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 ym^M'7^
 
 MILTON, 
 
 Peterborouoh.
 
 I B R_ARY 
 OF THL 
 UN IVER.SITY 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 
 V.I
 
 THE DEAlf AND HIS DAUGHTER
 
 THE DEAN 
 AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 F. C. PHILIPS, 
 
 AUTHOE OF "as I.V A LOOKIXG-SIASS," "a LUCKY TOO'G WOMaX, 
 "jack and THKEE JILLS," "SOCIAI, VICISSITUDES." 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 WARD AND DOWNEY, 
 
 12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C. 
 
 1887. 
 (All rights reserved.'^
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, 
 CRYSTAL PALACE PKES8.
 
 8£3 
 
 v. 1 
 
 TO 
 
 EDMUND YATES, 
 
 ^ m RECOLLECTION OF MUCH KINDN] 
 
 h 
 
 i.
 
 THE DEAI^ AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 AVhen I look back to the earlier days of 
 my life, I wonder why I did not follow 
 the example of Bampfylde Moore Carew, and 
 run away with the gipsies. Many of them 
 came through our parish on their way back- 
 wards and forwards between the south, and 
 Exmoor and Dartmoor in the north. 
 
 Ossulston was, I think, the most miserable 
 village in all North Devon. For miles and 
 miles there was not a hedge — nothing but 
 heavy, squat, stone walls. The river ran 
 through the parish, and there was a mill, 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
 t
 
 TEi: DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEB. 
 
 of course, and a mill-dam with trout in 
 it, which used to lie under the shadow of 
 the old stone bridge ; you could lean on 
 the parapet and watch them hanging lazily 
 about in the stream, each in its own especial 
 nook. 
 
 My father was the Vicar of Ossulston, 
 and I was his only child. The Vicarage 
 was a stone house of eight rooms, roofed 
 with stone roughly chipped into heavy slabs. 
 We kept a couple of cows, some pigs, and 
 of course poultry and ducks. I need scarcely 
 say we had an orchard, but the trees had 
 not been grafted for years, and were long 
 past their prime. We burned wood and 
 turf — being many miles from the nearest 
 railway station, and even from the canal. 
 
 Our roof was thickly covered with yellow 
 stonecrop, houseleek, and other such parasitic 
 plants. In the garden my father allowed
 
 THE BEAN AND ETS DAUGHTER. 3 
 
 old gooseberry and currant trees to run to 
 waste, and there were a few wallflowers. 
 Once or twice a year my father went to 
 Exeter, coming back with clothes for him- 
 self, a supply of tobacco and spirits and rough 
 stuffs, flannel, calico, print, and serge, to be 
 made into garments for his daughter. He 
 used to bring back some ready-made boots 
 and a few other domestic necessaries, not 
 to be procured at the village shop. 
 
 Of myself, and my education, with the 
 exception of Greek and Latin which he 
 taught me more or less thoroughly, and of 
 anything that might concern me, he took no 
 heed whatever. Except that I had to go to 
 church twice on Sundays, I was as little 
 looked after as an Exmoor colt. 
 
 I was happy, however, in my own way. 
 For I could not even remember the loss of 
 my mother, and there was nobody to care 
 
 B 2
 
 4 TBE DEAN AND HIS DAUGUTEF. 
 
 or trouble where I went or what I did. 
 When I was six years old, I recollect that 
 I used to steal the fresh eggs early in the 
 morning, make little holes in them with a 
 pin, suck out the contents, and carefully 
 pulverise and bury the shells. 
 
 My father often wondered why his hens 
 did not lay as regularly as they ought to 
 have done ; but he never seemed to trouble 
 himself as to how I got my breakfast, or, 
 indeed, whether I got any breakfast at all. 
 
 In summer there were apples and plums. 
 After dinner I could forage for myself in the 
 kitchen, for my father dined alone. Some- 
 times I did not see him for several days 
 together. When his own dinner was over, 
 he used to sit in an arm-chair in his room, 
 smoke a long clay pipe, and drink spirits 
 and water. When he had had enough tobacco 
 and enough spirits, he used to go to bed.
 
 THE BEAN AXD HIS DAUGHTER. 5 
 
 His g^reat occasions were when a neio-li- 
 bouring farmer asked him to dinner. He 
 always accepted such invitations. 
 
 " We must be all things to all men/' 
 he used to say solemnly. I fancy he gave 
 this precept a somewhat liberal interpreta- 
 tion, for I know now that the peculiar 
 condition in which he used to return homo 
 was due to strong waters, and that his late 
 hours the next morning, with his anxiety 
 for dry toast and w^eak te£i, had the same 
 explanation. 
 
 I have since heard that he was a dis- 
 appointed man. He ought to have taken 
 high honours at his university, but instead 
 of that he somehow failed to take a good 
 degree. He ought to have had a Fellow- 
 ship and a College living, but his claims 
 were passed over. As he got on in 
 life, or rather in years, his friends per-
 
 6 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 sistently gave him the cold shoulder. The 
 livings he had been positively promised, and 
 which had been given to other men, were 
 more numerous than the number of* pounds 
 in his own wretched stipend. 
 
 He once in desperation thought of writing 
 a book on the antiquities, county history, 
 and natural history of Devonshire, but he 
 never got further than ordering several 
 reams of foolscap and a big jar of ink, for 
 both of which he was ultimately sued in 
 the County Court, when an order was made 
 against him to liquidate the amount 
 by monthly instalments of four shillings 
 each. 
 
 My father was now perilously close upon 
 sixty years of age, but had a pleasant habit 
 of telling everybody that he was somewhere 
 between forty-six and fifty. Age had cer- 
 tainly put very few traces upon him. Like
 
 THE BE AX AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 all selfish men lie was thoroughly well pre 
 served, and if he had been a duke, with the 
 medical resources of a duke, with the culinary- 
 resources of a duke, and with ducal oppor 
 tunities for travel, change of climate, and 
 special attention to every minute detail of 
 comfort, might, perhaps, have lived on into 
 his tenth decade. With nothing to worry 
 you, and with plenty of money, it is per- 
 fectly possible to trifle with Providence up 
 to an immense age. 
 
 His own views of life and its arrange- 
 ments, so far as they concerned himself, were 
 simple enough. He had his income as Vicar 
 and his bit of glebe, which be prudently 
 let out. During the summer months, when 
 London was empty, he made a clear profit. 
 Some fashionable London preacher would 
 come down and take the Vicarage for three 
 months, undertaking all the responsibilities
 
 8 TEE DEAN AND EIS DAUOHTEE. 
 
 of parochial service. Out of this temporary 
 transfer my father used to make a comfort- 
 able annual sum. In fact he farmed his 
 Vicarage, and the summer months in which 
 he let his house were the season of his fat 
 kine. 
 
 Always struggling to make both ends 
 meet, he somehow contrived to satisfy the 
 problem from his own point of view. For 
 my own part I know no more dull, wretched, 
 miserable being than a stupid man with a 
 few worthless and fourth-rate university cre- 
 dentials, on the strength of which he believes, 
 or has once believed, that he can take the 
 world by storm. 
 
 My father had forgotten all that he ever 
 knew, if, indeed, he had ever known any- 
 thing; and in the private bar-room of the 
 village inn he was, as I knew perfectly well, 
 the general butt of the company. They pre-
 
 THE BE AX AND HIS DAUGRTER. 9 
 
 tended to listen to him, they treated him to 
 
 whiskey and water, and when the time came 
 
 « 
 
 for closing, he was, in consideration of his 
 position, sent home in charge of the stable- 
 boy. 
 
 That youth had a very fair alto voice, 
 in virtue of which he sang in the parish 
 choir. It was unpleasant to see him put 
 his tongue in his cheek when my unhappy 
 father stumbled through the words "mani- 
 fold sins." 
 
 These were a few of my youthful trials. 
 So the years slipped away until I was twenty. 
 I kept no account of time ; why should I 
 have done so ? There was nothing in the 
 past to which I could look back, nor any- 
 thing in the future to which I could look 
 forward. 
 
 Andromeda, chained up by her hands to the 
 rock, was not more helpless. But she had a
 
 10 TEE BEAN AND EIS DAUGETEE, 
 
 chance whicli I had not. At any moment the 
 sea monster might put in an appearance and 
 devour her. I had no prospect of any such 
 sharp, sudden, and merciful end to my suffer- 
 ings. There I was — chained. Twenty years 
 from now I should be an old woman. And 
 the twenty years showed no hope, prospect, or 
 even chance of release. It was horrible. 
 
 One morningf there came a break in this 
 terrible monotony. My father received a 
 letter which evidently puzzled him. It could 
 not have been a County Court summons, for 
 he anticipated those and knew their contents 
 before their arrival. Neither was it an offer 
 of preferment, in which case he w^ould have 
 at once made his way to Pentridge, the 
 nearest railway station, and have done extra- 
 vagant things in telegraphy ; perhaps even 
 have borrowed a couple of pounds, on the 
 strength of the good news, from the land-
 
 TEE BEAN AND EIS DAUGETER. 11 
 
 lord of the ''Bull Hotel" at Pentridge, and 
 so have hurried up to London, by way of 
 taking time by the forelock, and making 
 assurance doubly sure. 
 
 Evidently it was none of these thiogs. 
 Equally clear was it that it meant some- 
 thing, and as the something in question 
 could not possibly be for the worse, I was 
 content to wait. 
 
 That afternoon, my father, at an hour 
 earlier than usual, betook himself to the 
 room which he called his study. Let me 
 give the inventory of this apartment. There 
 were several battered volumes of Bohn's 
 Translations of the Classics ; there were 
 some odd volumes of South, Barrow, and 
 Tillotson. There was Stanley's *' Sinai and 
 Palestine," an old edition of the "Encyclo- 
 paedia Britannica," Alford's *' Greek Testa- 
 ment," Harold Browne on the Articles,
 
 12 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 Paley's *' Evidences," and a few stray novels 
 in yellow pasteboard ; " Barchester Towers," 
 **Tlie Last Chronicles of Barset," "Dr. 
 Thorne," '^ Tom Jones," "Peter Simple," and 
 other such ecclesiastical and unecclesiastical 
 romances. On the mantelpiece was a tobacco 
 jar, and by it were one or two clay pipes ; 
 there was a shelf with bottles white and 
 black, most of them empty. On rails 
 against the wall, hung in various stages of 
 dilapidation, overcoats, leggings, and water- 
 proof garments. There was also an old 
 double-barrelled gun, a powder flask, and a 
 shot belt, for my father, being on terms 
 with the surrounding farmers, considered 
 rabbits a lawful part of the tithe of which 
 the State bad iniquitously despoiled him. 
 
 I entered this sanctum sanctorum with- 
 out terror. I was too old for my father 
 to smack me, and there was really nothing
 
 THE DEAN AXD HIS I)AT7GETEB. 13 
 
 else of which I need be in the least degree 
 afraid. But I knew it was his habit to 
 transact important business in the study. 
 Unimportant business, such as the bill of 
 the butcher or of the baker, he used to 
 transact at the garden gate ; and so, when 
 summoned to the study, I knew that there 
 was something more important on hand than 
 the weekly accounts, or the prospects of the 
 potato patch, or the precise reasons why the 
 old brown Cochin hen should have left ofif 
 laying. 
 
 My father was in an old wooden arm- 
 chair, in which he looked almost venerable. 
 It was close to the table, which gave him 
 an appearance of having that very moment 
 abandoned his work. There must have been 
 in him, at some time or other, some vague 
 instincts of art, for the pose and the sur- 
 roundings were really clever. As I opened
 
 U THE DEAN AND EIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 the door I almost seemed to hear a small 
 bell jingle for the rising of the curtain. 
 
 My parent arranged his necktie, and ran 
 his fingers through his hair ; then he twisted 
 his only ring round upon his little finger, 
 bringing the small brilliant diamond held in 
 its claws into prominent play. Then he 
 cleared his throat and beo;an. 
 
 " Take a seat, Miriam," he commenced. 
 
 Then, when I had obeyed, he proceeded 
 cheerily, and in a tone of assurance, as if 
 he possessed the secrets of the Universe, 
 and it lay with him only to hold up his 
 little finger and to at once stop the rota- 
 tion of the earth upon its axis. 
 
 "My dear friend, I may say my oldest 
 friend, for long years have not diminished 
 an affection w^hich w^as commenced at Rugby, 
 continued at Cambridge, and confirmed 
 and consolidated in riper life ; my dear
 
 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 15 
 
 friend, I say, Sir Henry Craven, is exhausted 
 by his manifold duties in town, and writes 
 to say that he wants a few days or weeks 
 of entire refst. Of course I have asked him 
 to share our humble roof; his wealth is 
 enormous, his influence immense. I believe 
 that to-morrow he could get me- made a 
 Bishop ; you may be sure I shall not lose 
 the chance, and you must use your wits to 
 nid me. He is a man of the world, and men 
 of the world are captivated at once by an 
 ingenue. You see, my dear, this place is 
 lonely, desolate, and remote. You have no 
 companions of your own age ; you have not 
 those pleasures and innocent enjoyments, 
 which it is the chief sorrow of my life that 
 I am unable to provide for you. And I too," 
 here my father expanded his chest, and 
 assumed an appearance of intense responsi- 
 bility, "feel myself a labourer in the vine-
 
 16 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 yard whose allotted work has not yet come 
 to his hand. I am wasting my abilities and 
 my time in a small parish, when I ought 
 to be leading public opinion, warning against 
 the errors of the time, and pointing out 
 the true path to take among the many rocks, 
 shoals, gulfs, and quicksands that beset our 
 age. And so, my dear, we must be prac- 
 tical. Get the house in order ; get some 
 ammonia and sponge the grease spots out 
 of my Sunday suit ; see that my study is 
 put in order, and make the reception-room 
 look as pretty as you can. Juggins our 
 churchwarden has a greenhouse, and no 
 doubt Mrs. Juggins will lend you a few gera- 
 niums or calceolarias, or something of the 
 kind in pots. And if you have a muslin 
 dress — 1 believe you have — you had better 
 get it washed and ironed, for you'll have to 
 dine while Sir Henry is here ; and you
 
 TEE BEAN AND EIS DAUGETEE. 17 
 
 will want a little blue ribbon round your 
 waist, and some velvet, or something, round 
 your neck. Here is a two-shilling piece. 
 And now pray be as quick as you can, for 
 money in travelling expenses is no object 
 to Sir Henry. He thinks nothing of ten 
 shillings for a fly. It is odd that the good 
 things of this world should be so unevenly 
 divided. And he may be here very shortly. 
 He must on no account find us unprepared." 
 And herewith my excellent parent strolled 
 away down the village to visit his senior 
 churchwarden, intimating that he wished 
 me to accompany him. By a singular and 
 happy coincidence it was one o'clock. Mr. 
 Thacker, a prosperous blacksmith and wheel- 
 wright, was just about to dine off bacon 
 and broad beans, with a treacle dumpling 
 to follow. The call of the Vicar was posi- 
 tively opportune. My father and I stayed 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 TEI] BEAN AND HIS DAUGBTEB. 
 
 to dinner, and after it he smoked a pipe 
 with Mr. Thacker, over which they dis- 
 cussed the present average prices of market 
 produce. He also intimated the name and 
 rank of his expected visitor, whereat Mr. 
 Thacker put aside the tobacco jar, and pro- 
 duced a box of cigars, together with a choice 
 bottle of old Hollands. 
 
 " He had always himself," said the church- 
 warden, " been a hard-working man who 
 had paid his own way, every farthing of it> 
 and had never been beholden to anybody for 
 anything." 
 
 This was a home-thrust which made my 
 father gulp his Hollands at the temporary 
 risk of suffocation. 
 
 Mr. Thacker added that good men were 
 scarce, and he, for his part, should like to 
 see my father made a Bishop, or a Canon at 
 least.
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 19 
 
 " What does it matter, Mr. St. Aubyn ? " 
 he profoundly observed. '' Some of us ride 
 to the hounds in pink, and some in black. 
 'Tisn't those who ride in pink that are always 
 in at the death. Give me a man who knows 
 the country. Look there, the Hollands are 
 your way. It's only April now. Wait till 
 the hunting season. I shall see you in gaiters 
 long before you'll see me in my old tops. 
 When you've got the gaiters you must re- 
 member an old friend, and let me have a 
 good Cathedral lease. I never like to trouble 
 a friend, especially a gentleman and a reverend 
 gentleman like yourself, and that little matter 
 of three pound ten last Michaelmas may 
 stand over as long as you like. Here's my 
 hand upon it." 
 
 To forego a very doubtful debt of seventy 
 shillings for the prospect, however remote, 
 of an advantageous lease, is not, as things 
 
 c 2
 
 20 THE DEAN AND HTS DAUGHTER. 
 
 go, a bad speculation. Evidently Mr. Thacker 
 did not think so ; for, as his Vicar left, he 
 pressed a sovereign upon him, with some 
 incoherent remarks about the number of 
 turnpikes upon the road. He must have 
 forgotten, in his excitement, that his reverend 
 visitor had been a foot passenger, and did 
 not live more than half a mile away. 
 
 The gold in his waistcoat pocket imparted 
 elasticity to my father's tread. He hummed 
 operatic airs as we walked back. He had 
 been, in his younger days, one of the leading 
 spirits of a musical club. His head was 
 erect, and his chest expanded like that of 
 a pouter pigeon. Indeed, his enthusiasm was 
 positively infectious, and I began to picture 
 myself the proud possessor of a silk dress, 
 a sewing machine, and a complete set of 
 Tennyson's poems, inaccessible luxuries for 
 which I had often yearned when sitting alone
 
 TEE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEB. 21 
 
 in the twilight upon the kitchen hearth, 
 knitting mittens and stockings for the winter, 
 and sorely puzzled over the stockings in the 
 matter of heel. 
 
 I held a brief council of war that night 
 with Mrs. Peel, our only domestic, in which 
 we rehearsed the household stores, and went 
 into a number of minute economic details. 
 
 There is an infinite amount of trouble 
 involved in such small matters as linen, the 
 best china tea service, and the temporary 
 reproduction of almost forgotten household 
 treasures that are resting in lavender and must 
 be furbished up for this special occasion. But 
 my father did not interfere with us, and so 
 upon the whole we settled matters more 
 expeditiously than might have been antici- 
 pated.
 
 CHAPTEE 11. 
 
 Two days later the great man himself arrived 
 somewhat late in the afternoon, and while the 
 swallows were still flying high. 
 
 He was the sole occupant of a pair-horse 
 fly, the front seat of which was littered with 
 newspapers and other light baggage. A 
 second and humbler vehicle conveyed his valet 
 with a portmanteau, a fur overcoat, rugs, and 
 other necessaries of travel all charmingly 
 strapped together in the most delightful 
 order. 
 
 Before the first fly had stopped the valet 
 was waiting at our porch to let down the
 
 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER 23 
 
 steps, open the door, and assist his master 
 out. It must have been many years since 
 our village had witnessed so imposing an 
 arrival. 
 
 My father received the old gentleman 
 in his most courtly style with marked 
 cordiality, but w^ithout effusion. Sir Henry, 
 after shaking hands, looked round and 
 pleasantly remarked that it was a pretty place, 
 but that it would be, he should imagine, rather 
 dull in winter. My father answered with a 
 bit of Latin which 1 had heard him quote so 
 often that I knew it by heart. It was : 
 fortunati nimium, sua si bona norint, 
 Agricolse ! And he wagged his head as 
 much as to say, " a Dean should always be a 
 learned man. Look how I have kept up my 
 classics." 
 
 Sir Henry's answer was vague but re- 
 assuring, and evidently intended to be kindly.
 
 24 TBE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 He said : " Exactly so. AVhat I have always 
 felt myself. Poor Peel used to say that every 
 man should know his Horace by heart ; hut 
 I never really had the time." And with this 
 we all went indoors. 
 
 We had dinner at seven, and it went off 
 better than might have been expected. There 
 were freshly caught trout with melted butter, 
 a pair of broiled chickens with vegetables, an 
 apple pie with clotted cream, and some cheese 
 and salad. 
 
 Sir Henry had with forethought brought 
 down a supply of wine and liqueurs, partly, 
 no doubt, out of kindness, and partly with 
 due regard for his own comfort. The valet, 
 Mr. Watson, waited upon us with a solemnity 
 that almost chilled my veins. He had an 
 eye that seemed to be perpetually occupied 
 with estimates and measurements. I am sure 
 before the dinner was over he had thoroughly
 
 TEE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 25 
 
 satisfied himself that the carpet had been 
 turned a second time, and that it had not 
 been originally planned for the room. 
 
 Dinner over, Mr. AVatson produced fresh 
 wines and the liqueurs, and somehow I 
 found myself drinking a glass of claret. 
 It was the first time I had ever tasted 
 claret in my life, and I frankly confess that 
 I did not like it. He then with deliberation 
 placed on the table a large box of cigars and 
 a small silver spirit-lamp. I took this as a 
 signal for my departure, and after exchanging 
 glances with my father and returning Sir 
 Henry's bow, acted upon it. I was not sorry 
 to get away, for Sir Henry, although he did 
 not stare at me, eyed me, as it were, round 
 the corner, and with such persistency as to 
 make me extremely uncomfortable. 
 
 Mr. AVatson with many apologies begged 
 me to permit him to make the cofi"ee himself.
 
 26 THE DEAN AND UIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 as he knew exactly liow Sir Henry liked it. 
 He performed the task to a marvel, and 
 returned from the dining-room with the 
 welcome intimation that my father desired me 
 to be told that I need not sit up. This was 
 but too pleasant news for me, and I hurried 
 oflf to bed, Mr. Watson handing me my candle 
 with the most profound gravity, and asking 
 me if a cio-ar in the servants' hall would be 
 against the rules of what he called " The 
 Eectory." I reassured him on this point, and 
 in a very few minutes was sound asleep. 
 
 Early next morning I was up and about. 
 The sitting-room, where we had banqueted the 
 night before, had to be arranged and decorated 
 with fresh flowers. Of these I managed to 
 get tos^ether a sufficient allowance. Mrs. 
 Juggins had been very liberal, and so had the 
 Thackers. I also scalded a bowl of milk, and
 
 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEE. 27 
 
 made some fresh clotted cream in tlie most 
 approved Devonshire fashion. 
 
 The delicate sulphur-tinted primrose was 
 thick on every hedge bank, and I adorned the 
 table with its blossom, and with some violets 
 which grew^ in a treasured nook of my 
 own. 
 
 This exhausted my own resources. From 
 Mrs. Juggins and Mrs. Thacker I procured 
 a few more flowers, and what was far more 
 important, a young duckling and some early 
 potatoes not much larger than big walnuts, to 
 the preparation of which articles for the first 
 dejeuner our Vicarage had ever witnessed, 
 I at once addressed myself, only too glad 
 to have anything to keep my mind employed. 
 
 My father w^as later than usual. He was 
 dressed with scrupulous care, and had an 
 indescribable air about him of one who was 
 artistically accommodating himself to an
 
 28 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 amusing situation, an air which might almost 
 have fitted the Grand Monarque at the Petit 
 Trianon. He looked radiant, and positively 
 many years younger than his actual age. 
 
 Sir Henry, of course, was about three- 
 quarters of an hour late, but was also most 
 carefully arrayed. The same age as my 
 father, as nearly as might be, he looked about 
 fifteen years younger. He was slightly bald, 
 but not a gray hair was visible upon his 
 head or in his daintily trimmed whiskers. 
 His single-breasted morning- coat fitted his 
 well-preserved figure to perfection, and his 
 Parisian boots were as resplendent as if 
 cut out of solid jet. 
 
 I could not help in a kind of way 
 admiring him. He was beyond doubt 
 a fine and handsome man, or at any 
 rate had once been so, and he had that
 
 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEE. 29 
 
 ease and charm of manner which means 
 nothiDg in itself, but can only be acquired 
 at Courts. 
 
 I understood this secret soon after, when 
 I found out that he had been successively 
 at Eton, a Queen's page, a cornet in the Blues, 
 and ultimately military attache, and after 
 that. Secretary of Legation at Vienna — still 
 the most exclusive Court in Europe, and the 
 one where old traditions are the most 
 jealously preserved. 
 
 Breakfast over, Sir Henry declared him- 
 self in favour of a walk. England, he 
 observed, was the only country in which 
 a walk in the lanes was really possible, and 
 even pleasant. Besides, our English villages 
 were picturesque without being squalid or 
 malarious. He was a bit of an antiquarian, 
 he added, and there would almost certainly
 
 30 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 be some monuments, or possibly even bronzes 
 in our beautiful old cliurch, which would 
 interest him. Would I kindly act as his 
 guide ? 
 
 " When," said he with a smile that did 
 credit to his dentist, " I visit a country place, 
 I always follow the example of our greatest 
 living lawyer, Lord Selborne. I look into 
 the local antiquities, and try in my small 
 way to fit them in with the county history. 
 Now, I came across a most curious in- 
 scription once in a parish church in Torbay. 
 It was in memory of an Admiral who had 
 died in the Spanish main, and it commenced, 
 
 * Here lie the heart and brains of ' well, 
 
 whoever it may have been. It was strictly 
 correct. The gallant old gentleman had 
 died in action, and they had brought home 
 his brain and his heart in a small keg of
 
 THE LEAX ASL ELS DAUGRTEB. 31 
 
 rum. With you, Miss St. Aubyn, to 
 guide me, I am sure that we shall unearth 
 somethincr of interest. Your father must be 
 
 o 
 
 too busied with his parochial work to spare 
 many moments of his hardly- earned leisure 
 for archaeology." 
 
 My father frankly admitted that this 
 was the case, carefully adding, however, 
 that archaeology in all its branches had 
 always been his favourite pursuit, and con- 
 cluding with some incoherent remarks about 
 a rocking stone in the nearest parish. 
 
 So I picked up my hat and a light shaw], 
 and away I went with the old gentleman. 
 It was impossible to be angry with him. 
 It was exasperating. He gave you no loop- 
 hole whatever. He was the very pink of 
 politeness, an Emperor of small-talk. Besides, 
 his small-talk was really clever, and wholly
 
 32 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 unlike anything I had ever heard. He was 
 far too satisfied with himself and his own 
 position, to be in any way vain. 
 
 How the time passed, I can hardly tell ; 
 I was excited, and, to tell the truth, a trifle 
 overwrought. But everything went smoothly 
 enough, for Sir Henry, somehow or other, 
 gave me no troul^le. 
 
 Looking back at things now, I should say 
 he was endeavouring to impress me with the 
 idea that he would make a most admirable 
 and indulgent husband. 
 
 *' Devonshire, Miss St. Aubyn," he said, 
 " almost reminds me of Nice and Mentone. 
 The climate seems identical. Of course you 
 have seen the Mediterranean." 
 
 I replied that I had not. 
 
 ** Ah, indeed ! I suppose your father has 
 been too engrossed in his literary labours to 
 take you there ? It is the garden of the
 
 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER 
 
 Hesperides, the land of the Phoenicians. 
 Oranges, and peaches, and lemons grow in 
 the open air, and the tideless sea is perpetu- 
 ally calm and blue. You are too happy to 
 think of anything, or even to do anything. 
 And up above you are the Alps ; pine forests 
 at their base, then gorse and heather, then 
 eternal snow. It seems strange to sit in the 
 shade and to look upwards at untrodden 
 snow. Travellers will tell you of the glories 
 of Eio, and of Jamaica, and of San Francisco 
 Harbour, but for my part I prefer the bay of 
 Villefranche and the Kiviera generally to the 
 rest of the world. To tell you the truth, I 
 have an idea of building myself a villa there 
 and never again returning to this land of fog 
 and mist." 
 
 I answered, wholly without enthusiasm, 
 that it was no doubt very beautiful, but 
 that I myself had never been out of Devon- 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 TEE BEAN AND ELS DAUGETEB. 
 
 shire, and could so but half realise his 
 description. 
 
 The discovery that I had never left my 
 native county made him very angry. I ought 
 at least to have been to Paris, to London in 
 the season, to Cowes during the Regatta week, 
 to Ascot, to the Highlands, and to a number 
 of other places, with all of which he was 
 eminently familiar. 
 
 Feeling bound to somehow stop this flood 
 of conversation, I quietly reminded him that 
 my father's stipend had put an annual Con- 
 tinental tour beyond his reach. 
 
 In the most airy and graceful manner pos- 
 sible Sir Henry assured me that money was a 
 mere trifle, that my father's position would 
 soon be most materially improved, that some 
 other clerical preferment was a certainty for 
 him, and that with a wider field his talents 
 could not possibly but assert themselves.
 
 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 35 
 
 " Your father," he went on to say, " has 
 hidden himself too much, and has not done 
 his own great abilities justice. But he is 
 still in the prime of life and fully able to 
 make his mark. And," he went on to add, 
 " I am now speaking to you, dear Miss St. 
 Aubyn, with your father's permission, and 
 indeed at his express wish. He is most 
 anxious to resume his fitting position in the 
 world, a position distinctly due to his birth, 
 his connections, and his great natural gifts. 
 But his first and one thought is for yourself, 
 and he wishes you to understand that in every 
 step he may take under my guidance, or with 
 my assistance or otherwise, the one and only 
 object nearest to his heart is your own welfare 
 and happiness." 
 
 Here he stopped, and I had to reply as 
 best I could, and without consideration. Of 
 course I had sense enough to know what the 
 
 D 2
 
 36 THE DEAN AND UIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 whole thing meant, but what was I to do ? I 
 was as helpless as the daughter of Jairus or as 
 Iphigenia herself. 
 
 I remember feebly saying that I loved my 
 father dearly, that I was aware his abilities 
 had never found a proper field, and were 
 quite thrown away at Ossulston, and added 
 that I should be most delighted to see him 
 in a position worth}^ of himself and of the 
 family traditions. 
 
 "Then," gallantly replied Sir Henry, "we 
 may, I think, consider the matter settled. 
 The Deanery of South wick is vacant at this 
 moment, and my personal influence with the 
 Premier, to say nothing of His Grace the 
 Archbishop, will make the matter a foregone 
 conclusion, as in fact it ought to be when 
 we consider what will be the average calibre 
 of the average candidates for the post." 
 
 By this time we had reached the Vicarage,
 
 TRE DEAX AXD HIS JJAUGHTEE. 37 
 
 where my father stood awaiting us under 
 the porch with a radiant smile. 
 
 " I have been talking matters over, my 
 dear St. Aubyn, with Miss Miriam," w'arbled 
 the diplomatist. " She is entirely in accord 
 with myself that I ought in your interests 
 to at once proceed to London, and, if you will 
 allow me, I will give orders to my man this 
 moment. In a matter of this kind every 
 quarter of an hour is of importance. I am 
 sanguine as to the result. In fact, I feel that 
 my past services entitle me to command it, 
 and I have never yet, that I can remember, 
 asked for anything. We will have, if you 
 do not mind, a pint of champagne and a biscuit 
 before I start, and I think that while I am 
 away you may let your mind be perfectly 
 at rest." 
 
 The champagne and the biscuits were 
 produced from Sir Henrys stores. He had
 
 38 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 spoken of them carelessly, as if they were 
 somewhere in my father's cellar and store- 
 room. The lynx-eyed Mr. Watson, without 
 the least bustle, had every arrangement, down 
 to the fly at the door, ready to the exact 
 moment, and before I could fully realise 
 what was going on, Sir Henry had bowed 
 his most courtly of bows, had wrapped him- 
 self in his cloak, and was being quickly 
 hurried away. 
 
 As the vehicle turned the corner and was 
 lost to sight, my father, with his sweetest 
 smile, gently laid his hand upon my shoulder 
 and said: "Miriam, my dear daughter, I very 
 much want to speak to you." 
 
 I impatiently shook myself free, ran up 
 to my own little room, threw myself down 
 on the bed, and burst into a passionate flood 
 of tears. 
 
 My father, after an interval of some ten
 
 TEE DEAN AXD EIS DAUGHTEE. 39 
 
 minutes, followed me up, and tapped at 
 my door. Then he called out to me several 
 times. Then I heard him go downstairs 
 again, and I soon afterwards became aware, 
 from the mixed aroma which forced its way 
 into my room, that he was smoking one of 
 Sir Henry's large cigars, and moistening it 
 with rum and water. 
 
 Later on in the evening I heard the voice 
 of Mr. Thacker, and soon afterwards there 
 was an increase in the aroma of rum and 
 tobacco smoke. Mr. Thacker and my father 
 parted in the road. Their voices were thick. 
 My father evidently intended to be patro- 
 nisinor and reassurinor. Thacker was cordial 
 and familiar, slapping his Yicar on the back. 
 
 " I told you it would turn up trumps, 
 parson," he said, *'and I'm very seldom 
 wrong, from a spring handicap down to a 
 field of oats. I wish you joy with all my
 
 40 TEE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER 
 
 heart, and may we never smoke worse cigars 
 than the ones old Cockolorum has left behind 
 him. As for little missy, I wish her joy." 
 
 By "little missy" Mr. Thacker evidently 
 meant myself, and he was wishing me joy 
 on my marriage to the "old Cockolorum." 
 
 After all, it is a mercy in this world that 
 there should always be a grotesque side to 
 your misery. Otherwise the burden of life 
 would now and again become too great to 
 bear.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Soox after my father had fastened up the 
 front door, screwed down the windows and 
 ensconced himself in his study for a couple 
 of hours of what he used to call meditation, I 
 stole downstairs to take counsel with Mrs. 
 Peel. 
 
 Now dear old Mrs. Peel was very fond 
 of me. But that evening she was in an 
 aggravatingly practical frame of mind, and 
 correspondingly inclined to lecture me very 
 soundly. 
 
 She did not see, she told me, what 
 occasion there was for me to trouble myself.
 
 42 THE DEAN AND HIS DAVGHTEB. 
 
 It wasn't as if I cared for anybody else like 
 she had once cared for Peel before he took to 
 drink, when he was young and good-looking, 
 and could thrash any man of his own inches 
 at the Michaelmas goose fair. I might stop 
 on poking about in this little hole of a 
 place, and perhaps never get married at all. 
 Nobody could tell. My father couldn't live 
 for ever, and what was I to do when he 
 died ? As for being a governess, governesses, 
 she could tell me, had a far worse time of it 
 than housemaids, and often worse wages into 
 the bargain. 
 
 Anything would be better for me than 
 maundering away my life at home. If I 
 married this old gentleman I should be well 
 oflf and comfortable. Watson had told her 
 that Sir Henry's house in London was like a 
 palace, with one man sitting in a big chair in
 
 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 43 
 
 the hall, in gold livery and a powdered head, 
 who had nothing whatever to do but to open 
 the door. I should have as much money as 
 ever I could want to buy whatever I pleased, 
 and a lady's maid to look after my things, and 
 no tradesmen's bills to worry me. 
 
 If I had no children, I could busy myself 
 my own way. If I had any I could fuss over 
 them all day long, though she had heard that 
 some fine ladies never even saw their children 
 from daylight to dusk ; '' and," added the good 
 woman emphatically, " if I were you I'd be 
 even with that old father of yours. I wouldn't 
 let him inside the house. I wouldn't o-ive him 
 not so much as the Drice of a o^lass of rum. 
 
 J. o 
 
 If he came bothering about, I'd have him 
 ordered off, and if he came trying to screw 
 money out of my husband I'd put a pretty 
 sharp stop to it. He's putting a good thing
 
 44 THE DEAN ASD HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 in your way," she went on, "just for his own 
 sake. He wants you to j)ull the chestnuts 
 out of the fire for him. Pull 'eai, I say, and 
 stick to 'em for yourself, and let him have 
 the husks. That's more than he deserves," 
 concluded Mrs. Peel. ''' It makes me sick 
 to hear him preaching it out about the 
 Scripture moving us in sundry places. I'd 
 move him in sundry places and myself 
 too, if I had the chance. And he knows 
 it." 
 
 And herewith Mrs. Peel tucked up her 
 skirts for w^ork with an air that said, " I 
 have had enough of conversation on a dis- 
 tasteful subject." 
 
 I tried to plead with her for my father, 
 more out of long habits of respect than from 
 sense that he had been harshly judged, but 
 Mrs. Peel w^as inexorable.
 
 TBE BEAN AXD HIS DAUGETEE. 45 
 
 When I pointed out that he was old, she 
 retorted that he was Lazy, and okl enough to 
 know better. When I urged that he required 
 comforts, she replied with acerbity that he 
 had better work for them like other people 
 did. 
 
 It was impossible to mitigate her wrath, 
 and I ultimately had to abandon the task as 
 hopeless, not without a very strong conviction 
 that upon the broad facts of the case her 
 judgment was perfectly sound, and that there 
 was very little indeed to be urged with any 
 plausibility in the Vicar's behalf; and in this 
 frame of mind I went to bed. 
 
 I read for an hour or two until I was 
 tired. Then I left my candle burning and 
 turned Mrs. Peel's advice over in mA' mind. 
 It did not upon mature reflection seem so 
 distasteful as at first. It was like most
 
 46 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 home medicine for children, strong, nasty, 
 and yet wholesome. 
 
 Sir Henry beyond all doubt was a 
 gentleman. I had before me a life of 
 entire freedom, with every possible comfort. 
 Certainly it would be far pleasanter to be 
 mistress of Craven House than to drag on 
 year after year as domestic help, or as the 
 advertisements now call it, *' lady help " to 
 my father. 
 
 There was the promised Deanery, of 
 course, but that haven of refuge had no 
 definite prospect for me, and besides, it was 
 too evidently part of the stipulated price to 
 be paid for my acquiescence. Had I not 
 better boldly tell the old gentleman that I 
 could not promise to love him, but that I 
 would do my best to try and make him 
 happy and to follow out his wishes in every
 
 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 47 
 
 possible way, and so throw myself upon 
 liis kindness, and make an end of the 
 matter ? It really seemed the best course 
 under all the circumstances. 
 
 And having ultimately resolved to adopt 
 it, I fell asleep just as the sun was break- 
 ing and the noisy cry of the April cuckoo 
 began to make itself heard in the orchard, 
 a favourite haunt of his, as the hedges were 
 thickly tenanted by his unhappy victim, the 
 poor little hedge-sparrow, with its clumsy 
 nest and its tiny blue eggs, always at the 
 mercy of the village schoolboy. 
 
 My parent must have risen early that 
 morning, for when I descended to prepare 
 his breakfast he was walking up and down 
 in the lane outside the house with more than 
 his usual air of humility and self-denial.
 
 48 TEE BEAN AND HIS DAUGETEB. 
 
 " Good morning, my child," he said, in his 
 most patriarchal manner. 
 
 " Good morning, papa." 
 
 " It is a lovely morning this, almost 
 Italian in its freshness and brightness." 
 
 I made no reply, and he went on : 
 
 *' ' forbunati nimium ! ' He was a 
 great poet, Virgil. Sir Henry mistook him 
 for Horace the other day, but I thought it 
 wiser not to correct him. Virgil loved the 
 country as fondly as do I myself, and, like 
 myself, would have preferred to spend his 
 days in it among his flowers and his books. 
 But the Fates were too strong for him, and 
 ordained that he should go to Kome and be 
 the ornament of the most brilliant Court the 
 world has ever known. It is so always. 
 Man proposes, and Providence, which knows 
 better than man, disposes for him. We are 
 but potter's clay."
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 49 
 
 And my father rubbed his hands and 
 thrust out his right leg, contemplating it 
 fondly, and evidently with black silk 
 stockings and buckled shoes in his mind's 
 eye. 
 
 I remarked that it was a very fine morn- 
 ing indeed, and that breakfast was ready for 
 him, and with that we went indoors to our 
 tea and toast. 
 
 When he had done justice to this 
 repast, my father cleared his throat, ar- 
 ranged his necktie, and took up his position, 
 and with it his parable, upon the hearthrug. 
 
 "I suppose, Miriam," he commenced, 
 ''that you have some idea of the nature 
 of the important communication which I 
 have to make to you." 
 
 '' Oh yes, papa," I replied defiantly, 
 "and so has the whole village by this 
 time. You and Mr. Thacker were talking 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 50 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 it all over in the lane last night at the 
 top of your voices. Every one in the 
 village knows by this time that the forty 
 pounds you owe Mr. Thacker can wait, 
 along with the three pounds ten, and that 
 he is to be paid when you have married 
 me to Sir Henry Craven and got your 
 Deanery. I dare say they are talking about 
 it now in the taproom at the * Goat and 
 Compasses,' and saying what a lucky thing 
 it is that everybody will be paid at last 
 without having to go to the County Court 
 for their money." 
 
 My father winced smartly, but re- 
 covered himself with great promptitude and 
 marvellous solemnity. 
 
 " Good news, my dear child," he said, 
 *' travels fast; and it may well be that in 
 this little place, where I am known and
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DATJGHTEB. 51 
 
 respected, the visit of Sir Henry may be 
 nnderstood to have a significance of its 
 own. But I am anxious this morning to 
 discuss matters with you reasonably and in 
 a proper spirit, and to lay my views before 
 you as to your future and, I may say, 
 my own as well, fully and clearly." 
 
 " Then 3'ou may save yourself the 
 trouble, papa. I have considered the 
 matter for myself, and have fully made 
 up my own mind." 
 
 My father turned purple, and evinced 
 other strong symptoms of a sudden attack 
 of apoplexy. 
 
 " You cannot possibly mean to tell 
 me " he burst out. 
 
 " Pray do not get black in the face, 
 papa. I say I have considered the matter 
 for myself, and I have talked it over 
 with Mrs. Peel, exactly as you have 
 
 E '1 
 
 UNIVERSITY Off 
 ILLINOIS LIBRAW
 
 52 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER, 
 
 talked it over with Mr. Thacker. Mrs. 
 Peel thinks " 
 
 " Good heavens ! — Mrs. Peel ! What can 
 that io^norant woman know of such a 
 matter ? " 
 
 "Mrs. Peel thinks that upon the whole 
 I had better marry Sir Henry, and I have 
 told her only this morning that .1 shall 
 do so." 
 
 My father collapsed into his favourite 
 arm-chair, and gasped for l3reath. 
 
 "And so," I added with a laugh, "you 
 may make your mind happy, papa, about 
 the Deanery. I am going down into the 
 village to make some little purchases. I 
 dare say our credit now is re-established at 
 Smoothy's, and before 1 go I will tell Mrs. 
 Peel to bring you in the rum and some 
 hot water. You look as if you needed a
 
 TKE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 53 
 
 gentle stimulant." And I dropped him a 
 curtsy and ran out of the room. I need 
 not say that we did not meet again for the 
 remainder of that day. 
 
 Late in the afternoon my father went 
 down into the village and, to use his own 
 expression, '' mixed with his parishioners," 
 that is to say, he sat in the bar-parlour of 
 the " Goat and Compasses," and drank hot 
 spirits and water. 
 
 I for my own part knew that for some 
 hours, at any rate, I should have nothing 
 to trouble me ; so, on my return from 
 Smoothy's, I got through my household 
 work, had my dinner in the kitchen with 
 Mrs. Peel, and then went out for a long- 
 stroll in the lanes. When I returned, Mrs. 
 Peel and I had tea together. 
 
 "Your father's gone out to visit Mr.
 
 54 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 Thacker," said that lady, ''and I reckon he 
 won't be back till late. P'raps Thacker 
 will have to see him home. If I was you, 
 miss, I'd go to bed and have a good night 
 of it.'^ 
 
 I took her advice and proceeded up- 
 stairs to my room, but I did not exactly 
 have a good night of it, for I lay awake, 
 sometimes reading and sometimes dreamily 
 thinking matters over, until long after the 
 swallows had begun to twitter in their 
 nests above my window ; and I was not 
 at all sorry when Mrs. Peel came up in 
 the morning with a cup of really strong 
 tea* and some exquisitely crisp toast, which 
 she pressed upon me, and in fact insisted 
 upon seeing me take. 
 
 Then I walked out into the glorious 
 morning air, and as I crossed our threshold
 
 TEE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 55 
 
 resolved that, for ttie remainder of the day, 
 at any rate, I would enjoy myself in my 
 own way, and allow nothing whatever to 
 disturb my peace of mind.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 My father, I found, would prefer to have 
 his breakfast in his own room, and had 
 suggested dry toast and a couple of red 
 herrings. Knowing perfectly well what this 
 meant, I felt that should any encounter 
 occur during the day, I was morally certain 
 of victory. 
 
 So I actually, out of what schoolboys term 
 " devilment," prepared the herrings and toast 
 myself. When they were ready, I felt pretty 
 confident that my father would, to use Mr. 
 Thacker's elegant expression, " rinse his throat 
 out" with claret and water, shake up the
 
 TBE DEAN AND UIS DAUGHTEB, bl 
 
 pillow and bolster, turn round in bed 
 and again resign himself to the sleep of the 
 just. 
 
 So of course it turned out. Mrs. Peel, 
 when she brought down the tray, informed 
 me, with a broad grin on her features, that 
 the master did not seem at all himself, and 
 had said that he would ring for his hot 
 water when he wanted it. 
 
 For my part I caught up my hat, and 
 sallied out for an objectless walk. I stopped 
 here and there in the villagre to chat with 
 parishioners and, as the phrase is, to take 
 notice of their children. 
 
 To take notice of a child in the country 
 you must first jp^t it on the head, and 
 then shake hands. The child thereupon will 
 hang its head down and thrust its left 
 thumb into its mouth. This stolidity is 
 more apparent than real, and is only due
 
 58 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 to shyness. Even a butcher, unless history 
 be grossly inaccurate, becomes utterly shame- 
 faced and sheepish if a Duchess takes him 
 by the whiskers, tells him he is the best- 
 looking man she knows, and kisses him 
 then and there, under the very eyes of his 
 wife, at the same time asking him to forego 
 his strictly Tory principles, and to kindly 
 oblige her by voting for the opposite 
 candidate. 
 
 Amongst others I went to see old Mrs. 
 Daller. This old lady was the widow of 
 the late village carrier, whose son, resigned 
 unto the heavenly will, as the quaint old 
 epitaph runs, kept on the business still, 
 and fairly prospered upon it. 
 
 Mrs. Daller had the reputation of being 
 a '* wise woman," which in the country 
 means a great deal. Superstitious and 
 ignorant people were afraid of offending
 
 TEE DEAN- AND HIS DAUGHTEB. 59 
 
 her, and it was sometimes whispered that 
 she knew more of the forbidden arts than 
 did all the gipsies who passed through the 
 village in the course of the year.. 
 
 She had heard the news — as who had 
 not ? — and she laughed over it, catching up 
 my hand and pretending to read the lines 
 in its palm. 
 
 " Look," she said, " the line of life is 
 clear. A long life for you, my dear ; but 
 there are many crosses in it. See, there 
 are more than my poor old eyes can count. 
 But there is money, and plenty of it, and 
 people dying of love for you, and heaps of 
 friends. And that little cross just at the 
 end is a thing I don't understand myself. 
 Some people say it means a second hus- 
 band — but there, nobody knows, nobody 
 knows." And she let my hand drop again. 
 
 I remained staring at her. The old
 
 60 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 dame rocked herself backwards and forwards 
 with a distant, dreamy look in her eyes, 
 and beo^an ao^ain : 
 
 *' I knew your poor mother, my dear. 
 I've talked to her about you many's the 
 time before you were born, if it wasn't 
 before you were thought of. And you 
 haven't got her here now to go to. Well, 
 you do what I say, Miss Miriam. Marry 
 this old fossil. You're a child still, and 
 he won't last, I dare say. Better that than 
 poverty coming in at the door and love 
 flying out at the window. Marry him, and 
 make his guineas spin. It will be a good 
 thing for the reverend gentleman. Poor 
 man, he's had a hard time of it." 
 
 My last visit was to Mrs. Sabey, the 
 wife of a fisherman and naval reserve man. 
 She was a Plymouth w^oman, and people 
 said she had Spanish blood in her. She
 
 THE DEAX AXD HIS DAUGHTER. 61 
 
 was tall and swarthy, with crisp black hair, 
 and did not look her age, which was 
 considerably over forty. 
 
 Mrs. Sabey, like the rest of the village, 
 knew all about my matrimonial news, and 
 addressed herself to it at once. 
 
 "We can't afford," she said, "to lose 
 you yet, Miss Miriam ; and even if we could, 
 the right man hasn't come to take you from 
 us. If he had, it might have been another 
 thing. Be true to yourself, my dear, and 
 there are lots among us will be true to you 
 for your own sweet sake, and for that of your 
 dear mother in heaven, where she's past 
 all trouble. Why, if she'd been alive, your 
 father would never have dared to make a 
 bargain over you in this kind of way, just 
 as if he were buying and selling in market. 
 Put your foot down, my dear, and keep it 
 down. And look here, the tea is waiting
 
 62 THE DEAN AND BIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 for Sabey. Just have a cup along with me. 
 Sabey will be glad of . the sight of your 
 face." 
 
 So I had a cup of very nice tea with 
 Mrs. Sabey, who talked about everything 
 except my troubles, until Sabey came in 
 fresh from the pump, and bringing with 
 him an invigorating fragrance of yellow 
 soap. 
 
 Sabey, who stood in wholesome dread 
 of his wife, said as little as possible. I 
 remained a short time longer chatting with 
 the two about every detail of village gossip, 
 except that which most closely concerned 
 myself, and so at last departed homewards. 
 
 One or two things, at any rate, v*^ere 
 tolerably clear, and I could see them without 
 any egotism. Everybody in the village 
 sympathised with myself, however much 
 •opinion might be divided as to the most
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 63 
 
 prudent course for me to adopt, and nobody- 
 whatever sympathised in the slightest degree 
 with my father, or believed for a moment 
 that he was guided by anything except his 
 own personal purposes and objects. 
 
 On the whole, then, I reached home 
 in a happier and brighter frame of mind 
 than that in which I had set out. The 
 public opinion of even the smallest circle 
 is, if you are only certain that you can 
 get at it truthfully, by no means the worst 
 of the many possible guides to be selected 
 in this bewildering world. 
 
 Next day, somew^hat late in the afternoon, 
 Sir Henry returned, accompanied, of course, 
 by the faithful Watson, who had charge once 
 again of a multiplicity of packages, the bulk 
 of which w^ere at once brought up to my 
 little room.
 
 64 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 After the lapse of about half-an-hour^ 
 during which I presume it was supposed that 
 I was inventorying this wonderful consign- 
 ment, like Marguerite her jewels, my father 
 came up and found me seated by the window 
 placidly darning the heel of an old stocking. 
 
 " Miriam, my dear," he said reproachfully, 
 *' Sir Henry has returned." 
 
 " Yes, papa, I am aware of it." 
 
 My father coughed, and in his own 
 manner shifted his legs. 
 
 " But, my dear Miriam, you have not 
 even looked at the things he has brought you. 
 Most beautiful things, and chosen with con- 
 summate taste." 
 
 ** I did not know that you had looked 
 at them, papa ; but I do not want them, and 
 I am not going to look at them myself." 
 
 My father stamped his foot impatiently. 
 
 "Miriam, I insist that you at once look
 
 TEE DEAX ASD HIS DAVGHTEB. 65 
 
 at these things, and then come down and 
 thank Sir Henry for them." 
 
 ''That will do, papa. I will come down 
 and thank him at once. Perhaps while I 
 am doing so, you would like to stop and look 
 at the things yourself." And I stepped 
 through the door and went straio^ht down- 
 stairs. 
 
 Old Sir Henry, who was in the parlour, 
 rose at my entrance with a good deal of 
 grace. 
 
 "You have brought me down a number 
 of presents, Sir Henry, and I am extremely 
 obliged to you. I suppose it would be un- 
 gracious to refuse them." 
 
 "I hope, my dear Miss St. Aubyn, that 
 you like the pearl necklace. I selected it 
 myself, and I really believe that I am a judge 
 of pearls, although, of course, they are ladies' 
 jewels; not that I wear jewellery, except," 
 
 VOL. I. Ij.
 
 66 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER 
 
 he added guardedly, *' in the shape of a 
 neck-pin." 
 
 " You are very kind, Sir Henry, but 
 I have not as yet looked at any of the 
 things." 
 
 He laughed pleasantly. "Time waits 
 for her favourites, my dear Miss St. Aubyn. 
 I am not in that happy number. Time, 
 which in my foolish days I used to say was 
 meant for slaves, is now my stern warder, 
 as inexorable as Sir Hudson Lowe himself. 
 But evidently my days are to end in 
 sunshine." 
 
 '' I am sure I hope so, Sir Henry." 
 
 " I understand," he went on, " from your 
 father that I have everything to hope, and I 
 need only say for my own part that it will 
 be my one object to show my devotion to you 
 in every possible manner. You will be, my 
 dear Miss St. Aubyn, entirely your own
 
 ' THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEB. 67 
 
 mistress. You shall live — that is to say, we 
 will live — where you please, and how you 
 please. It is a pleasure for me to know 
 that I si) all always be able to gratify your 
 wishes. If you like travel you have only 
 to say so, and I will immediately resign any 
 enoraorements that mig^ht otherwise detain me. 
 If you should prefer England you need only 
 choose your own place, and if, when you 
 have tried it, you find it to your mind, my 
 lawyers shall see that it becomes yours 
 absolutely, so that you can deal with it, 
 improve it or alter it according to your taste, 
 without the idle formality of applying for my 
 consent.'^ 
 
 " You are very kind. Sir Henry — far too 
 kind," I answered, *'and I am sure that I 
 shall have everything which a woman needs 
 to make her happy ; but I have no fancy 
 of my own at present, and would sooner wait 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THE BEAN AND BIS DAUGHTEB. 
 
 to consider these things. I quite understand 
 your generosity, and shall not tax it." 
 
 Sir Henry laughed pleasantly. 
 
 "You will never tax any of my few 
 Christian virtues, I am sure, so you need only 
 remember that the choice rests entirely with 
 yourself. Meantime, my old head was so 
 full of ourselves that I had forgotten to speak 
 about your dear father, whose immense abilities 
 and energy have been too long ignored. He 
 has been, I am happy to say, appointed to the 
 Deanery of Southvvick. The stipend is not 
 large — a mere fifteen hundred a year — but 
 there is a most comfortable Deanery with large 
 grounds. In fact, the Dean of Southwick is, 
 if the clergy are to be believed, far more 
 comfortably off than the Bishop himself. And 
 your father will now have that leisure which 
 he has so louo- desired, and which will enable
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEB. 69 
 
 him to finally complete the literary labours to 
 which his life has up to now been devoted, 
 with what I may be perhaps allowed to term 
 most inadequate recognition.'' 
 
 I solemnly declare, as I write these 
 words, that I could hardly keep from 
 laughing out loud. Knowing my father 
 au fond, I knew exactly what his literary 
 labours had been, what they were worth, 
 and what they would be likely to come to 
 in the otiitm cum dignitate of a Deanery. • 
 
 But there was another side to the 
 question, and a very practical one. Once 
 safe in his Deanery, my father, having no 
 annoyances of his own, would cease to 
 annoy me. He would be as much upon a 
 comfortable, well-aired, and well-ventilated 
 shelf, as a mummy in the British Museum. 
 
 I had no longer any afiection for him.
 
 70 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 But I still retained the sense of duty, and 
 I knew that when I had once seen the 
 little black rosette in the front of his hat, 
 I should have performed the operation 
 known to men of business as making up 
 the balance and putting your pen through 
 the pages. 
 
 This was a real weight off my mind. 
 Besides, my father would make a capital 
 Dean, inasmuch as he would say nothing, 
 do nothing, live thoroughly up to his 
 decanal income, and look portentously 
 solemn. My father, at any rate, would be 
 no longer a trouble to me. In fact, in the 
 sinecure cares of his new office, he would 
 probably forget all about me. After all, 
 there are certain advantages in marrying 
 well, especially if you marry a man who 
 has both money and influence.
 
 THE DEAN AM) HIS DAUGHTER. 71 
 
 Matters thus settled, we went ia quest 
 of my father, whom we found in the garden 
 looking every inch a patriarch, and most 
 patriarchally engaged. 
 
 There was an immense show about him 
 of buckets, and watering-pots, and shears, and 
 twine, and as he heard our steps approach 
 ing, he distracted himself from his labours 
 and mopped his forehead with a large 
 handkerchief. 
 
 "Adam," he observed sweetly, "was a 
 tiller of the ground, and agriculture is the 
 most ancient of honourable pursuits. It is 
 the only form of business in which our 
 canon law allows the clergy to occupy their 
 few leisure moments. I am, as you see, 
 toiling in my little vineyard, and rearing 
 the familiar fruits of the earth for my 
 humble table. 'Better is a dinner of herbs
 
 72 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEB. 
 
 where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred 
 therewith/ " 
 
 I felt it incumbent upon myself to open 
 the talk, knowing that, this achievement 
 once effected, I could immediately retire. 
 
 *'We have very good news to tell you, 
 papa," I said. " It is so good, that Sir 
 Henry had better tell it you himself." 
 
 Sir Henry at once assumed what has 
 been termed *' the deportment of a pleni- 
 potentiary," and in fact, his very first words 
 were wonderfully diplomatic. 
 
 "Among relations," he said, "as I 
 suppose we may now consider ourselves, the 
 customary and tedious formalities are a 
 waste of time. You have, my dear St. 
 Aubyn, placed at your acceptance, the 
 Deanery of South wick. It has been filled 
 by illustrious predecessors, and you will
 
 TEE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 73 
 
 add a new lustre to the stall. In these 
 days of Eadicalism and haphazard, an 
 appointment like your own, which is pre- 
 eminently safe, will be received with a 
 universal chorus of welcome. Nolo episco- 
 jxiri is a very pretty saying, hut 7ioIo 
 decanari will not, I am sure, be in your 
 mind." 
 
 "Nor is it for a moment," replied my 
 father. " How can I thank you, my dear 
 Craven ? To some men their reward comes 
 late in life, and to others early. I should 
 possibly never have reaped my reward at 
 all, but for you. I have still," and he ran 
 his fino'ers throuo'h his hair, ^'some few 
 years left in which, to the best of my 
 humble abilities, to serve my Queen, my 
 Church, and my country. What more could 
 a man desire ? " and he smiled sweetly.
 
 74 THE DEAN AM) HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 *You have still maDy years before you, 
 my dear St. Aubyn," Sir Henry laughed 
 back, "and it is out of our Deans, as no 
 one knows better than yourself, that Ministers 
 pick our Bishops, unless some unusually 
 gross favouritism should be exercised. You 
 have had your foot on the first step of the 
 ladder far too long, but Miriam and I will 
 yet see you at its summit." 
 
 "All things," said my father, "are 
 ordered wisely and divinely." And I 
 wonder, with Thackeray, that he did not 
 also say, "Propria quse maribus," or "Mars, 
 Bacchus, Apollo, virorum," either of which 
 remarks would have been equally classical 
 and equally appropriate. Never, probably, 
 was a mere matter of buying and selling 
 more shamelessly and at the same time 
 more decorously conducted.
 
 TEE BEAN AND EIS BAUGETER. 75 
 
 It began to dawn upon me at last, that 
 an ambassador may, under circumstances, be 
 occasionally worth the salary which he 
 draws.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Of course the clay of the marriage had to 
 be fixed by niyself, and knowing that I should 
 gain nothing by dehay, and somewhat in 
 the frame of mind of a patient making an 
 appointment with his dentist, I named an 
 early day in the following month — the 4th 
 of May. It was a Saturday, and I resolved 
 that I would not attend church the Sunday 
 before it, and would so avoid the infliction 
 of a wedding sermon in which my father, 
 who had announced his intention of taking 
 for the subject of his sermon, the marriage 
 in Cana of Galilee, would, I felt sure, compare
 
 TEE BE AX AXD HIS BArGHTF.R. 77 
 
 himself to all the most eminent personages 
 of Scripture history. 
 
 For him, at any rate, I reflected bitterly, 
 the marriage meant a very practical miracle 
 indeed — the conversion of his potations of 
 spirits and water, for the remainder of his 
 life, into some of the best acknowledo^ed 
 vintages. 
 
 I am bound to say that Sir Henry, who 
 was a thorough gentleman, gave me so 
 little trouble, that I almost began to feel 
 a sneakiuo; regard for him. He vras always 
 at hand when wanted, and yet was never 
 obtrusive. He seemed to know by instinct 
 not only when I preferred silence, but also 
 when I preferred to be left entirely alone, 
 and on these latter occasions there was in- 
 variably some ingenious little excuse for his 
 departure. 
 
 After all, I began to reflect, Mrs. Peel
 
 78 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 may not be so entirely wrong. I shall be 
 entirely beyond the reach of all small troubles 
 and bitternesses, and my prison will be as 
 pleasant a one as Art and all the infinite 
 resources which are at the command of 
 wealth can make it. And thus the hours 
 slipped rapidly by. 
 
 On the Friday morning arrived a new 
 importation to our circle — a lady's-maid, 
 with whose services Sir Henry told me I 
 might dispense at any moment that I pleased, 
 whether temporarily or finally, but who had 
 a good and tried character, and would for the 
 present, at any rate, be useful to me. 
 
 Miss Jackson — or Jackson, as she pre- 
 ferred to be called — was about thirty, of 
 pleasant appearance, nimble and clever, and 
 quite silent until addressed. These were 
 valuable qualities. Indeed, I am not sure 
 that when the eventful Saturday morning
 
 THE DEAN AXD HIS LAUGHTER. 79 
 
 came, I could have managed to array myself 
 without her aid. 
 
 At my express wish the marriage was 
 strictly private. There were no brides- 
 maids and no best man. The curate of 
 an adjacent parish came over to assist 
 in the ceremony, but, if I remember 
 rightly, he did nothing except ask the 
 question, " Who giveth this woman to 
 be married to this man ? " to which 
 my father responded with all his own 
 gravity, " I do," and then proceeded with 
 the remainder of the service on his own 
 account, entering into the spirit of the 
 thing, and not omitting a single word 
 or even hurrying himself, although no 
 doubt he was anxious for the moment of 
 breakfast and champagne. 
 
 It was over at last somehow, and some- 
 how I found myself at the wedding breakfast
 
 80 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 and cutting the cake. Beyond this I have 
 a very vague idea of anything that hap- 
 pened, but I just remember being dressed 
 for my journey, and I remember the dress, 
 which, like everything else, had been fur- 
 nished by the great Madame Elaine, who 
 had received carte blanche from Sir Henry. 
 It was a plain shepherd's plaid silk, a 
 long jacket of sable, trimmed with price- 
 less sable-tail, and a tiny bonnet, which 
 was a work of art. 
 
 " All your ladyship's things," Jackson 
 announced, " have been properly packed. 
 I have your ladyship's hand-bag for your 
 ladyship's handkerchief, gloves, and other 
 things, and this is your ladyship's dressing- 
 bag." 
 
 Before I got into the carriage I had 
 to submit to a farewell embrace and 
 blessing from my father, but I paid no
 
 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEE. 81 
 
 attention to it, and so his remarks were 
 delivered to the bystanders, for whom no 
 doubt they were intended, and who 
 cheered them lustily, and altogether ex- 
 hibited that eflfete enthusiasm so common 
 on similar occasions. The cheering was 
 kept up as we drove away. 
 
 " You may probably be too tired, my 
 dear Miriam," said Sir Henry in his most 
 courtly manner, ^' to care for conversation. 
 I confess myself that these early hours 
 are unusual and bewildering/' 
 
 I gratefully smiled a feeble smile of 
 assent, and we did not exchange another 
 word until we reached the station. 
 
 It had been settled that we were to 
 pass the honeymoon in Paris, breaking 
 the journey in London at Craven House. 
 By the time we reached this mansion, 
 which was at one of the corners of 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 82 TEE BEAN AND EIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 St. James's Square, I was thoroughly tired 
 out, and but dimly remember the hall, 
 blazing with lights, arrayed with a wealth 
 of hot-house flowers and gorgeous with 
 serried ranks of domestics. 
 
 Anyhow, it was a relief to have the 
 day over, and an immense satisfaction to 
 know that for once and for all I was 
 absolutely rid of my father. That worthy 
 man would, within a very few hours, be 
 reading himself in as Dean, and would, no 
 doubt, for some time, trouble himself as 
 little about me as I about him. 
 
 On Monday morning there was a victoria 
 and pair waiting for us after breakfast, and 
 Sir Henry suggested shopping. London 
 shops were for myself, who had only seen 
 the Cathedral Close on rare occasions, a
 
 TEE BE AX AXD HIS LAUGH TEE. 83 
 
 Dew experience, and, I will confess, a 
 pleasant one. 
 
 We first sto^^ped somewhere in Bond 
 Street, w^liere Sir Henry made some little 
 purchases, and more especially an exquisite 
 purse, or rather loorte-monnaie, of inlaid 
 tortoiseshell, which, as I discovered when 
 I examined its interior more carefully on 
 leaving the shop, had been filled by some 
 magic with new bank-notes and mint-new 
 sovereigns — somewhere about one hundred 
 and fifty pounds altogether, as I afterwards 
 ascertained. 
 
 Then Sir Henry asked me if I would 
 mind going by way of the Foreign Office, 
 and waiting for him there a few minutes. 
 Of course I said no ; so we rattled down 
 St. James's Street, and then through the 
 Mall to the back portals of that enormous pile. 
 
 G 2
 
 84 THE DEAN ANT) EIS BATJGETEB. 
 
 It was a glorious day, and I certainly 
 saw London for the first time at its best 
 and briijhtest. The Park was beaminor with 
 hawthorn, and I could see through the 
 railings the ornamental water alive with 
 every kind of rare and beautiful waterfowl. 
 
 Presently a squadron of Horse Guards 
 trotted past, their cuirasses and helmets 
 flashing in the sun, and their scabbards 
 rattling and jangling. The interminable 
 succession of carriages was even more bewilder- 
 ing than it had been in Bond Street, and 
 yet the smell of the fresh may-blossom from 
 the Park and the cries of the waterfowl made 
 me believe myself again in the country. 
 
 So I sat dreamily looking on, for it may 
 have been twenty minutes, or even longer, 
 and then Sir Henry reappeared radiant with 
 what was evidently good news, and followed 
 by an obsequious hall-porter who bowed
 
 TEE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 85 
 
 profoundly as our footman — I was already 
 beginning to say " we " and " our " — having 
 seen his master seated, jumped upon the box. 
 
 " I have some really good news, my dear 
 child," he said; "better news than even 
 perhaps that of the Deanery, and certainly 
 more immediately affecting ourselves." 
 
 " I am delighted to hear it. Pray, what is 
 it?" 
 
 " I am asked to undertake in September," 
 he replied, "just when London will be empty 
 and dreary, a most delicate and important 
 mission to Constantinople. The compliment 
 is one to which I feel myself entitled, but 
 which I yet confess I had hardly expected, 
 so that it has to a certain extent taken me by 
 surprise. But should I succeed in my 
 negotiations, of which I entertain but little 
 doubt, I am promised, as distinctly as any- 
 thing ever is promised in the official world,
 
 86 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 an important and brilliant post, in fact, no 
 less than that of Minister at the Court of 
 St. Petersburg, from which Lord George 
 Seymour will at that time be retiring with a 
 fall peerage, and not at all improbably the 
 Garter itself. Constantinople, which I have 
 visited more than once, ought really to be 
 the capital of Europe, and is not only unlike 
 any other city in the world, but is in many 
 respects finer than them all. It is certain 
 to interest you extremely." 
 
 I had nothing to say except to smile assent 
 as pleasantly as I could, while Sir Henry 
 in his most vivacious manner commenced to 
 discourse eloquently about the Golden Horn, 
 and the subterranean reservoir, and the 
 bazaars, and the Sultan's Court, until I almost 
 imagined that I was once again poring over 
 my Lane's '* Arabian Nights." 
 
 One thing only was clear, that we had
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 87 
 
 to start that evening for Paris, and so we 
 at once made the best of our way back to 
 St. James's Square. 
 
 It was my first sea voyage, and also my 
 first departure from England, and we 
 journeyed so luxuriously that I freely confess 
 I enjoyed myself. There was a special saloon 
 for the short run from Victoria to Dover, 
 and instead of going by the steamer, we 
 had an Admiralty yacht waiting for us at 
 the pier. 
 
 At Calais, again, another saloon carriage 
 had been reserved, and as the train rattled 
 us aloncr the chang;e of air and the fatio-ue 
 of the journey made me dreamily and 
 pleasantly drowsy. 
 
 As we passed the fortifications, Jackson 
 made her appearance with cofi'ee and pistolets, 
 and a cup of cofi'ee, really exquisitely 
 made, fairly roused me so that I can re-
 
 88 THE DEAN AND HI^ DAUGHTER. 
 
 member distinctly the drive from the busy 
 Gare du Nord through the empty streets 
 to our quarters at the Hotel Bristol, and 
 the immense fire of wood that was blazing 
 and crackling on the tiled hearth. But I 
 remember little beyond this, for the journey 
 had quite worn me out, and I was soon 
 asleep. 
 
 That afternoon, for the first time in 
 my life, I saw Paris in the lieiglit of its 
 season, and in its full glory. 
 
 Sir Henry bad to go to the English 
 Embassy in the Eue Faubourg St. Honore, 
 but Jackson, amongst her other accomplish- 
 ments, knew her Paris intimately, and under 
 her escort I went shopping, and certainly, 
 according to my own ideas, spent money 
 recklessly. 
 
 "Why should I not do so ? For the 
 whole of my life hitherto, I had been com-
 
 THE DEAN AXD HIS DAUGHTER. 89 
 
 pelled to consider every sixpence before I 
 parted with it, and to carefully reckon my 
 change. 
 
 Now I could do as I pleased, and from 
 my own point of view I am afraid that I 
 plunged wildly. I remember buying a 
 number of things which I did not want, 
 and to the ultimate destination of which, 
 Jackson, vrho suggested the purchases, and 
 chattered voluble French to the assistants, 
 had no doubt her own eye — things such as 
 gloves, and lace, and a parasol or two, and 
 other nicknacks. 
 
 This was, in reality, shopping for Jackson, 
 but I also did a little shopping on my own 
 account, bringing back with me some ex- 
 quisite flowers, with fruit and bonbons — 
 crystallised violet blossoms I particularly 
 remember — and some books, English and 
 French, daintily bound, and some photo-
 
 90 TEE DEAN AND BIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 graphs, and a rosary, the beads of which 
 were guaranteed to be cut out of the olives 
 of Gethsemane, and possibly may have been, 
 for all I knew or even cared. You must 
 understand that I was becoming hardened 
 and reckless. 
 
 I had got the money. It was the price 
 I had taken for myself with my eyes open, 
 and why should I not spend it? And so 
 when we reached the hotel on our return, 
 the victoria was filled with packages which 
 gave Jackson no little trouble in their 
 superintendence and ultimate arrangement 
 upon my table. 
 
 It was strange. Six weeks ago I could 
 have lingered over these many treasures for 
 hours, examining them one by one. Now 
 that I had got them, and the excitement 
 of purchasing them was over, the mere sight
 
 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 91 
 
 of them seemed to weary me, so I sat idly 
 in a chair by the open window, in which 
 Sir Henry presently found me ensconced 
 and occupied with nectarines, a fruit which 
 I had never before tasted in my life, and 
 which I still hold, as I held then, to be 
 a direct product of the Garden of Eden 
 itself. 
 
 Sir Henry seemed positively beaming 
 
 with hope, and life, and good-nature, and 
 
 « 
 
 everything pleasant except youth. His 
 dignity had somehow vanished, and he was 
 as vivacious as a schoolboy upon breaking- 
 up day. 
 
 *' I have secured a box at the Opera 
 to-night, my dear Miriam," he said, ''and 
 it is actually between those of the Austrian 
 and the Italian Ambassadors, both of which 
 will be occupied, so that your maid will
 
 92 'J HE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 have to do her best. Not that any efforts 
 are Deeded on her part," he added in his 
 most courtly manner, " where, as with your- 
 self, nature unadorned adorns the most. 
 The opera is Dinorahj in which competent 
 critics hold that Meyerbeer is at his best, 
 and Patti at hers. I am sure that it will 
 please you, and after the performance we 
 are to have supper at the Eussian Embassy. 
 You will find Prince Xuroff a most accom- 
 plished and charming man, and fully worthy 
 not only of his exalted position, but of his 
 most fascinating wife." 
 
 No Talleyrand could have been more 
 impressive. It was impossible not to smile 
 assent graciously. But somehow or other I 
 could feel no enthusiasm at all this gaiety. 
 How different I should have been under 
 happier circumstances !
 
 THE BE AX AND HIS DAUGHTER. 93 
 
 Jackson had now, for the first time since 
 my wedding-day, an important duty, to the 
 accomplishment of which she set herself 
 with thoroughly professional zeal. 
 
 I could not help admiring the result of 
 her skill as I glanced at myself in the 
 immense cheval - glass. My dress was of 
 rich white satin, deeply trimmed with old 
 point-lace. My jewels, tiara, earrings and 
 necklace, were pearls, at the value of which 
 I could hardly guess. My rings were most 
 judiciously selected, and to pass over other 
 items, my fan claimed to be a veritable 
 Watteau, and I dare say was. 
 
 Fight as I mio-ht aorainst the new com- 
 forts of wealth, none the less I beo^an to 
 feel the enjoyment of them perceptibly 
 growing upon me, and to almost fear that 
 I must have inherited some slight touch of
 
 94 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 my father's weakness, in what I may fairly 
 claim to have been its most pardonable 
 shape. 
 
 When I appeared in the salon, Sir Henry 
 contemplated me critically, and was evidently 
 not only satisfied but pleased, for he kissed 
 me very graciously and spoke a few words 
 of condescending approval to Jackson, w^ho 
 received them with the humility of a superior 
 young person who knows her own value, 
 but, like Mrs. Ken wigs in " Nicholas 
 Nickleby," considers pride in it to be 
 sinful. 
 
 In a very few minutes we had passed 
 up the immense staircase, with its profuse 
 decorations, and had been ushered into 
 our box, and almost immediately the 
 overture began. You must recollect that 
 it was the first time I had ever heard
 
 TEE DEAN AND EIS DAUGETER. 95 
 
 any other music than that of our parish 
 organ and parish choir, beyond a stray 
 afternoon service in the Cathedral at 
 Exeter.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The moment we had seated ourselves it 
 made me angry and indignant to see 
 that every glass in the house was being 
 levelled point - blank at my own face, 
 exactly as if several hundred photographers 
 were at once endeavouring to focus me. 
 
 I immediately drew back into the 
 shadow of my own curtain. Sir Henry, 
 apparently seeing nothing strange in what 
 had happened, leaned forward and looked 
 on with a general appearance of critical 
 interest. Of myself, I am glad to say, he 
 took no notice.
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 97 
 
 Presently the overture concluded and 
 the curtain rose. I was entranced. It was 
 a new side of life to me entirely; a 
 perfectly new pleasure. I scarcely recollected 
 where I was, and with whom I was, and how 
 I had come there, or when or how the 
 whole scene of enchantment would end. I 
 was utterly lost ; centred in the stao-e, 
 
 I could not tell whether minutes were 
 passing, or hours; and I actually so far 
 forgot myself as to mark the time with 
 my little finger, and to allow a genuine 
 smile of enjoyment every now and again 
 to hang on my features. 
 
 I know now, of course, that the very 
 first rule in the best society is nil admi- 
 rari. But you must remember, and make 
 corresponding allowance for me, that I 
 was entirely without worldly experience, 
 and a new sense of life, bringing with it 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE DEAN AND HTS DAUGHTEB. 
 
 a new value to life, seemed to have broken 
 in upon me. I sat and listened, and still 
 listened till the curtain fell. 
 
 Our box was beset between the acts, 
 but this o'ave me little trouble. The men 
 who came apparently wanted to talk to 
 Sir Henry. They were introduced to me, 
 of course, and we interchanged a few 
 phrases, worthy to be fathered upon 
 Ollendorf himself. 
 
 "Had I been long in Paris?" "No." 
 " Ah, poor Paris ! Did we leave soon ? 
 Ah, desolated Paris ! Was not Paris the 
 centre of the world's smiles ? " I declare, 
 as I now look back, that it makes me 
 weary to hear Englishmen chatter about 
 Paris, of which they know little beyond 
 the radius of Biornon's. I would far sooner 
 hear a New Euglander talk about " Bor-
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEE. 99 
 
 stun," and pronounce the dissyllable through 
 his nose. 
 
 For myself, when the time came for 
 us to leave, I had only noticed one 
 thing. In the box directly opposite our 
 own, but separated from it by the whole 
 width of the house, had been a lorgnette 
 more or less persistently directed against 
 myself. 
 
 When you are one of a large crowd 
 you can be quite aware that you are 
 being looked at, although your next 
 neighbour is quite ignorant of the fact. 
 Your next neicrhbour will be thinkinof of 
 himself or herself. In the present case 
 I was certain that this particular pair of 
 opera-glasses had marked me dowru 
 
 I was a little annoyed by the fact, a 
 little amused, and a little bewildered, all 
 
 H 2
 
 100 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEF. 
 
 for reasoDS which can be easily understood. 
 My own single wish w^as to be no more 
 conspicuous than I could possibly help ; 
 and yet here I was, at the very outset 
 of my married career, singled out for an 
 attack, which the old hands in the house, 
 and the writers for la petite presse, with 
 their myriad eyes and their infinite hunger 
 for rounding a paragraph that may possibly 
 bring in three francs next morning for their 
 dSjeuneVy could not possibly have failed to 
 observe. 
 
 The possessor of the opera-glasses was 
 a man of uncertain age, and he looked 
 like an Englishman. Between twenty- 
 eight and forty an Englishman alters yery 
 little. Between forty and fifty-five he 
 begins to age. He cannot reconcile him- 
 self to the idea that he is not as young 
 as he used to be, and he often will
 
 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEE. 101 
 
 persist in late revels and early mornings 
 with young men, who laugh at him, and 
 amongst whom he too frequently plays the 
 part of Pantaloon. 
 
 If I "admire one man more than another, 
 it is the man, appreciably past middle 
 age, who will frankly admit that his own 
 time is over, and that his remaining 
 enjoyment in life is to look on while 
 other people are happy. 
 
 The man at whom I was now looking 
 did not seem to me at that moment to 
 merit any kind of sympathy. There was 
 a good deal about him to show that he 
 had taken his own part in manly pursuits. 
 He retained the broad shoulders, the up- 
 right carriage, and the clear, fearless eye 
 that tell of a youth well spent. His 
 features, so far as I could judge, were 
 clearly cut, regular^ and sufficiently pleasing.
 
 102 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 The hardness about them may possibly have 
 been due to his age. Beyond this I 
 could conjecture nothing, and, in fact, by 
 the time we had reached our hotel I had 
 dismissed the mysterious stranger entirely 
 from my thoughts. 
 
 At the hotel we waited hardly a mo- 
 ment before I found myself being whirled 
 to the Eussian Embassy in the Faubourg 
 St. Germain. Here was a blaze of light, 
 a scent from a forest of tropical plants, 
 and a startling lustre and brilliancy that 
 made me for the moment forget every- 
 thing else. The opera and the Opera House 
 faded away in my imagination as if their 
 dimensions had been those of a scanty pro- 
 vincial theatre. 
 
 The supper at Princess Xuroff's was 
 beyond anything of which I have even 
 dreamed. I could only laugh as I pictured
 
 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 103 
 
 to myself the idea of my esteemed parent 
 solemnly sitting down to it. Poor old 
 man ! his hio^hest ambitions had never risen 
 beyond partridges and venison when they 
 were in season, spring asparagus, new 
 potatoes, a bottle of port wine, and then 
 a strong glass of rum and water, and a 
 clay pipe. 
 
 Here was every luxury for which it is 
 possible to ransack the rivers and the seas, 
 the mountains or the plains. It was only 
 May, but there were yet immense peaches 
 upon the table — reared, as I heard, each 
 under its own separate glass shade and at a 
 tropical temperature. Time and space seemed 
 to be laughed at when you had on the one 
 hand caviare from the frozen Volga, and, 
 on the other, prickly pears and custard 
 apples from the Southern Archipelago. 
 
 Being profoundly interested and conse-
 
 104 THE DEAN AND EIS DAUGHTER 
 
 quently attentive to the minutiae around me, 
 I also noticed that among the wines was 
 Tokay, a wdne of w^hich I had heard my 
 father speak with bated breath as being 
 something even more marvellous than 
 Cathedral port itself. 
 
 For me the total result was bewilder- 
 ment. Carry yourself back in your mind 
 to my little home in Devonshire with its 
 stone roof and its humble table ; recollect 
 my quest in the morniug to discover if 
 perchance a fresh egg had been laid. One 
 of the dishes in front of me was a pyramid 
 of preserved fruit in cut glass, and it was 
 ornamented with stuffed humming - birds 
 poised upon their wings. In the Cathedral 
 Close the price for a stuffed humming-bird, 
 if you wanted one for your bonnet, would 
 range from half- a- guinea to double that 
 amount. Here were the little creatures
 
 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 105 
 
 stuck about at random, as carelessly as in 
 my old home it had been my habit to 
 place great bunches of spring violets wher- 
 ever my fancy might suggest. 
 
 After supper there was an adjournment 
 to an immense salon, opening into a con- 
 servatory rich as the South Sea Islands 
 themselves, with tree-ferns, and palms, and 
 a wealth of tropical orchids of every variety 
 of form and colour. 
 
 The company somehow melted away, 
 and I can only just recollect my last 
 adieux. The Princess kissed me, but 
 adroitly avoided my own kiss in return. 
 Prince Xuroff, who looked at me as if he 
 would have liked to imitate the first part 
 of his wife's performance — he must have 
 been at least twenty years younger than 
 Sir Henry — assured me that he had watched 
 my husband's career for many years.
 
 106 THE DEAN AND II IS DAUGETEB. 
 
 "Nature," he said, "had intended him for 
 a diplomatist, but, alas ! where was the 
 diplomatist unless he had a wife, such as 
 myself, fresh, charming, and with the 
 supreme art of subjugating mankind?" 
 
 I was already beginning to get old and 
 cunning, or, at any rate, to feel so, and 
 I knew^ quite well that the astute Russian 
 was laughing heartily at my husband, 
 and throwing compliments to myself with 
 about as much real feeling as that with 
 which you toss a piece of sugar-candy to 
 a child. 
 
 **It has been, my dear Miriam," said my 
 husband, as he solemnly stood upon the 
 hearth-rug at our hotel after our return, 
 "a most successful evening. Your own tact 
 and good sense have proved invaluable, and 
 I cannot help thinking that I have to- 
 night gained information of the very highest
 
 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 107 
 
 value which I shall transmit to-morrow to 
 Dowcing Street by special messenger, and 
 which will satisfy them that I fully deserve, 
 not only the confidence already re]Dosed in 
 me, but even the management of negotia- 
 tions more difficult and intricate than those 
 to which I must candidly own I feel my- 
 self more than equal." 
 
 I would have given the world at 
 that moment to have grinned in my hus- 
 band's face, if I should not have outraged 
 all the proprieties by doing so. 
 
 He had learned, I was confident, abso- 
 lutely nothing ; and so far as I had seen, 
 Prince Xurofi" could have handled him as 
 a village boy handles his peg-top — twisted 
 a long string of hempen compliments round 
 him, sent him buzzing away through the 
 air into the ring, and have left him there 
 to rotate on his own axis until he fell
 
 108 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 from feebleness, or until another top struck 
 him with its iron peg, and either splintered 
 him into fragments, or sent him lumbering 
 away hopelessly outside the charmed circle 
 into the dismal limbo of failures. 
 
 You may judge reasonably your estimate 
 of other people if you make allowance for 
 your own personal prejudice. But if you 
 accept your own estimate of yourself, it is 
 somewhat late in the day for you to set 
 up in business as a diplomatist.
 
 CHAPTER YU. 
 
 AYe stayed on at the Hotel Bristol until after 
 the Grand Prix. Were I to summarise 
 my recollections of this my first visit to 
 Paris, I should say that I found it mono- 
 tonous. It is a beautiful city, no doubt, 
 but it is rather grand than beautiful, and, 
 for my own part, I can only say that I 
 very soon tired of it. Or was it that I 
 tired of Sir Henry ? Who knows ? Per- 
 haps under more favourable auspices things 
 might have been very different. 
 
 The endless boulevards, with their im- 
 mense houses and their rows of trees and
 
 110 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER, 
 
 their shops, are as wearisome at last in 
 their glaring uniformity as a sea voyage, 
 in the course of which the least speck on 
 the horizon brings every one on deck for 
 want of something better to do. I found 
 some little relief in occasional visits to the 
 further bank of the Seine, to the Jardin 
 des Plantes, and other places. 
 
 Old Paris better retains its age, and is 
 correspondingly more precious to the anti- 
 quarian than old London. But the explo- 
 ration of old Paris, as I could have wished 
 to have pursued it, was out of my power. 
 Sir Henry had too many visitors and too 
 many visits of his own to pay, and old 
 Paris was as much beyond my reach as 
 if I had been a thousand miles distant 
 instead of merely separated from it by the 
 Seine. 
 
 And so in the gayest city of the world,
 
 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEE. Ill 
 
 my days were practically as dreary as those 
 of the Lady of Shalott in her "silent isle." 
 
 I was unfeignedly glad when the time 
 came at last for us to return to St. 
 James's Square, even although there was 
 the terrible certainty of having to face the 
 Very Reverend the Dean of Southwick. 
 
 From him I had received a very long 
 and very characteristic letter, obviously in- 
 tended to be shown to my husband, who 
 politely but firmly declined to be troubled 
 with it. 
 
 The expenses of moving into the Deanery 
 had, I was assured, been enormous, and 
 my father had been obliged in consequence 
 to heavily overdraw his account at the 
 County Bank, where they were extremely 
 courteous, but at the same time extremely 
 old - fashioned in their manner of doing 
 business.
 
 112 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 "When, my dear child," the epistle went 
 on, " we lived so happily together, you and 
 I, in our humble little house at Ossulston, I 
 never knew what it was to be troubled for 
 a few pounds." — Oh, papa! papa! — "Now 
 I can assure you that I am very sorely 
 troubled for a few bank-notes, and if yoU 
 could manage to send me a couple of 
 hundred pounds, or persuade Sir Henry to 
 let me have that amount for a year (through 
 his lawyers, if he prefers it), I should be 
 relieved from a weight of anxiety which 
 is positively overwhelming. 
 
 "Pray, my dearest daughter, reply at 
 once. I regret to say that my health, 
 owino- to the immense arrears of work left 
 behind him by my predecessor, is absolutely 
 appalling. But I strive to do my duty at 
 any cost or sacrifice to myself, and I keep 
 a stout heart.
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 113 
 
 "Sir William Bull, whom I have been 
 up to London to consult, recommends 
 a temporary visit to Geneva. He says 
 that unless I have complete rest for a 
 month or two, he will not answer for 
 the consequences ; and he said this very 
 emphatically. 
 
 " He also recommends me to drink 
 Madeira, a wine which it is impossible to 
 procure in the market except at a fabulous 
 price. Perhaps Sir Henry may have a few 
 bottles of it in his ample cellars at St. 
 James's Square. 
 
 "I think of you, my dearest daughter, 
 night and morning, and my thoughts w^ould 
 indeed be with you all day, did not the 
 multifarious duties of my position render it 
 barely possible for me to snatch even a 
 few minutes for rest and contemplation." 
 
 My reply w^as brief and to the point. 
 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 114 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 1 told my father that I enclosed him fifty- 
 pounds on my own account, and added 
 that if in future he wanted anything from 
 Sir Henry, whether in the shape of money, 
 or of Madeira, or of anything else, he 
 must make his application directly, as I 
 should positively refuse to be the channel 
 of it. 
 
 I ascertained afterwards that the cheque 
 was paid into my father's bank the same 
 day on which it was received, and I have 
 no doubt that it was drawn against with 
 corresponding promptitude. 
 
 My father acknowledged the cheque by 
 telegram, taking care to add that he 
 should come up to tow^n as soon as we 
 returned. 
 
 We got back about the first week in 
 June. The London season was at its 
 height, and I had scarcely a minute to
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 115 
 
 myself. I had to be presented, of course, 
 my sponsor being no less a person than 
 the wife of the Foreign Secretary, while 
 my father, in buckles and silk stockings, 
 figured imposingly ^ at the Drawing Room 
 himself. 
 
 The ceremony amused me, and my dress, 
 a creation of Pingat's, was unquestionably the 
 smartest seen that afternoon at Buckingham 
 Palace. And that is all I have to say 
 about it. 
 
 For the rest, the season tired me. The 
 
 Dean was perpetually coming to me for 
 
 money, sometimes descending to what is 
 
 somewhere termed *' the ridiculously small 
 
 sum of ten pounds." But I invariably met 
 
 him with a firm denial, for which I 
 
 declined to assign my reasons, and at last 
 
 I fairly wore his perseverance out, and he 
 
 wrote a long letter in which with abundance 
 
 I 2
 
 116 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER, 
 
 of quotation he compared me to Goneril 
 and Regan, and drew a most touching 
 parallel between himself and King Lear. 
 
 I may add that my father had more 
 than once endeavoured ..to quarter himself 
 at Craven House, declaring that he found 
 hotels expensive, and that the bustle of 
 hotel life upset his nerves. Here, too, I 
 was relentless, and definitely put down my 
 foot. I told him point-blank that any 
 attempt to make himself a permanent 
 pensioner in Craven House I should resist, 
 and that if he found a London hotel too 
 much for his nerves, there was nothing 
 more easy for him than to return to the 
 learned and placid tranquillity of Southwick 
 Deanery. 
 
 One day I received, amongst my other 
 letters, one the handwriting of which I did 
 not at first recoojnise. It turned out to be
 
 THE DEAN AND EIS DAFGETER. 117 
 
 from a Mrs. Fortescue, whom I had met 
 during our stay in Paris, and of whom, so 
 far as I had troubled myself to form any 
 impression at all, I had judged favourably. 
 The letter ran : 
 
 "Dear Lady Ceayex, 
 
 " I am coming to town next week, and 
 shall stay at Brown's Hotel in Dover Street. 
 Need I say that I shall take the very 
 earliest opportunity of hunting you up ? " 
 
 Then followed a large amount of irrelevant 
 but amusing gossip. 
 
 " If you are looking only half so well as 
 you did in Paris, where every living being 
 raved about you, and where you were, I may 
 most truthfully assure you, the sensation 
 of the season, no one will be more delighted 
 than myself to congratulate you on that 
 charm of youth which in your case is hardly
 
 118 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 in its spring. Sir Henry is the luckiest 
 man in England. I hope he knows it. Does 
 he? 
 
 "Pray let me find a letter from you at 
 Brown's." 
 
 Here at last was a chance of something 
 reasonably distracting. I went straight to 
 Sir Henry, told him of Mrs. Fortescue's 
 letter, and suggested that I should like to 
 ask her to stop with us during her sojourn 
 in town. 
 
 My husband, of course, gave his most 
 cordial assent, and in fact was pleased to 
 express his entire approval, and within a 
 very few days Mrs. Fortescue was comfortably 
 quartered under our roof. Her society was 
 in a certain sense a very great relief to me. 
 She saved me the trouble of considering 
 what to do for the day, she kept me from
 
 THE DEAX AND HIS DAUGHTEF. 119 
 
 the terrible ennui of thinking about nothing, 
 and it is but just to say that she was 
 thoroughly amusing, good-natured, and full 
 of a vivacity that was possibly acquired from 
 long residence in Paris. 
 
 We breakfasted together, drove out 
 together, and, "indeed, were hardly ever out 
 of each other's sight, except on the evenings 
 when I had to dine out. 
 
 Mrs. Fortescue was a widow, and her 
 husband had been in the diplomatic service, 
 and had been for some years attached to the 
 English Embassy in Paris. He had entered 
 the service as Queen's Messenger, rising 
 rapidly until he became attache at Paris. 
 His fortune and rapid advancement were 
 regarded as assured, when he suddenly 
 died. 
 
 Mr. Fortescue had been dead some three 
 or four years, and either he had left his
 
 120 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEB. 
 
 wife more comfortably off than his friends 
 expected, or else she must have had resources 
 of her own, for she was certainly not at all 
 pressed for money, although she lived in 
 a handsome apartment in the Rue Eoyale, 
 and did not attempt, like many ladies in 
 society, to supplement her income by gambling, 
 and not paying when she lost. She did 
 not look more than thirty, and very possibly 
 may not have been more. She dressed with 
 most perfect taste, and was generally taken 
 for a Frenchwoman. I began to wonder to 
 myself why, unless she strongly preferred 
 her freedom, she did not marry again. For 
 she had most of those qualities that seem 
 to attract men, and, indeed, was before every- 
 thing a " man's woman." 
 
 I liked her without having been at first 
 prepossessed in her favour, and it is only 
 fair to say of her that in an indescribable
 
 THE DEJX AXD HIS DAVGHTEE. 121 
 
 kind of manner she seemed to grow upon 
 you. 
 
 After Mrs. Fortescue had been with us 
 some four or five days, she told me one 
 morning that she was expecting a visitor. 
 
 " He is a very old friend of mine, my 
 dear, a Mr. Sabine, whose acquaintance 1 
 first made at Homburg, and whom I have 
 since met almost everywhere. He is in the 
 very best set, and is popular with every one. 
 You would most certainly have met him 
 while you w^ere in Paris, which is his head- 
 quarters, only that he was then at Luchon. 
 There are all kinds of stories about him, 
 but I can assure you that most of them 
 are to his credit. The men are jealous of 
 him, of course, for all the women rave about 
 him. But I think that many of the men are 
 afraid of him, for he has been out several 
 times, and it is generally understood that
 
 122 THE DEAN AND EIS DAUGHTER 
 
 it is not well to quarrel with him. As for 
 the women, they literally throw themselves 
 at his head. It makes me laugh, my dear ; 
 they might as well attempt to thaw an 
 iceberg. He is one of the few men that I 
 know whom it is impossible to humbug. No 
 flattery, however ingenious, has the smallest 
 efiect upon him ; he is absolutely impervious 
 to it." 
 
 '*You have excited my curiosity," I 
 laughed. *' When do you expect your 
 paragon ? " 
 
 "Positively this afternoon. I have told 
 him that I shall be in at five. You really 
 must see him." 
 
 *' I am simply dying to do so." 
 
 *' I am sure you will admit that he is a 
 sort of Admirable Crichton." 
 
 " I hate Admirable Crichtons." 
 
 "You won't hate him. But he is an
 
 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 123 
 
 Admirable Crichton. He can do everything, 
 has been everywhere, and speaks languages 
 of which I do not even know the 
 name." 
 
 Five o'clock came, and Mrs. Fortescue and 
 I were sitting over tea in my boudoir, when 
 Mr. Sabine was announced. As I rose to 
 welcome him, I recognised in him at once 
 the mysterious stranger of the Opera House 
 in Paris. This was not exactly in itself 
 a circumstance to prepossess me in his 
 favour. But I am bound to say that every 
 moment I remained in his society, served 
 to remove the somewhat unpleasant im- 
 pression that I had previously formed of 
 him. 
 
 He stopped, I should say, about half-an- 
 hour. He had not the art but the gift 
 of conversation. The art, as Sir Henry 
 and my father both possessed it, is not
 
 124 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 uncommon ; but the gift is extremely 
 rare. 
 
 He was considerably above the middle 
 height, although hardly perhaps six feet. 
 His features I have already described. 
 What now most struck me was his 
 physique. His neck w^as not short, but 
 very thick and muscular. His shoulders 
 w^ere broad and square. In the glare of 
 the Opera House I had not done him 
 justice. His chest was deep, and he 
 moved noiselessly and with that particular 
 ease of the limbs which is most certainly 
 acquired in the fencing salon , although 
 some few men pick it up elsewhere, as for 
 example, Canadians, who acquire it on the ice. 
 
 We chatted upon every conceivable 
 topic, and Mr. Sabine informed me that 
 although his visit had been, strictly speak- 
 ing, to Mrs. Fortescue, none the less he
 
 TEE DEAN AND EIS BAUGETEE. 125 
 
 knew Sir Henry intimately, having met 
 him constantly in London and Paris, and 
 .also at Vienna and at Moscow if he re- 
 collected rightly, and, he added with a 
 pleasant laugh, in the Kiviera — '* No, he was 
 not staying at Monte Carlo, Mrs. Fortescue. 
 Sir Henry has not been all his life in the 
 diplomatic service for nothing. To be geo- 
 graphically exact, it was at Mentone." 
 
 Of course it only remained to ask Mr. 
 Sabine to dinner, and soon afterwards he 
 took his departure. 
 
 As soon as he was fairly in the street, 
 I saw him, through the curtain, stop to 
 light a cigar, and he then strode away 
 with that indescribable step of which some 
 few men seem to have caught the habit 
 from the larger beasts of jDrey — long, noise- 
 less, and elastic, giving the idea of immense 
 strength in reserve.
 
 126 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 Watch a lion pacing restlessly up and 
 down behind his bars, and you will know 
 what I mean. Riviere, in his picture, 
 "The Night AYatch/' has given the effect 
 of it with almost magical fidelity.
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 Mr. SABI^'E came to dinner, of course. We 
 had a large party that evening, and a still 
 larger reception afterwards. I could not 
 help noticing him among the other men. In 
 his closely -fitting dress clothes, which showed 
 his square shoulders and deep chest as 
 clearly as if he had been stripped for a 
 boat-race, he seemed to tower above the 
 rest of the company by his head and 
 shoulders at least. 
 
 This was merely apparent. It is astonish- 
 ing what an advantage even a quarter of 
 an inch will give one man over another.
 
 128 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 The eye, incapable of adjustment, magnifies 
 an inch, or half-an-inch, into a foot. 
 
 Achilles was never so tall, or Ajax of 
 such girth of chest as Homer has depicted 
 them, but Homer was not measurinor these 
 heroes for their armour. He was describinor 
 them as they seemed to an ordinary eye. 
 And so with Mr. Sabine ; the appearance 
 of immense size and strength w^as as unmis- 
 takable as the crisp, curling hair, the cold, 
 steel-gray eye, and the heavy moustache. 
 
 And yet there was nothing about it 
 strange or too remarkable. He was not in 
 any way a giant, he was simply bigger and 
 finer than most men are — one in a thousand 
 or a couple of thousand — so symmetrical 
 and compact, that you might well have 
 passed him by in a crowd exactly as you 
 are sure to miss the winner in the pre- 
 liminary canter, unless you have something
 
 TEE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEB. 129 
 
 better by far than that special information 
 of which Stock Exchange men say that 
 when combined with unlimited credit, it 
 would ruin the very Father of all wiles 
 and artifices. 
 
 After this evening, Mr. Sabine called 
 several times. It happened, as he explained, 
 that he was a member of the Travellers' 
 Club, and that St. James's Square was close 
 to it. 
 
 He was always amusing, and as full of 
 anecdote and story as the late Mr. Hayward 
 or Charles Greville himself, although he 
 never figured in his own conversation, 
 except as the narrator of what he had 
 seen, and was at the time describiug. 
 
 But he apparently knew all parts of 
 the globe. He had seen the , Eocky 
 Mountains, and heard the thunder of the 
 Zambesi Falls. He had shot white bear 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 in Spitzbergen, where he had gone cruising 
 in quest of reindeer, walrus, and musk- 
 oxen ; and he had rounded Cape Horn 
 and interviewed the barbarians of extreme 
 Patagonia. 
 
 I remember Mrs. Fortescue asking him 
 once why he had not written a book about 
 his travels. He replied, laughingly, that 
 in these days the writing of travels, like 
 the writing of novels, seemed to have got 
 entirely into the hands of w^omen, and that 
 the fact could not be helped, although no 
 doubt it was a pity, and the world at 
 large suffered in consequence. 
 
 " That is not a very gallant observa- 
 tion," said Mrs. Fortescue. 
 
 "Perhaps not," he replied, **but it 
 is true, nevertheless. And if," he con- 
 tinued, " a man were to-morrow to make 
 some really interesting journey, and to
 
 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 131 
 
 write an exact account of what he had 
 seen and done, no publisher would venture 
 to put his book before the public ; and 
 even if a publisher were found, the public 
 at large would put the narrative down as 
 a tissue of falsehoods." 
 
 ** Do you know," he continued, " what 
 happened in the days of a certain Kiug 
 of Egypt with a terrible name, who sent 
 away some men---a regular scientific expe- 
 dition, like that of the Challenger — with 
 instructions to sail away through the 
 Straits of Gibraltar, then called the Pillars 
 of Hercules, and to keep on following the 
 coast as long as they could ? They were 
 away for three entire years, and they came 
 back with a number of stories, which were 
 considered very wonderful. Great honours 
 were conferred upon them. If there had 
 been a Koyal Geographical Society in those
 
 132 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 days, they would most certainly have had 
 its gold medal. But they happened in- 
 cautiously to state, that after a certain 
 period in their voyage, the sun at midday, 
 instead of standing to the due south of 
 them, faced about and stood in the north. 
 ' This is nonsense,' said the scientific men 
 about the Court ; ' it is contrary to the 
 ascertained laws of nature.' ' It is worse 
 than nonsense,' said the priests, 'for it is 
 downright blasphemy. The sun is a god, 
 and does not go north in the middle of 
 the day to please anybody.' And the King 
 said th^t the scientific men and the priests 
 were quite right, and he ordered the ex- 
 plorers to confess their falsehood. This they 
 refused to do ; so, by way of a warning to 
 future liars, their eyelids were cut off, and 
 their heads were shaved, and they were 
 solemnly crucified in the midday sun."
 
 TEE DEAN AXJD HIS DAUGHTER. 133 
 
 "How dreadful!" murmured Mrs. Fortescue. 
 
 " Very dreadful, my dear madam ; and 
 
 that is why I do not tell about what I 
 
 have seen. I should not be believed if I 
 
 did. If I were to-morrow to tell some of 
 
 my fish-eating friends in Patagonia (who 
 
 are cannibals, by the way, when they have 
 
 the chance) how we live and dress in 
 
 London, and how religious we are, and 
 
 how virtuous and charitable, and otherwise 
 
 devoid of all the little faults of humanity, 
 
 why" — here he broke into a gentle ripple 
 
 of laughter — " they would scrape me to 
 
 death with cockle-shells, and banquet on 
 
 me afterwards. Oh, no, no, no ! Never 
 
 tell people the strange things which you 
 
 have seen and they have not. A book 
 
 of travels ! I would as soon write a 
 
 novel of the domestic affections (in the 
 
 existence of which, of course, I sincerely
 
 134 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 believe), or bring out a new edition of 
 Mrs. Glasse's ' Domestic Cookery/ an ex- 
 cellent book, if it is somewhat antiquated. 
 No. You must, as Mrs. Glasse is reported 
 to have said, first catch your hare. The 
 bibliopole must first catch his author ; and I 
 have no intention, as yet, of being caught." 
 
 He went away, and that evening, as 
 it happened. Sir Henry, Mrs. Fortescue, 
 and I dined together, en famille. 
 
 Sir Henry w^as even more than usually 
 pompous, platitudinous, and vacuous. Mrs. 
 Fortescue distinctly set her cap at him, 
 trying, nc doubt, to give him the idea 
 that she would be the very perfection of 
 a wife for an ambassador or an attache, 
 and that he had better have married her 
 than me. 
 
 Honestly, there was some truth in the 
 woman's estimate of herself. Besides, I
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEB. 135 
 
 am sure that she had not any serious in- 
 tention of fascinating Sir Henry herself. 
 All that she wished was to secure his 
 good graces. It was one of her rules in 
 life that you cannot have too many 
 friends. 
 
 Sir Henry himself was distrait and 
 correspondingly ponderous. But after dinner 
 he drank a large glass of Tokay, and as it 
 began to course through his veins, he re- 
 gained that natural speech by the - usage 
 of which it is one of Prince Bismarck's grrim 
 jokes to bewilder professional diplomatists. 
 
 We talked about the forthcoming mission 
 to Constantinople. Mrs. Fortescue began 
 to chatter about Constantinople, and the 
 Bride of Abydos, and the Hellespont, and 
 I allowed her to chatter. 
 
 She went so far as to reo^ret that 
 she had not herself been fully behind the
 
 136 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 scenes in all these great State secrets. She 
 was certain, she assured us, that she had 
 a natural taste — she might almost call it 
 an instinct — for diplomacy, exactly as some 
 people had a taste for music, and could 
 not be kept from becoming composers. 
 
 All this bored Sir Henry terribly, and 
 he very adroitly remarked that diplomacy 
 was no doubt a natural gift, as was a correct 
 ear for music, but that so far as his own 
 limited experience had enabled him to judge, 
 it was one of those many gifts which are 
 distinctly hereditary in their nature, and 
 that in the Courts of Europe, the diplomatic 
 faculty is considered to be the peculiar 
 heritage of a limited number of families. 
 
 Poets, he added, were no doubt born 
 and not made. And what was true of great 
 poets seemed also, so far as he had studied 
 history, true of great generals. But diplomacy,
 
 TEE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 137 
 
 he said, with his pleasantest smile, is Tike 
 the habit of setting to the scent of game 
 in the setter. You cannot teach a New- 
 foundland, or a greyhound, or a St. Bernard — 
 all most useful and interesting animals in 
 their way — to set to game. The accomplish- 
 ment is not in their repertory of undeveloped 
 faculties. 
 
 '* Lady Craven," he continued, " has no 
 natural genius for diplomacy, nor natural 
 instinct for it. And I can promise you, my 
 dear," he added, turning most naturally and 
 pleasantly to me, '' that I shall never trouble 
 you by asking you to take any serious part 
 in my labours. I, through the perversity 
 of fate, am sent to Constantinople to listen 
 to lies for my country's good, and tell, if 
 possible, bigger lies in the same sacred cause. 
 The telling of lies, my dear Miriam, has 
 ceased to be the legitimate business of a
 
 138 TEE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 lady, ever since the original fall of man. It 
 is unpleasant work at the best, however well 
 it may be rewarded either in this world or 
 in the next. And we had consequently 
 better leave it to men, as we do the work 
 of butchering, whether on the field of battle, 
 or in the shambles, of serving in the police, 
 of attempting to discover the North Pole, 
 where they say that truth and honesty lie 
 somewhere frozen up in the middle of a 
 colossal iceberg, and of otherwise running 
 personal risks, and submitting to personal 
 annoyances, and in fact, sometimes insults, 
 for w^hich their too frequent recompense is the 
 ingratitude of the country in whose cause 
 they have spent the best years of their 
 life." 
 
 Now this was an unusually long speech 
 even for Sir Henry ; but I could not object 
 to it, as I saw distinctly it was intended
 
 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 139 
 
 to annoy Mrs. Fortescue, and was directly 
 pointed at myself. 
 
 If Sir Henry chose to try the point of 
 his blade pleasantly and with no serious 
 intent upon the young widow, it was no 
 affair of mine. I could look on as serenely 
 as if some young and presumptuous Minor 
 Canon were twitting my father over his 
 Greek, and the Very Eeverend the Dftan were 
 putting and blowing, and vainly endeavouring 
 to assert his own dignity, and to demonstrate 
 in his own person that Deans, even if they 
 have not acquired Greek by years of 
 ceaseless study, none the less know it by 
 the light of nature. 
 
 Sir Henry had one art, at any rate. He 
 never ventured out of his depth, and he 
 never allowed you to exactly measure his 
 depth with your own plummet for your own 
 purposes, and after your own fashion.
 
 140 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 There was, in short, more wisdom in his 
 reticence than in his speech. AVere there 
 truth in the old joke, and had he really 
 been sent to lie abroad for his country's 
 good, he might, perhaps, have been tolerably 
 successful. Sent to tell the truth for his 
 country's good, he would have been a distinct 
 failure. 
 
 But • when you came to consider him 
 as being sent abroad with a vague com- 
 mission, a sort of carte blanche to lie as 
 his fancy might please him, keeping always 
 within the limits of safety, or to tell as 
 much of the truth as he misfht know or 
 was already known, he then became a very 
 admirable envoy indeed. 
 
 It has once or twice occurred to me, 
 that an Ambassador stands towards the 
 nation which employs him, in very much 
 the position of a hall porter, whose duty
 
 THE BEAN AXD HIS DAUGHTEE. 141 
 
 it is to sit in a big chair, to wear a 
 gorgeous livery, and to tell any falsehood 
 which may be put into his mouth. 
 
 And I must here except the hall porters 
 of clubs, for I understand that the hall 
 porter of a properly constituted club, such 
 as the Athseneum or Carlton, for instance, 
 develops a power of mendacity mingled 
 with affability, and of oflficial .severity 
 coupled with polished courtesy, which in the 
 diplomatic service would inevitably make 
 his fortune. 
 
 If the Foreign Office were wise, instead 
 of setting young men to work to write 
 precis and to study antediluvian maps of 
 Europe, it would insist that each of them 
 should serve a novitiate of three months 
 as porter at a club. 
 
 In that capacity they would acquire 
 many invaluable gifts. In the first place,
 
 14-2 TEE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 they would gain absolute control over their 
 features, so that they should betray nothing. 
 If clouds of doubt should flit over them, 
 or smiles of assurance light them up, the 
 cloud and the smile alike should be as 
 much under their command, as are the whirl- 
 wind and the storm to the rider of the 
 one and the controller of the other. 
 
 Now had not it been ordained, possibly 
 before the very foundations of the world 
 were laid, that my husband was to be in 
 the diplomatic service, as no doubt it 
 was also ordained in the same divine 
 scheme of the universe, that my father 
 should be a Dean w^ith gaiters and buckles, 
 and a rosette on the brim of his hat 
 exactly in what anatomists would term the 
 section of median plane, I cannot help 
 feeling certain that my husband would have 
 made a most admirable hall porter himself.
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER 143 
 
 As a diplomatist lie was overweighted, 
 and it was to a certain extent a cruelty 
 to send him out for younger and cleverer 
 men to twist him round their fingers and 
 laugh at him. 
 
 Providence was unkind to Sir Henry. 
 As towards my father, she had been 
 recklessly prodigal. In a Cathedral the 
 proper place for my esteemed parent would 
 have been that of verger. 
 
 He would have trotted about with the 
 silver rod and the dove at the tip of it, 
 with immense dignity. He would have 
 carried his robes decorously. He would 
 have been profound over the archaeology of 
 the Cathedral. And, above all, he would 
 have impounded silver coinage from tourists 
 with a taste for antiquity, and candidates 
 for a choir seat for afternoon service, with an 
 exactitude worthy of the Fugger family itself.
 
 144 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 And yet my father was a Dean, and 
 my husband an Ambassador in promise and 
 practical certainty. Why do we not now 
 and again make a sweep out of our place- 
 holders, and try the experiment of an 
 appointment or two given in honest accord- 
 ance with merit ? 
 
 However, there the world is. And I 
 should say that any attempt to influence 
 the routine of the Foreign Office would be 
 about as hopeful as a corresponding eflfort 
 to change the precession of the equinoxes. 
 
 Many wise sayings stand upon record 
 credited to wise men. Each of the seven 
 sages of Greece has his own. But history 
 has not left on record the name of the 
 village blacksmith, who, when asked by a 
 Deacon, who objected to his profanity, to 
 fix a limit to the powers of Divine Om- 
 nipotence, replied that he would give Divine
 
 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGETEE. 145 
 
 Omnipotence its run for a fortnight between 
 the Atlantic and the Pacific, and would 
 lay drinks that it couldn't make the village 
 clock strike less than one. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The time slipped by. I found each particular 
 day wearisome, but I had not kept a reckoning 
 of their number, so that I neither looked 
 forward nor backward, as did Robinson 
 Crusoe when he cut his notches in his 
 wooden cross. 
 
 My one object literally was to kill time. 
 I could not read much, for 1 was certain to 
 be interrupted, so that my reading hours 
 were principally those of my morning 
 chocolate, over which I would linger as long 
 as I possibly could. 
 
 Then would come, if the day were at
 
 TEE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 147 
 
 all fine, the morning drive, and a little 
 shopping. I believe that many women take 
 to shopping as men take to whist or billiards, 
 because it kills time, and not because they 
 have any particular fancy for it. There 
 would be people to luncheon, and the in- 
 evitable afternoon tea, with Mrs. Fortescue's 
 exasperating cackle, and then, unless we 
 were entertaining ourselves, I had usually 
 to dine out. I know that I was heartily 
 tired when the day was over. 
 
 SleejD for women is what tobacco seems 
 to be for men, and I, who six months ago 
 was always up with the sun, or nearly so, 
 now began to find myself an inveterate idler. 
 I was rapidly, in short, learning the art 
 of doing nothing and thinking of nothing. 
 And, I am almost ashamed to confess, my 
 mind was often for long intervals as vacuous 
 
 as that of a boy who sits with his clapper 
 
 L 2
 
 148 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 on the top rail of a gate scaring away the 
 birds. 
 
 Sir Henry had ceased to be indiflferent 
 to me. He was becoming, indeed, tedious 
 beyond words, and a source of positive 
 irritation. His small talk seemed every day 
 more empty, and his egotism more insufierably 
 prolix and tormenting. 
 
 And the worst of it was that he was 
 so intolerably contented with himself. People 
 will tell you that, as a body, artists — using 
 the word in its widest sense — musicians, 
 singers, painters, and actors, are the most 
 conceited class in the world, never talking 
 except of themselves and their own per- 
 formances. They lay themselves open to 
 the charge, I will admit ; but a diplomatist 
 is, of all bores and prigs that this unhappy 
 world produces, out and away the worst, the
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. U9 
 
 most pretentious, the most fatiguing, and 
 the most self-asserting. 
 
 The late Lord "Westbury once told a 
 distinguished member of the Eojal College 
 of Heralds, a Garter King-at-Arms, or some- 
 thing of the sort, that " he was a silly old 
 man, who did not even understand his own 
 silly trade." 
 
 Now, diplomacy is not a silly trade, and 
 ought not to be so. But, to tell the plain 
 truth, Sir Henry certainly did not under- 
 stand it, and was most certainly, as I was 
 now thoroughly convinced, a very silly old 
 man indeed. 
 
 His speech, with its assumption of pro- 
 fundity, was but as sounding brass or as 
 the tinkling cymbal. His good nature, such 
 as it was — and he was naturally kind and 
 courteous — was ruined by his pomposity. A
 
 150 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 child likes a ripe peacli, but will not have 
 it at any price if an intolerable oration is 
 to be the penalty. And was there not once 
 a refractory negro in Jamaica w^ho inter- 
 rupted his well-deserved punishment with 
 the expostulation, " Massa preachee if massa 
 like, and massa flogee if massa like, but no 
 preachee and flogee too " ? 
 
 Wilkes, whose ugliness, at any rate, has 
 never been disputed, used to say that with 
 twenty minutes in which to talk away the 
 horrible first impression produced by his 
 features, he would match himself in the 
 salon against any man in Europe. I some- 
 times used to think of this as I heard Sir 
 Henry orating in his own' peculiar manner, 
 and used to feel a perverse desire to be able 
 to set Wilkes and Doctor Johnson at him, 
 with perhaps that model of diplomacy, Count 
 Anthony Hamilton, to serve as picador.
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEE. 151 
 
 What I say of diplomatists is said while 
 I am thinking of our English representatives. 
 Eussians and Austrians, and the representa- 
 tives of the Sublime Porte are, I at once 
 admit, charming, clever, and immensely 
 amusincr • while the American Ambassador is 
 always a chartered libertine, with all the 
 license about him of a schoolboy home for 
 the holidays, and kn intense desire to make 
 himself pleasant. Besides, he is usually a 
 man of real note in his own country. He 
 may be Mr. Lothrop Motley, or he may be 
 Hosea Biglow, but in any case he is certain 
 to prove the light of any society in which 
 he is thrown. 
 
 Meantime, the period of our departure 
 for Constantinople grew nearer, and, to tell 
 the simple truth, I became every day more 
 and more resolutely determined not to go. 
 In this resolution, which I suppose I must
 
 152 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 somehow have made apparent, Mr. Sabine 
 concurred and fortified me. 
 
 I had asked him, as a great traveller, to 
 tell me what he knew of Constantinople, 
 and he gave me a very doleful picture. The 
 Turkish women, he said, of whom I should 
 have to see a good deal, are far more stupid 
 and uninteresting than the young ladies from 
 a select academy in the suburbs — say Ham- 
 mersmith or Brixton — which receives the 
 daughters of commercial gentlemen upon 
 reciprocal terms. 
 
 They do not even, he continued, talk 
 scandal, for they know nothing of ^vhat is 
 going on. They devour sugar-plums and cake 
 by the hundredweight. To ingratiate your- 
 self with them you must appear loaded with 
 lollipops. They smoke cigarettes, and, when 
 they can get it, drink brandy and soda-w^ater,
 
 TEE EEAX AXD EIS DAUGHTER. 153 
 
 whicli their attendants smuggle in under their 
 capacious robes. 
 
 Nine out of ten of them, he told me, 
 could not read, so they content themselves 
 with illustrated papers, especially, if they 
 can g:et them, old numbers of the Petit 
 Journal pour Rire, the broad colouring of 
 which pleases them. In their children they 
 take no manner of interest, and their average 
 intelligence and vivacity are not to be com- 
 pared for a moment with those of an English 
 maid-of- all- work "out for her monthly Sunday. 
 
 ''The Turks," he said with a laugh, ^'be- 
 lieve that women have no souls. They have 
 treated them on that assumption for centuries, 
 and from all that I could make out, the 
 soul of a Turkish woman, including her 
 intelligence, was as absolutely atrophied as 
 are the feet of a Chinese lady of rank.
 
 154 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 You will find the Harem, Lady Craven* 
 perfectly intolerable ; and the worst is, that 
 you will probably be compelled, whether you 
 like it or not, to spend several hours of your 
 day in it. I confess I am sorry for you." 
 
 ''I don't think that I shall go," I replied. 
 
 " If you take my advice, you won't," 
 said Mr. Sabine. 
 
 The more that I thought over this, the 
 more determined I became that under no 
 circumstances whatever would I accompany 
 Sir Henry on his mission. The matter was 
 not difficult, after all. I had simply got to 
 enter a direct and positive refusal, giving 
 as many reasons as possible, and taking par- 
 ticular care never to give the same reason 
 twice. 
 
 Sir Henry, in all probability, would go 
 without me. If so, all the better. If he 
 decided to stay at home, I should still be
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEB. 155 
 
 troubled with him, of course, but I had now 
 learned how to reduce this trouble to a 
 minimum. The struggle for liberty was 
 bound to come sooner or later, and it might 
 perhaps as w^ell come soon as ]ate. 
 
 So, having thus marshalled my forces, I 
 placidly awaited the results, in the serene 
 assurance of smart skirmishing and ultimate 
 victory. AYhen the fighting really commenced, 
 I am bound to admit that I found it warmer 
 than I had anticipated. Sir Henry at first 
 was going to send for my father ; but I 
 pointed out to him that my father, now 
 comfortably ensconced in his deanery, would 
 be the last man in the world to embroil 
 himself in the matter, and that, if any 
 attempt were made to drag him into it, 
 he would take to his bed-room or run aw^ay 
 to Switzerland, or even further from the 
 scene of conflict; and Sir Henry, who had
 
 156 THE DEAN AND EIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 pretty well gauged my father by now, saw 
 the force of this. 
 
 The matter in dispute was of course 
 the mission to Constantinople, together 
 with my determination that nothing should 
 persuade me to take part in the journey, 
 or sojourn there. 
 
 *'But," remonstrated Sir Henry, "I 
 cannot possibly go without you. The 
 Foreign Secretary distinctly understands 
 that we are to go together, and, indeed, 
 expects it." This was of course nonsense. 
 *' The expectations of the Foreign Secretary," 
 I replied, '' are interesting ; but I do not 
 recognise them as binding upon myself, 
 and I am afraid that I shall have to 
 disappoint him." 
 
 Sir Henry began to talk voluminously, 
 and not very diplomatically. " You are very 
 unreasonable. Lady Craven," he said, "and
 
 TEE DEAN AND EIS DAUGHTER. 157 
 
 most ungrateful. You seem utterly to 
 forget how much you and your father 
 owe me. I have raised you from a position 
 of obscurity to the very front rank of 
 European society. I have given you 
 everything for which a woman can wish. 
 You have now an opportunity which a 
 peeress might covet, and you are rejecting 
 it out of mere pique, or something worse." 
 
 He had by this time fairly worked 
 himself up into a passion. "For my own 
 part," he continued, " I put my foot down. 
 I insist, for once in a way, upon being 
 obeyed, and I will be obeyed. I am 
 speaking and acting for your good, and 
 I have to tell you that I insist upon 
 your accompanying me. Let us waste no 
 more words or time over the matter." 
 
 "And I, Sir Henry, have in turn to 
 tell you that I utterly refuse to go, and
 
 158 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 that I also refuse to discuss the matter 
 further. It is idle to do so." 
 
 Sir Henry turned livid with passion. 
 "You tell me that you refuse to go," he 
 said, as if doubting the evidence of his 
 ears. 
 
 "Most certainly. I refuse to go. Pray 
 let us talk no more about the matter." 
 
 We did talk no more about the matter, 
 on that occasion at any rate, for Sir Henry 
 swung round on his heel and left the room, 
 slamming the door after him. So far 
 clearly the campaign had been in my 
 favour. It is always well to win the first 
 pitched battle. 
 
 The fightiug had been sharp, and I 
 recruited myself with a strong cup of tea, 
 and then, by way of complete rest, went 
 to bed, and soon read myself to sleep 
 over some story or other by Gaboriau,
 
 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEB. 159 
 
 the plot of which was too recondite to 
 be followed by the limited amount of 
 human patience remaining to me at the 
 time. 
 
 What Sir Henry did, or thought, or 
 what he said or to whom he said it, was 
 entirely indifferent to me. But 1 have 
 very little doubt that he went away to 
 the Travellers' Club and ventilated in that 
 sanctum of diplomatists, his own wrongs 
 and my ingratitude. If so, I can only 
 hope that he bored his listeners and got 
 snubbed for doing so. 
 
 The next afternoon I received from 
 him a very long and intensely diplomatic 
 communication, of which I can only say, 
 as a celebrated individual did once of a 
 similar statement of facts, that it had much 
 in it that was true and much that was 
 new, but that what was true was not new,
 
 160 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 and what was new was most certainly not 
 true. 
 
 It had evidently been drafted, reconsidered, 
 and copied, but I did not see that it called for 
 an answer, and I consequently locked it up in 
 my despatch-box and did not trouble to reply 
 to it. Why should I have done so ? 
 
 August had commenced, and London was 
 emptying rapidly for the moors, the Solent, 
 and the Continent. As there were now but 
 two or three weeks left before Sir Henry's 
 departure, it was decided that we should 
 spend them at Cowes, and Mrs. Fortescue 
 had arranged to accompany us. 
 
 My husband had given way at last with a 
 very bad grace, and had determined to go to 
 Constantinople alone. It was decided that I 
 could remain in St. James's Square, if I 
 pleased, or could take a furnished house at the 
 sea-side or in the country.
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 161 
 
 I declared that St. James's Square would 
 weary me, and it was consequently shut up. 
 For myself I selected a small house at 
 Brighton — so small that it would be impos- 
 sible for the Very Eeverend the Dean to 
 quarter himself upon me. It was in the 
 Montpelier Road, and the little bow windows 
 had a distant view of the sea. 
 
 As I should have no cellar, and contem- 
 plated early dinners, and a return to the 
 simplest mode of life, I looked forward to a 
 quiet and comfortable existence, and I think 
 that the modesty of my plans to a very great 
 extent appeased Sir Henry's indignation and 
 satisfied him that my objections to Constanti- 
 nople were sincere. 
 
 Anyhow when we parted, he was more 
 than usually gracious and paternal, and 
 expressed a gallant wish that I should write 
 to him regularly, if not at any great 
 
 YOL. I. M
 
 162 TEE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEE. 
 
 length, with which, of course, I promised to 
 comply. 
 
 " God bless you, my dear Miriam," he said. 
 " I shall use all my influence to expedite the 
 appointment to the Court of St. Petersburg. 
 I really cannot blame you for selecting a 
 house too small for the accommodation in the 
 fitting style of your worthy father, who, if he 
 comes to Brighton in search of rest, will find 
 every comfort at one of the hotels. I wish 
 you could have come with me ; but I suppose 
 that I must for the present, until the Foreign 
 Office fulfils its very distinct assurance to me, 
 acquiesce in our temporary separation as inevit- 
 able. Should you need anything you can 
 telegraph to me, and I will at once attend to 
 any request you may have to prefer, knowing 
 beforehand that it will be reasonable." 
 
 And with these solemnities he took his 
 departure , in ambassadorial state, with a
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGRTEB. 163 
 
 separate compartment, an attache extracted 
 from the Foreign Office, and Watson and a 
 courier in the next carriage. He thoroughly 
 understood the effect in this world of keeping 
 up appearances. 
 
 It was a relief to find myself alone in my 
 little house in the Montpelier Koad, and more 
 absolutely my own mistress than I had before 
 been in my life. 
 
 M 2
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 Alone at Brighton. Nevertheless, I found 
 the place insufferably dull. I believe its 
 only merit to be its easy access from London. 
 An immense amount of nonsense is talked 
 about the air ; but I have never been able 
 to see that the air of Brighton is in any 
 way better than any other, or that the 
 Brighton downs are a bit better than any 
 other downs. 
 
 Americans, in moments of ill-advised con- 
 fidence, will tell you that Saratoga itself is 
 an over-estimated place, and that if you are 
 
 i
 
 TRE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 165 
 
 rash enough to try it, you will find it very 
 , tiresome and stupid, and, to use their own 
 expression, with no more points about it than 
 any other place. 
 
 Brighton, so far as I have troubled my- 
 self to inquire into its history, owes its 
 success to the people who have visited it. 
 The Thrales, if I remember rightly, actually 
 persuaded Dr. Johnson to go down there ; 
 and Dr. Johnson's opinion of Brighton was 
 by no means a pleasant or a flattering one. 
 Then the Prince Eegent went there and 
 built himself the Pavilion; and after this we 
 find Brighton gradually becoming more and 
 more a London suburb. Dr. Blinker has his 
 select academy there for young gentlemen. 
 Big hotels grow up ; and, finally, the Brighton 
 of to - day is no more the pleasant little 
 watering-place it once was, than is West 
 Kensington, with its immense avenues of
 
 1G6 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 stucco palaces, the dear old Kensington which 
 Thackeray so loved. 
 
 For my own part I found Brighton, and 
 everything belonging to it, so intolerable 
 that, one evening, in a fit of worse than 
 usual despair, I wrote to Mrs. Fortescue 
 and suggested that a change of air might 
 possibly do her good. 
 
 She had been most careful not to lose 
 sight of me since we parted at Cowes ; and 
 had, in fact, about twice a week reminded 
 me of her existence, and of her extreme 
 and, indeed, almost sisterly aflfection for 
 myself. 
 
 Consequently I happened to know that 
 she was at this moment quartered on some 
 friends in the neighbourhood of Sandriug- 
 ham. She had sent me most glowing 
 accounts of Sandringham itself, and of the
 
 TEE JjEAX AXD BIS DAUGHTER. 167 
 
 exalted personages there, and of the great 
 fun she was having. 
 
 So I wrote pleasantly, I hope, but not 
 at all enthusiastically, suggesting that a few 
 weeks at Brio^hton mio^ht recruit her, and 
 spent quietly with myself, prove a pleasant 
 contrast to the vortex of gaiety in which 
 she had lately been plunged. 
 
 I received my answer with a promptitude 
 as appalling as that with which oiir trades- 
 men down at Ossulston used to respond to 
 my father's airy suggestion that they should 
 send in their accounts. 
 
 Mrs. Fortescue was absolutely wearied of 
 Norfolk. She had never been more bored 
 in her life. It had been well enough for 
 the first few days ; but she had soon found 
 out that the men talked about nothing 
 except the crops and the partridges ; and 
 the women about nothing whatever except
 
 168 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 the toilette. Their ideas on this subject, she 
 added, were as primitive as their clothes, 
 which latter must unquestionably have come 
 out of the Ark. 
 
 " It will be the most delightful change, 
 my dear Miriam, to be with you once again 
 and to enjoy, if only for the shortest time, 
 complete rest which my poor shattered 
 nerves sadly need, and a little rational con- 
 versation which I can assure you I need 
 still more. 
 
 ** I shall start at once, or as soon, at 
 any rate, as I can make a decent pretext 
 for leaving. And, to be with you again, 
 will remind me of the many happy hours 
 we spent together in St. James's Square. 
 
 " Pray remember me most kindly to the 
 Dean, who, of course, before long will be 
 wearing the mitre. I am getting tired of 
 the pomps, if vanities, of this wicked world;
 
 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 169 
 
 and I wish he would pick me out an 
 elio^ible second aoiono- his Minor Canons so 
 that I could go to choral service twice a 
 day and hear the rooks caw in the Cathedral 
 Close, and walk in the beautiful old cloisters 
 if it were wet, and read 'Holy Living and 
 Dying,' and get the Christian Year by 
 heart, and do my best to forget a very 
 great number of years which I am afraid 
 have been shamefully wasted. 
 
 " I do not mind telling you in con- 
 fidence, that, when I went the other day 
 to have my hair singed, I was told to my 
 horror that there was a gray hair here and 
 there amongst it. Of course, I have had 
 rather more than mv fair share of trouble. 
 But, even so, dear, one does not like to 
 get old before one's time." 
 
 A postscript added that she would not 
 of course brinoj her maid, as, doubtless, my
 
 170 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 treasure, Jackson, would be able to attend 
 to her few simple wants. 
 
 The widow was as good as her word, 
 and made her appearance with military 
 promptitude. One fly conveyed herself, 
 and another her trunks, each as long as 
 cofiins and twice as roomy. And she was 
 more than ever radiant with delight and 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 The sea made her feel at least ten years 
 younger. So, at any rate, she declared. 
 She was astonished to find Brighton so 
 little altered. Did Mutton's still exist ? Did 
 we still 2:0 for morninor rides on the downs ? 
 And was that charming physician still 
 practising in Koyalty Square ? And so she 
 rattled on, with a string of disconnected 
 questions, never once waiting for an 
 answer. 
 
 I judged it upon the whole to be the
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 171 
 
 safest policy, so far as my own nerves were 
 concerned, to let her run herself down. 
 Ultimately, when she had asked all her 
 questions, and told me all her news, and 
 suggested that after a long journey a 
 cup of tea with cognac in it had been 
 positively ordered her by Sir Humphrey 
 Jorkins, she retired to dress for dinner, 
 leaving me to reflect on what I had let 
 myself in for. 
 
 I began almost to repent of my unfilial 
 conduct towards the Dean, and to wish 
 that I had him down with me, and 
 could so play ofl" my two visitors one 
 against the other. 
 
 At dinner I need hardly say Mrs. 
 Fortescue, knowing or guessing that there 
 was champagne in the house, declared 
 that she positively required a glass to 
 steady her nerves after the terrible vibration
 
 172 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEB. 
 
 of the express ; so a bottle was pro- 
 duced and two glasses were filled. She 
 finished the remainder herself, and I can 
 honestly declare that it made her more 
 loquacious, communicative, and critical than 
 ever. 
 
 She put me up to a wrinkle, as she 
 termed it, which was nothing more than 
 the fact that brandy and water is really 
 necessary to " settle " champagne. " Else, 
 dear Miriam," she added, " the champagne, 
 pleasant and exhilarating as it is, will 
 most infallibly settle you, and leave you 
 with a terrible headache the next morning." 
 
 So she had her brandy and water. The 
 Dean, to do him justice, used to call things 
 that he liked to eat and drink by their proper 
 names. I almost began to wonder whether 
 she would not tell me that her medical 
 man had recommended her a cigar. She
 
 TEE DEAX AXD HIS DAUGHTER. 173 
 
 stopped short, however, at this particular 
 trial of my patience, and contented herself 
 with two or three diminutive Egyptian 
 cigarettes ; and after several attempts to 
 keep herself awake, declared that the journey 
 and the change of air had thoroughly ex- 
 hausted her, and that she should not be 
 herself again until she had had a thorough 
 night's rest. 
 
 It was a somewhat dreary outlook with 
 the certain, prospect of a fortnight at least. 
 So I resigned myself to the inevitable, and, 
 as I blew out my candle, could not help 
 wishing I were the man on the Eddy stone 
 Lighthouse, or St. Simeon on his column, 
 or even Teufelsdrockh in his garret. Any 
 of these places would have, at all events, 
 the one advantage of affording a sanctuary 
 from Mrs. Fortescue.
 
 174 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 A day or two after my guest's arrival, 
 we were walking, or, rather, sauntering in 
 the morning along the King's Koad, crowded 
 as usual with its indescribable mixture of 
 Brighton residents and Brighton visitors, 
 flys, Bath chairs, goat chaises, boarding 
 schools in double file, Jews as obtrusive 
 as their own noses, and here and there 
 an Indian Ayah with her baby, when it 
 pleased Mrs. Fortescue to become suddenly, 
 unaccountably, and violently agitated. 
 
 " My dear," she exclaimed, *' there he 
 is ! I declare, there he is ! What on earth 
 are we to do ? " 
 
 " There is who ? " I asked somewhat 
 snappishly. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Sabine, my love. Look, 
 he has seen us, and is coming up." 
 
 Mr. Sabine it proved to be, looking
 
 TEE BEAN AND EIS DAUGHTEE. 17 o 
 
 completely himself. He bad been knocking 
 about, be explained apologetically, as if be bad 
 no business to be in Brigbton at all. He 
 had been to all kinds of places, to Deauville, 
 to Homburg, to Baden, and Carlsbad, and 
 they had all * alike tired bim out. They 
 were dull and tedious. He had now come 
 to Briorbton to o-et out of the wav, and 
 to see what entire rest and the air of the 
 Sussex coast would do for bim. 
 
 He bad brought nobody with bim, and 
 bad not expected to meet anybody, least 
 of all myself, whom be bad supposed to 
 be anywhere rather than in this terrible 
 London-sur-Mer, where the Londoners had 
 succeeded in spoiling and blighting every- 
 thing except the glorious Channel breezes. 
 
 Hitherto, his forecast had proved correct. 
 He had found himself as entirely alone as
 
 176 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 if he were at Margate, or Blackpool, or 
 Weston-super-Mare. He was stopping at the 
 ** Old Ship," where there was not a person 
 whom he knew, and he was dividing his 
 time pretty impartially between the tennis 
 court, the Parade, and the downs. It was 
 quite a relief to meet a face he knew. Where 
 were we stopping ? Might he vary the 
 monotony of his own existence by looking 
 in to afternoon tea ? 
 
 So he went on until he had fairly 
 launched Mrs. Fort esc ue on the full flood 
 of her small talk. AVhen she showed signs 
 of stopping, he caught the ball, and threw 
 it back to her. And thus, before I could 
 tell, how it had all happened or come about, 
 we found ourselves back again in front of 
 my house in Montpelier Eoad. 
 
 I was about to say that I was obliged 
 to ask him in. This, however, would not
 
 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 177 
 
 he strictly the truth, for I was, if anything, 
 glad of the chance. 
 
 He was, anyhow, a relief to Mrs. 
 Fortescue's persistent babble, which was 
 becoming as wearisome as that of Tennyson's 
 brook. He needed no pressing, but came 
 in at once, and stepped quite naturally 
 into the part of a tame cat. 
 
 He showed us how to make tea in the 
 Kussian fashion, and to drink it with little 
 slices of lemon instead of cream and sugar. 
 He rallied Mrs. Fortescue on her weakness 
 for an occasional cigarette. He told us 
 how Eussia is the only country in the 
 world where you get champagne, because 
 it forestalls for years in advance the entire 
 yield of the champagne district ; the only 
 country in the world where fresh caviare 
 is to be procured, and the only country 
 where you get genuine tea, because Russian 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 tea is brought overland by caravan, and so 
 does not lose its aroma in the course of a 
 sea voyage. 
 
 The more he talked, the more it became 
 impossible to avoid contrasting what he 
 had to tell us with the terrible platitudes 
 of Sir Henry. And I began at last in- 
 dolently to wonder whether he might not 
 be possessed of some secret mission from 
 St. Petersburg, and so probably know far 
 more about my husband and his foibles 
 than he might choose to reveal. 
 
 The idea was amusing, if a little far- 
 fetched, and I could almost fancy I heard 
 Sir Henry himself ponderously declaring, 
 as if it were a new discovery doing himself 
 infinite credit, that Mr. Sabine was evidently 
 a most highly-educated young man, with 
 exceptional abilities and powers of observa- 
 tion, who must have spent many years of
 
 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 179 
 
 his life in travel, and have mixed in the 
 most exclusive circles. 
 
 When Mr. Sabine at last took his 
 departure, Mrs. Fortescue was comparatively 
 youthful with radiance. 
 
 "Did I not always tell you so, my 
 dear Miriam ? Is he not marvellous ? I 
 believe there is nowhere he has not been, 
 nothing he has not done, nothing that he 
 cannot tell you all about. I sometimes 
 wonder whether he is not the Wanderino: 
 Jew himself, of whom they tell you at 
 Venice, where he last condescended to 
 show himself, that he was the most ac- 
 complished and fascinating person in the 
 world. You have never read the 'Wan- 
 dering Jew,' I suppose. I know that Mr. 
 Sabine always brings him to my mind. 
 Only they say the Wandering Jew is 
 indiscreet at times, and apt to let out who 
 
 N 2
 
 180 TEE DEAN AND EIS DAUGBTEE. 
 
 he is and where he has been. Catch Mr. 
 
 Sabine letting out anything about himself. 
 
 Why, he does not even keep a servant, for 
 
 fear the fellow should chatter about where 
 
 he has been and v^hat he has done. I 
 
 am sure that there cannot be any other 
 
 reason, for he has plenty of money. At 
 
 Vienna he ran horses in his own name, 
 
 and had over some of the best English 
 
 jockeys; and at Paris last year, towards 
 
 the very end of the season when we were 
 
 all ffrumblinof about the heat and wishing 
 
 ourselves at the North Pole, it turned out 
 
 that he had actually gone right up to 
 
 Spitzbergen and the Kara Sea in a yacht 
 
 of his own, and had shot white bears, and 
 
 had speared walrus, and driven a sledge of 
 
 Esquimaux dogs, and seen the sun in the 
 
 sky for weeks at a time."
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEE. 181 
 
 " He seems a very wonderful man," I 
 remarked. 
 
 "Next time he comes, mention Patagonia. 
 I am sure you will find he has been there, 
 like dear Lady Florence Dixie, and seen 
 the cannibals, and in all probability, if he 
 were to own to it, shot a number of them, 
 which would be quite justifiable seeing th*at 
 they are terrible creatures who have no 
 religion, and do not cook their food, and 
 murder you, if they get the chance, by 
 strangling you with a piece of rope and 
 a bie stone at each end of it. I declare, 
 my dear, that, fascinating as he is, he 
 sometimes makes me, in spite of myself, 
 feel quite uneasy and almost creepy." 
 
 Of course I could only reply, that for 
 my own part I saw nothing so very 
 terrible about ]\Ir. Sabine, and did not con-
 
 182 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEB. 
 
 sider that Mrs. Fortescue need be under 
 any immediate apprehension. 
 
 *'It's not myself, my dear," said Mrs. 
 Fortescue, nodding her head most sagely 
 and emphatically. " It would be vanity on 
 my part to pretend as much. But you 
 should be very careful with him, Miriam. 
 I am quite sure that he is a very dangerous 
 man ; not at all the man," she added, *' for 
 a Devonshire village, or even a Cathedral 
 town, and I doubt whether there is much 
 that he could learn even in Vienna itself. 
 Perhaps dear Sir Henry may be able to 
 give him a wrinkle or two on his return 
 from that shockingly wicked city, Constan- 
 tinople, which they say combines all the 
 vices of the old world and the new, with- 
 out a single redeeminsr virtue from either. 
 If anybody could be a match for him, it 
 would most certainly be Sir Henry."
 
 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 183 
 
 And with this parting stab in the back 
 both for Sir Henry and for myself, my 
 good friend retired to divest herself of her 
 war paint, and see what a night's sleep 
 could do towards temporarily repairing the 
 inexorable ravages of time.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Things went on in this way for several 
 weeks, it may very well have been six or 
 seven or even more ; I will not really under- 
 take to say. I know, however, that I had 
 heard from Sir Henry several times. With 
 shorthand clerks at his disposal, his tendency 
 to be prolix grew upon him, and I actually 
 believe that the tedious letters he sent me 
 were rough drafts of despatches afterwards 
 toned down, mellowed, and varnished for 
 the Foreign Office. 
 
 I used to read them having nothing 
 much else to do, and dutifully to acknow-
 
 THE BEAN AND BIS DAUGHTEE. 185 
 
 ledge them and answer any questions they 
 might contain. And in a dull, methodical 
 kind of way I folded them up and docketed 
 them, and put them away in a despatch 
 box. This was really the only responsibility 
 which my marriaore at this time entailed 
 upon me. 
 
 Mrs. Fortescue still stopped on, and 
 showed no intention of goins:. She reminded 
 me of one of those funny little animals 
 w^hich you see at the Aquarium — the hermit 
 crab. 
 
 Mr. Hermit Crab has powerful claws, 
 and a well-armoured chest, but the remainder 
 of his body is hopelessly soft and unpro- 
 tected. So he fixes himself, tail first, into 
 some convenient shell — usually that of a 
 deceased whelk, hiding his defenceless portion 
 within it, and boldly thrusting his mailed 
 half out at the door. When he is tired
 
 186 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 of his particular shell he gives it up for 
 another, and if he sees a smaller hermit 
 than himself with a more comfortable home, 
 he promptly lugs him out of it and takes 
 possession himself. This was Mrs. Fortescue 
 all over. 
 
 At present she had a shell that suited 
 her. But she was ready any day to change 
 it for a better. She had not even the common 
 industry of the spider which constructs its 
 own web, or the caddis worm which builds 
 its own house. 
 
 But on the other hand she was distinctly 
 amusing, and in many ways very useful. 
 She was a parasite, no doubt, but one of 
 those parasites that give no annoyance. On 
 the contrary, she always had some happy 
 suggestion as to how the day ought to 
 be spent. She took all the trouble of house- 
 keeping off my hands. She could guess
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS BAUGHTEE. 187 
 
 my humours, and knew to a nicety when 
 to speak, and when to keep a tranquil and 
 golden silence. 
 
 And I think I may honestly say that, 
 in my case at any rate, she was exempt 
 from flattery, which is the besetting weak- 
 ness of parasites. If anything, she was 
 frank, and would even take me to task 
 with such justice that it was impossible to 
 be angry, and with such geniality and 
 humour that it was equally impossible not 
 to be amused. 
 
 In fact, I reall}^ believe that she had 
 found me useful at the outset, and had 
 ended by liking me as heartily as it was 
 in her nature to like anybody. 
 
 Mr. Sabine soon became a regular visitor. 
 There was no yachting at Brighton, he 
 explained, because it w^as a lee shore, and 
 harbourless. The Briorhton Harriers were
 
 188 THE BEAN AND HIS DAFGHTEB. 
 
 beneath contempt, the thing was a gallop 
 from first to last, with no hunting in it, 
 and if there was a check for more than 
 ten seconds, the hounds were lifted. It 
 was no more hunting than circus riding 
 is horsemanship. 
 
 For himself, he had long ago come to 
 the conclusion that one of the greatest 
 pleasures in life is to do nothing in your 
 way and at your own time. And he thus 
 found sufficient occupation. 
 
 When Mrs. Fortescue pressed him as to 
 how he dealt with the " wicked old enemy," 
 and begged him with much coyness to 
 teach her his infallible secret of perpetual 
 youth and spirits, he answered cheerfully 
 that he feared the methods which he em- 
 ployed were beyond a lady's reach. 
 
 He used, he explained, to commence 
 the day with a plunge into the sea from
 
 TEE DEAN AND EIS DAUGETEB. 189 
 
 the bathino: station under the end of the 
 pier; then he allowed the weather to guide 
 him. Sometimes he would play tennis ; at 
 others he would oo out with the fishincr 
 boats ; at others walk or ride on the downs. 
 Sometimes he would drive tandem, a secret, 
 he added, which not even Americans had 
 ever mastered, although American gentle- 
 men were our equals in most things, and 
 our betters in not a few. 
 
 Cricket, tandem, and tennis, were all 
 peculiarly English. They all required 
 nerve, health, high animal spirits, and con- 
 siderable patience and practice ; and it was 
 for this reason that he was so fond of 
 them. 
 
 Of course Mrs. Fortescue had nothino- 
 to say in reply. The least approach to 
 common-sense was always sufficient to 
 neutralise her babble of common-place.
 
 190 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 And Mr. Sabine combined the strongest 
 common-sense with a humour which, as he 
 pleased, could be either genial or exas- 
 perating. Mrs. Fortescue certainly did not 
 seem to find it genial. 
 
 Some few days later I was out alone, 
 Mrs. Fortescue had got what she called a 
 sick headache. I turned on to the Parade 
 and was leisurely making my way towards 
 Hove, when I recognised a springy step 
 behind me, and the next moment Mr. 
 Sabine w^as at my side. 
 
 I was more than usually disposed to wel- 
 come him, for I was irritated out of measure 
 with the Dean, with my husband, and I 
 might almost say with the world generally. 
 
 Mr. Sabine seemed to divine this, and 
 almost majestically accommodated himself to 
 my humour.
 
 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEB. 191 
 
 I remember he had with him an im- 
 mense hound almost as large as a calf, and 
 brindled, with white feet and a white blaze 
 on its chest. I inquired about the 
 monster, and Mr. Sabine told me that it 
 was a bearhound from the keunels of the 
 Czar at Moscow, and that he had ob- 
 tained it through the Eussian Ambassador 
 at Paris. 
 
 "Look at him," he said, as, half in 
 play, and half by way of reminder towards 
 good behaviour, he gave the brute a gentle 
 kick in the ribs, *'he will tackle a Eussian 
 bear almost as big and as heavy as a dray 
 horse, and enjoy the business into the 
 bargain ; as for a man unarmed, he would 
 tear his throat out in a moment." 
 
 ** A nice sort of animal to take about," 
 I remarked. 
 
 " I have been warned once or twice," he
 
 192 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 replied, " that it is dangerous to keep him ; 
 but Serge obeys me, don't you, Serge ? " 
 
 And Serge, hearing his name in the in- 
 terrogation, looked up with an ugly kind 
 of growl, fawned with his tail, and, in 
 obedience to the gesture, slunk to heel and 
 slouched along behind us. His manner 
 in its canine fashion was so distinctly 
 belligerent as to almost make one feel 
 uncanny. 
 
 Of one thing I am certain, that dogs, 
 although they cannot use human speech, 
 understand far more of it than might be 
 believed. 
 
 Presently, I cannot tell bow, I found 
 Mr. Sabine talking to me in a low tone, but 
 earnestly and almost passionately. I knew 
 that I ought not to listen. I knew that 
 I ought to leave him then and there, to 
 seek any refuge, to escape from him under
 
 TEE DEAN AND ELS DAUGETER. 193 
 
 any pretext. And yet I listened and let 
 him talk on. 
 
 I liad read before then how the ser- 
 pent fascinates its prey, and how the snake 
 charmer in his own turn asserts the ulti- 
 mate superiority of man by fascinating the 
 serpent. No one who has ever been in 
 the East doubts for a moment that cer- 
 tain Hindoos possess this particular skill 
 just as certain men — Van Amburgh, Carter, 
 Bidel, and Maccomo — are born dompteurs, 
 before whom the most savage beast quails. 
 
 Now this man had this particular kind 
 of power, whatever it may be and how- 
 ever acquired. There was nothing super- 
 natural in it. 
 
 Van Amburgh would have laughed in 
 your face if you had told him that he 
 relied upon anything beyond the jDower of 
 his own nerves consciously exercised. So 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 it seemed to be with Mr. Sabine. He had 
 made up his mind to have his own way, 
 he took it, and he had it without the 
 show of dispute. 
 
 For myself I ought hardly to say that 
 I began to abandon all idea of resistance 
 to his wishes ; for, to be exact, the very 
 word abandon implies quite as much a 
 conscious resolution as is involved in the 
 act of laying down your arms or hauling 
 dow^n your flag. 
 
 I somehow found myself drifting, as a 
 sailinof vessel will in a strono^ current when 
 there is not so much as a capful of wind 
 to fill her sails or give her the way to 
 hold to her helm. 
 
 I knew perfectly well what was going 
 to happen. I could see it all before me 
 as did Tennyson's " Lady of Shalott " when, 
 ** seeing all her own mischance, with a
 
 TEE BJEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 195 
 
 ghastly countenance she looked down to 
 Camelot." 
 
 AVhy should I trouble ? Why weary 
 myself ? Destiny was stronger than I and 
 would work things out in its own way. 
 
 One evening, about the beginning of 
 November — as a matter of fact it was the 
 very first day of that month — Mr. Sabine 
 called in the afternoon. It was five o'clock, 
 and twilight was past. Mrs. Fortescue was 
 indisposed, a bad sick headache had con- 
 fined her to her room. Such, at all events, 
 was her excuse ; although I believe that, 
 as a matter of fact, she was awaiting the 
 arrival of certain very special cosmetics from 
 town, for the fresh air of Brighton tries the 
 complexion terribly, as poor Mrs. Skewton 
 found out. 
 
 After we had some tea Mr. Sabine 
 suggested a stroll, and I gladly threw on 
 
 2
 
 196 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 a heavy cloak and sallied out with him 
 on to the Parade. We sauntered down the 
 King's Koad, and as we made our way 
 along a smart man in quiet navy blue 
 and gold buttons, with a broad gold band 
 round his cap, stepped forward, touched 
 the peak of his cap, and fell back again. 
 
 "I had quite forgotten to tell you," said 
 Mr. Sabine carelessly, " my yacht is lying 
 here. Would you care to see her ? We can 
 go on board for a few minutes." 
 
 We went down some battered old stone 
 steps and picked our way over the shingle 
 where a four-oared cutter was lying in 
 wait, every man at his thwart and the 
 coxswain in the stern. 
 
 In a moment we were off, and before 
 I knew it I was on board the yacht. It 
 was so dark that I could make very little 
 out ; but I distinctly remember the quiet
 
 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 197 
 
 luxury and comfort of the cabin, which was 
 fitted in dark walnut with deep crimson 
 velvet and gold and lit by swinging lamps 
 most carefully trimmed. 
 
 We seemed to have been expected. 
 Anyhow, a steward, unordered, brought 
 in a variety of dainties worthy of the 
 ** Arabian Nights," and I just remember 
 running riot like a schoolgirl with a cup 
 of chocolate, some superb grapes thickly 
 covered with their own bloom, and some 
 little marvels of French confectionery, all 
 of which appeared and disappeared. 
 
 Mr. Sabine having obtained my permis- 
 sion by way of formality to light a cigar, 
 and having accomplished the process satis- 
 factorily, removed it from his mouth and 
 gravely commenced : 
 
 " Suppose, Lady Craven, at this moment 
 you began to hear the engines throb and
 
 198 THE BEAN AND HIS VAUGHTEB. 
 
 to feel the vessel vibrate, and found that 
 we had weighed anchor and were under steam 
 for the South?" 
 
 I just hesitated for a moment. Then 
 I looked at him and said defiantly : 
 
 "You would never do such a thing. 
 You know as well as I do that it would 
 be cowardly. And, whatever you are, you 
 are not a coward." 
 
 He seemed pleased and laughed merrily. 
 
 "No," he said, "it would be a very 
 cowardly thing to do and very treacherous. 
 I always prefer fair fight. It is utterly 
 untrue that all is fair in love and war. 
 It is not fair, for instance, to buy a man's 
 daughter at the price of his debts, a 
 position, and an income. I value nothing 
 myself for which I have not fought. Look 
 there." 
 
 He pointed to the cornice of the cabin,
 
 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 199 
 
 and I saw in a small glass case, grinning 
 through reeds and sedge, the head of an 
 Indian tiger. Beneath in a smaller case 
 hung a heavy hunting knife. 
 
 '' I killed him ^vith that," he said ; 
 *' ripped him up, in fact, before he had 
 time to perform the same service for my- 
 self. Here is one of his claws." And he 
 detached from his watch-chain an immense 
 talon set in a filaoTee of crold. 
 
 "And here, if the sight of it will not 
 make you scream or faint, is the scar." 
 And he drew up his sleeve above the 
 elbow. There, clearly enough, ran down 
 the whole length of the arm a long, deep 
 scratch, looking as if some cruel steel hook 
 had been dragged like a ploughshare through 
 the flesh. 
 
 I could not help a little cry. 
 
 ''OR no," he laughed, "you need not
 
 200 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGBTER. 
 
 be afraid of me, Lady CraveD. I love you 
 too deeply not to respect you, and I have 
 full faith in my own star. Everything in 
 this world comes to the man who trusts 
 himself, whether his object be an embassy, 
 or a pearl beyond the price of empires. 
 Come ; let me see you ashore." 
 
 He blew a shrill call on a whistle and 
 offered me his arm up the companion. 
 At the side of the vessel lay the long 
 boat, and . after a very few strong, sharp 
 strokes her bow was grinding on the shingle. 
 
 He sprang on the beach and held out 
 his hand. In a second I was by his side. 
 We were exactly opposite the street leading 
 to Montpelier Road, and in a very few 
 minutes I was at my own door. 
 
 ** I deserve something," he said, with a 
 low laugh, " for my self-denial in not slipping 
 cable as, if I recollect my Eton days rightly,
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 201 
 
 Jason did. But I will not inflict myself 
 upon you to-night ; I shall try to find 
 you in to-morrow. Meantime I think I shall 
 for once in a way stroll round to the 
 club and have a game of billiards. I feel 
 exactly in the nerve for it." 
 
 I had taken off my right glove and 
 had given him my hand. He caught my 
 hand and raised it to his lips. The glove 
 he thrust into the breast of his coat, and 
 he then stood bareheaded in the street 
 for one or two brief seconds until the 
 door had closed upon me. 
 
 Mrs. Fortescue had heard that I was 
 out. Apparently the news had restored her, 
 for she had come down to the sitting-room 
 and was patiently aw^aiting my arrival. 
 
 " Where on earth have you been, dear 
 Miriam, at this unearthly hour, and in this 
 terrible weather ? "
 
 202 THE BEAN AND HIS D AUGHT EE. 
 
 I looked her full in the face. " I 
 have been to and fro upon the earth, 
 Mrs. Fortescue, something like Satan in the 
 Book of Job, who went about looking for an 
 honest man. I, however, have been looking 
 for an honest woman, and, not finding 
 her abroad, have come home to yourself." 
 
 " You are joking, my dear," simpered 
 Mrs. Fortescue, as a bright red patch 
 burst out upon each cheek, blazing luridly 
 through the powder and enamel. 
 
 ** No, Mrs. Fortescue ; on the contrary, I 
 never was more in earnest in my life. And 
 now that I am at home at last, and really 
 very tired with the sea air, I think I shall 
 go straight to bed." 
 
 " Won't you have any dinner ? " 
 
 I declined all creature comforts, and in 
 their place ordered an ample supply of hot 
 water to be taken up to my bed-room.
 
 THE DEAN AXD HIS DAUGHTEE. 203 
 
 Then I sat for awhile before the fire and 
 watched its ruins crumble away into bridges 
 and mountain-passes, and at last I arose 
 with a superstitious kind of shudder, and, 
 after a brief ofood-nio^ht to Mrs. Fortescue, 
 made rnj way to my own room. 
 
 The day had thoroughly wearied me out, 
 and I was soon asleep. My sleep, however, 
 was disturbed by dreams, not so much 
 terrible as amusing. 
 
 Somehow or other we were all on board 
 the yacht together, and my father, in a 
 moment of abject depression from sea-sick- 
 ness, had proposed to Mrs. Fortescue and 
 been accepted by her. And Sir Henry was 
 writing ceaseless despatches, and talking 
 to everybody. And ^Mr. Sabine was at 
 the wheel, and I was seated close by 
 him. 
 
 And then the sea and the sky together
 
 204 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 turned into one glorious glimmer of dim 
 purple light. The waves fell. Our path 
 lay through great beds of water-lilies, the 
 stars hung down from Heaven, as if you 
 could reach out your hand and pluck them 
 like ripe fruit. And then, somehow, there 
 stole over me the sense rather than the 
 sound itself of dim far-off music, and my 
 tired eyelids closed on my tired eyes.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 OxE afternoon, about a fortnight later, I 
 was in the drawing-room, reading. It was a 
 dull day, and I was near the fire, which 
 crackled cheerfully. The particular book 
 that interested me happened to be, by 
 a curious kind of coincidence, Beckford's 
 **Vathek/' 
 
 I had given orders that I was not at 
 home, so I was not troubled by a loud 
 knock at the door. To my surprise, the 
 person who had knocked came straight in, 
 straight up the staircase, threw open the 
 door and entered the room.
 
 206 THE LEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER 
 
 It was Sir Henry himself, and he was 
 obviously in a state of the most extreme 
 and violent excitement. 
 
 I rose to my feet and advanced to greet 
 him, but he waved me back with both his 
 hands, and I could see that he was quivering 
 with emotion. 
 
 In a few seconds he sufficiently recovered 
 himself to sit down. I, for my part, re- 
 mained standing, not to give myself any 
 advantage over him, but simjDly in utter 
 bewilderment. 
 
 AVhen he found speech at last, his 
 utterance was slow and laboured, and I 
 cannot help admitting that I was seized 
 with a fear lest he should be taken suddenly 
 with a fit. 
 
 '* I have heard everything," he said, or 
 rather stammered out, "and I know every- 
 thing. Explanations and excuses are out
 
 THE BEAN AXD HIS DAUGHTER. 207 
 
 of the question. I have come down to-day, 
 against the express advice of my solicitors, 
 to let you know as much, and also to tell 
 you that in this world we shall never meet 
 again. I could wish it had been otherwise. 
 It is a sad ending to my life, and it is 
 absolute ruin to yours. But we cannot 
 undo what has been done. I suppose — I 
 know you never cared for me ; but I had 
 hoped you might learn, at any rate, to like 
 me. That hope is now past, and it only 
 remains for both of us to forcret, if we can 
 possibly do so." And here the old man 
 fairly broke down. 
 
 I was so astonished, that I could hardly 
 ask what he meant, and what had happened 
 to so agitate him. 
 
 " Don't pretend ignorance," he replied ; 
 " you understand me perfectly well. Heaven 
 know^s this miserable business gives me more
 
 208 THE DEAN AND HIS BAUGHTEB. 
 
 pain than it does you. Your father, I do 
 not suppose, will trouble himself. But I have 
 my own honour to guard, and where that 
 is concerned, I am resolute and immovable." 
 
 Ao^ain I looked at him in blank bewilder- 
 ment. 
 
 ** I do not suppose you will marry 
 him," he proceeded. "In fact, I am sure 
 that he will never marry you, and had 
 never the slightest intention of doing so, 
 under any conceivable set of circumstances, 
 whatever he may have led you to believe 
 or suppose. I must say good-bye, I cannot 
 say God bless you ; but I hope that the 
 remainder of your life may be happy, and 
 its end brighter than that of mine is now 
 destined to be." 
 
 Again I advanced towards him, and 
 again he motioned me away. Then he 
 passed through the door, and I heard him
 
 TEE DEAN AND EIS DAUGHTER. 209 
 
 descend the stairs with slow steps and 
 make his way into the street. From the 
 window I saw him get into a fly, and 
 motion the flyman to drive away. 
 
 I sat down for some few minutes and 
 wondered ; but my wonder did not help me 
 to any solution of the problem. Then I 
 hastily hurried on a bonnet and cloak, and 
 made my way down to the Parade, where 
 I walked slowly along, revolving the situa- 
 tion and wondering dazedly what might 
 come of it. 
 
 Never, I suppose, could woman have 
 felt more helpless and isolated in this 
 world. My father, the Dean, was the 
 frailest of all broken reeds. Jackson had 
 evidently somehow been making mischief 
 for her own purposes. Llr. Sabine bad 
 gone to town, as I knew. Mrs. Fortescue 
 was the only soul to wbom I could turn ; 
 
 VOL. L p
 
 210 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 and I had never longed for her so much 
 as I did at that minute. 
 
 As luck would have it, I met her within 
 a very few seconds. She was making her 
 way homewards and quickened her paqe as 
 she saw me. 
 
 "Why, Miriam, what is the matter with 
 you ? You look as if you had seen a 
 ghost ; and I believe you are trembling. 
 In fact, I can see you are. We cannot go 
 to Mutton's with you looking like that. 
 Now you just come with me." 
 
 She seized my arm, hurried me along 
 for some few yards, and then dragged me 
 into a chemist's shop, where she admin- 
 istered a compound which she ordered 
 unhesitatingly. One notices trifles at times 
 like these, and I noticed that the chemist 
 seemed amused at her professional know- 
 ledge.
 
 THE DEAN AXJD HIS DAUGHTER. 211 
 
 The mixture was a curious one. It 
 tasted, or rather smelt of chloroform, spices, 
 and lavender. But ^Yithin a minute after 
 I had swallowed it, I felt the colour return- 
 ing to my cheeks, and the blood coursing- 
 through my veins. 
 
 We left the shop, and made the best 
 of our way home. Mrs. Fortescue motioned 
 me to the sofa and said, " Lie down, my 
 dear child." Then she rang the bell sharply, 
 and inquired for Jackson. 
 
 Miss Jackson had gone out. 
 
 '*That is all right," laughed Mrs. 
 Fortescue, as the door closed. Then she 
 locked the door itself, and gently and 
 deftly inserted her pocket-handkerchief into 
 the key-hole. Then she came and sat down 
 on the edge of the sofa by my side. 
 
 "Now, my dear, I can guess pretty well 
 
 what is coming ; but at the same time, I 
 
 p 2
 
 212 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 am dying to hear all about it from yourself 
 ia your own way. Of course, you have 
 heard from that old mummy, and he has 
 threatened all kinds of things." 
 
 *' Sir Henry has been here," I replied. 
 
 *' Whew ! " Mrs. Fortescue fairly whistled 
 in her amazement. *' I never knew such a 
 mummy so galvanised before. Come here 
 himself, has he ? And did he condescend 
 to articulate speech, or was he diplomatic 
 and unintelligible ? Or did he tear his wig, 
 and crack his stays with emotion, genuine 
 or feigned ? " 
 
 "Not at all," I said. "None of these 
 things. The matter is far more serious than 
 you think, and of that I am convinced. 
 He was very deeply moved, and evidently 
 in earnest. He told me that we should 
 never meet again, that I was disgraced for
 
 THE BEAN AXD HIS DAUGHTEE. 213 
 
 ever, that he had left the whole matter to 
 his solicitors, that he should refuse to see 
 me, and that he should take no explanation 
 or excuses." 
 
 "Oh, indeed," said Mrs. Fortescue, snap- 
 ping her lips together smartly. " Oh, indeed, 
 what a very big man, to be sure ! Almost 
 too big to condescend to be Ambassador, 
 even at St. Petersburg. Well, my dear, 
 I should say for my part, if I were you, 
 that the whole thing was a lucky riddance 
 of bad rubbish, and should be disposed to 
 feel correspondingly thankful. And is that 
 really all?" 
 
 ''That is all," I answered. ''Surely it is 
 enough." 
 
 "Enough, my dear Miriam," said 'Mis. 
 Fortescue. " Quite enough. I do not see how 
 things could possibly have turned out better."
 
 214 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 This was a novel view of the situation 
 for me, and I wondered what it might 
 mean. 
 
 " Look here, my dear,'' and the little 
 woman began to check off her points upon her 
 fingers. " You are rid of your father for life, 
 that is the first clear point you have scored. 
 You are rid of your husband, who says he is 
 never coming back. Mind you keep him to 
 that promise. Well, that is the second point. 
 You have not a magnificent but a very good 
 income. You are entirely your own mistress, 
 and of course the old fellow cannot live for 
 ever. What there is to grizzle about I fail 
 to see." 
 
 " Sir Henry is going to divorce me," I 
 stammered out. *' I shall be disgraced for 
 ever," and here 1 fairly broke down. 
 
 *' Divorce you!" cried Mrs. Fortescue. 
 *' Where are his proofs? He cant go
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 215 
 
 into Court on his suspicions, you know. Sus- 
 picions go for nothing, even in diplomacy. 
 Where are his proofs ?" 
 
 At this moment there was a knock at the 
 door. I held up my finger for silence, and 
 then quietly undid the lock. It was the 
 housemaid — a pleasant girl enough, too 
 honest to have been listening, and too simple 
 to have understood anything if she had. 
 
 "What is it, Mary?" I asked. 
 
 '*If you please, my lady. Miss Jackson 
 have just gone away, my lady, and have told 
 me to tell your ladyship that her wages is 
 paid up to date, and that she'll send for her 
 boxes to-morrow morning." 
 
 Mrs. Fortescue looked at me and laughed. 
 " Voila la vipere dans les fleurs. That woman 
 was about as bad and treacherous an egg as 
 ever was hatched into a basilisk or cockatrice, 
 or whatever you call it. Now we know every-
 
 216 TEE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 thing, my dear. * Tell a lie and stick to it, 
 which is the eleventh commandment with 
 promise.' Dear me, dear me, what fools we 
 must have been ! Do you know I really feel 
 as if I should like to have that woman stabbed 
 in the back, or tied up in a sack and thrown 
 into the sewers ; or otherwise unpleasantly 
 disposed of."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Next morning about eleven o'clock, Mrs. 
 Fortescue and I were sitting together 
 chatting unconcernedly, and really without 
 any thought of the matters that so 
 gravely menaced my peace of mind. 
 
 I after all had come to accept the 
 position, and to see that at the very 
 worst I should be a gainer in certain 
 respects. 
 
 I had changed a state of slavery in 
 what was little better than a hovel, under 
 my father, for a slavery in many ways more 
 irksome, although the bars of my cage
 
 218 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEB. 
 
 were gilded. Probably Sir Henry would 
 fail in the august tribunal presided over 
 by Sir James Hannen. Justice is not always 
 infallible ; but my cause must assuredly 
 prevail. In any case I should be rid of 
 my father, rid of my husband, and 
 comfortably provided for for the remainder 
 of my days. 
 
 Kecollect what a strange life mine 
 had been, and then think how I must 
 have welcomed the prospect of liberty, 
 even though it came with unwelcome 
 conditions. 
 
 I should be at last, assuming the very 
 worst, an entirely free woman, as free as 
 the air, still young and without the loss 
 of a single soul whom I loved or cared 
 for. 
 
 There was shrewd wisdom in what 
 Mrs. Fortescue had said ; and I began
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEE. 219 
 
 to feel the same reckless spirit again 
 coming over me as that in which I had 
 flung away Sir Henry's money in Paris. 
 
 While . I was thinking over these 
 things, seated in the window and looking 
 down the street towards the sea, I saw 
 Mr. Sabine coming towards the house 
 with a cioar in his mouth. 
 
 I mention this little detail, because 
 it is one of many circumstances that 
 will enable my readers to form their own 
 judgment of the man. A fly was passing 
 him and he stopped it. A few words passed 
 between him and the driver. Then 
 the man took the cigar from Mr. Sabine, 
 put it into his own mouth, touched his 
 hat gratefully, and drove on. 
 
 '' There's a man for you, my dear," said 
 Mrs. Fortescue. " I dare say that cigar 
 cost him two shillings or half-a-crown ;
 
 220 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER, 
 
 and so, although he has only just begun 
 it, he gives it to that cabman, who has 
 never smoked anything like it before in 
 his life, and never will again. Now I 
 call that simple, unaffected kindness from 
 the heart. It has the secret of kindness, 
 which is thoughtfulness." 
 
 Mr. Sabine (I have before described his 
 peculiar gait) slouched along to our door, 
 knocked, and was shown in. 
 
 The first thing to be done was to tell 
 him all that had happened. He listened 
 without interruption, and with an expres- 
 sion of amusement on his features. 
 
 " Did you ever hear anything more 
 monstrous, more shameful, more outrageous, 
 more downright and abominably mean and 
 contemptible, and cruel and vindictive in 
 your life ? " asked Mrs. Fortescue, stamping
 
 THE BEAN AND BIS DAUGHTER. 221 
 
 her foot by way of emphasis at each 
 important adjective. 
 
 " I don't know," he answered lightly. " I 
 really feel disposed to say for ray own part 
 that after one or two things which I have 
 seen, and one or two others that I know 
 of, nothing astonishes me. Sir Henry is, 
 to put the matter as mildly as possible, 
 a miserable, unhappy old fellow, eaten up 
 with doubts and fears and vanities, as 
 much of his own creation as Falstaff's men 
 in buckram, and entirely devoid of even 
 those redeeming points which his age and 
 experience ought to have given him. His 
 morbid vanity would be ludicrous were it 
 not, as it happens, so troublesome. 
 
 " Well, he must go his own way. There 
 is no help for it. The faithful Jackson 
 will of course do her duty — that is to
 
 222 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 say, she will lie through thick and thin. 
 There will be any number of other wit- 
 nesses at a few pounds ahead to swear to 
 all kinds of things that never happened, 
 and whose evidence will tally as neatly as 
 the pieces of a Chinese puzzle, when it has 
 been fitted together by the ingenuity of 
 counsel. 
 
 ''There will, be a stupid jury utterly 
 incapable of appreciating evidence, and the 
 counsel for the petitioner will tell them 
 that he leaves the case with confidence 
 in their hands, never having yet seen or 
 addressed twelve more intelligent men. 
 Dear me ! It almost reminds me of 
 * Pickwick.' When a juryman is in doubt, 
 or when he wants to get away, he always 
 finds for the plaintiff. The plaintiflf would 
 not have gone to law, he argues with
 
 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER, 223 
 
 himself, unless he knew he was right, and 
 he must know a great deal more about it 
 than we do." 
 
 TVe both burst out lauofhing-. Then Mrs. 
 Fortescue said : " Pray light another cigar, 
 Mr. Sabine. Neither of us mind." 
 
 " I never smoke in the morning," he 
 answered gravely. 
 
 " That," I replied, shaking my finger 
 at him, *'is wickedly untrue. We saw you 
 smoking as you came along, and saw you 
 give your cigar away." 
 
 He laughed, and lit a cigar. Common- 
 place as the remark may seem, I cannot 
 help noticing here, that it is only your 
 bourgeois who needs a genuine request to 
 be pressed upon him. As the blue smoke 
 began to curl about the room, Mrs. Fortescue 
 produced champagne.
 
 224 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Quite harmless, my dear," she observed, 
 " if properly qualified." And she filled up 
 the tumblers with seltzer from a gazogene. 
 
 We were laughing and talking together, 
 when 1 heard a parley in the passage, and 
 then the steps of a man on the stairs. The 
 door was opened without the formality of 
 knocking, and a painfully respectable-look- 
 ing man, about fifty years of age, mth 
 gold-rimmed spectacles, and a silk umbrella, 
 made his appearance. 
 
 '•'Lady Craven?" he asked, looking from 
 me to Mrs. Fortescue. 
 
 I inclined my head. 
 
 *'This is for you, my lady." And he 
 politely handed me a piece of paper. '' This 
 gentleman, I presume, is Mr. Sabine ? I 
 thought so. And this is for you, sir. That 
 lady, I presume, is Mrs. Fortescue ? "
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 225 
 
 "Good Heavens, man!" burst out Mrs. 
 Fortescue, " you're not going to serve ncie 
 with a citation, are you ? My poor husband 
 has been dead for years." 
 
 " No, madam. But I wished to be 
 able to recognise you again. Good-day, my 
 lady ; good-day, madam ; good-day, sir." 
 And with a bow that Sir Henry himself 
 might have studied with advantage, the 
 stranger withdrew. 
 
 There were a few seconds of silence. 
 Then Mr. Sabine shook himself, and said 
 very quietly and steadily : *' Do not allow 
 yourself to be troubled by all this, Lady 
 Craven. I will watch over you from first 
 to last, and the one thing absolutely 
 necessary at present is that you should 
 keep your mind at ease. Whatever you 
 may do, you must not allow yourself to 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER, 
 
 break down. It would be fotal to the 
 last degree. Mrs. Fortescue must look 
 after you most carefully.*' 
 
 "Trust me for that," cried the little 
 woman. *'Mr. Sabine is quite right, my 
 dear. And now for to-day at any rate we 
 will let this unpleasant matter pass alto- 
 gether out of our minds. Mr. Sabine, 
 you mustn't dine here ; you must iSnish 
 your champagne and seltzer and go aw^ay. 
 Call to-morrow morning about ten, and if 
 you are very good and penitent, and the 
 weather is very fine, I will go out for a walk 
 with you myself. We must have no more 
 worry to-day. Now get away at once to 
 the tennis court, or to your yacht, or any- 
 where you like, and do not trouble us 
 any more. Sufficient for to-day has been 
 the trouble thereof."
 
 TEE BEAN AXD EIS DAUGETEB. 227 
 
 Mr. Sabine laughed and took liis de- 
 parture. 
 
 "Now look here, my dear," again in- 
 sisted Mrs. Fortescue, "no more talk about 
 this worry. Xo more shop ; we've had 
 quite enough for to-day. I for myself 
 am going to be happy." 
 
 And, by way of giving practical effect 
 to this virtuous resolution, she poked the 
 fire vigorously, composed herself in an arm- 
 chair, and began to toast her feet. 
 
 There was another ring at the door 
 that afternoon, and there were more steps 
 on the staircase. Even Mrs. Fortescue 
 looked puzzled. 
 
 " Come in," she snapped out viciously, 
 as a knock made itself heard on the door. 
 " Come in, whoever you are." 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 The door was opened again, and the 
 Very Keverend the Dean of Southwick ap- 
 peared on the threshold and stepped into 
 the room. 
 
 His gaiters, his buckled shoes, his de- 
 canal coat, his shovel hat with its rosette, 
 were faultless. " Dressed for his part, my 
 dear," as Mrs. Fortescue afterwards most 
 unfeelingly observed. 
 
 My father seated himself witli solemn 
 dignity, and in his own way took up his 
 parable. 
 
 " Miriam," he said, looking at Mrs. For- 
 tescue, " I wish to speak to you alone." 
 
 *'And I do not intend to speak to you 
 alone, papa. I had much sooner that 
 Mrs. Fortescue remained." 
 
 He was not at all staggered by the 
 rebuflP. Mrs. Fortescue, describing the inter- 
 view afterwards, claimed the result as being
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 229 
 
 *• first blood" for myself, whatever that 
 may mean. 
 
 " Then, Miriam, I must say that I have 
 come down with the very deepest pain 
 and grief, and I must also add the very 
 deepest sense of shame and humiliation. 
 I know everything ; and no one feels more 
 deeply than myself that the present is not 
 a time for upbraiding. I have come because 
 it is my sad duty as a father to — to — 
 to " 
 
 "To do what, Mr. St. Aubyn ? " burst 
 in Mrs. Fortescue. " Do you think your 
 daughter wants you down here pottering 
 and bothering about like a bumble bee 
 under a glass ? What c{ood on earth can 
 you do, and who wants either you or your 
 interference ? " 
 
 " 1 am not addressing my remarks to 
 you, madam," interposed the Dean. " I
 
 230 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 liave my own opinion, as every right- 
 thinking person must have, of your conduct 
 — of the guilty part you have played in 
 this terrible tragedy." 
 
 *' Have you ? " asked Mrs. Fortescue. 
 " And what may be your opinion of your 
 own part in it ? Take my advice, Mr. 
 Dean, go back to your hotel. Have you 
 not the tact to see that you are not 
 wanted ? " 
 
 Utterly regardless of this interruption, 
 my father continued : 
 
 *' This terrible, this crushing news, 
 Miriam, has reached me from Sir Henry 
 himself. He himself suo^o-estcd — so at least 
 I gathered from his letter — that I should 
 come down here ; I should have done so 
 in any event. It is a fatal and indelible 
 stain that you have inflicted upon the 
 family name. Were your poor mother
 
 THE DEAN AXL EIS DAUGHTEB. 231 
 
 alive she would never have survived the 
 shock. For myself I am heartbroken ; I 
 shall never again dare to lift up my head. 
 A life that might have been of service 
 under Divine guidance to the Church, and 
 possibly to the State, is hopelessly wrecked. 
 But why should I speak of myself? My 
 first duty, my daughter, is towards you." 
 
 I was by this time quivering with in- 
 dignation. "How dare you assume my 
 guilt ? " I cried out passionately. " How 
 dare you do it ? " 
 
 " Alas, my child," he said, " the matter 
 is beyond proof; it is idle to talk of guilt, 
 and innocence, and of proof, where every- 
 thing is known." 
 
 '* It is not idle ! " I answered, now 
 thoroughly roused ; " and you, who sold 
 me, are the last person in the world who 
 ought to constitute yourself my judge.
 
 232 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEB, 
 
 You sold me for your own price, and you 
 have received it. Now leave me and go ! 
 As surely as I shall have to answer in this 
 world and in the next, the guilt of all 
 this misery rests with you, with you 
 alone ! " 
 
 " I repeat, Miriam " 
 
 *' Go ! " I repeated, and advanced to- 
 wards him. I felt as if I were possessed. 
 I could feel the pulses in my head throbbing. 
 I could hear the beating of my heart as 
 distinctly as I heard the stamp of my foot 
 upon the floor. 
 
 My father looked round helplessly for 
 a minute, and then, with a limp effort to 
 retain his dignity, turned round and left 
 the room. 
 
 I never before saw him so thoroughly 
 cowed, even in the presence of the most 
 insistent and obdurate creditor. He posi-
 
 THFj bean and his BAJJGETER. 233 
 
 tively seemed to shriuk within his canonicals, 
 and his limbs trembled under him as he 
 aided himself by the balustrades down 
 into the street. 
 
 The tension had been too great, and I 
 only remember that, some time afterwards, 
 I found Mrs. Fortescue sponging my fore- 
 head with Eau de Cologne, and that the 
 room was swimming round me. 
 
 " No talking," said the little woman, 
 *' no talking. I have sent out for some 
 sal volatile, and here you are. Down with 
 it, and let me throw this cloak over your 
 feet, and then just go to sleep again. If 
 you don't, I shall send out for the doctor. 
 But if you are good, and do as you are 
 told, I will sit here by you, and won't 
 move until vou are all riorht ao-ain." 
 
 I smiled gratefully at her, and she sat 
 down close by me. Then my eyes closed,
 
 234 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGETEB. 
 
 and I suppose I must have fallen asleep 
 again ; for, when I next remember any- 
 thing, it was to find the room dark, and 
 it was not until I stirred that Mrs. Fortescue, 
 who was still sitting by me, lit the candles, 
 bustled about, attended to the fire, and, 
 her labour concluded, exclaimed trium- 
 phantly : " And now, my dear, we'll have 
 a nice quiet evening together, with no 
 more talking or worry. And I shall sleep 
 to-night in your room, in case you should 
 want me."
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 Mr. Sabixe, who bad not taken advantage 
 of Mrs. Fortescue's invitation, made his 
 appearance next morning about eleven 
 o'clock, and, of course, we began almost 
 immediately to discuss the crisis. 
 
 " Sir Henry," he said, '' has his own 
 solicitors. They are, I perceive from the 
 interesting document with which they 
 have favoured me, Messrs. Nisi, Slowcoach, 
 and Absolute, a very respectable firm j in 
 Lincoln's Inn Fields — just a sort^ of* firm 
 an Ambassador ought to employ. I- shall 
 have my own solicitor, of course, and
 
 236 TEE BEAN AND HIS DA UGHTER. 
 
 a separate defence. That is absolutely 
 necessary." 
 
 *'I know nothing about these matters," 
 I said. 
 
 *'You, Lady Craven, had better go to 
 Messrs. Wylie and Wylie, the sharpest 
 firm in London. I will give you a letter 
 of introduction to George Wylie myself. 
 He is about the cleverest man I know in 
 his profession, or out of it, and if he 
 takes up a case, con amove, will win it 
 if it is to be won. If he had gone to 
 the Bar he would have been an Attorney- 
 General long ago. The great advantage 
 of going to him is, when once you are 
 in his hands, you have really no further 
 trouble. He never needs to be stirred 
 up or even jogged. He takes a pride 
 in his work, and he can only pursue it 
 for its own sake, for one way or another
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEE. 237 
 
 he must be by this time a very rich 
 man." 
 
 I went up to town accordingly, and 
 saw Mr. Wylie — a sharp -featured little 
 man, dressed in perfectly good taste, and 
 with the most extreme possession of 
 manner. 
 
 He listened to what I had to say, 
 took notes of it, said that he would 
 arrange every detail, and give the matter 
 his own personal attention, and so bowled 
 me out with the assurance that I should 
 hear from him at once, if it were necessary 
 for him to see me again. 
 
 There was something in his manner 
 that seemed to reassure me, and I made 
 my way back to Brighton in infinitely 
 better spirits than when I left it. 
 
 There was evidently nothing more to 
 be done, except, as Mrs. Fortescue observed.
 
 238 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER, 
 
 to trust in Providence and keep our powder 
 dry. I really believe that Mrs. Fortescue 
 would, like Sir Thomas More, have joked 
 upon the scaffold. Meantime, by Mr. 
 Wylie's advice, Mrs. Fortescue and I 
 remained in Brighton, while Mr. Sabine 
 went away to London, although we heard 
 from him two or three times a week. 
 
 And I now began to see how much I 
 had misjudged Mrs. Fortescue. In the 
 moment of trial when I had imasfined she 
 would forsake me, she proved my most 
 staunch and kindest friend. She was with 
 me literally day and night. 
 
 I knew that it was her regular time 
 to return to Paris, and I pressed her to 
 go. But she answered that she had already 
 let her flat, and should consequently stop 
 with me. 
 
 What I should have done without her
 
 THE DEAN AXD HIS DAUGHTER. 239 
 
 I hardly like to think ; very possibly some- 
 thing foolish or desperate. But she kept 
 me bright and cheerful in spite of myself; 
 insisted on takinsf me out for walks and 
 
 o 
 
 drives ; assured me that dry champagne 
 was better than all the sal volatile in the 
 world, and made me act on the advice, 
 and kept me up chatting at night until 
 she could make sure in her own mind 
 that I was sufficiently tired to go soundly 
 to sleep the moment I went to bed. 
 
 " Sleep, my dear," she insisted, '' sleep, 
 champagne, and exercise are the three 
 finest things in the world for the health, 
 the temper, and the complexion. I believe 
 I should look ninety if I did not dose 
 myself with them regularly. They save 
 all your doctor's bills, and keep you young 
 and happy for ever. They are the salad- 
 dressing of life, which, without them, would
 
 240 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 be a very sorry dish indeed of very bitter 
 herbs." 
 
 I had forgotten to mention money 
 matters ; these gave me no trouble. I 
 received a letter from Messrs. Nisi, 
 Slowcoach, and Absolute, intimating that, in 
 order to avoid any unpleasant application 
 for alimony, they had received instructions 
 from their client to place a thousand pounds 
 to my credit at any bank I might direct; 
 and that, should the hearing of the suit be 
 at all delayed, a further sum would be 
 at my disposal on my application for it. 
 
 Thus, then, there was nothing to do 
 but to wait ; and I agreed with Mrs. 
 Fortescue that we might as well remain 
 comfortably at Brighton, as trouble our- 
 selves with a move or even with anything 
 like travelling.
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 241 
 
 In this manner nearly six months passed 
 pleasantly and almost rapidly away. Then, 
 after Easter, came what Mr. Wylie called 
 the summer sittings, and the case of Craven 
 V. Craven and Sabine found its way into 
 the list, and, as Mr. Wylie gave me to 
 understand, might come on any day. 
 
 Application was made to the Court to 
 fix a day for it, with an intimation that 
 it might possibly last two or three days, 
 if not more, and ultimately a day was 
 appointed towards the end of May. 
 
 The evening before I came up to town 
 with Mrs. Fortescue, and, at the suggestion 
 of Mr. Wylie, we took lodgings together 
 in Sackville Street. "Lodmn^s," said Mr. 
 Wylie, "look better than an hotel; and 
 Sackville Street is sufficiently near the Law 
 Courts, and is a most unexceptional locality." 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 TEE DEAN AND HIS DAUGETEB. 
 
 It is not my intention to go into the 
 details of the trial. I suppose it was very- 
 much like any trials of the same sort. A 
 vast amount of the evidence was purely 
 formal. 
 
 Sir Henry, of course, could prove 
 nothinof at all bearingr on the real issue. 
 The Very Keverend the Dean looked the 
 picture of paternal anguish, and with 
 sublime ingenuity contrived to give the 
 jury the impression that he had warned 
 me against Mr. Sabine, that he had 
 specially come up to London to do so, 
 and had been practically refused admission 
 by me to the house, and told to mind his 
 own business ; and — this of course — that 
 the whole thing would bring his gray 
 hairs with shame and sorrow to the grave. 
 His voice trembled with emotion as he
 
 THE DEAN AND ELS DAUGETEB. 243 
 
 told his story, and the jury were visibly 
 aflfected. 
 
 The important witness, the one whose 
 evidence decided the case, was Miss 
 Jackson. She had evidently kept a most 
 careful diary, and her memory was never 
 once at fault, although, as Mr. Wylie 
 whispered to me, she was far too clever 
 to overload herself with details. 
 
 She declared that the frequency of Mr. 
 Sabine's visits had aroused her suspicions ; 
 that she had spoken to me on the subject, 
 and had been sharply reprimanded, and 
 told to hold her tongue ; that, without her 
 constituting herself in any way a spy, cir- 
 cumstances had been so recklessly forced 
 upon her notice that she could not help 
 observing them. These circumstances she gave 
 in detail, with a most malignant ingenuity. 
 
 R 2
 
 244 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGETEE. 
 
 Ultimately, she said she had felt it her 
 duty to communicate with Sir Henry himself, 
 and, having done so, had of course left 
 my service. 
 
 Cross-examination failed to shake her in 
 any way, and I saw that Mr. Wylie by no 
 means liked the turn which her evidence 
 had given to the case. 
 
 The other witnesses on Sir Henry's side 
 were comparatively unimportant ; but the 
 jury exchanged glances with one another 
 when it was proved by the lawyer's clerk, 
 who served the citation, that he found Mr. 
 Sabine, Mrs. Fortescue, and myself altogether 
 in my sitting-room at eleven in the morning, 
 drinking champagne out of tumblers. 
 
 Another witness, whom none of us had 
 expected, was a coastguardsman, who proved 
 that, after dark, I had accompanied Mr. 
 Sabine on board his yacht, which was lying
 
 THE BEAN AND BIS DAUGHTER. 245 
 
 in the offing, and had stayed on board 
 at least a couple of hours. 
 
 Asked where the yacht and its crew 
 now were, he replied that, to the best of 
 his belief, they were now in the Mediter- 
 ranean, but that the yacht had sailed 
 shortly after my visit to her. 
 
 This piece of evidence was, of course, 
 strictly true, and I did not need Mr. Wylie 
 to tell me that it produced a very un- 
 favourable impression. 
 
 After this, even I had sufficient sense to 
 see that the case was virtually over. I was 
 called, and I, on my oath, denied the 
 shameful charore brouorht against me. And I 
 do not think that I was more nervous or 
 hesitating than might have been expected 
 under cross-examination. But I could tell, 
 instinctively, that the jury did not believe 
 me.
 
 246 THE DEAN AND HIS DAJJGHTEB. 
 
 Mr. Sabine made, as Mr. Wylie re- 
 marked to me, an admirable witness. His 
 account was that he pitied the lonely life 
 I led at Brighton, and that his attentions 
 had been entirely those, which, as a personal 
 friend of Sir Henry's, he had felt fully 
 justified in paying. 
 
 Mrs. Fortescue puzzled Sir Henry's 
 counsel extremely. It was admitted that 
 she had been staying with me, with Sir 
 Henry's consent, and that she consequently 
 enjoyed his confidence. 
 
 She declared that, with the exception of 
 the one visit to the yacht, she did not believe 
 I had been out of her sight the whole time 
 that we were at Biighton ; and, as she 
 afterwards said herself, the more they pressed 
 her with questions, the less change they 
 got out of hen 
 
 This practically ended the case, although
 
 THE DEAN' AND HIS DAUGHTER. 247 
 
 I can even now recollect the vigorous and 
 magnificently brilliant speech which my 
 counsel made in my behalf, and in which, 
 I am pleased to say, he did not at all go 
 out of his way to consider the feelings of 
 the Dean of Southwick, or even to spare 
 him unnecessary pain. 
 
 Terrible as the crisis was, I enjoyed 
 hearing things said of my father which I 
 had often felt, but never been able to express. 
 And when he spoke of my unhappy girlhood 
 without a mother's care, and without com- 
 panions, and invited the jury to believe 
 that I was, in reality, more ignorant of 
 the world and of its conventions than any 
 village schoolml could be, I did not need 
 Mr. Wylie to whisper to me that the case 
 was magnificently put. 
 
 The summing up was a very lucid re- 
 capitulation of the evidence, coupled . with
 
 248 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 what certaiuly seemed to me a somewhat 
 feeble runninor comment. 
 
 If, his lordship told the jury, they 
 believed the evidence of Miss Jackson, then, 
 of course, there was an end of the whole 
 matter, and it was for them to say whether 
 they believed her. If she was telling the 
 truth, she was only discharging a painful 
 duty. If she was telling falsehoods, they 
 must conclude that she was doing so out 
 of the most pure and wanton malignity, 
 inasmuch as it had not even been suggested 
 for a moment that I had in any way done 
 anything to arouse in her a feeling of 
 revenge. 
 
 Mrs. Fortescue's evidence was too nega- 
 tive to be of much service in enabling 
 them to make np their minds. As far as 
 it went it was in my favour, but it went 
 a very little way.
 
 THE BEAN AND HIS DAUGHTEB. 249 
 
 My own denial was no doubt entitled 
 to their most careful consideration, as also 
 was that of Mr. Sabine, the co-respondeut. 
 They could not shut their eyes to the fact 
 that on one side or the other there must 
 be something very like wilful perjury. It 
 was only their duty to remember the 
 gravity of the issues which they were 
 called upon to determine, and to allow no 
 consideration of the result of their verdict 
 to influence them in the slightest degree. 
 
 How far all this aided the twelve 
 Middlesex tradesmen who filled the box I 
 cannot pretend to say. They were absent 
 for about an hour and a half, and at the 
 end of that time they returned into Court 
 with their minds made up. 
 
 I could read the verdict of the jury 
 in the foreman's face before he delivered 
 it for himself and his companions. They
 
 250 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 found that I had been guilty of adultery 
 with Mr. Sabine on various occasions, and 
 more particularly on that when I had 
 visited the yacht. And the judge, without 
 any commeut, gave effect to their finding 
 in what Mr. Wylie told me were the usual 
 terms. 
 
 I felt stunned, and just remember Mr. 
 Wylie giving me his arm and leading me 
 out of Court. 
 
 Here I w^as a divorced woman, ruined 
 and disOTaced for ever, a thinof to be 
 shunned and avoided as if plague-stricken, 
 and yet, as I shall have to answer for it 
 in the last day, and in a Court w^here all 
 hearts are open, as absolutely and wholly 
 innocent of the foul charge brought against 
 me as a child could be. 
 
 I ouly just remember being helped into
 
 THE DUAN AND HIS JDAUGHTEB. 251 
 
 my brougham and driven rapidly back with 
 Mrs. Fortescue to Sackville Street. The 
 next thing I remember is waking up as if 
 from a long sleep and seeing that the room 
 was darkened and that there were medicine 
 bottles about, and that Mrs. Fortescue was 
 seated by my bedside. 
 
 " Now you are to be perfectly quiet, 
 dearest child," said she ; " and you are not 
 even to talk to me. If you do, I shall 
 have to leave you and hand you over to 
 a hospital nurse, which I am sure you 
 wouldn't like. So lie still and keep 
 quiet." 
 
 I smiled languidly and tried to sit up 
 in bed, but found I had not the streno^th. 
 Mrs. Fortescue, how^ever, managed to prop 
 me up with some pillows. Then she 
 sponged my face and hands with Eau de
 
 25-2 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 Cologne and water, and gently curled my 
 hair, which I noticed had been cut to 
 about a third of its length. 
 
 Then she gave me a glass of champagne 
 and milk. 
 
 "This is what you have been living 
 on, my sweet, for nearly a fortnight," she 
 said, " and now you must lie down again.'' 
 
 Just as docilely as a child, I did exactly 
 what she told me, and so lay for some 
 hours, as it seemed to me, watching the 
 pattern of the wall - paper and counting 
 the tassels on the fringes of the bed 
 hangings. 
 
 Then a stout tall man came, who felt 
 my pulse and smiled pleasantly. 
 
 " You will soon be able to be moved," 
 he said. " I think we must send you 
 to Torquay, or, at any rate, somewhere 
 south. Meantime you must be kept quiet.
 
 THE DEAN AXD HIS DAUGHTER. 253 
 
 and you must drink champagne whenever 
 Mrs. Fortescue £ere tells you to do so. We 
 all want to get you away from here and 
 to see the roses in your cheeks. But we 
 can't do that until you are strong enough 
 to be moved." 
 
 I must, indeed, have been terribly weak, 
 for this pretty little speech seemed almost 
 as interminable to me as the summing up 
 of the judge himself. It quite tired me 
 out. I remember Mrs. Fortescue handing 
 me a bunch of violets, which I smelt, and 
 then kept in my fingers. '^ They come 
 from Nice, my dear," she said, " where we 
 will go in the Ts^inter, if you will only 
 do as you are told, and get strong again. 
 As soon as you can be moved we will 
 leave town, and the sea air will soon bring 
 back the roses." 
 
 Then she sat down, took up a book,
 
 254 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 nodded at me kindly over the top of it, 
 and began to read, or to pretend to read, 
 with admirable industry. 
 
 I was now sufficiently recovered to realise 
 that I was indeed far weaker than I had 
 supposed. So I allowed my eyes to close 
 dreamily, and from weakness, for it could 
 not possibly be weariness, fell asleep again. 
 
 I found afterwards, what I did not then 
 know, that they had saved my life by 
 morphia, which had been actually forced 
 into my veins through a tiny little syringe 
 with a point no larger than a needle. 
 
 . I found also that for some days my life 
 had been despaired of; that Mrs. Fortescue 
 had never left my bedside ; that Mr. Sabine 
 had called twice, and sometimes three times 
 every day ; and that the Very Keverend the 
 Dean had left town for the Cathedral Close
 
 THE DEAN AXD HIS DAUGHTER. 255 
 
 on the evening of the trial, and the 
 Sunday after had preached a most affecting 
 sermon, in the delivery of which his 
 voice was frequently choked with emotion, 
 while the eligible widows and spinsters, who 
 formed the bulk of the cong-resjation, had 
 sobbed audibly. 
 
 The sermon was afterwards printed by 
 special request, and my father had actually 
 the assurance to send a copy of it to 
 myself, and another to Mrs. Fortescue, with 
 his own precious autograph on the title 
 page. *' A signature, my dear," said Mrs. 
 Fortescue, " which, before he got his deanery, 
 the smallest money - lender in England 
 would not have touched with a pair of 
 tongs." 
 
 And I could not help laughing, for I 
 knew that, when we were living at
 
 256 THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 Ossulston, my father was perpetually writing 
 to advertising money-lenders, who never so 
 much as condescended to even answer his 
 epistles. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAKLES DICKENS ANU EVANS, CKY8XAL PALACE PKESS. 
 
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