LI E) RAR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF ILLINOIS 
 
 H89fe 
 
PETER'S WIFE 
 
PETEE'S WIEE 
 
 a IFlovel 
 
 BY 
 
 MES. HUNGEEFOED, 
 
 AUTHOR OP 
 
 »* MOLLY BAWN," "APRIL'S LADY," "A MAD PRANK," 
 " LADY PATTY," " NORA CREINA," Etc. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 F. V. WHITE & CO., 
 
 14, BEDFOKD STKEET, STEAND, W.C. 
 
 1894. 
 
PRINIED BY 
 
 KELLY AND CO. LIMITED, 182, 183 AND 184, HIGH HOLBORN, W.C, 
 
 AND MIDDLE MILL, KINOSTON-ON-THAMES. 
 
f^3 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter I. 
 
 II. 
 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 
 V. 
 
 YI. 
 
 VII. 
 
 YIII. 
 
 IX. 
 
 X. 
 
 XI. 
 
 XII. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 XV. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 XVIII, 
 
 XIX. 
 
 XX. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1 
 
 13 
 
 32 
 
 45 
 
 54 
 
 64 
 
 77 
 
 92 
 
 106 
 
 113 
 
 124 
 
 138 
 
 145 
 
 152 
 
 163 
 
 180 
 
 200 
 
 209 
 
 216 
 
 231 
 
 243 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 
 
PETER'S WIFE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 *' But God forbid but that men should believe ' 
 Well more thing than men have seen with eye ! 
 Men shall not weenen ev'rything a lie 
 But of himself it see'th, or else do'th ; 
 For, God wot, thing is never the less sooth, 
 Though ev'ry wighte may it not y-see. 
 Bernard the Monke saw not, all, par die ! " 
 
 " So you really mean settling down here ? '' 
 says Mrs. Cutforth-Boss, bending a scruti- 
 nizing eye upon her visitor. She is sitting, as 
 usual, on her high-backed chair, an Eliza- 
 bethan structure. Mrs. Cutforth-Boss thinks 
 lounges bad for the morals ; she told her 
 brother. Sir Stephen Wortley, yesterday, that 
 half the immorahties of the present age were 
 accounted for by the modern chair. 
 
 " Well — for the present — yes, I really think 
 
 VOL. I, 1 
 
2 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 SO," returns the prett}^ woman und-er exami- 
 nation. She gives Mrs. Cutforth-Boss a 
 charming smile, that is as generous as it is 
 sweet, as it lasts right through all her soft 
 hesitations. 
 
 " It's a dull country," says her cousin, in a 
 flat sort of way. 
 
 " Yes — I know ; but dulness is not always 
 undesirable ! " The pretty woman, w^hose 
 name is "Chance," casts a carefully tender 
 look at her sombre clothes, and sighs delight- 
 fully. " I should quite treasure a little rest, 
 a little quiet." 
 
 " You'll get plenty of both here," says Mrs. 
 Cutforth-Boss, " ad nauseam ! " Her tone is 
 uncompromising ; there is something in it, 
 indeed, that points to the idea that perhaps 
 she is undesirous of having her freshly- 
 widowed cousin in a neighbourhood where 
 she will be obliged to see her constantly. 
 Bella Chance (her maiden name was Grant, 
 and so was Mrs. Cutforth-Boss's) had made a 
 remarkably bad marriage. Mrs. Boss, on the 
 contrary, had made a remarkably good one. 
 Cousins who have got on in life are not 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 3 
 
 always all things to the cousins who have 
 gone to the wall. Mrs. Cutforth-Boss, for 
 example, did not see why her good marriage 
 should be used to defray the expenses that 
 Society is sure to exact from a bad one. 
 She understood perfectly why Bella Chance 
 had come here to this particular part of the 
 county — to whitewash herself and her dis- 
 reputable husband's memory with the respect- 
 abihty of Mr. Cutforth-Boss. 
 
 The latter was the meekest of men, and his 
 wife felt he would be of little use to her in 
 the staying of the invader. Give him 
 
 *' A booke and a shadie nooke 
 Eytker in-a-doore or out ; 
 "With the grene leaves whisp'ring over hede, 
 Or the streete cryes all about," 
 
 and he would ask nothing more of you. A 
 man of letters — a dainty searcher into past 
 and musty volumes — lying so dehcately in 
 their dust that never dies — in fact, a happy 
 bookworm! It was a most merciful inter- 
 position of Providence that had married Mrs. 
 Cutforth-Boss to the man who bore that 
 name, as undoubtedly she would have killed 
 
 1* 
 
4 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 any other man. As for liim^ lie was im- 
 pervious to all evils, save those that touched 
 him through his beloved tomes. 
 
 "How lovely," says the widow, with the 
 sweetest air of thankfulness. "But I shall 
 have even more than rest and quiet, Maria, I 
 shall have you I " 
 
 Mrs. Cutforth-Boss regards her with 
 amazement. Is she clever, or only a fool? 
 Sometimes it is very hard to decide between 
 the two ! She herself, however, is very 
 clever in her own way. 
 
 " That is beyond dispute," says she calmly. 
 " I reside here." In her tone there is nothing 
 of the annoyance that she is feeling, nothing 
 of her belief that Bella would never have 
 chosen to live in that little house at one end 
 of the village if she, Maria, had not been 
 living in the big one at the other end of it. 
 
 "That is what brought me," says Mrs. 
 Chance, her large, pale blue eyes suffused. 
 "When — when I lost him — I — " her lips 
 quiver, she makes a hurried gesture and, 
 finding her handkerchief, lets her face fall 
 into it—*' I— lost all ! " 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 5 
 
 " There wasn't so much to lose, was 
 there ? " says Mrs. Cutforth-Boss, who 
 disdains to practise the delicate art called 
 Tact. " Two hundred a year covered it, 
 didn't it ? and that only when he'd got some 
 practice. If I were you, Bella, I should look 
 things in the face, and give up those clothes," 
 pointing to the crape veil and other signs 
 of woe. " You'll find them expensive." 
 
 " I'm thinking of it," says Bella meekly. 
 The slender hands are folded on her lap, her 
 eyes are on her hands. 
 
 "Very wise. I hope he left you some- 
 thing." 
 
 " His memory ! " says the widow, with 
 an exquisite air of grief combined with 
 courage. " What can I want more ? " 
 
 " Memories leave one hungr}^ ! " says Mrs. 
 Cutforth-Boss in her low, bass tones, now 
 basser than usual. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " says the widow, lifting her 
 pretty head and smiling at her cousin re- 
 proachfully. " They leave one n'cA." 
 
 "For Heaven's sake," says Mrs. Cutforth- 
 ■Boss, breaking all at once into open in- 
 
6 PETEE'S WIFE. 
 
 dignation, " have common sense I If your 
 late husband has left you nothing but his 
 memory, how do you think you are going to 
 live ? On it ? My good girl, there have 
 been many memories, but I do not remember 
 one of them that, if taken alone, would have 
 been strong enough to supply the possessor 
 of it with daily bread. The widows of 
 memories die in the poor-house, as a rule ! " 
 
 " I don't think I shall die in a poor-house," 
 says Mrs. Chance sweetly. 
 
 " No ? But if you have nothing ! " 
 
 " You are always in such a hurry," says the 
 other ; she looks as amused as one can dare to 
 look in such sad habiliments as she is 
 wearing. " Poor darling George was entitled 
 to four thousand pounds before I married 
 him. It was to come from an uncle of his. 
 The uncle on George's marriage was always 
 threatening to change his wiU — but he forgot 
 to do it — and he died the week before — my 
 poor, dear George ! " 
 
 "That," says Mrs. CutforthBoss, after a 
 quick run through her arithmetical know- 
 ledge, " was very considerate of him ; still 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 7 
 
 that four thousand, considering the iniqui- 
 tously low rate of interest one can get now, 
 will give you only a hundred and fifty a year, 
 at the outside." 
 
 "Yes, I know. How clever you are! 
 But Alec has just come back from India, and 
 he has promised to stay with me during his 
 leave " 
 
 " Your brother — but he " 
 
 " He has been invalided home, you know, 
 and he seems very pleased with this part of 
 the world. I hope he will stay with me. 
 
 He " Her Httle usual hesitation comes 
 
 on again. " He — you understand " 
 
 " He is going to allow you so much while 
 he remains with you," says Mrs. Cutforth- 
 Boss promptly, " and you count upon him to 
 enable you to keep up the cottage ? " 
 
 "Yes. How very clever you are. Dear 
 old Alec! He says he will stay until his 
 return to India — a year perhaps, or more — 
 but young men are so uncertain! I wish, 
 Maria, you would say a word to him " 
 
 " Certainly not ! " says Mrs. Cutforth-Boss, 
 in her most strident tones. " When I speak, 
 
8 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 I speak to the point — I say at once all I want 
 to say, and it would be quite impossible to 
 say all 1 want to say in a word ! And as for 
 your brother, he must think himself very far 
 gone towards death indeed, to w^ant to come 
 and. rusticate here." 
 
 " It's his chest, he says." 
 
 " Chest or no chest, I never saw any young 
 man look so well as Alec did when I met him 
 yesterday. He was down by the river, and 
 he had his boots and socks off, and w^as 
 wading into the w^ater to get a fly that had 
 caught in something. He seemed as well as 
 any one I ever met in my life, and very 
 much more indecent. His legs were all over 
 the place. I particularly noted them. They 
 w^ere horrid, and naked, but they w^ere 
 hrown ! I am perfectly certain that the 
 government is being thoroughly swindled 
 over these young men w^ho come home yearly 
 from India, and w^ho describe themselves as 
 being in the last stage of consumption, but 
 are, nevertheless, equal to fly-fishing the day 
 after their arrival. 
 
 " Ah ! that is a great many words ! " says 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 9 
 
 Mrs. Chance. "I see now what you mean 
 when you say you could not explain yourself 
 in one I But don't make Alec unhappy. If 
 you tell him he is not ill, he will certainly 
 believe you, you are so — er — convincing, and 
 he will disregard all that the doctors have 
 said to him. This will only harm him, and 
 do no good to anyone, as I shall certainly" — 
 she pauses here, and looks straight at her 
 cousin, with open, ingenuous eyes, but great 
 meaning — " stay on here whether he does or 
 not." 
 
 Mrs. Cutforth-Boss looks back at her. A 
 sound, that is almost a snort, breaks from 
 the nostrils of that august woman. 
 
 " I see," says she. 
 
 " Do you ? I said you were clever," says 
 Mrs. Chance. A brilliant smile widens her 
 lips, and quite lights up the widow's weeds 
 she is still wearing, more as a concession to 
 her reputation perhaps, than to her heart ! 
 " And after all, poor Alec has been ill, you 
 know. ... He was quite a wreck when 
 first he came to me in town. I assure you," 
 prettily, " you are a little wrong about him. 
 
10 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 He did not go fly-fishing the day after his 
 arrival from India. He spent that day, 
 and many others, on his back, more dead 
 
 than alive. But " She turns suddenly 
 
 to her cousin. " All this is beside the 
 mark. I came here to-day to ask you to 
 put me au courant with the people round 
 
 you." 
 
 "I have told you it is a small and dull 
 neighbourhood. As for society, you saw 
 most of it yesterday at Lady Hopkins' garden- 
 par t}^ Good, bad and indifferent were there. 
 The Hopkins woman clings to a crowd. A 
 tete-a-tete frightens her. She is shaky about 
 her ' h's.' You know the late Sir Thomas 
 was a brewer — the beer was infamous — 
 actionable, I really think, but he built a 
 Cathedral, or a music-hall, or something, and 
 got knighted. I always want to get up an 
 agitation about that sort of thing. Why 
 should a beer person be addressed by exactly 
 the same title as a baronet whose title may 
 be hundreds of years old ? " 
 
 " Quite so. I entirely sympathise ! '' says 
 Mrs. Chance, who is wondering when tea will 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 11 
 
 come. "But Lady Hopkins struck me as 
 being kind." 
 
 " That class of person has to be kind. 
 'They flatter with their tongue.' If they 
 dared to be uncivil, nobody would go to 
 their houses — that is, nobody who was 
 anybod3^ And they only care to enter- 
 tain the ' Anybodies.' However, she is 
 very useful about coal funds and clothing 
 clubs." 
 
 " There was a very pretty woman at her 
 party yesterday," says Mrs. Chance. " I 
 forget her name. Oh! here is Alec — he'll re- 
 member it." 
 
 Going to the open window, she beckons 
 with her hand to a young man who is coming 
 towards the house, across the beautiful lawn 
 — studded here and there with giant beech 
 trees — that is one of the glories of Cutforth 
 Hall. There have been Cutforths at the Hall 
 for over five hundred years. The Boss was 
 added fifty years ago, and brought a great 
 deal of gold with it. 
 
 " He has walked up ? " says Maria. 
 
 " Yes. He promised to call for me and 
 
12 PETEE'S WIFE. 
 
 take me home ; I told him I should leave 
 after tea." 
 
 Mrs. Cutforth-Boss rises smartly, and rings 
 the bell. 
 
 " We should have had tea before," says 
 she. But it is not apology that is in her 
 tone. 
 
 
 ••-tl/^eA^«' 
 
CHAPTEE II. 
 
 *' Like one 
 Who having, unto truth, by telling of it 
 Made such a sinner of his memory 
 To credit his own lie." 
 
 " You have come, Alec ? " says Mrs. Chance, 
 giving a little friendly nod to her brother, as 
 he steps into the room. It is the usual 
 idiotic remark. 
 
 " Yes," says Alec, nodding to her in turn. 
 " How d'ye do ? " says he, turning to Mrs. 
 Cutforth-Boss. 
 
 " Quite well, thank you. Have some 
 tea ? " Her tone is magisterial as ever, but 
 there certainly is a softening in it. This 
 young man, the brother of the very poor 
 Bella, had distinguished himself in some little 
 ways in India. He had been described by 
 his Colonel as a rising young officer, and 
 Mrs. Cutforth-Boss feels lenient towards him. 
 Besides aU this, he is very good looking, and 
 
14 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 there is a touch of sauciness in his gay blue 
 eyes that, in some strange way, attracts this 
 queer, rough, managing woman. 
 
 " Thank you. Cutforth out ? " 
 
 " He is studying a volume belonging to the 
 thirteenth century, that has just come under 
 his notice," says Mrs. Cutforth-Boss with 
 dignit}^ She tries to throw indifference into 
 her air, but it is impossible not to perceive 
 that she derives great pride out of her hus- 
 band's literary tastes. 
 
 To him, she scoffed at them during the 
 occasional moments when they found them- 
 selves tete-a-tete ; which were rare indeed — 
 Cutforth's sanest movements being in the 
 direction of avoiding her. But to the world 
 she posed as the wife of a true savant. 
 Perhaps she would not have admired her 
 " true savant " so much if he had taken any 
 hold upon the establishment — if he had dared 
 to interfere with the pros and cons of the 
 domestic arrangements ; Maria was a manag- 
 ing woman, and would brook no rivalry in 
 her own line. 
 
 She managed everything in Cutforth Hall, 
 
PETEK'S WIFE. 15 
 
 from basement to attic — housemaids' room, 
 butler's pantry, nothing was sacred from her. 
 Husband, servants, tenantry, all alike were 
 under her dominion. They ran a daily race 
 in a daily groove — and it was her groove. 
 Her children, thank Heaven, \YeTe—nilI 
 She would have managed them into the most 
 impossible grooves ! 
 
 Even her friends did not escape her manag- 
 ing tendencies. There are always some weak 
 members in every community, who fall an 
 easy prey to the strong-minded ; and many 
 were her victims amongst the young matrons 
 and the foolish virgins of Bigley-on-Sea. 
 
 Now and then there had been a revolt 
 against her in the parish, but the Mistress 
 of Cutforth Hall was a power beyond most, 
 and few in this small place felt strong enough 
 to break a lance with her. 
 
 Her voice w^as the voice of a man, and 
 there lay upon her upper lip a very hand- 
 some suggestion of a moustache I 
 
 She is an estimable woman, however, in 
 many ways. Sound in all her relations — good 
 wife, excellent friend of the poor, a philan- 
 
16 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 thropist to lier fingers' ends, but the woman 
 of all others hardest to endure — the woman 
 who thinks herself right always, and you 
 always wrong. 
 
 On medicines she is quite an authority ! 
 There is not a known disease in this wide and 
 stricken world for which she could not at a 
 second's notice produce a receipt. Medicine, 
 indeed, is her forte. Considering the elabo- 
 rate moustache that distinguishes her lip, one 
 feels sorrv that Providence had not at her 
 conception altered her, and made her a man 
 — a medical man ! 
 
 The room in which she has received her 
 unwelcome cousin is an index to herself. It 
 is gaunt, bare, uncomfortable. The round 
 mahogany table, brilliant with rubbing, and 
 innocent of clothing, is holding itself very 
 straight, as if with a rather disgusted appre- 
 ciation of the volumes lying upon it in little 
 sections, two here, three there, and so on, 
 round its immense girth. The volumes are 
 older than the table, and this is saying a good 
 deal for them. 
 
 " I have been asking Maria about our 
 
PSTER'S WIFE. 17 
 
 neighbours," says Mrs. Chance, turning to her 
 brother. 
 
 He lausjhs. 
 
 " What neighbours ? " asks he. 
 
 " Why, all of them. But one special one 
 — you have seen her." 
 
 " Mrs. Gaveston ? " suggests the young man 
 quickly. 
 
 " A happy guess ! " Mrs. Chance nods her 
 head several times. "I thought her the 
 most charming woman I ever met. Didn't 
 
 you?" 
 
 " That's a large order. I thought her de- 
 lightful, certainly. But I onl}^ met her for a 
 moment yesterday." 
 
 " To meet a woman is not to know her," 
 says Mrs. Cutforth-Boss, breaking heavily 
 into the discussion. 
 
 " You have the truth with you there," says 
 Alec Grant. He laughs a httle. "But 
 certainly, Mrs. Gaveston struck me as charm- 
 ing — beyond words charming." 
 
 " So she strikes everybody at first sight ! " 
 says Mrs. Cutforth-Boss portentously. She 
 draws herself up on her uncomfortable chair, 
 VOL. T. 2 
 
18 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 and sips lier tea slowly. It is bitter to lier to 
 hear this particular neighbour admired. 
 Mrs. Gaveston, in her quick, impulsive, half- 
 childish way, had given Mrs. Cutforth-Boss 
 to understand, many and many a time, that 
 she would not be managed by her! And 
 Mrs. Cutforth-Boss had resented the silent 
 declaration. Mrs. Gaveston, who is only 
 twenty-three, had treated the elder woman 
 with a sort of laughing contempt. She had 
 shrugged aside all her attempts at advice and 
 admonishment. Had pooh-poohed, in her 
 pretty saucy way, all Mrs. Cutforth-Boss's 
 " My dear, in your place, 7," etc., and had 
 lifted her rounded shoulders against such 
 
 speeches as, " When I was your age, / " 
 
 and " In my young da3^s, people never " 
 
 Mrs. Gaveston's lovely gleaming eyes had 
 been too gleaming on certain occasions, when 
 Mrs. Cutforth-Boss had been bringing all her 
 weight to bear upon her with a view to 
 reducing her to reason, and clothing clubs, 
 and penny readings, and so forth, and the 
 latter had not forgotten or forgiven the amuse- 
 ment that lay behind that half-angry gleam. 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 19 
 
 " Women," says slie now, " are the most 
 deceitful creatures on earth." 
 
 " You know you don't expect me to beheve 
 that," says Alec, who is beginning to enjoy 
 himself, in spite of his sister's covert admoni- 
 tory frown. " Yoiire a woman, aren't you ? " 
 There seem some grounds for this ex- 
 traordinary question, when one looks at her 
 upper lip. 
 
 " I hope so," says Mrs. Cutforth-Eoss 
 solemnly. "At all events, I feel that I can 
 never accuse myself of an action of which a 
 woman should be ashamed." 
 
 " Ah, that ! " says Grant. " I'd swear to 
 that on the rack." Alec has now started, 
 and his sister looks with terror at Maria, but 
 to her astonishment Maria is smiling. A 
 grim smile undoubtedly, but anything is 
 better than her frown. 
 
 " There are exceptions to every rule," says 
 she, with the graciousness that might belong 
 to an educated elephant. " But I regret to 
 say that Mrs. Gaveston is not all one could 
 desire her. ISTot that I think her entirely to 
 be blamed. At seventeen she was hurried 
 
 9* 
 
20 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 into a marriai^e with a man double her 
 age." 
 
 "Double? Is Mr. Gaveston double her 
 age ? Alec," Mrs. Chance turns to her 
 brother, " what is twice seventeen ? " 
 
 " Thirty-four." 
 
 " Oh ! too great a disparity — and for a 
 girl of seventeen " 
 
 "As I say. A mere child. I make a 
 point, you see, of being quite fair to her, 
 though I confess Cecilia Gaveston and I 
 have few interests in common — a fact for 
 which I am thankful to Heaven daily." 
 
 "How could her people have allowed it ? " 
 
 " When people are poor they make many 
 allowances, and the Prendergasts had come 
 down very much in the world. If I had 
 been permitted a voice in the matter, the 
 marriage should never have come off. But 
 the mother was a very mercenary woman." 
 
 "Her father?" 
 
 " He was dead. And the mother I beheve 
 hoped to gain comfort to herself through her 
 daughter's sacrifice. However, she only lived 
 a month after the marriage, a most just act 
 
PETERS WIFE. 2i 
 
 on the part of Providence. I always thought 
 very poorly of Mrs. Prendergast — a designing 
 person, of no merit whatever. I regret to 
 say that I think her daughter is following in 
 her footsteps — though I'm bound to confess 
 she seems attached to her child." 
 
 " Was that the little fellow I saw with her 
 yesterday ? " 
 
 " I suppose so. He must be five years old 
 or six — let me see. 'No, five, Cecilia Prender- 
 gast married Mr. Gaveston six years ago last 
 March." 
 
 "Is he the only child?" Mrs. Chance is 
 getting through her cross-examination in the 
 most even way. Her cousin hardly knows 
 that she is being questioned. 
 
 "Yes, more's the pit}^ A large family 
 might have sobered her, kept her down. 
 One child is of little use ; when the nature is 
 frivolous it rises above one child. To see that 
 young woman running about and playing bo- 
 peep and other absurd games with her own 
 child, would waken you at once to the fact 
 that she wants chastening. Now if I had ?72y 
 way, she would have had " 
 
22 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 " The time-lionoured ten in five years," says 
 Alec, giving way to mirtli. 
 
 " I do not desire the impossible, my dear 
 Alec," says Mrs. Cutforth-Boss severely, but 
 not angrily. Mrs. Chance stares at her 
 in astonishment. If she had ventured 
 half that, the vengeance of Heaven would 
 have descended upon her head. Has Alec 
 then a hold upon her friendship ? The 
 widow feels gayer beneath this hope. And 
 indeed Alec, as compared with his sister, has 
 a good place in the stern Maria's regard. 
 Strange as it may seem, this gaunt, hard 
 woman, who has never known the meaning of 
 love, and to whom passion would mean only 
 immorality, still prefers men to women. 
 " All I say is, that if that extremely flighty 
 young woman were to have a nursery-full 
 allotted to her, all might be — if not loell^ at 
 least better ! " 
 
 " Nature is such a stumbhng block," says 
 Mrs. Chance. " She so often mars one's 
 plans." The widow smiles here in her pretty 
 deprecating way. She certainly is very 
 pretty. Her eyes are nearl}^ as blue as 
 
PETEE'S WIFE. 28 
 
 her brother's, a little paler perhaps ; and her 
 lips are singularly young, considering she 
 is thirty-one. Such rosy, smiling lips, yet 
 at the back of their perfect smile, what is 
 there ? Ambition, secrecy, obstinacy, and a 
 few other things. 
 
 " Nature cannot be blamed for the 
 marring of Cecilia Gaveston at all events," 
 says Maria. " Her husband must be blamed 
 for that. Anything like his silly conduct to- 
 wards her could hardly be imagined. A man 
 of his age would, one might imagine, be equal 
 to the management of a mere girl like her — 
 but no — he gives in to her in everything. 
 He is positively her slave. I sometimes feel 
 quite ashamed of him." 
 
 "I feel I could make excuses for him," 
 says Alec thoughtfully. 
 
 " No doubt. One man will always uphold 
 another. But I assure you, Bella " — in her 
 excitement over the delinquencies of the 
 Gavestons, Mrs. Cutforth-Boss grows almost 
 friendly with Mrs. Chance — "that her ex- 
 travagance is the talk of the county. Of 
 course Peter Gaveston is very well off, but 
 
24 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 that is no excuse for the woman who seems to 
 spend her time wasting his substance. The 
 fact of the matter is, she is completely spoiled 
 by him." 
 
 " I wish some one would spoil a few other 
 women," says Grant, who, yesterday, had not 
 been entirely impervious to the charms of 
 Cecilia Gaveston. Providentially Maria does 
 not hear him. She is now telling Mrs. Chance 
 various other records of the pretty delinquent. 
 
 " But how do you mean spoiled ? " asks the 
 latter presently, in a little puzzled tone. Her 
 curiosity has got the better of her judgment. 
 And there had been a moment yesterday, 
 when Mrs. Gaveston had been so pretty to 
 her, when she had wondered whether it 
 would not be a bit of wisdom to throw off 
 Maria, who was abominable, and throw in 
 her chances with the lovely married girl who, 
 after all, was far richer, and certainly more 
 desirable than the dour cousin. " She 
 seemed to me " 
 
 " She can seem to you anything in the 
 world you like," says Mrs. Cutforth-Boss in a 
 rather louder tone than usual. She is not 
 
PETERS YvIFE. 25 
 
 accustomed to opposition of any kind, and 
 resents it accordingly. " She does not suit 
 me ; she " — with withering meaning — " may 
 very probably suit you." 
 
 "What you would object to, Maria, I 
 should certainly not countenance," says the 
 widow with fervour, who thinks it well to 
 draw in her horns here. After all, Mrs. 
 Gaveston seems a very quicksandy sort of 
 person to depend upon. And there is time — 
 time to decide. " I can only hope that Mrs. 
 Gaveston will settle down in time, and be a 
 good wife to the good man she has married." 
 
 This is all very well and highly moral, but 
 unfortunately Alec has herd her, and now 
 breaks into the conversation with most 
 irreverent laughter. 
 
 " I only hope the good man will be a good 
 husband to her," says he. 
 
 "There can be little doubt about that. 
 Peter Gaveston is a most excellent person," 
 says Mrs. Cutforth-Boss. " I think it a pity, 
 however, he has never been told of her early 
 attachment to her cousin." 
 
 "Oh! you grow interesting," cries Mrs. 
 
2& PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 Chance. " So there was a cousin — a lover — 
 a previous afiair ? " 
 
 " I grieve to say so. Ceciha, three months be- 
 fore her marriage to Peter Gaveston — who is a 
 most worthy person, if weah — had a very de- 
 cided love affair with her cousin, Philip Stairs." 
 
 " Stairs ! " Grant turns to her quickly. 
 " Stairs of the 90th ? " 
 
 "Yes," frigidly, «'I believe he belonged to 
 that regiment. At all events, she was de- 
 cidedly epris with him before they hurried 
 her into her marriage with Peter. I'm 
 certain Peter never heard a word about it — 
 her love affair with young Stairs, I mean — 
 the mother was too clever for that ; and as 
 the young man was gone to India, and 
 Cecilia hadn't a penny, the mother married 
 her to Peter Gaveston." 
 
 " But Stairs," says Grant. " By Jove ! how 
 odd ! Why, he was invalided home with me. 
 Came in same boat — capital fellow too. Now 
 that I think of it, I remember, too, his 
 mentioning the fact that he knew some 
 people here. But he never mentioned names. 
 He wouldn't, you know ! " 
 
PETEK'S WIFE. 27 
 
 "I suppose you call that honour," says 
 Mrs. Cutforth-Boss in a withering tone. " / 
 don't. I think if the whole thing had been 
 made clear at once, it would have added to 
 the comfort of everybody ; specially of that 
 unfortunate Peter Gaveston. And where is 
 this young Eomeo now, may I ask ? '* 
 
 "Not so very far," says Alec. "In the 
 next county, staying with the Wilsons. He 
 is to be here on the twelfth, at the 
 McGregors' — cousins of his, I think." 
 
 " Yes, cousins ! And so they are bringing 
 that young man into close proximity with 
 that flighty young woman again ? They will 
 have much to answer for ! " says Mrs. 
 Cutforth-Boss in a solemn tone. 
 
 "But such an old attachment as that, of 
 course it will be at an end now," says Mrs. 
 Chance. " Those childish afiairs, they don't 
 last — such little fires, you know." 
 
 "I don't,'' says Mrs. Cutforth-Boss, with 
 decision. " And I know that six years ago 
 Cecilia would have married her cousin, poor 
 though they both were ; and he— certainly he 
 too would have married her. But the mother. 
 
28 PETER'S Vi'lFE, 
 
 as I tell you, put her foot down. By the wa}^, 
 Cecilia has a sister, who is coming to live 
 with her. When last I saw her, just before 
 Cecilia's marriage, she was a wretchedly 
 behaved little creature — a mere unmannerly 
 romp. I can only hope she has grown into 
 something more respectable." 
 
 " When is she coming ? " 
 
 " To-day, I believe. My brother is unfor- 
 tunately slightly mixed up with her affairs." 
 
 " Stephen ? " Mrs. Chance looks quickly 
 up, and a faint colour tinges her cheek. 
 
 " Yes. On the mother's death, the child, 
 Penelope Prendergast, was adopted by an 
 aunt, who had married one of the Stauntons 
 — who, you know, are related distantly to 
 our famil}^ This Mrs. Staunton sent the 
 child to school in France or Belgium, I forget 
 which, refusing to allow her to stay with her 
 sister even during her holidays, for which 
 really I can hardly blame her, when one 
 knovv's how frivolous Cecilia is. But the aunt 
 died a month ago, and now Cecilia has 
 claimed her." 
 
 " But about Stephen, where does he come 
 
PETEKS AVIFE. 29 
 
 in ? " asks Mrs. Chance lic^litlv. Tliere is 
 anxiety, however in her tone. 
 
 " Oh ! it's most annoying ; and Stephen is 
 really rather disgusted about it. But it 
 seems this old Mrs. Staunton left all her 
 money to Penelope — about three hundred a 
 year — on condition that Stephen would 
 consent to look after it for her, and see that 
 she did not squander it, or make a bad 
 marriage — at all events, until she is twenty- 
 one. Mrs. Staunton had a curious fancy for 
 Stephen, and sent for him on her death-bed, 
 and, knowing he lived near the Gavestons, 
 entreated him to look after the girl's money 
 — to, in fact, be " 
 
 " Her guardian ? " 
 
 " Oh, not that ! No, really. That would be 
 too much," says Mrs. Cutforth-Boss, shrugging 
 her lean shoulders. "To be guardian to a 
 Prendergast ! No ! Only to see that she does 
 not make ducks and drakes of the money. 
 Bad enough for poor Stephen ! But he hardly 
 liked to refuse her on her dying bed. He is 
 sometimes a little weak, you know." 
 
 " I wonder the aunt did not name Mr. 
 
30 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 Gaveston as guardian. Her brotlier-in-law 
 would have been surely more suitable." 
 
 " I suppose she wanted to make a marriage 
 between Stephen and his ward," says Grant 
 lazily. 
 
 " Certainly not ! What an absurd idea," 
 says Mrs. Cutforth-Boss, with ill-suppressed 
 indignation. "You little know Stephen, if 
 you think he would marry anyone but a 
 woman of distinction, of perfect manners and 
 propriety. It would be a lasting cause of 
 regret to me to see an undignified woman at 
 the head of our house. And the Prendergasts 
 are all undignified. I feel sure the future 
 Lady Wortley will be all we can desire." 
 
 " This girl — is she as pretty as her sister ? " 
 asks Mrs. Chance. She has put down her 
 cup and pushed it a little from her, though it 
 is still half-full. 
 
 " One never can depend upon reports," 
 says Mrs. Cutforth-Boss indifierently, " but I 
 have heard she is even better to look at." 
 
 "No such luck," says Grant. "Couldn't 
 expect it. Too much for one family. Come 
 to look at it, it wouldn't be fair I " 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 31 
 
 Mrs. Chance, for once, forgets to laugh. 
 She is pretending to button her glove, but in 
 reality she is thinking. 
 
 "I am thoroughly vexed that Stephen 
 should be mixed up with these trying girls in 
 any way," says Mrs. Cutforth-Boss. " Of 
 course he is a model of common sense, but I 
 fear there may be little hitches. You know, 
 when dealing with undisciplined people one 
 gets rubs now and again, and he is in honour 
 bound to see how she spends her money." 
 
 " Poor girl ! " says Alec. " I really think 
 I'd rather not be left money, if somebody else 
 was to be supervisor over it." 
 
 Mrs. Chance here turns more immediately 
 to her brother. The usual pretty smile has 
 returned to her lips. 
 
 " JSTo, no, no ! " cries she, archly ; " what 
 folly. And" — she pauses, and lets a little 
 emphasis fall into her tone — " three hundred 
 a year is a sum not to be despised in these 
 bad days." 
 
 She rises, smiling still, and bids her cousin 
 good-bye. 
 
CHAPTEE III. 
 
 " Her mouth was sweet as braket, or as methe, 
 Or hoard of apples, laid in hay or heath." 
 
 Down here, by the sea on this perfect day in 
 May, all is beautiful ! The little waves run 
 in upon the beach as if in playful attack, and 
 then run back again, laughing always. 
 
 The long, straight sweep of the coast 
 leaves the water open, and the little rocks 
 Ijdng like dots upon the near shore shine like 
 stars in the glistening daylight. Here and 
 there upon these tiny islets the seagulls stand 
 — a dream of w^hite and grey — waiting to 
 plunge into the calm waters for their daily 
 bread. Now one rises, w^ith beak filled, and 
 files for a larger resting-ground, lest those of 
 his fraternity nearest to him may rouse 
 themselves to deprive him of his quarry. 
 
 The line of the horizon is very clear ! 
 Across it sails a ship, its white sails gleaming 
 like silver in the soft haze of the burning light. 
 
peteh's wife. 33 
 
 The sea is like glass, so smooth is its 
 surface. Shadows are running over it — and 
 streaks of light — ink-blue and darkest green 
 — the most delicate tino^es. And the little 
 white waves, they are always here. 
 
 So many tiny bays breaking into the 
 massive rocks! They make one wonder at 
 their strength! All the cliffs are lined and 
 warm with furze, and below, down there in 
 that sheltered beach, with the wavelets run- 
 ning in and out, how lovely are the sea-weeds 
 in the depths of the pools, and the sea- 
 pansies, born of the sand. 
 
 There is something else on the small beach, 
 too, even lovelier than the sea- weeds and the 
 pansies ! A young girl is moving lightly 
 here and there. A slender creature, clad in 
 a blouse of blue and white, and a skirt to 
 match it — a skirt deliberately tucked up, as 
 if to give free play to the pretty naked feet 
 beneath it. A sailor hat covers the head that 
 belongs to these naked feet, and under that 
 hat is a face that might very properly be 
 termed dangerous. 
 
 She has a little red bucket in her hand, 
 VOL. I. 3 
 
34 PETEE'S WIFE. 
 
 sucli as children go armed with to the sea- 
 shore, and from her constant peering into the 
 pools that lie amongst the rocks, one may 
 easily see that she is looking for the wild 
 animals that one associates with sand and 
 rocks and retiring tides. 
 
 "Here's another, Geoff!" cries she, with 
 great excitement, plunging her hand into a 
 pool near her, and dragging out a small, but 
 much annoyed crab, who makes vicious dabs 
 at her before she drops him into her 
 bucket. Her voice rings sweet and clear, 
 and reaches the ears of a young man who is 
 coming down from the heights above by a 
 sloping, ragged pathway. 
 
 Across this little beach lies the nearest way 
 to Wortley Towers, and the owner of that 
 stately old place is in a hurry to get to it. 
 He stops now, however. 
 
 The voice is clear to him, but the possessor 
 of it, being round a corner, is not ! 
 
 He amuses himself for a moment with the 
 old legend of the mermaids, who are popu- 
 larly supposed to frequent this particular 
 part of the coast, and mii^ht have continued 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 35 
 
 his fancies, but that all at once a little form 
 comes into view. A pretty lad of five ! 
 With sleek brown head, and breeches well 
 tucked-up, and his face rosy with his great 
 exertions. A castle of sand is rising round 
 him, and over the ramparts of this impreg- 
 nable hold, the owner, happening to look 
 upwards, catches Sir Stephen's eye, and at 
 once goes for him ! 
 
 " Oh, here's Stephen. Stephen, come here ! 
 Nelly, here's Stephen ! " 
 
 Nelly, the slender figure in the white and 
 blue blouse, grows suddenly petrified. 
 
 "Here's Stephen!" Who's Stephen? 
 Good gracious, what is to become of her ? 
 She casts a despairing glance at her un- 
 dressed toes, and mentally gives herself up 
 for lost. The thought of a coming someone, 
 and that some one a " Stephen," is too much 
 for her. 
 
 A glance behind show her the entrance to 
 a tiny cave. Who hesitates is lost ! Into 
 this she dashes wath mad haste, but alas ! it is 
 very tiny, and any one passing by, with the 
 very commonest eyesight, could certainly see 
 
 3* 
 
36 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 her. In fact, this little hiding place, to which 
 she has flown for refuge, flatly refuses to 
 conceal her. 
 
 Steps coming ever nearer, and the shrill, 
 sweet prattle of the boy, warn her that con- 
 cealment is no longer possible. 
 
 In a frenzied fashion she un-pins her skirt, 
 drops into a sitting position on a small rock 
 near her, about three inches from the sand, 
 and tucking her little naked feet well under 
 her, waits the crack of doom ! 
 
 " Here she is ! Why did you run, Nell ? " 
 cries the boy. 
 
 Here Nell directs a murderous glance at 
 him, which goes lightly over his closely shorn, 
 and always adored, little head. 
 
 " Eun ? " says she, with a swift, indignant 
 glance at the boy's companion. "I didn't 
 run. I was tired — I '* 
 
 " I saw you," says the child ; " I thought it 
 was because you hadn't your sto " 
 
 " Geoffre}^ ! " cries Miss Prendergast. 
 
 A second's pause, and then : 
 
 "You haven't introduced me, Geofirey," 
 says Geofirey's friend, smiling at the boy. 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 37 
 
 " What ? " says Geoffrey, staring at him. 
 He is not yet old enough to be a master of 
 the ceremonies. 
 
 " I think you ought to tell your ? " 
 
 There is a question in his hesitation. 
 
 " She's my auntie," says Geoffrey, pointing 
 a very sandy fore-finger at the crushed Nell. 
 "But she's very little to be an auntie, isn't 
 she?" 
 
 The boy turns a thoughtful face up to Sir 
 Stephen Wortley. He had once heard Mrs. 
 Cutforth-Boss called aunt by a small nephew 
 of her husband's, and probably his ideas of 
 what an aunt should be had grown out of that. 
 
 " How can I tell ? " says Sir Stephen, 
 smiling. " Your auntie won't stand up, so I 
 can't see how Httle she is." 
 
 He had spoken quite without arriere pensee^ 
 but all at once the brilliant, vivid blush that 
 dyes the " auntie's " cheeks brings him up 
 short. What has he said? Of course 
 finding her with Geoffrey Gaveston, and 
 knowing that Mrs. Gaveston's sister had come 
 to her a week ago, he had at once guessed 
 who Nell Prendergast was ; the girl to whom 
 
88 PETEK'S WIFE. 
 
 his old friend and cousin had made him, in a 
 sense, guardian. It had seemed to him that 
 she too would understand who he was, so he 
 had spoken lightly — with a smile. Now it 
 occurs to him that she had resented the light- 
 ness of his manner. And why didn't she get 
 up ? He had put in that allusion to her not 
 standing up merely in fun. Most girls would 
 get up at an informal introduction like this — 
 in the open air, and under the circumstances. 
 
 " Well, Geoffrey, won't you make us known 
 to each other ? " asks Sir Stephen, a little 
 stiffly this time, but with a drawing of the 
 boy to him, as if to neutralize his cold air. 
 
 " Don't you know her ? " asks Geoffrey. 
 " Why, she's Nell and she came last week, 
 and mammy's very glad, because she's her 
 sister . . . ." He breaks off here as if 
 thinking. " 1 haven't got a sister," says he. 
 It is evident that he feels aggrieved. 
 
 " Your mammy's sister ! That's all very 
 well," says Sir Stephen. " You have intro- 
 duced your auntie to me, which is, by the 
 way, the wrong way round, but you have not 
 told her w^ho Jam.*' 
 
PETEE'S WIFE. 39 
 
 " You're Stephen," says the boy promptly. 
 " He's Stephen, Nelly, and he lives in a big 
 house over there," pointing indefinitely west- 
 ward, " and there's lots of rabbits there." 
 
 "Not in the house," says Sir Stephen 
 gravely. "You really ought to be more 
 accurate, my dear Geoff. And as for your 
 introduction, I am afraid it leaves a good 
 deal to be desired. It is a little general, I am 
 afraid." He glances down at Nell, who 
 rigidly refuses to meet his eyes. "There 
 must be more than one Stephen in the 
 world." 
 
 He waits, as if expecting her to say some- 
 thing, but Miss Prendergast remains silent, 
 and the boy, breaking into a fresh burst of 
 conversation on the subject of another small 
 crab he has just found, gives her pause. 
 
 Sir Stephen, bending over the child's new- 
 found treasure, proceeds to examine it care- 
 fully through his eye-glass, telling himself the 
 while that this girl, whose money affairs have 
 been foisted upon him by her aunt, old Mrs. 
 Staunton, is a silly fool of a little thing, with 
 a pretty face, but without an ounce of brains. 
 
40 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 What the deuce did that old woman put 
 him in such a hole for? And why had he 
 not had the common-sense to refuse the trust 
 imposed upon him ? If it had been a child 
 even ; but a young girl. There is no animal 
 under heaven so sure to give trouble as a 
 girl under twenty. 
 
 Meantime, the girl without " an ounce of 
 brains," is gathering herself together. She 
 has taken sufficient courage, during his 
 apparently absorbed attention to Geoffrey's 
 crab, to look up at him. And, all at once, it 
 seems to her that he is the tallest man she has 
 ever seen. Probably the delusion arises out 
 of the fact that she is sitting on the ground, 
 whilst he is standing. Literally she is at his 
 feet — a state of things that if it had occurred 
 to her in its usual sense, would have enraged 
 her. Providentially it hasn't ! 
 
 She knows who he is now. The child had 
 told her — Stephen. So this is the Sir Stephen 
 Wortley, whom her aunt had decided should 
 be guardian over her — not over her exactly, 
 but over her money. It seems she cannot 
 dare to spend a penny here or there, without 
 
PETER'S WIFE. -41 
 
 this man's permission. So this is her 
 financial master ! 
 
 An angry sense of resistance towards him 
 springs to life within the girl's breast, and 
 grows rapidly. The very fact that she cannot 
 get up and confront him, exaggerates this 
 feeling, and brings a little frown to her brow. 
 To be obliged to sit here with her bare, 
 stockingless, feet tucked under her gown, 
 places her at once at such an immense dis- 
 advantage. Oh ! if she could only stand up 
 and face him But how can she ? 
 
 Why — why had she not seen him coming ? 
 Why could not that wretched boy have given 
 her a word of warning ? Why — this with a 
 secret crunch of her small heel into the sand 
 beneath it — had she ever so demeaned herself 
 as to take off her stockings at all ? Now, see 
 what a nice fix she has got herself into, and 
 an through her own folly. 
 
 One thing, at all events remains, for which 
 to be grateful. He cannot possibly know 
 her reason for sitting here so immovably. 
 Probably — happy thought ! — he will put it 
 down to insolence on the part of his ward. 
 
42 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 And he cannot know either that her shoes 
 and stockings are lying hidden over there, 
 behind that Httle rock. If only she can get 
 rid of him, and at once. A quick thought 
 comes to her. The best way to get rid of 
 any one is just to make yourself as nasty to 
 them as ever you can ! Oh ! for an opportu- 
 nity ! It is given her almost immediately. 
 
 " Look at him, KeU," cries the boy now, 
 bringing his treasure to her for fresh in- 
 spection. "He's bigger than any of yours. 
 He's a monster " 
 
 " Of the deep," says Nell absently. Her 
 gaze, in spite of her, turns to Sir Stephen, 
 and — to her annoyance — meets his. 
 
 " I am afraid Geoffrey is hardly up to the 
 mark," says he. " So I suppose I had better 
 introduce myself, as we are to be such near 
 neighbours. I " 
 
 "Geoffrey has not been so stupid as you 
 think," says she, interrupting him softly, but 
 with meaning. " He has let me quite under- 
 stand who you are. You " 
 
 She pauses, and looks up at him, and all at 
 once it comes to him that his first thou^rht of 
 
PETER'Si^WIFE. 48 
 
 her was but an error, and a most sorry one. 
 In the clear eyes uplifted to his, there is 
 meaning, rather distinct meaning now, and 
 spirit — a good deal of spirit, as it seems to 
 him, and not of the mild order either. The 
 owner of those limpid wells could never be 
 " without an ounce of brains." But why 
 then would she not sjpeak at first ? 
 
 " Yes ? " questions he, smiling. He is 
 looking down at her, studying her, admiring 
 her. The little shapely head, with its soft 
 wealth of chestnut hair, the curved, deter- 
 mined chin, the broad, sweet brow, over 
 which the chestnut curls are straying, the 
 mouth that remains a mystery ! Is she tall, 
 or short ? Very small, it seems to him — but 
 how can one judge, as she sits there, huddled 
 up as it were. Why on earth can't she stand 
 up, instead of sitting there in that extra- 
 ordinarily uncomfortable position? — like a 
 Chinese idol, by Jove ! But what an idol ! 
 
 Idol ! The word seems to suit her some- 
 how. Whose idol ? 
 
 The very place in which she is sitting seems 
 to suit her. The cave has a wide opening, 
 
44 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 but the rocks on each side close it in, and in 
 the midst of the sand and shell she sits as 
 though mistress of it. A nj^mph, she seems 
 to him, a sea-nymph, a little mermaid. 
 Perhaps that is why she has tucked her feet 
 away so carefully. Perhaps, she has no feet ! 
 
 " Yes ? " says he again. Apparently the 
 little mermaid is making up her mind about 
 her answer. 
 
 " You are Sir Stephen Wortley," says she, 
 all at once. " And it is you who are going to 
 prevent me from spending my money ! " Her 
 tone is distinctly aggrieved. 
 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 *' Fear is often concealed by a show of daring." 
 
 Sir Stephen laughs. 
 
 " Not all of it," says he. 
 
 " Still, if I wished to spend it all, I could 
 not, without your permission." 
 
 " That is true, I'm afraid." 
 
 " You are virtually my guardian, then ? " 
 
 " That is also true — I'm afraid ! " 
 
 He is still looking very much amused, and 
 Miss Prendergast resents his mirth. 
 
 " You are wise," says she, her eyes defying 
 his. " It is well to be prepared. Some day 
 you will be really afraid." She gives him a 
 little frown, and a defiant tilt of her chin, as 
 she says this. 
 
 " Of course, if you are going to make it 
 hard for me " 
 
 " Not hard. But I shall not make it easy. 
 I warn you that I detest control ! " 
 
46 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 Here J she casts a swift glance at him from 
 under the brim of her big hat. There is 
 anxiety in this glance. Surely she has been 
 nasty enough now I She has all hut insulted 
 him. Beyond doubt} he is going away now 
 — will be glad to go. Oh! certainly he 
 must be going." 
 
 Apparently not ! To her horror indeed, 
 she sees him casting searching looks around, 
 as if seeking a suitable rock on which to rest 
 himself for the next week or so. What a 
 hateful, hateful man ! Why can't he go hom.e, 
 and let her put on her ? 
 
 He is now peering over her shoulder to a 
 rock near her — too near indeed, because be- 
 hind it Oh, " that way madness lies ! " 
 
 She pulls herself together desperately, and 
 wreathes her face in smiles. Those stock- 
 ings once discovered, how] is she ever to 
 assert herself again ? 
 
 "You look tired — desperately tired," says 
 she. It is she who is feeling desperate, how- 
 ever. " I felt it the moment I saw you. So 
 done up." 
 
 " Tired ? Do I ? " says Wortley, stopping 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 47 
 
 sliort, and looking surprised. He hadn't 
 known it until now. He had, in fact, felt 
 quite fresh as he came down to this small 
 beach. Miss Prendergast nods sympatheti- 
 cslly, 
 
 " I saw it at the first glance," says she. 
 She is talking rapidly. Anything to stop him 
 
 from going to that rock, behind which 
 
 " One always knows, doesn't one ? " She 
 smiles at him — a rather strained smile, how- 
 ever. 
 
 " Knows ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes. I could see. You looked so 
 full of purpose as you came up — I knew at 
 once that you were bent on business." She 
 bends towards him now, and in her eagerness 
 to get rid of him, very nearly lets one small 
 bare toe come to light. Hurriedly she drags 
 it back into its hiding place, growing crimson 
 the while. " Go away," says she. " I mean " 
 — confusedly — " go and do your business, 
 whatever it is. Don't let me keep you." 
 
 "You're very good. But I'm afraid I'm 
 not so busy a person as you imagine," says 
 Wortley. " I've no very pressing business 
 
48 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 on hand just now, and you're not keeping 
 me." 
 
 This last is a direct lie, though, perhaps, 
 one might say he was unconscious of it. 
 
 " I've been pitching into a tenant over 
 there," says he, pointing towards some fields 
 far away up on the hills. "Lazy beggar, 
 you know, lets the outhouses and fences go 
 to destruction, and then expects me to do 
 them up again. I hate rowing people, don't 
 you?" 
 
 "Up to this," says Miss Prendergast 
 thoughtfully, "it is I who have always 
 rowed." 
 
 Sir Stephen looks at her. 
 
 " I daresay ! " says he. It was not the an- 
 swer she had expected, and she turns a little 
 from him. " Anyway," lazily, " I am ex- 
 hausted over my fight, and feel a little rest 
 will do me good." 
 
 " Not a doubt of it," says she, forgetting 
 her late swift touch of indignation, and grow- 
 ing suddenly almost enthusiastically sympa- 
 thetic. " A rest is the very thing for you. 
 A nice comfortable quiet rest, and in your 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 49 
 
 own easy-chair at home. Not," witli a con- 
 temptuous wave of her hand at the rocks 
 round her, " such a rest as these could afford 
 you ! " She bends towards him, her manner 
 has grown quite brisk. She holds out to 
 him a small, sunburnt, but most delicately 
 formed hand. " Good-bye ! " cries she almost 
 affectionately. " A rest — a rest is the very 
 thing for you. Good-bye I Geoffrey and I " — 
 oh! fatal speech — "will have to go home 
 shortly too." 
 
 " At that rate, I may as well wait for you," 
 says Wortley pleasantly, all unconscious of 
 the tragic element that is warming the air 
 around them. "Your way is mine, you 
 know. The Towers is only a mile from your 
 sister's place. If you will allow me, I'll stay 
 with you until his Eoyal Highness over 
 there," pointing to Geoffrey, " is ready to 
 start. There are, I am afraid," with a steady 
 look at her, " a few vexed questions between 
 us that we might smooth away, if we went 
 into them a little." 
 
 The steadiness of his gaze alarms her. 
 There is one vexed question certainly. How 
 VOL. I. 4 
 
50 PETER'S WIl'E. 
 
 on eartli is she to get back her shoes and 
 stockings, and cover her feet with them with- 
 out his knowledge ? Does he know ? Does 
 he mean anything ? Or is he only alluding 
 to his odious guardianship ? Poor Nell on 
 her stool of repentance wriggles a little. The 
 wriggle very nearly brings her right foot out 
 into the broad glare of the wicked sunshine. 
 She drags it back suddenly, and a warm flush 
 dyes her face. 
 
 "You look very uncomfortable," says 
 Wortley. " Can't I find you a better place 
 to sit in than that you have chosen ? " 
 
 "No. No, thank you," hastily. I'm all 
 right. I like sitting here." 
 
 " You'll get cramped if you sit there much 
 longer ; I," his tone is now quite concerned, 
 " I'd strongly advise you to get up and walk 
 about for a bit. These sands are often sure 
 forerunners of a very serious cold. Come," 
 holding out his hand to her, " let me help 
 you up, and let us go for a brisk stroll along 
 this little beach until you must go home." 
 
 " No. Beally,'' she has shrunk back from 
 his hand as though affrighted by it, " I'd 
 
PSTER'S WIFE. 61 
 
 rather not walk. I should indeed. I — I'm 
 awfully happy here. I " 
 
 " As you will, of course," says he, with a 
 slight shrug. He looks round him, giving 
 again some thought to the little rocks near, 
 as if seeking one on which to sit and work 
 out those vexed questions, those troublesome 
 problems he had suggested to her. 
 
 One at last takes his fancy. It is the one 
 nearest to her. It is indeed but a step or 
 two away from her, and undoubtedly it looks 
 uncomfortable ; it rises as high as an ordi- 
 nary table, but, unlike the kind of table from 
 which we all Hke to swing our legs, it is not 
 broad at the top, but somewhat peaked. 
 Now people seldom like to sit on a peak. 
 He goes towards it, however. As I have 
 said, it is very near to her. 
 
 "Stop!" cries Miss Prendergast. Her 
 voice rings through the little cave. What is 
 there in it ? He hardly knows, but he turns 
 at the sound of it, and looks at her. " Don't 
 sit there," says she. " I really wouldnt if I 
 were you. Come and sit here," she pulls her 
 skirts frantically aside, taking care always to 
 
 4* 
 
 -Y OF ILLINOIS 
 
52 PETEE'S WIFE. 
 
 conceal lier feet. ''Here. It will be much 
 more comfortable here ! " 
 
 It is certainly an invitation ; Wortley looks 
 at her ! There is no mistake about it, how- 
 ever. She is patting the two or three inches 
 of stone laid bare b}^ her hurried edging 
 along the small rock, as though most flatter- 
 ingly desirous of having his company on it. 
 But the pale, determined face, and the cold- 
 ness of the hazel eyes fixed on him with what 
 he can hardly refuse to believe is malignity 
 in their gaze, makes him hesitate. 
 
 What on earth does she want ? What is 
 the matter with her ? Is she eccentric ? One 
 never likes to say " mad " at first. 
 
 " I'm afraid if I sat there, you would be 
 without a seat," says he courteousl}^ with a 
 smile, but a puzzled one. " As he says it he 
 walks quickly (it seems a moment for haste !) 
 to the rock he had before signified as a mo- 
 mentary resting place. Here he thought, he 
 
 would sit, and study her, and if More 
 
 people are insane than people dream of 
 
 As he moves Nell rises, and grows sud- 
 denly frenzied. Great Heavens ! behind that 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 53 
 
 particular rock lie her shoes, her stockings. 
 One never knows why, but it is a positive 
 fact that one's shoes are always innocent 
 when compared with one's stockings. 
 
 Once he gets to that rock, all will be over. 
 He will see her shoes and stockings lying be- 
 hind it, and will know that she 
 
 " Don't go there ! " cries she frantically. 
 *' Don't ! don't ! " 
 
 He is at the rock now, but he turns. Good 
 Heavens, is she mad ? that pretty creature, 
 with those earnest eyes ! The thought is a 
 pain to him, and he turns from it, to look 
 over the rock on which he would have seated 
 himself, to see 
 
 Two small high-heeled shoes, and two silk 
 stockings, and two pale blue silken garters 
 lying all together, in the most delicate con- 
 fusion. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 " When anger rises, think of the consequences." 
 
 There is a long pause ! 
 
 Sir Stephen stands conscience-stricken. 
 All at once he understands why she was so 
 strange in her manner, so almost discourteous. 
 This is why she would not stand up ! Why 
 the deuce hadn't he done as she desired him 
 to do at first — why hadn't he gone aw^ay ? 
 
 An imbecile determination to see, to know 
 nothing, takes him. He turns to her his face, 
 full of a most careful innocence that would 
 not have imposed upon a baby. This guile- 
 less expression maddens Miss Prendergast — it 
 seems indeed to make her feet ten times more 
 devoid of shoes and stockings on the spot. 
 She is very young, and when one is very 
 young, one is often angry. 
 
 " After all I don't think this rock would 
 make a comfortable seat either," says Sir 
 Stephen, turning his backf upon the pretty 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 55 
 
 shoes, and trying to look as if he had never 
 seen a garter in his life. It is very clumsily 
 done, it must be confessed. He comes forward 
 and she can see that his face is a little red ; 
 but to her indignation, it becomes apparent 
 that his redness is born of a strong deter- 
 mination not to laugh. He looks grave to 
 the verge of tears, but for all that, she is 
 quite aware that he is inwardly dying with 
 laughter. He has overdone the gravity a 
 little. " Perhaps " continues he. 
 
 Miss Prendergast interrupts him somewhat 
 unexpectedly. With an almost imperceptible 
 gesture of her slight arm, she puts him to one 
 side as it were, and leaning forward calls to 
 the little Geoffrey, still busy with his shells 
 and tiny crabs. 
 
 " Come here, Geoffrey ! Come at once." 
 There is a subdued ring in her voice, that 
 brings Wortley's eyes to her face. " Hurry ! 
 your mammy will be unhappy about you, 
 if we don't get home soon. Bring me my 
 shoes and stockings ; you will find them 
 behind that little rock over there ! " 
 
 It is certainly, if not a victory, a most 
 
66 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 gallant retreat ! Sir Stephen, carrying with 
 him a flashing sting from the brilliant hazel 
 eyes, goes quickly to the boy, who is coming 
 with a rush to his auntie (an auntie who is 
 after all only a playfellow), and catching him 
 by the arms, stops him. 
 
 " Let me go," says the boy. " Nell wants 
 her stockings, and I want to go home, I'm 
 hungry." 
 
 "So you ought to be at this dissipated 
 hour," says Sir Stephen. He swings him 
 on to his shoulders. " Come, let us go and 
 look for mussels to assuage the cravings of 
 our inner man ! " 
 
 ''But Nell ?" 
 
 " Your Auntie requires five minutes or so 
 in which to make up her mind whether she 
 will come home with us." 
 
 " But she said " 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it," says Sir 
 Stephen gaily. 
 
 He carries off the boy, and Nell, left alone 
 in her cave, makes a rueful dash for the un- 
 friendly rock that had failed to help her in 
 her emergency, and, sitting down behind it, 
 
PETEE'S WIFE. 57 
 
 restores her cliarming little feet to that state 
 required of them in Society. 
 
 Presently, emerging once more into the 
 more open daylight, she calls to the boy. 
 
 " 1 am ready now, Geoffrey. Come ! " 
 
 Not a word, not a look, is vouchsafed to 
 Geoffrey's companion. 
 
 " Ah ! that's good news," says that imper- 
 turbable person. " Geoffrey has confided to 
 me that he is hungry, Miss Prendergast, and 
 though I have worked wonders with mussels, 
 he doesn't seem to find them satisfactory. I," 
 it is a direct question, " I may walk home 
 with you ? '^ 
 
 "You have said your way is mine," 
 returns she, courteously but icily. 
 
 In silence they leave the tiny beach and 
 .get to the road, the boy running on before 
 them in search of flowers and butterflies. 
 This sweet May-day is full of both ; warm as 
 the heart of summer, it has enticed abroad 
 all sorts of gleaming insects, and now here, 
 now there, even the delicate butterfly, 
 summer's own delight, is spreading soft 
 wings from petal to petal. A splendid 
 
68 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 " Admiral " over there has caught Geoffrey's 
 eye, and away he goes after it, hat in hand. 
 
 One steps a little low down here, right into 
 the valley. The sea is lying behind. Above, 
 the sky is burning with a glorious blue heat. 
 But here there is shelter, if only for a minute 
 or so. 
 
 " Deep in the glen's bosom 
 Summer slept in the fire 
 Of the odorous gorse-blossom 
 And the hot scent of the briar. 
 * * * * 
 
 " A ribald cuckoo clamoured, 
 
 And out of the corpse, the stroke 
 Of the iron axe that hammered 
 The iron heart of the oak." 
 
 They can hear it, these two, as they go on. 
 Chop-chop-chop. It seems to cut not only 
 into the trees on their right hand, but into 
 the silence that is holding them as in a vice. 
 
 At last Wortley breaks it. 
 
 " It wasn't my fault," says he. His tone is 
 quite as grave as ever, but, as before, it seems 
 to her that a note of suppressed amusement 
 runs through it. 
 
 " Fault ? " There is open and not alto- 
 gether pleasant question in her tone. 
 
PKTER'S WIFE. 59 
 
 " That I " 
 
 " That you " She stops short, and 
 
 goes on again. " I can't see where the word 
 fault comes in." 
 
 " Still, it seemed to me " 
 
 "I don't know what it seemed to you. 
 You are quite a stranger to me. For my 
 own part," vigorously, "I don't care a jig 
 about your finding them." 
 
 " Finding them ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes. Finding them. I suppose," 
 with another angry flash from her beautiful 
 eyes, " a person can take off their shoes and 
 stockings if they like^ without being brought 
 to book by," with quite magnificent scorn 
 here, " their guardian*" 
 
 A moment or two, and then : 
 
 " Undoubtedly." Another moment or 
 two, and then — "By the bye, were yours 
 off?" 
 
 This is too much ! Miss Prendergast stops 
 short upon the dusty road. 
 
 " To be a hypocrite, is to be contemptible ! " 
 says she ; she draws her breath sharply. 
 "That is beyond dispute," says Wortley. 
 
60 PETEE'S WIFE. 
 
 "Hypocrites are not only immoral, but a 
 bore. You have some one in your mind ? " 
 
 " Yes, you I " says the girl straightly. 
 
 Sir Stephen looks at her. Her eyes are 
 flashing, her lips a little parted — such lips, 
 such eyes — both beautiful! What is she, 
 child or woman ? Nay, child, 
 
 " A wild-eyed child, strong-liearted." 
 
 "But I assure you I'm not one," says he. 
 
 " Not even when, a moment ago, you said 
 you were sorry you were in fault about — 
 about " 
 
 *' Well— about?" 
 
 " Finding my shoes ! " 
 
 " After all, I don't think I was alluding to 
 your shoes when I said that," says Sir 
 Stephen. 
 
 " What did you mean then ? " 
 
 " That it was not my fault that I had been, 
 in a way, appointed your guardian." 
 
 "Oh, ihat,'' says Nell. She tightens her 
 teeth upon the under lip, as if to keep herself 
 in order. He has had the best of her here, 
 certainly. He has indeed discomfited her 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 61 
 
 " these two times." Her mind had been full 
 of the luckless shoes and stockings, and he 
 knew that, and traded on it to bring her to 
 confusion over the guardianship. 
 
 How contemptible ! How mean ! Well — 
 he shall, pay for it ! 
 
 Her small mutinous mouth grows suddenly 
 firm. Her ej^es cling to the ground ; not a 
 word but "Yes" and "No" escapes her 
 during the long walk that brings them from 
 that beach to the entrance of Gaveston Park. 
 She has been thinking — thinking all the wa}^ 
 and now evidently her thoughts have reached 
 maturity, because suddenly her whole manner 
 changes. 
 
 Sir Stephen has opened the gate, and she 
 and little Geoffrey stand inside it. 
 
 "Good-bye," says Wortley, holding out 
 his hand, but hardly expecting her to accept 
 it. To his everlasting surprise, however, she 
 slips her slender fingers into his. He holds 
 them in a bare clasp, expecting them to be 
 indignantly withdrawn after the barest pres- 
 sure, but to his surprise the soft little palm 
 lies in his most willingly. 
 
62 PETERS WIFE. 
 
 " I am afraid I have been very cross," says 
 the softest voice in the world. 
 
 Is it her voice ? Wortley glances at her ; 
 as he does so, it is beyond dispute that his 
 finnrers tis^hten over hers. 
 
 " It is I who " begins he, but she will 
 
 not listen to him. 
 
 " No, no, no," cries she, laughing — such a 
 pretty laugh 1 She gives a little upward 
 glance at him. " Good-bye," says she. Her 
 lovely eyes are resting upon his ; her lips 
 widen into a perfect smile. He does not 
 answer. Perhaps this great want of courtesy 
 on his part pleases her, because she smiles 
 again, and again murmurs to him " Good-bye," 
 softly and slowly. 
 
 As softly and slowly she withdraws her 
 hand from his, and, calling Geoffrey to her, 
 turns away. 
 
 After a step or two, however, she looks 
 back. 
 
 Wortley is still standing at the big iron gate, 
 w^atching her. Something in the intentness of 
 his gaze satisfies her. 
 
 She laughs aloud as she runs down the 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 63 
 
 avenue to the house, the boy racing beside 
 her. 
 
 " Now who'll be first ? " cries she. 
 
 Panting and laughing, she draws up at the 
 stone steps of the hall door, and wheeling 
 round, throws up her hands at Geoffrey. 
 
 "First, first! I told you I'd beat you," 
 cries she. 
 
 " Eace me again," cries the child. 
 
 " No, to-morrow, if you like. But I warn 
 you I shall win." 
 
 She steps lightly into the dim, beautiful old 
 hall, and up the broad, oaken staircase. 
 Half way she stops as though thinking. 
 
 " Yes, I shall win ! " says she softly. 
 
 She is not thinking of Geoffrey, however. 
 
CHAPTEE YI. 
 
 " Surely Nature must have meant you 
 For a syren when she sent you 
 
 That sweet voice and glittering hair, 
 — Was it touch of human passion 
 Made yon woman in a fashion — 
 Beauty Clare ? " 
 
 " I've met my Bogie man," cries Nell, rushing 
 into the dainty boudoir, that the master of 
 Gaveston Park has arranged with such care 
 and love for the beautiful girl he had married 
 six years ago. At this moment the owner of 
 it is looking if possible even more delightful 
 than usual. 
 
 She is lying in a lounging chair, with her 
 hands clasped lazily behind her charming 
 head, and her feet stretched lazily out before 
 her. Her pose is grace itself. The indolent, 
 lovely grace of a kitten. 
 
 Her soft, hazel eyes, so like yet so unlike 
 her sister's, have a lazy look too, as if she 
 were but half awake, and her small parted 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 65 
 
 lips wear the smile of a child — a child who 
 seldom thinks — who lives, and is happy and 
 content — and that is all. Such lovely lips, so 
 red, so ripe, and always a little parted, show- 
 ing the small pearls within. She looks even 
 younger than Nell — yet she is almost twenty- 
 four, and Nell almost eighteen. 
 
 As her sister comes in Mrs. Gaveston (she 
 has evidently been doing nothing) brings her 
 arms from behind her head, and lets them fall 
 into her lap with an exquisite abandon. Her 
 small hands, fragile and delicately white, with 
 a faint tinge of pink running through them 
 upwards to the pretty nails, are covered with 
 rings ; a tiny jewelled dagger is pushed 
 through the coils of her bright chestnut hair, 
 that she wears in a huge knot low down upon 
 her neck. She is dressed in a tea-gown, loose 
 apparently, yet so arranged as to show each 
 line of her perfect figure. It is made of 
 white silk, rich and velvety, and a few little 
 flounces of priceless lace have been inserted 
 by an artistic hand into the front of it. It 
 is a gown an abnormally rich woman might 
 have worn in her own house when giving a 
 VOL. I. 5 
 
66 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 reception, but hardly the gown that the wife 
 of a country gentleman of ordinary means 
 would wear for her own delectation. From 
 beneath it the dainty laces of her petticoat 
 may be seen, and one small foot clad in a 
 black-silk, open-worked stocking, and a Louis 
 Quinze shoe. 
 
 Nature is not always kind, and amuses her- 
 self sometimes! She gave Cecilia Gaveston 
 the spirit of extravagance, and no doubt 
 watched her vagaries with delight. Cecilia 
 positively does not know the meaning of the 
 value of money. A child when married to 
 Peter Gaveston, a child she has remained, en- 
 couraged certainly by that most foolish man. 
 At thirty-four, he had for the first time in his 
 life fallen madly in love, and when her 
 people induced her to marry him, he had told 
 himself that nothing from his heart's blood 
 downwards was too good for her. 
 
 To ask, with the adored child he had 
 married, was to have. Five thousand a year is 
 not a large income, but Mrs. Gaveston 's ponies, 
 Mrs. Gaveston's hunter, Mrs. Gaveston's 
 carriage horses became at once the talk of the 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 67 
 
 county. Mrs. Gaveston's gowns were especi- 
 ally discussed by the women folk. 
 
 Mrs. Gaveston herself, however, had been 
 very kindly treated by her neighbours when 
 she came to her new home. She was so 
 pretty, so young — a little inconsequent 
 perhaps, and undoubtedly extravagant, but all 
 that would wear off. And she seemed so 
 gentle, so tender-hearted .... once 
 her child was born. 
 
 The coming of the child had been quite an 
 event. Mrs. Cutforth-Boss was perhaps the 
 only person in the neighbourhood who had 
 not been sympathetic over that " sweet young 
 thing." But then Cecilia had shown herself 
 restive under Mrs. Cutforth-Boss's advices 
 concernin«^ the comino; event. 
 
 When the child was born— and a boy too 
 — most people were honestly pleased, and Peter 
 Gaveston, holding his wife and son in one em- 
 brace, told himself Heaven had been too good 
 to him. 
 
 Cecilia had accepted the child as a toy. 
 She played with it, loved it . . . But 
 nothing in her married life seemed to have 
 
 5* 
 
68 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 roused her to higher thoughts. At times a 
 little cloud would drop into her eyes, but 
 even she herself hardly knew what it meant. 
 One, looking at her then, would say she was 
 a woman disappointed — a woman to whom 
 life was so far a failure, that she missed the 
 real good — the heart and centre of it all ; but 
 the little cloud would disappear so swiftly, 
 and so swiftly would the pretty laugh come 
 back again, that he would deem himself a 
 fool for so saying. 
 
 Her love for the child was very strong. 
 It was the strongest feeling she had ever 
 known, but all her ways with it were light 
 and happy, he was her last new gift at first 
 . . . . and after that a treasured toy. 
 He was certainly more of an amusement to 
 her than anything else. A delicious doll that 
 could speak and laugh, and hear, and answer 
 her back again. 
 
 Her married life had run in such smooth 
 lines, that she had had no cause to repent the 
 step she was compelled to take. The first 
 young grief — young indeed, yet sharp enough 
 to numb her, coming in the first spring of 
 
PETEE'S WIFE. 69 
 
 her youth to womanhood, has been long since 
 put away. Locked aside in a cupboard of 
 her heart, and fastened with an iron key. If 
 unhappily her heart had been locked away 
 with it, it was done unconsciously, and 
 she had never missed it since. The tender 
 girl of seventeen, with her soul just wakening 
 to the one great sweetness of life, is now 
 fast developing into the woman of fashion, 
 quite good, quite pure, and wholly heartless. 
 
 She had not understood the shock that had 
 been given her — the wrench — the tear. 
 Philip, her friend, her — yes — her friend — 
 there was no other name for him, for no 
 words had been spoken, there were no kisses 
 to be remembered, save one ! Philip was 
 gone. He had sailed for India almost at a 
 moment's notice, and her mother, seeing Mr. 
 Gaveston's evident admiration for her, had 
 taken her suddenly away to visit some 
 people in Devonshire, leaving no address 
 behind. Even " a moment's notice " might give 
 a lover time to say a fatal word or two, and 
 that was to be prevented at all risks. 
 
 Philip Stairs sailed for India without seeing 
 
Vd PETEK'S WIFE. 
 
 his little love again ; but he sailed in the full 
 hope that she understood and would wait for 
 him, and that when he came back again, it 
 would be to take her out to India with him. 
 
 Six months afterwards he heard of her 
 marriage to Mr. Gaveston ! 
 
 He had written several letters after his 
 arrival at Calcutta, but it is the simplest thing 
 in the world to put a letter into the fire, as 
 Ceciha's mother has discovered, and Cecilia 
 never knew that he had written. Such letters 
 as they were too! Mrs. Prendergast must 
 have had a heart of iron to have burnt them. 
 They breathed all the love, the fire, the 
 devotion that unhappily he had not given 
 voice to before leaving. But he had been so 
 happy with his pretty love — and there seemed 
 to be so much time, and he was so sure that 
 she knew — understood — and he was so young 
 himself, that he had kept silence until alas ! 
 the words " too late " were written. 
 
 He had certainly endured more than Cecilia. 
 She had felt a little benumbed at first, but 
 though her mother had shown him up in the 
 coldest light, never angered. Only the numb- 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 71 
 
 ness had grown and increased, until at last 
 she found herself married to Peter Gaveston 
 — and later, the mother of his child — and 
 always the sole aim and centre of his exist- 
 ence. 
 
 As for Gaveston he had heard from CeciHa's 
 mother (she was a careful woman) of what 
 she called " Cissj^'s childish flirtation with 
 •Phil Stairs." So the mother had represented 
 the poor girl's growing passion for her child- 
 hood's friend. And, indeed, Phil had sailed 
 for India before she spoke to Gaveston of it 
 at all, and then it was in the airiest fashion, 
 laughing all the time. 
 
 It was quite a little family joke, she said. 
 She treated it as a joke with Cecilia too, and 
 hinted at Phil's marriage with his colonel's 
 daughter in India. She laughed a great deal 
 at this time, she seemed to Cecilia to be always 
 laughing, and in the end ; when no letters 
 came, the girl began to believe in the colonel's 
 daughter, or at all events in somebody's 
 daughter. 
 
 Phil was gone anyway, and he had not 
 written, and he had said nothing before going. 
 
72 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 Perhaps there was nothing to be said . . . 
 she had been mistaken, that was all — such a 
 foolish mistake! And Mr. Gaveston was 
 very kind — so kind — and Mama wished it 
 . . . . and — it was thus that the matter 
 was arranged. 
 
 Not a soul had hinted a word about it 
 to Peter Gaveston. Indeed, as I have ex- 
 plained, there was very little to be hinted. 
 It had been so slight ! Just the two young 
 people together at tennis parties, and dances, 
 and so inseparable. Nothing more than that. 
 Yet certainly everyone had thought that 
 " something would come of it." That was 
 how they put it, as though the word marriage 
 was improper so early in the day. Another 
 thing! everyone would have been slow to 
 speak to Gaveston about a matter that so 
 closely concerned him, for though a kindly 
 gentleman, and most tender-hearted, still 
 there was something about him that warned 
 people not to come too near. He was indeed 
 difficult of approach — a shy man, but a proud 
 — at heart. 
 
 And of course as years went on, most 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 73 
 
 people forgot all about that old tale. It sank 
 to the level of a lie. It was indeed hardly 
 remembered until now — now, when the return 
 of Philip Stairs brought it all back again — to 
 a few. Mrs. Cutforth-Boss was at the head of 
 these few ! 
 
 " What ? You've met Sir Stephen already 1 " 
 Mrs. Gaveston grows interested — she leans 
 forward, her eyes sparkling. " How cle-oev of 
 you. I always dread the fir si step in the 
 minuet, don't you ? Well — isn't he charming ? 
 Quite too charming ? What did you think of 
 him, eh?" 
 
 She speaks quickly — vivaciously — every 
 gesture is wonderfully young. 
 
 "He's not so bad as he might be, if it 
 comes to that," says Miss Prendergast, with a 
 little contemptuous sniff. " He didn't swallow 
 me up qidie ! But he thinks a lot of himself 
 in my opinion ; and I hate people who smile 
 in the wrong place." 
 
 " In the wrong place ? " puzzled. " The 
 wrong side of his mouth do you mean ? " 
 she laughs. 
 
 "Oh, no!" with an emphatic shake of 
 
74 PETEE'S WIFE. 
 
 her small head. " Not yet ! " this sounds 
 ominous. 
 
 " Good Heavens ! My dearest Nell. How 
 tragic ! What has happened between you and 
 your respected guardian? When did the 
 poor man smile ? " 
 
 " When he found I had been entertaining 
 him for half an hour without my shoes and 
 stockings." 
 
 Mrs. Gaveston leans back in her cushions 
 and gives way to a dainty little shout of 
 laughter. 
 
 " Ah ! you darling girl ! I knew you would 
 be a comfort — a boon and a blessing to me, 
 like the Waverley pens. Go on ! Tell me all 
 about it . . . without," chuckling sweetly 
 again, "your shoes and stockings! How 
 compromising ! Oh ! you'll have to marry 
 him. You will indeed." 
 
 " Marry him ! I like that ! " says Nell 
 indignantly. "Disagreeable beast!" 
 
 " Don't swear ! Come, tell me all about 
 it." 
 
 Nell murmurs something about being down 
 on the beach with Geoffrey, catching crabs 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 75 
 
 in rocky pools, arid of the sudden advent of 
 the stranger, and her sudden little flop upon 
 the ground, her inability to get up again, and 
 The Discovery in very big letters, and so on. 
 
 " He either knew all the time," finishes 
 Nell angrily, who has quite warmed to the 
 work of relation, " which would make him 
 out a cad " 
 
 "He isn't that certainly," interrupts her 
 sister. 
 
 " Or else he didn't know, which means that 
 he is an advanced idiot." 
 
 " And certainly he isn't that — though any- 
 one with a sister like Mrs. Cutforth-Boss — (you 
 have yet to meet her) — might reasonably be 
 forgiven for being one. No. I assure you, 
 NeUie, Sir Stephen is one of the most delight- 
 ful people round us. I agree even with 
 Peter about that." She makes this allusion 
 to her husband in the airiest way. Not at all 
 unkindly, but so very indifferently. "Sir 
 Stephen is quite a favourite with us both." 
 
 " Twice blessed ! " 
 
 " Now, really you must try to like him. It 
 will be to your good, you know. He will 
 
76 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 have so much to do with your affairs. The 
 managing of your allowance, and I'm afraid 
 he's very conscientious, so you will have to be 
 very pretty to him. But he's delightful — the 
 dearest manners ; and always so nice to me ! " 
 
 "Oh! if that's all. Who wouldn't be 
 that ? " 
 
 "Wouldn't be what?" 
 
 They both turn and look towards the door 
 and with very ready smiles of welcome too. 
 
 The master of the house has just come in. 
 
 ••KEJoe|vS^»« 
 
CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 " This life — one was thinking to-day, 
 
 In the midst of a medley of fancies — 
 'Tis a game, and the board where we play 
 
 Green earth with her poppies and pansies. 
 Let manque be faded romances, 
 
 Bepas^e remorse and regret ; 
 Hearts dance with the wheel as it dances — 
 
 The wheel of Dame Fortune's roulette." 
 
 " Cecilia has just told me, as a matter of 
 surprise," says Nell, " that Sir Stephen 
 Wortley is always very nice to her." 
 
 "Nice to Cecilia?" Mr. Gaveston smiles 
 slowly — he is a very slow man about most 
 things — and looks at his wife. 
 
 " Why not ? " says he. 
 
 " Just what 1 say," cries Nell, whose real 
 name is Penelope. " When one is a beauty, 
 one " 
 
 " Nonsense ! " interrupts Cecilia, with an 
 affectation of anger, but blushing delightfully 
 for all that. It is not often one worries a 
 
78 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 compliment out of one's sister. " I won't hear 
 of that. That's folly ! A beauty indeed ! " 
 
 " How is it, Peter ? " demands Nell, ad- 
 dressing her brother-in-law with an air that 
 mic^ht almost be called a betting one. 
 
 " I think we'll let it stand at that," says Mr. 
 Gaveston with a grave smile directed at his 
 wife. 
 
 " Oh ! you're both in a conspiracy ! And 
 as for you, Peter," she looks at him, and 
 makes a charming little grimace, " you're a 
 fool." 
 
 " To think you a beauty ? " Peter Gaves- 
 ton's usually quiet air here lifts a little. 
 There is positive adoration in the look he 
 gives her. 
 
 " Pouf ! We won't go into it," says she. 
 " What we were really talking about was Sir 
 Stephen Wortley." 
 
 '- Yes, Sir Stephen," says Nell. " A bore I 
 call him, but Cecilia says otherwise. She says 
 he is always what he ought to be, and very 
 
 nice — to her I In my opinion " Here she 
 
 catches Gaveston by his coat, and draws him 
 to her. "Come close to me, that I may 
 
PETER'S -WIFE. 79 
 
 whisper to you. It is my belief that your 
 Cissy is — 2i—hig flirt ! " 
 
 At this they all laugh immoderately, as 
 though it were the finest joke in the world, 
 as indeed it is — if one could not see the end of 
 it! 
 
 " Isn't she funny ? " says Cecilia, laughing 
 gaily. " How lovely it is to have her with 
 me at last, now that that dreadful old woman 
 is dead." She puts out one of her delicately 
 white and jewelled hands, and catching Nell's 
 skirts drags her down on to a milking-stool 
 beside her. " I alwavs knew I wanted a 
 companion." 
 
 Gaveston here lifts his head, and lets his 
 eyes rest upon his beautiful wife. Any 
 emotion in the world might be expected of 
 a husband under this remark — which, it must 
 be thoroughly understood, was unmeant. There 
 might be disappointment, resentment, anger 
 or some other even stronger feeling ; but 
 there was nothing of this in Peter Gaveston's 
 gaze. Six years had taught him a good deal. 
 There was only the pleasantest reproach in 
 his gaze, and that really meant nothing. 
 
80 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 He had had from the beginning a certain 
 amount of friendliness and sweetness from 
 her. He was grateful for so much in the 
 beginning, and she had been so altogether 
 a reflex of that beginning until now, that he 
 had fallen into a fool's paradise, and believed 
 that all she had to give was his — and so he 
 lived content. 
 
 " Don't I come in anywhere ? " asks he, 
 but with the happily reproachful air of a 
 man who believes in no misfortune so far as 
 the love of he and his wife are concerned. 
 
 " Oh ! you ! " says Cecilia. " You are 
 always there, of course." She gives him 
 the sweetest little glance. " But consider, 
 Peter ! You hunt all the Winter, and you 
 farm all the Spring, and you worry your 
 poor tenants all the Summer, and you begin 
 your hunting again in the Autumn ; and 
 after all where do / come in ? What do / 
 do?" 
 
 There is a jest only in her tone. But the 
 jest seems to at once hurt and delight him. 
 He turns to her quickly. Has she missed 
 him now and then ? 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 81 
 
 "Have you been lonely, then? Have I 
 failed so far ? " 
 
 " Oh, you ! " Mrs. Gaveston leans back in 
 her lounging chair, and holds out a charming 
 hand to him. She has crossed one knee over 
 the other, and the exquisite lace frillings of 
 her petticoat come into view. " You are an 
 angel ! " 
 
 At this they all laugh again. 
 
 " A substantial one ! " says Nell, and, 
 indeed, Gaveston is a man of grand pro- 
 portions. Cecilia is holding out her hand 
 to him. Such a little hand! He takes it, 
 and bending over it, presses a most honestly 
 fond kiss upon it. 
 
 She seems like a mere child next to him. 
 Gaveston is six feet one, if an inch, and a 
 well-set-up man besides. He has a noble 
 chest, broad and strong, and a head most 
 handsomely set upon his shoulders. He is 
 certainly not a "beauty man," so far as 
 features are concerned, but there is more 
 beauty in the open glance of his kindly eye, 
 and in the dehcate strength of his well-bred 
 mouth, than most so-called handsome men 
 VOL. I. 6 
 
82 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 could lay claim to. He looks quite his forty 
 year?, but not a day more, and a man of 
 forty is still on the right side of life. There 
 is, however, something a little incongruous 
 in his large, massive, thoughtful style and 
 the dainty, vague, childish loveliness of the 
 wife he has chosen. 
 
 They are still laughing, when the door is 
 pushed open, evidently by a foot, and the 
 child enters, his hands and arms full of shells, 
 which he deposits, without a second's notice, 
 upon his mother's silken lap. 
 
 " Oh ! Geoff! " cries Nell, rushing to the 
 rescue. The soft, priceless, little lace flounces 
 seem sinking beneath their burden. 
 
 " I say, Geoffrey, you might think of your 
 mammy," says his father, in tones of remon- 
 strance. 
 
 Nell glances hastily at her sister, who is 
 half a stranger to her as yet, expecting a 
 dainty expression of anger, of horror. 
 
 Not at all ! Mrs. Gaveston puts up her 
 pretty hands, and drags her boy's head down 
 to her own, and kisses him proudly. 
 
 " Why, that is just what he has been 
 
PETEK'S WIFE. S3 
 
 doing," cries she gaily. "Thinking of his 
 mammy. See all these lovely shells he has 
 brought me. And all so clean too." 
 
 She looks at the child with question in her 
 eyes. 
 
 "I washed 'em," says Geoffrey smiling, 
 laying his small hands upon her shoulders, 
 and shaking her slender figure to and fro 
 whilst she smiles back at him. " They were 
 sandy all over, but I scrubbed them all out, 
 and polished them with a bit of flannel that 
 Mary gave me." 
 
 " There ! " says Mrs. Gaveston trium- 
 phantly. She is looking at the child, and 
 now her lips widen into a laugh. She la3^s 
 her own bejewelled fingers upon the boy's 
 shoulders in turn, and together they rock 
 to and fro, until at last, with gazing in each 
 other's eyes, they both burst out laughing. 
 It is the prettiest sight. The child laughing 
 into his mother's eyes, and the mother, who 
 looks herself a child, laughing back at him. 
 " Isn't he sweet ? " cries she suddenly to Nell, 
 looking over the boy's shoulder. " Isn't he a 
 precious thing ? Fancy his washing them, 
 
 6* 
 
84 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 and polishing tliem before he brought them 
 to me. Oh ! Geoffrey ! " giving him a 
 vigorous httle push, "you're a small snake. 
 You are gliding, and gliding, and gliding 
 into my heart, coil by coil, until at last 
 there will be only room for you." 
 
 "Bad law for the rest of us," says Gaveston, 
 catching his little son, and flinging him up to 
 his shoulder. 
 
 "He's the image of me, Nell, isn't he?" 
 asks Mrs. Gaveston lazily. 
 
 " Yes ; but he's got his father's eyes." 
 
 " Do you think so ? Oh, no. Surely not, 
 Peter ? " 
 
 Mr. Gaveston, who is playing with the boy, 
 answers leisurel}^: 
 
 " Your eyes, we'll hope. You are a beauty, 
 Geoff Eh?" 
 
 " Yes, he's like me," says the pretty woman 
 conclusively. 
 
 " I want to be like pappy," says the boy 
 suddenly. " I want to be a man. I will not 
 be a woman." 
 
 "Well, you shan't," says his father con- 
 solingly. 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 85 
 
 " But what have 1 done to you ? " asks his 
 mother, with exaggerated reproach. 
 
 "Nothing! Only I want to have a red 
 coat, and a hunting horse Hke pappy." 
 
 " Oh, if that's all," says Cecilia laughing. 
 
 " 'Tisn't much of an ambition," says 
 Gaveston. 
 
 " To be like you ? Oh, I think it is," says 
 his wife charmingly. "Geoffrey," quickly, 
 "what are you doing? Trying to garotte 
 your father ? " 
 
 Indeed, it looks like it. The boy has 
 now got fairly on to his father's back, and 
 has both his sturdy young legs crossed round 
 his throat. His arms follow his legs and the 
 little lips are pressed to Gaveston's ears. 
 
 " What is it now ? Want me to be a 
 hunting horse ? Well, here goes ? " 
 
 Gaveston walks to the door and from 
 thence throws back a glance at the two 
 women. 
 
 " If I don't turn up again you will know 
 what has happened to me," says he with a 
 sort of slow humour. 
 
 Mrs. Gaveston flings herself back in her 
 
86 PETEE'S WIFE. 
 
 chair with a sharp sigh. Nell uncomfortably 
 asks herself — Is it of relief ? 
 
 " I always hate people to say queer things 
 like that," says she. " I'm shamefully super- 
 stitious, I know that. But really, to say 
 even in jest, that one might never turn up 
 again " 
 
 "Don't be in the least uneasy — at all 
 events on this occasion," said Mrs. Gaveston, 
 with an idly amused air. '^ Peter is always 
 sure to turn up again, whoever else may 
 not." 
 
 Something in her air, her manner, induces 
 Nell to go a little farther into the matter. 
 
 " I do like Peter," says she, heartily. " I 
 always thought I shouldn't, you know. His 
 being so much older than you are " 
 
 " Oh, he's a dear. A perfect dear," says 
 Mrs. Gaveston enthusiastically ; " you know 
 I said he was an angel a while ago. And I 
 meant it, I did indeed. Of course one could 
 wish him a little — well — prettier,'' laughing, 
 " and with a little more hair on his blessed 
 head — but really beyond that there is nothing 
 to complain of." 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 87 
 
 This very negative praise makes Nell 
 wonder. Nell! who has gone down before 
 Peter's charm of manner and kindly courtesy, 
 and who has already the germs of a most 
 faithful affection for him in her somewhat 
 flighty breast. Why does Cissy talk of him 
 like that? Dear good old Peter. Do all 
 wives talk of their husbands so ? No — No — 
 of course not. And of course Cissy meant 
 nothing. It is only that she is a spoiled 
 child, too lovel}^ and too much beloved. 
 
 The lovely Cissy is looking at her now, 
 with an amused smile upon her lips. 
 
 "Well! What is it?" asks she, "your 
 mind is full of someone." 
 
 "Of you, then — if I must tell the paltry 
 truth. That gown, Cis. It is a triumph." 
 
 " So it ought to be," says Mrs. Gaveston 
 with a shrug. " Such a sum as she has 
 charged for it. Fancy a little thing like this," 
 lifting a bit of her skirt, " costing twenty-two 
 guineas ! " 
 
 Miss Prendergast examines her carefully 
 from head to heel. 
 
 " Eeally, I think it's cheap," says she. The 
 
88 PETEK'S WIFE. 
 
 family failing of extravagance has evidently 
 been inherited by her too. 
 
 " Oh, I daresay ! But Peter won't look at 
 it as you do. Lately he's been growing so 
 particular. And of course, when I ordered 
 this gown, I never thought it would come to 
 so much." 
 
 « Yes, and he " 
 
 " He. I haven't told him. He was a little 
 annoyed over my last bill. Not annoyed, you 
 know. He is always so kind, so good, but he 
 said he thought I was old enough to learn 
 the value of money. And really, I am." 
 She pauses and casts a half-dignified, half- 
 troubled glance at Nell. "I wish i wasn't,' 
 says she. " I wish I was only three years 
 old again : then no one could say a word to 
 me." 
 
 " Then you would not have the knowledge 
 to dress expensively," says Nell laughing. 
 "You couldn't have designed pictures like 
 that," pointing to the gown in question. " You 
 did design it ? " 
 
 "Well, partly. I saw a gown like it at 
 Lady Overton's one day, and I ideaHzed it, 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 8d 
 
 and here is the result. But honestly, Nell, 
 this gown disturbs me ; you see my allow- 
 ance " 
 
 " What is it ? " 
 
 " Two hundred a year. I really think he 
 might make it two hundred and fifty, don't 
 
 you?" 
 
 " Ask him/' 
 
 " I couldn't ! He has said so much about 
 my extravagance already. And really 
 perhaps I am bad in little ways like that. 
 Anyway, I can't ask him now. It is only 
 three months ago since he paid a bill for 
 me." 
 
 " A big one ? " 
 
 " Three hundred pounds. It really ought 
 to have been five^'' says Mrs. Gaveston, " but 
 — it is such a comfort to have some one to 
 talk to, Nell. I hadn't the courage to tell 
 him all. He is so grave and so big, and so 
 solemn ; isn't he now ? " 
 
 " Do you know I think I could tell him," 
 says Nell. 
 
 " Well, / couldn't. And you don't know 
 him. I think he would be very angry." 
 
90 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 " If you are only thinking that, after being 
 married to him for six years, there can't be 
 much in it. But don't worry yourself, Cissy. 
 You know I've got a lot of money. Heaps ! " 
 spreading out her hands, " and I'll give you 
 some of it." 
 
 " If," says Cecilia, laughing, " your guardian 
 lets you." 
 
 " Oh ! as for ihat^'' she makes a saucy 
 moue, " you'll see for yourself presently 
 about that. I'm not a child, to be made 
 go here and there." 
 
 Mrs. Gaveston's lips widen into a more 
 amused smile. 
 
 " You look like it, anyway," says she. 
 
 " Oh, well 1 " It is plain that Nell is a 
 little annoyed. " What is it you want then ? 
 Two hundred pounds ? " 
 
 " Nonsense. As if I wanted you to pay my 
 bills. Tut, you silly thing. There ! go and 
 play with Geoffrey, that's your proper rdle. 
 He's in the garden with Peter. After 
 all," springing to her feet, " I think I'll go 
 with you." 
 
 " In that gown ? " 
 
PETEK'S WIFE. 91 
 
 Mrs. Gaveston pauses for a moment, but 
 she has got out of the habit of being 
 checked. 
 
 " I can throw the tail over my arm," says 
 she Hghtly. " And even if I do do it an injury, 
 why, I don't care ! I hate it. It's too ex- 
 pensive! I feel sure I've been swindled by 
 that woman ; and after all I can always order 
 another." 
 
 She runs out of the room and down the 
 stairs, far more lightly than Nell. 
 
 ,^.s^^^ 
 
CHAPTEE YIII. 
 
 " Men who have but little business, are generally great 
 talkers." 
 
 " She ought to be ashamed of herself," says 
 Mrs. Cutforth-Boss in her deepest tones. 
 
 " Who is it now ? " asks her brother. 
 
 There is a smile — if a rather bored one, 
 upon Sir Stephen's face. 
 
 " Bella Chance ! without a farthing in the 
 world, she is evidently bent upon making a 
 show." Mrs. Cutforth-Boss would have been 
 indignant if anyone had told her she ever 
 dropped into the lighter modes of expression 
 of the present day, which she calls " slang," 
 but sometimes unconsciously she uses them. 
 " So ridiculous of her. Look at her gown. 
 Ten guineas, if a penny." 
 
 " She is such a young woman, and so very 
 charming," says Mrs. McGregor in her soft 
 voice. She is herself an elderly woman and 
 decidedly plain. But some plain and elderly 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 93 
 
 women are very deliglitful to look at, and 
 Mrs. McGregor is one of them. She is looking 
 a little tired now, having been moving about 
 amongst her guests for the past hour, and 
 has thankfully accepted the seat next to Mrs. 
 Cutforth-Boss that Sir Stephen has kindly 
 pushed forward. A woman of an entirely 
 sweet nature herself, she has been able to 
 see beneath the crust of Mrs. Cutforth-Boss's 
 and to acknowledge the crude worth that lies 
 beneath. 
 
 " And uncommonly pretty," says Sir 
 Stephen. 
 
 His sister casts a sharp glance at him. 
 
 Below, the gardens are sparkling in the 
 sunlight. It is hardly yet the " time of the 
 roses," as June is waiting for poor old May to 
 die, but other flowers are flaunting their 
 delicacies here and there and everywhere. 
 To their left the tennis courts are making a 
 gay racket, and beyond them again the rapt 
 golfers are playing most anxiously and ex- 
 citedly, although the links are tiny, and the 
 whole thing a mere drawing-room game. 
 
 The McGregors are " at home " to-day. 
 
94 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 Scotcli people, who had taken a very beautiful 
 place in this small neighbourhood ten years 
 ago — Heaven alone knows why — and who are 
 just now being acknowledged as residents. 
 For those ten years they have been regarded 
 as outsiders and strangers, although they are 
 of good family, and better off than anyone 
 around them ; still they have not been horn 
 into the purple of Bigley-on-Sea, and the 
 careful controllers of that small place are shy 
 of strangers. Ten years, however, proves 
 many things, and lately it has been acknow- 
 ledged with caution that the McGregors are 
 quite all they ought to be, and quite worthy 
 of being admitted into the bosom of the 
 Bigley- on - Seas. They had been kindly 
 received, certainly, in the beginning — they 
 were immensely rich — but received as out- 
 siders. Now^ within the last year, they are 
 being admitted to the inner circle, the very 
 heart of this little aristocratic place. 
 
 Mrs. McGregor has been described, if one 
 could describe her. That is, all the goodness 
 of her. And Mr. McGregor, a burly Scotch- 
 man, need hardly be described. One daughter 
 
PETER'S WIFE. . 95 
 
 born to this house requires only a line or two, 
 though she is an heiress and that on a very 
 big scale too. A tall girl, ugly, with good 
 manners, splendid freckles — as freckles count 
 — the reddest hair in Europe, and a snub nose 
 it would be hard to beat. 
 
 " She may be pretty," says Mrs. Cutforth- 
 Boss. " I am not a judge of those things. 
 To be good is to be beautiful in my eyes, and 
 there are other people called pretty — Bella, 
 
 for example ; as to her " She kindly 
 
 refrains from further explanation. " I shall 
 speak to her, I really shall. She wants some- 
 one to give her some sound and honest advice, 
 and I, as a cousin of hers, am the fit and 
 proper person." 
 
 " Poor Bella ! " says Stephen. 
 
 " For once I agree with you, Stephen," says 
 his sister, who, as has already been said, is 
 totally devoid of the Divine gift of tact. 
 " She is much to be pitied ; a mere inconsequent 
 creature with no ballast ! " 
 
 "You can supply it," says Sir Stephen 
 pleasantly. 
 
 "Well, I hope so — I ihi7iJc so." She turns 
 
96 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 to Mrs. McGregor. "What a tremendous 
 crowd you have here to-day." 
 
 " Yes, yes," says her gentle hostess, colour- 
 ing a little. There is no doubt but that some 
 of the off-skirts of society are here to-da^-. 
 Good people, and kindly, but hardly — hardly 
 county folk. " Of course there are a few — 
 who — but — it makes them so happy," says 
 Mrs. McGregor nervously. " And it is well 
 to do that. And — we are all brothers and 
 sisters, you know." 
 
 " Ton my word, when you come to think 
 of it, it is just so," says Mrs. CutforthBoss. 
 " But then, when you were about it, why didn't 
 you ask your butcher and baker ? — they're your 
 brothers too," says. 
 
 Sir Stephen turns a dark red at this fright- 
 ful rudeness, and makes a slight attempt to 
 speak, but checks himself. If Maria has been 
 born so entirely without decency, how is any- 
 one to supply it ? — certainly not he. A 
 quick memory of his mother comes back to 
 him — fair, gentle, tall ; and of his father — a 
 bluff old squire, but incapable of a hetise of 
 this sort. 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 97 
 
 Meantime, Mrs. McGregor has risen. 
 
 " We'll discuss it later," says she, with un- 
 diminished sweetness. Some late guest has 
 just arrived, to her everlasting delight. Her 
 principles have always been a difficulty to the 
 gentle woman, and Mrs. Cutforth-Boss has 
 just given her a nasty fillip. If she has asked 
 So- and so because he is a brother and a 
 Christian, then why not ask her bootmaker, 
 who is, beyond doubt, the most Christian man 
 in the neighbourhood ? 
 
 Poor Mrs. McGregor goes forward to greet 
 her guests with a heart most ill at ease. 
 
 " I wonder if it ever occurs to you, Maria, 
 how abominable a thing it is to hurt the 
 feelings of anyone," says Sir Stephen angrily, 
 when his hostess is well out of hearing. " I 
 believe you pride yourself upon being strong- 
 minded ; but if having a strong mind means 
 being capable of making one of the gentlest 
 women you know extremely uncomfortable, I 
 think it would be a merciful thing to be born 
 without one." 
 
 Mrs, Cutforth Boss looks at him with calm 
 astonishment. 
 
 VOL. I. 7 
 
98 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 " I suppose you are alluding to what I said 
 to her just now ? " 
 
 " Certainly I am. To tell a woman to her 
 face that her guests are beneath notice is, to 
 say the least of it " 
 
 " Stephen," interrupts his sister solemnly, 
 *' it has always been a grief to me that you 
 w^on't go into things! Now, what Mrs. 
 McGregor wants is solid advice. She is a 
 good woman — that I admit — but a most mis- 
 taken one. She — it is a frightful thing to say 
 — but, in my opinion, she is fast developing 
 into a Socialist. She would have all men on 
 an equality — you heard her yourself." 
 
 " Indeed, I heard nothing of the kind ! " 
 
 " I daresay. I have often thought you a 
 little wanting in intelligence ! " says Mrs. 
 Cutforth-Boss warningly. There is not a note 
 of malice in this speech, she is as a fact 
 very fond of her brother. " You should 
 cultivate observation ! I feel I must speak to 
 you about that some day, Stephen. Eeally 
 the people that poor woman has gathered 
 here to-day ! You know I am not bigotted 
 about the masses, but one must draw a line 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 99 
 
 occasionally. Now those Biggses ! — who are 
 they?" 
 
 " Very respectable people I " 
 
 "Entirely so. And as I pointed out to 
 Mrs. McGregor, so are her butcher and 
 baker ; really the baker is about the best man 
 we have at our penny readings — so well-read 
 for a man of his station — twice as well-read 
 as those Biggses ! " 
 
 " Still, there's a difference between a baker 
 and a — gentleman farmer." 
 
 "'Gentleman farmer' includes so much. 
 By-the-bye, are you going to ask Biggs to the 
 Towers next Friday ? " 
 
 " No," says Sir Stephen, and then feels him- 
 self the biggest snob on earth. Mrs. 
 Cutforth-Boss laughs ; she has scored here. 
 
 " After all, I was wrong, you have some 
 intelligence ! " says she. 
 
 The grounds are now growing quite full. 
 Lady Hopkins has come — always, in spite of 
 the brewery, a little celebrity ; and she has 
 brought in her train several young people. 
 She is fond of young people, and they are 
 fond of her. 
 
 7* 
 
100 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 The Gavestons have just come too, and 
 Mrs. McGregor hurries forward to meet them. 
 
 Cecilia has brought her husband and Nell, 
 and a young man who is often a visitor at 
 Gaveston Park, with her. He turns up, 
 indeed, so frequently at the Park, that he is 
 already quite an old friend of everybody at 
 Bigley-on-Sea. 
 
 He is an Irishman, and his name is Michael 
 McNamara, and one minute's conversation 
 with him would tell the most simple-minded 
 that he hailed from the county Cork. 
 
 His brogue is the most mellifluous thing 
 on record, and there have been rude people 
 who have said you could hang your hat on it ; 
 but he is a beautiful Irish boy for all that, 
 and very full of the best sweetness and light. 
 
 His age no man knoweth, but he looks about 
 twenty-five ; his manners occasionally^ however, 
 would bring him down to the five without the 
 twenty ! In fact he is sometimes — it is sad to 
 relate it — a little trying to his friends. 
 
 Por all that, his friends at Gaveston Park 
 like him more than ordinary, and Nell, who 
 is only a week-old acquaintance of his, con- 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 101 
 
 siders herself now, on this, the seventh day of 
 it, quite a settled chum. 
 
 Cecilia has dropped languidly into a chair, 
 and Mrs. Chance, who is looking very pretty 
 in her new black frock, that is of a most 
 tenderly if fashionably sad kind, has seated 
 herseK beside her. Why^ it would be hard to 
 imagine, as Mrs. Gaveston is at times a little 
 difficult to get on with, unless it is because 
 Nell is standing close to her sister, and Sir 
 Stephen close to Nell. 
 
 Mrs. Chance from time to time during her 
 animated conversation with Cecilia — which is 
 altogether on one side, as the capricious 
 Cecilia has decided she does not like her — 
 glances towards Nell and Sir Stephen. 
 
 Nell is in her prettiest mood. She is 
 evidently w^hat Mrs. Chance calls (who is 
 certainly very vulgar inwardly) " plaguing 
 Sir Stephen.'' Where is Alec ? Mrs. Chance 
 looks hurriedly round for her brother. He 
 had seemed so distinctly epris with this inter- 
 fering girl only yesterday, at Lady Hopkins'. 
 Ah ! there he is ! And, evidently, looking 
 for someone. She leans lightly forward, and 
 
102 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 casually as it were, draws out her handkerchief. 
 The white spot on the green landscape catches 
 her brother's eyes ; he looks up to the terrace 
 above him and sees his sister. 
 
 She makes a slight gesture, smiling deli- 
 cately (a sister can always let a brother know 
 what she means when she wants to), and in a 
 moment he turns and come straight to where 
 Nell is sitting. He feels very grateful to 
 Bella. He had been looking helplessly for 
 Miss Prendergast for the past ten minutes. 
 
 The little group on the terrace has grown 
 quite large now. Miss Prendergast, from 
 beneath the shelter of a big white hat, is 
 looking, with the suggestion of an exquisitely 
 dawning friendship, now at Sir Stephen and 
 now at Alec Grant ; perhaps sometimes Grant 
 gets one glance in to the good. If he does, 
 however, it is not without the bestower of it 
 knowing all about it. 
 
 "Golf is going on over there," says Sir 
 Stephen presently, when a second glance has 
 been purposely given to Alec, without one to 
 him coming in between. 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 103 
 
 " You like it ? " questioningly. 
 
 " Ye-es, very much," with hesitation. 
 
 " There is tennis over here/' says Grant 
 quietly. 
 
 " Oh, I know ; but the courts are all full." 
 
 " No," eagerly, " one will soon be vacant ; 
 that's what I came to tell you. Will you 
 have a set with me ? " 
 
 " I should like it," says Nell slowly. Sir 
 Stephen walks away. Nell casts a swift look 
 after him, and laughs inwardly, after which she 
 settles down to a steady flirtation with Grant. 
 
 Bella Chance is carrying on still her desul- 
 tory conversation with Mrs. Gaveston, and in 
 the distance Mrs. Cutforth-Boss is giving 
 advice to a young woman who is beginning 
 to look faint. 
 
 "Who's that?" asks Mr. McNamara, re- 
 garding (the former anxiously. She had been 
 holding a meeting in the North on " The 
 power of well-directed advice," when last he 
 was at Bigley-on-Sea. 
 
 "That's Mrs. Cutforth-Boss," says Nell, 
 bending towards him with an admonishing air. 
 
 " Boss ? American ? " 
 
104 PETEK'S WIFE. 
 
 They all laugh. 
 
 " My dear fellow," says Grant, who, though 
 he is her cousin, or because of it, detests her 
 cordially. " Look at her clothes ! " 
 
 " Well, she ought to be, with a frightful 
 name like that." 
 
 " It isn't her name, however, it's her hus- 
 band's," says Bella Chance. " Her own was 
 quite a nice one — Wortley." Mrs. Chance 
 seems to linger over the nice name, lovingly. 
 
 " I bet her husband thinks it a pity 
 she didn't stick to it," says Mr. McNamara, . 
 buoyantly. 
 
 " Oh, no ; he is quite a friend of hers," says 
 Nell. " Isn't he, Mrs. Chance ? You know," 
 mischievously, " Mrs. Chance is her cousin." 
 
 "Oh — er — / say ! " mumbles Mickey 
 wretchedly, going under. To his intimates — 
 and they are nearly everyone — Mr. McNamara 
 is always Mickey. He grows very red and 
 casts a thunder and lightning glance at Nell, 
 who receives it nobly. She might have given 
 him a wink, anyway ! However, to tell the 
 truth of Mickey, he is full of pluck, and pre- 
 sently he comes to the surface smiling. 
 
PETEK'S WIFE. 105 
 
 " Never would have thought it," says he, 
 beaming tenderly on Mrs. Chance. " Cousins, 
 as a rule, are as alike as peas, but in this 
 instance, I'm bound to say you're all the peas 
 and she's all the pods !" 
 
 This elegant compliment is received most 
 graciously by Bella. 
 
 " You needn't apologise," says she, with a 
 faint grimace. " I'm not a bit angry." She 
 has said hardly anything, but to Micke}^ it 
 becomes perfectly clear that she could see her 
 cousin, Maria Boss, toasting before a slow fire, 
 without so much as a protest. 
 
 " You're so good ! " says Mr. McNamara 
 sweetly. " Well, I won't, then ; but I confess 
 I'm curious about your cousin. What does 
 she do, eh?" 
 
 "Do?" 
 
 " Yes. She's bound to live up to a name 
 like that anyway." 
 
 " Oh, she does — she does," says Mrs. 
 Gaveston, breaking in with a faint shrug of 
 her pretty shoulders, " she ' bosses ' this 
 village all through ! " 
 
 There is a slight pause. 
 
CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 " Love is strong as death. Many waters cannot quench 
 love, neither can the floods drown it." 
 
 McNamara is laughing. 
 
 Mrs. Chance lets her perpetual smile fall 
 into her lap this time. She is thinking, 
 treasuring up little words here and there. 
 There is no knowing how soon or how late 
 they may be useful. This girl, Nell Prender- 
 gast, is in her way, and must be put out of it, 
 and all that belongs to Nell Trendergast 
 must be put out of it too. It will be 
 amusing later on to tell Maria Boss what this 
 disdainful pretty Mrs. Gaveston has said about 
 her. 
 
 " I think I never saw so many girls to- 
 gether as to-day," says Mrs. Gaveston at this 
 moment, looking over the railings of the top 
 terrace to the grounds below. " They seem 
 to have come in their thousands." 
 
 " Bound to," says Mickey, sticking his glass 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 107 
 
 into his good eye by mistake — as a matter of 
 fact, one eye is as good as the other, and both 
 are remarkably hvely, but he Hkes to think 
 he is in danger of losing the left one. 
 " There's a new man come to the place. In 
 fact he's here. A guest of the McGregors ; 
 and a tremendous catch, I hear. No end of 
 ha'pence ! " 
 
 " What a wild romance," says Mrs. Chance, 
 who, however, beneath the lightness of her 
 air seems interested. " And the hero of it ? " 
 
 " Best fellow in the world. I met him in 
 Donegal some years ago. He was staying 
 there with some of us " — evidently Mr. 
 McNamara's family is large and united. " He 
 has been in India for a bit, but is home 
 now on sick leave. I only heard of his 
 coming an hour ago, or I'd have gone in 
 search of him." 
 
 "But how a catch?" asks Mrs. Chance, 
 with the lightest, the most casual air in the 
 world. Alec had said nothing about money ! 
 
 "Well, it seems his uncle died the other 
 day, and left him the only original half- 
 million." 
 
108 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 " Lucky man ! " 
 
 " To gain half a million ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, I was thinking of the uncle. To 
 die ! " 
 
 " Cissie ! what a queer thing to say," says 
 Nell, with a little frown. She looks dis- 
 tressed. Her brilliant sister looks back at 
 her and laughs gaily. 
 
 " To die with half a million to leave ! 
 See what joy his death must have given to 
 many — to one at all events, if we can credit 
 Mickey's tale." 
 
 "Oh, you can," says Mickey, dejectedly. 
 " Lucky you may call him, anyway. Most of 
 us have got uncles, but they seldom run to 
 half a million, and when they do, they don't 
 leave it to us. They know better, they say. 
 They might as well be fathers for all we get 
 out of 'em." 
 
 " But really, Mickey " 
 
 " Oh, / know. I'm an authority," says 
 Mickey, with open disgust. " Think / don't 
 know about uncles. The rich ones — who 
 give — I confess I don't know about them ; 
 they belong to the few, but as to the others, 
 
PETER'S WIFE. . 1Q9 
 
 Fm all there. I know them well to my sorrow. 
 Most of my uncles are borrowers ! " Mickey 
 shakes his head sadly. Evidently his rela- 
 tions have led him a Hfe or two. 
 
 •' And the rest of them lenders," says Alec 
 Grant, with an ill- suppressed grin. 
 
 " Oh, hang it ! That's a beastly old joke," 
 says Mickey. He catches the third and last 
 leg of the stool on which Grant is sitting, and 
 brings him lightly to the ground. 
 
 " I say, look here, this is very low treat- 
 ment," says Grant, laughing. 
 
 " I wish it could have brought you lower." 
 
 " Well, isn't it true ? You've more uncles 
 among the lenders than the bor " 
 
 " He's not well," says Mickey, interrupting 
 him just in time, and with an air full of 
 anxiety. " High-overs don't agree with him ! " 
 
 "They do," says Grant, who has fallen 
 right at Nell's feet, and now shows no 
 disposition to get up again. 
 
 " I was telling you, I think, Mrs. Gaveston," 
 says Mickey, " about the vara avis that has 
 flown into our midst. Such a beautiful bird ! 
 He is," glancing cautiously from right to left, 
 
110 PETEK'S WIFE. 
 
 " staying here, so we must be careful what we 
 say." 
 
 "Why? Is he deformed?" asks Mrs. 
 Gaveston, in her pretty tired way. 
 
 "Tut!" says Mickey. "One of the 
 handsomest men in England, I hear — beats 
 the record for this year. They say he is 
 engaged to the divine Elspeth." 
 
 " Beauty and the beast then," says Mrs. 
 Chance. 
 
 " Oh ! poor beast ! " 
 
 " By Jove ! " says McNamara at this minute, 
 " here he comes ! " 
 
 Nell has not heard this whisper, and Grant, 
 who is now falling into a deeply interesting 
 discussion with her, does not hear it either. 
 Cecilia, however, does. And turns a languid 
 glance in the supposed direction of the 
 coming of the conquering hero. So slowly 
 does she turn, however, that before her eyes 
 reach the desired point, they find themselves 
 arrested, and returning a very curious glance 
 from Mrs. Cutforth-Boss, who is sitting about 
 three yards away. 
 
 The glance is so curious — so — expectant, as 
 
PETER'S WIFE. Ill 
 
 it were — though what is there to expect ? — 
 that it arrests Cecilia's attention. She is still 
 wondering about it, when a voice near her 
 says : 
 
 " He is an old friend of yours, isn't he ? " 
 Mrs. Chance is bending towards her, the 
 usual smile in her eyes is a little enlarged 
 now, and there are a few grains of vindic- 
 tiveness in it. She knows what is coming, 
 and knew all the time, for the matter of that, 
 whilst Mickey was idly chattering and her 
 brother laying siege to Nell, but to see the 
 denouement — to find this lovely, unfriendl}^ 
 woman a little at fault would be, she told 
 herself, a quick delight to her. Of course, it 
 
 might not come off — ^but if it did well, 
 
 it would be a shaft in her quiver for Sir 
 Stephen. A family like that ; the elder sister 
 
 so — so— unprincipled — and the girl . One 
 
 could see that she ran the same road — so im- 
 possible — so fast, in a little way, no doubt. 
 But little things always grew I 
 
 " He ? Who ? " asks Cecilia, in the pale sort 
 of way in which she always addressed Mrs. 
 Chance. If Mrs. Cutforth-Boss is objection- 
 
112 PETERS WIFE. 
 
 able to her, Mrs. Cutforth-Boss's cousin is a 
 thousand times more so. She looks indiffe- 
 rently at Bella, who is really looking her 
 best, and extraordinarily young in a new 
 black gown with a little — a very little crape 
 upon it. 
 
 Mrs. Chance is opening her lips to answer, 
 when suddenly Grant rises to his feet, and 
 calls aloud to some one. Some one who is 
 just here. 
 
 " Why, Stairs, old fellow, is that you ? I 
 say, Phil, I thought you weren't coming till 
 next week." 
 
 Mrs. Gaveston looks quickly round. She 
 makes a slight effort as if to rise, and then 
 desists. The effort is beyond her. Her colour 
 is all gone, but her eyes have gained in bril- 
 liancy ! They are staring — staring 
 
 " I didn't really mean to come till next 
 week," says some one. 
 
 Iler face grows rigid. She leans back in 
 her seat, a faint, unheard moan escapes her. 
 Oh, God ! that voice. That voice ! 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 " My bed and pillow are cold, 
 My heart is faint with dread. 
 The air hath an odour of mould, 
 I dream I lie with the dead, 
 I cannot move, 
 0, come to me, love. 
 Or else I am dead." 
 
 For a moment Cecilia knows nothing. It is 
 the barest moment, but to her it seems like 
 a century. And what it holds ! 
 
 All her youth, her sweetness, her delight, 
 her dreams of loving and being loved. Had 
 she ever known till now — now, after the 
 passing of so many dead, dead years — that 
 she had ever lived ? Ah ! then — then she 
 had lived. But did she know it then ? 
 
 Coming back to herself, she is conscious of 
 
 a strange cold chill. Her hands are like ice, 
 
 and her lips are frozen. She feels frozen, 
 
 body and soul. 
 
 ^ ♦ « ♦ 4t 
 
 Then it is all over. It had been a sicken- 
 VOL. I. 8 
 
114 PETEE'S WIFE. 
 
 ing moment, but it is over for ever ! and she 
 wakes to find herself in her chair with Mrs. 
 Chance's searching blue eyes fixed full upon 
 her. 
 
 Everyone is looking in the direction of the 
 new-comer, so that very few have noticed the 
 shock she has sustained ; no one, indeed, 
 except Bella Chance and Mrs. Cutforth-Boss. 
 They had seen all. 
 
 That sudden briUiant hght in Mrs. Gaves- 
 ton's eyes, the sudden leaning forward, the 
 abortive attempt to rise, the slight uncon- 
 sciousness — all had been seen by those four 
 watchful eyes. Mrs. Cutforth-Boss, most 
 virtuous of women, had kept the frivolous 
 Cecilia in view all the time, whilst Cecilia 
 unfortunately had forgotten her existence. 
 
 But now Cecilia is wide awake, the shock 
 is all gone, it is drifting away, leaving her 
 behind it, high and dry. It had been so 
 stupid, that first thought — as if she and Phil 
 had ever been anything more than friends — 
 mere friends. She, an old married woman, 
 with a child ! 
 
 The thought of the child gives her a queer 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 115 
 
 feeling for a moment . . . but it goes 
 by — floating away with the rest. She laughs 
 to herself as it goes away from her — sailing — 
 saiHng so lightly. And rising to her feet she 
 goes forward. 
 
 Her eyes are fixed on the strange young 
 man — over there at the end of the terrace. 
 Her lips are parted — a happy smile now plays 
 upon them. Unthinking to the last, she 
 hardly knows why she smiles ; she never 
 dreams how her smile is interpreted. He 
 is her friend — her friend only. He is very 
 near her now ; but so far he has not seen her. 
 
 He is a tali, very dark and very handsome 
 man of about thirty, with a face well bronzed 
 by an Indian sun; and many people are 
 standing round him, talking to him and 
 giving him a cordial welcome home. 
 
 He has just turned away from a lively re- 
 ception from Mickey, when a soft sound 
 comes to him that makes his heart stand still. 
 
 " Phil," says a low and lovely voice. 
 
 He turns. . . To see — the one love of 
 his life ! the lost love of his life ! — before him. 
 
 Of course he knew he must meet her when 
 
 8* 
 
116 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 he accepted Mrs. McGregor's invitation to 
 Bigley, and he liad steeled himself against 
 this interview — had thought it all out, how 
 to meet her and so on — had indeed been 
 looking out for her all the afternoon; yet 
 now, face to face with her once more after 
 six long years, his self-possession almost fails 
 him. Almost, not quite. He so far forgets 
 himself, however, as to stare blankly at her 
 for a full second without seeing her out- 
 stretched palm. 
 
 "It's me," says Cecilia softly. It is the 
 sweetest, if the most ungrammatical little ex- 
 clamation — and young, almost childish. In- 
 deed, on poor Cecilia, the appearance of Stairs 
 has had so strange, so strong an influence, 
 that it has carried her back to the old days, 
 when she was hardly out of her short frocks, 
 or at all events, only just into her long ones. 
 
 Her colour has deepened. A soft light has 
 sprung into her eyes. 
 
 " Phil ! you remember me ? " Her smile 
 now is one of clear delight — open, frank. 
 The idea of concealment of any sort is outside 
 and beyond it altogether. She holds out both 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 117 
 
 her hands to him, with the palms upheld in 
 the happiest way. That first nervousness 
 has gone from her. It is as though it had 
 never been. Here is her childhood's — her 
 girlhood's friend. It would be absurd to say 
 she has forgotten to think of who may be 
 looking on as she holds out her hands to him, 
 or of what they may be thinking, or how 
 judging her. To her there is nothing to 
 think about, save joy at the recovery of Phil ; 
 there is no thought of evil in her mind, of 
 sin, or of regret. Everything seems blotted 
 out in her save he, and the memory of the 
 old sweet days, when he had been all the 
 world to her, and she his universe. 
 
 Stairs has quite recovered himself now, and 
 advances to her calmly, coldly, even though 
 his heart is on fire. The very quick, open 
 cordiality of her greeting has, more than all 
 else, assured him of her indifference to him. 
 She had never cared ! What a fool ! What 
 a fool he had been ! 
 
 He smiles pleasantly, takes both the little 
 outstretched hands so daintily clad in their 
 dove-grey suedes, and presses them lightly. 
 
118 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 " I remember," says he. 
 
 The words might have had significance, 
 but for the extreme carelessness of the 
 utterance. They sound unemotional — dead. 
 Cecilia's soft smile fades, and with slow haste, 
 if one may so describe it, she withdraws her 
 hands. Mrs. Chance, who has an unpleasant 
 trick of studying her neighbours* moods, 
 retires behind her fan, and gives way to 
 secret mirth. 
 
 " Sold," says she to herself softly. As has 
 been said, she is very vulgar when alone. 
 
 Stairs murmurs a word or two to Cecilia 
 (who answers him a little absently), then 
 moves, passes through the group upon the 
 terrace, and running down the grass steps, 
 goes apparently towards the golfers. 
 
 When hidden from the view of those upon 
 the terrace, however, he turns aside, and 
 plunging into the wood, is lost to sight for 
 the rest of this gay afternoon. 
 
 " How may a man in smart 
 Pind matter to rejoice ? " 
 
 ***** 
 
 " How extremely good-looking," says Mrs. 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 119 
 
 Chance, leaning towards Cecilia, and pur- 
 posely addressing her. 
 
 " Who ? Captain Stairs ? " asks Nell, break- 
 ing in quickly. Something about Cecilia 
 strikes her as strange, and, without under- 
 standing it, this new mood of her sister's has 
 disturbed her ; has given her a queer, unex- 
 plained feeling, that she ought to come 
 to her help in some way. And Mrs. Chance's 
 eyes are so penetrating, so very blue. *' Good- 
 looking ? " 
 
 " Handsome, rather." 
 
 " Oh, do you think so ? We usen't to 
 think him handsome, used we. Cissy ? You 
 remember, long ago ? I was almost a baby 
 then, and you — a betwixt and between. 
 Handsome ? But then he was like a brother 
 to us, and one never thinks one's brother 
 handsome. That might account for it." 
 
 " Except," says Mrs. Chance sweetly, " that 
 he," she looks at Cecilia, as if speaking to her, 
 " wasn't your brother." 
 
 " No, like one, I said." Nell's voice rings 
 a little sharp. 
 
 " Yes. That was what she said," says 
 
120 PETEK'S WIFE. 
 
 Grant, who is again reclining at her feet. 
 There is an air of protection in his tone. 
 
 " It doesn't matter what I said," says Nell 
 supremely, speaking to him, though feeling a 
 little annoyed with him for his support. " And 
 I wish you would get up — you are sitting on 
 my dress. I think, on the whole, you are about 
 as tiresome a person as ever I met in my life." 
 
 " I hope you haven't met many," says 
 Grant, whose temper as a rule is excellent. 
 He looks amused. 
 
 " No," says Nell. She struggles with her- 
 self, and then gives way to laughter. " Any- 
 way, you are the worst," says she, but so 
 delightfully, and with such a half-merry, half- 
 defiant glance from under her lids, as makes 
 her sweeter than ever. 
 
 Grant has risen indeed at her command, 
 but now he is leaning over her chair, 
 whispering little nothings to her, and Mrs. 
 Chance seeing him, and Nell's evident pleasure 
 in his society, feels a sense of relief. If 
 only she will fall in love with Alec, what a 
 good thing for him — what a good thing for 
 her — Bella ! 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 121 
 
 " Oh, hang it ! Here comes Nobbs," says 
 McNamara suddenly, in a voice of horror, 
 that is a little more Irish than usual. 
 
 " Then I'm going," says Nell. 
 
 "No, no. You shan't. You can't,'' says 
 McNamara, seizing her skirt, and compelling 
 her to reseat herself. *' I'll hold you. Do 
 you think we are going to be left to his 
 tender mercies, without protection of any 
 kind ? Wh}^, I believe you are the only 
 person in the whole place who has been free 
 from persecution from him. He hasn't fired 
 one quotation at you yet." 
 
 " That's what frightens me ! I feel he has 
 been making up a regular fusillade for my 
 benefit alone, and when it comes ofi" " 
 
 " Here he is ! " says Mickey. " He's going 
 for us ! He's coming here ! We ought to be 
 prepared, you know. He's coming, primed 
 and loaded ; I know it by his air. Who's 
 going to stand the first shot ? " 
 
 " / don't mind his quotations," says Mrs. 
 Chance disdainfully. It is a comfort to her 
 to be able to disdain somone openly. 
 
 " You're a brave woman," says the Irish- 
 
122 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 man. " I confess I always go down before 
 them — riddled." 
 
 " Good gracious ! what's the matter with 
 his hair ? " asks Ceciha, suddenly. She has 
 quite recovered from her late excitement. 
 That coldness of Stairs' has restored her to 
 the old calm feeling — or she thinks it has. 
 
 "Now that you mention it," says Mrs. 
 Cutforth-Boss in a voice that comes from her 
 boots — she wouldn't wear shoes for anything 
 — " I think his hair is changed." 
 
 " It is certainly a very remarkable colour," 
 says Nell. 
 
 " Nothing to what it was when 1 last saw 
 it," says Mickey. " That's a year ago. It 
 was then pea-green." 
 
 " Nonsense, Mickey." 
 
 "Fact, I assure you. It appears he had 
 put on a trifle too much of the Infallible, and 
 it came out like that. Dyes do sometimes, 
 even in the best regulated families ! " 
 
 Mrs. Chance is laughing. 
 
 " How did he explain it ? " 
 
 " Gave out he had the cholera, and hid him- 
 self away in his bedroom for three weeks." 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 123 
 
 " Then how did you see him ? " asks Nell 
 severely. 
 
 " In the bedroom of course," airily. 
 " Think anything would daunt me in the 
 cause of science ? I wanted to know how the 
 dye had come out pea-green; but — would 
 you believe it ? — he refused to give me any 
 information on the subject. Very low, / 
 call it. But what can you expect of a man 
 who sold a dog to a friend of mine, 
 and ? " 
 
 " WeU ? " 
 
 " Well. He said it was an Irish terrier, 
 but it turned out a Dachshund ! " 
 
 " Oh, I really can't believe that, Mickey." 
 
 " You may, however." 
 
 " The friend, any way, had the best of the 
 bargain," says Grant. " Dachshunds, if pure, 
 are valuable." 
 
 " Yes, of course, that's why I say one can 
 expect nothing from him. He's a perfect 
 fool." 
 
 " Hush ! he's here," says Grant. 
 
 " And a beauty he is ! " says Mr. 
 McNamara. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 "He said, or right or wrong, what came into his head." 
 
 Here he is indeed, and perforce the conversa- 
 tion comes to an end. 
 
 Mr. Nobbs is a little man, spare and pale, 
 but of exuberant spirits. He is perhaps the 
 most universally detested person in this small 
 place, being one of those dreadful people who 
 can spring a quotation at you at any moment, 
 be it prose or poetry. He lives in a tiny villa 
 outside the town : " Bachelor Villa," as he 
 has coquettishly named it, and as yet, it has 
 not crumbled into dust about his head, 
 although many prayers have been uplifted 
 to that effect. He walks on his toes, and has 
 a most irritating way of turning his head to 
 one side like a cock-robin when meaning to 
 be specially charming. His handkerchiefs 
 are always perfumed, and he has an abomin- 
 able simpering way of boasting about his 
 successes wath the " fair sex," (as he calls 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 125 
 
 them in his own amazing fashion), that en- 
 rages every man of his acquaintance. On 
 the whole, however, he is a harmless little 
 creature (though he w^ould have apoplexy if 
 you had told him so), but frightfully irri- 
 tating. 
 
 He now advances on Mrs. Gaveston. She 
 is Nell's sister, and therefore very near the 
 rose. Nell is the latest importation, and 
 therefore the most deserving of his attention. 
 Besides, she is beautiful, and Mr. Nobbs, as 
 he always says, " adores the beautiful in any 
 shape." It is a little formula of his. 
 
 Coming to anchor before Mrs. Gaveston, 
 he says, wdth the turn of his head that they 
 all know so well, and that makes them so 
 often desire to commit murder : 
 
 " ' Angel ! ever bright and fair.' " 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Nobbs," says Cecilia, 
 breaking into a merry laugh, a laugh that 
 is echoed by every one, to Mr. Nobbs' intense 
 delight, who believes it arises from this latest 
 betrayal of his wit. " But the original makes 
 it ' Angels.' It is too good of you to make 
 me the only recipient of your bounty." 
 
126 PETEE'S WIFE. 
 
 "Ah, as for that," says Nobbs, bobbing 
 and bowing, " you see I heard — I saw — that 
 a rephca of yours was here," he beams upon 
 Nell, who, to her everlasting chagrin, dis- 
 solves into merriment behind her racket. 
 She had so wanted to be dignilied. 
 
 She has to come from behind it almost 
 immediately, however. Her sister's voice 
 reaches her. 
 
 " Nell ! Mr. Nobbs wishes to be introduced 
 to you. Mr. Nobbs — Miss Prendergast." 
 
 Nell bows gracefully. The little man bows 
 back to her, and at once establishes himself 
 at her side, to Grant's disgust. 
 
 At this moment Sir Stephen, against his 
 better judgment, again appears upon the 
 scene, coming up the grass step. He pauses 
 as he gains the top, looking round him. For 
 a seat, as Mrs. Cutforth-Boss thinks — for Nell, 
 thinks Mrs. Chance. The latter beckons to 
 him and ruffles her skirts a little to one side 
 in a suggestive way. 
 
 " We can make room for you here," says she. 
 
 " No. I'd crush you — and I like standing," 
 says Wortley. Still he goes towards her, and 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 127 
 
 would perhaps have taken the despised seat 
 after all but for a word from Nell, 
 
 That disgraceful coquette leans forward. 
 
 " Sir Stephen, come here." 
 
 " There isn't room," says Grant to her in 
 a low, reproachful tone. 
 
 "No, really," says Mrs. Chance. She 
 makes another effort with her new and 
 charming skirts, and beckons to Sir Stephen. 
 " I can give you a seat." 
 
 But Nell's eyes are on Sir Stephen's, and 
 her lips are smiling. They are smiling all 
 the more happily because she has taken Mrs. 
 Chance's thoughts off Cecilia, who again is 
 growing so silent, that people will perhaps be 
 wondering — speculating ! What can be the 
 matter with Cissy ? 
 
 " Come here ! " says she, '' I want a word 
 with you — one word." Her face is delightful 
 now. " Only a little one ! " 
 
 Sir Stephen goes to her, stepping over the 
 widow's trailing skirts as he does so, and Mrs. 
 Chance's face grows dark. 
 
 " Well ? " says Sir Stephen to Nell. He is 
 evidently expecting the " word." 
 
128 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 '• I want," says Nell, turning her fair and 
 fresh and lovely face up to his, "to know 
 who is that very ugly girl down there." 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " cried Mr. McNamara 
 tragically, "are you so ignorant as that? 
 Oh ! come, I've got to post you up in your 
 surroundings. Behold in me a map of your 
 little Bigley-on-Sea. Why, that's your host's 
 daughter. His own, and only one. She 
 belongs to the class that we so often read 
 of, but so seldom see — ' The Heiress.' " 
 
 " She looks it," says Mrs. Chance drily. 
 
 " She seems a very good girl," says Nell, 
 " and affectionate. I've noticed that she is 
 going about with her mother all the day." 
 
 " That's fatal," says Mrs. Chance. " The 
 daughter who stays at her mother's elbow 
 all day, only stays there because she can't get 
 anyone to stay at her elbow all day. It must 
 be a perfect affliction to have a girl like that." 
 
 "I expect she'll have that affliction for 
 some time," says Grant. 
 
 "But I understood," says Mrs. Chance, 
 directing a smiling glance at Cecilia, who 
 looks back at her unmoved, " that she is 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 129 
 
 hardly so forlorn as you think — that Captain 
 Stairs is a little Jprz5 with her." 
 
 " She has money," said Mrs. Cutforth-Boss 
 suddenly. 
 
 " But so has he," says Grant. " And 
 therefore what on earth would he marry a 
 girl Hke that for ? " 
 
 " ' Much desires more ! ' " quotes Mickey 
 in his sprightliest manner. Eeally he is 
 wonderful. He is always all there. 
 
 " Certainly she is very ugly," says Nell, in 
 a regretful tone. " But " 
 
 "There isn't a but," says Mickey. "My 
 good child, look at her nose I " 
 
 " And her eyes," says Grant. " Goose- 
 berries ! " 
 
 " And her freckles." 
 
 "Oh! I like freckles," says Nell. "But 
 her mouth — it is very big certainly." 
 
 " It is, poor girl," says Mickey. " You 
 didn't hear about her, did you, at their last 
 party here, a year ago ? No. It's a pitiful tale. 
 They had Aunt Sally at the end of the ground 
 over there. And there were some strangers 
 here, and poor Miss McGregor was standing a 
 
 VOL. I. 9 
 
130 PETERS WIFE. 
 
 few yards from the real Auntie, and unfortu- 
 nately the strangers mistook the whole thing, 
 and thought that she was Aunt Sally, and 
 sent a shower of sticks at her. She didn't 
 understand what it meant, poor thing, until 
 one of the sticks hit her on the right eye ! " 
 
 "Oh, now, Mickey, I can hardly be- 
 lieve " 
 
 " I'm not surprised, I'm sure. She could 
 hardly believe it herself. Such an insult. 
 It hurt her very much, I can tell you — 
 especially the eye." 
 
 "Te — he — he," says Mr. Nobbs, in his 
 most aggravating simper. " One can see it. 
 Her eye 'In a fine frenzy rolling.' Te — he — 
 he!" 
 
 A ghastly silence greets this briUiant burst 
 of wit. But Mrs. Chance breaks it. 
 
 " Do you know, Mr. Nobbs, you're too 
 funny. You are, really. You oughtn't to 
 spring your wit on people like that. It — 
 well, it makes them feel — oh ! so strange. 
 When people are very clever and very well 
 read, like you, they should remember that 
 others " 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 131 
 
 " Ah ! now — come now — honestly you 
 flatter me," says Mr. Nobbs, his head very 
 much on one side. " No, really you mustn't. 
 You ladies spoil me so. But 
 
 * Woman ! lovely woman ! Nature made thee 
 To temper man ; we had been brutes without you.' 
 
 This delicate compliment he conveys with 
 uplifted voice and hands delicately gesticu- 
 lating, whilst pirouetting softly on his toes. 
 
 Somebody repeats the word " brutes," but 
 this time in the singular. And Cecilia, 
 leaning back in her chair, nearly goes into 
 hysterics behind her fan. 
 
 Mr. McNamara is looking at him with the 
 most rapt attention. 
 
 " Could you do it again, Nobbs ? " asks he, 
 in a low, breathless tone. 
 
 "Do ?" 
 
 " That little recitation ? " 
 
 " Oh ! Eeally ! Ton my word ! a mere 
 passing thought, you know, impelled to the 
 surface by all the fairness round me ; I " 
 
 "We are to have a penny reading next 
 week," says McNamara. "If you would 
 
 9* 
 
132 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 kindly " — here he pauses, checked by a 
 vigorous and, it must be confessed, ex- 
 cessively painful kick from Grant, but he 
 goes on nobly, nevertheless — " consent " 
 
 "Mr. McNamara!" cries Mrs. Chance 
 quickly, "my glove — See'' 
 
 It has indeed fallen over the terrace on 
 which they are seated to the one below. 
 
 "I see it," says McNamara calmly. 
 " There are no lions here to-day, so I need 
 not jump, I think. I'll get it for you 
 presently. What I was saying, my dear 
 Nobbs, was, that if you would kindly consent 
 to favour us with one of your magnificent 
 recitations, of which " 
 
 Here Sir Stephen drops a lace antimacassar 
 lightly over his head, but through it Mr. 
 McNamara — proving thus his indomitable 
 spirit — speaks with all his native dignity. 
 
 " — Of which we all have heard so much, 
 you would bestow upon us an inestimable 
 benefit. Mrs. Gaveston, who is one of our 
 most esteemed patronesses, wall, I am sure, 
 add her entreaties to mine." 
 
 He here so far emerges from the anti- 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 133 
 
 macassar, as to catch Cecilia's eye, upon 
 whom he confers a wink, mild but firm. It 
 is impossible to retreat, so Cecilia murmurs 
 something or other that might be taken for 
 anything in the world. 
 
 It is taken with effusion by Mr. Nobbs. 
 Delighted, he was sure — nay, too pleased. 
 Any little efforts of his — the "little" so 
 accentuated as to leave it open that it should 
 be " great " — were always at the disposal of 
 " Te — he — he, ' A thing of beauty, and a joy 
 for ever.' " 
 
 " I'd love to kick him," says Grant, sotto 
 voce to his cousin. Sir Stephen. 
 
 " Poor little brute ! You'd kill him," says 
 Sir Stephen contemptuously. 
 
 " A good thing too," says Grant. 
 
 " Where's Captain Stairs ? " asks Nobbs 
 presently. " I heard he was here. I quite 
 recollect meeting him some years ago." 
 
 " He's gone for a prowl ! " says Mrs. 
 Chance. 
 
 " Indeed ? Where ? In what direction, 
 may I ask ? " 
 
 " You may," says McNamara, with avidity. 
 
134 PETEE'S WIFE. 
 
 "Do you see those trees over there? He 
 went right down to that tent." He is point- 
 ing, I regret to say, in the very direction that 
 Stairs has not taken. 
 
 " 1 think I'll go after him." 
 
 "Do. He'll be delighted," says Mc- 
 Namara warmly. 
 
 " What on earth did you ask him to take 
 part in the penny readings for ? " asks Cecilia 
 indignantly, when he is gone. 
 
 " Why shouldn't I ? There was no buffoon 
 engaged as far as I could hear." 
 
 "Except you, Mickey," says Sir Stephen, 
 whereon Mickey throws things at him. 
 
 Nell is looking meditative. 
 
 " It must be dreadful to be as ugly as Mr. 
 Nobbs," says she, at last. Her glance un- 
 fortunately turns to Cecilia, as though ad- 
 dressing the remark to her — to Cecilia, who 
 so seldom thinks, and who to-day is a little 
 more outside herself than ever. She laughs 
 back at her sister. 
 
 " He's even uglier than Peter ! " says she 
 gaily. Her mind has been running on Peter 
 for the last hour — ever since the memory of 
 
PETER'S WIFE. ia5 
 
 her betrothal and marriage to him had been 
 brought back to her with such cruel force. 
 As the words pass her lips, however, they 
 frighten her a little — a very little ! Who 
 has heard her ? She glances quickly round. 
 Only Nell, who is looking a little sad — for 
 her — and Mrs. Chance. " Oh ! " cries she, 
 with a sudden touch of contrition, but still, in 
 spite of all, with an irrepressible laugh. 
 " Poor old Peter ! " 
 
 " I don't think Peter ugly," says Nell, with 
 a little thoughtful frown, as if considering 
 Peter, bringing him up before her mental 
 vision, and judicially putting him upon trial. 
 
 " Of course not," says Peter's wife. " I 
 merely called him ugly " 
 
 " As a term of endearment ! " suggests Mrs. 
 Chance, with her perpetual smile, that has so 
 often a touch of venom in it. 
 
 "Perhaps," says Cecilia, looking at her. 
 The pretty girlish face is almost unreadable 
 now. It has put on a mask — a very calm 
 and thoughtful one. 
 
 "Used you to call your husband ugly?" 
 asks she sweetly. 
 
136 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 Mrs. Chance changes colour. The late 
 owner of the charming widow had, indeed, 
 been excessively ugly, not only in all his 
 works and in all his ways, but in his appear- 
 ance besides. Cecilia's little dart had gone 
 home. 
 
 " Your sense of humour seems deficient," 
 says Mrs. Chance, with ill-suppressed anger. 
 "I meant nothing but a mere jest." 
 
 " A mere — ugly — jest ? " 
 
 "Another quip," says Mrs. Chance. She 
 is trying to smile pleasantly, but she is very 
 pale. Her footing in the society round her is 
 very insecure, and to quarrel with the wife of 
 Peter Gaveston would be to give herself away 
 a good deal. Yet to refrain, to hold back, to 
 lower a weapon before Cecilia Gaveston or 
 her sister seems more than her strength is 
 equal to. 
 
 " Oh ! a quip, of course," says Nell, break- 
 ing into the moment very eagerly if quietly. 
 Surely things have gone far enough? And 
 why is Cecilia so foolish, so silly, as to 
 quarrel with this woman, who seems to her, 
 Nell, such a horrid person, and so full of 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 137 
 
 queer little ways ? " And besides, when one 
 loves a person, one never thinks him ugly." 
 
 " And when one doesn't ? " says Mrs. 
 Chance, always smiling. 
 
 " Oh ! then, of course, the defects stand 
 clear." 
 
 Mrs. Chance nods lightly at Cecilia. 
 There is consummate impertinence in the nod. 
 
 "I think it was you who suggested Mr. 
 Gaveston was ugly," says she. 
 
 Cecilia looks calmly back at her. She is 
 young, frivolous — in many ways wanting, 
 but just now she rises so far above her usual 
 indolence, as to let her spirit over-ride that of 
 the woman who has been so studiously rude 
 to her. She looks with a little wrinkled brow 
 of disdain at Mrs. Chance for a moment or 
 two, then tilts back her chair so far that her 
 pretty silk open-work stockings and high- 
 heeled shoes can be seen. McNamara is 
 just behind her. She nods to him, and he 
 bends down to her. 
 
 " What a very vulgar person ! " says she, in 
 a whisper indeed, but one distinctly audible 
 to — Mrs. Chance. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 '* Bees hum all day amid the young spring leaves, 
 The rooks caw loud from every elm-tree bough, 
 The sparrows twitter in the old church eaves — 
 But no voice cries for me or calls me now." 
 
 To round the cliffs, and start for a long swift 
 walk across the sandy soil to-day, is to be 
 happy. The sea is a bright blue, with 
 delicate little flounces of white swaying up 
 and down upon it ; now here, now there, and 
 from rock to rock, the pale grey gulls are 
 flying. Sometimes the ever-changing sea is 
 grey, and sometimes green, but to-day it is 
 blue — blue as the deepest sapphire, and 
 brilliant as the diamond. 
 
 It glitters and glances in the sun-rays, the 
 small, soft flecks of foam that ride on the 
 bosom of every wave, making the glorious 
 colour of it even more glorious. And up 
 here on the top of the overhanging cliff, it is 
 all colour too. Such a splendid blending. 
 Here a blaze of yellow from the lesser St. 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 139 
 
 John's Wort, and there the soft pink fleecy 
 sweetness of the sea-clover, and beyond the 
 gold of the tiny potentilla — and everywhere, 
 mingled with these, deeper tinges still of red 
 and white and blue, and as a background the 
 faint hlac of the pretty ling. Truly, as sings 
 Mr. Bridges, one of the sweetest of our later 
 day poets : — 
 
 " The cliff-top has a carpet 
 
 Of lilac, gold, and green, 
 
 The blue sky bounds the ocean, 
 
 The white clouds scud between. 
 ***** 
 
 " A flock of gulls are wheeling 
 
 And wailing round my seat ; 
 
 Above my head the heaven. 
 
 The sea beneath my feet." 
 
 Philip Stairs sitting on a chair of Nature's 
 hewing, up here on this bold cliff, has little of 
 heaven in his heart. Yesterday he had seen 
 her for the first time after all these long six 
 years. And all last night he had walked up 
 and down his room, cursing her bitterly with 
 each fresh pipe. 
 
 When first he heard of her marriage — 
 when the news he would not believe at first. 
 
140 PETEE'S WIFE. 
 
 but later lie was compelled to acknowledge — 
 had come to him in Burmah, it had finished 
 at once the last touches of bo3^hood in him. 
 It laid bare to him the cruelty of life. The 
 cruelty to her I For in his soul he had still 
 held her true ; coerced and driven and com- 
 pelled by a scheming mother — but at heart 
 the tender loving girl that he had known. 
 
 This thought, this secret belief helped him 
 to live. It was too late for succour, for inter- 
 ference of any kind, but the memory of his 
 pretty sweetheart dwelt with him always, 
 saddening him, adding many years to him 
 that he had not actually lived, but without 
 hardening him. He grew less lighthearted 
 is is true, but more earnest ; and with a 
 passionate desire to fill the void in his heart 
 he flung himself into his work, and had 
 already distinguished himself in many ways, 
 and gained the friendship and respect of his 
 colonel, when sickness struck him down, 
 and after a terrible struggle with death he 
 had pulled through sufficiently to be invalided 
 home. 
 
 All the long voyage was filled with the 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 141 
 
 thought that soon, somewhere, he should see 
 once again the beloved, the unforgotten face. 
 He did not fear to see it. He had told him- 
 self lately that the old delight was over. Had 
 passed as a dream in the night ; that he could 
 meet her fairly, as the wife of another man, 
 and greet her as a friend only. 
 
 And yesterday he had seen her, had looked 
 into her eyes, noted the fairness of her, the 
 sweetness, the unsurpassable charm, and knew 
 that the old mad love was still alive, and 
 deep, deeper than ever. He knew, too, as he 
 touched her hand, and met her smiling, care- 
 less welcome, that all his fond belief in her 
 was dead. 
 
 She had not been coerced by her mother ! 
 She had seen the advantage of money, young as 
 she was. He had not touched her heart at all 
 in those poor dead days, when his heart had 
 been touched to its death. She was frivolous 
 only, a poor beautiful thing, and unworthy. 
 
 Eising, he goes slowly across the dry and 
 sandy plain, to where a dark wood shows 
 upon his left. A longing for cool shadows 
 and dense places has come upon him. The 
 
142 PETER'S WIPE. 
 
 glare here is terrible, searching his very soul 
 as it were. It is impossible to feel in this 
 vast brilliance — brilhance of sea and sky. 
 
 If he could only blot out yesterday. In 
 spite of himself he dwells upon it, and that tries 
 him. It is hideous to dwell upon the ruin of 
 an idol, it leaves so little behind. Sometimes 
 absolutely nothing. He would so gladly 
 have drawn a sponge over the memory of 
 Cecilia's smiling face, her outstretched wel- 
 coming hands. 
 
 But for yesterday, he might have gone on 
 his way contented in a measure, and not 
 knowing. But now it is clear to him. The 
 old horrible pain is stiU. here, the pain that 
 rendered his nights sleepless, and his days in- 
 terminable, six months ago. 
 
 He has seen her, and found her wanting — 
 there hes the stab. Found her, more beauti- 
 ful than ever, and steeped in worldhness. He 
 had dreamed of her as sad, forlorn, and found 
 her joyous, lovely, the very incarnation of 
 idle content. 
 
 He is close to the wood now, and the dull, 
 soft moan of the ocean is growing fainter 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 143 
 
 He has reached, indeed, the first tree, the out- 
 post of the innumerable host behind, when the 
 sound of a merry laugh reaches his ears. A 
 breathless happy laugh, as of one running. 
 It is clear and sweet. 
 
 He stands quite still for a moment, as if 
 listening. It is hers ! 
 
 A second later an echo of it comes to him 
 — that laugh again, so like, yet so unlike. A 
 child's laugh this time, also a little breathless, 
 as if the owner of it is running for dear 
 life. All at once it becomes quite plain to 
 him. Her child. Hers! His heart almost 
 stops beating. He had not thought of that ! 
 
 Turning, he would have gone back to the 
 glare and the cold loneliness of the sea, but 
 just at this moment the voices sound clearer. 
 Nearer. Drawing his breath quickly, he 
 waits. The bushes are pushed frantically 
 aside, and into the open, and straight up to 
 him, runs a child. 
 
 Such a beautiful creature, with Cecilia's 
 hair and brow, and Cecilia's laughing mouth, 
 but not Ceciha's eyes. 
 
 The boy, with all a happy child's belief in 
 
144 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 the goodness of every one, rushes to Stairs, 
 precipitates himself into his arms. 
 
 " She's coming ! She's coming ! Save 
 me ! " shrieks he frantically, with a realism 
 hardly to be surpassed. He has made up his 
 mind indeed, that red Indians are pursuing 
 him with a view to taking his scalp, and 
 even as he clings to Stairs, he looks, not at 
 him, but backwards over his shoulder to 
 where " the slaughterer " may soon be ex- 
 pected to appear. He has no thought for any- 
 thing but the dreaded enemy. 
 
 He is rudely awakened from his exciting 
 dreaming. Stairs has deliberately thrust him 
 from him ; not brutally or violently, but with 
 a decision that has hatred in it ; and the 
 boy with childhood's quick perception of some- 
 thing wrong, turns, tottering a little from the 
 push, and looks up at Stairs amazed. In all 
 his short happy life, no one had ever rebuffed 
 him before. No one had ever given him any- 
 thing but fondling words and open arms. To 
 the boy it is a revelation. 
 
 " Hah ! " cries a merry, panting voice. 
 " Now I've got you ! " 
 
CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 " Unto thee was I looking for the light and the glory of 
 
 life, 
 And the Gods' doors shut behind me till the day of the 
 
 uttermost strife, 
 And now thou hast taken my soul, thou wilt cast it into 
 
 the night, 
 And cover thine head from the darkness, and turn thine 
 
 eyes from the light." 
 
 It is Cecilia, with her eyes aglow, and her 
 cheeks flushed, and her hair distinctly riotous. 
 All sorts of little lovelocks are flying across 
 her low broad brow. The run has wakened 
 every pulse, and set her blood a-going. As 
 she rushes out from the dark behind her, she 
 looks a mere girl — a girl of seventeen once 
 more. Age — baffled — has drawn behind her. 
 To Stairs, it is the old Cecilia ! His Cecilia ! 
 In all her moods and stages at once. The 
 child, the romp, the lovely girl ! It was Hke 
 that she looked — that day — the week before 
 he left — that day when she burst through the 
 VOL. I. 10 
 
146 PETEE'S WIFE. 
 
 rhododendrons and cried " Pouf^ to him in 
 her little saucy way. Did she remember ? 
 Could she ? 
 
 All at once Cecilia sees him. The happy 
 rush forward is completely stopped. And 
 where is the laugh? the jest? The smile is 
 dead, the colour has faded ! Where is the old 
 Cecilia now ? 
 
 A sickening pallor overspreads her face for 
 a moment ; a moment only. But it tells its 
 tale. Stairs' heart is beating rapidly. After 
 all — does she care? 
 
 His heart is beating, and with such 
 thoughts. He thrusts them from him. Had 
 he wished her unhappy? Has he wronged 
 her ? What does it all mean ? 
 
 He had not noticed that first swift agitation 
 of hers yesterday, the awakening as it really 
 was of a soul within her ; the gaiety only of 
 her manner he had noticed — but where is 
 that gaiety now ? 
 
 Cecilia by this time has recovered herself. 
 Her face is still pale, but the strangeness, the 
 something that is almost fear, has gone from 
 it. She is quite calm again, quite her idle, 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 147 
 
 charming self. She is even wondering lazily 
 why it is that these two meetings with Phil 
 Stairs should have been accompanied by that 
 dull feeling of faintness. Perhaps he has 
 brought back recollections of the life she 
 led with her mother, just before her engage- 
 ment to Peter — such wretched days ! That is 
 it, no doubt. 
 
 " Is that you, Philip ? " says she prettily, 
 but indifferently. She remembers his reception 
 of her yesterday, when she had meant to 
 show cordiality to an old friend. "How 
 strange to meet you here. Do you know you 
 quite startled me ? You seem," looking at 
 Geoffrey, who has drawn close to her, and 
 who is glancing with undisguised dislike at 
 Stairs, " to have startled my little son too." 
 
 ''Your son," says Stairs. " Yours!''' His 
 eyes are fixed on hers. 
 
 "I think so," says Cecilia, smiling. She 
 draws Geoffrey to her with one hand and 
 presses his shapely, close-cropped, shining 
 head against her heart. " Eh, Geoff? " 
 
 Geoffrey, for answer, clasps his arms around 
 her slender waist. 
 
 10* 
 
148 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 " You see," says she, laughing, " he has 
 taken possession of me." 
 
 "I see!" coldly. 
 
 A short pause. 
 
 " What's the matter with you ? " asks 
 Cecilia suddenly. '* How changed you are. 
 You used to be — well " pausing. 
 
 "WeU?" grimly. 
 
 "One of the nicest people in the world," 
 says Mrs. Gaveston, without hesitation, and 
 with a second smile more brilliant than her 
 last. " At least I know 1 used to think so. 
 But what has happened to you? I know 
 India is a very hot place — has it dried you up 
 beyond recognition ? And in six years only." 
 
 " Six years is a long time," says Stairs, who 
 is wondering at her. What does she mean ? 
 Has she any meaning ? Was there any real 
 feeling in that pallor of five minutes ago ? 
 
 " Long," she pauses, and a faint light comes 
 into her eyes — a light that gives him the 
 impression that she is looking backwards. 
 
 He studies that look attentively. 
 
 " Yes, yes," says she, sighing — not through 
 any sort of misery, but as though the un- 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 149 
 
 usual act of thinking has wearied her. 
 " Certainly, it is a long time, but after all it 
 isn't a lifetime." 
 " Sometimes it is." 
 
 " Of course, if one dies at that happy age, 
 but," with a quick, almost hungry glance at 
 her child, " one so seldom does. Six years 
 have changed you, however — wonderfully." 
 " And what have they done to you ? " 
 " Nothing ! " She makes a little exquisite 
 gesture with her arms as if appealing to him. 
 " Now what have they done — eh ? " 
 
 Truly they have done nothing but enrich 
 each charm she had. Standing as she now 
 is, with her arms thrown towards him in an 
 amused appeal, and her lovely face alight 
 with laughter, and the handsome child 
 clinging to her, she seems the very embodi- 
 ment of beauty. 
 
 At this moment Geoffrey tightens his arms 
 round her in fun, and, bending, she catches 
 him and undoes his clasping fingers. 
 
 " Are you a bear, you naughty fellow, that 
 you hug m.e so ? Come, come, Captain Stairs 
 is looking surprised at you." 
 
150 PETEK'S WIFE. 
 
 " I don't care what he looks," says the boy 
 distinctl}^ his dark, velvetty eyes staring 
 straight at Stairs, who looks back at him with 
 a terrible melancholy in his gaze. 
 
 "You must forgive him," says Cecilia 
 prettily to Stairs. " He is dreadfully, dread- 
 fully naughty sometimes ; but when all is told, 
 he's a heart ! We are having a gipsy tea in 
 the wood," pointing behind her, '' and as you 
 are so near, I hope you will join us. Nobody 
 at all but ourselves, and Mickey McNamara, 
 who is staying with us." 
 
 " I am sorry," begins Stairs, " I have to 
 
 go -" 
 
 " With me ? " suggests Cecilia, with a faint 
 
 grimace that brings back all the past to him 
 with a terrible vitality. " Then it's settled. 
 Geoffrey, tell Captain Stairs he must come and 
 have tea with us." To her intense surprise, 
 Geoffrey, who as a rule, is the most genial of 
 children, refuses to say anything. He stands 
 silent, but observant, with that queer side-long 
 look of extreme youth directed at Stairs. 
 Plainly he is measuring him ; and hapless is the 
 one that comes short under childhood's rule. 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 151 
 
 But Stairs is thinking only of that faint, 
 saucy grimace of Cecilia's. He does not even 
 notice the child's open, if silent rudeness. 
 Cecilia, however, rushes into the breach. 
 
 " You won't mind ? You will come ? " 
 
 " Mind ? " There is such utter ignorance 
 in his voice that Cecilia sees it is unnecessary 
 to explain. Perhaps he had not heard. 
 
 " You will come then ! " 
 
 "Thank you. Yes." 
 
 "We must hurry," cries Cecilia gaily. 
 " They will be wondering where we are." 
 
 .4:^5^fi|?^P^- 
 
CHAPTEE XIY. 
 
 " The bitter sweet, the honey blent with gall, 
 Eros and Anteros, for weal or woe, 
 Him the destroyer, him the saviour call." 
 
 Stairs has followed her obediently through the 
 wood, she showing the way, the boy with her. 
 He hardly knows why he is going, so strong 
 had been his determination a while ago not to 
 accompany her anywhere. 
 
 "We are nearly there now," cries she, 
 suddenly turning to Stairs. " I can smell the 
 fire already ; don't you ? I'm sure Mickey 
 has been putting in green leaves and branches, 
 but it smells very lovely, doesn't it? — the 
 lovelier for that — only I'm afraid it won't boil 
 the kettle. Ah ! Here we are ! " 
 
 All at once she seems to step from the soft 
 shady wood into a small, clear opening, 
 where three people are to be seen, bending 
 over something or other, the deepest anxiety 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 153 
 
 depicted in all their attitudes. From between 
 them a small thread of smoke ascends, very 
 reluctantly, to Heaven. 
 
 " A sacrificial fire," says Stairs, with a sort 
 of gloomy mirth. They all indeed look as 
 earnest, as intent, as if their lives are in 
 question. 
 
 " They are making sacrifices, certainly," 
 says Cecilia laughing. " How their poor 
 eyes must suffer ! I felt I should be of no 
 use in a case like this, so I ran a race 
 with Geoff. I'd hate to sacrifice myself for 
 anything." 
 
 The words are spoken gaily, jestingly, but 
 they give Stairs pause. Is that the very 
 truth ? Had he been right after all ? Is she 
 worthless — soulless ? 
 
 His eyes travel back to the fire. The three 
 stooping over it have their faces hidden from 
 him, but as he moves nearer he sees their 
 figures more plainly, and places them in a 
 sort of mirthless mirth. That big-shouldered 
 man is the High Priest, and that slender 
 
 maiden the vestal virgin Good Heavens ! 
 
 that must be the Devil ! 
 
154 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 It is, however, only Mickey McNamara after 
 all, with his face as black as a coal ! He has 
 raised his head on hearing the coming foot- 
 steps, and now presents a visage that would 
 have routed a regiment of Zulus. 
 
 " Good Heavens, Mickey ! " cries Cecilia. 
 
 At this the other two rise, and glance back- 
 wards towards her. Nell, seeing a man, 
 instinctively pulls down her cuffs, and makes 
 little soft dabs at her hair. She is slightly 
 flushed. Cecilia, who is aghast at Mickey's 
 appearance, stands still and points tragically 
 at him, on which Gaveston and Nell look at 
 him too. 
 
 " What's the matter with me ? " asks Mr. 
 McNamara, lifting his hands to his face, 
 which plainly is the point in question — they 
 are all staring at it. Slowly he rubs his hands 
 over it, after which proceeding nothing is left 
 to be desired. 
 
 They all burst out laughing ; Geoffrey has 
 flung himself on the grass in a very agony 
 of mirth. 
 
 "Oh, he is dirty, isn't he?" says Nell, 
 shaking with laughter, upon which McNamara, 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 165 
 
 casting a reproachful glance at her, wheels 
 round and dashes towards a pool in the 
 distance. 
 
 "Peter," says Mrs. Gaveston, advancing, 
 " I have an old friend to introduce to you." 
 
 The big man whom Stairs had called the 
 High Priest, turns at this, and with a smile 
 still on his face as he remembers the flying of 
 Mickey, comes forward. Stairs colours hotly 
 . . . . So this is her husband. This tall, 
 ugly, kindly, perfect gentleman ? There is no 
 taking Gaveston at any time to be less than 
 that, and Stairs at once acknowledges it, with 
 a singularly painful pang. 
 
 " This is my husband," says CeciHa prettily, 
 and with the most buoyant smile. There is 
 evidently no suspicion in her mind about 
 anyone. She is happy, so every one must be 
 happy too. She has played at happiness for 
 six long years, and has quite come to beheve 
 in it. Is there anything beyond her present 
 life? Her delightful life in which she is 
 accustomed to be petted and spoiled. Has 
 she a single trouble ? Well — there's a debt 
 or two to be paid to her dress-woman, to be 
 
156 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 sure, and a few ridiculous principles on 
 Peter's part to be overcome, but beyond that 
 — beyond that the waves sink and all the lake 
 seems clear ! 
 
 Gaveston has come to her at once, his clear 
 dark eyes smiUng at Cecilia's visitor. 
 
 " A friend of yours ? " says he, and 
 extends his hand to Stairs, who takes it, 
 presses it, drops it. 
 
 A strange turn of affairs truly, he tells him- 
 self with some bitterness, when he has taken, 
 and pressed, the hand of Cecilia's husband ! 
 
 " An old friend ! such an old one," says 
 Cecilia vivaciously. "Nell, you remember 
 Philip?" At this the vestal virgin comes 
 forward. 
 
 " Indeed I do ! " says she pleasantly, 
 slipping her hand into Stairs' in an outburst 
 of friendliness. "I was only a baby then 
 and Cissy was a child — but we both re- 
 member you, don't we. Cissy ? " 
 
 " Of course we do," says Cecilia delight- 
 fully. " Phil quite brings back the old days, 
 doesn't he ? What a pickle you were then, 
 NeU." 
 
PETEll'S WIFE. 157 
 
 Stairs' face has blanched. It is nothing 
 to her then all this past — " a dieam and a 
 forgetting, no more." " It brings back old 
 days." Stairs turns, and for once, for the 
 first time perhaps in all his acquaintance with 
 her, deliberately examines her. What a face 1 
 What lips — half mocking — wholly delightful 
 — and her eyes — 
 
 " Her eyes men Beauty call," 
 
 and her brow, with those little sunny ringlets 
 running across it — and yet with all these 
 charms, these exquisite delights, what is she ? 
 A mere bubble on life's ocean, a thing with 
 nothing in it, a glorious phantasy, a passing 
 sunbeam, a woman perfect at all points so 
 far as eye can see, yet for all that, 
 
 " Light as the foam that flecks the seas, 
 Fitful as summer's sunset breeze, 
 As transient as morning dew, 
 Mere waste of time." 
 
 "I remember you, too," says Stairs with 
 an effort, turning from Cecilia and looking 
 down into Nell's pretty face. " Six years is 
 a long time, of course, but I remember.'* 
 
158 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 Again his eyes seek Cecilia's. At this 
 moment it seems to him that he would give 
 his life to be able to compel her to feel, to 
 remember, as he does. Cecilia laughs, and 
 beneath the laugh — which is perfect — the 
 faint blanching of her face goes unseen. 
 
 " I hope you will come and stay with us, 
 when your visit with the McGregors is up," 
 says Gaveston, in his calm, kindly tones. 
 "Any friend of my wife's," with a tender 
 glance at Ceciha, who nods back at him in quite 
 a brilliant fashion, " is a friend of mine. It 
 appears you knew her when you were both 
 even younger," — with an amused glance at 
 his wife, who indeed looks a mere girl, '' than 
 you are now." 
 
 '* I met Mrs. Gaveston six years ago," says 
 Stairs briefly. 
 
 " And were tremendous chums ? " 
 
 Peter laughs, and his wife laughs too, and 
 pats him on the shoulder with quite delightful 
 bonhomie. The pat drives Stairs nearly mad. 
 
 " Yes, yes, you must come," says she. 
 ^'It will be lovely to renew our acquaint- 
 ance. Peter is right, we were chums. Do 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 169 
 
 you remember that last dance we were at ? " 
 — she smiles openly at Stairs — " that fancy 
 ball given by Lady Adean? That was 
 almost the last time I saw you before you 
 went abroad, or was it the very last ? I 
 can always call it to mind, because it was 
 my first dance ; I feel a little ashamed now 
 when I recollect how I danced that night, 
 and wore holes in my stockings. Peter, 
 you'd have shuddered if you had seen me ! 
 I never sat down for one moment ! " 
 
 " I shouldn't," says Gaveston. " I know 
 you. I should shudder if you did sit down 
 for a moment ; I should imagine you were 
 at the point of death." 
 
 " Oh ! what a shame ! " says CeciHa, giving 
 him a little push that wouldn't have upset a 
 
 fly. 
 
 Stairs, dumb, is watching her. Is it actual 
 cruelty or only mere indifference ? That 
 last dance! And she — and he — and that 
 too swift hour in the conservatory. He 
 had not asked her to marry him — he had 
 not put her to the proof, but if ever a girl 
 knew what he meant, Cecilia knew then. 
 
160 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 He was poor, absolutely penniless but for 
 his pay, and had nothing to offer her. But 
 his eyes — his voice — she must have under- 
 stood. And at the last — when he had taken 
 her in his arms, and kissed her mouth — the 
 mouth had been upheld to him, and sweetly 
 
 willing A childish mouth, indeed, yet 
 
 not so childish but that its lovely owner must 
 have known the passionate love he bore her. 
 
 It all comes back — the soft silence of the 
 night, the faint dropping of the fountain, the 
 distant snatches of the waltz in the ball-room 
 that seemed so far away. The girl standing 
 with her hand fast locked in his. His 
 desperate, honourable determination not to 
 bind her — not to speak. He had kissed her, 
 once — that seemed speech enough, if she 
 would be true ; and he had believed she 
 would be that. She kne"w, he felt she knew, 
 how much he loved her, and she would wait, 
 and soon he would come back covered with 
 
 glory, and they — they two What a boy's 
 
 dream it all was ! 
 
 He had come back to find all things for- 
 gotten, and Cecilia — married. 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 161 
 
 These tliouglits pass in a second ; he re- 
 turns to the present moment, to the sound 
 of her voice. 
 
 " You mustn't mind Peter," Cecilia is 
 saying gaily. "And you must come and 
 stay with us." 
 
 "I am afraid " begins Stairs coldly. 
 
 " I really hope you will," says Gaveston 
 hospitably, whose star is hardly in the 
 ascendant at this moment ; the Fates, urging 
 him on to this invitation, are playing him a 
 sorry game. " I hear you have no very 
 immediate friends to demand your time. 
 Cecilia has been telling me about you. So 
 I hope you will spare us a little of it." 
 
 Stairs hesitates. This man, so kind, so 
 trusting, so ignorant ! No, he will not accept 
 
 his And yet why not ? She cares 
 
 nothing — and to be near her, to see her 
 every day ! 
 
 " Thank you," says he, " you are very kind. 
 I shall be delighted." 
 
 " Then you will be in time for another 
 
 fancy ball," says Nell, " because Cecilia " 
 
 Here Mr. McNamara, very rosy about 
 VOL. I. 11 
 
162 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 the face and ears, and with a generally 
 scrubbed appearance, comes from behind a 
 tree. 
 
 " There's somebody ' comin' through the 
 rye,' " says he, pointing through the trees to 
 a field beyond. 
 
 " So there is ; who can it be ? " says Nell. 
 
 " Why, it's Sir Stephen ! ' cries Cecilia. 
 " Tell him to come and have tea with us." 
 
 Mr. McNamara, snatching up a cup, rushes 
 forward. 
 
 c^ 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " Yet weep I not for human misery, 
 
 Nor for the stars' complaining, 
 Nor for the river's wailing. 
 I weep for thee alone most miserly. 
 Keep all my tears for thee." 
 
 " Hi ! " roars he to a tall young man, who 
 has come out of the field, and is now striding 
 through the bracken, with his gun on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 The tall young man stops, and looks 
 enquiringly in his direction, whereupon 
 McNamara, waving the cup on high, yells 
 to him : 
 
 " I say, Wortley ! " 
 
 "What?" roars back Sir Stephen, who, 
 on account of the dip in the ground where 
 he is standing, can see McNamara only. 
 
 " ' Lads and lasses, come to ta}^ — come to 
 tay,' " sings Mickey at the top of his extra- 
 ordinary lungs. 
 
 11* 
 
164 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 Sir Stephen, wlio naturally tliinks lie has 
 gone mad, shouts back : 
 
 " What the deuce are you at ? " 
 
 At this juncture, Nell most providentially 
 appears upon the scene, another cup in her 
 hand, which she also waves to the rabbiter 
 down below. 
 
 " I really think, Mickey, you might spare 
 us your Irish sometimes,'' says she pettishly, 
 to McNamara, who indignantly repudiates 
 the accusation. 
 
 " Irish, indeed ! I was only making up 
 poetry. If I had said, ' Lads and lasses, come 
 away^ he'd have gone round the corner ; but 
 when I said ' tay ' he understood." 
 
 " Did he ? " contemptuously. 
 
 " Of course he did. He's coming ; I 
 suppose," wrathfully, and growing very 
 mixed, because of his anger, " you thought I 
 called tay tea." 
 
 " No," says Nell, giving way to wild mirth. 
 " I thought you called tea tay I " 
 
 " Look here," says Mickey, " I'll strangle you 
 some day." He, however, is also shouting with 
 laughter by the time Sir Stephen joins them. 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 165 
 
 "Such a blessing you have come," says 
 Nell, giving him her hand, and a delightful 
 smile, "Mickey was just going to strangle 
 me." 
 
 " Well, I thought he looked a Uttle mad," 
 says Sir Stephen. " I'm thankful I'm in 
 time. Put down that murderous weapon, 
 McNamara," pointing to the cup, " and ex- 
 plain yourself." 
 
 " I'm bad at that," says Mickey, " but 
 Mrs. Gaveston is having a gipsy tea over 
 there, and she wants to know if you'll join, 
 us." 
 
 "How nicely you said that, just like one 
 of those etiquette books, that tell you how ta- 
 address your superiors," says Nell, with a. 
 faint little grimace, which, I regret to say, 
 Mr. McNamara lavishly responds to behind 
 Sir Stephen's back. " Sir Stephen, aren't 
 you tired of the rabbits? I am sure the 
 rabbits are very tired of you. Do let them 
 alone for a little while, and come and talk to 
 Cecilia." 
 
 " Does that mean that I mustn't talk to 
 you ? " asks Sir Stephen, who is really 
 
166 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 looking almost handsome in his present 
 get-up. 
 
 Nell lowers her head and furrows her brows 
 as if thinking. 
 
 " I'm so busy, you see," says she demurely. 
 "I'm looking after the tea. But you've 
 come in excellent time for that, as the fire has 
 refused to light." 
 
 The fire, however, is now a glorious thing 
 as they approach. It is blazing high, and 
 the kettle — that, oft-times, most obstinate 
 thing in the world, is singing with all the 
 fervour of a prima donna. 
 
 " Oh, Sir Stephen, here you are ! " says 
 Ceciha, going to meet him. " We have had 
 such a tussle with the fire, but now I really 
 do think it is going to behave itself. One 
 would think an evil eye had been thrown on 
 it until now." 
 
 "It must be Captain Stairs','' says Nell 
 laughing. " He is new ; an unknown quantity ; 
 therefore how can we trust him ? " 
 
 " It is madness to take anyone on trust," 
 returns Stairs smiling. He is thinking of 
 Ceciha, however. 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 167 
 
 " We'll take you anyway," says Mickey. 
 " Your eye seems to be a most respectable 
 one, if it has had anything to do with this 
 fire." 
 
 Indeed, the kettle is at last boiling, and 
 after a desperate struggle with the teapot, to 
 which it appears to be hopelessly antagonistic, 
 and a snort of rage that only itself could 
 produce, is persuaded to pour itself into the 
 triumphant pot, after which the lid of the 
 latter closes with a disgracefully jubilant 
 sound, and peace is restored — though without 
 much honour on either side, it must be 
 acknowledged. 
 
 " We were just talking about our fancy 
 ball," says Nell presently. Then, to Wortley, 
 " Cecilia is going to have one next month. 
 What will you be ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I shan't be asked," says Sir 
 Stephen. 
 
 " Nonsense ! That's getting out of it. 1 
 know what you ought to be." 
 
 " Do you ? What then ? " 
 
 " I'd be afraid to tell you." 
 
 There is so little fear in the small face 
 
168 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 looking down at him — Sir Stephen is 
 stretched at her feet— that the latter laughs 
 aloud. 
 
 " You can't think how interesting jou are," 
 says he. " It's so nice to know someone is 
 afraid of one. It quite sets one up. But 
 what have I done to you, that you should 
 commend to my notice such a costume as 
 that ? " 
 
 " As what ? " asks she, glancing at him from 
 under her long lashes. 
 
 " As the one you have in your mind. Of 
 course, I shall follow your advice ; and 
 perhaps the cheapest way to manage it would 
 be to write to Mr. Irving. He must have a 
 considerable number of those costumes tucked 
 away somewhere." 
 
 "Is it Greek?" asks Nell, with a puzzled 
 air. Her audacity is enchanting. Sir Stephen 
 laughs again. 
 
 " No ; it's melancholy English. Melancholy 
 for me, at all events ! proving your opinion 
 of me. But tell me — shall I send to the 
 Lyceum for some of those cast-off garments 
 that splendid Mephistopheles used to wear ? " 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 169 
 
 " Oh I is it that you have in your mind ? " 
 cries she disdainfully. " As if," with another 
 little glance, "they would fit you. He, so 
 tall and slender, you so tall and " 
 
 " Broad ? " 
 
 "I wasn't going to say that," says Nell 
 frowning. But " — as if suddenly becoming 
 aware of something — " you are the biggest 
 man I ever saw.'' 
 
 " Is that an insult or a compliment ? 
 Perhaps T had better pass it over. You call 
 me a giant then ? " 
 
 " I don't call you anything," says Nell. 
 
 " You do, however. ' Sir Stephen,' some- 
 times." 
 
 " I meant that I didn't call you names." 
 
 "I'm not so sure of that." He edges 
 towards her across the grass, and helps him- 
 self to a bit of plum cake. Tea is in high 
 swing by this time. " You've called me a 
 ' giant ' ! And to call anybody anything is 
 actionable now- a days. Well, am I to go as 
 * Anak ' then, if not as Mephistopheles ? " 
 
 *' Ah ! That's trying to find out," says 
 she. " I wasn't thinking of either Anak or 
 
170 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 that Other unpleasant person when I first 
 spoke." 
 
 "Weren't you?" says Mr. McNamara, 
 breaking into the conversation with a sigh of 
 relief. " What a comfort ! The infant 
 phenomenon is always such a nuisance! 
 When 1 first spoke, I " 
 
 " Oh, spare us, Mickey," cries Cecilia. 
 
 "I wasn't going to say anything un- 
 pleasant," says McNamara reproachfully. "I 
 was only going to reveal an old legend in the 
 family. My mother and my old nurse, who 
 was quite famed in Donegal for her knowledge 
 of the unseen — who might, indeed, at this 
 moment be a celebrated member of the 
 Psychical Eesearch Society " 
 
 " Why isn't she ? Where is she ? " 
 interrupts Cecilia anxiously. " Why don't 
 you bring her over ? What a find she'd be. 
 She might make her fortune and ours, now 
 Madame Blavatsky is gone." 
 
 " For one trifling reason. That she is gone 
 too," says McNamara mournfully. " She died 
 when I was two years old, and my mother 
 always said a great woman had been lost to 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 171 
 
 the world. Especially tlie infant world. Any- 
 how, she had great hopes of me upon my first 
 utterance." 
 
 " And what was that ? " eagerly. 
 
 " Eeally I hardly like to tell." McNamara 
 looks modestly into his cup. 
 
 "Oh, go on, Mickey." 
 
 " Well— it was ' Bo M " 
 
 " Oh, go to the deuce," says Sir Stephen, 
 forgetting himself in the heat and disappoint- 
 ment of the moment. 
 
 " I thought you said your old nurse knew 
 something about the unseen — was quite a 
 Mahatma sort of person ? " says Cecilia, 
 who never troubles herself to know anything 
 about anything, and is quite content with 
 smatterings. 
 
 " She never wore a hat that / ever heard 
 of," says Mickey sadly. " She only wore a 
 cap, that, as a child, I thought was a helmet, 
 and she knew a lot about the unseen, so you 
 needn't abuse the poor old thing. The dead 
 are sacred, you know. Only she called the 
 unseen ' The good people,' and when I said 
 ' Bo,' evidently derived from Bogey : See ? as 
 
172 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 my first word, she told my mother it was the 
 most remarkable instance of childish intelli- 
 gence she had ever heard of. And that by 
 reason of that one word, I should always be 
 able to have the good people under my 
 thumb She said I was to be a leader of 
 men, and that the ' good people ' would obey 
 me, and that I should marry a ' lovely lady.' " 
 He pauses, and casts a thoughtful glance at 
 Nell. " That's you, I suppose," says he. 
 
 " I'm sure it isn't then," says Nell heartily. 
 " Your ' good people ' have made a mistake 
 there." She turns her back upon him, and 
 gives her attention once more to Wortley. 
 
 " After all, you haven't guessed what I 
 think you ought to be." 
 
 " I shall, perhaps." 
 
 "Oh! perhaps." 
 
 " You won't tell me then ? " 
 
 " No ! " shaking her charming head. 
 
 " Very good. I shall appear at your 
 sister's dance in the dressjyou have — designed 
 for me." 
 
 " You couldn't guess jt,"f says she laughing. 
 
 " I'll try." 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 173 
 
 " What shall I go as?" asks Mr. McNamara 
 generally, who, having eaten all the plum 
 cake, is now, as he would have expressed it, 
 " topping up " with the sponge. " I lie 
 awake o' nights dwelling on it." 
 
 " My dear Mickey, what a woeful waste of 
 time," says Nell. " Is there a question about 
 it ? Why, you rehearsed the part, publicly, 
 only ten minutes ago." 
 
 " Oh, of course," cries Cecilia, breaking 
 into merry laughter. '' A sweep, Mickey — a 
 sweep you'll have to be." 
 
 " Oh, yes, Mickey. It will be delightful. 
 The very thing for you ! " declares Nell en- 
 thusiastically. " You could carry it off so 
 weU." 
 
 Mr. McNamara fixes a baleful eye first on 
 Cecilia, then on Nell, but answer makes he 
 none ! At last he turns to Peter. 
 
 " Eude ! very rude / call it," says he. 
 
 "Eude?" cries Nell. "What a miscon- 
 ception of the whole thing. Why, we want 
 you to be original, that first and greatest 
 thing. Many would shrink from the part, 
 but you — with your bold spirit! You will 
 
174 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 make a sensation — create a part. What can 
 you desire more ? And besides all that, you 
 have rehearsed it — a chance given to few of 
 us — you have seen yourself in the pool over 
 there, and " 
 
 " Like Narcissus, thought myself a beauty," 
 says McNamara promptly. " I did not, how- 
 ever, throw myself in. I reflected," pensively, 
 " that though I was a beauty, and therefore 
 drownings and things might be expected of 
 me, that still it wasn't fair to all of you who 
 would miss me so dreadfully." 
 
 " How well you know us," says Wortley. 
 
 Here Cecilia, who has been talking to 
 Stairs, turns to them, with faintly flushed 
 cheeks and sparkling eyes. 
 
 " Still arranging your costumes ? Ah ! 
 you shouldn't tell." 
 
 " That's what 1 say," says Nell. 
 
 " Yet you have been endeavouring to dress 
 me for the past half-hour," says Wortley. 
 
 "My dear Miss Prendergast ! " says 
 McNamara, sotto voce, in the exact voice of 
 Mrs. Cutforth-Boss. 
 
 " I shan't tell what Tm going to be till I 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 175 
 
 have to," says Mrs. Gaveston. "And you, 
 Peter — I forbid you to tell either." 
 
 " A royal command," says Gaveston in his 
 quiet way. 
 
 "I've got my commands," says Mickey, 
 turning to Cecilia. " They don't sound very 
 royal. And I only hope when I appear in 
 your rooms you will put the blame in the 
 right quarter." 
 
 "Why? What is it? What does he 
 mean ? " says Cecilia, a little absently. " No, 
 no sweeps, Mickey! Are you really going, 
 Philip ? Well, good-bye, and remember you 
 are promised to me after your visit to the 
 McGregors." 
 
 " I never forget," says Stairs. 
 
 He bids them all good-bye, amidst the 
 happy confusion of their packing up, and 
 disappears through the trees. 
 
 His departure, even to himself, seems a 
 little abrupt. And he hardly knew why he 
 went. Cecilia, for the past five minutes, had 
 given herself up to him solely. She had been 
 charming, delightful — friendly. 
 
 Perhaps that was why he went. 
 
176 PETEE'S WIFE. 
 
 "Do you know," says Nell, addressing 
 everyone generally, when he is well out of 
 sight, " I think he is very nice indeed. I do^ 
 although certainly he is depressing. But, 
 poor fellow, he was invalided home, and no 
 doubt is still very ill." 
 
 " Decent fellow enough, in my opinion," 
 says Mickey. 
 
 "I think," remarks Wortley, looking at 
 Nell, "you sounded the central note when 
 you said ' depressing.' " 
 
 " He seems a good fellow for all that," re- 
 turns Gaveston kindly. 
 
 All seems moving smoothly in Stairs' favour, 
 when suddenly a small and most unexpected 
 voice breaks in, and check the current. 
 
 " He's a nasty, rude man," says Geoffrey, 
 w^ith decision. 
 
 " Oh, Geoffrey I " cries his mother. She 
 looks at the boy in a strange way and laughs 
 — a rather uncertain laugh. " What has he 
 done to you ? " asks she. 
 
 " He pushed me away from him," indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 " What a scoundrel ! " exclaims his father, 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 177 
 
 laughing. " Deserves killing, in my opinion. 
 What shall we do with him, Geoffrey ? Hang, 
 draw, and quarter him ? " 
 
 " I don't like him," says the boy conclusively. 
 
 " That seems to make an end of it," says 
 Wortley, who is looking amused. 
 
 " An end of all things," Gaveston is laugh- 
 ing still : " even of this afternoon. I suppose 
 we must go home, Cecilia ? " 
 
 " I suppose so," Cecilia assents absently. 
 Her eyes are fixed on her little son. What 
 had happened before she came up ? 
 
 A cloud had settled on her brow, a brow, 
 as a rule, so cloudless ! that Nell seeing it, 
 wonders. Cecilia dull — unhappy. It seems 
 impossible. Then, all at once she remembers 
 something. What Cecilia had told her a little 
 time ago, about those horrid bills, and her 
 dislike to tell Peter about them. Though 
 how anyone could be afraid to tell Peter any- 
 thing, seems extraordinary. Well, here is a 
 chance of getting poor old Cissy out of her 
 dumps. Fancy her being unhappy for a few 
 pounds or so when she, Nell, can give them 
 to her. 
 
 VOL. I. 12 
 
178 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 She is standing next a young oak-tree — a 
 lissome, pretty thing — a sort of replica of 
 herself, and, as though acknowledging it as a 
 brother, she winds her arm round it, and looks 
 quickly towards Wortley. 
 
 " Sir Stephen ! " cries she, and Wortley, 
 breaking off a conversation with Gaveston 
 with rather undue haste, comes to her. 
 
 " Will you be very busy to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Busy to-morrow ? No." 
 
 He looks at her as if a little surprised, and 
 she looks back at him with the most serene 
 smile in the world. 
 
 "That's all right then," says she. "Be- 
 cause I want to see you." 
 
 Sir Stephen suppresses a still further flow 
 of surprise, and says: "Yes?" interroga- 
 tively. 
 
 " And alone, too ! " Sir Stephen is now too 
 perplexed for words, and she continues, " You 
 know that little strand " — she was going to 
 say " where first I saw you," but the memory 
 of those horrid shoes and stockings checks 
 her. No, not that strand, certainly. " That 
 iittle strand called the Dead Man's Cave ? " 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 179 
 
 " It is hard to forget if," says Wortley. 
 *' The ghastly clings to us." 
 
 " Well, I want to speak to you — and 
 alone ! " She nods here most mysteriously at 
 him. " You won't say a word, will you ? and 
 youll be there to-morrow at three. That's 
 the hour when I can best escape. And I 
 must see you." 
 
 What an invitation ! 
 
 "I'll be there certainly," says Wortley, 
 looking at her. She receives his glance most 
 kindly, and leaning towards him says : 
 
 " Not a word to anyone, mind ! you pro- 
 mise? Not" — her pretty finger to her lip* 
 — " a word ! " 
 
 12^ 
 
CHAPTEE XYI. 
 
 " I would do as I pleased, and doing what I pleased, 
 I should have m}- will, and having my will, I should be 
 content." 
 
 The little yellow sea-pansies are opening wide, 
 and spreading themselves all abroad, beneath 
 the sun's rays. The sea lies calm as death. 
 Eound the corner, looking eastward from this 
 tiny cave, two or three yachts are lying at 
 anchor in the harbour, scarcely stirring, save 
 for the lazy dipping of them, as they rise 
 and fall, making their salutations to the 
 water. 
 
 To-day — that kind and " liberal worldling " 
 is en fete. Such a blue sky overhead, and 
 such a splendid gathering of colours under 
 foot. The grey sands dazzling with all the 
 bright delights of the rainbow — now shining 
 softly like the opal, now sparkling like the 
 polished diamond — and there, in the light soil 
 the pansies, and the delicate asparagus, and 
 
PETEK'S WIFE. 181 
 
 the Stiff mesembryanthemums. And here — 
 on the shore itself, the pale grey bleaching of 
 the bones of the dead sea-birds. 
 
 The day is heavenly sweet. And still — 5^ 
 still ! 
 
 " The radiant summer with her azure eyes, 
 And flower-crowned head," 
 
 is full upon us, and down here in this quaint 
 spot, hidden from the world, the sweetness of 
 it is intense. 
 
 Nell, who had " escaped," as she called it, 
 earlier even than she hoped for — Geoffrey 
 having gone for a ride with his father — has 
 thrown herself happily upon the sand, and 
 supported by a big boulder behind her, 
 gives herself up to the hour, and the peace 
 of it! 
 
 She is feeling singularly happy, which adds 
 to her enjoyment. Poor, darling old Cis. 
 She shall know very soon that the two 
 hundred pounds she wants shall be hers — 
 though, why on earth couldn't she have asked 
 Peter for it ? 
 
 She laughs aloud as she dwells on Cecilia's 
 
182 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 cowardice. Fancy her, Nell, being afraid of 
 anyone .... She won't be afraid of 
 Sir Stephen, certainl}^, when he arrives, which 
 will be in about twenty minutes. 
 
 The afternoon grows in beaut}^ Afar — 
 over there — the yachts — that now have 
 loosed their moorings, and are going out to 
 sea, are shining like huge sea-gulls against the 
 pale clear sky. There is no sound anywhere 
 save the stir of the sea in the sunlight, and 
 presently the girl giving in to the charm of it 
 all, sinks backwards, not asleep, yet hardly 
 awake, and lazy — oh, so lazy ! 
 
 Wortley, who had thought to be the first 
 at this strange tryst, descending the bank 
 that leads to this little beach, stops suddenly. 
 
 There she is before him. Lying in the 
 shadow, with her back against a rock and her 
 hands linked behind her head, and her pretty 
 feet stretched out, clad^ this time in the most 
 irreproachable — the most extravagant — of 
 shoes and stockings. 
 
 Her eyes are turned seaward, and her 
 whole air is so full of the idleness of the happy 
 hour, that she does not hear him until he is 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 183 
 
 close to her — until indeed he is standing over 
 her — looking down. 
 
 " Oh, you've come," cries she. She laughs 
 and springs to her feet. " In good time ! I 
 hardly expected you for another ten minutes, 
 and do you know, I was nearly asleep." 
 
 "The day is warm," says Wortley, as 
 though hardly knowing what he says. The 
 girl standing there in her blue frock is so 
 beautiful, with those dark, drowsy eyes, that 
 speak of slumber still, and her lips half 
 parted, and around her all the silence, the calm 
 of this wonderful pink afternoon. Not a 
 sound anywhere except : 
 
 " The soft sweep of the breathless bay." 
 
 "Isn't it delightful?" says NeU. "Why 
 can't it be summer always ? I hate winter 
 with its frosts and its general dulness. To- 
 day, now look at to-day!" She flings out 
 her slender arms towards the sea and sky as 
 if in happy laudation of their charms. And 
 Wortley tells himself that they might well 
 send back a great hymn of praise to her. Is 
 she not as beautiful as they ? Nay, is she not 
 
184 PETEE'S WIFE. 
 
 one with them, part of them, as all beauty is 
 one of a great whole — blending, mingling for 
 ever ? 
 
 He had felt the day almost oppressive as he 
 came down, but now it is perfect. Just 
 warm enough, but not too warm ; without a 
 want anywhere. It seems to him that she — 
 this pretty creature — has created this blessed 
 •change. Even her frock seems to have some- 
 thing to do with it — that pale blue cambric ; 
 so blue, so comforting — surely it helps to 
 ^€alm, to tone, as it were, this maddening 
 «un. 
 
 " Come under this rock," says Nell, " the 
 heat out there is dreadful." There is not the 
 faintest suspicion of confusion in either her 
 face or manner. She seems only unfeignedly 
 glad to see him, and beckons him into her 
 shelter under the sloping rock, with the very 
 friendliest air. 
 
 Wortley, having propped himself against 
 the comparative coolness of it, she gives him 
 her huge white umbrella to hold over both of 
 them ; an umbrella elaborately trimmed with 
 most expensive lace. 
 
PETEE'S WIFE. 185 
 
 "Aren't you longing to know why I wanted 
 to >see you ? " asks Miss Prendergast gaily, 
 when she has settled herself into a comfortable 
 position on one of the ledges. 
 
 Wortley looks at her — at the delicate little 
 face and clear eyes, and smiling, rather 
 mutinous mouth. To anyone else in the 
 world an answ^er to this leading question 
 would be easy — but to her — the clear eyes 
 forbid it. 
 
 " I confess to a touch of curiosity," says 
 he, smiling in turn. 
 
 " Well, I had to see you really — and alone. 
 It would never have done to let Cecilia know 
 about it." 
 
 "No ? Yet your sister doesn't look like 
 the orthodox dragon." 
 
 " Oh, poor darling, No I " She makes this 
 defence of Cecilia with quite a huge capital. 
 " But you see if she had been told about it, 
 she would never have let me meet youy 
 
 The emphasis is strong. Wortley begins to 
 feel like a first-class misdemeanant. 
 
 " I m afraid Mrs. Gaveston has a very poor 
 opinion of me,'' says he. At which Nell first 
 
186 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 Stares, and then catching it, breaks into merry- 
 laughter. 
 
 "Oh, you're all wrong," says she. "It 
 isn't that at all ! Why, do you know she holds 
 you up to me morning, noon and night, as a 
 perfect specimen of mankind ? But," with a 
 little saucy moue, "I daresay she is wrong 
 there too. I see through her. She only 
 wants me to behave prettily to you, because 
 you are in a sense my guardian." 
 
 It occurs to Wortley that perhaps Cecilia 
 would hardly think she was behaving herself 
 just now. Here alone on this isolated strand. 
 It seems, however, to smoothe matters a little 
 when he remembers what an immaculate 
 person Mrs. Gaveston has made him out. 
 
 " If even in a sense your guardian," says he, 
 " I think I ought to know what is your trouble 
 at this moment. A trouble you cannot even 
 tell to your sister " 
 
 " Oh, Cissy ! least of all," says Miss Prender- 
 gast. Her smile has died now, she looks a 
 little anxious — a little eager. Wortley looks 
 at her — uncertain — strange. 
 
 " I suppose there is something I am to do 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 187 
 
 for you," asks he quietly. There is calm 
 question in his eyes. 
 
 " There is. There is indeed," says the girl 
 eagerly. " I want — " she pauses and looks at 
 him with all her heart in her eyes. 
 
 " You want ? " 
 
 " Money," says Nell with a little jerk. 
 
 " Again ? " says Wortley smiling. " What 
 an extravagant child. Why, it is only two 
 months ago, just before you came here, that 
 you drew a cheque for £100." 
 
 " I know," says Nell airily, " and it's gone. 
 I don't know where really— but it's gone. 
 There is so little in a hundred pounds, isn't 
 there ? " says she, who, until six months ago 
 had never felt more than five pounds in her 
 pocket at a time, and that only very occasion- 
 ally. 
 
 " That made two hundred out of the three 
 your aunt settled yearly on you," says Wortley 
 in a quiet sort of a way. " It seems dread- 
 fully impossible, of course, but " 
 
 " Oh, no, not a hit impossible," quickly. 
 " I've been very extravagant, I'm afraid, but 
 — I'm going to be better after this. And 
 
188 PLTLE'S WIFE. 
 
 — and what I want now is more even than 
 that." 
 
 " More than a hundred pounds ? " 
 
 " Yes, more ! " Sir Stephen grows thought- 
 ful. This child — this baby — what can she 
 want with so much money ? 
 
 " You have gone into it, I suppose," says 
 he. " You understand, don't you ? " — he is 
 becoming quite pathetic — " that you have 
 only £300 a year, and that you have already 
 spent £200, and that there are yet six months 
 before " 
 
 "I know — I know — " lightly. She gets 
 under the umbrella which he has rather 
 tilted to one side, and so brings herself nearer 
 to him. " But what does that matter ? 
 What I want to tell you is, that if I can't 
 have £200 at once^ I shall be the most 
 wretched person on earth. You wouldn't,'' 
 smiling at him, such a lovely smile, " like me 
 to be that " 
 
 " Am I to understand," says Wortley sud- 
 denly, " that you " 
 
 " Yes, of course. I want two hundred 
 pounds. There must be a way of getting it." 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 189 
 
 " There is a way, certainly," says Wortley 
 slowly. " But it is impracticable." 
 
 " Impracticable ! " 
 
 "I am afraid so." Sir Stephen's face 
 has grown very grave. " What you want 
 me to do is, I suppose, to advance you 
 this two hundred pounds out of your 
 capital ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes," eagerly. 
 
 " I am sorry to say that cannot be done," 
 slowly. " It's quite impossible." 
 
 " Impossible." The girl turns on him, an 
 angry light now in her eyes. " What is im- 
 possible ? " 
 
 " It is impossible that I can sanction your 
 breaking into your capital." 
 
 " You mean you will not help me ? " 
 
 " I cannot help you to do away with your 
 money." 
 
 "If it is my money " — her eyes are brilliant 
 now, her lips pale — " I suppose I can do what 
 I like with it?" 
 
 " Why do you look at it like that ? " says 
 he gently. " Surely you must know how it 
 is— that I would gladly do all I could for you, 
 
190 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 but your money — it is a trust. I have given 
 my word — I " 
 
 " Oh, don't trouble yourself to make 
 excuses," says she, impatiently. " I don't 
 want excuses. I wanted you to help me, but 
 it seems you won't do that." 
 
 " How can you say I won't ? The truth is, 
 I cannot ; you know I gave my word to your 
 aunt." 
 
 " I don't know why you did. I don't know 
 what you had to do with me at all. You had 
 never seen me — you knew nothing of me. 
 I think," with ill-suppressed anger, "it was a — 
 a very extraordinary thing of you, to say the 
 least of it, to elect yourself my guardian." 
 
 " If I had done so, I should quite agree 
 with you. I should even go farther and 
 call it" — with a glance at her, that shows 
 her he has read her thoughts and is supp]3dng 
 the word she would have used — " a very 
 impertinent thing for me to do." 
 
 " Still you allowed yourself to be elected,'* 
 says she, flushing a little, and growing the 
 more angry because of his intuition. " What 
 I cannot understand is, why my aunt made 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 191 
 
 you my guardian. You," throwing up lier 
 head with open and distinct hostility in voice 
 and eye, " are nothing to me — nothing at all 
 — less than nothing." 
 
 Sir Stephen, laughs, a little grimly, however. 
 
 " You need not be so emphatic," says he, 
 " there is no need to stamp it on my mind. 
 I know it. I am nothing to you, and on the 
 whole I was very little to your aunt. Merely 
 the son of an old friend. She took some 
 con .... some unfounded fancy to 
 me, and sent for me on her death-bed, and 
 implored me to do this thing." 
 
 He pauses. It comes to him now again, 
 the remembrance of that dying bed with its 
 aged occupant, and the light and airy fashion 
 in which he had consented out of pure kind- 
 liness to do what she desired of him. Good 
 Heavens ! what a benighted fool he had been. 
 The poor old lady could hardly have known 
 what a burden she was laying upon him, so 
 he absolves her from all blame, but he, him- 
 self — might have given a thought to himself ! 
 Absolution is not for him truly. He had 
 pitied her, and she had been a dear friend of 
 
192 PETEK'S WIFE. 
 
 his mother's, but even her respect and grati- 
 tude could not make up for the unutterable 
 discomfort of the present situation. 
 
 He hardly himself understood why Mrs.- 
 Sinclair had made him her trustee ; there was 
 always Gaveston ; but the fact was that the 
 old lady on Cecilia's marriage — some years 
 before — had heard that this frivolous niece, 
 Nell's sister, had married a man much older 
 than herself for his money ; she was unfortu- 
 nately a romantic old lady, and " for his 
 money " sounded like heresy in her ears. 
 She had at once decided that Gaveston was 
 ninety. 
 
 She, herself was seventy, and did not con- 
 sider that so very much on ! 'No one could 
 call her old. She, who could run up and 
 down stairs like a girl, and be up at six in the 
 morning, to rout the maids out of their lazy 
 slumbers, and who could darn a table-cloth 
 without glasses, and weed a bed with the best 
 of them — she, thank God, was not ninety. 
 
 She had never seen Cecilia — " Ceciha the 
 Frivoller," as she called her, being alwa^^s 
 well up to date — but she had decided upon 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 193 
 
 her for all that. She was worldly, despicable, 
 and she had married a doddering idiot who 
 could not possibly be trusted to look after her, 
 or anything. 
 
 Certainly not after Nell, who was very 
 inclined to be flighty, too ! The old lady had 
 the lowest opinion of both her nieces, having 
 cordially disliked their mother. And even if 
 " old Gaveston " were capable of doing any- 
 thing, still — she always called him " old 
 Gaveston," though she had seen as little of 
 him as of Cecilia — an old man like that could 
 not live long. And it would take someone 
 very much alive to check Nell. 
 
 She had been told at various times that 
 Peter Gaveston was still, comparatively 
 speaking, young. Not as young as his wife, 
 of course, but certainly in the prime of life, 
 but she always forgot when the letters were 
 burned, and reverted to her first impression ; 
 and indeed she sank gradually int(3 her grave 
 believing that he, had he been honest, would 
 have gone there before her ; but he had defied 
 Nature, and bad would come of it. She 
 heartily despised Peter as the end came. 
 
 VOL. I. 13 
 
194 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 " How could I refuse her ? " says Wortley, 
 after a moment or two. " She was dying, she 
 implored me. It seemed a simple thing then. 
 And you must remember I didn't then 
 know " he hesitates. 
 
 '' Me ? " asks Nell defiantly. 
 
 " Well," slowly, " yes." 
 
 " Perhaps," says she, her voice now vibrat- 
 ing with some undefinable feeling. "You 
 think you know me now ? " 
 
 " Give me some credit," says Wortley with 
 a peculiar smile. 
 
 " You donH, any way," says Nell. 
 
 She is by this time in full mutiny ; one 
 knowing her could see it by the droop of the 
 lids over the brilliant eyes. 
 
 " You don't half know me ! And I think 
 the hour will come when you wall wish you 
 didn't know me, at all ! " 
 
 There is something almost threatening in 
 her attitude as she says this ; and her lips 
 look as though they would have said : " I am 
 going to lead you such a life ! " 
 
 " Possibly," says Wortley calmly. " Of 
 course I can see how annoyed you must be 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 195 
 
 about all this. I liave been put over Gaves- 
 ton's head for one thmg, and " 
 
 " You have been put over my head — that 
 is a great deal worse," says Nell, passionately. 
 She has forgotten now all about that first 
 wilful determination to bring him to her feet, 
 and to punish him for that terrible day when 
 she had been discovered by him shoeless and 
 stockingless. She is forgetful now indeed of 
 everything, but his hateful refusal to help her 
 to help Cecilia. Anger burns within her 
 impulsive breast, and hatred, towards him — 
 The Tyrant ! She has already clothed him in 
 big capitals. " I can't think why that dread- 
 ful old woman did it, except to annoy me." 
 
 " I am sure she thought she was doing what 
 was best for you. You are very ^^oung. 
 And she was old, and a little eccentric, 
 and " 
 
 " Eccentric ? " she glances up quickly. 
 " If she were eccentric, why can't her will be 
 changed ? " 
 
 " Perhaps it might be. But you forget " 
 — Sir Stephen smiles involuntarily — "if it 
 were to be disputed, you would, in all pro- 
 
 13* 
 
196 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 bability, find yourself without the money in 
 question." 
 
 " And without you too/^ says Nell, quickly, 
 impulsively. A moment later, she is honestly 
 ashamed of her words, but without the desire 
 to withdraw them. There is a dead silence, 
 that lasts for nearly a minute ; she breaks it 
 uncomfortably. 
 
 " It ought to have been Peter." 
 
 " Nobody could possibl}^ wash more heartily 
 than I do, that it had been Gaveston," says 
 Sir Stephen deliberately, wdiose temper, not 
 a perfect one at any time, is now beginning 
 to fail him. 
 
 " It isn't half as bad for you, as it is for me," 
 says Nell, flashing an angry glance at him. 
 
 " There you must allow me to differ wdth 
 
 you." 
 
 " At all events there is one comfort," says 
 Miss Prendergast, taking her knees into her 
 embrace, and looking steadily at the calm 
 and shining sea. *'I shall soon be twenty- 
 one, and then " 
 
 "You wall be able to make ducks and 
 drakes of your money as quickly as you like." 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 197 
 
 " I wasn't going to say that," indignantly. 
 " I was going to say that then you would be 
 mercifully delivered from me." 
 
 She smiles, a rather imperfect smile, that 
 has something of scorn in it. 
 
 " True," returns Wortley. 
 
 I suppose, in her vanity, she had expected 
 something more than this polite agreement 
 with her own words. At all events there is 
 a certain haste about the manner in which 
 she rises and prepares to go homewards. 
 
 " Good-bye," says she, holding out a very 
 limp little hand. 
 
 "May I not," indifferently, ''see you 
 home ? " 
 
 "No. Oh, no, thank you," with ex- 
 aggerated civility. " It is very good of 
 you to suggest it, but I am going to see an 
 old woman on my way, so I will not trouble 
 you." She moves on a step or two, and then 
 all at once the hateful idea of having to go 
 home, and confess to Cecilia that she has 
 failed, that she will not be able to help her 
 — and all because she could not subdue Sir 
 Stephen — because she was unable to make 
 
198 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 him do her bidding, cuts sore into her 
 heart. Why, she had almost boasted to 
 Cecilia that she could have her own way 
 with him, at any tim.e, for any object ! 
 
 Humiliation lies before her. Even Cecilia's 
 need lies prostrate before this crush to her 
 vanity. 
 
 She turns and looks back at Wortley — to 
 his horror, he sees that her eyes are full of 
 tears. 
 
 " Is it quite impossible then ? " says she. 
 
 " In that way," returns he hurriedly. 
 
 " You speak," eagerly, and coming a little 
 nearer to him, " as if," her colour rising, and 
 dyeing most sweetly her young and charming 
 face, " there might be another way ? " 
 
 Wortley hesitates. Of course — of course 
 she does not understand, but the moment is 
 bitter. Is there after all a grain of truth 
 in all the hard things that have been said for 
 generations about the Prendergasts ? Does 
 she inherit ? 
 
 " I could procure it for you," slowly. 
 
 " Procure it ? You mean ? " 
 
 " I could lend it to you," says he distinct!}-. 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 199 
 
 He does not look at lier as lie says this, 
 but when no answer comes, he turns his eyes 
 on her. 
 
 Her face is quite changed. It was angry 
 a moment ago, with the petulant anger of 
 an unreasonable child ; but now it is cold 
 and set. The eyes are shining, but the lips 
 are firmly set. She looks as though she 
 wants words, but cannot find them, and 
 even after Wortley's eyes break the spell, and. 
 speech comes to her, still ideas fail her. 
 
 '' Sir Stephen ! '^ mutters she in a choking 
 tone, and turning, goes swiftly away with 
 her pretty head very high upheld. 
 
 It is perhaps the most distinct snub Sir 
 Stephen has ever had in his life, yet, strange 
 to say, it leaves no sting behind it. Eather 
 a deep sense of relief, of satisfaction. What 
 is this troublesome child to him, that her 
 notions of right and wrong, her honour, or 
 feminine delicacy of feeling, should trouble 
 him ? It is impossible to account for it, but 
 it is with a light heart and step that he too 
 goes homeward. 
 
CHAPTEK XVII. 
 
 " So well she's masked under this fair pretence, 
 An infidel would swear she's made of perfect innocence." 
 
 " Wheke have you been, Nell ? " says Cecilia 
 in a fretful tone. She is lying on a lounge 
 in her boudoir with her head buried in 
 pillows, and a j)ale blue silk handkerchief. 
 Pale blue, if you can't get green, is the best 
 thing for making one look iU. 
 
 " Is your head hurting you ? " asks Nell, 
 advancing anxiously, but noiselessly. 
 
 " Oh yes — of course. It is always aching, 
 I think. And I had another letter from that 
 horrid frock woman to-day ; she says she 
 must have that money. Fancy ! A paltry 
 two hundred pounds, and to be so disagree- 
 able, too, considering all I have spent with 
 her. I don't know what I shaU do, I'm sure. 
 I suppose I'll have to tell Peter." 
 
 "I can't think why you hesitate," says 
 Nell hastily ; seeing Cecilia so prostrate, so 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 201 
 
 evidently overcome, a second wave of wrath 
 against Sir Stephen rises within her breast. 
 It is impossible to let things go without 
 telling Cecilia that at all events she has 
 done her best for her. That she has tried 
 her hardest to give her some of her money 
 — and failed. Failure spells chagrin, and it 
 is with a distinct feeling of humiliation that 
 she makes up her mind to tell Cecilia " all 
 about it." 
 
 " I can't think myself," says Cecilia. 
 
 " Peter is so good," puts in Nell, with a 
 view to staving off the evil moment of 
 confession as long as possible. 
 
 " Ah ! that is just it ! I really think he is 
 perfect," says Peter's wife, rising on her 
 elbow and growing positively emphatic, 
 " that is what makes him so impossible. 
 If I could find a fault in Peter, I believe I 
 should li — love him better than I do. But 
 
 Do you know, Nell ? " She pauses : 
 
 with an impulsive gesture she flings the blue 
 silk kerchief off her head, and then, as if 
 recollecting herself, throws it on again with 
 a swift glance at the door. To Nell watching 
 
^0^ PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 her, a vague, lialf-sickening feeling comes ; 
 is Cecilia altogether real? Has she been 
 posing? Making herself up for some occa- 
 sion ? Cecilia's pale face, and feverish air 
 reproach her, for these thoughts. Even if 
 posing, she is certainl}^ suffering. 
 
 " Do you know," Cecilia is saying, " that — 
 it's ridiculous, of course — but I'm a little bit 
 afraid of Peter." 
 
 « Of Peter ? " 
 
 "Not of him, you know, but of what he's 
 thinking ; I have a fancy that he thinks a 
 great deal — a great deal that he never says." 
 
 " Why, that is the way with everybody." 
 
 "With everybody? Yes, perhaps — but I 
 tell you this, Nell, if ever Peter is driven to 
 say any unpleasant thought of his, there 
 will be bad work all round. It is the quiet 
 people who are always so dreadful in the 
 long run ; like the Genii, they are bottled 
 up all their lives, and when some unforeseen 
 circumstance sets them free, they upset the 
 whole apple-cart." 
 
 "Let us hope circumstances will stand to 
 us," says Nell, " and keep the cork well in ; 
 
PETEE'S WIFE. 203 
 
 in the meantime, I insist on saying you are 
 slandering Peter." 
 
 " Well, you'll see." 
 
 " I'm sure I hope I shan't," says Nell, at 
 which they both laugh, Cecilia somewhat 
 frugally. 
 
 " Of course I know perfectly well," says 
 she, twisting gracefully round, and com- 
 mencing a tattoo upon the ivory table near 
 her, " that he would do anything on earth 
 for me — anything. I am certain if I told 
 him now about this wretched bill," pettishly 
 thrusting from her a letter lying in the folds 
 of her white gown, " he would not say one 
 cross word to me, but he would think about 
 it ! He would think me extravagant." 
 
 "Well, so you are," says Nell bluntly. 
 "But one wouldn't mind one's husband 
 thinking that ! " 
 
 It would seem from this speech that there 
 is quite a gay old time awaiting Miss Pren- 
 dergast's husband. 
 
 " One would, if one's husband was Peter. 
 Besides, he wouldn't use the word 'extrava- 
 gant,' it would be ' dishonest ' with him. He 
 
2C4 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 used it that last time — so sweetly, so kindly^ 
 you will understand, but I haven't forgotten 
 it." 
 
 " One would think you had," says Nell, and 
 then catches her breath. 
 
 Her sister stares at her. If Nell had feared 
 her anger from this rather sarcastic little 
 speech, she finds herself mistaken. 
 
 " Don't cultivate that sort of thing," says 
 Cecilia earnestly. " You'll never get married 
 if you do! There isn't a soul on earth to 
 whom irony, when directed against itself^ isn't 
 abhorrent. Even your good looks won't 
 pull you through, if you persist in it. And 
 as old maids are a blot on creation, I hear 
 they are going to bring in a bill to shoot 
 them!" 
 
 Ki this pleasantry they both laugh, Nell 
 the more eagerly in that she is glad to escape 
 with so small a scolding, though to do Cecilia 
 justice scolding is always far from her. 
 Perhaps, being so incessantly in need of it 
 herself, she has a fellow feeling for other 
 delinquents. 
 
 "Nell," says she suddenly, feeling a sort of 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 205 
 
 increased camaraderie towards her sister, 
 because of this incidental spurt of laughter. 
 " I'll tell you something,'* she pulls the girl 
 towards her. " It is a secret, mind ! It has 
 
 never passed my lips before. But " she 
 
 breaks off, " you will never so much as think 
 of it again ? " 
 
 " Never ! " 
 
 " Well, then, the fact is — I was never in 
 love with Peter. Not actually in love. See ? 
 I'm fond of him, you know, especially since 
 Geoffrey came — but ... it was a hurried 
 thing, and mother . . . you remember, 
 don't you ? — it used to be all mother and not 
 a hit of us girls. And — well — I don't regret 
 
 it, you understand, only And as you 
 
 say, he is so good. And I'm quite happy 
 with him, quite. You musn't run away with 
 things, you know." 
 
 She pauses. 
 
 " No, no." NeU is looking rather pale. 
 
 " I'm coming to the funny part of it," says 
 Cecilia, leaning back and laughing an airy, 
 very joyless laugh. " What I want to tell 
 you is that, though I'm not exactly in love 
 
206 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 with Peter, I want him to respect me! 
 There — it's out. I — you're laughing, aren't 
 you ? " — with another very nervous laugh of 
 her own — " It isn't a bit like me, is it ? But I 
 confess I value his respect more than any- 
 thing in the world. That " — naively — " is 
 why I am so afraid of him." 
 
 She ceases, but Nell says nothing. 
 
 " Come ! " says Cecilia, sitting up on her 
 couch, and making a faint grimace at her 
 sister. " You never thought I was born to 
 respect anything in Heaven or earth, did 
 
 you?" 
 
 "Why not?" asks Nell. There is some 
 pain in her voice. " You know right well 
 what I think of you." 
 
 " Do I ? " She flings herself back amongst 
 her cushions. " I don't then. I don't believe 
 I know what anyone thinks of me, and 
 sometimes " — with a reckless upward move- 
 ment of her head — " I don't care what they 
 think." 
 
 " You have a headache, you are unnerved." 
 Nell bends tenderly over her. " It is this 
 horrid biU. Tell Peter." 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 207 
 
 " No," says Cecilia, with sudden determin- 
 ation. " I shall not do that." She rises to 
 her feet, and flings the blue scarf from her on 
 the floor. " I thought I could do it. I wound 
 my head up in that handkerchief to make 
 myself look ill before him, to enlist his 
 sympathy ; he's wretched when I'm ill. . . . 
 All a pretence, you see, Nell, all a pretence ! 
 I'm only a drifting bit of froth upon the 
 ocean of life — a bubble, a fraud. But I'll 
 pretend no more to-day. And I shan't tell 
 Peter — I haven't the courage. Come, let us 
 talk of something else. Where were you this 
 morning ? " 
 
 " I can't bear to tell you." 
 
 "Why?" Cecilia regards her with as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 "I met Sir Stephen down on Deadman's 
 Beach, and I asked him to let me have this 
 two hundred pounds you want so badly, 
 and " 
 
 "You didn't mention meV colouring 
 hotly. 
 
 " No, of course not." 
 
 « Well" —anxiously—" well ? " 
 
208 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 "He said lie could not let me encroach 
 upon my principal, or my capital, or some- 
 thing like that. I felt so mad'' Tears rise 
 to her eyes. " I said all I could, I even — 
 entreated. But, wasn't it " — choking — 
 " horrid of him ? " 
 
 " Beast I " says Cecilia briefly, but forcibly. 
 
 '* So 3^ou see I can't be of any use to you," 
 says Nell, sorrowfully. 
 
 " Nonsense, you're the joy of my life," 
 declares Cecilia laughing. " And I'm only 
 sorry you had such a bad time with Sir 
 Stephen, especially," with a sharp sigh, " as 
 no good came of it." 
 
 "But what will you do now? You will 
 have to tell Peter." 
 
 " I couldn't," says Cecilia dismally. 
 
 No one had heard the door open. 
 
 " What can't you tell me ? " asks Gaveston, 
 standing on the threshold, and looking in a 
 rather questioning way at his wife. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 *' Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge." 
 " Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it." 
 
 " So many things that I hardly know where 
 to begin," says Cecilia, so lightly, so airily, so 
 entirely without an arriere pensee of any 
 kind, and with such a radiant, brilliant smile, 
 that Nell's heart stands still. And then, all 
 in a moment, the girl goes forward straight 
 to Peter, and quickly, sharply, yet tenderly, 
 tells the whole story to him. She never 
 knew how she did it, or even quite why she 
 did it — but now it is done, and Gaveston has 
 turned to his wife — that lovely penitent in a 
 lovely gown — who is standing with her head 
 a little bent, as it should be, but her eyes, as 
 they have been since the story began, firmly 
 fixed on Peter. 
 
 "Why couldn't you have told me this 
 yourself?" asks Gaveston. It is his sole 
 reproach. He looks a little older, a little 
 VOL. T. 14 
 
210 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 graver — no more. He even smiles as his eyes 
 meet hers. 
 
 " I'm sorry," says the lovely Cecilia, 
 advancing to him with her hands out- 
 stretched, and the nervous smile of a child 
 upon her lips. " But I couldn't make myself 
 do it. You know T promised you, Peter, 
 never to get into debt again, and really I 
 don't know how this horrid two hundred 
 pounds mounted up — so what I hoped was, 
 that I could borrow the money from Nell, 
 and say nothing to you about it, because I 
 knew it would vex you." 
 
 Gaveston gazes at her. She is always a 
 surprise to him. 
 
 " But, my dear, isn't that getting into 
 debt ? " asks he mildly. 
 
 " To Nell 1 " arching her pretty brows. 
 
 "In debt to meV cries Nell in astonish- 
 ment, and indeed, here both the sisters laugh 
 as if at one of the funniest things in the 
 world. 
 
 Gaveston, who is a slow man, feels unequal 
 to the explaining of this bit of principle, so 
 declines upon more open ground. 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 211 
 
 " If you must borrow, let it be from me," 
 says he, " and then you will be in no one's 
 debt." 
 
 " Yes, I shall indeed," cries Cecilia ra- 
 diantly. " And to the dearest of all kind 
 dears." Her pallor has disappeared, her eyes 
 are sparkling, her lips smiling. The pale blue 
 handkerchief is under her foot. "But I'm 
 afraid you think badly of me, Peter," her 
 head a little on one side, her glance half 
 roguish, half appealing. " However, it is 
 the last time really ! From this out I shall 
 be positively parsimonious.'' 
 
 At this NeU smiles, and Peter Gaveston, as 
 though suddenly struck with an idea, turns 
 to her. 
 
 " And how was it that you were prevented 
 from lending this money ? " asks he. 
 
 "Why, Sir Stephen," says Nell, with a 
 shrug. " He refused to let me have what/' 
 defiantly, " is my own." 
 
 Gaveston colours dark red. 
 
 " You asked Wortley for money for ? " 
 
 " No, no, no ! " cries the girl, shocked. 
 "Dear Peter, no. Of course I mentioned 
 
 14* 
 
£12 PETEE'S WItE. 
 
 nothing beyond tlie fact tliat I wanted tlie 
 money. For myself, you know. After all," 
 with a tender glance at Cecilia, who is now 
 ruffling up her beautiful hair before a mirror, 
 with both hands, " Cecilia is myself." 
 
 " I must, however, request, Penelope " 
 (Penelope is Miss Prendergast's whole name), 
 *' that for the future you will not lend any 
 money to your sister. When she wants it — 
 she can come to me." 
 
 It occurs to poor Nell, as a little piece of 
 injustice, that Peter is far more angry with 
 her for merely wishing to lend the money to 
 Cecilia, than with the latter for having wanted 
 to borrow it and for getting into debt — and 
 for having concealed matters — and all the 
 rest of it. 
 
 " Don't scold Nellie," says Cecilia, turning 
 round with a gay and smiling face. " Scold 
 me. Tm the culprit. Sit down here, Peter," 
 patting the lounge on which she now has 
 seated herself, "and give me a regular 
 ' talking to.' That's what Jones says her 
 father does to her.'' 
 
 A faint contraction of Gaveston's brow is 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 213 
 
 noticeable. It lasts only for a moment. 
 Nell, perhaps, is faintly conscious of it. That 
 
 allusion to Jones's father That Cecilia 
 
 meant anything was absurd, and surely the 
 very fact of her saying it so unconsciously 
 shows that she herself does not see that at 
 certain times — a time such as this, for ex- 
 ample — when she is glowing, and Gaveston 
 depressed — she might easily be taken for his 
 daughter. 
 
 " I don't think I'll give you that ' talking 
 to ' to-day," says he smiling. Is there sadness 
 in the smile ? " We'll let it hold over." 
 
 " Over my head ? Like the nasty old 
 sword of somebody ? " cries Cecilia, clasping 
 her slender white hands above her sunny hair, 
 and peeping at her husband from under 
 them, as if in great dismay. " Oh ! you 
 mustn't do that ! How can I enjoy myself at 
 our dance if you aren't quite friends with me ? 
 By-the-bye, Peter," in the airiest way, " what 
 shall I wear ? " 
 
 " If it's coming to petticoats, I'm off," says 
 Gaveston, who has quite recovered his spirits 
 since his wife's coquettish glance at him from 
 
214 PETEK'S WIFE. 
 
 under her pink palms. He goes to the door, 
 and then stands still. 
 
 " You'll want a dress for that," says he. 
 
 « Ye— es." 
 
 " Allowance all gone ? " 
 
 She spreads her hands abroad in desolation. 
 
 He laughs. Such a good, round, honest laugh. 
 
 " Will twenty do it ? " 
 
 "Oh! Peter!'' ecstatically. "Much, too 
 much ! " 
 
 " Still " — he evidently understands her in 
 some ways — " we'll make it twenty ! " 
 
 " Nell, do you hear that ? " Peter's wife 
 springs to her feet. " Isn't he generous — 
 isn't he too good ? " she appeals to the girl in 
 the lightest way. Her manner, indeed, has 
 all the air of one who is speaking to another 
 about a mutual acquaintance, or a cousin, or 
 a relation by marriage — a nice creature, but 
 remote. A friend, in fact, in whom, for the 
 first time, she has discovered a most desirable 
 virtue. It is certainly, at all events, not the 
 tone of a wife discussing a husband. 
 
 She steps blithely towards Peter, on the 
 tips of her toes. 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 215 
 
 " Thank you, thank you, thank you ! " cries 
 she, so prettily. Then all at once, with a 
 sudden change of manner, she stands back 
 from him, and regards him with a sombre air. 
 
 " Peter ! " breathes she tragically, " look to 
 yourself ! I feel I must do it ! Prepare for 
 the worst ! I know — I know I am going to 
 — hiss you I " 
 
 With this, she precipitates her slim self into 
 his embrace. 
 
 They all laugh. Gaveston clasps her to 
 him, and gives her three kisses for her one. 
 
 " Nell," cries she, pushing him lightly from 
 her, " I had almost forgotten. Why, this is 
 the day we promised to go to Lady Hopkins. 
 Hurry, hurry, hurry! and dress yourself. 
 Not coming, Peter ? What a shame ! How 
 do you suppose I am going to get on without 
 you ? Eeally, this is cruel neglect of a lovely 
 wife. Some daj^ when I don't come back, 
 you'll be sorr3^" 
 
 She throws him a kiss, and disappears into 
 her dressing-room beyond. She has for- 
 gotten, as though it had never been, her dis- 
 tress of an hour ago. 
 
CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 " "Whoso shall telle a tale after a man, 
 He moste reherse, as neighe as ever he can, 
 Everich word, if it be in his charge. 
 All speke he never so rudely and so large ; 
 Or elles he moste tellen his tale untrewe, 
 Or feinen i hinges, or finden wordes newe." 
 
 " Quite a sensation, this dance of yours, Mrs. 
 Gaveston." The speaker is a good-looking 
 boy from the Barracks at Boreton, who had 
 fallen a victim to Mrs. Gaveston's charms 
 very early in the afternoon. Cecilia, in her 
 latest Parisian gown, and with a big picture 
 hat on the top of her head, gives him a smile. 
 She is sitting on a garden chair, on a side bit 
 of Lady Hopkins' lawn, that overlooks the 
 sunk tennis-courts on her left. The game 
 below is growing very exciting. Lady Hop- 
 kins, kindef-'t of women, has got up a small 
 tournament to amuse her "young friends" 
 (as she calls everyone — good creature — under 
 sixty), and has given into Mr. McGregor's 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 217 
 
 hands a dear little gold bangle and the in- 
 evitable cigarette-case, to be presented to the 
 successful tennis players at the end of the 
 day. There was quite an excitement about it 
 an hour ago, when the drawing for partners 
 was taking place. Up to this, a dilapidated 
 young man, with a lantern jaw, and a racket 
 tied up with string, is having it all his own 
 way. He had been lucky enough to draw as 
 his partner one of the Miss Woods of Wood- 
 ville, who, ten years ago, had been the 
 champion players of the county, and who 
 still can do wonders by fits and starts. The 
 Miss Wood in question is named Susannah, 
 she is tall and gaunt, her complexion some- 
 what suggestive of leather. 
 
 "Been stationed here now," goes on the 
 good-looking boy, who has accepted the 
 smile as the prettiest answer to his oj^ening 
 remark he has ever heard, " for ten months, 
 and never heard of a dance before." 
 
 "Never heard of a dance before? You 
 ought to take dancing lessons," says Cecilia. 
 
 The most satisfactory thing in the world is 
 to be beautiful. This answer of Cecilia's is 
 
218 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 accepted as quite a sparkling piece of wit by- 
 all the young men around her ; even Stairs, 
 who is sitting about a yard away, and who is 
 studying her without seeming to do so, smiles 
 faintly. 
 
 "So awfully jolly of you to think of it," 
 says another young man, whose sole claim to 
 notoriety lies in the fact that he has no chin. 
 " This part o' world, you know, really beastly 
 dull, you know ! " 
 
 "I love it!" says Mickey, who has just 
 come up with Nell and Grant. "I quite 
 acknowledge that Bigley-on-Sea can hardly 
 be called the ' liveliest village of the plain,' 
 but it has its parts ! There's nothing to do 
 here. That's w^hat I love. Splendid recom- 
 mendation in my eyes." 
 
 " Oh, your eyes ! " says Nell, sotto voce. 
 " I don't believe they see anything." 
 
 "They do, my darling. They do. They 
 see you," says the Irishman, with a profound 
 sigh that comes from his — lungs. 
 
 " Nell," calls Cecilia, " come here ! We're 
 talking about our dance ! " 
 
 Nell turns, and Cecilia introduces the two 
 
PETERS WIFE. 219 
 
 cavalry men to her, whereupon the chinless 
 one, without a second's delay and to Grant's 
 open annoyance, draws a chair up to hers, 
 and begins to give her — poor girl ! — his views 
 on things in general. 
 
 Grant, who had commenced a steady flirta- 
 tion with Nell, half because she is the prettiest 
 girl in the neighbourhood, and half to please 
 his sister, who is never tired of dinning in his 
 ears the fact that three hundred a year would 
 be a great addition to his present income, has 
 ended by falling very seriously in love with 
 her. His folly has, indeed, at present grown 
 to such a height, that to see another man, 
 however poor a specimen, engross her atten- 
 tion for even five minutes, means misery. He 
 fidgets a great deal — dragging his tent stool 
 here and there, and dropping fragmentary 
 remarks into the conversation, that Nell is 
 keeping up — poor " Mr. Chin " being un- 
 equal to a protracted attack upon his brain. 
 
 Nell, who, I regret to say, is rather enjoy- 
 ing the situation, being in a very bad mood 
 of her own, encourages " Mr. Chin," whose 
 real name is Trent, in the most shameful 
 
220 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 fashion, to Mickey's immense delight, whose 
 chief work in life seems mischief. 
 
 Mrs. Chance, strolling up to the large group 
 who are gathered here, looking at the semi- 
 finals, finds herself unavoidably close to Mrs. 
 Cutforth-Boss. She accepts her fate grace- 
 fully, and sinks, as if delighted to find it, 
 upon a seat close to her scourge. 
 
 " How terribly fast those two seem to be ! " 
 says she in a confidential whisper, indicating 
 Mrs. Gaveston and her sister by a side glance. 
 This remark is sure to be acceptable to the 
 valuable, if hateful, Maria ; both the Prender- 
 gasts being " objected to " by her. 
 
 "There is even a worse thing than flirta- 
 tion," says Mrs. Cutforth-Boss magisterially. 
 Slowly and with indignant meaning she sur- 
 veys Mrs. Chance from head to heel, from the 
 so evidently new frock, to the dainty bonnet, 
 that has not a particle of crape upon it. 
 *' There is extravagance ! " 
 
 " You mean this dress ? " asks Mrs. Chance, 
 in the sweetest, lowest tones. 
 
 " And the bonnet," severely. 
 
 " I half feared you would, but," she struggles 
 
PKTER'S WIFE. 221 
 
 for a lie, and at lasts finds one ; " it was dear 
 Alec gave me the money for them. A gift, 
 you know. ' Buy any little present you like,' 
 he said, so delightfully. So few brothers are 
 like that ! " 
 
 " And a good thing, too ! " says Mrs. Boss. 
 " Your brother ought to have advised you to 
 put by whatever money he gave you — (and 
 really he must be a most extraordinarily 
 affectionate brother to give you enough 
 money to buy yourself this rig-out)," with an 
 exhaustive glance at the costume in question 
 through her glasses, " for a rainy da}^" 
 
 '' Perhaps there won't be any rainy days," 
 says Mrs. Chance, innocently, who is now 
 boiling with rage. " The weather seems fine." 
 
 This little speech she could not have held 
 back to save her life, but once said, and see- 
 ing the storm it is bringing up in the useful 
 cousin's brow, she grows frightened. 
 
 "Forgive me," says she, laying her hand 
 on Maria's arm. "Such a silly joke! Of 
 course I know I am all wrong, and you — you 
 are so kind^to interest yourself about me. 
 Yes, I daresay I have been extravagant, but 
 
222 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 Alec would have been disappointed if I 
 had not boucfht these things. I can't tell 
 you how long I fought with myself about 
 buying them, but when I thought of his self- 
 sacrifice — his giving out of his slender in- 
 come, so much, that I might " 
 
 " Play the fool ! He must be an idiot ! " 
 says Mrs. Boss, interrupting her without 
 apology. 
 
 " Oh, no 1 Only the kindest brother in the 
 world," with an appealing smile. After a 
 second she drops her eyes, afraid they may 
 betray her. At this moment she could will- 
 ingly have done bad things to the perfect 
 Maria. "I am afraid you are angry with 
 me," she goes on meekly. It is easier to be 
 meek with her eyes on the ground. " But I 
 hardly knew what to do. If I saw more of 
 you — but 3'ou come to us so seldom — I might 
 learn." 
 
 " You would learn this ! " says Mrs. Boss 
 in a loud tone. " That for a woman with 
 nothing a year to dress herself in all the 
 newest fashions, is to be simply — dishonest. 
 . . . Good gracious ! There is Mrs. Wilding 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 223 
 
 over there ! Actually out. And her baby 
 not two montlis old. Stay here, Bella. I'll 
 be back in a moment, when I have given her 
 a hint about her behaviour. You were saying 
 something about those unfortunate Prender- 
 gast girls — I have something to say too." 
 
 She strides across to where a tall young 
 woman in pale grey crepon is standing. 
 
 "Wretch!" says Mrs. Chance under her 
 voice. " Well, when I marry Stephen, I'll be 
 the head of the house, and after that — well, 
 I pity Maria." Her eyes are aflame, and 
 though in this second of emancipation, when 
 she might have uplifted them to the skies for 
 all Maria could see of them, she still keeps 
 them on the ground. It would not do to 
 lose a point — someone else might be looking. 
 
 Presently Mrs. Boss comes back, rather — as 
 Mrs. Chance cheerfully notices — considerably 
 the worse for vrear. It is plain that the tall 
 young woman, with her first baby, has routed 
 her with great slaughter. 
 
 "You explained to her, I hope, the in- 
 judiciousness of her conduct," says Mrs. 
 Chance tenderly and maliciously. 
 
224 PETEE'S WIFE. 
 
 " Some people are not open to advice," re- 
 turns Mrs. Cutforth-Boss solemnly. "That 
 young woman is devoid of intellect. She 
 would not listen to me. She had even the 
 audacity to say, that when I w^as as clever as 
 she was, and had given a child to the world, 
 she w^ould be delighted to come over and 
 teach me how to make pap ! In my opinion," 
 says Mrs. Boss with conviction, " she is on 
 the right road to perdition." 
 
 " What a big long road it must be." Mrs. 
 Chance pauses thoughtfully. " It must be 
 worn into holes sometimes, so many travel it. 
 I wonder who repairs it! Look at Mrs. 
 Gaveston. Do you know, I quite dread this 
 new complication, this arrival of Captain 
 Stairs — after all you have told me of her. 
 She is so frivolous — no respect for anyone. 
 Not even," with a careful glance, " for you ? " 
 
 " It is a small thing to me," says Mrs. Boss, 
 "what anyone says or thinks of me. I do 
 my duty ; that suffices me. I don't care for 
 the slanders of the crowd. They are nothing 
 to me. But — er — what did that woman say ? " 
 
 " Hardly a slander, you know. More of a 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 225 
 
 gibe." It is Mrs. Chance's determination to 
 set Mrs. Gaveston and her sister wrong at 
 all points with everyone she knows. Sir 
 Stephen's half-formed admiration for Nell has 
 not escaped her notice. And to be outdone 
 in that direction! "It was a mere jest, 
 really. But how they laughed " 
 
 " Laughed ! — at me !'' 
 
 " Well, yes. And that was what annoyed 
 me, to drag you into ridicule. You, who are 
 so full of good works, without whom the 
 village could hardly get on. But I heard 
 her — myself — only a few days ago, make fun 
 of your name. She," Mrs. Chance looks 
 down and lowers her voice, as if shocked, 
 " was bringing you into ridicule about your 
 kindly zeal over the villagers, and your 
 tenants, and friends. She said — I thought it 
 very impertinent — that you ' Boss'd the whole 
 show,' or something like that." 
 
 " Bossed ? " 
 
 " Yes. Boss, you know I Your name ! " 
 
 " I see," says Maria. To Mrs. Chance's 
 everlasting surprise, the big woman seems 
 amused. There is a twinkle in her eye. " Do 
 VOL. I. 15 
 
226 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 you know, I never thought of that before ! I 
 wonder if George did ! Boss ! It does sound 
 American, yet it is a good old English name 
 
 too. I must tell George " She breaks 
 
 off. " But that impertinent young woman, to 
 make fun of me! Eeally, I don't know 
 whether she or that wretched Mrs. Wilding is 
 the worst ! " 
 
 "Oh! I think Mrs. Gaveston ! She is so 
 flighty," says Mrs. Chance gently. " See her 
 now ; and her husband never with her — and 
 that man always her shadow." 
 
 " Captain Stairs, you mean ? " Mrs. Cut- 
 forth-Boss leans forward so as to get a better 
 view of Cecilia, who now, indeed, is evidently 
 engrossed in an animated discussion with 
 Stairs. "Bless me! Yes. What on earth 
 can Peter Gaveston mean by letting her go 
 about like this, with no one to look after 
 her? I really think I had better go, and 
 give her a word of warning." 
 
 " No, no, don't," says Mrs. Chance, pulling 
 her back. " Stephen " — to Wortley, who is 
 going by — " come here. We want your ad- 
 vice." She smiles up prettily into his face 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 227 
 
 from under the dainty new bonnet, and Sir 
 Stephen stands still. "Maria thinks she 
 ought to speak to Mrs. Ga vest on about her — 
 her " 
 
 "Her conduct with Philip Stairs," says 
 Mrs. Cutforth-Boss bluntly ; to do her justice, 
 she is always very open in her conduct — the 
 only pardon that can be accorded to it. 
 " You know there used to be a love afiair 
 there, Stephen, years ago — before he went 
 abroad. Bella has just reminded me of it." 
 
 " It is well to let sleeping dogs lie," says 
 Wortley. "Not that I think there is any- 
 thing to let lie in this instance. Gaveston 
 and his wife seem very well disposed towards 
 each other." 
 
 " Still — she is so young," says Mrs. Chance, 
 in her tenderest voice, that seems filled with 
 divine pity for all the world. " And when 
 one thinks of the difierence in her and her 
 husband's ages. And her sister — she is so 
 young too, and so — so very frivolous — that I 
 fear she can hardly be of any use to her. 
 Don't you think Miss Prendergast a little — 
 just a little volatile ? " 
 
 15* 
 
228 PETEE'S WIFE. 
 
 " I wonder what you mean by volatile," says 
 Wortley. " Of course, a young girl cannot 
 be as sedate as a woman married. Youth 
 must be given certain allowances." 
 
 Youth ! Bella, conscious of her thirty 
 years, colours faintly. 
 
 " I am so glad to hear you talk so liberally 
 about her," she says sweetly. " I, myself, 
 would desire to think the best. If she is to 
 be my sister-in-law, I " 
 
 " Your ? " Sir Stephen has turned 
 
 upon her sharply. 
 
 " Oh ! you must have noticed dear Alec's 
 devotion — and her acceptance of it. I can- 
 not believe she is so wanting in all feeling as 
 to encourage him as she does, unless she 
 means to accept him ! " 
 
 " It will be a lucky thing for Alec if she 
 does have him," says Maria, with all her fatal 
 bluntness. " Three hundred a year would set 
 him up a bit ! " 
 
 Wortley says nothing. His mind is occu- 
 pied with Bella's last words. He glances a 
 little farther on to where Nell is sitting, with 
 Trent talking idiotic nothings to her, and 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 229 
 
 Grant standing beside her glowering. There 
 can- be no doubt on earth about his infatua- 
 tion. And the girl sitting there between 
 them, smiling, plainly amused, careless of their 
 feelings. 
 
 Is she so heartless as has been suggested — 
 so frivolous — like her sister? All at once, 
 the old story of Stairs' mad affection for 
 Cecilia, and her cruel disregard of it, once he 
 had gone away, and her almost immediate 
 marriage with Gaveston — a man so much 
 older than her — returns to him. He had for- 
 gotten all about it until now. 
 
 Indeed, most people had forgotten about 
 that old affair until Captain Stairs' return had 
 reminded them of it. No one quite knows the 
 rights of the story, and (except with regard 
 to a few) but a meagre curiosity stirs anyone 
 when it is mentioned. 
 
 Mrs. Gaveston, so petted, so spoiled, the 
 idol of a most indulgent husband, would 
 hardly be likely to think a second time of an 
 attachment felt years ago, and which, if ever 
 it had come to anything, would have ended 
 in nothing but poverty. The fact of Stairs 
 
230 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 coming into a property yesterday, as it were, 
 had, of course been discussed. Pity it had 
 not been left to him years ago. But after all 
 Mrs. Gaveston had been a mere child then, 
 and really hardly knew what love meant. 
 
 Mrs. Cutforth-Boss, however, whose re- 
 lations with the thoughtless Cecilia are 
 considerably strained, and whose memory is 
 above reproach, has remembered everything, 
 and from a high and moral point of view, 
 has decided to keep her eyes open. She had 
 indeed determinedly prognosticated evil from 
 the return of Stairs, to England, and the 
 presence of his first and only love. 
 
 " Alec would never take so sordid a view 
 of it," says Bella, with gentle dignity. " He 
 will marry for love — and love alone. The 
 one who marries for anything else, must be 
 mad indeed." 
 
 She casts a gentle glance at Sir Stephen, 
 but Sir Stephen's eyes are fixed on Nell — Nell, 
 who is laughing as happily as though the whole 
 world is at her feet to play with. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " The ruling passion, be it what it will, 
 The ruling passion conquers reason still." 
 
 '* Woman's at best a contradiction." 
 
 " Isn't there any tea to be had ? " demands Mrs. 
 Cutforth-Boss suddenly, in a loud tone. " Five 
 o'clock and nothing ! What on earth is the 
 woman thinking about ! " 
 
 " Beer, perhaps," suggests Mrs. Chance with 
 a little ill-natured titter — the late Sir John 
 having, as has been said, made his money out 
 of that excellent beverage. 
 
 " Well, I wish she'd divert her thoughts to 
 tea for a moment or two," says Maria, who 
 has moved her camp, and seated herself by 
 the group farther on, accompanied by Bella 
 Chance. 
 
 At this instant a couple of footmen, with 
 trays, can be seen approaching. 
 
 "It's comin', it's comin'," says little Mr. 
 
232 PETEK'S WIFE. 
 
 Nobbs, who has toddled up with a view of 
 making himself delightful to Cecilia. 
 
 " Like the Campbells," suggests Mickey. 
 " By the bye, it's been going on in the tent 
 over there for the last half hour." 
 
 "Then I think she might have had the 
 courtesy to send some one to tell us about 
 it," says Mrs. Cutforth-Boss angrily. " Eeally 
 no one has any manners now-a-days." Her 
 own are so painfully unequal to the necessities 
 of the "now-a-days," of which she speaks, 
 that Cecilia gets behind her fan with a view 
 to getting off a little undiscovered mirth. 
 
 "Better late than never," simpers Mr. 
 Nobbs, nodding his small head to and fro, 
 and bobbing upon his toes and heels. " It's " 
 — beginning the inevitable quotation gaily — 
 " ' The voice of " 
 
 " ' The footman, I heard him complain.' 
 Didn't you ? " interrupts Mickey most un- 
 kindly. " He was groaning like a grampus 
 under that tray ; knew you'd heard him. 
 Had him there,'' whispers he to Nell. 
 " Took the wind out of his sails, eh ? Pirst 
 in?" 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 233 
 
 "You shall have the Yictoria Cross the 
 moment I go home," returns she. 
 
 " How much does that come to ? A 
 kiss ? " 
 
 " Poof! don't be silly. Who'd kiss you ? " 
 
 "Lots and lots of girls,'* says Mr. Mc- 
 Namara with dignity. He climbs down 
 immediately afterwards, however, and con- 
 tinues sadly, " But always the ones I don't 
 want to kiss." 
 
 " Just so," says Nell, unfeelingly, and goes 
 back to her conversation to Trent. 
 
 " Who is that extraordinary person to 
 whom that silly Prendergast girl is speak- 
 ing ? " demands Mrs. Cutforth-Boss, of her 
 brother. Sir Stephen is indeed still here, 
 kept he hardly knows why, yet always with 
 an angry idea that it is because he can from 
 this point see best the abominable behaviour 
 of his ward. There is Grant glowering at 
 her, but at her feet none the less ; and that 
 idiot Trent, " that unlettered small-knowing 
 soul " — Wortley is evidently growing bitter 
 — whispering absurd attempts at compliments 
 into her ear ; and to crown all, McNamara 
 
234 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 Though perhaps after all, McNamara 
 
 is the least objectionable of the lot. After all, 
 one would be a perfect idiot to be jealous of 
 McNamara. No girl in her senses would 
 believe in him ! 
 
 But she ! what is she ? A trifle light as 
 air? 
 
 " Don't know, Pm sure," says he, walking 
 away. He had meant to speak to Nell — to 
 explain things to her — to break through the 
 cold crust of anger, the result of this morn- 
 ing's work, that is so extremely awkward now, 
 considering how soon they wnll have to play 
 together on the courts below. But he gives 
 that up, and walks away in another direction. 
 
 " I can see that Sir Stephen so disapproves 
 of that girl," says Mrs. Chance, softly. 
 
 " Stephen is like me," says Mrs. Cutforth- 
 Boss, who could hardly be more unlike her 
 brother if she tried. " He has a head on his 
 shoulders. He will marry both wisely and 
 well. I look for a title for Sir Stephen." 
 
 Having thus disposed of both Nell and 
 Mrs. Chance, she goes on her way rejoicing, 
 and presently plants herself very close to 
 
PETEE'S WIFE. 235 
 
 Nell, who is still holding all three admirers in 
 lively converse. Mrs. Boss having had her 
 tea, feels now equal to any occasion. But 
 unhappily so does Mr. McNamara, and 
 Mickey once started, is bad to beat. Per- 
 haps he has seen mischief in Maria's rolling 
 eye, because he at once commences the cam- 
 paign. 
 
 "This is my birthday," says he blandly. 
 " Anyone going to give me a show ? You ? 
 Mrs. Cutforth-Boss." 
 
 " I disapprove of giving presents to people 
 who are able to buy them for themselves," 
 says Mrs. Boss. 
 
 " But I'm not," says Mickey. " I lost my 
 last halfpenny at Nap last night." 
 
 " May I ask," says Mrs. Boss with a glare at 
 Cecilia, " who won it ? " 
 
 " You'd never guess," says Mickey genially. 
 
 " I have a strong belief I could,'' says Maria 
 severely. 
 
 "You won't tell?" says Mr. McNamara, 
 bending towards her. " Sh ! " with a glance at 
 Cecilia, as if to warn Mrs. Boss not to let her 
 hear. " Well, it was " 
 
236 PETEE'S WIFE. 
 
 " Go on, I know it ! " 
 
 " You hnow it ? " 
 
 « Certainly." 
 
 " Oh, well, at that rate," says Mr. McNamara 
 in an aggrieved tone, " there isn*t a bit of 
 good in my telling you." 
 . " But ? " eagerly. 
 
 " No ! no ! no ! " Mickey shakes his head 
 disapprovingly. "You have deceived me. 
 You have wasted my time. And on my birth- 
 day, too ! " 
 
 Mrs. Cutforth-Boss gives him an angry 
 glance and moves away. 
 
 " This your birthday ? " says Nell, " why, 
 it was only last week I heard you tell 
 Cecilia " 
 
 " That was only the first gong," says Mickey 
 unmoved. "A mere gentle reminder. The 
 second has just sounded. I'm of age to-day ; 
 you wouldn't think it to look at me, would 
 you ? I hope " — sweetly — " you have re- 
 membered me ? Any little present for me ?" 
 
 " Not one,'* says Nell severely. " And as to 
 your being of age " 
 
 " Well— what's the matter with that ? " 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 237 
 
 "Nothing, beyond the fact that I'm sure 
 you were of age five years ago." 
 
 " Does that prevent my being of age now ? 
 How queerly girls argue. You haven't 
 worked those suspenders then ? " 
 
 "I haven't worked anything," says Miss 
 Prendergast, very rightly turning her back on 
 him. " And you certainly told Cecilia your 
 birthday was on some day last week." 
 
 " Come for a walk ? " says Grant quickly. 
 
 " I can't. What's the use ? " says she 
 with a faint show of irritation. " I shall 
 have to play in this tournament almost 
 directly. Afterwards — perhaps." 
 
 " That is a promise," eagerly. 
 
 " Is it ? " She gives him a slow, adorable 
 little smile. " Well, we'll see." 
 
 " Where's Grant ? " cries somebody rushing 
 up at this moment. " Oh, there you are, 
 you're wanted down below there. It's your 
 turn now with Miss Browne. That duffer 
 with. the racket tied up is holding his own all 
 through. Do get him out if you can." 
 
 Grant with a muttered word rises, and leaves 
 the haven where he would be. 
 
238 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 " I don't believe you've had any tea yet," 
 says Mickey to Nell, " come over here to this 
 little table," pointing to his left, " and have 
 some fruit, or cake, or something." 
 
 Nell, whose good spirits had deserted her 
 when the subject of the tournament was 
 brought up again, follows him, and soon has 
 a plate well supplied with strawberries and 
 cream beside her, and a few wafers. 
 
 This ought surely to have raised her to the 
 healthy sense of the good of being alive. But 
 even whilst eating the strawberries, she shows 
 signs of gloom. 
 
 Mickey, who is "jabbering as usual" — an 
 expression of Mrs. Wilding's, who calls her- 
 self an intimate friend of his, having met him 
 once in Yorkshire — finds at last she isn't 
 attending. 
 
 " Well, shouldn't 1 ? " says he, meaning to 
 confound her. 
 
 " Shouldn't you what ? " 
 
 " I knew you weren't listening." 
 
 " I was, however. It was something about 
 — about " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! About. I like that. I was 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 239 
 
 talking of that last game I played. Did you 
 watch it ? " 
 
 " You were playing against the man with 
 the bad racket. The racket tied up with a 
 boot-lace, or something." 
 
 "I was. May the divil," says Mr. Mc- 
 JSTamara, piously, " fly away with him and his 
 boot-lace. He beat me, yet I played a good 
 game too, though I say it as shouldn't. I 
 ought to have won that game." 
 
 " Well, why didn't you ? " says Nell care- 
 lessly, who is feeling as though she hates 
 everybody. 
 
 " I don't know. If I hadn't dropped that 
 
 last ball into the net Anyway, I ought to 
 
 have won the game." 
 
 " Then more shame for you. It seems you 
 knew where your duty lay, and didn't per- 
 form it." 
 
 There is such a want of sympathy in the 
 always dehghtfully sympathetic Nell, that 
 McNamara regards her closely. 
 
 " What's the matter with you ? " asks he. 
 " You look down on your luck." 
 
 *' And no wonder," says Nell ; the desire 
 
240 PETEE'S WIFE. 
 
 to speak to somebody is growing too much 
 for her. And Mickey — she loves Mickey — 
 and he is so safe. He would never breathe 
 a word. " I'll tell you," says she, leaning 
 towards him across the little table. "Just 
 fancy, I've been drawn to play with Sir 
 Stephen ! " 
 
 " WeU ! " Mickey has leant towards her in 
 turn, and there is blank misunderstanding in 
 his clear Irish eyes. This seems a poser ; 
 Miss Prendergast goes down before it. 
 
 " I don't believe he can play a bit," says 
 she, a little sorry she has spoken. 
 
 " He plays uncommonly well, I can tell you. 
 Better than most." 
 
 "He looks," contemptuously, "as if he 
 could do nothing." 
 
 McNamara studies her a moment. 
 
 " He has done something to you anyway,'* 
 says he. 
 
 " To me ? " haughtily. 
 
 " Yes. To your own royal, high excellency ! 
 I have noticed a sort of chill between you and 
 him all the afternoon; a regular cucumber 
 coldness." 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 241 
 
 " You notice a great many things, it seems 
 to me," angrily. 
 
 " Well — what are one's eyes for ? " 
 
 " If you imagine he has annoyed me in any 
 way, you are mistaken. I think him a very 
 disagreeable person — nothing more." 
 
 " That won't count in a tournament. He's 
 about the best player I ever met. Private 
 player I mean, but even if it came to public 
 playing — You'll win with him, Nell. You two 
 will be the winners, I shouldn't wonder." 
 
 " Oh, no ! I shall handicap him too heavily. 
 I can't play a bit when people are looking on. 
 However good a player he may be he will 
 lose with me." 
 
 "Not a bit of it. He'll win! Pull your- 
 seK together, and the game's your own." 
 
 " Well, I don't care whether it is or not," 
 says Nell with a little frown. " I think they 
 might have drawn me with some one 
 else " 
 
 McNamara shakes his head solemnly at her. 
 
 " Do you suspect them ? " asks he. " Are 
 you suggesting that there was foul play? 
 How could they arrange the drawing ? And 
 VOL. I. 16 
 
242 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 even if they could, why should they have 
 elected you to be the partner of Wortley ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes," says she quickly. " Of course 
 it is all right. They would never have put 
 Sir Stephen and me together. Everybody 
 must know I hate Sir Stephen." 
 
 At this instant someone appears on the 
 right of the table. Neither of them had 
 seen his approach. 
 
 "It is our turn now, Miss Prendergast,' 
 says Sir Stephen in a perfectly even tone. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " All women born are so perverse 
 
 No man need boast their love possessing. 
 
 If nought seem better, nothing's worse, 
 All women born are so perverse. 
 
 From Adam's wife, that proved a curse 
 Though God had made her for a blessing, 
 
 All women born are so perverse, 
 
 No man need boast their love possessing." 
 
 Nell rises and goes with him ; she is a little 
 perturbed. Had he heard that last speech of 
 hers ? No. Surely not. He seems quite as 
 usual. But silent, very silent. His silence 
 gives Nell a chance. 
 
 " Sir Stephen ! '* says she coldly. " It is 
 quite absurd you having me for your partner. 
 I can't play at all. Is it not possible to get it 
 rearranged ? There are so many others, and 
 all such good tennis players. Won't you see 
 about it ? " 
 
 "You mean," says Wortley, speaking for 
 the first time since she has left McNamara and 
 gone with him towards the tennis court. 
 
 16* 
 
244 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 " You mean that you don't want to play 
 with me." 
 
 " Certainly not ! What I meant was that it 
 is a pity that you should lose. If I withdraw 
 they will have another lottery, and you will 
 probably get some one else who will prove a 
 good partner." 
 
 " I have already an excellent partner," says 
 Wortley. He does not look at her as he says 
 it. The compliment falls indeed fiat. His 
 voice is cold, indifferent, immovable. 
 
 " I am afraid you know very little about it, 
 if you say that," says Nell icily. " I am the 
 worst tennis player in the world — at times." 
 
 " I shall risk it." There is something dogged 
 in his air. " And even," slowly, " if you are 
 not up to the mark — to your usual mark, I 
 mean, I have seen you play — I daresay I 
 shall be able to pull you through." There is a 
 distinct determination in his whole manner that 
 annoys her. " To tell you the truth," con- 
 tinues he, without looking at her however, 
 " I distrust that bat of Berkley's — the string 
 that has so nobly held it together up to this, 
 must be nearly worn through now." 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 245 
 
 " He will probably get a fresh bit." Nell's 
 tone is without interest, secretly she is furious 
 at his offer to "pull her through." Such 
 miserable conceit — such overbearing vanity, 
 etc. " There is one thing, however, I think 
 I had better mention. I," very clearly, 
 " object to having my balls poached." 
 
 " I shall remember. I have not, however, 
 that objection. If any ball of mine comes 
 your way, and you think you can take it 
 safely, I shall be immensely glad if you will 
 do so." 
 
 Nell makes no reply to this. " Odious 
 man," she says to herself. It had given her 
 great satisfaction to forbid him to touch her 
 balls, but now that she has done so, her 
 heart sinks. If he cloesnH help her, the small 
 chance that there is of their winning is 
 entirely at an end ; their downfall will be 
 an ignominious one indeed, and to be con- 
 nected with defeat — ! Defeat is always bitter 
 to her ! 
 
 But to go back now — to give in — and to 
 him. To ask him to help her ! No. It is 
 not to be thought of for a moment. After 
 
246 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 all, if he does lose, it will be a very good 
 thing, and make him less assured of himself 
 in the future. It is unpleasant, however, to 
 be the one to make him or anyone lose. Oh ! 
 if only she could play up for once in her life, 
 and help to win this match without his 
 assistance. Sometimes she can play quite 
 surprisingly, but, unfortunately, not when 
 there is an audience. The very fact of people 
 looking on, and expecting wonders from her, 
 puts her off her stroke. 
 
 "Shall I go and see when we are to 
 begin ? " asks Wortley courteously. 
 
 " Yes. Please." 
 
 Nell, waiting in rather a quaking mood for 
 his return, finds herself standing almost 
 under a huge escallonia bush — half hidden 
 by it indeed. From the other side a voice 
 reaches her. 
 
 " Oh ! no," someone is saying. " Poor 
 Sir Stephen! He has not the least chance. 
 He plays quite splendidly himself, but he will 
 be far too heavily handicapped by Miss Pren- 
 
 dergast to do anything. She " The 
 
 voice and its owner have evidently turned a 
 
PETEK'S WIFE. 247 
 
 corner and are gone. The voice was the 
 voice of Mrs. Chance. 
 
 All at once a change takes place in Nell. 
 Her heart seems to leap up within her, and 
 grows strong and brave. She gives the 
 racket she is holding a little swing. That 
 woman ! Ah! 
 
 When Sir Stephen, a few minutes later, 
 returns hurriedly to tell her they are to begin 
 now, he finds her looking almost tall^ with 
 her cheeks delicately flushed, and her eyes 
 alight. What has happened to her? Her 
 very step seems to have caught additional 
 elasticity. He is indeed hard put to it to 
 keep up with her, as she goes to the field of 
 battle. The very way she grasps her racket 
 breathes of slaughter. Positively there is a 
 smile upon her lips. Finally, to his ever- 
 lasting astonishment, she turns to him as 
 they take their places, and whispers to him, 
 sharply, eagerly : 
 
 « We shall win ! " 
 
 There is a touch of camaraderie in her 
 whole air. Has she forgotten the late feud ? 
 
248 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 " Oh ! there is Nell going to play," cries 
 Cecilia suddenly, " I must get nearer to watch 
 her." Many people on the seats round her 
 had left and taken up positions farther down, 
 feeling a little pleasurable excitement over 
 this final set. The man with the disreputable 
 racket, and his partner (now looking a little 
 frowsy, and with her hair in a melancholy 
 state of collapse), are looking full of hope and 
 courage, and already indeed quite giving 
 themselves airs — nodding blithely to their 
 intimate friends and backers, as though to 
 say : '' It is all right now. The day is ours ! 
 If we have beaten all along the line so far, 
 there is nothing to dread ! " And indeed, a 
 few whispers of Nell's playing have been 
 circulating — of her want of nerve — her un- 
 certainty — the trick she has of putting her 
 balls into the net, when frightened, etc. 
 
 Mrs. Chance especially has been going 
 about breathing little sentences to this effect, 
 and, *' Such a pity poor dear Sir Stephen, who 
 really you know plays beautifully, should have 
 been drawn with such an uncertain player." 
 
 Cecilia looks round to find someone to 
 
PETEE'S WIFE. 249 
 
 escort her to a better place for looking on ; 
 but Stairs only is beside her. Even tlie 
 good-looking boy has flitted across the ground 
 to make a bet with a friend on the coming 
 event. 
 
 " There is a shady seat over there where 
 you can see well, I think," says Stairs. 
 "Shall we try it?" 
 
 Cecilia rises eagerly. 
 
 " Darling old Nell, I wish she could win, if 
 only to vex that horrid Mrs. Chance," says 
 she, some of the latter's velvety speeches 
 about Nell having reached her. 
 
 The spot chosen by Stairs is a little remote 
 from the others. A small, rustic seat under 
 a huge branching elm, that makes a splendid 
 umbrella to keep off the burning sun, and 
 although it places them a little behind the 
 other onlookers, still there is a capital view 
 of the court and the players. 
 
 " Oh, what a lovely spot you have chosen, 
 Phil," says Cecilia, settling herself daintily 
 with her back against the trunk of the grand 
 old tree. All round the scene is very fair — 
 the heat soft and languorous ; a little silken 
 
250 PETER'S WIFE. 
 
 breeze is blowing, and from the meadows 
 down below small white-brown seeds of 
 thistle-down are floating through the golden 
 
 air. 
 
 " It is the time when lilies blow, 
 And clouds are highest up in air." 
 
 Stairs, whose every fibre thrills to her 
 voice, pales a little beneath that friendly 
 "Phil." How it brings back all. Those 
 dear sweet days . . . alL 
 
 Ever since that hour when he had unex- 
 pectedly come upon her and her husband in 
 the wood he had lived in a sort of hell. He 
 had thought of her in many ways during 
 that cruel time in India and afterwards on 
 his return — as married — as happy in her 
 married life — as unhappy — but somehow he 
 had never thought of her as a mother I 
 
 The sight of the boy Geoffrey had been a 
 death-blow — a stab — from which he could 
 not recover ; she — his little love — his sweet- 
 heart — the pretty child he had left — the 
 mother of another man's son ! 
 
 When j5rst he saw the boy, with his strong 
 likeness to Cecilia, a sort of frenzy seized him. 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 251 
 
 He knew then what murderers must feel 
 before they commit the vilest crime of all. 
 That she should have borne a son to him — 
 his rival! He could have cursed Gaveston 
 aloud for that. If she had remained child- 
 less — God knows what thoughts worked in 
 Philip Stairs' mind, but I think he could 
 have forgiven her more easily — but for the 
 child. 
 
 And yet to curse Gaveston ! Having seen 
 him it seemed hard — impossible. That kindly 
 honest gentleman ! Stairs knew he would 
 have been glad to find him a scoundrel — 
 an irredeemable brute — but Gaveston was 
 a man that no other man could ever despise. 
 
 He saw that, being no fool, and his misery 
 grew. Did she love him ? Could she ? That 
 man — so much older than herself — her sweet, 
 her lovely self! It was certainly impossible. 
 The man was lovable in many ways, and 
 there was the boy — the child I That tie of 
 all things the strongest. No, he was cast 
 behind — forgotten — left dying on the road of 
 her Hfe — sighing his time away, with 
 
 ''Love going out in despair." 
 
252 PETEK'S WIFE. 
 
 Cecilia has been talking gently all this time 
 — he answering mechanically. 
 
 "I really think Nell will win after all," 
 cries she suddenly, leaning forward, her arms 
 upon her knees. " Oh, what a beautiful 
 serve! Did you see how it ran along the 
 ground ? He couldn't take it — that imma- 
 culate person with the queer old racket. 
 There again ! And Nell — why, she usually 
 can't play a bit in public, you know — but 
 now " 
 
 " She is doing splendidly," says Stairs, who 
 in spite of the belief that he is for ever 
 beyond amusement of any kind is now 
 growing interested. " And yet someone told 
 me she couldn't play a screw." 
 
 " Ah ! that was Mrs. Chance, she hates 
 poor Nell," says Cecilia, whispering to him 
 as one would to an old and appreciated 
 friend. " She's very dangerous. She'd say 
 anything if she didn't like one." 
 
 " She doesn't like you ! " 
 
 " Me ! Oh, no. Not a scrap," says Cecilia. 
 " And I'm so glad. I hate people whom / 
 hate to like me ! " 
 
PETER'S WIFE. 253 
 
 '^ Poor people ! " says Stairs. 
 
 Cecilia laughs. 
 
 " You needn't be so very sympathetic," says 
 she. " I don't hate you ! " 
 
 "No?" Stairs turns aside abruptly — a 
 branch growing over his head has apparently 
 attracted his attention. "That is good of 
 you," says he in a would-be indifferent tone. 
 
 " There, what a stroke," cries Cecilia ex- 
 citedly. " Why, Nell is excelling herself. 
 Oh! a good serve, again! Did you see 
 that ? Ah, if only she can keep it up — but 
 poor old Nell is so nervous." 
 
 " She doesn't seem nervous to-day." 
 
 " No. I can't think why. There again ! " 
 as Nell, much more to her own surprise than 
 to anyone else's, plays a ball into such an 
 unexpected corner as no man can reach. In 
 fact, Nell is playing to-day as she never 
 played before, and as in all probability she 
 will never play again. Her nerves have 
 turned to steel, and her whole blood is on fire. 
 
 " She and Wortley will win," says Stairs. 
 
 " I hope so ! " — she looks at him. " Don't 
 you.?" 
 
254 PETEE'S WIFE. 
 
 "You know I do." His desire for Nell's 
 victory is now indeed very keen. He is 
 leaning forward in quite an excited way, and 
 his whole expression has altered. He is 
 another being — he is the man Cecilia had 
 known six years ago. 
 
 For a little time she looks at him as if 
 taking in this sudden wonderful change, that, 
 alas ! brings back to her the past with most 
 unfortunate vividness. She moves a little 
 nearer to him — she feels happier with him. 
 He is so like what he used to be — her friend 
 — her chum! 
 
 " Phil ! " says she impulsively. 
 
 END OF VOL. I, 
 
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