 of bliss. But the fourth window had been
 
 HIS FATHER. S 
 
 cut down to the ground, so as to open on 
 the terrace without ; and the glass was 
 clear, to give a full view of the lovely land- 
 scape which stretched away in the distance ; 
 and here it was that the present owners of 
 the Chase loved to breakfast, since here 
 they could read their papers in the sun, 
 here there was plenty of room for un- 
 limited dogs, whips, hats, sticks, and other 
 male necessities ; and here the butler did 
 not wage war with pipes in the morning, 
 -and was prone to wink even at the presence 
 of cigar-ash on the costly mats. 
 
 Both the persons nowenjoying their trout 
 and muffins, hot coffee, broiled ham and 
 honey, were of the male sex. As a conse- 
 quence, their breakfast-table was a silent 
 one. One was deep in a newspaper, the 
 other busy with a packet of letters which 
 lay beside his plate. The only sound was 
 the ticking of the great Dutch clock. 
 
 The two men were so curiously like each 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 Other, as to leave do clouiot of their beinor 
 father and son. There was the same rather 
 peculiar type of feature, the swarthy skin 
 and black hair contrasting noticeably with 
 the clear eye of Irish grey and the delicate 
 profile ; but the points of difference were 
 quite as striking as those of likeness ; the 
 pair might have been selected as a standing 
 example of the manner in which a man's 
 disposition may work upon and transform 
 his outward appearance. 
 
 The face of the younger man was not 
 exactly genial ; the mouth was too serious, 
 the lips too closely folded for that. The 
 eye too, though candid enough, was not 
 sparkling ; there was no impulsiveness, no 
 spontaneity in its expression. Passion was 
 evidently not a leading characteristic, in- 
 domitable persistency would more likely be 
 the ruling quality. 
 
 In a sense, the father was the hand- 
 somer; his features were better cut, his
 
 HIS FATHER. 5 
 
 €yes larger, his lashes longer, he 
 
 lacked the air of spruce and compact iiian- 
 liiiess which his military training had given 
 to Major Westmorland. 
 
 There was a certain air of effeminacy 
 about the elder man. His hands were 
 soft, he wore a velvet coat and a terra- 
 cotta coloured neck-tie with a heavy gold 
 ring. Something of the dilettante without 
 doubt he aifected ; and there were lines 
 about his forehead which told of the irri- 
 tability consequent on ill-health. 
 
 The Major, on the contrary, had a look 
 of perfect physical soundness. His bronzed 
 skin was clear, his chest broad, his ex- 
 pression tranquil. He was eating a good 
 breakfast with evident appetite, while his 
 father played with the contents of his 
 plate, and threw large morsels to the dogs. 
 
 At last it seemed as though the young 
 man's entire absorption in the contents of 
 the post-bag became wearying to his com-
 
 f> THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 paiiion. Laying aside the Times, he 
 glanced across the table, and remarked, 
 
 ' Indian letters, Evelyn, I see.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said the Major, in a preoccupied 
 voice. 
 
 ' News evidently not satisfactory,' said 
 his father, in his incisive, slightly affected 
 tones. ' The fair Lily not coming ta 
 England ?' 
 
 Evelyn Westmorland barely looked up, 
 and replied indifferently, 
 
 ' No, there's nothing about the Humes. 
 This is from Disney.' 
 
 • Disney ? — Disney ? Now what was it 
 you were telling me about that young man 
 the other day? Son of the Scotsdale 
 Disneys, isn't he? I seem to connect his 
 name with something in the nature of a 
 romance.' 
 
 * I told you, probably, that he had had 
 the folly to get engaged to the reigning 
 belle in Colombo, and likewise the honour
 
 HIS FATHER. 7 
 
 of being jilted by her six weeks after- 
 wards, eh ?' 
 
 ' I believe 1 recall the facts, and doubt- 
 less I expressed my utter contempt, — the 
 contempt I invariably feel — for any man 
 who has not the ability to gain and to 
 keep the affection of any woman he sets 
 his mind upon.' 
 
 ' Ah ! That's one of your theories, I 
 know,' returned his son, a little impatientl}^ 
 ' But it's nonsense, you see, pure non- 
 sense. Very often the mere fact of know- 
 ing that a man cares for her is enough to 
 prevent a woman from returning the 
 compliment.' 
 
 ' Just so, but that does not touch my 
 point. ] still affirm what I affirmed be- 
 fore. The man, in the case you mention, 
 goes to work the wrong way ; he should 
 not allow the woman to know he cares for 
 her. Women never value what they are 
 sure of. Before or after marriasre, it is
 
 8 THE IDES OF MAECH. 
 
 just the same. But I repeat — the man 
 who cannot win the affection of any 
 woman, or retain the entire devotion of 
 his wife, is a contemptible fooL' 
 
 'You should write an essay on marriage, 
 the subject's fashionable.' 
 
 ' One day, perhaps,' acquiesced Mr. 
 Westmorland, leaning back in his chair 
 with a smile. ' And who was the Colombo 
 belle who broke Disney's heart?' 
 
 ' A Miss Merrion — girl of good family, 
 I believe. He used to Avrite and rave 
 about her perfect manners, her gentleness, 
 and all that stuff, you know. His letter 
 — the one in which he announced his 
 engagement — was a perfect ecstasy. " The 
 birthday of his life had come," and all the 
 rest of it. What are you smiling at.' 
 
 ' Your phraseology, my son,' smiled Mr. 
 Westmorland, sipping his coffee. ' All that 
 stuffs you know! All the rest of it! You 
 don't talk like a man in love.'
 
 HIS FATHEK. 9 
 
 ' I am not in love/ said Evelyn, shortly, 
 ^ as everyone knows but yourself.' 
 
 • Oh, don't niistake me. I know you 
 are not really in love. You couldn't be. 
 You are not capable of it. Not one man 
 in a hundred is. But I think you are fond 
 of Lily Hume. I hope you will marry 
 her ; and you Avill get on very well to- 
 gether, and neither of you discover, to the 
 very end of your days, that you have 
 missed the very core and root of life, the 
 i:)recious jewel which lies hid someAvhere 
 in this world's dirty slough, the treasure 
 which, if found, illumines, upholds, atones 
 for all failures, all losses, — love. But love 
 is so much rarer than people think. It 
 <:*an be excellently well counterfeited, but 
 the realit}^ is rare. People think that love 
 is a thing of which all are capable, like 
 hearing, seeing, etc. There are people, as 
 we know, born without sight, or hearing, 
 but they are not nearly so numerous as
 
 10 THE IDES OF MAECH. 
 
 those born without the capacity for 
 love.' 
 
 'You had certainly better begin that 
 essay I suggested, without delay,' observed 
 his son, wiping his raven black moustache 
 carefully with his serviette, and leaning 
 back in his chair. ' I think the subject's 
 rather fatiguing for breakfast time, my- 
 self.' 
 
 'I wonder,' said Mr. Westmorland, study- 
 ing him fixedly — ' I wonder how it came 
 about that I should have a son who has 
 no imagination. It is a curious thing. 
 Fate must have resented the passing of 
 the estates to the younger branch of the 
 family, in my person, and revenged her- 
 self by making my son as like my elder 
 brother as possible. Poor Charles had no 
 imagination.' 
 
 ' Your remarks seem to me to be a 
 trifle disconnected,' said the Major, break- 
 ino^ into another efrs:. ' Must one be ima-
 
 HIS FATHER. 11 
 
 ginative in order to love? Is that your 
 theory ?' 
 
 'Decidedly.' 
 
 ' I'm inclined to think you are con- 
 spicuously wrong,' said Evelyn ; ' but 
 there's no need to discuss the point now. 
 For my own part, taking a personal view 
 of the subject, and apart, of course, from 
 your wishes, I can tell you I don't feel 
 like falling in love. I have a thorough 
 contempt for women ! Look at this case ! 
 Here is poor Disney, as good a fellow as 
 ever stepped, completely bowled over by 
 this disgraceful jilt. He can settle to 
 nothing, cares for nothing, finds the world 
 dust and ashes, means to throw up his 
 commission and come home to rot, as he 
 elegantly expresses it. And all for the 
 sake of this girl. I see no reason to con- 
 sider her an exception to the rule : I be- 
 lieve all women are so, more or less — all 
 attractive women, that is. A woman will
 
 12 THE IDES OF MAllCH. 
 
 break faith just as often as she has the 
 chance to, in ni}^ opinion. If she sticks to 
 one man, it is because she has never been 
 tempted to do otherwise, only that. Fancy 
 pinning one's chances of happiness to 
 that !' 
 
 His father pushed back his chair, took 
 up a letter which lay beside his plate, and 
 inserted a penknife into the envelope, care- 
 fully cutting the edge. 
 
 ' I tell you, every man can secure his hap- 
 piness, if he only knows how to set about 
 it,' he said with conviction. 'Look at me. I 
 was a younger son. I had three hundred 
 a year; there Avere two good lives between 
 me and the property ; yet I carried off an 
 heiress from under an earl's nose, and for 
 twenty years she worshipped me, happy 
 if I smiled, dejected when I frowned.' 
 
 *My mother was a saint,' burst out his 
 son. 
 
 ' Oh no, Evelyn, she w^asn't ; your mother
 
 HIS FATHER. 13^- 
 
 was a woman,' gently returned his flitlier, 
 ' and she Avas a very unruly one when I 
 met her iirst. But you see, I understood 
 her : I understand all women ;' and the 
 widower's countenance broadened into a 
 very satisfied smile. ' For your own sake, 
 I wish you took after me, dear boy,' he 
 said. 
 
 Evelyn did not reply. He -finished his 
 egg, drank off his coffee, pushed back his 
 chair, and rose. 
 
 The dogs promptly rose also. 
 
 Major Westmorland Avent to the open 
 window, and stood looking out, his hands 
 in his pockets. 
 
 vSeven doos also went to the window and 
 
 o 
 
 looked at the view, and, had they possessed 
 hands and pockets, would doubtless have 
 imitated that manoeuvre likewise; but iri 
 their gentle canine minds they felt that 
 human beings soared to heights they could 
 not follow.
 
 14 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 Their master passed out upon the sunny 
 terrace, and strolled slowly to the left. The 
 procession followed. The leader stopped, 
 gazing into the sky for signs of weather. 
 His seven satellites sniffed the air. Larrie, 
 the Skye, was old and fat. He took ad- 
 vantage of the halt to be seated. The 
 other six looked calm disapproval, remain- 
 ing erect, with stiffened backs, waiting for 
 the next move. 
 
 When Evelyn had decided that the 
 j)resent brightness would hold, he returned 
 leisurely to the window and looked in. 
 
 ' Here's an invitation for us both to 
 Hesselburgh,' said his father, glancing at 
 him over his pince-nez. 
 
 ' Oh, is there? I'm not sure I wouldn't 
 like to go,' was the reply, in the trul}" 
 British negative style of expressing a 
 -desire. 
 
 * Ah ! yes ! There is a daughter, is there 
 not? I have not seen her since she was a
 
 HIS FATHER. 15 
 
 child,' said Mr. Westmorland, lifting his 
 cold fine grey eyes to his son. ' She would 
 be a good match now.' 
 
 There was a curious intentness in the 
 scrutiny be bent upon the young man ; 
 but Evelyn declined to see it 
 
 'Lilly Hume and Muriel Saxon : I could 
 hardly marry both,' he said, with an air 
 of wishing to turn the subject lighth^ 
 aside, and an ill-assured smile. 
 
 ' I tell you what it is, sir,' returned his 
 father slowly, with a gradual hardening of 
 features and a complete change of voice 
 and manner. ' It seems to me that there 
 has been enouo'h of this fooling. You are 
 running it too fine. You have only this 
 autumn in which to settle yourself.' 
 
 Major Westmorland stood stock-still, his 
 dark face expressing an extreme distaste 
 of the turn the conversation had taken. 
 
 ' Let us talk of something else,' he 
 said.
 
 1 6 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 A red spot glowed in the elder man's 
 cheek. 
 
 ' Will you never believe that I am in 
 earnest?' he said, in a voice shaking with 
 passion. 
 
 The Major's shrug of the shoulders was 
 divided between annoyance and contempt. 
 
 ' If I could think you in earnest, I should 
 have to lower my idea of your mental 
 powers considerably,' he said drily. 
 
 His father's eyes gleamed with a cold, 
 steelly light ; his calm was more formidable 
 than violence. 
 
 ' You do me the honour to despise me, 
 because I am fool enough to accept as valid 
 a testimony whose genuineness, I will 
 undertake to say, is more conclusively 
 proved than anything in the Old and New 
 Testament. A fool ! The folly, sir, rests 
 with those who, in their insolent pre- 
 sumption, reject the warnings sent to them. 
 We are so scientific now-a-days, forsooth.
 
 HIS FATHER. 17 
 
 We accept nothing that we cannot prove — 
 anything that sounds unlikely is impossible; 
 yet look how Fate has worked to bring 
 about this remarkable coincidence — how 
 this old prophecy speaks across the cen- 
 turies, describing you, describing me, de- 
 scribing the very movements of the stars \ 
 Evelyn !' he rose, trembling, and laid an 
 iron grip on his son's muscular arm. 
 ' Evelyn, when you put on that look of civil 
 obstinacy, I liate you ! Confound you, sir, 
 you are like your mother ! But I tamed 
 her,' the Major started convulsively, • and 
 
 by , I'll tame you ! I say I will ! If ^^ou 
 
 refuse to gratify me in this, the one only 
 request I have ever made to you, I swear 
 I'll disinherit you! Do you understand?' 
 ' No threats are likely to convince me, 
 father,' said his son with dignity. ' You 
 ought to know that. Sit down now, let us 
 talk this matter quietly over, for the hun- 
 dredth time. It has been so long in abey- 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 ance now, that I thought — I hoped — the 
 delusion had worn itself out. But it seems,' 
 wistfully, Hhat it's as strong as ever?' 
 
 The elder man took off his pince-nez, 
 and began to polish them with a shaking 
 hand, his eyes fixed on vacancy. His 
 moment of anger seemed to have tempo- 
 rarily added ten years to his age, his 
 cheeks looked hollow, his jaw dropped. 
 
 ' Yes,' he said, nervously, ' of course it 
 is as strong as ever ! The time has come 
 to talk plainly, once and for all. What I 
 ask you to do is so simple, that you can 
 be actuated by nothing but pure perver- 
 sity in refusing me. Marry before the 
 1st of March next, and bring home your 
 wife. Why, it seemed such an obvious 
 thing. I have never insisted upon it I I 
 thought the surest way of securing what 
 I wanted was to let you alone. T deter- 
 mined that I would not, like so many fools, 
 defeat my own purpose by insisting too
 
 HIS FATHEK. 19 
 
 -strongly upon it. Every man who can 
 afford it, marries before he comes to your 
 age. I have always let you know I would 
 make you a sufficient allowance. It is 
 nothing in the world but sheer perversity 
 that makes you decline."' 
 
 Evelyn's face had a weary, patient look, 
 as of one who has been forced many times 
 to go over the same distasteful ground. 
 
 The starting veins in his father's fore- 
 head, the restless eye, the feverish aspect, 
 suggested vividly enough the nature of 
 the Westmorland family skeleton. He 
 was a different being, utterly transformed 
 from the handsome, lazy, elderly cynic, 
 who had discussed the marriage question 
 with his son over the breakfast-table. 
 
 * Gome, stroll in the garden,' said the 
 son, soothingly, passing an arm through 
 his. ' Let us have a weed on the lawn, 
 and talk this fairly out. There must be 
 more in it. This old saw, this relic of 
 
 c2
 
 20 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 mediaeval superstition, is not enough to 
 upset a man of your talent. A piece of 
 rhyming jingle coulcl hardly be of force 
 to impress your mind so profoundly. 
 Shake it off, sir. It embitters your life.' 
 
 'Embitters my life? You are right 
 there. It does— it does,' said Mr. West- 
 morland, shivering. ' I will put it only 
 on that ground, if you choose. Consider 
 the whole thing a delusion, if you must. 
 But grant that my life is really embittered 
 by your refusal to do so simple a thing as 
 this I demand. Will you really still be 
 obstinate ?' 
 
 He sighed heavily as he stepped out into 
 the garden. 
 
 Evelyn walked to one of the untidy 
 tables, and took up the cloth cap which 
 lay there among the whips and sticks. 
 
 The phalanx of dogs had, during the 
 foregoing discussion, hung about in dis- 
 consolate uncertainty, wondering how the
 
 HIS FATHER. 21 
 
 situation would develope itself. Now they 
 set up a glad howl of delight, and with no 
 further ceremony rushed violently out of 
 doors in a body, rolling over and over, 
 yapping and playing, rioting in the ex- 
 hilarating fragrance of the morning air. 
 In the distance the misty woods which 
 flanked the dancing river were in the 
 meridian of their leafy splendours. Xear 
 by, the dew lay on the berberis and on 
 the gorgeous geraniums and roses of the 
 garden, the sun was drawing up the 
 sweetness from the beds of mignonette. 
 The scene was as soul-satisfying as an 
 English summer knows how to be. 
 
 ' So the 1st of March next is the fatal 
 date?' said Evelyn, as he came forth, 
 lighting his cigar. 
 
 'The 1st of March,' said his father, 
 mechanically, gazing before him with a 
 fixed air. 
 
 ' The Ides of March ! It should be a
 
 22 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 fortnight later/ laughed the Major, drop- 
 ping his fusee and extinguishing it with 
 his foot as he turned with a look of bored 
 politeness to his companion.
 
 23 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A GENERAL PRACTITIONER. 
 
 Pelting glee, as frank as rain 
 On cherry-blossoms. 
 
 E. B. Browning. 
 
 ^ My dear boy ! I was on the point of bring- 
 ing you up your breakfast in bed. Poor 
 thing! You do look sleepy! You were up 
 all night, were you not ?' 
 
 ' Superintending the arrival of Mrs. 
 Jessop's twins,' solemnly replied the doctor, 
 as he sat down to the table and lifted the 
 cover of the bacon dish. 
 
 The slim, impetuous girl who leaned 
 against his chair gave a sympathetic moan.
 
 24 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 * Oh, poor Dick !' she lamented, ' poor 
 Mrs. Jessop ! Poor twins ! I really haven't 
 pity enough to go on any farther, or I 
 would add, poor Mr, Jessop !' 
 
 ' I don't think the twins want pitying,' 
 said Dick, applying himself vigorously to 
 the loaf. ' They are both stout, well-to-do 
 young people, of the male persuasion, and 
 it's a jolly time of year for them to get 
 acclimatized. Pour out my coffee, Leo.' 
 
 The girl turned away to her place at the 
 head of the little round table, sank into a 
 chair, and complied Avith her brother's 
 request. 
 
 ' What does Mr. Jessop say ?' she asked, 
 after a pause. 
 
 ' Oh, he's rather pleased than otherwise. 
 You see the other four are all girls. Twin 
 boys are a novelty, and novelty is dear to 
 the human heart. Throw jne another lump 
 of sugar, Leo.' 
 
 ' My housekeeping will exceed my week-
 
 A GENERAL PRACTITIONER. 25 
 
 ly allowance, if you consume sugar at this 
 rate, Richard,' said Miss Forde, severely. 
 
 ' I expect so. Where's the pa23er, you 
 young humbug ?' 
 
 ' I am sitting on it,' pleadingly. . 
 
 *Then, however unwillingly, I'm afraid I 
 must trouble you to rise.' 
 
 'No, Dick, dear^' persuasively, 'don't read 
 the paper yet. There's a letter for you,' 
 producing one mysteriously from under 
 the tea-cosy. ' It is such a nice one, and I 
 •do so want you to read it.' 
 
 ' How do you know it's a nice one, you 
 naughty, inquisitive little girl ?' 
 
 ' Only by the look ! It is a rough, thick, 
 square envelope, bluey grey. On it is 
 printed " Feverell Chase, Barnisham." It 
 looks as if it might be an invitation.' 
 
 • Barnisham ? It's from Westmorland ! 
 Give it up at once.' 
 
 ' Barnisham is not in Westmorland, 
 Dick.'
 
 26 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 ' Who said it was ? It's the man's name. 
 Hand it over, darling.' 
 
 Leo reluctantly relinquished her ' bluey 
 grey ' treasure, and remained, with elbows 
 on the table, and frank chin supported in 
 two pink hands, gazing straight at her 
 brother in breathless interest, as he broke 
 the seal of his letter and began to read 
 eagerly. 
 
 ' If it is an invitation, I wonder if it will 
 include me,' sighed she. ^ Everybody here- 
 abouts knows that the doctor's sister has 
 come to live with him ; but Barnisham is 
 nowhere near here. Feverell Chase ! How 
 nice it sounds !' 
 
 She gave an eager, impatient twist to the 
 whole of her slim, long frame. Leo Forde 
 was nineteen, with everyone of life's possi- 
 bilities before her. It was enchanting to 
 find herself mistress of the doctor's unpre- 
 tentious abode in the Cathedral town of 
 Norchester. True, the neighbourhood was
 
 A GENERAL PRACTITIONER. 27 
 
 deadly dull, quite conspicuously without 
 an}^ charms of a social kind. But the tea- 
 parties and tennis-parties, with their undue 
 preponderance of her sex, and thesubduing^ 
 chastening influence of the presence of the 
 Minster clergy, were so many feasts of the 
 gods, absolute saturnalia to Leo ; who 
 emerged from a nursery full of youthful 
 cousins in a remote vicarage, the glad time 
 having arrived when Dick, her darling 
 Dick, her idol, the brother more than ten 
 years older than herself, should be able to 
 make a home for her. 
 
 Richard Forde was a man of more than 
 average ability. He had been temporarily 
 employed as doctor to a regiment whose 
 own doctor was disabled, and in that cap- 
 acity had so pleased the colonel that he 
 received from him an introduction to the 
 old doctor Avho had j^hysicked most of 
 Xorchester for nearly fifty years, and was 
 at last convinced that he must resign hi&
 
 28 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 practice. Richard became nominally his 
 partner, virtually his successor, and at 
 once sent for his little sister from the rustic 
 seclusion of the vicarage school-room, to 
 share his home as long as she cared to do so. 
 
 Mrs. Roper, his aunt, prophesied mis- 
 fortune for this arrangement. She did 
 not like to lose Leo, for two reasons : 
 First, the Ropers were poor, and would 
 miss the allowance made them for her 
 maintenance ; secondly, the girl had been 
 unspeakably useful, her sweet temper and 
 her quick wits making her both an able 
 and a willing aide-de-camp to the harassed 
 vicar's wife, with a large family and a large 
 parish on her hands. 
 
 To the girl, the new life was like fairy- 
 land. She was as happy as the day was 
 long, she went about in her plain frocks 
 and linen shirts, from lawn to lawn, tennis 
 racquet in hand, and already the young 
 ladies of Norchester were beginning to
 
 A GENERAL PRACTITIONER. 2^ 
 
 feel annoyed at the admiration she excited 
 in this simple attire. 
 
 ' My dear, how nice you look,' many a 
 kind-hearted host or hostess would say, as 
 Leo walked fearlessly in, her complexion 
 fair as a June rose, her dark dewy eyes 
 sparkling with expected pleasure, her 
 brown hair all fluffy, under its neat hat 
 with fresh band of spotless ribbon. 
 
 It takes but little to adorn youth and 
 happiness. Leo's untrimmed skirts and 
 clean cottons would scarcely have har- 
 monized with anything less young and 
 blooming. 
 
 Her brother daily marvelled at the un- 
 told difference which the introduction of 
 this ' little chit ' made in his life. A com- 
 panion who invariably sees the funny side 
 of everything is a boon the greatness of 
 which is apt to be undervalued. 
 
 If Dick had been, perforce, absent from 
 one of the garden-parties, Leo's account of
 
 30 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 it, when she returned, was better than to 
 have been there himself. He was rather 
 a silent man, but keenly appreciative. Leo 
 tept him amused from the time her great 
 eyes unclosed themselves in the sunny 
 summer mornings, to the time when, like 
 a tall, drooping poppy, she yawned herself, 
 heavy-lidded, to bed. 
 
 ' I had not been there five minutes,' she 
 would say, her recital rendered vivid by 
 the laughing eye, the expressive hand, the 
 evident relish of the trivial incident, ' not 
 iive minutes before I saw Mrs. Hancock's 
 sprigged foulard walking up the path, with 
 Mrs. Hancock panting inside it. " There's 
 Miss Forde !" she gasped, as I knew she 
 would. " Come and shake hands, my 
 ^ear. What's your Christian name ?" 
 Now, Dick, you know it is a little fatiguing, 
 dear. This was the ninth time she had 
 asked me that. I felt so tempted to in- 
 vent a new one and call mj'self Jemima,
 
 A GENERAL PRACTITIONER. 31 
 
 just for once^ to see what she would say. 
 However, I'm so truthful by nature that 
 out it came. "" Leo" I said sweetly. "Leo! 
 That's a boy's name !" Stereotyped ob- 
 jection ! "It must be Leonora!" "No, 
 I assure you my full name is Leone !" 
 "" Leone ! There is no such name. It's 
 Leonora, 3'ou may be sure. Your father 
 and mother would never have oriven you 
 such an extraordinary name as Leone !" 
 " I am sure they would not, had they 
 known how it would distress you, Mrs. 
 Hancock." ' 
 
 *Leo, you never said that !' 
 
 'But indeed I did ! She goaded me up 
 so! Shelooked at me so vindictively. There 
 was a fat man with a beard behind her, I 
 believe he is her son, and that she meant 
 to introduce me, but she refrained, topunisli 
 me, and swept on, and divided him between 
 Etta Nash and the two Miss Petties. 
 Wasn't it tragic? 1 was left to mourn in a
 
 32 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 corner for nearly five minutes, when Cap- 
 tain Rider came up and asked me to play, 
 and 1 drowned my disappointment in three 
 splendid sets, in two of which we beat the 
 Precentor and Georgie Glynn. The fat 
 man cast some longing looks in our direc- 
 tion, but he was helpless, for he was got up 
 in his Sunday best, and I don't think he 
 knows one end of a racquet from the 
 other !' 
 
 Recitals, such as this, amused Richard 
 greatly. He was intimately acquainted 
 with Mrs. Hancock, and the sprigged fou- 
 lard, and was glad that his Leo did not 
 elect to be patronized by her. He did not 
 reflect that the girl's acute sense of humour 
 might be dangerous in a place where every- 
 one took everything seriously. 
 
 Nobody in Norchester, except Leo her- 
 self, found Mrs. Hancock at all laus^hable. 
 
 Richard had perused and re-pcrused 
 his ' bluey-grey ' letter with knitted brows,
 
 A GENEKAL PKACTITIONER. 33 
 
 that betokened rather puzzled thoughtful- 
 iiess. His sister grew more and more 
 impatient. 
 
 'Oh, Dick,' she burst out at last, in un- 
 controllable eagerness. ' Do tell me ! You 
 are just keeping quiet on purpose to teaze 
 me ! Is'it an invitation ?' 
 
 ' Oh, yes/ said Dick, drily, 'it's an invi- 
 tation, certainly.' 
 
 ' For what ? For whom? For me?' she 
 cried. 
 
 ' For himself, to lunch here to-day,' said 
 the doctor, replacing the letter in its 
 envelope. 
 
 ' Is that all ?' 
 
 How inadequate are words to render 
 the absolute blankness of Miss Forde's 
 tones ! 
 
 ' Who is he ?' she presently asked, after 
 an interval, during which she armed her- 
 self with fortitude. 
 
 ' He is Major Westmorland. He was in 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 Colonel Barff s regiment ; and he's staying 
 at Hesselburgh.' 
 
 ' Staying at Hesselburgh ! AVith the 
 Saxons?' 
 
 ' So he says.' 
 
 Here was food for much thought. The 
 Saxons had just come down in their might 
 from London, for the summer season, at 
 their country house. Mrs. Saxon belonged 
 to the great plutocracy of to-day : she was 
 the presiding genius. Sole daughter and 
 heiress of Melliship, the well-known pro- 
 vision merchant, she had married, nobody 
 quite knew why, Mr. Saxon, an amiable 
 and harmless little gentleman of good 
 family. It could scarcely have been 
 faute de mieux^ for Mrs. Saxon, spite of 
 personal disadvantages, had a fortune 
 which could have easily secured her a very 
 creditable position in the peerage. Per- 
 haps she recognised, in his peculiarly 
 malleable temperament, the one indis-
 
 A GENERAL PRACTITIONER. 35 
 
 pensable requisite for her happiness. It 
 was always ' Mrs. Saxon and her husband 
 were there.' She was a lar^e, stout 
 woman, with a heavy jaw, and red hair, 
 which she wore cropped as short as a 
 boy's. 
 
 It was rumoured that she was to remain 
 all the autumn at Hesselburgh this year, 
 as she was burning to introduce the sleepy 
 'Cathedral town to some of the modern ap- 
 plications of hygienic science. In fact, the 
 mystic word Demography had been whis- 
 pered in Xorchester. Mr. Saxon had to 
 follow his leader through many strange 
 paths, for Mrs. Saxon was an inveterate 
 hobby-horse rider. Whether it was Hy- 
 giene, Female Suffrage, Massage, Home 
 Rule, or the Housing of the Poor, whether 
 Mrs. Saxon deemed it necessary to lay 
 foundation-stones, go to a gymnasium, or 
 support some sister enthusiast on a public 
 platform^there likewise was to be found the 
 
 d2
 
 36 THE IDES OF MAKCH. 
 
 ever-2:)atient Mr. Saxon, with his double 
 eye-glass and his unfailing sweet-temper. 
 He was a good-hearted little man, and 
 there seemed no cause to believe that he 
 was unhappy, though those of Norchester 
 society, who were not invited to Hessel- 
 burgh, gave it as their opinion that the 
 Saxon idea of matrimony was not theirs, 
 thank heaven ! 
 
 On the other hand, those admitted to 
 an}^ sort of intimacy at Hesselburgh, while 
 frankly avowing the eccentricities of its 
 ruler, still held her to be a woman of ex- 
 ceptional ability, who could scarely be ex- 
 pected to move quietly along the beaten 
 track prescribed for her by conventionality. 
 Anyway, be her vagaries Avhat they might , 
 nobody could deny that she was a good 
 wife and mother ; that the poor on her 
 estates were excellently cared for, or that 
 she was regular in her place in the Minster 
 on Sunday mornings, especially when the 
 
 i
 
 A GENERAL PRACTITIONER. 87 
 
 eloquent, if somewhat unorthodox, bishop 
 happened to be preaching. 
 
 Leo Forde had beheld her last Sunday 
 morning with much interest, as she marched 
 in, arrayed in a billy-cock hat and tailor- 
 made light cloth gown, no mantle of any 
 sort shrouding her big, uncompromising 
 proportions, and her red hair cut shorter 
 than her husband's mouse-coloured locks. 
 
 She was followed by her pretty daughter 
 Muriel, quite unlike her mother in every 
 detail, by the ever-faithful partner of her 
 progresses, and by a tall boy of nineteen, 
 her son, whose appearance most favourably 
 impressed the doctor's little sister. 
 
 Spite of the oddity of at least one mem- 
 ber of the family, she thought she would 
 like to know the Saxons. They seemed 
 unlike the rest of the Norchester com- 
 munity — they looked as though they had 
 some *go' in them. 
 
 For this reason, the thought of receiving
 
 88 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 their guest, Major AVestmorland, to lunch,, 
 caused her some trepidation. She was al- 
 ready mentally selecting her menu^ when 
 Dick, the letter in his hand, left the room 
 in a pre-occupied sort of way, and made 
 for his little surgery. He had not offered 
 to show his correspondence to his sister, 
 so she wisely concluded that it was ' about 
 business,' and, ringing the bell, prepared to 
 consult her cook as to the resources of the 
 larder. 
 
 In the surgery, Dick Forde sat down by 
 the table, took out his letter and read it 
 carefully through again. 
 
 It ran thus : 
 
 Fever ell Chase, 
 
 August 2nd. 
 
 ' Dear Forde. 
 
 ^I am a good deal dis- 
 turbed, and in the midst of my disquietude 
 I have remembered, with a ray of hope^
 
 A GENERAL PRACTITIONER. 39 
 
 that your new practice is at Norchester, 
 not five miles from Hesselburgh, where my 
 father and I are just going to stay some 
 weeks with the Saxons. I wonder if you 
 remember a great discussion down at 
 Woolford, at the officer's mess, about 
 mania, and that I told you that my father 
 was the victim of a most curious form of 
 monomania? 
 
 ' In case you do not remember, as 
 is doubtless most probable, I will tell 
 you again what I told you then. I am 
 afraid I shall have to bore you with a 
 short resume of family history, in order to 
 make my meaning clear. With which 
 object, I shall leave my father to drive up 
 from the station to Hesselburgh alone, and 
 waylay you — it will be about lunch-time — ;to 
 pour out my troubles, if you can listen 
 to them then ; if not, to make an appoint- 
 ment for some day in the near future. If 
 you are obliged to be out, leave a line for
 
 40 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 me, will you ? And so make me still more 
 than at present, 
 
 ' Sincerely yours, 
 
 ' Evelyn C. Westmokland.'
 
 41 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 We live by admiration, hope, and love! 
 
 The Excursion. 
 
 That same morning, while still Dr. Forde 
 was slumberino^ in his bed, and Leo herself 
 only just thinking of turning out; while 
 the lovely country side was still swathed 
 in a pearly mist, with the sunshine spark- 
 ling through, and all the pastures were 
 drenched with a copious dew, two mys- 
 terious forms were to be seen, creephig 
 with baskets through the silent park at 
 Hesselburgh, eyes fixed upon the wet
 
 42 THE IDES OF MAKCH. 
 
 grass as though searching for hidden 
 treasure. 
 
 A youth and a maiden. 
 
 Theyouthwasa lanky specimen of hiskind 
 — long, thin, dark, and humorously plain, 
 though a fund of good spirits sparkled in 
 his brown eyes, which atoned for many 
 deficiencies. He wore gaiters, to protect 
 his feet and ankles from being saturated 
 in the long rank grass, and his expression, 
 as he walked at his companion's side, was 
 that of one thoroughly enjoying himself. 
 The maiden wore a stout covert coat over 
 her serge gown, and a little straw boating 
 hat set on her brown hair. Her skirts 
 were looped up as high as decency could 
 possibly permit, and her shapely ankles 
 were cased in high, well-laced boots. 
 
 Her face can only be described as one 
 which, if glanced at for a moment, per- 
 force made you turn and look again. 
 
 Warm brown hair with a ripple in it.
 
 HOPE. 43 
 
 clear hazel eyes, a fair and delicate skin 
 deepening into a soft carnation on the 
 smooth cheeks, a nondescript nose, short, 
 even teeth, and a figure neither tall nor 
 short, and erring on the side of slenderness 
 — these are the property of naany and 
 many an English girl. 
 
 This particular one possessed something 
 more. A certain sedateness of expression, at 
 once sweet and baffling, assailed the curious 
 with a vehement desire to know what her 
 character was. Instinctively people turned 
 aside to notice her, and talk to her ; wdth 
 this astonishing result, they discovered by 
 slow degrees that the demure girl with the 
 sphinx-like expression had found out al- 
 ready a great deal more of them than they 
 had of her. 
 
 She was, or seemed to be, inscrutable. 
 
 Just now, however, the natural reserve 
 was as much laid aside as possible ; she was 
 yielding herself up to the unconventional
 
 44 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 delights of the moment, to the seductions 
 of wet grass, thick boots, and a solitary 
 park at half-past six o'clock in the 
 morning. 
 
 'Tom! oh, Tom!' she cried, rapturous- 
 ly. ' Here they are at last ! A perfect 
 settlement of them, such beauties ! Do be 
 quick !' • 
 
 Tom Saxon, who had turned unwisely 
 aside after glimmering white dots, which 
 turned out to be puff-balls, now swooped, 
 with a shout on the girl's treasure-trove. 
 Unmistakable mushrooms these, freshly 
 sprung, firm, flesh3^, and embrowned like 
 a lightly-baked biscuit at the top, with 
 the dew upon them, and the fresh earthy 
 fragrance clinging to them, and to their 
 captor's pink fingers as she laid them 
 delicately in her basket. 
 
 * Oh, Tom, are they not good ones ? 
 Don't they make you feel quite hungry 
 for breakfast ?'
 
 HOPE. 45 
 
 ' Rather ! If we go on at this rate we shall 
 be in plenty of time to get them cooked for 
 breakfast. And we'll tell cookie to stew them 
 in cream. I say, Hope ! let's have tea in the 
 kitchen again to-night. And have another 
 bird cooked in mushrooms ! Muriel will, 
 like a shot. She's game to eat the mush- 
 rooms, though she won't take the trouble 
 to get them for herself.' 
 
 * Trouble! Fancy calling this trouble!* 
 said Hope, as she rose from her crouching 
 posture, and faced the sunrise with a half- 
 smile lingering in her dreamy eyes. ' Tom, 
 I do wish you were poetical.' 
 
 * So do T, my dear, I'm sure, if it would 
 give 3^ou the smallest pleasure. But you 
 see I'm not.' 
 
 *No, you are not,' she acquiesced, with 
 a reluctant sigh. 'However, you are a 
 very nice boy as you are, so I won't 
 repine.' 
 
 ' What's the good of spouting a lot of
 
 46 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 rot?' blurted Tom, somewhat spasmodical- 
 ly, the upper part of his body being 
 stretched over a ditch, and his face red- 
 dened with his exertions. Here's a rip- 
 ping good morning and a iirst-class sun- 
 rise, and these mushrooms take the cake, 
 I'm blessed if they don't ! Look at that 
 one. Here am I, out in the park, with 
 the jolliest girl in England, and such a 
 rousing dew on, that I shall tell them to 
 roll the tennis-lawn before breakfast. I 
 don't want any poet to express my feel- 
 ings, thank you ! Nobody could do it 
 neater than I've done.' 
 
 'Oh, Tom!' cried Hope, sorrowfully 
 shaking her head at him. ' Oh, Tom, does 
 no upbraiding voice within you cry " For 
 shame !" You that learned Shakespeare in 
 your cradle. You who have studied Para- 
 dise Lost as a holiday task ! You whose 
 mother reared you in a perfect hot-house 
 of literature '
 
 HOPE. 47 
 
 ' Just so. That's precisely why, said 
 Tom, composedly, regaining his balance, 
 and straightening himself, basket in hand. 
 ^ I might have taken to it later if the good 
 old mater hadn't put it into me with a 
 spoon. It's the same with everything. 
 You take a boy twice a day to church 
 regularly, and see if he ever wants to go 
 inside a church again when he's grown up. 
 It's the nature of the animal. When I'm 
 talking to the mater I put it better. I say 
 it's the natural reaction of humanity, assert- 
 ing its power of freewill against the animal 
 instinct of imitation. I think,' said Tom, 
 with pardonable pride, ' that that sounds 
 rather well, don't you, duckie?' 
 
 ' Very,' murmured Hope, reflectively. 
 * Quite like Herbert Spencer : or is it unYikQ 
 him ? I'm not quite sure ; but I know he 
 says you ought to let children alone, 
 doesn't he?' 
 
 ' Never mind him. Let's have tea in
 
 48 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 the kitchen/ said Tom, persuasively, 
 ' Here's a jolly, long lovely summer s day 
 before us. Let's play tennis after break- 
 fast, be lazy after lunch, have tea and 
 mushrooms at four, and then go for a good 
 long ride. Eh ? Shan't we ?' 
 
 ' Oh Tom, you forget !' said Hope, with 
 a sudden unpleasant recollection. 'Are 
 there not visitors coming to-day ?' 
 
 ' By Jove ! So there are ! The West- 
 morlands, pere et jils ! French, do you 
 observe ? Just thrown in to show my 
 culture. Oh, blow the Westmorlands ! 
 They will cut up the whole day ! They 
 will have to be, met. Oh, ^yq]\, pater can 
 do that, — can't he ?' 
 
 ' Are they nice — the Westmorlands ?' 
 asked Hope, a little doubtfully, as she 
 re-arranged her spoils in her full basket. 
 
 ' Westmorland pere is a great bore, in 
 my humble opinion ; but the mater and he 
 are tremendous chums. She never buys
 
 HOPE. 4^ 
 
 a picture without consultinoj him; and he 
 presents her with copies of his poems^ 
 bound in white vellum and printed for 
 private circulation only. The worst of it 
 is, they will stay such a time, as I know 
 the mater has invited him specially to help 
 her in her plans for this blooming Sanitary 
 League. He's an old humbug, that's what 
 he is. I don't think the Major has a very 
 good time of it, myself. They had me 
 down to Feverell Chase for a week's 
 shooting last year, and I can tell you I 
 wouldn't be in his shoes. The old boy 
 is always snubbing him. And he talks so 
 queerly too, about will-power and occult 
 forces and telegraphy, and psychology. He 
 takes the matei\ when we are in town, to 
 seances and things. I think he's a bit 
 cracked, myself.' 
 
 ' Is Major Westmorland patient with 
 him?' asked the girl thoughtfully. 
 
 ' Wonderfully, as I think. He's not a 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THE IDES OF MAECH. 
 
 bad sort, only a little heavy. Not up to 
 much fun. I wish they weren't coming, 
 for my part. You won't let the old boy 
 monopolize you, will you, dear?' 
 
 ' Will he want to ?' 
 
 ' Oh yes, won't he ? I know him. He 
 makes love to every girl he meets on the 
 Major's behalf It's such fun, because 
 you know the Major doesn't see it. He's 
 the sort of fellow that won't marry.' 
 
 'I suppose, as he is the only son, his 
 father is anxious for him to do so?' 
 
 ' I suppose so. He'd much better let 
 it alone, or else it will be like what we 
 were just now talking of — he won't marry, 
 out of sheer perverseness.' 
 
 ^That would be tragic,' laughed Hope, 
 lightly. ' Oh, Tom, there's the stable clock 
 chiming eight, and I must change all my 
 things before breakfast ! We must run !' 
 
 The sleepy chimes of the great clock 
 died away on the hazy air, and through
 
 HOPE. 51 
 
 the stillness boomed out the heavy strokes 
 of the distant Minster bell. 
 
 A nameless, causeless, depression had 
 suddenly assailed Hope. The morning 
 was fair as ever, the mushrooming expe- 
 dition had been most successful, and a 
 long summer's day was before her. Why 
 should she feel sad? Why should she 
 find herself strenuously wishing that no 
 guests were to arrive at Hesselburgh that 
 day?' 
 
 If only she and Tom and Muriel could 
 continue the placid, childish, unruffled ex- 
 istence of this past week. She had been 
 able entirely to forget that she was nearing 
 the mature age of three-and-twenty, that 
 she had seen much society and been half 
 round the world ; that joy and disappoint- 
 ment, pain and pleasure of a keen sort had 
 been hers. This wholesome English 
 country life, this natural unspoilt English 
 boy, with his queer, outspoken worship of 
 
 E 2
 
 52 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 her and his vivid interest in such rustic 
 joys as mushrooming, or tea in thekitchen^ 
 were making her young and unsophisti- 
 cated again, she told herself. 
 
 It was pleasant — refreshing — nice ! How 
 nice ! Now something was going to break in 
 upon it unpleasantly, she dimly felt. An 
 alien presence was to be introduced. If 
 Major Westmorland Avere anything ap- 
 proaching young, Muriel and Tom and she 
 could scarcely exclude him from, their plans * 
 but she felt that tlie presence of an out- 
 sider — a man — not a boy like Tom, but a 
 society man, would chill, repress, subdue. 
 It was a saddening thought, and it just 
 dashed the exhilaration of that dewy 
 ramble, that sumptuous sunrise, these sat- 
 isfactory spoils. 
 
 Tom was in such jubilant spirits that he 
 forgot to notice her sudden silence. The 
 arrival of twenty Westmorland families 
 could not depress him. He had duly
 
 HOPE. 53 
 
 warned Hope against the father, he cer- 
 tainly feared no interference from the son. 
 He was in tip- top form, as he announced 
 to his mother, dancing in to breakfast with 
 a most formidable appetite. 
 
 Mrs. Saxon, in a white cotton gown, was 
 seated already at the table, with a book at 
 her side, eating her breakfast calmly, and 
 reading at the same time. Her short red 
 hair was brushed back sprucely from her 
 large, bony brow, as high as that of a 
 medieval Flemish madonna. She looked, 
 as a friend of hers once remarked, aggress- 
 ively clean. She appeared to have more 
 than washed — to have scoured herself all 
 over. One felt as if she had used the gar- 
 den rake, and the irritation caused by this 
 treatment had not yet subsided. She 
 heartily returned Tom's hearty kiss, and 
 avowed that she had still a corner left for 
 the mushrooms, which presently arrived, 
 hot and savoury, from the kitchen. Mr.
 
 5'i THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 Saxon, at his end of the table, smiled, and 
 greeted his son with the unfailing amia- 
 bility with which he greeted everybody. 
 
 Hope speedily appeared, metamorphosed 
 completely as to costume, and quite re- 
 stored as to her spirits. 
 
 ' Muriel last as usual,' said the hostess^ 
 good-humouredly. 
 
 ' I've a great mind to go and cold-pig 
 her, lazy little beggar !' cried Tom, indig- 
 nantly. ' Why, Hope and I have been 
 up for hours ! Fancy wasting a day like- 
 this !' 
 
 ' I wonder if you would do something 
 for me to-day, Tom,' requested his mother. 
 ' I want you to take the dog-cart inta 
 Norchester for some things I must have ; 
 1 can't well send the men, as the brougham 
 must go to the station to meet the West- 
 morlands, who will be here to lunch.' 
 
 Tom's face fell. His planned tennis-
 
 HOPE. 55 
 
 morning vanished into thin air. He was 
 far too sweet-tempered, however, to de- 
 mur. 
 
 'I'll go,' he announced, heroically, 'if 
 Hope will go too.' 
 
 ' Of course I wdll. I like going in the 
 cart — you know I do,' said Hope. 
 
 'You might meet the 12.53 as you 
 come back,' suggested Mrs. Saxon. ' I am 
 going down in the brougham, and the 
 Major would probably rather drive up in 
 the cart than make a third with his 
 father and me. We are sure to talk as if 
 w^e w^ere at a W. S. L. committee meeting, 
 for Mr. Westmorland is coming especially 
 to help me in the arrangements for the 
 Health Fete.' 
 
 ' Blow the Major,' said Tom irreverently. 
 
 ' Don't be foolish, my dear boy,' re- 
 turned his mother calmly. 
 
 'Well, he won't be much in our way,
 
 56 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 Hope: lie can sit behind with Muriel, 
 can't he ?' 
 
 'Oh, can he? That depends on who 
 *' he " may be,' said the calm voice of 
 Muriel herself, as she sauntered in to 
 breakfast. 
 
 ' Major Westmorland. He's coming 
 to-day, worse luck to him !' grumbled 
 Tom. 
 
 ' Why, I always thought you liked him,' 
 said Muriel in some surprise, as she seated 
 herself at the table. 
 
 She was decidedly pretty, this Muriel, 
 tall and fair, and rather languid in her 
 movements, always faultlessly dressed, in- 
 variably too late for everything, but never 
 ruffled by any amount of banter or re- 
 monstrance. 
 
 'I am sure you used to like the Major 
 very much,' she said, in a soft, high- 
 pitched, drawling voice, which was charac- 
 teristic of her.
 
 HOPE.. 57 
 
 * Well, his father's an old bore, anyhow,' 
 said Tom crossly. 
 
 * I quite agree with you there,' said 
 Muriel serenely, helping herself to butter, 
 her heavy white lids almost eclipsing her 
 soft eyes. ' I think anybody but mater 
 would find old Mr. Westmorland a bore. 
 He is always talking about German, or 
 classical music, or Browning, or Hygiene, or 
 something else equally disagreeable.' 
 
 Poor Mrs. Saxon ! Here was her re- 
 ward for the unheard-of sums lavished on 
 the education of her son and daughter. 
 As Tom said, it had been put into them 
 with a spoon. There was some truth in 
 his theory of reaction. 
 
 The mater took the candid criticisms 
 of her family in very good part. Evi- 
 dently the right of private judgment was 
 freely conceded at Hesselburgh. She 
 merely observed, as she gathered up 
 her letters and rose from the breakfast-
 
 58 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 table, that tliey had better practise resig- 
 nation, as tbe visitors would most certainly 
 stay for a month, and that the dog-cart 
 would be round by eleven.
 
 59 
 
 CHAPTER ly. 
 
 LEO AS HOSTESS. 
 
 The primrose by the river's brim, 
 A yellow primrose was to him, 
 And it was nothing more ! 
 
 Peter Bell. 
 
 Major Westmokland, as he came out of 
 the station, a goodly array of his father's 
 impedimenta on his arm, was half dazzled 
 by the flood of brilliant sunlight which 
 poured over the scene. Looking about, 
 he soon perceived the Saxon brougham, 
 with its neat liveries and sleek horses ; 
 and proceeded, with the aid of the footman, 
 to stow his packages within it. His father
 
 '60 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 was still on the platform, shaking hands 
 with his hostess, an operation never to be 
 got over in less than five minutes. 
 
 'Hi!' shouted someone close by. The 
 Major looked up involuntarily, Avith knitted 
 brows and dazzled eyes. 
 
 ' Hi !' came the cry again, accompanied 
 by a lively chirrup. 'Hi, Major! Look 
 alive !' 
 
 'It's Mr. Thomas, sir, and the young 
 ladies in the cart,' explained the footman ; 
 and Evelyn, shading his eyes with his hand, 
 became aware of the close proximity of 
 the graceful cart, its varnished wheels 
 flashing in the sun ; of a restless mare 
 dancing up and down, in her nervous 
 dread of the puffing engine, only divided 
 from her by a wooden rail ; and of the faces 
 of three young people all turned towards 
 him, with expressions of varying in- 
 terest. 
 
 It struck even the prc-occupied, unim-
 
 LEO AS HOSTESS. 61 
 
 pressionable Major at first glance, what 
 a brilliant trio they were. Tom's plainness 
 was more than atoned for by bis spirit and 
 gracefulness ; and both the girls, young, 
 pretty, becomingly dressed, their dainty 
 parasols just fluttering in the morning 
 air, were a pleasing example of English 
 country life in summer-time, at its very 
 best. 
 
 Youth, promise, and enjoyment ! It 
 was a charming picture. He made his 
 way up to them, raising his hat indefinitely 
 to both girls, being somewhat exercised in 
 his mind as to which was Miss Saxon. 
 Muriel relieved him of his doubts, by lean- 
 ing forward and greeting him in her peace- 
 ful treble drawl. 
 
 ' How do you do? Have you had a com- 
 fortable journey ? Was not it very hot in 
 the train? I should think it must have 
 been.' 
 
 'Awful!' he answered briefly, with a
 
 "62 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 short laugh, which Hope thought sounded 
 rather pleasant. 
 
 * We thought you might prefer driving 
 up with us to going in the brougham with 
 mater and all the parcels/ went on Miss 
 Saxon. 
 
 ' Thanks very much ' 
 
 ' And we've got no end of sweets, so I 
 advise you to come,' cut in Tom, cheer- 
 fully. ' Not half a bad tuck-shop in the 
 Market Place. I say, Muriel, introduce 
 Hope, hadn't you better?' 
 
 ' Major Westmorland, may I introduce 
 you to my friend Miss ' 
 
 The mare jumped, the wheels grated on 
 the gravel, and the name did not reach the 
 gentleman's ears. He bowed in acknow- 
 ledgment, and for a moment met Hope's 
 unruffled gaze, as she calmly looked down 
 from her superior height. She gave him a 
 little smile, and said, rather pleadingly, 
 
 ' I will be so grateful if you will straight-
 
 LEO AS HOSTESS. 63 
 
 way jump in, Major Westmorland, it makes 
 me so nervous when Maidenhair dances 
 about like this.' 
 
 He was obliged to explain, rather lame- 
 ly, that he was not coming straight up to 
 the house, he was due to lunch with a 
 friend of his, whom he had to consult on a 
 matter of business. He almost felt as if 
 he did not wish to get up and drive with 
 these three jovial creatures, who ate 
 sweets and ' chaffed ' and amused them- 
 selves so gaily. He was not in a vein for 
 mirth of this kind, his mind w^as full of a 
 settled grievance, which he hoped to have 
 the relief of pouring into a sympathizing 
 ear shortly. But he was not so easily to 
 be rid of the dog-cart and its mirthful 
 occupants. 
 
 ' Who's your friend, and where does he 
 hang out ?' demanded Tom, with the Saxon 
 ready good-humour. *Hop in and we'll 
 drive you there '
 
 64 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 ' It will be so much out of your way, 
 Saxon ' 
 
 ' So much the better. Just look at 
 Maidenhair ! She's full of corn and wants 
 taking down a peg. Where shall I 
 drive ?' 
 
 The Major resigned himself to the in- 
 evitable, with a look of evident distaste, 
 which tickled Hope amazingly. He took 
 his seat behind, by Muriel's side, and 
 turned to his charioteer. 
 
 ' It's Dr. Forde, in Minster-gate,' he said, 
 mournfully. 
 
 'Oh ho ! Dr. Forde in Minster-gate !' 
 cried the irrepressible Tom, in tones of 
 much — far too much — meaning. ' N^o won- 
 der you are so anxious to call there. 
 Major — no wonder ! Well, look here ! I'll 
 make a bargain. If I drive you there to- 
 day will you take me to call and introduce 
 me first chance you get ? Eh ? Isn't that 
 fair ?'
 
 LEO AS HOSTESS. 65 
 
 'Tom, how vulgar you are,' said Muriel, 
 unemotionally. 
 
 ' Not a bit of it ; you know quite well 
 that, not counting Hope, there's not a girl 
 in Norchester who comes anywhere near 
 Miss Forde. I saw her last Sunday in 
 the cathedral. Give her my love. Major, 
 won't you ?' 
 
 No reply was vouchsafed to this broad, 
 schoolboy chaff; evidently Major West- 
 morland did not by any means relish it. 
 They were off now, shooting over the long 
 bridge, across the wide, shallow, vociferous 
 river, washing against the stone piers. 
 Then onwards, along the irregular main 
 street, the low, grey towers of the Minster 
 now visible, now hidden, by intervening 
 buildings. 
 
 Through the wide market-place ; empty 
 to-day, except of the immemorial market- 
 cross in the centre ; past the town-hall, 
 club and reading-room, through the win- 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 TflE IDES OF MAllCH. 
 
 dows of Avhich a few idle in en watched, 
 with languid interest, the second invasion 
 of the Hesselburgh dog-cart that morning ; 
 and so down Minster-gate, the narrow, 
 precipitous alley which formed the chief 
 approach to the cathedral. 
 
 Here were several good houses of the 
 old-fashioned sort, built right upon the 
 street, one solitary step leading up to their 
 unpretentious brass-handled doors ; and on 
 one of these an immaculate plate, the fresh 
 ebony of its lettering testifying to its 
 recent appearance, bore Richard Forde's 
 name legibly set forth. 
 
 Mrs. Hancock, purple sprigged costume 
 and all, was making her way down Minster- 
 gate, to call on the wife of the canon in 
 residence. Her ever-watchful eye descried, 
 with no common feeling of outrage, the 
 Saxons stopping at the young doctor's door. 
 
 ' A whole batch of them,' she subse- 
 <[uently complained to Mrs. Shorthouse, 
 
 I
 
 LEO AS HOSTESS. 67 
 
 ^ dashing about completely unchaperoned, 
 as usual, two girls and two young men, 
 lip in the air in that dangerous, fast turn- 
 out of theirs, going to turn the head of 
 that poor little Leonora Forde, who has 
 airs enough already, poor child, owing to 
 her cruelly unprotected position. Well ! 
 I am thankful to say I have never visited 
 ■at Hesselburgh, never allowed myself to 
 he mixed up with their promiscuous, half- 
 professional set. I am sure they are quite 
 lowering the tone of society in Norchester ; 
 and what with the goings on at the Palace, 
 the theatricals and dancing, I am sure its 
 enough, as I repeatedly say to the Miss 
 Presses, to make our own poor late bishop 
 turn in his grave.' 
 
 It would be untrue to assert that the 
 tirrival of that magical dog-cart did not 
 send a little thrill and flutter through 
 Leo's exciteable frame, as she saw it from 
 her decorously curtained drawing-room 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THK IDES OF MAKCH. 
 
 windows. The gay young people inside 
 belonged to a world of which the doctor's 
 young sister had only had very occasional 
 glimpses in her life, as yet. In her uncle 
 Roper's parish, the middle-aged, childless 
 squire and squiress had kept no company 
 and cared for no society. ' We are quite 
 out of the county,' Mrs. Roper had been 
 wont to say ; which, seeing that the whole 
 of England is popularly supposed to be 
 divided into counties, gives rise to some 
 confusion as to the exact geographical 
 position of Sandwater vicarage. 
 
 But, as dear Jane Austen says, if a 
 young woman is born to be a heroine, the 
 perversity of forty surrounding families 
 cannot hinder it ; and so with Leo. The 
 uncertainly located parish of Sandwater 
 was left behind for ever, she was mistress 
 of her brother's house in Norchester, and 
 here was the Hesselburgh party stopping 
 at her very door.
 
 LEO AS HOSTESS. 69 
 
 The vision lasted only a minute or two. 
 The tall dark man, sitting behind with Miss 
 Saxon, sprang lightly down, rang, and was 
 admitted. His party only waited till the 
 door closed upon him, and then with nods 
 and smiles dashed off again down to the 
 cathedral, the street here being too narrow 
 to turn the horse with safety. Leo had 
 just time to notice the pretty girl seated 
 beside Tom, to yearn for a coat that should 
 lit like hers, and just such gauntlet gloves, 
 w^hen Dick pushed open the door of the 
 pretty little room and said, 
 
 'This is my sister. Major Westmorland.' 
 The tall Major greeted Leo without a 
 smile. He was so very stiff and grave, 
 and bored-looking, that the young girl 
 was seized with almost the first fit of shy- 
 ness she had ever experienced. She did 
 just venture to ask him to sit down, to 
 which he responded ' Thanks,' and remained 
 stiffly standing. This chilling want of
 
 70 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 compliance so abashed her, that she sank 
 into her low chair and took up her work, 
 feeling quite at a loss. Dick, saying that 
 he would order up lunch immediately, had 
 vanished, leaving them to themselves ; and 
 surely if the Major had not possessed a 
 heart as hard as Benedick's, he need have 
 found nothing in the arrangement to com- 
 plain of. 
 
 Leo, in her low chair, was a picture 
 worth contemplating. She wore a white 
 dress, simple as could be ; her soft, loose, 
 dark hair was cunningly coiled round her 
 pretty little head. Her complexion was 
 radiant, her colour just a little bit height- 
 ened, and the most becoming shade of re- 
 sentment on her coaxing, full mouth. 
 Poor Dick could not know that such was 
 the irritation of the Major's feelings at 
 this moment, that the very fact of finding 
 himself ^^^^-a-^^/^ with an unmarried woman 
 reduced him to the last stage of suprema 
 exasperation.
 
 LEO AS HOSTESS. 71 
 
 Leo was furious with herself. She told 
 herself that it was her fault. She ought 
 to know what to say to people of this 
 description. A 'county' girl would en- 
 tertain him properl}^ and easily. The 
 silence soon became quite unendurable to 
 her frank, confiding disposition. She must 
 talk. After due deliberation she started. 
 
 ' You knew Dick at Woolford didn't 
 you?' 
 
 He looked vaguely at her. 
 
 ' Dick ?' he said, as if the name conveyed 
 no impression to his mind. 
 
 'Richard, my brother,' said poor Leo, 
 Avith a rush of warm blood to her cheeks. 
 
 ' Oh — ah ! Pardon, I'm sure. Yes, I 
 knew him at Woolford.' 
 
 ' You were in Colonel BarfF's regiment, 
 were you not?' she persisted, bravely. 
 
 ' I was.' 
 
 ' It was through Colonel BarfF that Dick 
 got this practice. I was very glad, of 
 course.'
 
 72 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 'Oh?' 
 
 ' Yes, because he could have me to live 
 with hiin, you see. He could not do that 
 before.' 
 
 Utter silence. It was not to be en- 
 dured. Miss Forde arose, trembling with 
 indignation. 
 
 • If you will excuse me a moment, I will 
 go and hurry luncheon ; j^ou must be very 
 hungry,' she said, icily. 
 
 The Major went, with a start of alacrity, 
 to open the door for her. At that moment 
 the bell rang. 
 
 ' Oh ! that is lunch. Please come down,' 
 said she, sw^eeping haughtily out before 
 him, all her small dignity on the bristle. 
 
 But the bristle was quite w^asted on her 
 guest. He went downstairs after her quite 
 mechanically, and took his seat at the 
 dainty little luncheon-table without a 
 thought of Forde's sister, except relief at 
 being no longer obliged to talk to her alone.
 
 LEO AS HOSTESS. 73 
 
 He woke up a little at lunch, chatting to 
 his friend, and once directly addressed an 
 observation to Leo, who answered him with 
 such alarmins: frigidity as to cause Dick to 
 glance up in astonishment at a tone never 
 before adopted by his merry little sister. 
 
 As soon as ever her carefully-concocted 
 repast had been discussed, she rose and 
 turned to him. 
 
 *You and Major Wesmorland will smoke 
 in the surgery, I suppose,' she said. ' I will 
 send coffee in half-an-hour. Meanwhile, I 
 will say good-bye to you,' turning to 
 Evelyn. *I have to go out. Dick, if you 
 have time, look in at the Residence about 
 five, and fetch me.' 
 
 So saying, she bowed to the visitor and 
 departed. Dick looked after her a little 
 bewildered, and with an anxious glance at 
 his friend to see if he were offended. 
 
 Westmorland was heaving a prodigious 
 sigh of relief.
 
 74 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 ' Now at last I can talk to you,' he said, 
 putting his hand through the doctor's arm. 
 • Come, sit down, my good fellow, I shall 
 burst in a minute if I don't have it all 
 out.' 
 
 Upstairs, Leo was enduring the keenest 
 mortiiication which she had ever suffered. 
 She had taken such pains ! — so carefully 
 prepared her little house, and her little self^ 
 to receive her brother's friend nicely. She 
 had gathered fresh flowers from the quaint 
 walled garden at the back of her small 
 domain ; she had taken an hour to arrange 
 her small drawing-room, another to garnish 
 her luncheon-table. All had been in vain. 
 The visitor had noticed neither her nor her 
 surroundings. He had eaten mechanicall}^, 
 he had looked without seeing; he was an 
 ill-bred, hateful, uninteresting man. 
 
 This was a great pity, because he was 
 decidedly good-looking. Did he mean to 
 be rude — to iixnore her? Did he mean
 
 LEO AS HOSTESS. 75 
 
 her to see that she was not to consider her- 
 self on a level with Muriel Saxon and her 
 friends. Or did he consider her too ab- 
 surdly young to be worth considering, or 
 treating like a grown-up person ? Oh, how 
 she longed to be able to crush him — to re- 
 taliate, or in some unmistakable Avay to 
 show him that he had snubbed the wrong 
 person. 
 
 Let her but have her opportunity, poor 
 Evelyn would fare ill at her hands.
 
 76 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A SUNDAY MOON. 
 
 Our interest's on the dangerous edge of things. 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 ' Now at last ! You are quite sure you are 
 ready to be bothered ?' said Westmorland, 
 -with eagerness, as he sank into a comfort- 
 able chair. 
 
 ' Quite,' said Dick, calmly, settling him- 
 self very much at his ease opposite. ' More 
 than ready, anxious. You do look so un- 
 commonly worried, old chap.' 
 
 'Yes, that's what I am. It is really 
 telling upon me,' returned the Major, dis-
 
 A SUNDAY MOON. 77 
 
 consolately ; ' and yet the whole story is a 
 parcel of such abominable trash that I 
 should not be in the least surprised if you 
 were to burst out laughing when you hear 
 it first. I know I did.' 
 
 ' Well, what is it ?' 
 
 ' It's an old, idiotic, purposeless family 
 tradition, and my father has gone clean out 
 of his mind on the point,' said Westmor- 
 land shortly. ' That's the long and short 
 of it, and a pretty tale it is to have to tell 
 of a cultivated man of this nineteenth cen- 
 tury ; but I believe my father never was 
 quite like other people. Xow, you are 
 specially interested in various forms of in- 
 sanity, are you not ?' 
 
 Dick nodded. 
 
 ' This is a most pronounced case. He is 
 quite sane on every other point, on this 
 one as mad has any hatter.' 
 
 'Tell me what is the tradition, to begin 
 with. Where did it come from ? Has it
 
 78 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 any authority? Is it genuine? How did 
 he come to hear it ?' 
 
 ' Exactly >Yhat I am going to tell you. 
 I believe the prophecy to be so far genuine, 
 that it dates back at least to the fourteenth 
 century. We Westmorlands originally, I 
 believe, came from the Border, and had a 
 Scotch strain in us, which seems to have 
 included the highly inconvenient gift of 
 second- sight. As our ancestors grew more 
 civiHzed, or more wealth}^ as the case may 
 be, they migrated further south, to 
 Feverell, where a AV"estmorland of Henry 
 VII. 's time built Feverell Chase. Our 
 pedigree has been very carefully pre- 
 served for several centuries, and it is a 
 curious coincidence that the property has 
 never, till the last generation, been without 
 an heir in the direct line. Either the eldest 
 son or his eldest son has always succeeded, 
 until my own father, whose elder brother 
 Charles died suddenly, young and un-
 
 A SUNDAY MOON. 79 
 
 married. Excuse all this apparent di- 
 gression — the reason for it will soon be 
 obvious.' 
 
 ' Take your time. I'm always interested 
 in old families,' said Dick, puffing away. 
 
 ' Well, when my governor came into 
 possession of the Chase, he instituted a 
 thorough search among the family archives. 
 They had been much neglected in the days 
 of my grandfather, who was, from all I can 
 hear, an exceedingly commonplace person, 
 like myself. His wife, however. Lady 
 Camilla Hawtrey, was a most gifted w^oman, 
 and from her, doubtless, my father inherits 
 his talents ; for, you know, he is certainly 
 brilliant above the average. He is an 
 archaeologist, a connoisseur in art, a bit of 
 a poet, a painter, and altogether what I 
 should call a dab at things literary and 
 artistic. Naturally enough, his family 
 history is of paramount interest to him. 
 It is his hobby, his weak point. Well, as
 
 80 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 lie was digging out old letters, and wills 
 and deeds, he came across this old rhyming 
 prophecy. It was written by hand, and 
 fastened with seals into the fly-leaf of an 
 ancient, illuminated missal. It was dated 
 below by the monk who wrote it, with the 
 date of fourteen hundred and something or 
 other, but with a note to the effect that, 
 though here set down for the first time, it 
 was of far greater antiquity, and was pro- 
 phesied against the Westmorlands by the 
 lord of the manor of Burchys, whoever he 
 may have been. It appears that some dis- 
 pute had arisen between the families, and 
 the Westmorlandshad satisfied their notions 
 of family honour by butchering the son and 
 o-randson of this lord of the manor, so that 
 he was left without heirs. In not un- 
 natural annoyance he threw off this little 
 jeu d'esjjrit^ and sent it to his enemies with 
 his kind regards. I don't know whether or 
 no it worried them at the time, but cer-
 
 A SUNDAY MOON. 81 
 
 tainly that old lord of the manor has got 
 his innings now. He must be thoroughly 
 satisfied if he knows how his rubbishing 
 doggerel embitters my existence.' 
 
 The tone was so tragic that Dick could 
 not repress a smile. 
 
 ' I knew you'd laugh,' said the Major, 
 gloomily, ' but you would laugh with the 
 other side of your mouth if you had 
 to live with my father. Here, read the 
 insane thing, and you will be still more 
 diverted. Tell me if you understand how 
 anybody can attach the slightest im- 
 portance to it. Of course this is only a 
 copy ; the original is almost illegible — no 
 breaks between the words, and no stops.' 
 
 The young doctor curiously took from 
 his hand the paper he held out, and read 
 the following : 
 
 ' Westmorlonde was bolde to stryke 
 In that londe was Done hym lyke, 
 But all to naught hys house shullde pyne, 
 "\Vo them ys that are born thereinne, 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 §2 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 AVithouten hope it shullde betyde, 
 
 The last sonne ys an only child e. 
 
 Sonne ys he of a yonger sonne, 
 
 Ner wife ne child er hath be non. 
 
 But yet the folk of the contre, 
 
 Beleve not that hit mygth be, 
 
 Gyf March with Sunday moon come inne, 
 
 Then wolde they beleve fayn.' 
 
 Dick perused this with a puzzled face. 
 
 ' Is it quite certain,' at last he said, 
 *that this thing dates back as far as the 
 fifteenth century?' 
 
 ' Oh, yes, it's genuine enough as far as 
 age goes,' said Westmorland, fretfully. 
 * By the way it was found in the sacristy 
 of the private chapel at Feverell, it could 
 scarcely have been forged ; but my father 
 submitted it to a large number of experts 
 before he would believe that it was the 
 age it claims to be. However, they all 
 decided that there was no doubt at all on 
 the matter. Even if Father Julius, who 
 professed merely to copy it out, in reality 
 invented the horrid thing himself, still it
 
 A SUNDAY MOON. 83 
 
 remains a prophecy, dating from the 
 fifteenth century, confound it !' 
 
 ' It's rather odd, isn't it ?' said Dick, 
 thou,:^htfully, staring at the irregular lines 
 with knitted brow. 'You're an only son, 
 are you not?' 
 
 'I am, as you know, worse luck !' 
 
 'And you are the son of a younger son, 
 and you have no wife nor child.' 
 
 'True— all of it.' 
 
 ' Well then, we come to this dark saying 
 about the Sunday moon. AVhat does that 
 mean exactly ?' 
 
 ' I should think it means, when the new 
 moon falls on Sunday, March 1st.' 
 
 ' Xot a very common coincidence, I 
 should imagine ?' 
 
 ' By no means. It has happened twice 
 in a hundred and fifty years ; it will happen 
 again next year.' 
 
 Dick whistled. 
 
 ' Forde,' burst out the Major, angrily, 
 
 g2
 
 84 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 ' I do believe you are superstitious. *" 
 
 *A little bit, perhaps,' assented Dick, 
 reluctantly, after a pause. 
 
 ' You don't mean to say that you would 
 put an}^ faith in that astounding piece of 
 nonsense ?' fiercely cried Westmorland. 
 
 ' 1 almost think I'd take precautions,' 
 laughed the doctor. 
 
 'Precautions? What precautions, in 
 the name of common-sense ?' 
 
 Dick lauo^hed a^ain. 
 
 ' Get married, and the whole thing falls- 
 to the ground,' he suggested, slyly. 
 
 This was too much; the Major's very 
 fury made him calm. 
 
 'Forde,'he said, icily, 'you are worse 
 than my father. Well ! I am sorry to 
 have troubled you.' 
 
 ' Westmorland, I'll fool no more,' plead- 
 ed Dick, penitently. ' It was a bit funny, 
 you know. I felt compelled to suggest it ; 
 but seriously now, tell me more of this. 
 
 J
 
 A SUNDAY MOON. 85 
 
 You say this prophecy took complete hold 
 of your father's mind ?' 
 
 ' Most unaccountably. Not when he first 
 discovered it. My mother was then alive ; 
 it seemed hardly probable that I should be 
 the only child, and most unlikely that I 
 should not marry. As time went on, I 
 think he forgot it a good deal. After my 
 mother's death he travelled about consider- 
 ably, both in Europe and Asia. My regi- 
 ment was ordered to India, and he came 
 out and wintered tliere, and enjoyed him- 
 self greatly. It was about ^ve years ago 
 that he began to be really what I call mad 
 on the subject. There was a Miss Hume 
 out there in India, where my regiment was 
 quartered, he took a fancy to her, and 
 wanted me to do the same. I did not see 
 it. Everybody called her a nice girl, so I 
 suppose she was, but she seemed to me to 
 be ready to flirt with any man who hap- 
 pened to come handy. I told my father
 
 86 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 he had better marry her himself if he 
 thought so highly of her ; but he is too 
 fond of his liberty for that. However, I 
 was rather incautious, I think ; said some- 
 thing about having no intention of mar- 
 rying, or rather to that effect ; and so 
 manag;ed to set alio^ht all this commotion 
 about the prophecy. 
 
 He took to reading it, poring over it, 
 searching up old authorities, digging into 
 monkish chronicles. In some antiquated 
 county history — I forget what they call 
 it — he found a mention of the existence of 
 this threat, and of course that was the last 
 straw. The history said that the chron- 
 icles of Barnisham monastery (destroyed 
 at the Reformation) contained an account 
 of an application from Evelyn Westmor- 
 land for a dispensation from the Pope, to 
 allow him to put away his wife, mainly 
 on the ground of her childlessness, an old 
 prophecy in the family foretelling great
 
 A SUNDAY MOON. 87 
 
 evils if the succession departed from the 
 direct line. Fortunately the poor lady 
 herself settled the question by dying ; and 
 her fond husband, as our family tree in- 
 forms us, had eight children by his second 
 marriage. I think my father's mind was 
 always highly emotional, easily influenced. 
 His researches and their results developed 
 mania. He had a calendar forecast — solar 
 and lunar, and so discovered that next 
 year the prophecy will apply in all its 
 details. Since then I have not had a 
 moment's peace. Morning noon and night 
 is he at me when we are together, regularly 
 every day does he w^rite to me when we 
 are apart. The thing is poisoning my 
 existence, it has transformed him from a 
 cultivated gentleman to a monomaniac, 
 and really I have completel}^ lost patience.' 
 ' If you will pardon me,' said Dick, in- 
 terrogatively, ' for what purpose is 3'our 
 father at you, as you so forcibly express
 
 88 THE IDES OF MAEGH. 
 
 it ? What does he want you to do ? ■ 
 
 ' To do? Why, what you just now had 
 the impertinence to suggest — to marry.' 
 
 There was a world of derision in the 
 Major's voice. Dick remained for a few 
 moments dreamily puffing away at his 
 pipe, his eyes fixed on the tall hollyhocks 
 in the garden. At last, 
 
 ' Pardon the unspeakable temerity of 
 the question,' he said, removing his gaze 
 to his friend's thunder-cloud brow, ' but 
 why don't you marry, AVestmorland?' 
 
 The fury of his companion reached a 
 pitch. He sprang from his chair and 
 walked noisily once or twice through the 
 room. 
 
 ' I decline to discuss the question,' he 
 said at last, in tones of the keenest irrita- 
 tion. ' What has that to do with it all ? 
 What does it matter ? It is beside the 
 point.' 
 
 'You may of course discuss it or not,
 
 A SUNDAY MOON. 89 
 
 just as you please,' said Dick, very calm- 
 ly, and without removing his pipe from 
 his mouth, ' but it seems to me that it is 
 very intimately connected with the point.' 
 
 ' Hang it, Forde, you would not go and 
 marry on such poor grounds ? Sacrifice 
 some unfortunate srirl to an inane fra2:ment 
 of monkish superstition ! How would such 
 a marriage be likely to turn out ?' 
 
 ' But, apart from this question alto- 
 gether, it seems strange you don't marry 
 — that is my meaning. Most men are 
 married before your age. It looks to me 
 like a bit of perversity, you know : as 
 though you had been so often egged on to 
 do it that you had determined to resist 
 merely for resistance sake.* 
 
 ' I don't think it's that,' said Westmor- 
 land, rather sadly. ' It is that 1 am not 
 that kind of man. I — I am not what you 
 call impressionable. I am not a brilliant 
 talker, as you well know ; I don't care to
 
 90 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 carry cups of tea about a clrawin^-room^ 
 or waltz all night round and round till 
 my head splits. And that is all women 
 care about, unless you get hold of one 
 who frightens you to look at, and talks 
 Aristotle to you. I never have seen the 
 woman I could possibly endure to have 
 always near me, far less the woman I could 
 love. I think,' sighed he, sadly, ' I must 
 be born out of my own century. The 
 women of to-day are not ni}^ style.' 
 
 ' What century should you have chosen, 
 had you been given carte hlanclic?' casually 
 asked Dick. 
 
 ' Oh, I don't know. T should like an 
 honest girl, and one that could keep her- 
 self to herself: one that would not be 
 everlastingly dressing and going out — but 
 a companion. I don't want a housekeeper 
 . . . But what on earth is the use of talk- 
 ing ? I can't tell you what she should be 
 like, only that she should be quite unlike
 
 A SUNDAY MOON. 91 
 
 every other woman I have ever met.' 
 
 ' Well,' said Dick, ' I think you are 
 rather a promisinoj candidate for matri- 
 mony myself. I have decided hopes of 
 you. A man like you always marries 
 something about as unlike what he fancies 
 as can possibly be imagined.' 
 
 The Major gave a contemptuous laugh. 
 
 ' Of course, any man may make a fool 
 of himself,' he observed. ' I won't under- 
 take to say that such a thing is impossible 
 as regards me ; but I do emphatically con- 
 sider that it is most unlikely. As if to 
 give me a still further warning, if warning 
 were needed, here is Disney — my best 
 friend Disney — just come a most complete 
 cropper as regards his matrimonial schemes.' 
 
 'Disney!' said Forde, with interest. 
 ' Poor Disney ! has he indeed? Xice fel- 
 low, I always liked him. Exchanged into 
 the — th when it was ordered to Ceylon, 
 didn't he?'
 
 92 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 ' Yes, and that was the worst day's 
 work he ever did in his life, poor chap ! 
 You knew him, of course? He went to 
 Ce}dori ; got engaged to the reigning belle 
 there — a Miss Merrion. She jilted him, 
 and it has gone fearfully hard with him ; 
 he is coming home — has thrown up every- 
 thing. That's a woman's doing !' 
 
 ' Did somebody more eligible turn up ? 
 I mean, what made her jilt him?' asked 
 Dick. 
 
 * Well, I really am not quite clear. If 
 it was as you suggest, Disney does not 
 mention it. They had a disagreement, I 
 believe, and she dismissed him then and 
 there.' 
 
 ' Perhaps it was his fault,' observed 
 Dick. 
 
 ' How could that be ?' sharply questioned 
 the Major. 
 
 ' Why, he may have been in the wrong.' 
 
 'But he wrote and implored her to
 
 A SUNDAY MOOX. 93 
 
 re-consider it; went and knelt to her, I 
 believe ; did everything in his power ! 
 Don't tell ine, sir. A woman who can 
 solemnly plight her faith to a man, and 
 then turn it all up in a minute because of 
 some little wretched misunderstanding — 
 I tell you they are all the same : you 
 never know what it is you have done to 
 offend them, till suddenly they turn round 
 upon you. So uncertain women are. No 
 matrimony for me, thank you.' 
 
 * Well, in that case, I see no remedy for 
 your present distress, I am afraid.' 
 ^ Forde, are you speaking seriously ?' 
 ' Quite. You must either endure your 
 father's entreaties patiently until the fatal 
 date has gone by, or you must marry at 
 once and calm his superstitious terror. 
 Let me see — when may you consider 
 yourself safe? I hardly know. The pro- 
 phecy is not too explicit as to exact 
 date :
 
 ^4 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 " Gyf March with Sunday moon come inne, 
 Then wolde they beleve fayn." 
 
 You see, you are instructed only to look 
 out for the fulfilment on that day : when 
 it will come remains unrevealed.' 
 
 ' But can't vou understand that I want 
 you to help me? To put a stop to such 
 intolerable folly ; to see my father, to 
 diagnose him, to scatter his delusion some- 
 how.' 
 
 The doctor leaned meditatively forward ; 
 his pipe between his lips, his two hands 
 spread out and lightly joined. 
 
 ' I really don't see what I could do in 
 that way,' he said at last. ' You don't 
 want him shut up, I suppose? He is sane 
 enough on other points. He does no harm, 
 does he? Is not dangerous?' 
 
 ' Not dangerous, isn't he ? Going about 
 on my behalf, proposing in my name to 
 every good-looking girl he meets ' 
 
 ' Does he do that, though ?'
 
 A SUNDAY MOOX. 95 
 
 ' Well, very nearly.' 
 
 Dick was unable to help laughing. 
 
 ' What a gay old boy !' he said, with 
 unconcealable appreciation of the humour 
 of the situation. 
 
 The Major looked first annoyed, then 
 resigned. 
 
 ' I suppose it is funny,' he said, hope- 
 lessly. ' When first it began I used to 
 look on it in that light. Hanged if I can 
 see the ludicrous side of it now.' 
 
 He rose as if he felt it useless to discuss 
 the subject further; but Dick, rising too, 
 laid his hand on his arm. 
 
 ' Look here,' he said, ' I think you are 
 too desponding if, as you say, you consider 
 the whole of this prophecy to be nonsense. 
 You have only to submit to this sort of 
 annoyance calmly for a few months, and 
 leave it to time to prove the reasonable- 
 ness of your conduct. Don't shake your 
 head ; I know it's very bad to bear, but
 
 96 THE IDES OF MAKCH. 
 
 why don't you get out of it? Winter 
 abroad. Go to India for some tiger- 
 shooting, and don't come back till the 
 coast is clear.' 
 
 The Major shook his head. 
 
 ^ You don't know my father,' he said ; 
 and in his voice was that pitying tender- 
 ness with which a mother might own that 
 her darling was afraid of the dark. ' I 
 could never leave him,' he added, quietly, 
 'he would go raving mad, I am sure of it. 
 You have never seen him as I have. Come 
 up to Hesselburgh.' 
 
 The young doctor reddened. 
 
 ' I don't know the Saxons.' 
 
 He did not add how much he wished to 
 know them. In his own quiet way, Richard 
 was ambitious. He knew he was clever, 
 he wanted to make a career. Fresh from 
 the hospital, full of ideas, au courant with 
 all the modern improvements, he felt 
 almost inclined to despair of Dorchester.
 
 A SUNDAY MOON. 97 
 
 Mrs. Saxon seemed the only person likely 
 to sympathize with him. He had heard 
 rumours of the forthcoming monster meet- 
 in o; of the Women's Sanitary League in her 
 grounds. He did ardently long to have 
 some share in the demonstration. 
 
 ' Oh, I'll introduce you,' said the Major, 
 calmly. ' Young Saxon told me this 
 morning that he wanted to know your 
 sister.' 
 
 ' Did he indeed ?' 
 
 ' Yes ; they are sociable people, very 
 kind. I'll introduce you, and get you to 
 watch my father. I want to know if some- 
 thing can't be done. In short,' concluded 
 the Major, taking up his hat, ' something 
 must be done. You will see that I cannot 
 marry, according to my own notions of 
 honour, so that solution of the difficulty is 
 impossible. If only we could somehow 
 twist that confounded prophecy, and per- 
 suade him that it meant something quite 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 98 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 different ! But you shall see him, Forde, 
 and then we will consult again.' 
 
 ' Very good. I will. I wish you were 
 not so set against matrimony. 1 am quite 
 upset by what you tell me about Disney. 
 Who was the girl who treated him so 
 shamefully ?' 
 
 ' Miss Merrion.' 
 
 ' And you say he is coming home ?' 
 
 ' By the Malabar.'' 
 
 ' I shall ask him to come and stay with 
 me, and teach him a little philosophy,' said 
 Dick, lauofhinof.
 
 99 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ' I THINK YOU KNEW A FRIEND OF MINE.' 
 
 My friend was already too good to lose, 
 And seemed in the way of improvement yet, 
 When she crossed his path with her hunting-noose, 
 And over him drew her net. 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 ' It's all very well,' said Tom, irritably, 
 ' but it is really nonsense to tell me you 
 profess to understand this sort of thing. 
 Hand over the beastly volume, Hope, and 
 I'll read you a selection.' 
 
 ' I shall certainly not hand over my pre- 
 cious book to you ! You Goth ! You 
 Vandal ! You boy without a soul !' 
 
 ' You girl without a brain! I tell you 
 
 II 2
 
 100 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 what ! One very salutary result has ac- 
 crued from all my education. It has 
 developed my critical faculty, it has given 
 me an inquirino; mind. When I see some- 
 thing in print I don't take it for granted 
 that it's sense, I ask at once, Why i& 
 this thus ? What is the reason of this thus- 
 riess ? Now, if you were to imitate me in 
 this, and solemnly ask yourself the why 
 and wherefore of some of old Browning's 
 remarks, why you'd collapse ! You couldn't 
 go on admiring him, you would say, as I 
 say : The unintelligible is not the beauti- 
 ful, the incoherent is not the admirable. 
 Lucidity does not make a man a poet, but 
 no man can be a poet who is not lucid. 
 That's what you would say if you had my 
 felicitous flow of language, Hope ! Which 
 you haven't, Hope !' 
 
 ' Do you really mean me to infer that 
 you think Mr. Browning should have 
 brought down his poetry to the level of
 
 YOU KNEW A FRIEND OF MINE. 101 
 
 Mr. Thomas Saxon's understanding ?' de- 
 manded Hope with scorn ineffable, as she 
 lay back in a luxurious wicker chair in 
 Muriel's sitting-room at Hesselburgh. 
 
 It was the witching hour of five-o'clock 
 tea. The three young people had played 
 tennis to their heart's content all the after- 
 noon, and now sat exhaustedly in their 
 tennis costumes, enjoying themselves, 
 ' revelling,' as Hope said, ' in the luxury of 
 an honestly earned fatigue,' and quarrell- 
 ing, as usual. 
 
 Muriel was motionless behind the pages 
 of the last new novel — she left Hope and 
 Tom to fight over Robert Browning as they 
 pleased. Tom was on his back on the 
 sofa, fanning himself with his shapeless 
 tennis hat and ready for the fray, as 
 usual. 
 
 ' We are crushing,' he remarked, with a 
 fine disdain, in answer to Hope's thrust ; 
 •*^but better men than I am can't digest
 
 102 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 your pet poet, my lady ; you know that as 
 well as I do/ 
 
 ' I suppose many people console them- 
 selves with the idea that they are not the 
 only fools in the world, Mr. Tom.' 
 
 'And many others do love to plume 
 themselves on understanding what another 
 fellow can't, don't they, duckie ?' 
 
 ' That is a position in which many of 
 your friends must be apt to find themselves, 
 whether they wish it or not !' 
 
 • Ah ! I suppose that is why I have sa 
 many friends. It is not a very flattering 
 suggestion, but I feel at last I know the 
 reason why I am sought out so persistently 
 by the great and noble ones of the land. 
 Thanks, so much, for enlightening me !' 
 
 ' Another cup of tea, please, Tom.' 
 
 This brought the critic to a sitting 
 posture, and for a moment stopped his 
 tongue. 
 
 ' My dear maligned Browning,' fondly
 
 YOU KNEW A FRIEND OF MINE. 103 
 
 said Hope, gaziug lovingly at the page 
 before her. ' So they say you are unin- 
 telligible, do they? They call you un- 
 melodious ! Tom, listen to this : 
 
 ' If at times 
 My heart fails, as monotonous I paint 
 These endless cloisters and eternal aisles 
 AVith the same series — virgin, babe and saint, 
 With the same cold, calm, beautiful regard ; 
 At least no merchant traflfics in my heart ! 
 The sanctuary's gloom at least shall ward 
 Vain tongues from where my pictures stand apart. 
 Only prayer breaks the silence of the shrine, 
 AYhere, blackening in the daily candle-smoke, 
 They moulder on the damp wall's travertine, 
 'Mid echoes the light footstep never woke !' 
 
 The delicate clear girl's voice gave the 
 most just expression to the devotion 
 breathed in the rhythmical lines. The 
 mixture of spiritual fervour and natural 
 longing after recognition from the world, 
 trembled in each sad utterance. 
 
 ' There !' she said, with a sigh, ' I never 
 read that without feeling as if I stood in 
 one of those dim continental churches.
 
 104 THE IDES OF MAKCH. 
 
 with their odour of stale incense ; their 
 smoky gloom mellowing the trumpery 
 finery of their shrines into harmony, and 
 their stillness drawing you irresistibly 
 down on your knees to pray.' 
 
 ' Oh, yes, that's the unknown painter fel- 
 low, isn't it?' said Tom, who was by no 
 means as ignorant as he pretended. 'I 
 don't believe in him a bit, you know. He 
 would have been famous if he could — you 
 bet ! Old Baily, our head-master, used to 
 dose us with Browning on a Sunday after- 
 noon, and some of the fellows were very 
 keen on it; but it isn't my line. Poor old 
 Pictor ! How awfully out he was, if he 
 only knew, 
 
 "The sanctuary's gloom at least shall ward 
 Vain tongues from where my pictures stand apart." 
 
 If only he had been in Dresden with me 
 and heard the Yankee's remark on the 
 Sistine madonna!'
 
 YOU KNEW A FRIEND OF MINE. 105 
 
 ' Bat she is not hunpj in a church,' ob- 
 jected Hope. 
 
 ' Xo, but in a room by herself, you 
 know ; and everybody talks with bated 
 breath, and a sort of hush falls over you 
 when first you go in, and there is a pause. 
 Well ! my Yankee walked right in, and 
 stood, hands behind him, staring up for a 
 minute or so : then, turning to the mis- 
 guided friend who had accompanied him, 
 he said, very loud, " She's an uncommonly 
 fine-looking girl. I've a cousin remarkably 
 like her myself, in the States." ' 
 
 'Tom!' 
 
 ' That's a solemn fact. I heard him say 
 it. He asked me the next night at table- 
 d'hote, which of Shakespeare's plays had 
 Valentine and Orson in it. He was a 
 treat. But I liked him. He told me if 
 I would come over to Brooklyn, he would 
 see that I had front places everywhere !' 
 
 ' Did he truly say that of the San Sisto?'
 
 106 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 ' He truly did. Ask Muriel if you don't 
 believe me. She heard it. But now, hand 
 over that old Browning. You have given 
 me an extract, I'll give you one. Where 
 is the thing ? I know it's got a title that 
 has nothing whatever to do with it, like 
 one of Albert Moore's pictures, don't you 
 know ? Tavo flabby girls in green and 
 yellow draperies lolling on a bath-room 
 floor, one with a book, the other with a 
 holly-hock. You consult the catalogue 
 and find the title of the picture is " Night- 
 shade." After a few painful moments, in 
 which you feel as if you had lost your 
 senses, you descry three red berries in the 
 bottom left-hand corner of the canvas. 
 Well, that's one of Brownino^'s dodo^es, all 
 over ! Listen to this : 
 
 " Soft !" I'd say, " soul mine 
 Three-score and ten years 
 Let the blind mole mine, 
 Digging out deniers ! 
 Let the dazed hawk soar, 
 Claim the sun's rights too I
 
 YOU KNEW A FRIEND OF MINE. 107 
 
 Turf 't is thy walk's o'er, 
 Foliage thy flight's to!" 
 
 What have you to say to those two last 
 lines, eh, miss? Shall I take them for 
 a model of style ?' 
 
 Hope's eager answer died away sudden- 
 ly, for there was a modest tap at the door. 
 
 ' That's nurse,' observed Tom, 'she shall 
 be umpire. I'll read over this verse, and 
 see if she finds the sense obvious. Come 
 in, old lady ! Don't be bashful !' 
 
 The door opened, and Major Westmor- 
 land walked somewhat hesitatingly in. 
 
 Up flew Tom, with an irreverent excla- 
 mation. 
 
 'Major! I beg your pardon'-! I thought 
 you were nurse !' 
 
 ' You compliment me,' said the Major, 
 smiling ; ' I feel as if I were intruding, but 
 Mrs. Saxon sent me in for some tea.' 
 
 'Wake up Muriel, ring for fresh tea, and 
 we'll each move on a place like the hatter,*
 
 108 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 cried Tom. ' Come, here's a first-class 
 chair! Sit down and tell us what Miss 
 Forde said to you.' 
 
 The visitor obediently sat down, set- 
 tling himself in his chair with a manner 
 decidedly his own — impossible to describe, 
 but very characteristic. 
 
 He was one of those men who are re- 
 membered for their manners more than for 
 their faces. Not that his manner was so 
 very good, but that it was so exceedingly 
 distinctive. No disguising would disguise 
 him, his every action would betray his 
 identity. 
 
 He sat down with a sense of comfort 
 and ease. He had walked the five miles 
 from Minster-gate to Hesselburgh, and had 
 come in both hot and dusty. Rest was 
 sweet, and the pretty rose-scented room 
 exquisitely refreshing. Moreover, the 
 pouring out of his mind to his friend 
 Forde had been a great relief, though no
 
 YOU KNEW A FRIEND OF MINE. 109' 
 
 very satisfactory solution of his difficulties 
 had been arrived at. He felt more so- 
 ciable, more ready to be amused than 
 when he encountered poor Leo at luncheon 
 time. 
 
 His eye rested with a sense of satis- 
 faction on Hope's slim young figure, occu- 
 pying only half of the big chair she sat in. 
 Her pale pink gown threw up her nut- 
 brown hair in pleasant relief; the two 
 hands folded lightly on her lap, with a 
 fresh cambric handkerchief lightly crushed 
 between, were such well-shaped, ladylike, 
 charming little hands, that he could hardly 
 have desired a more pleasing object for his 
 lazy gaze to rest upon. Muriel too, calm 
 and fair, pouring out fresh tea, gave a 
 comforting impression of boundless leisure^ 
 fine weather and other ingredients for hap- 
 piness all being a matter of course. Every- 
 thing always was a matter of course to 
 Muriel. Nothing that occurred ever
 
 110 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 seemed to surprise or disconcert her. If 
 it were wet, it appeared trivial to complain 
 of anything so entirely expected ; if fine, 
 the bare idea of having supposed it would 
 be anything else seemed preposterous. 
 
 There was no pretence about any of the 
 three — they seemed so simple that the 
 lonely fellow's heart went out to them. It 
 would be pleasant to make a fourth among 
 them, he thought. Surely these two girls 
 were not designing — they were not after 
 the type of the Colombo Miss Merrion, 
 whose name seemed always ringing in his 
 ears. He was so sick of the country-house 
 girl of the period, with her elaborate tea- 
 gowns and coiffures, her boundless experi- 
 ence in flirtation, her w^orldliness and 
 cynicism and savoir faire. He was indeed 
 glad that they had come to Hesselburgh 
 instead of accepting Lord Bala's invitation. 
 He knew the coverts here of old. He 
 would get plenty of sport every day if he
 
 YOU KNEW A FKIEND OF MINE. Ill 
 
 chose, and look forward to coming in to a 
 cup of tea in this bewitching room, with 
 these three happy young beings to divert 
 him with their fresh nonsense. 
 
 He sat for about twenty minutes, listen- 
 ing delightedly to their chatter — saying 
 nothing himself, but keenly enjoying all 
 the nonsense talked by the others. Only 
 once was he directly appealed to, and that 
 by Tom, on the all-important Browning 
 question. After a little hesitation the 
 Major was fain to confess to a decided 
 liking for the poet in question ; on which 
 Hope softly clapped those expressive little 
 hands together, so letting the handkerchief 
 flutter to the o^round, and o^ivino; him a 
 chance to stoop his tall head till he had 
 reclaimed it. A little whiff of violets came 
 from it as he returned it to its owner. He 
 thought that Hope somehow suggested 
 violets, and wondered what her other name 
 was.
 
 112 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 She was evidently not quite so young as 
 Miss Saxon. There was a pretty little 
 assumption of seniority in her manner, 
 but still she was young; the bloom of 
 girlhood still hung on her small, smooth 
 cheeks, there were no dark lines under 
 the limpid eyes. That fresh enjoyment of 
 life just for the sake of living, which be- 
 longs only to youth, was evidently hers. 
 The flash of that sudden smile — that smile 
 revealing such an unexpected, tantalizing, 
 wonderful dimple just in the corner of the 
 sweet, frank mouth — oh, that was indeed 
 the smile of youth, free and unburdened 
 with memories, the smile of that liberty 
 which com.es only of a clear conscience- 
 So reflected the Major for his own delec- 
 tation, while Tom was narrating spicily to 
 Hope how a certain London firm sent emis- 
 saries to the pit of every London theatre 
 to collect orange-peel for their marmalade ; 
 and, when he had succeeded in making
 
 YOU KNEW A FRIEND OF MINE. 113 
 
 her feel quite sick, consolingly adding that 
 all theirs was home-made, and she might 
 really rely on it. 
 
 At this unwelcome moment one of the 
 footmen appeared at the door. 
 
 ' Miss Saxon and Mr. Thomas is wanted 
 in the drawing-room, to see Admiral and 
 Mrs. Bligh.' 
 
 ' It is always like that just when we are 
 comfortable,' said Muriel, rising with per- 
 fect serenity. ' Major Westmorland, I must 
 leave you to amuse Miss Merrion.' 
 
 A sudden dead silence fell, as the door 
 closed on the brother and sister. Major 
 Westmorland stood with knit brows, look- 
 ing puzzled ; he thought he had heard 
 incorrectly. 
 
 'Excuse my stupidity, hut what did Miss 
 Saxon say your name was ?' he asked. 
 
 ' My name is Merrion,' she answered, 
 — with that smile ! 
 
 ' I suppose you are no relation of some 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 Merrions I heard about,' he said, nervous- 
 ly. ' Were you ever in Ceylon ?' 
 
 There was a look, yes ! Undoubtedly 
 there was a look as of some memory that 
 was not pleasant in Hope's clear eyes. 
 
 ' Yes, I was in Colombo all last winter. 
 I have not long been home.' 
 
 He could not believe his ears. But no ! 
 Impossible! This could not be the girl! 
 She must have a sister. 
 
 ' You have a sister, have you not ?' he 
 asked, eagerly. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 'Two brothers, but no sister.' 
 
 Horror ! He felt as if he, like his father, 
 were going mad. Could it be conceivable 
 that this fresh, innocent-faced girl was the 
 very woman whose name he execrated 
 above all women just then, the woman 
 who had broken his friend's heart ? Oh, if 
 it were so, then was every woman ever 
 born a mass of lies and treachery — the
 
 YOU KNEW A FRIEND OF MINE. 115 
 
 fairer her face the deeper the depth of un- 
 truth it concealed. He was resolved to 
 ascertain ; for, if this were true, then never 
 would he believe in any feminine thing 
 hereafter for ever. 
 
 * If you were in Colombo last winter,' 
 he slowly said, ' I think you knew a friend 
 of mine out there, Captain Disney.' 
 
 The colour flew to the girl's face, suffus- 
 ing neck and brow in a scarlet tide. He 
 could see hoAV the name moved her. She 
 did not answer for a minute or two ; per- 
 haps she could not command her voice. 
 At last, 
 
 , '" Was it from Captain Disney that you 
 heard about me ?' she asked, looking 
 straight at the Major as she put the 
 question. 
 
 ' It was,' he answered, drily, yet unable, 
 for some reason, to help feeling mean as 
 he met that direct o:aze. 
 
 She saw, most likely, the curled lip, the 
 
 i2
 
 116 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 bitter contempt in his face as they con- 
 fronted each other, but she did not waver. 
 She had risen too, and stood before him, 
 slight and girlish and slim in her simple 
 gown ; so innocuous to look upon, and yet 
 he could feel how dangerous she was. 
 
 ^He is a great friend of yours?' she 
 asked. 
 
 ' He is a great friend ; my best.' 
 
 ' I think we had better not speak of him,' 
 she said, gently. 
 
 ^ I entirely agree with you. I could not 
 trust myself to speak of him, to you.' 
 
 Without another word, she turned and 
 walked out of the room, closing the door 
 behind her. The little handkerchief again 
 fell to the ground, and again, as the door 
 shut, the Major picked it up. The whiff 
 of violets were again discernible. 
 
 ' Faugh !' he said, to himself, with feel- 
 ings of the bitterest disgust, ' that I should 
 be in the house with her ! Of all women
 
 YOU KNEW A FKIEND OF MINE. 117 
 
 on this earth that I should be under the 
 same roof with the girl who jilted Disney ! 
 And the last woman likely to do such a 
 thing if one went by the look of her. 
 What an extraordinary coincidence ! What 
 an unfortunate thing !*
 
 118 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A DECLARATION OF WAR. 
 
 Utter contemptibility, nor more 
 Nor less. Contemptibility — exempt 
 How could I, from its proper due — contempt. 
 
 R. Browning. 
 
 Hope Merrion, as she walked swiftly along 
 the corridor in the direction of her own 
 room, was experiencing^ a feeling altogether 
 new to her. Never once in her three or 
 four years career as a 'grown-up young 
 lady ' had any male thing looked upon her 
 save with approbation. This evening a 
 man — a stranger — had dared to stand 
 before her with indignant contempt in
 
 A DECLARATION OF WAR. 1 1 9 
 
 every line of his strono^ face. He had 
 scorched her with his scorn, he had lashed 
 her with the expression of his angry eyes. 
 
 Of course it was, in itself, a little thing. 
 What should Hope care for the unconceal- 
 ed ill-opinion of one stray man ? Why 
 trouble that he should be ill-bred enough 
 to show it ? 
 
 It is hard for a woman, nevertheless, to 
 endure a man's disdain. 
 
 Disney's friend ! Poor Disney ! And he 
 despised her. He looked down upon her, 
 as a fickle woman, who had laid his friend's 
 heart in the dust and trodden on it for sport. 
 She even laughed a little, though sadly, as 
 she fancied for a moment the light in which 
 Captain Disney's friend must regard her. 
 
 She walked into her room, which was 
 flooded with evening sunshine. A lime- 
 tree looked in through one of the Avindows^ 
 and its translucent leaves were wonderful 
 with the effect of warm light through them.
 
 120 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 The house was quite a modern one, 
 built in the pretty ' Queen Anne' affecta- 
 tion of a few years ago ; all the win- 
 dows were casemented, and had deep win- 
 dow-seats. Miss Merrion went across her 
 room and sat down, with her forehead 
 against the stone muUion, and the lime 
 branches softly caressing her innocent- 
 looking cheek. 
 
 ' And of course it is true,' she reflected. 
 * I did break it off. I cannot deny it. 1 
 cannot deny that he thought I treated him 
 badly. Oh ! the satire of it ! / treated him 
 badly !' A small sarcastic laugh escaped 
 her. ' Oh, life is so very hard to live,' was 
 her inward lament. ' It all goes on so 
 nicely for a bit, you slip along so easily, 
 and feel so content with yourself, and then 
 all of a sudden, without any warning, there 
 is a tangle and a knot, what my nurse used 
 to call a ''snarl" in my hair! . . . And 
 you find everything has broken off short.
 
 A DECLAKATION OF WAR. 121 
 
 I had a presentiment this morning that 
 something unpleasant was coming. That 
 man ! 1 wish he would go away.' 
 
 It was not so much the manifest dis- 
 approval of the Major, as the memories he 
 had stirred, which so discomfited her. He 
 had brought keenly to mind something that 
 she wished so particularly to forget — her 
 great mistake, the passage in her life 
 which she must always so keenly regret. 
 She hated the bare mention of her ill-fated 
 visit to Ceylon. But this man's attitude 
 put things in a new, a worse light. She 
 felt as if she had never before appreciated 
 her discarded lover's side of the question. 
 She felt herself more to blame than ever 
 before, in face of the righteous anger of 
 the captain's friend. It was as unpleasant 
 as novel, it stirred up a most distasteful 
 feeling within her, a feeling of guilt. She 
 struggled against the injustice of it, but 
 could not banish it.
 
 122 THE IDES OF MAKCII. 
 
 And now she had to be in the same 
 house with the man who held this opinion 
 of her. Day after day she would have to 
 meet him and know what he thought. 
 Oh, certainly, her pleasure was over ; the 
 visit should be shortened as much as 
 decency permitted. How easy it had been 
 to forget painful things in Tom's jovial 
 company ! How pleasant to run Avild with 
 him, and to enjoy each day as it rolled by, 
 without caring for the days behind, or 
 fearing those to come I 
 
 Now, the face of this man, Edgar Dis- 
 ney's friend, would reproach every peal 
 of laughter, deprecate every light-hearted 
 ramble. It would be a perpetual reminder, 
 a constant calhng to order, of the girl who 
 had behaved so badly, and had so little 
 right to exult in her unjustly recovered 
 freedom. For the hundredth time in her 
 life she wished she had never met Edgar 
 Disney.
 
 A DECLAEATION OF WAR. 123 
 
 The vanity of that wish brought tears 
 to her eyes, rare tears, for Hoj^e very 
 seldom cried. 
 
 Was it to be worse than she thought? 
 A dark background henceforth inseparable 
 from the picture of her life? A hot blush 
 of shame crept over her small, expressive 
 face ; the hardly-wrung tears coursed each 
 other unheeded over her cheeks. Her 
 little mouth was drawn down piteously at 
 the corners. Westmorland had made her 
 very miserable. The small summer wind 
 sighed sympathetically among the lime- 
 leaves, and ruffled her pretty hair. The 
 sun sank lower, loAver towards the dark 
 hill which would presently hide him from 
 view. Hope felt very lonely. 
 
 A childish wish sprang up all uninvited 
 in her heart for some one with strong arms 
 to enfold her, a broad breast to support 
 her forlorn head, a comforting voice to 
 tell her that she must not be unhappy.
 
 124 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 There was none such in the world. Her 
 brother Fred was married, and lived a 
 wealthy, common-place life in London, 
 with his handsome, common-place wife and 
 his three fine, healthy children. Her 
 brother Herbert was with his regiment in 
 Ceylon, and very much inclined to agree 
 wdth Major Westmorland about Hope's 
 treatment of Disney. 
 
 The girl was an orphan, and her nominal 
 home was with Fred in Berkeley Square, 
 or with her aunt, the Honourable Mrs. 
 Paul, in Adelaide Crescent, Brighton. 
 Neither of these homes was in any way 
 congenial to the girl. She liked better to 
 be with her school-friend, Muriel Saxon, 
 than anywhere else. Now, in consequence 
 of that wretched affair last winter, was her 
 happiness here to be marred as well ? 
 
 She was used to take a very healthy, 
 rational view of life ; there was nothing 
 morbid or hysterical in her nature ; re-
 
 A DECLAEATIOX OF WAR. 125 
 
 pining was a most unusual thing with her. 
 But this evening she had this strange 
 feeling of loneHness — such a sensation as 
 might be the experience of an accused 
 maiden in the lists with no champion to 
 do battle for her. 
 
 ' There is no one to stand up for me,' 
 she reflected sadly. ^ Nobody, except Lady 
 Caroline.' 
 
 Lady Caroline Loftus was an L^ish 
 cousin who had chaperoned Hope to Ceylon, 
 and defended the girl through thick and 
 thin. But Lady Caroline being the sole 
 stay of her family, all more or less infirm 
 and with incomes impaired by a long 
 course of boycotting, was not by any 
 means always available. Hope wanted 
 her now. 
 
 She wanted some one to raise her in her 
 own estimation, to soothe her ruffled pride, 
 replace her lowered self-respect. But fruit- 
 less lono-ino: is a dano^erous as well as a
 
 126 THE IDES OF MAECII. 
 
 strikingly futile occupation ; it begets 
 'tears, idle tears,' and other inconveniences 
 in the shape of headaches and swollen 
 eyelids. Leo Forde might have been sur- 
 prised had she known how very much 
 abased was the artistically-arranged head 
 of the Hope who had smiled so buoyantly 
 that morning from her seat at Tom's side 
 in the dog-cart. 
 
 Hope bethought her in time that she 
 must not appear at dinner with swollen 
 eyelids, if only to avoid giving occasion of 
 triumph to that odious Major. She ap- 
 plied first the traditional cold water ; then, 
 with more success, eau-de-Cologne. Just 
 as almost all traces were obliterated Bowen, 
 her maid, appeared to dress her. 
 
 A small reaction had set in. Hope was 
 fingry at her own late break-down. She 
 was defiant now, determined to show her- 
 self by no means conscience-stricken. Who 
 was the Major, pray, that he or his opinion
 
 A DECLARATION OF WAR. 127 
 
 should have any influence with her ? She 
 was not quite so weak as that, she should 
 hope. 
 
 She dressed herself with special care, 
 hung perilously out of her window to 
 snatch some of the climbino; gloire de 
 Dijons for a finishing touch, and when she 
 was ready, walked fearlessly down to what 
 Tom called the ' week-day drawing-room,' 
 prepared to brave whatever might befall. 
 
 Only one person was ^^I'^sent when she 
 entered — Mr. Westmorland the elder — 
 seated at a Chippendale writing-table, 
 carefully inscribing something in a small, 
 delicately-bound volume. He looked very 
 handsome as the evening light fell upon 
 him, his gold nippers forming, as they 
 often do with men, a decided improvement 
 to his face and expression. It was never 
 the custom of the Saxon family to assem- 
 ble one moment before it was necessary. 
 Mrs. Saxon and her ever-faithful spouse
 
 128 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 were probably roaming the kitchen-gardens 
 together, and contemplating the wall-fruit. 
 Tom was doubtless in the stables, or giving 
 a valedictory glance to his new retriever- 
 pup ; and Muriel was invariably late for 
 everything. 
 
 Mr. Westmorland looked up, over his 
 spectacles, as Hope rustled softly in. 
 
 ^ Ah ! Miss Merrion,' he said, rising 
 gallantly, ' there you are ! Let me find 
 you a seat. How pretty the young ladies 
 do look now-a-days in their well-fitting 
 gowns. The young should always wear 
 Avhite ! Ah, my dear, I am not a bigot, 
 as so many old fogeys are, I march with 
 the times. I freely admit that dress has 
 improved tremendously of late. AYe had 
 no such thing when I was young, no such 
 thing as art applied to dress !' 
 
 Hope sank with a pleased laugh into the 
 chair placed by the old beau. 
 
 ' Oh, how clever you are !' she said, 'you
 
 A DECLAllATION OF WAR. 129 
 
 have done me so much good with that 
 pretty compliment. I was feeling a little 
 dissatisfied with myself, and you not only 
 saw what was amiss, but knew at once 
 how to remedy it ! Do I really look 
 nice ?' 
 
 She turned up to him a look of playful 
 darino^, before which his elderlv outworks 
 went down without a struggle. What a 
 witch this girl was ! For a moment his 
 heart leapt within him as it flashed across 
 him, that even Evelyn could hardly stand 
 against a power such as this. Its uncon- 
 sciousness was the charm of it. He re- 
 mained for a moment transfixed. Many 
 and many a pretty girl had he met, and 
 he despised them all ; but rarely had he 
 encountered one with these allurements, 
 with this subtle, nameless magic about her 
 every look and tone. 
 
 ' Here for the first time in my life,' he 
 thought, ' I see a woman whom men might 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 THE IDES OF MAKCH. 
 
 die for, a woman so far above the average 
 nice girl that she could never be sup- 
 planted nor forgotten, a woman who, dead, 
 could hold the life-long devotion of a 
 living man, even in this cold-hearted cen- 
 tury of ours.' 
 
 • How you look at me !' said Hope, 
 tentatively. ' I am afraid you disapprove 
 of my asking straight out for a com- 
 pliment.' 
 
 ' I am silent for want of inspiration, my 
 dear young lady ; an every-day compli- 
 ment will hardly suit such a beauty as one 
 meets once in a life-time.' 
 
 A soft glow of pleasure and interest 
 lit up the girl's face. Leaning on her 
 elbow she smiled at him. 
 
 ' That is beautiful,' she said, ' it is like 
 the compliments the gentlemen at Bath 
 made in the time of Evelina! And you 
 said it so well, quite as if you meant it ! 
 I like to be talked to like that. It makes
 
 A DECLARATION OF WAR. 131 
 
 me feel as if I were on a pedestal.' — ' He 
 is far nicer than his son,' she was inwardly 
 reflecting. 
 
 ' If I were young again, Miss Merrion,' 
 said he, with a gallant bow, ^ you should 
 hear what I could do in the way of a 
 compliment. Ah ! They have lost the 
 art now-a-days ! Worse than that, they 
 pride themselves upon it. Had you been 
 young when I was, you should have had 
 more than pretty speehes ! I would have 
 written verses in your praise ; I should not 
 have been ashamed to serenade you either! 
 In those days a young man was proud 
 -of his love, he cared not who knew how 
 he adored his lady, whether she were kind 
 or cruel. Ha !' he laughed satirically, ' we 
 have indeed changed all that. Secresy 
 is the order of the day — secresy, lest the 
 tender masculine vanity should by chance 
 receive a blow, lest anyone should guess 
 that the valuable self has been ofl'ered and 
 
 k2
 
 132 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 rejected ! The young men like to be on 
 the safe side, Miss Merrion. If you refuse 
 them in private, it is so easy for them to 
 at least infer, if they do not announce, in 
 public, that you were very ready to have 
 had them, if they had but asked you ! I 
 know them ! Insufferable puppies !' 
 
 ' Oh, that is so true !' said Hope, with 
 vivacity. ' So very true, indeed it is ! I 
 know a girl who w^as treated just like 
 that ! Do you know^ what the consequence 
 is ? That girls are beginning to think 
 that, in self-defence, they must do away 
 with reticence, and publish what hitherta 
 they have felt it a point of honour to con- 
 ceal ! We shall soon bes^in to make lists 
 of our victims' names, as I hear they do in 
 America.' 
 
 ' I should, if I were you,' said Mr. West- 
 morland, with his admiring gaze fixed on 
 the girl. 
 
 He was in elysium for the time being.
 
 A DECLARATION OF AVAR. 133 
 
 Every little movement, each fleeting ex- 
 pression and momentary gesture of this 
 girl increased his admiration of her. Here 
 indeed was a heart worth conquering, and, 
 as his keen instinct told him, a heart not 
 easily to be conquered. Oh, she was 
 charming — charming ! If Evelyn were 
 not a very flint, he must be touched at 
 last. Evelyn's father wished he were 
 young again — wished that he were once 
 more the handsome, dangerous Clifl'ord 
 Westmorland who had carried ofl* the 
 reigning heiress and beauty in the teeth 
 of many rivals, being only a younger son, 
 with nothino; but himself to recommend 
 him. Such an enterprise had been what 
 his soul loved. Xow the desire for it had 
 passed away. Ill-health had robbed him 
 prematurely of his youth — Avhat he want- 
 ed was to see his own experience repro- 
 duced in his son. But no ! Hopelessly 
 stolid, hopelessly perverse, was Evelyn.
 
 134 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 As his father frequently tauntingly told 
 him, he seemed to be born without the 
 capacity for love. 
 
 But, whatever might be the fathers- 
 private opinion of his unimpressionable 
 son, it was by no means his policy to speak 
 of him slightingly to others — least of all 
 to this girl, whom he already coveted as 
 his daughter-in-law. Rather Avas it his 
 aim, by a few casual, well-directed insinua- 
 tions, to inspire an interest in this disap- 
 pointing person, to seek to tire the femi- 
 nine imagination with an idea which he 
 himself believed to be the greatest of 
 delusions — namely, that the Major, being 
 such still water, ran very deep. 
 
 ' Yes,' he said, reflectively, idly tapping 
 one of his well-shaped, carefully soignees 
 hands with his gold pince-nez^ ' I am always 
 telling that son of mine that people will 
 say he has been rejected if he goes about 
 with that long face, and remains much
 
 A DECLARATION OF WAR. 135 
 
 longer a bachelor. But my son is hard to 
 please — a family failing : decidedly hard to 
 please.' 
 
 ' Is he ? I daresay,' said Hope, unre- 
 sponsively, and with a little inward shrink- 
 ing from a disagreeable memory. 
 
 'Oh, yes I Look at him — unmarried 
 still ! Some people might think he had 
 been hard hit, you know; but I know 
 better. I am in his confidence, and I know 
 it is the family fate.' 
 
 It was Mr. Westmorland's invariable 
 custom to weave such pleasing fictions into 
 his conversation, whenever the case seem- 
 ed to require them. He paused a moment 
 to enjoy the sound of these, and then re- 
 sumed, 
 
 ' Have you ever noticed his chin — the 
 prominence of his chin ? That denotes 
 ideality. Such a man will go through life 
 seeking an ideal. If he realises it, well 
 and good; if not, he will never be mated.
 
 136 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 ' I should think the latter is more prob- 
 able/ said Hope, drily. 
 
 She was greatly amused. Tom had pre- 
 pared her, it will be remembered, for the 
 elder Westmorland's vicarious love-making. 
 
 ' I should have said so yesterday, Miss 
 Merrion,' said the handsome old man, with 
 so much intention that she almost laughed 
 outright. 
 
 Just then the door opened, and the sub- 
 ject of this interesting conversation stalked 
 solemnly into the room, his face rearing 
 itself gloomily over his expanse of immacu- 
 late shirt-front. 
 
 Hope's heart gave a nervous throb as 
 he entered, and he, when he perceived her, 
 remained at the further end of the room, 
 and looked out of the most distant window. 
 
 ' Come and join us, Evelyn,' said his 
 father, in his blandest tones. ' Miss Mer- 
 rion and I are having a most interesting 
 discussion on a very vital point — as to
 
 A DECLARATION OF WAR. 137 
 
 what are likely to be the consequences to a 
 man who goes through life with an ideal.' 
 
 ' That is a subject on which I should 
 imagine Miss Merrion to be excellently 
 well qualified to speak,' said the Major, 
 with slow composure. As he spoke, he 
 stooped, unbolted the window, and passed 
 out upon the lawn, where he was imme- 
 diately seen in conversation with his host 
 and hostess. 
 
 ' The manners of a bear,' reflected his 
 fond father, with wrath unspeakable. 
 
 ' I hate him,' was Hope's simple reflec- 
 tion, as she bit her lip with resentment. 
 
 Mrs. Saxon Avalked into the room, re- 
 moving from her shoulders the wrap she 
 had worn for her garden excursion, and 
 revealing herself in virgin white, as usual, 
 her appearance conveying a general im- 
 pression that head and neck and arms 
 alike required covering, or adornment of 
 some kind.
 
 138 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 Her son dashed in at almost the same 
 moment, hastily fastening the left cuif of 
 his shirt, and with an air of having been 
 hustled into his clothes at the shortest 
 notice. 
 
 ' We won't wait for Muriel ; Major West- 
 morland, please take Miss Merrion,' said 
 Mrs. Saxon. 
 
 As she spoke, the door opened to admit 
 of Muriel's leisurely entrance, as cool as 
 Tom's had been flurried. Her the Major 
 deliberately approached, offering his arm. 
 
 ' Muriel, oh ! I said Hope,' began Mrs. 
 Saxon. 
 
 ' I thought you addressed my father,' 
 said Evelyn, innocently. 
 
 ' 1 see,' thought Hope, defiantly, as with 
 a merry smile at her hostess she took Tom's 
 joyfully extended arm and sailed away to 
 the dining-room. ' I see, he is going to 
 give his mind to slighting me, to making 
 my life a burden with little insults. All
 
 A DECLARATION OF WAE. 13^ 
 
 very amusing, my dear sir, so long as you 
 have it all your own way ; but two can play 
 at that game, and I am not quite a novice 
 either, as you may chance shortly to 
 discover.'
 
 140 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A NORCHESTER FESTIVITY. 
 
 My son will find revealed 
 
 My love, by his. I bow resigned my bead : 
 
 But love, alas ! comes idly to the dead ! 
 
 Warburton Pike. 
 
 The Finches were of the more genial denizens 
 of Norchester. They dwelt amileortwo out 
 of the town, on the opposite side to Hessel- 
 burgh. The family was small, consisting 
 only of a handsome, kindly, elderly man, 
 and his third Avife. Nature had not framed 
 Mr. Finch to live alone ; and when his two 
 helpmeets were successively carried from 
 him, leaving no children to supply their 
 places, his eminently sociable disposition
 
 A NOKCHESTER FESTIVITY. 141 
 
 prompted him to seek a third. They were 
 the sweetest tempered couple for miles 
 around, and Duffield, as their pretty, com- 
 fortable, unpretentious place was called, 
 was almost the only house where one met, 
 united, those three deadly schisms — the 
 county clique, the cathedral clique, and 
 the town clique. It gave Mr. Finch just 
 as much real pleasure to receive Mrs. Han- 
 cock and the Misses Press, and to fill them 
 with his good things, as to entertain the 
 Dean himself, with his cultivated paganism, 
 and his hideous wife ; or the Carey-Lenoxes, 
 with their promiscuous troop of visitors, 
 their scandalous little court stories, and 
 their entire belief in their own superiority. 
 
 The Finches liked their visitors to come 
 en masse. Xo ceremonious picking out of 
 two representatives would satisfy the genial 
 host. 
 
 ' Why, Mrs. Saxon,' he would say, 
 * where are all the young people you had
 
 142 THE IDES OF MAECH. 
 
 with you in the Minster last Sunday? 
 Such a delightful group of pretty faces, I 
 was looking forward to having my gardens 
 decorated gratis !' 
 
 31 rs. Saxon approved of the Finches. 
 She liked them because there was no hum- 
 bug about them. Everything genuine 
 found favour in her sight. She liked their 
 omnium gatherum too. Priding herself on 
 being a daughter of the people, she mixed 
 wuth whom she chose, careless of any of- 
 fence she so gave to local prejudice. She 
 never declined an invitation to Duffield, 
 knowing that there she was sure of meet- 
 ing everybody, and of being thoroughly 
 well amused. 
 
 The Hesselburgh party accordingly, on 
 the day following the arrival of the West- 
 morlands, had orders to turn out in force 
 to one of the Finches' big garden-parties. 
 
 'Seven of us,' said Mrs. Saxon with 
 pride, surveying them all assembled in the
 
 A NORCHESTER FESTIVITY. 143 
 
 hall. ' Two for the victoria, four for the 
 dog-cart — oh, are 3^ou going to ride, Athel- 
 stan ?' addressing her husband. 
 
 ' ^o, my dearest ; the Major is going to 
 ride,' said Mr. Saxon, amiably. 
 
 'Oh! How was that arranged?' de- 
 manded his wife, in some surprise. ' I 
 thought the four young people preferred 
 driving together T 
 
 ' Westmorland's own choice, mater' said 
 Tom, lightly, as he threw the dust-rug 
 over Miss Merrion's knees; 'so Hope and 
 I are going to sit behind, and pater s going 
 to drive, and if we don't get spilt in the 
 middle of the market-place, why my name 
 isn't Tom Saxon, that's all!' 
 
 ' Tom, you had better not let your father 
 drive Maidenhair, you really had not,' said 
 the mater, anxiously. ' Major "Westmor- 
 land, I am afraid you are sacrificing your- 
 self for the public weal.' 
 
 'On the contrary, I assure you,' replied
 
 144- THE IDES OF MAKCH. 
 
 Evel}'!!, in those conventional tones which 
 may mean anything you please. 
 
 * Oh, well, settle it as you choose,' said 
 the lady, who never made a fuss about 
 anything; 'but, Athelstan, put on your 
 spectacles I beg, or you will run into 
 something to a certainty.' 
 
 ' Burrowes, you might put a little lint 
 and arnica into the trap for bandaging the 
 wounded,' said Tom irreverently, to the 
 footman. ' It's all serene, mater^'he added 
 consolingly; 'Muriel can drive Maidenhair 
 if she proves too much ^ov ixiter.'' 
 
 ' Oh, Muriel, to be sure,' said Mrs. 
 Saxon, in a relieved tone, stepping into 
 the victoria wdth Mr. Westmorland. 
 
 'Master Tom is a handful,' observed 
 that (gentleman. 
 
 He disliked Tom because he never knew 
 whether he was laughing at him or not, 
 the young gentleman's command of feature 
 being great.
 
 A NOECHESTER FESTIVITY. 145 
 
 *Tom?' said the mater^ coolly. 'Oh, 
 he's very well in hand ; but I give him 
 his head a bit while he is fresh. If you 
 hold them in too tight you spoil their 
 mouth, you know ; young men or colts, it 
 is all the same.' 
 
 ' Ah, that is all very well, my dear 
 madam,' sighed the widower, ' but it does 
 not always answer. Give them an inch 
 and they will take an ell. Look at my 
 son.' 
 
 ' I do look at him, and a better son I 
 never saw. He is a credit to your 
 training.' 
 
 He heaved a sigh. Should he or should 
 he not confide to this sympathising friend 
 a part of his distress ? 
 
 He stole a look at her. Much as he 
 admired her ability and appreciated her 
 cuisine^ he did wish she were not quite so 
 frankly, so undisguisably hideous. She 
 wore a straw hat to-day, with a plain band 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 of ribbon — a hat which would have looked 
 simply bewitching on Leo Forde. It was 
 a caricature in its present position. Yet 
 how kind she was ! How he always en- 
 joyed his visits to her house, the run of 
 her library, the please-yourself ease and 
 comfort of the whole menage. His mouth 
 seemed to become unsealed in spite of 
 himself. 
 
 'You must know that I am distressed 
 about my son,' he said. 
 
 ' Indeed !' said she. 'You surprise me.' 
 
 ' Ah ! doubtless — doubtless. It is a 
 great trouble to me, I freely own. It 
 seems to me, Mrs. Saxon, that fathers and 
 sons do not often understand each other.' 
 
 ' Very likely not. For the reason that 
 many fathers, in their extreme folly, ex- 
 pect their sons to be like them. It is a 
 most unusual thing, as my experience 
 shows me, for a son to resemble his father 
 closely, either in tastes or disposition.
 
 A NORCHESTER FESTIVITY. 147 
 
 Look at my Tom as a shining example ! 
 But is it impossible to understand a nature 
 because it is unlike your own? I think 
 not. And see what opportunities parents 
 have — if they would but use them — of 
 finding out their children's dispositions. 
 AVhen a child is young, it is unconscious ; 
 it will betray itself a thousand times a 
 ^ay : its natural tendencies lie bare before 
 you. I know my two, as no human being 
 on earth knows them. They are not in 
 the least like either their father or me ; 
 but that does not distress us by any 
 means.' 
 
 'Ah! no. Very true, as you say; but 
 my son is a different sort : he is so terribly 
 reserved.' 
 
 * Now, of course he is. Few men of his 
 -age wear their heart on their sleeve. But 
 how about those days when he wore velvet 
 frocks and long curls ? He was scarcely 
 reserved then, was he ?' 
 
 L 2
 
 148 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 ' I am sure,' Mr. Westmorland Avas fain 
 to confess — ' I am sure I have no distinct 
 recollection of what he was. Young chil- 
 dren have never interested me greatly. 
 He Avas with his mother, or the nurses, I 
 suppose.' 
 
 ' Ah ! true — he has lost his mother,' said 
 Mrs. Saxon, with a sudden inflection of 
 real pity in her voice. ' It is the mother 
 who is nature's ovv'n detective — who can 
 see through the child's transparent wiles^ 
 distinguish shyness from want of feeling, 
 and ignorance from impertinence. I have 
 sometimes wished I had a larger nursery- 
 ful — it is so unspeakably interesting to 
 watch the development of a family of 
 children.' 
 
 ' Humph ! I neglected my opportunities,* 
 said Evelyn's father, drily. ' I belong to 
 an older school, Mrs. Saxon. I have always 
 S3anpathised with Sir Anthony Absolute, 
 I am bold enough to confess. I expect
 
 A NORCHESTER FESTIVITY. 149 
 
 that, when I give an order, my son shall 
 obey it. If not, I have my remedy — I can 
 disinherit him.' He spoke with a sup- 
 pressed excitement, reel spots "flowing in 
 his pale cheeks, and tremulously, as if in 
 defiant protest. ' That is my theory — 
 make them feel it. If they choose to be 
 rebellious, appeal to their self-interest 
 'No need to study individual temperament 
 to discover that, madam ; that's a motive 
 that appeals to all humanity, and saves 
 endless trouble.' 
 
 * And have you found it invariably suc- 
 cessful?' demanded the lady, with a cool- 
 ness which rather took him aback. 
 
 He had expected, perhaps, surprise at 
 his heretical doctrine — depreciation of it 
 — an urging of the superiority of modern 
 ideas. This demand for a practical illus- 
 tration of results was rather embarrassing. 
 He hesitated. 
 
 'You tell me you have found that to be
 
 150 THE IDES OF MAKCH. 
 
 your son Evelyn's disposition ?' she calmly 
 interrogated. 'You give me to under- 
 stand that, with him, no motive is so 
 powerful as self-interest — that he will do 
 anything, however unwillingly, sooner 
 than lose his inheritance ?' 
 
 ' I can't exactly say that — no,' was the 
 chagrined answer. ' But that is just what 
 I complain of. With any ordinary man it 
 would answer perfectly, it must ! With 
 any healthy, rational disposition. Your son 
 Tom, for instance ; dock his allowance, I'd 
 undertake to drive him with no other curb. 
 But Evelyn — such an unfortunate, dogged, 
 obstinate young rebel! I grow warm, and 
 you must excuse me, Mrs. Saxon, but this 
 is a subject that touches me nearly. Why, 
 modern people seem to me to have the 
 most contorted ideas. Self-interest, you 
 talk of, as if that were such an ignoble 
 thing. I deny it. A man is bound to 
 take an interest in himself, a proper pride
 
 A NORCHESTER FESTIVITY. 151 
 
 in his position. Doesn't disinheritance 
 mean disgrace ? Tell me that. Of course 
 it does. A man's father doesn't cast him 
 oiF for nothing, and it is a stigma he will 
 carry to his grave. The young man who is 
 not influenced by such a threat is abnormal, 
 unnatural, I say.' 
 
 Mrs. Saxon was silent for some minutes, 
 finding herself in the puzzling position of 
 having so much to say in answer to this 
 strange doctrine, that she scarcely knew 
 where to begin. At last she decided that, 
 as Mr. Westmorland had evidently some 
 definite sore point which occupied all his 
 thoughts, while she was arguing merely on 
 general grounds, it might be as Avell to 
 find out more of his grievance, if pos- 
 sible. 
 
 'Is there, then, some definite request of 
 yours which the Major has refused ?' asked 
 she. 
 
 ' There is,' was the brief answer.
 
 152 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 ' I am very sorry to hear it.' 
 
 Mr. Westmorland fidgetted about in an 
 uneasy silence for a few minutes, while 
 the carriage bowled swiftly on through 
 the somewhat uneventful country round 
 Norchester. At last, 
 
 * I know you like frankness,' he said, 
 * and I may as well tell you what it is. 
 You will scarcely think the one demand I 
 make of my only son unreasonable, I think. 
 I ask him to marry ; merely that. I do 
 not say, marry this lady, or that lady. I 
 do not limit his choice in any way. I simply 
 ask him to do his obvious duty as sole re- 
 presentative of a very old family. There 
 you have my trouble.' 
 
 ' Does Major Westmorland decline to 
 marry ?' 
 
 ' Absolutely.' 
 
 ' Giving no reasons ?' 
 
 ' Merely that of disinclination.' 
 
 The lady mused a moment or so.
 
 A NORCHESTER FESTIVITY. 153 
 
 * Does he give you to understand that he 
 intends never to change his mind ?' 
 
 ' Well, no, hardly that, but ' 
 
 ' Oh, then of course it is only a question 
 of time,' she broke in, with a relieved smile. 
 'You cannot expect a young man to 
 settle at any exactly given date, can you?' 
 
 Her guest winced, reddened, and paled. 
 In his eye shone an uneasy gleam. Watch- 
 ing him she wondered what lay under the 
 surface. She was satisfied that she had not 
 heard all. 
 
 ' I think my son has had rope enough, 
 Mrs. Saxon. Had I insisted on his marry- 
 ing ten years ago, it might have been 
 arbitrary ; but now ! He is past thirty, and 
 I have been very patient ' 
 
 ' Could you not be patient a little 
 longer? I can only imagine one thing 
 likely to hinder a young man of your son's 
 age and position from marrying ' 
 
 'And that is?'
 
 1 54 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 ' To be repeatedly urged to do it. That 
 is a natural perversity which you cannot 
 help. He may be quite unconscious of it 
 himself, yet it is pretty certain that, if he 
 thought you would much rather he did 
 not marry, he would be irresistibly im- 
 pelled to do so.' 
 
 ' Do you really think that ?' eagerly, 
 feverishly asked he. 
 
 ' I do indeed. Give him to understand 
 that you are not so anxious as you were, 
 that you think perhaps he had better hesi- 
 tate before committing himself It will 
 be a work of time, perhaps, but it is not 
 necessary, I suppose, that he should marry 
 this year or next.' 
 
 ' Ah, but it is !' burst from Mr. Westmor- 
 land, before he had time to command him- 
 self ^That is to say,' he subjoined, ner- 
 vously and hurriedly, ' I am an old man, 
 I have a — a curious presentiment. I want 
 to live to see my daughter-in-law ; to see
 
 A >^OECHESTER FESTIVITY. 155 
 
 iny grandson, if Heaven so will; to be sure 
 that the line will not end in Evelyn.' 
 
 ' But you are not so stricken in years, 
 Mr. Westmorland ! Come ! you can scarce- 
 ly urge that plea. Xo, no, be comforted, 
 all will go well. In his own good time 
 your son will take a wife, if he is let alone. 
 But, if you continue to urge him, you 
 may drive him into a celibacy which, in 
 after years, he will deeply regret. Don't 
 you see that ?' 
 
 He did not answer, but by a melancholy 
 shake of the head. He dare not tell of 
 the superstitious terrors with which he 
 was overwhelmed. Time ! Time was 
 slipping away with a swiftness which made 
 him frantic. Each passing day he longed 
 to seize, and passionately hold it fast, till 
 Evelyn had wrung from it all the oppor- 
 tunities which lay dormant in its sweet 
 summer hours. Yet day after day was he 
 compelled to see wasted, and escaping
 
 156 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 from liis powerless hands ; and the year 
 was rolling on to its end, to the dawn of 
 that fateful year that was coming. Every 
 now and then a paroxysm of vague terror 
 shook him. The mania had been too long- 
 indulged. A practised doctor might have 
 seen the dawn of incipient madness in the 
 contracted brow and gleaming eye. Mrs. 
 Saxon was really puzzled, she could not 
 account for this morbid anxiety to see his 
 son married. It must be a fad, she thought, 
 simply a manifestation of that desire to 
 absolutely dictate the future of their 
 children which, in some parents, really 
 amounts to mania. She could imagine 
 that the Major might be annoying. There 
 Avas a dogged silence about him, which 
 would be pretty sure to grate on the 
 nerves of a sensitive, irritable being like 
 his father. On the other hand, the urging 
 and goading, the perpetual fret caused by 
 the paternal want of discrimination, was
 
 A NOKCHESTER FESTIVITY. 157" 
 
 likely even to create that crust of ob- 
 stinacy, certainly to increase it where it 
 already existed. The hostess had been, 
 to own the secret truth, a little disap- 
 pointed in her younger guest, she had not 
 thought him improved. Her remem- 
 brance of him was undoubtedly not the 
 monosyllabic, impracticable, taciturn man 
 he now appeared. She was now beginning 
 to think that she had accidentally hit 
 upon the key to the puzzle. Doubtless 
 he Avas mortally afraid of Hope and Muriel, 
 looking on both as hypothetical wives, and 
 therefore certain foes. The situation was 
 really rather an amusing one ! Mrs. Saxon 
 felt guiltily inclined to laugh outright, 
 but refrained, for fear of hurting the 
 feelings of her companion, who certainly 
 looked as if it were no lauo-hino; matter.- 
 
 They were bowling up the avenue at 
 Duffield by now, and just in sight of the 
 wide lawn gaily sprinkled with parti-
 
 158 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 coloured <^owns and sable clerics, and here 
 and there with a youth in tennis-attire, 
 forming the nucleus of a bevy of fair ones. 
 
 ' Are we arrived ?' said Mr. Westmor- 
 land. ' I need not, I know, remind you 
 that what I have said is in the strictest 
 confidence.' 
 
 ' Of course,' said she, simply, as she 
 prepared to alight ; ' we will discuss the 
 subject fully on some future occasion — we 
 have not nearly exhausted it.' 
 
 ' Ah ! Our young people are just be- 
 hind,' said Mr. Westmorland, lifting his 
 .eyeglass to survey the approaching dog- 
 cart. ' And that son of mine prefers 
 morosely riding by himself to being in the 
 society of two of the most charming girls 
 I have ever met. Did you ever know such 
 folly? Is not my vexation natural?' 
 
 ' I cannot help confessing that I think 
 his folly is natural : you really ought to 
 know better than to make him so lament-
 
 A NOIICHESTER FESTIVITY. 159 
 
 ably self-conscious, you know. But let us 
 hope it will wear oif as tbey know each 
 other better.' 
 
 One large, limpid pair of eyes, from the 
 many feminine pairs assembled on the 
 lawn, watched with intense interest the 
 arrival of the Hesselburgh party. 
 
 Leo Forde, slim and tall, balancing her 
 racquet in her slender fingers, was await- 
 ing the next hour or two in painful sus- 
 pense. Dick was not present. He was in 
 charge of two critical cases, and could not 
 make his appearance till late in the day. 
 Now, would Major Westmorland recognise 
 her ? That was the great, the thrilling 
 question ! 
 
 Yesterday he had, apparently, never 
 looked at her. He had lunched hastily, 
 and escaped to the surgery to talk busi- 
 ness with Richard. Would he, to-day, 
 entirely ignore her? Leo was mischiev- 
 ously determined to try the experiment by
 
 160 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 putting herself decisively in bis way. Not 
 that she wanted to talk to him — ill-man- 
 nered, ill-tempered man that he was — but 
 that she longed — oh, bow she longed ! to 
 be introduced to the Saxons.
 
 161 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MR. Westmorland's hopes rise. 
 
 I wait for my story — the birds cannot sing it, 
 
 Not one, as he sits on the tree ; 
 The bells cannot ring it, but long years, O bring it ! 
 
 Such as I wish it to be. 
 
 Jean Ingelow. 
 
 The Hesselburgh party advanced into the 
 gardens with cruel tardiness. It really 
 was hateful of them to be so long saluting 
 the host and hostess, introducing their 
 guests — absolutely stopping to admire the 
 archery prizes spread out on a table near ! 
 
 Some one else besides Leo was minutely 
 observing their progress ; Mrs. Hancock, 
 in the celebrated purple sprigged gown, 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 with purple complexion to match, and 
 bright pink bonnet-strings. She was sit- 
 ting enthroned under the big plane-tree, 
 the terror of all the youths and maidens 
 present, who had by common consent re- 
 moved themselves to a safe distance ; with 
 the one exception of Miss Forde, who, as is 
 known, always dared the lady to do her 
 worst. 
 
 The girl was standing purposely within 
 earshot, and soon had the satisfaction of 
 hearing a few comments. 
 
 ' Gracious ! Is that Mrs. Saxon or her 
 son in the short hair, the sailor-hat, and 
 the shirt-front? Oh, that's the lady, is it? 
 Looks rather as if nature had made a 
 mistake.' 
 
 ' One always meets such a very — ahem ! 
 — inclusive set at Duffield,' rejoined Mrs. 
 Shorthouse, with polite venom. 
 
 This lady's husband had only last year 
 been promoted to the honour and glory of
 
 MR. Westmorland's hopes rise. 163 
 
 the Residence. She had spent the requir- 
 ed three months in Norchester, and Mrs. 
 Saxon had not called upon her. Conse- 
 <][uently Mrs. Hancock had a congenial 
 listener. 
 
 * What are the Saxons ? In trade, I 
 hear,' she went on, with assumed indiffer- 
 ence. 
 
 ' Oh, that matters nothing now-a-days. 
 I hear that the daughter of a pork-butcher 
 was lately selected, out of many candi- 
 dates, as a governess for royalty,' vindic- 
 tively said the lady of the sprigged foulard. 
 
 ' Indeed ! It is not so in our family,' 
 with a sio^h of satisfaction. ' Nothing; of 
 that sort tolerated at Castle Tully.' 
 
 Mrs. Shorthouse was the daughter of an 
 Irish lawyer who had been knighted. 
 
 ' I assure you I hear that in London 
 those Saxons are received everywhere,' 
 pursued Mrs. Hancock. 
 
 ' That can be easily believed. London 
 
 M 2
 
 164 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 is a sort oi pot-joourri now-a-days, where 
 wealth is always sure of a footing. The 
 county is the only place where the dis- 
 tinctions of rank are at all preserved.' 
 
 Leo could bear it no longer. She turned 
 away from the two speakers, divided be- 
 tween anger and amusement. 
 
 * Yes,' she thought, ' it is good manners^ 
 not good birth, that the Londoners admire, 
 I believe. It is only here in Norchester 
 that you may be as insolent as you please, 
 provided you know who your great-grand- 
 father was.' 
 
 She looked up suddenly, to find herself 
 face to face with her visitor of yesterday. 
 
 Evelyn remembered her at once. He 
 was in his heart, now that he had unbur- 
 dened himself to Richard, rather ashamed 
 of his conduct to Richard's sister. He 
 bowed and shook hands, full of eagerness 
 to introduce her and her brother to his 
 father and the Saxons. Tom was close at
 
 MB. Westmorland's hopes rise. 165 
 
 his heels, so this introduction was at once 
 accomplished, to the great glee of the heir 
 of Hesselburgh, who at once took entire 
 possession of the doctor's sister, and swept 
 her oiF to tennis before the deliberate 
 Major had found a pause in which to ask 
 her if her brother were there. 
 
 ' You know,' said Tom, confidentially, ' I 
 have been wanting to know you ever since 
 we came down.' 
 
 ' Have you ?' said Leo, smiling, as they 
 walked side by side over the sunny grass. 
 * And I have wanted to know your sister 
 and you ; you both look different from the 
 Norchester people.' 
 
 'That's odd. Just what we thought 
 about you. My mother was coming to 
 call upon you, but now I can introduce you 
 to her after this sett.' 
 
 Mrs. Hancock and Mrs. Shorthouse ex- 
 changed glances of terrible meaning, as 
 they watched the introduction and its
 
 If) 6 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 sequel. But the sole comment made by 
 the former lady was, 
 
 ' 1 thought so ! Birds of a feather flock 
 together.' 
 
 ' The gentleman who introduced them 
 is a distinguished-looking man — a stranger, 
 is he not ?' said Mrs. Shorthouse, eyeing 
 Evelyn's soldierly figure with approval. 
 
 ' One of the house-party. They have a 
 better-looking set than usual,' said Mrs. 
 Hancock, condescendingly, with an eye on 
 Miss Merrion's slim figure. 
 
 Hope was watching all that went for- 
 ward with interest. Country garden- 
 parties were always an amusement to her ; 
 there was a subtle delight in proving the 
 force of the nameless power she seemed to 
 exert over the other sex. Muriel and she 
 differed widely here. Miss Saxon, as be- 
 came the daughter of such a very demo- 
 cratic mother, was decidedly lofty and 
 exclusive in her ideas. Towards those she
 
 ME. WESTMOELANd's HOPES EISE. 167 
 
 considered her equals her manners were 
 very simple and unassuming ; but here, in 
 a ' Xorchester crowd,' she was silent and 
 unbending, and most of the gentlemen 
 were afraid to approach her. But round 
 Hope they clustered like wasps round a 
 honey-pot. One brought ices, another 
 lemonade, a third held her parasol when 
 she partook of these refreshments, while 
 the rest formed an audience around, ready 
 to obey her lightest behest. 
 
 ' Who is the very beautiful young lady 
 who came with you ?' asked Leo of Tom, 
 ' the one talking to all those people over 
 there?' 
 
 ' That ? Hope Merrion, the very nicest 
 — I mean, one of the very nicest girls in 
 the world.' 
 
 ' How much everybody seems to admire 
 her !' said Leo, regarding her attentivel}^ 
 in a pause of the game. ' I don't wonder. 
 She has such a sweet little face.'
 
 168 THE IDES OF MAECH. 
 
 * Such a chin, hasn't she ? It's the chin 
 does it,' said Tom, sagely. 'There isn't a 
 man alive who could resist that chin.' 
 
 Evelyn's father was thinking the same 
 thing. He was annoyed, ahTiost beyond 
 his powers of concealment, by noting that 
 the Major was, with few exceptions, the 
 only young man absent from the charmed 
 circle. A sett of tennis was formed. One 
 of the retinue ran off to the house to get 
 Hope's racquet, and then they moved 
 away, down to the tennis-lawn, and Mr. 
 Westmorland followed them. 
 
 Again, as he watched her playing, surged 
 up in his heart the desire to be young once 
 more ; to make that girl love him, to carry 
 her off under the noses of a dozen rivals. 
 Oh, why, why would not Evelyn do it for 
 him? 
 
 His satisfied eye rested with delight on 
 her every movement, his ear revelled in 
 each cadence of her harmonious young
 
 MR. Westmorland's hopes rise. 169 
 
 voice. She never flirted, never made use 
 of her eyes, never made any effort of any 
 kind to attract. She was quite natural 
 and unaffected, lookinf^ frankly, answering 
 clearly, enjoying her game with the zest of 
 a school-girl. 
 
 ' If I had fallen across such a woman 
 when I was young,' he thought to him- 
 self, 'it would have made a different man 
 of me. Girls have so much more in their 
 minds, and consequently in their faces, 
 than they used to have. One would never 
 tire of such a woman as that. I tired of 
 my wife. She had a strong will, but a 
 weak intellect. In spite of her fortune I 
 did wrong to marry her, and my punish- 
 ment takes the form of my son !' 
 
 He looked resentfully round for Evelyn, 
 and met his eyes, full. The ]\Iajor ap- 
 proached, with an air of iight-heartedness 
 worn to conceal inward anxiety. His 
 father was standing on the grass ; the
 
 170 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 grass was damp, a cold was the inevitable 
 result, to hiin, of such imprudence, but 
 nothing infuriated him more than the 
 merest hint in this direction. Any word 
 which recalled, however distantly, the dis- 
 abilities of advancing years, was gall and 
 wormwood to the elderly beau. Evelyn 
 knew" this, and all his energies w^ere at the 
 moment centred on stratagem. 
 
 'There's a scarlet datura in the con- 
 servatory, 'tis worth seeing,' he suggested, 
 confidentially. 
 
 ' Scarlet datura be hanged !' was the 
 acrimonious reply ; ' here is something 
 better worth seeing on this lawn, as you 
 w^ould know, if you possessed all your 
 faculties. Look at the young lady, Miss 
 Hope ! There is grace in all her movements, 
 grace that springs from a soul within ! 
 What a glance! what a smile! Look at 
 that mouth ! Is it solely for the purpose
 
 MR. Westmorland's hopes rise. 171 
 
 of exasperating me that you decline to 
 speak to her?' 
 
 ' Come a little further off, and I will 
 answer ; we might be overheard, just here,' 
 said the wily Evelyn, thinking little of the 
 point of discussion, and greatly of his 
 father's rheumatism. 
 
 ' Overheard ! when you mumble so that 
 I can hardly hear you myself.' was the 
 irritable rejoinder. ' No, thanks : I stay 
 here. One does not have the chance, 
 every day, of looking at beauty like that.' 
 
 ' I'm sorry I can't agree with you,' said 
 his son, sulkily. 
 
 ' Agree Avith me ! Have you ever agreed 
 with me, on any point, ever since you were 
 born ?' sneered Mr. Westmorland. ' No, 
 no ! The days are gone by, so Mrs. Saxon 
 tells me, when a father may hope to tran- 
 smit a mere fraction of his individuality 
 to the son who is to reign after him. You
 
 172 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 and I are quite in the fashion. I believe we 
 differ on everything.' 
 
 ' I'm afraid that's somewhere near true,' 
 said Evelyn, hopelessly. ' But let us stroll ; 
 the wind is chilly.' 
 
 'The wind? I feel no wind! You are 
 talking nonsense ; but do you really mean 
 that you actually are incapable of seeing 
 that Miss Merrion is, beyond question, a 
 person to be admired?' 
 
 ' I don't like her,' was the doo^sred an- 
 swer. 'I will go further if you please, and 
 add that I actually dislike her. I am in- 
 different about most people, but I dislike 
 Miss Merrion.' 
 
 ' That is as might have been expected,' 
 returned his father, smoothly, after a pause ; 
 'and for no reason, I suppose, beyond the 
 all-sufficient one that I think otherwise ?' 
 
 ' I have a reason, and it's a jolly strong 
 one,' said the Major inelegantly ; ' but I 
 expect it would be mean to put it about.
 
 MR. Westmorland's hopes rise. 175 
 
 I shall say nothing, but it is sure to come 
 out sooner or later. If you knew, I think 
 even your admiration would cool; but 
 meantime you may understand I would 
 sooner drown myself than ask such a 
 woman to be my wife ; and the sooner you 
 make arrangements to get out of this, the 
 better I shall be pleased, that's all.' 
 
 'Amazing!' was his bewildered father's 
 rejoinder, spoken in soliloquy; for Evelyn 
 was oif, to secure Mrs. Saxon's influence 
 to induce a removal from the dans^erous 
 grass. 
 
 'As it happens, I am just in want of 
 him,' said the vigorous lady. ' I am 
 meditating an attack on the wife of the 
 canon in residence. Your father will be 
 a good bait.' 
 
 Mrs. Shorthouse was still seated on the 
 green bench beside Mrs. Hancock, when 
 the two advanced upon her. What was* 
 about to happen ? Every spine of the
 
 174 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 artificial rye in her bonnet quivered with 
 suspense. 
 
 • Mrs. Shorthouse, I believe ? "Will you 
 allow me to introduce myself? I am Mrs. 
 Saxon. I have been looking for an oppor- 
 tunity to make your acquaintance, but in 
 the summer I am a bad caller. I wonder 
 if you would so far waive the formalities 
 as to give us the pleasure of your company 
 at dinner at Hesselburgh ?' 
 
 Excitement made Mrs. Shorthouse posi- 
 tively purple. She was obliged to clear 
 her throat before answering, and found 
 herself, with a weak smile, murmuring 
 something about ' most happy,' regardless 
 of the start and snort of the purple- 
 sprigged foulard at her side. 
 
 ' I am so anxious to meet Canon Short- 
 house,' went on Mrs. Saxon, using to its 
 fullest effect the one personal charm which 
 she possessed — a melodious voice and most 
 refined manner of speaking. ' I hear he
 
 MK. Westmorland's hopes rise. 175 
 
 is an antiquary, so I felt sure he would 
 like to meet Mr. Westmorland. Let me 
 introduce Mr. Westmorland — a very old 
 friend. He is staying with us, and I want 
 to get up a small dinner-party, but will not 
 iix the date until I knowyour engagements.' 
 
 The enemy was completely disarmed. 
 The invader took the vacant seat on the 
 green bench, Mr. Westmorland contributed 
 a few courtly nothings, a date was fixed^ 
 and Mrs. Saxon could feel that she had 
 done her duty and just saved her un- 
 accountable neglect of the Shorthouses 
 from being any longer the theme of every 
 tea-party of the cathedral clique. 
 
 ' The etiquette of this place is too much 
 for me,' she remarked, with a sigh, as 
 they moved off. ' I generally have to get 
 little Mrs. Copeland to help me arrange 
 my table. She knows the ins and outs of 
 things. Once upon a time I got into 
 terrible trouble. I put Major Dickens
 
 176 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 above Captain Harris, a naval captain. I 
 thought that must be right, but the 
 Harris's cut us afterwards, and I discovered 
 that his father was a baron ! Dire, was 
 it not ? Mrs. Copeland, I believe, knows 
 all the pedigrees. Her husband is Athel- 
 stan's agent, so she is a great comfort. 
 Until we came to Hesselburgh, I fancied 
 such things belonged to the Jane Austen 
 period, but experientia docei f 
 
 Tom came dancing up. 
 
 * I say, matei% haven't you got an abori- 
 ginal dinner coming off next week ? Well, 
 invite Miss Forde and her brother, just to 
 take the taste out — won't you ? She's 
 such a stunning little thing, I want to 
 introduce her. You know,' — with a laugh 
 to Mr. Westmorland — 'the Major went to 
 lunch with her on his way up to Hessel- 
 burgh yesterday. And I'm not surprised, 
 I tell you.' 
 
 Mr. Westmorland's whole face changed
 
 ME. Westmorland's hopes rise. 177 
 
 suddenly, lighted up, became radiant. 
 
 ^Eh? — eh?' he exclaimed, genially. 
 ' What's that you say ? Miss Forde ? 
 Pretty, is she? I crave the honour of 
 an introduction ! AVhere is she?' 
 
 ' She's sitting on that seat, over there — 
 that slim girl in pink,' said Tom, eagerly. 
 
 Mr. Westmorland's glasses went up, and 
 he critically surveyed the pliant, graceful 
 form of Leo, sunk back with a pretty 
 touch of lassitude in a big wicker-chair. 
 The glowing, hopeful youth in her was 
 most attractive. A diiferent style from 
 Miss Merrion : more rudimentary, but in 
 its way quite as attractive. 
 
 ' Just the creature to fascinate a morose 
 clod like Evelyn,' reflected the fond parent. 
 ' I shall certainly not complain, if this be 
 his choice.' 
 
 The gloom which had rested on his 
 spirits was all gone. He thought he 
 understood his son at last. Ah, how much 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 now hung upon his own discretion ! He 
 made a heroic resolve. No hint of what 
 he knew should cross his lips. He would 
 not interfere — would not spoil the sport. 
 Evelyn, for once, should positively be al- 
 lowed to do his own wooing. But, mean- 
 while, to speak to this blythe young 
 divinity — to ascertain if the sound of her 
 was as satisfactory as the sight of her : 
 
 ' A nymph — a positive nymph !' he said 
 to Tom. ' I must be presented at once.'
 
 179 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 MOLLIE. 
 
 Seigneur, preservez-moi— preservez ceux que j'aime, 
 
 Parents, amis, et mes ennemis meme 
 
 Dans le mal triomphant, 
 
 I)e jamais voir, seigneur, Fete sans fieurs vermeilles, 
 
 Le cage sans oiseau, la ruche sans abeilles, 
 
 La maison sans enfants ! 
 
 Victor Hugo. 
 
 'And so, Miss Forde, you keep house for 
 your brother, I hear ?' said the handsome 
 old man, seating himself by Leo. 'Poor 
 fellow, how I pity him !' 
 
 'You are not very polite/ laughed Leo. 
 
 * Ah ! but you don't hear me out. You 
 don't ask why he is to be pitied. Now I'll 
 
 n2
 
 180 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 tell you : because he will be so soon called 
 upon to lose you. Eh ?' 
 
 She really did not understand him. 
 
 ' I am not goino; away,' she said. 
 
 ^ Ah ! ah ! Don't be too positive, my 
 child — not in this world ! How do you 
 know that somebody else's brother may 
 not want his house kept — eh ? We all 
 know how weak are the claims of one's 
 own brothers, compared with those of 
 other people. Isn't that so ?' 
 
 She blushed beautifully. 
 
 ' Oh, but I could never leave Dick !' 
 
 ' Quite so — quite so ! The only way to 
 solve that would be to make Dick give you 
 away, would it not ? And so my boy 
 lunched with you yesterday, I hear?' 
 
 'You are very like him,' remarked Leo,, 
 raising her limpid eyes to his face. 
 
 ' Like him, am I ? What, a poor hand 
 at compliments — eh ? Dear ! what a pair 
 of us ! And he is a friend of Dick's ?'
 
 MOLLIE. 181 
 
 'Yes, Dick likes him very much,' said 
 Leo, sorely tempted to add that she did 
 not at all agree with Dick on this point ; 
 but politeness, of course, forbade such un- 
 complimentary frankness, and Mr. West- 
 morland smiled on in happy ignorance of 
 the methods of rendering himself agree- 
 able employed by Evelyn yesterday. 
 
 ' And how do you like this house- 
 keeping — eh, Miss Forde ?' 
 
 ' I like it very much. It is great fun. 
 I like living with Dick, and Norchester is 
 such a queer place. I mean, the people 
 are so queer : there is something to make 
 you laugh all day long. Do you see that 
 very stout lady in the purple gown all 
 over little bunches of flowers ? She is the 
 funniest of all. She thinks I am a very 
 naughty girl, but I can't help it. She 
 sa3^s young ladies ought not to do all 
 kinds of things which seem very harmless 
 to Dick and me- but I was not made on
 
 182 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 her pattern. I was cut out differently, 
 and, if anyone tried to alter rae now, I am 
 afraid they would only spoil me or pull 
 me out of shape. What do you think?' 
 
 ' That you are a young lady of much 
 penetration. Do not let the purple lady 
 metamorphose you in any way. Be your- 
 self, and you cannot fail to please.' 
 
 *Why, here comes Dick,' said Leo, 
 frankly, ' with Major Westmorland ! I 
 did not know that Dick had arrived on 
 the scene.' 
 
 Evelyn's father looked up, and saw hi& 
 son approaching with evident and eager 
 intention of introducing him to the sen- 
 sible-looking, square-shouldered young 
 man who accompanied him. Actually 
 there was a smile on the Major's usually 
 serious countenance — he looked positively 
 animated. His father could scarcely be- 
 lieve his eyes. High beat his heart, rosy 
 grew the world's aspect to him. There
 
 MOLLIE. 183 
 
 could be but one reason for Evelyn's 
 eagerness to come to Hesselburgh, for bis 
 excursion to Minstergate yesterday, for 
 his sociability to-day ! But one reason : 
 the pretty, nciive one now seated at his 
 side. How could he guess that the medi- 
 cal brother, and not the attractive sister, 
 had been the lure ? Had such a reason 
 been given him, he could not have under- 
 stood it. In his eyes, Avhen young men 
 became in the least ' keen ' about any- 
 thing, or when any part of their conduct 
 seemed in the slightest degree unexplained, 
 there was always a woman in the back- 
 ground. One strong reason for his dis- 
 quietude about his heir's non-matrimonial 
 tendencies had been the fear of some dis- 
 creditable attachment behind the scenes 
 —some entanglement which he was too 
 obstinate to confess. So little could he 
 understand even the broad lines of the 
 character of his only son !
 
 184 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 But now the answer to the whole conun- 
 drum was before him ; and such a pleasing 
 answer ! He could have embraced Leo ; 
 he felt he loved her. Vague ideas of pre- 
 senting her with jewellery floated through 
 his mind, so perfectly competent did he 
 feel himself to conduct all the details of 
 this wooing which his son, if left to him- 
 self, was sure to spoil by some piece of in- 
 credible folly, backwardness, or bashfulness. 
 
 However, he had made a covenant with 
 himself that Evelyn should at least attempt 
 the siege on his own account ; and, deter- 
 mined to adhere to this noble resolution, 
 he made his smile not too broad as the 
 young man said : 
 
 ' Father, I am anxious you should know 
 my friend Forde.' 
 
 * Having had the honour of being already 
 presented to Miss Forde, it will be readily 
 understood that the idea of knowing any 
 of her family gives me the greatest pleas-
 
 MOLLIE. 185 
 
 lire,' he said, in his pleasant, half-ironical 
 tones. 
 
 Leo admired him intensely, and thought 
 his manners like those of Sir Walter Elliot 
 in ' Persuasion,' with a dash of the benevo- 
 lence of Mr. Woodhouse in ' Emma.' 
 
 A few words passed, explanatory of the 
 former acquaintance of the young men, 
 and then the doctor deliberately took his 
 seat at Mr. Westmorland's side and asked 
 him if he were interested in the report of 
 the medical congress published in that 
 morning's Times. 
 
 Mr. Westmorland was a great newspaper 
 reader, and ready to discuss any current 
 topic of the day. They fell into conver- 
 sation in the most promising way, and 
 Evelyn, exulting in his own diplomacy, was 
 just wondering how to make himself scarce 
 when his eye fell on Leo. The brilliant 
 thought of asking her to play tennis struck 
 him ; he owed her some reparation for his
 
 186 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 rudeness of yesterday, and it would leave 
 the coast clear for Dick. 
 
 The young lad}^ accepted somewhat 
 haughtily, recent slights being fresh in her 
 mind. Mr. Westmorland had much ado to 
 conceal his surprise and delight on seeing 
 them walk off together. 
 
 ' Charming young creature ! charming I 
 Your sister, sir,' he could not refrain from 
 saying. ' Young ladies are so charming 
 now-a-days, a higher form of organism 
 altogether, than they used to be. Every 
 feeling alive, every faculty trained. Edu- 
 cated, body and mind, literature, and the 
 gymnasium ! It makes their charms more 
 subtle, and more potent.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Dick, ' I think it does. 
 Seriously, I believe that an English girl of 
 to-day has the chance of being about as 
 complete a being as has been yet known, 
 if she understands how to use her oppor- 
 tunities.'
 
 MOLLIS. 187 
 
 His eyes were on Muriel Saxon, who was 
 seated near, talking languidly to an unin- 
 teresting minor canon Avhose one topic was 
 church music. 
 
 ' I think,' he went on, ' that, in our days, 
 fine health adds to a girl's beauty. It isr 
 the gymnasium, as you say, sir. The time 
 has gone by, when a faded aspect and a 
 tottering step were the great attractions. 
 Look at Miss Saxon now, a case in point. 
 Feminine and graceful! But you should 
 have seen her playing in the tennis- 
 tournament^: accurate eye, steady wrist I 
 It's a beautiful combination !' 
 
 Mr. Westmorland assented, with a sigh. 
 
 ' It's a daily wonder to me,' he said^ 
 ' how any of you young men keep single, 
 in face of such temptation.' 
 
 The young doctor replied, with his eyes 
 still on Miss Saxon, 
 
 ' Young ladies are more particular, now- 
 a-days, you know.'
 
 188 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 ^ Ah !' agreed his companion, with a sud- 
 den access of apprehension. 
 
 That was very likely so, and it frighten- 
 ed him, for he was totally unable to see in 
 what possible way his son could render 
 himself attractive to a girl of the type 
 under discussion. He looked across the 
 gardens. Evelyn and Leo were playing 
 together. The now sinking sun threw 
 their shadows long on the golden grass be- 
 hind them. The ball rose dark into the 
 clear atmosphere, hovered against a back- 
 ground of amber sky, and fell. Leo tried, 
 missed it, stooped and cried ' Take it !' to 
 Evelyn, who, playing delicately over her 
 head, ' placed ' the ball too successfully 
 for his adversary, and Miss Forde triumph- 
 antly announced, 
 
 ' Our game !' 
 
 ' One love, love one !' remarked Evelyn, 
 tossing the balls into the other courts. 
 
 * The language of tennis sounds some-
 
 MOLLIE. 189 
 
 what suggestive to an outsider,' smiled his 
 father. 
 
 Dick laughed. 
 
 * That subject has been worn threadbare, 
 I am afraid,' he said ; and leaned back, 
 looking at Muriel and feeling the calm of 
 the summer evening in his soul. 
 
 ' The Major is a fine soldier,' he re- 
 marked, presently, letting his gaze travel 
 to Evelyn's stalwart figure. 
 
 'Ay, a good soldier, but a bad lover,' 
 said Mr. Westmorland, though with more 
 approval in his tones than was usual with 
 him when speaking of his thorn in the 
 flesh. ' Why doesn't he marry now ?' 
 
 Dick saw his chance. 
 
 ' I suppose, with such a fine estate, his 
 marriage is a matter of some importance,' 
 he said, with a professional eye upon' his 
 patient. 
 
 ' Eh ?' said Mr. AVestmorland, dreamily, 
 shading his eyes from the dazzle. ' Oh,,
 
 190 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 he must take his time, you know, he must 
 take his time about that. He'll come to 
 it, sooner or later. They all come to it. 
 No use to be in a hurry.' 
 
 This was most amazing. For a minute 
 Dick was stupefied. Westmorland had 
 said to him, 
 
 ' You have only to touch the sore point, 
 ever so distantly, and you will see the 
 cloven hoof.' 
 
 He could not understand it. Of the 
 combined effects of Mrs. Saxon's 'advice 
 that afternoon, and Leo's appearance on 
 the scene, he could of course know no- 
 thing. The result was extremely perplex- 
 ing. It almost seemed as if it were after 
 all the son, and not the father, who 
 laboured under a mental disorder. 
 
 ' What was Westmorland thinking 
 about ?' he wondered, perplexedly, ' what 
 a queer fellow he is !' 
 
 And then his thoughts wandered grad-
 
 MOLLIE. 191 
 
 ually away from the old man at his side, 
 back to Muriel Saxon ; and there eyes, 
 brain, and heart rested, long and steadily, 
 till the longing grew too great to be 
 further repressed, and, turning to Mr. 
 Westmorland, he asked, in a straight- 
 forward, manly way, 
 
 ' Would you introduce me to Miss 
 Saxon? I should esteem it a great 
 favour.' 
 
 ' Certainly — oh, certainly!' No civility 
 could be reckoned too great to show to 
 Leo's brother. They rose, and walked 
 together over the sunny lawn. 
 
 Muriel saw them coming, and advanced 
 to meet them. She was but too glad to 
 escape from the minor canon, and favoured 
 Richard with a slow, sweet smile, not the 
 conventional one which she reserved for 
 the Norchester natives. 
 
 A few common-places passed between 
 the trio : at least, to Mr. Westmorland they
 
 192 THE IDES OF MAECH. 
 
 Avere common-places. Forde, however, was 
 standing at Heaven's gate, and the mono- 
 tonous cadence of Miss Saxon's flute-like 
 voice was to him the harmony of angels ; 
 for the young doctor was in love, for the 
 first time, and had taken the complaint 
 severely. Muriel, studying him, thought 
 that he seemed handsomer than her pre- 
 vious casual sio'hts of him had led her to 
 suppose. She was wrong. The fact was, 
 that he really had grown handsomer than 
 formerly : a new light beamed in his steady 
 eyes, and a softness relaxed the sensible 
 lines of his mouth. This garden was the 
 garden of Eden, and life took on new hues 
 of beauty and variety. 
 
 Suddenly Muriel broke into a small re- 
 mark of Mr. Westmorland's with a slight ex- 
 clamation of pleasure, her face kindled up, 
 and Richard turned to follow the direction 
 of her eyes. He saw Mrs. Saxon advancing 
 towards them, a broad smile of pleasure
 
 MOLLIE. 193 
 
 on her large features, and beside her a 
 little, shrivelled-looking elderly gentleman 
 in a grey felt wide-awake and spectacles, 
 and carrying a large white umbrella, lined 
 with green. 
 
 ' Cousin Mollie !' said Muriel, a great 
 deal of delight infused into her soft tones ; 
 and, if ever the doctor envied anybody in 
 his life, it was the quaint little gentleman 
 in blue spectacles, as Miss Saxon took his 
 brown paw in both her hands, and said^ 
 with as much emphasis as her nature 
 admitted of, 
 
 'I'm simply delighted to see you, dear !* 
 
 The gentleman so addressed seemed 
 fully as happy as she in the meeting. He 
 smiled and nodded, and let her hold his 
 hand, and presently said, in a funny little 
 cracked voice, 
 
 ' Yes, I came over, came over to-day. 
 Thought it was time I saw something of 
 you all ! Thomas saw me first ! He 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 grows a fine boy, doesn't he? Clapped 
 me on the back till he made me cough, 
 Murie ! Plenty of muscle, eh ? Plenty ! 
 He'll turn Learning out of windows, when 
 he's master there, eh ?' and the genial little 
 man laughed till the tears came, and 
 brought out a large crimson handkerchief 
 which he applied to his forehead. 
 
 Meanwhile the said Thomas was ravag- 
 ing the gardens like a whirlwind in search 
 of Hope ; he found her in one of the palm- 
 houses, making havoc of the heart of a 
 susceptible deacon from a neighbouring 
 church, who glared savagely at the in- 
 truder. 
 
 Xaught cared Tom ; he unceremoniously 
 caught Miss Merrion's hand, snatched up 
 her parasol, and panted out, in short, quick 
 gasps, 
 
 'Come on . . . quick! . . . Cousin 
 . . . Mollie's . . . turned up ! . . . Come 
 on, 1 tell you !'
 
 MOLLIE. 195 
 
 She uttered a little cry of gladness. 
 
 ' Oh, Tom, how nice ! You didn't 
 expect him, did you ? Excuse me, please,' 
 to the offended cleric, * I must run away 
 at once !' and, so saying, they were off. 
 
 Cousin Mollie, otherwise the Honour- 
 able Molyneux Lyster, was the embodi- 
 ment, to the young Saxons, of everything 
 that was delightful, and undisciplined, and 
 ideal. He lived all alone, in the very heart 
 of the moors, on a small estate which had 
 been left him by a distant relation. He was a 
 junior member of a titled family, and 
 years ago had buried every hope in the 
 grave of his young wife. Just one year 
 of married happiness had been his, and then 
 lie laid her to rest, with their tiny son on 
 her breast, in the lonely churchyard of 
 Leaming-le-Moor. The unexpected lega^cy 
 of the manor had enabled him to marry 
 this, his first and only love; when she died, 
 
 o2
 
 196 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 all his youth, his aspirations, his ver}^ life 
 seemed crushed out of him. He lived on, 
 his lonely days, in his isolated home, caring 
 for nobody, interested in nothing save his 
 weekly visit to the churchyard where his 
 heart and treasure lay together, and his 
 Sunday church-going, when he could look 
 at the marble monument he had caused to 
 be erected to their memory. 
 
 He had existed in this morbid way for 
 about ten years when his second cousin, 
 Athelstan Saxon, married, and brought 
 his bride, in the course of honeymoon 
 wanderings, to stop a night in the moor- 
 land manor. 
 
 Mrs. Saxon was at once touched with 
 deepest pity of the forlorn condition of the 
 widower ; but her vigorous, and perhaps 
 too straightforward hand, was powerless to 
 break the crust of chillness and apathy 
 which hid the genial heart. She could not 
 forget him, however, and never let a year
 
 MOLLIE. 197 
 
 go by without making a fruitless effort to 
 coax him out of his solitude. 
 
 At last she hit, almost by accident, on 
 the spring which unlocked his heart. After 
 four years, and when Muriel was nearly 
 three years old. Master Tom appeared on 
 the scenes. She wTote and asked Mr. 
 Lyster to be godfather. 
 
 To her great astonishment, he consented ; 
 nay, still more wondrous, he came to 
 Hesselburgh for the baptism. He brought 
 silver gifts of the most sumptuous de- 
 scription for Thomas Molyneux Lyster 
 Saxon. He was enchanted with the little 
 brown baby, and held it on his knees, 
 seemingly spell-bound as it unconsciously 
 clasped his finger in its velvety touch ; he 
 was almost equally delighted with the 
 little golden-haired Muriel, who came and 
 nestled against his knee, half-jealous of the 
 consequence and state of the new baby 
 brother.
 
 ] 98 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 The prematurely old and bowed figure 
 of the recluse, Avas to be seen movinor 
 round the garden with the bonny girl in his 
 arms, who plucked flowers, and tried with 
 gravity and much labour to fasten them 
 in his coat. He seemed lost in a dream 
 of bliss when she cuddled his neck — so 
 long unused to the divine touches of love 
 — with her fat white arms. 
 
 Mrs. Saxon went out to him after a while^ 
 and courteously begged that he would not 
 teaze himself too much with the child. He 
 tightened his clasp about her, and bright 
 drops swam in his eyes, as he said, 
 wistfully, 
 
 ' Don't take her from me ; she's — she's 
 quite happy, I believe ; she don't want to 
 leave Mollie, do you, little woman ?' 
 
 ' Don't want to leave Mollie,' echoed the 
 little one, jovially ; whereupon he timidly 
 kissed her, and she returned his kisses 
 with interest. He looked so exceedingly
 
 MOLLIS. 199 
 
 funny, decked out to Muriel's taste, with 
 dandelions waving in his hat, and a daisy- 
 chain about his neck ; altogether so Ophelia- 
 like in appearance that Mrs. Saxon felt 
 inclined to laugh and cry both at once. 
 
 She did cry in earnest before the day 
 was out. After dinner^ and only one 
 cigar, the confirmed smoker begged per- 
 mission to go and see the children in bed. 
 Mr. Saxon took him there, unknown to 
 his wife, who, proceeding to the nursery 
 half-an-hour later, found her visitor seated 
 by Tom's cradle, embracing the head of it, 
 and gazing rapt at the sleeping baby. He 
 looked up, as she entered, with a quiver- 
 ing, appealing smile. 
 
 ' I'm not disturbing him,' he said, plead- 
 ingl}^ ' He's sound asleep. You see, it 
 makes me think so of my own little chap 
 — how he might have looked in his sleep. 
 He is so warm, this little fellow — alive and 
 warm ; I never kissed mine till he was
 
 200 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 cold ;' and then two great tears from the 
 desolate father's eyes fell audibly on little 
 Tom's blue-silk quilt. ' I feel as if I 
 couldn't bear to leave him,' he said, sob- 
 bingly. 
 
 The usually unemotional woman knelt 
 down and kissed the worn, quivering 
 face. 
 
 ' The boy is partly yours,' she said, 
 w^eeping ; ' you shall always see as much 
 of him as ever you please. Our home is 
 open to you whenever you care to come, 
 and your room shall always be ready.' 
 
 So it had been ever since. The next 
 year both children went, with their nurses, 
 to stay at Leaming while their parents 
 were abroad ; and after this, a visit from 
 them, once a year, became a settled thing. 
 The old grey, solitary house echoed chil- 
 dren's shouts and children's laughter, as 
 years ago the young husband and wife 
 had, with tender smiles and beating hearts,
 
 MOLLIE. 201 
 
 hoped that it would. One of Muriel's 
 earliest recollections was of being held up 
 in Cousin MoUie's arms to kiss the marble 
 lips of the monumental mother, who, with 
 her baby in her arms, was stepping bare- 
 foot into the waves of a marble ocean. 
 
 What cared these two healthy and 
 jocund young persons for sad memories or 
 sacred associations? They romped and 
 quarrelled, played and enjoyed themselves 
 more blithely in the old house on the 
 moors than anywhere else in the world. 
 
 Hope had often heard of this beloved 
 Cousin Mollie, but had never beheld him. 
 Thus it was that his sudden arrival on 
 the scene was to her quite as exciting as 
 it was to Tom, and she ran over the 
 smooth lawns in undignified haste that 
 was most shocking to Mrs. Hancock. •
 
 202 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 I WANT TO TAKE YOU ALL BACK WITH ME. 
 
 And to the lone recluse, whate'er 
 They brought — each visiting 
 Was like the crowding of the year 
 W^ith a new burst of spring ' 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 ' Ah, here he comes ! Where was he off 
 to?' said Mr. Lyster, in tones of great 
 satisfaction, as Tom and Hope came up. 
 
 ^I went to fetch Miss Merrion, you 
 know ; I've told you about her in letters,' 
 said Tom, panting. ' I want to introduce 
 you.' 
 
 Perhaps Hope was a little disappointed 
 in Cousin Mollie's outward man. She
 
 I WANT TO TAKE YOU AT.L BACK. 206 
 
 knew his romance, of course, but it was 
 hard to connect romance with the little 
 smiling, heated, ill-dressed gentleman be- 
 fore her. In his best days he could never 
 have been handsome ; and Hope as yet 
 knew nothing of that love which abso- 
 lutely creates beauty in the beloved object. 
 There was, however, no resisting the shy 
 cordiality of his manner ; and, before she 
 had been five minutes talking to him, she 
 quite understood the devotion of the two 
 young Saxons. 
 
 Very soon a move was made — the party 
 must be making their farewells. 
 
 Richard, who had been quite crowded 
 out by the sudden arrival of this popular 
 person, was preparing to step back and 
 retire when Mrs. Saxon stopped him and, 
 to his untold delight, asked him to bring 
 his sister to dinner on the following Wed- 
 nesday. He accepted the invitation with 
 a great fear lest his manner of doing so
 
 204 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 had been too marked — too emphatic. Here 
 was an unexpected pleasure — something 
 to look forward to ! The dazzle of the 
 sinking sun turned all the world to glory. 
 
 Leo and Major Westmorland came across 
 the grass together from their tennis : Eve- 
 lyn was looking quite animated, and Leo's 
 cheeks were like carnations. 
 
 * We won, Dick,' cried she, delightedly, 
 ^ we won !' 
 
 'A very good sett,' said the Major; 
 * your sister plays capitally, Forde.' 
 
 ' She does indeed ! Mr. Forde and I 
 had the pleasure of watching her,' said Mr. 
 Westmorland, hardly able to contain him- 
 self for delight. 
 
 ' I do so like tennis,' said Leo, with all 
 her heart, smiling up at her late partner, 
 with whom she was now quite on friendly 
 terms. 
 
 ' If you could manage to send up an 
 evening dress, you had better come in time
 
 I WANT TO TAKE YOU ALL BACK. 205 
 
 for some tennis on Wednesday,' said Mrs. 
 Saxon. 
 
 The girl looked puzzled. 
 
 ' Mrs. Saxon has asked me to bring you 
 to dine at Hesselburgh/ explained her 
 brother. 
 
 ' Has she ?' cried Leo. ' Oh, how cavfuUy 
 kind of her !' 
 
 Then, as the smiJe grew broader on all 
 the faces round, she added, with a charm- 
 ing colour, 
 
 'I ought not to have said "awfully," 
 ought I ?' 
 
 ' My dear,' said Mr. Westmorland, in- 
 dulgently, ^ some people may say anything 
 they please.' 
 
 ' You will turn my little girl's head, sir,' 
 smiled Dick. 
 
 ' I should like to turn it,' was the gallant 
 response, ' so that it would always look in 
 ray direction.' 
 
 So saying, with a courtly bow, he took
 
 ^06 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 leave, and followed the rest of the party. 
 
 'You have enjoyed your afternoon, 
 father,' said Evelyn, giving him his arm. 
 
 ' I have enjoyed myself, Evelyn, very 
 much, considerably more than I expected. 
 Don't know when I have had such a plea- 
 sant afternoon.' 
 
 There was no tete-a-tete between him and 
 Mrs. Saxon on the way home, for the 
 three young people turned their father 
 out of the cart in order to have Mollie 
 amongst them. 
 
 Perhaps it was as well ; for, in Mr. 
 Westmorland's present elated state of 
 mind, he must have spoken of Leo, and he 
 did not wish to do so, not till he had made 
 assurance doubly sure. 
 
 Meanwhile the cart was bowling swiftly 
 along, Cousin Mollie driving, with Muriel 
 at his side, Hope and Tom behind. 
 
 ' I suppose you know,' he said, when all 
 the horses and dogs at Leaming had been
 
 I WANT TO TAKE YOU ALL BACK. 207 
 
 duly enquired for, and the health of Mrs. 
 Abbott, the house-keeper, ascertained to 
 be excellent. ' I suppose you know what 
 I came here for.' 
 
 ' Oh, of course ; to see me,' said Muriel. 
 
 'That, naturally, ray darling, but not 
 that only. I want to take you all back 
 with me.' 
 
 ' Hooray !' shouted Tom, causing the 
 nervous mare to break into a gallop, and 
 nearly shooting out Hope behind. 
 
 ' Tom, you dreadful boy ! You nearly 
 killed me !' she cried. 
 
 ' Well, you couldn't fall out, if you 
 would allow me to put my arm round your 
 waist as I am always offering to do.' 
 
 ' Tom, don't be vulgar. Does Mr. Lyster 
 mean to invite me too, to Leaming?' 
 
 ' Of course he does ; don't you, Mollie ?' 
 
 ' Most certainly, if Miss Hope cares to 
 come ; well, do you think it can be 
 manaered ?'
 
 20S THE IDES OF MAKCH. 
 
 * No,' said Muriel, mournfully, * I don't 
 think the mater will let us come, not to 
 leave Major Westmorland.' 
 
 ' Oh, rubbish, Muriel !' cried Tom. ' He 
 doesn't count as a young one ; he never 
 comes near us, or joins in any way, he 
 won't even drive in the cart.' 
 
 ' Dear me, what an incomprehensible 
 young man !' said Cousin Mollie. 
 
 ' Well, I know mater won't let us all go 
 away and leave him,' maintained Muriel. 
 ' Besides,' she added, in melancholy tones, 
 ' there is this horrid Woman's Sanitary 
 League, we must be home for that.' 
 
 ' He'll spoil all the fun ! a great wet 
 blanket!' said Tom, angrily; ' and, as to that 
 Sanitary League, it's a blooming nuisance.' 
 
 Poor Hope felt, like Jonah, inclined to 
 entreat them to leave her out of the plan, 
 and then the Major would join himself 
 once more to their revels ; yet pride for- 
 bade. Why should she exclude herself
 
 I WANT TO TAKE YOU ALL BACK. 209 
 
 from such simple, delightful pleasure, just 
 because he chose to sulk? What did she 
 care for his black looks and chillino^ 
 silence? 
 
 ' Tom,' said she, ' let us put up with 
 Major Westmorland's vagaries rather than 
 lose the chance of a visit to Learning !' 
 
 'Bless me,' said Mollie, 'he'll be all 
 right ! Bound to be sociable when he 
 finds himself shut up with you three 
 young people. What do you say — hey ? 
 Let's carry him off to our fastness on the 
 moorland, and convert him by force into 
 a good comrade, shall we ?' 
 
 * A very good idea !' laughed Hope, 
 softly. 
 
 * I believe you want him to come,' said 
 Tom, sulkily. ' I'm not going if you mean 
 to leave me out in the cold.' 
 
 'My dear, good boy,' she said, mischiev- 
 ously, ' I hardly think the Major shows 
 much desire to compete for my society. 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 THE IDES OF MAKCH. 
 
 You ouD:lit to bless him for his surliness. 
 If he were charming, you know, I might — 
 it is just barely possible that I might — 
 prefer him to you.' 
 
 'Oh, false one! You'd better!' was the 
 young man's fierce threat. 'Yes, Moll, 
 old boy, have Westmorland ; he'll just 
 suit.' 
 
 * Perhaps he won't come,' suggested 
 Muriel. 
 
 ' I should think it's very likely,' said 
 Hope. 
 
 ' Then mater won't let us come ; so do 
 be very civil to him, all of you, so as to 
 make him think we want him,' urged 
 ]\Turiel. 'I think, you know, that perhaps 
 we three do clique too much, and make 
 jokes that he doesn't understand. It's all 
 right with Mollie, because he understands 
 us — don't you, dear? But the Major 
 doesn't, and I think we ought to be 
 careful.'
 
 I WANT TO TAKE YOU ALL BACK. 211 
 
 It was so seldom that Miss Saxon de- 
 livered so lengthy an opinion that her 
 audience were somewhat impressed, though 
 of course too proud to show it ; and a 
 «hort silence ensued before Cousin Mollie 
 remarked, 
 
 ' The AVetherells have been in trouble 
 since last winter, you will be sorry to hear, 
 Murie.' 
 
 ' Who are the Wetherells ?' asked Hope, 
 in a low voice, of Tom. 
 
 'Vicar andvicaress of Leaming-le-Moor,' 
 he replied, ' Queer old pair. Sorry they've 
 been up a tree, Mollie. What was it ?' 
 
 ' You remember their niece ?' 
 
 Muriel laughed in an amused way. 
 
 ' I should think so ! We heard of her 
 often, but never saw her. We always 
 called her Jane Fairfax,' she explained to 
 Hope. ' Do you remember how, whenever 
 Emma Woodhouse called on the Bates's, 
 they always read Jane Fairfax's last letter 
 
 p2
 
 212 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 out loud to her? Well, the Wetherells 
 always did that. This beloved niece of 
 theirs was governess in some wealthy 
 family who were always travelling abroad.' 
 
 ' The poor old dears thought that Nel- 
 lie's account of her travels ought to be 
 published,' laughed Tom. ' She wrote 
 most awful long-winded stories of all that 
 she had done and seen. She is a good 
 sort of girl, I should think, but a most 
 fearful bore.' 
 
 ^ She is dead, Tom,' said Cousin Mollie, 
 sadly. 
 
 ' Dead !' The boy's gaiet}^ was sobered 
 at once. ' Oh, I am so sorry,' he said, 
 honestly. ' How fearfully rough on those 
 poor old souls.' 
 
 'She was a good girl, and a brave girl,' 
 said their cousin, ' dutiful and affectionate; 
 and she was all they had to care for. I 
 scarcely thought that Mrs. Wetherell 
 would survive it. It was a pitiful thing-.
 
 I WANT TO TAKE YOU ALL BACK. 213 
 
 Just after you two left me in January, 
 they bad a letter saying that the Fother- 
 gills were in England ' 
 
 Hope turned with a queer start, and 
 bent her startled eyes on the narrator. 
 
 ' The Fotbergills were the people she 
 travelled with,' said Tom, thinking she 
 required an explanation. 
 
 ' Just so,' went on Mr. Lyster ; ' well, 
 they were in England, and thought Nellie 
 so poorly that they were sending her to 
 her uncle and aunt for a long stay till she 
 was quite recovered. When she came, 
 about the middle of February, I was horri- 
 fied at her wan looks. She seemed so 
 strangely altered, changed, and broken 
 down. She had a cough, too, that sound- 
 ed ominous. I sent for Rider, from 
 Liverpool ' 
 
 ' Just like you,' murmured Muriel. 
 
 ' My dearie, one did all one could. He 
 seemed puzzled — said there was so little
 
 214 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 vitality. There were the seeds of a de- 
 cline, but no more than a healthy girl, in a 
 pure mountain air, ought to throw off, with 
 care ; but there seemed no elasticity — no 
 effort. I told him to come again in a 
 month. Meanwhile, I sent her champagne, 
 and such-like rubbish, and got her a horse, 
 thinking that riding might be beneficial. 
 But she seemed to have no energy for 
 anything — riding, especially, seemed only 
 to distress and exhaust her. The weather 
 Avas bad, and gradually she kept the house 
 more. When Rider next came, he was 
 petrified — said he had never in his life 
 seen the disease make such ravao^es in so 
 short a time. Unless something gave her 
 a fresh start, he said, nothing could save 
 her. I suggested taking her away south, 
 and he thought it a good idea ; but no- 
 thing would persuade her to go. She said 
 she felt happier there, and we thought it 
 best to humour her; but she just faded
 
 I WANT TO TAKE YOU ALL BACK. 215 
 
 out of life quietly, and died on the 1st of 
 May. It was very terrible to see her dying 
 daily. She grew so weak that the slight- 
 est noise startled her like a cannon-shot. 
 I have seen her spring up, and grow red 
 and pale because the postman passed the 
 window.' 
 
 'Poor Mr. and Mrs. AVetherell !' said 
 Muriel, compassionately. 
 
 Hope looked away, over the corn-fields, 
 that the occupants of the cart might not 
 see that her eyes were brimming with 
 tears. Her sympathies, it seemed, were 
 easily stirred. 
 
 The story subdued all their spirits, and 
 only quiet remarks concerning the dead 
 girl and her loss were heard, until, in the 
 early twilight, they drove into the stable- 
 yard. The men came round in great 
 pleasure, grinning to see Mr. Lyster, who 
 had a genial little speech for all of them. 
 
 Just as they were alighted, the Major,
 
 216 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 who had lingered for a little talk with 
 Dick Forde, rode into the yard. His spirits 
 were good, for his father's speech concern- 
 ing his matrimonial arrangements had been 
 repeated to him, and he was rejoicing over 
 the happy change. He remained chatting 
 in the dusk, after he had dismounted, 
 watching Hope, who had pulled down some 
 of the broad chestnut-leaf fans which hung 
 over the red wall, and was decking Mai- 
 denhair's head with them. Tom, behind 
 lier, was tickling her neck with a straw, 
 to try to make her laugh, and asking why 
 she was in the dumps. 
 
 ' I am thinking about that girl — that 
 Nellie, who died, out on the moors,' she 
 said. ' It has made me suddenly feel how 
 terribly sad life is, Tom dear. And this is 
 the time of day to feel sad, too. The sun 
 is gone, the wind is hushed, everything is 
 grey, sober, and dim. There is something 
 depressing in the very ring of the men's
 
 I WANT TO TAKE YOU ALL BACK. 217 
 
 feet on the stones, in the clink of Jane's 
 pans in the dairy, and the lowing of the 
 cows, as if they were afraid of the dark. 
 The colour has gone oat of the sky and 
 the trees ; and it was so bright an hour 
 ago. Our very voices echo sadly, and our 
 faces look white. I know that soon the 
 dressing-bell will ring, and Ave shall go 
 indoors, and all the lamps will be lit, and 
 the curtains drawn, and there will be 
 clatter of plates and glass and silver, and 
 comforting suggestions of dinner, and I 
 shall laugh at myself; but now it is Bor- 
 derland — neither to-day nor this evening, 
 and I feel dreary, Tom — dreary.' 
 
 ' Oh, my duckie, don't talk like that, or 
 I shall want to hug you !' cried Tom, sym- 
 pathetically, drawing her arm through his. 
 ^ Come along in — you are chilly.' 
 
 ' Yes ; but, Tom,' she said, hanging back, 
 as if loth to join the trio in the gateway, 
 Svasn't it a sad story ? I half wish I had
 
 218 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 not heard it. Fancy dying like that, all 
 alone, in that desolate place, just because 
 you had nothing to live for : when you 
 need not have died, only that death seem- 
 ed easier than life. Oh, Tom dear, isn't 
 that dreadful ? I don't know what it can 
 be like not to care to live.' 
 
 ' Do you suppose she was not happy T 
 asked the boy, in an awe-struck way. 
 
 ' Happy ? Would a happy woman let 
 her life slip through her fingers like that ? 
 Why, Tom, do you know, the craving for 
 life, the mere animal instinct of self- 
 preservation, is the very last thing one parts 
 from ! Think Avhat she must have suiFered 
 before she gave it up !' 
 
 ' Poor girl,' he said, touched and softened 
 by his sunny Hope's unwonted earnest- 
 ness. 
 
 ' I feel,' said she, with a little shiver, as 
 she moved onwards, ' I feel as if I want to 
 go and see that girl's grave.'
 
 21^ 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 LEO GOES INTO HIGH SOCIETY. 
 
 And that same voice, my soul hears, as a bird 
 The fowler's note, and follows to the snare ! 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 Cousin Mollie did not carry his point 
 without a struggle. Mrs. Saxon was not 
 quite willing to have all the life swept 
 out of the house just at this time. The 
 neio-hbourhood was bristling with tennis- 
 parties and picnics, and it seemed a pity 
 for the young folks to miss all these.. She 
 scarcely knew what made them so wild to 
 
 go- 
 
 ' For, after all,' as she said to her hus-
 
 220 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 "band, ' it is dull there, you know. The 
 shooting is good, no doubt, but they g^et 
 as much as they want, here, and I am sure 
 even Molyneux can scarcely allow them 
 more liberty than we do. When they 
 were children, it Avas easily understood ; 
 the wall-fruit, the bee-hives, the dining 
 late, the general petting. But, now they 
 are grown up, I should imagine the 
 society round here had more charms ; yet 
 Tom seems perfectly ready to abandon 
 even Miss Forde for the sake of a week at 
 Leaming. One never gets to the bottom, 
 even of one's own children.' 
 
 ^ It is old association, I expect,' said 
 little Mr. Saxon, benignly. ' Going to stay 
 with Molyneux has always been the 
 greatest treat in their catalogue, and force 
 of habit makes it so still. It seems a 
 harmless taste, my dear, and I think we 
 may safely encourage it.' 
 
 ' I believe you are right, Athelstan, you
 
 LEO GOES INTO HIGH SOCIETY. 221 
 
 SO often are, what should I do without 
 you ?' which praise the modest little man 
 at once disclaimed, in his usual formula, 
 
 'What sense I liave, I owe to my wife.' 
 
 ' At any rate, they cannot go till after 
 the dinner-party on Wednesday, and Moly- 
 neux must stay for that, and they must 
 be back in time for the hygienic meeting,' 
 was the lady's ultimatum. 
 
 Mollie had no objection. So completely 
 had that ruling spirit, Thomas, dominated 
 his nature, that the shy, sensitive man, who, 
 eighteen years ago, winced at a strange 
 glance, and walked in bye-lanes to avoid 
 the chance passer-by on the forlorn moor- 
 land high-road, now contemplated with 
 calmness that unutterable event, a cathe- 
 dral dinner-party. 
 
 The first few days of his stay at Hessel- 
 burgh were gloriously fine and hot, so 
 much so, that everybody was out of doors 
 all day, and Evelyn and Hope had no
 
 222 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 difficulty in ignoring one another com- 
 pletely, without attracting any attention. 
 
 In fact, all the gentlemen were shoot- 
 ing the whole of Friday and Saturday, and 
 after dinner there was coffee in the gar- 
 den, all the sportsmen too tired for much 
 beyond languid and blissful enjoyment of 
 their smoke, and an early retirement to 
 prepare them for to-morrow's tramp. 
 
 On Sunday, the whole party bore down 
 on the Minster in great state, and Leo's 
 delight was considerable at being bowed 
 to, and shaken hands Avith after service in 
 face of Mrs. Hancock and all her following. 
 
 Tom asked Richard Forde to shoot with 
 them the following day, and, as he thought 
 he might feel himself justified in taking 
 the afternoon, Muriel suggested that he 
 should bring Leo to Hesselburgh after 
 lunch and leave her to their care. Mrs. 
 Saxon completed the feasibility of the plan, 
 by volunteering to send the carnage to
 
 LEO GOES INTO HIGH SOCIETY. 223 
 
 fetch the brother and sister, and, when all 
 was settled, it was hard to tell whose 
 sensations of pleasure were keener — Leo's 
 or Mr. Westmorland's. 
 
 That evening, however, the weather 
 changed, becoming chilly and threatening. 
 Monday morning brought a grey drizzle, 
 and Tom and Evelyn, after being out all 
 the morning, and getting wet through, 
 came home to lunch, quite determined not 
 to repeat the experiment that day. The 
 drizzle now changed to a downpour, and 
 chances of further sport were rendered en- 
 tirely out of the question. 
 
 ' Never mind, darling,' said Tom to Hope, 
 * we'll enjoy ourselves in spite of the wea- 
 ther. We'll have a kitchen tea-party, 
 Mollie loves them, and cookie shall give 
 us grouse stewed in mushrooms. I am 
 sure Miss Forde will like that.' 
 
 * Tom !' said Muriel, ' you cannot possibly 
 ask Dr. Forde to a kitchen tea-party the
 
 224 THE IDES OF MARCH 
 
 very first time he comes to the house.' 
 
 ' Then you shall give five-o'clock tea in 
 your sittino;-room, tete-a-tete^ while Mollie 
 and Hope, and Miss Leo and I, enjoy our- 
 selves below.' 
 
 ' I believe Dr. Forde will quite appre- 
 ciate our rustic simplicity,' said Hope, re- 
 flectively. ' He has an interesting face — 
 a face with many capabilities in it.' 
 
 ' Oh, has he, miss ? Then he shan't 
 come,' snapped Tom. 
 
 ' Tom, I think you are unreasonable ; I 
 might quite as fairly object to the pre- 
 sence of his fascinating sister : you are for- 
 getting our compact.' 
 
 ' What is the compact ?' asked Mr. 
 Lyster, with interest. 
 
 ' Why, Mollie, I told you all about it,' 
 said Tom, with that perfect seriousness of 
 manner which always annoyed and baffled 
 Mr. Westmorland. 'I told you that Hope 
 has promised to marry me in ten years
 
 LEO GOES INTO HIGH SOCIETY. 225 
 
 from now, provided neither of us has, in 
 that time, discovered anyone we like 
 better.' 
 
 ' Perfect liberty on both sides to marry 
 anyone else in the meantime,' corrected 
 Hope, likewise with complete gravity. 
 
 ' An excellent plan,' said Mollie, with an 
 immediate adoption of their tone and 
 manner. ' I hope you will ask me to the 
 wedding.' 
 
 ' It must be a very quiet one, with such 
 an aged bride,' said Hope, mournfully. ' I 
 shall be thirty-three; I could not wear 
 white. Tom will be twenty-seven.' 
 
 ' I shall have to give Tom away, you see,' 
 said Mollie. 
 
 ' It micrht be nice if he wore white, as 
 he Avill still be young and blooming,' 
 suggested Hope. ' You would look very 
 striking in orange-blossoms, Tom dear.' 
 
 ' I'm afraid they would hardly stick on ; 
 what do you think, Mollie ?' asked Tom, 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 22Q THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 who, lyinoj on his back on the sofa, was 
 supporting his sealskin-like head on his 
 godfather's knee. 
 
 ' Perhaps they will be out of fashion by 
 then,' was Mollie's best attempt at con- 
 solation, after stroking the glossy black 
 poll. 
 
 ' We think of Gravesend for a wedding 
 excursion,' went on Hope. 
 
 ' Han well's a pretty place, have you ever 
 thought of settling there?' innocently 
 asked Mollie. 
 
 ' Upon my word, Tom, I hardly think 
 we could do better !' cried Hope, her self- 
 command giving way at last, and breaking 
 into a pretty wave of laughter, in which 
 Mollie delightedly joined. 
 
 '■ Oh, Mr. Lyster,' she said, her sweet 
 eyes turned pleadingly up to him, ^ arc 
 you not ashamed of me for encouraging 
 him to be so painfully foolish ?' 
 
 ' I do it myself, my dear, I do it myself,'
 
 LEO GOES INTO HIGH SOCIETY. 227 
 
 was his fond answer, as he pulled Thomas's 
 ear. 
 
 One person in the room evidently did 
 not take such a lenient view of Hope's 
 conduct. 
 
 Major Westmorland had been standing 
 in the window, square-shouldered and 
 glum, gazing out at the pouring rain. Even 
 in his back the girl could read how he de- 
 spised her and her levity. As she put her 
 last question he turned round and looked 
 at her, a glance of such biting contempt 
 that it stung her like a blow. She could 
 not endure it passively ; her patience was 
 exhausted. Hitherto the attack had been 
 all on his side : he had declared war, he 
 had avoided her, he had slighted her by 
 absolutely refusing even to go in to din- 
 ner with her, she had not resisted in' any 
 way. Now she was determined to protest, 
 to show him that she was entirely defiant 
 of him, and not in the least ashamed of 
 
 q2
 
 228 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 herself. She looked up innocently in bis 
 face, in answer to his look. 
 
 ' Yes ?' she said. ' I think you were 
 going to say something ?' 
 
 The unready Major was entirely discon- 
 certed ; he hesitated, looked daggers, stam- 
 mered out, 'Xothing!' and hastily made 
 his exit. 
 
 ' What an addition he will be to our 
 party at Leaming,' she said sweetly, as the 
 door closed upon bim. 'So chatty!' 
 
 An unkind peal of laughter from the 
 others folio v/ed this remark. Evelyn heard 
 the laugh, though not the speech which 
 evoked it. Tbey were laughing at him, he 
 thought. That heartless, shameless flirt, w^ho 
 could not even spare ahoy like Tom, but must 
 drag him captive at her chariot-wheel — 
 who could bewitch and befool an elderly 
 Avidower like Lyster till he was unable to 
 judge her impartially — she was making 
 game of him, Evelyn. Well, it was some-
 
 LEO GOES INTO HIGH SOCIETY. 229 
 
 thing to be thankful for that Disney had 
 escaped her — he would write and put that 
 view of the case before his friend. How 
 could such a woman have such an exterior, 
 such a modest, girlish, virginal air ; such 
 a sweet face and such a voice — a voice 
 that fell on the ear like splashes of bright 
 ■water on a thirsty soiL She seemed, to 
 the young man's angry fancy all up in 
 arms for his friend, like a special concoc- 
 tion of the devil to ensnare young men. 
 He felt as if he could believe in the temp- 
 tations of St. Anthony ; in the appearance 
 of beautiful fiends. 
 
 For was it not true that, were the room 
 aiever so full of people, if Hope spoke, 
 liowsoever gently, he heard every word ? 
 It seemed to him as if he could see her 
 with his eyes shut. He had dreamed of 
 her three nights following — he, whose 
 ;sound and profound slumber was rarely 
 visited by any dreams at all.
 
 230 THE IDES OF MAECH. 
 
 And now they were suggesting that he 
 should go and mew himself up for a week 
 with her in a shooting-box on the moors I 
 Not he ! He had told his father that he 
 did not at all care to go, and, to his unfeigned 
 astonishment, Mr. Westmorland had seem- 
 ed very sympathetic on the subject. Cer- 
 tainly, the Hesselburgh air was working 
 wonders for him. Evelyn had never known 
 him so amiable, so pleasant, so little in- 
 clined for his favourite pastime of gibing 
 at and taunting his only son. If it had 
 not been for the presence of this Miss 
 Merrion he would be feeling happier than 
 he had done for some time. She spoilt 
 everything, stirred up all his worst feel- 
 ings, paralysed his tongue, and the most 
 grievous j^art of it all was that hateful fact 
 that, though his mind and soul revolted, 
 his senses yet felt the subtle charm which 
 emanated from her. It was what he could 
 not bear to think of, yet his severely truth-
 
 LEO GOES INTO HIGH SOCIETY. 231 
 
 fal nature was constrained to own that he 
 had already allowed this woman to occupy 
 a hundred times more of his thoughts than 
 any other member of her sex had ever 
 done before. 
 
 He descended the staircase absently, still 
 pondering the disastrous state of things. 
 
 * How there looked him in the face 
 An angel, beautiful and bright, 
 And how he knew it was a fiend, 
 That miserable knight !' 
 
 Just as he reached the hall, the carriage 
 drove up, the pitiless rain pelting on the 
 smoking horses and the white mackintoshes 
 of the men. The two Fordes alighted, and 
 Evelyn, pleased to see his friend, went 
 forward to greet him. Mrs. Saxon, who 
 was, as usual, arranging details of the 
 Sanitary League meeting with her friend, 
 came out from the drawing-room, leaving 
 the door open ; so that Mr. Westmorland, 
 from his seat at the fire, could see Evelyn
 
 232 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 standing over pretty Leo and smiling at 
 some remark of hers. 
 
 She was looking charming. In great 
 trepidation had she donned her little white 
 gown and sash, ashamed of her own ignor- 
 ance as to what was ' the proper thing to 
 wear.' A long, red cloak covered her, and 
 made her look like an old picture. Eve- 
 lyn's father fancied her, to himself, stand- 
 ing in the great hall at Feverell, with the 
 Westmorland emeralds about her throat, 
 and robed in shimmering brocade. He 
 longed for the time when he could take 
 her in his arms to kiss her and Avelcome 
 his dear little daughter to her future rank 
 and station. What an honour for the 
 child ! but he must think she was worthy 
 of it. Hope Merrion was, of course, the 
 one he himself would have chosen ; but 
 was it likely that such a girl would so 
 much as look at a tongue-tied, heavy 
 fellow like Evelyn ? Leo was a very good
 
 LEO GOES INTO HIGH SOCIETY. 233 
 
 alternative ; he ought to be grateful it 
 was no worse, and reallv she was looking; 
 at the Major as if she liked him ! 
 
 Tom had seen the return of the car- 
 Tiao;e, and was in the hall in an instant. 
 
 ' How first-rate of you to come through 
 such weather !' he cried. 
 
 'As the carriage arrived, I concluded 
 Mrs. Saxon expected us,' said the doctor. 
 'I had previously reduced my sister to the 
 depths of despair by telling her that, as it 
 was so wet, you would certainly not send 
 for us.' 
 
 ' Of course we sent,' replied the young 
 gentleman ; ' this awful weather one wants 
 somebody to cheer one up. Will you come 
 "upstairs to my sister's sitting-room?' 
 
 Evelyn made his escape ; he was not 
 going back to the room where Hope was 
 — not yet ! 
 
 The kitchen at Hesselburgh was a charm- 
 ing place. Its old-f\ishioned, open range
 
 234 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 precluded its ever bein^ used for cooking 
 except on the rarest occasions. New stoves 
 had been fitted into the other kitchens, 
 wiiich were nearer the servants' hall. The 
 stones of the floor were white as snow, 
 the crimson matting formed a pretty con- 
 trast. The best dinner-service, in all the 
 rich depth of its old ' Crown Derby ' 
 colouring, gleamed on the spotless dresser. 
 The atmosphere was always warm and 
 sleepy, and soothed by the loud ticking of 
 the immemorial ' grandfather's clock ' in 
 the corner. The huge black oak arm- 
 chairs came from a farmhouse on the 
 estate, and were more than three centuries 
 old. 
 
 Here nurse and Mrs. Heather, the house- 
 keeper, used to sit on Sunday evenings in 
 peace ; and here oftentimes of an evening 
 Tom brought his pipe, and Hope and Muriel 
 sat on the fender and made toffee. 
 
 When the invading force to-day marched
 
 LEO GOES INTO HIGH SOCIETY. 235 
 
 down the echoing passages and into their 
 favourite haunt, they found the room al- 
 ready in occupation of the large tortoise- 
 shell cat, Caligula by name, who was 
 mounting guard over a quantity of bed- 
 ding which surrounded the sumptuous fire. 
 
 ' My stars !' cried Tom, who marched in 
 first, pausing to stare at the goodly show 
 of mattresses, pillows, and blankets, ' this 
 is jolly considerate of cookie, providing us 
 with divans gratis. Walk in, ladies and 
 gentlemen ! This is not, as you might 
 think, the cooling-room of a Turkish bath.' 
 
 ' Sakes alive !' ejaculated Mrs. Heather, 
 to the official next in rank to herself, 
 pausing with the pastry-scissors in her 
 hand, ' if that ain't Master Tom took and 
 marched all the visitors into my kitchen, 
 with all the bedding airing for the gen- 
 tlemen that's coming over from Tettle 
 shooting !' 
 
 She trotted her stout self into the kitchen
 
 236 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 and paused, with the broadest of grins on 
 her good-humoured countenance, at sight 
 of Tom, Muriel, Miss Merrion, Mr. Lyster, 
 and the two Fordes, all amved in her 
 territory. 
 
 'Master Tom, whatever are vou doino: 
 with my cat ?' 
 
 'He doesn't want all these pillows, 
 cookie ; I'm going to make the ladies com- 
 fortable.' 
 
 ' The ladies would be a deal more com- 
 fortable in the parlour, sir, I'm sure.' 
 
 ' Oh ! you go along back where you 
 came from, old lady. Where are all those 
 grouse I brought in last Aveek ?' 
 
 ' Hanging, of course, sir.' 
 
 ' You pick me out a pair of the nicest.' 
 
 ' The missis has give orders for all that 
 isn't for table to-morrow to be sent down 
 to the Deanery.' 
 
 ' You bet they don't go ! I'm not going 
 to shoot birds for the blooming Deanery !'
 
 LEO GOES INTO HIGH SOCIETY. 237 
 
 cried Tom, much exercised with the weis^ht 
 of the mattresses, combined with this 
 opposition to his wilL 'There, Miss Forde ! 
 you'll find that luxury itself! How for- 
 tunate all these things were handy ! Three 
 men are coming over from Tettle to shoot 
 with my 2^CLter to-morrow, and that's why, 
 I suppose ! Now, I'll go and cook your 
 tea myself, as cookie seems to have got a 
 pain in her temper. Come along, Mrs. 
 Heather, you just do as I tell you ;' and he 
 drove the submissive old woman out of the 
 kitchen, shut the door, and could be heard 
 distinctly, though distantly, asking if she 
 thought ]\Irs. Abbott, at Leaming, ever 
 made difficulties when he wanted anything. 
 'But we're off to Leaming next week, so 
 perhaj)s we shall be a bit more comfortable,' 
 he concluded, pathetically. 
 
 Any mention of Leaming always dis- 
 armed cookie at once, as the artful Thomas 
 knew full well, and he shortly reappeared
 
 238 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 ^'ith a beamino; face, to announce that a 
 recJwxhe collation would soon be forth- 
 coming. 
 
 'Tom, these pillows are too luxurious, 
 1 shall soon be asleep,' said Muriel, in the 
 •soothing tones of absolute comfort. 
 
 The three gentlemen preferred the oak 
 chairs, but the girls all looked very pretty, 
 reclining among their cushions. Richard 
 Forde thought Muriel appeared like the 
 beauty in the Palace of Sleep, with her 
 soft o;olden locks shadino^ her calm brow. 
 This kitchen tea-party was certainly a 
 wonderfully good prescription for banish- 
 ing formality and producing friendliness. 
 It was hardly to be believed that they 
 were all meeting for the first time, so 
 sociable did they speedily become. 
 
 ' Tom, let us be brilliant, and devise 
 sports,' cried Hope, who was in high spirits. 
 * Here are six of us — young and able- 
 bodied. Can w^e not invent somethins: to
 
 LEO GOES INTO HIGH SOCIETY. 239 
 
 astonish the elders to-night — a charade, or 
 something ?' 
 
 ' A charade? Oh, do !' cried Leo. 
 
 After all, these ' county ' girls were very 
 easy to get on with — quite simple and 
 natural, and with apparently the same 
 tastes as she herself. 
 
 ' A good idea, Hope — you invent one,' 
 said Muriel, placidly. 
 
 * Isn't that Muriel to a T !' cried Tom, 
 fraternally. ' You invent, and she'll play. 
 That's the division of labour. Hope and 
 I get up at five to gather mushrooms, and 
 Muriel eats them !' 
 
 Muriel laughed in perfectly good-hu- 
 moured acquiescence. 
 
 ' Well, Hope and you are brilliant — I'm 
 not,' she replied. 'That was a splendid 
 charade you invented at Cousin Mary's 
 last Easter. Won't you do that again ?' 
 
 ' Impossible !' cried Hope ; ' that only
 
 240 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 included us two, and we want something 
 to set everybody iDusy to-night, with heaps 
 of dressing-up.' 
 
 * We have a property-box, absolutely full 
 of stage costumes, which want airing most 
 awfully,' announced Tom. 
 
 ' Let us have tableaux vivants,' suggested 
 Richard Forde. ' I am a splendid hand at 
 keeping still.' 
 
 This idea found general favour; even 
 Muriel was delighted with it. Tom was 
 despatched to bid one of the maids bring 
 down the costume-box into Muriel's sit- 
 ting-room, and to see that the background 
 of curtains w^as duly erected in the large 
 drawing-room. Hope took out a pencil, 
 begged a half-sheet of paper from MoUie, 
 and prepared to be business-like. Every- 
 one made impossible suggestions, and even 
 Muriel was in fits of laughter when Tom 
 reappeared, his countenance visibly sobered 
 down.
 
 LEO GOES INTO HIGH SOCIETY. 241 
 
 *I say,' lie said, lugubriously, ^ the mater 
 thinks Ave ought to invite Westmorland to 
 be in the show.' 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 242 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 TABLEAUX VIVANTS. 
 
 A stranger, and alone, 
 
 Among that brotherhood, 
 
 The monk Felix stood. 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 After an instantaneous, but significant 
 
 pause, Muriel said, calmly, 
 
 ' Of course. But where is he ?' 
 
 ' In the library, or the billiard-room, I 
 
 imagine. He can't be out of doors in this 
 
 cataract. Shall I go and tell him we are 
 
 here ?' 
 
 ' I wish you would, dear Tom,' said his 
 
 sister ; and the good-humoured boy danced 
 
 off, and, opening the library door, peeped 
 
 cautiously in.
 
 TABLEAUX VIVANTS. 243 
 
 The Major was seated in a low American 
 -chair near the window, doing absolutely 
 nothing but gazing out upon the persistent 
 rain. His hands were deeply thrust into 
 his pockets, and he was so still, that at first 
 Tom thought that he was asleep; but the 
 large steady grey eyes were wide open, 
 with a look in them which was both weary 
 and sad. 
 
 ' I say, Westmorland, you're looking 
 down in the mouth,' said Tom, cheerily. 
 ' No wonder, if you sit here with nobody 
 to interview but that confounded rain ! I 
 have been sent to hunt you out.' 
 
 Evelyn looked up, and half closed the 
 book upon his knee. 
 
 ' You're very kind,' he said, ' but I am 
 sorry you should trouble about me. I have 
 been reading.' 
 
 ' Well, they're all having tea in the 
 kitchen,' persuasively went on the ambas- 
 sador, ' and now they are all seized with 
 
 b2
 
 244 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 an idea to have impromptu tableaux to- 
 night. We want your opinion — come on !' 
 
 Evelyn looked distressed. 
 
 ' I'm no good at it, Tom. I should fee! 
 like a fish out of water among you all.' 
 
 ' Oh, rubbish !' was the friendly answer, 
 ' you used to be fond of such things ! What 
 has come over you ?' 
 
 As the frank humorous young face bent 
 over him, the Major felt a sudden impulse 
 of friendliness towards the boy. 
 
 ' I think I am growing old, Tom,' he said, 
 with a sigh, ' we lead a lonely life at 
 FeverelL' 
 
 ' Old ! A fine joke ! Shake it off and 
 come along. You miss no end of the fun^ 
 always moping away by yourself, I tell 
 you.' 
 
 * I don't fancy I — I'm much wanted 
 either,' hesitated Evelyn. 
 
 Tom felt a little guilty, as he thought 
 of that sudden hush in the kitchen which
 
 TABLEAUX VIVANTS. 245 
 
 had greeted the speaker's name, but he 
 gave a straight-forward, manly answer. 
 
 ' The fact is, that they think you look 
 down on them. You put your back into 
 it, show 'em what you can do, and they'll 
 all think no end of you.' 
 
 Evelyn laughed. Such persuasiveness 
 could not fail to impress ; besides, his lonely 
 heart was longing to be cheered — he wanted 
 to feel once more young amongst the 
 young. He laid down his hook, with a 
 paper-knife to mark the place — the page 
 over which he had been reflecting, 
 
 ' One likes to show the truth, for the truth 
 That the woman was light, is very true. 
 But suppose she says, — " Never mind that youth, 
 What wrong have I done to you ?'" ' 
 
 He repeated those words, those last 
 words, over to himself as Tom and he 
 passed through the swing-door, and 
 threaded the tortuous stone passages in 
 the servants' regions. What harm had she
 
 246 THE IDES OF MAECH. 
 
 done to him ? "Was he j ustified in showing 
 so sharp, so decided a resentment ? Would 
 it not, after al], be better to treat her with 
 dignified politeness, declining only any 
 advances towards intimacy ? He was half 
 afraid that he had been behaving rather 
 foolishly. 
 
 Anything more comical, and, at the 
 same moment, more inviting, than the 
 aspect of the kitchen as they entered, 
 would be difficult to imagine. A zealous 
 and much-amused kitchen-maid had just 
 spread the table with tea, jam, piles of hot 
 cakes, and the peculiar glory of Tom's menu 
 — grouse, stewed with mushrooms in 
 cream. 
 
 Mollie had been commanded to take the 
 head of the table, and Richard was hand- 
 ing cups to the three girls, enthroned 
 among the billowing mattresses. 
 
 ^Hope!' were the words that greeted 
 Evelyn's ear, in Leo Forde's bright tones.
 
 TABLEAUX VIVANTS. 247 
 
 ' Here are three of us — could we not have 
 a girl's tableau — the three virtues ?' 
 
 ' Capital !' said Mollie, approvingly. 
 
 ' I am so tired of puns on my name !^ 
 objected Hope, petulantly. 
 
 * Your name is so very characteristic, 
 duckie,' said Tom. 
 
 ' So it is,' agreed Muriel, ^ you always 
 see the bright side of things.' 
 
 ' Miss Merrion must see the epitaph at 
 Learning, must she not, Tom ?' asked 
 Mollie. 
 
 *I was thinking of that,' said Muriel. 
 'There is a tablet in the wall of the church 
 at Leaming, with an inscription which 
 entirely turns upon a pun on your name, 
 Hope.' 
 
 ' Yes, a last century man, of the roman- 
 tic name of Pepper, who modestly describes 
 himself as a '* man of letters," lost his only 
 daughter, who was called Hope,' said Tom, 
 narratively, ' and he put up a very pretty
 
 248 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 verse to her memory, very pretty indeed, 
 though the first line is either cribbed from 
 a very well-known one, or else is a strange 
 coincidence. Let's see — can you say it, 
 Mollie ?' 
 
 Mr. Lyster took off his spectacles, and 
 recited as follows : 
 
 ' Hope lives for ever in ye human herte, 
 When Hope dyes, therefore, thou hast done thy parte. 
 Go, rest, poor soule! with lyfe thou canst not cope, 
 Nor bear its sorrows, havyng lost thy Hope !' 
 
 'There is real pathos in that,' said 
 Richard, feelingly. 
 
 ' It is true, no one could live without 
 Hope,' said the owner of that name im- 
 petuously, and something bright flashed 
 in her expressive eyes. 
 
 Tom, looking at her sympathetically, 
 knew that she was thinking of Nellie, the 
 girl who had resigned first hope, then 
 existence, and now, after life's fitful fever, 
 slept well in the very churchyard where 
 this other Hope was laid.
 
 TABLEAUX VIVANTS. 24 9 
 
 ^ Every Sunday, as her heart was slow- 
 ly breaking, she must have read that 
 dreary tablet oii the wall,' thought the girl, 
 with passionate sympathy and regret : the 
 story had certainly made a deep impres- 
 sion on her. 
 
 Evelyn was very silent. The recitation 
 of the old quatrain had recalled to his 
 mind the piece of doggerel which had 
 turned his father's brain. Two lines in it 
 came forcibly before him, and, in the light 
 of that fanciful play upon a name, gave 
 him a curious sensation. 
 
 ' Withouten Hope it shullde betyde, 
 The last sonue ys an onely childe.' 
 
 ' What folly,' he thought to himself in 
 angry contempt, but he was thankful that 
 none of the audience present knew of the 
 prophecy. 
 
 It was impossible to tell to what foolish 
 conclusions Tom's sharp wits would have 
 led him.
 
 250 THE IDES OF MAliCH. 
 
 He looked at Miss Merrion ; it was 
 almost the first time he had allowed his 
 eyes to rest upon her since he discovered 
 her identity. Her wide, sad eyes were 
 fixed upon the pouring rain outside, her 
 small smooth cheek, slighly flushed by con- 
 tact with the great fire, rested on her hand. 
 In spite of her late high spirits, she was 
 feeling depressed, ashamed of the nonsense 
 she had talked to Tom, with the sole object 
 of disgusting the Major. A sense of in- 
 justice and cruelty on his part gave her a 
 feeling of wrong. Why was he so hard 
 and merciless to her, when he was so good 
 and tender to his most irritating father ? 
 She looked at him, perhaps for an answer 
 to this conundrum, and met the fixed gaze 
 of his steady grey eyes. 
 
 It seemed to Evelyn Westmorland as if 
 a strange thrill passed over his whole being. 
 His heart leaped, as if it would rise to his 
 throat, the blood coursed madly through
 
 TABLEAUX VIVANTS. 251 
 
 his frame. For a moment everything grew 
 dim to his sight, then astonishingly clear. 
 For how long had he been gazing into those 
 wide eyes, with their wet lashes? A 
 second? an hour? And what could it 
 mean, this sudden, new emotion which en- 
 folded him? Was it pain, or pleasure? 
 What did he want to do? To take Hope 
 Merrion to his heart, and kiss away the 
 drops that trembled in act to fall ? 
 
 With what seemed to him a bodily 
 wrench, he tore his look away from her 
 face, and looked down at his plate, to 
 steady himself; the hand which grasped it 
 was shaking. 
 
 Well ! it was over. The chat in the 
 room was going on as before. Nobody had 
 noticed his brief aberration. He could be- 
 lieve now in the story of the sirens. How 
 strong it had been, momentarily, that 
 strange, horrible, delicious impulse ! It filled 
 him with shame and repugnance.
 
 252 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 ' I seem marked for misfortune,' was his 
 morbid reflection. ' All my life, I have 
 never known what men meant by falling 
 in love ; why am I visited now by this 
 horrible infatuation ? Fortunately, I am 
 old enough and strong enough to hate it 
 and to crush it.' 
 
 He looked, at the moment, as if he were 
 ready to hate and to crush the unconscious 
 cause of so much disorder. Hope winced as 
 she encountered his morose look. She 
 rather inclined to the idea that his solitary 
 life with his eccentric father had made him 
 unhke other people, she could not other- 
 wise explain his extraordinary attitude of 
 personal enmity. That he should dislike 
 the woman whom he believed to have 
 treated his friend badly, seemed natural 
 enough, but this fierce hostility was un- 
 accountable. She had never before en- 
 countered hatred, and it pained her 
 unspeakably ; moreover, she thought the
 
 TABLEAUX VIVANTS. 253 
 
 whole party must soon see it, it was so 
 offensively obvious. 
 
 ' Hope,' said she to herself, ' some 
 measures must be taken to stop this. You 
 must pick up the dicrnity which, when 
 with Tom and Muriel, you habitually lay 
 aside, and show this man his place.' 
 
 ' Hope is Hope, Muriel Faith, and Miss 
 Forde Charity,' announced Tom, with 
 unction. ' Westmorland, will you be a 
 wounded knight, for Miss Forde to exer- 
 cise her charitable functions upon ?' 
 
 * Certainly,' said Evelyn, promptly, for 
 he liked Leo. 
 
 ' What am I to do with him ? Give 
 him a dose of medicine?' asked the young 
 lady, quaintly. 
 
 ^ No, no ! How unpoetical you are !' 
 cried Tom. ' He is dying for his country, 
 or something of that kind, and you sup- 
 port his fainting head.' 
 
 * I hope he will not forget what it is he
 
 254 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 dies for, like Gambetta,' laughed Richard. 
 
 ' I don't have to say anything, do I ?' 
 cried Evelyn, in sudden panic. 
 
 ' No, no, no — oh, dear, no ! You merely 
 have to look half dead and interesting,' 
 said Torn, re-assuringly. 
 
 ' I feel certain I ought to be holding a 
 cup to his lips,' said Leo. 
 
 ' I think it would look well,' opined 
 Mollie. 
 
 ^ I shall whisper to you, " a tablespoon- 
 ful in water, three times a day," ' said Leo, 
 solemnly. 
 
 *If you do, I'll punish you, you young 
 monkey,' said Richard, with severity. 
 
 ' It would be still more realistic if you 
 were to hold his nose. Miss Forde,' put in 
 the incorrigible Tom.. 
 
 ' Don't make game, Tom, this is a 
 serious tableau,' said Muriel, ' and it will 
 be very pretty. I shall hold a lamp, as 
 well as the ebony cross, and Hope will
 
 TABLEAUX VIVANTS. 255 
 
 have the great anchor which we made for 
 Britannia.' 
 
 ' Couldn't I be kneeling at her feet, as 
 her knight, with my motto painted whack- 
 ing big on ray shield, Dum spiro spero ?' 
 pleaded Tom. 
 
 * No, nonsense, Tom. That tableau is 
 settled most satisfactorily. Now, the next 
 is the Casket Scene from the '^ Merchant 
 of Venice." Hope is Portia, Miss Forde 
 Nerissa, Major Westmorland Bassanio, 
 Tom Gratiano. That ought to be a good 
 one, the dresses are lovely.' 
 
 ' And next,' cried Hope, interrupting, 
 ^Tennyson's " Day Dream," in three scenes. 
 Mr. Forde as the Prince, Muriel the en- 
 chanted Princess. In the first scene, the 
 Prince, with drawn sword, lifts the cur- 
 tain and looks in ; in the second, he bends 
 over the couch ; in the third, everybody is 
 wide-awake.' 
 
 ' Capital !' said Mollie, ' and, with the
 
 256 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 three others already settled, that makes 
 enouo^h, I think. Now to rehearsal.' 
 
 ' We will retire upstairs for that, as you 
 have all done tea, and there we can in- 
 spect the costumes,' suggested Muriel ; and 
 they evacuated the kitchen, pausing on 
 the way to propose and carry a vote of 
 thanks to cookie for her hospitality. 
 
 Evelyn was surprised to find that the 
 grouping and 'arranging for these tableaux* 
 was anything but irksome to him. Per- 
 haps a word or two of approbation was 
 felt to be more stimulating than he was 
 willing to allow. A murmur from one of 
 the girls of ' Major Westmorland really 
 does it very well,' an approving nod from 
 Mr. Lyster, had their effect, though he 
 might not care to own that it was so. 
 
 His appearance in armour — one of the 
 suits from the hall — was certainly capti- 
 vating. Mrs. Saxon looked in on the busy 
 company for a minute to announce that
 
 TABLEAUX VIVANTS. 257 
 
 she had sent the carriage for the curate 
 and his'^wife, and Mr. and Mrs. Copeland, 
 to swell their audience ; and she paused, 
 really surprised at the fine look of his 
 square, stern head and dark, closely-curl- 
 ing hair, set off by the gleaminoj corslet. 
 His casque he held in his hand, and the 
 mistress of the house stood so long re- 
 garding him that, at last, it struck even 
 hira as amusing. He laughed his rare, 
 pleasant laugh, and made her a sweeping 
 bow. 
 
 * Has your ladyship any commands to 
 lay upon me ?' he asked. 
 
 'Such as to fetch the *' mighty Boke *' 
 from the hand of the dead wizard, Michael 
 Scott ? No, but you look quite fitted for 
 such an errand,' said the lady, with real 
 admiration, 'though hardly such an un- 
 lettered champion as Deloraine ; more 
 like Hope's favourite. Count Gismond, 
 perhaps.' 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 THE IDES OF MARCn. 
 
 ' Not in the least like Count Gismond !' 
 cried Hope, in a hurry ; and then checked 
 herself, and added, confusedly, ' at least, I 
 always think Gismond was fair.' 
 
 ' Scarcely, if you consider his nation- 
 ality,' said Mrs. Saxon ; ' but I must be 
 off and settle the preliminaries of this im- 
 promptu dinner-party.' 
 
 ' We Saxons love to do things on the 
 spur of the moment,' remarked Tom, in 
 tones of satisfaction, as the door closed 
 upon her. ' You will see what a success 
 this show w^ill be, just because it is spon- 
 taneous — evolved out of our respective 
 consciousnesses ; only one wants to be 
 awfully clever to do it well. Fortunately, 
 we are that.' 
 
 ' We are, we are !' laughed Hope. 
 
 It seemed to Evelyn as if that whole 
 evenino^ passed away like a dream, until 
 suddenly he awakened to find himself 
 alone in Mrs. Saxon's morning-room,
 
 TABLEAUX VIVANTS. 259 
 
 which was doing duty as a green-room. 
 
 He walked in clad in his armour, fully 
 attired for his part in the ^ Three Virtues ' 
 tableau. Nobody was there ; another pic- 
 ture, in which he had no part, was being 
 shown. He had already appeared, as a 
 very handsome Bassanio in the ' Casket 
 Scene,' and his father had only wished 
 that Leo, and not Hope, had been the 
 Portia ; though he was constrained to 
 admit that the parts had been rightly 
 allotted, and that to reverse them would 
 be to spoil the tableau. 
 
 Hope's expression of dignity struggling 
 with longing, suspense, and fear, w^as in- 
 imitable. Bassanio looked as if he fully 
 realised the gravity of the situation. 
 
 ' I am a born actress, am I not ?' Hope 
 had said afterwards to Muriel, as she re- 
 moved the heavy brocade from her slim 
 person. ' I so lost myself in the part that 
 I quite forgot how I dislike that man !'. > 
 
 s2
 
 260 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 ' Do you dislike him ?' asked Muriel^ 
 with a faint accent of surprise. 
 
 Hope made a gesture of repugnance, and 
 o^ave a little shudder. 
 
 ' He is like a bad conscience, always 
 reminding me of my one great mistake.' 
 
 ' What do you mean ?' 
 
 ' I have not told you before — somehow 
 it made me feel sick to talk of it; but he 
 is a friend of Edgar Disney, and has heard 
 his version of that hateful affair ! Ugh ! I 
 wish I had not mentioned it, it puts a bad 
 taste in my mouth. I sometimes think^ 
 Muriel, that I wish I had never been 
 born.' 
 
 ' It is no good to wish that,' was the 
 calm answer, ' because you are born ; you 
 don't want to die, do you?' 
 
 ' Xo !' cried Hope, sharply, drawing her 
 two hands suddenly to her heart as if to 
 shut in the life, ' no, no ! I do not Avant to 
 die. I love life — especially in summer-
 
 TABLEAUX VIVANTS. 261 
 
 time. I love it ! I want to keep it, and 
 enjoy it. I will not let him spoil it ; I 
 will be happy in spite of him !' 
 
 Muriel stood very still, her golden hair 
 in a shower about her, looking earnestly 
 at her friend. 
 
 ' I w^onder how it is,' she observed at 
 length, ' that you always manage to crowd 
 so many emotions into vour life? nothinor 
 ever happens to me.' 
 
 ' I am always in a scrape, somehow,' said 
 Hope ; and she laughed, but the laugh was 
 a tearful one. 
 
 Tom banged on the door. 
 
 ' Come on, Muriel ! You're wanted on 
 at once.' 
 
 The golden-haired apparition vanished, 
 and Hope, left to herself, resolutely dashed 
 away the inconvenient drops, and arrayed 
 herself for her emblematical appearance in 
 simple white draperies, with a diamond 
 star in the soft hair above her forehead.
 
 262 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 She knew that she looked very pretty, 
 as she stood before the long glass ; but 
 she did not linger there, for personal 
 vanit}' was a failing she was almost wholly 
 without. Gathering up her trailing white 
 robes, she crept softly into the green-room 
 to find her anchor ; and there stood Eve- 
 lyn, in full harness, his arms folded over 
 the hilt of his huge sword.
 
 2Qf^ 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE MAJOR TO THE RESCUE. 
 
 One should master one's passions— love in chief 
 And be loyal to one's friends. 
 
 R. Browning. 
 
 Each faced the other silently a moment^ 
 and then Hope turned aside and fetched 
 her great gilt anchor from the corner 
 where it leaned against the wall. Without 
 a word to her companion, she sat down 
 and began to arrange a wreath of flowers 
 round its stem. After a complete silence, 
 he spoke with great suddenness. 
 
 ' What made you say that I was not 
 like Count Gismond ?'
 
 264 THE IDES OF MYiRCH. 
 
 She replied without looking up, or show- 
 ing any signs of surprise. 
 
 ' Count Gismond w^ould not believe 
 slander against a woman,' said she, gently. 
 
 'Have I done so?* he asked, hesitat- 
 ingly. 'Have 1 been too hasty — believed 
 something about you that was not true ?' 
 
 ' I am really quite unable to inform you,' 
 said Hope, sarcastically. ' I fancy you 
 know very little of me, and you have 
 thought proper to be extremely rude ; but, 
 as to your beliefs or misbeliefs about me, 
 I am quite ignorant, and I must confess 
 that they trouble me very little.' 
 
 He was not at once ready with a re- 
 joinder. When at last he spoke, it was 
 with some agitation. 
 
 'I hate injustice,' he said, in the tone 
 of one excusing himself, ' and I think I 
 resent injuries to my friends more keenly 
 than injuries to myself I have been led 
 to believe that you are the Miss Merrion
 
 THE MAJOR TO THE RESCUE. 265 
 
 who has broken my friend's heart ; if I 
 have been too hasty — if there is any mis- 
 take, I shall feel like despairing of for- 
 giveness.' 
 
 He waited, but she gave no answer. 
 
 ' Has there been a mistake ?' he asked, 
 severely. 
 
 'I think there has, but it is a slight 
 one,' she said at last, and coolly. ' I am 
 not at all inclined to believe that I have 
 broken anyone's heart ; but it is true that 
 I was engaged to Captain Disney, and that 
 I broke the engagement. I believe these 
 are the facts which, in your judgment, 
 deprive me of the right to the ordinary 
 conventional civilities of society.' 
 
 ' I am afraid,' he said, in a low voice, 
 * that I have expressed my feelings with 
 unwarrantable plainness. I — I think, 
 though, you would find it easier to for- 
 give me if you could see his letters, and 
 easier to believe in your having made him 
 suifer terribly.'
 
 266 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 ' Captain Disney was always a good 
 letter-writer,' said Hope, icily. ' I have 
 seen specimens of his skill in that way.' 
 
 'You can never have known him, if you 
 speak of him in that tone.' 
 
 ' I wish I never had,' she replied, em- 
 phatically. 
 
 ' We shall always disagree on this point,' 
 he said, angrily. ' Always. It is a waste 
 of time to discuss it.' 
 
 He looked at her in a tumult of feeling, 
 as she sat deftly twining the flowers about 
 her anchor, with graceful movements of 
 her white bare arms. Utterly heartless I 
 he thought. And yet he yearned to know 
 the whole — to know why Miss Merrion 
 had dismissed her lover. 
 
 ' I wish I knew the whole facts of the 
 case !' he burst out, almost without in- 
 tending it. 
 
 'That you never will,' said Hope, de- 
 cidedly, • for I have not the slightest wish
 
 THE MA JOE TO THE liESCUE. 2 6 If 
 
 or intention to justify myself to you ; and 
 you will certainly not get the truth from 
 Captain Disney.' 
 
 'This of my friend! Thank you, Miss- 
 Merrion,' he said, in deep resentment. 
 
 ' I am sure the subject must be very 
 painful to you, but, in fairness, remember 
 that you introduced the discussion,' was 
 her quiet answer. 
 
 He turned away, baffled ; and, as he 
 turned, she raised her eyes and looked at 
 him, a curious look, impossible to de- 
 scribe. 
 
 The door was now opened to admit Leo 
 and Muriel, both dressed for their parts, 
 and both looking exceedingly pretty. 
 
 Evelyn thought, however, that some- 
 thino^ was wantino; in both of them — that 
 rare, subtle charm which he felt that Hope 
 possessed. He was convinced, at last, that 
 this charm was a snare, he did not believe 
 that it was possessed by any woman truly
 
 "268 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 simple-minded and modest ; he was half 
 inclined to hold that it was horror which 
 stirred him as his eyes so perversely rested 
 upon her. He noticed her pretty arm, 
 curved so delicately about her flower- 
 wreathed emblem, and the little flexible 
 fingers which coaxed the blossoms into 
 place with tender touches. Cruel hands ! 
 They had not scrupled to toss Disney's 
 heart away in the dust, as the little feet 
 danced along their happy road of popu- 
 larity, youth, and sunshine ! 
 
 ' How pretty you have made your 
 anchor !' cried Leo, with w^arm admiration. 
 
 'I am thinking I have misinterpreted 
 my character,' she answered, with a small, 
 unsteady laugh. ' I wish that I had 
 adopted the imagery of the painter, AVatts, 
 and blinded my eyes, and sat me down in 
 sadness with my harp, and all the strings 
 broken except one. It is far nearer our 
 earthly idea of Hope !'
 
 THE MAJOK TO THE EESCUE. 269 
 
 'IS'onsense, duckie,' said Tom, who had 
 come in as she made this cheerful speech, 
 * don't talk like that, but make haste. Come 
 along, William of Deloraine !' 
 
 It was a pretty picture. Hope was the 
 glory of it. Everyone's eyes rested longest 
 on the inspired little face, and the limbs 
 so lightly poised that it seemed as if she 
 must float upwards. Muriel looked like a 
 saint enshrined, the light of her lamp 
 flickering over her peaceful face : and Leo 
 was most tenderly sympathetic as she bent 
 over the wounded hero. 
 
 It was a thousand pities that any unto- 
 ward adventure should mar the artistic 
 pleasure which this tableau created. Muriel's 
 lamp was formed by a piece of lighted 
 candle which had accidentally become 
 loose, having been insecurely fixed ; more- 
 over, it is diflicult, as everyone knows, to 
 hold anything straight for long, without 
 looking at it, and, after a very short time,.
 
 270 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 the strain of lifting her arm so high made 
 her hand shake. It took but a puff of wind 
 from a suddenly opened door to blow over 
 the toppling candle, and it fell on Charity's 
 flimsy white robe. 
 
 Muriel, her eyes bein^ fixed in another 
 direction, did not know that it was the 
 lighted candle which dropped. Leo, stoop- 
 in 2^ over her knio-ht, did not reo^ard it ; it 
 was not until a bright forked flame shot 
 up in the eyes of the recumbent knight 
 himself, that he leaped to his feet, to see 
 the young girl in a blaze. 
 
 Leo, for the moment, was panic-struck, 
 and would have run, but Evelvn cauofht 
 her in a grip like iron, and, horribly im- 
 peded by his armour, forced her down 
 upon the floor. The flame touching her 
 flesh at the moment made her shriek, there 
 was a rush forward of the audience, and 
 Richard was on the platform in a moment, 
 Iput Hope was quickest. In an instant she
 
 THE MAJOR TO THE RESCUE. 271- 
 
 had seized one of the'heavy curtains which 
 were hung on screens to form a back- 
 ground to the stage, and before even Tom 
 who had darted for the hearth-rug in the 
 green-room could return, had flung it to 
 the Major, who, holding it down on the 
 struggling girl, crushed out the fire in a 
 moment. 
 
 ' It is all right,' he said at once, in his 
 natural voice, and quite composedly. 'Tom, 
 tell them there is no harm done. Miss 
 Forde, are you unhurt ? I am afraid I was 
 rather rough with you, but there was not 
 a moment to be lost.' 
 
 ' She has fainted,' said her brother, hur- 
 riedly, as he bent over her with ashy face 
 and trembling voice. ' God bless you, 
 Westmorland, she must have been hurt 
 before I could get to her.' 
 
 ' Is she not burned at all ?' asked the 
 Major, in a tone of keen anxiety. 
 
 ' I can scarcely tell, her dress is scorch-
 
 272 THE IDES OF MAKCH. 
 
 ed — no ! I certainly don't see anything/ 
 said Dick, feverishly. ' Poor little woman I 
 Leo darling !' 
 
 ' Lift her up,' said Evelyn, in the short, 
 military tones of one commanding. * Carry 
 her upstairs, lay her on her bed. Don't 
 let her come to herself in this crowd.' 
 
 Dick obediently followed instructions, 
 and carried the pale form of sweet Charity 
 through the sympathetic audience into the 
 hall, where he paused irresolute, until 
 Muriel's gentle tones were heard. 
 
 ' This way, to my room — oh ! it was all 
 my fault !' she cried. 
 
 'There is no harm done, indeed. Miss 
 Saxon,' said Richard, gasping a little over 
 his burden, ' she is only frightened, not 
 hurt, thanks to Westmorland ; he's a queer 
 sort, but a real help in an emergency.' 
 
 So they proceeded to Muriel's room, 
 where, with the help of nurse, they devoted 
 themselves to Leo.
 
 THE MAJOR TO THE RESCUE. 278 
 
 * And noAv, I suppose, I can go and get 
 rid of this ridiculous get-up,' said Evelyn, 
 crossly, walking into the green-room. 
 
 His eyes looked round restlessly, apparent- 
 ly in search of some one who was not there. 
 
 'Well done, indeed. Sir Knight,' cried 
 cordial little Mollie, beaming through his 
 spectacles with effusion. 
 
 'It is Miss Merrion really whom we 
 should thank,' was the bluff reply. * I had 
 nothing handy, and this detestable armour 
 was so much in my way. She has a great 
 deal of presence of mind.' 
 
 ' She has, indeed, everything one could 
 wish. I have never known anyone so 
 charming,' was the warm answer. Evelyn 
 was silent at this, and marched out of the 
 room, coming, in the hall, suddenly into 
 contact with his father. He started back, 
 puzzled at the strangely softened look in 
 the face which, to him, usually expressed 
 so much acerbity. 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 * My dear Evelyn, ray dear son,' faltered 
 Mr. Westmorland, taking the big hand in 
 both of his. ' Evelyn, ray bo}^, I am proud 
 of you — yes, proud !' 
 
 Evelyn stood petrified ; he was far too 
 shy to receive so totally unexpected a 
 tribute gracefully, but his whole heart soft- 
 ened and swelled out on the instant to 
 answer this precious touch of love. He felt 
 an uncomfortable expanding in his throat, 
 and the colour came to his dark face, as he 
 said, harshly, 
 
 ' You are mistaken, I did nothing. It 
 w^as the obvious thing. I was nearest to 
 her.' 
 
 ' You did w^ell,' was the answer, with the 
 voice and manner of an emperor commend- 
 ing his vassal, ' exceedingly well, and the 
 circumstance will no doubt tell in your 
 favour with the young lady.' 
 
 'I don't so much care about that,' said
 
 THE MAJOR TO THE RESCUE. 275 
 
 liis son, between his teeth, ' so long as it 
 tells in my favour with you.' 
 
 Whereat the old man looked him in the 
 eyes, narrowly, and yet kindly, and re- 
 plied, with an affectionate smile, 
 
 ' My son, if you sincerely wish for my 
 favour, you know full well the immediate 
 way to obtain it,' and so passed on, down 
 the passage, leaving the soldier with his 
 heart beating great, heavy strokes against 
 his side, because his father had spoken a 
 kind word to him. 
 
 He repaired to his room, and rang up 
 the valet to help him out of his armour, 
 a rare proceeding with him ; and when the 
 man arrived, 
 
 ' You must get the scissors, and cut me 
 out of this sleeve, please,' he said, ' or you 
 may be bringing off the skin as well ; I am 
 scorched, I fancy.' 
 
 He had a considerable burn, four or five 
 
 T 2
 
 276 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 inches long, and very raw, and it was pain- 
 ful enough to make him set his teeth firm- 
 ly while Farren was dressing it ; but for all 
 that it was little heed he took of the pain, 
 for dwelling on the words that had sa 
 warmed his heart. 
 
 ' It's fearfully hard to go against him 
 when he is kind,' he thought. ' God bless- 
 him ! what a wonderful man he is.' 
 
 And, after the servant had left him, he 
 sat down for a little while alone, to steady 
 himself, and so fell to reflecting and mus- 
 ing as to whether or no it were quite 
 impossible for him to carry out that be- 
 loved father's will. It surely would not 
 be hard to be gentle and kind all the days 
 of his life to a bright creature like Leo 
 Forde. And what a companion she would 
 be for his father ! For, in these for-the- 
 first-time-indulo^ed matrimonial schemes, 
 the idea of separating from him never 
 once occurred to Evelyn. She would light
 
 THE MAJOR TO THE RESCUE. 277 
 
 up the old house, and amuse them both. 
 And she, at least, was innocent and in- 
 genuous. Surely he could keep her so. 
 If only she did not find him, Evelyn, too 
 terribly dull. That was his weak point. 
 He felt himself so incapable of holding 
 such a young, whimsical thing, full of life 
 and joy ; he seemed to himself, owing to 
 his father's long training, quite destitute 
 of the power to attract strongly. He had 
 always fought so shy of women that now 
 he was out of touch with them. All free- 
 dom of intercourse had been checked by 
 Mr. Westmorland's nonsense about the 
 prophecy and the experience of his garri- 
 son friends had not been encouraging. 
 
 And yet — yet — was it not his duty to 
 risk it now ? Certainly he was not in love 
 with Leo, but at all events she had no rival 
 . . . no, no rival. He could devote his 
 life to doino^ his dutv to her — makino; her 
 iis happy as he knew how. He did not
 
 278 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 believe in ^ falling in love.' It was an 
 illusion — a fantasy. 
 
 He caught his breath sharply, and closed 
 his eyes. The vision of Hope rose before 
 him — Hope in her white robes, with milky 
 arms twinino^ flowers about the o^olden 
 anchor ; he smelt vividly the perfume of 
 violets which always seemed to go with 
 her. It revolted him. To marry Leo, to 
 have a wife and interests of his own — 
 would not that be the best way to cure 
 the inexplicable madness which had seized 
 him ? He felt as if he must build up de- 
 fences, make w^alls, dig trenches, to separ- 
 ate himself from the hateful influence — 
 from the power she seemed to exhale, as 
 flowers do sweetness. 
 
 ' I believe I ought to try,' he said, half 
 aloud. ' He will be so pleased — and he is 
 all I have to care about.'
 
 279 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A DESIGNING GIRL. 
 
 Neither man's aristocracy, this, nor God's — God knoweth f 
 
 Arthur Hugh Clough. 
 
 It is curious to notice how, in this our 
 wide-awake and carefully-guarded century, 
 wherein nobody is surprised and nothing 
 ever happens for which everyone was not 
 fully prepared, what a sensation any kind 
 of adventure, no matter how trifling, makes 
 in the British household. 
 
 In the days when watchmen were set 
 upon the walls continually, the everlast- 
 ing presence of danger braced the nerves,
 
 280 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 it is to be supposed ; but at Hesselburgh, 
 the least jar in the admirably oiled house- 
 hold machinery was an extraordinary 
 exception. 
 
 The incident of the fire and of the 
 Major's prompt action spread like magic. 
 The servants eyed him with admiring 
 glances when he appeared again, and 
 told all their particular friends in the 
 village. Mr. Clarke, the curate, and Mr. 
 and Mrs. Copeland made a point of driving 
 next morning into Norchester to let folks 
 have the benefit of a ripple of news in the 
 stagnant pool of dulness which was their 
 chronic condition. Mr. Clarke had an 
 errand at the Residence. With all the 
 pride of an eye-witness, he related to 
 Canon Shorthouse the thrilling and ro- 
 mantic incident. Mrs. Shorthouse called 
 that very afternoon on Mrs. Hancock to 
 let her share in the piquancy of the 
 sensation.
 
 A DESIGNING GIRL. 281 
 
 Mrs. Hancock and her son were seated 
 amono^ all the opiories of clean chintzes and 
 stiff, white Nottingham lace curtains in 
 their drawing-room, entertaining the Misses 
 Press with tea. The music-stool wore a 
 crochet antimacassar with an air of con- 
 scious pride, and not only the gilt chim- 
 ney mirror, but also the green and white 
 lustres were duly provided with pink-paper 
 filagree coverings. Mrs. Hancock prided 
 herself upon being a good housekeeper. 
 The tea v/as beyond reproach, certainly, 
 and the old silver melon tea-pot as bright 
 as care could make it. Mr. Sayers Han- 
 cock handed round hot cakes to the two 
 thin spinster ladies with genial, though 
 nervous goodwill. 
 
 Mrs. Hancock wore, super-added (as 
 Laurence Sterne would say) to the festive 
 purple gown, a large collar of Limerick 
 lace, in the centre of which a lively minia- 
 ture of the late Mr. Hancock reposed, with
 
 282 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 a roguish smile ; though^ if local report 
 was to be trusted, which it probably was 
 not, his connubial repose, whilst he was 
 still in the flesh, had not been as ideal as 
 it might be. 
 
 Into these surroundings the canon's 
 w^ife was cordially received; and surely 
 no atmosphere could have been more con- 
 genial for such a charming little piece of 
 news. She was not in a hurry; she never 
 spoilt the effect of an announcement by 
 any ill-considered haste. Like Louis Moore, 
 she preferred to taste the nectar of exist- 
 ence cool as dew. It was not until she 
 had drunk a cup of tea, eaten two pieces 
 of well-buttered tea-cake, and been in- 
 formed that the Misses Gall (five in num- 
 ber) had gone abroad, and that the married 
 brother of the Misses Openshaw was, after 
 all, not to be expected from America this 
 summer, that she remarked, casually, 
 
 ^ I suppose you have heard that the
 
 A DESIGNING GIRL. 283 
 
 Fordes were at Hesselburgh last night ?' 
 
 The red and vindictive e3^e of Mrs. 
 Hancock fixed itself balefully on the 
 speaker. 
 
 ' Oh, indeed ! A party?' said she. 
 
 ' A party it must have been, by all I 
 can hear; though Mr. Clarke, who was 
 present, says it was an impromptu one.' 
 
 ' Present, was he ?' said the elder Miss 
 Press, in breathless interest. ' And did 
 he tell you all about it ?' 
 
 ' It was a theatrical party,' announced 
 Mrs. Shorthouse, bringing out the dire 
 news with a look of perfect unconcern, as 
 if she were ignorant of the flutter of dis- 
 approval which would infallibly follow her 
 statement. 
 
 ' I am not in the least surprised,' said 
 Mrs. Hancock, superbly. 
 
 ' I really don't know what the dean and 
 Mrs. Goslett will say !' cried Miss Harriet 
 Press.
 
 284 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 ' It's much good their saying will do 
 them !' returned the hostess, grimly. ' I 
 hear there are to be theatricals at the 
 palace next Christmas.' 
 
 ^ We live to see changes,' said Miss 
 Press, piously, as if resolved that it was 
 her duty to take theatricals as patiently as 
 any other trial. 
 
 ' Were they — er — good — the theatricals?' 
 questioned the stout and bearded Mr. 
 Sayers Hancock, wdth some trepidation. 
 
 His business w^as in Wokeford, which, as 
 everyone knows, is a manufacturing town 
 and much more go-ahead than Xorchester, 
 and he was apt to think that his austere 
 mother drew her line in too narrow a 
 circle. He had seen nothing to censure, 
 either in the countenance or manners of 
 Miss Forde. 
 
 ' Mr. Clarke tells me they w^ere most 
 sumptuously got up ; Miss Merrion ap- 
 peared covered with diamonds,' replied
 
 A DESIGNING GIRL. 285 
 
 Mrs. Shorthouse, on whose utterances the 
 whole party hung rapt. 
 
 ' Dear me ! that was the pretty girl who 
 behaved so — ahem ! — so peculiarly at Duf- 
 iield the other day,' said Miss Press ; 
 ' walking about the gardens with half-a- 
 dozen young gentlemen at her heels.' 
 
 ' Just so ! But the interesting part of 
 my story is yet to come,' said the narrator, 
 unable to resist a smile of intense satis- 
 faction at this point. ' Quite a romance 
 in real life ! Though, indeed, it is a mercy 
 the consequences were not more serious.' 
 
 ' Bless me ! What happened ?' gasped 
 Miss Harriet, while the eyes of all the rest 
 of the audience asked the same question. 
 
 'May I trouble you with my cup, Mr. 
 Hancock?' went on the oracle, serenely. 
 ' Yes, thank you ! Another cup, Mrs. 
 Hancock — cream and sugar. Oh, thanks ! 
 I always say your tea is more to be praised 
 than any in Norchester. Another cake !'
 
 286 THE IDES OF MxVRCII. 
 
 Must I ? I shall eat no dinner to-night ! 
 But in these days five o'clock tea is such 
 an institution.' 
 
 Her listeners were on the rack, the tea- 
 maker almost insensible even to compli- 
 ment, so eao^er was she for what was 
 coming. 
 
 ' You were saying * she murmured. 
 
 ' I was saying,' said Mrs. Shorthouse, 
 replacing her half-emptied cup in the 
 saucer. ' Oh, yes, about Miss Forde's 
 terrible accident.' 
 
 ' Accident !' 
 
 ' Leonora Forde !' they cried, almost 
 simultaneously. 
 
 ' Yes, indeed ! It is only through the 
 presence of mind of Major Westmorland 
 that she escaped being burnt to death !' 
 
 ' You don't say so !' 
 
 Here indeed was a sensation ! Here 
 was something to flavour the Norchester 
 tea-parties all through the dreary winter
 
 A DESIGNING GIRL. 287 
 
 months that were coming! An adven- 
 ture ! An accident ! A rescue ! Victim 
 — a pretty girl, hero — an eligible young 
 man ! Nothing was lacking to heighten 
 the interest or arouse the imagination. 
 
 The very air vibrated with excitement, 
 the unamiable Maltese terrier with a pink 
 ribbon about its neck, leaped from its 
 cushions and yapped shrilly. 
 
 ' It appears,' said the canon's wife, when 
 order had been restored, ' that they were 
 performing some scene in which LeoForde, 
 all in white, had to support Major West- 
 morland's head, he being dressed in 
 armour.' 
 
 ' Good gracious !' said Mrs. Hancock. 
 
 ' Miss Saxon stood behind with a lighted 
 torch, a spark fell on Miss Forde's dress, 
 instantly she was a mass of flames. In a 
 moment the Major had leaped to his feet, 
 seized her in his arms, and, while all the 
 spectators were dumb with horror, stamped
 
 288 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 out the fire with the utmost heroism. He 
 was then seen to hang over her lifeless 
 body in agony, repeatedly crying to her 
 brother to know if she were hurt- Finally 
 he carried her upstairs in his arms.' 
 
 ' What, the Major ?' said Mr. Hancock. 
 
 ' Yes, indeed ! The canon had the 
 whole story from Mr. Clarke, who is not 
 likely to make inaccurate statements ! 
 Major Westmorland bore the unconscious 
 girl upstairs, and then, overcome with 
 emotion, retired to his own room and 
 locked himself in. When at last he did 
 come down, he was as white as ashes. 
 Young Saxon went up to him and seized 
 him by the wrist, when he gave a stifled 
 cry, and turned quite livid. They looked 
 at his sleeve, and made him take off his 
 coat, and the whole of his arm teas one raw 
 wound from the shoulder to the ivrist.'' 
 
 'Oh, Mrs. Shorthouse! I shall faint!* 
 cried Miss Harriet Press, hysterically.
 
 A DESIGNING GIRL. 289 
 
 ^It seems that he could not put on the 
 sleeve-pieces of the armour, through not 
 knowinoj how to rivet them, which accounts 
 for it, I suppose. News was brought down 
 that Miss Forde's injuries were next to 
 nothing, but, however, she was not allowed 
 to go home that night. Her brother went 
 home by himself, and he was to go up 
 there this morning to hear how she is.' 
 
 ' I think the least we can do will be to 
 call at Minstergate on our way home, to 
 enquire for Miss Forde, Harriet,' said Miss 
 Press. ' Her brother would have felt her 
 death excessively.' 
 
 ' I always thought Leonora Forde a 
 designing girl,' remarked Mrs. Hancock, 
 suddenly, ' and now I am quite sure of 
 it ;' and so had the narrative unhinged her 
 that she opened her tea-pot and absently 
 stirred up the tea-leaves with a spoon, a 
 proceeding watched with horror by the 
 ladies round. 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 ' You don't surely think she set fire to 
 herself on purpose?' panted Miss Harriet. 
 
 ' How do I know ? It would be all of 
 a piece,' was the snappish reply. 'It 
 won't be her fault if she isn't married. 
 Men,' with a stony eye on her meek and 
 rosy son, ' men are taken in with that sort 
 of person ; I'm not. It's my belief that she 
 all along meant to catch this Major West- 
 morland, and that is what makes her so 
 free and independent with her betters ;' an 
 angry flush on the matron's cheek might 
 have led a reader of character to guess 
 that she had intended for Leo, if she had 
 behaved herself, no less an honour than 
 that of being her daughter-in-law. ' Well ! 
 It will be a fine stroke of business for the 
 doctor if his sister makes such a brilliant 
 match ; I only wish her husband joy of her, 
 that's all !' 
 
 'But the poor young doctor will miss 
 her,' timidly suggested Miss Harriet.
 
 A DESIGNING GIRL. 291 
 
 ' Pooh !' cried Mrs. Hancock, quite 
 rudely. 
 
 ' I wonder,' said Mrs. Shorthouse, sud- 
 denly struck Avitli an idea, 'if the Fordes 
 will be at the dinner-party on Wednesday.' 
 
 'Mark my words, they will!' said Mrs.. 
 Hancock, with fearful energy. ' Sayers ! 
 Don't sit there blinking ! Take Miss Press's 
 empty cup !' 
 
 Her son, who had been pensively staring 
 out into the garden through his gold- 
 rimmed spectacles, started violently and 
 went, in a knock-kneed and submissive 
 manner, to do her bidding. 
 
 ' Did not I tell you, the first day that 
 young man arrived in Xorchester, that I 
 saw him alighting at the doctor's door?' 
 went on the lady. ' I thought that very 
 day of what was going on, and you see I 
 w^as right.' 
 
 ' I — I have not heard that they are en- 
 gaged yet, not positively engaged,' faintly 
 
 u2
 
 292 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 put in Mrs. Shorthouse. 'Mr. Clarke did 
 not say that.' 
 
 * Perhaps you will hear it announced on 
 Wednesday,' suggested Miss Harriet. 
 
 ^ It is as plain as the nose on my face,' 
 said Mrs. Hancock, with conviction. ' The 
 Saxons take no notice of the Fordes until 
 the arrival of this young man ; then at 
 once they single them out. Mrs. Short- 
 house and I, ourselves, saw young West- 
 morland introduce Leonora Forde to Tom 
 Saxon, and anybody at Duffield might see 
 that he played tennis with nobody but her. 
 Well ! some people are born with a silver 
 spoon in their mouth.' 
 
 ' Very true,' said Mr. Sayers Hancock, 
 mournfully. 
 
 There w^as food for a great deal more 
 talk before the party separated. Such a 
 complete anecdote rarely fell in their way, 
 poor souls, and they made the most of it. 
 Tom Saxon always said it was the family
 
 A DESIGNING GIRL. 293 
 
 vocation to provide material for discussion 
 in the neighbourhood, but even he little 
 guessed how literally true this was. All 
 other interests paled before this new one. 
 Even the vagaries at the palace were for- 
 gotten. The rumours that the bishop's 
 eldest daughter was to marry an actor, 
 and that his eldest son was to become 
 president of an agnostic association, were 
 never so much as mentioned. 
 
 They sat on and talked, warmed through 
 and through with the gratifying conscious- 
 ness that they and their friends were the 
 only really respectable people in Nor- 
 chester. 
 
 ' Well !' was Mrs. Hancock's parting word 
 when at last her visitors took leave ; 'if I 
 had a daughter, she would have been very 
 unlike Leonora Forde !' 
 
 There was no questioning the entire pro- 
 bability of such a statement, it bore the 
 stamp of truth.
 
 294 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 But when left alone with her son and 
 heir, when she had re-arranged the tumbled 
 antimacassars, and pushed the rug straight 
 with her foot, her first remark sounded 
 to the startled young man strangely- 
 irrelevant. 
 
 ' It has always been a marvel to me, 
 Sayers, how it is that, living as you do in 
 a gay place like Wokeford, you have never 
 learned to play lawn-tennis !' 
 
 Mrs. Shorthouse, it being too late for 
 the afternoon service at the cathedral^ 
 went her way up Minstergate towards the 
 Berlin wool-shop, with intent to have a 
 chat with the excellent Miss Gibson who 
 kept it, and to regale her with the prevail- 
 ing sensation. To her disappointment, 
 Miss Gibson was quite au fait in the whole 
 affair, for Mrs. Saxon had sent down the 
 groom on the pony that morning, for cot- 
 ton for dressing burns. Indeed, she was
 
 A DESIGNING GIRL. 295 
 
 able to supplement Mr. Clarke's version 
 with one or two piquant particulars, such 
 as that the Major owned to having had a 
 bad night, and would be prevented from 
 shooting that day, but that Miss Forde 
 was quite w^ell, and all the young ladies 
 and gentlemen in merry spirits. 
 
 ' The young are always thoughtless, 
 mum,' said Miss Gibson, ' and she so near 
 her death too, pretty dear !' 
 
 Returning from this visit, Mrs. Short- 
 house was favoured with a real stroke of 
 luck, for at the door of Dr. Forde's stood 
 the Hesselburgh brougham, and Richard 
 just helping his sister to alight. 
 
 There stood Leo, radiant and bright- 
 eyed, nodding and smiling to the coachman 
 in farewell. 
 
 ' My dear,' said the canon's wife, hurry- 
 ing up, ' I am very glad to see you so well 
 after your terrible accident.' 
 
 'Oh, have you heard about it? How
 
 296 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 funny!' cried Leo, with a surprised laugh. 
 
 • But it scarcely comes under your head- 
 ing of a " terrible accident," Mrs. Short- 
 house, I think,' said Dick, good-humour- 
 edly. ' Leo's dress caught iire, and was 
 at once put out by the person nearest at 
 the time, that's all !' 
 
 ' My dear Dr. Forde, T am shocked to 
 hear you underrate the mercies of Provi- 
 dence in this way. What would have 
 happened had Major Westmorland not 
 been near, or had he not been equal to 
 the occasion ? She would have burned to 
 death !' 
 
 ' My dear Mrs. Shorthouse, no girl could 
 burn to death in a room full of sane men 
 who all had free access to her. No doubt, 
 Westmorland's promptness minimised the 
 consequences, but I really think you ex- 
 aggerate the danger.' 
 
 ' Oh, well,' said the lady, determined to 
 be amiable, ' you doctors always make so
 
 A DESIGNING GIRL. 297 
 
 light of a thing ! But your sister no 
 doubt feels what an escape she has 
 had; 
 
 ' Almost a complete escape,' replied Leo, 
 with animation. ' Just a few blisters and 
 one tiny raw place on my shoulder ! Even 
 less than Major Westmorland, who has 
 really hurt his wrist. Oh, and a good 
 piece of my hair was burnt oiF, but Dick 
 says it saved my neck. It was all hang- 
 ing down, you know !' 
 
 ' She can afford to lose a bit ! She is 
 well supplied,' said Dick, fondly. 
 
 ' And I suppose you are sorry to leave 
 Hesselburgh?' said Mrs. Shorthouse, be- 
 nio^nlv. 
 
 The future Mrs. "Westmorland was worth 
 conciliating. She had heard her husband 
 say there were fine livings in the West- 
 morland gift. 
 
 *0h, very! But I shall see them 
 again to-morrow/ said Leo, brightly.
 
 298 THE IDES OF MARCH. 
 
 ' Oh, indeed !' replied her questioner, 
 thinking of the marvellous astuteness of 
 Mrs. Hancock. 'And what did all you 
 young folks do when you got together ?' 
 
 Leo's foot was on the threshold. Dick 
 was hurrying her in. A mischievous smile 
 dimpled her pretty mouth. She knew 
 quite well that every word she let fall 
 would go to Mrs. Hancock. 
 
 'What did w^e do?' cried she, 'why, the 
 very nicest thing I ever did in my life ! 
 The Saxons often do it ! We all luent and 
 had tea in the kitchen ! Good-bye, Mrs. 
 Shorthouse !' 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 Printed by Duncan Macdonald, Blenheim House, London, W. 
 
 Q