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 A GAEDEN OF MEMORIES 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN 
 
 LIZZIE'S BARGAIN
 
 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES 
 
 MRS. AUSTIN 
 
 LIZZIE'S BARGAIN 
 
 BY 
 
 MAEGAEET VELEY 
 
 AUTHOR OF ' MITCHELHURST PLACE, ETC. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 Hontion 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 AND NEW YORK 
 1887 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 <^ 
 
 V.I 
 
 f 
 
 ■J 
 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 r 
 
 A Garden op Memories — 
 
 
 I. 
 
 Without .... 
 
 
 11. 
 
 Within . 
 
 
 
 
 HI. 
 
 A Truce . 
 
 
 
 
 IV. 
 
 Why Not 1 
 
 
 
 
 V. 
 
 Of Drainage 
 
 
 
 
 • VI. 
 
 Salthaven 
 
 
 
 IS 
 
 VII. All of One Mind 
 Mrs. Austin 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 12 
 32 
 56 
 84 
 106 
 133 
 
 167 
 
 ^ 
 
 i 
 4
 
 A GAEDEN OF MEMORIES
 
 [This Garden of Memories holds a sad and most tender 
 memory for me. Thus far in my work I have had my sister's 
 sympathy, and I shall have it no more. Even in her weakness 
 she cared for the beginning of this story, chose it to be a re- 
 membrance of her, came, as it were, with faltering steps, a little 
 way into my garden, and I feel as if her grave were among its 
 blossoms. Often as I have wished that work of mine might 
 better deserve to live, I never wished it more than I do at this 
 moment, when, having finished this, I write upon it the name 
 of Constance. ]
 
 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES 
 
 1 
 
 WITHOUT 
 
 "June Aveatlier, 
 Blue above lane and wall." 
 
 The June sunshine lighted a dull little street, 
 where a row of small houses, mean, dirty, dilapi- 
 dated, faced a high wall. It was about three 
 o'clock, and Garden Lane was almost deserted, the 
 children being at school, and their elders at the 
 factory. Two or three loud-voiced, slatternly 
 women appeared and disappeared at the cottage 
 doors, looking after the babies who seemed to have 
 casually dropped into the squalid life of the place, 
 and the decrepit old folks who were near to 
 dropping out of it. 
 
 ^' VOL. I. B
 
 2 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES I 
 
 Even in its peaceful condition the lane did not 
 seem likely to attract visitors. Yet a couple of 
 well-dressed men lingered there, talking earnestly, 
 and had already lingered for ten or fifteen minutes, 
 though there were pleasanter spots within easy 
 reach. The elder of the two, a tall, neat, gray- 
 whiskered man of sixty or more, stood on the 
 footpath, with his back to the cottages, and poked 
 at the dust with a slmi gold-headed cane. His 
 companion, much younger than himself, had halted 
 in the roadway, and was speaking rather defiantly, 
 with his hands in his pockets. 
 
 It was natural enough that the elder man 
 should raise his eyes from time to time, and that 
 they should rest on the wall that faced him. But 
 the other had his back to it, and" it was less 
 obvious why he should cast quick glances over his 
 shoulder, as if the wall made a third in the 
 conversation. They were curt, half-hostile glances, 
 and yet it was the pleasantest thing to look at in 
 Garden Lane. It was a substantial piece of 
 old-fashioned brickwork, which rose with an air
 
 I WITHOUT 6 
 
 of strength, almost of stateliness, above its sordid 
 surroundings. Its base was polluted with the 
 filth of the street, and defaced with smears and 
 chalk-marks, but higher up it took the southern 
 radiance on its warmly coloured bricks, touched 
 here and there with lines and patches of bronze - 
 tinted moss, and over its crest, against the blue 
 June, flickered little wanton sprays of ivy and 
 vine. By standing very near the unsavoury 
 cottages the sunlit boughs of trees within the 
 enclosure might be descried. 
 
 The two men, however, betrayed no such ex- 
 treme curiosity. There was a small door just 
 opposite, set in the wall, with a projecting ledge 
 of brickwork above it, on which a tuft or two of 
 snapdragon grew, and thin, dry grasses seeded 
 airily. Evidently it was seldom opened, for the 
 children had made little erections of stones, and 
 dirt, and oyster-shells, upon the threshold. The 
 elder man's eyes lingered familiarly on the little 
 entrance, as if he could see some pleasant sight 
 beyond, but the other, when he turned to look,
 
 4 A GAEDEX OF MEMORIES I 
 
 ignored the doorway, and flung his glances higher, 
 where the glowing line of red bounded the sultry sky. 
 
 "You know me," he said, with a touch of 
 resentment in his tone. '' You ought to know me 
 well. You know I don't want to do anything but 
 what is fau' and right. But, I put it to you, am I 
 not offering more than it is worth ?" 
 
 "Decidedly more than it would be worth to 
 any other man," the other agreed. " And I think," 
 he added with a smile, "that }'ou are offering a 
 little more than it is really worth to you." 
 
 " Well then ?" said the young man crushingly. 
 
 But his companion made no answer. He 
 continued to smile, looking down and drawing 
 vague lines in the dust at his feet. 
 
 " Why don't you tell her she'll never get such 
 an offer again?" 
 
 Tlie point-blank question roused the other to 
 stare and exclaim, " Bless the man ! Do you 
 suppose I Tiavcnt told her ?" 
 
 " Well then ? Why doesn't she take it ? 
 What more does she want?"
 
 I WITHOUT 5 
 
 "No more. Unluckily for you she doesn't 
 want so much. She simply wants her own house 
 and garden. She won't sell." 
 
 " But why ? What reason does she give ?" 
 
 "Do we ask a lady for a reason?" said the 
 other. " If we do we don't get one." 
 
 The fierce young man seemed to take the 
 little commonplace speech as a weighty truth. 
 "Heaven help me!" he said, "what have I ever 
 done that I should have to do business with a 
 woman?" 
 
 "Don't trouble yourself too much about that, 
 Brydon. I don't think you'll have any business 
 to do with her." 
 
 Brydon stood pondering — incredulous, yet 
 gloomy. "But it's absurd," he said. "Look 
 here — I'm not unreasonable. If the place had 
 been a long while in the family, if it had even 
 been her home when she was a child — well, I 
 suppose it might be called sentimental to refuse a 
 good offer, but it would be the kind of thing one 
 could understand, you know."
 
 6 A GAHDEN OF MEMORIES I 
 
 " Certainly," the other assented. 
 
 " One could understand it," Brydon continued, 
 " and, if it were only a question of a good offer, I, 
 for one, could respect it. Yes, with all my heart." 
 
 He paused, giving his companion time for an 
 affirmative gesture, then went on. 
 
 "But what has Miss Wynne to do with the 
 place ? She bought it — how long ago ? A year ? 
 A year and a half? Well, a year and a half, 
 then. I suppose from what they tell me she only 
 happened to know of it because she was once here 
 for two or three months when the Macleans had 
 it ; they say she was a sort of companion to old 
 Miss Maclean in those days. I shouldn't have 
 cared much to go as companion to Mary Anne my- 
 self, and she doesn't seem to have liked it long ! 
 But a year or two later, when the house was 
 empty, back she comes with money and a new 
 name, and buys it. Cheap too 1 Isn't that so ?" 
 
 "Just so." 
 
 "Well, is there anything in that to make a 
 woman refuse a good offer for it, when she knows
 
 I WITHOUT 7 
 
 what her refusal means ? Look at those cottages 
 — look at them, Eddington !" he threw out his 
 hand towards them with sudden passion. "Are 
 they fit for her fellow-creatures to live in ? There 
 they must live, however, there they must crowd 
 together beyond all chance of cleanliness or 
 decency, there they must die, because Miss 
 Wynne has taken a fancy to keep the only bit 
 of ground on which I could build them decent 
 dwellings, for a flower-garden ! The devil take 
 such fancies, say I ! " 
 
 " Of course you feel strongly about it," said the 
 other. "It's only natural. But, after all, Miss 
 Wynne bought and paid for her house — you can't 
 confiscate people's property, you know." 
 
 " But what does she want it for — tell me that ! 
 The house is well enough, but there are better 
 ones on the Daleham Eoad. And as for a garden 
 — is she bound to have a garden in the densest 
 and dirtiest part of the town ? They say Nor- 
 man's Folly is to be sold — why doesn't she buy 
 that ? She would get a really good garden there."
 
 8 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES I 
 
 " So is this a good garden. Do you know it ?" 
 
 Brydon shook his head. " The factory is on 
 one side of it, of course, but we have no windows 
 that way. And my uncle never got on with the 
 Macleans, you know. He used to say he thought 
 he could have put up with old Teddy Maclean, 
 but he could not stand Mary Anne, so we didn't 
 visit." 
 
 ''Well, you know Miss Wynne ?" said Edding- 
 ton, beginning to move slowly along the footpath. 
 
 "I have met her," the young man answered, 
 "if you mean that. Somebody introduced us at 
 the vicarage one day. She made me a little bow 
 and a remark on the weather." 
 
 The other smiled. "She can be better com- 
 pany than that." 
 
 " Very likely. But I would have you remark 
 that it is Miss Wynne's room I want, and not her 
 company at all. I think I should prefer the 
 Macleans." 
 
 "I daresay! You think you could have 
 bullied poor old Teddy, and had your own way."
 
 I WITHOUT y 
 
 " But I could not have bullied Mary Anne ! 
 Still I think I could have made a barojain with 
 her." 
 
 "Why not try with Miss Wynne?" said 
 Eddington, as they emerged into the High Street. 
 "Why leave all the arguments to me? You 
 might be more persuasive." . 
 
 " Oh ! Persuasive !" 
 
 "Yes. Why not?" 
 
 " I've no arguments but pounds, shillings, and 
 pence," the young mill -owner replied. "Will 
 they sound bigger from my mouth than from 
 yours ?" 
 
 " You might find others." 
 
 "No. She doesn't care for the weavers and 
 their wretched cottages. And, being a fine young 
 lady, she probably thinks drainage an unpleasant 
 subject, and would not thank me for explaining to 
 her that she may be poisoned one of these days 
 by the filth of Garden Lane." 
 
 " Well," said Eddington, " I can't say whether 
 she cares for weavers and drainage, or not. But
 
 10 A GARDEX OF MEMOEIES I 
 
 I don't think she cares for pounds, shillings, and 
 pence." 
 
 "Tell me/' said Brydon abruptly, "do you 
 know her reason for refusing to sell? Keep it 
 a secret if you like, only tell me, do you knoiu it ?" 
 
 "I do not." 
 
 " Well then, I'll try." He had spoken hitherto 
 in a defiant and rather masterful fashion, but now 
 he suddenly stood revealed as a shy young man. 
 " I'll do what I can," he said, as if he needed the 
 assurance of his own reiterated pledge. " But it 
 won't be any good. I wish she loere Mary 
 Anne!" 
 
 "Thank you. / prefer Miss Wynne for a 
 client." 
 
 Brydon paused for a moment with his great 
 dark gray eyes fixed upon vacancy. "Yes, I'll 
 try," he repeated. "Well, good-bye for the 
 present." 
 
 "Stop," said Eddington. "Miss Wynne will 
 have some people there to-morrow — tennis and 
 afternoon tea, you know. Suppose you go with
 
 I WITHOUT 11 
 
 me ? We are very good friends, slie and I ; I'll 
 undertake to promise you a welcome." 
 
 " But I don't care for tennis." 
 
 "Very well, then, you can hand teacups. It 
 will be all the better for me." 
 
 Brydon hesitated. '' But how is one to do any 
 talking? That kind of thing is nothing but 
 idiotic chatter." 
 
 " Oh, you can't drive a bargain then and there, 
 and pay the money down with the tennis players 
 for witnesses ! No, no, you may leave your 
 cheque-book at home. But, all the same, you 
 had better come with me — see how the land lies, 
 and have a look at the waUed paradise — you may 
 understand Miss Wynne better after that." 
 
 " But I hardly ever go to these stupid afternoon 
 affairs ; I'd much rather be at my work — I hate 
 'em," growled the young man. " Well, I'll go — 
 what time?" he added in a hurry, as if he were 
 afraid that Eddington might give up the idea. 
 
 The other smiled a little. "All right — call for 
 you at four," he said.
 
 II 
 
 WITHIN 
 
 ' ' Roses that down the alleys shine afar, 
 And open, jasmine-muffled lattices. 
 And groups under the dreaming garden-trees." 
 
 Mr. Thomas Beydon, standing a little apart 
 from the tennis players, eyed the coveted garden 
 With, stealthy eagerness. He knew its precise 
 extent and shape better than any other person 
 present, but the vision which had haunted him 
 for months was that of a somewhat irregular four- 
 sided patch, washed over with a uniform tint of 
 light green, bounded by pen-and-ink lines, and 
 conveniently supplied with a scale of measure- 
 ment and the points of the compass. The de-
 
 IT WITHIN 13 
 
 lineation was accurate enough, yet tlie reality 
 took him a little by surprise. 
 
 He had had some idea of the ordinary suburban 
 garden, with its neat machine -mown lawn and 
 yellow gravel walks, its slim young trees, laburnum 
 and lime, and its gay stripes and masses of bed- 
 ding plants. He had walked many a time in 
 such gardens, and remembered their welhraked 
 borders, their standard roses bearing pendent 
 labels, and their latest novelties in variegated 
 foliage. He knew the rock -work in a shady 
 corner, dotted here and there with little home- 
 sick ferns. All these things were familiar to 
 him. 
 
 But not this walled enclosure, where every- 
 thing told of long continuance. So many genera- 
 tions had laboured within its bounds, each its 
 allotted span, so many seasons of sunshine and 
 rain had quickened the great trees whose white 
 roots were groping far below, that it seemed as if 
 one need only turn a spadeful of the deep black 
 earth for buried memories to oerminate and bloom.
 
 14 A GARDEN OF MEMOEIES li 
 
 Spring flowers here were but the last links in a 
 long garland, stretching across the years to hands 
 that tended those same blossoms in pleasant old- 
 fashioned times. It was like the quaintest mas- 
 querade, only to think of the women who had 
 walked in that garden. Who was the first — the 
 woman for whom the pleasure-ground was planted ? 
 And was Mary Wynne to be the last ? 
 
 Already it was but a narrow plot compared to 
 what it once had been. Tall buildings hemmed 
 it in, turning blank walls on its green seclusion. 
 Here was massive warehouses, there, above a 
 quivering screen of poplar leaves, rose a heaped 
 confusion of tiled roofs, a bit of torrid colour in 
 the midsummer sunlight, slopes of varied steep- 
 ness, blackened in places with soot and moss. 
 Little long-drawn clouds drifted from their 
 clustered chimneys across the western sky. There 
 was a gray glitter of glass in distant windows, 
 but it was strange how remote all eyes seemed to 
 be from Miss Wynne's shady lawn. 
 
 Half a minute had sufficed to give Brydon a
 
 II WITHIN 15 
 
 distinct impression of his surroundings. Then 
 with no change of attitude he lowered his glance 
 and surveyed the company. His young hostess 
 had given him the welcome that Eddington had 
 promised, and had only turned away to greet a 
 later arrival. He looked after her, curiously, 
 anxiously — his impression of her was anything 
 but distinct. How was this ? She had talked to 
 him for at least a couple of minutes, and Brydon 
 believed himself to be quick at reading faces. 
 He began to suspect that perhaps he had never 
 looked at her while she spoke. 
 
 The tennis party was an ordinary specimen of 
 such gatherings in a provincial town. There were 
 a good many ladies. Elderly clergymen had 
 brought their wives and daughters, and the wives 
 and daughters of busier men had come with 
 apologies for their absentees. Two or three lads, 
 just old enough to be reckoned as grown-up from 
 a lawn-tennis point of view, loitered about, always 
 keeping together, and looking on the women, 
 the old people, and polite manners generally, as
 
 16 A GAEDEX OF MEMORIES ii 
 
 hindrances to rational enjoyment. The legal pro- 
 fession was represented by Mr. Eddington, smiling 
 and talking in every direction, and a self-possessed 
 junior partner. There was a good-looking country 
 squire who had driven in, with two sisters and 
 a cousin, from a manor-house some four or five 
 miles away. And finally there was a curate from 
 his lodo'ino's in the Hio'h Street. 
 
 O o O 
 
 Some of the girls were pretty, but Brydon s 
 eyes seeking Miss Wynne lingered only on a tall, 
 willowy young woman, as distinct from all the 
 rest as if she were a foreigner. In point of fact, 
 her dwelling-place was nothing more remote than 
 Kensington, whence, being a little tired, she had 
 come for ten days' change, and was restfully going 
 through the three tennis parties, one flower-show, 
 and one reopening of a church, which her friends 
 had offered as a round of gaiety. 
 
 Brydon's glance encountered hers, for she was 
 gazing fixedly at him from under her slanted 
 parasol while she talked to Mr. Eddington. His 
 story interested her, it was an excitement, an
 
 II WITHIN 17 
 
 enthusiasm, a struggle for mastery, and the issue 
 was uncertain. Perhaps it might be divined by a 
 little study of the young man. She was like a 
 traveller landed on an unknown shore, ignorant 
 of the local scale of values. She took no interest 
 in the good-looking squire, decidedly the most 
 important person there ; she passed by the curate 
 and the young lawyer with complete indifference, 
 but she expressed a wish to make Mr. Brydon's 
 acquaintance, and the next moment she was 
 rustling softly over the grass with ]\Ir. Eddington 
 in attendance. Brydon saw them coming, and 
 felt a shock of surprise and alarm. Wliat the 
 deuce did Eddington mean by it — couldn't he 
 mind his own business, and leave other people 
 alone ? But he had not presence of mind enough 
 to attempt an escape, and he stood, shifting un- 
 easily from one foot to the other, till he was 
 captured, and duly presented to Miss Hillier. 
 
 The worst of it was that her progress across the 
 lawn had attracted attention. The boys, standing 
 strictly on the defensive behind a convenient tree, 
 
 VOL. 1. C
 
 18 A GAEDEN OF MEMORIES ii 
 
 silently conveyed to one another that she was a 
 guy. Their sisters looked after her with curiously 
 mingled feelings of disapproval and envy. Their 
 own freshly-made costumes somehow seemed too 
 new, and too neatly put on, by the side of those 
 faintly -coloured folds which twisted and trailed 
 and clung about the Kensington young lady. It 
 was true that the draperies and soft laces which 
 composed a harmony in yellows were slightly 
 tumbled and dingy. One felt that they had been 
 worn in a smoke-laden atmosphere, and crushed 
 in crowded little drawing-rooms. But, neverthe- 
 less, there was an air of indefinable superiority 
 about Miss Hillier's dress, a careless completeness 
 of detail, to the yellow beads at her throat, and 
 the cluster of yellow roses, which seemed half- 
 ready to fall, so loosely were they fastened. 
 
 Two sisters stood watching her, and the younger, 
 a pert schoolgirl, spoke under her breath. 
 
 "You don't call her pretty, I /io^g — a limp, 
 affected thing ! And I do think when people go 
 to parties they might be clean I I should like to
 
 II WITHIN 19 
 
 send that dress to the wash — looks as if she had 
 slept in it." 
 
 "Yes," said the elder with a doubtful smile, 
 "perhaps it does. But she must have slept in 
 beautiful attitudes." 
 
 Brydon, embarrassed by the introduction, looked 
 sideways and down, while Miss Hillier smiled 
 languidly. "I've been hearing incredible things 
 about you, Mr. Brydon." 
 
 He was obliged to answer. "I — I wouldn't 
 believe them," he said. 
 
 "I shall be delighted to believe exactly the 
 contrary on your assurance." 
 
 He looked round despairingly, but Eddington 
 was gone. "I really don't know what I'm ex- 
 pected to say," he replied. " I don't know what 
 the incredible things are." 
 
 " Tell me that you don't want to desecrate this 
 sweet old-fashioned place by building cheap 
 houses all over it ! " Miss Hillier shuddered as 
 she spoke. " There are so many cheap houses in 
 the world, and so few^ old gardens. Mr. Brydon,
 
 20 A GAEDEN OF MEMORIES ii 
 
 you couldn't really be such a vandal ! Not 
 really ! " 
 
 " I don't know who has been talking about that." 
 
 " Everybody ! We are all talking about you — 
 all watching you. JSTobody knows what dreadful 
 things you may be plotting. You haven't the 
 evil eye, I hope ? You won't blight the trees and 
 flowers with a glance ? " 
 
 " Do you believe in the evil eye ? " he asked. 
 
 " Why not ? I think you are dangerous. I 
 wish I had brought an amulet. But we are on 
 our guard, Mr. Brydon. Do not attempt to take 
 Miss Wynne into a corner, and mesmerise her 
 into signing away her property. I assure you we 
 won't allow it." 
 
 "What will you do?" he said, and, half-smil- 
 ing, he looked at her. 
 
 Miss Hillier's thoughts flashed from the ques- 
 tion to Brydon's eyes. They were his only beauty, 
 for he was not a handsome man. He was slightly 
 below the average height, he had a sallow skin, 
 very ordinary features, and a thin moustache that
 
 II WITHIN 21 
 
 scarcely shaded his upper lip. But for his eyes 
 he would have been insignificant. They however 
 were full of expression, and their depths of trans- 
 parent gray were deepened and darkened by the 
 black lashes that bordered them. "Eyes like 
 agates," Miss Hillier said afterwards, " really too 
 beautiful for a man of business." 
 
 "What would we do?" she repeated after a 
 momentary pause. " Well, really, I hardly know. 
 Part you by main force, I suppose." 
 
 " But anyhow Miss Wynne and I must settle 
 it at last, you know ? " 
 
 She made a little affirmative sign. " Yes, and 
 I tremble for the result. It is always the same. 
 When it comes to be a question between mean 
 little houses and a dear old o'arden, the warden 
 goes, swallowed up in hateful bricks and mortar. 
 If I had any influence with Miss Wynne " 
 
 " I hope to heaven you haven't ! " Brydon 
 ejaculated anxiously. 
 
 "I would entreat her to be firm. She has 
 made one mistake already."
 
 22 A GAEDEN OF MEMORIES ii 
 
 " What is tliat ? " 
 
 " She should never have admitted you within 
 the gates of her stronghold. I saw you looking 
 round as if you were taking possession. If I were 
 Miss Wynne, Mr. Brydon, I should shut myself 
 up, and refuse to communicate with you." 
 
 " Wouldn't you even answer a letter ? " 
 
 "IsTol" said Miss Hillier sternly. "I would 
 not. I would run no risks. If an answer were 
 absolutely necessary, I would send a little message 
 by that nice, talkative Mr. Eddington. But I 
 would not write, and as for an interview — never!" 
 
 Brydon was flattered, and laughed. It had 
 displeased him that his cherished scheme should 
 be made the subject of jesting talk, but a shy 
 man naturally likes to be told that a woman finds 
 him formidable. 
 
 "I don't know how I should manage — I'm 
 afraid you would be too clever for me," he said. 
 '^ I should have to try and make my way in in 
 disguise." 
 
 " What, as the milk or the washing, or to look
 
 II WITHIN 23 
 
 at the gas-meter ? But seriously, Mr. Brydou, do 
 you really mean that you would have the heart 
 to destroy all this ? " 
 
 He looked round deliberately and cahnly. He 
 had forgotten his shyness in the interest of the 
 question. His glance took in all, the house half- 
 buried in roses, vine and passion-flower, the fine 
 turf of the lawn, the masses of leafage — syringa, 
 myrtle, lilac, laurestinus, and bay, the sweet old- 
 fashioned flowers, the bushes of lavender and 
 rosemary, the great trees, limes with their innu- 
 merable bees, poplars quivering lightly in the sun, 
 tulip, juniper, chestnut, mulberry, medlar, and, 
 close by where he stood, two great cedars, sweep- 
 ing low with dusky horizontal boughs. Against 
 their soft dimness Miss Hillier's slender, yellow- 
 draped figure, fair dishevelled hair and refined face, 
 came out like a picture, a little faded and pale, 
 yet with a certain charm. Brydon's travelling 
 glance ended by meeting the eyes that watched 
 him, ej^es tired and circled with faint shadows, 
 yet intense with questioning interest.
 
 24 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES ii 
 
 "Well," hs said slowly, ''I'm very glad you 
 should enjoy this to-day. It is very pretty, 
 prettier than I thought. I don't at all want to 
 spoil it now, but I should like to see the ground 
 clear this autumn, ready to begin work the first 
 thing in the spring." 
 
 "Never another spring for all this?" Miss 
 Hillier demanded tragically, indicating the sur- 
 roundings with a movement of hand and wiist in 
 a wrinkled, tan-coloured glove. 
 
 "I'm very sorry," the young man replied. 
 " But if the cheap houses are urgently needed " 
 
 " Oh, that sounds like a prospectus ! If you 
 mean it as a speculation, Mr. Brydon, I daresay it 
 may be a good one — I'm not questioning that." 
 
 "A speculation " he began, but instantly 
 
 checked himself. " Well, I should like it to pay," 
 he said, " but one gives a fancy price for a bit of 
 ground like this. There's no chance of making a 
 fortune out of it — worse luck : Still, I hope it 
 will pay — I haven't much opinion of things that 
 don't."
 
 II WITHIN 25 
 
 " I would rather not have the money you get 
 for this desecration 1 " 
 
 " It won't be much." 
 
 " You will do it for a little ?" 
 
 "Yes. If you could see the cottages beyond 
 that wall!" 
 
 " So very bad ?" in a voice of languid softness. 
 
 " So hopelessly bad and overcrowded. I wish 
 Miss Wynne would have that gate set open into 
 the lane ! Is the key in it, I wonder ? Come and 
 see." 
 
 She drew back. '' Xo, no ! There's a time for 
 everything, Mr. Brydon. Not now." 
 
 "Yes, the time for that kind of thing mostly 
 is, 'not now.' I ought to have known. Well, 
 you must take my word for it that if you saw 
 those cottages you would wish me success in my 
 speculation." 
 
 "Indeed I should do nothing of the kind. 
 Can't you put your cottages somewhere else 1" 
 
 " There is nowhere else. See how we are built 
 in."
 
 26 A GARDEN" OF MEMORIES ii 
 
 " And for that very reason I would fight to the 
 last for this bit — the only remnant of sweetness 
 and beauty left to you. Did you ever think what 
 a source of health and joy an old garden is among 
 these crowded alleys ? And how full of poetry ! 
 Paradise within a stone's throw of the squalid 
 ugliness of a town like this 1" 
 
 " Can't look into Paradise, you know," said 
 Brydon. 
 
 "What then? Is the knowledge of hidden 
 beauty nothing ? It seems to me that one might 
 breathe the flower-scented air " — the young man's 
 lips twitched in a curious little spasm — "and 
 dream by the wall which conceals and yet suggests 
 it — dreams more precious than the dull realities 
 of life. Why, all one's ideals would be there !" 
 
 (Brydon privately wondered what Miss Hillier's 
 ideals would be if she had been brought up in 
 Garden Lane instead of Kensincjton. While he 
 was thinking about it, however, he found that she 
 had gone on, and he was compelled to foUow.) 
 
 " Think for one moment what half a dozen old
 
 II WITHIN 27 
 
 gardens — not enclosures in the middle of squares 
 of stucco-fronted houses — and not old graveyards 
 laid out with shrubs and tablets, but real old 
 gardens — gardens that people had loved and 
 gardened in, gardens with memories, would be in 
 London now ! Don't their very names haunt you ? 
 Don't you feel a pang of regret when you drive 
 by them in a cab? — those ghosts of gardens, 
 forgotten long ago but for their names painted 
 up at the corners of dirty unwholesome little 
 streets ! I daresay they said houses were urgently 
 needed — but it is the old garden that is needed 
 now !" 
 
 Brydon was certain that Miss Hillier was 
 talking nonsense, but he wished she wouldn't, for 
 the nonsense perplexed him. Did women argue 
 like that about a simple matter of business ? If. 
 so, Eddington might do the talking, for he'd be 
 hanged if he would, and he stood with downcast 
 eyes, twisting his straggling little moustache, and 
 looking perfectly insignificant. 
 
 " I suppose that is what you will do," said Miss
 
 28 A GAEDEN OF MEMOEIES ii 
 
 Hillier. "You will cut down these trees, make 
 the place hideously bare, and call it 'The Cedars' ?" 
 
 "Let me only build my houses and you may 
 call them what you like." 
 
 She laughed a little. " Take care ! Well, I 
 suppose you will get your own way. Perhaps 
 you will live to regret it." 
 
 "If you would only go and — and smell those 
 cottages — only once ! " said the young man, grow- 
 ing desperate. "You wouldn't doubt then that 
 I ought to have my own way in this !" 
 
 " Not if they were absolute pigsties ! " 
 
 " They are." 
 
 "Then make them better if you can. But 
 never sacrifice the priceless inheritance of the 
 future to the comfort of a passing generation." 
 
 Brydon was dumb, silenced, not by the argu- 
 ment — he had not had time to consider it — but 
 by the turn of the sentence. He could not be 
 expected to talk like that. 
 
 " You are not to be moved — you have no pity 
 on all this loveliness ?" Miss Hiller continued
 
 II WITHIN 29 
 
 after a pause. " Does not the very rustling of tlie 
 leaves plead for mercy ? Listen — listen !" 
 
 This was obviously poetry and nonsense, and 
 Brydon broke roughly through the faint whispers 
 far overhead. "I keep my pity for those who 
 can feel." 
 
 "And do you think that trees and flowers 
 cannot feel? But they do — I am sure they do," 
 she said, gazing at him with mournful intensity. 
 " Ah, how I wish that I could be the guardian of 
 a spot like this ! What a sweet atmosphere of 
 gratitude to live in!" Here she seemed to wave 
 a little towards an approaching figure. "I was 
 just envying you, Miss Wynne." 
 
 (" Here's another of them ! " said Brydon to 
 himself.) 
 
 " Envying — me ? " Mary Wynne repeated, with 
 a little questioning pause between the words. 
 
 "Yes — envjdng you your power to resist Mr. 
 Brydon. I can only tell him how I would resist 
 him if the ground were mine." 
 
 Brydon, in his talk with the lawyer, had called
 
 30 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES ii 
 
 Miss Wynne a fine lady, and certainly she was 
 finely dressed that afternoon. But as Miss Hillier 
 spoke she suddenly looked at him with eyes 
 timid as a child's, a liquid, shy, appealing glance. 
 However fine she might be, she was very unlike 
 the young lady from Philborough Terrace. 
 
 "It's a pretty garden, isn't it?" was her offer 
 of an original contribution to the conversation. 
 " You have been here before ?" 
 
 " I^ever," said Brydon laconically. 
 
 Miss Hillier looked questioningly from one to 
 the other, as if measuring their respective force 
 and calculating chances. 
 
 " Never ?" Miss Wynne exclaimed. " Oh, then 
 you don't know how pretty it is ! I mean that 
 the plants and things only look to you what they 
 are at this minute " 
 
 " Pretty enough," he said. 
 
 " Yes. But if you had seen them all budding 
 and blossoming ! That great old thorn over there 
 — it looks just like any other thorn, but it's a 
 double one. I suppose it isn't right to like double
 
 II WITHIN 31 
 
 flowers/' she said, half- glancing at the pensive 
 yellow-draped bystander, who smiled. 
 
 "Like what you like — I do." Brydon threw 
 this in defiantly. 
 
 "Well, just for once," Miss Wynne continued. 
 " I don't want all the hawthorns like it, but it was 
 very pretty tliis spring. It was covered with 
 blossoms like the tiniest, tiniest roses, white, you 
 know, almost greenish white — you might have 
 made nosegays of them for fairies as tall as your 
 finger." 
 
 "Pretty," said the young mill- owner again. 
 " I'm sure I don't want to depreciate your garden, 
 Miss Wynne. Those are not my tactics." 
 
 There was a soft rustlino- of trailing^ folds on 
 the fine dry grass while he spoke. The principals 
 in the coming contest were left for the moment 
 face to face and alone.
 
 Ill 
 
 A TEUCE 
 
 Theee was a brief silence. Then Miss Wynne 
 said, " Wouldn't you like just to walk round and 
 look at the place ? " 
 
 He assented, and the pair moved slowly, side 
 by side, along a mossy gravel path. Eddington, 
 where he stood on the lawn, followed them with 
 his eyes, and smiled. " They had better fight it 
 out," said Miss Hillier, sweeping softly towards 
 him. 
 
 " So I think," the old gentleman replied. 
 
 " I have done my best," she continued. 
 
 "On which side?" 
 
 " Can you ask ? My best to persuade Mr.
 
 Ill 
 
 A TRUCE 33 
 
 Brydon to relinquish this wicked scheme of 
 his." 
 
 **Ah — I see — your worst for my client. No 
 matter, Brydon is as obstinate as — as fifty mules." 
 
 " So I haven't done any harm ?" said Miss 
 Hillier, smiling good-humouredly. 
 
 "Not a bit," said Eddington, "and I don't 
 suppose I have done any good." 
 
 " You really take that vandal's part ? You 
 can't!" 
 
 "Miss Wynne will never get such another 
 offer. If the garden were yours I should certainly 
 ad\dse you to accept it. You would — wouldn't 
 you?" 
 
 " Never ! How can you think it ? " 
 
 "You wouldn't?" said Eddington. "I'm de- 
 lighted to hear it. You would give up all the 
 world — give up Kensington, to settle down among 
 us all and take care of these cedars !" 
 
 The sun was shining on the great shadowy 
 trees and on the transitory, faintly-tinted little 
 figure on the grass below. It was strange to think 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES ill 
 
 that those dusky giants were so sorely iu need of 
 protection. 
 
 Meanwhile the arbiters of theii' fate had paused 
 in their walk, and were looking up, where beyond 
 a screen of blossoming limes rose the high un- 
 broken wall of a laro-e buildins^. From behind it 
 
 O CD 
 
 came a measured sound, dull yet distinct, like the 
 heavy throbbing of great pulses. Brydon's looms 
 were at work. 
 
 " It seems strange," said Miss Wynne, facing 
 the eyeless surface, " that you should be so near, 
 and yet never have come into the garden till 
 to-day." 
 
 " I don't see it. My place is on the other side 
 of the wall" 
 
 " But that's what I mean. A wall seems such 
 a little thing to part two places so completely." 
 
 " Does it ?" said Brydon shortly. " I fancy it's 
 mostly like that. Only children cry for the moon 
 — for things obviously out of reach. AVe older 
 and wiser folk waste our lives on the wrong side 
 of the thinnest possible partition."
 
 Ill A TRUCE 35 
 
 " It would be something, though," said Mary 
 Wynne in a meditative voice, " to be sure that — 
 that it was only on the other side of a thin 
 partition." 
 
 " It," he repeated, and his isolation of the word 
 gave it an emphasis which sent a faint flush to 
 his companion's cheek. " ' It ' is the ideal, I 
 suppose. Wei], I don't know where yours may 
 be " 
 
 " I'm sure I can't tell you — I don't know that 
 I've got one. But I know where yours is." 
 
 " Well, I suppose you do." 
 
 She faced him suddenly with a beseeching 
 glance. " Oh, Mr. Brydon, is it any good telling 
 you how sorry I am that I can't break down your 
 wall for you ?" 
 
 " It's very kind of you to say so." 
 
 "Don't!" she entreated. 
 
 "Well, if you can't, you know," said Brydon, 
 " why — you can't." 
 
 "But it isn't like that — I can't, and yet of 
 course I could."
 
 36 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES ill 
 
 " Oil yes, under some other circumstances. 
 Well, I don't see wliy you should worry yourself 
 about it. You have a perfect right to say ' won't ' 
 — why not end the matter so ? " 
 
 " Have I a right to say I won't ? Do you think 
 I have?" 
 
 "A legal right, anyhow." 
 
 She moved slowly onward. He kept near her 
 in a hesitating fashion, through the flickering 
 leaf-shadows which dappled the light folds of her 
 gown. She walked languidly, droopingly, as if 
 she were burdened. They were close to the 
 southern wall of her domain, and her eyes strayed 
 to a small entrance overhung with clematis and 
 honeysuckle, and approached through a little 
 arch, about which a climbing rose was delicately 
 tangled. Brydon swerved towards it and she 
 stood still. The key was in the lock, he turned 
 it, opened the door, and she saw an oblong 
 picture of Garden Lane in a frame of flower and 
 leaf 
 
 A dirty child started up from the threshold,
 
 Ill A TEUCE 37 
 
 dragging a dirty baby. The baby, which had but 
 just learned to walk, was swung off its rickety 
 little legs, and fell on its face into the hot dust of 
 the roadway, where already lay an old boot, a 
 dead kitten, some shreds of paper, and a battered 
 tin. Being dragged up and shaken it looked little 
 the worse, and hardly any dirtier. Its guardian 
 sister, clutching it absent-mindedly, halted at a 
 little distance, where she showed a face of a 
 common type, and a sore eye, partially obscured 
 by a filthy strip of rag. The other eye, dilating 
 with wonder, stared past Miss Wynne at the 
 distant figures of the gentlefolks, seen, lightly 
 active in the sunlit greenness of the garden, in- 
 tent upon a flying ball. A girl cried out —a lad, 
 all white arms and legs, sprang to strike. 
 
 Brydon closed the door and locked it. 
 
 Miss Wynne's gaze passed from the doorway 
 to Brydon's face. " I thought you were going 
 out," she said, as he approached, swinging the key 
 on his finger. 
 
 "Oh no!" he answered. "I only wanted to
 
 38 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES ill 
 
 look at my side of the wall for a moment. No, I 
 wasn't going to beat a retreat like that." 
 
 " Why did you shut the gate so quickly ? Did 
 you see that poor child? How she stared !" 
 
 " Naturally," said Brydon. " But I didn't know 
 you would enjoy being stared at." 
 
 " It seemed so cruel to shut her out. Oh, how 
 cruel I am ! " 
 
 Her companion said nothing. 
 
 "How I wish there was some other ground 
 that you could take, Mr. Brydon ! Something 
 that would do for your cottages. Isn't there? 
 Are you sure ? " 
 
 Brydon turned his dark-lashed eyes full upon 
 her, and bit his lip. The maddening, innocent 
 folly of the question took his breath away for a 
 moment, and when he recovered it his self-control 
 came too. It was fortunate, for he had never felt 
 so great a need of an oath, something brief, 
 sudden, brutal, like a discharge of dynamite. To 
 ask a man who had been brooding over his scheme, 
 night and day, for months, whether by any chance
 
 Ill A TRUCE 39 
 
 he had ever thought of it at all — it was too much ! 
 First he longed to swear, then he would have 
 liked to laugh, but he only said quietly, " If there 
 had been, my cottages would be built." 
 
 She answered with a sigh. "Of course they 
 would. It was fooHsh to ask, I suppose ; but I 
 wished so much that there might be ! " 
 
 " I'm sorry too," said the young man. " But if 
 you were to look at a plan, you'd see in a minute. 
 There's the Baptist chapel runs right into me on 
 the other side, and the corner bit is the public- 
 house — 'Hand and Flower,' don't you know? 
 Here's the road," and he began to trace imaginary 
 lines with the key on the palm of his hand. 
 " Then there's Burgoyne's brewery at the back 
 of me — you can see a bit of the roof over there," 
 nodding towards it. "Well, of course, I could 
 build some cottages somewhere else — on the 
 nearest bit I could get, though I doubt it 
 wouldn't be very near, this neighbourhood is so 
 crowded. Still it might be better than nothing. 
 But it isn't only the cottages, it's the mill. I
 
 40 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES III 
 
 want to enlarge it, to improve it. It isn't well 
 built — there isn't room enough in it — it isn't 
 properly ventilated. In a word, it's old-fashioned. 
 I'm sure it isn't wholesome ; I do what I can, but 
 nothing can be done worth doing without more 
 space." 
 
 Brydon had made what was, for him, a re- 
 markably long speech, and his tone throughout 
 had been patiently explanatory and even gentle. 
 That brief gust of irritation had passed and left 
 no trace. Miss Wynne was perplexing, but he 
 did believe her to be sincere, and sincerity atoned 
 for much. He wished he hadn't to deal with a 
 woman — women were not practical, but that was 
 not Miss Wynne's fault. He recognised her 
 claim to elaborate explanations and a certain 
 amount of humouring. Business, in a case like 
 this, must be polite, must wear light gloves and a 
 flower in its button-hole. 
 
 And at any rate Miss Wynne had listened to 
 him. She had noted every syllable that fell from 
 his lips, and when he paused she looked almost
 
 Ill A TRUCE 41 
 
 too serious. The young man felt that the time 
 was ill-chosen, that he had said too much. A 
 face like that, with dejection and appeal in every 
 delicate line, was not fit wear for a tennis party. 
 "I forgot," he exclaimed with a short uneasy 
 laugh, "Eddington said I wasn't to try to drive 
 a bargain to-day." 
 
 " Do you always do what Mr. Eddington tells 
 you?" 
 
 " No. He's not my adviser, you see." 
 
 " He's very much on your side, LIr. Brydon. I 
 should think you might say what you pleased, he 
 talks enough himself. He tells me I shall never 
 have such another offer for the garden." 
 
 " I doubt if you will." 
 
 "No — it's splendid — it's munificent, I'm daz- 
 zled when I think of it ! Only what I wanted 
 was not to have any offer at all ! As it is, my 
 greatest comfort is that I'm refusing a small 
 fortune — I'm not seeking my own profit, no one 
 can say that !" 
 
 " I'm glad you think so much of my offer,"
 
 42 A GAEDEX OF MEMORIES ill 
 
 said the young man, ''for I can't make it any 
 bigger. Sucli as it is, it's my last word — I can't 
 do anything more in the dazzling line." 
 
 " I don't luant any more. I'd rather not." 
 
 " Oh well, that's all right. I fancy it takes 
 a woman to feel like that. Most of us would 
 always rather have some more — / would, I 
 know." 
 
 " I don't want to make a profit out of it. You 
 are offering me too much already." 
 
 " Well, I'll beat you down if you'll give me a 
 chance," said Brydon ; '' but I can't go any higher. 
 Sooner than that I'd move the whole concern. 
 I've had the offer of some land three miles off, at 
 Holly Hill." 
 
 Her eyes lighted up with radiant hope, her 
 face was transfigured. " Oh, why don't you do 
 that ? I was out that way yesterday — it was 
 lovely ! Such open breezy slopes, such gorse, 
 such a wide clear sky ! Mr. Brydon, it would be 
 life to your poor people. Oh, how happy I should 
 be ! Fancy that wretched little girl out in the
 
 Ill A TRUCE 43 
 
 fresh air at Holly Hill — and the baby — it would 
 be ten times better — a thousand times better than 
 anything you could do here. Oh, why don't you 
 do it? It would be perfect. Out in the open, 
 away from all these crowding roofs and houses — 
 do it, Mr. Brydon ! Oh, you must !" 
 
 She seemed to rise w4th the eager rapture of 
 her voice. He stared, he listened with parted 
 lips, and then with his answer they both came 
 down to earth again. 
 
 "Several things against it, Miss Wynne. It 
 would be an experiment, and a hazardous one. 
 You don't know how these poor people cling to 
 the neighbourhood they have known. I suspect 
 a good many would stay on here and starve, 
 sooner than go to Holly Hill. It would break up 
 families too — there are girls working for me, and 
 their brothers have got places as errand boys and 
 the like in the town. And they would be a 
 couple of miles from church or school. That 
 isn't all, either. It would require a greater outlay 
 than I could manage at present ; it might be the
 
 44 A GAEDEN OF MEMORIES ill 
 
 best in the end, but I should have to wait — years. 
 I have my mother to think of, she lives at 
 Brighton, she depends on me; I can run risks 
 for myself, but not for her. I can't tell how long- 
 it might be before I should dare to move in the 
 matter, and all that time these miserable children 
 would be growing up — crowds of 'em — in their 
 filth and' wretchedness. Why, I might die first! 
 Oh no ! I've thought it all out ; I only told you 
 that you might understand why I set that limit 
 to the price I was prepared to offer ; if you asked 
 more Holly Hill would be better." 
 
 He had effectually quenched the brightness of 
 her glance. " I should never ask more ! I have 
 told you already, it is too much." 
 
 " I know. But your friends " 
 
 " I have none." 
 
 " Only yourself to consider in the matter, 
 then?" 
 
 " I suppose so." The swift colour flew to her 
 cheek. " Yes, only myself." 
 
 " So much the better," said Brydon absently.
 
 Ill A TRUCE 45 
 
 She looked at him quickly and questioningly, and 
 brought back his wandering thoughts. He evi- 
 dently felt that he must explain himself. "It 
 narrows the discussion, don't you know? — brings 
 it within manageable limits." Then he considered 
 for a moment. "I don't mean that you are 
 manageable, Miss Wynne," he concluded, and 
 having explained away his explanation, was 
 silent. 
 
 "I think I ought to go back," Miss Wynne 
 replied. " Don't you play tennis ? " 
 
 He shook his head. " I've kept you too long. 
 And I've been talking business again ! " 
 " I don't know why you shouldn't." 
 " It seems as if I couldn't talk anything else." 
 "Well, that's what is expected of you," said 
 Miss Wynne. "Everybody was sure you would 
 talk about your cottages. They wouldn't in- 
 terrupt, they are all so interested." 
 
 Brydon looked sideways at the tennis players, 
 drawing down his brows. " I'm not expected to 
 talk about anything else — well, it's satisfactory to
 
 46 A GARDEN OF MEMOEIES III 
 
 know that. Am I supposed to have finished now, 
 do you think ? If so, as you say, we had better 
 go back." 
 
 "ISTo, stop a minute." She had caught the 
 sense of his words, but not the displeased tone. 
 Her face was quickening with a new thought. 
 " Mr. Brydon, I have an idea ! Why shouldn't 
 you make some windows in your wall ? Wouldn't 
 that make it better for your people — a little 
 better, at any rate ? Wouldn't it be brighter and 
 more cheerful? Why don't you?" 
 
 " But I've no right," said Brydon. 
 
 " But if I say you may ? " 
 
 " Xonsense — you are not going to say anything 
 of the kind. How should you like to be over- 
 looked by rows and rows of windows ? " 
 
 She flinched a little, but reiterated her " You 
 may if you like." 
 
 "But I don't like! I won't do it. Even if 
 you never regretted it for yourself, you'll want to 
 sell or let the place some day, and then you'd 
 find out the inconvenience of it fast enough. You
 
 Ill 
 
 A TRUCE 47 
 
 shouldn't say things like that without consulting 
 Eddington." 
 
 "Indeed? I fancied I might say what I 
 pleased." 
 
 "No," said the young man, "you'd keep your 
 word. Well, it doesn't matter this time. It's 
 very kind of you, Miss Wynne, but reaUy it would 
 do you much more harm than it would do me 
 good. It's not so very noble of me to say ' No.' 
 I don't care for half-and-half concessions." He 
 looked her straight in the face, their eyes were 
 about on a level — his were lucid and resolute. 
 " All or nothing. Miss Wynne." 
 
 Hers dropped, escaping him. Her lips parted 
 as if she were about to speak, but no sound came. 
 " All — or — nothing," Brydon repeated. 
 
 She found her voice then, but it was hardly 
 above a whisper. " I'm sorry — sorry, but it must 
 be nothing. I can't help it." 
 
 " Don't say it like that ! " he exclaimed. " I 
 didn't mean to pain you. Look here, I'll tell you 
 how it shall be. We'll leave it till the beginning
 
 48 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES ill 
 
 of the year. You shan't be bothered any more, 
 no one shall mention it to you, but my offer shall 
 hold good till then ; and if you change your mind 
 and like to say ' Yes/ you can, any minute. And 
 if not — why, your silence shall be your final 
 answer when the new year comes — it will do as 
 well as anything else, and it will make it easy for 
 you. Is it a bargain ? " 
 
 She was grateful for the respite. ''Yes," she 
 said. They walked across the grass to the rest of 
 the party, only pausing once while she gathered 
 a bit of heliotrope, which seemed to require care- 
 ful selection. Brydon fancied she was gaining 
 time to recover her usual calmness. She offered 
 him the flower with a smile. 
 
 While he was putting it in his coat he mur- 
 mured something about thinking he must be off 
 now. 
 
 "So soon?" said his hostess, as they came up 
 to a group near the tennis players. Eddington 
 turned round and looked at them. 
 
 " Oh, my prophetic soul ! " Miss Hillier ex-
 
 Ill A TRUCE 49 
 
 claimed, in a voice whicli seemed thinner and 
 clearer than those about her, and struck a distinct 
 note among them all. " The battle is over, and 
 lost ! Look at Mr. Brydon — he has begun to 
 pick the flowers, and he has taken possession of 
 the key." 
 
 All eyes converged on the young mill-owner, 
 who looked down at the key which he was ab- 
 sently holding, and remembered that he had taken 
 it out of the lock of the little gate. He crimsoned, 
 like an angry, bashful boy, with vexation at the 
 trivial blunder, and at the widening smile which 
 encircled him, " It isn't so at all," he began, just 
 as the white-flannelled young squire broke in with 
 his easy laugh — 
 
 "Going to lock us all out and begin to cut 
 down the trees, eh, Brydon ? Like old Gladstone, 
 eh ? No time like the present, is there ? " 
 
 Brydon fastened on the one point in the circle 
 at which he could strike. " Nothing of the kind," 
 he said, perversely exulting in his own defeat, 
 since it enabled him to contradict the smiling 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES iii 
 
 young man. "Miss Wynne has sent me about 
 my business — haven't you, Miss Wjome ? " 
 
 She blushed. " Oh, not like that ! " she cried. 
 
 "But you have — and the proof of it is that 
 I'm going, as I told you just now, didn't I ? I 
 can't think how I can have been so stupid as to 
 bring the key away, but, if you'll allow me, I'll 
 go out by that little door — it's nearer for me." 
 
 " Don't you let him take the key, Miss Wynne," 
 said the young squire. "Don't you trust him. 
 Give it to Miss Hillier — she'll see him out at the 
 little door, and double lock it after him, won't 
 you. Miss HiUier ? " 
 
 " Do I look like a turnkey ? " said that young 
 lady languidly. "Eeally, Mr. Haldane, I wasn't 
 brought up to the profession. And I'm sure Mr. 
 Brydon is an honourable enemy " 
 
 " Oh, you're too trustful ! Ladies always are." 
 
 "I wonder at it," Miss Hillier replied. "Are 
 you really going, Mr. Brydon? Good-bye, then, 
 and you'll let me wish you all success in cottage- 
 building — somewhere else ! "
 
 Ill A TRUCE 51 
 
 " Thank you," said Brydon. 
 
 "You'll be sure to find some other place for 
 your little cheap houses — won't he, Miss Wynne, 
 if he only looks ? Oh, I don't mean to be rude to 
 them — they'll be charming little houses, I daresay, 
 and I shall be quite interested in hearing about 
 them now I know they are not to be here. There 
 must be plenty of room, without spoiling this 
 sweet old place. Good-hyQ!' 
 
 Brydon listened, looking straight at her with 
 an air of dumb resignation. He shook hands with 
 Miss Wynne, then turned to Eddington. "I'll 
 walk to the gate with you," said the old lawyer, 
 and the pair went off together, taking the most 
 direct way to the little door, by a great clump of 
 Portugal laurel, quivering and shining in the sun. 
 Eddington walked in his erect, old -gentlemanly 
 fashion, but Brydon slouched carelessly and 
 moodily, and seemed to swerve a little from his 
 companion as they went, with their shadows 
 falling far across the shaven turf. 
 
 He hurried out of the garden, never turning 
 
 U/V/VERSITVnr,u,NOIS
 
 52 A GAEDEN OF MEMORIES ill 
 
 liis head, and consequently was unaware of the 
 curiously intent gaze with which Miss Wynne 
 followed him. In fact it was lost on every one 
 but Miss Hillier, who was thinking that her young 
 hostess would make a charming picture. She 
 went further, and thought of a young artist friend 
 at Kensington who would be the very man to 
 paint it. " Just the kind of tiling to suit him, T 
 luisli he were here 1 Against a bit of that old, 
 mellow brick wall — how well she would come 
 out ! And the sentiment of the thing, too — ex- 
 actly what he would enjoy — it's a thousand pities 
 he isn't here. A Guardian Genius — oh, I see it 
 all 1 A line or two of description to explain it, 
 and it's just what the public would understand 
 and like. He might do somethmg with the idea, 
 perhaps, but that's not like seeing the real thing. 
 Only, isn't the guardian genius a little too sad ? 
 Can she be repenting as she looks after Mr. 
 Brydon ? No doubt it would be a fine thing to 
 sell her house and grounds for about double what 
 she gave for them — one could do so much with
 
 Ill 
 
 A TRUCE 53 
 
 the money — and yet I didn't think she was that 
 kind of girl. But this certainly does look like 
 repentance." 
 
 Acting on this suspicion, Miss Hillier went up 
 to her hostess with warm congratulations. " I am 
 so glad — so very glad," she said. " It would have 
 been desecration. I'm so glad you felt it so too — 
 so thankful it was in your hands." 
 
 "I don't know," said Miss Wynne vaguely. 
 The gate opened into Garden Lane and a figure 
 vanished through it. Eddington came strolling 
 back alone, looking at the flower beds. 
 
 Miss Hillier could not repress an exclamation. 
 " What a relief ! He is gone." 
 
 " Yes. I only hope it is right. You think it 
 is, don't you ?" 
 
 " Eight?" cried Miss Hillier rapturously. "Your 
 defence of the garden ? Eight ! It is much more 
 than right — it is Noble — it is Perfectly Beau- 
 tiful!" 
 
 " I should like to know that it was right, too," 
 said Miss Wynne simply.
 
 54 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES III 
 
 " But it is right — it must be ! There can be 
 no doubt of it!" The other turned her gentle 
 eyes on the Kensington young lady's face. " I 
 hope so," she said. 
 
 The old lawyer came up and the talk ended, 
 but Miss Hillier thought it over, and as she drove 
 away with her friends through the midsummer 
 evening she leaned forward and spoke impres- 
 sively. "Jessie, mind you write and tell me 
 about the garden, when it is all settled, you know." 
 
 Jessie's brother, one of the tennis playing 
 youths, spoke up instantly. " Oh, but that's all 
 over — didn't you hear ? He's not going to have 
 it — she won't sell. / would — I'd stand out for 
 the very last farthing, but then I would. I 
 wouldn't be fool enough to lose a chance like 
 that!" 
 
 "Wouldn't you, Owen?" said the thin superior 
 voice. " Well, I don't think Miss Wynne will be 
 fool enough either. I fancy Mr. Brydon will get 
 what he wants — soon. What a lovely moon ! " 
 
 " Do you really ? " Jessie exclaimed. " I thought
 
 Ill A TKUCE 55 
 
 she was quite determined. What makes you 
 think that?" 
 
 " I don't know, but I do think it. Only write 
 to me when she sells it — I should like to know." 
 The carriage rolled smoothly on between the 
 hedgerows, and Miss Hillier sat thinking. " It's 
 not the money," she said to herself, " it's a case of 
 conscience, but that's just as fatal. He'll surely 
 get in." She seemed to see Miss Wynne's con- 
 science working silently, inexorably, as waters 
 work in the dead of night, filtering through tiny 
 unseen channels, widening their narrow ways, 
 sapping the heavy dyke, flowing, streaming, rush- 
 ing with resistless force, till daylight comes, de- 
 fences fall and all lies open. " A guardian genius 
 has no hicsiness to have a conscience !" thought 
 Miss Hillier, "though to be sure the idea for a 
 picture is just as good. I really must tell Mr. 
 Wargrave. Only, if she feels like that, why 
 doesn't she let Mr. Brydon have his cottages at 
 once?"
 
 IV 
 
 WHY NOT? 
 
 Why does she not let Mr. Brydon have his cot- 
 tages at once ? It was the very question the 
 young man asked himself as he sat that evening 
 in his little room at the factory. As he bent over 
 his desk, propping his forehead on one hand while 
 with the other he pencilled figures on a loose 
 sheet of paper, he looked like the incarnation of 
 intense research, though he was really musing as 
 idly as Miss Hillier herself. Why would not 
 Miss Wynne part with her garden ? 
 
 Her distress had been evident. A memory of 
 her gentle dejected face floated between his eyes 
 and the paper, so faint that he went on scribbling
 
 IV 
 
 WHY NOT ? 57 
 
 his figures right through it, and yet it seemed 
 somehow to cling to him. Never once had she 
 attempted to explain her refusal. " Oh, how cruel 
 I am!" she had said, as she looked out at the 
 poor little wretch in the lane, and Brydon be- 
 lieved in the sincerity of the cry. But she had 
 not uttered a word to justify, or even to extenuate 
 her cruelty. She had spoken as if it were inevit- 
 able — "It must be; I can't help it" — while ex- 
 pressly avowing that there was nothing below the 
 surface which was a legal hindrance to the sale. 
 " I can't," she had said, " and yet of course I 
 could." He put all these speeches of hers together 
 in his mind and considered them. *• I wonder 
 what her reason is, for she must have a reason. I 
 know she has, because she won't give me any. If 
 she hadn't one she would have invented half a 
 dozen." 
 
 He looked at the paper on which he had been 
 scribbling. He had absently written down the 
 sum which he proposed to give Miss Wynne, and 
 then had multiplied it, and multiplied that agai
 
 58 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES IV 
 
 till it swelled to a fabulous amount. "And I 
 suppose she'd tell me that that wouldn't buy it !" 
 he said to himself. " Should I believe her ?" 
 
 He turned sideways to his table, flung his legs 
 over the arm of his chair, and proceeded to light 
 his pipe. The window of his room looked into 
 Garden Lane. The blind was drawn down but 
 the sash was raised for air, and a man staggered 
 along in the roadway below, howling a song. 
 "Hezekiah Barnes, if I'm not mistaken, home 
 from the 'Hand and Flower.'" The discordant 
 yell was suddenly interrupted by a torrent of 
 shrill abuse. "Just so," said Brydon, half-aloud. 
 "Betsy Barnes it is. There's no mistaking her! 
 Ah, he's going in — head foremost I should think. 
 And now I suppose Hezekiah junior, and Ada, 
 and Minnie, and Fred, and the little ones, are all 
 waking up to have their minds improved, and 
 perhaps to join in the fray. Well, I can't help 
 it." 
 
 He smoked on, staring fixedly at the wall. It 
 was coarsely papered with a representation of
 
 IV 
 
 WHY NOT ? 59 
 
 large blocks of granite. The paper was dis- 
 coloured and torn in one corner where the damp 
 had come in, and the contrast between its shabby 
 flimsiness and the stately solidity which it mocked 
 was grotesque. The flaring gas had blackened 
 the ceiling and grimed the whole room. Thomas 
 Brydon gazed at his granite, got up, laid his hand 
 upon it, leant his shoulder against it. He had 
 never taken much heed of it before ; he had left 
 the dirty little office as he found it when he 
 became master. It had been good enough for his 
 uncle, it was good enough for him. And the wall 
 had been the boundary of his dominion. But 
 now he felt it merely an obstacle ; he braced him- 
 self as if he would have conquered it by sheer 
 might of muscle, as if he would have thrust him- 
 self through, where, at arm's length — he had never 
 realised before how literally the object of his 
 desire was at arm's length — the full moon was 
 shining on the blossoming limes. The slender 
 boughs were swaying softly in the fresh night air, 
 which smelt of their sweetness ; they touched the
 
 60 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES IV 
 
 brickwork with light leaf sprays and delicate 
 moving shadows, while on the other side he faced 
 his torn and faded wall-paper, and felt himself as 
 liopelessly shut out as by square blocks of ada- 
 mant. "Wliat is there in the garden that she 
 can't part with ? " he mused. " It isn't as if she 
 had known it long. By Jove, it's like the old 
 rhyme — 
 
 " ' Mary, Mary, quite contrary, 
 What does your garden grow ? ' " 
 
 The conceit pleased him, and in a whimsical way 
 seemed to put him on better terms with his neigh- 
 bour. Henceforth she was something more than 
 "Miss Wynne" to him, she was the "Mary, 
 Mary," whose " contrariness " was an acknowledged 
 fact since the days of his childhood. Evidently 
 she was only fulfilling her destiny. 
 
 She sat alone that night on the cushioned 
 window -seat of her parlour, ^\Tapped in a soft 
 white shawl, and resting her arm on the sill. 
 Behind her the lamp burned steadily, a yellow
 
 IV WHY NOT ? 61 
 
 globe, and the little moths came hurrying in from 
 the shadows of the trees. 
 
 The garden was blossoming for her with all its 
 memories, but after all how few and small they 
 were ! She had been about half a year with the 
 Macleans, and out of those six months there had 
 been nearly three weeks of sweet remembrance. 
 Eighteen days — no more — during which Philip 
 had idled about those mossy walks, reading, 
 smoking, dreaming, and sometimes, with a finger 
 in his book, studying the glimpses of blue through 
 the sweeping cedar boughs, or the little plants 
 that grew in the crevices of the buttressed wall. 
 Not so much as eighteen hours — not eighteen 
 half-hours out of those days, in which Philip had 
 talked, in his gentle, rather melancholy fashion 
 — generally choosing the most interesting of all 
 subjects — himself. Mary had never listened to a 
 young man's confidences before, and she accepted 
 them as an appeal, a trust reposed in her which 
 claimed her gratitude and loyalty. His hopes, 
 his fears, his plans, his wrongs, as he let them fall
 
 62 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES IV 
 
 from his half-smiling lips, were gathered into a 
 tender little heart and cherished there. She 
 remembered the very spot where he stood, looking 
 round, and said that he should never forget the 
 place. " I shall think of it wherever I may go. 
 I should like to come back years hence, perhaps, 
 and find it just the same, only mellowed and 
 ripened with the sun of a few more seasons — the 
 passion-flower grown higher about the study 
 window, the wistaria a little farther along the 
 west wall, just enough to show it had been living 
 while I was gone. It is the sweetest old garden 
 I ever saw. It is like a convent garden. I feel 
 as if there were something sacred about it. I like 
 the roofs and houses all round, and this one spot, 
 sheltered and green and blossoming. I shall 
 dream of it when I am — heaven knows where I 
 shall be ! Perhaps in some suburban street with 
 half a dozen geraniums on the window sill. More 
 likely in some big dreary new country, which is 
 only x^roud of its so many square miles, and hasn't 
 such a thing as an old wall. The flowers will all
 
 IV 
 
 WHY NOT ? 63 
 
 be new acquaintances there — how homesick I 
 shall be ! How I shall dream of the sweet-smell- 
 ing bushes here — myrtle, and bay, and rosemary, 
 and lavender ! I think I should like to be buried 
 here when I die — laid in the soft black earth, to 
 come up in spring in homely old-fashioned flowers. 
 Would you set sweet basil over me, I wonder? 
 But I want to come back here alive first, just to 
 feel the quiet sunny welcome of the place, to 
 smell the earth and leaves and flowers, and hear 
 the bees. What nonsense all this is ! I daresay 
 the garden will be sold and spoilt long before I 
 come back to it !" 
 
 " Oh, if I could save it for you !" thought Mary, 
 and ached with an impotent longing to give him 
 his fancy. 
 
 He had gone away soon afterwards, leaving the 
 memory of words and glances, which might mean 
 all or nothing, and little more substantial except 
 a list of books scribbled on the fly-leaf of an old 
 letter, and an outline, on a page torn from his 
 little sketch-book, of the house where his earliest
 
 64 A GARDEN OF MEIMORIES iv 
 
 childhood had been spent. " The old fir-tree was 
 just here," he had said, explaining some boyish 
 exploit, and had dinted in its scarred and writhen 
 stem and broken boughs with a few vigorous 
 pencil strokes. 
 
 Mary was the possessor of these treasures, both 
 literary and artistic, and also of some information 
 concerning Philip's career. She knew that his 
 father and mother were both dead, and that an 
 uncle of his mother's had brought him up in a 
 kindly, slovenly fashion, permitting him to do 
 very much as he pleased, and rather ignoring than 
 sanctioning his desire to be an artist. The old 
 gentleman hated scenes, and arguments, and de- 
 cisions, and let matters drift, from unwillingness 
 to act. Of late, however, matters had not been 
 going so smoothly. Mr. Frere had put some 
 money into a mine which appeared to be of 
 extraordinary depth. Nothing came out of it, 
 and nobody could get to the bottom of the thing. 
 " Perhaps it hasn't any bottom to it," said Philip, 
 idly crushing the leaves of the walnut-tree under
 
 IV 
 
 WHY NOT ? 65 
 
 which he stood. "How sweet these leaves are! 
 Anyhow he has dropped his money out of reach, 
 and he is out of temper with me in consequence. 
 He knows very well that I'm guiltless of silver- 
 mining, but he must find fault with some one, so 
 he says I ought to get to work. And it appears 
 that what I call work he calls idling. Well, it is 
 not very remunerative at present, and perhaps the 
 old boy can't manage to keep me at it. We had 
 almost a quarrel — more shame for me, for he's a 
 good old fellow ! — and then it was settled that I 
 should come here for a bit, to these cousins of his, 
 while he went to town — I suppose to try to look 
 into this blessed mine a little. Que diahle allait-il 
 /aire dans cette yaUre ? So here am I stranded. 
 I've an elder brother in New Zealand who wants 
 me to go out there. I suppose he thinks he should 
 enjoy my society, or perhaps he fancies I should 
 be ornamental, for I'm sure I shouldn't be the 
 least good to him. He'd be horribly disappointed 
 if I did go out ; he hasn't seen me since I was 
 ten or eleven, when I was always at his heels, 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 A GAEDEN OF MEMORIES iv 
 
 worshipping him because he could smoke, and 
 knew a lot of card tricks, and had a gun. He 
 used to encourage me in all sorts of mischief, and 
 it seems to me he was always turning me upside 
 down. I liked it immensely, you know, but how 
 does it strike you as a basis for lifelong companion- 
 ship ? I have my doubts even as to my brother, 
 and I'm certain I should loathe the life. Well, 
 then, I've got an uncle, I forget where he is, it's 
 out in America, I know — something beginning 
 with a C. Could it be Colorado, I wonder? I 
 suppose he'd want me to help kill beetles. Why 
 couldn't my relations settle in some decent kind 
 of place ? An uncle in Italy, now, one might be 
 glad of an uncle in Italy, but what can one do 
 with one in Colorado or Chicago, or wherever it 
 is?" Philip fairly groaned in his despair. "Well, 
 I shall be there or in New Zealand before the year 
 is out — there's no help for it !" 
 
 A day or two later he had received a rather 
 enigmatical letter from old Mr. Frere which 
 brought his visit to a close. Mary remembered
 
 IV WHY NOT ? 67 
 
 that morning, her hand had not forgotten his 
 clasp, she could recall his good-bye, his backward 
 glance, his lifted hat. Old Teddy Maclean smiled 
 at his going as he had smiled at his coming, and 
 Miss Mary Anne put on a dingier cap, and said 
 she had never been so late finishing the spring 
 cleaning, and they would wash the cliina in the 
 drawing-room that very afternoon. Nothing more 
 was said about their late visitor, till one morning 
 old Teddy came down to breakfast chuckling over 
 the discovery that Mr. Frere had made use of them 
 to keep the young fellow out of the way while he 
 went to London to get married. The losses 
 through the silver mine had been exaggerated, 
 they had served as a convenient pretext for urging 
 Philip to betake himself to New Zealand or 
 America. The new Mrs. Frere was a widow with 
 a limited income — "been after Frere for years,'* 
 said Maclean. 
 
 " He's an old fool," said Miss Mary Anne, 
 peering into the teapot. 
 
 " Well, Master Philip must turn out now," said
 
 68 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES IV 
 
 Teddy. " The happy pair won't want him hanging 
 about the place." 
 
 " And a good thing too 1 The folly of taking 
 a lad like that to bring up ! I told Eobert Frere 
 my opinion of it years ago. 'You should have 
 left him to his own people,' I said. ' Xobody but 
 a born idiot would have saddled himself with the 
 boy.' He hadn't a word to answer back ; he stood 
 smiling and looking just as silly as he always did. 
 But now I'll be bound he's sorry enough he didn't 
 ask my advice before he took him in." 
 
 "Well, perhaps," old Maclean replied. "But 
 after all the young fellow has been company for 
 him, company, you know." 
 
 "Company! That's all you tliink of — com- 
 pany 1 I'm not so fond of it, and if I do want 
 company I like peox^le who can pay their way. 
 If not, they ought to make themselves useful — 
 that's my opinion — and be glad to do it. I've no 
 patience with your Philip, dawdling round the 
 place with a pipe and a paint box " 
 
 " It was a cigarette mostly," said Teddy.
 
 IV WHY NOT ? 6^ 
 
 "Well, that's worse. More expensive, and 
 people who can't pay for what they want shouldn't 
 he expensive. He'll have to come to his senses 
 now. Company, indeed ! / thought him very 
 poor company. If you've done your breakfast, 
 Mary, you might as well run up and get out 
 those curtains ready for me to look over as soon 
 as I've spoken to cook." 
 
 That was the last that Mary heard of Philip. 
 She watched for his name, but it was never 
 mentioned ; she made herself a willing slave to 
 Miss Mary Anne in the hope of staying on in the 
 old house where he might some day return, but it 
 was all in vain. The old lady never kept a com- 
 panion for more than half a year. She thought 
 them moderately satisfactory for two months, she 
 endured them for two more, and then quarrelled 
 with them till they left. Poor Mary's time came, 
 she was driven out of the garden, and thence- 
 forward there was no chance of further tidings, 
 only a blackness and silence which seemed to 
 grow a shade heavier when some one said that
 
 70 A GAEDEX OF MEMORIES IV 
 
 old Teddy was dead, and that his sister had gone 
 home to Norfolk. 
 
 Yet it seemed to Mary that the hardest time to 
 bear had been the few weeks between the day when 
 she found herself mistress of what to her was con- 
 siderable wealth, and the day when the purchase 
 of the house and garden was completed. She had 
 been forced to hide her feelings, Philip had never 
 said or done anything which would entitle her to 
 avow them. With a woman's submission to the 
 laws of propriety she had smiled, and appeared 
 indifferent, and acquiesced in the lawyer's delays, 
 though all the while her heart was throbbing in 
 terror lest some one else should arrive upon the 
 scene determined to buy the property. She could 
 not sleep at night ; she nearly fell ill from sheer 
 anxiety. Why — why did Mr. Eddington make 
 such a fuss about title and price, when every 
 moment was a hideous risk ? She sat looking at 
 him while he explained the progress of the nego- 
 tiations, but she could have danced with impati- 
 ence and agony on the floor of his office. Some
 
 IV WHY NOT ? 71 
 
 one else would step in and get the place — some 
 man who could manage for himself — and she 
 would be homeless all her life! "Yes, I see," 
 she said meekly, " of course you understand these 
 matters and I don't. It isn't settled yet, then ? 
 No, of course not. Oh, I see, I'm sure it is quite 
 right ;" and she smiled and looked down, and 
 clenched a little hidden hand, as if she would 
 have driven her nails into the flesh. " Oh, you 
 idiot — you idiot ! Why don't you pay and have 
 done with it ? " 
 
 And Eddington — poor soul — thought she was 
 extremely well satisfied with his management of 
 affairs, as indeed he was himself. He made a 
 capital bargain for her. Old Brydon was content 
 with his factory as it was, and young Thomas 
 Brydon, who might perhaps have influenced him, 
 was away somewhere in the north. The owner 
 was anxious to sell, and nobody wanted the old 
 house and garden except Miss Wynne. Luckily 
 for her, nobody knew how much she wanted them, 
 and Eddington, by his delays and his coolness,
 
 72 A GAEDEX OF MEMOEIES IV 
 
 effected a considerable abatement in the price 
 demanded. 
 
 Since a change of name had been the condition 
 attached to her legacy, the garden seemed to Mary 
 the one link between the present and the past. 
 Mary Medland existed no longer, but Philip could 
 find his way, if he would, to the bench under the 
 acacia, where the milk-wdiite blossoms dropped on 
 the shaven lawn. There, recovering from her 
 terrible anxiety, she waited for him. Through 
 every change of season, through every hour of the 
 day, the old house was ready for his return. The 
 world widened as she thought of him. Had he 
 gone to New Zealand ? to America ? Was there 
 not even a continent of which she might think 
 certainly that it held Philip ? 
 
 Eivers and mountains seemed to conspire 
 against that innocent love. Desolate leagues of 
 forest and plain, desolate leagues of heaving sea, 
 haunted her imagination with maddening persist- 
 ency as she lay aw^ake in her bed. How was she 
 ever to find him again — how w^as she even to
 
 IV WHY NOT ? 73 
 
 think of him in those immense spaces? They 
 were terrible from their loneliness, but there were 
 times when she was heartsick with an oppressive 
 consciousness of the swarming atoms of human 
 life roaming aimlessly over the vast globe, as 
 sparks quicken, and run, and die in tinder. So 
 many hundreds, and thousands, and millions, and 
 tens of millions of men, and among them — Philip. 
 So many kindling and fading sparks, and among 
 them the one wandering point of light which held 
 all possibilities of brightness and warmth for her. 
 On stormy nights the beating of the rain on her 
 window pane told her with dreary iteration of the 
 cold inhospitality of the heavens. The vagrant 
 winds rushed by with wild half-human cries, as if 
 they had caught the prayers and messages of 
 countless parted souls, and were blending and 
 rending them in cruel sport, and sweeping them 
 away into the outer darkness of forgetfulness. 
 And when morning came, after one of these 
 troubled nights, the very sun was apt to show a 
 mocking glance, as if he knew but would not tell,
 
 74 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES IV 
 
 whether day after day he looked on Philip, or on 
 Philip's grave. 
 
 Philip's grave! Mary was young enough to 
 turn to that sad thought, and dwell upon it with 
 passionate despair, but too young to really believe 
 in its possibility. Philip must come back, would 
 come back, and would find her waiting. She read 
 the books he had recommended, she tended the 
 flowers he had noticed, she lived patiently witliin 
 her walled garden. One day, it was a Tuesday 
 and a working day, she noticed that the great 
 pulses of the factory were still, and some one said 
 that it was on account of Mr. Brydon's funeral. 
 She remembered Mr. Brydon, a little shuffling, 
 blinking, gray-haired man, who sat not far from 
 her at church. Dead! She sauntered idly to 
 and fro, looking up at the wall, blank and blind 
 behind a tracery of leafless boughs. She was in- 
 terested in death, but not in Mr. Brydon. 
 
 It was one of those days in February which 
 are an earnest of spring, like the passing glimpse 
 of a face beloved, quickening memory and hope.
 
 IV WHY NOT ? 75 
 
 The borders were dotted with clusters of snow- 
 drops, the ground was broken here and there 
 where strong green leaves of daffodils were push- 
 ing upward, the winter violets had a purple bloom 
 upon them, and in a sunny corner a mezereon 
 held out its leafless flowering twigs. Mary paced 
 the gravel path, drawing deep breaths of the soft 
 air, and feeling the life of spring in her veins. It 
 seemed to her afterwards that it was the last 
 peaceful day she was ever to have there. 
 
 That one day the looms were still ; and Thomas 
 Brydon, in his suit of newest black, with crape on 
 his hat, sat in the mourning-coach, stood by the 
 grave's edge, with the slow clanging of the bell in 
 his ears, and did the melancholy honours of a 
 well- spread table at his suburban house. His 
 insignificance and pallor were shadowed by the 
 funeral blackness ; he spoke little, but went 
 through his duties with the utmost decorum, 
 carving for his guests, taking wine with his 
 uncle's old friends, and listening to their anec- 
 dotes of the dead man. The company dispersed,
 
 76 A GARDEN OF MEMOEIES IV 
 
 unanimous on two points, tliat the sherry was 
 good — old Brydon's sherry always was — and that 
 the young fellow wasn't going to set the Thames 
 on fire. 
 
 But the next morning he was at the factory in 
 a shabby coat, with his hands thrust deeply into 
 his pockets, glancing here and there with brilliant 
 eyes, and showing an unexpected familiarity with 
 every detail of the business. Before the day was 
 out he appeared in Eddington's office, inquiring 
 whether Miss Wynne would be willing to sell her 
 house and garden. He was prepared to offer her 
 a liberal price. 
 
 Eddington communicated with his client, and 
 wrote a negative answer. Miss Wynne did not 
 wish to part with her property. 
 
 Brydon apparently acquiesced, but he began to 
 make a stir in the town about the disgraceful 
 condition of Garden Lane, and three courts that 
 led out of it. Some six or seven cottages were 
 his own property. These were by no means the 
 worst, take them altogether they were perhaps
 
 IV WHY NOT ? 77 
 
 the best, and yet, as he honestly owned, they were 
 bad enough. He wrote a letter to the local paper, 
 pointing out the hideous overcrowding which was 
 a shame to a civilised place. Miss Wynne read 
 the letter, heard some of the talk that ensued, and 
 felt her brick wall no better than the flimsiest 
 veil between herself and the appalling indecency 
 of the lane. She seemed to see through it, and 
 felt sick with horror in the shadow of her cedars. 
 Even when she lay down at night in the cool 
 purity of her wide dim room, where rustling leaf 
 sprays garlanded her windows, she could not sleep 
 for thinking of those foul little dens to which 
 fathers and brothers came stumbling from the 
 public-houses. A breath of uncleanness tainted 
 her very dreams. 
 
 And she could do nothing — she had not an 
 inch of property beyond her garden wall. If only 
 some one else would do something, and let her 
 subscribe ! 
 
 Brydon reappeared in Mr. Eddington's office. 
 They had met pretty often in the interval, and
 
 78 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES IV 
 
 the young man was more conversational. He 
 spoke of the interest which had been excited by 
 his letter to the Brenthill Guardian. "But it's 
 very little good," he said. " Plenty of talk, but 
 something must be done." 
 
 " Something ought to be done," Eddington 
 admitted. 
 
 The mill-owner got up and stood on the rug. 
 "Do you know what I've come for?" he said, 
 looking down. 
 
 " Well, I can guess," Mr. Eddington replied. 
 
 " I must have that garden. I want to build some 
 decent houses. I can't take ' No ' for an answer." 
 
 The other smiled doubtfully. 
 
 " Look here ! " Brydon exclaimed, sitting down 
 on a corner of the office-table. " I'm going to tell 
 you exactly how the matter stands." 
 
 He did so at length, and yet with an amazing 
 directness and simplicity. When he had explained 
 his position he named the precise sum he offered 
 for the garden. " It is more than it is worth, but 
 I am prepared to give it, under the circumstances.
 
 IV WHY NOT ? 79 
 
 Infernally unlucky for me that Miss Wynne has 
 got hold of it — pity the people who left her the 
 money didn't live a little longer ! But that can't 
 be helped, and I must just give a fancy price 
 since I can't buy it at a fair one. Beyond this I 
 can't go — you must see that for yourself." 
 
 " I see," said the other, and to himself he added, 
 " I should think you couldn't !" The young man's 
 frankness and liberality startled him. 
 
 " Then you will speak to Miss Wynne about it ?" 
 
 " Certainly — certainly." 
 
 Thomas Brydon looked straight at him. After 
 a moment's silence, " Shall you advise her to 
 accept it ?" he said. 
 
 *' Yes. Yes, I shall advise her to accept it." 
 
 " That's all right then." And the young fellow 
 got off the corner of the table, and looked about 
 for his hat. 
 
 " I'm not so sure," said Eddington, but the 
 discouraging words were accompanied by an en- 
 couraging smile. For Mr. Eddington was tolerably 
 sure. Miss Wynne had always behaved as if she
 
 80 A GAEDEX OF MEMORIES IV 
 
 considered him an oracle. "She's a sensible 
 young woman," he said to himself, as he went off 
 to tell her of Thomas Brydon's offer, and to 
 explain to her, in his best paternal manner, that 
 she had better say " Yes." 
 
 But the foolish young woman said " No." She 
 did not want any offers — did not want to part 
 with her house. She was very much distressed, 
 but she said more than once that it was impossible 
 — impossible. Would he please tell Mr Brydon ? 
 She hoped there was some other piece of ground 
 which would do as well for the cottages he wanted 
 to build. 
 
 " He doesn't think there is — luckily," said the 
 lawyer. 
 
 Brydon was indignant, incredulous, bewildered. 
 In the first shock of his disappointment he took 
 the whole town into his confidence, almost as 
 completely as he had taken Mr. Eddington, and 
 without meaning any harm he set everybody 
 talking about Mary Wynne. The unlucky girl 
 felt as if she were living under a microscope. She
 
 IV 
 
 WHY NOT ? 81 
 
 did not blame Brydoii for his tliouglitlessness. It 
 did not even occur to lier sweet submissive soul 
 that he might have screened her had he tried ; she 
 accepted this uncomfortable publicity as the 
 natural result of her own obstinacy, and lived 
 resignedly in a Babel of argument. Some people 
 thought she was right. Most people were sure 
 she was wrong. Everybody knew better than she 
 did. The vicar, and a good many ladies of his 
 congregation, felt that a young woman ought to 
 take advice, and ought not to stand in the way of 
 a public improvement, and an increase of fortune 
 evidently intended by Providence. Young Hal- 
 dane and one or two more rejoiced in the rebuff to 
 Bry don's over -confidence. Other young fellows 
 thought Mary a fool for not taking advantage of 
 the mill-owner's hobby. One and all had some- 
 thing to say about it. 
 
 Mary herself minded nothing, not even the 
 good advice, so much as the humorous commenda- 
 tion of some elderly gentlemen, who professed to 
 find her an amazingly clever woman of business. 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES iv 
 
 They would ask her, with intense appreciation of 
 their own wit, to suggest investments for their 
 superfluous cash. "Miss Wynne knows a good 
 tiling when she sees it," they would say, "but 
 there's no getting anything out of her, she's so 
 uncommon close." "Quite right too," another 
 would chime in ; " she wouldn't have done so well 
 for herself if she'd chattered to you. She knew 
 better, didn't you. Miss Wynne ? " And one per- 
 haps would add, in more serious kindliness, 
 " Never you mind them, my dear, you can't do 
 better than stick to Eddington. He knows what 
 he's about — he'll get you a good price. You are 
 quite right not to be in a hurry. Ladies so often 
 are, and it's a great mistake." 
 
 Mary was glad when Mr. Eddington proposed 
 to bring Brydon to her little tennis party. It was 
 like coming face to face Avith the enemy after a 
 series of rumours and alarms. If only she could 
 muster up courage to tell him plainly that his 
 persistent offers were useless, that she never could 
 iccept them ! If only she could say this once for
 
 IV WHY NOT ? 83 
 
 all, and then bar the door against him, and against 
 the thought of Garden Lane ! 
 
 Well, he had been and he had gone, and what 
 had come of it ? Nothing but a promise that she 
 should not be molested for the remainder of the 
 year, a promise which was only a continual silent 
 proffer of his terms, from which she could not 
 escape for a moment, look which way she would. 
 Nothing else, unless it were a keener sense of the 
 shame, and squalor, and obscure misery that 
 surrounded her. It seemed to her that night that 
 she was actually henmied in by a rising tide of 
 hate and nameless sin, that it was seething and 
 swelling in the lanes about her house, that it was 
 only by a strenuous effort of her will that she 
 maintained the barriers which guarded her, as if 
 she were thrusting with her weak woman's hands 
 against a yielding door, and fearing to see evil 
 faces rising above the wall. She drew back from 
 the window, scared by the freaks of her over- 
 wrought imagination. If Philip would but come 
 quickly, quickly, to relieve her of her guardianship !
 
 OF DEAINACtE 
 
 Eddington received the notice of the compact 
 between Brydon and Miss Wynne with good- 
 humoured contempt. " It's not to be mentioned 
 to her again," said the young man, with the 
 authoritative manner which he usually reserved 
 for the factory. " Not a word more about it." 
 
 The lawyer laughed. " As you please," he said, 
 " but you would do better to talk it over." 
 
 " Talk it over ! " cried Brydon. " Haven't we 
 talked it over ?" 
 
 " Yes. Take my advice and do it again." 
 
 " What's the use ? We've talked it to death. I've 
 no more to say, and she's sick of the whole concern."
 
 V or DRAINAGE 85 
 
 "So much the better for you," Edclington re- 
 plied astutely. "You are throwing away your 
 best chance." 
 
 Brydon considered the question from this point 
 of view. "/ don't think so,'' he said slowly. *'And 
 if I am I can't help it. I can't set to work to worry 
 a woman out of her determination. Let her be." 
 
 " Well," said Eddington, " you think you know 
 best, so there's no more to be said." 
 
 " That's it, exactly," Brydon agreed, and nodded 
 a farewell. 
 
 Perhaps all the town was sick of the subject 
 too. It was curious to note how utterly it was 
 dropped as the summer went on, as if it had been 
 finally settled at the tennis party that the mill- 
 owner was worsted. Miss Wynne could go where 
 she pleased and hardly hear a remark. Even 
 Eddington's enforced silence became natural, so 
 soon did he cease to trouble himself about the 
 business. It was a failure, and he put it aside, 
 having other things to think of. 
 
 Brydon talked no more about cottages. He
 
 06 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES V 
 
 took his rents for such of the unwholesome tene- 
 ments as belonged to him, and went backwards 
 and forwards through Garden Lane with an in- 
 difference w^hich appeared to be complete. Once, 
 about three weeks after the tennis party, he saw 
 Miss Wynne, who had just stepped out of her 
 garden, a little in advance of him. She had a 
 nosegay in her hand, and w^as herself a delicate 
 and flower-like presence in the unsavoury little 
 thoroughfare. Brydon slackened liis pace, but she 
 looked back, recognised him, bowed, blushed, and 
 then, as if moved by a sudden impulse, gave the 
 flow^ers to an old w^oman standing near, and fled. 
 
 The mill-owner came lounging up, nodded to 
 old Mrs. Humphreys, and stopped short. Mrs. 
 Humphreys was examining her acquisition rather 
 doubtfully, clutching the stems in one unclean 
 hand, while with the other she hitched her cap on 
 one side and scratched her head. She was not an 
 agreeable old lady to look at, dirt seemed to be 
 not an accident but an essential part of her, and 
 the black net cap was in the last stage of dis-
 
 V OF DRAINAGE 87 
 
 coloration and decay. If it had fallen off, it is 
 questionable whether, even in Garden Lane, any- 
 body but Mrs. Humphreys would have cared to 
 pick it up. It would have found its right place 
 in the gutter, but at present it was exalted on Mrs. 
 Humphreys's head, and looked decidedly drunk. 
 
 Brydon considered the old woman's dingy 
 wrinkles, the red-rimmed eyes, the streaks of gray 
 hair on her forehead, the half-fastened gown, and 
 the pale sweet petals of the roses. " You've got 
 some pretty flowers there," he said. 
 
 "Pretty enough," Mrs. Humphreys replied. 
 "She give 'em me," nodding in the direction of 
 Mary Wynne's flight. " They're weU enough for 
 gentlefolks." 
 
 " Well, they're sweet for all of us, aren't they ?" 
 
 " I daresay." She thrust her nose among the 
 tea-scented blossoms. " They're well enough, but 
 give me a bit of old man — that's what I like; or a 
 bunch of walls." Brydon wondered whether there 
 was any touch of sentiment in these preferences. 
 Could it be possible that Mrs. Humphreys long
 
 88 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES v 
 
 ago had put bits of soutliernwood in her prayer- 
 book, or in the buttonhole of a Sunday swain ? 
 It might be, but he found the idea hideous. 
 
 There was another disparaging sniff at the 
 roses. " She might have give me a copper or two 
 — just a copper or two to get a little tea " 
 
 " Gin," Brydon corrected. 
 
 Apparently the old lady did not catch the 
 word. She paused, looking at him, but he did 
 not repeat it. "Lor!" she went on, "tea's a 
 wonderful comfort, but flowers ain't no good. I 
 can't go sellin' 'em, like those brazen-faced little 
 hussies who run about the streets with 'em, not 
 near as good as these, and won't take an answer. 
 God bless you for a kind gentleman, sir, you've a 
 feelin' 'art, you 'ave, and the Lord grant you may 
 never know what it is to want a shillin' !" 
 
 Brydon scowled as he took the roses. "A 
 pore woman's blessin' '11 never hurt you," Mrs. 
 Humphreys called after him as he walked away 
 looking at his prize. He had hated to see the 
 delicate freshly-blown things in foul hands, but
 
 V OF DRAINAGE 89 
 
 he had come too late ; they were degraded, they 
 sickened him, they smelt of Mrs. Humphreys. 
 And, after all, Miss Wynne had meant to leave 
 them in Garden Lane. " Here ! take them ! " he 
 said, and flung them to some of the dirty little 
 children who were screaming at each other in the 
 gutter. 
 
 He never attempted to see or speak to Miss 
 Wynne, choosing to consider the merest greeting 
 from him as part of the molestation which he had 
 promised should cease. But on Sundays, after 
 duly looking into the crown of his hat, his first 
 glance was always towards her pew, a swift, pene- 
 trating, furtive glance. When it was withdrawn 
 he felt that her eyes were upon him, and he 
 tingled with the knowledge. Was it with a sense 
 of battle ? It might be, for it was strange how 
 intense the consciousness of the silent question 
 between them had become. Xow that it was 
 pent in their two hearts they seemed to be drawn 
 together by the very obstinacy of their antagonism, 
 like men who clutch each other in a death struggle.
 
 90 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES V 
 
 Sunday after Sunday she studied Brydon's resolute 
 air of indifference, and felt the purpose that lay 
 below. Sunday after Sunday he noted a difference 
 in her. Presently people began to say that Miss 
 Wynne was not looking well, perhaps she wanted 
 a change. Her face was smaller and whiter, the 
 sweet mouth a little tremulous. To Brydon it 
 seemed that she was failing in some mysterious 
 way, and yet not yielding, as if some third person 
 had come into their duel and upheld her weakness. 
 Brydon grew fierce in his determination to over- 
 come this invisible opponent. He, as it were, 
 divined Philip, and measured himself against him, 
 thrusting the woman aside. She meanwhile was 
 haunted day and night by spectres from Garden 
 Lane, till she fancied that all the air was poisoned 
 by the breath of their foul sties. 
 
 It was September and the days were shortening, 
 and the hint of coming change was on the heavily- 
 leaved trees. Brydon waylaid Eddington one day, 
 shook hands abstractedly, and in the middle of 
 commonplaces about the weather put a point-
 
 V ■ OF DRAINAGE 91 
 
 blank question : " Isn't Miss Wynne going to the 
 seaside or somewhere this autumn?" 
 
 " Eeally," said the lawyer, " I haven't the least 
 •idea." 
 
 " Well, I wish she would — in fact, I wish you'd 
 speak to her about it." 
 
 Eddington arched his brows, and looked at his 
 neat nails. "My good fellow," he said, "Miss 
 WjTine is of age. I'm her lawyer, but I'm not 
 her guardian. Her arrangements are no business 
 of mine, and I was under the impression that they 
 were no business of yours." 
 
 "Well — they are. Look here, some of the 
 drains in the lane must be opened ; it ought to 
 have been done before, but they've been waiting 
 as long as possible on account of the heat. It 
 seems, however, that matters have come to a 
 crisis, and they'll begin on Wednesday." 
 
 " Thanks for the hint. I'll give your delightful 
 property a wide berth." 
 
 " You'd better," grinned Brydon. " It might 
 be sweeter than it is at the best of times, when
 
 92 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES V 
 
 we let sleeping smells lie, but when we stir 'em 
 
 up ! Well, you'll just mention the matter to 
 
 Miss Wynne ; she'd better go away for a few days. 
 Don't want to give her a fever, you know." 
 
 "I'll speak to her — yes. What's to-day — 
 Saturday ? Yes, I'll look in this evening." 
 
 Miss Wynne was grateful, but she took the 
 warning pensively. " Is Mr. Brydon going away ? " 
 she inquired. 
 
 " He — oh no 1 He'll be sure to be about." 
 
 "Ah, yes, I suppose so. And what will be- 
 come of the poor people in the cottages ? " 
 
 " Oh, well, you know, I don't fancy they'll think 
 much about it. A little worse than usual, that's 
 all they'll notice — accustomed to it, you see. And 
 I'm afraid they can't all arrange to go out visiting. 
 But it won't be for long." 
 
 " I see. Thank you so much for coming to tell 
 me, Mr. Eddington." Then, with innocent artful- 
 ness, Miss Wynne slid into the discussion of some 
 local topic peculiarly interesting to the lawyer, 
 and dismissed him without any definite answer.
 
 V OF DRAINAGE 93 
 
 He did not notice this, and even if he had, he 
 would hardly have pressed for one ; she was duly- 
 warned, and of course would take all necessary 
 precautions. But when he reached his own gate 
 he was aware of a red spark wandering to and fro 
 in the mild September dusk ; Brydon was smoking 
 his evening cigar in the shadow of his friend's 
 laburnums and limes, and impatiently awaiting 
 his return. 
 
 " Is it all right ?" he demanded. " Did you see 
 her?" 
 
 " Yes, I saw her — yes, of course it's all right. 
 I told her it mightn't be very pleasant in her 
 garden for the next ten days or so, nor very 
 healthy, and she'd better go away for a little 
 change." 
 
 " Yes ! And she said she would ?" 
 
 " Oh, of course she will. I say, Brydon, did 
 you hear about the squabble there was at the 
 Mechanics' Institute to-day? Disgraceful, isn't 
 it ? I wish we had you on the committee " 
 
 " No, — but did she say she would go ?"
 
 94 . A GARDEN OF MEMOEIES V 
 
 His companion stared at the dimly seen face 
 and paused, bewildered. " Say it ? I don't know 
 that she said it in so many words." 
 
 "What did she say?" 
 
 Eddington, yielding to the other's absurd per- 
 sistence, threw a backward light over his memory 
 of the interview. " Asked if you were going away 
 too — and what would be done with all the people 
 in the lane — and then, what did we talk of ?'" 
 
 Brydon interrupted him. '' She won't go." 
 
 "Oh yes, surely she will. Why on earth 
 not?" 
 
 " I tell you she won't," the young man re- 
 peated. "Because she knows we want her to, 
 very likely ;" and he murmured " ' Quite con- 
 trary,' " with a harsh little laugh. 
 
 " Very well," said Eddington cheerfully. " She 
 knows all about it now. Let her stay at home if 
 she won't go." 
 
 " You haven't half done it ; you should have 
 told her she miist!' 
 
 " And have her laugh in my face ! No, thank
 
 V OF DRAINAGE 95 
 
 you, I've had enough of this business. I've known 
 a good many obstinate and impracticable young 
 people — a good many — " Eddington smiled re- 
 flectively, "but you and Miss Wynne beat all. 
 Very likely she won't go — I daresay you are 
 right. You neither of you know what is good 
 for you, or, if you do, you act as if you didn't. 
 Miss Wynne won't listen to advice, and you luill 
 advise her and ivonH speak to her. Very good, 
 only find another messenger." 
 
 Brydon threw the end of his cigar away. " As 
 you please," he said, after a pause, in a hesitating 
 voice. " I suppose I can't do any more, I don't 
 see that I can. It was only because I heard 
 somebody say Miss Wynne wasn't looking well 
 — thought she wanted change. Well, you know, 
 anybody like that — a little below j)ar, you know 
 — might be just ready to take typhoid fever, don't 
 you think? I don't fancy the drains will hurt 
 me, I shall go home to sleep, too — and I don't 
 think they'll hurt old Mrs. Humphreys. She 7iiay 
 find out there's an extra smell, and she'll think
 
 96 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES v 
 
 the whole business very unnecessary. So will 
 they all, and they'll all go round the corner to 
 the * Hand and Flower ' rather more than usual. 
 But I thought there was just a possibility that 
 
 Miss Wynne " He stopped short and made 
 
 no attempt to finish the sentence, though there 
 was a brief silence. 
 
 "Confound you!" said Eddington. "Well, 
 this once more, then. I'll write Miss Wynne a line." 
 
 An astounding idea had just crossed his mind. 
 Was it possible that Brydon took an interest in 
 Mary Wynne apart from her possession of the 
 coveted plot of ground ? Something in his voice 
 suggested it, and yet, could it be? It might 
 smooth all difficulties if it were so, but Eddington 
 almost laughed aloud at the idea of a courtship 
 carried on by means of the Garden Lane drains 
 and the family lawyer. Surely true love never 
 ran so strange a course before ! " Yes, I'll write 
 a line," he repeated. 
 
 It was a neat little note in his legal hand. 
 After due apologies for troubling her a second
 
 V OF DEAINAGE 97 
 
 time lie ventured to urge her not to expose herself 
 to any danger. " I am much older than you," he 
 wrote, " and I hope the fact may be my excuse for 
 offering my advice. It would be kind of you if 
 you would console me for having lived all these 
 additional years by pretending to believe that 
 they have gifted me with a little wisdom, as well 
 as rheumatism and other troubles. I am not 
 disposed to exaggerate the risk you would run 
 by staying at home for the next few days. 1 
 think myself that though real it would be small, 
 but, however small it may be, it is certainly 
 useless, and Mr. Brydon — who perhaps fancies 
 himself somewhat responsible — is very uneasy 
 about it. Pray give us the satisfaction of feeling 
 that you are out of harm's way. 
 
 " I believe I once heard you talk of Salthaven. 
 I have a cousin staying there now who thinks it 
 a charming place, bracing and very healthy. If 
 you cared to go there, and she could be of any 
 service in securing rooms, or making any arrange- 
 ments, I know she would be delighted." 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES V 
 
 Eddington sent his letter by a messenger early 
 on Sunday morning, and Miss Wynne read it and 
 re-read it as she sat at breakfast. The appeal 
 distressed her. It made a refusal to leave Brent- 
 hill seem like an act of wilful folly, and yet she 
 was conscious of a strong reluctance to yield. 
 She had a feeling, foolish but very feminine, that 
 if by her determination to keep the garden she 
 doomed the inhabitants of the lane to continue in 
 their filth and squalor, she ought at least to share 
 their perils. If any one were to take typhoid 
 fever, Miss Wynne felt it a point of honour to 
 sicken with it too, if possible. September that 
 year happened to be sultry, heavy- aired, and 
 rainless, and the suggestion of Salthaven breezes, 
 blowing over the crisp waves, and the wide, 
 wet sands, came with inviting freshness to her 
 thoughts. But there could be no sea-air for Mrs. 
 Humphreys and the rest. 
 
 Tor a more personal reason Miss Wynne was 
 loth to go. It seemed to her that if once she 
 suffered herself to be thrust out of her fortress
 
 V OF DEAINAGE 99 
 
 she might never return to it. It was a fancy, no 
 doubt, but she was languid and overwrought and 
 her brain was ripe for fancies. Or Philip would 
 come while she was away and not find her — 
 would be shut out of his garden ! No, she would 
 not go. 
 
 She went to church with a dreary sense of 
 weakness upon her, but she plucked up courage 
 enough to meet Brydon's eyes defiantly, after 
 which interchange of glances both he and she 
 were preternaturally intent upon their books, and 
 unconscious of each other. But when the service 
 was over, and the congregation rustled slowly 
 down the aisles. Miss Wynne, though she gazed 
 straight before her, with partially lowered eyelids, 
 felt that Brydon was at her elbow, moving with 
 her step by step in the crowd. As they passed 
 out of the porch into the open air and sunshine 
 he spoke. 
 
 " How d'ye do. Miss Wynne ? Fine day, isn't 
 it?" 
 
 "Oh, how d'ye do? Yes, very fine, but I
 
 100 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES v 
 
 thought early this morning it looked as if we 
 might be going to have some rain." 
 
 "T shouldn't be sorry," said Brydon, "though 
 I suppose the holiday-makers wouldn't care for it. 
 Going anywhere this autumn ?" 
 
 "N — no, I think not," Miss Wynne replied, 
 putting up her sunshade, but she must have looked 
 at him out of the corner of her eye, for she was 
 aware that his cool indifference suddenly broke up 
 like ice in spring. The reflection of the red-lined 
 parasol glowed on her delicate skin. 
 
 " No r he said. " How's that ?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. I like home best. It 
 isn't as if one lived in London, you know ; I don't 
 feel as if I wanted any change." 
 
 ''That's nonsense. You know you ought to go." 
 
 She inspected the carved handle of her parasol, 
 and the slim light -coloured kid fingers which 
 clasped it, but said nothing. 
 
 " You know you ought," he reiterated. 
 
 She still was silent, pressing her lips together. 
 
 "And, upon my honour," Brydon continued
 
 V OF DRAINAGE 101 
 
 in a low voice, " I believe you won't go because I 
 have urged it ! The other time, when you said 
 you had a good reason for refusing me — about the 
 garden, you know — I didn't doubt you. I am 
 sure you have. But what reason have you now ? 
 None. I have asked it — that is all — and you will 
 not do it heccmse I have asked it !" 
 
 She turned her face towards him in the red 
 shadow of her slanted parasol. " Yes," she said, 
 " you are right." He had meant what he said, and 
 yet this strange avowal startled him to speechless- 
 ness, though a curious wave of expression passed 
 over the clearness of his gray eyes. 
 
 "I da7'e not do it," she said after a moment. 
 " Do not ask me again." 
 
 "Why dare not V 
 
 '' If once I yield," she hesitated, " I feel that it 
 will be the beginning of the end." 
 
 ''I don't see why. Things will be just the 
 same when you come back. Do you expect to 
 find me throwing up earthworks all over your 
 lawn ? "
 
 102 A GARDEN OF MEMOKIES V 
 
 She smiled faintly. 
 
 '' Very well," said Brydon, still in the same low 
 voice. " You must go, so tell me what you want 
 me to say or do. What will satisfy yon ? " 
 
 His lips, his eyes were on a level with hers, 
 and their speech had a singular directness. " No 
 — no," she whispered, drawing back a step. '' You 
 need not say anything. I will go." 
 
 " Ah, here is Eddington," murmured the young 
 man. 
 
 Mr. Eddington was the vicar's churchwarden. 
 He stepped out of the porch, carrying a miracu- 
 lously thin umbrella, and having an indescribable 
 air of Sunday about hun. He shook hands with 
 Miss Wynne. " I hope you had my note ?" 
 
 She had regained enough of her gentle calm to 
 answer with a smile. " Tliank you so much. I 
 think I will go to Salthaven ; I was just saying 
 so to Mr. Brydon." 
 
 " There ! " said the old gentleman. " I knew 
 you would. But this stupid fellow had taken it 
 into his head you wouldn't."
 
 V OF DRAINAGE 103 
 
 "You know Miss Wynne better, you see," 
 Brydon replied. 
 
 "Yes. But upon my word, Miss Wynne, I 
 was obliged to trouble you a second time, for he 
 was getting desperate. I don't know what he 
 might not have done between this and Wednes- 
 day. We might have had him setting the place 
 on fire — burning you out of house and home, and 
 rescuing you in the dead of night, just to get rid of 
 you — eh, Brydon?" 
 
 "I'm glad you rescued me from that," said 
 Mary. "Your note was better." 
 
 Brydon coloured, looking angrily at the smiling 
 churchwarden. " I'll say good-bye," he exclaimed 
 with some abruptness, and took his leave accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 "He doesn't like being laughed at," said 
 Eddington, glancing after him. "But upon my 
 word it was almost true — he was so determined 
 you should go, and yet so persuaded you wouldn't. 
 I can't think what made him take such a notion 
 into his head ; I told him he was wrong. But
 
 104 A GARDEN OF MEMOEIES v 
 
 he's amazingly obstinate. Now can my cousin do 
 anything for you at Salthaven ? " 
 
 Mary Wynne was never quite sure what she 
 had authorised Miss Eddington to do on her be- 
 half. She agreed to everything the lawyer x^ro- 
 posed, and she perfectly remembered that he 
 talked about the Salthaven hotel, and said either 
 that it was extremely bad or extremely good. 
 Apparently she was listening to him as she stood 
 at the pavement's edge, in her light summer dress, 
 a slight, dainty figure, with the sunny rose-colour 
 lighting her pale cheeks, but in reality she was 
 absorbed in a curiously intense perception of the 
 idea which Eddington had laughingly suggested a 
 few moments earlier. The blue sky, the birds 
 flying overhead, the church porch, the stones on 
 which she stood, the stream of well-dressed people, 
 even the neat elderly gentleman who faced her, 
 were less real to her than the vision and sound of 
 a moonless night, gusty and black, a sudden 
 bewildering terror, an uproar of horror in the 
 labvrinth of lanes, a crackling sound, a gathering
 
 V OF DRAINAGE 105 
 
 clamour, a burst of roaring flame, and then through 
 the murky heat and crashing noise, Brydon's face, 
 Brydon's eyes, Brydon's outstretched hands. She 
 shivered helplessly as she stood, looking up at 
 Mr. Eddington, but seeing all her dream of Philip, 
 all her happy garden fancies, drifting away across 
 a broad glare of fire in heavy clouds of smoke. 
 The fancy was absurd of course, and yet there 
 was sometliing in it which grasped and held 
 her as if it were true. "I'm sure that will be 
 very nice," she said with a sweet smile. " I shall 
 be so much obliged to Miss Eddington." But 
 when she went home she looked musingly at the 
 old house.
 
 VI 
 SALTHAVEN 
 
 '•The gray sea and tlie long black land." 
 
 Mary Wynne liked Salthaven very well. It was 
 not ambitious, it did not pretend to anything 
 startling in the way of scenery, or other attrac- 
 tions. It described itseK in the Salthaven Ad- 
 vertiser as " select." That meant that railway did 
 not come within nine miles of it, and that a couple 
 of omnibuses conveyed such visitors as did not 
 hire carriages from Deep well station. 
 
 It was a quiet little place, simple, leisurely, not 
 in the newest fashion. Before it lay its level 
 semicircle of waves and wet sands, behiud it a 
 gentle sloping of green meadows, which Salthaven
 
 VI SALTHAVEN 107 
 
 people called hills. There was an esplanade to 
 walk on, and a strip of green, and a jetty. A 
 band came from Deep well two evenings in the 
 week, and all the Salthaven visitors strolled up 
 and down and listened to it. On these occasions, 
 what with the strains of music, and the smell of 
 cigars and trampled grass, the little place felt 
 itself quite dissipated. 
 
 Mary Wynne walked up and down with Miss 
 Eddington. The latter was a bright, rather elderly 
 young lady, who enjoyed all the occupations 
 provided for her at Salthaven. She went every 
 morning to a little service in the new little 
 church, and then to the shore, where she bathed 
 from one of the little machines which crawled 
 across the expanse of shining sand. She read 
 quantities of novels from the circulating library, 
 she picked up shells and seaweeds, she did fancy 
 work, and was always brightly ready for a little 
 drive, or a little walk, or above all a little stroll 
 on the esplanade by moonlight. Miss Eddington 
 would have liked a moon always, and she was full
 
 108 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES VI 
 
 of regret that it was waning when Mary came. 
 It had been so perfect on the water. She thought 
 the band delightful, and made little romances to 
 fit the people who passed and repassed to its 
 music and the washing of the waves. 
 
 She was livelier than Mary, who would some- 
 times sit silent for an hour or more, hardly turning 
 a leaf of her book, while she gazed out to sea. 
 Mary had her own romance, and when a far-off 
 sail rose white on the horizon and vanished again 
 she would let her fancy fly — who could tell that 
 Philip might not be looking towards the shore 
 from beneath those snowy wings ? Sometimes it 
 was just a low trailing cloud of smoke, that came 
 and went, blotting the silver clearness of sky and 
 sea, but it was all the same — white sail or dull 
 smoke might be bearing Philip on his way, and 
 her heart sank within her when ship after ship 
 passed, outward bound, gliding in distant pro- 
 cession across the shining floor. 
 
 Yet even these moments of fanciful sadness 
 were brighter and better than thoughts of Garden
 
 VI SALTHAYE^^ 109 
 
 Lane, not to be blown away by all the Salthaven 
 breezes. Wholesome it might be to fill one's 
 lungs with pure sea-scented air, but imagination 
 grew sick meanwhile in the odours that steamed 
 from the turning of foul soil under an obstinately 
 rainless sky. There was a little paragraph in the 
 Brenthill Gtcardian, which demanded a large share 
 of those seaside meditations. It was a mere six- 
 pennyworth, by the penny-a-liner's reckoning, but 
 it revealed the fact that there had already been 
 fever a fortnight or three weeks earlier in one of 
 the courts. It made Mr. Brydon's anxiety more 
 intelligible. 
 
 Well, it was not her fault. Even if she had 
 consented to part with her garden the moment 
 she was asked, he could not have built his new 
 houses by that time. No, it was not actually her 
 fault, but in intention it was. She knew very 
 well that the owners of Garden Lane would do 
 nothing for their property that they could not be 
 compelled to do, that Brydon with his five or six 
 scattered cottages was powerless, and that she had
 
 110 A GAEDEN OF MEMORIES VI 
 
 decided that the wretched tenants of the lane 
 should stay where they were. Suppose there 
 should be an outbreak of typhus fever at her gate ! 
 Suppose Mr. Brydon took it and died ! Suppose 
 the cholera came ! " They ought to take me out of 
 my house and hang me ! " said Mary to herself. 
 
 Oh, it was hard — hard ! It was the one spot 
 of earth on which her heart was set, the only spot, 
 it seemed to her, where she could live. And 
 Providence had so strangely, so miraculously, 
 given her her secret desire, only for Brydon to 
 come in the name of the poor, and lay hands 
 upon it and claim it as a sacrifice. He never 
 would know the meaning of his demand. He 
 was asking her to sell her love ! 
 
 And, after all, was she certain that it was the 
 best thing to do, even for those poor wretches in 
 the lane? Ten or fifteen years hence might 
 not Brydon regret that he had not established his 
 colony at Holly Hill ? Perhaps he might even 
 move it there, and leave the densely peopled 
 neighbourhood without its one sweet patch of
 
 VI SALTHAVEN 111 
 
 green. Nothing could bring that back, but it 
 would live for a while in the memories of the old 
 folks thereabout, and she perhaps would live with 
 it, as the woman who made her money by selling 
 it for building ground. People just as good as 
 Thomas Brydon would execrate her. If only the 
 property had fallen into better hands, they would 
 say, it might have been saved, and perhaps finally 
 secured for the poor. 
 
 But in the meantime there was this fever 
 spectre at her very gates ! 
 
 Sooner than dwell on the subject in silence she 
 broached it in an airy and general manner in a 
 conversation on the sands. She effaced a capital 
 B which she had drawn with the point of her 
 parasol, and tried to find out what Miss Eddington 
 knew about typhus fever and drains. 
 
 Miss Eddington's mind was not singular — that 
 is to say, it ran naturally to the exciting and the 
 terrible. "Oh, have you been reading some of 
 those dreadful horrors in the papers ? " she said, 
 and forthwith told of a case she knew, where
 
 112 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES VI 
 
 there was an outbreak of typlius fever in a house, 
 in consequence of defective drainage. " Poor Mr. 
 Morling died, and the eldest boy, a dear little 
 fellow home for his holidays. And poor Mrs. 
 Morling — such a sweet woman — well, she didn't 
 die, but she was dreadfully ill, and had to have 
 all her hair cut off, and was left a widow with 
 four little children. Such beautiful hair! You 
 never saw such beautiful hair — I'm not exaggerat- 
 ing, it came down to her knees. She used to say 
 she believed Mr. Morling fell in love with her for 
 that, he had such a passion for beautiful hair. 
 Of course that was nonsense. I'm siu-e any one 
 mioht have fallen in love with her without that — 
 or with very little of it," said Miss Eddington, 
 unable apparently to imagine an attachment to 
 the absolutely bald. "But it was lovely, and 
 really I hardly knew her when I saw her with it 
 all cut short under a widow's cap." 
 
 She stopped doubtfully, perceiving that she 
 ought to have taken a different view of the matter. 
 There was a curious look on Miss Wynne's face.
 
 VI 
 
 SALTHAVEN 113 
 
 Was it possible that she was anxious about Mr. 
 Brydon's hair ? Miss Eddington was not aware of 
 Mr. Brydon's existence, but she saw that some- 
 thing was wrong. " Of course," she said hurriedly, 
 " a great many people don't die of typhus fever — 
 I mean, you know, very few people have it at 
 all — quite a small percentage, isn't it ?" She tried 
 to think of one or two encouraging examples, but 
 the people who didn't have typhus fever seemed 
 so vague and uninteresting compared to Mrs. 
 Morling of the golden locks that she was obliged 
 to give them up. "You never had it yourself, 
 had you ?" she asked finally. The question seemed 
 not only safe, but likely to throw light on the 
 cause of these inquiries. 
 
 Mary said, " Never !" so that it sounded exactly 
 as if she wished she had. But after a moment 
 she remarked in what was meant for a casual way, 
 " They've got it at Brenthill." 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Miss Eddington; '' luhat a 
 mercy you are safely out of the way ! " 
 
 " Is it ? I feel rather like a deserter." 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 A GAEDEN OF MEMORIES VI 
 
 "Oil! But — but — " this hesitatingly and re- 
 spectfully. " Do you mean — would you nurse, or 
 anything?" 
 
 Mary drooped in bitter consciousness of help- 
 lessness. "They wouldn't let me. And I don't 
 believe I should be a bit of good." 
 
 " Then you are much better here." 
 
 The air of decision was so encouraging that 
 Mary appealed to this oracle for counsel. " What 
 should you do if people wanted to persuade you 
 to do something you disliked very much, and you 
 were not quite sure whether they were right or not ?" 
 
 "I shouldn't do what I didn't like unless I 
 were quite sure they were right." 
 
 " Xot if you were almost quite sure — only a 
 few people said they were not, and you wished so 
 much they mightn't be ?" 
 
 The explanation might have been more lucid, 
 but Miss Eddington listened with great intensity. 
 " Is it very important ?" she asked. 
 
 " Very. If I ought to do it, it would be very 
 wicked of me if I didn't."
 
 VI SALTHAVEN 115 
 
 Miss Eddingtoii considered for a moment, and 
 then, " I think you feel you ought !" she announced 
 suddenly. She was not without acuteness. 
 
 " No," said Mary, " I almost wish I did. Then 
 it would be settled. But I don't feel sure — I can't." 
 
 " You can't really tell which is right ? " 
 
 " No. I'm quite sure I shall reproach myself, 
 whichever I do." 
 
 "It's difficult," said the other, knitting her 
 brows. She picked up a little pebble, and threw 
 it in a general fashion towards the ocean. "I 
 should consult somebody to whom I could explain 
 the whole thing ; somebody who could speak with 
 authority, you know. Then I should feel I had 
 done my best." 
 
 Mary shook her head. 
 
 Her companion put on an air of solemnity — 
 she was thinking of a neat little musical curate at 
 the new church. " If you are really in such per- 
 plexity," she said, " there is always " 
 
 "No, no — indeed there isn't; I couldn't!" said 
 Mary, pink as a sea-shell.
 
 116 A GARDEX OF MEMORIES VI 
 
 Miss Edclington saw that her suggestion was 
 useless. " Well," she concluded, " If I didn't know 
 what was ri^ht, and felt so uncomfortable about 
 it, and couldn't ask anybody, I should do what I 
 disliked most. I should feel it was safest." 
 
 This view commended itself to the tender 
 feminine conscience, eager to deaden painful 
 doubts with penance. Mary was silent for some 
 time, brooding over the thought, looking straight 
 before her from under half-dropped eyelids. Yes, 
 if she gave up her garden she might surely feel 
 that no selfish motive had decided her conduct. 
 She could never hold up her head before Philip, 
 if they met in later days, because Pliilip could 
 never know how much she had suffered ; but 
 surely she need know no shame in her secret 
 thoughts, where shame is bitterest. 
 
 Miss Hillier had wished that her artist friend 
 could paint a picture of Mary Wynne, standing 
 in the walled sweetness of her gardeii. But his 
 picture might have been better still if he could 
 have seen the poor Guardian Genius as she sat at
 
 VI SALTHAVEN 117 
 
 sundown on those barren sands, leaning forward, 
 with her hands clasped loosely about her knees, 
 and her eyes fixed on the low far-off waves 
 over which the autumnal day was fading. Miss 
 Eddington, respecting her companion's medita- 
 tions, had strolled a little towards the west, and 
 her darkly-defined figure wandered here and there, 
 poking with a parasol at such wonders of the 
 deep as happened to have been washed ashore by 
 the last tide. Mary had forgotten Miss Edding- 
 ton ; she was gazing fixedly at the renunciation of 
 all her dreams, she was picturing herself homeless 
 and solitary, cast out of Eden into oh, how desolate 
 a world ! " I wish I had never been able to buy 
 the garden!" she thought. "But I will give it 
 up — I will give it up — unless anything happens 
 before I leave Salthaven. JSTiue days more before 
 my three weeks are over — something may happen 
 in nine days." Her fancy roved among possi- 
 bilities. Mr. Brydon might change his plans. 
 Some one might die, and leave him money enough 
 to start his factory at Holly Hill at once. Or
 
 118 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES VI 
 
 they might find that the cottages in Garden Lane 
 must all be pulled down, and he might buy the 
 whole site, and build tall houses instead of those 
 miserable little hovels. Or might not help come 
 in some other way? She did not turn her head 
 to right or left, and yet, without shaping her 
 thought, she felt that at any moment — now — or 
 now — or now ! — Philip might appear, with no 
 sound of steps on the dead sand, walking in the 
 evening light between her eyes and the low roll- 
 ing tide. Oh, if he did ! He should answer Mr. 
 Brydon, and save the garden he loved. 
 
 " Don't you think you ought to be going in ?" 
 Miss Eddington gently inquired. " I don't know 
 what time you ordered your tea, but I said I'd 
 have mine at half-past six." Mary Wynne rose 
 obediently, and went to her tea, leaving the waves 
 to roll in through the gathering obscurity. 
 
 Brydon, meanwhile, took an almost morbid in- 
 terest in the work that was going on in the lane. 
 Digging revealed horrors — a little modern work, 
 slight, scamped, pretentious, which had completely
 
 VI SALTHAVEN 119 
 
 broken down, and hideous accumulations stored 
 and left in their indescribable blackness. It 
 seemed to Brydon as if men had choked and 
 sickened the kindly earth with filth — could it ever 
 be wholesome and clean again? The labourers 
 who plied pick and shovel stopped to spit, and to 
 apply foul adjectives to their foul job. 
 
 The business went on briskly day by day 
 under the long wall, which was steeped from end 
 to end in the ripe autumn warmth. Above its 
 mellowed bricks red rose-shoots took the sun, and 
 flourished lightly in the still air. At night, for 
 the nights were misty and moonless, a red lantern 
 — red as if it glimmered through brooding miasma 
 — tied on crossed bits of wood, announced where 
 danger lay to home-comers from the " Hand and 
 Flower." Brydon saw the scene under all aspects ; 
 apart from any businesslike interest in it, it 
 seemed to fascinate him. He would loiter at a 
 little distance, and gaze at the wall with a doubt- 
 ful expression. He was moody, haggard, irritable. 
 One night as he went slowly homeward from his
 
 120 A GARDEX OF MEMORIES vi 
 
 office, smoking his cigar, lie paused in Garden 
 Lane, and uttered a fierce ejaculation under his 
 breath. " By God ! " he said. " "\Mien it comes 
 to the point, I'm no more to be depended on than 
 the rest!" 
 
 Eddington told him he looked ill. The mill- 
 owner answered with an inarticulate sound, 
 conveying scorn, and stood with a hang-dog ex- 
 pression, biting his nails. " You'd better run 
 dovra to Salthaven too," said the good-humoured 
 old gentleman. "You're overdoing it — overdoing 
 it. A little sea-air would do you all the good in 
 the world — your own prescription, you know." 
 
 There was a momentary flash in Brydon's 
 shadowed eyes. " Thanks," he said with a de- 
 liberate drawl ; " I don't think Salthaven air would 
 agree with me. At any rate I'll be worse — a good 
 deal worse before I try it." 
 
 " Very good, only don't hang about that sweet 
 lane of yours too much. Dixon tells me he'd no 
 notion what a state the place was in " 
 
 " It's j)retty bad,"
 
 VI 
 
 SALTHAVEN 121 
 
 " Upon my word," the other smiled, " I think 
 from your point of view you had better have let 
 Miss Wynne stay at home." 
 
 '' On the chance of killing her off and treating 
 with her executors — there's something in that." 
 
 " No, but to let her hear about it. She can't 
 realise it out there in the fresh air." 
 
 " You're right," said Brydon. " She can't." 
 
 " My cousin says she thinks Miss Wynne looks 
 better, but she strikes her as being very delicate," 
 the other went on. " I hope not — I hope not. 
 She may not be a very wise young woman, but 
 she's a very nice one." 
 
 Brydon went away with something to think of. 
 " Very delicate." Yes, very likely. Probably 
 that meant that if she were uprooted she would 
 feel it acutely — perhaps die. Mary Wynne had 
 begun to teach him the meaning of the old 
 garden. He found himself unable to imagine her 
 apart from it ; all the beautiful life which had 
 been fostered through many generations within its 
 walls seemed to him to have blossomed in her.
 
 122 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES vi 
 
 He had come to Brentliill with his head too full 
 of schemes for enlarging his business, and benefit- 
 ing the workers in his factory, to have time to 
 think much about women. Philanthropy, accord- 
 ing to Brydon, had to be made to pay, and re- 
 quired to be sharply looked after. He would 
 neither rob others of their wages nor forego his 
 own. He was deaf to all distant cries for help ; 
 earthquakes, colliery explosions, Indian famines, 
 fires, could not extract a halfpenny from his 
 pocket ; the facts were sad, but they were not in 
 his department, and he was not, as he bluntly 
 said, either big enough or fool enough to under- 
 take the world's work. Given health, he meant 
 to do his own, and it was as much as he could 
 manage. He would never have looked at Mary 
 Wynne if she had not been thrown in his way as 
 an obstacle ; he w^ould have paid her the price of 
 her garden, and forgotten everything but her name 
 where it stood in his cheque-book. But when she 
 thwarted all his schemes, and left him no more 
 than the daily routine of business to fill his mind,
 
 VI 
 
 SALTHAVEN 123 
 
 he began to think of her with the absorption with 
 which he would otherwise have thought of plans 
 and builders' estimates. Common justice — Brydon 
 wanted to be just — compelled him to own her legal 
 right to refuse to sell, and to try to discover any 
 honest reason for such refusal, with the possibility 
 of which she might be credited. For weeks he 
 seemed to stand face to face with her, questioning 
 her, judging her, gazing at her, and then all at 
 once he woke to the knowledge that this tender, 
 appealing woman had won her way into his strong- 
 hold, that he was fighting with her still, but in his 
 own heart. 
 
 How had he thought of women before ? Well, 
 he had thought mostly of those who worked in his 
 factory, and he had thought of them with a rough 
 sense of pity and fair play. " Give 'em a chance," 
 he had said scores of times, "let 'em be decently 
 housed, fed, and clothed — yes, and decently taught, 
 and they'll be decent women." And for that he 
 had planned his cottages. It was all right enough 
 and as true as ever, but Brydon was thinking now
 
 124 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES VI 
 
 of something beyond decency. The walled garden 
 had become to him a part of Mary Wynne's 
 charm — the one explained the other. In destroy- 
 ing it he would destroy possibilities, perhaps blight 
 the flowerings of other delicate souls. One mioht 
 grow a very good sort of woman in liis little 
 houses, but not ]\Iary Wynne. 
 
 Nor was that all. He had thought much of 
 the clean and well-appointed dwellings which he 
 would erect, but when he saw how utterly earth, 
 air, and water could be defiled, he stood aghast. 
 No doubt while he lived he could guard his pro- 
 perty, but, if he should die, might not the evil 
 which had befallen Garden Lane come upon his 
 cottages too ? Might they not be let and sublet, 
 and swarming families pour in to multiply in their 
 squalor and improvidence where Mary's bushes of 
 myrtle and bay, Mary's great cedars and clustered 
 roses, were rooted now ? So to deface what she 
 loved seemed a thing impossible, like laying cruel 
 and violent hands on Mary herself. 
 
 Nevertheless, through all these troubled thoughts
 
 VI SALTHAVEN 125 
 
 the man in a blind fashion did feel that he ought 
 to cling to the work which he had undertaken. 
 Before ever he saw Miss Wynne he had pledged 
 himself to old Mrs. Humphreys, and shrill Betsy 
 Barnes, and Ada and Minnie, and the rest of the 
 bold, pale-faced girls who worked at the mill. If 
 he deserted them, who would take up their cause ? 
 And he would not try to persuade himself that 
 Mary Wynne could ever share his philanthropic 
 hopes. Gentle and kindly she would always be, 
 but she would never go down amongst the poor 
 as some women will. She would shrink from 
 their coarse words and ways, from the hideous 
 revelations of brutality and want and wrong, she 
 would be sickened and terrified, her very soul 
 would ache with fruitless compassion. She must 
 live in a walled home, but how sweet that home 
 would be I If it were his — Brydon quivered at 
 the thought — if it were his ? 
 
 Even so, might not he come out of his paradise 
 to work for his poor in the lane? Why not? 
 And yet in his clear-sighted honesty he said "No"
 
 126 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES VI 
 
 as soon as he had looked the question in the face. 
 Never then would he do anything that could limit 
 Mary's pleasures, or in the smallest degree imperil 
 her future. Wife and children before all the 
 world ! There was his mother, too, at Brighton — 
 he could never risk life or health or money when 
 all he was and all he had were needed by these 
 dear ones. No, it was a choice between the 
 garden and Garden Lane. 
 
 Was it a choice ? It seemed to Brydon that 
 the choice was made for him. How was he to 
 tear this new and strange influence out of his 
 heart ? He believed that it would lead him 
 wrong, and yet it was the sweetest and tenderest 
 feeling of which he was capable. " Well," he said 
 at last, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and 
 sitting down to work at his untidy table, " she is 
 out of reach now, and when she comes back I 
 daresay she will say ' No.' " But though he said 
 it he did not really believe it. The advantage he 
 had already gained had quickened his self-confi- 
 dence ; he looked on Mary as half-conquered, and
 
 VI SALTHAVEN 127 
 
 something within him mocked, " She will say 
 * No ' once, but not always. Did she not yield to 
 you and go to Salthaven? Did you not know 
 when she said ' I will go ' that her will was bend- 
 ing before yours and that it needed but a little 
 more to give you your way with the garden ? And 
 if she said * No ' to yet a further demand, should 
 you take that word as final ?" 
 
 Brydon answered these questionings with a 
 laugh, which broke the silence of the room with 
 its brief sound. " Anyhow," he said, leaning for- 
 ward, pen in hand, "she isn't here now, and I 
 suppose won't be back for a few days. / don't 
 see any way out of it, it's true, but perhaps there 
 is one, and if so we'll give it a chance. Only," he 
 added, as if ensuring fair play by warning an 
 adversary, "the first opportunity I get, I shall 
 speak." And, judging from his set lips and 
 brilliant eyes, he would speak forcibly enough. 
 
 So the days went by in their unresting pro- 
 cession, the momentous days that were yet so 
 strangely uneventful. Garden Lane resumed its
 
 128 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES vi 
 
 customary aspect, only with a stony strip down 
 the middle of the roadway, where the main ex- 
 cavation had been. Mrs. Humphreys and the 
 rest turned themselves round discontentedly, and 
 settled down into as much of their former dirt as 
 they could find. At Salthaven the autumnal 
 migration of visitors had set in, and though the 
 lodging-house keepers mechanically put up cards 
 in every window, till the place looked as if a 
 shower of remarkably large snow-flakes had fallen 
 all over it, they did not really expect to attract any 
 one by the announcement of "Apartments." It 
 was not likely. The Deepwell band had ceased 
 to come, there were many vacant seats in the 
 little church which had been so crowded in 
 August, and only four or five bathing-machines 
 went crawling after the gray tide. The season was 
 over, Miss Eddington was gone, and Miss Wynne 
 was packing her trunk, and writing " Brenthill " 
 upon her luggage labels. 
 
 Nothing had happened, and ]\Iary said to 
 herself that nothing was going to happen. It
 
 VI SALTHAYEN 129 
 
 drizzled as she went home. She buttoned herself 
 in her waterproof, and sighed at the thought of 
 the gray days that were at hand. Spring-time 
 would come again, no doubt, but if she had given 
 up her garden it would hardly be spring to her. 
 
 Yet, though she assured herself that all was 
 over, she carried a faint hope on her journey 
 through the drizzling afternoon. In the omnibus, 
 in the booking-office, in the train, which as she 
 neared home slid ever and anon out of the foggy 
 dusk into wayside stations, where gaslights shone 
 with watery lustre on tarpaulin and mackintosh, in 
 every pause she looked for some one or some thing 
 to interpose at that eleventh hour. Even on the 
 crowded platform atBrenthill a possibility lingered, 
 fading slowly as she drove homeward through 
 the ugly familiar streets, dying as her own door 
 closed behind her, and she was received by a 
 melancholy maid who had face-ache, and who 
 said that nothing had happened, and nobody had 
 called. 
 
 The next morning a note was delivered at the 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES vi 
 
 factory. " Dear Mr. Brydon," it said, " you told 
 me that afternoon you came to my tennis party 
 that you would say no more about the garden till 
 the new year came, but that the offer you had 
 made for it should hold good till then. I have 
 been thinking the matter over at Salthaven, and 
 I have made up my mind to accept it. I believe 
 it is the right thing to do. I have just written to 
 Mr. Eddington to ask him to call on you about it 
 and settle everything. — Believe me, yours sin- 
 cerely, Mary Wynne. 
 
 " I shall go away from Brenthill as soon as 
 possible, and then you can begin at once. I hope 
 the loss of this summer will not make any great 
 difference." Lower on the page was written hur- 
 riedly, " Don't give me too much for it." 
 
 Brydon read this letter with a surprise so 
 curiously compounded that he hardly knew 
 whether he were glad or sorry. Glad — yes, of 
 course he must be glad, and yet — by Jove ! but he 
 was sorry. He had lost the strange and humili- 
 ating delight of sacrificing his noblest ambition to
 
 VI SALTHAVEN 131 
 
 the woman he loved. He had determined to give 
 up the garden with all that it involved for Mary 
 Wynne's sake, and she had forestalled him. She 
 had given it up to him, but not for him. She had 
 done it for conscience sake, he knew that very 
 well, he could read it in every line of her note. 
 She would not take it back, her conscience would 
 not let her. She was pledged to make the sacri- 
 fice, and if he did not build his cottages she would 
 only reproach herself that she had not yielded 
 earlier. He threw the letter on the table, thrust 
 his hands into his pockets, and stood staring at it. 
 The more he looked at it the less he liked it. He 
 had nothing now to give up for her. To give up 
 his sacrifice — that was an absurdity, and yet that 
 was what he found it hard to do. 
 
 Why had he sent her away to Salthaven to 
 think it over in solitude, with that delicate remorse 
 of hers ? He might have known what would 
 come of it, he might have been sure that she 
 would yield. " And she has yielded," he raged, 
 "but not to me !"
 
 132 A GAEDEX OF MEMORIES VI 
 
 Eddington found him haggard of face and 
 moody in manner that afternoon when he called. 
 He suspected that Brydon, thus suddenly sum- 
 moned to pay, regretted the extravagance of the 
 offer he had made six months earlier. That, how- 
 ever, was the young man's business, his own was 
 to keep him to the bargain in his client's interest. 
 Perhaps Brydon really had rather the air of a 
 hunter snared in his own toils, but he offered no 
 opposition to the lawyer's arrangements, only in- 
 terrupting hun once to say, "I suppose Miss 
 Wynne came to this decision entirely of her own 
 freewiU?" 
 
 "Entirely," said the old gentleman with 
 emphasis, and added to himself, " you don't creep 
 out through that loophole, my good fellow." 
 
 " I thought as much," said Brydon.
 
 VII 
 ALL OF ONE MIND 
 
 The news of Brydon's triumpli ran rapidly round 
 the circle of Miss Wynne's acquaintances, and 
 re-awakened their flagging interest. " Well ! " 
 eTessie Lee exclaimed, "Ethel Hillier made me 
 promise I'd write and tell her when this happened, 
 but I didn't expect to have to do it. I suppose 
 the money was too much for her." That was the 
 general opinion in Brenthill, that the mill-owner's 
 money had proved irresistible. People could no 
 longer call Miss Wynne a fool, but they trans- 
 ferred the charge of folly to the young man, who 
 was paying a ridiculous price for her bit of 
 ground.
 
 134 A GAEDEX OF MEMORIES Vll 
 
 Eddington came out of the affair with great 
 glory. It was understood that he had opposed 
 the sale till the utmost penny had been wrung out 
 of Thomas Brydon, and then had persuaded his 
 client to yield. The young folks had been pup- 
 pets in his hands, and he had pulled the strings 
 very skilfully indeed. Brydon ought to have 
 known that he could not be a match for the 
 lawyer. It was really sublime, the way in which 
 Eddington had turned j\Iiss Wynne's sentimental 
 fondness for the garden to profit. 
 
 The Brenthill Guardian took the matter up in 
 an article headed " Appeoaching Desteuction of 
 AN interesting Eelic." The young man who 
 wrote it looked up a book about Brenthill, printed 
 many years earlier by a local archaeologist, and 
 found the old garden mentioned several times — 
 once when there was a dispute about a boundary, 
 on the settlement of which the wall in Garden 
 Lane was built, and on two or three occasions 
 when bits of the land were sold. He ascertained 
 that the factory which was about to swallow up
 
 VII ALL OF ONE MIND 135 
 
 the last remnant of " this historic pleasure-ground" 
 stood on a fragment of it. The house was com- 
 paratively modern. 
 
 The worst of it was that, historic as this 
 pleasure-ground might be, the intelligent young 
 man who called it so could not discover that any 
 one had ever owned it, or spoken of it, or visited 
 it, who was of the smallest interest to mankind. 
 The garden had no tradition beyond that of its 
 blossoming summers. He did not lose courage, 
 however, but went to the Mechanics' Institute, 
 brushed up his history a little, and wrote almost 
 a column more about all the wonderful things 
 that the possessors of the garden might have seen. 
 If they had not seen them they must have heard 
 of them, which did as well. What tidings of 
 bloodshed and terror and revolution, of heroism 
 and crime, of storm and fire and plague, had 
 stirred the air beneath those leafy boughs ! And 
 with these memories he mingled little allusions to 
 bygone customs and things, to sedan chairs, 
 coaches, and highwaymen, to country fairs and
 
 136 A GAPtDEN OF MEMORIES vii 
 
 bull-baitings, to May- day danciDg and fashionable 
 assemblies, to hoops and patches and powder, to 
 melodious tinkling of spinets and clavichords. 
 He touched very lightly, the authority not being 
 so readily accessible, on the changes in horti- 
 culture, the new and vivid blossoms that had 
 opened under English skies since the old garden 
 was first planted, and when he had thus arrived 
 at the end of his column he felt rather pleased 
 with himself He thought, hesitatingly, that it 
 was a little in Macaulay's manner. The young 
 lady to whom he was engaged was sure it was — 
 only better. 
 
 It answered its purpose, anyhow, for the readers 
 of the Guardian got an indistinct impression that 
 there was something monumental about the patch 
 of ground which " our energetic fellow-townsman " 
 was about to lay waste. Jessie Lee added a 
 postscript to her letter : " I send you our news- 
 paper, which will tell you all about the history of 
 the garden. I never knew it was so old or so 
 interesting, did you ? What a pity it is going to
 
 VII ALL OF ONE MIND 137 
 
 be destroyed !" And a committee of ladies, who 
 were planning a bazaar for charitable purposes to 
 be held early in the summer, sprang at the idea 
 of utilising the historic spot. Such a delightful 
 chance of wearing old English dresses — illustrating 
 all the different periods, you know — and such a 
 sentiment about the whole thing, all the trees and 
 shrubs doomed, and spared just for that last day. 
 Would it not be touching ? And one might sell 
 plants and flowers from ge S)lht (Bardeune* 
 That would be charmingly pathetic, such a sweet 
 idea, and all clear profit, since everything must 
 be rooted up when the bricklayers began to work. 
 It could not make any real difference to Mr. 
 Brydon, he would only have to put off his build- 
 ing a little, and Garden Lane had gone on as it 
 was so long that there could not be any hurrt/ 
 about the new cottages. And when he was told 
 that it was for a charity, and that the ladies of 
 Brenthill asked it as a personal favour, he would 
 not of course refuse. The matter was as good as 
 settled.
 
 138 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES Vll 
 
 Meanwhile the garden, every inch of whose 
 surface was so soon to be laid bare to the gaze of 
 the whole town, had never been so jealously 
 guarded as it was this October. Mary Wynne 
 shut herself up in it, did not go out, even to 
 church, and refused to see visitors. It appeared 
 that she was suffering, at her leisure, from 
 headache. 
 
 She was well enough, however, to loiter round 
 the mossy walks, listening to the cawing of the 
 rooks, and looking at every plant and tree with 
 gentle eyes that filled with tears. Even if there 
 had been no thought of Philip she would have 
 been sad. It was such a short and piteous span 
 of life that yet remained to all around her, and it 
 was she who had decreed that it should end. She 
 felt like a murderess, and yet nobody loved each 
 leaf and flower as she did. " There will never be 
 any more spring," she said under her breath, amid 
 the sad splendour of autumn colouring. " Oh, my 
 poor double thorn, you will never blossom like 
 tiny white roses again !" Her heart ached for the
 
 yil • ALL OF ONE MIND 139 
 
 shrubs and plants which were making ready for 
 their winter rest ; she even thought of the bulbs, 
 asleep long since in the black earth at her feet. 
 She fancied something menacing and strange in 
 the gloom of the great unchangeable cedars. She 
 raised her eyes to them, " You are dead," she said, 
 trying to realise the truth she uttered. " Dead — 
 and I have killed you." 
 
 Later in the month the leaves had almost all 
 fallen from the lime-trees, and the strong pulses 
 of the looms throbbed behind the bare red wall. 
 Elsewhere in the garden the thinned foliage, out 
 of which all the summer greenness was gone, the 
 delicate twigs etched on the faint blue of the 
 October sky, the chill that crisped the air, the 
 autumn crocuses and purple violets, combined to 
 make a kind of mockery of March, as if a phantom 
 spring had come to bid its haunt farewell. 
 
 Mary thought this one morning as she went 
 down the walk by the limes. The shining of the 
 pale sun overhead w^as pathetic, her soul was 
 heavy with re]Dentance, a thousand regrets were
 
 140 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES vii 
 
 gnawing at her. Oli why had she ever yielded 
 and sinned against her love ? She did not forget 
 the shameful misery which lay huddled beyond 
 the wall, but she could not recall that vivid sense 
 of it which had prompted her renunciation. Her 
 imagination was blunted. 
 
 "And yet," she reminded herself, "it is all 
 there — it is as real and as hideous as it was then. 
 If I could only feel it ! " She went to the little 
 door and stood with her hand upon the latch. 
 " Now," she said, " I have only to lift this and I 
 shall see it all. I shall see all the ugly wretched- 
 ness I could not bear even to think of at Salt- 
 haven " 
 
 She lifted the latch and stood face to face with 
 Philip. 
 
 It was as if the whole world had gathered 
 itseK into his eyes. It was more than she could 
 bear, it was pain. Her heart seemed to stand 
 still, her sight failed. For a fraction of a second 
 his face went out like a light in darkness. 
 
 " You here ? " he cried, and at the sound of his
 
 VII ALL OF ONE MIND 141 
 
 voice liis face came back. " A thousand pardons 
 — I have startled you ! How clumsy of me ! " 
 
 " ISTo, no." She moved backward a little as he 
 touched her hand in greeting. " Come in." 
 
 " May I ? " He stepped across the threshold. 
 " You didn't expect to find any one standing 
 staring on the step. Of course you took me for a 
 tramp, or a lunatic." 
 
 "No indeed," she protested. "I knew you 
 were — you." 
 
 "Yes, when you had time to think about it. 
 Ah ! the old garden, just the same as ever." He 
 had closed the gate behind him, and without offer- 
 ing to advance stood gazing round. His lips 
 began to curve and his nostrils to widen a little, 
 in quick appreciation of the subtle autumn odours 
 of earth and fallen leaf. He drank the golden air 
 as if it were delicate wine, and his glancing eyes 
 brightened in recognition of bush and tree. 
 " Yes," he smiled, " as beautiful as ever, isn't it ? " 
 
 " It was summer when you were here before," 
 she said.
 
 142 A GAEDEN OF MEMOEIES vii 
 
 " You like the summer best ? Well, perhaps 
 — yet this suits the occasion. You know the old 
 place is going to be turned into building ground ? " 
 
 His tone spoke volumes, and the white roses of 
 her cheeks bloomed suddenly pink. Evidently he 
 did not know that she had sold it. "Yes, of 
 course," she said ; " you never heard " 
 
 " That's a lie, 'Liza Barnes ! " screeched a 
 childish voice, apparently about six inches from 
 Philip's elbow. " Yer took 'is 'apenny — I see yer 
 do it, and I'll tell yer mother ; I will." 
 
 He sprang from the door, and then laughed. 
 " Little imp ! " he said. 
 
 "Come further in, won't you?" said Mary, 
 moving away, and not caring to show her quick- 
 ened colour. Was this Philip Wargrave, who had 
 filled her whole world for so long ! He seemed 
 strangely far away, and a curious sense of loneli- 
 ness and unreality was stealing over her. 
 
 '^ May I?" he asked as he followed. "Are 
 you staying here, then? They told me nobody 
 could get in, and I was wandering round the en-
 
 VII ALL OF ONE MIND 143 
 
 chanted ground, devising all manner of expedients 
 to effect an entrance, when you came to the 
 rescue, and I assure you, Miss Medland, you 
 realised my idea of a beneficent fairy." 
 
 " Did I ? How very nice ! " She was growing 
 desperate, and snatched at the chance of explana- 
 tion he gave her. " But you are behind the time 
 — you don't know that I'm not Miss Medland any 
 longer." 
 
 (Oh, what ivould he say when he found that 
 she had sold the garden ?) 
 
 Wargrave stopped, stared, arched his brows. 
 " What ! married .? " he cried with cheerful readi- 
 ness. " You don't say so ! " A pleasant light of 
 congratulation was dawning in his eyes. 
 
 It was all over. The bright indifferent smile 
 was like a flood of sunlight on pale dreams, and 
 Mary woke. " ISTo, no," she said, with something 
 of his own readiness, " I'm not married, but I've 
 changed my name. I'm Miss Wynne now, not 
 Miss Medland." 
 
 " Oh, but this is awfully puzzling, you know.
 
 144 A GAEDEN OF MEMORIES vii 
 
 You are not Miss Medland ; " he uttered the words 
 very slowly ; " yes, I tliink I have mastered that. 
 And you are — Miss "Wynne." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Philip suffered his breath to escape in a faint 
 whistle. "You are Miss Wynne — but you have 
 sold the garden then ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, I suppose everything must have an end. 
 I always thought somebody would^ build on it 
 one of these days, but — Got a good price for it, 
 I hope?" 
 
 " Yes, very good." 
 
 " That's well. After all I suppose one may pay 
 too dearly for sentiment — it wouldn't do to sacri- 
 fice one's life to a garden, would it ? ISTo, I think 
 you are right — I've no doubt it was the best thing 
 to do." 
 
 " Only you wouldn't have done it?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't say that. I daresay I might if 
 I'd been sufficiently tempted. Besides, I don't 
 think it's quite a parallel case ; you see I knew
 
 VII ALL OF ONE MIXD 145 
 
 the place before the time when I met you here ; 
 I stayed with the Macleans a long while ago when 
 I was a lad. I suspect the old garden was more 
 to me than to you — naturally, you know." 
 
 heaven ! The garden was more to him than 
 to her — " naturally, you know." More to him ! 
 when she would have watered it with her heart's 
 blood to keep it fair for his home-coming. And 
 she shivered as she walked by his side, because 
 it seemed to her that the leaf-sprays which he 
 brushed with his slim fingers as he spoke must 
 surely betray her, must burst into some novel 
 and splendid blossom to greet him for whom they 
 and she had waited so lono-. 
 
 " Yes," said Philip, " no doubt you were right." 
 He looked up suddenly, " I'd forgotten that tree 
 —what is it?" 
 
 " It's a pear," said Mary. 
 
 "A pear-tree — what a height! How do you 
 get the pears ? Ah ! I suppose one doesn't notice 
 it when the acacia is in leaf. But it's picturesque, 
 isn't it ? And how sunny it looks up aloft there 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 A GARDEN OF MEMOEIES vii 
 
 Tvitli its few yellowing leaves ! Yes, as I was 
 saying, I'm sure you've acted for the best." 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 " For, after all, it will always be a memory, 
 won't it ? And this is a very pleasant ending. 
 But I I'xis surprised when the gate flew open and 
 there you were ! Though for that matter I wasn't 
 as much surprised as you were — I'm certain you 
 took me for my own ghost." 
 
 " Well," said Mary, " I didn't expect to see 
 you. I thought you were abroad." 
 
 " Abroad ? What made you think that ? No, 
 I'm living in West Kensington — why should I be 
 abroad?" 
 
 "I thought you were in Xew Zealand with 
 your brother." 
 
 " Oh no ! I've been in Kensington for a year 
 and a half — nearly two years. Who told you I 
 was going to ISTew Zealand ? ISTo — did I really ? 
 By Jove, what an unconscionable fellow I am ! 
 I'm always telling people all my hopes and fears. 
 I don't know why they are so kind, /wonder they
 
 VII 
 
 ALL OF ONE MIND 147 
 
 don't kick me out for a bore. Yes, I did think 
 once, when my uncle married, that I might have 
 to go, but I always felt as if something must turn 
 up. It would have been too absurd — fancy me in 
 New Zealand ! " 
 
 " Something did turn up then?" said the girl 
 faintly. 
 
 " Well, yes. My uncle's marriage wasn't such 
 a calamity after all. His wife took rather a liking 
 to me, I think (another of the kind people !), and 
 the old gentleman said he'd continue my allow- 
 ance for a bit. He is always dabbling in stocks 
 and shares, you know, and he made one or two 
 lucky hits just about that time. So there was an 
 end of the New Zealand scheme, and I started on 
 my own account, with a commission to paint my 
 aunt's picture to begin with." 
 
 " And you are succeeding ?" 
 
 " That's too much to say," Philip answered 
 with his pleasant smile. " But I think I may suc- 
 ceed some day — I've good friends, and good hopes. 
 Ah, by the way, Miss Medland — Miss Wynne, I
 
 148 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES 
 
 VII 
 
 mean (why didn't you keep your old name too ? 
 It would have been very nice, Medland- Wynne, 
 and would have given one time to think), by the 
 way, you might be one of the good friends if you 
 would." 
 
 " What do you mean ? I couldn't have my 
 portrait taken!" cried Mary with frightened 
 eyes. 
 
 " Oh no ! " Wargrave laughed, " I don't tout 
 for orders like that ! ISTo, don't apologise, it did 
 sound exactly like it. No, but you might let me 
 make a study of the garden. I came down to see 
 if that were possible, and then heard that it was 
 such a dragon-guarded spot " 
 
 " Oh, of course ! " said Mary. " Yes, I can do 
 that for you." 
 
 " Who knows ? " said Philip with a graver 
 smile. " It may be the stepping-stone to fortune. 
 Do you remember a Miss Hillier who came with 
 some friends of yours in the spring ? Well, she 
 took it into her head that I should find the subject 
 for a picture here — a girl's figure with the old
 
 VII ALL OF ONE MIND 149 
 
 garden for a background. A Guardian Genius 
 she wanted to call it, but I think I'd rather 
 have it Eligihle Building Ground. What do you 
 say?" 
 
 " Yes, I think perhaps it would be best." 
 Wargrave nodded. " I think it's an idea," 
 he continued confidentially. " Suppose the garden 
 had fallen into the hands of some one to whom it 
 was a real pain to part with it — some one like 
 Ethel Hillier herself for instance — compelled to 
 give it up, say by loss of fortune — can't you fancy 
 the last pathetic look round the dear old place ? 
 Yes, I think she was right." 
 
 "Do you know Miss Hillier very well?" 
 " Pretty well," said the young man. He paused 
 by a rosemary bush, broke off a shoot and looked 
 fixedly at it, smiling and even colouring a little in 
 a very becoming manner. " The fact is I'm en- 
 gaged to be married. I've been engaged since the 
 spring, and Ethel Hillier and Evelyn — she's a 
 Miss Seymour — are sworn friends. If this thing 
 were a real success "
 
 150 A GAEDEX OF MEMOKIES Vii 
 
 "Well, you must make it so," said Mary. 
 " And you must let me congratulate you." 
 
 It was speedily arranged that the young man 
 should begin work at once. " There is no time to 
 lose in these October days," he said. " I put up 
 at the ' Horn,' in the High Street, you know, last 
 night. I'll just go and get what I want — it isn't 
 far." 
 
 Mary saw him off, gave orders to the maid 
 that he was to be re-admitted on his return, and 
 then went up to her own room and closed the 
 door. She had been quite calm and composed 
 through all the latter part of her talk with Philip, 
 and she was quite calm now. She sat down by 
 her bedside and gazed blankly at the light-coloured 
 wall, on which her shadow was faintly pencilled by 
 the pale sunshine. 
 
 It is curious how quickly the great changes 
 come which shape us and all our destinies. It is 
 a moment, not an hour, which turns love to hate, 
 or despair to hope. In a lightning flash the whole 
 aspect of the world is transformed, sun, moon, and
 
 VII ALL OF ONE MIND 151 
 
 stars are new in new heavens, the tides and cur- 
 rents of our lives are all reversed. It was not 
 twenty minutes since Philip had turned to her 
 w^ith shining eyes and ready congratulations. 
 " What! married V The words rang yet in her 
 ears, though, as it seemed, she had lived a lifetime 
 since they were spoken. 
 
 She felt sick and strange with a horror of her 
 foolish passion. He had never thought of her, 
 never cared for her, he was " always telling people 
 his hopes and fears," and she had carried these 
 easily uttered, hackneyed confidences of his in 
 her heart, not suspecting that she shared her 
 treasure with Miss Evelyn Seymour, Miss Ethel 
 Hillier, and, most likely, half a dozen more. For 
 the sake of such words as these she had suffered 
 in silence, she had fought against her conscience 
 the whole summer through, she had left the 
 people at her gate to fever and misery. Yes, 
 but, thank God, she had yielded before she knew 
 the truth — thank God! thank God! Now she 
 would escape from Brenthill, and the garden
 
 152 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES Vll 
 
 ^yollld be destroyed, the beautiful, hateful garden. 
 It would drive her mad to live through another 
 round of seasons shut in by its walls. Life had 
 been nothing but a long malarious dream since 
 first she knew the place, a bewildering, blossom- 
 ing, suffocating dream, full of idle fancies and 
 memories and cravings. She was overwhelmed 
 with hot shame, she thought she would never 
 draw breath freely till the last tree fell, and the 
 last fibre of root was torn from the soil. 
 
 A bell jangled sharply through her reverie. 
 Philip back from the "Horn" already? She 
 sprang to her feet and went to the glass to make 
 a critical inspection of her colour and expression. 
 As she bent forward to the face which leaned to 
 meet her there came a knocking at the door. 
 
 " I suppose that is the gentleman who left just 
 now ?" she said, without turning her head. "Ask 
 him if he likes to go straight into the garden." 
 
 " Ko, miss, it isn't that gentleman." And the 
 maid presented a card on which was inscribed, 
 " Mr. Thomas Brydon," with a hurriedly written
 
 VII ALL OF ONE MIND 153 
 
 line below, " Pray let me see you for five 
 minutes." 
 
 Her champion, her deliverer — what could he 
 have to say to her? Perhaps he had some 
 scheme for facilitating her departure, he might be 
 too impatient to wait till after the sale, which was 
 fixed for the middle of November. " Show Mr. 
 Brydon into the drawing-room," she said, as she 
 refastened the little brooch at her throat. It 
 hampered her, she could not breathe. 
 
 She found her visitor standing at the window 
 looking out, a small sharply-cut silhouette against 
 the clear glass. He turned and came forward. 
 
 " Thank you for letting me speak to you," he 
 began hurriedly. " They told me you didn't see 
 
 anybody, but as it was a matter of business " 
 
 All at once he broke off and looked at her. 
 " How are you ? Did you like Salthaven ?" 
 
 " Very much. I'm very well, thank you. Mr. 
 Eddington told me I was brown." 
 
 " Brown. You look different. Are you well, 
 reaUy?"
 
 154 A GAEDEN OF MEMORIES Vil 
 
 " Quite well, except for a headache or two. I 
 think it feels close here after the sea-breezes. 
 Won't you sit down?" By this time Mary had 
 drawn him away from the window, and the light 
 fell on his face. " Yoic don't look very well, Mi\ 
 Brydon." 
 
 " I'm well enough, only a bit worried," he said 
 shortly. " It's about this business of ours." 
 
 "I guessed as much. You want to come in 
 sooner — is that it ? " 
 
 " Not exactly. The question is about my 
 coming in at all." 
 
 Mary gazed at him with parted lips, but did 
 not speak. 
 
 " Look here," said Brydon, " I've been thinking 
 things over, and the more I think the less I like 
 this plan of mine. What right have I to turn 
 you out of your home ? When I first proposed it 
 I thought it was only a matter of money, but it 
 has never been a matter of money with you. 
 Suppose I fail in my scheme — suppose my factory 
 doesn't answer and my cottages fall into bad
 
 VII ALL OF ONE MIND 155 
 
 hands — then I shall have robbed yon of your 
 garden, and all for nothing, for worse than 
 nothing. After all, there must be some risk 
 whichever way I set to work — why shouldn't I 
 take the risk at Holly Hill? It might only be 
 waiting a little, and perhaps it would be best ; 
 indeed, I think it might be. And you would be 
 glad, wouldn't you?" 
 
 The words were uttered in tones of unwonted 
 softness, but Mary could not answer. heaven ! 
 was this garden to live and flower in spite of her ? 
 Was she to be caught and thrust back into it, to 
 dwell for ever with empty mocking memories — 
 the garden living and everything else dead, even 
 the throbbing of the looms silenced beliind the 
 long red wall ? 
 
 " Tell me," said Brydon ; " you would be 
 glad?" 
 
 " Glad," she repeated in a strangled meaning- 
 less voice. " You have changed too, then ?" 
 
 "Yes, I've changed — time I did, I think. 
 What is the matter ?"
 
 156 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES Vil 
 
 " N'ot you ! I never thought you would 
 change !" 
 
 " Of course not. I didn't think so myself." 
 
 "You told me you would not!" she cried. "I 
 was so sure of you. I thought you cared for 
 those poor people — that you would be true to 
 your plans ; I thought that any time — any time 
 — and I put it off, and now I have tired you out 
 and it is too late !" 
 
 " No, no," Brydon exclaimed, " it isn't like 
 that — don't you reproach yourself. I know what 
 you are thinking of. But if I can really manage 
 to do without your garden — why did I ever 
 torment you so about it ? — if you could keep it 
 
 with a clear conscience " (" If / could keep 
 
 you for ever close at hand!" he was thinking as 
 he stammered over his spoken words.) 
 
 " Mr. Brydon, you are giving me more for the 
 garden than it is worth," Mary interrupted him 
 with passionate abruptness. " I know it — I have 
 known it all the time. I don't want so much. 
 Take it, but only give me half for it. That will
 
 VII ALL OF ONE MIND 157 
 
 be enough — it will indeed. I want you to build 
 your cottages — you must ! you must ! I will tell 
 Mr. Eddington that it is my doing." 
 
 The small young man had started to his feet, 
 and seemed to have grown taller. He faced her, 
 he was furious. 
 
 " Thank you, Miss Wynne ! So you think 
 that is at the bottom of it — you think I came 
 here to try to sneak out of my bargain because I 
 didn't like the price, and wasn't man enough to 
 say so ! Well, if you wanted to clinch the business 
 you've gone the right way to work, for I'll have 
 the garden now, by God ! And you'll take my 
 offer, for the matter has gone too far — unless we 
 both agreed to break it off, and that I won't do !" 
 
 " Don't ! don't ! I can't bear it," said the girl. 
 " I didn't mean that — you must know I didn't. I 
 don't know what I did mean, but not that — I 
 couldn't ! You must be more patient with me, 
 please !" 
 
 " I'm a brute !" said Brydon instantly. " I beg 
 your pardon."
 
 158 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES vii 
 
 There was a brief silence. "I don't quite 
 understand," he continued after a moment. " You 
 wish me to take it ? " 
 
 She answered " Yes," with pale lips that scarcely 
 uttered a sound. 
 
 " Then of course I will. And I will do the best 
 I can. Perhaps," he said musingly, " I might use 
 part — a strip by the factory, and another bit at 
 the lane end, you know. If I had the frontage 
 there " 
 
 " But you must build your cottages," she said 
 again. " I thought of them while I was at Salt- 
 haven. I ought to have let you begin in the spring. 
 Why did you never tell me the people in the lane 
 had had fever?" 
 
 " It wasn't much. Only two cases, and they are 
 all right." 
 
 " If they had died it would have been my fault." 
 
 " Hardly," said Brydon. " But I knew you were 
 feeling like that when you wrote to me after you 
 came back." 
 
 '* And you will build ? " she insisted, colouring
 
 VII ALL OF ONE MIND 159 
 
 with a guilty consciousness of the mixture of 
 motives which he could not divine. 
 
 " Yes, I will build. But if I can spare a bit 
 near the house, just two or three elms for a home 
 for your rooks, a bit of turf, and that old buttressed 
 wall with the lilies and the lavender at the foot of 
 it — the wall with the tufts of snapdragon — you 
 would like that ? You would like to know that 
 that bit was safe and cared for wherever you were, 
 wouldn't you ? And perhaps some day you would 
 come back and see it ?" 
 
 Mary shook her head. "No," she said, "I 
 thank you a thousand times, but let the garden go ; 
 I ought to have given it up before now. I would 
 rather it all went ; I would, really. Don't cramp 
 the cottages to save a useless piece of it." 
 
 " I know what that means," said Brydon, look- 
 ing steadily at her. 
 
 " And pray what does it mean ?" But she her- 
 self knew so well what it meant that she could 
 not meet his gaze. 
 
 " It means that you will never come back.
 
 160 A GAEDEN OF MEMORIES vii 
 
 That you can give up the whole as readily as the 
 half because nothing will ever induce you to set 
 foot in Brenthill when once your garden has been 
 touched. That you will remember it as it is now, 
 and hate the thought " 
 
 " No," cried Mary, moved by a sudden impulse. 
 " I never will come back to the garden or any part 
 of it — never ! But if you will take it and carry 
 out your plan — if you will make amends for all 
 
 my selfishness and folly " She had risen and 
 
 faced him with eloquent eyes. 
 
 "What will you do ?" 
 
 " I will come back and see your cottages when 
 they are built." 
 
 She was startled at her own words, as if an 
 alien voice had uttered them ; she could not think 
 what had prompted her. She could almost have 
 doubted whether she had spoken them had it not 
 been for Mr. Brydon's face. 
 
 "I take that as a promise," he said simply. 
 " You will let me know where you are, and you 
 shall hear when they are finished." He was
 
 VII 
 
 ALL OF ONE MIXD 161 
 
 content to say no more, and held out his hand 
 instantly in leave-taking. 
 
 Mary accompanied him to the hall, where they 
 found Philip Wargrave, who had just been ad- 
 mitted by the maid. The men looked a little 
 curiously at each other, and she introduced them, 
 not without a touch of wondering pride at her own 
 calmness. " Mr. Wargrave is going to make a 
 sketch of the garden for his next picture," she 
 added in an explanatory tone. 
 
 " A little remembrance of a favourite spot, just 
 for a background, you know," said Philip, smiling 
 regretfully. " I've heard of you from Miss Hillier." 
 
 Brydon murmured something about " the 
 pleasure of meeting Miss Hillier in the spring." 
 
 " You made a deep impression, I assure you," 
 said the young artist. " She took such an interest 
 in the garden. I think myself there is a peculiar 
 charm about the dear old place." 
 
 " It is very pretty," the mill- owner agreed. " I 
 remember Miss Hilher admired it." 
 
 " Yes, and she remembers you — as Adamant ! I 
 
 VOL. L . - M
 
 162 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES vii 
 
 believe she habitually thinks of you as the Desol- 
 ator, for she was sure you would get your own way." 
 
 " Mr. Brydon came this morning to tell me he 
 could do without the garden," said Mary quietly, 
 in her clear voice. 
 
 "NoT cried Wargrave. "Oh, Miss Medland, 
 you might have spared me this !" 
 
 " Spared you what ?" 
 
 " Oh, why did you tell me ? Why didn't you 
 leave me in ignorance till my picture was finished ? 
 Why did you upset your arrangements to-day of 
 all days ?" He bemoaned himself tragically, and 
 yet with a little laughing self-mockery about his 
 lips. "Here was I, steeped to the very eyes in 
 sentiment ; to my finger tips," he stretched out 
 his long slender hands, "I've been steeped in it 
 ever since Ethel Hillier came back ; I was aching 
 deliciously with helpless regret for the old garden ; 
 I believe my work would have been a masterpiece 
 of pathos — oh, a masterpiece ! — and you and Mr. 
 Brydon have conspired together to ruin it. It 
 will be a sham now, the trees and I posing together
 
 VII ALL OF ONE MIND 163 
 
 in a make-believe farewell. It's cruel ! cruel ! 
 One doesn't have such fine feelings every day of 
 one's life." And Wargrave threw himself on one 
 of the hall chairs, while Brydon stood and smiled. 
 
 "You'd better go and paint the masterpiece. 
 I didn't accept Mr. Brydon's sacrifice — it's all 
 right," said Mary. 
 
 " I'll undertake that the trees haven't six weeks 
 to live, if that will do," the Desolator chimed in 
 encouragingly. 
 
 "Oh!" said Philip getting up, and looking 
 from one to the other. " WeU, you've spoilt my 
 morning, anyhow. Wlmt do you suppose I'm 
 going to do after such a shock as this ? I shaU 
 have to meditate sadly on inexorable fate till I 
 can get myself into tune again." 
 
 " Meanwhile we all seem to be of one mind at 
 last," said Mary with a little lingering emphasis 
 as she shook hands with Brydon. 
 
 The sale is over, it is late in November, and 
 Miss Wynne left Brenthill ten days ago. Philip
 
 164 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES vii 
 
 Wargrave is at work in his West Kensington 
 studio ; he has high hopes of his picture. He 
 certainly never planned anything before which 
 promised half as w^ell as this. Ethel Hillier is 
 standing for the figure of the Guardian Genius; 
 Philip asked her because he felt that he and she 
 really understood and cared for the old place as 
 no one else did. 
 
 Brydon is exceedingly unpopular in Brenthill 
 just now. The Ladies' Committee abuse him over 
 their teacups for his refusal to spare the " historic 
 pleasure-ground" till May or June, when they 
 intend to hold their bazaar in aid of Female 
 Education in India. He answered their deputa- 
 tion — of whom he secretly stood in extreme terror 
 — with the desperate frankness of a shy man 
 compelled to speak. When they assured him that 
 it could not really make any difference if the 
 people in the lane waited a few months longer for 
 their cottages, and that he could begin to build 
 just as well in July, he told them that they didn't 
 know what they were tallving about, and it was
 
 VII ALL OF ONE MIND 165 
 
 perfectly absurd. They did not like this. And 
 when he offered them a barrow -load of historic 
 brickbats to sell as souvenirs, they took his 
 innocent readiness to oblige them for a mocking 
 insult, threw his brickbats, figuratively, in his 
 face, and went away to give various very graphic 
 versions of the interview, in all of which Mr. 
 Brydon came off very badly indeed. And if the 
 ladies are displeased, so also are the good folks in 
 the lane — they can't think what call he has to be 
 meddling there. It was well enough if he would 
 have let things be, but this is worse than the mess 
 he made there in the summer with his nasty dirty 
 drains. It was a pity somebody couldn't go and 
 muddle about Mr. Brydon's own house till he 
 didn't know which way to turn, and see how he'd 
 like it. 
 
 The young man takes no heed of scowling 
 brows, but goes his way with an obstinately good- 
 humoured look on his face. The work of destruc- 
 tion advances fast, and he stops late at night to 
 inspect it on his way home from the office. The
 
 166 A GARDEN OF MEMORIES vii 
 
 workmen have made a wide cartway through the 
 wall where the little door used to be, and he looks 
 in through the great yawning breach. The gas- 
 light shines on its jagged edges, but there is a 
 thin white fog which makes the garden beyond, 
 with its poor remnant of trees, like a place of 
 sheeted ghosts. The cedars are down already, the 
 double thorn, broken and disconsolate, stands 
 waiting its fate, the rooks have been scared away, 
 the turf in the foreground, " mossy-fine," is seamed 
 with gaping ruts. It will soon be all over. Dead, 
 long ago, the hands that planted those trees and 
 laid those bricks, and the whole garden is vanish- 
 ing like a picture seen in the fire, or a drifting 
 smoke -wreath, vanishing in the love - quarrels, 
 ambitions, and plans of little lives, so brief beside 
 its long, persistent growth. Thomas Brydon, 
 stumbling over fragmentary building materials 
 as he leaves the spot, has no time for its memories 
 — he is too intent on the thought of the cottages 
 which Mary Wynne will come some day to see.
 
 MRS. AUSTIN
 
 MES. AUSTIN 
 
 I 
 
 " All women are matclimakers — some for them- 
 selves and the rest for other people," said Mr. 
 Francis Leicester. He stood on his own hearthrug, 
 with liis back to his own chimney-piece, and 
 surveyed the subject comprehensively from that 
 advantageous position. And he was entitled to 
 have an opinion of his own about it, for he was 
 nearly three and twenty. 
 
 Two ladies were present. " Which am I, 
 pray?" said the younger, instantly accepting the 
 challenge. She looked up at the speaker with great 
 bright brown eyes, like those of some sylvan creature. 
 ** AVhicli am T — for myself or for other people ? "
 
 170 MRS. AUSTIN I 
 
 Frank laughed and turned away a little, gazing 
 at a golden effect of September sunshine on an 
 old family portrait. " Oh, I'm not going to be 
 personal," he said ; " you don't catch me so. I 
 mean women in general." 
 
 " Oh, women in general ! I don't care for 
 women in general," said Miss Vivian. "And I 
 don't much believe that anybody else does." 
 
 " I may say what I like, then ? " 
 
 She nodded gravely. " Yes ; on the under- 
 standing that it doesn't apply to anybody in 
 particular." 
 
 " I'm afraid, perhaps, that won't be very inter- 
 esting," said Frank doubtfully. 
 
 " I'm quite sure it won't be ; it makes me yawn 
 only to think of it." 
 
 " But this does apply to somebody," said young 
 Leicester's mother, smiling, from her easy-chair. 
 " Frank means me. Whenever he wants to make 
 rude remarks about anything I do, he always 
 calls me women in general. But this time he 
 ought to be ashamed of himself, for — thank
 
 I MRS. AUSTIN 171 
 
 goodness ! — whatever I may be, I am not a match- 
 maker." 
 
 " Say that again ! " Leicester exclaimed. " To- 
 day of all days ! " 
 
 " Well, I am not" she repeated firmly. " I 
 don't want to make a match of it, I'm sure. Only 
 it seemed hard that they shouldn't meet some- 
 where, and have another chance." 
 
 " Just so," said Frank. " Let's hope they'll 
 profit by it. I should think they might know 
 their own minds by now ; they are getting rather 
 elderly, these lovers of yours, aren't they ? " 
 
 " Elderly — well, they are not so young as Tiny 
 here ; but they are a good deal younger than I am. 
 I don't see why they shouldn't have their feelings 
 as well as other people." 
 
 " Oh, I've no objection," said Frank, with his 
 hands in his pockets, and his chin a little higher 
 than usual. "If / wanted to make a match, it 
 should be a new one while I was about it, not a 
 T6chauff6 affair like this. But that's your concern, 
 and I'm sure I wish you all success. Give them
 
 172 MRS. AUSTIN 1 
 
 their wedding-breakfast, if you like. I'll throw 
 old shoes after them, and go in for all the rest 
 of the foolery with the greatest pleasure." He 
 turned to Tiny Vivian. "Will you be brides- 
 maid ? " 
 
 Tiny nodded. " If it's a pretty dress." 
 
 "That's settled, then. You shaU support the 
 elderly bride, I'll be best man, and my mother 
 shall be the rest of the affectionate relatives. 
 Why, we can do it all in the family ! No, though ! 
 who's to give her away ? The best man can't, can 
 he?" 
 
 "It doesn't sound quite proper. I wouldn't 
 have the best man to give me away," said Tiny. 
 
 " Better have the best man to take you," Frank 
 suggested. " Well, it's awkward, but for such a 
 little amateur performance I think I might double 
 the parts." 
 
 " Couldn't you manage a slight change of 
 costume as you dodged from one side to the 
 other?" 
 
 "Do not be so silly," said Mrs. Leicester.
 
 I MRS. AUSTIN 173 
 
 " And do remember that it is a secret — that 
 nobody knows anything about this old love affair. 
 It is quite a secret." 
 
 "You hear?" said Frank, turning his head a 
 little, and looking down at Tiny. 
 
 " I don't see why you say ' You hear ? ' to me. 
 I'm sure you're quite as bad, or worse," said the 
 girl smartly. 
 
 " Oh, but it isn't that. I wasn't doubting your 
 discretion or my own ; but I thought you might 
 have a few spare secrets about you, and not have 
 known where to put them for safe keeping. I 
 wanted you to observe that you might bring them 
 here." 
 
 "iSTow, Frank, 3^ou know I always do keep 
 secrets," said his mother. " I shall keep this one," 
 she added virtuously. " I'm only afraid you and 
 Tiny won't." 
 
 " I should keep it better, I think," said Tiny, 
 " if I knew a little more about it. One is so apt 
 to let out half a secret while one is hunting for 
 the other half — don't you think so?" She laid
 
 174 MRS. AUSTIN I 
 
 her hand coaxingly on Mrs. Leicester's. " Do tell 
 me. If nobody knows it, how do you know it ? " 
 
 "My sister told me — my dear sister who is 
 . dead," Mrs. Leicester replied, in a slightly altered 
 voice. Tiny's brown eyes dilated for a moment, 
 and the corners of her eager, smiling mouth went 
 down a little. It was just the attention which 
 any mention of the King of Terrors ordinarily 
 receives in the course of conversation. " But 
 there's hardly anything to tell," the elder lady 
 went on ; " Caroline knew something of young 
 South when he was really little more than a lad, 
 and he liked to talk to her about Miss Fairfax. 
 It was quite a boy-and-girl attachment, you know ; 
 I don't think it was ever allowed to be a regular 
 engao'ement ; but Caroline used to tell me about 
 it till I felt as if I knew him. She said it was 
 quite touching to see how the young fellow 
 worshipped the very ground Mildred Fairfax 
 trod on. And then he got his commission, and 
 was ordered off to India. Oh, it's a long while 
 aojo ! I remember Caroline coming in to tell
 
 I MRS. AUSTIN 175 
 
 me that she had just said good-bye to him, poor 
 boy." 
 
 " He went away," said Tiny. " Yes, but why 
 didn't they marry afterwards ? " 
 
 "AVell, I don't know. After Caroline died, I 
 never heard any more about them. But when 
 Mildred Fairfax was four or five and twenty she 
 married young Austin, and he was a friend of my 
 husband's ; so I saw something of her then, of 
 course. We gave them a pair of candlesticks, 
 pink and gold, very pretty ; !Mr. Leicester bought 
 them in Paris. But I suppose they would be 
 quite wrong now." 
 
 " Never mind, most likely they are broken," 
 Frank suggested, in a consoling voice. 
 
 " It was Miss Fairfax who didn't wait for Mr. 
 South, then?" said Tiny, pursuing the story. 
 " And did he get married too ? " 
 
 " Oh no ! he never married. He wasn't in the 
 army long ; he sold out, and went to live with an 
 uncle, who died some years ago, and left him a 
 nice little property. No, he never married."
 
 176 MKS, AUSTIN I 
 
 " Why didn't she wait for him ? I shan't like 
 her ! Was Mr. Austin rich ?" 
 
 " Pretty well, I think. He was a barrister, but 
 he had money of his own. She is left very well 
 off altogether. But I had quite lost sight of her 
 for a long time, till we happened to meet at the 
 Stauntons' place about a month ago, and I asked 
 her to come and stay a few days. That's all." 
 
 " I shan't like her," Tiny repeated softly. " But 
 you haven't accounted for Mr. South now," she 
 persisted with pitiless interest. 
 
 "Oh, that was rather funny; it was at Mrs. 
 Lane's — Minna Wilkinson she used to be. Some 
 one happened to speak of Mr. Gilbert South, and I 
 was curious. I asked to be introduced to him, and 
 we had quite a long talk about poor Caroline and 
 old times. Wasn't it odd I should meet him just 
 after I had seen Mrs. Austin again? He men- 
 tioned her, and told me he used to know her, and 
 began to ask so many questions that I invited him 
 to come and meet her here. And he jumped at it 
 — quite jumped !" said Mrs. Leicester, sinking back.
 
 I MES. AUSTIN 177 
 
 " He is in love with her still," said Tiny pen- 
 sively ; " but she doesn't deserve it." 
 
 Frank settled his shoulders against the carved 
 woodwork of the chimney-piece. "But how 
 long ago is it since these young affections were 
 blighted?" he inquired. "That's what I want to 
 know." 
 
 Mrs. Leicester sat pondering the question. " I 
 don't quite know," she said. "What year was 
 it that young South went out to India ? I could 
 find out — I must have got it down somewhere, for 
 it was just when you had the measles." 
 
 Frank uttered a very impatient ejaculation. "I 
 wish to Heaven there was something you couldn't 
 calculate in that fashion!" he said. Then he 
 began to laugh, and turned half-apologetically to 
 Tiny : " Haven't you noticed ? My ailments, 
 whooping-cough and mumps, and that kind of 
 thing " 
 
 " Frank, you never had mumps ! You are 
 thinking of " 
 
 " have infected all history. In fact, no- 
 
 VOL. I. • N
 
 178 MRS. Ausxm I 
 
 thing has happened hut my ailments ever since 
 I was born. Ask my mother." 
 
 Mrs. Leicester, who had risen to take her knit- 
 ting from the table, laid her hand on his sleeve. 
 " They haven't been very bad, luckily," she said, 
 looking up at his handsome healthy face. 
 
 " If they had been, the world would have come 
 to an end, wouldn't it ?" 
 
 " Yes," she said, " it would — for me." 
 
 Frank bent his head and touched her smooth 
 forehead with his lips. "For sentimental folly," 
 he remarked, as he disengaged himself, " there is 
 nothing like — like — women in general ! Well, 
 good-bye for the present." 
 
 "Where are you going ?" 
 
 "Why, your superannuated lovers can't be here, 
 either of them, for the next hour, and I promised 
 Huntley I'd go and look at those cottages by the 
 river they say ought to come down. It's a shame 
 to spend such an afternoon indoors." He looked 
 at Tiny. "Won't you come too? You haven't 
 had a walk to-day."
 
 I MRS. AUSTIN 179 
 
 " Not had a walk ! Well, you were playing 
 lawn -tennis for hours — I should, like to know 
 what you call that !" Mrs. Leicester exclaimed. 
 
 " I call it lawn-tennis," said Frank. 
 
 " It wasn't a walk," Tiny chimed in. " I'll get 
 my hat ; I should like to go." She was at the 
 door in a moment, looking back with an eager, 
 glowing little face as Mrs. Leicester called after 
 her, " Mind you are not late coming home." 
 
 Frank Leicester was a fine young fellow, good- 
 looking, good-hearted, good-tempered, and the 
 owner of Culverdale Manor. Had he described 
 himself he would have given that last clause the 
 foremost place. He was intensely conscious of 
 the fact that he was a landed proprietor, and 
 family tradition had impressed him with the 
 belief that Culverdale Manor, taking it altogether, 
 was the most desirable spot on the surface of the 
 globe. Any trifling drawbacks were honourably 
 disposed of in the limitation " taking it altogether." 
 Frank could not part himself in his own mind 
 from the estate, which had belonged to the
 
 180 MRS. AUSTIN I 
 
 Leicesters for so many years. He was young 
 Leicester of Ciilverdale, and if he had not been 
 Leicester of Culverdale, he would hardly have 
 known what he was or what he could be. It may 
 be questioned whether it would have been possible 
 to make provision for Frank anywhere else in the 
 universe. It would certainly have been difficult. 
 In his own house, on his own land, or in any 
 company where there was the requisite knowledge 
 of the importance of Culverdale, he was fearless, 
 outspoken, and perhaps a little conceited, with the 
 happy and harmless conceit of a young feUow who 
 has been petted all his life, and thinks the world 
 at once better and easier to deal with than most 
 of us find it. But in any society where Culverdale 
 counted for nothing he would have been shy and 
 humble, with a very moderate opinion of his own 
 abilities. Briefly, it may be said that Frank vxis 
 Culverdale. It was a prosperous, well-managed, 
 wealthy, and sheltered estate, beautiful after a cer- 
 tain trim and English ideal of beauty, but with no- 
 thing wild or original about it. It was just so much
 
 I MES. AUSTIN 181 
 
 placid contentment lying in a ring fence. Frank 
 was one with Culverdale when Culverdale was 
 at its best, with the airy and hopeful freshness of 
 spring about it and the beauty of promise in copse 
 and meadow. Whether he would ever be one with 
 Culverdale when it was at its worst, an expanse of 
 sodden and heavy acres lying drearily under a dull 
 November sky, was a question which might suggest 
 itself to a chance observer more readily than to 
 those who knew and loved him as he was. 
 
 Perhaps it is unnecessary to say that Frank 
 was essentially a country gentleman. There was 
 a pleasant harmony between the young squire and 
 his surroundings which would demand a pleasant 
 word to describe it. It is true that he had travelled 
 as much or more than his neighbours, making the 
 most of a limited knowledge of that tongue which 
 is neither English nor French, though it has 
 affinities with both those languages. The fact that 
 Culverdale was not much known on the Continent 
 did not depress Frank. He was sorry for the 
 natives of other lands (comprehensively described
 
 182 MRS. AUSTIN I 
 
 as " foreign beggars "), who, owing to misfortunes 
 of birth and training, could not appreciate the 
 position he held at home. As he felt himself 
 unable to explain it with any degree of precision, 
 he acquiesced in their ignorance with the good- 
 humoured tolerance of a young prince in disguise. 
 He had read his Murray in a good many historic 
 localities, could find his way, with a sense of old 
 acquaintance, through the streets of Paris, and 
 would have been greatly surprised if any one had 
 told him that he was more countrified than his 
 second-cousin, Tiny Vivian, who had never crossed 
 the Channel and had only enjoyed an occasional 
 week in town. It was true, nevertheless. Tiny, 
 with her bright innocent brown eyes and eager 
 youthfulness, was so evidently undeveloped that 
 it was impossible to classify her. The budding 
 plant might open in the old garden where it had 
 grown, or might be transferred to a conservatory 
 to blossom more delicately there. But Frank had 
 carried that slight rusticity of his to two or three 
 European capitals, and brought it back to the
 
 I MRS. AUSTIN 183 
 
 peaceful English home, where the rooks were 
 cawing in the elms outside his windows, and the 
 doves cooing in the tangled copses. 
 
 Mrs. Leicester went back to her easy-chair 
 when Frank and Tiny had left her that afternoon, 
 and gave herself up to drowsy meditation. "A 
 matchmaker, indeed ! " she said to herself, as she 
 leaned back, suffering her knitting and her plump 
 white hands to lie idly in her lap. "As if I 
 shouldn't make a match for Frank, if I did for 
 anybody ! And no one can say I ever tried that." 
 It was quite true. Mrs. Leicester had perceived 
 that important young men were fatally apt to fall 
 in love in a wrong, or, which was much the same 
 thing, in an eccentric fashion, and she had deter- 
 mined that if Frank would but choose some one 
 fairly unobjectionable she would ask no more. 
 Hitherto, in spite of many little flirtations, he had 
 escaped the snares laid for him at garden-parties 
 and county balls, and had returned from all his 
 wanderings apparently unscathed. So far as he 
 showed any real preference it was for Tiny Vivian.
 
 184 MRS. AUSTIN I 
 
 who received his attentions in a very guileless and 
 simple manner. It would be great promotion for 
 Tiny to be mistress of the old Manor House, which 
 was a paradise to her girlish fancy, but Frank's 
 mother was quite ready to welcome her there, and 
 was very good meanwhile in the matter of invita- 
 tions. Mrs. Leicester was an amiable, kindly, 
 easy-going woman, and was really fond of the girl, 
 yet in her fierce motherly fondness she would have 
 sacrificed her any day, body and soul, for Frank. 
 Tiny must take care of herself If Frank wanted 
 her, well and good, but if the young prince should 
 chance to discover a more suitable princess else- 
 where, his little cousin must go back to her own 
 people, heart-whole or heart-broken as she might 
 chance to be. 
 
 Mrs. Leicester's thoughts turned from Frank 
 and Tiny to her expected visitors, and drifted idly 
 in the past, to which they belonged. How well 
 she remembered the dull autumn afternoon when 
 Caroline came in to tell her that Gilbert South 
 was gone, and how he had done his best to preserve
 
 I MRS. AUSTIN 185 
 
 a manly demeanour to the last. " Poor boy ! poor 
 boy ! I only hope Mildred Fairfax will be true to 
 him," said the kindly, sentimental Caroline, while 
 her eyes filled at the thought of his sorrow. The 
 sisters were excited over the love story, but 
 naturally it failed to interest the fretful little 
 tyrant who had the measles. Poor Aunt Carrie 
 had to wipe her eyes and relate a wonderful story 
 about soldiers who went away in ships, but who 
 were all coming home again very soon. Mildred 
 Fairfax was not required in Frank's version of the 
 romance. Aunt Carrie told no more stories, — she 
 was dead before the young lover reached India, and 
 Mrs. Leicester, looking back across the long years 
 which parted her from her favourite sister, felt a 
 mournful pleasure in taking up the unfortunate 
 love story of whose earliest beginning she had been 
 the confidante. She had a vague feeling that it 
 might please Carrie if she could give Gilbert South 
 a chance of being happy after the fashion that 
 Carrie had planned so long ago. It was a late and 
 unsatisfactory conclusion, perhaps, yet the best
 
 186 MES. AUSTIN I 
 
 that she could see, and there was a sentimental 
 charm about it which appealed to Mrs. Leicester's 
 easily touched feelings ; so she sat in her easy- 
 chair, thinking it all over, till the figures of the 
 old story — Caroline, Gilbert South, and Mildred 
 Austin — came and went in something of a con- 
 fused and softened vision before her half-closed 
 eyes, while the window near which she sat became 
 a great sunset picture of darkly towering trees 
 and yellow sky. The sound of wheels passed 
 through her pleasant dream, which was hardly so 
 much dispersed as a little more defined when Mr. 
 South stood on the hearthrug where Frank had 
 stood a couple of hours earlier. He spoke in soft 
 deliberate tones, and looked round the room with 
 a covert inquiry in his glance. 
 
 Mrs. Leicester made an effort, and was glad 
 that he had had a pleasant drive. " You find me 
 all alone," she said ; " Frank is out somewhere, and 
 so is Miss Vivian, who is staying with us. They 
 were playing lawn -tennis all the morning, and 
 they have been walking all the afternoon,"
 
 I MRS. AUSTIN 187 
 
 Mr. South expressed his admiration of such un- 
 flagging energy. " It wouldn't suit me," said Mrs. 
 Leicester candidly ; " but I have a sort of recollec- 
 tion that when I was young I used to think I 
 would run about all my life," 
 
 " Ah, when one was young ! " said Gilbert South, 
 with a smile. " And so you are all alone ? " he 
 repeated, still looking round with questioning eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Leicester awoke to a sudden comprehen- 
 sion of her companion's anxiety. "I shouldn't 
 have been alone long, even if you hadn't come," 
 she said. " I am expecting Mrs. Austin — I told 
 you she was coming, if you remember. She was 
 obliged to put her visit off for a few days, and she 
 arranged to come this very afternoon — in fact, I 
 have sent to meet her." 
 
 " How does she come, then ? By a later train ? 
 You need not have sent twice, Mrs. Leicester — I 
 would have waited." 
 
 "Oh no, it's the other line. I am expecting 
 her every minute. You have been running a race 
 without knowing it, and you have won, you see.
 
 188 MRS. AUSTIN I 
 
 I thought she would have been here first. She 
 has been with friends in Cornw^all." 
 
 "In Cornwall!" Gilbert South repeated the 
 w^ords with a touch of startled interest in his 
 voice. " She used to live in Cornw^all — T was 
 there one summer a long wdiile ago. I wonder 
 where she has been staying now ? " And, after a 
 moment, he added, " Xot in the old house, I know." 
 
 "It's a beautiful country," said Mrs. Leicester. 
 " ISTot pretty, like Devonshire, of course." 
 
 " "No, not like Devonshire, but I like it better, 
 perhaps because I knew it first. The Land's End 
 
 on a still midsummer day " He stopped short 
 
 in the middle of his speech, and looked down, but 
 his silence was full of remembrance. 
 
 "Oh, delightful!" said Mrs. Leicester, fanning 
 herself slowly wdth a Japanese fan. " Do I hear 
 the carriage? No. Of all places I think the 
 
 Land's End " and she glided through two or 
 
 three soft commonplace sentences. 
 
 " Yes," Gilbert interrupted her. " I beg your 
 pardon, I mean I think you do hear "
 
 I MRS. AUSTIN 189 
 
 " Why, of course I do ! " There was the sound 
 of an arrival in the hall. Mrs. Leicester put down 
 her fan, but the door at the far end of the room 
 was thrown open before she could reach it, and 
 "Mrs. Austin" was announced. "Here you are 
 at last !" she exclaimed, hurrying to meet the 
 newcomer. 
 
 Mrs. Austin bent her head to receive her 
 friend's kiss of welcome, and the two came up the 
 room with a soft rustle of drapery. The western 
 sun lit up Mrs. Austin's pale face. " You know 
 Mr. South?" said Mrs. Leicester, and with a smile 
 she answered, " Oh yes," and put out a gloved 
 hand. He was cool enough usually, but his heart 
 beat fast, and he hardly knew what he said, as he 
 stepped out of a long vista of shadowy years and 
 a confusion of memories to greet Mrs. Austin, 
 newly arrived from a Cornwall, whose sunsets, blue 
 seas, and fringe of chafing white waves were those 
 of a summer long gone by. It was only when she 
 said, " Yes, it is a long while ago," that he remem- 
 bered what his own remark had been.
 
 190 MES. AUSTIN I 
 
 At that same moment Tiny Vivian, a dainty 
 little rustic figure, swinging a bunch of pale honey- 
 suckle and green -coated nuts, was crossing the 
 corner of a distant field. She had gone some way 
 in silence, with thoughts intent upon the romance 
 awaiting her at the Manor House. It is true that 
 to Tiny it was a dim and bygone affair, which had 
 been laid by so long that it could have no better 
 sweetness than that of dried rose-leaves and 
 lavender, yet being a real romance it was interest- 
 ing, and it was with an absorbed and earnest 
 glance that she looked up at Frank and said, " I 
 wonder how those two will meet. Don't you think 
 she will feel rather strange ?" 
 
 "Why she more than he?" demanded Frank. 
 " I should think they would both feel rather queer 
 after eighteen years." He aimed a blow at a 
 thistle as he went by. " I've been thinking," he 
 said with a laugh, " it must be eighteen years ago, 
 if it isn't nineteen, since I had the measles. I was 
 a horrid little spoilt wretch, I know — I remember 
 crying because I couldn't go to a children's party
 
 T MRS. AUSTIN 191 
 
 — I used to wear a hideous tartan frock with frills, 
 and had my hair curled. It is certainly eighteen 
 years ago this autumn." 
 
 Tiny laughed too. " I suppose I was a baby — 
 my birthday is in August, you know. Isn't it a 
 long while ago ? But if he has been waiting all 
 these years, and been true all the while, he has 
 nothing to be ashamed of." 
 
 "Might be ashamed of wasting his time, I 
 should think," said Frank. "Don't bestow too 
 much sympathy on Mr. South. And you expect 
 Mrs. Austin to blush for her inconstancy ? Not 
 she ! I'll bet you anything you like that the 
 faithless widow is much the cooler of the two, and 
 if there is any blushing when they meet, he'll 
 have to do it." 
 
 " The sunset is doing it," said Tiny. "Look what 
 a glow there is dying away behind those wiUows." 
 
 " We must look sharp," said Frank. He glanced 
 at his watch and quickened his pace. " You can 
 walk a little faster?" 
 
 " Oh yes — are we far from home ?" and without
 
 192 MES. AUSTIN I 
 
 waiting for an answer Tiny went on. " I've made 
 up my mind, I shan't like Mrs. Austin." There 
 was a determined expression in her brown eyes as 
 she spoke. 
 
 "Sorry for her," said young Leicester. "But, 
 to tell you the truth, if it wasn't for pleasing my 
 mother, I could very well dispense with the pair 
 of them. I suppose he'll like some shooting ; but 
 I can't go out with him to-morrow — I've promised 
 to ride over to Bridge End in the afternoon. I 
 don't know what you'll all do, I'm sure — go for a 
 drive, if you like." 
 
 Tiny pushed out a scornful little lower lip. 
 " All packed in the carriage together ! " Then, 
 after a moment's consideration, " Well, we might 
 go to the Castle." 
 
 " Isn't it rather reckless, using up our one 
 show place the first day?" said Frank. "Though, 
 to be sure, it isn't worth keeping — there's so very 
 little of it." 
 
 "And don't you think it might harmonise 
 nicely with their feelings ? " Tiny continued.
 
 I MKS. AUSTIN 193 
 
 taking a higher range. "Won't they like to 
 poke about little old remains of something that 
 used to be very beautiful and splendid ? I should 
 think it would give them a chance of saying all 
 sorts of things." 
 
 "Oh, go to the Castle — go to the Castle, by 
 all means!" said Frank, laughing. "I only hope 
 they'll have your fine sense of harmony, and make 
 the most of the opportunity. Mind you don't 
 interfere — that's all." 
 
 "I shall take care of your mother," Tiny 
 answered loftily. " I shall carry her shawl. And 
 I shall pick ivy -leaves off the wall. I hope 1 
 know my duty." 
 
 " Most people do," said Frank drily. " For 
 instance, our duty is to be home in proper time 
 to receive these good folks." 
 
 "Shan't we do it?" said the girl, a little appre- 
 hensively. 
 
 He shook his head. "No, like most people, 
 we shan't ! Can you dress in two minutes ? You 
 must try to-night, I'm afraid. It's all my fault ; 
 
 VOL. I. • o
 
 19-i MRS. AUSTIN I 
 
 the time slipped away and I didn't notice." Tiny, 
 in spite of her uneasiness, was very happy. They 
 hurried on: the glow in the west grew fainter, 
 and the rooks went by in great clouds, cawing 
 their good-nigjhts overhead. 
 
 " I can't tliink what possessed my mother to 
 want these people ! " said Frank, with a sudden 
 outburst of irritation, as he helped Tiny over a 
 stile. "I hate ha^dng to hurry you like this — 
 you'll be tired out, thanks to them ! " 
 
 "Oh, never mind me!" said Tiny, breathless 
 but loyal. 
 
 " But I do mind you," Frank answered hotly. 
 " I wish they were a thousand miles away ! Any- 
 how their touching meeting must be over by now." 
 
 He was right, the meeting was over, and, as he 
 had divined, Mrs. Austin had been the more un- 
 moved of the two. While she shook hands with 
 Gilbert South she did not cease to answer Mrs. 
 Leicester's hospitably anxious questions. She was 
 not tired — her train was rather late, yes, but she 
 really was not tired — she would not have any
 
 I MRS. AUSTIN 195 
 
 tea — no, she would not have anything. Gilbert 
 looked at her over the top of Mrs. Leicester's head. 
 There was something of doubt, appeal, almost of 
 entreaty in his glance, and Mrs. Austin did not 
 seem to evade it, yet he hardly knew whether it 
 had reached her or not. At that moment he felt 
 it harder to realise how he had parted from Mildred 
 Fairfax than it had been when he stood on the rug 
 and listened through Mrs. Leicester's talk for the 
 sound of approaching wheels. Mrs. Austin's softly 
 modulated and unhurried speech was like and yet 
 unlike Mildred's voice as he remembered it. It 
 seemed like an echo of old days awakened in a 
 strange place. She looked at him with gently in- 
 quiring eyes, as if to discover how much he had 
 changed since their parting, and she met the same 
 mute questioning from him. Meanwhile Mrs. 
 Leicester wondered aloud, with much discom- 
 posure, what Frank and Tiny could possibly have 
 done with themselves. It was getting late : would 
 Mrs. Austin like to go to her room ? So the little 
 party broke up, to meet again at seven.
 
 196 MRS. AUSTIN I 
 
 The question which troubled Frank's mother 
 was solved when, at three minutes to dinner-time, 
 she met him on the stairs, looking very hot and 
 dusty. She expressed some views on the subject 
 of punctuality which seemed to make him hotter. 
 "We went farther than I intended — we went 
 along the river after I saw Huntley, and had to 
 hurry back. What's the use of making a row 
 about it ?" he said rather crossly. 
 
 " You promised me you wouldn't be late !" 
 
 " Well, don't I tell you we hurried home ? I 
 believe Tiny nearly ran all the way. I wish I'd 
 made her take it easy, if this is all the thanks we 
 are to get." Frank had the disgusted look of a 
 man who faces an ungrateful world. 
 
 "Where is Tiny?" 
 
 " Gone upstairs like a flash of lightning. Look 
 here, mother, it wasn't her fault, you know." 
 
 "Well; all I can say is that it's very tire- 
 some," said poor Mrs. Leicester. " Do make haste, 
 Frank." 
 
 " I'm only waiting till you've done talking to
 
 I MRS. AUSTIN 197 
 
 me," Frank replied with boyish doggedness, and 
 stood stock still with his hands in his pockets. 
 Mrs. Leicester uttered an impatient exclamation, 
 and flounced down to the drawing-room, where- 
 upon Frank went up the stairs two at a time, 
 narrowly escaping a meeting with a very cool and 
 carefully-dressed gentleman who was just coming 
 from his room. He made the most of his time, 
 but it was a heavy-browed and rather sullen young 
 host who made his appearance some minutes after 
 dinner was announced, and offered his arm to Mrs. 
 Austin with a muttered apology. Frank was pro- 
 foundly dissatisfied with his guests and himself. 
 People who were busy with their love affairs 
 while he was a tiresome little boy getting over 
 the measles belonged altogether to a peculiarly 
 uninteresting past, and the consciousness that he 
 had been wanting in politeness made him angrily 
 uneasy. He made up his mind about Mrs. Austin 
 and Mr. South between his spoonfuls of soup. 
 There was a slight likeness between them at the 
 first glance. It was hardly enough to suggest the
 
 198 MES. AUSTIN I 
 
 idea of brother and sister, but they might have 
 been cousins. They were both tall, fair, and pale ; 
 they were very quiet, and when they spoke it was 
 with a subdued clearness of tone, and with a little 
 more finish than Frank himself. The resemblance 
 made them still more uninteresting, and the soft 
 voices struck him as slightly affected. So far as 
 they were concerned, he saw precisely the pair of 
 faded lovers he was prepared to see, but he noticed 
 that Tiny, whose cheeks were a little flushed, and 
 whose pulses were a little quickened by their 
 haste and her fear of his mother's displeasure, 
 looked peculiarly vivid and young by the side of 
 the newcomers. There was something happy and 
 eager in her utterance of the most commonplace 
 remarks, which Frank had not observed before. 
 Cross though he was, he flashed an occasional 
 glance of sympathy and encouragement to his 
 fellow-culprit when he chanced to encounter her 
 bright timid eyes. He would not have Tiny 
 scolded for that afternoon's misconduct, and he 
 watched his mother's manner so jealously that
 
 I MRS. AUSTIX 199 
 
 when Mrs. Austin said something about Culver- 
 dale, and the road by which she had come, he was 
 preoccupied, and answered rather at random. She 
 turned away with a hardly perceptible smile, and 
 spoke to Gilbert South. 
 
 It was a little better when the ladies left the 
 dining-room, for Frank contrived to exchange a 
 smile of reconciliation with his mother as he held 
 the door, and so went back to his duty with a 
 somewhat brighter face. But it was not much 
 better. These people were not to his taste. They 
 had the air of having seen and known things 
 beyond the range of Culverdale society, and Frank 
 felt shy, young, and half-defiant as he sat over his 
 wine with Gilbert South. He suspected his guest 
 of possibly laughing at his youth and awkwardness. 
 It is true that there was nothing in Mr. South's 
 manner to justify the suspicion. He did not look 
 like a man who was in the habit of laughing at 
 his neighbours; but Frank was in an unreason- 
 able mood that evening. He held himself aloof 
 when they went in^o the drawing-room, still with
 
 200 MRS. AUSTIN i 
 
 that heavy consciousness of inhospitable manners 
 upon him, and suffered Mr. South to ask Tiny to 
 sing, and to go to the piano, talk over the songs, 
 and turn the pages for her, while he sat by the 
 table, holding a paper which he did not read. 
 
 And then in a moment all was changed — 
 Frank himself — the whole world. Mrs. Austin 
 rose from her seat by Mrs. Leicester, came out of 
 the shadows into the mellow lamplight, and 
 walked to the piano. She simply crossed the 
 room, with the light shining on her pale, beautiful 
 face, as if she were drawn softly by the music. 
 She was utterly unconscious of Frank, who lifted 
 his head from his hand and sat gazing at her, 
 astonished and spellbound, seeing her for the first 
 time. He had been too sulky and absorbed to 
 pay any attention before; he had had her hand 
 on his arm — fool that he was ! — and had taken no 
 heed. N'ow as she went by it was like a wonder- 
 ful revelation, and with a perception which to his 
 own consciousness was singularly quickened, he 
 noted every detail of the picture — the delicate
 
 I MRS. AUSTIN 201 
 
 features, the soft fine hair, the shadowy eyelids, 
 the lips parted a little in a lingering smile, the 
 hand that drooped and held a fan, the dusky soft- 
 ness of her trailing velvet gown, and the web of 
 yellowish lace at her throat, with a white spark 
 of diamond light in it. It was not such beauty 
 as Frank had ever taken pleasure in, or even 
 recognised, before, and for that very reason he 
 was unable to set any limit to his admiration. 
 The charm was that of a pale gleam in an un- 
 known sky, revealing a new world. He was 
 startled at the sudden rush of feeling which 
 carried him out of the narrow boundaries within 
 which he had been eating, drinking, and sleeping 
 till that moment. It seemed to him as if none of 
 the thoughts and words to which he had been 
 accustomed in that earlier life would serve him 
 now. He had scorned poetry as something 
 foolish and unreal ; but it struck him that if he 
 took up a volume of poetry he might chance to 
 find it all coming true. Something wonderful, 
 inexplicable, unforeseen, had befallen him in that
 
 202 MES. AUSTIN I 
 
 brief minute; but the important events of life 
 may very well happen in a minute which often 
 goes unrecognised. Frank, however, recognised 
 his as it went by. 
 
 He moved a little as he sat, to command a 
 better view of the room, and saw how South, who 
 was stooping to untie a portfolio of Tiny's, rose 
 with a swift glance of welcome as Mrs. Austin 
 approached, and silently gave her a chair. She 
 laid her hand on the back, but paused, listening. 
 Looking eagerly at the two as they stood side by 
 side, Frank forgot that he had ever seen a 
 resemblance between them, and would have taken 
 it as an insult if any one had suggested that such 
 a resemblance existed. The secret love story, 
 over which he had laughed that afternoon, rose up 
 terribly before his eyes. He remembered every 
 word he had said, how he had proposed to give 
 them their wedding-breakfast, and how he had 
 joked with Tiny about the elderly bride. He 
 hated himself as he recalled the word. Of course, 
 it had been nothing but a joke ; Frank knew well
 
 I MRS. AUSTIN 203 
 
 enough tliat a woman who was a girl eighteen 
 years earlier was not elderly; but still he had 
 used it, and the blood rushed to his forehead at 
 the recollection. It was such a detestable word, 
 hard, prosaic, and commonplace; it seemed to 
 vulgarise and spoil whatever it touched. Frank 
 would readily have sacrificed a year of his life 
 (which at his age means that he would have con- 
 sented to be a year younger) could he have unsaid 
 that hateful word "elderly." His meditations 
 speedily became so unendurable that, in sheer 
 despair, he got up and went towards the piano. 
 Anything was better than sitting there alone, with 
 an idiotic paper in his hand, which would not 
 distract his attention for a moment, and his 
 thoughts full of the remembrance that he had 
 made fun of Mrs. Austin. 
 
 It was with a singular sensation of being at 
 once very dull and clumsy and curiously keen- 
 sighted that he approached his guests. For the 
 first time in his life he imderstood that real life 
 could be dramatic, since hitherto he had supposed
 
 204 MRS. AUSTIN I 
 
 that novels and plays Tvere interesting simply 
 because of their unreality. To say that a thing 
 was like a play meant that it was unlike anything 
 which would really happen to a sensible English- 
 man. He had not sufficient imagination to enter 
 into the feelings of the people who came and 
 went about him. Long habit might teach him 
 something of their likes and dislikes, hopes and 
 fears, but he had little or no instinct in such 
 matters, and consequently saw nothing beneath 
 the everyday aspect of life. That night, however, 
 his mother's reminiscences had given him a clue to 
 the deeper meaning of what was passing under his 
 roof, and with that secret knowledge of Mrs. Austin 
 and Mr. South he grasped the situation as if it were 
 on the stage. He saw it as if it were on the stage, 
 but he knew that he was more than a spectator. 
 
 Tiny was singing, and Frank halted a little 
 way off, as if to listen. He had never felt so shy 
 and ill at ease in all his life ; never felt so little 
 at home as he did standing there in the !Manor 
 House drawing-room, in the very heart of his
 
 I MRS. AUSTIN 205 
 
 kingdom. Of course, lie knew well enough that 
 he was the master of Culverdale, but he did not 
 see that Culverdale had anything to do with this 
 matter. In fact, for the first time in his life, he 
 was profoundly dissatisfied with Culverdale ; it 
 was a hole of a place to live in — it had no capa- 
 bilities. How should they amuse Mrs. Austin ? 
 She had been everywhere, she would be bored, she 
 would laugh at it. It was all very well for Tiny, 
 but Mrs. Austin was very different. They might 
 have company, might " call the neighbours in," as 
 the old nursery rhyme has it ; but all the neigh- 
 bours were bores. Frank had not discovered the 
 fact before, but he perceived it now in the light of 
 Mrs. Austin's presence, and reflected that a dinner 
 party of twenty -bore -power would not mend 
 matters much. 
 
 Tiny's song came to an end, and Frank awoke 
 to the consciousness that he was looking straight 
 at Mrs. Austin in his perplexity. 
 
 " Something makes you very grave, j\Ir. 
 Leicester," she said, with a slight smile.
 
 206 MRS. AUSTIN I 
 
 " I — I Avas tliinking." And Frank fairly stam- 
 mered over this brilliant reply. 
 
 " So deeply that it was a shame to interrupt 
 you." 
 
 " No, no, not at all. In fact I was thinking — 
 I was afraid you would find this place very 
 stupid — I was wondering what we could do that 
 you would like." 
 
 " You were thinking about that ?" Mrs. Austin, 
 who had thought Erank very boyish and sulky at 
 dinner, looked up at him now with sudden inter- 
 est. She was surprised and a little touched, for 
 there was no mistaking Frank's sincerity. " But, 
 Mr. Leicester," she said, " there is no occasion for 
 this terrible anxiety. I assure you, I'm not a 
 difficult person to amuse. What made you think 
 I was ? " 
 
 " No ; I didn't think it," said Frank. " But if 
 there is nothing at all, how then ? " 
 
 " Come, it isn't so bad as that. There must be 
 some walks, for instance." 
 
 " Oh, well, yes, there are some walks," Frank
 
 1 MRS. AUSTIN 207 
 
 admitted rather grudgingly. "I didn't know 
 whether you would care for walks." 
 
 " Yes, in moderation. Not what you call walk- 
 ing, I daresay. And drives ? " 
 
 " Yes," he said, " you can drive as much as ever 
 you like ; only I don't exactly know what there is 
 to drive to." 
 
 " You are not encouraging," said Mrs. Austin 
 with a little laugh. 
 
 " There is a ruin," said Frank. " Tiny and I 
 were thinking that perhaps you would like to go 
 to-morrow afternoon, if it is fine. But it is 
 nothing of a place," he continued, fixing his 
 brown eyes despondently on the floor, as if he 
 saw the whole thing in the compass of an Indian 
 rug. 
 
 "Kuined too much, or not ruined enough?" 
 she inquired. 
 
 " Oh, ruined quite enough — too much if any- 
 thing." 
 
 " I like a neglected ruin ; I hate restorations. 
 I am sure I shall like to see this one," said Mrs.
 
 208 MRS. AUSTIN I 
 
 Austin graciously. " And what is this building, 
 or rather, what was it ? " 
 
 "Well," Frank replied, "it's a bit of a little 
 tower — Culverdale Castle some people call it." 
 (He had invariably called it so himself till that 
 evening.) " Perhaps," he added with a fine irony, 
 for he was growing more fluent, "it might have 
 been the fashion to have your castles small when 
 this one was built; or perhaps it wasn't quite full- 
 grown when it began to fall to pieces — I don't 
 know. But Culverdale Castle — Lord ! '^ Frank's 
 tone, as he spoke of his little ruin, conveyed con- 
 temptuous disgust, as if it were no more than a 
 decayed tooth. 
 
 Mrs. Austin slowly turned a ring on her finger. 
 " I don't know that I'm so very particular about 
 the size of my ruins," she said ; " some people 
 are, I believe. I remember going once to 
 see the remains of a Eoman villa with some 
 friends. I think they expected to find it standing 
 up with a knocker on the door, and they were 
 very much disappointed ; in fact, they said it was
 
 I MES. AUSTIN 209 
 
 a swindle. I won't say yonr ruin is a swindle, 
 Mr. Leicester, especially after all your warnings." 
 
 "You may if you like," said Frank gloomily. 
 " I think myself a thing ought to be a decent 
 size. What did you say just now, that you didn't 
 like 'em restored ? " 
 
 "No, I don't. Why? Has this been re- 
 stored ? " 
 
 He shook his head. " It's all right then. I 
 only thought that if you would have liked a little 
 more of it, I might have gone over to-morrow with 
 a hod of mortar and a barrow-load of stones, and 
 done it up for you. Only then you couldn't have 
 driven there till Saturday." 
 
 " Thank you," said Mrs. Austin, smiling, " I 
 think I would rather go to-morrow and see it as 
 it is." 
 
 " Well — only you won't expect anything, will 
 you?" 
 
 "No, I won't. Do you always depreciate 
 Culverdale and everything belonging to it in 
 this fashion ? " 
 
 VOL. I. * p
 
 210 MRS. AUSTIN I 
 
 The point-blank question, asked in the quietest 
 of tones, was not easy to answer. "I don't 
 know; not particularly," said the disingenuous 
 young man. "It does well enough for me, you 
 know." 
 
 " I suspect it would do well enough for a good 
 many people," Mrs. Austin replied. " That was 
 rather a pretty road I came by from the station 
 this afternoon — you shall not run everything 
 dow^n so unmercifully." Frank coloured with 
 pleasure to hear her defending Culverdale. He 
 felt as if she were taking his part against himself. 
 " And, by the way," she went on, " there is one 
 thing I want to see which you do not propose to 
 show me, apparently." 
 
 Frank emerged from the depth of his despair. 
 ^' What is that? Tell me." 
 
 " Why," said Mrs. Austin, " I want you to show 
 me over your house. I am sure you have all 
 manner of delightful old things stored away here 
 I caught sight of a lovely old carved cupboard at 
 the top of the stairs, as I came down, which
 
 I MRS. AUSTIN 211 
 
 looked as if it ought to be a perfect mine of 
 wealth." 
 
 "What sort of old things?" Frank inquired 
 anxiously. '' Old china, do you mean, and pic- 
 tures, and old work — do you care for them?" 
 
 " Why, yes ; don't we all care for them nowa- 
 days?" said Mrs. Austin, with something which, 
 though hardly so much as a smile, was like soft 
 sunshine while she spoke. " I'm not conspicu- 
 ously behind the age, Mr. Leicester — I'm very 
 like other people." 
 
 " That I don't believe," muttered Frank under 
 his breath. It was doubtful whether his com- 
 panion caught the words or not. Her eyes rested 
 on him with a faintly inquiring expression, and 
 he went on hurriedly, " Let me show you, then. 
 You shall see all that there is." 
 
 " That will be very good of you. I should Hke 
 it very much. I suppose you know everything in 
 the house by heart?" said Mrs. Austin, furling 
 and unfurling her fan, and looking up kindly at 
 Frank.
 
 212 MRS. AUSTIN I 
 
 " All those tilings ? No, indeed I don't/' tlie 
 young man answered, half- laughing and half- 
 confused. " I know there are a lot of old pictures 
 and heirlooms about the place. I've always been 
 meaning to learn all about them, but I never 
 have. But I'll find out," he added courageously. 
 
 " It doesn't sound as if you would be a very 
 trustworthy guide." 
 
 " Oh, try me first ! " he exclaimed. " Then 
 when you have exhausted my stock of informa- 
 tion you can have somebody else who knows 
 more ; and then " 
 
 " And then ? " she repeated when he paused. 
 
 " Why," said Frank, blushing like a shy school- 
 boy, " then I think you had better teach me." 
 
 Mrs. Austin looked at him smilingly. " It 
 would only be common gratitude, would it ? " she 
 said. 
 
 " It is a bargain, then," he urged. " But when? 
 Candle-light isn't any good, you know. AYill to- 
 morrow morning do ?" 
 
 She answered that to-morrow morning would
 
 I MES. AUSTIN 213 
 
 suit her perfectly, and looked past Frank in a way 
 that made him turn and discover Mr. Gilbert 
 South at his elbow, smiling agreeably, and holding 
 a piece of music. He promptly announced the 
 nature of his errand. 
 
 " Miss Vivian has sent me to ask if you will 
 sing this with her." 
 
 Frank hesitated, looking at the song, at Mr. 
 South, at Tiny, who from her music-stool surveyed 
 the scene, and waited the result of her embassy. 
 
 " Pray do," said Mrs. Austin. " Especially as 
 I see that Miss Vivian has chosen a song which 
 happens to be a favourite of mine." 
 
 " All right," said Frank, and taking it from Mr. 
 South, he went to the piano. He had had his 
 back to Tiny during his talk, and now that he 
 walked towards her it was with a clouded face. 
 He had suddenly recollected that there was no 
 occasion for him to amuse Mrs. Austin. South 
 had been invited on purpose to do that. " I 
 daresay she was washing for him all the time ! " 
 thought Frank, with a bitter throb of jealousy.
 
 214 MRS. AUSTIN I 
 
 " Well, I don't care ; I'll show her the house to- 
 morrow. It's my house — it's all I have, and I 
 will have that, at any rate ! And he shan't come 
 with us either ; the others can take him round, if 
 they like." 
 
 "Aren't you very grateful?" said Tiny, in a 
 whisper, looking up at him with a sunny little 
 face, and arching her delicate brows as if to poinb 
 the question. "/ saw how good you were, and I 
 knew how you must hate it." 
 
 " Your eyes are very sharp," Frank replied. 
 
 She nodded. " Oh, but it wasn't only then," 
 she said, setting up the music before her, and 
 flattening the page with a touch of her soft little 
 brown hand. "I looked at you at dinner-time, 
 and I saw you didn't like her. I can always teU 
 whether you like people or not." 
 
 " Can you ? What do you think if I behave 
 to anybody just as I do to you ? " 
 
 " I shall not answer that question," said Tiny 
 firmly. " You seem to have forgotten that we are 
 never to talk about anybody but people in general,
 
 I MRS. AUSTIN 215 
 
 and you didn't behave to her just as you do to 
 me, so that has nothing whatever to do with it. 
 Do you know, I think I have had the best of it 
 this evening ? I said I shouldn't like her, and I 
 don't ; but he is rather nice." 
 
 "Eather nice, is he?" 
 
 " Yes," Tiny answered, " he is. Now are you 
 ready?" 
 
 Mrs. Austin, listening to her young friend's 
 performance, decided that he had a pleasant voice, 
 sadly in want of a little training. " Do you sing 
 now ? " she asked Gilbert South. 
 
 The "now" marked a remembrance that he 
 sang of old. " Not to-night," he answered hastily ; 
 " to-morrow, perhaps." 
 
 " Dear me ! Everything seems to be for to- 
 morrow," said Mrs. Austin, leaning back in her 
 chair and looking down. 
 
 "I should rather have said that everything 
 had been yesterday," South answered in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " To-day comes off badly either way," she re-
 
 216 MRS. AUSTIN T 
 
 joined lightly, but -without raising her eyes. " It 
 generally does, I think." 
 
 He fancied there was a touch of mockery in 
 her tone, but he could not be sure. "Do not say 
 anything against to-day," he said ; " I have looked 
 forward to it for a long while." 
 
 "Ah, then you are sure to be disappointed !" 
 
 " Am I disappointed ? " said Gilbert. " That is 
 what I want to know." He turned quickly to 
 the piano. "Thank you; that is a charming 
 song." He went back to Tiny Vivian, while Mrs. 
 Austin, softly murmuring her thanks, rose and re- 
 turned to Mrs. Leicester, who roused herself from 
 a state of drowsy contentment to entertain her. 
 
 Frank had no further opportunity that evening. 
 Perhaps had one presented itself he would hardly 
 have taken advantage of it. When the party 
 separated for the night he lingered at the door, 
 and caught a glimpse of Mrs. Austin going up the 
 shallow steps of polished oak, and that moment 
 taught him that his old staircase was a fitting 
 background for a picture. Coming back, he took
 
 I MRS. AUSTIN 217 
 
 up his accustomed position on the hearthrug, so 
 absorbed in his own thoughts that he seemed 
 ahnost sullen. He was glad that Mr. South was 
 tired, and would not stay to smoke and talk. He 
 bade Tiny a brief good-night; he stood looking 
 heavily at his mother as she wandered about the 
 room, gathering up her scattered possessions. 
 
 " You don't like these people, do you?" she said. 
 
 Frank muttered something to the effect that 
 South was well enough. 
 
 " No, but you don't like them. I didn't much 
 suppose you would ; but I thought you wouldn't 
 mind for once. We don't often have anybody 
 you don't like." 
 
 " All right," said Frank. " I didn't complain, 
 did I?" 
 
 " No ; and it was very nice of you to go and 
 talk to Mildred Austin this evening. You did 
 go and talk to her ? I didn't dream it, surely ? I 
 was half-asleep, I think." 
 
 "Yes; I talked to her." 
 
 "And you know it is only for poor Carrie's
 
 218 MRS. AUSTIN I 
 
 sake — just a fancy of mine. It won't be for long, 
 Frank." 
 
 "N"o," said Frank, "I don't at all suppose it 
 will be for long." 
 
 " Mildred was always considered very good- 
 looking," Mrs. Leicester remarked in a musing 
 tone, standing still with a work-basket in her 
 hand. " Of course, she has gone off a good deal — 
 though really not so much as one might have 
 expected — since I first knew her. But I know 
 she isn't your style of beauty, even if she were 
 not elderly, as you and Tiny were saying this 
 afternoon. Oh, you young folks!" And Mrs. 
 Leicester ended her sentence with a good-humoured 
 chuckle of reminiscence. 
 
 There was a pause before Frank opened his lips. 
 Since the time was just long enough to permit of 
 making an appeal to high Heaven, it may be hoped 
 that it was so employed. " I'm sure I never said 
 she was my style," he answered, and added in a 
 lower voice, "I know very well she isn't!" And 
 with that he turned on his heel and went away to bed.
 
 I MRS. AUSTIN 219 
 
 It was evident that young Leicester might 
 dream his new dream with little fear of discovery, 
 unless Gilbert South should detect his secret. 
 Mrs. Leicester and Tiny Vivian had both per- 
 ceived that Frank did not like Mrs. Austin. 
 Tiny, being keener- sighted than the elder lady, 
 might possibly reconsider the matter ; but such a 
 conviction is not lightly set aside. Life is long 
 enough for many changes ; but it is not long 
 enough to allow of our recognising many changes 
 in our friends. Having once settled what they 
 must be (which is easily done, since there is but 
 one really complicated human being in the world), 
 it is obviously necessary that they should always 
 be what we have determined they are. How 
 otherwise could we go through life with any feel- 
 ing of security ? It would be little less intoler- 
 able than if the hills and valleys, fields and high- 
 roads around us, should shift about and journey 
 in different directions, under a sky whose stars 
 were playing hide-and-seek with the astronomers.
 
 II 
 
 If Frank had discovered Mrs. Austin's supreme 
 loveliness and charm in the soft lights and shadows 
 of the evening, it was appropriately reserved for 
 Mrs. Austin to perceive that the morning was the 
 time which best suited her young host. If Mr. 
 South, and perhaps Mrs. Austin herself, should 
 chance to be a little pale and languid, a little 
 conscious of a shadowy past, 
 
 " Clouding o'er the new-born day 
 With regrets of yester-morn," 
 
 a little disinclined to recommence the monotonous 
 journey from dawn to dusk, which after all seemed 
 to lead to nothing very splendid, one would have 
 said that Frank Leicester was alive and glad with 
 all the life and gladness of the newly-wakened
 
 II MES. AUSTIN 221 
 
 "vvorld. He was not in the breakfast-room when 
 Mrs. Austin came down, but, before she had well 
 answered Mrs. Leicester's questions about her 
 night's rest, she heard that he had been out and 
 about for a couple of hours. "He was here a 
 minute or two ago," said Tiny Vivian, herself a 
 radiant, bright-eyed, early riser, "he will be back 
 directly. He only went into the garden." And 
 as the words were uttered Mrs. Austin looked out, 
 and saw Frank emerging from an opening in the 
 tall yew hedge which bounded the view on one 
 side, and coming up the path, with the sunshine 
 glistening on the short waves of his brown hair, 
 and his dog leaping at his lifted hand. If there 
 was a touch of something rustic about Frank, it 
 was an unmixed charm just then, as he opened 
 the glass door and stepped in, fresh as if he had 
 been steeped to the heart in the air and sunshine 
 of "the country green." He brought a breath 
 of the sweet morning with him, telling how he 
 had brushed through leafy ways and looked across 
 his level meadows before his guests were ready to
 
 222 MRS. AUSTIN II 
 
 lift their tired heads from their pillows. He had 
 gone to bed with a heavy heart, but he came 
 forward now, happy and hopeful in spite of him- 
 self, and prodigiously hungry. 
 
 Breakfast over, Mrs. Leicester excused herself 
 on the plea of orders to give to the housekeeper. 
 " That means an hour's gossip," said Frank to a 
 family portrait. 
 
 "It means your dinner, you ungrateful boy," 
 Mrs. Leicester replied, as she opened the door. 
 
 There was a brief silence after her departure. 
 The four who remained, and whose duty it was to 
 amuse and to be amused, seemed a little uncertain 
 how to set about it. Tiny was the first to make 
 an effort. A suggestive remark, aimed at Mr. 
 South, brought him to her side where she stood at 
 the window; a dialogue on gardens followed as 
 naturally as possible, and in less than five minutes 
 the pair were setting out to study the example 
 which lay before them, basking in the yellow 
 September sunshine. Mrs. Austin, meanwhile, 
 was glancing over the Times, and young Leicester,
 
 II MRS. AUSTIN 223 
 
 as he leaned against the chimney-piece, pencilled 
 figures on the back of an envelope, and added or 
 subtracted in a curiously haphazard fashion. He 
 never once looked at Mr. South and Tiny, and 
 Tiny was apparently unconscious that Mrs. Austin 
 and he were still alive. When the couple were 
 fairly gone, and the sound of their footsteps and 
 voices had died away, Frank drew a long breath, 
 glanced at his bit of paper as if he did not think 
 much of arithmetic in general, tore it across, and 
 stood waiting his companion's pleasure, and reflect- 
 ing on the advantages of early rising. 
 
 While Mrs. Austin was yet half-asleep, Frank 
 and Tiny had held a consultation on the lawn, 
 under the tulip trees. Starting from the ascer- 
 tained fact of his dislike to the strangers, it struck 
 Tiny as very nice of him to say that he would 
 show Mrs. Austin round the house after break- 
 fast. But, knowing that even Frank was mortal, 
 she was not surprised that he set a limit to his 
 self-sacrifice. " Look here, Tiny, I can't stand 
 both of them," he had said. " You'll have to take
 
 224 MRS. AUSTIN II 
 
 your friend South away somewhere. You like 
 him best, you say — well, I don't. Besides, I 
 expect I shall have enough of him to-morrow. 
 Take him round the grounds, can't you?" And 
 when Tiny hazarded a smiling reference to the 
 story they had heard the day before, he stopped 
 her rather abruptly. "Oh, let my mother mind 
 her own matchmaking — it's no concern of ours. 
 We've only got to keep the secret. And don't 
 you see, Tiny, it would look very queer if you and 
 I walked off and left them to themselves?" Tiny 
 saw that. "They'll have time enough and to 
 spare," said Frank finally. 
 
 " So they will," she assented. " This afternoon, 
 when you are out of the way." 
 
 "Yes," said Frank, gazing intently at a weed 
 in the turf, " they'll have this afternoon." And so 
 it happened that, while the afternoon was reserved 
 for Gilbert South, Frank had the morning. 
 
 "Are you inclined to have a look round the 
 place?" he inquired in a meek voice when Mrs. 
 Austin seemed to have finished the Times. He
 
 II MRS. AUSTIN 225 
 
 waited for her answer with some anxiety. Sup- 
 pose she should have changed her mind, or for- 
 gotten all about it ! Experience, it is true, had 
 taught him that women were flatteringly com- 
 pliant when they had to deal with the young 
 owner of Culverdale Manor. Frank's propositions 
 were invariably applauded by his feminine lis- 
 teners, and he knew very well that if he were to 
 suggest to any girl in the neighbourhood that they 
 should ascend Mount Everest together, she would 
 say it was a delightful idea, and would take his 
 arm to start off that moment. Frank had never 
 found women capricious. Though he was as read}^ 
 as any other man to say Souvent femme varie, in 
 point of fact, in his little flirtations, it was always 
 Mr. Francis Leicester who changed very quickly, 
 and the girl who showed an unnecessary and 
 sometimes reproachful constancy. According to 
 experience, Frank should have had no misgivings 
 when he reminded Mrs. Austin of her promise. 
 But he instinctively felt that his experience was 
 not likely to be of much service to him on this 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 MRS. AUSTIN II 
 
 occasion. "You said you should like it — there 
 isn't much to show you, but will you come ? " he 
 asked with simple directness. 
 
 Mrs. Austin looked up a little absently. Their 
 talk of the evening before had not made a deep 
 impression on her, and she had almost made up 
 her mind to spend the morning in writing letters. 
 When Frank spoke she had just reckoned up 
 the most tiresome of her correspondents, and 
 had decided that she might hope to possess an 
 easy conscience by luncheon-time. But as she 
 met his eyes she remembered his anxiety to amuse 
 her, and checked the answer which was on her lips. 
 He was a nice hospitable boy, this son of Fanny 
 Leicester's, and if he wanted to do the honours 
 of his home he should have his way. Her letters 
 could wait, and she would see Frank's old china 
 in the morning and his little ruin in the afternoon. 
 
 " Will I come ? " she repeated. " Of course I 
 will come. I shall be delighted." And she rose 
 instantly, with a sweet readiness which filled 
 Frank's soul with a tumult of delight.
 
 II MRS. AUSTIN 227 
 
 It was speedily obvious that the young man 
 knew very little about the things he had under- 
 taken to show. He was vaguely proud of his 
 heirlooms because they were heirlooms. It 
 pleased him to think that he inherited as a matter 
 of course what other people were so anxious to 
 buy. His old oak had been carved for the Manor 
 House, his old cups and dishes had belonged to 
 generations of dead and gone Leicesters. That 
 was enough for him. He remembered the names 
 of a few of the portraits, and in one or two notable 
 cases could even tell the artist, but his remarks as 
 a rule were not instructive. " Oh, I recollect that 
 one," he would say, with a glance of recognition, 
 " used to hang in the little room out of the gallery 
 upstairs," or it might be, " Do you see that queer 
 old fellow up there ? I remember I was awfully 
 afraid of him when I was a little chap ; I thought 
 he walked." Sometimes he confined himself to a 
 simple expression of opinion. " That's a comical 
 get up — doesn't she look as if she'd got a duster 
 and a feather on her head ? Do you suppose that's
 
 228 MRS. AUSTIN II 
 
 a cap, now, or a hat ?" But, curiously enough, his 
 ignorance did not affect Mrs. Austin unpleasantly. 
 She did not feel as if Frank were an outsider, but 
 rather as if the connection between him and the 
 people on the walls was close enough to justify a 
 disregard of mere book -knowledge about them. 
 She could have learned more names and dates in 
 a couple of days than Frank had acquired in 
 his life, but he claimed kindred with the portraits 
 in the very look and attitude with which he con- 
 fronted them. There was a young squire of more 
 than a century earlier who might have been his 
 brother. Mrs. Austin called his attention to the 
 likeness, and Frank, with his handsome head 
 thrown back, stood gazing at him in a glow of 
 suddenly-awakened friendliness. " I wonder who 
 he was ?" she said. " Suppose he turned out to be 
 a namesake of yours ? " 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know," the young fellow 
 answered. " Is he really like me ? " And with- 
 out waiting for her reply he went on, "I'm 
 idiotically ignorant."
 
 II MRS. AUSTIN 229 
 
 " Don't call yourself names," said Mrs. Austin. 
 " You certainly are ignorant, and it is very dis- 
 graceful, but I rather like it. People who know 
 too much won't let one make any discoveries or 
 imagine anything on one's own account. Now 
 you leave me quite free in that respect." 
 
 Frank smiled somewhat ruefully. " If that is 
 all you want, I am perfect." 
 
 They went upstairs, and there he had rather 
 an easier part to play, as she could appreciate 
 what she saw without his explanation. He was 
 eager to fit keys into locks for her, and would 
 readily have broken open any obstinate door 
 which resisted his efforts. Certainly, if the future 
 was to be for Gilbert South, the present time was 
 Frank's, and he made good use of it, for before 
 that journey of discovery was over, the house was 
 peopled with beautiful memories. There was 
 Mrs. Austin pausing at the top of the stairs, and 
 smiling at a grotesque head which grinned from 
 the door of an old cabinet — ^Irs. Austin intent on 
 a dingy bit of tapestry, and triumphantly discover-
 
 230 MES. AUSTIN II 
 
 ing Eebekah at the well — Mrs. Austin laughingly 
 putting him aside when he failed to unlock a 
 great oak chest, and turning the key with her slim 
 white fingers — Mrs. Austin looking out from an 
 oriel window across the sunlit oaks and chest- 
 nuts of the park with a tranquil far-seeing gaze. 
 There was more to remember of this, for in the 
 act of turning away she stopped short, " Oh, 
 there's some beautiful old china," she said, "I 
 must have a look at that! Don't you care for 
 these things, really, Mr. Leicester ? " 
 
 "Xo— I don't know — I mean Yes," said Frank. 
 " Don't you think they are women's things ? " 
 
 " Women's things ? Don't be so scornful," said 
 Mrs. Austin, with her quiet smile. 
 
 " That isn't scornful," he answered slowly. '' I 
 
 meant " He paused and looked at her, at the 
 
 brown oak panelling behind her head, at the blue 
 and white china, at her lifted hand as she put 
 back a cup. The sunshine, slipping through the 
 leaves which wavered outside, brightened the 
 picture with capricious touches of gold.
 
 II MES. AUSTIX 231 
 
 " Well — you meant ? I am waiting." 
 
 "Why," said Frank, "what good are these 
 things to me? I don't understand 'em, you 
 know. I can read the papers and go over my 
 bailiff's accounts just as well without two blue 
 plates and an old teapot in front of me. But 
 when you stand there it's different — they seem to 
 be all right somehow." 
 
 Mrs. Austin met his gaze with a little touch of 
 laughter just at the corners of her mouth. " Upon 
 my word!" she said, "I didn't know that I was 
 in such perfect harmony with an old teapot. 
 Well, it is something, no doubt, to be able to 
 adorn the leisure moments of life — when the 
 bailiff is away ! " Frank would have protested, 
 but she checked him with a quick little move- 
 ment of her head. " Are you going to explain 
 yourself? Don't — an explanation is enough to spoil 
 the most beautiful thing that ever was said, and to 
 make the worst worse. Besides, there is no need." 
 
 " No," he answered with a laugh, " I don't 
 suppose there is."
 
 232 MRS. AUSTIN II 
 
 Mrs. Austin ended by enjoying her morning in 
 a very bright simple fashion, and feehng a little 
 as if she and Frank were a couple of children 
 engaged in some delightful piece of mischief. 
 Frank had certainly hampered a lock, broken a 
 little saucer, lost one key on the floor of a dark 
 cupboard, and mixed up the remainder in hopeless 
 confusion. He knew there were some queer old 
 dresses somewhere, he remembered having seen 
 them as a boy, and in the search for them he took 
 Mrs. Austin into all sorts of shadowy corners, and 
 made interesting discoveries of old brooms and 
 brushes and dusty books. On one shelf he found 
 some toys, shabby with ill-usage and long neglect. 
 He stood looking at these for a moment, bewildered 
 to find that he had forgotten them so utterly and 
 remembered them so well. He stooped to touch 
 a little painted water-cart, and then shut them all 
 into the darkness again with a lingering smile. 
 At last he came upon the old brocades and laces 
 of which he was in search, and looked anxiously 
 to see whether they would please his companion.
 
 II ^lES. AUSTIN 233 
 
 " Are they right ? " he said, " or don't you care 
 for them ? " As soon as he was satisfied on this 
 point, he would have tossed them all over the 
 floor for her inspection, if she had permitted it. 
 ''Look like private theatricals, don't they?" he 
 said when he was bidden to stand on one side. 
 
 "Oh, isn't this lovely?" she exclaimed, without 
 heeding his question. 
 
 He considered the pale delicately - flowered 
 silk with a puzzled face. " Lovely ? Isn't it 
 rather queer and — and — washy?" he said at 
 last. 
 
 "Oh, that won't do at alll" Mrs. Austin re- 
 plied, smiling up at him. " That isn't what we 
 say about such things nowadays. We must 
 educate you." 
 
 "Well," said Frank, with a flash of inspiration; 
 "I think I should know better if I saw it on." 
 Mrs. Austin shook it out daintily to let the light 
 fall on it, and he looked from the silk to her face, 
 and back aijain. All at once he seemed to see 
 what she would look like in it ; a tall slight
 
 234 MRS. AUSTIN II 
 
 figure in the quaint old gown. " Yes/' he 
 said, with sudden conviction, " I see now. It's 
 beautiful." 
 
 "You are a promising scholar," she replied. 
 "What were you saying about theatricals just 
 now ? But these things are too good for theatri- 
 cals — too real for such little candle-light shams." 
 
 " ISTot a bit too good — if you w^ould act !" 
 
 She shook her head. " Not even to wear this 
 dress ! Though that would be delightful." 
 
 " Do," said Frank. " Why not ? I'd get my- 
 self up like my friend downstairs — the man over 
 the library chimney-piece, you know\ Would 
 that be right with this of yours ? " 
 
 It was Mrs. Austin's turn to call up a picture, 
 and she raised her eyes to his face. " Oh yes, I 
 think so. We should be in the same half-century 
 at any rate, quite near enough for private 
 theatricals." 
 
 " Oh, I say ! " Frank exclaimed. " Half a 
 century ! " 
 
 " Well, I admit it would be an awkward inter-
 
 II MRS. AUSTIN 235 
 
 val in real life," said Mrs. Austin, smiling. " But 
 I think it might do on the stage." 
 
 " Let's try it," said Frank, with his face aglow. 
 
 " No," she answered very gently and decidedly. 
 " Why not ask Miss Vivian ?" 
 
 "Tiny!" The suggestion called him out of an 
 enchanted world into his everyday existence, and 
 he had to check himself lest he should say some- 
 thing ungracious. 
 
 " She would look charming in some of these 
 things," said Mrs. Austin thoughtfully. 
 
 "I daresay she would — I mean, I'm sure she 
 would. Well, we can think of that — any time." 
 
 '' And do you think we can join the others — 
 anytime?" his companion inquired. "I should 
 say we had better bring our investigations to an 
 end and look for them. Your mother will think 
 we are lost." 
 
 Frank attempted no remonstrance ; and she 
 laid everything back in its place with a charming 
 dexterity, only pausing once to look at some old 
 lace. He watched her, still with the shadow on
 
 236 MRS. AUSTIN II 
 
 his face which had come when that mention of 
 Tiny's name reminded him of more than Tiny. 
 
 They went downstairs, but could find no one. 
 " My mother is having more than an hour's gossip 
 to-day/' said Frank. He turned to a side window 
 and looked out. "And the others are playing 
 lawn-tennis." 
 
 Mrs. Austin provided herself with a parasol, 
 and they went across the lawn to find the players. 
 Tiny Vivian had enjoyed her morning very well, 
 though she had been conscious that Frank and 
 Mrs. Austin were a long while going round the 
 house. She had not, however, got beyond the 
 feeling that it was very good of Frank, and she 
 came to meet the pair with a bright face of 
 welcome. " Coming to play?" she said gaily. 
 
 " All right," said Frank ; and he turned to his 
 companion, " you will, won't you ? " 
 
 Mrs. Austin shook her head. "No — I can't 
 play. No — don't offer to teach me — it's very 
 kind of you, but I'm too old to begin now." 
 
 If he were disappointed it was only for a
 
 II MRS. AUSTIN 237 
 
 moment, for in a moment lie felt that he would 
 rather not see Mrs. Austin rushing about after 
 balls, eager, excited, flushed. Tiny might, of 
 course, but not Mrs. Austin. "It isn't that!" he 
 said, in answer to her smiling refusal. "You 
 could learn anything you liked, but you are quite 
 right — it would not be worth your learning." 
 And he went away with long steps to fetch her a 
 chair. When he came back, Gilbert South was 
 describing something to Tiny in his soft voice, 
 and Mrs. Austin stood a little apart, studying the 
 old house with tranquil eyes. 
 
 Frank brought the chair, and an Indian shawl 
 of his mother's which he had picked up in the 
 hall. "Will you have this on?" he said. "No? 
 Then I'll put it over the chair. It's a very ugly 
 chair." Frank had never been in the habit of 
 eyeing his furniture so discontentedly. 
 
 "It's very comfortable," said Mrs. Austin, 
 giving a touch to his arrangement of the drapery 
 which seemed to make it exactly right. " Now I 
 won't keep you from your game."
 
 238 MRS. AUSTIN II 
 
 " Look here, Frank," said Tiny, lightly toucliing 
 his arm with her little sunburnt fingers; ''leave 
 me out this time. You play with Mr. South." 
 
 " No, no, Miss Vivian, that won't do," Gilbert 
 protested. " You've been describing Mr. Leicester 
 as a champion player, and I'm not going to 
 be pitted against him for you to laugh at my 
 clumsiness." 
 
 "You're not clumsy," Tiny replied, quite 
 simply. 
 
 "Thank you," said South, with a little bow. 
 "But I'm a beginner, you know, and you have 
 undertaken my education. Suppose you let me 
 learn a little by looking on." 
 
 " Come then. Tiny," said Frank. After all he 
 had had his turn. It was only fair play to make 
 way for the rival who was also his guest. 
 
 Gilbert strolled across to where ]\Irs. Austin 
 sat, and threw himself on the grass at her feet. 
 " Upon my word," he said, " I'm not sorry to rest 
 a little. I've taken a good deal of exercise this 
 morning!"
 
 II MES. AUSTIN 239 
 
 Mrs. Austin smiled, and watched the game, 
 though she did not understand it sufficiently to 
 appreciate Frank's skill. She was interested in 
 the two agile figures merely as a picture — a pretty 
 picture in the autumn sunshine. Gilbert, at her 
 feet, leaning on his elbow, seemed as if he also 
 were watching the two figures, but in reality his 
 eyes w^ere fixed upon a third, a tall slender girl, 
 fair, graceful, swift, playing battledoor and shuttle- 
 cock in the stillness of a summer evening, close 
 by an old red-brick wall on which peaches were 
 trained. Above the wall a thin rank of trees rose 
 against a clear sky. There was an arch over the 
 garden path, a tangle of climbing roses, delicate 
 leaf-sprays, and clusters of loose white flowers, 
 under which the girl would go when the game 
 was over and the sun gone down. And beyond 
 the buttressed wall, where the elm boughs were 
 stirring in the cool evening air, w^as the great 
 world, beginning at the ivy-grown garden gate 
 and stretching away to unknown distances. To 
 India, for instance, which lay w^aiting for a young
 
 240 MRS. AUSTIX II 
 
 fellow who was to do the most remarkable things. 
 It was wonderful only to think of the sights he 
 was to see, the strange faces, the strange skies, 
 before he came home bronzed and bearded, to 
 stroll once more along the grassy walks and find 
 the clustered roses of a later year hanging white 
 in the twilight. As he left the garden for the 
 last time that home-coming had been almost as 
 vivid and real as the tender pain of parting. 
 Afterwards it faded away into a dim picture, sad 
 as such pictures are when what was to have be- 
 come an actual future is put aside and marked, 
 " It might have been." But now while he lay on 
 the turf, watching Tiny and Frank, it rose up 
 before his eyes as clearly outlined as of old. 
 
 It could never be. The heads of the household 
 were dead, the old home was broken up, the house 
 was sold. Gilbert had a vague remembrance of 
 having been told that a retired tradesman, who 
 piqued himself on growing big pine-apples, had 
 taken the place and improved it immensely. 
 However loner his life might last, it could never
 
 II MRS. AUSTIN 241 
 
 hold that happy home-coming, as a hero, to the 
 old garden, and the ghi who was to wait for him 
 there. 
 
 He raised himself a little, and turned to Mrs. 
 Austin, who was leaning back against Frank's 
 Indian shawl. "Do you remember," he said, 
 " how we used to play battledoor and shuttlecock 
 at WestHiU?" 
 
 She looked down at his uplifted face. " Yes," 
 she answered, in her tranquil voice ; "I remember." 
 And after a just perceptible pause, she added 
 " perfectly." 
 
 That " perfectly " disconcerted him a little, and 
 checked a sentence on his lips. As a rule it is 
 not a perfect but a discriminating memory which 
 we desire to find in our friends. Gilbert asked 
 himself whether there was a touch of ironical 
 meaning in her words, or only a frank simplicity. 
 " It's a long while ago ! " he said. It was a safe 
 remark to make and not an original one. Yet 
 something in his accent made it sound almost like 
 an entreaty. 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 MRS. AUSTIN II 
 
 Mrs. Austin smiled. " It's a very long while 
 ago. These young people were in the nursery 
 then, I suppose, and now their turn has come 
 round." 
 
 " Do we only have one turn ? " said Gilbert, 
 looking down and touching the end of the shawl 
 which trailed on the short dry turf. 
 
 " Ah, that I can't say ! " she answered lightly. 
 " How can I tell what Fate may have in store for 
 you ? I fancy you are younger than I am now." 
 
 " No, no ! " he exclaimed. " But tell me — am 
 I much changed ? " 
 
 Her eyes rested on him in smiling scrutiny. 
 " No," she said ; " I think you have changed very 
 little indeed." 
 
 " You are right," he said, after a pause. " I am 
 very little changed. And you ? " 
 
 " What do you think ? " 
 
 South quitted his lounging attitude and sat up. 
 "That's a question I can't answer. You are 
 changed, and yet I fancy you are not changed. 
 You were only a girl, you know "
 
 II MRS. AUSTIN 243 
 
 " And now I'm an old woman ! " 
 
 He winced as if the words hurt him. " Don't 
 say that ! Not even as a joke ! " 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon ! " she retorted. " I 
 remember now I am a year and a half younger 
 than you." 
 
 " Oh, you may call me what you like," said 
 Gilbert. "I can assure you I feel old enough 
 sometimes — detestably, flatly, hopelessly old ! " 
 He spoke quickly and passionately ; the sunshine 
 lighted his fair handsome features, and the de- 
 scription of himself which was absurd in connec- 
 tion with his actual years was rendered more 
 obviously so by the fact that, apart from a certain 
 expression of face, Gilbert South was a very young- 
 looking man. He had the air of being conscious 
 of every moment of his past life. One would have 
 said that he continually "added up the mortal 
 amount " of days, weeks, and years which he had 
 spent on earth, and carried the total in his weary 
 thoughts. And all the time it seemed as if he 
 only wanted a touch of something not easy to
 
 244 MRS. AUSTIN II 
 
 define, of hopefulness, perhaps, or passion, or even 
 defiance, to make him as young as he was at five 
 and twenty. It was hardly wanting as he turned 
 to Mrs. Austin. " Say what you please of me ! 
 It doesn't matter. But don't say it of yourself. 
 If you " 
 
 The sentence was never finished. " I believe 
 those two are actually going to leave off playing,'' 
 he said in a tone of gentle acquiescence in the 
 decrees of destiny. 
 
 When the time came for the party to set out on 
 their excursion to the Castle, Frank saw them off 
 with an anxious solicitude for their comfort, which 
 pleased his mother very much. Tiny, behind the 
 scenes, remarked it too, and said to herself that 
 Frank could afford to be very polite since he was 
 going to get rid of his two bores for the whole 
 afternoon. She liked the politeness none the less 
 for her knowledge of her cousin's motive, and 
 nodded him a bright farewell as she took her 
 place in the carriage. 
 
 To the last moment young Leicester was ap-
 
 II MKS. AUSTIN 245 
 
 parently troubled with misgivings about his ruin. 
 " You'll remember that it's a very little one," he 
 said to Mrs. Austin, while his mother was arrang- 
 ing herself and her many shawls. 
 
 " Do you know that you are really heightening 
 my expectations ? " she replied. " When were you 
 there last ? I hope nobody has taken a fancy to 
 it since then and put it in his pocket." 
 
 Frank laughed. " I hope not," he said. "Tiny 
 can find it for you, if it's still there. She knows 
 where to look for it." 
 
 " Where to look for what ? " Mrs. Leicester 
 inquired. "Wild flowers? We are quite ready, 
 tell them, Frank." And they drove off. 
 
 As soon as they were beyond the park gates 
 Mrs. Austin was called upon to admire the scenery. 
 " Of course, we don't pretend to have any wonder- 
 ful hills and rocks and waterfalls and things," 
 said Mrs. Leicester. " But it is just the kind of 
 landscape I like — so simple and English and 
 homelike. Look at that bit of path and that 
 stile, now — wouldn't it make a sweet little water-
 
 246 MRS. AUSTIN II 
 
 colour picture ? With a pretty girl, you know, or 
 an old woman in a red cloak." 
 
 It struck Mrs. Austin that the stile, or any 
 number of stiles exactly like it, had been so 
 wearisomely fitted with simpering rustics that the 
 suggestion was unnecessary. Mrs. Leicester, 
 however, obviously prided herself on the idea as 
 an original one. " And I like this up and down 
 much better than those very steep hills — they 
 make such endless trouble with the horses," the 
 good lady went on. She smiled kindly round on 
 everything, and seemed to settle herself comfort- 
 ably in the country as if it had been made to suit 
 her. And indeed if it had been designed with 
 that intention it would hardly have been different. 
 
 Mrs. Austin was civil though not enthusiastic 
 in her reply. She would have preferred some- 
 thing wilder and more hilly ; but, then, the sleek 
 chestnuts were not her horses. Or, faihng that, 
 she would have had the pretty little undulations 
 which pleased Mrs. Leicester abolished altogether. 
 She would have liked to drive swiftly forward
 
 II MRS. AUSTIN 247 
 
 over wide lonely levels with the great arch of sky 
 overhead. She did not appreciate the carefully 
 kept hedges, enclosing stubble and turnips, nor 
 the prim little plantations which looked like 
 preparatory schools for young trees, nor the small 
 spire which rose with an air of the utmost decorum 
 above a neat churchyard. 
 
 " There is Frank !" said Tiny Vivian. 
 
 They all turned to look at the distant figure, 
 which Tiny, who knew the road that he would 
 take, had recognised. Frank was seen for a moment 
 on a gentle ascent and then lost behind a clump 
 of trees, but the glimpse remained with Mrs. 
 Austin as a little picture. She did not know 
 why it was that the words " the only son of his 
 mother, and she was a widow," came into her 
 head as he rode away, but she realised all at once 
 how precious the kindly, handsome, commonplace 
 young fellow was in his own home. Mrs. Austin, 
 as she sat absently looking at Frank's bit of road, 
 was thinking of a baby's little grave, closed ten 
 years earlier over a life too short to be borne in
 
 248 MES. AUSTIN II 
 
 anybody's mind but hers. " The only son of his 
 mother." And when she died the little memory 
 could interest no one but the busy people who 
 count up births and deaths and take pleasure in 
 averages. Even for her it had no individuality 
 that could be expressed in words, though she 
 would not have parted with it for all that life 
 could give. 
 
 Meanwhile the carriage rolled smoothly on, 
 and she looked right and left at all the views that 
 were pointed out to her till Mrs. Leicester was 
 able to announce, with proud excitement, "And 
 there — no, not there — a little farther — no, that 
 tree is in the way for a moment — there! noio, 
 don't you see a bit of the Castle wall ! Don't you, 
 Mr. South ? Just beyond the field w^here the cow is." 
 
 Two minutes later they pulled up by the road- 
 side, at the point nearest to the ruins, and the 
 party set out to walk the brief remainder of the 
 way. There was no difficulty in finding the 
 Castle. It stood, together with a small haystack, 
 in the corner of a dreary little field, and consisted
 
 II MRS. AUSTIN 249 
 
 of part of a tower, a few scattered fragments of 
 stone, and the broken remains of a bit of low 
 Avail. "No doubt," said Mrs. Leicester, "it once 
 extended much farther, and was a magnificent 
 building." She added dignity to the bit of wall 
 by calling it the ''rampart." South, who assented 
 to all her views, called it so too, as soon as he 
 found out what she meant, and delighted her by 
 suggesting the possibility of discovering founda- 
 tions with the help of a little judicious digging. 
 The good lady sat down on a fallen ,stone to con- 
 sider the idea, wdiile he undertook to walk round 
 the ruins and inspect them more thoroughly. 
 For this purpose he joined the other two, who 
 were gazing up at the tower. " I don't know 
 anything about it except that it is very old," Miss 
 Vivian was saying as he came up. She looked a 
 little doubtfully at Gilbert, as if she suspected 
 him of possibly making fun of Culverdale Castle, 
 which no one but Frank had any business to do, 
 but after a minute she slipped quietly away and 
 left him wdth Mrs. Austin.
 
 250 MRS. AUSTIN II 
 
 "And what do you think of it ?" he said. 
 
 She smiled. " Perhaps it would be more 
 cheerful if there were more of it. It strikes me 
 as the most melancholy little ruin I ever saw. 
 It's a mercy the sun is shining." 
 
 " It is melancholy," he said, looking round at 
 the flat green meadow. The tower was of a 
 blackish gray, crusted with lichen ; the grass at 
 its foot was rank, the spreading docks grew 
 coarsely from the ill-drained soil, and a sluggish 
 little stream crawled a little way off. 
 
 " People talk of fortresses frowning," said Mrs. 
 Austin ; " I think this would if it could. There's 
 a touch of malice about it, though it is too petty 
 to threaten." 
 
 "It isn't amiable-looking," said Gilbert, with 
 an air of entire conviction. He knew what he 
 was expected to say, though in truth he was not 
 thinking much about the Castle. They strolled a 
 little farther, and when they reached the wall he 
 made a careful survey of the other side. 
 
 "What are you looking f or ? " Mrs. Austin inquired.
 
 II MRS. AUSTIN 251 
 
 He laughed a little consciously. " Walls have 
 ears, they say. It's true this might be deaf by 
 now — it's old enough." 
 
 She raised her eyes to his face. "Does it 
 matter whether it's deaf or not ? " 
 
 " Well, yes ; I think it does. There might be 
 a country bumpkin asleep on the grass. We 
 might wake him up." 
 
 " If I understand country bumpkins, we should 
 be doing him a service." 
 
 Gilbert stood smiling and pulling his moustache, 
 as if he were calling up a half-remembered scene. 
 " Once I thought myself alone," he said, " utterly 
 alone. That was in a ruin, too, a long while ago, 
 and I — weU, I recited some poetry. Suddenly I 
 felt an impulse to look behind a pillar, and there 
 was a brute, in a cheap travelling suit, grinning 
 from ear to ear. I had a great mind to kill him." 
 
 " You didn't, I hope ?" said Mrs. Austin, sitting 
 down on a broken bit of wall and putting up her 
 parasol. "!N"ot but what there are plenty of 
 people in cheap travelling suits."
 
 252 MES. AUSTIN II 
 
 "N"o, I took off my hat to him, and walked 
 away. I didn't kill him, but I think I might as 
 well ; he couldn't have haunted me worse. How- 
 ever, it taught me caution." 
 
 "So it seems. And you are going to recite 
 poetry now?" 
 
 " 1^0 ; I don't think I am. At least — yes. I 
 am going to talk about Cornwall." 
 
 "Is that poetry?" 
 
 " Isn't it ? " said Gilbert, coming a step nearer. 
 "Or, rather, wasn't it?" 
 
 " Perhaps in King Arthur's days." 
 
 "In no days of your own? — of our own?" he 
 persisted, in a low voice. " If the old time at 
 West Hill wasn't poetry, there has been none in 
 my life. You said this morning you had not 
 forgotten it ? " 
 
 " No," she answered, " I have not ; but if that 
 were poetry, it strikes me that the volume was 
 closed and laid away a long while ago." 
 
 " It is true," said South. " You needn't remind 
 me that I was the first to close it. I'm not likely
 
 II MRS. AUSTIN 253 
 
 to forget that ! But, for the sake of those old 
 Cornish days, I want you to let me say a word of 
 explanation." 
 
 Mrs. Austin shook her head with a smile that 
 was half-hopeless, half-compassionate. " No, no ; 
 there is no need of explanation — do not let us 
 have any. You make me repeat myself," she 
 added lightly. " I told Mr. Leicester this morning 
 that I objected to explanations." 
 
 South arched his brows. " It seems to me that 
 it was early for Mr. Leicester to be trying to 
 explain himself!" 
 
 " Possibly. And for you it is — late." Her tone 
 was very kind as she went on. "Do you not see 
 that if I had misunderstood you all these years, 
 you could hardly set me right now ? But I don't 
 think I did misunderstand you; and for proof of it 
 we were to be friends ; and we are friends, I hope." 
 
 "It was all my fault," said South; "and to 
 think that I never saw you from the day we 
 parted at West Hill till yesterday ! Tell me 
 what you thought of me after I went."
 
 254 MRS. AUSTIN II 
 
 She met his glance, but evaded his question. 
 "There was no fault in the matter. Don't you 
 remember we were to be quite free ? You had a 
 right to change your mind, and so had I." 
 
 "I was a fool! I was a raw boy — I was 
 flattered ; and she never meant anything ! " 
 
 Mrs. Austin made a quick sign with her hand. 
 "Oh, let it all rest!" she said. "You wrote 
 afterwards ; you did explain all that there was to 
 explain. It was then that we agreed to be friends. 
 Let us keep to that. As you say, it was only a 
 boy and girl affair." She rose as she spoke, but 
 Gilbert followed her. 
 
 " It is hard," he said. " My best wouldn't have 
 been good enough ; and it is you, of aU people in 
 the world, who know the worst of me." 
 
 She stopped, looked him in the face, and 
 smiled. " It isn't very bad," she said, in her 
 gentle voice; and South felt himself a feather- 
 weight in the scale, whether for good or evil. 
 
 He was silent, but with so unsatisfied an 
 expression that it was evident he only lacked
 
 II MRS. AUSTIN 255 
 
 words for the moment, and would seek to speak 
 again later. Mrs. Austin anticipated him. 
 
 "Were you out of your teens when we said 
 * Good-bye ' ? Well, not much more, at any rate. 
 Our real lives have been since then. I think 
 people ought to keep their consciences in two or 
 three compartments, and shut the lid down on all 
 such bygone shortcomings. I am glad we have 
 met again, if only to shake hands and say simply 
 that we have outgrown old follies." 
 
 Gilbert looked down. " I was to have been a 
 hero," he said bitterly. " Do you remember ?" 
 
 " Oh, I lived in King Arthur's Cornwall in 
 those days — in Camelot and Tintagel," she replied. 
 "No doubt you were to have been Galahad, or 
 Percival at the very least. I expected the most 
 wonderful things of all my friends." 
 
 "I think you did." He hesitated for a 
 moment. " Are you more merciful now ? " he 
 asked, in a tone which was between jest and 
 earnest. 
 
 " Oh yes," was the ready answer ; " I'm greatly
 
 256 MRS. AUSTIN II 
 
 changed. I can assure you that now I expect 
 very little." 
 
 They were walking slowly at a little distance 
 from the tower, and as the last words were spoken 
 they caught sight of Tiny Yivian. She appeared 
 to be intently studying the old stones. The 
 dreary little nook in which she stood, pulling an 
 ivy spray from the crumbling masonry, framed a 
 picture of youth, full of delicate grace and hope. 
 South gazed for a moment, and then turned to 
 Mrs. Austin with a faint laugh. " She is in her 
 teens still," he said. 
 
 When Frank came back from Bridge End that 
 evening he found a bunch of ivy-leaves on his 
 dressing-table. They had evidently been carefully 
 chosen for variety of shape and colour, and were 
 very daintily arranged. He uttered an impatient 
 exclamation when he caught sight of the signifi- 
 cant little bouquet, and stood looking at it with a 
 frown. He knew that his cousin had stolen in 
 during his absence, and left it as a token that 
 Gilbert South had had his turn that afternoon. 
 
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